The Naked Lady of Music Row
Howdy, y’all! GingerSnaps here, and I would like to thank Karl for the honor of guest posting during his awesome Summer of Love. I absolutely adore Karl. He is a sweetheart of a guy, and I was so happy to finally get to meet him face to face just last month at ConFab Baby!
You may or may not know, but I reside in the great city of Nashville…also known as Music City. There are lots of cool things about living in a town filled with musicians — both successful ones and wannabes. I could regale you with all kinds of memories about my brushes with greatness, but it’s the not-so-great I have encountered that really makes for some good stories.
With all of the reality shows on TV these days, it is pretty obvious that people will do just about anything to become famous. The same goes for folks trying to get noticed down on Music Row. Legend has it that even Kris Kristofferson landed a helicopter onto Johnny Cash’s back yard just to give him a demo tape of his songs.
I never witnessed anything that outrageous, but one day I was working in my office at Sony Music (this was back in the mid-90s) and suddenly a rush of people passed by my door. Not being one to ever miss an opportunity to witness a good fight or fodder for some good gossip, I immediately got up and followed the crowd. We all ended up at one of the large picture windows facing Music Row, where to our utmost surprise, there she was.
Standing out on the sidewalk…in all of her glory…a woman — a lady, if you will (and I know Karl probably would) — buck-naked (is it buck-naked, or butt-naked? I never know…) except for a cowboy hat and cowboy boots…and the guitar she was strumming.
Now, she was a fairly attractive lady — tall and thin, long, black straight hair — and, oh how I wish I didn’t know this…she was au natural. She would have fit in perfectly in a hippie commune.
She was just strolling down the street, strumming her guitar, and singing her songs.
Well, she wanted to be noticed…and she definitely was! (By the cops, too.)
I’ve often wondered what ever happened to The Naked Lady of Music Row…if she ever got a song cut or a record deal…I kind of doubt it, but who knows…she might be on the charts right now!
So there you have it…one of the advantages of living in Nashville. I love it here! If you ever find yourself visiting my fair city, by all means give me a shout…we’ll head on down to Tootsie’s Orchid Lounge for a beer and to scope out the next big star…or (hopefully, fully-clothed) wannabe.
Filed under Celebrities, Guest Post, Humor, Music | Comments (9)Only a Number
To all my new readers, welcome to the Summer of Love here at SecondHand Tryptophan. Every year I have TWO MONTHS of rocking guest bloggers, four days a week through the end of August. Today is another favorite blogger of mine, Bubblewench. Enjoy. -Karl
I specifically asked for this day to be Karl’s Summer of Love Guest Poster.
You may ask why. Go ahead.. I’ll wait…
taps fingers.. ASK ALREADY, WILL YOU!
Good. Now I can tell you. Today is the last day I will be 38 in this lifetime. Tomorrow, I will be 39. (I’m still not as old as Karl though.)
Saturday while I was not at BlogHer, I was at one of my favorite all time restaurants, Cafe Espanol in NYC, I realized I had been eating there for over 20 years. When I mentioned it to the waiter, he laughed and said, “Were you born here?” I said “No!” He said “C’mon – you can’t be over 27!” I laughed and laughed and said “I’ll be 39 next week!” He looked at me and said “Miss, I’m the same age and I look it, you sure don’t!” (but he was freakin Spanish HOT!)
Then I had an amazing dinner and went home.
Yesterday, totally different story. I was called m’am three times. That never bothered me before, but yesterday it hit like a brick.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not bothered by my number. I’m just bothered by those damn young whipper snappers that are so freakin young! M’am.. sheesh! I’m only 38!
39 is a waste, it really should just be skipped anyway and go right to 40, that’s my thought.
See, if I were 40, I wouldn’t feel so bad being called m’am. Cause I’d be 40.
I would be yelling “PULL YOUR FREAKIN PANTS UP!” to those idiot kids who wear their pants and belts under their ass. The punks that push my trash can over would be reported to police. The speeders that go down my block would be pelted with rocks. Cause that’s what 40 year olds do right? Take over, get pissy, and make a scene? Crotchety old fucks?
I’m ready to be a crotchety old fuck. I’ve been practicing. A lot. 39 will just put one more year of experience under my belt (around my waist thank you!) and get me all the more riled up over those whippersnapper punks, so that when I do turn 40, I’m gonna be way more dangerous then I am now.
I do know that being a crotchety old fuck doesn’t mean I can’t drink like a fish, flash my boobs at parties, and keep flirting with the king of flirt himself, the lovely Karl. He’s my idol. I hope I’m half as good as he is when I turn 42.. cause that’s when the REAL fun starts.. right?
Thanks for letting me spend my last day as 38 here and dream about 40 during your Summer of Love Karl!
Filed under Guest Post | Comments (14)Paula Deen Bought Me Freaking Drinks, Yawll Bitches!
I hope you packed THREE lunches.
Another backdated post. My intentions are good, really, but I’m still exhausted from BlogHer…emotionally, socially, physically. Have YET to read a BlogHer recap (save 1 or 2), have YET to gather the business cards and start visiting blogs, have YET to upload my photos to Flickr, have YET to recover from the Post BlogHer Blues (aka PBB).
I’ll likely write a handful more posts about BlogHer, but I thought I’d start with my favorite moments of BlogHer 2009. Don’t anyone get their panties in a twist if you’re not mentioned here. Everyone’s top moments are different and I enjoyed the ever-loving fuck out of HUNDREDS of you.
For me, though, most of my favorite moments each year are the intimate conversations. Not the swag stampedes where women were ripping their hair out for sex toys. Not the panels. Not the claustrophobic cheeseburger parties.
As Elisa said on stage during the conference, it really IS about the people.
Naturally, these items are not in any particular order. Well, they ARE, but a highly scientific algorithm was used, involving quadratic equations, the average diameter of all the Spanx peeholes at BlogHer, the number of catty conversations held during the conference, then divided by the quantity of dirty looks I got in the Sheraton. Barely worth mentioning.
Filed under BlogHer, Humor | Comments (54)
