Music Monday: The one where I mention all of you

It feels like it's been about three days since my last post.

Nope.

It's been eleven.

It's mid-May and I've posted exactly four new blog entries this year.  Good heavens, the Rolling Stones put out more new material than I do.

It appears getting back into blogging is going to be more difficult than I imagined.  This must be how Mister Kotter felt when he returned to Brooklyn, "4th Largest City in America."  He gave his first test, then didn't grade it for like ten days.  (That was one of the lost episodes, I'm sure.)

Anyway, that's how I feel.  I'm Gabe Kaplan, and you guys are my Sweathogs.  Sage, you can be Washington.  Ed, you're Epstein.  Umm... Jill, you wanna be Barbarino?  I think we all agree John Travolta was as pretty as a woman anyway, am I right?

OK, scratch that.  I'm gonna need a lot more male readers for this Welcome Back, Kotter analogy to work.

How about this?  You're all Charlie's Angels, and I'm the Tom-Bosley-looking guy who played on the show.

No?

Alright, I got it.  It's Three's Company!  TC, you're Janet.  Heidi, you're Suzanne Somers, always off writing your poetry.  I'm John Ritter, naturally.  Sage, you're Mister Furley.  MarkD, you can be Larry or Mister Roper, your choice.  Um, Cindy you can be Cindy, because obviously.  Hilary, you can be the other girl who came after Suzanne Somers. I think she was a nurse, and we can just pretend she's from Canada.

No, wait, wait, wait!  It's "Happy Days!"  I'm Scott Baio, and I've just returned from a few months away at... mechanic's school.   Sherri B, I need you to play the dual role of Joanie and Mrs. C.  Who wants to be Tom Bosley in this one?  Oh my God, why is Tom Bosley suddenly such a huge part of my life????

OK, I really got it now!  It's Facts of Life.  OKChick, you're Blair.  Cami, you can be Tootie.  Renee, you're Mrs. Garrett.  Um, Actonbell, you can be Jo, always off in the corner playing Scrabble or.... working on cars.  Pia, you're Phoebe.  J. Adamthwaite, you're Rachel.  Xinh, you can be Monica.  And I'll be George Clooney-slash-Ross... and Joey.

Am I leaving anyone out?  Oh, Jocelyn!  Alright, new show -- 90210.  You're Brenda Walsh, because she was from Minnesota.  I'm Brandon because I always wanted to be Brandon.  Blondie you're Kelly Taylor, because blonde and California.  (I like how suddenly mid-post I need to have reasons to validate the character assignments.)  And Susan, you can be Donna, since I'm pretty sure you graduated.

OK, I think that's everyone who might possibly read my blog.  It's a good thing, too.  My only other ideas were T.J. Hooker or the Harlem Globetrotters Visit Gilligan's Island (starring me as The Professor and Meadowlark Lemon).

And if I left anyone out, well, at my age that was bound to happen.  Also please don't be offended by your assignments.  Remember there are no small roles, only small actors.  It's going to take a concerted effort to pull this off, people.

Speaking of concerts.... (Sorry, that was the best I could do.  If you have any better ideas for transitioning from Meadowlark Lemon to a concert, PM me and I'll do some post-production editing.)

2014 has been the year of the concert for me.  I've been to three so far (George Strait, Randy Rogers Band, Jason Isbell) and there have been about eight more that I really wanted to see but couldn't justify financially (Springsteen, Billy Joel, Rob Thomas, to name a few).

Now if only The Hold Steady would come within a 300-mile radius.

Saturday night, we saw Jason Isbell.  I figured that would make a good Music Monday post (though I must admit I never foresaw the four-thousand-word intro about sitcoms coming).

He turned out to be much better live than on CD.  And I liked him on CD.  You know what I mean by CD right?  It just seems so odd to say MP3.  Anyhow, here is some footage I did not shoot of a performance I was not at (but I do love the song)...



"The AC hasn't worked in twenty years /  Probably never made a single person cold / But I can't say the same for me / I've done it many times..."

A show for the aged

Most of us probably have a few select tours we'd like see before we set sail for that great mosh pit in the sky. 

A Wham! reunion tour.  Miami Sound Machine.  DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince "Grandparents Just Don't Understand Tour."  (What?  I have mine.  You have your own.)

We sit around whiling away the hours in our workaday lives, just hoping for the day when we hear the news that our favorite band has gotten back together.

But then sometimes a tour comes along that is so amazing, so completely out of left field, that you didn't even know to wish for it.  It is truly beyond your wildest concert dreams.

That tour has arrived.

That's right, boys and girls... mostly girls.  Motownphilly, back again!  Turns out it's not so hard to say hello to yesterday.  You just thought it was the end of the road.  The nineties called, they want their boomsauce back!  

I've a mind to pull out my Batman t-shirt (a la Jordan Knight in the "I'll Be Loving You Forever" video).  And if I had enough hair, I'd totally rock a 1992 Boys II Men fade!  (As opposed to the slightly-modified Brandon Walsh "James Dean" 'do I unfortunately attempted to rock from 1991 until 1999.)

Boys II Men.  A band that needs no introduction.  And that's a good thing because I don't think I ever knew any of their names anyway.

But I did have their first tape.  Cooleyhighharmony.  The name says it all, really.  

When asked what the band had been up to, lo, these many years, one nameless band member said matter-of-factly, "Well... growing into men, as the name would suggest."

He continued, saying the guys were glad to be back to being Boys II Men after a couple of failed name changes.  "Men Reliving Their Past just didn't work for us.  The only people who showed up at our concerts were forty-year-old guys in football and softball uniforms.  And they didn't know the words to any of our songs."

When asked about their touring partners, this nameless member was only complimentary.  "We are honored to be touring with five middle-aged white guys from Boston.  It's not every day we get a chance to tour with someone whose last #1 hit was longer ago than ours."

Speaking of those "kids" from Beantown, I don't think I have to tell you my feelings about NKOTB.  I mean, my Where Are They Now post may very well have been the impetus for their first reunion tour in 2008.  (Dear World, You're welcome.  Signed, Bone.)

Unable or willing to reach any of the New Kids for comment, we imagine Donnie Wahlberg might have said, "Well, you know, no one really has any idea what movies I've been in.  To be honest, I can't even remember them myself.  But when I tell people I'm Donnie D, well, first they look kinda confused.  But after a couple of minutes of gentle coercion, eventually they're like, 'Oh!  You're one of the New Kids who hardly ever sang lead!'  I mean, you can't put a price on that.  When I'm dead and gone, that's something I can put on my tombstone.  By the way, speaking of tombstones, I now have a tombstone engraving business on the side -- I call it, Donnie D's Famous Last Words -- and I CAN put a price on all your grave marker needs."

And then there's 98 Degrees.  

Look, I gotta be honest.  I always get them mixed up with N'Sync and Backstreet Boys.  

On SongPop, I mean.

When some girl I'm playing against picks the Boy Bands category, I mean...

I always questioned why they didn't just use the degree symbol in their name?  Did they not have character map back then?  98°.  How cool would that have been!  Heck, they'd probably still be popular if I'd been in charge of their logo.

So if you're like me and have no clue what 98 Degrees sang, well there's only one way to find out -- besides the internet.  And asking someone.  And that way is, going to see them in concert.

Actually, I was kinda hoping they'd be the opening act and I could skip their part of the show.  But now I'm thinking what if Nick Lachey is doing a meet-and-greet, I'll probably want to get there early to get a place in line.

This is just the kind of tour that keeps that tiny, glimmering shard of hope alive that somehow, someday, Wham! might slip on the ol' "Choose Life" t-shirts one more time.  (Andrew?  George?  Come on, guys, none of us are getting any younger.)

And without hope, life would be... well, I shudder to think.

(Disclaimer: All interviews in the preceding post are fake.  The interviewees are real, in that they are real people.  But they are not real, in that they were not really interviewed by the real interviewer, who is me.  Those who were fake interviewed for this post did not necessarily say the quotes attributed to them, although that's not to say they couldn't have, had they actually been posed these very questions for real, which they were not.)

"Back in school we used to dream about this every day / Could it really happen / Or do dreams just fade away..."

Gordon Lightfoot - Alabama Theatre

That evening found me pondering a question men have pondered for many years: Was it really worth two months' salary?

I have to be honest. It didn't seem likely. To put it in practical terms, that's a bunch of rounds of golf. Not to mention several beach trips. No matter how much you love someone or something -- and I do -- it just seemed like too much to spend.

You know, for a pair of football tickets.

But this was THE game. Bama. LSU. National Championship. In New Orleans. (Ironically, the site of the last time I proposed to a girl. Don't worry, I didn't know her name.) So I continued to look desperately for a better deal. There's this guy, Craig Slist (weird name, I know), who sells all kinds of stuff online. I was browsing his site when I saw it:

"Gordon Lightfoot - Alabama Theatre - January 15th"

What? Could it be? Was GLight coming this close? How could I not have heard about it?

It could. He was. And I had not. Perhaps I'm not as "in the loop" as I think? Nonetheless, I was going. (And yes, I'm just now writing about a concert I attended more than two months ago.)

This would be my first visit to the Alabama Theatre, located in Birmingham. Having looked up some info online, I found it was built in 1927. Not knowing anything about architectural styles, I think I can best describe the theatre like this: It looked like what I imagine the theatre where Lincoln was shot probably looked like.

Before the show started, several people were taking pictures of the inside of the theatre. It had a classy feel to it. To wit, there was one section of seats called a "dress circle," which I will confess I was afraid to purchase tickets in because I thought maybe the people who sat there were required to wear formal dress. I mean, would my Argyle be classy enough?

So we sat on the floor. Row 13. Even though I only purchased tickets the day before the show. I found that to be a little sad.

There was no opening act, which I have come to prefer in my late summer years as it has gotten difficult to sit for two hours without becoming stiff. Gordon took the stage with a simple four-piece band, and launched right into the set.

The first thing you notice is the voice isn't as strong. I suppose time and health issues have taken their toll. I remember reading he had been in a coma for six weeks some years back after suffering a ruptured abdominal aneurysm. And then five or six years ago, he had a light stroke.

He struggled at times with the high notes, and you had to strain to hear in a few places. But in a way, it worked to make the show more intimate. A small, half-filled venue. The audience quiet and focused on every word. All except for one (hopefully) drunken female who continually shouted in her native Southern tongue, "Yeeeaaah baybeeee!" and also yelled for "Freebird" once.

Lightfoot never missed a single lyric that I could tell, as he sang probably 20 to 25 songs from his abundant catalog. There were songs I'd forgotten about, such as "Early Mornin' Rain" and "Ribbons Of Darkness," which was a big hit for Marty Robbins. And of course, he did the expected favorites, "Rainy Day People," "Carefree Highway," and the still-haunting "Wreck Of The Edmund Fitzgerald."

You couldn't close your eyes and pretend it was forty years ago. You couldn't. But you could open your eyes and appreciate the moment, and what you were experiencing. A prolific and phenomenal songwriter, and gifted storyteller, doing what he's done seemingly forever. And I'll always be thankful I had the opportunity to be there for it.

When he sang "Song For A Winter's Night," I thought of all the thousands of winter nights that song must have been listened to by some lonely soul somewhere. And not just listened to, but felt.

And in Bone-is-a-Wikipedia-nerd news, I'd read that Gordon's daughter had asked him to change a line in "If You Could Read My Mind" from "The feelings that you lack" to "The feelings that we lack." So I was curious to see if he still made that change. He did.

I also hearkened back to the first time I heard that song. In the car. At night. Far from home. And I remember wishing it wouldn't end.

That was the night I discovered Gordon Lightfoot. Back then, the thought of ever seeing him in concert wasn't even a possibility I considered. But maybe I was always meant to. It's funny how things like that work out sometimes.

As for the football game, I opted to save my money and watch it on TV. Guess I'll have to come up with something else to spend that two months' salary on.

What, I have no idea.

"Once upon a time, once upon a day, when I was in my prime, once along the way. If you want to know an answer, I can't turn your life around. For I am just a painter passing through the underground..."

"Now I know how Jimmy Buffett feels..."

I've always considered myself and Jimmy Buffett to be kindred spirits. Let's take a look at the facts: We both love the beach. We've both blown out a flip-flop, granted with varying degrees of notoriety. He writes songs. I wish I could write songs. He's the son of a son of a sailor. I've.... been on a boat before. I think we can all agree that any more examples would only serve to cloud my point.

And so, when I saw he was coming to Birmingham, subtle hints were strategically dropped into everyday conversation.

Things like:
"Jimmy Buffett is coming to Birmingham!"
"Hint, hint, birthday, hint."
"That would probably make a really great gift for someone who has a birthday in February." (Ed.'s note: The "someone" in that sentence is really me.)

OK, so not so subtle. But it got the job done. Tickets were procured and a concert was attended.

I must say it was a little odd to be wearing a winter coat to a Jimmy Buffett concert. But temps were supposed to be in the thirties for once, and I'm just manly like that.

He, of course, came on stage in shorts and flip-flops. Then again, I'm fairly certain he didn't have to hike ten blocks to get to the arena. It's all about the free parking for me. It's more the principle than the cost, or so I tell myself.

This was my first Buffett concert and one of the curiosities I had was whether all the Parrotheads would also be potheads. Much like when I attended that Willie Nelson concert a couple of years ago, I wondered if I would experience a second-hand high. Or low. Or whatever you get. I don't know, I've never even smoked a cigarette.

Those concerns seemed to be unfounded. For I have walked amongst the Parrotheads, and maintained my inhibitions. Although after the show I did notice I scarfed down my food at Chili's like I hadn't eaten in two weeks.

Buffett, as comfortable on stage as he (or I) would be on the open sea, moved seamlessly through familiar favorites "Volcano," "Fins," "Come Monday," "Changes In Latitudes, Changes In Attitudes," and of course, "Margaritaville." There was newer fare, such as "Trip Around The Sun," "It's Five O'clock Somewhere," and "Knee Deep," which featured a guest appearance by a member of the Zac Brown Band.

He also sang several songs about Alabama, which is one of 3 or 4 home states claimed by the Head Parrot. There was the expected "Bama Breeze" and "Sweet Home Alabama" (replete with audience chants of "Roll Tide Roll"). But there were also a couple of songs I'd forgotten about: "Birmingham" and "Stars Fell On Alabama."

Then following an encore of three or four songs, the band left the stage again. But Jimmy stayed behind to do one last number, by himself, for the home-state crowd. Almost like he didn't want to leave.

After that, we went our separate ways -- he to his Hush-Puppy-wearing, island-hopping, sponge-cake-nibblin' ways; me to begin the ten-block hike back to reality.

The guy who wrote Wikipedia describes Jimmy Buffett's music as "often portraying an 'island escapism' lifestyle." Now there's an ideology I can embrace!

Yep, kindred spirits.



"I got a school boy heart, a novelist's eye, a stout sailor's legs and a license to fly. I got a bartender's ear and a beachcomber's style..."

Decemberists at the Ryman (8/6/11)

I was late to the Decemberists party. Then again, I'm late to a lot of things. Most times I'm just thankful (and slightly amazed) when I manage to arrive at all. When I saw they were playing at the Ryman -- quite possibly my favorite venue -- it seemed I was destined to go.

But then, I realized none of my friends around here like and/nor have even heard of the Decemberists. For crying out loud, a few weeks ago at a minor league baseball game, Wolfgang revealed he'd never heard of the group Chicago. Anyway, weeks turned to months and as the date approached I had resigned myself to skipping the concert. Until...

I was surprised with a pair of tickets!!!

And just like that I was on my way to see the Decemberists. In August. At the Ryman. I was more excited than Rob Schneider when a new Adam Sandler movie is announced. OK, maybe not more, but just as.

Any trip to the Music City for me frequently includes a stop at my absolute favorite barbecue place in the world -- Famous Dave's in Franklin. I know it may not seem very trendy to choose a chain restaurant as one's favorite, but this is different. Trust me. I'm from the South. If there's two things I know, it's barbecue and sweet tea. Also, fried pork skins. OK, three things.

I've made the two hour drive more than once just to eat at Famous Dave's. The food (and sweet tea) and service have been exceptional every single time. (If you're reading, Dave, I'm open to an endorsement deal.) The only -- and I do mean only -- problem I have is that their sweet water catfish may be even better than the barbecue. But then, Dave must have foreseen this would happen. That's why he gave us the combination plate.

They also have some pretty cool t-shirts for sale. I almost bought this one:



But then I tried to imagine wearing that out in a social setting, and, well, I figure I already have enough trouble trying to appear "normal" at kids' birthday parties.

On to the show, there was evidently a Keith Urban concert in town the same night, which made traffic a lovely exercise in hand gestures and honking. And there was no sign of Nicole Kidman.

The opening act was Caitlin Rose, whom I'd heard of but never heard. She was good, enough so that I made it a point to check her out on iTunes later. She played a short set, probably five or six songs. One of the songs she sang entirely with the mic turned off, enhancing the vulnerability in her voice, as it wafted over the pews, up to the ceiling and stained-glass windows of the old place.

The Decemberists came on stage after a quirky recorded introduction befitting them by the mayor of their hometown, Portland, Oregon. They opened the show with "Oceanside" and followed that up with my favorite song of theirs, "Down By The Water." That was extremely cool to hear live, though it did not quite ascend to the level of hearing Counting Crows do a "A Long December" live at the Ryman, which ranked as the #1 highlight of my life for the year 2009.

It's possible music affects me entirely too much.

One of the first things you notice about the Decemberists is that this is most definitely a live band. The show is high energy, the musicianship flawless, and the sound far exceeds what you hear on the CD.

I'm not sure what genre the Decemberists are considered. According to Wikipedia, they are "indie folk rock." There's definitely some folk there -- Colin Meloy's lyrics are almost more poet than songwriter. Whatever you label it, Meloy's voice sounds as if it were created for the sole purpose of singing it.

I don't remember the entire set list, but I know they did "We Both Go Down Together," "Rox In The Box," "Calamity Song," "This Is Why We Fight" and the most surprising song of the night, a cover of "Folsom Prison Blues."

They came out for two encores. The first of which included the crowd-participatory "Mariner's Revenge." They closed the evening with "June Hymn."

My only minor disappointment in the show is that they performed neither "January Hymn" nor "O Valencia," even though some guy kept yelling for the latter at every opportunity. And no, it was not me. Although if I'd thought of it...

Did I mention I love going to concerts at the Ryman? The acoustics are outstanding. Plus, it is the quintessential not-a-bad-seat-in-the-house venue.

Though you should know before you go that the Ryman was originally a church -- the Union Gospel Tabernacle. I thought this was common knowledge, but apparently it is not. Therefore, the seats are literal church pews, unpadded. I'll admit, it has a way of inspiring you to stand up and get into the show a bit more.

Ah, but there's something sacrosanct about the old lady. Rising above Lower Broadway. Unchanging for all those years. Maybe that's one reason I like the Ryman so much. I hate change. I hate when old stores or buildings shut down or are torn down, and all that's left are reminders of what was, and worse, what isn't anymore.

Then again, there's probably an old codger somewhere, around 103-years-old, lamenting the days when the Ryman was still a church.

"But oh, if I could only get you oceanside, to lay your muscles wide, it'd be heavenly..."

Thursdays with Bone

In the interest of blogging more than once a fortnight, here I am again. I notice that my last two posts, and three of the last four, have come on a Thursday. That was not at all planned, but if you would like to believe that it was planned, feel free. Think of it sort of like Tuesdays With Morrie. Except on Thursdays. And with Bone. Also, much less enlightening.

Last Thursday, I was at a place that I daresay few of you have ever been, and most likely will never be. I went to see country supergroup The Oak Ridge Boys in concert.

Joe, Duane, Richard, and William Lee sang all your favorite Oaks' hits, such as American Made, Ya'll Come Back Saloon, Trying To Love Two Women (which one of them cracked was Tiger Woods' favorite song), and Ozark Mountain Jubilee. Any of these ringing a bell? What about Elvira? Yeah, you wish you'd gone now, don't you?

Here's a bit of Oak Ridge Boys history I found out during the show. The group was originally known as the Georgia Clodhoppers. In the 1940's, the Clodhoppers were brought in to the secret city of Oak Ridge to entertain the residents there who had been sequestered from the rest of civilization to work on the Manhattan Project. From there, they began calling themselves the Oak Ridge Quartet and later, as we know them today, the Oak Ridge Boys.

I also may or may not have got hit on during the show. The lady behind me supposedly "dropped" her phone and couldn't find the back to it. So I found it for her. Then she poked me on the shoulder and said she couldn't seem to put it back together. Please, could she have been more obvious? It's the 2010's, lady. Cars are parallel parking themselves. Who doesn't know how to reassemble their cell phone? Of course, she did look to be about seventy. Nevertheless, I fixed her phone. Rescuing damsels in distress: this is what I do.

Now I know some of you might be thinking that was the most exciting part of my weekend. (Yes, I'm including Thursday night in the weekend, just go with it.) Well, normally it would have been, by far. But not this time.

That's because on Saturday I got to pick up Nephew Bone and take him to the Spring Festival, Bluegrass Jamboree, and Antique Car, Tractor & Engine Show. All by myself.

It was our first uncle/nephew outing together, and he was so well-behaved. He especially seemed to enjoy the funnel cake. And he also got hit on by an older woman. A girl, who looked to be about eighteen, stopped him as we were walking between the giant slide and the bouncy thingy and said, "You are so cute." Like uncle, like nephew. Right, buddy?



On the way home, I started singing songs I thought he knew. I sang Jesus Loves Me, and when I finished, I turned around and he was looking at me with this big smile on his face, like "I know that song, Uncle Bone!"

Then I started singing Itsy Bitsy Spider. About halfway through, I looked in the back seat again and Nephew Bone was looking out the window, his arms in the air, doing his hand motions for the rain and the sun and the spider.

If only you could box up moments.

"Thank God for kids, there's magic for awhile. A special kind of sunshine in a smile. Do you ever stop to think or wonder why, the nearest thing to heaven is a child..."

On The Road Again

I have interacted with the other humans five of the past six nights. This included a four-consecutive-night socialization extravaganza from Thursday through Sunday, the likes of which I have not seen since the Clinton administration. First term.

There was dinner with Lil' Bootay, dinner with Kywana, re-watching the national championship game with Axl, and shooting pool with the Darryls. That's everyone I know!

But the capper had to be last night, when I went to see Country Music Hall-of-Famer and living legend Willie Nelson in concert. That's right, the Red-Headed Stranger.

By the way, I'm going to make a conscious effort to not make a single weed joke in this post. Because really, it's a cheap laugh. And what a man does in the privacy of his home, tour bus, automobile, or public restroom is really nobody else's business.

That being said, if you had told me when I began this blog all those years ago that some day I'd be writing a post about seeing Willie Nelson in concert, I'd have said you must be smok-... um, never mind. This could be tougher than I thought.

Still, there I was on row N -- in front of the O's, hobnobbing with the L's and M's -- for Willie Nelson and Family.

The show was excellent. Willie can still sing and walk a guitar. At 76, the man is a marvel. The band was flawless. And, I didn't get high from secondhand weed. (This is not a weed joke. This is something I was honestly curious about before the show.)

One of the highlights for me was when someone tossed a Houndstooth hat on stage and Willie's son (and lead guitarist), Lukas, put it on and wore it the rest of the show. Ah, you know you're in 'Bama when...

As the wise grizzled sage recited some of the more memorable hits from his extensive catalog, I was reminded of his songwriting genius. And also inspired by it. Then I got to thinking how I've been blogging less lately. Feeling neglectful, I sat down and penned a few lines, just for you. I'd like to share those with you now.


Maybe I didn't post here
Quite as often as I could have
And maybe I didn't comment
Quite as good as I should have
Little things I could've blogged about
I just never took the time
But you were always on my mind...

Actually, now that I think about it, I'm a little confused as to whether I wrote that to my blog or my blog readers. Hmph. Oh well, who can tell in matters such as these? All I know is it sure is good to be on the blog again.

"How'm I doin'? Oh, I guess that I'm doin' fine. It's been so long now, but it seems like it was only yesterday. Gee, ain't it funny how time slips away..."

The day the blog stood still

We were at a double-A baseball game. It was around the second or third inning. Day had all but surrendered to night's gradual but certain takeover. Wolfgang, Little Joe, and Little Joe's girlfriend were talking amongst themselves. Meanwhile, I was halfway through an order of nachos, and had been amusing myself by listening to the girl behind us asking her poor husband/boyfriend/brother things like "What quarter is it?" and "How come they got two?"

If I recall correctly, I had just finished barking along to the last few bars of "Who Let The Dogs Out" when Wolfgang turned to me and said, "Why didn't you tell me my name was Wolfgang?"

And there it was, that always unexpected and often awkward clashing of the blogosphere and the real world.

As you might imagine, I have been questioning everything the past few days, including my very existence (in the blogosphere). Is this the end of the Darryls as you know them? What a blow that would be not only to my blog but to Newhart references in general.

Speaking of concerts in the greater-Nashville area, I am supposed to go see Counting Crows tonight. I say "supposed to" because there has been one issue after another regarding the tickets. First, they were going to be mailed, then they were going to be emailed, and now they are supposed to be at will call.

I figure best-case, I get to see Adam Duritz belting out "A Long December." Worst-case, they don't let me in to the Ryman and I have something in common with Hank Williams. Then we go on a self-guided tour of the former Opryland location--which just happens to be my favorite tourist destination in all of Nashville--and I get to see a few Perseids while driving home. So, win-win.

While I am or am not at the Counting Crows concert tonight pondering the future of my very blog, which has become as much a part of me as any of my bodily appendages, I offer a repost. Originally posted in 2005, it goes along quite well with the subject du jour.

---------------------------------------------

OPRYLAND HISTORICAL TOURS

Announcing the all-new Opryland Historical Tours, by Bone. Come and relive the magic of Opryland USA. Tours are held Monday-Saturday, beginning at 9:00 AM, at the original location of the Grizzly River Rampage at the Opry Mills complex.

Each tour guide is arrayed in an original Opryland park employee outfit, and will share with you interesting stories, personal memories, and historical facts about the theme park. Each tour includes a a thirty minute video about Opryland USA, including footage shot by visitors to the park during its twenty-six years in operation.

After the video, you'll be able to walk thru the river bed of what once was the Grizzly River Rampage, where you will have plenty of photo opportunities. You can also take pictures next to the "Opry Mills Sucks" and "Gaylord Stole My Childhood" signs.

And browse thru tons several items of Opryland memorabilia, including an original Tin Lizzie, a log from the Flume Zoom, a skee ball, a half-eaten slice of pizza from Julio's, and some chicken wire from the park's famous petting zoo.

Refreshments are available, including fruit-shaped fruit drinks, just like those sold at the original Opryland USA. So if you have fond memories of Opryland, or even if you never got to go to Opryland because your baby sister always got to go where she wanted on vacation, you will not want to miss the Opryland Historical Tour.

Legal disclaimer: Opryland Historical Tours is not liable for the actions of any guests. We will not be held responsible for any legal action that may be taken against you or any member of your party by Gaylord Entertainment or any of its subsidaries, nor any physical harm or trauma that may be caused by the Opry Mills security. By taking part in this tour, you may or may not be trespassing, but most likely are.

Well, that's my dream. My entrepreneurial thought for the week. Or for the year. Whichever.

"They paved paradise and put up a parking lot, with a pink hotel, a boutique and a swingin' hot spot. Don't it always seem to go that you don't know what you've got 'til it's gone..."