A Bob Wire Classic™

Road Trip Redux: Wall Drug

After our post-Rushmore lunch, we pointed the 4Runner east once again, and the antidote to my euphoria of natural beauty lay ahead in the form of Wall Drug. As we neared the Badlands, the Wall Drug signs multiplied like scabs on a ten-dollar hooker. We would have to stop, of course, although there was no way it could live up to the hype. I mean, a six-foot rabbit? I haven’t seen one of those since, well, I can’t remember, but I’m sure Jäegermeister was involved.

A Bob Wire Classic™

A Magical Day at the Dog Park

It was a warm, beautiful spring day in April. What little snow we’d gotten over the winter in Missoula had melted away, and the sun was sparkling like a topaz. Like a fiery, 870,000 mile wide topaz made of hydrogen that’s going to burn out in 5 billion years, causing everyone on earth to turn up the thermostat a bit more and grumble about the “good old days” of global warming.

My dog, Houdini, was bursting with cabin fever (and rawhide farts), so I thought this would be a perfect day to take him to the dog park. If you’ve never been, well, you’re probably a cat person and can’t be trusted.

A Bob Wire Classic™

Think Twice Before You Marry a Musician

You know what puts a strain on your marriage? Being married to a musician.

Musicians are flakes. Ain’t no getting around it, we all have some serious shortcomings when it comes to responsibility, consideration, and paying the rent. There’s an old joke going around: What do you call a drummer who breaks up with his girlfriend? Homeless. It’s funny because it has a kernel of truth in the middle, like a piece of chocolate-covered popcorn. Only, instead of truth, it’s popcorn.

A Bob Wire Classic™

Summertime Musings

My kids and I drove out to Missoula’s Bark Park this afternoon, a large, fenced-in area where dogs are allowed to mix it up off the leash. We thought Houdini would love it. We got there and looked around, and nobody had remembered to bring the dog. So I made the kids run around in there for awhile. I mean, it was like a 20 minute drive, man.

When I was in high school I used to think that group sex meant you were using both hands.

You know you’re in trouble when your 7-year-old can recite the paragraph on the Budweiser label word for word.

Bob Wire Has a Point (It's Under His Cowboy Hat)

Coach Bob Takes the Field

[Uncle Bob needs a break. I’ll be taking a few weeks off to recharge my batteries, but I’ll be back to write some more about outraged breastfeeding moms, loopy local politics, drunken music fans and life in Missoula, where I spend my time navigating the twisted wreckage of American culture. To tide you over, I’ll be posting some of my “greatest hits,” starting with this little gem from April 2006. Thanks for sticking around. Now git!]

My daughter, Speaker, plays 3rd grade soccer with a thousand other kids every Sunday. Her coach, Stephen, does a great job coaching these 8-year-old girls, which is similar to herding a bunch of ADD-afflicted cats. Only he was gone bird hunting this weekend, a weekend when their schedule ballooned to three games, including a double-header on Saturday. Since no one else volunteered, I told the coach I’d step in and head up the team while he was gone. Hilarity and humiliation ensued.

Bob Wire Has a Point (It's Under His Cowboy Hat)

Finally, Espresso For Cavemen

Location is everything, and Missoula’s Ooh La Latte’s proximity to the Fantasy For Adults store is a big time-saver for the porn enthusiast with a caffeine jones.

Don’t get me wrong (although I know many of you will)—I don’t deny that I enjoy looking at women. Show me a guy who doesn’t ogle women, and I’ll show you a guy who ogles men. But noticing and appreciating the opposite sex is a far cry from women displaying their bodies to help turn a profit.

Bob Wire Has a Point (It's Under His Cowboy Hat)

We’re Here, We’re Queer, Get Sued For It

It’s called legislation via litigation, and it’s one of the reasons that the machinery of our democratic process has nearly ground to a maddening halt. Today I read the news that Missoula is being sued by the quivering homophobes of NotMyBathroom.com. Wow, talk about pouring the sand of hatred and fear into the gas tank of government.

Is it something in the water? The Bitterroot Valley has become the conservative yin to Missoula’s liberal yang, it seems. Tea partiers, militia fatalists, Second Amendment worshipers, Bible squeezers, “Celebrating Conservativism,” — these excitable fringe groups seem to thrive in the fertile, beautiful farmland stretching from Lolo to Darby. For every granola-munching, mountain bike-riding, Carlos Castenada-reading, organic farming pothead that shuffles along the streets of Missoula, it seems there’s a Glock-fondling, tax-hating, paranoid, anti-government, Xanax-gobbling, intolerant, landed greedhead NIMBY counterpart down the ‘Root.

Bob Wire Has a Point (It's Under His Cowboy Hat)

Everyone’s Buzzing About the World Cup

It’s time for World Cup Soccer! At last, the one sport enjoyed by virtually every country in the world takes center stage, and 24-hour TV coverage will ensure that everyone can get their fill.

I have to admit I’ve never been interested in soccer, outside of shuttling my kids to a few thousand youth league games. In the span of one or two generations it’s become the Great Equalizer of kids’ sports in the U.S. We didn’t have soccer when I was a kid. Somebody mentioned soccer, and you looked around for a girl to punch. We played baseball, kickball, football, hoops, kick the can, buck-buck, red rover, BB-gun tag, lawn darts, and my favorite, Storm the Treefort.

Bob Wire Has a Point (It's Under His Cowboy Hat)

Vote Ellie, and Vote Often

If you support the troops, you need to vote in the primary today. If you hate Obama and his policies, you need to vote. If you cook meth in your garage, you need to vote. If you are in favor of raising awareness for breast cancer, you need to vote. If you like sweet and sour pork but could live without the sesame seeds, you need to vote.

Everybody needs to vote.