Carmageddon Sounds Like Heaven to Me

Dear Los Angeles,

Let me get this straight–one 10-mile (or so) stretch of road is going to be closed for 53 hours and y’all are panicking like Franklin before a snow storm.

I must be missing something because 53 hours without getting on a major freeway sounds like heaven to me.

Interstates are for going to work. Interstates are for traffic. Going fast. Worrying about the teenager texting (illeagally) in the next lane.

Interstates are for Monday-Friday.

Two-lane roads are for the weekend. Two-lane roads are for going a little slower with the windows rolled down. Two-lane roads are for going to a friend’s house for dinner. A visit to the farmer’s market. Or a trip to Main Street.

So how about this, Los Angeles–enjoy a few interstate-free days. Hang around your neighborhood. Take a day off. Go for a walk.

Surely you can live for 53 hours without getting on the 405.

As far as I’m concerned, the only place I want to go on the interstate is to the airport.

Knock knock

Anybody there?

I wouldn’t blame if you weren’t. I haven’t exactly been setting the blogging world on fire these days. Can’t really blame it on anything other than the fact that I write all day at work and just don’t have the urge to pull more words out of thin air when I’m home.

So rather than feel guilty, I’m going to take a little breaky-break. I’m going on a great trip next month and will be back with fabulous pictures and tales.

I promise.

Until then, if you’re looking for something wonderful to read, I recommend Swamplandia. It’s really the best thing I’ve read in years and if I had a hard copy of it, I’d loan it to you right now.

So read that and check back here in June.

ttfn

Dirty Laundry

Do you remember the song “Dirty Laundry by Don Henley? One verse went like this:

We got the bubbleheaded bleach-blonde, comes on at 5
She can tell you about the plane crash with a gleam in her eye
It’s interesting when people die, give us dirty laundry

That song–about tv/tabloid news– is almost 30 years old and it still resonates today.

Here’s the question:

Why do people who’ve just been through the most traumatic event in their lives rush to be on tv to tell their story?

The woman whose husband was shot off his jet ski by Mexican drug dealers (and his mother) have become staples on the Today Show. She’s been on three times in last two weeks telling her story–how she tried to save him while the bandits were closing in on her, but, in the end, had to leave his body floating in the lake that borders the U.S. and Mexico.

Last Thursday a young man was surfing in California and was killed by a Great White Shark. On Monday his entire family was on tv talking about him and about their loss.

How can people do this?

I don’t think they’re being paid and I don’t think (for the most part) that they’re after fame.

So what’s their motivation?

Imagine that you’re going through a devastating event and your phone rings. A stranger on the other end asks you to get up at the crack of dawn the next day and talk on national tv about your recently deceased spouse/child/parent.

Would you do it?

I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that I would say no.

Clickclickclickclickclick. Clickclickclickclick.

Yeah. That was the sound my car made when I tried to start it Tuesday night.

Clickclickclickclickclick.

Fortunately,  I was parked outside of really big liquor store so there was no danger of running out of refreshments. Unfortunately, Husband was out of town. At least he was in the country though, even in the same time zone. When the snake was on the stairs he was in China and no help whatsoever.

I called him. He laughed when I told him where I was and said it sounded like the battery.

“Let me call you back in a few minutes.”

While he was pondering my situation, I started scrolling through my contacts to see who I could call. Thing is, I just didn’t want to bother anyone, even though everyone (myself included) says they don’t mind.

Here’s a story:

A few years ago (when Husband was once again out of town) I drove myself to the emergency room at 3 a.m. I had been vomiting and in terrible pain for hours and it just wouldn’t go away. After  the doctor gave me something blissful in an IV,  he wanted to know who I could call to take me home when I was ready to leave. I told him I’d drive myself. He demurred saying that I’d couldn’t drive myself. I told him that if he walked up to the roof of the hospital he could see my house. It’s literally a 2-minute drive. He didn’t push it and neither did. But a few hours later I drove myself home.

After hearing my story, several friends chastised me for not calling. But honestly,who are you going to bother at 3 a.m. when you’re perfectly capable of driving for 2 minutes.

Back to the liquor store. Husband called and we decided that I’d just go in the store and ask for a jump. Then I’d drive to AutoZone and have them put in a new battery.

I walked in and caught the check-out clerk’s eye.

“I was wondering if anyone here could give me a jump? My battery’s dead.”

A man who was checking out grabbed his bottles and said I can, no problem.

And in 15 minutes I was on my way.

I tried to pay him for his time and he refused.

“No,” he said. “Friends help each other out.”

I thanked him, of course. And I hope I can repay the favor some day. He had a really pretty green Camaro convertible. If you see it, give him a wave.

A Cruel Hoax?

I have a feeling this is an elaborate, cruel hoax. Somehow, someway, somebody convinced this man to run for governor of the state of Tennessee.

If this wasn’t so sad it would be funny.

Whacked-the-Mole

Got ’em:

Rain. It’s what’s for dinner. And breakfast. And elevenses. And on and on.

They told us it was going to rain. They said that might be a lot. But these are the same people who break the hearts of school children year in and year out with their predictions of snow.

Who knew they’d get it right this time.

It started raining early yesterday morning. By noon, we’d had 4 inches. And it was still coming down. I went to my mother’s house which had flooded–on this same date–many years before. Her front yard was under water and it was trickling in the sunroom. Our emergency precautions included putting furniture on stacks of old National Geographics. We ran out of magazines and I convinced her to use the old World Book encylopedias.

I left a few hours later and learned that while I was gone the water, which had been scant in my basement when I left (Husband was dealing with it) had risen four inches. It had gone down by the time I got home.

And it was still raining. By 7 p.m. Saturday we’d had more than 11 inches.

Today there’s major flooding in town. Major thoroughfares are under water and in Nashville even the interstates are blocked. This is less than mile from my mother’s.

 Thing is, this is just flash flooding. The river won’t crest until tomorrow at least.  

In all, we’ve had 15+ inches at my house in the last 36 hours–that’s 25% of our yearly total.

But that’s piddling. I have friends and family who are literally stranded, without power. My brother has eight neighbors who were flooded out at his house. Lots of people have lost lots of stuff and it’s still raining . Just seeing some scenes in west Nashville on the news now, utter destruction.

But this wouldn’t be Music City without at least one country music star story–while I was watching one of the local stations Naomi Judd called in to say that her fences had washed away and her buffalo were running lose. She wanted her neighbors to know. Husband pointed out that she could’ve just called the neighbors instead of the tv station. Guess that’s why the stars are different from you and me.

If you’re of a mind to, check out the scene online…just google Franklin floods, or Nashville. And be glad you’re high and dry.

Read this:

A wonderful thing.

Dixie Carter and Me

In the 1980s we lived in Little Rock, Ark., and I worked as writer and broadcast producer at one of the state’s largest advertising agencies. Despite the city’s relatively small size, we had a lot of talent and some good clients. There was some really good advertising coming out of Little Rock at that time.

One of our largest accounts was ArkLa Gas (Arkansas/Louisiana). They had hefty budgets and really didn’t stint on their tv commercials. After all, they all went to the same country club as the guys from the electric company and wanted their commercials to stack up.

My boss, mentor and creative director, Bob Ginnaven, grew up in Memphis and went to Memphis State. He acted in every play he could get into, and struck up a friendship with a young actress from West Tennessee–Dixie Carter.

Fast forward a few decades. Bob is a partner in a Little Rock ad agency and Dixie is starring as Julia Sugarbaker on Designing Women. What most of you probably don’t realize is that the creators of that show has strong ties to Little Rock. All of the homes in the opening sequence were in Little Rock (including the stately mansion where that Bill and Hillary Clinton called home at the time). Often characters in the show would share a name with a well-known Arkansan and the four leading women even came to Little Rock to a benefit.

That’s when Bob and Dixie reacquainted themseleves. A few months later, Dixie agreed to come back to Little Rock to star in 4 tv commercials for ArkLa. These were really good spots and I wish I had a copy to show you. You’ll just have to take my word for it.

We pulled out all the stops…limos and hotel suites and catering and the biggest budget I ever had.

I met Dixie at her hotel the night before our shoot began. I nervously knocked on her door and she answered right away.

She was tiny. Sort of a bamboo pole with hair. You’ve never seen so much hair.

Anyhow, the next day after all the setting up and making up and nearly throwing  up (just nerves on my part), it was time for Dixie to do her thing. And when she opened her mouth and started talking, we all went slack-jawed in amazement. We had all worked with some pretty good talent before–people who earned a living talking on camera–but this was different. This was all vintage champagne and home-grown tomatoes instead of Korbel and a hard, red, wintry piece of crap. Belgian chocolate instead of Herseys. First class instead of….well, you get the picture.

She ate constantly, drank like a fish and charmed us all completely.

We adored her and I know that no city is sadder about her recent death than Little Rock.

Here’s a little vintage Dixie to remind you of her fabulosity.

Let me know…

if you want the password. Just coment here and I’ll email you.