Why I love Halloween!!!
The Titans cheerleaders embodied everything good and wholesome about Halloween yesterday at LP Field! Sometime in the second quarter, they exited the field and returned later in their cute-as-pie Halloween costumes!! I can't remember all the fun and different dress-ups the gals did, (there were just so many of them!!) but I'll list the ones that I can recall!!!
Slutty Race Car Driver!!
Slutty Football Player!!!
Slutty Robin Hood!!
Slutty Foxy Brown!
Slutty Super Girl!!!
Slutty Wonder Woman!
Slutty Kitty Cat!!!!
and my favorite was the gal who had so much imagination we couldn't figure out exactly what she was, other than Slutty Titans Cheerleader!!!
Playing dress-up is always so much fun! I love Holloween!!!
Glory, Glory Hallelujah!
"You're naked, singing 'Battle Hymn of the Republic' in your kitchen."
She's the master of the obvious.
Where am I going and what am I doing in this handbasket?
The Republicans are giving us the biennual "sky-will-be-falling" routine we get every other year from the team that is losing. Elect the Democrats, and we'll all go to hell in a handbasket. Taxes will go through the roof. The economy will fall apart. Dogs will start sleeping with cats.
Like you guys have done such a bang-up job with your six years.
So, from what I can tell, the main things the Democrats want to:
1) Repeal the tax cuts for the "rich."
Whatever. I don't like it, I don't like any taxes, but I have no strong opinion on that.
B) Raise the minimum wage.
This one I do have a strong opinion on. People wail about how the "Man" is keeping minimum wage workers down, and how we need to make the "Man" pay them more and how someone with a family of four making minimum wage is below the poverty line.
Well no shit. Of course they're below the poverty line. They make minimum wage. Have you ever seen a minimum wage worker working, say at a fast food restaurant? They don't even deserve the 5 or 6 bucks an hour they are getting now. It is unbelieveable how slow those people can move. It is unbelievable how little they care about customers or their job. It is unbelieveable the attitude they have.
Now don't feed me your "Wal Mart makes people work off the clock" crap. That's obviously wrong. But the government telling me how much I need to pay my workers to slop beans on a plate? That's just wrong too.
(Disclosure: I pay everyone who works for me well over the minimum wage. And they are doing minimum wage jobs.)
Where were these minimum wage people when Charles Darwin landed on Plymouth Rock? Give me capitalism or give me death!
Oh, yeah. It's not like Bush is going anywhere for a couple more years. He can veto anything the Democrats try to do anyway. Ahh, big government. Put that in your handbasket and smoke it.
Those Wacky Pissed-Off Austrian Feminists
Dude had this kick ass urinal in the men's room of his place in Austria. He's taking it out because some women are pissed (pun intended).
"We think that it's tasteless, misogynistic and offensive," Marianne Lackner, media spokeswoman for the Vienna Department of Women's Affairs told The Associated Press.
The department, headed by Social Democrat Sonja Wehsely, said it was appealing to the owner's good will, but was also exploring the possibility of legal action.Monika Vana, the Green Party's spokeswoman for women's affairs, also denounced the toilets, telling the Austria Press Agency that they are "sexist and inappropriate."
Legal action? What kind of laws they got over there? Hey spineless guy who is bowing down to a bunch of humorless women who don't even go in that restroom
: Send it to me. I love it.
Fair Weather Fans
It happens every time. Somebody gets a win and the phones at sports talk radio light up.
"Hey all you fair-weather fans. What do you think now? You were wrong! You need to quit whining and back this team through the good and the bad! Be a real
fan and back this team! You shouldn't be calling in and saying bad stuff about our team! Let's be a real, big-time NFL city!"
Uhhhh . . . no. You're the one who is wrong. We don't need to back this team through the good and the bad. Why don't you go visit a "big-time NFL city" and see for yourself. You think there aren't a couple of negative comments about Joe Gibbs flying around the airwaves of D.C. today? This isn't my son's football team. I'm not giving blind loyalty.
This is the entertainment business. If the product sucks, we as fans have every right to say that it sucks. As it did last year and in the beginning of this season. Passer ratings in single digits. Criminal assault on the field. Quarter after quarter of not scoring and not stopping the other team. They sucked, and we had every right to say so.
They don't suck as much now. That's good. Yay team.
Knuck, the Media Whore
I've mentioned several times that I don't really like to get all political here. (OK, the occasional Bush bashing is just too easy). So I got an email yesterday from a lady at National Public Radio. She wants to interview me. About the Ford/Corker race. She said that when they do regional stories, they go to area bloggers to find people to interview, and she liked my blog.
(As many of you know, once my mother started reading this, it became a lot more tame. I wonder if she would have wanted to interview that
So my initial reaction was to do a bunch of research. I don't know a whole lot about those guys. I vote the same way I took tests in school. At the last minute, I study up on the candidates and issues, and decide. I'm independent, and I take each race or issue on its own merit, or lack of merit
But I decided not to do a bunch of research. I'm assuming she wants a real "man on the street" interview. So I know what I know.
But this is the best part. There are so many bloggers in this area who study and nit-pick and live and breathe politics. Most political bloggers use their real names. This email from the mighty NPR requesting an interview regarding one of the hottest races in politics this year, started thusly:
"Dear Nashville Knucklehead"
Kim Chee, anyone?
I know you pay lots of people lots of money to gather intelligence and find countries with evil-doer, nutjob dictators with weapons of mass destruction so that we can invade them to make the world a better place. Those folks kind of blew it on the last one, huh? Well, I think there's another country that fits the bill. Give me a call. I won't even charge you for the info.
I sometimes have the misfortune to be in a situation where I have to listen to a CLASSIC ROCK radio station.
Is there anything more tired than a CALSSIC ROCK radio station? Look, I know I'm an old dude. These guys haven't changed their playlist in 30 years. It is the music I listened to on the radio when I was growing up. Listening to it doesn't make me nostaligic, it makes me want to kick in the radio. Why, why, why do you insist on continuing to play "Barracuda?" "Hotel California?" "Another Brick in the Wall?"
What's worse, is the DJs, with names like Wingnut and Voodoo Child talking to us in their hip-in-1979 radio voice. "Hey, coming up next, we got some Seger action with some of that "Old
Time Rock and Roll."
"Old Time Rock and Roll" is a thirty-year-old song that pines away about how the very music they insist on playing isn't nearly as good as forty-five year old music. Don't they realize that?
There was plenty of good music recorded in the 60s and 70s. "Night Moves" is not on that list. "Points all her own sticking way up high. Way up firm and high." Give me a break.
In closing, I am not trying to be the bitter, cantankerous old man here, but let me say one more thing. The Doors sucked.
I saw this truck pulling out of the bank parking lot on Franklin Road. I wish I could have heard the conversation.
"Dude, I'm gonna get a mural on the back of my truck."
"What are you going to get?"
"I think I want the grim reaper standing over a dead pig under a lightning filled sky in front of some mountains with other pick-up trucks driving around in the background."
How Suite it Is
I have, on a handful of occasions, been to see professional sporting events in the confines of a luxury suite. Such was the case yesterday at LP Field, where me and my big-shot friend took in that heartbreaking squeaker of a professional tackle football match-up between the Titans and the Cowboys.
You might think that you become a little distanced from the game in one of those suites. Well, that is true, but it is offset by the fact that there is free beer and a private bathroom. You might think that it isn't as exciting to watch the game from one of those rooms, the cheers aren't as loud and it isn't as rowdy. Well, all that is true also, but it is offset by the free food and the private bathroom.
The food is as decadent and delightful as you might imagine in such a place that caters to we elite, eight times per annum. Well-done beef patties with minimal soy filler kept warm in a chafing dish with buns and ketchup and lettuce and such. Papa Johns pizza, cheese and
pepperoni, under a heat lamp. Scrumptious chicken "fingers." Taquitos. And dip. Don't forget about the dip.
The free beer included Heineken and Amstel, and also some Budweiser products in strange, new aluminum bottles, which sparked a debate between myself and my big-shot friend about whether it was an aluminum bottle or a bottle-shaped can. Is the definition of a bottle a glass vessel for holding beer, or does the shape alone make it a bottle? My big-shot friend then steered the debate toward the BAM, or Beer Access Mechanism, feebly arguing that if you accessed the beer through a bottle cap, it therefore must be a bottle, despite what said vessel may or may not be constructed from.
Yes, it was an exciting game.
You might think that there would be people who are in the luxury suites who have no interest in the action on the field. That is also true. As we were leaving at halftime to go visit our poor "friends" who had to sit with the rest of the commoners, I overheard a woman in our suite turn to another and ask, "so how many points do they get for a touchdown?"
We were forced to pour our Heinekens into plastic cups by a sympathetic security gaurd who knew such an injustice was barely tolerable by folks like us before we could board the elevator which would take us down to be re-introduced into the general population. We weaved our way through the unwashed masses, and met our commoner "friends" in our usual spot, the smoking section next to the beer cart behind the northwest corner of the end zone. I told them of the woman who had no idea how football even worked, and how most people would give their left arm for a chance to sit up there. Eyes were rolled and "you're kidding me"s were tossed about as the injustice of the situation enveloped our poor commoner "friends" like a cloud of thick blue smoke.
Or maybe that was just all the smoke from the thousand people puffing away at their Marlboros behind the northwest corner of the end zone.
As halftime ended, we weaved our way back through the teeming bourgeoisie, finally arriving back at our destination. I felt dirty. I immediately used our private bathroom and then pulled a fresh Heineken in a proper glass bottle out of the cooler. And then we saw, in a moment of great irony, (or coincidence, I always confuse the two) that the seats we had occupied the entire first half were now taken by a man and the woman who knew nothing about football.
So we were faced with standing in order to witness half number two in the Vince Young era. By my math, there were sixteen seats in the suite, and the company that pays for the privilege of inviting we elite to enjoy the game are given at least 24 tickets. That means there is standing to be done.
Standing is for commoners. We left.