Weekend Minutiae

Weekend Minutiae

What up, yo?

A few notes from the ether....

I saw a coyote on my way to work this morning. Two coyotes, actually. I was on the interstate. They were at the edge of the woods, on the right hand side of the road. My first, split-second reaction, when I saw them out of the corner of my eye was "deer." Took my foot off the gas. A deer will rearrange your fender and your day's itinerary pretty efficiently. I looked as I drove past. Thinking first "dogs," then "Coyotes."

Nasty creatures. May have been ten years, may have been more, since I first heard about them being this way. Seen them a couple of times. Heard them a little more, out near my folks' place. Never seen them that close to the civilized world, though.

Not much else to say, except that it was something different to see...

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Wandered out to see Wanted the other night. Kinda wanted to do a post grading out the summer flicks that I've seen. I put this one in the fair to middlin' category, where I enjoyed it, though I don't know that I'll ever need to see it again. I needed an explosion or two, and it had it.

I will say there were a couple offputting things about the flick. In the interest of fairness, I say There Might Be Spoilers here:

First: I don't know that Morgan Freeman should every say the word "Motherfucker." It bugs me. "Fuck," maybe. Depends on the character. I think he says "Fuck" as Red, a few times in Shawshank Redemption. But as a badass, he doesn't work when he pulls out "motherfucker."

But Morgan's maybe carrying a little too much gravitas...I couldn't buy it when his character tells the others to "shoot the motherfucker."

Second: It's a guild of assassins a millennium old. Shrouded in secrecy, and all that jazz. I love that this secret society has its own stationary that they use when creating dossiers on their targets.

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There's an offchance I'll be heading to New York in September. To visit, and such. Never been to the City itself.

It's all tentative--my travel plans in 2008, which at various times have included trips to California, Philly, Boston and Orlando (not on the same trips, mind you) have all fallen apart due to various circumstances (work being something of a suspect in most of those instances). Some may happen yet...who knows.

But...my sister got ahold of Yankees tickets for a weekend in September. Lord knows there's no love in my heart for the Yankees.

But there's a part of me that would be very disappointed not having seen Yankee Stadium.

Plans are up in the air, but I'm looking forward to it, right now.

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Saw the Asylum Street Spankers down in Chattanooga the other night. If you ever get the chance, I recommend it. No show is ever the same. Lots of music that's just hard to classify. Lot of fun, though.

Plus, they did manage to break out The Beer Song, much to the delight of the crowd.

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At the show, which was a free concert in downtown, I got caught in a stare, as I wandered around the show-site. I had gone up to take a look at the stage, which was set up for the Spankers. I was admiring the strings and the percussion sections. Marvelling at the saw, which would come into play later in the night.

I turned to regard the crowd, and a lady was standing nearby. She was wearing a tank top, which enabled any viewer to see an intricately put together tattoo of a dragon, which stretched down her left arm, its tail "wrapping" around her arm down to the wrist. The head of the dragon finished just below her ear. One arm of the dragon went along her back, and held a handful of spears. The left hand of the dragon when along the front of her torso...its hand was obscured by her tank top, leaving to Tommy's overactive imagination what its hand held there.

I hadn't meant to stare. And really, I can't say that I was looking for much more than forty-five or fifty seconds.

The lady saw me staring though. She waved. I waved back, smiling at having been gawking.

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C.C. Sabathia to the Brewers? The Brewers are a chickenshit team of little pussywhipped mouth-breathers with Pete Rose haircuts and a tendency to slobber. And it would hurt me to my soul if they were to pick up Sabathia, and actually have more than one formidable pitcher when we play them the 1800 times we play them in a season.

I hate Bud Selig.

I don't know if that has anything to do with anything, anymore. I just like saying that.

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While I'm thinking about it...Fuck Tim Russert.

Maybe it's a little late, and I don't hold any particular ill will toward the man.

But if you were to sit down and analyze cultural impact...I gotta be frank, and tell you that Tim Russert will ultimately rate a 3, maybe a 4 on the Cultural-Impact-O-Meter. I mean, if you asked me to name a Figure in the News Media, I'd name Tim Russert maybe in the top 30, right after Willard Scott but just before Miles "I like the Space Program" O'Brien.

But George Carlin? For comedians?

Numero Uno. Maybe Pryor comes first. But not much before.

Now, I'm not going to tell you that George was the end-all be-all. But in terms of cultural impact? HeeYoooge.

So, why the Fuck am I seeing Tim Russert on magazine covers three weeks after he died?

Mean while George Carlin gets maybe three inches of text in your paper, and is never mentioned again.

Unless somebody should say one of the dreaded seven dirty words.

Maybe it's just the way society views comedians.

But...that don't make it right. Tell me one phrase Tim Russert entered into the Forever Lexicon...