Have you ever heard of Big Week?
No, it is not the aerial bombing of the 1940s.
And no, it is not the Biggest Losers counterpart – Smallest Winner.
Where I am from, Big Week is Rodeo week. It is held every year toward the end of July and is supposedly the largest on the west coast.
Now, I may have redneck tendencies, but I am no cowboy. Disney Sing-A-Long has contrived a list of requirements one has to ascertain to be designated a cowboy. A cowboy needs a horse, a hat, a pair of fancy boots, a set of shiny spurs, and a rope-o-o-o if he wants to be a cowboy. Let me calculate my haul of currently owned items…Carry the two, subtract the W, add pie, pumpkin preferably…Zero. That suggests my attire for such an event is exiguous in comparison to fellow attendees. I end up looking like a Hipster-Wannabe-Cowboy with a plaid shirt, skinny-FIT jeans (there is a difference), and some shoes. Meanwhile, I see men and women dressing to the nines in their western wardrobe. I’ve always wondered, wow, for a country guy (or girl) they sure look spiffy. I’ve wondered how they have kept their clothes so crisp and immaculate. I’ve come to the conclusion it is because they only wear the shit once a year. Now, my town has its fair share of rednecks, but we are more infamously known for our gang affairs. Local law enforcement is just not well versed in managing snapping Broadway gangsters. One would reckon that Jazz Hands 101 be a prerequisite to graduate the Police Academy. Regardless, fact of the matter is this town does not have that many country people. We do have a lot of pretenders. And none are The Great.
I know this to be a fact. I have friends who participate in these rodeo festivities. Friends who are only cowboys for 168 hours. While not the same amount of hours, I liken it to how long it felt when watching James Franco’s movie. It appears to be a lengthy carving of time, but put in perspective with the 8766 hours in a year, it’s rather brief. It does not prevent them from embodying their western clothes and jumping up on that “high horse.” Pun(s) intended. For one week they think they are some badass cowboy. Until I remind them, “You work at Carls Jr., you don’t listen to country music, and you’ve never even ridden a horse. The closest you’ve come to western is selling me a Double Western Bacon Cheeseburger. Now, which window do I pull up to? The second? Why do you have two windows, but only occupy one? I want to know what’s behind window number one.” Okay, I got carried away with that fabricated conversation, but the drift has been got.
There are exceptions to this rule. Women. I do not care if you have never seen the stars above the city glow. If you want to slap on some daisy dukes, roll up your t-shirt, and rock some boots you go right ahead and do so. There are so many cheap jokes here, I’m talking five cent spittoon cigars worth, but I will take the high road, the one that leads off into the sunset. In a car.
I have been using old Facebook status updates and transforming them into blogs. So far, two of my previous blogs have been subjected to this change. From now on, if a blog is going through these transformations I will make note of it at the end of my blog and provide the original status update that inspired the blog. Since I previously did not do so in my first two, I will state those now.
- And Their Off! – A spider keeps forming a web across the entrance to the door. I hate spiders, but I like this one because everytime I walk out the door I can feel myself break through the web and it makes me feel like a “casual walking marathon winner”.
- Lies… – People always said, “White lies are ok.” I think that is why there are so many black people in prison; apparently their lies are not.
At the end I will state the original status behind this blog too.
Now, to the blog.
The Wizard of Oz is a classic film. We have a normal girl, a scarecrow without a brain, a tin man without a heart, and a lion without courage. They wander through a world of technicolor bricks and crystal meth castles. There are small wizards, waterless witches, and Planet of the Ape monkeys who are not only in the wrong movie, but have wings. Was there some hidden Accipitridae-Ceboidea affection during the Planet of the Apes saga that I missed, or is this a prelude? Regardless, the movie is an epic adventure of mystical proportions.
There are, however, misconceptions about this film. I am not talking about the midget hanging from the tree at the end of the tin man’s sequence or scenes of Dorothy not rocking the ruby reds. Those are well documented hindrances to the magnificence of this film. The one I will be discussing today is the lion’s role in the film. I believe it to be a hoax. The lion has always been my least favorite of the three, but that is not why I am singling him out. I can accept that the scarecrow is brainless and the tin man without a heart, but I will not capitulate to the fact that the lion lacks courage. That part seems humuhumunukunukuapuaay to me…Or should I say, a bit fishy.
I have partaken in the liberty to assert my own opinions on this topic and have come to a particular conclusion. The lion is manipulating the audience and characters into postulating that he is in fact without courage. He is a conniving feline, but I am onto him. He is just trying to extend his monarchic system through sympathy. He is already King of the Jungle, now he wants the forest? Come on Lion…Take the bow out of your hair and go back to the jungle.
For the record this is solely my opinion. You may fall into the traps of the lions ploy, but not I.
That is another saying of interest, “for the record.” A friend of mine brought to my attention this so-called record that we have documented a plethora of items on. Now I too am curious; where is this record? It has to be ginormous. Hopefully it is all digitalized now, if not, that has to account for a significant portion of deforestation in Zimbabwe. I blame the lion. So for the record and I would like to go on record and record my spiel on records and record it via my blog. Technically this is my friends spiel, but I am stealing the idea. I am crediting her to lessen my theft charges. But what if I didn’t give her credit at all? I could deny that I had stolen the idea. I could claim it as my own…Hmm…Stop! Robo-Hamster time.
Original Facebook status update:
- The lion in the Wizard of Oz wanted to be King of the Forest. We are supposed to have sympathy for his lack of courage, but in reality he was trying to extend his monarchic system to the forest. He is already King of the Jungle. Selfish bastard.
(Additional Information not pertaining to the blog topic: This has been a good, but busy week. I met some new friends and met up with others. The best day by far was Tuesday night. The Tues pulls through again. The Tues and the rest of the week are the events that have prolonged my blogging this past week. So there you have it. I just wanted to add this update because it would not fit in any other post.)
Yesterday was the Preakness. I placed five dollars on I’ll Have Another to Win/Place/Show and I placed a fiver on Cozzetti to win for my longshot. Since I am writing this in advance I would like to assume I am the winner, but as of my time the victor and the defeated have yet to be determined. It is almost as if I am a late night talk show host; except not. . .
Recently I attended the Golden Gate Fields Horse Racing in Berkeley, California. I arrived with forty dollars; I left with six and some change. After successfully choosing the winner (Perfect Feat), my luck diminished. Out of the next eight races, only one of my horses managed to finish above fourth place. Too bad horse racing does not offer a booby prize, because many of my choices managed to finish dead last. Alas, you cannot be too disappointed with your losses when there are dollar beers and hot dogs only feet away. Horse racing has never increased my blood flow, but I have to say, attending a horse racing event did preak my interest. To me, it is all about the naming of a horse. If I had a horse it would be named On Paste to Race or Tomorrows Glue.
My general concern with racing has decreased immensely in current years. I use to be an avid NASCAR fan. I started as a fan of Ernie Irvin, switched to Dale Jarrett, and since then I have been in limbo as to where my allegiance lies. What makes matters worse is that the drivers are constantly changing sponsors and numbers. I cannot keep pace with the cars. Am I going for the Viagra car? It seems to driving hard and fitting through the holes. Am I the Jack Daniels car this week? (Remember, drinking and driving is unsafe, but thinking about drinking while driving is completely fine.) Or am I 5 Hour Energy? Hopefully 5 Hour Energy, because given the length of these races, I am going to need it.
Lately I have been focused on more personal races. I size up an individual on the sidewalk and the race begins. I always win. Yes, this may be contingent on the fact that they are not aware they are in a race, but that does not minimize the strength of my furious power-walking. I have a Dale Earnhardt mentality when I race too. I bump people off the sidewalk, slow down in front of them and prevent them from walking by, and on rare occasions I barely hit something and die. Too soon?
I not only race mammals, but I also challenge arachnids. I hate those eight-legged freaks, and will optimize any opportunity given to atomize them. There is a spider on my backyard gate that is resilient in its approach to spinning a web in that particular region. So the race amounts to: can it spin faster than I can destroy? Sometimes I will let it spin an entire web and then I will open up the gate and break through it like I just reached the finish line of a casual walking race. Yep. Sometimes it’s the small things in life.