Friday, March 31, 2006

Blogging While Bleeding

I'm giving platelets. Right now. And you should, too!

I do it for many reasons. One, I'm a softie with an inability to say "no." The American Red Cross calls me every couple of weeks and plays the "we're critically low and there are kids in the cancer ward with your blood type card," and I just melt. But you know why they do that? Because they're critically low and kids are in the cancer ward. The ARC supplies platelets to hospitals for all of middle Tennessee and parts of Kentucky. They need 50 units per day, all of which are provided on a strictly voluntary basis.

Secondly, I donate because it's no big deal. I'm lucky enough to be employed in a job where I can take an extra hour off during lunch or at the end of the day to do this. The folks who work here are consummate professionals. They only put the best technicians in the apheresis unit which means the best sticks. Never worse than a little pinch. We all have fun back here, cutting up, watching tv and dvds, cruising the web (and blogging) from the high-tech comfortable beds and helping to save lives.

Which brings me to the third, and most selfish reason why I donate platelets every couple of weeks. Nothing makes me feel more self-righteously good about myself than doing this. Of all the reasons to feel smug, I think this has to be about the most positive I can imagine. And we could all use a reason to up our self esteem every once in a while.

So go ahead and try it! They'll hold your hand and give you Little Debbies and a juice box after it's over.
2201 Charlotte Avenue

Thursday, March 30, 2006

I ♥ U!

Apparently the spammers who have previously been obsessed with the size and quantity of my erections are now concerned about my weight. They are all promising a new svelte me through the magic properties of hoodia.

I think somebody's got a little crush...

Wednesday, March 29, 2006

Workin' for the MTA

Oh, no. The Metropolitan Transit Authority is threatening to strike. Based on ridership statistics, literally tens of Nashvillians could be inconvenienced.

Seriously, the people most affected would be lower income workers who don't have another means of transportation to and from their jobs. Get back to the table, guys!

Quit yer bitchin'!

Hey Pat Summit,

I guess that #2 seed you were complaining about was just about right. (As opposed to the men's #2 seed...)

Tuesday, March 28, 2006

Figures Lie and Liars Figure

In the sports section of the Tennessean today there was an article from the AP about the implausibility of this year's NCAA basketball tournament Final Four. They noted that out of 3 million entrants to ESPN's bracket-picking contest, there were only four entries that correctly picked LSU, Florida, UCLA and Geroge Mason as the semifinalists.

Then they quoted Mike Breen, a mathematician at the American Mathematical Society. (Who?) Breen "said that the chances that a player correctly picked the Final Four in's contest were about 1 in 750,000."

Hmmm...1/750,000=4/3,000,000. Now I'm just a humble history major, but even I can do that math!

So they're either stating the most obvious fact ever or they're using past events to justify made-up statistics. I'm applying for membership in the American Mathematical Society or the Derek Zoolander Center For Children Who Can't Read Good And Wanna Learn To Do Other Stuff Good Too.

Monday, March 27, 2006

A Sign de los Dias

Have you ever seen a Subway sandwich shop close? The one on the corner of Thompson Lane and Murfeesboro Road has been converted to a tortilleria. Now, my inner redneck says "Damn, they're everywhere now!"

But the enlightened marketer in me notices something that Mayor Purcell, Chief Serpas and the rest of Nashville should be aware of. The Hispanic immigrant population of Nashville is certainly growing. That's the obvious fact. However, this community has moved far past just being a labor pool. These hard-working people are becoming a force as both consumers and retailers, and any citizen of Nashville that doesn't see that is just ignorant.

Those that react accordingly have a chance to be at the crest of a new wave of consumers. But don't think you can just add the word "El" to the front of your name and attract customers to "El Harris Teeter." There is opportunity for the enlightened. Buena suerte!

Final Farce

It's all over except for the de-facto SEC Tourney. You realize that if that dumb ass Swede Jensen from Washington doesn't commit the ill-advised hack with 30 seconds to go in the Connecticut game, we're looking at 2 SEC and 2 Pac 10 teams in the Final Four. As a native of one conference and a graduate of the other, I couldn't be prouder.

If anybody has any of these teams still alive in their bracket, they win their pool. If they don't, then the tourney is over a week early for them.

I wanted to hear somebody from one of the "Power Conferences" tell me again how down the SEC and Pac 10 are this year. The ball played by LSU, Florida, UCLA, Washington and Texas was the kind that wins these tournaments. Fast, aggressive, adaptable young future lottery picks taking advantage of the match-ups offered by genius coaches who don't notice when their star seniors are getting their asses kicked and the refs are letting it happen.

I've never seen a tournament where the refs let the players play more than this one. But you know what? I figured it out a week ago Thursday. Coaches K and Calhoun and that whiny bitch Morrison from GonGaga apparently weren't watching as much SportsCenter as I was. That's why teams with strong well-coached senior leadership don’t win this tourney. These teams expect success from their system, and when it doesn't come to them, they don’t reach out and grab it by the yarbles.

Look at the freshmen and sophomores on LSU, Florida, Texas and Memphis. They're auditioning for the NBA and their coaches are simply putting them in the right position to show off. That means these kids will jump over the moon for an offensive rebound while JJ Reddick is dropping back into a textbook defensive position.

Reddick and Morrison will have NBA careers on a par with say, Mike Dunleavy. Tyrus Thomas, Big Baby and Joaquim Noah will be STARS and at least one of them will have an NCAA championship. Of course, once they go to the NBA, I'll never give a crap about them anymore...


p.s. Oh, I didn’t say anything about George Mason. That was on purpose.

Sunday, March 26, 2006

Last Duke joke of the season, I promise!

Jason McElwain-Autistic basketball hero

Sheldon Williams-Duke University

Separated at birth? Brothers from another mother?


I like to smell like three things: Safeguard, Pert and Speedstick. Okay, maybe four things. I'd add hickory smoke, but I haven't yet found Eau du BBQ cologne.

But up here at our Sewanee cabin, I'm not in control of the personal grooming products. That'd be the girlfriend, RUABelle. So now I smell like hebal rosemary mint shampoo and strawberry milkshake body wash. I smell so good I don't know if I'm horny or hungry.

Either way, breakfast is served.

Saturday, March 25, 2006

I Know I'll Never Love This Way Again

The Nashville Knucklehead and Exador were nice enough to link to my New Orleans elegy and my site meter runneth over. While poking around Exador's site, I came across his bittersweet story of the life and death of his beloved chocolate lab Montgomery.

RUABelle and I had to put our 14 year companion Priscilla to sleep last November.

We were blessed to share our lives with her from the cradle to the grave. As you can imagine, the sadness of losing her was pervasive and extreme, but lately I've noticed RUABelle cruising the website several times a day.

I've seen her do this when shopping for a car, clothes, furniture, etc. It eventually escalates to obsession as she asks me about 20 choices per day of whatever she's researching. But in the end, she always makes excellent, well-reasoned choices.

However, this is not a car or a set of dining room chairs. This is a potential family member. My question to the blogosphere is: How do you know when it's time to get another pet? I've always said that you have to open your heart and the right animal will find you, but I may be a little naive. We have two cats that have contentedly moved up to alphapet and betapet status, so I'm concerned how they might react to another dog(s!) Yep, that's right, she occasionally shows me brother/sister pairs on the web.


Friday, March 24, 2006

Bad Marketing

Why do Girl Scout cookies always get delivered during Lent?

Coach K-ommercial

I guess Coach K does have some free time on his hands now.

Go here for hilarity.

Thursday, March 23, 2006

The Name of the Band is COWBOY MOUTH

After yesterday's maudlin New Orleans post, it is fortunate that we got to see one our favorite Big Easy bands last night. Before I start the review, let me make one thing perfectly clear. Go see Cowboy Mouth as soon as you can! If for no other reason than the fact that their lead singer is liable to drop dead of a myocardial infarct at any point during any show and you'd hate to say you passed up the opportunity. I saw Stevie Ray Vaughan play about 8-9 times, but passed up the chance to see him at Starwood a few months before he died. I figured, "Stevie's been through rehab and is off the heroin now. He'll live forever." Consider that a cautionary tale.

Cowboy Mouth is near and dear to RUABelle and my hearts. It's the only band she'll travel and stay up late for. A Mouth performance is a cathartic experience which will clear your mind of worries and return you to the primal joy of childhood. Do not go expecting to stand in the back with your arms crossed nodding your head to the beat. Do not go without expecting to leave the show hoarse and deaf. Do not go if you have to be at work early the next morning. (I unfortunately violated that last dictum this morning. Ugh.)

How to describe this band? The best summary I've heard is if The Neville Brothers and The Clash had a baby, it would be Cowboy Mouth. Their only semi-large radio hit was "Jenny Says" from 1996. They have lived off that song for a long time now. But don't buy their studio cd's first. It's all about the live show. It speaks volumes that more than half the albums in their catalog are live performances. I still recommend saving your money for tickets and gas and going to see them instead.

Their lead drummer/singer is Fred LeBlanc, a portly maniac who positions himself on a barstool/drum throne behind his kit and the very front of the stage and proceeds to beat his skins into absolute submission during a 2 hour set. He screams and exhorts the crowd to "scream and shout like you were five." And he sweats. God, does he sweat. Fred sweats so much, he makes Bruce Pearl look like Martha Stewart. I have seen him crawl down from the stage on a light tower to walk into a festival crowd and sit in the lap of a woman who wouldn't get up and dance, straddling her body while dripping sweat on her chest. Apparently, she was just there to see Big and Rich who weren't due to play for a couple more hours. She didn't expect that she would have "Little and Poor" calling her out.

It was at this show in Chattanooga that I had my most meaningful Mouth experience. My father was in the final days of a long, sad struggle with Parkinson's. We knew the end was near, but we didn't know whether it would be days or weeks. So we loaded up the car and made the 2 hour drive to Chattanooga so I could throw back my head and howl my pain, sadness, fear and frustrations at the moon from the front row. I think I might have even frightened Fred a little bit. But the release was absolutely necessary to get my center back. We drove home the next morning and my dad passed away with the whole family gathered that afternoon. I wouldn't have been at his house the night before anyway, and my head was in a much better place after the show.

Last night provided a similar release. One of our favorite Cowboy Mouth songs is "Hurricane Party." Most of the band and their crew lost their houses in Katrina. All their merchandise, cd's and their recording studio were also destroyed. But they told the assembled crowd not to worry for them. Katrina was in the past and they were going forward. Then they played the song with their normal reckless abandon. If they're not going to feel sorry for themselves, then I guess the rest of us shouldn't either.

Laissez les bon temps roulez!

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

Do You Know What it Means to Miss New Orleans?

I do. RUABelle and I used to spend a lot of time there-at least 2-3 trips per year and every other JazzFest. We have a close friend who worked for the biggest wine and liqour wholesaler in New Orleans and lived within walking distance of the Festival Fair Grounds. She also knew everyone at every bar and every restaurant in town, thanks to her job. Talk about the hook up!

But now, even she has abandoned the city of her birth. She says it's just too depressing to move back and there's no jobs for people in the intoxication business. She spent almost a month living in her car with her tiny dog in a campground in Mississippi, worrying about the cat she left behind anticipating a 1-2 day evacuation. Unbelievably, when she did return to her mostly flooded shotgun house in Midtown, she found a very pissed-off skinny kitty living on top of the refrigerator. She figures the rising water drove enough rodents into her house for the cat to survive on. That's pretty much a metaphor for the city I saw when I visited last week for the first time since that bitch, Katrina rolled through.

As I picked up my rental car at the airport, I felt the same type of dread you do on the way to a funeral home where you know someone you love will be lying in an open casket. I remembered how the airport had been turned into a MASH unit and then ironically hit by a tornado several months later. The scars from both events are still visible in the terminals.

The drive east from Metarie was like a trip down the circles of Dante's Inferno. The damage worsened with each passing mile, and it looked like the storm had just hit yesterday. I knew that each house I saw with a hole chopped through a third story roof or an "X" painted on the door held a story of personal tragedy and/or survival. What especially struck me was the lack of clean up. I only saw a few places where the rubble had been piled up, and the only construction I saw was of fences to protect and isolate property.

When I crossed the bridge into Chalmette, a vista stretched out all the way to the French Quarter. A brownish-grey layer of mud covered the thousands of wrecked and abandoned domiciles and created a post-nuclear ashy look to the devastated area. They had just started to knock down houses in the 9th ward the day before I arrived.

I continued east on I-10 across the newly-repaired bridge to Slidell. This was part of a 10 mile stretch of commercial property where I only saw one open business, and it was a Home Depot. The swampy area around Slidell still showed the scars of the storm with huge trees flattened and no signs of life in what had once been an incredibly diverse biosystem. This area had not fallen victim to collapsed levees. Rising water is no big deal in a swamp. It had been scoured to death by the tremendous power of the storm.

Wind damage was the obvious culprit for more of the destruction as I headed toward Biloxi and Gulfport. While these cities were devastated, Waveland, Mississippi is simply no longer there. Its few returning residents are proposing to merge their town with Bay St. Louis in the hope that 0 + 1/2 can somehow equal 1.

The difference between Biloxi/Gulport and New Orleans is that in Mississippi, the residents have cleaned up the debris and are actively working to rebuild. In New Orleans, everyone is still waiting around for someone to come help them like they have since the first night in the Superdome.

The Mississippi Gulf Coast had a plan and they reacted. After Hurricane Camille, they developed communication and response strategies to facilitate their recovery. They have already reopened businesses and begun to repatriate their affected areas. There is real commerce going on, and remember, this is MISSISSIPPI. #49 or #50 in every social/economic ranking from education to prevention of rickets.

So what's the reason that Mississippi has begun recovery and Louisiana hasn't? It's partially due to demographics and partially due to bureaucracy. As crooked as MS politics has occasionally been, it cannot rival LA for its inefficiency. Don't look for either the mayor of "Chocolate City" or the governor of the bayou state to survive their next election.

And the people that fled the Big Easy to other cities don't necessarily want to return. The upper crust that lived in old mansions in the Garden District lived there because their home had been in the family for generations. I doubt that they'll see the charm in returning to a new McMansion being built in the same lot, especially if their next door neighbors chose not to return in favor of taking FEMA money to allow more space for trailers. The poor residents of New Orleans don't have the wherewithal to start over, and many of them have found charity and better lives in other places all over the country. They won't be back.

The big decision with every parish, neighborhood, block and house in New Orleans revolves around three options: rebuild, rezone commercial, or abandon. These choices are being made at many levels from the bureaucratic to the very personal. But there is no overarching plan to save the city yet like in Mississippi.

I still have hope. This next mayoral election is crucial. There are almost 30 candidates running, and whoever wins may very well be the loser in the end. It may be an impossible job, but it must be undertaken! New Orleans will never be the same, but if the people can work together to make it a place where folks want to come home to, and not just yard-of-margarita-guzzling partygoers, then the soul of the city can be revived.

If you would like to pitch in from a distance, I can't think of a better way to help restore this soul than to help out the displaced older musicians of the city who preserve its heritage through their art. There is a benefit CD project available at The proceeds will go to a specific arm of Habitat for Humanity to rebuild housing for elderly musicians. Go here and buy one today!

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

What's that snapping noise?

Somebody actually had the audacity to ask me if I was at the Vanderbilt/North Carolina women's NCAA tourney game held last night in Nashville at Memorial Gym.

I responded with an old belief passed on by my late father--"Making love, taking a dump and women's basketball: 3 things that should be done without an audience."

Monday, March 20, 2006

My Best Photo of 2005

From the safety-conscious management of the Quality Inn/Dothan. Well, I guess it IS Alabama...

Sunday, March 19, 2006

Little Orange

I told you so.

Saturday, March 18, 2006

A Lethal Combination

Friday night. Vegas. March Madness. St. Patty's Day. Tequila. Wine. Beer. Rum. I think you can guess that this ends badly.

The quote of the night came from a 22 year old nursing student with a very bad dye job who was looking for a drink sponsor for her and her giggly gaggle of friends. After inquiring as to our professions, she said, "You sell paper? That's all well and good gentlemen, but the question of the evening is: Is it LUCRATIVE?"

You have to admire her forthrightness, but as two middle-age guys in committed relationships with wonderful women, we left skid marks leaving that bar.

Plus we knew we wouldn't have any chance with those women because we weren't wearing colorful vertical striped shirts, the courting plumage of the cocksure hipster. There's no way to compete with these "stripers" unless it's on an SAT.

Well, it's back to reality today. I definitely need a few days off to recover from my vacation.

Friday, March 17, 2006

Hazy Memory

I'm pretty sure I got propositioned last night.

By a dwarf.

By a dwarf guy.

By a dwarf guy dressed like a leprechaun.

By a dwarf guy dressed like a leprechaun outside the Hooters Casino.

I'm pretty sure I said no.

Where did these tiny green socks in my suitcase come from?

Thursday, March 16, 2006

Inferior Palace

A quick update from Sin City. We're staying at the Imperial Palace. I was told that the joint had been "refurbished," but I can't imagine how crappily it must have been furbished before. I'm pretty sure that several episodes of CSI were shot in my room. Our cocktail waitress at the Mai Tai Bar last night had fresh stitches in her head. Nice!

The highlight of the evening was seeing "Purple Reign," the Prince tribute show at the Monte Carlo. The guy playing Prince was pretty good. He could sing, dance and play guitar, but apparently he couldn't grow a beard as it was drawn on with eyeliner. The best part of the show was the interlude by a Morris Day impersonator with his personal liege, Jerome. I used to want to ask my boss for a secretary or a personal assistant, but I think now I want a Jerome. Who couldn't use somebody to hold a big mirror up for them and brush off their shoulders with a silk handkerchief?

"Jerome, bring me my hat!"

Wednesday, March 15, 2006

Vegas Bay-bee!

I leave this afternoon for Vegas for the first couple of days of the NCAA hoops tourney. We're staying in the Imperial Palace, a fine establishment known for its low-limit tables, tiny rooms and cleavage enhanced cocktail waitresses. Sounds right up my alley.

The rooms don't matter anyway, since on Pacific Standard Time the games start at 9:00 am. I doubt I'll see the inside of our hotel room while awake for 30 minutes a day. The plan is to roll out of bed as early as possible to enjoy coffee and bloody marys while placing the morning bets. Nowhere do sports, commerce and sin come together as delightfully as Vegas during the first week of the tournament. The combination of die-hard fans rooting for their favorite teams and inveterate gambleholics putting down bets on whether Coach K will win it all or roll out the old credit card commercials early again makes for an atmosphere that can't be beat.

I encourage anyone who follows sports at all to give it a try sometime. I'll try to send updates from Sin City over the next few days.

I'm all in!

Monday, March 13, 2006

Goooo Biiiig Arrrnnnjuh!!

The University of Tennessee (mens!!) basketball team made the NCAA tournament as a #2 seed. It took a total collapse by Vanderbilt for UT to win 2 out of their last 6 games.

A number two seed?! Think if they had won a game or two in the last month of the season, or God forbid, actually showed up for the SEC tourney. I'm thinking they would have moved up a couple of spots to a #0 seed.

Aw hell, just give them the national championship and let's cut down the nets.

They'll be lucky to be playing next week.

Sunday, March 12, 2006

Waldorf Ass Story Uhhhhhh

I had lunch with the Nashville Knucklehead on Friday and he suggested that maybe I should share some or my sordid business travel stories.

Now I admit I am a typical biz pig who has the opportunity to travel on the company dime all over the country and stay in some of the nicest hotels and resorts you can imagine. But most people can't imagine how quickly this can get old, and if anything major goes wrong you can quickly be on the bobslide ride to hell. When I find myself sitting on the edge of a hotel bed in my boxers because I only brought one pair of pants for an overnight trip and I don't want to spill the Bojangles dirty rice that I'm eating out of the bag while I drink a Dickel and Sundrop out of a 4 ounce styrofoam Ramada cup and watch some old Adam Sandler movie on the Spanktravision, I think to myself, "Damn, business travel is glamourous!"

The particular event that came to mind while talking to the Knucklehead occurred last year on the Sunday of the Masters while the aforementioned Knucklehead was standing on the #16 watching Tiger manufacture his extremely Nike-friendly miracle victory. (More on that later.)

I was in Manhattan attending my industry's annual convention at the Waldorf Astoria, the jewel of NYC hotels. Picture a 30 story mausoleum full of white guys doing multi million dollar deals with other white guys while sitting on the edge of hotel beds in tiny $500/night hotel rooms like the world's most expensive hookers. I've been going to this convention for about 15 years and I've gone from the youngest guy in the room to just another corporate tool with a receding hairline and a pinstripe suit. I do "rebel" by being the only guy out of a thousand with any facial hair.

A group of us from my company met in the basement of the Waldorf to have a $30 breakfast and plot out our strategy for the 20+ meetings we had planned with vendors over the next 3 days. Every hour on the hour from 7:00AM-6:00PM and then a dinner at the same Irish restaurant every night every year. Hundreds of world-class places to eat, and we go to the same damned place three nights in a row! And it's an IRISH restaurant, a people renowned for their cuisine. It's a grueling pace for anyone in the best of form, and Manhattan preys on the weak.

Unfortunately weak was what was in my future. I'm not sure what it was in the breakfast buffet, but midway through my second meeting I began to feel a little queasy. Then a little flushed. Then a little chilled. Then a lot of nauseous. Then it was obvious that it was going to be two exits, no waiting.

I squirmed through the end of the meeting and told the rest of my group I was going to have to skip the next appointment. I quickly duck-walked to the elevator and made it back to my room without a moment to spare. Aw hell, who am I kidding? I was a moment too late.

What followed was 36 of the most gut-wracking hours of my life. Conveniently, the bathroom of my junior suite was so small that I could throw up in the tub while sitting on the toilet, so at least I could multi-task. Believing I could rally, I would spend the time between dry heaves and wet leaves on my cell phone rescheduling and canceling appointments two hours in advance. I passed in and out of consciousness dreaming tremulous dreams and invariably waking up in my own filth like a 3 year old. I took to sleeping wrapped in towels until they were all exhausted so I just curled up in the tub.

Luckily, my tiny loo had a 6 inch black and white television in it, so I was able to watch Tiger will his ball into the cup on the 16th hole through a hazy gauze of semi-consciousness from my porcelain coffin/bidet. Needless to say, when I did check out 2 days later I finally removed the Do Not Disturb and left the maids a $50.00 tip on a note that simply read "Sorry." I figured it was the least I could do for the CSI crime scene I left behind and to pay for the washrag I wore beneath my suit pants on the flight home as swaddling clothes. My slightly J-Loish ass was definitely less potentially embarrasing than the alternative.

The convention trip is rolling around again in a few weeks, but I'm going to give it a miss this year. My buddy Knucklehead has been gracious enough to forego his spot at the Masters so that I can go for the first time. Hopefully, I won't find myself using the sandtraps as litter boxes...

Wednesday, March 08, 2006

AAAA Acme Ace Internet

So I'm reading my new copy of the 2nd annual CEO Trends Business Survey from Business TN Magazine. First of all, it has a $55.00 cover price, which is pretty ridiculous for something that I get from a free "subscription" request. It must be priced by the same people who put a value of Vanderbilt football season tickets: fifty bucks each for the UT and Bama games, but an entire season ticket costs $140.00. But I digress...

It's your typical list of lists: self-serving rankings of the biggest law firms, most business-friendly communities, largest privately held companies, etc. I noticed that it mainly features paid advertisers of the periodical, though I'm not sure which came first: the ranking or the ad dollars. But I trigress...

What struck me was the listing under Business Resources of Internet Service Providers. "I wonder how they'll rank them?" I thought. "By number of subscribers, amount of revenue, bandwith carried?" Then I read the small print. "Ranked alphabetically."

Alphabetically?! Poor XO Communications. They're really sucking hind tit on that one. I knew BellSouth was smart, and they're only looking better with this AT&T merger deal. Genius!

Our company occasionally is approached by business peridicals for these types of rankings. Because we're privately held, depending on our CEO's mood and whether he's feeling like bragging on himself at the moment, we either respond to them, blatantly lie about our sales figures, or tell them to go pound sand because it's none of their damn business.

Unfortunately, one year one of these rags employed a Vandy biz school professor who applied some arcane formula she had devised based on industry type and number of employees to estimate our sales. Mrs. Trump came up with a number which was about $100 million dollars short of our actual sales and about $200 million short of the number we had made up the previous year when we actually did respond to the inquiry. So that put us right at the top of the sidebar column of "Biggest Loser Companies of the Year." Try explaining that to your bankers. Our CEO got back on the bandwagon the next year with a number that put us on the honor roll again. The reality gap is getting bigger, though. I'm afraid I'll be the one that has to deal with our salary cap issues someday.

Paging Floyd Reese!

Sunday, March 05, 2006

Sucking and Blowing

So I just spent the last 2 beautiful days at our cabin in Sewanee blowing and vacuuming 1000 trees worth of leaves left over from last fall. The only epiphanal moment I had during this time was that the ideal soundtrack for your mp3 player while working with a leaf blower is the Violent Femmes. They demand to be played at full volume, but if you can't hear a few details of the music or lyrics, you haven't really missed much. I doubt anyone has ever used the adjective "nuanced" to describe their song catalog. I personally think they'd be proud...

Thursday, March 02, 2006

Bush-It's What's for Dinner

"Thank you, Prime Minister Singh. I'd like to thank you and all the wonderful people of India for your hospitalibility. As far as our state gift to you, I hear you little brown people worship cows. Well, we love 'em too in Texas, so I've brought you 50 lbs. of the best Black Angus ground beef we could rip away from the folks at Hardees. You're doing a great job here, Singhy. Now where's that Ganja River I keep hearing I need to dip myself in?"