Monday, June 11, 2012
Thursday, March 8, 2012
Country music is alive and well
I drove my pickup into the lot, put it in park, opened the door and let my freshly-shined cowboy boots hit the pavement below. Country had come to town. No. Not town, but the big city of Nashville or, as many call it today, NashVegas. I was there to take advantage of what had made the city famous- Country music — and there was plenty of it.
Twang oozed from the honkytonks of Broadway and filled the streets with a thick melody that could only be described as Downtown Nashville. From the guitar-playing cowboy on stage at Tootsie’s Orchid Lounge to the half-drunk coed belting out loud lyrics in the karaoke bar, each contributed their own seasoning to the Music City recipe, creating a wonderful dish that left me begging for a second helping.
Country music has always been my genre of choice. Needless to say, I know what Barbara Mandrell meant when she sang, “I was listening to the Opry when all my friends were digging Rock & Roll and Rhythm & Blues.” The older the music is, the louder I listened to it.
But the days of Ernest Tubb, Patsy Cline and Hank Snow are over. In the golden age of Country, all that was needed was a fiddle, steel guitar and a haunting voice to sell a million records. A person didn’t have to be drop-dead gorgeous to make it in the industry, just had to be able to sing or play. (If you don’t believe me, find a picture of Opry star Cousin Jody.)
That has certainly changed today, as having a good voice is not enough. The majority of today’s Country stars look more like models than singers and there are very few of them that have convincing voices. When Hank Williams sang “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry” or “Your Cheating Heart,” you felt the pain in his voice. Most of the stars of “New Country” seem to lack this depth of feeling that can make the listener laugh or cry. (Crying goes without saying in Country music, but if you don’t believe it can make you laugh, look up Cousin Jody, or pick up a Tom T. Hall or Little Jimmy Dickens album.)
Some of the young folks are keeping it “real” in Country, though. Chris Young singing “Rainy Night in Georgia” can make you forget your troubles and feel sorry for him. I’m scared of Miranda Lambert because I believe her lyrics and really think she will shoot me. Jason Aldean brought Country and Rap together with “Dirt Road Anthem” and seems like a real guy you could have a cold beer with. As long as folks like this are around, Country music will never die, but live on and on.
This is good for the droves of diverse fans that flock to Nashville to partake in all Music City has to offer. All around downtown, grandpas in cowboy boots are toe-tapping, while preppies in their little cardigan sweaters and loafers are singing aloud. It just goes to show, there’s a Country song to match any person’s life.
With several thousand other people, I walked into Bridgestone Arena to hear Luke Bryan and Jason Aldean play to a sold-out crowd. Looking around, I learned Country fans had changed just as the stars had. Whether it is because not many people smoke anymore or because cell phones are so prevalent, but when Luke Bryan started into one of his slow songs, an electronic glow filled the arena. Those same cell phones, when they weren’t being waved around, were being used to download new songs, whereas before you’d have to wait until after the show to buy the album.
Yes, Country music has changed, but hasn’t everything? Some change is good, some not as good. But as long as there’s a fiddle and steel guitar around, everything will be OK. Perhaps Merle Haggard summed it up best when he sang “The good times ain’t over for good.”
◆◆◆
Named a Tennessee colonel by Gov. Phil Bredesen, Adam Southern is resident of Culleoka and can be followed at http://colonelsouthern.blogspot.com.
Twang oozed from the honkytonks of Broadway and filled the streets with a thick melody that could only be described as Downtown Nashville. From the guitar-playing cowboy on stage at Tootsie’s Orchid Lounge to the half-drunk coed belting out loud lyrics in the karaoke bar, each contributed their own seasoning to the Music City recipe, creating a wonderful dish that left me begging for a second helping.
Country music has always been my genre of choice. Needless to say, I know what Barbara Mandrell meant when she sang, “I was listening to the Opry when all my friends were digging Rock & Roll and Rhythm & Blues.” The older the music is, the louder I listened to it.
But the days of Ernest Tubb, Patsy Cline and Hank Snow are over. In the golden age of Country, all that was needed was a fiddle, steel guitar and a haunting voice to sell a million records. A person didn’t have to be drop-dead gorgeous to make it in the industry, just had to be able to sing or play. (If you don’t believe me, find a picture of Opry star Cousin Jody.)
That has certainly changed today, as having a good voice is not enough. The majority of today’s Country stars look more like models than singers and there are very few of them that have convincing voices. When Hank Williams sang “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry” or “Your Cheating Heart,” you felt the pain in his voice. Most of the stars of “New Country” seem to lack this depth of feeling that can make the listener laugh or cry. (Crying goes without saying in Country music, but if you don’t believe it can make you laugh, look up Cousin Jody, or pick up a Tom T. Hall or Little Jimmy Dickens album.)
Some of the young folks are keeping it “real” in Country, though. Chris Young singing “Rainy Night in Georgia” can make you forget your troubles and feel sorry for him. I’m scared of Miranda Lambert because I believe her lyrics and really think she will shoot me. Jason Aldean brought Country and Rap together with “Dirt Road Anthem” and seems like a real guy you could have a cold beer with. As long as folks like this are around, Country music will never die, but live on and on.
This is good for the droves of diverse fans that flock to Nashville to partake in all Music City has to offer. All around downtown, grandpas in cowboy boots are toe-tapping, while preppies in their little cardigan sweaters and loafers are singing aloud. It just goes to show, there’s a Country song to match any person’s life.
With several thousand other people, I walked into Bridgestone Arena to hear Luke Bryan and Jason Aldean play to a sold-out crowd. Looking around, I learned Country fans had changed just as the stars had. Whether it is because not many people smoke anymore or because cell phones are so prevalent, but when Luke Bryan started into one of his slow songs, an electronic glow filled the arena. Those same cell phones, when they weren’t being waved around, were being used to download new songs, whereas before you’d have to wait until after the show to buy the album.
Yes, Country music has changed, but hasn’t everything? Some change is good, some not as good. But as long as there’s a fiddle and steel guitar around, everything will be OK. Perhaps Merle Haggard summed it up best when he sang “The good times ain’t over for good.”
◆◆◆
Named a Tennessee colonel by Gov. Phil Bredesen, Adam Southern is resident of Culleoka and can be followed at http://colonelsouthern.blogspot.com.
Tuesday, February 14, 2012
Yuppies hop on ‘junking’ bandwagon
I’m of the firm opinion that if the “Gallant Hood of Texas” and his Confederate Army of Tennessee could have looked into the future and seen Franklin, Tenn., today, they would have all thrown down their muskets, hit Interstate 65, headed home, and just let the Yankees have it.
Every time I drive through Franklin, I see these folks strolling through the downtown area, each one of them with a $10 cup of coffee in one hand and their cell phone in the other. Some of them are from the North and some are from the South, though, I wouldn’t dare call them Southerners, as a Southerner is proud to let people know they are from the South. The others may have been born in the South, but they do everything in their power to hide the fact. They pick up a faked brogue, over-enunciate every word, poke fun at the true Southerners, and like to overuse the phrase, “The war is over,” while laughing uncomfortably, hoping no one will rat them out as actually being from the South.
For lack of a better term, I’ll call these folks yuppies.
I enjoy the yuppies, as they are always on the cutting edge of fashion and know just where to get the best calorie-friendly meal. I have several friends that fall into this group and, whenever I want to see them, all I have to do is find the current “happening” place and there they’ll be. But, that’s the thing. The happening place is always changing.
Usually, the yuppie hub is some hip downtown area with a coffee shop. Now, thanks to shows like “American Pickers,” “Storage Wars,” and “Auction Kings,” junking or antiquing is the cool thing to do, causing the yuppies to invade my home turf.
Visiting my favorite antique store is something I usually do every Sunday afternoon. The way the store is situated along the railroad tracks and the items found inside all take me back to a bygone era. Once upon a time, our country produced quality items and was not just an importer of what was needed. It brings me comfort to look at what’s for sale in the antique store, but I also hope that one day America can once again produce items that will last 50 years or more.
On my last visit to the antique store, I couldn’t make a move without stepping on a yuppie. I’m like a bull in a china shop anywhere I go, but with that many yuppies hanging around, my clumsiness was increased tenfold. I just had to leave.
When I got into the pickup, I sat and thought for a moment. Was I a yuppie? Was it possible?
I do go to several yuppie places and, like I said, I know several of them, but does that make me guilty by association? Surely not after all, I prefer boot-cut jeans to skinny jeans, my food fried to steamed, my hands calloused to manicured, and my idea of treating myself to coffee is a 50 cent cup at the gas station. The fact that I drive an old truck and not a fancy car that costs five times my yearly salary is also very telling.
I turned to the lovely Kayla sitting on the truck seat beside me and asked, “Am I one of those people?”
She immediately burst into laughter, shaking her head no. Then, she said, “Honey, you were junking when junking wasn’t cool.”
She hit the nail on the head. While the yuppies may find junking “cool” today, tomorrow another idol will come along to displace it and I will, once again, “junk” in peace.
Every time I drive through Franklin, I see these folks strolling through the downtown area, each one of them with a $10 cup of coffee in one hand and their cell phone in the other. Some of them are from the North and some are from the South, though, I wouldn’t dare call them Southerners, as a Southerner is proud to let people know they are from the South. The others may have been born in the South, but they do everything in their power to hide the fact. They pick up a faked brogue, over-enunciate every word, poke fun at the true Southerners, and like to overuse the phrase, “The war is over,” while laughing uncomfortably, hoping no one will rat them out as actually being from the South.
For lack of a better term, I’ll call these folks yuppies.
I enjoy the yuppies, as they are always on the cutting edge of fashion and know just where to get the best calorie-friendly meal. I have several friends that fall into this group and, whenever I want to see them, all I have to do is find the current “happening” place and there they’ll be. But, that’s the thing. The happening place is always changing.
Usually, the yuppie hub is some hip downtown area with a coffee shop. Now, thanks to shows like “American Pickers,” “Storage Wars,” and “Auction Kings,” junking or antiquing is the cool thing to do, causing the yuppies to invade my home turf.
Visiting my favorite antique store is something I usually do every Sunday afternoon. The way the store is situated along the railroad tracks and the items found inside all take me back to a bygone era. Once upon a time, our country produced quality items and was not just an importer of what was needed. It brings me comfort to look at what’s for sale in the antique store, but I also hope that one day America can once again produce items that will last 50 years or more.
On my last visit to the antique store, I couldn’t make a move without stepping on a yuppie. I’m like a bull in a china shop anywhere I go, but with that many yuppies hanging around, my clumsiness was increased tenfold. I just had to leave.
When I got into the pickup, I sat and thought for a moment. Was I a yuppie? Was it possible?
I do go to several yuppie places and, like I said, I know several of them, but does that make me guilty by association? Surely not after all, I prefer boot-cut jeans to skinny jeans, my food fried to steamed, my hands calloused to manicured, and my idea of treating myself to coffee is a 50 cent cup at the gas station. The fact that I drive an old truck and not a fancy car that costs five times my yearly salary is also very telling.
I turned to the lovely Kayla sitting on the truck seat beside me and asked, “Am I one of those people?”
She immediately burst into laughter, shaking her head no. Then, she said, “Honey, you were junking when junking wasn’t cool.”
She hit the nail on the head. While the yuppies may find junking “cool” today, tomorrow another idol will come along to displace it and I will, once again, “junk” in peace.
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
Regrets from 2011: Festival Tennessee, library
“It wouldn’t be New Year’s if I didn’t have regrets”
—William Thomas
There’s something about New Year’s that makes everyone think of fresh starts and new beginnings, as if everything that occurred in the past year will be erased and forgotten.
I’m not much on that kind of thinking. What happened happened and there is no way of changing that. But, like the author of the quote above, I would be lying if I said I did not have regrets.
My regrets, however, are not for my own actions, but for things Maury County missed. The top of the list reads, “Festival Tennessee,” Maury County’s very own mini-Disneyland.
Festival Tennessee sounded like the answer to a long-awaited prayer. In my childhood, many of the dog days of summer were spent floating down the Grizzly River Rampage or rocketing down the steep, watery incline of the log ride. Ever since the death of Opryland at the hands of a megamall, I have been in mourning. When I heard the news of Festival Tennessee, the black veil was lifted. I could live again!
Not only was the wonderland going to have a water theme park, there were plans for two hotels with 4,000 rooms each, exquisite restaurants, a state-of-the-art sports complex with an NBA team — a project that would have brought more than 15,000 jobs to Maury County. As if this were not enough, there were also rumors that the Grand Ole Opry planned to relocate to the theme park. Then and there, this entire plan took on next to religious connotation.
I could already see myself there. White legs, swimming trunks, fish belly, cowboy hat, and all, I would be taking advantage of the nearest water ride and getting ready to hear some grand ol’ country music.
Yet, my elation was short-lived. Articles and news stories began to circulate about the legitimacy of the project. Facebook and Twitter pages popped up overnight poking fun at the entire plan. And as sudden as the news about the project emerged, it disappeared. Vanished. Poof!
Please do not get me wrong. I’m not trying to make a joke out of this at someone’s expense. I am truly disappointed. After all, I had already picked a name out for the NBA team — the Mules!
What? I liked it.
Regardless, Festival Tennessee had a short life, disappointing a great number, including myself. I could just see the new library Maury County was going to build with all of the tax revenues created by the theme park, restaurants, basketball team and roadside firecracker stand.
But, no. We still haven’t got a new public library in Columbia, and that is the most disappointing thing of 2011 and something Maury County should regret more than the loss of a theme park, the burning of the Institute, or the changing of the Culleoka mascot from the Blue Devils to the Warriors.
There is hope, however. It’s a new year. In 2012, we can make our dreams come true. We can start building that theme park or that new public library and since 2012 is a leap year, we have an extra day to get it done!
So, in the words of the imposter Southerner Larry the Cable Guy, let’s “get ‘r done” this year.
—William Thomas
There’s something about New Year’s that makes everyone think of fresh starts and new beginnings, as if everything that occurred in the past year will be erased and forgotten.
I’m not much on that kind of thinking. What happened happened and there is no way of changing that. But, like the author of the quote above, I would be lying if I said I did not have regrets.
My regrets, however, are not for my own actions, but for things Maury County missed. The top of the list reads, “Festival Tennessee,” Maury County’s very own mini-Disneyland.
Festival Tennessee sounded like the answer to a long-awaited prayer. In my childhood, many of the dog days of summer were spent floating down the Grizzly River Rampage or rocketing down the steep, watery incline of the log ride. Ever since the death of Opryland at the hands of a megamall, I have been in mourning. When I heard the news of Festival Tennessee, the black veil was lifted. I could live again!
Not only was the wonderland going to have a water theme park, there were plans for two hotels with 4,000 rooms each, exquisite restaurants, a state-of-the-art sports complex with an NBA team — a project that would have brought more than 15,000 jobs to Maury County. As if this were not enough, there were also rumors that the Grand Ole Opry planned to relocate to the theme park. Then and there, this entire plan took on next to religious connotation.
I could already see myself there. White legs, swimming trunks, fish belly, cowboy hat, and all, I would be taking advantage of the nearest water ride and getting ready to hear some grand ol’ country music.
Yet, my elation was short-lived. Articles and news stories began to circulate about the legitimacy of the project. Facebook and Twitter pages popped up overnight poking fun at the entire plan. And as sudden as the news about the project emerged, it disappeared. Vanished. Poof!
Please do not get me wrong. I’m not trying to make a joke out of this at someone’s expense. I am truly disappointed. After all, I had already picked a name out for the NBA team — the Mules!
What? I liked it.
Regardless, Festival Tennessee had a short life, disappointing a great number, including myself. I could just see the new library Maury County was going to build with all of the tax revenues created by the theme park, restaurants, basketball team and roadside firecracker stand.
But, no. We still haven’t got a new public library in Columbia, and that is the most disappointing thing of 2011 and something Maury County should regret more than the loss of a theme park, the burning of the Institute, or the changing of the Culleoka mascot from the Blue Devils to the Warriors.
There is hope, however. It’s a new year. In 2012, we can make our dreams come true. We can start building that theme park or that new public library and since 2012 is a leap year, we have an extra day to get it done!
So, in the words of the imposter Southerner Larry the Cable Guy, let’s “get ‘r done” this year.
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There's a new page on Facebook created for fans of my blog, articles, and radio show!
www.facebook.com/SouthernHumor
Be sure to "like" it and keep up with what I'm doing!
Thanks for all of your support!
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Santa’s helper faces great expectations
I’m not an actor, but this time every year, I start getting requests for special performances.
The requested role is always Santa Claus.
I guess, I could take offense to the requests, as someone asking me to “play” Santa is indirectly saying I have “a broad face and little round belly.” But, I know they mean nothing by it. I tend to think I am offered the role because I’m “a right jolly old elf.” Besides, it’s a fact, when I laugh I shake like a bowl full of jelly.
Usually, I fulfill every request. However, this year, things have happened so lively and quick, I really had no time to be St. Nick.
I must admit I missed being Santa this year, so last week I decided to wear my white faux-fur lined, red stocking cap and a shirt that said “Believe” as I ran my errands. Given the season that we’re in, I didn’t turn many heads, as there were several people dressed similarly. The only person to take notice of me all day was a little boy.
I would say the boy was about 4 or 5. His snagglepuss–grin made me “laugh when I saw him in spite of myself.” He slowly made his way across the room toward me, and the next thing I knew, he was beside me pulling on my sleeve, wearing a big toothless smile.
“Hi!” I said to him.
“Are you like Santa or something?” he asked.
Wow. I wasn’t prepared to be asked something like that, let alone answer it, so I answered it the best was I could.
“I’m one of Santa’s helpers,” I said.
The little boy, never missing a beat, said, “So, you’re an elf! Do you have pointy ears?”
I winked my eye and placed a finger beside my nose and said, “Why, yes, I sure do! That’s why I’m wearing my red hat!” Then, I leaned down, gave him a smile and whispered, “This old red hat hides my big, pointy elf ears.”
The boy just flashed a gummy grin and scampered off. I was getting ready to dash away myself, when I heard a lady shout, “Santa’s Helper! Come here a minute!”
I went over “to see what was the matter.” According to the lady, young snagglepuss still had another question for me.
“Is Santa going to help me?” the young boy asked.
I was a little confused by the question and pondered it for a minute. Did he mean is Santa going to visit? That must have been it.
“Well, I think you are on Santa’s good list this year, so I’m pretty sure Santa will help you out this Christmas,” I said.
Again, the boy smiled and ran off. The lady and I watched the boy in silence. Finally, she said, “I’m glad you told him that. He and his family are homeless and all he wants Santa to bring him this year is house where they all can live.”
It broke my heart. While most kids are concerned about what toy they want this Christmas, this young boy only wanted a place to live. It was a beautiful, selfless wish. I hope it comes true.
Yes, Virginia. Sometimes I wish I were Santa Claus.
The requested role is always Santa Claus.
I guess, I could take offense to the requests, as someone asking me to “play” Santa is indirectly saying I have “a broad face and little round belly.” But, I know they mean nothing by it. I tend to think I am offered the role because I’m “a right jolly old elf.” Besides, it’s a fact, when I laugh I shake like a bowl full of jelly.
Usually, I fulfill every request. However, this year, things have happened so lively and quick, I really had no time to be St. Nick.
I must admit I missed being Santa this year, so last week I decided to wear my white faux-fur lined, red stocking cap and a shirt that said “Believe” as I ran my errands. Given the season that we’re in, I didn’t turn many heads, as there were several people dressed similarly. The only person to take notice of me all day was a little boy.
I would say the boy was about 4 or 5. His snagglepuss–grin made me “laugh when I saw him in spite of myself.” He slowly made his way across the room toward me, and the next thing I knew, he was beside me pulling on my sleeve, wearing a big toothless smile.
“Hi!” I said to him.
“Are you like Santa or something?” he asked.
Wow. I wasn’t prepared to be asked something like that, let alone answer it, so I answered it the best was I could.
“I’m one of Santa’s helpers,” I said.
The little boy, never missing a beat, said, “So, you’re an elf! Do you have pointy ears?”
I winked my eye and placed a finger beside my nose and said, “Why, yes, I sure do! That’s why I’m wearing my red hat!” Then, I leaned down, gave him a smile and whispered, “This old red hat hides my big, pointy elf ears.”
The boy just flashed a gummy grin and scampered off. I was getting ready to dash away myself, when I heard a lady shout, “Santa’s Helper! Come here a minute!”
I went over “to see what was the matter.” According to the lady, young snagglepuss still had another question for me.
“Is Santa going to help me?” the young boy asked.
I was a little confused by the question and pondered it for a minute. Did he mean is Santa going to visit? That must have been it.
“Well, I think you are on Santa’s good list this year, so I’m pretty sure Santa will help you out this Christmas,” I said.
Again, the boy smiled and ran off. The lady and I watched the boy in silence. Finally, she said, “I’m glad you told him that. He and his family are homeless and all he wants Santa to bring him this year is house where they all can live.”
It broke my heart. While most kids are concerned about what toy they want this Christmas, this young boy only wanted a place to live. It was a beautiful, selfless wish. I hope it comes true.
Yes, Virginia. Sometimes I wish I were Santa Claus.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Face Your Fears This Halloween
This Halloween, I thought it would be appropriate to write a column concerning the workings of the human mind and why we, as people of sound mind, like to be scared.
I logged on to the free databases made available through the Maury County Public Library and began my quest for information. As always, the databases did not disappoint. Before long, I was reading scholarly articles by various PhD’s about adrenaline junkies and paranormal researchers.
After reading the third article, I could tell the “experts” didn’t know as much as they thought they did. Most of the articles on the subject were over analyzed and extremely mundane. The phrase “beating a dead horse” came to mind a few times.
So, instead of putting my kind readers through an article about scientific studies compiled by people whose only enjoyment in life is watching mold grow, I think I’ll try to tackle the subject on my own.
First, and foremost, I believe people seek out scary and otherwise sticky situations in an attempt to appear tough.
For years, my friends and I would always make a pilgrimage to Nashville in October to visit such fine establishments as “The Slaughter House,” “The Haunted Prison,” or “The Haunted Woods.” It wasn’t because we enjoyed going to a place where ex-cons jumped out with chainsaws with, or without, the chains and every room played on a different fear. It was because we wanted to appear “tough” for the ladies that would accompany us and would surely be glued to our sides before the night was over.
Another reason I think people seek out scary situations is to face their fears, not to mention the rush of adrenaline that immediately follows.
Since childhood, I’ve been afraid of what might be lurking in the shadows and to this day, I will not leave the closet door open for fear of what might crawl out and get me during the night. (Although I’ve been assured whatever it is will let me go once it gets a good look at me!)
No matter what people have said to try and curb my wild imagination and superstitious nature, my mind is made up. After all, as Little Orphan Annie said, “The goblins will get you if you don’t watch out!”
Oh, the so-called sensible folks of the world say, “it’s the living you have to worry about, not the dead.” I’ve never been convinced of this. I have a .38 Special for the living. There’s nothing that will help me if a ghost gets after me.
Yet, even with my fear of the unseen, I’ve placed myself into some precarious paranormal positions over the years. Many late nights were spent in Chapel Hill visiting the mysterious ghost light, parking beside a cemetery at midnight to see if anything walked by, or going into an abandoned farm house to see what might dwell within. Luckily I remained one step ahead of the boogieman… and the police.
Each of these were my attempt at facing my fears and each produced their own level of adrenaline. I also learned a few things from the experiences. For one, I’ll never make a living as a professional “ghostbuster.” Two, as my realtor will attest, I do not want to live in a haunted house. Finally, three, ghosts are a lot like zoo animals. They’re interesting to look at and hear about as long as they can’t get out and do me any harm!
And, believe me, I practice what I preach.
My crew and I will be giving ghost tours of Downtown Columbia again this year, every Friday and Saturday in October with special tours on Halloween night. Believe me- we won’t be going into any of the haunted sites. We stay on the sidewalk as we talk about the ghosts.
The tour is $10 for adults and $5 for children ages 12 and under. Proceeds of the tour benefit the Elizabeth Caperton fund of the Maury County Public Library.
Reservations are required. To make reservations or to get more information, call (931) 375-6508.
I logged on to the free databases made available through the Maury County Public Library and began my quest for information. As always, the databases did not disappoint. Before long, I was reading scholarly articles by various PhD’s about adrenaline junkies and paranormal researchers.
After reading the third article, I could tell the “experts” didn’t know as much as they thought they did. Most of the articles on the subject were over analyzed and extremely mundane. The phrase “beating a dead horse” came to mind a few times.
So, instead of putting my kind readers through an article about scientific studies compiled by people whose only enjoyment in life is watching mold grow, I think I’ll try to tackle the subject on my own.
First, and foremost, I believe people seek out scary and otherwise sticky situations in an attempt to appear tough.
For years, my friends and I would always make a pilgrimage to Nashville in October to visit such fine establishments as “The Slaughter House,” “The Haunted Prison,” or “The Haunted Woods.” It wasn’t because we enjoyed going to a place where ex-cons jumped out with chainsaws with, or without, the chains and every room played on a different fear. It was because we wanted to appear “tough” for the ladies that would accompany us and would surely be glued to our sides before the night was over.
Another reason I think people seek out scary situations is to face their fears, not to mention the rush of adrenaline that immediately follows.
Since childhood, I’ve been afraid of what might be lurking in the shadows and to this day, I will not leave the closet door open for fear of what might crawl out and get me during the night. (Although I’ve been assured whatever it is will let me go once it gets a good look at me!)No matter what people have said to try and curb my wild imagination and superstitious nature, my mind is made up. After all, as Little Orphan Annie said, “The goblins will get you if you don’t watch out!”
Oh, the so-called sensible folks of the world say, “it’s the living you have to worry about, not the dead.” I’ve never been convinced of this. I have a .38 Special for the living. There’s nothing that will help me if a ghost gets after me.
Yet, even with my fear of the unseen, I’ve placed myself into some precarious paranormal positions over the years. Many late nights were spent in Chapel Hill visiting the mysterious ghost light, parking beside a cemetery at midnight to see if anything walked by, or going into an abandoned farm house to see what might dwell within. Luckily I remained one step ahead of the boogieman… and the police.
Each of these were my attempt at facing my fears and each produced their own level of adrenaline. I also learned a few things from the experiences. For one, I’ll never make a living as a professional “ghostbuster.” Two, as my realtor will attest, I do not want to live in a haunted house. Finally, three, ghosts are a lot like zoo animals. They’re interesting to look at and hear about as long as they can’t get out and do me any harm!
And, believe me, I practice what I preach.
My crew and I will be giving ghost tours of Downtown Columbia again this year, every Friday and Saturday in October with special tours on Halloween night. Believe me- we won’t be going into any of the haunted sites. We stay on the sidewalk as we talk about the ghosts.
The tour is $10 for adults and $5 for children ages 12 and under. Proceeds of the tour benefit the Elizabeth Caperton fund of the Maury County Public Library.
Reservations are required. To make reservations or to get more information, call (931) 375-6508.
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