Country on the Rocks

At this point in my life I’ve come to realize there are some things I’m better off doing without.  Like the metric system, ‘all things science,’ anything written by Fyodor Dostoyevsky and Cracker Jacks® (Spoiler alert: Diverticulitis takes all the fun out of peanuts and popcorn). 

A few others: Trail running, tents (camping, circus, revival—what they’re used for is irrelevant; I just have no use for tents), people who use ‘my bad’ in place of ‘I’m sorry’ and waiting in lines.

One more: Country music.

Don’t get me wrong.  In the early 1980’s I made an honest effort to like country music.  It was right after Urban Cowboy was released and long neck beer, cowboy boots and Mickey Gilley were all the rage.  Although I never bought myself a ten-gallon hat (Instant Fact: They fill up with water when it rains) I did make a few forays into Atlanta’s country music scene; namely Mama’s Country Showcase and West Texas Music Club, two country music bars that were doing quite well at the time.  Once I even spent eight seconds holding on for dear life on the back of one of those mechanical bulls, thanks to a potentially deadly combination of peer pressure, challenged manhood and liquid courage.  I held on for the full eight seconds, but I couldn’t scratch my nose with my own hands for three days afterwards.

In spite of those nights on the town trying to force myself to like country music, it just never ‘took.’ (I did, however like Always on My Mind by Willie Nelson.  Still do, in fact.  Catchy tune sung by that distinctive/haunting voice in a Neil Young kind of way).  The best word I can use to describe the sound of country music is…Scratch that thought.  Let me just say that for me country is the metric system of the music world; that way nobody gets their feelings hurt. 

So now that my quest to enjoy a wad of chewing tobacco, rope goats and feel comfortable in a pair of tight-fitting, boot-hugging blue jeans is nothing more than a distant (and by ‘distant’ I actually mean ‘traumatizing’) memory I did something I should have tried 30 years ago: I went to a country music concert. 

Let me explain.

Cindy was out of town when I found out the Zac Brown Band was playing a charity concert at the Southern Ground Amphitheater (one of our favorite venues for a concert) in Fayetteville, Georgia on October 30—a ‘Trick or Treat Tailgate’ concert for the first 1,500 who purchased tickets.  I gave Cindy a call and told her about it and she—without hesitation and despite the $100 charge for general admission ($200 for reserved seating) said she wanted to go.  Her friend Jan wanted tickets for her and her husband Chuck as well.

So why did Zac Brown become ‘the chosen one?’  Several reasons:

·      Cindy says she likes his music (‘It’s not really country,’ according to her). 

·      Cindy and I love eating at his restaurant in Senoia, the Southern Ground Social Club.  The food is absolutely amazing and the employees do a great job and seem to have a lot of fun.  And it shows.     

·      The proceeds for the concert were going to charity (and one we both support, Zac’s ‘passion project’ Camp Southern Ground.  His dream is ‘that children of all abilities will have an opportunity to experience the magic of the outdoors.’  The man has his head on straight, he does. 

·      Zac Brown is one of Cindy’s customers at her Branch and Vine store in Peachtree City, which is more than likely the reason she told me his music is ‘not really country.’

·      Cindy was sooo impressed with Zac and his family (wife and four daughters, each one a wee bit taller than the next) the first time they met. 

·      Cindy and Zac talked about selling her products (oil and vinegar) at the Southern Ground Social Club, and once he reads the rave review I’m about to write it will be a done deal (right, Zac?).

So on the eve of Halloween the four of us took our lawn chairs to Zac’s amphitheater where we dined on Zac’s food (his restaurant had a booth), listened to Zac and his band and contributed money towards Zac’s passion project (Zac should be having his attorneys draw up an agreement with Branch and Vine any second now).

The opening band was…well, let’s just say they played for about 45 minutes while we stood in line to order our food.  I can’t vouch for the quality of the band, but I can tell you my ears didn’t start bleeding so I took that as a good sign.

The Zac Brown Band took the stage around 8 p.m.  With the exception of our party of four, it seemed everyone else in the amphitheater knew the first couple of songs by heart.  They were all standing, singing and clapping while the four of us were sitting, shivering (the amphitheater is an outdoor venue, and the temperature was 48 degrees…and falling) and acclimating ourselves to the weather as well as the music of Zac Brown.  (I tried to condition myself a few days prior to the concert by listening to a couple of Zac’s music videos; as was the case 30 years ago, this particular experiment didn’t ‘take’ either.)

But then something amazing happened.  Zac talked about his early exposure to classic rock and one of his all-time favorite albums, Dark Side of the Moon, which led to his cover version of Comfortably Numb.  OK, now we’re on to something.

Next?  Metallica’s Enter Sandman.  The best part of the song was when five (five!) guitars were all wailing at the same time (and no I didn’t include you, Mister Fiddle Guy because I don’t even consider Charlie Daniels when I’m counting guitars) and I suddenly realized I was no longer chilly but rather about to break out in a sweat.  This band was bringing the heat!

A few more country songs followed (I took a breather and sat in my lawn chair)—one sounded sort of Boz Scaggs-ish that as far as I’m concerned is never a bad thing—before Zac’s version of the Marshall Tucker Band’s Can’t You See filled the cool October air.  The four of us were back on our feet, joining the other 1,496 in attendance. 

Then the finale, a song ‘written by a genius on so many levels’ as Zac said an instant before the first cords of Bohemian Rhapsody were struck.  Zac and his band ‘done good’ with Freddie Mercury’s opus, a long song that ended way too soon…at least as far as I was concerned.  I don’t think I was alone in that thought.

Zac ended the evening by thanking everyone for supporting the band and their music, the community and most importantly Camp Southern Ground.

Did you ever hear the phrase ‘expect the worse and hope for the best?’  Yeah, it was that kind of a night.  Especially for someone who wants the name of his music trivia team to be ‘No Country for Old Man.’

Cindy was right about Zac Brown: He’s a really good guy who believes in and tries to do all the right things.  That makes it easy to support him in his endeavors.  While I may not be rushing out to buy a Zac Brown CD anytime soon, I’ll continue to patronize his restaurant and look forward to the grand opening of his passion project.

As for the night, I can honestly say that it was the best country music concert I’ve ever attended. 

Swear to God. 

  

Kid in the Hall

Given the choice between a chocolate candy bar and a tomato, he’d opt for the healthier choice and grab the vegetable…and ask for seconds.   

Given the choice between spending the day at the circus or a two-hour trip to the museum, dinosaur bones and prehistoric cave art trump red-nosed clowns and high-flying acrobats every time. 

Given the choice between sitting on the couch to watch cartoons or going for a run, he’d rather lace up his tiny running shoes even though it would be much simpler to slip on a pair of tiny alligator bedroom slippers.

If I’ve learned one thing about my grandson Krischan, it’s that he is prone to say or do the exact opposite of what most people would expect.  You can include me in that category, even though by now I should know better.  My wife Cindy and I took Krischan to Atlanta’s brand new College Football Hall of Fame—through a special offer from the Atlanta Gator Club—and expected his tolerance level for ‘all things football’ to be somewhere in the neighborhood of four or five minutes.  As our tour was scheduled to last two hours, our apprehension about taking Krischan with us is understandable.

A little background: Krischan has been exposed to ‘all things Gator’ since the day he was born.  I won’t go into detail but let’s just say everything from his first onesie to his first stuffed gator to his first sippie cup has been orange and blue.  He’s been doing the Gator ‘chomp’ since he was two.  He can instantly recognize the Gator football team when they’re playing on TV.  And yes, he can yell ‘Go Gators!’ at the top of his lungs with the best of us.  The boy was born to bleed orange and blue.

But two solid hours of NBF (nothing but football)?  Was it too much for a boy not yet six years old?  Let’s find out, shall we?

4:00 – 4:05 p.m.                    We met our tour guide Terry LeCount, former NFL player and more importantly former Florida Gator.  Terry was the quarterback at Florida when Cindy and I were students there.  In fact Terry played quarterback in high school at Raines, one of the archrival schools in Jacksonville, Florida of Duncan U. Fletcher, the alma mater of Cindy and I.  How did my high school fare in football against Terry’s alma mater?  Let’s just say the Raines mascot was a Viking and the Fletcher mascot was a Senator: Now imagine the two of them squaring off.  Yeah, it was ugly.  Truth be known Fletcher Senior High was located at the beach and in a perfect world our school mascot would be Jeff Spicoli, the surfer dude from Fast Times at Ridgemont High (‘All I need are some tasty waves, a cool buzz and I’m fine.’).  

4:05 – 4:20 p.m.                    We listened to our special guest Danny Wuerffel, former NFL player, former Florida Gator and former Heisman Trophy Winner (1996).  Danny led the Gators to four consecutive SEC Championships (1993 – 1996) and a National Championship in his senior year.  Danny told some old war stories from his days playing for the ‘Evil Genius,’ former Florida Head Coach Steve Spurrier.  Although I’ve heard the stories before I still find myself laughing—probably because Danny’s impersonation of Spurrier is so spot-on accurate with his rat-a-tat delivery and scrunched up nose—that I can practically envision Steve himself up on the stage.  My favorite story from Danny’s repertoire (I’m paraphrasing here):

I was a freshman at Florida and pretty nervous playing in front of such a large crowd for the first time.  I called a basic pass play that allowed the receiver a multitude (I counted seven as Danny spoke) of variations in the route he would be running.  As I called the signals at the line I audibled to announce which of the routes the receiver should run.  I threw the football exactly where the receiver should have been, but the receiver turned ‘in’ when he should have turned ‘out’ and the pass was intercepted.  I was really afraid to go to the sideline because I feared what Coach would have to say; I was just hoping he realized the interception was the receiver’s mistake and not mine.  I ran up to him and said ‘sorry, coach’ and he replied back: ‘It’s not your fault, Danny.  It’s mine…for putting you out there in the first place.’

After Danny spoke we had the opportunity to meet him, but seeing how long the line was we opted for seeing a 10-minute video of what it’s like on the sideline, in the huddle and on the field of an NCAA football game.  Krischan seemed to like it because there was a fair share of Gator players throughout the film.  Afterwards we returned to stand in a still fairly long line to meet Danny.  Once we got to the head of the line Cindy got Danny’s autograph on two posters we picked up on the way in (a cartoon alligator chasing after a cartoon bulldog—perfect since the annual Florida-Georgia game was only seven days away).

Krischan did Cindy one better.  Danny picked him up, sat Krischan down next to him on the side of the stage, posed for a couple of photographs and spoke to him directly for a good 90 seconds.  Looking at the photographs later, you would have thought Krischan was sitting on a nail rather than sitting next to a former Heisman Trophy Winner.  Danny was fighting a winless battle trying to coax a ‘Go Gators!’ out of him. 

4:20 – 5:20 p.m.                    This was where Krischan’s patience was put to the test.  We were touring the actual Hall of Fame.  (When Krischan saw all of the exhibits he asked me if we were now in the ‘dinosaur moo-zeum.’)  Surprisingly there were plenty of things that appealed to him (most of it being the state-of-the-art interactive stations sprinkled throughout the hall).  One of the stations took a photo of Krischan’s face, displayed it on a screen and allowed him to paint it in orange, blue and an assortment of Gator logos.  Another allowed him to ‘measure up’ against a 6’6” Auburn football player (Krischan was a hair under 4’).  The most interesting station were large touch-screen devices suspended from the ceiling that allowed you to revisit the legends of yesterday via historic footage, interviews and testimonials.  Well, at least they looked interesting—between Cindy and I we have less technological know-how than most five-year olds so we were never able to navigate our way through the screen but we did manage to get an error message…  on a computer screen that everyone else in the Hall didn’t seem to have a problem with.  I can’t remember the wording on the error message, but it said something like this:

Remove your hand from the screen and walk away before you cause any irrevocable damage to this system.  May we suggest giving your grandson a chance?

5:20 – 5:45 p.m.                    A small artificial-turf playing field is located on the first floor of the Hall.  Krischan couldn’t wait to get to it (he could see it from both the second and third floors where we had spent the first 80 minutes).  This should be fun.    

Activity #1: Throw three footballs at three holes in a large net from a distance of 20 yards.  Translation for a five-year old:  Throw three footballs with all your might in the general direction of the man in uniform standing beside the net, using two hands if the football is too large for one hand (it most definitely was).  Krischan made three crisp two-handed floaters—with all his might--to the man in uniform who took the ball each time and slammed it into each of the three holes in the net, completing the finest and perhaps only trio of alley-oops in the history of football.

Activity #2: Run shoulder-first into a blocking sled, weave through eight tackling dummies and catch a pass while falling into a large foam cushion.  Translation for a five-year old: Do what is necessary to avoid the blocking sled, run straight through eight tackling dummies and dive into a large foam cushion while a perfectly-thrown pass floats over your head.

Activity #3: Kick a 20-yard field goal from a tee.  Translation for a five-year old: Run towards the football and do whatever is necessary to distinguish whatever you do to it from anything you might do to a soccer ball.  This one was doomed from the start.  Man in uniform (to Krischan): ‘Left-footed or right-footed?’  Krischan: (shrugs).  Man: ‘Left or right?’  Krischan: (still shrugging from the first time).  In the end it didn’t matter—left or right—because when Krischan reached the ball and made contact with his right foot (I can’t say he actually ‘kicked’ the ball, rather he ‘moved the ball with the top of his foot’) the football traveled about 10 yards along the ground.  Disappointed he didn’t ‘kick the football between the yellow poles,’ I told Krischan he made a good kick but the wind got hold of it.

Activity #4:  Cornhole, where the object is to toss a beanbag into a small circular hole cut into a wooden ramp from a distance of 10 yards.  Krischan chose me as his opponent.  We made four sets of four throws; I managed to put one into the hole in each set (‘Ooooh G-Pa, you DID it!’ said with the excitement I wish he’d shown Danny Wuerffel a little over an hour ago).  Krischan never got one of his beanbags in the hole, but he did manage to throw a beanbag sideways, backwards, straight up, three yards and 23 yards among his 16 tosses.  While my throws were a lot more consistent, Krischan’s throws were a lot more creative (and dangerous to anyone in the general vicinity of the cornhole area). 

5:45 – 6:00 p.m.                    The last stop was the gift shop.  Krischan spotted a small Florida Gator football, picked it up and asked if he could have so he could play football with his G-Pa.  The price tag was hefty—as you might expect in any moo-zeum—but you might say the odds were stacked heavily in Krischan’s favor.   My only grandson wanted a football—his first football and a Gator football, no less—to play with his G-Pa. 

My American Express had about as much of a chance as Krischan’s 20-yard field goal try. 

When Cindy and I attended the University of Florida we didn’t have very good football teams.  In fact each season ended with cries of ‘wait ‘til next year.’

Wait ‘til next year indeed.  Krischan started practicing with his small Florida Gator football today.  Next year I’ll wager he’ll be kicking the football ‘between the yellow poles.’ 

On behalf of both Krischan and I: Go Gators!

Blog #100

My 100^th Blog – 100 Things I’ve Never Done

(or don’t remember doing if I did)

1.     Win the Presidential Medal of Honor (I did, however earn the Citizenship merit badge in Boy Scouts.  Let’s call it ‘even.’).

2.     Play a video game more advanced than Space Invaders (the original version, circa mid 1970’s).

3.     Run for public office (the only time I ever ran for anything was President of my 7^th grade class at Moanalua Intermediate School; I lost).

4.     Appear on Broadway.

5.     Break a leg (literally or, having never been on Broadway, figuratively).

6.     Solve a Rubik’s Cube (excluding the beginner’s version that I bought in solid blue). 

7.     Become a Rhodes Scholar (although I did win the second grade Spelling Bee at the American School of the Hague in 1963—‘b-o-u-n-t-i-f-u-l’).

8.     Bowl a perfect game (but ask me about my hole-in-one anytime).

9.     Attend a boxing match.

10. Own a pet tarantula (although I had a boa constrictor named ‘Alice’ my freshman year in college).

11. See Rocky Horror Picture Show, This is Spinal Tap or Young Frankenstein (so sue me).

12. Meet the Beatles (although I did see Paul McCartney in concert in Atlanta once and became pals with Julian Lennon on a chance meeting at a deli in New York City in 1985 when Too Late for Goodbyes was on the Top 40 Charts (Me: ‘Love your song!’  Julian: ‘Who the hell are you?’) .

13. Get the hell out of Dodge (I’ve never even been to Dodge).

14. Successfully give something up for the entire 40 days of Lent although this year I gave up Diet Coke until the Caffeine Headache from Hell came late on the second day and I surrendered.

15. Appear on Saturday Night Live (although I’ve been to the diner the famous ‘Cheeseburger cheeseburger cheeseburger’ sketches were based on. Twice.  It’s in Chicago, if you’re interested.  

16. Watch an episode of Downton Abbey (nor do I know anyone who has ever seen an episode of Downton Abbey).

17. Understand a single thing about chemistry.

18. Parachute, paraglide or parasail.

19. Play poker (not even strip poker; in high school I simplified and played strip war).

20. Understand the rules of poker (Duh!).

21. Win the lottery.

22. Watch all 238 minutes of Gone with the Wind from start to finish in one sitting.

23. Understand what anyone sees in post-NFL Michael Strahan.

24. Try out for a television game show (but I’m pretty good playing at home but no doubt would totally suck in front of a studio audience).

25. Appreciate the humor of Monty Python.

26. Roast chestnuts on an open fire.

27. Have Sex on the Beach (the mixed drink).

28.  Kick myself in the a** for not coming up with the idea for The Walking Dead.

29.  Shoot a gun while drinking a beer.

30.  Shoot a gun at a beer can.

31.  Shotgun a beer.

32.  Bring up religion or politics in conversation (if we’ve ever spoken, you’re welcome).

33.  Eat a Thin Mint Girl Scout cookie.

34.  Read anyone’s lips (unless they’re saying ‘vacuum’ ever so slowly).

35.  Willingly or knowingly eat a Jalapeno pepper.

36.  Read an entire issue of Playboy magazine.

37.  Go over the river and through the woods to get to my grandmother’s house.

38.  Drink coffee after dinner (lunch either, for that matter).

39.  Travel to South America, Asia or the Soviet Union (of the three there’s only one I would even consider…).

40.  Limbo.

41. Start a fire/burn an ant with a magnifying glass.

42.  Help tear down a goal post after a big win.  (After further review, I DID do that.  In 1984.  Florida – 27, Georgia – 0.)

43. Turn down an opportunity to take a pot shot at the University of Georgia (reference #42 above).

44.  Engage in a duel (the proximity of this to #42 is merely a coincidence).

45.  Throw an honest-to-goodness knuckleball.

46.  Hit an honest-to-goodness knuckleball.

47.  Understand the physics behind an honest-to-goodness knuckleball.

48.  Understand physics period.

49.  Lose well.

50. Siphon gas.

51.  Accept the ‘i’ before ‘e’ except after ‘c’ rule (thanks to you, neighbor).

52.  Learn the metric system (although I’m quite adept at ordering a pint).

53.  Say anything nice about Bobby Petrino (seriously now, has anyone?).

54.  Fear fear itself (there has always been a reason).

55.  Call a time out (as much as I would like to on a daily basis) .

56.  Eat an elephant one bite at a time.

57.  Refrain from laughing when there’s a fart on television.

58. Comprehend how MIlli Vanilli got away with it for so long.

59.  Speak a foreign language (but I can count to 10 in French, Dutch and German; the numbers will be in order but the language may vary from one number to the next).

60.  Pitch a tent because it was something I absolutely wanted to do.

61.  Land a triple gainer from the high dive.

62.  Land a double gainer from the high dive.

63.  Attempt a triple gainer or a double gainer from the high dive (certainly you didn’t confuse me with Greg Louganis, did you?).

64.  Sculpt.

65.  Meet a man from Nantucket.

66.  Intentionally make any type of physical contact with a cockroach.

67.  Understand what Sting considers to be ‘tantric sex.’

68.  Have anything bad to say about Tim Tebow.

69. Get a tattoo.

70.  Distinguish one fireworks display from another (I guess they’re like snowflakes; they’re all inherently different but look exactly the same).

71.  Plunge to a new low (because consistency is my game).

72.  Drop down and give anyone 10 (even 5 would be a push).

73.  Watch an entire episode of American Idol, The Voice or Dancing with the Stars (and darn proud of it).

74.  Be late to the party (I’m always on time and yes it’s a curse but I’ve learned to live with it and in a perfect world everyone else would be on time as well but sadly I realize that is not the case just as it will always be expected of some people to compose ridiculously long run-on sentences that lose a reader’s interest by the time the sentence reaches its inevitable conclusion.  Amen.).

75.  Have this thought: ‘Gee; today would be a good day to go to the opera.’

76.  Go to the opera.

77.  Be the class valid Victorian.  I mean valedictorian. 

78.  Catch a break.

79.  Wish I were a professional soccer player.

80.  Wish I were an Oscar Mayer wiener (even as a boy…).

81.  Remember how much is ‘fourscore and seven years.’

82.  Throw a 90-mile an hour fastball (80-mile an hour neither; actually, anything over 55.  Yes, I have never thrown over the legal speed limit.).

83.  Make sense of it all.

84.  Sing Bohemian Rhapsody in its entirety sitting in the back seat of a police car like that drunk guy did (if you get a chance, YouTube it sometime).

85.  Party all the time (Eddie Murphy might be able to; probably because he’s Gumby, dammit!).

86.  Find what I’m looking for.

87.  Realize I lost it in the first place.

88.  Avoid sushi, particularly the round ones that look like the butt of a tiny dog.

89.  Roll through a stop sign.

90.  (continued from #89 above) At more than three miles an hour.

91.  Say, hear or think of ‘Land Shark’ or ‘Candy Gram’ without laughing inside. 

92.  Give a second thought to teaching the world to sing in perfect harmony; I wouldn’t know where to start.

93.  Substitute ‘my bad’ for ‘I’m sorry.’

94.  Crave chocolate.

95.  Trip and fall gracefully (violently perhaps, but definitely not gracefully—I present the scar from 13 stitches to the chin as People’s Exhibit #1).

96.  Disappear (except for the time I played hide-and-seek with my grandson and jumped in the bathtub and hid behind the shower curtain because on that day I freakin’ vanished!).

97.  Trust a groundhog from Pennsylvania for a weather forecast, regardless of the date.

98.  Inhale (Seriously; the thought of having any black death inside my lungs frightens me!)

99.  Successfully drive in reverse with a trailer hitched to the back…except when I drive to Jackknife City which is right across town from Whatwereyouthinking Town. 

100.                Run 135 miles across Death Valley in 130+ degree heat.  (I’m lying; I totally did that.)