Posts Tagged ‘Boss’

Welcome Back to Dallas

January 13, 2010

For all you loyal fans (both of you) of the Dallas Yankee, I must apologize for the extended holiday hiatus. I spent a few weeks away from Big D, followed by three more weeks in NYC, being more Yankee than Dallas. Over this time, I have learned some things:

1. I love New York.
2. It gets cold in Dallas.
3. It gets warm in Dallas.
4. The W Hotel Dallas has a helipad.

Now, some of these may not seem like epiphanies of any kind, but yesterday as I sat at my desk, a helicopter circled overhead and crashed into the W Hotel. OK, that’s a lie – it landed on the W. But, if you didn’t know there was a helipad up there, you might be confused – Unfrozen Caveman Lawyer-style.

Anyway, here’s a pic of the approach.

I’m not sure who was so special that they couldn’t take the elevator like everyone else, but watching a helicopter land on a building is awesome. Don’t ask me why. Also, the work ‘helipad’ is pretty sweet, too, let’s be honest. It’s like when Chinooks used to transport people to the Twin Towers, like in Coogan’s Bluff. Kinda.

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JFK Memorial and Anniversary

November 23, 2009

Yesterday, Betsy and I took a walk downtown to see if there were any goings-on surrounding the 36th anniversary of the assassination of John F. Kennedy. We headed through the undulating canyons of the central business district, and tried to stay on the sunny side of the street as autumn temperatures arrived and a gentle wind ushered leaves down the cool streets and across lengthening shadows.

The JFK Memorial is a not-quite-stark white box, made of concrete, that rests just about two feet from the ground, seeming to float despite its bulk. The box is cleft on the North and South ends to create two towering halves that surround a slightly sunken central square in which rests the main dais. The dais is, as the information says, too low to be a table, to square to be a tomb, and too large to be merely a commemorative plaque. On the two sides facing the exits to the cenotaph is engraved “JOHN FITZGERALD KENNEDY” and painted gold to catch what light enters from the gaps, or manages to rappel its way down the massif.

This day, the anniversary, we were expecting not fanfare, but perhaps black ribbons or even a flag at half-mast. Maybe the flags were at half-staff, but I didn’t notice. There were few people save for what seemed like a couple of groups of tourists – families – snapping pictures. In fact, as we approached the memorial from the opposite side of the street, a large group of bicyclists, mostly dressed in Victorian garb, went past. The peloton seemed not to notice the memorial. In fact, it turns out it was a “tweed ride” and it’s only connection to Kennedy was that the group was rallying at the Grassy Knoll.

The Memorial was quiet, as I said, and a few small bouquets seemed lackadaisically placed atop the marble slab, along with a smattering of coins that gave it the air of a wishing well or busker’s hat. Two women, reading the information and inscriptions on the north side suddenly came to the realization that today was, in fact, the day. They seemed surprised.

Dallas, it seems, still bears a heavy weight. Downtown has some elegant buildings, but there is a certain silence and seediness. If not seediness, there is a stillness that exists downtown like a moment frozen in time. Like that gunshot was a shutter release, forever cementing Dallas in a foggy void, like a grainy photo. That vacuity was never more evident that yesterday. A 1965 Mustang parked nearby seemed to further the notion that nearly 50 years hadn’t elapsed in this city.

The city is trying to overcome the stigma that I think is attached to it. It bears a heavy cross and I think that there is an intentional lack of publicity around the anniversary. Perhaps we came too late in the day. The Observer claims there were ‘scores’ of tourists. The Sixth Floor Museum seemed to have a small crowd outside, but was by no means scores of people. The Cowboys game had ended so there wasn’t really a reason for people not to be outside.

Maybe, much like Ground Zero in New York City has become hallowed ground, yet ground that many New Yorkers feel too gutted to visit regularly, the JFK Memorial is still too haunting for some.

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A Happy Dallas Yankee

November 5, 2009
godzilla1

Laying Waste to Philly's Dreams

Way back when, in ’96, my brothers and I were offered two tickets to a fall game one night when my folks were out of town. I, as the youngest and having a lot of homework, did not attend. My brothers, never ones to neglect their baby bro, brought back a Tino shirt for me and I have worn it – despite the fact that it is huge on me and makes me look 14 – with great pride and only in key situations. I have not donned it all season except for the two games I attended at the great new Yankee Stadium. With the Core Four of Jeter, Pettitte, Jorge, and Mo playing in Game 6, I felt that the spirit of someone as classy as Tino Martinez would help. I wore my Martinez shirt for good luck, and it worked.
Class
I watched the game last night with a fellow New Yorker who lives in the building. His TV is a 52″ LCD, where ours is 15″ something-or-other. Seriously, I think the picture-in-picture on his screen is larger than our glorified Viewmaster. My neighbor, being neighborly, invited me over to witness Game 6 on an exceptional piece of electronics, as well as to enjoy some burgers, beer, and Bronx camaraderie.

His wife had a couple of friends over, one from Queens, originally, and the other from “way south Jersey”, clearly a Phillies “fan”. It is difficult to watch an important game with someone who is a casual fan. However, it is worse to watch a game with a casual fan of the opposite team, who insists they know more about the game than you do. When Tex got tagged by a pitch, she told me “he stands all over the plate.” I asked her how she could say that when Utley is a notorious plate-crowder (and has led the league in HBPs). She says “No, Teixeira and A-Rod crowd the plate more. Trust me.” Oh. OK. She also called Jorge a whiner, but I’m not going to start getting all negative here. At 7-3, she headed home and we watched the finale in relative peace.

Andy didn’t pitch brilliantly, but he was confident and unflappably so. There is no one else I’d rather have pitching. Meanwhile, Damaso Marte was an unsung hero, ripping strikes and getting all fired up. Of course, when the doors open in the outfield, and Mariano, glove held in his pitching hand, trots onto the field and starts running to the mound, and the first licks of ‘Enter Sandman’ play, I get goosebumps every time. It’s then that you realize that he is the greatest of all time.

When the Yanks won in ’98, I got a call that Friday in the morning from a friend of mine who was going down to the parade. It was a Friday and, well, I had school. I figured my parents would never let me go, but I asked all the same. My dad thought for a moment and said “Sure, why not, how often does this happen?” Of course, the Pinstripes would post two more championships in the next two years, but we didn’t know that. I headed downtown where we got front row spots in the Canyon of Heroes and, when I saw Tino almost half a mile down the street, I started a chant. By the time he was in front of us, I’d started thousands upon thousands of people chanting his name. There were so many fans there that day, that it took over an hour once people started leaving just for us to get down the side street to the avenue. I left my house that morning around 7:30am, and didn’t get to school until well after 3:30, late for practice. The Yanks won that series in four games against San Diego. Who was the winning pitcher in that final game? Andy Pettitte. Who was the closer? Mo.

The hardest part about watching the game was being unable to go to Luke’s for the celebration. Dallas is not much of a baseball town, so my night ended with beers at home. Nonetheless, I was thrilled by Matsui‘s performance and happy to see another Yankee class-act get justly honored.

In respect to the Yanks, I’ve altered the blog header. And below, Sterling’s call.

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Robert Randolph at the Dallas House of Blues

November 1, 2009

Friday, I was basically waiting for the Stars game to come around, checked my email and saw an update from the Robert Randolph and the Family Band site saying that the band was coming to Dallas on Halloween. I’m not much of a fanboy, per se, and I hate signing up for updates like that, but if you’ve ever seen a RRFB show, you’ll know they are electric, often hilarious affairs.

After a few quick emails to gauge interest, I headed over to the House of Blues to buy tickets (and avoid a Ticketmaster surcharge) and was ready to pay $22.50 for SRO tickets. SRO at the House of Blues means no seat, but you get to stand right up against the stage and have easy access to the bar.

Doors opened at 8pm and I rushed my companions to get there around 8:45 or so. Around 9:15, Black Joe Lewis came on. BJL comes out in jeans, a dark t-shirt and a baseball hat. His five-piece band is comprised of five skinny white guys in skinny jeans, white shirts, and horned-rimmed glasses. Joe wails like a cross between James Brown and Lou Rawls. The horn section is a nice touch and adds a great funk/soul vibe to songs with names such as ‘Sugarfoot’ and ‘Big Booty Woman.’

After a decent set, Joe Lewis leaves and the HoB finally starts to fill. Clearly, these people knew about the opening act, unlike me. About a third of the crowd in the pit were dressed up, including one great one of balloon boy.

RRFB finally came on stage sometime after 10:30 (Game 3 was on and the band is from NJ, so I’m sure they were kicking it backstage, watching Pettitte and the Yanks take care of business).

Robert was in a white suit and fedora, a la Smooth Criminal. Danyel was rocking the red Thriller get-up, including a sick jeri-curl wig.

Thrilla

Danyel, the thing with 40 eyes.

Likewise, Marcus was pushing the 80′s style with a Beat It costume. Jason Crosby, the keyboardist was wearing a large black fedora, stringy black wig, and white surgical mask. The guitarist (not sure who it was) wore a military-style jacket that MJ used to wear.

RRFB Don't Stop IMG00060

The band started out with “Thriller”, heading right into their own “Nobody.” Along with some of their best-known songs, including “Good Times” and “I Need More Love”, the band played “Man in the Mirror” and did the usual “Ladies Night” where they pull girls from the audience to dance on stage, as well as some later songs where they bring amateurs up to play guitar. This was particular funny this time as the first guy they pulled up was, well, not good. He was joined on stage my a Ricky Ricardo lookalike, complete with mini-conga. When Robert asked him to leave, the guy said, “but I’m from South America!” He batted the mini-drum for a few bars before he and the strummer got hauled off by HoB security. A guy was actually hauled up onstage who could play the pedal steel (see below).

IMG_7817

The Easter Bunny (and unknown guest) plays at the House of Blues during Robert Randolph and the Family Band Halloween concert.

Finally, another guy was pulled on stage… dressed in a full Easter Bunny costume. It took a minute to get the guitar strap over this enormous ears and head, but he got set, found out what key they were in, and kicked ass. After the finale, as the band threw their various picks and drumsticks into the band, I saw one fingerpick arch slowly into the blue light of the stage. Unfortunately, Betsy had been buying Jameson shots, and I’d been downing Shiners like they were running out of the stuff, so the pick bounced of my palm and skittered away.

Incidentally, I was wearing a captain’s hat, blazer, ascot tie, and white pants. Betsy was in a tennis skirt and polo. Only two people figured out that we were Judge Smails and Lacy Underall.

MowMyLawn

A nice change from dreary old Manhattan

I guess you need something blatant or timely. Our companion was Mr Chow from the Hangover, and looked the part, but the real spectacle was on stage, so I wasn’t too worried about how we appeared.

We wandered out, hitched a ride with our friend to get some food at Cafe Brazil on Cedar Springs. as it’s a notoriously gay neighborhood, the costumes there were excellent, and my open shirt, silk tie, and nautical theme got a few quiet cat-calls, despite being accompanied by a blonde girl in a tennis outfit.

Drunk and hungry, we ordered quite an array of food at 1:30am. Biscuits and gravy followed by migas for me. It was an interesting, albeit satisfying, entry into the world of late-night eats in the Great State of Texas. Southern cooking meets Tex-Mex. Cafe Brazil definitely hits the spot that late (and that sauced) and thankfully, they don’t serve beer. I ordered one despite REALLY not needing it. Thanks Cafe Brazil.

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Automobiles: Must-haves and Mustangs

October 24, 2009

One of the ways I was enticed into coming to Dallas – aside from the jo of knowing that the Giants christened the new Dallas stadium – was that Betsy offered to buy me a car. Not just any car, either. I wanted a Challenger. It’s not my dream car (that would be a ’70 Boss 302), but I’d take either the ’70 Challenger or the new one. It was a pipedream, I knew – Betsy likes high-end luxury cars – but it was a nice thought anyway to imagine the rumble of my big Dodge engine tumbling down the sunlit Dallas streets.

Car shopping in Dallas was an interesting day. While we were expecting a slew of Swift Herberts to waste our time while we potentially wasted theirs, we were mostly pleasantly surprised. The first place we went to, we were greeted by Dick. Dick spent a good while trying to play to Betsy’s penchant towards luxury cars. He played the “appease the woman” card all he could, just barely letting us off the lot after almost two hours and a test drive in a nice pre-owned Mercedes coupe. As we were leaving, another couple were looking at the same Mercedes, leaving Dick to insist that we come back soon. He called while we were on our way to the next lot. Of course, having no car, we had cabbed it to the lot and were walking to the next one, a fact that caused Dick and his assistant to laugh heartily.

The next stop was at a beautiful dealership. Seriously, who knew that a car lot could be so nice. This place had marble floors, dark wood, a lounge with drinks and coffee and, most importantly, flatscreens with college football on. Oddly enough, the lounge was occupied by at least four or five men who did not appear to work at the dealership, nor did they appear to be car shopping. It’s one thing if we were at a department store and the men were watching TV while their wives shopped (“Psst! Over here, in Petites”), but this was a car dealership. I would have thought that the guys would have been at least mildly interested in the vehicles, not least of all because even if their wives were shopping, they’d like to know before she dropped upwards of $60K on a Merc.

Anyway, much like this next thing, maybe it’s a Texas thing. We were greeted and helped by Monty who took us to his office to chat. He offered us water, which we accepted. He said, “Well, help yourself,” and pointed to the lounge area. Very nice. Then, “we’ve gone green so we’ve got styrofoam cups.” I laughed. Seriously, I thought he was joking. I know you can recycle here in Texas, but I see very few blue cans. In fact, our building has just a few and they are hidden away in the garage. Monty meant, I guess, that they’d gotten rid of plastic bottles. Baby steps, though I’m not sure which way they’re walking.

We ended up not getting a car, but while waiting for a taxi to pick us up and drive us home, a mint condition ’67 Mustang, the color of a styrofoam cup, rolled into the parking lot. That made my day worthwhile, despite having been told all day how great an ’01 Lexus was, and how 100,000 miles
on an Acura was “practically nothing. If only they still made them like they used to, I’d have easily walked away with at least a couple.

2006-5-3_67MustangLineWeb-Large

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