Fish, not fishy

I look forward to a new one of these almost as much as a new Sports Illustrated (except for the one with all those pictures).    Roger, wilco…

If we’re so smart in this country, how come we don’t have THESE?

The last time I was in Canada, my friend took me to a convenience store and ordered me to buy ‘Smarties‘.  Wow.

I quickly discovered that Smarties just kill M&M’s (and I like M&Ms). Sadly, Smarties aren’t sold in the good old USA. I’m thinking if people KNEW how good they are, that a Presidential candidate would do well for herself (or himself) with a pledge to bring ‘Smarties’ to the supermarkets, drugstores and Quikie Marts of our country.

I WANT this t-shirt!

I bet Ivy does too!

You know it’s going to be a bad/good movie when..

It’s going to be bad if:  Cuba Gooding is in the movie, if Robin Williams is the star of the movie, if Ben Affleck and/or Jennifer #1 (J-Lo) is in the movie, Ice Cube (how the mighty have fallen) is in the movie, if, sad to say, Jessica Biel is in the movie (come on Jessica, I know you got a good movie in ya) or if the eight funny lines in the movie were all in the trailer.

It’s going to be at least interesting if: Don Cheadle is in the movie, if Christian Bale is in the movie, if Laura Linney is in the movie or if Cate Blanchett is somewhere in there.

We saw ‘Talk to Me‘ tonight.  Cheadle deserves Oscar talk for this one.  His speech (on the radio, he plays a real-life disk jockey from the 60s/70s) the night Martin Luther King was shot moved the movie from good to great.  The music was great as well.

You know it’s gonna blow if it’s ‘_______  III’, cept’ maybe for Rocky III.

From ‘Wild Thing’ to ‘George Herman Ankiel’ – kudos

If you’re much of a baseball fan you’ve heard of Rick Ankiel. A few years ago, Ankiel was a flame-throwing pitcher for the St. Louis Cardinals, touted to be in the Cardinals rotation for years to come, But then, he lost his mojo. He missed home plate as often as charter members of the Anorexia Club. He suddenly could no more throw a pitch to his catcher than Sam Brownback could seriously pitch his agenda to the Gay Alliance. Seriously, it was awful. Unless you are a die-hard Cub’s fan, you had to feel sorry for the guy. A young man destined for stardom suddenly saddled with ‘Steve Blass disease’

He kept trying to make a comeback, but the moment he hit the mound his ability to pitch deserted him faster than comedy club dates for Michael Richards. I saw him once in Memphis on approximately his third comeback. Even in the warm-ups he could barely get the ball to the catcher. In the actual game, he walked the first two batters, hit the third batter, threw a couple of wild pitches, walked the fourth, fifth and sixth batters before being mercifully relieved. I really thought I was present at the end of Ankiel’s career.

But, not so fast, Mr-know-it-all…Ankiel was always a really good hitter. Not just ‘a good hitter for a pitcher’, but a man who knew that the bat was something more to flail three times per plate appearance hoping that the club would accidentally make contact with the ball.

So, Ankiel gave up his dream to be a pitcher, and started working in the outfield at pretty much the lowest level of the minor leagues. He was able to make the throws from the outfield without a batter unwittingly taunting him. He continued to hit. For two long years, he worked his way through the minor league system back to the major league squad.

Last night in his debut for the parent club – the Cardinals, Ankiel started in right field and in a twist way too corny for the movies, hit a home run. Not a dry eye in the house from what I read.

Here’s to the folks who don’t give up. Here’s to their hero – Rick Ankiel. May his career continue to be storybook.

Maybe THEN I’d read the Davidson A.M. section…

I have god-awful handwriting.  My notes should be put on powerpoint slides and presented as mandatory lesson plans for third grade teachers to show their charges what NOT to do when it comes to putting pencil or pen to paper.   I’m fascinated by folks whose handwriting has flair along with the functionality of actually being readable.  The pinnacle of my penmanship was in the 3rd grade when I learned the cursive language.  Rolling downhill from there, I am to the point where I often can’t even decipher my own handwriting.

All of this is to say, I was blown away when I read that there is a newspaper in India that is actually HAND-WRITTEN each day by a team of calligraphers.  It’s a Muslim paper, but they actually hire women, which is apparently kind of a lib thing to do in that section of India.

Check this out…somebody should frame each edition.  I bet the classifieds are a bi-atch to write!

ht: Melissa Maples – check out her post on the t-shirts she found at a Turkish bazaar!

Another lesson on not judging a book by its cover, or, He more than phones it in

I may be the last person in the kingdom to have seen this, but you probably won’t mind watching it again if you know the story of a remarkable, rather odd looking, young man in England who was a contestant on the English equivalent of ‘American Idol’. The English version is not necessarily looking for pop stars, as you will see here.

The before and after shots of the judges are worth noting. From a near-sneer to adulation, in just a couple of minutes. In my case, my eyes start getting dusty about 1:20 into this clip.

Ladies and Gentlemen – Paul Potts

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1k08yxu57NA%5D

Talent and worth aren’t always packaged in any way, shape or form we can predict.

Venus rising, or why I’m an idiot: part 137

Venus ascending, Venus oh  Venus. I’m a fan. Venus rocked the tennis world again today by winning Wimbledon for the 4th time. She came in seeded 23 but blazed a path through the higher seeds.    Her serve serrated Sharapova.  The Venus game is made for grass.

I knew full well that the women’s final was this morning at 8:00 local time.  I got up much earlier than that, confirmed the start time by checking the sports listings in the paper and then preceded to slowly amble through a few chores (largely consisting of putting up clean clothes that had been sitting sitting sitting over the past few days) and then piddled around, and piddled around some more and then reading some blogs and thinking about posting again after a week away from the blog and then I looked up at the clock and it was freaking 10:00 and I ran down to the TV only to find that Venus had already won.  I’m a moron.  At 7:45 I was making a note to watch the 8:00 finals.  By 8:00 I had already forgotten.

I’m glad Venus won.  She’s a hero, at least the sporting side of her life.   Any kid that can grow up in Compton and play on those tennis courts and can become what she has become remains amazing in my book.   If she hadn’t lost her focus a couple of years ago, I’m pretty sure that today’s win would have been or 6th Wimbledon title instead of her 4th.  Here’s hoping to better focus for all of us, and a hearty cheer for Venus – still ascending.

The King James version, or why sports still matter..

The last couple of days have pretty much reeked.  NIT reeling, Brittney being unfairly lambasted and ultimately resigning, troubles at work that depress me greatly, my friend Ginger in a car wreck, Bush still President..I could go on, but I’d depress myself further.

Normally, I really don’t care about the NBA playoffs.  By this time of the year, basketball should be done with…baseball is in middle-game and walking outside in the evening is a wonderful sport of its own.  But, this season is different.  If you care at all about basketball, you know and appreciate Lebron James, like him and his team, or not.

The NBA finals start tonight.  King James and his Cavaliers face the defending champs, the San Antonio Spurs.  The possible new boss meets the old experienced boss.  I love the threshold seasons in any sport..when a long-standing champ may be on his or her last legs, but hangs on for one more encore in the sun.  Magic Johnson and Kareem against Isaiah Thomas, Joe Frazier against Ali, Nicklaus winning the Masters at age 46…Borg and McEnroe. Those kind of clashes bring out the best..courage, tenacity, leadership and understanding that winning is more than a marker on a scoreboard.

I’m fully aware that not everyone is into sports (d’oh, I live with someone who couldn’t name one Tennessee Titan with a gun to her head), but those of us who do, people like Lebron, the Titans, Vandy (or UT), the Preds, a big series, the French Open finals all bring a lot of us together..the noise of politics and blogflames dissipate and eventually fade.  That bad day at the office suddenly doesn’t seem so important.  Living vicariously isn’t always so bad…bring it ON.

Photo credit 

Why God invented blogs: Part 3*

Despite near encounters with wayward women, beers pounded, nude beaches and Rotarians, this post is oddly appropriate for Easter.   Ceeelcee has the way with words.

*Part 1:  Anything this guy writes.

Part 2: Anything this woman writes.

The rest of y’all are real swell.

Grinding it out with Tarantino and Rodriguez, or if you’re only going to see one zombie movie where Rose McGowan has a machine gun for a leg, THIS IS IT..

You’ve probably heard by now, but in case you haven’t, ‘Grindhouse‘ is actually a double feature. The first film, ‘Planet Terror’ is probably one of the funniest and bloodiest zombie B movies since ‘Evil Dead’. I wish I had invested in fake blood packet stock before the making of Grindhouse – it would have been like hitting the LOTTO number.

In Rodriguez-world all the women wear tight shorts, everyone has guns that never run out of ammo, and the dead just keep on coming. The joint is loaded with bad puns, both visual and verbal, including a clever not-what-you-think ‘got you by the balls’ quip.

Everything is either on fire or being blown up. Limbs go from akimbo to limbo. The cast is first rate, led by a fiery-hot Rose McGowan who has good leg. Josh Brolin, as a conniving abusive doctor could be a young Kris Kristofferson (I really thought it was Kristofferson with amazing fountain-of-youth makeup at first). I’m not the only person who caught this resemblance – Mark of Dork Nation has an excellent write-up of the film including the Kristofferson reference.

Both Tarantino and Rodriguez go to a lot of trouble to make the movie ‘Big Show’ vintage, worn scratched-up print, missing reels and all – the timing of the missing reels is exquisite (if not a bit frustrating..).

They even throw in fake coming attraction trailers – my favorite is ‘Werewolf Women of the SS’ (directed by Rob Zombie), with ‘Thanksgiving’ a sickening second.

Tarantino’s contribution (Death Proof) starts slow with way too much jabber. If you’ve ever seen Tarantino on the Tonight Show, you know he is a hyper-active talking maniac. I could ‘hear’ Tarantino a little too much in every stinking conversation for the first two reels (kind of like when Woody Allen writes a ‘woody allen role’ for another actor…you can pretty much hear Allen’s voice). Once the fun begins aka THE car chase (featuring a wonderfully scarred Kurt Russell), the film becomes grounded in solid ‘B grindhouse’ territory. And holy Fireball Roberts, it’s one heckuva car chase.

This film could do for Kurt Russell what Pulp Fiction did for Travolta..Russell brings the ‘john carpenter’ joy into this role.

All in all, definitely worth seeing if you love the zombie world, don’t mind about 15 gallons of fake blood and 10,000 rounds of bullets, not to mention mayhem. Rose McGowan, playing a role Heather Mills might wish for, is the charmer of the movie…one scene, an homage to Crouching Dragon, Hidden Tiger, features McGowan almost flying in slow motion, into a nest of zombies, machine-gun leg blasting those damned evil dead into pulp fractions. It’s the kind of scene that makes a movie-geek way too happy.

One word of warning: This ain’t a movie for your young kids or your mom for that matter. I always find it amazing that people bring their little kids to movies like this – it happened again today. The good karma news is that the mother is going to be wakened every night for a week dealing with the kid’s nightmares..serves her negligent-ass right.

Fred Thompson post of the day..

The Fred ‘gasm’ furor may be slowing down a bit, while we all wait for our plain-speaking-commonsensical Hamlet to make up his mind, but the reaction to Fred and the Dobson proclamation continue to make for fun reading.

This post, by Harding University professor Mark Elrod isn’t exactly brand new (10 days old is six months in blog years), but I wanted to publicize Professor Elrod’s ‘Thompson challenge’ here in Music City, the buckle on the Bible belt.

After Thompson’s ‘church of Christ-ness’ was averred by a Thompson spokesperson, the good professor blogly gauntlet-ed:

The “I Saw Fred Thompson at a Church of Christ” Challenge

The winner will be immortalized in Elrod’s wonderful blog (Mark Elrod’s Lame-O Weblog).

Acceptable sightings include:

* Fred Thompson teaching a Bible class
* Fred Thompson presiding at the Lord’s Table
* Fred Thompson leading singing (if it was 728b and you can prove it, I’ll give you $100)
* Fred Thompson driving the JOY bus
* Mr. & Mrs. Fred Thompson (above) serving as greeters
* Mr. & Mrs. Fred Thompson preparing a nice chicken casserole for a Sunday pot-luck

The idea of Thompson driving the Joy Bus was enough to make me snort coffee. Just as funny are some of the comments made to the post, including one classic ‘Can the Law and Order boink boink theme sound be sung a capella’? Another commenter appears to be donut-knowledgeable Tiffany of Tiff Sniff offering a Donut Den sighting as a possibility.

good times…

No turmoil in Bellevue, and no magic in Memorial..

It was a light and windy Saturday on the plains of Bellevue. I was getting a fix for my girl’s soccer jones by mixing pleasure with pleasure: picking up my girl scout cookies from BusyMom AND watching BusyGirl’s U-14 rec league team attempt to play in what amounted to a crossfire windstorm.

I would estimate that I’ve watched several hundred girl’s soccer games and though there were times when I wished that maybe I could dial it down a bit, I have missed seeing soccer since my daughter quit playing in college. SO…when I found out I could pick up my girl scout cookies AND see a youth soccer game, I hopped to it. The Busy team played well, and actually outplayed the other team, but sadly, many shots went awry and the pesky off-sides rule stymied a few other chances. The game ended in a tie which, in this case, did not feel at all like kissing my sister. I didn’t have any Suburban Turmoil sightings, but I had enough fun with B-MO. And the BusyDaughter played very well despite the fact that she likes to play forward and was asked to play defense and the fact that the wind was whipping at an estimated 25 MPH…I’d say she did a busy fine job.

Sadly, the fun pretty much ended when I got to Memorial Gym to see Vandy’s regular season-ending game against Arkansas. The Razorbacks were ready to play. Vandy was not. I’ve seen fluffier pancakes at the Pantry, if you catch my drift.

The highlight of the Vandy game was the Cleveland Cavalier scout who sat next to me eyeballing Derrick Byers. The scout had watched a lot of game film on Derrick, and I assisted greatly by explaining in some detail that this was certainly not D’s best game (even though he scored 19 points). I feel certain that if Derrick is drafted by the Cavs to play with Lebron J, that I will deserve no little credit. The true highlight was my son’s friend who called during the game after he found out we were sitting with the scout. He called to inquire if Cleveland needed any 5’4″ white point guards…good times…sad ending for a great Vandy regular season.

Eudora Welty with a vibrator, or, this is why blogs were invented..

I realize that Aunt B has already pimped the Recovering Baptist for writing THIS piece, but now that I’ve read it daily for the past few days, I’m convinced this is a lost short story from Eudora Welty, the one she wrote that she wouldn’t show anyone because she wanted to remain ‘a lady’.

I also realize the post ain’t fiction, but it reads like a good single malt with just a touch of branch water…

Go ‘West’, and c’mon Cafe Marche’, tone it down..

We visited Marche’ again yesterday. I was there the day before. I’m pretending to be a restaurant reviewer, insuring that the requisite number of visits have occurred before I tell the world about the joint.

Here’s my only complaint: Marche’ is too good. They need to tone down their zesty goodness or the lines will be impossible, or should I say the crowds huddled around the edges of the restaurant, lingering with lusty looks at tables who appear to be occupied by diners on the verge of leaving, will be too difficult to negotiate..

The prices are reasonable and despite the fact that the coffee bowls don’t have handles if you order lattes, I find the place to be nearly perfect. Personally, I order regular coffee, roasted and brewed by the former bean-meister at Bongo-Javas. It’s the kind of coffee  that lets you know you are drinking COFFEE as opposed to sugar with flavoring (and you get handles on your cups).

Marche’ gives good crepe, good omelet and I hear good quiche (I’m a guy..don’t do quiche) all with fresh ingredients cleverly mixed. Even the Irish Oatmeal is worth the drive across the river for me. They have lots more, topped in my estimation by an appetizer which contains pears, Camembert, honey all on currant bread. Like the masterpiece signature sushi at Samurai Sushi, the chef puts together things that don’t sound right, but good granny’s galoshes, they work together as well as Marvin Gaye and Tami Terrell.

Which musically brings me to the other part of this post. Lucinda Williams new release, West, follows Patty Griffin’s latest by one week. Personally, I think this is Lucinda’s best since the epochal ‘Car Wheels on a Gravel Road’. Her ‘luscious cracked drawl‘ sprawls and lopes and rocks and eases throughout the CD. The loss of her mother and a boyfriend are painful touchstones resonating each track. Nobody does pain like Lucinda (at least nobody living…I defy anybody who can tell me anybody ‘did pain’ better than Hank Williams or Otis Redding).

Take the trek over to Marche’ (it’s on the edge of 5 points, on Main Street across from Hunter’s Automotive) and listen to Lucinda on the way..the songs are indelibly blue, and the wait in line anticipating the food along with the coffee will perk you right back up.

Memorial Magic One more time??, or, what’s for lunch…GATOR

The number one in the whole freakin’ country Florida Gators are heading to Memorial Gym today. The game is appropriately set for high noon*. According to the ‘for amusement only’ betting lines published in today’s Tennessean, the Gators are giving 6 and 1/2 points to the Commodores. Considering that home floor advantage is worth 3 points, the Gators are actually considered to be 10 points better than Vandy.

On paper, I would agree, and as a realistic Vandy fan (hey, Vandy football has been one long life lesson), I realize that I could easily walk out of Memorial Gym this afternoon with a sad countenance and a non-repressed memory of Vandy getting Gator-whomped.

On the other hand, I’ve been present when two separate numero uno teams roared into Memorial like the lions of March, and left as meek as lambs. The ruffian Bobby Knight swaggered in, awash in red, with an Indiana team considered to be one of his best. Vandy took em’ down with a Hoosier-daddy, NOW?

The classy Dean Smith brought the Tarheels to town with a number one ranking, and they were left on their heels.

Both times, Vanderbilt was clearly an inferior team. Maybe because they still play in an honest-to-god gymnasium instead of a soul-less arena. Maybe it’s the benches on the end of the court that drives many visiting coaches into bonker-ville. I’m not sure, but you can’t really factor magic into making book.

Ask any Vandy fan who watched more than one game when Barry Goheen redefined the meaning of clutch…there’s magic in that gym.

I’m hoping that the magic can stretch into a win today. Realism and magic don’t often intertwine, but a guy can dream, right?

*I do have a quibble with the schedulers bowing to the demands of CBS by starting the game at noon. The noon start is interfering with my Mothership Saturday traditional lunch…booooooo

I’ve said it once, and I’ll say it again..

See THIS play (Ordinary Heroes at Fisk Chapel every weekend night in February). Civil Rights Movement in Nashville in the 50s and 60s..It DID happen here. Apartheid: More than just a South African custom…

Buy or download THIS CD (Patty Griffin – Children Running Through). Soulful, harmonized, sometimes silky smooth, other times serrated. Ask the Scene…they’ll tell ya.

her alto sweeps from husky, whispered intimacy to a sky-shattering power that evokes freedom and majesty.

It’ll be on top 10 lists at the end of the year. Seriously.

Choosing my confessions..yeah, I watch Idol..

Yeah, I watch and this woman is my favorite. She doesn’t look flash or made up. In fact she looks a little scruffed and sports a lip piercing. I hope that I’m not cursing Ms. Tami Gosnell by picturing her and wishing her well, but I’m really hoping that America gets a chance to vote for her.

She sang a killer ‘Whipping Post’ in the audition which, imho, smoked the Bice version.

As much as I love the rink and court, the sweetest words: pitchers and catchers report..

They reported today down in Florida and out in Arizona. Spring, longer days, dogwoods and the deceleration of the wintertime blues are all on their way…(and it’s about damn time!).

Bouncing around the East End, or, Slarti plays for the mayor (and a few wonderful commoners)

Today we took Slartibartfast’s invitation to church seriously. His group (X-Alt) was one of the main events today at the Sunday morning service at East End United Methodist Church. I’m sure someday Slarti is going to look up from his keyboards and see my smiling face and regret his open invitation policy. Anyway, Slarti’s band shook it up and out for several songs (I’ve never actually considered ‘The Old Rugged Cross’ as a polka, but hey, if it works, it works) including a rousing ‘Oh Happy Days’ that easily rivaled the Edwin Hawkins Singers’ version.

The mayor was in attendence (I think he is a regular) and he made a beeline to the band after the service was over, presumably to compliment the performance (hey, he’s got taste). I was slightly tempted to ask the mayor as he walked by me and spoke to me (with a leery eye, I might add, not that I blame him) – ‘uh, Mr. Mayor, would you PLEASE veto that stupid English bill’, but, (a) I’m really kind of a nervous around big-wigs, (b) I’m scared he might call his security guards, and (c) it really wasn’t the place.

I’m a lucky guy sometimes. I got to sit between two wonderful beautiful women during the service and despite all the pulchritude surrounding me, I ‘got into’ the service, the sermon, and especially the music. We all got to meet another really cool blogger – Linda Creekmore, of Fixin’ Supper fame.

The sanctuary worked better for the band than the Ashland City coffee shop where we last heard them. Slarti gets into his music…he’s got a delightfully geeky style (I say that with the highest of complimentary thoughts). I love watching him play because he has his passion and he is living that passion. There’s not much better than that (and I have to add, the guy CAN sing).

We rolled down to Cafe Marche’ after the service and had one of the greatest brunches of our Nashville life. Holy camembert , this place rocks the brunch party. The coffee alone is worth the trip. I strongly recommend Marche’ for brunch or any other meal it happens to serve (I’ve been there for lunch twice, supper once and now for brunch..it’s all good).

Thumbs up for East End United Methodist, for X-Alt (esp. Slarti) and Cafe Marche’. Thumbs WAY up to my two delightful pew mates: my wife and the wonderful Jag. Great company, and they nicely and patiently put up with me pretty much the entire time.