Maybe Couric is good fit at CBS

Last week I blogged about Katie Couric and how I didn't like CBS' decision to try her out as the host of its Evening News program.

Now I find myself eating my own words. I have watched the program via Internet clips and find the new format to be most pleasing. They even have clips of the news casts on the site so you can view them at your leisure.

No, CBS News did not pay me to retract my statement. I just jumped the gun a little bit, as we all do from time to time. I will admit that I think Couric is doing an admirable job in her new post. I never thought I would say that, but she is.

I also mentioned in my previous blog post that CBS should step it up a bit and go with more advanced methods of news broadcasting, e.g. blogs and online information.

And they have done that, too. So, CBS News, I say kudos to you. I think you have done a great job revamping the Evening News broadcast. And maybe you have a new fan.

Don't forget about the marching band

I can still smell the football field. It was hot and sticky-sweet, parched from months of brutal summer sunshine but holding on to a respectable shade of green. On an early August evening, we marched and played our notes with pride — heads up, shoulders back.

We, the Rivercrest High School Rebels, were the best marching band in East Texas Class AA, and without any intentional conceit, we knew it.

Our school wasn’t very large, no more than 250 students in high school and less than 50 in our high school band, but everyone took pride in our sweet sounds.

Leading up to the first football game of the year, the band practiced everyday after school, most of the time in brutal August heat.

It’s hard to describe what being in a marching band is like for those who’ve never done it. For one thing, it’s very difficult. You not only have to memorize music, but steps that fit into the counts of the music as well. Left, right, left. A flat, B, A, C, C. It requires perfect coordination, otherwise disaster strikes — wrong notes, uncoordinated steps and crooked lines.

In the summer heat, it’s especially hard to concentrate on complicated routines, but somehow you do it. It’s like any touring entertainment show: You learn your routine, perform it at home, then take it on the road and hope for the best.

I picked up my first trumpet in sixth grade, and my father, who has been a band director for more than 40 years, taught me everything I know. I was never forced into band, I wanted to do it because it looked fun. And it is fun.

I wish more people would realize how hard band students work to entertain the half-time crowds. Sadly, though, most people are visiting the concession stand or talking on their phones when the band takes the field.

I can say from experience that there’s nothing more heartbreaking to a band student than an unresponsive crowd. The band is just as much a part of a school’s pride and heart as the football, basketball, baseball and other teams. They work just as hard and learn just as many things, yet they get little recognition.

Whether you have a student in band or not, you should take time to listen to your school’s band this football season. You might be surprised at what can be heard and seen.

There’s nothing more visceral than a really good marching band, as every sense is tickled by notes and visuals. There are
bright colored flags that swirl and weave their way across the field, glitzy uniforms with plumed hats and button-down coats, and music — sweet music — that fills the thick night air, hanging over the bleachers before resting at the far corners of the stadium.

And when band students finish a show, there’s no better feeling than seeing the crowd erupt into applause. It’s at that very moment when, standing there, bright lights in your face, lips numb and exhausted, you know all of those hot summer afternoons paid off.

Wedding bell blues

I'm a reporter, but I have the misfortune of being the poor sap who types in the engagement and wedding announcements for my newspaper. It's a job no one wants to do, sort of like scraping the wads of gum out of urinals or from underneath restaurant tables.

It's dirty.

Today I hit the end of my rope with these buttery, syrupy, sickening tales of high-and-low-end weddings. It never fails — some debutant feels the need to describe every last detail of her wedding dress, even how her panties look as they are draped daintily over her butt cheeks, although no one can see. And they were her grandmother's panties — you know, the ones she wore at her wedding, and the same ones grandpa nearly ripped apart trying to get at grandma's goods.

And, of course, good ol' grandma had to sew a dozen pretty pink pearls right on the bottom so they'd stand out for her granddaugther's soon-to-be husband. Yes siree.

Then there are the announcements from people who could care less about how or when they got married; they just want their name in the paper.

One announcement today proclaimed that the couple is "Searching for a 2-to-3-bedroom home in town." No shame there. That same announcement gave way to at least three phone calls to the family to confirm the spelling of names like LaKenthia and Ka'Quishia. And at one point, the lady said, "It don't mattah, they married now anyways, so it don't mattah at-tall."

"OK," I said. "I'll do my best."

And that's what I always try to do.

Days like today make it hard to muddle through, knowing that I could be writing an important article for Vanity Fair or Rolling Stone, or going back to school to get my masters degree. Ahhh, it's good life experience, though. Right?

I also got a call today from a very cute sounding girl who wanted to know if our paper publishes gay and lesbian wedding announcements.

"I would if it were up to me," I told her. "But our paper's policy is that you have to have a marriage license."

Can you imagine if we printed a gay or lesbian wedding announcement in small-town South Arkansas? I'm sure someone would firebomb the office, or at least find me and hang me up by my toes on the courthouse lawn right by General Robert E. Lee's statue.

I'll bet Lee's wife never wore pearl-covered panties, though.

One small mis-step for man

NASA announced this week that it has misplaced one of its most cherished possessions: The first transmission tapes from the Apollo 11 moon landing mission.

The tapes include Neil Armstrong’s famous words, “That’s one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.” While there are many thousands of copies of the famous words and scenes from the moon, there’s something extra special about the originals.

And my question is, why were these priceless treasures not housed in a museum or at the national archive center?

I called NASA headquarters in Washington D.C. to try and find out more about this still developing story. A spokesman told me that to the best of his knowledge, NASA archivists are busily searching for the tapes at the Goddard Space Flight Center in Maryland, just outside of Washington D.C.

The spokesman said that a routine cleaning and inventory check showed the tapes were in fact missing from the collection — they weren’t where they were supposed to be, but they are “probably there somewhere,” he said.

That’s not very reassuring.

I’m big on history, and while old tapes filed away in a dusty room may not seem like much, everyone should realize that these tapes recorded the first-ever live transmission of a man on the moon.

These were the tapes that whirled around on massive recording machines throughout the world to catch the signal as the Earth rotated.

After the tapes were made, they were then immediately transferred to the proper format so millions of Americans could tune in to watch the broadcast.

I’m a little troubled at how dismissive NASA is being about the importance of these tapes. The spokesman told me, “It’s in the eye of the beholder. If the Smithsonian would want to display the reel behind glass, I don’t know.”

I stepped up my questioning a bit and asked the spokesman about the historic significance of the tapes.
He replied, “I don’t know. It’s like a first edition book, of course it’s important. The importance of having an original, and it’s impact. But there is no impact on the space program as it stands today, it’s just part of history.”

Indeed it is.

These tapes may not have any real scientific value, and most Americans may wonder why there’s such a fuss over their exact whereabouts, but to these people I say this:

Think of it as a home movie of your deceased loved ones, people you love and admire, but who are no longer here to share that love and affection with you.

While you have photos and other images of them, it would be nice to have an original piece of their historic lives. The tapes are as important as Lincoln’s stove-top hat or the Liberty Bell in Philadelphia.

They’re a part of who we are, and I hope that NASA can find them before they’re sold on eBAY.

Damn good taco

I've never written about food before, but after the tacos I made tonight, I just had to share the recipe.
I read an article once in the New York Times about "Traditional tacos." The kind you can't find at any restaurant unless you're on the West Coast — and they're most definitely not available at Taco Bell.
Here's what you do:


•Cut three full-sized tomatoes into small pieces, just like you'd do for fresh salsa.

•Mince three large cloves of garlic.

•Finely chop one jalapeno pepper, sans seeds.

•Chop one large purple onion (purple tastes better).

•Finely chop several bunches of cilantro (use to taste).

•Cut one lime in half, squeeze one of the halves into a container for later use.

•Combine everything together in a bowl, then pour the lime juice over it, mix with salt and let stand for 30 minutes.

•Sautee chicken or beef in an electric skilled (you can also grill the meat). I use Cavenders seasoning, along with garlic and the juice from the other half of the lime for seasoning. I also add a little cilantro in while I'm cooking the chicken.

•After the meat is ready, combine with pico de gayo in a regular taco shell and enjoy with shredded lettuce and cheese.

Goodbye, Mr. Eells

For those of you on my list who don't know Paul Eells, he was the voice of the Arkansas Razorbacks, and I admired him greatly, as did thousands, if not millions, of others. I wrote my column this week about him, and thought I would share it.

I looked at my radio yesterday and thought that maybe, just maybe, if I closed my eyes and turned the knob, I could hear Paul Eells calling a Razorback football game. But I knew it wasn’t true.

The silence was almost too much to bear.

For me, and likely thousands of others across this state, Razorback football will never be the same again. Not without those trademark “Touchdown Arkansas! Oh my!” exclamations, and the traditional, easygoing play-by-play calls that Eells made famous.

It’s hard to even look at a radio right now, knowing that Eells’ voice will never again be there, live and in person, as he was every Saturday in the fall.

The loss of Eells has deeply saddened the state this week. He died Monday evening in a head-on collision with Dover resident
Billie Jo Burton on Interstate 40 near Russellville. He was 70. Burton, 40, also died in the accident.

There was just something special about hearing Eells on the radio. Whenever the Hogs played on television, I always muted the volume and cranked up the ARSN radio broadcast so I could hear Eells’ comments and perspective.

No matter how bad the Hogs were doing that day, Eells’ voice always soothed the wounds. The man with a gentle, endearing smile was Arkansas’ prime minister of sports, as some news reports are saying, and I couldn’t agree more.

He was as kind in person as he was on the radio — always respectful and taking time to greet his fans. But he never had an ego; instead, he carried his popularity deep inside his pocket, far away from the shoulder that most celebrities prop theirs on.

I never had a chance to meet Eells, but I always saw him in downtown Little Rock going to and from the KATV building that sits just across from the Democrat-Gazette, where I worked for three years.

Meeting him one day was always a goal, and unfortunately it’s one I put off for too long. I had plenty of chances, as several of my friends worked at KATV at one time or another. They all told me how endearing he was and how welcome he made them feel. That was classic Paul Eells, thinking of others before himself.

When asked about his life spent in broadcasting, Eells would most always say that he was “at the tail-end of a mediocre career.” Mr. Eells, that couldn’t be further from the truth. You were truly a legend in this state, and everyone considered you to be at the top of your game.

You will be missed by everyone, including this reporter who knew you always gave it your best. And you did. You truly did.