One Last Call for Alcohol...

At closing time on November 30, 2012 the Beer Seller in downtown Nashville will lock its doors forever. It is hard to believe that an establishment that played such a big roll in my life for so many years will finally end its run. Ten years ago the Ardvarks ruled that place. We never paid a cover. We never waited in line. Some nights we didn't even pay our tab. We always had a good time and we were always there together. And no matter how far we roamed away from Nashville we always eventually came back to our home away from home. We saw the staff turn over like all bars do but if you ever worked there you will always be associated with the Beer Seller.

It all stared for me around 1998 or 1999. My friend Richard from high school called me one day and said the gang was going to this new bar that had opened downtown. They had gone there the weekend before and really enjoyed it so I agreed and we were off. I still remember looking at all those taps and the beer menu wondering what to order. That was the night I discovered Woodchuck Cider. But the real memories started when I started hanging out with the Ardvarks. Brodie, Toad, Bunnie, Brock and I wound up at the Beer Seller the first time we all went out together. We took over the bar before long and made instant friends with the staff, mainly because we spent a lot of money. But it was also because we changed the atmosphere once we entered the bar. After that night we knew we had a new home.

The next time we went out we discovered Thursday night 2 for 1 and Tall Paul. That was the beginning of a beautiful relationship that lasted for many years. Thursday nights were magical throughout the spring and summer of 2001. Dancing in the District was still going on at Riverfront Park at the time and everyone would pour into the place after the show. Tall Paul would crank out the tunes and the laughter never stopped. In 2003 Toad brought Santarchy to Nashville in the form of Santa Rampage. Where else would we start but the Beer Seller? Thus began the yearly gathering of Santas that we saw grow from a hand full of people to over three hundred the last year I attended in 2009.

But eventually every good thing comes to an end. Tall Paul ended his tenure with the Seller around 2005 and several other acts tried to fill the void but none came close. Also around this time a new scene had started both across the river in East Nashville as well as on the west end of town on Demonbreun St. near Vanderbilt and the college kids stopped traveling across town to drink. The number of customers fell off and things just weren't the same. I also developed a severe drinking problem around this time and I journeyed out of my house less and less over time. I have been to the Beer Seller once since I faced my addiction to play a benefit show for flood relief in May of 2010. It was a good night but bittersweet. I sat there sober and looked around the bar remembering all the "good times" I'd had there and how chasing that feeling had eventually led me to a very bad place. I left that night grateful to be alive and I remember stopping at the stairs and taking a long look at the place. I had a feeling that might be the last time I was ever in the Beer Seller. But I was wrong.

Hearing today that the Beer Seller was closing made my heart hurt. I don't miss my drinking days. I don't miss being young and knowing better but just not caring. Given the opportunity to go back and do it all over again I wouldn't. I already lived it once and it was all I hoped it would be. Looking back the Beer Seller was more than a hangout. True friendships were forged there. Brodie, Toad and I were as tight as any three brothers could be because of those nights at the Seller. The first time I hung out with Rob was at the Seller. When Toad came back from traveling the western United States he met us at the Seller on a Thursday night; fresh from the road and back home where he belonged. The night after Bristow died we all gathered at the Beer Seller and mourned. I celebrated many birthdays there and helped others do the same. The first time Brodie met his wife was at the Beer Seller. They wouldn't see each other again and start dating until a year later but it was inside those walls that they first met. And both the near perfect trivia game as well as the great collapse happened at the Seller. It was a landing spot for any time of the day, week, month or year. We hijacked bachelorette parties and tried to steal cop cars while hanging out in that one little dingy bar located at 107 Church St in downtown Nashville, underneath the Hooters. It was magical for a time. A time I plan to say goodbye to with friends and a raised glass (of water). I have many pictures from those days but by far my favorite one is of Brodie, Toad, Andy and myself in the summer of 2001. I'm sure it was a Thursday night and in my mind Tall Paul is playing "Easy" and we had all the time in the world. So goodbye to you old friend. You were instrumental in me finding me and you will be missed.

It's Only Teenage Wasteland...

This Saturday night is my high school twenty year reunion. It is hard to believe it's been that long. It seems like just last week I was sitting in my room listening to Metallica trying to perfect those speedy "gallops" on my guitar (which I never really did). These days I barely play. New interests and priorities keep me too busy to pick up my guitar. That's not to say I don't like to play it just means that I don't have as much free time these days. I'm sure this is the case for everyone from the Davidson Academy Class of 1992.

Part of going back to the reunion for me is to see everyone and who they are now. In high school we were all trying to figure out who we wanted to be (I wanted to be Dylan McKay). Who we all would become didn't happen for several more years. This is a universal thing. Every teenager thinks they know who they are but very few are even in the correct hemisphere from where they will end up. I was no exception. I thought I was going to be a rock star. Axl Rose wouldn't have anything on me once I got my time in the sun. Needless to say that didn't happen. Besides I only played music, David Chaffin was the musician in our class.

We all have that one friend whose acceptance we strive for. Chaffin was mine. He was everything I wasn't: self-confident, smart and an exceptional musician. All through high school I looked to him as an example. I didn't want to be David but I wanted be like him. And I wanted his approval above everyone else. Years later Chaffin and I would go down similar paths in our personal lives. At a time when I really needed support he reached out to me and helped me to get through a very dark place. I will always be grateful to him for that.

So here we are twenty years later. No longer are we bound by the labels we were assigned in high school. Labels like "preppie," "jock," "headbanger," and "alternative" have given way to adult, business owner and parent. We are no longer defined by the things we love but by the ones who love us. I have come to understand just how much I love the people I graduated with over the last few years. I talk to a few people on a regular basis now that I never really hung out with back then and some of my closest friends from that era have been M.I.A. for awhile. But all these years later I am reminded that we all shared time during those formative years and managed to still smile when it was all over.

High school is its own hell and we each have to figure out how to traverse the pitfalls of puberty at a time when the world seems to be both opening up to us and trying to hold us back at the same time. I would not go back and be a teenager again for all the money in the world. Anyone who thinks high school was the best years of their life has a warped sense of reality. As the ten year reunion grew closer I had mixed feelings about going. I really wanted to see everyone but I didn't know why I wanted to be seen so badly. Then a funny thing happened.

I really looked forward to the ten year reunion to show off who I had become. I wasn't a self-conscious and scared kid any longer. I was confident and self assured. I was in great shape. And most importantly I loved who I was. But in the months leading up to the reunion I started realizing that high school wasn't all bad and that most of the bad stuff that happened to me was self-inflicted. I wasn't confident enough in myself to be a part of the "in" crowd. No one held me back or gave me a hard time, I just didn't know that I was as cool as anyone was. This realization made me enjoy that night more than I would have if I had walked in to the room with a ten year old chip on my shoulder. It was a good night.

This time around I helped organize the reunion. My dad has gotten a real laugh out of that one. But I like the way I see high school now as opposed to the way I saw it then. There is no "us and them." In fact there never was. We were all trying to figure it out and as best as I can tell we have done a pretty damn good job. I look forward to seeing old friends and introducing my wife to the people who helped shape me. So here's to the Class of '92. You have always been my friend and I love you all.