Awaiting kickoff...

... At the Music City Bowl... Go Vandy! It's freakin cold. But we can
take it.

In North Carolina, with my nephew Jonah

A typical Atypical Friday: 'Tis the season to get your goat!

Someone gave me a goat today. Seriously.

I should have known that today was going to be weird. After all, it was the last day of school before a 2-week vacation. I knew the kids were going to be off-the-wall crazy/excited. The last day of school is always atypical. Atypically joyous, and unusually frenetic.

Why would I have expected today to be a normal day?

After all, It was 75 fucking degrees outside. 75 degrees on December 19. What? Really? The school I worked at in Chicago was closed today because of a snowstorm. So was the school I worked at in Massachusetts. For that matter, so was the school I went to for 14 years growing up in Connecticut. All of them closed due to massive snowstorms. That's normal. That's a normal Friday in December.

But 75 degrees on the first day of Christmas break? Not normal. Walking outside the door this morning with gloves and a scarf, only to turn around and deposit those things back in my house before driving to work with Christmas songs blasting and my sunroof open...? Not normal.

Little did I realize that my day was about to get even weirder. Like when my fiance called at 7:30AM, just as I arrived to work:

Me: Hello?
C: Hey. Do you want a turkey?
Me: Do I what? Huh?
C: Do you want a turkey? Should I bring home a turkey?
Me: Like, a live turkey? As a pet?
C: No, a turkey that you cook. It's Turkey Giveaway Day here at work. Do we want a turkey?
Me: I'm sorry, what? It's Turkey Giveaway Day? They're giving away turkeys at the hospital?

I thought that was weird, but apparently it's a tradition. Actually, I still think it's weird. Like, really weird. But that was before, later in the day, someone gave me a goat.

A goat! Weird. Just slightly weirder than the llama I was given yesterday.

In all honesty, a goat is a great gift. A company called Heifer International gives a goat to a family in a third-world country on my behalf. The animal supplies the family with milk, etc.... and I've done some good in the world without having actually done anything. So I'm grateful for that, and I think it's a great gift. I'm sure a llama is a great gift, too, but I have yet to read the card, so I'm not really sure how.

And regardless, it's undeniably weird. Undeniably atypical. And, somehow on this Friday, undeniably run of the mill.

Nashville: Music Bad Decision City

Nashville, you're on my shit list.

First, the entire metropolitan school system closed down the other day after the city received an amount of snow that I can only describe as... none. I mean, seriously. There was no snow on the ground. Okay, okay, the suburbs got a little snow and ice. But in the city? In Davidson County, where the schools were closed? No snow. N-o-n-e.

Seems like a bad decision to me, but I've come to realize that I don't know everything. Maybe some school official knows something that I don't know about the bus system, the safety of the roads, the lack of de-icing equipment, etc.. What do I know.

I do know something, however, about football. I know that when you're down by 1 point with under 2 minutes to go, and its 4th and 3 from the opponents 32-yard line, and your kicker is great and your quarterback is old... you KICK THE FIELD GOAL.

What on earth was Jeff Fisher thinking today, forcing the Titans to go for the first down (which they didn't get) and possibly blowing home field advantage in the playoffs? This was a very bad decision that led to a very important loss. Yeah, it wasn't all Fisher's fault. Our quarterback was awful, their defense was great, and we were playing on the road... but COME ON! The city-wide snow-day was debatable, but Fisher's decision today was absolutely, unquestionably, inexplicably BAD.

Lastly, I'm concerned about a decision that Nashville is about to make. On January 22, residents will vote on a measure to make Nashville an English-only city. To say nothing of the merits of such a measure (and I'm certain there are none), I wonder which elected officials are making the astoundingly poor decision to spend time pushing such bigotted, unconstitutional legislation? What are they thinking?

This week, I am disappointed by bad decisions. Disappointed by the Titans loss. Disappointed that I didn't get a day off from school while my fellow Nashvillians did. And most of all, I'm disappointed by the Tennessee Supreme Court's decision to decline an appeal which would have kept this infuriating English-only measure off the ballot.

I need a drink. A good decision, wouldn't you say?

My nephews are perfect....

... and we're doing our best to corrupt them.

My 5-month old nephew is the closest to perfection. He loves being naked (yeah, that's his butt), and all he wants to do is eat and giggle. That's perfect. Sometimes he pees on himself, but he doesn't care nearly as much as we do. His only blemish seems to be that he has trouble sleeping - and that's probably the fault of the adults (myself included) who surround him during his waking hours, showering him with love, affection, and all sorts of niceties that are conspicuously absent during his attempted slumber.

My 3-year-old nephew is also pretty darn near perfect, but we've had more time to corrupt him. He's irrationally obsessed with vacuum cleaners; an infatuation that we fueled on this trip by bringing him a table-top crumb vac that looks like an elephant. He makes unneccesarily loud exclamations ("I don't want to go outside, I want to go inside and play with the blender!!"), but it's so freakin' loud around here during the holidays that I'm pretty sure he's just trying to fit in. And his last blemish is the way in which he refers to his guitar by using the word "cuntar," which sounds awful, but makes us laugh. I'm pretty sure that's our fault, too, but I'm fuzzy on the details.

That's it. Other than that, they're perfect. As their uncle, it's my job to corrupt them, and no matter how hard I try, they still seem perfect to me. I guess I'd better try a little harder.

I have Southern blood, I guess?

It's snowing in Chicago, and I'm freezing my ass off. I might as well
be in Alaska.

Flight leaves in a few hours... I'm ready to get back to balmy
Nashville, have some grits, and thaw out.

Overheard: Nashville airport

"If country music were a baseball team, I'd want Kenny Chesney batting leadoff."

"No doubt."

"And George Straight batting cleanup."

"Yeah, he's a cleanup sorta guy."

"Oh, and don't forget the catcher. Toby Keith. He's your catcher, no doubt."

"Oh, you bet. Toby Keith. No doubt."

My final reflection on attending the Obama rally

I've been to a lot of powerful events. The World Series. The 2002 gold medal Olympic hockey match in Salt Lake City. The 2002 World Cup semifinal between England and Brazil in Shizuoka, Japan.

You may not be surprised to hear that none of those events can hold a candle to last night's rally. Seeing Barack Obama win the election, while surrounded by 100,000... fans? supporters? followers? I'm not sure what to call us. It doesn't matter. It was simply awesome.

Throughout the event, I struggled with how best to capture the experience. My camera - no camera, in fact - seemed big enough, or powerful enough, to capture what I was seeing. And yet, even in the joyful moment when Obama's victory was announced, I didn't know whether to throw my arms in the air in celebration, or to reach for my camera. It's a futile habit.

I suppose this is the age that we live in. It's not enough to simply experience something. We have to digitize it. Twitter it. Or commemorate it on a grammatically incorrect t-shirt.

But, unlike some of the big sporting events I've been to, this rally was impossible to bottle. It was impossible to capture on film. Impossible to put into words. Impossible to capture by updating one's Facebook status.

I've been pondering the indescribable nature of the event as I've faced the same question from friends and family today: "What was it like?" A fair question, but tough to answer. What was it like to see grown African-American men crying in the streets? What was it like to see thousands of teenagers screaming and shouting and celebrating.. politics? What was it like to be just a stone's throw from the nation's next President as he spoke not only to us, and not only to America, but to a captive audience in every country on Earth about how a new dawn is rising?

And was it really possible to capture any of that with the camera on my iPhone?

There's no shortage of people writing far more eloquently about their election experience than I can. Maybe I'm not talented enough as a writer, or maybe - moreso than any other event I've ever attended - you just had to be there.

I'm so glad I was.

Where we were...

I've been getting a lot of questions about where we were standing last night...

So I found two pictures on the Chicago Tribune, and I've marked where we were... more or less.

When we arrived, it felt like we were farther from the stage than we wanted to be. But, in hindsight, and seeing these (and other) photographs, I realize just how lucky we were.

Also, I found a really great timelapse video of the entire rally - in three minutes. If you look really closely, you can see us running in.

(Just kidding.)

Enjoy.

Simply awesome

Internet is spotty...

I won't blog until after Obama's speech... Internet service is spotty
here since everyone is on the phone.

Classy speech McCain. But we still booed Sarah Palin.

Final sound check for the next President

That's what the sound guy said. 70,000 people exploded.

VICTORY

Lost in the crowd

There are 10,000 people in front of me. And 60,000 behind me.
And I'm hearing word that the streets around here are packed for
blocks in any direction. The nearest beverage is a block away. Yikes.

Barack wins in a landslide...

... 20 minutes. Can you FEEL it??

Ready...?

They're sound checking his podium mic... Getting ready for an
acceptance speech... Can you feel it??

If you're watching CNN, I'm right next to suzanne malvo.. Spelling? I
dunno. She's in the crowd right next to me.

The sound check guy is playing with us. He says "Obama" we say
"Obama".. It's actually fun. Weird.

We're ready.

The media tent...

It's packed. And we're singing and dancing and watching Cnn on giant
screens. Simply awesome.

Were on CNN

Through the metal detectors...

And were in.

Security is tight

We just passed our third security checkpoint and we're still not in
yet... People are being very cool. Excited, eager, but chill. Mostly.
It's warm, clear skies... A perfect night. So far, so good.

That would be.. me.

Just perfect.

Coming home

Chicago will always feel like home. There are few more beautiful
sights than the Chicago skyline at sunset from a plane. I'm lucky to
be here.

Ok, next train stop is mine. More soon from inside the rally.

Next step: Get to Chicago

The rally gates open at 8:30, just six hours from now. People are
lined up already in Chicago. I'm still hundreds of miles away in
Nashville, waiting to board my plane, anxious about pulling this off...

But hey, an hour ago I was teaching middle schoolers about the
Electoral College system. On some level, my day can only get easier..

We're waiting in line to vote. Polls don't open here until 7am. Seems
a little late to me. I guess here in The Volunteer State, the
volunteers get to sleep in.

I'm live-blogging from inside the Obama Election Night Rally in Chicago

Look out Chicago. Here I come.

Thanks to the thoughtful invite of a friend in Chicago, I will be attending the Barack Obama Election Night rally in Chicago. I'm flying up from Nashville with nothing but a toothbrush in my pocket. Oh, and my iPhone. I'll be live-blogging the festivities right here - with pictures and updates of the whole affair. Stay tuned.

Oh, one more funny tidbit. Tickets to the rally are hard to come by. The Obama campaign only gave out a few thousand to the public, and each ticket requires a photo ID matching the bearer's name. So scalping is impossible. But each ticket allows the bearer to bring one guest, and the emerging meat market for this "plus-one" ticket is something to behold... Check out some of the postings on Craigslist, where democracy, capitalism and sleaze find harmonious balance.

Ok, that's it. More tomorrow from Chicago. Now... GET OUT THERE AND VOTE!

November 4 is Black Tuesday. Grab your tent!

We Americans love November. It's the month when we change the clocks and gain an hour of sleep. It's the month when we stuff ourselves with Turkey one night, and rush out of the house hours later to address our gluttonous guilt by standing in line for the Must-Have Toy of the Year. And, of course, November is the month when we vote.

Maybe you couldn't wait for November. Maybe you're one of the 13 million eager voters who braved cold weather, lines as long as a quarter mile, and the incredulous stares of those with common sense, just for the opportunity to vote early. Like those shoppers waiting in tents for Circuit City to open at 2AM on Thanksgiving night, some Americans just can't wait for election day.

While its heartening that so many people are voting, the fact that they're doing so early seems entirely un-American. Voting late? That's American. Not voting at all? As American as apple pie. But voting early? It's just not right.

Maybe people think that they'll avoid even longer lines on election day. Or, maybe this country has become so passionate about politics, and the state of the union, that it simply can't wait to exercise its democracy. Heck, even in Tennessee, over 1.5 million people have already cast their vote knowing full well that "that one" doesn't stand a chance here. Maybe America is changing.

Most likely, however, we're just hungover from 8 years of bad turkey, and, like the throngs of people that will race to the mall on Thanksgiving night, we simply can't wait to over-compensate for the bad choices we've made.

And that's as American as it gets.

The internal combustion engine sucks! (and other happy thoughts)

Ok, so I've been getting a lot of shit for my end-of-the-world blog posts lately. In order to fend off further inquiries about my mental state, here's a brief glimpse at my current positive reality:

• It's Saturday morning on a three-day weekend.
• Vandy and Northwestern are going for 6-0 today. Bring it.
  
• I received a tax refund yesterday. From 2004. Nice delay, Massachusetts.
  
• The internal combustion engine is finally headed towards extinction. I hate that thing. Really. It pollutes, it hasn't evolved, and its dependence on gasoline (which, by the way, has actually increased since its invention almost 100 years ago) dictates and dominates American governmental policy at almost every level. (Oh, sorry. There I go again. Ranting.)
  
• I finally got my Masters degree.
• It's no longer humid in Nashville. It's still hot. Still late-August by normal standards. But dry.
• I saved at least two of the mums in our dilapidated garden. Who knew they needed water?
  

So, things are looking up. Seriously. As long as I don't turn on the television or read a newspaper, I won't have to face the fact that people are shouting for Obama's head, or that the stock market is down 40% from its record high just one year ago last Thursday. No, instead its just a quiet Saturday morning here in Nashville, and all I have to worry about is how much cinnamon to put on my french toast. Oh! Cinnamon french toast! I'm adding that to the list.

•  Cinnamon french toast
  

The Presidential Debate in my back yard

Just one mile from tonight's Presidential Debate is our small, unimpressive garden. Neither candidate would be particularly interested in the garden, but we're proud of it. We've pulled weeds, turned the soil, planted mums, and added fertilizer. We had a plan for growth, and we put it into action. We have hope for our new garden.

But as proud as we are, the garden is failing, and our flowers continue to wilt under the blazing Nashville sun. We need more than a plan. We need more than hope. We need more.

We're trying to look at the garden with hopeful eyes, but it's dried up, and no matter what we say to the contrary, it isn't getting better. Sure, we can plant new flowers and lay down some attractive mulch, and talk about how great our garden is... but the flowers aren't growing. We can talk about how they'll grow, and we can add more fertilizer to the soil... but the flowers still aren't growing. We can debate why the garden fails, and discuss ways to fix it.. but its just talk. And talk never made anything grow.

Just one mile from our ailing mums, the candidates are talking. And like the soil just beneath the surface of our garden, the candidates are full of shit. They're talking about the economy and the environment, and they're trying to convince our skeptical nation that America will rise again. But its not enough. The talking, the debating, the arguing... it's just not enough. Like the rain that fell in Nashville today, it's just not enough.

About that, there is no debate.

Live from Dudley Field!

I'm blogging live from Dudley Field in Nashville (seriously, that's what it's called), where Vanderbilt and Auburn are facing off on ESPN. Vandy needs to win. I just couldn't help myself, but I probably shouldn't have worn my Cubs jersey. I'm bad mojo.


EDIT @ 9:30PM: Victory!! Unbelievable. Vandy held on for a one-point victory against the #12 team in the country. The Dores (Seriously?? the Vanderbilt Commodores? Embarrassing. You should see the mascot...) are 5-0 for the first time since 1943. They're 3-0 in the conference for the first time since 1950.  It's going to be a fun fall at Dudley Field.

I seem to bring this good luck with me when I move. When I arrived at football-inept Northwestern University in 1995, the team went 8-0 in the Big Ten, and ended the season as the #3 team in the country. I can't take credit for that, per say, but I did do a fair amount of shouting and marshmallow-throwing, and I think it helped.

Not surprisingly, when I leave a place, franchises go to hell. I moved out of New York City in 2002, and the Yankees have sucked ever since. I left Chicago this past summer, and the Cubs and White Sox are both on the brink of embarrassing playoff-elimination. Heck, even the Pittsfield Dukes, a collegiate league baseball team in Western Massachusetts, finished at a league-worst 11-31 in 2005, shortly after I left the area for good.

How do I hold such sway over the sports world? Its tough to say. But I'll let you know where I'm moving next. In the meantime, I'm going to throw some marshmallows at my television. Maybe it will help the Cubs.

Where the fuck is fall?

Seriously. I'm having some major withdrawal. I need my seasons. I need my foliage. I need my lightweight jacket.

Sure, sure. There's dew on my car in the morning. And I saw a black cat yesterday, which made it feel like Halloween. But it wasn't prowling through the fallen leaves, and ducking behind pumpkins. It was trying to avoid the 85-degree sunshine, and keep from melting into the sidewalk.

Is this how it is down here? Huh, Tennessee? Is it always this hot in September? What say you, my native sons? Fess up, Lamar Alexander! Speak of the heat, Miley Cyrus! Tell me about the seasons, Al Gore! No wonder you're so concerned about global warming! It's fucking hot down here!

I'm just gonna pretend. I'm gonna buy a big ol' pumpkin this weekend and stick it outside my front door. Shelter for the black cat, and fodder for the seasonal lie I'm living in my head. Good enough.

Dear Yankee Stadium

Man, we had some good times.

Like Halloween, 2001. With our Yankees down two runs in the ninth inning of Game 4 of the World Series, Tino Martinez belted a two-out home run to tie the game. Remember that? Derek Jeter won it with a solo shot an inning later. My dad and I witnessed it all from your right field bleachers. Awesome.

Remember how New York City buzzed for twenty-four hours straight after that, until the Yankees found themselves down, once again, with two outs in the bottom of the ninth inning of Game 5? You didn't panic, though! This time it was Scott Brosius who hit the game-tying home run to deafening cheers, and the Yankees won the game in 12 innings.

Thanks for not collapsing when the crowd went nuts that night. You and I survived the thunderous outburst, hysterical and exhausted. Tier Reserved section 30 felt like it was going to collapse into the seats below - but it didn't! Thanks for that! Those are terrible seats, by the way. No offense.

Ok, yeah, it's true. You weren't perfect. Your seats were uncomfortable, your restrooms were too few, and you really could have used more parking. But I don't hold it against you. I'm going to miss you. I may even buy a urinal.

Those games in 2001 sealed my love for you. Still reeling from September 11, we needed the Yankees to win those games. And though they didn't win the Series, it almost didn't matter. Your walls had housed two unforgettably electric nights. We needed you. And you delivered.

That's how I'll remember you. So I just wanted to say thanks. I'm gonna miss you.

We've run out of gas, America

Two days ago, I pulled into my local gas station to fill up, but the station was closed. No signs, no notice, just dirty plastic bags on the nozzles, and an ominous chain securing the front door. The station down the street - same thing. And the station around the block. This week, for no apparent reason, Nashville entered crisis mode, and ran out of gas.

We're not the only city in crisis mode, either. Just a few weeks ago, New Orleans flushed its population to higher ground in advance of a devastating storm. Houston and Galveston are still reeling from Hurricane Ike. Even Louisville, Kentucky, had to shut down its public school system this week.

And then there's New York City. Our modern-day Rome; the capital of Western Civilization. It's falling apart. Wall Street is a joke. Buildings are crumbling to the streets below. Taxi cabs are crashing into one another. And, maybe worst of all, the Yankees are going to miss the playoffs for the first time since 1993.

This nation is on the precipice of its own demise, and, Yankees jokes aside, big cities like New York are leading the way. Rather than being a country of industry and prosperity, we've become a country of crisis. Cities in turmoil, poverty in the countryside, abominable foreign policy, the laughable state of the dollar, freakishly violent weather that occurs with unsettling regularity... it seems that little is going right for the Unites States.

We're witnessing the fall of the American empire. As a country, we'd better get used to the idea that we're no longer the world's leading super power. We'd better stock up on humility. And, apparently, gas. We're gonna need it.

I was made for 12-year-olds

... maybe it's because they make me laugh...

... maybe it's because adults are so much more annoying...

... maybe it's because I'm really a twelve-year-old on the inside...

... maybe its because they didn't flip our raft...

...but man... I love my students.

If you can't beat 'em...

I've resigned myself to the fact that Barack Obama will never win here in Tennessee. Nashville is a blue grain in a red sandpit, and no matter how many Barack bumper stickers I see here in Music City, the statewide race is a sure bet for McCain.

So I was glad to learn today that a Tennessean is at the center of an investigation into the hacking of Sarah Palin's Yahoo email account. That's the spirit. It's like losing a game of chess, and then bitch-slapping your opponent in the face. If you can't beat 'em, read their spam, I always say.

Two names - accent = real southerner?

"There's a southern accent where I come from... the youngins call it country, the Yankees call it dumb."

Yeah, I hear you, Tom Petty. I don't know what to make of this place. I'm a New England Yankee, and I'm never going to pass for a real Southerner. I walk too fast, talk too much, and I only have one first name. Here in the Southland, that just won't cut it.

My students, on the other hand... well, they are authentically southern. They've got two first names, and manipulative Southern-belle smiles (see photo)... they're the real deal.

Or are they? None of my students have a southern accent. They've got no drawl. They don't utter typically southern absurdities like, "We goin' ashootin', y'all." Yeah, that's how people talk here. But not my students. They were born and raised in a sea of Southern drawl, but they somehow escaped unscathed, sounding just like their Connecticut-born teacher. We're more alike than I care to acknowledge in front of them.

So... what does it mean to be truly Southern? Am I a Southerner simply because I live in the South? Are my students Southerners simply because they were born here? What about that Wendy's-turned-fast-food-BBQ-joint down the street? That's not authentic. I'm more authentic than that. Right?

An initial reflection...

A month into my southern defection, and a blog seemed like a good idea. A place to share thoughts, stories, and photos of life in the Southland, from the perspective of a New Englander with Chicago on his mind.

First things first - Nashville is a city worthy of praise. The people are friendly, the pace is just right, and there's personality at every turn. I'm writing this inaugural post from a coffee shop called The Frothy Monkey, just a few hundred feet from an unmarked popsicle joint with flavors like pineapple-chili, wasabi-chocolate and avacado - a menu as unexpected as the way in which my thighs stick together in the Tennessee humidity.

It's going to be a year full of... well, who knows what. I hope you'll follow along and subscribe to my blog. More tomorrow, y'all.