It was a catty night…Lady cats preened themselves in sweet innocence, unaware of what they hoped was likely to happen to them"-- John Steinbeck (Sweet Thursday)

April 18: We crawled around the next morning, Cindy had thoughtfully bought some crullers (I dove in) and there was juice, and felines stropping about for their kitty crunchies. We got the kids fed, then hit the streets.

Gosh where did we go, what did we do? First we did a quick drive-by of the Hermitage, which is the home of Andrew Jackson, Indian killer and slayer of Seminole, high lord poo bah of colonial Florida. Pirate……… killer….. Sorry I was ranting. Cindy was going to drive on back, but Boss Hogg was parked there in a pick up. "Sorry little ladies you cain’t go back there" ie they were charging admission today. Cindy didn’t like him at all, and after laying an overly sweet smile on the guy, we left, muttering about jelly filled doughnuts. I bought some books at the gift store anyway. Then onward………..

I think next we went by the Grand Ol’ Oprey, which is owned by the same people who own the Ryman, in fact the GOO is an expansion of the original down town. We were going to go into the Opreyland Hotel, but parking was like $16.00 so we cruised onward. There WAS a pretty glass dome in the building I wanted to look at…. Anyway we wound up over by Opreyland, which is a now defunct amusement park nearby. I loved the livid chartreuse on one building, but Cindy was gagging. I had some Swedish tourist stop me in the parking lot and ask "vhere is the boat ride?" My goodness, people come here from all over the world! I pointed over to the glass dome, which was a considerable hike away, they took off on foot (Europeans fear no long walk). Hope they found it. It sounded like something you’d find in Vegas, I think there’s a boat ride there too.

Look Maw, we're at the Grand Ol' Opry!!!

After that wash out, and looking at the architecture on the GOO, we headed down town to get our tickets out of will call. They were good ones, dead center front row in the Balcony. Great view, and no one jumping up and down in front of us! Then it was time to go to Cindy’s parents for lunch, so we did.

What cool folks! They were very Southern, and as Cindy said "on their best behavior" as of course, we Southerners can be. (I’m actually half and half, by blood and inclination……… ancestors from both sides of the Civil War, or as Cindy called it "The War of Aggression" with a heavy accent). Her dad had an awesome pipe collection, which led me into a discussion about pipe stone, all of which came from one quarry, and was traded all over the North American continent by Natives. (Oddly I found an Indian mound later in my travels that had been FULL of pipes, but again, I’m ahead of myself) They introduced me to Hoe Cakes, which were new to me (me Mum said she didn’t like them, which is why my family never had them, but otherwise my family eats Southern too). Southerners love sweets (reminded me of Arabs! Must have to do with the heat), and also very bready things, which are not my usual fare, but I chowed down anyway! Cindy’s Mum didn’t like pickled eggs, so I have to send her my recipe for pickled eggs and beets (summer staple at my house). Their back deck was wonderful, it was warm and the birds were very vocal overhead, mostly jaybirds but a hawk showed up and scattered them all. I took my iced tea unsweetened and probably scandalized them.

Cindy’s Dad had a Martin in the front room too, but it was a 1990, and unlike mine (a 1986), does not have the mirrored pieces on the back, it is cut into a V shape, and apparently "saves wood". He also had a Gibson banjo! And a Dobrey box guitar, which I had only seen a few of, and apparently are played with one of those roll thingies on your little finger (not my style). My folks probably call that a slide guitar, some were played on the lap I think. And Cindy’s Mum had a real live bull fiddle in the corner! WOW.

Then we were back to her house, cleaned up (Cindy whipped out a roller and did serious battle with the cat hair), put on our diamond ear bobs, and headed downtown. We were supposed to meet an "Earl" in Tootsies but I think he was lured away by a certain brat on MBT, which was no biggie in the long run actually. After wandering around a bit, we took in an open air bar/restaurant across from Tootsies, reminded me of Mum’s in Long Beach, and also reminded me of the description of the Rank Suites in England. It rained later, and we watched all of the people on the roof scuttle for shelter! Speaking of border line disgusting, check out this wonderful light outside the local Masonic Lodge, just up the hill from the Ryman and Tootsie's. I wasn't sure whether to laugh, or be creeped out! Cool eh?

So many fun shops with guitar goodies! We went into a store near the Ryman, Gruhn Guitars, and there were lots of Martins hanging on the wall (apparently the guitar of choice here). I was very firm with myself and got out of the guitar shop without spending money, but wished my son was with me, he would love this place. 

I found something very cool for Martin owners www.martinownersclub.com, and here is another one: www.martinguitar.com which I assume links to their factory in PA) They want $45 to join THEIR club, and I might do it yet, supposedly you get a magazine and access to great events. And discounts too of course. 

After all the things that happened this Moody cycle for me, I really think we Baby Boomers might be going through a new phase of life, Integrity vs. Disgust (by Erickson, you can look it up yourself, it's the late adult stage). Nashville was the place to do it, all reet. People played guitars and mandolins on the streets for hat money. Cindy worked her way through the streets, not making eye contact with anyone, and said "Nashville really uses up guitarists, you are just one more songwriter in the big scheme of things" speaking of yea even the Moodies themselves. "Every month the bus pulls up and out comes a new batch of musicians trying to make it big".

I'm really mad my own photo didn't come out of the orchid. I saw something QUITE naughty, doesn't come over in this photo I snatched off line.

I smuggled my beer out of one bar, and into Tootsies, where they didn’t notice anything short of a bull elephant running through. Wow what a place! It was quite nostalgic actually, reminded me of my youth in the Navy. The walls were covered with signatures, apparently everyone from everywhere had to leave their mark (we refrained). The wires in the walls were bare. Cindy was muttering about a cover for her bar stool, she was into the disgust phase. (Cindy you ain’t been disgusted until you see hookers diving under tables to earn their dosh, this was mild!) There was a good band going at one end, and the other end had a mildly cheezy cover band (cowboy hats, etc, played every CW hit you can think of), but they had good voices. Anyway this cover band we were watching thought they were rootin tootin all reet, and came out with a bunch of Redneck platitudes, and I yee hawed with everyone else. All ages of folks in there, no children of course, but old folks and young folks commingled freely.

In our travels, we took a moment to cruise by the Wild Horse Saloon, and see if we knew anyone in there (had been talk on line of a fan meeting prior). We peeked in cautiously, wary of goat herders. There WERE some gals at one table, chatting who seemed "Moodyish" pbaub not among them, I think he and his PFBs all went some place "exclusive" to their little gang. Who knows. I thought the Wildhorse was sorta nice, a cute painted statue or two of weird horses; it was cool it was dark and it had beer (I was getting over-heated by this time). Then Cindy dragged me into an Irish bar across the street which was quite gnarly, but we didn’t linger, despite the nice vibes. Like I say, downtown Nashville could be quite fun to bar hop in, if that were your thing. Yee haw.

The House at the Ryman finally opened. We found our balcony seats, and peeked over into the audience. WELL!!! There was pbaub’s Fanny Brigade (heretofore referred to as the PFB) This was the first I realized the lying sack was actually in Nashville, and not in Texas sleeping off the last tour. Ol’ pbaub was getting all the action he could, hugging and kissing all the girls, on the mouth mind you, ick (Cindy’s folks grabbed me and kissed me, but it was a Southern buss). MBD was cooing to pbaub, and they got their picture taken together by Earl (I think). They made a cute couple, and I find it incredibly elegant karma to see pbaub and MBD together.

Actually I would have no reason to mention MBD at all, had she not unmercifully (and for no good reason other than sheer madness) flamed me all over the Moody nets prior to this (with her partner in crime, Janet). Watching the whole PFB thing going on down there with the groundlings, Cindy and I first considered some hair pulling, but decided violence wouldn’t solve anything. It was best to let karma take it from here. Then we fell to discussing cheer leaders (MBD being the "type"). Cindy had the standard reaction, that cheer leaders were female bullies in High School, and apparently in the South are the spoiled daughters of the mayor who get appointed by Suction. At MY High School, "who was the cheerleading squad" was put to the vote of the student body, and were without fail (in my class anyway) very nice, beautiful girls. My friend, Ida was top dog in cheerleading, turned out to be a lawyer, and is one of the prettiest girls I ever met, quite down to Earth. Drill team even had to try out, and we didn’t screw around or we were kicked out by a very mean Verny Ford, a former WAC and our Drill Coach.

I loved Drill Team; and as long as I could in college, took dance too, and even considered going pro at one time, despite having knock-knees. You usually meet very nice people in dance, which is why MBD’s actions on-line have shocked me so much. She’s been blocked from one newsgroup (the sysop asked me not to mention their name) along with a few others. Brats don't last in the pro-world of performing too long, and that's a fact.

Anyway dancers do interest me, and I actually tried to be friends with ol’ MBD when I first met her on MBT, but she flamed me (on and on), so I gave it up as a bad cause, and ignore her now. Just one more alpha bitch on the make, they come and go in our fan club. Watching her, I wasn’t real impressed (wimpy body language), and suspect that MBD was one of those numerous dancers with a rich daddy, who just had skills to get into the troup and probably never got past the Corps de Ballet. But who knows, and it is a waste to even worry about. Maybe the music just drove her mad. It happens.

About this time I found I’d forgotten the blue glow sticks, and it was a "SHUCKS oh well" moment. Cindy and I considered spit wads on the groundlings (using the Boz Scaggs flyers), but the Ryman did engender a bit of respect. Temptation over-ridden lest we be tossed! Cindy also was making fun of people in evening dress on the ground. "This is the Ryman, you come casual!" I spotted a very pretty little girl about 7 down on the pews, and she was a good kid too, no whining all night (maybe Harley‘s kid?). When the lights went out, you could see every phone and filming device from up there (MBD videoed quite a bit). I slipped out my trusty AE-1 and the show started. HEY I’M FINALLY TALKING ABOUT THE MOODIES!!!