Nashville Confidential

the cake that roared

BRT’s 6th birthday party was tonight, and a wonderful time was had by all, especially those fond of dinosaurs, bugs, and anything you can bounce or hit with a stick.

BRT is my first and favorite nephew, a distinction I will publicize until the second nephew can understand it enough that I’ll have to stop out of political correctness. But I well recall the day BRT first showed up, and how life has been much more fun (and more loud) ever since.

His mom organized a beautiful dino-themed party with dino balloons, tablecloth, paper plates, and the most ornate tropical cake I have ever seen, topped with dinosaur figures that made scary growling sounds while their mouths glowed with red flame (well, tiny light bulbs). Is there anything more beautiful to a 6-year-old boy?

BRT got a bug vacuum (I am not kidding about this), a gross of stickers (mostly dinosaur-themed), a disposable camera, and the coup de grace: a White Sox jersey with his name on it. I am relieved that he seemed pleased with my offering: a dry-erase board with scented markers.

Yes, many aunts would buy their gifts at Toys-R-Us; I bought his at Office Depot.

trifecta

The log is officially three years old today! Today was supposed to start its retirement but as I mentioned earlier this week, we're hanging on a bit longer. Keep those cards and letters coming.

my left foot

It has not been an easy summer for my left foot. The gnarly toenail has been concealed by bandages again and again and again. Did you know it takes almost six months for a new healthy nail to grow? Well, it does.

My left foot probably thought it had endured enough abuse – even humiliation – for one season, but then I went and sprained my ankle this week.

alabama getaway, getaway

Don’t blame me if my tales of Birmingham make you want to go there. It was a great weekend, which takes many posts to recount.

I met a number of interesting people. (more on this later)
I had personal tour guides of The Ham’s nightlife.
I tried to divine the public transportation system of the Magic City. (more on this later)
I walked through some very sad chapters in our history. (more on this later)
I sang along with strangers in a dark room.
I peered down on my past.

No consideration was paid for these promotional announcements, but I have to share:
-- Southwest Airlines is fabulous. I have absolutely nothing but praise. No delays, no hassle, no comparison. The fare cinched the trip for me -- it was really affordable and easy.
-- Ditto to Midway Park Ride & Fly. I don’t know why I never did this before. Great customer service and completely beyond expectations in every way.

Back to our regularly scheduled programming: gushing about travel, bands, and cool people who cross my path.

risk and reward

I highly recommend seeing a concert at WorkPlay in Birmingham, Alabama, if at all possible. It is a beautiful venue and nicely run. One of the great ideas they had for Friday night’s Webb Wilder show (and DVD taping / live album recording, thank you very much) was that booths along the back had this message [paraphrased]:

These tables are for 4 people. If you are a party of less than 4, please be prepared to share your table with someone.

In my inimitable style, I was a party of one, and that meant I needed to help some party of less than four fulfill their booth destiny.

The last time I asked some people if I could sit at their table at a concert, I met Mr. & Mrs. M, which was one of the best things that ever happened to me in Nashville. Last night I asked P&H and B, and that was one of the best things that ever happened to me in Birmingham. [Hey, they invited me to share their table, not their names or details.]

B was a big Webb fan and dragged the others to the show, and that is usually my job. I’m glad to know someone else is spreading the good word in the southeastern U.S.

It took us about three minutes to determine that we would be fast friends, and I could fill a lot of paragraphs how serendipitous this all was. The short answer: they were very funny and interesting and extremely hospitable, perfect guides to “The Ham.”

'those wonderful people out there in the dark'

I have seen many beautiful things in my life: a breathtaking sunset over Big Sur, Paris' Left Bank at twilight, Poets Corner at Westminster Abbey, and the Wurlitzer organ rising out of the stage at the Alabama Theatre.

The first clue that the Alabama is special is the gorgeous vertical marquee that blazes over Third Avenue North. The “Showplace of the South” is massive -- it seats 2,500 people -- and intimate at the same time. I explored every floor of it (just as I did at the Fox Theater in St. Louis two weekends ago), from the upper balcony to the ladies’ powder room in the basement. There was always another tier, another level with intricate ceilings and railings, broad carpeted aisles and little rooms tucked off them.

I lingered in the lobby at the “gift shop” (buy your Alabama Theater T-shirt here) and concession stand (where candy is $1), trying to decide where to sit. Finally I settled along the right edge of the curving mezzanine, where I could look over all the ornamentation, the crowd on the main floor, the stage and the huge curtains that bore this projected message: “Welcome to the Alabama Theatre’s Summer Film Festival.”

Just when I thought I could not love this place any more, the lights dimmed and the music swelled. Spotlights shone on the open door in the stage, and up came the organ of red and gold, with gilt ironwork at the base of the bench. All kinds of stops and knobs fanned out around the organist (or, as the new message on the curtains proclaimed, “Your Organist Gary Jones.”

topography

One of the advantages of poring over a lot of maps and aerial photographs of your town is that when you’re daydreaming out the window during a flight from Birmingham to Chicago, and you see a strangely snaking river, you suddenly realize it’s the Cumberland. You know you’re passing over downtown Nashville, and you trace the circular sweep of James Robertson Parkway; you see the Capitol and the dome of the Municipal Auditorium and you try in vain to pick out which of those buildings down there was your home.

You press your forehead against the glass and crane your neck to catch a glimpse of the oval of the Gaylord Entertainment Center and then it’s all out of view. But just for today, that Nashville-shaped hole in your heart is filled.

reprieve

Nashville Confidential will not end on Saturday as previously announced. It is going to end, but not until I can put up those important posts and recount the blow-by-blow of last weekend's wacky doings in Birmingham.

The fact that I'm not ending exactly on the third anniversary is vexing. However, I really want to record those last posts and some important final thoughts. Lately I've learned something about myself: closure is really important to me. So the weblog isn't ending until I've chronicled all that I must.

If you see someone wearing a sandwich board with the message, "The End Is Near," believe it. But keep coming back here, at least for the short term.

quotable

"What, did you lose a bet or something?" -- a co-worker upon learning I'm going to Birmingham, Alabama for the weekend

I am very excited about going to Birmingham. I've always wanted to make it back there since my Bruce extravaganza in 2002. This weekend is a Webb extravaganza, of course.

I'll post something from the road.

get the funk out

I am pleased to report that I am back to my old self. I applied my particular brand of self-medication:

-- A great deal of sleep.
-- My favorite episode of “The Simpsons” (the one in which Albert Brooks is the voice of the lothario bowling professional).
-- A new book of poetry.
-- Lots of magazines, which I read while sprawled out on a blanket on the living room floor. I remember when I was a senior in high school my parents went out of town and I went to the bookstore in the mall, bought about seven magazines, then laid on a blanket on the living room floor and read them over a weekend. It’s one of my favorite memories of that time in my life. Indeed, I was a party animal.
-- Music turned up to 11. Very, very rarely Connecticut Mapgirl drops in for a weekend, and although we can lock her in the back room for a set period of time, eventually we have to play music at loud volumes to oust her, much as the government did in hopes of flushing out General Manuel Noriega. The only difference is, we play great music.

A kind Nashville Confidential reader (and blood relative) just sent an article on Podcasting, which I need to learn so you too, gentle reader, can benefit from this soothing aural elixir. Until then, I highly recommend these tunes at loud volumes in order to beat the blues:

“Sentimental Hygiene,” Warren Zevon
Every night I come home exhausted / from tryin’ to get along

“Layla,” Derek and the Dominoes
Note: You must employ the long rockin’-to-mellow version, not the pallid Clapton overhaul of the 90s. You must listen all the way through to the little chirp at the end for maximum effect

“I Don’t Want to Know,” Jason and the Scorchers
Ignorance is bliss.

“Rough Boys,” Pete Townshend
Might want to keep the volume down on this one, so you don’t alarm the neighbors, although wearing earphones may impede your ability to windmill about the house.

Anything by Rockpile
Because I have yet to find a Rockpile song that cannot chase away the blues – even the blues-influenced songs.

Cheaper than drugs, and it works every time. (Your actual mileage may vary.)

Do you have any jump starts, any mood lifters like this? I'd love to hear them.