Wednesday, July 27, 2005

Just Another Lucinda Wednesday

By my reckoning, Lucinda Williams owes me somewhere in the neighborhood of 40 bucks.

Every time I go to see her play, it starts of well enough. She gets up, cracks some jokes about the heroin wearing off and it's time to switch to beer, ahhh what's that, beer's not cold, it's time to switch to whiskey... and starts to play and sing. She's great. Until. Until it happens. What is it? Hell if I know. Maybe the string didn't vibrate just the way she wanted it to, or she transposed some lyrics. Whatever it is, it starts a meltdown from which there is no return. She starts babbling about how awful she feels and begs for forgiveness, and does it with such gusto and duration that the apology becomes the show. And that's a show in which I have no interest. I'd have been happier if she had just come across with the cash.

So what does Lucinda "The Nuclear Option is the Only Option" Williams have to do with Wednesday? It's not Wednesday, but rather, this Wednesday in Atlanta. Atlanta traffic has a bewuƟtsein all it's own, but I think it's somehow related to Lucinda's. Everything is just dandy. Until. Until it happens, then it's Wonder Twins Activate! Form Of! Crazed Crack Addicted Rhesus Monkey with Flamethrower! The same fucker who stops traffic to let you in line coming out of the gas station is the same insane misanthrope who refuses to let go of either his tallywhacker or his cellphone, but would rather suffer the hell fire of eternal damnation than let you merge during rush hour. So, after leaving the office in a whistle while you work mood with big plans to knock out a few lingering chores, after near mortal (and I'm sorry you're not dead you line cutting, tire squealling, red light running motherfucker ROT IN HELL!) combat on the High Asphalt Seas of Atlanta, I'm left with rant as catharsis.



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