I’ve talked a couple of times about our local Knoxville culture getting screwed up by a bunch of asshats moving here and trying to rebuild it in their own image … From basic skills of “being intentionally rude and uncaring” to “being a good neighbors.”
     When I say that they don’t know how to be “good neighbors,”  it’s not about the people next door who keep to themselves— it’s about having a sense of community and civic responsibility.  East Tennessee’s had that until recent years.

     In this area, people drive pretty well, whereas in my travels, I’ve often complained about the way people drive.
     Here, they’re slightly aggressive, and mostly polite.  They tend to pay attention, and allow people their space.  They don’t try and run you down when you’re coming on an interstate entrance ramp.  They don’t stop in the middle of the road for no reason.  The light is green, they go.  The light is red, they stop.  They don’t pull out in front of people for no reason.  And they pretty much obey the traffic laws.
     But people who move here?  Yeah, not so much…

     Cathy, over at Domestic Psychology, got on the same train of thought …

This week, I pulled up to the white line behind which you are expected to stop at a red light. I came to a stop and looked closely at the car beside me which crossed all four tires across the line before stopping. When the light turned green, I looked at the beyond the line driver’s plates and saw that they were Indiana plates. I was letting the information slide to the back of my mind as I pulled to another red light and another car did the exact same thing. This time I was far enough back to see that the eager driver had Illinois plates. Twice in 5 minutes on Kingston Pike, a very heavily trafficked street I saw cars doing what I consider against the law and both times they had out of town plates. So, I thought about this the rest of the way to my destination. Number one thought was that I was getting tired of catching every single red light. Number two thought was that maybe other states don’t have lines at intersections like Tennessee does. My third thought was that there must be something wrong with drivers in states that start with the letter “I”. Number four thought, which I seriously considered the longest, was that Tennessee drivers are just more considerate and law abiding drivers.

     Due to my comments about that, which Cathy chose to include on her blog entry … I will now list the “Women Can’t Drive” States:

• Indiana
• Iowa
• Both Dakotas
• Michigan
• Minnesota

     It could be because of the whole “We have farms!  Be a housewife!” thing, and many women are worried about driving after being stigmatized for years.  It could also be because of a lack of Driver’s Education in those states (which is amusing considering that Michigan actually products quite a few automobiles).  It could also be because city-type areas are much further away from each other “up north” than they are in the East Tennessee area, and people don’t know what the Hell to do when they keep seeing red light after red light, entrance ramp after entrance ramp, car after car…

     Strangely, these are also the “Driving Without a License” States…

     When I was growing up, I spent a lot of time with my grandparents (my father’s) and with a family of sister’s in Knoxville.  Since there weren’t any other kids to play with, I ended up spending most of my time with people who were at least close to retirement.  And it was pretty cool.
     They’d tell me about the things that they did when they were kids, places they’d gone, people they’d met in their lives.  Sometimes, when you’re very young, you don’t understand what they’re telling you.  As you get older, and they fall away, sometimes you’ll remember their words like it was yesterday.
     Their stories, their words, people who grew up here in East Tennessee, probably shaped me more than any parables and punishments my parents ever gave me.

     I can remember a time when people were helpful.  If someone fell, people showed concern instead of walking around them like they didn’t exist.  If someone dropped something, someone would pick it up for them.  If someone was walking with their arms full of shopping, people would open the door for them.  If they saw someone stuck on the side of the road with a dead car, they’d stop, lend a hand, or, when all else failed, a ride to a gas station.
     Those are values that were instilled in me.  If I see someone lying on the ground, I’ll help them up.  If someone drops something — even money — I’ll pick it up and chase them down to give it back.  I hold the door open for anyone who can’t quite do it, and behind me for everyone close.  And if I see two guys trying to push a dead van off the road, I’m certainly gonna stop and lend a hand.
     East Tennessee, even Knoxville, has always been that way.

     Unfortunately, we’re getting a lot of people moving here these days.  Knoxville, especially, is a real-estate boom town.  People are moving here in droves, eager to pick up cheap real-estate and perhaps even know their neighbors.
     Local culture is changing from the open, community-based ideal that we used to enjoy to a selfish, greedy, don’t-get-involved mentality.  It’s starting to feel like Washington, D.C.

     I hate watching things go downhill.

     Tonight, after ordering a pizza at a place which usually takes thirty minutes to prepare one, I got there to find that they’d lost my order.  Now, I was starving, so I’d called ahead.  I told them no bother, decided to go up the street to a restaurant.
     As I left and started back home, traffic was heavy.  I had to wait some time before being able to leave the parking lot.  As I drove down the road, I saw two guys in their late 20’s, maybe early 30’s, pushing a van towards a gas station — with great difficulty, up a small hill.  I didn’t have a place to pull over and help, so I turned around and came back.
     I got out, and gave them the extra leverage they needed to push the van into the parking lot they were trying to get to.

     As I got back in my car, they yelled, “God bless you, man!  Thank you!”
     “No problem, guys,” I yelled.  “Hope it gets better.”
     “Man, thank you so much.”
     “You’re welcome.  Take care.”

     The sad thing is, at least 30 other drivers didn’t give damn.  Maybe they had to be somewhere quickly.  Maybe they were elderly and couldn’t lend a hand.  Maybe they just didn’t see them (*cough* right).

     So why was I different?  Why did I have the two minutes to stop and lend a hand where no one else did?
     I was born here.  I grew up here.  It’s what we’re supposed to do.

     We should be showing the influx of people from other places what it means to be East Tennesseeans … to know our neighbors … to have friends … to walk around giving a damn about someone other than ourselves …

     It saddens me that us East Tennesseeans are losing that…

     Quite honestly, I’d rather get taken a couple times than turn down someone who legitimately needs help.  You can sort of tell…

     I arrived at Bailey’s just after 6PM to find Doug McCaughan (of Reality Me!) pulling in at the same time with his son Tommy.   We entered to find Michael Silence (No Silence Here) and Mushy (Mushy’s Moochings and others).
     Over the next few minutes, Tish (The Kat House), Rich Halley (Shots Across the Bow), Les Jones (lesjones.com) and Lissa Kay (Oh… Really?) showed up.

     A little later, the last of us headed to Oak Ridge to see The Atomic Horns at the Eagle’s Club — featuring none other than Barry (Inn of the Last Home) on keyboards.  There aren’t many “full bands” around the area these days, and these guys & gals were really fun — a mixture of soul, rock, disco and funk from the previous thirty years.  The ode to the Blues Brothers was hilarious. 

     Here’s a photo of Tish from The Kat House and Mushy from Mushy’s Moochings, standing there side-by-side, as if they were a couple or something.

     Notably absent: Diva, who messaged me at 11:21PM to ask whether or not these people really existed.  LOL

     Saturday Night, 6PM.  Barley’s in the Old City.  Come on down!

One day I woke up and said, “I don’t want to work here anymore.  Why don’t I just move.”  So I finally did it.  I relocated.  Let me tell ya, I am quite a bit happier.  Not that I don’t love my friends and family that I have left behind, but I needed change.

Of all the things with this move I wish I could change, I think the one I could do without is all of the driving.  Then again, I could just be saying that because I just heard the Frank Sinatra redition of “Fly Away.”  If only I could simply go to Peru or to have a drink in an exotic local just for kicks.  For that matter, wouldn’t it just be nice to take a sabbatical just to make whoopie? 

 I don’t think that I am the only person who is guilty of not taking enough time for themselves. 

 Oh well, with this relocation I have become not only a photographer, but I am also the ice cream delivery guy.  Just remember if you let me cool ya one time you’ll be my regular stop.

I was looking around for Knoxville blogs and came across this post. It was just too damn perfect not to share. All you locals can relate:

So one of my bitches (yeah Allison I’m talking about you) moved with her hubs to Los Angeles so as to cozy a little closer to what the Pacific Coast has to offer. The first time I spoke to her after the big move, she was telling me how a vast majority of the working class in LA have no work ethic at all. Everyone is working at Starbucks until they get their big break, or working at the call center until they get their “show.” Nobody just worked anywhere because they liked it or because they liked dealing with the public or because they might learn a little something about life and happiness after putting in a day’s hard work. Thus jobs are disposable and I have to imagine that customer service and morale in general are rock bottom there. I thought about it a lot and thought about how I have been at the same job for 2 years. I hate it but can find some merit in what I do. I don’t love my job, but I like it and I love my co-workers. It is hard to imagine leaving and even harder for me to imagine how a person could go into an employment situation thinking that in one week they might quit. I simply could not understand or imagine life in LA. That all changed Sunday…  

My boyfriend and I took a trip to our local used book warehouse, McKay’s bookstore, to find some literature. We of course found the perfect books at the perfect price ($2 yo) and headed to the cashier to pay. Lo and behold, within 20 seconds I was transported from Knoxville, Tennessee to Los Angeles, California. I was faced with the whiniest, rudest bunch of wanna-be artist, writers, actors, comedians, musicians and maybe even some trapeze artists who would obviously rather sit around and seem self-important than do their job and check me and my $2 book out. Checking out at this store is like taking a much-needed crap, it starts uncomfortbly gets down-right painful but is such a relief when it is over. You take the book up to the counter, the cashier (usually wearing some variety of either leather or flannel and smelling a bit more than faintly of cigarette smoke and patcholi) looks at your selections with a critical eye and most likely makes a scoffing sound. If you’re really constipated for a bad experience, they will even make comment on your selection.For example, I once bought a Radiohead Cd and I was informed, “…understanding their music is something that so few lucky souls can do.” The cashier than asked me if I felt lucky then smirked, “ Didn’t think so…” Once I ventured to buy North by Northwest on DVD and was informed that DVD’s were the bastardization of the movie culture and this particularly surly salesperson bets that I also prefer CDs to vinyl.

All I have to say for ye employees of Mckay’s, be ye sick or weary of the working world, WE ALL HAVE TO HAVE REAL JOBS! You are in Knoxville and will probably never have a recording contract or a movie deal or an exhibit and you will probably never be able to support yourself with your art. Don’t stop trying, for goodness sake, but do stop acting like I am the bitch that is making you work at McKay’s instead of writing your best seller. And if checking me out makes you that unhappy…GET ANOTHER JOB!

Or just move to LA….they will love you there

     Rich, over at Shots Across the Bow, has scheduled a local Blogfest at Calhoun’s West (the one by Pellissippi) for this Saturday, April 21st at 6PM.  All interested bloggers should simply show up.  Attractive, half-naked women are also encouraged.

     Hey, I’m a rock star — I like my groupies. 

     I snorted coffee through my nose watching Knoxville’s Number One Son…

Tip: Thanks, Laura!

     In 2004, I moved outta DC because the place is pretty much a hell-hole of arrogance and one-upmanship.

     Leading up to the Iraq war, the entire town was behind it save for a few bus loads full of Neo-Nazi Skinheads wearing WWJD bracelets.  Personally, I’m pretty sure Jesus wouldn’t've been shaving his head, wearing Swastikas and theatening to kill all the Jews, but maybe that’s just me *rolls eyes*.

     As weeks progressed and the conflict escalated, politicians who’d voted for the war a few weeks prior began spouting rhetoric about how they were always against the war…

     It wasn’t long before the War Protestors started going moonbat-loopy.

     I remember being harrassed one morning on the way to work at the Fairfax metro, when I simply walked past the guy trying to hand me his anti-war flyer.  He started screaming, “Fascist motherf&$#er!  You’re a g#$!%m babykiller!”  The rock-salt was down to keep us from falling face first in the slush, but that dear protester decided to see if he could help me fall a little easier.  I turned around and gave him a small shove back, and he finally shut his damn mouth.

     Arriving at work, I was met with another obnoxious punk at the top of the D.O.T. steps.  He was screaming, cussing at everyone who wouldn’t take his flyer.  On Federal Property.  And the D.O.T rent-a-cops wouldn’t get rid of him…

     He was still there at lunch, screaming, shoving people.  And DC people, generally, when threatened, tend to turn Zombie and ignore what’s going on.  They get shoved, they shut down, and continue trying to walk like nothing’s happening to them.

     I am not that way.

     I observed as Mr. Moron accosted an old woman, shoved her down, and busted her purse open.  Her coins went everywhere.  Being typical of the area, people just walked around the bloody-kneed old lady, ignored the screaming moron and went about their business as if it was perfectly normal.

     I ran to her aid, attempted to help her up, and received a short-lived tirade from the moron … short-lived because when he got in my face for trying to help her off the ground, he got a love-pat and a gingerly toss down the Metro escalator.

     And when trying to help the old lady gather her loose change, she simply ignored me, unwilling to make any eye contact, unwilling to accept the money I’d picked up for her.  And nobody else would pick it up.

     There were numerous other stupid incidents which made me loathe to ride the DC Metro after a while (an Asian lady who continually attempted to push me in front of the train, a man who attempted to climb me — standing on the back of my leg and holding my shoulder — trying to push his way into an overstuffed Metro car, the group of suit-and-tie-clad Howard Dean supporters screaming “DON’T TOUCH ME! DON’T TOUCH ME! DON’T TOUCH ME!” and biting passengers for accidently brushing against them in another overstuffed car), but I digress.

     This is typical of DC.

     It’s a relatively tiny land area chock-full of asinine, and overflowing with WTF.

     Knoxville protesters tend to be at least a little less moronic.  The culture here is very different to DC, in that most people are usually — at least somewhat — nice to each other.  They still scream sarcasm, and use all the silly catch-phrases which don’t apply (general misuse of words and such).  But for the most part, they’re not hitting people.  They’re usually not throwing things at passersby.

     “The smell of patchouli in the air so thick it makes my eyes water,” said Lissa Kay as she filmed this video.

     You can also see that they enlisted the aid of many of Knoxville’s homeless population in exchange for free doughnuts.  I guess they needed to show numbers, and really didn’t think about how demeaning it would be to bribe people to their cause using food…

     Especially when many of the protesters claim that our government was doing that to rural Iraqis…

     Can you say, “Reprehensible hypocrites!” boys and girls?

     I knew you could.

Susan Alice Shelley - 12/2/1964 - 2/21/2007

People living deeply have no fear of death.
— Anais Nin

     Just forty-eight hours ago, I was sitting down to write about what great friends I have.  Mere moments after writing, “Pirates never die,” I received a phone call which showed that the world had decided to see just how much I really believed that.

     She was there one minute, laughing with us like no tomorrow.

     And then she wasn’t.

     We’d met before, briefly, some fifteen years ago.  We knew the same towns, some of the same people.  And when she showed up again last year, it was all so familiar … hard and fast friends, an instant sister, that crazy gypsy, that Wicked Wench.
     It was only natural that I wrote her a testimonial a few months ago:

She’s an incredibly talented artist with a death-lock stranglehold on the eclectic. She’s all fun, all the time, complete with an infectious laugh that can change the mood of an entire bar!

     For those of us who’ve been around her, all we have to do is remember how she she lived: Like there’s no tomorrow.  Nothing left unsaid.  Nothing left undone.  No regrets.

     Laughing at every damn thing — like a bunch of kids with attention deficit disorder — certainly has its benefits.  I remember taking her out for her birthday that night with Niki, going to Market Square…

     Oooh, Kitty!

     (Maybe it’s Susan *grin* Besides, it’s only a 24-Bar Break)