Gordon Lightfoot - Alabama Theatre

That evening found me pondering a question men have pondered for many years: Was it really worth two months' salary?

I have to be honest. It didn't seem likely. To put it in practical terms, that's a bunch of rounds of golf. Not to mention several beach trips. No matter how much you love someone or something -- and I do -- it just seemed like too much to spend.

You know, for a pair of football tickets.

But this was THE game. Bama. LSU. National Championship. In New Orleans. (Ironically, the site of the last time I proposed to a girl. Don't worry, I didn't know her name.) So I continued to look desperately for a better deal. There's this guy, Craig Slist (weird name, I know), who sells all kinds of stuff online. I was browsing his site when I saw it:

"Gordon Lightfoot - Alabama Theatre - January 15th"

What? Could it be? Was GLight coming this close? How could I not have heard about it?

It could. He was. And I had not. Perhaps I'm not as "in the loop" as I think? Nonetheless, I was going. (And yes, I'm just now writing about a concert I attended more than two months ago.)

This would be my first visit to the Alabama Theatre, located in Birmingham. Having looked up some info online, I found it was built in 1927. Not knowing anything about architectural styles, I think I can best describe the theatre like this: It looked like what I imagine the theatre where Lincoln was shot probably looked like.

Before the show started, several people were taking pictures of the inside of the theatre. It had a classy feel to it. To wit, there was one section of seats called a "dress circle," which I will confess I was afraid to purchase tickets in because I thought maybe the people who sat there were required to wear formal dress. I mean, would my Argyle be classy enough?

So we sat on the floor. Row 13. Even though I only purchased tickets the day before the show. I found that to be a little sad.

There was no opening act, which I have come to prefer in my late summer years as it has gotten difficult to sit for two hours without becoming stiff. Gordon took the stage with a simple four-piece band, and launched right into the set.

The first thing you notice is the voice isn't as strong. I suppose time and health issues have taken their toll. I remember reading he had been in a coma for six weeks some years back after suffering a ruptured abdominal aneurysm. And then five or six years ago, he had a light stroke.

He struggled at times with the high notes, and you had to strain to hear in a few places. But in a way, it worked to make the show more intimate. A small, half-filled venue. The audience quiet and focused on every word. All except for one (hopefully) drunken female who continually shouted in her native Southern tongue, "Yeeeaaah baybeeee!" and also yelled for "Freebird" once.

Lightfoot never missed a single lyric that I could tell, as he sang probably 20 to 25 songs from his abundant catalog. There were songs I'd forgotten about, such as "Early Mornin' Rain" and "Ribbons Of Darkness," which was a big hit for Marty Robbins. And of course, he did the expected favorites, "Rainy Day People," "Carefree Highway," and the still-haunting "Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald."

You couldn't close your eyes and pretend it was forty years ago. You couldn't. But you could open your eyes and appreciate the moment, and what you were experiencing. A prolific and phenomenal songwriter, and gifted storyteller, doing what he's done seemingly forever. And I'll always be thankful I had the opportunity to be there for it.

When he sang "Song For A Winter's Night," I thought of all the thousands of winter nights that song must have been listened to by some lonely soul somewhere. And not just listened to, but felt.

And in Bone-is-a-Wikipedia-nerd news, I'd read that Gordon's daughter had asked him to change a line in "If You Could Read My Mind" from "The feelings that you lack" to "The feelings that we lack." So I was curious to see if he still made that change. He did.

I also hearkened back to the first time I heard that song. In the car. At night. Far from home. And I remember wishing it wouldn't end.

That was the night I discovered Gordon Lightfoot. Back then, the thought of ever seeing him in concert wasn't even a possibility I considered. But maybe I was always meant to. It's funny how things like that work out sometimes.

As for the football game, I opted to save my money and watch it on TV. Guess I'll have to come up with something else to spend that two months' salary on.

What, I have no idea.

"Once upon a time, once upon a day, when I was in my prime, once along the way. If you want to know an answer, I can't turn your life around. For I am just a painter passing through the underground..."

I got ninety-nine blog ideas, but Groundhog Day ain't one

(That title made a lot more sense yesterday.  Trust me.)

Some people do a New Year's post on the last day of the year.  Some wait until the first day of the new year.  But I, I have taken the road less traveled by -- and by less traveled by, I mean probably not traveled by at all.  For I have chosen this early February spring day for my obligatory New Year's post.

I rang in the new year at Axl's.  The night was replete with old school Nelly, multiple complaints from the neighbor, and chopping wood.  The latter is not a euphemism.  Oh, how I wish it were.

Axl had recently reconnected with a high school classmate of ours, and she was on hand for the chopping of the wood, er... party.  At some point, Axl disappeared upstairs, returning a few minutes later with several of his high school yearbooks -- En Retrospect, they were always titled.  I believe it's Latin, meaning "to commiserate over wasted years."  And so the three of us spent entirely too much time doing just that.

At first it was interesting, as we discussed what we remembered about each other.  "I remember Bone always used to sit in the back of the class.  And you were always drawing or writing something."  That was news to me, as I didn't realize I was writing, even then.  And after all, surely there is some value to knowing how others view you.

But then it got to be a bit much.  "Even though H won Most Likely To Succeed, I voted for you."  "I still think you're the most likely to succeed, Bone."

See, I don't need to hear that.  What good does that do me?  For me, New Year's isn't about remembering and learning from past mistakes or thinking about the ways you can do better, it's all about forgetting.  Actually, that's not just New Year's, that's kinda how I view every day: I don't want to think too much about the past, and I sure don't want to ponder the future.

Beyond that, it was a bit of a backwards year for me.  The Januarys arrived in November.  And December was just a lot of days.  I had six weeks of the blahs.  For the first time in my life, I found myself dreading Christmas.  And usually, I'm Mister Christmas.  No, really, I actually had someone say to me, "What's wrong with you?  You're usually Mister Christmas."  Although I'm not sure how official any of these titles really are.

Nothing very devastating happened.  I was just going through some things, stuff was weighing on my mind, and that definitely contributed to a lack of blogging.  But then January was nothing like itself.  There was another Bama national championship to celebrate, and re-watch multiple times.  I saw Gordon Lightfoot in concert.  And the weather has felt more like April. 

So a most belated Happy New Year to you.  And there's reason to believe, maybe this year...



"I guess the winter makes you laugh a little slower, makes you talk a little lower, about the things you could not show her..."

This could be you (if you weren't famous)

Sometimes I like to imagine celebrities are watching my life and thinking, "This would be me if I weren't famous."

After all, that's pretty much what this blog is -- a reality show in writing.  I remember back when we first began this, I did an interview with the local paper about blogging.  No, really, I did!  Why does no one ever believe me anymore when I tell that story?  I thought the girl who wrote the article might have had a crush on me.  Turns out it was more of a crush on my blog.  

Anyhow, about the only quote I can remember from that interview seven years ago is, "It's kinda like having your own Nick & Jessica show.  Except it's just Nick."  (You may remember Newlyweds: Nick & Jessica?  Even though that's been about one thousand, two hundred and eighty-seven reality shows ago.)

I like to think reading about my life gives celebrities that little extra motivation they need to stay famous.  Take yesterday for example, I came home from work and dozed off while watching General Hospital.  Then I woke up and had two bowls of Cocoa Pebbles.

But that was nothing compared to today.  Today was a big day for me.

First, it's Gordon Lightfoot's birthday.  I don't have to tell you how big a fan I am of Gordon Lightfoot.  And have been ever since I discovered his music, way back a couple of years ago.  I celebrated by tweeting him a birthday message, even though I found no evidence whatsoever that he's even on Twitter.

Secondly, today is also Guinness World Records Day.  I don't have to tell you how badly I want to make it into the Guinness Book Of World Records.  Because I have already told you.  Several times.  It's one of my two main life goals.

To me, 95% of getting into the Guinness Book is finding the perfect record to break.  The rest is easy.  That's why I spend such an enormous amount of time pondering it.  I believe life is best lived in the mind.

As I was reading about the various world record attempts that would be going on around the globe, one in particular jumped out at me: The largest gathering of ABBA impersonators.

What?!?!

I didn't even know there were any ABBA impersonators!  They must be like the Swedish Elvis! 

So I've spent the day sharing my ABBA love with friends, downloading some of their songs I didn't have, and searching (in vain) for a way to make that backwards B appear on the screen.

And lastly, completing the trifecta of my big day, I downloaded a new app for my Blackberry.  I kept hearing all about this game Angry Birds, therefore I decided I would see what all the fuss was about.  Except apparently Angry Birds isn't available for the Torch, at least not that I could find.  So instead, I get to play a game called Angry Farm. It's similar to Angry Birds, but... not quite.

It's kinda like when you were a kid and you wanted a Barbie, but your parents said they couldn't afford one, so you got a Cindy doll instead, for like $1.99.  Then when the other kids came over and brought their Barbies, they looked at your doll and were like, "Who is that?"  Hypothetically, I mean.

Thus concludes my big day.

Now, imagine with me if you will... Somewhere in sun-drenched Celebrityville tomorrow, in between filming another episode of Law & Order: Special Victims Unit and the new season of Ice Loves Coco, Ice-T will take a break to check his Google reader on his iPad and see that I've posted a new blog entry. 

As he reads about my life, he can only shudder and shake his head while thinking, "If I weren't famous, this.... this would be me."  Look closer and you'll see Ice's newest ink is a tatt of my blog URL, underneath the words "Stay Famous."

Later in the day, he'll curse me a little when he realizes he's got "Dancing Queen" stuck in his head.

*pound pound peace*  You're welcome, Ice.

"You are the dancing queen, young and sweet, only seventeen.  Dancing queen, feel the beat from the tambourine..."

'Bout a ghost from a wishing well

It happened one night near summer's end. We were driving across some state somewhere. I don't remember where we had been or where we were going, which by the way is a pretty good rule of thumb for my entire life. I had been making good, some might say excessive, use of the seek button, and had settled for a moment on a station that was playing some older, classic-type country music.

A song came on that I didn't recognize, but couldn't turn away from. It was one of those songs you always seem to hear at night while driving and you wish it wouldn't end. I listened intently to the haunting lyrics and rich baritone, thinking I would eventually recognize the voice, but never did. So I made a mental note of a couple of lines intending to Google the lyrics later, but never did.

Fast forward to about a month ago. I was lying on the couch watching TV late one night, fighting sleep as I often do on weekends because sleep means Monday is one day closer. Around 1 or 2 in the morning I stopped on this infomercial for some songs of the seventies collection, hosted by two guys from that group that sang "A Horse With No Name."

To be honest, I'd always considered the seventies one of the weaker decades musically. But they were advertising some pretty good stuff -- Jim Croce, James Taylor, Paul Simon. I was proud of myself. I didn't call nor go online to order the entire collection. I like to think that shows maturity.

Then Sweet-Sister-Golden-Hair-Surprise they played it! The song I'd heard while traversing the countryside one night all those weeks ago. It was called, "If You Could Read My Mind."

And that's the story of how I discovered Gordon Lightfoot at 71.

He turns 72 today. Happy birthday, G-Light.



"Turnin' back the pages to the times I love best. I wonder if she'll ever do the same. Now the thing that I call livin' is just bein' satisfied with knowin' I got no one left to blame..."