A very, very good time.



It all started Tuesday night after work. Sarah and I were pretty beat, and I was still whining a little bit about the Tom Waits show in Ohio somewhere. You see, Tom is getting kinda old; he's physically catching up to his voice. I was pretty bummed I had missed the show because of work, lack of money, and a defective car.

Since Denny introduced me to some of his music years and years ago, I've always felt that he's one of the most unique and gifted songwriter/singer/thingy player I'd ever heard. On top of that, his subject matter is something so real, it's just so easy to connect to. He tells so often of life and love and lack in the gutter. Vivid and honest, the powerful swells and guts pull me out and force me to remark and become one with a righteous anger, satirically humorous self-deprecation, and the ever lingering stink of hope.

Washing dishes, I think I was that night after that night of cooking for the rich and annoying, Sarah calls to me from the newly appointed office. I had recently shown her the video of the press conference from youtube:



Good ole Tom.

She had been on the compy for a little while now, and she says to me, "Hey Zack, I think we can do this."

She's on Tom Waits' Glitter and Doom tour page, and is pointing without touching the screen of course, to the tour date for Birmingham Alabama. It's scheduled for Thursday, the only day in the week we both have off, sandwiched between two horrible closing shifts on Wednesday and Friday. We do some research, an 800 mile drive would take about 12 hours and roundtrip would cost about 260 bucks in gas. If we left right after work on Wednesday, and left right after the concert on Thursday, we could just barely make it back to work on time.

We looked at each other in startled amazement. A road trip the likes of which had never been seen was in the works. Having no money for EXTREMELY expensive tickets and lacking a vehicle that could drive in the rain were two of the issues I brought up. She brushed them off flatly, honestly not giving a shit when she said "I got this." She bought the tickets, and as simply as that, one of my deepest dreams came true.

Wednesday night we left, packing plenty of pbj's, lots of water, and soy nuts that we never got into. The idea was that I would take the night shifts, driving straight on till morning as long as I could while she slept. I did 418 miles before my head began to nod.

Noteworthy names of towns we passed:

Hillbilly Junction (WV of course)
Flatwoods (VA)
Julia Lew (KY)

Of course driving through the deep south, we saw plenty of depictions of the crucifix:



Rather frightening indeed. I exclaimed that you can kill at least 40 Jesus' on those crosses, but Jesi might have been the correct word.

A quick change in places, a long lingering stench of rotten eggs kept my rest fitful the remaining 4 hours to Birmingham. I still can't figure out what the heck that smell came from. 81 South, any ideas?

I woke as Sarah parked in a lot not 2 blocks from the venue. All day parking cost 1 dollar. We popped some vitamins, some tea extract pills, probably some midol, and a few of the Vivarin pills John gave me Wednesday night, possibly in apology for being a bastard. Thanks John :)

We had arrived at about 1pm, figuring we'd have plenty of time before the show to get something to eat and take in some of the sights at Birmingham, perhaps even, take a nice long nap. The nap unfortunately seemed out of the question as there were no parking garages and it was at least 90 degrees out: quite impossible for car snoozing. The best substitute for sleep is of course food, so we began to look for a place to eat.

Birmingham is a completely deserted ghost town. The few remaining businesses left in what is nothing more than a 5 mile radius of "downtown" consisted of nothing more than banks, a science center, mortgage broker shops, and "next day loan" centers. How can a city, how can a CAPITOL CITY not have a single place to eat? We asked one of the local bike riding pigs, and he suggested something homey, something local, something that reflects the culture and atmosphere of the people of the great city. He directed us to a shitty local bistro that was quite a bit out of the way. The served sandwiches, beer, and nothing else of which to speak. The floor was cement, the plaster walls were full of holes, and the potato salad had ham in it. FUCKING HAM IN POTATO SALAD! A technicolour yawn and half a beer later, I was back on the street with my girl, looking for somewhere, anywhere to take a nap.

Suddenly genius struck Sarah, "The Science Center! They have an Omnimax! We will sleep in the Omnimax!" A good idea it seemed, and we were desperate. Tickets to the next showing of "The Stupid Colorado River" (paraphrase) in hand, we needed to kill about an hour and a half before the snoozing could begin. Thus, we walked around and played in the science center. The most memorable part of the tour was a large fish tank labeled "Ocean Invertebrates" that was clearly filled with Ocean Vertebrates. Fish, you see? They have bones yes? Ah well.

Finally the Omnimax movie was to begin. We traversed the seating ledges and looked for a good place that was out of the way where we could coma for a bit. Drowsy, eyelids drooping, we settled into a fairly comfortable position in time to hear Robert Redford's huge bearded voice, seemingly emanating from within our own hearts, "The Colorado River is DYING and you ASSHOLES are to blame! Now watch this movie as penance!" I think the basic gyst of the movie was that we need to reverse global warming so that we can save the silt...or something like that. Sarah got to nod off for about 10 minutes or so, but I found it impossible to relax with the booming Redford (I kept expecting him to scream ZAMEES!!) and the blaring Dave Matthews soundtrack.

Still deadly tired and hungry from all the vom, we wanted to try to do the eating thing again. Off of a suggestion from the owner, we traveled uptown a couple of blocks and found "Mike's City Restaurant." I was immediately endeared by the clean walls and floors, the kept wait staff, and a little note on the menu that said "Talking on cell phones disturbs the making of meatloaf." I was treated to the best service I've ever had in my life. Fresh pesto encrusted trout with fried green tomatoes and sauteed sweet corn and onions was an absolute delight. So very rarely I actually get the opportunity to eat something I actually enjoy, Sarah was surprised by my apparent mournful facial expressions. She had the meatloaf (good), collard greens with andoulli sausage pepper sauce, and the best grits I've ever had in my life. I hurt my pocketbook, tipped heavily, and nearly cried. We were full, energized, and ready for the crescendo of the evening.

We wandered around further, and found a very cool bookstore strategically hidden on one of the main roads. Feel free to check it out at www.jimreedbooks.com. No Velikovsky anywhere, but I did pick up a neet picture book by Attenborough and a children's physiology book from 1887. We stayed there as long as we could.

Back down to Main Street, we took pictures and waited to see if Tom would come out of one of the trailers:











Unfortunately Tom didn't want to come out. Apparently he was snoozing and wasn't going to start the show until everybody was in the theatre. Course, that could have been a lie, but after waiting 45 minutes or so we were hot and tired, and took our seats.

Tom came on about a half hour late, and opened with some of the hits from Real Gone. I sat with eyes fixed, hands folded and gently rocking back and forth like an overexcited autistic. I couldn't help it, all first impressions made me think immediately of Denny. The way he walked, the way he raised his hands, the way he shook his fingers and frequently stomped on a very purposely dusty raised circular stage, the way he ducked under the spotlight as if trying to escape from the ending of every song made me think of how my best friend will look and act 30 odd years from now. I wish he could have been there.

The audience, I was amazed, was surprisingly polite to the old man. Very little of in between song yokel yelling went on, and half of everything he did got a standing ovation. He bellowed and stomped, sang through a megaphone for "Chocolate Jesus", played piano for his ballads, and detuned his beat up guitar more than once.

A few things that really stuck out for me: The jamfest for "Make it Rain" lasted at least 10 minutes and ended with Tom stretching out his arms and "Making it Rain" a shower of golden glitter upon himself. It was an hour and a half into the show, and I was worried that it was the finale. After all, I certainly wouldn't want to continue performing with glitter all over myself. But hey, that's Tom I guess. The show lasted an amazing three and a half hours. I admit to getting weepy over "Hold On". He also played a really interesting reggae version of "Black Market Baby."

Ten minutes of standing ovation, Mr. Waits returned with with an encore of "Singapore", which seemed to imply, gracefully, "Really now, you MUST say goodbye to me."

It's difficult to describe what I felt at any given moment of the concert. Sarah and I spend many beautiful moments together, particularly when his voice often cracked trying to hit some of the higher notes in "Innocent when you Dream." I think the most important thing that I took away with me was the feeling of my not needing to be there. Tom was there to do his thing, exactly the same as I'd imagine he'd be recording an album. He did not thrive off the crowd; it was almost as though we were simply noticed from time to time. Tom Waits wasn't there to perform, he was there to BE. I wasn't there to be a part of, or to share, I was there to listen and to experience along with him.

After picking up a tee shirt and some vinyl, all of the proceeds going to various charities, we made our way back to the car, and left the city. I drove over 500 miles stopping only for gas and energy drinks before Sarah had to take over for me somewhere in Ohio. We arrived back at the apartment with 2 hours to spare before work, and took a much needed nap.

I suppose it goes without saying that I had the best time ever. Memorable moments right up there with Black Sabbath playing "Fairies wear Boots" in a lightning storm, and Dennis and I at the REX for Type O Negative. Truly, it was an event I'll remember so long as I have a memory.