Summer Reads Make Me Feel Fine

Remember that old tune? “Summer reads make me feel fine”. Wait, I think that me the wrong lyrics. Anyway, summer reads are great, and I have a short list to keep me busy for a while. That’s not to say that reading is the only thing I have to do. Despite what many think, summer is not a total vacation for the educational sect. We have classes to prepare for; research to do; and, you never know when a problem might crop up on campus.

With that being said, we obviously have time for some leisurely reading. I am going to begin with the following.

The Columbus Affair: A Novel by Steve Berry. I have read Berry’s Cotton Malone series since its inception and like its mixture of action and historical mystery. It’s one of those things that started after the popularity of The Da Vinci Code and is far from high level intellectualism. That’s why I like it.

Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter by Seth Grahame-Smith. The students on the field trip said I have to read this. I plan on seeing the movie, so I also feel that I need to read it. It comes from the smash-up genre and shows Honest Abe as a killer of vampires. I can’t wait to see Franklin Roosevelt as a killer of werewolves and Barack Obama as the slayer of the people who voted for him zombies.

The Emerald Storm by William Dietrich. Another work from the genre of historical fiction, this book has a twist. The mystery takes place in the past with the adventures of Ethan Gage. I have also read all of these and was first attracted because one took place in the western frontier. Ethan has been all over the world in the employ of some of history’s most powerful people.

Where the Tall Grass Grows: Becoming Indigenous and the Mythological Legacy of the American West by Bobby Bridger. Only a work of history would have a title that long. We tend to spell things out right there on the cover, so I don’t have to do much explaining. It has a buffalo skull on the cover, so it must be good.

The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks by Rebecca Skloot. Ever heard of HeLa cells? Apparently, they have become important in medical research throughout the world. This book is about the woman that they were originally taken from.

Howard Cosell: The Man, the Myth, and the Transformation of American Sports by Mark Ribowski. As a kid, I was fascinated by Howard Cosell and the people on Monday Night Football. My parents let me stay up long enough to see the Halftime Highlights and hear Cosell’s cadence as he said, “He. Could. Go. All. The. Way.” I can’t wait to delve into the life of the man behind the mouth.

That’s my list. If you have any other suggestions, then please let me know.

Movie Wisdom – Burt Reynolds Edition

A couple of blogging ideas popped into my mind over the weekend, and I decided to smash them together to form a semi-regular series of posts.

First, I went on a quick trip to Chattanooga, which isn’t too far away, and crossed Monteagle Mountain along the way. Those not from Tennessee may not know about Monteagle, but it is one of the great spots in our state. It is also where the Bandit gained his notoriety. Don’t know what Bandit I am talking about? Well, there is only one Bandit, and that is the one played by Burt Reynolds in Smokey and the Bandit. According to the opening song, the Bandit became famous when he safely steered his jack-knifed truck down Monteagle.

As I crossed the mountain, I started thinking about a blog of my favorite Burt Reynolds movies.

Then, I published a post that included a profound line from one of my favorite movies. I have done this before and have noticed that it has become a habit in my blogging/tweeting life. With that in mind, I started thinking about a post of movie quotes that could also be used as guidance in our daily lives. It seems that screenwriters can be quite clever when given time to come up with something.

With those two ideas running through my mind, I came to the smash idea where I will take movie stars and list the “life guidance” quotes from their films. The quotes may be profound, funny, or just plain dumb. The common denominator is that I think they are great lines and can be useful in some way.

Before the listing begins, there are a few rules.

1. I must have seen the movie.

2. Each movie must include the mentioned movie star (although they may not be the one that says the line).

So, here goes with movie wisdom from Burt Reynolds movies.

From Deliverance

“Sometimes you have to lose yourself ‘fore you can find anything.”

“If you hit any rocks don’t hit ‘em with your head.”

From White Lightning

“I was born ready.”

“The good, they die young.”

“Only two things in the world I’m scared of – women and the police.”

From The Longest Yard (The original. Not the Adam Sandler crap.)

“Shaving points off a football game. Man, that’s un-American.”

“I’ve always had my shit together. Always. My problem’s been I couldn’t lift it.”

From Smokey and the Bandit

“If you’re gonna hang out in places like this wear a badge on your didey.”

“Cowboys love fat calves.”

“I guess a legend and an out of work bum look a lot alike.”

“I take my hat off for one thing. One thing only.”

“When you tell somebody somethin’, it depends on what part of the United States you’re standin’ in as to just how dumb you are.”

From Smokey and the Bandit II

“When you raid a cathouse, you take the piano player, too.”

From The Best Little Whorehouse in Texas

“I started out poor, and I worked my way up to outcast.”

From Striptease

“I don’t need no stripper to tell me how to live.”

From Boogie Nights

“What do you expect when you’re on top? You know? It’s like Napoleon. When he was king, you know, people were just constantly trying to conquer him, you know, in the Roman Empire. So, it’s history repeating itself all over again.”

You Gotta Have Faith?

There is an old John Wayne movie called El Dorado that I have seen a million times and contains one of my favorite lines. After telling one of his henchmen to stay out of a fight, Nelse McLeod, the bad guy gunfighter, says, “Faith can move mountains, Milt, but it can’t beat a faster draw.” This line kept running through my mind as I read The Devil in Pew Number Seven by Rebecca Nichols Alonzo.

This book had been in my Kindle for a while as I decided if I wanted to read it or not. Now that I have read it, I am not sure if I’m glad I did or not. I think it is supposed to be a chronicle of faith and how it can get people through any hardship. From my point of view, it provides an example of the tragedies that can happen if someone has too much faith.

In short, the writer is the daughter of a preacher and his devout wife and takes us through her childhood experiences. However, they are not the experiences that one would find idyllic. Her father was the pastor at a church in a small, rural community in North Carolina. Like many similar communities, it was tight-knit and leery of outsiders. Being a dynamic preacher, her father was able to break through this outsider status and become a beloved figure in the area.

At least, he was beloved to most. Apparently, there was a local “boss” who did not appreciate the new preacher and his growing power. As time passed, the “boss” did everything possible to run the preacher and his young family out of town. It began with disturbances during services, such as making loud noises and slamming the doors. Through the years, it escalated from childishness to danger. Hired lackies made threatening phone calls, mailed threatening letters, shot up the house and, eventually set off dynamite near their home and the church. For years, the family lived in terror as the attacks increased in ferocity. Everyone knew who was behind it, but authorities could not prove it.

Over time, the preacher and his wife strained under the stress. The children, the writer and her brother, spent nights not sleeping or having nightmares. It was a disaster as this family faced the wrath of a man bent on destroying them. Neighbors rallied, journalists wrote and politicians spoke, but no one could understand the nightly fear that this family faced. It is a story that makes the reader wonder about the depths to which some will resort to get their way.

However, it made me wonder about something else as well. The writer continuously praises the faith that her parents had in God. They refused to move because God would protect them. They refused to confront the terrorist because God would find His way into the man’s heart. They would not give up the small church because God wanted them there. Family begged them to move, but God didn’t want them to move.

Look, if someone has faith in a higher power, then that is their right. If someone has enough faith to place themselves in harm’s way for that higher power, then that is fine by me. I don’t understand it, but it is their life. However, I have a real problem when someone uses faith as an excuse to keep someone else in danger. This couple forced their children, who had no choice, to live a terrible childhood, because that’s what God wanted. THAT IS RIDICULOUS. I heard somewhere that God helps those who help themselves. Placing innocents in a dangerous situation because of faith is criminal. In my mind, it is just as criminal as the people setting the dynamite.

In the end, God didn’t come to the rescue. As the family harbored an abused wife, her husband walked into their home and shot both parents. The mother was killed almost instantly, and the father survived physically. He did not, however, survive mentally. After spending time in various institutions, he died of a blood clot.

The writer finishes by describing the strength of her faith and how it got her through. Various reviewers write about how this is such a great testament to faith. I say that it is a testament to stubbornness – a testament to putting your children through Hell while telling them that is the way to Heaven.

Seeing Stars

Last night, I was having dinner at a local Mexican restaurant when I looked across the patio and saw someone who I recognized. It wasn’t an old friend or acquaintance. It was Gretchen Wilson, a singer who has gained a modicum of fame. I didn’t think much about it, and it seemed that the other diners didn’t think much about it either. However, it gave me an idea for a blog post.

One of the great aspects of Nashville is that you can see someone famous almost anywhere you go. A greater aspect is that those famous people do not get harassed by fans or paparazzi. They do their thing while non-famous Nashvillians do theirs. For example, if you want to see Vince Gill, then all you have to do is go to a Belmont University basketball game. Kenny Chesney shows up each time the University of Tennessee has a game in town. Once, I sat in front of Reba McEntire at a Nashville Predators game, and, last summer, I sat behind Wynonna Judd at a U2 concert. Although I haven’t seen her, I understand that Carrie Underwood and her fantastic legs spend a lot of time at Whole Foods.

Never fear, country stars are not the only people seen in these parts. Once, I played pool at a table next to Nicole Kidman and her husband, Keith Urban. Also, Reese Witherspoon is a native of Nashville. It seems that artists from all genres and endeavors are attracted to our fair city. Nashville isn’t Los Angeles or New York (thank goodness), but it has its fair share of famous people.

As I chewed my enchiladas, I began to think about this part of the Nashville experience and thought about a couple of encounters of my youth.

When I was a kid, my mom and I spent a lot of time at Opryland, a theme park that used to be here and still should be. One afternoon, we were leaving, and my mom needed to go to the restroom. Being the days when parents could leave children for a few minutes without worrying, my mom left me sitting on a bench and eating an ice cream cone. As I sat, an elderly man perched down beside me with an ice cream cone of his own. He asked a few questions but only got one word answers in reply. It was typical nice old man questions, but I was too shy to say too much.

My mom returned and spoke with him for a few minutes before we went on our way. Once we left hearing range, she asked if I knew who that was. I said that I didn’t, and she told me that it was Roy Acuff. Don’t know who that was? He was known as the “King of Country Music” and was the genre’s first superstar. I had been eating ice cream with a legend.

As a teenager I, like a lot of teenagers in the 80s, hung out at the mall. Unlike  a lot of teenagers in the 80s, I hung out at the bookstore in the mall. One day, I stood in front of a bookshelf, the history section I guess, with my head buried in a book. In the midst of reading, I felt someone walk up behind me and just stand there. It was like they were reading the same book over my shoulder. Honestly, it wasn’t comfortable. I kept reading and hoping they would move when the man behind me yelled for his son. I knew immediately who it was.

I turned my head to say hello, and he replied, “Hello, I’m Johnny Cash.” Well, he didn’t actually say that. He said something along the lines of how are you. The most interesting thing was that the “Man in Black” was wearing black sweatpants, a black sweatshirt and white tennis shoes.

So, if you are ever in Nashville keep an eye open. You might see a star. Just remember to act like a Nashvillian and not bother them. That’s one of reasons Nashville is great. Although, it’ll probably be alright to say hello or stare at Carrie’s legs.

The Price of a Decent Burial

I like old movies. Maybe it’s because I am a historian. Maybe it’s because, like some people have said, I have an old soul. But, whatever the reason, I like old movies. I say that because it leads me into this post, but also because it makes me a little different that most of the people in my life that are my age. And, that leads me into this post as well.

Cat on a Hot Tin Roof is an old movie that I try to watch when I catch it on the guide. I have never seen it from start to finish, but I have seen it all in pieces. Kind of like Gone With the Wind. It has great quotes. Burl Ives should be in every scene. Elizabeth Taylor is at the top of the hotness meter – to the point that I wish the movie was made today so she could lose that white slip at least once.

All of that is great. However, there is one line by Paul Newman that has always struck home with me. While arguing with Big Daddy, Brick says, “I’m not worth the price of a decent burial.” When I find myself in the throes of a depressed state, this line plays over and over in my head. Since I find myself in that sort of state at the moment, that is what this post is about. So, if you are here for some movie history or a happy time, then you should probably stop reading now.

Like the movie character, there are times when I feel that “I’m not worth the price of a decent burial.” People see me as a financially successful person, but all of that came from the monetary seeds planted by my parents. Some see me as an involved member of the community, but I do a good job of serving on boards and committees without leading them. Others say that I am a good history teaching (which I believe sometimes), but that is really the only thing that I am good at. In fact, I can’t think of another job in the world that I am qualified to do. What’s funny is that I am pretty sure I got that job because the folks who did the hiring thought some donations would come with me. In short, if I didn’t have my last name and live in this town I am pretty sure that I would be a bust in life. On second thought, maybe I am already with a few frails and dressings to hide it.

Through the years, I have been told numerous times how useless I am. Perhaps, they didn’t mean it that way, but I took it that way.

You’re a man. You are supposed to know how to change a tire.

What do you mean you don’t grill? If you knew how to cook you would be married by now.

I can’t believe you don’t mow your own yard.

You sleep late and stay up late. Normal people get up in the morning and start accomplishing things.

I can’t believe you want to sit around and read when you could be up doing something.

The list goes on and on. And, it’s true. I’m not good at anything. I’m not good around the house. I’m not good with finances. All I am good at is filling my mind with information, and that is not enough in the eyes of many.

Maybe, I am just different from the people around me. I don’t see the importance of spending my time working in dirt or grease. I don’t believe in a supernatural being. I don’t care how other people live their lives and definitely don’t judge them for it.

It seems that people want me to fit in a cookie cutter pattern that everyone else has jammed themselves into. I just can’t make myself do it. Obviously, I need to go back to therapy.

Pueblos, Pottery and Captain Vla

I have returned from the sojourn into New Mexico with fellow faculty and a class full of students. Fun was had by all, and it would be impossible to cover everything we did in a blog post. With that in mind, I will provide a brief synopsis by describing my favorite activities from each day. Hopefully, this will provide an entertaining glimpse into our adventures.

Day 1 – The beginning of a trip is always the best part of the first day. The students are anticipating the places that they have yet to see, and the teachers are anticipating the return to an interesting part of the country.

Day 2 – We can’t drive vans to New Mexico in one day, so we check out some things along the way. My favorite part of the second day is driving through Hereford, Texas, the citizen-proclaimed “Beef Capital of the World”. I don’t know if that is true, but there are definitely more cows in Hereford than there are people. Holding pens line the highway and railroad as thousands of head of cattle wait to be shipped to the plates of America. The students could only discern the smell, but I find the beef industry, both its past and present, interesting.

Day 3 – We made it to Santa Fe, our ultimate destination, later this day, but we had one stop along the way where I had the chance to talk about some history where that history took place. Billy the Kid is buried in Fort Sumner, New Mexico. Well, most people think he is buried there. Conspiracy folks believe he survived instead of being killed by Pat Garrett. Anyway, I was able to tell the students about Billy the Kid next to his grave.

Day 4 – Our plans to hike Chaco Canyon were rained out, and our leader had to develop a day full of activities on the fly. We went to the Santa Fe plaza, but my favorite part of the day was spent at the Shidoni Gallery. The building and surrounding grounds are full of metal artwork that has been forged at the on-site foundry. It is interesting to see what people consider art and the prices they are willing to pay for it.

Day 5 – On this day, we went to a few places that we had never taken students before. The Very Large Array, or VLA, was the best. This is a series of giant satellite dishes used to study the far reaches of space. I don’t have a good picture of these, but if you have seen Contact with Jodie Foster, then you have seen the VLA.

It was cool to walk around them, but the real fun was on the periphery. On the way, we drove through sunshine, rain and hail. On the way back, we drove through snow. This is the first time we have seen precipitation in New Mexico – much less three different kinds. Also, one of our students, with my help, began calling himself Captain Vla. He imagined himself a superhero who could fly through space, powered by the satellite dish that emerges from his butt. His only weakness would be his limitation to travel by rail while on Earth, just like the VLA dishes. He even had a theme song – Super hearing! Super sight! He can travel through space at the speed of light! (For those readers who know the students who went, I will give you one guess who turned himself in Captain Vla.)

Day 6 – We visited my favorite place on the entire trip, the Acoma Pueblo. The oldest continually inhabited place in the United States, Acoma is located on top of a mesa and has a history of survival from the elements and European invaders. Native American docents take groups on a tour through their pueblo and their culture. Along the way, tourists can buy pottery from local artisans. One of our teachers, who shall remain nameless, buys pottery from the same lady every time we go. He also gets a hug.

Day 7 – We always eat well in New Mexico, and this trip was no different. The New Mexican cuisine is wonderful, especially the sopapillas that are always served for dessert. On the seventh day, we ate at Rancho de Chimayo, one of the great restaurants of the area, but dining was not the only enjoyment. There is a pottery shop inside, and two of the faculty members on the trip are addicted to buying Pueblo pottery. It so happens that the shop had a pot that they were lusting after. As they bickered back and forth about which one was going to purchase the $1,400 piece of pottery, the third teacher, not me, stepped in and said he would buy it. They both stood there with their mouths hanging open.

Day 8 – This was an easy day with little driving and little expended energy. Believe me when I say that everyone was ready for it. We were also ready to visit Madrid, New Mexico, an old ghost town that was resettled by flower children in the early 1970s. It is like going back in time to a place where peace, love and other things were still possible. The guys found a blonde in the ice cream parlor/art gallery that they wanted to find peace with. I found the first person to move to Madrid in 1973 and had a discussion about his life.

Mel Johnson was a dean at the Art Institute of Chicago and gave that up for a life in Madrid. In the following years, other people followed him until the town was filled with artisans and free-thinkers. Before I left his studio, I had found an interesting story and bought a painting.

Day 9 – Once again,  I was able to talk about history where it actually took place. We visited Los Alamos and a museum that is housed in the only remaining building from the days of the Manhattan Project. I find World War II history interesting and have a special interest in the building of the atomic bomb. One reason is that Oak Ridge, Tennessee was one of the secret locations. Another reason is that my mom’s uncle worked in the Manhattan Project and told a lot of stories about it. People have different opinions about the use of the bomb on Japan, and it is great to discuss the different views of the students. In the end, we agreed that hindsight is 20/20, and we can’t place that hindsight on people who were making decisions in the moment.

Day 10 – This was our last full day in New Mexico and was really a time to wind down. We hiked the mesa at Ghost Ranch and spent some time back on the plaza in Santa Fe. On top of the mesa, the students and I spent a spiritual moment reading a Native American poem, an ode to the land of New Mexico. I think we all felt a twinge of sadness because we were soon leaving and a sense of happiness because we had a great time throughout the trip.

Day 11 – We left Santa Fe at 5 am and drove over 700 miles to our original hotel in Sallisaw, Oklahoma. After a meal at Western Sizzlin’, the professors pulled chairs from our rooms into the Super 8 parking lot and discussed the trip. We deemed it a success.

Day 12 – We left Sallisaw at 5 am and headed home to Tennessee. It seemed that we got faster the closer we got to home. Like most trips, we were glad that we went but also were glad to get home.

Bound for New Mexico

Each May, myself and three other professors lead a field trip course to New Mexico. We use Santa Fe as a base and take daily excursions throughout the surrounding area and study different aspects of the area – history, anthropology, biology, economy, art…the list goes on and on. In the middle of the educational experience, we have a lot of fun as well.

In a few days, we will load up the vans and, as was famously written, “Go West, young man!” The problem is that a few of us aren’t that young. I will not be blogging during my time in the “Land of Enchantment”, but I will be Tweeting about our adventures. If you would like to follow along, then click the little bird in the column to the right. When we return, I will have plenty of stories to share. Hopefully, some interesting blog posts will be the result.

Tales of the Blue Chairs

My office sits at the end of a hallway and would be considered by many to be in an out-of-the-way corner where little activity takes place. I mean that’s what I thought when I first moved into it. That’s why I picked it. No one would be walking by. There wouldn’t be much noise. The only ones who would come back there would be doing it for business purposes only. However, the decorators decided to put three blue chairs a few feet away from my door.

Through the years, the blue chairs have become a popular spot for people waiting for class. More often than not, people work on their computer; study for a test; read a book; or sleep. In short, they are doing the things that college students do. But, there are times when things change and the atmosphere becomes conversational. Groups gather before class and talk about things that college students talk about. That’s not surprising.

The surprise is that the conversations go on like I am not even there. It’s like they think there is an invisible force field in the door frame that stops sound from entering my office. Or, they think I am deaf, but I am not the deaf teacher. Or, maybe they don’t care what I hear. No matter the case, I hear a lot.

From my office, I have heard relationships fall apart – either in person or by phone. Several years ago, one older student had a profanity-laced screaming match with her boyfriend. I have also heard people talk about how terrible their relationships are. The whole time I am thinking that if you don’t know how to get out of a bad relationship now, then you have a tough row to hoe.

I have also heard complaints about teachers, coaches and other figures of authority. Admittedly, this surprises me the most. After all, I am a member of the group that they are talking about. This teacher isn’t fair. That teachers sucks. My coach is an idiot, and the other coaches laugh at him. It goes on and on. And, guess what. They also talk about ME! Outside of my office! While I am sitting there!

That’s serious stuff. When people are caught in bad relationships and discuss the faults of their teachers, they are hitting topics that are important. However, a lot of times it gets comical. I have heard about the plans for huge parties and about parties that have already happened. I have heard students laugh, joke and reveal the fun aspects of college. They talk about movies, music and other topics that are important to them. Honestly, it helps me keep up to date and be able to talk to them about things they consider important.

When they put the blue chairs outside my office door, I was not very happy. I thought it was going to break down the walls of my fortress of solitude. I was right, but I am glad that it happened. I have access to information that tunes me into the psyche of our students and provides me with information on the happenings of campus. This is valuable information that I can use to relate better with the students and, hopefully, educate them better. It will also help me when I take over the world. Every good leader should know the hearts and souls of his people.

Things I Have Learned During Finals Week

Today, my colleague in the historian’s craft posted a great piece about the most memorable answer he has seen on a final exam. It is a very funny story, and you should check it out. (Yes, funny stuff happens in the world of academics. In fact, it happens all the time.) There is no way I can top that answer, but it made me think about some of the things I have seen through the countless final exams weeks of my life.

Final exams are the culmination of months of learning by the students. It is when they take the information they have absorbed and prove that some of it stuck. But, final exam week holds a deep secret in the dark corridors of the ivory towers. It is a time for the faculty to learn something as well. Through years of grading tests and seeing people operate in the stressful environment of the last week of school, I have learned quite a bit. This is a serious and not-so-serious list of the information that I have absorbed.

(Due to federal requirements, the events that I describe are HISTORY and not the PRESENT.)

Being within 3 points of an A means that a student should get an A. (After all, close counts in horseshoes and hand grenades.)

Al Capone ran for president of the United States in 1928. (I don’t know why. He was already richer and more powerful.)

Extra Credit should be given after the semester is over. (Especially if it provides the 3 points needed for an A.)

Even I, the great and powerful, can miscalculate sometimes. (I know. It’s hard for me to believe, too.)

On December 7, 1941, “a date that will live in infamy”, the empire of Japan attacked Alaska. (There wasn’t much happening in Hawaii.)

Mothers can get vicious about grades. (Even after their children have reached adulthood.)

The bookstore folks get really stressed out during finals week. (I really didn’t think they had much going with books being returned; people picking up graduation regalia; and everything else.)

Students realize they have scholarships. (And a bad grade may make that scholarship disappear.)

Franklin Roosevelt was blind when he was elected president. (I realize how someone would think this. Have you seen Eleanor?)

Retirement is bittersweet. (It’s tough to watch people leave something that they have been doing for decades.)

Speakeasies have never existed. (Maybe Al Capone wasn’t so rich and powerful after all.)

People worry about the length of the graduation ceremony. (Guys, be happy you made it and stop worrying.)

Almost everyone shows up to take their final exam. (It’s amazing really. People that you haven’t seen in months suddenly show up. It’s like the return of Gilligan or something.)

The student affairs folks already plan for next semester. (They do that. I promise. It’s like people are really on the ball.)

Napoleon Bonaparte was an American who traveled to France to help with the revolution. (I knew he was too ambitious to be French.)

Alexander Graham Bell is my ancestor. (Oh, how I wish that were true.)

All Hail the Gipsy Kings

Last week, I took my nephew down to the Schermerhorn Symphony Center to see the Gipsy Kings, a band from the gypsy settlements in the south of France that specializes in “rumba flamenca” music. I am not sure how to describe that, so here is a link to one of their most popular songs. I first encountered them while watching a Pierce Brosnan movie called “The Heist”. As the final credits rolled by, this strangely recognizable song played, and I immediately began to look up more of their stuff.

Anyway, I bought tickets to the show and thought this would be a good way to introduce my nephew to the symphony center and expand his musical horizons. I picked him up at school, and we arrived in downtown in plenty of time for the show. With some time to kill, I took him to Lower Broad and let him look into the honky tonks while it was still daylight and PG enough for him to peer in. Then, we went to the world-famous Ernest Tubb Record Shop where they used to hold the Midnight Jamboree after the Grand Ole Opry. Some of country music’s most famous artists once played throughout the night on the cramped stage by the back wall.

After that brief tour, we went to the symphony center and got a snack. This is a beautiful building with all of the amenities, but the restroom is a little hard to locate. I finally found a handicapped accessible under some stairs. I opened the door as a ravishing brunette walked by. That’s when my nephew informed me that I am supposed to let the toilet finish flushing before opening the door.

We made the way to our seats, which were pretty close to the front, and looked at the program. I had not told my nephew that the Gipsy Kings do not sing in English, but he figured it out while reading.

Nephew: Don’t worry, I’ll translate for you.

Lead Singer (upon hitting the stage): Buenos Noches.

Nephew (Mr. I made a 35 on the ACT, so I think I know everything): That means Good Evening.

Me (incredulous look on my face): I know what it means.

The concert commences, and my nephew continues to translate when they talk. Even he couldn’t translate when they were singing. I’m not sure if it was going too fast for him, or he was too mesmerized by the guitar playing. The Gipsy Kings are wonders with that instrument. Very Latin. Very European. Much like all of the women that were sitting around us. It was not the usual Nashville crowd, at all. What’s the word I am looking for? Exotic. The music and the people who came to listen were exotic. In fact, it was the first time I have ever seen people dancing in the aisles at the symphony center.

After the show, my nephew wanted to go backstage and get autographs. He is an autograph freak, but even I, the great ticket-getter, could not pull that off. Instead, we went to Big River Grille for dinner and were put in the corner. Our waiter resembled Ichabod Crane, and my nephew kept asking me if the people at the next table were Yankees.

After a meal that could have been warmer, I drove him home while he fell asleep. I tried to listen to my iPod without disturbing him because there was a Gipsy Kings song that I wanted to hear but that was not played. I finally found it as we pulled into his driveway.