I thought I was in Halifax at Uncle Bud’s house having tea, but when I woke up I realized I was in OKC. It’s really sunny outside this morning and my guitar just told me to strum it. So I’ll make a cup of tea and stare out at the blue sunny crisp cool Oklahoma City horizon and aimlessly fingerpick Smokey Joe and hopefully fall back asleep. Sleep is your friend when you’re in the middle of a long haul tour. The Waffle House is not your friend. You may think the Waffle House is your friend when it’s 2am and nothing else is open, buy it’s not. You’ll wake up feeling greasy no matter how many times you brush your teeth, and you’ll be thirstier than a stranded man in the Sahara with an empty canteen.
The good news is that I get to see my crazy Okie friend Greg Johnson. He owns The Blue Door and he’s bat shit crazy. When we talk we talk and talk about Woody Guthrie, healthcare for all, Leo’s BBQ, baseball and Jimmy Webb……on and on….
When Greg introduces me on stage at his club
He calls me a washed up punk rocker masquerading as a folk singer. I usually insult him from the stage and he just shakes his head and threatens to turn off the power on me. His wife Tina sits up front and just smiles at the whole thing. The Blue Door doesn’t sell beer so people bring in their own coolers full of beer or wine or whatever. There’s crazy history in that room and if you’ve never been there then you need to make the pilgrimage. Everyone has played there. I think even Liberace played there and Leon Russell and Plato and Jesus. It’s that old.
Onward and upward,