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.