Has The Apocalypse Arrived At Valhalla?

Is this what the apocalypse looks like? Is Valhalla, Louisville’s premier sports venue for the autumn, finally living up to its name?

I’m compelled to ask after observing the reaction of Louisville upon receiving the news that He Who Would Be The Tiger won’t be coming to the Ryder Cup.

21st Century Schizoid Man On The Couch

Robert, we’ve been sitting here 20 minutes. Besides mumbling about “crossing patterns,” all you’ve done is doodle on a pad and write down names. Would you like to share?

It’s Bobby, not Robert. Nobody calls me Robert. Nobody has ever called me Robert. Understand?

The Yearbook Photo That Still Haunts

For a moment let’s simply suppose we’ve never seen the photo before. For this exercise’s sake, let’s forget what we’ve read about Robbie Hawkins.

Erase from memory how he walked into an Omaha mall the week before last. How he took the escalator to the third floor of the tony department store Von Maur filled with holiday shoppers being serenaded by the store’s signature live pianist. How he then pulled out an AK47 and started spraying bullets around the room. How he killed eight very innocent people and then aimed the rifle’s nozzle at himself, ending the carnage and his own misery.

Review of “I’m Not There”

Even having lived it, it’s hard to describe the genesis of the Bob Dylan mythos in a way that could explain such obsessive observations as Todd Haynes’ I’m Not There.

I first heard Dylan — literally — while hauling my foot locker down the hall as I entered my freshman dorm in the fall of ‘63. My dorm counselor in the next room had that first eponymous album on the box. Being young, impressionable, inclined toward rebellion, ready to break out of my prepster malaise, I grabbed hold of the guy who was to be the bard of my generation.

I wasn’t alone. Far from it.

B. Young Lesson For Cards In Vegas

It is the nature of the place, Las Vegas. With arid desert sprawling in all directions and a grand canyon in one of such magnificence it’s hard to fathom it was created in just one day, the area was discovered to be an oasis centuries ago by Spaniards traveling north from Tejas. The area has always been about survive and advance.

The Vegas of dumbfounding excess, the Vegas that turned the seven deadly sins into a design for glitzkrieg business success, that Vegas the world has come to know is but 50 years old.

Was ist das more Cockamamie — Craig, Watson or FEMA?

While it has passed more under the radar than I might expect, it seems to me that this fake FEMA press conference imbroglio says as much about the ethos of our current administration as any of Karl Rove’s machinations.

Surely you heard, right? During the wildfire havoc in southern California, FEMA staged a fake presser to pat itself on the back. Wherein FEMA employees passed themselves off as legit media, tossing softball queries to those in charge of the operation. It’s the kind of scenario frankly that gives fodder to those conspiracy theorists who doubt we ever landed on the moon, that the whole lunar landing deal was staged in a hangar somewhere.

Bob Dylan/ Elvis Costello Vex Freedom Hall

When I got home last night from Bob Dylan’s latest landing in Louisville, I put on Modern Times. Frankly I hadn’t listened to his last album much. Like most releases these days, by any artist for that matter, it didn’t grab me immediately, so I placed it on the shelf with the myriad of other Dylans.

But as I listened with new ears, which I’m doing again this morning as I write, last night’s gig makes perfect sense.

Kerouac Fifty Years Down The Road

Soon-to-be-step-son Sam was home this summer between his sophomore and junior years of college. Like most at his time of life, he slipped in and out like a cat burglar, giving up little. Wouldn’t want the adults around to have a clue, you understand.

One morning, out of the blue, he mumbled something about going to New York with pals. He offered no details. His buddy Colin was more forthcoming. The plan of course was a might edgy, just what parental units love to hear.

Lesley Gore Sings To The Girls

It was Ladies Night Out.

There was a gaggle of them. Eight maybe in one notable group. Perhaps a baker’s dozen. It was a night for the Girls. Some had told hubby to make sure the kiddos finish their homework before bath and bed, they were going out. Others, single, or single mothers, or perhaps divorced, said the same to the babysitter. Some may have come as couples.

Review of “Away From Her”

Under ideal circumstances, audiences suspend all other realities when entering the movie house. Actors, regardless of their public personas or previous portrayals, become the characters on the screen right then. They are of the moment.

Sigh. It cannot always be so.

Falwell’s Gone - Good Riddance Not Goodbye

America was a more civil place in April ‘94 when Richard Nixon died. Broadband and blogging were still pipe dreams. So there wasn’t the instant media cacophony that greets every slightly newsworthy events these days.

O J — The Pox That Keeps On Giving

Here’s what I did — immediately — as soon as I read the blurb that Jeff Ruby kicked O J Simpson out of his restaurant Derby weekend. I sent Ruby an email.