gone.

well, folks, i've packed my bags and finally moved out the ghetto. it's been fun, Blogger, but from here out i'll be found at lifeaccordingtojag.com.

yeah, that's where i stay.

house warming party in the making. for sure.

the litter box is full.

it's midnight on a Saturday night in the Music City, and this, my 200th post, comes with a bit of sadness. it will be the last.

but not really.

i'm taking the rest of the month off, and will reappear in May with a new home. yes, this makes me a liar considering my promise to post everyday in the month of April, but what can you do. i've been called worse. the thing is, i've been looking to redesign and move the blog for quite some time, and now that dream is coming to fruition.

i will leave with this. i'm not someone who generally remembers their dreams. it's not that i don't have dreams, it's just that i usually can't recall any details of the dreams beyond the first five minutes of the morning. this was not the case yesterday.

on very few occasions, i have very vivid and surreal dreams. so much so that i wake up the next morning feeling as though my dream was not a dream, but reality. these vivid dreams are never very elaborate, and always involve normal everyday activities. until now.

i woke up yesterday, got in the shower, and then stressed over who was going to keep my gorilla for the day. yes, that's right. i had a dream that i owned a pet gorilla. it was like a child, complete with diapers, and required a babysitter while i was at work.

i have no idea why this dream stuck with me the way it did. i got out of the shower, and i was literally sweating over the fact i had to leave for work in ten minutes, and there was no one to keep the gorilla. the dream didn't really wear off until i finally got some breakfast in me.

i've heard of people going to see doctors and such for dream interpretations, but what gives with a dream that sticks with you after waking up and seems so damn real? the only other time i had a dream affect me like this was back in high school. i spent the better part of three periods trying to figure out if i was indeed dating this girl in my grade, or if it was just a dream i had the night before. i went as far as to ask her what we were doing after school that afternoon, only to get a blank stare in return. the interesting part of it all was the fact that i didn't even like this girl, and was hit with a wave of relief after finding out it was all just in my head.

i'll be back in a few. i plan to use some of my downtime to catch up on old reruns of "Sanford and Son" on TV Land. i suggest you do the same.

it's for a good cause.

i'm not one to ask for handouts, but today i found myself in need. James Taylor is playing the Mother Church of Country Music. but wait, it gets better. Sweet Baby James will be flying practically solo, accompanied only by his acoustic guitar and a keyboardist.

i need tickets. i need them in a bad way.

the musical catalog of James Taylor should be taught in grade school. as a matter of fact, it should be 3rd period. right after Social Studies. right before English Composition. as we are learning to conjugate verbs, we should be applying the lyrics of "Country Road" to our daily lives. that's the American way.

a few years ago, i took my Mom to see James Taylor at the Pyramid in Memphis. i've been to more shows than you can imagine, but that was by far my favorite of them all. it just doesn't get any better than singing "Fire and Rain" at the top of your lungs with your Mom.

applications to become my Sugar Mama, and purchase a pair of tickets to the show can be picked up at your local Hobby Lobby. please see the head cashier with any questions.

killing the buzz.

for as long as i can remember, i've had the desire to move out to LA and pursue this acting dream of mine. never mind the fact that i'm just a country boy from Mississippi, who goes insane over thirty minute traffic jams which would be considered a dream on the left coast.

after working on "Hustle & Flow" and "Walk the Line" during the summer of 2004, i was closer than ever to burying my insecurties, about hopping on the next bus headed West. but, no matter how much i focused on my feelings for needing to be in LA, i just couldn't muster up the balls to follow through.

while watching an episode of True Life on MTV this past weekend, i realized, moreso than ever, that it's a good thing i never made that trip. the episode focused on reality tv stars, and their quest to ditch the reality tv baggage and become someone on their own. a majority of the episode followed Jonny Fairplay, and his quest to becoming the biggest jackass in the world. i'll admit i thought this guy was entertaining while on Survivor, but since the show, he has clearly morphed into the epitome of a tool, yet he still gets paid decent money just to be himself. he makes me sick, but i envy him in so many ways.

the portion of the show that really struck a chord with me was Daniel Liu, another Survivor alumni. Daniel does everything he can in an effort to secure auditions but yields little progress. when not trying to hunt down auditions, Daniel spends the rest of his time pretending to be his own agent, and calling casting agents in an attempt to secure a spot on some movie premiere guest list.

the part that hit me was how far this kid was having to go to whore himself out, yet he received no positive results. at one point he had his mom spread some lies and setup a fake press conference so he could make the Chinese media think he was the biggest Asian actor in Hollywood.

maybe its the red flag telling me that i don't have it in me to follow the trail of this acting dream, but i just couldn't do the things Daniel was having to do on a daily basis, just to make ends meet. i hear stories all the time of people like me packing it all up and trying their luck at LA, only to get chewed up and spit out a few months later. i'm not a wuss by any means, but at this point in my life, i'm either not strong enough, or don't want it bad enough to put myself through that agony. i'm more comfortable living in the South, and throwing everything i have at the few acting gigs that cross my path.

then again, maybe the dream is fading. a large part of the reason i moved to Nashville was to be closer to my agency, and do more work. in a few weeks time, the anniversary of my move will pass, and i can't honestly tell you the last time i thought about looking into any acting work. my agent hasn't heard from me in so long, we may need another formal introduction.

leave it to an MTV special to kill my buzz. the next round is on me.

where have all the smoking baseball players gone?

somewhere along the way, i've lost touch with why i started this blog. gone are the random ramblings that are my life. replaced with what can only be described as a here-and-there recap of whatever pop culture crossed my radar. until now. just like the familiar ballad by one of our founding fathers, the times, they are a-changing.

i'm not saying that i'll shy away from discussing all things entertainment. making fun of famous (and notsofamous) is a big part of what we do here. it's just that you can get that anywhere. on the otherhand, Byrd's Eye View has never mentioned my appreciation of sloppy joes, and my daily adherence to living a life more like Douglas Howser.

anyway, expect a post every day for the month of April. yes, you read that right. every single damn day. hopefully in the end we will all be closer, but not at the expense of my personal humiliation and tears. that would not be inappropriate.

before all that, let me discuss my least favorite organized sport.

today is opening day for most teams in Major League Baseball. what's that i hear? crickets? did someone sneeze?

i, like most others, could care less about MLB these days. the sport of baseball just doesn't hold the luster it did when you were a kid. i blame the players.

gone are the days of Keith Hernandez smoking in the dugout (one of my favorite players of all time for obvious reasons) and Dale Murphy's 40 homerun a year hitting facial mole. today it's Barry Bonds and the internal race of his ego and arm size, and Mr. Loverman, Alex Rodriguez. no man should have it as good as Alex Rodriguez. no matter where he's at, he steps into pretty girl sex. if Shabba Ranks wrote a song about me, it would be called "Mr. No Really It's Cute, I Promise." that's all i'm saying.

how did the American public let it's favorite pasttime become so damn boring? i equate watching an entire baseball game with enduring an afternoon marathon of 'Deal or No Deal'. at first they are both mildly engaging, but after a few hours you're left with Howie Mandel, and let's face it, he creeps you out with this whole take me as a serious gameshow host thing.

back in the heyday of the sport, i followed the New York Mets. although it's never been confirmed, the major motion picture "Major League" had to have been molded after this team. Rick 'Wild Thing' Vaughn was nothing more than a white Dwight Gooden. ok, maybe not.

after the dismantling of Mets, i moved on to worship Bo Jackson and the mighty Kansas City Royals. ok, that might have been a stretch of the word mighty. Bo knows injuries. consequently, Bo knows how to kill a young man's interest in a sport. however my parents pocketbook are thankful. no interest in baseball means no more money spent on baseball cards. what's a Gregg Jeffries rookie going for these days?

Chicago style pizza.

when i was a kid, every Friday meant a family trip to the Pizza Hut. like clockwork, my Dad would come home from work, we'd load up in the car, and drive across town to the Red Roof Inn of pizza establishments.

being a typical kid, i usually complained about those weekly trips, demanding some other fast food place instead. one that usually had the coolest toys in the kids meal that week. does anyone remember the California Raisins figurines from Hardees? i swear i have around 50 of those little purple dudes. at least 18 of them are holding a saxophone.

my memories of those weekly trips elicit one thing. the soulful sounds of Chicago.

i'm sure the jukebox had other records, but we never heard them. instead, Peter Cetera serenaded Mom, Pop and i every Friday, as we enjoyed our thin-crust supreme pizza.

was this some devised scheme between the band's record label and the suits at Pizza Hut? who knows. but it worked on me, and whoever else frequented the Pizza Hut of New Albany, MS, during the 1980s. now every time i hear "Will You Still Love Me?" i have immediate thoughts of a supreme pizza. no onions or black olives.

cause i can't go on. no, i can't go on. i can't go on. if i'm own my on.

final four letter words.

so much for the bracket challenge. after this weekend's games, everyone has been officially declared ineligible for a prize. hell, i didn't even have a bracket, yet i still got an email telling me that i lost the challenge.

Memphis State never seemed to be in the game with UCLA. more importantly, what was up with the point guard's hair for UCLA? dude looked like he's planning to audition for the stage adaptation of Denzel Washington's role in He Got Game.

after living in Memphis for a few years, i became accustomed to hearing the daily drivel on sports talk radio about how Memphis State should be the kings of college basketball, yet they never seemed get over the hump. no matter what the accomplished this year, which was huge and should continue for the next few yarss, i got a good feeling those sports talk guys are giving the Tigers quite a tongue lashing today. go figure.

UCONN and Villanova choked, which raises questions to all the so-called "sports experts" who pegged each of them to fly through the tourney with ease. i look forward to a day where ESPN forces experts to eat crow on SportsCenter and spend as much time lamenting the "favorites" defeat as they do building them up as world beaters. Dick Vitale is at the top of that wishlist. the more i watch that guy, the closer i feel i am to a heart attack. i wonder how well he would do as a Negotiator.

the real meat and potatoes of the weekend for me came with the win by LSU. well not so much the win, but right after the win, when Glen 'Big Baby' Davis proceeded to set the people of LSU and Louisiana back a few years. that's what screaming "Get at me, motherfuckah... Salute me, Mane!" on national television will do for you. last time i checked, babies don't talk like that, or they got their mouths washed out. however, being that it is LSU, i'm sure their corn-dog smelling fans are still laying in an alley somewhere this afternoon, high on life and intoxicated with joy.

a part of me wants to seen an all SEC final, hoping Florida beats LSU. only problem with that scenario is the fact that the French kid for Florida scares the shit out of me. and he's French.

the other part of me wants to see the Cinderella story of George Mason have that fairy tale ending. this team barely made it into the tournament, and has proceeded to oust three teams that have a combined 8 National Championships (Michigan State, North Carolina, UCONN). if that isn't enough to win you over, then you must be mildly retarded. or a Duke fan.

yes. i can predict the future.

while you all toil away at how pathetic your bracket looks after the first two rounds of the NCAA Tournament, let me take a moment to relish in a little personal victory. you might consider it a bit amateurish and ladylike to make but one pick in the field of sixty-four, and you're probably right. no matter, Duke is now going home.

hallelujah! all the sudden i feel the urge to dance.

the Bengal Tigers of (Geaux to Hell) LSU just sent Coach Kalkdfjdljdkljafkldjlsjdski and ladies of Duke back to the hills of Carolina. i normally would not stoop to the level of cheering on LSU, but tonight was an exception to the rule. but only for one night.

with no more hecklers in the near future, JJ Redick won't know what to do with himself. the letdown of not being called queer, fag, douchebag, butternut or loverboy on a nightly basis will likely bring on a hint of depression. then again, i'm sure he'll get over it by looking forward to his forthcoming All-star NBA career. you know, like Bobby Hurley. remember him? didn't think so.

now since we're in the second weekend of the Madness, i suppose i will be forced to choose a favorite, and cheer them to victories and net cutting. i'll be typical by taking the local approach and go with Memphis State, the Girlfriend's alma mater. we should know in a few hours whether or not Sunday will prove to be Armageddon... John 'the Devil' Calipari vs. The Moustache, the saviour of college basketball. looks like you better get right with the Lord while you still have the chance.

beale street music festival 2006: the beautiful letdown.

like most folks from the region, i anxiously anticipate the yearly announcement of the Beale Street Music Festival lineup. yesterday afternoon it was released. i gave a quick glance at the artists, laughed, looked again, laughed again, then went to bed.

today, i awoke and returned to the Memphis in May website, hoping my previous encounter was only a dream. sadly, it was not.

to the organizers and staff of the Beale Street Music Festival i send a very sincere message... are you kidding me?!? you're the only show in town this year, what with the cancellations of RiverStages in Nashville, and Music Midtown in Atlanta. there are expectations to be met. i congratulate your efforts on undertaking this festival and pulling it off each and every year, but honestly, is this the best you got?

Cake headlines on Saturday night this year. ok, ok, you had a clever hit a few years back with the whole "Short Skirt/Long Jacket" song, but come on, headliners? on a Saturday night? at the biggest annual music fest in the South?

Seven Mary Three must have been busy.

Gin Blossoms? Blues Traveler? Puddle of Mudd? i'm sorry. let me check my calender. i was unaware this was the Spring of 1997.

on the other hand, i do commend you for bringing on the talents of Robert Randolph, George Clinton, Jerry Lee Lewis, Little Richard, Bo Diddley, James Brown, Johnny Winter, Booker T. and the MG's, Gov't Mule and Paul Thorn. there's just a slight problem. these guys play the fest every other year. there's no denying they are quality, it's just that i don't need to see James Brown attempt to break a hip every few years. that's all.

then again you did book the wonderful sounds of Huey Lewis and the News. although a few decades late, this does excite me. i can only assume you were doing it all for my baby.

march madness.

the 2006 NCAA Men's Basketball Tournament begins today. i'm sad to say i have not completed a bracket this year. when you don't pay much attention during the entire season, one's ability to pick winners and losers tends to be a little dodgy at best. it get's to the point where the names of the mascots start to weigh in on the picks, and that's just wrong. no matter if it's an approach adopted by Rachael Ray.

my interest in this year's tournament surrounds the mystery behind Adam Morrison, and what has to be the greatest moustache in organized sports today. although it appears as though Mr. Morrison has carefully cut hair from his head and strategically glued it to his upper lip, this fine speciman is the real deal. many opponents have been have been slain this season by trying to guard and contain the moustache. Morrison is averaging nearly 29 points a game. the moustache alone is responsible for 18 of those points. rumor has it once the tournament ends in a few weeks, the moustache will hold a press conference to announce that it will be leaving school early, and entering the NBA draft. no word on Morrison's plans after April.

as for my picks for the tournament, they're pretty simple... anybody but the girls at Duke.