So for the last few months Sonya and I have been half-planning to go to Nashville this past weekend to see Todd Snider do his thing. For those of you who don't know, Todd is The Man - the best musician out of Memphis since Elvis went to the great Blue Hawaii in the sky. See him as soon as you get the chance.

Those plans became tenuous last week when we got tickets and made hotel reservations to see Jimmy Buffett in Cincinnati this weekend. But by Friday afternoon we'd decided to take two roadtrips in a row. We're young - our kidneys can take that kind of ride.

By the way, roadtrips are a tradition for me and Sonya. From our first Mardi Gras in '92 (and the hellish return trip) to our planned beach weekend this fall (complete with rented convertible, a la Fear and Loathing...) we have always loved to throw it in the car and see some shit. July is turning into a red-letter month for such things, too.

Now I am from West Memphis originally, which is just a suburb of Memphis. And I've lived in Memphis for the last three-and-a-half years, so I have had a natural dislike of Nashville marinated into me. They got the football team we deserved, the hockey team, the recognition, the population...Memphis has Beale Street and resentment.

So we were leaving Tower Books in Nashville on Saturday night before we went to the show, and I told Sonya that Nashville seemed to have better self-esteem than Memphis - and that's really the only difference between the two towns. Memphis just needs to lose about ten pounds, get a new haircut and shave every day and the change would be extraordinary. I really think that Memphis is the cooler town - in a dark, southern-gothic kind of way - but Nashville seemed simultaneously more hip and more relaxed than Memphis. Better music on the radio, hipper clothes on the people and a more generous distribution of freaks and weirdos marked the differences for me.

I mean, they've got a Tower Records and an NFL team. Now I realize Memphis isn't going to get a team (without screwing somebody out of theirs, anyway - the NFL will never expand to Memphis, we're too problematic for them) but can't we at least get a Tower Records? Who do I have to screw to get a Tower on Beale Street?

Had a lovely dinner at Rotier's (one of Jimmy Buffett's cheeseburger-fantasy places, by the way) and the show at Exit/In was totally cool - acoustic, too. Todd had the crowd eating out of his hands. I got to meet Todd's manager, Al Bunetta, after the show. I wish I could be half-as entertaining as his anecdote-based, profanity-laced style of speech was. He is a character.

So the Week of Concerts continues...Jack Ingram and Viva Satellite at Newby's on Thursday, and then a trip into Yankee country Friday night - what the hell is in Cincinnati anyway, besides the Bengals?

Okay, a couple of years ago Sonya and I went to see a movie at the Orpheum with some friends. Afterwards, we went to have a few drinks with said friends. Now Sonya and I had both come in late from work, so we'd pretty much just changed clothes and ran across the street to the theatre (which we lived across the street from in those days). So Sonya had some popcorn at the movie. I might have had a Junior Mint or two. It doesn't matter - suffice it to say I went drinking on an empty stomach.

At about that time the micro-brew thing was just taking off and a new "Memphis" beer had been introduced. It was called Goldcrest, and it was yummy. Dark and just a touch sweet with a pleasing aftertaste.

So we get to this bar and meet our friends and I start slamming down Goldcrests. I mean, I had four or five in about ninety minutes or so. Why not? It was Friday, I was out late, I was havin' a good time, right?

Wrong.

So Sonya and I catch the trolley back to the apartment and go upstairs. Mind you, Sonya had had a drink or two herself. She'd had popcorn, too. She was having a great time.

So we make it in to our apartment and Sonya turns the TV on. She finds Mystery Science Theater 3000 nd we watch it. Within seconds we were howling at this horrid Japanese movie with even worse dubbing. It was terrible. It was hilarious. I took my pants off.

"Too hot!" I shouted. Sonya giggled with approval and rolled helplessly on the couch.

Looking back on it, I was really laughing too hard - but I don't think I could have helped it. That show was really funny, you know.

So there I was, getting those deep belly-laughs you do when you're a happy-drunk. What was in my belly, though? That's right - a gallon o' beer. All those belly-laughs were putting quite a head on the beer, so one second I was laughing and the next I was producing two things: a series of long, gassy belches and far too much saliva.

You can guess what happened then.

When I found myself crouched over the toilet - watery-eyed, stone sober and profoundly unamused - I was amazed at the amount of beer I'd sicked up. No wonder I was sick, I thought, you could float a tugboat in that mess.

Moral: Eat before heavy drinking. You'll thank yourself later.

back'ard

latest

archive

for'ard