Back at my sweet home in Alabama

June 08, 2008

Debbie Ingram

Oh my gosh… did we sleep late today. 8 o’clock!

Got packed up and rode around, talked to some cleanup people—the moms (mostly) of Enterprise High School basketball players—who did the deed to raise funds for the basketball program. There was trash a plenty—mostly beer cans and water bottles, but not near as bad as you might think.

We took our time riding around and made as much noise as we could going back to our little spot in the woods on the corner of the campgrounds. It is payback, you understand. You were loud LAST night, now it’s our turn. Most of the folks already out or packing up at 9 were, uh, us older fans. The kids hung in, including the two in the tent that snuck in right by our trailer hitch sometime Friday night. I can’t recall where they were from. A 10 license plate and an Auburn shirt.

Finally had to rouse them. Gotta go!!

Headed straight to Ozark on Highway 27. What a great motorcycle ridin’ road. No traffic at all. Went straight to Inland and dumped the .... you know. Think of that movie, was it Christmas Vacation with Randy Quaid where he dumped the _____er in the city drain. Well, the husband wasn’t in his robe, but the Wards be lookin’ rough this morning.

The dirty deed done, we pulled into Braxton Bend in Dothan a little after 10:30 and started unloading. Packing up is not fun. Unpacking is less so.

The new kitty, Chloe, was happy to see us. Her pooper needed dumping too….. and things looked pretty much like we left them. Husband is busy with all kinds of outside tasks. I’ve done a load of wash, but had to mow under the clothes line before I could get to it.

Yeah, didn’t expect all that rain while we were gone. NOT!  I know, who hangs clothes out anymore? Well, I do. I am sure most neighborhoods, including mine, prohibit it, but show me some green. I am preserving electricity. Today, only, I worship the sun which I have spent three days cursing, as my tank tops and underwear flap in the breeze. BREEZE?! That’s humidity.

So I get outside to the mower and what happens? I get in fire ants. I go the whole weekend in Ethiopia without a bite and in my own back yard I am attacked like a small dog. In my own back yard.

Alright. This party is over. Hittin’ the oh-my-god-how-wonderful-is-this showers. Then, I go to work and type obituaries. Somebody remind me how much I like doing this, please. Today, I need reminding.

Cya

Tid-bits overheard or told

Debbie Ingram

I lay in bed last night with thoughts of the day…thoughts of the weekend running through my mind. The mind was keeping the body awake. The body, which screamed,“Let me go! Just let me go.“

People are funny. Intoxicated and otherwise. The things we complain about—hey, I know I mean me too—things that bother us. I have often found it is the little aggravations.

How many times over the last few months have I started a sentence to the husband, “You know, it really bothers me when you ....“

His answer: “Why don’t you make a list of the things that don’t bother you. That would be easier.“

I couldn’t think of any. It has become a standing joke between us, but the husband, who’s name is Mark, is actually a pretty good guy. And he has been a good sport about all this blogging stuff. Me picking on him, beating him up as he calls it. I admit it. I have been harsh. There’s love between the lines. I assure you.

“Pretty good?“ he reads over my shoulder. “A pretty good guy?“

OK, we don’t wanna go overboard.

“Honey,“ I explain. “I can’t make you sound that good or I’ll be fighting off the rival women.“

These seems to satisfy him.

Wanted to share a few tid-bits with you.

I am always amazed at the things people will tell a newspaper reporter. I was interviewing folks about how much money they spent on the weekend and one guy from Florida calculated thus and such:

“Sixty dollars for gas, $120 for a ticket ....,“ he is counting on his fingers .... “Fifty dollars for beer, $120 for pot, $50 for food ....“

Wait. Did he say pot?

I look at his fellow campers who are from all over. Cousins and the cousin’s girlfriend from Albeeny.

“Uh, he’s not with us,“ they say by way of explanation. “We just met him.“

“He just walked up before you did,“ the cousin offers.

“We don’t know him.“

There were, I heard, about 18 arrests for drugs. I smelled a little weed on occasion as I passed through the Alternative Stage crowd.

Last night during the Bocephus show .... I just have to wonder what the two guys behind us will tell their friends who couldn’t come. I assure you, their recollections are clouded. One dude kept calling for his mother and his favorite word of the night was the F bomb. Even when Hank was talking, he F-ed this and F-ed that.

There was an injury. “My F-in’ toe! My F-in’ toe! It’s broke!“

As the night drug on, he leaned over to the girl in the bunch, seated quietly in a chair and said sternly:

“You gotta find you F-in’ sister-in-law. We got two beers left! Two!“

He held up a peace sign, then changed it to an 11.

“Two!“ he persisted.

No response.

“Hank! Woooooo!“

Hank Jr. was phenomenol. He laughed and smiled and cut up and sang and sang and sang. He looked like he was having the time of his life. And why not, this is his sweet home Alabama, too.

OK, the Wards are packed up as best we can—can’t hook up the camper with tents in the way—and we are headin’ up to the action to see what’s going on… if there is clean-up or pack up, and maybe I can get a BamaJam shirt. Unfortunately, I didn’t see any tank tops. I like to collect these over T-shirts. I won’t wear a T. But the tanks I love….. Maybe in brown. Chocolate brown.

Cya when I get back.

Too tired to talk

June 07, 2008

Debbie Ingram

Hank Jr. rocks.

Hank Jr. and his bad, bad ways ... R-O-C-K-S!

It’s midnight. He played a long set. About an hour and a half. Started early. Big crowd. Sleepy and tired.

Hank did say he is playing 20 shows this year. This was number 18. Said he can play where he wants to. His people give him a list and he checks off where he will play.

“I wanted to be in Enterprise, Alabama!“ he screams to the delight of the crowd. “I don’t wanna go to Cleveland!“

He played some Johnny Cash, Jerry Lee Lewis and Waylon Jennings too. He also gave shout outs to Banks, Alabama, and Troy University girls. We had a few other young ladies down front giving shout outs of their own too. The video cameras caught their flashes and flashed it on the big screen.

Lots of traffic…. Just got a text from Peggy. Her and the hubby are headed back to Dothan. There’s a road block at Highway 27 and Shell Field Road. State troopers had two handcuffed. Text your driving and drinking friends. Tell ‘em to stay put or find a driver…. There’s avoiding jail and then there’s saving lives.

Goodnight, rowdy friends. We are settling down .... for the night.

Cya

Wow ...  Lynyrd Skynyrd

Whitney McHugh

Wow.

Is that an appropriate response for the Lynyrd Skynyrd performance me and 100,000 of my closest new friends just saw?

It hardly begins to explain what I cannot.

I leaned over during the show and told the husband if Ronnie Van Zant’s little brother had asked us to go to Washington and demand changes, we would have. Had he asked us to go to Saudi Arabia and demand more oil, we would have. Vote independent? Sure. He had that much of a grip on this crowd.

We stood ready. I told the husband I was sure I wanted a rebel flag in the front yard now. I was sure of it, I tell you.

LS put on an outstanding hour-and-a-half show that was shoulder to shoulder. The crowd went wild and sang along with “Sweet Home Alabama,” “Tuesday’s Gone,” and “Simple Man,” which the band dedicated to the troops.

A half dozen rebel flags flapped in the breeze as Van Zant took a big flag on stage and wrapped his microphone stand with it. I am telling ya, it was a Southern moment of pride, with cigarette lighters glowing in the dark.

For a moment, I was back in the ‘70s doing those things we did in the ‘70s and with little regrets or apologies. We were young again and looking for a good time. For that, we thank the band.

But it was the band who thanked us, the fans. “Thanks for keeping the music alive all these years!” Van Zant said.

LS is one of those great, classic Southern rock bands that has transcended generational lines. The husband and I commented on the number of young people in the crowd. Twenty-something year olds who were not alive for the original Skynyrd, yet they have kept the music alive.

My teenaged daughter is always amazed when I know a song she knows. Then I tell her that band was around back then or the song is a remake. As teens are prone to do, she argues the point.

Back to the present: The band left the stage at 9 and came back in a flash for what ended up being a 30-minute encore of “Free Bird.” The song turned into a memorial for former band members who died 30 years ago in a plane crash in Mississippi.

People are moved. Having a great time and getting’ ready for Hank.

Wish you were here jamin’ with us!!

It must be the heat….

Debbie Ingram

OK, I know that last blog entry probably made me sound like a dang lunatic.

As I like to put it, I am passionate about my work. The husband often thinks I am a little bit whacked.

Anyway, thanks for listening. I am about to head back out and interview folks for a man on the street story for tomorrow’s print edition. I am not looking forward to it because it’s 96 degrees out there. I wish I could remember if I have had a shower today. I feel so sticky and dirty and, uh ... buggy.

Whitney from the paper came out Friday and is headin’ back this way. She is the guru of all things Internet and she’s posting photos and video, from the Main Stage field, amid the fans. Her 5-year-old daughter curled up in a chair last night. The child slept through ZZ Top, but it was a long night, after a long, hot day for everybody.

That’s one of the great things here. The evenings are so pleasant and cool. The dust remains but you can’t see it so well. And the dust is on the roads, not around the entertainment. I have found if you tilt your head just so, late at night the dust takes on a surreal look. You might mistake it for fog or a mist. Think tropics… Think hard. OK, go stand under the mister and think tropics. OK, go get one of those non-alcoholic Pina Colada’s in a coconut nut head, stand under the mister, and think tropics.

(The husband got one yesterday. Ridiculous. Grown 6-foot, 6-inch man walking around with a coconut monkey head lookin’ thing. With a straw. Like he’s sucking it’s brains out.)

I just met Peggy and Paul at the main gate. Peggy is the one who’s been getting all those great interviews with the entertainers this week. Ricky Skaggs, even! Anyway, we are all snapping at each other too. We are hot and irritable, I tell you. Ready to settle down for a little light listening. Oh, wait. This is LYNYRD SKYNYRD NIGHT!!!

City editor Kendall is over here too somewhere. And Max O the photographer is back. Yesterday he walked ALL THE WAY from the stages to our trailer. A long, long walk. He’s young, though. Max has taken on this assignment with great enthusiasm. It’s not quite what the WWE is to our new reporter, Greg, but Max loves to shoot concerts after dark. Plenty of that here.

OK, a few more folks to interview, then the work, work part of this gig is over ... for today anyway. Will tell you about the shows later on.

Miss you and wish you were here.