Here you can check out our full video interviews with Dwight Yoakam and Vince Vaughn at Buck Owens' Crystal Palace. Below is my account of the drama that went down behind the scenes on Jan. 6:

Sometimes it helps to play the sweet, honest reporter. And sometimes it screws you over.

My first mistake when covering Vince Vaughn at the Crystal Palace: Introducing myself to the competition. You see, Entertainment Weekly magazine didn't know I was going to observe the Country Music Television shoot promoting the actor's new film, "Vince Vaughn's Wild West Comedy Show," parts of which were filmed in Bakersfield. I believe the mag's big, "exclusive" spread on the Vaughn shoot with Dwight Yoakam is supposed to run in this week's issue (the CMT show, "Top 20 Countdown," will air Thursday). Why they'd feel threatened by a little local newspaper, I have no clue.

After I walked through Buck's doors and stepped all over the paper photo backdrop in the lobby, I introduced myself as a reporter from the local paper. I had no idea who these people were. The crew stared at me. Then a woman said briskly, "You're not supposed to be here."

Um, I was invited? Soon enough, the lady took me into the darkened back office, told me to wait, and headed upstairs to the green room to tell the Crystal Palace folks that I was here.

This was around noon. As I waited, Vince Vaughn and a good-looking woman bounded down the stairs and walked past me. Oh, crap, I thought. The man is huge. "How are ya?" he said as I looked at him. Mostly I was staring past him, longingly, at the hamburger buns in the kitchen.

Soon he appeared on the TV monitor above my head, walking around the stage with the female compadre. I wondered, If I get nothing today, can I write about a security cam and Vince's hugeness?

I was led outside by an apologetic Jerry Hufford, promotions director for the Palace. As we sat outside in the cold, Vince walked by and asked about Dwight's motorcycle. "Yeah, it's in storage," Jerry said. "That's cool," Vince said, laughing.

They left me outside with a few EW crew men from Los Angeles, who scarfed nachos and asked me if the Bakersfield sign leads to downtown. "It leads to nothing," I said.

I had to get out of the cold, so I walked to Arby's, bought a sandwich and listened to cashiers bitch about their jobs. More waiting awaited me when I returned.

Jerry was good to me. He kept his phone on him and gave me updates. He and Buckaroo Jim Shaw came outside and I poured out my woes to them. Jim said he once had a "D'oh!" moment, too, when he played a Fresno bar at age 18. The underage Jim told a guy, "I'm not supposed to be here." Turned out the guy was the owner.

I watched the EW crew take turns feeding and kissing a puppy. A few asked how to get to Guthrie's Alley Cat.

Around 2 p.m., a woman walked outside and told me I could come in, but we had to avoid the EW reporter. Apparently, I wouldn't want to cross her. (I don't know why, but I pictured lasers shooting from her eyes.) Jerry and the woman haggled over the best way to hide me in the shadows. I ended up in the balcony, way in the back, but I could see nearly everything. Vince, the comedians and Dwight shot their plugs for "Wild West." Dwight, in white snakeskin boots, strummed a few notes from "Dueling Banjos." The comedians came upstairs and filled plates from the beautiful buffet. I think there was some tri-tip, a grill for sandwiches, buttery rice. Lucky.

The director said I was in the shot and had to move. Not long after, Victoria Vaughn, Vince's sister, told me the EW reporter would eat with the comedians. I had to move to another part of the house, so she wouldn't see me. The woman who'd shuffled me around introduced herself as Sandra, one of the producers on the film.

From the opposite side of the balcony, I watched CMT's Lance Smith finish up the day's interviews. When it was over, Jerry pointed at me from the stage. Dwight turned and I waved. Maybe Dwight was just blinded by a spotlight, but he kept staring in my direction. Flattering? Unsettling?

I meandered down and introduced myself to Dwight and his publicist. The EW crew huddled in the lobby. I got the feeling the evil eye had locked onto me.

I finally got my interviews. Dwight, Jerry and I headed upstairs to Buck's old plush, low-lit office: Nice big screen TV, a bookcase of family photos and knick-knacks, a stuffed toy tiger (by the tail, it's plain to see), comfy couches and chairs, and that famous red white and blue guitar, sitting all by its lonesome in the corner. They left me alone with Dwight.

Dwight seemed like a real down-to-earth guy. He'll talk your ear off, and he knew his stuff about the history of California country music. It's clear Buck was a friend and father figure. There was a kind of loneliness about him as he sat in Buck's office. I'm really hoping his pensive tone wasn't manufactured. I think Dwight truly misses the guy, and the previous entertainment reporter said a few months ago he cried during a phone interview when he talked about Buck.

Vince walked in just as Dwight and I were wrapping up, chatting about "Streets of Bakersfield" songwriter Homer Joy. Dwight and Vince recited a few of the lyrics together, which was charming. Dwight eventually scooted out.

And Vince? Cool as a cucumber, friendly in a professional way. I got 10 minutes, no more. He had a few coughing fits (head cold, he said) and he probably wanted to get the hell home. I asked about Buck, Dwight, the movie. At the end of the interview, he asked me if Buck's son Buddy Alan still fills the place, and I said I believe so. He hopes the Crystal Palace will stick around for a long time.

So I got what I needed. Highly controlled atmosphere -- to be expected. The unexpected came later, when I heard Merle Haggard was in town at exactly the same time. That's another story.