Lonesome roads are the only kind I ever travel
Empty rooms are the only place I ever stay
I'm just a face out in the crowd that looks like trouble
Poor ol' worthless me is the only friend I ever made
The best Dwight Yoakam concert I've attended was the one at the Longbranch in Raleigh in September 2000. My Dwight buddies and I tagteamed standing in line outside the venue most of the day and managed to secure spots right in front of the stage when the doors opened (I took Andre Dubus III's House of Sand and Fog with me to read in line--and didn't--and bought Robertson Davies' Cornish Trilogy and Alberto Manguel's Into the Looking-Glass Wood at the B&N across the street during an afternoon coffee break). At the end of "Suspicious Minds" Dwight gave me his guitar pick and clasped my hand; I walked on air for days afterward.
I doubt I get near the stage tonight. The concert in Cullowhee will probably be most memorable because it's the first time the entire family has gone together to see Dwight. We took S. to see him at the excruciating Neon Circus show a few years back (not that Dwight was excruciating, but everything else about the experience was), but the closest R. has ever come to a country concert since hitting double digits was going to a Lyle Lovett show with me so that she could see opening act Lisa Loeb.
But jetlag will affect a person's judgment. R. said Wednesday she wanted to go with S. and me, and L., who swore off all concerts except ones at the Neighborhood Theater after that dreadful Neon Circus show, decided it'd be to his benefit to go back on his word and go with us to Cullowhee.
So. Family road trip to the mountains. I'll be taking a book along.
But I doubt I read it.
Have a great weekend, folks.
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