Really Diddy?
Shouldn’t they be drinking out of something better than plastic cups? Where is the V.I.P section? Is Drake not ballin’ like that anymore, or ever? Damn, I bet Jay-Z drinks out of a chalice.
Brad Pitt, Denzel and Will Smith don’t ride the bus now do they? That is all.*
*I used to ride the bus, I can say that
A Spaniard might say “Necesito ayuda” while a Frenchman might say “J’ai besoin d’aide.” If one found themselves in a precarious position in Italy, it would be wise to utter “Ho bisogno di aiuto!” Somehow, I don’t know this phrase, as anyone close to me would confirm that these words are the last to leave my mouth. I do have some sterling qualities, but this is not in my current repertoire. I wish I were taking journalistic hyperbole when stating that this is a crippling character flaw within me, but I’m not.
I am a humble person, but I enjoy my current station in life. I feel I am at a slight plateau before the huge mountain climb that will take me to the point I have been trained and well groomed for. All the tools are there, the path is out in front of me, but that crippling mentality is a cast iron anchor around my ankle. Eventually I will reach the summit with or without it, but I can’t consciously keep making my climb longer and harder…can I?
A successful "HELP" request
“I need help” might possibly be the 3 hardest word phrase for me to string together. In any language, at anytime, in any place, they are the kryptonite to my super strengths*. When I run into a problem, my inner modus operandi goes a little like this:
I wholeheartedly admit that, by all accounts, may be (as Bill Cosby once said to his flunking son, Theo) “…the DUMBEST thing I have ever heard…”
The preposterous situations I’ve found myself in are numerous, but usually all borne from holding to the same obstinate philosophy.
The chicken or the egg? What came first, my stubborn reluctance to ask for help, or my obstinate unwillingness to open myself up? These two exist is some sick symbiotic relationship that only exists to hinder my own progress. Chains be broken. I have to open up, I must ask for help, I am imploring myself to be better.
*Super is a relative term.
Today, I waited for him, old guy that he is I figured he might be late and at least hang around for a while, at least a minute. As I waited, I was brainstorming a work problem. ow, despite all of our previous encounters, I really figured he would wait if I got distracted, and I certainly got distracted. But when I emerged from this quagmire I looked up and it was 6:03 PM. Father time had not waited for me, not at all. As I have a life beyond the office, I needed to leave at 5:00, but he came and left without the slightest peep. I found this so inconsiderate, yet who was I to think that he would wait for me, of all the deserving, over-worked citizens of the planet.
I recently read an article that supported the hypothesis of temporal relativity; as we age our concept of time shortens noticeably. While this is common knowledge, it, like most lessons of adulthood, does not show its face until it has to. When you’re wondering where the summer went, or how it is already September since you can still taste the champagne from New Year’s, you’ve run into it’s sinister face.
I often allow myself the freedom to imagine what I would do with another 2-3 hours in the day, how would one fill up that time? Would I work more, blog more, exercise more, donate more, or just waste it away. The sheer impossibility of it all doesn’t require a rational answer, so for now, I’ll work with what I was given; 24/7/365.
On the grind.
Almost 2 years ago, one of the first things I wrote when I got on my new laptop was the following rant on Brett Favre. I was so utterly disgusted at his annual NFL off-season cocktease that these words flowed like hot lava. I wish they didn’t prove to be prophetic, or a clear “plug n’ play” where I could switch the words “Jets” for “Vikings”. And now “Vikings” for “Vikings” Since Mr Favre can’t be bothered by “training camp” and “common decency” to take his head out of his diva ass, I won’t even change the following column. At the beginning of the season I predicted that Favre would crush the hopes and dreams of the fans in purple. I was almost proven wrong, almost. But as the Vikings Super Bowl ticket was being punched, Mr Favre made an unconscionable throw into double coverage, and well, we know the rest. Here’s to you Mr Favre, I don’t know how you so cleverly obscure the facts, but at least I know where to spew my hate this season!
(Eventually, I’ll have to stop writing this column)
I am so sick and tired of Brett Favre and his vacillations between retirement and attempting to relive the glory days of old. Granted, he did have a phenomenal season during the 2007-08 campaign, no one can deny him that. Unfortunately it ended at the hands of the Super Bowl Champion New York Football Giants. A bad pass, a interception, no Super Bowl, no chance at a second ring, no riding off into the sunset.
Wait, he played for the Packers?
There comes a point however, when it is time to let sleeping dogs lie. This is not the first time Brett toyed with the Green Bay Packer franchise and cheese-head faithful. He is being a selfish athlete, and that is rather commonplace, but the more damming accusation was that he was holding the franchise that he loved so much, hostage. After turning down an astronomically absurd offer of $20 million over 10 years to remain in the Packers organization as a PR rep, he threw a tantrum and accused the Packer brass of mis-treating him. I’m sorry Brett, but the 2008-09 season opener won’t be delayed because you wanted to fish in Mississippi, or hunt in the woods of Wisconson. Aaron Rogers wont get acclimated to the culture of NFL quarterback, or the respect he deserves when you’re dangling yourself in front of the city like a fine piece of bratwurst before a hungry dog.
Brett Favre you selfish ass. This ritualistic off-season tomfoolery has hindered (possibly irrevocably) the career of a promising young quarterback, whose only mistake was being drafted in the shadow of a colossus. Sad thing is, your actions have ensured that this shadow will loom large over Lambeau long after you’ve left, but like a large shadow, you’ve eclipsed all that can be nourished and grown, and left a city with a broken heart and a maladjusted quarterback.
You now bring the final chapter of your career to “Broadway” in the form of the green and white of the New York Jets. Remember, Brett, New York is a tough town. More story than substance, more hype than performance, we shall see how bright your star can still shine.
As he now pollutes the waters of Lake Minnetonka with his 40 year old “rocket arm”, his grizzled beard, his coy smile, and his “4th and touchdown” manner, all I can do is wish the Minnesota Vikings good luck. And I hope Brad Childress shops around his resume…soon.
Not quite the face of a champion
