Part 6: Welcome to Nashville. Now y’all go home!

Judging by the lack of comments left on this page, I’m lead to believe that most of you think I made this stuff up. You know, for effect. I have an old friend who says, “never let the truth stand in the way of a good story.” And while I tend to agree with that to some degree I have to say when the truth is a good story… well what more could a man ask for.  I’ve spent 20 years as a songwriter trying to make stuff up… I found out later, writing about the truth suits me much better than making stuff up. I guess that’s why I’m not employed as a songwriter anymore. Hm, maybe people don’t want to hear the truth.

Ok, so Snookie, along with the cast of Dancing With The Stars, Glee and Charlie Sheen, yeah, Charlie Sheen, were all involved in a high speed chase and the cut off the guy delivering my boat! He swerved and there was a huge explosion… ah, never mind.  I don’t think I have any tiger blood in me… the story of the Flying Hatch stands as written.

Which leads to quite the “anti-climactic” follow up post huh.  Well, Michael and Michael did indeed hang out and along with the mystical hatch brought along some ghosts for the machine.  See, Nashville had been experiencing about 30 days of 95+ temps with no rain.  I think when they arrived, we’d had 11 straight days over 100 degrees.  Everything was brown.  I mean dead, dry, crumbling and brown, brown.  Deader than “Charles In Charge” re-runs.  And that’s dead.  The first night they were here, my AC went down.  Down like Heidi Fleiss. Ok… enough with the euphumisms… You get the drift… drifting like Minnesota… ah, sorry.

With my AC unit pumping out nothing but warm air, the house was hot. Sweltering is a decent word. Shit. This wasn’t good.  The older brother shows up, first time visit and now, we’re all lying on the floor in our underwear with box fans blowing all over the place. It was horrible.  I was mortified.  Then, a day or so later, my brother flushes the toilet… and it breaks.  Now, no AC and no place to… well, you know… this is not good. AC repair people are booked solid… of course… we’ve had a month of 100 degree temps. Everyone’s AC is down… shit. Another night of boxers and box fans.  Looks like we’re off to Home Depot!

Upon our return, Michael and I prepare for fixing the toilet, laughing our asses off at the sudden collapse at my house after living there trouble free for three plus years and Melody, that’s the girl, is in the kitchen doing the dishes.  She’s laughing at us laughing at the toilet and now everyone is laughing.  As she’s rinsing a plate in a sink full of water, the drain trap drops off.  I mean just falls straight off the bottom of the sink… A threaded pvc pipe that’s been there for years just decides it’s “time to go.”  Water is pouring from the sink out of the cabinets and onto my hardwood floors… Nobody is laughing anymore.  Actually, we are.  I’m tossing in some major four letter words, but… in between, I’m laughing.  Kind-a.

After a week of this total ridiculousness, I send them home.  I’m glad they came but I was glad they left!  To this day, I’ve not done a single thing to my AC unit.  I’ve had it checked, and re-checked, cleaned and re-inspected and nobody can tell me what went wrong.  It simply gave up the ghost for one long week and has run like a charm since.  Toilet? No problem.  Sink?  Replaced the trap, no problem.  Needless to say, I’ve got several box fans still sitting in the shed awaiting my family’s next visit.