It would be a Christmas miracle if I actually wrote a good thought out post today. But the Christmas season is fully upon us, and family time is important.* So in lieu of a ost I’ll just wish everyone a Merry Christmas and Happy New Year. I surely hope to hit the “blog-waves” at least once before 2010 rolls in. This December black-out is not cute.
*sometimes difficult, but always important
Happy Thanksgiving to all of my loyal readers, and I guess to everyone else. Enjoy your turkey, tofurkey, turduckon, whatever.
Gobble gobble….bitches.
I wish I had a clever lead-in here, but Bob Costas just felt it necessary to tell me that the NFL should take one of three methods to improve its overtime*:
I know that the NCAA has a wonderful overtime system in which each team is allowed to get at least one possession to score/match. Like a football version of “KnockOut”. This is fair, collegial and wonderful. Young men playing for pride, NFL contracts, and the love of the game deserved to be treated fairly. No feelings need to be hurt, this is college after all, not exactly the “real world”
But this, Mr Costas, is the National Football League. These are grown men playing the game at the very highest level on the planet, and getting compensated with absurd amounts of money and the perks of a superstar athletic lifestyle. Their feelings need not be pacified, their egos not coddled. If you win the coin toss, you don’t automatically win the game. Statistically, only 28% of the teams that win the coin toss go on to score on their opening possession. This tells me that 28% of the time, the defense can’t stand up and make a stop.
This is football, not 3rd grade playground tag. If your defense can’t make a stop, well then, enjoy a quiet ride home, because you lost the game. This isn’t “fair” but its real life, and its still a game, get over it, work harder and move on.
The NFL needs to start mandating that players where double sided mouthguards and better modernized helmets to prevent concussions and future brain damage; or start offering more comprehensive health care to the aging pioneers of the game.
But the sudden death overtime? Let it be and have the men play like men.
*The current “first to score” method has many critics
I wonder if the pink is bad, or does that signify healing? Is this scabbing too soon? Will I ever re-grow hair there? (Not if band-aids have anything to do with it.)
While having these thoughts, I couldn’t help but think of The Boss. Yes, New Jersey’s own Bruce Springsteen. There is no reason why I should be thinking about one of the greatest rock n’ roll artists of all time…while I am peeling away the band-aids from my skinned knees.
Is that blood on the inside of my slacks? Did that band-aid stick to my pants? Shit, is it peeling from the cut during this meeting?
In 1984 Bruce Springsteen wrote a seminal rock n’ roll anthem entitled “Glory Days”. He spoke about a young man reminiscing about his earlier prime years, and the folks he knew in high school. This song became one of Springsteen’s biggest hits, and survives through television shows, farewell tours, and huge sporting events.
...to skinned knees!!...
I wear f****ing compression pants so this doesn’t happen I can’t even brush my teeth with my thumb this jammed If this band-aid pulls out any more hair, I’m suing them*
In September of 2009 I decided it was a good idea to re-join the flag football league that I loved so much. My pleasant memories of exercise and friendly relationships severely overshadowed the realities of limping around my office the next morning, or wishing I could take a hot bath. But nevertheless, in some effort to reclaim my “Glory Days” on the gridiron, I signed up for it again. All was going well with the acute body trauma, until last night’s game just took its toll. My dominant thumb is rosy and swollen and has limited mobility, and my knees….oh my poor knees. Beyond the usual structural cracks and aches, I have a far worse affliction. The cosmetic mess of severely skinned knees. Until the age of about 12, this is seen as a rite of passage, and easily patched up with some TLC and a band-aid, at worst, a little alcohol. At 28, using aloe and Neosporin only lent to the comical situation of my work slacks having a ridiculous grease stain at the knee, followed by the band-aid demaning immediate removal and taking all the hair with it. This, my friends, is bullsh*t.
Reliving the Glory Days sucks.
*Even though they are stuck on me, I am NOT stuck on Band-Aid Brand
A couple of months ago the social blogosphere was aghast in feigned horror for a for days when Kanye West interrupted Taylor Swift’s VMA acceptance speech. A couple days of self realization and public apologies later…it was mostly forgotten.
A couple of weeks ago I overheard Taylor Swift on Saturday Night Live. I was shockingly underwhelmed, I believe I immediately scrunched my face and said “Uh, she really can’t sing can she…”. I understand that there is a segment of the American public who finds her “cute”; another sub-segment who find her “really hot”; and yet another segment who sympathizes with her, because that’s the easiest way to continue to hate Kanye West.
I don’t think she is all that talented, or all that attractive. She is exceptionally mediocre, and that is what we’re willing to accept. Have we forgotten how to recognize true excellence, or even “very goodness”? The stunning lack of excellence has pushed every lower level of talent forward. Like napkins from a dispenser, the excellence void must always be filled, and here we sit, as a society filling it with whatever drivel we can. What happened to us?
Maybe it’s that this year has bestowed so many celebrity deaths upon us, that we’ve scrambled to find a way to fill that void. Take for example this paragraph I wrote in the middle of July:
Walter Cronkite died yesterday. This seemed to be a putrid rotten cherry atop a sundae of death, loss and forlorn feelings. Ed McMahon, Farah Fawcett, Bille Mays (the OxiClean guy), and of course Michael Jackson. Champions of an era, figures of power and fame. I feel this loss, my peers feel these losses, society feels these losses. These were prominent figures in their fields, if not seminal icons.
May You Rest in Peace
Since I wrote that paragraph, both Senator Ted Kennedy and Patrick Swayze have died, making that statement all the more real and depressing. After the “Death is the new black”, and “Passing away in 2009 is like adopting an African baby in 2008″ jokes faded*, I was left with the wandering thought: “Where do we measure up?”
Where do we measure up? Tom Brokaw wrote a book entitled “The Greatest Generation” that chronicles the WWII generation and their eminent greatness in a time of grave danger** Are we living in “The LEAST Generation” Who is our eminent newscaster? Who is the political titan of our era? Are these titles only bestowed in hindsight? I figured this was far too grave of a topic at all, so I let it pass. Then I saw “This Is It”; I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I knew there would at least be great music.
What I found was that ‘This Is It” was to be the concert experience by which all others would be measured. It was a coup de grace to the other lesser concerts that aimlessly pass through arenas, stadiums and convention centers around the world.
Until last week, I knew that Michael Jackson’s untimely death over the summer was tragic. Until last week, I knew it allowed for the endless playing of all of MJ’s classic hits, and until last week, it had inspired me to take time out from a hectic summer routine to write this little piece on the King of Pop. After viewing his posthumous “rockumentary” is it evident that this concert would have been legendary. Say what you will about Michael and his trials and tribulations, some of them self-afflicted, but you simply have to recognize the genius that this man possessed.
Oh this was certainly "IT"...
I often forget a question a scant 5 minutes after it was asked, but the King remembers the pitches and note combinations from his 1980’s hits. He’s 50 and doing a better moonwalk than I could even dream of. He’s 50 and hits his falsettos on the 2nd try. The point is, this man is a beast of the industry, someone who’s mere presence drove people to tears.
As I left the theater the question crept up on me again…What happened to us?
There has to be more to newscasting than the constant barrage of “anything interesting” that the cable news junkets broadcast. There must be another way to be a bombshell than to release sex-tape, what happened to the art of the tease? Can an artist perform using metaphors and clever dance moves, instead of lip-synching ahout sex and beating women?
I know that part, if not all, of this problem lies with the immediacy of our culture. At this rate, however, patience will be an exhausted resource. Our society is fast becoming a place where creativity goes to die, and as far as I can see, we are losing out because of it.
Hasn’t this happened before?
*Bad taste…but funny
**I think this is what it’s about, it’s been sitting on my shelf for 4 years now.
RE: the new Sesame Street song.
Regale me in the rare “workday blog update”. I’ve listened to it over and over and over. And while it is different and certainly not familiar, it is NOT techno, more jazzy with a pleasant sax melody.
I am not sure if this makes me more curmudgeonly because I am still a bit salty at the absence of the song I grew up with, or less because I can see how Sesame Street has to keep changing what they do to be on top.
Ugh, here is the clip…
“When you’re old enough, you’ll understand” “You’ll get it eventually” “It’ll register when you’re my age”
Over the past couple years as I barrel ahead towards the big 3-0 I have noticed that, try as I might, those above sayings have become all the more true. From the way I cringe at the music that young kids are listening to, or the way I shake my head at young girls dressing all “less that modestly”, to how I scream at teenage folks driving all wild on the highways of the northeast. It’s ridiculous, but I have finally embraced the truth that age breeds wisdom, but sometimes, just sometimes it births frustration and unease.
As noted previously, I tune to NPR for two reasons: to catch up on the news and have a good story to obsequiously quote at some point to my co-workers. On the way to work this morning I was tuned into NPR and the informed me that it was the 40th Anniversary of Sesame Street. They waxed poetic for a while about the characters, the voices, the educational lessons. They talked about the social value, the tradition, and the “experimental” aspect of that type of television programming. NPR even spoke to the guy who voices Oscar and Big Bird (who is supposed to he a precocious 6 year old) about how the various ways that Sesame Street has had to overcome their competition (evidently Bert & Ernie are now in claymation).
Then they played the song. You know the song…
“Suuuuuuuunny days Wishing the, clooouds away…….. (some other words I forgot about clear air and such) …can you tell me how to get, how to get to Sesame Street!”
Hello friends...
As I sped along the interstate I couldn’t help but smile and sing along. Then they let it fade out, as I had memories of my Ernie dolls with only one arm**, being scared of the Count, a few menacing numbers, and the bald black guy.
Snuf-a-lufagus
My exit for work was nearing, but I didn’t care because my head was filled with this delightful reverie, and then something offensive came from my radio. Some new age techno tomfoolery. I thought I might have accidentally turned the channel, but it was still NPR. Then I overhear the most egregious thing of all, Sesame Street has changed their intro song.
HUH-WHAT!?!
And immediately my smile wrenched around and my face turned into something ugly. Was there any justifiable explanation for changing this staple? In an instant my pleasant demeanor gave way to that of a curmudgeon.
I wanted to let this go, but it was too jarring. Not only was I upset about something rather trivial, but yet again, another layer of my youth shed away.
I can understand why my mother disavowed the Dallas Cowboys because they got rid of her favorite icon of a coach in Tom Landry. I can sympathize with my older cousin about the pain of Don Cornelius’ absence from Soul Train, or Johnny Carson’s exit from late night television.
As we age, our creature comforts become more than that; they morph in pillars on which we rest our youthful memories. Once these seemingly unchangeable facts, actually do change, it wreaks havoc on the foundation of our memories. What we once held familiar and true crumbles out of our grasp, and suddenly to the ground.
...kinda like this...
Getting old sucks.
*Swerving out of the way of careless teenage drivers **Because I would always carry them by the same armWhile engaged with Brosquire J in a quality discussion about the most current Middle East crisis, I decided to try and do some on the spot research, to follow up on some of his more salient points. My browser’s home page is CNN, a fairly good place to start. As soon as the page opened, I had a lucid flash of irritation, that I was all set to turn into a great post. I should have taken a screen shot right then and there to display some of the silly bullsh*t that CNN had on their webpage, in full view of the world.
My plan then changed to take a screen shot of CNN, at any time of the day, and wax about the egregious and random bullsh*t they have on their home page at any given time.
Then this happened, and CNN managed to get it right.
I will have to wait for another lull in the news to blast CNN for their effortsto fill every second with some sort of story, relevant or not. For now, we will all hope, pray, and wonder about this tragic shooting at the Fort Hood army base in Texas.
My word, can we please take care of our soldiers and veterans a little bit better. They give their lives for us for goodness sake.
2 simultaneous wars over the course of 8 years. This needs to be a priority.
Today my boy, we’ll call him Bro-squire J, asked me had I heard of this “igggggnorant song” called ‘Becky”. He asked me if I knew what it was about. I admitted that I couldn’t even listen to the entire thing, and I hoped it was about drugs or some such thing. Let me repeat that.
I hoped it was about drugs or some such thing
I don’t even like writing about music, but this “music” just keeps getting more preposterous. I’m too disgusted to even write about it. But, let’s just say its certainly not about drugs, nope, not at all.
Plies, oh my goodness, what the hell. I am not confused, I am no longer surprised. These post could write themselves.
I am linking to this video for journalistic continuity only.
“Stop laughing…IMMEDIATELY” “Oh my, is that long black thread in the urinal? Or is it a…no its gotta be a thread”
These were my immediate thoughts upon entering the bathroom at work today, which brings us to our third addendum of “Minding your Pees and Poos”. In case you haven’t been privy to the first, first and a half or second installment…there you go.
Bathroom hygiene is utterly paramount, and the vast amount of people adhere to this philosophy– at home. Folks are not so kind in the company of others. I’ve figured it out to be the chicken vs. the egg scenario. If people don’t see a clean bathroom, they’ll soon be peeing on seats, and dropping errant toilet paper everywhere. However, if people continue with their seat peeing, paper dropping ways, no one will ever see a clean bathroom.
...don't let this be your work bathroom*...
What to do? You try your best to visit the bathroom after 5:30pm, when the cleaning crews arrive. The bathroom is usually the cleanest at this time, and everyone should do his or her part to keep it that way. By either going to the bathroom, or simply viewing what a clean “work bathroom” looks like, we can all play a vital role of curing society of the ills of filthy workplace bathrooms.
Oh, and I realized that laughing heartily and then IMMEDIATELY stopping once you step in the bathroom, is actually more awkward than just finishing the laugh.
The more you know… (cue the NBC theme)
*Yes, there were far dirtier bathrooms on google, but you look them up while eating….they were gFilthy
