This past weekend, my friend Elisa and I made the four-hour drive to Nashville to see Ray LaMontagne in concert. The show was at the beautiful Ryman Auditorium in the downtown area – an auditorium built in 1892 when Americans were much smaller. Elisa and I were one row apart, but I was still right behind her. My row was crammed with myself, a super fan clutching the latest Ray vinyl, a bodybuilder, and his ample-chested girlfriend. We were practically sitting in each other’s laps for three hours, which, surprisingly, isn’t a good way to get to know people. Elisa had the pleasure of sharing her concert experience with a couple that we’re pretty sure were on their third eHarmony date. They were making out and thinking up nicknames for each other, one of which was “Loaf.” They were ... special.
Even with all of the, uh … distractions, the show was amazing. Ray sounds even better live than he does on his albums, and he drew us in with his raspy vocals and scruffy man-beard. My only complaint is that I didn’t have binoculars. Ray also isn’t much of a talker – he probably said twenty words all night. He just played, which was nice.
Taking weekend trips on a budget has always landed me in interesting places. The problem with booking hotels is that you really can’t check them out beforehand, and the ones that have online “tours” are generally inaccurate. This weekend we stayed at the two-star EconoLodge in God-Knows-Where, Tennessee. Yeah, it was a motel. I can’t tell you the last time I stayed in a place where you can drive right up to your room and enter from the outside. We even had a friendly mulleted gentleman offer to help us get into our room, though we respectfully declined his kindness. Besides being a typical crummy motel, we also found "special hairs" on the bathroom counter and a fly roughly the size of a nickel, which Elisa heroically drowned in the sink.
For breakfast on Monday morning, we visited the nearest Waffle House. Waffle Houses in general are shady, but this one was particularly so. The only “customer” inside looked remarkably like a prostitute, and the one male who worked there couldn’t seem to stop ogling us. He literally stood with his elbows on the bar and stared directly at us until it was time to cook our food, resuming this stance once the food was cooked. I was also told that the new “Lite Waffle” the Waffle House is offering really only means that they use a different griddle and cook it to a lighter color. Interesting.
On the way home, we were desperate for some good coffee and quickly discovered that asking a busy barista for directions to the nearest Starbucks will land you in an industrial park near the airport. One hour out of the way and clueless as to where we were, we blindly hit the interstate, found 65 S (and a Whole Foods with some coffee), and headed back to Birmingham. This blessed city that we know how to navigate.
4 comments:
I miss Ray already. and my friendly seat neighbors...oh, Loaf and Pork chop, we had such fun together. I am sure I will be invited to their cheesy ass wedding.
Did you hold up the sign?
I held up a sign at the Ryman one time. It was a poor decision.
I saw Ray once, and I thought his shows were a little too unassuming. I mean, he didn't even look at the crowd. He just sat on his stool with his hair in has face and played. That's fine if we're sitting in a coffee shop, but not at a show.
Rascals!! (on the sink that is)
And hold your tongue when it come to Waffle House.
word verification: affou
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