Friday, July 29, 2005

Tragic

I just read on D Magazine's front burner blog some incredibly disturbing news. John's Cafe on Greenville Avenue is closing. John's is a HUGE part of my life. I've eaten pancakes here every weekend for about 7 years. Now, after 33 years, he's got five months to vacate. They're putting in a bank where his cafe is. As I'm typing, I still can't believe this. I think I'm going to chain myself to the front door until John is allowed to stay.

Going Soft on Chick Music

But be that as it may, john_clarke recommends the work of young coffee house queen Courtney Jaye.

Listen here:

http://www6.islandrecords.com/courtneyjaye/site/music.php

looking for the joke with a microscope

I've started shopping at Walmart precisely because it's less cool than Target. I can get in and out of Walmart with my basic shopping needs without the temptation of swanky panel shirts or a Galaga plug and play game. But the evil Walmart near my house has my number. Next to the checkout line, they've set up a display of $99 electric guitars. You can choose from a blonde wood fake Stratocaster like Stevie Ray Vaughn used to play or a red fake Les Paul like Jimmy Page plays. Too bad, but the fake Flying V is not an option.

Strange, but for a person whose life almost revolves around guitar music, I've never even thought about purchasing the instrument for myself. I know it's difficult to master. And I'm not sure if learning this instrument will bring me more frustration than joy. But for $99, I think I'm going to give it a shot. I'm leaning towards one of the fake Les Pauls --- it's a classic fake guitar, the first model of them all. And hopefully, it'll come with an instruction book so I can learn some chords.

So I figure I'll start out learning AC/DC's Hell's Bells. Then, if my fingers can move fast enough, I'll move on to The Close Lobster's "Too Bloody Stupid." And then, after years of practice, hopefully I can proudly play "Crazy Nights" by Loudness.

Freddy's Dead

Freddy, the front door/security/greeter guy in my building who I've long touted as the most worthless employee in the history of building management employees, has been replaced. Maybe the folks who run the building read this blog. This is cause for celebration, as I'm already on board with Freddy's replacement.

I don't know the new guy's name, but his mere physical presence is reassuring. Unlike Freddy, who talked to his homeys on the phone all of the time while sitting behind the desk, the new guy stands at attention all day. And just as I was walking in the building today, he was telling a homeless guy who was harassing the passers by outside the building to get lost. Yes!!

But the best thing about the new guy is he looks like Keith on Six Feet Under. He's a large black man with a clean-shaven head. I'm already inventing a Keith-like past for the new guy which landed him in the security profession. One could only hope he got kicked off a major metropolitan police force for roughing up some low life who needed a good kick in the gut. That's what we need on Main Street --- a force to be reckoned with, not some schmoe who won't get out of his chair to let me in my office when I forget my key.

Thursday, July 28, 2005

Dallas, Pennsylvania

I check the Pollstar website on a regular basis. For any live music fan, this site is huge. It tells you about every band scheduled to play in your town for the next four months. You can search by band or venue. But I always just search by city, punching in "Dallas." And everytime I do this, I have to choose between Dallas, PA and Dallas, TX. The first listing in that drop down line is always Dallas, PA. I know nothing about Dallas, PA. In fact I never knew there was another Dallas in the United States until Pollstar hipped me to this fact.

So I did a little research about Dallas, PA. This Dallas is located fairly close to the New York state border, due east of Scranton, PA. It sits a lofty 1,100 feet above sea level. It has 2,500 people that live within its city limits. 97 percent of Dallasites are whitey white. 91 percent of them graduated from high school. The median income in Dallas is $48,000. Most people in this town work in the health or education field. And the average temperature in Dallas during August is a refreshing 68 degrees.

On September 11, 2005, the fine citizens of Dallas PA will be able to enjoy Jimmy Sturr and His Orchestra at the Luzerne County Fairgrounds, according to Pollstar. It's one of only three music listings for Dallas. And I think I'm gonna have to make a road trip there. It already feels like home.

. . . This Album Cover.


. . . this cover for a Happy Mondays live CD. It all comes back to Madchester for me.

This Picture Reminds Me Of . . .


When I saw this picture as a teaser to some gossip story about actress Sienna Miller, I immediately thought of . . .

Miami Sound Machine Counterpoint

When Dan, Will and I were in London, Dan overheard two English guys arguing about the merits of some unknown pop song in the men's room of a pub. One guy declared that the song was complete rubbish. But the other guy, in a completely serious voice, defended the song by countering with this: "It's just like Gloria Estefan said. The rhythm is gonna get you."

A Message to the Young Mothers of America

My buddy Dan has an assistant who apparently is a fine person. Dan likes her and reports that she is a very good employee. But he says every conversation he has with her goes like this. "So Mary, how was your weekend?" "Oh Dan. It was great. The munchkins and I went to the park. And Taylor did the funniest thing while on the playground . . . " Then his eyes start to glaze over.

That reaction is to be expected of a single guy when a young mother talks about her children. Single guys and young mothers live in two different worlds. Single guy's life: women, beer and searching for the meaning of life. Young mother's life: child rearing, play dates and taking comfort that she's found the meaning of life. There's not much common ground in this conversation.

Yesterday, I heard the word "munchkins" used to describe someone's children. And I felt Dan's pain.

So here's what I propose to make this conversation more palatable. Single guy and childless guy will smile and nod happily as young mother discusses the wonders of raising children. And young mother will abstain from using the phrases "munchkins" or "little ones" or "little people" when referring to her offspring. It's annoying and makes the single guy long for the taste of gun metal in his mouth. Use their first names --- you picked them out after all.

Wednesday, July 27, 2005

Loudness


Does anyone remember the awful 80's Japanese hair metal band called Loudness? They came over to the United States when I was in high school and rocked America on a tour with some other lame domestic metal band like Fastway.

I always kind of felt sorry for Loudness. They were strangers in a strange land who thought they could be accepted if they teased their hair with combs and aqua net, played guitars really fast and screamed lyrics in Engrish like: "You make me mad and wild. We're going to rock and pile you."

About the same time Loudness invaded America, the muscle T shirt was popular. One of the varieties of the muscle T depicted the Rising Sun Japanese flag. When I saw a fellow 10th grader wearing one of those in my high school halls, I always wondered if the muscle T signified that its owner was a fan of Loudness. It seemed totally impossible. I liked metal in the 10th grade, and considered myself a connoisseur of the genre, but I knew of no one who liked Loudness.

Loudness quickly faded away. The Japanese are masters of taking an American invention and making it better. But try as they might, they just couldn't master metal.

The Worst Used Car Ever

Another common sight on "The Upper East Side" is the marginal used car. They usually sport a paper temporary dealer tag. And every other car on the streets near my house has a temporary dealer tag.

So this afternoon, I went home to let the dogs out. And on my return trip, I was behind a fine example of the marginal used car. It was an indeterminable year model GMC Safari mini van. It was painted a winning combination of powder blue and primer. It was rolling on four mismatched tires. And when I say mismatched, I also mean mis-sized tires because there was a smaller tire on the front which caused the Safari to lean to the left. Of course, the tail pipe was belching out a steady stream of white smoke which made it hard for me to see the road. And to top it all off, the car had a loose rear brake line that was dragging the ground.

I felt like asking the driver of the Safari who had sold him this incredible pile of dung that had no hopes of passing inspection, much less surviving until the dealer temporary tag of 08-13-05 expires. Then it hit me. The marginal used car is also the disposable used car. People probably pay 300 bucks for them with no hopes or intentions of getting the vehicle inspected. And if it gets impounded for lack of tags or registration, who cares?

Of course, there's always the chance the marginal used car will find its resting place on the front yard next to the living room furniture. But everyone has to do their part to make "The Upper East Side" what it is.

The House of Many Flags


5821 Tremont was once home to the Lone Star flag and the Union Jack. Here, after much controversy, it is depicted flagless.

Flag Talk

Over at Pills, Thrills & Bellyaches, http://robert_minter.blogspot.com/ , Rob discusses the joys of flying the Jolly Roger outside his Austin Apartment many years ago.

Like Rob, flag issues have crossed my mind recently. Just last weekend, I was staring at the empty flag pole holder outside my house, wondering what to fill it with. I've had some experience with this issue.

I love the Stars and Stripes and what it represents. But everybody flies it. So it sort of has the same impact as putting a magnetic ribbon on the back of your car.

When I lived in my first house, I flew the Lone Star instead. It was cool. I love the Lone Star too. But it got rained on a bunch. And despite what the lame t-shirts say about the Stars & Stripes, the colors on the Lone Star ran. So I switched over to the Union Jack. I'm English on both sides of my family, so I thought it was appropriate. Besides, the English make really good rock & roll. The Jack flew proudly until some stupid co-worker drove by and asked me "Why are you flying a Confederate flag outside your house?" So I figured there are plenty of other idiots who'd make the same mistake. So down went Jack in the interest of saving my house from being burned down.

I thought about putting up the Union Jack at my current house. But besides the mistaken identity problem, I happen to be married to a woman who's of Irish decent. She's got red hair even. And she gets mad. So in the interest of United Kingdom relations, I will defer from displaying the English flag at my shared residence.

But, you know, pirates were both English and Irish. And lots of people who live in the United States are decended from people who got kicked out of England and Ireland for being drunk and unruly. I suspect that john_clarke and john_clarke's wife families both fit into this category. So I'm advocating that the Jolly Roger be hoisted on Gaston Avenue. Arrrrrrgh.

Ghetto Style

While rolling through an East Dallas neighborhood yesterday, my eyes were drawn to a sky blue, velour, grease-stained recliner that someone had placed in their front yard. It's not that uncommon to spot living room furniture on peoples front yards in my part of the world. In fact, if it weren't for living room furniture, the good people of East Dallas wouldn't have anywhere to sit while enjoying their front yards. But this recliner was different. It actually had a "For Sale" sign taped to it. Certainly this sign would catch the attention of wandering shoppers with a need for a grease-stained overstuffed chair. "Marge, remember that chair I set on fire when I fell asleep while watching Springer with a lit Marlborough in my hand? Well there's its replacement!"

Actually, real estate agents are trying to give East Dallas a new name. They're now referring to it as "The Upper East Side." Karen and my neighbors Rick & Mike have embraced this moniker. I have not. It's pretentious. And kind of stupid. Like somebody's more likely to buy a house here if they think they're going to get a little slice of Manhattan. What they're really going to get is a house with a neighbor who sells living room furniture on his front yard. And I like that. It keeps property taxes low. And that's why I'll never call the place where I live anything other than East Dallas.

Tuesday, July 26, 2005

Progress

On Friday, downtown Dallas passed a milestone in its struggle to move from being a fake city to a real one --- it opened a downtown grocery store. I'm sorry, but if you can't buy a gallon of milk in a major urban area, something is incredibly wrong.

So I stopped in the Urban Market. It's in the old Interurban Building --- a structure that was built around 1919 and used to be the central station for Dallas' long defunct trolley system. I used to park in this building. It was completely bombed out structure, home to cars and homeless people. A year later it's a brand spanking new grocery store. It's actually kind of unbelievable. The beer and wine section is located on the exact spot where I used to park my Mustang. So I bought some cocktail mixer to pay homage to my old parking spot.

The three block area where I work is also transitioning from skid row to swank. Two established boutique hotels are on this block, a high end loft is opening up, Neiman Marcus is on one end and a new restaurant called "Fuse" is on the other. I have high hopes for this area, all except maybe for Fuse. High toned restaurants with one name don't tend to last long in Dallas. The high toned people that dine at these places are fickle. There's always a new restaurant opening up in this town with one name like "Savor" or "Abacus" or "Taste". So clientele always abandoned the old one name restaurant and it closes.

But I hope the grocery store does well for a lot of reasons. It looks cool. And it's a lesson for the Walmarts and Albertsons of America that you can take a cool old building, restore it and better the neighborhood without destroying everything in your path by constructing a huge box with a massive parking lot.

Monday, July 25, 2005

Half Assed Home Repair

Last week, I noticed that the outside sill at the bottom of one of my windows had disintegrated.
For those who are not familiar with the laws of physics and wood, if wood is exposed to moisture for a prolonged period of time it rots. And unfortunately, I'm between carpenters right now so I decided to replace the wood myself. I saw immediately why the wood disintegrated. It lays at and angle where it traps water.

So I decide to take the wood off. But I did't have a pry bar to get it out with. OK. Since I have to go to Home Depot anyway for the tool, I measure the wood I think I need. I get the wood, the pry bar and some caulk for good measure. Then I pry the wood out. What I take out is a 2 x 6 board. What I've bought is a 2 x 3 board. Damn. So it's back to Home Depot. Then I put the board in with an angle trim piece of wood on top that will make the rain water run off. But then I notice that I've bought the wrong kind of caulk. So that is call for a third trip to Home Depot. This is not the the first time I've been in a Home Depot three times in one day. I think my record is actually five trips in one day. I'm sure the people that work at Home Depot are used to seeing repeat idiots come to their place of business.

Then I caulk the hell out of the cracks around the board and the bricks. I use two tubes of caulk to seal up one board. Try to get in now water, you bastard.

I still have to paint my repairs. Then the window will be good for maybe five more years at which time I'll probably have to repeat what I did. It's an adequate but somewhat half assed repair because all I did was make an incorrect repair that someone had done before, except I used more caulk. But in 2010, I bet it will only take one trip to Home Depot to accomplish this task.

Clocked

I own two antique clocks. Both were presents from my Dad. Up until about two months ago, one of them actually worked. That one, a mantel clock built in 1919, indeed sat on my mantel. It faithfully chimed, or rather bonged (it sounds really good), the hour until I wound it up one day and it decided to quit. I guess that since it's been running steadily since the end of World War I, its earned the right to stop. But I grew attached to this clock and liked being able to tell what time it was from anywhere in the house. You could hear the thing upstairs even, but it wasn't so loud that it kept me awake at night.

The other clock I own has been in my family for a long time. It's another mantel clock made out of red and black carved slate. It was made in France around the turn of the century. It's extremely cool and heavy. And it's never worked in the six years I've owned it. So on Friday, I decided I'd had enough of owning two non-working time pieces and took them to a clock repair shop --- one of the only ones in Dallas. I figured they'd oil them up get the both going and charge me maybe $50 a piece. Wrong. The guy said they both needed to be rebuilt because the bushings in them were bad. Hmmm. Maybe. They're both really old clocks. It's possible. So he says it would be $250 to work on the WWI clock and $300 for the French clock because it's more complicated. Yikes. I thought about it for three minutes and told him to go ahead and do the French clock. I couldn't afford to have them both fixed. Besides, the French clock is actually worth some cash. But it's not worth much to me if it doesn't tell time. He said it would take about three months until they could get to it. So at least I won't have to take that hit until October. Still I think it's worth it. Maybe.

Friday, July 22, 2005

Batchelorhood

I just took Karen to the airport. She's going to New York for a conference and won't be back until Wednesday. I'll miss her. But I get to head back into fake singledom for five days. Of course, I considered having a bunch of hookers over to the house for a big coke orgy. But that really isn't my style. So here's what's on tap for the weekend:

1. I'm gonna cook Indian food with wanton abandon. I love Indian food. It would be my choice for a last meal before getting the needle. Karen doesn't like Indian food. In fact, she hates it so much, she'd give me the needle herself should I dare cook it in her presence. So I'm gonna rock the vegetable curry like it's 1999.

2. The thermostat will be moved up. Way up for my house. Like to 75 degrees. It'll be the first time for me to claim victory in the ongoing war over the level of refrigeration inside our humble abode.

3. The stereo will be played at an unacceptable volume. Lots of music that girls don't like will be selected. Dinosaur Jr. comes to mind. "Don't let me fuck up will you. When I need a friend it's still you."

Little Pink Cars For Everyone

This week marks the beginning of the three week Mary Kay convention in Dallas. I know this because about this time every year, lots of ladies wearing red blazers with tons of ribbons and other crap pinned on them stand outside the Dallas hotels near my office and wait for buses to take them to the convention center. Some of them also wear tiaras. But there are never any men waiting to get on the buses.

If journalism finally implodes on me, could I hack it as a Mary Kay dude? Is there even such a thing as a Mary Kay dude? There has to be, even though I've never heard of one. I could sell base and moisterizer with the best of them. Of course, I'd have to learn what base and moisterizers are. But never mind that.

I also might look good in a tiara come convention time.

Thursday, July 21, 2005

Deodorant Talk

For the last ten years, I've kept myself from stinking by using gel deodorant. I'm not sure why I favored this type of product. I have no brand loyalty --- I'd buy any kind as long is it was gel and wasn't made for chicks. I can't even remember why I liked gell. Maybe because it goes on easy, if not a bit wet.

So a couple of months ago, some marketing person was passing out free samples of Degree solid deodorant in downtown Dallas. That was some effective promotion because downtown Dallas is fully of sweaty smelly people, including me. Degree is great stuff if you're sweaty and smelly. I now smell beautiful. Come over here and I'll show you.

Alert

Today, local radio was reporting that the public transporation agencies in Dallas and Fort Worth are both at "orange level alert." So I got to wondering --- is public transporation in Lubbock, and Wills Point and Asheville, North Carolina also at orange level alert? Is there fear that a long simmering jihad in Gallup New Mexico is about to be unleashed on a bus?

I'm not trying to make light of the latest London bomb scare or the possibility that it will happen here, but do we have to be completely silly about this? I mean, buses are blown up in Isreal on a regular basis and we don't lose our minds when that happens. And neither do the Israelis.

New Jersey

While flipping through the channels, I happened upon what may be the best scene put on film in the last five years. The scene is great because it's nothing more than a simple yet nuanced moment in which two people meet. And had this moment actually happened to me, I would never forget it.

Imagine you find yourself sitting in the waiting room of a doctor's office in a complete stupor. A beautiful girl notices you and comes over to speak. She's off-kilter, interesting and funny. But better than that, she hands you her headphones and turns you on to a great band. And as you take take in the plaintiff wail you stare into her eyes. She says, "It's the Shins. They'll change your life." But it's really her who will change your life. Wow.

That's why Garden State is a great movie.

Tuesday, July 19, 2005

The Brown Bag

Whatever happened to bringing your lunch to work? Since I can remember, I've been one of the few people who bring food from home to work. It started when I had my first real post college job and couldn't afford to eat out every work day. Now I guess I could afford to eat out every day, but if I did, I'd probably be taking in an inordinate amount of calories, given the restaurant options downtown. My buddy Will works for a very progressive company that actually provides lunch for him. That's never going to happen where I work --- we're lucky to get a less than cost of living raises every year. I do mix it up, eating out about twice a week. But I still feel like a dork carrying my lunch to work every day.

Monday, July 18, 2005

Stairway to Nowhere


This is just down the street from 2806 South Boulevard. There are a lot of these in South Dallas --- stairways to once grand homes that have been knocked down because they've been abandoned.

This is the fate that 2806 will eventually meet.

2806 photo


I rolled around South Dallas this weekend with my camera looking for cool beat up houses to shoot. And, of course, I eventually ended up at 2806 South Boulevard.

The homeless have pulled back one of the boards on a downstairs windows, so now there's easy access into the home. But still, I didn't have the guts or the heart to peek inside. Maybe I'll do that next weekend.

It had just rained when I took this picture. Unfortunately, the rain had the effect of stirring up the human waste smell around the house. So I took a few shots, got back in my truck and left.

Let's Play Name That Crackhead

Over the weekend, I went out to dinner with my friend Lisa and her tenant Kevin. The ever impetuous Lisa decided recently that she wanted to become a landlord. So almost overnight, she bought a triplex on one of the worst blocks on Gaston Avenue. She moved in about a month ago and is enjoying the scene. She instantly became friends with Kevin who was already living in the house.

Kevin is funny and is real street wise about Gaston. So we hit it off by comparing notes on our favorite crackheads who roam the neighborhood. We are both are intrigued by this small but super cracky woman who's a regular. She talks in this squeaky voice (I guess I'll call her squeaky from now on). And she always says: "Excuse me. Hello. Excuse me. Hello." She won't stop until you acknowlege her. Then she says: "Can I have a dollar so I can get me a soda and a hot dog." I never give her money and will never give money to a crackhead. Kevin won't either. He says the last time he saw her, she was knocking on the windows of cars at the drive through at a Taco Bell. Kevin say he's a patron at the crackiest 7-11 on Gaston and gets bum rushed on a regular basis. When the crackheads ask him for money for "food" Kevin says he always offers to go inside and buy them a Coke and a banana. They always refuse the offer. That is a brilliant strategy and takes the guilt out of the process.

Before I met Kevin, Lisa gave me the low down on him. He works as a nanny --- an untraditional male job, but so is Kevin. And he also appeared on Mark Cuban's short lived "Benefactor" show, which I never watched because it was reputed to be so terrible. Lisa says he won $30,000 on that show. And she tried to get him to talk about it at dinner but he wouldn't. Maybe Rob can fill me in on Kevin's role on the show because I think he watched it twice for the trainwreck factor. Now I wish I would have watched it too.

Friday, July 15, 2005

Rated R

I'm desperate to see a movie. Anything. I haven't been to a theater since "Crash" came out about two months ago. It's no surprise because I have no interest in sequels and redos of old TV shows.

And it shouldn't be that way.

I'm probably going to see The Wedding Crashers this weekend, even though it's getting just O.K. reviews. You know why I'm going? Because it's an actual "Rated R" comedy. Remember those? They're the movies that people tend to see over and over again because they're funny, take chances and contain phrases that enter the popular lexicon. And Hollywood used to do this movie better than anyone. "Stripes" "Fletch" and "Caddyshack" are great examples. The last movie I remember seeing like that was "Old School." I saw it in the theater and I own it on DVD, so the studio collected money from me twice. The only reason I can think of why there are so few of these movies out is because Hollywood has become way too family friendly. There's money to be made in that genre and lots of people have kids. But I, and a lot of people, are not in that demographic. Even people with kids want the option of seeing a movie that their kids shouldn't see.

I want to laugh at jokes that contain the F-bomb. I want to see guys acting like jackasses on screen. I want to see the occasional boob pop out. And I'm willing to pay for the experience. Please, Hollywood, save me from the next "Bewitched."

Politics

There's not much politics on this blog. I'm not afraid to discuss that subject, as anybody who knows me will attest. It's just that usually, I don't like starting that conversation. Often it's like farting in a room and watching to see if anyone reacts.

But when Rob posts up some politics, I'll usually respond. And I did that today. See http://robert_minter.blogspot.com/2005/07/war-on-war.html#comments if you're really interested.

Rob draws me in because he thinks through political issues. He never knee jerks as most people do. He has no allegences other than common sense. There's just not enough of that these days. Everybody's got to be on a team or, God forbid, they'd have to think for themselves. Consequently, Rob and I agree on politics all of the time.

Thursday, July 14, 2005

For Better Highway Vision

I love inexpensive sunglasses. I have about 15 pairs of them right now --- all purchased at various dollar stores.

And I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm really vain when picking out shades. They've got to make me look mean or mod or vaguely glamorous or I'll put 'em back on the rack.

The sunglass experience is actually one of the big reasons I switched to contacts five years ago. After more than a decade wearing standard glasses, I had to be unshackled from the indignity of the same expensive prescription sunglasses that I'd been wearing for years. They were way out of fashion (the same kind Ferris Bueller wore.)

So now I've got stupid Nascar glasses, Dirty Harry glasses and punk rock glasses. And I'm dying to get a pair of mirror aviator glasses like I used to have in high school.

Some pairs I'll wear once or twice and then junk them. But the true test of sunglasses worthiness is if I wear them on a 13-hour drive to Colorado. If they serve me well during one of those journeys, they're going to be around a while.

Pain

I'm currently working on an ear infection. Strike that. I have an ear infection. My left inner ear hurts. And I can't hear out of it real well. I'm heading to the doctor this afternoon.

So in the meantime, I'm having auditory conflict. Like this morning, I was driving into work listening to a CD that's got the same title as my favorite blog, "Pills Thrills & Bellyaches" by the Happy Mondays. To get the full effect, and to compensate for my failing left year, I had to turn it up to a Freedom Rock volume. Of course, the increased volume hurt my left ear even worse.

Hopefully some ear drops were take care of this situation. And listening to Sean Ryder's wailing will be less painfull.

Wednesday, July 13, 2005

Rolling Film

On the way home from purchasing my replacement khakis, I drove up Swiss Avenue to see if they were filming the movie yet. I just planned on driving by ---- even if they were filming inside the house, I doubt there would be much to see except crew people standing on the front yard. But I was in luck.

Yesterday evening, they were filming a driving scene. There was actually something to see, so I stopped to gawk for a few minutes. I've always wondered what's involved in filming a moving vehicle. They put the car on a low flat bed trailer and tow it with a large truck. The camera sits in the bed of the truck. And there a various light rigs set around the car. I stopped by just as they were beginning shooting. The producer I met at the 4th of July party was on the back of the truck and waved at me. And inside the old BMW they were filming was the lovely Selma Blair. She's been in a bunch of movies but the only one I remember seeing was Hellboy (highly recommended) in which she played Hellboy's love interest. I was told they were going to film her driving around downtown Dallas.

I also got a taste of what a beating it is to film a movie --- especially outside. They had a couple of false starts because the light rig on the trailer kept failing. And Selma got to sit in a car that was not running with the windows rolled up while it was a good 92 degrees outside. That must have been fairly unbearable.

So they finally get going, with police motorcycle escorts in front and behind the truck. They pull down a side street and head down Gaston Avenue towards downtown Dallas with the cameras rolling. And I watched as they drove past my house. So now I can say that a movie was filmed just outside my house.

Tuesday, July 12, 2005

Rock & Roll Girlfriend

With a few exceptions, most females I've been involved with do not like to frequent rock shows as often as I do. All have been good sports about it and have gone with me if the show attendance is a must. Karen's only been to two shows with me. Both were big deals that she enjoyed including Aimee Mann about a year and a half ago and an incredible show two years ago by the underrated and forgotten-by-all-except-music-geeks David Baerwald.

But for years, even if I went to a show by myself, I could always count on Cheryl being there. Cheryl is a friend of a friend who I've known since college. The woman lives for rock & roll --- especially that made by the local hero types. If they're from Texas and have even a modicum of talent, Cheryl's heard of them and supports them. It doesn't matter if it was a Wednesday night and the band was playing in Denton, Cheryl would be there. So it was sort of comforting when I went out to see some new local band in an unfamiliar club in Dallas. Cheryl served as the ambassador of rock, introducing me to her friends, having a drink with me and discussing what she was listening to at the moment. Cheryl turned me on to a slate of bands that I never would have known about if not for her. And sometimes I'd convince her to come see shows by people I liked. She was always up for it if I advocated the performance strongly enough. We once saw an incredible and unusually powerful set by Radney Foster when he was doing more pop music than roots country. And we also saw the last and maybe best show ever by Nashville's Jason & The Scorchers.

It got to the point that when girlfriends would pass on going out to see bands with me, they'd always ask: "So. Was your Rock & Roll Girlfriend there?" after I got home. There was no hint of jealousy in that question because anybody knew me also knew my relationship with the lovely Cheryl was purely musical.

Cheryl moved to Austin well over a year ago and I haven't seen her since. And Cheryl always took along a digital camera to shows and took extrodinarily good shots of the talent --- so good that lots of bands used the photos on their professional websites. She posted those photos on her website called yellowchevyluv.net. That site allowed me to follow Cheryl's musical adventures from afar. But it's since been taken down. Tara, her high school friend, says Cheryl ran into a series of unfortunate events recently, including her camera breaking. And her website was down the last time I checked. I hope Cheryl's got a new camera and gets that site up and running again. It's the next best thing to having her in Dallas.

Monday, July 11, 2005

The Summer Festival

On Sunday evening, I wandered over to the Taste of Dallas festival to see The Fixx play for free. I only stayed for three songs because the festival, not The Fixx, was unbearable.

It reminded me of David Cross' "Light Up Atlanta" bit where he bags on the people who came up with a dumb idea for a festival in Georgia. "Let's get a bunch of hot sweaty rednecks, feed them beer all day and give them some shitty music to listen to like The Little River Band."

You'd imagine that The Taste of Dallas would feature a sampling of the local culinary restaurant fare of the city. So I guess Dallas is now famous for it's turkey legs and funnel cakes.

So after walking around and seeing the same lame vendors that are at every Dallas festival --- like the dude playing f'ing "My Heart Will Go On" on a pan flute, selling his cd's of the same --- The Fixx finally came out. They looked and sounded good for a 20-year-old band. But I could only take standing on the boiling hot asphalt parking lot for so long before I had to leave.

Why do cities insist on holding festivals in the summer? It's arguably the shittiest time of the year to do this. The heat makes people angry. It makes them pass out. Yeah, you can sell them a lot of beer, but then you have to call the cops when the drunk festival goers start assaulting the corn dog vendors.

So my message for the City of Dallas tourism bureau is this: For the love of Pete, stop perpetuating the myth that summer festivals are fun. They're miserable. Wise up and hold your next event during the 3-and-half months of jacket weather we have in this town.

Sunday, July 10, 2005

Pant Disaster


Thelma! Look at this! john_clarke is blogging about his pants again!

These were my favorite khakis --- a good soldier who was comfortable and a regular work day companion. But he's just been mortally wounded. I just took him out of the dryer and discovered two really nasty grease stains. And because I didn't catch the stains before he hit the dryer, the marks are permanantly baked on.

Now I have to head back to Target for replacements.

Farewell my friend. I'll miss you.

The Flip Flop Revolution


Until about two weeks ago, I had never owned a pair of flip flops. The beach bum look isn't one I'm trying to cultivate. Besides, that strap that goes between the big toe and the next toe has always bugged me. But I've gotten over that. This particular pair I bought for one solitary dollar are now getting some regular use. Here I'm attempting to become the first person ever to walk down a flight of stairs wearing flip flops.

Saturday, July 09, 2005

The Hoopty

A couple of years ago, my Dad offered to sell me his 1983 Ford Ranger pickup for a 1,000 bucks because he was getting a new one. Because I'd just bought a big ass house that needed restoration, I figured the truck would be useful hauling stuff to the dump and picking up large items at Home Depot. I thought I'd just sell the truck when I was finished with it.

Fat chance.

I've fallen in love with this dated hunk o' metal. There are sentimental reasons for the attachment. I learned to drive a stick shift in this truck. And I took my first long road trip with a girlfriend in this vehicle --- to Santa Fe where the underpowered engine struggled mightly going uphill in the mountains.

The Hoopty as she's called, has turned out to be the best investment I've ever made. I use it all the time --- just today I had to haul a bunch of yard waste to the dump.

For a 22-year-old truck, the Hoopty is pretty phenominal. The paint still shines. The AC still works, sort of. And the V-6 engine has an incredible 267,000 miles on it. It's so 80's looking, it's almost cool.

Room For Rent


This the upstairs study of our house where I spend a lot of time listening to music, getting ready for work and looking at web sites I shouldn't on the very computer you see in the photo. Apparently, lots of people besides me have spent time in this room, although not doing the same things as me.

I love to do searches on the Dallas Morning News historic archive, where you can search everything they printed from 1888 until 1975 --- even the classified ads. And according to the classifieds, this very room was for rent from 1951 until 1965. At the time, it had twins beds. And occupants had use of the green, art deco tile bath next to this room. The ad said the rooms was for "girls" only. Luncheon was included, whatever that means. All for $5.50 a week.

Buying Music

I rarely buy music in actual stores anymore. When I buy a CD, more often than not I order it online. The cost and convenience is unbeatable. But still, buying music online has one huge downside --- it's almost impossible to browse. And that's what I love about going into music stores --- just looking through the bins, with no intended purchase in mind but picking up the products that strike my fancy. I love the cheap used cd/record store because they allow me to explore music without breaking the bank. I've discovered countless of my albums through just browsing and taking a chance. For example, I once bought a copy of Patti Smith's "Horses" for 50 cents. That was well worth a half a buck. And I discovered bands like The Honeydogs through a used CD purchase.

So on Friday after work, I hit CD world on Greenville Avenue for a cheap music browse. They've got a whole wall of cds in the back that are $4.91 or 5 for $20. Sometimes all I'll see is rows and rows of mid 90's cast offs like The Spin Doctor's "Pocket Full of Krpytonite". But sometimes I'll quickly find lots of stuff I want. Choosing a cd is an involved process for me. I always go through the following checklist.

A. Do I already have another album by the artist? If I do, and I never listen to that album, chances are I'm not going to listen to any of their earlier or later efforts.

B. What mood do I have to be in to listen to this? I love punk rock, for example, but I hardly listen to it every day. Unless it's a must have for the genre, I'll usually pass.

C. Will I listen to the CD over and over again in the car? That's a real big issue. For some reason, and I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I love listening to the Wallflowers "Bringing Down the Horse" in the car. It's a good highway or rolling around town album --- at least it is for me.

So here's what I picked out and why:

Simple Minds "Street Fighting Years" (1989). I don't own a single album by the Simple Minds. I like them. But I wasn't about to buy 1985's "Once Upon a Time". Way too Breakfast Club for me. I really wanted "New Gold Dream" with the super cool atmospheric "Someone, Somewhere in Summertime" song, but it was not to be had on this day. "Street Fighting Years" has a similar dreamy sound, so I was sold.

The The "NakedSelf" (2000). One of my top 20 favorite albums is 1983's "Soul Mining". But Matt Johnson is never going to come close to that one. That album was just too perfect. So I bought The The's last album, hoping I might catch, not lightening, but a small spark in a bottle. It's dark and a bit post apocalyptic sounding, perfect for driving around town late at night. Maybe the weakest selection out of my five choices, but maybe it'll grow on me.

Sam Phillips "Zero Zero Zero" (1999). It's nearly criminal that I haven't owned anything by the lovely Leslie "Sam" Phillips. I'd say that out of all female pop singers, Sam is hands down my favorite. Why she hasn't had Sheryl Crow-like success is puzzling. It's certainly not because of the way she looks because Ms. Phillips is one smokin' lady. And she can write a hell of a song. I really wanted "Martinis & Bikinis" but I settled for this compilation album. This was probably the best purchase of the five. I know I'll listen to this album over and over and go back for more of Sam's stuff. I can't believe I missed her at The Sons of Hermann Hall last year. Stupid.

Pitty Sing, self titled, (2005). I couldn't believe this was in the discount bin already. It wasn't a promo copy or cut-out. And it's only about 6 months old. Pitty Sing is one of those NYC bands that channels the 80's in a good way, much like Interpol, Longwave and the like. They sound lots like Tear For Fears, well, early pre "Everybody Wants To Rule the World" Tears For Fears that is. I'm not sure I'll end up liking this selection in the long run, but I do like the spacey "We're On Drugs" quite a bit right now.

Nada Surf "High/Low" (1996). When Nada Surf scored a minor hit on this album with the talky "Popular" I thought they were going to end up a novelty act, or a wannabe Weezer. It didn't help matters that this song was turned into a video and played along side of that fuckin' "Closing Time" video by Semi Sonic on MTV. Nada Surf just got unfairly tagged with an unfair association with me. But a couple of years ago, I saw them open up for Death Cab for Cutie. And I'm sorry kids, but I liked Nada Surf a lot more than Death Cab. Hooky poppy without being all emo. And this first album of theirs is all guitars all the time.

I go to the counter with my selections. And I always wonder if the hipper-than-thou clerk is going to make a comment. Rarely they do. But this time the clerk says "Wow, there was some Nada Surf back on the discount wall? You came in at a good time." I think I just might have.

Friday, July 08, 2005

Attacked


Admittedly, this is a terrible picture I took in Telluride. I would have deleted it immediately from my digital camera if it had not clearly shown that all three of us were being struck in the head by deadly lazer beams from the sky.

Doing Time

If you get busted in Childress County in the Texas Panhandle, you get to wear a cool, old school prison uniform. And you get to use a weed whacker. This con was wacking away on the side of Highway 287 near the Childress County Courthouse. The sheriff deputy that was supposed to be watching him was tending after a couple of other hardened criminals who were planting flowers in the front of the courthouse. I took the picture while in my car. And I felt like asking this dude if he wanted to hop in the passenger's seat and haul ass away from Johnny Law.

Rolodex

The one item that's been with me my entire professional (snicker) career is a Rolodex I've had since 1989. It's not the classic 1950's kind that sits on a stand and actually rolls over. It's the weaker cousin version that looks sort of like a mini card catalog at the library. All of the letter tabs on it are dog-eared. And its stuffed with various business cards and scraps of paper that I've written phone numbers on but couldn't be bothered to transfer to cards. And true to john_clarke form, all of the phone numbers are organized by letter, but they're not in alphabetical order. They're filed in order of newness. So if I need a "B" phone number and I know if it's a newer number, it'll be located toward the front of the B section.

I never discard the phone number cards. So, for instance, I've got a business phone number for Karl Rove for when he was a private political consultant in Austin, way before he decided to groom a certain Bush into the president of the United States. And I've got lots of phone numbers for people that are dead.

If you change phone numbers on me, I'll just cross out the bad number and write another one on the same card. One guy --- a lawyer who hops from law firm to law firm every few years and is a good quote --- has five crossed out numbers. His most current number is in tiny script on the top right hand corner of his card.

I could put all of these numbers on a Palm Pilot. But F that. Who in the hell would keep the same Palm Pilot for 16 years?

Thursday, July 07, 2005

Driving in the Scary Lane

Yesterday was a first. I drove in an HOV lane. Unwittingly and illegally.

After work, I had to run an errand in Mesquite during rush hour. I got on I-30 East from downtown Dallas. And for whatever reason, the entrance ramp I chose sent me into the HOV lane. There was no option but to get on I-30 proper as it was blocked off by red cones.

I was not particularly concerned with being stopped by some fearsome Dallas Area Rapid Transit cops who patrol the HOV lanes for the crime of driving in this lane with an empty passenger seat. After all it was DART who directed me into this lane with their stupid cones. And let me tell you --- I wouldn't drive on the the I-30 HOV lane if my car was jammed with 12 people and I-30 was completely stopped with traffic. This lane has retaining walls on either side. You have what seems like 5 inches of clearance between the walls --- one false move and your vehicle will slam into a big slab 'o concrete. And because I was driving a safe speed, moms in minivans were all on my bumper, no doubt wondering why the dude in the hot rod Mustang was driving like scared little girl. Because I was. The eastbound HOV lane on I-30 is actually the nearest lane on the westbound side of I-30. So when you drive in the HOV lane, you get the sensation that you're fighting against heavy traffic driving on the wrong side of the highway just like that chase scene in "To Live and Die in L.A." It's freaky.

Years

I've had a lot of memorable years. 1985 --- graduated from high school. 1997 --- bought my first house. 2003 --- got married. But out of all of them, 1989 was the most memorable so far. I graduated from college that year, but that's not why it's memorable. 1989 was notable for no other reason than it was my best and worst year combined. It was bad because I was dealing with the seering pain of having my first love dump my ass and knowing she was right in doing it because I was lame. So every morning that year began like this: "Hmm. This is a nice sunny day. Oh yeah. Diane dumped me. Fuck!"

Instead of jumping off a cliff, I dealt with it by spending a lot of time with Dave and Rob. Dave and Rob are two completely different guys who were really interesting when you put them together. I'm not sure where I fit in this mix other than tagging along into their scene. But I forgot all about my stupid problems when I was with them. Rob had a mixer board, a microphone, and a collection of 8,000 records and CDs at his house. So about once a week, Dave and Rob would record their own fake radio show onto cassette tapes. Dave loved Euro-dance music and Rob favored American guitar music. So they'd sit down in front of the board, trade off playing songs, and exchange smart ass comments between playing music you couldn't possibly hear on a real radio station anywhere in the nation. I was nothing more than a special guest during these sessions, posing as a bus repairman that they'd interveiw. And I never chose songs because I was just there to learn. Dave would play stuff like Propaganda and then Rob would keep it real by playing the Beat Farmers or maybe a cut off Country Dick Montana's solo effort. They both got a real radio show at UT later that year, but it wasn't quite the same as the tapes they made at the house on Harriet Court.

So I got some perspective and life lessons in 1989 --- and an appreciation for the Woodentops. Thanks Diane, Dave and Rob.

Wednesday, July 06, 2005

Dignity

I see a wealth of desperation on my drive into work. Every weekday, I pass a corner of Dallas where the homeless gather so they can get fed. Every day, I wonder what a lot of these people's circumstances are and how it is they've fallen so far. But today, I saw a guy that I can truly say had hit the lowest point possible. Stop reading now if you're easily grossed out.

The man was wearing a white jump suit. And it was apparent that he'd lost control of his bowels sometime during the evening. So he was cleaning himself with a paper towel in clear view of the traffic on Main Street.

I've been in close contact with the homeless since college. And my sympathy for them rises and falls. Sometimes I'll give them money. But if I'm harassed, I don't. I truly feel sorry for the homeless who are mentally ill or have actually lost a job. I don't feel sorry for the hardcore homeless who live on the street by choice because they don't like rules or they have an addiction problem but don't want help.

But seeing that guy today was the first time I realized the true depth of loss of the homeless. Obviously, they've lost their housing. They've lost their jobs. They've lost all of their money. And some have lost their minds. But the worst part of being homeless has to be losing your dignity. I couldn't even imagine what that would feel like.

Tuesday, July 05, 2005

Hollywood Across the Street

I went to a 4th of July party at a friend of Karen's this weekend. This party was mostly attended by people who are production and crew members for all sorts of commercials and movies that get shot in Dallas.

I asked this one guy who's a producer what he's working on. He says "I'm shooting an indie movie at a house on Swiss Avenue." And I say "You mean the house that's got the sign in the front yard that says 'Please excuse the grass, it's growing out for a feature film' " And he say's "That's the house. I made the sign."

I run past this house every morning on my morning jog. It's located only about 400 yards from my own house. So this week, Tom Wilkinson and Nick Stahl of the very great "In The Bedroom" will be plying their craft in a house a street over. The movie will be called "Night of the White Pants". It's about some disfuctional family with all sorts of problems. The house on Swiss is very stately, but they're making it look purposely messed up for the movie.

So this week, I may walk over and watch the movie being filmed. I'm sure I won't be able to see much and I'm expecting a less than satisfying experience. But back in the late 80's my buddy Rob lived in a house in Austin that Richard Linklater used as a location for his first movie "Slackers." He actually walked in the house and messed up a scene. I think his roommate volunteered the use of the home. But it was Rob's right to walk in and mess up the scene seeing as he lived in the house. But I'll let him tell that story. Meanwhile I can only aspire to mess up a scene of a movie.

Freak Beat

You know you like a band too much when you really dig their last and worst recording. Such is the case for me with Happy Mondays. Everytime a cut off "Yes, Please" comes up on my Launch.com station, I'm reminded that I like this effort, even if Sean Ryder was blasted out of his mind on smack and couldn't be bothered during the recording sessions.

To reassure that I'm not permanantly stuck musically in 1991 (Whitney admits to this problem), Launch just played some indie band called "Say Hi to Your Mom." I liked it. Of course, I'm going to like any geeky band that writes songs called "Let's Talk About Spaceships." Thanks for that Launch.

All Charged Up

On Friday evening, I attended a pro soccer game with Rob and his brother Ryan at Dallas' "historic" Cotton Bowl. The word historic, when linked to the Cotton Bowl, is short hand for beat-up stadium located in a shitty neighborhood.

Whenever I have to park in a massive parking lot located in questionable surroundings, I always drive my 1983 Ranger pickup. It's highly unlikely anyone is going to jack a 22-year-old pickup (though somebody tried to about 7 years ago when my Dad owned this vehicle.) And if it happens, I'm only out $1,000, which is what I paid my Dad for the beloved Ranger.

After the game, I have this funny feeling when I get back to the truck. I almost tell Rob and Ryan to wait a minute. I get in the cab, turn the key and nothing happens. Lucky for me, Rob hasn't got in his truck yet, so I get him to pull over for a jump. We try for about 10 minutes to jump the Ranger, but still it won't turn over. So Rob takes me home and the Ranger gets to spend the night in Dallas' most crime ridden area.

That night, I actually had a dream that the Ranger got towed by some unscrupulous person who pulled the engine out of the truck. Why anyone would want the outdated V-6 in this truck is beyond me.

The next morning, I woke up from the dream at 6:30 a.m. and headed back over to the Cotton Bowl to see if the Ranger had made it through the night. It was right where I left it, untouched. The battery tester I brought with me showed that the 4-year-old battery in the truck was way dead. So I bought a new battery, had Karen drive me back to the Cotton Bowl, put the battery in and the Ranger was back in business.

I had to explain to Karen that dead batteries are the cost of doing business when owning a vehicle. And there's a phrase that the kids are using now, according to Rob, that perfectly expresses this situation. And that is: "Just charge that to the game."