Obscure Song You Should Download

This one goes way back, when lyrical hip hop was king and there was no such thing as "Make Em Say Uhh" and "Skeet, Skeet, Skeet" and all the other crunk music with a one line hook to reel you in. I've never been a fan of that movement at all. Lyricism in hip hop is making a comeback in 2011, I think. A Tribe Called Quest would be a great example for the new generation looking to revive the golden age of hip hop (1987-1993). From their album, "Midnight Marauders," enjoy "Electric Relaxation."

I Only Know a Few Cowboys

            One of the most poignant songs I remember from my childhood was “Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?” by Paula Cole. It was insanely popular when I was in high school, especially with girls. It had a cool sound and her voice was very nice and synthesizer free. It also mentioned John Wayne and tractors, so guys could get behind it too. As with any song, once it falls off the charts it fades from the radio just that fast. Paula Cole made a few more songs after that and disappeared. I saw her on a “Where Are They Now?” episode on VH1 last year. She just decided the fast life wasn’t for her and became a homemaker. Good for you, Paula.

            If you look at the lyrics of the song, it sends several messages. It depends on the person listening as to what message they derive. For some women, it asks “Is chivalry dead?”  Well, ladies, it’s hanging on by a thread. We are at an all time high in rudeness at the present, so get back to me in a few years. Others take a more cynical approach, thinking it mocks the general American ideal of the “man of the house.” I could see that as well. For me, I think Paula is asking what happened to the cowboy side of the American male. She notices that all we do is work, come home and sit on the couch with little to no interest in anything other than food and TV. Is she wrong? Judging by the astounding recent numbers in obesity and heart disease, I think not. Are we too concerned with our work futures to pay attention to ourselves and others? Are we afraid to take risks because we think we have too much to lose?

            The emasculation of the American male is to blame for many of the problems we face in our country today. The generations of men before us had principles. They took a stand when it was time. They saved the world from tyranny in WWII. They worked hard, played hard, and always took care of their families. Cowboys. Real men. The cowboys in this country have been mentally beaten into a pulp by a politically correct society. Other men use excuses like a rough childhood, ADD, the Coreolis Effect, the infield fly rule or whatever excuse is convenient at that point in time to explain their indifference and laziness. Since the 1960’s, the leadership in this country has given away too many hall passes and free lunches. Men don’t have to be men anymore. The blame goes to the man for allowing himself to become useless and the mindset of this generation that accepts this behavior.

           

                 Think about this: You go into a bar with your wife in Georgia. After having a couple of drinks (which is legal, by the way) and minding your own business, another patron comes up to your wife and says an inappropriate comment. Taking offense, you inform him that she is your wife and that will not be tolerated. He rebuffs in his drunken state and challenges you. In your anger, you throw a punch and knock the man unconscious, breaking his orbital lobe and blacking his eye. The bar owner calls the police. When the police arrive, they investigate the scene and see a man with a noticeable injury laying on the floor. Once they derive that you caused this injury, you are arrested and charged with aggravated assault, a felony. The drunken fool conveniently does not remember anything. Even if you beat the charge, you still have 1) an arrest on your record; 2) if you hire a lawyer, he is going to bill you by the hour; 3) time away from work dealing with the arraignment, motion hearings, trial, etc. You could also plead guilty to a lesser charge, where you will be forced to be on probation, pay fines, attend anger management and probably some community service. All for defending your turf. If you don’t want to pay out the nose, then sit back and let another man make inappropriate comments to your wife and do nothing. Tell him he should have more class. Tell him how rude he is. That works about as well as “time out” does for five-year olds. I’m sorry, some people just need to get hit and a man should not be lambasted legally or financially for standing his ground.

            I’m not saying that anarchy should replace what we have. I’m not saying men should have different rules than women. The man’s role in this world continues to be distorted by the law, by the number of divorces and child custody issues, and the unbelievably sensitive society we are becoming. Public schools cannot discipline children for fear of being sued, essentially allowing 10 year olds to do whatever they please. Medicate them and send them to the next grade with a pat on the back. Georgia recently voted to get rid of the High School Graduation Tests, in my opinion, because of the high failure rates. That is wonderful strategy….when things get rough, just bail out. This teaches a young man absolutely nothing but apathy and disrespect.  

I’m also hearing about sports leagues around the country that don’t keep score because they don’t want the boys to be upset if they lose. Seriously? Great life lesson, folks. Everybody wins, everybody gets a trophy. Loss is 50% of REAL life. You are teaching them entitlement and turning them into brats. These brats grow up and have no intestinal fortitude when the real world body checks them into the glass. Life is about taking risks, falling down and getting back up. Sometimes, there’s nobody there to help you get up. Those are the times when a man is made, when you stand up on your own and tell the world to bring it on.

I wrote this because I was looking at a picture I found of my granddad the other day. It was 1942 and he was in his Army uniform, about to be shipped out to North Africa to fight the Nazis. He was 24 years old with a new son he had never met because he left for training before my uncle was born. He left his childhood home in south Georgia at age 15 because my great grandfather drank whiskey like it was water and beat him and his siblings daily, prompting my great grandmother to tell him to leave before “your daddy kills you.” He hitchhiked to Atlanta and joined a CCC camp, where he remained until the war started. He was a staff sergeant in the 20^th Combat Engineers Battalion that chased Erwin Rommel across the North African desert. He was in the first wave of troops to hit Omaha Beach, where he laid for three days, using the bodies of dead Americans to protect him from the gunfire. He froze at the Battle of the Bulge. He fought the mud and the bullets in Sicily. He celebrated in Germany when the war ended. He came home and worked in a mill for the rest of his life. He never made much money, but he took care of my mom, my grandmother and my uncles. He paid their house off. He put my mom through college with no loans because he refused to owe anyone that much money. He never bitched and complained about his father or all the blood and death he witnessed overseas. He didn’t take drugs. He didn’t ask for anything from anyone, took shit from nobody, and would stand up for himself at the drop of a hat. A man with every excuse to be apathetic and useless, but I guess he didn’t see it that way. He died plowing a field on a hot August day in 1985. That’s the cowboy Paula was looking for.

I only hope to be half the man he was.

           

           

5 Realizations From This Week

1) It would have been cool to be a roadie for an 80's new wave band...maybe Duran Duran or The Human League. I could see myself now, in a skinny tie, acid washed Jordaches, black Chuck Taylors, and my coat sleeves rolled up with neon green sunglasses. Holding back all the coked out 80's chicks from ransacking the band's dressing room, saying "whoa, whoa, whoa" in my best fake British accent. Ahhhh, the 80's. Ships passing in the night.

2) Is it a rule that people with oversized diesel trucks MUST back into a parking space? It could be an empty lot with tumbleweed blowing across the horizon, it doesn't matter. It takes him 10 minutes to maneuver the jalopy into position, then he must sit there with the truck running for ten more minutes while he finishes his conversation on his Nextel. In this conversation, you must reference either a) something about construction; b) something about plumbing and/or irrigation; or c) somebody's "old lady" along with construction, irrigation or possibly hunting. Also, you must have a Browning sticker or a deer skull across the back windshield. None of these rules are negotiable. If you do not abide by these rules, then you lose your Nextel and are forced to drive a Honda Element.

3) The funniest book I've ever read is "Excuse Me, While I Kiss This Guy," a book about misheard song lyrics. They are called mondegreens and I highly suggest you get on Amazon and purchase this book.

 My personal favorites: "Hold me close, oh Tony Danza," (Tiny Dancer - Elton John) "Slow Motion Walter, Fire Engine Guy," (Smoke on the Water - Deep Purple) "She sees the hat rack, is she going to touch it?" (Invisible Touch - Phil Collins) and "Wake Up, I Might Sit On You." (Got My Mind Set on You - George Harrison).

4) I recently read an article criticizing George W. Bush for his non-reaction when he was informed about the Twin Towers on 9/11/01. If you recall, he visiting an elementary school in Florida when a White House aide whispered the news in W's ear. He showed no emotion and continued to listen to the story as if nothing happened. I'm curious to know what his critics would have him do at that point. Maybe this?

No, he pretty much went back to D.C. and did this....

5) So, Amy Winehouse died. It's apparently a global travesty and a shock, even though she admittedly binged like fiend and refused to go to rehab. I guess that was part of her appeal to some people. I have listened to some of her work and frankly, I am not impressed in the slightest. What is the big deal? She is being compared to Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison and that's where this music snob draws the line. Amy Winehouse did not define a generation. She is not transcendent. She does not have more hits than years on this Earth. One article I read asked the question, "What will the music world do now?"

        I can think of several questions that I would rather have answered than "what will the music world do without Amy Winehouse?"

        1) What is the square root of 8,743?
        2) How hard is a Chuck Norris roundhouse kick, really?
        3) Do my aviators make my face look small?
        4) Why is the speed limit only 55 MPH on I-285 between Riverside Drive and GA 400?
        5) When is the next "Buy 2 suits, get 7 free with 4 ties and 3 pairs of socks " sale at Jos. A. Bank?

Get Your Greek On : Fifteen Classics

            When I was in college from 1999-2003, I definitely experienced Athens nightlife to the fullest. While I was not out of control, I knew that my four years would fly by and I would soon be paying student loans and mortgages, so I never missed an opportunity for fun. Most of the bars and clubs that I frequented were very similar to one another, and I normally saw the same people as I navigated College Avenue and Broad Street in search of another night filled with possible crazy stories, maybe a fight or two and a couple of phone numbers of the fairer sex stored in my Nokia (which weighed about 2 pounds back then). The places I went were normally filled with Greeks, frat boys and girls in search of basically the same thing as I. Mixing beer and liquor with testosterone and girls meant that any one of those bars could produce all three of the aforementioned events in a manner of minutes. The next morning was spent trying to recall it all over a Wendy’s double stack with a large fry and a sweet tea for $3.18. You could always count on Wendy’s in Athens. There was one every 2 miles, with cheap, delicious burgers and terrible service. As long as those square shaped patties came out hot, I did not care that the waitstaff treated me and everyone else like a dog. Somebody’s gotta cook the fries, my 10^th grade English teacher used to say.

            Another thing you could count on in Athens was music. We are famous for garage rock or alt-rock. REM. The B-52’s. Drive By Truckers. People from all over come to Athens in search of the next great alt-rock band, which could be found at the 40 Watt Club more than likely. I honestly never set foot in the 40 Watt. I was not into the alt-rock scene at all. I noticed that many other Greeks shared the same sentiment, you didn’t see many of them leaving the 40 Watt at 3 AM after a riveting Neutral Milk Hotel show. I have nothing against alt-rock, but it is simply just not my cup of tea. The Greek bars never played that type of music either. The Greek bars in Athens played what the average white Southern, college aged kid wanted to hear. Classic rock with small doses of rap, hair ballads and country thrown into the mix. In fact, when I traveled to other college towns during football season, I noticed that their bars played the same music (with the exception of Nashville).  I realized that some songs are simply staples of college nightlife in the South. There are some songs that you will hear nearly every single time you go out, at any bar, and I bet that it still holds true today. Did this happen intentionally? No. Tradition and familiarity dictated that certain songs would push to the forefront of every bar’s playlist, where they remain, like the rocks of Stonehenge. So, without further delay, here are the fifteen staple songs (with descriptions) that dominated the auditory landscape of college bars back then.

1)      Back in Black by AC/DC: This song has an easy chorus, as it is only one line, conveniently the title of the song. So if you were a drunk freshman and had no clue what the words were to the rest of the song, you could croon these three words and fit right in. This causes many guys to reminisce on their high school football days as every single high school in Georgia apparently played this song as their intro.

2)      The Hurricane by Bob Dylan: This song moderates the normally right wing Greek crowd. It says, “yeah, we feel for the little man, the wronged, the forgotten and all that.” It’s fun to watch people try to sing along, as Bob Dylan is the only person who can sing every word to this one. Plus, Matthew McConaughey entered the Emporium to this song on “Dazed and Confused” with his Bob Marley shirt complete with cigarette pack rolled up in his sleeve. If you find something cooler than that, I’ll kiss your ass, which leads me to…..

3)      If That Ain’t Country by David Allen Coe: If you were in a Greek organization and did not know the words to this song, then you would be flogged with a water hose in the front yard. This song makes frat boys feel tough. The rich guys from the suburbs especially liked this one, it would often elicit discussion about their family’s “huntin land” down in south Georgia, complete with fake Southern twang followed by the lighting of a cigarette.

4)      Brown Eyed Girl by Van Morrison: Typically reserved for the end of the night, when the patronage is smashed out of their gourd. The progression: song plays, guy grabs girl, does a halfass swing dance with her, dips her when Van says “You myyyyyy _______eyed girl” and sings that final line right to her face. I added the blank because in order to be cool, you change the color according to the subject girl’s eye color. You dip her so you can get a closer look at her eyes right before you yell it in her face.

5)      Sweet Child Of Mine by Guns and Roses: The beginning riff will absolutely stir the masses to a frenzy. Lots of wide eyes, followed by “oooooohhhh shit!” and several drunken high fives. The chorus is another easy one, once again, conveniently it is the title over and over.

6)      Ramblin Man by The Allman Brothers Band: Chicks don’t really dig this song, but the guys love it. It’s just a good Southern rock staple that you often hear in the middle of the night between the hair ballads and the rap. This is a song that most guys can sing from beginning to end without screwing it up. You might see a little air guitar on this one and a couple of hats get turned around backwards.

7)      More Than a Feeling by Boston: You want some serious air guitar? Seriously, the mega popular sitcom Scrubs had an entire episode based on an airband comprised of the hospital staff and this song was their finale. That is all you will get with this one, as the words are impossible to sing. Chicks are not into this one either. Often played after 1 AM when the crowd needs a pick-me-up, they have been out since happy hour started at 4 PM anyway.

8)      Dixieland Delight by Alabama: When Napster was popular, I was forced to download this song and had to play it at every party because the female population would lead a full scale revolt if I did not. This is the sorority girl song of the decade. There is no contest. The boys from Fort Payne had no idea how big this one would get, but it’s huge in every bar in Athens.

9)      Ring of Fire by Johnny Cash: This song is big for one reason….it’s cool to like Johnny Cash. It does not have a great sound, poignant lyrics or virtuoso guitar playing. However, it is wildly popular among Greeks, as Johnny Cash represents outlaw behavior with little regard for the consequences, which seems to tie right into the crowd that enjoys him.

10)   Free Fallin’ by Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers: This song can be heard toward the end of the night. It will often result in some groups gathering up, arm-in arm, and swaying while belting out the chorus. It’s a good wind down song that brings people together for one last binge before the night ends.

11)   The Joker by The Steve Miller Band: If there was a song that I could say that I heard EVERY SINGLE time I went out, this would be it. Everybody likes to chime in on “Some people call me Maurice, woo woooooo.” In fact, the entire bar would go silent for a nanosecond so they could all do it in sync. Just like a herd of cattle or a school of fish.

12)   Margaritaville by Jimmy Buffett: See Johnny Cash. Replace outlaw behavior with extreme alcohol and marijuana consumption.

13)   Rosa Parks by Outkast: A rap song that white boys and girls can sing without sounding completely ridiculous.

14)   Livin on A Prayer by Bon Jovi: This song has it all. Easy chorus, serious air guitar potential, the ability to cause large groups of people to get arm and arm and scream to the top of their lungs. If you graduated from UGA and did not know this song, then you never went outside your dorm room after 10 on a weekend.

15)  Just a Friend by Biz Markie: Before the Heineken commercial, this song was big. If you didn’t hear it at the bar, then it would certainly be requested at a house party. I have tried to figure out a way to dance to it, but this one’s actually more famous for the words. “I axed her her name, she said blah blah blah.” You cannot get better than that. It’s also funny to hear white people say it.

Obscure Song You Should Download

The Fixx is one of my favorite 80's bands, they have such a meaningful sound that flies in the face of so many godawful new wave acts that arose from 1980-1985. Every time I hear a song by The Fixx, I just want to pull out my old Lite Brite and make a clown face. The Fixx is known for two songs, "Red Skies" and of course, "One Things Leads to Another," which is on their album from 1983 called "Reach the Beach." (check out the cool album cover on wikipedia) This album also contains another song that I think is even better......."Saved By Zero." Enjoy!

My Poem dedicated to Osama Bin Laden

A Footnote

In 1776, we began as a humble nation,

Born out of rebellion and war’s desolation,

Forged in fire are we,

The land of the brave, the home of the free.

For two hundred thirty five years we’ve toiled,

Often times as tyranny’s foil,

We’ve warred amongst ourselves and still we remain,

The chosen few, at home on the range

We are no strangers to the blade, or to the gun,

From sea to shining sea, from dawn to setting sun,

Our heroes are buried across the world,

On our minds are they, when Old Glory comes unfurled.

We have endured when others have failed,

We are the land from which liberty hailed,

From the city’s bright lights to quiet dirt roads,

Our states are United, our seeds of strength sowed.

On that fateful September day, our lives were changed,

The innocent perished in a coward’s flames,

Underground he remained throughout,

As the ashes of our neighbors burned out.

As in ’41, when our soil was last attacked,

We gathered ourselves and fought back,

Across the globe in our righteous might we came,

To collect a debt in vengeance’s name

Through time and effort, your day has come,

The piper has been paid, and he claimed a hefty sum,

Your life has been extinguished, erased in the blink of an eye

By an anonymous servant of liberty, by his hand you died.

Your followers are dead or in hiding,

For now it is not time they are biding,

Your celebrating streets are silent,

For they were witness to your demise, so swift and violent

You have now joined the rank and file,

Of the tyrannical, the oppressive and reviled,

That met their end by the tip of our blade,

So that everlasting freedom shall be saved.

So, hand on my heart, I salute the fallen

As I will, long after you are forgotten,

For they will live forever in our minds,

While you remain hidden, nothing but one in a long line.

From Bunker Hill to 50,000 names on a Wall,

From Omaha Beach, to the Tower’s Fall,

We honor their memories, by spoken word and story,

As they rest eternally in God’s Glory.

** Dedicated to USN Seal Team Six and the memory of Roy H. Butler, Sr., W.L. Stephens, W.C. Scott and every other American who has served abroad in defense of our nation.

Obscure Song You Should Download

When you think of the New York rap scene, the first names that come to my mind are the big ones....Grandmaster Flash, Notorious B.I.G., LL Cool J, Jay-Z, , Wu Tang, P. Diddy, 50 Cent, Nas and Eric B. and Rakim. There are so many forgotten groups and solo artists that were spawned from the projects in Queens, the Bronx and Brooklyn, you cannot count them all. One of these groups is called "Group Home." They were never extremely popular but they have an awesome song about living life in the NYC streets called "Supa Star." Enjoy!

Georgia Football...In Need of a Culture Change

In the last three years I cannot count how many times I have been asked this question: “Brad, what the HELL is wrong with Georgia football?” It cannot be denied. We are sliding downhill. This realization was culminated by the latest bowl loss to Central Florida, which sent yours truly into a whiskey fueled tirade at Mickey Mantle’s Bar in New York City. Bushmill’s should send me a “Thank You” card for that night. I proved to the bar that their product works, and it works fast.

Here’s some math for you….Our so-called five star players getting their butt handed to them on every down + Our coach opting for a field goal on the three-yard line + Turnovers +Penalties = Me angrily devouring 45 hot wings in the midst of the wave of Bushmill’s that crashed over me when halftime ended. “You Georgia guys take this stuff seriously, huh?” said the waitress. “Ma’am, you have no idea,” was my reply. I tolerated the remainder of the lackluster performance until about 2 minutes left in the 4^th quarter, when they showed George O’Leary laughing on the sidelines. I stuck my fork in my eye and promptly went to Lennox Hill Hospital, the same place where Mickey Mantle went after he tore his knee up on that drain cover at Yankee Stadium. (Just kidding. It was contemplated, though)

This summer has been marked by great recruiting news. The Dream Team has come to campus and created a buzz. These kids are hungry, they want to bring the pride back. However, this is the same story I’ve heard every year since I graduated. “The seniors are stepping up” and “the leaders are in the weight room motivating everybody.” Or my personal favorite, “This is a new year.”  And every year we do the following: 1) blowout 2 nobodies; 2) play Carolina like an intramural flag football team still hungover from last night; 3) sh*t the bed against Florida and Auburn/Tennessee; 4) let Vandy/Ole Miss/Mississippi State play us down to the wire; 5) Bama/LSU is always a tossup, no matter the records; 6) Beat Tech unless they cheat. There’s your 8-5 and 6-7 records. How much longer can the Bulldog Nation stand it? Where did we go wrong? My answers to those questions are as follows: Not long and the Alabama game in 2008.

The Bama game in 2008 was the high water mark for me. We were ranked #1. We had AJ Green. We had Matthew Stafford. We had Knowshon. I have never felt so good about a game in my life. I just knew we would take them to the woodshed and mow through the rest of the league and meet somebody in the BCS Championship (hopefully Ohio State, because I wanted to watch us pummel those smug pricks into the turf). The tailgate was epic. It started at 8 AM and ended at 7:30 PM. I played 75 games of cornhole. Bama people were coming by and hanging out with us, telling me they just hoped to keep it close. Hell, they lost to Louisiana-Monroe last year! I was riding higher than Amy Winehouse on a crack binge in a space shuttle. (Too soon? Oh well.)

Alabama slaughtered us. It was 30-0 before I could get my first spiked Coca-Cola stirred right. Saban had those guys absolutely wired and they came out swinging. We came out flat, sat back on our heels and watched them blow right past us. Our guys looked like they had just failed a quiz in PE….. just clueless. The Bama faithful were going nuts. They handled it well, though. They have won before. Plus, Bama was carrying the torch for the SEC long before UGA woke up, so my hats off to them eternally. It still hurt though, to watch us get embarrassed on national television and cast us into the role of spoiler for the rest of the season. That season was supposed to be ours. We never recovered from that blowout if you ask me.

It’s the culture created by UGA that is killing us, in my opinion. Have you been to a UGA game lately? Our stadium is NOT loud. The South side does not stand up for anything but third downs. I was asked to sit down at EVERY single home game in 2009. The real fans are NOT at the games. They can’t afford it anymore. The donations required and the gameday rules have priced so many good people out of coming to Athens. The school has sold out to bluebloods who treat the games like a social event. I cannot count how many times I have heard comments like this, “Ha, look at those douchebag Florida people in their Tebow jerseys and jean shorts.” As foolish as it may look, at least they give a damn. Florida fans are freakin’ loud. So are LSU, Bama, Auburn and Tennessee. An Auburn guy I know put it this way: “A guy who lays bricks for a living, who cannot wait for Saturday to get here so he can get to the stadium and saves all his money for tickets, food and beer has so much more invested in the actual game.” It’s true! These big money donors pay, but they pay to be pampered. They pay to say, “I sit in the skyboxes.” They refer to the above mentioned brick layer as a “redneck.” Well, give me 10,000 rednecks at the game and keep your $10,000 donation. I bet you have a nice leather couch in your house on Peachtree Battle with a sweet TV. No heat. No rowdy “rednecks” to bother you. Sounds like a good deal to me.

I think this attitude has trickled down to the field. A sense of entitlement. Riding the wave of the 2002-05 seasons, “we are Georgia, so get out of our way.” Bama does not give a rat’s ass about that. Neither does Florida. Apparently, Central Florida did not get the memo either. It’s time to reverse this train, and right now. Flush the “tea and crumpet” toilet, send the fairweathered fans packing and get the real folks back in here. The bricklayers from Blakely. The guy with the lawn care business from Ocilla. The plant workers from Rome, Cartersville, Gainesville, and Calhoun. The farmers from Tifton and Colquitt. True Georgians who get excited about the games, not the prospect of being seen at the game. Change the culture and you will see a new outlook, I guarantee you. We’ll have more guys like Tony Gilbert, Boss Bailey, Terrence Edwards, and David Pollack out there, guys who were dyed in the wool Dawgs that played every down like it was their last. I miss those guys. I think we have the tools to get it done. We have the talent and the coaches (lots of people disagree here, but I think Richt knows what he must do). There is a sense of urgency in 2011 and everybody knows it. Now, let’s clean house and get back to winning! Go Dawgs! (Or I’ll stick a fork in my eye).

Obscure Song You Should Download

Gov't Mule is one of the best bands in the United States. I'll put money on it. Other than 104.9 The Rebel (out of Rome, GA, woohoo!) I have never heard them on the radio once. Headed up by Warren Haynes (#23 on Rolling Stones 100 Greatest Guitarists), this collection of talent can belt out anything....rock, blues, jazz, folk, country, hell....I bet they can rap too. Their albums are amazing, with Haynes usually stealing the show with facemelting solos that would make Duane and Dickey proud. Oh yeah, Haynes played with the Allman Brothers for years, further endearing his music to me. He collaborates with a lot of great acts around the country. For all you Dave Matthews fans, Youtube "Warren Haynes #41." It will blow your mind. Anyhow, the following song is indicative of Gov't Mule's versatility and my personal favorite. It has one of the greatest lines ever...."the circus came to town, I guess it must have stayed." Enjoy "Endless Parade."

Bringing back the 90's....One Song At a Time

Do you remember the 90’s? I sure as heck do. It was a wonderful decade for yours truly. I was too young to care about much, but old enough to be dangerous with my limited knowledge of the world. With my sidespike, Bugle Boys and Trapper Keeper in hand, all I wanted was to play basketball, watch the newest Saved By The Bell and buy CD’s. We all still had that innocence about us; that flicker of hope that made us believe the world would indeed become our oyster one day. No mortgages, student loans or taxes. Just basketball games, Social Studies and hoping we were the first to get the new Jordans when they came out. When I think of those days, I cannot help but smile.

I think of those memories like a tiny pilot light in a heater. Sometimes, it’s so small and blue you think it has gone out. Other times, you turn the knob, and the flame ignites into a glowing orange. Turning that knob can be a problem in this world today, with all the stress and worry placed upon us by the recession and all the speculation that the war on terror will never end, oil prices will never be lowered and finding a job will be harder than peeling a grape. I say to hell with that. I did not go to school and go into all this debt to be miserable. How do I turn the knob to get my pilot light burning again? Music.

When I am having a bad day, I turn on my Ipod and find songs that remind me of good days and times in my life. Many of these memories come from the 90’s. I know that living in the past is not healthy, and that is not what I am doing. When I hear certain songs that take me back to those days, I remember the carefree nature of that kid with the sidespike and it reminds me that the world is not so bad. It helps me simplify things. I take emphasis off my problems and put it to something good, like catching up with an old friend or taking a day just to play outside. It is amazing how a song can do that for you. So, without further adieu, here are my top ten 90’s songs that bring out the kid in me.

#10: “Can’t Stop” by After 7 (1990) – this is an old New Jack Swing song beautifully done by this awesome group, headed up by a young Babyface Edmonds. I loved this sound. It is without frills, it’s just harmonizing vocals and a little dance music mixed together. When I hear this song, I go back to all those basketball camps in my mind. Me and my Barkley jersey, tucked into my Ocean Pacific shorts. The smell of the gym fills my nose and all I care about is making two free throws so I don’t have to run suicides. Great days.

#9: “Only Wanna Be With You” by Hootie and the Blowfish (1995): This song reminds me of a field trip we took back in 8^th grade. We went around the entire state of Georgia in a week. Everybody had Walkmans back then (that weighed 3 pounds) and I guarantee you that every single person had this song blaring in their ears along with the rest of that album. We spent the whole trip playing truth or dare and staying up all night talking to the girls on their hotel room phone.

#8: “Baby-Baby-Baby” by TLC (1992): These girls were great, the Supremes of the 90’s. This song reminds me of the first girl I ever liked and wanted to “go with.” Remember when we would say that? Passing notes between Art and Science, with about five P.S.’s at the end of every one of them. I never kissed her, and barely held her hand, because I was too scared. What a Casanova I was.

#7: “Far Behind” by Candlebox (1993): This one hit wonder really had an impact on me. I thought for awhile that I could be grunge, started acting afflicted and bought a flannel shirt. No, really, I enjoy this song because it reminds me of watching all the kids who went grunge and wondering why they traded their Nikes for Vans and grew those butt-cut hairdos. Now, I see them as adults and it cracks me up to remember them as acne faced “skaters” who stuck it to the Man as thirteen year olds. Good times.

#6: “Wheelz of Steel” by Outkast (1996): The first thirty seconds of this song can be quoted by just about every guy I knew growing up. We used to play this one over and over when we played ball, then hit the pool to cool off. We didn’t care how hot it was. We didn’t care about tests or applying to college right then. We just let Andre and Big Boi get us through another 3-on-3 slugfest and we loved every second of it.

#5: “Lucas With the Lid Off” by Lucas (1995): This was our intro song when I was on the 8^th grade basketball team. I cannot listen to it without remembering my crooked buck teeth (it looked like my tongue was in jail), complete with Starter Jacket and San Diego Chargers hat (hey, I was fairweathered, they went to the Super Bowl and I wanted them to win). After practice, I would sit on the sidewalk with the guys as our moms would pick us up, one by one. The only thing we worried about was whether we would get to wear black socks that season.

#4: “No Rain” by Blind Melon (1992): This mega popular song takes me back to 7^th grade, specifically the Olympics that took place the last few days of school. I think we were China. I dumped my girlfriend (or maybe she dumped me) because we would never see each other over the summer. I mean, I was in Cassville and she was all the way out in Sugar Valley. That’s impossible with a bike. I never kissed her either, but we did hold hands a lot, so I’m 0 for 2 in the chick department. Big pimpin’.

#3: “Cryin” by Aerosmith (1993): This is the Alicia Silverstone bungee jumping video, where she shoots a bird at her boyfriend. This was riveting stuff in 1993 and she was the hottest thing since Kelly Kapowski. I always watched the top ten videos every morning with my Apple Jacks and this video played so many times that it could have had its own channel. Plus nearly everyone I knew had the “Big Ones” and the “Get A Grip” albums in their Jansport backpacks. (yeah, I had the same one for six years!)

#2: “Show Me Love” by Kilo Ali (1997): If everybody had the Aerosmith CD’s in their backpack, then they had Kilo’s album “Organized Bass” in their Kenwood system. This song absolutely marks my high school years. It reminds me of riding around in my truck, trying to decide whether we would cruise Barrett Parkway or go to US Play and which Waffle House we would end up in. Big decisions.

#1: “Right Here, Right Now” by Jesus Jones (1991) – This song had a political message but in my mind, it was a personal message to live life to the fullest. Every time I hear this song, I just come alive. I was only 10 years old, with a flat top and acid washed, tightrolled Jordaches, but I knew this song meant something to me. I used to play this in my old room over and over, especially the first fifteen seconds. I loved that guitar riff and then Mike Edwards singing, “a woman on the radio talks about revolution, when it’s already passed her by…” Awesome.

            You may not like any of these songs and that’s cool. Music is personal for everybody. But remember that when your day is sucking wind and you need a pick-me-up, plug in something that reminds you of better times. You will remember what it was like to smile and not worry about work, money, job security and all the other stresses that life throws at us. Even if it’s just for minute, be a kid again, I promise it helps.

Obscure Song You Should Download

Joe Walsh is a man of many parts. He has played solo, with Barnstorm, the James Gang and of course, with the Eagles. No matter what he is doing, you can always tell when a song has a Joe Walsh influence in it. It's going to be a little rock, a little psychedelic, with interesting lyrics and usually an awesome riff or two. Everybody knows "Life's Been Good" and "Rocky Mountain Way" but very few know this particular song. Off the "So What" album from 1974, I bring you "County Fair." Enjoy.

High grass and Camaros: The story of HOAs and their Uselessness

When I lived in Athens, I lived in a neighborhood that required membership in a Homeowner’s Association. It was not an independent HOA, this was created by and run by residents in charge of their own neighborhood. We would have monthly meetings to discuss neighborhood business and vote on certain issues, usually regarding lawn care, covenants, and the spending of our $85 per month dues. We elected officers to oversee the operation and every resident had an equal say in the goings-on of our little community. Sounds like the epitome of democracy, right? Yeah, if democracy was scrubbing out my eyes with a Brillo Pad, then yeah, it’s democracy.

I call shenanigans on HOA membership in its entirety. I have never been to a 3-hour monthly meeting that accomplished less and drove more wedges between people than an HOA meeting. Neighbors telling neighbors what to do, when to do it and how? Like a lead balloon. You have distinct types of people in the HOA, and when these types must interact and money gets involved, watch out. If you never thought that a retention pond could lead to a physical altercation, think again brother. You want speed bumps on the street to slow down the teenagers? You have to figure out who is going to do it, when they are going to do it, what it will cost, should they be made of asphalt or plastic, how far apart, how many, will it violate city codes and for God’s sake, what about the children? This has to be put to a vote. Cue the Brillo pads to the eyes.

First, you have to understand who you are dealing with. You have the old people in the neighborhood. They have seen it all, been members of HOA’s before and know way more than the “Just out of college, First time homebuyer, Slightly hungover from last night” (JFS) crowd. Then you have the people with kids, people without kids, people who work all the time, people who do not work at all, housewives, people who love dogs, people who hate dogs, the guy who gets drunk and likes to shoot his rifle at 2 AM, the lady who stays jacked on pills and fights her boyfriend at the drop of a hat, the guy in the first house on the right that has a party every Friday (which pisses off the old people, housewives, and people with dogs), and the numerous randoms who pay dues late, have an immobile vehicle in their driveway or tape measure their property line so when a dispute arises (which it will, usually with people with kids, dogs and the guy who has the parties), they are fully prepared.

All of these people have a right to have their voice heard. They also group together with like minded residents to form cliques and form voting blocs. The old people band together against the teenagers. The people with dogs and kids against the rifle shooter and the pillhead. It’s a colossal disaster, which is why I ran for and won the vice-president election in my second year in the neighborhood. I am a glutton for punishment. Plus, I was a member of the JFS crowd and we needed to be represented. The speed bump problem was thrown on me after four months of filibustering. After the last two hour discussion that ended in walkouts, a nasty rift arising between the people who work all the time and the housewives, and three people proclaiming they would quit paying dues, they just said, “Screw it, Stephens, you got it.” I got it done in 48 hours. Called a guy I knew, he installed them at 2:00 one afternoon, and charged us cost of materials plus a few extra dollars for himself. Problem solved. You know why? I didn’t ask permission. I didn’t run it by anyone. I didn’t get out an Excel spreadsheet to compare and contrast the benefits of asphalt vs. plastic. I let a man who knew exactly what we needed install the right speed bumps and I wrote him a check.

Was that the end of it? Nope. Several groups were angry with me that I didn’t present the information to the entire neighborhood to approve the work. Some people thought the speed bumps should have been staggered. Some thought they should be black instead of yellow. The JFS crowd stood and made a gauntlet for me to run through before I was stoned to death like a witch in Salem. That was my first and last time as an HOA member. I never went back to another meeting and we moved about six months later. I still get the lowdown from my fellow JFS (now a part of the people with kids group) members. They’ve fired three different lawn care companies, it’s been discovered that our back property line has been encroached by ten feet and the cops go to the pillhead’s house once a week now, which really angers the old people, the housewives and the property line guy. Aaaaah, memories. Now I live in a ‘hood with an HOA run by a property management company. They issue the rules. They get the grass cut. They fine people for breaking covenants. There are no meetings or officers. We have no say-so in anything and it’s freakin’ beautiful. Totalitarianism at its finest.

I could not imagine an HOA back home in Cassville. First of all, nobody would attend the meetings. People in Cassville are not interested in what you think about the appearance of their property. We are going to have an immobile vehicle in the yard, so deal with it. In fact, this is a requirement to live on some streets. Every guy has a car they are “gonna fix up one day and that baby gonna run like a damn top.” This is usually a Camaro or a Mustang. All it needs is new paint, wheels, a windshield, all brakes replaced, head gaskets, odometer, radio, gear shift, new pistons, axles and a passenger seat (which was taken and used as a tailgating chair at Talladega). It’s like the Building Fund at the church, nobody knows its true purpose, but it will always be there.

Second, lawn care is optional. If you live a mile from your nearest neighbor, why should you care about his property value? What if we like six foot stalks of polk salat in our yard? It’s better than growing corn in the front yard, which some people are apt to do. That can be dangerous though. After a particularly violent thunderstorm the night before, I was working at the store the next morning and listening to everybody’s stories. One man, who had his corn planted in his front yard, informed me that the “got dam storm blowed his got dam corn in the got dam road.” Imagine having an HOA on that one. The thoroughfare covered in ears of Silver Queen. The horror. Let’s vote on it.

Third, and most important, is the dues issue. $85 a month. That’s about five cases of Budweiser. That’s two cartons of Marlboros. That is gas money to get to Panama City Beach (pronounced Pan-a-maw and dropping the City and Beach completely, of course). We have better things to do with our money, clearly. We’ll keep our cars rusty, our grass knee high, and our vices.... you can have your HOA.

Obscure Song You Should Download

The Allman Brothers Band was formed in Daytona Beach, Florida and forged in the studios of Capricorn Records in Macon, Georgia. Along with his brother Duane, Gregg Allman recruited a group of musicians that were able to mix elements of rock, blues, country and folk music and create a sound that would come to signify Southern rock. In fact, Gregg said it all when he told VH1 that saying "Southern rock" is redundant, because it was created by us, so it's like saying "rock rock." Anyhow, with all their mega hits, they also generated dozens of songs that are lost to the radio for various reasons, usually because they like to jam for minutes at a time. This song is my favorite ABB song of all time, and I have never heard it played on the radio. Gregg wrote it and Duane slays the slide guitar in an awesome solo. Enjoy "Dreams," y'all.

Five Realizations for This Week

1)                      If whale sharks decided to go medieval on us, we’d be toast. I could see a diver on GPTV swimming alongside a whale shark, with David Attenborough narrating, “And this lovely creature with all it’s size and power, is positively harmless, eating only phytoplankton…” and then it turns around and swallows the diver whole. Years of marine research down the toilet and the big guy over at the Georgia Aquarium becomes 10,000 pounds of steak.

2)                   Speaking of animals, Bangladesh natives are the wildebeests of the human world. You ever notice how wildebeests are always the #1 choice of predators everywhere? Lions, tigers, cheetahs, woodpeckers….you name it. Wildebeests are mercilessly slaughtered by every living thing that lives and breathes in the jungle. It’s almost like they plan it. “Hmmmmm, here is a muddy pond with absolutely no escape route right next to this pride of lions….over here everybody!” says their leader.

When a disaster hits Bangladesh, it is freakin’ biblical every time. Earthquakes, landslides, typhoons, gas price increases…on to that celestial shore they go, by the thousands. Call me insensitive, but the numbers don’t lie.

3)                   Everybody in northwest Georgia believes they have Cherokee (pronounced Char-kee) blood in them. “Hell, my daddy’s great grandpa was on the Trail of Tears and took a wrong turn and ended up in Adairsville (pronounced Dars-Vull).” It could be the whitest redhead on the block and they would still claim it. It’s a badge of honor for us. And to return to the homeland in North Carolina to pay homage (also known as compulsive gambling), is a rare treat.

As for me, I’m 1/32 Cherokee…no really, I looked it up!  =)

4)                        I’m glad that “pre-worn” cowboy hats are fading from existence. I blame Kenny Chesney for this ridiculous fad, with his fake pectoral muscles and shellace. (shell necklace). He was so much cooler when he was fat, wearing flannel and singing about East Tennessee. Instead, he became some fraudulent Jimmy Buffet clone and he started wearing a “pre-worn” cowboy hat. The people who participated in this laughable haberdashery along with him were about as far from a real cowboy as you can get. If this were Star Wars, Kenny Chesney would be the Emperor and his hat would be the Death Star, sucking in one more moron with it’s tractor beam. Join my Rebellion. Take off the hat. You want real country? Get one of your granddad’s old Faron Young albums and play “Hello Walls.” It’s more country than a dirt road covered in fried chicken with a river of Jack Daniel’s running beside it.

5)                          Although I am on the Paleo Diet, watching everything I eat and drink, counting calories and measuring protein like a mad scientist….I still want to go to the Varsity and gobble down two hot dogs all the way with a the biggest Frosted Orange in history. That sh*t is delicious.

Obscure Song You Should Download

Formed in England in 1967, Traffic is one of the most underrated bands of all time. Their uniquely fused music is unlike any other band you will ever hear, one song will have saxophones and flutes, the next will have a Mellotron and a mandolin. Steve Winwood's voice is the perfect addition to this amalgamation of jazz, folk, psychedelic and progressive rock. They have some songs that have notoriety these days, mainly "The Low Spark of High Heeled Boys" and their rendition of "Feelin' Alright." Other than that, you will rarely hear them unless your Dad has a sentimental moment and yanks out his old record collection. If he does, he probably will bring out this album and you need to give "Freedom Rider" a holler. I promise you won't be disappointed.

Scattered, Smothered and Covered Up in Traffic

         

God Help Us

   Living in the Atlanta area for the last three years, I have been exposed to some of the worst traffic in the nation. The mega growth in the 80’s and 90’s created a metropolis with a handful of bedroom communities that now total over 5 million in population. Some experts predicted that by 2025, Atlanta and Chattanooga would be one gigantic megalopolis. At one point in 2003, Henry and Forsyth Counties were in the top 5 for population growth in the nation. These counties were mainly rural and the owners of the land were happy to sell their acreage for a premium price and move to St. Simons Island, a popular destination for the rich and shameless here in Georgia. Subdivisions were constructed in record time, red lights were installed on what used to be dirt roads, and mortgages were thrown around like candy. This property was prime because it was close enough to Atlanta to get to work but far enough away that new residents did not experience the hustle and bustle of city life. With this influx of human beings, the interstates in the metro Atlanta area have become parking lots from 3:00 – 8:00 in the afternoon on weekdays. It is absolutely maddening.

Once, when I was in college, it took four hours to get from Athens to Cassville.  A water main busted on one highway in Cobb County and that sealed the fate of the entire metro area. See, since they are all connected, it set off a giant chain reaction. I turned my truck off on I-285 and sat on the tailgate for 45 minutes. The water main that busted was thirty miles away. The same thing happens when people have fender benders, flat tires, the DOT is surveying land, or a squirrel is slain in the right lane and its lifeless body remains on the interstate. Everybody has to stop and gawk like they have never seen a dented quarter panel.

"Y'all Ain't Doin' That Right"

            The DOT is another issue. Have you ever watched them? One guy operates a jackhammer while ten others stand around smoking cigarettes telling that guy what he is doing wrong. They take three hour lunches. They don’t work when it rains or snows. They get paid handsomely to do this. They also decide to “work” when it is the least convenient time. Need a road paved? I-85 and Pleasantdale? That is in Gwinnett County, Georgia, population 700,000. Let’s start at 2:30 pm on Friday! Here come the orange and white barrels for thirteen miles, a speed reduction, a closed left lane and forty five steamrollers, forty two of which will likely never move. Remember folks, you paid for those steamrollers too. Then we all get to sit in traffic for hours while one guy works for ten minutes and takes a break. Another guy cranks a steamroller, realizes that the wind picked up 10 mph and switches it off, claiming that the potential erosion of topsoil supercedes the necessity of his labor (well, imagine a Georgia twang and more four letter words). Then a “bossman” comes out, stands around surveying the situation for about fifteen minutes, talks to some guy named Randy on a Nextel phone and then leaves for the rest of the day. All of this worthlessness takes about two weeks and completely destroys the afternoon commute.

            The installation of red lights is another sore spot for me. I have no idea what person(s) are responsible for the decision making process, but they are right there with the guy who thought it was wise to bring kudzu to the United States and the other guy who thought the Ford Edsel should be sold to the public. These are the guys who take four hour lunches, are never in their offices and their phones always go to voice mail. In Bartow County, there are several intersections that desperately need red lights. You know, the ones where if a wreck happens, the EMT’s will have to remove the victims from the asphalt with a sponge. There must be an unwritten rule, a magic number of deaths and injuries that must occur before the DOT will act. On the contrary, there are some red lights that are inexplicable. The ones where you could literally get out of your car, build a bonfire and dance around it in a loincloth and be back in your car before the light changed and nobody would see you.  In fact, last year, a red light was removed in downtown Cartersville because so many people complained about its uselessness. When have you ever heard a red light being removed? It had been installed only a year before, in an area that had not changed in years, replacing the four way stop that was working just fine. Meanwhile, another motorist is torn apart crossing five lanes of traffic by another going motorist going 60 miles per hour downhill on Main Street between Starbucks and Publix. Leave it up to the Georgia DOT.

 The Untimely Death of my Waffle House

  I also blame the DOT for the dilapidation and decline of my exit on I-75. For years, the exits on I-75 were in numerical order. Exit 1 was at Lake Park, Georgia near the Florida line and the last exit was in Rocky Face, Georgia, on the Tennessee state line. My exit was #127. I call it “my exit” because I spent so much time at the Waffle House there, that I actually became a squatter. Seriously, I could have challenged ownership of that area on grounds of adverse possession and probably had a fighting chance.

That Waffle House is one of many sources of awesome memories from my childhood. I remember one night, my parents, my brother and I decided to make it a Waffle House night and crammed ourselves in a booth at about 9 PM. The place was absolutely full of people and most of them appeared to drive a truck for a living. You can always tell a truck driver apart from others, they always have that “been up all night” look. That is not an affront to truckers at all, that is a hard job and absolutely necessary to our economy. Anyhow, we had just ordered when one of the truckers went to the jukebox put in one single quarter. When you only put in one quarter, you already know what you are going to play. He entered the three digit code and returned to his seat with his coffee. Seconds later, a sad saxophone and Bob Seger’s raspy voice began to play over the speakers. “Turn the Page” is a staple of Waffle House jukeboxes everywhere. As Bob belted out the first few words, the truckers all seemed to tap their feet or nod their heads in time. Before we knew it, as the chorus came on, they were all singing along to the top of their lungs, especially the line, “there I am, up ooooooooon the stage!” Men who did not know each other, from different states and walks of life, were singing Bob Seger together in a Waffle House in Cassville, Georgia on a summer night at 9:15 PM. As the song ended, they all laughed and shook hands and high fived. Everybody finished their meals and went their separate ways with coffees to go. It was a nice moment.

That particular jukebox was wonderful. I had a lineup that I played each time I went. “Come Monday” by Jimmy Buffett; “Hold on Loosely” by .38 Special; “Hotel California” by The Eagles; “Ramblin’ Man” by The Allman Brothers and whatever the best country song on the board was at the time. It was often a George Strait song. The 90’s had some good country that was popular, and on the contrary, there were also some god-awful travesties that found their way onto that jukebox. One of which was “Indian Outlaw” by Tim McGraw. Lots of people thought this song was great, judging by the number of plays it received. I think this may be the worst song ever. My usual waitress, Sharon, thought it sucked too. When it would come on, she would roll her eyes and take a cigarette break. Not only were the words to the song unfathomably ridiculous, he mixed in a few lines from “Cherokee Indian Reservation” by Paul Revere and the Raiders to go ahead and insure that the song would be terrible. I guess anything worth doing, it’s worth doing right. Congratulations, Tim, for ruining my hash browns and coffee for at least six months in 1995.

Back to the DOT, they decided in 1998 that our exit numbers should be changed. They were going to number them according to the mileage between each exit to help travelers gauge their distance and time more efficiently. Soon thereafter, crews of men were all over I-75 taking down the old signs and replacing them with shiny new green markers with our new numbers. I should have gone out there and offered them a hundred bucks for our sign. We went from #127 to #296, which meant we were exactly 295 miles from Exit #1 in Valdosta. Consequently, our exit also became a target for new truck stop construction. A Pilot station and a TravelAmerica station opened within months. A Comfort Inn, a seedy bar and an adult video store followed. The entire area went downhill quick. My Waffle House, which had stood in the same spot since 1974, serving our community faithfully all those years, closed. They could not compete with 24 hour Taco Bell, Burger King, Subway and McDonald’s, a recession, and the health food craze that scared off fringe customers. The building now sits, boarded up, with weeds in the parking lot and graffiti on the plywood over the windows. Every now and then, a broken down car will be sitting in the parking lot. When I first saw it, I could not believe my eyes. I called my brother in Oxford, Mississippi to deliver the sad news. He sat silently on the other end of the phone for a good ten seconds. He and I spent a lot of time there, especially when I started driving, and now it was gone. It all started when the DOT changed the exit numbers. We had our own number and we were just fine. When we became a mere mile marker, the whole thing went to hell in a handbasket. The county cops basically live out there now, serving arrest warrants at the cheap hotels, where drug dealers pay for rooms by the week so they can peddle their poison to the other trash that live there. The DOT had to install two red lights due to the heavy traffic on the exit, but they were too lazy to install left turn lanes to get back onto the Interstate, so when a tractor trailer turns left to get back on I-75 at the usual snail’s pace, you completely miss the green light.

So, in short, prior to 1998, we had three gas stations (American owned), a Red Carpet Inn, a Waffle House and no red lights. In 2010, we have seven gas stations(who knows who owns any of them now?), a Red Carpet Inn and a Comfort Inn, a bar, an adult video store, Taco Bell, Burger King, McDonalds, Subway, Popeye’s, Country Pride Restaurant (the TravelAmerica 24-hour joint), two red lights and no Waffle House. Progress? Not hardly. All it has brought is the disappearance of an institution, traffic, crime and a collection of low rent people strung out on drugs who spend their welfare checks on lottery tickets and beer. The DOT can kiss my scattered, smothered and covered ass….127 times.

           

           

Obscure Song You Should Download

This is a 1962 collaboration between John Coltrane and Duke Ellington called "In A Sentimental Mood." It mixes Ellington's piano and Coltrane's saxophone perfectly, considering the name of the song. There are no words, but it does not need words, as this song will make you think simply by listening to its peaceful sound. It reminds me of being in New York, sitting in a quiet bar, watching the snow fall outside and people walking by when I was there over New Year's. All I could think was, "life is pretty dang good." Thanks John and Duke, you are geniuses.

Welcome to Northwest Georgia...Part One

“How y’all doin?”

This is a phrase that means something in northwest Georgia. It can be spoken to many people, or just one, but it conveys a sentiment that your fellow man cares about you and yours. We used to greet people this way at Cass Grocery. Our customers would respond in many different ways:

“Fine! How y’all?”

“Good! How’s your momma ‘n them?”

“If I was any better, I couldn’t stand it.”

“Workin’ my ice (“ass” to the rest of the world) off, how you?”

The conversation would continue from there. You could find out so much from a person in those few minutes. Add those up over years and years of service and you get to know a whole hell of a lot (another northwest Georgia saying) about somebody. That’s what I loved about being there, the camaraderie of the people and their general kindness toward us and their appreciation. When I won the countywide spelling bee in 5^th grade, I got more pats on the back than I could count. “That boy right thar….he gonna be somebody,” I heard one man say to his brother. Unlike many places I’ve seen, people were actually happy for your success because they took de facto ownership of it. I even find myself claiming others successes, you wouldn’t find a happier person for Richard Samuel (Running Back at UGA from Cassville) than I…well, maybe his momma, but I digress. I assume that most small towns in northwest Georgia resembled our little hamlet.

What do I mean when I say “northwest Georgia?” In my mind, it is all the counties that border Alabama from Haralson to Dade, from Dade to Murray County, from Murray down to northeast Cherokee County, from there across Bartow and Polk and all that lies in between, with the inclusion of north and west Cobb County. (Cobb, contrary to popular opinion, is not all subdivisions and Land Rovers. Trust me.) When I have ventured into other metropolises, like Cedartown, Rome, Summerville, Dalton, Chatsworth, Ellijay or Calhoun or if you get into the outer reaches, like Fairmount, Flintstone, Felton, Esom Hill, Ball Ground, Eton, and the like….you get the same kind of person that I grew up with.

I speak with authority on these topics because of my years at the store. I was an archaeologist in Air Jordans and I loved every second of it. I’m proud of the fact that we were one of the last full service gas stations around. I’m also glad because walking out to those gas pumps gave me the first glimpse into life in our little corner of the universe. It was a circus out there. Somebody would pull up and my Dad would holler, “Got one on the front!!” Out I would go into this…..

 I had people pay me for $5.00 in gas in unrolled pennies. I had a guy pull up one morning at 7:30, still drunk from the night before, and get $0.27 in gas so he could get to Cedar Creek Road two miles away and go to bed. I’ve had people get gas in milk jugs, water bottles, paint cans, and once, in a Thermos. I had a guy get $3.00, pay with a twenty dollar bill and tell me to keep the change because it was Christmas Eve. There were rags, newspapers, sticks, and grocery bags for gas caps. There have been wasps (pronounced “waw-st-es” by real southerners), spiders, dirt daubers and hornets making their home under the gas door. There were Hefty bags, old dresses, plywood and cardboard for various windows on the vehicle. I have seen more mismatched rims, hubcaps and tires than I can count. I have seen Mustang hubcaps on a Camaro, Explorer hubcaps on Pontiacs, Acura hubcaps on Chevrolets, and many with no hubcaps at all because they sold them to a pawn shop. There were coat hangers holding hoods down, bungee cords keeping hatchbacks from flying open, missing mufflers to make the car sound louder, and some leaked oil so badly that I had to put cat litter down to keep somebody from throwing a cigarette on it and burning the place down. Bumper stickers and personal license plates were an artform. There were airbrushed masterpieces from Panama City or Gatlinburg, such as “Southern By the Grace of God,” “Misty and Dwayne 4-Ever,” and “Smart Ass White Boy.” There were classy stickers like “Eatin Ain’t Cheatin,” “Redneck Bitch” and Calvin pissing on everything from Ford and Chevrolet to the IRS and the President. I have had to pump gas with the handle sideways, upside down or at a snail’s pace because some of the older model vehicles could not accommodate the gas any other way.

This is the tip of the iceberg. You could see all of this in one day. Once I finished pumping gas, I was expected to bag groceries, make sandwiches, hot dogs and barbeque, monitor the hardware, keep the coolers stocked and make sure the cigarettes were prominently displayed. The cigarettes were a huge deal. I mean, paramount to the success and failure of a customer’s day. Essentially, they are twenty pieces of paper filled with tobacco attached to a fiberglass filter (or not). We sold almost any brand you can imagine. There are more kinds of cigarettes than vehicles on the road. Just listening to Dad order them on the phone would give you a seizure. “Yes, I need three cartons of Parliament Ultra Light Menthol 100’s in a Box.”  Ridiculous. If you measured the store’s size and compared it to the cigarette rack, I would say it took up 1/10^th of the entire store. The Surgeon General says cigarette smoking can cause lung cancer? Heart Disease? Low Birth Weight? Ha. We follow a different creed here in Cassville. We are of the “Hey, Smoke Up Johnny!” mold. One man named Doc used to buy a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon and four packs of Winstons every single day (except Sunday, when he would buy beer from a bootlegger). He was seventy years old, what did he care? Wildly enough, Doc probably weighed 140 pounds soaking wet. I have no idea how that little man was able to smoke and drink that way, but he did.

When a customer becomes a regular and they are a smoker, you immediately learn their preferences. Sometimes, orders get cancelled and you are out of a certain brand. A few people make do and just get something similar. However, most people are loyal to one brand and by God, they stick with it. Seriously, they may be more loyal to a cigarette than their own family. When we were out of a brand somebody wanted, that’s when the three act play would begin.

Act One: (denial)

First, the customer, we will call him “Jerry”, approaches and orders.

“Gimme a pack of Marlboro Red’s in a box.”

You then deliver the world-crushing news. “Sorry Jerry, they marked ‘em out on us, can you use something else? I got ‘em in a soft pack.”

You see the dread. You witness the perspiration trickle down their temple. Hats come off. Fingers run through hair. “Oh man.” They take a deep breath and look down at the floor. “Are you serious?” they ask.

Act Two: (acceptance)

After a few seconds of thought and meditation, their eyes meet yours.

“Well, I can’t smoke them Lights or them Mediums, no flavor. Them soft packs gets crushed too easy.”

The decision making process kicks into gear. You can hear their thoughts. They are pondering the trip to Wal Mart. You gotta save them from themselves at this point, “Jerry, I got Basics, they are cheaper and they are in a box too.” He shakes his head, “Basics ain’t worth a shit, it’s like smoking cardboard.” They give you the sad look. The look of a child who just got the kybosh on a trip to Six Flags. Cue another forlorn glance at the empty rack where the Marlboro Red’s once were.

Act Three: (overcoming obstacles)

Jerry is now craning his neck, pawing his chin, pondering his next move. This is the single most important decision of the day. There is no margin for error. One wrong choice and all hell will break loose. Another deep breath. He examines the cigarette rack and it’s 75,000 choices. A sad sigh exits the nasal cavity.

“Awright, gimme a pack of Newports.”

A menthol cigarette that is more expensive, the sensible choice. I shrug and lay them on the counter. Jerry pays and immediately starts slamming the pack into his palm. You must pack the tobacco or it does not smoke right, they say. I did not know smoke did anything but rise into the stratosphere and deplete the ozone layer. You must apologize to Jerry for being out of his brand, though.

“Awwww, that’s alright, I smoked these when I was in the Navy. I had to switch though. Man, these goddamned things’ll kill you!”

He chuckles and leaves. The day has been saved. Wal Mart lost four cents.

Welcome to Northwest Georgia.