Faking It Like It’s Real

Sometimes I forget that not everyone who stops by here is in the mix with the Nashville blogging crew (and by Nashville I actually mean mostly Nashville but some Memphis and some Knoxville and lots of other parts of Tennessee and also some non-Tennessee cities like Louisville and well, you get the idea). I probably should have posted this closer to the beginning of the month but ah well, it’s still early October.

Over at Tiny Cat Pants, Aunt B. created this really super cool little project for October that you should go check out. She’s posting one ghost story a day, every day in October.

The thing is – they’re all fake. But the other thing is, they’re all based around facts and known legends in Nashville, Davidson County, Middle Tennessee in general.

She has just done an absolutely outstanding job weaving together these legends and historical facts in with spooky hooey – so much so that I keep forgetting the stories aren’t real.

A fine time’s to be had this haunted season over there, so go check ‘em out every day, there’s a new one up every evening. They’re easy to spot among the rest of the blog posts because there’s a nifty interactive map on each one, and they’re numbered. (But heck, read the rest of the blog while you’re there, too – that’s one I read religiously daily).

I can’t decide which one’s my favorite so far – this one or this one – but I’m sure that’s going to change again as the month progresses.

It’s Tornado Time in Tennessee

So did Super Tuesday actually happen yesterday? Because there was no talk of anything on the news here yesterday except this tornado, that tornado, the next tornado, and the one after that, and etc., etc., etc. Starting about 4:30 pm and well after midnight, on at least one local station that was virtually it.

Living in the center of the city, I’m usually protected ‘cos the main danger zones in the Metro Memphis area tend to be out in the ‘burbs. Still, I didn’t sleep last night because nowadays, when the sirens start going off, my adrenalin rush just gets out of this world (and if you’ve never been here before or have forgotten, this is why).

There was some damage not too far away though, out in the airport area; lots of damage out in the eastern suburbs and across the state line in DeSoto County, Mississippi; and probably the most stunning, for here, was the 50-foot chunk of wall taken out of Hickory Ridge Mall down in Southeast Memphis. Kid sister and her hubby lived not too far from there, just south of Germantown, until they moved a couple of years ago, so for once, I was actually happy they are now living in Nebraska. Otherwise last night would have been even more horrifying and frightening.

Though there was plenty going on here last night to freak out about, I found myself much more affected by the news of the tornado that blitzed the north part of Jackson, Tennessee, about an hour northeast. The damage was huge in many spots up there, most notably the demolition of a/some dormitory building(s) at Union University.

Why would that affect me so much more than what was happening right here in my own back yard? Because when I got caught on the road in my car during the 2003 tornado that hit Jackson, I was pretty much right there by Union University. No matter that I was basically safe at home an hour away, last night in my little house in front of the computer, listening to and watching the live stream of the continuing weather update on one of the local stations. When they said a tornado had touched down in Jackson and said where, I knew exactly what it looked like up there at that moment, ‘cos I’d been there, right there in it.

I guess I’m always gonna be a little more freaked out by bad storms and the sirens, but for a moment or two, that really, really bothered me last night. Glad I wasn’t out in it all, here nor there, but just hearing about them now in places I know – and especially that one twister in particular, striking right there where I was that night in 2003 – it’s just kinda bone-chilling.

On another note, thanks to everyone who stopped by and left such kind words about Rocky yesterday, including some I haven’t heard from in years and years. Very much appreciated, all of you. I left out one little part yesterday I meant to throw in there, so bear with me a sec and I’ll stop talking about it soon enough.

Like most of my zoo, Rocky was a foundling. My neighbor who lived here for years came home from work one day a little over ten years ago, and when he got out of the car, there was this little tiny orange kitten in the small tree right above the driveway mewing at him. So of course he immediately knocked on my door, orange ball of fur in hand.

And because there is an invisible sign on my forehead that only cats and dogs can see that says “SUCKER”, the little orange furball never left. Seems like only yesterday, and when he was so sick and old and leaving us, that’s really all I kept thinking about, that day years ago.

Well, that’s it for the moment, I’m so tired I’m about to drop dead, so I’m off for now. Tomorrow maybe I’ll write about my Christmas adventures. It’s not a pretty tale.

P.S. Again on tornadoes – does Knuck have the right idea? ‘Cos what if the tornado hits your house, but doesn’t really blow it up and just does some damage but nothing fatal to you or the house, and then you ARE wandering like that, and then you’re, like, this naked guy wandering around Nashville post-tornado, and…

It’s really still too early in the morning for me to ponder this. Smiley will have the punchline I’m too exhausted to come up with right now, I just know it.

Ain’t No Haints Gonna Scare Me Off

… just maybe the police.

Even tho it’s a day late, a Halloween story is in order today, I reckon. Though this actually occurred in the summer, not at Halloween, but it’s a haunted house story (in a manner of speaking) so it counts. (It’s also YET ANOTHER drinking story, but all I can say to that – again – it was the ’80s, that’s what we did, blah blah blah. Heh.)

Anyway, onto the story. I might have told this one before but it’s always worth telling again since it’s the only time in my life I truly almost was arrested.

Normally I was one of those people who could have several drinks or beers and conduct myself just fine, or at least well enough not to embarrass myself to death. Back in my partying days, I could hold my liquor usually. Or at least had the sense not to get plastered somewhere where it mattered if I made an idiot out of myself.

There were a handful of such occasions during high school and college days, however, when I had no business being out in public. Most unfortunately, those rare occasions were always the ones when friends would decide they were going to (wherever) and taking me along, which was always a big mistake – and usually I protested beforehand, because there was always still enough sense left to know that I didn’t need to be going somewhere, so it wasn’t like they weren’t warned – but sometimes they took me anyway.

On one of those occasions, I got dragged 20 miles away to the next town and the walk-in theater. (Yes, I specify walk-in because we didn’t have one in my town – we had an old and decomposing drive-in, and another drive-in just across the river on the other side of the neighboring town which was way cooler, better sound, and a topnotch snack bar.)

First bad sign, which should have been obvious to anyone who knew me – it was a peppermint schnapps night and there was an empty half pint bottle as evidence. And it was only, like, 6:30 in the evening.

I was being so completely obnoxious on the drive over that Andy and Jana, the two friends who had the misguided notion that it was this great idea to put me in the car and take me to the movie with them, were likely regretting it halfway over to the next town, but by then it was too late. They couldn’t put me out of the car out there on the highway – well, I guess they could have, but they didn’t – I guess the thought of me winding up passed out on my face in the middle of the wildlife refuge gave pause. And if they turned around and dumped me back off uptown with other friends, they’d have missed the movie.

I don’t recall what movie it was, but it was some fall blockbuster of 1982 and was opening night, and the theater, naturally, was packed and had almost sold out. Half of my town was there, and among the sea of faces and in my drunken haze I recognized many more I had grown up with in earlier days in the town where the theater was. Grand.

There’s hardly any seats and we can’t find three together, it’s so packed, but we finally found two together (Jana demanding to Andy, “YOU sit with her!”) and one behind those two. And the movie’s starting and the lights are going down, but not so much that you can’t still (unfortunately) see people.

Which means that when we made our way to our seats – in the middle and towards the front of the theater, no less – and I (A) tripped and stumbled all the way there, and (B) when attempting to take my seat, my ass landed smack on the floor instead of in the seat because I didn’t have the good sense to hold the seat down – five million people I knew saw the whole thing. And cracked up. (I laughed too, but that’s beside the point, plus, I was trashed anyhow.)

It gets better. We get thru the movie, mercifully with no further events. And then – instead of taking my drunk ass back across the county line to uptown hometown where I can be wasted in peace and only to the amusement of those who I didn’t really care if they saw me that wasted – instead of that, where do they take me next?

The McDonald’s up the street where EVERYONE congregates after a movie. Why did anyone think this was a good idea?

And it’s there that I made one of the grandest faux pas in high school history due to the horrific judgment of my severely inebriated state. There was a guy there who I was friends with, who just happened to be there with his longtime girlfriend (who I was not really good friends with at the time, but would be later on down the line). They showed up at our table to say hi.

Funny thing about this guy is one of my female relatives had been in town visiting a week or two before that. There’d been a pool party at my house and said guy ended up liplocked with this female relative of mine for the duration of the evening. Longtime girlfriend was – of course – NOT there.

Yeah, so guess what drunk opened her big mouth and sort of wound up causing one of the biggest breakups in Northwest Tennessee history in 1982. I wouldn’t say inadvertently. I would almost say directly, except I was just vague enough to make the information not all that easily understood (apparently I had SOME sense) – but trashed enough for it to be obvious I knew something certain other persons (i.e., longtime girlfriend) at the table were not supposed to know – and it was a few more weeks before the actual crash and burn of the breakup. But yeah, it eventually came around, and it was pretty much my drunkass, big mouth fault.

(On the other hand, if he hadn’t been cheating on her in the first place…? Right? No? Whatever.)

Anyway, that was one of the rare you-shouldn’t-take-her-out-in-public events.

But this was supposed to be a haunted house story, correct?

So now it’s 1985, and my ass has chosen this particular Friday evening after working all day at the answering service (another horror story in itself) to stay home and out of everyone’s way, not bothering a soul and minding my own business. Just me, the stereo, one very nice lime, a shaker of salt, and a full bottle of tequila.

Wherever Kelli and Andy were supposed to be that evening, I have no idea. But the next thing I know they’re there in the apartment Andy and I were sharing at the time in Jackson, disturbing my private party, and with this fabulous idea that they’re going to go check out a haunted house.

And the completely idiotic idea that they’re going to take me with them.

I said no a dozen times. I just wanted to stay there at home, shoot (more) tequila and get drunk(er). Veg at the apartment, out of sight, doing my thing and not bothering anyone. “I’m fine right where I am,” I kept protesting.

“Oh, come on, come on,” Kelli cajoled. “It’ll be fun!”

Which was probably time #724 of the 1,016 times she’s talked me into doing something that no one in their right mind should ever do. They, of course, soon dragged me off and out into the car, and off we went.

But the first thing we had to do, ten miles or so down the road, was yours truly – of course – suddenly had to go to the bathroom. In a VERY bad part of town.

There’s no place around except the Krystal, where two cops (a portent of things to come?) just happened to be sitting inside munching on a bag full of Krystals. “Go on, it’ll be OK,” Kelli said. “The police are in there. You won’t get robbed or raped or murdered with the police in there eating Krystals.”

What I am wearing is probably the icing on the cake of this particular tale. It is, again, 1985 – and I am wearing what is really a Minnie Mouse nightshirt in dayglo 1980′s neon colors, but is functioning this evening as a t-shirt minidress with a somewhat matching dayglo neon Esprit belt to boot (I think it was chartreuse); period-appropriate dayglo neon ’80s jewelry, including some godawful ugly jangly necklace and long dangle earrings that don’t match but are indeed part of a set (one spelled out B-O-Y, I don’t remember what the other earring had on it); the prerequsite armload of neon-colored bangles and black plastic bracelets; and fuschia plastic thong sandals. I am also (of course) wearing makeup in colors not seen in nature, thick black liquid eyeliner, and this atrocious neon-y fuschia lace scarfy thing tied in my hair.

(Look, it was 1985, okay?)

So there I go, weaving my way through Krystal en route to the bathroom, totally blitzed on tequila. Pretty much looking like Madonna Jr., and being the only white face in there. Probably the only one for miles, save for my so-called friends waiting outside in the car.

Next it was off to said haunted house, where we proceeded to break in via a back kitchen door. Unable to get the door open, we climbed through an already open window in the door, which was no easy feat for me due to (A) aforementioned copious amounts of tequila and (B) aforementioned plastic thong sandals, which dropped off my feet an untold number of times before successful entrance into said abandoned kitchen, flashlights in tow.

Did I mention why it was okay for us to be breaking into this “haunted” house? The house was an old, long-abandoned Victorian among many other old and long abandoned huge houses in downtown Jackson. The owner was long gone, but the house was still owned by the family – the family of Kelli’s sometimes, then-on-again-off-again, boyfriend. Who, a few years later would become her permanent husband – but at the time, they weren’t exactly on speaking terms.

The house was creepy enough tho the whole experience was kind of anticlimactic. The downstairs was still fully furnished, and the really creepy part (other than the fact that we were in a very old and very dark and very long-empty house) was that there was stuff everywhere. Not as if someone was still living there; more like there had been an intended estate sale that never happened. A humongous buffet in the dining room and the dining room table – both just covered with all kinds of oddities, tons of junk. Hardly any floor space to walk through any of the downstairs rooms, because there was so just much stuff everywhere.

The one single really “eek! haunted house!” moment came when we made our way to the foyer. There was this sole wooden chair semi-facing the front door of the house, as if someone had just set it there on purpose. On the chair was a very old, creepy-looking and worn, hardcover book, also seemingly set there on purpose.

The title of the book was Knock on Any Door.

Okay, that kind of creeped us out a little but again, it was kind of anticlimactic. Just creepy enough to give us a bit of the shivers, but it wasn’t like a screaming moment of terror.

Next, we headed up what was really a very grand wooden staircase in the front hall, towards the upstairs. Okay, upstairs was a little bit scarier. For one thing, all the rooms upstairs were completely empty. And the streetlights outside that were shining through the windows gave it a different, eerier feel than downstairs.

We didn’t see much of interest upstairs and, after briefly losing Andy for a moment, ended up congregating in one of the front bedrooms. It was oddly and inexplicably chilly in that room.

“I feel like someone died in here,” someone said. Which one of us, I don’t know.

Suddenly, there was this jarring sound from the back part of the house. Kelli and I both shrieked.

But from where Andy stood, he could see out the front windows. “Get down!” he shushed us. “The cops are outside.” Great.

So there the three of us are, Kelli and I hunkered down on one side of the room, Andy on the other, hoping we won’t get caught and hoping they’ll go away. Actually, I’m not hoping anything, I’m too toasted to care, but at least I was having the good sense at the time to stay still and keep quiet.

And I have to admit that even tho the whole “haunted house” experience this run had been pretty much a bust as far as terror and fright – and even tho I knew it was the cops – hiding there and waiting in that desperately cold room, listening to the footsteps slowly coming up those heavy wooden stairs – yep, that was kind of creepy. Tho probably more creepy in an “OK, we’re getting arrested” kind of way.

When the lone police officer got to the top, he almost immediately found us (of course). As another officer came lumbering up the stairs behind him and into the room, he shined his flashlight around the room in our faces. “Okay, stand up and put your hands in the air.”

Which the three of us did, of course.

And then I proceeded to take one hand and point at Kelli, telling the cops: “Talk to HER! She’s the one! It was HER idea!”

So, after ratting out my best friend, and the cops obviously deciding we were unarmed and harmless idiots (especially the drunk and wobbling Madonna clone in the Minnie Mouse nightshirt), they walked us downstairs and gathered us on the front porch to decide what to do with us. Andy, in his best radio announcer’s voice, was being Mr. Public Relations trying to smooth talk his way (and, I guess, our way) out of trouble. Kelli was silent and afraid to open her mouth, tho what she really wanted to do was cuss me out for ratting on her, of course.

I wasn’t saying a word either, mainly because I was so trashed and basically just thinking, “I really hope we don’t get arrested, and I wonder how much tequila is left in that bottle at the apartment.”

Out on the porch, the officer that had initially found us is patiently explaining to us, as if we’re all three-year-olds, the definition of breaking and entering, and obviously trying to decide whether we are intelligent enough to comprehend the fact that we might just be going to jail momentarily.

But Kelli was going to explain our way out of this. I don’t recall exactly what she said, but here’s the paraphrased version:

“Look, I know this looks bad, but it’s not like we were REALLY breaking and entering. This is my boyfriend’s grandmother’s house. And the window in the back door was open anyway. We didn’t have to BREAK anything. We just ENTERED.”

About that same time, one of the other cops on the porch is getting on his radio. “Yeah, I’m at (whatever the address was),” he says into the radio. “We’ve got some kids that broke into my grandmother’s house.”

Kelli, meet your future husband’s cousin, the cop. Cop, meet your cousin’s future wife and mother of his child. All right, an anecdote for family Thanksgivings and Christmases for years to come!

Anyway, yep, a few more offhand threats of jail and stern warnings later, they let us go. Yep, Kelli’s then-sometimes-boyfriend-later-husband was somewhere between Pissed with a capital P that his name even got brought into it in the first place, and mildly amused at how dumb we were. And yep, I got back to the apartment, shot more tequila, and passed out oblivious to the world until daylight. Thankfully in my own bed, and not a bunk in the Madison County Jail.

I drink very, very infrequently these days – an occasional beer here and there, mimosas on Christmas Day (always), and I can’t turn down a Wallaby Darned at the Outback – and I can’t shoot tequila anymore, after a particularly gruesome bout with that in 1987. Still to this day, I can’t smell it without my stomach twisting in knots. But I do have the good sense to know that the Goldschlager is best kept in the fridge at home – and so is Lynnster – and not out in public.

Thing is, I ALWAYS knew that kinda thing – and often said so in huge protest – it’s just that no one listened to me and dragged me out with them anyhow. Often much to their regret later, but that was their own damn fault.

And oh yeah – the “haunted house”? Years later, Kelli’s hubby said he thought someone in the family DID die long ago in that bedroom that was so cold. Eek.

Shiver Down My Spi-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-i-ine

With just 15 minutes left of Halloween 2006 in the Bluff City, I feel compelled to post something apropros to the occasion. So, just a little quick story here.

The house I spent most of my growing up years in was a pretty large two-story affair with a large finished basement, basically three stories. The basement kind of creeped me out a little at night and I didn’t much like walking past the door at night, but – you know, basements. They’re always a little creepy. And it obviously didn’t bother me that much because, especially as an older child and young teenager, I spent a fair amount of time down there at night goofing off.

The top floor was all mine. Unfortunately, the one door in the house that I absolutely did not like walking past at night was up there. And even more unfortunately, one couldn’t get to my room without walking past that door. There were two bedrooms up there – my room and the guest bedroom – and a bathroom in between. But the guest bedroom was at the very top of the stairs – hence, no getting around it.

In the daytime, that room never bothered me. I spent a large amount of time playing in there throughout childhood.

At night, I was very rarely in there. And whenever going back and forth to and from my room after dark, I would scoot past that door as fast I could go.

And never, EVER look in there at night. Not unless I absolutely had to go in there for something, which was rare.

The door to that bedroom was generally open. As I got a little older, I tried keeping it closed from time to time to see if that did anything to help the feeling that bugged me so. Nope, didn’t help at all.

What the feeling was, I can’t really say. It wasn’t really like there was something evil or bad, or even necessarily sad, though I suppose (and in retrospect probably) it could have been. And it wasn’t that I was really afraid. It wasn’t, like, a feeling of fear.

Something about that room just always bothered me. A haunting, of sorts. I just knew I didn’t want to look in there after dark, and I certainly didn’t want to be in there.

Several families in town we knew well had lived in that house in the years before we moved there. One we were particularly close to. When they had lived there, their children were young children and teenagers.

We moved out of that house, and to another town briefly, when I was 13. A year or two later, one of the girls in that family – by then a grown woman – committed suicide. Of course, she had been alive the entirety of all the years we lived in that house.

I’m sure it was her room.

Somethin’ To Du

I gotta motor for the rest of the weekend… places to go, people to see. I’ll be back here Monday. Or at least by Wednesday, because that’s November 1st, and because Mrs. Kennedy told me I had to.

Things you can do while I’m gone:

See what new secrets go up on PostSecret on Sunday.

Pretend to be a dead rock star.

Watch a creepy little movie called Play With Me (click the interactive version).

Watch a classic film.

Cats!

A Good Day is Any Day That You’re Alive

I guess there was something big I forgot to mention that occurred during my two-year absence from the Web, something I remembered Sunday afternoon that I hadn’t written about here, remembered yesterday while I was sitting in the front room of an O’Charley’s on the south side of Montgomery, Alabama, watching hail beat down on the cars and pavement outside and listening to someone talk about a tornado that had allegedly touched down 7 miles east of there, well…

Almost two years ago in May 2003, I was driving home from my mother’s and back to Memphis. We were in the process of moving her into a new home she had just bought and this was what wound up being the third of four almost consecutive weekends I had gone up there to help move more stuff. As I usually do when I’m up there, I left much later than I probably should have, mainly because we had been sitting on her new front porch watching a storm pour down rain and go by.

Driving back to Memphis on I-40, as I got closer to Jackson I seemed to be having more difficulty keeping the car on the road for all the wind, and I noticed the lightning ahead seemed to be getting worse and worse. I called my mother on my cell phone and asked what they were saying on TV about the weather. At the time, Madison County, which I was coming into right about then, was just under a “severe thunderstorm warning”. I debated about pulling over then, but then decided to move onward, figuring if it got really bad I could just stop in Jackson and get a hotel room for the night and be done with it. Coming into Jackson, as I got to the new Campbell Street exit, I thought about pulling over again but decided not to. As I got into Jackson the wind was so bad and pushing at my car, I decided that was it, I was getting off on the next exit, which was the Hwy. 45 Bypass exit.

As I pulled off onto the exit, here came the hail. Giant, bigger than golf-ball size hail, in torrents. How I drove on up several more yards through it, I have no idea. Within seconds, there was like this huge river of humongous hail on the road.

I edged on up, scared to death ‘cos I couldn’t see if anyone was in front of me or behind me, but managed to get where I thought was on the shoulder – for those of you who know the area, I was right off the exit onto the shoulder of the bypass and past a concrete guardrail (should have probably stopped there) and could see the Vann Road exit sign (to Super Wal-Mart et al) directly ahead, tho barely. And hoping like heck no one would come up from behind and ram right into the back of my car, not being able to see me with all that stuff coming down.

The hail just kept coming and that was when I noticed the tiny cracks in my windshield. Soon they were bigger and bigger, and at that point I was so mesmerized in horror at the cracks I was barely paying attention to how loud the pounding was on the roof and hood of my car. I just kept watching in horror as more and more cracks appeared. The wind was hammering at my car, not moving it but it was somewhat shaking from side to side in place. There are several large shopping centers, the Super Wal-Mart and a car dealership directly ahead and to the right of where I was, as well as many other businesses, and lights were flashing all around as transformers blew, electric signs exploded, all kinds of stuff going on all around me. I never did really see anything flying through the air other than the hail – it was all just one great big gray blanket or sheet dotted with that huge hail, all coming straight at my car.

As I kept watching the windshield crack over and over again, now so cracked that the whole thing was pretty much one giant spidery crack with lots and lots of legs, it finally occurred to me that I’d better cover my head or something, and remembered I had the lids of two of those giant Rubbermaid tubs in the back seat, so I grabbed them and kind of hid under them, praying the whole time the windshield wouldn’t completely shatter, or worse. About that same time it occurred to me that I had put the car in park just past the concrete rail, and that there was probably a dropoff of some kind on the other, passenger side of the car, as I was up fairly high, possibly one of the highest elevations in northern Madison County.

Two important things about this experience. I have grown up where tornadoes and straight-line winds are commonplace in the spring and, in recent years, in November and December. Let me tell you, first, that all those things you hear your whole life about what to do if a tornado strikes, if you’re somewhere with no real warning – say, in your car driving down the road – all those things they told you about getting into a ditch or some other low place and such doesn’t do you a bit of good because when it hits like that, you don’t have time to do anything. At the point when I realized that something was truly and definitely wrong, within a second or two that river of humongous hail was coming down. For one thing, I don’t think I could have gotten the car door open to get out against the wind. And second, if I could have gotten out of the car, I think that gigantic hail would have beaten me mightily if not to death.

The other thing is, when it finally occurs to you that you just might not make it out of this – well, there’s nothing you can do. That’s pretty much it. I mean, yeah, I prayed I guess, I thought about some people and some things, all that kind of stuff. But as far as actually being able to do something, you’re pretty much completely helpless like that against Mother Nature. I mean, really, when the horrible realization dawned on me, it was just like, “Well, this might be it”. And that was that. Not another thing I could do.

I know it was probably only minutes, but time really did stop and the thing seemed to go on forever. When the car finally stopped shaking so much and the sound of the hail beating up my car got less and less frequent, I peeked out from under the Rubbermaid lids to find the windshield pretty much completely cracked, but intact still, not shattered. I sat there for a while trying to gather my composure again, called my mother on the cell phone and, very oddly calmly, told her what had just happened… collected myself again and decided to try to drive up to a convenience store I knew was just up the road a little ways.

As I pulled in the parking lot, I saw the person standing outside the store take in the appearance of my car and mouthed “oh my god”… several people had gathered there by now, including a Madison County sheriff’s deputy who had lost communication with the sheriff’s and city police department (the law enforcement transmitter downtown had gotten blown out in the storm as well)… everybody there pretty much looked completely shellshocked. More people kept congregating looking shellshocked. I sat down at a table, called my mother back and Kelli (who lived just up the road and wanted me to come stay with her, but as I told her the storm had passed and I was going to try to make it back to Memphis if I could). As bad freaked out as I was, I kept learning how lucky I was, especially when the married couple who were working at the store that night got a call from home near Lexington, 15-20 miles up the road, telling them that they had lost everything – their home, a shop, a barn on their property.

I finally got myself together enough to start heading back, slowly, towards Memphis. Even though the windshield was cracked all over there was a small spot in front of my eye line, so I could see well enough to drive tho it was a little tricky.

I pulled onto the interstate only to find that, just south of the exit, trees had fallen and were completely covering the entire shoulder of the road and much of the right-hand lane of the interstate for a couple of miles. This is probably where I would have pulled over had I not pulled off the exit. Scary.

And really no less scary in the coming weeks although after I spent the day off work and trying to compose myself back to normal and get over the jitters and freaked-outness, once I’d finally gotten home about 5 in the morning (when I should have been home around midnight), I was mostly back to normal. But the next weekend Andra & I went back up to Mom’s for the final bout of moving, and as we passed through where I had been driving on the other, westbound side of the interstate the weekend before, I saw all the decimated trees and signs twisted and pulled over and all kinds of damage up and down that side of the interstate… so if I’d pulled over and stopped before I did, too, who’s to say whether it would have been better or worse. Even worse, a few weeks after that I was headed that way again and decided to pull off the interstate real quick and check out the spot where I had parked, to see just what was on the other side of the car at the time… and the dropoff was much greater than I had thought. Maybe not enough to kill me, but surely had the winds pushed my little car over the side I’d not have gotten out of that unscathed.

But as it was, I did get out of the whole thing unscathed, physically anyway. My car, on the other hand, was another story – it wound up totaled, unfortunately, tho I kept it and did some minor repair (like replacing the windshield) and am driving it still today, hail dents all over and all. I was planning to get it repainted and see about getting at least some of the dents out, but to date have not done so.

Sure, I have been frightened at various times in my life… but not like this. That was most assuredly the single most frightening few minutes of my life. I really did think for what must have been several minutes but seemed like an hour at the time, as the tornado went on and on and on and didn’t seem like it was going to stop anytime soon, that I wasn’t going to get out of that alive, probably. Since then to this day I still carry with me a feeling like I am not really supposed to be here. It’s an odd thing to live with, very odd.

And tho when I’m home and the tornado sirens go off (there’s one just blocks away from my house at the fairgrounds so it gets very loud here) and especially if hail starts falling, I get pretty nervous… yesterday I wasn’t nervous at all, sitting in that restaurant on the south side of Montgomery watching the hail fall out the window (which I was sitting near but ready to move at any second) and listening to the sirens wail. I guess I figure I’ve already beaten the monster. Hope it’s the one and only time, anyway, ‘cos it is truly a game of chance, that… and I don’t really wish to bet on what the chances are of getting out of that unscathed a second time. Good night & be safe & most importantly – be happy.

Let Me Stand Next to Your Fire

In the words of the late great Marvin Gaye, what’s going on…. well, not all that much, but a little. Between kitchen fires, meetings, working, and filling eBay orders I’ve been swamped as usual.

What, kitchen fires, you say? Yeah, buddy, you bet – my microwave caught on fire Sunday night, what excitement! It wasn’t too terribly bad, tho pretty scary for a moment or two, and I am now microwaveless, sigh. Luckily I had only turned away for a few seconds and then realized what was going on, thank goodness I hadn’t, like, turned it on and gone off to the bathroom or out with the dogs or something, I shudder to think. As – probably too many – know, I was already semi-obsessive-compulsive about fire and electricity anyway so this was probably about the last thing I needed to happen to scare the crap out of me, but in reality the thing was fifteen years old anyway – my dad won it at the pharmacy convention when I was either in junior high or high school, don’t remember which – and it’d probably just run its course and was its time.

So, talk about an exciting life, eh… well, the only other real newsy thing – hair update!!! – is that after some trial-and-error, thanks to Miss Jo Walker, my loyal and faithful haircolor adviser and colorist to the stars (let’s not mention which stars, but there’s a certain country music chick singer running around with my hair color right now, giggle), I am, finally, definitely, and most assuredly blonde again! Josie and I were hanging out with shot glasses full of this nasty-smelling-peroxided-stuff and that and definitely and most assuredly, or at least I think, got it right again, finally. Except I am probably not a good judge since I’ve been walking around with brown hair for the last six months that I thought was blonde… anyway, this was one of mine and Jo’s more interesting endeavors, and I do mean trial and error, since I wound up spending one day this week with some sort of orangey-light-brown hair so that was pretty interesting for a day, but it’s finally right again and I feel much, much better!

Anyhow… this is kind of a strange day, an overwhelming majority of people I know are not in the cities they live in right at this very moment and that seems sort of odd, and, even weirder, some of them are where other people should be and they’re not (how staggeringly philosophical!). Robin’s in San Diego, where Scott should be, but Scott’s in BFE I don’t know where in the Midwest somewhere or something; KC and Zan are somewhere in Ireland, and Stevie Kane and Jo are in New Orleans, where JJ usually is, but he’s in Nashville where Steve and Jo usually are, and I don’t know, there are like 10 or 15 people that are somewhere right now other than where they usually are, and welcome home to Stef back to Boston from her short trip to Philly! If I weren’t such a smart blonde I might be really confused right now, heh!

Anyhow… let’s see, Greg Breit, who’s one of the few people allowed to ever see what I write-write (yes, that’s kind of like eat-eat, or on-the-road-road, Ed), got to read a partial draft of the manic writing bout of inspiration I had a couple of weeks ago and deemed it science fiction, which isn’t really true, it’s just this whole James Spader thing. (giggle) In any case I’ve lost the muse again so, sci-fi or not, it’s beside the point.

Speaking of muses, I apparently make an excellent one and am for hire! (snicker) So anyway, all silliness aside, you must all pardon me, one of my buddies is on the road right now with nothing but a guitar, a laptop, and no women – how rock & roll! – and so I’ve promised to scribble on the Wall more often to cheer the bored. (giggle)

Speaking of music and tours and stuff, I might have a great big wonderful announcement very soon so keep watching! There’s nothing really cool musicwise coming up here right now tho, tho I am planning to hit Nashville in June as a guest of and to see NRBQ (thanks Johnny!!) and hopefully, hopefully, maybe be able to catch a Tommy Womack show when I’m there except the way my luck’s been thus far Tommy’ll probably be playing out of state somewhere!! I am also hoping to maybe be able to go to International Pop Overthrow this summer in L.A., maybe.

And I’m still planning to go to Sydney late in the year, and with my luck I’m fairly certain that no matter when I go, Brad Shepherd’s new band (which I think is called The Monarchs now, now I can’t remember) will be playing in New Zealand or Brazil or something. And then Tommy Stinson and/or Clumsy and/or Perfect in NYC sometime this year, that’s still all definitely a maybe! So I have a lot of upcoming, some definite and some maybe, scenes to make the rest of the year and most definitely this possible thing I can’t quite say yet, but I will say that if it happens I may well follow some folks around the country for a little while. (giggle)

Anyhow… I really only have one more comment to make – the new Strings ‘N Things on Madison! All Memphians need to drive by there, it’s now housed in that old bakery-factory-whatever down and across the street from where the old Antenna Club was, and this is the coolest thing – there is now a giant, huge, colossal, and sweet-looking Cherry Sunburst Les Paul hanging off the front of the building! It is so cool!! Wonder how much the new-Gibson-plant people paid to put that sucker there (they must have) but man, it is just the supercoolest-looking thing. Man, I love living in Midtown!

Well, I gotta go, so ’til later, be good and take care, or drop dead… I’m sure most know of which side of the coin they currently fall in that regard and I don’t do remedial explaining. (snicker) Hugz ‘n kisses…

In a Haunted House

Dear KC & Jay W. – I am soooo glad you two amuse yourselves so much (RE my guestbook). I hope you both catch the bubonic plague. Luv, LB…

Dear Cochise Cosper – I suspect every Gurus fan on the planet will beat you to death in email over that nasty Gurus comment in my guestbook and deservedly so. And you know good and well that other comment did not occur in a closet. Otherwise, thanks for the kind words. Hope the whole lot of you Gripers get struck by lightning for lying about me (re the closet). It was the hallway and y’all know it. Luv, HRMHG

Dear Andy/Eric/Captain/whoever you are today – Did you get a lobotomy since the last time I saw you? If you keep being so semi-nice I will have to remove all my “Evil Brother Andy” comments. Hope you’re having fun in Albany and hurry up and come home to visit. I think me & you & Byrns are overdue for a batch of pink lemonade and vodka at the Waverly Drive-In. I wonder if they still show the concession stand cartoons. Hugz, L.

Everybody else who’s signed the guestbook (but not KC or Jay W.) – y’all are all too cool and way sweet. Thanx.

Speaking of Andy, that reminds me of a story. One time, about 12 years ago, Andy & Kelli made me go to this haunted house (a real house) in downtown Jackson (TN) with them. I was pretty toasted at the time. We looked at a lot of weird and scary stuff and then the cops came and made us all stand up and put our hands in the air. Then I pointed at Kelli and told the cops, “Talk to her, she’s the one, it was her idea!” I guess you kinda had to be there. Luckily, no, we did not get arrested for breaking and entering.