Nashville Knucklehead

Adios

2008-04-04T19:00:00.001-05:00

I'm done.

Thanks for coming by.

-- Jim

Geography Lesson

2008-03-23T13:26:00.002-05:00

If you've ever driven anywhere around these parts, you've seen the "See Rock City" birdhouses and barns and signs all up and down the highways in the South. And you probably know that Rock City is on Lookout Mountain in beautiful Chattanooga, Tennessee. So Rock City is one of Tennessee's most famous tourist attractions, right? Wrong.

Rock City is in Georgia by 1/2 a mile. I am heartbroken.

Maybe we can trade them some water for it.

Biz Card Update

2008-03-18T15:23:00.002-05:00

I think it's time to update my business cards. Something more like this:

Big Brother and the Insurance Company

2008-03-13T15:33:00.009-05:00

When I first started blogging I was anonymous. The reason was I was telling true stories about my life, and I didn't want any crazy ex-girlfriends to show up at my door with a shotgun or a kid they claimed was mine. Then I opened a restaurant and lost my anonymity. These days, with all the social networking I do for both work and personal purposes, I'm pretty easy to find.

I have been shopping for car insurance lately. I got several online quotes. I spent about 30 minutes on the phone with a very nice lady at Progressive Insurance. I haven't got a new car yet, so I haven't picked out my insurance yet.

Well, I logged onto my LinkedIn account today and noticed that there was a bump in the people who looked at my profile. Well looky there, I'm suddenly a person of interest from people in the Insurance industry, including a person in Customer Service at Progressive.

So why are they Googling me? Is it curiosity? Due Diligence? Racial profiling? I don't know. It's just a little creepy.

If you are here because I'm inquiring about buying insurance from your company, you really ought to hear the story about the time I got shit-faced drunk and stole a police car and crashed it through the window of a daycare, killing hundreds of toddlers. To read that story, click here.

A Serious Look at International Politics

2008-03-08T13:48:00.010-06:00

Do you know who this is?

Not sure? Here's another one.

Ok, here's one more hint:

That's right! It's the First Lady of France! It's the French Laura Bush. See the happy couple:

I guess there really is something to the old adage that power is an aphrodisiac. Or, to put it another way: "That dude is tappin' that?!?!"

Attention all single Italian heiress supermodels. I'm a Vice President. I've got a business card to prove it.

On an unrelated note, the buzz around Washington is that Bill Clinton is lobbying hard for the Ambassadorship in Paris.

SXSW

2008-03-06T09:59:00.002-06:00

Techies and Musicians are all abuzz about the South by Southwest (SXSW) conference going on in Austin. In 1987, I was in a band called The Cartoons that was pretty popular in the Dallas/Ft. Worth area, especially in our hometown of Denton, Texas. We were contacted about playing at the first SXSW conference.

"Just another music festival that wants us to play for free," was our attitude. We declined. We assumed that SXSW would fizzle out after a year or two, as most of those things did. I guess we was wrong.

The Answer is No.

2008-03-05T18:43:00.001-06:00

Dear Spammers,
The answer is no. I have not always been teased about my tiny pecker.

Interpret that as you wish.

Is America Ready?

2008-02-22T10:38:00.001-06:00

Overheard phone conversation:

Dad, he's not going to win. The Democrats may be ready to vote for a black man, but have you seen his family? His kids are cute and all, but America is not ready to put an entire black family into the White House.

You Say It's Your Birthday . . .

2008-02-20T09:48:00.003-06:00

Dearest Daughter,

They say the internet is forever, and it is possible that you'll stumble across this when you are a grown-up person. You may not want to continue reading if you find yourself as an adult with any "issues" about your upbringing.

I sent a small fortune to your mother to pay for half of some Nintendo thing. But since that thing is going to be at her house, it doesn't count. Because at seven, it's all about how much you rake in for having an anniversary of the day of your birth. The booty. The spoils. the riches.

I got nothing for you. So here's what I'm going to do. On the way to pick you up at school today, I'm going to stop in a WalMart or Target or some other crappy, soulless corporate big box store and grab a bunch of crap made in China and throw some gift bags and tissue paper in the cart and pay for it and put it all together in the parking lot. The whole process is going to take less than 10 minutes.

It's not that I'm not thoughtful, it's that you're seven. It doesn't matter what I get, it's going to end up at the bottom of your closet in two days. My job is to teach you the important things in life, like golf course etiquette and a love of football and an appreciation for sarcasm and the proper timing of a punch line. You'll lose interest in some kind of Polly Pocket Animal Care Center in no time. Learning to be a total smart-ass just like dear old dad will last a lifetime.

Happy birthday.

Cuban Strategery

2008-02-19T08:25:00.003-06:00

This is a great day in U.S. Foreign policy! Castro is stepping down! The embargo worked! Eisenhower was right! And nobody got antsy, and it worked!! Way to go Kennedy and Johnson and Nixon and Ford and Carter and Reagan and Bush and Clinton and Bush!! The fact that you avoided a knee-jerk reaction really paid off!!!!!!!!

See, you don't have to invade every country that's headed by an evil despot! Just wait them out. Forty-eight years or so.

(I'll tell you who needs to be nervous, and that's the Bahamians. My guess is that within five years, 75% of the American tourist dollars that are going to the Bahamas will end up in Cuba.)

We are the hurl

2008-02-16T17:03:00.005-06:00

Did I ever tell the one about the time I was in the showband on a cruise ship and on the last night of the cruise all the entertainers for the week got on stage and we did "We Are The World" and I threw up on stage in a trash can right at the big key change at the end, but I didn't miss a note?

No?

Someday, I'll tell that one.

I Think She Likes Me

2008-02-09T15:34:00.000-06:00

Inside my head at the Green Hills Kroger:

DAMN! Lord have mercy, she is HOT!!!

She sees me, uh . . . , looking at her and gives me a polite smile. I give her the dumbass dope-nod.

Oh, yeah. I guess that's one reason why Vince Gill married her.

Stop staring at me, you freak!

Patrick Rocks

2008-02-09T09:12:00.000-06:00

Those of you who don't have children of a certain age are missing out on some pretty good pop culture. To wit, Patrick rocking the Simmons Drums, 80s style.

Naked Twister

2008-02-06T08:58:00.000-06:00

I hardly ever remember my dreams. And if I'm reading someone's blog and they start talking about a dream, I go on about my merry way without reading.

However, two nights ago I had a major tornado dream. The sky looked like the sky toward the end of the Wizard of Oz, except instead of flying monkeys, the sky was full of tornadoes of all sizes. And I was running from shelter to ditch with several folks, playing dodge the next twister.

Last night, a sky full of tornadoes hit Tennessee. As I was laying awake last night at 2 a.m., listening to the tornado sirens wailing and the winds howling and the thunder booming, all I was concerned about was the fact that I was naked. I wondered if I should get up and put on some sweatpants or something, because if a twister came and blew up the house, I didn't think it would be appropriate to be wandering around the neighborhood in the nude.

Then it occurred to me that there wouldn't be any wandering. If a tornado blew up the house, it would take me out with it. And I thought that would be appropriate, to leave the world the same way I came into it.

So I've decided that if I start to experience chest pains and numbness in my arm, my courses of action will be to take an aspirin, call 911 and take off all my clothes.

I hope that doesn't happen in an important business meeting.

New Favorite Song

2008-01-10T15:31:00.000-06:00

This song was released in 1971 by The Holy Modal Rounders. I can't believe I had never heard it until today. This is quite possibly the most beautiful song ever written.

Today's Nashville Celebrity Conversation

2008-01-08T13:19:00.000-06:00

Scene: The buffet at Sitar Indian restaurant on 21st and Hayes.

Michael McDonald: "Oh, excuse me."

Me: "No problem."

(For the record, he was getting a bowl of that classic authentic Indian dessert, red Jello.)

"I like Jello!"

Shopping Again

2008-01-06T13:01:00.000-06:00

I am having a couple of people over for the Titans game today. I went to the store this morning and got a bunch of stuff to make white chicken chili, which needs to cook for a few hours. But, while I was at the store I couldn't buy beer for the game because the government thinks I should be in church and they won't let me buy beer before noon on Sunday. So now I have to go back to the store again, because it is after noon and I am now allowed to buy beer.

Thanks, government!

Home Run Throwback

2008-01-05T15:50:00.000-06:00

Home Run Throwback is the play call for the following video.

Not that I think the Titans need a miracle tomorrow against the Chargers or anything. It will be seven years and one day, though. Just sayin'.

Iraq Blogger Killed

2008-01-04T15:35:00.000-06:00

I don't write on my blogs much anymore. but I still love the whole concept and the power behind it. The power to be heard. An American blogger in the Iraq war, Andrew Olmstead, was killed yesterday. He wrote a post to be published if that happened. Whatever you think about the war, you should read this.

Playoff Bound

2008-01-04T08:42:00.000-06:00

Some thoughts (off the top of my head) on Sunday's playoff game, Titans V Chargers, 3:30 Central (God's time), on Sunday.

Roydell Williams broke his ankle in practice yesterday. What are we talking about? We're talking about PRACTICE, man! He has been the leading receiver this year. Bo Scaife is out. He's been the second leading receiver this year. We're relying on guys like Troupe and Ealy and Gage and Moulds. You know, the slow guys who drop a lot of passes. My prediction: LenDale left. LenDale Right. LenDale middle. Repeat.

Some (Merrill Hoge) are saying Kerry Collins should play because he had a good game against Indy's scrubs who were laying down anyway. Vince Young has struggled all year. He's also 17-11 as a pro. If you think Fisher is going to sit him when he is able to play, you've lost your mind.

The Chargers will have very little home field advantage. It is forecast to rain on Sunday. I used to have a job where I went to San Diego every Thursday. From my experience, it is 72 and sunny every day there. The game isn't even sold out yet, the league had to give the team and extension on the blackout. Nobody in SoCal wants to sully the Jag for a football game. Plus, nobody there has heard of this mythical place, "Tennessee." Look for the crowd to be thin and apathetic, compared to other playoff atmospheres.

The Titans' injuries are mostly on offense. The reason we won 10 games this year is because of the defense. Look for Philip Rivers to actually start to cry midway through the third quarter, when he takes his second safety. Bring on Volek.

Prediction: Titans 4, Chargers 0.

Google 'em

2008-01-03T12:07:00.000-06:00

The great thing about this internet thing, is when someone from your past pops into your mind for whatever reason, you can just Google 'em to see if they've done anything Google-worthy, and perhaps even re-connect with them. I've found old friends from college, but not anyone farther back than that.

I thought of a guy I sorta knew in Junior High the other day. I Googled him. He became fairly famous in his field. He's also been dead for 10 years.

So much for that tearful reunion.

Signs, Signs, Everywhere a Signs

2008-01-02T19:23:00.000-06:00

NFL Refs started using microphones to call penalties in 1975. College followed soon after. Why do they still insist on using their sign language, over 30 years later?

Rules are Rules

2008-01-02T10:04:00.000-06:00

Even in the strip club.

Useless Trivia

2008-01-01T18:22:00.000-06:00

Stewardesses is the longest word in the English language that you type entirely with your left hand.

Sarcastro comes close to making a run for second, until the last o.

College Football

2008-01-01T15:26:00.000-06:00

There is a lot of college football going on this week. If I had but one wish, it would be that whoever thought of arranging the opening riff of Black Sabbath's "Iron Man" for marching band then sold his arrangement to every college marching band in the country, hadn't done so.

Resolved

2008-01-01T15:22:00.001-06:00

I don't really make New Year's Resolutions. I made one this year.

Broke it before noon.

Downtown

2007-12-31T15:53:00.000-06:00

I had to go to the bank, so I thought I'd suggest to the kid that we go Downtown and eat lunch and look around. I forgot that there were going to be 70,000 football fans there. And $20 parking. I guess it serves me right for my bad teeth joke yesterday.

Just kidding there yesterday, Kentucky folks. Go Wildcats.

Breaking News

2007-12-31T09:34:00.000-06:00

Marv Levy, 82, is stepping down as GM of the Buffalo Bills. My money has him taking over the coaching job at Penn State.

Two Things

2007-12-30T18:49:00.000-06:00

1. I took my kid to Dave and Buster's in Opry Mills today.

2. There are a lot of Kentucky fans in town for the Music City Bowl.

That is all.

(Note to self: Don't make a "wish I had a mobile dental service" joke. Don't make a "wish I had a mobile dental service" joke.)

Stupid Government

2007-12-29T14:08:00.000-06:00

There is a story in the Scene about abuse of power at the Tennessee Alcoholic Beverage Commission. If you are interested in members of our Government being too big for their britches, go read it and come back.

We have gone through stupid state alcohol law discussions on this and other local Tennessee blogs before. Things like not being able to buy wine in a grocery store or on Sunday. Not being able to buy certain hard-to-find and boutique wines in the store, or by direct shipment. Not being able to buy beer at one of Tennessee's biggest boondoggles ever, the Bear Trace Golf Trail. Not being able to buy a wine opener or wine glasses at a liquor store.

But this story just goes too far. I know the people involved here. I know Ed Fryer, and I've met Melanie Armstrong, although she may or may not remember me. I met her at one of her tastings, and I found her to veery educated and good at what she does. I also know about many of the ridiculous bureaucratic hoops that have to be jumped through to host a wine tasting. The reason everyone has to jump through the hoops is not because they make sense, but because the ABC tells them to. So you do what they say, because they have the power to arrest you. And guns.

But the fact that they would use that power in this situation is frightening. To be arrested and have your car title seized because of botched paperwork for a singles' wine tasting at an established restaurant? That's out of control.

Every few years, there is an uproar about gutting our stupid alcohol laws. Every time, that uproar comes and goes. Sometimes a bill is introduced, and it just fizzles away. Because the people who have the power and money in the booze business,have all the power and money, and they ain't about to give it up. Even if it means a woman who tries to host an educational wine class at Cabana ends up going to jail.

That kind of shit really pisses me off. Concerning the next election that rolls around: I don't care if you're an atheistic communist sodomite, if you run on a gut-the-TABC platform, you've got my vote.

Throw the bums out, and let's throw a gin-soaked party on a Sunday.

Once again, my kid comes through, kicking ass.

2007-12-26T15:42:00.000-06:00

"Daddy, you'll probably laugh when you open my present for you, but I think you'll like it."

Behold the Monday Night Football boxers.

Christmas Confession

2007-12-25T08:55:00.000-06:00

I have never seen "It's a Wonderful Life." Another year of keeping the streak intact.

Titanic Beat Down!

2007-12-24T14:33:00.000-06:00

I went to the Titan's beat-down of the New York Jets yesterday. It was a thing to behold. TEN to SIX, BABY! That's domination! We kicked their asses by FOUR points! Yeah, baby!

Good Lord, this has been a tough season to watch. Lendale left, Lendale right, stand up, sit down, fight fight fight.

me love you longtime

2007-12-20T19:49:00.000-06:00

Britney Spears' sister, Jamie Lynn is pregnant by her "longtime boyfriend."

She's 16. She can't have a "longtime boyfriend." Kurt Russell is a longtime boyfriend. Dude that knocked up a 16-year-old isn't.

Internet Weirdness

2007-12-20T18:07:00.001-06:00

I like to check in now and again with my pals over at Music City Bloggers. A strange thing has been happening lately. I can't get that site to load at home. It started a couple of weeks ago, on a weekend, and I thought the site was down. On Monday, I got to work and it was fine and there was no mention of being off-line. It has been that way ever since.

I have occasional time-outs on other sites. Sometimes the Tennessean won't come in, but it usually fixes itself in minutes or hours at the worst. Not so with MCB. It's just gone. Maybe they don't like South Nashville.

Ya'll can talk bad about me over there if you want, just keep it to nights and weekends.

(I suspect it's a Comcast issue, but if I call them, someone in Canada will just tell me to do all the stuff I've already tried.)

My Dog Ate My Breathalyzer

2007-12-19T14:51:00.000-06:00

Rob Briley is claiming that he was on his way to rehab when he got famously pulled over for drunk driving.

“On Sept. 8, I was advised a bed was available and I could enter rehabilitation on that day. I remember getting in my vehicle and beginning to drive west in the direction of Cumberland Heights.

“I have no further memory of Sept. 8.”

Either he is the worst liar in the world, or he was involved in the most ironic drunk driving arrest ever.

Of course, we can just check out his story, can't we. Let's call Cumberland Heights and see if it's true.

Oh, wait, that stuff is all confidential, isn't it? Guess we'll just have to believe him.

Nashville First Grade Christmas Pageant

2007-12-19T07:13:00.000-06:00

I'm not going to say stuff like this only happens in Nashville. It probably happens all the time in L.A. and New York and Paris. But I doubt it happens much in Johnson City or Des Moines.

Scene: First Grade Christmas Pageant. Visiting with another kid's dad --

Me: Wow, you just got back , huh? What were you doing in London?

Other Kid's Dad: We went to see Led Zeppelin. It was great.

Me: You went to see Zeppelin?! You bastard!

OKD: Well, I know John Paul Jones pretty well. He called and invited us. What was I supposed to do?

Me: (Notices some tall dude in the corner. What's that guy's name? Oh, yeah, Joe Nichols. I didn't know his kid went to school here. turns back) What were you supposed to do? Call me, that's what! I would have killed to see Zeppelin . . .

Lost Cat

2007-12-15T16:53:00.000-06:00

I just got home from the Green Hills Kroger. There is a sign up about a lost cat, with a picture. PLEASE, if you have seen this cat, call the number on the sign!

2007-12-08T14:16:00.000-06:00

This site could be called "Attractive Women Photographed with Men of Questionable Social Standing," but it wouldn't be nearly as funny.

Giving Away Veterinary Secrets

2007-12-01T18:04:00.000-06:00

I played golf with my pal the Veterinarian today. The following conversation occurred on the 18th tee, while waiting for the group in front to clear.

Me: Dude, my dog's breath is worse than ever.

Vet: We can clean her teeth if you want.

Me: It's not her teeth, her breath literally smells like shit.

Vet: Well, she's probably eating her own shit.

Me: Is there anything I can do about that?

Vet: Sprinkle Adolph's Meat Tenderizer on her food. It will make her stop eating her own shit.

Me: (Dumbfounded stare)

Vet: Just do it! I do this for a living, ya know!

Got me some Adolph's on the way home.

Can't Get Away From Them

2007-11-22T09:00:00.000-06:00

I am at my parents house in Orlando for Thanksgiving. I brought an extra wireless router down, and I figured I would set it up, so I could use my own computer and not navigate through all that hell that is AOL on theirs. I forgot the software, and it is proving to be a big pain. So I did the obvious -- I checked to see if any of their neighbors had a wireless network running. I found one. The network is called "GoVols."

I had no idea my parents lived next to a Tennessee fan. Not just a Tennessee fan, but the kind of fan who names his wireless network, "GoVols." I understand that this is my parents' retirement home that they worked a lifetime to get, but this is unacceptable. They're just going to have to move.

Whole Foods Report

2007-11-18T16:29:00.000-06:00

I went to the new Green Hills Whole Foods. It was a sub-par experience. The meat guy had no idea what skirt steak was, and when he found out they didn't have any, he didn't know if it was temporary or if they just didn't carry it. I bought a hangar steak.

There was some other stuff about my visit that kind of pissed me off, but they are new, and I'll give them a chance to get their shit together.

They do carry JewBeer though.

Followed Whole Foods up with a trip to Blue Moon Cafe, or whatever it's called, out at Rock Harbor Marina. I love me some waterfront dining, and I have always wanted to check this place out. Sit on the patio and eat and drink beer and watch the boats go by. Mmmmmm.

It was OK. Thirty bucks for catfish fingers and a bowl of chicken wings. And two beers. Here's my problem with the place: It is a funky, floating waterfront dive at a marina, and yet they have a $30 steak on the menu and a $16 chicken dish. If they change it to nothing but cheap, crappy bar food, I'll go back to sit on the water five times a month. Until that day, I'll go to the Hooter's on Harding and watch the trucks go by on 24 on their way to Chattanooga.

So the day wasn't a bust, but it was OK. That seems to be the theme today. I've got a hangar steak to cook. Better go light the grill.

Whole Foods

2007-11-18T10:57:00.000-06:00

I am heading, for the first time, to that new mecca of culinary goodness in Green Hills, Whole Foods, a.k.a. Whole Paycheck.

I've been to a couple of Whole Foods before, so I know what I'm in for. I'll admit to being a food geek, so I am glad to have a Whole Foods in Nashville. They are an excellent company with high-quality food and a well trained staff. I am leaving town on Tuesday (there will be someone staying at my house, watching my dog, all you stalker/burglars out there)so I can't do too much damage. I'm just going for dinner for tonight. Some skirt steak maybe, and perhaps some really stinky cheese.

I should be able to get out of there for less than 400 bucks.

Raul Midon

2007-10-27T17:42:00.000-05:00

One of the problems with being old and having a young 'un is my inability to stay up long enough to watch late night television. A bout of insomnia the other night had me watching Leno, and he had on Raul Midon.

It is rare that someone comes along with an entirely new way to play guitar. Eddie Van Halen did it. Stanley Jordan did it. Michael Hedges did it. Jeff Healey sort of did it, but he was more just playing blues guitar in an unconventional manner, like the way Jimi Hendrix played his guitar upside down and backwards. Although Jimi did break plenty of new ground, too.

If you watch this clip, which I'm sure will be removed by the New York copyright police in a day or two, listen to all the harmonics he's playing. (For the non-musicians, harmonics are "false" notes that sound above the fundamental. They are the really high, ringing notes that ring out above the percussive slapping. On a stringed instrument, you can carefully coax the harmonics out with dinner and a movie.) He is getting a sound on guitar that I have never heard the likes of before.

I Wonder If She's Let Me Call her Chuck

2007-10-27T14:44:00.000-05:00

Esquire named Charlize Theron the Sexiest Woman Alive. Finally, we see some geniune truth in journalism.

What Women Want

2007-10-24T08:52:00.000-05:00

"I want a sensitive man who will cuddle up with me and watch Sex and the City, and then talk about architecture."

Finds that man.

One year later:

"I want a guy with a motorcycle and a tattoo on his neck."

I have a new work blog.

Father of the Year

2007-10-21T15:03:00.000-05:00

I spent some time bonding with my 6-year-old daughter today by playing checkers with her.

On the internet.

In seperate rooms.

It was the only way I had a shot at watching the game

Phone love

2007-10-12T16:03:00.000-05:00

I got me a shiny new job last month. I'm a VP at an ad agency. The President and one of our Account Executives and I made a successful conversion of a potential client into a new client the other night by using that tried and true method used throughout advertising history, many bottles of expensive red wines and many plates full of expensive red meats.

I've been meaning to get a new work cell phone for this job, and the other night the discussion turned to the new client's iPhone. (For the uninitiated, ad agency folks live and die over having the newest, hippest stuff that Apple puts out.) He said, "You're at an agency, you gotta get an iPhone." So I did. Yesterday. Take that.

And now, for no particular reason, other than the fact that I hardly post here anymore, here is a video of "My Baby Loves Lovin'" by one-hit-wonder White Plains. Not to be confused with The White Stripes. It was one of the first records I remember buying. I was probably six or seven. I probably still have it somewhere. I can still picture the label. Of course, at age seven, I didn't realize that "My Baby Loves Lovin'" is pop-music code for "I have a really horny new girlfriend."

Hizzonor

2007-09-11T10:20:00.000-05:00

There is a fair chance that Karl Dean (Despite his Marxist-spelled name)will be a progressive, yet responsible mayor, leading Nashville into the future which, I think, looks really bright right now if someone doesn't come along and screw it up.

There is a very good chance that Bob Clement will continue to be a fat-cat career politician who manages to let all this current progress stall while handing out contracts to his buddies.

The deciding factor, for me, comes down to this. Clement is pandering. Clement thinks I'm stupid. Clement thinks that some vague promise of going after the Olympics is going to make him seem progressive. Whatever, we all know that ain't going to happen. But most importantly, Clement took a "pledge" to not raise property taxes. A "PLEDGE" that Dean won't take! Woohooooooo! Stop the presses!

Great "pledge" Bob. Problem is, you can't raise property taxes any more than I can. Nice try. I ain't falling for it.

(I really liked Briley. Especially now that he's finished his turnpike between the airport and 65N.)

Cats

2007-09-02T19:47:00.000-05:00

I hate cats. Cats make me sneeze. Cats make it so I can't breathe. Cats induce severe asthma in my lungs. I certainly hate the musical "Cats." Therefore, it should come as no surprise that I don't find LOLCats funny in the least. Because two of the few things I hate more than cats are intentionally misspelled words and grammar because the words were written by animals (Eat mor chikin), and internet acronyms, especially LOL.

However, this I can get behind. It is LOLSenator.

Queen of Mean

2007-08-29T09:42:00.000-05:00

When Leona Helmsley died, I saw a headline referring to her by her nickname from long ago, the "Queen of Mean." I thought that was uncalled for, as she had died and one shouldn't speak ill of the departed.

Turns out she left nothing to two of her grandchildren and $12 million to her fucking dog.

What a bitch.

Small-time Justice

2007-08-24T09:14:00.000-05:00

Regarding the Michael Vick report on the car radio this morning:

Little Girl: "Someone was killing dogs?"

Father: "Yes. But he's going to jail."

Little Girl: "Good."

Sticking it to the Man

2007-08-21T15:16:00.000-05:00

Chris writes at Metroblogging Nashville of the new smoking ban for restaurants and bars that is going into effect in Tennessee soon. Reminds me of my favorite smoking-ban-in-restaurants tale.

I was in New York City right at the time a new smoking ban went into effect. Being a tourist, I had no idea a new smoking ban had gone into effect, it's not like they announced it on the plane upon arrival. Also, being the kind of tourist that I am, I had a specific touristy goal, and that was to have a martini at the Oak Bar in the legendary Plaza hotel.

Some people prefer the Statue of Liberty or a somber moment of reflection at Ground Zero. I prefer the famous drinking establishments.

The Oak Bar at the Plaza hotel was the smokiest bar I had ever been to in my life, and I've been in plenty. Everyone in the place was lighting up. Turns out that the fine for allowing someone to smoke in your establishment had been set at $150. All the smokers in the Oak Bar contributed money into a large tip bucket on the bar, and the place just paid the fine everyday. I thought that was a fabulous case of sticking it to the Man.

Speaking of sticking it to the man, I also remember that two martinis at the Oak Bar came to $38.

Young, Rich and Single in Nashville

2007-08-20T07:36:00.000-05:00

He's 26. He has a condo on West End. He's a Vandy grad. He's got the SEC fratboy haircut. And Brandt Snedeker won the Wyndham Championship in Greensboro, NC, yesterday for his first PGA Tour victory, locking up Rookie-of-the-Year honors for 2007. And he shot a 63 to get it done. Not only did he get that shiny trophy, but he got a big check for $900,000. Way to go, Nashville boy. Hey Brandt, need some good advice on what to do with all that money? It's all right here.

E.D.Rises to a New Low

2007-08-16T16:03:00.001-05:00

Now for the worst commercial in the history of bad commercials.

"Viva Viagra!"

OK, me and my buddies have a band, right? We've been on the road together for so long, we have come to the realization that all of us suffer from Erectile Dysfunction. And we all use Viagra. So we wrote a song about it. Cause, you know, we're all brothers in the fact that none of us can get it up.

Not like when we first started the band, back in '74. Damn, remember that time Rufus (the piano player) was banging that chick in the back of the VW bus while we were all "asleep" on the way to Reno? Well I wasn't sleeping, and let me tell you, that's where he got his nickname "Slugger." As in Louisville Slugger.

So anyway, thank God for Viagra! In fact, we love Viagra so much, that before we all go home and get laid, we're going to sing a song about it! Because we're all hip old guys just sitting around in this Roadhouse in the middle of nowhere singing our Viagra song!

"This lonesome toad's getting sick of the road, I can't wait (Can't wait") can' wait to go home. Viva Viagra! Viva Viagra! Viva, Viva Viagra!"

I know it is a commercial, suspension of disbelief and all that, but come on. A whole band of ethnically and socially diverse old men not only admitting, but joyously shouting to the heavens that they have the dirty little secret of E.D.?

Who is their fucking ad agency?

Tenpenny takes a few of my pennies

2007-08-14T10:13:00.000-05:00

I got a phone solicitation last night on behalf of the Tony Tenpenny for Metro Council campaign. Now, I haven't even begun to look into the Metro Council campaign, other than what I read in passing and who has the most yard signs. (Tenpenny leads in the yard sign category in my neighborhood.) One thing I remember reading is that Tenpenny has been arrested six times.

There is no way in hell I'm voting for this guy. Not because of the arrests, mind you. Youthful indiscretion, bygones be bygones and all that. I'm not voting for him because the phone call I got last night was on my cell phone. I don't know where they got the number, but as far as I'm concerned, the Tenpenny campaign stole two or three minutes from me. Those are minutes that I have to pay for.

Assault I can live with. DUI? He says he's sober now. Solicitation of drugs? It's a disease, just send me to rehab. But calling me on my cell? Show him the consolation prize, Johnny.

I Drive an SUV

2007-08-13T09:22:00.001-05:00

I drive an SUV. I have for most of my adult life. I have had many jobs where I've needed to carry a lot of stuff around and needed it to stay dry. My SUV gets pretty crappy mileage. Lately, with gas prices so high, I have chosen to not take certain trips in order to save gas. I do care about the environment and the earth, but those decisions have been economical, not green.

I like my Chevy Tahoe. It's been good to me. What I don't like is people blaming me for the 100 degree temperatures we've been having lately in Nashville. That's just ridiculous. Save your smug, sarcastic, holier-than-thou, we're-killing-the-planet-yet-you-still-drive-an-SUV crap for someone else. Those comments are falling on deaf ears here. If I was in the market for a new car, I would get an SUV. If there was one available that ran on tap water, you better believe I'd buy it. But there isn't so I can't. So, until then, I'll continue to get shitty mileage.

So, to all the people who are disgusted by my vehicle choice, let's get a little perspective, shall we?

Let's talk about trucks. Eighteen wheelers, box trucks, milk trucks, refrigerated trucks. There are millions of them, criss-crossing the planet, carrying goods from factories to consumers every day. What kind of mileage do they get? I bet my Tahoe does better. Do you have anything in your house that wasn't made locally? How do you think it got here? That couch you're sitting on? It was made in North Carolina. It had to get here somehow. You're killing the planet.

Speaking of moving goods to consumers, what about container ships? You ever run the mind-bogglingly huge maze of piers on a ship in Los Angeles Harbor or Hong Kong? I have. You wouldn't believe how many container ships are chugging around the world's oceans right now. They burn millions of gallons of fuel every year. How did that IKEA desk get from Sweden to your place? Do you have anything in your house made in China? I bet you do, you naughty little judgmental person, you. You're killing the planet, yet you insist on cranking up your Dave Matthews through a Japanese tuner and Korean-made speakers.

Take a cruise, kill the planet. You can't get 2500 people from Miami to St. Thomas to San Juan to Nassau and back on wishes and unicorns, now can you? Especially if they want to travel in air-conditioned comfort and eat food that has been cooked in ovens. The hot tub on Lido Deck is hot because it runs on electricity which is created on board by generators that burn fuel to keep that little floating city just chock full of electricity.

Go water skiing, kill the planet. Boats get notoriously bad mileage. I was flying into Baltimore last week and saw hundreds of pleasure boats tooling around the bay. A bunch of inconsiderate bastards, I tell you. I have a friend who is a Yacht captain in Ft. Lauderdale. You think $80 to fill up a Tahoe is bad, every time his boss wants to go somewhere, he has to fuel up to the tune of thousands of dollars. The bigger boats don't measure in miles per gallon, but gallons per mile. A three-hour tour indeed.

Speaking of flying, what about airplanes? They too, burn thousands of gallons of fuel. If you've been a passenger on a plane, you're killing the planet. Especially if you are selfish enough to take a pleasure trip, like a vacation. Go see granny in Des Moines for Thanksgiving, kill the planet. And don't get me started on FedEx. If someone ships a package from San Fransisco to Seattle, chances are it flies to Memphis and back out. All you selfish bastards who absolutely positively have to have something delivered over night are killing the planet.

Let's not leave out about the military. Not just our military and the Iraq war., but all worldwide military forces. How fuel efficient are tanks and Humvees and armored vehicles? And think about all the military forces all over the world running training and exercises every day. You think an aircraft carrier loaded with 5000 soldiers and 50 jet fighters doesn't burn a little fuel, constantly chugging around the oceans of the world? Don't forget the Destroyers and Battleships and Escorts and Frigates. And then you have those jet fighters, Apaches, Blackhawks and C-130s. How much fuel is pissed away when there is a fly-over at a football game? Support the NFL, kill the planet.

How much fuel does a TV station piss away covering drive-time traffic or a low-speed car chase with a helicopter? Don't forget about heavy machinery like cranes, bulldozers, backhoes and cement trucks. Those things drink fuel like water. If you work in a multi-story building, or walk on a sidewalk, you're killing the planet. I read an article that said your lawn mower emits more greenhouse gases per gallon of gas than your car. How many of you who sneer at me and my SUV cut your grass?

I do what I can. I have cut my electric consumption at home in half from last summer to this summer. I would like to see a world that didn't use fossil fuels for energy. Solar, wind, cold fusion -- bring it on. When someone invents an alternative to our dependency on both transportation and oil, I'll be first to get on board. But until then, you are not going to get me to feel responsible for the fact that it was 102 in the shade yesterday. It reminds me of someone who has a closet full of leather belts and shoes and jackets, but is a vegetarian because eating meat is cruel to animals.

Next time you go to a movie theater to watch the latest Lord of the Rings saga, think about how much fuel was burned from start to finish to make that movie. All the trucks, cars, trailers, generators, helicopters and airline flights from Hollywood to Auckland and back. All those resources pissed away on a freaking movie. You blame my Tahoe for the heat. I blame Tolkien.

America's Pastime

2007-08-10T09:46:00.000-05:00

I was a big baseball fan growing up. I played it and had the baseball cards and learned to read box scores in the paper and followed the pennant races and watched it on TV. I didn't grow up in a major league city, so I only went to one game as a kid. Braves, Cardinals on a visit to Atlanta. I saw Hank Aaron and Joe Torre hit home runs. The game went into extra innings, I think 13, and we were out till midnight. It was great.

I followed Aaron's home run record chase intently. I remember him coming up just short at the end of the season and having to wait an entire off-season to see him hit 714 and 715. It was an exciting time for a baseball loving kid.

Then I went off to college in Dallas, and I was in a major league city. We would go see the Rangers on a whim, as bleacher seats were cheap enough that even on a college budget we had enough for a stop in one of the local Arlington strip clubs on the way home. ("Seriously, dude, I think she likes me.")

But through a combination of all the strikes and lockouts and crap that baseball went through, I completely lost interest. And I can't get it back. I moved to South Florida the year the Marlins first won the World Series. I thought I might be able to get it back then, but Huizenga went and sold off the entire team and they went in the crapper. I got tickets to a game a couple of years later, and there were just over 5,000 people there. It was pathetic in a stadium that holds 60,000 for Dolphin games. That didn't rekindle my interest. In fact, I think we left around the fifth inning.

I do remember the "summer that saved baseball" with McGuire and Sosa hitting ridiculous amounts of home runs. I didn't follow it because they were so obviously juiced up on steroids. And now, when people say, "we didn't know at the time that they were on steroids," I just have to laugh. Anyone who has spent any time in a gym knows what guys using steroids look like. It's like the skinny chick with the huge, perfectly round tits up under her chin with the three inch gap between them that is stretched so tight you can see her sternum. We know they're fake, she knows there fake, there's nothing more to see here, just keep moving. It is impossible to get the body that McGuire or Sosa had without help. We (my friends and I) knew those guys were on steroids. I don't remember any of us being outraged, it was just a fact. For people to say they didn't know at the time is a joke.

So Bonds broke Hank's record sometime this week. I don't care. I have noticed some people trying to play the race card against the white establishment sports writers. These are the same sports writers who have raked the white McGuire over the coals and who think Michael Jordan and Muhammad Ali and Tiger Woods can actually walk on water. I watched Aaron break the white man's record, and he did it in the South. There was some racial tension there. Bonds? Give me a break.

Like a Trust Fund, Only Free

2007-08-08T19:11:00.000-05:00

My kid doesn't have a real common name, but then again neither do I. The dot com domain of my name was available for the longest time, I just kept putting off registering it and putting it off and putting it off, and finally, someone with my name who is a magician in Ft. Wayne, Indiana registered it. I don't know what I would have ever used it for, but I know now that the answer is nothing.

So the dot com of my kid's name is available. I've been checking it since she was little. She's six now, I figure I have time, I mean, c'mon, that's something like $17 a year. The thing is, if she has her own domain, when she's 16 she'll be the coolest kid in school, because by then owning your name as a dot come will be as rare as a president that isn't a Clinton or a Bush. So I did the next best thing. I registered her name at Gmail. Because it's free, and Google isn't going anywhere. (They're at least as solid as Oldsmobile and Braniff.) Hopefully, when all her friends have emails like NashGirlGoTitans02202001IlikePuppies at Gmail dot com, they will all marvel at the fact that my kid's dad had the foresight to register her a simple, memorable Email address -- her name -- when she was a kid.

Or, when all her friends have their own dot com domain names, they will marvel at the fact that her dad was too cheap to spend $17 a year for her to have her own.

Just the facts, ma'am

2007-08-07T12:12:00.000-05:00

There is a big stink going on (again) between Liz Garrigan and "the bloggers." Liz is the Editor or publisher or something of the Nashville Scene. I may have met her once, I'm not sure. Liz says this:

Most bloggers wouldn’t last an hour under the journalistic quality control that a newspaper demands.

OK, first off, she's absolutely right. Most bloggers wouldn't. As long as you include all the bloggers on places like MySpace, where most of the entries are, "OMG! I totqaly got wassted last nit. LOL! I thnk I hokked up w/this cute guy.................cant rmeber!! LOL!!!!"

But methinks she's not talking about the MySpace bloggers. She's talking about the Blogspot and Wordpress bloggers. The occasional ones who can spell and know grammar and know how to develop lucid, persuasive arguments. That's a whole different animal.

Until blogging came along, it was rare that you could read the writing on a regular basis of someone you didn't know who wasn't a journalist. Now there are thousands of people like that. And it is a shock to the old school journalism set that there are other people out there who can write.

The Scene has had a holier-than-thou attitude toward area bloggers for a long time. There was once a parody of what went on at a blogger Christmas party, and it reeked of a juvenile piss-take written by the jocks, making fun of the geeks. It was truly pathetic, because it wasn't funny. And it struck home with me because I hosted that particular party at my restaurant, and I was only blogger that was (sort of) identified.

The main content in most Nashville-based blogs last week was about a meeting of bloggers at a restaurant owned by a blogger. Bloggers blogged about their anticipation of the event, they posted photos on their blogs of themselves with other bloggers, and many bloggers rushed home to blog about how nice it was to meet people who are bloggers—just like themselves!
“It was so neat to put faces with the blogging personalities,” one blogger says. “And I was surprised to learn that several of them have jobs.”

Now don't get me wrong. I wasn't offended. It just wasn't funny. Comedy ain't easy, folks, especially in print. And considering the condescending tone the Scene had against the bloggers, it just reeked of arrogance. Of course, many bloggers have taken a condescending tone toward the Scene as well. But the "journalistic quality control that a newspaper demands" also includes being above the fray of criticism. Most of the bloggers taking shots at the Scene have readerships in the tens or hundreds. Goliath, just ignore David and you won't get hurt.

I have been a journalist. I was not formally trained in college. Who cares. I was recommended by a friend. My interview went like this:

"So, you've got a degree with an English minor?"

"Yes."

"OK, go on in and get started. They'll show you around."

And I learned quickly. I worked at a publisher of sports magazines. My first job was a fact-checker. My training was this: "Everything that is a fact, you need to check. Everything. I don't care if it is 'Babe Ruth hit 714 home runs.' Look up the spelling and the home run total." And all those facts, no matter how mundane or obvious, got checked by three different people. That's the essence of the journalistic quality control she talks about. It ain't rocket surgery.

I have been published hundreds of times in countless newspapers. The most recent one was here, last week. I wrote that story. Every word. (Actually the opening sentence was changed to include the Sports Council, creating a grammatical error.) It was copied off a press release that I sent out. I have to write press releases in a manner that they can be copied, because in my experience, "quality control" and "journalistic standards" mean that if I don't write a good release that can be copied verbatim, you're not getting coverage. No one has ever called me on any press release I've ever sent out to question a fact. Never. Clarification, yes. Facts, no.

Granted, I'm not writing hard news. But that is the problem with Garrigan's broad generalization. That rigorous standard is played fast and loose at newspapers, depending on the topic. Is a pool tournament going to get the Woodward and Bernstein treatment before it goes in a local community paper? Of course not. Newspapers run press releases and wire stories every day. Without checking anything.

Do I hold my blog to Liz's high standards? Hell no. Why should I? I'm Nashville Knucklehead, fer chrissakes. If I did, I'd have to take this sentence:

Liz is the Editor or publisher or something of the Nashville Scene.

And find out what her title is, and get the AP Style Book out and find out if "Editor" and "publisher" should be capitalized or not, and italicize the name of the paper. And then go back and check all the facts and edit for content and style. Fuck that. It's a blog.

War on Drugs

2007-08-04T14:03:00.001-05:00

I feel good

2007-08-03T14:16:00.001-05:00

There is an exhaustive new study on sex that was released this week. People have sex because "it feels good."

Glad we finally got that straightened out.

Return Game

2007-08-03T13:00:00.000-05:00

Perhaps there are some smarter football minds than mine out there. Perhaps one of them will comment and straighten out my thinking. Here's one thing I don't understand about football. Why does a team punt to a return man? Especially if it a good one like Deion Sanders or Pac Man Jones. Why risk the possibility of a big return. If I were special teams coach, I would have my punter spend all day in practice kicking it as far as he can, out of bounds. And I would have him kick every punt out of bounds in games.

On the same note, where did the good old coffin corner kick go? Is it really that hard for a punter to aim where the ball goes?

Ahhh . . . football time is approaching . . .

Casino Rhoyale

2007-08-03T11:30:00.000-05:00

I spent the good part of the week at a casino in Rhode Island. Well, not really a casino, it was a dog track with a few video slot machines thrown in. By a few, I mean about 400,000. Here is what I observed from my visit to Rhode Island Casino:
Everyone in Rhode Island Casino is old.
Everyone in Rhode Island Casino is small.
Everyone in Rhode Island Casino has the same haircut. Men, Women, doesn't matter. Short and gray.
Black People don't go to Rhode Island Casino.
The only conversation topic allowed in Rhode Island Casino is the current or future state of the Red Sawks.
And the strangest thing I have ever seen in any Casino -- Nobody, and I mean nobody in Rhode Island Casino drinks. Thousand of people gambling, and there were a couple of cups of coffee.

Rhode Island Casino is a strange place.

Chicks With Sticks

2007-07-30T12:38:00.000-05:00

Long before I was a restaurant guy, (but after I was a musician guy) I was a marketing guy. Right now, I am doing some freelance PR work. My newest client is these women. You may have seen them on ESPN. I'm handling all the PR and media relations for the rest of the year, and this week is the US Open, which is in Providence, RI. I'm going up there tomorrow. I'll be there two nights. I'll be hanging out with The Black Widow and The Striking Viking and The Duchess of Doom.

Dig it.

Sometimes we get it right

2007-07-28T07:56:00.000-05:00

The Ghost Ballet is up on the East Bank. After making fun of it for a year or so, now that it is up, I don't hate it. In fact, I like it. I didn't realize that it was going to loom over the terminus of Broadway as you come over the hill. That is pretty cool. (Although, while discussing options on where to take a blind date in Nashville the other day, a woman actually said, "When are they going to open that roller coaster they're building downtown?") I think it will grow on us as a city. I'm also glad it isn't a big guitar, which was one of the finalists in the sculpture submission process. At least the Ghost Ballet doesn't say, "Nashville - still a town full of redneck, boot-scootin' sexy-tractor-lovin' hayseed rednecks!"

But there is a new billboard in town that I think helps to dispel that image beautifully. It is a photo of Todzilla from the funk band Jones World, welcoming the world to Music Row. I don't know who put that up, and who is paying for it, but I want to personally thank them for not having a guy wearing a cowboy hat in the picture. I know Toddzilla, I love his band, and I love how the billboard says "Music Row - we ain't just Country and Western no more!"

Under Pressure

2007-07-21T16:28:00.001-05:00

Exactly eight years ago, my ex-brother-in-law, Joe, damn near lost his foot. He was victim of a pressure washer incident.

Joe and his buddy, Rex, were riding jet skis in the canals that criss-cross that particular pocket of hell known as South Florida. I never participated in their jet ski and skiing activities because those canals are just nasty. And gators sun themselves on the banks. Big gators. I guess that keeps you from falling. So they finished up and were cleaning off the jet skis, because that canal water is just nasty, and Joe, in a fateful moment of inattention, shot his foot with the pressure washer. It made a small hole in the top of his foot, maybe a half-inch around. He didn't think much of it. The next morning, me and the ex were called over to their abode on that nasty canal in Boca Raton to baby sit the niece and nephew. Seems that Joe's foot had swelled halfway up to his knee, and he and the missus thought it might be wise to go seek medical attention. as he was leaving, I made a joke about them just amputating the damn thing.

well, they almost had to amputate the damn thing. Joe spent over a month in the hospital with a severe infection, brought on by all that nasty canal water getting into the little hole in his foot. There were skin grafts and surgeries involving words like scraping and pus, and it was touch and go as to whether he was going to get to keep the bottom of his leg. They managed to save it, but he's got a helluva scar on top of his tootsie.

So I found myself today standing on my back deck for several hours wearing flip flops, pressure washing the deck around the pool. (I didn't know the deck was cream colored. I thought it was black.) And I thought about Joe's foot, and the fact that it was exactly eight years ago, and I was very careful in my pressure washing technique. I'm happy to report there have been no pressure washing injuries thus far today.

So how do I know it was exactly eight years ago? Because we were called over to baby-sit while Joe went to the hospital on the Sunday of the British Open at Carnoustie, which saw the greatest meltdown in all of golf history, Jean Van de Velde's seven at the 18th when he needed a six to win. And I remember it because while history was being made on the television, I was trying to watch it while being forced to gleefully cheer on the dance routine choreographed by two five-year-old girls to Hanson's "Mmmm-bop".

Scene Food Blog

2007-07-19T12:45:00.001-05:00

The Nashville Scene has a new food blog. Its logo looks like this:

I'm sure local bloggers will be reminded of a long-time Nashville pop culture blogger, the biting, witty and charming Trashley, whose logo looks like this:

Now, one could accuse the Scene of ripping off Trashley, who has been around for a year, but we all know that the Scene doesn't acknowledge local blogs as worthwhile, much less being worth ripping off.

Bend it like what's his name

2007-07-14T10:42:00.000-05:00

Pele came to play in America, and he was going to single-handedly raise the popularity of soccer to the same level here as the rest of the world.

Brandi Chastain whipped off her shirt and was thereby going to single-handedly raise the popularity of soccer to the same level here as the rest of the world.

The MLS came along and that was going to single-handedly raise the popularity of soccer to the same level here as the rest of the world.

Mr. Spice is here to single-handedly raise the popularity of soccer to the same level as the rest of the world. For a quarter of a billion dollars.

I'm pretty fired up that the first NFL pre-season weekend is less than a month away. Soccer? Er, not so much.

Perhaps I just don't understand the intricacies involved in playing to a nil-nil tie.

My Healthcare Solution

2007-07-12T08:07:00.000-05:00

Michael Moore is making the rounds again. I don't pay attention to him. Never have. I guess now he's taking on the evil health care industry.

I will agree with people who say that our health care system is messed up. But you want to get the government involved in running it? That's where I gotta draw the line.

I have a theory about it. I am convinced that the reason our health care system is such a mess is that people use their insurance to go to the doctor. The $10 co-pay is the most ridiculous idea since the invention of capitalism. That's like using your car insurance to get your oil changed. Doctors are highly educated professional specialists. Paying ten or 25 dollars to see them is just stealing.

The only argument I've ever heard that comes close to making sense is that the insurance companies would rather have a person use preventive tactics than wait until the last minute. It's easier and cheaper to remove a suspect mole than treat someone for advanced melanoma, I suppose. But still, ten bucks? People pay more than that to get their palms read.

To me, the co-pay is dumbing the system down. That's why the emergency room is filled with folks with the sniffles. Imagine what the emergency room would be like if "the government" paid for everything.

I don't go to the doctor unless my guts have actually fallen out of my body. Even when I had a co-pay, I didn't run to a doctor every time I felt a little sick. I don't think it is unreasonable to pay more for a yearly physical than you would to tune up your car, or get new tires. Right now, I don't have a co-pay. I am self employed. I have catastrophic-only insurance. I pay about a hundred bucks to see a doctor. But my doctor is a freaking DOCTOR, fercrissakes. That seems fair to me.

Fosters is the new Sudoku

2007-07-10T16:08:00.000-05:00

A study by neuroscientists released in Australia reports that drinking may actually be good for your brain. It rebukes the myth that we are born with a certain amount of brain cells and cannot grow new ones.

Queensland Brain Institute director Professor Perry Bartlett says the report shows drinking alcohol does not kill off brain cells - and that drinking up to four standard glasses of wine a night might be beneficial.

I've been to Australia. You can have your Germans and your Greeks and your Canadians and your other big-time drinking societies. Those Aussies can drink. They put the rest of the drinking world to shame. I hope this isn't a situation of the tail wagging the Austrailian Neuroscientist dog.

Aussie, Aussie, Aussie! Oy, Oy, Oy!

I am officially starting an unsubstantiated rumour

2007-07-09T14:24:00.002-05:00

Bookmark this page. I'm going to be the first to say it.
Ladies and Gentlemen.
The 2008 head coach for the Tennessee Titans.
Jon Gruden.

Playing the Ponies

2007-07-08T11:55:00.000-05:00

On Friday, me and my six-year-old jumped in the truck and drove up to Louisville for one of the last days of the 2007 spring meet at famed Churchill Downs. I love, love, love me some horse racing. I went to high school in Louisville, and me and my buddies would regularly go over to Churchill after school for some good, clean, wholesome gambling.

I let my kid pick her own bets. She got paid on six of the eight bets she picked. She was making mostly $8 place bets, based on either the horses name, or which one looked "fast and feisty" in the paddock. In the fifth race she switched to a $6 win pick. Just for variety, I suppose. The horse won and paid 96 bucks. My cut was 86.

Hey, she can't make the bets without me. Plus I had to cover all the crap exacta boxes I kept losing on. She walked with 20 bucks and a new Churchill Downs purse to put it in.

Famous People

2007-06-25T12:10:00.001-05:00

I used to be Marketing Director at a Theatre in Florida. Part of my job was staff photographer. I took this photo about five years ago. All these people are famous. Left to right, numbers 1, 3, 4, and 5 are pretty easy. Number 2, not so much. Name all five, win a prize. (click to embiggen)

Puck You

2007-06-22T16:22:00.001-05:00

My kid was doing horseback riding until a couple of months ago. She decided she wanted to try ice skating. So on Wednesday we went over to the big rink by the big fake Parthenon and I took her skating for the first time. I was expecting the worst, because skating is hard, and I told her so. She took three laps around holding on to the rail, then she just started skating. It took her 15 minutes, and she was skating better than several others there. She loved it. So we went back again today.

Now, I hadn't been on ice skates in a very, very long time. But I did a lot of skating growing up. I have lived all my life in the south, except for those nine formative years spent in . . . gasp . . . Indiana. And while I was growing up in cornland, I played hockey. For years I played, and I got pretty good at it. My family moved back below the Mason Dixon when I was 15, so that was the end of hockey for me.

I got to college in Dallas, and, despite having had two or three years off, decided to join a men's league. The men's league in Dallas at that time consisted of 99% Detroiters and Canadians who were in their mid-30s and had played hockey their whole live and were pissed off that they had to move to Dallas because they lost their job at GM or Ford and they took out their aggression at the rink.

The other 1% was a skinny college kid who hadn't played in two or three years. I joined my boss' team (a Canadian) in mid-season, after the Christmas break. My second career lasted about nine minutes. I ended up with seven stiches in my chin.

Undaunted, I showed up for the next game. As we were warming up the referee, who was also the organizer of the league, skated up to me and said, "I got your application in the mail this week. You have to be at least 21 to play in this league. You need to get off the ice, and I'll refund your money."

That was the last time I was on skates until this week. But I felt pretty good. I started to get the bug, so I looked up information on the men's hockey leagues here in Nashville. There is the A/B league, which is advanced to expert. While at one time I would have considered myself a candidate for that league, I know better now. Next is the upper C league, which is intermediate skill, plus it meets on Tuesdays and Thursdays, which is best for me. Then there is the lower C league, for beginners. Naw, I'll pass on that.

Then, wait, what's this? Oh . . . it's the old-man league. It's called "Silver Fox." One night a week, on Wednesdays. (That's probably all they can handle.) Bless their old-man hearts . . . uhhhh . . . Age 35 and older!? 35 and older are "Silver Foxes"?

With all due respect, Nashville Adult Men's Hockey League, you can just piss right off. I'm not a "silver" anything. I'll play with the punk-ass 30-year-old kids.

Father's Day

2007-06-17T15:19:00.000-05:00

Two things that are all the rage these days with the kids are crocs and webkinz. To show her undying love for me, my kid gave me a pair of black crocs and a webkinz today for father's day. If you are a webkinzian, watch out for a golden retriever named Goldie Fuzz. I might challenge you to a game of checkers, and I will kick your ass. With my new black crocs.

Knocked Up

2007-06-16T09:43:00.001-05:00

I first found Katie when she linked to a post I wrote that included Ratt, Kevin Bacon, a Pontiac Fiero and a Playboy centerfold. I wrote it as an excuse to put up a naked picture of an old girlfriend, but Katie actually praised the writing. And she writes for a living and gets books published and has won like 28 Pulitzers and had an audience with the Pope because of her writing. Or that's how I like to think about her. Because she praised my writing. And she praised the story with the gratuitous nudity, instead of being put off by it.

Well, I go check on her every once in a while, and in the ensuing time, she's met her a fella, fallen in love, got hitched and now they're having a young 'un. And she plans on doing it drug free. She says she had a bad reaction to the epidural during her last birth that caused back pain for years.

Back pain and epidurals. A couple of subjects I am familiar with. You see, kids, many years ago I had gone to an impoverished third world country to pass out hand copied bibles to homeless people when a car came careening around the corner and crashed onto the curb right in front of me. I ran to the driver's door and saw that the nun who was driving had suffered a heart attack. After reviving her with the homemade defribrillator I had invented that morning, I noticed that there was a Golden Retriever puppy trapped under the front tire. My adrenaline got the best of me and I lifted the car with one arm and scooped the puppy up with the other. I pulled out my pocket knife and roll of duct tape and quickly performed surgery on the little pup, stopping the internal bleeding, thereby allowing the little fella to live a long and happy life as a seeing eye dog for Ronnie Milsap. It wasn't until later, while I was on the podium politely declining the virgin being offered by the grateful village elder ("Shucks, Your Excellency, I just did what anyone would have done") that I realized I had thrown out my back.

I've had back problems on and off ever since. About ten years ago, I decided to try an M.D. for the second time. I had usually stuck with chiropractors for two reasons. One, despite the voodoo aspect of cracking your back for whatever ails you, they always worked for me, and two, the first time I went to an M.D., he started talking about surgery within five minutes of shaking my hand. I don't want some dude who probably graduated last in his medical school class cutting open my back and poking around my spine.

So this second time around, the doc put me in the magic machine that looks at your inside stuff and declared me to have a bulging disk. Probably. Or it could be a shadow on the film. But he was pretty sure it was a bulging disk. He recommended a series of three epidurals. He said that they shoot a bunch of steroids into the space surrounding the disk and it makes the swelling go down. He said it has a 90% success rate in relieving pain.

The day came for the first epidural. The nurses treated me with kid gloves, almost pity. They acted as though the procedure was the worst thing you could go through short of a head amputation. They offered me a valium, because I "needed to relax or it was just going to be hell." (As an avid practioner of self-medication, I knew one little valium wasn't going to do anything, but I accepted. Of course.)

In came the epidural team, a huge dude in scrubs, about six-six, 280, and a doctor who I remember being quite attractive, despite the fact that she was about to stick a needle mere millimeters from my spine and squirt a bunch of chemicals into my back.

I got on a chair in front of the doctor and leaned forward and dude got in front of me, planted his feet and put his hands on my shoulders with great force. Between the offer of the valium and the huge dude holding me down, I was sure this was going to be the most unpleasant event of my life. I was whispering my Hail Marys when the doctor says, "OK, lie down on that bed for a while till you feel better, and you can go."

Nothing. I felt nothing. Maybe a little pinch, but nothing else. The next two times, I scoffed at the valium and was in and out in five minutes. Problem is, it did nothing for my back pain. The doctor said, "Well, it's a 90% success rate, you just happen to be in that unlucky 10%."

So now I stick with chiropractors. I've got a great one now, Chad. We get along great and he cracks my bones and doesn't care that every time he does I yell, "Owwww, GodDAMMIT you motherfucker!" Plus, he's a young, good-looking guy, so his waiting room is always full of hot women with "back problems."

So anyway, back to Katie and her drug-free birth. She's already had three kids, so she knows what she's in for. I'm certainly not going to give her any advice on her decision. I will say that my kid was born totally drug free. Purely natural. Not my ex-wife, mind you, she was dosed up with anything they would give her. But me, I was clean. Unless you count the flask in my pocket.

I'm a myspace stud

2007-06-13T14:56:00.000-05:00

I have a myspace page. I have found lots of old friends from years gone by there. Myspace is all about friends.

For those who don't know, myspace is a social networking site. You put up a page and tell a little about yourself and put up pictures. It is mainly for people younger than me. You can browse by gender, maritial status, age, etc., to find your new "friends." Let me tell you, there are very few people browsing for men my age. I get very few friend requests. But the ones I do get . . .whoo boy. These young ladies are able to see past something as irrelevent as age, and can obviously see my hidden studliness. And the great thing is, they all "love to party" and several of them have webcams set up so I can really get to know them as a friend. These are some of the people who recently asked to befriend me.

They're dead, Jim!

2007-06-12T10:28:00.000-05:00

I have a koi pond in my yard. Yesterday, I was greeted with four koi corpses floating upside-down in the pond.

I'm not going to speculate on what did them in, but the smart money would land on owner neglect. Well, not neglect really, just an attempt to save electricity by turning off the pump. Several days ago. And forgetting about it.

In any case, the carcasses had to be removed and disposed of in some manner. These things aren't Nemo, they're way to big to flush. So I did the calendar math. I take the trash out on Wednesday night. It was Monday morning. Surely dead fish won't start to stink in two days? In a trash bag in an enclosed plastic container? In 90 degree weather?

I was right. It only takes one day.

Anyone want to come by for a cookout? Fish tacos on the grill!

Rambling on Death and Taxes

2007-06-12T08:49:00.000-05:00

I've never lived in a state that screwed with all the taxes so much. The bozos cut tax on food. Yay! I saw on the news last night that it comes out to saving $4 per $1,000 you spend on groceries.

Oh, boy.

Raise cigarette taxes. Cut taxes for poor seniors. Specify where taxes go, i.e. English language-learning students get cigarette money. Who came up with that marriage made in heaven? Gaylord wants us to front them the money to build their new convention center. Front them money from the new tax we have on hotel rooms and rental cars. To build our own new convention center.

I don't have any hard numbers on this, but having been around a while, it seems to me that taxing A and declaring the money to be used specifically to fund B doesn't seem to work in the long run. It just creates a new bureaucracy to piss the moeny away. Wasn't the lottery for the kids? Aren't we still close to last in education in the US?

I don't buy lottery tickets. I send my kid to a private school. I'd like some of that lottery money.

Scratch Golfer

2007-06-11T18:53:00.001-05:00

In case you weren't watching the St. Jude tournament in Memphis this week, (you don't watch obscure PGA tournaments?) one of the underlying stories was that on Friday, early in the morning, John Daly's crazy-ass wife attacked him with a steak knife while he was sleeping, screaming that she was going to kill him. This same crazy-ass wife recently spent some time in prison for some kind of money laundering shit.

Last I checked, the police have found his kids, but not her, and are waiting to see if he wants to file charges. If the tables were turned, his ass would be in jail charged with attempted murder, no matter what the wife said about pressing charges.

There is some good outrage in there somewhere. Some kind of anti-feminist, where's-Al-Sharpton hand wringing that could be manufactured to go along with this. But I'm not going after it. For one, I can't work it out, and also because John just got up the next day and went to work and played fairly well, considering the circumstances. No victim, he.

Besides, jokes like her being a "scratch golfer" and "working on her slice," and "hitting a high cut," are just too easy. He's a rich white guy, so it's OK.

UPDATE: The crazy-ass wife says he attacked her and then scratched his own face. I figured that was coming. Who attacks sombody's face with a steak knife in a sawing motion? Now it's a he said/she said.

(If she turns out to be the victim, I don't want any feminists attacking me for calling her a crazy-ass. She is well documented as such.)

Screen? Shot!

2007-06-11T14:01:00.000-05:00

I've taken on some freelance web and graphic design work to keep the lights on and gas in the truck during an upcoming period of inactivity in my regular business. On Friday, my computer fell from the counter to the tile floor in the kitchen. This is the result.

Sumbitch isn't even paid for.

I guess I'll be designing a website that sits in the top left corner of the screen.

Brothers and Sisters, You Ain't That Big of a Deal.

2007-06-07T15:30:00.000-05:00

The Nashville Blogosphere has a problem. That problem is a huge sense of collective over-importance.

Let me get you up to speed in case you landed here googling "naked playmates," as 98% of my visitors have lately. Nashville's ABC affiliate station, WKRN, has a blog aggregator called Nashville is Talking (NiT), which, until yesterday, was wrangled by a fine gal named Brittney. Brittney had been growing tired of the job lately, and had been dropping hints for a while about it, but the shit hit the fan when she linked to a hateful post about a dead person without comment. In other words, she didn't say "this is racist, we at WKRN don't agree with it, but it is written by a Nashville blogger, and my job is to link to this stuff." And so a few people took it to mean she did approve of it and laid into her in their own harsh and hateful ways. Including calling for her job.

The crux of the argument can be summed up by this pinhead's statement I saw somewhere:

". . . in bloggyland, when you paste and link to some crap and don’t provide any context or clarification, thats called ENDORSEMENT."

I guess I was missing that page in my bloggyland rulebook.

I learned long ago as a bartender to never discuss religion or politics if you want to keep the peace. Well, that was part of Brittney's job. People who check NiT on a regular basis know Brittney and her political leanings and her past run-ins with various bloggers, and any NiT regular knew that she wasn't endorsing the post at all. In fact, those folks knew that she linked with nothing but personal disgust.

The only "mistake" she made is that she didn't treat each and every post as if a first-time reader was going to see it. That would be impossible. There is no way she could spend two years, eight hours a day linking to thousands of blog posts and not end up playing to the regulars. Unfortunately, that group of regulars is tiny compared to the reach of a TV station, not to mention the whole of the internet. It is so small that one could write a story that would be jibberish to outsiders, but would be clear to regular readers. (Slarti and Ivy went to shoot guns at UncleSay's place, Coma and theogeo came over from Hooterville and Wage took flickr fodder. The Roger A. and Carter were there, fawning over B, when S&F arrived claiming he found Sista and Rex L. making out at a rally supporting the Krumm/Kate O' ticket for Blog King and Queen . . .)

Nashville is Talking has created a diverse community of thoughtful, literate, idiotic, goofy, intelligent and outright stupid people. Brittney, being the only person ever to run NiT, is the person to credit for creating that community. But it is a very, very, very small community. A miniscule local internet clique.

I have a restaurant that is part of this very Nashville bloggyland. Opening day was all blogger related business. And several bloggers became regulars. But the main reason the blog helped the business was because the mainstream media picked up on it from the beginning. I got more press in the Tennessean, All the Rage, the Nashville Scene, the City Paper, etc. than I could have dreamed of, all because of the blog. I was interviewed on NPR about BBQ. I was hailed as some kind of new-media marketing genius and mention in a discussion at the Harvard Business School and in an Owen School of Business (Vanderbilt) quarterly magazine. I won a bunch of "blogger awards" and appeared in online restaurant publications as an example of how to use a blog to build your business. It was great. But, at the height of that blog's popularity, it was averaging fewer than 200 hits a day. And most of those were the same group of Nashville bloggers coming back over and over to check on my progress at getting the place open. If someone came to sell me advertising promising 200 impressions per day, that person would be shown the door very quickly. All my blog posts put together didn't come anywhere close to having the impact that one favorable review in the Tennessean did.

But my place became a hot ticket for this NiT blogging community, for better and worse. Many of the local bloggers who have regularly written about my restaurant are decidedly left-leaning. (And many are not.) I once got into a pissing match with a far-right blogger in his comments, when he told me that he wouldn't eat there because he pictured my place as a gathering place for a bunch of liberals to hatch plans to kill babies and use tax money to release convicted granny rapers. I tried to tell him that my restaurant exists in the real world, and that in reality, Nashvhille bloggers while very important to me, represent less than one percent of my business. He just wouldn't believe it.

I am one of the lucky few who has made money from a blog. Other than my smokin' brother-in-arms Patrick Martin (killer BBQ, if you are ever in Nolensville), Brittney and Adam are the only folks around here that I can think of who have directly made money off blogging. And their situations are completely opposite of mine. They are/were paid to spend 40 hours a week in complete Nashville blog immersion. And the nature of the internet, especially the ability to spew hate anonymously, is what did Brittney in. And I can't blame her one bit.

Take a look at the NiT Blogroll. There are about 400 blogs. Compare that to another self-publishing revolution, MySpace. A search of all MySpace pages in the Nashville area maxes out at 75 pages with 3000 sites. It won't go any higher, so who knows how many there are. Right now, in the grand scheme of things, the impact of NiT is tiny. Yet I applaud WKRN and former GM Mike Sechrist for what they have done with blogging. Not because of the "impact" they have made, but because they were, and always will be, first. And with internet stuff, first is first, and anything else is last. I hope the new regime over there sticks with it, just because you never know where it will lead.

The Nashville Blogosphere has been very good to me and my business, and I have met friends I will probably keep for life, and for that I am grateful. And it wouldn't have happened without Brittney. And for that I am especially grateful.

But if you sit at your computer all day and get outraged by stupid shit like the lack of a disclaimer, and start calling for people's jobs, you need to get out a little. It just ain't that big of a deal.

Tubbin'

2007-06-01T15:38:00.000-05:00

If you have the bio-mechanical misfortune to need a prescription for Cialis, do you receive two claw-foot tubs to put in your backyard as part of the deal? Every couple on TV that uses Cialis has 'em.

"Honey! It's starting to work! Did you fill the yard tubs?!?!"

The End Is Near. Again.

2007-05-31T18:41:00.000-05:00

I don't really buy into the global warming thing. That is just my decidedly uninformed opinion. Here's why. I've travelled a lot. I used to work on cruise ships, and I've been all over the world. To me, the global warming scare is kind of like the overpopulation scare, which comes from bookworms and professors in the Northeast, which is grossly overpopulated. If you are an overpopulation fear-monger in Boston, get out a little. Drive across Texas. I spent some time in China. They have a billion people. Beijing and Shanghai and Hong Kong are ridiculously overpopulated. But if you get out in the country, there are miles and miles of rolling hills, pastures and forests. We have plenty of room.

I once sailed from Tahiti to New Zealand. Days and days of nothing. Just flat Pacific Ocean water, going at 26 knots, 24 hours a day. That's just one tiny little corner of the globe. I've seen how big the world is, and I don't think that we have the ability to change it that much. When you spend years living on the ocean, it seems ridiculous that melting ice is going to flood our coastline.

Having said that, we were warned about getting out too much during that Tahiti-New Zealand run because that's where there is a big hole in the ozone, and one could easily get burned. All that damn hairspray in the '60s burned the ozone up. Or was it cow flatulence?

So I don't buy it, but I'm open minded about it. This is what I don't get: How the conservatives can turn it into a "liberal issue." It's science, right? I haven't really looked into it enough to make an informed opinion, so I can't say I'm right, and I accept that there may be something to it. To dismiss it outright as a liberal hoax is puzzling to me. Puzzling because if you're wrong, boy it's going to be a doozy.

Cue George Strait: "Oceanfront Property in Arizona"

Hokey Pokey

2007-05-31T12:16:00.000-05:00

There is a band from my college days called Brave Combo. An old college roommate has been a member off and on over the years. They formed in the 80s and they are still together, still touring in a van out of Denton, Texas. There has never been a more aptly named band, those guys book themselves into rock clubs and go in an play polkas. Electrified polkas. And a lot of other assorted world music like cumbias and cha chas, but mostly polkas. They've won 2 Grammys for best polka album. (I have an old roommate with a Grammy. I have a blog.)

Bookmark this post. Because if you are ever having a bad day, you can't help but be cheered up by Brave Combo's metal version of the Hokey Pokey.

Charles Nelson Reilly

2007-05-30T12:58:00.000-05:00

Charles Nelson Reilly died last week. He had a one-man show called "Save it for the Stage: The Life of Reilly." That show premiered at the theatre I did the marketing for in Florida. I did all the original photography and advertising and press for that show. I got to know Charles fairly well during that time. I found out that he was way more than just "that game show guy."

His show evolved into an independent film. I don't know if it has ever been distributed. But I like the narrator's take in the clip here. He says he went in to the movie "expecting to hate it, yet I could not stop watching." (Warning: the clip is ten minutes long.)

Charles was a fascinating man. Noted opera expert. Esteemed acting teacher. Tony-award winning stage actor. Voice of countless cartoon characters. And game show guy.

I enjoyed knowing him. He was always gracious and friendly and would send me thank-you notes from L.A. and tell me I was the best photographer ever,and would always end our phone conversations with, "I love you!" (Not that I'm gay. Not that there's anything wrong with that.)

If the movie ever gets distributed, trust me, get it.

The fence.

2007-05-18T17:41:00.000-05:00

Those folks in DC are at it again, wanting to take our money and build a fence.

Have you ever been to South Texas? I have. It's desolate. I've never been to the border in New Mexico or Arizona, but I imagine it is more of the same. So we're going to build a 350 mile fence? That's like building a fence from Nashville to Little Rock.

Have you ever driven from Nashville to Little Rock? Imagine building a fence the whole way. Don't you think that somewhere along the way you could breach the fence without being caught by the authorities? A fence that is a government project, no less?

Here are a few things that one could use to breach a 350 mile fence:
Bolt cutters.
A Ladder.
A Shovel.
Explosives.
A Dodge Ram Truck.
A Mexican VW taxi.

I've heard about building a double fence with sensors in-between so we can pounce on the folks while they are trapped between the two. 350 miles. That's a lot of room. There's no pouncing there. Another great idea.

So, I have a solution on this whole immigration problem. Invade Mexico. We could do it with a few National Guardsmen and some Boy Scouts. Annex them or Imminent Domain them or whatever you call it. Unlike those bastards in Iraq, the Mexicans would actually greet us as liberators. The U. S. of A. becomes 62 states! Cheap childcare for everyone!

Horses and Cleavage and Hats, Oh My!

2007-05-08T13:03:00.000-05:00

Iroquios Steeplechase is nearly upon us. Once a year the horses-who-jump-over-stuff circuit makes its stop in Nashville. It is a bunch of horses you never heard of ridden by a bunch of jockeys you never heard of running around and jumping over stuff.

And I love it. Because the official dress code for Steeplechase for the ladies is a low-cut cotton sundress and a big, floppy hat. That little plot of land in Edwin Warner Park becomes the cleavage capital of the South for an entire day. It is enough to make a grown man weep for joy. Women seem to think that sundresses are "cute." No. Let's clarify something. Sundresses are hot. I mean hot, hot HOT. A sundress is, in my opinion, the hottest thing possible for a woman to wear. And I have several friends who agree. (Let's not talk about that outfit I have on the woman in my basement. Shut up.)

As for the big, floppy hats, women think that they're "fun." Nope. They're not "fun." They're stupid as shit. But we don't care, we're not looking at the top of your head. We're looking down the front of your "cute" sundress.

It's one of those event that promotes "civilized" daytime drinking. Because it is full of well-heeled Belle Meadians, there is not a trace of guilt over drinking before the sun has even reached the yard arm. It's also the kind of day where people bring jugs full of "punch" and Vandy frat boys drink too much of it and pass out. But each of those Vandy frat boys has a date in a low-cut cotton sundress. And a stupid hat.

So if you are the type of person who likes to spend the day drinking and stumbling around in a never-ending sea of beautiful women in low-cut cotton sundresses, Steeplechase is for you. And once every hour or so, a horserace breaks out.

Dead End

2007-05-07T16:04:00.000-05:00

If you live in the second-to-last house on a dead end street, exactly who, other than your neighbor in the last house, are you trying to influence by putting a political candidate sign in your yard?

A Grand Acheivement

2007-05-06T17:18:00.000-05:00

Little Girl: "I just tooted."

Father: "Congratulations."

Little Girl: "It was the greatest toot of my lifetime."

2007-05-03T19:53:00.000-05:00

I stumbled across the Republican debate tonight. I don't know how many dudes there are up there, but they're all 60-year-old white guys in dark suits. I didn't see the Democratic debate, but I suspect it was a bunch of 55-year-old white guys in dark suits. And Hillary. And Obama.

OK. Maybe the Democrats had a more varied bunch. But the only difference I can see with these Republican guys is their ties.

I'd like to see that guy from Hawaii there. I don't know if he is a donkey or an elephant. I assume he's a Democrat. But he's got a big ponytail and a topaz bollo tie. He might be a nut. But he stands out.

Can't one of these Republicans wear a tan sportcoat? Or a leisure suit?

Busted

2007-04-25T19:28:00.000-05:00

I totally forgot that stash was up there.

I was driving with a friend of mine and he bumped the passenger visor and the ziplock baggie that was hidden up there fell in his lap. I was totally busted.

He looked over and said, "Why do you have a baggie of Cocoa Puffs stashed in your visor?"

"I swear to God it's not mine."

My Den Floor . . .

2007-04-25T18:27:00.000-05:00

looks like the morning after a fraternity formal.

Attention Dads! Have a Song or Two

2007-04-25T11:01:00.000-05:00

When my kid was really little, I would always sing "Can't take my eyes off of you" to her. Some of her first words were formed singing along with me,
"I love your BABY
and if it's quite alright
I need you BABY
To warm the lonely night . . ."

I forgot about it for a couple of years, but when I remembered, she still knew all the words.

I bought a CD called "Jazz for Kids" when she was two. We would listen to it in the car. The last song on it "Wonderful World" by Louis Armstrong. Every time that song came on, I would reach back and we would hold hands. I didn't play it for over a year, but when I put it back in, and that song came on, we automatically held hands again. Now, when we are getting near the end of a drive, she asks to hear "Wonderful World," and we hold hands.

Someday, when she is sixteen and has dyed her hair black and has a tatoo and mulitple piercings and she hates me, she will hear one of those songs and realize that she really doesn't hate me after all.

So to all new dads: Have a song or two. Start early. Stick with it. You may need it later.

I Hear Dead People

2007-04-25T10:32:00.000-05:00

It is quite a commute for me and that little girl who calls me daddy when I take her to school. Sometimes she makes me put on certain music she likes, but usually we listen to sports talk. (Or, as she puts it, "All we listen to is football." She'll thank me later.) I absent mindedly flipped over to NPR yesterday morning during the drive. There was a piece on body counts and dead civilians and failed strategy and all that stuff. Nothing new, but interesting, so I listened for a while in silence. Then I looked over at my six-year-old and changed back to sports talk.

When I was six, I heard the exact same stuff. Dead Americans. Dead civilians. Failed strategy. And I remember it. With only three channels on TV and only AM radio in the car, we were exposed to the news of the day everyday. But, for my kid, I turned it off. Not that she was upset or anything, she understands life and death, but why bother with dead people when we can listen to Frank Wycheck speculate about the draft.

I remember from when I was six. And the folks that put us there are older than me. Didn't they learn anything?

Whistling past the graveyard

2007-04-24T15:18:00.000-05:00

Going through a messy and painful divorce has an upside. Later, when faced with great personal, professional and financial stress, one can think back and know that yes, in fact, things have been worse.

So I've heard.

Sunday Project

2007-04-22T08:50:00.000-05:00

Here's a great Sunday project for you. Build a Koi pond. Then come to my house. And get the fish. I have way too many fish. Probably about 30 mature fish. And every year, they keep making more. There are dozens and dozens of baby fish who will be mature next year. I don't even like having the fish. They came with the house.

That's right, FREE FISH! Koi make for good eating, too. Come get them all. Then I can just fill that thing up with pool chemicals and have a nice, relaxing "water feature."

Robbed at gunpoint

2007-04-20T21:45:00.000-05:00

I was a bartender at O'Charley's across from Vanderbilt, where the Starbucks is now. It was a random Tuesday night. It was about 11:30 at night. There were two customers in the building. A waitress was getting off work, and asked if I would walk her to her car. That neighborhood was a lot worse back then. I walked her the twenty steps out to her car and went back to the front door. I stood there and streched my arms and took in the cool night air. Literally, out of nowhere, a little guy in jeans, a workman's jacket and ski mask put a gun in my back, put his other hand on my shoulder and turned me around and said, "Let's go!" He led me inside, gun pressed to my spine and told me to lay down on the floor. I did as he said.

He rounded up the customers and took their jewlery and money. Then he went in the back. Waiters and kitchen staff were closing up for the night. I laid quietly on the floor, as he requested. After all, he had a gun. He went back to the office and pistol whipped the manager to open the safe. Eventually he came back out and said to the four of us out front, "Everyone come get in the freezer!" I got up and walked back into the kitchen. As I approched the walk-in, I looked at the padlock on the door. I was the first to enter the walk-in, so as the gunman was busy rounding the rest of the staff up, I picked up the padlock, walked in the cooler and dropped the lock into the thick mushroom gravy. He forced all of us, about 12, into the cooler and shut the door.

"Whew," I thought. "If I hadn't picked up that lock, we probably would have been huddled in here in the cold until six in the morning when the morning shift comes in." I was so proud of how clever I was to grab that lock.

Two minutes passed. The door opened back up. Dude in the ski mask cocked the gun, pointed it at us all huddled together and said, "WHERE'S THE FUCKING LOCK?!?!" Remove pride, insert regret.

The manager spoke up and said, "There is no lock!" Gunman said, "There was a lock, I saw it!" They argued back and forth, and finally he shut the door. As he shut it he said, "Don't anyone leave or my partner is going to shoot you!" We waited about 15 minutes before venturing out and calling the cops.

The cops came. The GM was called. He took me aside and said, "Couldn't you have grabbed a bottle or something and thrown it at him?"

I looked at him like he was the idiot that he was. Grab a bottle and throw it a a guy with a gun who is going to take O'Charley's money? It was a ridiculous question that didn't deserve an answer.

I have read things from people questioning the bravery of the victims at VT. Things like, "If three of them had rushed the gunman, maybe they could have save dozens of lives."

If you think that, you are a total fucking idiot.

I remember it like it was last week. I was laying on the floor in the dining room while the gunman was in the back. I could have gotten up and run out the door and gone next door and called the cops. But I didn't. Why? Because the motherfucker HAD A GUN. He could have come out as I was leaving and shot me in the back. Or come out after I left and said, "Where's the dude with all the hair?!?" and started shooting all my friends. What if I had saved my ass at the expense of my co-workers? Would that make me a hero? When someone has a gun, you don't act like a hero, you do what he says. I'm a big motherfucker. I'm a brave motherfucker. You know what? Little dude HAD A FUCKING GUN!

To think that I should have been packing heat on a random Tuesday at O'Charleys is ridiculous. To think that I should have attacked the gunman with a bottle of Absolut is laughable. To think that a professor or a student or an RA at Virginia Tech should have awakened on a random spring day expecting a gunfight is ridiculous. Blacksburg became Pearl Harbor that day. It was an ambush.

Motherfucker had a gun. Chained the doors, walked into class and started shooting. If you have ever been on the wrong end of a gun, you know the sheer terror and helplessness that those people were feeling. If you have never been on the wrong end of a gun, shut your fucking mouth.

Indecent Proposal

2007-04-19T19:10:00.000-05:00

Tim recounts the tale of the insanely creative and romantic way he proposed to his sweetie. Let me recount the tale of the insanely creative and romantic way I proposed to my last wife.

Woke up on New Year's morning with appropriate hangover.
Looked over at woman laying next to me.
Belched.
Said, "You wanna get married?"
Farted.

I wonder why it didn't last.