I spent last Monday night in jail for an outstanding traffic warrant, which becomes more strange and hilarious to me every time I think about it.
Driving home from a short stay at The Tavern in Scottsboro, I was pulled over for a busted headlight. The officer complimented my driving and took my license and valid insurance card. After an abnormally long time he discovered the warrant, and promptly cuffed me (in size M-100 cuffs, I discovered upon inquiry), had my car impounded, and began to seem suspicious of me. I can only assume that, because where before he had been very friendly and good-old-boyey, he now breathalyzed me, gave me a sobriety test, and asked if I had drugs in my car. I was still in a very good mood at this point, you see, because I didn't realize I'd have to spend the night yet.
We drove up (he drove; I sat in the back asking questions like a bright kid on a field trip) the Mountain to Northeast college where I was handed over to a Fort Paye city cop; my violation had been in DeKalb County. Upon arrival at the county jail they took my stuff and my shoes and my money and my coat, took my cheesing mug shot, and let me call somebody. I hoped to reach my mom at home right away so I could have a chance to say, "It's me again, Margaret," but no luck.
Anyway, they put me in the big holding cell where they usually keep all the drunks. It's just a big concrete room with a blanket. Suffice it to say nothing happened to me that's improved my opinion of either law enforcement or penal systems.
Enough, enough. I promise I'm going to be a good blogger now; I was discouraged after a lukewarm reception of "Gold in the Hills;" which, if you haven't read it, is a good story. I promise. And even if you don't like it, I wouldn't mind hearing what you think. But one way or the other, I miss blogging, and I know there are some people who like this, so I'll be back regularly. Scout's honour.
I've been reading my face off lately. Right now, it's Dan Simmons's 1000-PAGE MONSTROSITY The Terror, which is sprawling and anachronistic as all hell and perfectly lovely for a horror fetishist like me. I like the idea of fictionalizing an historical event; not only casting historical figures as fictional characters (which, let it be said, is the only way any of us know them anyway) and imagining what they think and feel, but actually inserting a terrifying supernatural totally made-up element into the proceedings. Simmons has put a monster out there on the ice with poor Franklin and Crozier and their ice-locked ships, and I think that's awesome.
I'm headed to the Mainstreet Deli in Fort Payne tonight for Open Mic Night, which I've been doing each Wednesday for several weeks now. It's a nice place, all about low-key boozing and music. I've never encountered a club so friendly and so loyal to its musicians. You should come out some night. I hope to see my new friends from Cracker Barrel there, who liked my "Meet Me On the Other Side of the Graveyard" last week. Are you guys reading? Top of the morning to you!
I have a few reviews of music and things to post, which I'll do separately in an adjoining blog to this one. I'll be starting that...NOW.
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I can't stop laughing everytime I think about you sitting in the drunk tank, sober as all hell, waiting to call your mom and say "It's me again, Margaret... boo hoo hoo hoo. They got me Margaret! Hello, is this Margaret? Hee hee hee hee...."
ReplyDeleteAlso, a quick comment on The Terror. I was surprised to see that you find it anachronistic. Until the final 100 pages or so, I didn't spot a single error.. except of course for the monstrosity on the ice that keeps eating people. That didn't REALLY happen, so far as we know... lol.