Another Failed Teenage Dream

When I was a 16-years-old, if I had been granted one wish, it would have been to be handed the keys to an untouched 1970 Boss 302 Mustang. I already had a Mustang at that age --- a 1969 Mach 1 that I bought with money made by sweating my ass off behind a smelly grill at McDonald's. But even in the early 1980s when old Mustangs were cheap --- a 12-yea- old hotrod Boss 302 was still way out of my price range.

So now, there's a new Boss 302 available for purchase. It's faster and even has air conditioning --- unlike the original. This one comes decked out in racing gear sporting the number 15 of Parnelli Jones, who won the Trans Am race in 1970. There was an example of the new Boss 302 on display at the Dallas Auto Show.

Again, the only thing keeping me from this car is the minor matter of $69,000 --- the price tag of this ride which is also the same amount of money I paid for my first house.

So, again, I will not own one of these cars.

I can't believe I just admitted having an unattainable dream that is shared with most NASCAR fans.

That Hoodoo That You Do

I have no reason to celebrate St. Patrick's Day. I'm not Irish. In fact, my ancestors --- former residents of England --- likely participated in the centuries long oppression of Ireland.

So I decided to opress the Irish even further by ignoring their holiday even more by seeing an Australian band play --- the genius Hoodoo Gurus --- on the evening of the March 17th.

The Hoodoos were in the midst of a very poorly publicized reunion tour. And that worked out just great for me as I was one of only about 120 people who saw them play at Club Da Da in Deep Ellum. By about three songs into their set, I was hanging my head over the monitor near the stage, screaming along to "Hayride to Hell." I'm pretty sure that wasn't happening at the other reunion show playing in Dallas that night --- The Police. The real police guarding the stage at the American Airlines Center (where it costs more to park than I paid to see the Hoodoo Gurus) likely shut down any stage/fan antics quickly.

F the Police.

Chonged

I spotted him in the security line at the San Antonio airport. He was wearing a shirt that said "I got this body through steroids." And nobody seemed to know who he was. But anybody who watched 1970's drug comedy movies would know him. It was Tommy Chong.

Of course, Tommy got searched. I asked him if this happened often. "Everytime I'm in an airport."

Adventures in Bad Babysitting

I took my wife and her friend out for a pricey birthday dinner recently. We went to the legendary Kirby's steakhouse in Dallas, where I exchanged $184 bucks for some drinks and grilled cow.

And during this meal, some breeding Yuppies were seated directly across from us. And instead of paying for a babysitter --- which they could clearly afford if they were dining at Kirby's --- these fuckheads decided it would be a great idea to bring a DCD player, set it up on their table, and use that device as a defacto babysitter for their five and six year old kids. So during our meal, we were subjected to the DVD player going full blast --- which got worse everytime a vehicle fired up during the movie they were watching, the cartoon film "Cars".

I shot the parents about seven dirty looks --- every one they shrugged off. Then I weighed my other options, which were: A. Go over to the table and politely tell them to turn the movie down or B. Move to another table.

I went with option B. because I was well pissed and had lost the ability to ask these numbskull parents to do anything politely.

But the next time, politeness will not be a factor. I'm will make a stand for my fellow diners against the surge of rude, lazy parenting. There will be a defensive beachhead established and hopefully I will be joined by fellow comrades who didn't bring young children to an adult restaurant.

Kids, Blunts and the 'Burbs

Once again, Texas makes national news with the recent discovery of a video tape of two teenage kids handing a marijuana blunt to a two-year-old and a five- year- old and urging them to smoke away.

The videotape was recovered from a home in Watauga, which is a rag-tag suburb of Fort Worth.

And since I used to write about criminal activity in this particular burg, I can't say that I'm all that surprised.

In the early 1990's I was sent to the home of a grieving Wataugan whose 4-year-old son had been shot and killed. The father's grief over his son was sincere --- the guy was absolutely beside himself. But his story about how his poor son died was complete garbage.

Dad says he, his son, and his roommate were out for a drive with no particular place to go. They just happened to wind up in East Fort Worth, in a part of town known for drug dealing, and became lost, he says. Dad tells me he pulled his pickup into a motel parking lot to ask for help. Of course, this motel was known for drug dealing. And even if you didn't know that, it's not the kind of place and reasonable person would ask for direction --- the was only one way in and one way out of the parking lot, and tons of shady people regularly hung out there. Nobody went to this motel unless they were in the market for a particular brand of sin.

So Dad tells me, after I questioned him five different ways, that no --- he did not go to the motel to buy dope.

So, according to Dad, a guy in the parking lot just started shooting at his pickup truck for no reason. The cops later arrested the shooter for murder. Even the shooter was more forthcoming -- he told dectectives that Dad had taken part in a crack deal gone bad. Dad was tried for injury to a child. I can't remember if he got convicted. But it didn't really matter. This guy was destiny to live in a prison of his own personal hell for the rest of his life for his stupidity.

Hey, I Was On T.V.!

Last night, I watched the ridiculous "Dominic Dunne's Power, Privilege and Justice" because he was featuring the first big murder case I ever wrote about as a newspaper reporter --- the murder of Fort Worth socialite Caren Koslow.

For those who've never seen this Court TV product, it's essentially "Lifestyles of the Rich & Famous" plus homicide.

The Koslow murder was a big deal 15 years ago because women like her aren't supposed to get murdered. She ultimately died because her step daughter --- the extremely wheels off Kristi Koslow --- told her other 19-year-old buddies they'd get a million dollars of her inheritance if they bumped her off and her dad.

I was one of the first reporters to show up at the Koslow house --- way before dawn one morning in 1992 --- on my first month on the police beat. Since I was all of 24-years-old then, I wrote some of the first stories about the murder and then got shoved aside later when a more senior reporter took the story over. That happens quite often at big city newspapers. But I was still expected to do a lot of the ground work. Mostly, I tracked down anybody who knew the Koslows and friends of their hell-child adopted daughter. I spent several days after the crime hanging out in front of the murder scene house, talking to cops and crime scene folks.

Last night, if you looked real close, you could see the corner of my leather bomber jacket in the corner of the screen in the old file video footage of an interview with the medical examiner that took place outside of the murder scene.

It was weird seeing all of these people who were associated with the case being interviewed in old tapes because they all look different from how I remembered them. And it was really creepy that I can still recall every single detail of how that crime happened.

But sitting through that show meant having to listen to Dominic Dunne's stupid over-the-top commentary --- stuff like: "Kristi Koslow would have been voted 'Most Likely to Kill Her Parents' in high school if there was such a category."

Kristi ended up being spared the death penalty by a jury because she was young and female, which ultimated detracted from the drama of her story. Her life sentence must have disappointed Kristi because, ironically, she seemed to live for drama.

As I remember Kristi, she was just a dumb self-absorbed kid who did a really dumb self-absorbed crime. There really wasn't anything any more fascinating about her or her crime than that.