I Love Living In This Town

So, today was the last day of school for my kids.  It was an odd kind of day; school let out at 11:30.  Trillian had a birthday party to go to, so she rode with her best friend’s mom.  I picked up Zaphod and took him back to work with me. (I wasn’t the only one with a kid at work this week).

Trillian’s best friend (I need to give her a blog name because she’s quite a character) is spending the night here with us tonight, so I headed to her dad’s studio to make “the trade”.  Her dad has a studio on 17th, only a few minutes away from where I work.  

So anyway, I go in the back door quietly (you never know when they’re “hot” up in the studio), and Trillian’s friend says “There’s somebody famous up there, although I’ve never heard of him”.  I heard the playback coming from the console, it sounded vaguely familiar.  Not the usual country – this was up my alley.  It was definitely old-style R&B.

The girls walked up the stairs to the actual studio, so I sheepishly followed.  There was Jay (Trillian’s friend’s dad) dancing in front of the mixing board.  He hollered over the playback: you’re just in time to see Delbert McClinton sing!

Well, they weren’t recording, they were filming something.  An interview, a video, a documentary, I have no idea.  There was a beautiful woman singing with him (go figure), and they were doing a rockin’ number I’d never heard before.

I stood there gawking like a fanboy.

We Nashvillians pride ourselves in our non-gawkiness.  We give celebrities their space, usually.  But I just stood there, awestruck.  Then, they finished whatever they were doing in the vocal booth, just as Jay and I were making the kid exchange.  So, out walks Delbert McClinton, singer babe, and a cameraman into the midst of running children, the engineer & his wife, a couple of other people, and a gawking computer programmer.  It was probably quite a scene.

As Mr McClinton passed by to go outside to take some photographs, he looked at me and gave me a friendly “How ya doin’?”  I was trying to keep my daughter from running into the drum booth, so I just nodded and said something to the effect of “plubuhmerdosh”.  Or something like that.

I know Ford Prefect is also a big Delbert McClinton fan, so he’ll probably punch me when I see him next.  Me?  I’m still on a kind of high, even though I’ve got three kids to look after and a kitchen to clean.

I love living in this town.

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Posted in Kids, Music. 2 Comments »

Where Do The Children Go?

By almost all accounts, I live in a nice neighborhood.  I don’t think it (the neighborhood) was planned, rather it came together as some kind of cosmic accident: a major highway is a block away, yet within this wooded neighborhood, you feel like you’re living in some rural enclave.  For a person my age, it’s almost heaven.

And therein lies a problem.  Something that’s been nagging at me for a while.  My children have no neighborhood playmates.

We’ve been trying to walk more as a family, and a good place to do it is the neighborhood that sits behind our house (our street is kind of the bulwark – the real neighborhood is behind our “woods”).  As we walked yesterday, Lintilla would point out her friend’s houses from the late 60’s / early 70’s .  Back then, almost every house had at least one child in it, near Lintilla’s age.  What a wonderful place it must have been!

It makes me kind of sad to think that this manicured, ghostly quiet neighborhood was once filled with the cries and squeals of children.

I had that growing up.  My parents were not wealthy, far from it, so we live in tightly knit working class neighborhoods and apartments (we moved a lot).  I have specific memories of specific neighborhood kids: playing Evil Knievel with Howard, building forts and playing war with Bill, seeing my first Hot Wheel at the house of “Jeff across the street” (that’s what we called him).

My children have no idea what that’s like.  They have bookoos of friends; all of them from school, church, summer camp.  None from the neighborhood.  If I’m honest with myself, I know that most young parents cannot afford houses here.  I couldn’t.  Were this not the paid-for house Lintilla was raised in, we’d be somewhere else.

And I’m not ungrateful: I realise that my children have educational and other advantages because I don’t have a mortgage.

But summer’s here.  I should be hearing the play of children in the distance, broken up by the sweet call of a mom, beckoning her kids to supper.  But, I don’t hear that.

I don’t believe in regrets, but I get darned close when I think of this subject.

Something Cool For You Oldsters Like Me

I screamed in WalMart the other day.  Looking with my son at Yu-Gi-Oh cards, my eyes spotted something that my brain refused to comprehend.  I did a double take.  Finally, on the third look, I was ready to accept what I was seeing:

They’ve brought back Wacky Packages.

Oh. My. God.

Y’all don’t know how important “Wacky Packs” were to me when I was Zaphod’s age.  I remember working my butt off to get money for a pack of Wacky Packages and a package of “Now or Laters”.  (Amongst my friends, they were called “now-laters”.

This development fills me with a wistful nostalgia.  The cards have not changed a bit; they are exactly as they were in 1975.  Parody sticker on the front, the back has a single piece in a puzzle that forms a big parody package.

Now, if they’d just bring back clackers, I’d be in mid-life crisis heaven.

Dang It, Steve Gill

I listened to your shows for years.  I gave your campaign money.  And now I hear you are asking listeners to call WKRN because two of their employees who are paid to give opinions…

gave an opinion.

Are you nuts?  You see it works this way: somebody says something.  You listen, think about it, then reply respectfully.  He listens,  finds points of agreement, and highlights remaining differences.  You do the same.

It’s the way grown-ups speak to each other.  I have not met you, Mr Gill, so I can’t yet call you and idiot, because I don’t know if you are an idiot.  Yet, you throw around the word like candy.  Save the word, restore its power.  Someone who disagrees with you (and me, for that matter), doesn’t immediately qualify for the term.  In fact, I’ve had some very smart people disagree with me over this very subject.

You are not conversing.  You are holding your hands over your ears and yelling”La, LA, can’t HEAR you!” 

 What you are doing is not what our soldiers fight and die for.

Of The Good

Refresh your memory.  Read this from this blog in January.

Now, go to the X-Alt blog and read this news.  I’ll be here when you get back.

This will not be a “big” show.  But it will be a very, very “important” one.  No doubt, many tears will be shed. 

I love my brothers and sisters in Christ, especially those at Belle Meade UMC.  I hate the wall between us.  I’m ready to take a sledgehammer to the sucker;  if my brothers who caused me and mine to be wounded so deeply,  take up a hammer and bang away beside me, it will be a glorious day indeed. 

I’m giddy and nervous at the same time.  This could go wonderfully right, or terribly wrong.  But isn’t that the way with all worthwhile things?

Redneck Canadian, Come Back!

I haven’t lifted a weight in over a week.

I’ve got a month left.  I’m soooo close to my goal – but I’m in the hardest time of all.

Help!

Talking About Things That I Won’t Talk About

I’ve noticed I’m not alone in this.  There is a certain, incredible, amazing sports story going on right now that I refuse to talk about because I have lived through so much heartbreak while rooting for this certain team, I’m afraid I’ll jinx things.  There’s even a word, a certain title, that’s being floated around in the same breath as this team. That has NEVER happened in my lifetime.  I’m so excited I almost can’t stand it.

What’s funny is, I noticed John H hasn’t said a word about “IT” either.  I’m guessing his reasons are the same as mine.

I’m gonna be walking on eggshells the next couple of weeks.  But let’s not talk about it.

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