I'm not trying to turn this into a book club or anything, but I've been reading and it gets me to thinking. Right now, I am in the middle of a revival of sorts. For years it was a summer tradition to read To Kill a Mockingbird. A few years ago, I must have gotten out of the habit but, thankfully, I picked it back up this summer.
For Scout, "Summer was Dill." For me, summer was Dill, Scout, Jem, Boo Radley, Calpurnia, Ms. Maudie Atkinson, Tom Robinson, Bob Ewell and Atticus. For a kid born and raised in New York in the 80's, man did I want to be running around the dusty roads of Maycomb County. As I grew older, my focus switched from the kids to the adults. As it always does. I remember reading, and loving, the early parts where the kids were finding new and ridiculous ways to interact with Boo Radley and lamenting how boring the trial portion was.
I was on the subway yesterday and almost missed my stop because I was just about to get to my favorite part, the very end of the trial when Reverend Sykes tells Scout to get up, because her Daddy was passin.' I am now thirty years old.
As I make a major transition in my life, I often wonder why, exactly, did I decide to go to Law School? Before I even stepped foot on a college campus "I knew" I wanted to go to Law School. The obvious answer is that my father went to law school late in life (probably around the time I was Jem Finch's age, actually), and I admired him exceedingly. Fathers and sons. It's what we do, I suppose. He tells a story about when I was younger and we were out for a walk, he further ahead of me, and he turned around and started walking backwards to keep an eye on me. I turned around and started walking backwards, too.
The other, not-so-obvious-to-me-at-this-point-in-my-life reason was Atticus Finch. I'm willing to admit that at one point when I read the book I thought, yes I want to be a lawyer like Atticus Finch. I don't remember that internal discussion, but I'm comfortable saying it probably happened. The reason for this comfort is that I wanted to be a public defender. I wanted to provide a service to the Tom Robinson's of the world. I felt, and still do feel, that everyone is entitled to a defense no matter how guilty they are, or appear to be.
These values were instilled in me by my family, and a fictional character.
I am no longer an attorney. After several years toiling away in a career and jobs, where, not only did I not provide a service to the Tom Robinson's of the world, but often times impeded their attempts at justice, I gave up. I did not see it through no matter what. It makes me sad to think about, really. For the longest time I wanted it. To come to the realization that you were wrong, or that you no longer want it is just sad. It's as if I lost a dear friend; A piece of me. It also makes me angry sometimes, for a number of reasons. Angry that I felt compelled to take jobs I didn't want for financial reasons. But mostly angry at myself for giving up.
Am I a coward? The line that precedes that quote is "I wanted you to see what real courage is, instead of getting the idea that courage is a man with a gun in his hand." Did I give up because I didn't have the courage to see it through, no matter what? Or did I simply realize the practice of law was not for me? I guess it's all a matter of perspective. Maybe I am seeing my happiness through, no matter what and thus what I did was the very essence of what Atticus described to Jem as "courage." Whatever the perspective, I know its not time to worry yet.
When I started, I noted how I had not read To Kill a Mockingbird as part of my summer tradition for some time. And now I realize, I had not read it for the entirety of my career as an Attorney. It stayed on the bookshelf collecting dust all those summers, until this one. My first since leaving the profession.
Saturday, August 6, 2011
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Boehner Jams
As I sat watching our President essentially beg our other elected officials not to let our Country go into default I had two thoughts: 1.) What the Christ happened to the Mighty USA and, 2.) I'll tell you exactly what happened to the Mighty USA.
My generation is a complete mess. The Country's most important resource - a young, educated and ambitious workforce - is utterly fucked. After going to college and law school, I owe the federal government and private lenders somewhere around $190,000. Now, granted, I voluntarily signed each and every loan application but college is the new high school. If you want any kind of decent job, you have to go. It stands to reason then, that graduate schools are the new college. If you want to be successful, that's what you do.
Unfortunately, college is not free like, say, public high school was for our parents (taxes aside), and graduate schools are definitely not free. So, Mr. Clean-cut Young and Excited High School Senior, you want to go far? Just sign right here.
Fast-forward to present day, and you have an entire economic demographic struggling to make ends meet as it works crazy ass jobs, lives in expensive cities, pays off its student loans and, you know, eat and drink and stuff. Take me, as a for instance. Before I pay rent each month, I pay approximately $1,000 to citibank. A month. I can't remember the last time I bought a new record. Or shirt. Or movie.
I can't even afford a shitty certified pre-owned car, let alone a new one. And forget about home ownership. It's not happening any time soon. This is why we're fucked. No one is buying anything. They're just paying for shit they already have. I have two friends who own homes. One is a successful dude in finance and the other lives in Texas, so that doesn't count. That's it. By the time my parents and all their friends were my age, they owned a house and had at least one child. We are so far behind the eight ball, and such a big piece of the traditional consumer pie that it's screwing everything up.
So, rather than posture on my television about nonsense, why not take an actual look at what is happening and offer actual solutions. Spending cuts, tax breaks and whatever other buzzwords you're talking about are just smoke and mirrors. You have a huge base of potential consumers for anything they can possibly imagine, but we are suffocating under the weight of having to educate ourselves. Its an untenable situation. The cost keeps rising, but no one is better educated or better compensated for it.
I don't want my debt forgiven, but just acknowledge the fact that I am screwed from here til Tuesday and talk to me about fixing that. Don't tell me that you've got news for me, Mr. Boehner. I've got fucking news for you.
My generation is a complete mess. The Country's most important resource - a young, educated and ambitious workforce - is utterly fucked. After going to college and law school, I owe the federal government and private lenders somewhere around $190,000. Now, granted, I voluntarily signed each and every loan application but college is the new high school. If you want any kind of decent job, you have to go. It stands to reason then, that graduate schools are the new college. If you want to be successful, that's what you do.
Unfortunately, college is not free like, say, public high school was for our parents (taxes aside), and graduate schools are definitely not free. So, Mr. Clean-cut Young and Excited High School Senior, you want to go far? Just sign right here.
Fast-forward to present day, and you have an entire economic demographic struggling to make ends meet as it works crazy ass jobs, lives in expensive cities, pays off its student loans and, you know, eat and drink and stuff. Take me, as a for instance. Before I pay rent each month, I pay approximately $1,000 to citibank. A month. I can't remember the last time I bought a new record. Or shirt. Or movie.
I can't even afford a shitty certified pre-owned car, let alone a new one. And forget about home ownership. It's not happening any time soon. This is why we're fucked. No one is buying anything. They're just paying for shit they already have. I have two friends who own homes. One is a successful dude in finance and the other lives in Texas, so that doesn't count. That's it. By the time my parents and all their friends were my age, they owned a house and had at least one child. We are so far behind the eight ball, and such a big piece of the traditional consumer pie that it's screwing everything up.
So, rather than posture on my television about nonsense, why not take an actual look at what is happening and offer actual solutions. Spending cuts, tax breaks and whatever other buzzwords you're talking about are just smoke and mirrors. You have a huge base of potential consumers for anything they can possibly imagine, but we are suffocating under the weight of having to educate ourselves. Its an untenable situation. The cost keeps rising, but no one is better educated or better compensated for it.
I don't want my debt forgiven, but just acknowledge the fact that I am screwed from here til Tuesday and talk to me about fixing that. Don't tell me that you've got news for me, Mr. Boehner. I've got fucking news for you.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
"Do You Think You Have To Be [annoying] To Create Something Powerful?"
So with my new job I have to take the subway downtown. This has pros and cons, but I am going to focus on the pros, today. I am reading a lot more than I used to. Its a great way to kill time. It has the added bonus of allowing you to ignore the hobbled grandmother standing in front of you, eyes just begging for a seat. Win-win.
I started with Cormac McCarthy's All the Pretty Horses. Now, I'll be the first to admit that I am late to the McCarthy party and I am reading him, I've noticed, in reverse. I started with The Road a few years ago and then No Country For Old Men and now I've turned to his Border Trilogy. First things first, I love everything I've read by him so far, with All the Pretty Horses rapidly shooting up my all time favorites list. I am a pretty huge sucker for honorable protagonists. I look at John Grady Cole as like an Atticus Finch in training (To Kill a Mockingbird is my favorite book in part because of Atticus and in part because when I read it, I can almost feel the humid summer days where the story unfolds.).
That paranthetical also perfectly describes McCarthy's book. I love John Grady Cole. But I also feel like I'm part of the book, experiencing everything with him. That, to me, is the sign of a great story teller. McCarthy has become one of my favorite authors.
I am certain that I absolutely hate him. I just know that if I ever met him I would be instantly turned off. In the limited press and biographical information about him, these feelings are confirmed. Like this story about his typewriter. Ugh. Come on. And his friend bought him the same model for under 20 bucks. It just annoys the hell out of me.
This brings me back to the title of this post, which happens to be a line from West Wing. It's actually from episode where two characters are discussing Schubert and the Ave Maria. The line is offered (with "crazy" where I have substituted "annoying"), but never really answered.
The irony of choosing an Aaron Sorkin quote to discuss this topic is not lost on me. He's another writer who's work I love, but I find personally annoying as shit. So, do you have to be annoying to create something powerful? Or beautiful?
I think so. One of the traits I find most annoying in other people is self involvement. However, to create anything of worth, I think you probably have to be pretty self-involved. What drives a person to create anything good is that, at it's most base, the creation is a reflection of its creator. Michelangelo's David. "McCarthy's book." Schubert's Ave Maria.
I personally struggle with not wanting to be perceived as egotistical and concerned with what others think of me and so I view it as a repugnant trait in others. But I can't help but wonder if it holds me back from being really good at something. Or anything. You can't half ass something great. You have to be totally committed and indulge in yourself.
There's also an element of jealousy probably. I find the McCarthy books so good, and know that I could never do anything as well, that I have to find something, anything, to make myself feel a little bit better about that. "Oh, he's probably super annoying, that's how he does it." Some people are just different, though. Some people look at and approach things in a way I never would. That also feeds the "annoying" feeling. Just like anything else, your instinct is to reject that which is different.
As I sit here writing this, stream of consciously, I realize what really annoys me. The different approach for the sake of being different, as opposed to just a genuinely different perspective. There are people who make a show of the fact that "Well, that's just the way I think. I'm wacky!" Kill yourselves. For some, the different perspective is the end, for the good ones it's the means.
I'm hoping for McCarthy that its the means, because I really do like reading him.
I started with Cormac McCarthy's All the Pretty Horses. Now, I'll be the first to admit that I am late to the McCarthy party and I am reading him, I've noticed, in reverse. I started with The Road a few years ago and then No Country For Old Men and now I've turned to his Border Trilogy. First things first, I love everything I've read by him so far, with All the Pretty Horses rapidly shooting up my all time favorites list. I am a pretty huge sucker for honorable protagonists. I look at John Grady Cole as like an Atticus Finch in training (To Kill a Mockingbird is my favorite book in part because of Atticus and in part because when I read it, I can almost feel the humid summer days where the story unfolds.).
That paranthetical also perfectly describes McCarthy's book. I love John Grady Cole. But I also feel like I'm part of the book, experiencing everything with him. That, to me, is the sign of a great story teller. McCarthy has become one of my favorite authors.
I am certain that I absolutely hate him. I just know that if I ever met him I would be instantly turned off. In the limited press and biographical information about him, these feelings are confirmed. Like this story about his typewriter. Ugh. Come on. And his friend bought him the same model for under 20 bucks. It just annoys the hell out of me.
This brings me back to the title of this post, which happens to be a line from West Wing. It's actually from episode where two characters are discussing Schubert and the Ave Maria. The line is offered (with "crazy" where I have substituted "annoying"), but never really answered.
The irony of choosing an Aaron Sorkin quote to discuss this topic is not lost on me. He's another writer who's work I love, but I find personally annoying as shit. So, do you have to be annoying to create something powerful? Or beautiful?
I think so. One of the traits I find most annoying in other people is self involvement. However, to create anything of worth, I think you probably have to be pretty self-involved. What drives a person to create anything good is that, at it's most base, the creation is a reflection of its creator. Michelangelo's David. "McCarthy's book." Schubert's Ave Maria.
I personally struggle with not wanting to be perceived as egotistical and concerned with what others think of me and so I view it as a repugnant trait in others. But I can't help but wonder if it holds me back from being really good at something. Or anything. You can't half ass something great. You have to be totally committed and indulge in yourself.
There's also an element of jealousy probably. I find the McCarthy books so good, and know that I could never do anything as well, that I have to find something, anything, to make myself feel a little bit better about that. "Oh, he's probably super annoying, that's how he does it." Some people are just different, though. Some people look at and approach things in a way I never would. That also feeds the "annoying" feeling. Just like anything else, your instinct is to reject that which is different.
As I sit here writing this, stream of consciously, I realize what really annoys me. The different approach for the sake of being different, as opposed to just a genuinely different perspective. There are people who make a show of the fact that "Well, that's just the way I think. I'm wacky!" Kill yourselves. For some, the different perspective is the end, for the good ones it's the means.
I'm hoping for McCarthy that its the means, because I really do like reading him.
Monday, May 2, 2011
Saturday, April 30, 2011
The Terrorists Have Won
Special Correspondent Luke Scott checks in with a startling turn of events.
That's a line that people often say after something trivial to try and sound funny. Not here. Not today. Today, we're effed in the a.
Superman—Super-man—has renounced his United States citizenship. "Truth, Justice and the....Global Way?" Seriously, guys: This is a problem. It's bad enough we are shipping all our jobs internationally, now our superheros, too?
I blame Obama. Since day one, day one, he's been trying to form an international government. Which makes sense—the guy's not even born here. What better way to legitimize your illegal power than by making it irrelevant? Seriously. we've got guys here standing up and saying they stand for the American Dream, or the American People AND THEY'RE NOT EVEN FROM AMERICA! Hell, this guys not even from the hemisphere, he might as well be from Mars!
So, to keep his power, Obama's been trying to dissolve the United States of America and create the International Nations of the Universe or something. Well, congrats, buddy! You're killing America and Superman is just the beginning.
Actually, you know what? I bet you it's a conspiracy. I bet you that snake got some dirt on Supe and made him do it. Can't imagine what, though. Guy's an institution. Whatever it is, with Superman out of the way, he can now move forward with his plan to completely destroy the United States and all it stands for. And besides, does it really surprise you that a guy like Obama would blackmail Superman? Of course not. How do you think he got where he is?
First its the United States. Then it's the States themselves. Then we'll have a government with a bunch of Frenchies telling us where to buy our sodas.
The terrorists have won and they've been inside the house the whole movie!
...Thanks, Luke.
Superman—Super-man—has renounced his United States citizenship. "Truth, Justice and the....Global Way?" Seriously, guys: This is a problem. It's bad enough we are shipping all our jobs internationally, now our superheros, too?
I blame Obama. Since day one, day one, he's been trying to form an international government. Which makes sense—the guy's not even born here. What better way to legitimize your illegal power than by making it irrelevant? Seriously. we've got guys here standing up and saying they stand for the American Dream, or the American People AND THEY'RE NOT EVEN FROM AMERICA! Hell, this guys not even from the hemisphere, he might as well be from Mars!
So, to keep his power, Obama's been trying to dissolve the United States of America and create the International Nations of the Universe or something. Well, congrats, buddy! You're killing America and Superman is just the beginning.
Actually, you know what? I bet you it's a conspiracy. I bet you that snake got some dirt on Supe and made him do it. Can't imagine what, though. Guy's an institution. Whatever it is, with Superman out of the way, he can now move forward with his plan to completely destroy the United States and all it stands for. And besides, does it really surprise you that a guy like Obama would blackmail Superman? Of course not. How do you think he got where he is?
First its the United States. Then it's the States themselves. Then we'll have a government with a bunch of Frenchies telling us where to buy our sodas.
The terrorists have won and they've been inside the house the whole movie!
...Thanks, Luke.
Friday, April 29, 2011
If You Wanna Find Hell With Me
Mother's Day is around the corner. Usually, I think this holiday is bullshit and annoying for a couple of reasons. One, my Mom's birthday is also in May (the day after mine—take that, God's Gift Achiuwa!) so you get jammed up with presents in a short period of time and two, it's bullshit.
This year is a little different for me, though. My Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer and had a double mastectomy last August. She's finished up chemo and is starting radiation soon and seems to be well on her way to the full recovery that every person I know predicted because they knew someone who "went through the same thing and it was a tough year but blah blah blah."
So I've been a bit pensive recently and it made me think of one of the most mortifying (at the time) and seriously awesome and hilarious (in hindsight) moments of my life.
Back in grammar school (elementary school, whatever), I was not the coolest dude on the planet. I was a wimpy little kid in new balances, high socks and even higher shorts. I tried my damnedest to be cool though. I started doing that thing where you rolled up your jeans and tucked them into your socks and everything. I didn't get the Jordan III's, but I had the Hare Jordan's. You get the picture.
Anyway, so I was smaller than a lot of people in school and not very confident so I got picked on. I wasn't really bothered by it other than that it was just a monumental pain in the ass. So, this one time I have my bootleg skateboard with straight up plastic wheels, side rails and tail guard and I was skating with my neighbor at school, even though he had a half pipe at his house. Guess we were cruising for chicks.
While we were there, my Bully showed up, also skating, and was really giving me a hard time. Unfortunately for him, however, my Mom was picking me up. Unawares to me, she must have seen the roughhousing or teasing or whatever (honestly I forget what actually happened because of the striking nature of what followed it).
So, having presumably seen the bullying, she walks up to us, rips my Bully's skateboard out of his hands and, I swear to fucking god, Bo Jackson'd it. She snapped that thing right over her knee like it was balsa wood. I was completely dumbstruck. So was everyone else. Jaws hit the pavement. I was so pissed off. In that moment, I saw all the "needs mommy to fight his battles for him, what a wussy" taunts that were sure to follow. And honestly, they probably did but I can't remember them. Because, holy shit, she owned that kid.
Looking back, it's one of the coolest things I can remember. Without saying a word she said "Fuck off, you insignificant shit. Nobody messes with my kid." It is legend in my family now and, who knows, maybe his, too.
It's unfortunate that there is no reciprocal move I can do for her now, but I guess that's what makes Moms great. They apparently don't need it. Happy (early) Mother's Day.
This year is a little different for me, though. My Mom was diagnosed with breast cancer and had a double mastectomy last August. She's finished up chemo and is starting radiation soon and seems to be well on her way to the full recovery that every person I know predicted because they knew someone who "went through the same thing and it was a tough year but blah blah blah."
So I've been a bit pensive recently and it made me think of one of the most mortifying (at the time) and seriously awesome and hilarious (in hindsight) moments of my life.
Back in grammar school (elementary school, whatever), I was not the coolest dude on the planet. I was a wimpy little kid in new balances, high socks and even higher shorts. I tried my damnedest to be cool though. I started doing that thing where you rolled up your jeans and tucked them into your socks and everything. I didn't get the Jordan III's, but I had the Hare Jordan's. You get the picture.
Anyway, so I was smaller than a lot of people in school and not very confident so I got picked on. I wasn't really bothered by it other than that it was just a monumental pain in the ass. So, this one time I have my bootleg skateboard with straight up plastic wheels, side rails and tail guard and I was skating with my neighbor at school, even though he had a half pipe at his house. Guess we were cruising for chicks.
While we were there, my Bully showed up, also skating, and was really giving me a hard time. Unfortunately for him, however, my Mom was picking me up. Unawares to me, she must have seen the roughhousing or teasing or whatever (honestly I forget what actually happened because of the striking nature of what followed it).
So, having presumably seen the bullying, she walks up to us, rips my Bully's skateboard out of his hands and, I swear to fucking god, Bo Jackson'd it. She snapped that thing right over her knee like it was balsa wood. I was completely dumbstruck. So was everyone else. Jaws hit the pavement. I was so pissed off. In that moment, I saw all the "needs mommy to fight his battles for him, what a wussy" taunts that were sure to follow. And honestly, they probably did but I can't remember them. Because, holy shit, she owned that kid.
Looking back, it's one of the coolest things I can remember. Without saying a word she said "Fuck off, you insignificant shit. Nobody messes with my kid." It is legend in my family now and, who knows, maybe his, too.
It's unfortunate that there is no reciprocal move I can do for her now, but I guess that's what makes Moms great. They apparently don't need it. Happy (early) Mother's Day.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
"Somewhere In this Building...Is Our Talent"
Ugh. I just spent the last hour writing an absolute piece of garbage about Mariano Rivera. I got about 80 percent finished, read a little of it and felt like I had just given him the best verbal blow job ever.
He's great and I'm going to miss him when he's gone. That's basically what I wanted to say. Except I found myself talking about mystical "feelings" and "[other shit]."
Lately I am hating everything I write. So, I haven't written much. I'm in a pretty major slump and pretty bored with almost everything. It's a bummer, too, because its Spring and everything is reawakening. Hopefully me, at some point.
I always forget about Spring in my list of Top Four Favorite Seasons, too. Fall gets all the glory because it's just an awesome time of year all around in the Northeast. Sports, aesthetics—everything. But Spring is pretty sweet, too. There's a smell about it. Once all the rain clears and you get those crisp breezes. Kinda like Fall, but not as dry. It's one of those "something in the air" things, I guess.
...Jesus. Not that this is necessarily my talent, but some good posts have got to be in here somewhere. I hope.
He's great and I'm going to miss him when he's gone. That's basically what I wanted to say. Except I found myself talking about mystical "feelings" and "[other shit]."
Lately I am hating everything I write. So, I haven't written much. I'm in a pretty major slump and pretty bored with almost everything. It's a bummer, too, because its Spring and everything is reawakening. Hopefully me, at some point.
I always forget about Spring in my list of Top Four Favorite Seasons, too. Fall gets all the glory because it's just an awesome time of year all around in the Northeast. Sports, aesthetics—everything. But Spring is pretty sweet, too. There's a smell about it. Once all the rain clears and you get those crisp breezes. Kinda like Fall, but not as dry. It's one of those "something in the air" things, I guess.
...Jesus. Not that this is necessarily my talent, but some good posts have got to be in here somewhere. I hope.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Cinema Night
So, this past weekend SpikeTV was running a marathon of the Star Wars films. The originals, not the disgraceful pre-quels. I decided I'd invite my buddy Vinny* over to watch since he had never seen them before. It took a little while, but I think he got into them.
I was excited for Vinny to see the opening sequences because they are so iconic; the music really gets me jazzed to start watching.
OH! we gotta read fuckin' subtitles?!
Ok, misfired on the first one. But, I was sure he'd get into it. I mean it's Star Wars for crying out loud. Cowboys and Indians. In space. After I explain that there won't be any reading involved other than the first couple seconds, we settle in for a good time.
Now, as you all know, the rebellion is...rebelling against the Empire, but they need help.
Oh!, She's gonna blow the garbage can guy?!
Obviously, I calmly explained to Vinny that Leia was not going to blow R2-D2, a droid, not a garbage can. Rather, she was providing him with data regarding the Empire's space station (Death Star would have been too much for him to handle at that point) and sending him on a mission to find...someone.
We later learn that R2 and C3PO (This fuckin' guy, what is he, the fuckin butlah?!) has been sent to find Obi-Wan Kenobi. Before finding Obi-Wan, of course, they find Luke Skywalker (Bro, I love this music, it's the Yankees' song!). Sigh. So, we hyperdrive past a few scenes and finally the decision has been made to help the Rebellion.
Snookies panties, right!?
He almost broke my hand with his exuberant high-five. Yet, I soldier on. As do our heroes. They meet Han Solo and Chewbacca (Looks like my fuckin Aunt, bro.) and begin their flight to Alderon. While on the flight, Obi Wan begins to teach young Luke the ways of The Force. Han, ever the skeptic, doesn't buy into all the hogwash and Luke gets a little salty at his failure to believe in The Force.
Fuck this guy! I got a brother on The Force and he's got to deal with all these fucking brothers all the time.
Oh! What'd I fuckin' tell ya?! These fuckin' guys! And, he's got the Red Sox music?! Fuck. This. Guy.
Vinny would calm down eventually after our heroes made their daring escape and eventually blow up the Death Star (That's some serious shit right there, bro.).
Little did he know, it was about to get real dark, real quick for our heroes. I'll see if I have the energy or desire to finish detailing the trilogy, but right here seems like a good place to stop for the time being.
(* h/t to Eddie Murphy and Stev D for inspiration)
I was excited for Vinny to see the opening sequences because they are so iconic; the music really gets me jazzed to start watching.
Ok, misfired on the first one. But, I was sure he'd get into it. I mean it's Star Wars for crying out loud. Cowboys and Indians. In space. After I explain that there won't be any reading involved other than the first couple seconds, we settle in for a good time.
Now, as you all know, the rebellion is...rebelling against the Empire, but they need help.
Obviously, I calmly explained to Vinny that Leia was not going to blow R2-D2, a droid, not a garbage can. Rather, she was providing him with data regarding the Empire's space station (Death Star would have been too much for him to handle at that point) and sending him on a mission to find...someone.
We later learn that R2 and C3PO (This fuckin' guy, what is he, the fuckin butlah?!) has been sent to find Obi-Wan Kenobi. Before finding Obi-Wan, of course, they find Luke Skywalker (Bro, I love this music, it's the Yankees' song!). Sigh. So, we hyperdrive past a few scenes and finally the decision has been made to help the Rebellion.
 | |
| "Mos Eisley Spaceport. You will never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy." |
He almost broke my hand with his exuberant high-five. Yet, I soldier on. As do our heroes. They meet Han Solo and Chewbacca (Looks like my fuckin Aunt, bro.) and begin their flight to Alderon. While on the flight, Obi Wan begins to teach young Luke the ways of The Force. Han, ever the skeptic, doesn't buy into all the hogwash and Luke gets a little salty at his failure to believe in The Force.
Fuck this guy! I got a brother on The Force and he's got to deal with all these fucking brothers all the time.
Vinny would calm down eventually after our heroes made their daring escape and eventually blow up the Death Star (That's some serious shit right there, bro.).
Little did he know, it was about to get real dark, real quick for our heroes. I'll see if I have the energy or desire to finish detailing the trilogy, but right here seems like a good place to stop for the time being.
(* h/t to Eddie Murphy and Stev D for inspiration)
Thursday, April 7, 2011
Flies, Pop Flies and Statistics
That header makes no sense, but go with it.
I was chatting with my dad the other day about sports. He is relatively progressive in his thinking, given his generation, but every once in a while has his "wins are a good way to judge a pitcher's performance" moments. So we were talking about...probably the Bonds trial I guess, and this lead to a larger commentary on sports, specifically why no on cares about steroids in football but are on suicide alert when it comes to baseball.
His conclusion, and many others of course, was this: No one cares about statistics in football. No one knows who the all time receptions, TD's or sacks leaders is/are/were. Everyone, however, knew who the home run king was and what the number was.
(Assuming, for the sake of argument, that no one knows or cares about football stats) This presumption made me think: I had no idea who the home run king was. Like, none. I probably knew Hank Aaron's name, but that's about it. I remember when this all cropped up with the steroids and Bonds and everything else I had a huge "Huh!" moment when I first learned who it was. Even now, honestly, I couldn't tell you what the number is without looking it up.
Looking back, it's not really crazy for me to not have known, I guess. I grew up watching baseball in the eighties. My first memories of baseball involve Don Mattingly and the Yankees seemingly always playing the Kansas City Royals around my birthday. There was really no reason for Phil Rizzuto or Bobby Mercer to mention Hank Aaron or how many homeruns he hit and I wasn't going to the library and reading about baseball. I was too busy playing it poorly.
So, I think the "everyone knew it" reason is kind of bullshit. I think, shockingly, that Baseball is, as always, a victim of its own Ken Burns cottage industry, cultivated over the decades. People know who hold records because they are singular. There is, usually, only one person with the most home runs, touchdowns, goals etc. It's easy to know and remember. Maybe we know these numbers in a vacuum, but often, people put them in a context for us. Baseball, unlike any other sport has been mythologized and tortured into an allegory for America by the people who have covered it. The home run, the people who hit home runs, and the number of home runs hit are the Titans of the myths.
Once Barry Bonds, Sosa, McGuire, et al., pulled the curtain aside and revealed baseball's dark shriveled secret, those same myth makers freaked the fuck out. "Sullied the game!" "These stats meant something once!"
What is left unsaid is that it meant something once because "we gave it meaning. We constructed this Matrix for the sake of good copy and now you are trying to tear it apart."
So, three people who read this, feel free to call me an uneducated fan for not knowing Hank Aaron hit the most home runs in baseball before Barry Bonds. But who cares, wasn't he just a compiler anyway?
I was chatting with my dad the other day about sports. He is relatively progressive in his thinking, given his generation, but every once in a while has his "wins are a good way to judge a pitcher's performance" moments. So we were talking about...probably the Bonds trial I guess, and this lead to a larger commentary on sports, specifically why no on cares about steroids in football but are on suicide alert when it comes to baseball.
His conclusion, and many others of course, was this: No one cares about statistics in football. No one knows who the all time receptions, TD's or sacks leaders is/are/were. Everyone, however, knew who the home run king was and what the number was.
(Assuming, for the sake of argument, that no one knows or cares about football stats) This presumption made me think: I had no idea who the home run king was. Like, none. I probably knew Hank Aaron's name, but that's about it. I remember when this all cropped up with the steroids and Bonds and everything else I had a huge "Huh!" moment when I first learned who it was. Even now, honestly, I couldn't tell you what the number is without looking it up.
Looking back, it's not really crazy for me to not have known, I guess. I grew up watching baseball in the eighties. My first memories of baseball involve Don Mattingly and the Yankees seemingly always playing the Kansas City Royals around my birthday. There was really no reason for Phil Rizzuto or Bobby Mercer to mention Hank Aaron or how many homeruns he hit and I wasn't going to the library and reading about baseball. I was too busy playing it poorly.
So, I think the "everyone knew it" reason is kind of bullshit. I think, shockingly, that Baseball is, as always, a victim of its own Ken Burns cottage industry, cultivated over the decades. People know who hold records because they are singular. There is, usually, only one person with the most home runs, touchdowns, goals etc. It's easy to know and remember. Maybe we know these numbers in a vacuum, but often, people put them in a context for us. Baseball, unlike any other sport has been mythologized and tortured into an allegory for America by the people who have covered it. The home run, the people who hit home runs, and the number of home runs hit are the Titans of the myths.
Once Barry Bonds, Sosa, McGuire, et al., pulled the curtain aside and revealed baseball's dark shriveled secret, those same myth makers freaked the fuck out. "Sullied the game!" "These stats meant something once!"
What is left unsaid is that it meant something once because "we gave it meaning. We constructed this Matrix for the sake of good copy and now you are trying to tear it apart."
So, three people who read this, feel free to call me an uneducated fan for not knowing Hank Aaron hit the most home runs in baseball before Barry Bonds. But who cares, wasn't he just a compiler anyway?
Thursday, March 17, 2011
Friday, March 11, 2011
Monday, March 7, 2011
Wallace Matthews, Jeff Pearlman and the Internet
The other day I had kind of an interesting thing happen. Like many of you, I follow people and things on Twitter purely for the aggravation of reading what they say. For instance, I follow post secret. And Anthony Bourdain. I also follow Wallace Matthews. His incompetency has been well chronicled by the the gold standard of incompetency chroniclers and, therefore, won't be rehashed here.
All I will say is this: Wally has spent much of his time tweeting from Yankees spring training about Derek Jeter and his many ground balls—outs or otherwise. He's obviously trying to make hay out of the whole "Jeter's got a new batting approach, will he rebound" storyline. Groundbreaking.
So, I sent a tweet to old Wally, making (what I thought was) a fairly clever play on words, while alluding to the fact that he's a dummy reporter. What followed was....interesting.
He responded to me with such an embarrassingly typo riddled response that you would think "first time, long time" Joe from Queens had hijacked his account.
I antagonized him a bit for writing such an incredibly poor response and then, I think, he blocked me.
Then, I saw he continued to stew, venting to others, even going so far as to suggest that physical violence was required. Wally can handle his biz-nas, though JenJeter2211.
Wallace had handled the punk on his own, alright. He strutted around like a peacock after blocking me. Which is fine, I don't know Wallace Matthews other than to say I think his sports writing is hacky. But, I wonder how his handling of punks jibes with ESPN's social media policies.
This incident reminded me, for some reason, of Jeff Pearlman's weirdo stalking/tracking down of a couple internet hecklers. What if I tracked down old Wally's phone number and called him at home? And asked him, "Hey, dickhead, does it make you feel strong to threaten bodily harm to your critics? Are you afraid your skin will evaporate in the heat because it is so thin? Do you think it's smart to threaten people via your professional Twitter account? Did you put as much, less or more effort into that tweet than any of your columns?"
Would that be an appropriate response? Probably not, right? I mean, if that happened he would probably call the police and at least lodge a complaint, if not try to get some kind of restraining order or something.
So why is it different? Why can Jeff Pearlman act like a psycho and not me? Is it because I am anonymous and he isn't? That doesn't seem to make any sense. Presumably Jeff Pearlman has relinquished a bit of his personal life in seeking employment as a somewhat public figure under his real name. he gets paid to have an opinion and should be mature enough (or well compensated enough) to realize he's going to rub some people the wrong way.
Despite his relinquishment, no one stalked Pearlman. His online hater did not seek him out. It was just the opposite. Pearlman got pissed off at the guy and, thanks to his professional resources, he was able to track him down and call him at home.
He should have let it go, but, he didn't. Instead, Jeff did this all under the guise of "journalism" i.e. "Is Anonymity Good For the Internet" or something. That is the only reason his actions were acceptable: Because it was for a story. That's why I can't personally confront Wallace Matthews: It's not my job to turn bullshit into a message.
The lesson in all of this is not that anonymity is dangerous. Anonymity is a threat concocted by those unwilling to admit they are out of touch (or worse, bad at their job) and unable to adjust to the changing landscape of media. I am not the problem Wally and Jeff. It's you guys. I just finally have a platform to let you know. Work on improving your own shit, rather than blaming it on some unseen, lurking menace.
All I will say is this: Wally has spent much of his time tweeting from Yankees spring training about Derek Jeter and his many ground balls—outs or otherwise. He's obviously trying to make hay out of the whole "Jeter's got a new batting approach, will he rebound" storyline. Groundbreaking.
So, I sent a tweet to old Wally, making (what I thought was) a fairly clever play on words, while alluding to the fact that he's a dummy reporter. What followed was....interesting.
He responded to me with such an embarrassingly typo riddled response that you would think "first time, long time" Joe from Queens had hijacked his account.
Then, I saw he continued to stew, venting to others, even going so far as to suggest that physical violence was required. Wally can handle his biz-nas, though JenJeter2211.
Wallace had handled the punk on his own, alright. He strutted around like a peacock after blocking me. Which is fine, I don't know Wallace Matthews other than to say I think his sports writing is hacky. But, I wonder how his handling of punks jibes with ESPN's social media policies.
This incident reminded me, for some reason, of Jeff Pearlman's weirdo stalking/tracking down of a couple internet hecklers. What if I tracked down old Wally's phone number and called him at home? And asked him, "Hey, dickhead, does it make you feel strong to threaten bodily harm to your critics? Are you afraid your skin will evaporate in the heat because it is so thin? Do you think it's smart to threaten people via your professional Twitter account? Did you put as much, less or more effort into that tweet than any of your columns?"
Would that be an appropriate response? Probably not, right? I mean, if that happened he would probably call the police and at least lodge a complaint, if not try to get some kind of restraining order or something.
So why is it different? Why can Jeff Pearlman act like a psycho and not me? Is it because I am anonymous and he isn't? That doesn't seem to make any sense. Presumably Jeff Pearlman has relinquished a bit of his personal life in seeking employment as a somewhat public figure under his real name. he gets paid to have an opinion and should be mature enough (or well compensated enough) to realize he's going to rub some people the wrong way.
Despite his relinquishment, no one stalked Pearlman. His online hater did not seek him out. It was just the opposite. Pearlman got pissed off at the guy and, thanks to his professional resources, he was able to track him down and call him at home.
He should have let it go, but, he didn't. Instead, Jeff did this all under the guise of "journalism" i.e. "Is Anonymity Good For the Internet" or something. That is the only reason his actions were acceptable: Because it was for a story. That's why I can't personally confront Wallace Matthews: It's not my job to turn bullshit into a message.
The lesson in all of this is not that anonymity is dangerous. Anonymity is a threat concocted by those unwilling to admit they are out of touch (or worse, bad at their job) and unable to adjust to the changing landscape of media. I am not the problem Wally and Jeff. It's you guys. I just finally have a platform to let you know. Work on improving your own shit, rather than blaming it on some unseen, lurking menace.
Saturday, March 5, 2011
Unable to Remain Inactive in One Place While Expecting Something!™
So, Bart Scott is trademarking his now infamous post-game rant to Sal Hates Italian Stereotypes Because He is a Closet Self-Loather-antonio. That's cool, I guess. Good for him. As a Jets fan, I can't really complain. I have enjoyed all the attention the team has gotten recently, coupled with, of course, two pretty successful seasons.
Something just seems off, though, and I can't tell if it's me or them. It could be that the team is turning into what will be a force for the next 10 years and, as a Jets fan, I am just conditioned to always beware the rug beneath my feet. Or, it could be that the team's had a couple lucky runs and is destined to regress to the mean, chirping all the way down.
Not that I'm anti-trash talking. I'm not. It's entertainment. Entertain me. It's the self important dipshits who make it seem like the NFL at one point stood for Truth, Justice and the American Way. Anytime any player runs his mouth or does something outrageous it becomes a fucking story and a "distraction." THIS IS SERIOUS, YOU GUYS. DON'T GET DISTRACTED BY ALL THE QUESTIONS WE WILL BE ASKING ABOUT SOMETHING STUPID YOU SAID/DID!
If the team is going to be a perennial conference championship contender like, say, the early aught's Eagles, then: Awesome, make all the t-shirts you guys want. Talk shit to the Patriots and sniff all the toes you can. Just don't suck it up and make me have to listen to Mark Schlereth talk about "Playin' in the National Football League and not Talkin' in the National Football League."
For that, I can[*] wait.
*Oh, I went there.
Friday, March 4, 2011
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
s/t Project Excerpts: Toilet Humor
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
s/t Project Excerpts
So, in an effort to force myself to continue writing this here blog and "my screenplay," I will be posting excerpts here every once in a while. It will be like how they used to do it back in the day with Dickens' novels but much, much classier.
Try to enjoy.
Try to enjoy.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
This is the Big One, Mets Fans!
Big Stein. The Donald. It all just makes sense. Say what you want about Steinbrenner, the guy poured boatloads [deadpan] of cash into the Yankees until they were The Greatest Sports Franchise In The History of History.
Fittingly, for the Mets, The Donald is like Big Stein, Jr. Or, Lil' Stein, or Mini Stein, Bankin Stein, whatevs. He's the cheesy Steinbrenner. But! He's got the cash and the "Fuck You" attitude that George was notorious for.
Trump would come in, fire these empty shirts Alderson and Manager Whatshisface and get the Mets back to glory! While the Yankees are being classy and a First Rate Organization, the Mets can be out on the streets making some weirdo sales pitch to fans for Ralph Lauren Polo or Will. I .Am or something. The battle for New York has only just begun Mets fans. Take it back - with a vengeance.
The Donald will absolutely clean house in the locker room, too. Oliver Perez: Ya Fired. John Maine: Fired. Jason Isringhausen: Deja Vu All Over Again Ya Fired. And, of course, Luis Castillo. When he bounces Castillo he will most certainly let him know that not only would Omarosa have made that catch on the A-Rod pop up, but she would have crushed his skull mid-cunilingus induced orgasm immediately thereafter.
We Believe!
We Believe!
Sunday, February 13, 2011
What To Do With Joba Chamberlain
Conventional wisdom notwithstanding, I propose we re-open the debate. Cold Case style!*
The "Joba Rules" are now legendary. God bless the media for coming up with a retarded way to say "innings limit." Not surprisingly, this is where the wheels fell of the wagon for Joba.
Joba first burst onto the scene like a simile for things bursting. People lost their minds as he fist pumped his way to stardom while being proclaimed the heir apparent to Mariano Rivera. All along however, people who knew what they were talking about (you know, the people who don't rely on Mike fucking Francessa for their news) knew that Joba was a starter his entire career prior to being called up to fill a specific need at the end of the year.
He was awesome and electrifying, there is no doubt. It was ultimately his downfall, however. The media latched on to the idea of Joba as a dominant reliever. It became "stupid" and a "waste" to have him as a starter. Not every player has the "mindset" to pitch late in the game, they all said, and look how dominant he is! We know he can relieve, we haven't seen him start!!
Despite the clamoring, the Yankees continued to say he was a starter and continued to treat him as such as they enforced the Joba Rules.
Then things happened. An injury. A young pitcher struggled. Shockingly, Joba was not as dominant as he was before. It's almost as if there was a random, small collection of information that people decided to foolishly project an entire career from. Disappointment abounded.
Then the Yankees got CC Sabbathia and AJ Burnett. The starting rotation was pretty set and Joba and Phil Hughes battled for the last spot. Phil won. Joba has since been up and down in the bullpen. Brian Cashman says a shoulder injury has affected him. The media say his head is "screwed up" because of the Joba Rules and being yanked around between starter and bullpen guy.
What do I say? I say the bullpen is a wasteland. Mistakes and heroics are magnified. While a starting pitcher has the opportunity to work himself into and out of trouble, relievers generally either work themselves into trouble and are pulled, or work out of someone else's jam.
Remember Kyle Farnsworth? I guarantee you Cashman was pissed about the Soriano signing because of Kyle Farnsworth. He was the best reliever on the market the year he signed with the Yankees. He was, generally, garbage for the Yankees. That's the deal with relievers. Feast and famine. Mostly because of luck. Mariano Rivera is Mariano Rivera because he is the only one who does not fit this mold. It is not normal. That's why he is special.
So, my theory is this: Joba is still Joba. He was scouted and drafted as a starting pitcher. He was rated as having four "plus pitches." That is pretty spectacular. As a reliever he uses maybe two of those pitches. The season, like an individual game, is a marathon for starters. Joba never really got a chance to work himself out of the trouble he got himself into. He floundered, got hurt and then came back as a reliever—again to fill a need.
The Yankees rotation is kind of a mess this year, while the bullpen is pretty solid. The seventh inning role is not a necessity. In fact, if you have a really good 7th inning guy, it probably means you have terrible starters. With Soriano Rivera (nice, right?) the 8th and 9th innings are locked up, so Joba would be at least the 7th inning guy.
Just like Joba was the odd man out of the rotation, he is the odd man out of the bullpen. So, it stands to reason that he should go back to the starting rotation. To fill a specific need. He won't have any innings limits or anything else to worry about. Just go out and pitch once a week at the back end of the rotation against the other teams scrub. With this offense there's no reason to think he can't get a few early wins, trick everyone into thinking he's "back" and go about his business.
Did Cashman really bring in Freddy Garcia and Bartolo Colon as legitimate contenders for a starting spot? Maybe he is trying to generate some competition for the obvious solution sitting in our bullpen. It just makes too much sense. That's probably why no one is talking about Joba as a starter anymore.
*No idea - just go with it.
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Go Out and Get Hammered and Smoke A Million Cigarettes With Your College Buddies Day
I'm usually not that cynical. I am a huge sap when it comes to Christmas and get all into the "mystery" of Santa. It's a wonderful excuse to act like a decent human being for a month. Plus, christmas trees smell awesome.
What I'm trying to say is: I can get down with holidays. Valentine's day, though, is a piece of shit. No one holiday, or important date/anniversary, whatever, puts the onus on one person. Except Valentine's day. You don't see V-Day adverts with women running around like dickheads trying to find a card for their husbands. Or a woman walking around best buy looking to buy her husband a sweet 3D HDTV, or trying to make last minute reservations at his favorite steakhouse. Nope.
You do see ads with hopeless idiots being sold jewelry at insane mark ups or running into the Hallmark store to pick up a card and some chocolates so he can come home and get a hug and a kiss. Awwww! Well, where the fuck is his present? Dinner? Sex? Offspring? Bullshit. Those are the costs of doing business when you get married.
No, Valentines Day is created to capitalize on the stereotype of "men are forgetful and don't appreciate what they have." It's as if someone were to create a holiday about reading books out of a bud light commercial where all men are dumb and like to drink beer.
It's not about showing your significant other that you love them. It's about guilting men into buying shit. Even the other individual holidays - Mothers Day and Fathers Day - at least they account for both parents. And the excuse you got whenever you complained about "how come there isn't a Kid's day" - "because every other day is Kid's day" is kinda true. I mean, parents bust their humps to feed, clothe and entertain their kids. Their schedules get shot to shit because Johnny has karate practice or something.
But Valentine's Day, again, doesn't fall under this rubric, either. "Every other day" is not "[male counterpart's] day." For one, you're in a relationship, it should be a two way street. And two, dudes sacrifice a lot of shit to be with their ladies. I used to watch every single Yankees game in a season in full. Now I only watch like 130 games. Seriously.
Not to say that the ladies don't also make sacrifices (lets be honest, they could always be with someone better than you), but there should at least be a male equivalent to Valentine's Day.
What I'm trying to say is: I can get down with holidays. Valentine's day, though, is a piece of shit. No one holiday, or important date/anniversary, whatever, puts the onus on one person. Except Valentine's day. You don't see V-Day adverts with women running around like dickheads trying to find a card for their husbands. Or a woman walking around best buy looking to buy her husband a sweet 3D HDTV, or trying to make last minute reservations at his favorite steakhouse. Nope.
You do see ads with hopeless idiots being sold jewelry at insane mark ups or running into the Hallmark store to pick up a card and some chocolates so he can come home and get a hug and a kiss. Awwww! Well, where the fuck is his present? Dinner? Sex? Offspring? Bullshit. Those are the costs of doing business when you get married.
No, Valentines Day is created to capitalize on the stereotype of "men are forgetful and don't appreciate what they have." It's as if someone were to create a holiday about reading books out of a bud light commercial where all men are dumb and like to drink beer.
It's not about showing your significant other that you love them. It's about guilting men into buying shit. Even the other individual holidays - Mothers Day and Fathers Day - at least they account for both parents. And the excuse you got whenever you complained about "how come there isn't a Kid's day" - "because every other day is Kid's day" is kinda true. I mean, parents bust their humps to feed, clothe and entertain their kids. Their schedules get shot to shit because Johnny has karate practice or something.
But Valentine's Day, again, doesn't fall under this rubric, either. "Every other day" is not "[male counterpart's] day." For one, you're in a relationship, it should be a two way street. And two, dudes sacrifice a lot of shit to be with their ladies. I used to watch every single Yankees game in a season in full. Now I only watch like 130 games. Seriously.
Not to say that the ladies don't also make sacrifices (lets be honest, they could always be with someone better than you), but there should at least be a male equivalent to Valentine's Day.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
Transitions
Well, that's it for football. Now it's just regular season hockey and pro and college basketball. Three things that are certainly not watered down and essentially pointless.
Seriously, though, February sucks. Not news. Were I my younger self, I would spend this time boning up on College basketball so that I could make a serious run come bracket time. Now, I'll just pretend I am better than those women at your office who pick teams based on mascots.
Really, though, I'm only slightly better: "hmm Georgia Tech...they were pretty good at one time. Jarad Jack or something...12 seed*...upset city!" I'll do that probably 15+ times in my bracket now.
What I am (secretly) excited for is the prospect of still being unemployed come tournament time. I am not, as of yet unemployed, but as soon as they find my replacement-it's out on your assville for me. Not that I'm feeling sorry for myself. I willingly quit and think it is for the best.
Anyway, back to the "tourney" (oooh gotta remember that one). There is nothing better than those opening Thursday and Friday days of games. I'm pretty sure Gus Johnson has to be medically cleared to call games each day. So, in the shittiness of the uncertainty of "where will I get money from," it will be a nice opportunity to shut my brain off.
After that, it's baseball. Also with that comes warmer weather and outdoor drinking. Ok look, I know I just said that there is nothing better than the opening days of the NCAA tournament, but I changed my mind. There is nothing better than outdoor drinking. Whether you are outside at a bar that has a patio, or just at a party somewhere, its always a good time.
Baseball is the perfect sport for this, too. Its slow enough (read: poetic) that it allows you to people watch, play beer pong/whatever drinking game you enjoy or just chit chat, while drinking of course, and not really miss a whole lot. You can't exactly sit outside at a bar and keep tabs on a football game inside, you know? Totally acceptable for baseball.
So, life goes on. Football came and went. The Winter Warlock shit about 500 feet of snow on us, but soon baseball and spring will wash it away along the malaise of a winter without meaningful sporting events. Then come summer, I can bust out my new blue blockers. Or HD sunglasses. It's like you're really there!!
*It's possible they are better than a 12 seed. It's also possible that they won't even qualify. I have no idea. Just illustrative of the point, really.
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
And We're Baaaaaack
OK. Jesus, I am pathetic. This is reboot No. 3, I believe.
As a person who loves symmetry, I come back to you following another "break" in employment. Unlike the events leading to the formation of this "blog," this time it is self-imposed.
I think we can categorize the Attorney experiment as a failed one. While potentially a little harsh, I certainly hate being a litigator. So, I quit. Surprisingly the decision was met largely with envy amongst my attorney peers. My wife on the other hand?
I may continue working in the legal field, I may do something else entirely. Who knows. The world is my oyster.
One thing is for sure: I am going to write that damned movie. I resolved in August to go full force at it, and, well, I've got a few pages and many, many more notes. It's a start, I keep telling myself. I also keep telling myself this: make a fucking effort to write here, dick.
I've tried playing good cop with myself, but it appears I need tough love. So, the kids gloves are coming off and reality is back with a vengeance-kicking ass, taking names, using foul language and generally just being a big jerk.
It's a pretty drastic thing that I have done and I need to make sure I take full advantage of the freedom I have forcibly taken. It is definitely a great feeling to know that I won't be working this job for much longer.
However, it's also terrifying because of rent, student loans etc. Further freaking me out? The sheer number of things I can do. While I have come to terms with Law probably being the wrong field., the 800 lb gorilla in the room asks: well, what's the right field, genius?
Good question, fatso! I don't know. Maybe I could be a laborer? I'd be outside, enjoying nature and all that fun stuff. Or, maybe I could be a teacher. Sweet schedule, inspiring movies starring Edward James Olmos about me. It's tempting. Also, I do think I would like to be paid to write. I have no idea how to go about doing that, though.
My only fear in all this is that I get sucked into another shit field/career/profession because of financial concerns.
I also want to avoid falling into the obvious insecurity and fear of failure/judgment defense mechanism of just never trying anything.
So, it is settled: The other door has opened and I'm going to (try to) walk through it. For reals.
Also, keep writing dick.
As a person who loves symmetry, I come back to you following another "break" in employment. Unlike the events leading to the formation of this "blog," this time it is self-imposed.
I think we can categorize the Attorney experiment as a failed one. While potentially a little harsh, I certainly hate being a litigator. So, I quit. Surprisingly the decision was met largely with envy amongst my attorney peers. My wife on the other hand?
One thing is for sure: I am going to write that damned movie. I resolved in August to go full force at it, and, well, I've got a few pages and many, many more notes. It's a start, I keep telling myself. I also keep telling myself this: make a fucking effort to write here, dick.
I've tried playing good cop with myself, but it appears I need tough love. So, the kids gloves are coming off and reality is back with a vengeance-kicking ass, taking names, using foul language and generally just being a big jerk.
It's a pretty drastic thing that I have done and I need to make sure I take full advantage of the freedom I have forcibly taken. It is definitely a great feeling to know that I won't be working this job for much longer.
However, it's also terrifying because of rent, student loans etc. Further freaking me out? The sheer number of things I can do. While I have come to terms with Law probably being the wrong field., the 800 lb gorilla in the room asks: well, what's the right field, genius?
Good question, fatso! I don't know. Maybe I could be a laborer? I'd be outside, enjoying nature and all that fun stuff. Or, maybe I could be a teacher. Sweet schedule, inspiring movies starring Edward James Olmos about me. It's tempting. Also, I do think I would like to be paid to write. I have no idea how to go about doing that, though.
My only fear in all this is that I get sucked into another shit field/career/profession because of financial concerns.
I also want to avoid falling into the obvious insecurity and fear of failure/judgment defense mechanism of just never trying anything.
So, it is settled: The other door has opened and I'm going to (try to) walk through it. For reals.
Also, keep writing dick.
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