I don’t completely agree with this article, but I really loved it.
The Red-Headed Kid is here and he’s telling us about his little nephew who’s a year and a half old. They like to ask him what noises things make.
“How does a dog go?” “Bark, bark, ruff, ruff.”
“How does a cow go?” “Moo, moo.”
“How does Granny go?” “No, no, no.”
We’re now learning that, if you do this in front of the Red-headed Kid’s mom, who is the mooing, barking, noing kid’s grandma, you will get in trouble.
And now we’re developing a plan to launch the Red-headed Kid’s dad into professional golf, apparently because his melt-downs are hilarious and should be shared with the world.
I love visits from the Red-headed Kid.
I am fascinated, because I don’t quite understand it, by the moment when I decide an artist’s personal life makes it impossible for me to enjoy his or her art. Like this morning “I Love the Way You Lie” came on and at the same time that I was thinking “Wow, that’s a good song,” I realized I was turning the channel. It kind of took me aback.
I think it’s an intensely personal decision and reaction when an artist’s behavior becomes something you just can’t get past, so please don’t think I’m dogging on anyone if they still love Eminem. Instead, I’m just wondering what it is that makes a person, in this case me, turn the channel one morning, when any other morning she’d be watching.
It’s funny. I remember being so into Guns & Roses as a kid. I can remember, as I’ve told you before I’m sure, sitting in Chorus in middle school when Taryn Berta sneaked up to the tape player while Mrs. Wise was out of the room and dropped her tape in and out came the opening strains of “Welcome to the Jungle” and I was blown away. I knew I was hearing something you were not supposed to tell adults about.
But by the end of high school, I bought the Use Your Illusions albums, but I remember being… frustrated… I guess that it sounded so… big, pretentious, I guess. And then there was Nirvana. And once I heard “Smells Like Teen Spirit,” I just couldn’t bring myself to continue to love Guns & Roses.
Eh, maybe that’s not the same as Eminem. Just that I remember being so newly in North Carolina and sitting in the parking lot before heading into work listening to “My Name Is…” and just laughing with delight, like, yep, here’s something delightfully weird. And now, I’d rather hear something else.
I was chatting with someone about the old, old city cemetery, in the back yard of the Geist Furnace, which is supposed to be empty and everyone moved to the new, now old city cemetery and the new proposed ball field north of the capitol came up and apparently archaeologists have some concerns about digging around there.
You know me, folks, I am a history buff–in fact the world’s slowest on the uptake history buff–but I can’t get worked up about digging anywhere north of the capitol and south of Jefferson because Nashvillians spent the 19th Century ransacking the Indian burial ground that used to be there and taking home bones and pottery as souvenirs. If the ball field involves pulling up a lot of concrete and giving time to archaeologists to see what, if anything, is left to be salvaged, that seems like a good opportunity.
That was my thought last night.
This morning, just now, I realized a.) you probably can’t understand the Spiritualist movement in Nashville without taking into account just how many dead folks they were constantly digging up while plowing or building houses or just being curious. Bones everywhere. b.) Oh, duh. Of course they put the first city cemetery there. It was already a cemetery.
So slow on the uptake.
The Butcher reminds me that we will get at least one more bout of miserably hot weather before fall settles in. But today there was a definite coolness to the breeze while the dog and I were out walking.
The Tennessee State Library and Archives tree is losing its leaves. Not a lot, but enough to concern me. The stuff I got says you just need to use it once a year, but would it be wrong to use it again, say at the first of September, if the alternate is maybe losing the tree? When my dad is here this weekend, I’m going to have him consider it with me. The holes in the trunk still only come up about two and a half feet, but I feel like there are some new ones.
I am thinking about writing a story about The Thing. I’m just completely fascinated about wondering where it went after the Allens. I won’t give away the tiny bit of the plot I have worked out in my head, but, suffice to say, it stayed around Nashville.