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.

It's Hotter Than...

It's hotter than a half-bred fox in a forest fire.
It's hotter than a June bride in a feather bed.
It's hotter than a ginger mill in Hades.
It's hotter than the devil's dick.
It's hotter than a four-balled tom cat.
It's hotter than a flaming bag of turd.
It's hotter than Oprah's underwear during a hot flash.
It's hotter than a snake's ass in a wagon rut.
It's hotter than a two-peckered goat.

And an old favorite...it's hotter than two rats f**king in a wool sock.

Pride Vs. Saving Money

Lately I've noticed more and more people driving Vespas and other motorized scooters to and from their place of work. I can understand why. With gas prices shooting higher than a kite on acid, it makes sense from a savings standpoint. However, I can't think of too many things that are more dorky than riding one of those things, especially while wearing work attire. Even with a helmet to cover your face, it would test the limits of my pride to participate in this activity. I'll keep flushing my money away on gas for my mid-sized SUV, thank you.

Confession Time

Lately I’ve been struggling with a confessional disclaimer, which explains my recent absence from this blog. Dear readers, I know I’m going to be ridiculed incessantly for what I’m about to divulge, especially from my fellow music fans. Due to various factors (okay, one – a chick), I was recently introduced to an artist who I had previously not given a rat’s ass about. For a long time, I’ve viewed “new” country music as nothing more than hillbilly bubblegum pop, consisting of overhyped artists with their young, hip, cookie cutter, gel-headed, cheeseball back-up musicians. To me, country had lost its edge years ago, which was exactly the motive for forming my old band, The Inlaws (see TommyTCoe photo above).

So recently, when I was force-fed the music of (gulp) Kenny Chesney, I initially resisted. At first I thought, “Oh great – another rube with a fake twang and a sleeveless shirt and a cowboy hat.” And on top of that, I always thought his name sounded ludicrous, especially while being hollered by his starstruck fans (“Keeunnieeee Chayusnieee!!”). But I kept listening, only to discover that the dude wrote and sang some pretty damn good songs. The more I listened, the more I liked what I heard. The songs he doesn’t write, he chooses meticulously to fit his beachy, Buffetty vibe that blends perfectly with his more introspective material. Lo and behold, I was becoming a fan. Like Jeff Goldblum in The Fly with his ears falling off, I looked at myself in the mirror and wondered just what in the hell was happening to me. Let’s face it, I became hooked.

The culmination of this newfound fandom occurred last weekend when I went to see him live at Turner Field. It was an interesting lineup, consisting of Gary Allan (sucked), Leann Rimes (looked good but destroyed “I Want You To Want Me”), Sammy Hagar (of all people), and Brooks & Dunn (those vets know how to put on a show). But as soon as Kenny rose from the stage, he blew everyone else away. I’ve been to hundreds of concerts in my time but I must say that from a visual/production standpoint, it was the best concert I’ve ever seen. And the guy knows how to entertain. Not only that, but instead of running off with his ego at the end, he did something that I’d never seen before – he actually walked out onto the ramp and signed autographs while the band was still playing (granted, his band consisted of the same cheeseball types mentioned earlier). The guy is genuine and I like him and his music. So rag on me if you must – but you can bite me!

Classmates

My 20 year HS reunion is coming up and I'm charge of the class DVD, which will consist of old photos along with a "then and now" segment of classmate pics. This job has turned into quite a daunting task since volunteering for it several months ago. By "volunteering", of course, I mean responding to a mass e-mail saying that I'd be glad to "help out" with the DVD. Result? Immediate message in my inbox saying "You're in charge of the DVD".

Anyway, since then I've received digital photos from nearly 100 of my former classmates, many of whom I literally haven't seen since graduation. It's been interesting to see how everyone looks now. There are several girls who were once normal looking but are now quite MILFy; several dudes who were and are still sorta nerdy but now have hot wives (how? $$); and some people that quite frankly look like ass. I'm genuinely interested in seeing and catching up with everyone, but it's a slap in the face reality check to realize that it's been 20 f**king years since I graduated from high school.

Oh, The Horror!

I watched The Mist on DVD this week, based on a Stephen King novella and directed by Frank Darabont. I love Stephen King and Darabont (he directed The Shawshank Redemption and The Green Mile, also King adaptions). But The Mist is utter crap - a bad premise with a bad story and bad acting. What happened to the good old days of horror films? We went through a gore renaissance of sorts during the 70's and early 80's (a.k.a. the "slasher" films) but nowadays, no one knows how to make a good bloodfest for the screen. The scare tactics are cheap and the editing is too breakneck for my tastes.

I grew up with a genuine appreciation for these types of films. This might explain a lot to those of you who know me, but when I was a kid, my dad would take me to horror movies all the time. We'd wave goodbye to my mom, telling her that we were going to see the new Herbie movie. We'd end up, of course, going to see Halloween, Friday the 13th, or any number of campy classics from that era. And no, I didn't become a serial killer (at least not yet). So you can have your damn Saw movies - I'll take The Evil Dead (see above photo) any day of the week.

Jimmy, Jimmy, Jimmy

Once promising but often troubled Bama football player Jimmy Johns was arrested yesterday and charged with 5 counts of selling cocaine as well as possession of a controlled substance. Johns was highly touted when he first arrived on campus but spent much of his time in the doghouse, especially once Nick Saban was hired.

Johns’ family arrived from Mississippi yesterday to bail him out of jail. Lee Thomas, who described himself as Johns’ “caretaker”, had this to say to The Tuscaloosa News:

“He may be done here, but he’s not done with football,” Thomas said. “He just got mixed up with the wrong people; that’s it. He’s a good kid. He knows he messed up. It’s his first offense. He’s going to come back."

Huh? First of all, this wasn't a mistake, a bad decision or a case of getting "mixed up with the wrong people". Johns was caught selling nose candy to undercover police officers not once, but FIVE different times. He knew what he was doing. And secondly, he's "going to come back"? To what exactly? The dumbass has been kicked out of school and off the team. Get in a bar fight or arrested for public intox, then you get a second chance to "come back". Not with this charge. In this case, the level of stupidity on his part reached monumental proportions. To see someone with this much talent and potential flush their future down the toilet is senseless and quite baffling. I hope he's able to wake up and turn his life around someday. Sad.

Dumb Slogan

Today I was driving back from lunch and noticed a large tow truck, specifically designed to tow tractor-trailers. I didn't catch the name of the towing company but I did get a glimpse of the company's slogan - "Towing Alabama's Finest". WTF is that supposed to mean anyway? If the vehicles they tow are Alabama's finest, then why the hell are they having to be towed? I just shook my head at the thought of not only the schmo who came up with the tag line, but the company executive who gave it the thumbs up.

Farewell To A Legend

George Carlin was one of those comedians, like Richard Pryor and Redd Foxx, whose albums I had to be sneaky about listening to when I was a kid. You never knew when he would break into a wonderfully nasty story or routine. My dad loved him, too, and as a birthday gift about 6 years ago, I took my him to see George Carlin when he last performed here. We had excellent seats and I was filled with nervous excitement as he walked onstage. Even though he was already in his 60's at the time, he was still as sharp and angry as ever. At one point, I remember tears running down my face as I bowled over with laughter. I seriously thought my organs were going to explode.

He was a legend, a genius and quite simply one of the funniest mofos to ever walk onto a stage. If you've never heard any of his albums, I implore you to listen to FM, A Place For My Stuff, You Are All Diseased, or any of his other works of brilliance. There will never be another one like him. May he rest in peace.

Where Are The Parents?

Two WTF stories in one day:

Reports: Teen Girls Made Pact To Get Pregnant

GLOUCESTER, Mass. (AP) — A pact made by a group of teens to get pregnant and raise their babies together is at least partly behind a sudden spike in pregnancies at Gloucester High School, school officials said.

Principal Joseph Sullivan told Time magazine in a story published Wednesday that the girls confessed to making the pact after the school began investigating a rise in pregnancies that has left 17 girls at the school carrying a child. Normally, there are about four pregnancies a year at the school.

Sullivan told Time that nearly half of the expecting students, none over 16, were involved. Sullivan said students were coming to the school clinic multiple times to get pregnancy tests, and "seemed more upset when they weren't pregnant than when they were."

Some of the girls reacted to the news they were pregnant with high fives and plans for baby showers, Sullivan said. One of the fathers "is a 24-year-old homeless guy," Sullivan told the magazine.

Superintendent Christopher Farmer confirmed the deal to WBZ-TV, saying the girls had "an agreement to get pregnant."...


Former Teacher Surrenders On Sexual-Abuse Charges

BIRMINGHAM, Ala -- A former Clay-Chalkville Middle School teacher charged with second-degree sodomy and second-degree sexual abuse has surrendered to authorities and been released on bond.

Julie Pritchett, 34, turned herself in about 9 p.m. on Thursday, said Sgt. Randy Christian, spokesman for the Jefferson County Sheriff's Department. She has been charged with two counts of second-degree sodomy and one count of second-degree sexual abuse in cases of two boys younger than 16.

Pritchett allegedly had sexual relationships with eight male Clay-Chalkville High School students between the ages of 15 and 19 between February and April.

She was released on $66,000 bond, Christian said.

The teacher started a sexual relationship with a 15-year-old former student, and that relationship led to sex acts with his friends, Christian said. The sex acts were initiated by Pritchett, who used several methods of approaching the boys, Christian said. Some of the acts took place on the school's campus and others at the homes of the victims.

Ok, I Know This Is Gonna Sound A Little Mean Spirited

This is Henry Waxman, a Democratic Congressman from California who's had a distinguished 30 year career on Capitol Hill, and happens to be married. He's also the reason why I look in the mirror at times and wonder how in the hell it is that I'M not married.

Russ

What more can I say about Tim Russert that hasn't already been said all over TV the past few days? I've been a huge fan of this man for years, and his passing was extremely shocking and saddening. He knew his shit better than anyone else who ever covered politics. I would always have The Today Show on in the background while I was getting ready for work and would drop whatever it was that I was doing to listen to what he had to say on whatever the subject might have been. On top of his knowledge and dedication, he was a decent guy who was truly genuine. He will be sorely missed and never replaced. R.I.P.

Memo To Kid Rock

Recently while I was working out, I was mortified to hear a "song" on the radio that melded two classic songs with the often used D-C-G chords - "Werewolves Of London" by Warren Zevon and "Sweet Home Alabama" by you know who - into a whole new version with stupid lyrics and a different melody. I literally stopped pedaling the stationary bike and sat there with my mouth agape, not believing what was coming out of the speakers. I later found out that it was the latest single by Kid Rock, "All Summer Long". And now I'm hearing this piece of crap everywhere I go. Hey "Kid" - I implore you to get some creativity and write your own damn songs. There are more than enough no-talent ass clowns out there (my own unoriginal citing from Office Space).

Noooooooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!

According to a Tuscaloosa News article, there will be a new company in charge of concessions at Alabama football games starting this season. This company handles many professional sporting events and wants to upgrade the quality of the menu. Fine, whatever. But there's a possibility that they'll do away with a Tide tradition that is every bit as important as Bear Bryant, National Championships, and excessive drinking - the Bryant-Denny Stadium Dog. Say it isn't so! For those of you uninitiated readers who haven't had the experience, there is NOTHING on this earth more tasty and fulfilling as one (or several) of these jumbo hot dogs after a day of pre-game cocktails. I've been known to scarf down as many as four during a game, for a formidable average of one per quarter.

If you're like me and care deeply about this issue, send an e-mail to Crimson Tide Sports Marketing General Manager Jim Carabin at malford@learfield.com. Here's what I sent to him this morning:

Mr. Carabin-

As a longtime fan and supporter of Crimson Tide athletics, I was excited to read about the new company (Centerplate) handling football game concessions but disappointed to read that stadium dogs may no longer be available at football games (http://www.tuscaloosanews.com/article/20080611/NEWS/104954120/1010/NEWS03). To myself and many, many others, Bryant-Denny stadium dogs go hand in hand with Alabama football, and I would hate to see them go by way of the dinosaur. PLEASE reconsider this decision and keep the dogs in the stands.

Thanks for your time and attention,

TTCoe

Hot Chicks With Douchebags

Recently, my buddy Rick turned me onto a site called Hot Chicks With Douchebags, and the site is indeed a perfect mirror of our society as it relates to the lives of young singles. Men- how many times have you seen a hot chick(s) with a complete tool and thought to yourself, "What/how is this dork with this girl?" We all know the answer of course - $$$. Now ladies, before you go ballistic at that last statement, let me just say that going after the green is as much of a product of immaturity as the douchebag dude himself. We all go through such phases at different times during our lives and some - men and women alike, unfortunately - never grow out of it. So feel free to peruse the thoroughly entertaining aforementioned web site and bask in the irreverent glory of youth.

Snake

Yesterday, the collective media of Alabama exploded with orgasmic pleasure over Kenny Stabler's latest DUI (his third). Like sharks in the ocean, the local and state media go into a feeding frenzy anytime one of their own celebrities has a brush with Johnny Law. Everyone has their own opinion about what should happen to Stabler and I'm no exception.

First of all, I must admit that I've always loved Snake, and not just his on-field exploits. Like many others, I've always snickered at the many stories that are out there about this fun-loving ex-QB. In fact, I had my own run-in with him about ten years ago at The Blue Monkey Bar here in the 'ham. He had just taken over the color analyst job for Bama football games and I ran into him leaning against the wall, drinking by himself. I approached him, shook his hand and complemented him on the job he was doing on the radio broadcasts. He was very nice and appreciative. Later, as I was leaving, I watched him half stumbling/half being carried up the alley by a couple of his associates and slung into the backseat of an awaiting car. Part of me giggled to myself but another part of me thought about how sad it was to witness.

Stabler needs to be let go from his position with The Alabama Sports Network, or at least be allowed to resign to save face. It's just not funny anymore. He's been caught drinking and driving three times since 1995 but there's no telling how many times he drove drunk and wasn't caught or arrested. He's damn lucky that he hasn't killed anyone. That being said, I'd be lying if I claimed to have never operated a motor vehicle while under the influence - I have and I'm not proud of it. But I also haven't made a name for myself by being the affable town drunk like Stabler has. He obviously has a problem and I hope he does something about it this time and gets some help like one of my other Bama QB heroes, Joe Namath.

My Mother, The Genius

Recently, I was out of town with my mom and stepdad and we had to find our way to a restaurant in our rental car. I was driving and my mom was navigating from the passenger seat, her Google Maps directions in hand. Here was the exchange as we drove down the interstate through downtown Omaha:

"We're taking Exit 262. Look for 262," she said.
"Okay," I replied.
"There's Exit 256 - we're looking for Exit 262."
"I know."

A few minutes later, she chimed in again. "Here's Exit 258. We're getting off at Exit 262," she said once again.
"I know, you already told me that several times. We'll be there in four miles."
"How do you know that?"

I looked at my mother with what was surely a puzzling expression. "Because 262 minus 258 equals 4. The Exit numbers correspond with mile markers. You do know that, don't you?"
"They do?," she asked.
"Mom, you're 60 years old. Have you really gone your entire life not knowing this?"
She chuckled with that familiar, knowing laughter that says "you three boys have turned my brain into mush - it's your fault." I guess she has a point. But I still shake my head when I think about all those years of car trips when we were little - before GPS and computer map applications, when all we had was a trusty old road atlas. It's a small wonder that we ever made it to any those destinations.

Career = Over

The news out of Switzerland is not good if you're a Shania Twain fan. She and her producer/husband, Mutt Lange, are splitsville after 14 years. If the name Mutt Lange doesn't ring a bell, then his treasure trove of hits certainly should. Mutt has left his stamp on such classic albums as AC/DC's Highway To Hell and Back In Black, The Cars' Heartbeat City, Def Leppard's Pyromania and Hysteria, and Bryan Adams' Waking Up The Neighbors.

But it was his partnership with Shania that took them both into the stratosphere, as he ended up producing/co-writing all of her hit albums. I hope she's happy raising her kids because, other than the occasional nostalgia tour, her career is over. No matter what she or anyone else might say about her songwriting contributions, make no mistake that, at least musically speaking, Mutt is/was 99.9% responsible for her rise to the top. As for her controversial (at least in the country music community) sexy side, she ain't getting any younger. I hope you enjoyed the ride, Shania, because your time is up.

Men Are From Mars, Women Return Things

I had a brain lapse a couple of weeks ago and purchased a steering wheel cover in order to fight the summer heat. I must've momentarily thought I was Mexican - this thing was as cheesy as you could imagine. A couple of days later, I came to my senses and returned the item. That was an extremely rare occurrence. When I shop for clothes or anything else, I have a simple rule of thumb. I buy things that I want and don't buy things that I don't want. Unless it's something that doesn't fit, I almost never return anything.

Which brings me to yet another thing about women that I just don't understand. Women tend to return items rather frequently because they decide that they simply don't like the item that was purchased just days or even hours before. Why is this? How is it that you like something one day and not like it the next? Guys see something they like and buy it. End of story. Women, on the other hand, return items with the frequency of a small hand radio (thanks Dan Aykroyd). Oh how fickle you gals are. And oh how we cannot live without you, dammit.

Ode To An Ice Cream Man

Irvine Robbins, co-founder of Baskin-Robbins, died yesterday at the age of 90. Robbins brought joy and calories to millions of families over the years, including mine. When I was growing up, my dad would bring us a quart or half gallon of Jamoca 2-3 times a week. We'd always run to the door whenever he arrived home from work to see if he brought the goods. Being the oldest of three boys, it's safe to say that we were quite a burden on our poor parents.

One extreme example of this endless strife was the ritualistic doling out of the bowls of Baskin-Robbins ice cream. After dinner, my dad would line up three bowls and fill them with several scoops of goodness. That's when the fun started. We would bicker and fight about who's bowl had the most until my poor father finally lost it. My brother Michael developed a sure-fire method of getting the bowl he wanted - the little shit would grab the one he wanted and lick the top layer, rendering it his own. Eventually, this practice got so out of hand that my dad finally had to use my mom's food scale to weigh each bowl. If one of them was off by even a quarter ounce, we would bitch and moan until he finally evened them out. Like a butcher weighing ground beef, he had to stand there and carefully add or subtract until each bowl contained the exact same amount. This is why I feel so sorry for my parents to this day. Aren't you all glad you didn't raise us?

Yawza!

This past weekend I attended the Berkshire-Hathaway annual shareholders meeting in Omaha. As most of you know, I've been to this "Woodstock For Capitalists" for several years running. This year might have been the craziest, possibly due to the monster buzz I caught Saturday night from about 8 double vodka drinks. However, the highlight of the weekend was having the distinct pleasure of meeting one Becky Quick from CNBC's "Squawk Box" program. All I have to say is Ooh La La. Not only is she extremely classy and friendly, but she also happens to be hotter than Hades. And if you happened to catch her one hour special Monday night, The Billionaire Next Door, you would have caught a glimpse of yours truly (provided you didn't blink). It's an excellent mini-doc on the festivities at this still-growing annual event. Looking forward to seeing more of Becky next year...

Whatever Happened To.... Juice Newton?

Juice was a country cross-over queen in the 80's with a seductive camera eye. This Rapunzel-esque diva scored such hits as "Angel of The Morning", "Queen of Hearts" and the Camp Mac classic "Love's Been A Little Bit Hard On Me". Then, like a ship on the horizon, she drifted off to Neverland.

These days, according to her Myspace page, she's tearing up the road at such venues as Rods And Rails in Perris, CA, and events like The Corn Festival in Brentwood California. She's certainly the greatest performer named after a breakfast beverage - even better than Milk Johnson and Coffee Kupchak.

'Dega

On the way to the ATL yesterday, I couldn't help but notice the thousands of RV's already parked in the field in front of Talladega Superspeedway for this weekend's big NASCAR event. Yesterday was Tuesday. The races are Saturday and Sunday. What the f**k are these people going to do for four days? I know - stupid question. They're gonna drink beer, grill out and get laid. But at least when RVer's converge in a college town for a football game, they can kill time by walking around campus and perusing the various shops & restaurants. But at 'Dega? You're in a f**king pasture.

That being said, everyone needs to experience a race in Talladega at least once. I still maintain that for people-watching (if you're into that sort of thing), Talladega is the Mecca - even moreso than Mullet Toss Weekend at The Flora-Bama. I don't know where the hell these people come from of what rock they live under, but it makes you glad to be among civilized humans for the other 364 days of the year.

Still The Man

My previous reference to Daniel Day-Lewis notwithstanding (thanks Fred), Nick Lowe is without a doubt still The Man. I had the privilege of seeing him perform for the first time last night in the ATL, and it was one of the most satisfying shows I've ever witnessed. In fact, several times I found myself grinning from ear to ear with enjoyment. Simply put, when it comes to clever pop songs, there's no one else who compares.

Exhibit A:

All Men Are Liars

All men are liars
Their words ain't worth no more than worn out tires.
Hey girls, bring rusty pliers to pull this tooth.
All men are liars
And that's the truth.

Do you remember Rick Astley?
He had a big fat hit that was ghastly.
He said Im never gonna give you up or let you down.
Well Im here to tell ya that Dicks a clown
Though he was just a boy when he made that vow.
Id bet it all that he knows by now.

Among gods creatures man must be
The most slimy and slippery now.
There stands the naked ape in a monkey suite,
Behind a little mustache he grew, the shifty brute.
All the ones not choking on the words they ate
Are sweating on getting their stories straight.

All men are liars
Their words ain't worth no more than worn out tires.
Hey girls, bring rusty pliers to pull this tooth.
All men are liars
And that's the truth.

I rest my case.

Son of Beetch

I finally got around to seeing There Will Be Blood over the weekend and I'm sure of two things: 1) Daniel Day-Lewis definitely deserved his Best Actor Oscar, and 2) his character, Daniel Plainview, is the biggest son of a bitch I have ever witnessed on a movie screen. And by "son of a bitch" character, I don't necessarily mean evil or villainous types (a la Darth Vader or Hannibal Lecter). I mean characters made of such narcissistic fortitude that they have not an ounce of compassion or commiseration whatsoever for other human beings. There have been some doozies through the years - Al Pacino as Michael Corleone in The Godfather Part 2 and Gene Hackman as Little Bill in Unforgiven come to mind.

Much has been made of Day-Lewis's despicable character and the now classic "I Drink Your Milkshake!" quote. I don't want to give away too much to those who haven't seen the film, but his behavior and treatment of others, including his own son, is utterly loathsome. Many have accused Day-Lewis of over-acting in this performance and others. I disagree. Sometimes this type of performance can actually transcend the actual film itself and become one of those rare "larger than life" roles. This is a prime example. Daniel Day-Lewis is The Man.

Number Please

Have you ever tried saying the actual dish name and not the number when ordering off a menu at a Mexican restaurant? Some of the server's reactions are priceless. At one particular joint that I frequent, I'll use this method purposefully just to get that blank, deer-in-headlights stare. The other day I said "chicken fajitas, please" and I might as well have said "cup of hot fat". They sure know their numbered dishes but if you veer off the chosen path, it's like driving a car into a tree. No other type of restaurant uses this system. Needless to say, I'm having a random thought day due to lack of sleep.

The Sinister Minister

I was a witness to something utterly bizarre last weekend. My longtime band, Three Hour Tour, played at our drummer's brother's wedding reception in the ATL on Saturday. Since the crowd was composed of mostly twenty-somethings, it got pretty wild on the dance floor. Surprisingly, the ringleader of the dance troupe was none other than the minister himself. He was a young fella, appearing to be in his mid to late 30's (that's right - I said young), and could bust a move with the best of them. Certainly not something you see every day.

At one point, the bride approached us between songs and said that the minister had a special request. Turns out he wanted to hear a little "Back In Black". Now, we know and are capable of playing exactly two AC/DC songs. One of them is "Dirty Deeds". The other? "Highway To Hell" of course. The four of us looked at each other, knowing what was going through all of our minds. Without saying a word, we launched into "Highway To Hell". Lo and behold, the minister dug it. He proceeded to rock out in his white collar to the beat of that devil song, surrounded by every wedding guest holding their cameras in the air trying to obtain evidence of this man of the cloth gyrating to the AC/DC classic. All you could see from the stage were camera flashes. It was quite a surreal moment. After the song was over, we even had the balls to call him the "Sinister Minister" over the microphone.

Eventually things died down and we took a break. My band mate, Jondie (last name unknown), and me saw the minister near the exit. He complimented us on our playing and we complimented him on his dance moves. During our conversation, Jondie correctly surmised that no matter what kind of music one prefers or what walk of life one chooses or what age they might be, everyone has a favorite AC/DC song. He heartily agreed. I noticed he was on his way out the door.

"Aw man, are you leaving already? We've got a whole other set of classics coming up," I said.

"I've got church tomorrow," he answered. Why of course.

Jondie and I hung our heads in shame, said goodbye and walked away.

Why Now?

In recent days there have been numerous stories of worldwide protests regarding the 2008 Summer Olympics being hosted by China, whose record regarding human rights is hardly stellar. China has traditionally drawn protests for these and other issues. These reasons have included child labor laws, apartheid towards Tibetans, treatment of religious and ethnic minorities, organ harvesting, torture of prisoners and forced abortions due to their "One-Child" policy. I remember being surprised 8 years ago that Beijing was even in the running for an Olympic site. I was even more amazed that there was no uproar, and still none when they were indeed awarded the winning bid in 2001.

So why are all the protesters coming out of the closet now? Where were they 7 years ago? Why wait until the torch-carrying process mere months before the event to aim vitriolic rants against the Chinese government? And now Hillary Clinton is demanding that President Bush call for a boycott of the games this summer. Nice try, Hillary. If this issue is so important, you should have lobbied for a boycott 7 years ago. Now it sounds like nothing more than political poppycock in the midst of a tense campaign.

The 'WTF' Story Of The Day

AP- Parents Sushma, left, and Vinod Singh pose with their daughter Lali at their residence in Saini Sunpura, 50 kilometers (31 miles) east of New Delhi, India, Tuesday, April 8, 2008. The baby with two faces, two noses, two pairs of lips and two pairs of eyes was born on March 11 in a northern Indian village, where she is doing well and is being worshipped as the reincarnation of a Hindu goddess, her father said Tuesday.

Think Yu Fer Cawling

I hate to sound like one of those "Did you ever notice...?" comedians, but did you ever notice that just about every company with telephone customer service seems to employ only foreigners who can barely speak English? How much sense does this make? It's like hiring a blind person to be a delivery driver or me to be a fashion consultant. It's frustrating enough to suffer through the maze of automated options before you actually get an opportunity to speak to a human - and when you finally do reach the finish line, you're greeted by a voice that is impossible to understand. I just don't get it.

Madras Shorts. Why?

Sorry I've been AWOL lately. I've had a shitty week and decided to spare all my peeps out there my incessant bitching and moaning. But I will discuss something that has been on my mind since they became popular again a couple of years ago - madras shorts. How can any male put these things on, look in the mirror, and NOT think to themselves, "These are the gayest things in the world."

I've never claimed to be a fashion expert; in fact, I've confessed many times on this blog that I am indeed a complete fashion moron. However, like bow ties, suspenders and visors, this just seems like an obvious faux pas. Am I missing something?