Statesman > XL Blogs > Archives > 2005 > April
April 2005
Boys, bravery and bacon at Palmetto State Park
I saved my friend Jinny from a murderous wild boar. Well, technically I saved my friend Jinny from the sound of my leg brushing against a dry palmetto frond (which, in all fairness sounds exactly like a murderous wild boar) while night hiking in Palmetto State Park last weekend. Sure to the untrained eye it looked like I was using her as a human shield, but anyone who’s ever been attacked by imaginary wild boars knows that they work in groups and like to create a diversion before attacking from behind. Tricky devils.
Until last week I had never been camping in Texas, but the lovely weather and burning desire for fire-roasted weenies prompted two friends and me to pack up all our earthly belongings and haul them 50 miles away to Palmetto State Park for a weekend of rest, relaxation and almost uninterrupted bacon.
It was a revelation.
I had never been camping in mixed company before. I must say, if you have the chance to go camping with a man, by all means do it. Men are fantastic, almost as useful as canteens, and unlike canteens will do all manner of unpleasant tasks in the name of woodland gallantry, like carry heavy potentially spider-laden things, and wake up early to make coffee so you and your gal pal can sleep off your respective s’mores-induced sugar comas.
That isn’t to say women cannot carry heavy spider-laden things. I do it all the time, and I’m not just talking about my grandmother’s cooking (Grandmama: just kidding. Everyone else: totally not kidding). Still, if one has the option to either hold or not hold a spider, I think the choice is, unless you’re a frog, perfectly clear.
Speaking of frogs, I will leave you with these two strange stories. You might have heard of the exploding German toads and their “pond of death,â€? but did you read about the 4,000 endangered Peruvian froggies that barely escaped a gruesome fate as a cocktail?
For the record, my beloved (nonextant) barmeister readers in Peru, I’m not sure that is what’s traditionally meant as a “hoppy” brew.
Permalink | | Categories: By Rhiannon Gammill
The s’mores indoors
There is no use trying to make a successful s’more at work. It’s messy, embarrassing and bound to make you sing campfire songs learned, and best left, in Girl Scout camp. Trust me when I say, no matter how well-respected you are in your particular place of employment, the second someone catches you smothered in a liberal coating of melted marshmallow singing “I’m a little stinky skunk, sleeping under someone’s bunk,â€? you can just about forget that promotion.
No, for a real and non-job-threatening s’mores experience you really only have two options: go camping or go to Halcyon. Of course, camping is the preferred method. There is nothing quite like roasting a marshmallow over an open fire until golden brown before smushing it down between two graham crackers and three otherwise vile squares of Hershey’s chocolate (despite looking as if I have never met a chocolate bar I didn’t like, I typically avoid Hershey’s, it tastes like spoiled milk to me). But for those unwilling to venture into the great wild woods, there is always Halcyon.
At 218 W Fourth St., the coffee shop occupying Ruta Maya’s former digs offers an interesting variation on the campfire classic. The barista presents a large wooden bowl, laden with s’mores paraphernalia, at your table and with a practiced hand lights the “tiny tableside campfireâ€? that then goes up in a great whoosh of impressive, eyebrow-singeing flames.
Ringing in at $8 minus tax and tip, the large order of s’mores is a little pricey, but well worth it for those who prefer their campout cuisine in a more civilized atmosphere.
Permalink | | Categories: By Rhiannon Gammill
Guy Clark vs. The Scorpion
Less than a week after I posted here that I’ve never had the chance to see Guy Clark perform, I learn there’s a Sunday show at the Cactus Cafe next month.
I have Sundays off, so Shannon and I are definitely there.
As always, there’s financial considerations. Tickets are $30, so that’s $60. Throw in dinner — no, we’re not going to Taco Cabana — and a beer or two and we’re spending an evening with Benjamin Franklin, easy.
It’s not in the budget, but hey, I can make it work.
Then this morning, I picked up my jeans off the floor (being married doesn’t immediately cure one of that) and put them on.
I felt something funny. I looked down and there was a scorpion on my pants.
Not in my pants, thankfully. If it had been, then, er, well, let’s just not think about that.
I slapped him off and he landed on the linoleum, waving his tiny pincers at me malevolently while I grabbed the biggest book on the bookshelf.
Me and Shakespeare smashed him into scorpion jelly. Out, damned spot!
Obviously, it’s well past time for pest control measures. But the exterminator will cost us at least as much as the Guy Clark show.
Hmm. Seeing Guy Clark vs. the future possibility of scorpions in my pants.
This will take some thinking.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
Wounded wheezer
At least it was over quickly.
Shannon called the house Friday morning and said something fast about a 5K and “Bun Run” and Sunday morning and that she was signing us up.
I said “sure.” And less than 48 hours later I was, uh, an actual runner. That is, if you have a fairly generous concept of both “actual” and “runner.”
Yes, when I left Aggieland and the Corps of Cadets some dozen years ago, I swore to myself that any future runs would be of the beer variety. And yes, that “snerk!” you just heard was the collective snort of the some hundred-odd people in this town who have actually seen me in person and are picturing my short legs propelling me at a pace any faster than my usual mosey.
I ran the whole 3.1 miles at a geriatric semi-shuffle. Sputtering and wheezing, if I actually started catching up with anyone they moved aside, probably because I sounded like I was wounded. I ain’t saying I’m slow, but if you gave me a 16-minute head start on Sunday’s Bun Run winner, on the home stretch he’d have looked like a Ferrari chasing down the Fred Flintstone mobile.
Being a first-timer, the race was awash in new experiences. What surprised me most? Not the children who teetered like tiny drunks amongst the runners. Not the huge crowd. Not the general state of confusion that only vanished when it became irrepressibly clear that it was time to run. No, it was the seemingly professional athletes who blazed by me at the two-mile mark. Folks who should have passed me in the first half-mile. Where have y’all been? Did you stop for a cup a coffee?
I hear these things are addictive. I always suspected that serious runners are race T-shirt junkies.
Not me. I’m gonna retire.
Right after the next one.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
Mary Kay’s wedding, Katie and Tom
The celeb news is a little creepy this morning, even for a shameless Us magazine addict like, ahem, me.
First, “Entertainment Tonight” has won the rights to air Mary Kay Letourneu’s wedding to her ex-student.
And they’re entertainers how?
Also of note is that Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes are dating.
I guess there’s nothing precisely wrong with this, but still: Doesn’t it give you that feeling that you should take Katie shopping and have a talk with her?
Permalink | Comments (1) | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
‘Office’ obsessive
Ricky Gervais’ new show is coming soon.
This is kind of like my “Star Wars.”
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
Howdy y’all
It’s been a couple days since blogging cohort Sarah Lindner guessed I’d do fairly well on the Yankee vs. Dixie dialect quiz.
I was out of the office the past few days, celebrating my second anniversary of wedded bliss. Part of our very special weekend together involved longneck beers at Poodie’s Hilltop, which oughta give you a fair shot at guessing my results on the quiz.
And I wasn’t worried about sounding too Yankee: I have actually said “Hey y’all watch this!” before doing something stupid.
Did you ever wonder what happened to the Y2K bug? All that worry and preparation and terror and … nothing happened right?
Nope, it’s worse than you think. Not only was it April 26, 1905 at the Golden Chick Tuesday, but the receipt also says that the South Congress Avenue store I went to was on Airport Boulevard.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
My jam band would be called Kitty-cat Gnomes
The Jammy Awards were last night, and somehow I failed to throw a Jammy Awards party or watch the special Jammy Awards red-carpet coverage (“What are you wearing?” “Hemp.”)
I’m sure there are circumstances where it’s OK to jam, but I can’t think of them off the top of my head. It ties into my belief that you should never, never dance like nobody’s watching. And did Mark Twain really say this? Please tell me no.
You probably also shouldn’t dress up your kitty like this. But if someone has gone to the trouble to do so, and no doubt had her arm torn to shreds in the process, then making up a pretend TV show with the pictures is a really good thing to do. I’ve been visiting Cat Town for a couple of years now, and I’m grateful to Ponch Garcia for discovering the origin of El Guapo and his cohorts.
On last night’s “Amazing Race” we learned that the man Amber married does not know what a gnome is. So I feel safe in saying that I felt great Schadenfreude when Rob’s hubris came back to bite him with Rob being none the wiser.
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
Brave new autocannibalism
I was going to write a sort of deleted-scenes take about my austin360.com review of the videogame “Lumines,” but then I realized that I had already written something linking to my review on two other blogs, and that to write about the exact same thing in a third, making it a total of four different online spaces for the same string of self-promotion in HTML has to break some sort of blogging etiquette barrier.
It at least is an act of modern autocannibalism, the blog-era equivalent of sending the same purple- prosed-upon love letter to a multitude of lasses from the same social circle back in Victorian times.
But probably a lot less classy.
Maybe it’s more like sharing your soda with three or four other people. Word suddenly gets around that you’re the guy who shares his soda with just anybody, and suddenly nobody wants to have a sip of your warm Pepsi.
Permalink | | Categories: By Omar Gallaga
The ‘Nanny 911’ family and other scary things
OK, let’s talk “Nanny 911: Marriage Edition”.
Specifically, do you really think the Kings are going to straighten up and start acting right? Those were some mean people, and I’m not sure that getting bad dad Chris to cry and talk about his own father’s failings is really going to lead to any lasting changes.
Still, though - shamefully riveting. And a fine warmup for the dysfunction on tonight’s “Amazing Race”. Last week’s preview of this episode was the best teaser I’ve ever seen.
To review, Ron and Kelly, the former POW and the pageant queen and no doubt future stars of their own “Nanny 911” episode, are in the back of a cab. Kelly accuses Rob of being unable to commit to anything. Ron counters with the (very good) point that he was in the military. But Kelly will not be dissuaded.
“You even got out of that,” she says.
“How?” says an increasingly perturbed Rob.
“By being a POW.”
That’s our Miss Congeniality.
One of the best parts of “Nanny 911” was when bad dad Chris wondered where Fox kept finding these British people and whether the British do everything better than we do. There might be a case for this. Look at “What Not to Wear” and “The Office.” They also seem to be much better at personal ads.
A “Land of the Lost” movie? With Will Ferrell? Cool. CGI sleestacks? Creepy!
You know who else wouldn’t read a Katie Couric blog? The New York Times’ Alessandra Stanley. Check out her description of the morning terror:
America’s girl next door has morphed into the mercurial diva down the hall. At the first sound of her peremptory voice and clickety stiletto heels, people dart behind doors and douse the lights.
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
O Axl, where art thou?
This is pretty funny even if you’ve never been privileged enough to set foot in Cartersville, Ga. If you have, then you know how my mind is reeling.
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
81 percent Dixie
Although I have a feeling Dave is going to blow me out of the water on this.
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
Desperados waiting for a taco
I realize I’m a little slow in reacting here, but I didn’t have a blog before last week and it’s always tough to get warmed up to serious subjects.
Guy Clark, you’re breaking my heart.
I never got to interview you while I was a part-time junior-league music critic for the San Angelo Standard-Times. But I understood that what rare interviews you gave, you were given to bein’ ornery.
And unlike the rest of my favorite artists, you’re the only guy (ha!) that I haven’t managed to see perform, at least among them who are still kicking.
So it was always easy to imagine you as a serious and mysterious sort of dean of Texas songwriters. Solemn and sober as a judge (even if you weren’t), not likely to indulge in anything more frivolous than odes to Lone Star cooking and homegrown tomatoes.
But those Taco Cabana commercials…
I don’t blame you for taking their money. Heck, I’ve seen Willie shill for everything from Old Whiskey River whiskey to (Willie, Willie, Willie, how could you?) Texas Roadhouse restaurants. And that’s just recently.
But Taco Cabana? Couldn’t it have been something a little more dignified?
I’d go home and listen to one of your albums to clear my mind, but instead of “The Randall Knife,” I’m hearing … “My father had a quesadilla / my mother bought it for him / when they went to Taco Cabana / the special was two-for-one.”
I won’t cry.
Sniff.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
Katie, you’re so product
If there’s one thing I thought we’d all learned by now, it’s that not everyone needs a blog.
Word of this, however, has not reached NBC.
“I don’t know why (“NBC Nightly News” anchor) Brian Williams isn’t blogging right now,” says Jeff Zucker, NBC Universal Television Group president.
Which makes me wonder: How do we know Brian isn’t posting over at Diaryland like right this second?
But what we really need to worry about is that Zucker also thinks Katie Couric should be blogging.
This is a bad idea. All Katie Couric would ever post are quizzes and memes. Imagine this on your Newsgator: Katie is 100 percent normal!!!!
A couple of quick things: First, if you’re into the Austin Film Society’s Bollywood series, the Times has an article about Amitabh Bachchan.
I took typing class and it led me to yearbook staff. Ice Cube took typing and it led him to rap superstardom. But can Cube bust rhymes like this?
Making it happen: From Ellen, a noted wit, beauty and future Olympic skier:
You know, JC Penney launching an MTV Cribs line sans “Scarface” paraphernalia is so product.
Just sayin’.
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
Lunch down under
Went to lunch at Aussie’s Volleybar and Grill today and and to quote Holly Golightly, “I must say, the mind reels.”
Who are these people who can play endless rounds of volleyball during the day? Don’t they have to go to work? Don’t they have to, oh I don’t know, let me just pull an example randomly out of the air, stand screaming and crying at a fax machine begging for it to release one please-God-I-mean-it-just-ONE fax confirmation without turning said confirmation into a hopelessly bedraggled waffle fry?
Just me then? Right.
Anyway, outside my booth at Aussie’s the laddies who lunge were heaving themselves all over the sandlot, setting and spiking and developing all manner of abdominal muscles rarely found outside Michelangelo ceiling treatments. I found the whole thing extremely off-putting. How is a girl supposed to eat, much less enjoy her grilled chicken salad the way the good Lord intended it (thoroughly smothered with bleu cheese dressing and nifty little almond slivers, in accordance with the Scriptures) if she is reminded with every volley and serve that her own nascent abdominal muscles are tucked away for safe keeping under a nice protective layer of padding (entirely unrelated to the almonds and dressing, of course) and that she really ought not be at Aussies but sneaking in a lunchtime workout instead?
She moves seats, that’s how.
Permalink | | Categories: By Rhiannon Gammill
No more reach-around
The space between my living room wall and the big TV is a space where I no longer have to go, and my wife and I consider this a Very Good Thing.
There are cables and adapters and more cables coming out of the wall for future speakers as yet only imagined. S-Videos co-mingle, as if in a very cool rap video, with component cables, coaxial cables, speaker wire and the odd game console controller wire. They all just kind of writhe down there on the floor, all dusty and akimbo, transmitting their data this way and that, and I’ll stop there because it’s already reminding me all too much of the dance scene from “Matrix: Reloaded.”
At least two or three times a week, I used to have to run back there to switch out component video cables that plug into the back of the TV. Component cables are the Red/Green/Blue connectors you find on DVD players, newer TV sets, HDTV set-top boxes and the higher-end cables available for PlayStation2, Xbox and GameCube systems (the only way you can play HDTV-resolution games with the current crop of game systems). I’ve got two component video connections on the TV. And five sets of component video cables.
We might finish watching a DVD, then want to fire up the GameCube, but, oops, the TiVo is already plugged in to the other port, so … it’s time to get back there, in that little crawl space, to swap out wires.
Auto-switchers for component cables exist, and some of the nicer ones even have connections for digital audio.
I got lucky and picked up a Mad Catz component video switcher for under $20 at the local video game emporium. True, it’s not as elegant a solution as an auto-switcher, with selects which feed you’re mostly likely to use and switches between the video and audio automatically based on the priority you set, but I like that the bulb looks like a detonator you might set on an alien fortress and that I only have to crouch next to the TV in the audio shelf to switch between components instead of making the dangerous journey behind the TV, which only the family kittens seem to really enjoy.
Permalink | | Categories: By Omar Gallaga
Southern-fried insecticide
The other day one of my neighbors put up a bug zapper in the front yard. Not hooked to a modest metal post or anything tasteful like that, but dangling from high in an oak tree like a beacon in the night for all things buggy.
A string tied to the zapper loops over an oak branch and is secured to the roof. No such forethought went into the power supply — the long orange extension cord hangs to the ground and snakes through the yard.
You’ll get no indignant complaints from me (at least not while my front yard is still stuck in the muddy stage of shrub removal and grass planting), bug zappers are an integral part of Southern culture.
I won’t go so far as the mom-and-pop diner I once visited in Deep East Texas that actually had a bug zapper inside the restaurant, but I do own one myself.
My friend Bret (the feller with the rule that one should always patronize the nearest bar) gave me one as a wedding gift, along with two lawn chairs and a 12-pack of beer.
He called it a “redneck entertainment center.”
And on a good summer night — I’m not ashamed to admit — it beats the heck out of TV.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
Crib notes
When JC Penney launched its MTV Cribs line of home furnishings, there was one thing that totally surprised me.
No “Scarface.”
If you’ve seen “Cribs” even once, you know that cribs-dwellers love their “Scarface.” A fortune could have been made selling them “Scarface” potholders, “Scarface” shower curtains, “Scarface” decorative candles, “Scarface” baby furniture. Penney’s, you messed up.
The folks at VU Games are smarter. They’re launching “Scarface: The Game” next fall. Right now, at the swankest of cribs, crews are no doubt adding on “Scarface”-playing rooms. Because you can’t play “Scarface” in the same ol’ room where you play the rest of your games. It just isn’t done.
What we need, friends, is to figure out our own “Scarface” product line. Fashion? Themed weddings? Themed funerals? What do you think?
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
Confessions of an irritable logophile
I have held my peace long enough and now the word “bling” needs to go.
Right now.
It’s had its little moment in the sun and now it’s time to tuck it away in some dank corner of the OED with “hep,” “groovy” and every last scrap of CB radio-inspired patois. Until a few years ago bling was a perfectly fine little onomatopoeia like squawk or thump, but that was before the giant hit “Bling Bling.” Now the word is tossed around more than a fake ID in Tijuana.
J’accuse Baby Gangsta and Lil’ Wayne. J’accuse!
Permalink | | Categories: By Rhiannon Gammill
Escape from Austin
STARRVILLE — Sometimes you just need a break.
I’d been slogging through Austin life: jogging, eating my veggies, working overtime, cussing the traffic and the plumber — who can’t show up within 2 hours of when he’s supposed to, and sometimes not at all.
So I’m here at my parents’ place, halfway between Starrville and Gladewater in the part of Texas where everything you ever had that don’t work no more sits out in the front yard, back yard and everywheres else.
I’ve been helping my dad build a carport out by the shed that will ultimately shelter his trailer, if and when the real carport ever gets built. Right now six metal posts rise into the sky by the driveway like some sort of redneck modern art masterpiece.
I’m covered in sweat and sawdust, right elbow all ate up in poison ivy, driving my Chevy across the yard, thinking of cold Lone Star longnecks and foods that come in two colors: golden-fried yeller and char-broiled brown.
Tomorrow it’s back to Austin. By the time I return to work and post this (sorry, no computers on this trip), it’ll be back to broccoli and shuffling in my running shoes and “this must be national drive like an (expletive) day.”
I love Austin, I really do. But sometimes you just need a break.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
Dear Jay —
I am really happy for you about this, but couldn’t you design something I could buy at Target?
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
I wanna be your blog
My grandmother is in the hospital, a new pontiff is adjusting the mirrors for the pope mobile and all I can think of is:
How on EARTH did I not own “The Stooges”?
OK, that’s not entirely true, of course I’m worried about my grandmother and I’m interested in the new pope, but do you know the risk I am taking admitting that until last Wednesday I did not own THE great grandpappy of punk albums? I could be laughed off Red River and then I’d have to spend the rest of my days sad and miserable in the land of $2 well drinks and questionably hygienic “foam parties” wearing those stupid ruffle bottom skirts that weren’t even cute in the 80s. Please don’t make me wear the ruffle skirts. PLEASE.
So if you see me on Red River, just be cool, OK? Don’t say anything. I’ll let you borrow my Stooges CD.
Permalink | | Categories: By Rhiannon Gammill
And speaking of cute …
Look what I got from Japan.
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
When there’s trouble, you know who to call…
I never quite understood what the deal was with the kids and their ringtones. But that was before “Teen Titans.”
We spent a very happy, lazy afternoon eating pizza and watching episode after episode on DVD. You know how when you’re watching TV shows on DVD you just start skipping the credits? Not so with “Titans.” There is no way to explain how sickly addictive the theme song is, so just go listen.
OK, I want that on my phone. Actually, I want it — or maybe my own theme song by a Japanese pop-punk girl group — to play whenever you visit this blog. But I’ll settle for the phone.
The problems are 1) My own lack of tech savvy 2) The relative unavailability of the song and 3) Sprint phones seem shunned by ringtone makers.
Can you help?
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
‘TAR’ news
The Boston Herald loves Rob and Amber as much as I do. Only they’re not kidding.
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
Petting zoo throwdown
Dear Omar the Giant Bucket-Stealing Camel at the Exotic Resort Zoo outside Johnson City,
Do not try to steal my feed bucket. Just don’t. I understand you’re a giant camel and are probably used to getting your way because you’re 300 feet tall and covered in shag carpeting, but let me tell you something pal, I will take you down like a Brooklyn drag queen at a Betsey Johnson sample sale, and, like a Brooklyn drag queen at a Betsey Johnson sample sale, it won’t be pretty.
Best regards,
Rhiannon
P.S. Crest Whitestrips, think about it. No, seriously. Think about it.
Permalink | | Categories: By Rhiannon Gammill
Texas Spike!
There’s a new sheriff in town, and his name is Texas Spike.
Texas Spike stole the show at the Buffy Sing-Along Sunday night at the Alamo Drafthouse Downtown. He is a mysterious man, this Texas Spike. We cannot even confirm that this is his name — it’s just what the Drafthouse’s Buffy impresario, Henri Mazza, dubbed him when he volunteered for Buffy Videoke. But this is what we do know about him:
— He wears a black duster, much like the real Spike’s (Did I just write that like Spike is real? Um, I think I did.) and a black cowboy hat. For an instant, I thought he was Robert Rodriguez.
— He is skilled in the art of videoke, although no one had a chance against the gender-reversed Buffy and Angel he and his partner faced.
— He knows his “BtVS.” Sensing Texas Spike’s crowd-pleasing potential, Henri gave him the stage during “Rest in Peace,” Spike’s big number in the “Once More With Feeling” musical episode. Texas Spike had no use for the lyrics on the screen. He just sang. To us. To Buffy, wherever she is. To express the pain of a heartbreak that is known only to him, Texas Spike. He rocked.
I broke out my Sunnydale High tee for the occasion and was surprised to see a girl who had a similar T-shirt in line. Although when I think about it, I kind of remember her from algebra, but I’d thought Dru killed her junior year. My bad!
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
Arrest this writer!
The danger of writing about a show you either don’t watch regularly or don’t completely get (I’m speculating here; I could be completely wrong about her) is that you make an error in your story, like the one in Lynn Elber’s Associated Press piece on last night’s possibly last-ever episode of “Arrested Development.”
She writes: “Sunday’s half-hour ended with scenes from the next episode, the one that would open the fall season. Devotees can only hope the optimism isn’t misguided.”
Fans of the show all know that the “On the next ‘Arrested Development’…” scenes never correspond to anything that actually happens in a subsequent episode. They are (and have been since the first episode of Season One) big inside jokes, extra laughs at the end that don’t really preview anything.
As far as anyone knows, nothing for Season Three has been shot yet.
More evidence that the show is too smart and funny for its own good. You’re too good for this world, “AD.”
Permalink | | Categories: By Omar Gallaga
There’s a place down the street …
Sam’s Town Point is a coozie bar.
I ain’t saying it’s a cozy place, though I reckon it is. The point is, if you’re a lover of working-class watering holes, you know there’s basically two kinds:
- A dive has its charms, but there’s always a small chance that some big mean drunk who ain’t got no friend (pardon me, Mr. Paycheck) is gonna take exception to the way you’re looking at him. Or, the way you’re not looking at him. For some guys, it don’t matter which.
- A coozie bar is the sort where the folks are so friendly the idea of danger is limited to having too much fun. The sort of place where they’ll bring you a coozie for your beer.
Sam’s is that type of place. It’s on 2115 Allred Drive, tucked away inside a neighborhood across Slaughter Lane from the H-E-B at Manchaca Road. As best I can tell, it’s a doublewide trailer converted into a small bar.
Up until this month, it was a “private club” that charged for membership (the kind of membership any ol’ Aggie could walk in off the street and buy for $1 a month — we’re not talking country club here). Now, it’s cheap beer and bring your own liquor.
Shannon was out of town on business last night and I spent a couple of beers there, almost watching baseball and mostly watching the dart league, before heading home — it was Dave gone wild.
My friend Bret says you should always patronize the nearest bar. I think that’s No. 1 on his list of beer rules. Sam’s is 1.9 miles from my driveway.
You’ll be hearing more about Sam’s.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
A Scrubbish ending
I saw back-to-back episodes of “Scrubs” last night, so something that I’ve noticed for a long time popped out and said hello even more than usual.
They’ve got the strangest, moodiest endings of any comedy on TV.
While most TV dramas end on a music-filled denouement and most comedies end with a punchline or huggy resolution to whatever happened that week, “Scrubs” always does a kind of wistful, sad, sometimes painful and abrupt final moment following goofy, hilarious and off-kilter shenanigans.
It makes me wonder if “Scrubs,” which is certainly one of the top five comedies on TV (the rest of my short list? “Arrested Development,” “Chappelle’s Show,” “South Park,” and “Curb Your Enthusiasm”) has struggled so much in the ratings because the feeling it leaves viewers with at the end of every week is not, “Wow, that was hellafunny!” but rather, “Oh. Huh. Is that the end?”
“Scrubs” goes straight to commercials from these moments without coming back for a final joke. Sad, mopey Zach Braff contemplating life then, BOOM, buy a Nissan Altima. This tone shift, which has given the show some weight amid its silliness, may be spelling its doom. Just sayin’.
Contrast that with “South Park,” which almost always ends with a shocker of a sicko plot twist or a curse word. In the mini-commentary for the Season Five DVDs, Trey Parker explains that one episode focusing on African American kid Token went the entire episode without making any overt references to race in an episode that was clearly about racism. In creating this utopian place where hate crimes were based on the status of Token’s rich parents, not the color of his skin, Parker and Matt Stone then deviously deflated the entire premise with a final harsh racial epithet at the end of the show.
Parker reveals that nobody, even those on their own staff, wanted that ending and there was even a proposal to cut off the epithet mid-word and continue it in the opening seconds of the following week’s episode.
Parker and Stone, even after all these years, still tinker with the show’s formula, continually allowing it to evolve and stay topical even with the same premise and characters they started with. If nothing else, the industry should follow their example on the mini-commentaries, brief four-or five-minute DVD talkers for each episode that are funny and insightful without overstaying their welcome.
Parker and Stone know not to stick around till the end of an episode — you don’t want to do a Zach Braff and leave everyone bewildered as you go to commerical.
Permalink | | Categories: By Omar Gallaga
Go vote . . .
Let’s say you’re a young honky-tonker. Or boot-scooter. Or punk. Tejano fan. Nü metal? Goth?
No matter. And let’s say you’re 18, 19, 20, 21 years old.
And let’s say you’ve never voted. Doesn’t matter why — school bonds don’t interest you, presidential politics depress you, you’ve never even heard of a municipal utility district, etc. — I’m not here to assign any blame. That’s between you and your high school government teacher.
But if you go out to bars (or would go out to bars), the proposed smoking ban affects you. Now is a good time to introduce yourself to the civic process.
Read all you can from both sides of the issue, then vote.
Here’s the rundown:
- The election is on Saturday, May 7.
- The bad news: The deadline to register to vote has already passed.
- The good news: You might already be registered. If you’ve updated your drivers license, you’ve got a good shot at it. To check to see if you are registered, go to the Travis County Voter Registration Web Site.
- If you’re not registered, now’s a good time to go ahead and do so — you just won’t be able to vote this time. If you are registered, you will find your precinct number with your information. That will be important later.
- More good news: You don’t need your voter registration card to vote. If your address on your drivers license matches the address on your voter registration, you are good to go. Just bring your license with you.
- Later this month, the list of the polling locations will be released. You can find this information in your friendly newspaper.
- Use your precinct number to find your polling place.
- On May 7th, show up and vote.
That’s all there is to it. Remember, if you don’t vote, you can’t complain.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
Can I get an encore?
I’m a hip-hop fan (a fan of a lot of it, at least), so it wasn’t hard for me to find much to like in the Jay-Z concert movie, “Fade to Black,” that I reviewed in today’s paper.
If you look over at Amazon.com, you’ll find the fans who love the disc and give it four or five stars. But then there are the bizarre messages from people who don’t seem to have a particular problem with this DVD in particular, but with rappers like Jay-Z in general.
“Martee” from California writes:
God is this Awful!! This isnt music. Why is it when an undertalented, undereducated and unimaginative person gets on stage and performs a bunch of junk considered music? Lets face it this guy has no talent. Can he play an instrument? NO Does he have a good voice? NO Are his lyrics coherent? NO THEN IT IS NOT MUSIC is it ? NO its not. The music industry is helping in the dumbing down of this country and its sad. The terrible influence they have on the young is criminal. “Hey kids dont get an education, dont be responsible dont have any class and you too can be a rap or pop star” Nice message huh
“S. Stout” from Maryland sums it up even more eloquently with a post titled, “CRAP”:
Another uneducated person thinking he has musical talent. Heres a hint. ITS NOT MUSIC!
I think Jay-Z should come out of retirement to rap about missing or excessive punctuation and writing in all caps. Maybe then he’d win some of these critics over.
Permalink | | Categories: By Omar Gallaga
Shop girl
OK, so technically I don’t need another pair of boots. I have ropers, I have go-go boots, I even have boots with little plastic goldfish floating in the heel just in case they want to recast “I’m Gonna Git You Sucka” entirely with buxom, fair-skinned Episcopalians. If I were to stop buying boots right this very moment I would still have a pair for every possible occasion, and what’s more, I can even walk in some of them.
That being said, when the good Lord in his infinite mercy presents you with a pair of snakeskin cowboy boots COMPLETE WITH HEADS exactly like the ones you’ve coveted since the fateful night in 2001 when you saw Kinky Friedman wearing them and stomping around the Alamo Drafthouse like a 10-gallon colossus, you don’t ask questions. You open your checkbook, thank God, John Wayne and anyone else up in heaven who might be responsible for your good fortune and you buy those boots.
In other shopping news, I visited Monkey See Monkey Do, the new kitsch-emporium occupying the South Congress storefront vacated by that purveyor of all things pink and “product”, Gossip.
I like Monkey See Monkey Do because it makes South Congress fun again. First of all, nearly everything is better with monkeys and secondly, the fact that I live in a ZIP code where I can trade my hard-earned American dollars for a bacon-shaped air freshener and shiny new coffin-shaped flask makes me almost dizzy with delight. If they offered on-site engraving (what use is a coffin flask without personalization?), I’d have to wear special underpants, too.
Permalink | | Categories: By Rhiannon Gammill
‘Race’ recap
The thing I love best about “The Amazing Race” is that it gives me the opportunity to learn about the other folks on our Big Blue Marble. For example, last night I learned that workplace ennui looks much the same in India as it does in the States.
The tea-delivery Roadblock was one of the most vexing I’ve seen in the three races I’ve followed. This is the point in the season where everyone just completely loses it and starts screaming at each other and God and cruel fate. My team of “TAR” consultants and I agreed that taking the mentally demanding option on the Roadblock probably wasn’t the best thing for everyone’s emotional health.
But the real problem was the office building where the teams had to deliver cups of tea to individual employees. I don’t know what gets done in this building, but everyone seemed incredibly bored by it. Outside, the racers were greeted by rapturous, adoring crowds. Inside, no one even looked up. Hey, I thought, it’s the Indian division of Wernham Hogg! Or, if you must, Dunder Mifflin.
Making the teams keep going when they thought they were at a pit stop is a bit sadistic this late in the game, but it’s always fun seeing the myriad ways exhaustion manifests itself.
Things I will not be watching: NBC’s “Revelations.” I got my fill of this kind of thing long, long ago in my Baptist youth. However, I am a big fan of “Revelations” headlines, and so far I like USA Today’s the best: “NBC lets the end times roll.”
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
82 days until Willie’s Picnic
Willie’s Picnic, y’all have probably heard, is coming back to Fort Worth.
Excited? Heck, I’m probably the last guy over the age of 30 that can’t wait another minute to stand in a sunburnt field in Texas on the Fourth of July for a good 10 hours and pay way too much for Bud Light and bad food.
Last year I was so excited, I couldn’t sleep. I left my snoozing wife in the hotel and prowled the Stockyards at 7 a.m., looking for … heck, I don’t know. Not that Shannon and I were there when the gates opened — no, we timed our entry for later in the afternoon so we’d miss the Geezinslaws. (Sorry, Mr. Allred, but I saw the exact same show in Luckenbach for five years runnin’ and if I hear “Help, I’m White and I Can’t Get Down” one more time, I will have to kill somebody).
Some of you are waiting for the irony to kick in, but it ain’t coming. I truly love the picnic. I know, it takes a special sort (brain damaged, probably). Shannon, after patiently suffering through eight hours of sunstroke last year, told me, “I love you, but I’m never doing that again.”
If I’m not excited about anything, it’s that (and this is the part where the earth quakes and grown men get woozy at my blasphemy) Bob Dylan is going to be there. It brings a whole new crowd of people to the picnic who ain’t ready for the dust and heat. It’s not fair to lure these poor souls out there.
And I have to admit, selling it as a Willie & Dylan picnic kinda offends a traditionalist like me. Even the Fort Worth Star-Telegram bannered “Dylan to play Stockyards” across the top of its front page on Tuesday, no mention of Willie, the Fourth of July, or nothin’ — just Bob’s ugly mug.
Blasphemy? I’ll agree with Steve Earle when he said “Townes Van Zandt is the best songwriter in the whole world. And I’ll stand on Bob Dylan’s coffee table in my cowboy boots and say that.”
I’d get up there with you, Steve, but reducing Bob’s coffee table to a mess of kindling would just be rude …
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
TV betrayal
There are shows on the TiVo that I watch, and shows my wife watches. We have a houseguest right now, so when I see “In Shape With Sharon Mann” or “Cardio Kicking Stuff” five times in a row, I know to whom those belong.
But there are those special shows that we watch together, the ones where we cuddle on the couch and savor in unison. We both giggle along, rewinding frequently to catch the multilayered pleasures of “Arrested Development.” We thrill to the twists of “24,” even if we’re about six episodes behind everyone else (shhh… don’t say a word about the president or his plane. I already know too much).
But Sunday night, I was out of town for a trip to Arkansas (state motto: “All the restaurants are closed, so we might as well do something outdoorsy.”), and I came back to discover that my wife had not only watched “Arrested Development,” but also “Lost,” “Desperate Housewives” and who knows what else in my absence.
Betrayal!
She knew Boone had died. She knew Zach Braff had guest-starred on “AD.” She knew stuff that I still don’t know about “Housewives,” because I haven’t watched it yet.
I tried to get mad until I remembered that I sneaked peeks at “24” recently and that I always watch “South Park” before she gets home from work and I usually know who got booted on “American Idol” long before she sees the Wednesday episodes. (Yay, Internet.)
There are spouses who will wait 25 years for you to get out of prison after you murder someone in a knife fight at a bar.
In my home, when you’re not around, it’s the TiVo, not the fridge, that gets raided.
Permalink | | Categories: By Omar Gallaga
The incredible shrinking Billy Joe
Shannon and I went to the Hill Country last weekend. Sure, there were bluebonnets and bratwurst and whatnot — my wife quickly, if unintentionally re-named Fredericksburg’s Altdorf restaurant “the Oltorf” — but we were there to see The Man in Blue.
After a few beers for Luckenbach friends long since departed, we walked over to the dancehall just in time for … good Lord, who is that?
He’s all denim and grin and there’s that belt buckle that’s older’n Methuselah. There’s the same great songs and new funny stories (once describing a long-ago bender as “I did everythang but farm animals”).
He’s waving at us and he ain’t got but two-and-a-half fingers … it must be Billy Joe Shaver.
But how much weight has he lost? Heck, our pot-bellied cotton-picker from Corsicana is downright thin.
Here’s hoping the original honky-tonk hero is healthy.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
The sting thing
The following snippet of dialogue occurred approximately 9:15 last night, and is courtesy of my very favorite beauty product in the world, Lip Venom by DuWop.
Perplexed Friend: “So let me get this straight. You pay $17 for a tiny vial of lip gloss that burns your mouth.”
RG: “Right, well, $17.27 with tax.”
PF: “…and it burns your mouth…”
RG: “The label says it’s a spicy tingle, but yeah, it burns. I think it’s got capsaicin in it. Or maybe fire ants. I’m not really sure, but look how big my lips are, don’t you want to kiss me, or at least accuse me of wrecking Jennifer Aniston’s marriage?”
PF: “If I kiss you, you’ll burn me!”
RG: “Well sure, but what does that have to do with the gloss?”
PF: “Funny. You do realize you had big lips before right?”
RG: “I know, but look how big they are now! Young lovelies will fall down in the street, mesmerized by the sight of my gorgeous Angelina Jolie lips. They’ll be powerless to my pucker.” (makes unattractive-in-retrospect smoochy face)
PF: “But then you’ll set them on fire.”
RG: “exactly.”
Permalink | | Categories: By Rhiannon Gammill
Rob and Amber 4Evuh!
Let’s review.
I declare my allegiance to Ryan and Chuck, and they’re gone on the very first episode of “The Amazing Race 7.”
I find a new favorite team, brothers Brian and Greg. Last week, I make my affections known. What happens? They’re Philiminated.
So, ahead of tonight’s episode. I just want to make one thing clear:
I love Rob and Amber.
I do. It’s not just fandom. It is real and genuine love. I love Rob so much that I would propose right here and now, but the only thing stopping me is my equally great love for Amber, who is so much cooler than I am and deserves a great guy like Rob more than I do anyway.
The other teams are just jealous of Rob and Amber because they’re so awesome. They can argue all they want about how it’s unfair that bystanders are always helping Rob and Amber, but if they had half of Rob and Amber’s level of awesomeness, people would help them, too. Crybabies.
Maybe somehow Rob and Amber will read this and they will want to hang out with me. And then when my regular ol’ friends say “Hey, let’s go to dinner” or “Hey, come see my new baby” or “Hey, my house burned down. Can you help me?” I’ll be all “Can’t. Gotta go to Chili’s tonight with Rob and Amber.”
Sigh.
Tonight I will be wearing red and black to match Rob and Amber’s outfits and I will hold up my “I LOVE ROB AND AMBER” banner and I will scream myself hoarse for yet another week cheering them on. My doctor has asked me to stop doing that before I permanently lose my voice, but no way.
Good luck, guys. I’ll be watching.
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
There’s a rock show happening … in my car.
There’s no use in pretending you don’t like Jerm Pollet. You can try, of course, but it is only a matter of time until you’re blowing down the highway in your brand-spanking-new Volvo station wagon (leather! moon roof! functional cup holder!) singing along at the top of your lungs about how you’re an “[expletive] emu” and yet “still feel like an ostrich inside” to the not-entirely-kindhearted delight of every motorist who happens to glance your way. That’s right, your favorite emu-phobic blogger was right there, zipping down MoPac in front of God and the Great State of Texas, singing in sympathy for a flightless lovebird. This is the power of Jerm Pollet, and his infectious, deceptively deep “punk rock campfire songs.” Jerm plays a free show on the first and third Tuesdays of every month at the legendary Carousel Lounge. ” The CD is “Every Song is a Mating Call.” Learn it, love it, sing along to it and embarrass yourself while operating large pieces of Swedish machinery. You know it’s going to happen eventually. You might as well start now.
Permalink | | Categories: By Rhiannon Gammill
Boyd
There are probably hundreds, if not thousands, of people in Austin who were closer to Boyd Vance than I; some of them even blog in this space ocasionally.
I will say that the few times I had the pleasure of meeting Boyd, who died unexpectedly on Saturday night, I encountered not only a gentleman, but a warm soul full of good humor and an inimitable spark of life. He always made me laugh, and I was lucky enough to make him laugh a few times; we crossed paths a few times through work, and through comedy work I’ve done with Teatro Humanidad.
Boyd was at ease being the center of attention in any given room, and that was fine because his personality was usually much bigger than any space he was in.
As I said, I didn’t know Boyd as many touched by his life in the Austin arts community did, and I hope to hear some of their stories about him in the next few days. But he’s someone who was impossible to forget once you met him. His death was a sad, sad shock for me, and I’m sure I’m not alone.
Permalink | | Categories: By Omar Gallaga
Most embarrassing post ever
It’s National Poetry Month and I know you’re caught up in all the drunken revelry, but don’t forget the reason for the season.
I have to admit the poetry book I covet among all others right now is “Teen Angst: A Celebration of Really Bad Poetry.”
Oddly, the editor of this volume, one Sara Bynoe, age 23, did not include me in the collection.
This was a mistake. And I believe that my work makes the case for this.
These poems are from fall 1984 through the beginning of 1985, which was the first half of my freshman year in high school. It seems to have been a particularly fertile period in my poetic life, and, much like Sylvia Plath with “Ariel,” I was writing masterpieces at a feverish pitch, sometimes several a day.
Here are two poems that illustrate the development of themes in my work. You can see how I am beginning to explore unrequited devotion, self-pity and a barely acknowledged vindictive streak in the first work, but those ideas truly come to fruition in the latter poem.
From “One Day”
One day you’ll think back
To when loneliness would stealthily attack
And your heart would cry
When you faced the lie
Of who you are
And what you’ll be
And you’ll wish for someone like me
From an untitled epic
(It should be noted that I went back and capped the S’s in each “she.”)
I was sad and alone that night
And She was in your arms
I had empty dreams that night
And She had your charms
I thought a knife would find my heart
But realized it could now be no more shattered
For now your love would never be mine
And your love is all that matters
Does She know faith and unconditional love?
Does She know desperation, I wonder
Has She ever spent a lonely night
Or had her heart torn asunder
But how long till she finds another?
Until with you her heart is bored
Until your love is pushed away
And all your dreams ignored
I wish you all the best, my love
She’ll fill your day with love and laughter
Her beauty will taunt you through the night
And haunt you the morning after
I never had your love to lose
You never knew and never cared
You’ll never know a plain girl loves you
My hardened heart would never dare
Later, a more experimental streak emerged in my work. Note the abandonment of rhyme:
The cold came
As mine slowly
But never quite
disappears
The whip of wind
Can’t compare
to cutting words
And when I see
the Barren World
I see my soul
Another from the same day, when I seem to have been at the zenith of my creativity.
Somewhere
Where I know
What is right
And what is wrong
If there are such things
Somewhere
to be real
And to be loved for it
Somewhere
where we can live
without total pseudowar
I wonder
if that place
is in you, too.
But I think these two lines are my favorite of all. Because 14-year-olds have such a keen grasp on social justice.
For the sun shines for us all, rich or poor,
It’s not prejudice, you see
Sara Bynoe, call me.
Old business: What have you done today to make “product” happen? Fellow product proponent Joe Stafford gives credit where it’s due: Eric Schwartz of the Chicago Gag Reflex troupe originated the term that’s going to happen any minute now.
Also, do you remember my terrifying brow wax? OK, I take back all the negative stuff I said. Only now, two months later, am I starting to see stray brow hairs grow back. They were too scared before. I guess it proves once again that painful experiences can ultimately be good things. Wait, I feel a poem coming on …
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
Make it happen!
So, there’s something we need your help with.
We’re trying to make “product” happen.
Now we know from “Mean Girls” that “fetch” is not going to happen and that poor Gretchen should have stopped long ago trying to make it happen.
But “product” is different.
“Product” originated with multitalented American-Statesman staffer Joe Stafford. He’s a page designer here, he’s in a comedy troupe and he knows how play the banjo. Word!
He also wrote our review of the new Matthew McConaughey movie “Sahara.” His take: “Sahara” is fun, but it’s less a creative endeavor and more a manufactured money-making machine without a soul.
In other words, it’s so product.
Joe and I really, really want “product” to happen as an adjective. Think of all the things you could describe with it. Movies. TV shows. Restaurants. Real-estate developments. People you don’t like.
Here, I’ll get you started:
“He says he liked ‘Sin City,’ but he’d never heard of Frank Miller. That’s so product!”
“She thinks her new loft has architectural integrity, but she’s just being totally product.”
“I can’t believe how product he’s gotten. I mean, why not just move to Dallas?”
We can make it happen, and I’m so not even being product when I tell you that.
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
I’ll take the duck for 400, Alex
I don’t know the quadratic equation, OK? I just don’t. I know the seven deadly sins, I know that BTU stands for British Thermal Unit and I know how to spell many, many dirty words, but I just do not know the quadratic equation, and to channel Al Franken as his famous SNL character Stuart Smalley, that’s OK.
Hosted by The Lancebian (drag king persona of local filmmaker Mocha Jean Herrup) and spunky sidekick Woody, the “Down ‘n’ Dirty Trivia Night” at Ruta Maya Coffee Co. was a fund-raiser for The Kings Of Texas, a small, traveling group of drag kings and performers some of whom also strut the stage in Kings’N’ Things, Austin’s best beloved troupe of male impersonators. The Kings of Texas have been invited to perform in Germany this summer and need money to get there, come back and hopefully have some beer along the way. Naturally, I am suspicious of anyone voluntarily leaving Texas, especially for a place like Germany where, I have it on good authority, it’s almost impossible to get a decent breakfast taco, but I fully support the drinking of German beer and gladly paid the $5 cover to get the Kings a little closer to the land of sausage and David Hasselhoff.
Went to Wink for the first time Tuesday and despite being in the same room with an open flame, I happily managed not to set myself on fire. My meal was excellent, tender pink duck breast seared fat side down topped with an orange-honey glaze and the salt from my own happy tears. My friend shared a bite of his pan-roasted bass, which shone pearly white and tasted deliciously like the Chesapeake in springtime. I did not enjoy the amuse bouche, a small demitasse filled with a sickly green cold asparagus cream soup. Maybe I’m not elegant enough to appreciate a cold asparagus cream soup. I’m of the school where if a waiter sets down something cold, creamy and pale green in front of me, the words “key” “lime” and “pie” had better follow in quick succession. Still, overall the meal was a success: flavorful, beautifully presented and surprisingly affordable. Next time I’ll take a pass on the cold green soup; but with Wink’s ever-changing menu I doubt it will be there when I return. Rest assured, though: like Gen. MacArthur in 4-inch Pucci’s, I shall return.
Oh, by the way. x = [-b +/- √(b^2 - 4ac)]/2a
Permalink | | Categories: By Rhiannon Gammill
‘Greenlight’ go
Bravo has a new episode of “Project Greenlight” tonight, which is worth noting for two reasons:
1) The directing winner this season, John Gulager, is a mesmerizing sadsack. Also, celebrity doppelganger spotter Jeff points out that Gulager is a ringer for Edgar from “24.”
2) Executive producer Chris Moore. I love Chris Moore. Why? His righteous anger. I have no use for rageaholics like Jonathan or Ray from “Amazing Race,” but I could watch an entire show built around Chris Moore losing his temper.
His anger is of a different, finer kind. It is the anger of a decent, hardworking man who doesn’t understand why people cannot just act right and behave themselves as he, Chris Moore, does.
(And yes, I always think of him as “Chris Moore.” It’s a sign of respect)
There is not enough Chris Moore on “Greenlight,” but at least now there is this: the Chris Moore Blog. And until he gets a full hour to rage against the injustice of the world, it’ll do quite nicely.
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
The secret life of Ricky Gervais
Thanks, Beau, for passing this along.
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
The waiting is the hardest part
I turned 30 today.
Now, after many years, I expect to achieve the wisdom that comes with age, to stop all these childish shenanigans, like writing a joke letter to Robert Rodriguez, or making fun of Angie Martinez.
Maturity will soon arrive.
Come ooooooon wisdom.
Any minute now…
Permalink | | Categories: By Omar Gallaga
‘Office’ vs. ‘Office’
Finally got caught up on the new “Office,” which comes on tonight on NBC. Terribly mixed feelings.
First, it’s not a bad show. If I’d never seen the British “Offfice” (or, as I’ve been calling it, the real “Office”), I think I would just love the new one.
The pilot, with the Yank actors parroting words almost directly from the opener of the original show, was just unsettling. Subsequent episodes with fresh scripts but similar themes have been better.
The best surprise was that the scripts aren’t shying away from the awkward, ugly stuff I thought would be watered down for American TV. “Diversity Day” did the original proud by skewering racism and hypocrisy in the workplace.
Rainn Wilson as Dwight and Jenna Fischer as Pam are doing a fine job of putting their own stamp on hand-me-down characters.
The gripes: John Krasinski is totally unbelievable as Jim, who pines for co-worker Pam. He looks a bit like his British counterpart Tim, played by Martin Freeman. But Freeman knew how to give off the vibe of a cute and decent guy with no confidence and no luck with the ladies. Krasinski doesn’t have Freeman’s vulnerability. Freeman was masterful with details. Every bit of his body language seemed to say something, especially those longing looks at Dawn (the Pam character on the British show). Krasinski seems like he wandered in from “The OC.”
Where the show really suffers by comparison is Steve Carell vs. Ricky Gervais. As with the show itself, there’s nothing especially wrong with Carell as the pompous boss. Unless you know what Gervais did with the character. Gervais, who co-created the original show and is an executive producer on the American version, was pure genius as David Brent. He did asinine things, but you could never hate him because of his intense and transparent desire just to be liked. Carroll’s Michael Scott, so far, is just a jerk.
And that loss of depth and subtlety seems to be the big difference the two shows. I laughed out loud at American “Office,” but right now I can’t imagine getting the eventual DVD set and savoring all the nuances I missed the way I do with the British series.
I hope the American show finds its own groove and the characters deepen. I’ll keep checking on it, but my heart is staying in Slough. I’ll see you at Chasers.
Also on tonight: Another series far better in its original British version, “What Not to Wear.” Without Trinny and Suze, I’d be wearing tapered jeans with flats. Shudder.
And then there’s a little show that we like to call “Amazing Race.” I jumped off my couch to cheer for the brothers at the end of last week’s beyond-exciting episode, which caused me to have more heart attacks than Bruce Willis in “Sin City.” Let’s hope Brian and Greg make their way back to the front of the pack, or I’m a goner.
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
Try some color, Robert Rodriguez. You’ll like it.
Dear Robert Rodriguez,
Just saw “Sin City” yesterday.
All I want to know is — what’s with all the black and white?
Listen, Robert Rodriguez — I know you have the technology to do great things with virtual sets and (mostly) real actors, and you do it all in HD, so why not do it in color? Or, you know, hire some computer animators to go in there and colorize the whole thing?
Is it a cost issue? Is the digital tape more expensive in color?
Really, I’m confused here. Help me out. Do we really need another black and white movie after “Schindler’s List”?
What’s so great about contrast, anyway? Did you see Barbra Streisand’s “The Mirror Has Two Faces?” With all the soft focus Vaseline-lens color? Now there’s a movie! Take notes, Robert Rodriguez.
And how about “The Cat in the Hat?” The Mike Myers version. That had color all over the place! It was eye-popping! It messed with my equilibrium, even! I wanted to get sick!
That’s great movie-making, Robert Rodriguez.
I hear you might be making a sequel to “Sin City.” I think that would be great, but please, knock it off with the black and white already. Dude, we get it.
The result of your tinkering is that your movie, cool as it is, looks like it came out of one of those indie black and white comic books or something. And I’m sure that wasn’t your intent.
So, turn the switch on your HD camera from “HIGH CONTRAST B/W” to “COLOR” next time.
I’m available as a color stylist/visual consultant if you need me. Try to catch me on a day when Jessica Alba will be on set. She’d be great in color.
Take it sleazy, Omar
Permalink | | Categories: By Omar Gallaga
No one is without ‘Sin’
I’m a mess. There was the annual “spring forward” debacle, and then I lost even more time to the “Sin City” book.
The movie opened at No. 1, and everyone I know seems to be talking about it, with reactions ranging from love (seeing it four times) to bitter hate (wondering how Robert Rodriguez sleeps at night) to gratitude at Carla Gugino’s state of undress.
Regarding the “how does Robert Rodriguez sleep?” concern, it’s a moot point. If he does, I don’t think he could get so much done.
Every show ever is now out on DVD. Making it official: the arrival of “The Greatest American Hero — Season Two.” How did I totally miss Season 1?
Even if you want to watch this, I’m not sure you should be allowed to. Except, of course, for the Japanese language track on one of the episodes.
There is nothing on “Knight Rider — Season Two” that compares to this, which tells you that Hasselhoff is just not trying anymore.
If you haven’t seen My Mom’s Blog, it is the cutest thing ever.
I used to get home delivery of the New York Times, but then I decided that I didn’t want my place to look like Grey Gardens. The online version is much easier to handle, and, as an extra advantage, when I can’t sleep, I can read page after page of “If You’re Thinking of Living In …” stories. I’m not actually thinking of living in any of them, but still.
A couple of good things found digging around the site recently:
First this about our culture of abs:
“Abs are the new biceps. Abs say: ‘I’m in control of life, I’ve got it all together. I can work, play, and still build these.’ “
My abs say, “I am great with child.” (But I’m not, so don’t freak.)
My other favorite quote is from this restaurant review:
It’s part bistro, part brasserie, those terms and genres being so thoroughly confused and conflated in New York these days.
And that’s why this country is falling apart. People don’t know their bistros from their brasseries.
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
‘Sin City’ Austin premiere
Thursday night at the Paramount. Robert Rodriguez, Frank Miller, Jaime King and Nick Stahl in attendance. Here’s the rundown:
— The movie? Wow. I’m by no means Comic Book Girl, but I was enthralled. It looks even better than you’d imagine, and it’s pretty amazing to see the “filmed in Austin, Texas” credit at the end and realize that this whole strange world is just something Rodriguez whipped up out at his place.
But there’s more going on than effects. Miller’s words crackle with wit and style, and the cast knows how to deliver them. Clive Owen and Bruce Willis make grade-A tough guys, and Benicio Del Toro gets some of the film’s grossest, funniest moments. Elijah Wood creeped me out in ways that I don’t really want to discuss right now, because I have to finish the work day.
But the real standout is Mickey Rourke. I never imagined writing that sentence in my lifetime, but as an avenging thug who “gets confused” sometimes, he’s funny, scary and compelling.
My only gripe? The female characters weren’t that interesting. Unless your definition of “interesting” is “dressed like hookers.” Watching the ladies, I thought, “I wonder if guys feel this total lack of species recognition when see Colin Firth and Hugh Grant in the Bridget Jones movies.”
The nonstop violence didn’t bug me, but then again I was raised by a mother who disdains movies without murder.
— During the premiere, the crowd reaction was taped for eventual inclusion as an audio track on the “Sin City” DVD. Now when you get the DVD, this is going to be annoying at first, because people were cheering at everything — even studio logos. But as the movie unfolded and everyone got wrapped up in its world, many high-quality gasps, hollers, guffaws and ewwws were delivered.
— In the post-movie Q&A, Rodriguez enthused about digital filmmaker and even said that “guest director” Quentin Tarantino (he was in charge of a ghoulishly funny scene with Owen and Del Toro) was a convert to the high-tech way. All the computer magic helped them shoot quickly. King, who has a fair-sized part, says she was done in a couple of days.
Meanwhile, co-director Miller says he plans to direct again.
— Rodriguez was just as excited about the next “10 Minute Cooking School,” set for the “Sin City” DVD, as he was about moviemaking. This time, it’ll cover breakfast tacos.
Actually, Rodriguez seems excited about just about everything, and this is enormously endearing. And as a beneficiary of his puerco pibil recipe, I heartily endorse more Rodriguez instructional materials. He raised the possibility of a 10 Minute, um, lovin’ school, although he didn’t quite use those words. Something to think about …
Anyway, go out, see the movie and spend the rest of the weekend restlessly roaming the city with a tough-guy (or girl) monologue running through your head.
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
