El Blog de Los Amigos

Here’s where I fall into the stereotype of bloggers everywhere from the last ten years: I’m going to bitch about what hurts.

• My neck.
• My shoulders, particularly the muscles behind my shoulder blades.
• My elbows.
• My sternum.
• Both of my knees.
• My ankles.
• There’s one tendon on the top of my left foot that has shifted out of place, and screams at me with each step.

I really don’t have a lot of trepidation about turning 40 next July. Yes, I think about it every now and then, but only to wonder what the hell happened to the last 39 years. It doesn’t seem like I’ve been alive that long, and the last 25 years have been one big blur.

So, now that I’m unemployed, you would think I’ve been relaxing a bit, trying to recharge my batteries.

Not even close.

I’ve been busier in the last three months than at any time in recent memory. Working to keep Red Carpet Crash stocked with new article and video content has been an all-consuming effort. Manda and I have seen more movies in the last eight weeks than we had in our previous 24 months. (Granted, the majority of ‘em were free, except for the second time I saw “Inglourious Basterds” and took Manda; or “G.I. Joe,” where the movie tried to kill me and wound up costing $1800. Lorenzo di Bonaventura’s about to get a bill from me.)

My point – and I swear to Buddha that I have one – is this. I do not feel like I’m pushing 40, nor do I feel like I’m even concerned with the prospect. Hell, there was a time when I was certain I wouldn’t live to see 30. Now, not only am I certain I’ll see the back side of “the hill,” but I have a reason to keep rolling on it. My best days physically may be behind me, but my best days as a human? Those are in front of me.

1) I no longer work for CBS Radio Dallas. As there are dozens of phenomenal, wonderful people who still work there, I won’t be dishing a whole lot of dirt as to what went down there at the end. Wouldn’t be professional, or prudent.

2) Ben & Skin are also gone from the CBS family. They’re drastically funny entertainers, who deserve a helluva lot better than what they got.

3)

4) My current project (other than trying to figure out where my next paying gig is, and keeping Manda happy) is a movie site called Red Carpet Crash. Head there, bookmark it, visit daily, tell your friends, sign up for the various contests, follow us on Twitter & Facebook, devote your free time to making RCC a success.

5) If you know of any job that would be anywhere near my skill set, please lemme know and I’ll take it from there.

I originally posted this during Blogathon 2006. On our second wedding anniversary, I thought it would be apropos to repost it. I’ve been an amazingly lucky man in my years with Manda, and I can only hope to make her as happy as she’s made me.

Amanda says I get too long-winded in telling this story, but you know I love a good tale. It starts at City Streets, in Fort Worth, on Friday, 29 July 2005.

I had finally gotten a job that would allow me to get out of DJ work, a career I had pretty much had my fill of. It was my last weekend at the Blue Monkey Lounge, and I damn near didn’t show up for that night of work. Stupid dumb work ethic.

While I didn’t always follow my own advice, I tried to quit dating women I’ve met in bars. It never ended well. I broke this rule at my own peril… literally.

And, laws, did I hate bachlorette parties. There’s always a mindset within the participants that the room belongs to them, and regardless of the demands, they’ll have their way or hell will be dished out.

So, I was predisposed to dislike Erin and Amanda. They were the advance guard of Tanika’s bachlorette extravaganza, and were saving the big table. Amanda turned in a song, and in short order Ray handed me her slip.

“Really. She’s serious? Okay. Mandalicious, come on up.”

Stage names like that never bode well.

I then got a gander of the song she was singing. “Run-Around” by Blues Traveler? Easily one of the hardest songs we had in our catalog. I was thoroughly skeptical, and it came through in my introduction of her.

The track starts, and she nails it. Completely.

I was stunned. Gabberflasted.

Ray saw my look, and says to me, “She’s pretty good, huh?”

I pick my jaw off the floor, and regain a bit of my composure. “Yeah, but she hasn’t hit the second verse yet.” I cross my arms and wait. The second verse rolls around… and it’s better than the first.

The song ends, and the crowd gives her a good reaction. I stop her, and quiet the applause. “Folks, she just picked on of the hardest songs we have, and nailed it. Please give her another round of applause.”

In the middle of the clapping, she leans towards me, grabs my shirt front and pulls me close. She whispers in my ear, “There’s a reason they call me Mandalicious.” She lets go, leaving me standing on the stage, slack-jawed.

I had no idea what I was getting myself into.

We introduced ourselves properly after I started the next singer, and told Ray I was taking a break. We talked throughout the night, slow-danced to something good… kissed outside the bar.

I cornered Erin later in the night and said, “Tell me everything, now.” Erin replied, “She’s single. She likes you. Don’t fuck it up.”

As the night ended, I was invited to breakfast with the bachlorette party at an all-night joint called the Old South Pancake House — usually not a good thing, but everyone in the party dug me.

Erin hadn’t eaten anything substantial for the whole evening, so when she got to Old South, she was on the verge of hypoglycemic shock. I wound up taking care of her — “Hey, can I get another pitcher of orange juice here, please?” — while trying to get to know Amanda more. She’s a microbiologist, had been in and out of serious relationships for a while, and was open to dating again.

I wanted to spend a lot more time with her… but the whole thing was screwy. She had a wedding the next day, and I was leaving for Los Angeles for a week and a half he following Tuesday.

We sat there after figuring out we wouldn’t see each other for a couple of weeks. She batted her eyelashes at me.

“Your timing sucks.”

On the road trip out to Los Angeles, Amanda and I messaged each other through our phones at least twenty times a day. I’m not exaggerating.

By the second day, everyone was tired of hearing about Amanda, with the exception of Richard’s wife. She would see my face light up when Amanda would text message me, and she would start in immediately.

“Is that your lovah?” I would answer back non-chalantly at first, but after a while, the idea grew on me. “I hope so,” I started to respond.

That Saturday, I sequestered myself away from the rest of the group to do Blogathon. Being two time zones away, Amanda messaged cutely, “I’m two hours ahead – want to know how it ends?”

I messaged back, “We fall madly in love and live snappily ever after.”

It was the first time I had really given any thought to a serious relationship with her, and was totally fine with it. I didn’t know it at the time, but she was as well.

Now, being Los Angeles, and being out on a Wild Ass Circus trip, I could have gotten in a whole lot of trouble that week… but something held me back. Something wonderful was waiting for me back in Texas. I had no idea what, but at least I knew it. Now, i only had to not screw it up.

The weird thing is, I’ve written this post several dozen times in my head over the last couple of months. However, by the time I get to a computer, there’s something else to do, and I put it off until later.

I’m not sure if anyone’s even reading the good ol’ El Blog, either by stopping by the blog’s page or by feed reader. But, just like Robert Neville, if there’s anyone listening, I’ve gotta broadcast.

Still working. This is certainly not a foregone conclusion.

Lost 50 pounds, on a “cookie” based diet called Smart For Life.

Manda and I have moved to Grand Prairie, away from the west Fort Worth house we’ve spent the last three years in. Not only is it closer to my work (by two-thirds), it’s also four miles closer to her work in south Fort Worth.

The big thing on my mind, though, is my mind. Or, more accurately, my brain.

In the last few years, there have been periods of weeks where I’ve had splitting headaches. They’ll come in batches, and sometimes they respond to Excedrin Migraine or other heavy-duty OTC meds. After a few of them, they go away and everything’s fine, until the next one.

If it was just headaches, I would chalk it up to stress. But there’s also the problem of my memory… and the holes in it.

With an increasing frequency, I’ve been forgetting things. Things like where the breaker box is in our new apartment, when I’ve told Manda that I’d found it and where it was when we moved in. Nothing of earth-shattering importance, like my wedding anniversary (May 27) or things of that nature. But I’m finding that I need to write down things every day, or I’ll lose the day-to-day stuff.

Hypochondriac? I didn’t use to be. Now, I’m wondering if I have cancer again. And I’m going to the doctor to find out next week.

I’m not writing this to be melodramatic, or make anyone worry. I guess it’s mostly for me. If nothing is wrong with me that time away from work or other methods of decompression would fix, I get to look back and say what an idiot I’ve been in the past. But, i there is something wrong, I can look back here and say that this was when I first acknowledged it.

I’m watching all of the Academy Award nominees for Best Picture in a AMC Theatres showcase, with instant reviews for each. Here’s “Frost/Nixon”:

Along with “Milk,” I was really looking forward to “Frost/Nixon,” and it didn’t disappoint. Michael Sheen was appropriately vacuous as David Frost, and Frank Langella is still an underrated acting gem as Nixon. The movie almost seemed rushed, and the pacing was a bit off, but satisfied in the end with the final shot of Nixon, staring off into the Pacific sunset, knowing his time in the sun was over.

Best movie I saw today? Surprisingly, it was “Slumdog Millionaire,” with “Milk” and “Frost/Nixon” coming in 2nd and 3rd. I’m still trying to figure out why “The Reader” is a Best Pic candidate – wholly outclassed by the other four nominees.

Massive kudos to AMC Theatres, for putting on the Best Picture Showcase. It was a great day of movie watching, and I’ll definitely make it to next year’s event.

Now… BED.

I’m watching all of the Academy Award nominees for Best Picture in a AMC Theatres showcase, with instant reviews for each. Here’s “Slumdog Millionaire”:

Wow. I didn’t expect it to be this good.

It’s deserving of the hype. If it wins Best Picture tomorrow night, “Slumdog Millionaire” earned it.

I’m watching all of the Academy Award nominees for Best Picture in a AMC Theatres showcase, with instant reviews for each. Here’s “The Curious Case of Benjamin Button”:

Beautiful movie. Still, it left me feeling… empty. Entertaining, but just missing something. Not a lot to say about it.

I’m watching all of the Academy Award nominees for Best Picture in a AMC Theatres showcase, with instant reviews for each. Here’s “The Reader”:

A very German film, pragmatic and stark. It’s one if the most uncommon love stories I’ve ever seen, and I’m not sure if I dug it or not. Talking about it without spoilers is tough, but it was a good film. Winslet’s a great actress, but I don’t know if this role allowed her to show it.

Depressing. Did I say stark? I meant it.

If it sounds like I’m being roundabout with my praise of the film, I am. Of the two films so far, “Milk” was the better so far.

Next up: “Benjamin Button.” Hooboy.

I’m watching all of the Academy Award nominees for Best Picture in a AMC Theatres showcase, with instant reviews for each. Here’s “Milk”:

Powerful movie, as I expect all of the nominees to be. Van Sant makes it clear, from the first scene, that this is a movie about gay men. Does it without being lurid or lewd, just matter of factly. By getting it out there immediately, “Milk” is able to become even more powerful, making Harvey Milk’s triumphs that much more impactful… and his assassination that much more devastating.

Sean Penn not only brought Harvey Milk to the screen, but channeled his soul and drive. Milk was driven to power for the best reason – an agenda that brought real change to, and for, the gay community. Van Sant’s film made that change palpable, and an amazing movie in the process.

First things first: it is FAR too early to be at a movie theatre.

Cali, one of the hosts for GeekBrief.tv, was giving away a pass for AMC Theatres’ Best Picture showcase, which I managed to win. The showcase runs all five nominees for Best Picture, marathon style.

At least I’ll be able to talk about how X movie didn’t deserve Z award, as I haven’t seen any of the nominees before today. .

We start off with Gus Van Sant’s “Milk.” You’ll get a mini-review after each flick.

On with the show.

Okay, I’ve hung on to this footage for more than three months, because of two simple facts:

• I sound bad.
• I look bad.

The audio on the clip is straight from the sound board, and I’m telling you (and have had this confirmed by people with nothing to gain by lying) I sounded a lot better than this clip makes it out to be.

Meanwhile, had I not seen myself in this video, I wouldn’t have been as motivated to lose the weight I’m losing now. That’s not just a muffin-top I’ve got working – it’s a full on undulating waistline overflow. Bleargh!

So, with all that said, here’s the footage of Masters of Nun performing live at the House of Blues (the full story’s here.)

To distract myself from what’s going on with my day job, I’ll give you a bit of a heads-up on what I’ve been doing on the side… well, one of those side projects, anyway.

If you’re following me on Twitter (and if not, why?), you know that I’ve been doing a retro music show called “Headspace” on the Indie-Verse. That’s the HD side channel for 105.3 The FAN, which is also streaming at Indie-Verse.com. “Headspace” is a lot like DaM Radio, in that I’m playing whatever I feel like as long as I find it moderately good. The “format” is loosely aligned as anything that falls between Talking Heads’ debut at CBGB’s and the release of Nirvana’s “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” “Headspace” runs Tuesdays and Fridays at Noon CST.

Tomorrow’s show is a bit different, though. I saw that Wendy & Lisa were releasing their fifth album, White Flags of Winter Chimneys, independently of any recording studio – recorded, produced, and unleashed online all on their own. Can’t get more Indie than that. So, put in an interview request with their management, and a week later, I’m telling the Girl Brothers about the time I saw them, along with Prince & The Revolution, at Reunion Arena on New Year’s Day 1985.

The show that contains that conversation, along with tracks from their new and older albums, airs tomorrow at Noon. Listen in at Indie-Verse.com or on 105.3 HD2 in Dallas. You’ll dig it the most.

(If you’re good, I *might* post the interview in its entirety. It’s a good rollick through their careers, and I had to cut a lot of it out to fit in the hour I have on “Headspace.”)

When I tell people that I hit the lottery when I met Manda, I’m not exaggerating. Not only did I wind up with the best wife possible, I got the best set of in-laws as well.

Trudy Fick did more than allow me to marry her daughter, and welcome me into her family. She was one of the most loving people I had ever met. Calling her my “mother-in-law” almost seems criminal, due to the stigma the term now carries.

The first time I met Trudy and John, they didn’t know Manda and I were engaged. So, at dinner, she asked if I like animals. “Well, dogs are fine, but I’m more of a cat person.” She responded, “Okay, you can marry my daughter.” She knew already.

We shared a love of baseball, and the Rangers. Each year, I made sure they got tickets to the Newberg Suite Night, and it was always a highlight. We would sit on the railing, sipping Shiner Bock, and look over at each other and giggle. “Wonder what the poor people are doing tonight?”

Trudy’s gone now. Her breast cancer came back with a vengeance last fall, and metastasized in her stomach and liver. She hadn’t been able to eat anything solid since Thanksgiving, and her strength was down to nil.

A surgery to install a feeding tube on Friday night went well, but she went into septic shock Saturday morning. She didn’t have the ability to fight it off, and now she’s gone.

My heart’s simply broken. Manda had virtually no time to prepare herself for this, and John is devastated. And, after losing my mother in 2004, and Scoot last July, it’s pretty tough for me as well.

I’ll miss you, Ma. We all will.

Trudy Fick, 57, passed away peacefully, Saturday, Jan. 10, 2009, surrounded by her loved ones.

Funeral: 10 a.m. Wednesday at Laurel Land Memorial Park of Fort Worth. Visitation: 6 to 8 p.m. Tuesday at Laurel Land Funeral Home.

Trudy was born Dec. 15, 1951, to Noel and Mildred Peterson Bills in Springfield, Mo. She graduated from Central High School in Springfield in 1969, where she excelled in her studies and work in the drama department. She also served as a proud member of the Kilties Drum and Bagpipe Corps.

Trudy began her extended education at Southwest Missouri State University and transferred to TCU and Brite Divinity School with a double major of English and religion education. Her studies were interrupted when she met John and they married in 1973. She returned to TCU night school and graduated in 1997, just ahead of her daughters.

Trudy was a resident of Everman for over 30 years and was a longtime member of University Christian Church in Fort Worth. Her optimism and determination made her a 19-year breast cancer survivor. Trudy was a dedicated and hardworking employee of Shelton Ogle Schools. She befriended everyone she met, and never met a cat she wouldn’t adopt.

Trudy loved her Lord and Savior, UCC, her family and work, genealogy research, cooking for her family, wild flowers, square dancing, bowling, supporting her daughters’ activities, her Cowboys, Rangers, Mavericks and Stars, TCU Horned Frogs, traveling around the country, the Ozark Mountains, and a special place called Hucky Puddle Beach.

She contributed to the community with years of service to the Everman PTA, Everman Girls Softball Association and the Everman Band Boosters.

With her sense of humor, and love of life, she will be missed immensely and remembered fondly by everyone who knew her. A kind and devoted wife, mother, sister, niece, aunt, friend and coworker, Trudy lived her faith in God and He continued to be with her at her journey’s end.

Trudy was preceded in death by her parents; beloved aunt, Sal; sister-in-law, Diane Marie Sherry; and brother-in-law, Ronnie Fick.

Survivors: Husband of 35 years, John Fick; daughters, ‘Manda and husband, Devin Pike of Aledo, and CWO2 Robyne Fick, stationed with the U.S. Army in Germany; her big brother, Bruce Bills and wife, Pat, of Roach, Mo.; her extended family, W.E. “Dunnie” Sherry and wife, Betsy, of Garland, Randy Fick of Fort Worth, Pat Tunmire and husband, Earl, of Rockwall, Rosie Archie and husband, Rick, of Fort Worth, David Sherry and wife, Tammy, of Mesquite; and many nieces and nephews.

I’ve remembered having really vivid dreams the last two nights. (While I’m fairly sure I have solid dreams each night, in the last few years I’ve had problems remembering them after waking.) Last night, I dreamt I was on a deep space voyage with a number of people I recognized from high school. We weren’t “astronauts,” per se, but just people on the trip. And the ship wasn’t really a “ship” as much as an apartment complex with a star drive on it. (Hey, you dream what you want, pal.)

I was moping about something, and found out two of the women were moving over to the Target instead of the living quarters. (Apparently, Target sponsored the voyage, so they branded the supplies section of the ship.) But I got pissed when I found out they would keep the temperature cooler than normal to conserve energy.

Now, before you start reading into this, note that I’m usually the last person to say, “Hey, turn up / down the thermostat.” I don’t think this has anything to do with feeling hot or cold… but who can really say?

There was a period in the late ’90s through the middle ’00s where I named my Macs after blaxploitation stars – Shaft, Superfly, Dolemite, et al.

From the looks of it, “Black Dynamite” might have been able to whump ALL their asses.

(This red band trailer is DEFINITELY not safe for work. Believe me.)