I made a little faux pas after dinner on Friday night. I won’t go into elaborate detail, but I turned the figurative conversational steering wheel into a precarious twist; a little bit of schoolgirl stupid-ness slipped out as the car jostled into a pot hole.
There was an uncomfortable moment of silence.
Then it passed and the evening was over. Ever vigilant to repair damaged things, I sent a brief note the next morning, apologizing for my faux pas. Here’s a piece of my note:
“These things always sound like a good idea in a country music song, but they never seem to work out well in real life.”
Country music is an easy target and I’m not being completely fair to the genre. There are many bad ideas in jazz songs, opera arias, Broadway show tunes, and rock and roll anthems. I’m going to step out on a limb, though, and say that none of the various musical themes provide an idea as singularly horrible as Conway Twitty’s “Tight Fittin’ Jeans,” especially for a pear-shaped woman like me.
“Walkin’ After Midnight” might not be such a good idea, either. I’ve done it a few times and am thankful it always worked out well.
I’d suggest you avoid the “Hard Candy Christmas.” It might lead to a sudden visit to the dentist and I know not everyone has a dentist like mine.
I sure wouldn’t want Hank Williams’ accusation of “Your Cheatin’ Heart” thrown at me, nor would I walk into The Big Corporation and tell my boss to “Take This Job and Shove It.”
In case anyone thought it was just older country music songs that inspire bad decisions, what about the “Red Solo Cup?” Can anything good come from it? I’ve seen some of the pictures my friends post on Facebook with these drinking vessels.
Musical suggestion might be the loudest and most ubiquitous force in my life, for good or bad. Although I’m still fighting my sports talk radio addiction, when I occasionally hit music pre-set buttons, one is set for country music. I am a product of cheap oil, long car trips, and the myth of eternal youth; throw in some bad country music lyrics and see what happens.
Take my advice, though. Keep those country music fantasies inside the hillbilly mental membrane.
The problem with taking inspiration from a song (or a television show or a celebrity) is that life just doesn’t always work out in scripted and choreographed ways. Sometimes, a bad decision can’t be undone in three verses with a twice-repeating chorus. I’ve made quite a few mistakes from following country music philosophies.
I caught some live local bluegrass Monday afternoon at Applecrest Farm. It was a group called White Mountain Bluegrass and they put on quite a show. Their seasoned faces told me a lot about the less-glamorous aspects of life and music. Towards the end of their last set, they sang an old Hank Williams song, “I Saw The Light.”
It was a fitting conclusion to the day. Bluegrass…it’s different than country, right?
That’s another story for another day, maybe a long snowy one.
See the light today!
Julie-Ann Baumer 
On my honeymoon, scooting through the Blue Ridge Mountains, stopped at a flea market of some sort. Over to one side were a bunch of local “boys,” pickin’ guitars and singin’ old songs. She tried to get me to go get my guitar out of the car (under everything else, of course), but I just wanted to hear them, in between them tellin’ eachuther ’bout how them boys over in the next holla jes’ don playit rat. Real bluegrass.
Living in St Pete in the early 90s, I realized that a certain bluegrass legend had his store over in Tampa. Damned if I can remember his name, but I can still hear his voice exactly. I took my mandolin over to him to get it worked on, he told me lots of stories about people I’d never even heard of. His summation of a life playing bluegrass: “Well, it’s not a lot of fun, but we sure make lots of money.”
Mr. Forgotten Nickname,
Thank you for stopping by the blog and commenting. We like to be friendly here, first name basis and all. I may very well have a blog post about you up my sleeve somewhere…do stay tuned! We’re always steeping a big cup of The October. 🙂
Umm, look at my email. It should dawn on you real fast who the one with the forgotten nick is. Of course, you could just be being catty with me and already know. There was Devo, and the Core, but I can’t remember who I was. Something obscene, I’m certain. But a post about me? No, bad idea, would scare away your budding readership.
There can be humor and lessons in many of the memories we hold dear. I do hope you will visit my humble virtual abode often, Mr. Nick. 🙂