Tag Archives: Gloucester

language, misunderstandings, Virginia

What it means to be a native…

Good morning, blog fans. It’s a cool, rainy Thursday here in Germany, and I’ve been up for two hours already. Bill woke me up when he came back into the bedroom after his shower. I had to get up a few times last night and needed cough syrup to fall asleep in the first place. I’m mostly over my cold from last week, but still have an annoying cough. It takes me forever to get over coughs, thanks to asthma and acid reflux. So, even though I’m now feeling mostly normal, when I lie down to go to sleep, I still cough a lot. Thank God for NyQuil.

While I was eating breakfast with Bill, I looked at the weekly newspaper put out by my hometown of Gloucester, Virginia. I like to look at the obituaries to see if anyone I know has passed and read about things going on in the community where I came of age. Sometimes, I also read the opinion pieces and letters to the editor, but those often end up disturbing me.

Gloucester is a VERY red county, even though it was somewhat recently in the news due to a transgender student at the high school wanting the right to change bathroom preferences. That case went to the Supreme Court, which was quite a shock to me… not so much because of the case itself, but because it involved my high school.

I remember reading some of the letters to the editor when that was going on, and I was pretty horrified by what I read. Many people were full of hatred for Gavin Grimm, the transgender student who eventually won his fight after graduation. In August 2021, the school board was ordered to pay $1.3 million to resolve Grimm’s case. This sounds like a lot of money, but it was used for five years worth of attorney’s fees and court costs. It seems like it would have been smarter and much less expensive to just let Gavin use the boys room. But hey, that’s Gloucester, and people there are pretty set in their ways. A lot of people who live there are the type of people to put the below sticker on their cars…

This was actually suggested to me on Facebook. I reported it as promoting violence. Facebook said it was okay. And yet, I got a red badge of shame for calling Americans “dumb”.
Some of them might even put this on their cars… although I would hope they wouldn’t.

The point is, I don’t have the highest of expectations for people in the county where I spent most of my youth. Most of them are “salt of the earth” type people who call a spade a spade, and are slow to change their views on things. Don’t get me wrong. There are some genuinely fabulous people living in Gloucester, and I still have many friends there. But there are also some ignorant folks living there, as I guess there would be anywhere. And some are happy to stay ignorant as they stubbornly cling to their small world views.

So this morning, I was reading the obituaries and I noticed a photo of a woman in a wedding dress listed as among the dead. I didn’t recognize her name, but she looked young enough that I might have known her at some time. I took a look at her obituary to see if she might be someone from my past. It turned out she wasn’t, but her obituary was memorable anyway, because of this…

She was born in Rhode Island and was a native of Virginia Beach.

Huh?

Uh, if she was born in Rhode Island, she can’t be a “native” of anywhere but Rhode Island. It doesn’t matter how long a person lives somewhere. If they weren’t born there, they aren’t a “native”. There are several definitions of the word “native”, but they all basically refer to someone or something being born in a specific place.

From Merriam-Webster: Middle English natif, from Middle French, from Latin nativus, from natus, past participle of nasci to be born.

In Merriam-Webster, there is a lesser known meaning that “native” can possibly be used to denote that a person has always lived in a certain place, which would distinguish them from being a visitor. But it seems to me that in the above case, the word wouldn’t be correct, as the person in the obituary did eventually leave Virginia Beach for the “quieter” living available in Gloucester County. This was actually written in the obituary– that they preferred the simpler lifestyle in Gloucester.

It was an obituary, so that means that it was probably written by one of the deceased’s loved ones, rather than a journalist. And I think, just as people misuse the word “prone” when they actually mean “supine”, this was just someone who thought they knew the definition of “native” and didn’t bother to look it up as they wrote the obituary. I also know this issue is not a big deal to most people. Most of us understand what the writer meant, which means they accomplished what they set out to do when they wrote the sentence. However, technically, what they wrote is incorrect, and as someone who finds words and language interesting, I decided the mistake would make for a good and potentially educational blog topic today.

I like to study different mechanics of the English language to see how it all fits together. If you know what prefixes, suffixes, and roots mean, you can often figure out what a word means– or doesn’t mean– without having to consult a dictionary. And it can also be very helpful in other languages, as you try to understand what the announcer on a Google Ad is saying while you wait for your YouTube video to begin. If you know the word “nate” or “natal” denotes birth, you know that a person who grew up in Virginia Beach, but was born in Rhode Island, can’t actually be a native of Virginia Beach.

I was born in Hampton, Virginia. That’s where my mom now lives, and where my father died in 2014. I am a NATIVE of Hampton, because I was born there. But, to date, I have spent only about six months of my life living in Hampton, and that was just after my birth in 1972. I have no memories whatsoever of living in the place where I was born, although I’ve visited there MANY times.

In 1973, we moved to Dayton, Ohio, which I also don’t remember, because I was a baby at the time. My earliest memories are of England, from where many of my ancestors hailed. I have a whole lot of Scottish and English DNA– like over 97 percent, according to two of the best known DNA sites– but I am certainly not a “native” of the United Kingdom. I am a native of Virginia, and to date, I’ve lived the most years of my life in Gloucester, where I’m also not a native. Germany is starting to catch up with Gloucester, but I’ll never be a German native, even if I live here until I’ve reached a ripe old age.

I don’t think there are as many true natives of Gloucester as compared to nearby larger cities like Williamsburg, Richmond, Hampton, and Newport News. Gloucester’s hospital doesn’t offer maternity services, and hasn’t for as long as I can remember. Because a lot of Americans would rather give birth in a medical setting, a lot of pregnant people in Gloucester give birth somewhere else. However, at least two famous people in history were Gloucester natives– Pocahontas was one, and Dr. Walter Reed was another.

Anyway, I thought I’d get that off my chest. My condolences to the family and friends of the deceased woman who prompted today’s rantings. It sounds like she was a very lovely woman who will be missed by many people. It also sounds like they are a good fit for living in Gloucester County, which does have its positives, in spite of some people wanting to keep living in the past.

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art, musings, nostalgia

The many stray paintings and sculptures in my life…

If you read my first travel blog post yesterday, you might know that Bill and I went into Wiesbaden. We were on a special mission to have some newly acquired paintings professionally framed. This may not seem like the most exciting thing to be doing on a Saturday. I know that for many years, I would have preferred to have done almost anything besides visiting an art gallery with picture framing services. For most of my life, I found most anything involving picture framing unbearably dull. Why? Because I literally grew up in the business.

In 1980, my parents moved from Fairfax, Virginia to Gloucester, Virginia. For so many reasons, that move rocked my world. My dad had retired from the Air Force in 1978, when I was about to turn six. We moved from England, which was the only place I remembered living, to suburban Fairfax, where we lived down the street from my Aunt Doris and her family. Now, we were in very rural Gloucester County, where my father was going to be running his own custom picture framing business called The Corner Cottage.

The Corner Cottage was the name my parents gave the business, which was literally run out of our house. Prior to that, the framing business was called Ellis Smith Enterprises. That was the name of the tacky guy who had owned the house before my parents bought it. He really was pretty tacky– I remember he had put a mirror over the bed in one of the bedrooms. I guess he liked watching himself with his wife. I remember the bathroom in that room had a plastic, brown, padded seat and ugly mirrors all over it. My parents promptly redecorated that room, starting with taking down the mirror over the bed!

My parents’ decision to move to Gloucester and buy Ellis Smith Enterprises changed everything for me. My dad went from being an Air Force officer, to a salesman for the Solite Corporation (he sold gravel and concrete and such), to a self-employed picture framer who also sold art. I hated Gloucester when we first moved there. I still didn’t like it when I permanently moved away from there in 1999. It’s only recently that I’ve started appreciating the county where I grew up and can see why people love it. Of course, Gloucester has changed a lot since 1980, although a lot of the same people (or their descendents) live there.

As a kid, I had no interest in art, other than enjoying elementary art classes at school. I truly thought my parents’ business was really boring. Making matters worse was the way my dad would make me do things like clean behind the chopper, where he would cut moulding into precise pieces. I had to vacuum the shop and dust the pictures. All the while, he’d be watching CBS day TV, especially The Young and the Restless, which was his favorite soap. Or worse, he’d be listening to WFOG, the local easy listening station, which played absolutely cringey Muzak, which he’d sing along to. I’d watch him when he was on the phone, using his left hand to doodle mindlessly while he talked. I was reminded this morning of the many doodles my dad made over the years. He probably had a gift for drawing that he never explored.

For most of the years he ran his custom picture framing business, Dad had a woman working with him. For the first few years, it was our neighbor, Joanne, whose daughter was a year older than me. Joanne later opened her own framing business, which failed. Then he hired Deborah, who was a much better fit on many levels. In some ways, she was kind of an angel. She was, and still is, a tremendously talented artist in her own right, and she didn’t/doesn’t have a drinking problem. When my parents retired, Deborah eventually bought their house and the business. She still runs it today.

As I got older, the framing business sometimes came in handy. I never had to buy posterboard, because my dad had the vastly superior matboard available. He also had professional grade window cleaner, which I wish I could get ahold of now. Sometimes, he’d do fun things with products from his business. One time, he made me a periscope out of matboard, mirrors, and tape. That was cool.

My mom was also part of the business. She had her own shop, where she sold knitting, candlewicking, needlepoint, cross-stitch, and other art related supplies. My mom is super talented with a needle, among other things. In her 85 years of life, she has made many beautiful things with a needle and thread or yarn, as the case might be. And her business survived, even when Walmart came to town, because she offered high quality products, professional services, and had incredible talent for turning a canvas into a masterpiece. My mom’s business also occasionally came in handy for me, too. I grew up showing my horse, Rusty, and I never wanted for yarn for braiding his mane and tail. I never learned to knit or cross-stitch, though. I had no interest.

My mom taught many people– mostly local women– the secrets of her craft. I wasn’t among her students because I also found her business boring. I don’t have a gift for creating things with needles and threads. I don’t have the patience or diligence to stitch beautiful designs into cloth. Although I appreciate colors, I have a hard time deciding on color schemes. Consequently, a lot of my own artistic creations are a mess. My sister has artistic talent, no doubt taken from both parents. Me? My gift from them is music… but when I was growing up, I wasn’t interested in doing that, either. It wasn’t until I was an adult that making music captured my heart.

As a middle-aged adult, I’ve discovered that I like art, too. I like to buy art more than make it, because although I do like to draw, I’m not particularly good at drawing. I don’t come up with cool visual concepts like artists do. When I think of something I’d like to draw, something else intrudes and it turns into something too busy and messy. When I was growing up, I liked art class… until I had a teacher who asked me to draw only what I could see. I found it very difficult, even though being asked to do that was kind of revolutionary. It was at that point that I stopped taking art classes. I simply don’t have the knack.

My own personal artistic expression comes in the form of music and writing, probably in that order. I’m much better known as a writer, but probably more appreciated as a singer… especially when I behave myself and sing nice songs. If you’re a regular reader of this blog, you might know that sometimes I’m provocative. I like to cuss, and I’m not always nice or politically correct. I like to challenge people and make them think. And I won’t lie… sometimes I enjoy shocking people. But when I sing a pretty song written by someone else, people usually like it. They don’t always like what I write. Of course, if I start writing songs, all bets are off as to how that might turn out. I’ll keep working on learning guitar. Maybe sometime, I can experiment.

So what does this all have to do with yesterday’s outing? I’m getting there…

As I was talking to the guy who took our order, breathing in that familiar smell of art supplies, moulding, matboard, and window cleaner, I noticed a very weird sculpture on the top of a curio. It was a very provocative piece of art. I have a feeling it’s no accident that they put it where they did. It would be easy to miss it. And yet, it seemed to jump off the curio at me, as if it wanted me to take it home. I kept looking at the sculpture and even snuck a photo of it.

It’s ugly and weird… and I would love to own it.

We didn’t buy the sculpture yesterday. We were too busy talking about what we wanted to do with the paintings. I had two kitschy dancing cat paintings we bought in Prague that I wanted to be framed. But I also had a gorgeous painting (see featured photo) that I found in Cesky Krumlov. Like the above sculpture, it had jumped off the wall at me… like a stray dog, begging me to take it home.

I remember walking into the gallery, noticing all the usual landscapes and modern depictions of people… and then I saw this fascinating painting of a bunch of different birds. I loved the colors. I enjoyed the weird paranoid mood of it, even if I’m not particularly interested in birds. It stopped me in my tracks and made me think, just like the weird sculpture above did. I found myself telling the proprietor I had to have it. She was delighted, especially when we threw in a pretty but somewhat less interesting painting of a snowy church in Cesky Krumlov.

The way I found myself saying “yes” to the painting is the same way I said “yes” to adopting Noyzi the Kosovar street dog. He was unlike any other dog I’ve ever had in my life. I worried that he’d turn our house upside down… and right now, he’s lying behind my chair, quiet and contented. I don’t regret bringing him home.

I also don’t regret bringing home any of the weird art in my house. And I do have a lot of weird art. I suspect it annoyed our former landlady that my taste in art is so strange and unconventional. I’m sure it helped convince her that I’m a terrible, peculiar, perverse person who deserved to be disrespected and cheated.

If that sculpture is still in the gallery when we go back to pick up our dancing cat paintings, there’s a very good chance I’ll buy it. I think it might be meant for me. I don’t know where I’ll put it. Maybe in the downstairs bathroom? I can’t stop talking about it, though. Just this morning, I was talking about how the way the artist depicted the hairy spots and the breasts… it reminds me of the face of panda bear. You see? I love that. I love art that makes me see other things and think about what else could be. I don’t care if it’s ugly, obnoxious, or weird… or depicts things like someone taking a shit, which is a universal part of life for every creature.

Some of the weird art in my office. Each piece has a story.

If the sculpture isn’t there when we go back to the gallery to pick up the art, I guess it wasn’t meant to be… We will be back at least twice, though. The painting in the featured photo has to be mounted and stretched before it can be framed. That will take time.

If the gallery does a good job on this, I may go back with more art that needs framing. We have a dinosaur painting that has great sentimental value to us. We bought it from a Russian artist named Korelov in Karlovy Vary (Karlsbad) in the Czech Republic, back in 2009. At that time, we couldn’t afford custom picture framing. Now that we can, maybe it’s time I had it done… You can see it below with the cool painting we bought in Greece in 2013 and had framed in North Carolina.

When I saw this in Karlovy Vary, I had to have it. The artist talked us out of it at first. He said it was “expensive”. We bought a different painting that wasn’t as cool. Later, I had Bill email the artist and he sold it to us online and shipped it to Germany.
A painting I bought in Greece. It was a lot cheaper than the Plaka scene we bought that was done by a known artist. This was done by a student. It’s another one of my favorites. It makes me think.

If you come to my house, it won’t look like my mom’s house. My mom has beautiful stuff everywhere, artfully arranged. She’s a very neat person, so clutter is minimal. My house is messier. Not everything matches or coordinates seamlessly. I have some stuff that is odd and even offensive. You might not like it. But I’ll bet some of it will make you stop and think. That’s my goal… Come to think of it, making people stop and think is also often my goal when I write blog posts.

Yeah… some of my art is like a stray dog, begging to come home with me, where it will be loved and appreciated. I know it’s crazy, but I kind of love that sculpture. I almost wish we still lived in our old house in Jettingen. I’d buy it and display it in a conspicuous place just to annoy our former landlady. 😀

I’m kind of petty that way… 😉

We’ll see if I am meant to buy that piece of art. If I am meant to give it a home, I may have to ask for opinions on where it should be displayed… Seriously, though… maybe I’d put it in the bathroom and remind myself that my body could always look worse than it does. At least my body doesn’t remind anyone of a panda bear.

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music, obits

Come Monday… a little tribute to Jimmy Buffett…

The featured photo is a screenshot of a photo I took in Key West, Florida, over Labor Day weekend in 2010.

I was pretty surprised the other day to read about Jimmy Buffett’s passing. I didn’t know that Jimmy had been ill. I get the sense a lot of regular people didn’t know he’d been ailing, although the singer-songwriter Stephen Bishop had posted on Facebook that he had a friend who was dying and he was going to pay him a last visit. Someone asked Stephen, who is very engaging on Facebook, if it had been Jimmy he’d gone to see. He confirmed that he did visit him on Friday and sang him a song, but he also had another friend (it turned out to be Gary Wright, of Dream Weaver fame, who died yesterday morning at age 80) who was dying that he planned to go see. Sir Paul McCartney also reportedly visited Mr. Buffett and sang for him one last time.

We sure have lost a lot of music legends this year. It’s reminding me a bit of 2016, when a whole host of amazing performers passed away in a short period of time. As a music fan, it’s sad for me, but I imagine it’s worse for those who know these luminaries in person, especially if they’re around the same age.

But yes… lots of great singers from my growing up years are moving on to the next big thing, whatever it is. I’ve been reading so many tributes to Jimmy Buffett, some from fellow celebrities who knew and loved him personally, and some friend my friends who loved him from afar. I have quite a few friends who were devoted Parrotheads and were genuinely distraught at the news that Jimmy Buffett’s rare skin cancer (Merkel cell) had turned into lymphoma. In Gloucester, Virginia, where there are many boats and people are decidedly southern, Buffett’s music was a natural soundtrack.

I always enjoyed Jimmy’s music, although I never managed to make it to any of his shows. I did have the chance to go a few times, but I think I was overwhelmed by the idea of so many people partying when I’m focused on the music. I’m not one for big crowds. However, so many of my friends went to his concerts and had a marvelous time. My college suitemate was born in Pascagoula, Mississippi, which is also where Jimmy was born. She happened to be there this week, as her beloved aunt who still lived there passed away. Apparently, my friend’s family lived in Jimmy’s old neighborhood and knew his family. She was really gutted to hear that Jimmy Buffett had joined her aunt on the other side.

As for me, whenever I hear Jimmy Buffett’s music, I’m reminded of being a student at Longwood University, a small school in a rural area, where, at least in the 90s, there wasn’t much to do but party. We played a lot of drinking games with Jimmy Buffett’s music in the background. It always reminds me of being in the South, which is, like it or not, my home… even if it is overrun with MAGA cretins. There was a time in my life, though, that I loved the South very much. I equated it with good times, southern drawls, laid back fashion, fattening food, fun music, and easy living. I still have those nostalgic memories, and Jimmy Buffett’s music is the perfect soundtrack for it.

Maybe it sounds strange to mention this, but when I heard of Jimmy Buffett’s skin cancer turning into lymphoma I was reminded of our last two dogs, both of whom had mast cell cancer (a type of skin cancer in dogs) that eventually turned into lymphoma. In fact, both dogs were diagnosed at this time of year– and one died just a week later on August 31, 2019, while the other got chemo for five months and died in the spring of 2023. I don’t know if skin cancer becoming lymphoma is a common thing in people, as it is in dogs, but it did cross my mind.

I guess Jimmy’s death from skin cancer one more reason to be very careful when you’re out and about in the sun, especially if you’re fair skinned. Bill had his first dermatology exam this year, because of some suspicious looking stuff on his skin. It turned out he’s okay. I probably should break down and get an exam, too. Maybe encouraging people to use sunscreen and get checked for skin cancer could be one more thing Jimmy does for humanity, besides writing gentle, poignant, funny, and comforting anthems for the world.

Anyway… I did enjoy a Margarita on Saturday, remembering Jimmy’s music, and how it made my youth better. Some of his songs never fail to make me smile, especially the live versions. I know it’s not the same as being there in person, but I can tell by the roar of the crowd on those live albums that Jimmy was one hell of an entertainer. He wrote books and ran restaurants, too. In fact, Bill and I had the chance to visit his Key West Margaritaville outlet, over Labor Day weekend in 2010. Naturally, I enjoyed a Margarita there.

From our trip to Key West, ages ago…
Of course I had my Margarita in a hurricane glass…

And below is one of my favorite Buffett songs, ever… This one always makes me laugh.

Jimmy says he wrote this song with Glenn Frey… and now they’re probably partying up in the heavens.

And no tribute would be complete without this infamous song… 😀

I heard this so many times when I was in college… but I didn’t heed the suggestion until 8 years after graduation. 😀

I do like the music, but those crowds are insane! He made so many people happy, though! It just seems like the world is a dimmer place without a little Buffett in it. He had such a tremendous gift for spreading the fun to everyone. That is such a rare thing. So I can see why so many of my friends are so sad to lose Jimmy. He was one of a kind.

All weekend, I’ve been thinking about whether or not I wanted to do a musical tribute. I decided today I would try one of Jimmy’s songs… So here it is. I hope a few people like it.

I figure it fits, since today is Labor Day…

As a child of the 70s and 80s, it’s hard for me to see so many great singers from my youth passing on. It’s a grim reminder that I’m no longer a spring chicken myself… especially as my sister, Sarah (who is 8 years older than I am), and I have both seen members of our high school classes pass away recently. In her case, the person was her first boyfriend when we moved to Gloucester County in Virginia, back in 1980. In my case, it was a guy I knew because we shared a lot of classes. I don’t think he liked me very much back then… and probably never thought of me again once we graduated. But I was sure saddened and surprised to see that he’d been ill and passed away at just 51 years of age. I guess these things are just a reminder not to sweat the small stuff or take things for granted. Because, before you know it, it’s time to move on to the next big thing yourself.

Somehow, it seems fitting that Jimmy Buffett would pass away on September 1. His music has always epitomized summer and good times to me… and especially Labor Day weekend, which is also special to me, because that was when Bill and I realized we were in love, back in 2001. So, wherever Jimmy is, I hope he’s at peace. His music will always bring back golden memories for me… and remind me of home. May God bless his soul.

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business, music

Where the hell has Marc Broussard been all my life?

I love it when I make random musical discoveries. It often happens when I’m watching TV, although lately I’ve been watching more YouTube than network TV or Netflix. Sometimes it happens when I’m out and about. For instance, I came home from our recent cruise with new music, having heard it piped in on the ship. I’ve found the best places for finding great music are in Irish pubs or Scottish whisky bars!

I honestly don’t know how I ended up with Marc Broussard’s music in my library. Last night, while I was sitting at the table talking to Bill and drinking beer, one of his songs randomly played on my HomePod. I was immediately attracted to it, so I tried to look up who was singing. I ended up having to use Shazam, because the song that was playing was listed as Track some and such, which means it was probably on a CD or something, and not one that came from a major distributor. I usually try to add the information when I import CDs that don’t automatically have the music info listed. I guess I neglected to do that during my recent music migration.

I liked Marc’s soulful chops enough to automatically download his album without knowing anything about it other than the song that was playing on my HomePod was on it. His voice is like a hybrid of Stevie Wonder, Cas Haley, and Paul Carrack. It’s very soulful and kind of funky, and pretty damned awesome! The music he does is like a blend of funk, old school R&B, pop, and Southern accents. It’s obvious he was influenced a lot by Marvin Gaye, Al Green, Otis Redding, and Stevie Wonder, at least on S.O.S. Save Our Soul, the album I’m listening to now.

One thing I don’t like about S.O.S. Save Our Soul (2007), is the way the songs are faded out at the end. Marc is still singing soulfully as the volume is gradually turned down. I don’t know who decided that was a good thing to do, but it’s the one thing about the album that I don’t like at all. This man has some chops, and his songs deserve better transitioning than that. Maybe they did it so they could fit more music on the CD. But just on the strength of this album, I’ve downloaded a couple more! And no, I didn’t even listen to any samples!

Dayum!
This gives me the vapors!

So I did a Google search this morning to find out more about this man. I discovered he was born in Carencro, Louisiana on January 14, 1982. He’s also on tour, and due to visit Germany very soon. Tickets for his shows are also very reasonably priced.

As I sit here listening to Marc Broussard’s voice, I’m having a random memory about how I used to acquire music. When I was very young, I would save up my money until I had about $10, then walk by myself down Business Route 17 in Gloucester, Virginia and visit the music section of Murphy’s Mart. The very first record I bought was Crimes of Passion by Pat Benatar (1980). It was on vinyl. I bought vinyl albums until I got a Walkman, then I bought cassettes… then CDs. I remember how music used to eat up a lot of my disposable income, and I’d have to hem and haw over what I wanted in my collection. I couldn’t afford much. I remember my CD collection was once my most prized possession.

Nowadays, it’s not uncommon for me to buy a bunch of albums from a single artist in one sitting, just because I like one song! I’ll buy a lot of stuff without even listening to it first, often while drinking. Many times, I end up loving what I get. Only once in a blue moon do I wind up with something I don’t enjoy.

I have really eclectic tastes when it comes to music. I just like what I like, and I like a LOT of stuff. But… I have found that I don’t like a lot of really popular stuff anymore. For instance, you’ll never catch me at a Taylor Swift concert. It’s not that I don’t think she’s talented. She is. It takes a lot of talent to do what she does, which is create a sound that appeals to the masses. I have heard a few songs by her that I genuinely enjoy. But I don’t find her music very inspiring or interesting. The funny thing is, she actually played at my alma mater, Longwood University, back around 2007 or so. People who were at Longwood at that time have posted photos they took with Taylor, who was reportedly very friendly and approachable. Who knew that 15 plus years later, she’d get people so excited that they’d be willing to spend $1000 on a ticket and dance so hard the vibrations show up on the Richter scale?

Taylor Swift was reportedly named after James Taylor, who IS one of my favorite singers, EVER. I saw him perform in November and had second row seats, which was very exciting for me. But I think I paid about $200 for TWO tickets. I got them through a fan sale and didn’t even select the seats. They were assigned to me. I couldn’t have been more pleased. What was especially exciting was that James was signing stuff and interacting with the crowd, who were enchanted by his performance. The show was so good, I came home and downloaded a bunch of albums by James’s backup singers! I already own multiple copies of James Taylor’s official catalog, as well as a bunch of rare and bootleg stuff he’s done since the late 60s.

I think I have just one Taylor Swift song in my vast music collection, although maybe I should explore her music more. People do love her. I don’t think I’d want to go to one of her shows, though, even if someone gave me free tickets. I think it would be too crowded and chaotic, and there would be way too many people freaking out… and taking selfies.

Isn’t it interesting how, when you’re a kid, you tend to like whatever’s popular. As you get older, you stop liking that stuff. Both of my parents were musicians. My dad was a singer. My mom was a professional church organist. They both loved music (Mom still does… she’s still living). My dad didn’t like pop music at all beyond the early 70s. He said rock music made him “nervous”. My mom had a higher tolerance for popular music. But they both liked to listen to “easy listening” stuff. My dad even preferred Muzak, which makes me nervous! And yet, I have some stuff in my library now that could be considered Muzak.

I like Phil Coulter’s music, but a couple of his albums that I downloaded without listening first are legit Muzak albums. Those are among the few “duds” in my collection. And yet, he also did this…

I downloaded this song off of Napster in 2000 or so… and the first time I heard it, in church at a “kirkin’ of the tartans”, I knew it would be my wedding march someday (and it was– a piper and organist played it).

Phil Coulter’s Highland Cathedral album is awesome, as is Legends, which he did with flautist James Galway. It’s not like Muzak at all.

Phil Coulter and James Galway are great together.

My dad, by the way, became a Phil Coulter fan when he heard me play his Highland Cathedral album. I don’t know if he ever heard Coulter’s most Muzak like offerings, though. He probably would have loved those albums. I can’t stand to listen to them.

I do think it’s funny that the record companies were so afraid that downloads were going to destroy the music industry. I find that I buy so much more music now than I used to. And since they are not physical copies, the record companies probably have more power than they ever did when they were selling actual tangible products. Now, there’s a lot of pressure to subscribe to streaming services, so they can spoon feed you music curated by their “experts”. I want no part of that. I am already the expert of what I like. I like to find music on my own, and curate my own playlists. And I love it when I discover people like Marc Broussard, who obviously has a following, but isn’t super famous like Taylor Swift is.

Anyway… I just wanted to share something positive on this Monday. I’m glad to “meet” Marc Broussard. He may not be as world famous as some artists are, but that man can SING! And I’m proud to support his career by “drunken downloading” some of his albums. I’ll probably wind up with his whole catalog.

Here’s one more Marc Broussard song before I go, since I digressed a bit…

This is a nice way to start the week! Wish I’d joined a band when I was younger.

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controversies, music, politics, racism, social media

People “trying that in a small town”…

The featured photo is a screenshot of a map of the area where I grew up, from 1980-90. It’s gotten bigger in terms of population, but the mindset remains frighteningly much the same as it was 40 years ago…

It’s a cool, rainy morning here in Germany, and we’re on day two of Bill’s latest TDY trip. Yesterday, I booked the first three nights of our next trip together. It’s our biannual trip to the dentist in Stuttgart, which I’ve started turning into an opportunity to visit other places within driving distance. I already explained in my travel blog how we came to decide on the Czech Republic for our next journey, but before we head there, we have to get our teeth cleaned. So, for the first three nights, we’ll stay in the charming town of Tübingen, a place we already know well and love.

As I sit here thinking about how I want to arrange the rest of our trip, I can’t help but reflect more on Jason Aldean’s current hit song, “Try That in a Small Town”. I wrote a blog post about it a couple of days ago. It was mainly based on my initial reactions to the song and its video, which came across as belligerent and obnoxious to me. Unlike some people, I didn’t initially see the song as blatantly racist. There truly aren’t any lyrics within the song itself that are obviously aimed at people of color.

The video, on the other hand, seems very much geared to spin up the MAGA extremists. Parts of the video were shot at a Tennessee courthouse where a Black teenager was lynched in 1927. Those who defend the video point out that the same courthouse in Columbia, Tennessee has been featured in Disney films and other productions. That point, to me, seems irrelevant, though, when you consider that “Try That in a Small Town” is a song about small town folks kicking ass and taking names against anyone who dares to step out of line (in their view). It seems to me that in a country as large as the United States is, another courthouse location could have been used… or, perhaps a different type of place, altogether. They could have used bucolic landscapes, instead of a courthouse.

@destineenstark I may be petty, but my THOROUGH and petty! 😂 Here is my dissertation debunking Jason Aldean’s claims about his 🎶🎥 propaganda. #jasonaldean #countrymusic #debunked #debunktok #factsoverfeelings #propganda #americanpropaganda ♬ original sound – Destinee Stark

There are many very quick clips of violent uprisings and riots shown in the video. However, TikToker Destinee Stark was among the first people to determine that a lot of the clips that were used weren’t actually from events that occurred in the United States. More worrying is that Ms. Stark is now reportedly receiving racist and violent hate mail from fans of the song. It seems to me that if this song is so innocent, people wouldn’t feel the need to harass Destinee Stark for simply having and sharing her opinions, as well as real evidence that the video is a crock of shit. Stark discovered that one clip used in the video came from an event in Berlin. Another clip was stock footage easily found online. Other clips were also questionable as to whether or not they originated in the United States. Of course, no footage from January 6th was used at all.

According to the linked article on NBC News:

“I just think that people have a right to know,” Stark said. “Things like this, they inform politics and it informs how we vote, how we see the world and who we interact with. And I just think that if we’re consuming content that’s not even accurate, that it’s just propaganda. And it’s just fueling people, you know, to commit more violence.”

As I mentioned in my first post about this song, I don’t think Aldean should be censored or canceled. I do wish, however, that instead of racing to defend this song and its message, people would take a few moments to consider the other side what is being communicated. A lot of people are claiming that this song is just about standing up for small town values and people “protecting their own”. As someone who grew up in a small town and both witnessed and experienced the negative side of that upbringing, I can truthfully state that the message in “Try That in a Small Town” is a bit distorted. It IS true that if you were born and raised in a small town, and people there consider you to be “okay”, you probably will get help from your neighbors when you need it. But if you’re different somehow, you will probably face harassment and suspicion. And people can be very slow to change their opinions in small towns.

Take for instance, a news item that came up in my memories a few days ago. Three years ago, some people of Mathews, Virginia– a county adjacent to Gloucester County, which is where I grew up– were very upset because there was talk about renaming an elementary school. The school in question, then named Lee-Jackson Elementary School, was named after Confederate war heroes Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson. I see that today, the school is called Mathews Elementary School. If you click this link, you can see who showed up to demand that the name didn’t change. It’s a whole lot of older White guys carrying Confederate Battle flags.

I don’t know for certain, but my guess is that a lot of those folks aren’t that interested in education in the first place. Most educated people would not show up to a public event in the United States carrying flags and signs that are deemed overtly racist. Even if someone privately sympathizes with the “good ol’ boys”, smart people don’t go around broadcasting what a lot of people would associate with naked racism. It’s not good for business.

Things haven’t changed in over 40 years…

Looking at the photo from July 2020, I am transported back about 4o years, when my parents first moved us to Gloucester. In those days, Gloucester was a VERY rural place, and Mathews was even more rural. It was not uncommon to see the “stars and bars” displayed everywhere. I well remember being bullied when I arrived in Gloucester, because I was “different”. Every day, I would come from school in tears because people in my class and on my bus harassed me. But, at least I was straight and White, and in spite of being a little eccentric, I really wasn’t that different than other people were. I did eventually fit in somewhat, even though it took about a year or two (to a child, that is an eternity).

Other people weren’t so lucky. I remember a lot of race based fighting when I was in high school, mostly between Black people and folks from an area of the county called “Guinea”. It was well known among my classmates that Guinea was a place you didn’t want to go to after dark, unless you were from there. I know there are good people in Guinea, but it did not have a good reputation, at least when I lived in Gloucester.

Years later, Gloucester was in the news because of a transgender student named Gavin Grimm, who took his case to the Supreme Court in order to be able to use the boys’ bathroom. I had long left Gloucester by the time Gavin Grimm was in the news, but I do recall reading some pretty horrifying hate-filled letters to the editor from our local newspaper, which I still follow. In August 2021, the Gloucester County School Board was ordered to pay Grimm $1.3 million to resolve the lawsuit.

I was inspired to write today’s post, in part, because of an op-ed I read in the Washington Post. It was written by Brian Broome, a gay Black writer who grew up in a small town in northern Ohio. His piece, titled “Jason Aldean? Please spare me the small-town nostalgia.”, is a shout out to those of us who were deemed different somehow, yet stuck growing up in a small town, where people refused to accept our differences. Broome no doubt had it much worse than I ever could have. But, instead of his community embracing and protecting him, as Aldean’s song suggests, Broome experienced racism and homophobia. And instead of being encouraged to speak out against the discrimination, Broome was encouraged to “shut up and color”. He was not free to be himself, and he couldn’t wait to leave that stifling small town, where too many people thought too small, and had no time for differing opinions or new experiences.

I was further inspired today when I noticed the most recent crime log from Gloucester, Virginia. It looks like it covers the last month. The list of reported crimes include things like DWI, assault & battery, grand larceny, breaking & entering, strangulation, and a host of other offenses. Granted, Gloucester has grown a lot in population since I was coming of age there, but it’s still a very conservative place, and it’s still sort of a “small town”. I wouldn’t say that the sentiment of Aldean’s song is ringing true there. People are still misbehaving, with no blowback from the locals. Not that I’d necessarily want the locals to engage in vigilantism, as Aldean’s song suggests. I guess it just goes to show that the sentiment in the song is a bit mythical, and it’s designed to inflame right wingers, who don’t embrace people who aren’t like them. And that doesn’t necessarily just mean people of color, either.

Here’s a gallery of screenshots from the local paper, Glo Quips, referencing people “trying that in a small town” over the past month… Eleven whole pages!

If Aldean and his songwriters really believe in their lyrics, maybe they should focus more on being tolerant and decent to other people, rather than promoting vigilantism and suspicion. “Try That in a Small Town” just sounds to me like a bunch of scared people rattling their sabers, threatening those who don’t subscribe to the typical small town mindset. I suspect that the song is intended to rile up the right, as another election cycle gets into full swing. Lots of people are terrified of the idea that people other than conservative Christian white males might be on top, for a change. So, instead of being positive and peaceful, they spin up more divisiveness with threatening, belligerent anthems that aren’t even based on actual events in the United States. And the less curious among us are lapping it up with gusto, believing the narrative without a second thought as they holler about how “non-racist” the song is.

I wish some of those people would stop for a moment and consider that real freedom should be for everyone… and maybe it’s time to think of the whole country as a “small town”, where people look out for each other. Or hell, maybe we can consider that the whole world is full of good people— people who, when it comes down to it, have blood just as red as yours is.

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