Legendary? I'll Say...

Last weekend, Franke and I figured we'd do our part to stimulate the economy while watching our dollars. "Hey, I got this 2-for-1 coupon in the mail from Stoney River," I chirped with a smirk, eyebrows raised in a question mark. Should we try it?" To say that I regret the experience altogether would be inaccurate. I chalk it up to a learning experience, further reinforcement to go with my gut on these things. There's a reason I had never been to Stoney River before, and now there are several reasons why I wouldn't go back.

I had never darkened the doors of this establishment before last week because I figured it was just one of those typical chain restaurants with chain fare. Ding, ding!

Going in, we figured it was pretty hard to mess up a steak. The filet was fine. Nothing special. No great flavor. Nothing memorable about it. The potatoes were good. Franke got the fish. I think it was a sea bass or something. It was shaped like a heart, which was strange and very unnatural, and it was seasoned with an even more unnatural something or other. I wouldn't call it a spice, necessarily. I'm still a little stumped what it was, to be quite honest.

Now, I would have overlooked the sub par taste of the food if the prices had not been so ridiculously high for this level of grub. It's dumbfounding, really. Why, we wondered, would anyone ever come here without a 2-for-1 coupon in their pockets? Even with the coupon, we paid too much. And why, we wondered even more, do so many people repeatedly patronize restaurants with sub par food when they could get fabulous meals at the same or better prices at smaller, chef-owned restaurants all over town? It's an American phenonenon, for sure, and one this foodie will never, ever understand.

The bartender did give a generous pour of the vino, and for that we were grateful. The place was packed out, too. Our very friendly yet nearly indecipherable, low-talking, marble-mouthed waiter confirmed our suspicion that we were not the only 2-for-1's in the joint. He estimated about nine out of 10 patrons that evening were sporting coupons. Not a good night for tips, he bemoaned.

Looking around the Stoney River Legendary Steakhouse on this particular evening, it was quite the motley crew. It looked more like a Hooters crowd than one you'd find at a West End steakhouse on a Friday night.

I'll give Stoney River points, though, for truth in advertising. It was, indeed, Legendary.

What Time is It, Anyway?

Anyone who knows me knows that I'm perpetually running late. Many times, I'm right on time, which is my preferred state of being. Often, however, I'm about 5 or 10 minutes late. I realized this morning, when I was about two minutes early to coffee at Fido with my friend Andrea, why I hate to be early.

First of all, it makes me nervous. I go into a slight panic if I'm the first to arrive. I automatically think I have the wrong location, and I begin rechecking my calendar, rechecking e-mails and, inevitably, I phone a friend.

I have several friends who are just like me in this regard, and they are always understanding. I can pretty much always count on them to be later than I am for our meetings. I also have friends who are the extreme opposite and make it a point to arrive early to everything. Not to name names, but Margie and Joy have informed me that it pains them if they are not early... by at least 10 minutes. They get as nervous about being late as I get about being the first to arrive.

I don't know why this is, but I suspect, like so much in life, it goes back to childhood. My mother was almost always late to pick me up from things. I was almost always the last one to be picked up at the skating rink, the arcade, school... you name it. But I'm not bitter. In fact, writing this just made me realize from whence my fear of abandonment comes. Eureka!

Sort of weird, don't you think, that I ever went into a deadline-driven business. I've realized something about that, too, though. This business of deadlines and speeding all over town to get somewhere right on time and procrastination (yeah, did I have to even mention that I also like to procrastinate?)... this is what motivates me. I need pressure and deadlines to operate on all cylinders. I don't know whether that's good or bad, it's just how I operate. My ex-husband and my ex boss hated this about me. See the pattern?

Which leads me to my final point. We're all made just a little differently. We all get things done in our own ways. None of us are perfect. So cut me some slack when I'm late, praise me when I'm early and pray for "right on time."

Hot Dog!

Nobody likes a free lunch more than the Goad. Couple it with a free lunchtime concert and a sunny downtown day, and I'm a happy camper.

That's exactly what I stumbled into earlier this week thanks to @nashvillest, one of my new favorite twitterers. I follow them, they follow me, see, that way one of us always knows what's happening around town. And I like to be in the know. It's just one of those things with me. The more information the better. It's a sickness really, because there's no way to totally keep up.


This particular event made my week. Here's why: great people watching, I ran into my old friend Stephen Linn and found out he's now at CMT, I saw my old friend Brad Schmidt across the way but didn't get a chance to say hello, I got to take a stroll with my friend Margie Newman, the sun was shining (big plus), downtown was hoppin' and I got this free dog with neon pickle relish. Seriously, what's the deal with the color of that stuff. There's no way that's good for you. Not that hot dogs are good for you, either, but they sure are tasty, aren't they!



It's funny how a simple walk on a sunny day can change your whole attitude and your whole week, but this did it for me. So, my thanks to Universal for hosting this "Downtown Shutdown," as they called it. I know it wasn't for me. It was for all those country radio programmers who were in town for their annual conference. Apparently, as Stephen informed me, 68 percent of all new country hits are still "discovered" by country radio stations. Glad to know there's still some old school discoveries in this manufactured world. Which reminds me, you should have seen some of the big hair and fake tans at this thing. It was off the charts.