YOU'RE GONNA MISS ME WHEN I'M GONE. Friends, it will be a long two weeks with no log entries from the road. Don't worry, I'm going to create a brand new, all-Europe-all-the-time log (with a separate URL) upon my return. But I have learned that vacation = no log, because it's too hard to try to find a computer, etc. I promise to bring back a full report, after our Easter break.

But you'll have to go back and revisit some old entries you might have missed the first time (esp. since I posted them out of sequence ... I discovered how to do that! I also finally beat the link problem. Now if I could just figure out which font does NOT corrupt quotation marks, dashes, or my personal punctuation favorite, the semicolon).

So, in my absence, please enjoy these tidbits:

Jan. 25 - in which Rodney Crowell changes our lives, and you are treated to a flashback
Feb. 8 - my architectural disappointments - and holy moments - in the Windy City
Feb. 15 - in which I compare dating with getting electrocuted

LIFELINE. I got two unexpected, great phone calls tonight, one from C+C Music Factory (Tucson, AZ) and the other from JAD in P-town (see Jan. 3 entry). I needed some friendly voices and it was sheer joy to hear from them. I am very, very lucky to have such a good network of friends.

C+C have shaped my musical tastes more than anyone else (refer to posts from my May 2003 Tucson trip). Each has made me amazing CDs / tapes during the course of my life.

I was reminded of that last week as a surprise arrived in my mailbox: a mix CD from a guy who completed our table at the Bluebird earlier this year. I went with friends to see Robyn Hitchock, and this man was a huge fan who was in town at just the right time. He lives in Atlanta and travels on business frequently, keeping an eye on the concert listings here in Music City.

Well, he's from Chicago (his last name ends in "-ski" and he knows a lot about hockey!) and is an old time '80s rocker, and we had a wonderful conversation about music. I sent his kids Jason's latest album, so he reciprocated with an amazing CD that is chock full of new and old great tunes, you know, just stuff he's listened to and liked over the last few months. He also sent along, as a bonus, Nick Lowe's "Labour of Lust." I've heard (and own on various compilations) about 80 percent of it -- but I never knew what I was missing with that other 20 percent!

The discs really have made my week -- it's a real treasure to get gifts like that.

NOT TO BE CONFUSED WITH PET NAMES. My family is big on nicknames, and so are my friends. That's one of the things I really dig about my family and friends. I don't know how we got on a nickname discussion at work, but I'm sure it was weeks ago, back when I was friendly and approachable.

One guy was telling us about his past girlfriends, and he referred to each by a nickname. My favorite ex-girlfriend name was "Little House," which she earned by dressing like an extra from the Laura Ingalls Wilder TV show.

Other girlfriend nicknames?
- Bunny, because she kind of looked like one.
- Bonehead. That was a short-lived, but apparently vivid and memorable, relationship.
- Mannequin. I felt it wise not to delve deeply on that one.

My co-worker has a very droll sense of humor, and hearing him describe these women was hilarious. I asked him what his type was, and he said, "Hippie chicks ... although I really hate hippies." He is now happily married, and I asked him to describe his wife, and he said, "Hippie chick."

He asked me what my type is, and I said -- and I think the record will back me up on this -- "Tortured genius." The line forms on the right.

ON WHEELS. You know I told you that for Lent I have given up silently screaming at people? I wasn't kidding. I think people would be surprised -- well, horrified -- to know some of the internal monologue that goes on during my day.

To be fair, sometimes people are just incredibly annoying. And not good at reading body language. I need a door on my cubicle. That might help. Helpful hint: If I'm typing feverishly, and not looking up, do NOT enter. Ditto if I'm on the phone, or if someone else is in my cubicle and we are talking.

No, I don't want to be in the NCAA pool.
No, I don't want to know your political opinions.
No, I don't want to hear a stupid joke.

An under-rested Mapgirl is a crabby Mapgirl, and I have not been sleeping much. I have an extremely bad tendency to burn it at both ends as I near vacation. I'm sure everyone around me will be glad to drive me to the airport - they're probably anticipating this vacation as I am.

This put my day in perspective: a letter from LHK + husband, who are ready to adopt No. 2 and need your help.

Help me put out this word: If you know of an expectant mother who would like a good and loving home for her baby, please contact my friends. All of us would be eternally grateful, and I can assure you that child would have a very happy and love-filled life.

I promise I will be in a better mood by the time he / she arrives.

AN APPROPRIATE ELECTION YEAR QUESTION. Some people take stock of their lives on New Year's Eve, some on their birthdays, some on March 15. I'm one of the March 15 people.

It's kind of a recent milestone. It's the day I came here in 2002 to interview, and the day I decided in my heart to leave the life I knew and strike out in a new direction. (It took the Nashville office powers that be considerably longer to offer me the chance to do those things, but we finally worked it out around Memorial Day.)

So for the last two years on March 15, I've sat back at some point in the day and thought, "Wow, this is my life ... I wouldn't trade with anyone."

Here's what I said last March 15, and it still holds true. Who knows what I will say next March 15?

In presidential election years, candidates tend to ask, "Is your life better than it was four years ago?" Yes, definitely, and it wasn't even that bad four years ago. So it's all just a huge gift. I feel stronger, smarter, braver and happier today than I felt one year ago. Believe it or not, I also feel humbler and quieter. Maybe I'm just older.

CUE TWILIGHT ZONE MUSIC. See the March 4 entry, then the March 10 entry, and consider this: the opening minutes of tonight's "Crossing Jordan" featured the Marshall Crenshaw song "Cynical Girl."

Television, why must you mock me? I'm still glad I opted for the class over the concert.

WHY IT'S CALLED A JUMBOTRON, I GUESS. Today was the Tom King Half-Marathon and 5K Run. DMJ and took part in the 5K walk. Even the lowly walkers got to participate in the highlight of the event: crossing the finish line inside the Coliseum and having the moment captured on the giant electronic scoreboard.

It was completely cool. How I wish I'd brought my digital camera! We walked down into the lower level of the stadium and walked out the corridor (picture that Mean Joe Green Coke commercial) onto the field. It was a gorgeous day and the scale of the stadium is completely different once you're there on the turf. Now I have something, however minor, in common with my Titan neighbors. Oh, guess what? They're not moving after all. (See Jan. 22 entry.)

I felt pretty good about all my activity over the past few days until I caught a glimpse of myself on the giant screen in the stadium. Hmm. Oh well.

DMJ pointed out that we now have seen the inner workings of the Predators home and of the Titans home.

We walked a ton this weekend. Last night we walked from my place over to the Coliseum to get our race packets, then we walked on to Gerst Haus. The oompah band played "Margaritaville" and "I Feel Good." You've never fully experienced those songs until you've heard them done by an oompah band.

Today after the race we walked up to the Farmer's Market (where a family asked me for directions to the Parthenon -- see March 3 entry) and then to Monell's, where we met some of our half-marathoning colleagues from work. We all were ready for a carb load, even though that is usually done before the race ... We had an incredible breakfast (complete with fried chicken!) and Monell's is very enjoyable. You sit family style, and at our table were three Associated Press reporters and their families. They were very nice and had never been to the Frist, but would like to. Even though I am not pursuing friendships as much as I used to (see March 4 entry), I did exchange business cards with them. I also did that thing that I hated when other people used to do it, and that is to tell working reporters, "Oh, I used to be in journalism too."

ONE OFF THE SHORT LIST. This is a very depressing story about my favorite Peoria restaurant closing. This removes one reason for going back to P-town. So sad.

IN YOUR FACE, ACCOUNTING! We had the Employee of the Year award today and VGG brought home the hardware! She was a runaway winner. We are all intensely proud of and happy for her.

Since our group monitors the voting and prize acquisition, we had to keep her winning on the downlow. Apparently to deflect her curiosity, the other members of our team told V that I was in fact the winner. She knew the jig was up when the president began the introduction of the winner as "She is extremely analytical ..."

In her acceptance speech, V said a wonderful thing: "I love my team." Isn't that great? We do have an awesome work group. We're so lucky.

SYNCHRONICITY. Tonight I went to the Bluebird to see Amy Rigby, Swan Dive, Bill Lloyd and Don Henry in the round. In and of itself, that would have been enough. Then they asked some of their friends to come out of the audience and play a song. Amazing people complied, including Rosie Flores.

Don Dixon was in the audience but declined to play a number. I was just wowed that he was in the audience. How cool is that? The Guy Who Broke My Heart (1988 title holder) loved Don Dixon, and just for a scant minute I wished I knew how to get ahold of him so I could tell him about it -- and not in a snotty way, either. I must be mellowing with age.

Don Dixon, Bill Lloyd and Robert Crenshaw just put out an album. Robert is Marshall's brother and played in his band (see March 4 entry). Sometimes these patterns freak me out.

Anyway, where else could you sit in a room and have such an array of talent? Even the performers themselves had to comment on it. I shared a table with another solo woman who said she just likes seeing live music in such a great atmosphere. She took the words right out of my mouth.

GODSEND INDEED. I went to the Belcourt for that concert tonight (see March 3 entry) and it was simply fabulous. It was a benefit for the Hillsboro Village neighborhood school, and Will Kimbrough's kids go there, so he led the stellar bill. Tony Womack (as the MC mistakenly introduced him) played incredible harmonica alongside him. If you have not bought Will's "Godsend," you really should. Frankly, anything of his is good, but they did a version of "Godsend" tonight that almost had me bawling with joy.

I'm so glad my mandolin procurement professional told me about the Nashville Mandolin Ensemble. They played Beatles songs, oldtime bluegrass, even an Allman Brothers cover. They are incredible musicians. See them if you can.

Also on the bill and very enjoyable were Marshall Chapman and Rod McGaha.

I drove home sated and supremely happy. I had to stop for gas and stood there admiring the skyline and replaying all my favorite moments from the night in my mind. [The guy at the pump next to me asked me for directions to Broadway Brewhouse. Why? Again, refer to March 3 entry.]

Just when I was thinking I could not possibly love this town any more than I do, Perry Baggs (the Scorchers' original drummer) pulled up at the pump next to mine and started filling his tank. I am not making this up.

I said hello and talked with him for a minute -- he doesn't know me at all and I think I kind of freaked him out. I've lost my reporter's nerve because I didn't ask him anything, just said it was good to see him and went on my way.

THE TREE IS JUSTICE. Almost any time you're in a classroom setting with other adults, you have to go around and give your name. My evening class tonight, "Narrative in Fiction," was no different, except we had to say what we are writing and why we are taking this class. What a great question -- and how great to be in a room where everyone had an answer for that question, even if the answer was "I'm not writing anything, I'm just a huge reader and I thought this would be interesting."

I don't think teacher Tony Earley was overly impressed by my answer to the question, which was that I write corporate communications for a living, I write a weblog, and I would like to try fiction.

Other reasons I took the class were the strengths of the teacher -- Earley's book Jim the Boy even inspired an album by Paul Burch -- and it was cheap and convenient. I walked over from work, through the Vanderbilt campus and over to the University School of Nashville. Everything about their set-up impressed me -- everyone was very friendly and efficient and I would heartily recommend their adult education classes to everyone.

It was nice to be back in a school. I often miss going to E's and A's schools. This class met in a high school English classroom, where there were quotes on the wall like these:

"I fear the man of one book."
"I have always imagined that Paradise will be a kind of library."
"When we are collecting books, we are collecting happiness."

So I felt pretty comfortable, even though we had to read some Hemingway stories in preparation for this class, and I really don't like Hemingway. I figured it would be quite an amazing class indeed if Tony Earley could persuade me to like Hemingway.

He kind of persuaded me. I still don't like Hemingway, but I have a greater (albeit grudging) respect for his writing ability. And I think Tony Earley was very reasonable about his own Hemingway fandom (he skewered a couple myths about him and he admitted that, "I used to carry 'A Moveable Feast' like a holy text," he said. "Then I taught the book, and realized he was completely full of it.").

Fortunately he talked about lots of other great authors, like J.D. Salinger and Flannery O'Connor, to illustrate his main premise: that you write about one thing, but there is the other thing -- the metaphor you introduce to illuminate the weightier point of the story. The trick is how to connect those two things, and that often eludes beginning writers, he said. "My students say, 'Didn't you know the tree meant justice?' " he said. "And I say, 'No, that wasn't in the story.' "

My classmates were a varied bunch, representing all ages and writing interests. The woman sitting behind me was very cool. She has a job very similar to mine but she writes for a living at a publishing house, which means her audience is probably a little tougher. Like me, she was reluctant to come to the class due to the Hemingway homework. And she also was very happy about the Salinger and O'Connor references. I wished I would have thought to ask her if she is in a book club -- or would like to be. This is how I know I've lived here awhile: my ardor for pursuing new friendships is starting to ebb.

My plate is pretty full as it is. Take tonight, for example. I was supposed to volunteer at the Frist, then rescheduled when this class came up. Then I learned my #2 concert wish of 2004, Marshall Crenshaw, is playing in Memphis. But this class won't come around again, and Marshall likely will (and I hope he is with a full band when he does).

IF IT'S NOT STERLING SILVER, IT'S NOT GOING IN HERE. I was standing in the back of the Exit/In last night, wondering where they were passing out the "pretty people" pills. It was a very shiny crowd. I don't think I've ever been in a room that featured more slicked back, see through, squished together, pumped up elements.

One woman had an impressively tiny purse, which despite its small size, kept hitting me every time she swung it over her bony little shoulder. Since I gave up silently screaming at people for Lent, I just tried to figure out what planet I was on.

Turned out there was some kind of big music conference going on in town, so it was a very "industry" crowd. I believe I may have been the lone exception. I was there, surprisingly enough, to see the band: The Mavericks.

I have never wished so much that I was wearing a wire. I cannot possibly recreate the pre-show chatter going on around me. It was hilarious and also a bit terrifying.

Believe me, my recollection is fairly accurate, but I am not doing this story justice at all:

The Purse Woman had a friend who was recounting her many jobs since coming to Nashville. She has been a set dresser, production assistant, and various acronyms that meant absolutely nothing to me. One of these gigs found her on the set of a Toby video, [I'm assuming that's Toby Keith] where a member of his team admired her bellybutton ring. They loved it so much they wanted her to take it out and lend it to the whiskey girl [apparently a character in the video]. This led to a great deal of negotiating. How in world could she take out the bellybutton ring? She could not possibly do that. Well, she was asked if she could wear a different bellybutton ring -- one that they would provide -- while the whiskey girl used hers.

To which she uttered this immortal line: "If it's not sterling silver, it's not going in here."

Apparently it was not sterling silver. So the woman offered her belly, complete with ring, as a stand-in.

And that's how her belly -- with ring -- came to appear in the Toby video.

I'm just going to have to take her word for that.

The Mavericks finally came onstage and they were incredible. Raul Malo has the most wonderful voice, and the whole band just ROCKED. If you haven't heard their latest album, you should. It's extremely romantic. Sigh. Rick Trevino came out to sing "In My Dreams," and it was like a wave hit me in the face. Or maybe it was that woman's purse. Either way, I could have cried.

When I am at a show, there is nothing else. It's like a giant hypodermic needle at the base of my brain, and suddenly I'm just happy. Even after a very long and irritating day at work, I love seeing live music.

I had been minutes away from ditching the Mavericks experience. So very glad I did not. When I stop going to shows because I had a bad day, the terrorists have won.

THE MAPGIRL EFFECT. Just as I have a "Tell me everything" tattoo that strangers can spot, I have a related invisible sign over my head that broadcasts, "Ask me." So folks do. No matter where I go. All the time. Even in Paris.

Why?

Lately, as I traverse the streets of this wonderful city, drivers and pedestrians alike feel a need to stop and query me. (By the way, I am now officially a "ma'am.") I have been asked items including, but not limited to, the following:

- location of the Centennial Health Club
- location of the Ryman
- the time
- distance on Interstate 40 from here to Memphis
- location of the nearest Krispy Kreme
- location of the nearest Bank of America ATM

Here's what's scary: I always know the answer. Even the ATM question (although, I should confess, if they'd asked about First Tennessee, I would have been clueless).

Now I've been wondering why I have this mysterious pull on people. And I started to think: perhaps it stems from where I walk. People likely turn to me because I am the only pedestrian who is (a) there (b) seemingly employed or (c) sober.

But then the other night I walked down to Samurai Sushi. It sits on Elliston between two teeming nightclubs. There were many people out and about. I was contemplating the wonderful meal I was about to savor, a Choo Choo roll that combines sushi with fruit. Fabulous. I'm picturing it here for your pleasure.




On the sidewalk with me were many folks, most of whom seemed to be fine, upstanding and dare I say sober citizens. One well-dressed man in his late 30s approached me and inquired about the location of Church Street.

This blew my theory. Out of all the pedestrians, why me?

When people approach me, I usually suspect a sinister motive. I worry that I look like an easy mark, a sucker. This troubles me greatly. Sometimes people do make a beeline for me for the sole purpose of panhandling. But mostly I just end up fielding questions about directions and restaurants.

So I have decided to accept my fate of public reference maven, which is something I secretly kind of dig about myself.

And so it was that I ran over to the Belcourt Theater box office today to get tickets to a show. I parked in the fire lane, car still idling, and ran up to the front door. Another woman was standing there. The door was locked.

"Do you work here?" she asked me.
"No, I don't," I replied. I was more than clear on this point. "I came to buy tickets. But apparently they're closed."

Undaunted, the woman asked me a series of questions. Do they rent out this place? What's the seating capacity? What kind of shows do they put on here?

Turned out she is a sales manager for a local hotel and wants to talk to the Belcourt staff about some kind of corporate alliance.

I answered her questions, but I tried to stress that the answers I provided were not necessarily those of the Belcourt management. I just hang out there a lot.

We wished each other a good day and I was about to get in my car but I figured, if anyone could tell me why, why I provoke such inquiries, this woman could give me an answer.

I was struggling with how to phrase this question but she helped me out: "Thanks for the information -- you looked like you knew what was going on."

I guess I can live with that.

HIP FACTOR. Well, I had a wonderful time with my brother and sister-in-law here in Music City. We walked relentlessly. Even my sister-in-law, a powerhouse, said her hips hurt by the time Monday rolled around. I know mine did. We walked to the Farmer's Market, Germantown, across the bridge into East Nashville, to the Country Music Hall of Fame, and in the Predator-sponsored Fangtastic 5K.

It was fun - and VGG and I were very proud of our strong showing compared to last year! (Please refer to the shameful March 1, 2003 entry.) Here is the pre-event photo of my family. Disclaimer: this was taken very early in the a.m.




My sister-in-law was quite the trooper, going to Tin Angel, a hockey game (we won in sudden death OT) and the Opry at the Ryman. I am incredibly pleased to report she loved the Opry. She knew about the band Emerson Drive, a group that inspired a lot of girly screaming and photographs (from other audience members, not from my sister-in-law). I had never heard of Emerson Drive. How lame of me! So who is the true music aficionado?

The Opry was really enjoyable - and how can you go wrong at the Ryman? The show does a good job of mixing old school (Porter Wagoner - who was interesting, Little Jimmy Dickens, Connie Smith, John Conlee) and popular contemporary acts (Buddy Jewell, Darryl Worley, Patty Loveless). The jingoist element was inescapable, though. And I hate to break it to you, but there is a reason you never see an ugly audience member on the live telecast: they handpick the on-camera folks. Go figure.

We went to the Country Music Hall of Fame on Sunday, and I think having seen the Opry the previous night really added a different dimension. I recommend both if you come to town.

We also could go to Pancake Pantry if you'd like, and I have found the optimal situation for breakfast there: a rainy Monday morning. No waiting! We had a nice breakfast there before my brother had a business meeting and they headed back.

It was hard to see them go, as it is any time my loved ones leave. I love my life here but sometimes I wish I could bring my parents, siblings, nephews, book club, Edgar & Aldo's family, past co-workers and my house down here with me. It was great to have my brother and sister-in-law all to myself and to talk about everything and nothing. I really love my family.

FINANCIAL GENIUS. Headine from USA TODAY: Dollar is weakest against the British pound in recent memory. What a great time to go to Europe! I am not dissuaded.

Had a great weekend with LRT & RAT. Details to come.