One More Song...

If there is one thing that shapes your perception of a concert, it’s the encore. It’s the last thing you hear for the night and it can be the tipping point on whether a show is good or bad. Thursday’s encore from the Turnpike Troubadours definitely capped off their show in a positive way. The first of the two songs was “Whiskey In My Whiskey,” a heartwarming song about shooting a former love on the dance floor, with bassist and bearded American RC Edwards handling the vocal duties.

The second song was the hammer though. After going off the stage briefly, the group returned and fired through a solid version of the Mel McDaniel class “Louisiana Saturday Night,” which happens to be one of my favorite songs of all time. For those of you wondering, the line that refers to “a possum in a sack” is talking about lunch. I’m fond of saying that if a band came out and played nose flute for three hours and closed with “Louisiana Saturday Night,” I’d still be a happy camper.

My only qualm about the encore was the process of the encore itself. I understand the whole “go off the stage and make the crowd shout for more” idea, but I’m not a fan. I’d rather the band just say “Listen, we’re going to do two more songs then we’re out of here. Thanks for coming.” But that rarely happens so I’ll just have to be content with the current process and hold out hope that all will be made alright with the sounds of Mr. McDaniel. 

It Has A Certain Ring To It

A few weeks ago at my brother’s wedding, Daniel asked me when I got used to wearing my wedding ring. Having been married since February of 2009, I told him I’m still not used to it after more than three years.

There is just something about that little metal band around your finger that begs you to do anything but just keep it there. Daniel didn’t have his on for more than an hour when he started fidgeting with it. My co-worker Pavel got married a few weeks before Daniel and I can constantly hear him playing with his ring, which has a section that spins while still on his finger.

I myself mess with my ring way more than I should, at least according to my wife. I spin it on my desk. I flip it up in the air. I sell it at a pawn shop. In short, I’m not nearly as careful with what is supposed to be a symbol of our love.

The closest I ever came to actually losing it though came during a time when I wasn’t messing around with it. I keep my ring in my wallet at night so it won’t be misplaced, which is all well and good unless you lay your wallet on the top of your car before you go to the gym then drive off. I still consider myself lucky that some Good Samaritan found it a few blocks from our house and took it up to the office after recognizing my name from the newspaper.

Not that it would be the end of the world if I did lose it. My dad lost his first ring after a softball game when it fell off his motorcycle. He lost his second a few months ago while doing yard work, although he did buy a metal detector and the search for the ring continues. It’s hard telling whether or not he’ll get a third, but my parent's marriage is just fine without it. Dysfunctional as ever, but fine just the same.

While a ring may symbolize a love that has no beginning or end, it’s still just a piece of metal. It doesn’t matter whether it cost $10 or $10,000. What matters is the love and support you give your significant other. And I hope my wife remembers that when I inevitably drop my ring down the sink, or in a sewer grate or whatever other stupid thing I do because I won’t keep it on my finger.