Well, would you look at that. It’s Tuesday again. As I write this, I’m kicked back at BNA — one of the finest airports in the country — waiting to board my flight to… New York City.
A bumpkin like you in NYC, you say? You bet your biscuits, kiddos.
New York. The Big Apple. The City That Never Sleeps. The place where Carrie Bradshaw supported her lavish Manhattan lifestyle and extensive designer shoe collection simply by writing exactly one column per week. Good gig if you can get it.
Anyway, I’m headed to Fox HQ.
That’s right, I’ve been summoned to the Mothership. I’ll be staying in a hotel near Times Square.
Surely it’ll be chill. Not too busy. Nothing going on. Right
Lordy.
I’m not totally uncultured. I’ve been to NYC a handful of times — most recently in December 2015 when I was the social media manager for the three-win Tennessee Titans. We were in town to play the Jets. As you can imagine, the football portion of that trip was positively dreadful. But I ate some banger Italian food and took my picture in front of the big Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center, so not all was lost.
Anyway, y’all ready for some Nightcaps?
Make sure your seat backs and tray tables are in their full upright and locked position, grab your TSA-compliant ranch dressing packets, and let’s roll.
The Tartan Army is taking its talents to South Beach
Yes, that’s a real thing. This, ladies and gents, is what we call opportunity marketing.
When I was in grad school, I had a very smart instructor named Tim McGuire. He had this belief that instead of complaining about our problems, we should see them as opportunities — a chance to capitalize on a need. If we had that problem, other people did, too. So why not find a way to solve it and make money in the process?
Whenever he’d hear me or one of my early-20-something-year-old colleagues griping about an inconvenience we faced, he’d happily chirp, “Business idea!”
Unfortunately, I went to journalism school, so the only thing I’m qualified to do when faced with a problem is to b—- about it in my Tuesday column. But Tim would be so proud of whichever Kraft employee saw all these Europeans falling in love with Ranch dressing and designed them a travel kit.
I digress. What I really want to talk about are the Scots headed to Miami.
After drinking Boston bars out of all their booze — a feat previously believed to be impossible — the Tartan Army has now descended upon MIA
I can’t wait until all the men in kilts start taking selfies and drinking Aperol spritzes with the plastic, face-full-of-filler ladies of Miami. A beautiful and harmonious union.
When they say America is a melting pot, that’s what they mean.
Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders are getting ready for the season
And that means fluffing their pompoms.
And by “fluff,” I don’t mean giving them a quick shake before heading onto the field. I mean sitting down and individually separating strands, tying knots, pulling streamers apart and performing what appears to be several hours of arts and crafts.
One cheerleader named Julissa posted a tutorial, and I was exhausted just watching it.
Look, I understand that being a Cowboys cheerleader requires attention to detail. The uniforms are immaculate. The hair is flawless. The makeup has to be perfect. America’s Sweethearts don’t just roll out of bed looking game-day ready.
But at some point, some equipment manager in the Cowboys organization had to look at a box of flattened pompoms and think, “You know whose problem this should be? The cheerleaders.”
Then again, the Cowboys cheerleaders did just get a 400% pay raise. Some veteran members are reportedly earning up to $150,000 a year now. Which is way better than the rest of the league’s cheerleaders, who are getting paid in Kohl’s Cash and packs of Skittles.
I’ll allow it for the DCC. But if I find out the Raiderettes were painstakingly fluffing their own pompoms while Geno Smith was out there throwing 17 interceptions and taking 55 sacks, I’m calling the police.
Simone Biles isn’t taking your nonsense
A couple of weeks ago, the world’s most decorated gymnast suffered a cryptic medical emergency. What that diagnosis was we do not know. We may never know.
And frankly, it’s none of our business. You know, HIPAA and all.
This past week, Simone hit Belize with her husband, Jonathan Owens. There, she posted a few bikini snaps.
“Looks like you’re having fun, Simone. Good to see you alive and well” …is what a normal human being would say after her medical scare.
But, instead, some butthole on Instagram decided she hadn’t spent enough time sitting around feeling sorry for herself.
“Almost died,” this person wrote, “but look at these traveling selfies…. 😂😂😂”
Simone wasn’t having it.
“ugh these comments make me sad,” she wrote. “a little over two weeks ago, I experienced a serious medical emergency that could have ended very differently, and this trip has been part of allowing myself to heal & appreciate being here. I hope you understand that life changing experiences can shift your perspective. & that you’re able to extend a little more grace to others moving forward 😘 have a nice day!”
