Every day I have checked the mail, feverishly anticipating the arrival of the envelope. The raised print, the gold-dusted admittance to the prestigious Country Music Association (CMA) Awards. Still I await.
Is there a problem with the Postal Service? Has the invitation been intercepted? It is all possible. Think of the troubles that have plagued the USPS, budget cuts, manipulation of the cosmos, competition from email and every other form of modern communication.
Maybe there’s a different issue, an elusive or not so elusive one. Maybe they forgot to send it. Maybe they ran out of paper and did not have an alternative means of reaching me.
I’d love to go. The excitement is rampant throughout Nashville and the Nashville music community, both with and without the matrix. The loop, the belonging, the inclusion all seem elusive. They appear to be remaining so.
It is seen as a measure of influence, of clout, of presence. Is there logic in that, paranoia, is there sufficient evidence to lead to the conclusion that if you ain’t there, you’re square? I’m not sure. The members are a Who’s Who in country music, they are luminaries, they have the prestige. How could one not want to be there among the throngs of fans, the artists, the executives, the media?
A friend has been setting up for the event, in a stagehand union. He made it.
Me, it would help if I had a CMA membership, and if the circles would open up, if the glass and the walls evaporated for a bit. Oh, I never asked anyone either if I could tag along. That would help.
I’ll be there in spirit, for sure. One day in person. For real, it’s going to be a heck of a party.