Truce

My yearlong battle with Prince may be over (see our End of Summer Music Review), thanks to his cover of Radiohead's "Creep" at the Coachella Valley Music and Arts Festival Saturday.
It feels really good. Like makeup sex.
Thanks to my pal, Jenny, for hipping me to the video.



Watch it soon, because his henchmen are bound to have it removed from every portal, including our memories. He has that power.

I gotta dance

Gregory Hines, 1946-2003

It was while bringing up the rear of an eight-person conga line in a strip mall on a Tuesday night that I realized my career as a professional dancer would once again be derailed.
When I was a kid, I had the difficult and fleeting dream of being a tap dancer. The late Gregory Hines was a big star at the time and I thought because we shared the same name we might share some talent connection as well. But growing up in rural Iowa, there were not a lot of opportunities or encouragement for male tap dancers.
I have a very clear memory of going to the mall one weekend and seeing kids from a local dance school performing. I was wowed by how many cute girls took dancing lessons, but then the school's one boy student came prancing on stage in a shimmery, male figure skater-like outfit, and although he was great, I knew I would forever choose hoops and hightops over sequins and spangles.
About 12 years later and much more comfortable in my hetero-ness, my dancing dream was reignited when I saw how many cute girls were taking tap classes in college. So, in the spring semester of my senior year, I registered for Beginning Tap. Fortunately for all those cute girls, I had to drop the class when I realized I needed to take Spanish, not the Tango, to graduate on time.
Even without professional training, I’ve always considered myself something of a maestro on the dance floor. At clubs, weddings and parties, I earned a reputation for having moves uncommonly smooth and funky for an American caucasian male. My style was freestyle. A cross between James Brown and Bobby Brown, with a little bit of the robot thrown in for good measure.
I had style.
I had grace.
I was the funkiest dude in the place.
Then, I got married. There was no more reason to strut around the dancefloor like a peacock. I had secured my bird by doing “The Bird” like Morris Day. The only grinding left for me to do was on my morning coffee beans.
The problem is my wife likes to dance, just not with me. She says I don't really know any of the steps. I just try to show off how slick I am. And she's right.
So, for her 30th birthday, I thought it would be a sweet surprise to buy her a package of dance lessons at the esteemed Arthur Murray School Dance. We could learn the steps together and I could finally see if I had what it takes to be as cool as Gregory Hines.
Dancing is much harder than it looks. It's all 1-2-3-4, 1-2-3-4, rock-step, spin, twist, turn. I had a hard time being confined by that rigid structure. I needed to break free into the snake, the cabbage patch, the Roger Rabbit, etc. My wife told me to stop, but our instructor, a skinny little guy with a heavy accent, understood my need for variety.
"Eats alike, you alike dee hambooger," he said, "buh you kahn't half dee hambooger everyday."
Exactly.
By the end of our lessons, we had received a pretty good introduction to the waltz, rhumba, swing, merengue and the hustle. Our package concluded with a brief "party" where we got to dance with a few older couples and some other lonelyhearts in beginning classes. We all did our still unsteady steps in the strip mall studio, with disco ball spinning above. The instructors led us through something like a Soul Train line, which I loved, and into a conga line, which I hated.
My hands kept slipping off the meaty shoulders of the woman in front of me. I fell off rhythm. I put my left foot in, when they put their right foot out.
With disco lights shining all around, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and saw Gregory Van De Voorde, not Gregory Hines, and I wanted a hambooger.

The Nicholas Brothers, the greatest of all time

Layoffs, rappers, dancers, singers and kid

Can You Dig It? hasn't been in the blogging mood lately.
It's not that he's lost his cunning, third-rate linguistical skills or his desire to bore you in third person. He's just been busy.
In the three weeks since his last dispatch, he's been trying to figure out how to not get released early from his company (and when he says "his" he means the one he works for, not a company of his very own), which is closing in June. He will not be able to provide further comment on the subject due to some legal and contractual issues. No, seriously.
He also took his old butt out on a Tuesday night to see his boys Tanya Morgan perform right here in Greenville. He's proud to report the night was a much bigger success than the Asheville show last November. There was time for beer and a couple of photos.











Top, Von Pea and Illyas; below, Donwill in my grille

There were also two nights of intensive study with his wife at the Arthur Murrary School of Dance. More on that to come next week.
Now, he's just home listening to his new girlfriend's CD, She & Him Vol. 1. You might like it. Terry Gross does.
Then, there's this kid. She freaked out on her first trip to Chuck E. Cheese's when the 6-foot rat came out for his meet and greet with the public. Now, she's putting buckets and panties on her head.

A call to action

Today, in anticipation of St. Patrick's Day, I called the McDonald's down the street from my office to make sure they're selling the Shamrock Shakes. Here's how it went down:
"Hello, McDonald's on Woodruff."
"Hey, howyadoing? I was wondering if you guys are selling the Shamrock Shakes."
"No. We're not."
"You're not?"
"No, ma'am. We're not."
I had a feeling this would happen, so I had the number ready for the local McDonald's corporate office. It was "disconnected or no longer in service," which I've always kind of felt was redundant, but the point is that McDonald's is dumb. They're selling freaking McFrappuccinos now, so they feel they can just turn their back on the Shamrock Shake? That's just bad business.
If it's a money thing, McDonald's, forget about providing free wireless access in your restaurant. I promise, I will never use it. I just want a green ice cream novelty treat available during the month of March.
And if you're listening, for the last five years or so I haven't been inside a McDonald's to do anything but pee on roadtrips, but I swear if you put the Shamrock Shake and the McJordan back on the menu, I'll be there every other day.


Friends, please visit this link my coworker, Phi Zeroth, discovered today, and sign the petition. While you're at it, read up on Uncle O'Grimacey, the Irish uncle of Grimace, but I guess you probably figured that out already.
Happy St. Patrick's Day.

Riunite on ice, that's nice

I was trolling the grocery store wine selection tonight and spotted a bottle of that rare varietal, Riunite Lambrusco. For the next three hours I was singing their magical jingle, "Riunite on ice, Riunite on ice."
Thank God for Youtube, which provided the following flashbacks to a world where work hard/play harder twenty&thirtysomethings weren't afraid to water down their shit wine with ice cubes while hitting the slopes and enjoying burgers.

"Tacos Go Nice"


"Juggling on the Slopes"


"Home Run"

For immediate release

Sweet victory

The ninth annual Van De Voorde Oscar Smackdown ended late Sunday with another victory by the family patriarch.
In a down year for viewing nominated films, Papa Van De Voorde -- known the world over as the Jack Nicholson/Meryl Streep/Roberto Benigni of Oscar prognosticating -- correctly picked 11 out of 24 categories to edge out Old Lady Van De Voorde (on her 30th birthday, no less), who managed a paltry 10 correct picks.
"It was a great night for Oscar and a great night for me," said the victorious Van De Voorde. "Earlier in the day, I toyed with the idea of throwing the competition just so I wouldn't have to hear her whine about being old and a loser. But I came to my senses and realized this was too grand a stage and I owed it to my fans and the Academy to give it my all and embarrass her."
For the first time in Van De Voorde Oscar Smackdown history, a third place award was presented Sunday. Mrs. Van De Voorde's sister, Alejandra, brought up the rear with four correct picks.
"You can't really make fun of her for how bad she did," said the always gracious Van De Voorde. "She's been out of the country for most of the year."
The participants were awarded prize packages coordinated by Mrs. Van De Voorde. The grand prize winner received a $5 pair of sunglasses, a box of Lemonheads (which the winner traded for the second place box of Charleston Chews) and a copy of the film Knocked Up.
Second place received a movie journal and third place was presented with a "High School Musical 2" wide-ruled notebook.
This was the first victory for the elder Van De Voorde in two years, having previously lost the 2007 and 2008 Grammy Challenge, and last year's Oscar Smackdown. He picked up a minor victory in between the 2008 award competitions by winning a bet that Beyonce did win a Golden Globe last year for Dreamgirls. He's still awaiting delivery of his pedicure to be performed by Mrs. Van De Voorde.

Mr. Van De Voorde's Road to Victory:
*Actor: Daniel Day-Lewis
*Actor Supporting: Javier Bardem
*Animated Feature: Ratatouille
*Cinematography: There Will Be Blood
*Directing: No Country for Old Men
*Film Editing: The Bourne Ultimatum
*Original Score: Atonement
*Original Song: "Falling Slowly" from Once
*Sound Editing: The Bourne Ultimatum
*Screenplay (Adapted): No Country for Old Men
*Screenplay (Original): Juno

My friend Steve

If this column were a novel, I’d dedicate it to Steve Biondo.
I was saddened to learn that my former colleague in the Laurens County press corps died Jan. 22 after a battle with respiratory problems. Steve was a great talent and – people say it all the time – “just the nicest guy you’d ever want to meet.”
During my five years on the beat with The Clinton Chronicle, I had the unfortunate opportunity to spend a lot of time with Biondo. It was unfortunate only because I think we both would rather have been somewhere other than a government meeting, waiting for an executive session to end, or a new business ribbon cutting, waiting for the giant golden shears to arrive. But it was during this downtime on the job that Steve and I got a chance to know each other.
Mostly, it was just chitchat. “How about this weather?” “How’s the family?” “Any big plans for the weekend?” And he was a good person to chitchat with.
Then one post-Oscar ceremony Monday morning we discovered each other to be film buffs and that opened up a whole new world of conversation while we waited for Jim Coleman or Randy Randall to pound the gavel.
This type of collegiality isn’t necessarily rare in the cutthroat, competitive journalism market that is Laurens County, but sometimes when you think you’re the only guy who’s getting the story and you see one of your competitors show up for the same interview, you can get a little miffed. With Steve, there was never any competitive posturing. He was glad to see me and I was glad to see him.
Early on in my tenure at The Chronicle I was introduced to the type of guy Steve Biondo was. We had both been summoned early one morning to Torrington because then Gov. Jim Hodges was going to tour the facility and talk to a group of employees about job training and troubles in the state’s economy. It was going to be exciting. I had never covered a governor’s visit before.
When we arrived, we were told by the genius Torrington gatekeepers that we wouldn’t be allowed in to see the governor. So, we sat there for a long time waiting. I was mad. “My Dad works here and you’re not going to let us in? What about the First Amendment?”
Steve just chuckled.
Finally, the governor emerged from his secret meeting and I got a couple quick and bogus quotes from him about something. In my haste, I forgot to snap a photo of him for that thing we publish called a newspaper. It was a mistake and Daddy Franklin put me on punishment for it. It was a bad, bad feeling.
A couple of days later, I saw Steve at another meeting. He handed me a photograph he took of me grilling the governor outside of Torrington with my notepad in one hand and a camera (with lens cap on) in the other. “I thought you might like to have this,” he said.
I didn’t want it at the time. It was a permanent, full color record of one of my dumbest moments on the job, but I was glad that Steve would think to give it to me. My wife put in a scrapbook.
Later in our careers, Steve published two historical fiction novels he wrote about South Carolina Civil War legend Manse Jolly. I was proud of him and genuinely inspired. If Steve, who covered all the same meetings I covered, was able to find the time to write a book, then why couldn’t I? There were days, I’m sure, that Steve and I spent more time together as reporters for rival newspapers than we did with our families, but if he ever complained, I didn’t hear him.
This is what I’ll remember him for, and this Sunday, I’ll watch the Academy Award winners say their thank-yous at the Oscars and I’ll think about how thankful I am that I go to know Steve Biondo.