Max Frost is a storyteller. He'll start a story, which leads to another story. So he'll start that story, which makes him think of yet another story. So he'll tell that one, too. But he always comes back around to finish up that first one. And as Max tells stories, his entire body narrates them: his eyes flinch, his voice drops a notch or two, his hands curl up in a ball; he's reliving every moment.
"You wanna see the video?" Michael nods at the thin Mac balanced on his lap.
"Yeah. Wait, your 'Brass Tacks' video that's online?"
Michael, Jonathan and Wes are crammed on the gray cloth couch with two cushions. The band's newest member and bass player, Ross, is hunched in a computer chair next to the trio. Sharp elbows and lean limbs stick out from the huddled t-shirts in a middle-schoolers-in-a-baseball-dugout sort of way.
“It’s good to see you guys,” Sturgill’s pale face turns towards the mic. His patchy mustache scans the crowd. “I never leave the f**king house.”
The mouths near the front of the stage roar up. The fists on the staircases leading down to the stage hit the air. The barstools lining the top floor of the venue lean in, fingers slapping against each other.
Dear Austin, the best damn thing about you is your music. From the dirty, beautiful cracked corners of the Street named Sixth to those fields with the October pop-up stages in Zilker. You don't just have Texas under your sphinxing, Pied-Piper spell. You hold the trump card for the whole damn nation when it comes to music. But there's something else that needs to be said to you. Something that nobody wants to say to you.
Lincoln Durham has one string on his guitar. And enough dirt in his voice to clog seven sinks in Louisiana.
“This is about a girl who can’t quit killing men,” he spouts, mic bumping up against his lips. His voice goes into a dog snarl: Annie lay your six-guns down/Lest you find you’re six foot underground
He has ink on his right arm. Near the shoulder. Some letters of a college fraternity he’d been in. Kappa Sig or Sigma Nu. I’d never liked or even been with a man with a tattoo before, but after him I do. He has blue eyes.They have this way of staring at you. Like no matter what you say, they aren’t going to get discouraged.
"Can I sit with ya’ll?”
I ask the two men on the right side. I’ve walked just a few short rows up the Southwest plane headed out of New Orleans, but this is where I’m parking it.
These guys both look like they’ve showered in the past 24 hours.
One of the waiters tells my dad they don’t open till three.This isn’t gonna work. We have to get back to my mom’s because we had to be back by then. That’s when my dad’s time is up. Eating out is not something that is done with my mom; we’re going to have to wait until my dad is in town next month.
Health and features
Let’s face it. Opening up the fridge and figuring out what to eat started long before your lingering stare at the mayonnaise jar and the half-empty two-litter. Here are ten changes you can make to your grocery shopping in the New Year to help get your fridge—and yourself—on the right track in 2017.
The burning sensation. Sprinting to the nearest restroom, only to find you barely have to urinate at all. And yet, twenty minutes later, finding yourself back in the bathroom in the exact scenario. Ahh urinary tract infections and the not-so-comfortable side effects they bring along with them.
Cover Girl. Estee Lauder. Chanel. From Walgreens aisles to Neiman Marcus counters, makeup companies are chock-full of concealers, creams and promises of how to cover-up under-eye circles. But what are the reasons behind a person’s under-eye circles? And instead of merely covering them up, is there a way to get to the root of the problem?
If you haven’t gone to Jazz on the Lawn, you haven’t experienced Clarksville in the summer. The weekly concert series at Beachhaven Vineyard & Winery takes place every Saturday during the hot summer months, with the series running through the cool air of October 22.
Kay Drew, Ed.D. never intended on becoming Head of School at Clarksville Academy. “I love art,” says Drew, a 1976 Clarksville Academy graduate. “I can remember my dad saying, ‘How in the world are you going to support yourself, Kay?’”
And so, following her high school graduation, the artist earned an education degree from Austin Peay State University and began teaching art at Fort Campbell.