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I use this forum to poke fun at hockey. (And I do it quite often, actually.) But, the truth of the matter is, today I wish I were a hockey fan. More specifically, a Boston Bruins fan.
Seriously.
I wish I were a Bruins fan because the joy of victory felt by each genuine fan when the Bruins won Lord's Stanley Cup passed me by. And isn't that the allure of following any sport? To somehow validate our lives through victory on the field of...er, um, rink of play?
Sports allow us as spectators -- whoever we are -- to share in the accomplishment of a group of elite athletes. Athletes, by the way, who have been gifted with skills the less fortunate pay to watch. Athlete who have also sacrificed most of their lives for that one career defining moment we, as fans, get to share in: winning a championship. And, despite that build up, all I felt was when the Bruins won was, "So what."
Before the lynching starts, let me say this: I understand my unethusiastic response is not remotely worthy of the effort that was put forth to evoke it. Bruin Nation has waited 39 years for this moment.
I know.
But does it really make me unappreciative, though? The answer is simple: No, it doesn't. All it does is solidifies me as a non-hockey fan. And, as strange as this might sound to some of you, I need to stay true to my "non-hockeyfandomness" without getting caught up in the hype or hopping on the already over-crowded bandwagon to stay true to who I am as a fan.
Pink hats don't look good on me, anyway.
As is often the case, dear readers, one's greatest strength can often be their biggest flaw. And, while I try to "idiom proof" my life and follow a path void of predictability, it appears that I, too, am continually guilty of allowing one of my attributes to adversely effect my life.
The good side of the coin reads, "Strong willed. Determined." The other side, however, reads, "Thick headed. Stubborn."
Now, I'm not talking about the kind of stubbornness that implies I'm always right. (Because, well, I'm am. It's inherent. Duh.) What I am talking about is the kind of stubbornness that gives me delusions of overcoming any issue in my life, specifically medical ones, by effort alone. That's right. Not by medicine. Not by doctors. But by effort.
Not your garden variety crazy, is it?
I could easily say, "Blame an accident, a 10-day 'he'll never walk again' comma and two and a half years of 'defying medical expectations' rehab." But I can't "blame" those events.
I have to blame me.
What I really need to do, y'all, is realize singular effort is not the mark of manhood and asking for help is not a sign of weakness but, rather, of awareness. Moving forward, I'll try to be more aware of those very important distinctions.
But no promises.
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Quick Thinking
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-- So I finally had a chance to watch Black Swan and according to the movie, as far as I can tell, all it takes to be a great ballerina is finding the time to masturbate.
-- Well, that, and having a lesbian encounter with Mila Kunis.
-- Is it too late for me to pursue my ballerina career?
-- Shout out to my nephew, Brennan, for proving a Joyce boy's charm is capable of most anything.
-- Even a quiet moment with the face of Red Sox Nation, Heidi Watney.
-- She must have been confused by the "Varitek" on the back of his jersey...
-- Just playing, B. It's in the DNA, nephew. Enjoy the ride.
-- Celebrity Look-A-Like of the Week Award goes to the bearded, Stanley Cup playoff version of Bruin Nation goal minder Tim Thomas for looking like the wolfpack's lovable loser, Zach Galifianakis.
-- And, remember, it's not a purse. It's called a satchel.
-- Good Samaritan Award of the Week Award goes to yours truly for gifting a Northampton homeless man my leftover mac-and-cheese with duck confit while exiting The Dirty Truth on Saturday night.
-- The homeless man's response earns him Question of the Week honors when, following my generosity, he asked: "Don't you have a fork?"
-- So much for "beggars can't be choosers," huh?
-- My knee-jerk, Belgian ale induced quip, "Nope, no fork. I do have a job, though." earns me the Quote of the Week accolades.
-- Those who know me best know I said it.
-- And I'm not saying that's a good thing.
-- It may have also earned me the much less coveted Good Deed of the Week Gone Bad Award.
-- Kinda like that time I tried to hail a taxi in Denver back in '07...
Recent interactions with the population-at-large has learned me the following fact: reality has been relegated to no more than a vacation spot for most people. Everyone knows it exists. Shit, most folks even decide to visit once in a while.
But no one seems to reside there anymore.
I implore you, dear readers, please look into relocating if you don't already live in reality. But, if you're locked into an unbreakable lease, at the very least dare to visit Reality Island a little more often.
And I'm not talking about your own little corner of the island. I'm talking about the entire land mass; especially the parts you've never visited or even knew existed. Trust me, the weather is always nice, the truths are always simple (whether you accept them or not is a different story) and rent doesn't cost a penny.
Plus, it has the best water park ever.
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Quick Thinking
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-- Rondo's elbow dislocation during our failed playoff run was the grossest thing I've seen as a Celtics fan since watching Greg Kite play.
-- His resiliency following the injury, on the other hand, makes Rocky and Rudy, the greatest fictional "little engine that could" characters of all time, look like quitters.
-- The chant of "rondo. Rondo. RONDO!" better shake the foundation of the Garden at the start of next season, y'all.
-- Speaking of worst-to-first stories, how 'bout those Red Sox, huh? I guess the rumors of their untimely demise were greatly exaggerated after all.
-- Am I the only one that thinks Nabisco is adding chocolate flavored crack to Oreos? I can't stop eating these fucking things.
-- I'm starting to feel like Tyrone Biggums around them.
-- Big congratulatory shout out to my zodiac sign sharing big cousin, Joe Anter, who tied the knot at 10,000 feet wearing a tux with his trademark skis in Solitude, UT.
-- Beep again, brother. Beep. Again.
-- Reality Check of the Week comes from yours truly and highlights a hard lesson that, especially in today's social media world, the ability to express thoughts and feelings "in confidence" doesn't exist anymore.
-- People jumping to conclusions after learning small bits of information about others, however, is alive and well.
-- Thriving, in fact.
-- But do me a favor and don't tell anyone I said that though, ok?
As we all know, dear readers, I use my daily experiences as blog fodder. And, because I spend so much of my time at work, it would only make sense interactions with co-workers influence the majority of my daily life and, ultimately, any resulting written word.
With that said, I'd like to take my jester hat off for a second and give a shout out to my two colleagues (now former colleagues, actually) who broke under the rigors of a hostile work environment and unapologetically resigned this past weekend.
Consider this blog my symbolic "pour a little out on the sidewalk for my fallen homies" moment. Actually, consider it my "pour the whole thing out" moment.
Because King Cobra sucks.
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Quick Thinking
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-- You know the basketball landscape has changed, y'all, when historic powerhouses like the Grizzles and Thunder are battling for supremacy out West.
-- Regardless of its progression, though, playoff basketball is still the best ticket in town right now.
-- Speaking of round ball, have you seen the newest installment of NBA TV's "Biggest Season Ever" promotions?
-- Reminds me of my NBA Jam TE days back in the 90's.
-- For the record, me and Big Nick were unstoppable playing with Chicago's duo of B.J. Armstrong and Dennis Rodman.
-- Just ask the fellas in Fennell & McDermott who were humbled night after night and supplied us with countless cases of Natty Light and handles of Captain during my college years.
-- HE'S ON FIRE!!
-- The ladies in McVinney Hall were humbled in a different way.
-- BOOM-SHAKA-LAKA!!
-- Unless it combats our dependency on foreign oil or decreases the unemployment rate, the reports of bin Ladin's death feel like much ado about nothing.
-- They also reek of political posturing.
-- Either way, I can't wait to unlock the secret level and kill his digital ass in the next installment of Call of Duty.
-- The Bruins scored a touchdown and held the Flyers to a field goal to take a 1-0 series lead in the Eastern Conference semifinals. Sweet, eh?
-- I know I'm mixing sports metaphors there, but referring to hockey as football is the only way I can make it interesting.
-- Or tolerable.
-- Memo to All You Ladies Out There: Glamour Shots is never a good gift idea
-- Ever.
-- Hey, Big Four, if you keep letting Miami's bench players goat you, it's gonna be a short series.
-- Here's a little advice: Start taking the game to them.
-- A little playoff trash talking never hurt anyone, either.
-- Telling LeBron the entire Celtics team will "take their talents back to Boston and run a train on DeLonte's girlfriend" is a good place to start.
-- Am I the only one confused by all these summer movie trailers on TV lately? I mean, I saw one the other day that said The Hangover Part II was being release on May 13th but could have sworn it was coming out on the 26th.
-- Wait, what? That's not The Hangover Part II with a bunch of women? It's a new movie called Bridesmaids?
-- Oh, my bad.
-- Wonder where Mr. Apatow drew his inspiration for that novel movie idea.
-- Good luck getting all that "date night" clientele, Judd, because, as we all know, guys don't want to watch women acting like guys.
-- Unless, of course, they take us home from a bar on Friday night.
-- HAY-OOO!
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.------------------
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."
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.
Spring has sprung, dear readers. And, along with sunny skies that melt snow piles and show us the promise of summer, it brings along with it the greatest Wonka confection of all time: Sweet Tarts in the shape of Ducks, Chics and Bunnies.
Enjoy accordingly.
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Quick Thinking
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-- How is it that with the countless health trend infomercials pirating late night and early morning TV showing an infinite number of people who have "changed their lives with this incredibly easy program" America is still one of the fattest countries in the world?
-- And I mean like orca fat.
-- Sometimes I wish my name was Wolf Blitzer.
-- Celebrity Look A Like of the Week goes to Gary Busey for looking like Matt Damon from Team America.
-- I think we can both agree I'm being generous.
-- F**k YEAH!
-- Opening Day arrives to find Red Sox Nation heralded as the "team to beat" in the American League by every media "expert" with a microphone.
-- Feels unfamiliar.
-- The predictions also make me very, very nervous because, as we all know, while individuals may be intelligent, popular opinion usually turns out to be anything but.
-- Just ask the 2010 Patriots.
-- Or the teams who played VCU during this year's Madness.
-- And the 69 million strong who have listened to Rebecca Black's single Friday on YouTube.
-- Geniuses all, I'm sure.
-- I inherently don't trust any adult wearing clothing with Disney characters.
-- Listen, y'all, it's one thing to want to have kids. It's a complete different thing to try and lure them into your lair with pictures of Mickey, Donald and Pluto.
-- Creepy.
-- It appears the stalemate between NFL players and owners has gone playground with each side saying, "I'm rubber and you're glue."
-- Not the best way to sway public opinion, fellas.
-- At this rate, we might as well just settle the dispute with a good 'ol fashion game of Red Rover.
-- You think Kraft and Jerry Jones have the strength to hold the line when they send Adrian Peterson right over?
-- Ya, me neither.
