Wednesday, December 23, 2009

What to do in a Car Accident

I'm sitting here collecting my treasures as I'll be doing a little driving today--okay, a lot. And, I-65 is a miserable freeway to travel during crowded times. I was wrapping a final present to load into the car and I looked up to the "Today" show. Ann's segment is called, "What to do in a Car Accident."

So, now I'm a bit freaked out wondering if this is an omen. Great.

Merry Christmas to you, too, Ann Curry. Thanks.A.Lot. ;-)

-b

Friday, December 11, 2009

Observations

I'm quite certain at this point in my life that the people who do the most talking in the mandatory meetings of life are the only ones who really think the meeting is important. Everybody else is mostly thinking about what they're going to do when the meeting is over.

Getting your hair cut in a timely manner is important. I should be nicer to myself more often and budget for this. John Grimes is the best hair guy ever. I'm looking forward to seeing him and coming out 3 inches thinner.

Joel sent the first Christmas card of the season this year. He is such a brat.

I could never, ever live in Brentwood.

Tiger Woods' public humiliation is his own public humiliation, not his wife's. She should hold her head high.

My pork tenderloin is going to burn if I don't go tend to it.

-b

Saturday, November 28, 2009

Encouragement Just When You Need It Most

My little brother just walked into the room, brand new spinning yo-yo in hand. He is an English professor.

He said, "I was just thinking. You should become a college professor, too."

I said, "Yeah?"

He finished, "Yeah, 'cause you don't have anything to look forward to."

Helpful, isn't he? lol

-b

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Dear Adam Lambert:

I'm writing to give you my two cents, not that you asked.

I looked up from my laptop just long enough during your AMA performance to see you "plant the big one." I don't have a comment about that, mostly because I thought at the time that the person you kissed was a petite girl with short hair and lots of make up. So, I don't think I can go back later and say I was "shocked" or anything else, when the truth is, I just didn't see it as "dramatic" or "cutting edge" or anything else. It seems to me that you and your keyboard player have some things to talk about, though.

I just wanted to drop you a line, however, to say that I hope you don't stop concentrating on your singing. I thought you sang pretty well on the few American Idol shows I did see, while I admit that I'm not really an AI watcher. Your singing wasn't there the other night. The theatrics, yes. The drama, yes--moreso than I even noticed, apparently. But your voice? Yeah, not so much.

Here's hoping you don't get lots of publicity for all this other junk and feel like that's reward enough. Most anybody can do a sexually explicit dance on a stage. Not just anybody can actually sing.

-b

Sunday, November 22, 2009

An Important Commercial Message

If you're trying to set off a bug bomb in your bedroom and the chemicals in the can spring forth like a perfect water fountain instead of spraying like hairspray, it's probably not working right.

This message has been brought to you by Those of Us Who Do Everything the Hard Way!!!!!!!!!

-b

Friday, November 20, 2009

Backpacking In, Around--and way outside of--Tennessee

www.tennesseebackpacker.com

There are some great photos at the above site, and I just happen to know these two clowns pretty darn well. My person is one of them--I'm too old to call him my boyfriend. The other is one of his best friends. If you're similar to me and you like to camp vicariously through other people, then you might like what they're doing over at their brand new site.

-b

Thursday, November 12, 2009

What Have You Got to Lose

My brother visited back in June and stayed for a few weeks.


While he was here, he challenged me to take three risks by the end of the month. "Do three things that make you uncomfortable," he said. "What have you got to lose?"


'Makes you think, doesn't it?

-b

p.s. As it turns out, this was one of the best dares ever.

Saturday, November 7, 2009

Everyone Has a Story

So, I was sitting at lunch the other day with five women I'd never met before this week. Each one was accomplished in her field and that was only side of them I'd seen until lunch.

I sat there on the end and took in the conversation. One woman has been married for 16 years and is raising two small children. Another has been divorced for eight. Her husband made a series of bad choices and she had to pick up the pieces and start over without him. The woman at the end of the table was a cancer survivor. The woman next to me has been in her second marriage for two years and may not choose to have kids. The other woman talked about how she and her husband opened their home to an exchange student, who as it turned out, really needed a 'second' family.

I couldn't help but think that if we could all see each other's scars and know each other's stories, we might be kinder to each other.

-b

Thursday, October 29, 2009

Repercussions

Someone made fun of me for having a slinky today.

You know who you are.

You are dead to me.

-b

Wednesday, October 28, 2009

Worth Day

My friend Rory told me today that they don't call them birthdays in their family. They call them "Worth Days." He said that he always wanted his children to know they were worth something.

I like that.

Today is my Worth Day. And, when I look at the volume of friends and acquaintances who took a second to send a good wish, I have to assume that I'm worth something to a few people (outside my family), at least.

That's a nice feeling.
Being worth something to somebody.

-b

Sunday, October 25, 2009

Hint

My mother makes the best pumpkin bread.
I'll be home in a few weeks.

Hi, Mom.

-b

Monday, October 12, 2009

Jane Doe

Jim took Bernice for a walk around the block tonight. He came back with Bernice AND Jane Doe:
Jane Doe

Looks like Dave's getting a dog!!!!! WooHoo!!!

-b

Friday, October 9, 2009

Elk and Dad and Jim

My Dad is a serious and avid bowhunter. He hunts with a longbow. A lifelong passion, Dad has many animals on the wall at home, all of which he got with a bow and arrow. There's a kudu, a wildebeest, a caribou. A couple of gemsbok and a really ugly wild boar, amongst a plethora of other things. There's even an antelope. Antelopes can run 40-50 miles per hour, and Dad got one with a bow and arrow.

He can't seem to get an elk, though.

Dad went to Colorado three weeks ago for another elk hunt and came back empty handed. He said it was a good hunt, but still, no elk.

Jim went to Colorado last week. Unlike Dad who has been unable to get one elk, Jim shot two. Here are the shots he got.

Shots #1 and #2:

PhotobucketPhotobucketrofl Pictures, Images and Photos
-b

Tuesday, October 6, 2009

Elvis and Me and Springsteen and Jackson Browne and Tony and Gold City

When I was little, I thought my Mother knew Elvis. My Mom told me that my brother was named after Elvis because she had an affair with Elvis, but she loved my Dad more. So, she broke Elvis' heart but told him she would name her first-born son after him.

As a four year old, this made complete sense to me. As a five year old, I told it to my kindergarten class during show-and-tell. As a grown up, well, let's just say that whatever Mom needs to tell herself is just fine with me.
Elvis Pictures, Images and Photos

I got an invitation to a house concert by Jackson Browne. Do you know what I would pay to go to something like that????? Apparently, not $750. But, goodness, how amazing would that be?!?!?! I'm salivating just thinking about it. I shall use the, "Oh, I'll be out of town," excuse for the official record. Since I will be.
Jackson Browne Pictures, Images and Photos

Tony and I were talking about the house concert today. And, then we starting talking about Springsteen who Tony will be seeing in the near future. And then about the crazy things people do to meet celebrities (should we pretend to be caterer's at the Browne concert? Is it worth a night in jail? Maybe. Aren't I too old to worry about a record?) And then he told me about Springsteen jumping the wall at Graceland to meet Elvis. And, then I Googled that story and here it is:

[Perhaps] the most famous incident of wall jumping occurred one night in 1976. Bruce Springsteen, who was enjoying the first rush of great fame and had just played Memphis on his Born to Run tour, decided to catch a cab to Graceland. Noticing a light on up at the house, he climbed the wall and ran to the front door. As he was about to knock, Security interceded. He recalls asking, “Is Elvis home?.” Answer: “No, Elvis isn’t home, he’s in Lake Tahoe.” (It was true.) Springsteen attempted to impress the guards by telling all about his being a recording star and his having recently made the covers of Time and Newsweek, as he was politely escorted to the street. (Perhaps they didn’t believe him or hadn’t heard of him yet.) Years later in a concert, he told the story and commented:

"Later on, I used to wonder what I would have said if I had knocked on the door and if Elvis had come to the door. Because it really wasn’t Elvis I was goin’ to see, but it was like he came along and whispered some dream in everybody’s ear and somehow we all dreamed it. And maybe that’s why we’re here tonight, I don’t know. I remember later when a friend of mine called to tell me that he’d died. It was so hard to understand how somebody whose music came in and took away so many people’s loneliness and gave so many people a reason and a sense of all the possibilities of living could have in the end died so tragically. And I guess when you’re alone, you ain’t nothin’ but alone. So anyway, I’d like to do this song for yous [sic] tonight, wishing you all the longest life with best of absolutely everything."

I did something adventurous once, too. My first cut after I moved to Nashville was in the late 90's with a southern gospel group called Gold City. They were singing at a concert at the Municipal Auditorium in Nashville. My brother was visiting and we wanted to hear them do the song live (I'd not heard their version yet.) We were too poor to pay the concert ticket fee (what? $15?), so we went down, found the freight entrance to the Auditorium, and walked in with the stage deliveries. We were so rebellious.

Because I'm Just.That.Cool.
Sigh...

-b


Friday, October 2, 2009

Postcards to Me

Italy was my dream place. I booked a ticket there a few years ago when I made the "List of Things I'd Regret if I Died Tomorrow." Not visiting Italy was #1.

I remember the moment I booked the trip. I put my credit card information in and pressed, "Confirm."
I looked up to my friend Pat who was sitting there working quietly and said, a little flushed, "I just did it." I was a little shocked at myself.
"What did you do this time," she asked, knowing how I am.
"I booked the trip to Italy. I just did it."
She smiled and said, "Good for you. It's about time."

I went alone by choice, and for those weeks I did anything and everything I wanted. It was the only few weeks of my life that have ever been strictly about me, and it was glorious. Every last minute of it.

I have been reliving the trip through my scrapbook this evening. I'm having myself a blast over here. :-) The couple years of life that led up to the trip had really left me with just a few friends who I was in touch with. I had been kind of isolated, to understate (yes, Joel, I know.) So, when I got to Italy, I didn't really have many people I felt like I could send postcards to. Not that they wouldn't have welcomed a postcard, it's just that one might have come out of left field.

So, I sent them to me. I told myself what I was doing, how I was feeling, and how proud I was of myself for going alone and being 'fabulous.' haha. They started showing up at my house about a week after I got back.
Capri, Italy Pictures, Images and Photos

These little postcards have been some of the best gifts I've ever given myself.



-b

Thursday, October 1, 2009

The Incident and The Person and The Thing

Several weeks ago I was unwillingly involved in what we'll call the "incident." I won't talk about it so don't bother asking. The incident isn't the point of the post. However, it's background that you need to know.

Last night I walked across the street and got my mail for the first time in a week, which is typical for me. I was going through the junk, the flyers and the bills when I came upon an envelope with a handwritten return address and a name at the top which, frankly, made me kind of want to vomit. I don't know The Person very well at all, and the fact that The Person was (directly and indirectly at the same time) involved in the 'incident', AND that The Person had my home address--well, all I could think was, "Oh, dear. I'm going to have to leave town now. This is my 'get out' notice."

A handwritten envelope? Does this happen in 2009? I put the envelope on the counter and stared at it. Gang, you can't imagine the profound sorrow and the anger and the disappointment and the embarrassment this incident caused me. The lost sleep. The worrying about every possible implication and the playing over of my (firm) reaction to said incident in my head. My OCD had so many field trips over this one. To be honest, I shut down for a few weeks, and I said to my closest people on more than one occasion, "This isn't what I signed up for. If this is how it's going to be, if this is how it really feels, I don't know that I want to be involved anymore." Relationships are everything in what I do, and I'd put some stuff on the line for what I deeply felt was just and right. No, for what I deeply feel is just and right.

And here was this envelope, from this person I don't really know, in my house on my kitchen counter. We hadn't spoken, and I didn't even know the role The Person had played in the mess. I had a few scenarios, but only guesses.

After about ten minutes of walking in and out of the kitchen, picking the envelope up and putting it back down, and doing it all again, and again, I finally tore it open. The Person had handwritten a note to me about the incident. The Person went so far as to offer an apology that The Person didn't really seem to owe me.
Calligraphy Pen by obsessiveicons Pictures, Images and Photos
It was pure class. The Person actually wrote out a note and mailed it to me. Not an email, not a text, but a real note in black ink. In 2009. I'm impressed beyond words.

We shouldn't be so afraid to talk to each other.
We should all be reminded how powerful the pen and the page really is.
We should write notes when something compels us.

We should all be that classy.

-b

Tuesday, September 29, 2009

If a Tree Falls in the Forest...

I can't help but wonder, if you go to the movies looking like complete butt and you go alone, and your boyfriend is in Colorado so he doesn't actually see you like this, do you still look like complete butt?

Does the Prada bag help?

-b

Sunday, September 27, 2009

I Don't Like Milk Chocolate Candy Bars

We call it Scary Chinese. I have no idea what the real name of the place is, nor would it matter. It's, quite frankly, a real dumpy hole in the middle of an equally dumpy strip mall not too far from here. They usually have a Health Department score of 98 or better, though, so I don't judge them by their surroundings. We get take out from there because it is cheap and good and the worker's are lovely.

The thing is the parking lot in this little strip mall is stupid crowded on the weekends, but there just aren't any business open except Scary Chinese. I can assure you that all the people are NOT in Scary Chinese. So begs the question, where are all the people? And so begs my one gene of common sense left, "Let it go."

I don't look around, I don't make eye contact and I most certainly don't ask question of the few random people I'll see in the parking lot driving up in their expensive black SUV's complete with pounding bass music, shiny chrome wheels and heavily tinted windows. I don't need to know. I just want my eggroll.

So, last night I broke the rule and decided I wanted Scary Chinese on a Saturday night. I'm not going to lie to you. I was a little unnerved about going over. Yet, it's an adventure and it was, after all, a Saturday night.

I joined the slow moving line of cars on the street and put my right blinker on. We inched our way in through the back up of vehicles trying to find spaces and I kept my eyes on the lot in front of me. The restaurant is at the far end of the lot and as I was about there, a woman appeared in front of my car. She was waving me into an empty spot. It was clear to me that she was selling something that really wasn't marketed to me. Oh dear.

I pulled into the space, pulled the keys out of the ignition and heard a rap on my window. I looked up expecting to see the woman asking for money and instead there was a little boy holding a box of candy bars. I rolled down the window and he asked if I would like to buy one for a dollar.

Gang, I looked around the parking lot, looked up at what I now know to be his mother, and just took it in. This is what his life looks like. I'm trying to keep my head down to avoid seeing anything that could get me shot later and this little guy's mother has brought him down here, of all places, to peddle chocolate bars.

"Yes," I said. "I'll take one. You pick out your favorite kind and that's what I want." He dug through the box of bars, which all looked alike and pulled out one from the bottom and handed it to me. Then, he took the money and gave it to his mother, who put it in her bra.

-b

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

The Fish

And, for those of you who prefer the lighter side of the blog, or the usual side (like me), I'd just like to report that I was driving home on Briley Parkway today driving 55 mph. That's the speed limit there and I'd just passed two State troopers on my way to where I had been.

A man in a black Volvo tailgated me to the point that I started slowing waaayyy down so that he would get my non-verbal cue. He responded likewise with his own non-verbal: a big fat middle finger as he flew past me, once he finally decided to pass, that is.

Completing the picture of the middle-aged guy in the black Volvo wearing a wrinkled white dress shirt with his entire left arm out the driver's side window, middle finger waving in full upright position was the silver Jesus fish magnet on his left bumper.

Nice.

-b

The Health Care Reform Debate

I was having a conversation about health care reform with one of my most conservative acquaintances. I was curious to hear his take on why some are vehemently against reforming the system in America. I kept asking a question for every answer he gave because I didn't feel like I was getting the guts of it, you know? So I kept pushing.

Finally, he said, "If someone can't afford health care and they get a life threatening illness, then, yes, they may have to die." He went on to say that health care is privilege and not a right, and described a kind of 'survival of the fittest' thing.

And that was the answer I was looking for. The core belief, if you will. Because, at your core, if you believe something, then changing your mind in the context of a few hours of debate likely isn't going to happen.

So, maybe it's a question of core beliefs at this point.

-b

Monday, September 21, 2009

Is Cursive Writing Leaving?

I posted this on facebook and it has facilitated a nice discussion, not to mention that I've been writing in cursive all week just to make sure I can still do it.

-b

Cursive writing may be a fading skill, but so what?

cursive
by TOM BREEN, Associated Press Writer Tom Breen, Associated Press Writer
Sat Sep 19, 9:44 am ET

CHARLESTON, W.Va. – Charleston resident Kelli Davis was in for a surprise when her daughter brought home some routine paperwork at the start of school this fall. Davis signed the form and then handed it to her daughter for the eighth-grader's signature.

"I just assumed she knew how to do it, but I have a piece of paper with her signature on it and it looks like a little kid's signature," Davis said.

Her daughter was apologetic, but explained that she hadn't been required to make the graceful loops and joined letters of cursive writing in years. That prompted a call to the school and another surprise.

West Virginia's largest school system teaches cursive, but only in the 3rd grade.

"It doesn't get quite the emphasis it did years ago, primarily because of all the technology skills we now teach," said Jane Roberts, assistant superintendent for elementary education in Kanawha County schools.

Davis' experience gets repeated every time parents, who recall their own hours of laborious cursive practice, learn that what used to be called "penmanship" is being shunted aside at schools across the country in favor of 21st century skills.

The decline of cursive is happening as students are doing more and more work on computers, including writing. In 2011, the writing test of the National Assessment of Educational Progress will require 8th and 11th graders to compose on computers, with 4th graders following in 2019.

"We need to make sure they'll be ready for what's going to happen in 2020 or 2030," said Katie Van Sluys, a professor at DePaul University and the president of the Whole Language Umbrella, a conference of the National Council of Teachers of English.

Handwriting is increasingly something people do only when they need to make a note to themselves rather than communicate with others, she said. Students accustomed to using computers to write at home have a hard time seeing the relevance of hours of practicing cursive handwriting.

"They're writing, they're composing with these tools at home, and to have school look so different from that set of experiences is not the best idea," she said.

Text messaging, e-mail, and word processing have replaced handwriting outside the classroom, said Cheryl Jeffers, a professor at Marshall University's College of Education and Human Services, and she worries they'll replace it entirely before long.

"I am not sure students have a sense of any reason why they should vest their time and effort in writing a message out manually when it can be sent electronically in seconds."

For Jeffers, cursive writing is a lifelong skill, one she fears could become lost to the culture, making many historic records hard to decipher and robbing people of "a gift."

That fear is not new, said Kathleen Wright, national product manager for handwriting at Zaner-Bloser, a Columbus, Ohio-based company that produces a variety of instructional material for schools.

"If you go back, you can see the same conversations came up with the advent of the typewriter," she said.

Every year, Zaner-Bloser sponsors a national handwriting competition for schools, and this year saw more than 200,000 entries, a record.

"Everybody talks about how sometime in the future every kid's going to have a keyboard, but that isn't really true."

Few schools make keyboards available for day-to-day writing. The majority of school work, from taking notes to essay tests, is still done by hand.

At Mountaineer Montessori in Charleston, teacher Sharon Spencer stresses cursive to her first- through third-graders. By the time her students are in the third grade, they are writing book reports and their spelling words in cursive.

To Spencer, cursive writing is an art that helps teach them muscle control and hand-eye coordination.

"In the age of computers, I just tell the children, what if we are on an island and don't have electricity? One of the ways we communicate is through writing," she said.

But cursive is favored by fewer college-bound students. In 2005, the SAT began including a written essay portion, and a 2007 report by the College Board found that about 15 percent of test-takers chose to write in cursive, while the others wrote in print.

That was probably smart, according to Vanderbilt University professor Steve Graham, who cites multiple studies showing that sloppy writing routinely leads to lower grades, even in papers with the same wording as those written in a neater hand.

Graham argues that fears over the decline of handwriting in general and cursive in particular are distractions from the goal of improving students' overall writing skills. The important thing is to have students proficient enough to focus on their ideas and the composition of their writing rather than how they form the letters.

Data from the National Center for Education Statistics show that 26 percent of 12th graders lack basic proficiency in writing, while two percent were sufficiently skilled writers to be classified as "advanced."

"Handwriting is really the tail wagging the dog," Graham said.

Besides, it isn't as if all those adults who learned cursive years ago are doing their writing with the fluent grace of John Hancock.

Most people peak in terms of legibility in 4th grade, Graham said, and Wright said it's common for adults to write in a cursive-print hybrid.

"People still have to write, even if it's just scribbling," said Paula Sassi, a certified master graphologist and a member of the American Handwriting Analysis Foundation.

"Just like when we went from quill pen to fountain pen to ball point, now we're going from the art of handwriting to handwriting purely as communication," she said.


Sunday, September 20, 2009

Forgiving

When someone hurts my feelings in a profound way, I'm very slow to forgive. I don't know how to be a different person, but in this case, I wish I were someone who had more of that capacity.

-b

Friday, September 18, 2009

To the Better Angels of our Nature

I'm now officially one removed from someone who has the H1N1 virus, formerly known as the Swine Flu, still known to me as Pig Flu.
Sigh.
I'm troubled.

Gang, I just implore you, if there is any good left whatsoever in all of humankind, on the sad and tragic chance that I contract this flu, please--PLEASE--don't dwell on the irony that I would get a flu that actually comes from pigs and that I live my life on a diet. Just let it be unspoken. Just let it be.

To good health-
-b

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

Questions about Bathwater and What People Do with It

I think about things. It's just what I do.
So, this morning, in the dark stillness while the rain was pounding on the roof, I thought, "Why would anyone throw a baby out with bathwater?"

I mean, why in any circumstance or situation was that phrase a) necessary to say and then b) popular enough of a said phrase to live on as a life lesson.

Did people actually throw out infants with dirty water at some point in time?

-b

Monday, August 31, 2009

Ernestine

Twitter had to go.
Granted, I really didn't tweet very much, but I still thought I would hold the address just in case I ever decided I wanted to be that accessible. And, yes, we all know that I just wasn't being honest with myself. I'll never want to be that accessible.

Then, over the past few weeks, the amount of 'adult' followers (and yes, I mean 'adult') had increased to the point that deleting these people had become a job in and of itself. So, this morning, when "Ernestine" announced that she was now following me on twitter, all I could say was, "Not without your pants on, Skankpot." And, frankly, that's a rule I plan to carry over into my daily life: you may not follow me without your pants on, ever.

So, it's gone. I deleted the whole thing. And if you find a belindaleesmith on there, it's not me. But Ernestine is probably wandering around lost in the general vicinity of where I was.

-b

Friday, August 28, 2009

Picture of the Guy Stealing Matt's Car

My friend Matt paid off his car, a BMW, a few weeks back and took it into the dealership for routine servicing the same week. While his car was in the care of Pacific BMW in Glendale (California), this I'm-entitled-to-your-stuff-even-though-I'm-too-much-of-a-drain-on-society-to-get-an-honest-job-jerk-hat-hotshot-came up and stole it. Yes, this is a surveillance shot of the actual person stealing the actual car.

Photobucket

Now for the kicker: the dealership told Matt that it wasn't their responsibility, that insurance would handle it, BUT they would be glad to sell him a new car at a discounted price.

CAN.YOU.EVEN.IMAGINE??????? They didn't bother to verify that the guy picking the car up was the owner, and yet, somehow, it's not their problem. Stunning. Matt still doesn't have a replacement car. They are STILL trying to get out of it.

Sometimes I just don't know who I am in relation to this world anymore.

-b

p.s. That was PACIFIC BMW OF GLENDALE, CALIFORNIA. Tell your friends, neighbors and acquaintances.

An Interesting Perspective on Funding for the Arts

Tuesday, August 25, 2009

Could've Been

This is a headline on MSNBC.com today:

"Family feud turns into riot in small Ala. town
Up to 150 people brawl with tire irons, baseball bats; 8 arrested"


And on behalf of all the people from the State of West Virginia, I say, "Thank God for Alabama."

-b

Sunday, August 23, 2009

White Water Rafting and Being Correct

I've always been afraid to do it.
I grew up in West Virginia and the "thing" to do was go white water rafting on the Gauley River. If you look up footage on youtube, you'll understand why I had no desire to get into that kind of mess. I do not know a single soul who had done the Gauley and come out without cuts or bruises, and I know of one person who died on it. So, when I moved to Nashville and people started mentioning rafting on the Ocoee, you can imagine why my answer was, "Absolutely not. No thank you."

And then I started kind of wanting to face a few fears. I don't know why. Maybe I'm just scared of too many things and I'm tired of being owned by my fears. I mean, really, we're all going to die anyway, right?

First up was the snake fear. I decided I was going to touch one. However, when I went into the reptile store on Nolensville Road and got light-headed because I was literally so scared I was going to pass out at the point of realizing I was surrounded by snakes in little tupperware containers, and I had to leave...well, I decided to leave that fear intact.

Next up, white water rafting.

And, so, yesterday was the day. We loaded into the raft at Ocoee Outdoors with our guide-of-eleven-years, Jeremy (or Fraser, depending on who you ask) and we were off. Kids, I was nervous. I'm not even going to pretend otherwise. We had ten miles of river to go and all I knew was if anyone was going to die in our group, it would definitely be me.

Photobucket
And, boy, don't I look happy about it.

Needless to say, they don't set up the photo-ops at the...er...exciting places.

Several hours into the trip, Jeremy says, "Oh, we're going to surf here." I don't know what that means, but I assume from watching the boat before us do it that we're going to get a little stuck at the bottom of the waterfall and the boat will rock from side to side. I was wrong. We paddled over like lambs to the slaughter, we 'surfed' for a few seconds, Jeremy turned the boat to where I was on the side with the waterfall, and it wasn't ten seconds before I was just gone. I fell out, went under, panicked a little and started kicking, till I opened my eyes and couldn't see any light. That's when I remembered to let the life jacket do it's job and rode it out. First, I came up and hit my head on the raft. I went back down and came up on the other side of the raft, and floated on down the river.

I know they say you're floating, but the truth is, you're trying to get a breath, you're coughing the water out of your lungs, waves are still going over your head and taking you under, and you're trying to remember everything they told you in the safety briefing (and what you've learned from watching movies.) "Don't panic," I told myself. Someone yelled to me, "Get your paddle," and I wanted to say, "I CAN AFFORD TO BUY YOU A NEW ONE, MORON. I'M BUSY TRYING TO LIVE!!" But, I couldn't really talk. Aside from the "floating," I was trying to use my feet in front of me to avoid hitting the unseen underwater rocks. My left cheek can attest to you today that I failed that mission, though. Ouch.

Photobucket

Finally, they pulled me into the boat, and we went back to get Jim, who, unbeknownst to me, had fallen in right after me and taken two lungs full of water. I only hit the raft once trying to get up, but he hit it several times. Not good. And, probably best that I didn't know he was in a little trouble, or the 'don't panic' mantra wouldn't have worked.

We got situated, coughed it out, and started paddling again. A few rapids later, I was back in the water, 'floating.' When you don't have any idea that you're going in the water, though, you just don't know to take a big breath. And, so, I panicked a little more this time and had to worry about drowning for even more yards. I could see Jim had fallen out and he had floated down in front of me, but I just couldn't breathe. The waves kept coming over my head and I just couldn't get it together. (But, I had that ever important paddle in my hand this time, somehow. Isn't that ridiculous?) When I finally got out of that rough water and was maybe ten yards from Jim, I was able to say to him, "This part isn't fun."

Okay, now back in, and David is the only person who hadn't been out of the boat. Kids, I knew Jeremy was going to put him in and I was just trying to be ready. Sure enough, when it came time, I was flying through the air again. This time I had enough wit about me to take a big breath and hold my nose. Ahhh...much better. I went under and was back up in no time. And, aside from the fact that I landed on Dave who was underwater, and I might have stood on him a second too long, we were all okay. I felt like that was my Olympic fall. (Great form.)

This time, Jim and Jeremy pulled me back onto the raft. I thought it was maybe time to hedge my bets and I said to Jeremy, with my body half-in and half-out of the raft, "I'd like for us to be friends. All the things I've said and done to make you mad at me, I'd like to apologize for." He promised I wouldn't go in again after that. (Note to self.)

And, with that, Eric 'rode the bull' on the final rapid and didn't fall off, and we ended ten miles on the Ocoee, life and lungs intact.

Photobucket

And, I'm not going to lie to you, it was scary a few times. And, I was totally right for being a little nervous about it.
But, at the end of the day, I did it. I stepped waaaaaaaayyy out of a comfort zone and ended up alive.
That feels pretty good.

-b

p.s. You still couldn't pay me to do the Gauley.

Thursday, August 20, 2009

Serendipity

My brother bought me a book and mailed it to me today. I'm so excited to have it, as I've shown much restraint with not buying it for myself. I actually read the first 14 pages at Davis Kidd last week because I just couldn't stand it.

Multiple people have emailed me about this book and told me that the writing style reminded them of mine.
Looking for Salvation at the Dairy Queen

So, I was teaching at the Tennessee Young Writer's Workshop in July and I looked at Darnell, my famous fiction-writer cousin with the book out, and I say, "Hey, do you know any thing about this book about finding salvation at the Dairy Queen?" She points over to Schuyler, who is a ray-of-light talented student in the camp and said, "Susan Gilmore is Schuyler's aunt.

Such a small world.
And so now I'm really, really looking foward to reading the book.
Thanks, Aaron.

-b

Tuesday, August 18, 2009

Because I'm the Absolute Coolest

I have a mosquito bite right smack in the middle of my forehead.

Niiice.

-b

Monday, August 17, 2009

The Lady in the Maroon Buick

I pass by a grocery store parking lot on my daily routine several days per week. There are three rows of parking spaces at this grocery store with trees planted at the ends of the rows. Everyday, office workers who prefer the solitude of eating lunch in their cars vie for the shade under one of these trees. There are usually different kinds of cars and different kinds of people, depending on the day and time. It's oddly fascinating to me. (I know, I need a hobby.)

The interesting part of this is that there is one lady who is there in the parking lot every single time I drive by during the work day. She is there if I go by at 9:00AM, she is there if I go by at noon, she is there if I go by at 2:-30 P.M. Every time. She sits in her car with all the windows rolled down and her left foot out on the ground most days.

A few weeks ago I started needing to know her story. Today, I almost just asked, but I didn't. I don't think I can ask her without her thinking I'm stalking her or something. Can you stalk someone who is sitting still? Anyway, I don't want to take away her solitude. I know how much people need it sometimes.

However, because I make things up for money anyway, I've taken to writing her a new story every time I pass her. Yesterday, I decided she has been fired from her job and she doesn't want her husband to know because he is mean and controlling, so she gets up every day and goes to the grocery store parking lot to make it look like she is working. Today, though, that story felt too "Lifetime" and so I made her a novelist. She is writing a tween series and she's going to be rich, and then in her interview on Oprah she will say that she wrote the whole book in longhand in a parking lot under a tree.

…I know.

But now you're wondering, too, aren't you?
-b

Saturday, August 15, 2009

Gosselin

I have never watched this reality show about Jon and Kate and their eight children. I just started catching bits about these people in news bites online here and there, and I guess I know their overall stories by now.

Any time I see anything about Jon and Kate, I can't help but wonder if they would say that all the money and "celebrity" has been worth what (and who) they've become?

At the end of the day, there are eight little people who didn't ask for any of this, whose family has been ruined because of it, and they'll be able to read and see photos of it online for the rest of their lives. Tragic. I'd like for Jon and Kate to go away, for their kids' sakes.

I'm going to do my part by not clicking on any more links about Jon or Kate. And, frankly, I think that's a win-win for all of us.

-b

Tuesday, August 11, 2009

World Market

My mom and brother are visiting and so I've been carting them around town all day to see the sights. We've stopped in for just a minute before heading off to a different shopping area, but I did need to say that I've decided to sell my house and all my belongings and physically move into World Market.

I could not love a store more.

-b

and the winner is...

I did it. I've polled you all for nearly a year--blackberry vs. iphone? In the end, the votes came out to be pretty even. I've grilled you about features and services, wants needs, coverage, etc. You iPhone people are a devoted group (Sue, Jason...), but then so are the Blackberry people (Anthony, Rory...).

I present to you my winner:
Blacberry Tour Pictures, Images and Photos

-b

Thursday, July 30, 2009

Bourne Ultimatum: Fact vs. Fiction

We watched this movie (finally) the other night.

All I can say is that making Jason Bourne be an assassin wasn't a good thing. But, you have to give them a few props for the all encompassing, highly skilled level of training he received. The guy was prepared for absolutely everything.

And, that's how we also know that the movie is a complete work of fiction. There is no possible way the federal government could ever train anybody that well. :-p

-b

Tuesday, July 28, 2009

Betrayal

I just came across an article about Judas Iscariot in the New Yorker. You know, the guy who betrayed Jesus in the Bible? It's a long article, but it was interesting to me. It was about how some scholars seem to be trying to 'rehabilitate his image.'

Here's a quote that stuck out to me: For two thousand years, Judas has therefore been Christianity’s primary image of human evil.

I have to say that for whatever reason, be it not paying attention in church all those Sunday morning-Sunday night-Wednesday night-plus revival-plus special activities or just plain missing the boat, I've never thought of Judas that way. I was a little taken by that statement because I've always thought of Judas as the Bible's most tragic character. I've always thought it was just devastatingly sad that anybody had to betray Jesus for the whole story to play out, and I've always felt a little sorry for him in the fact that it was, for whatever reason, him. Always. And, he even kind of tried to undo it, but of course he couldn't. And it was so much on him that he killed himself.

I don't know.
I've just always thought it was sad.

And,I just thought that was interesting.
And it's on my mind since I just finished reading the article.
And it's my blog so I can say what I want.

-b

p.s. Here's the link if you're inclined: http://www.newyorker.com/arts/critics/atlarge/2009/08/03/090803crat_atlarge_acocella?currentPage=1

Monday, July 27, 2009

Our Daily Reflection

My friend Kelley sent this to me just now. It's a quote she read somewhere along the way.

"Never argue with a fool. Those who are listening will not be able to tell which of you is which."

-b

Friday, July 24, 2009

Tammy

I went to Kroger after working to get some dinner.

I chose to use the self check-out option. You know, where you scan your own items, and then you bag your own items, and then you start wondering why you're not getting a discount for doing this? Yeah, that one.

Well, Kroger seems to have updated their self check-out machines. Tonight I walked up with my items, dug my keys out from the bottom of my purse and scanned that ridiculous little card that I keep on my keychain as Kroger insists on this stupid rite of passage to give me a fair price, and began the check-out process. I guess I was hoping for one less conversation for the day. One less confrontation. Maybe just a minute to myself.

Instead, the 'woman' in the machine decided to make our exchange ugly. Very rude, actually. "PLEASE SCAN YOUR FIRST ITEM," she shouted. I actually looked back over my shoulder to make sure she wasn't yelling at someone behind me.

No. It was me she was gunning for. I scanned my Carnation coffee creamer as quickly as I could and she shouted, "PLEASE PLACE THE ITEM IN THE BAG." "Okay, slut," I thought. I'm not going to pretend it has been a great day here at the ranch, and so this deal of telling me what to do as I'm already doing it rubbed me the wrong way.

I wrestled with the bag which was still attached to the little silver arms in the bagging area. You know, the little plastic ones (yes, I recycle them) that are made specifically difficult to open so that we all take a minute to decide if we really want to use that moment to loose our witness or find a new testimony? Yeah, those. I couldn't get it open without a little doing, and at the exact moment I was able to roll the sticky plastic opening apart, Tammy (that's what I named her) yelled again, "PLEASE PLACE YOUR ITEM IN THE BAG. "

"I.AM.YOU.STUPID.TRAMP." I said back...too loud.

And so for the next 6 items, I raced against Tammy, trying to scan and put my item in the bag before she TOLD me to DO what I was ALREADY DOING!!!!

Score:
Tammy - 4
Me - 2

Game on, witch.

-b

Thursday, July 2, 2009

Safety First

So, I'm at home in West Virginia. It was the longest drive of all time yesterday to get here, next to the Christmas ice storm. So, okay, the second longest drive. I was a little spent.

Dad and I were sitting there last night and we heard what sounded like something hit the outside of the house beside him. We ignored it the first time, but got up to check the second. They've been having break-ins around here now that so many people are losing their jobs at the plant. Dad went out the back door and I went out the front.

Mom and Dad have a huge piece of property which my Grandpa bought and built the house on when my Mom was little. Mom and Dad have added this terrific long, covered front porch. I stepped out on the front porch, looked out through the darkness and turned to the left. From just off the porch, pointing straight at me was a little red dot.

I.HIT.THE.DECK!!!!!!! I'm about to be shot. You've seen those rifles with laser scopes in the movies, right? Well, I wasn't going to be a standing target, at the very least. I.WAS.DOWN.

I looked up in my panic and noticed that the light had now turned purple. That's odd. Okay, and now blue. And now back to red.

And now my head starts to clear: the light was from the firefly lawn ornament that Mom has over there in her flowerbed.

-b

Sunday, June 28, 2009

The Twenty Year Check In

I'm wondering what it's going to be like Friday to be faced with twenty years of decisions all in one night. I'm wondering how that's going to look and feel. And if it will, indeed, freak me out as I'm suspecting it will. Lot's can go wrong in twenty years...and lots can go right. Here's hoping my rights outweigh my wrongs.

The one thing I know for sure is that my high school years weren't the best years of my life. It seems like I'm always looking around and thinking, "Oh, so these must be the best days of my life." And then, a few months later, it's, "Oh, THESE must be the best days," and then a few months later I do it again. Funny, I feel like I'll be saying the same thing in just another few months. I'm lucky in that the best days of my life keep happening. ...seems like that's probably the most I could've hoped for, huh?

To the future--

-b

Saturday, June 27, 2009

Getting Around

It seems like wherever there is a TV camera, there is Jesse Jackson and Al Sharpton.

-b

Thursday, June 25, 2009

...and Fifty.

Me: I'd like to mail this package.
Post Office Lady (with snotty attitude): I can't read that. It's too light.
Me: Oh. Well, if I could borrow your marker, I'll trace over it so it will be darker.
Post Office Lady (with more attitude, pointing with her ruby red 7 inch fingernail to the State abbreviation): What's this? Is that W? What's that state?
Me: WV. It's the State of West Virginia. It's the State beside Virginia.

I couldn't help but wonder, is there any job in which knowing all fifty states would be more important? These are the people who deliver MAIL! Seems like knowing all fifty should be a requirement.

Just sayin'--

-b

Monday, June 22, 2009

The Perils of Summer

The birds ate the tomatoes from the garden overnight. They weren't ready to pick, but we had been very much looking forward to the first bites. Instead, the blasted birds waited till it was dark and big fat ate them.

Birds are jerks.

-b

Friday, June 19, 2009

How Much I Make--Not

Today I met someone who works part time and earns $27,000 per month. Yes, I said twenty-seven thousand dollars per month.

He is not a songwriter.

-b

Friday, June 12, 2009

The Guest Bathroom

It went something like this: It was dark red, then I troweled paint on in black and white (which also created gray, of course) and I hated it for a bathroom. So then I primed in white, thinking I'd do a light color. Then I changed my mind and decided on charred olive. So, I started painting over the stark white primer with olive. Four times. I still need to do another pass or two (this is why you should use a primer close to your paint color, boys and girls--I'm your cautionary tale.) I would've never done that in a client's house, but since it was my own, I thought I'd try to save some money. I did. Then I lost weeks of time in the process. (I'm cool. I'm wise. It's true.)

So, now, probably a month later, I look at the poorly painted walls, the switchplates on the sink and the ladder in the bathtub and think, "Maybe I should do this in sandstone instead?"

Someone stop me.

-b

Monday, June 8, 2009

Soapbox Alert

The dog park is a park for dogs.
Not unsupervised kids. And definitely not toddlers.
I saw a kid get bit last year. He was unsupervised and he'd shown up to play--er, harrass--the dogs. One dog just turned on a dime and bit him. Hard.

Dogs are dogs, and when they're in a situation where there are lots of dogs, you really can't predict what they'll do. You can assume, but you don't really know.

So, no, I don't think it's appropriate to bring your toddler to the dog park to play with the dogs.

And thank you for asking.Cody and Bernice



-b

Friday, June 5, 2009

Answers to People I Haven't Gotten Back to Yet This Week

1. B--go to Madison. I don't do that for people I know. You will wait MUCH less time in Madison.

2. J--I haven't heard. I'm assuming that it will be fine if we don't show up, since we didn't.

3. C--Really, 1/4 for a few weeks and then 1/8 for a few weeks and then off. It's miserable. I'm sorry you have to do it.

4. L--Please send the license request to seventh row music. I realize you have a ministry, and I'm sure you'll understand that I do, too. Mine pays the electric bill and buys groceries. Thanks.

5. M--are you a weeknight writer only? I'm looking forward to writing with you. We'll get it nailed down.

6. E--you are one of my favorite human beings. Thanks for slumming with us Saturday. Love your new rolling pin.

7. T--the fact that we would have to know where all the hospitals are between here and there is precisely why I heart you. Not in spite of that.

8. I--lunch on Wednesday will be like a much needed drink of cool, refreshing water. Next time, bargain shopping.

-b

Thursday, June 4, 2009

my new diagnosis

I'm not a phone person. I'm just not.

So, you can only imagine how over it I am that I've been phoning my doctor for three full days and I've gotten either the message that says, "Please call back during business hours,"--THESE ARE YOUR BUSINESS HOURS, WOMAN!--or a busy signal, which I've gotten all day today.

I would just stop by tomorrow, but she's only open MONDAY THROUGH THURSDAY!!!!!!!

(I'm not shouting at you, gang. I'm just shouting at her in my head. )

And, now, my needing to ask her a simple question has turned me into an obsessive-compulsive, borderline psychotic SHOUTER!!!!! WHO OVER-USES EXCLAMATION POINTS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

!!!!!!!

Sigh...

-b

Wednesday, June 3, 2009

When Factory Just Isn't Enough

air conditioning

We were at the Wal-Mart grocery in East Nashville. This minivan was parked in front of me.

You know, sometimes, you just get sick of being hot.

-b

Tuesday, June 2, 2009

Hello? Is this thing on?

Well, apparently, there is something wrong with my counter on here. I've had exactly zero visits on here for about 3 months. Goose Egg. So, I quit blogging. I mean, I can keep a journal privately, you know?

As it turns out, there is something wrong with the code for counting visitors. I thought it wasn't adding up considering I've gotten lots of emails asking about the blog.

I thought you just didn't care.

Well, I assumed you didn't care before, but I accepted your pity. :-)

To those of you who are still checking in every few weeks, I pledge to show up. For those of you who gave up on me, well, you won't read this anyway, so I won't waste your time telling you anything.

Cheers!

-b

Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Choices

So, really, who thought it would be a good idea, an acceptable idea, even, to fly a Boeing low on the skyline in NYC for an Air Force One photo-op?

Because every single person who agreed and who could've stopped it should have to wear sign on his or her head that reads, "STUPID," for the rest of the year.Can Fix Stupid Pictures, Images and Photos

-b

Saturday, April 25, 2009

Delivery

Brian Copeland told me the other night that I could have his convertible Smart Car. I can't help noticing that it STILL hasn't been delivered.Blue Convertible Smart Car Pictures, Images and Photos

Just saying...

-b

Saturday, April 18, 2009

What's Left

I am pretty sure that I don't actually have a blade of grass in my front yard. It's all dandelions, crab grass and other unidentifiable weedage. And, now that I've sprayed chemicals on the lawn to get rid of all the weeds, I'm guessing my front yard will now be dirt.

Nice.

Friday, April 17, 2009

strange and unbelievable

The email I received today reads:

I wish to notify you that late Engr. Jurgen Krugger made youa beneficiary to his WILL. He left the sum of Thirty Million, One Hundred Thousand Dollars (USD$30,100.000.00) to you in theCodicil and last testament to his WILL. This may sound strange and unbelievable to you, but it is real and true. Being a widely traveled man, he must have been in contact with you in the past or simply you were nominated to him by one of his numerous friends abroad who wished you good.

Someone "wished" me "good."
I'm very, very lucky.

-b

Monday, April 13, 2009

Stinky Tramps

You know what stinks?

It's when you starve yourself for 6 weeks, eat stuff that has no real taste, count every calorie, exercise and, because your metabolism is clearly at a near standstill, you REJOICE with trumpets and the clanging of cymbals when you lose even .2 pounds in a week. "Any progress is progress, " you tell yourself, and you kind of do believe it. And then you eat at Bob Evans with your parents and AFTER the meal you find out that stupid little SALAD clocks in at 1250 calories (more than you're allowed in a day--what was IN that stupid thing? Grilled chicken, lettuce, dried cranberries? LARD?) But, that's okay, you've saved your 'extra calories' for the week and you'll just use them on the stupid salad...instead of the fabulous meal you were planning to use it on...but whatever. And you're losing, but it is slower than a snails pace...but you're losing.

Wait, no, that's not the 'stinks' part.

What stinks is that you're going through all of that and, unbeknownst to you, the woman that you see on a fairly regular basis who probably weighed about 230 in January snuck off without telling and had the belly band surgery, and so in almost the same amount of time that you've manage to drop 8.4 pounds (give or take three weeks) she's dropped "a little over FIFTY!!!" and says she's lost the weight by "just eating less."

She's such a tramp. ;-p

-b

Wednesday, April 8, 2009

Camping, the Aftermath

A group of us went camping over the weekend. Tent camping, as Jim calls it. We had great weather, a beautiful lake to look at and wonderful food (thank you, Jim.) The dogs had so much fun that they're just starting to wake up, and it's Wednesday.

I have been in a panic trying to get all the ticks off the dogs. I don't want them to get sick. I'm not even going to tell you how many have been removed. Still, the question begs:

HOW do find ticks on pug????? In that stupidly thick hair????

-b

Monday, March 30, 2009

How to Change Your Mind

Sometimes I think I'll get a new house at some point. Then, I look around my little place and think of how nice it is to not have to deal with cleaning a larger space and mowing a larger yard and how I don't sink all my income into a house, and I drop it. That doesn't stop me from looking, though. I've become quite a little snoop with houses for sale, and with some that I'd just like to buy even though they're not for sale.

Yesterday was a snoop day. And I was snooping in on the rich people and their multi-million dollar homes that they no longer want.

That's when I found the house that has the pool I'm going to have when I do move (let me dream, okay?) The pool had the requisite waterfall, of course, the hot tub, the rock wall landscaping with both the deep and shallow ends, and all the privacy of a home sitting on a hill on an exclusive boulevard in Brentwood. I admit that in my heart of hearts and deep within the fibers of my being, I'm so not a Brentwood person. I am, however, a cool pool person. And, this, gang, is the pool.

As I took the virtual tour of this house, I kept wondering what type of person gets to have this house. Who was born into this, or what correct decisions were made to allow for this, or who worked themselves so hard day in and day out so that they could live in this house and raise their family here with this pool?

After a few more clicks, I found that the place was built in 2005. Okay, so there are no fond family memories. A few more clicks, and I was able to see that the place wasn't decorated all that well. It was okay, but clearly the money went into the house itself rather than the decorating. Hmmm…

Finally, my curiosity got the best of me. A few more clicks and a google later, I'd found the name of the person who is selling this place AND his profession. No, he's not a doctor or a lawyer, he's not a finance guy and he's not in the medical field or in insurance (lots of old money in Nashville from insurance.) No, gang, our guy with the $2+ million dollar home on the exclusive boulevard in the haughty neighborhood with the amazing pool gets to have all this because he owns, all across Tennessee, Adult Video Bookstores.

I'm not even kidding.

It's the house that naked built. And now I don't want it. Or its pool…ESPECIALLY its pool, ever.

-b

Wednesday, March 25, 2009

Wednesday, March 25th, 2009

I wrote at a new place today. There were 'roach traps' in the room. Nice. We still managed to write an up-tempo, positive song. Go figure.

Then, a lovely woman from the YMCA communications department called me personally to apologize for yesterday's Zumba camera debacle. Yes, I sent an email. I know. I'm becoming that person. I accept it, but there comes a time in life when it's not okay to let things go. Sometimes you just have to take people to task. Hat's off, though, to the woman for making the phone call. She had NO idea if I were going to yell and scream or be accepting of her apology. (Yes, I made it easy on her. I'm not a monster...most days.)

Later, an artist/friend of mine of mine called me on his way home from the studio after recording a song I wrote with Tony and Barry. He was ecstatic about the cut. Gang, that just so rarely happens. I think the only other artist to call me personally about how much they loved a cut of a song was Jeff Easter when he finished, "Over and Over." I guess artists just don't think about that stuff, but I can remember most every detail of that conversation, and today's. Funny.

And, this evening, I had my first experience with designer foils. They are for walls and furniture, and I'd never played around with them. Gang, now that I can do this to walls, I don't know how I'll ever stay humble.

There's your snapshot.

-b

Tuesday, March 24, 2009

I Can't Talk About It: My Worst Fear

My worst fear: me, in my Zumba class, being filmed and then put on TV. I would've rather had touched a snake. I would've rather HELD the snake, and that makes me short of breath even typing it.

Today, the camera crew came into the Zumba class. They were filming some guy and some girl--wanna-be reality TV stars, I find out later. (Shoot, they could BE reality TV stars--I wouldn't know.) It took me a few minutes to realize that this wasn't for a quick TV news segment which I could stay safely out of. I left the class early, of course.

But, yeah. There were cameras, there were cameramen crowding me and there were some pretty angry people who left even before I figured out how bad it could really get. Someone put a sign on the classroom door advising that the class was being filmed AFTER the class started. That was helpful.

...and yeah, I can't talk about it anymore. It's just that...no...I really can't discuss this right now...

-b

Monday, March 23, 2009

Regrets

A reminder from a yahoo! news story:

"The only calibration that counts is how much heart people invest, how much they ignore their fears of being hurt or caught out or humiliated," [Ted] Hughes wrote to his son, who committed suicide at 47 last week at his home in Fairbanks, Alaska, 46 years after Nicholas' mother, poet Sylvia Plath, killed herself.

"And the only thing people regret is that they didn't live boldly enough, that they didn't invest enough heart, didn't love enough. Nothing else really counts at all."

No, you didn't listen to that hard enough, so I'm repeating it:

"And the only thing people regret is that they didn't live boldly enough, that they didn't invest enough heart, didn't love enough. Nothing else really counts at all."

-b

Sunday, March 22, 2009

Streaking

Today, I took Pete and Bernice to the dog park. We were having a perfectly lovely time of running and playing, and they were interacting with other dogs (hooray), when I noticed an odd streak down Bernice's side.

Upon closer inspection, it was dog poo.

Well, great. Stinking great.

-b

Friday, March 20, 2009

Calculator

Every time I use my desktop computer and type for a bit, the calculator application opens up. Sometimes I have two or three calculator windows open throughout my work. Right now I have two.

I could not carry this secret in my soul any longer.

-b

Boundaries--The Dark Post

Today someone who has a history of clinical depression and dumping it in my lap told me that they spent an entire day just crying. This is so far from the first time that I've been handed this burden that I cannot even begin to recall the day it started.

I said to them, "If you're unwilling to do the work which depression requires, then stop asking me to do it for you."

Sounds a little harsh when I read it back, but I'm tired. As one who fully understands the toll depression can take on your deepest soul, I'm learning to impose boundaries as I grow up, even when it's hard. There are professionals, there is medication, and there are options. There is not, however, a dumping ground at my feet, and I cannot fix you. (I submit my incredibly flawed self as proof.)

Be forewarned now. I'm getting tired of holding my opinions back so that other people don't have to feel uncomfortable. No one seems to mind in the least what their words do to me and in return I'm caring less and less about keeping the peace these days.

To quote a friend who I'm finally really starting to understand: Don't go there unless you really, really, REALLY want to. You may not like how either one of us look after we get back.

-b

Thursday, March 19, 2009

Ironic Selflessness

I told Jim tonight at dinner that I've written two songs in two days that I especially love. This is unheard of. Magic twice in one week? And then two days back to back? One is slow and one is fast. Again, unheard of to get BOTH that I love.

Jim pointed out that I "seem to write the best when I don't think I can write anymore." He then very generously offered to beat me down mentally as needed.

I declined, but I thought the offer was selfless on his part, nonetheless.

-b

Press for Me!

My beautiful friend Irene Williams was generous enough to include me in one of her feature stories this month. (You'll have to copy and paste the link because I don't know how to embed it.)

http://hernashville.com/her/spare-room

Irene is one of the most talented people I know. She can make you sound organized and together even if you don't know which end is up. I should know. ...and she is available for your website and publicity needs.

Here is Irene's newest endeavor.

-b

Tuesday, March 10, 2009

Words

I haven't forgotten you, I'm just running low on words right now. The words I do manage to scrounge up have to be used for the things that pay the bills. I know you understand.

Give me a few days here. I think the words will back soon. At least they usually are.

-b

Thursday, February 26, 2009

Putting the Dig Back in Dignity

Just last week I was thinking about what a tough job it must be to be a 'sandwich artist' at Subway. I go there enough for lunch that I know I hate most people in that line. It's like people take some sort of sick pleasure from being mean to the workers--lettuce please, no that's too much, no that's not enough--and I've never been in Subway even once when someone wasn't bringing their unwrapped sandwich back up to the counter for more of this or less of that or to point out an error. The way I see it is we have the opportunity to stand there and pick every single item that goes on that bun. You should NEVER be allowed to bring back your sandwich for a correction once you leave the counter. That would be my policy.

Today, the guy behind me in line was the leader of all that is gross in humanity. The Czar of Horse's Rear-Ends, if you will. The sandwich artist, on the other hand, is the nicest guy. He makes going to Subway pleasant, so the fact that the jerk behind me was being SO condescending took even me, an anonymous customer, to the verge of intervening.

Lettuce. No, more. Not the whole garden. Gheesh. Yes, buddy, that would mean less. Two tomatos. Wait, are those fresh? Olives. Black. Wait, take them off. I don't want olives. Cucumber. More. No, I don't want those. They look disgusting. Take them off. I'd like two banana peppers. Can you count to two? Only two. (This is the point at which I turned around to say something.)

As I'm turning, the guy says, "I don't think I want this kind of sandwich after all. Dump all of that and let's start over. What's the difference between your ham and black forest ham?"

I was literally taking a breath to start in when my sandwich artist looked the guy square in the eye and said, "Buddy, it's the difference between a big pile of spit in the middle of your bread and not. What's it gonna' be?"

And, then, just as if we were in a movie, the man who had been behind the jerk started clapping. And so did the three people behind him. And, in a cloud of defeat, the Czar turned and stomped out.

Hooray!

-b

Friday, February 20, 2009

How to be Happy for Your Friends

There were only five people who didn't get in. One, two, me, four, five.

It was a live television taping including Lamont Dozier, Barry Mann and Cynthia Weil, Marc Cohn and someone else (newcomer.) It was called Legends and Lyrics...or Lyrics and Legends. Who really cares, right?

Mann and Weil, you know them--"You've Lost that Lovin' Feeling," "On Broadway," "Somewhere Out There,""Sometimes When We Touch,"...yeah. Ouch.

A few years ago, Joel wrote with Mr. Dozier at Mr. Dozier's house. You know Mr. Dozier's stuff--"Baby Love," "Sugar Pie, Honey Bunch-I Can't Help Myself," "Reach Out, I'll Be There," "Stop! In the Name of Love," etc. Joel stole...er, BORROWED... one of Mr. Dozier's pencils and brought it back to me. That was all I wanted. Hence, I feel certain that tonight's episode was completely in correlation to my current possession of said writing utensil. HB pencil Pictures, Images and Photos

Mr. Dozier, can't we let by-gone's be by-gone's???????? In the name of love?

I'm glad (and assuming) Tony got in. He would've enjoyed it more than I would have anyway (although marginally). I talked to my little brother on the phone for almost an hour in lieu of the concert. Investments in your family have to count for something. :-)

-b

Tuesday, February 17, 2009

Grace

Zumba: a fitness program inspired by Latin dance. “We utilize the principles of fitness interval training and resistance training to maximize caloric output, fat burning, and total body toning. It’s a way of mixing body sculpting movements with easy-to-follow dance steps,” says creator Beto Perez. “It’s fun and addictive.” from Wikipedia


"Easy to follow" might be a bit ambitious. "Fun," well, it depends on whether we're at the beginning of the hour or the end. "Addictive," yes. I've been a faithful attender since last summer. Regardless, I've become one of the people that knows the moves, and I'm proud to bring up the rear, thank you very much. My spot is in the back, but when the instructor makes everyone turn around thereby putting me in the front, I can still hang with the group. It's not pretty by any stretch, but at least I'm not falling down or tripping over myself.

Usually.

As I said, I've been going since last summer. Sarah is my favorite instructor so I rarely miss a Tuesday when she's there. She's not too hip-hop and not too aerobic. Excellent. I try to be the model student for her: punctual, on task and under the radar. After all, she's the one who's supposed to be in the spotlight, not me.

You have to take water to Zumba. I always drink at least a liter while class is going. Sarah always says, "Drink water. It will make you feel better." She is smartest person I know during that hour. I would probably follow her off a cliff. Last Tuesday, there was a new person in class and she took my space. It's kind of like church when the visitor takes the place of the regular attender: awkward, but you sit somewhere else so as not to seem like a bad Christian. Hence, I took my place elsewhere, thus, placing my bottle of water right behind me rather than to my left against the wall.

As you full well predicted, a few high kicks into the class and my water bottle went flying. I didn't have the lid on well, so it came off and out poured about 1/2 a liter of water all over the sacred floor. Excellent. There are NO paper towels, of course, so I had to use my jacket to absorb the water. Four, yes, FOUR other women stopped to try to help me clean it up. One woman didn't stop complaining about the "excessively dry floor" for the rest of the class. (She is dead to me now.)

Not to be demoralized into abandoning my one fitness regimine, I returned today, with water bottle in tow and lid completely tightened. Mantra: be punctual, be enthusiastic, be under the radar and DON'T SPILL YOUR WATER.

I was on task, gang. It was going well until the forth song. I had returned to my proper spot, we were working it up, there was no familiar face in class (a pre-requisite, of course) and I was "shoulder-single-single-double-triple-stomping" my rear off when I heard a rumble. Earthquake? I wish.

The Step Aerobics class stacks their steps in the back of the room after their class. I guess our class was jumping around as to disturb the steps just enough. Several well-stomped moves into our Zumba class, the steps toppled over right into the back of my legs. Fifteen of the steps bounded into the backs of my legs and I was down, very unprettily, splayed over the mountain of fallen steps.

God Bless Sarah. She just said into the microphone, "Is everything okay back there?" and had the class do a turn so everyone could see my big fat rear on top of everything.

I just smiled and mouthed, "Yes."

Everything was just exactly as we would expect it should be.

-b

Friday, February 13, 2009

Affirmations

The affirmations are few and far between. Let's face it, Nashville is a hard town. Songwriting is a hard business. It's most certainly not for everyone, and that's okay. It doesn't have to be. For those of us who choose, for all kinds of different reasons, to stay with it, we understand that there will be very few 'good job's' and pat's on the backs. What I find, though,with the affirmations really so sporatic is that when I do get one, I really, really appreciate it. And, I've also found that Nashville has a way of giving those right when I really need them.

Thanks, Nashville.

-b

Thursday, February 12, 2009

Twist the Knife, Please

You know what really stinks? It's when you've written this really cool new song that you just love and then you're driving down the road one morning and you hear said artist's brand new single, AND IT'S RIDICULOUSLY SIMILAR TO YOUR COOL NEW SONG, and then the DJ says, "I think he's got himself a hit with this one." My disdain for this artist is palpable today. When I find out who wrote it, though, I'll transfer the disgust to the appropriate people. For now, the artist must bear it all.

In the meantime, I'm rewriting the melody in hopes of salvaging something, anything. Why, oh WHY are there only 12 notes in an octave. How I long for a few more.
-b

Monday, February 9, 2009

Off the Cuff Grammy Thoughts

I enjoyed the Grammy's last night. They weren't perfect, but I enjoyed them. I don't really get into the angry rapper thing, but to each his own.

I need an explanation as to how, exactly, Jennifer Hudson did NOT win American Idol. As one who doesn't watch AI much, I remain stunned. Let her success and overflowing talent be an inspiration to every loser out there.

I think we were all reminded that large polka dots and big bellies don't mix. ...er...not that I really needed reminding, though.

And, I wonder how the meeting went when Katy Perry's fruit thing came up. "I know, I know, let's bring her down in a banana?!?!?!" "That's a GREAT idea!"

Allison Kraus looks fabulous these days. I hope she's not dating Robert Plant in addition to singing with him. He doesn't look quite as fabulous to me. But, they sound good together.

Sugarland never disappoints me musically. I know her voice is distinct and it seems like people either love it or hate it, but the girl just does not seem to get rattled. I love that.

If I think of anything else, I'll feel free to add it. ;-)

-b

p.s. The Bluebird Show is sold out. Neat-O.

Saturday, February 7, 2009

Self-Promotion

For my Nashville friends, I'll be playing the 6:30 round at the Bluebird on Friday, the 13th. I'm hanging out with J.P. Williams (Leaving Eden), Mark Narmore (That's What I Love About Sunday) and Steven Dale Jones (One More Day, He Get's that From You, That's a Man.) These three guys are great friends of mine and I'd go that night even if I didn't have a seat in the circle. If you're inclined, go to www.bluebirdcafe.com to get reservations. Seats are open to reserve on Monday at noon. No cover and a $7 food/drink minimum.

-b

Friday, February 6, 2009

Spit

Oh, how I hate to complain. You wouldn't think it, probably, because I've blogged about my emailing a restaurant before...twice. Oh my goodness, am I a complainer-in-denial? I really don't think so. If you consider the volume of eating out that I do as compared to three complaint letters in ten years, I really should get some slack.

Anyway, I did it again. This time I had to or Jim would, and he's a little more blunt than I am. ;-p My favorite pizza in Nashville is from an independent place in East Nashville. It has been my favorite since Kelley and Ned introduced me, and I drug Jim in with me soon after he and I met. He flipped for it, too. The fact that they deliver to my house is icing.

We ordered a pizza the other night and for the second time in as many months, it was terrible. I don't mean I'm-being-a-princess-and-complaining terrible, it was just TERRIBLE. So, I posted about it on our community message board. I asked if anyone knew if there was new ownership or other problems and within an hour, the owner emailed me personally. Within 24 hours, he had pinpointed the problem and emailed again to follow up and explain.

Holy cow. Who knew there was service like this anymore? We have to order again.

...and we fully understand that every single employee who got into trouble over this will have taken the opportunity to spit on our pizza before it arrives.

-b

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

Perspective

I was introduced by cell phone to a lovely woman close to my age back in September. Her name was Lorie Johnson and she was in the fight for her life with metastatic breast cancer. She was 6 months pregnant with her second son when she was diagnosed. She had 3 rounds of chemo while she was pregnant.

My pastor preached a particularly interesting message one Sunday morning and I was in what I call "positive song mode." I was less interested in writing eloquently than I was in writing positively. I took the idea and pieces I had for a song to my writing session with Sue Smith, someone who has a beautiful ability to write both eloquently and positively at the same time (haha), and we finished "I'll Walk On." Gold City had recorded the song on their newest record months before I even found out about it in September. The record was out, even.

Lorie and her husband Daryl were good friends with the lead singer in Gold City, Bruce, so she had listened to the song on the CD. For whatever Divine reason, she heard, "I'll Walk On," and it became her anthem. She posted the lyric on her blog and said that she wanted to be able to say those words honestly. When I met Bruce back in September, he called Lorie and Daryl on his cell phone and put me on with them. Lovely people. She told me on the phone that night that she listened to that song every day.

I followed Lorie's story as closely as I could after that through her blog. She fought so hard. She was buried Wednesday.

She had Gold City sing, "I'll Walk On," at her funeral.

Gang, I'm just a songwriter. I just sit in little rooms with mismatched furniture and out of tune pianos with people I like and try to be honest while taking into consideration that it has to come out in a 3 minute package with rhymes. I always hope that what I come out with does something for somebody besides me and my co-writer. To have come out with something that so inspired this woman on such a real level, however, is pretty humbling. I know Sue well enough to speak for her on that, too.

My heart goes out to Lorie's husband, her two little boys, and her entire family. I am honored to have had some small part in making a few of her moments a little better.

Humbly-
-b

Monday, February 2, 2009

Things We Would Discuss this Week Over Dinner

1. It's hard to be happy for a guy winning the Superbowl after he just punched another player in the back while that player was down. That was gross and I agreed with Madden--he should've been ejected for that. That's not the way for the NFL to clean up its image.

2. What kind of person takes a picture of a famous Olympic athlete smoking pot at a party and then sells it to a British tabloid? Who does that? Who thinks of stuff like that? I guess someone who doesn't ever want to get invited to another party.

3. Today is Bernice's birthday. She has now been a pug for a year. She is snoring louder than ever--I had to sleep on the couch last night.

4. I really did think Springsteen was fantastic during the halftime set last night. I wouldn't necessarily call myself a fan of his--more of a huge respecter (is that a word?) of his work--but now I get it.

5. My favorite Superbowl commercial was of the horse fetching the stick.

-b

Sunday, February 1, 2009

Jennifer Hudson at the Superbowl

Couldn't you just weep with her at any given moment? God bless her dear heart. I really don't even know how a person is physically able to stand up ever again after having their mother, brother and nephew murdered. The fact that she was able to in front of millions of people is a testament to grace, I think. Real grace.

-b

Friday, January 30, 2009

Just Two Minutes and Forty-Five Seconds

Just when you start to think that people are mostly gross, something like this reminds you that there's still good in the world. Watch the whole video, all 2:45. It's worth every second.



-b

Thursday, January 29, 2009

Policy: Using Bells to Even Things Up

I've been 'worked' three times in the past five days. You all know what I mean. You're having a perfectly enjoyable, benign conversation about generalities and then without warning you realize the person has just been laying the groundwork to drop their sales pitch the whole time, and now they're trying to convince you to buy what they're selling--jewelry, herbal supplements, a new house, etc... You're blindsided, aren't you?

Am I an anomoly? Am I the only person who shuts down (behind the polite southern fake smile) when acquaintances start trying to sell me things in purely social situations?

Allow me to be clear, then. If I identify a need or a want, I'll seek out a provider. If I want some new jewelry and you sell it, I'll come get you. If I want some herbal supplements and you sell them, I'll come find you. Ask my Mary Kay representative, Jill Crabtree, who is awesome. She does not hound me, she does not try to wiggle in extra crap that I don't need, she just sells me what I ask for and introduces me to new things as they apply to what we've already established. Or, my Stamping Up person--Lisa Fairfax. She does not hound me with squirrely tricks, either. She just sends me the schedules and the information and lets me peruse at my will. This is why I'm strictly loyal to them. And, further, they are up front. They didn't spend all the time being underhanded. It was more like, "Hey, I'm selling ______ now. If you're ever interested in hearing more, let me know." WooHoo!!!!

I guess I'm saying all this to justify my new policy, when in reality, it's my policy and I really don't have to justify it. If I'm in a purely social situation and I realize that the entire reason we're conversing is because you've been hooking me in so that you can try to get me to pull out a debit card, I'm going to ring a cow bell and blow a whistle. This will happen every time, regardless of where we are or how inappropriate it seems, because the ringing of a cow bell and blowing of said whistle in any of my social conversations is equally as inappropriate as you turning into a sleazy salesperson in the name of 'potential friendship.'

And, therefore, we're even.

-b

Monday, January 26, 2009

The Inappropriate Clanging of Cymbals

Several people I care about have lost loved ones in the past few weeks. I have fumbled about trying to make the appropriate donations and send the appropriate things. Death is hard. I told someone today that death seems a cruel way to end life, but I guess if we could see it from the other side, it probably wouldn't seem so bad. That's where my hope is, at least. And, as much as we want to say the most correct and soothing things, most of us walk away thinking, "Yeah, like they hadn't heard THAT one before." But, we still have to say the things...because we do mean them, and as trite as they may sound coming out of our mouths, it still matters somehow that the things are said.

And, then, there's what not to do.

A friend's father was hospitalized last week, and so on Thursday I went to the hospital to visit. I already had gotten the head's up that it wasn't looking good so I was prepared. What I wasn't prepared for, however, was walking into the room to find the deceased's body. My friend was long gone from the hospital and they hadn't moved her father from the room yet. He was tucked in, though, and the room was silent. Peaceful, even. So, it was FAN-tastic that I came knocking on the half-opened door and bounding in, my big purse with the can of Progresso French Onion soup in it accidentally crashing a metal tray off the food table that was parked by the bathroom door right into this other metal tray from the edge of a another table, sending them tumbling to the cold tile, banging and clanging all the way down the wall, clapping the side of the metal trash can just before they finally landed just under the bed. You would've thought the drum section of the marching band had arrived. The poor guy was 93. He was probably enjoying the 'crossing over' till some noisy stranger piled in and interrupted the whole thing. I'm thinking they should put signs on the doors when the patient is no longer needing visitors, you know? Or at least move all the potentially noisy items from the tables...

So, I apologize, Mr. Elder. I took the can of soup out of my purse in hopes that unfortunate noise-makings may be avoided in the future.

--------------------------
As an aside, I worked in public service with widows and widowers for years and one thing we noticed, oddly, is how many people die in the same month they were born. It was disconcerting enough that I'm always a little extra careful every October. Just a head's up. ;-p

-b

Saturday, January 24, 2009

Great Video Production

I present to you Jim's new favorite artist of all time.



Intense.

-b

Tuesday, January 20, 2009

Today

I thought today was a good day. Regardless of your political side, when you watch footage of segregation and the fights that took place for equality alongside footage of a black man being sworn in as President of the United States of America, it's pretty powerful.

Aside from the historical significance, though, allow me to say what so many of us were thinking: Poor Aretha. In my house, it didn't even sound like she was giving it much of a try--just sing a little, repeat a few words randomly, blah, blah, blah, get me out of here. Maybe I'm just used to entertainers being a little more present and trying a little harder to create a moment. Or maybe she was sick. Or cold. Or in a bad mood. Maybe I was just hearing a bad feed, but my how I was wishing for Patty LaBelle around 11:55 this morning...

I didn't mind the hat, though. At least it was a distraction from what I thought was a really lacking performance.

Sunday, January 18, 2009

Tattletale or Telemarketer...or some variation thereof

I got a letter addressed to me in handwriting, but the name on the envelope was my father's instead of mine. The letter's return address was literally one number lower than mine. Obviously I'm not giving you my street address, but let's say I live at 721 Main St. The letter was from 720 Main St.

So, basically what we've got here is a letter from my neighbor across the street to my Dad. Does she think I'm seriously going to pass a letter along to my father who lives 7 hours away? Aren't I too old to be told on my neighbors?

Or, it could instead be that she bought a list of addresses? She hasn't taken the time to learn my name in the 9 years I've lived across the street. I think we've spoken maybe 3 times that I can remember and, as it turns out, she wants to solicit money from me for her fundraiser. My father signed for a credit card for me once when I was in college. That's apparently the address list she bought. Am I really going to give money to a woman who writes letters to my father and doesn't know my name after she's lived across the street from me for 9 years?????? Really?????

-b