Freddie

The music world lost a legend yesterday with the passing of Freddie Hubbard at the age of 70. Hubbard was one of the finest jazz trumpeters of all time and was one of my first favorites when I delved into the world of jazz several years ago. He played with a fluidity that was instantly recognizable and could blow with power one minute while playing a beautiful ballad the next. His debut album as a leader, 1960's Open Sesame, as well as 1961's Ready For Freddie, are two of my favorite jazz albums ever. Although his health and his chops had diminished during his later years, he never lost his passion for music. He will be sorely missed.

My Top 10 Albums of 2008

This has not been a particularly strong year for new releases. That being said, my Top 10 is actually once again a Top 11 (sue me). Although there were a number of quality reissues and live albums that were released, I'm sticking with new stuff for this list (although technically #11 was actually recorded live in front of an audience).

1. Aimee Mann - @#%&*! Smilers



Mrs. Penn’s long-awaited follow up to 2005’s The Forgotten Arm was a shot in the collective arm of her audience. Another collection of outstanding songs with only a couple of minor hiccups. Hopefully, her recent trend of an album of new songs every three years won’t continue.

2. R.E.M. – Accelerate



While I love the album, the style seemed a little forced after the disappointment of 2005’s Around The Sun. Critics and fans alike were pumped over the band’s return to its “rockin’” roots. Personally, I wasn’t disappointed with ATS. As long as the songs are good, I don’t give a shit how much an album “rocks” (see Automatic For The People).

3. Sugarland – Love On The Inside



I’m gonna catch hell for this pick but damn if I can’t stop listening to these songs over and over. Though the production and presentation is highly commercial, Jennifer Nettles and Kristian Bush are actually considered to edgy by Nashville standards. And speaking of catching hell…

4. John Oates – 1000 Miles Of Life



Believe it or not, the other half of Hall & Oates is one hell of a songwriter. This album flew under the radar but it has legs.

5. Teddy Thompson – A Piece Of What You Need



Teddy released another splendid album of outstanding pop tunes this year. He’s one of the most consistent songwriters around these days – and he doesn’t throw tantrums!

6. Jenny Lewis - Acid Tongue



Fresh off her last album, Rabbit Fur Coat, Ms. Lewis has put together another outstanding set of songs, albeit a shift back toward her indie sound from the country leanings of last year. The title track is one of my favorite songs of the year.

7. David Byrne & Brian Eno – Everything That Happens Will Happen Today



I always liked the Talking Heads but Byrne’s solo material has never done anything for me. And while Brian Eno has worked wonders producing U2, his own stuff has also been less than appealing. Which made this album a pleasant surprise – a collection of (mostly) straightforward pop songs without the usual Byrne/Eno weirdness.

8. Anat Cohen – Notes From The Village



Quite simply my favorite jazz musician currently out there. Anat likes to mix it up from album to album not only thematically but instrumentally as well, often changing pace from clarinet to tenor sax to soprano sax with consistent ease and beauty.

9. AC/DC – Black Ice



The boys still have it. Although the songs aren’t quite as catchy as they used to be, they bring it on every time with crunch and gusto. How Brian Johnson is still able to sound like Brian Johnson is beyond me.

10. Jackson Browne – Time The Conqueror



The first album of new material after two live Solo Acoustic releases, Jackson is still on top of his game both musically and lyrically, touching on today’s social and political topics. And that voice – simply one of the best.

11. Joe Lovano – Symphonica



A beautiful album from the longtime tenor saxophonist, Lovano is constantly stretching the boundaries of jazz – this time orchestrally.

What He Said...

Did He Really Just Say That?

Auburn President Jay Gogue commented about the school's football program in Ray Melick's column in today's Birmingham News:

"Borrowing a line from former Auburn President Harry Philpott (1965-1980), Gogue believes the ideal football season is going 8-3, because it's just enough wins to keep fans happy but not so much that the football program becomes bigger than the university."

Wow.

Phil Rudd Hits A Tom!

I finally made it to a Wal-Mart the other day and picked up the new AC/DC album, Black Ice. I must say that it booms out of the speakers with that familiar crunching pleasure that only AC/DC can provide – the boys definitely still have it. But I noticed something during the first chorus of track #13 (Rock N Roll Dream) that I literally have never heard before – a Phil Rudd tom fill. This is not a knock against Phil or the band. Phil Rudd is one of the most solid rock drummers of all time. But the dude could play every song in the AC/DC catalog with nothing more than a kick, snare, floor, high-hat and crash symbol - that’s all he ever plays (again, not that there’s anything wrong with that). Phil doesn’t give a shit about being on the cover of Modern Drummer with a 48 piece kit in the background. He just pounds away with thunderous fury while he and his band mates make millions of ear drums bleed. And next month I’ll finally be seeing the band live for the first time. Rock on, Phil.

Bowl Intrigue - Catch It!

How happy do you think the Las Vegas Bowl and the Sugar Bowl representatives are right now? While the Sugar folks are surely excited to have the well-traveled Bama faithful descend upon their fair city of New Orleans, they can’t be entirely happy about having the Utah Utes paired with the Tide. Somehow I can’t see Mormons letting it all loose on Bourbon St.

And how about the Las Vegas Bowl matchup of Arizona vs. BYU? Once again, Mormons are not going to be throwing money around the Sin City. Bibles maybe, but not coin. Hell, there are too many damn bowls anyway.

Waiting Rooms And Butt Boils

It’s been an interesting few weeks for me lately. My stepfather has been in the hospital after some post-surgery complications, with 12 of those days in ICU. So I’ve spent more time at the hospital lately than I ever have in my life. During our time in the ICU waiting room area, we encountered many other families with loved ones in ICU. And, in our own way of coping with stress, we were thoroughly entertained by some of these folks.

Among them was a family whose situation I became very familiar with due to the fact that they didn’t care who heard their conversation. A woman’s husband had fallen ill and was lucky to still be alive. According to her story, he had begun feeling dizzy several days earlier and felt extremely weak. Besides vomiting and having other symptoms, she described in great detail a boil that had formed on his butt. And not just any boil, but a large black boil that grew to the size of a saucer. After several days of not knowing what to do, she said that he finally passed out one night while sitting on the toilet, fell to the floor, and began coughing up blood. It was only then that she decided to take action and call 911.

Well, the doctors asked all kinds of questions and were perplexed when they couldn’t determine the cause of his symptoms. Finally they asked her if he had been bitten by anything.

“Oh yeah,” she answered, “he got bit by a spider last week – that’s what caused the boil in the first place.”

It turned out he had been bitten by a Brown Recluse, one of two poisonous spiders native to the U.S. In the meantime, the poor man’s condition had worsened and he almost died before they found out this key bit of information. But the worst part of this story was when the woman and her friends, who were there for support, began trading their own “butt boil” stories, as if this were as common of an occurrence as catching a cold. Personally, I can’t recall ever having a boil, much less on my buttocks. And I certainly never expected to be regaled with multiple anecdotes dealing with such a phenomenon.

The next day a large man who was with the butt boil family asked my mother who she was there for and what his name was. He said he was an evangelist and could add his name to their television prayer list.

“Um, no thanks – I’m good,” she replied.

With that, he stood up and, in the middle of the room, began preaching to everyone within earshot. My mom promptly picked up her belongings and left. Fortunately, my stepdad has been moved into a private room. We won’t have to deal with anymore of that lunacy. But as long as I live, I’ll never forget the “butt boil” family.

The Death Of Music, Part 5

I'm a member of a fitness place that I try to attend a few times a week. You never know what you're gonna get when it comes to the music that's played over the stereo speakers, which is why I usually take my iPod. On this day, however, I was stuck listening to some "modern rock" station that plays mostly crap. I heard a song that almost made me throw up in my mouth. The song was "Addicted" by a band called Saving Abel. First of all, the name of the band is completely puerile. I can see the douche bags now, preening and posing for their next press photo. Secondly, the music was about as bland as boiled celery. But it was the lyrics of the song that literally made me stop my workout and stare at the speakers. Here's the chorus, in all its perspicacious glory:

I'm so addicted to
All the things you do
When your going down on me
In between the sheets
All the sounds you make
With every breath you take
Its unlike anything
when you're loving me

That's poetry my friends. Somewhere out there in a New Orleans studio, Bob Dylan is gushing with pride at the prominent legacy he's left upon the music gods of today. Let us rejoice.

The Police

Having missed out on last year’s Police reunion tour, I had hoped and expected that they would release a live DVD or CD. My prayers were answered with the release of their new live DVD/CD at Best Buy (the only place you can buy it) called Certifiable. What an outstanding set. They played and sounded as good as ever and tinkered just enough with their arrangements and keys to make it interesting without destroying the songs (although I can’t for the life of me figure out why they decided to pull the insipid “Walking In Your Footsteps” out of the song catalog).

After my Kiss obsession during 1st & 2nd grade, The Police were one of the first bands that I could claim as my own discovery. Up until then, I’d mainly been exposed to artists that I had heard from my parents or from friends. It all started with the hits off of the Zenyatta Mondatta album (“Don’t Stand So Close To Me” and “De Do Do Do, De Da Da Da”). I was fascinated by the rhythms, the melodies and the vocals themselves, which I came to find out later were just the extremely tight harmonies of one man’s voice (Sting) layered on top of each other. But it was the release of Ghost In The Machine and the album’s subsequent videos that really hooked me. Here was a band that was making hip, fresh music and I had no idea what they looked like - until the videos for “Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic” and “Spirits In The Material Word”. I thought they were the coolest dudes I’d ever seen, especially Stewart Copeland in his Izod shirt and sunglasses. I immediately bought the rest of their catalog, including Outlandos d’Amour, Regatta de Blanc (as well as the aforementioned Zenyatta Mondatta) and immersed myself into the world of The Police, sitting in my dad’s study for hours with headphones on, listening to each record intently.

When Synchronicity was released, I almost peed my pants in anticipation. The band didn’t disappoint. I spent so much time listening to this album that I literally wore out the grooves on the record. At the time I didn’t know what the hell Sting was singing about (“There’s a skeleton choking on a crust of bread?”) but I didn’t care. It was a brilliantly written and beautifully performed masterpiece (except for “Footsteps” and “Mother” of course). On top of that, I got to see them live at their peak on the Synchronicity Tour in '83. Although I was initially skeptical of the reunion tour, I’m glad they did it, if only for my re-discovery of one of the greatest rock bands of our generation.

Yes Sir, Coach!

Skip to around 2:30. Where's a brick wall when you need one?

TT's All-time Favorite Athletes

I don't normally watch commercials, but the new Dr. Pepper ad with Dr. J is hilarious. It took me of the good ole days of the NBA, just after the merger with the ABA. It also reminded me of my very short list of favorite all-time athletes. I'm going to stick with the three major sports here - baseball, basketball and football. Here tis, in no particular order:


Baseball - Hank Aaron
As a lifelong Braves fan, I endured many years of suffering during my childhood. The one bright spot was Hank Aaron. From the time I could walk, I sported a #44 Braves jersey (as well as a crimson #12 but we’ll get to that later). The record-breaking home run #715 was the defining sports moment during my childhood. By the time I was old enough to read, I was at the school library, checking out every book I could find about Hank. It was especially satisfying to know that he was born and raised here in Alabama. Years later, I did something that I had never done before or since – I wrote a letter to a famous athlete. The letter was to Hank Aaron and on the 25th anniversary of #715 and it was in appreciation for his accomplishments on and off the field. There has never been anyone better.


Basketball – Julius “Dr. J” Errrrrrrrrrrving
He was simply known as The Dr. Before Jordan, there was #6, and he was every bit as talented. With his fro and his swagger, Erving dazzled millions of fans with his moves and his mojo. He even tried his hand at acting as Moses Guthrie in the forgotten yet classic flick, The Fish That Saved Pittsburgh. Although he did win one championship with the Sixers, he very well could have won more had he been surrounded with more talent for a longer period of time.


Football – Joe Namath
Last but not least, Namath was simply THE coolest athlete to ever roam the planet. During the late 60’s/early 70’s, there wasn’t a heterosexual male in America who didn’t want to be Broadway Joe for just one day. Canon arm? Check. Super Bowl ring? Check. Swarmed by the ladies? Check. This guy was the S.H.I.T. And on top of that, he played at Bama for The Bear. He still visits T-town on occasion and still draws crowds and standing ovations wherever he goes. Quite simply, he is still THE MAN.

CGI OD

I finally got around to watching Indiana Jones and The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull this week. As a huge fan of the original Indy trilogy, I was excited yet apprehensive when I heard that Lucas & Spielberg were shooting a fourth installment. Apprehensive because I was let down by the Star Wars prequel trilogy of the past ten years. Not only was I disappointed by the story and the actors, I felt like George Lucas went overboard with the computer effects. It just didn't have the organic feel of the original trilogy. That's why I loved the Indy movies. This swashbuckling series had PLAUSIBLE old school movie stunts with REAL stuntmen.

Which brings us to the new Indiana Jones film. Not only were the stunts implausible (a guy standing spread eagle between two jeeps speeding side by side through a bumpy jungle? Could TOTALLY happen. Not.), but the movie as a whole was CGI'd to death. The chases felt fake, the creatures felt fake (those stupid giant ants looked like a kid playing high-speed color by numbers on a computer) and the set design felt fake. And our beloved characters surviving not one, not two, but THREE giant water falls? Yeah, that would absolutely happen in real life. Look, I'm not saying that I'm incapable of using my imagination when watching a movie but come on, George and Steve, we're not children. The feel of the first three Indy films was simply not there. Note to Steve, George, Michael Bay and every other filmmaker out there: Just because you have the technology doesn't mean you have to use it ALL the time in EVERY scene.

History

Yesterday's election was certainly historical. But for some reason, I don't feel that way. Don't get me wrong, I understand the significance in the big scheme of things. But for some reason, I don't see it as Barack Obama being elected the first African-American President - I simply see it as Barack Obama being elected President. And to me, that's more historical than anything else.

Voting

I voted today. Barely. Knowing I had to work late today, I got up early this morning in order to hit my voting location at 7:00. As I arrived at 6:55, my jaw dropped - there was a line of people wrapped around the building. Not only was the main lot full, but there were cars parked for a half mile past the building. "Screw this," I said and drove on to work. By 9:15, I figured the lines had died down, so I drove back over there. The line was long but not as bad as before. However, it still took a solid hour wait to get my ballot. I've voted at this same location for 8 years and I've never had to wait more than 25 minutes.

Strangely, each line was huge except for the "L-R" line, which never had more than 5 people. You'd think that they would have crunched the numbers in terms of how many with each last name - I guess that made too much sense. You would also think that they could find volunteers other than retired blue hairs (students perhaps?) to collect signatures and distribute ballots. As sweet as these folks might be, they move with the speed of a Sam's Wholesale employee. And no one knew what the hell they were supposed to do when they entered the building. Do we wait in the main line? Or do we make a run for the "Last Name" line? There was one soft-spoken, little old lady walking around explaining to everyone where to go and what to do. It didn't help. I could barely hear her when she was standing right in front of me. What they needed were large signs and/or a large woman with a train whistle for vocal cords shouting instructions to everyone. I think I'll be advocating and running for a new office - Voting Nazi.

Ding Dong, The Pumpkin's Gone!

This Ought To Be Interesting

This morning I saw an announcement that Oasis and Ryan Adams will be touring together this winter in support of their new albums. I can't think of a more volatile gathering of egos and ill temperament. Some of you may recall my own Ryan Adams experience last year. And I spoke to a friend last week who related a story about a recent Ryan Adams tantrum in the ATL in which he stormed off the stage after 50 minutes because he was apparently upset at the lack of ticket sales. And Oasis? Please. Those guys are notorious for their own outbursts and infighting, most recently making news when a fan barnstormed the stage at Toronto's Virgin Festival. Either way, fans are sure to NOT get their money's worth at whatever show they choose to attend.

Sans Plant

After reuniting last year in London for one show, it seems that there might be a Led Zeppelin tour in the works, albeit without frontman Robert Plant. Plant has been reluctant to go forward with a tour after a year of speculation. Now it seems that Jimmy Page and John Paul Jones are ready to audition singers and proceed without him with Jason Bonham on drums.

"We want to do it. It's sounding great and we want to get on and get out there," said Jones at a guitar show in Exeter, southwest England.

"It's got to be right. There's no point in just finding another Robert. You could get that out of a tribute band, but we don't want to be our own tribute band," he added.

Um, except that's exactly what it would be if you go forward with this charade, John Paul. But JP and Jimmy aren't stupid. They realize that people (myself not included) will shell out countless dollars to sing along to their own version of live band karaoke. It'll be Field of Dreams ("People will come") all over again. But I'm sorry Jimmy (as well as Neil Schon, Mick Jones and Brian May) - Journey is not Journey without Steve Perry, Foreigner is not Foreigner without Lou Gramm and, for the love of God, Queen is not Queen without Freddie Mercury! No one wants to see David Freaking Coverdale shake his leather-clad ass while butchering "Whole Lotta Love".

So please, JP and Jimmy - continue to live comfortably off your royalties. Let this ludicrous idea die and your legacy remain intact.

Oh, What A Beautiful Morning

¡Música Mariachi Patadas Culo!

Ever since my return from Mexico, I haven't been able to shake the sound of mariachi music out of my head. There's something about traditional Mexican music that gets my blood pumping. So last night I did some research and downloaded an album by Nati Cano’s Mariachi Los Camperos, who skillfully arrange and perform versions of classic mariachi melodies. The recording is excellent and the music is beautiful, both vocally and instrumentally. They combine several styles of traditional music from many regions of Mexico and utilize various instrumentation, from harp to violins, as well as the usual percussion, horns and other stringed instruments. I think I'll just have to have myself a little Mexican fiesta and crank my new music.

* By the way, the translation of this post's title is "Mariachi Music Kicks Ass!"

What The Hell Are We Teaching Our Children ?!?

Any and all conversation that I have with our 22 year-old receptionist is a fascinating one, especially when it comes to the gaping divide that is our knowledge and understanding of pop culture. The other day, I was comparing a fellow employee's laugh to that of Ted Knight's Judge Smails character in Caddyshack (which is a whole other story), and she looked at me incredulously.

"You have seen Caddyshack, right?" I asked curiously.

"No, I haven't. Isn't that one of those stupid comedies? I don't like stupid comedies," she replied.

She then began to giggle as I stared at her with moribund curiosity. It turns out that she also hasn't seen Airplane, Fast Times or The Naked Gun. Now, I understand that we're dealing with a generational thing here. But Jesus, these are classics we're talking about. Almost everyone my age has seen the vintage comedies of our parents' youth - Dr. Strangelove, The Graduate, M.A.S.H., Blazing Saddles, etc. Just what the hell are parents teaching their kids nowadays anyway? Don't we owe it to ourselves and the survival of our species to expose our children to the classic comedic films of our time? They'll have no soul and no chance out there in the real world if we don't educate them. I implore you, dear readers, if you are a parent - don't let your kids grow up unenlightened.

I'm Have Superstition Sickness

Yesterday I went to the doctor and afterward went to the scheduling desk to set up my next appointment. The nurse asked me if January 8th was okay (since I'm diabetic, I go every 3-6 months). I pondered the month and day. January 8th, hmm...I read something recently about that date. Then it hit me - that's the night of the BCS National Championship game in Miami.

"No!" I told her. "If Alabama makes it to the NC, there's a chance that I'll be in Miami for the game."

She started tapping away at her computer when I exclaimed, to no one in particular, "Wait! Go ahead and book it. What was I thinking? If I had changed it, I would've jinxed the team. By making the appointment for January 8th, things will more likely work out for us. And I can always change the appointment."

I peered down at her behind the counter and she was looking at me like I was a nut case, which, let's face it, I am. Nothing stirs up my superstitious side like Alabama football. If I'm watching a game on TV and we're sucking, I'll change positions, chairs, or even rooms in order to change our luck. Hell, I'll even NOT watch if it means that we win. And it truly is a sickness. Just ask the scheduling nurse at Southview Medical Partners. At least my doctor can understand - she is, after all, married to Paul Finebaum.

¡Ay, caramba!

Sorry for being AWOL lately, but I've been taking advantage of a little R&R in Cabo San Lucas, Mexico. It was quite an eventful week, starting with my near-drowning experience in the beautiful waters of the Sea of Cortes. The waves were huge and the red flags were waving, but that was of little concern to us as we observed several swimmers having a ball. I took a few steps into the surf only to be greeted by the biggest wave I've ever seen looming towards me (it was at least a 10 foot swell). I braced myself like I've done a thousand times before on the Gulf Coast, only this wasn't your typical gulf wave. The next thing I knew, I was taken down and being pulled out by the most powerful undertow I've ever experienced. And did my survival instincts kick in at that point? Um, no. I felt my swim trunks at my knees, so naturally I was more concerned about shrinkage exposure than I was about dying - we men are complete idiots. I crawled out of the water only to realize that my $200 Maui Jim sunglasses were gone, swallowed by the sheer force of the ocean. I hope the fish are enjoying my shades.

The near-death experience was followed by actual death in the "party pool". Apparently, a 90 year-old man enjoyed his last vacay by diving to the bottom of the pool for his glasses only to float to the surface a dead man. The paramedics arrived (casually of course), covered the body with resort towels (which were probably washed and re-used), and hauled him away. Surely, it was a lovely experience for the kids who witnessed it.


I also got to enjoy the sounds of Sammy Hagar during his annual birthday bash at Cabo Wabo. Unfortunately, my travel companion was back at the room yacking. But Sammy and his band kicked ass, playing a mixture of solo and Van Hagar material. Alas, I missed getting to see Michael Anthony jam with the band the next night, but it was still quite an experience.

And finally, we got to wait out an impending hurricane (Norbert) as our week coasted along to an end. Fortunately, it hit land Saturday about 300 miles north of us. All things considered, it was a relaxing week - good food, good beer, good times.

\ˈnü-klē-ər, ˈnyü-, ÷-kyə-lər\

While watching the VP debate last night, I couldn't help but notice Sarah Palin's mangling of the word "nuclear". Between her and Dubya, why is this word so difficult to pronounce? This isn't necessarily an indictment of any particular party - I just can't figure it out. Ask any Major League pitcher, no matter how good they are, if he has a batter(s) who continually tees off on them, and he'll always be able to rattle off at least one or more who almost always get the best of them. Just like them, I realize every person has a word or phrase that stumps them for no uncertain reason. But I find it ironic that a world leader (or potential one) would butcher that word in particular.

R.I.P. Paul Newman

Quite simply, he was one of the coolest mofos to ever walk the face of the earth.

The Newman Foundation issued this statement:

"Paul Newman's craft was acting. His passion was racing. His love was his family and friends. And his heart and soul were dedicated to helping make the world a better place for all. Paul had an abiding belief in the role that luck plays in one's life, and its randomness. He was quick to acknowledge the good fortune he had in his own life, beginning with being born in America, and was acutely aware of how unlucky so many others were. True to his character, he quietly devoted himself to helping offset this imbalance. An exceptional example is the legacy of Newman's Own. What started as something of a joke in the basement of his home, turned into a highly-respected, multi-million dollar a year food company. And true to form, he shared this good fortune by donating all the profits and royalties he earned to thousands of charities around the world, a total which now exceeds $250 million. While his philanthropic interests and donations were wide-ranging, he was especially committed to the thousands of children with life-threatening conditions served by the Hole in the Wall Camps, which he helped start over 20 years ago. He saw the Camps as places where kids could escape the fear, pain and isolation of their conditions, kick back, and raise a little hell. Today, there are 11 Camps around the world, with additional programs in Africa and Vietnam. Through the Camps, well over 135,000 children have had the chance to experience what childhood was meant to be.

"We will miss our friend Paul Newman, but are lucky ourselves to have known such a remarkable person."

Amen to that.

Shocking News

The recent newsbreak that Clay Aiken is gay is shocking. The Clay-nation is understandably up in arms over this startling revelation. All those women who had crushes on Clay will just have to look elsewhere for dream salvation - perhaps Ricky Martin or Tom Cruise can fulfill this role.

In other news, John McCain is old, Star Jones had gastric bypass surgery, and Terrence Cody is HUGE.

This Is Beautiful

Gator fan hijacks Tennessee's Wikipedia page - hilarity ensues.

This Is Our Country

Lately, there has been a trend of pop/rock artists reinventing themselves as country artists. And it has become rather annoying. It all started a couple of years ago when Jon Bon Jovi released a country album that went nowhere. This year, Jessica Simpson and now Darius Rucker have released country albums, and although the sales have been positive, this "comeback" strategy still reeks of desperation. Not that today's country music stars are worth a shit to begin with. With very few exceptions, the music on today's country music charts would make Eddy Arnold puke. It also doesn't help when you have posers like Kid Rock releasing piece of crap singles to country radio as well. These artists need to stick with what they know, even if it isn't much to begin with.

The Great Southern Freakout

Here in Bama, nothing rallies the troops like a good ol' panic situation. A perfect example of this is when there's a chance of snow (or even sleet) during the colder months. You'd think that we're about to get blindsided by a blizzard of epic proportions.

This time there's a freakout over the impending arrival of Hurricane Ike, which isn't even supposed to affect our state, at least weather-wise. However, it will cause many oil rigs in the Gulf to shut down and halt production TEMPORARILY. In fact, according to today's Birmingham News, this will cause a spike in gas prices of 40-50 cents a gallon over the next few weeks. So how is our community reacting? By going completely apeshit. I've had several co-workers leave work today just so they can fill up their gas tanks. They're warning me that I need to fill up my own gas tank immediately - that there are lines at all the gas stations and that the prices are gonna go up to five bucks a gallon. You'd think that the apocalypse was upon us. Calm down, folks. The same panic occurred right before Hurricane Ivan, and we didn't run out of gas then.

Football, barbecue, incest, tobacco, fried food, intolerance, mullets, drunken aggression, country music - collective freakouts are just one more of many proud Southern traditions.

The Wave

I'm proud to say that I've never participated in this mindless activity - never have and never will. I don't know when it started but it's annoying, especially when there is game action going on. And there is always some tool(s) who feel it necessary to turn around and act as "wave monitors", scolding those of us who have the audacity to sit it out and actually pay attention to the sporting event which we paid for. Keep on preaching to us, buddy. And after you're done, please sit down and shut up.

Snowman

Sorry for my lengthy hiatus but I've been unavoidably detained as of late. Sadly, I must mark my return with the passing of a legend. Singer, songwriter, actor extraordinaire Jerry Reed died the other day at the age of 71. Jerry will be remembered for many things but, most notably for me, he's best known as being Burt Reynolds's sidekick, Cletus Snow, in the all-time classic, Smokey & The Bandit.

When I was a kid, my grandfather had a 700 acre cattle farm where you could participate in every type of outdoor activity you can think of. There was also an indoor activity that came into our lives at that time: the Betamax. For the uninformed, Betamax was the first video cassette player - it was around even before the VCR. I remember the overwhelming feeling of disbelief when my grandfather first showed it to us. All of us kids were dumbfounded:

"Wait...whatha? You mean we can watch movies on a tape?!? And you can even pause and rewind?!? Cool!!!"

Honest to God, that was our reaction. It was like discovering time travel. He had three movies: Smokey & The Bandit, Star Wars and some piece of crap Rock Hudson movie called Embryo. Needless to say, I watched Smokey and Star Wars over an over and over - I have seen these two movies, especially Smokey, more than any other in my life. I can say without exaggeration that I have seen Smokey & The Bandit at least 250 times (probably much more). So Jerry Reed's "Snowman" character holds a special place in my cold heart. From the time I was 8 years-old, I could recite every line, re-enact every scene and sing every song from that movie (and probably still can). It came in handy years later when The Inlaws stormed the Southeast with "Eastbound And Down" and our Bandit quotes from the stage.

So long, Snowman. We'll miss you.

Guitar Hero, Rock Band, etc.

I've heard of bad parenting but this takes the cake. According to the Raleigh News Observer, 16-year-old Blake Peebles has, with his parents' permission, dropped out of high school to pursue his dreams of becoming a professional Guitar Hero player. And of course, Blake doesn't know how to play the actual guitar. After bugging them for months, Blake's parents finally gave in to his plan and hired a tutor for him. Blake spends all night playing his video games and some of the day doing school work. His mother said, "We couldn't take the complaining anymore. He always told me that he thought school was a waste of time."

You know what my mom said when I complained about school? "Shut up and do your homework."

I've been meaning to go off on this subject for months but have avoided it for one reason or another. This whole Guitar Hero phenomenon is akin to karaoke - it's a lame activity that gives untalented amateurs the false sense that they somehow have the ability to compete with actual professional performers. I've played it and it didn't do anything for me (sorry E). Playing video games can be fun but it doesn't even come close to the thrill of actually performing music in front of an audience. Those colored plastic buttons are not the same as playing a real instrument. Non-musicians need to understand that. I once attended an event where the "house band" were four tools standing around with their fake Rock Band instruments playing fake music between the award presentations. The organizers must have thought it was cute. It wasn't. In fact, it was quite annoying.

This Blake Peebles kid is the latest example of some poor delusional soul who's trying to take the easy road to success. What's really sad is his parents who are contributing to their son's phantasmic dream world. It's like someone who's kick ass at Madden 2009 thinking they can be an NFL football player. Ain't gonna happen. My advice to Blake is to pick up a guitar and try the real thing. Oh, and go back to school.

The Olympics and What Might Have Been...

Olympic fever has been building all summer, culminating with the mind numbming/boggling opening ceremony last Friday in Beijing. I just wasn't buying it, though. With all the pageantry and hype leading up to the games, I just wasn't in the Olympic spirit...until now. I've been watching for the past few days and like any true American, can't seem to draw myself away from the TV. So far, I've come away with two undeniable observances: 1) our swimmers kick ass (and as good as Phelps is, Jason Lezak was THE MAN in the 4x100 relay), and 2) for all their courage and poise, our men's gymnastics team are a bunch of tools. All of this takes me back to a time when my life path took a turn from what might have been (an Olympic swimming career) to what it is now (a Rock n' Roll has been)...

When I was six years old, I was on the "Guppies" - a swim team for first-timers. I remember dreading having to go to practice at 7am but was proud to be on the team and wear one of the blue & red Speedos like the older kids (this was before I realized how gay they looked). My first swim meet was at Altadena Swim Club and I was scheduled to swim in just one event - a one lap free-style race. When me and my mom got there, the place was swarming with swimmers, parents and coaches, and I remember feeling overwhelmed by the whole chaotic scene. My coached snagged me and took me to one of the pools, where I was to wait until it was time for me to race. Well, I was nervous and didn't know when it was my turn. I had to pee REALLY bad but was scared to ask where the bathroom was for fear of missing my race or worse, being called a pussy by my teammates and/or coach.

The coach finally called my name and as I approached the starting block, I could see the concentration and determination on the face of each swimmer. Me? All I could think was, "I gotta pee!" I took my place and waited for what seemed like an eternity for the pistol to go off. When it finally did, I dove in and immediately "went" in the pool. My arms were moving and my legs were kicking, but at that point I didn't give a rat's ass about winning the race. All I could do was inch forward and enjoy the warm ecstasy. I naturally finished last and exited the pool, where my mom was waiting for me with open arms. She hugged me and told me it was okay, that I had tried hard and done my best. The pep talk was completely unnecessary, of course. All I cared about was that I didn't have to pee anymore. Needless to say, that was the last time I ever raced in a swim meet. I quit the team and moved on to other interests. But part of me will always wonder what might have been...

Tax Money In Action/Inaction

There's a small retail outlet center near my office that is accessible from Lakeshore Drive, a fairly busy road that's growing and expanding in our area. Several months ago at the entrance to the shops, a construction crew mounted traffic signals at the intersection over the course of two weeks. This included four large poles, power lines and light assemblies. All that was left to do was remove the covers from the lights. Just when the signals were ready for use, they took everything down overnight. Gone.

Guess what I witnessed today? A work crew of three trucks and about a dozen men installing the same poles all over again. WTF?!? Someone had to have given the project the green light (pun intended) in the first place, changed their mind, and gave it another go ahead. Once again, our city/state government showed the true extent of their brilliance when it comes to spending the taxpayers' money.

Music Tools

I was driving through a parking lot yesterday and noticed a dude wearing a black t-shirt, black jeans, black sneakers, black ball cap worn backwards, sunglasses and sporting a ponytail. "Ah," I said to myself, "must be a music store employee."

Sure enough, I looked up and saw a music store where I'm sure this guy was employed. Better yet, as he got into his car, I noticed that he had a personalized tag that said GOES211 (Goes to 11), quoted straight from This Is Spinal Tap. The definition of cool, indeed.

Walk into a Mars, Guitar Center, or any other musical instrument store and you're bound to run into one of these geeks, eager to sell you the latest bad axe. Don't have a pick? That's okay - they can just snag one out of their fanny pack. Forgot the dude's name? No problem - it's printed on their faux backstage pass hanging on their neck lanyard. Amp won't turn on? Please allow them to crawl around the cabinet with their LED pocket flashlight to plug it in. Pickups need adjusting? They've got a trusty Leatherman tool kit in their fanny pack as well. Can't find anybody? He'll be back in a minute - he's on a smoke break. Rock on, brother.

Johnny & Skip

Two of my all-time favorite sports figures passed away this past weekend, neither of which ever played a minute of actual sports (at least as a career). John Mark Stallings, the beloved son of former Bama coach Gene Stallings, died at the age of 46. "Johhny", as his friends and family called him, was a larger than life figure during his time in Tuscaloosa, with an enormous heart and an enormous passion for Alabama football. He will be dearly missed by fans everywhere. Bama AD Mal Moore put it best:

"John Mark Stallings touched every Alabama fan. The child who, it was thought, could never do great things did them after all, with his gentle nature and warm smile. Most of all, he did great things with his complete, unquestioning capacity to love his family, to love Alabama and to love everyone who shared those feelings with him in the short 46 years of his life."

Skip Caray was the long-time announcer for the Atlanta Braves on both radio and on TBS television broadcasts. Although his role had been reduced over the past few years, his honesty and quirky sense of humor were still a pleasure to experience. As a life-long Braves fan, their games will never be the same for me without Skip's smart-ass comments and anecdotes. His memorable style included such gems as:

- Once during a game against the Florida Marlins, Caray quipped, "The bases are loaded, just like (Marlins manager) Jack McKeon probably wishes he was."
- Caray would frequently make fun of Braves relief pitcher, Jung Bong, declaring every time the opposing team got a hit against him, "that's another hit off of Bong".

May both of these men forever rest in peace.

This weekend is my (gulp) 20 year HS reunion. My old band (and first band), Silent Majority, will be rocking the house on Saturday. Ok, actually we're just going to be background music, but in our minds the high school lunchroom will be transformed into Madison Square Garden. As you can see from the above photo (my all-time favorite by the way), taken at the Hood Amphitheater (aka their driveway) when I was a senior, it was a lot of fun. We weren't very good but we didn't know or care. Looking at the photo, I see three things in that photo that I miss: my blond Rickenbacker bass, my Woody Allen T-shirt, and my cadaverous figure.

My dad was a musical influence on me growing up, having played in high school and college himself (and still to this day in fact). I was somewhat of a jock as a kid and played football, baseball and basketball up until 7th grade. After that, football and baseball became too much of a pain in the ass but I stuck with basketball. However, I was one of those players who was good enough to make the team but was primarily a benchwarmer. When I got to high school in 10th grade, I decided I’d try out for the JV basketball team. The coach was also a football assistant, so the first workouts consisted mainly of a bunch of us goofing off in the gym until football practice was over.

That same week, some buddies and I decided to “jam” one afternoon at my friend Bart's house. It went well and we decided to practice a couple of times a week. Once football season was over, the coach (who was also quite a prick I might add) decided to make us show up at school every morning at 6AM to run a mile on the track. Anyone who knows me can see where this is going - after all, I'm a lover not a runner. At that point, I weighed my options: either spend 3 hours a day busting my ass and sitting on the bench for my efforts or form a band to play at parties where we would drink beer, meet chicks and hopefully make a little money. Gee…what a decision.

Needless to say, I chose the latter and we called ourselves The Side Effects (which would later be changed to Silent Majority after we discovered another band with the same name). The four of us, Bart, David, Brent and I (along with our friend Beth on keys for a short time) played all through high school and sporadically during our first couple of years in college. David and I went on to form Three Hour Tour and the rest is history. This weekend will be interesting. We'll probably hit some right notes, most likely will suck in other spots, but we'll definitely have a blast.