1. The proliferation of drunken old men on Honky Tonk Row. Happy drunken old men who like to give a young’un like me trouble, which I always welcome. How many drunken old men did I see? So many that I’m starting to believe that when ornery old beer-drinking, country music-loving old farts who’ve lived otherwise good lives pass on, they go to heaven at Roberts Western World. I’m kind of hoping that’s where I go when I die. Speaking of honky tonk heaven …
  2. Being able to see the Don Kelly Band whose members include a guitar player who looked and played so much like Jack White my drunken ass was convinced it might really be him, thus proving that drinking Pabst Blue Ribbon from the can will make you go blind. I’ve got photos, though, which I would post if I had remembered to pack my camera cord. The band’s upright bass player accompanied Johnny Cash on all of his American Recordings albums. They played a version of “Ghost Riders in the Sky” that might have melted the feet of the Marty Robbins mannequin that watched them from above.
  3. Fried apples and macaroni and cheese.
  4. Ernest Tubb Record Shop! Ernest Tub Record Shop! Oh holy music mecca, Batman! I will not be yarn-shopping while in Nashville because I blew my budget on CDs and books. Wanda Jackson! The Johnny Cash album of children’s music he recorded in 1975! Train songs! I can’t even remember what else I bought in my PBR frenzy, but it was all good, I’m sure.
  5. The likelihood that I’ll be photographed doing something obscene to the statue in front of the giant Southern Baptist Convention headquarters building.
  6. Staggering back to the hotel in time to catch Wilco on Saturday Night Live. Did you watch? If you love me, you watched.
  7. Wilco! Ryman Auditorium! Sunday night! The Ryman was originally built to be a church, which is so appropriate for me. This is just about the only way you’ll get me into a church on a Sunday – promise me that Wilco will be there, too.
  8. Between now at the concert? Sleep, hopefully followed by those sweet potato pancakes, and a pilgrimage to the Country Music Hall of Fame. We might go back to Lower Broadway so Brian can lick the windows at Gruhn Guitars some more.