I’m pretty damn proud of myself at the moment. I just completed the seemingly simple task of hanging a new light fixture in my dining “area”. That may not sound like much, but after about five beers watching Sunday afternoon NFL with my buddies, the fact that I completed the task in less than 30 minutes without major problems or a future trip to Ace Hardware constitutes a modern miracle.

You see, I am a male homeowner, and nothing puts the “yourself” in “do it yourself” quite like that. But more importantly, I am an older male homeowner, this being my third house, which means my tolerance for quasi “simple” tasks is by now at a cuss-wrenching minimum. Hence my pride has me gleefully enjoying my sixth beer of the day while writing this.
As a homeowner, I have run the gamut of home improvement, from the simple coat of fresh paint and “hire it done” of my first home, to the “why am I paying someone to do that” of my second. My third home is a brand-new townhouse with minimal tasks at hand. Mainly it’s replacing stuff that the contractor cheaped-out on, like the dining area fixture, which was nothing more than a $9 IKEA Chinese lantern.

Pontificating on all things political

Well, next Tuesday is it. Super Tuesday. And I’m sure all of you are busy right now doing your last-minute research on both candidates, weighing the options carefully so you can make the most educated decision possible. Right.

Unfortunately, most of us Americans (especially in the South) are too lazy to learn about our candidate’s stance on the most important issues, like foreign relations, the economy, the war in Iraq and health care. Nope, we tend to vote with three other guiding principles: guns, gays & God (and of course, taxes).

The right to bear arms is the Second Amendment to the Constitution of the United States of America. Prohibition is the Eighteenth Amendment. But we later “amended” that amendment with the Twenty-first Amendment. That’s why there’s usually a can of Budweiser within five feet of most shotguns. So, obviously, amendments mean change. But with a war going on, gun-related amendments aren’t going to change anytime soon (so calm down, everybody).

Speaking of the war, whether you liked the idea of completely dismantling a country or not (what if some country came over here and tried to do the same?), you’ve got to agree that it’s time for it to end. Liberate them already, would you? We’ve got to get those Afghans and Iraqis shaking hands again, like we did back in the “Peace in the Middle East” days of ’77. But seriously, it’ll take new policy, and new strategy to clean up that mess —no matter who becomes president. Now, I think some voters (Republicans) believe that some other voters (Democrats) don’t support our troops in Iraq. Negatory. Everyone supports the troops, but some find it hard to support the war. There’s a difference.

And different too are each party’s views on social mores like gay marriage. The concept of the American melting pot is supposed to bring together people from all over the world, from allwalks of life, and simmer them down into some sort of  “fondue of freedom.” This includes the pregnant woman who doesn’t want to have a baby just because some man in Washington says she has to, and those couples of the same sex who might’ve wanted to raise that child as a family. It also includes immigrants, like those from Mexico. It includes those who want a gun, and those who are afraid of them. And it includes those who might not feel comfortable handling snakes next Sunday morning at the Antioch Christian Baptist Church of Our God the Father in East Bumble, Tennessee. Which brings us to the man upstairs.

We Americans don’t seem to understand why anyone would want to worship any other God but “ours” (which, ironically, flies in the face of the First Amendment). Maybe it’s because we think we’ve got enough Christian churches already, and if we had any other kinds up and down the street we wouldn’t be able to buy liquor or ammo within ten miles of home. Or maybe it’s because we might equate any other religions to extremists (like watching TBN during one of their gilded-palace prayer sessions isn’t a little “extreme”).

And extremists, in our limited knowledge of the Middle East, surely begot the dreaded “T” word. And we don’t want any more of those on our dirt.

Because more often than not, “they” probably don’t pay taxes. And that brings us to the last, best-known point of contention between party advocates. Now, unless you make more than $250,000 a year, you shouldn’t be worried about how much you pay in taxes at all. It’s a moot point. Your taxes aren’t going up anytime soon. In fact, Obama promises they’ll go down (believed when seen). So paying the money can’t be the issue. But where the money is spent might be.

When Bush entered the White House eight years ago (after eight years of “Democracy”), unemployment was at an all-time low, the budget had a surplus and the national debt was half of what it is right now. And back then, that millionaire you just installed cable for might have been paying a higher percentage of taxes than you (so you could afford cable, too). In fact, government programs were supposedly helping 95 percent of Americans go back to school, find a better job (or a job), maybe get a block of cheese once a month and grab some free condoms down at the clinic. But that all seemed to change when Bush got comfy, and declared war.

After spending billions and billions of dollars fighting a country it turns out we knew didn’t have any weapons of mass destruction (or Bin Laden) but did have a beef with the Bushes, we find ourselves stuck in the worst financial crisis since the Great Depression. And all of those little niceties, like gas under $3 a gallon and the security of a low-interest, obtainable mortgage, are now a thing of the past.

But before we go reminiscing about the “good old days,” let’s not forget our opportunity to make a change (Thank God for the Twenty-Second Amendment!). This column may have made you laugh or pissed you off, but I hope it did one thing: inspire you to vote on November 4. I’ll see you at the polls.

Paying tribute—or not—to the tribute bands

From frat daddies to metal heads, beauty queens to roller-derby vixens, everybody loves a cover band…unfortunately. Nothing says musical mediocrity more than a bunch of nobodies playing a bunch of “somebody’s” tunes, the likes of which are guaranteed to garner the same response from all the ladies in da house - “I looove that song!”

It all begins when young lads first aspire to become a “rock star” around the age of 13. The very first tune your burned-out, ex-rock-star-wanna-be guitar teacher will show you is the easiest, coolest-sounding song known to man—“Smoke on the water.” From then on, you can use the same chords to play nearly 75 percent of all Beatles’ and Stones’ songs and every single song ever recorded by the Ramones. It’s magical.

Find a buddy whose aspirations stop at the bass guitar and one who would rather play drums anyway, and you’ve got yourself a band. Then, since you can’t write a school paper, much less a pop song, you’ll begin to learn all those songs you had been air-guitaring up till then (and discover that your left hand was always wrong). And finally, after some stroke of luck lands you in front of an audience of your peers, you’ll never look back.

Meter madness seizes the city

I’ve met the Fourth Reich and its name is CARTA. Its army of henchmen blanket downtown proper day and night, goose-stepping from car to car, handing out violations for anything its leaders deem suitable—and profitable.

Leave it to drastic financial times for a company to dig deep into its arsenal of doom to play fast-and-hard with indiscretion and fee schedules. Never has price-gouging been more accepted by fearful citizens timidly peering out of windows to make sure their lifeline to the world isn’t yellow tagged, or God forbid, booted. But that’s what you get if you don’t continually pump loose change into parking meters. And the price of admission just got higher.

Less than a month ago you could park at a two-hour meter for 50 cents. However, overnight, the price for the same time limit jumped 300 percent to $1.50. That’s because “meter math” is very different now. Until now, 50 cents was enough to meet the time limit of any meter—whether it was a 20-minute meter (blue head), 30-minute (red head), 60-minute (silver head), 2-hour (green head) or 5-hour (yellow head). The color of the meter head denoted the convenience factor of the individual space’s location. Right out front: blue head. Ten blocks away: yellow head.