It Takes One To Know One

Blogging about politics entitiles you to pass yourself off as a political insider about as much as making mac and cheese from a box qualifies you to pass yourself off as a chef. In other words, it doesn't. Just because you take the time to voice your opinion on a blog doesn't mean that you know more than a fifth- grader about the political arena. I'm not saying you shouldn't put your two cents worth on the screen. You should. It's healthy. But if you want to convince me that you're an expert on the subject, a po-li-ti-co, you have to tell me something I don't already know. You have to open my eyes, point me in a new direction, lead me to a place I haven't been before. Whether it will be something I can agree with or something I can't stomach, it doesn't matter, as long as it's the truth and it's something new. Because, my friend, if you write a political blog and all you do is beat the poor ol' dead horse, don't try to pass yourself off as an insider, 'cause you're not. You're just like the rest of us: opinionated with the slightest hint of knowledge.

And on another note: If you're campaigning for Mayor of the City of Knoxville, is it misleading, unethical or simply smarmy to have a logo that reads: Padgett 
 Knoxville City Mayor
                                        

Because, you're not the Knoxville City Mayor. You're running for mayor. Shouldn't you at least be required to include "vote" or "for" somewhere in there?
Where's the Bureau of Ethics or the Fair Political Practice Commission when you need it? Oh yeah, we don't have either of those in this state. Small wonder.

Forty Years Worth of Hit Records

I watched two-hours worth of the Bee Gees' last night on the Biography channel, which wouldn't be such a disco-era confession, except that I had seen the whole thing before, not long ago, and I managed to sit through it again. Two hours is a long time to stay focused on any show, let alone one that doesn't have a  panel of judges or a boardroom, and doesn't end with someone getting voted off or fired, but since the Bee Gees are one of my all-time fav's, I hung in there.

Only Michael Jackson could capture my attention for that length of time, and has. According to PhillyTwo, I've watched "This Is It" no less than fifty times. I think she exaggerates, but I do love that documentary. With the Bee Gees, it was their singing. With Michael, it was his dancing.

Like most angst-ridden teen-agers, I loved the sappy ballads of the Bee Gees back in the sixties: "To Love Somebody", "Holiday", "Massachusetts", and the most gut-wrenching of all, "I Started a Joke". Who couldn't cry to that and what the hell was it even about? It didn't matter. Their voices were filled with sorrow and that's all a girl needed to well up. But it wasn't until "Nights on Broadway" in 1975, that I became a true Bee Gees fan and it's still my absolute favorite.

Michael Jackson wasn't really in my radar (I was apparently asleep on the job) until the night he performed "Billie Jean" live on a Motown special. That was in 1983. I pretty much stayed a fan of his music and his dancing, but not his lifestyle or his actions, until his death. Longer, actually. I can feel more comfortable watching him now, since he's no longer a threat to children - his own or anybody else's. His judgement day has passed...he faced the music and I'd say the outcome was "Bad".

Pawn Shop, Skaggster and Crash

I've had a lengthy and little-needed leave of absence from this blog as my band (more like a quartet) of loyal followers have pointed out, so I might as well get cracking.  I'm actually writing this on my "new" laptop, and by new, I mean the one I picked up at a pawn shop last week. And by laptop, I actually mean  "fattop",  a term PhillyTwo coined as soon as she laid eyes on the dinosaur I brought home. And if she thinks her nickname for my computer bothers me, she's mistaken. I like my honker of a screen. Let the young-ins buy those itty bitty scratch pads. Size matters to real women. Real, old sight-challenged women, that is. We like our laptops like we like our men: in good working order, handy, dependable, turned on when they're with us, in hibernation when they're not. Now, I want to mention something about my Dad, his old mandolin, and Ricky Skaggs one last time before I put that topic out to pasture. I first wrote about it here back in September, 2010, after Ricky Skaggs performed at Rhythm and Roots in Bristol, my hometown. I did a short follow-up here when Ricky Skaggs, or as we affectionately call him, the Skaggster, called my Dad (known affectionately by his grandchildren as Roy) and chatted him up about the three common bonds they share: their love of bluegrass music, interest in the history surrounding it and the Skaggster's mandolin that once belonged to Roy. They had a nice conversation and that was the end of that...or so we thought. At the end of January, 2011, the Appalachian Cultural Music Association honored  our 89 year old guitar-playin', mandolin-pickin, music-lovin' father, Roy Webb, and who should appear to share the moment with him...you guessed it...the Skaggster. When he got wind of the event, he called Roy and said, "I wanna be there." So Roy said, "Come on." And he did. But he didn't just come to the event  - unannounced to the public and unpaid by anyone, I might add - he showed up at the house early in the day, visited for a few hours, had lunch with the whole family (what a brave man), then he came downtown to the Paramount Theatre and performed with Roy that night. It was such a remarkable thing for him to do and it's a memory we will have to carry with us forever. Meanwhile, back at the ranch...Like clockwork, I brought the fattop home and the trusty desktop crashed like it was a dot-com company and this was April 10, 2000. I went from flush to hangin by a thread in a matter of minutes. I mean, I love my "new" fattop but I need my ol' reliable. This morning I schlepped that tower to the doctor like it was my sick child and hopefully after some hi-tech penicillin it'll be as good as new. Not that I'm all that into "new".