the official blog of aric s. queen
I’d been trying to be such a good camper.
Sitting down to pee.
Not touching myself.
Etc.
So, when I saw the keys still in the ignition of the Jeep being towed by the bus, I thought:
‘Wouldn’t that be thoughtful if I took them out? Gosh, someone could have stolen this!’
What I didn’t know is that taking the key out locked the front wheels.
We wouldn’t find out until 70 miles later.
When you consider both the mustache debacle and the fact that I was given a 9mm by my brother with the Greyhound bus I was to board en route to Tim & Robin in Oklahoma City, you can imagine my mindset.
I was sneaking on a gun.
I had a dyed face.
I was on a mode of transportation that suited neither.
Funny how on the previous rides, they were the freaks.
Well, as it turned out, there is no security check [you’d think a recent minor beheading might cause them to step it up just a tad] and I made it there safely. Although, I’m not sure if the Cherokee lit on moonshine has gotten off yet – but that’s neither here nor there.
We left the next morning and caved to the ‘road trip must’ of The Big Texan Steakhouse in Amarillo – home of the 72oz free piece of meat. Now, I can eat. I’m no Collin Crowell, but it’s been a good 18-pound gain since January. I was willing. I was previously willing, until the 5’10’’ Samoan hung his head and made his way off of the stage they put you on to accomplish said task – complete with a big ass red clock above you. Did they mention that you also had to consume a salad, bread roll, veggies and desert to not pay? Needless to say, I went with a steak 1/5 of that size and still had some left over for our daily breakfast burritos.
It is something you should do though – riding there in the free limo, complete with horns on the front, stopping on the way to the Cadillac Graveyard, complete with a fantastic story:
Sometime, I’m guessing the 70’s, an oil tycoon walked into a Cadillac dealership wearing his working clothes. No one helped him. He got so annoyed he walked into the manager’s office and told him that he wanted to buy all the cars on the showroom store…with cash. He had them all delivered to the side of the road on some property he owned and had them buried ass-up. This became such a landmark; they later had to move them away from the highway as they were causing traffic pileups.
This is Americano at it’s best. Route 66 personified. I love it. Somewhere out there, a giant ball of string still waits as does that insane dinosaur that PeeWee made out with Simone…and I want to see it. I learned an important lesson a while back in India about giving into my inner-tourist and it’s been so much better ever since.
New Mexico was next – and I really hope there’s some kitch. In a very non-ironic way.
I have a grey-ing mustache.
I’m 32 and only have a few grey hairs on my head, but loads on my face.
I decided to do something about it.
Wal-Mart provided me the Just For Men – Beard and Mustache treatment which I applied with so much vigor, you’d question my kindergarten teacher’s inability to lecture us on strategic crayoning. The small note at the bottom of the instructions mentioned that if I had a lot of grey, a second coat might be needed.
So I put a second coat on top of the first one.
It wasn’t until 7-8 minutes after (the recommended time is 5) that I began to realize that this treatment is, in face, dye.
I also then realized that I had not been neat.
Which left me with a dyed face.
I was faced with two options:
1. Be the guy who ate his lunch in front of Otis Redding’s Ranch
2. Be that guy who ate his lunch in front of Otis Redding’s Ranch
A battle of my lack of persistence vs. my love for Mr. Pitiful. In all honesty, I would have been happy to leave a note of thanks in the oversized mailbox and spend a few seconds looking out over the 300 acres of property he had purchased a few years before that fateful plan crash, but….
Rumors had it that his wife and kids still lived here, but no one answered the guest house knock out front and the large sign with even larger letters advised me not to jump the fence.
Of course I was dejected – his gravestone was 300 yards away and all I wanted to do was take a minute of silent appreciation.
But no one was home.
‘We can have lunch’ said Robin as she pulled out the left-over Mexican from the tequila-soaked previous evening with my most-entertaining Uncle.
Now, had I been in a car and sat quietly eating a sandwich, it might have been strange – but we were in the bus. A big bus that had navigated the backwood streets of the heart of Georgia to a town with no sign letting you know you were there. A but that made it look like we were somebody.
Yes. Fuck it – if I can’t be the guy who saw his grave, I’d be the guy who dined in front of his house.
‘Nice Harley’ Tim said, finishing his beer.
It was a nice Harley. It was also the first car that had passed us in 30 minutes. A big black man on a big silver Harley. A big black Harley-driving black man who looked a lot like the man whose home we were in front of.
‘That has to be his son’ said Robin.
I ran out barefoot. I’m pretty sure I waved and most certainly sure he smiled.
I’m sorry about the big rig parked in front of the house/I’m a massive fan/I just wanted to pay my respects/I’m sorry about something/Thank you/I don’t know what to say.
I’m pretty sure I said all of that, the majority of, or a casserole of those sentences. I remember his name was Dexter. Redding. He was nice and had a kind laugh. We traded email addresses and he vroom-vroomed away on a bike bought with soul.
‘I just shook the hand of Otis Redding’s son’, was my boarding announcement.
Robin wasn’t paying attention - ‘Who’s that in the Mercedes?’
I ran out barefoot and shook the hand of Karla. Redding. She had more faith in people learning about gospel music than I did although I don’t remember the question. ‘I knew y’all had to be Lost or Big Fan’s’ she joked.
Lost.
Or a Big Fan.
A whole lot of both…
but thanks for letting me have a sandwich here.
the window screen wasn’t broken, I know it because I saw the little thingy fall out. it would have probably snapped right back into place, but something about this porch, this setting made me default back to his son. three decades of life-with-windows and I could have figured it out. I could have looked it up online. but I immediately told myself to ‘wait ’till he gets home – dad will know how to fix it’. I laughed at my laziness and then smiled at my instincts. I hope that I never get to a place in life where I’m turning first to myself – regardless of how many times I’d been there before.
-
By now, you know Scott. He’s a brother, wayyy past that ‘friend’ stuff. He was the one who took all the heat when the police came after me in China. He’s also the one who produced the majority of my stuff post-ChinesePod. He talked me down from the ledge that was life-in-Shanghai on a daily basis. He’s the most genuine and talented person you could meet – and I’ve met a lot of genuine and talented people. I could go on and on and have on occasion, but this isn’t about me.
It’s about USA Today reviewing his first game score.
Won’t be the last – this man has found his calling.
And Mevo and parents Red Rocket have found a goldmine.
Proud of you, Neighbor.
It was a good one
same before bed
as we did with the sun
3 corners of exercise
and a Miss that didn’t make me sad.
the salsa is different / as is the steak
but king’s keep being mentioned
nuts meet the dark, as mint and lactose shook
and both wash down the final piece
rocks around the fire
thanks for what you did
Tim tell it again, the 3’s
well, actually she asked me
let’s go back and let’s sit down
laughs were still there
but this was more about grace
she left him, but that stays here
you stole a five, you bastard
and I said it before meeting you
but it’s at least one more episode
before these kick in.
There were times when the ‘island mentality’ got on our nerves. Don’t get me wrong, in Europe, I can understand it – there are cafes to smoke and cigarettes to relax in, but after 2 months in The Keys, we were ready for a little bit more…
Drive.
And drive we did – one last look at Gene Hackman’s island. The hospital that Tim became the spokesperson for. Pizza shacks and hardware stores that only carried ‘them UBS cords’ for computers. Don’t get me wrong, it was fun – living on the beach, fresh seafood we grilled 10 feet away from the fridge where the local beer nudged the condiments they were grouped with. Tan in February and our favorite local bar with it’s popular game of ‘try to throw the circle on the nail’ – we’d never listened to any Jimmy Buffet album in our lives, but could quote you all his lyrics.
It was time to go.
Months ago, we had been given a coupon for a free night’s stay in an RV park 5 hours north of Miami and when your driver doesn’t have a good foot to his name, a mid-way point sounded good – but when traffic is backed up 3 miles and a helicopter hovers above looking forever stole the DVD player sat next to the 3 Police cars, you suddenly have to ask yourself why coupons were given out.
As it turned out, it was one of the nicest parks anyone had ever been to (and keep in mind, Tim and Robin have been doing this for a few years). In true Florida fashion, there were a few lakes, and a few more signs to not let your dog run free, as the gators possessed a little bit more get-up-and-go then the patrons who we parked next to – one of which came over to us and asked if we’d want to have a few afternoon drinks at theirs. Now, while it might not come as a shock that there are actually more millionaires driving these rigs than sitting next to you in the first-class cabin on your next flight, it should be mentioned that rarely do we find ourselves partying with this demographic. But something about this lady’s invite was different. She was one of those ‘backintheday’-ers; tall, blonde, confident.
We sat and were introduced to her husband. He had the accent of a supporting-character in a Tennesse Williams play, every word stepping on the heels of the next – with no apparent hurry. The more drinks he had, the more he seemed to know the words to the old time country music station providing the background. At some point one of us – I’m not sure who – stated the obvious: this man liked his country music.
‘Oh, he’s produced about half of these people’ said his wife.
He had.
In fact, we were sitting next to a legend. Oak Ridge Boys. Jerry Lee Lewis. The man who took produced Seger’s ‘Like A Rock’ and then took it to Chevy. Producer of the Year.
We spent the rest of the evening asking slurring questions and forgetting answers – some of which I taped and will play on the show. We would a week or so later end up in Memphis and treated like royalty by people who owned jets – just for knowing him.
All this from a coupon.
so, I got a case of the blues. again.
sure, a lot of it has to do with the below post, but there’s a few more things adding to that cyan, magenta and yellow running together in my head – but here’s the kicker: I hate admitting that.
scroll through one page on this blog and then ask me what reasons do I have to be down. I live one of the most semi-charmed lives I know so when I’m going through something, I come down on myself even harder for it which makes for a whole slew of things to deal with.
I’ll save you the details.
here’s a few other things goin’ on:
the first official ‘rough sundays’ show is done. listening to it right now. hopefully will have some cash in soon* to pay for the server and we’ll be up and running. it’s…decent. after the pilot, I found 1000 things wrong and now I can only find 862, so…small victories.
we’re in a place called LaBelle, Florida – nice campground. we fish. and read. and hang out with our neighbor, who’s kind of a big deal. in a few days, we’ll head up through Georgia, where Tim & Robin have agreed to let me run around Otis Redding’s Ranch before we head over to Tennesse for a week before heading back to our roots thar in Oklahoma.
chuck klosterman is officially a literary god. pick this up and you’ll buy the rest.
robin played this guy tonight – who’ll you’ll know from films, but maybe didn’t know how accomplished he was. I didn’t.
haven’t smoked in 6 days. might be why I’m PMS’ing.
and this might be a good idea for all.
ugh.
*one cause for the blues. my paranoia, probably**.
** it was my paranoia – sorted.
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