Eight Feet Deep

Gimme a Social, gimme a Security, gimme a Reform 

I have had a lot of fun — as have other bloggers, satirists and assorted bozos — over the “Sexy cheerleading bill” passed recently by the Texas House of Representatives. But fun time is almost over as the big gavel is about to fall in Austin in a matter of days. So too does it look as if the cheerleader booty-shaking ban could be historical toast as the Texas Senate seems to be looking at the measure as if someone tracked dog feces into the senate chamber. Of course, one might say the sexy cheerleading bill is somewhat like puppy excrement, or worse.

What no man nor woman, nor certainly a dog, wants to do at this point in the waning days of the legislative session is to turn away for a moment. Because sure as Rep. Suzzana Hupp is shooting, or filing a bill relating to shooting, some state lawmaker will try to hang some odious rider onto the back of a piece of legislation.

Such a practice is done as if it is a highly-reformed piece of statecraft in Washington. In Austin, tacking something ghastly onto another bill is just another reminder that we shouldn’t take just anyone off the street and put them into the legislature. Ah, but we do. And we have. And we will continue until the majority of us are barefoot, in tattered clothes and are marching down the highway singing: “Onward Christian Soldiers.”

Texas is high up on the list of having crackpot politicians throughout time. One only has to look at Lyndon B. Johnson, who was probably one of the best of the old-time pols, but who would still do something like hold his beagle up by its ears in front of press photographers. George W. (doesn’t he look fetching in the above photo when he was cheerleading at Andover?)merely drops his dog in front of cameras. So we are gradually making an improvement, right? Okay, maybe not.

This production of Guys and Dolls out in Austin are the poster children for changing how we elect our representatives. Although they all managed to stay in Austin this session — unlike the session before when the Democrats split for Oklahoma — we get this feeling we get each and every time when our legislative session barrels toward an ending. It is a feeling that we wished like hell they would have gone somewhere. North Dakota, maybe. Or Uzbekistan. Anywhere but Austin

We shall see how it plays out and if someone manages to sneak the sexy cheerleading bill onto say, a banking reform bill. While all of this starts going down, I will be diligently searching for new digs in the steamy “Golden Triangle” of Texas and may miss a few days holding this blog into place unless I can get to a computer somewhere in my travels. Maybe I can meet a hobo who has Wi-Fi. But I will be back, much to your dismay.

Until then, talk amongst yourselves.

Jessica Simpson: Oblivious or oblividious? 

As I drive along the highways of this busy metropolis, I often see other drivers who are living in a whole different state. I’m not talking about someone who is from out of state, which in my case is Texas (Motto: We don’t allow no butt-shaking cheerleaders). No, I’m talking about those who live in their own little mental state or rather mental “states.”

Two such states exist — Oblivion (Motto: You talkin’ to me?) as well as a state, I will just call “Oblividion.” (Motto: Huh?) Oblividion (pronounced ob-lie-vi-dion–accent it wherever you like because if it is a real word then I can’t find it anywhere)is where residents of Oblivion go because of idiocy issues. The word comes from the conjunction of the words oblivion and idiot.

Now oblivion is not such a bad state to visit, but you have to question those who choose to homestead there. Jessica Simpson is a good example. Although she is a Texan, Jessica seems at least from her publicity and personae to be taking up residency in Oblivion. However, if Jessica really is as dumb as she acts and portrays herself in the public eye, then one might make a case that perhaps she packed up and moved her double-wide to Oblividion.

It is way too easy to cross the border into Oblividion. A very good example appeared right before my very eyes just a short while ago as I was trying to exit Sam’s Club. I was waiting for the cars to pass in the two lanes in front of me so I could get across and into the turning lane. All was going well until this ***hole in a white pickup shifted into gears and quickly sped across the state line from Oblivion to Oblividion. However, he was only figuratively speeding. In realty he was just taking his sweet time “do-dah-yep-yep-yep” while I was trying to get across the two traffic lanes before the next onslaught of cars.

I finally made it to the turning lane okay. No help from the guy from the state of Oblividion. It makes you wonder what people do for a living. I hope this person isn’t on a bomb squad or something. Not that it wouldn’t pay to take things slow when dismantling or removing explosives. But performing such work while living in Oblividion might prove to be somewhat, fatal maybe?

So the next time you decide to book a trip to Oblivion, have fun there. It can be a fun place. Just make sure that you aren’t shanghaied across the state line. You might find yourself sharing the block with Jessica Simpson. And some ***hole in a white pickup truck.

I’ve found an interesting radio station since staying here in the Dallas-Fort Worth area. The station KHYI-FM, The Range, is a meeting of Americana-Roots music with Country-Western. And it is in many cases good Country-Western as opposed to crap. I refer to the crap you often hear today that is passed off as Country-Western but is merely pop music with a redneck theme.

On The Range you might hear Bob Wills and the Texas Playboys one minute, then John Prine or Ray Wylie Hubbard the next.

I’ve not heard many radio stations that purport to play strictly Americana-Roots music with the exception of a couple on the Internet. KGSR-FM, Radio Austin, comes somewhat close, playing many Austin-based artists such as Lucinda Williams. But you’re as likely to also hear Bob Marley and the Wailers or some other performers less toward what I consider the folk spectrum. Not that I have anything against Bob Marley or KGSR. It’s one of the best radio stations I’ve listened to within the last 20 years. As a matter of fact, I always tune into KGSR when I am close enough to pick it up outside Austin.

I was supremely starved for a good radio station during my seven years in Waco. I mostly listened to 92.5 KZPS-FM, the classic rock station out of Dallas. That is because, as I once explained to my daughter: “The radio in Waco pretty much sucks.” But the problem with classic rock formats like KZPS is that you hear the same thing over and over and over. It seems as if not a day has gone by since I graduated from high school 31 years ago that I have not heard something by Led Zepplin or Pink Floyd every day on the radio. But hey, a day without Pink Floyd is like a day without sunshine. Kind of the same as a day with Pink Floyd.

What I do find very unusual about The Range is that it seems to be more geared toward guys. The country music they play includes a lot of truck-driving songs and you might find such ditties as I heard the other day like: “It’s hard to kiss the lips at night that chew your ass out all day long.” But you also hear a lot of the Americana-Roots-Folk that you won’t be hearing on many of your hometown radio stations. Personally, I like truck-driving songs.

That isn’t to say each and every song this station plays personally strikes every right chord with me. And sometimes, they play songs that are just downright depressing at times when that’s the last type of music I like to hear. But if I feel I’ve got to hear some Led Zepplin, then classic rock is only a button away.

I probably will listen to The Range from time to time after I move from here because where I plan to move also has pretty crappy radio and you can listen to The Range online. Once again, as I find myself doing so many times a day, I just thank the moon and stars that Al Gore invented the Internet.

Did Tiger have his Wheaties? 

The Byron Nelson golf tournament on Friday was quite the hairy-legged happening. If you follow golf or read the headlines, you may know that Tiger Woods failed to make the cut for the weekend play at the tournament. It was the first time over a course of a record 142 tournaments that the Tiger failed to qualify. It was also the first golf tournament I’ve ever attended. You think there’s a connection there? Do you think Tiger might blame me and come after me? Maybe that’s why I had a hard time sleeping this morning. Perhaps, subconsciously, I feared being flailed in my bed by Tiger wielding one of his drivers.

Tiger, it’s just a coincidence. Please don’t beat me with your golf clubs!

My friends and I wandered in and out of a party at the edge of the 16th tee. So I got a got a good view of a lot of these guys at maybe 15 feet away from them. Viewing them so closely I realize that one facet of professional golf I don’t get is the pants. These guys, Tiger included, all wear knit shirts with some logo as well as caps. And they wear slacks that a snappy dresser such as myself would only wear to a funeral. First of all, I wouldn’t be comfortable in such a combination of attire. I mean, if you’re going to wear slacks, why not just put on a tie, a blazer and wear a fedora?

What I found the most awesome about the tournament experience is the quiet. The guy gets ready to tee off and these big beefy bouncer-looking guys hold up what look like paddles saying: “Quiet.” And it becomes breathtakingly quiet save for the airliners flying to and from Dallas-Fort Worth International Airport nearby. But even so for a brief moment you can hear tree limbs rustling and birds chirping and then Whhhaaaaaaaack! The golfer hits the ball from Las Colinas to Tierra del Fuego.

I wonder if the Quiet guys have ever beaten anyone senseless for not shutting up when they are supposed to? I don’t know, but I danged sure wasn’t going to find out for myself.

Marco Dawson also failed to make the cut. I don’t know if the shot that he hit into my friend’s back yard had anything to do with his score. We were on our way to the party at the 16th tee as Dawson was about to hammer the ball. He didn’t seem very happy to see us so near and I thought he gave us a strange look, as if we didn’t belong there. Maybe his look was one of frustration from his errant drive. And maybe I didn’t belong there, but it was my friend’s back yard.

A word or two about Tiger. I’d estimate maybe 100 or so spectators were in the vicinity extending from the 15th hole to the 16th tee. That changed dramatically when Tiger started playing his way up the hill. Man, it was like Moses leading the Israelites. I was scared the Red Sea was going to suddenly burst from the ground and Tiger was going to raise a 9-iron and lead the fleeing hordes across the parted waters onto the next hole.

Another amazing occurrence I noticed. Unlike baseball or basketball where fans tell members of their opposing teams that they suck, when Tiger teed off never was “heard a discouraging word.”

Even though I don’t know Jack (or Tiger or Marco) about golf, I could see these guys are among the best golfers in the world. And when it comes to having an occupation — with all the crappy jobs that are within the realm of possibility — you can’t help but admire people making lots or even modest amounts of money doing what they love to do. Even if I do think they dress kind of funky.

It would be really cool to see ducks play golf. 

I doubt if anyone will care, but I am taking Friday off from blogging and from my grueling schedule of being unemployed. I will be heading to the EDS Byron Nelson golf tournament at Cottonwood Valley in Las Colinas. I don’t know much about golf. I am not particularly a fan. But an old college friend happens to live where the tournament is taking place, so why not go hang out?

I hope Tiger Woods is there. He’s so cool his Web site is in English, Japanese, Vulcan and Esperanto. Maybe I can get a job carrying his caddy’s stuff. Then maybe I could afford to have someone carry my stuff. And he or she could hire someone to carry their stuff. And on and on. Lighten the load, you know?

Hopefully, I won’t do anything stupid to get me on network TV. Actually, you don’t have to do anything stupid to look stupid on network TV. I know. I covered this press conference in Crawford during the last presidential election. There was some ridiculous political theater taking place there that day between Kerry supporter, former U.S. Sen. Max Cleland and Bush representative Jerry Patterson, the Texas land commissioner. The next morning, I turn on CNN just after waking up, and the very first image of the day is of me standing behind Jerry Patterson with my reporter’s notebook looking stupid.

So I plan to just mind my Peas and Cues, you know, play it low, blend into the crowd, make myself small, and above all else, stay away from the cameras.