The Muppets Take My Back Seat

Song One: Midnight Rider

Artist: The Allman Brothers

This is the first of my 323-part installment of my trek through my iPod using the song title as the jumping off point. And to the commenter in my last post, no, you can not suggest songs to make it harder for me. That's just cruel, funny, but cruel.

Last Christmas, my father-in-law gave me a gift that he said he considered giving to my (then one-year-old) son. I spent the next few minutes trying to figure out what, exactly, could be a great gift for someone who poops in their pants and also for my son. I quickly gave up and unwrapped it to find out that my father-in-law had, in fact, found a gift that was perfect for either one of us.

You see, he got me a portable DVD player. Now I've yet to actually watch anything on it. Apparently my wife thinks I should focus on the road when I'm driving rather than watching It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia. So instead, we break it out for any trip lasting more than three hours for the little guy (who does not watch It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia. That, too, is something the wife frowns upon.)

For most journeys (and if I’ve learned anything about driving with a kid is that traveling any significant distance with a kid is ALWAYS a journey, not a trip) we end up leaving in the evening. We put in a DVD and hope it’s entertaining enough to keep him from throwing things at me as I drive until he falls asleep. More often than not, he’s sitting behind me, and since he’s not old enough to have headphones, I get stuck listening to whatever show he’s watching.

Lately, that show has been The Muppet Show. All things considered, I could be stuck listening to something much, much worse (not Barney and Friends, mind you, that show is banned from my home and car). As you might expect, we started with Season 1, Disc 1, which starts off with a catchy little ditty known as Manamana (click for the youtube video). It’s enjoyable enough, once or twice. But as luck would have it, my son LOVES it. So when it’s over, he wants it played again. And again. And again. And again. (If I’m running short of words, I’m going to add a few more ‘And agains’ to get me to 500.)

For the longest time, I didn’t have any visuals to go with the song, so eventually I had to bring the DVD inside so I wouldn’t go insane wondering what kind of sketch would go with the song. (And while I don’t smoke marijuana, I have to assume that if I did, The Muppet Show would make a lot more sense. Some of those sketches were either drug inspired or should have been drug inspired.)

Eventually my kid drifts off to sleep (and, more often then not, so does my wife), leaving me to navigate the final few hours driving home without Manamana, or anyone to talk to. I end up alone with my thoughts for awhile, which can be nice except for the fact that it’s usually getting close to midnight and I’m running on caffeine and would like someone to talk to. Unfortunately for me, my midnight rider is sleeping.

Up Next: Gravity of the Situation by Hootie and the Blowfish

Fantasy Update: Anne Hathaway has yet to call me. In other fantasy news, the football edition of the Fighting Squirrels are in three football leagues this season. In one of them, I’m 7-2 and in first place by two games. The other two, I suck, though I did go 2-1 last week, so maybe my luck’s turning around.

Take a walk with me

So I've been gone awhile. But now, I'm back, hopefully. Thanks to the encouragement of some friends and family as well as watching (well, not literally, more figuratively) some friends make the effort to write a novel of at least 50,000 words in November (something I will not be attempting), I'm going to give this blogging thing yet another shot.

A muse is a cruel, fickle mistress. Showing up at inopportune times (seriously, when I'm at the park playing with my kid is not the best time for an inspired idea to strike), abandoning me when I've got loads of free time and going weeks or months without calling or even sending an email. All the while I see her gallivanting around with my friends. Well, enough is enough. I'm through with you. I'm going to create my own muse.

---

I get the feeling I don't use my iPod like I'm supposed to. For one, I named it 'The Lusitania' so I can regularly say 'The Lusitania is synching.' For another, I use it primarily for listening to podcasts. When Apple was running commercial after commercial promoting it, they always had shadowy figures dancing to upbeat songs. They never bothered to show the guy in his early 30s taking a walk and listening to two guys yammer on about the benefits of Steve Johnson or Peyton Hillis. That, however is the primary use of my iPod. The overwhelming majority of what I use it for is to listen to Matthew Berry and Nate Ravitz discuss the fantasy news of the day on their daily podcast ‘Fantasy Focus 06010.’ You’d think I’d be better at fantasy sports, but despite listening to primarily advice from experts, I still generally suck at it.

Sure, I’ve got some songs on there, but they’re mostly an afterthought (well, except for the roughly 100 songs for my kid, who points to the iPod and the player anytime he wants to hear Raffi sing (which is far, FAR more often then I want to hear it. In case you weren’t aware, Baby Beluga swims in the deep blue sea. She swims so wild and she swims so free.) But after realizing that waiting for the Muse to inspire me to write could result in a lengthy wait, I figured I’d try something to inspire myself.

I’ve got roughly 300 songs on my iPod (I’ve also got roughly 250 podcasts, for comparison’s sake). The plan is to use each of those songs to be my jumping off point. Be it the title, a lyric from the song or a tangent that spins off to something else, I’m going to force myself to write at least 500 words springing from each song. Now, I’m not crazy enough to think I’m going to get through every song I have. Assuming I did two a week, that’s 150 weeks, or almost three years. If I’m still working on this project (and, just as unlikely, you’re still reading) at the beginning of 2014, then three things happened.

 First, it means I’d have written at least 150,000 words and hopefully at least seven of them were arranged in such a way as to elicit a chuckle. Second, it means you’d have read at least 150,000 words of mine, which would suggest that you need to visit your nearest mental health professional. And finally, it means the Mayans were wrong, which will be good for everyone. Well, except for the Mayans who will be exposed as liars and no one will ever trust another Mayan prophecy ever again. (However, if you want to hedge your bets in 2012, I’d be more than happy to keep your valuables for you while you’re hiding out in whatever underground bunker you used for Y2K. I’m nice like that.)

Some basic rules (that I’ll likely break): Number 1: Other than the first song, all others will be chosen at random by whatever system Apple used to program their shuffle. The first song will be the first song on my playlist, The Allman Brothers’ Midnight Rider.

Number 2: No skipping songs. If Eric Clapton’s Willie and the Hand Jive shows up, I have to write at least 500 words inspired by it, which will be somewhat difficult since I know no one named Willie and while this isn’t necessarily a family blog, I do try to keep it somewhere between PG-13 and R, so a blog heavy on innuendo springing from the phrase ‘Hand Jive’ won’t be forthcoming.  

That’s it. That’s the list. Some songs I’m expecting to be fairly easy, like Statesboro Blues. Others will take every bit of gut, guile, creativity and selective plagiarism . . . err . . . sampling that I can muster.

An Open Letter to Thrifty Car Rental

Dear Thrifty Car Rental,

In an early Seinfeld episode, Jerry and Elaine are at a car rental counter and the rental agent informs Jerry that there are no more cars available. Jerry goes into a comedic rant that, if you don't mind, I'm going to quote here for you.


Jerry: I don't understand, I made a reservation, do you have my reservation?
Agent: Yes, we do, unfortunately we ran out of cars.
Jerry: But the reservation keeps the car here. That's why you have the
reservation.
Agent: I know why we have reservations.
Jerry: I don't think you do. If you did, I'd have a car. See, you know how to
take the reservation, you just don't know how to *hold* the reservation and
that's really the most important part of the reservation, the holding. Anybody
can just take them.

All this leads me to last Wednesday when we went to pick up a car we'd  reserved. Or at least, I thought we'd reserved one. But as it turns out, your company appears to be very good at taking reservations, but not so good at the actual holding of the reservations.

I'll be the first to admit I don't know the details about how a car rental agency works. I imagine it to be fairly simple in that you have a finite supply of cars and you rent them out for a specific period of time. Don't double-book a vehicle and allow enough time for it to be cleaned before re-renting it seems to be the extent of things. Add in your attempts to sell unneeded 'Loss Prevention Insurance' or whatever the hell it is you call your insurance that's totally unnecessary (since both the customer's credit card and own car insurance cover rental cars, but you know that and simply want to suck a few extra dollars out of uniformed consumers. Real classy system you guys have there) and that's pretty much your whole operation. I'm sure somewhere in your policy there's something about 'don't rent cars we don't have,' but then again, maybe it's not there since you obviously haven't mastered that fact.

And while I'm writing to you, let me say a few other things. First of all, if we wanted a gas-guzzling SUV, we would have gotten that in the first place. Offering to upgrade us to that for and extra $20 a day isn't exactly putting the customer first. And why is it you couldn't upgrade us for free? Oh, that's right, because 'technically' (your word, not mine) you still had a vehicle you could give us. Granted, it was a 15-passenger van and not, you know, the Toyota Corolla we'd reserved, but you did 'technically' have something you could have rented us.

Second . . . really? A 15-passenger van? Do I look like a church youth group in need of transportation to the mountains? Is this really how you go about treating your customers? Because you had one of those, you couldn't give us a free upgrade? Also, not everyone thinks an SUV is an upgrade. Some of us would rather drive a mid-size car and don't consider an SUV something to aspire to drive.

So, all that is to say that I look forward to never utilizing your company's services ever again. You're a rental car company and you can't manage the simple task of renting cars. If you can't perform the one task you're company claims it does, I can't think of a single reason to give you another chance.

Special Georgia Election Edition

Faithful readers, I present the first political blog in the history of Expecting the Spanish Inquisition. Georgia voters will probably want to print it out and take it to the voting booth with you when you vote. Readers from other states may want to print it out in honor of Seth Harp (read below for that to make sense.)

So Tuesday is Primary Election day in Georgia.

"But Luke," you say, "you live in North Carolina, why do you care about Georgia primaries?"

That, fellow netizens, is a great question, and one that I can answer fairly simply. I don't care. But apparently I'm supposed to care. At least, a few candidates in Georgia believe I'm supposed to care.

Last week, Seth Harp, a Republican candidate for State Insurance Commissioner, sent me a flier touting his candidacy. At first, I didn't pick up on what it was. North Carolina's primaries were a few months ago, so I couldn't figure out why I was getting campaign literature this far out from the election. Then, I actually bothered to read the flier and realized that Harp's campaign hadn't bothered to update their list to realize that at least one of their addresses is not only out of state, but had registered and already voted in both city and state elections.

I quickly skimmed over his flier before coming to something that made me laugh. One of the bullet points Harp highlighted was how he would eliminate waste. This amused me. Not that I don't believe him, it's that sending campaign literature to an out-of-state person who isn't registered to vote in your election seems like the exact opposite of eliminating waste. He's actually actively creating waste. (See, I told you the comment at the beginning would eventually make sense.)

Despite all that, I hope he wins. He cares enough to want to know what people he doesn't represent and isn't accountable to are thinking. None of the other State Insurance Commissioner candidates care what a North Carolinian thinks. But Harp . . . Harp does. That's dedication. Sure, he may be unqualified, not be able to actually fulfill any of his campaign promises and generally be among the worst candidates in the field, but no one else cared to try to try to win my vote.

Also caring what people who can't vote for him nor would he represent should he be victorious is Eric Johnson, Republican candidate for Georgia governor. He, like Harp, sent me campaign literature last week. Unfortunately, all it did was tell me about his personal life (here's a hint: I don't care how long you've been married or what church you attend) and didn't seem to go into the issues I care about. For example, if he wins, will he try to steal part of North Carolina like Georgia's current governor did with Tennessee? Will North Carolina need to call up its National Guard to defend the tiny portion of my state that borders Georgia? Is he a Blue Devil or a Tar Heel? Or maybe a Demon Deacon (at which point, his church membership may be something I'd want to know.)

Perusing Johnson's campaign website yielded no answers to these questions. As such, I can't endorse Johnson for governor until he clarifies his positions on these critical issues. So Johnson, try as you did, I can't give you my vote tomorrow.

A Rulebook double

Two sports-related thoughts and then, I promise, I'll move on to something else, unless something else sports related catches my eye. But I promise, a non-sports blog at some point in the near future.

LeBronapalooza II: Electric Boogaloo

Roughly 10 million people tuned in last Thursday night to watch a one-hour televised special entitled 'The Decision' in which LeBron James, announced his decision as to where he would be playing basketball next year. Living in Wilmington, NC, I was hoping he would shock the world (or at least the 10 million people - myself included) and select the Wilmington SeaDawgs, a semipro basketball team that went 15-5 last year. I can't help but think James could have elevated the team to an 18-2 record. I'm guess he'd also help out the attendance figures in the league. But apparently the fame and fortune and allure of playing in South Beach was more than a small, coastal NC city could offer.

Reaction to his decision was swift, from the burning of James' jerseys (dude, they are expensive enough to begin with, and in 20 years they'll be a throwback jersey that'll be worth three to four times what you paid for it) to the owner of James' former team, the Cleveland Cavaliers, posting an incoherent rant on the team's website, using the font we all use when we're serious, comic sans. So rambling was the letter that ESPN had to call the Cleveland PR office to confirm that it wasn't a hoax. (oddly, it seems that all of Cleveland's owner's statements are in comic sans. Apparently no one on the Cavaliers' staff can talk any sense into the team's owner.) Billy Madison's speech at the end of that movie made more sense than that letter did.

Even though proceeds from the show went to the Boys and Girls Club, that wasn't enough to offset the the backlash directed at James. Most of the (inescapable) media coverage is focused on James' decision to leave his hometown (ok, Akron, OH is his hometown, but it's close enough for purposes of this blog. If you wanted accuracy, you wouldn't be looking here, would you?) However, what most fans seem to get is that the anger isn't directed at his decision, but how he went about announcing his decision. Had he simply called the Cleveland owner, told him he was going to Miami and then issued a statement or held a press conference, no one outside of Ohio would really care. It'd just be another athlete changing teams.

But instead, he decided to break up with Cleveland on a nationally televised media spectacle. It was akin to, instead of proposing to your girlfriend on the jumbotron, you had your wife served with divorce papers on the jumbotron. Divorce, while unfortunate, happens every day. But if you make a giant show about it and go through the effort to embarrass your former spouse in front of as many people as possible, don't act shocked when people consider you a douchebag for doing so.

World Cup: Extra Time

A friend of mine hypothesized on facebook during the World Cup Finale that the reason Americans don't like soccer is because of all the flopping. Flopping, for those unfamiliar with the sport, is essentially taking a dive in the attempt to draw a foul call from the referee. It's generally frowned upon and is punishable by a Yellow Card (the second-most severe penalty possible) so it's a risk to flop.

However, it seemed the sentiment behind the comment was that we Americans (I'm assuming I have no international readers) only enjoy sports where the players are ethical and would never dream of doing things to try to deceive an official in an attempt to get a call. Well, other than not always touching the base on double plays, catchers framing pitches to 'trick' the umpire into calling a strike, claiming pass interference on any pass that isn't caught, illegal modifications or fuel to the cars in NASCAR, and any other numerous tricks of the trade that athletes use in any sport to try to gain an edge. It's certainly a good thing that no sports Americans follow would have the unofficial motto of "If you ain't cheating, you ain't trying."

So no, it's not the flopping, it's two things, in my opinion, that are keeping the United States from embracing soccer. First, compared to the elite teams in the world, we're just not very good. (We made the top 16 in this year's World Cup, which isn't close enough to the top for Americans to care about in the long term). For better or worse, Americans only care about the best and being the best. Until we've got that caliber of national team, we're not going to care about the sport.

Second, and related to the first, is that our professional league is, at best, playing soccer that is third or fourth rate. Sure, US stars Landon Donavon and others play in Major League Soccer, but watching the World Cup and then watching MLS is like watching Major League Baseball and then heading down to your local college to watch those games. Sure, it's the same game, but the disparity in the level of play is glaring. There's a reason aging former stars in Europe come here to play *cough* DavidBeckham *Cough* and it's not for the scenic views of Salt Lake City.