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The Michigan Daily - Weekend etc. - October 29, 1992 - Page 3


Country ain't just
for hicks anymore
by Carina A. Bacon
Ever since Billy Ray Cyrus crossed over to the pop charts, country music
has been on the rise. Achy-Breaky dance lesson videos are being advertised on
TV, and posters of Billy's hot bod are being plastered in rooms everywhere.
But is it all just a fad? Are people soon going to wake up and send Billy on his
way? Or will country music grab at the hearts of many and take over the nation?
I am happy to say that I got into country music before Billy Ray hit the
charts; even before the infamous Garth Brooks became Entertainer of the Year
for the first time (he used to be my favorite singer, but I think he's going
religious on me). I can honestly say that I am a die-hard country fan (OK, only
for about two years, but who needs to know?)
I'll never forget the look on my friends' faces the day I changed the radio
to a country station and started singing along. I thought they were going to stop
the car! See, I come from a little hick town in northern Michigan, and country
music is what echoes from the garage as my friends try to fix something they
know absolutely nothing about. But for me to listen to their music without them
knowing about it? Unimaginable!
You might think this infatuation came on suddenly, but when I think back
to my childhood, the potential had definitely been there for a long time. My
parents (who rarely ever buy any music) used to play cassettes of Kenny
Rogers when I was young. I think they even had some other country music (I
won't bother mentioning the names - who would know the singers anyway?)
on eight-track tapes.
When I was 12 years old I even went to horse camp. For two weeks I lived
the life of a cowgirl: long rides in the country, bow-legged walking, brushing
down the horses, sore butt. Ah, such was life - for two weeks. I don't think
I ever wore those cowboy boots again. The ones I just had to have: light tan
leather with original (OK, factory) stitching, in size three boys. They had to be
boys' boots; girls' boots were for sissies. I think they've been sold at a garage
sale since then. What would I get now anyway for nine-year-old cowboy boots
in mint condition?
Being the addict that I am, I even went to the annual Downtown Country
Hoedown in Hart Plaza this past May. What is it? Well, it's the most awesome
weekend ever - at least to country music lovers. An entire Friday, Saturday,
and Sunday is devoted to free concerts in downtown Detroit. And they're not
just local bands, but big names! I saw my favorite group Shenandoah, Steve
Warmer, and Lorrie Morgan there. And all it cost me was gas money and $5
to park. What a deal! Could you imagine Guns 'N Roses doing something like
that?
But hey, don't go thinking that I'm a total hick just because I enjoy country
music. I'm still in the real world; Ijust like a little variety. At any given moment
sounds of Metallica (thanks to my boyfriend, who I must say, admitted to
enjoying - OK, tolerating - country music when he's in the right frame of
mind), Bryan Adams (he did put on anawesome concert), George Winston (the
piano lover in me), Celine Dion (everybody needs a little romance), or Garth
Brooks (my country hero) can be heard coming from my room. (Not all at once
of course!)
Still, there definitely has to be something said for country. What other
music could you possibly listen to where the people have it worse than you?
"When you were mine, the home team won the series, and the good guys got
the girls in the end," sings Shenandoah. Hey, life sucks ... for them. (And I
didn't even have to read the CD booklet to understand the words!) Country
music relates to everyone and every situation. From cheatin' husbands to
drinkin' to lovin', there's a song - plenty of 'em.
On spring break last year, my friends and I made a road trip to South
Carolina (Florida was just too far), and as it turned out after three tries, the best
bar we found was a country bar. There's just something about singing along
with your best friends to Garth Brooks' song "Friends in Low Places," -"I've
got frieeeeeends in loooooow places, where the whiiiiskey drowwwwns and
the beeeeeer chaaaases, my bluuuueees awaaaaaaay," - with the band at one
in the morning that does somethin' to ya. (But the lead singer did seem awful
annoyed with us; eventually he couldn't be heard anymore!)
And country bars definitely attract all ages. We never laughed so hard as we
did the night we watched grandpa hustle the women. Affectionately nick-
named "Cattle-driver," by my friend, we watched him change partners three
times in the course of one song, because the women could just not keep up with
his "driving and twirling." One poor woman even ended up flat on her butt!
Even though I come from a hick town, we have very few country bars. We
all have to resort to Sunday 'Country Night,' at the local bar. People of all ages
are there in their cowboy boots, Wranglers, and plaid shirts - and the studs
in the current country gear - faded Levi's, white T-shirt, black hat and boots.
It's definitely not your typical meat market. I've seen old men just motioning
across the table for a woman to dance, and her hopping right up to join him!
(What happened to old-fashioned invitations?)
For all its diversity, I am disappointed that Ann Arbor doesn't have its own
country bar. But what am I saying? It'd never survive here! The closest ones
that I even know of are in Belleville and Ypsilanti, and the newspaper lists at
least a dozen bars in greater Detroit.

Regardless, the next time the Country Music Awards come around, you
know where I'll be - wearing my makeshift cowboy hat (who can afford a
real one?) and my $10 cowboy boots from a local resale shop (you win some,
you lose some).

-411
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'CHO

When a dandelion

"When a man suddenly stops and
gives you flowers, that's impulse. "
- Impulse body spray commercial
OK, so they weren't really flow-
ers, they were dandelions. Butin nurs-
ery school, dandelions were as pre-
cious as long-stemmed roses - espe-

They don't make men like Nathan
anymore.
One sunny afternoon in May,
Nathan and I were finger-painting
together outside on the work tables.
We each had on a smock - one of our
father'sold button-down shirts turned
backward. At one point, I looked up at
Nathan who was working diligently
on his swirl technique. Suddenly, I
was overcome by this incredible urge
to kiss him. But first, I had to terrorize
him. I reached my hands into the
green finger paint till my hands were
nice and gooey. I looked at Nathan, he
looked at me - the chase was on.
We ran up a flight of stairs to the
sand box, up the hill running in front
of the swings -breaking the first rule
of the Niles Township Jewish Con-
gregation playground - past the tire
run and back over to the work area.
There was no, no, no on his lips, but
yes, yes, yes in his heart. Call it
women's intuition, pre-mature.
Then after the thrill of the chase
was over, I took my two little hands
on Nathan's face and kissed him, right

on the left eyebrow. It was a very
romantic moment. After it was over
and Nathan finished with the series of
self-administered cooty shots required
after being kissed by a girl, we went
back to finger-painting 'til snack time.
When I was four, I loved Nathan
Beditzson. The next year Nathan and
I went to kindergarten together. I
stopped loving Nathan. When I was
five, I loved Ron Bloustien.
I am 21 now, and since my youth-
ful days in nursery school I have loved
many different people and many dif-
ferent things. However, one thing
about me has remained the same. Ever
since I was very young I have tried to
follow my impulses, because the worst
thing in life is to live with regret. My
rule of thumb is, "If it won't kill me,
I'll do it at least once."
I don't regret taking a year off and
going to Mozambique. I don't regret
climbing to the top of a 60-foot tree,
even though I am terrified of heights
and it took me two hours to get down.
And I don't regret having pictures
taken of me while I was nude in the

ildo
Redwood National Forest.
However, some impulses have
slipped through my fingers only to
drown in the pool of reason. Yes - I
have regrets. I regret not having a
better relationship with my grandpai-
ents. I regret never running the nude
mile. And I regret not making love in
an open field in Walker, Minnesota
when I had the chance.
Some of these things I will get a
chance to do again. Some of them I
won't. The repercussions of follow-
ing your heart and going with an im-
pulse are never as bad as living with
the "I could have, I should have, If
only ..."
When I was four, I loved Nathan
Beditzson and at that moment, noth-
ing could have stopped me from fol-
lowing my heart. However, as we get
older, we become more and more
afraid to follow our hearts for fear that
our hearts may change their minds.
So, here's to green finger-paint,
long-stemmed dandelions, acting on
impulse and Nathan Beditzson .
wherever he is.

cially when they came from Nathan
Beditzson. You see, when I was four
I loved Nathan Beditzson, and Nathan
used to pick me dandelions.
Nathan and I had a great thing. We
liked to eat the same snacks, and we
both hated when Mrs. Kaplan would
come in and play the piano - the only
songs she knew were "All the colors
of the rainbow" and "This land is your
land, this land is my land." Neither
Nathan nor myself could lay still for
nap time, and when we would play
house, he always let me be the father.

A Storyteller tells of 'Sweet Medicine'

a'


by Joshua Keidan
The sequel to David Seals' first
novel, "The Powwow Highway,"
"Sweet Medicine" strives to never
take itself too seriously, always aware
of its position as both a sequel and a
heroic novel in a time when heroes are
anachronistic. Philbert Whirlwind
Bono, Bonnie Red Bird, Buddy Red
Bird, and Storyteller (the novel's nar-
rator) take turns leading the action of
the story and playing the hero as they
journey from the Picuris Indian Res-
ervation in New Mexico to Bear Butte,
in the Black Hills. On the way they
work to incite general revolt among
those they encounter, stirring up
trouble everywhere they go.
Unfortunately, the mock-heroic
tone Seals adopts makes every en-
counter end anti-climactically, most

noticeably (and most frustrating for
the reader) at the end of the novel,
when in a blinding flash of lightning
everything is instantly, unexpectedly
Sweet Medicine
David Seals
Orion Books
resolved and all loose ends are tied up
in the matter of two sentences. Seals
attempts to justify the action of the
novel by stating "cynics might say
that not one word of this story was
true. None of it happened. It is not a
true picture of our world, they say."
He implies thatonly the small-minded
will refuse to accept the different view
of reality which stems from the

storyteller's Native-American view-
point. However, the viewpoint of this
novel doesn't present the problem
(although preaching characterizes the
novel's tone) - narrative flaws do.
Perhaps the largest of these flaws
comes from Seals' use of Storyteller
as both character and narrator. Story-
teller, the least interesting of all the
characters, overwhelms with his self-
' conscious narration. His constant in-
terruptions hinder both the action
and the portrayal of the other, more
interesting characters. For instance,
in the middle of an otherwise interest-
ing, comic sex scene comes a typical


interjection: "If it was up to me, I
would have a delicate kiss right here,
to see if it's real." While Seals intends
Storyteller's presence to be a level-
ling element, working alternately to
inflate or deflate the narrative's tone,
in general Storyteller just annoys.
"Sweet'Medicine" opens with this
disclaimer: ."You won't know about
this story unless you've already read
'The Powwow Highway,' ... but that
doesn't matter. You didn't miss
much." Unfortunately, the same could
be said about not reading "Sweet
Medicine" - you won't miss much
by not reading it.


dA b
Ann Arbor's

U-M PART TIME STUDENTS
There's a special grant for you!
The Michigan Adult Part Time Grant
Benefits Michigan Residents Who:
* have been out of high school
for more than two years
. demonstrate financial need
APPLICATION DEADLINE
Monday, November 16, 1992
Get details and applications at:
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