Margaritaville Drive-In

There are times I'd like to be able to hop in the car and head out to pick up some ready made drinks for when friends drop by.  I mean, let's be honest here, I'm not about to share my Tennessee Sippin' Whiskey with just anyone who drops by and besides, company always puts me in a 'mixed-drink-and-fruit-with-an-umbrella' kind of mood.  But who wants to do all that work?

If only...

HOLD THE PHONE!  Back up the TRUCK!  That drive-in up there serves not one, not two, but SIX different flavors of Margaritas and if you can look careful at the big photo, you will see that they also have Piña Coladas, Sangria, Mudslides and more!  I may be in heaven!  No, wait - if that is heaven, then heaven is Louisiana and I'm stuck in Tennessee!

To those that don't know, these are only legal in Louisiana and Texas.  Drive-ins are legal in these states in that they sell closed drinks for transportation to a destination (and not for imbibing while you drive.)  Perfect for picking up a couple of cool refreshments on the way home from work, or - as I stated above - for when that special company comes visiting for the Holidays!

Now, if we can just figure out how to get them to deliver to Nashville, I'd really be set.

What Can We Call These?

It's here somewhere...I know it...

Halloween just passed, and what with all the ghoulies and goblins running around the neighborhood, I didn't notice that there was something else more sinister at work. It didn't even seem evident until this last weekend.  Y'see, this last weekend, I finished my latest household project, a set of handrails on the front porch.  

A couple of weeks ago, I carefully dug four holes next to the porch and set four posts into cement. Yes, Me, working with cement -and doing a mighty fine job of it, too, but that's not the problem.  (My brother Bubba the retired English Teacher will fairly swoon at the proper use of a comma instead of a semicolon in the last sentence, and I'm happy to do it to him.  Digressing, yes, as always.) 

The problem was or is as it always is when I am working on projects of this nature.  It goes like this: I put the posts in cement and now that the cement is set, I'm ready to finish.  This last Saturday I picked up the final two pieces of wood for the handrails.  Careful cutting and positioning and I'm ready for the special deck screws I know I have left over from a big project.  

But I can't find them.  

I'm pretty sure this is not the usual, 'Where did I put those?' No, it wasn't me who misplaced them. This is something more sinister.  I looked in all the places I would have put a box of screws - a special plastic box of 100 that I purchased some time ago and I KNOW I didn't finish the box.  They should be there, right where I left them.

Something took them. 

No. Seriously, hear me out.  Someone, or ...Some THING, took them. I know it. They were here, I remember putting the box on the shelf in the shed where I have decided to store all my fasterners   (Screws, Nails, Staples, bobby pins and what not..) 

If this were Ireland, I'd know it was leprechauns.  If this were Scandinavia, I'd say tomten, but we're here in Southern USA. Nashville. So, it must be some little creature who steals things like this and places them someplace I just can't see them.  I've looked and can't find the screws anywhere..well, I can't see the little Tomte-chauns, either, but that's to be expected.  

So, now along with the missing screws, I have to figure out a name for these little Southern Lepra-tomte-gremlin critters and I just don't have the time.  And since I know you're wondering, Yes, I went out and purchased yet another box of screws to finish the project.  It's nice. Handrails for the front porch.  Gonna paint them next weekend.  (I should rename this blog Marv Digresses, or better yet: Reader's Digress...ok, where were we?) 

Got a name for these critters?  Let me know.  (Something tells me if we find their name, we can control them and I might get my box of screws back.) 

TV or Not TV, that is the Question

Security guys relaxing on the steps...

Just the other day I was walking down to Broadway and took the photo above.  For those of you who don't know what you're seeing there, it's a whole parking lot of trailers used by production companies during filming of movies and TV shows.  Ok, so by now it's no secret that there is a new  TV show based on the music industry being filmed right here in Nashville, cleverly entitled "Nashville."  And if you've seen the show, then you know that apparently we here in Nashville spend our days worrying about hipster vocalists and big bubble breasted blond country singers and how they hate each other and sleep with... well... everyone.  

Same parking lot, different view.

As much as I enjoy seeing a well done TV show with lots of drama and good acting, I'm not going to watch "Nashville."  For one thing, there is more to Nashville than the Music Industry.  They could have called it "Music" for all the real view of Nashville that is shown. And to be sure, 'Country' music is the true base of this endeavor. Oh yes, they show some hipster vocalists out in some dark dank bar performing hipster music of some sort but this whole 'music for drama's sake' just doesn't sit well with me.

Now, to be sure, let's also note that the show is filmed here, in Nashville, and that the sound stages are just north of town, where they have recreated such venerable institutions as the Bluebird Cafe with a high degree of accuracy (as if that makes up for the storylines.)  Ok, so I hate this new show.  I hate that people think THIS is truly my southern home. It's not.  Nashville is so much more than the music, the SOUTH is more than the music genre and I would hope that YOU my readers know that from the hundreds of posts I have made on the subject.  

Oh look at that, across the street equipment
trailers disgorging their innards...

Now, you can go ahead and watch the show.  Enjoy the performances and watch the aforementioned bubble breasted blonds bed hopping through an hour long drama. As for me, I'll refrain from watching due to my own sensibilities and love of my southern home.

I only hope that the rest of my southern neighbors feel the same.  

Southern Repurposing

The other day, my wife and I were enjoying an afternoon at our local Used Item Store when I came upon a utility type of item I had been searching for.  It is the belt above.  It's made of black nylon webbing, with several loops for holding accessories.  In addition, it has great solid metal hooks at both ends - perfect for what I had in mind.  

A little over a year ago, I purchased a new string trimmer.  As much as I love my new string trimmer, I really hated the fact that it did not come with the shoulder support.  A shoulder support allows you to carry the item around the yard longer without straining the muscles in your forearms, and allows you to keep it at a standard height as you work.  

The new belt is long enough and adjustable for just this need!  And the price tag of $1.99 made it an easy decision.  I took it home and proudly placed it beside the string trimmer for use later this fall (or next spring if the weather turns cold quick - which it can in the South ...hmmm digress much?)

As I got to looking at the belt, and as I'm marveling at my luck in finding it so inexpensively, I wondered at its original use since it came with no particular label or use indication. What wonderful tool or utilitarian ensemble would have this belt as part of it? It seems perfect for a string trimmer, but part me of thought that perhaps it was a shoulder belt for a hunter.  It's trimmed in orange, has loops that would hold extra shells and that nylon webbing is heavy duty enough to withstand the worst that any hunter can throw at it while tracking that fresh kill through the underbrush.  Now, imagine my surprise when I find this on the internet:  

That's right, it's a toy.  Or rather, it's an accessory for a toy and by toy, I mean those nifty little toy guns by NERF that shoot bullet shaped sponge-like projectiles.  It's all so Little Boopsey can hole-up in the back yard with extra ammunition and take on the kids from down the street without having to scramble around picking up used Nerf projectiles!  And here I am going to use it in my Lawn Arsenal. 

This is Southern Re-purposing at its finest. Re-purposing this belt to be useful in my Lawn wars, well, that's the whole idea behind Used Item Stores!  I mean, it's not like I'm using a Pringles Can to repair the air in take on my car...

I Didn't See You There - In the Bedroom!

Ok, I am officially dumbfounded. Found dumb, struck senseless and somewhat higgledy piggledy.  The above picture was sent to me by a known Suthun Associate with the note "WANT".  (For those of you without the understanding, this Southern friend wanted me to know that he (or she) really wanted this set of camouflaged sheets.)  

SHEETS.

Did you hear me?  Camouflaged SHEETS?  Along with comforter, drapes  pillows and maybe even matching pajamas, too.  They are verifiably aquiver with the idea of having this in their home.  To which, of course I immediately remarked, What?  The! Ever! Lovin? HECK???

Me, I'd be afraid I'd go to lay down and find myself stretched out on the dresser because I couldn't find the bed.  Yeah, can't find it CUZ IT'S CAMOUFLAGED!  

Ok, Ok, I know what you're all saying. It's just a pattern, someone is showing off their love of camping, hunting and blending in with the flora.  Perhaps this means you could take this set and set up your bed in the wilderness while camping and not worry about some Deer being spooked by your sleeping arrangement.  

I think for me, I'll stick to regular sheets so I don't have to play a game with the wife at bedtime.  

"I'm over here, dear, waiting for you!"

"Where?" 

"Marco!"

"Polo...you're getting warmer. NO, that's the laundry hamper..."

Welcome to the Rock

Nashville is built on rock. Solid rock.  Nowhere is this more evident than downtown, where the buildings crowd up against the river. Even the outlaying areas must be mindful of this fact, which is why you see very few in ground pools.  It takes a lot of effort and not a few sticks of explosive to get rid of the rock.

This last week, the building in which I toil for the man has begun construction of additional space for parking. Underground parking. Are you ahead of me on this?  This means that they must first dig out the aforementioned rock.  The parking lot beside the building has become ground zero for this activity, centered around two giant pieces of equipment.  The first is pictured above, a large claw machine (no quarters accepted!)

Second, here you can see the real culprits which have now affected my day.  (Effected?  Affected?... gotta call Bruthah Bubba on the Grammer-Phone! - Bubba says "Effected."  We can continue, now.) Anyway, these are two very large jackhammers.  I'm sure they probably have their own name, or code word or nickname or some other way of referring to them that makes good ol' boys squeal like a 12 yr old girl at a Justin Beiber concert.

It started as they tore down the old loading dock. Noise. Vibration. And the two in combination, you can only imagine! Remember back in high school there was always a couple of kids who thought they were drummers and would pound rapidly (and loudly) on their desk in a very misguided attempt at the drum solo in The Surfari's "Wipe Out."* Staring off into space, mouth a grim, tight line of determination.  Conversations came to an abrupt end as you could hear or feel nothing but a giant muddled rumble in the study hall floor as the unevenly balanced desks transferred this mad, loud (and bad) frenetic pounding into the floor and across the room. That's what this is like, only 100 times worse. It's like the School of Amateur Drummers has set up auditions outside my office and they are all doing the same drum solo but they each started at a different time.

The result can be felt throughout the entire building and then some. The really hard part is that there is no place I can go, no way to get a respite from it all.  It's not like I can take the next 18 months off.  (Yeah, Boss, I'm going to be needing a few paid days off....about 550 days to be exact. Am I sick?  Ok, let's go with that.)

18 months.  My nerves are already like mush....and they haven't even started blasting yet.

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If, for some unknown reason (read: you're too young) you haven't heard the Surfari's "Wipe Out" you can hear it by clicking here;

Hardware Touristas

It was last Saturday when I drove by my local Hardware Store (pictured above) and saw the most amazing thing. Now, I knew that many a tour bus headed into our fair city laden with Tourists (with the requisite capital 'T') and not a few music acts. Most of the music acts head downtown and most of the Tourists head to the local Outlet Malls and other - let's not call them Tourist Traps, let's refer to them as "Local Centers of Attractive Tourist Type Activities."  (Maybe a few of my 'fans' come to see me? No? Ah, well...) Here we have not one, but TWO big tour buses parked at my very own local big box Hardware Store (also with the requisite capital letters. I like Capital Letters.  So sue me.)

What's up at the Big Hardware Store? Looking for Hardware?  Two buses worth? Me, I don't think so.  I think they are all in there looking AT hardware not looking for it.  Y'see, the big Hardware Store is one of those places that I can go walking through just to see the sights.  When I have time (read: I'm alone) I'll hit every aisle and side and view every display and end cap.  It's one of the few things that I have in common with my mother in law. Yes, you read that right, my Mother In Law. We can turn a quick trip to the Hardware Store into an afternoon and not spend a dime. Bring along a snack and make a day of it!

I was over at the Big Box Hardware Store to pick up some pieces I needed to finish a gutter on the side of the house.  While I was there, I looked at some tools, (more like drooled over some new tools) along with a new work bench and a pair of suspenders for my work pants but I never did see any large groups of people with cameras maybe following dutifully along after a tour guide walking backward speaking loudly.  (Maybe I could hire myself out?)

The aforementioned gutter is all fixed up, but I didn't get back in time to see what the tourists bought while they wandered (If'n they bought anything at all.) Maybe I'll see them next year when they come back for the reunion tour.

Hey, it could happen. Anything is possible here in the South.