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

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.

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

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.” <sup>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</sup>

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

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

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.

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

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

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

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

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