I have to give my heartfelt kudos to the gang over at Raleighwood Cinema Grill. Despite some rainy weather and an up and down slate of candidates for Hollywood's top prizes, the gang at the RCG pulled off their Academy Awards® celebration this past Sunday with a good measure of food, laughs, door prizes, and excellent customer service. They really took the time and put in the effort to make the show something enjoyable for all. While it may have been my first foray there for the Awards, it will definitely not be my last. (They also do huge programs for the Super Bowl® and other televised events I also have discovered.)
Truly, most of us in attendance had a lot of fun...and while alcohol was an option, no one seriously imbibed. We ate, drank, laughed, voted (we had small Olympics®-style numerical cards we held up for the dresses), and generally carried on with great merriment. Not to mention we had some seriously wonderful balloons everywhere...some that were even the same size and design as the Oscars® themselves.
All of the wonderful balloon decorations...including the towering 15 foot Oscar®-inspired wonder at stagefront (above right)...were made by the wonderfully talented owners of Blooming Balloons and Baskets, Judy Geiger and Lisa Swiger. I cannot recommend them enough...their level to detail and scale are top notch. Check out their 'Decor' page at the link above to get a glimpse of what they can do.
Dame Helen Mirren winning for "The Queen" (and while I could care less if she was wearing underwear or not, she looked stunning compared to most of the women half her age in attendance)
Forest Whitaker for "The Last King of Scotland" (I have adored this man's talents ever since "Bird" and "The Crying Game", if not before...a quiet and graceful professional)
Jennifer Hudson for "Dreamgirls" (although I'm not sure Ms Hudson won it for 'acting' per se, but more for the whole 'underdog singer with great pipes and even better bustline' story)
The whole production of "Pan’s Labyrinth" (while I normally am not a science fiction/fantasy film lover, I've been moved to check this one out)
Ari Sandel winning for his film "West Bank Story" for the Best Live Action Short Film category (any man who can make a musical comedy of "West Side Story" featuring Palestinians and Christians gets my vote...but can I actually see it anywhere?)
Some lowlights:
Watching Peter O'Toole lose for Best Actor...again (in all fairness, though, with the exception of Whitaker, I thought this was one of the weaker competitions)
Paul Greengrass' wonderful directing never having a chance in the Best Director category for "United 93"...when the nominees went out, everyone knew it was Scorsese's year, even if "The Departed" is not his best...Greengrass' excellent work couldn't even get an 'also ran' plug)
Whoever from the whole "Dreamgirls" assembly that pissed off the voters so much that they lost on all nominated songs to Melissa Etheridge's song for a documentary...they had 3 out of a possible 5 nominations, for Pete's sake...and they were a musical (I smell a rat somewhere, folks, this reeks of some Tinseltown politics at play)
Al Gore and Leonardo DiCaprio lecturing us all about 'going green' (when everyone starts wearing recyclable clothes, loses the umpteen layers of hair spray and shows up on tandem bikes for these awards shows, then and only then will I start taking the 'green movement' in Hollywood with a smidgen of seriousness)
Also at Raleighwood...
The Jamie Lee Curtis and Larry the Time Warner Cable Guy lookalikes were a very personable duo (and are married in real life, to boot). 'Jamie Lee' not only looks like a body double to the real actress, but she's also gifted with the superb and quick wit of the original, too.
A well-deserved shout out also goes to the lovely group of SunCoast Video employees who were kind enough to let me crash their 'dining and viewing' booth. Pictured here are the super-friendly Alan and Leah...God bless 'em, a duo so devoted to watching the proceedings, they came straight from work so as not to be late. Super knowledgeable, super nice, and super funny people.
For all the things that my dear home base is known for, one of them is its many academic-leading and sports-dominating universities. For such a limited geographical area, we feature the University of North Carolina (Chapel Hill), Duke University (Durham), North Carolina State University (Raleigh), the fine womens' school at Meredith College (Raleigh), and the perennial rivals and traditionally African-American universities of Shaw University (Raleigh) and North Carolina Central University (Durham). And that's just the major colleges and universities within a 45 minute drive of one another...there's even more in the outlying regions and countless other community and/or technical colleges. No matter if it's football (NCSU, NCCU and Shaw most years), basketball (pretty much everybody, the Duke womens' basketball team finished their season unbeaten this weekend and ranked No. 1 nationally, for instance), soccer (UNC), baseball (NCSU), lacrosse (Duke, before and after the scandalized days) and of course academics (which also includes everyone, although Duke's near-Ivy League status is considered the standard to compare to)...the colleges and universities here are known for having an intelligent, and very competitive, student body. And damn creative to boot.
Well apparently, 'media savvy' should be added to that long list of trademarks...although I'm not sure this is a particularly strong asset as it's been introduced here recently. Not being a Facebook regular...I'm barely a contributor to the whole MySpace scene, and that's pretty much only to keep in contact with other music fans, if that gives you any idea...I had no idea that UNC's infamous "Pit" (a brick-heavy meeting point by the Student Union and Undergraduate Library, best known previously from last year's vengeful attempted murder by a local pizza delivery man with a SUV) was the place to be this past Valentine's Day. Two local students...she from NCSU and he from UNC...had been dating (a totally common occurrence, although sports watching can be strained as a result) for a few months. She, it was alleged, was getting some on the side, though. He, it was alleged, had found out and planned a confrontation. So the notice went out in some form on Facebook...Valentine's Day, The Pit, be there or be square, yada yada yada. Eventually, like some call-out to an afternoon fight in grade school, the day rolled around and quite the group of spectators appeared. A YouTube video was made, of course...he was filmed making his allegations, she was filmed responding in such a verbal diatribe of profanity a sailor would be proud. Video of the incident made the rounds at YouTube, as thousands upon thousands watched "The Breakup". You can watch one of the videos here (yes, there is more than one out there for viewing)...this one's complete with The Loreleis campus group singing The Dixie Chicks' "I'm Not Ready to Play Nice":
The local papers, The Daily Tar Heel (the UNC student-run newspaper) and The Chapel Hill News, (the local Chapel Hill and surrounding areas local community newspaper) have covered the publicity melee in fact. Rumours started to swirl from the onset that perhaps not everything on tape was truly as it seemed in real life. The DTH has had an interesting Letters to the Editor dialogue going on, if nothing else, ever since and today it finally weighs in with a limited Opinion piece. Somehow (and don't ask me how exactly) this little 'incident' became news...across several mainstream outlets.
If only the whole affair had been true. Painfully sad, perhaps, but true.
Today the good folks over at MSNBC (good Lord, MSNBC is even reporting on this??) confirm that the whole thing was an elaborate hoax. Ryan Burke, 'the vengeful male who confronted his girlfriend on her cheating', if you will, confirmed it. From that same MSNBC article:
Ryan Burke confessed Monday that the confrontation, which became an instant hit on YouTube.com, was all a stunt to show the power of Internet communities and the amount of money that companies make from them. The pair weren’t even dating.
Okkkkkkkkk. Methinks Mr. Burke may have missed the bigger meaning: how it was all a stunt to show how gullible people are to witness, document, and perhaps participate in, their 15 seconds of fame...no matter the reason behind it. Truly, if it was a 'real' relationship, no person in their right mind would break up in such a public manner...because there is no telling what a scorned or angry lover will say or do when cornered so badly, especially when being called derogatory names. A small group of witnesses to protect himself/herself, perhaps...a whole gathering of spectators whom he/she doesn't know, no. Emotions are fickle things to be certain, and are not too easily taken with being manipulated on a regular basis. I'm not sure how many 'believers' of these videos were in existence (I hope not many), but the 'validity' of the stunt is not really in question. What is: the fact that thousands of people felt public humiliation to this degree was entertaining and acceptable.
There are limitless opportunities to stage such painful events from everyday life, and I'm confident that Mr. Burke et al has only encouraged more of the same. The differences between this display and what I may buy as a consumer knowing I'm buying a performance is wide. Regardless of the 'back story' involved, the fact that the 'assaulted' party was a woman is troubling, given that violence against women, disrespect of women, and date rape on campus continues to increase. If the same had been done to a member of any number of other minority groups (esp those based on race or sexual orientation)...hoax or no...I feel hopeful there would have been an outcry; the fact this hasn't been so much with a woman is disappointing. In short, it encourages others to pick up in real life where Mr Burke and his co-conspirators left off, and it encourages these actions against women. While this show may have ended as a hoax, someday the calls for "punch her", and "she's a slut" (or "he's a fag", or "she's stupid", or countless others) won't be ignored in real life. The sad thing is one gets a nauseating feeling that something akin to this hoax will show up as a new show (and be a big ratings winner) on MTV.
Isn't it interesting that the more we 'progress' in our leisure choices, the more we repeat our history of 'need' for revenge, humiliation, and mob thinking? It's a fine, fine line between providing people some entertainment and providing people what they really want to see in its basest forms...and we're all contributing to that. After all, our Roman ancestors enjoyed their games, too.
Well a very quick post as I'm back in after way too many activities over too short a time. This wannabe social butterfly thing is not all that's it cut out to be, that's for sure.
In the past week, I have:
attended an informal bloggers' conference where I was truly 'out of water' so to speak as this humble contribution was the only 'personal blog' represented (I truly had no idea so many full-time bloggers existed in this neck of the woods, let alone had made it into a business of some sort for themselves);
at long last, joined a writers' group that had been offering me invites for more than a year now...and although I'm not up to their caliber, I was welcomed rather heartily into the group (for which I thank them again here);
relocated with the Triangle Bluegrass Jam folks (formerly of the Hideaway BBQ) over to Helios Coffeehouse in downtown Raleigh, and they had a good turnout to boot;
finished the three time-consuming but ultimately fulfilling art projects that I have been nursing in spurts over some time now, including the one for work;
held and finally completed the at-work baby shower and although it started a bit shakily with disorganization, it came around to its own glory and with too many shades of pink to really mention;
and (after being out of contention for most of yesterday with migraines doing mundane stuff around here at the house) finished up with...
I will include what pictures I have of these at a more reasonable hour...it's soon to be 230am Monday here, but am posting this now to respond to some of reader emails I've received. I'm perfectly fine, I think...just super-swamped.
More updates to follow tomorrow later today. Thanks to all for your patience. Sorry also to those who wrote to me...I should have posted something on here earlier.
I have a confession to make: I love movies and if I could act my way out of a box, write my way through more than 12 pages of dialogue, or if extras were paid a decent salary, I would probably seriously consider doing something in that field as a career choice. There's a reason why "Cinema Paradiso" is my all-time favourite movie...and it's because I 'knew' that movie internally the first time I ever saw it and am still transfixed by it, and its message. (I understand it's in subtitles, folks, but if you've never seen it, by all means: go rent the film and watch it, read it, and appreciate it for the wonderful piece that it truly is. I really think it should be required viewing for all film fans.) Given an opportunity to go back in time, I would be the Midwestern girl who shows up in the Silent Age (and Birth) of Hollywood, looking for a job in pictures...any job...eyes aglow with the prospect of succeeding in an unchartered field. Whereas some single women I know have books on cooking, or catching the perfect husband, or cardio kickboxing, my bookshelves are lined with biographies of Clara Bow, Billy Wilder, and Charlie Chaplin and auctioned scripts from the likes of Orson Welles and Sidney Lumet. I admit it: I'm a film fan.
Many years ago, I actually pursued 'the whole movie gig' a bit as a cub writer and general production assistant (both here in-state and for a very short stint in LA with some friends), but I realized very quickly I didn't have the 'stomach' for a lot of what passes in the biz as 'business as usual'. As time went on, I found myself hating every new person I met and resenting people of great smarts who clearly had copped a Robert Johnson and sold their souls to the Devil somewhere along the way. To some degree, those same attitudes come with any Hollywood-greenlit production that has scenes shot locally. It's nothing short of staggering what money can do to people who worship it, and what it can do to those who use it as power. I came back from LA very snide, very cynical, very distrustful...very unlike who I wanted to be, very unlike who I am. I gave up on the movie biz, but when I came back, I put newfound faith in me.
I have a good friend who still is involved heavily in the dog and pony show that is LA, and every so often she asks me to come back and give it another go...convinced that I gave up on my dream too early and that a lot of good people do prosper in the biz, you just have to 'understand, accept, and master the unspoken ground rules' before you meet them. Ehhhhh...no thanks. I have a hard enough time understanding and accepting my own rules as it is, and I'm pretty damn sure I don't want to spend years figuring out others' 'unspoken' ones. Every two months or so, she calls and regales me of her latest adventures with the Next Big Things in the Big Smog of LA and reminds me her sofa bed is always available. I always refuse and then proceed to remind her what 'normal' people are like (both physically and socially) and how I can actually get halfway across the state in the same amount of time it takes her to get to work on the 405. For years, I clearly was not getting through to her. Then, several years ago, a great movie called "Primary Colors" had a fantastic sequence that summed it up for me:
"I don't care. I'm sorry, but I'm not comparing the players. I don't like the game."
(Script quote from Script-o-Rama.) It's taken a bit now, but when I start up with that quote, all invites to LA from her come full stop. And I smile because I know I'm still right about the place.
So, after the disastrous short-term insanity that was LA had come and gone, I came back and looked for something to cure my fix. Not finding a local theatrical group willing to take on a non-acting, non-singing, non-talented wannabe, I contented myself with just doing something 'big' for the awards shows. (A mighty step down perhaps, but it also gave me a reason to 'show off' a bit, so I guess it also served its purpose, too.) None of these were grandiose, mind you, but instead nice little celebrations where friends invited friends and eventually the thing grew and grew and grew...so much so that 'pre-planning' meetings with friends were required and 'suggested dress themes' were included on the computer-generated invites. Years before, I had attended an even bigger function locally where the party was taken way too seriously (this area actually boasts some technical Oscar® winners, as bizarre as that may sound on first mention), where 'for your consideration' tapes of candidates played in the background and a strict dress code was required. Both were really good experiments in trying to make a 'national' party with a local flair and bring in 'other' people to a group. Looking back on both of these now, I guess I appreciated the 'local grandeur' of it all (us movie snobs love to congregate together every chance we get), but about 30 minutes into either shindig, I was always looking lustily at the nearest exit. Somewhere about the time the first "Lord of the Rings" movies hit, I declared I was taking a sabbatical from even the local parties (and not just because I refused to pay the outrageously princely sums for costume rental).
Well, I've decided that eating Junior Mints and heavily buttered popcorn again this year at home in my PJs isn't going to cut it. And I may have found a place: the Raleighwood Cinema Grill is having their Annual Awards Gala this Sunday. Complete with optional dress code, 'star lookalikes', the Carolina Garrison of the 501st Legion of the "Star Wars" costume group (???), and refreshments...it sounds like it could be right up my alley. The RCG has always been an unique experience anyway, as you can always sit and enjoy waiters bringing a whole menu of food and drink items while reclining in comfy chairs...no missing scenes waiting for the soda jerk to top off the refill at the concession stand. While I have to admit this year's candidates seem lackluster compared to some previous seasons, I also relent it could be just as good (if not also possibly corny) to see the costumes of the attendees. With all the 'royal' themes in contention for awards this year ("The Queen", "The Last King of Scotland", etc), one has to wonder how many adult-size tiaras and military-influenced uniforms will be in attendance. And, of course...the 501st Legion (some of whom marched in the Rose Bowl Parade this year with mastermind George Lucas)...a girl should never pass up the chance to meet the Legion.
So, even though I will have to be budget conscious and perhaps take a nap before I go so as to not be snoring when the 'good' awards finally roll around, I plan on attending Sunday. Like all good movie divas, I have absolutely nothing to wear that I find immediately acceptable so a run to either the crafts store and/or thrift store may be in the immediate future. Luckily for me, I already have some spare wigs to choose from. Unfortunately, though, all my other mates around town (including the practically movie avoiding WR) could care less about such things...which will only bring out the movie snobbishness in me, I fear, but oh well. I love a good debate on these things as much as the next snob does. It is, after all, about meeting up with other people who share the same interests, right?? Plus, the RCG has some really good buttered popcorn. This should hopefully bring me a chance 'to participate' as it were, but also appreciate the simply wonderful things in life here back in Realityville. And sometimes that's just the happy ending I'm looking for.
For the first time in many years, I have to report that I have been injured 'in the line of duty' at a musical event. You'd think with my many years of following Southern Culture on the Skids (hereafter referred to as The SCOTS), I would understand how the basic dynamic of the shows can (and frequently does) carry on. Apparently not, for the right side of my temple is now harbouring a freakishly-earned burn and bruise from Thursday's show at The Front Street Music Hall in Wilmington.
Firstly, as several others and myself learned a bit too well, when the Front Street Music Hall says 'doors open at 9pm', that's more of a suggested time frame...it's more like 9:45pm. While Wilmington in the winter is never anything to complain about, with a gusty wind off the water (Front Street is located in the historical area of Wilmington and, as such, sets immediately adjacent to the Cape Fear River) and most of us wearing only light to medium weight jackets, we all came away with a new appreciation for bringing a parka and gloves next time...just in case. (I later overheard the delay was caused by the arrival of the opening act's van full of instruments.) Essentially, The Music Hall's a good venue (with two levels, a bar on each), painted black with that neon-glow paint that makes you think you're cruising a set on "CSI". As I found out quick enough, the bar was just that with no food options whatsoever, and after having a disastrous meal at Fat Tony's (which has now lost any and all support from me now or in the future), that news was disappointing. No nachos, no hot dogs, no potato chips/crisps...nada.
(While Fat Tony's takeaway tiramisu was wonderful, it could never make up for an inattentive wait staff...complete with their unknown urge to keep playing with the dining room light dimmer...nor could it for a very stale tasting pint of Smithwick's beer, nor for some of the most 'gluey' tasting angel hair pasta with Alfredo sauce I've ever had. As the final nail in the coffin, complaining about said pasta to the staff was pointless. I definitely left feeling angry and ripped off, and by the time I made it down to the Music Hall, I was really hungry. Thank God the bar at the Hall did have a tolerable beer to fill me up some, at least.)
The SCOTS' opening act, Da Howlies, was an interesting blend of music, although they were a bit hit and miss both with arrangements, song flow, and poor audio. They feature Hawaiian-style music, and front it on either side with a steel guitar and a standup bass, among a multitude of other instruments. They also seem to have a good founding in 1920s-1930s jazz and Carolina beach music, and have combined these sounds with the Hawaiian. It's not something I'd listen to everyday, mind you, but once a month or so could be quite pleasant. Contrary to what one would think with those genres, though, the drummer Paul Currier got quite the cardio workout...as he was standing and bending and circling his little space onstage in a setup I've actually never seen work successfully before. Chimes and bells up high, cymbals at normal height, all other drums below and more vertically situated than the standard horizontal. He also, somewhat amazingly, did background vocals on some songs. Given that the audio was poor and some lyrics were hard to make out, I invariably kept focusing on this fella, as he may be a contender for the Hardest Working Drummer in Hawaiian Jazz Beach music.
Da Howlies...the best in Hawaiian Jazz Beach music in Wilmington
I'm pretty sure I'd like to see them again with a better audio setup to make a fairer verdict, as the band seemed talented and pretty well honed...if for no other reason to actually hear the song the lead singer opened with: "Has anyone here ever had syphilis? This song celebrates that." Not something you hear every day as an opener, but unfortunately once the steel guitar kicked in, no one could hear anything other than that...let alone the song itself.
Thankfully, no such audio problems existed for The SCOTS. Lead guitarist and singer Rick Miller, drummer Dave Hartman and magnificent Mary Huff have rarely, if ever, had any audio or visual obstacles that they couldn't overcome. Partly this expertise comes from playing together for so long...and to a devoted core of a fan base that will truck hundreds of miles to see them...and so well as the tight threesome they are today. They have perfected the 'if ain't broke, don't fix it' routine of live performance. They understand their fan base and they remember where they've come from. They understand that tickets and merchandise should be affordable. They take their musicianship seriously, but they also know it's also all about having one's tongue planted firmly in cheek. The music should be good, but it should also be fun and audience-participatory. And The SCOTS have that down cold.
Now for those of you who have missed out on the Southern country retro/white trash/rockabilly/psychobilly/guitar-driven groups that make up the 'family tree' that The SCOTS and so many other great bands 'belong' to (such as The Reverend Horton Heat, The Legendary Shack Shakers, The Drive-By Truckers, etc), let's review:
the 'light show', 'dance routine', and/or other bullshit known with most major acts these days is generally non-existent because it's not needed, as the music does the work for them;
as much as the band works entertaining the crowd, the crowd works just as hard entertaining themselves...the fans are not a sedentary group, and generally can be found dancing or cheering from beginning to end;
alcohol consumption is not only done in fairly copious amounts everywhere, but it's also fairly well encouraged (read: since you're going to be dancing, it's best to know your limits before the show);
the shows are full of some of the most interesting characters you'll ever meet...some will scare you, some will make you laugh, some will make you fall in love, some will borrow your last $20 and then lose it on a stupid bet (and that may all be the same person)...and they're generally the people your Mama warned you about;
attire to these things can be pretty damn diverse, too, and tends to become optional as the night and the songs wear on...it's all about comfort, after all...and bras have been as easily kicked off as shoes in many a gig I've attended;
claustrophobes and 'social prudes' may have to be slowly indoctrinated, as these are the type of shows where low cut blouses with push-up bras and stilettos or slightly overstuffed cut and too-tight blue jeans can be in great quantity; and
dances like 'The Southern Pogo' (like the up-and-down pogo dance of the punks of the 1970s, but instead of vertically jumping up into another person, you jump out and in horizontally until someone jumps back at you in the same way...the guys love this especially with the girls)...and 'The (Carolina) Shag' reigns supreme. (Although even the most uncoordinated dancer is welcomed, and thus how my first experiences came about.)
That said, all of the above underscore a desire by everyone, from band and venue all the way down, to just have a damn good time. To make new friends, maybe, but generally to just forget about the crap of daily life and let loose for a few hours with like-minded people. To enjoy life a bit more than usual.
And that's just what I was doing when I met The Chicken Breast.
Now The SCOTS are known for having some non-traditional songs in their repertoire. One look at their discography only highlights this. Love lost may be lamented over a number of things, but it may just as likely be a Southern trailer park tradition as it is a ravishing blonde somewhere. One of my SCOTS favourite albums (actually it was my introduction to them, a bootleg copy a long-lost friend gave me eons ago) is "Too Much Pork for Just One Fork". On it, there is a classic song, albeit not a fave of mine, called "Eight Piece Box"(ed: live concert audio link, medium to high quality, scroll down the playlist if necessary) which truly is a love song celebrating the fried Southern chicken classic. Something tells me I may have to reconsider my evaluation.
So, here I was, dancing like a few dozen other fools at the Music Hall and having a great ole time, having been dancing well in excess of an hour by then. Then Rick called for volunteers to come on stage. Now I was in the back (being tall, I try not to block other peoples' views, as that's a pet peeve of mine) near the mixing board and the sound man. Rick announces it's time for "Eight Piece Box" and that the crowd looks hungry. The stage volunteers now have clamoured up there and outnumber the band something like 3 to 1. Cheers abound as the chicken boxes are opened and the band starts up the song. My newly-made friends and I immediately restarted our attempts to cut loose while simultaneously looking cool. I took a few pics, strapped the camera to my wrist, and then proceeded to dance, my back to the stage. Life was good.
Moments before the chicken missiles rained down. The SCOTS with devoted fans onstage for "Eight Piece Box".
Little did I know the sound man was waving for his meal like there was no tomorrow. And soon, as if some Monty Python-esque outtake from the Blitz, it was raining meat. Greasy, hot, fried chicken meat, to be exact. Hopelessly trying to get to the sound man, but falling many, many feet short and into the audience instead. The girls doing the throwing may have had the hearts of Florence Nightingale, but they had the 'chicken aim' of a drunken sailor.
Well, as Rick was playing and singing (right), I feel certain one of these lovely lassies should *not* be taking up a career in professional baseball. My vote's on the gal holding the Hardee's box.
Twhaaaack. And that sound, dear readers, was the last thing I heard by my right ear as my glasses went flying and my wig spun a bit around. And before all of my newly-made friends...who had looked nourished enough just seconds before...descended on my feet to grab said chicken missile. By the sounds they made, you'd think they had come to show semi-starving, too.
But the chicken was the least of my problems at that moment. I am almost (it seems, anyway) blind 'as a bat' without my glasses, and it's a condition that's been increasing in strength since I was in my teens. Thanks to technology, the lenses are no longer as thick as they once were, but the prescription itself is very strong. I have a hard time telling males from females without my glasses, it's that bad. So after I had at least controlled my now grease-stained wig and brought it back to its semi-normal position, I was in desperate search for the glasses. And the glasses were...somewhere I could not find. A right hand got stomped in the search, a left shoe slipped on some discarded chicken skin. Eventually, when the song finally stopped, a Good Samaritan from New Bern, NC, found my glasses along a wall somehow and held them aloft, inspecting them with weird suspicion. I happened to see the glint from the lenses about the same time (as I was trying to make it to the sound man to see if he could make an announcement or something), and waved frantically from the floor. I can only imagine how sad I must have looked as he helped me from the floor...crawling around among the shredded chicken pieces, holding my now throbbing right up hand upwards in pain as I felt my way around the floor using my left. The first thing he did after helping me up was laugh, and laugh really, really hard. And then he helped me straighten my wig, which apparently I still had on sideways. And then helped me put on my glasses...and the right side was about a full inch higher than the left, but I could see.
I was finally able to get him to stop laughing long enough for me to buy him a beer as thanks. I came back with ice wrapped on one hand and the beer in the other. The next couple of minutes I concentrated on 'eyeglass damage assessment' and with the help of a loaned lighter, was able to bend the frames back a bit (God bless plastic frames, once again). Just when I got them to a stable enough condition, I put them back on only to hear "Duck!" from Mr. New Bern...as a chicken leg grazed the top of my wig and bounced off the setup behind me. I still don't think the sound man ever got any food.
I spent the rest of the show in relatively unharmed condition, near the back and near the intersection of two walls in case I had to 'feel' my way out. While I love The SCOTS, I was also pretty thankful when the show concluded just a little bit after the chicken assault. Already within about 30 minutes of my recovery, I had an additional throbbing headache coming on due to the new misalignment. I did get a chance, though, to get to talk to all three members and have them sign a poster from the show...although poor Mary looked a tad bit concerned as I kept pulling down on my glasses when I talked to her. But God Bless The SCOTS, too, nothing ever seems too outlandish for them, and I'm sure I was probably one of the more 'normal' ones who spoke with them that night.
SCOTS autographed show poster from Front Street Music Hall. Drummer Dave (center) and Magnificent Mary (right) actually wore the same outfits as shown here.
I could have made it a joke and it would have been funny, but I wasn't ready to laugh yet. Now I am and it shall make a good one for the next go-around at their show. Ahh, the sacrifices we fans make for the love of our music. You live for the music, you learn to duck to avoid flying grease.
Now if I can just get this small, albeit a little painful, chicken breast grease mark on my right temple to heal so my glasses don't hurt so much...I'll be 'golden'.
If you love some jumpin' music with a very devoted cult audience of fans who love to ham it up almost as much as the band does on stage, then by all means get down to Wilmington by tomorrow night, however you can. The SCOTS are about as loved a band as one can be here in the Southeast (although they have toured everywhere), and are very audience-friendly. (I ask you, when was the last time you saw a 'taping policy guideline' for fans on any signed band's site?) And, continuing a long-standing tradition with them, the fans and band still post recipes onsite, too, so everyone can be a good Southern cook. Check out this and some other goodies on their newly updated website here.
Additionally, they have a MySpace page, too, (which I guess everyone just about does know, although I'm not sure I quite understand all the damn appeal), so you can get a brief sampling of a few of their songs (look in the top right hand corner of the page and choose something if nothing starts automatically). In a strange yet accurate description, they're listed as 'rock/garage/surf' music. It's campy, it's fun, it's a grand old time had by all. (Apparently this year is sizing up for me to be the live music social butterfly.)
And, yes, thankfully, folks, North Carolina has dodged the snowy and icy mess that has gripped so much of the Eastern seaboard...another reason to head to the beach...even in winter. Wilmington's a great city if you've never been, and the metro area is full of some really great restaurants and cafes (most of which you've probably seen as backdrops in TV series "Dawson's Creek" or "One Tree Hill", or in countless movies...the area is the soul of NC's film and TV business).
And if you like sweetish tasting or lite microbeers, the Front Street Brewery might work as a stop, too. (I was there in January and being a Hefeweisen and/or Aussie beer lover who cannot stand sweet beers...was not a happy patron as The Brewery's changed palate focus lately...sadly, it's not the same place it once was. Patron at your own wallet's risk.) There are a number of pubs and other places available...Fat Tony's Pub, or The Juggling Gypsy come to mind (although a lot of people also swear by Hell's Kitchen, but it's been a bit more hit and miss for me). Don't worry if you're on a budget, either, as plenty of other fast-food places exist a bit aways from downtown (Wilmington is a college town, too, after all) and an easy few-minutes drive from the venue.
So, if you can, get online and get yourself a ticket, and make it on down to the show. Wear something comfortable (maybe even comfortable and flashy) to dance in, glam up on the lipstick a bit, and wear your best dancing shoes, too. I'll be the one grinning from ear to ear in the back...dancing as badly as only us overweight white girls can.
I'm pretty sure the rules governing Australian legal work immigration into Oz for US citizens were written by ex-Brits who just really, really, really don't like Americans in any form. And they're hell-bent into making me, and others like me trying to get in, pay for winning that pesky war.
Eating healthy, even on one's birthday in the hopes that eating better will prolong the number of birthdays one has, is not all that it's cracked up to be. At all. Free birthday T-bone steak with loaded baked potato, anyone? Anyone???
And, finally, potentially the most damning proof that the Big Person isn't happy with me these days:
For the very first time in all of my years on this fine planet, it finally does not rain, sleet, snow, hail, tornado, flood, or otherwise rain down something meteorological from the skies on my birthday. Bitch of it is...I couldn't get out to enjoy any of it this year. (Wonder if it's too late to ask for a do over?)
Alas, kind readers, Father Time has rolled around that most mournful of celebrations: that most dreaded day known as My Birthday. For both my sanity and my schedule, I'm going out of town for a few days (as soon as the car gets repaired and after I make one last ditch effort to secure a ticket to tonight's Squirrel Nut Zippers show at the Cradle...the latter which looks highly unlikely even on Craigslist).
As usual with me, I plan on making it a working vacation...this time meeting some officials regarding the last ditch effort to get an Aussie work visa...but I should be back posting sometime early next week. As a brief warning...there are some minor updates that I may work on with the links from the motel, train station, etc., so if the page looks all wonky or something when you come visit next, take it with a grain of salt and know I'm aware of it and just tinkering. (We all know how I love to tinker.)
I trust and hope that all will be well and at peace in my absence. Pray in the meantime that Dubya doesn't get us further involved in a massive war in the Middle East and that Britney Spears, Lindsay Lohan, and Paris Hilton all keep their underwear on in public...which neither national obsession of which has exceptionally good odds working for them.
Love to all,
Birthday Girl
P.S.: Condolences go out to family members and fellow fans of the late Frankie Laine, who died on February 6 at the age of 93. The surviving family members released a statement on his website. For a man who left home to pursue a dream of being a marathon dance champion (which he did...setting a world record in 1932 of dancing with his partner for 3,501 hours and a $1,000 (USD) prize ...huge money in the Great Depression...but still singing to onlookers during the breaks), the mighty Western balladeer of such classics of "Rawhide" and my father's personal fave, "Gunfight at the OK Corral", led a very full, and very fulfilling life. He will be missed.
Friend of Blog Mike has some exceptional timing (a trait I'm finding is more the rule than the exception for the Aussies), especially in consideration he's most likely asleep when I'm in the conscious mode over here. I say this especially today because he has graced my email inbox with one of the most comical 'renditions' (read: parodies) of Australian history I most likely will ever read. As a person whose truck decided to cut out last night on an interstate (60mph to 10mph in 300 yards or less, fittingly in the passing lane, at a busy exit ramp) and whose same stallion almost got T-boned twice by my 'considerate, fellow motorists' on my way to the Bluegrass Jam as a result, finally creeping back home and finding this gem in the inbox was a sweet joy. And damn good for a laugh, especially mid-week and mid-auto crisis.
As a primer, though, I've included here two postcards here that are sold everywhere in Oz for the tourists to send home. Not so much for the artwork (which looks surprisingly like that which graces countless country music honkytonks throughout the great states of Oklahoma and Texas), but more as a vocabulary primer to those less indoctrinated than I. Alas, if you're still confused, check out some definitions from Aussie Slang. (Keep in mind, though, the Aussies live to test tourists on their knowledge of such phrases...and they're always one step ahead of you, always. A vitally important bit of information for all non-antipodean visitors. Latin may be a dead language, but the same fate will never befall Aussie slang.)
Okay, very basic primer done. Now for the good stuff.
Without further delay, I give you the "Uncyclopedia" page on "a'Straiya" (which, believe me, is the correct pronunciation). There are so many things on this that visitors need to know, I think it would be wise if Qantas made it into a video to watch upon landing. But, then again, maybe not: Air New Zealand carries a ton of folks to Oz, too, and I'm not sure the great Aussie/Kiwi rivalry really wants a Kiwi version of this gem...LOL...as the Kiwis will not be as kind on the subject matter here. (They love each other, they hate each other...and sometimes all within a span of a few minutes. Keep a safe distance and laugh aloud at your own risk...and that applies globally.)
Many thanks again and a hearty 'good onya" go out to Mike.
Unfortunately, folks, I have bad news from Hercules Mulligan guitarist, Friend of Blog, (and all-around bluegrass music groupie), The Mighty Dave Cauthorn: the twice-monthly Hideaway Bluegrass Jam (which has been held recently at the same-named Hideaway BBQ club in Raleigh) is ceasing performances there and the parties involved will be moving their jams elsewhere soon (new location not yet known as of this posting). (I'm presuming the name will change, too.) Dave informs me through email that the performers who make up the group (an extremely talented and professional lot of locals) will be having their last Hideaway Bluegrass Jam tomorrow night, Tuesday, February 6th, starting at 7:30 p.m.. I strongly encourage those who have missed these pickers and singers before to come out and take in the group. WR and I will most definitely be in attendance, and I'm trying to call in some reinforcements (c'mon, it's not that cold). The food, bar and wait staff from the restaurant side are also top notch. I'm sorry to see the move, but am hopeful that the new location (wherever that is) will give these great people a greater audience for which they so absolutely deserve.
On the flip side, though, Dave and the Most Famous Acoustic Irish Band Singing Songs About Boats...none other than my personal local fave, Hercules Mulligan...will be playing this Friday (February 9) at Tir Na Nog Irish Pub & Restaurant in downtown Raleigh from 7 to 9 p.m.. By all means, people, come and see the boys, and enjoy some beer and/or spirits. To those of you who have been dissuaded from ordering food there because of poor service and/or lackluster taste as of late, keep in mind there are plenty of other eating establishments very nearby. Their beer selection, however, is very good and WR and I highly recommend several. Eat where you want, but come drink at the pub...and just don't be late for the Hercs.
For information on both of these venues' upcoming events (bluegrass, Irish, or anything else), check them out on the sidebar to the right...which I updated this weekend so as to be more 'user friendly' (a fairly frequent complaint I was getting about the links). I welcome feedback about the changes, as always.
And finally, the announcement about tomorrow's Last Jam at Hideaway:
Hideaway BBQ – 2210 Capital Blvd. (inside the beltline) 919.828.5226 Tues., Feb 6th @ 7:30 pm
Bluegrass musicians, enthusiasts, and spectators are welcome!! Jam is for acoustic bluegrass instrumentation. i.e., guitar, mandolin, banjo, fiddle, upright bass, & dobro. All skill levels are welcome, though it's primarily geared towards intermediate / advanced players. There will be a PA system and it will be an 'open mic' - type environment (i.e. folks will rotate on and off the stage). The event organizers have formed a little house band to play a short set to kick things off and to fill in instrumentation (as needed) throughout the evening… Stop by for some bluegrass pickin' and tasty BBQ.
Okay, it's The Big Day. All rejoice around the TV, prepare your spicy buffalo wings, your fried green tomato slices with salsa, your pizzas, your chips and guacamole, your steaks and hot dogs, your chilis and BBQs, God only knows what else, and, of course, (depending on your taste) your chilled adult beverage of choice. It is, after all, Super Bowl Sunday and today we find out the winner.
Now before you dear readers get the wrong idea, let me quantify my statement above: I could care less who wins the Super Bowl game itself. Truly, I am not a football fan really and have never really understood its religious 'powers' on so many here. (Then again, a lot of football fans could say the same for my love for college basketball and NASCAR®.) I'm sure one of the teams, be it the Indianapolis Colts or the Chicago Bears, will win and cause their many fans to break out in celebration. I can hope, though, for every one's sake the game is not a one-sided blowout as these things tend to be. I have a slight fondness for Chicago over Indianapolis just because the hardy Bears suffer through playing at Soldier Field (where they're not today, thank God, as the wind chill this weekend in Chicago is approximately -30° at night), although Indianapolis has that Peyton Manning fella I watched when his Dad, Archie, played for the Saints. (And damn, wasn't it a shame that the Saints couldn't make it this year?? New Orleans needs something...anything...to give the city some encouragement and pride.) Yet, I will watch the game...well, most of it anyway...with great enthusiasm. Why, you ask??? Not for the overblown halftime show to be certain, and not for the hoopla that's already on air hours before the game commences. No, I watch for the real stars of the program: the commercials.
Truth be told, I once considered a degree in advertising, as words and (to a lesser degree) sales enthusiasm seem to come a bit naturally. And Lord knows I have the 'think outside the box' angle down. I don't know why I talked myself out of the study, but I guess I didn't consider advertising a 'real' profession to get into and went for the more serious path of health care instead. I was interested for certain...am still...about how the whole 'levers of manipulation' occur within the buying psyche. I firmly believe we would all be much wiser consumers if we all understood the basic principles of what is being used on us, but that's a different entry for a rainier day.
But I also watch because I was a child who quite happily adopted my TV as my babysitter. Back in the day (1970s-1980s) in the rural Midwest, cable TV, video games, and the internet were figments of a wild imagination. Everybody you knew you already had seen at school, so there was also no need to burn up the phone lines. And while I'm sure there were pedophiles somewhere out there, none of them ever visited us. So kids from about age 10 on could come home and watch TV alone (all whopping 3 channels, 2 of which signed off daily after Nightline with Ted Koppel and the extraordinary interviewer Tom Snyder), without a care. Some days you could switch it up and listen to the radio instead (which is how I became enthralled with the BBC, mimicking their snooty accents while lounging on now-retro shag carpeting, learning European history...seemed to 'set the mood'). Otherwise, Moms and Dads (mine included) would check in from work by phone, chores would get done in their absence, and book reports would be written in preparation for review. Little did I know how idyllic this way of life was at the time...I understand the same is practically unheard of now considering the crime and/or too many entertainment distractions.
As a consequence, I learned to love watching the little fuzzy images and loud colours and weird noises from the mammoth Montgomery Ward console...so shoot me. I don't care how many times I saw a rerun of "The Andy Griffith Show" (Opie, aka Ron Howard, was a model), I was always fascinated about how one program bled into commercials, and then into another, and then into another, and then eventually into the live evening news. The whole thinking process of it all had me enraptured...I was far more interested in what was going on behind the camera than in front of it, really, but you don't see that side usually.
Fast forward almost 30 years on now. I am overwhelmed by my little TV box now, but it's because so much of it is (a) crap that should never have been made, or (b) have too many other choices that demand my attention (the mundane stuff like laundry, cleaning, or finishing up work at home). The days of paying keen interest to the TV as a whole have long since left, and I try and tape all the shows I do like so I can enjoy them at a better time some nights. Except for the rare occasion when I work sitting on the floor in front of the telly (the orange shag has been replaced by a nice brownish berber), the similarities between the Me Then and the Me Now are gone.
Except for Super Bowl Sunday. For one day a year, advertisers go back in their huddles and come out with some of their best, or at least some of their most imaginative, work they ever do. (God bless NASCAR®, because their ads at least seem to share some of that 'original' mentality through their long season...another reason why they've generated such a loyal support base for their advertisers.) For many, this is the one and only day some of these spots will air. And, unlike the early 1980s when I started to watch in earnest, the ad prices have skyrocketed...some of the ads this year are well in excess of $2.5 million (USD) for a 30-second spot. And that's just the broadcasting costs...and it does not include production costs.
And apparently that's when some genius at Doritos® chips had a brainstorm: have regular people submit ads for their Super Bowl spot this year. Submissions would be received, people could vote online, and the winner announced on the Big Day. A YouTube, if you will, for a manufactured chips spot, but with pretty open rules. Took a little risk they did. Forget about "American Idol" (which, like Little Steven, I positively hate)...show me the commercials that didn't make the finals. I am sure there are some gems...both good and bad...in there.
Thankfully, the promo went off like wildfire, and some great ones made the finals, all of which you can see on their webpage: Crash the Super Bowl. While voting has closed, I'm thrilled to see all of the submissions are really well done. And who knows, maybe it's the start of somebody's career in advertising?? The finalists bag $10,000 (USD), and a trip to see the Super Bowl today in person in Miami. (I wish Doritos® had coughed up at least $100,000, as Lord knows they'll get it back and then some with this promotion, but that's just me.) Additionally, the winners, of course, will see their commercial airing worldwide at about 6pm EST. (I don't know if the winner is a 'one shot' run or will be shown multiple times yet.) In what seems like an obvious approach in today's technology-driven world of entertainment, finally a major company backs the little guy's invention and originality. Super Bowl ads come, Super Bowl ads go, but here's an opportunity for a 'nobody' to become a 'somebody'...on the most advertised day in American television viewing, even if it's just one day. While I've never particularly loved Doritos® one way or another, I'm willing to give them some extra credit for this promo. Kudos to all involved.
My personal fave? A local group from Cary (yes, Cary, folks, not known to be the creative hotbed suburb of this area, but more like the affluent soccer-mom ranch-house Wysteria Lane-kinda place) did a corker that I find exceptionally well done. It's titled "Live the Flavor".
I'm not sure they will win, though, as two other finalists are equally strong. But the premise is classic and, I think, really funny. And it gets the job done by selling the product and doesn't insult my intelligence in doing so, what a concept. God love'em also for this: they did the whole thing with a crew of 5, did it in 4 days, and for a total budget of $12.79 (USD). I don't care if you know anything about film or not, but those numbers indicate some highly motivated professionals-in-training. I've been on 'low budget' camera shots where we spent that much alone on the coffee and doughnuts. And it took us almost as long to figure out 'which' doughnuts everybody would eat.
You can read more about these upstarts on their blog "The Doritos Story". I love this blog, as the group is chronicling their press junkets, local news coverage, and meet-and-greets with company bigwigs. Win, lose, or draw, I'm so proud of these individuals for taking the leap that so many of us don't. And I'm fascinated about the whole process for them...for the first time in a very long time that I've been inspired about anything related to TV. I wish them, and all of these great submissions, the very best. And you know I'll be joyfully watching tonight. Update 2/4/2007 11:18pm: The Colts beat The Bears in an absolute downpour of a game...it essentially became a measure of who could hold onto the ball most of the time. Additionally, there were some good ads this year...I really liked the talking lions for Taco Bell® discussing the correct pronunciation of 'carne asada' and the Blockbuster® one featuring the 'clicked mouse' (even though the PETA people are writing letters even now, I suspect)...but not really as many as I would have liked. You can see the ones you missed and vote in another contest at AOL (who knew they'd actually have a segment featuring nothing but the ads? Finally, someone listened!) And the gang from 5 Point Productions in Cary??? Those lucky devils are bringing home the top prize, too...they won the contest.
Another quick post, as a night's sleep calls me but I've had a request for this information as well from a reader. I'm thrilled to learn that I'm not the only one addicted to the local musical scene..one that I think rivals any other in the US (including the hospitable Live Music Capital of the World: Austin, Texas), especially when you consider our smallish population.
Yes, I am more than aware of the legendary Cat's Cradle in historic Carrboro, and yes, I have been there so often over the years that I practically could buy and replace my own worn butt-tested wooden bench by the posts. While my last show full show as a cash-paying customer there was taking in the phenomenally talented Junior Brown (otherwise, it seems I'm always helping others load stuff somewhere within a 1 mile radius of all the music venues on gig nights), I still try and make it over there as often as I can. For better or for worse, the Cradle has spoilt me on what a good live show should look and, most importantly, sound like. And, yes, it's still as good a place to play as it ever was...but the 'line of vision' from midway on back and just actual dance space for the customers will always be at a premium. Between the Cradle and The ArtsCenter (the latter which has hosted the likes of heavyweights Rodney Crowell, The Fabulous Thunderbirds, and Leon Russell within a matter of three months, among many others), that's one talent-packed building almost every night of the week. No wonder parking is always a problem.
And, yes, while I am heading out with some friends to go see Southern Culture on the Skids down the coast soon, I somehow 'missed' the 'reformed' Squirrel Nut Zippers' show coming up this Thursday (February 8) at the Cradle, which is, of course, sold out now. I have no idea how this got past me, but I feel appropriately guilty. I guess this proves I've been living under a rock or something, as the SNZ was once the most heralded local band here...and much, much adored by all of their fans, near and far. Their signature hit that got them so much national attention a few years back was a swinging little number called "Hell" (which is very appropriate for a song that showcases, and expends, a brilliant horn section). Their video follows, and is taken from YouTube, as usual. (The video was also shot and edited some locally, too, but that's another entry altogether.)
The Squirrel Nut Zippers in "Hell"
So don't be surprised if I'm absent next week that night from this blog...I'll be trying to score a ticket, some how, some way. I'm working on the sign now: will blog for great music.
Leave it to Carrboro to give you hell in a cradle.
I'm not sure I'm going to make it or not yet (a bit strapped for money, as I've encountered a small auto problem today with the beloved truck), but for those that can make it to the Wild, Wonderful and Wacky Ball over in North Raleigh tomorrow, I highly recommend it. It's the 3rd Annual Fundraiser for the Women's Center of Wake County, and comes on the heels of the $20,000 (USD) of donations taken in at last year's event (largely through the Silent Auctions and the Bachelor Bid). You can read more about the Center at their website here.
