Okay, I hit my second wind. By the time I get home I wont know what a normal bar of soap looks like.
I got hit on 6 times tonight. Three times by the same guy. I wear my grandmothers wedding ring on the road. Men don’t hit on me. The ring has magical powers like that. Most of them are afraid to hit on me. Magic. I hadn’t been hit on yet, well only once if you count Freddie (he can’t see the ring). The dudes in Glasgow are freaks. Bold freaks at that.
The thing about playing in small towns is that in a couple of minutes of interaction with the locals you know everyone’s business. You know who the town drunk is. You know who’s showing up with someone other than their wife. You know everyone’s mother. You know everyone in the town and all their secrets. I’m in Montana for another two weeks. “Where in Montana?” you ask. Let me repeat – I’m here for two weeks – where aren’t I going in Montana! There are only a million people in the entire state. That’s like doing a two week tour of San Francisco.
One thing that I have noticed is how hard these people work. Everyone I talk to is holding down multiple jobs just to barely make it. In the hotel that I am in there is a board with pictures of soldiers in Iraq from this town. America is made by the sweat of these people and they all voted for a man that conspires to make their lives even harder. Bush’s budget proposal is to make cuts in money to farmers and college students, but increase spending on the war in Iraq? How about jobs that pay a decent wage with health care and opportunities for a higher education that doesn’t include dodging bullets.
There’s a sadness in small town America. They come to our show, laugh for an hour and a half or two hours and then go back to reality. They all say that it wasn’t always like this. When did it change?