DO YOU WALK THE LINE? So has anybody gotten a call for Johnny Cash Tribute tickets? Me neither. I think they're supposed to inform all winners by tomorrow. *sigh* Hope springs eternal.

Hey, pictures from my vacation are now posted. Click on the "Photo Albums" link in the toolbar across the top of the blog. Enjoy the Stars and Bars bikini pics.

WHAT SC REALLY STANDS FOR. Yes, it was a wonderful time away, and I can honestly say it was too short. (My work inbox and the pile of things that await me at the office will be evidence to the contrary. I can�t even begin to contemplate it.)

I tend to be a very internal writer, by which I mean I have to turn things over in my mind, carry them through the aisles of supermarkets, say them out loud in the shower, scribble them on the backs of movie stubs, and then in one great burst sit down and type them all out.

When I was in South Carolina, and ready to type them all out, I realized I didn�t bring an external keyboard for my laptop, which does not have a functioning keyboard (as you may recall). So I plugged in the tiny keyboard I brought for my Palm Pilot, and that worked fine, except my Palm Pilot wouldn�t work.

Two systems, neither one working. [Expletive deleted] technology.

So I�m still laden with all the stuff I was going to write, plus all the vacation items I want to share.

Long story short: It was a wonderful week in South Carolina, a lot of good times spent with my parents and a lot of great reading and some writing (all by hand!). South Carolina is a beautiful part of the country, unspoiled by the modern world and its inconveniences, such as road signs.

SC = Signage Challenged, I tell you. I must be getting more patient in my old age because even things like getting lost about 26 separate times on back roads didn�t faze me too terribly much. I�m getting better about shutting off the work thoughts and enjoying the moment. It definitely helped that my parents were along for the first few days. It was great to be with them.

My previous cabin vacations have been very solitary pursuits and I have guarded them jealously. I liked going out in the middle of nowhere (relatively speaking) all alone and I always came back with some epiphany. This year I also came to some realizations, one of which is that I really enjoy being with people whom I truly love. It was even nicer than being alone, and that is saying something.

Other personal revelations:

-- I love my car. Man, it�s so comfortable and the stereo is so nice. Driving on all the twisting mountain roads in northern Georgia was like being in an Audi commercial. And I had the sunroof open. I never got tired of driving. I did get tired of sitting on I-40 just west of Asheville for some kind of screwy Sunday construction, but even then, I was in my great car, so it wasn�t so bad. I drove from Nashville to Chattanooga to the cabin to Greenville, S.C., to Charlotte, N.C., then home to Nashville.
-- XM Satellite Radio is a great investment. Every day I said out loud, �I love XM.� I listened to it in the car, at the cabin, at my friends� in Charlotte. Completely worth every penny.
-- I can read for hours and hours and hours. I read a lot of distinctly Southern fiction on this trip, most of which was informed by the Southern Festival of Books. Sheer joy.
-- I have no self-discipline when it comes to cable television. The cabin had Dish Network, and I watched as many �Law & Order� episodes as I could. It is on before noon, even. If I had cable, I would probably never leave the house.
-- I have great parents. You probably already knew that. It bears repeating. I was a little embarrassed to tell people they were coming with me, because it seems kind of spinsterly to go on vacation with one�s parents, but they were very fun and (for the most part) relaxed. My mom brought candles to make the cabin more like home, which is so her. I loved that. My dad slept in, which is so NOT him. I loved that. We watched the World Series every night, until after midnight (we were in the Eastern time zone). Then we got up at our leisure and Mom made us breakfast (just as the vacations of our childhood, she never really got to rest) and sat around on the screened-in porch for hours, until we decided to go for a walk or drive to a nearby destination and kill some time getting lost on the way there and back.
-- I am old. I realized this when I was at Furman University to see HCB�s youngest daughter. It�s a beautiful campus and everyone there seemed so youthful. It was Homecoming weekend and even the alums looked freshly scrubbed and ready to take on the world. I aged on the trip (got lost twice, natch).
-- My friends have married amazing people. I had a great weekend with CWM and his wife NW in Charlotte. They have a great house they are restoring (you can see downtown at the end of their street! Yay!) and she is a design maven. He is, by his own description, an antisocial bastard. I disagree, but it made me laugh nonetheless. He and I have sat and watched TV in many rooms over many years, but maybe this time, chatting and laughing in their living room, was the instance I enjoyed the most. It was great to be with them and I�m very proud of him and that I can now count her among my friends.

I�ll try to put some pictures up in the next week or so.

Back to the grind tomorrow, and I have a sense that it�s all going to hit the fan. I took two days off to spend here in Nashville, running all the errands and doing all the things I never seem to have time to do (return shoes, order new contacts, get a manicure, etc.) Strangely enough, I went to a concert last night, and even though I didn�t have to go to work this a.m., I left the Richard Thompson show early. (Blasphemy! I hear some of you shouting). May I repeat, I am old.

UNPLUGGED. Friends, the log is going on vacation for a week. No e-mail. No Internet access! But the computer is going along for some writing. I'm starting a new handwritten journal too ... quite excited about that.

Look for new (and long-promised) enties early the week of 27 October. I'm going off to a cabin in South Carolina and I will be writing, walking, sleeping and eating, not necessarily in that order. At the risk of letting you "see other people," may I recommend this blog while I am away. Come back, please, the week of the 27th.

WATERCOOLER CHAT. This is a big topic of conversation today. We don't like loincloths, either.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY EIB. It's shameful, downright wrong, that I thought your bday was Oct. 7, no, Oct. 9, no, sometime in the 10th month. It is today, Oct. 16, and I am thinking of you as you mete out justice for the denizens of this great land of ours. You are one friend who truly knows me -- esp. the strange and ugly truths -- and still accepts me. Thank you. I am glad you were born! Outside my family, I believe you are the central Illinoisan I miss most of all. Have a wonderful day.

THE WOMAN IN BLACK. Tickets to the Nov. 10 Johnny Cash tribute at the Ryman will be available by lottery only, and there�s just one entry per person. This is where you come in: enter and give me the tickets. I�m totally serious. You don�t live here anyway, and it just costs you a postcard to get in the lottery. So check out the address and rules on the Ryman Auditorium website, enter under your name, win and transfer the tickets to me.

Hurry up! Entry deadline is Oct. 26. That�s next week, people.

I e-mailed my co-workers (esp. the ones whose annual reviews I do) that they must do the same � and that if I win a pair of tickets, whoever is nicest to me will get to accompany me.

One immediately e-mailed back: �You look very pretty today.�

HOLY COW. No wonder I've started liking hockey so well. It's beginning to look like baseball.

CELEBRITY HAT TRICK: DENIED. Does the name Garry W. Tallent mean anything to you? He's Springsteen's bass player. He lives here in Music City and does album production for various people around town. He co-hosted a house concert (private party, by invite only) with some people who are shirttail relations of DMJ's, and we went to a party at those folks' house tonight. I didn't meet him, thus ending my streak for the week.

I was tired and left halfway through the house concert. I was very un-Southernly. It was hot in that gorgeous Forest Hills house, and that came on the heels of 70 excruciating minutes not meeting anyone on the deck prior to the show. (I can talk to a post, but I had not an ounce of energy to make the least effort. Apparently no other invitees did, either.) I should have taken a nap before going.

The Tallents and these people are such good friends that DMJ's friends have gone along on E Street Band tours to the U.K. and Australia. I was about 10 feet away from Garry W. at one point, but I had nothing to say, no energy, nada. Quite sad, really. At least from the co-host I did learn more about Garry W., which is all good and I will not divulge here. I also learned that the W. is for "Wayne."

Most of all I learned that I am old and my mojo is gone on the third night out.

PREDATORS 3, MIGHTY DUCKS 1. Tonight was the Predators' season opener and it was quite a spectacle. VGG got us awesome seats -- beware of flying pucks! -- and DreamWorks recording artist Jessica Andrews sang the National Anthem. I have no idea who DreamWorks recording artist Jessica Andrews is, but she must be impressive because she was always introduced that way.

Anyway, the between-period entertainment got people's attention: a sports juggler who skated while flipping rings, then tennis rackets, then hockey sticks, then flaming hockey sticks. Of course, Webb Wilder and the Nashvegans also played a couple sets, and that's always fun to watch. I had a chance to talk to Webb and to his guitarist, George Bradfute, who produced Jason's latest album. I've been listening to my advance copy and it's a kids' album that really captures Jason's personality. George played a lot of diverse instruments on it -- including all the animal sounds -- and I pretty much invited myself to his recording studio when Jason gets back in the country. What can I say? I was hopped up on hockey adrenaline.

A nice human-interest story for the night was the NHL debut of Jordin Tootoo, the first player of Inuit descent. A bunch of his Canadian friends and family came to Nashville by bus for the historic event.

I walked to the game and home, and every time I round the corner to go down the 5th Avenue hill, I feel like jumping up and down with excitement. You can see the arena, the corner of Lower Broad, the majestic front of the Ryman and a sliver of the Country Music Hall of Fame. People are coursing down the street and everyone's ramped up for the night's festivities. I can't imagine living anywhere but downtown.

WHY IT'S NAMED "THE TRAP." Against all better judgment I went to see Dwight Yoakam again tonight. Oh, don't get me wrong, he was fabulous, but the hassle factor was enormous. It was at a club called The Trap, and it was the most confusing place to find parking and to find the door. There was a reason: normal people shouldn't go there. Plus the whole gig started about 40 minutes later than expected.

It was worth it, though. I ran into personal fave Webb Wilder and his pal, star producer R.S. "Bobby" Field. Webb introduced me. I love this town.

Webb's band is playing at the season-opening hockey game tomorrow night. Must rest up for that now.

SHAKEN. Someone recently asked how I came to my decision to leave the paper, and I've been turning that over in my mind. I don't think it was a particular moment in time, and there were a number of external and internal factors. I've never regretted leaving the paper, even on my worst day in Corporate America, but I have often missed the people. My former co-workers are quirky and curious and funny and multifaceted and infuriating -- not necessarily in that order.

Tonight as I was walking out of work I thought about one in particular. A runner on the street reminded me of him. I'll call him K ... he was a sweetheart but, it must be said, he was my worst boss at the paper. He was fired a few months ago due to his alcoholism, a problem that he vigorously denied, even after his time in an employer-funded residential treatment program.

I don't remember him drinking when I worked for him, but he was erratic, to say the least. In the wake of his departure from the paper, many ugly things came to light. I don't know which, if any, were true. All I know is, I was very angry with him when I was his employee, and I got angrier the more I saw and heard after I moved on to another department and even after I left the company.

At one point I told a former co-worker not to tell me any more K-related anecdotes, because they vexed me so much.

She called tonight to give me one last K report. "I have bad news," she said.

"Did he commit suicide?" I asked.

"Close," she answered. He didn't wake up today when his elementary-age son went in to get him. I'm not sure at this point what happened, but it is alcohol-related -- it appears he literally drank himself to death. He was 46 years old.

Some people can't pass a casino without emptying their bank account. Some people can't take just one trip through the all-you-can-eat buffet. Some people squander their time and money on pornography. K could not stop drinking, even when it meant his job, his livelihood, his self-respect, his very life.

It is impossibly sad.

He had been one of my favorite people at the paper. We used to go to the Illinois Shakespeare Festival every summer and a University of Illinois football game together every fall. We would talk on the phone for hours and hours after deadline, especially when I was a stringer and he was my contact in the newsroom. He loved to talk. I remember when his first child was born, and how it forced him to quit smoking. He loved archaeology. He hated confrontation. He slurped coffee out of short styrofoam cups. He was obsessive about running. He only operated in crisis mode. He was proud of his kids. He spoke with you conspiratorially about other people in the newsroom. He had a very distinctive laugh. His eyes were very, very blue.

I do not let go of people easily. I still exchange Christmas cards with my sole remaining friend from that sour year in Connecticut, I remember exes' birthdays long after it's appropriate, and my oldest friends have known me since I was in knee socks. But I am ashamed to say that K slipped away without resistance. Especially after his rehab, I did consider writing him a couple times -- thought more about writing his wife, truth be told -- but had no idea what to say.

I would like to write to his wife now and tell her the many good things I do remember. I wish I could have one more conversation with him on the phone.

ROCK MY WORLD. Just got back from seeing "The School of Rock." It is not high concept, but it is high-larious. I laughed uproariously, and everybody in the audience did too. I went to a later show and wasn't the oldest person in the crowd -- I definitely wasn't the youngest, either. Jack Black's eyebrows were hysterical. (I like him, and you probably should be a fan to fully appreciate the movie.) It was surprisingly clean and the music wasn't too bad. I have to see the movie again as soon as possible -- and I need to find another person to practice Jack Black's rockin' handshake with me.

STRATEGIC PLANNING. In the cool of the evening I walked down to 2nd Avenue to meet a colleague for one of our biweekly strategic planning sessions, in which we discuss the state of the world as we see it. This usually involves a few libations and deep analysis of the workplace, romantic relationships (or lack thereof) and what the heck are we doing with our lives. My colleague said I always drag him to unusual spots ("Can't we ever just go to Outback?") but I know he digs it.

He's a great pal because (1) he will go anywhere I suggest, no matter how non-Outback the venue and (2) he never met a stranger. During our last strategic planning session we shared a table a couple from Thompson Station who were very fun. They are the parents of a young man named Max, which is one of my favorite names. Why, my colleague asked? Because it is a great name that lasts through every stage of life and looks good on a book jacket, I answered. I don't remember exactly what he said, but it was along the line of "You're nuts."

My colleague is a masterful project manager and I believe he has taken me on as a project. Tonight he revealed that he has devised a plan for me. Stay tuned.

As I walked home I had an unbelievable craving for sushi, so even though the "OPEN" sign was off, I ventured into the Sushi Nazi's. He eyed me skeptically as I asked whether the shop was indeed open. "You must not come here at this time," he said, in his inimitable way. I wasn't sure if that was an observation or a command. Then he explained that it is 8:40 p.m., and he usually stops serving at 8:30 p.m., even though he doesn't officially close until 9 p.m. I interrupted his clean-up time ... BUT since he was only partly finished he would make my order, as long as it was take-out.

No worries there.

I was unfazed by this because I really wanted sushi, and I was in such a good mood from my walk and planning session. So I had to push my luck.

"Well, are your hours posted somewhere?" I asked.
"No."
"Oh."
"I don't post them because I don't want customers to expect this is open. Usually I open at 11 but sometimes no. So no post."

Of course not. Heaven forbid.

So I stood and watched the Cubs-Atlanta game for about 20 seconds. "Are you rooting for anyone in this game?" I asked him.

And then I learned the secret of the Sushi Nazi: big sports fan. HUGE. Talked my ear off about baseball, soccer, football and hockey -- which he likes least of all. He smiled. He laughed. The Sushi Nazi was actually friendly.

Lesson learned: The Cubs are actually good for something!