That picture was all over social media yesterday with the caption “The world’s most useless job”.
Many thanks to Jimi for his guest post. I didn’t even ask, he just volunteered, and for a first-time post, I thought it was great. But then again, I’m biased because of all the mushy personal stuff he put in there. You know, the stuff we can never say to each other, or even put in an email to one another, but we’re able to indirectly talk about. #GuyCode
Have low expectations for this post because WifeGeeding and I are binge-watching Netflix’s “Stranger Things”. It’s the first time she’s fell into a binge watch spell. I’m not going to proclaim the mini-series as the greatest ever, but I shall state it’s a masterpiece.
I walked around Uptown for the first time on Friday and WifeGeeding made me buy her some earrings at Kendra Scott, who is apparently the “it” jewelry nowadays. Since it’s my birthday month I got a half off. Uptown also had some scaffolding outside a storefront, which reminded me a lot of Manhatten. We ate at a place called Public School 214. Those digits are the area code for Dallas, and the restaurant/bar had a school theme to it. For instance, happy hour is called “recess” and you see all sorts of retro school stuff.
Uptown has a lot of high tone people and I felt totally out of my comfort zone.
After our visit Uptown, I took WifeGeeding to the Dixie Chicks concert at the Gexa Energy Pavilion, which I’ll forever call Starplex. Locals know what I’m talking about. It was first time visiting the venue, and it was fantastic. Yeah, it was hot, but once the sun went down, it was great being at a concert under the stars. I was surprised at how easy it was to park and drive home. Oh, and the St. Augustine grass was surprisingly well kept in the open field seating area.
Y’all know I’m not much for country music, and that’s true. But when you love someone, you’re willing to do things you don’t ordinarily do because you know how much it means to your loved one. But I actually have an appreciation for the Dixie Chicks.
Some girls right out of college asked if we could move a foot or two over so their whole crew could sit together, and offered us a beer for doing so. I declined the effervescent malt beverage (that’s what my Baptist college business prof used to refer to it as) and gladly scooted over. These chicks were super chill and very friendly, and we all connected as the evening passed sharing stuff with one another. One said I should get a selfie with them. Props to the girls for being for being responsible drinkers, they all rode a party bus to and from the event.
Other than U2 concerts, I feel this has been my only other concert. Sure, I’ve been to Carmen and Steven Curtis Chapman concert, but those didn’t have the “feel” a U2 or Dixie Chicks concert provides. The last concert I attended, people really didn’t use their mobile phones, but they were used quite heavily at this concert. I’ve seen some people gripe about this, but it didn’t bother me one iota.
They covered songs by Prince, Stevie Nicks, and Beyonce. There was also a medley that included “7 Nation Army”. WifeGeeding knew the words to all their original songs and I recognized a handful, but still enjoyed myself and was delighted seeing WifeGeeding enjoying herself with our new girl squad, hootin’ hollering and dancing together. I think the crowd favorite was “Good Bye Earl”.
WifeGeeding and I were trying to think of who would light the Olympic cauldron at the next U.S. hosted summer Olympics. Michael Phelps would be a good choice, but I can’t imagine him getting the honor until he’s past his forties. I then thought Michael Jordan would be chosen as he’s our most celebrated athlete and a two-time olympian. But WifeGeeding’s provided a name that surprised me, and one I can totally see happening in today’s world – Caitlyn Jenner.
I haven’t watched much, but I got sucked into a handball game between the Brazil and Netherland womens teams. It was a battle of blondes and brunettes, which had to please at least 90% of the heterosexual male population.
One day you’re just a smiley PR lackey; the next, you’re a major operative in the nuttiest campaign in decades. Such is the strange year in the life of Hope Hicks, the 27-year-old accidental press secretary for Donald Trump. How did she get here? And how much longer can she last?