The Kingpins of Cowtown

Batman blows 'em away at midnight

I would ask what you're doing this weekend, but apparently you (and everybody else) will be waiting in line to see Batman: The Dark Knight.

In midnight showings alone last night, it grossed a record $18.5 million. Round here, The Dark Knight showed on 17 of 18 screens at the Rave theater at 12:01.

A co-worker who went to see it said it took him 20 minutes to get out of the parking lot around 3 a.m. That's some serious devotion to a fictional character, huh?

Check out Christopher Kelly's five-star review of the film here. And listen to me and some pals jabber on about it in this week's Ready, Set, Go! podcast. That's me dancing on Heath Ledger's grave.

Justin Timberlake spoofs Jessimo at ESPYs

The ESPYs may be the most useless, self-congratulatory awards show going -- which also makes it one of the more entertaining to watch. The show, taped this week but airing Sunday night, is just ESPN's excuse to bring the beautiful people of Hollywood and the sports world together in one ballroom.

Call it Synergy on Steroids.

Justin Timberlake is the host, and he's the perfect Hollywood sports wannabe. A great golfer who hangs with plenty of athletes, he seems to have a little more room to make fun of sports' biggest stars.

Photos from the show suggest he does just that. Check out the Jessica Simpson and Tony Romo spoof.

He also takes aim at the Celtics and David Beckham, among others. Should be worth watching. Here are a few photos to whet your appetite.

So long, Starbucks. I hardly used you

The Starbucks near my house is closing!!!

This would be cause for panic if  a) I drank coffee. ... or b) There weren't four more within a 3-mile radius.

The news is sure to send shockwaves across our over-caffeinated commuter culture. Look out for those latte-deprived drivers. There's no telling what they'll do.

Rocco rules again?

Don't look now, but fan fave Rocco Mediate is leading the British Open at -1. With no Tiger in the field, this could be Rocco's big moment. At least I hope so.

And Greg Norman is only one stroke back at even par. Old-guy golfers rule! 

Apple store to open in University Park Village

In the latest sign that we're at least as cool as Southlake, Fort Worth is getting its own Apple Store in University Park Village. This hasn't been the best-kept secret. Rumors have been swirling since early this year, but we spied the slick Apple logo over what used to be The Gap store this morning. Kinda looks like the Bat Cave right now.

A friendly construction site foreman told me the store is slated to open Aug. 23, which is a day before my birthday -- just in case you were having a tough time coming up with gift ideas. Bowling stuff always works, too.

You and your tater tots "have a blessed day!"

Several times in the last few months, I've had drive-thru food delivered to me ... along with this sendoff:

"Have a blessed day!"

Nice, I guess. ... Or is it a veiled attempt to convert me and my sausage, egg and cheese croissant!?!

Dunno, but there sure are a lot opinions on the topic. Check out this interesting discussion. And this perspective. Seems like most of the "blessing" is coming from restaurant workers. Maybe they know something we don't -- like what's actually in a McRib.

As someone who views faith as personal and private, I like my tater tots sans sermon, please.

Heads will roll, literally

This is a very unfortunate use of bowling technique.

Mamma Mia! These guys can really dance

If you need something to make you smile, check out the latest Movie Madness video, where our critics sing a little, dance a little too much and fight about the merits of Mama Mia! and Meryl Streep's singing.

ABBA rocks!

Campaigning the cartoon way

Pretty funny new jib-jab video on the campaign. If it wasn't so true, it would be funnier.

All-Star overkill

Lots of chatter this morning about the marathon All-Star game in the Bronx last night. Michael Young finally knocked in the winning run for the AL in the bottom of the 15th inning. Yippee! Snore.

If MLB and Fox hadn't orchestrated such a marathon, self-congratulatory pre-game, the actual game might have ended before midnight. I'm a lifelong Yankees fan, and I'm sad to see the stadium go dark, but c'mon ... it's hard to get misty-eyed when the team's building a $1 billion replacement right next door.

And excuse me for saying so, but why is the Josh Hamilton story so much better than that of a player who didn't get addicted to drugs and alcohol? Like, say, Ian Kinsler.

We (fans and media) love the risen-from-the-ashes melodrama -- with a side order of faith. I say ... snore ... it's time to let Hamilton just play and quit trying to anoint him mythical status.

My propane pain

I had a couple days off to spend with my son, and we had big adventures: like trying Chuck E. Cheese's for the first time (not as scary as I'd feared), playing nine holes of "big golf" with a pre-schooler (no cart crashes to report); and searching western Tarrant County for a Blue Rhino propane tank.

Nathan and I were determined to have a barbecue, but my tank was empty. And apparently, the nifty "fast-release" tank that was so in vogue eight years ago when I got the barbecue as a birthday gift has gone the way of the 8-track. We didn't know this till we went to a Walgreens, a Racetrack, a Wal Mart and three other Blue Rhino tank exchanges. (At least Nathan caught a few zzzzz's during the drive.) Finally, we made it to an Ace Hardware on Jacksboro Highway that fills the tanks. It is now my favorite hardware store ever.

Around 5:30 last night, I got ready to toss the steak on the grill. That's when the raindrops fell on my head. Perfect.

The propane cost $16, plus a tip to the nice fella who filled it for me and put it in my car. That doesn't include the $17 in gas we spent riding around in search of the tank. But how do you put a price tag on memories?

Penny and Nemo: Superdogs

All dogs go to heaven, and this is why.

Hands off the jalapenos

Tomatoes was one thing, but now we're supposed to swear off jalapenos? There's only so much we can take.

Little Lebowski underachievers

The problem with being a phenomenon is that everyone wants a piece of your phenom pie. Witness this lame video from videojug that is supposed to teach you to bowl, Big Lebowski-style.

The lame Dude impression and voice made me want to beat myself about the head with a bowling pin -- the one that Jeff Bridges personally autographed for me.

I did, however, find a fun TBL trinket this weekend: a Dude audio keychain with six Dude-isms. My favorite is: "Hey, careful, man. There's a beverage here!" I paid 12 bucks at the Dallas store, but you can buy it online for 10.

Park it at the State Parks -- or at the bowling alley

I don't necessarily mind the current "staycation" trend -- even if it is a function of oil speculators gone wild.

At least we take advantage of what we've got right here, like state parks. Chicken friend steak. And bowling.

I chatted with some bowling industry friends yesterday, and they said bowling alleys are one of the few businesses having a decent summer in this, the Summer of Our Discontent.

And why not? When it's hot out, and it costs a mortgage payment to fly anywhere, bowling seems like a pretty sweet option. See ya on the lanes, Little Lebowskis.

Unhappy trails for downtown's Paper Trails

If you've ever wandered into Paper Trails, the cute little card shop on Main Street, you've probably come out with at least one of their pretty, whimsical cards. Or maybe a funky gift (I was especially fond of the handmade "Groom" and "Father of the Groom" cufflinks I got for my brother and my dad a few years ago.)

Sadly, no more. Thanks to America's suffocating economy, Paper Trails will be closing its doors by the end of the month. That's downtown's loss -- one less independent retail store to pop into when roaming Sundance Square.

As of today, most of the store's merchandise -- except for cards -- is being priced to move. But things are thinning out, so stop by while there's still stock left to buy. And maybe just to say good-bye to a good neighbor, and thanks for six years of cool cards.

-- Heather Svokos

Fresh Prince of the lanes

With the release of Hancock today, Will Smith is everywhere. But he's not where I'd like him to be, which is in a bowling alley with me. He's always been high on my wish list of celebrity bowling partners, especially after I heard that he has rented out a bowling house in Miami for his birthday party in the past.

I couldn't find any video of him bowling, but I did find a Fresh Prince clip where he tries to teach a hapless Carlton how to roll. It's painful, literally.

Watermelon works wonders in the bedroom?

I watch a lot of golf on TV, which means I watch my share of erectile dysfunction ads. They're actually pretty funny -- Viva, Viagra! -- unless of course you have ED. (Sorry, Sen. Dole.)

But I doubt anyone's laughing in the offices of those wonder drug companies today. Not now that Texas A&M researchers have discovered that watermelon may have the same effect as Viagra.

Researchers admit that watermelon "may not be as organ specific as Viagra," but it also doesn't come with 537 disclaimers and side effects that will make you swear off sex entirely.

The idea of combining food with a virility boost is hardly new, however. In Egypt, they have Viagra sandwiches, and nearly every restaurant in Cairo has a Viagra dish on the menu, according to one blogger.

So, you see, watermelon has some stiff competition out there.

Serve and volley at Wimbledon

I love tennis pictures because they create all sorts of possibilities.

Like this one. Is Jelena Jankovich trying to blow this ball over the net?

Anywho, I'm enjoying Wimbledon this week. But I am concerned that with Andy Roddick and Maria Sharapova losing today, the beauty pageant aspect will be lost.

Crawling out from under a cloud

Sorry I haven't blogged much lately. Just haven't felt like funning.

Times have been pretty rough 'round here at the Star-T, where 130 people -- 50 in the newsroom -- have lost their jobs recently. For many, they're losing their professional identities, too.

Journalism has always been more of a mission than a job. Be a cynic if you want, but everybody I know who is in this business considers it a calling ... to tell stories, to deconstruct tough issues, to protect the public and hold leaders accountable, to uncover human interest stories, to make readers laugh (and cry), and to reflect our communities.

It isn't to make money or be famous, or even to bowl with celebrities ('cept for me).

No matter how bleak the outlook has been in our industry the last few years -- and ours certainly isn't the first newspaper company to lay people off -- journalists stick it out because we love what we do. Readers just don't love us back the way they used to. And, I'm not gonna lie, it hurts.

Helping my friends and colleagues pack their things and bid farewell to the craft we cherish has been heartbreaking. But I've been struck by just how classy their exits have been. In their hours of uncertainty, all have offered words of encouragement to those of us staying afloat for now.

They've talked about being lucky and feeling honored to do this work for 10, 15, 20 years. And about the opportunities we all still have "to share stories that matter, to shine a light in corners that need cleaning, to make noise about problems in real people’s lives."

It's inspiring, really. But also sad.

Last night, I took advantage of one of the many perks of working for the Star-Telegram -- a free ticket to see Monty Python's Spamalot at Bass Hall. And it felt great to laugh. Some of the friends who will be leaving the S-T were there, too, and when King Arthur and his dancing knights broke into "Always Look on the Bright Side of Life," I smiled ... and nearly shed a tear.

And with that as my new theme song, I now return you to the regularly scheduled silliness of this blog. Check out this titillating story from Slate about how boobs might just power your iPod.

-- Kingpin

I love John Denver: There, I said it.

Sunshine on my shoulders always make me happier on a rainy day in Cowtown.

John Angeles stomps all over America's Got Talent

About a year ago, Fort Worth drummer and tap-dancer John Angeles got his shot on America's Got Talent. But he was shot down by David Hasselhoff and the rest of the has-been/recovering-addict judges.

Why? Because during John's very difficult and highly creative routine, he dropped a drumstick. ... And I'm not talking turkey drumstick, folks.

But Angeles, who was working at Best Buy to get by, wasn't discouraged. And I'm happy to report that, despite the best efforts of an overrated TV show, he's gotten his big break. Angeles can be seen performing in the touring company of Stomp, the high-engery dance and percussion musical that opens tonight at Fair Park and runs through Sunday.

Check out John's talent in this video I shot last year. And know he's more talented than David Hasselhoff ever has a prayer of being.

Cheers, Mr. Angeles. You done good!

U.S. Open playoff: Go Rocco!!

I'm so rooting for Rocco Mediate in today's 18-hole playoff at Torrey Pines.

Nothing against Tiger. He's awesome. But I followed Rocco a bit at Colonial, where he was struggling to make the cut and couldn't really get anything going, and he had the same demeanor. All smiles, chatty, just a nice guy.

And sometimes, I like to see nice guys finish first.

Colonial's pitch man striking out so far

Phil Mickelson said when he won Fort Worth's Crowne Plaza Invitational at Colonial that he thought it would be great preparation for the U.S. Open at Torrey Pines.

Not so much. ... Not yet.

Midway through his opening round in San Diego, paired with Tiger and Adam Scott, Phil's at +3 and has found the going very rough. (Actually, he duffed a ball in the rough just a minute ago.) And we know you're all buff now, but we're not vibing the farmer's tan, Phil.

But it's only Day 1, and a Nationwide Tour guy named Justin Hicks is leading. That ain't gonna stick.

Go, Phil. Cowtown and Crowne Plaza are rootin' for ya.

Bill Engvall's back, finally

If you've been watching the marathon NBA playoffs, then surely you've seen 4,536,901 promos for Bill Engvall's sitcom on TBS.

Good news. The show is finally coming back on tonight. So maybe we can get some relief from the Big Bill build-up. In today's Star-T, Robert Philpot chats with Engvall, who grew up in Dallas and is a proud member of the Blue-Collar Comedy tour. And now, if you hadn't heard, he's the star of his own sitcom on TBS!!  (Make that 4,536,902 promos.)

But perhaps you didn't know that I bowled with Engvall and his fellow BCC guy, Larry the Cable Guy. It was in '03 at Cowtown Lanes, and I remember Engvall was a decent bowler. He rolled a 127, but probably would have done better if he had his ball, which is clear and has a Bud bottle in it.

Summer of our Discontent: We've got the boot

I photographed this today, and I'm calling it:  Boot '08.

A statement on our times.

Think they'll hang it at the Modern?

Can't remember a time when I've felt more stuck. Airlines raising prices. Gas outta control. And we can't get any freakin' tomatoes on our salads?
At least this isn't my car.

Jessica Simpson's gonna show us her undies

For Cowboys fans who believe in the JessiMo jinx camp, news that Simpson is starting her own lingerie line can't be good. Couple that with Tony Romo's head in a bubble on the cover of UsWeekly, sandwiched between big photos of Simpson and ex Carrie Underwood, and its enough to make you wish Drew Bledsoe would make a comeback. (I cringed when I saw that this morning at the Walgreens check-out counter.)

But if anything can guarantee four interceptions in the season opener, it's this bit of baseless gossip, which has young men everywhere locking themselves in the bathroom: Simpson, Alba to star in movie of Lingerie Bowl.

Bowling's going to Disney World!

The Mouse House is planning to build a 100-lane bowling alley in Orlando to attract tournaments and bowling fans who think they can kick Donald's tail on the lanes.

In other rolling news, Nelly is a bad bowler -- and when I say bad, I mean good. (It's what the kids are saying.)

Come to the Papa, bowling hall of fame

Try as it might to resist the gravitational pull of beautiful Arlington, TX., the Bowling Hall of Fame could not and now it's official:

Bowling's Hall of Fame is coming to town, which it will take its rightful place alongside the Bowling Proprietor's Association of America, the United States Bowling Congress (which is moving from Milwaukee), Six Flags, and the Kingpin of Cowtown's headquarters (near the crapper on the third floor in the S-T building in downtown Fort Worth).

I know we all think that Albino Bowler is a first ballot hall of famer, but I don't want to get his hopes up.  Inducting an albino action figure into the hall of fame is unprecedented, so we'll try to be patient.

Meanwhile, let's all rejoice because we live in a bona fide bowling mecca!!!

Whew! We've got our top back on now

And it's a good thing, too. Albino Bowler was using up all the sunscreen.

This blog is going topless

If you haven't noticed, we here at Kingpin headquarters are experiencing some technical difficulties. And we feel a bit naked without our cool bowling pin logo at the top of the blog, not to mention the Big Lebowski links and categories down the side. (Help, Typepad, help!!!!!)

So for the time being, we'll be blogging topless.

I hope it doesn't last long. Albino Bowler's gleaming white skin is burning my retinas.

The ultimate taste test-icle

Here in Cowtown, we're all about embracing the cowboy culture -- but we draw the line at eating testicles. Or at least I do.

In Salt Lake City, they're a little more rugged (who knew?), because that city is home to the Testicle Festival. ... Kinda has a nice ring to it. Or, might we suggest, Castration Celebration.

Now, before you get all testy, it's for charity. And we're told it's total nadness out there. Yes, it can get a little nuts at this two-day, balls-out festival, where there's ropin', ridin' and noshin' on bull bits. (Hey, I can't make this stuff up.)

The sack lunch -- their term, not ours -- goes for 5 bucks, and includes a taste of the deep-fried  "cowboy caviar," a cheeseburger and a drink. Let me guess, teabag?

If you've got a strong stomach, check out the video. And support the cause. Looks like attendance is sagging. (see Salt Lake City Tribune photo above). 

Throwing snow balls in June

As I was staring into the black hole that is my gas tank last night, watching 50 bucks fly by faster than my youth, a weary mind wandered back to a happier place: the tropical wonderland known as Bahama Buck's.

It's a new gourmet shaved ice joint that will be taking over all our lives -- in a good way -- this summer. A buddy and I trucked to Denton to try it. (That's about $10 in gas if you're keepin' track at home.)

And it was worth it. Bahama Buck's, with flavors ranging from Passion Fruit to Creme Brulee, will be opening throughout the Metroplex this summer. There will be one in the TCU area and Grapevine for sure and maybe Southlake. It's the kind of place people go back to four and five times the first week. And the kids can throw snowballs at the employees -- really! See more in Thursday's DaFoWo show, which, if you're not watching, well, you should be!

This is all just to assure you that in this, The Summer of Our Discontent, there is a sliver of icy-cold goodness to be found.

(For some of us, a picture of a sweaty bikini model always helps, too.)

Concerts in the gardens; poison in my ears

I took my family to opening night of Concerts in the Gardens, one of those rites of summer that I really love about Fort Worth. And it was a fun night. My son dashed around with another boy, waving glow sticks till their arms nearly fell off. And because it was late May, the temps were bearable and mosquitoes not too ravenous.

But I must ask: Has any band ever butchered the Beach Boys' harmonies the way the Crawfish did? Just because they wore Hawaiian shirts and smiles on their faces didn't hide the fact that they were dreadfully off-key; turtles were ducking their heads back in their shells.

Help us, Rhonda. Help us all.

I've been inside The Vault

Downtown workers have been hovering around The Vault for awhile now, wondering when's it going to open and what kind of treasure awaits inside.

So I decided to go all Geraldo on the joint today and poke my head in there on a whim. The mysterious-sounding new restaurant in downtown Fort Worth's Tower, which was once the Bank One tower, has been serving up dinner for a couple weeks now.

I chatted with chef Gabriel Ochoa (formerly of Kalamatas in the Worthington), whose Mediterranean-inspired menu sounds fishy -- in a good way. There's Barramundi, Alaskan King Salmon and when I told Ochoa the best fish I've ever tasted was Opa, or Hawaiian Moon Fish, he nodded and said "We've got that on the menu now." (The menu changes daily.)

The Vault's pretty swanky inside, with prices to match ($26-$35 for entrees). They've managed to incorporate those clunky, ol' columns from the bank into their decor -- something all Tower tenants have had to deal with. And the V Lounge, downstairs, looks to be an inviting getaway. Once they get their liquor license, I'll be back to try The Vtini, which the manager recommended. As for the restaurant, it's open from 6 to 10 p.m. and reservations are a good idea. No word yet on when they'll open for lunch.

The good word on Samir and the spelling bee

If Samir Patel isn't at the national spelling bee, is there a bee at all.

I know, existential question.

But ESPN seems to be hanging onto the Colleyville kid who captured hearts but never the spelling title over his five years in competition. Samir's 14 now and looking all grown up. But he's still working hard.

Tune in today to see if a new deluxe model speller will emerge. I know ESPN and ABC will be doing everything they can to help us find the next great spelling hope. Their ratings depend on it.

How do I get some of that miracle fruit?

Here's some happy news: there's a miracle fruit out there that can make anything taste like a pixie stick.

Check it out and put me on the list for one of the next taste-tripping parties.

The summer of our discontent

Now that I've left my Colonial wonderland, I'm feeling a bit adrift, and depressed by the constant drumbeat of "higher prices." Everything is costing more! Gas, electricity, pornography ... I mean, technology.

This pervasive feeling of hopelessness is really beginning to chap my behind. So, for sanity's sake, I will try this summer to offset the doom and gloom with some happy news, or something that might make you smile.

Such as this: Assisted Loving: True Tales of Double Dating with My Dad, a book by Bob Morris, columnist for the New York Times' Style section. The web site and promo video alone should make you chuckle. And listening to Morris talk to Terry Gross on NPR about pimping for his 80-year-old pops made me forget that my trip back and forth to Arlington this morning cost more than a nice kugel.

The worst thing about being me ...

and not Rod Pampling, is that he's probably playing a practice round for this weekend's Memorial tourament, and I'm back in my office by the crapper on a rainy day in Fort Worth.

Oh, and he made a half million dollars last weekend at Colonial.

I did not.

Sometimes, second fiddle is just fine

Watching Phil MIckelson make the winning birdie on 18 Sunday, I'm sure Rod Pampling felt like he got punched in the kidneys.

As his twin, even I felt a twinge.

But he's a classy guy, and didn't show the slightest hint of disappointment when he was riding to and from the interview room with his 3-year-old son on his lap. Kids have a way of putting things in perspective.

So does a $536,800 second place check.

Rod, if you ever need a look-alike, I work cheap.

On the final hole, I had a Colonial member say to me: "Hey, you look like Pampling's younger, thinner brother." He had been drinking, but so what.

It made my week.