Comparing Fitness Tracker/Smartwatches for your Father’s Day Gift Giving Enjoyment

If you’re thinking of getting Dad a smartwatch/fitness tracker for Father’s Day, it’s a good idea. If nothing else, it may inspire him to workout, or workout harder and more frequently if he’s already a fitness buff. Here I’ll compare two similar watches in the hybrid space, the Fitbit Versa 3 and the Venu SQ Music. They are similar in form and function, though the newer Versa 3 has an initial advantage of being the newer model. They are similar in price as well, and that may be the most important for some gift givers. At the moment, both are on sale.

I’ve spent a not insignificant sum on Fitbit products over the last three years. I’ve got two Versas, one of which my son now (occasionally) uses, a Charge 4 for my wife which is still in the box and a Versa 3. Out of disappointment at the absence of a feature, I decided to check out the Garmin Venu SQ Music, the title of which tells what you need to know at a glance regarding the missing feature that prompted the switch.

I am a gym rat/sprinter/weekend competitor, so then, my view of these wearables is through the lens of someone who is not a long distance runner or Crossfit fanatic. Keep that in mind as you read.

Appearance: Fitbit Versa 3

The Venu SQ and the Versa 3 have the similar square-ish shape. Both devices sit nicely on the wrist with rather non-descript default faces. The Versa’s default face has a little more at-a-glance information available and of course you can tweak either to include what you need and discard what you don’t.

As the Versa 3 is a newer device, it has a little better screen, which makes seeing things a little easier when you’re glancing at your watch on the run. The colors on my LCARS watch-face are vibrant.

Having a nicer screen is one of those things that means something to gearheads reviewing devices and looking for things to laud or complain over. As a practical matter, there’s not a wide enough gap between the two watches in this area for me to pick an obvious winner. I will give the nod to Fitbit simply because the third-party developers for the brand seem a little more creative and a little less robotic. Few have made faces for the Venu SQ and those out there are really crowded and busy.

Setup: Fitbit Versa 3

I don’t remember a lot about the first time I set up my Versa. It was a Christmas morning and I was groggy from staying up playing Santa. The second and third times, it seemed quite easy. It was a pain authorizing all the apps on my phone and going through updates but that was over rather quickly.

It seemed to take hours to complete setting up the Venu, not counting the time it took to transfer music files.

Fit and Comfort: Push

Out of the box, neither watch felt nice on the wrist. The silicon bands, while better than those on the old Timex Ironman, are not comfortable. I swapped out a hook and ladder closure nylon band on my Versa and I’m doing the same for the Venu ASAP.

If there is any advantage to either in this factor it’s that the Venu feels a little lighter, or that I notice it less.

I like the form factor of both watches. I know people call them Apple Watch knock-offs but that seems silly, as if Apple invented the rectangle. I think the rectangular shape is more befitting a high-tech tool, and when we’re able to do video calls from our wrists, the square shape will be in, baby.

Connectivity: Venu SQ

I often had problems with the Bluetooth and Wifi connections on the Versa 3. Despite having an auto-sync going constantly, I’d often lose connection even when my phone was in the same room. I tried everything to manipulate my phone to keep the connections locked but to no avail. With the Venu SQ, there have been no problems.

I did have some difficulty connecting the Venu with my Bluetooth ear buds. They are a cheap import pair that has functioned seamlessly with the Versa 3. When I finally got both buds to connect, there was some issues playing music at first, but later into my run the team-up over wires worked fine.

Battery Life: Who cares?

HA! I know many people care about this stat and reviewers on the sites always moan about a lack of battery life but it isn’t as if we’re going to be in the Outback without access to a charger. We’re suburban dads, not nomads. The Venu lasts longer by a couple of days, if it’s that important to you, in practice. I have all my notifications turned on and the screen brightness is set for high. I am maxing battery usage on either wearable.

Smartwatch function: Versa 3

Versa wins this just barely by virtue of being released in 2021 instead of 2020. The year made a difference in the amount of features they could pack into the Versa 3’s slightly larger case. The Versa 3 has Google Assistant and voice commands. I can ask Google who played Sparks in THE OX BOW INCIDENT without opening my phone and get an answer. I can answer phone calls and have a conversation through my watch, and my 12-year-old self is quite impressed.

The Venu perform some conveniences check the weather forecast and other basic smartphone functions you’d have been impressed with in 2004. It’s graphics are a little dated but that also means there’s less swiping involved to get to things like “find my phone” or “play music.” It’s more staid and direct.

Both watches offer mobile pay services. Whereas Fitbit didn’t allow me to use the card from the credit union I’m with or PayPal Business, Garmin was more than happy to deal with PayPal. So now, I can pay for coffee at Starbucks with a wrist-flip.

The question is how much smartphone do you really need from your fitness tracker? For marathoners and subway commuters, being able to do some of this on your watch is probably useful. If you aren’t out without your phone for more than an hour you probably won’t miss not having Google Assistant at your beck and call. The Venu gives you what you need; the Versa 3 gives you what you want.

Fitness/Health Tracker: Venu Sq

Garmin’s wide range of statistics it tracks on your behalf is quite impressive. For the Fitbit to mimic these you’d have to pay a subscription and I don’t know if they would still match up. From full time SpOX monitoring to the ability to see how hard you’re working, the Venu reigns supreme. I could never sort out how to do a basic stopwatch/lap on any of my Versas. With the Venu Sq it’s very upfront and simple.

I always had a sneaking suspicion that the Versa 3 was over estimating the number of steps I was taking. If I’m to believe the Venu, that suspicion was correct. Venu appears to be better calibrated to human movements, or at least mine. It could be that the Versa is trying to split the difference between long-legged striders and their shorter-legged friends.

Both watches have an independent GPS to track your distance and effort more accurately. However, for the Versa 3, that addition (it wasn’t in the previous models) came at the expense of being able to download music to your watch. That marked the end of my relationship with Versa, and probably Fitbit. I do a lot of sprinting when I train and practice soccer occasionally, and I like to have my Bluetooth earbuds in. I don’t like holding my cell phone, or have to worry about it falling out of my pocket. If I’m in the gym, I don’t want to have to manage my phone as well as the machines.

Fitbit Versa 3 vs Venu Sq Music: Garmin Wins

Which watch do you choose? It depends on what is most important to you. If you really need to have Google Assistant but aren’t so interested in pulse OX tracking you can go with the Versa 3. If you’re a little more serious about your health or about progress in training, the Venu SQ is for you. For me, the lack of on-board storage for music is a serious hindrance, and I’m pleased actually that misstep by Fitbit guided me to the Venu SQ Music, I’m happy with the watch.

Macklemore, White Allies and Police Brutality

Macklemore is a moderately interesting artist. Even in this post-Eminem era, some of the “interesting” part has to do with his skin color. The hyper-earnest MC sometimes errs on the side of wallowing in the burden that comes with privilege. He might be virtue signaling, but he isn’t wrong about many of the things he says on matters of race.

In the wake of back-to-back, ostensible murders of African-American men by White cops, Macklemore busted out some practical advice for White people who think Black lives matter. He suggested White people talk about race with each other, financially support Black-led organizations and seek training from pros on combating racism.

There is precedent for what he suggests. In 1963, the civil rights organization the Student Non-Violent Coordinating Committee (SNCC) recruited hundreds of White college students to go to Mississippi, set up summer schools and register Black residents to vote in the face of what you surely know was violent opposition from the local government. SNCC called the program the Mississippi Summer Project, and it all went down in 1964.

Plus ca change . . .

Macklemore said that the current “situation” would be “corrected once white people care enough to change it.” That’s too optimistic a result to consider. Moreover, it isn’t that change will come from White people caring enough. It comes once they participate, report their experiences to others, and even get in harm’s way.

The students who volunteered their summer for SNCC got a jolt about what to expect from Mississippi law enforcement even before they got out of their civil disobedience training. Three workers associated with SNCC and sister organization the Congress of Racial Equality (CORE) were murdered, their bodies buried in the dark Delta mud. Their names, Schwerner, Cheney and Goodman, should be common knowledge to any high school student.

The Klan, the White Citizen’s Council and local cops had been murdering Black people for years in Mississippi. However, when the murder of those Civil Rights activists – two of them White – became a national news story, when the White kids of Harvard and UC Berkley reported back to their parents that they’d been arrested or beaten by a cop, the attention of the nation turned on the ugliness happening in that state. Observers point to phone cameras playing a role in exposing police brutality. In ’64, it was news cameras doing the exposing.

As a result of the national attention, money poured in. Celebrities raised money. White celebrities spoke out. Shirley MacLaine sat in Fannie Lou Hamer’s house.

As a practical matter, Freedom Summer was a net gain. The project didn’t achieve its goal to seat Black people in the Democratic party at the 1964 Presidential election. The project didn’t register as many voters as SNCC hoped. Yet, the level of awareness the project raised and the effect it had on the participants cannot be understated. Arguably, the project played a role in the passage of the 1964 Civil Rights bill (something the recent arguing over LBJ vs MLK overlooks).

If history is any judge, Macklemore’s suggestions to White allies are good, but not great. Yes, it is important to be involved, to discuss and to learn. Sadly, people often only act directly when their interests are threatened.

It’s going to take more than Instagram posts and tweets. Allies like Mackelemore can’t volunteer to be abused by cops and draw the same kind of attention to these issues in the same way the Freedom Summer volunteers did. They can use their influence to petition Congress and state houses for changes in the way police interact with citizens and change police oversight. They can ask for a change in the way officers are trained (Good ideas on reforms here).

The recent hearings held to grill FBI Director Comey over his decision not to prosecute Secretary Clinton proves that these elected officials love camera time. Some of them would die without it. Allies need to storm Capitol Hill and demand time to be heard.

Take the example of Milana Vayntrub, who started her own organization to help Syrian refugees. It’s more than protest or “bringing attention” to the issue, it’s direct action that’s going to accomplish something. That’s what history proves.

The USA Victorious Over Ecuador, But at Some Cost

Most of the sporting world’s attention turned to game 6 of the NBA Finals tonight, especially in the United States. A slight, long-range shooting point guard and a massive human, gifted with freakish physical abilities fought what the Internet tells us was a tough battle with freakishly gifted human winning in the end.

Those with freakish gifts often win in sports contests. The USMNT drew a team with a couple of freakishly gifted stars, Ecuador’s Enner and Antonio Valencia. It would take a gargantuan effort from the team to check these Premier League athletes and move through to the quarter-finals. The Americans achieved Jurgen Klinsmann’s goal of making the quarterfinals, but at the cost of two of the men instrumental in getting there.

Clint Dempsey (hidden) celebrates with Fabian Johnson and Jermaine Jones (Omar Torres/Getty)

There was a minor worry for the Americans in that they would be without Sunderland’s DeAndre Yedlin due to a red card suspension. Klinsmann shifted the lineup to make up for his absence, putting centerback Matt Besler at left back, a position he played briefly in the match against Bolivia.

Defense sets the tone for the USA

For the first half, the US defense was stalwart. John Brooks continued to play solidly, making timely clearances. The freakishly fast Jefferson Montero would attack Fabian Johnson all night. He kept the Swansea winger at bay.

It wasn’t the back line that kept the Ecuadorians from creating chances, it was the hard working midfield. Jermaine Jones and Alex Bedoya protected the rear guard and kept Ecuador from getting any offense going. It would be Jones’ advances into the offensive half that would make the difference for the US early in the match.

Dempsey leads from the front

The man they call “Deuce” scored in the 22^nd minute. Jones put it a curling cross that pinpointed Dempsey, barely marked. The Seattle Sounders’ forward made no mistake with the header. Bobby Woods set up the goal when he made well-timed run into the box and kept the ball despite being harried by an Ecuadorian defender. His hold-up play allowed Jones to stroll into space and pick out Dempsey.

Clint Dempsey scores his 3rd goal at #CopaAmerica Centenario to put the #USMNT ahead. #USAvECU #MyCopaColors https://t.co/DtNKqz8iLE

— FOX Soccer (@FOXSoccer) June 17, 2016

Woods kept pressure on the Ecuadorian back line all night. He kept the central defenders busy, clearing space for Dempsey to take a long shot in the 32^nd minute and for Bedoya to get off a weak one minutes later.

The ref makes his presence felt

The US appeared to be in control at the half time break. Though, refs gonna ref, and events early in the 2^nd half threatened to upend what looked to be a clean American win, and certainly would give pause to those looking ahead to the next round.

Antonio Valencia committed an unnecessary foul on Bedoya. It was a cheap shot that angered Jones. Valencia was certain to earn his second yellow and give the US an advantage. However, Jones got into it with Michael Arroyo over the play. Jones appeared to put his hand in Arroyo’s face. An official spotted it and gave Jones a straight red. Jones never touched Arroyo, but the rules dictate a red card in that situation. The official chose not to use his discretion in that instance.

Jermaine Jones pega manotazo en el rostro de Michael Arroyo y se gana la Roja #CopaAmerica En exclusiva por TDN pic.twitter.com/O3DWBTO5tA

— TDN (@tdn_twit) June 17, 2016

The US held onto its lead despite losing it’s hardest tackling midfielder. They took that lead into the later third of the match. Again, Woods forays into the box created space for trailing play. This time Besler ventured into the Ecuadorian third and hit a cross to Dempsey. Deuce fought off a defender and hit a shot to the far corner. It appeared to be going in, and Gyasi Zardes made certain it would, getting his first goal of the tournament. Pretty sneaky.

In the meantime, both Wood and Bedoya would earn yellow cards. It was their second of the tournament, forcing them to miss the next match.

Ecuador would put themselves back into the match. They had no choice but to go for it. Their goal came from a set piece, a free kick sent harmlessly to the top of the penalty area. Arroyo ran onto it and hit hard, but Guzan should have saved the shot.

Enner Valencia worked hard all tournament but didn’t live up to his billing until the match against Haiti. Against the US, he had two unmarked headers late in the match but they both missed the target. The Americans held on for their first quarterfinals appearance in Copa America since 1995. They will face the winner of the Argentina-Venezuela match.

Jones a difference maker

It was clear that Jones’ absence made the difference in Ecuador’s late match success. So did Bedoya’s tired legs. They had protected the US back four. Valencia got those free headers because no one tracked back and he was able to run free in between the center backs. Without Bedoya’s help, Besler may have been vulnerable to the speed the Ecuadorians had on the wings, and they were able to get free to put crosses in late in the match.

Klinsmann’s choice

Now Klinsmann has some real decisions to make. Yedlin will be back, so it’s likely that Klinsmann will start Yedlin at right back and put Johnson back on the left. Who will replace Jones? Johnson seems like the best idea; he’s good, but not great in defense. However, his presence in the positon he plays for Borussia Mönchengladbach will add to the US attack. Kyle Beckerman is the obvious replacement for Bedoya.

Who will replace Bobby Wood? Is it time for Christian Pulisic to start a match? Is the 17-year old kid ready? Or does Klinsmann make a tactical change and go with a 4-2-3-1, with Zardes alone up top?

Does it even matter? Venezuela have had an incredible run despite the controversial results that brought them to the knockout stage. Yet surely, their run will end with Argentina, who look in form and dead set on winning this tournament. If the US has to face the world’s #1 team, it may not matter what lineup Klinsmann puts out there.

 

Goodnight

It’s the title of a gorgeous minimalist R&B ballad by Afro-Dane Philip Owusu. You don’t know him, but you should. He was part of the crew surrounding the recently hip, Questlove-approved  band Quadron. This song is the perfect midnight solitary groove, and Owusu is a talent to be sure. He has that Michael Jackson timbre, his phrasing is all Motown-ish like the gloved one, but the song itself is pure Minneapolis. Catch the drum fills at the end.

I would normally be among those writers rushing to the laptop on occasions when a superstar dies, hacking out a dreary obituary or overly earnest think piece. But for Prince, I just couldn’t. After Jim’s passing, hearing that Prince had died, it was too much. The man, someone I’d never been lucky enough to meet, let alone shoot hoops with, was too much a part of my life. I’m just now getting enough distance from the event to grapple with it in words.

The first time I heard of him, some kid in middle school asked me if I liked this song “Soft and Wet.” He was trying to make a connection with one of the private school’s only black kid and the only one on the soccer team. I was not listening to radio R&B. I was learning Police songs on my guitar. The soul music of the ’70s was on my turntable, but it was quickly becoming replaced by Blondie, Cheap Trick, Bob Marley, The Busboys and this record “Rappers Delight.” Don’t know if you lot are familiar with it.

So NO I didn’t like “Soft and Wet,” and don’t just ask me about whatever you heard on WVOL once just because I’m Black. Times were like that, me trying to have a life in that situation (thanks David Garfinkel for helping a brother out). That kind of isolation continued into high school. Football hero, national merit whatever, who cared. I had friends, but felt misunderstood by everyone. It was the whiny existence of a sensitive soul. It’s the writer’s generic origin story.

So my brother, ever worldly, living in New York, touring the countryside with his Pearlie crew, would bring me things he thought would broaden my horizons, or at least show me that I wasn’t the world’s only Black kid hung up on Debbie Harry and wondering what the hell Sid Vicious was on about. So he brought me a copy of Dirty Mind.

I admit to finding this scrawny dude staring at me in a trench coat and bikini a bit creepy. But that “Rude Boy” button . . .  The opening track, a mix of disco and New Wave, the soft desperation in his pleading, that was all beans compared to the next song, “When You Were Mine,” the sweetest rendition of the then rockabilly revival, gender flipped longing, desperation so great that he didn’t give two fucks his rival shared a bed with the object of his affection.

This is where I was planning to put a picture of my high school era bedroom with the Prince and Vanity posters. Had to settle for this shot of me wearing a souvenir from the Purple Rain tour.

But it was “Uptown,” that was the song I’d been waiting my whole life for. An anthem for the disaffected, the people who “don’t let society tell us how it’s s’posed to be.” There was a shit-ton of society telling us — me — how it’s supposed to be. I’d found a brother in the revolution (no pun). “It’s all about being free.” I wanted desperately to leave Knoxville and head uptown.

I did. Once the University of North Carolina agreed to allow me to enter the hallowed halls and beer-soaked dorm rooms and funk-filled locker rooms, I thought that if I hadn’t found “Uptown,” at least I was away from those “narrow minded drags.” I was closer to uptown than I thought.

One afternoon, after my well-meaning sons of the South roommates had gone off to pledge week, I blasted Prince’s Controversy album from my room. It was loud enough to be heard a floor below, when I heard a knock on the door. This smooth cat named Michael Leake, a local Chapel Hill kid and drummer in a real band (!) heard the siren song of Prince’s falsetto and came to see who was down enough to  play something not on the Purple Rain soundtrack. He later introduced me to the equally smooth cat named Brian Dennis, a guitar player (now of some renown). Life long friends, they are.

I hit the town with them, and they damn well seemed to live in the kind of place Prince sung about, this fictional “Uptown,” (Minneapolis, as it turned out). Punks, freaks, geeks, rockers, rappers, Deadheads and one football player all partied and no one thought about the greater social ramifications and potential effect on their Greek organization aspirations (except Mike, sorry, lol). I’d never felt so at home. Even at home.

And we were proud Prince fans, waving our freak flag high. It made me an outlier in sports; the team trainer took to calling me “Prince.” My mother stopped by recently, to nag, of course, and to remind me of the buttons I sewed onto a pair of pants for my Halloween costume I wore 83-84. Only recently, recalling the young woman applying eyeliner to me that night, did I come to understand fully “If I Was Your Girlfriend,” the sensuality of sharing that kind of intimacy.

I’ve long realized that this story was not completely unique. The names, faces, mea culpas, heroes and villains are different. The song remains the same. Now that Prince is dead, the writers, bloggers and tweeters with quicker fingers and better publishers have already pushed their “Prince’s music saved my life” stories. I wouldn’t say that he saved my life, though his music did shape it somewhat.

Perhaps it’s more accurate to say that I shared an experience with him, this thing called “life.” I readily identified with the emotions he expressed — so many weekend nights I sat staring at nothing listening to “Something in the Water” on repeat. “Sometime it Snows in April” was on the cassette when driving to the hospital after I learned of my brother’s death. I once (or twice, don’t get mad if u r reading) sang “Forever in my Life” to someone. Hey, it was better than rapping “I Need Love” to them.

But getting back to young Philip. If you look you’ll note that he’s never released a full-length LP and has only two solo singles to his name. He’s an obvious talent but can’t seem to get things going. You would think that his fate could have befallen Prince easily. Except that it didn’t. Had Warner not agreed to his demands when he signed with them, he would have kept on making music, he would not have relented to the forces that dampen the spirits of kids like Owusu. Maybe he’d have signed with Island or become an indie label pioneer. We know this because in spite of whatever pain he may have been feeling, his first order of business after a hospital emergency was to head to his studio.

This is why some of us, decades after our first glimpse at success, are still grinding, trying to do what we love for money. This is what we creatives shared with the man, and what we learned from him. Someday, you will be heard.

 

Jim et moi

My first contact with Jim Ridley was sometime in the mid-90s. I’d been dieting strictly on the Village Voice like any young film snob, having come not to expect much from local papers (sorry Gene whatever your name is/was). The Scene became my Voice South thanks to Ridley. Not only was he ebullient in praise and charmingly dismissive, we appeared to share tastes. One day, bored with the law, I sent him some form of communication. My CTE addled memory believes it was a fax, but it was most likely an Email. To my surprise, he wrote me back the same day. He seemed, through his writing, to be on some Elvis Mitchell level stuff, a wise critic with years of experience. I would learn later that he did in fact have decades of writing experience, I just had no idea back then Jim and I were about the same age.

We didn’t correspond all that much. I recall he wrote something like “see you at the Belcourt,” but I didn’t know what he looked like. I probably saw him in the lobby as I snuck alone out the side door. I’d have never approached him, anyway, just one of the ways we were so different.

I’d worked in law and politics in those days; however, I’d always wanted to be a writer since I was a boy. I’d been writing some editorials and I had a short story and poetry published. I’d written a screenplay. But after I chose law school over film school, I didn’t have time to pursue those interests.

Then I had all the time in the world. In between jobs, I decided to give writing another try. Long story short, I ended up working as an extra on a major Hollywood feature shot in Nashville. I started a diary of events that I put in Email form and sent out to several of my friends just so I wouldn’t have to tell each of them what James Gandolfini was really like. Jim was on that list.

Later on, he sent me a note praising my prose (best film diary he ever read) and asked me if I’d be interested in writing for the Scene. That diary morphed into a cover story. He had enough confidence in me that I could write “whatever I wanted.” I leapt at the chance. His confidence would be slightly misplaced, but we’ll get to that later.

We finally met in person, I think at a screening of some Hong Kong action film. I tried in vain to impress with my knowledge of HK cinema. Silly rabbit. He humored me anyway.

He would be my editor, yet there was never any feeling we had a supervisor/subordinate relationship. We mostly just hung out. He invited me into his world. I got to know how he got started writing while at one of the Ridley summer house parties, saw the acres of VHS tapes at his house, talked about Japan and moves and Japanese movies. Treated me to a Criterion edition of Contempt because he remembered me mentioning it was one of my top ten films. I became a part of a group of local film geeks and met some of the coolest people in town during those years around Y2K: Jason Shawan, Ron Wynn, Toby Leonard, Scott and Mimi Manzler and F. Clark Williams.

Through Jim, I became involved with the Nashville Film Festival, the highlight of which was visiting Mandy McBroom when she worked there, getting an armful of movies to opine over. Noel Murray wrote about seeing Werckmeister Harmoniak with Jim one year. I sat a row behind them, as I recall, too stunned to comment. I drove Jim, a hungry filmmaker and his producer out to Prince’s – way before there was such a thing as Nashville Hot Chicken – and then broke speed records to make it back to see Takashi Miike’s Dead or Alive (I still wonder if Jim arranged this because he’d seen me chatting up that producer).

I didn’t know it, but I was struggling with my first few pieces for the Scene. Jim patiently rescued my work with notes and his own additions. Jim told me he gave Noel the same speech when he first started . . . I don’t know that that salved the wounds. I was fortunate in that I had a specialized knowledge in Japanese pop culture when Japanese pop culture was white hot. My writing could still rate a page, but not for long in the film section.

I ended up writing for Bill Frisicks-Warren, another local gem, in the music section, a move that would lead to me getting an offer to write for The Tennessean. If you don’t know, there was a line that one did not cross in those days; if you worked for the Tennessean, you could not write for the Scene. I asked Jim what I should do. He was happy for me, already pleased at how I’d improved since working with Bill, and he told me to take the money and run.

Around this time, I married and had children. I didn’t have time to socialize; I was on a strict curfew. I marveled at how Jim had the time to be seemingly everywhere at once. Alicia must have been a saint, I imagined. He did worry about what was happening at home while he was away. I recall him saying one night he had to get his butt home or he was going to get his butt kicked.

So, Jim and I rarely saw each other. I went back to working in the law, started coaching soccer, spending more time with the lad. Jim and I mostly communicated through brief Emails and Twitter DMs. We talked family, not film. Whenever I did see him, it was all hugs and smiles. He maintained an interest in my writing, though, expressing joy that I started writing about film again, promoting me whenever he thought I deserved it. He may have been the only one of my friends to actually listen to me when Ron and I were on the radio.

Despite our relative distance, news of his illness hit me hard. My brother died at about the same age Jim was. He died of HIV complications, so I could see his last moment coming from a long way off. Even though I was mentally prepared, the last moments before they lowered him beneath the Earth were excruciating.

This, with Jim, I was not prepared for. I’d hoped to have a moment to hang out again, hear him laugh. See what his kids were up to. Sit nearby when the Belcourt reopened, the place we first met in person. I don’t want to see the finality of a memorial. Can this be the end?

I read all these testimonials about him and it hacks me off a bit. You always think you are one of his great friends only to find he treats everyone that way. I was too charmed to notice anything differently. For solace’s sake, I’ll hold on to that fiction, that I was near the center of the circle, orbiting that warm glow that illuminated an entire city.

Alabama vs Clemson

I wrote a little something in the aftermath of the national championship. As a Tar Heel, it pained me a little as towards the end I was rooting for Clemson to come back and win. Deshaun Watson was the best player on the field. Check out the piece here.

Back on the blog

I’m hoping to find a little time to write here. I’m keeping busy with other writing projects.

Changes Pt 1

As of Monday, I’ll be writing for The Tennessean. They offered me a gig writing for their new music blog, and a few spots in print, and after some hand wringing and consultations, I decided to take the offer.

I stumbled into writing for the Nashville Scene, thanks to one Jim Ridley. It was a great opportunity for me, and a fantastic learning experience. I’m forever indebted.

As things are, if you work with one, you can’t work with the other. And that’s all I have to say about that.

PS. TM, if this is the first you’re hearing of this, it’s cuz you don’t read my Emails. lol.

Pt. 1? Stay tuned for pt. 2. maybe.

crave-zy

I really want some high quality caramel corn right now. Not Cracker Jacks, not Crunch and Munch, not Fiddle Faddle, some grade A stuff. That I don’t have to wait seven days to get in the mail.

I made the call

Last night on Ron Wynn’s radio show on WFSK “Freestyle” I made a call in the Nashville mayoral race, Karl Dean by at least 2%. I had my doubters on air, however, early polling is showing Dean up by 4%. To be continued . . . .