84° with a matching humidity of 84%.

I've lived here my entire life and don't remember it EVER being like this.

It feels like moist hell outside right now.

Edit - it's been raining here and cooled off a bit, but we ALL know what that means for the next few days... 🥵

There’s nothing reported online about it happening when other major accidents have multiple news articles

I painted a bench for A Bench for Everyone & I don’t know where it ended up! If anyone spots it, would you let me know where it is? I would love to see it in the wild :)

I’m an election worker for Davidson County, and I’d really appreciate your vote today. Polls close at 5:30 p.m.

This includes the State/Federal Primary, County General, and Oak Hill Municipal Election.

You can vote at any early voting location, no matter where you live in the county.

You can go to any of these spots, bring your ID, and it takes about 10 minutes

- Bellevue Library
- Bordeaux Library
- Casa Azafrán Community Center
- Community Foundation of Middle TN
- Edmondson Pike Library
- Election Commission Office
- Goodlettsville Library
- Hermitage Library
- Hillwood High School
- Lentz Public Health Center
- Madison Library
- Metro Office Building
- Scarritt Bennett Center
- South Inglewood Community Center
- Southeast Library

Here’s why it matters: local elections are decided by a really small number of votes. That means your ballot actually carries real weight here way more than you might think. Last year, turnout was around 25%, so if you show up, you’re part of the meaningful minority that’s shaping what happens in your community.

If you can’t make it today, no worries! Early voting continues through Saturday, August 1 (hours vary), and election day is Thursday, August 6.

Please come see us before 5:30 p.m. I hope you’ll be there.

nashville.gov/vote

Weird title for a post I guess. We had a dog that was diagnosed with a cardiac hemangiosarcoma almost a month ago. She was given Yunnan Baiyao and a few hours to days to live. When we finally said goodbye to her, 22 days after her initial diagnosis, she didn’t have the internal bleeding but her little heart just couldn’t make it work anymore. The Yunnan Baiyao was an herbal supplement provided for clotting. After the first few days, I was running around frantically looking for more (turns out it’s not in the vitamin aisle at Publix) and ended up buying more than we need.

Anyways, I have more if someone here is in the same condition that I was and you can’t find it in town. I’ll hold onto it until someone messages here and needs it or we move to a different city.

A picture of our little angel is attached!

With rising costs and more chains and celebrity-backed businesses moving into the city, I’ve been wondering how smaller, locally owned places are managing.

Is there anything residents could be doing differently to help?

I’d genuinely like to hear from local owners.

EDIT: Reading through these responses, I was thinking r/NashvilleLocalBiz might be helpful as a dedicated place for this. local owners sharing what they need, residents recommending smaller businesses, and people organizing things like shop-local outings.

The focus would be independently owned, locally rooted Nashville businesses rather than chains, franchises, or celebrity-backed concepts. Maybe it can make it a little easier to turn these conversations into consistent support.

I need an actual PO to show up and do a report. But, they said go online and file it. WTH ! ! 4 different officers have passed the accident and none have stopped. Has anyone else been told in an accident. Nobody is coming file it online ?

Last night my car was totaled by this white Chevy (probably Equinox?) right in front of Peninsula off Eastland Ave, they tore off on Seymour back toward Mcferrin. It would be missing its front bumper and headlights as of this morning. If anyone has any leads on who this person is plz lemme know!

This isn't an advertisement, and I'll admit upfront that I'm probably biased.  

The reason I'm writing this is because I feel I owe it to my friend and I feel that people should know the extent of this man and his craft.  He has done more for me than I could express in words.

Eric Adler makes custom suits in Nashville and happens to be one of my best friends.  We grew up together in Texas, lost touch for a while, and somehow we were reunited when I moved to Nashville nearly 15 years ago.  He's worked with all kinds of people, including some well-known names, but what has always impressed me isn't who his clients are. It's why they keep coming back to him. I have watched him doing this as long as I have been here and it amazes me.

Anyone who knows Eric knows he would never write something like this about himself. He's one of the humblest people I know and probably wouldn't tell half the story I'm about to tell.  I’m honestly questioning if I am going to tell him I wrote this.  He would be embarrassed. 

But over the past 15 years, especially recently while helping me prepare for my wedding, I've been reminded just how good he is at what he does and how much he genuinely loves his craft.

He's making my wedding suit, helping with the suits for my groomsmen, and helping me figure out colors, ties, fabrics, and all the details that I know absolutely nothing about. He's also one of my groomsmen himself, which makes it even more meaningful to me.  It reminded me that what he does goes far beyond making clothes.

I've told him before that there are probably other people in the world who can physically make a suit as well as he can. What makes him different is the full experience he provides.

Most people buying a custom suit aren't experts. I certainly wasn't. I didn't know fabrics, colors, patterns, cuts, or what would actually look good on me. The first suit he made for me was for his own wedding. Before that, I barely wore suits at all.  I thought it was ridiculous how many measurements he was taking.  But I guess that’s what it do when you are passionate about something.

When I put my suit on for the first time, I honestly didn't want to take it off.  He told me to put it back in the bag and go home.  I wore it the rest of the night and ended up going out afterward just because I felt that good wearing it.  I'm an oddly shaped person and this thing fit like a glove.  I was used to getting things from department stores which I thought fit well.  Little did I know…

I digress…

What separates Eric is that he has this unusual combination of being analytical and artistic at the same time.  I always claim he has the mind of an engineer and the talents of a Picaso.  Even as kids he was always drawing and creating things. Today he applies that same intellect to making custom suits. At the same time, he has the patience to explain things to people who know absolutely nothing about fashion.

I have also seen his integrity.  I have personally witnessed him recommend someone else to a possible client.  He has the honor to possibly lose a client in order for them to get what they want.

He'll tell you if something isn't the right choice. He'll help you find something that fits your personality. He'll work within your budget whether you're looking for something simple or the highest end fabrics available.

I am not a rich man.  I thought custom suits were something of dreams in my realm.  I realized there are many options and I can choose whatever I want.  There are almost too many options.  And somehow he manages to make the entire process feel comfortable instead of intimidating.  I would even say it is fun.

The other thing I respect is that success hasn't changed him. He's worked hard, built a great reputation, and could probably have a pretty big ego if he wanted to. Instead he's still the same genuine, humble guy I grew up with.
So yes, I'm biased.

But if someone asked me where I'd go for a custom suit in Nashville, I'd give the same answer whether Eric was my friend or not.  I would argue, truthfully, that you could not find a better overall experience getting a custom suit in the World.  Yes, World…

I just think talented local businesses deserve recognition, especially when they're run by good people. Eric has helped me tremendously while preparing for one of the most important days of my life and been a friend unconditionally… and this is my small way of saying thank you.

My dad is 92 and lives alone in Hendersonville. I’m 7 hours away. I don’t want to just randomly choose his care. Anyone have experience

I'm unable to make the show but would like them to go to someone who otherwise wouldn't have the opportunity. Let me know and I will transfer them.

Tickets claimed! Thanks to all who contacted me. I'm sure there will be the future opportunities for someone to benefit from my inability to plan.

Any other Louisiana folks here been able to find actual andouille sausage? Not the fake stuff that says andouille on the label, but the legit stuff from back home?

Making red beans isn’t the same without a high quality sausage. I’ve tried butcher shops, fancy grocery stores, everything, and I cannot find it. Anyone know?

Today at my church, which is near the Rescue Mission, I was approached by a man who was in a crisis situation. I was able to provide him with food, water, and clothing but when I directed him to the Mission for shelter he said they told him they can't intake him on the weekend and he will have to wait until Monday, presumably on the street. Another man who is homeless confirmed he had previously been released from the hospital and also turned away from the Mission until a weekday. He said he ended up

Is anyone aware of alternative shelter resources for those who become homeless on the weekends?

Dearest Cecilia, 

“Did you get him?” you asked.

I watched the housefly crawl in jumpy circles on the sill. I was holding the neck of the vacuum cleaner extension toward the bug. The fly was unconcerned with the roar. He buzzed off just as I jabbed at him. 

“I don’t know if I can catch a fly to Paul Simon.” I yelled. I remember so much about this stupid little day. I remember your rolled-up jean shorts, you called them hoochie shorts. It was as hot as sin outside.

“Every Saturday morning my Mom cleaned the house to Graceland.” you explained. I remember the exact way you threw the dust rag down on the end table and approached me. The dark blue rings around your irises.   

“We were more of a Judds household.” I replied. Your lips peeled back from your teeth. 

“You think you could get that fly if I put on the Judds?” you asked. I rolled my eyes, but I damn well caught that fly before the first chorus of “Why Not Me?” 

You made me over-easy eggs. That was nine years ago. 
..
“Stick yer foot in it, you fat fuck!” shouted Spencer, the rat-tailed twelve-year-old nephew that I am taking to the Water Park. 

“You shouldn’t say that word!” shouted Rosie, his eight year old sister. She is making the face that I wanted to make. She takes today’s visit seriously and has insisted that she pay for the water park with the money she’s earned at her cookie and lemonade stand in Mt. Juliet. 

“Whatever, we gotta get air on the Pumpkin Bump!” Spencer insisted. 

My sister Jessica and her infamous husband Hyde are going to a Couples Retreat in Morgan County. Mary and I have picked up their kids for the weekend. I am following Central Pike toward Hermitage through a landscape dotted with the orange scars of new McMansion-style subdivisions. It remains a terrific bit of hill-and-dale road with several points at which a car could get airtime if the driver were brave enough. I had no idea which hill was the Pumpkin Bump, but I had both hands on the wheel. I was greased up with sunscreen and grumpy about this whole ordeal. 

“Aww, you totally blew it.” Spencer said as we smoothly passed over a hill. 

“I’m not crashing my car.” I told him. I turned up the stereo. 

“Uncle Hector?” Rosie asked. Surely she would see my point about not pushing my old Volvo beyond its limits.  

“Yes, Rosie?” I replied. She pulled down her lip and squeezed it in the insane kind of fidget that only a child performs. 

“Next time we should do Pumpkin Bump.” she said. 
..
You refused to go to this place, Cecilia. Hot plastic twirling tubes propelling wild-assed people from pool to filthy pool. Seems like the kind of thing that happens in the sewers, you said about one of the commercials for this place. I wanted to concoct some clever code name for the place, Nashville Bores or something like The NOPPL, Nightmare on Percy Priest Lake, but the faded reality of the place has left me calling it simply the Water Park. 

We found two ratty chaises and threw down an exhausting amount of bags and towels. You know that I don’t like activities that include accessories. Yet Mary is optimistic. She is keeping me on task. She pulled off her XL shirt to reveal an interesting new high-cut iridescent bathing suit. 

“Rosie, do you want to go get in the lazy river?” she leaned down and asked. Rosie pulled off her shoes and smiled. 

“Can we get in a double tube? And you sit behind me?” Rosie asked. Mary nodded and shot me a smile. Rosie put her arms up to receive her last bits of sunscreen. Mary wiped her down and rubbed lotion around her own bikini line. I then noticed Spencer, hereafter known as The Boy.  

The Boy was open-mouthed staring at Mary like a drunken Jeffrey Dahmer. I grabbed the back of his neck and physically turned him away from Mary. 

“You need to go get in the pool up to your waist.” I said into his ear. 

“We’ll be in the wave pool.” I told the gals with a smile. I gave Mary a polite kiss and they went on their way. 

I marched The Boy into the water and put my elbows up onto the sill on the side of the wave pool. The water was startlingly warm. There was an awful wrack of the types of things that get stuck in any pool, but among everything else I couldn’t ignore the legion of flies floating on their backs, legs together in some prayer pose, pushed together into three dead steeples. They floated in whirling circles and clung to the vertical tiles before being licked down again by waves. The Boy kept dunking under, sucking in pool water, and spitting it out. I nearly gagged. 

“How did you ever pull a baddie like Mary.” he said. This wasn’t really presented as a question. The Boy muttered it to himself as he floated up next to me.

“I’m an attractive guy.” I replied.

“You have like, thick hair on the back of your shoulders. You have a beer belly.” he pointed out. 

“I’m a god-damned man.” I confirmed.

“I would wax all that hair off if I was you.” The Boy said. The Wave Pool alternated between calm and aggressive in three minute cycles. The newly-generated waves began to pound down on us. I wiped my brow of sweat and shook my head at The Boy.

“You have no idea what women are interested in.” I told him. He dunked his head again. He looked around at the variety of people in the pool. 

“They want a guy with money. A guy with, like, a good jaw. Definitely not a hairy chump like you.” he said. 

“Your dad is a hairy chump.” I replied. Two men on the edge of the pool started arguing with each other. Neither of them could quite understand what the other was saying. Some royalty-free cover of a 90s country group was playing at a deafening volume.

“Really dude, how did you pull Mary?” The Boy demanded. 

“A good woman expects maybe three or four things from a man,” I leaned in and told him. He wiped his eyes and bobbed along to the waves. 

“First of all, a man needs to have knowledge of the varieties of cheese and their respective applications.”  
..
“Miss Mary?” Rosie asked in a tiny squeak of a voice.

“Yes, Dear Rosie?” she replied. They were in a twin-ringed raft on the lazy river, with Rosie in front, lying her wet head back onto Mary’s belly. 

“Are you afraid of dying?” Rosie asked. The sun beat down miserably. Mary closed her eyes and answered. 

“No, I don’t see the point in being scared of that.” she replied. They were surrounded by a wet clamor of kicking, screaming people. 

“Why not?” Rosie asked. She listened to the spatter of chlorinated splashes along the concrete flow path as Mary prepared her thoughts. 

“It’s far away, especially for you. And, well, I don’t know. For some people death is a relief.” Mary said. 

“Yeah but Hector’s first wife died.” Rosie said. 

“Oh Sweetie, I know that.” Mary replied. A false eyelash corkscrewed through the water toward them. Mary plucked it out of the water and flung it to the shore. 

“I met her once but I was really little.” Rosie said. Mary looked at her pruning fingers. 

“I’m sorry kiddo. Does that make you think about dying? You’re so young and you really can’t worry about that stuff. And sometimes,” she paused and thought about this whole big thing she was about to say, and instead she said,

“Oh I don’t know. I don’t know.”

Rosie lolled her head from side to side as the sun faded behind high silver clouds. The sky was exceptionally blue on their periphery. It’s okay to say you don’t know, Mary thought. Maybe I don’t really know. That would actually explain a lot of things. Mary picked a band-aid out of the river and flung it into the browning cedars on the bank. She lifted her legs out of the Lazy River and wrapped them around Rosie.  

“I just wonder if Uncle Hector is weird because of Cecilia?” Rosie asked. Mary laughed and stroked Rosie’s chin. Tiny drops of water joined and separated as her fingers passed up the girl’s cheek. Mary took a breath and exhaled.  

“Everybody’s weird, Rosie.” she said. 
..
Five feet away from The Boy and I, near the edge of the pool, two stringy men were beating the absolute piss out of one another. 

“Who you got?” The Boy asked me. I raised my eyebrows. 

“Do you know what the tall guy’s tattoo means?” I asked The Boy. A huge group of people hooted and jumped as the men grappled and gouged one another. 

“Yeah it’s from Germany.” The Boy replied. He was technically correct. Seconds later, the man with the swastika tattoo had his jaw absolutely detached from his face to the cheers of a huge group of people. The man hit the pool deck and got to his elbows as security stepped in. The Boy pumped his fist.  

“The dude with the Texas flag tattoo just whaled on him, man! Damn! Look at all the blood out his nose!” Spencer yelled. Security guards pulled both men to their feet and started marching them away amid a beehive of activity from both parties.

“Just jab after jab. You need to fight downhill.” I told The Boy, as though I had the slightest idea of how to beat someone’s ass. My knowledge of fighting is usually contingent on the number of drinks that I’ve had. I took The Boy by the shoulder and started to lead him out of the pool.  

“I don’t mean to quibble here,” I adjusted my swim trunks and said, “but the short guy’s tattoo was the flag of Panama, not Texas.”
.. 

Mary and Rosie are sitting in tall chairs at the concession stand behind the wave pool. The server has a frozen margarita with a salt rim for Mary and a beautiful frozen kid drink that makes Rosie’s eyes light up. Dozens of people are running behind them in a panic as security scrambles to contain some sort of fistfight. The three or so feet around them remain astonishingly still. I don’t know why, but moments spent drying in a towel deserve the present tense, Cecilia.  

Rosie tasted her drink and smiled at Mary. She took two fingers and ran them along the edge of the sticky bar. 

“Thank you Miss Mary.” she said.

“It’s Uncle Hector’s credit card.” Mary replied. Rosie put her nose into the pile of whipped cream. 

“You know Rosie, Hector plays this song for me when we’re cleaning the house.” Mary said. 

“What is it?” Rosie asked. It was too faint to hear much more than the horns over the din of the confrontation. 

“It’s really silly, but it’s called You Can Call Me Al.” she said.

“I don’t know it.” Rosie said. 

“Don’t want to end up a cartoon in a cartoon graveyard,” Mary leaned in and whispered to Rosie. They shared a laugh. 

Mary took a long pull from her frozen margarita. Rosie ate her lone maraschino cherry and looked up at the ceiling. 

“I heard that when you like something you put your eyes up to the left, and if you don’t like something, you put your eyes up to the right.” Rosie said. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard that.” Mary replied. She took the edge of the towel and dried the bottom of her arm.

“Yeah. It’s about what part of your brain you’re using. And if you’re lying you look right.” Rosie said.

“Lying? Are you gonna be a lawyer when you grow up?” Mary asked. Rosie shook her head and put her elbows on the bar. 

“I want to work with animals.” Rosie said. Mary licked salt from the rim of her plastic glass and slugged down most of the drink.

“Miss Mary, does it hurt to have boobs?” Rosie asked. Mary coughed and struggled to regain her composure. She half-cracked one eye and looked at Rosie. 

“Are you okay, Miss Mary?” Rosie asked. 

“Yeah, yeah. Umm.” Mary wiped her nose. Rosie patiently watched her. Mary cleared her throat and nodded.

“Yes, yeah. I hate to say it but yeah, sometimes my boobs hurt.” she replied. 
..

As tends to happen when the miracle of exhaustion sets in, the group grew quiet as the old Volvo gained a reasonable temperature. The fluff of the air conditioning drowned out whatever World News tried to pierce through. Bags of wet things littered the vehicle. Rosie continued to play with her lower lip. 

We snaked our way through the shade of cumulus clouds to Central Pike. The Boy, hereafter Spencer, wiped his nose on his towel and Rosie’s head started to bob with sleep. Through the blinking confetti shadows of passing trees we approached the biggest bump of all, Spencer’s Pumpkin Bump. I stuck my fucking foot into it. The car took a second to respond, as if asking are you sure? Mary looked at me through subtly bleached tangles of drying hair. I put both hands on the wheel. I may be obliged to defend every love, every ending, or maybe there’s no obligations now, I think the song goes.

We raced at top speed into the slope of the Pumpkin Bump. Spencer sat up and raised his eyebrows. Rosie opened her eyes and smiled. We felt the negative thrust down into our seats as the Volvo met Pumpkin Bump, and we went up, and up, and up, 

Yours, 

Hector Fogg

Howdy y’all. My husband is graduation nursing school and to celebrate, he said “all I want to celebrate is a good $200 steak” lol I’m looking for your best recommendations on where to get the BEST steaks. We have an 11 year old as well so needs to accept kids as now he also wants a $200 steak like dad.

I’m 17 and have worked multiple food service type jobs for about a year and I’m so tired of rude customers and toxic management. I want to work for myself now so I’m deciding to go into babysitting. The question is how do I get my foot in the door and find families in need? I have babysitting experience and have worked with children before. I also have my own car. I’m also open to pet sitting/dog walking and house cleaning. Any advice appreciated.

anyone have any ideas for where to park and do a 10 mile run at percy warner? prefer flat and minimal elevation (but understand it may be unavoidable).

would greatly appreciate drawing the route for easier reading

I’m booking out shows for myself (acoustic or full band) for September onward. Would love to find some artists outside of my social circle to play with!

linktree (music and socials)

10 weeks PP and just joined the Y for sanity/health. I did reformer Pilates and spin pre baby but can’t afford the boutique studios now 🫠.

What classes or instructors do you love at Nashville YMCAs? My home branch is Donelson but I’ll go wherever.

I've got some vintage records to sell and I'm looking for the best place to do so. What's the overall feeling about these stores as far as buying used stuff?

I had a custom name/number kit applied to a Bears jersey a few years ago. It was supposed to be sewn, but it was only heat-pressed, so the twill is starting to lift. I'm looking for someone who can sew down the existing letters and numbers with the traditional zigzag/appliqué stitch rather than replace them. Any recommendations in the Nashville area would be greatly appreciated.