Travelblog, Part 1--Louisville

I was eastbound and down last week as I hit the highway for a brief vacation to northern Kentucky and the Land of Mellencamp (Indiana).  I’d been to both Louisville and Indianapolis before, so these weren’t new frontiers for me at all, but there were some new things to do in each place since my prior visits, so here’s a little visual coverage with commentary…

THE HOME WHERE MADONNA AND ROSIE ONCE ROAMED
My first stop on my little journey was Evansville, Indiana, where I finally got to see Bosse Field, home of those dreaded Evansville Otters of minor league baseball’s Frontier League.  BF opened just a couple months after Chicago’s Wrigley Field did in 1915, making it the third-oldest professional ballpark in America still in use behind Wrigley and Boston’s Fenway Park.  The place might look familiar to you—it served as the home field of the Racine Belles in the 1992 hit film A League Of Their Own, and apart from the modern scoreboard and current-day signage on the outfield wall, the place doesn’t look much different than it did in the movie.  And in a nifty touch, the “Support your Racine Belles” sign still remains behind the third base grandstand.  While in town, I took a quick swing through downtown Evansville, and was quite underwhelmed—a lot of history here, but sad to say, it’s a bit of a dive.

“THE GREATEST” MUSEUM?  NOT QUITE
Once I got to Louisville, I headed right to the Muhammad Ali Center, located on the southern banks of the Ohio River.  Muhammad Ali was/is a polarizing figure, and I have rather mixed feelings about him myself.  As I was growing up, he was generally despised in our household, thanks mostly to my narrow-minded (and somewhat bigoted) old man.  I, in turn, generally disliked Ali until after his fighting career ended when I began to appreciate his witty personality and humorous bravado and understood his impact on popular culture a lot more.  Still, I have issues with a lot of the racist crap Ali uttered about white people back in the day and I can honestly do without the whole Islam thing, but then again, I think all religions are bullshit anyway, so take that for whatever it’s worth.  Not trying to offend anyone, here—just being honest, folks!

I’m not even a terribly big fan of boxing (even though I like the Rocky movies) but it was impossible to ignore Muhammad Ali when I was a kid, and he was every bit the ‘70s cultural icon that Kiss, the Bee Gees, Joe Namath and Elton John were, so I decided to give the Ali Center a try, but I came away somewhat disappointed with the place, overall.  I thought there was way too much emphasis on the racial/religious/socio-political aspects of Ali’s life and career.  By no means should all those issues be ignored, but I would like to have seen more emphasis on his actual boxing career, the Parkinson’s disease he now suffers from, and even his friendship with Howard Cosell, etc.  I also felt a sense of self-righteous preachiness emanating from the place, almost as if a guilt-trip was being laid on us “white folks” for the “suffering” Ali went through, and I didn’t like how they practically canonized the man and made him out to be some sort of martyr—he was a professional boxer, for crimeny’s sake!  Yes, he’s a legend to millions and a great humanitarian too, but he’s hardly a saint.  And somehow, even though it’s his hometown, I get the feeling the city of Louisville never really gave a rip about Ali until they realized they could make a boatload of money off him with this museum.  On my grading scale, I give the Ali Center a C, overall.  It would’ve gotten a C+ if it wasn’t so stifling hot in the building—fix yer damn a/c, will ya!

“SOMETIMES YOU’RE THE LOUISVILLE SLUGGER, SOMETIMES YOU’RE THE BALL…”
Next on the hit parade was the Louisville Slugger Museum and manufacturing plant just a few blocks from the Ali Center.  The museum portion wasn’t all that impressive, but the factory tour more than made up for it, as they take you through the actual work areas where millions of America’s wooden baseball bats are created.  The tour winds through the various automated lathes that cut and shape the bats, including the super-duper computerized mega lathe machine that produces bats for Major League players.  Us peons get the standard-issue bats that LS produces, but this particular machine is designed to cut and mold bats to the exact specifications of the individual players (minus the cork), the templates for which are all stored inside the computer and can be dialed up at any time at the click of a mouse.  On the day I was there, they were doing up a shipment of Mark Teixiera bats.  You also get to see how they brand the bats with the company logo, as well as the dyeing/painting process, etc.  I also admire the actual plant employees—I don’t think I’d much care for having hundreds of strangers gawking at me all day while I was on the job.  I give the Slugger museum a B, overall.

IS THAT ANOTHER CHICKEN JOKE?!?
“Laugh-In”’s JoAnne Worley would no doubt get a kick out of this little fowl exhibit near Louisville’s riverfront, which is some sort of ersatz tribute to Col. Sanders.  I guess…









TO THE BATCAVE!It didn’t dawn on me until after I got to Louisville Slugger Field on the NE corner of downtown that I was attending my first Triple-A ballgame ever.  I’ve done minor league games on the AA level and whatever level the K.C. T-Bones exist on (A-minus?), but never AAA.  Grandpa Munster’s favorite team, the hometown Louisville Bats (as in the rabid winged critters, not the wooden weapons) took on Cpl. Maxwell Q. Klinger’s beloved Toledo Mud Hens.  Jamie Farr was nowhere to be found, but he no doubt would have enjoyed the outcome, as Toledo prevailed 6-1.  Dandy little stadium too, with its retro/old school design, not to mention (relatively) cheap beer.  Constant motion seems to be the theme here, as you have cars whooshing by on I-64 to the north and on I-65 to the east, jet planes overhead taking off and landing at Louisville International to the south, and a huge merry-go-round spinning in the right field corner.  Nice atmosphere too, worthy of a B+.  I hate this time of year though, because even though this game started at 7:10PM, it was still daylight when it ended!  So much for night games…

SPEAKING OF MAX KLINGER…
“I can’t believe you actually talked me into giving away my hard-earned money to a bunch of grown men named Newk, Duke and Pee Wee!”—Maj. Charles Emerson Winchester III

When I saw this statue of late Hall of Fame shortstop Pee Wee Reese outside the ballpark, I was reminded of those immortal words spoken by Maj. Winchester on “MASH” after he’d been suckered by Klinger into betting on the Brooklyn Dodgers in the famed 1951 “Shot Heard ‘Round The World” playoff game against the Giants.  Harold Henry Reese was a native Kentuckian and spent a couple years in the minors with the Louisville Colonels in the late ‘30s before moving on to stardom with Dem Bums in the ‘40s and ‘50s.  His nickname didn’t refer to his size, but rather to his love of playing marbles as a kid, with “Pee Wee” being one of the denominations, so to speak, of marbles.  Reese was also known for being one of the first white players on the Dodgers to befriend Jackie Robinson during his early days on the team.

JUST HORSIN’ AROUND
The first time I visited Louisville in 2005, Churchill Downs was undergoing major renovations, thus the museum and grounds tour thereof were unavailable, so I dropped by the world’s most famous horsie track to try again.  Not unlike the Slugger plant, the museum itself was just so-so (floppy hat exhibit notwithstanding), but the tour of the paddock and grandstand was worth the price of admission.  I’m not a huge equestrian fan, but I always enjoy the Triple Crown races every year on TV, and this was very educational for me.  First off, I always thought the paddock was out in the track infield somewhere instead of behind the main grandstand, thus the horses are led through one tunnel under the stands, then mounted by the jockeys in the paddock stalls, then paraded back to the track through another tunnel.  I was also surprised to learn that the track itself is composed of about 75% sand instead of dirt.  Youse environmental enthusiasts will be pleased to know that all the horsie doody at the track is rounded up each day and recycled into fine mulch and is stinking up lawns throughout America at this very minute.

Churchill Downs would’ve received a B-minus from me, but I have to take points off for where they made their customers park for the museum/tour.  Even though the nice asphalt parking lot adjacent to the main entrance was virtually empty, for some reason only FEMA could explain, us visitors were sent off to park in a crappy gravel lot in Outer Mongolia at the edge of complex and forced to hoof it a country mile back to the museum.  WTF?!?  Being as I drove my late father’s car on this trip, I could’ve been a crap-weasel and whipped out his still-valid handicapped tag and parked in one of the cushy wheelchair spots close to the building, but that’s not my style.  And for an able-bodied person like me who needs to drop a few pounds anyway, this little hike was actually beneficial, but I saw an awful lot of elderly people being forced to walk a long way for nothing (on a hot humid day, no less), so I’m downgrading the Downs to a C instead.  Come on, Derby peeples—you can do better than that, especially considering this was a WALKING tour!

Just as an aside, for those of you who’ve never been there, you’re in for a shock when you see the neighborhood Churchill Downs resides in.  If you’re envisioning picturesque rolling hills and country club farmland surrounding the track like I did years ago before my first visit, forget it.  The track complex abuts a very ordinary and borderline-seedy part of town—for my K.C. area friends, think the Leeds district where the GM plant used to be or the Independence Avenue corridor, and you’ll get the picture.  While I wouldn’t quite call it the ‘Hood, it ain’t exactly the Ewing ranch either…

"Hot Winter Nights" - Part 1

Sorry I haven't written lately—I just plain haven't had the time lately.  I've been meaning to do a long-overdue tribute to my favorite sports franchise of all-time, the dearly-departed Kansas City Comets indoor soccer franchise.  The team that gave me my radio nickname "Captain Comet" moved to K.C. from San Francisco in 1981 and they were the hottest ticket in town almost immediately, even routinely out-drawing the NBA's Kansas City Kings at the box office.  I followed the team from the get-go, and from 1985 through their demise in 1991, I practically ate, slept and drank the Comets, and they are the only team I've ever owned season tickets for in any sport.  They actually managed to make an awkward sports venue like Kemper Arena seem like New Yawk's Madison Square Garden or L.A.'s "Fabulous" Forum, and I miss them terribly.  I will get into the team itself and players therein in a future installment, but first a little background about the original Major Indoor Soccer League and my interest thereof...

The MISL was formed in 1978 and originally fielded six teams (mostly in the Northeast) that played their games on Astroturf fields laid right over NHL hockey rinks with six-foot-high goals built into the dasherboards and pleixglas that rimmed the rink.  Each team played five-a-side with a goalkeeper and the action was lightning fast as the ball richocheted pinball-style off the players and boards.  The charter members of the league were the New York Arrows, Philadelphia Fever, Cleveland Force, Houston Summit, Pittsburgh Spirit and Cincinnati Kids (owned in part by baseball's Pete Rose, kicking out the first ball in pic).  The Arrows—featuring the likes of Branko Segota, Fred Grgurev, goalkeeper Shep Messing and all-time league-leading scorer Steve "The Lord Of All Indoors" Zungul—were every bit as dominant as their co-tenants at Long Island's Nassau Coliseum, the New York Islanders, winning the first four MISL Championships almost concurrently with the Islanders' glory days in the early '80s.

The league added new teams gradually during the early '80s, expanding further into the midwest and eventually the west coast, and at one time boasted 16 franchises and even some limited national TV exposure on ESPN.  The game caught on like wildfire in cities like St. Louis, Dallas, San Diego, Baltimore, the Twin Cities and even Wichita and Tacoma, but unfortunately, the owners got greedy and overpaid for star players like Tatu, Kai Haaskivi, Karl-Heinz Granitza, Nebo Bandovic, et al, and salaries spiraled out of control and one-by-one, franchises started folding like flies.  By 1988, even stalwarts like the St. Louis Steamers and Cleveland Force were gone and the league was down to seven teams.  They were replaced almost immediately by the St. Louis Storm and Cleveland Crunch, but neither team drew as well as their predecessors, and the MISL staggered into the '90s, folding for good in the spring of 1992.  A rival league, the National Professional Soccer League (originally known as the American Indoor Soccer Association) partially filled the void in the '90s by absorbing defunct MISL franchises like Wichita, Baltimore and Cleveland and replacing our Comets with the Kansas City Attack (transplanted from Atlanta), but it just was hardly the same thing.  Darn shame too, because I think indoor soccer could have become the fifth major league sport along with Major League Baseball, the NFL, NBA and NHL.

I discovered the MISL the first week of June, 1979 just after school let out for the summer as I stumbled across condensed telecasts of the league's playoff games at 1:00 in the morning (when I had no bedtime) on Channel 4 here in K.C. (right after Tom Snyder's "Tomorrow" show) and I was instantly hooked.  I distinctly remember how every time an errant ball was kicked into the stands, the fans were expected to return it to the field (unlike in baseball), and when they did, the P.A. announcer would politely say, "Thank you!"  I also remember enjoying the fast-paced end-to-end action, which was the total antithesis of the outdoor soccer thing that I found extremely boring.  About a year later, Channel 5 here in K.C. aired a St. Louis Steamers playoff game, and I remember thinking "Man, I hope Kansas City gets a team someday..."  I got my wish in the fall of '81 when Dr. David Schoenstadt moved his financially-struggling San Francisco Fog out of Chateau de Cow (the Cow Palace) to our little Cowtown and the Kemper Corral and re-christened them the Comets.  Okay, cue the Midnight Express theme now...

"Nothing's in the past--it always seems to come again..."

RONNIE JAMES DIO, 1942-2010
Well, the inevitable finally happened yesterday as we lost singer Ronnie James Dio to stomach cancer at age 67.  The recent news regarding his treatments certainly wasn’t good, and when they cancelled the upcoming Heaven And Hell (i.e., post-Ozzy Black Sabbath) tour dates for this summer, you kinda knew the end was near.  Damn shame, because by all accounts, RJD was a pretty good guy.  I always enjoyed his interviews on the radio, MTV, et al—he was always forthright and spoke eloquently (traits you don’t always encounter in the Heavy Metal genre) and he generally came across as a very classy guy.  I found it interesting that he was a big baseball fan and dreamed of playing professionally when he was young, but his size impeded that effort.  He also idolized Reggie Jackson, but we won’t hold that against him.  If I ever got to meet Ronnie, I always wanted to ask him whatever happened to his brothers Ray and Stu.  Get it?  Ray Dio.  Stu Dio.  Sorry, couldn’t resist…

Of course, Dio was not his real last name—he was born Ronald James Padavona in 1942 in New Hampshire, of all places.  I was shocked to realize recently how old he was—Ronnie was almost three years older than Pete Townshend and five years older than Elton John, even though he came on the scene long after they did.  Ronnie’s first real claim to fame was the band Elf in the early ‘70s, then he joined forces with Ritchie Blackmore in Rainbow for about three years before replacing Ozzy Osbourne in Black Sabbath in 1980.  There are Ozzy sycophants out there who to this day refuse to acknowledge anything Sabbath did without him, and frankly, they’re a bunch of morons.  Not only was 1980’s Heaven And Hell an absolute killer album, but I’m partial to much of the post-Ozzy Black Sabbath output, particularly the late ‘80s era which featured singer Tony Martin, whose style was/is not unlike Dio’s.  I also remember how the media tried to create the “feud” that never really existed between Dio and Ozzy as Osbourne’s solo career took off in the early ‘80s.  For better or worse, egos clashed between Dio and guitarist Tony Iommi and (to a lesser extent) bassist Geezer Butler, thus Ronnie left Sabbath in 1982 for a fairly successful career with his own band, and Dio videos become staples of MTV’s “Headbanger’s Ball” by the late '80s.  Dio (the band) included guitarist Vivian Campbell (now a member of Def Leppard), bassist Jimmy Bain and erstwhile Sabbath drummer Vinnie Appice (Carmine’s brother).  RJD reunited with Sabbath for one album, 1992’s Dehumanizer, before egos clashed again.  And finally a couple years ago, Dio, Iommi, Butler and Appice reconvened one more time as Heaven And Hell (Sharon Osbourne won’t allow them to use the Black Sabbath moniker anymore unless Ozzy’s in the band) for a successful reunion tour and DVD.

Ronnie James Dio possessed one of the most powerful and distinctive voices in Rock, and was one of the greatest Heavy Metal growlers ever.  Long live Rock ‘N’ Roll, indeed.  Rest in peace, Ronnie…

My All-Time Dio Top 10:
1) Neon Knights (Black Sabbath)
2) The Mob Rules (Black Sabbath)
3) The Last In Line
4) Long Live Rock ‘N’ Roll (Rainbow)
5) We Rock
6) Heaven And Hell (Black Sabbath)
7) T.V. Crimes (Black Sabbath)
8) Rainbow In The Dark
9) Man On The Silver Mountain (Rainbow)
10) I Speed At Night

LATHER, RINSE, RE-PETE
Was channel surfing the other night and stumbled across A&E’s “Biography” installment on The Who’s Pete Townshend.  Didn’t take long for them to lose their credibility with me, though, as about 60 seconds into the program, the main title sequence concluded with “PETE TOWNSHED” in great big letters on the screen.  To quote one of Pete’s own lyrics, “Is that exactly what I thought I read?”  Talk about getting an F in Proofreading!  I’ve often seen Pete’s surname misspelled with the ‘H’ missing, but never the second ‘N’!  Only thing I can figure is the graphics person was thinking about the legendary Arthur “Two Sheds” Jackson as they keyed Pete’s name in…

MEET THE NEW BOSS, SAME AS THE OLD BOSS
Speaking of Pete's lyrics, just as I predicted, K.C. Royals manager Trey Hillman didn’t last the season (hell, he didn’t even last through May!) and the team fired him before Thursday’s game, but they let him go ahead and manage the game anyway.  Typical Royals ineptitude—they can’t even FIRE somebody properly!  As Archie used to say to Edith, “Can’t you do nothin’ right?”  If anything, the Royals did Hillman a huge favor by letting him go—he’s a good manager but had absolutely nothing to work with here, so now he’s free to seek out a much better gig.  They replaced Hillman with former Brewers manager Ned Yost, but it won’t make that much difference with this roster.  The bullpen is a joke, the starting pitching has been iffy, and there are too many position players who are mere stop-gaps instead of permanent solutions.  The only saving grace is that Yost might be a little more fun to watch because he’s a fiery guy, as opposed to the taciturn Hillman, who was a crashing bore.  Either way, it’s going to be a loooong summer at Kauffman Stadium…

THE “KING” IS ABDICATING…
For the second straight year, the Cleveland Cavaliers have flamed-out early in the NBA playoffs, and LeBron “King” James is being roundly blamed for it.  Actually, James is to blame for a lot of the Cadavers’ problems, but not necessarily because of his underachievement on the court.  All you heard last year and this year during the playoffs was/is “Will LeBron leave Cleveland?” and I really think all that worrying and fretting by the fans and media had a negative effect on the team—they were so zoned-in on this that they forgot to actually play the games.  Then again, the last time I checked, basketball was a TEAM game, but the media (ESPN especially) treats James like he’s Tiger Woods, Lance Armstrong or Roger Federerererer playing an individual sport.  Seems to me like Cleveland doesn’t have a good enough supporting cast to be a champion right now, and believe it or not, I think they might be better off letting LeBron go so they can put together a better ensemble cast later on.

LONG LIVE THE IGLOO!Last Thursday marked the end of an era as the #8-seed Montreal Canadiens shockingly took the Pittsburgh Penguins out of the Stanley Cup playoffs in Game 7 of their second-round series, thus ending the tenure of Pittsburgh Civic Arena.  Opened in 1961, “The Igloo”, as it’s affectionately known, is one of the funkier sports venues you’ll ever find in North America, being the first multi-purpose arena to feature a retractable roof, which was built in part so the Pittsburgh Civic Light Orchestra could “play under the stars” during summer concerts.  Sadly, the roof hasn’t been opened in years, and it would’ve been fun to see the Penguins stage one of those outdoor hockey games before they became all the rage a couple years ago.  In addition to hockey, the Igloo was also home briefly to the old American Basketball Association’s Pittsburgh Pipers/Condors and served as the part-time home of U. of Pittsburgh basketball as well.  The Major Indoor Soccer League’s Pittsburgh Spirit also had a brief tenure at the Igloo, as did several other “niche” sports like roller hockey and indoor lacrosse, and the arena was even featured in Hollywood movies like the Jean-Claude Van Damme action flick Sudden Death and the infamous '70s comedy The Fish That Saved Pittsburgh.

Civic Arena (I refuse to refer to it by its corporate name) became the Pens' pen when they joined the NHL in 1967, and saw the team go through some lean times and nearly leave town several times, only to be rescued by Mario Lemieux (both on the ice and off), and the team won back-to-back Stanley Cups in 1991-92 and again just last year.  I had the great privilege of seeing Super Mario score a goal at the Penguins game I attended there in 1994, which I thoroughly enjoyed.  I sat in the uppermost balcony on the end of the rink and the view was awesome.  The team will move into fancy their new joint across the street next season, but the fate of the Igloo is still uncertain.  There’s talk of redeveloping it as opposed to demolishing it, which I’m all for.  And with the Igloo being decommissioned, Madison Square Garden now becomes the oldest arena in the NHL, and probably will be for some time, as they are gradually renovating the GAH-den to take it well into the current century.

ACT LIKE YOU’VE BEEN THERE BEFORE…
In a troubling trend, rabid Canadiens fans erupted with violence and looting in the streets of downtown Montreal in the wake of their win against Pittsburgh the other night.  This is the similar to the incidents two years ago when Habs fans went bonkers all because they beat Boston in a playoff series—something Montreal does with great regularity anyway.  Keep in mind, we’re talking about the New York Yankees of the NHL with their 24 Stanley Cup championships—why all the hoop-de-doo over winning a second-round series?  This is akin to Yankees fans going berserk over a four-game sweep of the Royals.  Grow up, Montreal—vous est stupide!

SHOULD WE STAY OR SHOULD WE GO?
Been a lot of talk lately about the University of Missouri (and Nebraska, too) jumping ship from the Big 12 to the Big Ten Conference.  Notre Dame is also supposedly part of the mix, along with possibly Syracuse and Rutgers, thus ostensibly creating the Bigger Ten.  When the rumors first started about MU, I just chalked it up to being a lot of hot air, but it sounds like they may be serious about doing this after all.  Initially, I was dead-set against it because Mizzou would lose so many longtime rivals, but the more I think about this, it might not be a bad move after all.  The Big 12 does their damndest to keep MU off the TV (esp. in football), whereas you can see most every Big Ten game on any given Saturday here in K.C. if you have cable (even Northwestern vs. Indiana).  Mizzou fans are also tired of getting fucked over by the bowl selection committee, and I think a move to the Big Ten might improve their stature in that pecking order.  As for the rest of the Big 12, I’ve never been all that crazy about the Texas schools being in our conference anyway, and although we’d probably miss having K-State, Oklahoma and Iowa State as rivals, nothing’s stopping MU from at least maintaining its rivalry with Kansas on a non-conference basis similar to the one they currently enjoy with Illinois.  Plus, I think developing new rivalries with Iowa, Minnesota, Purdue, et al, might be kinda fun and spark a whole new level of interest in the athletic program.

WHAT MIGHT HAVE BEEN…
Just finished reading the sad story of Motown singer Tammi Terrell last week in a bio co-written by her sister Ludie Montgomery.  Tammi was born Thomasina Montgomery and was also known as Tammy Montgomery when she toured as a back-up singer with James Brown.  She’s best known for her duets with the late Marvin Gaye, including “Your Precious Love” and “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough”.  She was also known for her sometimes-abusive relationships with Brown and late Temptation David Ruffin.  Until recently, I didn’t even know what Tammi Terrell looked like, and boy was I surprised when I checked her out on the ‘net.  As you can see here, she was quite the cutie, and didn't look anything like the chick that played her in the Temptations TV biopic.  Seeing her photos also made me wonder, what would possess some fool to beat on her?  Talented individuals that Brown and Ruffin were, I feel it’s only fair to state here that they were a couple of turds for mistreating her like that.  That goes for any other “man” who physically abuses his woman.  I have no patience for creeps like that at all…

Anyway, Tammi had a beautiful voice, too—not unlike the late Florence Ballard, she could sing rings around Diana Ross—and hers blended so well with Gaye’s that they made a natural and very likeable duo, recording several albums and singles together.  Although the two were the best of friends, they were never lovers, as is commonly thought (Gaye was already married at the time, anyway).  Tammi seemed poised to have a successful solo career as well before tragedy struck in October, 1967 when she collapsed into Marvin’s arms while performing in concert in Virginia.  She’d complained previously of frequent headaches and doctors discovered a brain tumor when she was hospitalized.  Over the next two and a half years, Tammi endured eight brain surgeries and numerous hospitalizations, and even temporarily lost her sight and was paralyzed on one side of her body for a time, but the tumor kept spreading and there was no hope.  Apart from a handful of concert appearances that she was able to do in 1969, her career was virtually over before it had really started.  Tammi Terrell passed away just a few weeks shy of her 25th birthday on March 16, 1970, sending Gaye into a major depression that I don’t think he ever fully recovered from, in spite of his subsequent musical successes.  Forty years later, one wonders if today’s medical and surgical procedures might have been able to save her.

Doin' it bloggie-style...

FOUR DEAD IN O-HI-O, 4-0
I’m really surprised there’s been little-to-no mention in the media this week about Tuesday being the 40th anniversary of the Kent State tragedy.  Screw Watergate—I think Kent State was Nixon’s biggest blunder, and to this day, I don’t get why this thing had to happen, all because The Big Dick’s ego was bruised by a bunch of college kids who were fed up with an ignorant war.  To their credit, at least Kent State doesn’t try to sweep it under the rug and act as if nothing happened.  In the parking lot where the shootings took place, they’ve cordoned off the four exact spots where each student was gunned down, and there’s also a small monument nearby.  It’s well worth the visit if you’re ever up in that area.

MORE (LAST) WORDS FROM GEORGE
I highlighted some passages from George Carlin’s “sorta-biography” book Last Words that really resonated with me that I want to share.  I should point out that I don’t subscribe to Carlin’s attitudes here just because George wrote them.  He and I seemed to share the same position on a lot of issues, and he often reinforced my original opinion in the first place.  In other words, I don't merely let a comedian (not even a brilliant/legendary one) form my religious or political beliefs.  It's just that George could express my feelings better than I sometimes can, his “World’s Greatest Bullshit Story” bit being a prime example.  Anyway, here are some more profound quotes from Sir George:

On the never-ending liberal vs. conservative conundrum:
“I felt discomfort at having received positions on issues, simply because of my preference for the left of center, for people’s rights over property rights.  I was beginning to find that a lot of my positions clashed.  The habits of liberals, their automatic language, their knee-jerk responses to certain issues, deserved the epithets the right wing stuck them with.  I’d see how true they often were.  Here they were, banding together in packs, so that I could predict what they were going to say about some event or conflict and it wasn’t even out of their mouths yet.  I was very uncomfortable with that.  Liberal orthodoxy was as repugnant to me as conservative orthodoxy.”

This is the line I currently find myself treading, hence why I consider myself to be a “radical moderate”.  Though I’m still left-leaning, more often than not anymore, I think both sides are full of shit…

On group mentality:
“The worst thing about groups are their values.  Traditional values, American values, family values, shared values, OUR values.  Just Code for white, middle-class prejudices and discrimination, justification for greed and hatred.”

“Bullshit is the glue of our society.”

On the subject of children, which came up at a celebrity panel discussion gathering on HBO:
“I’m letting it go whenever it’s CHILDREN this and CHILDREN that.  Now it’s the Internet and THE CHILDREN and we can’t protect THE CHILDREN and porn and THE CHILDREN.  This goes on and on and even Chevy (Chase), when he’s not doing structural damage to the building, is being self-important and pretentious about THE CHILDREN.  They finally call on me and I say:  'There’s TOO MUCH ATTENTION TO CHILDREN in this country!  Leave them ALONE!  They’re gonna BE ALL RIGHT!  They’re SMARTER THAN YOU ARE!'”

Amen to that!

“I must say, like most adults, I find kids fascinating one-on-one.  Just watching them drool or look at you funny.  Or even saying something bright.  But as a class—far too much attention.”

On global warming/Saving the planet:
“The problem was caused long ago by us arrogantly trying to control nature, believing we were superior to our environment.  Just as arrogant to think we’ve needed to save it—especially when we haven’t even learned how to take care of one another.  Earth doesn’t need us to save it.  It’s survived four and an half billion years through far worse disasters than a species a mere hundred thousand years old that has only been really fucking the place up since the Industrial Revolution.  We imagine we threaten this vastly powerful self-correcting system?  The planet will shuck us off like a case of the crabs.  Forget about saving endangered species—WE are the endangered species.”

I wish George could’ve lived a bit longer to skewer this whole “going green” bullshit.  Makes me want to burn a stack of tires in my back yard in his honor!

Overall, Last Words is a wonderful book and a great read, apart from a section at the end when George got a little psychobabbly about his relationship with the audience and his views on his art and his craft.  Like I mentioned last time, it seems like he’s still alive in so many ways, but it’s depressing to realize there won’t be any more brilliant witticisms and diatribes coming from Carlin.  I guess John Lennon was right:  “And so, dear friends, I guess you’ll just have to carry on…”  Thanks again for all the laughs, George…

TIME IS RUNNING OUT
Get a load of who Time magazine considers to be some of the 100 Most Influential People In The World, in their latest issue.  Oh, there’s the usual suspects like Pres. Obama, Sarah Palin, Oprah, et al, but then you have such icons as Taylor Swift, Lady Gaga, Sandra Bullock, Neil Patrick Harris and Bill Mickelson.  WTF?!?  Let’s see, that’s an off-key Country singer, an off-kilter Pop singer, an overrated actress, a gay actor and a golfer, in that order.  Influential, my ass!  Oh, and they have Bill Clinton categorized in the “Heroes” section being praised by Bono, and Ted Nugent’s little lovefest on Palin contains enough bullshit to fertilize my entire back yard.  I still can’t believe I used to idolize that man.

Speaking of Sarah Palin, as much as I loathe what she stands for and what a limelight whore she’s become, I do have to admit she’s a very attractive woman.  One of the better photos I’ve seen of her graces the back cover of the Time issue.  No bike shorts this time—just a very classy skirt suit.  One question, though—since when did conservative women start wearing 5-inch heels?  Does Nordstrom’s of Alaska have a fetish-wear department now?

IT’S A GAS GAS GAS…
I love all these people (including some of my own co-workers) who are suddenly against off-shore oil drilling in the wake of the oil spill FUBAR in the Gulf of Mexico.  These same bleeding-hearted saps are the first ones to bitch and moan when gas prices spiral out of control, then they start whining about the U.S. being far too dependent on foreign oil and that we should endeavor to find our own stash.  Can’t have it both ways, folks.  And who could have forseen this accident occurring anyway?  Damn crybabies…

VERY LAX
Newspaper and especially Internet editors are fast becoming extremely lazy these days by substituting ‘lax’ in place of the word ‘lacrosse’.  I’m growing tired of seeing ‘lax’ in the headlines about this U. of Virginia lacrosse player who was brutally murdered.  Whenever I see ‘lax’, I automatically think of a big airport in Californy, not what G. Carlin once deemed to be a "faggot college activity."  Try spelling the whole word out, guys…

CALL NOAH AND TELL HIM TO STAND BY…
It’s a drag to watch what’s happening down Nashville way with the flooding there.  I was shocked to see photos of the riverfront area that I walked around in a couple years ago next to the Cumberland River totally underwater.  I also read where the Country Music Hall of Fame had water in its basement, as did the Predators' hockey arena.  The field at the Titans stadium was also under water at one point and the Grand Ole Opry house out in the burbs had flood issues too.  Fortunately, the historic Ryman Auditorium sits on a hill and seems to be out of danger—unless this flood does reach biblical proportions.  Hope for everyone’s sake down there that things dry out soon…

“OFF THE RAILS” IS AN UNDERSTATMENT
Just finished reading Off The Rails:  Aboard The Crazy Train In The Blizzard Of Ozz by journeyman bassist Rudy Sarzo, and it’s an excellent read.  Rudy chronicles his brief, yet tumultuous stint in Ozzy Osbourne’s band during 1981-82 which of course, coincided with the totally senseless tragic plane crash that killed guitarist Randy Rhoads.  Actually, Sarzo himself contributed very little to the tumult—he and Rhoads and drummer Tommy Aldridge were good soldiers and kept their noses clean for the most part—and naturally it was those tempestuous Osbournes (Ozzy & Sharon) who kept everyone on edge as the "Blizzard Of Ozz" and "Diary Of A Madman" tours slogged their way across North America and Europe.

The more I learn about Ozzy and Sharon, the less I like them, especially Sharon.  In spite of the lovey-dovey public persona she puts up, Sharon Osbourne strikes me as a rather vile individual, not unlike her late hard-ass father, Don Arden, who managed Black Sabbath and others with an iron fist.  Although Sarzo paints SO in a fairly positive light in his book, I’ve heard on more than one occasion that she is not well-liked in music business circles and can be very petty and spiteful when someone crosses her—no wonder Jack and Kelly are so fucked-up!  As for Ozzy, I find it truly astounding that this man is still alive (let alone even halfway functional now) considering how much he alcohol he consumed and how much cocaine he snorted—Ozzy made Jim Morrison and Hank Williams, Jr. look like a teetotalers in comparison during the early ‘80s.  He also had this bizarre preoccupation with urinating and/or defecating in public places, hotel ice machines, people’s shoes, etc., which subsequently led to his infamous arrest for taking a whiz on the Alamo in San Antonio in ‘82.  Still and all, Ozzy has defied all odds and can look back on a very successful solo career, what precious little he can remember of it, anyway…

Rudy also detailed his friendship with Randy Rhoads and what a dedicated musician RR was.  Even before the plane crash, Randy’s days with Ozzy’s band were probably numbered anyway, as he became frustrated with how overly-theatrical the concerts had gotten, and he longed to learn more about classical guitar.  Pretty impressive—as good a guitarist as this guy was, he wasn’t one to rest on his laurels and wanted to keep growing as a musician.  Rhoads also chafed a bit at having to perform Osbourne’s Sabbath classics “Iron Man”, “Children Of The Grave” and “Paranoid”, preferring to focus on the material he’d written with Ozzy on their first two albums.  Contrary to what I’ve previously written about 1982's Speak Of The Devil album, it seems that a full live Ozzy album comprised of Black Sabbath tunes was already in the works before the plane crash, as opposed to being an inspired idea to avoid appearing to capitalize on Randy’s death, as I’d always assumed.  RR initially balked at the notion of doing an entire album’s worth of Sabbath songs, and it didn’t matter, anyway, as Brad Gillis of Night Ranger wound up doing the honors six months after the tragedy, but it still would’ve been fun to hear Randy’s own takes on those songs.  His soloing on “Children Of The Grave” on the Tribute CD blows away all other live versions I’ve heard, including Tony Iommi’s.  I’ve said it here before—one wonders what else this little dude would’ve gone on to accomplish in his career had he lived.  My hunch is he’d have outgrown Ozzy and moved on to a solo career with a backing band à la Ted Nugent, Stevie Ray Vaughan or Santana.

I was hoping Mr. Sarzo would also discuss his days with Quiet Riot and Whitesnake in Off The Rails, but I’m guessing he’s saving that for another book.  I would especially love to hear about the ups and downs with singer Kevin DuBrow and his over-inflated ego.  The 1984 MTV interview with QR where a clearly-embarrassed Sarzo silently does a slow burn while DuBrow mugs for the camera (about midway through this clip) is just priceless, and Rudy left the band not long afterward.  I would also enjoy reading about Sarzo’s days with Whitesnake (especially about what an arrogant prick singer David Coverdale was/is), as well as his time with Dio (shades of irony—Sarzo played for both Ozzy and Dio) and more recently, Blue Oyster Cult.  Anyway, damn good book, Rudy!

HOLY TRIVIA, BATMAN!
I am now partway through actor Adam West’s biography Back To The Batcave, and in it, the mayor of Quahog revealed that he won the role of the Caped Crusader over future “Carol Burnett Show” regular Lyle Waggoner and even more surprisingly, actor Mike Henry.  MH is better known as Junior in the Smokey & The Bandit flicks.  Henry was also a tight end with the L.A. Rams in the early ‘60s, and later played the second Donald Penobscott on “MASH”.  Impress your friends with those trivial morsels, if you like…

“JUST LEAVE YOUR NAME AND NUMBER AT THE BEEP…”
Don’t go away, it’s time to play my new-fangled “Rockford Files” Drinking Game!  I’ve recently gotten into wacthing the mid-‘70s crime drama starring James Garner on DVD and in spite of its inherent predictability, I enjoy it anyway.  So, if you want to have a little fun, grab a copy of a season’s worth of “Rockford” on DVD, line up your favorite alcoholic beverage and play along.

Simply take one drink whenever:
—Jim recites his famous fee, “$200 a day, plus expenses”
—Jim gets arrested for anything, regardless of the charge or whether he’s guilty of it or not
—Jim’s old man (Rocky) does something inept to foil Jim’s brilliant scheme
—Jim’s stoolie friend Angel does something even more inept than Rocky to foil said scheme
—Jim comes home to his trailer only to find a perp inside pointing a gun at him
—Jim is awoken in the middle of the night by a phone call or a knock at his door
—One of Jim’s fellow inmates from his San Quentin days shows up at his doorstep
—Rocky chastises Jim for choosing such a dangerous line of work
—Jim unexpectedly gets whisked away in a car at gunpoint by a group of thugs
—Jim’s girlfriend of the week gets bumped-off by the bad guys
—Rocky, Angel or Jim’s lawyer gal (or any combo of the three) are held hostage by the baddies
—Rockford goes under the alias "Jim Taggart"
—Jim gets beaten up
—Jim pisses off his police detective buddy Dennis Becker/puts him in a bind over something
—Jim inflicts damage on his Pontiac Firebird (or Rocky’s GMC pick-up)

If played properly, you should be pretty well sloshed after about three episodes!

Happy Frehley Day!

Brother Ace turns 59 today.  Ack!  Ack!

LAST(ING) WORDS FROM GEORGE
I’m currently enjoying Last Words, the late George Carlin’s “sorta-biography”, as he dubbed it.  It was co-written with comedian Tony Hendra, a Brit and one-time friendly rival of Carlin’s who initially worked with the late Graham Chapman of Monty Python, and who later became an editor at National Lampoon.  This book had been in the works for well over 20 years before George passed away in 2008, but got derailed several times by movie projects, health issues and GC’s ill-advised foray into network TV in the early ‘90s, among others things, but it was totally worth the wait. It’s written in first person, and as I read along, it feels almost as if George is still with us and is talking directly to me.  Through his hilarious recollections of his grade school and teen years on his classic ‘70s albums Class Clown and Occupation:  Foole, I already kinda felt like I knew George personally, and Last Words does a nice job fleshing out those stories even more, as well giving background about where many of his classic routines and characters originated.  And even though I’ve heard this guy’s comedy bits a thousand times and can practically recite those ‘70s albums word-for-word, his old stuff to this day STILL makes me laugh whenever I read or hear it again.  One that never fails to elicit a belly laugh out of me is when he imitates a black dude giving him shit about the fact he has no ass:  “Say, baby, where your ass at?!?  My man ain’t got no ass!!  Shit, how do you them pants up, man?”  And another where GC discusses the work ‘fuck’:  “It’s kind of a proud word, too.  ‘Who are you?’  ‘I am FUCK!  FUCK of the Mountains!’  ‘Tune in again next week to Fuck Of the Mountains!”  And, yes, for better or worse, I learned profanity from listening to my older sister’s Carlin records when I was 8 or 9 years old…thanks, George!

Getting back to the book, I also like how Carlin doesn’t sugarcoat his fuck-ups, particularly his out-of-control drug use in the ‘70s.  He was/is his own worst critic, and this book seems to be a pretty honest account of his life.  And there’s one passage that touched a personal nerve with me where talked about his early years working in Greenwich Village in the mid-‘60s how that while he was on friendly terms with his peer group of other comedians and performers, he more or less kept everyone at arm’s length from him, and didn’t get close to anyone, even though he wanted to.  He wrote, “Later I came to realize the curiousness of choosing to be, and feeling, apart from people and at the same time dying to be accepted, longing to be accepted, to be asked in.  But on my terms.”  This pretty much sums up my own social life and limited social circle.  There’s a bit of George in me, and perhaps I need to re-think my own approach to friendships and relationships…

I know I’ve told this story before on the blog, but I met George Carlin after his 1987 Midland Theater concert here in K.C. and got his autograph.  As we were leaving the theater, my friend Tom and I saw this crowd gathered outside the “Stage Door” with a stretch limo parked out front waiting for George.  We both figured it was a ruse and he’d already left in a bread truck or something, but just for shits and hoots, we hung around a bit anyway.  Sure enough, not five minutes later, the man himself emerged, and Tom and I scurried back across 13th Street and queued up with the flotilla of fans who had assembled.  GC was very friendly and accommodating to everyone and he was wearing a Z.Z. Top ball cap.  When he signed my souvenir program, I said, “Hey, a fellow Z.Z. Top fan!” and George replied, “Yeah—I noticed you two skulking across the street there...”  Every time I hear the word ‘skulking’, it makes me think of George Carlin…

Carlin became a disc jockey right after he left the Air Force, and the first station he worked at was KJOE in Shreveport, LA. What a coincidence—yours truly was once a DJ at a station called “K-Jo” (“K-Jo 105”, officially) in St. Joseph, MO!  It would’ve been fun to be able to tell him about the KJOE/K-Joe coincidence when we met him, but at that time, I wasn’t aware of his KJOE thing, and my K-Jo thing was still in the future.  Anyway, if there actually is a hereafter, I hope I get to hook up with George and have a drink or two and shoot the shit.  And after being horrified at the total cost the funeral home laid out on our family to bury my Dad last month, I’m seriously contemplating doing Carlin’s 1977 bit about death:  “When I die I don’t want to go through that funeral shit…and I don’t want to be cremated either—I wanna be BLOWN UP!  BOOM!  ‘There he goes!!  God love ‘im…;”  Even with all the pyrotechnics, this method would surely be a helluva lot cheaper.  Ironically, George apparently had a change of heart and wound up being cremated…

AND IN BEST CARLIN TRADITION…
Add another entry to my ever-growing list of “People I Could Do Without”:  These immature twits who don’t pronounce the second ‘d’ in the word ‘didn’t’.  As in, “Oh, no you DIH-int!”  They sound like damn 5th graders!  Same goes for these dolts who “axe” me when my “burfday” is…

BACKWARD CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS?
[WARNING:  Religious commentary ahead.  You know the drill—if you’re easily offended by it, then skip the next three paragraphs in blue.]

A new “group” that’s all the rage on Facebook lately is one where some supposed “Christian” appeals to God in prayer:  “Dear Lord, Last year, you took my favorite actor, Patrick Swayze and my favorite actress, Farrah Fawcett, and my favorite singer, Michael Jackson.  I just wanted to let you know Barack Obama is my favorite President.  Amen.”  Yes, I know it’s just meant as a joke, and I also know I shouldn’t take these FB group things all that seriously—hell, I started one myself called “Flo Must Go”, in hopes of eradicating that annoyingly-perky “Flo” spokesperson on the aggressive Progressive insurance TV ads, but I don’t mean any harm by it.  Having said all that, however, ain’t it just a bit warped that some “Christian” is calling for the death of someone whom they don’t like and/or disagree with?  Last I looked, this group was over 800,000 strong, including one of my best longtime friends (a self-proclaimed Christian, I might add), yet he turns purple whenever I put down his favorite right-wing political people and/or beliefs.  What’s up with the double-standard?

And honestly, what has Obama done that’s so terrible since he became President to warrant such vitriol?  Certainly nothing remotely as ignorant as anything his predecessor ever did, but I don’t recall any Christians calling for Dubya’s head on a platter.  Granted, Obama hasn’t been the most effective President in the world so far, but come on—he’s only been in office a year and three months, and his hands have been effectively tied trying to undo all the damage the Village Idiot inflicted on our nation, so why call for his demise?  Ohhh, wait a minute, I keep forgetting—Obama’s a black guy!  You can’t tell me there isn’t an element of racism involved here.  Fortunately, a counter protest group has surfaced that I joined which is petitioning the powers-that-be on FB to remove the above offending group.  Then again, if we just have to play this immature little game, then Sarah Palin is my favorite politician and Rush Limbaugh, Ann Coulter, Sean Hannity, Glenn Beck and Bill O’Reilly are my favorite political commentators, unless of course mean old non-Christians aren’t allowed to play in this reindeer game…

Speaking of double-standards, I don’t get why in our supposedly “tolerant” society/culture, how unassuming free-thinking agnostics like me always seem to be compelled to explain and/or justify our (non-) religious stance, yet Christians, Catholics, Baptists, Muslims, Jews, Jehovah’s Witnesses, et al, always get a free pass and aren’t expected to elaborate at all on their beliefs.  We’re always seen as heretics just because we have our questions and don’t readily buy into what Brother Carlin once deemed “The World’s Biggest Bullshit Story”.

Okay, youse religious offendees can safely read on from here—I guess…

ALL THE RAGE
I had my first real encounter with a road-rager the other day on the way to work.  I had just entered I-435 southbound and had to slow down almost immediately because this black BMW was practically stopped ahead of me in the right lane.  Turns out he was trying to get around this bozo in a crappy little Toyota pick-up who was on the right shoulder attempting to merge into traffic.  The BMW gets around him, then Mr. Toyota nearly cuts me off, and I was just barely able to avoid hitting him as I swerved out the way.  He finally pulls out into traffic behind me, then swings way ‘round to the left lanes, passes me, then turns around and flips me off.  This goomer was so incensed that I had the affrontery to return fire and flip him the bird right back that he pulls over on the shoulder on the exit ramp to southbound US 71 as I rounded the bend on 435 and was stopped in bumper-to-bumper traffic.  He was a good 30-40 yards away from me, but he gets out of truck and starts to approach me like he was spoiling for a fight.  Let’s see here—you’re the one who damn near caused an accident, and you’re pissed at ME?!?  The douche-bag then thought better of it when he realized he had lots of witnesses so he retreats to his vehicle and grabs a half-empty bottle of Pepsi and hurls in my general direction, not even coming close, all the while with his buddy sitting there in the passenger seat doing nothing.  Some people really shouldn’t be allowed to breed.  I’ve never expected myself to be involved in something like this, but I’m ready for the next one—I have since placed my tire-iron on the floor board behind the passenger seat, so next time someone wants to fuck with me, I’ve got easy access to a weapon that’ll clean his clock.

WEDDING BELL BLUES
My ex-girlfriend and still dear friend Stacy made an excellent point on Facebook last week, something to the effect of, “Larry King’s about to divorce his 8th wife, Liz Taylor may be marrying for the 9th time, Tiger Woods and Jesse James are out there doinking everything in sight, and yet people are worried about same-sex marriages ruining this sacred institution?”  Amen to that!  I would also add to that list marriages involving volatile/out-of-control boneheads like Tommy Lee and Pamela Anderson, et al.  Admittedly, my viewpoint might be a bit skewed because I think marriage is a joke to begin with, and I have no intention of getting married in my lifetime, but I just don’t get these people (especially celebrities) who keep banging their heads against the wall by marrying multiple times.  Most celebrity marriages—particularly those where both spouses are already famous to begin with—have just about the same success rate as a quadriplegic eating sushi with chopsticks, so why bother?  After about the third failed marriage, I don’t see why they don’t just say “Fuck it” and just live together with future partners.  And other than for his money, why would any right-minded woman want to marry an ugly fuck like Larry “Face Made For Radio” King in the first place?  As for same-sex unions, I’m all for them—gays can’t possibly do any worse than heterosexual couples.

SCRAP HEEP?
One of my latest library CD acquisitions is an anthology on ‘70s stalwarts Uriah Heep, a band who was slagged mercilessly by the critics back in the day.  I already had their ’73 release Sweet Freedom, which contains my favorite (and easily the best) Heep track, “Stealin’", but I had very little of the rest of their stuff.  And being’s how I like to root for the underdog, and how I tend to love bands that the critics hate (i.e., Kiss, Grand Funk Railroad, Rush, Styx, et al), I thought I’d give UH another shot.  Sadly, I think the critics may have been right this time—Uriah Heep were like a Prog. Rock version of Deep Purple, but there just wasn’t a lot of meat to chew on here.  Record companies were amazingly patient with bands back in the ‘70s, because Heep put out like eight studio albums in six years (while most comparable bands today would be one-and-done), but they had very little decent music to show for it.  UH put out way too many overblown fantasy epics in the “Harry Potter” vein (some of them 10 or 12 minutes in length), and late singer David Byron’s strident vocals could be rather grating at times.  I think if they’d stuck to doing more accessible stuff like “Stealin’” and their 1972 hit “Easy Livin’”, they’d have gone a lot farther.  The only real standout in this band was keyboardist Ken Hensley, who wailed away on the organ, sounding rather Jon Lord-like at times.  Uriah Heep also went through as many bass players as Spinal Tap did likewise with drummers, and the band’s lineup once featured future Asia bassist/singer John Wetton.

COMING BACK TO THE COMEBACKS
Way too late, I thought of another entry for my Best Comeback Album of All-Time blog piece from about a month ago, 1979’s Low Budget by The Kinks.  Their ‘60s heyday had long since passed, and although Ray and Dave Davies put out several albums during the ‘70s, they hadn’t had a hit since “Lola” in 1970, so it was great to hear these guys clicking on all cylinders again.  The hilarious title track and “A Gallon Of Gas” could’ve been anthems during our economy’s recent financial woes, and “Catch Me Now I’m Falling”, “Attitude” and “(Wish I Could Fly Like) Superman” were standout tracks as well.  Budget also set the table for a nice Kinks career revival throughout the early ‘80s.

PUT ON A POT OF COFFEE, MARGE!
The 2010 NFL schedule was announced last week, and the league was kind enough to give our poor K.C. Chefs their first Monday Night Football game since 2005 when they get to open at home against those Sandy-Eggo Chargers in Week 1.  Just one miniscule problem—the damn game starts at 9:15!  It’s the nightcap of the annual opening-week MNF doubleheader (Ravens-Jets is the first game), and I don’t get their logic here at all.  This means the game probably won’t end until around 1:00 in the morning here—not exactly a brilliant way to maintain your local viewing audience.  It’d make a lot more sense if they pitted two west coast teams instead, like when the Chargers opened at Oakland last season.  Did FEMA take over the NFL scheduling department?

FEELING DRAFTY AGAIN
One thing that went right this weekend for El Chiefos was the NFL draft.  While ESPN’s (and the NFL Network’s) coverage of the event was its usual exercise in overkill, I was quite pleased with the choices the Chefs made, especially safety Eric Berry out of Tennessee, who may well be the second coming of Hall of Famer Ronnie Lott.  With their 2nd pick, they chose running back Dexter McCluster (whose surname I’m going to have great fun with) from Ole Miss, and between him and Jamaal Charles and Thomas Jones, we suddenly have a true backfield again in the wake of the Larry Johnson fiasco.  I was hoping the Chefs’ brain trust of GM Scott Pioli and head coach Todd Haley would snag a good left offensive tackle, which they didn’t, but at least they didn’t think with their hearts and take Notre Dame’s Jimmy Clausen at QB, just because Charlie Weis is now our offensive coordinator.  Now I can only hope I won’t have to hear Mel Kiper, Jr. yammering away again until next April…

MORE FAMILY FARE
This past Saturday night at 7PM on our local “family-friendly” Ion TV affiliate:  Demolition Man with Sly Stallone and Wesley Snipes.  Yet another gory violent shoot-em-up for the kiddies to enjoy…

“LONELY MAN CRIES FOR LOVE AND HAS NONE…”
I never dreamed that Moody Blues lyric would ever really apply to me, but my 46th birthday is rapidly approaching and it’s been over ten years since I had a freakin’ date with a woman, let alone made love to one.  With no prospects on the horizon, I’m really beginning to wonder if I’ll ever find someone again, and I’m getting really depressed about it.  I know I need to get out more—that’s my fault—but still, wouldn’t you think after a decade or so, I would have met SOMEONE of the opposite sex that I clicked with?  I’m not even being choosy at this stage, but I haven’t met any available women, period, let alone anyone I’d even be remotely interested in.  I desperately want to believe there’s still a single unattached woman or two in my age group (and time zone) left out there who don’t resemble Susan Boyle or Joe Torre in drag, but I can’t help but think my window of opportunity has slammed shut for good.  I’m almost to the point of desperation to give serious consideration to the queens on “RuPaul’s Drag Race!”  If nothing else, they look more like women than most of the genetic ones I encounter these days…

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...

I STILL hear him Rockin' (Remastered)

April 15th is always a taxing day, but I always try to remember that it’s also the birthday of one of my all-time favorite music people, Welsh guitarist Dave Edmunds.  Dave turns 66 today, so I’ve decided to update and re-tool my original blog post from three years ago about this guy, who is one very underrated musician.  He certainly belongs in the (C)Rock ‘N’ Roll Hall of Fame a whole lot more than the likes of the Sex Pistols, Leonard Cohen (Rock on, Leo!) or Gaspasser Flash and the Furious Five.

You may not even know his name, but you probably know of Dave’s work if you listen to Rock ‘N’ Roll at all.  Dave hit the Top 40 a couple times himself (“I Hear You Knockin’” in ’71 and “Slipping Away” in ’83), and was 1/4 of the band Rockpile, which he formed with ex-Brinsley Schwartz bassist/singer Nick Lowe.  Edmunds also produced albums for a number of major acts over years like the Stray Cats, Foghat and The Fabulous Thunderbirds.  I first got into DE during the summer of ’79 when the old KY-102 here in K.C. started playing his new song “Crawling From The Wreckage”.  Even though I was heavily into hard Rock at the time, I was like, “Who is THIS guy?” because I really grooved to the stripped-down Old School vibe of the song, plus the lyrics were a hoot—“Bits of me are scattered in the trees and on the hedges…”/“You’d think by now at least half my brain would get the message…”.  Edmunds has your basic cult following, but it’s a pretty big cult as I discovered years later whenever I’d wear my Dave Edmunds concert t-shirt while out and about and strangers would come up to me and say, “Man, where’d you get the shirt?  I love Dave Edmunds!”

Dave’s career dates all the way back to the mid-‘60s in merry olde England with a band called The Raiders (not to be confused with Paul Revere's bunch) and later the Human Beans (not the “Nobody But Me” Human Beinz), which he formed with late guitarist Mickey Gee.  They scored a minor hit with a cover of Tim Rose’s classic “Morning Dew” in 1967, but didn't last long.  Soon after, Edmunds formed the trio Love Sculpture, which was sort of a cross between Cream and Z.Z. Top, and they covered numerous Blues and Rockabilly classics.  They even did a beyond-belief manic version of a Classical classic in 1968, Khachaturian’s “Sabre Dance”, featuring DE playing at breakneck speed throughout.  Edmunds went solo a few years after that, and his cover of Smiley Lewis’ “I Hear You Knockin’” was a fluke #5 hit in the States in early '71.  DE’s first official solo album, 1972’s Rockpile, also featured another classic cut, “Down, Down, Down”.  He didn’t make another album until 1975’s Subtle As A Flying Mallet, which was a bit tamer and almost Phil Spector-ish in places.

Dave’s career really took off when he joined forces with Mr. Lowe in ’77, as the pair alternately recorded solo albums under their own names for the next three years, but it was in fact the Rockpile quartet that backed Edmunds’ Get It, Tracks On Wax 4 and Repeat When Necessary, as well as Lowe’s Jesus Of Cool (aka Pure Pop For Now People in the U.S.) and Labour Of Lust—ALL outstanding records.  Rockpile was rounded out by guitarist Billy Bremner (that’s his lead guitar you hear on The Pretenders’ “Back On The Chain Gang” from ‘83) and drummer Terry Williams, who later toured with Dire Straits), and they were your classic old-school pub band.  Irony of ironies, when the band finally did an album under the actual Rockpile name—1980’s Seconds Of Pleasure—it wound up paling in comparison with those previous Edmunds and Lowe platters.  And in spite of a successful concert tour opening for Bad Company (and blowing the then-weakening Bad Co. off the stage, by most accounts) the band broke up somewhat acrimoniously.  Edmunds and Lowe subsequently moved on in their solo careers without each other, though they did reconnect when Edmunds produced and played on Lowe’s underrated and underappreciated Party Of One CD in 1990.

Dave stumbled a bit in his first post-Rockpile release with Twangin'… in 1981, but rebounded nicely the following year with the excellent D.E. 7th.  Now I normally don’t condone artists who make a career out of doing cover songs (Linda Ronstadt, White Courtesy Phone!), but I make an exception for someone who takes other people’s music and adds their own touches to and/or improves upon the original songs, something which Dave Edmunds excels at.  DE doesn’t just play the hits, either—he mines a little deeper for hidden gems and slightly more obscure tracks like Elvis Presley’s “Paralyzed” and Chuck Berry’s “Dear Dad”.  Edmunds also outdid the other Elvis (Costello) on his own “Girls’ Talk”, blowing the doors off the original, and Dave’s rendition of Seger’s classic “Get Out Of Denver” is even faster than Bob’s, if you can believe that.  He also recorded a far superior version of “Queen Of Hearts” before Juice Newton came along and had the big hit with it in 1981.

This is not to say there’s a dearth of good original material in the Edmunds catalog, either.  There’s plenty to go around, much of it written by Lowe, and much of it very witty, like “Television”, “Readers Wives”, “What Did I Do Last Night?” and “I Knew The Bride” (which Lowe himself scored a hit with in 1985).  One young Bruce Springsteen contributed “From Small Things (Big Things One Day Come)” to D.E. 7th, and “Slipping Away” was written with future Traveling Wilbury Jeff Lynne of ELO. Edmunds and Lynne’s collaboration on two of Dave’s albums—Information (1983) and Riff Raff (1984)—was derisively dubbed “Edmunds Light Orchestra” by douche-bag music critics.  Even with all the electronic drums (ewww!) and ‘80s overkill, Dave still managed to sound cool during that period.  He contributed “High School Nights” and a few other songs to the soundtrack of Porky’s Revenge in ’85, then took a few years off, returning in 1990 with the semi-decent Closer To The Flame.  Another four years passed before Dave’s next opus, a little do-it-yourself project he called Plugged In, the title being a nice little dig at the ever-growing (and wimpy) “Unplugged” fad that engulfed the mid-‘90s music world.  Plugged In was a splendid affair, with DE playing all the instruments and doing all the singing himself, and it included a streamlined update of “Sabre Dance” that really kicks.

Oh, did I mention that Dave Edmunds could put on a pretty good live show, too?  I saw him and his band nearly blow the roof off the old Uptown Theater here twice back in ’82 and ’83.  Nothing flashy, nothing fake—just good ol’ straight ahead no-bullshit Rock ‘N’ Roll.  See folks?  It doesn’t always have to be spectacle and bombast (à la Kiss, The Who, Van Halen, Motörhead, et al) to please me.  Dave hasn’t been as active the last 15 years or so, having semi-retired because of some health issues (he’s had heart problems in the past), but he did go against his Plugged In protocol by doing a solo acoustic album back in 2000 that featured covers of Mason Williams’ “Classical Gas” and Jerry Reed’s “The Claw”, among others.  Not only must I thank Dave for his own body of work, but for broadening my musical horizons considerably as well by introducing me to the work of Nick Lowe, who in turn (via the short-lived Little Village “supergroup”) opened my ears to the exploits of John Hiatt.  Both of these gentlemen are extremely witty and inventive songwriters, and Hiatt in particular has become one of my all-time favorites.

[NOTE: In my original tribute, I was in a hurry and took the wussy way out by simply ranking my Top 5 Dave Edmunds albums.  Time to be a little more thorough…]

My All-Time Dave Edmunds Top 30:

30) High School Nights (1985)  From the Porky’s Revenge soundtrack, Dave croons about high school being the best years of our lives.  I beg to differ—I fucking HATED high school.  Cool song, all the same…
29) Singin’ The Blues (1981)  Black Oak Arkansas probably had the best (and certainly the funniest) cover version of this song, but Dave’s is pretty good too.
28) Halfway Down (1994)  This one was written by country singer/songwriter Jim Lauderdale.  Has a nice galloping pace to it.
27) Have A Heart (1983)  The closing track off Information, “HAH” somehow managed to cut through the electronic synthesizer haze that permeated the rest of the album and it sizzled.
26) Busted Loose (1984)  Another from the “Edmunds Light Orchestra” era with Jeff Lynne, all about a guy on the lam after a jailbreak.  I have trouble picturing Dave as the hardened criminal he claims to be in the lyrics, but it’s a fun song to listen to, even with all the synths and drum machines.
25) Slipping Away (1983)  Dave’s second (and probably final) sniff of the Top 40 in America.  This song always pops up in my head when I realize the Chiefs (or whichever team I’m rooting for) have no chance to win the game I’m watching. “I can feel you (it) slipping away…
24) Not A Woman, Not A Child (1978)  Little ditty about an adolescent girl grown up too soon.  Seems to be a lot of those these days…
23) Other Guys Girls (1982)  Nifty song from D.E. 7th that has Dave’s vocals double-tracked to sound like his idols, the Everly Brothers.
22) Steel Claw (1984)  Edmunds usually remains apolitical, but this was a nice sideswipe at phony politicians everywhere.  Curiously enough, Tina Turner came out with her own version of the song at roughly the same time on Private Dancer.
21) I Hear You Knockin’ (1971)  I have no doubt lots of people were going “Dave who?” in 1971, but somehow this thing got all the way to #5.  Still gets played on Oldies stations today, believe it or not.  Fats Domino (who gets a verbal mention in Dave’s version) also took a shot at the song in the early ‘60s, with slightly different lyrics.
20) Bad Is Bad (1979)  Youse Huey Lewis fans will know this one, but you might not recognize it because Dave’s version is so radically different (i.e., it’s much faster and punchier).  Brother Huey himself honks out his harmonica here, but his name was misspelled in the album credits (“Hughie”).  Love the line, “All you can eat for a dollar-99…This ol’ stew is the baddest in the land…One dollar’s worth was all I could stand.”
19) Television (1978)  Another Lowe original about a working man addicted to the tube.  “Just so long as it’s on, I’m glad…”
18) From Small Things (Big Things One Day Come) (1982)  Written specifically for Edmunds by The Boss, this one’s so good that I’m surprised Brucie didn’t keep it for himself.  Might’ve fit in nicely on Born In The USA.
17) It Doesn’t Really Matter (1994)  “When it all comes down to a hole in the ground, it doesn’t really matter at all.”  I try to remind myself of this during stressful times, with varying degrees of success.
16) Rules Of The Game (1984)  Quirky and almost mechanical-sounding song written by Edmunds’ bassist at the time, John David.  I’ve always been partial to it, for some reason.
15) What Have I Got To Do To Win? (1983)  An Edmunds original, and the story of my love-life to a tee.  “I’ve got the rules of the game down, but what have I got do to win? I’d like to play the game, but I don’t wanna have to lose again…”  An anthem for those of us who struggle to score with women.
14) Standing At The Crossroads (1994)  Another dandy track from Plugged In, a very under-the-radar album.  Points off for Dave singing the line “I’m 6-foot-6, I weigh 200 pounds…”  Uhhh, Dave ain’t quite that tall!
13) Trouble Boys (1978)  Lead-off number from the excellent Tracks On Wax 4—what a nice respite from all the disco folderol during that period!  This one tells the story of a poor guy who takes his girl on a date and they encounter a gang of thugs who steal her away from him, but he has the balls to not only stand up to them and get her back, but win their respect as well.  Or something like that…
12) You Ain’t Nothin’ But Fine [Rockpile] (1980)  Arguably the best track off the disappointing Seconds Of Pleasure LP.  For some reason, they just didn’t nail the same vibe as they had on those previous Edmunds and Lowe albums.  When Dave did this one in concert in the ‘80s, he gave it a Cajun flavor by adding Geraint Watkins on the accordian.
11) Bail You Out (1982)  Speaking of Cajun, this song’s loaded with it.  Makes you think you're in Nawleans when you hear it.
10) The Race Is On [w/The Stray Cats] (1981)  Easily the best song off Twangin’... and a great cover of George Jones’ Country classic, just before the Stray Cats hit the big-time.
9) King Of Love (1990)  Speaking of the Stray Cats, Brian Setzer provides nifty call-and-response vocals and Slim Jim Phantom plays the stand-up bass on this ‘50s-sounding tune.
8) Readers Wives (1978)  If I’m interpreting my Queen’s English correctly, a “Readers Wife” would be a prostitute, since this song is all about getting laid at this veritable buffet line of concubines.  Apparently, they come in all shapes and sizes (“The little ones stand 4-foot-3, while the big ones start at 44D…”), and I’d love to meet Little Maria (“who’d do it for a beer”).  Imagine what she’d do for a 12-pack!
7) Get Out Of Denver (1977)  Even speedier and tighter than Bob Seger’s original.
6) I Knew The Bride (1977)  Lowe’s ’85 version (produced by Huey Lewis) has become a staple at wedding receptions the world over, but I’ve always preferred Dave’s version, which is edgier and faster.
5) Girls' Talk (1979)  Seems that the great Declan McManus (aka Elvis Costello) was none too pleased with Edmunds’ rendition of his song.  Sour grapes.  Can Dave help it if he’s a far better singer?  Sorry kids, but I still think Costello’s grossly overrated—how he makes the HOF but Edmunds and Lowe don't is pure heresy.
4) Dear Dad (1982)  One of the best Chuck Berry covers ever. It’s a short (1:51) but sweet letter from a son begging his father for a Cadillac to replace his current P.O.S. vehicle in the pre-"Cash For Clunkers" era.  Love the punchline where da boy signs it “Sincerely, your beloved son, Henry Junior Ford…”
3) What Did I Do Last Night? (1977)  Another quickie (1:47) written by Lowe and played at breakneck speed, all about overdoing things the night before.  “Opened my eyes and took a look because I didn’t have a clue about where I was/Turned my head and it cut me like a knife, ‘cus the woman lyin’ there surely wasn’t my wife!”
2) Sabre Dance [Love Sculpture] (1968)/Sabre Dance ‘94 (1994)  Take your pick here—EITHER version rocks!  The Love Sculpture original is more frenetic and raw, while the ’94 rendition is slicker and more fluid.  And even though the latter utilizes a drum machine, it’s still full-tilt boogie at its finest.
1) Crawling From The Wreckage (1979)  It was so hard to choose a favorite here because Dave’s got so many cool songs, so I figured the one where it all started for me might as well be #1.  “When I’m disconnect from the driving wheel, I’m only half the man I should be…”  Brilliant line.