Nashville, it’s been a while. Did you miss me?

Back about 2000 and 9, I left Tennessee very much alive.  And, hard of hearing.  And, with an achy breaky back.  And, very, very sweaty.  And, flustered with stagnant midnight traffic.  Okay, remove the very much and let’s just say I left Tennessee alive.

Mister Gav was my red-hot date for the Coldplay show in Nashville last Saturday night.  Gav’s first concert.  ::sniff sniff::  (or as he clarified, the first concert of someone he actually likes…i took him to see the holiday/winter touring trans-siberian orchestra back in december for all the high hair and guitar shenanigans and PYRO out the wazoo…you have not truly experienced o holy night until you’ve had your eyebrows singed off your face)  Coldplay!  Snow Patrol!  Howling Bells!  (or as my 13-year old gleefully called them, Howling Balls!)  (we have moved past the age of fart and poo jokes to all balls, all the time)  (howling balls…that is some funny imagery, though, you gotta admit)  (i’m so tempted to doodle a quick set of werewolf balls for your illustrative enjoyment)

Nashville will always hold a special place in my cold, cold heart as I met my friend, Mr. President, and his posse there ten years ago.  The New Year of butt wine, kitchen table talk, and stubble (i love stubble).  Strolling the streets with Gav, awaiting the Coldplay show, and reminiscing on friendly ghosts…not a bad day at all.

I left Middle Alabama early enough in the day to give us a couple of hours before showtime to grab a bite to eat (and because i wanted to give my internal pessimist room for flat tires, alien abductions, traffic jams, spontaneous human combustion…all which can be resolved in two hours or less).  I’ll only mention once here that I was none too happy to leave Gab and the twins for the day (someone likes to cut their hair against my better wishes, but refuses to admit they are cutting their hair…it does not take years of scientific study to know that hair does not naturally grow in the shape of a mullet)  (there, i’m done).  I’ll only mention once or twenty times that my tits were none too happy to leave the twins for the day.  Life is full of sacrifices, eh?  Mullets be damned.

Thankfully, Gav and I were not abducted by aliens and arrived safe and sound in Nashville right on schedule.  We headed down Broadway Avenue in search of food and general perusing.  With wrecka stows on my mind, we slipped into a dusty, creaky floored Lawrence Record Shop.  I figured Gav could use some schooling on those vinyl dinosaurs we called records.

All the Conway Twitty you can shake a stick at.

Flickr photo deliciously uploaded by Umpqua

Gav flipped through a few stacks, initially not recognizing any of the artists.  Until…until he noticed a photo of Conway Twitty.  “Ha!  Look, Mom.  Conway Twitty!”  Umm, yes, that’s Conway Twitty.  And, slightly odd that he had no clue who the Isley Brothers or Chaka Khan were but Conway Twitty! he knew.  Ummkay, moving right along.  We worked our way through the store as Gav noticed more photos and albums by Conway Twitty!.  I exited the store not questioning Gav’s Conway Twitty! knowledge and chalked it up as one of those unexplained mysteries of the universe I’m better off not knowing.

Nearing the end of Broadway we came to a Hard Rock Cafe.  I figured Gav would enjoy the rock band memorabilia scattered about and some blaring music as we ate.  Get his ears ready for the impending auditory blitz.  As we waited for an open table, I pointed out to Gav that all the encased clothes and instruments were worn/used by the actual artists noted on the glass.  “Oh, I didn’t know that,” as he half-interestedly meandered over to a polyster/rhinestone/pointy lapelled get-up by the hostess stand.

“Ohmygod, Mom!  Conway Twitty!  THE CONWAY TWITTY!  I can’t believe Conway Twitty! actually wore this!  Ohmygod!  Conway Twitty!“

Hold up, wait a minute, let me put some wtf in it.

The gig was up.  I know Gav is no fan of country music.  He even complained about the twins’ walking video set to banjo-picking, “What was up with that lame music?  Super country, don’t you think?”  And, here we have Welcome to the Twilight Zone with your host, Conway Twitty!  I had to know.

Oh, he’s been on Family Guy several times.

Oh.

Conway Twitty mystery solved, we were seated in the best seats in the hizzouse, center stage on a raised area overlooking the bulk of the restaurant.  Let me interject here that I rarely leave the house anymore.  Only brief excursions to Costco and the park.  I have become a mega-hermit.  And, I’ll be honest…I’m not quite comfortable out in public.  Fatty boombalatty body and/or lack of adult interaction, I would have preferred a more subtle dark corner nook in the restaurant.  Yet, I figure Gav will enjoy the people-watching from our center perch.

If anyone ever offers you the seats about which I speak, pull a Nancy Reagan and Just Say No! my friend.  Our food had just arrived and I was in the process of snapping that taut string of spit you sometimes create when taking your first bite of a burger when suddenly a man is standing to my left shouting over my head,

“CAN I HAVE EVERYONE’S ATTENTION?  WILL EVERYONE PLEASE DIRECT YOUR ATTENTION TO THIS WOMAN AND HER STRING OF SPIT?“

Oh, okay.  He was corraling everyone’s attention for a birthday.  Some dude in a silly birthday hat stood beside him as the restaurant followed orders and shouted Happy Birthday! at the side of my face.  I slumped as best I could, in hopes of not showing up in Youtube videos and MySpace pix.  “Who’s the fat chick in the way?  And, is that a Spidey web stretching from her mouth to her food?”

I endured the birthday shouting a grand total of three (3) separate times during my 45-minute meal.  Needless to say, I did not finish my food.  It’s a bit difficult to eat while slumped under your table.

We got the hell out of Hard Rock Birthday Dodge and marched our way back up Broadway to the venue.  We took our seats just as the pre-pre-act Howling Balls Bells out of Australia took the stage.  I’ll give my review with the comments Gav shouted at me:

• I can’t feel my ears!!!
• What???
• I can’t feel my ears!!!  I don’t think that’s normal!!!
• I can’t decide if she’s young or old!!!
• I can’t feel my ears!!!
  

And, after the lead singer, Juanita Stein (i totally just looked that up btw), beat the ever-loving shit out of a snare drum with their closing number,

• You need one of those at home.  You could really take out some aggression.

So, there you have it.  Very loud, aggressive at times, and I’m pretty sure Gav had the hots for Miss Juanita Bonita.

Coldplay’s pre-act, Snow Patrol…I’m glad I missed the Birmingham show as they weren’t on the roster then.  Gav kept asking if he knew any of their songs , and I repeatedly assured him that he’d recognize at least one.  While their entire set was impressive, once they eased their way into Chasing Cars, Gav finally stopped asking the same question and commenced to swaying.

The piece de resistance, Coldplay.  Totally worth the pricey covertible those tickets will become while waiting to be paid off on my credit card.  Minor snag – I bought floor seats without considering Gav’s less than giant stature.  We spent the first five or so songs swapping places back and forth trying to find a pigeon hole view through all the lofty dudes.  Once Coldplay moved their act to a side stage for a few songs, Gav finally agreed to stand on his chair.  With the added chair height, he was just level with the tall guy beside him.  So, no harm, no foul, better view.

The highlight of the show was getting the opportunity to touch Coldplay’s smooth balls.  Very smooth.  But, jaundice, I fear, as they were all yellow.  Ahem.  (balls)  They tossed out giant yellow balls filled with confetti for the crowd to toss about as they played their way through Yellow.

Another crowd favorite was the “Mexican cellphone wave” as named by leadman, Chris Martin.  Umm yeh, that’s not a song.  The house lights were turned off, followed by round after round of lit cellphones making the Wave around the stadium.  I’m not quite sure what makes it Mexican, but the crowd ate it up.  (yes, i raised my cellphone)  (baa)

My personal favorite (and perhaps 16,999 others) was Fix You.  I’m guessing there were 17,000 of us there wanting someone to fix us. That’s a shitload of sad folks.

Towards the end of the show, countless confetti butterflies were dropped onto the crowd during Lovers in Japan.  And, for anyone with a toddler waiting at home, said toddler will be over the moon over a handful of paper butterflies.  Seriously, if you ever need to leave the house even for just half a day, cut some shit up in your car before returning, “Here, look what Mommy made for you!”  Gab blew a gasket over the rainbow of butterflies.  I’m storing scissors and colored construction paper in the glove compartment from now on.

So, that’s the Coldplay show in the bag.  I’ve droned on way longer that I had planned.  I still have our trip home to share with you sweet kittens.  I’ll save that for another day.  You should have known this one little excursion out of the house would elicit a multipage scroller of a post.  I never go anywhere.  Ah, and I’m already remembering tidbits I left out…the butt shaker and icky PDA surrounding us.  ::slowly inching towards the publish button::  ::saving the rest of my shit for another day::