On Socialism and Homer Zexyality

     On the advice of my wife, I'm starting to keep my mouth shut more than normal.  She tells me I'm getting older and eventually I'm going to say something somewhere and my size and physical prowess isn't going to be a deterrent to getting my ass kicked.
     I figured that rather than admit this to myself, I'd blame her for my new-found ability to keep my mouth shut, but it's really not easy.
     Yesterday I was in the locker room at Hermitage Fitness Center and across the room, hidden from my view, was a guy explaining all you needed to know about United States history and politics to several other guys.
     His version of history, government, and politics pretty much amounted to running down anything and everything President Obama had done since he was elected. He was a Muslim terrorist, he was born in Kenya, he was ruining the country, etc., etc. etc.  There's no sense in confronting someone like that because obviously his train, as they say, had already left the station, but the moment he mentioned that the president was a "liberal socialist communist," I couldn't stand it anymore.
     I didn't get up and go over there, I just said, out loud, "You don't have any fucking idea what you're talking about."
     And the room got very quiet.
     If you know anything at all about political science and philosophy, then you know there are so many different variations of socialism and communism that there really isn't one definition where you can point to a guy and say, "He's a socialist!" And you also know that the spectrum reads, from pure liberty to pure statism, as follows: anarchism, libertarianism, constitutional republicanism, liberal democracy, welfare state democracy, social democracy, socialism, communism, and Marxism.
     But if you've lived in this country for more than a year, you also know that for the most part, we get all our education or lack thereof from sound bites on television which is where this guy got his education.
     And I was getting ready to offer up this little bit of knowledge to the Neanderthal because wife or no wife, 59 years old or not, I'm still stupid enough to think I can flex my muscle and win through intimidation.
     But then another guy came strolling into the room.  Little guy.  Looked like a thin Elmer Fudd. Ex-boxer from what I could tell because he does a lot of work at the Fitness Center on the speed bag. Always has a sour look on his face and always looks like he's ready for a fight, but since I've also heard him carrying on about Jesus and church stuff I don't really know if he's a real Christian or just a Republican Christian. There is a difference.
     Anyway, Neanderthal saw him and shouted out, "Well, we'll get the answer now!"
     And little Elmer Fudd, who is obviously on some kind of public assistance because something's not right about him and who shouldn't be a Republican but is because...well, they all are...answered Neanderthal by saying, "He's letting them Homer Zexyals git murred!" This translates to "He's letting the homosexuals get married!" You learn these things.
     Neanderthal came around the corner and I finally saw him.  Normal appearing guy with a dull look on his face.  He said, "I don't care about that!"
     To which Elmer Fudd said, "Well, by God, I do!"
     And Neanderthal said, "Hey, that just means more women for me!"
     So Elmer let it go with, "Well, I guess that's right."
     Neanderthal finally realized there were other people in the locker room and looked down at me. I was sitting on the bench just staring at him.  Our eyes met and held for about 5 seconds before he skulked away.  When he got back to his crowd he said, "Politics in the locker room!"
     They all laughed and I left.
     I left in a hurry, too.
     I didn't want any of those Homer Zexyals trying to murry me.

Driving With Jesus

     I ended up in the right hand lane on Elm Hill Pike yesterday where it crosses Donelson Pike. It was my own fault--I should have been in the middle lane because I needed to go straight but I couldn't get over because nobody would speed up or slow down and let me in despite the fact that I had my turn signal on for half a mile.
     Anyway, cars were behind me and they all wanted to turn right onto Donelson Pike.  If I sat there waiting for anybody in this city to let me in, I'd still be there, so I went straight, signal still on, and waited right in the middle of the intersection for some kind soul to slow up and just give me a little space to squeeze in.
     The light changed, but that didn't stop anybody--they just kept on crossing Donelson Pike. Finally, with cars blowing their horns all around me, I saw a chance to merge left and make it across Donelson Pike.
     A white tricked-out pickup truck decided against that, though.  He decided he'd rather run me into a concrete wall there across from Auto Zone than let me in front of him.
     And as he sped past me, giving me the finger and laying on his horn, I noticed the "Fish Sign" on his tailgate.
     Evidently, his wife put it there because Jesus doesn't drive like that.

The Steel Plate / Orange Barrel Concessions

     If anybody wanted to know how to make a fortune, the first thing I'd tell them to do is to get a piece of the steel plate or orange barrel concessions operating in Nashville.
     I don't know who's got their fingers in them now, but they've got to be rolling in the chips.
There's not a single road anyplace downtown that's not lined with orange barrels.  Even the ones with no construction in sight have orange barrels along the sidewalks.  And half of the roads aren't roads at all--they're huge steel plates that cover up abandoned caverns dug into the streets by phantom front end loaders that show up one day and then mysteriously vanish for months.
     I understand now they're getting ready to simply close down Lafayette and 8th Avenue so they can spend the next 2 years putting in a roundabout. Because the one on Music Row works so well.
     The other day I read that a 2.5 million square foot ultra-modern convention center was built in Beijing.  Took them 8 months.  8 months.  
     That hideous gaping hole at the corner of Broadway and 17th Avenue N. has been there for more than FIVE YEARS and the only actual construction done on it happens when one of the downtown crazies throw their empties over the fence.  So why was that really cool-looking Masonic Lodge torn down and replaced with that hole? Who's responsible for that and why does the city let them continue to get away with it?  Why hasn't the thing been condemned, taken back by the city, and sold to somebody who'd actually do something with it?
     You really have to wonder about the leadership in Nashville.  Where is it?  How does Karl Dean get to work every morning?  Do they airlift him in or does he have to drive on these same streets we have to drive on?  Can he not pick up the phone and say, "Hey--fill in those craters on 17th Avenue and pave it.  And don't you dig another fucking hole in another street in this city until you check with me first."
     I have a theory that there's really only one construction crew in the entire city.  That's why there are orange barrels and steel plates all over every single road downtown but you never see a guy with a shovel in his hand. They're always someplace else digging up something else that they don't intend to finish.
     So yeah, if you want to make the big bucks, buy a million orange barrels and as many steel plates as you can afford. Call Karl Dean and tell him you found a few streets left in this burg that are practically begging for barrels and plates.
     You'll be farting through silk in no time.