Category Archives: Just for Fun

A Little Dry Spell

There has been a little drought in writing lately. The ground is dry and cracked. Once fertile river banks have become dry, brown wastelands peppered with dying fish and frogs. My mind is barren and filled with desolation. There is no new growth here. Or I am melodramatic.

I forgot to mention that when Adam and I were in Nashville, we saw Samantha Brown interviewing one of the guys who stands along Broadway playing a mandolin. I have called this guy a street person when I have talked about this experience with my friends, but he wasn’t a street person. He was dressed too nicely, and he was too clean. I think he must have just enjoyed making some extra cash playing his instrument for the tourists.

I was actually hoping we would bump into Samantha at one of the bars or something, maybe Loveless Cafe, but we didn’t. I had my small brush with fame, and I actually would have walked right past if Adam had not said, Is that the woman from the travel channel?

Honky Tonk and Midas Touch

Last Saturday morning, my brother and I got up at 5:30 in the morning in order to drive 6.5 hours to Nashville, TN. We forgot about the time change, which means we could have slept until 6:30. We are both still alive despite getting up before the sun.

Our first stop in Nashville was Opry Mills mall, near Opryland and the Grand Ole Opry. We saw the Operahouse and the hotel from a distance, and I was impressed by their grandeur. I was more impressed with the restaurant that we ate at: Aquarium Restaurant. The middle of the building was a huge aquarium with 7-inch thick glass walls. The restaurant employs five marine biologists who feed the fish, take care of the tank, and who provide educational programming at the sting-ray pool next door.

This is where it got exciting: I got to feed and pet live sting-rays! Most people who know me understand how much I love rays, so this was like a dream come true. I expected rays to feel like sharks or dolphins, but their skin is rubbery and slick. They seemed to have their own individual personalities as they came to the edge of the pool to take the shrimp from our hands. I was never brave enough to hold onto the shrimp long enough to feel the ray take it, but my brother got a huge hickie on his knuckle from the suction of the ray’s mouth.

When we got to downtown Nashville, we drove through the city to get acquainted with the roads and to sort of acclimate to the way the city was situated. Once we dropped everything off at our hotel, we were shuttled back downtown and told to call by 10:30 in order to get a ride back for free. After 10:30, we would have to pay for a taxi. We started off by just walking around and looking at souvenir shops, passing by the bars, and discovering the oddities of the town.

Saturday our first stop was Fort Nashborough. I think I would have liked to live there, then. On our way back to 2nd street from the fort, we passed by Coyote Ugly, and although I wanted to go in, we thought better of it. We then went to a bar called the Stage on Broadway. No cover charge. $14 for a Maker’s and Coke and a Jack and Coke. There was the cover charge. The Stage was next door to Jack’s Bar-B-Que where we went for dinner. We stood in line for what seemed like forever, and the barbecue was good so it wasn’t disappointing.  That night we ended up at the Big Bang, a dueling piano bar. I had a first gin and tonic and a Sam Adam’s Lager. Adam had a gin and tonic and a martini, then he sang ALL of Vanilla Ice’s Ice Ice Baby with the pianist. It only would have been better if he could have gone up on stage.

On Sunday, we got up early and went across the street to Starbucks for breakfast. Our first stop was the Parthenon, which was closed on Sundays. Of course, none of our tourist information told us it was closed, because we would have gone there on Saturday when we first got to Nashville. So, we walked around the perimeter and then headed back to buy the souvenirs/gifts we wanted. For lunch, we went to the Nashville Farmer’s Market and had braised oxtail, pineapple sweet potatoes, fried plantains, johnny cakes, and ginger beer at a restaurant called Jamaicaway. We then explored the market/flea market and bought a few things at their International Market. After that we went back to the hotel for a few minutes, then headed back downtown to the Frist Center for the Visual Arts . That Sunday was family day, so admission was free and there were people dressed in Medeival dress to celebrate the opening of an exhibit of Medieval art that was on loan from the Cleveland Museum of Art. The best exhibit was a collaborative exhibit with a local homeless shelter. When we left Frist, we went to the Stage again. I had a $4 Pabst Blue Ribbon, and we listened to a band that was pretty bad for about an hour while we killed time before we were supposed to meet for our ghost tour. We chose to go on the Haunted Tavern Tour. We visited three pubs: Past Present, McFaddin’s, and Buffalo Billiards. I think we had drinks at two of them, and there was no “ghost tour discount.” Certainly, Nashville makes their money by charging too much for beer. After walking all over Nashville, we finished out the night at Big River Brewery with nachos and salads. Big River reminded me a lot of Rock Bottom Brewery in Indianapolis. The food was good. We were exhausted.

When Monday morninng came, we had to say good-bye. Sadly. We got up early and went out of Nashville to Loveless Cafe where, song of the south, I had BBQ for breakfast! Talk about my fantasy come true. After I ordered my breakfast, I sort of worried for a minute that it would be some lame-ass breakfast barbecue, but when our waitress brought it out nestled between two soft-fried eggs on two tiny corn pancakes, I was pleased as punch to see that it was genuine pulled-pork BBQ! I have never had such a delicious breakfast. Grits, BBQ, biscuits, and eggs. Completed only with a nice, steaming mug of coffee. On our way home we stopped at Jungle Jim’s to look around. We bought a few things and then headed to Indy to get Adam’s computer. By the time he dropped me off at my house at 8:30 or 9, I was beat. I fell asleep pretty quickly and woke up sick.

One of the things I bought at Jungle Jim’s was beer. I know you are surprised. I got five porters and a Dogfish Head ale. Last night I drank the first two with some of Bec’s homemade spaghetti sauce. While I was gone, she made beef potpies and spaghetti sauce. Am I lucky woman or what?! Anyway, I had Dead Reckoning Porter by Troegs Brewery. It was dark with a nice cream-colored head that faded pretty quickly. The flavor was dark with a little hint of coffee and a little bite. It wasn’t my favorite, but it wasn’t my least favorite either. I am not sure what some people at Beer Advocate were drinking, but I am pretty sure it wasn’t the same beer I had. One guy said the head was long-lasting. Mine faded after about five minutes. The other beer I had is one of my new favorites: Dogfish Head’s Midas Touch. It has a nice pour, with a pure white head on top of nice, bright yellow lacey body. The head fades really quickly, and you are left with the bubbly goodness of muscat grapes, honey, barley, and saffron. You can definitely taste the grapes, which made this beer more like a mead. Fine with me. Yum.

P.S. Ms. Bern (CEO of Charming Shoppes, Inc.)

P.S. If you would add a concession stand in each of your stores, you might see your revenue increase. I know I could do with a nice refreshing beverage after grunting and sweating in and out of clothes in your tiny little dressing rooms. Why do you install heat lamps above them?

P.P.S. You could sell beer, too, but not Rogue’s XS Imperial Stout. The taste of the beer isn’t worth the ceramics wasted on the cool container, although I do like the little rubber stopper. My dislike for the beer has nothing to do with my lack of testes or testosterone. I simply like my beer to taste like beer, not bourbon. I am a machine when it comes to drinking beer. I don’t need more crankcase oil, which is what this beer tastes like. This reviewer, Dan, must have had a bit too much to drink before writing. In fact, I am sure Dan had the entire $15 bottle. Dan, it is always a bad idea to drink and write.

So, Ms. Bern, you should offer Cabernet, Shiraz, Avery’s Old World Porter, St. Peter’s English Ale, St. Peter’s Porter, Guinness, and Rogue’s Dead Guy Ale. Maybe for the Scottish lasses you could offer a Wee Heavy. How about some foot-long coney dogs and nachos, too?

P.P.P.S. Did I mention that you need to teach your machines how to sew on buttons? Mine are always falling off at inopportune times, like when I am teaching.

Dear Lifetime Channel

To whom it may concern:

I am writing about your recent decision to change the morning program line-up. Ever since The Golden Girls aired for the first time in 1985, I have been a great fan. I did not miss one episode in the entire seven years they were on air, and I watch a full hour of reruns on Lifetime each morning.

Lately, I have used the program as a tool with which to unwind each morning before doing my homework. Sometimes I used it as tool of procrastination to be sure, but I could always count on The Golden Girls to brighten my day. I have been feeling especially frazzled the past couple of weeks because I have not been sleeping well, so I look forward to Rose’s long inane stories, Blanche’s sexual escapades, Dorothy’s quick sarcastic wit, and Sophia’s old-world charm to prepare me for the long days I face as a graduate student.

Imagine my shock and disappointment this morning when I carried my freshly French-pressed Sumatra coffee with clove, cinnamon, and cardamom and my perfectly toasted bagel with cream cheese and habanero preserves into the living room to watch my girls. I laid out my breakfast, having eaten my banana in the kitchen while the water for the coffee boiled, and sat on the old, floral print couch. Holding the remote in my hand, I savored what would come next, but someone in your programming department had played a cruel trick.

“What the hell is this?” I asked myself when I saw Reba McEntire’s face looking out at me from the squarish frame of my old tube television set. I quickly—read frantically—scanned the programs before and after Reba. I thought maybe I had just been mistaken about the times, but my searching was to no avail. I am positive that The Golden Girls showed at 9:00 AM and again at 9:30 AM, and your website says they show from 8 AM-10 AM and again in the afternoon. However, this morning there was no sign of my special morning friends. You should update your webpage, because it is misleading and contributes to the already unstable psyche of the people (mostly women) who watch your channel.

So, here I sit, watching the History Channel and Billy Ray Cyrus as he hosts a program called Hillbilly: The Real Story, and trying to choke down my otherwise delicious breakfast. While I enjoy learning the true story of the Hatfields and the McCoys, the serpent handlings Appalachians don’t hold a candle in the wind to Dorothy, Rose, Sophia, and Blanche and their Miami shenanigans.

In closing, I would appreciate it if you would please return The Golden Girls to their rightful place on weekday mornings, and possibly for my pain and suffering, you should send me a photograph of The Golden Girls with the autographs of the remaining three golden girls. My very sanity hangs in the balance.

Sincerely,

A Fan

Pudge. The Pusher?

Our cat, Pudge, is the guy who went to high school with me who always had pot and was always willing to share. I think that guy was my boyfriend until he changed. Until I lost him. Easy going and generous with bloodshot, large-pupiled eyes. He never wanted any money, but he was always benevolent.

Pudge is that cat. Slick and beautiful. I could see him saying in Cat-ese, “I got some shit, Man. Wanna go out behind the school and get high? You bring the cream soda and Cool Ranch Doritos, and I will take care of the rest.” I can see myself going with him. I might even fall in love.

*

I got up early this morning and went to Hartford City. I was going to surprise my parents by meeting them at church. They weren’t there, so I went downstairs and watched 1, 2, 3 Penguins with Kelley and the kids.

Then I went up to the sanctuary and found another Kelly to chat with. I went to breakfast with them, and had some tasty French Toast. I still haven’t figured out how to make exceptional French Toast. Maybe I never will.

We spent almost five hours occupying a booth at Richard’s. The whole time Ron, the owner, kept eye-balling us, willing us to leave with his smirk and stink eye.

We left the waitress thirteen bucks, which is more than she would have made from anyone else who would have sat there during her shift. Most people who go there leave less than a dollar. I know. My friend, Shannon, waited tables there during high school and part of college. Her tips always sucked.

*

I went to New Orleans with Shannon once. I told her she had nice orbs when I was drunk on Hurricanes and high on ghosty goodness. We were supposed to be looking for ghosts on a ghost tour, and right outside the Lalaurie Mansion, I told Shannon she had nice orbs. We didn’t even see any ghosts.  sergeev-lalaurie