Last night Penn Jillette was given the boot from Dancing with the Stars.
What a bummer.
He's a really cool guy and very entertaining to watch performing live. If you're ever in Las Vegas, stop by the Rio All Suites Hotel and Casino (https://www.harrahs.com/casinos/rio/hotel-casino/property-home.shtml), go to the Penn and Teller Theater (http://www.pennandteller.com/), and see one heck of a show.
When you see Penn, tell him I sent you.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
Letter to Me
Brother Brad Paisley (http://www.bradpaisley.com/) has a song titled Letter to Me which can be heard on most country stations like KSAM 101.7 in Huntsville, TX. (http://www.ksam1017.com/)
It's a touching song about a man who writes his younger self a letter and gives him good advice.
I got to thinking. If I could write a letter to me, it would go something like this:
"Dear Clueless,
This is your future self. I know you don't believe it, but don't worry about the space time continuum right now. I just wanted to let you know that your winning lottery numbers are...."
It's a touching song about a man who writes his younger self a letter and gives him good advice.
I got to thinking. If I could write a letter to me, it would go something like this:
"Dear Clueless,
This is your future self. I know you don't believe it, but don't worry about the space time continuum right now. I just wanted to let you know that your winning lottery numbers are...."
Tuesday, March 18, 2008
String Cheese - Article Three
Texas Talk Tickles Tongues
by Aryn Corley
Us Texans talk funny.
When we speak, we use words like a monkey wielding a battle-axe. The Queen’s English becomes a hostage to our use of idiomatic expressions, bad grammar and completely made-up words.
To people who are non-Texan (God blessem), we probably sound like a bunch of people who just don’t care what the heck we say and how we say it.
They’re right.
In 2004, famous Texan Dan Rather made news of his own when he flexed his “Tex” while covering the presidential elections. His expressions were so colorful, it made the rest of the country go, “Huh?” As the night went on, he tried to top himself by coming up with more “Texisms.” My favorite quote of his was his reference to John Kerry’s impending loss.
“No question now that Kerry’s rapidly reaching the point where he’s got his back to the wall, his shirttail is on fire, and the bill collector’s knocking at the door.”
That sure is a lot nicer than saying, “Sucks to be Kerry!”
For the past eight years, fellow Texan and president, George “Dubya” Bush, has been a golden goose for comedians with his use of our native tongue.
Who cares if he uses the word “folks” more than 20 times during a press conference?
So what if he says “See” at the beginning of many sentences.
He can say whatever he wants because he’s “The Decider.”
Sometimes, after many shots of tequila, I can hear my third grade teacher teetering on the edge of insanity as she chides us for using the word “ain’t.” Ain’t is a perfectly acceptable word to many Texans, but bugs the heck out of spell-checker software. Right now as I’m typing, that cute little paper clip guy is dousing himself with gasoline.
Too bad I ain’t got no matches.
“Y’all” is a portmanteau of the words “you” and “all.” It’s much easier to say and much less cheesy than saying “youz guyz.” I’ve heard many non-Texans (God blessem) say “y’all” and is generally accepted as a uniquely Texan word.
It’s a very friendly word.
When used with the word “fixin’,” we give others the impression that we, as Texans, are people who are willing and ready to get the job done.
Y’all are fixin’ to find out why they call me “Stanky.”
My favorite though is our ability to make words out of thin air. Way too often has the English language failed miserably at providing just the right word for the right situation. If your truck is stuck in a ditch, chances are it’s “caddy-whompussed.” Try explaining that one to the Indian guy on the tech support line.
It’s like putting lingerie on a water buffalo.
I was having a conversation with someone the other day and it was mentioned that a wheelbarrow had “tumped” over. To say the wheelbarrow spilled its contents wasn’t enough. When the word “tumped” was introduced, it was understood between us Texans that not only did the wheelbarrow spill its contents, but the contents caught fire, burned to the ground and then the ashes blew away in a tornado.
“Dyuntoo” is a word that I’m guilty of using way too frequently. Usually, when I say this, it means, “Please rethink what you are asking me to do because I’d rather roll around nekkid on a pile of broken glass.”
For example:
“Hey, honey. Let’s go to the ballet tonight.”
“Dyuntoo?” [Also translates into: “Do you want to?”
I like how we feel it’s necessary to bless a person before we say something bad about them. By blessing a person, all the negativity you’re about to heap upon them is canceled out. The rule is the person you are blessing can’t be standing there.
I’ve tried to explain this to my non-Texan friends (God blessem).
No matter what we say and how we say it’s generally friendly in nature. People who visit our great state tend to pick up our language quickly and usually have no problems conversing with us.
So, the next time you cross paths with someone from somewhere else, strike up a conversation and give them a little taste of Texas.
Dyuntoo?
by Aryn Corley
Us Texans talk funny.
When we speak, we use words like a monkey wielding a battle-axe. The Queen’s English becomes a hostage to our use of idiomatic expressions, bad grammar and completely made-up words.
To people who are non-Texan (God blessem), we probably sound like a bunch of people who just don’t care what the heck we say and how we say it.
They’re right.
In 2004, famous Texan Dan Rather made news of his own when he flexed his “Tex” while covering the presidential elections. His expressions were so colorful, it made the rest of the country go, “Huh?” As the night went on, he tried to top himself by coming up with more “Texisms.” My favorite quote of his was his reference to John Kerry’s impending loss.
“No question now that Kerry’s rapidly reaching the point where he’s got his back to the wall, his shirttail is on fire, and the bill collector’s knocking at the door.”
That sure is a lot nicer than saying, “Sucks to be Kerry!”
For the past eight years, fellow Texan and president, George “Dubya” Bush, has been a golden goose for comedians with his use of our native tongue.
Who cares if he uses the word “folks” more than 20 times during a press conference?
So what if he says “See” at the beginning of many sentences.
He can say whatever he wants because he’s “The Decider.”
Sometimes, after many shots of tequila, I can hear my third grade teacher teetering on the edge of insanity as she chides us for using the word “ain’t.” Ain’t is a perfectly acceptable word to many Texans, but bugs the heck out of spell-checker software. Right now as I’m typing, that cute little paper clip guy is dousing himself with gasoline.
Too bad I ain’t got no matches.
“Y’all” is a portmanteau of the words “you” and “all.” It’s much easier to say and much less cheesy than saying “youz guyz.” I’ve heard many non-Texans (God blessem) say “y’all” and is generally accepted as a uniquely Texan word.
It’s a very friendly word.
When used with the word “fixin’,” we give others the impression that we, as Texans, are people who are willing and ready to get the job done.
Y’all are fixin’ to find out why they call me “Stanky.”
My favorite though is our ability to make words out of thin air. Way too often has the English language failed miserably at providing just the right word for the right situation. If your truck is stuck in a ditch, chances are it’s “caddy-whompussed.” Try explaining that one to the Indian guy on the tech support line.
It’s like putting lingerie on a water buffalo.
I was having a conversation with someone the other day and it was mentioned that a wheelbarrow had “tumped” over. To say the wheelbarrow spilled its contents wasn’t enough. When the word “tumped” was introduced, it was understood between us Texans that not only did the wheelbarrow spill its contents, but the contents caught fire, burned to the ground and then the ashes blew away in a tornado.
“Dyuntoo” is a word that I’m guilty of using way too frequently. Usually, when I say this, it means, “Please rethink what you are asking me to do because I’d rather roll around nekkid on a pile of broken glass.”
For example:
“Hey, honey. Let’s go to the ballet tonight.”
“Dyuntoo?” [Also translates into: “Do you want to?”
I like how we feel it’s necessary to bless a person before we say something bad about them. By blessing a person, all the negativity you’re about to heap upon them is canceled out. The rule is the person you are blessing can’t be standing there.
I’ve tried to explain this to my non-Texan friends (God blessem).
No matter what we say and how we say it’s generally friendly in nature. People who visit our great state tend to pick up our language quickly and usually have no problems conversing with us.
So, the next time you cross paths with someone from somewhere else, strike up a conversation and give them a little taste of Texas.
Dyuntoo?
Sunday, March 16, 2008
Here come da PIG!
I just finished putting a large Boston butt on the grill to make my first ever attempt at Memphis style pulled pork. I had some when Brooke and I were in Tennessee and I loved it!
We have lots of feral pigs around here which increases the availability of great BBQ meat.
This particular pig had the misfortune of meeting Brian Scott. Unfortunate, of course, for the pig. I, on the other hand, benefitted nicely.
I have the grill setup for indirect grilling. The roast is only about ten pounds so I figure it'll only take about four hours to fully cook. It should be ready by lunchtime. The pig is seasoned with sea salt and coarse black pepper all over it. The fat side is down.
My wife says I'm the "meat master". Hopefully, this is one thing she was talking about.
If you want to increase your own grilling prowess buy and study any of the BBQ books put out by Stephen Raichlen. Please visit his website at http://www.barbecuebible.com/.
UPDATE: Home run! The pig was a huge success. My infidel children even liked it! This marks the first time in a long while that peanut butter and jelly weren't called in to pinch hit.
Here's the deal:
We have lots of feral pigs around here which increases the availability of great BBQ meat.
This particular pig had the misfortune of meeting Brian Scott. Unfortunate, of course, for the pig. I, on the other hand, benefitted nicely.
I have the grill setup for indirect grilling. The roast is only about ten pounds so I figure it'll only take about four hours to fully cook. It should be ready by lunchtime. The pig is seasoned with sea salt and coarse black pepper all over it. The fat side is down.
My wife says I'm the "meat master". Hopefully, this is one thing she was talking about.
If you want to increase your own grilling prowess buy and study any of the BBQ books put out by Stephen Raichlen. Please visit his website at http://www.barbecuebible.com/.
UPDATE: Home run! The pig was a huge success. My infidel children even liked it! This marks the first time in a long while that peanut butter and jelly weren't called in to pinch hit.
Here's the deal:
- Pork shoulder: 6-8 pounds. cooked at 275 degrees for about 4 hours. halfway through wrap with aluminum foil.
- Sauce: 1 1/2 cup of apple cider vinegar mixed with 1 cup of ketchup. mix and add water for desired consistency. add black pepper, salt, and brown sugar to taste. bring mixture to a boil, then let simmer (covered) for about 15 minutes. Serve hot or at room temperature.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
String Cheese- Article Two
This Article May Be Hazardous to Your Health
by Aryn Corley
Warning: This article contains humor, which is known in the state of California to cause amusement. Read at your own risk.
Life is so much better now that we have warning labels to protect us. They’ve been the single most important invention since air freshener. Without these little nuggets of wisdom, we’d be in the next taxicab headed for extinction.
It’s easy to imagine Neanderthal man walking around hitting random stuff with his war club until someone told him, “Ugh.Ugh. [Use only as directed]”
Thus, the warning label was born.
I love them. They remind me of a mother’s kiss. Mom’s kisses made any injury feel better. A kid could have a lawn dart embedded in his skull and only a kiss from momma would make it feel better.
Warning labels make the throbbing ache caused by common sense go away.
In my freezer are a couple of ice packs used for sprained ankles, practical jokes, etc. On the outside of the package, in bold letters, reads, “Not fit for human consumption.”
Had it not been for the warning label, I might have cut open the pack and used it to chill the microwaved poodle I was going to eat.
How about that little packet of sweetener that comes with many electronics? It’s a good thing I put it in my tea because it clearly warns, “Do not eat.”
Cold medicines warn users from operating heavy machinery because it makes people drowsy. Thankfully, one can still operate a chainsaw while being totally bombed on Nyquil. It’s the nighttime, sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, stuffy head, fever, “Woops, I just cut my leg off!” medicine.
I’ve seen many warning labels written in different languages. Apparently, swallowing nickel-cadmium batteries is a global epidemic. If I had paid attention in my Swahili 101 class in college, there would be nothing lost in the translation.
My wife bought a curling iron recently and the instruction booklet had several warnings printed therein. My favorite one was, “For external use only.”
I feel obliged to mention that in order to use a curling iron effectively, one must first master the toaster.
The most disturbing thing about virtually all of these warnings is their insistence about keeping away from children. It’s almost as if they know about children’s insatiable desire to tempt fate. When the Grim Reaper comes to baby sit, that kid better be as far away as possible! I found this same warning on the back of a bottle of baby wash! Luckily, I have a pressure washer with a long wand.
As silly as some of these warnings are, I’m sure they’ve saved thousands of lives. It’s possible the warning label might actually have a negative impact on natural selection. We’re the only species on the planet that allows for survival of the unfit. Take that, Darwin!
It’s too bad there aren’t warning labels for more practical aspects of life.
How cool would it be to be in a store where the sign reads, “Cashier is rude and will probably shortchange you?”
If anything is more deserving of a warning label it’s love. I imagine the label would probably read something like this: Love has been shown to be addictive and may cause harmful side effects such as nausea, diarrhea, blindness, loss of cash, heartburn, and rationalization. If symptoms persist, contact an attorney.
Just think of how easy dating would be. You meet someone and the tag hanging from his or her shirtsleeve reads, “This person gives crummy gifts, doesn’t flush, and is cheap.”
The whole purpose of warning labels is to provide people with helpful and useful information. Sadly, it seems they merely overstate the obvious. A box of rat poison warns, “Harmful is swallowed.” It would be hardly effective as a poison if it weren’t. Generally, if a powder is non-poisonous, it goes on top of spaghetti.
Maybe we’ve evolved to the point that our survival instincts are virtually non-existent. We must be told that there is no lifeguard on duty when we don’t see Pamela Anderson poised to save us. Furthermore, our litigious society demands that caveats be provided to the lower five percent of the population who can’t figure it out.
I think I’ll start a think tank for this elite group of folks.
I’ll call it “DENSA”.
by Aryn Corley
Warning: This article contains humor, which is known in the state of California to cause amusement. Read at your own risk.
Life is so much better now that we have warning labels to protect us. They’ve been the single most important invention since air freshener. Without these little nuggets of wisdom, we’d be in the next taxicab headed for extinction.
It’s easy to imagine Neanderthal man walking around hitting random stuff with his war club until someone told him, “Ugh.Ugh. [Use only as directed]”
Thus, the warning label was born.
I love them. They remind me of a mother’s kiss. Mom’s kisses made any injury feel better. A kid could have a lawn dart embedded in his skull and only a kiss from momma would make it feel better.
Warning labels make the throbbing ache caused by common sense go away.
In my freezer are a couple of ice packs used for sprained ankles, practical jokes, etc. On the outside of the package, in bold letters, reads, “Not fit for human consumption.”
Had it not been for the warning label, I might have cut open the pack and used it to chill the microwaved poodle I was going to eat.
How about that little packet of sweetener that comes with many electronics? It’s a good thing I put it in my tea because it clearly warns, “Do not eat.”
Cold medicines warn users from operating heavy machinery because it makes people drowsy. Thankfully, one can still operate a chainsaw while being totally bombed on Nyquil. It’s the nighttime, sniffling, sneezing, coughing, aching, stuffy head, fever, “Woops, I just cut my leg off!” medicine.
I’ve seen many warning labels written in different languages. Apparently, swallowing nickel-cadmium batteries is a global epidemic. If I had paid attention in my Swahili 101 class in college, there would be nothing lost in the translation.
My wife bought a curling iron recently and the instruction booklet had several warnings printed therein. My favorite one was, “For external use only.”
I feel obliged to mention that in order to use a curling iron effectively, one must first master the toaster.
The most disturbing thing about virtually all of these warnings is their insistence about keeping away from children. It’s almost as if they know about children’s insatiable desire to tempt fate. When the Grim Reaper comes to baby sit, that kid better be as far away as possible! I found this same warning on the back of a bottle of baby wash! Luckily, I have a pressure washer with a long wand.
As silly as some of these warnings are, I’m sure they’ve saved thousands of lives. It’s possible the warning label might actually have a negative impact on natural selection. We’re the only species on the planet that allows for survival of the unfit. Take that, Darwin!
It’s too bad there aren’t warning labels for more practical aspects of life.
How cool would it be to be in a store where the sign reads, “Cashier is rude and will probably shortchange you?”
If anything is more deserving of a warning label it’s love. I imagine the label would probably read something like this: Love has been shown to be addictive and may cause harmful side effects such as nausea, diarrhea, blindness, loss of cash, heartburn, and rationalization. If symptoms persist, contact an attorney.
Just think of how easy dating would be. You meet someone and the tag hanging from his or her shirtsleeve reads, “This person gives crummy gifts, doesn’t flush, and is cheap.”
The whole purpose of warning labels is to provide people with helpful and useful information. Sadly, it seems they merely overstate the obvious. A box of rat poison warns, “Harmful is swallowed.” It would be hardly effective as a poison if it weren’t. Generally, if a powder is non-poisonous, it goes on top of spaghetti.
Maybe we’ve evolved to the point that our survival instincts are virtually non-existent. We must be told that there is no lifeguard on duty when we don’t see Pamela Anderson poised to save us. Furthermore, our litigious society demands that caveats be provided to the lower five percent of the population who can’t figure it out.
I think I’ll start a think tank for this elite group of folks.
I’ll call it “DENSA”.
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
String Cheese - Article One
TEXAS HIGHWAYS END OF THE ROAD FOR SOME ANIMALS
By Aryn Corley
I was driving home the other day when an armadillo with a death wish haplessly wandered in front of my truck. I don’t know if it was my cat-like reflexes or many years of playing racing video games, but I managed to miss the roving speed bump.
However, a few miles down the road it seemed an opossum wasn’t so lucky. Of course, he could have been faking it.
The whole experience got me to wondering, though.
What’s going on with all the roadkill?
Anyone who drives in Texas, in any direction, doesn’t have to travel very far before they encounter a nice sloppy pile of “road pizza”. There’s a virtual menagerie of mangled Michelin meat made of the finest cuts of skunk, deer, rabbit, and the occasional feral pig.
Their littered corpses are a testament to the lack of safety programs in the animal kingdom.
Of the many wild animals in Texas, it seems armadillos and raccoons are the unluckiest of the whole bunch.
I must admit, armadillos look like the result of a lurid affair between a turtle and a rat. They’re ugly and have skin problems. Armadillos don’t look like intelligent animals. Really. How smart is the smartest Armadillo? To anyone’s knowledge, no armadillo has ever solved an equation. If it has, it’s been conspicuously quiet about it. Armadillos (There’s no “e” Mr. Quayle.) aren’t particularly ambitious, either. The only armadillo that really ever amounted to anything was the one in the video for The Clash’s song Rock the Casbah.
I think the real problem for armadillos lies in the false sense of security their armor provides them. They think by rolling up into a ball they’ll be saved from imminent peril. A predator attacks: roll into a ball. The stock market crashes: roll into a ball. Your wife says she’s pregnant: roll into a ball. What a way to cope with reality! If I roll into a ball, my kids will kick me through a goal post.
I’ve heard of armadillos standing up in the middle of the road as the halogens-‘o’-fate race toward them and while doing their best DeNiro saying, “You want a piece of me?”
Apparently, the word “’dodge” on the front of the grill guard doesn’t seem like a good suggestion. Maybe armadillos can’t read.
So what's a raccoon’s excuse?
The bandit mask on a raccoon’s face suggests that it’s a clever creature. Raccoons are notorious for their thievery and ability to manipulate objects like hasps and latches. Yet, the subtle intricacy of crossing the road escapes them. This suggests to me that raccoons are dumb. Okay, maybe dumb is too harsh of a word. Let’s say they’re idiots.
A raccoon will look both ways before wandering into an area where it hopes to purloin something. However, it won’t look twice before darting into the road with reckless abandon.
Perhaps the opposite side of the freeway is the raccoon equivalent to the crock of gold at the end of the rainbow. It gets so focused on “The Prize” it forgets simple things like traffic. I don’t think animals are capable of having epiphanies. If they were, hunting and fishing would become moot. I would love to be there when the adventurous raccoon ends its harrowing odyssey across farm-to-market hell to arrive at its inevitable conclusion: “All that… for this?!” Not only is the grass not greener, but its got to make it back across to warn the others. It almost makes the return when it’s suddenly hit by karma then by truckma.
It’s no surprise to me that such an idiot would make a very fine hat.
Conspiracy theorists would argue that there is a more sinister reason for this “racco-dillo
cleansing”. Could it be that buzzards are somehow involved? How convenient is it to only dine on the deceased? All buzzards do is fly around in their cabals patiently waiting for the next serving of “pavement pie”. All the while, they are the ones that come out smelling like a rose. Very rarely will you see a buzzard feasting on a dead buzzard. I guess it’s a matter of professional courtesy. What a pack of vultures!
My wife recently had her trip to West Texas extended when a kamikaze bobcat hurled itself in front of her Chevy Malibu. Her car got messed up pretty bad and the cat ended up as “street sausage”. There was no other explanation for what that bobcat did except to say it probably had a history of mental illness.
Luckily for me, my story has a happy ending. No humans were hurt and the armadillo lumbered back to the brush from where it came. As the simple beast disappeared into my rearview mirror I remember thinking, “Thank God the dinosaurs are dead.”
By Aryn Corley
I was driving home the other day when an armadillo with a death wish haplessly wandered in front of my truck. I don’t know if it was my cat-like reflexes or many years of playing racing video games, but I managed to miss the roving speed bump.
However, a few miles down the road it seemed an opossum wasn’t so lucky. Of course, he could have been faking it.
The whole experience got me to wondering, though.
What’s going on with all the roadkill?
Anyone who drives in Texas, in any direction, doesn’t have to travel very far before they encounter a nice sloppy pile of “road pizza”. There’s a virtual menagerie of mangled Michelin meat made of the finest cuts of skunk, deer, rabbit, and the occasional feral pig.
Their littered corpses are a testament to the lack of safety programs in the animal kingdom.
Of the many wild animals in Texas, it seems armadillos and raccoons are the unluckiest of the whole bunch.
I must admit, armadillos look like the result of a lurid affair between a turtle and a rat. They’re ugly and have skin problems. Armadillos don’t look like intelligent animals. Really. How smart is the smartest Armadillo? To anyone’s knowledge, no armadillo has ever solved an equation. If it has, it’s been conspicuously quiet about it. Armadillos (There’s no “e” Mr. Quayle.) aren’t particularly ambitious, either. The only armadillo that really ever amounted to anything was the one in the video for The Clash’s song Rock the Casbah.
I think the real problem for armadillos lies in the false sense of security their armor provides them. They think by rolling up into a ball they’ll be saved from imminent peril. A predator attacks: roll into a ball. The stock market crashes: roll into a ball. Your wife says she’s pregnant: roll into a ball. What a way to cope with reality! If I roll into a ball, my kids will kick me through a goal post.
I’ve heard of armadillos standing up in the middle of the road as the halogens-‘o’-fate race toward them and while doing their best DeNiro saying, “You want a piece of me?”
Apparently, the word “’dodge” on the front of the grill guard doesn’t seem like a good suggestion. Maybe armadillos can’t read.
So what's a raccoon’s excuse?
The bandit mask on a raccoon’s face suggests that it’s a clever creature. Raccoons are notorious for their thievery and ability to manipulate objects like hasps and latches. Yet, the subtle intricacy of crossing the road escapes them. This suggests to me that raccoons are dumb. Okay, maybe dumb is too harsh of a word. Let’s say they’re idiots.
A raccoon will look both ways before wandering into an area where it hopes to purloin something. However, it won’t look twice before darting into the road with reckless abandon.
Perhaps the opposite side of the freeway is the raccoon equivalent to the crock of gold at the end of the rainbow. It gets so focused on “The Prize” it forgets simple things like traffic. I don’t think animals are capable of having epiphanies. If they were, hunting and fishing would become moot. I would love to be there when the adventurous raccoon ends its harrowing odyssey across farm-to-market hell to arrive at its inevitable conclusion: “All that… for this?!” Not only is the grass not greener, but its got to make it back across to warn the others. It almost makes the return when it’s suddenly hit by karma then by truckma.
It’s no surprise to me that such an idiot would make a very fine hat.
Conspiracy theorists would argue that there is a more sinister reason for this “racco-dillo
cleansing”. Could it be that buzzards are somehow involved? How convenient is it to only dine on the deceased? All buzzards do is fly around in their cabals patiently waiting for the next serving of “pavement pie”. All the while, they are the ones that come out smelling like a rose. Very rarely will you see a buzzard feasting on a dead buzzard. I guess it’s a matter of professional courtesy. What a pack of vultures!
My wife recently had her trip to West Texas extended when a kamikaze bobcat hurled itself in front of her Chevy Malibu. Her car got messed up pretty bad and the cat ended up as “street sausage”. There was no other explanation for what that bobcat did except to say it probably had a history of mental illness.
Luckily for me, my story has a happy ending. No humans were hurt and the armadillo lumbered back to the brush from where it came. As the simple beast disappeared into my rearview mirror I remember thinking, “Thank God the dinosaurs are dead.”
Monday, March 10, 2008
CRS 39 - Country goodness
I went the Country Radio Seminar in Nashville with my wife, and country music programming legend Brooke Addams (http://www.ksam1017.com/), who was ready to smash me with a beer bottle by day two.
Let's see... what happened at CRS?
Let's see... what happened at CRS?
- Garth Brooks laughed when I made silly gestures to him after an appearance.
- I saved everyone's life at an awards ceremony when an amplifier caught on fire. Standard fee for saving Charlie Daniels' life: $0.
- Brad Paisley talked to me after I flashed him my badge at the end of his song Mr. Policeman. He gave me a pick. BTW, Mr. Paisley, I can write you a speeding ticket.
- I met Celebrity Apprentice stars Trace Adkins, Nellie Galan, Tiffany Fallon, Merilu Henner, and Omarosa. Omarosa made me "pinkie swear" not to tell anyone that she's really a nice person. No kidding. She's cool. Her fashion tips made me a lot less dorky at CRS.
- Stephen Cochran has got to be one of the coolest country stars. He's the real deal too. Check out his site and his music. (http://stephencochran.musiccitynetworks.com/)
- My apologies to Bucky Covington (http://buckycovington.musiccitynetworks.com/) for making shadow puppets on his shirt while he was singing on stage. I only did it to make this guy laugh. (http://www.k99country.com/pages/bigfrank.html)
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