Monday, October 29, 2007

I Will Always Love You

"Have you ever met anyone famous?"

That question was among one I answered on a MySpace survey a few days ago. I answered, "yep," with no explanation. I've met several famous people over the years, but the one I thought of initially was the first one I met.

I was in seventh grade on a field trip at Opryland when I caught my first and only real-life glimpse of Porter Wagoner. The rhinestone-laden suit, with sequined wagon wheels, were over the top in my young mind as the steely blue-eyed Wagonmaster, with brilliant, combed-back blond hair, weaved through us throngs of youngsters who were more interested in the Wabash Cannonball ride than the man who helped make Dolly Parton on her way to international fame.

I didn't ride the Wabash that day. And the image of Porter Wagoner never left me.

On Sunday, Porter Wagoner died at the age of 80. I knew death was imminent when it was announced on Friday that he had gone into hospice care. But I wasn't ready for it to be this soon.

I cannot claim to be a Wagoner fan. I know he was the face of the Opry over the past several years, but I didn't follow him closely. His face, however, is one of the etchings in my memory from childhood. Watching "The Porter Wagoner Show" on Saturday afternoons was what one did in rural East Tennessee in the 1960s and 1970s.

One of my earliest memories is of watching Porter and Dolly on my aunt's tiny black-and-white TV. They sang together and hawked Black Draught and other products. (I can still hear Dolly extolling the virtues of Cardui.) And I remember Speck Rhoads, the comedy relief for the show. Can't remember a darned thing he said, but the man deserves a nod for the Comedy Hall of Fame for simply wearing that bowler hat and loud plaid suit in public. It actually made Porter's garb look ... well, kind of normal.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XqmyfQDN6ik

In Dolly's autobiography, she reveals that her song, "I Will Always Love You," was written for Porter. That, in my opinion, makes it all the more poignant.
If I should stay
Well, I would only be in your way
And so I'll go, and yet I know
That I'll think of you each step of my way
And I will always love you
I will always love you

Bitter-sweet memories
That's all I have, and all I'm taking with me
Good-bye, oh, please don't cry
cause we both know that I'm not
What you need
I will always love you
I will always love you

And I hope life, will treat you kind
And I hope that you have all
That you ever dreamed of
Oh, I do wish you joy
And I wish you happiness
But above all this

I wish you love

I love you, I will always love
I, I will always, always love you
I will always love you
I will always love you
I will always love you
Source: LyricsFreak

Rest in peace, Wagonmaster.

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

Listen ...

Hear that? That muted, sleep-seducing noise you hear is rain.

Yes, indeed! Precipitation has returned to East Tennessee, and it's a glorious thing!

What a beautiful day it's going to be ...

Sunday, October 14, 2007

With apologies to William Penn

I have a love-hate relationship with the AP Stylebook. It's my work bible.

Looking for shorthand for "until"? It's not "til." It's "till." I can back that up with Stylebook passage.

I'm well-versed in it, but like most followers, I still uncover surprises. And Norm, the AP god who deigns what is proper and improper in The Book for its annual publication, sometimes changes his mind. It drives me mad when he does that.

Here's an example: For years, Norm declared that "fund raising" was two words; "fundraiser," however, was one. Until 2005, when the AP god wed "fund" to "raising" and decreed it one word.

(I still wonder why it took him years to merge the words "teen" and "ager" to make one word. I think he finally did it when he realized that every editor, including me, ignored his edict and blended them anyway. Like some Christians, we editors can become rather cafeteria-minded when it comes to what we want to believe.)

One place I won't deviate, however, is in the case of state abbreviations. Norm, not the U.S. Postal Service, has it right. It's "Tenn.," not "TN" for my state of domicile. "Ohio" should be spelled out in its entirety (come on, people; it's only two more letters. Are we really that lazy?)

In one instance, USPS and Norm are in complete concert. "Pennsylvania," according to both PTB, is abbreviated "Pa."

I once had an editorial assistant who abbreviated it "Penn." It set my teeth on edge. We went round and round. I flung The Book at her, showing her the correct passage. She'd smile and nod ... then abbreviate it "Penn." the next time. Grrrrrrr.

So you can see why my teeth were set on edge when I read the article about the passing of Werner von Trapp, one of the von Trapps from Sound of Music fame. As I read about his life, I came across the following:
After the Trapp Family Singers retired, von Trapp helped to found a music school in Reading, Penn., called the Community School of Music.

I don't even remember the rest of the article. I stumbled on that abbreviation and choked.

Do I even have to mention the article's source? The Associated Press. Yes -- the one and the same. The one that cuts Norm his paycheck for being its deity and editing its holy grail that we, the lowly editors of newspapers, must adhere.

What kind of editors are looking over AP copy? In my not-so humble opinion, the answer is either A) None; or B) Ones who suck.

Furthermore, why aren't the reporters checking their abbreviations? State abbreviations are taught in Copy Editing 101.

Go get 'em, Norm!

Sunday, October 7, 2007

AFK ... or, It's Always #$%@^% Hot in Tennessee

I realize I've been neglecting my blogging duties. I hate it, too. I actually enjoy sharing my thoughts and views with all two of my readers.

Life, however, has intervened. It's brought some surprises, some pleasant, some not so pleasant, and one that totally caught me offguard.

The not so pleasant first: That feeling I've had in my gut for months turns out to be physical. Pending the results of an ultrasound, there may soon be less of me as some surgeon gets the opportunity to wield his laser-surgery thingy and extract my gallbladder. With all the misery the damned thing has been causing me (if it is indeed that), I'd let him take it now. I sure as heck don't want it anymore.

The Girl is growing up way too fast for me. Now in high school, she's exploring her career options and, to my consternation, is exploring a profession very close to mine. I've guided her away from this field all her life, only to find her attracted to it. Sigh.

I helped chaperone her and 60-something teens to a band competition yesterday. It was hotter than seven hells in July. I wound up getting sick during their performance and sought solace in a shady area until sundown.

Personally, I have never thought a band festival was a place to take a date. Apparently, The Ex is not of a like mind, for he squired his latest to the one and same. It was my first look at her. And -- I'm cuter and look younger! Ha! I was even cuter with my sweaty hair, pulled back oh-so-unelegantly in a ponytail with strands falling unevenly around my face. And that's the end of this oh-so-mature and meow moment.

My good friends (and you know who you are) can read all about the offguard thing if you e-mail me. :)

I'll try to do better here. Promise!