A news story published last week in the Star-Telegram strongly suggested that the Ridglea Theater would be closing or auctioned off due to the owners of the building’s inability to pay their taxes.
The alleged scofflaw, the R.K. Maulsby Family Trust in Fort Worth, was sued several months ago by the city, Tarrant County, and the Fort Worth school district, among other tax-collecting entities, for taxes owed for 2003 through 2005 and some of 2006. The trust reportedly has paid off only some. As of May 1, the amount due, according to the office of the Tarrant County Tax Assessor/Collector, is about $43,500. However, a message on the Ridglea’s website reads: “The property owners have informed us that this issue has been resolved … the Ridglea will not be auctioned off.”
Regardless, the Star-Telegram said that shows booked through September will not be canceled, including one on Saturday, put on by some high school kids to benefit Cenikor, a “therapeutic community.” The Headbangers’ Ball is interesting for a couple of reasons. For one, there’s a message on a MySpace page that – loutish sentiments and bad grammar notwithstanding – reads, “welllll EVERYBODY knows that at headbangers ball (may 5th at ridglea) every single super hott girl in fort worth [wears] the sluttiest ‘clothes’ they can find. Then they are really horny. A modern day heaven if you will.” Second, since when do high-school kids not in either long-E social club – Glee and Key – give a crap about other people? Answer: Most don’t.
Pretending they do, however, is a great way to for them to rationalize boozing (before the show, of course; not at the venue). I wonder if Cenikor knows they could be helping create future patients. … MacHenry’s is one of Fort Worth’s premier acoustic music venues. It’s an intimate yet comfy haven to see contemplative singer-songwriters such as the one who graced the stage last Saturday, Darden Smith. Some friends and I poured into the joint after a long afternoon of pouring alcoholic beverages down our throats, and I was worried that some of my pals might be too drunk and noisy for this little club that discourages rowdy behavior during quiet performances. So imagine my surprise when my entourage fell quiet and spellbound, just like the rest of the crowd, during Smith’s mesmerizing two-set performance – and the only chatterbox was an off-duty bartender who sat beside club owner John Walker at the bar and yakked the entire time. “That bartender wasn’t even trying to lower his voice – at least the owner was speaking in a low voice,” said my friend Jim, who drove more than two hours from East Texas to see the show, and, as the designated driver, was the only sober member of our group.
His wife, who was celebrating her birthday, was even more pointed about the gabby bartender, but we’ll let her remarks pass, since they involved dismemberment. Dear John, we love your club and the top-notch acts you’re getting, and we’d love it even more if your employees zipped it during shows. That said, I’ll end this missive on a positive note. The $15 cover charge was reasonable, the bathrooms were clean, and the drinks came quickly.
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