I think my stereo is trying to tell me something. That's an old Tina Turner song, part of which you can see here. Not the biggest fan of Ms. Turner, but it is nice to know that she's still charming the audiences. (She announced a tour today in fact.) Some people just have the gift, and it is a lifelong preoccupation. Some people are gifted craftsmen, some are excellent listeners, Tina Turner can ignite a frenzy well into her -- whatever decade she's in now. Somehow it seems impolite to ask.

Really? Wow. I just looked it up. Couldn't help myself. Good for her I say.

I heard Tina Turner on Marty Stuart's XM show, which just illustrates why terrestrial radio is dead. In one segment I heard Turner, Tchaikovsky and the wonderful Victoria Williams all while getting an education on the mid-century music scene in Shreveport Louisiana.

Terrestrial radio should have been doing shows like this for years now, instead you get the same pap and pablum floated through the ether for a generation now. The thing has been watered down and consulted to death and there's no return to the good old days.

Meanwhile XM has Marty Stuart and Bob Dylan hosting weekly shows. They play Bill Anderson's hobnobbing with the stars, Tom Petty does an hour-long ode to music each week and there's an artist confidential program from which you can often times get excellent mileage. That's just the one station of musical education.

I wish I held the musical vocabulary to do a show like that, even if it was just an irregular internet hobby. But everything looks pale next to something like this: Marty Stuart discussed the Louisiana Hayride, giving yet another history lesson from the days when evening entertainment was dictated by the radio. Then he played Hank Williams, who spent some time on the Hayride after being dismissed by the Grand Ole Opry. And then he 19-year-old Elvis Presley, one of the many up-and-comers who took part in the Hayride performed.

That's good radio.

Golf this afternoon where we walked nine holes up and down the hilly terrain at one of the local municipal courses. They always give you funny looks there when you say you want to walk. One of them today said "Nice to be young."

I responded that I'd come to regret this decision by the third hole, and he shouldn't be surprised if he heard reports of a golfer prone on the fifth fairway. We all had a good chuckle, and then I went out to chase the little golf ball around.

On the first hole I offered to let a man and his son play ahead as they were riding, but they declined. I promptly hit my first drive down the fairway of the 9th hole, making good on my joke to play from the first tee box to the last green and celebrate that score. Later, when I finally found the ball I had to hit it across a fairway, through a line of trees and then to the appropriate hole.

Such was my day of golf. My game looked OK out of the tee box more often than not. The irons are on the verge of flirting with something that rhymes with consistency. I had a frustrating experience putting, but that's being blamed on my lousy wedge game. At points I wondered why I bothered to play this game, at other times I enjoyed it beyond the usual excuse to be outside.

On the eighth hole a group caught up to us, but not the father and son, as they were maximizing their money, hitting two balls each. The group that caught us hit balls onto the green as we were there, which just guarantees an intentional three-putt and long deliberation on reading the greens everytime.

At the end of it all I took eight strokes off from the last week's score, which just somehow proves how shaky a player I am. No more shall be spoken of this.

Did you see this? The storms we discussed yesterday produced a tornado in north Alabama and a security camera somewhere caught the footage of the twister passing through the parking lot. This is incredible video. Intellectually you've seen a tornado and the destruction it can bring, but you rarely see it so intimately. And the speed here is stunning. Even the meteorologists are agog at this clip.

So quick, and overwhelming. Your healthy respect for a tornado just became a bit more healthy.

The media goes overboard on the weather coverage sometimes, and takes a fair share of lumps. But every once in a while, when your car is upside down across the street, you realize why.

Pie Day was in Homewood this week. The usual joint is still digging out from their Wednesday fire. A phone call this morning led to a restaurant unsure if they would open tonight so we went up the road a bit. This store, actually was the original home of Pie Day, and has been a Jim N' Nicks for 20 years or so.

The manager recognized us from a previous visit a while back and gave our table of five a history lesson. Turns out the lady that makes the pies, they are named for her on the menu, works in his store. I'd always just assumed she was a half-created character, or someone's grandmother for whom they'd named their desserts, but she actually exists and makes the pies in that store.

And they are delicious.

He told us details about the other location -- now with extra smokey flavor! -- and how all the neighboring kitchens in the chain had been cooking food that morning to help them out. I asked the most impolite of questions -- because I'm a journalist and have more curiosity than discretion in these manners -- and it became clear why they wanted that store to be open for the night's rush.

And annualized those numbers ... well, I'm about ready to start asking for a kickback for all the free publicity I give them here each week.

We ended the evening thinking that we should perhaps visit this store a bit more often. The parking is better, there's more space inside and we've only waited for a table here once or twice. Also it is a more central location for all the regular Pie Day participants. Tonight we even had a terrific waitress, so if we can just land in her section each time we'll be on our way.

The things you must go through to get a good pie ...

Tomorrow, the storms are coming, my lawn is growing and something has to give. It will be a riveting Saturday.