Sodom meets Gomorrah on the Cumberland River

If Tennessee is God’s country, then he is going to be pretty pissed off when he stops by Nashville for his millennial visit. Initially, I was less than encouraged about our prospects for fun in Nashville after passing dozens of “Jesus loves you” and “Repent, ye sinners” signs on the way through eastern Tennessee on Friday. Apparently the good “over-the-mountain” folks are entirely humorless when it comes to matters of faith. Thankfully, Nashville is the kind of place that embraces those of us with a certain kind of … moral flexibility.

After settling into our palatial digs at the Marriott (a chain owned by Mormons, no less), we hit the streets in search of food and strong drink. We enjoyed a rather normal dinner at an oddly authentic Mexican restaurant, and then walked down to the arena for the night’s main event. Nothing could have prepared me (with the possible exception of City Club) for the gathering of freaks that is a Nine Inch Nails show on a Halloween night. I always enjoy moments when I get to feel normal in comparison to the company I am keeping. Nearly everyone was in costume. Needless to say, the ladies were in fine form. Apparently Halloween is a great excuse to wear as little as possible. The show itself was musically and visually stunning, but the kids were more interested in filming the band on their cell phones than dancing.

The rest of the night is pretty much a blur at this point. All I can really remember is that Nashville’s downtown has more bars than just about any other city I can think of. The streets were flooded with revelers intent on making Caligula proud. Some other vague recollections from the after concert partying: twin sisters dressed as Mormons singing “Gangsta's Paradise,” two girls basically fucking on the dance floor, Steve’s bizarre encounter with a “Naughty Nurse,” statues of Elvis just about everywhere, and a few other things I’ll leave out to protect the mostly innocent. In sum: Nashville is one hell of a town.

Saturday was a day of rest and recovery. A stroll through the University District showed us something of Nashville’s more ordinary side, and we enjoyed another excellent meal at a solid Greek diner. You know it’s good when you have to place your order with a series of hand gestures and polite smiles. Unfortunately, Zimmer finally succumbed to the sickness in the restaurant’s bathroom. We’re not, however, easily discouraged, so we managed to squeeze in a few more bars that night for good measure. I spent most of the evening amusing myself with some of the finer microbrews that Tennessee has to offer.

The trip home was long and tiring, but mercifully uneventful. Driving back over the mountains reminded me that I’m not actually a city kind of guy at heart. Something about that lonely wilderness fills me with the urge to gather up a sack of rice, a rifle, and head off into the trees. When Sodom finally burns, you’ll be welcome to join my campfire.