Author: Dick

I’ve found an interesting radio station since staying here in the Dallas-Fort Worth area. The station KHYI-FM, The Range, is a meeting of Americana-Roots music with Country-Western. And it is in many cases good Country-Western as opposed to crap. I refer to the crap you often hear today that is passed off as Country-Western but is merely pop music with a redneck theme.

On The Range you might hear Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys one minute, then John Prine or Ray Wylie Hubbard the next.

I’ve not heard many radio stations that purport to play strictly Americana-Roots music with the exception of a couple on the Internet. KGSR-FM, Radio Austin, comes somewhat close, playing many Austin-based artists such as Lucinda Williams. But you’re as likely to also hear Bob Marley and the Wailers or some other performers less toward what I consider the folk spectrum. Not that I have anything against Bob Marley or KGSR. It’s one of the best radio stations I’ve listened to within the last 20 years. As a matter of fact, I always tune into KGSR when I am close enough to pick it up outside Austin.

I was supremely starved for a good radio station during my seven years in Waco. I mostly listened to 92.5 KZPS-FM, the classic rock station out of Dallas. That is because, as I once explained to my daughter: “The radio in Waco pretty much sucks.” But the problem with classic rock formats like KZPS is that you hear the same thing over and over and over. It seems as if not a day has gone by since I graduated from high school 31 years ago that I have not heard something by Led Zepplin or Pink Floyd every day on the radio. But hey, a day without Pink Floyd is like a day without sunshine. Kind of the same as a day with Pink Floyd.

What I do find very unusual about The Range is that it seems to be more geared toward guys. The country music they play includes a lot of truck-driving songs and you might find such ditties as I heard the other day like: “It’s hard to kiss the lips at night that chew your ass out all day long.” But you also hear a lot of the Americana-Roots-Folk that you won’t be hearing on many of your hometown radio stations. Personally, I like truck-driving songs.

That isn’t to say each and every song this station plays personally strikes every right chord with me. And sometimes, they play songs that are just downright depressing at times when that’s the last type of music I like to hear. But if I feel I’ve got to hear some Led Zepplin, then classic rock is only a button away.

I probably will listen to The Range from time to time after I move from here because where I plan to move also has pretty crappy radio and you can listen to The Range online. Once again, as I find myself doing so many times a day, I just thank the moon and stars that Al Gore invented the Internet.

Did Tiger have his Wheaties? 

The Byron Nelson golf tournament on Friday was quite the hairy-legged happening. If you follow golf or read the headlines, you may know that Tiger Woods failed to make the cut for the weekend play at the tournament. It was the first time over a course of a record 142 tournaments that the Tiger failed to qualify. It was also the first golf tournament I’ve ever attended. You think there’s a connection there? Do you think Tiger might blame me and come after me? Maybe that’s why I had a hard time sleeping this morning. Perhaps, subconsciously, I feared being flailed in my bed by Tiger wielding one of his drivers.

Tiger, it’s just a coincidence. Please don’t beat me with your golf clubs!

My friends and I wandered in and out of a party at the edge of the 16th tee. So I got a got a good view of a lot of these guys at maybe 15 feet away from them. Viewing them so closely I realize that one facet of professional golf I don’t get is the pants. These guys, Tiger included, all wear knit shirts with some logo as well as caps. And they wear slacks that a snappy dresser such as myself would only wear to a funeral. First of all, I wouldn’t be comfortable in such a combination of attire. I mean, if you’re going to wear slacks, why not just put on a tie, a blazer and wear a fedora?

What I found the most awesome about the tournament experience is the quiet. The guy gets ready to tee off and these big beefy bouncer-looking guys hold up what look like paddles saying: “Quiet.” And it becomes breathtakingly quiet save for the airliners flying to and from Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport nearby. But even so for a brief moment you can hear tree limbs rustling and birds chirping and then Whhhaaaaaaaack! The golfer hits the ball from Las Colinas to Tierra del Fuego.

I wonder if the Quiet guys have ever beaten anyone senseless for not shutting up when they are supposed to? I don’t know, but I danged sure wasn’t going to find out for myself.

Marco Dawson also failed to make the cut. I don’t know if the shot that he hit into my friend’s back yard had anything to do with his score. We were on our way to the party at the 16th tee as Dawson was about to hammer the ball. He didn’t seem very happy to see us so near and I thought he gave us a strange look, as if we didn’t belong there. Maybe his look was one of frustration from his errant drive. And maybe I didn’t belong there, but it was my friend’s back yard.

A word or two about Tiger. I’d estimate maybe 100 or so spectators were in the vicinity extending from the 15th hole to the 16th tee. That changed dramatically when Tiger started playing his way up the hill. Man, it was like Moses leading the Israelites. I was scared the Red Sea was going to suddenly burst from the ground and Tiger was going to raise a 9-iron and lead the fleeing hordes across the parted waters onto the next hole.

Another amazing occurrence I noticed. Unlike baseball or basketball where fans tell members of their opposing teams that they suck, when Tiger teed off never was “heard a discouraging word.”

Even though I don’t know Jack (or Tiger or Marco) about golf, I could see these guys are among the best golfers in the world. And when it comes to having an occupation — with all the crappy jobs that are within the realm of possibility — you can’t help but admire people making lots or even modest amounts of money doing what they love to do. Even if I do think they dress kind of funky.

It would be really cool to see ducks play golf. 

I doubt if anyone will care, but I am taking Friday off from blogging and from my grueling schedule of being unemployed. I will be heading to the EDS Byron Nelson golf tournament at Cottonwood Valley in Las Colinas. I don’t know much about golf. I am not particularly a fan. But an old college friend happens to live where the tournament is taking place, so why not go hang out?

I hope Tiger Woods is there. He’s so cool his Web site is in English, Japanese, Vulcan and Esperanto. Maybe I can get a job carrying his caddy’s stuff. Then maybe I could afford to have someone carry my stuff. And he or she could hire someone to carry their stuff. And on and on. Lighten the load, you know?

Hopefully, I won’t do anything stupid to get me on network TV. Actually, you don’t have to do anything stupid to look stupid on network TV. I know. I covered this press conference in Crawford during the last presidential election. There was some ridiculous political theater taking place there that day between Kerry supporter, former U.S. Sen. Max Cleland and Bush representative Jerry Patterson, the Texas land commissioner. The next morning, I turn on CNN just after waking up, and the very first image of the day is of me standing behind Jerry Patterson with my reporter’s notebook looking stupid.

So I plan to just mind my Peas and Cues, you know, play it low, blend into the crowd, make myself small, and above all else, stay away from the cameras.

It’s shown as a “description,” on the blog template, the line under the title (which is “eightfeetdeep.”) But you already know the name of the blog. I guess. Maybe not. In any event, I have chosen to fill the Description box with words of wisdom. Most recently I used this gem:

“I could be a damn good country-western star if only I could sing and pick a guitar.” — Buffalo Bob Mayes (1947-1991)

I hope the quotes I use do serve as a description of what you might see below on the screen. So there! Take that Blogspot! But I feel I should keep things fresh, so I am retiring Buffalo Bob’s saying to the Old Sayings Retirement Home.

This blog, should it survive, will bid these old sayings adieu whenever I decide to replace them with a new one. I chose the current saying, re: irony, from my post about the McDonald’s Fruit and Walnut Salad. Unlike the saying by Buffalo Bob, my words of wisdom are just nonsense. That is because I am an official vendor of nonsense. I dispense it by the truckload. I will sell it to you at a discounted price. Why nonsense? Why does a bird fly? Why does a doorbell ring? Why is Jessica Simpson playing Daisy Duke in the “Dukes of Hazard” movie? If you can answer these questions, then you understand my saying about irony. And if you can answer these questions, and can tell me what I am saying, please let me know for I am clueless.

Buffalo Bob unleashed his sage observation circa 1976 when he tried to play the guitar. The results were like cats having sex, only no kitties were born.

A native of Winters, By God, Texas, Bob said he was going to be a country star with his band, Buffalo Bob and the Texas Tick Pickers. Of course, he had no band, just friends who enjoyed his company as well as his warped humor.

I met Bob, who was a Navy Seabee (the Navy construction folks), when we were both stationed in Gulfport, Miss. I was in his company during many misadventures back then, such as the time he tried to make a rat-skin rug. It didn’t turn out well either. I will spare you the details.

Bob died just shy, if I am not mistaken, of his 44th birthday in 1991 at his home in Cisco, Texas. His dad told me after I had heard Bob died, that he had drank himself to death. Buffalo Bob had his demons. That didn’t prevent him from being a damn good cowboy.

Some would say Buffalo Bob never reached his full potential. But I don’t happen to agree. For you see there were those, I for one, who called Buffalo Bob Mayes a friend. I don’t think anything much matters beyond your friends. Do you know what I mean?

As Uncle Joe Bob once said: “My goat’s done been got.”
Since my fictional uncle never owned any goats of which I am aware, I will have to attribute his colloquialism and improper grammar to his being pissed off. It’s like my medicine woman once told me: “Never piss off a fictional uncle without goats.” This medicine woman, I’ll call her Pearl, should know these things. For she too is fictional.

So what gives here? Is my entire world a fantasy? Are all my acquaintances pretend? Perhaps I am fictional. Well, the answer is: 1) I don’t know. 2) Partly. 3) Occasionally 4) Unfortunately, no. But I did write myself into a precarious corner and now find myself struggling to get out like a mime in a box with depleting oxygen (somehow, I find that a pleasant thought.)

Nonetheless, I did have a few minutes while writing in which to cool down over being unable to access The Dallas Morning News Web site. It isn’t that I by any means will explode into tiny radioactive particles if I can’t access it. But it is a Web site on which I wanted to read a story and it also is one that I frequently have trouble logging into. I don’t know how many times I have had to e-mail their tech people. And this is over a period of a couple of years.

My message was sarcastic in tone today: “It has been a few days since I have been unable to log into your Web site. You guys must be napping.” I regret that I flew off the handle. I’m sure there is a logical explanation why theirs’ is such a crappy Web site. I’m sure I’ll get an e-mail from them soon which will say the problem will be taken care of in a prompt and satisfying manner. Until next time.

Did I tell you that Pearl had visions of Elvis — before he was even born? And Uncle Joe Bob once used his tractor to tow the frame of a home off its foundation after the owner got Joe Bob’s goat? (figuratively speaking). I guess it’s a good thing that Uncle Joe Bob really isn’t around right now. But Pearl? Also probably a good thing. She’d probably just scare the bejesus out of me.