Author: Mick Jeffries

Amarillo TX—I’m sleepin’ less than my travel partners. I don’t know why, just am. I suppose I’m just too excited to sleep. I haven’t been “out west” in so many years, and really so little as a whole. It’s kind of like boats: When I was a kid my family had a boat, but it fell out of favor (another story) early on and so I never got to be a “boat person.” Not so much. Nor have I gotten my preferred dose of the American southwest. And I do listen to a lot of Calexico, yes, in fact.

So back to the morning—sleeping, not sleeping and here we are in Amarillo, an hour and a half from New Mexico. I did my quietly-get-up-and-shower-and-find-breakfast thing, while the slumberin’ continued (7:30am) Here’s the magic then: I opened the door and—hear the heavenly angels sing?—the southwest texas morning sun rinsed me clean. Oh, the glory of the southwestern morning light. White, white light, accompanied by a cool calming steady breeze. What a way to greet the day.

“You’ll see Amarillo…”

It’s hard not to be humming and singing “(Get Your Kicks On) Route 66” most of the time when driving along 44 and 40, the highways that have outmoded Route 66, “The Gateway to the West.” I heard the story of the song once—popular myth has that it was written by a grateful GI returning home from abroad—and have always loved it. So to get to spend time even next door to this old road. Which is lucky, since that’s what we’ve been seeing on this day of driving. Missouri, Oklahoma—a whole lot of OK, and some Texas panhandle, cowpokes! Which brings us to Amarillo, which Julie seems determined to pronounce with a hispanic flair: “ah-mah-REEE-lo.” I say: “Julie—say it like a redneck…that’s better.”

The nighttime air here is glorious. A constant breeze seems to billow by, the stars boom down from overhead, and it’s ever so slightly cool once the sun goes down. Not the case during the day; earlier we hit the upper 90’s south of Oklahoma City. By the way, can’t really call Oklahoma City “mighty pretty,” but aside from that basic truth, I still like the road and am content to sit and let my eyes roam across the diminishing landscape. The trees grow lower, the scrub brush spreads and the dust starts to take flight. And something happens to franchise food service. I can’t exactly explain it, but it was irksome. A lackadaisical putter that seemed to localize in line right in front of me. The kind of glacial transaction that takes the “fast” right out of food. Rude or not, just passing by, sorry pal—but can you make me a sandwiich soon? I gotta go.

We ate at a nice little scrubby diner with a huge neon EAT sign out front. Home made fries, yum. The men’s bathroom made me laugh twiice; once for the framed picture that I recognized from the farm of two incredibly old looking toddlers in overalls, with the quote “So how long you been farming?”; and two, for the lectern that apparently is stored in the men’s bathroom when not in use by who-knows-what ciivic group that holds their regular meetings at the EAT diner.

We’re Motel Sixin’ it for night number 2. I don’t expect the wonder of yesterday’s Airstream caravan in the morning, but soon we’ll be in New Mexico (an hour and a half away) and there’ll be wonder a plenty. I haven’t been to NM since—I’m not sure—maybe since I was about 15. Over 20 years. My memories of it have always reigned supreme. New Mexico is another planet, different, haunted. We’re all excited about it.

Santa Fe. I’m thinking of a special thing, but it may not happen. The odds are against it. Sometime, I’ll tell you about JW Eaves Movie Ranch, also known once upon a time as Rancho Alegre, the home of my 2nd cousin, once removed, and the most wonderful place I ever played. JW and Ermalee Eaves are gone now, and I miss them even if they only met me a few times.

That’s a joke, people, about Atom RSS, the method by which some of you subscribe to this blog. Get it? Up and Atom?
(oy, vey)

“Woke up this mornin’ and I got myself a beer.” Okay, another joke alright? Actually, woke up this mornin’ and I got myself a mess of scratchy towels for my Motel 6 mates. After a peculiar night of us packed into our beds, Olivia the kitty, meowing incessantly (all of us too pooped to care, I reckon), I cracked my eyes at the crack of 8:30 CST. Springfield,, MO. Check.

The word is that TT is gonna meet us in Sanfa Fe, but who can say, baybay? Never say nay with TayTay…

First thing, I did, I grabbed the ole powerbook and headed to the nextdoor Waffle House. Getting my wallet out of the car (that was a doh! moment; haven’t I learned yet not to leave my wallet in the car, ever?? This has, after all, been a banner year for People Stealing Mick’s Stuff). Anyway, I got to have a swell momentary conversation with the trucker who’s Peterbilt was pointed at the side panel of Julie’s Crown Vic. The conversation starter was his gi-mongous mesh grill bug catcher, emblazoned with the words: “Miss B Havin”

What’s not to love?

Next, Waffle House, where I see my first truly memorable trip event: A departing caravan of Airstreams—100 or more—makes their way past the window, and all I can do is moan at more of these great campers than I’ve ever seen at one time. Turns out, right next door is one of the biggest Airstream events on the planet, right now! All I can do is watch and I feel kind of helpless because it’s so enchanting to me. Airstream after airstream, all different ages and sizes, and pulling vehicles. My favorite: a convertable early 70’s cadillac. It’s all I can do not to call the hotel room and wake my sleeping comrades to witness. Hell, I want to jump on board, or talk to these folks or something! Instead I get to talk to an old farm couple about the Airstream phenomen, noting for myself too, how Wally’s dream is in full tilt, people congregating and driving around in his iconoclastic, legendary camper. Amazing.

Well, i haven’t been talking about this, but…I’m headed to california! And here’s what that means for you, gentle reader: A Mick Travelogue, which is a tradition that predates blogging. This medium was, of course, made for the travel narrative, so rest assured I’m going to take great joy in this. Entriies will probably be light on the “linkiness” (thanks, Rona), but I’ll install links and pics as the opportunity (i.e.: wireless access) presents itself. Thanks for reading!

A longtime dream is in the process of being realized as I travel cross-country, escorting Julie Woolie to her new home in San Diego. Also along for the journey, intrepidsters, Tif and Troyboy. The mission: See the Bestus of the Westus, festus. We departed on sunday, somewhat later than expected, which is to say exactly when predicted. (ETD: 8am. ATD: 3pm).

But what ya gonna do? Hang out like it’s vacation, that’s what. And it is. My idea of a vacation— one where I got nothing really to do besides stare out the window or drive. Nice decision, methinks! This, after the several months grind of completing several major projects for the Ket.

So we got away late, then busted tracks. First stop: Louisville, to drop of my car at the Jamer’s, prepped and parked for the return flight form san diego next week. then, onto the road in earnest, we get busy for san diego.

A favorite stop thus far: the trucker oasis north of evansville (hello aunts and uncles!) at 41 and I-64, provider of a wide range of fried delicacies, all nicely dehydrated from the heat lamps. Still, I couldn’t pass up a small portion of jalepeno poppers (why, poppers?) and a corn dog. Also, I was momentarily horrified at the sight of Chicken Gizzards, which I used to be fed as a kid, but still have no idea the exact nature of. Gizzard?!?

Eventually, we cruised through the highway spaghetti of St. Louis about 10pm, which was good—those roads, kinda nutty puling a u-haul trailer. did i mention that part? two vehicles, each with a uhaul? that would be me and jules in the Crown Vic and Troy and Tif in the Landcruiser.. uh-huh. It’s all good.

Have to say we made our goal, to my surprise, that being Springfield, MO. We had to concede Oklahoma City, but I’ll settle for Springfield. Tomorrow will be a day of magnificent changing landscape as we make across Oklahoma (land of my people), Texas’ panhandle (just skirting Pampa, former home of some of my people) and then into wonderful New Mexico, and our goal Santa Fe. Hopefully some Route 66 along the way!

More to come…

I want to propose a 21st century additional definition for the verb “blink.” The suggested addition is intended for your supermarket and mega-shopping experience, to ease communication with the harried check-out person. “Blinking,” then, is the act of running something over that barcode scanner, most especially, the handheld “gun” version that some stores use. “Blinking” is where they take that scanner gun and “blink!” your purchases.

Rationale: Sometimes you buy something—say, a bag of ice—that you don’t actually have in your cart but that you will grab after checking out. This is a prime opportunity to use the verb “to blink.”

So you could say, “Oh, will you blink me a bag of ice, too? I’ll get it on the way out.”

I’m-just-sayin’- is-all…

My friends the Dos Vatos were visiting for the debut of their movie about The Kentucky Theater. Afterwards, Sophie and I got to talk about what to do with rabid chinchillas.

Well, kids there’s a new comic on the block, around the block, all over the place, from our pal Kenn Minter! Kenn’s worked really hard to give birth to The Experts. I think he’s gonna have stretch marks, if you want to know the truth… You want to know the truth? Kenn’s gone so far as to form his own publishing company, Near Mint Press, to bring you, gentle reader, a little further into his hipster brain. How many y’all got yr. own comic books, huh? HUH?!

The Experts—which has been co-hatched with Kenn’s diabolical colleague Clarence Pruitt—is vintage Minter, showcasing some of his most endearing themes like—you know—neurotic superheros with dubious powers, a plethora of emotional hand-wringing and no shortage of curvaceous females. I said it was vintage Minter, right? The Experts is kind of a small-town suburban version of the X-Men, with half the superpowers, and double the super egos. It also reminds me of The Tick. Heck, pal, you don’t have to believe me about the coolness of The Experts—take a look for yourself. Besides, I’m no comic genius. I just know the goods when I spot’em…

And thanks to Ye Olde Internet, it’s a snap to get yourself a copy of Kenn’s new book from ComixPress. If you’re in Lexington, it’s available at your finer comic book shops. Or if you want to deal directly with Mr. Minter—His Comixness—himself, just email him.

Hurry up and buy it so he can get himself cleaned up.

Welcome to the latest way to spend the money you have too much of, you super-rich so-and-so. Let everybody know that you don’t die like us little people with a crazy custom coffin! (note: even more arcane than their coffins is…their web site!)

What is with this “tomkat” shit? I don’t pay attention but got the lowdown from my knowing pal Lara to fill me in. Mostly, I like the Scientology angle.

Anyway, this is a good way for me to shift the focus back to me and … a little story!

Once, while living in NY, I was walking home, and passed a Scientology location. They had this poster that showed this blockbuster looking sci-fi sort of image and it said “free movie about scientology.” So I thought: “this’ll be fun..” I mean—what other “religion” has their own holy cruise ship?

I went in and approached a lone figure seated behind a hotel-like counter. She was brief and receptive, leading me back to what I hoped to be some sort of outrageous mini-THX plush theater (this being based on the production value of the poster I saw out front). Instead I was taken to this blank, empty room, with maybe a couple of chairs and a TV on one of those rolling carts. The person said: “So and so will be with you in a moment to start the film.” So I waited.. and waited… and waited.. okay, I waited for maybe 6 minutes. That was all the time I had for Scientology nutjobs. Then I strolled out the front door without saying ‘bye.

Kinda wanted to see the film, though…

I want to thank everybody who came to my show at Isle of You. It was a great turnout and plenty of you decided to slide Mick a tenner for Instant cheap art! Thank you—both for the Hamiltons, and—more importantly—for owning my photography!

If you didn’t make it down, you can still check out the snaps online.