White Line Fever

I’ve got White Line Fever.
No, not those white lines.

According to Wikipedia, White Line Fever was one of those 1970’s B-movies about truck drivers, starring Jan-Michael Vincent. In the film, as I recall, he came back from Vietnam to run his father’s trucking company.

The truckers treated him so badly, he quit, got his helicopter license, and went to work for Ernest Borgnine in a TV drama, or something like that.

Anyway, the title of the film was taken from the slang phrase depicting the variety of highway hypnosis that comes from staring at the lane-dividing stripes in the asphalt.

So what’s the first thing we do after the holidays?
Road Trip.
Not a restful way to spend the weekend, but rewarding nonetheless.

First a trek to Huntsville to retrieve my mother-in-law (no, she did not bring her megaphone), then a lateral move to the west into Central Texas to celebrate the 50th birthdays of my brother and his bride.

(Each thought the other would be so surprised when everyone from work, church, and school showed up at the house on Sunday afternoon. So much for the time-honored tradition of the Sunday afternoon nap. And yes, they were surprised.)

But by 4pm-ish, it was time to scamper back behind the pinecone curtain, deliver momma-in-law, and arrive at The Clanton Hacienda just in time to turn in for the night.

This will be an interesting week.
In Houston, we’re putting the final preparations together for The MoneyFair.
We’re also counting the hours remaining in which to prepare for our move down the AM dial in Houston (to 1110am).

It’s a busy time.
No time for sluggishness.

The cure for White Line Fever?
Brent Crude: 1 small can of sugar-free Red Bull into your favorite brew of Java.

Yum.
I'll see you in the morning on the Radio.