Where am I?

Yeeeeaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Back home, foos! Well, kind of home. I mean, I don't actually live anywhere right now. It reminds me of being on the road as I'm not quite sure exactly I'll end up on a nightly basis but I pretty much feel like I'll figure it out as the day moves along. Camping is a viable option, so are Wal-Mart parking lots. Perhaps a Wal-Mart parking lot followed by a visit to a 24 hour fitness parking lot. I can support evil corporations that put independent business owners out of work as well as grabbing a jog and a lift and a shower. Like this guy!



How's that for optimism?

op-ti-mism

–noun

1.

a disposition or tendency to look on the more favorable side of events or conditions and to expect the most favorable outcome.

Like I said, I'm back home. Meaning, that I'm painfully behind on this update thing. Deal with it. I have a certain set of conditions that need to be met before I put finger to key. In no particular order:

• Time
  

That's not exactly true, I have another set of requirements:

• Independent wealth
  
• Motivation (money)
  
• Gold!
  

I think I last told you I was going to talk about the bustling troposphere of Jackson, Mississippi. Here it is in picture word form:

Love me some Fat Back

Across the street from Old Tavern on George, where The Congress played in Jackson

Um... Yeah...

Ladies and Gentleman, I'd like to introduce Robbie "The Entertainer" Peoples:

I actually think that this picture sums up what Robbie "The Entertainer" Peoples is all about. It wouldn't be very gentlemanly of me to go on talkin about this nice southern folk. Let's just say that Robbie "The Entertainer" Peoples lives up to his name... and some, and a little more + a little bit. Like sweet tea that's too sweet -- mixed with way too much whiskey.

The first time I saw this guy in Colorado, he was wearing a white suit, playing a mean harp, and making the ladies swoon with his infectious energy (sweet tea) and slow southern drawl (whiskey). The last time I saw him, he had a shy southern bell licking his bare chest as we sweated our ass off in the non air conditioned band house behind the Ole Tavern. The night of rest turned out to be pleasantly uncomfortable as the four of us managed to catch some shut eye skilfully adjacent to a industrial fan that was on warp speed.

We had a blast in Jackson and can't wait to go back. I ate some fried catfish in Mississippi, which, unbeknownst to me, is the catfish capitol of the whole dang world. It was good. It was battered and fried, seasoned and salted. That combination generally doesn't fail. Unless it does.

Following a sweaty stint in Mississippi, we headed up I-65 North to Nashville for a half day of rest before and a subsequent Monday evening performance at 3rd & Lindsley bar and grill which is a beautiful room with great sound. We had a modest but enthusiastic crowd that listened intently and applauded our every move (my family was there). We were done by 9pm which was strange to us as we are generally just loading in at that time of night. The Congress had a free night off in Nashville. Uh-Oh, what does that mean?

KARAOKE!!!

If Dwight looks like he's singing a Vegas show tune, he most likely is.

Ole red beard crushing some country crap I've never heard.

Fortunately for me and unfortunately for you, I don't think there are any pictures of my mad karaoke ability. You see, my serious lack of singing talent is made up for by a hell of a stage performance complete with kicks, crowd points, multiple index finger come-hither(s) and poor, poor falsetto (which works particularly well when attempting songs by The Police). I'd like to take top idiot award for the night but Scott's amazing version of Seal's "Kiss From A Rose" can instantly impregnate women from a block and a half away. In addition to creating life, his ear piercing final chorus vocal explosion could be used as a strategic weapon by the military to drive out stubborn Central American drug lords after a 47 hour stand off.

Alright, kids. I'm going to depart the rigatoni (Roll your R's!!!) tubes of the interweb so I can walk up stairs from the incredible green room at The Ghost Ranch Saloon in Steamboat Springs, Colorado. This place is pretty awesome. It's in the mountains, they fed us really good food and there is a piano autographed by every band/artist/party crasher/server that has stepped foot in this room. I will now take a picture of the piano and post it. It's a real time update, kind of a like a twitter but not as stupid or important, depending on how you look at such things.

Damn, I'm getting off track. I still have Louisville, Knoxville, Memphis and Carbondale to cover before The Congress gets home... even though we are home. We'll, I'm not home, even though I am home. Colorado is home, for now -- because I like the flag and the mountains... and The Broncos but I'm not sure about Tebow.

Aurevoir