Posted on | January 4, 2010 | 115 Comments
Less than 12 hours from now, I’ll be flying the friendly skies of United — economy class with a two–hour layover in San Francisco — to sunny California to cover the BCS Championship game.
The “friendly skies” are billing me $15 for checked baggage. Maybe one of our tip-jar hitters can fork over for that. I thought about just trying to do the trip with a carry-on bag — my laptop, socks and a change of underwear — but I figure the readers have gotten me this far, surely one of y’all could come up with a measly $15. ROLL TIDE!
UPDATE: Kay Bailey Hutchison will air a Senate campaign ad during the ABC broadcast. That’s got to be a bad omen of some kind, and not for Gov. Rick Perry. Hutchison’s an internecine Republican feud to a football game? When the Longhorns lose Thursday, Texas voters will blame KBH for jinxing them.
UPDATE II: A Twitter friend in Costa Mesa reports from the scene where the undefeated Crimson Tide is practicing:
Looking at the field that the boys are practicing at as I leave work. Full police madness here in CM.
Hmmm. “Police madness,” huh? Obviously they’ve brought in extra security. Someone must have warned them I was coming.
Hunter S. Thompson got tear-gassed at the ’68 Democratic Convention. If I get tasered in Costa Mesa, blame Dan Collins.
Don’t worry. I doubt even the notoriously tough cops in Costa Mesa would tase a professional journalist. They don’t need that kind of bad media mojo. But just in case, somebody hit the tip jar for $12 so I can grab a bag of Krispy Kreme doughnuts on my way from the Burbank Airport to Costa Mesa.
There is no law enforcement hassle that can’t be prevented with a bag of fresh Krispy Kremes. Unfortunately for the late Dr. Thompson, there were no Krispy Kreme vendors at the 1968 Chicago convention . . .
UPDATE III: Jimmie Bise of the Sundries Shack will be helping out with our coverage, taking phone-in reports while I’m running around Southern California the next couple of days. I called Jimmie this afternoon while I was on my way to the American Spectator office near Washington. He called me back just as I was getting home.
“Been down to Douchebag City,” I said.
“D.C. — Douchebag City,” I said. “The place is full of douchebags who don’t know how to drive.”
Some people get their cardiovascular workout on Stairmaster. I get mine in a 2004 KIA Optima. Nothing gets the blood pumping like running 97 mph on the George Washington Parkway — past the exit for the CIA’s George Bush Center for Intelligence in Langley. Don’t hate me for my freedom.
UPDATE IV: Just got off the phone with Smitty who, as usual, is telling me technical stuff — some new WordPress widget or something — that I don’t understand, don’t need to understand, and don’t have time to talk about right now.
Tempus fugits, once you print your boarding pass. Smitty also reminded me that Cassandra at Villainous Company took issue yesterday with our motto:
I have been urged by friends – all men – to “write ruthlessly” too, though they did not use those precise words.
I looked up the word “ruthless” to see what it means, exactly. It means having no pity : merciless, cruel. I think you can see my problem here. I believe one of the great strengths of men is their ability to neatly sever compassion, empathy, fellow feeling from the decision making process.
Here’s the thing, Cassandra: Nobody wants to read a man who writes like a woman. All that fluffy “compassion” crap is fine for a woman writer, but . . .
Tell you what, go read Dan Riehl and see if you find any “compassion” there. Dan doesn’t get paid to express his inner feelings or consult his muse. And it will be a cold day in hell before Dan ever titles a post, “Nothing Sings to Me Today.”
Just sayin’ . . .
This could be a really big scandal . . .