If I've got any sense, I'll remember to reset the trip odometer tonight before I head out. It's going to be one of those [insert the word here for a three-day span in which you roadtrip to three different cities to see three different concerts and beg some of your west coast friends to stay up an hour later than usual so that you can use your obnoxious amount of free night and weekend cell phone minutes to talk to them so that you won't fall asleep on the way home from each show, which you wouldn't dream of missing].

Yeah. One of those.

Tonight is the "Hello Tuscaloosa!" portion of the trip: Great Big Sea and Cowboy Mouth. Amusing, yet typical, of me: I am more interested in the opener (GBS) than I am the headliner (CM). Love you dearly, Heather, but I've seen Cowboy Mouth already. Reason and sanity dictate that I'll see GBS, play Queen of the Sharpies and then drive home, but reality whispers slyly in my ear that I'll stay for the Cowboy Mouth concert and mainline caffeine all the way to a three-a.m. arrival at home.Tuscaloosa. Amazing; I spent three years making frequent road trips to that town, to see a certain Jeff I eventually married, but the town never felt like 'my' town. It was a place to visit, a place to stay for a weekend, a place owned by the U of Alabama students. I think there's a main street called McFarland, and I know that a river runs through the middle of town. The rest? Who knows. There's a bar there, and tonight they'll have good music.

Jeff has arranged for me to meet up with some current members at the Theta Tau house, who will make sure that I find tonight's venue safely. Jeff's been out of school long enough that it's the [actual, genetic] little sister of his "little brother" in the fraternity who may be guiding me to the venue, but after two hours of driving I strongly suspect it'll not be in me to argue.

See show. Possibly stay for main act. Begin drive home. Purchase LD₅₀ of caffeine. Get back on road, negotiate a couple of turns, start wardialing friends, and - someday - make it home.

That's just Wednesday.

Thursday is easier: a lap to Birmingham and back, a cool and easy 1½-hour drive to the WorkPlay Theatre on Colter's recommendation. We'll see how this Damien Rice guy acquits himself on stage. Initial scouting reports from the front (i.e., I had the bright idea of checking his website) indicate he's bringing his happy accompanists with him, so I should get the full multi-instrument experience.

Then I'll get in the car, purchase the LD₅₀ of caffeine, get back on the road, negotiate a couple of turns, start wardialing friends, and - someday - make it home.

If you think there's a pattern here, you'd be right. Except that the pattern gets completely shot on Friday.

Fridays are like that, you know. Existing patterns get shot down. There's more to it than that; if you're careful, you might just see a wildebeest dancing on its hind legs in your peripheral vision, but it's entirely possible that my previous experiences with that had more to do with sleep deprivation and the aforementioned LD₅₀ of caffeine than the existence of any wildebeest in northeast Alabama.

But I digress.

Judging from my conversation with Misty this morning, for reasons that will become murky momentarily, Friday is being renamed this week to "Oh my God it's Steely Dan Day." (Those of you incensed by the lengthening of the name may file your complaints at the end of this entry.)

It's going to be a little different from usual. Jeff will take a half-day off work. I will make high-pitched squealing noises in the house, while no one else is here to record or witness such silliness. We'll leave in the afternoon, and I will resist the urge to speed mightily to Atlanta (as if the concert is predestined to start whenever we show up, no matter what time of day that is).

Instead of my usual open seating in a capacity-six venue, I will be finding my little almost-but-not-quite-high-end assigned seat in an assigned row in an assigned section of what is far more orderly seating than I'm accustomed to.

I will then levitate just slightly above my chair for two hours. Jeff promises that photos will likely be taken of any excessive silliness on my part.

There is no chance of signage, or photographs with the performers. For once, I don't care. I will have finally seen The Show. Afterwards, we will go to a smoky little blues club with a bunch of other Danheads, for a phenomenon known as a Danfest, which I simply must see.

Then we will drive to Jody's house, where we will collapse on a bed on the lowest floor of his house. By this time, I will be attempting to recover from not one, but two, LD₅₀ doses of caffeine in the span of 48 hours, plus the viscera-shaking thrill of finally seeing the #1 concert on my list of Top Two Concerts I want to see (I should mention that #2 simply says "See #1") plus severe shifts in my sleep schedule.

You may shoot me on Saturday. In fact, it would probably be a mercy killing. Not for me, but for the people around me.

Saturday night...we drink, with 'we' being defined as Jody "You Can Call Me Oompa Loompa" Jordan and myself, with my spouse safely abstaining (and probably not-so-safely wielding a camera to document the carnage). Sunday, we retrieve an itinerant British traveler (our beloved Gareth) ... and we drive home.

Nevertheless, I'll have to find a new entrant into the #1 (and #2) slot(s) for "Top Two Concerts I Want To See Before Aliens Kidnap Me From This Planet." Given that Steely Dan has held that position for a decade now, it may be a while before a new winner is announced.