It’s only Wednesday, and already this week has provided us an interesting look at what Jim Schutze, the face of the Dallas Observer, is capable of. On Monday, he showed us that he’s capable of looking like a lazy mope (his new favorite word) with a bad case of class envy. Then, yesterday, he showed us that he’s capable of kicking some ass.
Ranker.com brings us the list. My fave is No. 8.
I’m not sure I understand. Here’s the deal: Wonkette.com picked up an article in the Houston Chronicle about Rick Perry’s apparently lackluster charitable giving to churches and religious organizations. I get the angle – if you’re going to hold prayer breakfasts and really identify as a Christian, it would be good if your charitable giving year-to-year at least matched the national average for his tax bracket.
But the math. The math is what is making me scratch my head. Now, granted, I became a journalist because math and I are not BFFs. But here’s my issue – the figure they used for 2008 Â is, by their ownÂ admission, not counting a raise that the legislature awarded Perry and he decided to give to charity. Now, I admit I am not a huge fan of Rick Perry. But I don’t understand why you wouldn’t include a bump in his charitable giving, even if it wasn’t there the year before, and it was reduced in the next year.
The other head scratcher? Perry’s camp turned down an interview about his tithing.Â ”He never talks about his faith,” Perry spokesman Mark Miner said.
Come to think of it, I should probably have called FrontRow’s latest film series “Dallas, Mavericks, and the American Dream,” but it doesn’t quite have the same ring to it. Regardless, since we will all likely be nursing beers beginning at about 10 a.m. tomorrow morning, what better way to celebrate our city’s newest heroes than celebrating two of our city’s greatest anti-heroes? We will screen Arthur Penn’s groundbreaking shoot ‘em up romance, Bonnie and Clyde, tomorrow evening at the Kessler Theater in Oak Cliff. Plus, music in the Kessler bar before the show. Come throw some back with us.
What do they think about Texas in New York City? You don’t even need to read what the New Yorker scribe posted. (Though here’s a taste: “Yes, Perry wears more cowboy gear than a six-year-old boy on Halloween. Yes, he straps on his laser-sighted, hollow-point-bullet-loaded pistol whenever he goes jogging. Yes, he blew away a coyote that was supposedly ‘menacing his puppy’ and left the bloody carcass for other joggers to trip over. (No word on whether he scooped the puppy poop.) But however ‘colorful’ this sort of thing might appear from a Manhattan perspective, it is apparently normal, or nearly so, in the Lone Star State.”) Just look at the photo they chose of Rick Perry. [hanging head in shame]
Mark Cuban is anÂ abrasive, if lovable owner who deeply involves himself in the inner workings of his team and is willing to invest in talent. Jerry Jones is an impossible, if dopey owner who deeply involves himself in the inner workings of his team and is willing to invest in talent. Both have won the big prize. Both have led their franchise through many winning seasons. From my estimation, we love the Cubes. We hate the Jones. Why? Discuss.
(For my own part, I can’t stand Jones’ voice, the way he uses words, and the sense that he tries to make when he speaks.)
This picture runs on the front page of the sport section today. Look for the two handsome headless fellows — one arms crossed, the other akimbo — in the upper right-hand corner. Mission accomplished!
DeShawn, DeShawn, DeShawn. If you’re going to drink too much and not know where you are, travel with a buddy, buddy. One that will tell you where you are. Or pin a note on your shirt before you go out for the night, that says, “I am DeShawn Stevenson, and I live at ….”
And if you do decide to get drunk and wander a neighborhood, pick one in Dallas. I’m pretty sure that anyone over here would’ve been cool enough to invite you in, sober you up, and let you sleep it off.
Tomorrow would have been Tupac Shakur’s 40th birthday – you know, if he hadn’t been gunned down at the age of 25. Dallas’ own Erykah Badu will perform at a memorial concert in Atlanta tomorrow. The logo for said concert makes me giggle. How about you?
It has come to my attention that there was a giant oversight in yesterday’s post. I forgot to mention that Boromir, AKA Sean Bean, got stabbed in a bar fight on Sunday night. In my ideal world, he would have gasped “They took the little ones” before ordering another drink. But what really happened is that he just ordered another drink. Still. What a boss.
Today starts off with a tragedy, event wise. I’d been looking forward to Adele’s concert at the House of Blues for, I don’t know, forever and eight days. I got even more excited about it after I saw her Tiny Desk concert in February, during which she lets out the most inelegant, honking laugh I’ve ever heard right after completely destroying everyone with “Someone Like You.” It’s awesome. But now that she’s had to cancel the rest of her tour due to laryngitis, my Wednesday evening feels kind of…holey. If you’d planned to go, House of Blues recommends you hold on to your tickets until she announces a new date.
Luckily, there’s another high-profile singer in town. Ben Folds is reprising his 2009 performance with the Dallas Symphony Orchestra, banging away at the piano and singing his cute little heart out. I was actually a little late to the Ben Folds game, and my introduction only came when I got really mad at a friend in high school. He thought I was being stupid, and expressed his opinion by sending me this song. We made up pretty quickly after that. I was surprised to find that there are still tickets left for tonight– but they’re single seats only. A few are really close together, though, so if you’re going as a pair, be on the lookout for those.
A pic from Brian Cuban’s Twitter stream. The brother of Mark writes: “The Larry O’Brien Trophy. Don’t go to the bathroom without it.”
A baseball-loving FrontBurnervian alerts us to the fact that the Rangers have a young farmhand by the name of Smerling Lantigua. He suggests we begin working on the jokes now so that we’ll have them ready in few year’s time when the lad might perhaps make it to The Show.
Readers of the magazine know Pamela Gwyn Kripke’s byline. Over the past few years, she’s written a bunch of stuff for us. Cool lady, talented writer. I always like getting her copy because I know it won’t need any serious work on my part. She’ll have done it already.
But here’s the thing. Pam doesn’t like Dallas. She has lived here for 12 years. Now she’s done. And she has already picked the date of her return to New York: November 30, 2015.
She wrote an essay for the Huffington Post explaining herself. It’s good. I suggest you read it.
250,000 Expected For Mavericks’ Championship Parade Thursday. The upshot of all this is: I’m not getting anything done until next week.
American Airlines Plane Hits Bird During Takeoff. Actually, a lot of birds. It returned to DFW Airport.
Eight Public Pools Could be Closed. “News of the budget crises is making a splash at Dallas’ public pools.” I see what you did there, Debbie Denmon.