Chrissie Hynde Loves Her Veggies

Okay..below is a story I wrote when covering Akron's favorite daughter, Rocker Chrissie Hynde, when she was promoting the opening of her new vegetarian restaurant here in the Rubber City last Fall. It still makes me laugh....she's...uh...different..but you gotta love her passion.

Enjoy.

PS..FYI..she's opening a second eatery in Columbus this summer....I gave the story to The Dispatch as a friendly media-sharing thing....and when the placed the story in their paper over a week later...I received no attribution...AT ALL....hmm....and you wonder why I'm not a fan of the print media, ;)

Hynde Is A Vegetarian & That's YOUR Problem
9/13/2007 11:14:13 PM By: Craig Simpson

The new vegetarian restaurant headed by Akron Rock and Roll Hall of Famer Chrissie Hynde isn't an effort to get meat eaters to understand the vegan mindset, its for those who aren't "terrorists".

That's what Hynde, the lead singer of the band "The Pretenders", calls those who eat animal byproducts.

Who are The Pretenders?:
Hear 'em: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J5pECaW-VMI or
Read About 'em: http://www.rockhall.com/inductee/the-pretenders

She says she's at a loss as to why a vegan eatery hasn't opened up in the Rubber City. "I don't know. I thought it would have happened about 25 years ago, but when I said 'vegan' people thought it was too radical. But now people are saying this is just what we need", she says. Hynde goes on to say, "I guess I was the only one who didn't want to eat in a restaurant
where...well...there is such a thing as a vegetarian menu, but of course if it's a meat restaurant it doesn't work for vegetarians because the kitchen is contaminated."

And don't think meat eaters are being unfairly targeted, Hynde says nothing against you..she just doesn't want you around. "I don't like to associate with meat eaters at all, so I don't like to be with them in restaurants. So I'd rather be in a vegan restaurant." Asked if others feel as strongly about it as she does, why haven't they stepped forward and opened similar establishments? She said, "I don't know why no one started it. I think people are used to being complacent and not doing anything."

The restaurant called "The VegiTerranean" will be located at the new Northside Lofts downtown. http://www.vegiterranean.com/

Who should attend her new eatery? The outspoken rocker stated, "Usually in these restaurants you'll find the clientele...less than half are vegetarian. People come because they love the food, that's how it usually works out."

AkronNewsNow was curious to know if she would encourage a meat eater to sit down at her new Akron venture just to get an idea of what it was like. Well, she said no and could care less. "I'm not telling people to do anything. They don't even have to come to the restaurant. It's only for people who don't want to be around slaughterhouse byproducts", she claims.

Hynde was at the Barnes & Noble Bookstore in the University of Akron Student Union Thursday. She introduced her best friend Dan Mathews, a top official of the People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals (PETA), who spoke to students and signed copies of his new book, "Committed: A Rabble-Rouser's Memoir."

As for Hynde, she will be in concert Saturday at the Akron Civic Theater to kick-off the grand opening of the restaurant & some famous friends are expected to join her. We know Jerry Lee Lewis will be there, but as for the others...she claims to have no idea.

Then again, would she really want to spoil the surprise?

Link to original story: http://www.akronnewsnow.com/entertainment/itemdetail.asp?ID=10229&section=entertainment&subsection=localentertainment

The Monkey's Paw: Radio Rulz

Studying broadcasting, radio specifically, I never had a yearning to working in the print media but that's exactly where I began my career.

My final semester of undergrad was spent taking finals, preparing a halfway decent resume and looking for post college employment. As a thank you for all those resumes and audition tapes I sent out I received just as many rejection letters and kindly worded "get lost" correspondences in the form of postcards. I felt as if I were being laughed at by potential employers as the postcards came complete with displays of smiling employed workers who receive a weekly pay check while conducting business in their state of the art facilities.

This comes as I'm living in a concrete-walled four person dorm suite, conducting business on a personal computer that has trouble running Atari games and keeping myself afloat with the token $60 every two weeks from my campus internship.

The only two potential employers who showed interest were a public radio station in Evansville, Indiana and a small newspaper in Eastern Kentucky which was about 30 to 40 minutes from where I was going to school. The Grayson-Journal Enquirer & Olive Hill Times were not huge publications, but it was an opportunity.

http://www.journal-times.com/

Following interviews at both places which took place a week after graduation, the paper called back a short time later. I accepted the position of staff writer/photographer and began that June.

The Journal-Enquirer & Times cover all of Carter County and its 27,000 residents (according to the all-knowing Wikipedia). Grayson sits just off I-64, but you'll have to fight your way through the abundance of fast food establishments and truck stops to find the actual "town". Olive Hill, a smaller more quaint village, is the hometown of country music singer/songwriter Tom T. Hall (remember Harper Valley PTA) and romance novelist Stephanie Bond.

Being very rural, it is as country as you can get with plenty forest land and scenic rolling terrain that makes it a great place to watch the seasons change.

My first day on the job I manned the Olive Hill office which was slightly more than a broom closet with a pair of desks butting up against one another in a spare room in the post office. You can imagine that, being the small town it was, things were a bit slow. My early entertainment was having the phone ring once or twice an hour and having people stare at me like I had something to hide and say, "Yer not from 'round here are ya?"

When my lunch break rolled around I figured I'd just head home (all of five miles or so down U.S. 60). That home was a modest apartment located on, get this, Paradise Hill. No, I'm not kidding. Being the summer of 1998 this June 10th afternoon was bright & warm. A short cruise to my place seemed ideal. Just before reaching Olive Hill city limits I find myself behind a pickup hauling a trailer with a load. That description is kind. It was WAS a pickup, but its "LOAD" was a potpourri of trash, recyclables (which would never make it to any recycling bin) and a rusted out home water heater.

This mass of mangled metal and such rocked back & forth in synchronized motion with the two-lane curvy road that traversed the rolling hills of Eastern Kentucky. And the load isn't on an actual trailer. Its on what USED to be the back end of a pickup. Apparently someone had a pickup which, overtime, had deteriorated to the point that it was no longer in working order. Thus, being the resourceful person they were, decided to continue utilizing the part of the truck that is most useful. The bed of that former motorized vehicle.

In this position most of us would do one of the following: 1. Get another truck (hmm..logical) 2. Sell the non-working truck for parts (ooh...profitable) 3. Use the piece of crap on wheels as a unique lawn ornament (You know, the Smith's always have such a NICE yard).

On this day my road mate is pulling an unsecured load on what used to be the bed of another pickup. And no, it has not been modified for its new use...officially. The so-called "trailer" swayed like a kite lost in a hurricane as it was being pulled along.

Leery of this haphazard attempt to transfer items from one location to another - I kept my distance. The driver, who was at least alert to the troublesome possibilities this exercise could bring, was moving slowly. Unfortunately I was behind him with little to no opportunity to pass. Reaching the summit of a rather large hill (which might as well have been Mount Everest) this amateur inventor in front of me struggles to keep his belongings secure once the decent begins.

The "trailer" is bouncing back & forth and I'm staring down this episode like a predator zeros in on its prey. I'm prepared for the worse and begin searching for those foggy Drivers Ed. defensive driving skills in my head. Damn, why didn't I pay more attention in class!! "Attacked by Runaway ...Tailgate?", were the headlines I could see in tomorrow's paper. Written, ironically, firsthand from my hospital bed.

The trailer swerves far enough to the right that a tire leaves the road, but the amount of gravel on the berm kick it back onto the roadway and into the opposite lane. The oncoming traffic is able to avoid the rogue, rolling pile of crap as I breathe a sigh of relief. Just then, as another curve approaches, the trailer - apparently on a path of destruction - has no other way to go but back onto the gravel covered berm.

I'm far enough behind to avoid a catastrophe & save myself, but I notice the truck pulling the trailer seems to be distancing itself. The trailer, which was so obviously secure before, has become unhitched from the truck! The driver is flooring it as he is being chased by what used to be a pickup (As the truck gods say, "Pay back is a bitch!").

At this point I've lost all sense of reality. And the runaway tailgate, to my amazement, continues along the roadway - as if it had eyes - picking up momentum and rocking like the Mayflower searching for any sign of land in the midst of the deep blue sea.

With another small curve ahead I'm thinking this nightmare is about to end. The trailer leaves the road and crashes into a guardrail. All of its contents are catapulted into flight. I come to a dead stop to avoid being pelted by the junkyard raining down from the sky.

The major piece of this virtual Armageddon, the water heater, lands in the roadway and continues rolling & thumping down the same path as the runaway tailgate. I'm creeping along through the field of debris and the water heater's escape attempt ends as it too finds the sinister guardrail. The creator of this mess is standing next to the truck he pulled into a random driveway and is looking back at what took place with the same look I know I must of had."How could have this happen?!", I imagine him saying. A quick glance in my rear view mirror showed a minefield of casualties.

I continue on to my apartment at a snail's pace and a little more paranoid than I was before. Once there I have no desire to eat lunch. I just sit at the kitchen table replaying the disturbing drive in my head. Thirty minutes later I get back into my car, gingerly, and make my way back to work. On my slow return, I notice the mess has been cleaned up. The only sign of what took place is the huge dent in the guardrail from the initial impact of the trailer/tailgate.

I make it back to the office unscathed and the day finishes as slowly as it began in tiny, scenic Olive Hill. The drive home was perfect.

My first day of work as a "professional' results in my being scarred for life. I spent all of three months at that job before moving on and into the area of my expertise as local morning host & reporter at WNIN Public Radio in Evansville, Indiana. Yes, this was the second of the two interviews I had the week after graduation.

http://www.wnin.org/

I believe that summer, those first four hours, at the Grayson Journal-Enquirer & Olive Hill Times was broadcasting's revenge against me for taking a job in the print media. I have nothing against the newspaper business, but have since stayed in radio and have never again ventured into the print media. Forth coming jobs in Texas, Kentucky (again) and Ohio have been as eventful, but not as ludicrous as my experience in Carter County - deep in the eastern portion of the Bluegrass State.

The lesson learned: Hell hath no fury like that of a news medium scorned.

Running, College & Life Lessons

At my age most runners, competitive runners, are in their prime but I hung up my shoes years ago. Although I have memories of my competitive years so vivid I can still taste the sweat and feel the dried mud caked on my calves.

Yeah, its been over ten years since I decided to become (TRY...to become that is) an adult with a day job. That sounds so boring, doesn't it? Well it hasn't always been boring - working in the media (my current occupation) has its moments.

They say you can't change the past and I wouldn't, but it sure would be nice to relive one of those races again. In high school I was an average runner. Only an inquiry about possibly running at the next level did I get a chance to see what running in college would be like. I had already enrolled at Morehead State in Kentucky in the fall of 1994 and thought it couldn't hurt to test the waters.

Morehead State Men's Cross Country

Coach Dan Lindsey had several walk-ons among his scholarship runners and as long as you showed that you were willing to do the work, he was happy to have you. If you were enjoying yourself and it didn't interfere with your work toward a degree, why not?

It didn't take long to fully understand what I had gotten into. The first full cross country practice once classes started I found myself behind, WAY behind, most of my new teammates about a mile into an eight mile run. It didn't bother me, but it was a signal that these guys were not there to waste time. It didn't hurt that I was not in the greatest of shape to begin with as I had spent my summer working my butt off to pay for school.

My freshman year was spent running and practicing with my far superior comrades who competed nearly every weekend. You had to be halfway up to par to take part in scheduled meets and races, but it was a blast. We all got along and hung out together. It was sort of like our own fraternity.

Though, I did get to race once. It was a small meet near my hometown in southern Ohio. My friends and family were able to come and watch even though I finished in the back of the pack. At least I could say I competed at the Division I level.

The second year was much the same for cross country as this time I took part in two races, but track season was another story. I competed in the half mile at every meet. Funny, I had only starting running the half as a high school senior because we just didn't have anyone to do it (I went to a small high school). Nearly making the state meet and breaking the school record made me realize I had some talent.

The record I broke had been set by my Uncle John 20 years earlier. I was lucky enough to have him around when I eclipsed his mark. Sadly, he succumbed to the AIDS virus in December of the following year. I liked to think he and I had a connection that others in my rather large extended family didn't. Many of them ran in high school, but he was the only one who seemed to have the desire to run in college, which he did.

Little did I know my prowess at the half was the at the same level as my college teammates. We traded off as to who had the faster time each week with myself picking up the honor a few times. We were all friends, but very competitive when it came to race day.

Though I was still running as a walk-on, I didn't mind...I was having fun. Also, I think my extracurricular activity made me focus on how important school was and what I needed to do get a degree.

The summer before my junior year I spent the weekends traveling around Ohio taking part in road races. This was much more fun than just running to stay in shape all summer long. That ended up helping me build the base I needed to get the next cross country season off on the right foot.

When school began it took a couple of days to get used to being back in the rolling terrain of the Appalachian foothills, but the transition was much quicker than in the previous two years. This time I was competing with an actual collegiate uniform on race day for the entire length of the schedule. Three years after high school, I finally had a cross country season to work on.

Things started slow for me, but getting to focus on a race the following weekend kept me determined and it showed. I was the only one on my team whose finishing time dropped every race. I might not have finished in the top half of each race, but I was improving every week and moving up the team roster.

Midway through the season we split our team in order to keep everyone competitive . The first team (our top runners) when to the much more competitive race at Miami (Ohio) and the second team went to the Berea College Invitational. A race that was a little less competitive, but great experience for us to get used to competing as a team.

It rained that entire weekend. It was muddy, nasty, wet...it was fantastic! There are no better days then races against both the competition and the elements. Half of the course was under water, the hills were mud slides waiting to happen and the creek we had to cross was knee high and I'm not exaggerating.

Focusing on remaining upright and not drowning; a short while later it was hard to tell exactly where your position was in the race - the front, the middle or the back. The course took us through a heavily wooded area which helped to keep us uninformed.

As we entered an open field the finish was within sight and I could tell I was at least in the upper half. Upon finishing I realized my thinking was correct. Not only was I in the upper half, I finished seventh! I was second on our team and as a team we finished third. I had beaten over a hundred runners - that was a proud moment.

I had exceeded my expectations by a mile. At that time I was on cloud nine and had beaten my PR by a good thirty seconds, but the best was yet to come.

By mid-week Coach Lindsey and I had a discussion. This had to have been hard on him because I was a goof ball. I joked around, pulled pranks and was always laughing. I think this was a sign to him that I wasn't taking things seriously. But that wasn't true. I'm sure I got on his nerves, it wasn't the first time someone was leery of my odd ball personality.

But for three years I had come to every practice, every weights session, followed all the rules and had run myself into exhaustion because I wanted too - not because I had too.

So, when coach approached me he was obviously indifferent towards what he was about to do. The next weekend was a highly competitive race at Indiana University, not a race for those who were not prepared. Coach, instead of telling me I was joining the first team on the trip to Bloomington, he asked me if I wanted to go. I really did not want to bump one of my teammates off of the first team, but this was no time to be a "friend". I had worked my butt off for this opportunity and I took it.

A walk-on joining the top seven in a race at a Big Ten school; I was happy, but also wanted to show I belonged. A cross country Saturday in October at Indiana University is a sight to see. Partly sunny, breezy, the leaves changing and barely clinging to the trees...this was my dream. Over twenty teams, 300 runners, against some of the best collegiate cross country had to offer and I was among them.

This was no time to focus on setting records, but instead it was a time to work for myself. As the gun went off I found I was still a bit in awe at how far I had come, but within minutes I found my race mode. With as many runners there I ignored the names on the uniforms and I kept scrolling through my checklist. How's my stride? My breathing? When should I surge?

And I have to admit the thought of, "Wholly crap I'm running at IU!", was also present.

As I approached the finishing chute I glanced up at just the right time to get a glimpse of my time out of the corner of my eye. Are you kidding me?! Another PR? No, I wasn't wrong. I had shaved thirty-eight seconds off my previous best. I narrowly missed finishing in the top 100, was our team's sixth man and we took fourth overall.

The ride back to Morehead was awesome as I kept replaying the race, and the day, in my head. I couldn't find anything I could have improved upon. I nonchalantly took some congrats from teammates and coach, but I know I had to be beaming with pride. I could feel it.

I proved to Coach Lindsey, and myself, that I was no fluke and could handle the pressure. The following week was fun. Practicing with the knowledge that I could compete and belonged with these guys made everyday toward the next race that much more exciting.

Before you knew it was Friday and we had headed down the road a bit to our chief rival Eastern Kentucky for their invitational. EKU was less than an hour a way, our graduate assistant was an EKU alum and our teams knew one another personally. There were other teams there (Virginia Tech and the like), but beating the Colonels was our goal.

This race was one to remember for me in more ways than one.

The weather was perfect and we were ready. From the gun there wasn't much separation, we all wanted to win on our rival's home course and our rival wanted to beat us into submission. A mile or so in we are still elbowing and bumping into one another. The leaders had moved up a bit, but those of us trailing were tightly packed.

Suddenly, I feel someone step on the back of my right foot and pull my spikes halfway off. Still maintaining race speed I had to make choice. Stop and put the shoe back on and lose time and placement or just kick it off for good. I chose the latter.

It was a dry day, the course wasn't rough...I could do it. To avoid knocking someone out with my spikes I waited till we passed under a tree and I flipped it off my foot and into the branches. I now had to finish with one shoe.

To tell you the truth I don't think I slowed down at all, I may have even picked up speed. The thought crossed my mind as to how I was going to cope, but I didn't let it bother me, I kept pace and felt good about where I was in the race.

Then it hit me.

About a half mile to go the heel on my spike-less foot was throbbing. It wasn't the kind of pain you would associate with a fracture or sprain, this was different.

I slowed down, but kept on - I as sure as hell wasn't going to stop. I had come to far to stop. A few guys passed me, including a teammate, and I eventually crossed the finish line with a limp. What did I do? Making my way to an open area I plopped down and noticed my sock was covered in dried blood and conveniently had a hole in the back of the heel. Removing the sock revealed a nice gash just below my Achilles.

Apparently, the gentleman who stepped on the back of my heel had run one of his spikes through the back of my shoe and about a quarter inch into the back of my heel. Since we were both moving at a pretty good pace my forward momentum had pulled the spike down my heel a short way after it broke the skin. Thus, the dirt and sweat from the following 3 1/2 to four miles worked its way into the gash and an infection ensued. Needless to say it was painful.

Teammates found my orphaned spike complete with a hole in the heel area big enough to stick your thumb through. I figured it would take a day or two to recover and get back to work...and I was way wrong.

My breakout season had ended. That damn infection kept me idled for a little over a week and there were just two weeks left in the season. I missed our conference meet (we took second, beating EKU) and the NCAA Regionals.

At Eastern Kentucky, to my surprise and despite my attempt at machismo, I took 29th out of 150 runners, we won the meet and I - yet again - set another personal record. All this with one shoe! I was again our sixth man and could have finished higher if I had either stopped to put the shoe back on or didn't have a freakin' hole in my foot.

I was disappointed at the way the season came to an end. And it bothered me big time.

That, unfortunately, was where it seemed to all go down hill. I didn't run much the rest of the fall or over winter break and it was obvious. The indoor track season didn't go well and I honestly lost the drive.

Coach Lindsey wasn't oblivious to what was taking place. He was unhappy with my work and after a talk where I related that it just wasn't fun for me anymore I left the team. I had let disappointment determine the rest of my year.

Looking back now, it may have been a good thing. I focused more on academics, graduated on time a year later, made the dean's list and had job interviews lined up for the week following graduation.

Running had helped make my college experience that much more enjoyable and fulfilling. I can't tell you how much that meant to me as my high school grades were barely average and not exactly college material. Because of that I had reservations about whether college was something I could deal with.

I still think about that cross country season and can remember every detail. I just wish I could have finished it by sprinting through lakes of mud and climbing monster hills instead of just watching in street clothes.

That was over thirteen years ago and today I couldn't tell you what most of my teammates are doing or even where they live. Some of us kept in touch, but over time we just lost contact. I trust they have been successful and are living happily.

Every year when September and October roll around, it all comes flowing back to me. I can smell it in the autumn air and feel it in the my knees (along with the tendonitis) as a new crop of running wannabes try to turn something out of nothing and prove that they belong.

I did it and have the spike scar (badge of honor) to prove it. I think Uncle John would agree.