Woke up this morning a little worse for wear. [Read: hung over!]
We got to visit the Grand Ole Opry which was a treat. Lots of memorabilia in the museum, lots of Minnie Pearl and Patsy Cline. [Both of whom I still adore. Minnie Pearl because really she reminds me of being a youngster, sitting on my grandmother’s couch, probably with a snack–usually a bowl of chocolate ice cream–and watching “Hee Haw” on her big ole television console. There was no cable at her house, only a temperamental TV antenna.]
The actual Opry House was closed, so we took a drive to the Galyord Opryland Hotel which rested on four acres. There were four different wings, an atrium. It was a bit out of control, like a Martian colony or something.
We left to hit the highway, where every billboard in Tennessee seemed to advertise some sort of Loretta Lynn-endorsed establishment. Loretta Lynn’s RV Resort [Oxymoron?] and Plantation; Loretta Lynn’s Kitchen; Loretta Lynn’s Dude Ranch; the Loretta Lynn Museum. [Diversify, Diversify!]
We joked about what establishments were missing: Loretta Lynn’s Porn Emporium; Loretta Lynn’s Rub ‘n’ Tug Massage Parlour; Loretta Lynn’s Monster Truck Arena.
We hit traffic before finally arriving in Mississippi.
We were supposed to do a line-thru [imperative as we were killing brain cells left and right and needed to remember the script for our show] but the “Veggie Combo” was already asleep. [The “Veggie Combo”* consisted of Guy, a hardcore raw foodist — more on him TK — and Missy, a drunkorexic who decided there was no better time to adopt the raw foods diet than while touring the country in a van. Through many a rural space. Where access to the staples of their dietetic demands were likely to be few and far between. ANYWAY!] They are definitely starting to splinter off. Guy doesn’t possess the temperament to be road manager, I think. [Oh, yes so! Guy the raw foodist was also our “road manager” which meant he had some sort of nominal control over our tour van, and also the disbursement of our weekly salary.]
Oh! I forgot to mention Lou and Missy coming into my hotel room the other night, LATE — I heard their noisy entrance even in my half-drunken dream state — rolling me over and shaking me to semi-consciousness, only to then put a [weed] pipe to my lips and encouraging me to take a hit. I did, then passed out again. [We usually rotated who we were rooming with, and this night I was with our truck driver and erstwhile pot provider Lou. Playing possum at that point was not an option. Take the hit, roll over, try to resume sleep.]