Over The Rainbow

Within 3 minutes of arrival, I passed a burly man with ripped sleeves, intricate tattoos up his arms and neck, and a Confederate Flag hat upon his head. Within 20 minutes, I’d driven past a celebrity wax museum, a Dukes of Hazzard-themed bar, and collectables museums devoted entirely to Willie Nelson and Charlie Daniels. All in the same strip mall. For lunch I stopped at Atlanta Bread Co., which should be somewhat disconcerting for all you fans of Panera. Or geography. At the table next to me was a British songwriter hammering out a country music contract over inferior deli products. The skyline was small but bristled with obnoxiously modern jaggedy buildings. I had entered Bizarro World. I had entered Nashville.

I attempted to start my explorations at the Car Collector’s Hall of Fame, but it had long since gone out of business for self-apparent reasons. So I decide to head to the only place in Nashville I’d ever heard of: The Grand Ole Opry.

See, the Grand Old Opry is a large concert hall. Nashville Star is filming its finale there today. I knew that already. But nobody told me it’s also a museum, convention hall, huge resort, and unreasonably colossal shopping mall, which includes an IMAX theater, indoor mini-golf, and aquarium with underwater restaurant. And the parking lot, like Disneyland (or the closer Dollywood, the Dolly Parton theme park), is bigger still. I actually had trouble finding the Opry in this massive country-industrial complex. And escaping was even harder.

I learned during the tour that the name Grand Ole Opry was not a misspelling by stupid rednecks, but in fact a conscious and willing corruption of the English language by arrogant rednecks who sneer at classical (or good) music. I give them credit; people in Nashville have huge balls.

I take a brief tangent from this entry to mention that I just realized there’s a loaded shotgun on the floor next to me.

Anyway, after hanging out with my couchsurfer and the other four couchsurfers he neglected to mention would be in the apartment with me (more on them later, maybe), I decided to take part in dance lessons at a popular bar. Mistake.

After sitting by myself in the bar for awhile looking pathetic, it was time to hit the dance floor and look pathetic. Allow me to explain country dancing: Four steps forward. One clap. Four steps forward. One clap. Slide left. Slide right. Slide forward. Slide back. Tap left heel. Tap right heel. Tap left toes. Tap right toes. Congratulations, you aren’t having a stroke. Now shake your ass and spin in a circle. Dizzy? Good. Maybe you wont be stirred by everyone staring at your shaken ass.

Long story short, I’ve never seen this many Confederate flags in my life, and that includes Civil War documentaries. I fled town as soon as I could.