I live in a railroad town. Banditos couldn't rob the bank because they would get caught in town by a slow moving freight that blocked their escape. Dillinger would just drink in towns like these. On his best behavior.
When he got killed outside the Biograph, he was in a crowd and there were no trains. Go figure.
As kids we used to go into the alley and look for bullets holes left by the g-men. Never found any.
Used to go down the street and have an occasional beer at Barleycorn which had been an old speak in the day.
Always felt a kinship. He was probably a bastard, but I guess that I've had my moments.
So it was a cool opportunity to tuck my fedora into the Mustang and stop at Crown Point, Indiana. Our old buddy, Mike Flores has a record shop deep in the catacombs (Antique Vault & Records) of the old town hall. Brick cells that sell the cool little gimcracks that folks from the city show up on sunny days to buy.
Me, I got to play a couple songs in Dillinger's old cell. Shot some video that I'm waiting to see. Got out of town before the train boxed me in. Rest assured that there was plenty sweet smelling bath soaps that could have been shaped into a pistol. No jail was going to hold me.
Back to Jackson, MI. The bookstore was the worse for wear. Seems they are collecting multiple copies of the Glenn Beck library and the hidden gems that I had always seemed to unearth were gone. No music anymore either.
Did my three hours to an always appreciative audience. A lady was having a conversation with Jesus in the corner, but she turned out to be polite. I guess the good Lord told her to be nice.
Back to Chicago for two shows at Phyllis and picked up a third to fill a cancelled date.
My shoulder started killing me. Don't know why. I was nice to the Jesus lady .
Living a bit on ibuprofen again.
Thought it would be safe to have a couple of greasy hot dogs. Went to Gene and Judes. If you never been, they are like the hot dog Nazi's. Line is out the door. They like when you order properly and have your cash only ready.
The lady in front of me was ordering like she was in Starbucks. The twenty guys behind the counter listened and glowered. I'm sure they ignored her. I ordered two with the works, through the garden and smirked at the guy next to me. Woman completed her order and informed me that she hated mustard. This is in a place that has no ketchup of any kind. Told me they always get her order wrong and she only stops because she is taking her 85 year old father to see his girlfriend.
"God bless him," I said.
I just wanted a couple hot dogs. Mine came up before her's and several other people who tried to customize and I was out the door.
Five shows this week.
Burned a copy of my John Sebastian stuff. Still love that album he did when he played Woodstock. Reminded me of melting wax in a hot summer of painting "Rainbows All Over Your Blues".
Led me to Guy Clark.
Shoulder got better, don't know why or how. Then a guy backs up his SUV into my good elbow when I was strolling through a parking lot. Waiting for complications.
Life
When he got killed outside the Biograph, he was in a crowd and there were no trains. Go figure.
As kids we used to go into the alley and look for bullets holes left by the g-men. Never found any.
Used to go down the street and have an occasional beer at Barleycorn which had been an old speak in the day.
Always felt a kinship. He was probably a bastard, but I guess that I've had my moments.
So it was a cool opportunity to tuck my fedora into the Mustang and stop at Crown Point, Indiana. Our old buddy, Mike Flores has a record shop deep in the catacombs (Antique Vault & Records) of the old town hall. Brick cells that sell the cool little gimcracks that folks from the city show up on sunny days to buy.
Me, I got to play a couple songs in Dillinger's old cell. Shot some video that I'm waiting to see. Got out of town before the train boxed me in. Rest assured that there was plenty sweet smelling bath soaps that could have been shaped into a pistol. No jail was going to hold me.
Back to Jackson, MI. The bookstore was the worse for wear. Seems they are collecting multiple copies of the Glenn Beck library and the hidden gems that I had always seemed to unearth were gone. No music anymore either.
Did my three hours to an always appreciative audience. A lady was having a conversation with Jesus in the corner, but she turned out to be polite. I guess the good Lord told her to be nice.
Back to Chicago for two shows at Phyllis and picked up a third to fill a cancelled date.
My shoulder started killing me. Don't know why. I was nice to the Jesus lady .
Living a bit on ibuprofen again.
Thought it would be safe to have a couple of greasy hot dogs. Went to Gene and Judes. If you never been, they are like the hot dog Nazi's. Line is out the door. They like when you order properly and have your cash only ready.
The lady in front of me was ordering like she was in Starbucks. The twenty guys behind the counter listened and glowered. I'm sure they ignored her. I ordered two with the works, through the garden and smirked at the guy next to me. Woman completed her order and informed me that she hated mustard. This is in a place that has no ketchup of any kind. Told me they always get her order wrong and she only stops because she is taking her 85 year old father to see his girlfriend.
"God bless him," I said.
I just wanted a couple hot dogs. Mine came up before her's and several other people who tried to customize and I was out the door.
Five shows this week.
Burned a copy of my John Sebastian stuff. Still love that album he did when he played Woodstock. Reminded me of melting wax in a hot summer of painting "Rainbows All Over Your Blues".
Led me to Guy Clark.
Shoulder got better, don't know why or how. Then a guy backs up his SUV into my good elbow when I was strolling through a parking lot. Waiting for complications.
Life
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