- In this case, in earlier editions of GOP Madness, I suggested Pawlenty would have some trouble getting away from previous positions of his, and sure enough I saw him on TV a few days ago, admitting he’d made mistakes and begging for a mulligan. Well, the latest polls are out and it looks like the voters will give him a mulligan, but they ain’t gonna elect him president. As expected, he’s dragging up the rear, way behind Romney, Gingrich, Huckabee and the real contenders.
- I also suggested that Trump was the clown in a little car sent out to warm up the crowd before the real acts entered the ring. Continue reading
For a long time – basically, from the British Invasion through the end of the ’80s – there was a great deal of shared history between the rock of America and the UK. What was happening on one side of the pond made its way in short order to the other side, and this was generally a good thing.
But then the 1990s rolled around and the exchange program collapsed seemingly overnight. Over here we had Grunge, second-wave Punk, Alternative, Industrial, Jam bands and Hootie & the Motherfucking Blowfish. Continue reading
If you’re him, you’d probably think the ins and outs and ups and downs of plying one of the hardest positions on all of professional sports would be challenge enough. Every time you take a snap several members of the opposing defense are looking to rip your spleen out. Some of the smartest minds in the game are sitting in the press box scheming ways of lying to you – looks like your basic Cover 2, and all of a sudden you’ve audibled into precisely the worst play possible and by the way, you don’t see that corner coming off the blind side at all, do you? To make it worse, last year you had to deal with all of this while trying to learn a new offensive system and adjusting to life in the Daniel Snyder/Mike Shanahan DramaWorld theme park.
You’d think this would be enough, but you’d be wrong. Continue reading
When I got to my mother’s house the first thing I did was give her the once-over. Old age was upon her. Her face was gaunt with waxy wrinkles, and sunspots along her cheeks. Her gray hair was coarse with only a small semblance of the wonderful brown hair she used to boast. Her nightgown was worn, and very soft as a result. Then I looked at her feet that were shoved into brand new over-sized powder puff slippers. But there was a smell in the air that made me wonder about hygiene.
“Check the refrigerator,” she said.
“Christ, are you still on that?”
The refrigerator door was closed. It was her obsessive-compulsive thing.
“It’s fine,” I followed. “You hear that? That’s me knocking on it. And now I’m opening it…and shutting it…and open…and shut…”
“If it’s closed, then good,” she said. “The energy bill’s gone up every month since Thanksgiving. It must be something.” Continue reading