Quick Thinking: The Brady Sicks

The NFL off-season that wouldn't die began with a playoff loss to the J-E-T-S quarterbacked by a man courting 17-year-old Eliza Kruger.

Reports of "strange behavior" appear on local news broadcasts across the country.

It rose from the grave when NFL players decided to disband their union ensuring tactical flexibility in the form of an antitrust lawsuit during the owners impending lockout.

Fear spreads and citizens start boarding up their windows.

And, finally, it advanced to undead walking status when the ponytail wearing leader of Patriot Nation cried on national TV during ESPN's Year of the QB: The Brady 6.

The outbreak is official.

Grab your shotty, machete, a few red bulls and take no prisoners as the NFL's version of the zombie apocalypse engulfs us, dear readers. Unless, of course, choreographed dancing is involved because, as we all know, zombies who can boogie are great pets to have. I call "dibs" on any midget ones, though.

They don't eat as much.

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Quick Thinking
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-- The Bulls will win the NBA Championship this year.

-- I can take the fashion decisions influenced by your supermodel wife, Tom. What I can't take, however, is watching you cry for ESPN's cameras while your championship window is closing.

-- Lock it up, brother.

-- No one in Red Sox Nation misses John Farrell more than I do.

-- Hey, Feds, at least the country hasn't been suffering through tough economic times while you pissed away millions over eight years trying to put Barry Bonds behind bars.

-- Politically charged witch hunt, anyone?

-- I'll never stop eating Cocoa Pebbles.

-- And you can't make me.

-- With 1/16th of the season behind us, the "best" team in baseball has the worst record. I wonder who saw that coming?

-- Gooooooooo, ME!

-- Saying, "I told you so" would be a bit childish. So I'll go with the age old adage, "measure twice, cut once" to convey my sentiment.

-- Give it a minute.

-- Understatement of the Week Award goes to whoever pens movie blurbs at Direct TV for describing Deliverance as, "Nature and mountain men humble four Atlanta businessmen on a canoe trip in the Appalachian wilds."

-- Silly me for not realizing "humble" was synonymous with "ass rape."

(Self) Defense Wins Championships

The faster the years past the more I realize I'm not what most people think I am. (Which, as all of you probably know, is an asshole of sorts.) My contention, of course, is that I'm simply misunderstood.

Just ask Common.

In high school, it was my sharp tongue. In college, my sharper tongue. Today, it manifests in the crass, sometimes offensive, words I write. At this rate, according to popular opinion, my concern really should be what lava front real estate will be going for in Hell when it's my time.

Lucky for me, we all know what I think of popular opinion.

For the record, though, it's not that I'm an "asshole" just for the sake of being an "asshole." I'm just, well, indifferent. And I'm not talking about always-pretending-I-don't-care-what-people-think-only-to-privately-mourn-my-true-feelings kind of indifferent. I'm talking about Dexter-stabbing-someone-in-the-heart-and-casually-dismembering-their-corpse indifferent.

For real real.

I can already hear the disbelief and see the eye rolling, dear readers, but try to suspend disbelief for a second and hear me out.

This blog isn't a dissertation on my lack of feelings. (Quite the opposite, in fact.) This blog is purely a testament to the level of comfort I've reached in my own skin and the self awareness that goes along with it. My value -- or any perceived value -- is controlled entirely by me. Good, bad, ugly...whatever. And in my experience, while being self aware seems like a noble goal in life, it commonly results in what others mistake as "being an asshole."

Regardless of third party viewpoints, though, I'm the protagonist in my life story being written by me. Not by you. In literary terms, most everyone else in my life serves as a supporting character who's main job is to help me learn on my journey.

Here's an example: the kind of car I drive doesn't add value to my life. I value having one, sure. But the car in and of itself doesn't add value to who I am as a person. (Unless, of course, you're in need of a ride home.) Same thing goes for my best friend. I value him, as a person, but not in a desperate, co-dependent manner.

The point of what seems to be a heaping spoonful of psychobabble, dear readers, is this: take a peek at your life's landscape and see where value lives. If it's in the "stuff" surrounding you than I hope you're fortunate enough to find it living elsewhere in the coming years. However, if you're lucky enough to find it living in the mirror, than you're enjoying the same solace in life I've found.

Or maybe you're just an asshole, too.