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'Twas a cruel Easter. Mere weeks after welcoming to Knoxville the hot, nubile Spring, after tasting and relishing Her sweat-inducing warm embrace, after making our first trip of the year to Mayo to celebrate our love for Her, She was gone. With no explanation, Old Man Winter had come back to replace Her for the weekend. And He made Easter Sunday really, really cold. Too cold for the Easter Bunny to do its duty:





And now for a segue.

"What is the difference between a taxidermist and a tax collector? The taxidermist takes only your skin." -Mark Twain

Tax season makes us all feel a bit like we're getting skinned and left on the side of the road, right? If you haven't yet cut that check to the government, and if you really, really like Michael Moore-sized conspiracies, then check out this documentary. You can watch the entire film for free here. Watch the first half hour, call up your lawyer friend to verify the facts, and then decide for yourself whether or not you're gonna "voluntarily comply" with paying your federal income tax.

Of course, we here at 520 do not condone tax evasion. We also do not condone making light of Easter, nor do we condone Winter resurrecting from the dead like that this past weekend.




And now for our weekly rankings!

This week's key:

= Kill me.
= Messy diaper.
= Agreeable.
= Cool.
= Stupendous.

Kick Shots ()

Cold beer, hello! This big little sports bar on Chapman Highway was where I spent most of Saturday night and some of Sunday morning, too. I played some pool (badly). I had my share of icy cold bottled beverages, as well as an expertly-poured Red Snapper shot. I played deejay on their jukebox. I stared incredulously as two fist-fights broke out during the big boxing match that about half the people there were sitting and watching... most of whom turned around to watch the live fighting there in the bar. Okay, that was a little worrying, because it didn't get broken up right away. On the bright side, I got some cool free stuff from The Miller Lite girls after doing a rather silly taste-test... my friends and I were already drinking their brand. All in all, a fun time at a pretty cool place.. minus the fisticuffs. -B.T.

The Back Hills Cafe & Pickin' Parlor ()

If you head over the river and through Alcoa, you'll come to a little cabin in the woods hell-bent on being a haven for musicians and music lovers, alike. The Back Hills Cafe & Pickin' Parlor is tucked away off West Hunt Road and is quickly becoming a spot for music afficianados of all ages to gather for a home-cooked meal and great music. The charm of this 150-year old cabin typically lends itself to bluegrass and folk styles, but this weekend it hosted a jazz set. Lit only by candlelight once the sun went down, the wooden beams and weathered floor took on a romance befitting the sultry strains of the music. If you haven't been out to the Back Hills Cafe, do yourself a favor and make the short trip out there. Don't forget to BYOB, though! If you get lost, their number is 865.982.1010. -K.S.

The Sunspot ()

On Thusday night a group of friends and I headed down to Sunspot for a late meal and some beverages, beginning the three-day weekend. Thursday nights are dollar off drafts, too, so we all saved a little bit of cash, even though I didn't steer away from Miller High Life all night long (thus not fully utilizing the drink special).

But that's why I like Sunspot. I can go, sit down, have my usual beer, and actually be able to speak to my friends instead of having to shout over loud, obnoxious music. Sure, Sunspot has music, but it's at a comfortable volume. And speaking of comfortable, we were fortunate enough to get a couch in the corner of the room.

It's refreshing to sit around, have a beer or seven, and relax with your friends. Sunspot seems to be one of the only places that this is possible. -G.W.

Shortbus ()

In John Cameron Mitchell's sophomore directing effort, he takes us deep into Shortbus, a bohemian sex club/art house where everyone hip seems to go to fix their sexual, emotional and artistic inadequacies. Or, to taunt their sexual, emotional, and artistic superiority. The shortbus is, afterall, a place for the gifted AND the challenged. (I know this first hand: I used to ride the shortbus every other week in elementary school with the gifted kids and the mentally handicapped kids. I'll let you guess which one I was.)

Shortbus takes a frank look at sex and relationships in a post-9/11 New York. While the film is blunt in its portrayal of sex --you'd be hard-pressed to find more skin in any other serious film -- it is never pornographic. Instead, Mitchell's film is sweet and nurturing, and finds something to love in both the geniuses and the emotionally retarded. Shortbus is more than anything else a place of love, and Mitchell just wants you to be happy.

Netflix it already. -J.B.






See you next week!