Nashville Confidential

the last days of nashville confidential

Friends, it's time.

Soon we shall close up shop here at Nashville Confidential. I like round numbers, and Aug. 27 will be the third anniversary of the blog and the end of the party here.

Nothing bad has happened. No one has stalked me. I didn't get Dooced. I'd like to blame Roboto, just for fun, but all the people I've met as a result of the weblog are more of an incentive to stay.

Life's changed, though, and I walk through so much of the day thinking, "Got to write about that," followed by the realization, "but not on the weblog."

I used to write about the things I was doing, but lately I want to write more about what's happening around me. And a lot of those stories aren't mine to tell. A more skilled writer would know how to move from navel-gazing to incisive observation. I'm not that writer.

I'm not sure if I'll leave the blogosphere completely. I'm thinking about trying a new sort of weblog -- the roman a clef weblog, you might say. But if I can't make it work, you will have to wait for the thinly veiled fiction book that, perhaps someday, will result from the assorted scribblings of the past months.

I still have a lot of past chronicles to put up from the past three years -- that last Will Kimbrough concert, the 100th party of the Nashville Public Library, the List of Things I Haven't Yet Done in Nashville. So don't stop linking here just yet.

the secret life of corporate drones

There's a scene in "Broadcast News" where longtime pals Albert Brooks and Holly Hunter are making plans to meet up for a meal, and one says, "I'll meet you at the place by the thing where we were that one time." And the other one says, "Got it."

Tonight JFA called and said we should go to dinner at "the place where I can drink a cold beer in a dark room."

I knew exactly where he meant.

Unfortunately, the place where we drink cold beer (more than 100 varieties available) in a dark room is closed for the rest of the month. The Plan B place was closed too.

So Plan C it was. So we had iced chai teas in a fairly bright room while I yammered and JFA began the countdown to his high school reunion. He said he's not excited about it, but he's not dreading it. So you know it's going to be a good weekend ... It's hard to believe we are coming up on the one-year anniversary of my high-school reunion. So much has happened since then, it feels like a decade ago.

But, strangely enough, my life in recent months has seemed vaguely high-schoolish (without the P.E., thank goodness). If you want full details, ask one of your friends to ask one of my friends to tell me and I'll pass you a note on the way to study hall. Here is one example: Today I was in a large business meeting and a man got up to speak. He was the spitting image of Andrew McCarthy. I pointed this out to the woman seated next to me. We spent his entire presentation in rapt attention.

the last hotel room in paducah, kentucky

There is a sure sign that I’m getting older, and it’s more than the grey hair, age spots and The Shelf Over My Butt That Will Not Go Away. The sure sign is common sense, so when it’s 11:30 p.m. and I’m still a two-hour drive from Nashville, I will now stop for the night rather than zoom into the heart of darkness.

I get the last hotel room in Paducah, Kentucky. The night clerks at three different places confirm this for me. The recipient of the Mapgirl lodging dollar is the Pear Tree Inn, and I ask two simple questions as I check in.

Having sat on it for 5+ hours, I am keenly aware of The Shelf Over My Butt That Will Not Go Away. And a week of Low Country eating is leaving its mark. So I inquire ...

Me: “Do you have an exercise room?”
Uproarious laughter from the clerks.
Me: “I’ll take that as a no.”
Clerk #1: “I think there’s a gym up the road. You can use it for $17 a day.”
Me: “Hmm. Ok, thanks. Well, uh, do you have express checkout?”
Clerk #2 (shakes head with grimace): “Honey, this ain’t that kind of place.”

one degree of separation

Just one more entry about Mark Knopfler and food:

I recently found out that my buddy Claire (who works at two East Nashville restaurants and is a fantastic singer-songwriter) recently waited on a table that included Mark Knopfler. He was at Red Wagon. Why, oh why, in all my travels to Red Wagon, did he never come in? Anyway, it's probably better that Claire was his server, because (a) I know really nothing about the food service industry and (b) I would have gushed endlessly.

No word on what was ordered. (I'll have to scour Richard Bennett's webpage for details.) But apparently he was very nice.

Note to self: Move into Red Wagon. I think I will have brunch there Sunday, regardless of Knopfler's touring schedule. It's been too long since I've had their incredible food.

Where am I having lunch on Saturday? Tin Angel, of course.

epicurean

Note: I have no idea what has happened to the formatting on my archives. They look quite arty and are impossible to read. I apologize since 37% of my weblog is actually a reference to past posts. The blank spaces are links, so mouse over them and words will appear.

Okay, so I haven't made good on my promise to tell all about the Mark Knopfler concert, but here's a better recap anyway: guitarist Richard Bennett talks about life on the road (and on stage) on his web page. I love reading this, esp. since he spends a great deal of time talking about the food. Apparently he is a sushi lover, like me. And he is a Chicago fan, like me. Have you bought his album yet, as I recommended?

I've had my own gastronomical delights this week. JMS is in town and we had a fabulous dinner tonight and an even more fabulous chat. (We had four people I know come by the table -- the kind of traffic I described to him a year ago.) It wasn't quite a strategic planning session, as he has repeatedly outlined my strategy and I neglect to follow through. I miss him so. He and Beloved are pre-engaged. I am very pleased.

Earlier this week JFA called and we had dinner, as we do about once a week. I am so glad he lives here. Don't know what I would do without him. I am lucky to have a great network of friends to restaurant-hop with me.

I think I will add to that list the corporate lawyer who talked music with me today. We were discussing our favorite bands and she listed Squeeze, Glenn Tilbrook in particular. Apparently she met him when Squeeze played her college. Here's something you don't hear from a co-worker very often: "I knew he was somewhere in town so I tracked him down and we ended up playing ping-pong." I love that story. Now why couldn't she have been nominated for the Supreme Court?

road warrior

Thanks to all for the kind birthday e-mails, calls and cards. I just got home from my trip and I do promise to post more later this week, including details of Mark Knopfler's wonderful concert in Chicago. I can sum it up in two words: "Telegraph Road," a song of which I never tire.

Special shout-outs to the folks who made the weekend so wonderful. You know who you are.

Note: United and American Airlines are NOT included in the special shout-outs, as I just got home, and should have been here about 4 hours ago. This is why I much prefer driving. Night, y'all.

sweatiest. birthday. ever.

They call it South Carolina's Low Country because of the topography -- NOT because of the humidity or your caloric intake while here. Holy cow, it is hot and sticky all the time. My traveling companion and I braved a cloudburst this afternoon and, when it was done, watched the steam rise from the pavement. We complained about our hair. Then we went and ate.

All the food here is incredible. Yesterday we had shrimp and grits for lunch, then a massive seafood pasta for dinner. Yay.

Last year's birthday was quite solitary, contemplative and wonderful. This year's was extremely social -- I think I've been with people every waking moment since I got up this morning, which overloads my system a little -- and fulfilling in its own way. I had dinner with people I did not know a year ago, and spent the day talking about things I had no concept of a year ago. Both of those facts are healthy and progressive and make me proud.

The past year was a roller coaster ride. Probably because of that, I do believe I have grown a lot in my 37th year, and so I say, bring on 38. And please turn up the air conditioning.

further bulletins as events warrant

We're coming to you this week from the Low Country of South Carolina, having escaped Atlanta just ahead of Hurricane Dennis. It's a business trip and as you know, I do love to travel, even on a Sunday and in the rain. I learn something with each new journey. Today I learned that an underwire bra will, in fact, set off one of those security wands.

A more Spinal Tap-like moment I think I have never had.

More later this week, esp. about my road-tripping birthday celebration, which begins in about 48 hours. Please forward my tributes to a designated P.O. box in Charleston.

i read the news today, oh boy

I was still in bed, listening to NPR, and the first thing I heard was that Tony Blair was leaving the G8 summit. I was still puzzling over what could possibly be more important than the G8 summit when I learned the awful truth.

I was so happy about the Olympics going to London in 2012. I have been so sad all day today about the terrorist bombings. I sat at work with a sick feeling in my stomach wondering if my new weblog reader-friend -- who lives in London -- is OK. (She is, thank God.) Think about all those Londoners going to bed after one of the happiest days, yet waking up to one of the worst. (Ian McEwan does a good job of describing that here.) Think about the Mayor of London, and what his last 36 hours have been like. I'm saying two prayers for him tonight.

Maybe it's a sign of my fatigue -- or that I need to stop blogging -- but I can't possibly convey everything I wish to say about what transpired in London today. This attack seems a little closer to home, strangely enough, because I think I've spent more time in London than in New York City and it holds a very special place in my heart. One of the most remarkable days of my life took place there (May 13, 2002) and that night I rode the tube to a little hotel very close to where one of the bombings took place. KNS, who was vacationing in London on Sept. 11, 2001, said she was on many of those Underground lines / stops on her last visit there.

I like the mix of British reserve and pluck that I saw in the news reports today. There was an amazing lack of hysterics, just a resolution to get on with life, and in doing so spite the terrorists. I also loved tomorrow's front page of one tabloid, a single word: "Bastards."

I look forward to my next trip to London. First thing I'm doing when I get there is riding the tube.

who am i? what am i writing here?

Hope you had a great 4th of July. We had a very nice, long weekend with many of my favorite things: baseball, Shakespeare in the park and rambunctious nephews. Everyone came over last night and watched the fireworks from my 1,200-square-foot empire. I really enjoyed having people here -- and it provided a good excuse for the quarterly housecleaning.

I have another post in the works about how we spent Fourth of July when I was a child, but it will likely be July 4, 2007, before I get it posted.

I'm not an overly patriotic person (I'm hoping London gets the Olympic nod tomorrow ...) but I do have a lot of respect for Adm. James Stockdale, who hails from my part of the world. I was very sad to read that he has passed away. I think I'm going to have to cut down on my "Who am I? What am I doing here?" imitations of him that I act out from time to time. (Nobody gets it -- if you saw the vice presidential debates 10 years ago, you'll understand.) He really was a brave and rare person who hailed from Abingdon, Ill., just like HCB, another American hero.