might as well make it into a Desert Chronicle, edited version.
Well, my trip to town wasn't all i was counting on, but since i rely on a calculator to count and haven't done long division in several months, it was still fun.
James Taylor's voice is stronger than last time i saw him, back in 1974, which is cool. He said he had a two-decade-long blackout due to heroin, and while that was more information than i needed about his recovery, he DID remember a lot of his songs from then, so all was okay. He is hawking a new album, which is all cover music that other people wrote. Many of the selections from it were country music, such as a couple 1950's George Jones tunes, which sent me to the beer concession for some serious juice as one country song per month is my quota.
The main thing i noticed is that the James Taylor crowd has all aged and got kind of gray, except me, of course, and some people age in very unique ways. You see, where i live i often go weeks without even seeing anyone i don't know or recognize. So to suddenly step into a crowd of 20,000 people of approximately my age that i don't know is like Margaret Mead thrust into a group of hungry headhunters: it is jaw-dropping sociological entertainment, so i got my money's worth. Some folks seemed kind of beaten down by life, and their bodies sort of reflected it, as they looked like they wore invisible weights on their wrists and ankles. Some had young blondes on their arms, with the outline of viagra packets in their back pockets where the cowboys keep their chew~~ i bet there were several in that crowd with red convertibles.
Many of the cosmetically pre-embalmed women begged the eternal question: "Silicon or Saline"? and for the most part, you could tell who used to wear the killer tans in their youth, as their skin kind of got tired of turning colors and settled on wrinkling in protest. Some looked like they had been beaten up by the inside of a whiskey bottle. Botox people look funny when they smile, or try to.
But it was a James Taylor concert, so there were many happy idealist-romantics there in sandals and hawaiian shirts and red eyes.
The town of south lake tahoe is a good place to go look at people from the bay area who, to get away from it all, crowd into a little town and jam up the traffic, bringing all their city habits with them. They are recognizable by jailhouse tans and lack of eye contact with us outlanders.
There were so many women traipsing around in bikinis that i nearly wrecked my truck a couple times just from cleavage alert sirens blaring at me right in the eyes. After too long on the desert, looking at that many hot women at once was like looking directly at an arc welder.
Mastering conversation with a stranger in a bikini was never a strong suit for me, so i didn't hone any skills there, as i couldn't figure how to work antique barbed wire or roadkill into a conversation smoothly. So i didn't.
The casinos liberated some of my cash without even breathing hard; i normally hold my own but i guess all the opulence wasn't built by people winning there.
So he got his singing over with, then i had a couple hundred miles of nevada desert to make tracks on. Went home on back roads, as i prefer the open spaces and a cooler of beer packed with ice. In the interest of leaving a smaller carbon footprint, i had to drink a few to lighten the load and improve my gas mileage. It was one of those hot july afternoons where the sun seemed extra bright and the mirages on the dry lakebeds looked bluer than a siamese cat's eyes.
My dog, Lucy, was very happy that i made it home in one piece, as she greeted me with half of a semi-petrified jackrabbit, the other half having been dissected on the front lawn for all to admire.
Actually, it was nice to get away for a couple days; i need a city fix occasionally just to remind me why i like the desert.
Only two more cords of firewood to go and i will be able to thumb my nose at the fuel oil salesman. Splitting wood in july in the desert causes projectile sweating, but it feels good to get rid of the James Taylor beer residuals and get back to normal.
"If at first you don't succeed,
skydiving is not for you"
