Thursday, September 16, 2004
Heat Devils on the Highway
Well it happened.
Word came down from the top today that the big top is coming down.
We're pulling up stakes on Monday and splitting town.
Maybe we're headed back to Thrill-Vania - maybe to the mothballs should find out by showtime tonight.
Doing laundry at the Bar of Soap last night the crowd is changing - the carnies are pulling in across the street and setting up for the big State Fair of Texas and we're moving on continuing our search for the modern midway.
Dallas struck again last night for break-in number three in the six weeks I've been here. The 6'X10' Man Made Monsters banner was stolen from the baby show. The idiots who took it cut the corners off the banner leaving me the D-rings and a little bit of painted canvas flapping on the side of the tent.
Sunday they got me up early to do an afternoon show - which I was not thrilled about - but upon arrival at the venue - we're performing at a music industry party for BMG. So the wonder-twins schmooze the guys from Ministry and Monday Amanda and I are driving down to New Orleans for the show. Any excuse to get out of Dallas and pound the pavement is good enough for me. We got in just as the show was getting out - and proceeded to make our own fun - who couldn't have fun in New Orleans? Watching the tankers travel up the muddy Mississippi as the wakes splash up over our feet before they carry us to the next bar. But life on the road can leave you a little out of the loop - and I find it strange that at the bar with girls dancing on it - people are watching The Weather Channel. The next morning everyone in town os boarding up their windows as Hurricane Ivan - a category five storm is headed straight for New Orleans. Well we thought about sticking it out - but with most of town closed we decided to hit the road - that and the mandatory evacuation. The highways are jam packed so we head across to the west side of the river and take the back roads. All the way to Baton Rouge we drove alongside the Mississippi in the long line of red tail lights fleeing the storm. The houses came further and further apart - each one boarded up and abandoned. We pulled up on the earthen burm built to keep the raging river within its banks and walked down to the water as tug boats slurred by slowly and laid back on the hill looking up at more stars in the sky than there are grains of sand on the beach.
After Baton Rouge we left the river and headed west passing miles of fields and enormous factories the size of small towns. Giand structures covered in lights and surrounded by miles of barbed wire fence. The kind of places where you could raise a whole community of drones who each add one small part never knowing that they're building the giant world weather machine that only James Bond could stop.
We headed west through the fields full of shrieking children and old baseball players. West past the factories with pipelines going over the road big enough to ride a horse through and west into the wilderness. Bugs splattering on the front of the big red van so much that it sounds like precipitation and the windsield wipers won't take their carcasses away. We headed west into the nothingness and then it happened - on the side of the road - on Lousiana highway 69 - we saw it. Christmas lights hanging on particle board, a couple of pick-up trucks and a Miller Light sign that barely lights up as it flickers in the darkness.
All five heads turn as we walk into the bar and sidle up on a couple of cracked vinyl stools. The Bud Lights come in a 10 ounce can and we talk about the weather and the highways with the locals. Glassy eyes of eight or ten mounted Bucks stare out at us from the particle board walls all around us - over the wood stove and the recliner in the corner, in between the wooden signs about fishing and all the way around to back behind the bar where the sign says - No Vulgar Language.
We shoot a game of pool, drink another mini-beer, smile and head into the real country darkness. The doors close behind us and the bar is closed. Miles away the highways are still closed and we drive 12 hours still in Louisiana. after sleeping in the back of a gas station we made it into Texas and took Texas highway 69 up to Tyler, TX and then on back to Dallas - without once rolling the wheels over a big interstate.
With the tent stakes coming up - it looks like time for another road trip - should find out tonight by showtime.
Have Fun.
I always do.
Tyler
Word came down from the top today that the big top is coming down.
We're pulling up stakes on Monday and splitting town.
Maybe we're headed back to Thrill-Vania - maybe to the mothballs should find out by showtime tonight.
Doing laundry at the Bar of Soap last night the crowd is changing - the carnies are pulling in across the street and setting up for the big State Fair of Texas and we're moving on continuing our search for the modern midway.
Dallas struck again last night for break-in number three in the six weeks I've been here. The 6'X10' Man Made Monsters banner was stolen from the baby show. The idiots who took it cut the corners off the banner leaving me the D-rings and a little bit of painted canvas flapping on the side of the tent.
Sunday they got me up early to do an afternoon show - which I was not thrilled about - but upon arrival at the venue - we're performing at a music industry party for BMG. So the wonder-twins schmooze the guys from Ministry and Monday Amanda and I are driving down to New Orleans for the show. Any excuse to get out of Dallas and pound the pavement is good enough for me. We got in just as the show was getting out - and proceeded to make our own fun - who couldn't have fun in New Orleans? Watching the tankers travel up the muddy Mississippi as the wakes splash up over our feet before they carry us to the next bar. But life on the road can leave you a little out of the loop - and I find it strange that at the bar with girls dancing on it - people are watching The Weather Channel. The next morning everyone in town os boarding up their windows as Hurricane Ivan - a category five storm is headed straight for New Orleans. Well we thought about sticking it out - but with most of town closed we decided to hit the road - that and the mandatory evacuation. The highways are jam packed so we head across to the west side of the river and take the back roads. All the way to Baton Rouge we drove alongside the Mississippi in the long line of red tail lights fleeing the storm. The houses came further and further apart - each one boarded up and abandoned. We pulled up on the earthen burm built to keep the raging river within its banks and walked down to the water as tug boats slurred by slowly and laid back on the hill looking up at more stars in the sky than there are grains of sand on the beach.
After Baton Rouge we left the river and headed west passing miles of fields and enormous factories the size of small towns. Giand structures covered in lights and surrounded by miles of barbed wire fence. The kind of places where you could raise a whole community of drones who each add one small part never knowing that they're building the giant world weather machine that only James Bond could stop.
We headed west through the fields full of shrieking children and old baseball players. West past the factories with pipelines going over the road big enough to ride a horse through and west into the wilderness. Bugs splattering on the front of the big red van so much that it sounds like precipitation and the windsield wipers won't take their carcasses away. We headed west into the nothingness and then it happened - on the side of the road - on Lousiana highway 69 - we saw it. Christmas lights hanging on particle board, a couple of pick-up trucks and a Miller Light sign that barely lights up as it flickers in the darkness.
All five heads turn as we walk into the bar and sidle up on a couple of cracked vinyl stools. The Bud Lights come in a 10 ounce can and we talk about the weather and the highways with the locals. Glassy eyes of eight or ten mounted Bucks stare out at us from the particle board walls all around us - over the wood stove and the recliner in the corner, in between the wooden signs about fishing and all the way around to back behind the bar where the sign says - No Vulgar Language.
We shoot a game of pool, drink another mini-beer, smile and head into the real country darkness. The doors close behind us and the bar is closed. Miles away the highways are still closed and we drive 12 hours still in Louisiana. after sleeping in the back of a gas station we made it into Texas and took Texas highway 69 up to Tyler, TX and then on back to Dallas - without once rolling the wheels over a big interstate.
With the tent stakes coming up - it looks like time for another road trip - should find out tonight by showtime.
Have Fun.
I always do.
Tyler
