When I drive, I dream of driving. & since I've driven through mountainous places - Southwest Texas, Arizona, Utah - if it's dark outside when I'm driving, my brain fills in the darkness with giant walls of rock that loom over me.
It's dark on I-75 between Cincinnati & Lexington. & in the rain, a driver isn't entirely sure he or she is driving on a three-lane highway. A highway that never seems crowded, well-maintained, used a lot now for people fleeing the midwest to places like Texas, where the highways there, once ostentatiously spacious, are now choked with cars.
I drove to Cincinnati & back last night to see the great Todd Barry. The opening act was someone I'd never seen before, Brendon Walsh, who was amusing, & the show was actually closed by Neil Hamburger, whom I don't find particularly funny but whom I stuck around to see in case there was some kind of prepared performance at the end. It's been a while since I saw that kind of performance art type thing, a fellow in character for that long.
But you can't really talk much about a comedy show. I like the Southgate House, the venue where I saw Barry & where last week I saw Darren Hanlon & where in two weeks I'll see the legendary Kinky Friedman.
I didn't dream about the comedians, though. I dreamt about driving in the rain up I-75.
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