Sara and I watched Anthony Bourdain in Spain last night. I wish that watching bullfights didn’t bother me as much as it does but I could never get behind a sport like that. Not that I’m somebody big and influential or whatever but killing an animal so you can be a rockstar is bullshit.
It doesn’t matter if it’s part of the heritage or culture. It’s barbaric and inhumane. I don’t see it any differently than wrestling with a dog or playing with a cat and then breaking their neck.
Bourdain didn’t look like he enjoyed the bull’s death much either. But ya know what, I would’ve canceled the episode if I was him. It’s important to stand up for what’s right or to stand up and say “this is wrong.” Even more so when you have a direct impact on the situation’s outcome.
I love his shows, always have but after the episode we watched last night, I lost some respect for him.
We seriously had enough food for four people, all of it good, too. Except for the rice and beans. Those were typical fast food side dishes. But the cheese. Sweet Jesus, the heavenly cheese. And the service was exceptional.
I’m sure they have a Facebook page or whatever but I still like old fashioned websites: tacomadrechicago.com
Peeps, on this gray Saturday here’s your listen-carefully-to-the-sound stripped down jam. Mick Fleetwood has always been one of my heroes but I kinda like this song better without him.
As a general rule I try to stay out of bands’ personal lives because their personalities can ruin the music magic. But I have always absolutely loved reading about the Fleetwood Mac soap opera.
Well, I shouldn’t call it a soap opera with it being their lives and all but what I’m saying is that this band’s history has been fascinating to me since like forever. The love, the relationships, the breakups, the sheer musical talent pouring out of each one of them.
I love them. Even with her “I keep my visions to myself” fruity-ness.