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Restless Nights
Not here, baby. Two miles on a treadmill after work last night. Came home, wrote, made dinner, wrote, and darn near fell asleep in my chair around 11. Deep restful sleep until a little after 7, and I'm feeling pretty good this morning.
A couple of years ago, the Long John Silver's/A&W restaurant on Main Street went up in flames. It has since been rebuilt. Last night, the LJS on Tates Creek met a similar fire-based fate. The franchise wars have finally reached Lexington; before long, I shall hear the faint boom as a Captain D's on Richmond Road is exploded.
There are strange rumblings already in my fair city, regarding the great religion that is University of Kentucky basketball. A few months ago, a new coach was hired, and believed to be the savior of a program in decline or something. The team is currently 4-5, last night's loss being the fourth in a row, the first time such a thing has happened since 1990 (I just heard that on the news; I pay more attention to commercials for supplemental Medicaid programs than I do to college sports), and already there are calls to review the coach's contract. I have no horse in this race (see, a clever nod to another cultural icon around here), but there's something about Gillespie that makes me want to punch him in the face whenever I see/hear him. It's irrational as all get-out, I know, and what's worse is, there are others that inspire that impulse in me for no reason I can identify. Bob Baffert. The guy who coached the 49ers in the 80s and 90s. Makes no sense.
A couple of years ago, the Long John Silver's/A&W restaurant on Main Street went up in flames. It has since been rebuilt. Last night, the LJS on Tates Creek met a similar fire-based fate. The franchise wars have finally reached Lexington; before long, I shall hear the faint boom as a Captain D's on Richmond Road is exploded.
There are strange rumblings already in my fair city, regarding the great religion that is University of Kentucky basketball. A few months ago, a new coach was hired, and believed to be the savior of a program in decline or something. The team is currently 4-5, last night's loss being the fourth in a row, the first time such a thing has happened since 1990 (I just heard that on the news; I pay more attention to commercials for supplemental Medicaid programs than I do to college sports), and already there are calls to review the coach's contract. I have no horse in this race (see, a clever nod to another cultural icon around here), but there's something about Gillespie that makes me want to punch him in the face whenever I see/hear him. It's irrational as all get-out, I know, and what's worse is, there are others that inspire that impulse in me for no reason I can identify. Bob Baffert. The guy who coached the 49ers in the 80s and 90s. Makes no sense.
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I also want to punch Bob Baffert in the face. And it's hysterical that they want to chase Gillespie out of town when they already chased the better coach out of town. But I digress.
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When Smith announced he was leaving for Minnesota, somebody asked, into the air, as it were, what he expected to find there. My response of "Oh, I don't know, fans with a sense of perspective and without a sense of entitlement," was not well-received.
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As far as we know.
Yet.