The Country Guy
by Will Bailey
I’m a cowboy. Or at least I feel like one. Plus, my skin is very sensitive and burns if I haven’t applied sunblock with an SPF of two hundred or higher. So I guess you could say that I am literally a redneck. Oh, fine, I give up. Sure, I’m a pasty Yankee through and through, but that don’t mean I can’t listen to country music all the time and pretend I’m a cowboy with my own farm and paintball course and video game company that makes Factory Simulator Games and Paintball First Person Shooters, does it? I guess it’s sort of a fantasy of mine that one day Wife and I will buy a big farmhouse and acres of land and I’ll chase people off our property on horseback with a paintball gun. But until then, I’ll listen to my “I Go Back” Pandora Radio Station while standing in line at Starbucks as a man with shower curtain rings in his ear lobes yells at the cashier. I find that country music has the transportive power to make you feel like you’re driving through a field in a red pick-up truck shooting fireworks out the window. There also may or may not be a charcoal grille in the trailer bed with a couple of sizzlin’ rib-eyes, a big ol’ rack of ribs and two veggie burgers (for myself and Wife). I also enjoy that most country music songs tell a story that you can easily follow, as opposed to pop, which sounds like a young girl was given a bunch of Red Bull and recorded singing while jumping on a trampoline. Wow. Did I just turn into a grumpy old man?