Hopefully you're reading this standing up, allowing the resulting couch sores from four days of nearly uninterrupted basketball to heal. Those sores are disgusting, my friend, but I don't blame you for your obsession over this tournament. It's been entertaining without being necessarily fantastic. Engaging, but not groundbreaking.
If I were, in the parlance of the season, going to place this opening week of games in a bracket amongst other week ones over the years, I'd say it was a solid four, but playing in the Southern region. A good one, but there have been better.
Mike Bookey
Two Days in March: Or, the least productive work week of the year
On Thursday or Friday of this week, your employer might say something like this. It might not be these exact words and your name might not be Johnson, but this could happen:
“Hey, you! Johnson! Get back to work! What in Sam hell are you doing? I was supposed to have the report on the Johnson (no relation) account three hours ago. Why do you have three computer monitors on your desk? And why are all of those screens playing different basketball games? And why do you have those highlighted bracket things all over the walls? And is that a keg of beer on ice in the corner of your office? You trying to get fired or something?”
The Year Football Broke: The past season was at once tragic, intriguing and exciting. Thank God it's over.
I woke on Sunday morning realizing that this day would be the last full day of football until sometime next September. Sure, there was the Super Bowl, but it's just not the same. Another season had slipped by.
Soon, Sundays would be occupied by the chores that had been swept aside over the course of the past four months. It's usually a sad sensation when football season ends. Hell, some have said that the conclusion of the NFL season may have contributed to Hunter S. Thompson's decision to blow out his brains.
Weirdly, I didn't care that the season had come to an end. When the Giants kicked that field goal, I turned off the TV and wondered if I'd even bother watching the Super Bowl this year. I will, of course, but I did ponder the thought.
The Underrated Genius of Danny Barnes
You have been hearing plenty about the surging and expanding world of Americana music in this paper and most every other music publication this side of Tiger Beat and how bands like Mumford and Sons, The Avett Brothers and, hell, even our own Larry and His Flask are changing our conception of traditional music.
A strong argument could be made that Danny Barnes – a Texas-bred, Seattle-based banjo and guitar player initially known as the front man of the Bad Livers – was one of the original musicians to pretzel Americana sounds into new ground. With the Bad Livers and as a solo artist, Barnes blended rootsy, acoustic sounds with alt-country, rock and even some funk to create a style unique to his name.
The Science of Slickness: How and why road crews keep you safe in the snow
If you've ever bitched about being stuck behind the snowplow or the gravel truck, you should get that attitude of yours in check and realize that these people are trying to keep you alive and your vehicle intact. Most of us acknowledge that, but few of us know exactly how these street scientists are keeping us safe.
Magnesium Chloride Now that sounds scientific! That is what's called a chemical compound, y'all, and it's what both the city of Bend and the Oregon Department of Transportation spray before, during and after snowstorms. City of Bend Street Supervisor Kevin Ramsey says that while most of the country is still throwing down a salt-based de-icer, Bend has long favored magnesium chloride MgCl2(H2O), for its effective, yet less-corrosive qualities. In short, that means that it isn't going to mess up your car (or your streets and wildlife) quite as much.
Goodbye, Bend: On five years of writing about sports and other things you might have cared about
I've been writing words in this paper for more than five years. Some of you have enjoyed those words while others have detested them so much that they felt the need to call me, among other things, a communist. This week, however, is my last at the Source. Next week I'm going to go write for another paper in another city that is not Bend, Oregon.
Don't worry – not that I actually thought you were particularly worried about the departure of someone who once called Tim Tebow fans a “gaggle of idiots” – I'll still be writing this column for a few more weeks and maybe longer, but you'll no longer be able to find me hunched behind my computer machine in that old brick building on Georgia Avenue.
Where's Walden?: Critics charge Oregon's Congressman with playing politics with his public appearance
Rep. Greg Walden's office in Bend probably looks a lot like you would imagine. The American and Oregon flags line a door that leads to a basic office with a few desks, a conference room, a water cooler, chairs and a bank of windows that reveal a view of Greenwood Avenue. On this particular evening, the work traffic is steadily rolling through downtown Bend.
The Reggae Philosopher: Anthony B comes to town with a message and a dance party
Over the years, the river of reggae music that has flowed through Bend has at times been a rushing torrent, but then sometimes slowed to a mere trickle as it has over the past year. That's the way live music works in a town like this. But when good reggae comes through the city, people definitely pay attention and they should be paying attention to Anthony B's appearance at the Domino Room next Thursday.
Straight out of Jamaica, Anthony B has garnered a reputation as one of the most dynamic live reggae performers currently touring, thanks to his powerfully energetic dancehall vocals that pair nicely with his philosophical lyrics. His latest album, Rastalove, far exceeds what some might expect from its slightly trite title, providing thick layers of political and social messages. The guy knows what he's doing. The 35-year-old has released more than 20 albums during his relatively short career.
The Best We Can Do?: The anticlimactic ending to an otherwise dynamite bowl season
The extra point, meaningless at this point in the game, clanked off the upright. There was a confused hush in the stadium, the television announcers fell silent and in the room in which I was watching the All-State BCS National Championship Presented by Professor Snoozington's Boredom Tonicโข, I wasn't the only individual to laugh.
“That kind of sums up this entire affair,” is what uninterested parties seemed to be saying.
Trent Richardson had just rumbled 34 yards down the sideline for the only touchdown of the 120 minutes of play that LSU and Alabama had engaged in during the past two months. Finally, one of these two “defensive powerhouses” (which is code for “mind-numbingly tedious team to watch, unless you attended or live near said team”) had reached the end zone, but then the shanked extra point brought us back to a reality in which two teams from the same conference and same geographic region were playing (again) for a share in a championship that almost no one believes is actually legit.
Enter the Ninja: Tony Smiley is just one guy and he likes it that way
Tony Smiley has always wanted to play rock music, but he doesn't want to be in a band. He's been there, done that and the rock band dynamic just isn't for him. This would be the end of the line for most aspiring rock musicians. Time to clip on the Guitar Center nametag or start giving guitar lessons to Nirvana-loving junior high kids, right?
Smiley is indeed still playing rock music and he still doesn't have a band. The 37-year-old Hood River-native now based outside of Vancouver, Wash., is making the best music of his career and he's doing it all on his own with the help of a few loop pedals and an arsenal of instruments ranging from keyboards to drums. His appeal here in Central Oregon has boomed in the past year and he plays one of his most notable shows in the region on Thursday night at McMenamins Old St. Francis School. At this show – and all his shows, for that matter – Smiley is surrounded by a tangle of wires, guitars and, of course, effects pedals, and takes his audiences' initial confusion and molds it into an all-out raging dance party when he sees fit.

