Faith/Doubt Info

Here’s the whole skinny on Faith/Doubt.  Here’s the when and where:

July 21-23 and 27-30 at 7:30 p.m., Sunday shows at 4PM.
There will be a reception following the show on opening night.
Darkhorse Theatre, 4610 Charlotte Ave.
Tickets are $15 with reservation, $18 at the door
For tickets and information, call (615)341-0300 or email

So, if you’re interested, there’s all you need to know.  There is some mild swearing of the “shit” variety and it’s not geared towards kids, but certainly older kids might get a kick out of it.

If you’re not embarrassed to be seen with me in public, I’ll be there on Friday, with Sarcastro and the Professor (and maybe the Butcher) and Saturday with JR and my parents (and maybe the Butcher).

Mrs. Wigglebottom Solves an Administrator’s Problems

Dean Dad is complaining about the heat and wondering how people in the South stay cool.  I’ve got three words for you, Dean Dad: Working air conditioning.

The last time it was this hot in Nashville, I can remember going to Target and seeing the parking lot full of running cars.  I both knew it looked familiar and couldn’t quite understand what was going on.  But just as we “Yankees” leave our cars running in the winter when we need to run in and pick up just one or two things, folks in Nashville were leaving their cars running with the air conditioners going in heat like this*.

It seems to me that one thing Nashville does well is keep things a reasonable temperature in doors no matter how hot it is outside.

And, in all fairness to the heat, this week has been a lot easier to get through, I think, than last week, because even though the temperature is higher, the humidity seems much lower.  It’s not a dry heat, but you don’t feel like you’re hanging out in a sweaty arm pit.

Anyway, Mrs. Wigglebottom has another way to keep cool in the heat.  She pretends to be distracted by something at the edge of the yard full of flowers on our walk and then, just as the sprinkler gets near her, she leaps up into the water and bites at it and wiggles in it.

Perhaps, Dean Dad, you could take a lesson from Mrs. Wigglebottom and “accidentally” get soaked by the sprinklers during lunch.  Then you could wear whatever you felt you had to wear in order to be properly dean-like, but also stay cool because you’d be wet.  Plus, if you played it right, you could look extra dedicated, because where others might have gone home to change after being caught in the sprinklers, you’ve soldiered on in order to “be there for the school.”

Mrs. Wigglebottom, solving problems one wiggle at a time.




*I haven’t seen that as much this year, probably because back in 2000 we were paying just around a dollar twenty-five for gas and now we’re paying almost three.  Shelling out three dollars for a gallon of gas makes you a lot less likely to leave your car running while you go in to get some laundry detergent.

Small Acts of Bravery

I feel kind of out of my groove.  I saw this “how record players work” special on TV and it’s pretty simple.  You have something that can vibrate, you vibrate it with the sound of your voice, an arm attached to the vibrating surface etches those vibrations into the wax, and when played back, an arm attached to a vibrating surface is run through those grooves.

It’s pretty cool.  It makes sense.  And yet it seems like it shouldn’t work.

Anyway, I’m not talking about that magic that is technology, except to say that no arm attached to any vibrating surface is properly running through my grooves.

Oh, ha, yes, even when I’m trying to be all profound, I sound like I’m writing cheesy soft-core porn for lonely music geeks.

But really, this whole post was supposed to be about Ryan’s post in which he talks a little about the aesthetics of his poetry and then posts a poem of his.  Is it just me or does Ryan seem like the kind of guy who could pull off a fedora?

Anyway, I think that’s brave.  I guess that’s why I have a soft spot for poets.  I think there’s something really brave about writing poetry.  You open up your soul, scrape some stuff off, and then try to get at it precisely through words.

If you asked me to describe my boob freckle, I could tell you all about it, how it looks like a tiny drop of chocolate on a milk-white surface.  And that’s nice.  Or I could tell you how it always tickles me when I’m with someone and I say, “look, there’s my boob freckle” and they lean down and put their lips right on it.  Or I could say that most of the boob freckle’s charm is reputation and not inherent beauty.  I could go on, is what I’m saying.  I could say everything I had to say about it and some of it would be good and some not.

But, if you said, describe your boob freckle, but don’t mention the boob freckle and do it in a haiku, already I have to make some deliberate decisions in a way I’m not used to and what I cut away is as crucial as what I leave behind.

I think, though, that I’d go like this:

A milk white surface

A tiny dot of chocolate

Are you thirsty yet?

I like that.

But I’m just kidding around.  The stakes aren’t so high for me.  But Ryan is working on writing in a way that really does something for him.  His willingness to share it takes real guts.

Thursday: The Arrival

So, my parents will be here on Thursday.  Which, for those of you unfamiliar with how our seven-day week goes, is just the other side of Wednesday, which I am now sitting uncomfortably close to. 

Yes, hello, Wednesday, I can almost see you from here.  It’d be easier to see you if the house weren’t such a mess, but alas, it is and will probably remain unless Mrs. Wigglebottom suddenly starts dusting.

I’m looking forward to seeing them.  I’m still stressed out about it a little bit, though.