You're All Tied Up As You Should Be

Congratulations to Ms. Stacy Villescas for correctly naming "Lovely Rita" by The Beatles as the Tuesday Song of the Day.

I'm guessing the song wasn't written about Rita Wilson, but that's mainly because I don't see Tom Hanks' name alongside McCartney and Lennon in my liner notes to "Sgt. Pepper's."

With yesterday's news that Adam "Pacman" Jones will be heading to the Great White North to play in the CFL for the Winnipeg Blue Bombers, I'm slightly disappointed that the lady friend and I will be residing in Houston after the marriage.

"Why is that?" you might ask.

Well, according to well-placed sources (coughColeGriffithcough), Pacman's old house outside of Nashville is still for sale, and I've always wanted the opportunity to purchase a piece of real estate that was once in the running for the title of "Modern Day Location of Sodom and Gomorrah".
Here's the alternative, though. While Pacman is playing in the land of Canadian Bacon, Labatt Blue, and the word "EH", he's surely going to want to maintain a presence in the mind of NFL GMs.

What better way to do that then his own reality show? You're telling me that you wouldn't want to watch a special season of "This Old House" hosted by Bob Vila, Norm Abram, and special guest host Pacman Jones?
Pacman could stoke a rivalry with Ty Pennington (MOVE...THAT...IMPALA!!!), he could come out with a line of power tools at Sears (WATCH OUT, VILA), and he could increase his street cred with the obviously edgy audience of PBS viewers.

It's fail-proof, my friends.

Update (Thurs. morning): Apparently, the Pacman to Winnipeg transaction will not take place after all. I always knew that Canadians would never accept an American arcade hero.

Right About Now Your Face Should Wear a Smile

After taking the FINAL FINAL of my penultimate quarter of law school, I arrived this evening in the 615, and I'm ready for whatever adventures Middle Tennessee holds in the first week in February.

Current Reading
The Looming Tower: Al Qaeda and the Road to 9/11 by Lawrence Wright

When I Hear That Whistle Blowin', I Hang My Head and Cry

Ladies and gentlemen, this month has been a bit sparse on the posting front, but I would be doing myself and the rest of this band a disservice if I did not tell you about my voyage to the Sommet Center on Saturday night to watch the Nashville Predators take on the Minnesota Wild.

I should take time here to tell you that I tried out the "More like the Minnesota Tame" and "More like the Minnesota Domesticated" trash-talk at one point on Saturday night, and let me tell you, it went over like the Hindenburg crossed with Gigli. A complete and unmitigated disaster. In fact, it was probably one of the comedy low-lights of my life. Let's just move on...
Naysayers and doubters might point out that the hometown team ended up on the short end of a 6-2 scoreline to the visitors from the Land of 10,000 Lakes, but I choose to focus on the fact that the Predators won each and every one of the five (or six) fights that they were involved in on Saturday night. I'm not sure that Elton John gets much air-time in NHL locker-rooms these days (or any days), but the Preds and the Wild repeatedly decided that Saturday night was alright for fighting.
The highlight of the evening was Nashville fan favorite Jordin Tootoo, (yes, that's his real name), taking on an unnamed (or more likely unremembered) member of the Wild at the conclusion of a three-fight string/melee.
Tootoo's arrival on the ice was always an event because numerous fans in the Sommet Center would blow mini-train whistles whenever he leapt over the boards to enter the game. At first, I kept looking around wondering where the Thomas the Tank Engine convention was taking place, but eventually I noticed Tootoo come over the boards to the clarion call of Tennessee train whistles ringing in my ears.

Good times, my friends.

Good times.

Through the Smoke and Rising Water Cross the Great Divide

In the spirit of adventure and new experiences, and thanks to this lovely young lady,

I will be attending my first NHL game on Saturday night at the Sommet Center in Nashville. I'm not sure that the founders of the NHL envisioned that their sport would one day be played in Music City, U.S.A., but I am sure that they would want me to be fully prepared for my experience as a fan of the sport.

So...lovers of the NHL and all things hockey:

What advice do you have for me in the days preceding my initial live encounter with the NHL?

Do you have any biting insults that I can dole out to the members of the Minnesota Wild as they take on the hometown Nashville Predators?

Any leftover "Jason" masks that I can get my hands on in a few days time?

Any and all advice will be greatly appreciated.

Current Reading

Imperial Life in the Emerald City: Inside Iraq's Green Zone by Rajiv Chandrasekaran

You Got So Much to Do and Only So Many Hours In The Day

Congratulations to Ms. Amanda Pierce for correctly naming "Positively 4th Street" by Bob Dylan as the Monday Song of the Day.

Since it has been over a week since my return from Music City USA, the 615, Nashvegas, etc., it is high time that I offered my thoughts on the capitol of the Volunteer State. What I am about to write is not written without a great deal of gravity and hand-wringing, but if it were possible to transfer the good people of the Lone Star State to another location, I just might consider such a mass population transplant to the environs of central Tennessee. While it was difficult to scan the radio dial in search of non-country offerings, I was always going to be won over by a city that integrates old-school stone fences with large lawns.
Without further ado, I present to you, the readership of Running Down a Dream, my 4 favorite things about Nashville. (In no particular order)

1. Pancake Pantry. You have to love any place where people actually show up to breakfast wearing tiaras, which was the chosen attire for one of my fellow diners. I have no doubt that photographic documentation would make the preceding story infinitely more interesting, but you're just going to need to use the old imagination on this one.
2. The Hermitage. Andrew Jackson's palatial spread just northeast of Nashville is a must-visit, if only because you can then impress your fellow citizens with Andrew Jackson-related minutia whenever they pull out a $20 bill. I disclaim any responsibility for negative repercussions resulting from the previous suggestion.
3. Arrington Vineyards. For those of you who always wished that you could drink wine from a vineyard owned by one of those guys who sang "Boot Scootin' Boogie". Not you? Yeah, me neither. Also, the restroom facilities are top-notch.
   
   
4. The guy who brought his own amp to the downtown Nashville fireworks on the 4th and proceeded to play Jimi Hendrix's take on the National Anthem during the entire show. It warrants mentioning that this guy was clad in only an American flag bandanna and American flag shorts. July 4th is that guy's favorite day of the year hands-down.

Much thanks to my hosts and hostess for the weekend: Ms. Amanda Pierce, Mr. Coleman Greer Griffith, and Mr. Harrison Cody Girod.