There’s* a guy I know, he’s in a band. They’re actually pretty good but no one’s really heard of them… yet, perhaps. Anyway, he and I were talking, real nonchalant like, and he tells me about a show they’re playing near where I went to high school. I was pumped, natch, and even more so when he speculated that they may actually be opening up for a couple of well known conjunto bands, which were, in turn, opening up for Robert Earl Keen!

It was a strange lineup, to be certain, but who was I to complain. REK in a venue close to home, with my boys opening up was was certain to be an evening to remember. So after puttin’ on my show-going clothes, I arrive on the scene… just me and thousands of my closest friends (!!). Since I was close personal friends with the opening act, I had an all access pass to the back stage while the bands jammed on. I don’t remember any of the conjuntadores (or something), but I distinctly recall hearing REK belt out the opening refrain of “Merry Christmas From the Family“.

“Jason,” you may find yourself asking, “why exactly do you so clearly remember “‘Merry Christmas From the Family’?” It’s a perfectly legitimate question, all things considered…

Because at that exact moment, I found myself standing directly next to Paul Newman**. You can imagine my excitement, and let me just tell you… he’s a regular Joe, he posed for phone pics and all.

Nearly giddy with the aforementioned goodness (REK, my buddy and the band, AND Paul Newman? C’mon!), I caught up with Nat and she succeeded in dragging me off the crowded streets into the lobby of the hotel we were passing to check out the ice sculpture ***, where we (of course) ran into Rachel Ray. Natalie was nearly speechless. Me… not in the least. She’s smaller than I would have imagined, and she has braces which I was more than surprised to discover, but after a little charm and a good bit of cajoling, I persuaded her to sing a few bars of “Memories” from the timeless Broadway classic, Cats.

Unfortunately for us, Rach (I call her Rach) had to dash. The kids were restless (it had been a busy day), so Nat took the kiddo’s and put them down (not that kind of ‘put them down.’ Good Grief.) and I was left to stroll the neighborhood streets and ponder the significance surrounding such a celebrity smorgasbord that morning. I was jerked from my navel gazing haze by the sound of rumbling motor thunder from behind, the kind that rolls out from a needlessly oversized Ford Powerstroke Diesel engines that little people in the suburbs always drive, and people on farms and ranches rarely do.  I was really perturbed to find my silence stirred, but when I looked through the window as the truck pulled to a halt next to me…

Kinky Friedman, how the heck are ya? He got out, we chatted, he rented some walkie-talkie radios from the City Hall so he and I could keep in touch around the ‘hood. He was surprisingly soft spoken, and not-surprisingly thoughtful despite his unfortunately severe tendency to lean left. Conversation hit an impasse somewhere between border security and the relative superiority of Dominican cigars to Honduran.

When it was certainly certain that Kinky was once and for all time out of radio range, it was time for this well-heeled country socialite to roll out of bed, step on the scale, and ready myself for another action packed day.

Who knows what the future holds!

* The incidents portrayed in this post seemed real enough at the moment… which probably occurred between 3 and 4:15 in the morning.

** Cool Hand Luke, Paul Newman, not PN in his current… state.

*** Elephants.