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WHAT I DID ON MY SUMMER VACATION…
“On the first day of my summer vacation, I woke up. Then I went downtown…to look for a job. Then I hung out in front of the drugstore. The second day of my summer vacation, I woke up…”—excerpt from Cheech & Chong’s “Sister Mary Elephant”, 1972
Okay, this wasn’t a vacation per se, nor did things go quite like that, but unfortunately this blog has been a casualty during this long hot summer, as I’ve been sidetracked with other projects and obligations the last couple months that have severely limited my time. This coincided with a creative dry spell and some personal reflection/introspection regarding my father’s passing and his negative impact on my life (which I may delve into in a future post), hence the lack of activity here. I toyed with the idea of discontinuing my blog altogether, especially given the dearth of offerings from some of my other favorite bloggers, which seriously makes me wonder if the whole blogging thing has perhaps run its course and become passé. However, being the narcissist that I am, I went back and read a few of my past blog entries, and absolutely loved some of the stuff I had written before, so I’ve decided to continue on after all. You might also notice I’ve gone back and cleaned up some past entries that featured multiple photographs. Blogspot calls their publisher a “WYSIWYG” (What You See Is What You Get), but whenever I use it, it makes me feel (in the words of Mr. Anderson on “Beavis & Butt-Head”), “like a one-legged cat trying to bury turds on a frozen pond.” I have a new 23” computer monitor—which was like going from a Sony Watchman to a JumboTron—and now that I’m on the same picture resolution as everyone else, I’m able to realign stuff the way it should be, so things should look a lot cleaner on here from now on.
THE HOLLANDS DON’T LIVE HERE ANYMORE…
After 51 years on Overton Avenue in Raytown, that statement is now true, as we got my mother moved out of our longtime family abode this past weekend and into her new living quarters, a duplex in the John Knox Village retirement community in Lee’s Summit. Among other things, Mom’s new place features a garage door opener than actually works, a patio deck that even I’m envious of and—best of all—central air, a “luxury” my old man refused to install in our house. Dad always complained that he “got too cold” so easily in a/c, but it had more to do with penny-pinching and not wanting to raise his electric bill, and with this brutal stretch of hot weather we’re having, I’m relieved to have Mom out of that blast furnace she was living in. About the only issue I have with JKV is why do they expect their residents—all of whom are elderly—to walk all the way to their curbs to pick up their mail? I'm not real enamored with the idea of Mom slip-sliding away across her icy driveway in January just to fetch her latest copy of Better Homes & Gardens. As for the old homestead, unfortunately its future is deep in doubt, as the place is a shambles, thanks to its ever-crumbling foundation, out-dated amenities and general lack of upkeep by my parental units these last 20 years or so—I don’t think the “Extreme Makeover” people would even touch this wreck. We may end up just bulldozing the place and selling the lot for whatever we can get for it.
INDUSTRIAL-STRENGTH GAGA EVEN REMOVES CACA!
Lady GaGa was in town performing in concert at the Sprint Center last week. This prompted them possum’s peckers from Topeka, the Rev. Fred Phelps’ Westboro Baptist “Church”, to show up and do their usual bigoted anti-gay protesting across the street. But this time they were ambushed by several gays and drag queens (some dressed like Gaga herself) who upstaged the Phelpsians and beat them at their own damn game, and even succeeded where most everyone else before them has failed—the gays managed to run the fuckers off! I wish to hell I’d been there to witness all this in person—one of these days I’m going to drop in on one of these protests and stick my middle fingers right in their collective faces. If and when Katy Perry ever comes to town, I’ll be ready—she does that song “I Kissed A Girl (And I Liked It)”, which I’m sure the Phelpsians just adore. I might even attend the concert itself—KP’s kinda hot…
THAT CONFOUNDED BRIDGE
Work was finally completed last week on the 63rd Street bridge in Raytown, which spans the old defunct railroad that hasn’t been used since the Disco era. The bridge closure caused a bit of inconvenience for motorists for a few months because 63rd St. is the main east-west artery in the heart of Raytown, but all is well now. However, this didn’t stop some jagoff on a Facebook page devoted to Raytown from causing a bit of an uproar by declaring that the only reason they replaced the bridge at all was so they could get rid of the makeshift memorial on it for the unfortunate Raytown High School student who was murdered a couple years ago, whose body was later found beneath the bridge. Uhhh, I don’t think so, Tim! I have concrete (pun intended) visual evidence to the contrary in this photo that I snapped about three years ago showing the crumbling edifice, which had deteriorated even further since then and was rapidly becoming dangerous, not to mention a major eyesore. The damn thing was almost 40 years old and in horrid condition—this had nothing to do with removing a memorial, butt-munch!
Why do people make such ignorant statements on the Internet? I always thought it took a certain amount of smarts to be able to work a personal computer, yet somehow, these dolts who’d make Forrest Gump seem like a Rhodes Scholar somehow manage to get on-line and yammer away anyhow. It amazes me no end how there always seems to be one horse’s ass (or more) in seemingly every forum/message board/chat room on the ‘net who is hellbent on instigating pissing matches and antagonizing everyone with excrement like this for no good reason. Doesn’t matter what the topic or realm of the message board/forum is, either—it could be anything from politics to breast cancer to baseball stadiums to fly-fishing to nose hair—there’s always some palooka out there (usually hiding behind some cutesy screen-name) mangling up what might otherwise be an intelligent or thought-provoking discussion. I haven’t been hard-up enough to visit any nose hair message boards yet, but assuming one actually exists out there, you can bet some douche is on it stirring the pot! Damn shame…
REST IN PEACE, DR. DOUG
I saw by the paper the other day that my favorite professor from my UMKC days, Dr. Doug Moore (at right in this photo), passed away recently. Evidently he’d been in poor health for a while now and died in hospice in early July. “Dr. Doug” was a very nice man, not to mention a funny one, and he was a walking almanac of American film history, everything from the silent era to modern times. His classes were easily the most enjoyable that I ever attended, and he would screen such landmark flicks as D.W. Griffith’s The Birth of A Nation as well as fun stuff like the work of Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton and Harold Lloyd and classics like It Happened One Night. And thanks to Dr. Doug, I discovered what cute babes the Gish sisters (Lillian and Dorothy) were back in the day!
I also took a class Dr. Doug taught called “Writing For The Media” from which I gained beaucoup knowledge about the elements of editorial style, much of which I’ve put to use here on the blog—if he only knew what he’d spawned! Ironically, one assignment in that course was to create a TV show featuring a local celebrity with a format that hadn’t been done before and write the script for it. I struggled for the longest time to come up with anything, then the light finally went on in my head—why not hit Dr. Doug right where he lives? Since he was a film critic and movie buff in general, why not create a local version of Siskel And Ebert’s “At The Movies”? I inserted local radio legend/TV personality Dick Wilson as the host of my fictional show and had him reviewing Runaway starring Tom Selleck and Gene Simmons, and my little hunk of ingenuity netted me an A, as I recall. And being the good Kiss fan that I am, I had Dick give Gene high marks for his performance as the villain, while ripping on Selleck a bit for being too predictable as the good-guy cop (which is true, really). Ironically, Dr. Doug himself later did movie reviews on local TV newscasts in the late ‘80s and ‘90s.
In Siskel & Ebert parlance, I give the man two big thumbs-up. So long, Dr. Doug—ya done good!
CLASSIC MISHEARD LYRIC #124
“Saturday Night’s Alright For Fighting”—ELTON JOHN (1973) “My sister looks cute in her braces and boots…” Not misheard, but rather misinterpreted this time, as I was only nine when the song came out and unaware that “braces” is the Brit term for stocking garters. I thought the braces Elton sang about were the ones orthodontists put on one’s teeth, which made me wonder, “What’s so cute about that?” While I’m at it, what the hell’s so cute about that “handful of grease in her hair”? Who wants some chick who looks like The Fonz? Still and all, SNAFF is one of my all-time favorite songs.
SURELY THEY JEST
It was announced this week that they plan to erect a statue of Major League Baseball commissioner Bud Selig outside Milwaukee’s Miller Park. This clown is to baseball what Urkel was to network television, thus what on earth has this ineffectual boob done to garner this kind of honor? I hope the statue includes a couple hypodermic needles at his feet to symbolize the steroid era he’s presided over. In the words of Stewie Griffin, “This is a worse idea than a leper colony doing the Hokey-Pokey!”
PLAYOFFS?!? WHADDYA MEAN PLAYOFFS?!?
Calm down, Coach Mora and listen to me! The Swami in me sez the Kansas City Chefs will break even this season and go at least 8-8. I base this prediction on the offseason moves they made to improve the offense, as well as the fairly soft schedule K.C. plays this year. I see them going 4-2 vs. the AFC West, sweeping Oakland and splitting with Denver and San Diego. The Chargers are notoriously slow starters anyway, so I have a good feeling about that opening Monday Night game against them at Arrowhead. The AFC West plays the NFC Worst/West this season, so K.C. should be able to slam the Rams and Seahawks, even though both those game are on the road. I’m also not completely sold on the 49ers or Cardinals being all that good this year, so El Chiefos might even steal a win or two at home with them. There are some other very beatable opponents on the sked, especially Cleveland and Buffalo and maybe even Houston or Jacksonville. The only three games I don’t see the Chefs having a hope in hell at all of winning this year are all on the road—at San Diego, Denver and Indianapolis. And if everything falls into place, it’s even conceivable that this team could go 10-6 and make a run at the playoffs and give me cause to once again refer to them as the Chiefs instead of the Chefs. We shall see…
PHYSICIANS HEAL THYSELVES?
Get a load of one of our regular ordering physician’s names at my workplace: Dr. Ursick! We also have a Dr. Killen in our midst. These guys make messers. Seuss, Pepper and Demento seem almost credible by comparison!
RANDOM DEEP THOUGHTS
—I kinda like Morningwood (the band) these days. Oh, and the other kind is most enjoyable too...
—In this great country of ours, I freely exercise my right to bare arms. I only wish all these tattooed women I keep meeting these days felt the same way…
—There’s a local seafood outfit here in K.C. called the Seattle Fish Company, whose motto is “If it swims, we have it.” Is it safe to assume that the Kansas City Beef Company in Seattle’s motto is, “If it shits, we have it”?
I’M WAY TOO SEXY FOR MY SHIRT…
I received the following unsolicited spam-o-gram the other day on Facebook from some alleged “chick”: “I was searching through profiles and came across your’s (sic) and i’ve gotta tell u that you’re insanely sexy.”
Here’s the profile photo I had up at the time she wrote to me…
My official response: “Bork you!”
I thought I'd better post something in case y'all thought this blog is dead. It's not dead, just on indefinite hiatus for a while. Between preparing for my mother's impending move to a smaller house, trying to sell my car, and keeping up on maintaining my own homestead, I haven't had the proper time to focus on creative writing, and I don't want to diminish the quality of this blog that you've become accustomed to. You can also blame Facebook to some extent for the dearth of activity here. As loathe as I am to admit it, I've been lured in by the immediate responses I get to that which I post on FB—sort of the same analogy as live performance (FB) versus acting in the movies (blogging). I hope to resume a more normal blogging pace at some point in the future, but for now I'm pretty much in a holding pattern here. Please check back every so often, and hopefully I'll be back in action in another month or two...
Brian
WELCOME TO PEYTON’S PLACE
Last time I passed through Indy in 2006, they were just starting to construct Lucas Oil Stadium, home of the Indianapolis Colts and this year’s NCAA Final Four. Seeing the House That Manning Built on TV is one thing, but I was floored at how huge this place is when I first got a gander of it from the highway. It’s a sight to behold—very stately-looking and easily the tallest stadium of any kind I’ve ever seen and it would positively dwarf Arrowhead Stadium if they sat side-by-side. I was able to get a brief peek inside through the glass doors, and the interior looked equally impressive. If nothing else, LOS is a major upgrade over the venue it replaced, the now-demolished bubble-headed Hoosier Dome.
A (BUSH) LEAGUE OF THEIR OWN
Just as Evansville’s Bosse Field co-starred in A League Of Their Own, Indianapolis’ Bush Stadium was used in the film Eight Men Out (as both Chicago’s Comiskey Park and Cincinnati’s Crosley Field, alternately). Sadly, unlike Bosse Field, which is still in use and thriving, Bush Stadium is dying a long slow death on Indy’s west side, even though it’s on the National Registry of Historic Places. It was once home to the AAA Indianapolis Indians, but when they moved in 1996 to their new downtown digs, Victory Field, the old stadium was left to sit and rot. The city tried converting it into a small race track for a time, but that fizzled out, and now they don’t know what to do with it, and the stadium currently suffers the indignity of serving as an auto graveyard in the wake of the Cash For Clunkers fiasco—kinda reminds me of R2-D2 having to serve cocktails on Jabba The Hut's floating barge. The place has been abandoned so long that there are now trees growing around the backstop area and in the grandstands. Seems almost fitting for a place named ‘Bush’, don’t it? I’m all for preserving old stadiums and arenas and finding new uses for them, but that isn’t always feasible, and when they are unable to fease it, then I say put the place out of its misery and tear it down already.
ME AND HELIO DOWN BY THE BRICKYARD...
I caught a nice break on Saturday when I visited the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. My original plan was to just do the museum and track lap they offer for $5 each (both of which I’ve done before), but on this particular day, the track laps weren’t available because they had a private function going on for regular track patrons. However, for 15 bucks, for this one day they offered a behind-the-scenes track tour, and I wound up seeing more of the place than I would have otherwise. The tour included the media room where they hold the post-race press conferences, the media center where all the journalists and reporters work (which was about the size of a Wal-Mart, btw), the press box and the winner’s circle, followed by a quick spin through Gasoline Alley on the tour bus. I’m not what you’d call an auto racing fanatic, but I’ve always watched the Indy 500 every year as long as I can remember, so it was really cool to see some of the innerds of the most famous race track in the world. It ain't much to look at on the outside—it's sorta like an over-sized high school football stadium, but once you get inside, the place comes alive. One thing I don’t get is why the “Biggest Spectacle In Racing” is blacked-out on local TV in Indy every year. It ain’t like they struggle to get people to come out to the track—this year’s attendance was like 400,000. Those are Woodstock-like figures, so surely they can cut the good Indianapolisians (Indianapolites?) a break and let them watch the race that rakes in zillions of dollars to their fair city.
WHERE THE BUTLERS DO IT
In previous trips to Indianapolis, I was totally unaware of this place’s existence, let alone its importance, but I made it a point to check out Butler University’s Hinkle Fieldhouse this time. I wasn’t able to go inside, unfortunately, but it looks like a great place to time-travel for old-school bassit-ball, just as they did when Hoosiers was filmed here in 1986. In light of Butler’s Cinderella run in the NCAA Tournament this year, I’m willing to bet we’ll see a few more games from Hinkle on ESPN next fall…
WITH A NAME LIKE…
…Wild Beaver Saloon, I couldn’t resist stopping in for a couple beers. I wound up feeling like Charlie Daniels at the Do-Drop-Inn, though—there wasn’t a soul in the place except me and the bartender, which I thought was rather odd for 6:00 on a Saturday in downtown Indy while all the other bars and restaurants were hopping.
THAT HYPNOTIZIN’ BOOGIE
Once again, I endeavored to sample some local one-of-a-kind eateries during my trip but without the help of Guy Fieri’s “Drive-Ins, Diners & Dives” this time, and whaddya know—I actually fared better! My favorite on this trip was definitely the Boogie Burger, which sits in a quaint little neighborhood called Broad Ripple (don’t ask me why) north of downtown Indy near Butler U. The Boogie is a teeny little place no bigger than my living room (kitchen included), but I very much enjoyed their Rise ‘n’ Shine Burger, which included bacon and a fried egg on top. I also enjoyed a delicacy Kansas City still has yet to discover—garlic fries (like in this photo). Unfortunately, I got the food to go, and the fries funked the car up pretty good—d’oh! Louisville had a similar burger emporium called Bunz, which also carred a burger with egg and bacon on it, but I didn’t like theirs quite as well because their “special sauce” pretty much overwhelmed the flavor and I couldn’t even taste the egg or bacon. I also checked out a place in downtown Indy called Dick’s Bodacious BBQ. They weren’t quite bodacious, but they weren’t Dicks either, and for Texas-style BBQ, the eats there weren’t too shabby. I’m biased being partial to K.C.-style BBQ, but I liked their brisket and ribs, the sauce was tasty, their portions were generous and the corn-on-the-cob was quite good. As for the rest of the trip, I dined at institutions we don’t have in K.C. like White Castle, Lion’s Choice roast beef and Jack-In-The-Box. Rumors abound that Jack may be poised to make a return to the K.C. area later this year. I hope so—their breakfast menu is excellent.
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…
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...
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.
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!
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…
Work was finally completed last week on the 63rd Street bridge in Raytown, which spans the old defunct railroad that hasn’t been used since the Disco era. The bridge closure caused a bit of inconvenience for motorists for a few months because 63rd St. is the main east-west artery in the heart of Raytown, but all is well now. However, this didn’t stop some jagoff on a Facebook page devoted to Raytown from causing a bit of an uproar by declaring that the only reason they replaced the bridge at all was so they could get rid of the makeshift memorial on it for the unfortunate Raytown High School student who was murdered a couple years ago, whose body was later found beneath the bridge. Uhhh, I don’t think so, Tim! I have concrete (pun intended) visual evidence to the contrary in this photo that I snapped about three years ago showing the crumbling edifice, which had deteriorated even further since then and was rapidly becoming dangerous, not to mention a major eyesore. The damn thing was almost 40 years old and in horrid condition—this had nothing to do with removing a memorial, butt-munch!
I saw by the paper the other day that my favorite professor from my UMKC days, Dr. Doug Moore (at right in this photo), passed away recently. Evidently he’d been in poor health for a while now and died in hospice in early July. “Dr. Doug” was a very nice man, not to mention a funny one, and he was a walking almanac of American film history, everything from the silent era to modern times. His classes were easily the most enjoyable that I ever attended, and he would screen such landmark flicks as D.W. Griffith’s The Birth of A Nation as well as fun stuff like the work of Charlie Chaplin, Buster Keaton and Harold Lloyd and classics like It Happened One Night. And thanks to Dr. Doug, I discovered what cute babes the Gish sisters (Lillian and Dorothy) were back in the day!
