So I watched Peter Jennings special report "U.F.O.'s: Seeing is Believing" the other night. Among the things I learned were that people who study UFOs but have no other scientific standing refer to themselves as "Ufologists," which sounds about as professional as some frat dude calling himself a "boobologist." I was also convinced that, while some sightings are unexplained and fairly incredible, the Roswell thing was pretty much a crock of shit. Just as surprising, apparently that "alien autopsy" show aired on FOX a few years back was a fabrication. I guess the fact that the most amazing revelation in human history needed a strong lead-in from World's Scariest Police Chases should have been a sign that something was awry.
There's an interesting range in the community of believers, from the straight-up scientists at SETI to those who swear they've been obducted and sodomized by aliens. There have clearly been a lot of unexplained objects in the sky. The logical jump that I don't quite follow is assuming that because the object can't be explained, it must be an alien spaceship. But if you think that's a jump, the blog Jennings read on The Daily Show was out of this world. The blogger suggested that the "shadow government" pressured Jennings into doing a recent report claiming Lee Harvey Oswald was the lone gunman, and in exchange the newsman was being allowed to finally break the truth about our contact with aliens. Now that's some first class crazy.
Whatever you think of ufologists, you can't deny they make for some interesting stories. If you don't believe me, check out Coast to Coast with Art Bell, the most entertaining AM call-in show in America.
Taking a cue from the blog community, I've made sure to include in this post phrases like "shadow government" and "conspiracy theory" in shameless hopes of increasing site traffic.
Other People's Kids
The problem with other people’s children is you have no legal recourse.
Naura and I faced this problem over the weekend, while visiting The Devil’s home on earth – Hearst Castle. We were unlucky enough to land in a tour group full of kids running around like a pre-pubescent Lord of the Flies, not to mention their parents, who clearly decided to leave the responsibility for raising their young to tour guides and other passers by.
Now some people like to say they’ve never met a bad kid, only bad parents. That is complete horseshit. I have met quite a few bad kids. Maybe it was the parents who didn’t set appropriate limits or whatever, but the wanton destruction – that’s all Junior.
The problem with these parents who just let other people deal with their jackass kids is we don’t complete the deal. Most of us are uncomfortable parenting other people’s kids, so we usually react to their bad behavior with nothing but scornful looks to Mom and Dad, who obviously don’t give a shit. The solution is simple: We need to beat these people’s children for them.
I know “spanking” is a contentious issue, so perhaps parameters should be set by the legislature. But once those standards are in place, we the general public should have no remorse about smacking other people’s kids. I think it should be a Federal statute, but Republicans might push to make it a State thing. Fine. Maybe in Oregon you can only issue a stern verbal reprimand, while in Texas you can backhand the child with a leather strap. The point is we will finally have some acceptable recourse against the punks in the movie theater kicking the back of our chairs.
Of course, I’m not suggesting the negligent parents get off free. I think we need to throw these people in prison. Let’s finally bring some sense to our penal system – release the harmless marijuana dealers and make room for parents who let their kids throw garbage out the windows of a moving bus. Imagine this: A kid does something obnoxious in a public place. The person nearest the kid delivers a government approved beating, and any cops in the area track down the parents and handcuff them. Now that’s a police state I could live with.
And if people are really against the whole corporal punishment thing, we could always just arrest the kids too. It would probably serve as a deterrent to any other brats in the area to see a fellow 6-year-old being held face down against a squad car and maced. The LAPD already uses similar tactics with children, I’m just suggesting they be applied regardless of race.
I know even the best children can be a problem sometimes. As an adult without children, I am even mildly sympathetic to the issue. But it’s important that we acknowledge that many parents take their role no more seriously than the night of recreational sex that created the kid in the first place. When it comes to these people, for the sake of society, I think it’s a moral imperative that we beat and or jail the parents and children. After all, it takes a village.
Naura and I faced this problem over the weekend, while visiting The Devil’s home on earth – Hearst Castle. We were unlucky enough to land in a tour group full of kids running around like a pre-pubescent Lord of the Flies, not to mention their parents, who clearly decided to leave the responsibility for raising their young to tour guides and other passers by.
Now some people like to say they’ve never met a bad kid, only bad parents. That is complete horseshit. I have met quite a few bad kids. Maybe it was the parents who didn’t set appropriate limits or whatever, but the wanton destruction – that’s all Junior.
The problem with these parents who just let other people deal with their jackass kids is we don’t complete the deal. Most of us are uncomfortable parenting other people’s kids, so we usually react to their bad behavior with nothing but scornful looks to Mom and Dad, who obviously don’t give a shit. The solution is simple: We need to beat these people’s children for them.
I know “spanking” is a contentious issue, so perhaps parameters should be set by the legislature. But once those standards are in place, we the general public should have no remorse about smacking other people’s kids. I think it should be a Federal statute, but Republicans might push to make it a State thing. Fine. Maybe in Oregon you can only issue a stern verbal reprimand, while in Texas you can backhand the child with a leather strap. The point is we will finally have some acceptable recourse against the punks in the movie theater kicking the back of our chairs.
Of course, I’m not suggesting the negligent parents get off free. I think we need to throw these people in prison. Let’s finally bring some sense to our penal system – release the harmless marijuana dealers and make room for parents who let their kids throw garbage out the windows of a moving bus. Imagine this: A kid does something obnoxious in a public place. The person nearest the kid delivers a government approved beating, and any cops in the area track down the parents and handcuff them. Now that’s a police state I could live with.
And if people are really against the whole corporal punishment thing, we could always just arrest the kids too. It would probably serve as a deterrent to any other brats in the area to see a fellow 6-year-old being held face down against a squad car and maced. The LAPD already uses similar tactics with children, I’m just suggesting they be applied regardless of race.
I know even the best children can be a problem sometimes. As an adult without children, I am even mildly sympathetic to the issue. But it’s important that we acknowledge that many parents take their role no more seriously than the night of recreational sex that created the kid in the first place. When it comes to these people, for the sake of society, I think it’s a moral imperative that we beat and or jail the parents and children. After all, it takes a village.
Fear and Mourning
The Good Doctor was always a tough pill to swallow, but the news of his passing is still caught in my throat.
I won't presume to euologize Hunter Thompson, leaving that to those who know him and his work far better than I. But I do reach out to everyone else who is feeling shocked, confused, lost or hurt, and say, I hear you, brother.
What saddens me most is that he has left us at a time we really need him. Just in the last month, I've gone back and read some of Hunter's writing during the Nixon era to remind myself that politics have been a whirlwind shitstorm before and may yet get better. To me at least, that's the beauty of his words. He documented what it feels like to live under a liar like Nixon. Now that we're enduring a liar on the scale of George W. Bush, though it sometimes feels like we're blindfolded and inching ever closer to the edge, Hunter is there to remind us that we've walked here before. It's a sincere comfort.
I heard the news while driving with my wife through a rainstorm along the California Central Coast. Flipping channels, searching for a weather report, the news came to us from the lips of Matt Drudge. Drudge - the Godfather of Get It Now News that pummels us with information but gives us no kind of understanding. I hope there are far fewer Matt Drudges and more Hunter Thompsons.
And I really wish the Doctor were around to lead us on another shark hunt.
I won't presume to euologize Hunter Thompson, leaving that to those who know him and his work far better than I. But I do reach out to everyone else who is feeling shocked, confused, lost or hurt, and say, I hear you, brother.
What saddens me most is that he has left us at a time we really need him. Just in the last month, I've gone back and read some of Hunter's writing during the Nixon era to remind myself that politics have been a whirlwind shitstorm before and may yet get better. To me at least, that's the beauty of his words. He documented what it feels like to live under a liar like Nixon. Now that we're enduring a liar on the scale of George W. Bush, though it sometimes feels like we're blindfolded and inching ever closer to the edge, Hunter is there to remind us that we've walked here before. It's a sincere comfort.
I heard the news while driving with my wife through a rainstorm along the California Central Coast. Flipping channels, searching for a weather report, the news came to us from the lips of Matt Drudge. Drudge - the Godfather of Get It Now News that pummels us with information but gives us no kind of understanding. I hope there are far fewer Matt Drudges and more Hunter Thompsons.
And I really wish the Doctor were around to lead us on another shark hunt.
'Roid Rage
Anyone who's been following baseball this week has been inundated with Jose Canseco's allegations of personally injecting steroids into nearly every ass in the American League. It's been correctly acknowledged that Canseco is a world class dirt bag, and I sure as hell wouldn't buy a used car from him. But it's still pretty far-fetched to think that he simply made up all of these allegations. So what are we supposed to think?
Every sportswriter has weighed in on what this rampant doping means for baseball, and most have opted for hand-wringing and shame. But suggesting the doping tarnishes the achievements of those players makes some pretty bold assumptions about the effects of steroids and ignores the context in which the doping occurred.
It's obvious how steroids effect a power lifter or a sprinter - sports that turn on raw physical performance. It's less clear how bilking up helps a player with the precision skills required in baseball. I'm sure more muscle makes a great hitter even better. But I've seen muscle-bound guys who can't buy a homer and skinny guys with the hand/eye coordination, bat speed, etc. to get the job done. Steroids also entered the equation at exactly the time when players began rigorous physical conditioning, so it's next to impossible to divine where these . Because steroids have some effect on performance, alarmists assume they determine performance. It just ain't true.
What everyone seems to be ignoring is the fact that steroid use was NOT BANNED by Major League Baseball in the 1990s. The first official policy was drafted after the 2001 season. It is true that 'roids were illegal, and this may sound like a slippery philosophical argument, but that doesn't mean using them in baseball was cheating. It may have been illegal, unethical or dirty, but it wasn't breaking the rules. If you don't want to like these players because they were juiced, you have every right. But there's no grounds to suggest their records be wiped from the books.
But the record books are what this anger is really about. Comparing players from different generations is a second job for many, and stats are the tools of the trade. But from now until the end of time, anyone who argues Barry Bonds is the greatest hitter of all time will have BALCO thrown in their face. And that's fair. And it's nothing new. From the dead ball to the height of the mound to expansion, the dynamics of the game are in constant change. Steroids are a chapter in the history of baseball, and maybe not a noble chapter, but still a part of the book.
Every sportswriter has weighed in on what this rampant doping means for baseball, and most have opted for hand-wringing and shame. But suggesting the doping tarnishes the achievements of those players makes some pretty bold assumptions about the effects of steroids and ignores the context in which the doping occurred.
It's obvious how steroids effect a power lifter or a sprinter - sports that turn on raw physical performance. It's less clear how bilking up helps a player with the precision skills required in baseball. I'm sure more muscle makes a great hitter even better. But I've seen muscle-bound guys who can't buy a homer and skinny guys with the hand/eye coordination, bat speed, etc. to get the job done. Steroids also entered the equation at exactly the time when players began rigorous physical conditioning, so it's next to impossible to divine where these . Because steroids have some effect on performance, alarmists assume they determine performance. It just ain't true.
What everyone seems to be ignoring is the fact that steroid use was NOT BANNED by Major League Baseball in the 1990s. The first official policy was drafted after the 2001 season. It is true that 'roids were illegal, and this may sound like a slippery philosophical argument, but that doesn't mean using them in baseball was cheating. It may have been illegal, unethical or dirty, but it wasn't breaking the rules. If you don't want to like these players because they were juiced, you have every right. But there's no grounds to suggest their records be wiped from the books.
But the record books are what this anger is really about. Comparing players from different generations is a second job for many, and stats are the tools of the trade. But from now until the end of time, anyone who argues Barry Bonds is the greatest hitter of all time will have BALCO thrown in their face. And that's fair. And it's nothing new. From the dead ball to the height of the mound to expansion, the dynamics of the game are in constant change. Steroids are a chapter in the history of baseball, and maybe not a noble chapter, but still a part of the book.
The Death of the Author
The death of Arthur Miller made me think about a lot of things, like his noble use of the theater to reflect social outrage and the awkward status of artists who outlive their prime. But mostly it made me think about how much cooler it used to be to be a writer.
Exhibit A and the tagline to every story about Miller's death is the fact that he was briefly married to Marilyn Monroe. I heard a few literati on my local NPR station lamenting this fact because it might overshadow the importance of Miller's work. I see their point, but it seems to me that this fact actually elevates our appreciation of what it meant to be a writer in Arthur Miller's heyday.
Can you imagine a playwright today being married to the hottest Hollywood starlet? Let me answer that for you: No. I can virtually guarantee you that you won't pickup tomorrow's newspaper to read that Patrick Marber and Cameron Diaz have eloped in Vegas. You also won't tune in on Oscar night and see Salman Rushdie escorting Halle Berry down the red carpet. And this writer/starlet thing wasn't a phenomena isolated to Arthur Miller. In All About Eve, which I regard as accurate as a historical document, the playwright is also pursued by the hottest ingenue of the day.
The glory days of the writer were also recalled indirectly in the aftermath of Johnny Carson's death. As was recounted in several remembrances, The Tonight Show used to run 90 minutes and generally featured the interview of an author at the end. Watching footage of Carson conversing with Gore Vidal or Norman Mailer, I couldn't help but feel that popular culture has regressed.
Now, cynics might charge that I only feel this way because, as a writer, I want to be pursued by beautiful women and spout my ideas on national television. But that's only half the story.
The full truth is that in an era of George W. Bush and reality television, ideas are becoming passe, and those who write their ideas down even more marginalized. It's a crude barometer of the social climate, but if you tune in to the tail end of tonight's late night talk show, you're probably going to see the latest jackass to get kicked off Survivor. Call me old fashioned, but I'd rather see a talented writer with something interesting to say. And if they've got some pretty young thing on their arm, I figure that's par for the course.
Exhibit A and the tagline to every story about Miller's death is the fact that he was briefly married to Marilyn Monroe. I heard a few literati on my local NPR station lamenting this fact because it might overshadow the importance of Miller's work. I see their point, but it seems to me that this fact actually elevates our appreciation of what it meant to be a writer in Arthur Miller's heyday.
Can you imagine a playwright today being married to the hottest Hollywood starlet? Let me answer that for you: No. I can virtually guarantee you that you won't pickup tomorrow's newspaper to read that Patrick Marber and Cameron Diaz have eloped in Vegas. You also won't tune in on Oscar night and see Salman Rushdie escorting Halle Berry down the red carpet. And this writer/starlet thing wasn't a phenomena isolated to Arthur Miller. In All About Eve, which I regard as accurate as a historical document, the playwright is also pursued by the hottest ingenue of the day.
The glory days of the writer were also recalled indirectly in the aftermath of Johnny Carson's death. As was recounted in several remembrances, The Tonight Show used to run 90 minutes and generally featured the interview of an author at the end. Watching footage of Carson conversing with Gore Vidal or Norman Mailer, I couldn't help but feel that popular culture has regressed.
Now, cynics might charge that I only feel this way because, as a writer, I want to be pursued by beautiful women and spout my ideas on national television. But that's only half the story.
The full truth is that in an era of George W. Bush and reality television, ideas are becoming passe, and those who write their ideas down even more marginalized. It's a crude barometer of the social climate, but if you tune in to the tail end of tonight's late night talk show, you're probably going to see the latest jackass to get kicked off Survivor. Call me old fashioned, but I'd rather see a talented writer with something interesting to say. And if they've got some pretty young thing on their arm, I figure that's par for the course.
The Saddest Music in the World
One of my favorite uses for rock music is wallowing in self-pity. Back in the day, I hosted a Valentine's Day Sucks radio show which consisted of the most depressing, gun-in-the-mouth type love songs I could find. Now that I lack such an outlet, I wanted to at least share a list of my favorite tracks for contemplating the horrible futility of love/life.
I'm not saying this list is comprehensive by any means, but I guarantee if you put these songs on you will feel splendidly miserable:
One Step Up - Bruce Springsteen
Transatlantacism - Death Cab For Cutie
Birds - Neil Young
Mr. Blue - The Fleetwoods
Crying Time - Ray Charles
Misguided Angel - Cowboy Junkies
Radio Cure - Wilco
Ghost - Indigo Girls
I'll Come Running Back to You - Sam Cooke
Those Three Days - Lucinda Williams
Black Star - Radiohead
Martha - Tom Waits
Another Lonely Day - Ben Harper
Famous Blue Raincoat - Leonard Cohen
Hallelujah - John Cale (or Jeff Buckley)
Nothing Takes the Place of You - Toussaint McCall
Don't Think Twice, It's Alright - Bob Dylan
Have a Happy Valentines Day! :)
I'm not saying this list is comprehensive by any means, but I guarantee if you put these songs on you will feel splendidly miserable:
One Step Up - Bruce Springsteen
Transatlantacism - Death Cab For Cutie
Birds - Neil Young
Mr. Blue - The Fleetwoods
Crying Time - Ray Charles
Misguided Angel - Cowboy Junkies
Radio Cure - Wilco
Ghost - Indigo Girls
I'll Come Running Back to You - Sam Cooke
Those Three Days - Lucinda Williams
Black Star - Radiohead
Martha - Tom Waits
Another Lonely Day - Ben Harper
Famous Blue Raincoat - Leonard Cohen
Hallelujah - John Cale (or Jeff Buckley)
Nothing Takes the Place of You - Toussaint McCall
Don't Think Twice, It's Alright - Bob Dylan
Have a Happy Valentines Day! :)
A Story that Sucks from All Angles
I've recently become aware of the controversy swirling around this University of Colorado prof who made some insensitive remarks about the victims of the Sept. 11 attacks. Like most controversies involving the world of higher education, the situation is a hornet's nest of ego, academic freedom and all-out bullshit.
In an essay written shortly after the event, Ward Churchill proclaimed many of the victims were not innocents, but rather "a technocratic corps at the very heart of America's global financial empire." As you might imagine, that touched a raw nerve and has led to calls for Churchill's resignation, which has in turn mobilized an equally strident band of supporters.
I don't know enough about this situation to make any over-arching pronouncements. But I do know a few things about this whole "story" that piss me off.
In none of the stories I've seen has it been made clear why this marginal critic's marginal comments have exploded to the forefront 3 years after the fact. But I would bet my left nut that it began with some small group of right-wingers. These roving clans of outrage are all over the place of late, with one group alone accounting for 99% of the supposed rise in indecency complaints to the FCC in the last few years. I understand there's no statute of limitations on this type of debate, and Ward isn't in any hurry to recant his statements, but I still think the question of "why now?" is an important one.
So the scent of right-wing collusion pushes me toward sympathizing with Mr. Churchill, but then I read his actual essay, pretentiously titled "On the Justice of Roosting Chickens." It's your run of the mill U.S. foreign policy spawned middle eastern terrorism sort of thing. It's a premise I find merit in on a broad level, but he looses me when he seems to suggest that the Iraqi deaths caused by American sanctions are more morally reprehensible than those caused by flying a commercial airplane into a large building.
But my biggest gripe with Ward Churchill came when I saw footage of him at some kind of rally at CU, because the guy is a complete tool. He stands at a podium and barks his martyr's rhetoric while his minions practically salute and goose-step. He's fighting to hold back this shit-eating grin, and it's clear he's getting off on the personal glory and not the power of ideas or whatever.
I'm an absolute supporter of academic freedom, but this story doesn't really seem to have much to do with that. In a struggle between an ego maniac and right wing alarmists, how does one pick a winner?
In an essay written shortly after the event, Ward Churchill proclaimed many of the victims were not innocents, but rather "a technocratic corps at the very heart of America's global financial empire." As you might imagine, that touched a raw nerve and has led to calls for Churchill's resignation, which has in turn mobilized an equally strident band of supporters.
I don't know enough about this situation to make any over-arching pronouncements. But I do know a few things about this whole "story" that piss me off.
In none of the stories I've seen has it been made clear why this marginal critic's marginal comments have exploded to the forefront 3 years after the fact. But I would bet my left nut that it began with some small group of right-wingers. These roving clans of outrage are all over the place of late, with one group alone accounting for 99% of the supposed rise in indecency complaints to the FCC in the last few years. I understand there's no statute of limitations on this type of debate, and Ward isn't in any hurry to recant his statements, but I still think the question of "why now?" is an important one.
So the scent of right-wing collusion pushes me toward sympathizing with Mr. Churchill, but then I read his actual essay, pretentiously titled "On the Justice of Roosting Chickens." It's your run of the mill U.S. foreign policy spawned middle eastern terrorism sort of thing. It's a premise I find merit in on a broad level, but he looses me when he seems to suggest that the Iraqi deaths caused by American sanctions are more morally reprehensible than those caused by flying a commercial airplane into a large building.
But my biggest gripe with Ward Churchill came when I saw footage of him at some kind of rally at CU, because the guy is a complete tool. He stands at a podium and barks his martyr's rhetoric while his minions practically salute and goose-step. He's fighting to hold back this shit-eating grin, and it's clear he's getting off on the personal glory and not the power of ideas or whatever.
I'm an absolute supporter of academic freedom, but this story doesn't really seem to have much to do with that. In a struggle between an ego maniac and right wing alarmists, how does one pick a winner?
Bob Dylan and the Crossroads
I just finished Bob Dylan’s Chronicles Vol. 1, which was nominated for the National Book Critics Circle Award, in case you don’t believe me that it’s really damn good. With autobiography becoming nearly synonymous with self-serving crap, it’s especially exciting to read something that doesn’t make its author/subject out to be some kind of saint.
Let’s face it – he’s Bob Dylan. He could have gotten away with 300 pages of “kiss my ass, I’m Bob Dylan” because, well, he is. But Bob refuses to credit his talents or anyone else’s to something magical that you or I will never touch. I especially like what he has to say about bluesman Robert Johnson:
“There’d been a fast moving story going around that he had sold his soul to the devil at a four-way crossroads at midnight and that’s how he got to be so good. Well, I don’t know about that. The ones who knew him told a different tale and that was that he had hung around some older blues players in rural parts of Mississippi, played harmonica, was rejected as a bothersome kid, that he went off and learned how to play guitar from a farmhand named Ike Zinnerman, a mysterious character not in any of the history books.”
The myth of Dylan isn’t as clearly defined as Johnson’s, but he’s no less mythical of a figure. In speaking about Johnson, Dylan is reiterating what he has been insisting about himself – that he’s not any kind of supernatural talent, just a guy who listened to a lot of music and learned from it.
It’s exhilarating to read an artist of Dylan’s unquestioned talent debunking this idea that the creative juice is passed out at birth and you either got it or you don’t. That idea has given us a lot of lazy writing, lazy music, lazy art. I suppose it’s romantic to think that the great ones just sit down and let it flow with no consciousness of craft, but it’s also pretty naïve.
Let’s face it – he’s Bob Dylan. He could have gotten away with 300 pages of “kiss my ass, I’m Bob Dylan” because, well, he is. But Bob refuses to credit his talents or anyone else’s to something magical that you or I will never touch. I especially like what he has to say about bluesman Robert Johnson:
“There’d been a fast moving story going around that he had sold his soul to the devil at a four-way crossroads at midnight and that’s how he got to be so good. Well, I don’t know about that. The ones who knew him told a different tale and that was that he had hung around some older blues players in rural parts of Mississippi, played harmonica, was rejected as a bothersome kid, that he went off and learned how to play guitar from a farmhand named Ike Zinnerman, a mysterious character not in any of the history books.”
The myth of Dylan isn’t as clearly defined as Johnson’s, but he’s no less mythical of a figure. In speaking about Johnson, Dylan is reiterating what he has been insisting about himself – that he’s not any kind of supernatural talent, just a guy who listened to a lot of music and learned from it.
It’s exhilarating to read an artist of Dylan’s unquestioned talent debunking this idea that the creative juice is passed out at birth and you either got it or you don’t. That idea has given us a lot of lazy writing, lazy music, lazy art. I suppose it’s romantic to think that the great ones just sit down and let it flow with no consciousness of craft, but it’s also pretty naïve.
Super Bowl/Dead Grandma
Always happy to ride the nearest bandwagon, the sportswriters of America are approaching a new low this week by blowing out the dramatic story of how Tom Brady can possibly play in the Super Bowl after the death of his grandmother.
Can you imagine? A 27-year-old man having to deal with the loss of a grandparent? Who among us could deal with that kind of adversity? Given that the woman was 94-years-old and battled a long illness, the news must have been quite a shock.
This is why I don't watch the Olympics, where every single event is preceded by a feature in soft focus about how the athlete triumphed over circumstances as trying as moving to a new town or spraining an ankle. I understand why the overblown Olympics telecast needs this kind of dog and pony show, but the NFL? Can't they just fill time by showing a montage of career-ending injuries set to "Rock You Like A Hurricane"?
And doesn't the inherit drama of professional sport lie in the athlete's superior physical ability? I'm impressed that Tom Brady is such a good quarterback, I could give a shit if he's also dealing with the same stuff the rest of us do every day of our lives.
But alas, what should have been a minor footnote in the coverage of the game is practically leading most sportscasts and was on the front of today's LA Times sports page. And I guarantee you, if Tom Brady throws an interception tomorrow, some yahoo in the announcer's booth will wonder if it wasn't because of his incomprehensible grief. No, Cris Colinsworth, it was just a really shitty pass.
Can you imagine? A 27-year-old man having to deal with the loss of a grandparent? Who among us could deal with that kind of adversity? Given that the woman was 94-years-old and battled a long illness, the news must have been quite a shock.
This is why I don't watch the Olympics, where every single event is preceded by a feature in soft focus about how the athlete triumphed over circumstances as trying as moving to a new town or spraining an ankle. I understand why the overblown Olympics telecast needs this kind of dog and pony show, but the NFL? Can't they just fill time by showing a montage of career-ending injuries set to "Rock You Like A Hurricane"?
And doesn't the inherit drama of professional sport lie in the athlete's superior physical ability? I'm impressed that Tom Brady is such a good quarterback, I could give a shit if he's also dealing with the same stuff the rest of us do every day of our lives.
But alas, what should have been a minor footnote in the coverage of the game is practically leading most sportscasts and was on the front of today's LA Times sports page. And I guarantee you, if Tom Brady throws an interception tomorrow, some yahoo in the announcer's booth will wonder if it wasn't because of his incomprehensible grief. No, Cris Colinsworth, it was just a really shitty pass.
The Five Greatest Songs in the World
There's a lot of stories which illustrate the old wisdom "be careful what you wish for, you might get it." When I took advantage of an offer which got me five free Itunes downloads, I had no idea I was hurling myself into just such a conundrum.
Now I sit with access to damn near every song I can think of - but only five of them. So I am forced to prioritize which five songs in the entire world I want most. Sure, I could always download any other song for 99 cents. Or I could go out and buy any of them on CD. But just as no cheeseburger tastes better than a free cheeseburger, I know damn well that no song sounds better than a free song.
My instinct is to go for one hit wonders. Not necessarily artists who only had one hit, but artists who only had one that I have any interest in listening to. There's a whole world of guilty pleasures out there, like Journey's "Don't Stop Believing." It's great fist pumping music, but does it make the Top 5? I suppose I could pick an artist and download five of their songs, but that seems so limited.
So, if anyone has suggestions, I'm all ears. Whether they be the five greatest songs of all time or just five songs that sound really kick-ass together, I could use some help in breaking this psychological deadlock.
Now I sit with access to damn near every song I can think of - but only five of them. So I am forced to prioritize which five songs in the entire world I want most. Sure, I could always download any other song for 99 cents. Or I could go out and buy any of them on CD. But just as no cheeseburger tastes better than a free cheeseburger, I know damn well that no song sounds better than a free song.
My instinct is to go for one hit wonders. Not necessarily artists who only had one hit, but artists who only had one that I have any interest in listening to. There's a whole world of guilty pleasures out there, like Journey's "Don't Stop Believing." It's great fist pumping music, but does it make the Top 5? I suppose I could pick an artist and download five of their songs, but that seems so limited.
So, if anyone has suggestions, I'm all ears. Whether they be the five greatest songs of all time or just five songs that sound really kick-ass together, I could use some help in breaking this psychological deadlock.
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