A visit into D.C. for Safeway’s Barbecue Battle turns into a celebration of smoky meat and other delicious barbecue, and then me asserting my dominance over the lesser beings of the food chain, by participating in a Man v. Food Nation eating competition of eating hot wings against the clock.
And then Huzzard and I travel up to Aberdeen, Maryland, to visit the home of the Ripken Family Baseball Academy, as well as the short-season Aberdeen IronBirds developmental Orioles team.
A life with no traditions is a life without the little things to sometimes look forward to. For the last three years now, I have made it out to Baltimore at least once, in order to take advantage of the liberal beer availability with the company of various friends, just outsides of the confines of Camden Yards, which, despite my general disdain for the city of Baltimore, it actually is home to my favorite ballpark in Major League Baseball. Mostly thanks to Pickle’s.
Despite closing in on nineteen-years of age, the dog taco underwent some dental surgery, at an age when anesthesia could inadvertently become euthanasia. But like the true champion dog taco he is, he woke up, much to my delight, and hopefully the worst part of it all is in the past.
Speaking of man’s best friend, I watched the premiere of Elijah Wood’s Wilfred on FX. I’m not going to say that the first episode blew me away or anything, and the pace of the show is a lot dryer than what it was built up to be in previews and advertising, but I’m willing to keep pushing forward. It’s entertainingly uncomfortable at times, and I see the potential there with it becoming an amusing train wreck of a show.
I heard on the radio this morning that Spider-Man was getting killed in the comic books. Admittedly, it was a bit surprising, since Spider-Man is on that echelon of comic book characters that transcends just the fans of comic books, but reaches out to so many forms of alternative media. Spider-Man is more than just a comic book character; he is an icon, a symbol, and a bastion of history. So to hear that he was getting killed, really got my attention.
But then I had to go and ruin everything, and find out those silly “details” that clarify everything, and in this instance, kind of remove all the suspense and drama out of the equation. There is a chance I might slip up my writing and spoil something, so if you genuinely care, don’t continue to read.
A long time ago, I used to really like Looney Toons. When my family first acquired cable when I was in the third grade, Looney Toons was almost literally, always on television. The TNT network was still very raw in those days, and they compensated for their lack of programming by having gigantic blocks of Looney Toons at almost all hours of the day. Before I left the house to go to the bus stop, I could watch some Bugs Bunny. The time in between returning from school and being forced to go piano lessons or Tae Kwon Do, there was more Looney Toons. In the evening, or on those nights where I couldn’t sleep, all I had to do was turn it to channel 100, and sure as shit, there would be some Looney Toons. Needless to say, I really liked Looney Toons.
Recently, I discovered that Cartoon Network has essentially created a new Looney Toons, and is currently in circulation. I won’t attest to making a conscious effort to check out this new show, as my television activities are pretty limited to baseball, wrestling, and sometimes Top Gear, but I did catch a few episodes in recent weeks.
Professional wrestling has taught me that adding “New” to anything is pretty much condemning it to suck. That being said, Cartoon Network’s New Looney Toons fucking sucks.
Long story short – bald eagle drops dead deer carcass on power lines, knocks out power to entire Montana neighborhood.
Despite being an American icon, that was a dick move by this bald eagle. This situation is akin to a child or a senior citizen committing a crime; the eagle cannot be reprimanded for its detrimental actions, because it’s an endangered species, as well as a symbol of America.
If I were a bald eagle, I’d do this shit all the time. Nothing screams “owned” like being able to pull off shit like dropping dead animals onto power lines, convertibles, bedroom balconies, or the middle of children’s playgrounds, being completely guilty of such actions, but with nobody capable of being able to do jack shit about it. Talk about being able to put American society in handcuffs in that regard. Wake up in the morning, it’s a beautiful day, you decide to pop the top off the Toyota Solara, and you’re driving into work, and then plop, a fucking dead fawn, or prairie dog dropped right into the passenger seat, where it bounces, jostles against the radio and turns it onto a radio station conveniently playing John Mellencamp’s “This is Our Country,” while the bald eagle above lets out a triumphant wail.