Whitt's End

Categories: Whitt's End

Whitt's End - reaper.jpg

*In 2009, I'm going to change. Totally change. I'm going to develop an appreciation for sour cream, reality shows and Brett Favre. I will start tipping 20% to every waitperson because, after all, that's what I'm supposed to do. I will be understanding of white pickup trucks that tailgate me and then cut me off on the freeway because, after all, their time is indeed more valuable than mine. I'm going to buy a Terrell Owens poster for my son's room and Rangers' playoff tickets for myself. I'm going to stop working out, and start smoking. And if you believe any of that, you probably also believe Wade Phillips will change too.

*So, Dallas' Only Daily says the Cotton Bowl stadium is courting another bowl game. Let me say, welcome to the party. Better late than never, right?

*Cool, the Mavs rallied from down 29 points to beat the Timberwolves the other night. What a comeback. It was the biggest best ... wait, what? ... the Mavs actually trailed the Timberwolves by 29? At home?

*I'll be at the Cotton Bowl this afternoon and I've watched a lot of college football over the last 10 days. Hate to admit it, but Southern Cal is by far the best team I've seen. Their first half against Penn State was absolutely devastating. Your move, Texas, Florida and Oklahoma.

*If you were a fan of our Swingtown cover story, you'll probably also be interested to know that the Velvet Curtain - a multiple Observer "Best of" Award winner - has apparently thrown its last party.

*What's that again? Sorry, you're going to have to speak a little louder. Yell, actually. Seems I spent New Year's Eve about 12 feet from the wall of speakers booming from ...

Cross Canadian Ragweed's alt-country stylings down at House of Blues. (Here's a few more photos from the show.) Never thought of them as rockers, but the ringing in my ears tells me perhaps I should reconsider.

Cross Candadian Ragweed.jpg

*Good news if you didn't get a chance to catch up on your sleep over the holidays. The Baseball Network - MLBTV - is now on the air. DirecTV channel 213. Happy napping!

*The older I get, the less I get this country's obsession with dogs. Don't get me wrong, I'll giggle at Marley & Me, I'm no Michael Vick and I don't want to go all Vietnamese and have Fido for dinner. But in owning two dogs and dog-sitting four others at various times over the holidays, their sense of entitlement has begun to irk me. I think their thought bubbles would look something like this:

Yeah, yeah, I know my owner has given me a nice home and a great back yard. Lotsa trees. Green grass to run in. Squirrels to bark at. Food in one bowl. Water in the other. Every single morning. I get that. I do. But, man, I really want to be inside. I deserve to be inside. And not in a minute, RIGHT NOW! I don't scratch and bark simply to get on my owner's to-do list, I want him to drop everything right now all the time. And when I'm in, it's cool that my owner has given me a nice room all to myself. A safe crate. More food. More water. Yadda and more yadda. What I want - what I deserve - is to be out there in the living room and bedroom with the humans. And, of course, I appreciate that my owner bought me this big, furry, luxurious bed and placed it in front of the cozy fireplace. But, man, I think I deserve better. I want to be up on that couch. And, again, I like the food. Couldn't live without it. But what I really want - what I should be allowed to have - is whatever my owner's having. Doesn't he know that? I follow him around and tell him I want his food like every single time he eats. And attention, dude, I deserve attention. Whether I'm outside, inside or whatever, my owner should know that every move he makes somehow directly affects me. If I see him - and believe me, I watch his every move - walk toward the laundry room, I must be coming in. If he walks back through the kitchen, he must be taking me for a walk. Right? I have the right to be excited about every one of his movements because, when you think about it, they're all geared toward making me happy. Except, of course, when I want my privacy. I know there's a yard out back and I see him once a week scooping my poop in a bag. Gross, but hey, somebody's gotta do it and it sure ain't gonna be me. There's just times when, screw it, I deserve a nice indoor bathroom, too. Anywhere I damn well please, in fact. It's at these times - and only these times, mind you - when I'll morph from a yapping, whining, begging attention hound into a stealth-like, Jedi Ninja dog, quietly disappearing to the far reaches of the house to do my business, only to return moments later and resume my constant requests for affection, food, a spot on the couch, etc. And, oh yeah, though I love it here and all, please, don't I deserve a little freedom? I know my owner keeps me safe and warm and comfortable and pretty damn well spoiled, but if there's a crack in that door - boom! - don't think I don't deserve the right to bolt through it and run freeeeeee through the neighborhood. No worries. You'd think I'd run back home. But, who am I kidding, I know my owner will spend all day and night looking for me. Gawd, I'm glad my owner can't read my thought bubble or the jig might be up. Given the way he treats me and the way I take advantage of it, he might suddenly realize that I should be the one always scratching his belly. - Richie Whitt


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