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"On Scatterbrain, McIntire addresses the ups and downs of a working comic's life. The bulk of the album is all laughs -- solid material on everything from having kids to the war on terror, killer stuff from one of Boston's most reliable comedy veterans -- but it's the bonus track, the one labeled "Nagasaki," that's getting the most attention. The nearly half-hour track is nothing short of a complete hell gig..."

Nick Zaino
The Boston Globe

"If Tim set out to reveal more about himself and be vulnerable on his new CD, Scatterbrain, he succeeded. He pulls off the delicate trick of turning inward without losing his persona. He is still The Reverend. Now, rather than pointing the finger at others, he's pointing it at himself. Instead of looking at obscure news stories and making them universal, he takes something universal, the birth of a child, and makes it his...It's smart and fearless. Mr. Hicks, this is Mr. Cosby."

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Thursday, April 20, 2006

Kick Pickler

An absolutely surreal moment at Fenway Park last night:

About the 7th inning, I had to pee (thank you, Bud Light, bawk bawk!), so I got up from my seat atop the Green Monster (just thought I'd drop that in) and went to the bathroom (note: the bathrooms up there are NICE).

On my way over, I saw about six members of the security staff huddled together, faces drawn in intense concentration. The man I took to be their leader strained to hear his walkie talkie.

I stopped, because it looked to me like something serious was about to go down, and I wanted to see it.

The leader stood up straight. "Got it!" he barked into his radio.

He looked his people dead in the eye.

"It was Ace," he said. "Ace is gone."

Wait. What? Ace...Schilling? That made no sense. Could it be...?

Inadvertantly, I made eye contact with the leader. I'm incapable of staring down authority figures, so I had to say something, and quick. My heart thudded.

"Ace?" I said. "Not Pickler? She BLEW the other night!"

His steely eyes didn't waver.

"Ace is gone," he said. "Bottom three: Chris, Ace, Paris."

I started walking to the bathroom then, because surreal or not, I still had to pee. He followed me.

"What?" I said. "Chris and Paris were really good!"

"I know," he said, opening the men's room door for me. "I thought Taylor Hicks was good, too."

Going from the outside into the bathroom, his voice seemed entirely too loud. It boomed off the walls, as half-drunk men tried to quickly piss in silence, anxious to get back out to see the game.

Then, from the far stall, another voice, "Hicks was okay, but Pickler sucked!" it said.

"Totally," said the guy at the first urinal.

"But Ace just got voted off!" the security guy yelled.

"That's bullshit!" said the guy at the sink.

"Pickler sucks every week," said a guy walking in the door. "But she's cute."

"Not cute enough," said the security guy. "And she's wicked retarded."

And then I peed.

When I left, a good half-dozen guys were still standing in the men's room at Fenway, debating the merits of Kelly Pickler, who, we all agree, is indeed wicked retarded.

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