So, except for the behind-home-plate Braves season tickets my dad had all through the 90s, I had my best seat at a baseball game ever Wed. night. Front row, right down the 1st baseline. My friend Kevin pulled through on those — they belong to an associate of his — and it was awesome to be that close to the field. We were so close that when Uggla nearly threw a ball away on a short throw from second, he heard me say, “uh, Uggla…” and he looked up from his crouch and waved. Heh. Anyway, thank God the Braves finally cut through all the aggression that sits like a cloud in Nats stadium — which I suspect will eventually mellow once they figure their business out and start relaxing a bit — and found their bats. Seriously, that homerun J. Up hit was a rocket. Not sure I’ve ever seen a ball come off a bat that quick. And I squee’d like a little girl. And man did everyone behind me hate me for the last few innings of that game. But you know what Nats fans? Losing’s part of the game, too. As a Braves fan, you should trust me on that. So just check your egos at the door already and enjoy yourselves. Your team needs you to do that.
I keep having these weird dreams where I’m living in the dorm again in college. Can’t imagine why…ahem. Back then, I had a dear friend to keep me sane. Bob and I have been friends since the first grade and we shared a dorm room and lived together over the next four years. Still friends. I’m proud of that. Coming to DC has been slightly different. The people are older and so more practiced in their weirdness — which looks remarkably similar to what I remember during my freshman year of college — and the one person I knew (outside of family that lives an hour or two away, traffic depending) turned out to suck pretty hard. Sorry dude, but you did. We both know it. On a related note, I strive for success and financial security (and then some) as well, but the promise of those things — and the taste of them — just brings out the worst in some people. You ever noticed that? Like, if you have that thing inside you that’s negotiable, the promise of stuff and social standing and bragging rights just starts the bidding. It reminds me so much of what Bill Cosby said about cocaine:
Anyway, I’m struggling with having to own up to some things I’ve said recently — which are how I feel and I have no problem owning up to them — but that I never intended to be shared because I’m not about hurting people’s feelings. But you know what? Sometimes things I say that come from a place of concern get used as weapons — we all have this experience, right? — and so I’m taking the lesson to be EVEN MORE selective about who I talk to. Pretty soon I’m never going to talk to anyone about anything except the weather and how much I like their shirt. And that’s sad. It is to me anyway. I don’t like shallow all that much.
This is a good piece related, I think, to the sentiment above. These kids just stir it up. Because:
The youth, now fully convinced they embodied a pure and untainted wisdom far superior to their dull-witted and tech-challenged parents and grand-parents, all intoned the highest of all credos, “It’s all good.”
The thing is, it’s not all good. You’re kinda pains in the collective ass. I respond the way I always do, with the best my generation can give, written in a beautifully grouchy missive.
Right now, Generation X just wants a beer and to be left alone. It just wants to sit here quietly and think for a minute. Can you just do that, okay? It knows that you are so very special and so very numerous, but can you just leave it alone? Just for a little bit? Just long enough to sneak one last fucking cigarette? No?
Whatever. It’s cool.
I re-read Honen’s rant frequently because seriously, shut up. And you want to know why? Because this is the kind stuff we have to do to appease your warped sense of right and wrong, fair and unfair. And it’s all so irrational and exasperating and made-the-f*ck-up. The ESPN article he links to is one of the best things I’ve read by any writer in quite some time. I told someone yesterday that the last line of this article is representative of why I wanted to be a journalist so many years ago. Brilliant.
And even though an Annenberg Public Policy Center poll found that 90 percent of Native Americans were not offended by the Redskins name, and even though linguists say the “redskins” word was first used by Native Americans themselves, and even though nobody on the Blackfeet side of my wife’s family has ever had someone insult them with the word “redskin,” it doesn’t matter. There’s no stopping a wave of PC-ness when it gets rolling.
I mean, when media stars like USA Today’s Christine Brennan, a white woman from Ohio, and Peter King, a white man from Massachusetts, have jumped on a people’s cause, there’s no going back.
This is also where you’re taking us. I’m convinced that quinoa is your generation’s version of the rice cake. Ugh.
Next I see the gluten-free section filled with crackers and bread made from various wheat-substitutes such as cardboard and sawdust. I skip this aisle because I’m not rich enough to have dietary restrictions. Ever notice that you don’t meet poor people with special diet needs? A gluten intolerant house cleaner? A cab driver with Candida? Candida is what I call a rich, white person problem. You know you’ve really made it in this world when you get Candida. My personal theory is that Candida is something you get from too much hot yoga. All I’m saying is if I were a yeast, I would want to live in your yoga pants.
***weird aside — turns out the Navy Yard shooter was on Trazodone, a reportedly safe anti-depressant administered as a sleep aid. So fine, it’s safe; but it does have some side effects that include violent dreams and thoughts, aggression, suicidal tendencies, in some who take it. I still say we hand this stuff out and forget about it, and in those few cases where the person is seriously troubled, those side effects mean something. And I just think we need to tighten up on that. But here’s the weird aside: I was reading these online message boards where people who take this stuff talk about how it affects them and HOLY COW THESE PEOPLE ARE POPPING PILLS LIKE MAD. I can be naive but I had no idea…Fascinating.***
Someone posted this on Constitution Day. Awesome.
Bahaha! Most powerful nation on Earth folks.
Okay, the music for today comes courtesy of a dear old friend of mine, Chris Farmer, who, on one high school weekend trip to our friend’s lake house at Lake Lanier outside of Atlanta, he told me to listen to a song because he thought I might relate. Also, I think he’s a secret Mariah fan and had to use his concern for me to justify listening to her awesome voice. Will always love this song for that association. It helps me remember that I have been loved in life.