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Is it "sound byte" or "sound bite"?

Whatever. Here's one:

"Should there be a mosque near Ground Zero? Beats another American Apparel!" (Stephen Colbert)

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The Week That Was

Monday: A perambulatory morning. I walked to work. I'd had a heck of a weekend filled with lots of running. Saturday morning found me in Knoxville to buy my son a computer for college. I stood in line 45 minutes at the Apple store. Not bad. Then I drove to Walnut, North Carolina, and did my mom's chores. When those were finished, I changed strings on my guitar, took a shower and, after my wife arrived from Tennessee, drove over to Marshall to meet Sam and Sharon for supper at Bacchus Bistro. After supper, I played a three-hour gig at Good Stuff Grocery. We got home at 12:30 a.m. I was at church the next morning at 7:45 to play with the band and teach Sunday School. Then we went back over the mountain to my mom's 79th birthday party, after which I sang ("Thunder and Lightning") at the funeral of my brother-in-law's father. In addition to all this, I was still angry at those I felt at least partially responsible for the loss of my friend Jimmy the drummer. So, I hoped the walk would do me good.

Although the morning was warm, it wasn't too hot yet when I set out on the 3 ½ mile trek from home to campus. Along the way, I attracted a good deal of bovine attention as I strolled alongside the barn and pastures a man I think of as Farmer Brown—he's quite tanned. I think the bovine attention might have been due in part to the red t-shirt I was wearing, which seemed to bring them to the fence to stare at me. Thankfully no bulls seemed to be around. During the first half of the walk, while the road runs narrow through the countryside unaccompanied by a sidewalk, I didn't wear my headphones so that I could pay attention to what was approaching and passing. Instead of Yes's "Roundabout" or Springsteen's "Gypsy Biker," I listened to the crowing of roosters, the barking of dogs, the bellowing of cattle.

On Antioch, not far from my house and right up against the edge of a park called Willow Springs, a place where I often walk, I passed the Islamic Center of Northeast Tennessee. (You can see one of the aforementioned bovine creatures cooling in the pond and watching me and my red t-shirt go by.) Seeing the center put me in mind of all the controversy rising these days around the building of mosques and Islamic centers across the country—in New York City, in middle Tennessee, in Wisconsin, in California. I don't recall any protest to this center. Perhaps northeast Tennessee is simply more progressive than the rest of the country. Or perhaps while it was being built the downright ignorant and prejudiced were distracted by something shiny.

Tuesday: I was sitting at my computer in Burleson Hall when one of those lift buckets rose into view outside and two Mexican men began prying out my window. That's odd, I thought, but then I remembered that all the windows in my building were being replaced this week. At the end of the day, I met the gang at the Acoustic Coffeehouse for the regular 2nd-Tuesday meeting of the Four O'clock Club. We shared pitchers of 1554, Fat Tire and something else, while the usual laughs and weirdness prevailed.

Wednesday: The band at church practiced for this coming Sunday. In attendance was my friend and friendly auto mechanic Chad, who will be sitting in on the drums this week in the ongoing absence of the lost Jimmy. I'd never heard Chad play before, but I knew that he plays regularly with a popular band around town. I wasn't disappointed!

Thursday: The band at church practiced for the Wednesday Night Live kick-off event (September 8) and the celebration that will follow Impact JC (September 11). We worked mostly on U2 stuff: "Pride (In the Name of Love)," "Beautiful Day," "With or Without You," "Mysterious Ways," "I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For" and "One." The lost Jimmy was there to practice for these events, as he told us he would be when he announced that he was leaving. We had a couple of awkward moments at the beginning, but soon everything smoothed out and we were all friends and music folks together and having fun.

Friday: Lunch at El Charolais!

Little Drummer Boy?

Well, no, Jimmy's not a little drummer boy. He can be quite the powerhouse behind a drum kit. We've been playing in the church band together for several years now. Come to think of it, I've probably spent more time working with this drummer than any other I've worked with in the past. We've been bandmates and friends. We've had a good run, and I'm sorry to say that it's over.

This good friend of mine is leaving our church for another. This means, of course, that he's leaving the band as well. I don't agree with most of his reasons for making the move. His main reason, having to do with his family, I can get solidly behind, but the other reasons--reasons I won't go into--don't strike a chord with me. Still, I respect his decision.

That respect, however, won't keep me from missing him and his pa rum pum pum pum. I'm sure that we like to imagine that we'll keep in touch and maybe even play together again from time to time, but eventually that'll fade away and we'll separate in the inevitable drift that takes place in life.

That's a shame.

That's life.