Friday Mental Massage: From Fossett to Fiddy
Some Fridays are a deep-tissue, slow massage that leaves you feeling relaxed. Today’s is one of those choppy-choppy make-you-sound-like-a-outboard-motor massages. So, hold on and get ready to get beat up.
Find Fossett–It will not be a great tragedy of searchers don’t find adventurer Steve Fossett, because he is a man who has set himself on a course that will eventually end in some sort of rather spectacular demise. If it wasn’t going to be his balloon crashing into the Taj Mahal, it was going to be something similar to what we’re seeing right now. Still, I find myself spending an inordinate amount of time hoping Fossett is found sunburned and dehydrated, but alive and well. Far too few people (me included) spend their time and money pushing the envelope. Hell, too few people even lick the envelope anymore. Find Fossett and find him alive.
Fiddy’s Fibbing–Psssst. This whole 50-Cent vs. Kanye West album sales battle? Yeah, it’s a marketing gimmick. I don’t advocate pirating music, but if you’re going to steal anything, make it these guys’ albums. If you can’t see them sitting in a hot tub full of money together, drinking Cristal, and laughing at all of the people who believe they really hate each other, then you deserve to spend the money on both albums. There’s a reason the word “frenemy” has made it into the marketing industry lexicon and these guys are posing for the dictionary picture that will accompany the definition. Oh, and if you need another reason to look askance at the companies behind the faux fight, check out the date of the release. Says BET executive VP Stephen Hill, “We’re gonna have fun on Sept. 11…”
Fred–Happened to catch Fred Thompson’s Presidential announcement on The Tonight Show a couple nights ago. Fred beats the “I’m not your normal politician” drum pretty well. It’s a bit easier for an actor to do. It’s also the only thing a Republican can do to distinguish himself from the pack right now. Oh, wait, Fred. There is one more thing you can do. You could actually agree we’re tied up in a real horror show in Iraq and not toe the party line like you’re trying to turn on a foot fetishist.
Football–Okay, this is our country, but you don’t have to keep reminding me of it. I put up with John Mellencamp’s song eight times per game for every game I watched last season. I know we’re opening the season in his Mellencamp’s home state this week. Let’s give it a rest after last night, okay? Even if I have to listen to Stevie Ray’s “Pride and Joy” driven into the ground by the advertising industry, at least I won’t be hoping to die in a horrible crash on the Dixie Highway back home. I don’t even dislike Mellencamp, but to quote The Bottle Rockets, “I’ll puke if that jukebox plays John Cougar one more time.”
Happy ending–As the week ends, I’m looking back at a week where I accomplished a lot and still have six days before I have to get back on the road. So, instead of doing nothing (which we pretty much did for the Labor Day holiday weekend), we’re having some good friends over tomorrow night for some drinks, a friendly card game, and maybe a few rounds of Guitar Hero 2. My kid was good this week, the dog didn’t die, and the wife has not suggested life insurance once (a sure sign she’s not yet completed her plans to make sure I die an early but unsuspicious death…oh, and if I should die an early death, this is meant as a joke and should not cast suspicion on my wife…unless of course you find her with a bloody knife, a pack of Copags, and a Gin score sheet that shows me winning in five hands).
Labels: Mental Massage
