What's the best way to celebrate making an offer on one's first new house? Why, heading off to Las Vegas, of course! This weekend, Coggblogger heads off to Vegas with his soon-to-be-wed best friend (we'll call him "Ferrero Rocher" for now) a day after bidding on a new home. In the spirit of this bad idea, I present "Great Moments in Bad Ideas".
- Carlo Rizzi raising his hand in anger against his wife, Connie Corleone.
- "As long as we're in the area, we might as well take out Saddam..."
- "You should think about buying the rights to classic songs, Michael. I'm about to do the same with all my old ditties with the Beatles..."
- "No, no, the PLANE'S made of wood. The whole thing. That's what's brilliant about it. And it's HUGE".
- "Gore's dull. The other dude seems mellow" (Coggblogger in 2000)
- Gray's Sports Almanac
- Jan Michael Vincent's entire adult life.
- "Let's see how Pedro's feeling AFTER this batter..."
See you at the tables, y'all. Papa's got a down payment to double!
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Friday, February 22, 2008
News bites (news bleeds....)
Regarding "Serbian protesters trash American embassy in Belgrade" - I have two thoughts on this, aside from feeling my first Cold War jitters since childhood. One - seeing as there were Marines inside the embassy compound at the time, I'm extremely glad no one was shot, despite the Marines having every right to defend the building. Someone in charge showed uncharacteristic restraint and kept a bad situation from getting much worse. Second, a word of advice to the protesters - if you really want Kosovo back, chanting "Death to Albanians!" probably isn't the way to make it happen. Serbia's effort to "cleanse" Kosovo's largely Albanian population is a big reason they seceded in the first place. Perhaps an olive branch, y'all, instead of the trailer park husband "Fuck you, bitch! You ain't leavin' me!!" approach.
As for "McCain possibly smooches lobbyist-Gate", everything's pretty much been said already in the news. Coggblogger is an Obama democrat (for the record), but it does seem pretty shady that the Times endorsed McCain (contributing to the collapse of Romney) knowing full well that they were about to unleash a story that completely smears him. Good to know what side the paper is on, as if that wasn't clear before. However, this is just the kind of thing that galvanizes Republicans, which isn't good because we're going to need them nice and fractured in order to lock this thing up.
[AUTHOR'S NOTE - The title of this piece refers to the Def Leppard classic "Love Bites (love bleeds)". Coggblogger, until recently, thought the lyrics were "Love bites, love mean!" I was corrected by Mrs. Coggblogger, who still gives me shit about my "heartsick caveman" interpretation of the song. But seeing as she's the only remaining Frank Stallone fan, I consider her musical opinions to be null and void]
As for "McCain possibly smooches lobbyist-Gate", everything's pretty much been said already in the news. Coggblogger is an Obama democrat (for the record), but it does seem pretty shady that the Times endorsed McCain (contributing to the collapse of Romney) knowing full well that they were about to unleash a story that completely smears him. Good to know what side the paper is on, as if that wasn't clear before. However, this is just the kind of thing that galvanizes Republicans, which isn't good because we're going to need them nice and fractured in order to lock this thing up.
[AUTHOR'S NOTE - The title of this piece refers to the Def Leppard classic "Love Bites (love bleeds)". Coggblogger, until recently, thought the lyrics were "Love bites, love mean!" I was corrected by Mrs. Coggblogger, who still gives me shit about my "heartsick caveman" interpretation of the song. But seeing as she's the only remaining Frank Stallone fan, I consider her musical opinions to be null and void]
Monday, February 18, 2008
Why is Kanye West famous?
Seriously, I'm hoping someone will explain it to me.
I'm rap-literate enough to know he's not a good rapper. In my opinion, he's had one catchy song, and that was years ago (by the way, I'm still trying to figure out what a "broke-broke" is - though yes, I know what it's there in place of). Ever since then, whenever I see the name "Kanye West" pop up on my car's XM, I turn up the song to see what the fuss is all about, but within seconds I bore of his mediocrity and tune out. I do respect that he called out President Bush during a live Katrina telecast - inspiring Mike Myers to soil his pants from sheer awkwardness - but as a musician, I put Kanye right up there with Heidi Montag.
As for his beginnings, I know there was something about a car accident, but at least Gloria Estefan was famous before hers. Kanye, on the other hand, climbed from the wreckage and decreed "I'm now a famous musician!" - and it was so. Since then, he and his Debbie Gibson sunglasses have had a nice stretch of memorably NOT winning Grammys (a less talented Susan Lucci, if you will), though that streak was broken this year when he won a few, in the new category of "Best Artist Who Will Call You Racist If He Doesn't Win". Come to think of it, maybe I should go for that one next year with my new single - "I ain't saying she a bit wonky, but she ain't messin' with no wack - wack".
And with that, I officially decree that I'm a famous musician.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Aren't you dying to know what I think about NASCAR?
This Sunday will mark the 50th running of the Daytona 500, which kicks off NASCAR's season (if you don't count the insanely reckless $1,000,000 winner-take-all Budweiser Shootout). Aside from my wife, I am the only person I know who likes NASCAR - perhaps because I live in a major city and surround myself with effete snobs like myself. I take a lot of flak for it - my friend Metroville likes to point out that the winner of a NASCAR race is almost always the guy who turns left better than any of the others. It's only fitting that I'm probably going to miss this year's 500 because I'll be serving as a groomsman at Metroville's wedding to a great girl he never should have landed in the first place. (Zing!)
To the people who feel that auto racing is not a sport because the driver is simply operating a machine, I say "Feh". I would imagine that it's at least as physically challenging to maneuver a 220mph Chevy-shaped rocket at an unceasing "AGGHH FUCKKK! HOLY SHHHIT!!" level of intensity with 35 other lunatics smashing into you than it is to swing a golf club or a bat - both of which are skills I admire, mind you. The "they're just driving" argument never held water for me. A finely tuned race car is an extension of the driver's body and reflexes, just like any bat, racquet or ski.
My personal fave (as well as my wife's) is Tony Stewart, whom Yahoo Sports recently described as "the most insane professional athlete not currently under indictment". I became a fan of Tony, oddly, before I ever watched my first race. Back when I was simply an effete snob (as opposed to an effete snob and Nascar Fan), I met eight of the top drivers when they visited the set of "Pyramid", where I was a joke writer for Donny Osmond (yes, I'm really that good). Seven of them were well-behaved, clean-cut young gentlemen who proudly represented NASCAR's squeaky image. The eighth was a rude, overbearing dirtbag who looked like he'd just rolled out of bed after a two-week bender. I liked him immediately. Tony is his own guy in a sport where most of the athletes have personalities that reflect the walking billboards they are, forbidden to say or do anything that might besmirch the good names of Tide, DuPont, Levitra, Jack Daniels, Auto Zone, Lowes, Anheuser Busch or the Army National Guard. Tony races like a madman. He'd probably turn down a Gillette sponsorship because it would require shaving. He spins guys into the wall at the slightest provocation. He gets fined nearly every week for some PR debacle or other, usually associated with outrageous f-bomb-laden rants on live TV. When he wins, he climbs the 50-foot chain fence next to the finish line and snatches the checkered flag, a stunt that will certainly kill him someday, especially if he keeps chugging champagne right before doing it.
So, to all of those who bash NASCAR without ever watching it, I suggest you get drunk on Pabst and tune in on Sunday. After all, twenty million rednecks can't be wrong. Unless they're voting, of course.
To the people who feel that auto racing is not a sport because the driver is simply operating a machine, I say "Feh". I would imagine that it's at least as physically challenging to maneuver a 220mph Chevy-shaped rocket at an unceasing "AGGHH FUCKKK! HOLY SHHHIT!!" level of intensity with 35 other lunatics smashing into you than it is to swing a golf club or a bat - both of which are skills I admire, mind you. The "they're just driving" argument never held water for me. A finely tuned race car is an extension of the driver's body and reflexes, just like any bat, racquet or ski.
My personal fave (as well as my wife's) is Tony Stewart, whom Yahoo Sports recently described as "the most insane professional athlete not currently under indictment". I became a fan of Tony, oddly, before I ever watched my first race. Back when I was simply an effete snob (as opposed to an effete snob and Nascar Fan), I met eight of the top drivers when they visited the set of "Pyramid", where I was a joke writer for Donny Osmond (yes, I'm really that good). Seven of them were well-behaved, clean-cut young gentlemen who proudly represented NASCAR's squeaky image. The eighth was a rude, overbearing dirtbag who looked like he'd just rolled out of bed after a two-week bender. I liked him immediately. Tony is his own guy in a sport where most of the athletes have personalities that reflect the walking billboards they are, forbidden to say or do anything that might besmirch the good names of Tide, DuPont, Levitra, Jack Daniels, Auto Zone, Lowes, Anheuser Busch or the Army National Guard. Tony races like a madman. He'd probably turn down a Gillette sponsorship because it would require shaving. He spins guys into the wall at the slightest provocation. He gets fined nearly every week for some PR debacle or other, usually associated with outrageous f-bomb-laden rants on live TV. When he wins, he climbs the 50-foot chain fence next to the finish line and snatches the checkered flag, a stunt that will certainly kill him someday, especially if he keeps chugging champagne right before doing it.
So, to all of those who bash NASCAR without ever watching it, I suggest you get drunk on Pabst and tune in on Sunday. After all, twenty million rednecks can't be wrong. Unless they're voting, of course.
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