Lebowskifest

I met The Dude. The dude that Jeff Bridges plays in the Big Lebowski. The real dude. He’s a good fellow. He displayed his stage banter with the mayor of Louisville, Jerry Abramson, as the dude would do. Put a politician next to The Dude and you’re getting your money’s worth ($20, unless you’re a child, and then you get in free to a rated R show and I said poo poo words during my set). The key to the city will go a long way. Believe you me. And the Dude got it. A key to the city of Louisville.
I have a key to the City of Denton. Well, its not a real key. When you try to open the city with it, mistakes fall out like an overstuffed closet full of ping-pong balls with “bad choice” written on each. Somewhere, there’s a room with a bunch of bad balls . Ha Ha. Balls.
It was hot. Real hot. Yet, I didn’t pass out on stage. And my accordion’s wax didn’t melt. And I didn’t open any ball closets allowing balls to flood the stage, bouncing and unruly, with two college kids trying to get PE credit by hitting them off the stage while I try to gather them and put them back in the trunk. Enough about balls.
I played Hocus Pocus by Focus with the Giants again. Afterwards, we ran on the bus and Linnell gave me the hardest high-five that no one has ever seen. So intense was the buildup that I could feel the sincerity.
They asked me to ride with them to Philly do the encore at Penn’s Landing but I couldn’t get Avis or Hotwire to let me turn the car in at a Louisville location. Both Avis and Hotwire couldn’t make a decision to take more money. So, I had to take the car back to Columbus and miss out. Oh well.
Southwest charged me for checking my keyboard. I think they’re starting to date American. I tell you: Jet Blue wants your business and won’t nickel and dime you once you’re there. They just don’t fly enough places.
There was a cowboy on my plane. Real Texas cowboy: always had the hat on, lacer boots, jeans pressed with the crease, and a button-down with a Nascar number above the pocket. The real deal. When we landed, he shouted a “Whoo hoo. Never been to New York City!” Some Long Islanders behind him laughed and began singing “New York, New York” and his ladyfriend, a hot forty-something, looked a little embarassed. The cowboy saved her embarassment by pinching her under the ass as a foretelling of things to come. I’d swear he had Big and Rich songs playing in his head.
The MacArthur airport has a shuttle service to take you to the train. Its $5. The driver was excited about my piano. He played trombone with an opera in Argentina and had just started playing piano. We talked shop and I gave him a cd.
I had a nice train ride home and a nice mini-tour.