Smile Politely

The joys of British society and American football

Hey, remember earlier this week when it was 60 degrees? Yeah, me neither. What a weird couple of winters we have had. Forget all the buzzwords. Global warming, my ass. It should be called global schizophrenia.

I remember last summer when the backyard was so dry I sincerely felt that tumbleweeds would begin rolling through at any time. Now, that same backyard is like some sort of mud pit that will likely turn into quicksand any day now. If this actually does happen, it’s going to make it much harder for the dogs to play fetch, or at least more interesting.

Let’s get it on.


Being married is weird because sometimes it makes me do weird things, things like not standing in the yard in my underwear and coming home after a long night of drinking instead of just starting all over again. Some of the things seem even stranger than that, things like watching Downton Abby.

Honestly, I can’t blame the wife completely for this recent development. She doesn’t especially seem like the sort of person who would watch it either. I would seem like the sort of person who would watch it, but only if you took me to Superman’s bizzaro world. Still, I’m blaming her for getting me sucked into this little foreign mini-series. Actually, I suppose I should also be thanking her, since it’s really fucking awesome so far and I’m only about four episodes in.

I realize it’s like finally getting around to reviewing The Andy Griffith Show, but I have a good reason for getting to the party late. I thought the show was going to suck and I assumed that if everyone else liked it, then there was a good chance I would hate it. “Ooh, fantastic, the governor is banging the Duchess on the lift, but she also has the hots for the butler. How will all of this ever end?”

Actually, it is sort of like that, but not really. It’s more about manners and tradition, and, strangely, progress. Long story short, some English family has a big assed mansion that they feel obligated to house with three servants per room. They are sort of nice to the servants and not even in that condescending kind of a way. The servants seem to like their jobs a lot more than most people I know these days. Besides that, everyone is usually really dressed up. Yeah, it doesn’t sound like much, but it is.

The weirdest thing is that it’s pretty funny a lot of the time. Fine, it’s not Moe smacking Shemp in the grapes with a sledgehammer funny, but I probably get plenty of that in my life to begin with. It’s smart funny and mean funny, which are two of my favorite funnies. Nobody runs from a burning building right before it explodes, and the only time you see a gun is if one of those silly bastards is going fox hunting with fifty of their closest friends. I shouldn’t like it, but I really do.

I hope I just don’t like it because I would really like to have my own footman someday. I wonder if that’s an internship deal and I could scam a free one that way?

The U of I totally has a Masters of Butlering program, right? If not, they should probably look into it.


Well, it’s the big game this Sunday. I’m, of course, talking about the Puppy Bowl. Since I like most dogs more than most people, I’ll probably DVR the Puppy Bowl and watch the other game live, so I can rewind and look at the cute stuff. The actual football game? I’m just not all that into it anymore, any of it. I don’t know what changed and I still watch, but the entire NFL has lost a little luster for me in the last few years.

I’m tired of all the grabass mostly, I think. Every fucking play is not a reason to do a little dance. Hell, guys are jumping around and pounding their chests when they’re forty points behind. Yeah, we get it, you made a good play, maybe if you’d done that the entire game your team wouldn’t be getting their asses kicked quite so hard now. I get that there’s a good chance that many of them have serious brain damage because of the game, but that’s still no excuse for all the flamboyance.

The regular season was sort of cool. The Adrian Peterson comeback from knee surgery was fun to watch. I just hope a bunch of other running backs don’t start trying to hurt their knees so they’re be as good as him. Oh wait, a few of them already have. Well, let’s see how that works out. The 49ers have been fun to watch, but that’s mostly because my friend, Gabe, gets so excited about them.

This Super Bowl could be particularly tedious though, since it will be Ray Lewis’ last game. He’s already been dancing and crying his way through the playoffs and I’m sure we’ll be treated to a lot more of that come Sunday. Maybe he’ll even top off his NFL career by killing a guy on the field, you know, instead of maybe killing one in a nightclub, like last time. He used to be a great football player, but that doesn’t necessarily make him a good human being.

It’s even sadder when you consider that Bernard Pollard should actually be the star of the team right now, but he gets put behind Ray “Jerry” Lewis, simply because he’s not retiring or making a complete ass of himself on a weekly basis. He does seem to hurt a lot of people though, which is kind of refreshing.


Speaking of weird weather, Apparently, Australia is being bombarded by sea foam. Sure, doesn’t seem that dangerous, but look, it sort of is.

While I will admit that the anticipation is sort of cool, I mostly just enjoy the guy calling the driver a dickhead at the end. Knowing they use that word in Australia makes me like that country a whole bunch more than I probably did.


  • I saw where Ashley Judd was considering running for public office. I would maybe vote for her if she was running for “Most Attractive Judd,” but otherwise, I’m not convinced. Actually, even that title might be up for grabs these days. Actually, I think it’s still hers, but it’s closer than it should be.
  • That Anonymous entity is apparently going after Scientology now (actually, again, but either way). I watched their video warning to the “church” and it was pretty scary. I’m a freaking Methodist and I was pissing my pants. I can’t imagine how I would feel if I were an actual Scientologist. Wait, yes, I can imagine that. I would feel exactly like I do now, except extremely gullible.

Buona sera, senorina, kiss me goodnight.

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