Knoxville520.com

Dear Britney Spears,

You frighten the buhjeezus out of amaze us.

We like to think here at 520 that we've had "wild" weeks out in Knoxville. We pride ourselves on our ability to get our crunk on, fo' shizzle. That's the whole premise of this blog, in fact. We go out, we rock the party, we go home, and then we wake up the next morning and we write about it. But when we compare our crazy nights out to your perpetually nightmarish awesomely cool life, Ms. Spears, we end up looking really good like amateurs. How do you do it, Britney, time and time again?

Maybe if our staff took a few plays from your book, we could all ruin our lives spice up our nightlife and have better stories to sell to the media write about. Perhaps Beth, for example, could go marry an eff-tard goober face promising rap artist and have two redneck adorable babies with him and feed them cheetos be a responsible mom and then leave them with a sitter while she goes pole dancing who can still find time for fun. Or maybe Phil could go get even more late-night crappy ink jobs a couple of really cute pink tattoos on his wrist. And then Joe could go show his vajayjay hoo-haa cookiesnorcher hairless cat around town. And then Dustin could forcibly enter a hip salon all bat-shit crazy and watch his career nosedive give himself a haircut. Now we're talking!

Thank you, Britney, for your inspiration. Now seriously, pull yourself together. You're making Fed-Ex look respectable.

Your friend,
520



And now for our weekly rankings!

Mem Shannon & the Membership at the KMA

As as soon as New Orleans blues band Mem Shannon & the Membership started playing, our world went from grainy black and white to vivid techno color, and I'm not just talking about Shannon's bejeweled right hand. For over two hours, this standing room only crowd danced in a fever as Mem & the Membership heated up this Mardi Gras party with sweltering blues with cheeky lyrics like, "I'm tired of these s.o.b.s/driving those SUVs." Mem also had a few choice words for FEMA, too. ("Somebody gonna hit ya with an ignorant stick/For trying' to pull some stuff like this.") I had a Duchenne smile on my face from the beginning to the end of this show. I could not believe this type of party was (a) happening in Knoxville, (b) was at the Knoxville Museum of Art; and, (c) occurred during the early evening. It is great to be able to say "there's no place like home." (5/5) -D.D.

The Last King of Scotland

Graphic depictions of torture are the new black. Torture is everywhere these days: in the news, in practically every movie I've seen this year, and, of course, on 24. I am just about over it. I prefer old-fashioned punch-em-in-the-face violence to this new breed of let's-twist-his-nipples-off-to-extract-information crap. Yeah, yeah, torture really exists and it should be accurately depicted. But I don't think I can stomach much more of it.

The unforgiving malice of Idi Amin's regime in 1970s Uganda is enough to make even the most desensitized person squirm. But that's the point of The Last King of Scotland: what happened in Uganda should never have stayed in Uganda. The western world was so charmed by this brute of a man that they turned a blind eye to the genocide that he authorized. As the main characters begin to figure out what Amin is up to, the film gives you glimpses of the horrors committed. By the end of the movie, there is no doubt that Amin was culpable.

Forest Whitaker depicts Amin as, essentialy, bi-polar: At times he is your best friend, but at the drop of a hat he is a scary mo-fo in your face ready to rip your eyes out. Watching the young doctor Nicholas Garrigan (James McAvoy) try to befriend his unpredictable employer long enough to stay alive and get out of the country is nerve-wracking and fascinating. Go see it, torture and all. (5/5) -J.B.

Le Parigo

Ooo la la!

On Saturday, we decided to try to newish, Le Parigo in Bearden, for a pre-theatre meal. The small, sparsely decorated - but warmly lit - restaurant was the perfect way to enjoy the company of dear friends while basking in the glory of French cuisine. With a cocktail list that boasts a wide array of obscure choices, including many popular during WWI and WWII, one could even stop in for a nightcap at the bar and feel more Continental. However, the experience would be less than complete without experiencing the filet mignon with the truffle reduction. C'est magnifique! Before you write this location off as trop chere, keep in mind that the entrees range in price from $15 to $36. What's even better, is that the 3-course prix fixe (snob alert: according French grammatical rules, it's pronounced, "pree feex" - not "pree fee")) menu is only $35. So, it might be a bit extravagant to eat there every week, but once in awhile will do you good! (5/5) -S.S.

See you next week!