Putting on his Big Boy Pants.

Remember the Big Boy? Frisch's or Shoney's Big Boy was big when I was little. Shoney's diners are still very much in evidence, but I hadn't seen the Big Boy in years... until I visited Michigan recently. My not-so-little boy, Tyler is doing exactly what I did back in the day: messin' with the Big Boy. Ah, youth. Another benefit of youth is being able to eat a really big hamburger.

Shoot, with lots of bacon, two fried eggs, and chili, I'm not sure this burger isn't actually bigger than the one the Big Boy's brandishing!

Where's Waldo.

The fine folks from the Area Health Education Centers were not the only folks to invade San Antonio: the Texas State Coaches Association was also very much in evidence. It was not particularly difficult to tell the coaches apart from the AHECers. AHEC folks are typically a gentle people, with understated clothing, practical eyeglasses, and generally bareheaded. The coaches? Well, the following picture has two AHEC conventioneers (I'll give you a hint: Lady Di is one of them), and two coaches. Ready? Begin!

Look closely, now. No, the guy in the chair is unaffiliated. Here, I'll pare it down a bit...

Okay, look to the left. See the guy with the ponytail, seated with his laptop? No, he's not a coach. That'd be the two beefy guys to the right.

More coaches outside of the Italian Restaurant. Hooters was obviously full.

Remember the... what was that place again?

Lady Di was to speak at the National Area Health Education Centers convention in San Antonio, Texas last week. I mooched a cheap companion ticket and chilled out while she worked. Did I say "chilled"? That is perhaps inappropros: it was way hot in San Antonio. A dry heat? Maybe. Just felt more like an oven than a sauna to me. Anyway, we braved the hundred degree heat to pay our respects to the Alamo.

God Blessed Texas.

Lady Di and I just got back from the Lone Star State. Pretty cool. My mix c.d. for the trip (to the airport) included Texas musicians Bob Wills, Little Texas, Willie Nelson, ZZ Top, Fastball, Possum Kingdom, Lyle Lovett, Buddy Holly, Butthole Surfers, Janis Joplin, and Vanilla Ice (yeah, he's all about Miami, but he started in Dallas), and one Louisiana gal, Lucinda Williams (hey, I like her). More, later.

Virginia's Finest.

Okay, where were we? Ah, yes, leaving West Virginia... (I know. I know. We came back from Michigan a couple of weeks ago, and I mixed in a story from my youth; still, I've got this completion thing).  We exited a tunnel from the relatively steep mountains of West Virginia into the relatively rolling mountains of Virginia. Both are pretty, but you can feel the difference. Virginia just seems more orderly. Some pretty good musicians from The Old Dominion, but for me it begins and ends with the providentially named Dave Matthews Band (Dave Matthews was named after me. What's that you say? Dave Matthews' parents had no reason to borrow my moniker? True enough. The fact remains that, since he was born seven years after I was born, he was named after I was). Though Mr. Matthews was born in South Africa, his famous band was formed in Charlottesville, VA. You've already heard some of the music from North and South Carolina, so I think that'll do for this roadtrip. Next week, I'll share my trip to the Lone Star State.

Almost Heaven, West Virginia?

We left Ohio and cut through West Virginia. About all I knew about West Virginia until very recently, was that Bobby Bowden coached at one of their universities before establishing his dynasty at Florida State, and that "Devil Anse" Hatfield, of the notorious Hatfield/McCoy imbroglio, and my ex-wife's husband were from there (no relation, as far as I know). My impression of the music scene, before I bothered to look into it, was that the following video was typical of the State:



Turns out I was wrong. We decided to stay overnight in West Virginia, because it is about half way between Lewiston, Michigan and home. We had a tough time getting a room. The place was pretty, and all, but we were perplexed. Turned out that the hotels were packed because the massive storm that bedeviled the East knocked out the power for about 120,000 West Virginians, and as many as could we trying to get away from the stifling heat. We talked to a few of the locals, and they were prayerful, pleasant and long-suffering, and I liked and admired them.

Musically? In addition to John Denver's ode to West Virginia, Country Roads (I was gonna put a link here, but blogspot changed the format on me, and I'm not sure how to do it. Anyway, YouTube's got it), there are a couple of amazing artists from The Mountain State: Country star Brad Paisley shouldn't be a huge surprise, but Bill Withers? Yep, R & B legend Bill Withers is from West Virginia.

Pure Michigan!

Michigan has an embarrassment of musical riches, from Motown to rock to jazz, Classical and new age (oddly, I didn't notice any Country music bigshots). Among the many musicians with Michigan roots: Diana Ross and the Supremes, Ted Nugent, Madonna, Anita Baker, Stevie Wonder, Cub Coda of Brownsville Station (Smokin' in the Boys' Room), Bob Seger, Al Green, Jack White of the White Stripes, , Aretha Franklin (well, she was born in Memphis, TN, but moved to Detroit when she was six), Smoky Robinson, Sony Bono, Alice Cooper, Eminem, and Bill Haley of Bill Haley and the Comets. 

Way to Go, Ohio.

We left the 'Vent Sunday morning heading North on I-75 through miles of flat land and places like Lima (Lima is real, apparently, though "Glee's" William McKinley High School exists only as so many pixels on my television screen), then up through Toledo near the Northwest corner of the state. On the way back, we took caught the Eastern part of the state, where they have coal, mountains, hardscrabble football, the Pro Football Hall of Fame (which we visited and which I'll post at some point), and Akron, home of two of my favorite 1980's musicians: Chrissie Hynde of The Pretenders and Mark Mothersbaugh of Devo (Mothersbaugh later parlayed his New Wave fame into a gig as composer and performer of the theme music for Nickelodeon's "Rugrats").  Ohio, I'm told, also has college football, though Lady Di's Michigan connections forbid me from mentioning any of the particulars.

Conventional Wisdom.

A little break from the musical mystery tour (don't worry, I'll get back to it). My mom was an Episcopal nun. I've mentioned this before. She was born in Cincinnati, lived out West, then Florida, then in Cincinnati at the Convent of the Transfiguration as a Sister, then to various outposts owned by the Convent, then back to Cincinnati, where she died six years ago. As we traveled North, Tyler, Lady Di and I zigged a little off course, and stopped in Cincinnati to see the sisters . We worshiped, ate and visited with Sister Teresa and the crew. Later, we ate ice cream at Graeter's, a confectionery of note in the Cincinnati area, then headed to the cemetery to visit mom's grave. When we got there, the gates were closed and locked. The brave nun who escorted us was undetered. As is her habit, the sister was in full nun garb when she popped in to the abutting Baptist church to announce our presence. There, the plot thickened. As Sister met with surprised quasi-clergy, Ty and I scaled the fence (well, Tyler vaulted it. I sort of oozed over it), and paid our respects. While I'm not totally sure mom would've approved; I doubt she'd've been surprised (love you, mom). The next day, we were on the road again.

Kentucky.

I got people in Kentucky. Cousin Paula, I'm talking to you! My mom was also born just across the river in Cincinnati. In addition to Wildcat Basketball, the Bluegrass State has a deep musical tradition. Wynona Judd (and her mom and sister Ashley) are Kentuckians, and so were the Everly Brothers (who knew?). Ricky Skaggs, you might not be surprised to learn, is a Kentuckian; but so are alt-rockers Cage the Elephant. First, Ricky Skaggs: Cage the Elephant (warning: this one's got some salty language and is a bit, er, sick):

Tennessee.

We slipped in to Tennessee a couple of hours later. Tennessee's got tons of good music. The Allman Brothers hailed from the Volunteer State. Okay, everybody knows Elvis was born in Tupelo, Mississippi, but there aren't many folks more intimately associated with Tennessee than the King:

The Tarheel State.

Three hours after left from our South Carolina home, we hit North Carolina on the Northwestern border. Lots of good music from the Tarheel State. Here are a couple of the songs we listened to: North Carolina's "Carolina Chocolate Drops" played at Spoleto last year. I really love their sound and energy. Folk music legend Doc Watson (R.I.P. last month) was from North Carolina, and this next song provides an apt bridge for the next leg of our trip.

Incredible Journey

Did a couple thousand miles of traveling over the last week or so. We also sort of took a musical tour of the Southeast.

South Carolina's got some fine musicians. Here are a few we listened to on our way up North. You already knew that Hootie and the Blowfish are from the Palmetto State, right? But can't you see that the Marshall Tucker Band are, too? Another South Carolina group that didn't get the exposure that Hootie and Marshall Tucker Band got was Cravin' Melon. Not sure what other songs they had, but you've got to love a song dedicated to "the wine of the South": Sweet Tea.

Vacation.

I got a vacation coming up. Got me to thinking about stuff. Dangerous, I know. I've heard lots of folks saying, "Life's a journey, not a destination". Maybe. 'Course, that's not the way my dad viewed trips. Like a lot of dads, he was all about getting there. Rocketing down the highway at a few miles an hour above the posted limit, windows cracked a half inch to allow some of the smoke from the chain-smoked Pall Malls to leave the car. Bathroom breaks? "You should've thought about that before we left". Dad was a classic guys' guy, who always voted Republican and who rooted against Muhammad Ali (or, as Dad would say, "Cassius Clay"), because he was a draft-dodger. But there are other memories, too. Like on a trip to New Smyna Beach, Florida, when dad suddenly stopped the car to pick up and relocate a turtle that was trying to cross the road so it wouldn't get run over. So, we should try to get where we're going, but we need to remember, at every moment, we're also already there. Or, as John Travolta said as the angel Michael, "You gotta learn to laugh".

Trump Card.

Now that Donald Trump has ditched his fledgling presidential run, he may have time to play golf at one of his golf courses. We visited his Trump National Golf Course in Palos Verdes, just outside of Los Angeles; it is stunning. Here, take a look.

The Long and Winding Road.

This photo from our hike at a park outside of Temecula reminded me of the Beatles tune. Not an original thought, I know. Still, it's a pretty song.

Dirtbags.

Los Angeles is a great sports city. During our week there, there might be any of three different pro sports teams playing. Two basketball teams (sure, the Lakers mighta got bounced in the second round of the playoffs this year, but they remain one of the most storied franchises in all of sports. Two hockey teams. Two baseball teams (sure, the Dodgers are going through some grief right now, but they remain one of the most... uh, you know). A couple of professional soccer teams. Several major colleges, with their own notable sports histories. 'Course, you know about Southern Cal and U.C.L.A., but how 'bout Long Beach State baseball? Officially they are "The 49ers", and they've made four trips to the College World Series, and are regulars in post-season play. Unofficially they have one of the greatest nicknames in college sports: the
Dirtbags, (second, in my mind, only to the U.C. Santa Cruz Banana Slugs). Jason Giambi's a dirtbag. So is the Tampa Ray's Evan Longeria. Jared Weaver's a lucky dirtbag, because he gets to play only a few miles away from his college for the Angels.

Long Beach State plays right across the street from the school where our hostess teaches, so we took in a game. The stadium wasn't full of fans early, but there were plenty of pro scouts.

Hollywood Swingin'

Los Angeles is synonymous with Hollywood; Hollywood is synonymous with the promise of a golden career as a movie star. If you're both talented and very lucky, you might make the big time.



If you're talented, lucky and manage to stick around for a few years, you might even get a star on the sidewalk along Hollywood Boulevard, like everybody's favorite octogenarian, Betty White.

...or maybe even get your handprints in the cement in front of Grauman's Chinese Theater.

Wait, is that Debbie Reynolds?



Of course, for every Betty White, there are thousands of folks who come out West and never hit the big time. Hey, at least this guy's working!

You Say Po-Tay-To, I Say Po-Tah-To.

Beverly Hills sports one of the premier shopping districts anywhere: Rodeo (pronounced Ro-Day-O) Drive. We have a Rodeo Drive in Colleton County, South Carolina, too; however, we pronounce it in the more pedestrian manner "Ro-Dee-O". See if you can distinguish between California's Rodeo Drive from the Boro's:







Julia woulda known the difference.

What am I, like, Twelve?

Up on Griffith Observatory, high above L.A., there are some interesting views. You can see the sprawl that is the greater Los Angeles area; you can see the Hollywood sign; you can see interesting local flora. If you think like a twelve year old, and you're paying attention, you can also see some pretty funny stuff. Take a look at the picture at left. Lady Di is to the upper right, looking at me disapprovingly. Why? Well, she knows me, you see. Look at the foreground at the bottom of the picture. There's a plaque. I'll give you a better picture of the plaque in a minute. Now look behind Lady Di, to her left, more or less in a line from the plaque. See that couple there?




That's them, up close. I saw the girl and the plaque at nearly the same time. So, what does the plaque say?









Now, just think how funny that'd be if you were a twelve-year old boy. Welcome to my world.