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Oddball Moments From the "You Are So" X-Files

Oddball Moments From the "You Are So" X-Files

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Views of the Weird

Sometimes a “You Are So Nashville” entry defies explanation. Sometimes it’s just like a poem. It doesn’t have to mean. It just is.

As proof that running this contest is like striking a pact with Satan, we present a selection of entries so curious they gave us pause. They also gave us a case of the hives.

If you understand any of this, please keep it to yourself.

You Are So Weirdly Nashville If...

... Sleeping under bridges,

Eating twice a week.

Smoke ’em if you got ’em;

Hope the box don’t leak.

Road crew come and clear us out;

Eye-sores that we are.

Tear our tents down, take us down-town

In their po-lice car.

Take us to the mission

with all the other “bums,”

Sleeping something wicked off...

Pray tomorrow never comes.

Move it on to...Memphis? (Yeah, RIGHT!)

Anywhere but here.

Be somebody else’s trouble

A million days a year.

Two weeks’ walk to Louisville...

sure, THAT sounds like fun.

Pardon me, there Officer...

Can I borrow yer GUN?

...you still think it’s OK to wear fur.

...you’ve “been there—done that,” with family and friends who live out of state. We visit all the same attractions Nashville has to offer. Each time someone comes to visit, they ask, “What is there to do?” Here we go again!

...you have figured out why we are called HILLBILLIES (BULLIES): instead of MUSIC CITY MOUNTAINEERS. OUR CITY FATHERS (politicians) got THEIR CART BEFORE THE HORSES and OVERSTEPPED THE TRACE CHAINS (VOTER PATIENCE and TAX HIKE LIMITS)!

...Note to Note, the tune from the Soul and the Music of the Heart, beats a rhythm and collects an inspirational vision of a child who turns into a man with courage, honor and wisdom of the truth!!

...your name is “Tootsie,” your sermons are delivered by “Percy Priest,” you only drink “Spring Water,” were born in L.A., are confused by The Tennessean/Nashville Banner, and think the word “gourmet” should be on the Brown’s Diner sign.

...you think the craters caused by the water company’s access covers in the tire-tread sections of Nashville’s roads are there to simulate the streets of Paris-Roubaix.

...as an ardent disciple of the city’s only Theravada Buddhist monk, you discover with dismay that he hopes to be reincarnated as a country singer. (This sounds absurd, but it is absolutely true.)

...you see children of any national origin playing together or just hang-outing at a game or purchasing goods at the mall or store, responsibly.

...you see signs that say: Jo Johnston, Jefferson Street, Buchanan, and end up on Clarksville Highway, simply because you made the wrong turn on 18th from Charlotte. Not a tourist attraction?

..all it takes is for one special someone to believe in you. He who believes in him puts his fate in his hands.

...you’ve had a free ride on Nashville’s newest death-defying ride (no, not at Opryland)...and not even know it...The Nashville Nightmare—a car-clogged ride full of interstate construction and driver rage!

...you are a Damn Yankee of 10 years, and you love it here, like I do. If you need a charge, just drive down Battery Lane. Watch it, you may blow up. Happy Fourth to all.

...you almost fall through a Metro sewer grate and there’s no football player to pull you out.

...you grew up on the wrong side of the wrong side of the tracks, halfway between Hopewell and Needmore. When you made it big, you moved to Rayon City from Dupontonia, after getting a Ph.D. at Jordonia.

...you are a man out of work and luck, who stands on a bridge at a light, holding a guitar in one hand and a sign in the other that reads “Please help, I’m pregnant and need food,” and the sign is upside down!

...Ewe no nasvil be ah madejor leege cidy cose we got prow sportz, cus yer publik skool techer sed soo!

...your city’s 200 is in another town.

...My essay for your You Are So Nashville encompasses several nuances that I perceive are typical of Nashvillians. We Nashvillians ad-lib and peruse or compose want ads, particularly the ones with two or more adjectives. We stand 2 inches below average, part our hair on the dextral side, wear braids, bangs, beads, or sprout a short beard. What are our favorite foods? We crunch potato chips, munch bagels, biscuits and almonds. What are our palmary beverages? Grapefruit juice, beer, and bourbon delight us frequently. Also, we chew wads of gum. Further, we feed flocks of birds tidbits of bread. Perchance, one of our ancestors started the phrase, “a little bit of bread and no cheese.”

We are grateful for our bliss and count them once a season at a Baptist church. We attend services wearing pink apparel. Although we attend in the mornings, we prefer the afternoons to the mornings and the evenings. Moreover, we like the present more than the past and the future. We rivet on the present pleasures. One pleasure is din. Playing our banjos and bongos, we raise lots of noise. Playing our instruments succors us to stay as fit as a fiddle. If that fails to keep us in shape, we jog and joke sometimes with our fellow joggers. Accordingly, we residents of Nashville know how to enjoy our lives readily.

...you truly believe that a “Dale Earnhardt” vanity plate on your piece-of-crap car instantly endows you with this self-centered right to indulge in the disillusioned fantasy that these items enable you to activate these much needed driving skills that you desperately lack. (In other words, you guys can’t drive for shit!)

You left your job of 20 years,

your family, your dog with big, droopy ears,

bought yourself the most expensive guitar,

came to Nashville to become a Star,

6 months later that’s not what you are,

for 20 bucks you have hocked your guitar,

now on the corner of Music Row and exit 209,

“Will Work For Food,” that’s what it says on your sign,

you would settle for money to get a cheap bottle of wine,

but you would like your friends back home to know,

you’ve finally made it and can be seen daily on Music Row!

...if, last winter, you heard or told the joke about the difference between Bill Hall and Lorena Bobbitt.

...you’re at Second Story Café, waiting for an appointment in Green Hills. Between sips of latté, you pass the time reading The Tennessean obits—who wins today, “cause of death not disclosed,” or “injuries sustained in auto accident”?

you are wondering who is going to pay for the stadium if Bud asks for something, “is turned down,” and walks before his 30-year lease is up. We could just change the rules like on the arena and sell alcohol in the back door of the church. It happened and could happen again “to keep Bud here.”

...you think that you’re someone that you’re not.

...the only time you don’t sleep naked is after fumigating the house.

...you are a man out of work and luck, who stands on a bridge at a light, holding a guitar in one hand and a sign in the other that reads “Please help, I’m pregnant and need food,” and the sign is upside down!

...Ewe no nasvil be ah madejor leege cidy cose we got prow sportz, cus yer publik skool techer sed soo!

...your city’s 200 is in another town.

...My essay for your You Are So Nashville encompasses several nuances that I perceive are typical of Nashvillians. We Nashvillians ad-lib and peruse or compose want ads, particularly the ones with two or more adjectives. We stand 2 inches below average, part our hair on the dextral side, wear braids, bangs, beads, or sprout a short beard. What are our favorite foods? We crunch potato chips, munch bagels, biscuits and almonds. What are our palmary beverages? Grapefruit juice, beer, and bourbon delight us frequently. Also, we chew wads of gum. Further, we feed flocks of birds tidbits of bread. Perchance, one of our ancestors started the phrase, “a little bit of bread and no cheese.”

We are grateful for our bliss and count them once a season at a Baptist church. We attend services wearing pink apparel. Although we attend in the mornings, we prefer the afternoons to the mornings and the evenings. Moreover, we like the present more than the past and the future. We rivet on the present pleasures. One pleasure is din. Playing our banjos and bongos, we raise lots of noise. Playing our instruments succors us to stay as fit as a fiddle. If that fails to keep us in shape, we jog and joke sometimes with our fellow joggers. Accordingly, we residents of Nashville know how to enjoy our lives readily.

...you truly believe that a “Dale Earnhardt” vanity plate on your piece-of-crap car instantly endows you with this self-centered right to indulge in the disillusioned fantasy that these items enable you to activate these much needed driving skills that you desperately lack. (In other words, you guys can’t drive for shit!)

ÉYou left your job of 20 years,

your family, your dog with big, droopy ears,

bought yourself the most expensive guitar,

came to Nashville to become a Star,

6 months later that’s not what you are,

for 20 bucks you have hocked your guitar,

now on the corner of Music Row and exit 209,

“Will Work For Food,” that’s what it says on your sign,

you would settle for money to get a cheap bottle of wine,

but you would like your friends back home to know,

you’ve finally made it and can be seen daily on Music Row!

...if, last winter, you heard or told the joke about the difference between Bill Hall and Lorena Bobbitt.

...you’re at Second Story Café, waiting for an appointment in Green Hills. Between sips of latté, you pass the time reading The Tennessean obits—who wins today, “cause of death not disclosed,” or “injuries sustained in auto accident”?

Éyou are wondering who is going to pay for the stadium if Bud asks for something, “is turned down,” and walks before his 30-year lease is up. We could just change the rules like on the arena and sell alcohol in the back door of the church. It happened and could happen again “to keep Bud here.”

...you think that you’re someone that you’re not.

...the only time you don’t sleep naked is after fumigating the house.

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