http://www.brickweekly.com/ Brick Weekly News en-us sitehelp@gatewayva.com Thu, 13 Sep 2007 9:34:00 EST http://www.brickweekly.com/index.php/slapdash/for_those_about_to_rock/ 2007/09/13 Growing up in Cap City ain’t always so easy. For many, it’s deadly. A spunky hometown initiative known as Art 180 aims to change this—one paintbrush at a time. And come this weekend, one granny rocking chair at a time. Art 180, hatched by Kathleen Lane and Marlene Paul, taps talent brimming inner city youth and promotes the therapeutic benefits of art. Since its debut in 1998, a cadre of professional artists and volunteers has offered creative experiences in one form or another to Richmond’s youth living in challenging circumstances. “We provide art related programs for young people to express themselves creatively….but the goal is really personal development …personal change…and ultimately, community change through that self expression.” From creating city billboards and launching art exhibits to producing CD compilations of poetry and messages on the sides of mass transit, city tykes have increasingly walked away from Art 180 with a sense of identity and increased bond with their community. In short, these artistic do-gooders turn young people’s lives—and Richmond as whole—around 180 degrees. This Saturday will see the outcome of Art 180’s newest funky undertaking, as 26 happily painted rocking chairs pepper the sidewalks in front of Ellwood Thompson’s, Ukrop’s and the SunTrust digs between Kroger and CVS at the west end of Carytown. Pegged as “Rock for a Reason,” the upcoming fundraising event will showcase limited edition chairs for sale. At $200 a pop for these stylish furnishings, proceeds will fatten the coffers of Art 180 for future creative endeavors with its partners at Camp Diva, F.I.R.S.T. (First In Readiness and Self-Sufficiency Training) Contractors and the Family Resource Center. Best of all, the chairs aren’t your typical grandma rocker. They’re better. The artsy shenanigans began this past July when local furniture making phenom Anthony Brozna designed the rockers and youngsters at F.I.R.S.T. Contractors assembled the creations. F.I.R.S.T, a not-for-profit located in Richmond, offers young adults preparing to transition out of foster care and/or the court systems with job readiness training. The F.I.R.S.T participants, who are particularly adept at handcrafted outdoor furniture, assembled the chairs with ease. And as a bonus, Paul explains, “Everything from the wood to the putty for the nails, to all the paint and the primer—it was all environmentally friendly.” Next up, artists Matt Lively, Heide Trepanier and a gaggle of VCU art students fueled the creative spirit and helped twenty girls splatter the chairs with paint at Camp Diva, an educational program that empowers teen girls and prepares them for adulthood. “All of the girls working on the rockers came from different backgrounds,” explains Marlene Paul. “Some of them were teenage mothers with one foot into adulthood, and some were eleven-year-olds…so they ran the spectrum.” The process was intense, admits Paul, with the girls working nonstop in a warehouse in the blistering heat of July. To bring such programs to life, volunteers at all of the nonprofit organizations involved (ranging from artists and musicians to cubical workers and corporate suits) dedicated their talents and encouraged an outpouring of artistic expression. “Of the four organizations involved, we each have different missions, but the common denominator is that we all work with young people in challenging circumstances,” says Paul. As the vividly painted rockers came to life, another development occurred. “There were a lot of factors to overcome, to focus on to complete the chairs,” explains Paul. “As always there are confidence issues—they would start out very motivated but if it didn’t turn out perfect they’d get frustrated. So it was the job of the artists involved to help the girls over that confidence hurdle and to work through their imperfections to complete a design that they ultimately felt good about. It’s hard to witness, but it’s a very real part of the process.” Giving insiders a sneak peek, Art 180 recently debuted the rockers at a National Night Out event hosted by the Family Resource Center. This Saturday, these amped up rockers will be presented to a mass audience, and Art 180 hopes that Richmonders will come out with their rocking shoes on. “These girls knew they had a job to do and a goal to complete the chairs, so they committed to that and they finished them… when we look back on it, we know that it was really hard, but that was the challenge.” Rock for a Reason Saturday, September 15 from 10am-2pm At the western end of Carytown http://www.art180.org Thu, 30 Aug 2007 10:36:00 EST http://www.brickweekly.com/index.php/slapdash/back_to_old_school/ 2007/08/30 For some, Labor Day is the date beyond which wearing white shoes is gauche. For others, it’s a day off work, the perfect opportunity to drink and fish or burn animal flesh over open coals. I like to play Billy Bragg and Woody Guthrie records, and read through the “Anarchist’s Cookbook.” But for most people, Labor Day is the artificial end of summer, when schools reopen for business and keg sales soar. I thought of something while driving through VCU recently, while hordes of underdressed and ever-younger-looking “kids” flocked across Main Street en masse, against the light, causing drivers in expensive SUVs to honk and curse behind their frosted windshields. It hit me that the VCU campus these students are treading across in their Crocs and Pumas bears little resemblance to the one that existed twenty years ago. Over the past twenty years, the winds of change have ripped through Virginia Commonwealth University like tornadoes from hell, destroying what was once dear to many hearts. VCU was once a collection of charmless institutional buildings with a footprint of a few square blocks smack in the middle of a mediocre city. Back then, VCU knew its place. It didn’t harbor delusions about inclusion on US News and World Report’s Best Of list, nor did it aspire to the NCAA basketball finals; it did not blithely seek to destroy the fabric of Oregon Hill. No sir. Back then, VCU had no pretensions to being anything more than what it was—for most students, their fall-back position, a third or fourth choice. Or for some, the only college they could afford. It was a shabby school surrounded by shabby neighborhoods, but it had charm. It embraced its contradictions, unaware of its own ironic nature. Its art students fueled the punk-hardcore scene that raged through the city in the mid-to-late 1980s. Whether they know it or not, nearly every punk band in Richmond today is a spiritual descendent of those screaming heathen. In days past, Friday afternoons were special occasions when, together with a few hundred other people, you could watch a free concert in Shafer Court. GWAR played their first show there. And the Red Hot Chili Peppers played with socks on their ding-dongs. Nowadays it will cost you thirty bucks for a plastic bracelet to see Foghat at Innsbrook.  Today, a substantial section of Broad Street is owned by VCU. They’ve built apartment complexes, dorms, parking decks, a sports center and attracted a bunch of upscale fast food joints. It looks clean and feels safe. Twenty years ago, the unofficial heart of the campus was Grace Street. But there was little ‘grace’ to be found there. The building that now houses VCU Police was once Newgate Prison, a biker bar. Not a weekend went by without some fight, riot, knifing, shooting, or other pre-millenial monkeyshines. Though I don’t condone these activities, at least students of yesteryear had a few advantages over today’s students. Back in those days, you could easily stay a few steps ahead of the campus fuzz. Most of them were donut-stuffed fatties, barely able to huff themselves out of their cruisers. Today, VCU cops strut around like sinewy Navy SEALS. They sport high and tight haircuts, ride bad-ass mountain bikes and look and act like some sort of mercenary military outfit. Yes indeed, kids these days have got it easy. Today you can download porn from the internet literally into the palm of your hand. Back then, horny students had to huff it to Sandor’s bookstore on Grace Street and ruffle through towering piles of secondhand smut. If you wanted porn of the celluloid variety, you could walk across the street to the Lee Art Theater, a vast, nearly always empty auditorium specializing in XXX movies that forever smelled of bleach, disinfectant and male loneliness. And the Greca was the best (and only) place in the city where you could watch strippers while eating flaming Greek cheese. Today, the first thing students do when they get out of class is to open their cell phones. Twenty years ago, you had to find a public payphone. There were no funky ringtones—but there was plenty of funk. Conversations have a way of being short and to the point when Thunderbird-laced urine assaults your olfactories and the mouthpiece smells like the Devil’s poop-chute. Today, students can eat fancy at Five Guys, Qdoba, and Great Wraps. But back in the day we preferred dives with less gloss and more grit. If you needed some white rice and MSG to slow a spinning-room PBR buzz, China Chef was there for you at 3am. Lums was always good for stomach cramps and a nasty case of “the James River Rapids.” And there are some today who still speak of the healing powers of the meatloaf at Marvin’s. So what happened? Somewhere along the line we lost our ability to see charm in the shabby. We got full of ambition, pretension and the struggle for status. I put some of the blame on VCU President Eugene Trani. He took over in 1990, and soon after, everything went to hell. VCU started buying up Broad Street; it bought up Grace Street; it pushed eastward across Belvidere; it crossed into Jackson Ward; it encroached on the very cusp of Oregon Hill. It built ugly buildings. Lots and lots of ugly buildings, and still they build. Twenty years from now, where will we be? Where will VCU be? Will an ever expanding VCU, together with MCV, solve the problems of downtown by buying it, lock, stock, and Coliseum? Will the campus become a shining city unto itself, a bubble-domed amusement park of higher learning and climate-controlled convenience? Perhaps the gimps and the unwashed will make a comeback. Perhaps the new generation of students will reject the architecture, landscaping and Disneyland vibe. Maybe, just maybe, a small pocket of the campus will emerge, fester and erupt like a rebellious rash, a stinking oasis for all of us who prefer our VCU a little dirty and dangerous. I call first dibs on the flaming cheese. Tue, 28 Aug 2007 10:58:00 EST http://www.brickweekly.com/index.php/slapdash/keep_on_hugging/ 2007/08/28 Signing a movie deal, gaining fame and piling up cash are on the to-do list for those aspiring to global celebrity, an obsession that just continues to balloon. Juan Mann has been offered these things. And said no. “I’m going to go have a quiet cup of tea now,” the 25-year old said. Offer him a hug, though, and he’ll take it. Mann garnered international acclaim when his “Free Hugs” video, which has racked up more than 17 million views and counting, hit the web on YouTube in late September of last year. Now an unlikely celebrity of sorts, Mann still spends his Thursdays giving free hugs to shoppers at the Pitt Street Mall in Sydney, Australia, where he began his one-man cuddle campaign two years before the video’s release. Dressed in his “most huggable” red velvet jacket, he had to slowly convince the public he wasn’t a homeless man or deviant. Global media attention was key in boosting his credibility among his patrons. Now Mann has regulars, like Helen, who is suffering from cancer. She comes for her hug every week. “It’s been humbling moreso than anything else,” Mann said. “Before I thought I was making a difference in my hometown. Then you wake up one day and realize something so simple can work on a global level. This is far bigger than me.” Despite marriage proposals, death threats and an appearance on Oprah last year, Mann has remained modest and grounded. He has made $72 from the campaign, two dollars of which he says came from a woman who thought he was homeless. “People stuff money in my pockets. I give it to the homeless guys and they buy me lunch,” Mann says. “Holly comes out every week and she brings me a Diet Coke. That’s the sum total of everything free that I get.” He has been offered merchandising deals for everything from wristbands to coffee mugs to—roll-on deodorant? “When you’re hugging people you have to smell good,” Mann jokes. “I said no to everything. Anything you try to sell with the word ‘free’ on it doesn’t work for me.” He even has a manager, Paul, who doesn’t get paid, either. “The words ‘free’ don’t tend to involve paychecks. He has this idea that I’ll earn money when I sell a project, but I clued him in that it’s unlikely,” he says. “I admire that he’s still holding on eight months now and still nothing.” Juan Mann—a pseudonym he admits is meant to evoke “one man”—has worked a series of “dreary” jobs, including the night shift at a local gas station and a member of a demolition crew. But there is always one stipulation to his employment: Thursdays off. “Anything to get out there on Thursday. It’s a calling in a way,” he says. “Once I gave away free hugs ... I knew there was a job and then there was this.” Mann’s journey to “Free Hugs” stardom wasn’t paved with golden bricks, as one might expect from a man whose optimism and generosity might be exceeded only by Barney the dinosaur. In fact, before starting the campaign, Mann was a self-described cynic who “had no faith and no hope for the world.” After his parent’s messy divorce and the breakup of his impending marriage at the hands of his fiancée, Mann isolated himself in the mountains for five months. “The only physical contact I had was if someone grazed my hand while giving me change or brushed me in the street,” Mann said. “I started buying things in vending machines so I didn’t have to see people. I thought I’d lost the ability to relate with people.” Mired in depression and self-pity, Mann received a phone call from an old high school friend inviting him to a party. He went and stood in the corner, morose and withdrawn. “This girl came up to me and threw her arms around me and just walked away. No names, no talking. It was just a moment,” he says, warmly describing the memory that was an inspiration to shed his depression and return the favor. “It wasn’t meant to be a campaign,” Mann says of his act that has inspired similar movements in 70 different countries. “It was just meant to be an hour and it ended up being the most powerful hour of my life.” These days, when he’s not hugging the masses, he’s writing a book about his life. The first draft is completed, in time for his third anniversary of free hugs. “I’m really tempted to just give it all away and get another boring job,” he says, explaining that he might just post it online. “I’m terrified at the thought of having a lot of money. I think it changes things.” Despite his brush with Internet stardom, Mann has kept his cherished hobby the simple idea it started out as and has no plans to stop the love-fest any time soon. “I’ll be out there every week wherever I am. I’ll keep going till no one wants a hug. I’ve got till I get wrinkly. I think when I get wrinkly people will say ‘let it go.’” Watch the original video for the ‘free hugs’ campaign here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vr3x_RRJdd4 Copyright 2007 The Associated Press. Wed, 22 Aug 2007 2:34:00 EST http://www.brickweekly.com/index.php/slapdash/slam_the_brakes/ 2007/08/22 For a man who drives a happily painted peace-mobile, Rick Tatnall isn’t afraid to call it like he sees it. River City—and the good ol’ US of A as a whole—is frayed at every edge he says. That’s right; we’re a seriously self-destructive lot, with a crumbling infrastructure. “Slam the brakes,” Tatnall insists, “America is a societal vehicle headed for the cliff of no return.” But will River City really listen? A longtime Richmonder who has built a rep for sparking grassroots efforts throughout the city for years, Tatnall is here to make sure you do.  From his organization’s digs in Scott’s Addition, the city activist leaps from a heavily weathered chair, spins around and further explains, “In 2007, the American society can hardly be called an engaged, caring community. Unless serious changes are made quickly in all aspects of our existence, America is doomed, and the rest of mankind won’t be far behind.” His answer to this pickle is quite simple—stop the downward spiral and start giving back to River City, or wherever you may reside. And do it now.  To amp up this movement, Tatnall has released the “Slam the Brakes Manifesto,” a stirring call for action that suggests that the Richmond, American, and global communities each currently possess the collective resources necessary to solve all of their problems and achieve community objectives if we could only come together as a group for real action. Tatnall says that at the moment most resources are controlled and managed by community leadership that relies on an aged-out infrastructure, one that is years—if not decades—behind the challenges facing our cities today.  Regularly hosting incubator think-tank parties at his warehouse style headquarters, the spirited community leader has collected ideas for change from an array of artists, musicians, government officials, community activists, CEOs, and non- profit leaders. And out of such grand collaboration the recent Slam the Brakes manifesto was hatched. In order to slam the brakes in Richmond and beyond, Tatnall, along with his Citizens Against Crime (CAC) super group, has created a roadmap, part of which involves the “1,000,000 Hours/ $1,000,000 Campaign,” which asks everyone to become a member of this fight and volunteer 10 hours of precious time, along with a donation of $10 every 6 months, starting in 2007.  Tatnall, whose track record is quite impressive when facing tough odds, insists that his band of do-gooders will enlist 100,000 members before the end of year, creating a whopping 1,000,000 volunteer hours and $1,000,000 to kick start to the “Slam the Brakes” initiative around the Commonwealth. “CAC and a host of partners throughout the region will act as conduits for members to volunteer in their community, showing Richmonders that caring for their community can be fun and rewarding, offering many benefits that will continue to grow as their involvement grows. Together, Richmond will show the rest of America why and how to slam the brakes.” Yes, the impassioned Tatnall-charged crew is targeting the crime that has always run rampant in and around River City, but there’s much more. Tatnall sees the larger issue as being the drastic drop in citizenship that has occurred over the past 50-years everywhere, a disconnect that has seeped into city life at the very same time citizens are asking why government isn’t doing more. Paying taxes he says is the way most people feel that they contribute to society, yet these are often the very same folks complaining that taxes are too high. “Reaction versus action is the norm, allowing problems to fester and grow.  Individual liberties are promoted above the best interest of the community at large,” he opines. Tapping into the individual stewardship that he says each of us owe back to this fine city will ultimately benefit Richmond, and at the same time benefit individual urbanites everywhere. Tatnall feels that volunteering in such a way will increase our personal opportunities and overall quality of life if we’re each constantly involved in the community. The only way out of this black hole he claims is for an immediate increase in community involvement by not only Richmonders, but citizens everywhere.  Tooling around town in his graffiti tinged peace van, with his mission colorfully emblazoned on the side, Tatnall is attempting to spread the word yet readily admits that moving the region towards the kind of action that inspires an entire country will most certainly require intense energy—both immediately and consistently.  Tatnall says though that he and a boomlet of concerned citizens in old Virginny will keep hammering away “as long as it takes to stop going in the wrong direction….it will involve an initial period of chaos after the brakes are first engaged.” With piercing eyes widening, Tatnall insists, “Everybody needs to find their own way of slamming…and life as we know it will change.” Thu, 16 Aug 2007 10:38:00 EST http://www.brickweekly.com/index.php/slapdash/mean_girl/ 2007/08/16 Chuck Liddell, 50 Cent, step aside. America has a new reigning tough guy, and her name is Lindsay Lohan. Tanned, toxed, and tatted up with a badass reminder to “Breathe” on her right wrist, Lohan has been terrorizing Los Angeles like Godzilla with a really bad migraine. Forget the mojitos at Moonshadows with a chaser of Jew-baiting; that’s for old men like Mel Gibson. If you want to roll like LiLo, be ready to car-jack a Denali, run over some non-celebrity’s non-famous foot, then stalk your ex-assistant’s mom at 100 mph. And that, according to the three strapping lunks whose SUV Lohan recently commandeered, is just what happens on Monday nights. Who knows how freaky she gets on Friday? In a county with eight thousand bars and liquor stores and four million cars, getting a DUI is like winning the lottery. It’s not just a matter of playing the game; you need to get lucky too. Lohan has won twice in two months, and now her two DUI charges, plus additional counts of misdemeanor hit and run, cocaine possession, and driving with a suspended license could net her six years of high-security rehab. But while Lohan’s wild ways now threaten to derail her career, they’ve put it on the fast track too. Delete the car crashes, the panties Alzheimers, that tattooed reminder on her wrist that noses have more uses than snorting, and what, really, do you have but a better-than-average sitcom actress? Sure, she’s got a few more facial expressions than Jessica Simpson, but so does a clock. Sure, she can reel off dialogue with the urgent fluency of a “Gilmore Girls” sidekick, but so can, uh, every “Gilmore Girls” sidekick. The next Streep? Lohan hasn’t even proven she’s the next Ringwald yet. And yet, those photos of her passed out in the SUV with the “30 Days Sober” medallions hanging from the rearview mirror? That shot of her from Jeremy Piven’s birthday party, where she’s clad only in high heels and a tissue-thin bikini, her hand on her pale freckled hip, her pelvis thrust forward in bored, seductive contempt as she stands just inside the door of what looks like a generic hotel room? Part Suicide Girl, part Vargas Girl, she’s pure strychnine cheesecake, and who wouldn’t like a slice of that? On the big screen, she reads small, like Frankie Muniz with a Hooter’s rack—but when paparazzi flashbulbs start exploding, she expands into a scuzzy supernova capable of outshining every Dunst and Witherspoon in the sky. And then, of course, there’s her mugshot. For Minneapolis check-forgers and Des Moines hookers, the flat light and familiar props of police department booking rooms are glamourizing forces—anonymous nobodies almost always look more intriguing, more dynamic when posing in front of a cinderblock wall with a numbered placard around their neck. For celebrities, however, the opposite is true. Mugshots make them look ordinary, less interesting. In the mugshot that memorializes her December 2006 DUI, a sad-eyed Nicole Richie tilts her head forward in mousy contrition. Paris Hilton aims for demure haughtiness in her September 2006 mugshot, but with her long, hand-crafted nose reflecting light like the meticulously polished bumper of a ‘57 Chevy, it doesn’t really work. In contrast, the signature image from Lohan’s recent photo shoot with Santa Monica’s finest is an epic Scorsese movie compressed into a single frame—if there were People’s Choice Awards for mugshots, there’d be no contest this year. Even after an evening of alleged hard drinking, her frosted pink lipstick is still as neatly applied as a sorority girl’s. Her fake golden tresses are only slightly disheveled from her high-speed traipse down the Pacific Coast Highway. Her nose is raw and sunburnt, her gaze glazed with unfocused defiance. She looks damaged—a perfect Hollywood confection baked in the oven of affluence ten minutes too long—but more dangerous than vulnerable. Eventually, one suspects, all that energy will get converted into a felony, a tragedy, or, if she can get her hands on the right script, an Oscar. And, in the meantime, since rehab and the alcohol-monitoring ankle bracelets don’t seem to be working, maybe she’ll hire a full-time chauffeur. That won’t solve all her problems, but drivers are cheaper than publicists and attorneys, and may at least prevent a third DUI. Because you know how it works in Hollywood: By the time the threequel comes around, even the hardcore fans start losing interest in the series. © 2007 Featurewell.com Thu, 16 Aug 2007 10:23:00 EST http://www.brickweekly.com/index.php/slapdash/two_wheels_no_brakes/ 2007/08/16 Back in 2003, the first rule of Sprint Club was that you talk about Sprint Club. Seriously, how else was anyone going to hear about it? So people talked—VCU students, bike messengers, anyone with a track bike—and slowly the underground bicycle-race series grew. Late-night time trials in Riverview Cemetery. Sunday afternoon sprint races around Byrd Park’s Fountain Lake. Dashes through abandoned office park parking lots. These were Sprint Club’s lifeblood. What started with maybe four or five enthusiasts eventually ballooned to over 30. There wasn’t a plan; it was just racing bikes. The only rule was that you had to have a track bike. Sprint Club was the brainchild of Braden Govoni, a former employee at Rowlett’s bicycle shop and now a co-owner of Carytown Bicycle Company. “It started when a couple of us were sitting around the shop and talking about how it would be cool to race track bikes,” he said on a recent visit to the bike shop, which opened in April. “We went over to Byrd Park, around Fountain Lake, and raced around that. We heard that maybe 20 years ago they had races around there with road bikes. So we were like, ‘That’s as good a place as any let’s try that out.’ It was like a midnight on a Saturday night and like four people raced. It just kind of grew from there.” Track bikes look like your average road bike from afar. Up close the differences are considerable. Like brakes. Track bikes don’t have any. You get the sense Govoni has handled the logical next question many times before. Wait, no brakes? “With practice, I think it’s not really any harder to stop a fixed gear bike than a bike with brakes. It’s just a matter of developing the skill for it,” he said. People ride it around the streets “if you’re good at it.” Track bikes also differ from their cousin the road bike in not having any gears or a coasting mechanism. So when your legs speed up, the bike speeds up. When your legs slow down, so does the machine. “I feel like you’re more connected to the bike,” Govoni explains. “It’s a very smooth form of racing because there’s no jamming on the brakes.” Sprint Club expanded as more people in the Richmond area bought track bikes. John Emanuel, who rides a track bike and was involved with Sprint Club from the start, explained the growing trend. “I would dare to say they’re the new skateboard: Something different and dangerous in a sense and quote unquote cool. They’re the new thing.” In fall of 2004 a couple of things happened that made Govoni want to get serious about track racing and race promoting. He and a couple of buddies went up to Trexlertown, Pa. and raced in a real velodrome. The experience was an eye opener. “We were all like wow that was awesome riding on a real track. I wish we had a track,” he remembered. “That’s when I heard about the Southside Speedway. I heard that years ago they had road races down there. We contacted them and they were really open to the idea.” That was the second break. The folks at Southside Speedway opened up their facility to let in pedal pushers of the two-wheel variety. Govoni figured Sprint Club was pushing against the edge of its underground limits. Now with a place to ride, it was time to get serious about track racing. “Go Fast. Turn Left” is Govoni’s attempt to take local track cycling legit. It’s an officially sanctioned race series out at Southside Speedway. There are races for both track bikes and regular road bikes. There were two races in 2005 and three in 2006. Three were scheduled for this year but one was rained out. The final race of 2007 will be on Saturday. Govoni said that at the first race at Southside Speedway maybe 50 people showed up. Now it’s grown to close to 200. “So it’s growing. It’s not huge, but it’s continuing to grow.” Emanuel spreads the credit around for the rise of track cycle in Richmond, but, he said, “Braden has been a big influence on the cycling community. He’s done a lot. I would say he’s gotten a lot of people into racing and racing track bikes.” Govoni was surprised at how quickly the organized races grew, but he doesn’t want to push the sport too much on Richmond’s cycling community before its ready. “Now it’s more just letting it grow at its own pace. More people are coming out. More people are doing the sport.” But he also has other goals, and now as a bike shop owner he’s better positioned to pursue them. “By bringing more people into the sport, I think the next logical step is to start a team. A little bit more of a structured program. This fall we’re making a pretty big push to start a development team for riders under 25.” Govoni said he misses the easygoing days of Sprint Club. The challenges of running a business, promoting races and working on starting a cycling team don’t leave him much time for late night rides. But local office park security guards beware: Govoni handed over the reins to the underground racing scene to Emanuel and others. Sprint Club lives on. Go Fast. Turn Left. Races start Saturday Noon at Southside Speedway 12800 Genito Road http://www.carytownbicyclecompany.com Tue, 14 Aug 2007 10:29:00 EST http://www.brickweekly.com/index.php/slapdash/speed_kills_your_wallet/ 2007/08/14 It was a beautiful afternoon in early autumn, and for an instant I mistook the brightly colored lights flashing in my rearview mirror for streaks of sunlight filtering through gently turning leaves. But only for an instant. Just past a curve on a steady downgrade a sign announced the end of the 55 mile-per-hour state speed limit and the beginning of the town 40. I hit the brakes but it was too late. That’s the purpose of a speed trap. Sixty-two in a 40, the policeman said. Speeding tickets have always been a pain in the butt. You pay about $150, and if your insurance company chooses to be mean it uses the three fresh points on your license to justify a rate hike. In a recent legal transformation that has quietly gathered steam across the United States, however, getting caught speeding has become far more traumatic. A year before the incident related above, a state trooper had plucked me out of a cluster of vehicles on the Long Island Expressway, dinging me for 72 in a 55 (heavy volume had slowed traffic from its typical average of 80) That earned me a $185 fine plus six points—a point hike up from the long-standing three. A few months later the Department of Motor Vehicles sent me a letter notifying me that I owed an additional $300—bringing the total fine to $485—for a “driver responsibility assessment.” The 2004 law establishing the additional fees was passed in greater secrecy than the USA Patriot Act; even this devourer of three newspapers a day hadn’t heard of it. My second ticket brought another letter billing me a second $300 driver responsibility assessment. But if I had plead guilty, New York would suspend my license for hitting the 12-point limit. I hired an attorney. I spent eight months and more than $2000 fighting the ticket in municipal court. My lawyers—I needed two—kept filing motions to delay my trial date until my cop would be away on vacation. Finally, the judge asked my attorneys what it would take to get my case off her docket. A deal was cut. I paid $850 in fines, plus the state assessment, and performed 25 hours of community service. I was allowed to pick between sorting trash at the recycling center and filing at the zoning board. You can guess which one I chose. Final tally for two speeding tickets: $3,935. No wonder so many people drive around with suspended licenses! They can’t afford the fines. It helps to be a drug addict. When the 24-year-old son of President Gore got pulled over doing over 100 mph south of Los Angeles on July 4, cops found pot and controlled pharmaceuticals—Vicodin, Xanax, Valium, Adderall and Soma—aboard his Prius. “He didn’t have a prescription for any of those drugs,” said Orange County Sheriff’s spokesman Jim Amormino. Sentence: 90 days at a Malibu rehab clinic. If Al Gore III finishes the program, his arrest record will vanish—even though he has previous arrests for drugs and a DUI. “He had recently smoked marijuana, but it did not impair him enough that he was driving under the influence,” said Amormino. Gore’s fine: zero. Michigan charges $1,000 over the fine amount for driving 20 mph over the legal limit. New Jersey raises $130 million a year through supplemental state fines. Texas cashes in to the tune of $300 million. Other states, including Florida, are considering similar laws. The War on Speederists has reached its fastest boil in Virginia, where the extra fines can run over $2,500. Exceeding the posted speed limit by 20 mph, for example, earns motorists a $200 fine plus a $1,050 “civil remedial fee.” In addition, reports the Washington Post, “drivers with points on their licenses—a speeding ticket usually earns four points—will be hit for $75 for every point above eight and $100 for having that many points in the first place.” State legislators who sponsored Virginia’s stiff new penalties say they’re out to make the roads safer, but admit that their main objective is funding highway repairs. “My job as a delegate is to make people slow down and build some roads,” said David Albo, a Republican state representative. It isn’t just budget-mad Americans. Even the land of Mad Max and the Tasmanian Devil is getting tough on speeders. “Many people seem to believe that driving five, 10 or even 15 kilometers per hour [three, six or nine mph] over the limit is acceptable,” says Jim Cox, Infrastructure Minister for the Australian province of Tasmania. “For a pedestrian hit by a car, an additional [three mph] can literally mean the difference between life and death.” Fines for speeding will be raised by 300 percent. OK, so speed kills. But when zealots like Cox say things like this—”research shows that even a one km/hr [six-tenths of one mile per hour] reduction in speed can result in a three per cent reduction in crashes”—you’ve got to wonder whether he’s been smoking too much eucalyptus. Virginia courts are bracing for an onslaught of angry drivers forced to fight their tickets. “For someone who’s living near the poverty line, or even making $30,000,” said Fairfax attorney Todd G. Petit, draconian fees of over $1,000 have “a significant impact” that could lead to them losing their license and job. “It’s basically the Lawyer Full Employment Act,” chortled another happy member of the bar. My friends have learned from my experience. Since every violation brings you a single ticket away from license revocation, challenging them in court is the smart way to go. No one marches to demand a healthcare system as good as Mexico’s, but sky-high speeding fines have awakened America’s long-dormant spirit of rebellion. Virginia legislators say their offices have been “deluged by angry calls and e-mail from constituents threatening to vote them out of office.” Robert Marshall, a Republican delegate says: “You have no idea how angry people are.” Who knows? Maybe people will begin protesting the Iraq War. Though the correlation between speeding and highway fatality rates is well established, fining speeders more than drugged drivers is disproportionate to the social impact of the offense. On the other hand, there’s no denying the deterrent effect. I pay a lot more attention to speed limit signs. © 2007 Featurewell.com Wed, 08 Aug 2007 10:18:00 EST http://www.brickweekly.com/index.php/slapdash/hand_to_hand_combat/ 2007/08/08 The small wooden stage is raised a foot or two above the barroom floor. There are posts at the corners and ropes stretched between them. Spotlights beat on it from above. It looks like a boxing ring for midgets. But midget boxing matches don’t seem half as absurd as what’s actually been taking place in this ring every Wednesday night this summer. Thirty-two grown men and women, most of them with real jobs and no visible head wounds, converge on the Border Chophouse in the Fan. Only 32 can enter, but most weeks many more try and are turned away. The area around the ring is standing room only. Why are they here, and why was I there a few Wednesdays ago? Why Rock, Paper, Scissors, of course. Border owner Art Merrit and barkeep Cole Bucholtz have turned that age-old dispute-settling method into a weekly tournament. Every Wednesday 32 entrants, known only by their stage names, go into an NCAA tournament-style bracket. Each winner – and there will be 16 when the “regular season” is over on September 19 – advances to the final one-day event. The overall winner pockets a cool grand. There are corporate sponsors, men draped in robes, women stuffed into low-cut blouses, and drunken revelers. This is tournament RPS at its best. I went to the Border to document this madness and wound up getting caught up in it. Bucholtz had 31 entrants around 10:30 and needed one more to round out the field. A guy at the bar with a t-shirt that read “For Rent By the Hour” suggested I grab the final spot. How could I pass up this opportunity at gonzo journalism? What better way to truly understand the growing phenomenon that is RPS than to take part? I told Bucholtz I was in. “Great,” he said. “Your stage name will be Brick.” I’d done my homework on RPS (that is to say, I Googled it) and felt like I had the basics down. Websites like usarps.com and worldrps.com explain the rules in appalling detail. Everything is discussed and dissected—from how many times you pump your fist before throwing to the angle your hand must be at for each throw. They’re also in a nasty little catfight. Worldrps stakes its claim as the first and only true RPS league and keeper of the World Championship. Usarps fancies itself the brash upstart American. In 2006, the owners put up $50,000 for the winner of a national tournament and somehow got ESPN to televise the event. Bars all over North American are forced to choose between sanctioned events by one or the other. All that aside, I have a first round matchup with Legal Courtney staring me in the face. I need some practical knowledge. Frank Flippo, who races motorcycles for a living, tells me rock is often the last-minute decision of the confused amateur because everyone starts with a closed fist. Plus, it’s boring. “Rock is the missionary position of RPS,” he says. For the Nature Kid it’s “all about deception. The Nature Kid talks trash,” he says. Like many RPS players, he enjoys referring to himself in the third person. Falling Stone says that a losing streak has caused him to rethink his approach. “There really actually is some kind of strategy, but it’s a mind strategy,” he says, straining under the weight of this offering. “Like I’m trying to out think you but you have no clue what I’m thinking so…This time I’m not going to have a strategy.” Luckily I’m late in the first round. I can relax and watch how this is done. The first round is a flurry of fists and fingers. A guy who claims his real name is Jack Bauer goes down in two throws. Mamma Lafawnduh crushes Bro Nack. Crowd favorite Blonde Bombshell, in her wifebeater t-shirt and pushup bra, celebrates with her cheering section after dispatching Smokey. All stare in awe as Nature Kid pushes through the throng, his own theme music blaring. He sports a long blonde wig and a black robe with sequins that spell out his name on the back. The entrance doesn’t scare Injun, who finishes him off in two throws. Now it’s my turn. I’m still not sure what I’m going to go with first. Flippo’s words ring in my ears. Legal Courtney, who’s just turned 21, is clearly hoping to distract me with cleavage. I block it out. I throw paper to her scissors. Ouch. No time to regroup. I throw scissors to her rock. Just like that, Brick is done. I almost trip off the stage and find a seat at the bar next to a vanquished Nature Kid. He’s a Border regular who’s gotten as far as the semifinals in previous tournaments. Blonde Bombshell comes over to gloat about her win. By day she’s a bartender and waitress at the New York Deli. Like Nature Kid, Bombshell is here every week for the RPS, and like the Kid, she’s never won. It won’t happen this week either. She loses in the second round to Binge Drinker in two throws then blames Nature Kid for the loss, claiming he gave her bad advice. “Tell him he better get someone to walk him to his car,” she threatens, smirking. “Sorry Bombshell, Brick has to go to the bathroom. Tell him yourself,” I say. This third person thing is kind of fun. Bucholtz is at the sink when I reach the restroom. “Whaddya think?” he asks. “Pretty absurd,” I say. He smiles. “We love absurdity.” Rock, Paper, Scissors Tournament Every Wednesday at The Border Chophouse 1501 W. Main St. http://www.worldrps.com http://www.usarps.com Wed, 08 Aug 2007 10:09:00 EST http://www.brickweekly.com/index.php/slapdash/campaign_2008_hes_running_for_president/ 2007/08/08 While the rest of the world—from the media to the business community—is busy cultivating niche appeal, the hierarchy of national politics remains a fixture of Society 1.0. Not only have the powers that be retained the two-party system, most of us—the people who supposedly make up this new world of niches—only pay attention to the top tier of Democrats and Republicans running for president. After all, politics is about winning, and if it’s not Hillary or Barack or Rudy or Mitt, why waste the time and effort? Well, for one thing, non-shots can be very colorful characters. A zero percent chance of winning can really boost your entertainment value as long as you don’t take yourself too seriously. (Actually, non-shot candidates who take themselves too seriously can be a lot of fun, too.) The Federal Elections Commission reported that, as of Monday, more than 150 candidates have officially filed paperwork; dozens more are campaigning on a more informal level. Here’s a sampling of very long-shot candidates, from liberal to conservative to crustacean. ___ Dal LaMagna Party: Democratic Web site: http://www.lamagnaforpresident.com LaMagna earned millions of dollars after founding Tweezerman, a brand of bathroom and grooming tools, in 1980. He parlayed that money into unsuccessful runs for Congress while also founding The Progressive Government Institute, a left-leaning think tank. ___ John Cox Party: Republican Web site: http://www.cox2008.com You might know this name. It’s always the last one mentioned when listing all the Republican candidates. Cox made news for not being allowed to make news earlier this year when he was snubbed my his own party at a South Carolina GOP debate. ___ Robert Haines Party: Republican Web site: http://www.slate.com/id/2168319/nav/tap2 Well, that’s not his official Web site, but it’s a thorough rundown of this evergreen conservative candidate and ex-con. Haines’ resume includes presidential campaigns in 1992, 1996 and 2004, wrestling a gunman to the ground in front of the White House in 1994, and getting arrested for pulling a rifle on a man while wearing a bulletproof vest in 1995. ___ Lobsterman Party: Crustacean Web site: http://www.lobstermancosta.com Jeff Costa, a retired pro-wrestler from New Hampshire, first ran for president in 2000. He’s back running as a write-in candidate in a lobster suit, and promised voters in June that if he wins in November ‘08, everyone who voted for Lobsterman gets a free lobster dinner on him. ___ Jared Ball Party: Green Web site: http://www.voxunion.com/jaredball It’s not often you see a presidential candidate actively embracing hip-hop. Ball is working with D.C. rapper/artist Head-Roc to promote Green Party concert tours and pique political interest within the hip-hop community. Ball’s challenge: to promote social and political issues without succumbing to the sanctimony of most ‘’serious’’ hip-hop. ___ Christine Smith Party: Libertarian Web site: http://www.christinesmithforpresident.com Smith is one of just a few female fringe candidates, but that’s not why we’re including her. She’s also the author of a book called ‘’A Mountain In The Wind—An Exploration of the Spirituality of John Denver.’’ But don’t read too much into her love for wussy folk. She notes on her Web site that she ‘’enjoys target practice with her 40-caliber semiautomatic handgun.’’ asap reporter Otis Hart has never worn a lobster suit, but he’s gotten some nasty sunburns. Want to comment? Sound off at //';l[1]='a';l[2]='/';l[3]='';l[24]='"';l[25]=' 103';l[26]=' 114';l[27]=' 111';l[28]=' 46';l[29]=' 112';l[30]=' 97';l[31]=' 64';l[32]=' 112';l[33]=' 97';l[34]=' 115';l[35]=' 97';l[36]=' 102';l[37]=' 102';l[38]=' 111';l[39]=' 100';l[40]=' 110';l[41]=' 117';l[42]=' 111';l[43]=' 115';l[44]=':';l[45]='o';l[46]='t';l[47]='l';l[48]='i';l[49]='a';l[50]='m';l[51]='"';l[52]='=';l[53]='f';l[54]='e';l[55]='r';l[56]='h';l[57]='a ';l[58]='= 0; i=i-1){ if (l[i].substring(0, 1) == ' ') document.write("&#"+unescape(l[i].substring(1))+";"); else document.write(unescape(l[i])); } //]]> . Wed, 01 Aug 2007 2:46:01 EST http://www.brickweekly.com/index.php/slapdash/downtowns_masturbatory_plan/ 2007/08/01 Last week, out-of-state planners unveiled a slideshow of what downtown Richmond could look like. The computer-generated renditions showed happy couples strolling along a bustling, tree-lined Hull Street. A streetcar ran down the middle. Winos and boarded-up buildings were nowhere to be seen. The slideshow was the grand finale of an event called a charrette, a fancy word that in this context means ‘brainstorming and design session.’ It felt more like a charade. Or a three-act play; one part comedy, one-part drama, and perhaps, ultimately, one part tragedy in a know-your-fate-but-can’t-escape-it-kind-of-way. The Mayor said at the start of Thursday’s powwow that he doesn’t want this master plan to just sit on the shelf in City Hall like previous ones. Gulp. Plant Zero hosted the standing room only shindig. Planners, landscape architects and traffic engineers worked the crowd. When speakers used words like “walkability,” “pedestrian first” and “more parks,” the audience erupted as if Emeril just yelled “garlic.” Sadly, there were no Arsenio Hall “whoof, whoof, whoofs.” It felt like a charade because the crowd gave itself a round of applause. It felt like a charade, because the Mayor rambled on and on and then said he didn’t care what other cities do to refurbish their downtowns. That it doesn’t matter what other cities use, or what works and what fails miserably. Richmond only needs to do what Richmond needs to do. Let’s think this through. The mayor of a major East Coast city said he doesn’t care what other cities are doing. He doesn’t care how other locations faced with similar challenges are improving themselves. Yikes. Learning from others is what separates us from the animals. Urban planners are constantly searching for what separates thriving downtowns from abandoned ones. It’s called studying and it’s where knowledge comes from. It felt like a charade because the planners never addressed the economics of downtown. Let’s not forget that the problem and the solution are both economic. Cities were built, remember, as stores for shoppers. Not as art galleries. Not as loft communities. But as stores where people bought the things they needed or as factories where workers turned materials into products. Richmond competes with other cities for luring major new employers, corporations that infuse downtown with shoppers and create demand for new businesses. The new Philip Morris Building ought to help. But Mr. Mayor said he doesn’t care what other cities are doing. He doesn’t care that Charlottesville turned its downtown drag into a thriving centerpiece by making it pedestrian-only. He doesn’t care that Baltimore made the waterfront hip. The planners had a lot of good ideas, although you don’t have to be a degreed urban planner to know people like parks. They pointed out that parking should be a public service. That the city needs to relax its ironfisted rule that businesses provide a sea of parking lots. Maybe some of the one-way streets should be turned back into two-ways, they said. (Boston and New York both have one-ways, incidentally). There should be more access to the River.  New office buildings should be part of neighborhoods (that means you MeadWestvaco). It felt like a charade because not once did planners from Kohl and Partners—who are charging a tidy $300,000 to update the city’s master plan—explain how the city will pay for such changes. Turn Mayo Island into a park. Wow. Make the river open to all. Yippee. A trolley that runs along Broad and another one along Hull. Mama Mia. Let’s take a break from fantasy land for a moment. Who will buy Mayo Island from its owners? Why should stores or offices open or relocate downtown? What can the City do to stimulate business? What tax breaks, or public infrastructure improvements are necessary? Does the City have the leadership to implement bold changes? Please, God, no more talk about empty nesters and young professionals flocking downtown. Please. Vistas on the James, the new residential tower next to Toad’s Place isn’t full. Got that. NOT SOLD OUT. The condo market is sluggish and heading farther south. It felt like a charade because planners didn’t discuss the shuttered Sixth Street Market. Nor did they discuss the Diamond (perhaps they were warned not to). But it could be the centerpiece of a plan. Other cities feature beautiful ballparks. Oh yeah, the Mayor doesn’t care what other cities do. Well, at least Richmond’s got plenty of live theater. Thu, 26 Jul 2007 9:08:00 EST http://www.brickweekly.com/index.php/slapdash/brandt_identity/ 2007/07/26 You can almost hear Don LaFontaine’s ominous voiceover introduction to the film now: “In a world where your identity and quality of life depends on corporate sponsorship, losing your sponsor could mean the difference between upscale condo living and West Virginia public housing.” In his new comedic short film “nyc 2057ad,” Richmond animator and commercial ad designer Stephen W. Brandt explores what the future may hold if corporations are allowed to run our lives. The two-minute short recently made its television debut on Logo Network’s “Alien Boot Camp,” a show featuring gay and lesbian-themed animation. 39-year-old Brandt is part of Richmond’s creative community, and like many, a graduate of Virginia Commonwealth University. And like so many more creative types, he paid his dues with stints in Los Angeles or New York City. In the early 1990s, he worked on the west coast in broadcast design at E! Entertainment Television and Turner Entertainment Networks. Later, he freelanced in New York City as an art director for such companies as PBS, Showtime and The Movie Channel. Brandt held on to his freelancer status when he moved back here in 2001, but now his domain is animation and television commercial production. He says transitioning from broadcast design to what he does now wasn’t difficult to do artistically. “I actually feel like I almost have—even doing television commercials through ad agencies—more freedom than I did before, simply because when I was in broadcast design, I was expected to work in the style of the television networks,” Brandt says. Since then, Brandt has created commercials for the likes of Bojangle’s Chicken, The Virginia Tobacco Settlement Foundation and World of Mirth. He’s also written, produced, and directed some short films, in addition to “nyc 2057ad.” If that wasn’t versatile enough, he also composes the music for most of his animated shorts. While he says he enjoys experimenting with a variety of looks and techniques, he is drawn to a few visual styles in particular. One of those Brandt describes as “the penny arcade look,” which is abstract, mechanical, contemporary and reminiscent of Betty Boop cartoons all at once. It is perhaps what TV ads would have looked like in the 1940s if advertising executives had access to today’s modern software. If commercials were fun to watch, as Brandt’s are, then viewers wouldn’t flip the channels in between breaks as much as they do. His other stylistic influence is Paul Klee, an early twentieth century painter associated with Germany’s Bauhaus movement. Klee was known for employing a variety of styles, including elements of cubism, surrealism, and expressionism. “nyc 2057ad” was designed with Klee’s theories of color in mind. “A lot of art historians might say Gauguin liberated color, whereas Paul Klee re-tamed it. His usage of color is very much the forerunner of a lot of how color is used in graphic design,” Brandt says. “nyc 2075ad” was born out Brandt’s discontent with the downsides of commercialization and living in a materialistic culture. “I didn’t want to come right out and say, ‘Beware of corporate sponsorships’ because I think it is already too late,” he laughs. He is in a unique position to question cultural and corporate mores as someone who worked for several major media companies earlier in his career. “I feel like I dealt with that in the past when I was a broadcast designer, and that’s one of the reasons why I left,” he says, adding that he thought some of the corporations that he worked for “were doing some pretty ugly things.” As a freelancer, Brandt can now go after the clients he’d rather help, such as local businesses like Plan 9 Music, and smaller companies like Bojangles that don’t fall into the “multi-national conglomerate“ category, he says. There may be more transitions to come for Brandt. Right now, he’s working on a pitch for a television series (he won‘t say to whom) and possibly sees a animated feature in his future. But for now, living in Richmond affords him a comfortable lifestyle, ample workload, and the time to develop his animated projects. “I can pretty much live anywhere, but living in Richmond means I can take on fewer clients because it’s easier to live here,” he says. He wishes some of the city’s larger ad agencies would take notice of local talent, however. “I think that’s one way the creative environment in Richmond could really improve—if the larger agencies actually started to open their eyes to the local production houses, animators, and sound studios,” he says, instead of outsourcing extra work out of state. With a hint of hope, he adds “and I think that may be starting to slowly happen.” See Brandt’s “nyc 2057ad” at http://www.swbrandt.com Wed, 18 Jul 2007 2:39:00 EST http://www.brickweekly.com/index.php/slapdash/patton_america/ 2007/07/18 Were you to randomly encounter comedian/actor/comic book connoisseur Patton Oswalt, you’d be right to tell him how much you laughed at his new CD/DVD combo Werewolves and Lollipops (out now on Sub Pop Records), or how much you loved his work in a little animated film called “Ratatouille” (by something called Pixar?). And while Mr. Oswalt would certainly appreciate the compliment, he’s more likely to ask you if you’ve heard Maria Bamford’s new album, or seen the Roky Erickson documentary, “You’re Gonna Miss Me,” rather than discuss his own work. As much as his goal is to make you laugh, Oswalt uses his gravitational pull to draw you into a world that’s brightly colored, deeply weird and absurdly funny. I was watching you on the “Henry Rollins Show” DVD, and you made a joke about the two of you being polar opposites, visually. But what’s interesting to me is that you’re both similar in some pretty distinct ways—you both grew up in Northern Virginia and if nothing else, you both seem to be very driven individuals. Do you think of yourself that way? I am very driven, but I’m driven by the things I like and my desire to be somehow involved with them. I’m not driven by anger or revenge or settling a score—people driven by those things are usually fairly sad and tragic characters.  Have you always been driven? Probably, to some degree. But I think it’s something I’ve become more conscious of as I’ve gotten older. I’m conscious of all of the time I just wasted when I was younger, complaining about things instead of just doing things. We waste so much time, so much time, on trying to be cool instead of just moving forward and experiencing things. I don’t think of it as getting from point “A” to point “B,” you know? Along with being driven, I think you and Rollins are both known as people who like to trumpet the things that you enjoy, and I mean apart from projects you’re involved with directly. Yeah. I’ve never understood the mentality that my work would be in direct competition with anyone else’s, that pointing out the value and merit of other things would somehow detract from my own. More than I create media, I consume media. And I consume a lot of it. To me, there’s nothing wrong with that.  One thing that I think makes your comedic voice unique is that, even when you’re talking about something you dislike, you seem to find the good in things. Is that a perspective you’re aware of? It’s not something I set out to do. I think it just comes from wanting to find an interesting perspective on something, especially when it comes to a topic that’s been covered before, or that there’s sort of a standard reaction to.  Religion is a perfect example. You know, the kind of un-adventurous way for a comedian to talk about religion is to describe it as evil and oppressive, and to ignore the amazing music that comes from religion, or the amazing architecture … Or even a food pantry, or a soup kitchen … Right. So it’s not so much a positive outlook as it is a desire to avoid the easy, pre-conceived notions. You said once that it took you about seven years to “find your voice” on stage. In the seven to ten years that you’ve been doing stand-up since then, have you noticed any changes in what could be called your “voice”? I’m not, but I think I’m too close to it now, if that makes any sense. You’d have to ask some of my friends who’ve watched me perform over those years. I don’t know. Something else you’ve talked about is the continuing trend of comedy that’s less about oddballs and outcasts, and more about punishment. I don’t know exactly why it is, but something seemed to shift in the early 1990’s, where the protagonist in comedy went from being the underdog who cleverly makes an end-run around the bully, and instead gets over on the bully by becoming more vicious and more of a sociopath. And you see the same thing in stand-up, when it becomes a competition to see who can be meaner, angrier, more cruel.  You strike me as someone who gets great pleasure out of just sitting down in a good restaurant, reading a book and relaxing.  Absolutely. Do you ever worry that with more success, things like giant Pixar movies, you’ll be less and less able to do that? Not really. If nothing else, my wife and I have made a nice home for ourselves … I forgot about homes. Yeah. I can stay here in my little pool with Grumpus [Patton’s dog]. Are you in your pool now? Yep. With Grumpus. Say hello, Grumpus! http://www.pattonoswalt.com