I’ll be on TXCN tonight, talking about test scores, and on the front page tomorrow.
David Brooks also eats cereal. (For Molly W., this site’s Brooksian.)
I’m not the world’s biggest Jay Rosen fan, but this column hits at a lot of problems with press think in the Gang of 500.
More good media analysis. (Philadelphia has one of the smarter city mags around.)
That slurpy sound you hear coming from the West Coast is Adam Baer kissing Conan O’Brian’s ass.
Jay Leno: closet Democrat? Q: You make a lot of money from the corporate gigs? A: Oh yeah. Some interesting dimestore psychoanalysis in there, too.
For all the football fans in the viewing audience: Video of 2003’s River City Relay, perhaps the greatest play in New Orleans Saints history. It was, of course, followed by the most tragic play in Saints history: Kicker John Carney’s inexcusable missed extra point that would have tied the game and sent it into overtime.
Sorry for the temporary crabwalk.com outage. I should have mentioned something ahead of time, at least judging by the four “are you dead?” emails I’ve gotten in the last 48 hours. (For the record: I am not dead. Although my belief system is such that, when I do shuffle off this mortal coil, I’ll still be able to check email.)
I was in Louisiana for a long weekend. Among the highlights: seeing a store in Eunice, La., named “Eel Skin & More & Kids.” I can imagine the thought process there:
1996: “Hey, hon, you know how much I love eel skin. Maybe others will share my interest. We should open a store and call it ‘Eel Skin.’”
1999: “Dear, the eel-skin market appears to be struggling through tough times. Those Chinese imports of imitation eel-pleather are killing us. Maybe it’s time to diversify. Maybe it’s time to add other options for Eunice’s skin needs. Maybe we should change the name to ‘Eel Skin & More.’”
2003: “Honey, I know things have been tough since the divorce. I appreciate you letting me see little Jordan and Brittany two weekends a month. But perhaps I could see them more often if I integrated children more firmly into my life? Maybe they could drop by the store some afternoons and help with the eel-skinning and lye-dousing. I could add a swing out front. Maybe a trampoline out back. I could change the name, too. Maybe ‘Eel Skin & More & Kids.’”
In other news: The Pernice Brothers, one of this web site’s favorite bands, has a strange new song available for download. It’s an ode to Red Sox slugger Manny Ramirez called “Moonshot Manny.”
Speaking of “Are you dead?”: Belo announces 150 layoffs at The Dallas Morning News.
Yet another Wilmer-Hutchins story: “Classes at Wilmer-Hutchins High School nearly came to a sudden halt Tuesday — only a few hours after they began. District officials failed to repair the school’s faulty fire alarm system or seek a fire inspection before opening the school to students. Dallas fire officials threatened to shut the school down unless the district fixed the problem immediately or paid $50 an hour for a fire inspector to be stationed on campus. ‘It’s truly a recipe for tragedy,’ said Capt. Jesse Garcia, a Dallas Fire-Rescue spokesman.’”
My daughters, when they arrive some years hence, are definitely going to rock camp.
Want your old iPod’s battery life to zoom up to 21 hours? Apparently, this $39 battery and five minutes with a nylon screwdriver can do the trick.
(Actually, five minutes with a nylon screwdriver can do a lot of tricks. But that’s neither here nor there.)
Thoughts from an ACL weekend:
- Best band: My Morning Jacket. As you might expect from a band that relies on reverb for so much of its sound, the slower, more mournful songs didn’t translate as well to the stage. But heavens to Betsy, they can bring the rock! Felt like I was at a Led Zeppelin show in 1971 on a few numbers. Jim James has one of the more lovely voices in the modern Southern rock canon, and his hair — a thick Allman Brothers swirl that at times rendered his face invisible — is clearly Olympic-class. And the best part is that the sonic assault made you forget how ludicrously bad all their lyrics are. (“Run Thru” was absolutely transcendent as long as you didn’t understand what James was saying.)
- Also excellent: Calexico. (They’re so consistently great. My mancrush on lead singer Joey Burns remains strong. And each time I see them, I realize even more what a great drummer John Convertino is.) The Pixies. (The band was solid and efficient, but the truly amazing thing was being packed sardine-style in a 50,000-person crowd, knowing that every last person there was about to pee his/her pants with excitement.) The Old 97s. (How these guys have not blown up is beyond me. They’ve got a very accessible sound, and they also kick ass.)
- Disappointing: Franz Ferdinand. (Not for anything they did — they were fine. But they were stuck on a small stage with a huge crowd, and the amps didn’t have nearly enough power to deliver the frenetic pace to the boonies. So for much of the crowd it ended up feeling like a fun show was going on in the next area code over.) Broken Social Scene. (Not awful, again. But inconsistent. Dragged in places.) Spoon. (Ended well, but the band started off slowly and the keyboards were miked all wrong.) Antibalas Afrobeat Orchestra. (Just like their records — interesting at first, quickly boring.)
- The bands were almost uniformly anti-Bush. Almost annoyingly so at times, no matter your political opinion. And not just the bands you’d expect, either — Flatlander Butch Hancock couldn’t go more than three minutes without a Bushwhack.
- Bruce Robison (whose name I will someday start pronouncing the proper “RAHB-i-son” instead of “ROHB-i-son”) did end up playing “Rayne, Louisiana,” the greatest song ever written about my hometown.
- Sarah, who was kind enough to host me for the weekend, has a cat named Lionel. Lionel may be the most dog-like cat I’ve met. (I last saw Lionel about a year ago, and I don’t remember him being so dog-like. I mostly remember him as being crazy.)
Lionel is graspy, needy, and overly affectionate — all in classic dog-style. When Sarah gets ready for work in the morning, Lionel’s been known to sprawl out in front of the door to prevent her from leaving. Sometimes he tries to hold the door shut with his paws.
At about 4 a.m. Friday night, as I slept on the futon in the living room, Lionel walked on my face. He was dragging a plastic stick with a feather on the end — one of those toys you use to torment cats. He wanted to play. It being 4 a.m., I didn’t. So I took the featherstick from him and flung it across the living room.
Mistake. I have now triggered the fetch reflex, deep in his cat-dog brain.
He scampered over, grabbed the featherstick and brought it back to me, dropping it on my face. We repeated the process three or four times before my sleep-deprived brain registered what was going on. I ended up sleeping the rest of the night on top of the featherstick — the only place I could think of to keep it out of Lionel’s view.
- If Austin hasn’t yet named “What Would Willie Do” its official theme song, it should get moving.
I’m heading down to the Austin City Limits Festival tomorrow. Are you going? If you are and want to hang out, call or text-message me on my cell.
By the way, I’ll be on TXCN again tonight.
I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again: Maud Newton is one of the world’s great humans. (Maud, I’m available for blurb duty on your next book jacket.)
The latest evidence is this article she wrote for Maisonneuve about blogging. Particularly paragraphs five and six of page two, in which my “mild exhibitionism” is outed for the literary world to see.
The fact Maisonneuve is Montreal-based continues this site’s habit of being hopelessly overexposed in the Canadian media (National Post, Toronto Star, Shift, the CBC). Uncle Sam’s scribblers have been less receptive.
Russia doesn’t get much attention in the American press any more, unless a couple hundred kids get murdered in a school. But if you worry about global stability, this TNR piece is worth your time. I honestly had no idea how screwy Putin was getting.
Today marks crabwalk.com’s third birthday.
(At least in its current form. It had a few abortive previous lives before the ol’ orange-and-yellow look arrived on Sept. 15, 2001.)
For the stat hounds in the house, I’ve posted 1,595 entries in the last three years. You (and your kind) have posted 2,597 comments. (Minus the hundreds of spam comments I’ve deleted.) That works out to 1.45 posts and 2.37 comments per day.
The top 20 search terms people have used most often to find this site: myskina, polier, nude, alexandra, anastasia, naked, topless, the, photos, sharapova, and, elisabeth, mix, kieselstein-cord, photo, alex, ohno, maria, pictures, lyrics.
You’ll notice a lot of hot naked women’s tennis players, mix CDs, Apolo Anton Ohno (the short-track speedskater), Elisabeth Kieselstein-Cord (the lovely young Manhattan heiress), and Alex Polier (the young woman who allegedly had a fling with John Kerry).
Other common search terms over the years: A.J. Hammer, Michael Pitts, Jamie Sale, fainting goats, Suzy Kolber, Tupac’s autopsy photos, Freelance Hellraiser, idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis, Eran Karmon, Sofia Lidskog, and turducken.
In all, someone’s followed a link here or typed crabwalk.com into a browser more than 300,000 times. Thanks for reading.
Another Dallascentric link: Jim Schutze has a very good column in the current Observer. The “Laff in the Dark” stuff is fascinating.
In June 1996, I was a wayward college student working at my first newspaper internship. I was in Toledo, and my searches for good music on Toledo radio were fruitless — until one day when, on the left of the dial, I discovered CIMX 89X, a Canadian station beaming all the finest sounds from Windsor, Ontario.
(89X has long since chosen to suck, so my musical taste shouldn’t be impugned by its current, Incubus-heavy lineup.)
The Canadian government requires all its television and radio stations to meet what it calls CanCon requirements. CanCon (“Canadian Content”) means stations must fill 35 percent of their airtime with native Canuck artists. For some stations, that means an overdose of Celine and Alanis; for others, more Gordon Lightfoot than you can shake the wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald at. But in the mid-1990s, for an alt-rock station, it meant playing a ton of Halifax bands.
Halifax was the center of a burgeoning indie scene — a sort of reaction to the Seattle-y grunge sound. Lots of Beatles influences, the traditional Canadian embrace of slight quirkiness, and a strong belief in band democracy. That idea was exemplified by Sloan, the kings of the scene — the band’s four members each wrote and sang one quarter of their songs. With Sloan as benevolent dictators, other great bands started bubbling up: Thrush Hermit, Jale, Eric’s Trip, and the tremendous Super Friendz.
(I recommend the book Have Not Been the Same — the definitive history of modern Canadian indie rock — for those interested in further Halifax exposition.)
Anyway, on that summer day, driving on Monroe Street in Toledo, I heard Sloan’s The Good In Everyone. It was like eating raw sugar cane: pleasantly earthy, but sweet and addictive. I became a huge Sloan fan.
They’ve had a few missteps over the years (their last album was middling), but they’re always great live: bouncy, fun, funny, and invigorating.
Which brings me to my point, for the Dallasites in the hizzouse: Sloan is playing at Trees Thursday night. Tickets are $12.
Sloan hasn’t headlined a show in Dallas in years. Maybe ever — certainly not since ‘99 or so. (In America, they’re only big in Canadian border cities — Detroit, Cleveland, Buffalo, Minneapolis, etc.) A few years ago, I traded email with the band’s manager, pleading with them to roam southward. As bait, I even pointed out the existence of Sloaner, a Dallas band that plays only Sloan covers. But after years of delays, they’ve finally arrived. You should go to the show. I promise you’ll have a blast — they kick at least nine kinds of ass — and I want to make sure there’s a strong Dallas showing so the boys from Halifax come back soon.
YAWHS: “Wilmer-Hutchins board meeting turns rowdy.” Apparently I was on all the TV stations last night, watching intently as people were stopped from punching one another. (I was the devilishly handsome guy in the shirt and pants.)
I take no position on the Bush administration’s new rules on overtime. (For those who haven’t kept up, in essence, they make it easier for some workers to be classified as “creative professionals” or “learned professionals” and thus not eligible for mandatory overtime pay. If a worker is defined as a “professional” under the new regulations, his company can decide not to pay him overtime and require work weeks substantially longer than 40 hours.)
But I do object to unclear rules that make no sense.
Check out this 16-page PDF. It’s the summary, career field by career field, of the new rules that allow your company to determine whether or not you’re a “professional.” (It covers everything from insurance claims adjusters to dental hygienists to chefs to embalmers.) On page 8 (page 22666 of the Federal Register), we find the section on journalists:
Journalists may satisfy the duties requirements for the creative professional exemption if their primary duty is work requiring invention, imagination, originality or talent, as opposed to work which depends primarily on intelligence, diligence and accuracy.
Okay, so if your job as a journalist involves being talented, original, or imaginative, you’re a creative professional and not eligible for overtime. But if it requires you to be smart and accurate, you’re not. Apparently, these two sets of skills are opposed to one another, thus allowing a clear division of labor.
Everybody clear on that? The regulations continue:
Employees of newspapers, magazines, television and other media are not exempt creative professionals if they only collect, organize and record information that is routine or already public, or if they do not contribute a unique interpretation or analysis to a news product. Thus, for example, newspaper reporters who merely rewrite press releases or who write standard recounts of public information by gathering facts on routine community events are not exempt creative professionals.
Okay, so if I “write standard recounts” on “routine community events,” I can get overtime. But if I add something “unique,” I can’t. So if I attend a superintendent’s press conference and write a story about it, I get paid overtime, but if I ask him a question, I don’t? Or if my “recounts” of the “community events” aren’t quite “standard” enough? Perhaps if I write it all it capital letters, or avoid using commas? Or maybe if the event I’m covering is only questionably “routine”?
There’s more:
Reporters also do not qualify as exempt creative professionals if their work product is subject to substantial control by the employer.
Every reporter for every news organization in the world has an editor. That editor can decide not to publish your story. Or to cut out the last three paragraphs if space is tight in tomorrow’s paper. Or change your verb tense or kill an adjective or add a pronoun. That’s “substantial control by the employer,” isn’t it?
However, journalists may qualify as exempt creative professionals if their primary duty is performing on the air in radio, television or other electronic media; conducting investigative interviews; analyzing or interpreting public events; writing editorials, opinion columns or other commentary; or acting as a narrator or commentator.
Okay, so if my interviews are “investigative,” I’m a creative professional. But isn’t every reporter investigative? I mean, the whole point of being a reporter is to find out what happened somewhere and write about it. The lowliest reporter is at least as investigative as most private investigators. And “analyzing or interpreting public events”? What reporter doesn’t do that? Every action a reporter takes in working a story involves “analyzing” — from figuring out who to call or interview to determining what documents you need to request or what angle to take on a story.
So, to sum up, I’m not eligible for overtime because I have talent, use my imagination, analyze public events, and ask people questions seeking answers.
But I am eligible for overtime because I’m smart and diligent, try to be accurate, sometimes report public information or attend press conferences, and have an editor.
Phew, I’m glad we cleared that up.
Today’s Wilmer-Hutchins front-pager: “FBI agents and Texas Rangers seized documents and served subpoenas at Wilmer-Hutchins school administration buildings Thursday, and a federal grand jury investigation is under way. Investigators from both agencies interviewed top district officials at Wilmer-Hutchins headquarters. It’s the latest expansion of a broad corruption inquiry that also includes the Texas Education Agency, the U.S. attorney’s office, the county district attorney’s office and the district’s own police department.”
Also, a sneak peak for crabwalk.com readers: a gallery of photos to accompany my upcoming Zambia story, which is set to run Sunday. (Several of these photos will be in the paper, but I’ve thrown up some extras, too.) The story is about the impact of HIV/AIDS on Zambia’s education system.
And with that, I fly louisvilleward. Adieu, adieu.
Has your employer asked you to relocate, but given you a choice between Piscataway, New Jersey, Kochi, Japan, and Zhuzhou, China? Have I got the site for you!
Last call for Louisville tourist advice. I’m flying out there tomorrow night and get back Sunday evening.
No Wilmer-Hutchins story in today’s paper. To commemorate this unusual event, I share a tale of fast food.
Three times in the last month or so, I’ve worked late and skipped dinner. Each time, I’ve woken up the next morning hungry and in a rush. So, against the medical advice of generations of physicians, I’ve stopped at a McDonald’s downtown.
Three times I have stopped at this McDonald’s for a quickie breakfast. Three times they have screwed up my order.
My order is not complex. Each time I have requested a bacon, egg and cheese bagel and a water. Nothing outrageous there; it’s on the frickin’ menu. For my three attempts, I have received:
- A bagel with a slice of cheese on it, an unordered hash brown, and water.
- A plain bagel, a single slice of bacon loose in the bag, and water.
- (Today) A bagel with roughly one quarter pound of bacon and an unexplained cup of coffee.
Is there a global egg shortage I’m unaware of? I was under the impression that the ingredients list of my order was fairly direct: a bacon, egg and cheese bagel consists of bacon, eggs, cheese, and a bagel.
I keep waiting for new variations. Perhaps next time the bag will include an egg, but it will be soft boiled. Or instead of cheese, I’ll get some old milk in a leather pouch, along with instructions on the curd-making process. Or maybe they’ll just hand me an ovulating chicken. Perhaps the bagel will be magically transformed into a donut. Or a rubber tire. Or a baby marmoset.
Illinois voters — if they have both a libertarian and lefty bent, or perhaps problems reading the ballot — will have the opportunity to vote for both John Kerry and Jerry Kohn.
No word yet on whether Kerry John will face Kohn Jerry for state comptroller.
More Wilmer-Hutchins, today’s front page: “An administrative assistant to Wilmer-Hutchins’ maintenance director said Tuesday that she watched her boss destroy a stack of purchase orders that he asked her to assemble. She said he was acting on direct orders from Superintendent Charles Matthews. The district’s police chief confirmed that he found a stack of torn-up purchase orders in a trash bin behind the district’s maintenance building last Wednesday.”
Also, this sidebar, on the district’s attempts to shore up its image before next week’s election.
Mad props to Friend-of-Crabwalk (and too occasional commenter) Kim, who snagged herself a young Minnesotan fiance over the weekend.
Two stories from Sunday’s paper: a piece on the politics surrounding the upcoming Wilmer-Hutchins bond election, and a follow-up to the W-H lawyer story Saturday.
Also, watch Sunday’s paper for a (long-delayed) Zambia story of mine.
A rare three-pronged sports update:
- Alas, Chanda’s aged wiles proved too little to take down the mighty Venus. But she put up a good fight, losing 7-6 (7-4), 6-3. In the first set, Chanda broke three set points. I’m telling you: give her two functioning knees and she can still compete.
- Did you know you have to be a jock to be a Rhodes Scholar? I knew the Rhodes used to have a reputation for having a preference for athletes (e.g., Whizzer White), but I never realized it was one of the four stated requirements. (“[E]nergy to use one’s talents to the full, as exemplified by fondness for and success in sports.”)
A crabwalk.com source close to the Rhodes application process tells me “physical vigor” can be an acceptable substitute for a letter jacket. But still, it still seems a bit wrong in this day and age to have a very clear “no cripples allowed” rule.
(Then again, if you’re going to be initiated into the Illuminati and learn about how to bring about One-World-Government, that may involve some occasional jogging.)
- Finally, some very sad news. Popeye Jones was released by the Golden State Warriors Friday, thus likely ending his NBA career. (Being released by the Warriors is like being expelled from your fifth high school. You’re unlikely to find any more takers.)
I mourn this cold transaction because I have loved Popeye Jones for more than a decade. Herewith, the reasons:
1. His name is Popeye. I shouldn’t have to explain this.
2. The man has the finest ears in all of sport. Surely his NBA wealth could have allowed Popeye the luxury of some sort of ear-shrinking surgery. Or at least ear-compressing surgery. But no — the man continued to let his ear-freak-flag fly, and I admire that.
3. He was, at one point early in his career, quite a productive player for the hometown Mavericks, averaging a double-double in points and rebounds.
4. He was a member of one of my favorite class of athlete: the undersized workhorse. I know it’s tough to think of someone 6’8” as undersized, but that’s borderline tiny for an NBA power forward/occasional center. But Popeye was always under the basket, scrapping for the ball and outhustling more physically talented players. He’s always beaten expectations. I mean, how many second-round draft picks from 1992 are still in the NBA? I don’t know, but that number is asymptotically approaching zero now that Popeye’s gone.
5. He was The Man in college. Popeye went to tiny Murray State in Murray, Kentucky. But he didn’t let his distance from the spotlight stop him. Oh, no, not Popeye! He was a scoring machine when his team needed him, and he even led the nation in rebounding as a senior. I have a very distinct memory of watching Popeye and Murray State play in their conference tournament in 1992, his senior year. I don’t remember who they were playing, but I remember he looked like he was facing a bunch of eight-year-olds.
6. He always came up big in the biggest situations. Dude led the Murray State Racers to three straight conference titles and was conference tournament MVP all three times. When he got a shot at the big time, in the NCAA tournament, he was again a stud, scoring 37 points against the No. 1 team in the country (Michigan State) and forcing them into overtime — as a sophomore. That game remains the closest a No. 16 seed has come to beating a No. 1 seed in the tournament.
In other words, Popeye Jones is a selfless, smart ugly dude of whom little was expected and who ended up kicking everybody’s ass because he just worked harder. Truly, a hero for our times. Godspeed, Popeye.
YAWHS. I’ll let the opening speak for itself: “The Wilmer-Hutchins school district’s chief attorney was suspended by the State Bar of Texas last year, and at least once during the suspension he used the state bar identification number of a lawyer who has been dead for 20 years.”
YAWHS (Yet Another Wilmer-Hutchins Story) today, on a letter a top district employee wrote asking Wilmer-Hutchins’ police chief to lay off an investigation into the district’s problems. That top district employee is also a Dallas school board member.
Chanda wins her second round match at the U.S. Open, 7-5, 6-3 over Antonella Serra Zanetti. The fact she finished strong would seem to speak well about the condition of her knees.
I might be even more optimistic if she wasn’t facing Venus Williams in the third round. (Then again, Venus had to go to a tiebreaker in the first set against intriguingly named nobody Shikha Uberoi.)
Really nice interview with Mark Eitzel about the American Music Club reunion. Mark comes across as much more sane than usual.
His best line, in reference to some, er, lifestyle issues that once troubled AMC drummer Tim Mooney: “He had personal problems that made it inconvenient for him to be part of the band. Put it this way: At the time he was a close personal friend of Courtney Love.”
The new AMC album comes out next week in the U.K., but unfortunately not for another month in the States. They play the Gypsy Tea Room in Dallas on October 26.
One other bizarre Eitzel update: He provided vocals for a strange ’70s singer-songwriter parody project called Devon Shire, part of the Clubbo fake record label. Explanation of this strange situation from Paul Boutin here.
Finally, a few other Dallas-area shows worth attending in the near future: Sloan, Trees, Sept. 16; Starlight Mints, Gypsy, Oct. 1; Guided By Voices, Gypsy, Oct. 3; Gift of Gab, Trees, Oct. 6.; Ted Leo, Gypsy, Oct. 29.
Since I know you’re all dying to know how my fantasy football draft turned out last night, the answer is — pretty well, I think. The Bum Phillippi roster:
QB: Donovan McNabb
RB: LaDainian Tomlinson
RB: Rudi Johnson
RB/WR: Thomas Jones
WR: Laverneus Coles
WR: Plaxico Burress
WR/TE: Isaac Bruce
K: Adam Vinatieri
DL: Brian Urlacher
DL: Charles Grant
DB: Darren Sharper
DB: Dre Bly
D: Dwight Freeney
Bench: Amani Toomer, Roy Williams, Najeh Davenport, Byron Leftwich, Fred Thomas, Michael Pittman
(That’s Roy Williams the Detroit wide receiver, not Roy Williams the Dallas safety. Or Roy Williams the North Carolina basketball coach.)
Interesting interview with Sufjan (“SOOF-yahn”) Stevens, everyone’s favorite Christian indie rocker. I’ve already written about his tremendous Greetings From Michigan album. And while his followup didn’t do quite as much for me, he’s still a very real talent.
And he’s particularly interesting because he so thoroughly freaks out a big chunk of his cool-kid fans with his emphasis on his religious beliefs. His fan base, I would imagine, worships no gods but Pabst Blue Ribbon and Stephen Malkmus. But they like his songs about Old Testament prophets nonetheless.
“I think that when people react reflexively to material that is religious, they’re reacting to the culture of religion,” he says. “And I think an enlightened person is capable, on some level, of making the distinction between the institution of the culture and the culture itself. The institution of Christianity, the way that it’s set up, it’s institutionalized and commodified, and anytime that happens, anytime it’s incorporated, it leads to disaster. I’m on the same page as everyone. I have the same knee-jerk reaction to that kind of culture. Maybe I’m a little more empathetic to it because we have similar fundamental beliefs. But culturally and aesthetically, some of it is really embarrassing…I think it’s a fair and interesting question. Can you be a liberal, enlightened, modern person and still believe in God?”
Interesting story about Beausoleil and its leader Michael Doucet — without a doubt the most important Cajun musician of the last 20 years and a cornerstone of the Cajun cultural revival of the 1980s and 1990s. (The band’s got a new album out this month.)
He says Cajun music needs to be more about death and draws connections between Cajuns and the Roma — an interesting comparison I hadn’t thought of before.
Joshua Benton is the director of the Nieman Digital Journalism Project at Harvard University, among other things. Before that, he was a staff writer and columnist for The Dallas Morning News. (More.)
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