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6:56 a.m. - 2001-06-22


Alright now.

I just lost my entire entry which was about three-quarters done.

Yeah ... I'm pretty pumped about that. I LOOOOOVE having the power go out when I'm almost done with an entry!!


So anyway....yesterday...

My boy Bernie and I left town about 9 a.m. to cruise up to Birmingham to shoot video and take pix of the President of the United States, or as teens like to refer to him...Jenna's old man.

We got there and I got lost. I went to the airport instead of the Air National Guard. Bernie tried to make me feel better about getting lost by saying

"What? Is the president too good to land at a public airport?"

Bernie rawks.

We get to the Air National Guard. I see about a million media trucks in a parking lot and deduct that this might be the place.

Sure as shit, I was right.

We sat in the car for about 40 minutes, waiting to be escorted to the media area on the tarmac.

You know...the place where planes land. The tarmac. Just because I don't use the word that often, don't pretend you don't know what I mean. I'm sure if I were an airline pilot, you'd be familiar with me using the word and you'd sit there saying "Okay...Uncle Bob waited to go to the tarmac. I know what that is because he always waits to go there."

Anyway, our only entertainment for 40 minutes was watching some inept guy wash the road with a high powered hose because apparently the President can't stand to ride around on roads with pebbles in them.

The guy was doing a horrible job so we got a kick out of making fun of him in the privacy of our car. Finally, another guy walked up, grabbed the hose out of his hand and showed him how to effectively wash a road. The first guy just stood there like a loser with his thumb metaphorically up his ass.

Finally, we were ushered in through the gates and led to the media area where we set up our cameras. All the TV people set up their huge cameras and tripods ... I set up my camcorder and $30 tripod. My camera was incredibly puny standing next to the others. Once again...Bernie to the rescue. "It's not the size of the camera," he said. "It's the way you use it."

Go Bernie.

We were then ushered away from the media podium where all our equipment was set up so that Secret Service men could check everything for bombs or whatever. That was about as fun as picking a scab.

It started getting hot out. With long sleeves and a tie on ... I began getting hot as well.

After 30 minutes of sweeping the area, the Secret Service let us back in. We were then led to the podium and told that once we got on the podium we had to STAY on the podium.

So about thirty media people got on this raised platform with no shade and stood in the sun.

This started at 11:45 a.m.

Air Force One was scheduled to land at 1:40 p.m.

We stood in the sun for two hours.

Here's a little experiment for the Bob-heads. Look around you right now and find the reddest thing you can see. Stare at this red object for ten seconds.

...My face is twice as red as that.

Bernie hooked up with some female intern who was interning at a newspaper in Birmingham. The Bern-Man was suave, having Secret Service men fetch her cups of water when she got too hot.

Bernie kicks ass in the mosh pit.

Finally, Air Force One landed, Bush emerged, waved at the crowd, shook a few hands and jumped in his presidential limo.

It was an interesting two minutes.

Naturally, President Bush didn't come anywhere near the media podium for fear that we might ask him a simple question and his brain would explode while trying to make up an answer on the spot.

We packed up our stuff, got in the car and sat in traffic for 30 minutes before finally reaching the interstate and going home.

It was probably my only time to ever be in the presence of the most powerful man on the planet.

And I was more concerned with my sunburn than him.

The tape turned out decent though. If you don't mind me using the term "decent" over the term "pretty fucked up".

While the video ran, I tried to snap photos of the President. But on my camcorder (apparently) when I try to snap a photo with the video running, the video stops and all you have is a photo.

I could explain it better but it's not important. Basically, you see Bush emerging from the plane, you get a still frame of him walking down the steps and the next thing you know, he's getting in his limo.

Count on me to fuck up a perfectly easy assignment.

But it was my last official newspaper assignment and it was covering the president. So at least I'm going out on top.

In my eyes, anyway.

Hey Bob-Headed members of the Army...I've got a job for you.

Go sign the ever sexy Widgetbitch's guestbook wishing her an extra special birthday today.

Her only wish is to have Uncle Bob's army visit her and say Happy Birthday.

It's almost like being a sports star and visiting a dying kid as part of the Make A Wish Foundation.

Except you're not a sports star and Widgetbitch ain't going anywhere soon.

The only problem I have is that I'm not listed in her diaries that rock. She emailed me to tell me how much I rocked...yet I'm strangely not included there.

She listed that asswipe Buscemi there.

But not me.

Where is the justice, I ask.


Going to Nashville for the weekend.

Leaving today at noon.

I'm going to go visit my sister who I swore three years ago I never wanted to see again.

She has some toys for Andy.

So technically, she's renting my love for the weekend.

And I'm a whore, baybee. Gimme some toys for my boy and I'm there, mon frere.

Actually, by all accounts, my sister is not the heinous bitch that she was three years ago when she ruined Christmas '97. Apparently, she's mellowed.

And plus ... it's a sibling reunion as all three of us (me and my two sisters) will be together for the first time since last spring.

Spring 2000. Not two days ago.

My evil sister is having a yard sale on Saturday, so I'm helping her run it. She doesn't know how to deal with people at yard sales and I've gotten pretty good at it so it will be up to me to beat the living crap outta people who try to get something for less than it's worth.

It's the Alabama method of holding a yard sale. Beating the shit outta bargain-hunters.

Not really.

I'm just tired and need to pack and was looking for anything to write.

And Andy's out on his mat, being fussy.

I need to go.

I'll see y'all on Monday with all kindsa Nashville news.

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