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All Roads Lead To Nashville
{December 4, 2002}

I arrived in Nashville Sunday July 23, 2000 with only a guitar on my back and a gleam in my eye. I got a gig singing Johnny Cash songs in one of the Honky-Tonks on Music Row - only to have my audience of four elderly women bash my face in with tire irons.

I had thought that above all else, what Music City needed was some sort of outlet for mediocre singer-songwriters. Apparently that niche had been filled. Crushed, I then decided to join a talented group of performers who really had something special going on. Once Metro shut down the smut industry, I finally turned my focus to comedy.

By then, several hours had passed and ole Chaddy was tired. All my "friends" in this town (well, I guess they're more accurately described as "people who paid to have sex with me back during my darkest years" than as "friends".. but in this nutty life, I just take the cards I've been dealt and play Circle Of Death yaknowhatimsayin?) were not answering their phones (damn the Caller ID!) so I thought I'd get a hotel room.

Being the nutty idiot that I am, I thought I'd get the dumpiest hovel I could find. I figured I'd get some funny stories out of the experience. Turns out it really wasn't that funny. The only thing I "got" out of that experience is a bad rash and a phantom sore-butt that I can't explain. The "Music City Motor Lodge" was so bad I wouldn't take a hooker there. And the sheet of guidelines on the door clearly stated, "No prostitution." So, you know, it was against the rules anyway.

I watched some tv and worked a little on my novel until I started getting tired... I went to the bathroom and realized just a little too late that my toilet didn't flush. So I walked down to the office and talked to the attendant. It wasn't the guy I rented the room from, it was an Indian lady. She marveled at the notion that my crapper didn't flush, "just fill your bucket up with water from the tub and use that to flush it." Of course! The bucket! What an idiot I am!

"Uh, I don't have a bucket," I mumbled - dumbfounded as possible. She gave me the 'hold on just a minute' index finger and disappeared into the back room. Thank Shiva-The-Many-Handed-One, she was going to get the manager, or perhaps the maintenance guy? Either way, help was coming. After a minute she came out a different door smiling ear-to-ear with a big 5-gallon bucket in her hand. I was too tired to fight. I just said thanks and headed back to my syphilis pit.

I opened the shower curtain to fill the bucket up in the tub. There was a hole in the shower wall! Tiles were missing, and I could see the 2x4 studs since the hole in the drywall was about three feet in diameter. I didn't see any wiring, but I think I saw something scurry away. For my own sanity, I decided that I just saw a squirrel instead of one of it's hideous cousins. I filled the bucket and used it to flush the toilet.

By now, I was well past being ready for bed. I peeled the covers down to reveal stained sheets with holes in them. I decided to try the other bed.. this one was in the same condition, but had the bonus used condom wrapper laying next to the pillow. "Nice," I thought.

I went out to my car and settled down for long-deserved rest. As I drifted off to sleep, I saw several "ladies of the night" come and go from a few of the rooms. Apparently somebody didn't see the rules on their door.

All in all, it was a great time. Over two years later I can honestly say that the charm of Music City still hasn't worn off.. it's still just as magical as ever.

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