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.