Date Night In Nashvegas

We had tickets for the Foo Fighters show last night. I find out earlier in the morning that it will be The Girlfriend's first REAL rock concert. She was a little nervous to say the least. She doesn't trust the city at all and fully believes that it's full of gang bangers and rapists that are looking just for her.

The plan was to go to Hooter's first (I know, lame, but the fried pickles are good and it was really close to the venue) but when we got there about six-thirty or so, the place was packed. We decided to wander down the street and found this place.
Mulligan's Pub on Second Avenue. I liked the place a lot. Dark, intimate without any of the "pseudo-pub" accouterments that make other "Irish pubs" seem like O'Charley's copies. Guinness does a big business here, so much so that The Girlfriend thought the place was called "Guinness." We had some beef and biscuits and a couple of drinks and then headed down to the arena.

We got there right around seven-thirty and apparently they were only letting people into one door. We saw the line and began looking for the end. And looking. And looking. And looking. The damn line wrapped all of the way around to the other side of the place. I bet there isn't that kinda chaos when the "Doodle bops" play there!

The line moved quick and we got inside in a fairly timely manner, grabbed a beer and made it to the floor in time to hear the second opening act, a band called "Against Me!" The Girlfriend said she had read a review describing them as "Bob Segar redefined." Bullshit! Somebody was smoking crack. A semi-punk band playing angry music is what I call them. Oh, they were pretty good. I especially liked their opening song, "Uncut."

On to the main event. The Fighters of Foo!!! The place was general admission, so by the time we got there, the area around the front of the stage was packed. That was ok since I knew that The Girlfriend would never be able to tolerate the crowd anyway. Instead, we stood beside a walkway that ended in a closed off area toward the back of the floor. A friend that had seen the Foo Fighters before said that Dave Grohl came down the walk for some songs. The Fighters rocked! They played a fair mix of their old stuff and songs from their new album. About half way into the show, another stage dropped from the ceiling that was completely set up with instruments and the entire band came down and played several songs highlighted by Grohl's solo performance of "Everlong" . (warning: the video and the sound suck, but it demonstrates how close we were) I had a blast and I think The Girlfriend did too. Just another boring night in Nashville.

One Man's Junk

We have a garage full of junk. I call it junk, but it's really stuff that's too good to throw away, but I can't imagine anybody paying for it. Well, I was wrong. Apparently no matter what it is, somebody wants it. Seriously, if I went to Craigslist and advertised "one small pile of dog crap, firm, two days old" I bet I'd get a dozen responses. The Girlfriend put a bunch of our stuff on Craigslist last night. Today has been spent selling our stuff. Almost all of it. The only two things that really haven't had any inquiries are the window a/c unit (understandable since it's colder than a bucket of penguin shit outside) and this picture. I hate that nobody wants to buy it. I'd keep it, but it takes a big room with tall ceilings. This whole thing kinda reminds me of my step-dad. When I was a kid, he would be taking us somewhere and see a washing machine or a lawn mower on the curb. With a screech of brakes and a quick "get out and help me with this" we would be the proud owner of somebody's garbage. I remember that at one point we had five lawnmowers, none of which we had bought. They all ran though. I guess it explains why I always hear the theme to "Sanford and Son" when I ride with my step-dad.

Ovechkin Update

It was announced yesterday that Ovechkin signed a thirteen year, 124 million dollar contract with the Washington Capitals. I quickly told The Girlfriend that her doctor friend was full of shit.

Ovechkin!

In hockey news, former Nashville Predators owner, Craig Leipold, bought a majority ownership in the Minnesota Wild franchise. I can't complain, it isn't like he screwed the Preds. We put some good teams on the ice. I guess he wanted to do something easier.

How is this for a rumour! The Girlfriend told me yesterday that one of the doctors she works with (another season ticket holder) claims that the Predators are going to trade defensemen Marek Zidlicky and Ryan Suter to the Washington Capitals for forward Alexander Ovechkin. I don't believe this for a minute, but man, I'd take that trade in a red necked minute.

My Favorite Nickname

Nicknames for athletes have always been a fascination for me. The Babe. The Big Unit. The Rocket. Too Tall Jones. Pistol Pete. King James. The Round Mound of Rebound. The Great One. (bonus points if somebody can match the nicknames to the players) I always wanted a nickname, but the best I ever managed was to earn the title "Chunk" 'cause of how much I could vomit and the professional manner in which I did it. (Amateurs vomit everywhere, professionals, always in a container. Less mess=more impressive.) I recently heard the best nickname ever. Terry Crisp (Crispy, another great nick) the on air color man for the Nashville Predators referred to player Scott Nichol, 5'9", 175 lbs. as "The Little Ball Of Hate." I'd kill for a nickname like that one.

A Matter Of Trust

I don't really do New Year's resolutions. I'm so damn flaky that I tend to disappoint myself by the time MLK Day rolls around. I now do the general and less impressive "I'm gonna try to work out more next year." By tossing the word "try" in there, I can justify the lack of commitment. Any who, I'm gonna try to post more. For me, I reckon. It has to do a body good to get stuff out, right?

2008 hasn't started out all that well. I'm dealing with trust issues, something I swore that I'd never do again. In addition to "Elvis" people and "Beatles" people there are two kinds of trust people. The first kind trusts nobody. You have to earn their trust. I can't be that person. It involves too much suspicion, too much energy. I'm too lazy to keep up the "where have you been? who was that on the phone? why do you spend so much time on the computer? why did your ex call?", etc. I just don't have the get up and go to make some body prove that they are trust worthy. So, I fall into the second category of trust people. I trust everybody until they give me a reason not to do so. Some would say I walk through life with blinders, and that may be true. However, it is so much easier to just TRUST. Of course I get burned. And the more I get burned, the harder it is to trust unconditionally, but generally I managed to trust people I meet until they give me a reason not to trust them.

The catch to being in the second category is that once you lose my trust, how do you get it back? In the past, my policy has been to cut and run. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, well it won't happen 'cause I won't be around for the second deception.

So faced with this new challenge for the new year, I've decided to try and trust somebody again. Four days into it and I already know that it's gonna be one of the hardest things I've ever done, but without trust, what else is there?

Part of the problem is that my intuition sucks. It's like I have three people inside my head arguing. There is my head (or my intellect, such as it is) being logical and trying to walk through a process. There is my heart, which tends to scream, "JUST DIVE IN THE WATER! IT WILL BE OK. YOU WON'T DROWN!" And then my gut, which apparently has a direct connection to my feet because my gut keeps telling me to "RUN AWAY DUMB ASS! RUN AWAY!" So far, my heart and head have shouted down my gut, but it's a constant struggle. Maybe I should call Dr. Phil and get him to help me work through it. I hope I'm not making a mistake. Oh, I keep hearing that Billy Joel song running through my head. "A Matter Of Trust" Listen to it if you get the chance, it's a great tune.