Go have fun, you little monsters

Happy Halloween, everybody...

I kinda look like the Lemonheads guy

I'm a big fan of the Lemonhead. Well, for the first 30 seconds at least. Once that sour shell has been devoured, this hard candy gets depressing quick. So I immediately pop another in my craw. Then another. After about 20 minutes of this, I've lost the ability to taste anything, as the Lemonhead has destroyed my mouth. Good times.

For this reason and more, Lemonheads will be one of the featured confections handed out at the Daly manse this Halloween. Also in the cavernous trough of joy: Take 5s, Reese's Peanut Butter Cups, Peanut M&Ms and 100 Grands, which are delicious and almost impossible to chew without gagging.

WHAT ARE YOU HANDING OUT FOR HALLOWEEN?

Last year I gave one of my neighbors guff for distributing Play-Doh instead of treats. I haven't seen this neighbor since, as they were forced to move due to threats and vitriol and a barrage of poorly molded "doh" animals being hurled at their house. Listen, folks, you're not making a difference by giving out healthy crap on Halloween. In fact, the only thing you're doing is making sure your own children get persecuted at recess for being dorks. This persecution will lead to a variety of social misfitism, which will lead to crime sprees and self-hate and night "classes" at Baby Dolls. So help your kids go to Harvard and give out Lemonheads for Halloween. It's the right thing to do. 

Wyclef Jean & Paul Simon's "Fast Car"

Yep, nothing but uplift here at Pop Life today. Jeez, guy gets hit by a fish, all depressing hell breaks loose. Anyway, here's a gem from my iPod, an unlikely duet between Wyclef Jean and Paul Simon, "Fast Car," from 'Clef's 2007 album, "Carnival II: Memoirs of an Immigrant." The song's about death. Enjoy!

Who's crying now?

This seems like as good a time as any to run heavy-duty reader mail from Don in Harbor Bluffs, who joins our previous debate of songs that make us sob...

Sean, I enjoy your articles on music, and I must say, they usually cost me money. As with your most recent piece, on sad songs, I just had to go out and buy some CDs and downloads. However, I am compelled to weigh in on the nature of weeping for a different reason.

I am 56 and a student of rock since its inception. In my opinion, the most heart-aching music ever produced comes from the greatest album ever scored. I would invite you to sit down and listen to it again as I am sure you have done so before.

Dan Fogelberg was the greatest lyricist of my time.

But the greatest lyrics -- and the greatest album -- lost a Grammy to Norah Jones in 2002:

The Rising, Bruce Springsteen 

No greater lyrics have ever been written. I still shed tears.

Don
Harbor Bluffs, FLA

The Ultimate Halloween Playlist REVEALED!

Editors and readers and neighbors and party stars are all rattling my cage today, wondering why I haven't collated the Ultimate Halloween Playlist: 2008 Edition. My reason, dear friends, is as universal as life and death: I got hit with a fish this morning, and it freaked me out. But alas, I can't deny pleasure to my peeps, so click on that link right below, and get your Halloween hopping just right. Special thanks to the dozens of loyal Pop Lifers -- especially Bassnote and KJW -- who unloaded the treats from their mighty iPod playlists.

By the way, I just gotta say: Kid Lulu and I watched It's the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown! last night, and once again she was literally rolling on the floor laughing. This morning, I must have heard "I got a rock!" at least 50 times. Is that awesome or what? I still miss those Dolly Madison commercials, but man: God bless, Charles M. Schulz. Happy Halloween, everybody.

The "I Just Got Hit by a Fish" Playlist

So I'm power-walking with the soccer moms this morning -- "C'mon, ladies, hustle means muscle!" -- when I suddenly find myself alone at the end of the loop. I fend off this sad isolation by crooning along to my iPod, which has just shuffled out the Black Crowes' Goodbye Daughters of the Revolution. Things are going well...

...until a big fat bloody fish falls outta the sky and doinks off my shoulder. WTH? With an extra-befuddled look on my face, I immediately search for a convenient body of water from which this fellow has jumped. Nope. Then I'm thinking one of the soccer moms is messing with me. Uh-uh. So with synapses firing slowly, I eventually look up (a-ha!) and see a nasty black bird smirking aloft. This filthy bugger has a beak like a vice grip, so he obviously doinked me with his breakfast on purpose.

After I Miss Marple that brilliant conclusion, I start to walk away. But then I notice the fish, despite all he's been through, is still alive, gulping for life. I take one more step towards home...and then turn back. You have to, right? I mean, you can't have bad karma messing up your whole day. Because I'm still an idiot, I take one more look around for a large body of water in which to deposit him. Nope, still not there. But there is a drain opening across the street! I daintily try to collect the fish by the tail, but he slips out. Yep, gonna have to go double (bare, slimy, bloody) mitts on this one. I scoop the poor guy up, shuffle across the street and drop him down the drain. The splash! comes quick enough, so as I power-walk away, I manage to convince myself that I've saved a life. I know what you're thinking, and you're probably right. But hey, you never know.

So just to keep the good karma flowing, I'd like to dedicate the following playlist to my unfortunate fish friend. Just keep swimming, buddy. Just keep swimming...

Beyond the Sea -- Bobby Darin
Weird Fishes/Arpeggi -- Radiohead
Keep Fishin' -- Weezer
Nightswimming -- R.E.M.
Bring Me Some Water -- Melissa Etheridge
(Sittin' On) The Dock of the Bay -- Otis Redding
Good Bait -- Nina Simone
Fish Heads -- Barnes & Barnes

Here ya go..."Chinese Democracy"

At last, the eeeeaaagggerrrly awaited title track from the eeeaaaggerrrly awaited Guns N' Roses album Chinese Democracy. On second thought, does anyone reeeeaaaaalllllyyyy give a crap anymore? I guess we'll see when the Axl finally (maybe) dumps his opus on Nov. 23. As far as this song goes, I appreciate the dizzy feel of the intro, and the guitar 'splosion at :57 seconds is rather Jungle-y. But Axl's vocal is dull. What do YOU think?

Buffett to play Obama rally in Tampa

Changes in Platitudes, Changes in Attitudes? One Particular Senator? Vote Drinks? This Sunday, Jimmy Buffett will headline a rally for Barack Obama at Ford Amphitheatre in Tampa. And rest assured, the singer will shoehorn the politician’s name and message into as many hits as possible. (OK, just one more: The Weather Is Here, Wish You Were Democrat. Too much?)

The event, which begins at 3 p.m., is free and open to all Florida residents and students. Tickets, two per person, will be available starting 10 a.m. Wednesday at the following locations:

BRADENTON: J&J Bar-B-Q, B2620 8 th St W CLEARWATER: Campaign for Change Sub-Office, 34 North Fort Harrison Ave;   Campaign for Change, 133 North Fort Harrison Ave HOLIDAY: South Holiday Library, 4649 Mile Stretch Dr LAKELAND: Campaign for Change, 5385 Gateway Blvd, Bays 12-14; Mitchell’s Coffee House, 235 N Kentucky Ave LAND O’LAKES: Rapscallions Restaurant, 4422 Land O’ Lakes Blvd LARGO: Professional Surveys, 8550 Ulmerton Rd NEW PORT RICHEY: Campaign for Change, 4809 Grand Blvd, Suite P; The Breakfast Station, 7335 Little Rd PLANT CITY: Wisdom Center Smoke House, 624 S Evers St SARASOTA: Buddha Belly Donuts, 1990 Main St, Suite 112 ST. PETERSBURG Campaign for Change, 2321 Central Ave; Globe Café, 532 1 st Ave North TAMPA Campaign for Change - Tampa DowntowN, 817 East Washington St ; Campaign for Change – Tampa USF, 14519 North 18 th Street; Cut N’ Style, 3817 S Manhattan Ave; Salcines Park, 1705 N Howard Ave; Terrace Sports, 5311 E Busch Blvd; Urban Culinary Cuisine, 10016 Cross Creek Blvd WESLEY CHAPEL: Winner’s Sports Grill, 5429 Village Market.

For more information, go to http://my.barackobama.com/page/content/flhome

AC/DC debuts at No. 1...in 29 countries

Eight years have passed since AC/DC’s last crack of heavy-metal thunder, but this much remains true: The schoolboy uniform still fits, and Angus Young can still lay down a reinforced riff like no other. Sure, for every fist-pounder on new album Black Ice, the band's first ever debut-week No. 1 in the U.S., there are two more that sound just like it. But producer Brendan O’Brien is obviously a fan, and he properly isolates all those bloozy licks and defibrillating drum pounds. The best song, Anything Goes, is sweet and sinister, a new trick from old dogs. Trust me, this plus a six-pack will make for a fun Friday night.

In Sean's Mailbox: Pink is a hot mess

This week's edition of "In Sean's Mailbox" is really just a cheap excuse to run carouselacious cover art of Pink's new album. Funhouse, aka Alecia Moore's "divorce" disc, comes out tomorrow. It's head-snapping bipolar, from arena-size slaps (LISTEN) to big sobby ballads (LISTEN). She dissects her breakup with motorcross star Carey Hart with all the subtlety of Bette Davis in Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? Pink is the very definition of hot mess. But she also knows how to hook you.

Here's my Monday morning mail haul...

John Legend -- Evolver
Lee Ann Womack -- Call Me Crazy
ZZ Top -- Live From Texas
Pink -- Funhouse
Wicked -- Original Cast Recording: 5th Anniversary Special Edition
Reba McEntire -- 50 Greatest Hits
Mudvayne -- The New Game
Cat Stevens -- Tea for the Tillerman: Deluxe Edition
Cat Stevens -- Teaser and the Firecat: Deluxe Edition
Boz Scaggs -- Speak Low
Celine Dion -- My Love: Essential Collection
Celine Dion -- My Love: Ultimate Essential Collection (2CD)
Ryan Adams & the Cardinals -- Cardinology

Best Halloween Songs: 2008 Edition?

I'm going as the Hulk for Halloween this year. I had a dress rehearsal a few weeks ago and -- with the exception of the green paint burning my eyes and lips until I had to flee screaming into a chem-lab shower -- I'd have to say it was a raging success. It's a helluva mess being the Jade Giant, and I'm still finding bits of paint in places I didn't even know I had places. And yet, there was a kinky cool to pulling on ripped jean shorts (admittedly more Daisy Duke than Ferrigno) and splattering myself emerald. The FF even got into it, smoothly coating the back of my hairless gams and hard-to-reach places. Mm, Hulk likey... In case you're wondering (or trembling, or nauseous), I cheated a bit with a Hulk "muscle" T-shirt. But I'm seriously thinking of going the Full Hulky this Saturday, tearing off my shirt and revealing my awesome green man-boobs for the world to see. I'm pretty sure my writing partner Stephanie Hayes is going to the same Halloween party as I am (or at least she WAS). Maybe I'll have her give a full report later...

Anyway, let's get things started: BEST HALLOWEEN SONGS? This is our third year summoning the terrifying tunes on Pop Life, and once again, we're starting from scratch. We have new twisted blog stars this year, so let's try to get that playlist to 200 songs. I'll compile a full list of the best cuts on Wednesday morning, giving everybody plenty of time to make that playlist, set up the boombox and scare the crap out of trick-or-treaters...especially big green topless ones.      

BK Gets the Call!

If the World Series comes back to St. Petersburg for a Game 6 on Wednesday, BK Jackson, the 17-year-old saxophone star who wowed Rays crowds during the ALCS against the Red Sox, will play the national anthem. I just heard from BK's mom, Regina Jackson Underwood, who was ecstatic about the news. "I know it's not right to root for a Game 6," she said, "but if it falls that way, we are definitely excited."

A senior at Tampa's Blake High, BK was hoping to play the World Series, but this time, the decision was up to Major League Baseball, and not the home team, who adores their good luck charm. But passionate word-of-mouth, and strong persuasion from the Rays, obviously did the trick. "You cannot believe the national attention this is going to get him," Underwood said.

As far as I'm concerned, BK is a huge improvement over the Backstreet Boys and Los Lonely Boys, who performed the anthem at Tropicana Field for World Series Games 1 and 2. (LISTEN TO BK.)

A feature I wrote on BK for Sunday's paper went to print before the news broke. You can read that story, in which BK is still waiting for that magic phone call, right HERE. But hey, now you know the happy ending. Congrats, BK. Knock 'em dead.

Photo by Cherie Diez

LIVE REVIEW: Neil Diamond

Click image to enlarge. [KAINAZ AMARIA | Times]

TAMPA –- He has killer songs, Mephistophelean eyebrows and the ability to rock sparkly shirts like nobody’s business. His voice has retained that husky ladies-man cool, and he’s still making decent records three years removed from his 70th birthday.

And yet, as Neil Diamond took a large open stage at the St. Pete Times Forum Friday, there lurked one more very important reason why he remains a consistently bankable touring act. It has to do with ham, and cheese, and William Shatner's line readings. It has to do with the way he prowled the stage during "Play Me" like a Shakespearean actor, clutching a mike instead of a skull. It has to do with the soap-opera drama lurking in all of us.

For 100 minutes, 13,604 fans (a smallish crowd for him, but still a good one) ate up the gaudy glory that is Neil being Neil, a Brooklyn native who still delivers his songs as if he's trying to get into everyone's pants. Me? I appreciate that in a singer. And I swear I was wearing a belt when I walked into that place.

Mixing in cuts from new album "Home Before Dark," a moody meditation produced by hip producer Rick Rubin, Diamond, backed by a 14-piece band of horns and guitars and wailing singers, chugged out all the hits with gusto: opening salvo "Holly Holy," "Love on the Rocks," the life-affirming "Cherry, Cherry" ("Gonna make our own lightning!").

A few months ago, Diamond's voice gave out on him. But although he had some trouble hitting and holding a scattering of notes, he was once again sounding stellar and secure. "I got my first professional gig here in Tampa," he said,"and here we are again, 42 years later."

Dancing around the stage not unlike John Travolta in "Pulp Fiction," Diamond built his setlist in the same manner he's crafted the classics: by inching closer and closer to that crescendo until -- socko! -- the whole joint, old and young, was up on its feet.

After relatively quiet readings of the title track from "Home Before Dark" and the new "Pretty Amazing Grace," he unloaded a steady assault of sonic joy: the booming "I Am...I Said," "Solitary Man" and "Sweet Caroline," which was played once, then revisited, when his fans demanded more. (In Tampa, screaming along to "Sweet Caroline" feels especially so good! so good! so good! in the wake of the Rays beating the Red Sox, who have made this their unofficial anthem.)

Strumming a sleek black guitar, he turned "I'm a Believer" into a tent-revival stomp, nearly unrecognizable but still retaining its pure heart. Some songs, however, you just don't mess with: For an encore version of "America," with the current backdrop of heated national politics, he summoned all the passion and gravitas he could muster. It was hokey. It was Velveety.

And, of course, I bought every single patriotic second of it.

"Norman Rockwell on a pony keg"

Here's something I wrote for our Homes section, a little love letter to my besotted neighborhood.

Not for the squeamish.

But definitely for the thirsty.

Welcome, boys and girls, to my Party Block.

Rockin' cornhole shirt courtesy of KinnisonDesign.com.

REVIEW: "High School Musical 3: Senior Year"

With the exception of Ashley Tisdale’s new schnoz, everything is bigger in High School Musical 3: Senior Year, the first in Disney’s billion-dollar cable franchise to premier all bold and sparkly in your local cineplex. Set pieces spin and explode like Busby Berkeley on Red Bull. A lush orchestral score gives silly gravitas to teen swoon. And life-after-prom plot lines pile up like reckless bumper cars.

Tizzied preteens will make HSM3 a blockbuster by the end of the weekend, and why not: Without the burden of a tight Disney Channel budget, this one uses its big-screen allowance wisely, with eye-swirly art direction and a fortified script that doesn’t talk down to fans…yet still dots its “i”s with cartoon hearts. Enough of the umpteen pop songs, the fuel that drives these simple cinematic confections, properly stick in your head like a Milk Dud on a molar. HSM3 is a lot of goofy fun, maybe even the best in the series.

But FAIR WARNING, Mom and Dad: “Bigger” also applies to the aging actors, all of whom are now closer to home-pregnancy kits than home ec. Vanessa Hudgens, as virginal Gabriella, has sprouted boom-boom gams to rival Chita Rivera’s. Zac Efron, as Gabby’s beau Troy, flexes muscle-roped arms, newfound guns that director-choreographer Kenny Ortega curiously coats with gladiator-approved sweat.

And without giving away too much ('cause lemme tell you, THIS will be all the buzz), America’s sweethearts share a third-act moment usually framed by steamed-up windows in the backseat of a sedan. Yes, this is still the Mouse House, and the G-rating stands firm. But the subtext is obvious to all of us Gray Hairs: The East High gang has more on their mind than college aps.

For all the guss and glitz, HSM3 is basically built on the same synthetic premise as before (and before that). With graduation looming, hoops star Troy can’t decide between dribbling at a local college in Albuquerque or shooting for a spot at Juilliard. Either way, he'll be far from Gabs, who's off to Stanford. Best bud Chad (the exceptionally mop-topped Corbin Bleu) wants his buddy to stay close to home and stay focused on three-pointers. The rest of the gang -- dancing girl Martha, class prez Taylor, music savant Kelsi -- are all perfectly happy to flash high-beam smiles in the background.

And then, at last, there’s Tisdale’s Sharpay, the spoiled rich girl who just wants to be fabulously famous. Go ahead and rip on her rhinoplasty, but the blond bomber steals every scene like a pink-miniskirted thief. Tisdale can’t sing, and she really can’t dance, but her big, strutty number I Want It All is a triumph anyway, a dizzying send-up of Madonna and Marilyn and Mae West that finishes like a kid version of Jennifer Hudson’s Dreamgirls turn. Seeing as how Efron and Hudgens have all the acting chops of a twin pack of Ding Dongs, Ortega would have been wise to use Tisdale more.

The movie’s 112-minute run time is 20 minutes too long, and a couple of Troy and Gabriella’s mopier duets are the perfect chance to take your kids to the loo. In fact, the lovers-in-training actually fare better apart. With Walk Away, Hudgens gets to uncork a modern-day Hopelessly Devoted to You. His Scream is an over-the-top post-boy-band burner partly performed in a spinning, thunder-lit hallway; you'll laugh, your daughters will sigh. And Troy and Chad's bromantic gamboling in The Boys Are Back, set in a salvage yard, is like a cross between Footloose, The Road Warrior and La Cage aux Folles.

It all leads up to prom, then the spring musical, then graduation, each one fortified with robust song and dance. Ortega takes a few minutes in the movie's closing moments to linger lovingly on the face of each of his stars. They don’t pose as characters this time but as themselves, as if many of them know deep down that this will be as good as it gets. It’s a sweet tribute to a likable cast. But more than that, it’s a thank you and goodbye to the millions of boys and girls who have bought High School Musical CDs and DVDs and clothes and toys –- and who have grown up right before our eyes, too.

Major League Baseball hates St. Pete

How else to explain why we get stuck with the Backstreet Boys and Los Lonely Boys performing the national anthem for Games 1 & 2 of the World Series -- and Philadelphia will get country hottie Taylor Swift (Game 3)and R&B legend Patti LaBelle (Game 4). Swift is adorable and current and used to date my close personal friend Joe Jonas. And you just know Lady Marmalade will flat-out dazzle with her version. Oh well, there's still Game 6 back here, when we win the whole thing. Tell you what, MLB, just get BK Jackson or local boy Robin Zander to rock our anthem, and everybody goes home happy.

 

So tell me about this "Internet" thing...

I don't do Facebook. Or MySpace. Or Classmates.com. I barely do IMEEM. My reasoning for this -- a reasoning coated in a thick remoulade of issues, no doubt -- is that between the newspaper and the blog and the TV and the podcasts, people can find me if they want to. My colleague Steve Spears says I'm a dinosaur, a dope, a neurotic weirdo, and that I should join him and Buck Rogers in the 25th century. But screw him. I figure he's just in it for the chicks.

Lately, though, I've been visited by ghosts from my past -- this includes really hot ghosts who I didn't have the stones to ask out 26 years ago. The whole thing's a total mind-bend, and yet, the other night I did a clunky nonmember perusing of Facebook. When, after a few totally freaky hours, I came across a picture of the girl who creamed me in the finals of the 5th-grade spelling bee (I'm talking about you, Tang), I shut down my computer and resumed my old glue-sniffing habit. It was my only defense.

(Wow, this sounds like a bad Sex and the City voice-over. And yet, we continue...)

So I ask you, Pop Lifers: Are you happy with digging up your past? Is it fun not only opening Pandora's box, but begging Pandora for some snaps? Upon finding some of these names, I realized that I've forgotten great chunks of my youth. Or at least I spruced them up with regret-erasing makeup. High-school reunions rank right up there with marriage and celery on my list of Things to Run Away From.

If I do Facebook, how long until I get involved in this:

"Hey Daly, it's Larry Lumpkin from 3rd grade!"

"Uhhh..."

"Come on, you remember. You used to call me Dumpy Lumpy."

"Uh-oh."

"What, don't remember? Then I guess you don't recall owing me 50 bucks either?"

"Screw you, Lumpkin!"

"I thought so. I know where you live, hack. In fact, I'm sitting in your driveway right now."

"Rot in hell, Lumpkin! You'll never take me alive!"

Anyway, if you're up for it, tell me about some of your wilder experiences with the world of social networking, hot ghosts from your past. If it's good and fun, I'll dive in. Until then, I'm bolting the door and loading the shotgun. Dumpy Lumpy was a loose cannon. That much I do remember.

Any second now...

Game 1 of the World Series has been over for 10 hours now, and yet, oddly enough, we're still waiting for the Backstreet Boys to finish their rendition of the national anthem.

Ugh.

I need sleep.

"Grease" vs. "High School Musical"!

Despite the fact that this picture of ONJ encapsulates everything I look for in a woman, I recently challenged my pal Stephanie Hayes to an epic cinematic throwdown: My High School Musical franchise vs. her Grease franchise. This looks like a horribly unfair fight until you consider "the Adrian Zmed Factor," which basically works like a debate atom bomb. Seriously, Grease 2 makes HSM2 look like Lawrence of Arabia. So I have that going for me.

Obviously, I get smoked pretty good in this one (mmm, ONJ smoking, bet she drinks whiskey and has done jailtime too). Hayes brings her A-game, managing to skewer both Zac Efron and Sean Daly, who spirals into a shame machine all the way back to his own high school days, where the kids would dance around him with sharp sticks and sing the "Capt. Fatpants" song.

Anyway, with High School Musical 3: Senior Year opening Friday -- and with Grease celebrating its 30th anniversary --  we thought this would be a good time to get down 'n' dirty.

To join the fight, go HERE.

This one's for you, ladies!

Aww yeah! It's the High Priest of Panties, the Welsh Wonder, the Lord of the Ladykillers, Tom Jones! And lookee here, the 68-year-old TJ has a brand new song, If He Should Ever Leave You, produced by the folks who helped make Lily Allen a star. Lovin' those throwback horns, baby! This is just what I needed today, something to loosen me up. In fact, when I get home from the game tonight, I just might put this on and treat the Forever Fiancee to a little something I like to call...the Dance of the 7 Buttons. Sure, I won't stumble in 'til 3 a.m., but rest assured, the DOTSB is open allll night.

TJ's new album, 24 Hours, does't drop into your sexy laps until Nov. 24. But you can listen to his first single RIGHT HERE.

Curiously lit-from-below photo courtesy of Ticketstogo.com.

That lucky old column

I'm sorry, but I just gotta do this. I'm going to Game 1 of the World Series tonight and, well, it seems like the right thing to do. On April 7, 2008, in the pages of the St. Pete Times, I predicted how and why the Tampa Bay Rays would win the World Series. Silly? Maybe. But people responded to it, and I felt like Nostradamus in a backward ball cap. (Okay, the Yankees thing was off, but c'mon, B.J. Upton owes me a beer.) If you're tired of reading it, I understand. But if you wanna get your luck moving in the right direction, maybe it couldn't hurt. So here it is, in its entirety, the Opening Day Playlist...

Tuesday is Opening Day at Tropicana Field, and you know what that means: Anything is possible. Opening Day is about rebirth, about fresh starts, about big fat fun wishes. It’s the genie bottle of sports metaphors. That great newspaperman Thomas Boswell even waxed poetic about it: Why Time Begins on Opening Day.

So when your Tampa Bay Rays take the turf tomorrow night against the Seattle Mariners, it’s entirely reasonable, and entirely mandatory, to assume that, come October, Carl Crawford & Co. will be playing in the World Series. (They crushed the Yanks for the pennant, natch.)

And after winning the World Series in seven games, thanks to a walk-off homer by American League MVP B.J. Upton, your Tampa Bay Rays will receive a ticker tape parade down Central Avenue, which even folks in Tampa will brave the bridge to attend.

And as a result of the Rays’ mind-blowing victory, newspaper sales will skyrocket as everyone in Florida, in the Southern states, in the country, will clamor for Rays stories and pictures and zany Joe Maddon quotes to hang on their Frigidaires.

And this rabid excitement for our ragtag World Champs will also commence a hellzapoppin’ downtown boom — and an uptown splash, and a midtown renaissance, and a Feather Sound huzzah. There might be a recession elsewhere in the U.S. of A., but not here, not in St. Pete, not in Rays Nation, baby!

And yes, the Rays’ triumph will ultimately lead to a new waterfront stadium, which everyone will agree was the greatest idea in the history of great ideas. And they will call it Al Lang Field, of course, because it’s never too late to correct past wrongs.

And in the posh confines of this bejeweled downtown stadium, where the championship banner hangs in straightaway center, there will be a watering hole called Ferg’s Too, a cozier version of the loyal sports pub that once lubed losing streaks next door to the Trop.

And while drinking at Ferg’s Too in the new waterfront stadium in the revitalized downtown in recession-free St. Petersburg, you — yes, you — will meet your future spouse, who just happens to be wearing the same Scott Kazmir jersey as you. You will talk and laugh and flirt. And when you stroll out of the ballpark together, you will discover, after the goodnight kiss, that your future spouse is heir to the Mack Truck fortune.

The next day, you will quit your job at Arby’s.

You and Mack will have lots of children (one named Ferg) and grandchildren (one named Ray). You’re a happy millionaire now, and you live in a mansion, and you drive one of those red Magnum P.I. Ferraris you’ve always wanted, and you have Rays season tickets on the third-base line, and you spend every anniversary drinking and flirting in Ferg’s Too.

And you will continue to live in St. Petersburg, home of the World Champion Tampa Bay Rays, because really now, why would you leave?

This place is paradise.

And to think, it all started on Opening Day 2008.

Play ball.

• • •

Whether you’re at the Trop tonight, or merely by the radio in spirit, here’s a few ’tween-inning songs to stoke those hardball fantasies — including a special seventh inning-rendition of Take Me Out to the Ballgame, celebrating  its 100th anniversary this year.

The Opening Day Playlist
1. Batter Up, Nelly
2. Did You See Jackie Robinson Hit That Ball?, Count Basie Orchestra
3. Slide It In, Whitesnake
4. Catch Me Now I’m Falling, the Kinks
5. Wild Thing, the Troggs
6. Mrs. Robinson, Simon & Garfunkel
7. Take Me Out to the Ballgame, Liberace
8. Centerfield, John Fogerty
9. Catfish, Bob Dylan
10. So Long Baby Goodbye, the Blasters

Sparky Sez: AC/DC Kicks A--!

Hey cool kids, this is a brutal week for me workwise, an onslaught of mediocrity and lukewarm laffs that I'll slime you with soon enough. Throw in the entirely distracting reality of Rays domination, and I'm dizzied and tizzied every which way. I knew I'd get a surly note from Sparky wondering where my review of AC/DC's "Black Ice" was. Truth is, I haven't even listened to it yet. So I put the finger on him: YOU tell ME, Sparkster. What's the verdict? Help a brother out. And that he did. Click on that lil' ol' link below, and Sparky will tell you all about it.

Color Me Badd, you're on call!

Major League Baseball just sent a press release announcing the National Anthem act for Thursday's Game 2 of the World Series. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you...Los Lonely Boys! Huh? Los Lonely Boys? The Heaven dudes? They're still around? Haven't they opened up a Starbucks by now?

I can only imagine that MLB Commish Bud Selig has the most milquetoast iPod of all time. Of course, Game 1's craptastic Backstreet Boys appearance makes Los Lonely Boys look like a friggin' Beatles reunion.

You know, I'm gonna be really ticked off if Philly gets all the cool acts, like AC/DC doing God Bless America. Fiiiiirrrrre!

Rays, Phillies...and Backstreet Boys?

After searching the globe for the hottest act to sing the National Anthem at tomorrow's World Series opener in St. Petersburg, Major League Baseball has called on the mighty...Backstreet Boys? Ugh, what a whiff. Seventeen-year-old alto sax prodigy BK Jackson, a senior at Tampa's Blake High, pumped soul into the anthem at all four of the home ALCS games against Boston. The players loved him; the crowd wept. But MLB, and not the Rays, picks the WS talent, and despite knowing about BK, officials went with a crappy boy band from 10 years ago.

I spent the morning with BK and his mom, and will write up a feature on the young star for Sunday. He's hoping to get the call for one of the other games. To hear his skills, check this out. The video is abysmal, and the sound isn't much better. But you can tell the kid has the stuff.

Bob Dylan's "Tell Tale Signs"

Bob Dylan
Album: Tell Tale Signs: The Bootleg Series Vol. 8: Rare and Unreleased (Columbia)
In stores: Now
Why we care: Between '89 and '06, Bob Dylan grew a pivotal Vincent Price mustache, all pencil-thin and Mr. Mysterioso. The 'stache represented his comeback role as weary roadside mystic, as insightful about the world's end as his own. A great swath of his songs were dark Daniel Lanois-helmed laments mixing surreal and blood simple. Here are the raw shards from those sessions, viscerally inverse versions of the kudzu-covered originals.
Why we like it: Dignity, once a gospel triumph, is now bitter, enraged. Someday Baby, once so rollicking, is now militaristic, defiant. Behold, Bob fans, the cold, hard truth. Or is it?
Reminds us of: "Things should start to get interesting right about now..."
Download these: Red River Shore (LISTEN) and Mississippi
Grade: A

Photo courtesy of BobDylan.com

Evan Longoria's At-Bat Music

I dig how fleet-footed Rays outfielder Carl Crawford uses M.I.A.'s "Paper Planes" as his at-bat (aka "walk-up") music. And it's still stoopid fun hearing Flo Rida's "Low" every time C.C.'s supa-sub teammate Willy Aybar steps to the dish. But for the longest time, stud rookie Evan Longoria's song choice had me stumped. Turns out the song is "Down & Out" by Tantric, a sludgy rock band from Louisville. With those ominous violins, it's like something from a horror flick: eerie, intimidating. Then again, Longo could play "Hakuna Matata" while striding to the plate, and pitchers would be spooked.

By the way, a few years ago -- before the Rays were the RAYS -- I did a feature on how the players pick their at-bat tunes. For a peak at the thought process, and a nice kicker with then new-skipper Joe Maddon, you can go HERE.

First things first...

I was at The Game last night. Which means I'm working on 27 minutes of sleep. Which means my beer budget for the month of October is now approaching the national debt. Which means this day should be postponed until the troops are better rested. Which means I'll see you at Game 1 of the World Series on Wednesday.

Mayhem...

Photo (which also happens to be the poster-size cover of today's St. Pete Times) by Brian Cassella

Do you believe in jinxes?

I don't. So I have no trouble telling you I just scored tickets to World Series Games 1 & 6 in the Trop.

May Jim Rice have mercy on my soul.

Hank III's "Damn Right, Rebel Proud"

Hank III
Album: Damn Right, Rebel Proud (Curb)
In stores: OCT. 21
Why we care: He looks like grandpappy Hank I. He raises hell like daddy Hank II (aka Bocephus, the greatest nickname EVER). But despite his obvious lineage, Hank Williams III -- or just "III" if you wanna drink with the man -- is a true original, a demon-scarred buck whose hellbilly mixes old-time pickin’ and punk disrepair.
Why we like it: If III had his way, he’d be a full-time thrasher. But that doesn’t pay the bills. So despite hating his lot in life, he gives his diehard fans whiskey-bent, hemp-bound outlaw that stresses the black-eyed side of life. Using a pinched high-lonesome whine, he slings the f-bombed Grand Ole Opry (Ain’t So Grand) with a sociopathic fervor that you can square-dance to. Toward the album's end, you can tell he’s getting tired, but III is still worth a spin.
Reminds us of: David Allan Coe on a mean-ass bender
Download this: Me & My Friends (NSFW! But watch this anyway...)
Grade: B

Pig-Wrapped, Pig-Stuffed CHAMPION!

And to think, he's my blog editor AND my neighbor.

ALL HAIL THE WINNER of Mario Batali's Ultimate Grilling Challenge...and the triumphant cause of clogged arteries everywhere. The big news was announced today on Rachael Ray's NBC show: Jim Webster's Pig-Wrapped, Pig-Stuffed Pig is the greatest recipe in the history of recipes! Watch this.

Huzzah! Way to go, Jim. This one's for you!

Coldplay's "Don't Panic"

This goes out to all of you Rays fans. "Bones, sinking like stones, all that we've fought for..." Don't worry, there's a happy ending.

LIVE REVIEW: Tony Bennett

CLEARWATER –- Just in the nick of time, in the nerve-fraying thicket of political disdain and baseball battles and economic kersplats, there he was, Tony Bennett, the ambassador of cool, calm, class. Just when we needed him most. Go on, take a breath.

On Thursday, the 82-year-old Bennett kicked off the '08 edition of the Clearwater Jazz Holiday, the free four-day fest at Coachman Park. The capacity crowd of 15,000-plus lifted to its collective feet as soon as the legend sauntered onstage, the first of umpteen standing ovations (two in the first song!) the throngs would bestow.

They were up for "But Beautiful," for "Fly Me to the Moon," for "The Best Is Yet to Come," Bennett working his way through the Great American Songbook like Moses giving a tour of the Bible. They welled up during "For Once in My Life," which Bennett prefaced by saying he'd be making an album next year with Stevie Wonder and Quincy Jones. Huzzah to that, too.

They responded with praise, relief, reverent bows. It felt good to be in Bennett's presence, as he stood there, in his butter-cream jacket, his navy slacks, one hand casually in his pocket, the coolest move around.

Backed by a crack quartet -- including dazzling pianist Lee Musiker and guitarist Gray Sargent -- Bennett's voice was appropriately weathered, weary at the end of words, which is not to besmirch the transcendent power of those peerless pipes, once dubbed "the very best" by none other than Frank Sinatra. Bennett's raspy, hepcat readings are still smart, still smooth, still exactly what you want to hear in a dimly lit Italian joint as you slowly reach across the table for [insert dream date here].

During the 90-minute set, he hit and held the big notes when he had to, like on "Maybe This Time" from "Cabaret," during which he unloaded a full-throated plaintive wail that would have been a spectacular achievement for a crooner 30 years younger.

The key to Bennett's voice is that he is an interpreter of songs, not just a blower of notes, like all of the octave-spanning pop wannabes today. The lyrics mean something. For the Gershwins "I Got Rhythm," he paced the song at a rapid clip, the randy protagonist ecstatic at his good, but certainly fleeting, fortune. For "The Way You Look Tonight," by Jerome Kern and Dorothy Fields, he was wistful, careful, desperately, hopelessly romantic.

It's safe to say that hearing Bennett sing his signature "I Left My Heart in San Francisco" should be on everyone's list of 100 Things to Do Before You Croak. At this point, he'd be forgiven for phoning in the zillionth rendition of that classic. But again, that would be a disservice to songwriters George Cory and Douglass Cross. So Tony gave that love letter all the swingin' gravitas he could muster. How about that for a life lesson?
   
Toward the end of the set, Bennett dusted off the Gershwin 1929 song "Who Cares?" with its lyrics about economic devastation and tough times. "Love's the only thing that matters," Bennett said, throwing his fist into the air. The crowd stood for that, too, willing to believe, wanting to believe anything the man told them. And on this night, why not?

[Times photos by Douglas R. Clifford]

Video: Growing up in Tony Bennett's neighborhood

I'm not loving the new Kanye

Whattaya think of "Love Lockdown"? New album "808s & Heartbreak" comes out Nov. 25, and word from listening parties is that 'Ye sings via Auto-Tune (a la T-Pain) on the whole thing. Hardly any rapping. Plus he's going out of his way to brag about the album's lack of hit singles. The guy's a nut, and I dig him for that. But I'm not feeling this one. For the first time, he's actually TRYING to sound like everyone else. And, as perhaps the bigger crime, subtle isn't what we want from Mr. West.

Persall & Daly: Feel the Warmth

Here's yet another shameless plug for next weekend's Festival of Reading...

On Saturday, Oct. 25, at 11 a.m., St. Pete Times film critic Steve Persall and male model/music critic Sean Daly will be teaming up for an hour of nonstop hilarity, acrimony and, if it helps fill seats, brief nudity.

We're calling our lecture "Feel the Warmth," and it will consist of Persall and Daly AND the audience all asking hot-button questions about movies and music and criticism and hanging with famous people and using their bathrooms. It will be a round-robin of rollicking good times, and you're invited. So feel free to bring your overripe produce.

It's also FREE.

Anyway, they've put us in the Poynter South Pavillion, which is in historic Poynter Institute. It's right next to the USF St. Pete campus. Lotta parking all over the place. Good food and book bargains and balloons for the kids, too.

For more information on all of the authors coming to the Festival of Reading, go HERE. Feel the warmth Oct. 25!!!

Getting schooled in cool

The phone rings...

Hello, this is Sean Daly.
Hello, Sean.

Whoa, Tony Bennett?
Yes, thank you.

It's like the voice of God!
Thanks. Thanks.

To read the rest of my interview with Tony Bennett, who opens the Clearwater Jazz Holiday Thursday night, go HERE.

Photo courtesy of Hoffswell.com

"They love me for my Mohawk!"

Ever heard of the Olly Girls -- Molly and Holly -- from E! reality show Sunset Tan? How about the Hollywood hip-pop collective Future Stars? You know, "the Lenny Kravitz of rap"?

Anyhoo...apparently Rays fans have been rocking out to the girls and guys' duet The Mohawk Song at the Trop during something called the "Hawk Cam."

Here's the LINK to the budding hit by the Future Stars feat. the Olly Girls. Can't deny that hook, can you? Oh yeah, it's stoopid. But the local team is on the verge of the World Series, so reason is out the window at this point.

Apparently, there was no original connection to the song and the Tampa Bay Rays....until now, that is. Everyone's looking to cash in on America's team.

Look for the Olly Girls to show up at the Trop any day now...or at least at my desk for a hard-hitting interview. Oh ladies...

Hey kids, it's your Uncle Bob!

I bought this for Kid Lulu and Mai-Mai when I was in Cleveland last week. Released in September, it's a beautifully illustrated children's book based on Bob Dylan's Forever Young. You know:

May God bless and keep you always,
May your wishes all come true,
May you always do for others
And let others do for you.
May you build a ladder to the stars
And climb on every rung,
May you stay forever young...

Mai-Mai basically just likes chewing on it, but Lulu was sucked in right away. Part of the fun for grownup Bobheads is spotting all of noted illustrator Paul Rogers' not-so-hidden references to young Zimmerman growing up to be a folk hero. ("See that store on the corner, Lulu? It's called Maggie's.")

Anyway, I highly recommend it, and if you want to read more, here's the Barnes and Noble link.

Oh, and if you want to hear the song, enjoy.

What songs make you sob?

Holy crap! That's the saddest thing ever! Good lord, I was bawling at the six-second mark. Seriously, if a co-worker had walked by, they woulda thought my hamster had just died or that I had dropped an anchor on my foot. I'm writing up Rhino's new reissues by the late, great Jim Croce, and I needed to get in the mood. Now I just wanna crawl under my desk and suck my thumb. Is there any song sadder than this? WHAT SONGS MAKE YOU SOB? Maybe Harry Chapin's Cat's in the Cradle?

I must be losing my mind

Kellie Pickler
Album: Kellie Pickler (Sony BMG)
In stores: Now
Why we care: It used to be good mean fun mocking Kellie "Huckleberry Blond" Pickler, the dizzied American Idol minx from a couple seasons back. From her jailbird dad to her dunderheaded understanding of sushi, she was ripe for ridicule. And yet, lookee here, boobirds: Pickler is on her second major-label album, a followup to her platinum debut. And you know what? For slick pop country, these disposable ditties are pretty dang tasty.
Why we like it: There's more helium (computer-assisted and otherwise) in Pickler's voice than her head, and she ups the twang to cartoonish Ellie Mae levels. But her candy-coated songs about both bad boys and cute ones are instantly in-your-head.
Reminds us of: Her liner-note snapshots could give the Pussycat Dolls a run for their honey. Oh yeah, cowgirlfriend definitely got her money's worth.
Download this: Rocks Instead of Rice (LISTEN HERE, Y'ALL)
Grade: B-

Photo courtesy of Sony

"Love is a time macheeeeeen..."

I thought the new Oasis album (Dig Out Your Soul) would be doinked from the CD player by now, but it's hanging in there. There's something in first single The Shock of the Lightning that keeps me coming back. Maybe it's the way Liam Gallagher rhymes words just for the sake of rhyming, style over substance, damn the meaning of things. I like that in a poet.

In Sean's Mailbox: Pierogi ghosts, etc.

So the day after cleansing my colonic soul with vegan manna from Chrissie Hynde's VegiTerranean restaurant, I totally fell off the wagon. It was ugly but life-affirming. I was seduced into a dark, wood-framed Cleveland haunt called Sokolowski's University Inn, a cafeteria-style Polish joint (est. 1923) right around the corner from the Christmas Story house. Bad-boy gourmand Anthony Bourdain braved the family-style Sokolowski's in his brilliant Cleveland ep of No Reservations, and ever since seeing that, I've been dying to go.

Taking a break from hardcore reporting on Ralphie's room, I zipped over there, grabbed my tray and ordered up the works: the sauteed pierogi platter w/sauerkraut, a potato "placki" pancake on the side...and then a bratwurst on the other side. The only condiments I needed were three cups of pure sour cream. Sokolowski's is rather dark inside, the wood brown and old, with thousands of family, fan and famous-people pix on the walls. It's pure character all the way. Classic. Unforgettable. The food is so good, you laugh when you eat it. You might do a little crying later, but hey, it's worth it.

So...as I sit here opening CDs, my stomach grumbling with pierogi ghosts, I think of Sokolowski's and realize what a lucky man I am. Incredibly unhealthy, but lucky. Here's today's haul...

Lucinda Williams -- Little Honey
Kenny Chesney -- Lucky Old Sun (WATCH)
Rise Against -- Appeal to Reason
Jack's Mannequin -- The Glass Passenger (WATCH)
The Clash -- Live at Shea Stadium
Sarah Brightman -- A Winter Symphony
Ingrid Michaelson -- Be OK
Michelle Williams -- Unexpected
Waylon Jennings & the 357's -- Waylon Forever
Ralph Stanley -- Old-Time Pickin': A Clawhammer Banjo Collection
James Morrison -- Songs for You, Truths for Me

I miss Don Henley's Afro

You probably already know this -- I'm weeding thru 8,000 emails in my inbox right now -- but the Eagles are coming to Tampa.

On Thursday, Jan. 29, Don, Glenn, Joe and the boys will play the St. Pete Times Forum. Tickets go on sale Monday, Oct. 20 and will be available at ticketmaster.com. Prices range from $47.75 in the nosebleeds to $187.75 for the front row.

I'll be there 'cuz it's my job. But if I were one of you guys...I dunno. Don't get me wrong: They'll play for two-plus hours, and you'll get all the goodies. But after seeing them a few years ago (and growing up with their music spinning 24-7 on the Mom and Dad stereo), I realized my body has maxed out on Life in the Fast Lane.

That said, if Henley still sported that killer 'fro, I'd pay double.

Photo courtesy of Eaglesfans.com

I shoulda stayed in Cleveland

Dear Mr. Daly,

I cannot understand why it is that you have never mentioned the likes of one of the best entertainers that ever lived? Michael Buble has proven to the world just how wonderful he is. He adores his fans and always says that, without them, he would not be where he is today. Did Sinatra ever ever acknowledge his fans?? I am quite old and have seen FS many, many times and never once did I ever hear a "Thank you" to his fans. He was an arragant so-and-so, totally in love with himself. I will take Buble over Frank any day. He is, and always will be, the best.

Doris S.

Photo courtesy of Reprise Records

"I can't put my arms down!"

How cool is this? That picture of pure goofy joy was snapped in the house where they filmed A Christmas Story. The beloved locale is just a few minutes from downtown Cleveland, in a working-class neighborhood called Tremont. A few years ago, a San Diego fan named Brian Jones bought the place for $150,000 off eBay. He spent another $250,000 restoring it. Only the movie's exteriors were filmed here, including Black Bart's shed in the backyard. However, the inside of the house is an utterly charming recreation, all the way down to a crooked star atop the Christmas tree and Ralphie's teeth marks in the Lifebuoy. Jones coughed up hundreds of thousands more to purchase property across the street for a museum and gift shop. Someday he might even buy the Bumpus house and turn it into a B&B...

Jones keeps a small apartment in the attic, where they also store wardrobe from the classic '83 flick...including Randy's snowsuit. And would you look at that: I have my grubby mitts all over it! Sweet! I also pawed Melinda "Mom" Dillon's purplish Christmas morning robe. However, the Old Man's cardigans were sealed away, so I just bowed before them and whispered a reverent "Notafingah!" Fair warning: The attic is off-limits to visitors, but they do have a museum across the street that's sublime with artifacts: Randy's zeppelin, Miss Shields' chalkboard, Scut Farkus' coonskin cap. You can even cradle a Red Ryder beauty.

I'm gonna write a whopper of a travelogue for the holidays, so you'll get that plus a full photo gallery and audio clips of the tour. You'll also hear about the upcoming 25th anniversary Christmas Story convention in Cleveland (Thanksgiving weekend, diehard fans are called "Ralphies"). And I'll even introduce you to Raul Gomez, a 13-year-old neighbor who's never been in the house. Instead, this 21st century Ralphie Parker just likes to gaze at the Leg Lamp in the front window, which is kept illuminated 24-7-365.   

Photo by Scott "It's a Clinker!" Keeler

Blame the Muppet

A Rays jersey with "Archuleta 08" on the back?

Dude, that's gonna be harder to shake than the Curse of the Bambino.

I'm burping up vegan...and I dig it!

We're about to embark on Cleveland Rocks: Day 3, which takes us to the Christmas Story House, museum, gift shop, heck even the Leg Lamp warehouse -- all to celebrate the movie's 25th anniversary. (Will I weep at the sight of Ralphie's Red Ryder? Probably.) After that, Photog Scott and