Nashville is Talking

You know who would make a great weekend guest blogger for Nashville is Talking?

The Nashville Knucklehead.

Ha, too bad they’re getting me instead. 

 

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Nashville, What Can We Do For Bill Hobbs?

Yes, he’s an asshole.  Yes, I’d pinch him as hard as I could if I thought he wouldn’t figure out it was me.  But this is just unacceptable.  A person ought to be able to say what he wants on his own time without losing his job over it.

Are we all supposed run around acting like we represent our employers 100% of the time?

Is that the precedent we’re setting here?

Fuck that.

Bill Hobbs is a jerk.  He deserves every day to be called on the many ways he’s a jerk.  But he also deserves to have his job if he’s good at it and does it well–which, as far as I can tell, is the case.

Abramson–another person I’m never having over to dinner–puts it best: "But, really, my major beef is that Spragens–and, I guess, by extension, the Scene used the tremendous resources at their disposal to fire a bazooka at a housefly, and may have caused undue anguish to a regular Joe, his family and their loved ones in their wake."

I’m just so angry about this.  What can we do for him?  Is there anything?

I See How You Are

A girl makes a heartfelt post about art and writing and sticking her fingers inside you and all of a sudden, you’ve got nothing to say.  That’s fine. 

Doesn’t make me afraid I’ve scared you off or anything.

Nope, not at all.

Enemies

1.  Today, Mrs. Wigglebottom and I were approaching the house where our enemy, the black dog that’s never on a leash and sometimes tries to bite us, lives.  And guess what we saw coming out of the house?

A puppy!

On a leash!

Will this puppy be leash trained and kept on said leash?  Will wonders never cease?  I just don’t know.

2.  Mrs. Wigglebottom and I also watched an hour’s worth of South Park last night.  When the end came, even though I knew it was coming, it really upset me.  In a way, it reminded me of watching Fahrenheit 911, where you just sit there and think, "Can this be true?" and "If half of this is true, why aren’t people outraged?"

It’s funny.  I was flipping through The Arabian Nights yesterday looking for the name of the man Shahrazad told her stories to and there’s this amazing description of all the knowledge she has–math, languages, exposure to all kinds of books, etc.  Times have changed, I guess, to put it mildly.

3.  I’m kind of disjointed these last couple of days.  I don’t know if you noticed.  But I keep coming back to this idea that we sometimes live like abuse victims.  Oh, if only we could figure out what was pissing off this group or that group, we could stop doing it, and they would stop hurting us.

I have to think some more about this.

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