- If that was the real M.C. Hammer on stage last Thursday night, I don't know what concert I was attending. How could my girl Ashley, twelve more friends, and anyone else within earshot unanimously agree that he bailed? I watched gyrating dancers freestyle one of his songs, while listening to a voice track, and I was sober. Yet others (although alcohol-influenced) tell me he was spotted. An urban myth in the making? Either I'm right or we had sight angles at the stage worse than a scalene triangle. See postscript below.
- Congratulations, American Idol fans. You just voted in the worst winner in the show's history in Taylor Hicks. I have nothing against him personally, but consider that his personality, that herky-jerky delivery, and his trademark moptop do not convey over the airwaves. Instead, your new champ will deliver another rousing rendition of the blues, which you snoozed through before he got famous. His limited vocal range will wear thin as the Billboard charts, last time I checked, were not riddled with anything resembling the "Soul Patrol." Call me a homer, but I think you know who should have won.
- I presented a story idea to the Charlotte.com staff to simply write about whom I think are the five hottest female bartenders in Charlotte. It's a simple strategy, really: Pictures will be mandatory as I sell out to a page-click ratings smash. What do you think? Post a reply below or email me.
- More Speed Street: Reader email expressed some disappointing behavior by bounce staff at the area's greater clubs, and a close friend of mine actually complained of the predictable traffic inconvenience and the appalling concept that a beer was five bucks. Rather than whine, I say: Get in line. Capacity crowds...a free event...you'd think they were crotchety old folks waxing nostalgic about the good ol' days. Take a chill pill and hug it out; would you rather we return to the ghost town?
- Climbing the ranks for best bar, pound for pound, in the city (proven tenure a plus)? Jackalope Jack's in the Elizabeth area. Cozy amenities like private booths and the torch-lit front deck, shuffleboard, billiards, karaoke, and an appreciation for casual attire (I once wore a swimsuit in there) merits little adverse criticism.
- Press releases: Fourth annual Y'allternative Rockfest Friday & Saturday, June 2nd & 3rd in the parking lot between Amos' Southend and The Gin Mill, two day pass for $15 (www.etix.com) or $10 at the door. Twelve band set includes Shadowflag and DMB cover band Two Step. Hard to beat the price... Info: meckdeckproductions@hotmail.com.
- 5th Annual 1st Ward Summer Kickoff Party Saturday, June 3 from 4-11 at Tivoli, 770 N. Davidson. $20 provides food, beverage & entertainment (DJ JD). Proceeds to benefit Kids First of the Carolinas.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
Hammer Mime?
Well, since you asked....
Monday, May 22, 2006
Takin' it to the Speed Streets
We were not in competition, but I think my tailgate trumped Saturday night's Nextel All-Star Challenge.
Organized for the second year in a row, fellow drinking buddies' attendance quintupled last year's headcount and extended our tailgate hours, along with our waistlines, thanks to coolers of cheap beer.
What began as a last-minute excuse last year, one car of diehards now blossomed into a four-car convoy to Lowe's Motor Speedway, and a pre-purchased block of some of the cheapest seats available. Admittedly, it wasn't about the race, which ended up an afterthought.
So while Jimmie Johnson soaked himself in a victory here that's become patterned behavior, we preferred the refreshing shower that pushed back race times and forced us under tents and SUV trunk lids.
Race fans threw chicken bones. We threw bean bags at Cornhole, the latest tailgate craze. They listened to the Red Hot Chili Peppers perform an abbreviated set. We listened to four hours of commercial-free XM radio, and danced in the grass.
The Challenge has its flaws. Interruptions between the heats are a buzzkill, and the shortened segments leave little room to allow a driver to adapt and recover. Plus, every race every weekend is an all-star event, anyway.
It's a meaningless competition except for the million dollar payday, so I say make them prove they're a better driver (and athlete, or so they say), pure and simple. Suggested concept for my "NEILSCAR" All-Star event:
Segment one: Two laps in tricycles, chugging a beer every time they pass go, with a pit stop on lap two to change the big tire. Ah, Revenge of the Nerds comes to mind.
Segment two: One lap three-legged foot race, with their crew chief in tow. Yes, I realize it's a mile and a half, but they're athletes, remember?
Segment three: Seed the field according to the results of the first two, and give 'em go-karts for an all-out five lap race, with wrecking encouraged.
Now tell me you wouldn't pay for that. Actually, you may not have to; we were never ticketed at the gate this year.
***************
There's never been a better cornball lineup for this week's Speed Street stage events; if M.C. Hammer, REO Speedwagon, Twisted Sister, Stephen Pearcy (formerly of Ratt), and somebody called Your Mama's Big Fat Booty Band doesn't entice you to attend a free concert, then show up for nothing more than the bags of free useless crap you can swipe from participating sponsors.
A year's supply of Advil was welcome, but the travel-size deodorant sold me on why not to buy their product.
As I recently reported on the demise of the CityFest street concert series (moving to the N.C. Music Factory on the other side of downtown), this is your alternative. Lose the striped shirt and the usual urban pretenses; an opportunity presents itself to let your hair down.
Well, maybe just a little dab of gel will do.
Reach Bryan. Join his friends list on Myspace. Other suggested NEILSCAR events? Post a reply.
Organized for the second year in a row, fellow drinking buddies' attendance quintupled last year's headcount and extended our tailgate hours, along with our waistlines, thanks to coolers of cheap beer.
What began as a last-minute excuse last year, one car of diehards now blossomed into a four-car convoy to Lowe's Motor Speedway, and a pre-purchased block of some of the cheapest seats available. Admittedly, it wasn't about the race, which ended up an afterthought.
So while Jimmie Johnson soaked himself in a victory here that's become patterned behavior, we preferred the refreshing shower that pushed back race times and forced us under tents and SUV trunk lids.
Race fans threw chicken bones. We threw bean bags at Cornhole, the latest tailgate craze. They listened to the Red Hot Chili Peppers perform an abbreviated set. We listened to four hours of commercial-free XM radio, and danced in the grass.
The Challenge has its flaws. Interruptions between the heats are a buzzkill, and the shortened segments leave little room to allow a driver to adapt and recover. Plus, every race every weekend is an all-star event, anyway.
It's a meaningless competition except for the million dollar payday, so I say make them prove they're a better driver (and athlete, or so they say), pure and simple. Suggested concept for my "NEILSCAR" All-Star event:
Segment one: Two laps in tricycles, chugging a beer every time they pass go, with a pit stop on lap two to change the big tire. Ah, Revenge of the Nerds comes to mind.
Segment two: One lap three-legged foot race, with their crew chief in tow. Yes, I realize it's a mile and a half, but they're athletes, remember?
Segment three: Seed the field according to the results of the first two, and give 'em go-karts for an all-out five lap race, with wrecking encouraged.
Now tell me you wouldn't pay for that. Actually, you may not have to; we were never ticketed at the gate this year.
***************
There's never been a better cornball lineup for this week's Speed Street stage events; if M.C. Hammer, REO Speedwagon, Twisted Sister, Stephen Pearcy (formerly of Ratt), and somebody called Your Mama's Big Fat Booty Band doesn't entice you to attend a free concert, then show up for nothing more than the bags of free useless crap you can swipe from participating sponsors.
A year's supply of Advil was welcome, but the travel-size deodorant sold me on why not to buy their product.
As I recently reported on the demise of the CityFest street concert series (moving to the N.C. Music Factory on the other side of downtown), this is your alternative. Lose the striped shirt and the usual urban pretenses; an opportunity presents itself to let your hair down.
Well, maybe just a little dab of gel will do.
Reach Bryan. Join his friends list on Myspace. Other suggested NEILSCAR events? Post a reply.
Monday, May 15, 2006
Cat Fight
Here, kitty kitty.
In the land of Panthers and Bobcats, a different kind of feline is stalking its prey. Watch as the elder female observes from afar, a twinkle in her eye, a slight crook in the corner of her mouth as her pulse quickens with the sight of perhaps the night’s first kill.
She attacks not with her claws; she’s armed with her checkbook.
In the dating game’s latest ironic twist, it’s the women getting the last laugh as the sophisticated, forty-something gal, either fresh off her divorce or buried in her career, is scooping up the twenty-something male for a little no-strings fun.
Adopting the phrase “cougar hunting,” its origins appear to be purring in the Manhattan bar scene, perhaps influenced by the ladies of “Sex and the City” fresh off its recent series finale.
Think: “Samantha, I’d like to introduce you to the cast of ‘Entourage.’” Or Demi’s playful assault on Ashton.
What used to be reserved for the silvery-haired gentleman, trading up his significant other for the younger model, is a confident lass who’s showing a little age, often surgically enhanced. She’s sporting that cleavage-bearing leopard skin top, a reward for the two hours a day she’s recently spent in the gym.
And she’s not interested in a relationship, thank you very much. She’s doing just fine, and as a cougar, hunting big game is her sport. The young cub, intrigued by the opportunity to experiment with experience, finds her maturity a refreshing alternative to the exhausting effort of peer dating. She just offered to buy him a drink, to boot.
The web has embraced the concept; a sponsored link on Google, www.idateacougar.com, runs its own message board tribute. Other sites like http://www.urbancougar.com/ even “scientifically” catalog the species into a phylum and a genus that equates the girl to a specific make of car.
Even her prey usually meets stereotypical classifications: The Junior Banker, The Frat Boy, The Friend’s Younger Brother, and in a classy appreciation of our understaffed border patrol, The Latino Gardner.
The cougars stalk our streets. They take prisoners. Welcome!
Without further adieu, several stops on the Urban Crawl offer the opportunity to stalk the respective parties, usually huddled in the masses for safety. Best bet? Go alone. And be afraid. Be very afraid.
Zink. This Harper’s-based concept, usually hosting the proverbial “girls’ night out,” tucks a respectable bar area behind its outdoor Tryon Street side patio. Even lazy weeknights bring out the after-work crowd, already dressed to impress. There are no bachelorette parties here—remember the age requirements—these girls come to play.
Village Tavern. SouthPark’s legendary outdoor concrete deck, oblivious to time, still puts hundreds on the terrace for weekly live acoustic, contemporary cuisine, and martinis. The safe, corporate crowd alone is an easy mix of the age gap primed for a cougar’s delicacy.
Capital Grille. Adjacent to Zink, the home of the best filet mignon in Charlotte also boasts one of the most exclusive bars in the city. Expect vice president-quality cougar and the junior exec that has no idea that his loosened tie and crumpled sleeve cuffs just made the pack squirm.
Mac’s Speed Shop. This lunchtime barbecue joint near South End makes no mistake after hours with a biker bar appeal just tawdry enough to attract even the “Trans Am;” urbancougar.com’s cataloging of the cigarette smoking, stone-washed Monday night barfly. Or, to borrow a buddy’s phrase, “trailer park hot.”
Blue. The hands-down frontrunner, accentuated by its weekend jazz, is quite simply the cougar mecca. There might as well be a room full of gazelles with Buckhead Saloon’s overflow potential. Owner Alex Myrick’s refined appeal, and his mean harmonica skills, create the perfect harmonious environment for the catty pursuits.
I’m in my thirties; although not immune to their pounce, I’d like to think this column passes the torch. Good luck, boys.
Reach Bryan. All emails will be answered. Join his Myspace friends list.
In the land of Panthers and Bobcats, a different kind of feline is stalking its prey. Watch as the elder female observes from afar, a twinkle in her eye, a slight crook in the corner of her mouth as her pulse quickens with the sight of perhaps the night’s first kill.
She attacks not with her claws; she’s armed with her checkbook.
In the dating game’s latest ironic twist, it’s the women getting the last laugh as the sophisticated, forty-something gal, either fresh off her divorce or buried in her career, is scooping up the twenty-something male for a little no-strings fun.
Adopting the phrase “cougar hunting,” its origins appear to be purring in the Manhattan bar scene, perhaps influenced by the ladies of “Sex and the City” fresh off its recent series finale.
Think: “Samantha, I’d like to introduce you to the cast of ‘Entourage.’” Or Demi’s playful assault on Ashton.
What used to be reserved for the silvery-haired gentleman, trading up his significant other for the younger model, is a confident lass who’s showing a little age, often surgically enhanced. She’s sporting that cleavage-bearing leopard skin top, a reward for the two hours a day she’s recently spent in the gym.
And she’s not interested in a relationship, thank you very much. She’s doing just fine, and as a cougar, hunting big game is her sport. The young cub, intrigued by the opportunity to experiment with experience, finds her maturity a refreshing alternative to the exhausting effort of peer dating. She just offered to buy him a drink, to boot.
The web has embraced the concept; a sponsored link on Google, www.idateacougar.com, runs its own message board tribute. Other sites like http://www.urbancougar.com/ even “scientifically” catalog the species into a phylum and a genus that equates the girl to a specific make of car.
Even her prey usually meets stereotypical classifications: The Junior Banker, The Frat Boy, The Friend’s Younger Brother, and in a classy appreciation of our understaffed border patrol, The Latino Gardner.
The cougars stalk our streets. They take prisoners. Welcome!
Without further adieu, several stops on the Urban Crawl offer the opportunity to stalk the respective parties, usually huddled in the masses for safety. Best bet? Go alone. And be afraid. Be very afraid.
Zink. This Harper’s-based concept, usually hosting the proverbial “girls’ night out,” tucks a respectable bar area behind its outdoor Tryon Street side patio. Even lazy weeknights bring out the after-work crowd, already dressed to impress. There are no bachelorette parties here—remember the age requirements—these girls come to play.
Village Tavern. SouthPark’s legendary outdoor concrete deck, oblivious to time, still puts hundreds on the terrace for weekly live acoustic, contemporary cuisine, and martinis. The safe, corporate crowd alone is an easy mix of the age gap primed for a cougar’s delicacy.
Capital Grille. Adjacent to Zink, the home of the best filet mignon in Charlotte also boasts one of the most exclusive bars in the city. Expect vice president-quality cougar and the junior exec that has no idea that his loosened tie and crumpled sleeve cuffs just made the pack squirm.
Mac’s Speed Shop. This lunchtime barbecue joint near South End makes no mistake after hours with a biker bar appeal just tawdry enough to attract even the “Trans Am;” urbancougar.com’s cataloging of the cigarette smoking, stone-washed Monday night barfly. Or, to borrow a buddy’s phrase, “trailer park hot.”
Blue. The hands-down frontrunner, accentuated by its weekend jazz, is quite simply the cougar mecca. There might as well be a room full of gazelles with Buckhead Saloon’s overflow potential. Owner Alex Myrick’s refined appeal, and his mean harmonica skills, create the perfect harmonious environment for the catty pursuits.
I’m in my thirties; although not immune to their pounce, I’d like to think this column passes the torch. Good luck, boys.
Reach Bryan. All emails will be answered. Join his Myspace friends list.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
Drinko de Mayo
Taking this photograph was breathtaking; I swear I could have swept my hand on the horse's hide, while watching my money horse bringing up the rear.
Saturday's annual Queen's Cup Steeplechase, the region's complement to the upcoming Kentucky Derby, could not have gone better. The two and a half mile course, a grand display of turf and rolling landscape, literally dripped in sunshine and lived up to "fire ant-free" as advertised.
For Urban Crawlers, it was all about the Crest, an elevated tailgate for the poor man enjoying nearly a complete circumferential view of the course (the horse's ran two laps per race) for oh, about $125 per parking space.
Our two kegs of beer, a gas grill, and a circumferential view of the lovely ladies clad in their best spring gear (those hats were atrocious, though) was well worth the money I didn't spend. I was fortunate to accept an invite--from my accountant Jim Powderly--on his sponsored investment.
As usual, the odds were not in my favor; I had no horse in this fight all afternoon, and parted ways with about fifty bucks that could have subsidized one of those kegs.
By day's end, a perfect farmer's tan, a loss of beer count, and grass stains on my linen pants was all I had to show.
They'll be clean by next year.
***************
Although Cinco de Mayo's ill-timed Friday event may be overshadowed by the usual weekend crowds, there's still plenty of opportunity to celebrate this Mexican holiday while the country stews over illegal immigration.
Recommended celebrating:
- Lazyday.com bar crawl (aren't they always worth it?) starts at Dixie's 7:30 pm.
- Cantina 1511 (East Blvd.), which was featured last year. Parking lot is roped off for Simplified (live entertainment), post-show DJ, giveaways every half-hour.
- La Paz (South End) Mexican Olympics, parking deck rooftop live band (Special Purpose), $3 Corona, 16 oz. Bud Light, $3.50 house margaritas, $4 Cuervo Gold shots
- Salsa's (6676 Carmel Rd) This irresistable little hideway in Carmel Commons shopping center will stay open late, offer a DJ, and well, has some of the best salsa I've eaten here. $12.99 Mexican beer buckets, $2.25 individuals, $2.99 Cuervo margaritas.
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