Downtown Saturday Night

A week or so ago, we happened to head into downtown Nashville for a night on the town. Not something we do a lot for two reasons. 1) it's a bit of a drive and 2) the drunks. For the most part, I don't mind the drive. I ride this very same distance every day to work so it's not really that much of a big deal. The people who feel it necessary to partake of too much* liquor and then drive cause me too many waking nightmares to count, so its best to just keep away from these jerks.

So, anyway, we head into Downtown and discover a whole new realm of idiocy. Now I can go ahead and call this idiocy because I'm sure this happens in every city in our country and then even in such far flung places outside our borders. What idiocy? Parking rates. When did they get so freaking high? We pulled into one and were told the rate was $15. Did you get that? They were charging more than most nightclubs charged for admittance and the parking space didn't even have live music!

Let me add to this idiocy. I went in search of a cheaper spot, found a place with a sign which stated "$5 Parking" but when I went to get out of the car, some guy in an official looking shirt held out his hand and said "fipteen dollah." I pointed out the sign and he repeated "fipteen dollah." Not one to argue, I went in search of another parking place.  I should also point out that I am not against anyone with an accent, but I feel you should be a little more versed in the language than just 'fipteen dollah.'  

My real reason for writing all this down this week is what we found in downtown Nashville that you just cannot find anywhere else. Music. Oh sure you got your music in New Yawk, or El Ay, but nothing like Music City brings to the street. And right there is the true charm of our fair downtown. Along with the high number of clubs and bars with live music (I lost count at 30) the streets are peppered with musicians trying to find their voice, practicing their art, and hoping for a bit of cash.

Broadway near 3rd, Downtown Nashville

As you walk down the wide sidewalks, on one side you have the music from the bars, the open doors to which are as sandwiched so close together that they could nearly all be one place and on the other you have the street musicians. Guitar players abound, but there are also a high number of accordions, brass and even a few drummers. Add to this a mix the sounds of the traffic which includes horse drawn carriages and you have a concert you cannot find elsewhere, all within a 4 block radius. '

It's no wonder that the city closes 2nd avenue to traffic at 10 pm. The whole 2nd avenue venue right outside the Hard Rock Cafe and just a few doors down from the Wild Horse Saloon becomes one big party. You can find just about any music to your liking here just wander along and listen at the door or better yet, grab your partner and dance in the street.

Music city. Like none other and only found in the South...for fipteen dollah.

A vote for Basil is a Vote for...

The south has a long and storied history when it comes to politics. A lot of presidents have been from the south - I personally live within a mile and a half of Andrew Jackson's Hermitage Home - as well as state and local legends. But in recent years, it is not the good politicians which remain in memory, it is the more colorful and ok, let's say it - those who are less than stellar. Bill Clinton may have been president, but Monica Lewinsky will forever cement him in our collective conscience.

Tennessee is far from the bottom of the list when it comes to cementing a memory. A few years back some state senators were indicted in the now infamous 'Tennessee Waltz Sting". But let's talk really recent.

Meet Basil Marceaux.com. Early in the primary for Tennessee Governor, a local TV station gave each candidate two minutes to explain their platforms. This stocky former Recon Marine introduced himself by saying "I'm Basil Marceaux.com, the Republican candidate for governor." I can't make stuff like this up!

Among Marceaux.com's ideas were to force everyone to carry a gun, advocated the planting of grass on all vacant lots in the state to sell for gas and doing away with all traffic stops. Later, in his "official ad" where he wanted to "do my issues" he stated that he wanted to 'Make yous all more freer." Among those issues were, and I'm again not making this up: Move the capital of the state from Nashville to Chattanooga as a method of cleaning house, getting rid of "all the back room politic that ruined our politic program in Tennessee" and removing the gold fringe from all flags to "make the flag fly right."

I could go on stating other plans such as how he wanted to send anyone who LOOKED "Mexican" south of the border, but if they had a Green Card, they could be allowed to return. The vote was last week, and the fact of the matter is that he lost the primary. Yes, lost. Amazing isn't it? He even made it on two respectable (?) national news (?) shows, The Colbert Report and Jimmy Kimmel Live but he still didn't get enough votes to move on to the main campaign.

Sure, you live someplace like New York, or Chicago and have odd politics - even memorable politics, but without a Basil Marceaux.com in your history, you just have no idea. Only the South can give you that!

Louisiana Turtle Burgers

Whenever there is nothing to watch on TV, we end up surfing over to the Food Network and watch a few shows there. I love unique cooking but I also really don't like watching some show tell me how to make a dish of food which you can only find in outer Mongolia. I like finding out new ways to cook the foods I already have handy.

Now, recently, I got this letter from my sister which included a recipe (with the accompanying photo above) for some Turtle Burgers. Louisiana Turtle Burgers (pronounced 'loo-zee-'ă -nuh.) In fact, the original title was "Coon Ass"* Turtle Burgers" but I cannot see a Cajun making a plain burger with only cheese and Hot Dogs. If anything, these were made by some Nawthunah and given the name in order to give the dish some sort of pedigree. A real Cajun Dish would have some cajun seasoning, at the very least. And let's face it, when have you EVER seen a Cajun dish with store bought hot dogs and NOT Cajun Sausage?

The last thing which causes me to question the Suthun origins of this dish are the instructions. It strangely states

Hand-made ground beef patties, topped with sharp cheddar cheese, wrapped in a bacon weave, then the next step, add hotdogs as the heads, legs with slits for toes and tail.

If you tried to stick those bits of hot dogs into the burgers AFTER they are formed, they will fall right off. (And no, look closely, there are no toothpicks, glue or other foreign matter holding those bits in place. The burned ends you see are the 'formed' feet and toes of the 'turtle.')

My Suthun neighbor, Bubba (aka Lord Of All Things Barbeque), saw this picture and made them up for a weekend get together. He said the best way to make sure 'them legs an' all' stay where they belong during cooking is to "Cut the hot dog in half, and lay all the pieces on top of a flat burger so that they have as much hot dog on the burger as sticking out. Add a ball of hamburger on top and press it down, thus holding the hot dogs in place as you form the 'turtle.' THEN add the cheese and bacon weave." (Bubba Knows Burgers..)

Lastly, the email recipe says to
  "Place on an oven rack, covered loosely with foil and bake for 20-30 minutes at 400 degrees. A little crispy, not too crunchy...just how a turtle should be, no?" (Gotta love that "Cajun speak" ending there.)

Bubba agreed with the cooking time, and stated that on a grill the legs, head and tail might burn up before the burger was done, so a little 'aluminium' (Bubba pronunciation guide: al-you-MIN-ee-um) foil wrapped around the head and legs might prevent this. Baking, however, seems to be the best idea.  (Like a broken clock, even Nawthunaz are right once in a while.) But the big mistake here is to put them right on an oven rack! Without something to catch the grease from the meats, your oven will be a mess. A broiling pan works best here which will allow the grease to fall away from your 'turtles' as they cook and not mess up your lovelyl appliance.

Neighbor Bubba also suggested a 'touch' of Cajun seasoning in the hamburger, or a bit of memphis barbeque sauce on the bun. Again, Bubba knows burgers.

If you are from some place NAWTH of the Mason-Dixon, you can eat them plain, but don't call them Cajun Turtle Burgers or Louisiana Turtle Burgers. Whatever you call them, if you make some, be sure to let me know how they turned out!

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*Coonass, or Coon-ass, is used in reference to a person of Cajun ethnicity. Many consider it an epithet but others consider it a compliment or badge of honor. Not being cajun, I hesitate to use it, and therefore change the name of the burgers to CAJUN Turtle Burgers. It's what any good suthunah would do.

Mud and the Suthunah

Last time we spoke, we discussed the enjoyment of water in the Suthuna'z life. We also discussed those things which go well with water sports such as scantily clad young women. There is another 'go-with' which must be discussed when we bring up the fascination, nay NEED for refreshing water and the resulting play of the Suthunaz life. Something which goes hand in hand with water, namely Mud.

Suthunaz love the mud. I'm pretty sure that the love of mud came from the amount of rain known to fall in most southern regions (though to be sure, Mud Games and Mud Events are found as far north as Oregon!) Mud has the same cooling effect as water, and when it dries gives you even better protection from the UV rays of the sun! Sort of like an SPF 1000 - but you have to make sure that the mud covers EVERYTHING - and I do mean everything. The sun does NOT care what it burns.

Mud events can be mere mud play, wrestling (both male AND female) and even football played in a mud field. There's racing of fossil fueled powered vehicles of every type from golf carts to monster trucks. In South Korea they have an annual Mud Festival (which just ended this last weekend). The Mud Festival was created when they found that mud events bring in more money than agriculture.

But, perhaps my favorite of the Mud Events (here in the South) is the Diving and Belly Flop competitions. Open to everyone and anyone, entry is limited to one's own daring and ability - daring and fearlessness are perhaps the key facets of the 'Mud Diver.' Here, form and style is less as important than shock and awe. Some guy with a set of 6 pack abs jumping off a platform and nailing a half gainer with a twist may get a handful of applause, but a group of folks standing in the forest watching some guy with a beer barrel stomach land face first in a pond of mud elicits screams, laughter and the ever present "Oh, that's gotta HURT!" More than just thunderous applause, the diver gets a beer!

People may wonder at the enjoyment of mud, and the games we play in the mud, but the Suthunah has the right idea. Enjoy life. Enjoy the earth. Drink Beer.

Geez, I love living in the south.

Wanna Git Yer Picher Made?

Suthunaz love the water. They love boats, jet skis, and swimming. In the heat and humidity, having a local spot to cool off can raise the value of your home.

Here in Nashville, we have hundreds of acres of water in the form of not one but two reservoirs holding untold millions of gallons. Every Weekend in the hot summers you can find the reservoirs covered with all manner of boats, jet ski and other pleasure craft and you can find the man made beaches which line these reservoirs filled with all manner of scantily clad young ladies and their admirers. Like that picture above would seem to hold testament to. (I'm told that if you study the picture long enough, a man appears to the left....)

Seriously, let's take a look at this guy. I mean, at first glance, you wonder if he's homeless and maybe just wandered up into the shot as someone was taking a pic. He's not really dressed for a day at the beach...Ok, so fine, he's not wearing a shirt. Is that beach ready? And what is he carrying? It has the look of a garbage bag holding recently cleaned up road kill. About to grill lunch perhaps? Oh let's not go there.

But, if we study this pic, you can see that the girls may not have been the taker's original intent. The center of the shot is not the man nor the girls but someplace in between. It's kind of like someone was taking a picture of their grandpa and things sort of went awry. I can see it like this: "Hey, Grandpa*, before we tho' that possum on the coals, lemme get a picture!" Grandpa stops and holds a pose - Grandpa is no fool, he knows ol' bubba doesn't have a movin' picture camera, so he's not about to be gamboling about whilst the poor boy tries to focus - and across the camera's vision walk a couple of the local ...local... well for lack of a better phrase, we'll say 'Girls'. Bubba is taken by their suthun demeanor, their photogenic qualities - ok so he sees they got big hooters - and before he can snap the shot of grandpa, the camera tracks a bit to the direction of the ladies - seemingly all by itself. Click. Got it.

Grandpa will later say "Dang it, them girls nearly blocked the shot, Bubba!" and Bubba will smile and shake his head, "Yeah, Grandpa, I nearly missed the shot entirely."

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*In the South, one's grandfather is usually referred to by a nickname such as 'paw-paw' or maybe 'pa-paw' (with the short a as in 'pack') I use the generally accepted 'Grandpa' since that is what I called my grandfather and additionally, I refuse to let my grandkids call me anything which may sound like a poorly tuned motorboat. I prefer Grandpa, but will also answer to G-Pa, G-Man and "Thou Grandest of Exalted Elders" - though to be honest, I doubt I'll ever get any of them to use the latter.

Please Help - Don't Give.

I love this picture. This guy is at least honest. I took this picture myself right outside of downtown Nashville as I was headed home one day. You see Nashville has an inordinate amount of homeless. Which begs the obvious question: Why?

Suthunaz are generous people - to a fault. This in and of itself causes problems here in the south. First, you have the great weather. Ok, so it gets cold and it gets hot, but the mean temperature for Nashville is better on average than a lot of Mid South cities. Then, you get the fact that there is a high number of churches here. Many of the larger churches have 'giving' programs of their own. In fact, there are so many of them that a homeless person in Nashville can eat six - yes, that's right, SIX (6) times a day! That's over 50 group style meals in the Nashville area each and ever week. Not to mention a plethora of other state, city and private sector agencies who are more than happy to help.

The only problems come when some 'non-suthun' homeless get the idea that they can get even more from the locals. So we get a lot of "Hey, got a dollar?" (Why, yes, I do, because I have a JOB!) Ok, so I don't tend to get belligerent - usually - but it can be problematic especially when we're trying like heck to get tourists back after the flood. (You remember the flood, right? Was in all the papers...)

So, anyway, the downtown partnership of Nashville has come up with a nifty saying to keep the locals from feeding this indigenous group of homeless..."Please Help - Don't give!" Neat, huh? In order to help the situation, they are asking the locals not to give money to the homeless. They can get help in many agencies, so they really shouldn't need handouts.

I find it almost humorous that in order to help, my local suthunaz are being exhorted NOT to help. The south just gets more and more interesting.

Learn more by clicking the nifty sign below:

When the Spit hits the Fan.

I’m at a point where I truly believe that when you move to the south, something in the water or the food or perhaps even something in the very air we breathe causes the average male Suthunah to have more saliva than they need. Unfortunately, I am also under the belief that this excess saliva (aka ‘spit’) may be poisonous or at the very least detrimental to the well being of a good ol' boy and therefore cannot be swallowed. This , in turn, causes them to want to get rid of the excess saliva (et al) in a most disgusting public manner. This can be seen in the very fact that Suthun men constantly spit excess saliva onto the roadways, sidewalks and god knows what else on a daily basis along with tobacco juice, gum, and all manner of non edible items which they’ve carefully and completely chewed into a sopping mess.

The well documented Southern Moment includes not one but two instances of excess saliva (et al) being expectorated onto the roadways, albeit accompanied by a generous and somewhat disgusting gob of tobacco juice. I say it was tobacco juice, as I am not really sure. I only know it was nearly black, had the consistency of lumpy gravy and is still out there sitting in the middle of the road to this very day.

Let us refer to this as the Surplus Spit Syndrome (SSS) or when the expectoration includes unidentifiable matter, Expectorated Stuff Syndrome (ESS). I’ve found gobs of this ESS/SSS on the sidewalks in front of the symphony hall, government offices and entertainment complexes. There is no real pattern nor understanding to its occurrence. It is the fact that they feel somewhat justified in getting rid of this spit/junk/unidentifiable-gob whenever the feeling overtakes them that causes those of us with human sensibilities to become rather disgusted.

Dr. Bubba J. Johnson of the Fictitious Information Bureau (FIB) suggests that this can be likened to the animals in the wild who feel the need to ‘mark’ their territory. “The Southern man feels the need to somehow identify that he has been to a particular location.” Explains Dr. Johnson. “Unable to mark the spot in the way of his ancestors, he is forced to expectorate saliva, regardless of the matter contained in his mouth at the time. The more they do this, the more the body is compelled to create more [spit].”

So, ok, that makes more sense. Driven back to one’s ancestry, the wild animals, the southern man is only doing what comes naturally. This may also explain a lot of other behavior that the Southern Man does when NOT in public. But, for the moment, let’s leave that for another time. Now, if I can just get my spit to not dribble on my shirt dickey, I'll be doing a lot better.