1/15/05: Feel better, Monkeyman

There are certain days when I'm hyperemotional, where just about anything can make me start crying.  Who knows what causes it. Today was one of those days. 

As a reward for all our hard work during hostboy's recent studio run, the boss gave us the day off on Friday. Well, he didn't officially give us the day off, but when we asked, he said we could take it off if we wanted to.  He was probably applying a little bit of guilt, hoping we'd come in because our consciences would get the better of us if we didn't.  If so, he was wrong.  My conscience is as tired as the rest of me, and I didn't have the patience for the guilt game.

Why do people still play the guilt game? Why can't people just come out and say what it is they want? Dunno.

Anyway, I spent the day doing not much of anything. It was a good day for that, cold and rainy.

I slept 'til around noon, and I woke up feeling hungry.  To honor my ailing comrade Joe, I decided what I needed was a diner-quality grilled cheese. There's a little diner right across the street from our apartment building, so I threw on my Degrassi sweatshirt and jogged across the street.

I stopped to pick up a NY Post on the way.  I know I shouldn't be reading the NY Post.  You don't need to remind me.  But it costs a quarter and it fits ever so nicely on a diner table. So I'm reading the Post and enjoying my meal (grilled cheese, fries, coke), and I come across this cloying, poorly written article by that utter douchebag Steve Dunleavy. It's so badly written you kind of have to read certain passages twice just to understand what he's saying.

But dammit, it made me cry.* The fact that the Sergeant guy has given twenty-one years of his life to the military, and then he gets stuck over there fighting in a hopeless war, then loses his best friend, then comes back to surprise his wife with a visit -- it just made me well up for a second right there in the crap-ass diner on the corner of 72nd and West End.  War in general is such a heartbreaking endeavor. An unjustified war ordered by cowards operating under false assumptions (at best) is completely tragic.  I was so happy that the guy got to see his wife, but then you think about it and remember that he's got to go back over to fucking Iraq in a couple days. 

Because we thought they had weapons, or something like that.

I don't know what Bush has to do to lose support. He's tried just about everything. His reelection is one of the great political miracles of all time. And the stories of his second term are going to be even sadder than the stories of his first.

***

I played ball Thursday night and my body is aching like I got run over by a snow plow. Getting old = not so much fun. But the shot was falling and the spin move was working, so what else can I ask for? 

***

There was a semi-serious little fight in the Wolves-Nuggets game tonight.  It was pretty annoying.  First of all, it needs to be pointed out that most NBA players fight like sissies.  I would say "they fight like girls" except that I've seen girls fight before. Girls know how to fight.  They know how to cause pain and injury. They pull hair, they kick, they bite. That's pretty sound strategy.  They attack with whatever means are available to them. If it's their nails, you get scratched. If it's a kitchen knife, you get stabbed. They don't fuck around. When two girls get in a fight, you can be fairly certain one of them will be crying and/or bleeding when it's done. As a battered little brother, I have the utmost respect for the fighting techniques of girls.

But NBA players just kind of lean away from each other and start throwing flailing roundhouses that never connect. Tonight it was Oliwikandi and Nene, who together weigh in around 580 pounds.  But there they were, tossing these wimpy, cowardly punches from behind a wall of teammates trying to protect them. Why even fight if that's all you got?

Not that I am saying I want to see another Kermit Washington episode, or another Detroit-Indiana melee. But why pretend to be all hard and then throw down like scared little schoolkids? You end up looking like clowns.  Just walk away, ya losers.

And in the immediate aftermath of the fight, thuggy Kenyon Martin started raising his arms and hollering in an attempt to incite the crowd. Kenyon's a dick. Sorry.  That's just a dick move, and it's the 48th dick move of his career. I think you officially become a dick after ten dick moves.  He's in there comfortably.

***.

Speaking of dicks, if you're wondering which side of the Randy Moss debate I come down on, it's the "What's the Big Deal?" side. I don't like Moss much, even though he kicked tremendous quantities of ass for my 2003 fantasy football team, Nimphius. That said, his gesture in Green Bay was crude, but it wasn't really that much worse than what kids see in Bugs Bunny cartoons. It was mildly annoying, I'll give you that. But I have to agree with all those who think Joe Buck's frothing indictment during the game was WAY too strong. Calm down, ya douche.

Especially because it was a little bit funny (assuming you aren't a Packers fan).

Gonna watch some good football on this 4-day weekend. The NFL playoffs are a near-perfect spectacle, ass-shaking and all.

My picks for tomorrow and Sunday: Jets (that one's with my heart), Colts, Vikes (that one's with JPW's heart), and Falcons.

***

Do you have certain shirts that, through no fault of their own, never seem to make the upper tier?  Meaning you'll wear 'em once in a while, but they just can't crack your starting five.  I feel bad for those shirts.  There's nothing in particular the matter with 'em, but they just aren't nice enough to ever amount to anything. I have a green one from Brooks Brothers that's like that.  It's kind of ugly, I guess, but it's fine for wearing to work.  By the way, if you're a working stiff who needs to wear some sort of button-down shirt to the office, I wholeheartedly recommend the Brooks Brothers non-iron collection.   I know, Brooks Brothers is kinda lame, but these shirts are fucking amazing.  You really don't have to iron them one bit, and they look pressed.  People used to always make fun of me for my wrinkled shirts, but not anymore. With Brooks Brothers' non-iron dress shirts, my confidence has soared and the ladies have noticed! Thanks, Brooks Brothers!

***

New, vastly different stuff from outside contributors coming soon.  I'm excited. Oh admit it, you're excited, too. In the meantime, you can take a look at the picture above right and tell me, "Wheredat"?  And you can also read a brand new review from cW right goddamn now.

* I also cried more than once today while watching the NFL Films history of the NY Giants on ESPN Classic. I'm not really a Giants fan, but damn those NFL Films guys can tell a story.  This wasn't even one of their best, because they were trying to pack too much info into too little show, but seeing YA Tittle kneeling there on the grass with his face all bloody**gets me every time. Also, Frank Gifford was a real stud.
** My dad, who has had a Zelig-like connection to many of the important stories of the 20th century, helped break the Tittle retirement story.