No Looking Forward, No Turning Back

The sign nailed it: "If you're not at Texas Beach, you should be here."

It doesn't matter where the sign actually sat (in front of a consignment boutique), it was the left-behind-Labor-Day syndrome it expressed. In other words, if you didn't have somewhere near the water to be, you might as well find some amusement in the city.

I did.

Pasture was doing a county fair night and while technically I've never actually been to a county fair, I figured how hard could it be?

They'd done it up right, too, with green and white striped flags hanging behind the bar, votive candles inside popcorn bags and a ring toss on the end of the bar. A box with strings (what was that popular carnival game called?) netted me a plastic ring and miniature camera (push the shutter and see a blue rhino or pink elephant!), my evening's souvenirs.

Only the music - ABC's "The Look of Love," INXS' "Listen Like Thieves" - belied the theme, although there were undoubtedly county fairs in the '80s, too. Or did I forget and we put them on hiatus during the Reagan years? Just say no to county fairs?

Naturally there were food and drink specials such as a cotton candy cocktail (champagne and St. Germain with, yup, pink cotton candy atop it) and a pork parfait (pulled pig layered with mashed potatoes, grated cheddar and a barbecue sauce topping), both of which I ordered.

Go hard or go home, I always say. I'll work on unclogging those arteries tomorrow.

Further down the bar were a couple I knew and I heard her asking about the parfait. Since I was halfway through mine, I shared my opinion - it was obscenely good - only to have her tell me she doesn't like mashed potatoes.

Sound of record scratching.

I never heard of anyone who didn't like mashed potatoes. Seems it was Halloween night '82 or '83 and her mother told her she couldn't go trick or treating until she ate her mashed potatoes, which she hated. One bite in, she started gagging and her (weak-willed) mother released her to the neighborhood streets.

All these decades later, she'll only eat smashed potatoes with recognizable lumps of potato in them. What? Like I said, I never heard of anyone who didn't like mashed potatoes before.

Her husband owns a record store in the neighborhood, so of course we got on the topic of the impending bike race and what it might/might not do for the city. I was glad to hear that they'll not only stay open, but later than usual and with the ability to sell beer and wine.

That's how we show thousands of visitors what a cool town we are, not by closing or truncating hours.

I left them - him to his second jalapeno corn dog and her to her hot toddy sno-cone, both part of the county fair specials - and a good-sized crowd of Labor Day left-heres to go to Hardywood for music. A last minute show had been announced and I try not to miss an opportunity to see White Laces.

My night got off to a good start there when upon walking in, a man walked up to me and said, "That's a very fine dress, miss." After thanking him, he told me yellow was his favorite color.

Complimentary men are my favorite kind.

Hardywood was completely civilized tonight with a much smaller than usual crowd (doubtless all the cool kids were at the river or beach) and White Laces was setting up when I arrived. I found a place near the back, enjoying the breeze through the open doors and directly in front of the stage for the best sound.

I heard my name, only to see a favorite shoegaze guitarist I hadn't talked to in ages, so long that I'd had no idea he'd cut off his shoulder length hair. We chatted about music and he told me about the recent show he'd seen featuring '90s alternative bands Hum and Failure, raving about how well the '90s bands' music had held up.

Then we noticed that White Laces was leaving the stage, not a good sign considering it was time for them to start playing. Why, we wondered? Because a man had gotten permission to sing a song to his wife for her 40th birthday and all of us in the room were captive to him and 20 friends singing it aloud.

We belong to the light, we belong to the thunder
We belong to the sound of the words we've both fallen under
Whatever we deny or embrace for worse or for better
We belong, we belong, we belong together

Awwwwww...nothing says "I love you, honey" like Pat Benetar.

That mess over, White Laces took the stage and finally got to play their well-crafted music for the small crowd, including  a new song, "Maybe Not," from the upcoming record.

I'm an unabashed fan of lead singer Landis' guitar playing and voice, but it's the overall sound of a driving rhythm section, keyboards and Landis that speaks to their strengths as a band.

They were only a few songs in when I saw another friend headed my way after a busy day doing wine tastings at the market where she works. Seems she'd recently bid on a piece of art at an auction at the brewery and was in to pick up her Ed Trask piece, a worthy addition to anyone's wall. I admitted to a little envy.

By the time the band got to "Strangulation Blues" and an announcement that it was last call, I felt a twinge of regret that their set was so short. I could have happily listened to these guys for another hour, the breeze tickling my back as it moved my hair from behind.

You know, considering my lack of invitations, I felt pretty fortunate to wind up with fair food and a last minute show. I'm not denying, I'm embracing (for worse or for better) my lack of Labor Day plans.

I'm not at any beach, so I should be here. What's next?