Shards of a Weekend

Beyond a moment of clarity not fit for the Internets, I have no great thread to stitch the past three days together.

As punishment for my transgressions, I sat through a viewing of Armageddon, the film which officially stole Worst Film Ever away from Plan 9 From Outer Space. A drinking game based on the number of gloom and doom comments from Steve Buscemi or the non-sequitir shots of Liv Tyler looking forlorn could destroy livers in a single viewing. I wonder when the 10th anniversary edition is due ....

However, Sunday's movie (Role Models) was the funniest thing I've seen all year.

Back Under Black, Please - No one would call AC/DC a photogenic band, but the Young brothers have not aged well. Check out the latest Rolling Stone cover – if Malcolm’s hair thinned out, he could pass for Gollum. Angus’ mildly creepy schoolboy outfit has now turned outright spooky. At least this gang has gone without plastic surgery, but a little pancake might have helped.

Poor Vanderbilt – that’s a major oxymoron, I know. But with the team just one win from qualifying for a Bowl game, they’ve been struggling for that sixth win for more than a month.

At Home in Nashville - I needed a tea and scone fix in the early evening, and Portland Brew beckoned. Behind the counter stood Brian Ritchey, a singer-songwriter who turns out albums of great songs. We chatted about his latest projects and the two albums he’s cutting. Nashville has that vibe – you catch someone onstage, then again at their day job.

I know my barista again, so I can’t call Columbus “home” anymore. Home is moving target. That’s a tough conclusion, but an inevitable one.