Robert Earl is Keen

Texas's own, Robert Earl Keen, breezed into Corpus Christi last night, delivering his frat-boy, sing along style to an eager crowd of fans. I happen to be one of them and occasionally my husband, Don, will pull out his sense of adventure and join me along with a throng of young Texas Aggies to cheer and whoop and sing along with the edgy singer.

Thanks to my brother Alan's Christmas gift of tickets, Don and I found ourselves nestled on the second row among a few fellow 40 somethings waiting for the entertainment to begin. The venue was a local gathering spot that is a cross between a Joe's Crab Shack and the legendary Gruene Hall of Gruene, Texas. A coveted cold front had just blown through so the shoulder to shoulder crowd was easy to tolerate. In fact it felt like a familiar family gathering to me as my memories of college concert days flooded my thoughts.

We staked our claim to the second row during the last songs of the warm up singer and didn't have to wait long for the main attraction to make his appearance. I was comforted to see that Keen and his band members had continued to age along with Don and me during the years since our last party together. Despite the graying goatee, Keen's main fan base is made up of fellow Texas Aggies that are currently enrolled at Texas A& M University in College Station, Texas. I found myself surrounded by little kids, waving beer bottles and half smoked cigarettes around my face and couldn't help but feel like I needed to remind these kids to not run with scissors.

The entertainment started before the band even had their instruments in hand. Front and center of row one was a couple already three sheets to the wind during the warm up. I watched and noticed the big white "T" on the man's baseball cap and was a little embarrassed that this was a representative of my own alma mater, The University of Texas. I was relieved later when I realized the "T" was for Tennessee. I was certain this couple was going to procreate in front of all of us or vomit on Keen's shoes before the night was over. I was secretly betting with myself which one would come first. In the meantime, I watched them worship the singer with every song, as if Jesus Himself was standing on the stage.

The entertainment continued as I watched two young Aggies do their best to swagger and sweep other fans out of their way so as to nudge my second row spot away from me. I wasn't too annoyed as I noticed these kids had produced two cans of Copenhagen from their hiding places and raised them above their heads like an offering to the singer. They knew every word to the song coincidentally entitled "Copenhagen" and twisted the lids off the cans in cue with the music to dip their snuff like a well rehearsed dance step. I was relived that this was the only song they needed to stand in the second row for and they swaggered of, dip in cheek, and happy to be moving on.

Excitement ebbed and flowed with each song, the drunk couple continued their own ebbing and flowing, and emotions erupted more than once. During one extraction of drunken fist throwing Aggies, the bouncer scooped the Tennessee lover out with the rowdy crowd leaving the partner oblivious. I almost felt sorry for her when she noticed that she was alone, front and center, and gave up the coveted spot to blindly seek out her partner. The spot was quickly filled by a wheelchair with a young girl as it's occupant. Justice, I thought. I kindly let the woman powering the wheelchair have a spot next to me assuming she wanted to keep her eye on the wheelchair and it's passenger.

Later in the evening, I noticed that the wheelchair driver and I had earned a spot on the front row. Robert Earl Keen was right in front of me to the right, the wheelchair driver to my left. Keen looked our way and kept his eyes on us just a little too long. "Maybe he thinks I'm pretty," fleeted through my thoughts as I glanced over at the wheelchair driver. The thought was washed away with a tidal wave as I watched the driver lift her shirt for the singer. "But she's a wheelchair driver!" was my first thought as I tried to reconcile what I had just witnessed.

The crowd could have held my attention all night long. I enjoyed watching different fans trying to fill in the words of songs they couldn't quite remember. I felt loved and protected by my husband as each fight broke out and he turned his attention to keeping me safe. I felt strong as I endured an elbow to the left eye as an eager fan tried to catch a flying Santa's hat above my head and I felt triumphant as I stealthily dodged a smoking cigarette whose owner had no clue that she was about to burn my face. I watched in relief as she accidentally put her weapon out on the baseball cap of the gentleman next to me.

Despite my interest in the crowd, the music of Robert Earl Keen more than satisfied my occasional need of a good-ole country, frat party sing along. From my standpoint I could easily observe each musician do what he does best. From Gringo Honeymoon, Christmas with the Family, Broken End, and the finale Road Goes on Forever...each musician delivered. The ease of every note played, the perfect timing, the swell and sway of a well tuned machine all help me appreciate the music and forgive some of the lyrics of Robert Earl Keen.

The night ended nicely as the hearing in my left ear slowly returned and laughter and hugs were passed around with brother Alan and sister-in-law Shannon. My brother and husband somehow produced the bass player after I mentioned that he was my favorite, and I gushed like a teenager, and showed my age as I bragged of my college aged bass playing son. We drove home happy, Gringo Honeymoon playing in my head, and I just didn't mind that we all smelled like ashtrays.

Ignorance is Bliss

Well, I did it. For the first time in my 45 years, I untangled a black, mysterious wire, and plugged in a "power supply" to my brand new computer. Only those of you who know me best can appreciate this. Unlike most 45 year olds in this country, I have comfortably been cruising beneath the "need to know how to use the computer" radar.

As I write this, my palms and fingertips sweat with anxiety as I secretly pray that I am not frying the delicate inerds of my new tool. I have been overcome with fear as I try to decide what the little red light in the upper left hand corner means. Isn't red bad? And the flashing green light next to it turns my stomach as I wonder what in the world I'm doing. As I manuver through this new territory I wonder how in the world I have gone so long not knowing what a "browser" actually is. (I'm still not entirely sure.)

I actually feel a little triumphant that no smoke is seeping from this little 11x8 inch, blue "notebook" that sits in my lap. And I have successfully dodged the first error message that said "Your browser's cookie functionality is disabled. Please enable JavaScript and cookies in order to use Blogger." Well, all new computer users know that a message like that can end up being a mysterious $50 a month charge to your credit card, so I handled it like the best of beginners. I clicked on the little orange square with a white X on it in the upper right hand corner, then started over, hoping the message would go away. It did. Success!

I'm sure most readers are wondering how I can function in today's world without knowing how to use a computer to its fullest potential, and the answer is easy. I have a brilliant software developer for a husband, and I have always enjoyed the "here comes my knight on a white horse" feeling whenever I can't get my e-mail to work. But I have a funny feeling he doesn't see it in quite the same romantic light as me. Who do you think gave me this computer?

So I'm off to read the user's manual knowing my damsel in distress on the computer days are nearing their end. And I look forward to finally knowing what a "cookie" really is.