DalTxHornFan

How much would 28,000 daily Ubers cost, especially if some of them carpooled? What a farce the COA has created!

OK -- make them throw strikes?

There are many good reasons why I am not the Texas baseball coach. But in a tournament, especially, why do you not make the opposing pitcher throw pitches? So many swings at first pitches or swings that are early in the count. Coach Gus would not be happy.

I was a band guy back in the day. I never told my parents about concerts. They only heard about the concerts from the other parents after the fact. Parents were pissed. Life goes on.

Healed.

Nicole? Casting call here:

Hated that 1983 NCAA Basketball Final. Fixed -- IDK. Not out the realm of possibility.

Long lost brother? I'm not sure exactly when all of that stuff started happening. Then one day...I noticed.

https://web.archive.org/web/20230522201729/https://www.houstonchronicle.com/lifestyle/article/john-nova-lomax-writer-houston-texas-dies-18088579.php John Nova Lomax, who documented Houston and Texas stories for decades, dies at 53 Harriet Lomax ANDREW DANSBY May 22, 2023Updated: May 22, 2023 2:10 p.m. Comments In a city where sidewalks are often a decorative formality, John Nova Lomax walked hundreds of miles of them. He journeyed for his Sole of Houston series of stories in which he and musician David Beebe ventured to all corners of our city, stopping in places most of us blitz past in our vehicles, to present a more panoramic view of this sprawling urban area. In a go-go town, Lomax coveted a slower and reflective pace. He told Houston stories that otherwise would have gone untold, a Sig Byrd for the 21st century. Within the state, his work appeared in the Houston Press, Texas Monthly, Houstonia and Texas Highways, offering a perspective that balanced reverence and skepticism. His connection to the city felt natural, symbiotic and whole. He understood Houston’s history, its eccentricities, its excesses and its deficiencies. MORE ON JOHN NOVA LOMAX: Folklore is the family tradition with 'Lomax on Lomax' Lomax wrote books on dive bars and crime in Houston. His writing over the past 20 years was an outgrowth of the family business. Lomax was a seventh-generation Texan. He was also a fourth-generation documentarian in a family of famed folklorists, musicologists and writers. Lomax died early on May 22, according to family. He was 53. writer John Nova Lomax credit: Craig D. LindseyCraig D. Lindsey Whether covering crime or culture, streets or songs, Lomax overturned all stones. He flipped those in his own life, too. His “Of Unknown Origin,” a 2013 story for Houstonia, was a devastating piece of writing and reportage about a defining mystery at the center of his own life: the volatile life and early death of his mother. “At various times she will be addicted to codeine and heroin and methadone,” he wrote in the story’s introduction. “To support her drug habits she will enlist her third-grade son in ever more brazen shoplifting schemes, and then almost kill him after drunkenly setting fire to his bedroom. She will stab her husband and lose her children to foster care, and the darkness won’t end until her body is torn to pieces by a car on Interstate 40, as she’s trying to dash across it in the wee hours of a November morning.” She left a space in his life that never got filled, but his attempts to do so — to make sense of our cultural doings — were treasures for readers and friends. He possessed a pressing curiosity about the machinations of people and culture. He also felt deeply. At times, it allowed him to tell others’ stories of struggles. His writing always appeared effortless, even when it carried some toll. His investigative inclination sent Lomax in search of Doug Supernaw, an early ‘90s country superstar who grew up in the Houston area. Supernaw’s career derailed and his health followed. Lomax’s attempts to track down the singer required patience and days spent staking out a bar he heard the singer frequented. The story of Supernaw’s rise and fall earned him a prestigious Deems Taylor Award from ASCAP. He didn’t always have to search for the stories. Sometimes they found him. In his book “Houston’s Best Dive Bars,” he described driving to his home at the time, a motel near the Medical Center, when he was approached by former professional basketball player Marvin “Bad News” Barnes. Barnes then led him to the parking lots of several malls to rendezvous with various people of undetermined connection. They eventually settled into Big John’s Sports Bar at Barnes' insistence. In nine paragraphs, Lomax managed to tell an epic after-hours story about promise unrealized, of a life full of detours and dead ends and double backs. Like his famed family, he had a nose for brilliant music made under the radar. Lomax was one of the first, if not the first, writers to laud the gifts of The Woodlands singer-songwriter Hayes Carll. He helped draw attention to the local blues guitar giant Little Joe Washington, who enjoyed a surge in demand for his music in his last years. In this regard, he was carrying on a family tradition. Lomax was the great-grandson of the legendary folklorist John Avery Lomax and the great-nephew of folklorists Alan Lomax and Bess Lomax Hawes. His grandfather, John Lomax Jr., was co-founder of the Houston Folklore Society. His father John Lomax III, wrote for the underground Houston publication Space City! , before shifting to a career managing Townes Van Zandt, Rocky Hill and Steve Earle. A Houston native, Lomax spent part of his childhood in Nashville. He was attuned to and intrigued by regional rites and rituals. He carried a perpetual interest in place and enjoyed burrowing into the soil to understand the twisted roots of a town or a community. Lomax loved musicians like Kevin “Shinyribs” Russell, those whose music expressed something particular to a geographic region. But he wasn’t such a homer that he couldn’t admit one of the great Houston songs was written by a Commonwealther, Virginia native Scott Miller, who compressed the epic and strange life of Sam Houston into three minutes with “Say Ho.” Perhaps it was innate, perhaps it’s because he grew up with Houston’s sports teams, that Lomax loved oddballs and underdogs. He had no time for the Houston Texans — with an antiseptic name and pandering colors — but was often seen in Oiler blue. He loved grackles and possums. I feel like he could convince anybody — maybe not Mick Jagger — that Townes Van Zandt’s “Dead Flowers” is a more effective commentary on class and resignation than the Rolling Stones' recording of their own song. He playfully documented abandoned sofas, a photo series he called the Street Couches of Houston. The practice proved humorous. But the variety of couches, backdrops and accompanying detritus created a deeper mood than a shallow chuckle. These photos featured some affection for things left behind. Together, they possess a sad beauty. Like a broken mirror pieced back together, Lomax reflected a fragmented city back to itself. Having hopefully dodged dereliction of duty, I’ll pivot here to where he stops being Lomax and becomes my friend, John, who in the span of minutes could wax rhapsodic about the individual artistries of Z-Ro, Sam Houston, Weldon “Juke Boy” Bonner and Billy “White Shoes” Johnson. He would joyfully seek a correlation (but no causation) between the name “Crystal” and the local crime blotter. He found intrigue in my Kentucky roots: the music, the literature, the beverages. He never showed up to a Kentucky Derby viewing at my home without a quality bottle of bourbon and some other totem he’d found like a worn copy of Hugh Rodman’s “Yarns of a Kentucky Admiral.” One Kentucky Derby Day years ago, he sat on my patio soaking up too much sun on his face. I asked what size hat he needed. “Irish,” he replied. Sometimes when I felt adrift, he wasn’t the calm captain offering passage back to shore. But he was an exceptional pirate. I say this knowing full well that piracy is not a zero-sum endeavor. In foggier moments, I convinced myself John only hurt himself, but I know that to not be true. I bought an extra Clem Snide ticket for him this year — a band we discussed with some regularity — thinking he’d rally after a health scare last year. It still feels like a circuit left incomplete. One doesn’t teeter and totter without gaining some sense of where the fulcrum rests. To know that place and still transfer weight to one side, for any or all of the reasons, is its own burden. One I hope has been lifted. He leaves behind family and friends and a city that knows itself better for his having worked here. But in a go-go city that sends the old out to make space for the new, I know there’ll be no shortage of abandoned couches on the city sidewalks any time I travel from one place to another. They’ll feel different now. A wave from a friend. Written By Andrew Dansby Reach Andrew on Andrew Dansby covers culture and entertainment, both local and national, for the Houston Chronicle. He came to the Chronicle in 2004 from Rolling Stone, where he spent five years writing about music. He’d previously spent five years in book publishing, working with George R.R. Martin’s editor on the first two books in the series that would become TV’s "Game of Thrones. He misspent a year in the film industry, involved in three "major" motion pictures you've never seen. He’s written for Rolling Stone, American Songwriter, Texas Music, Playboy and other publications. Andrew dislikes monkeys, dolphins and the outdoors.

That brings back some childhood memories. You always had to be fussing with pumping them up or oiling or replacing the gaskets on those Coleman stoves and lanterns! Propane models changed that world. Congrats on sticking with retro approach! Looked like it worked well on the fish.

Never sell mineral rights. Ever.

That works better, anyway. Count me in.

My apologies if already posted, but this is some great stuff, worth seeing again:

Mr. South was the absolute master of dead air!

Yep. I don't recall that they ever replaced the "Skating Palace" sign on the the AWHQ concert hall! They certainly never replaced that nasty carpet in there!

In first place and not even a close call:

If you Porsche guys are in Austin area, I strongly rec Northwest Imports. They have been taking care of my MB's for 25 years or so and they have lots of high-end Porsche clients. Solid people. Very straightforward and way less expensive (and better) than dealerships.

I moved from TxTag to a TollTag a couple of years ago and have been beyond pleased. Very convenient at DFW and Love parking, as well. Such a difference in competence. Somehow TxTag ended up hooking up my email address with my daughter-in-law's license plate (same last name, maybe?) and sending me rando collection notices about how they had to do the "pay by mail" because they couldn't read her TxTag. Guess who has a new TollTag? Screw the TxDot TxTags!

Love how it resolves in to Layla on piano at the end of the credits.

Market wasn't crazy about the OKE/Magellan tie-up. OKE down 9% today. Not clear about why the reaction. Maybe it just makes OKE more complicated. OKE has been a dividend machine for decades.

Yep. I'd bet that this is a money grab like the debt collectors that buy old debt that is no longer enforceable, then send scary collection notices out to folks, and then in the fine print say that any payments that you make to them would be totally voluntary.

60/40 split on ticket collections between the camera company and the school district. More than half who fight $300 school bus stop-arm tickets are winning https://www.kxan.com/investigations/more-than-half-who-fight-300-school-bus-stop-arm-tickets-are-winning/

I've been long on Oneok for a long time. Need to study this, but I think the acquisition looks like winner.

Fried chicken and yeast rolls at Bill Millers are legit!

Lance's obit. Says there is a public memorial at Bullock Museum today. RIP to a Lifetime Longhorn. https://www.statesman.com/obituaries/paco0487804