083 Tales From The Hurricane

Hey, it's been rough trying to get online lately and tough to write in general, but i'll be home tomorrow night and after a short relaxing calm, i'll be able to get back to where i once belonged and hopefully catch up. I do have some hurricane related tales, but i need time to get all of my thoughts straight. Someone once told me that procrastination is the fear of rejection. Could the same be said for attempting to be a perfectionist when relaying a story? But then again, why and from whom should i fear rejection?

So, hey, it's a rambling blog but it's better than nothing and with most issues in my life, if i don't deal with them now then they just do not get dealt with. They slowly fade into the distance and only occasionally jab back into my conscious mind to let me know how disappointed they are. Why can't you follow through on anything, huh?

I'm in Springfield, MO. I'm in the van behind a coffee shop using their wi-fi. I am relaxed. Last Friday I was in Pensacola FL. And i was in an absolute panic. Let me explain. My tourmate, Jeff Hanson is a Wisconsiner at heart and so, just like many other misguided Wisconsiners, he has an unhealthy obsession with the Green Bay Packers. To give you an example, he's on the waiting list to have a chance to purchase season tickets at the Packers' home, Lambeau Field. He received his spot on the list when he was born. He hopes to get them by the time he's 50. I'm not fucking kidding. The waiting list is 45 years long.

But whatever. We're in Pensacola and we are desperately trying to find a sports bar so he can watch the pre-season Packers game. It's not going so well in town, but I know for a fact that there is a strip of bars and hotels in Gulf Breeze, a beachside community that for all intents & purposes is on a barrier island over a large bridge from Pensacola proper. I recommend we go there. When you get to the bridge, there is a sign that reads "long bridge ahead, check fuel gauges." I look down and see that we are on E. Oh great. We get on the bridge and cross our fingers. I'll beeline to the first gas station i see on the other side. And I do. Although, we are quick to notice that there is a man putting shopping bags over the pumps. What is this? Are they out of order or something? We go to the next station and bags are already in place. It is all making grim sense now. The hurricane. Everyone fueled up and these stations are out of gas. Panic sets in when we realize that we need to cross even more fingers and hope that the fumes of the tank will carry us back over the bridge to the mainland.

There was a scary thought. Out of gas. On an island in the Gulf of Mexico. Staring down a level 5 hurricane.

Thankfully we made it over and stopped at the first station we came to and as you can imagine it was a madhouse. We waited in line for 20 minutes, but we made it. Our next show was in Baton Rouge.

On the way there, given the hysteria that had already gripped Gulf Breeze, we seriously doubted there would even be a show. As we passed through Mobile, Gulfport, Biloxi.... we were tuned to a New Orleans AM station for all of the recent developments. As we passed Slidell, we heard they had put Contra Flow into action whereupon all lanes of the Interstate flow away from the city to ease the evacuating traffic. We also found out that at the exit for Hammond off of I-12 we would be forced to go north into Mississippi aka away from our destination of Baton Rouge...

so... i busted out old Rand McNally and found an alternate route. A crazy two lane backroad and anywhere we could stop for gas on the way we did, hoping to not replay the Gulf Breeze scene. We arrived at The Darkroom in Baton Rouge and the show was still going on. There weren’t too many in attendance and the promoter blamed the hurricane. I understood. Jeff and I decided to get a move on fast towards our next show, Houston. Our plan was to drive a few hours and then get a hotel room. We merged onto I-10 and it was very apparent that there would be no stopping anywhere. The interstate was bumper to bumper traffic at 11pm. Every rest stop on the way was a madhouse. Every gas station and hotel was a madhouse. Cars parked everywhere, families with kids and pets just hanging around. With nowhere to go. Just driving... On the radio they said there were no hotel rooms available in the entire state of Louisiana. Someone called in to say that they had travelled all the way to Chattanooga, TN before they could find vacancy.

The usual 3 hour drive to Houston took 6 hours. Even way into Texas, a good 200 miles from New Orleans, there was still steady traffic. Like rush hour, but at 4 am. Luckily, we headed to our pal Ryan’s place and settled in.

Fast forward to last night. In Memphis. Our hotel parking lot was filled with refugees. Families cooking on a grill. Dogs and kids everywhere. A lot of the kids were crying, obviously extremely confused. And the parents just couldn’t really say anything. I suppose they are the lucky ones. Here they are at a Memphis hotel and even though they are running out of money from the price of the room not to mention the outrageous price of gas, it has the feeling of some sort of grim party. People drinking, smiling, laughing. It felt like that luncheon after the funeral. Everyone is eating & talking up a storm but in the back of their minds is the lost loved one that brought them together here. Except in the case of the motel 6 lot, the lost loved one is their home, their city.

In Memphis, at least, there are open arms. I saw flyers that advertised free meals for refugees. Arkansas’ schools are accepting children already and giving them free breakfast and lunch. And of course, the Astrodome in Houston has been opened as a shelter... They are the lucky ones.

The shows are never really that great but i always always love going to New Orleans. It’s always an experience wherever the night takes me. Bourbon Street, some seedy bar, a casino. I remember the first time i played there. In a house. A living room. With Castor. During our set, I walked into the kitchen and sang that part from Hugs From Boys while i was in there. I’d assume that whole neighborhood is gone or severly damaged beyond recognition.

And it is infuriating to me that people are dying because no one is coming to help. And whatever help came did not come fast enough, hence the desperation. The shootings. It’s not like they’re trying to take out rescue workers. They are trying to get help. I bet they are just shooting in the air to get the rescuers attention. Hey, there are people dead or dying in here. Come save us. But they’re not coming back. And another night passes.

***

This is the last night of tour and i can’t helped but be relieved because the gas prices alone are enough to call it all off. In fact, I am not going out west in October as originally planned until at least January and I may just fly there. Ol Dugan the van eats up gas like no other vehicle. Chews it up, spits it out and smiles.

I have more to talk about but the show’s about to start and I have to get this thang posted. So, um, i’ll keep you posted.

Remind me to tell you a story about Fats Domino. Some other time...