Statesman > XL Blogs > Archives > 2005 > May
May 2005
On the river
It’s afternoon on the Guadalupe and I’m pleased. We’re — Shannon, Julie of the East Side, Mike and I — tubing “the horseshoe” near Canyon Lake.
This marks the fourth year in the row Shannon and I have kicked off the summer with a Memorial Weekend tubing trip. Despite the rains, the river’s not as cold as it has been in May in past years. And, probably because of the rain, most of the campers have headed home instead of going for one more afternoon on the river.
But there’s still enough folks to keep it interesting: Would-be Rasta teens, families with fathers who have reached the end of their patience, quiet beer soakers, and yes, frat boys who scream “Gimme a Coooooors!”
I’m doing the quiet-beer-soaking-thing. I’ve got this figured out, for the most part. Big straw hat. Suntan lotion. Coozie. Small cooler for the tube. Big cooler in the car to restock the small cooler for the second trip. Loving, responsible wife to drive us home.
Float, sip. Float, sip. Paddle away from noisy frat boys. Float, sip.
Later, there’ll be trouble of course. The Spurs, unavoidably, will lose the one playoff game in this series that I’ll get to watch. I’ll have odd splotches of sunburn where I missed with the sunblock. I’ll be so overcome with hunger that I’ll order the only unpalatable appetizer that Hill’s Cafe has to offer.
But for now, on the river, all is good.
Float, sip.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
Critics all
LOS ANGELES — Just wrapped the first-ever National Critics Conference here in sometimes sunny Southern California. Amazingly, the 500 art, dance, jazz, theater and classical music critics — and their guests — seemed to like one another. It helped when TV Lander Norman Lear set a high tone in his keynote speech with remarks such as: “you are at your best when you’re informing readers what artistic works say about our cultural values and identities — essentially, about who we are as humans.” What followed were four days of pointed discussions about media ethics, advocacy, new media and the altered roles of the critic, along with practical training in writing and interviewing skills. The representatives of the International Association of Art Critics/USA, Dance Critics Association, Jazz Journalists Association, Music Critics Association of North America and Theatre Critics Association left the meeting with dedication to a new umbrella critics group — and a proposed NCC 2009 in Austin. Meanwhile, we combed the region for critical inspiration. The peak experience for me was the $274 million Walt Disney Concert Hall, a rousing public space and an intimate, warm place to hear music. With this building, the Los Angeles Philharmonic bids to join the top orchestras in the country (their “Casual Fridays” should be adapted for Austin). Orange County is nearing completion on its $200 million Segerstrom Concert Hall for the Pacific Symphony (we toured the honeycombed construction site). It will rest between the Bass Concert Hall-like Orange County Performing Arts Center and South Coast Repertory, one of the nation’s finest resident theaters. (We saw a potent production of Arthur Miller’s “A View from the Bridge.”) The critics also attended shows at the Mark Taper Forum, the Ahmonson Theatre (Matthew Bourne’s charming if overly long “Play Without Words”) and smaller venues. We were intoxicated by the spaces — if not always the art — at the Getty Center, UCLA’s Hammer Museum, MOCA and other LA visual venues. L.A. is making a bid for respect as a different kind of cultural capital. It deserves the attention.
Permalink | | Categories: By Michael Barnes
He does a body good
A few weeks ago, I was trying to explain to my wife who “Mr. Goodbody” was, in the children’s television sense.
I forgot that his first name was “Slim,” but I did remember the basics. Guy with a ‘fro wearing his organs on a skintight bodysuit explaining what your insides do. It’s not as easy to explain as it sounds. My effort began, “Well, he had this tight shirt. And it had his pancreas on it.”
My wife gave that look that she gives me when I blindside her with something from my deep dark past; she began to wonder what on Earth I was doing watching some guy’s painted-on organs on TV when I should have been out playing.
The good news is that Slim Goodbody (John Burstein, if you care) is making a comeback! That’s right! He’s ready to come back and freak out an entirely new generation of kiddies.
All I have to say is that when you put that much time and effort into the corporate entity that is “Slim Goodbody,” you’d better keep that weight down.
“Corpulent Goodbody” just doesn’t have the same ring to it.
Permalink | Comments (3) | Categories: By Omar Gallaga
I’ll have the kung pao whatnot
Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve developed a recent fascination with Chinese food.
Yes, I am a 33-year-old man who has not eaten Chinese food until, basically, this year. Oh, I’ve tried it a time or two, but it doesn’t really count unless it’s my idea. For the longest time, I just didn’t like it.
Now, I’m about to say something even crazier: I didn’t eat Tex-Mex until I moved to San Angelo, after college.
My San Antonio-born wife, who was probably weaned on cheese enchiladas, thinks this is the craziest thing she has ever heard. But because my dad didn’t like Mexican food, we just didn’t have it.
Sure, we’d have tacos when he was out of town. And fajitas were a big hit at one family reunion. But that good ol’ plate of brown and yellow and grease and cheese? Never had it.
It was only after moving out to West Texas that I picked up the Tex-Mex habit. Starting, out of sheer politeness, when I was invited to a co-worker’s tamales-and-Feliz-Navidad celebration.
Trust me, it was only my habits of observation and caution that kept me from eating my first tamale with the corn husk on it. There’s a much finer line than most of us know between charming stranger and complete moron.
But back to the Chinese food. My big problem now is that I have no idea what each dish is, and I can never recall what I had the time before.
So I’m always turning to Shannon and asking, “What kind of soup do I want? What do I want to eat?”
At least I’m getting plenty of practice for senility.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
Live like you were buying
There was, of course, the life-changing moment when Tim McGraw explained it all to me on the Grammys. But there are those terrible, terrible moments when I am not able to immediately review my tape of the awards show, or at least listen to my all-“Live Like You Were Dying” playlist on iTunes.
Now, thankfully, the wisdom of the song is available in convenient book form. I’d like to point out that this has been out since October and none of y’all have bought it for me.
Anyway. This little volume stopped me right in my tracks while I was at Target last night, and I got so aquiver that I whipped out my camera phone and sent Jeff some images.
I was not at Target in search of life-changing wisdom. Actually, I needed cat litter and Dramamine. A week from now, I’m going on a cruise to Alaska. (And if you’re wondering, the Dramamine goes with me; the cat litter does not.)
What this means is a lot of shopping, mainly because I tend not to buy warm clothing until things get so bad that I’m physically shivering.
I got motivated, though, when I decided on my style icon for the length of the voyage: Jessica Simpson at home. Usually I am all about the pretty dress and the high, yet hopefully not lethal heel. This trip, I am rocking the sweatpants and hoodies. I am not going to wear makeup, but I will reapply lipgloss obsessively, And y’all, I am going to begin every sentence with “y’all.” My family may leave me on a glacier.
Permalink | Comments (4) | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
Season finale scorecard
I’m very, very behind on my TV watching (I’m about eight episodes behind on “24,” so even if you told me what happened on the season finale, I probably wouldn’t be able to put it into any kind of context), but here’s a quick scorecard for the finales I did see:
“C.S.I.”: I don’t even watch this show, but I had to see what Quentin Tarantino did with it. Ants are creepy, as are Web cams; combining the two? Genius! A very, very good two-hour episode with one very fantastic shot: the papers flying in the air after John Saxon goes Kablooey! I’m not sure what the regular “C.S.I.” viewers thought, but this nonfan was very impressed.
“Desperate Housewives”: So much better than I expected, with just the right amount of revelation and cliffhanger to satisfy everyone. An unexpected death, a solution to the season-long suicide puzzle that makes perfect and logical sense, and the introduction of some intriguing new characters. This is how you do a season finale and avoid the “Twin Peaks” curse.
“Lost”: Speaking of the “Twin Peaks” curse, this show is in serious danger of becoming a self parody if it doesn’t start to explain some mysteries, or at least introduce some new ones. I love seeing the flashback to characters’ previous lives, but the season finale’s, slo-mo plane boarding felt a bit forced. And what was up with those swarthy kidnapping pirates? Why did it remind me of David Cross’ Tobias character on the party boat in the “Arrested Development” pilot?
“Smallville”: This has been a pretty terrible season, so anything that was on a decent level of quality was automatically elevated to season-best status. Such was the case with this episode with a nicely done meteor shower attacking the town and Clark Kent uniting the pesky elements that have been the subject of many a meandering storyline for the past few seasons. In fact, one of the elements was used to stab former “Dr. Quinn” actress Jane Seymour in the chest. Oh, and I think we’re finally over that “Lana Lang possessed by a witch” junk.
“The O.C.”: My wife still loves the show, so I’m obligated not to trash-talk about it too much, but … WHAT HAPPENED?! Seth went from adorable to whiny, Ryan did a lot of nothing and Marissa became the most disjointed and depressing teen on TV. Even the usually spot-on Peter Gallagher was forced into a ridiculous almost-affair and spent the latter part of the season looking sad and conflicted about Kristen’s alcoholism. And the less said about George Lucas’ droning guest appearance (a droid would have done a better job), the better. Someone please slap Josh Schwartz around a little bit, tell him to stop worrying so much about what cool guest band will be appearing, and get “The O.C.” back on track. When Julie Cooper becomes your most interesting character, you know your show is in big trouble.
Permalink | Comments (3) | Categories: By Omar Gallaga
Snake hurdling: the new South Austin sport
When I saw that Pamela LeBlanc was writing about the Austin area’s lesser-known parks, I feared that she would reveal my own private park to the masses.
I shouldn’t have worried. While Mary Moore Searight is a couple-minute walk from my front door, it doesn’t have beautiful waterfalls, majestic pines or groovy palmettos.
It’s a quiet park, where I can bike, run, jog, stagger, collapse on the ground and wheeze and only sometimes see someone else.
And it has snakes.
Sometime last year Shannon and I were jogging up one of the hills on a side trail when a black-and-red-and-yeller snake darted toward me on a surprise attack. I actually hurdled the snake, though in a terribly unathletic way that I’m not particularly proud of. Then I went back and looked at it.
Red touch yellow. A coral snake. Trust me, I know. I was an Eagle Scout.
(Yes, right now my old Scoutmasters are shaking their heads in shame. “An Eagle Scout and he ended up a journalist,” they’re saying. “A beer-drinking, honky-tonking, Aggie journalist. Where did we go wrong?”)
More recently I saw another snake on a back trail, this one quite large, but not poisonous. I jogged around the back end.
Then today, there was another one. I jogged up close to this one and looked it over. It didn’t look like one of our four categories of poisonous snakes … unless of course someone had let their exotic snake go free by the banks of Slaughter Creek.
Probably not. And it was blocking the trail. I thought back to the coral snake and decided that a second snake hurdle would make it a tradition instead of a panicky unathletic lurch.
I backed up a few steps and ran, and right before the jump, the stocky green snake moved… giving my hurdle a Beamonesque quality — at least to the extent that a man who ordinarily would have trouble hurdling a six-pack of tallboys could be Beamonesque. Then I kept running down the trail …
(Later, at lunch, Shannon was not impressed. “What are you, 10 years old?”)
So stay away from our little park. It has snakes.
Unless you want to be a Snake Hurdler.
Man, that sounds cool. I’ve got to make myself a T-shirt.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
Great feats of incremental upgrading
I never understood why people whittle; taking a knife to a piece of wood for hours and hours to make a duck’s bill or a scary wood figurine.
It just seemed like an inordinate amount of work for very little gain to me. Unless, of course, you’re in prison making a shiv. Then, I could see the utility.
Of course, the whittling people could find many reasons to think I get even fewer results from pursuits I spend a good deal of time on. Sure, video games. I’ll give you that one.
On Saturday, I even freaked myself out with the number of hours I spent doing something that was geeky even for my house. (You get a +3 savings throw against being called a geek in my home; +4 if it involves karaoke or “Dance Dance Revolution”) I spent the better part of a morning using my PC to interface with the two TiVo boxes in my house to download software updates in lieu of doing it over a phone line (which I don’t have; we’re all cell phone at home).
I first researched this a year ago before I made the DirectTV-TiVo jump; the TiVo box needs to make phone calls to order Pay-Per-View or to get software updates. Without a phone line, I didn’t know if I’d be able to use their TiVo box.
It turns out you can, with some finagling. First, you need a serial-to-stereo null modem cable, a wire you’ll only ever use for this specific purpose, and that you’ll need to get online or from a wiring savant at Radio Shack. Then you mess around in Windows XP for hours trying to get your TiVo to talk to and through your computer out onto the Internet, bypassing firewalls and networking settings. Then it dials out online and spends 45 minutes “Negotiating” the connection (especially if it’s been a year since you did your last update, which is the case with me).
If your’e lucky, it then downloads sweet, sweet update data. Then the TiVo restarts, installs its new updates from a separate disk partition and BOOM! You have a very, very small change in features. In this case, my standard TiVo box can now do folders (it can group, say, 21 episodes of “Smallville” into a single folder instead of showing them all in the Now Playing menu) and the menus themselves are a little faster.
The upgrade to my other box, an HDTiVo was even less noticeable; I’m not even sure what issues the latest updates addressed, but I’ve yet to see any major difference in using it.
What humbles me, though, is that my little mid-morning of moving set-top boxes around the house and connecting a cable to a computer are small potatoes in the world of Extreme TiVo Upgrading. People are swapping their hard drives for ones with hacked extra goodies, adding high-speed network connections where there aren’t any and adding enough store capacity to keep yourselves in “Simpsons” reruns for the rest of your life.
One guy, who doesn’t even consider himself a hard-core TiVo hacker, has got his TiVo networked and continuously online to display all the shows on his machine and even the ones he’s got scheduled to record.
So my little feat of upgrading magic, which manages to stump quite a few TiVo fans, is just a little bit of tech whittling; a lot of movement for just a few shavings off the home geek block of wood.
I’m sure the guy in prison carving the shiv is making much better use of his time.
Permalink | | Categories: By Omar Gallaga
The Force is flammable
There’s really only one response to the story of the kids who hurt themselves trying to make lightsabers with actual fuel in them that’s appropriate.
Ah ha ha ha ha ha!
Wait … they were critically injured?
All right. Sorry about that.
(Very quietly: “hee hee hee.”)
Permalink | | Categories: By Omar Gallaga
Getting into hot water
The drainage pipe on the east side of my house was draining all right. A steady stream of water for days on end.
“That can’t be good,” was my first thought. And I contemplated that for a week. Or two.
But when the east side of the house started turning boggy I reckoned I had to do something before it was declared a federally protected wetland.
Finally, this week I went to Home Depot and laid out $20 for a rubber hose and a clamp to redirect the drainage to some place in the back yard that wasn’t spontaneously evolving entire new species of bugs.
Once I had some money invested in the project, I got to studying on it. I called my father: “Air conditioning drain,” he told me. My father-in law: “Air conditioning drain,” he told me. Air conditioning troubles? In the summer?
That can’t be good.
But I was contrary about it and investigated the hot water heater. Ah, the T&P valve has been tripped.
I check the T&P valve drain pipe: Ooh, hot! I check the water coming out of the hose: Ooh, hot! Then I close the valve and drink a Lone Star and wait for the water flow from the hose to stop. It does. This is what we call the “Aggie Scientific Method.”
Mystery solved. Which is good, because calling the plumber and saying “I’ve got water coming out of the side of my house and I have no idea why” is pretty much the same as saying “Here’s my credit card. I understand you’ve been wanting to buy new tires for your truck. Just charge whatever you need to.”
Now I know I have a problem with the water heater.
That can’t be good.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
A love affair rekindled
Having been a West Texan who looked to Austin as an oasis of cultural cool, I can tell you that nothing ruins that fascination like moving here.
For those of us more comfortable with Manchaca than Manhattan, the scope of even our little city is tiring. The astounding variety of cool places to eat, drink and be merry is paralyzing.
(Unfortunately, this does not prevent the one place we settle on from being jam-packed with every other Austinite.)
Give any new good ol’ boy arrival a year or two, and they stand a good chance of sitting at home, rarely venturing past the nearest bar or shopping center and cussing the crowds and the traffic even then.
Fortunately, nothing reminds me that hey, this place is pretty cool, like having an out-of-town guest.
My sister, Julie, was here on Sunday and was smitten with the Alamo Drafthouse. People can order beer at the movies? Chocolate cake? A whole meal?
Every place we went, it was more questions: Why is that guy riding his bike in the middle of the road? Who is this “Leslie” guy again? Is there live music everywhere? Are all the waiters in this town stoned?
Ah, Austin. I won’t take you for granted again.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
When $158 million is not enough
More surprising news: “Revenge of the Sith” could not stop the box office slump. It’s all up to “Deuce Bigalow” now.
Permalink | Comments (2) | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
‘Idol’ choices
I will freely admit that I am a bad bad blogger because I do not watch “American Idol.” I don’t know thing one about the show except that boy who looks like Annette Bening lost but became a star because he’s…um…polite? (Yes? No? Help me out here, I don’t get E!) Still, I was perusing today’s article by the infinitely wise in the ways of TV Diane Holloway about Bo Bice and Carrie Underwood, the two “Idol” hopefuls. And although I feel a duty as your loyal blog-girl to make a completely uninformed decision between the rocker and the lipglosser, I simply cannot choose a winner. Why? Because when your choice is between a dashiki and back-lit chiffon, everyone, and I mean everyone comes out a loser.
Permalink | | Categories: By Rhiannon Gammill
Total surprise of the day
So EW has Coldplay on the cover with the headline “Are they the next U2?” And there is actually more to the article inside than simply the word “no.”
Meanwhile, Tom Cruise continues the bizarre spectacle that is his relationship with Katie Holmes. The AP story is pretty devastating:
First Tom Cruise was head over heels about his new girlfriend, Katie Holmes. Then he was giddy. Now, he’s just plain batty … A starry-eyed Cruise got down on his knees and repeatedly jumped up on the couch like a Robin Williams comedy act….
If someone compares your behavior to Robin Williams’ … well, things are not good.
After last night’s “24,” I’m thinking Katie should pull a Jack Bauer and fake her own death to get out of this.
Tonight’s the big night for Rob and Ambuh and somehow I “forgot” to tape their wedding special. From what I’ve read, though, the ceremony sounds kind of … nice. Where’s the fun in that?
Permalink | Comments (1) | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
Rock, goats and … omg, did you see that?
Before we get to the matter of the Supersuckers, let’s talk briefly about Barton Springs etiquette. I want to keep Austin weird as much as you do, and I definitely don’t want to get all up in your business about anything, but I would really, really rather you not change out of your trunks back into your shorts without a trip to the changing room.
The gentleman in question was as subtle about it as one could be right out in the middle of everything, doing some sort of shimmy on the ground. But still. I am a shy person, and it often takes several minutes of consideration before I commit to, say, asking the driver to turn up the AC lest I call too much attention to myself, so the supine strip tease was a lot for me to contemplate.
But as a child of ’70s TV, I celebrate all of our differences, even as they relate to musical opinions. As has been discussed, there are diverging views on whether Eddie Spaghetti and the boys entertained mightily or shamed themselves and their families. I can tell you that Jeff and I thought they rocked pretty hard, and this was after we’d seen the Hill Country Middle School Choir, who raised the bar for rock, the night before.
I liked the crowd at Friday’s show. I’m more of an Old 97’s kind of girl, and the Supersuckers/Horton Heat crowd skewed a bit more toward snarl and slinkster cool (to borrow an expression from Francesca Lia Block ) than what I’m used to. There was an L.A. during the Blasters-X era vibe, and I can say this authoritatively because I’ve ridden down Sunset Boulevard. Once. In a minivan.
The next day, there was absolute and total agreement that Opie’s was the best thing that had ever happened to any of us. Something billed as a “pork chop” actually looked like one of those food challenges on reality shows where someone has to eat 12 pounds of meat. The only down side of this was that we couldn’t indulge later in any of the good food Jenny and Blake had cooked up for a shindig at their ranch. However, it was more than enough to boggle at the Hill Country views and hang with the horses and the goats.
Really, goats are enough to make any weekend complete, but later we did try to go to Emo’s for Big Balls show and air guitar finals, but the line scared us off. Waterloo and Amy’s gave us haven. I got the Garden of Evil ice cream combo, heavy on the evil.
At this point, you must be worrying “Will they ever eat again?” And so I tell you yes, my friends. Yes, indeed. Another happy restaurant discovery: Marco Polo, which I in my ignorance have been driving past every day. We went for dim sum, as you should as well, but only when I’m not going, because it gets crowded in there.
After that was the Barton Springs trip. Now this was not optimal timing for the season’s first Donning of the Bathing Suit ( I prefer alone, middle of night, cover of darkness), but the hot sun and cold water were enough to chase away hangups. Not that I’m ever going to be uninhibited enough to change out of my suit in front of all y’all, though.
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
Fortunates do brunch
Nibbled on cold salmon Sunday at the gorgeous (but modest) Barton Hills ranch home of Fortunate 500 topper Mary Margaret Farabee and husband Ray. The Kinkster dropped by to work the room, full of artists, intellectuals and others, gathered to welcome Herb and Paulina Stark back to town.
Fortunate nonlistees Forrest Hooper and Bill Lavallee entertained later Sunday with a delicious dinner whipped from almost nothing. Among the dearest friends of the arts, they should be seen out more often. Saturday, enjoyed the hospitality of stage star Barbara Chisholm and stage scribe Robert Faires voting for the Austin Critics Table Awards in their beautifully improved Bouldin area home.
CDs of note, both from PS Classics: “Pacific Overtures: The New Broadway Cast Recording” (PS Classics), which makes the Stephen Sondheim musical sound as intelligent as ever, and “Sondheim Sings: Vol 1,” which is for Sondheim completists only (not much voice there).
Friend Lawrence Morgan put his finger on the historical problem with the epic “The Kingdom of Heaven” — all the protagonists behaved like liberal Methodists. I thought the film hit the right notes for a fantasy flick about the Crusades, history be banished.
Permalink | | Categories: By Michael Barnes
Hey Supersuckers, let’s take care of business
Dear Eddie Spaghetti,
Hi, I like you. I liked the way you played with your son Quattro, and I liked your joke about being from Arizona and wanting to move. I think we should be friends … in fact, I think we are friends and as a friend there’s something I really have to tell you. Why don’t you have a seat … can I get you a soda or anything? No? Are you sure? OK, here goes. You are not the “greatest rock ‘n’ roll band in the world.â€?
You sound like Bachman Turner Overdrive.
I’m sorry Eddie (can I call you Eddie?), but, you do, you and all the Supersuckers. Now I’m not saying BTO isn’t a fine band, but, and remember I say this as a friend … they’re Canadian. Is that what you want Eddie? Do you want to sound Canadian? You’ve got a great catchy little pop song with “Pretty (expletive) Up” and you even do a mean cover of Steve Earle’s “Creepy Jackalope Eyeâ€?, but seriously, you’re a bad haircut and a powersolo away from being Bryan Adams, and really … I just can’t let that happen to you. Pull it together man; put down the Molson and come back to us Eddie. I’ll buy you a Lone Star.
Your pal, Rhiannon
Permalink | Comments (2) | Categories: By Rhiannon Gammill
Skirts that hurt
OK, what on Earth is happening with all these prairie skirts. What is going on here? Walking down South Congress these days is like wading through an all-hipster production of “Little House in The Big Woods” with the part of Laura Ingalls played by some extra from a touring company of “Hair”. What’s so wrong with an a-line? For that matter, what’s so wrong with a slip? Why a prairie skirt?
They look like a rented tuxedo shirt had an unholy union with a pint of rainbow sherbet in the dumpsters behind Baskin Robbins circa prom night 1976.
To be fair, prairie skirts in all their billowing glory are still infinitely better than the cringe-inducing ruffle-butt confections gracing the rear ends (and little else) of the leggy lovelies who traipsed around Sixth Street last summer in search of $2 Long Island iced teas and, I am merely speculating here, a “Girls Gone Wild” camera crew. Those weren’t cute when I wore them in 1990 to my first boy-girl dance and really, I promise, they’re not cute now.
Permalink | Comments (2) | Categories: By Rhiannon Gammill
The toad came extra
The moon. Mars. A toad. Tequila. Steel chairs. And a new play, read outside the Off Center. A nimble intellectual adventure by Kirk Lynn, it knotted a story about a Boy Scout who makes an atom bomb in his backyard and a writer who makes a play from the contents of an abandoned bag. Already satisfying on several levels, it should grow into another crunchy winner from Lynn and his company, the Rude Mechs.
Permalink | | Categories: By Michael Barnes
Another ‘Amazing’ marriage
Let me make sure I understand this. On “Amazing Race 7,” Rob and Amber did not stop to help a team that had been in a car accident. Their wedding will be a CBS special on Tuesday.
Lynn and Alex did stop to help. Their wedding will be broadcast too — on Canadian radio.
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
Channing ‘05
So, ABC has a show next fall where Geena Davis plays the first female president. That’s just wrong. Allow me to place a couple of better candidates into consideration.
— Kris Perkins from “The Amazing Race 6.” The hard-working waitress/geography major was smart enough to navigate the globe (with extraneous though harmless boyfriend Jon) and gracious enough to do it without uttering a single undiplomatic word. Sure, she’s still a little young to run for president, but in a few years, when we abandon the electoral college and choose our chief executive via reality show, Kris is so in. Picture it: It’s the season finale and everything comes down to a footrace between the two final contenders, Kris and Boston Rob. Kris surges ahead, Phil Keoghan swears her in on the spot, freedom is saved.
— Stockard Channing. But not Abbey Bartlet Stockard Channing. Rizzo from “Grease” Stockard Channing. No one is tougher than Riz. And she’d have saucy things to say if anyone tried to get all in her face about “moral values.”
Who are your candidates?
Permalink | Comments (5) | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
A bad job, a good story
Spent the best part of Thursday evening at the Stardust Club on Manchaca Road (it’s a bit farther from the house than Sam’s Town Point, but has cold draft beer) with Shannon and our pal Julie of the East Side.
(It was the best part of the evening because watching the Spurs stumble their way to a lucky win over the Sonics later that night was as much fun as slamming my head in the door.)
Julie regaled us with a tale of how she worked a temp job keeping inventory at a slaughterhouse in Michigan. She described in detail, the processes, the baleful look of the cows, and in great, great, somewhat unsettling detail, the smells involved.
It made my odd jobs seem boring in comparison. Suddenly, my construction worker stories seemed weak. Baling hay? Boring. Lawn maintenance? Yawn.
Though she only worked in the slaughterhouse three months, Julie said the experience made her a vegetarian for a year.
Me, I’ve given all this careful thought throughout the course of the morning.
I think I’m cooking hamburgers tomorrow.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
Holy hotties, Batman!
Standing 6 foot 2 inches in molded latex, Christian Bale is the seventh man to play the caped crusader and also the dishiest. I say that at the risk of alienating many of my friends who have spent several hours nursing Bacardi and Diet Cokes at Oilcan Harry’s, weighing Bale’s various merits and comparing him against former caped cuties George Clooney and Val Kilmer. This sort of debate can get heated and since two of the four friends in question are notorious hair pullers I don’t mind telling you, I was afraid for my follicles. I don’t even want to talk about The Great Catwoman Kerfuffle of 2004, suffice it to say that I lost a good friend, two brushes out of my Bobbi Brown brush roll and about eighty dollars worth of hair extensions defending the good name of Eartha Kitt. It was worth it too. Hmph, Julie Newmar indeed.
In other news, Frank Gorshin who played E. Nigma aka The Riddler on the original Batman TV series died on Tuesday at the age of 72. Coincidentally, his final performance was the season finale of CSI which played last night on CBS. By the way, the “E� in E. Nigma? It stood for Edward.
Permalink | Comments (2) | Categories: By Rhiannon Gammill
Awwwiiiiight!
I’m not even sure I should be telling you this, because I can already see by that shifty look in your eye (er, the shifty click of your mouse button), that you’re going to beat me to them, but … here goes.
In 22 hours and counting, you will be able to order tickets to a presentation at the Alamo Drafthouse of Homestar Runner Live! featuring the creators of the indubitably addictive Web site of the same name.
I haven’t seen Star Wars Episode III yet, but if all goes as planned, I’ll have tickets for Homestar before I have tickets for Sith.
The Brothers Chaps have been in Austin before, but seeing it at the Drafthouse and paying for tickets as a means of paying homage to their intense genius just feels right in a way that thing like eating a whole bag of Funyuns just doesn’t.
I got hooked on their animated site about two years ago and perhaps the best Christmas gift I gave last year was a Strong Bad E-mail DVD set.
It’s tough to pinpoint what it is about their ‘toons that works so well, but I’d venture a guess that it’s a mix of their smarts and savvy combined with a willful innocence and retro-geek sense of temporal dislocation.
That and it’s very funny and very sharply done.
So. I’m getting tickets. Did I say 3:30 p.m. tomorrow? I meant … uh … 3:45. You should definitely wait until then to order online.
Permalink | Comments (1) | Categories: By Omar Gallaga
Now with comments!
Hey, check it out: XL Blog now has a commenting feature. And I’m just going to come right out and grovel: Please leave us comments. Pleeeeease.
Permalink | Comments (3) | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
Is the Gringo Honeymoon over?
Dear Robert Earl Keen,
It’s hard to say this so I’m gonna get right to the point: I think we’re growing apart.
The 12 years we’ve spent together has meant a lot to me. In the beginning, I was there when you were playing the Stafford Opera House in downtown Bryan with not quite two dozen in the audience for the 7 p.m. “sit-down” show.
In interviews in those days you told me how you hoped to play the Astrodome at the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo (I never doubted you would) and how you always played your best because these club owners were charging up to $10-15 a ticket (seemed like a lot to me back then, too).
I was there in 1995 for your first performance at Willie’s Fourth of July Picnic. You closed with what I guess to be one of the first performances of the amped-up rendition of “The Road Goes on Forever” and the crowd went absolutely nuts, throwing empty (and half-empty) beer cans everywhere.
I went backstage to interview you and you were wide-eyed with adrenaline. “Did you see that?” was the only quote I got.
But artists have to grow. And the beer-can-throwing mosh pits will ultimately wear on everybody involved.
Your music changed and I changed and the whole scene changed. We hadn’t talked in years now, but I went out last week to buy your new album.
I listened and listened. And … really, is that a saxophone on the title track? Robert Keen, Robert Keen, I ain’t ready for this.
This might sound a little odd, given what I said earlier this week, but I’m not ready to grow up quite yet.
Serious music critics, of course, will tell you the album is great and mature and all that. They’re right, as usual.
But me, I’m not sure. I’m starting to worry about us.
I am drawn to one song on the album. “We were the wild ones,” you sing.
Yeah, we sure were.
P.S. OK, the album is growing on me. But not the saxophone. Saxophone … sheesh.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
Thumbs down for flavored whiskeys, gay comedy; up for SVU
Advance word from your blogger on “Eating Out,” the reverse coming-out gay comedy: “Our friend Paul Talley collects gay-themed movies the way our friend Mark Shaw collects gay-themed literature. In both cases, they revel in the utter badness built into 90 percent of these specialized fields. Paul is gonna love this one.”
Advance word from your blogger on Phillips flavored whiskeys: “This whiskey man remains deeply skeptical of the flavoring ‘revolution,’ but, as it did with vodkas, Phillips is finding ways to expand the definition and, therefore, the potential markets for these ancient spirits.”
Have completely converted to “Law and Order: SVU.” Mariska Hargitay is a full-blown star as Det. Olivia Benson and Christopher Meloni is a star-in-the-making as Det. Elliot Stabler. (Considering his back-of-the-mirror role in “Oz.”) As a L&O purist, this is hard for me to admit, but it’s the best in the four-show stable right now.
CDs of the moment: BettySoo’s beautifully sentient “Let Me Love You” (release party at Cactus Cafe June 6) and the Zairian chantings of Ali Farka Toure in “Red & Green” (Nonesuch). Talk about the origins of the blues.
Permalink | | Categories: By Michael Barnes
Because singing fish are so last year
This is the sorta thing that gives rednecks a bad name.
I was walking through the Academy sports store on William Cannon when I stopped dead in my tracks. Like a deer in the headlights of something awful.
They are selling a fake deer head mount. Bad enough, but this one sings. You know, like Big Mouth Billy Bass.
I had to take a closer look. Buck — that’s his name, though the 10-pointer does come with removable antlers — not only moves his ears and mouth, not only sings, but knows six songs.
You can hear him sing “Rawhide,” “Friends in Low Places,” “Sweet Home Alabama,” “Suspicious Minds,” “La Grange” or (Willie, I hope you got a bundle of money for this) “On The Road Again.”
(Odd how there were no options for the opera-and-wine crowd. Not a single Buck knew any Puccini.)
But Buck offers so much more: He has infrared motion sensor mode, he can nod his head, tell jokes and has ears that can wiggle “randomly or on command.”
One Web site details how you can perform karaoke with Buck.
Another site says “Buck very well could be the biggest and best conversation piece you’ve ever had!”
Yes. No doubt it would also be the loudest and last conversation I ever had with my wife.
You can have one, though. Only $128 at Academy.
Not me. Not unless it could sing the Gourds’ cover of “Gin and Juice.”
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
Guy Clark, Part IV
Smarter folks than me say we pay for the sins of our past.
True enough, but though I have been that young and I have been that drunk, I’m pretty sure I’ve never been that loud, that obnoxious, that clueless or that weighed down with hair gel.
I’m just guessing about the hair gel part. I didn’t get a good look at the two young men who, along with an equally drunken young lady, sat immediately behind Shannon and me at the Guy Clark concert at the Cactus Cafe on Sunday. I didn’t get a good look at ‘em, but you know the type.
Really, it was a fantastic show, everything I could ask for out of my $68.17 worth of tickets, fees, taxes and whatnot. The opening act was someone I hadn’t seen — Gurf Morlix — and he played a tight and entertaining 30-minute set. Guy and sideman Verlon Thompson played a lot closer to two hours than I would have expected. After playing a 5-6 song series, Guy pretty much opened it up for requests and subsequently played almost every song you’d want to hear him play. And when he turned it over to Verlon for 15 minutes, I was braced to make a bathroom-and-beer run, but Verlon turned out to fantastic, too.
Did I even once accuse Guy of being ornery? Not a chance. He couldn’t have seemed more pleased to be there or more at ease mixing songs with jokes with songs.
The only complaints? The lengthy, lengthy intermission between Gurf and Guy (I’d like to imagine Guy was sinking tequila shots and telling “one more story”) and, yeah, those folks right behind me.
I knew we were trouble when they ordered tequila shots and the guy directly behind Shannon used the word “awesome” in conversation about six times in 30 seconds. He was saying something about a buddy who passed out sitting up, and believe me, it was awesome, awesome, awesome in his world.
Several songs into Guy’s set, I was hoping that they’d notice that other than themselves and the musicians we’d all paid to see, it was quiet in there. Nope. Finally, I had to turn around and — directly channeling the spirit of Grumpy Old Dave of the Future — told one of ‘em to keep it down.
It worked, for the most part. The boys still sang along out of tune. The gal still made some incredibly annoying nasal noise of approval every time Guy would sing something wise, which was often. But they didn’t talk through the set.
I’ll dedicate this last part to college students everywhere: There’s hope for the world if you can get that excited about Guy Clark. Glad you like him. But the Cactus Cafe isn’t the place to be quite that vocal in your admiration. And if you insist … well, don’t sit behind me.
Permalink | Comments (1) | Categories: By Dave Thomas
True Brit
Tonight’s the night. Britney’s show “Chaotic” is debuting on UPN. “Can you handle our truth?” asks the show’s Web site. No, I probably can’t.
If you believe Us Weekly — and if you don’t, you probably need to get out of here right now — the Spears-Federlines are having a baby boy. That probably (although by no means definitely) rules out my suggested name of Destiny, or Ellen’s creative variation, Destini. (And while you’re at Ellen’s site, don’t you think you need a puppy? I think you do.) Of course, they still could call him Destin, but, judging by where Brit and Kev are spending time these days, Scottsdale seems more likely.
Jeff and Will are on more solid ground with their picks Briten and Benedict. Actually, Briten Benedict is a lovely name.
Permalink | Comments (3) | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
It’s cramped in there
There comes a point where a soda is simply trying to do too much, to reach far beyond the confines of a humble 12 ounce beverage container.
That point is Diet Cherry Vanilla Dr. Pepper.
Permalink | | Categories: By Omar Gallaga
Good times and bad girls roll
Roller derby has spoiled me for all other athletic endeavors. Honestly I’m not even sure it’s possible for a sport to have any style at all anymore without the clear and present danger of a pillow fight looming overhead. I mean sure, Lance Armstrong pedals his way into gay Paree once a summer and that’s grand, but he doesn’t do it in a corset and his punishment for misbehavior most certainly doesn’t involve being enthusiastically whacked on the rear with specially designed swatters as he rolls by. Or maybe it does, I don’t know, I’m not really that into Sheryl Crow.
Austin is blessed with an embarrassment of roller-riches with a total of nine teams in two leagues; The Texas Rollergirls and The Lonestar Rollergirls. Sunday night found me in Hangar 5 of the former Robert Mueller airport sweating like a Southern senator and cheering on the Lonestar Rollergirls with several hundred of my closest, bloodthirstiest friends. I will cautiously admit that I didn’t enjoy the Lonestar Rollergirl bout as much as I had hoped. Despite the banked track (the other league, the Texas Rollergirls, skates on a flat track) the game seemed to move slowly, possibly to accommodate all the cameras from A&E that were there filming, you guessed it, a reality TV show. Still, the skating is only part of the show and there was plenty of fun to be had outside the rink. I danced to the Blue Flames and Flametrick Subs, I coveted the Satan’s Cheerleaders’ rubber chickens and evil stares, and to complete the experience I even got whacked in the head with a chair during the after party at Club DeVille. Typically I’d complain, but I thought to myself, “Forget it, Rhiannon. It’s roller derby.â€?
Permalink | | Categories: By Rhiannon Gammill
Relaxed this weekend (or tried)
After the mega-stress of the first-ever XL Fortunate 500, I tried to repair my health with long walks, yard work, CD cataloging and long naps on the couch. Also paged through tales and sketches from the Library of America edition of Nathaniel Hawthorne.
From where I sat on Friday, Inga Lujerenko was in top form in her “Swan Lake” swan song. Look for Tommy O’Malley’s review of the Ballet Austin show on Austin360.com today.
At the Vortex, “Icons: The Gay and Lesbian History of the World, Vol. 2” mixes a burbling musical revue with shallow historical portraits, but it’s lifted by Jade Esteban Estrada’s valorous appeal.
Wished dance club columnist Jonathon Goodsell well on his graduation from St. Edward’s University. A swell crowd of family and friends gathered the Sixth Street version of Habana for a tasty buffet and the best mojitos in town.
CDs of the week: the “Las Vegas Centennial Collection” series (EMI), especially the Frank Sinatra edition, which captures the Chairman’s gracious stage style. Skip the soggy, chatty Dean Martin CD, but think about trying the “Live from Las Vegas” compilation, which includes lesser lights such as Louis Prima and Keely Smith.
Permalink | |
Fortunate 500 and so on
We are pleased to report that the XL Fortunate 500 was a big hit, even Topic A in certain ZIP codes around town Thursday. Women fought over hard-to-get copies of XL. More than 30,000 Central Texans logged onto the Austin360.com online version. And we are already receiving nominations for 2006.
Dudley and Bob at KLBJ razzed the list because they were missing, but they gave us priceless PR.
We also have some apologies to make. We misspelled John Aielli, Philip Croley, Neil Iscoe, Susan Moorhead, Nikki Rowling and Jennifer Vickers. The name Laura was incorrectly paired with Rep. Elliott Naishtat, and the name Yacov Sharir was incorrectly paired with Pat Ohlendorf. The appellation “law” was incorrectly used to identify Kent Lance Jr. and the “old money” for Barbara and Leon Schmidt. Also, Zarghun Dean attended law school at the University of Texas.
Gobbled chipotle chicken salad at the Opal Divine Penn Field with Texas State University drama professor John Fleming, who takes over as chair of his department come September. Before that, Fleming will present his script on the death penalty, “The Two Lives of Napoleon Beazley,” at the Austin Playhouse in July. This fall, he plans to bring in fave playwrights Romulus Linney and Tina Howe. Looks like Fleming is coming on strong.
We bade a fond farewell to XL editorial assistant Chrissy Ragan at Little Woodrow’s. Chrissy was the queen of the listings, but has accepted a cool job at the T3 advertising firm. We are sorry to see her go. Copy editor Marium Mohiuddin said the ice-house-style bar on West Sixth Street reminded her of College Station, where she was the managing editor of The Battalion (so she should know!)
Blind-tasted some new Italian varietals from Becker Vineyards. Will let the XL wine columnist, Dale Rice, make the judgments, but I was surprised how much I liked these four new reds.
Permalink | | Categories: By Michael Barnes
Busted!
The new Busts are here! The new Busts are here!
If you were a little startled by the outburst, Bust is not that kind of a publication. It’s a magazine equally interested in feminism and lipstick. It also has great headlines (“Natural Selection: Vegan products for hippies who don’t want to smell like one”).
Barely had time to get into the new issue today while dining at Mr. Natural (my restaurant of choice when I fear that my blood has turned toxic) but found much to check into.
First, apparently there is something called the Southern Girls Convention, which has been going on for seven years now without having ever invited me. Southern girls can be like that, you know.
The LitFit class at Book People also gets a shout-out. According to the store’s Web site, the next class utilizes “Emily Post’s Etiquette”, which induced a little sigh of delight from me.
I’m not remotely alt enough to be in Bust’s target readership — for example, I’m never going to sew a couple of thrift-store scarves together and call it a cover-up —but I love this magazine. Bust hit some hard times a couple of years ago and vanished for a while, and so it needs you. It’s the rare chick magazine that actually makes you feel better about yourself.
Alleviating the need for afternoon caffeine was excitement over the news about the Alamo Drafthouse Downtown’s “Freaks and Geeks” marathon next month. Good Lord, do I love this show. But wait, there’s more. Coming in for the event are Sarah Hagan, who played Millie, and Martin Starr, who stole every scene he was in as Bill Haverchuck, the geekiest of all the geeks.
Bennifer, Romber … and introducing, Renny.. That’s what my co-worker Courtney Sebesta has dubbed the couple that has us all worried.
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
Chappelle shows up
Dave Chappelle? Mental health facility? South Africa!?!
This story just got about 10 times more interesting.
Permalink | | Categories: By Omar Gallaga
Lone Star goes retro
I was at Harry’s on the Loop in Willow City a month or so ago (see the Travel section on the Hill Country in the American-Statesman this Sunday for my take on this classic barbecue joint) when the waitress set a beer bottle in front of me that just about made my eyes bug out.
At first glance, it was like I was back in the ’70s.
Turns out, Lone Star Beer is celebrating their 65th anniversary by releasing longnecks and tallboy cans (I haven’t seen any of the regular-size cans) in a slightly modified 1970s-era design. Why they’re celebrating 65 years with a design from 30 years ago is beyond me, but they probably drink a lot in the marketing department.
I’m a small-time collector of Lone Star memorabilia (I think they call it “breweriana,” but I can’t come close to trying to pronounce that) and I had to rush out and buy a six-pack of the longnecks. (Hey, some folks collect stamps and teaspoons — and you can’t even get a good buzz off those).
They’re beautiful. Sadly, I can’t find any photos of them on the Web, but the new retro look is a vast improvement over the flat-out ugly current design, which I think is the ugliest in Lone Star history.
The familiar Lone Star shield is prominently displayed, along with the text “Celebrating 65 Years of Pure Texan Beer.” The bottle caps are fantastic and the six-pack carrier has revived the old slogan “Long Live Longnecks.” Even the cans are adorned with the old-style snowflake sparklies.
Did I say it was like the 1970s? Sadly, nowhere on the cans does it say “Brewed with Pure Artesian Water.” Lone Star just hasn’t been the same since the San Antonio brewery closed down. The new cans and bottles still say they’re brewed in Fort Worth.
Lone Star, you can still look cool. But you won’t have all of my heart (and beer funds) until you go home again.
Permalink | Comments (2) | Categories: By Dave Thomas
Starting the 2006 list
So far, response to the first ever XL Fortunate 500 has been fairly positive. Other than fart noises (heard on drive-time radio) aimed at the roll call of Austin most social singles and couples, most people seem pleased or flattered to be included, or to see their friends on the list.
We made some errors that we corrected quickly online, but remain in some print editions. We misspelled the names of concert booker Philip Croley and KUT radio personality John Aielli, which is ridiculous, since we have written about him so often. Also, Zarghun Dean of Tribeza went to undergraduate school at Tulane, law school at the University of Texas.
We already have received some nominations for the XL Fortunate 500 2006.
Fritz Blau, the rollerblading poster guy.
Jay Woods, VP at New West Records.
Jake Pickle, the former congressman.
Vickie Roan, Menagerie owner and charity supporter.
Keep the nominations coming. The more we know, the better.
Permalink | | Categories: By Michael Barnes
I blame Julia Roberts for most things, too
Another reason to envy the Brits: They have Manga Head, which whipsaws one’s hair into the peaks, protrusions and sworls that Japanese cartoon characters rock so well. Best I can tell, this hairstyling innovation isn’t available stateside. Which means that when I’m hanging out with the cat and pretending I’m Starfire from “Teen Titans,” I have to continue relying solely on the powers of imagination instead of styling gel.
The Smoking Gun feeds my unhealthy interest (as if there were such a thing as “healthy interest” in this case) in the Runaway Bride. Best part: The concerned citizen who blames the whole thing on a Julia Roberts fixation.
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
A flower of a cafe and a film
Met Play Theatre Group producer Lisa Scheps for a quick snack and a chat at the Dandelion Cafe. The modest eatery on East 11th Street serves comfort food at reasonable prices in a delightfully relaxed setting.
Among the news divulged by dynamo Scheps: The theater will transfer Dennis Whitehead’s production of “Master Harold and the Boys” from the Sam Bass Community Theatre to Play’s venue at Cedar and East 11th streets. Mark Pouhe and Mark Banks will recreate their roles of Sam and Willy. The well-regarded Athol Fugard show opens July 21.
Also saw “Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy”, which adapted a good portion of the book to the screen. Translating the verbal wit of the book to the twitchy visuals of an action movie was not an easy task, but I wore a smile for most of its bright, British amorality.
Watch for it at midnight: The XL Fortunate 500 will appear tonight first on Austin360.com. Find out whom we picked as the most social couples and singles in town. Then pick up XL for a hard copy Thursday.
Permalink | | Categories: By Michael Barnes
I’ve been everywhere, man
I find it astounding that anyone would fly thousands of miles and spend a thousand bucks to get to Amarillo, much less enough British folks to make it an actual phenomenon.
Heck, I wouldn’t spend a nickel to get to Amarillo, even if I were already in Happy.
Of course, other folks would find it equally astounding that someone from San Angelo would feel free to criticize anywhere, except for maybe Oklahoma.
But I can yap, because I’ve been there. And worse. I’ve been to Bleakwood, Brownfield, Flat, Levelland, Nada, Plainview, Quicksand, Sour Lake and Beaumont. I’ve been to the Edge. I’ve been alone in Loving County — and that’s pretty lonely.
I guess I can’t complain, though. I’ve also been to Best, Veribest and Utopia. I haven’t been to the Elysian Fields quite yet, but I’ve been in Comfort, and that’s all a man can ask for. Well, maybe that and a Shiner.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
Sweating to the old-school rap
The Chuy’s Hot to Trot 5K seems like an eternity ago, but actually it was a heckuva lot more recent than the last competitive NBA playoff game. I might as well have spent my free time on Sunday and Monday night watching my newly planted grass grow.
But back to Saturday, Shannon and I were having a free post-race doughnut as well as various cramps and breathing difficulties, when she admitted — without any coercion on my part — that her favorite song to run to was “It’s Tricky” by Run-DMC.
Really.
Myself, I almost always run in silence. The better to hear the screaming inside my head.
Did I say I’d retire after this 5K? What I meant to say was that I’d retire once the race winner is no longer finishing twice as quickly as I am. Ruling out the Tonya Harding trick, I guess I’ll have to get better….
- Side note: The free music at the Hot to Trot 5k was provided by the Chris Tate Band. Seemed like a good enough group, but their web address — which was printed on their handbills and whatnot — looked a lot like “Christ Ate Band.” Which, I gotta say, would be a much better band name.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
The final triumph of Rob and Amber?
Of course, you know what tonight is.
Here is some fine reading about the long-term damage Rob and Amber might do to “Amazing Race.” Calling Meredith and Gretchen delightful, though, is a bit of a stretch. Meredith maybe, but grousing Gretchen wore out her welcome before they were eliminated.
While away the hours until the “Race” finale by voting in our poll.
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
A nod to ‘Hotel Rwanda’
“Hotel Rwanda” is an important movie.
I didn’t think so last year when I skipped its theatrical release. Yet watching the carefully paced drama on DVD last night convinced me that it should be seen by everyone.
What happened in Rwanda, as more than 1 million died at the hands of enraged Hutus, is happening now in Darfur and other spots around the globe.
President Bill Clinton should be ashamed for not intervening then; President George W. Bush should be ashamed for not intervening now.
What lifts the film above the level of other recent mainstream movies about genocide (“The Killing Fields,” “Schindler’s List”) is the restrained, almost elegant performance by Don Cheadle and his supporting cast. The movie lets the human horror tell its own story.
Rent it at Vulcan Video or a store near you.
Permalink | | Categories: By Michael Barnes
Kenny and Renée? No way!
Call me old-fashioned, but I don’t think it’s ever OK to marry Kenny Chesney.
Maybe she was looking for the opposite of Jack White. The other theory we’re mulling here is that yoyo dieting took its toll on her brain chemistry.
I wonder what Kenny and Renée talk about. They seem almost as random a couple as Katie and Tom.
Say what you will about the Spears-Federlines, they seem made for each other (“Omigod, Chili’s is your favorite restaurant? ME TOO!”).
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
Dave Chappelle’s true Hollywood stories
It looks like the much-feared delay of the “Chappelle’s Show Season Two” DVD set has been a lot of worry for naught.
The forces that be had pushed back the DVD release in the spring when the third season of the show was delayed over production issues. Now that the show has been pushed back again, it followed that the DVD would be kept on the shelf again as well. (I love that Newsweek is reporting from reliable sources that Chappelle is “Trippin’.”)
Well, “Season Two” just landed on my desk today, sealed and beautific. I’m afraid to open it for fear that its DVD contents will somehow leak out, making it less funny than if I were to wait until it’s in closer proximity to my DVD player.
The DVD is due out May 24. According to a sticker on the box, it has two hours of bonus features on the three-disc set (hey, that’s one more whole DVD than was on “Season One”)! We’ll have a review of it for you that week.
Most exciting things about it: Two unaired Charlie Murphy stories and an extended Rick James interview.
Permalink | | Categories: By Omar Gallaga
No magazines? Shudder
Texas Monthly editor Evan Smith gets into the “end of magazines?” debate at the brand-new Huffington Post
“The end of magazines” ranks up there with The Affleck reproducing in my hierarchy of awful things, so let’s hope this one doesn’t come true.
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
Buy this man a White Russian
Alert reader Steve points out that I should have said the Dude abides, not reigns, in the last post. So I fixed it. Thanks, Steve!
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
The Dude abides, and a very important birthday
The folks at the Alamo must get bored with being so good. The “Big Lebowski” Rolling Roadshow over the weekend was another fine event that made you happy to share a city with people so gifted at putting on a good show. The movie itself, of course, is a pure joy, and watching it in the parking lot of Dart Bowl, while eating Dart Bowl enchiladas (note to Dart Bowl: Consider serving these in a helmet), took things to a whole new level. We bailed early due to being early risers, but still left filled with the spirit of the Dude. And enchiladas.
The other movie of the weekend was a little disappointing. “Kung Fu Hustle” is fun and has its moments, but it wasn’t the genre-busting thrill ride we expected. The Dude is a hard act to follow, though.
Appropriately coming right on the heels of Mother’s Day, today is the birthday of my beloved Captain Mommy.
Captain Mommy came into my life just over a year ago. The sun caught my compact mirror at just such an angle that it flashed her symbol in the sky, summoning her to my rescue.
Back then, I was doing the online personals. It’s a good thing to do — I certainly met more people than I did by, say, hanging out at my apartment — but it can tire you out. You need a superhero to support you through it. CM knew I was pulling up my roots as a wallflower. She cheered on everything I did that spring, and told me over and over and over — because it takes me a while to get things — that the important thing was that I was getting out there and trying. Through my adventures online dating and beyond, she took my disappointments seriously, but she never let me admit defeat. Even when I really, really, really wanted to. That’s when she told me “the best one is still out there. I can feel it.”
And he was. She’s just that good.
Happy birthday, CM. Your super powers know no bounds.
And briefly: I pride myself in keeping on the cutting-edge of Diet Coke developments, but I had no inkling that there is now a Splenda-sweetened version till I saw it in Target on Sunday. The verdict: Meh. … In the new Vanity Fair, writer Nancy Jo Sales totally thinks Angelina Jolie is her new best friend and induces rampant eye-rolling by referring to her as “Angie.” I’ll stick with Us, thank you. … I am thrilled to death that Kyra Sedgwick has a new show, even though “The Closer” is on TNT and involves fighting crime. The important thing is that Kyra plays a Southern woman, and she’s really good at this. Now you know I love crazy Southern women — the runaway bride, Nancy Grace, Kelly from “Amazing Race” — women who make you want to just sit back and watch the psychological carnage. But I’m happy to see a representation of the other kind, even as played by a New York-born actress.
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
Mama needs a new TiVo
No plans for the weekend? You could always go to Dallas and give birth.
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
Bad luck for a good cause at Habana Calle 6
If we have learned anything from the 1955 film adaptation of “Guys and Dolls,” it is just because you ask luck to be a lady does not necessarily mean she will comply.*
Luck is not so much a lady as it is a grouchy old queen who will step on your face, pull your hair and tell you she hates your shoes and that’s before the first cards even hit the table.
On Tuesday evening Habana Calle 6 played host to some fine folks from AIDS Services of Austin who endeavored to teach a small flock of mojito-happy women how to play Texas Hold ‘em poker. Luck and I were there, though sadly, not as a couple. See, I am not a poker player by nature; I much prefer to stick to gin,(especially as it pertains to vermouth and my liver). But I am learning for a good cause, AIDS Services of Austin’s 12th Annual VIVA! Las Vegas fund-raiser on June 25, which will transform the Austin Music Hall into a full service casino, with all proceeds going to the Capital Area AIDS Legal Project. Mark your calendars and save your pennies, and if luck ever was a lady to begin with, you’ll see me there … dealing poker.
*We have also learned that being surrounded by good singers is not the same as being a good singer yourself no matter how jauntily you wear your fedora (not that I’m naming any names, Marlon Brando).
Permalink | | Categories: By Rhiannon Gammill
Paula on ‘SNL’?
Maybe. She’s sure taking all of this pretty hard.
Also, if you don’t vote in the “Amazing Race” poll then Rob and Amber will have already won.
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
If this van’s a-gamin’…
If you want to make an 11-year-old happy, tell him that a van full of videogames and videogame systems is coming over soon and that he’ll be able to go in and play all afternoon. Just don’t tell him it’s not true. He’ll hate you forever.
My inner 11-year-old got just such a treat recently (without the cruel spectre of rejection to level it back down to reality) when Nintendo’s “Road to the Electronic Entertainment Expo (E3)” van came into our parking lot.
For a week, we coordinated this with Nintendo’s people. They assured us that a huge RV, the likes of which humans only imagined in the same headspace as futuristic space stations and furry robot dogs, would pull into the parking lot of our workplace and blow the thin membrane apart from our very minds.
That’s what we were told, at least. The reality is that the van was modest; you might have a larger SUV in your driveway. And while it did contain an abundance of videogames and videogame systems (at least the ones Nintendo makes), it was not exactly the gaming Valhalla we’d been expecting. It didn’t even have a Nintendo logo painted on it. If you walked up to the van on the street without going in, your best impression would be, “Beige!”
We went inside the van and it looked like this:
Pretty pretty pretty cool.
I was accompanied by our video guru, Jorge (a video for austin360 of our adventure should be up sometime next week), and by Matt Thompson and Tim Schmelter from austin360.
We all agreed before we even laid eyes on the games themselves that Nintendo’s got a tough row to hoe. They’re hitting E3 against Microsoft and Sony, two companies that will be debuting their next-next-generation consoles (the Xbox360 and PlayStation3, respectively) with new games, but no new hardware to show. Nintendo’s DS portable system came out last holiday season, but when you put it next to Sony’s recently released artifact from the future, the PSP, it suffers from debilitating portable envy. Nintendo’s next console, currently called “Revolution,” is not expected to be shown off at the expo. That’s got to sting a bit.
Once in the van, we previewed a baseball game, a dog simulation for the DS, “Donkey Konga 2,” two crazy-whacked-out action games and a few other DS titles (including a crazy Pac-Man drawing title) in the plush digs, which included a plasma screen, four Nintendo DS systems, four GameCubes and four sets of Donkey Kong bongos.
We didn’t get a ton of time with any particular title, but we got a general impression of Nintendo’s slate — as usual, it’s about quality over quantity. You’re not going to see a massive onslaught of games like you will for Xbox and PlayStation 2 this year, but the original games for the GameCube and DS should at least be interesting.
Here’s what Tim Schmelter had to say:
It’s not much of a stretch to say that “Killer 7” could easily become the “Sin City” of this season’s game releases. Gritty, quirky and hard to categorize, the preview we saw wasn’t without its faults, but what a package. Stylized graphics, sure, but the story features a wheelchair-bound hero who brings along an unlikely cast of heroes thanks to his multiple personalities. Powerups in the game come from draining blood. A blind gunman runs down the hall carrying his guns behind him in traditional Samurai-sword fashion. And at least one of the puzzles features the title of a Smiths song. It looks like this has the potential to kick nine kinds of butt, or to try so hard that it trips hard. Time will tell.
On the polar opposite end of the spectrum, Nintendogs is hands-down the cutest game to hit the scene since, well, ever. Anybody who doesn’t immediately turn into a cooing, Bambi-eyed fool after five minutes with the game should be evaluated for serious psychological disorders. That said, here are some fantasy scenes I’d like to see in Nintendogs, just to offset the cuteness factor a wee bit. Some of these scenes may actually exist in the final game, but the demo was played strictly for the “awwww” factor.
The puppies in the demo cavorted and frolicked, but never stopped to sniff each other’s behinds in time-honored “Hey, fellow dog, glad to meet you” fashion. A little butt-sniffing goes a looong way, to be sure, but it’s a fact of dog-owning, and the DS-owning tots need to learn about the harsh realities of life.
When you rub a puppy’s head for too long, it should bite you. Not one of those playful nips, either, but a full-fledged “Hey, are you trying to wear a bald spot on me?” kind of thing.
Naughty, growing puppy. Human avatar leg. I’ll stop there.
Permalink | | Categories: By Omar Gallaga
Happy little trees
Many of my fellow Statesman bloggers write about television.
I don’t watch much, I admit. But I’m starting to feel the peer pressure here. So this is my obligatory television blog.
Do I watch TV? Heck, yes. My favorite show? Football.
During the off-season I watch the History Channel, which, you’ll know if you’re a frequent watcher, has only two shows: Hitler’s Women Invade Atlantis and UFO Engineering Disasters.
Oh yeah, and Monday mornings on KLRU, I watch Bob Ross and “The Joy of Painting.�
I love that guy.
Really.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
Insert obligatory Chappelle-as-Rick James headline here
In case you haven’t heard, Dave Chappelle has done a Martin Lawrence and gone into hiding of some sort. This story from Variety seems to be the most complete in that it puts the idea out there that the halting of production of Season 3 of “Chappelle’s Show” (which had already been delayed) might have more to do with Dave landing in rehab than with any kind of contractual dispute.
My sources in L.A. say the rumor in comedy circles is that he indeed is having problems of a pharmaceutical variety.
I think he’ll be back sooner rather than later. He’s got $50 million good reasons to get back to work ASAP.
The other terrible side effect is that the much-anticipated Season 2 DVD has been pushed back again, depriving millions of college students of hearing that famous Rick James-inspired expletive phrase in surround sound. (Someone should probably tell Comedy Central’s Web site.)
Permalink | | Categories: By Omar Gallaga
Venti silliness
Well, thank goodness we have Starbucks to protect us from that great corrupter of the young, Bruce Springsteen.
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
Adventures in lawn care
The grass is growing!
If you don’t think watching grass grow is exciting, you haven’t spent $50 of your hard-earned barbecue funds and four hours of kick-back time putting in grass. It was touch-and-go there for a bit, but I think it’s not going to die.
Planting day was a couple weeks back on a summerlike Monday afternoon. In the midst of my second trip (because my math skills just aren’t that good) to the plant nursery to pick up a handful of extra pieces of St. Augustine, I had a Slurpee attack.
It happens.
So I pulled into the 7-11, in my dirty and dented ‘98 Chevy, wearing my working-in-the-yard clothes and streaked in mud where the sweat had run through the layer of dirt covering most of me.
And I walked through the front door and was greeted by a guy with a tray: “Would you like to try one of our new cucumber sandwiches?”
Silence.
“Do I look like I want a cucumber sandwich?” That’s what I wanted to say, but the poor guy had that “my-boss-is-making-me-do-this” look to him so I just said no.
One Slurpee, no cucumber sandwich, back on the road, the grass is waiting.
Later, of course, I thought of what I should have told him: “No thanks, do you have any quiche?”
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
More name ideas for Britney’s baby
Jeff, Ellen and Will have their own ideas on what to christen baby Spears-Federline.
Jeff writes:
My contender: Briten. A combination of Britney and Kevin. Y’all, that’s so CUTE!
And dignified. Which is important to the Spears-Federlines.
Ellen thinks I’m on the right track with “Destiny,” but points out that the Spears-Federlines may opt for the alternative spelling of “Destini.” I think Ellen might be on to something, because the Spears-Federlines are just that creative.
Finally, Will, longtime friend of the XL Blog and my legal heir, has this to say:
They could name the baby Britney II. Or if it’s a boy, Benedict the XVII.
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
Guy Clark, Part III
The Guy Clark saga continues: You recall how I gave the beloved singer-songwriter a hard time for shilling for Taco Cabana?
Well, Patrick Nichols, freelance writer and critic and Guy Clark fan blogged in response to my blog and now I’m blogging in return.
Technology, whoo.
A quick e-mail correspondence ensued and I learned the following things:
- If Patrick’s experience is any indication, Guy is an engaging and friendly guy who only comes across as ornery sometimes.
- Guy is an honest-to-goodness fan of the original homegrown Taco Cabana restaurant in his hometown of San Antonio, and isn’t necessarily singing about, as Patrick writes, “the cookie-cutter franchise locations that dot the rest of San Antonio, Austin, and points beyond.”
- So that means (I’ll tell myself) that he specifically doesn’t mean the Taco Cabana in College Station that nearly did me in a dozen years ago.
- Of course, now, I’ll never go anywhere for tacos at 4 a.m. Not even if Dale Rice were to give them a five-star review and a dozen roses.
- Particularly not if I’ve been working my way up to 4 a.m. with a buddy named Mack and a plastic bottle of cheap whiskey.
So I do feel a little remorse for poking fun at Guy’s earnest TV and radio commercials. Here’s hoping he’s enjoying Taco Cabana’s money. And my money, too — I’ve got two $30 tickets to his Sunday, May 15 show at the Cactus Cafe.
(And if, after all this, still have no idea who the heck Guy Clark is, I’ll recommend my two favorite Guy albums: Old No. 1 and Dublin Blues. Also, Patrick and I heartily recommend the DVD documentary Heartworn Highways, which features Guy, Townes Van Zandt and David Allan Coe.)
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
A baby name for Britney
You know what I was thinking about?
Not only is Britney Spears actually going to have a baby, she is actually going to name that baby.
As I know from careful reading of Us Weekly, Britney and Kevin vacation in Destin, Fla. So, I predict that if the baby is a girl, they’re going to call her …
Destiny.
What are your name ideas?
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
I heart the runaway bride
I have one thought, and it is Jennifer.
The news comes just too slowly, y’all. I need more information. MORE! Why did she buy a ticket to Austin? What made her get off the bus in Dallas before she got here? Do her eyes always look like this? I NEED TO KNOW.
Now, don’t think I get in a bunch over just any old scandal. Michael Jackson? Scott Peterson? Don’t care.
It might be the relative lack of harm Jen inflicted. Although I might not be so cavalier if I had a bridesmaid’s dress to return. And it might be my fascination with batty Southern women. While I don’t care about Jackson and Peterson, I can watch scary Southerner Nancy Grace talk about them for hours. If Jen gives Nancy Grace a sit-down, I’m just going to die.
Jen was in Dallas, and so was I. Runaway brides: They’re just like us! We went to visit Jeff’s parents and sister, and it was my first meeting with them. Given my history of mishaps, I know you’re expecting something downright Fockers-esque, but I didn’t trip all weekend and I caused no damage to his family’s property or pet cat. Instead, Jeff’s clan was awfully kind to me and fed me good food and showed off Dallas.
Saturday night, we went to see the Rangers play Boston, where we were a bit taken aback by a fellow wearing a T-shirt declaring that he would perform an intimate, but not that intimate, act on Johnny Damon. I am trusting that Johnny did not get word of this.
We also agreed about a couple of key points. First, ballpark food should be slightly frightening. We passed up the fancier fare to get nachos and cheese fries. The best thing about the cheese fries was that they were served in a helmet. Tragically, the nachos were not. “In a helmet” joins “on a stick” and “in a bread bowl” as my favorite forms of food presentation.
Also decided: If you are a ballplayer, and you’re choosing the music to psych yourself up before your at-bat, you can’t go wrong with Jay-Z. Lots of good options. And we wished that some of our fellow baseball fans had heeded Jay’s counsel to lose the jerseys after you’re 30.
Sightseeing, baseball, good people, lots of melted cheese … if Dallas had been that good to Jen, she wouldn’t have ended up in New Mexico with an afghan on her head.
Permalink | | Categories: By Sarah Lindner
The SoCo show
Saturday night …
(And right there, we’re off to a bad start. My weekend is Sunday and Monday, and if I return to work on Tuesday writing about Saturday night, you know it was a weekend of yard work and early nights at the Scorpion Estates.)
… seemed like the right night to check out the new Opal Divine’s at Penn Field. It’s up there overlooking South Congress, across from the drive-through beer barn and next to Expose.
(And no, I don’t go to strip clubs. But you can’t deny that they make fantastic landmarks. Somehow, nobody goes there and everybody knows where they are).
Typically, I avoid places where Scotch connoisseurs and microbrew/import beer enthusiasts congregate. No redneck worth his boots can stand somebody sneering at his Lone Star. But I was heading there with my co-workers, and Opal’s makes a fine compromise destination.
(There are bars that some people love and other people hate, and then there are joints that nobody can think of any real objection to.)
It was a slow night, but it only took one other group of people with terrible musical taste, lots of dollar bills and a jukebox with more terrible songs than any one jukebox ought to have to chase us into the cold night and the patio overlooking South Congress.
(There’s bad musical taste, and then there’s gleeful musical malice.)
Working on the last drinks of the evening, Raeanne, Katherine and I watched a lone prostitute walk the street below. One pedestrian apparently couldn’t make up his mind, and missed out when a car pulled over and picked her up.
(If gentrification is rolling south, it wasn’t there by Saturday night).
Drinks and theater. Heck, we’ll be coming back.
Permalink | | Categories: By Dave Thomas
Winners and losers (which are you?)
Let us be frank without being hurtful: Award shows, unless you are winning an award, tend to blow.
And I say this with mad props to the tireless people who have to put on an awards show that, against the odds, has to try to be both respectful of the winners and entertaining to the non-winners (known to those who don’t care about respect as “the losers”).
I went to such an event Friday night, in a news capacity. I didn’t get a seat at a table for dinner, and I was there on a news mission, so I didn’t have to pay to attend. But the majority of the people in the room did, and man … it wasn’t cheap.
I’m doubly treading on tightwire here because it was a Latino event, one for which the proceeds go to a good cause. So to badmouth it, or the very good-hearted people running it, is to continue tempting someone Up There to electrify-impale you with a size-nine lightning bolt. It was event for the gente, and it’s impolite to say it’s anything less than spectacular.
But people, it was boring. BORING. And it wasn’t the event’s fault. Because all awards shows are boring. If the Oscars, with 1.21 gigawatts of celebrity power, a host like Chris Rock and Angelina Jolie in a long-slit dress can manage to bore everyone, what chance does your chicken dinner and salad at a local ballroom have?
I don’t think I’ve ever been to an awards banquet where by hour three, people aren’t shifting in their chairs, finding reasons to make long trips to the bathroom, suddenly remembering that the baby sitter canceled or looking for the nearest tall glass from which to imbibe on the road to Blottoville. Everyone looks great, but bored. All the gowns in the room sparkle, but the glazing eyes are all dull.
At the event I went to, a local performer got up on stage late in the evening and woke everyone up from the awards-show stupor. She sang and then ran through the crowd, dodging dinner tables as she went, clacking castanets like crazy, and making everyone suddenly believe that the night would eventually end. She was fantastic.
Which only made me wonder: What’s a nice, tall, talented performer like her doing stuck at an awards show like this on a Friday night?
Permalink | | Categories: By Omar Gallaga
