NASHVILLE, TENNESSEE
"This place sucks. Let's go to Lonnie’s. They never even card at Lonnie’s.” Oddly enough, this quote from the now viral “Shit Sorority Girls Say” Youtube video can sum up a lot of my hometown experiences in Nashville, Tennessee because of the video’s basis on Vanderbilt University. I’m no sorority girl, but my high school brethren and I are no strangers to the wonderful world of Lonnie’s. To paint you a picture, Lonnie’s is a country western karaoke bar located in ‘Printer’s Alley’ in the heart of downtown Nashville. If you pass the “Nude Karaoke Bar,” you’re in the right neighborhood. At Lonnie’s, you can only buy beer and forget using a credit card. While you wait for the ‘Lonnie’s Girl’ (a girl paid to both work the karaoke machine and look like Taylor Swift’s twin) to call your name for the karaoke stage, have a seat on one of the saddles by the bar and wait for your cold beer bucket to arrive. And they really don’t card.
At some point in my maturation, my Nashville friends drifted from drinking in our parent’s basements to frequenting the apparently vibrant downtown karaoke joints. Though Nashville is the ‘Music City,’ the bulk of said music revolves around the overwhelming country and pop scenes with little room for any diversity. Sure, occasionally The National or Arcade Fire or some grandiose indie act plays the Ryman Auditorium. However, these are usually boring shows because the crowd consists of songwriter-dad types who quietly drink their beer and apparently oppose all dancing or expressing merriment. And how many times can you really see Jeff the Brotherhood?
So when it comes to music in Nashville, you just gotta do it yourself. Which means karaoke. To start the evening off right, you take a karaoke kab (more boringly known as Music City Taxi), which is obviously a cab equipped with a karaoke machine. As you head to Lonnie’s you can warm up your vocal chords to some Vanessa Carlton melodies or “My Humps”. If you have to pull over at the life-size replica of the Parthenon to pee from the excitement on the way, don’t worry it’s been done before.
Once you’re settled at Lonnie’s with beer bucket in place, it’s time to start enjoying the actual karaoke experience. There are some quality acts, such as the obese woman who likes to sit down on stage and sing Lee Greenwood’s, “God Bless the USA.” It’s always nice to see some ‘foreigners’ like this dude who tried to change the lyrics of “Sweet Home Alabama” to “Sweet Home California” because that’s where he came from. Take your leather jacket and board shorts back to the OC, bitch.
Admittedly, my friends and I are not always Lonnie’s favorites, but wekeep coming back. My friends got booed off stage for singing the Dixie Chicks’s classic, “Goodbye Earl,” inaudibly (too drunkenly). We also usually want to sing Bruce Springsteen or B-52 songs much to the diehard country music fans’ chagrin. They really do love their Taylor Swift. Then there’s the fact that the Lonnie’s Girl pronounces my Iraqi friend’s name, Fadi, as ‘Fatty’ every single time. Or that my friend, Zach, had an altercation with a beer bottle that splattered blood all over a few tables. You can’t win them all.
The one time I didn’t quite make it to Lonnie’s was on New Year’s Eve when the downtown crowds blocked our usual route to the karaoke district. Stumbling onto Broadway Avenue, we found ourselves amongst a divided crowd; a Bassnectar concert at the major arena which attracted the rave kids, while outside a free Lynyrd Skynrd concert blared for blocks as part of the “Bash on Broadway.” Everywhere, you could catch the remains of the Lynyrd Skynrd band post plane crash on video screens while rednecks, fratty southern kids, a few lost ravers, and admittedly I tried to push my way closer to the actual stage. At midnight, we all watched the 15-foot-tall music note descend 115 feet and trigger a fireworks display while Skynrd played “Freebird” for about 15 minutes.
Thus, breaks in Nashville are rarely dull or quiet. As much as I love Virginia, sometimes this place sucks. Let’s go to Lonnie’s.
-Katie Schull is a third year who's free as a bird now.
CLIFTON, OHIO
I spent most of my break frequenting the Esquire Theatre in Clifton, Ohio, a small venue with a tendency to show independent films or movies without much publicity. Having just seen Charlize Theron on Chelsea Lately, I had a vague idea of what her new movie, Young Adult, was about. The gist: Mavis Gary (Charlize Theron), a thirty-seven-year-old divorced young adult novelist, returns home to small town life in order to win back her high school boyfriend who happens to have a wife and a new baby.
Mavis’s character was complex and often unsympathetic, but the biggest revelations of her personality came not from Charlize Theron’s lines but from the movie’s comedic art direction. Before Mavis says anything, we’re introduced to her entire lifestyle: the opening scene features her sprawled out on her bed, waking up from a night of drunken stupor. Eyes still closed, she chugs a two-liter of diet coke, feeds her dog, Dulce, and sits down at her computer to write. This morning routine repeats itself several times throughout the film, marking Charlize Theron’s character as troubled but entertaining because of it.
My friends all insisted that the movie catered too much to writers, artists, and other struggling professions, but I’d argue that its main demographic was that of the Lonely. And yes, writers and artists tend to have some experience with loneliness, but the fact that Mavis Gary is a moderately successful author doesn’t make her inaccessible to an audience of accountants. Much of her strife comes from the culmination of her young adult series, but even more of it comes from her inability—and unwillingness—to connect with other people. And that is something that resonates with all audiences.
Casting Charlize Theron as Mavis was, in my opinion, a great fit. She’s attractive, but still managed to look laughably pathetic in her sagging jeans, sweatshirt, and Ugg boots. Nothing frustrates me more in movies and TV than when characters and lifestyles fail to correlate—for instance, I love Grey’s Anatomy, but doctors in residency do not look or act like that. Charlize Theron, on the other hand, captured the essence of a young adult author with great accuracy. From her sarcastic quips to her drunken rants to her (still drunken) cries for acceptance, everything about her performance brought me closer to the fear that that could be me one day. And that’s the main reason I’d recommend this film to anyone: it is, above all else, frighteningly realistic.
-Chelsea Spata is a second year who is complex and often unsympathetic.
WASHINGTON, D.C.
It would make sense that living close to D.C., winter break “bonding time” could take place wandering around a few of the District’s tourist-y staples; repeatedly strolling through the Natural History museum trying to get excited about the Hope Diamond, or asking actual tourists to take your portrait in front of The White House. I know D.C. is completely thrilling, but what else is there to do in such an attractive city? I suppose one could flip through a hitchhikers guide to the museums, or if one was up to it, purposefully go the wrong direction on the Metro’s Green Line. Oh the thrills. What rebels would dare embark on such alternatively awkward adventure in le District?
You can never be sure what alternate really entails, but maybe whatever you discover will be completely enlightening. Upon your journeys, you might discover some of the wisest people ever. Maybe a homeless man next to Union Station will tell your friend that she has a tiny ass and therefore convince her fatten up with nightly spoonfuls of Crisco. Maybe after you venture deeper into Chinatown (as it gets a little too dark), the sleeping man with the American Flag T-shirt will slowly stand up, wrap his blanket around his waist, and follow you –clapping for miles. It wouldn’t be anything too forward or extreme. A jovially silent man calmly clapping is simply following you. His friend might join him and counteract your awkward glances with schizophrenic cackles. I have always been told that it is indeed pleasant to make friends. As you skip through the ghettoes, you could ponder your tactful Asian persuasion in the Ninja store; where you could buy some throwing stars for your friends and haggle the wise lady at the counter for that Samurai sword you have always wanted.
If you choose not to be adventurous and decide that a walk around D.C. is not enough to satisfy your “day out in the city” urges, there are always other options. You could always sip some Clementine juice (mind you, Clementine juice is comparable to warm fur and old cantaloupes – and no one likes cantaloupe) while discussing a more sophisticated affair like the theater. What happens when the classiest of star-crossed lovers renew their vows… of silence? What can be so quiet, yet so full of death? Synetic Theater’s production of “Romeo and Juliet” of course! You should have thought about taking some of your swanky friends to such a production. The whole show consists only of movement, music, dancing, and not a single word.
Maybe you will be more enveloped in the beeps and slurs of the digital music that accompanies the tumulus of tragedy and it will inspire you start your own band. You might think about calling yourselves the Cuddly Cucumbers or the Squirty Squidtwisters, but then again that would be a benefit to no one. It would only remind you that your brain’s wintry hiatus has lasted a smidge of a bit too long. If theater and music are not your cup of tea, there is always the comfort of returning back to that warm brew of freshly squeezed crummytines.
If you find everything completely dull, try adding background music or commentary to anything! How about playing some sexy tunes while a pair of canines does some suggestive wrestling in the park? Or is that inappropriate? While on the topic of such affection, why not think about buying your significant lover a pair of pants for Christmas. Honestly, what screams true love more than a nice pair of Khakis?
Hopefully your next trip to the city will be as delightful as you hope, and it will be filled with revelations and discoveries about your deepest thoughts and imminent wisdom.
-Caroline Burr is a first year who, by any other name, still wouldn't say shit.
