Dive Restaurants

To eat good food is to be close to God.
Primo, "Big Night"


Two of the most real moments I've ever seen in performances were, of all things, in cartoons. One was the candlelight spaghetti-strand kiss in Lady and the Tramp; the other was the moment the curmudgeonly food critic tasted his first bite in Ratatouille. Everyone knows the former scene (if you don't, I feel embarrassed for you). In the latter, the unapologetically abhorrent and faulting food critic, Anton Ego, tastes the ratatouille, which immediately and vividly conjures a time in his childhood eating his mother's ratatouille. What do these moments have in common? Food. Good food.

(Actually, the Rocky and Bullwinkle episode where Bullwinkle becomes a football star at Wossamatta U. was pretty real too but it doesn't fit my motif).

How many of the great moments in life are spent over a big meal, surrounded by friends or family? We celebrate the most personal and meaningful holidays every year with a meal, usually laboriously and carefully prepared. The biggest and most memorable occasions in life often are observed over a meal-weddings, graduations, partings. We often welcome new neighbors with food; when loved ones pass away, we bring their family food. To extend an invitation to a meal in one's home or under one's auspices implicitly conveys an message of friendship or respect. The memories of food at these kinds of meals are among the most vivid and longest lasting. I can still savor the taste of my Grandma's fried chicken, more than thirty years since she last served it to me. The food inevitably is good at these meals, often because of the cooking, but more often because it was made with love. Those who think of food as just something to wolf down or to graze on during the game truly miss one of life's most rewarding pleasures.

I live in a town with dozens of fantastic restaurants, yet I often see a crowd of people standing outside the Olive Garden waiting for a table. Frankly, that is obscene. No chain restaurant, with frozen, pre-packaged servings, indifferent cooks and servers, trying to serve the most people in the least time, can ever compete with a restaurant where the owner works every day, whose livelihood depends on serving patrons the finest meals he or she can. Not even the recent spate of so-called "upscale" chains, with their sleek trappings of cool iconography, can possibly replace the owner making your meal or coming to your table to solicit your reaction and ask how things could be made better. Just as strongly as I remember my Grandma's fried chicken, I equally remember meals growing up in Houston at the San Jacinto Inn, the Log Cabin, Christie's, the old Jimmie Walker's (not the foul, corporate-owned Fertitta enterprise that bought the name and location), or Valian's near the Medical Center. The food was (or could be) memorable, you always met the owner, his family worked in the restaurant, customers would return over and over again, and you knew that the food you were eating was fresh, made and served with care, and represented the best the owners could provide. And if there was a rare screw-up, the owner and server would make it right. (Cue the Monty Python "Dirty Fork" sketch).

"Nice restaurants" can and do serve good food. English adjectives cannot capture the satisfaction of my meal at French Laundry with Kimberly and Terry. Unfortunately, you often need to take a magnifying glass or Mars Rover with you to locate the food on your plate. Sometimes you need a copy of Audobon to identify it. Dark places like that are often fantastic (I look better in the dark). But if you want really good food, look for a "dive." Signs of a place that serves fantastic food: a parking lot with trucks or police cars, not next to a freeway (in an urban area), advertises the name of the owner (even has pictures of their family on display in the restaurant), the parking lot is bigger than the actual restaurant, staff is actually interested in welcoming and helping you (don't have that deadened Blockbuster clerk stupor) and it doesn't look like any designer or consultant ever went near the place (except to eat). No chain can ever qualify as a dive restaurant that serves great food (maybe a localized chain, but no Bennigan's).

With all that hoo-rah in mind, here is my personal list of great "dive" restaurants. I've eaten at each, and each one meets the criteria I've laid out. Sorry I'm too lazy to embed links. There's no particular order here. Any town without a state mentioned is in Texas. Mostly these are places in Texas and Louisiana-others I've visited on vacation I either can't remember the name or couldn't find it on the internet.

If you know of a place like these that I haven't mentioned, please share it by posting a comment.

Sam's-Fairfield
Jax Restaurant-Houston
Rajun Cajun-Houston
Dot's-Austin (Oh my God best in Austin, open for lunch only)
Hoover's Cooking-Austin
Hill's-Austin
Threadgill's-Austin (bronzed catfish; chicken fried steak)
Texas Chili Parlor-Austin (Frito Pie-amazing)
Otto's-Houston (barbecue favorite of Bush 41)
Leo's-Houston (old-time Mexican)
Joe's Bakery-Austin
Nuevo Leon-Austin
El Patio-Austin (totopos-spanish for "sudden cardiac arrest")
Blanco Cafe-San Antonio (Mexican bakery next door)
Josephine Street Cafe-San Antonio (old house with crooked floor; "steaks and whisky" sign on window)
Bee's-San Antonio
George's-Waco (home of the "Big O")
Elite Cafe-Waco (on the Circle)
Al-T's-Winnie
Tamale Co.-Beaumont
Hill Country Cupboard-Johnson City
Joe T. Garcia's-Fort Worth
Paris Coffee Shop-Fort Worth (incredible breakfasts)
Nau's Enfield Drug-Austin
Salt Lick BBQ-Driftwood
Bluebonnet Cafe-Marble Falls (the second best pie anywhere)
Louie Mueller's BBQ-Taylor
Kreuz's Market BBQ-Lockhart
Dart Bowl-Austin (stacked enchiladas)
Buffalo Grille-Houston (breakfast)
Snuffer's-Dallas (cheese fries)
Johnny Cace's-Longview
Wuenche Bros. Saloon-Spring
El Napalito-Galveston
La Hacienda-El Paso (right on the Rio Grande)
Water Street Seafood-Corpus Christi
TK's-Bay City
Cafe Pasqual's-Santa Fe, NM (mexican hot chocolate)
Lee-J's-Pineville, LA
Middendorf's-Akers, LA (outstanding fried catfish)
Mosca's-Avondale, LA
Deanie's Seafood-New Orleans, LA
Acme Oyster House-New Orleans, LA
Poche's-Breaux Bridge, LA
Darrell's-Lake Charles, LA
Black's-Abbeville, LA
Gator Cove-Lafayette, LA (boiled shrimp, crab, crawfish)
Camellia Grill-New Orleans, LA (late night)
Mariner's-Natchitoches, LA
Gerald Savoie's-Shreveport, LA
Suburban Gardens-Alexandria, LA (incredible Italian, where the waitresses, generally all over 60, call you "baby")
Monjuni's-Shreveport, LA
Pike Place Market (virtually anywhere inside)-Seattle, WA
Pagliacci Pizza-Seattle, WA (Broadway location)
Cajun Bar and Grill-Concrete, WA
Zachary's Pizza-Berkeley, CA
Swan's Oyster Depot-San Francisco, CA
Cook's Lobster House-Bailey Island, ME

Honorable mention:
Weikel's Bakery-LaGrange (kolaches/cinnamon rolls)
House of Pies-Houston
Mrs. Johnson's Donuts-Austin
Borden's Ice Cream Shop-Lafayette, LA
Top Pot Donuts-Seattle, WA
Lasoyne's Meat Pies-Natchitoches, LA

Olympic Fever-Catch It!

Gerald: Oh, it's not going to be easy. My brother and I know. Men have never done synchronized swimming in a sanctioned competition in this country. Officially, it's got like a zero acceptance rate.

Lawrence: I don't swim.

Gerald: Lawrence doesn't swim. So.. I mean, no, of course not.. no one's going to just walk up and hand us a gold medal. Men's syncro isn't even in the '88 Olympics yet.

Lawrence: That's okay, because we could use the time. 'Cause I'm not.. I'm not that strong a swimmer.

Gerald: But I mean, that just means, you know, for '92, we're a lock for the gold.

Harry Shearer and Martin Short, Men's Synchronized Swimming sketch, SNL

I'm sorry this has been so long in coming (that's what she said), but I've been pretty overwhelmed with work and sitting around watching TV, so I've been neglecting the ones and ones of you who visit this site once or twice a year. I'll try to spend more time on the blog in the future.

For now though, its that time again and excitement is palpable. Another Olympic games is on the extremely polluted horizon. This is a special time, when millions of American women and exactly 14 men stop watching Oprah and instead watch the Olympics. You know, the every other year sports extravaganza where athletes no one has ever heard of suddenly become Symbols Of Our Nation and the standard bearers of the American Dream. All in the midst of the other inferior countries who clearly fail to measure up. It used to be every four years but people tended to forget about them in between Olympics, kind of like how the Sopranos’ hiatus used to last five times longer than the actual season. The ratings for this thing remain huge, but hey, America’s Funniest Home Videos gets great ratings too so what does that tell you?

Lets just get this on the table: the Olympics should be crushed into a tiny little box at the salvage yard like Jules’ and Vincent’s car in Pulp Fiction, and dropped into Lake Erie to be eaten slowly by those zebra mussels that are slowly killing the Great Lakes. Bad enough that they squander billions in countries that have far better uses for it than building ice rinks and pelotons, and I can overlook the unabashed corruption and nationalist feeding frenzy it stokes, but people, the Olympics represent the pinnacle in everything that’s wrong with both sports and television. That’s crossover star power that would impress even Bo and Deion. I should say, the amount of fact checking in this post is virtually non-existent. If I think something is true, then it must be true.

The best place to start is with the institution of the Olympics themselves. Other than the Cosa Nostra, never has there been a more untouchable gang of self-aggrandizing thugs than the International Olympic Committee. While they invoke the mantra of some ephemeral Olympic “movement,” the truth is that the IOC just puts on a show every two years. They talk some sucker city or country into paying all the costs while the IOC reaps billions in corporate sponsorships, advertising revenue, broadcast licensing, and the members make out like bandits on out-and-out bribes from the bidders. Few Olympics ever turn a profit for the host, and often it leaves the host country in debt for decades to come. Yet for some reason, cities and countries all over the world fall all over themselves to bribe the IOC selection committees just for the chance. Hell, Denver had to bail out of the 1976 Winter Olympics the costs got so out of control and it took them forever to pay off the costs of not having the Olympics. Athens spent so much money actually building all the required facilities they cannot pay to maintain them after the games. The IOC largely operates in the shadowy world of “international law,” generally beyond any particular country’s legal institutions. Only the individual members’ sense of shame acts to curtail rampant and widespread corruption. To add some vestige of legitimacy, it operates something called the Court of Arbitration for Sports, which has a lot in common with the Soviet show trials.

These people's insufferability is remarkable. They view themselves as some sort of legitimate world institution capable of bringing hostile governments together, healing the sick, ending wars. In short, they think they’re Jesse Jackson. Juan Antonio Samaranch, former Boss of the IOC, used to demand that he be addressed as “His Excellency.” I don’t even think John Gotti had that kind of stroke. In reality, about all they’re capable of is draining the host country of a few billion, leaving a generation of illiterate kids, potholed roads, and festering public works the country can no longer afford to fix. They make billions while our discus throwers have to work at Home Depot. I will say this in defense of the IOC; at least they let the athletes earn money. Hey NCAA, you're not even as fair to your athletes as the IOC. How does that taste?

Then there’s the ridiculous nature of the actual games themselves. Synchronized swimming, really? Ping-pong? Rhythmic gymnastics? Curling? Really, curling? We’re supposed to get all fired up and wave the flag for a cross between shuffleboard on ice and sweeping the back patio? I mean, why not darts or making balloon animals (at least you could combine those sports). Olympic sports have proliferated like college bowl games or cellulite on Britney Spears, and most have just about as much value. Why? To sell more tickets (witness: stampede in Beijing to get tickets) and to increase the hours available to sell to television. With all these games, though, there’s apparently no room for baseball or softball after these Olympics. I’m sure its just a mere coincidence that those are sports in which the United States would do well. What is the IOC inserting in their place? Rugby. You can also now decide to be on whatever team you like. For eligibility to be on a nation’s team, the IOC requires that you be either a citizen or your parents or grandparents had been born in that country. To get around those onerous requirements, a lot of countries have instituted the practice of bestowing instant citizenships on Olympic team members. So there’s now a kind of free agency in the Olympics, like A-Rod trying to figure out who he’ll grace with his presence. And apparently, if you don’t qualify for your national team through the trials, the national committee has the power to just vote you on (Michelle Kwan thinks that's a little odd), which I guess is like being voted off the island but in reverse. This all ensures that only the finest and most qualified athletes go to the games….uh, right.

Once the teams get there, the rampant and flagrant fixing begins. Who can forget the IOC stealing the 1972 basketball gold medal from the US? The bought-off French figure skating judge cheating for the Russians? I guess the Frenchie had to help the Russians since there weren’t any Germans in the competition. Its not necessarily all anti-American. Remember Paul Hamm winning his gold medal due to a “scoring error”? When your “scoring system” makes Cook County voting look on the up and up, its time to question your process. What the outright fixing doesn’t handle, the doping does. The Warsaw Pact countries really perfected this in the ‘70s, sending dozens of biologically ambiguous competitors so whacked out on steroids bookies were taking action on whose head or heart would be the first to explode right in the middle of a competition. Then what worked so well behind the Iron Curtain made it to the West when all their coaches and trainers started defecting. One by one, anyone worth a damn in track and field, and later other sports, started testing positive. You could say at least they were testing, but it took the IOC years to catch up to the problem, and even now scores of athletes fail in every games. How many aren’t caught because they were able to beat the test?

Now lets get to this year specifically. I know its all about how much swag the members can squeeze out of the prospective host country’s bidders, but who thought it would be a good idea to pick China as a location? Were Iraq and Iran too busy? Why not Cuba or the Sudan? Something about being able to take a cab from the Olympic stadium to the site where the army brutally put down democratic protesters has to take a bit of the sheen off the games. This is a country that has brutally repressed Tibet, tried to exterminate the Falun Gong, supports a genocidal regime in the Sudan literally in exchange for oil supplies, has all-encompassing censorship and stifles any modicum of political debate, allows families to have only one child, basically runs slave labor shops (for Nike and Microsoft though, so that makes it ok), and applies the death penalty to relatively low-grade crimes. When Texas says “damn, that’s a lot of executions,” you may want to rethink your corrections policies. Then there’s the air. China promised the skies would be clear so that the world's top athletes (read, "air breathers") wouldn't hack up a lung. The incredible expansion in Chinese economic growth has seen the rampant increase in factories and coal-burning power plants throughout China, which had the predictable environmental impact. (sidebar-the West is completely deluding itself that the Kyoto Treaty is going to have any measurable effect-until China and India do something to control pollution, there’s not much more the West can do that will have a really big impact on world pollution). Having failed miserably to reduce the haze, China has been forced to take emergency crash measures like banning cars, shutting down factories, and seeding the clouds. I guess one bright side to being a Communist dictatorship is you can accomplish these things with a minimum amount of red tape and temporary injunction hearings. On the other hand, the Chinese appetite for control has gone so far as to try to censor the foreign press. Where’s a CCLU when you actually need them? Nothing like holding something as theoretically prestigious as the Olympic Games in a place like that. These games have fueled a spate of nationalism of near Berlin 1936 proportions. The Chinese have sworn to win these Olympics, and are pulling out all stops. From sending children to special “sports academies,” to unprecedented funding and supervision of the programs in each sport, China is building an Olympic colossus. Which is ok, except the point is to prove that China is the greatest nation in the world, and as a means of leveraging itself greater prestige in the developing world. In the next 20 years, it won’t be the US against Europe; it’ll be the West against China. Now, Los Angeles admittedly started this-those Olympics were like a Reagan campaign commercial. But that was just marketing. It didn’t have the Official Government Apparatus behind the planning and execution, or more importantly, behind the athletic development, like this one does.

Finally there’s the coverage. If you want to watch the Olympics just to see the actual games, you’re basically out of luck. Because the TV coverage is the E! True Hollywood Story for every single American participant. First off, they only show sports designed to have maximum appeal to the hugely disproportionate female viewership-gymnastics, some track and field, swimming and diving, and softball. If you want to watch boxing, basketball, or weightlifting, you’ll have to find a way to catch CBC on satellite. And there’s a strict 3: 1 ratio of “up close and personal” profile minutes to actually showing these people competing in the sport. If you’re interested in the great majority of the athletes who happen not to be on Team USA, you are also out of luck (or consigned to CBC) because NBC simply does not show the rest of the world. The whole point of the games for NBC is just a backdrop to sell the US athletes' personalities. These people mostly are so obscure they couldn’t get arrested. Yet they’re all competing for the Gold, and by that I mean, Advertising Gold. Whoever can generate enough positive publicity that they capture America’s Heart will generate millions in advertising dollars. So its a heavy dose of "Jenny couldn't blink until she was 12" stories, with little time for the actual sport itself. Now, that’s what the Olympic Movement is really all about. Signed Bruce Jenner still on television 30 years later.

There is one thing I do really like about the Olympics though. That’s the now customary “can they get everything ready in time” countdown that has preceded the last few games. Seems like its now inevitable that the host country hasn’t allowed enough time to prepare for the Olympics, and they wind up building their stadiums like 20 minutes before the Opening Ceremonies. From Atlanta that can’t get its mass transit system ready, to Athens that literally didn’t have the facilities ready until the games started, to Beijing trying to reduce the toxic air, the best race is the one these host countries fight against bankruptcy to see whether they can actually stage the games on time. London doesn’t host the games until 2012 and its already starting to experience problems. So my interest will be in seeing whether the things fall apart before they ever get started.

The rest of you should have fun though.

Daily Affirmations Birthday Meets Buck Owens' Birthday

My birthday precedes by one the birthday of another Great American-Buck Owens. Forget the character on Hee Haw-Buck Owens was one of the most innovative and revered country and western music artists ever. 20 #1 country chart hits. Covered by the Beatles. Innovator of the "Bakersfield Sound." Member of the Country Music Hall of Fame.

Every year (this will be the 17th annual), the Continental Club in Austin has a Buck Owens' Birthday Bash, with local musicians covering Buck Owens songs. Buck himself once showed up a few years ago. Its also a benefit for the Center for Child Protection.

I've decided to attend for the second time, and invite all of you to join me. Its August 12th at 8 p.m. Let me know if you're coming, and I'll buy your ticket. The drinks are on me. The Continental Club (Austin) web site is here, and it is located at 1315 South Congress Avenue. Hope to see you there!

Useful Information

I thought it was time I stopped using this blog to talk about "did you ever wonder" subjects, and talk about something useful.

So here's all the speed traps I know of in Austin.

No I did not just get a ticket.

Barton Springs Road, near the railroad overpass.
I-35 near the MLK/15th Street exit.
Ben White, right before S. Congress Ave.
MLK near I-35, catching people on the west feeder illegally turning right on red.
All of Bee Caves Road in Westlake is a speed trap.
All of Rollingwood is a speed trap.
Mopac just north of 2222 used to be one, but not too much anymore.
I-35 north, just after Rundburg/Rutherford.
South Congress, just after Oltorf.
183 North, near MoPac.
All of Sunset Valley is a speed trap.
I-35 near the south city limit, near Buda.
I-35 near the 2222 exit (to go to Highland Mall).
The airport exit, and the turn-in to the airport.
All of Lakeway is a speed trap.

For out of town trips, do not speed through Elgin, east Bastrop, or Waller County. Selma and Schertz aren't so bad anymore-they've become San Antonio.

Never, ever, ever speed in Williamson County. Make sure every tail light, head light, license plate light works; don't have anything wrong at all with your car. Do not look out the side windows. Comb your hair, and keep saying "thank you" and "yes sir" if pulled over. There are innocent people rotting in jail for the next 50 years who just happened to look wrong while driving through Round Rock.

Comment if you know of others.

ETA:
How could I have forgotten Scenic Burton, home of the Historic Cotton Gin Museum, and one squad car/ticketing machine? Also, SH71 near the I-10 intersection, may as well be a donut shop. I-37, the closer you get to Corpus, is a speed trap. All of the "villages" in the Houston Memorial area are speed traps-go 5 miles below the speed limit, unless you're a soccer mom in an Escalade. I-10 near Katy can be kind of bad. I've read Sugar Land (US 59), Estelline (US 287), Arlington (I-20) are bad too. Oh, and slow down after you cross the Sabine River (either direction) on I-10, and as you head into Lake Charles. Shame on you though if you're not already slowing down by that point to go to Darrell's.

Hope I Die Before I Get Old

I always thought that I would know
When it was time to quit
That when I lost a step or two or three or four or five
I'd notice it
Now that I've arrived here safely
I find my talent is gone
Why do I go on and on and on and on and on
And on and on and on and on and on?

Randy Newman, "He's Dead"


You all know Pete Townshend, right? Leader of The Who, champion of the '60s Revolution, expositor of the Pop Art movement, hero of the counter-culture rebellion against authority, devoted spiritual follower of Meher Baba, writer of the album "The Who Sell Out" ridiculing commercialism. Yeah, that guy. Uh, he's charging $50 to join the Who web site, which allows you to read his blog postings. The web site gives you a choice of buying standard, normal, working class tickets to future "Who" concerts (and by the "Who" I mean the two Who members that aren't dead yet; bearing in mind Pete and Roger were playing in Vegas as the Who within days after John's death), or the deluxe "VIP" package.

How about Woody Allen? You know, Bananas, Annie Hall, Manhattan, Hannah and Her Sisters...his last movie was something called Cassandra's Dream.

Or maybe Bill Clinton? The Comeback Kid. Singlehanded leader of the Democratic Party revival. Landslide second term winner. Defeater of the Contract with America? Last we heard from that guy, he was trying to crash a Kiwanis Club pancake breakfast near the West Virgina-Pennsylvania border.

These guys, and a whole lot of others, need to apologize to their 30 years ago selves for becoming the overfed, inert, corpulent windbags they warned us all about (30 years ago).

Seems like, what with modern medicine making people live longer than they're supposed to and all, we are facing the increasing scourge of guys hanging around way past their "sell by" date. These guys are just like Wooderson in Dazed and Confused, who kept hanging around with high school girls even though he'd graduated the year before. From Dan Aykroyd, to Francis Ford Coppola, to George Lucas, to Sylvester Stallone, to 3/4 of the US Senate, there's just too many guys (and its mainly men) that just don't know when its time to leave the stage, buy a ranch or a Corvette, and shoot the TV set when Robert Goulet or Mel Torme come on.

For example, MSN.com just published a list of 10 musicians who need to stop playing music before they embarrass themselves any further. The list ranges from Joni Mitchell (who wrote the song "Woodstock"), now signed to Starbucks' in-house record label, to the Rolling Stones, who at this point look and sound more like a Stones cover band at the local nursing home.

This is something that affects musicians, actors, artists, and other prominent people, but it also afflicts people in less famous walks of life. I've encountered several once-great lawyers who've lost it, either from losing their energy or ability to focus, or through not changing with new ways of practicing more efficiently. I'm sure you've run across doctors, preachers, salesman, teachers, and many others, who need to call it a day.

This happens in different ways. Sometimes the times and styles change, and you don't or won't. Sometimes technology changes-a lawyer who can't use computers basically can't practice law now. Sometimes the economics of an entire industry change, such as in the recording industry, where merely signing to a label now no longer gives a musician any assurance of financial success, or when airline farecutting and computer ticket purchases basically drove travel agents out of business. Sometimes people just get tired of your shtick (signed, Mike Meyers).

Change is about the hardest thing to do, and it gets harder as you get older, and harder even still after you've mastered a pursuit only to find the techniques and skills that allowed you to succeed no longer work. The reluctance to change can cloud your vision and judgment, deluding you into thinking there's no need to change, I can do it like I've always done it. But like Austin Powers, or the proverbial old guy at the club, or your boss who never got the message that racial and sex jokes aren't quite as popular as they used to be, wishing won't make it be 1985 again. Which really is great, because 1985 was an extremely unfortunate time for music.

There's another explanation for some of this, which is guys hanging on for a payday. Industry is littered with these guys. Lots of this is legitimate, like the guy who's trying to hold on long enough to get his youngest daughter through college. Not the responsible one, but the one that got on sco-pro her second semester because she spent most of the first semester drunk with her boyfriend Ricky and driving around in his sweet El Camino, and is trying to get her grades back up at the local juco while working part time at the Home Depot. That guy I don't begrudge. But John Cleese, Dan Aykroyd, Kevin Costner...guys, its time. When your biggest role in years is the father of Shrek's girlfriend, its time to write your memoirs and let someone else have a chance.

Now, this is not some sort of ageist rant. Long ago I lost eligibility to be a member of the Austin Young Lawyers Association, so I'm not taking after anyone for adding more birthday candles. Plenty of example exist of people finding great success in later stages of their lives, like Clint Eastwood (who went from movie action hero to Oscar-winning director), Joe Gibbs (who moved from coaching in the NFL to building a successful auto racing company) or my first boss (who left his career as an attorney in his early 50s to become an Episcopal priest). No, this is a rant against the refusal to change or acknowledge the need to change, thereby tying up positions better held by someone with more energy and skill. Change is the only thing that makes life worthwhile throughout your whole life. If everything were exactly the same month after month and year after year, there's no point (unless you're a Victoria's Secret catalog photographer; I mean, c'mon). Change is the only way we renew ourselves, the only way we can continue to contribute.

The problem is when you lose your fastball, you lose it in a hurry and usually you're the last one to know. Unfortunately your closest friends usually won't tell you. There's a story about Clark Gable, once the most desired man in the world, propositioning a hotel maid in the late 50s. She said she would charge him, and he replied, "I thought you'd want to, just to say you had." Better to hear it from your friends, I think. But that's not going to happen, so I propose that everyone should get a life clock in their palm, like in Logan's Run. When it starts flickering, you're on notice that you better ramp up. If it goes black, then you either need to renew or head for Sanctuary.

Shoot out the TV screen when you get there.

Happy July 4th

We're all very different people. We're not Watusi. We're not Spartans.
We're Americans. With a capital A, huh?
You know what that means? Do you? That means
that our forefathers....were kicked out of every decent country in the world.
We are the wretched refuse. We're the underdog.
We're mutts.
But there's no animal that's more faithful...
...that's more loyal, more loveable than the mutt.
Who saw Old Yeller? Who cried when Old Yeller got shot at the end?
Nobody cried when Old Yeller got shot? I'm sure.
I cried my eyes out.
Yeah.
So we're all dogfaces. We're all very, very different.
But there is one thing that we all have in common.
We were all stupid enough to enlist in the Army.
--Bill Murray, Stripes

I hope everyone has a happy, fun, and safe holiday today. The fourth is one of my favorite holidays, mainly because I like fireworks. One of the great things about where I live in the city is I can literally walk to the end of my street and see the Zilker Park fireworks.

Hopefully also everyone will take a moment to think about the freedoms we enjoy (and which sadly seem to erode each and every year in the very name of "freedom" and "safety"). These freedoms initially came about by the sacrifices of poor farmers, rich landed aristocratic white men, and their wives and families. Although the rebellion started off primarily in protest against taxes, it quickly spread as the British decided to reassert their sovereignty through occupation troops. Ironically, those rich landed aristocratic white men, who probably benefited the most under British rule, were the very ones leading the rebellion. Unlike other rebellions, this one quickly took on the mantle of an idealism beyond mere "self-rule." Although many of these rich white guys may have thought of freedom as something only they would enjoy, like the barons who forced King John to sign the Magna Carta, Jefferson, the greatest American intellect ever, would have none of that and put it much more broadly. In so doing he managed to state the American Ideal in exactly one sentence: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." These rebels knew that in merely signing the Declaration, they were subjecting themselves to a British death sentence, but nonetheless declared: "for the support of this Declaration, with a firm reliance on the protection of divine Providence, we mutually pledge to each other our Lives, our Fortunes and our sacred Honor." They could not possibly have imagined how the spark they lit would change our country and the world.

All throughout our history, young men and women have sacrificed to protect those liberties. From British invasion in the early 19th century, from secession and slavery in the late 19th century, working for recovery in the Great Depression, from German, Japanese, and Russian threats in the 20th century, on the barricades in places like Selma and Montgomery to make our laws mean what they say, and now against threats of random indiscriminate acts of murdering Americans that masquerade in some parts of the world as "war." All the generations of Americans have protected our freedoms, down to today. Generation X went inside the World Trade Center and Pentagon to save lives. Generation Y is fighting in Afghanistan and Iraq. Our people fight smaller but no less important battles every day, to enforce the laws, to protect the helpless and weak, to protect our rights from encroachment and erosion. Every country in the world can heap venom on us, but their citizens vote with their feet day after day in trying to come here. As Bill Murray went on to say in Stripes, "We're ten and one!"

So as you swill your Natural Light and feast on hot dogs and generic potato chips, possibly watching the Astros tank yet another game, think for just a minute about what it means to live in the United States. Enjoy!

You Are In the Audience, Not the Movie

Ladies, you know I love you. Really, I do. And this is going to kill me (and I know some of you will finish me off for this)….

But for the love of God, why are you all wearing your best prom gowns and bridesmaid dresses to go watch the Sex and the City movie? And renting limos for the night, so that you and your 12 other BFF’s can catch dinner at Applebee’s before?

I know that your beer-swilling galoot of a husband or boyfriend rarely leaves the La-Z-Boy long enough for a shower, much less long enough to make it all the way through a quality dress-up affair. I get that you need to take whatever kind of formal to-do you can get. But glamming up to go to the movies? Really? You’re putting on your best clothes, makeup and shoes, and maybe even shaving your legs, to go hang out with a bunch of chicks in a dark theatre sitting in a chair that probably has about five wads of gum on it, with your best shoes sticking like Velcro to the mystery goo that coats most movie theatre floors? What is that?

Let’s get this straight. You are in the audience. You are not in the movie. You’re never going to be in the movie. Even the actors who play characters in a movie don’t wear their costumes to the premiere. What’s happening on the screen is fiction. There is no such person as Carrie Bradshaw. She is a fictional character, played by an actress married to Ferris Bueller and who often doubles for Dee Snider of Twisted Sister. If she saw you in the street she would at most give you 30 seconds of her time while motioning for security. It’s not like Carrie or Samantha or any of the rest of the gang are going to turn to you from the screen and ask for your advice. Mr. Big isn’t your boyfriend either.

Basically, y'all are putting yourself right alongside those Star Wars losers who dress up like storm troopers or jedi knights while they’re waiting outside the theatre to watch the preview for the next installment (and then leave before the movie they’re actually showing because they have no lives outside of Star Wars and playing dress up). You know, the ones who line up outside the theatre for three months before the next movie opens, and who have the complete set of Star Wars models and action character figurines in their room in their stepmom’s basement? The ones who wear their costumes to the local park for their “light saber practice” while they do beer bongs? Yeah. That’s right. They dress in character for the movie too, just like you. Welcome to nerd beach, nerds. Signed, Chad Vader (Darth's younger brother grocery store manager).

Would you go to La Bohème dressed like Mimi, in rags and dying from tuberculosis? Or to see Merchant of Venice dressed like the moneylender Shylock? Or to the IMAX shark movie, dressed like a land shark? No, that would be stupid, right? What’s the difference?

Now you could say you’re just celebrating the lifestyle shown on the screen, and honoring the fact that it reflects your life. Tom and I went to Lebowski Fest, after all, and there was a costume contest. But that was a party, not a movie at the theatre. The problem there is lots of movies show something in society, and honor it. Like heroin addict hit men in Pulp Fiction, or mob soldiers in Good Fellas. But I didn’t exactly see a bunch of dudes in black suits and ties at Pulp Fiction, or dressed in Members Only jackets or velour warmup suits like South Jersey guidos at Good Fellas.

And why exactly would you want to dress like the Sex girls anyway? Look very carefully at that picture above. Is that how you see yourself? Do you really want to start rocking the “growing a plant from my head” look? Who-ville chic may be alright when Yertle the Turtle or the Lorax come over for a Who-feast with roast beast, but unless you can headline a major motion picture, the Cindy Lou Who look really doesn’t make the scene at Sky Bar.

Maybe it works in reverse. Maybe you ladies are inspired to live the lifestyle by the movie or the TV show. That could be dangerous if true though. Can a movie inspire behavior? There were a bunch of idiots provoked into racing their Honda Preludes on downtown streets after they saw The Fast and the Furious. Navy enlistment went up after Top Gun came out. But I don’t think it works that way. Would that we could make the Bloods and the Crips watch West Side Story about 20 times. Kind of hard to do a drive-by when you’re prancing down the alley in unison singing “when you’re a Blood you’re a Blood all the way.”

Now I do have to give you that wearing jerseys to sporting events is similar, but would say that's at least borderline. Its not like if you wear a Rafer Alston jersey Rick Adelman is going to call you down from the upper deck to run the point, or if you wear your Lance Berkman jersey to the yard Coop is going to call you out of the bleachers to spell the Big Puma. The difference, I think, is that the game is actually happening in front of you, the teams encourage you to cheer and show your support for the team, most people don’t wear a full uniform, just the shirt, and everyone does it so its an accepted convention. But its still kind of ridiculous to see some 50 year old guy wearing his XXXL size LaDanian Tomlinson jersey, like he could turn the corner and take it to the house. The only corner that 99% of these guys can turn and take to the house is the entry into the men’s room after about 1 or 50 beers.

So, what we have learned today is civilians should wear their ordinary Old Navy and Academy clothes to the movies, no matter what's playing.