Montana State Song

Overreaching to Be Indignant About Something

Call me insensitive, but maybe some people are too easily prone to wax indignant.

I read in the Washington Post that a group of high school students in Chevy Chase, MD* got upset because a student-generated list rated a number of the girls on looks. And the power of authority came down hard, assigning one boy to detention. But, more to the point, this rated a story in the WaPo!

Is Tuesday now a slow news day? Has The Donald been that inactive and suddenly laconic so as to not fill that newspaper? Is Washington so crime-free and Arcadian so that nothing newsworthy ever happens. Has Congress collectively taken a vow of silence?

We live in strange times; but this takes the cake.

A reminiscence: when I was in h.s., I was on another list. Assessing the endowments of various students. I was nicknamed Heidi Without Alps.

My point is, there is a lot of big-time sexual harassment going on out there. For Christ's sake, go for that; and don't waste time on piddling things! This is nothing more than lazy journalism surfing on a superficial problem while ignoring big-time problems.


*I didn't know he was that important to rate a town being named after him!

A Ban on Plastic Bag Bans

Now we have another example of governmental meddlesome: a ban on plastic ban bans. You read that right: the Tennessee General Assembly is now considering a preemptory strike on two cities' moves to outlaw plastic bags. Okay, what's wrong with this picture?

Well, maybe banning one-use plastic bags is a good environmental move. Okay. And apparently Memphis and Nashville are looking into doing so. But here's the rub: some legislators from smaller towns are looking to overrule local control. Jesse, is there some lack of adherence to principle going on?
Oh local control, where is thy sting?

Oh principle, where is thy victory?

[A tip of the hat to that old grouch, St. Paul.]

It would seem to me that the principle of butting out of other peoples' business should apply on the state level, too. Why should someone in a jerkwater town presume to have a say on what happens in Davidson (Nashville) or Shelby (Memphis) counties? Doing otherwise is exactly the same as out-of-state people butting into what happens here or in Tennessee.

There's a sin of presumption involved. Or what the ancient Greeks called hubris ὕβρις.

A Non-Issue in Montana

One of those anxieties back in my Tennessee days was enduring the Walk of Shame (should it be capitalized?). Now the WOS involved appearing in the morning while wearing evening-appropriate clothes. Yes, decidedly on the sexy side. I favored the devushka look after my days in Eastern Europe. [Fun times, I might add.]

I enjoyed appearing in my European finery at night; but there was the morning after. (Not always preceded by premarital coitus, if I might be frank.)  However, sliding into Starbuck's for my morning caffeine fix would draw some stares if I'm dressed for The Night Before. 

In Missoula, no problem here. First of all, mores have changed in the past five years or so; it's assumed that you're sexually active and no one gives a damn anyway. Having little in the way of Fundamentalists around helps. 

But, more to the point: sexy evening wear is a non-starter in Missoula, especially in the winter. Right now, it's 33F; it's going to make mid-teens by midnight or so. So, as they say in NYC, fuggediaboutit when it comes to sexy wear associated with the WOS.

A Sweet Oldie Song

I'd Like to Teach the World

It bums me out that they made this song into a commercial.

Bubbaland

Reynard Wilson was trying to come up with a new concept in theme parks to attract those sparse tourist dollars remaining during the recession times. Let's face it: Disney, Six Flags, Graceland, Beulahland, and others of their ilk are drawing in the dollars. But south Middle Tennessee was one of those blah locales, other than the Jack Daniel Distillery at Lynchburg (strangely, in a dry county).

It was in the south; but not particularly Southern. The one attraction in that region was called, embarassingly enough, the Boobie Bungalow: a 'gentlemen's' club just north of the Alabama line.

Mr. Wilson had an inspiration. Most of the travelers on I-65 were Northerners going to the South in search of beaches, good weather, and experiencing the Southernness of the situation.

Now Alabama and Mississippi don't have to try hard to be Southern. Georgia screws it up around Atlanta, but is otherwise a good Southern experience. Louisiana: too exotic, not a consistent Southern theme. And, in Wilson's mind, southern Tennessee was a good locale. Far enough away from Nashville so that people would get restive by then, but a good site for a faux Southern experience.

So he fleshed out the concept. "Let's see: Cute girls in Daisy Dukes, louts running stills that dispense root beer, mountain crafts . . . . "

"Er, Reynard, those are jest hills south of the Duck River."

"Hell, Clyde, some jasper from Michigan ain't going to know diddly-squat the difference."

And so they built it. And it had moonshiners. And car chases. And Tennessee gals almost wearin' shorts (or damned little of them at that), and banjo music . . . . 

The Yankee tourists came in droves. They bought stuffed coon dogs and raccoons, t-shirts featuring hillbillies, Confederate flags, grits, Moon Pies, and ate passels of hush puppies and barbecue. And drank RCs, that's for sure. And listened to country music.

And all came away with The True Southern Experience. And talked about how they just barely got out alive before the inbreds shot them!

Did you expect truthiness? Truthiness died sometime back in the 90's.

A Salute to Dry-Humping!

How about a rap song about dry-humping? The pause that refreshes with no stains on my panties or a bun in the oven:

Dry-humping is the official sport of Montana. Especially during the winter,