Wednesday, February 20, 2008
I promise you, I will never inflict seriousness and earnestness on you like this ever again. But what's worse? Putting up with reading one humorless blog entry or dealing with three more eons of Bush rule?
I have been a volunteer for the Barack Obama campaign since August of 2007. I have never felt as passionately about a candidate as I do about Barack Obama. I could go into my reasons but I am not here to sell him to you. Merely express my thoughts about today.
I headed towards Reunion Arena around 11am. Along the way, I met a girl my age and we started talking about everything from music to movies to our disgust at the way America has turned over the past 7 years. Yeah, it's a long walk. We both talked about the fact that we were both in our late twenties (me 27, her 28) and that a Bush has been either our Vice President, President or Governor our entire lives. It's a sickening thought.
But then (and this is the part where you can feel free to dismiss this whole blog entry as "cheesy") we got to Dealey Plaza. The deafening sound of the three news helicopters that hovered above drowned out the fountains. There were dark storm clouds to the south. Then the only thing that could possibly overpower the din of the hovering helicopters happened. The clock at the Old Red Courthouse struck noon and the bells peeled or tolled or whatever it is exactly they do. Metallica seems to think they toll, so let's go with toll.
Let me back up a little. I was raised by my Mom who is a history teacher. To say that we are a family of history buffs is putting it extremely lightly. My favorite things to watch as a kid were those Time Life videos that covered the 20th Century a decade at a time. I would stay up past my bedtime reading this under the covers with a flashlight:
And I remember, as a kid, feeling an overwhelming feeling of sadness for the people who attended the Robert Kennedy rally at the Ambassador (RIP) Hotel in Los Angeles. Because even as a kid, I realized how hopeful they must have felt listening to Robert Kennedy speak. In the context of 1968 and Vietnam and the recent assassination of Martin Luther King, it must have felt like they at least had this one thing left to cling to for hope. They had one reason to be hopeful. And to have that violently ripped out from under them is unfathomable.
So back to the bells and for whom they toll and all that stuff. I don't know why but walking across Dealey Plaza today with the kinetic excitement of helicopters hovering and bells ringing and people flooding in from all directions made me kind of realize how hopeful those people probably felt that night at the Ambassador. There's a shitty unjustified war going on, people who are trying to make a change or bring about some small parcel of justice in the world are getting assassinated and young people seem to finally be tired of being spoken for by old white men who don't care about them. It's the first time in my life that supporting a candidate actually seems to mean sending a message.
I never got into the rally. And I have never been happier. I didn't get in because there were already 20,000 people who camped out to get inside. And another 10,000 or so who stood outside hoping to get in. That's 30,000 people in my city who represent the hundreds of thousands of others who also want change. So I walked back to my office in time to watch the entire speech online. To say I am hopeful is an understatement.
Tuesday, February 19, 2008
3:32pm - Jason Kidd commenting on his new number choice (as Josh Howard has #5 already): "Well, #2 is good since it's my second time here. I looked at it for a long time and if you turn over the number 2, the curves kind of look like the number 5. Just the curves." Ummmmmm yeah ok, whatever dude!
3:36pm - Donnie Nelson doesn't want to answer the question of if it was possible to negotiate the trade without losing Diop. "When you are doing a deal for one of the greatest players in the history of the game...." Did you hear that kids? Wilt Chamberlin is BACK from grave! Lock up your daughters!
3:38pm - Avery Johnson: "JJ Barea is not starting anymore!" My friend Chad will be crushed. He's not gonna take this very well.
3:39pm - "Jason, over here, question! Besides Barea, do you feel like there's as much or more talent on this Mavericks team than the New Jersey team in the playoffs?" Did you hear that, JJ Barea? Remember that brief time you were the starting point guard? Now you are a punchline. Hope you enjoyed it, kiddo!
3:41pm - Mike Doocy asks Mark Cuban about how stressed he has been over the past week or two regarding the trade. Mark Cuban takes that as an opportunity to make some bad jokes. And then laugh at his own bad jokes. Hey, somebody's gotta!
3:43pm - Final question. Some banal thing about "Are you excited to be back and are you excited for the challenge?" Here's where Jason Kidd could have won me over. This is where you say something like "Nope, not really that excited about the challenge." Because what's funny is that he gave the standard "I love to rise to a challenge....it's what this sport is about..." answer with the same amount of enthusiasm that I displayed when I had to verify my business mailing address for the Yellow Pages about an hour ago.
And that was that. Welcome back, Jason Kidd. Catch the Mavs fe...................oh, wow sorry about that huge yawn.........fever. Catch the Mavs fever!
It's a bad day. Scratch that. Yesterday was a bad day and today has decided to follow the path of least resistance and be shitty as well. Which usually starts to indicate the start of what is called a "very bad week", the type that tends to end in a terminal disease misdiagnoses or something equally wacky and disheartening.
I blame all of this on Mark Cuban. Devin Harris left at 7am for New Jersey today. New Jersey is actually not that bad of a place. And he will get to hang out with Jay-Z instead of Mark Cuban. I honestly want to see Devin Harris flourish and I hope he does really well wherever he is playing. Really, which one of these owners would you rather report to?:
I only hope they do something like announce that the baseball season will now run 12 months a year, continuously and that baseball will pre-empt any other sporting event on television. That would be neat! I would go get a cheeseburger and some onion rings but beef is apparently now tainted. So I will sit here and eat dry Cheerios and try to derive some inspiration from the view from my downtown office window. Oh yeah, forgot that my office window faces this:
Yeah, I may just swivel my chair around and eat my dry Cheerios while staring at the County Jail. It's turning out to be that kind of day and perhaps week.
Monday, February 18, 2008
When I said all that stuff about starting this blog to prove that Keith Van Horn was important and special, I certainly didn't mean it in this kind of way. I didn't know that he would be the missing part of the puzzle that causes us to lose Devin Harris and DeSagana Diop (and Hassell) for Jason Kidd. Damn you, Keith Van Horn! I take it all back. I was only a fan of yours in an ironic, tongue-in-cheek way.
Losing Diop will end up being a huge problem for us. Rebounds? Forget about those.
Jason Kidd's ego will come into play in a negative way at some point. (Courtesy of Captain Obvious)
The instant gratification that this deal seems to be aiming to ensure will end up not being quite so, well, gratifying.
Devin Harris will end up being a very sweet deal for someone, if not immediately for New Jersey.
Police called out to investigate a domestic dispute between Kidd and ______________ at Kidd's gated Frisco home.
If my foam ROWDY LOUD AND PROUD finger could be bent to make either a thumbs down or a middle finger, it would be doing so right now.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
I hope this note of love finds you well. I know I don't tell you this often enough but I really love you. Truly. Not even necessarily for your mad skills on the court. I mean, I think you have some skills. But recently, and I don't know what prompted this, I started to realize what a bad ass I think you are.
I know that there are some 35 year old point guards in the league who some people seem to think are the magical elixir which will bring the Mavericks that title they are so hungry for. Now you and I know that's not very smart. Because a chance at a title on the back of a 35 year old point guard who will cost the Mavericks more than Roy Tarpley's eight-ball budget is too risky and not a very good long term plan. I'm glad you and I know that.
I sure am sorry your boss is a dick. One time I worked on this TV show and my boss was a dick and it was really bad. It must be pretty humiliating to have your big-mouthed boss denying for weeks that there were trade talks and that you were involved only to find out that those talks were a reality. No offense but your boss needs to stick to dancing with Marie Osmond.
Anyways, I hope you have fun in Phoenix. I almost think it would be funny for you to brick a couple of shots to get some of your frustration out.
Hearts and Hugs,
The Jason Kidd trade is not final. Call me crazy but I adore the idea of an earth shattering trade being held up by Devean George.
This trade is a horrible idea. I don't care what anyone says. I am even able to put my intense dislike of Jason Kidd aside and admit that he is a great player who could contribute a lot to the Mavericks. But the cost is too high. I mean beyond the $40 million dollars and draft picks and enduring the Jason Kidd for Crest Cadillac commercials. Losing Devin Harris and Diop is foolish. I am not as upset about the prospect of losing Stackhouse.
Oh and by the way, throwing Devean George into a game out of spite is kind of retarded and lame.
The latest word on the street is that the trade is going through. My eyes hurt from rolling so hard.
Monday, February 11, 2008
Pardon my obnoxiously large font here, folks. But I have to get this out of my system:
TONY ROMO PLEASE SHUT THE FUCK UP. SERIOUSLY DUDE, YOU'VE MADE IT CRYSTAL CLEAR THAT YOU AWWWWW SHUCKS-ED YOUR WAY INTO BOTH THE COWBOYS QUARTERBACK JOB AND THE PANTS OF A FEW STARLETS OF QUESTIONABLE INTEGRITY. PLEASE STOP NOW. YOU SERIOUSLY CANNOT BE THIS STUPID
Seven years, huh? Why exactly is he playing football? Wouldn't it be easier to bypass all that pesky "playing" "training" "practicing" and "working" in favor of just selling GMCs or whatever you apparently would rather be doing with your time?
Tony Romo is to Brett Favre what Dane Cook is to comedy.
I bet Tony Romo LOVES Dane Cook. Jessica already did.
The Dallas Mavericks and the Dallas Cowboys should be congratulated. They sure do know how to really turn it on when it totally does not matter.
Tony Romo throws for 87 yards including a touchdown to Terrell Owens? That's pretty neat. I'm trying to think of a place where that could have been more useful. Oh yeah, the first round of the playoffs against the Giants. That would have been swell. Nick Folk was perfect in yesterday's Pro Bowl. It's almost like, had the Cowboys offense (lead by Pro Bowl superstars Romo, Owens and Witten) been able to get Nick Folk close enough, the Cowboys could have perhaps evened the score up a little with field goals. I think the moral of the story is that in terms of priorities, playing well when it counts comes in a distant third behind trips to Hawaii and jello shots in Cabo. Apparently the only chance that the Cowboys won't choke in the post-season is if Cancun somehow scores an expansion NFL franchise. Then when the Cancun Jagerbombs make it into the playoffs and secure home field advantage, the Cowboys will know what to do. I just hope they can find some of those funny t-shirts with a hard-body in a bikini airbrushed on them. And a hat that can accommodate two Miller Light cans effectively.
The Mavericks also seem to be itching for an early start to their summer break based upon how poorly they fared against the Pistons last Sunday and the New Jersey Nets last night. Jason Kidd was kind enough to point out to the Mavericks that with Devin Harris out, the Mavericks have no point guard. Even resorting to trying to knock Vince Carter unconscious proved to be fruitless. The Mavs had a nice little streak going with three straight victories (all, eerily, were 9 point victories) but beating teams like the Memphis Grizzlies by 9 points is hardly any way to earn respect. With Boston bringing prestige back to the long ridiculous Eastern Conference, the days of a Spurs-Suns-Mavs dominated NBA seem to certainly be at an end. Let's see if the Mavs can handle Philadelphia tonight. I hear that the 76'ers have really fleshed out their lineup by allowing some of the Wachovia Center's janitorial staff try their hand at free throws and layups. Maybe it's time the Mavs started letting the ManiAAcs or the Mavs Dancers or (dear sweet baby Jebus, forgive me for writing this) Mavs Man call some plays. Yes, I just claimed that the Mavs might play better if the mascot with severe third-degree burns covering his body was allowed to contribute more.
While I am complaining about the Cowboys and Mavs, I would also like to point something out. A surefire way to convey your doucheness without having to open your mouth and proclaim your love for things like Nickelback, the MTV show Cribs or your aspirations to get bigger rims on your Denali is to sport the hallmark douche-king hairstyle.
It's a proven fact that you cannot play to your full potential and can endanger your team's performance in the playoffs with that hair-don't. Don't believe me?:
Friday, February 8, 2008
1. The Grizzled Man Who Owns the Saddle Store on the First Floor and Bathes in Stetson in the Elevator - Please stop taking "Puerto Rican baths" in the elevator. Your cheap cologne burns my nostrils and the fact that you work around leather means that the combination of your Stetson and your tanned cow hide scents makes you smell like the inside of a hobo's coffin. Also, you only ever ride the elevator to the second floor. That means that you can't bring yourself to walk up one flight of steps. Is that really the Cowboy way? And I don't mean "Cowboys Way" as in the football team because we all know that their way is to find an easy out.
2. The Morbidly Obese Woman Who Has No Less Than Three Sacks of McDonald's in Her Hand Every Time She Gets on the Elevator - Now, I will assume that you are the one that goes and grabs lunch for everyone in the office. That being said, why do you have to mouth breathe so hard every time we ride the elevator together? I feel like I am riding inside your own personal iron lung. Also, yes the elevator at work gets stuck sometimes. But that doesn't mean that every time you board it you get to make a joke about hoping "this thing don't get stuck" but then reassuring me that you "got enough Mickey D's to make it until they unstuck it."
3. The Elderly Man Who Appears to Smoke for a Living - Please keep smoking. The only time I have ever heard you speak, you mumbled the words "pussywillows and weirdos" in the most terrifying voice I have ever heard spring forth from a human. So, you know, keep on keepin' on.
4. THE WOMAN WHO TALKS ON HER CELL PHONE IN THE BATHROOM (AS IN WHILE SHE'S IN THE STALL) - I've had to refrain from confronting you many times. You need to realize where and when to make personal calls. I know about your son's girlfriend's period being late. I know about your mother not taking the right kind of osteoporosis medicine. I know about the antiques you think you deserve from your soon-to-be ex-husband. I know about the fact that you don't like the way your pantyhose make your legs look. I don't need to know any of this. Yet, you don't stop. You apparently only feel comfortable making the most personal of phone calls when you are inside a stall in your office building's bathroom. You are actually a running joke amongst the female workers on this floor. We have been following the progress of your nasty divorce via your loud phone calls. Please get a different job in a building very far away from my office building. You are talking into a bluetooth while you are on the toilet. That's fucking gross. Please go away forever.
Monday, February 4, 2008
So everyone in the free world apparently picked the Giants to win. To my knowledge, the only people that I know who, prior to the last five minutes of the fourth quarter, actually were pulling for the Giants the whole game were myself, Del and Aaron. I will be completely honest. I was rooting for them not because they were an underdog or because I always want the NFC team to win. I was rooting for them to win to somehow soften the blow of the Cowboys being knocked out of the playoffs in the first round. And quite honestly, the Giants totally deserved to win against the Cowboys. Everyone knew that the Cowboys were coasting on their record and had started to suck for the three weeks leading up to the Giants game. The Giants were the better team and I totally applaud them for making the Cowboys cry like babies.
But obviously, the real prize in the Giants winning the Super Bowl is seeing Tom Brady falter. Someone who is basically handed the winning genetic lottery ticket at birth deserves to deal with some sort of adversity. I know that he's only 30 and still probably will join Terry Bradshaw and Joe Montana in the 4 Super Bowl Wins Club. But for one brief shining moment last night, shit didn't work out just fine for Tom Brady. That makes me happy.
As for who created the Justin Timberlake Super Bowl ad, please stop creating things. Tony Romo must be pretty stoked that his likeness appeared at any point in time during the Super Bowl. Maybe if the whole quarterback thing doesn't work out for him, he can shill for Popeye's or something. Who needs a Super Bowl win when you have so many celebrity friends? Does Eli Manning have Ashlee Simpson on his IM? Didn't think so.
Also, who approved those Sales Genie ads? Apparently this whole anti-immigrant thing is really taking off. Xenophobia is making a comeback!
Friday, February 1, 2008
I have two recurring dreams that I am trying to analyze.
Dream #1 is the dream I have been having once every four months or so since I was 20. In it, I am the mother to a soccer phenom. No idea who the father is. But obviously, we did something right since my little soccer phenom son and I live in an elaborate manor in the lush English countryside. In my dream, the house actually looks exactly like the Selsdon Park Manor in Croydon, just south of London. I had tea there once and apparently it really stuck with me. So in my recurring dream I live in this, essentially:
Now what could be wrong with that, you ask? Here's the thing. We have a large pitch on the grounds so that my soccer playing son can practice constantly. There is even a sound system strung up around the pitch. There's the rub: my son can only practice his little heart out if Europe's "The Final Countdown" is blaring. And I do mean blaring. So basically, I am driven to drink because I wander around my country manor to the strains of "The Final Countdown" all day and all night. But I have to be supportive of my son. I have that same dream every few months. And have for going on 7 years now.
Dream #2 is a little less disturbing. It basically involves me going on tour with the Cult somewhere between Love and Electric. I don't know why I am tour with them or what exactly my job originally entailed but somehow my job evolves (or devolves) into being Ian Astbury's agony aunt (what's the American equivalent of that term?) and hair brusher. I go to the store and get him hot oil treatment packs in every city we stop in. We sit in hotel rooms talking about boys and we watch bad TV shows while I brush his hair and sometimes I even put it in braids since he really likes Native Americans a lot. He buys me a leather vest with fringe so we can dress like twinsies. We make fun of Billy Duffy behind his back and sometimes even put his stuff up on extremely high shelves just so he has to ask someone to reach it for him. I'm always really sad towards the end of the dream because I know that the tour will end soon and I cry as I write down instructions for Ian on what he will have to do to retain his hair's shine and luster. I choke up as I remind him to always rinse your shampoo with super hot water then rinse your conditioner with cold water. I leave the instructions like a Dear John letter or the letter Marty writes Doc about not getting shot by the Libyan terrorists in Ian's jacket pocket. I usually wake up around that point.
On a completely different note, I am thinking about starting a foundation to help encourage coked-up girls to have more self-esteem and confidence. It breaks my heart to see a girl with her jaw clenched, her nose dripping, her throat constantly swallowing but she just doesn't put herself out there. I want to empower coked-up girls to come up with creative new ideas like maybe going swimming or having an impromptu party. I want to encourage them to do things like confide lots of really gnarly personal information to complete strangers. I want them to have the confidence to corner people that they may have had a falling out with and try to talk through their issues. I want them to know that no matter what insecurities they may have, that at the very moment that they polish off that $40 worth of fun they become the most beautiful and sensual creature that no mortal man nor woman can resist. I also want to see if I can bottle the scent that emanates from their mouths when they've been drinking and snorting coke all night. I'm re-finishing a dresser and need to get the old layer of paint off.