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Things were different a hundred years ago. Blacks couldn’t vote (or run for president). Women couldn’t vote (or run for vice president). I don’t know what the price of gas was, but I’m sure it was cheaper than today. Even marriage was different. Back then, a wedding consisted of a guy, gal, her dad, and a shotgun. It was so much simpler. A modern wedding includes all of those things–plus numerous forms, fees, and other unnecessary bureaucracies.
The Girlfriend and I had to apply for a marriage license. Who needs a license to get married? Can that license get revoked? Why do we need the government’s permission to get married? It’s not like the state has any right to deny anyone marriage. Not anymore. Assuming were dealing with two human beings, everyone has the right to get married in California.
Applying for a marriage license isn’t that hard–the hardest part is come up with the 60 bucks required to get a license. Unfortunately, marriage licenses aren’t granted online or over the phone so we had to trek down to the courthouse to get our license. What a sight that was. You see it in television and movies all the time, . . . . .
A coworker was telling me about his experience meeting Fergie (who–thanks to The Girlfriend–I recently learned is a musician and not an English aristocrat). He talked about her bodyguards, fancy cars, and massive, obviously expensive jewelry. “That girl is rolling in cash,” he said.
I’m tired of making other people rich. Actors, singers, sports stars, CEOs–all of them are getting rich on our dime. Every movie we see and every CD we buy makes the rich richer. We don’t think about it when we go shopping–we just buy stuff because as Americans we love buying stuff. But the entertainers we make rich are already loaded. They have more money than they could every possibly spend (well, except MC Hammer). Imagine what it’s like being Fergie. She doesn’t hafta worry about $4-a-gallon gas. She doesn’t complain about rising food costs or worry about whether or not her boss will give her a raise. That girl is rolling in cash.
Must be nice.
Meanwhile the rest of us–people who live in the real world–struggle to make ends meet. I don’t wanna get all communist here, but it’s a load of garbage. At some point is there ever enough? No one needs that . . . . .
During a baseball broadcast, I heard a promo specifically encouraging Dodger fans to vote. Yeah, that’s what American needs: Dodger fans determining how the country is run. Not every uneducated literate with a criminal record deserves a voice. It’s this sorta propaganda that pisses me off. I hate voting season.
I’m not completely helpless. The Girlfriend might think I am, but there are plenty of things I can do on my own–one of which is basic car maintenance. I took a year of auto shop in high school. I like working with tools. I wouldn’t call myself a man’s man–but I can perform rudimentary vehicle maintenance like replacing air filters, changing spark plugs, and jump-starting a battery.
One of the things I won’t do is change my own oil. Sure, I could do it–but it’s just too darn messy…especially when I can take my car somewhere and get the oil changed by a professional for 20 bucks. It seems like money well-spent.
I needed an oil change and opted to go to Jip-U-Lube. It’s right near work and I had a coupon for a $20 oil change. It was for the deluxe package that includes the 14-point inspection. Personally, I . . . . .
The Olympics start this week…but does anyone really care? Do you know anybody who actually gets excited about the Olympics? I don’t know anyone who watches. Outside the big-name events (men’s basketball and Michael Phelps) I don’t know anyone who cares. I certainly don’t care. There’s no fun in watching someone run around a track. There’s only so many times I can watch a person swim in a pool (zero). There are very few mainstream events in our society that are as past their prime as the Olympics. I truly believe no one gives a crud…other than the athletes involved. If the world were to somehow skip an Olympics, do you think anyone would even notice? I don’t.
Recently I was sitting outside a very rich and classy hotel. It was one of those expensive joints–the kinda place where two nights cost more than I pay in month for rent. Normally I wouldn’t be caught dead near such an establishment, but an assignment for work put me at the hotel’s entrance for a few hours. Since my job isn’t challenging, I had little to do other than watch numerous cars come to the valet and wait to get parked. It . . . . .
I finally got around to seeing “The Dark Knight” this weekend and I noticed there was quite a lot of the dialogue I didn’t pick up. My initial fear is that I spent way too much time with headphones plugged into my ears and was now paying the price with a hearing loss (but I only listen to talk radio podcasts with the volume extremely low!). Immediately after the movie, The Girlfriend said how much she loved the movie. “The only thing I didn’t like was the score: it was too loud and it drummed out a lot of the dialogue.”
Thank goodness! I didn’t wanna say nothing at first because it would like admitting I’m starting to go deaf. But when she confirmed the same problem I had, it meant either we were losing our hearing or there was something seriously off with the audio ratios of the movie. Either way, I’m happy. If I’m gonna go deaf with someone, it might as well be the person I’m going to marry.
I was at the Wal-Mart recently when I heard a six-year old kid say to his mom “Can we buy it? It’s only $300.”
What kinda world is . . . . .
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