A while back I was walking into the public library, and I nearly ran into a baby stroller that was pulling away from the circulation desk. I begged pardon of the mother who was pushing the stroller–a tall, attractive woman whom I was supposed to know from somewhere. From the look on her face, I got the impression that she was trying to remember where she knew me from, too. I was just about to say, “Did you used to go to Covenant Presbyterian?” when Keith Urban walked up behind her, and I realized that the woman was Nicole Kidman.
Celebrity sightings are relatively common here in Nashville. My wife stood in line with George Jones at Bread and Company, a shi-shi bakery in Green Hills. That hurt my heart. I suppose The Possum has as much right to a buttered scone as anybody else, but he lost some street cred with me.
For my money, however, famous people aren’t nearly so interesting as people who used to be famous. There are plenty of those folks kicking around Nashville too. Today’s story–a rerun of a Rabbit Room piece–tells about an encounter I had with one of them. I changed his name, so don’t even try Googling him. Read More