Nashville Confidential

al fresco

We had unbelievable weather this weekend, and amazingly fun events, too. On Friday a group of us went to the Flying Saucer to raise a glass to the end of the week and proclaim a toast, "To next week." Apparently most of the folks had a less than stellar week, just as I did.

The Flying Saucer kind of reminds me of the Hofbrau -- if you like beer, it's the place for you. There is a hilarious little etching on a transom there. In elegant script it reads, "Beer: helping ugly people have sex for 2,000 years." At least they're upfront about it.

word to the wise

Oops. I just read this cautionary tale... maybe I should revise my Nov. 18 entry.

Anyway, it is 70 degrees here, blue blue sky and gorgeous. It's Nov. 20, people. Unbelievable.

sympathy pangs

Just got back from seeing Lyle Lovett at the Ryman, and it was fantastic. Lyle and all his band showed up in suits, which I think is so respectful and classy, and they showed up to PLAY. Everyone in his band is amazing, especially bassist Victor Krauss (Alison's brother). Star studio drummer Russ Kunkel (former Mr. Carly Simon) is also touring with them, which I think is noteworthy. I could have listened to them all night, especially when they brought in the 14-voice choir from Jackson, Miss.

I have never questioned why Julia Roberts hooked up with him. Of course, offbeat goes a long way with me. So does musical ability.

Anyway, DMJ went with me and this was our second Ryman event in three days. That's a pretty grueling pace. As Lyle walked off stage, she gave me a look that said, "Please don't say we have to stay for the encore." So we walked back up the hill and called it a night.

blue, blue, my world is blue

I don't write much about work on this log, because all things considered, I have an incredibly good gig. Generally it's not horrible, and when it is, there's no point in publicizing it. May I just say, bring on the Thanksgiving holiday.

So last week I was sitting in my cubicle, composing an open letter to post on the employee bulletin board. It began: "To whom it may concern: Do you realize that you doing your job with your head up your ass is negatively affecting my work performance and the general productivity of everyone on this floor?"

That's when JRB stopped by. Just in the nick of time.

I was sharing my draft correspondence with him and he reminded me of an assessment test that I and other key individuals took about six months ago. He recommended I refer to these profiles for assistance in resolving conflict and learning to work amicably with people I wish to throttle.

That's all well and good, I said, but I place little stock in psychobabble, and I was away when the highly-paid consultant came in six months ago to explain what color we are and what that all means.

No problem, JRB said, his employees just took the test and I was welcome to sit in their explanatory session. So that's what I did today, and it was most interesting.

You answer about 45 minutes worth of questions and they spit out a big report that tells you where you fall on a colored grid in three instances: your interests, your most productive behavior and your behavior under stress. The grid has four colors, each related to a certain set of characteristics. Most people fall in different places on this grid given the three circumstances, forming a triangle.

My grid points were practically on top of one another. This forms a blob. I apparently vary little under the circumstances of general interest, productivity and stress. Another interpretation might be that I am a sociopath. The highly paid consultant was not clear on this.

grinch alert

I saw a TV ad today for "An American Idol Christmas." Fox must be stopped.

I will not be cheated out of Thanksgiving. It's the best holiday out there. I'm pretty done with Christmas, except for the explicitly religious elements. I would like to get rid of everything else about it, even the presents. It engulfs everything and squeezes out Thanksgiving's due.

Consider these signs:

- Christmas carols were the "on hold" music on three different calls I made last week.

- There is evergreen bunting on City Hall and inside the Country Music Hall of Fame. It was up in early November.

- Every store already is decked out in yuletide stuff, and has been for weeks.

Let's enjoy Thanksgiving and then just fast-forward to Jan. 2, shall we?

feel my face

Seriously. It's amazingly soft. That's because KSH and I went to the day spa today for girly treats, like a facial and a French manicure. She is very fun to be with, whip-smart, balanced and a true beauty. She also is highly influential, because she suggested this spa outing a while ago and it's something I never would have come up with on my own.

I have reached the point in my life where I can no longer go without makeup. Well, I can, and often do. But my skin - which has historically been wonderful, and you know I don't say that kind of thing about myself usually - no longer has its youthful glow. Sans makeup, I get questions like "Are you tired?"

So I have been thinking about a facial for some time. I learned a little something about myself, and it is this: I don't like people touching my face at first. It took me a while to get into the whole facial concept. I don't know what I expected but it wasn't someone slathering stuff all over my face in a darkened room with hypnotic music. My first reaction was, "I am so glad I opted for the half-hour and not the full hour." However, I was quickly won over. The steam directly on my face was the best part. The hot towels on my face also felt fantastic; at the same time, I guess I'm a little claustrophobic because my peaceful rest was interrupted by my mind racing stay calm stay calm stay calm stay calm.

They also do a little face massage, which was very relaxing. It's so quiet in that room. Time stops. I wonder what the facial lady is thinking to herself as she does her work. I wonder if she's making a grocery list in her head or thinking about how annoying the music is or rating the subject's facial features.

I have to go put on makeup now to prepare for a little party (entertaining two weekends a row - quite a streak!) but I don't want to clog up my dewy fresh pores, which you can barely see.

Feel my face. Just don't cover it with towels.

big time

I went to Grimey's, a very cool independent record store, and I was 15 minutes late for a brush with greatness! Apparently I just missed Black Crowes frontman Chris Robinson and his superstar actress wife Kate Hudson (daughter of Goldie Hawn). They came in and bought $300 worth of music. Apparently they were very nice, and Kate is very pregnant. Chris is opening for Gov't Mule tonight at the Ryman. Kate is, well, I don't know, hanging out with her husband. I'm not a fan of either one, but I still think it's cool.

I went to get the new Mavericks album, which they didn't have. However, I did pick up a little something for C+C (which I can't mention here) and a Will Kimbrough EP. Please go back and read my first post about why I dig Will Kimbrough so. Guess who recorded some of the songs on this marvelous EP? The Tone Chaperone, guitarist extraordinaire with Webb Wilder and the Nashvegans and producer of Jason's solo albums. This big town isn't, after all.

one perfect day

Today I didn't follow my usual Saturday routine -- get up, clean house -- because my house was unbelievably clean when I went to bed last night.

In fact, it was so clean I was afraid to even do anything last night to disrupt my perfect abode. So I went to bed at 10:15 p.m. I was exhausted. Not to mention I couldn't even find a movie I wanted to see (my usual Friday night routine). So I read for a while, became drowsy, and packed it in.

I woke up with a tremendous sense of well-being and absolutely nothing on my plate for the day. Both of these facts are remarkable and rare in my life. The sky was flawless, the temps were in the mid-50s and there was a cool wind. Perfect! So I showered and listened to NPR, took pictures of my clean house (for posterity) and took my camera on my walk down behind the Capitol to the Farmers Market. I took pictures of the things I always take pictures of: Polk's grave, the Bicentennial waters, the buildings, etc.

lifts and separates

The most absurd thing happened at work today. We were waiting for a "better leadership" videoconference from the Mother Ship but inadvertently tuned into an infomercial on plastic surgery, specifically breast lifts. I am NOT making this up. Two high-level execs and myself in an auditorium with an audio-visual guy who kept talking about the fact that we were watching this (nothing graphic, I assure you, but it was still strange watching the illustrated graph-paper torso moving up, up, up). Finally he got the channels straight and we learned what true leadership is. And it does not involve defying gravity.

By the way, my all-girl band will be named Lifts and Separates. I have said this for years, but I feel I should put it on the record. This phrase is re-entering the lexicon due to the Citibank identity-theft ads that have been running during the past month. (Have you seen them? You're watching the victim but the voice is that of the criminal.) Very clever.

you can check out any time you want ...

I'm wrapping up a five-week night class on the History of Nashville, and it's really been great. I haven't written about it here, because how much do you really care about the history of Nashville? That's what I thought. I may post some random facts in the future, if you ask me very nicely.

The class takes place at Montgomery Bell Academy, prep school to star politicos like Al Gore and Bill Frist and countless generations of Mid-South gentlemen / athlete / scholars. I found out about the class through the public library, but I think it's mainly offered to MBA parents. This is one swanky crowd. I think I'm the only non-"old money" person in the room.

It's mostly a lecture class, led by an older gentleman who is related to almost everyone famous who has ever lived in Nashville, or who has recently attended a party / church / sporting event with fancy folks who can say the same. He often shows an ancient portrait and names the person, then says, "You folks who go to Christ Church know Robert E. Lee Stonewall Jackson Abercrombie? This is his great grandfather." Everyone but me nods.

Or, viewing a picture of a landmark business, "Here's Walter's company. Well, it was Walter's great-great-great uncle's company, but now it's Walter's." Everyone but me nods.

It's not an audience participation type of class, but tonight he put up a yellowed, cracked slide of a bustling street and said, "Who can tell me where this is?"

"Fourth and Church, looking toward Printer's Alley," I said.

"Absolutely right!"

Now how did I know that? Because I am a building FREAK and there was perhaps my most favorite little building in Nashville, a tall, narrow Richardsonian Romanesque building that now houses Nicholson's Cleaners on the street level. In the photograph, it's in great shape and says "Utopia Hotel" on the side. Turns out this building was constructed to house all the tourists who came to Nashville for the Centennial Exposition of 1897 (which was held a year later than it should have been. We're not hung up on deadlines here).

The teacher was quite impressed and asked me how I knew that. I said, "I just love that building." Somehow, I think he understood.