August 16, 2019

Yesteryear
One year ago today: August 16, 2018, it’s Florida roaches, pal.
Five years ago today: August 16, 2014, 50 yrs + 1 day.
Nine years ago today: August 16, 2010, a dreary mismatch.
Random years ago today: August 16, 2009, hurriedly?

           Bringing you on the most important of Tennessee events, here is the Peanutmobile. I can’t afford Planter’s, I’m more of a Hampton Farms kind of guy. The longer I’m in this town, the more I realize how integral these happenings are to the locals. Alas, I was on my way to buy doggie treats and could not [stop to] find out if anything was free. If JZ was here, we would have. I should have, because ten minutes later, thinking I’ll grab a quick coffee, entered Panera. There is no such thing as a quick coffee at that joint. They hire only the cheapest, slowest, oldest labor market rejects in the territory. I might at ugly as well, the women on staff are indeed ugly to begin with. Such places attract customers of the same caliber. I wasted at least ten minutes waiting in line, closer to twelve minutes.

           Plus the manager lady is one of them. I suspect her policy is to hire only women slower and lower than herself, not as easy as it sounds. She is also a total liberal who thinks she can tell the customers what to think. Last time around (did I tell you this already), I saw her ask two guys to leave because one told the other a Polish joke. The way she informed them they were not welcome, well, she’s lucky they were not attorneys. Anyway, the part that got me was nobody would tell me the joke. (Turns out later it wasn’t about Poles, but the Pope. I would now LOVE to hear it.)

           I received clear instructions on the dog but hesitate to regard a single new spot on his chest that does not bother the animal as a Friday night emergency. I e-mailed the Reb on that one, let her deal with the after-hours vet arrangements. Everything these days involves a shot or a prescription to the tune of $100. Minimum. I’d rather putter and that is what I got to before the heat drove us indoors. That yard swing is a challenge, but it is also proof I’ve learned a few things over these past three years. When I got to the actual fixing part, I see from the mismatched screws the thing has already been repaired far beyond its useful life.
           Another development with the music business, as opposed to the performing aspect. The lady singer quit. I finally talked to the second in command, and was later on the phone with the guitar player from Elm Street who played the fiddle. This is where brutal honesty on my part might pay off. These guys have heard every shade and volume of bullshit imaginable. They are actually based in Smyrna, 25 miles from here. A little over half-way to Murfreesboro.

           We talked on a number of levels and if nothing else, I will be there to help set up the gear and assist with the video. This gig is mainly promotional so it is iffy I’ll even get on stage. But let’s be clear, this is a golden opportunity and I’ll continue to treat it as such. Listening between the lines, I may have plunked myself into the midst of the central committee of the Old Boy Nashville Network. I’m walking a thin wire here, because they all ask if I sing harmonies. They’ll need to overlook that [I don’t] which is ultimately dependent on how well I play bass. From the questions asked, they are proceeding with the same caution I do around guitarists. They started from basics, but quickly escalated the conversation in the correct order that would expose any unusual gaps in my history or ability.
           A good example is asking if I knew the number system. You’ve heard me call it the I-IV-V or blues progression. It was quickly established I can use whatever they have—but I prefer not to hit the stage cold. The one guy is an acoustic player who broached the idea of a duo. They have a rehearsal penciled in for the morning of the 21st. Got that, Florida, a rehearsal in the morning to get rid of the clowns with day jobs, methinks. The decision for me to attend is communal, so I don’t know yet. Give the word and I’ll be leaning on the door.

Picture of the day.
Gujarat, India.
Remember to use BACK ARROW to return to blog.

           I garner a lot from these conversations as well. Example? If you insist. Okay, a few days back I received the finalized list for the labor day gig, mentioning how there were new tunes on it that surprised me. Several times, they asked if I knew them. Not if I knew them yet, like they didn’t have time to wait. After, I took a deeper look at what they were asking on the list. Aha! Their other bassist doesn’t know them either, or some similar situation. They just roundabout told me what tunes to have ready by Wednesday.
           Cancel the trip to Clarksville for now. It turns out the only artery, Highway 24, is a mess. Suggested driving time for the 42 miles is consistently above an hour and twenty. That is unacceptable and it would make more sense to live further away on a good route. Plus, nobody told me the neighbor had a thousand acre ranch out that way, so everybody except me has seen it before. I could not afford to put a fence around a thousand acres. I’d rather find some new adventure, stick around to see what I come up with. I did pass a car museum on the way to Difficult (which has become a standing joke this week), but museums are not as much fun without the Reb.

           Much as I like foothills, see photo, I’ve never seen the area immediately to the west of Nashville except by freeway. Wikipedia describes it as having “a decent mix” of climate. What say we take a day trip to, I dunno, put your finger on a map. All the Internet will tell you is where to fish and spend money. Wait, here’s a website where every lake and waterfall comes with a skinny blonde model sitting on a rock. It says they have a concert in a cave. The acoustics are said to be stellar. A little Tennessee humor, methinks.

           Moments later. It is called the Cumberland Caverns, and with my luck is the only show between now and the end of September is tonight. I’m afraid to ask the price, but I’ll try. It is sold out at $40 per head, plus in the fine print, a “fee” of $5.26 and $4.41 sales tax. If, in Tennessee, you want to hear old people play non-hit music 333 feet underground, it will cost you $49.67. And they don’t want any of your smart remarks about the difference between an admission price and a fee. But what I don’t understand is why they don’t lower the admission to $10 to attract business and then hit ‘em with a $35.26 “fee” once they’ve driven out there.
           Wait, what this? For an additional $20, they’ll let you enter the cave “70 minutes prior to showtime”. Or for $15, they’ll let you walk through the cave without the concert. Note how, for the same $15, the same “showtime” gets transformed into a “concert” even though you can’t see either one. It’s all the magic of central Tennessese. The feature artist tonight is Mike McAnally and I’m glad I don’t have to pronounce that one.

           Hang on, I just heard a noise outside. Is somebody tapping a keg? Dang, I mean, naw. It’s the neighbor got his car towed home and that was the hydraulics on the towtruck. The neighbor on the south, who has not tended his back yard in 20 years, think “mosquito heaven”. Where do you think all that bamboo is coming from?
           So, what to do on Saturday? There’s not much around Nashville except more Nashville. Our budget is $110 plus gas plus food. Where would you go? It should be pet friendly, but that depends. One museum I will go alone is a railway exhibit. There’s the MurderMystery dinner, at $60 sounds great. Be a part of the show, they say. Since they won’t say what’s on the menu, maybe the real killer is the three-course meal. One place we won’t be going is the Hermitage this week. There is nothing to indicate the mile-long drive to the exhibit is anything but another city park. If you can’t stand there or stop there because it is private property, then move your stupid ticket booth out to the entranceway. Or at least have the decency to put a sign. However, what chance has consideration in the face of the enormous Nashville avariciousness for theatrics right down to the rent-a-cop level.

           [Author’s note: there is a reason that when I refer to Woodstock, it is a day late. The mystery is buried deep in this blog. For $60 each, I’ll solve it for you. BWAAAA-ha-ha-ha.]

Last Laugh