I’d Like Two Words

Wanted: One word that would encompass Coble, Abramson, Exador, etc. and another word that would encompass Frank, Oatney, Campfield, etc. Clearly, those are two vastly different groups of folks that, though they share a lot in common, differ so widely in whether they make sense that really, they shouldn’t be lumped under the same giant umbrella.

So, anyway, I swear this will be my last post about pitbulls for a while. I just could not let this pass when I saw Joe Powell mention it, but clearly, a person could devote her whole life to refuting the things Oatney, Frank (were I still reading her), and Campfield say. Still, this comment thread over at Volunteer Voters is ripe for snarking.

Let’s give it a cursory try.

1. David Oatney, “aborticide” makes no sense as a word. “Abort” means to miscarry. It’s a verb. “-Cide” means to kill or to cut and it refers to the thing that comes right before it. One cannot kill miscarrying just as one cannot kill walking or bike riding or thinking, though, Lord knows, if anyone were committing “thoughtoside” in that thread, it’s the person trying to pass off “aborticide” as a word. Abortion not a gruesome enough term for you? Then call it fetucide (the killing of a fetus) or clumpocellicide or whatever. Just don’t be mangling the English language in an effort to score points with your fellow advocates of making women property of the State.

2. How funny and right on is Brittney? Yep, exactly. Somehow, Oatney is trying to argue that dog fighting is an integral part of the culture over in his neck of the woods and folks who oppose it are somehow elitists who just don’t understand his culture.

3. And didn’t you just cheer a little when Joe Powell was all “Yes, David, I, too, live over here and have somehow managed to not become immune to the grossness of blood sports.”?

4. It’s funny how David Oatney thinks that insinuating that East Tennesseans are amoral monsters who he understands, even if no one else does, is somehow standing up for the common man.

Anyway, it’s really threads like that that make me wonder if those conservatives ever reread what they say and cringe at how ridiculous they are. I mean, really, both Frank and Oatney seem to be arguing that, as long as women can have abortions, well, by golly, dogs will just have to suffer.

Shoot, is there anything women haven’t fucked up for everyone else? First we bring sin into the world, now we’re tying David Davis’s hands when it comes to stopping dog fighting and, I suppose, also forcing Michael Vick to fight them in the first place.

Women. Damn it. Running around ruining it for the rest of us.

Edited to add:  Tiny Pasture has a post up that links to Oatney’s clarification.  I responded.  I crack myself up.

The Supposedly Cursed Brentwood Library

I’ve been working on this big long post for three days that brought to mind the story of the cursed Brentwood library.  I was thinking of said story on our walk this morning, too, because who, now, would believe a story about construction in Middle Tennessee that included no reference to Mexicans?

Mull that over, folklorists.

Anyway, like any good story, I heard this from an ex-co-worker who heard it from a woman on the board of the Brentwood library back when they were building the new building which is right across the street from the WSM tower (if you’re looking at the library, your back is to the tower and if you’re looking at the tower, your back is to the library.  I’m going to say they’re probably about a hundred yards, maybe a little more since the library sits so far back, apart).

This was right around the time that they found the ancient Native American baby grave right where they were trying to widen Hillsboro Pike there at the intersection with Old Hickory and the Native Americans were protesting the expansion and tying everything up in court.

Well, supposedly, as they were excavating the site for the new library, they found skeletons and the prospect of facing a similarly lengthy court battle and delay in the project loomed before the Library Board.  And so, after a bitter fight, the Board and the Contractor decided to go ahead and not tell anyone about the skeletons and just build over them.

Dun dun dun!

Well, the main support structure of the Library is supposedly steal beams and, as I heard the story, the best folks for working on steel beam structures were also Native Americans, (Mohawks, apparently).

Well, as it turned out, while they were putting up the steel beam structure, they would hear voices, sometimes, and soft singing.  The contractor was convinced, and had them convinced, that it was just that atmospheric circumstances were right and the beams were picking up the signal from the WSM tower across the street.

Now, this explained the singing and some of the voices, but it didn’t explain the voices that announced, “We’re still here.” or “I’m underneath you.” or the ones that would call the workers by names.

Finally, one of the workers came to the foreman and said, “the voices claim that this is their land, that they’re buried beneath us.  We can’t work if it’s desecrating a grave site.”

“Then how will I finish the library?” the foreman asked, basically admitting that what the voices said was true.

“I don’t know, but it won’t be with us.” and all of the Native American workers walked off the job.

Of course, other crews came in and finished the work and if they heard anything, it was just chalked up to transmissions from WSM.

And, so they say, there are still times when you can be walking through the stacks of this brand new, beautiful building, when the atmosphere is ripe, and hear the faint sounds of the Grand Ole Opry humming along the metal bookshelves.  And there are other times, when you are sure you’re alone, when you’ll hear people murmuring and sometimes you can just make out them saying, “We’re still here.”