I went out to see Dana Cerick’s farewell to Nashville show last night at the Family Wash which was just an f-ing adventure the whole night. First, I’m following Todd K who has given me vague directions. I know we’re taking the interstate to Shelby Ave in East Nashville. Only when we get to the Shelby Ave exit, Todd is unable to get over into the exit lane. So I’m off the interstate in East Nashville and Todd is still going around the interstate loop. I remember his directions and figure I’ll just follow them and hope to see the Family Wash. I get to Eastland and drive for quite a while without seeing any Family Wash sign like he told me I would. I finally turn around and head back to see if I missed it. I pass Todd. I turn around again to follow him, but I can’t find him. I call and get the address and # of Family Wash and while I’m on the phone, I miss a call from Andy W. I call him and get directions. This whole situation took about 45 minutes.

Dana had just started her solo acoustic set when I got there. Several songs in, she played “Easy Street” which was weird. It’s odd hearing someone sing a song I wrote, especially a woman. And since my songs are written around my low voice and pretty flat delivery, it’s odd to hear someone with more of a vocal style sing one. And, since all the songs on the Crazy From the Heat EP (and most of my songs in general) are giant piss-takes, it’s odd to hear someone sing it with feeling.

Now, here’s where I get stupid. After her set, Dana asked me what I thought and I answered, “It was weird.” So now she’s probably pissed at me. I tried to explain to her that it was cool, just weird to hear my song that way. But it was like when your girlfriend asks you about an outfit and you pause a second before telling her it looks great. You’ve already fucked everything up.

(…it should also be noted that without Ben Slack’s melodic bass fills, “Easy Street” is a mere shadow of its recorded self…)

The Carters also played. I got to see Sam before he heads off to Europe to rock with GBV. Dean and I talked about doing some recording this week.

And then, on the way home, I got an f-ing ticket. For speeding. I was going 40 on West End which, evidently, is a 30mph zone. That, my friends, is what we in the ping-pong game call bullshit. I had no idea it was a 30. I’m sure no one else does either, so the cops set up the trap there in hopes of busting a few people for DUI. To top it off, I’d borrowed my mother’s car (since its windows go up and down) and I couldn’t find her current registration or insurance card. Uggh.

I woke up this morning and remembered I’d been in a bad mood when I got home but couldn’t remember why. Then about 20 minutes later I remembered the ticket. Dammit.

Of course, my friend Eric G will probably read this and think, “Small fry.” He gets tickets every few weeks and for really good reasons, like going 100 in a 55. He once had so many parking tickets that they were going to tow his car so Eric pleaded with the cop who agreed to let Eric follow him to the courthouse to pay all his fines. Eric ran into the cop on the way there.