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A D V E R T I S E M E N T
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A D V E R T I S E M E N T
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Canned Heat
If folks are startled to see a middle-aged, well-attired man lifting the lid of their garbage cans and peering inside, they needn’t call 911. A homeless dude in some exec’s cast-off suit hasn’t invaded the neighborhood. It’s more likely city council odd-member-out Clyde Picht checking to see if the city’s keystone cop slop collectors have been by.
What with city council red-hot mama Becky Haskin making national news on her recent Roman holiday by showing up at the Vatican in such immodest attire that she was turned away by the Pope’s morality police and only got inside after she covered her exposed body parts with paper pants, Static figured no council member could top that deliciously bizarre act. Wrong.
Picht, the only council member who consistently said this garbage-pig won’t fly, is prowling streets in his district, searching for carts still out on the curbs after a couple of days. “I stop and look inside the carts to see if there’s still garbage in ’em,” he said. Then he calls the city’s environmental gurus and raises Picht-style hell. The carts get emptied. Now that’s top-rank constituent service.
Big Brother Piet
Comedy club Four Day Weekend whines like a 2-year-old with diaper rash because it feels snubbed by the Weekly. Well, dry those tears, here’s a little free PR, courtesy of Static, who attended the club on Saturday and saw the spotlight shine on former Weekly intern and current contributor Piet Levy, a young man whose soul has been cryogenically frozen in San Francisco during the 1967 Summer of Love and only recently thawed. In a sketch that’s a regular part of the improv troupe’s act — comedian David Wilk portrayed a 9-year-old kid about to get a “big brother” (always an audience member). On Wilk’s cue (“Please God, send me a big brother!”), the spotlight picked out Levy. On seeing our former intern’s long, flowing hair and beard, Wilk added, “If you want to send down Jesus, that’s OK, too!” Levy handled the interview with trademark good humor. Wilk turned to the crowd more than once to say, “I love this guy!” (We at the Weekly know how he feels.) There, Four-Day, now quit yer bitching.
Benedict Cowtown
Fort Worth, Texas works with architects and builders each year to construct a fancy-schmancy “Dream Home,” and then sells tickets for tours, with money benefiting local charities. That’s fine and dandy, but it seems odd that a mag titled Fort Worth, Texas and billing itself as The City’s Magazine made its dream home in Southlake. Last year’s dream home was in Aledo, and the year before it was Westlake. Where next, Highland Park?
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