Stepping Out in Nashville

You love going out in Nashville because you're invisible. Whether at a society function or in a darkened honkytonk, you don't exist. No one sees you - perhaps because you're not obviously "someone" and because you don't wear lots of makeup or or have blond hair (or big hair) or wear anything excessively tight or short. It's one of the reasons you no longer live here - being invisible gets a bit old.

But it means you can watch, and listen.

Like at a recent function for people who donated a certain amount to a certain cause, held in a private home - all 27,000 square feet of it. The hostess wore an outfit out of place for anywhere you have ever been or ever thought of being, and one that the guests would have scorned had anyone other than someone presumably incredibly rich been wearing it (or unless frequenting a street corner in a part of Nashville you have never visited). You devour chocolate-covered strawberries, crunchy vegetable pieces, and mouth-wateringly rare roast beef, eaten off a carrot stick because you cannot eat the wheat rolls and there is no silverware.

The mayor attends, with a name tag that says "Mayor" followed by his name, in case you missed the fact that he is the mayor. All of the guests are white, as are the car valets. Every member of the serving staff is black.

This is Nashville.

You watch, and listen.