Some Flowers They Will Grow Regardless Of The Odds

Six Of Note

These might not be the six greatest singer-songwriters ever, but they are probably the six greatest singer-songwriters that far too few people know about. And they are certainly among my personal favorites.

Don Henry
Geoff Baker
Peter Himmelman
Michael McDermott
David Baerwald
Mark Germino (no website)

[Edit to add: The problem with lists like this is that someone always seems to get left off. I woke up this morning and it occurred to me that I had forgotten about Nashville's finest, David Olney (on myspace). It's only been a few times that I have been lucky to hear him live, but each time he has absolutely owned the room with his beautiful and stirring yarns of characters real and imagined.

One more than one occasion, I have brought a friend who had little or no interest in the artist and was just tagging along with me to tag along with me. Each time, by concert's end that friend would be asking me all kinds of questions about David Olney and where to buy his CDs. If for no other reason than "Jerusalem Tomorrow," he is one of the best that Nashville has.]

Two Pumpkinheads and a Pumpkin

Happy Halloween!

The Gospel According to Dooce

Found amidst all of the fantastic silliness and adorable photos on Dooce.com is a remarkable post which resonates strongly with this blogger, i.e. I know just how she feels.

We can’t shake this creepy feeling that we’ve been violated in the most disgusting way, made to fear the loss of the roof over our heads. I firmly believe that the mystery illness Jon suffered in August was a direct result of the stress he was trying to cope with, the stress of trying to remain calm and level-headed as he watched his wife collapse frequently into a sobbing heap on the floor.

I have not handled this well. I have also felt completely responsible for putting my family through this, for being the reason that our futures were jeopardized, and the guilt of that has been almost too much to live through.

A few years ago something happened that I won't go deeply into. Suffice it to say that I made an honest man's error in judgment that, in the blink of an eye, made me vulnerable to a lawsuit. Going through life alone is one thing, but when there is a partner and there are dependants, these setbacks can feel both devastating and demoralizing. For so many months after the incident, I lived in fear not that I would be faced with impossible financial repercussions but that my family's needs and wants would now be severely restricted - and thanks to me. I don't recall a period in my life where I felt so low for so long.

The good news is that nothing came of it. Absolutely nothing. People who could have milked a situation for easy money apparently chose not to. As I had prayed those many months for my family's well-being, I still offer a prayer of thanks for that family's honesty. Unless there is more to the story than I know, these were rare and honest people. I had dodged the metaphorical bullet. My wife and I still struggle like most folks do and there is no dishonor in that. She works and I work and the kids grow up a little more each day.

The autumn leaves outside are stunning. With my camera in hand, I will leave for work today a bit early and snap some pics along the way. Life can be beautiful, indeed.

He Sees The World As He Lives His World

Watching bits and pieces of the Titans game with the three year old:

Joshua: What's he doing now?
Me: Well, nothing right now. It's a time out.
Joshua: He's in time out? Did he push his sister down?

It would have been funnier if the conversation had continued as such:

Joshua: He should say he's sorry and kiss his sister.
Me: Only if the game ends in a tie, young son.

The Old Adage is True

I couldn't have been more than five years old but I remember it like it was yesterday. I was a mere cherub myself and I was sitting on my grandmother's knee. We were listening to old hymns and waxing philosophic when she looked me in my saucer-like eyes of brown and said, "Remember this young crumbsnatcher, a watched blog gathers no comments."

Or maybe I'm not remembering that quite right.

Today is nice but a bit weird. My wife is at the Titans game and I am home with the kids. They are sleeping soundly with dreams of stormtroopers dancing in their heads. (Well, I doubt the stormtroopers are actually dancing, but what do I know? They're not my dreams.) I have the game on but the sound is off. An archived performance of the Grand Ole Opry is playing on my laptop and Trisha Yearwood is singing about some girl who is in love with some boy.

My wife loves country music and I love music more along the lines of Nine Inch Nails and Tom Waits. But here I am choosing to listen to steel guitar galore while she is away. I'll leave that tidbit for someone else to analyze. My little guy just woke up from his nap and he wants to watch Star Wars again. Works for me. I can always keep up with the Titans game online.

Best Thing I've Read On Tom Waits In A While

There was a lot more to it than that, though. An Illinois farm girl from Irish Catholic stock, Kathleen was the catalyst for the dramatic sea-change in Waits's music that occurred with the release of Swordfishtrombones in 1983. 'I didn't just marry a beautiful woman,' he says, 'I married a record collection.'

The songs he writes with Kathleen are often filled with echoes... more>>

I Love My Wookie...

...and my wookie loves me.

Having A Bad Day?

This'll cheer you up.

Darth Vader vs. the Japanese police

Watching Star Wars with a Three Year Old

I am resisting the urge to explain to him that Han Solo actually shot first. I'll give him that little diatribe when he is old enough to better roll his eyes at me.

For now, his thoughts on the film:

Opening title crawl: "Oh no, it's over."
On R2-D2: "What's the little baby saying?"
On Chewbacca: "That's a big dog."
On Darth Vader: "Ooh, I see the black guy. What's his name?"

Luke's landspeeder is a helicopter.
The sandpeople use a broomstick as a weapon.
C-3PO is R2D2's daddy.

Who Says You Can't Go Home?

This is the house where I grew up.
Somehow I remember the porch being higher.

Attention Nashville Songwriters

Everywhere we look, another "Pacman did me wrong" story.

Songwriters, can "The Ballad of Pacman Jones" be far off?

Bon Jovi Brings His Unfair Advantage to Nashville

Women across Nashville will be calling off work on November 6th this year. Are they making a point? Is there a protest of sorts going on?

Nope. Just an aging rocker making all of us other guys look bad. I've heard it said that his eyes are "dreamy," his body "sexy," and his hair...well, it's just unfair to compare his locks to ours. But, Jon "I'm sexier than Mike" Bon Jovi will be performing live downtown with Sugarland for Good Morning America. Bosses of women across Nashville should just accept that their estrogen wearing employees will be in a few hours late that morning. They should just smile politely when they hear phrases like, "He looked right at me!" and "Husband? What husband?"

Many years ago, when I was but a young teen nerd, my music industry aunt took me backstage to a Bon Jovi concert. I tried to impress my wife with this bit of info but it just didn't fly. Jon had gone straight from stage to hotel room, leaving me and others to meet everybody in the band except him. So I was cool, but I wasn't that cool. Sorry Tico Torres, but I bet you get that a lot.

It's The Other Kind

A couple of years ago, I struck up a conversation with a guy who was in the indoor tanning business. He was quite the highly motivated sort. I met him before "I just threw up a little bit in my mouth" entered the nation's lexicon, but everything about his life was awesome! and amazing! and exciting!

Ever the mood killer, I think I asked him something about the dangers to the skin associated with tanning. His answer was instant and beautiful (or dreadful if you are the serious sort). He quickly noted that studies had shown that the rays from tanning beds "do cause cancer. But it's cool because it's not the kind of cancer that kills you."

Um.

Does that work in pickup lines, too? "I should tell you that I do have an STD, but it's cool because it's not the kind of STD that kills you." Try it and get back to me.

John Waters Lowers The Bar And I Love Him For It

The temporary descent into complete tastelessness can be a beautiful and wondrous thing.

For eight plus hours, I wore the uniform and the name tag. I said things like, "Yes, sir" and "My pleasure, ma'am." It didn't come up but I was prepared as always to "beg your pardon for the inconvenience." My posture was a sight to behold and my manners designed to impress.

But as Bob Dylan sings, "it ain't me babe."

Underneath that red pressed uniform, my skin is more closely covered by a tight Led Zeppelin t-shirt reading the following: "Squeeze My Lemon." And we know the rest of those lyrics, don't we?

I clocked out and descended the cold blue steps to the locker room and exchanged my black shoes/black slacks for my three year old tennis shoes and my ripped blue jeans. Thirty minutes later, one Waffle House entree consumed (yes, in the words of Tom Waits, "I am a pioneer of the palate") and a six pack of beer and a lottery ticket purchased, I am in my 1991 station wagon and on my way home.

Life is good and it gets better. Once home, I turn on my TV to the almighty IFC and find the greatest of the NC-17s, Female Trouble by Mr. John Waters. It's so bad that it's fantastic. Divine, I am almost embarrassed to say, is someone I can't take my eyes off of. What Divine and John Waters have given to the cinematic arts is certainly...um, not for everyone. I, for one, am a lifelong fan. The purposeful vomit of bad taste is all over this movie.

If the beauty of John Waters is not enough, Pith In The Wind points me to the trailer for some gore galore. (Good luck on the link. The trailer hasn't found a stable home yet.)

But back to Divine. This is terrible and I love every minute of it. It seems like everyone who was ever told "you have no future in the movie business" went out and got involved in this movie. Good for them. We all have a shot is the lesson that I get from this.

One more beer and a few Bukowski poems before bed and I'll get back to being shy and polite tomorrow. Until then, all of this fake blood on the screen looks both silly and fantastic.