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?

Ain't Nothin' Like The Real Thing

I got an e-mail notification this morning about ticket pre-sales for the upcoming Queen with Paul Rodgers tour in support of their new albun together. Rodgers, formerly of Free, Bad Company and the (thankfully) short-lived stint with Jimmy Page in The Firm, hooked up with two of the surviving members of Queen a few years ago. As much respect as I have for Brian May and Roger Taylor, using the name Queen in any way is an insult to the legacy of Freddie Mercury. Without Mercury, Queen is barely qualified to be a Princess (yes, I came up with that on my own - I'm soooo creative).

But Queen isn't the only band who's carrying on this type of charade. Journey has been touring and recording for years with a singer other than Steve Perry. And Foreigner has done the same sans Lou Gramm. In no way am I diminishing the contributions of May and Taylor of Queen, Neil Schon, Jonathan Cain of Journey, and Mick Jones of Foreigner, but these bands just aren't the same without the voices that took them to the top during their respective reigns at the top of the charts. There must be people out there willing to pay their hard-earned dollars to see these bands or else they wouldn't be touring, but what they're seeing is nothing more than a glorified version of live band karaoke. Do people really care to see that?

Yet Another Recommendation

Like me, anyone who saw the movie Elf was probably surprised to hear the angelic singing voice of actress Zooey Deschanel. So it shouldn't surprise you that she has teamed with M. Ward (who's played with Bright Eyes and co-produced the excellent Rabbit Fur Coat album by Jenny Lewis) to form the band She & He. Their debut album, Volume One, was released last month to critical acclaim (which is very well deserved, I might add). The album, with an ethereal sound not unlike Cat Power or Feist, features 9 songs written by Deschanel along with several covers (including a beautifully "country-fied" version of the Lennon/McCartney classic "I Should Have Known Better"). If you're brain is still functioning after all of the above references, do check it out.

Random Thoughts - The March Madness Edition

March Madness is upon us once again and for the first time in years, I decided NOT to enter a bracket pool. Getting my ass kicked over and over was getting old. That being said, here are some thoughts:

- Also getting old are the countless yahoo sports talk radio hosts and their callers who actually think that the rest of us give a shit about who their bracket picks are. It gets worse every year.

- I propose a new rule for basketball: no matter how many they have left, each team should be only allowed two 30-second timeouts in the final minute of a game. I just watched the end of the Xavier-Purdue second round game, and between the endless number of timeouts and the dumbass refs who couldn't figure out substitutions or the clock, it was the longest last minute of a basketball I've ever sat through.

- You've just moved on to the Sweet 16, not the Final Four - calm down with the celebration.

- Will CBS please retire "One Shining Moment" from our culture? If there is a cheesier, more outdated song out there, I haven't heard it.

- Does Bobby Knight not own a coat and tie? He looks like an idiot in his stupid trademark sweater while his ESPN studio cohorts are wearing suits. And another thing, Bobby: expanding the tournament field from 64 to 128 is an absolutely moronic idea.

Whatever Happened To.... Robert John?

Robert John was a guy who sounded like a girl, especially on his one hit, "Sad Eyes". And oh by the way, he's not related to Elton (whose real name is Reginald Dwight). According to the caption below his pic, he had also scored a hit with a remake of "The Lion Sleeps Tonight". I can't imagine why anyone would want to re-make that song (unless of course you have a voice like his).

And speaking of guys who sing like chicks...

Whatever Happened To.... Nick Gilder?

Nick was a one hit wonder from the 70's who had hit with "Hot Child In The City". Like Robert John, I remember hearing this song as a kid and assuming it was a girl that was singing. I shocked to find out that Nicky was a man. And also like Robert John and others, he dropped off the face of the earth shortly afterwards. Great roller skating song by the way.