It must be the heat….

June 07, 2008

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.

Oh, please let me vent….

Debbie Ingram

I have discovered Ronnie Gilley and myself have similar personalities.

Get it all out there. Tell somebody how you feel, express yourself to them directly, then get on with what you got to do.

Twice this week Ronnie has been pissed at me .... ok, not really pissed .... but he has chatted with me about coverage. Today the issue is the ticket story on today’s front page of the Eagle. Ronnie has not seen today’s paper, mind you, but is going on what he has been told. And people have been telling him that I am killing him, hammering him on the front page.

As a news reporter, I work for a news organization whose goal it is to report. When I find an issue that people complain about, or they jump up and down about ... that dear readers, is news. Yesterday, besides the heat, there was an issue, a general grumbling about having to buy drink and beverage tickets. In other words, a beer is 5 tickets, or $3.13. Vendors don’t take cash. They take tickets.

I quoted people complaining. I quoted Billy Graham talking about it. I quoted people who said, what’s the big deal, but perhaps because the headline read “Ticket system causes stir,“ WHICH IS ACCURATE, then I am giving negative publicity.

Ronnie and I went back to his motor home and talked about it.

We both raised our voices, but we both talk loud anyway. It was intense. But that is a NICE motor home.

“Have you seen the blog? Have you read the stories?“ I asked.

No. He’s been pretty busy, uh, putting on the event of the year down here in Coffee County which will most likely draw 100,000 people. He and many of his right-hand people are surviving on less than 4 hours of sleep each night. Who has time to look at the paper or go online.

Anyway, we talked it out and got over it. I shared with him my question of the day, provided by Debbie T. from Wiregrass Live: On a scale of 1-10, rate BamaJam. The lowest score so far, an 8. Second question, how likely are you to come back next year? The lowest score so far, a 9.5.

We high-fived it a few times as I congratulated him on the success. And this is it, folks. A successful festival. And we parted intact—as reporter and developer. Not friends but in our separate roles that must not be crossed. We are interviewer and successful businessman who is interviewed.

To maintain that status, the Eagle news staff does not accept free tickets to BamaJam. We buy our own.

I’m sorry I have to vent so on this, but its countless, the number of times someone says, well, the story just “makes it sound like, blah, blah, blah.“ Key words here would be “makes it sound like.“ Read the words, please, and don’t read anything else. The facts are there.

And it is never a journalist’s job to take a personal interest in many things. I am the reporter, writing what I see and recording what people tell me. That’s all I can do, folks.

Now get your butts out here tonight! This is THE event of the year, I tell you!!!

Cya

Water, water everywhere….

Debbie Ingram

Quick note….

Because of the weather and some earlier confusion, the dehydration and heat stroke risk, Ronnie Gilley just told me there is a new rule.

Bring in your water ... as much as possible. As much as you want.

It might tick off the vendors, who are selling it he says, but Ronnie wants to be sure everybody is hydrated. “If the vendors get mad, they don’t have to come back next year.“

“I’ve got 81,000 people out here,“ he said an hour ago, referring to Friday night’s tally. “I want everybody to have water.“

So much so that staffers are driving around on carts loaded up with water on ice and they are giving it away to anybody who wants it. So, look for the mule vehicles or ask somebody ... hey, where’s the free water?

There are misters ... poles with sprinklers on top, to the far side of the saloon, and there are misters near the Kids Zone areas. They also have one of those things you can slide through that has water running through it. I think that is probably for kids, but what the hey!

We have our chairs moved out front for tonight’s shows. It was fast filling up two hours ago even though nobody started playing on the main stage until 4:15.

This is the biggest, hottest (IN MANY WAYS) event of the year!! Come on out…

Cya

Friday notes recalled a day later

Debbie Ingram

Folks, I can’t say enough about the music.

BamaJam is a music and arts festival and the quality of the music here leads one to believe this is not Coffee County, Alabama. Can you image? ZZ Top, Hank Jr., Trace Adkins, Miranda Lambert, Ralph Stanley, Ricky Skaggs, Randy Owen, Old Crow Medicine Show, Gov’t Mule IN A FIELD IN COFFEE COUNTY!?

It is the reason to be here,obviously. I do find it, uh, oddly interesting, that when we returned to the campgrounds around 11:30 last night, there are folks sitting around in camp like they been here all day. Yes, you can hear the music from here, but not when all three stages are going at once and then, a half mile across a field, you do miss the experience. THE experience.

Whatever.

Anyway, wanted to report that this new band, Houston County, is pretty good. Unfortunately, the sound system failed them. The music was good, but theirs was the only act I heard in two days, where the sound was not right. It was some sort of connection problem and the lead singer’s vocals was a wash-out. So much so that he sang the song again, but the sound was still not 100 percent.

Ronnie Gilley, the man himself, then took to the stage with them and did an Elvis impersonation, without the sideburns, but he did give out a few brightly colored scarves to some pretty girls and there were plenty of those down front. And he wore the big, funky glasses. I thought to see the white, studded jumpsuit, but to no avail….. Ronnie in a jumpsuit? ha! Wait .... any man in a jumpsuit? Any man but Elvis in a jumpsuit?

Anyway, he also sang his single out on Bandit Records, “Shortcut Home.“ It was obvious the dreamer of all that is BamaJam and Country Crossing, had a good time.

It was unlucky about the sound failure for Houston County, but the Gilley folks will see to it that this new group has plenty of other opportunities to be heard. Got a shot of a little girl with a sign that read, “Houston County is my dad.“ There is a real family feel over here. And I hear only two arrests for underage drinking. That’s pretty good.

Tracy Lawrence and Trace Adkins put on a good show last night too. I saw Lawrence play at the Dothan Civic Center about three years ago, right after “Paint me a Birmingham” came out. You know what, I don’t think I heard that last night, but I was blogging on site, with TECHNOLOGICAL problems (that could be solved with a more current computer I am sure), and didn’t RELAX for the show. Type A, what can I say.

And to my friend, Janet in Ozark, who wanted to know about Trace. Yes, honey, the man can wear a pair of jeans. Yes! Yes! Yes! “Be donkey, donk.“

ZZ TOP is beyond description. I have never seen the band but my gosh, these guys have been around since I was in high school. Say they were 30ish then, and I’ve been out of school 32 years. They gotta be 60 and rockin’ like the years have been nothing but fun. The lead singer also told a few entertaining tales as an intro to every song. The crowd love it.

I was glad to have the binoculars. It was cool to see the guys close up. I kept wondering if their beards were real and what they REALLY look like. The husband said “Of course they are real,“ and was once-again aggravated that he married a journalist.

ZZ Top front men wore these cool black caps, turned backwards with shiny shades on top. The Texas boys in black are just so dang cooool!!! I have never seen them in concert before. They also had an awesome light and video show.

Music continues today closing out with Rowdy Friends of Hank Jr. tonight.

Campers are still coming in and those in today are getting premium spots. That’s right, the late comers get the woods. That’s backwards, but oh well. I understand, they wanted to fill in the bulk of the campground first.

OK, had one crappy cup of coffee….. WHO BOUGHT THE FOLGERS?

“It’s gourmet Folgers,“ the husband says.

Gourmet and Folgers do not go together.

And then I have my mocha Java Monster. I reach for my ice cold diet Coke and what do I find? What do I find? No ice cold diet Coke. Seems the HUSBAND, aka Media Assistant who is walking around here wearing my press pass like he is SOMEBODY, and enjoying the heck out of it, ... the assistant forgot to restock the fridge last night.

“Forgot?“ he says. “You are the one who drinks them!! Am I the inventory keeper? Do I look like I am in charge of stocking? Am I the stock boy?“ Am I the stock boy?“

“Are you or are you not the media assistant?“ I ask.

Silent standoff.

“Do you want me to strip you of your badge?“

His answer is unpublishable.

DC in the freezer ... I hope I hope I don’t forget it!! Or there’s gonna be trouble and I’m gonna have to find a way to blame the husband.

Note of explanation: Since I quit drinking two years ago, and my beverage of choice was beer in a can, I have substituted diet Coke in a can as my wild party drink! Must be in a can. No bottles. No cups of ice. It is a mental game, I guess. Or else I am just addicted to aluminum.

OK, the husband is reading the morning paper on oil prices and just said somebody needs to be shot .... can you say Revolution??? His business is transportation. He ain’t jamin’. He fumin’.

Cya

The husband and me

Debbie Ingram

If the husband tells me one more time to close this or that door on the camper, to make sure of this or that, to stop what I am doing and hand him this or that… You know, I start a lot of sentences that way. “If this happens, if that happens, if somebody asks me…. But really, what am I gonna do?

Pack up and go home? Kill him? Make life miserable for him? Ok, some things are within reason.

I have thought to maybe round up just 1 percent of all the grasshoppers in the campground and blend them with his morning protein powder drink. More protein, right? Right personal trainer Joe?  I am thinking something like locusts and the plague. Something biblical and justified. Anyway, I wonder if, as more people have moved into the campgrounds, man has shifted the pests toward the woods. That is, over our way.

I know you wish I’d shut up already about it. The grasshoppers. It’s just nothing you can imagine. I’d like to ask for a miracle and see the grasshoppers turned into ice or water.

Normally when the husband and I camp, we are on a pure vacation or we have the Harley in the back and there will be riding involved. Florida is usually also involved. We opted to leave the bike at home this time and it was just as well…. I got too much to do and the elements are not that conducive to riding.

The husband just mumbled something about how I need to try and have more fun today and if we HAD the bike then we could relax a bit. There’s something about the sun and the wind and the open road. Can anybody scream “Free bird?!“

Closely confined quarters sure has a way of bringing a couple closer.

“Did you bring your ‘pills?‘“ the husband asks.

Mean, ugly look.

“Did you TAKE them?“ he persists.

“Why don’t you go meet some new friends,“ I instruct.

He lights up another cigarette. He’s been smoking a lot the last two days. I hope all the smokers are careful…. this field could go up like a fat lighter house.

I open the camper door to ask him if “fat lighter” is indeed the right word. If that’s what you use to make fires with. He is visiting with the newest neighbor who set up shortly before midnight last night. The couple from Columbus, Ga., slept in a tent.

“Hey, baby! Cousin here!“ he yells excitedly, pointing to a short guy in a red T-shirt.

“Trey Ward,“ he says. “Cousin Ward!“

That’s nice baby. They are comparing Dodge trucks. Talking engines and things under the hood and gas mileage and such.

I duck back inside.

“Be sure and close that door,“ I hear just before the door slams.

Yep. Closely confined quarters alright.