Alright, fellas--let's bloooooooog!

DAVE IS THE DEVIL!
I noticed too late that my previous Dave Edmunds post on Thursday was #666 for Holland's Comet.  Yes, now it can be told—DE is the antichrist...

DIXIE CARTER, 1939-2010
Classy lady from TV's "Designing Women" passed away last weekend at age 70.  I never much cared for that show until I started watching it on DVD recently (mostly because I'm partial to redhead Annie Potts, not to mention Jean Smart's gorgeous legs!), but I've found it mildly entertaining if for no other reason because it's nice to see women dressing like women, unlike in today's all-too-casual society.  I do like Carter's character, Julia Sugarbaker, in spite of how she often got a little pompous and preachy at times, to the point where I can kinda sorta see where conservative people are coming from when they refer to that "liberal Hollywood agenda."  Oddly enough, Dixie was a registered Republican in real life, and took issue with Julia's issues.  At least Julia was a lot more tolerable than her insufferable sister Suzanne (played by Delta Burke), who was one of the most annoying characters in TV history, IMHO.  All she did was park her fat ass on the sofa and bitch about everything—she certainly didn't contribute much to the business they were trying to run.  And the woman had a pet pig, for crissakes!  To paraphrase Chandler Bing:  "Can you BE any more white trash?"

Anyway, Dixie Carter—not to be confused with the lady wrestler of the same name—married actor Hal Holbrook in 1984, and he had a recurring role on DW as Julia's boyfriend.  I also remember her as the brilliantly bitchy boss lady from the short-lived series "On Our Own", starring Bess Armstrong circa. 1976-77.  Rest in peace, Dixie—ya done good.

RIGHT ON TARGET, OR SHOULD I SAY, "RIGHT ON, TARGET!"?
A major wrong has been righted in the Twin Cities this week with the opening of Target Field, which replaces the evil Metrodome.  That's right, folks, no more Astroturf and no more Hefty bag!  The new park should serve the Twins well—it's in a great location on the west side of downtown next door to the Target Center arena (home of the those dreaded T-Wolves), which is adjacent to most of the bars, restaurants and nightclubs in downtown Minneapolis.  The place looks great on TV, so I imagine it's even better in person—I hope I can make a weekend road trip this summer.  Nice to see the Twinks in their Met Stadium throwback uniforms too, and best of all, they're playing outside again for the first time in 29 years.  True, the weather up there in April and early May could be a bit frigid at times, but it's too darn pretty in the Twin Cities in June, July and August to be playing baseball indoors.  There was a time about 10-15 years ago when the Twins were routinely being outdrawn by the minor league St. Paul Saints because they played outdoors and the Twins didn't.  Too bad Hall of Famer Kirby Puckett, longtime Twins play-by-play man Herb Carneal and legendary PA announcer Bob "No smoking in the Metrodome!" Casey aren't still around to see the new joint...

THEY BLOWED IT UP REAL GOOD!
And strangely enough, with a new stadium opening up this week, an old one was imploded last Sunday as Texas Stadium in Irving (Big Fat Irving), former home of the Dallas Plowboys, bit the dust—literally.  And as much as I despise the Dallas Cowboys, it was still a bit of an honor to be able to stand on the star at the center of the field when my friend Tom and I toured the place in '84.  If I had it to do all over again, I'd have danced on it like T.O. did!  What's interesting about this venue is how the roof was actually a separate structure (supported by massive concrete "legs") from the rest of the stadium, so conceivably, they could've torn the stadium out from underneath and left the roof standing to use as something else, but evidently they've chosen to use the site as a staging area for some highway construction projects.

Other than our own Arrowhead Stadium here in K.C., considering how often the Cowboys are on national TV (Sunday nights, Monday nights, Thanksgivings, Cowboys-Redskins, Cowboys-Giants, etc.), I've probably seen more football telecasts from Texas Stadium than any other NFL facility, apart from maybe the Meadowlands with the Giants and Jets.  What's ironic is the venue that TS replaced, the venerable Cotton Bowl in Dallas proper, is still standing and still in use.  Here's the video of the implosion of Texas Stadium.  May it rest in pieces...

THE DIRT ON THE DIRT
I'm currently reading The Dirt, the Motley Crue saga, which I recently borrowed from the library.  It's a highly entertaining book, if not very factual.  I find myself only believing about half the stories being spun by Nikki, Tommy, Vince and Mick, mostly because that's what they are—stories!  If they actually did beat up as many people as they claim to have beat up, done as many drugs as they claim to have done, etc., they'd have done a lot more jail time or all be dead by now (or both).

I remember when Motley Crue first hit the big-time, I really got into them because I saw them as the next Kiss, but when I look back now, there wasn't that much meat to chew on, musically, when I listen to their entire catalog.  Essentially, these were four very fucked-up individuals, Nikki Sixx in particular, who was (admittedly) quite the asshole, and it's a miracle he even survived the '80s, let alone until now.  One thing I was sure proud to see was how Nikki—the principle Crue songwriter—admitted that the albums Theater Of Pain and Girls, Girls, Girls were, for the most part, pure caca, as I always felt.  As for the rest of the band, guitarist Mick Mars is kind of a strange duck too, and drummer Tommy Lee is your basic man-child who got lucky with Heather Locklear and Pamela Anderson.  Regarding Vince Neil, I always thought he basically skated on that whole drunk driving thing that killed Razzle from Hanoi Rocks in 1984, but the families of the two people in the car that he collided with plumped for the big payday (2.6 million semolians) instead, and the judge decided that Vince would be worthless rotting in jail as opposed to lecturing school kids about the dangers of drinking and driving, so he got all of 30 days in the pokey.

Throughout most of the '80s Motley Crue was managed by one Doc McGhee, who also managed Bon Jovi, Scorpions and Skid Row, and has managed Kiss since 1996.  What's interesting about that is this guy was convicted of smuggling marijuana back in the '80s.  Nothing wrong with giving someone a second chance, but given Gene Simmons' staunch attitude about illegal drugs, I find it highly hypocritical that he entrusts the leadership of his band (not to mention his "baby") to someone who was involved in drug trafficking, yet he mercilessly rips on Ace Frehley and Peter Criss at every turn for their substance abuse issues, which were/are hardly in the same league as what McGhee was doing.  What's up (Doc?) with the double-standard, Gene?

LOVE ME LIKE A REPTILE?
Got home from work the other night and grabbed the mail out of the box.  Was thumbing through my bills as I strolled back toward my car near the edge of the driveway when I felt something hit my foot.  Looked down and saw a snake slithering around my shoes.  I've never jumped so high straight up before in my life!  I hope to hell no one had their video cam trained on me, or I'll surely wind up on YouTube.  True, it was just a harmless garden snake, but it might as well have been an Anaconda—I does NOT like snakes!!  I'll be watching for the little bugger next time I mow grass, too—my lawnmower don't like snakes either...

THEY REALLY GOT HIS NUMBER...
They honored Jackie Robinson Thursday in Major League Baseball on what would've been his birthday, with all the players on every team wearing #42.  Call me crazy, but I thought the whole idea behind retiring a player's number is so NO ONE wears it again!

And while it's most honorable that they honor JR, I can't help but think MLB is overdoing it a bit, almost as if they're apologizing and groveling for not honoring the man sooner than they did.  The number thing on the jerseys is really impractical, since it's fairly important from a scorekeeping and player recognition standpoint to have different #s for everyone.  Might I suggest next year having the players keep their regular numbers and wear a big #42 patch on their sleeves?  Or better yet, how 'bout they all just wear caps with a big 42 on them?

WHEN WAS THE LAST TIME...
...you saw/heard the phrase "Please be kind--REWIND!"?  Damn, that was sooo '80s/'90s...

CLASSIC MISHEARD LYRIC #123
"Your Mama Don't Dance"—LOGGINS & MESSINA (1972)  "The old folks say you gotta end your date by ten..."  I was only seven when this song came out, and I thought the line went "You gotta educate by ten..."

OKAY, I'M CLUELESS
Could someone please explain the song "Oh, Susanna!" to me?  "For I come from Alabama with a banjo on my knee"?!?  Okay, I come from Missouri, so what exactly is the blasted banjo DOING on your knee?  That would kinda hurt, wouldn't it?  Surely it would be difficult to walk with a banjo on your knee.  And even when seated, it would be awful hard to play the damn thing in that position...