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11:19 pm EST 39°F (4°C) in St. George, UT
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As of about an hour ago, our matchup is set for Super Bowl XL two weeks from now in Detroit — the Pittsburgh Steelers and the Seattle Seahawks. This is the first Super Bowl in franchise history for the Seahawks, which removes them from the list of teams that have never been to a Super Bowl. (I mention this, of course, to underscore the complete suckiness of the Detroit Lions, who now find themselves with only two other long- established teams on said historical list of Super Bowl non-participants. As long as that fucking joke William Clay Ford continues to
run the team into the ground own the team, nothing will change — the fact that Matt Millen was not fired is all the proof one needs.)
I don’t have a ton of time to waste here, as I must get down to Las Vegas by the end of the night, but at risk of copying Rethuglicans, I have a (slightly racist) joke. One of the things that really annoys me on the road is seeing Greyhound buses pull into truck stops; while I understand the need for passengers to use the restroom, get food, etc., at semi- regular intervals, the crowds of 50-60 people per bus do nothing but cause huge delays for the (often pressed-for-time) truck drivers who have to use those same facilities. Needless to say, when I pull into a truck stop and see a Greyhound bus there, I’m none too pleased.
That said, I have a somewhat derisive (although surprisingly accurate) nickname for this practice. In the eastern half of the country, the lion’s share of Greyhound passengers are African-American (a few trips’ worth of personal experience backs me up on that), so I refer to the stop as an “NAACP convention.” I think, after an experience earlier tonight, that I can say what they are in the West: United Farm Workers conventions.