Monday, December 2, 2013

Fried Chicken and Cow Boy Boots

I went to Nashville, TN this past weekend. Some of it was to escape some of the pressures I feel sometimes with my career and life in NYC, and some of it is because I haven't seen my baby sis Skipper in forever. A little background. Skipper is an ER resident at Vanderbilt Hospital. Anyway, she lives down there and I had heard about how eat it was. So off on a plane I went.

I landed in Nashville and my sister's boyfriend Tucker picked me up. Skipper met Tucker when they were in college. He went to University of Rhode Island. A reformed wild child, Tucker is dedicated to my sister. An avid gun nut and self-proclaimed Ron Paul supporter, Tucker protested on behalf of the Libertarians at the Republican National Convention. Skipper was president of the Brown University Gun Club and is a crack shot. Anyway, we went to dinner with some family friends and waited until Skipper got off work. I ended up falling asleep while watching family guy. Then Tucker's dog Cooper, his son and my sister's cockerspaniel step child, kept tugging on my purse puppet. It was pretty funny.

The next day my sister, our driver Tucker, and I scaled the town of Nashville. We had breakfast at Hattie B's where the fried chicken had so much grease it took a piece of bread to soak it up. I was on my journey to what Tennessee docs call Tennessee normal. Afterwards we did the Country Music Hall of Fame. Country music is cool in that these people record from the time they are very young until they die. You can have a career forever in country music. The whole place was really neat. All the guys had names like Buck, Tubb, and all that stuff. One dude tried to record under Bob but failed. Then when he changed his name to Fuzzy he had a hit. Wowsa.

After that we did Nashville. We did a bunch of bars where there was live music. I am from NYC so my standards are high. Let me tell you the talent in Nashville is through the roof. We went to one bar where the fiddle player had toured with some big name. The drummer was way hot. Of course my sister Skipper ruined my game by telling the man I wanted a kiss. I felt myself go red. Of course the bachelorette party was getting crunk. However, the true out of control prize went to band groupies that came in after we left. The one girl was making an attempt to throw money at the band and then tried to hike up her shirt to flash them. As a performer, I can appreciate groupies. However as a woman I have a distrust and disdain for Dirty Diana on the run. Our crew then moved to the rockabilly joint.

When we got there we saw some Asian dude hitting on a woman who had a wedding ring on her finger. As the rockabilly music blared this man said, "This is not objectification. If you were a stripper and this was a strip club, you would want the same kind of thing." Tucker, Skipper, and I heckled the man from where we were sitting. Tucker of course knew all the rockabilly tunes which was entertaining. After the rockabilly place got crowded we moved to Tootsies where Johnny Cash once played. Because of the crowd we went up the back entrance.

On the stage was a black girl singing country. Not that black people can't sing country, but you don't see it. This was pretty ballsy. Anyway, she was really good. As in great. So I got her name. Haeley Vaughn. I told her I would follow her online. I looked her up and she was on American Idol several years ago and had been one of my faves. I felt she was voted off early, but knew this wasn't the last we would see of her. I was glad she was rocking it out and I think she will do well in Nashville.

The next day Skipper, Tucker, and I embarked on more adventure. We began our day getting fuel by eating pancakes and then began our journey to the Hermitage. To give you an idea, that is the home of former US President Andrew Jackson. It's 40 minutes outside of Nashville. When you get there they give you recorders and such. Anyway, when we got to the house we had this costumed tour guide. The rooms are climate controlled to preserve all original documents. The thing with Jackson was they made no beans about the fact he owned slaves. However when the slaves were able to run free to union lines they did. They tried to claim Jackson was a kind master, but they let you know he would whoop a slave if they got out of line. They let you know Jackson really wasnt fond of women or black people, but they used his ideals later for their causes. They let you know Jackson displaced the Indians, but he adopted an Indian after seeing his mother killed in battle. Note: Jackson killed the rest of the child's family, so this made up for it. Also, he served as a companion of Jackson's nephew, aka whipping boy. One of Jackson's good moves was abolishing the national bank, the devil. So all and all, he was a president who looked out for the common man but not someone I would like if I met him for real.

I will give it to him, Jackson did have quite the cotton plantation. Apparently your hands bled from picking cotton. No wonder the slaves ran. He had one slave Alfred who stayed behind probably because he was too old to run. When the estate opened he would pose for photos with these idiot white tourists and always looked pissed as hell. One German dude told him he had a nice master. Alfred said, "Yeah, but how would you like being a slave?" And the dude shut up. Alfred is buried next to Andrew Jackson. His tombstone reads Uncle Alfred. Today that would be considered insulting. The historical society says they use it as a lesson that all people count. Note: Alfred charged for photos and tours of the place. He made his time count for money.

Then we went to church. You do that in the South.

Afterwards, we met my friend and fan boy Marzipan or Alaskan Mike. A native of the South, Alaskan Mike went to college in Alaska and studied biology originally. We had dinner at a cool Italian eatery and told funny stories. Of course there were periods where Skipper and Tucker tuned out to make out. Sigh, young love

All and all

I had a great time.

Now back to NYC. The 5 am flight said it all.

I Came, I Saw, I Sang: Memoirs of a Singing Telegram Delivery Girl

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