So uncreative of me...
Anywho, 2011 is winding down, and 2012 is knocking at the door like the drunk uncle you didn't invite to your New Year's Eve party because you were sure he'd proposition the women in your apartment with crude sex jokes related to his work as a novelty toys salesman (if I could think of any such jokes right now, this would be an excellent metaphor, but my brain is on vacation today for some reason), but he shows up anyway. And it's awful.
The Mayan calendar runs out in 2012, which means a lot of easily-led people assume that the Mayans foretold the end of days. Granted, try asking a Mayan what he meant; you can't, their civilization vanished centuries ago.
Or did it?
Anyway, if next year is the end, at least I can say that I'm a damn good uncle. Oh, and I want to write a book next year, though I say that every year and so far I've done bupkus.
But that's what a resolution is: before it's an empty promise that you made at the beginning of the year which looks untenable as the months coagulate, at least it holds the promise of something new.
Also, there's a very good chance that we'll elect a white man to the White House. I wonder how the media will handle that earth-shaking story, a first in American politics (I'm an Obama guy, but I'm not optimistic. Granted, the guy got Osama, but in case you haven't noticed, a lot of Americans are uncomfortable with him. I spell Tea Party "K-K-K" myself).
But 2012 beckons, calling to us that no, it will not end in a dramatic CGI-palooza of dread and doom. I hope it doesn't, anyway.
Friday, December 30, 2011
Saturday, December 10, 2011
Ned's Atomic Dustbin of Crap
The season is over for Clemson football...and we're ACC champs. I know, I know, I don't know that I believe it either.
Clemson is used to...well, how to put it nicely? Stinking. Not just choking, but downright self-murder, especially as the season winds down. And we damn near did so, not once but twice, first at NC State (making their back-up QB look like Dan Marino and Tom Brady's love child) and then against South Carolina (where the new guy most definitely is a love child of Aaron Rodgers and Peyton Manning). So going into last weekend's ACC Championship game against Virginia Tech, to say that I had little hope would be an understatement.
I had lost faith entirely.
It's always sobering coming back down to earth, when you had been on a magical carpet ride of 8-0 football, against opponents who weren't terrible (but maybe weren't as good as they were before, ahem, looking at you Auburn). Doubt is a painful emotion, not because it comes around suddenly but because it creeps under your skin until the next thing you know, you can't even look in the mirror anymore at your orange shirt because deep down you know the wide-eyed innocence of pure unadultered fandom is no longer yours. You have questions about the special teams, you moan the inefficiency of the defense, and your quarterback is not really "your" quarterback so much.
So while I enjoyed the fact that we won last weekend, I couldn't really take any credit for believing that we'd do it. I didn't even watch the game until the fourth quarter, preferring instead to catch up with an old favorite of mine that I hadn't seen in a while.
(500) Days of Summer is, to my mind, the coolest, intentionally cool romantic comedy of our current age. But when I first saw it, and on subsequent viewings, I missed the point; I thought the film was indeed a love story, despite the protestations of the voiceover at the beginning. But upon rewatching it, and after experiencing a personal epiphany of which I may or may not elaborate later, I got it: the film isn't about love, but how to fall in love, and how not to fall in love is ably demonstrated by Tom, the protagonist with whom I couldn't help identify because we have both been known to misread The Graduate and wear Joy Division t-shirts. Behind the indie-rock soundtrack and Zooey(sic) Deschanel's blue eyes, it's the story of how we often talk ourselves into believing things that just aren't so.
Fans do that a lot, in the sports world: we want to believe that our teams are better than they are, or if they're not, that there's an explanation for that that's easily definable (i.e., the curse of Bambino, or the Billy Goat). For a lot of Clemson fans, it's just more comforting to believe that we suck, and that we will continue to suck, with occasional flashes of non-sucking thrown in to suck in the new fans year after year. My niece will be surrounded by Clemson fans, so the poor child will have no choice, you see. But I remember the Boston Red Sox of '04 deciding not to overthrow the Bambino so much as ignore the hell out of him, and just keep playing baseball. You do recall how that turned out, right?
For the longest time, at least over a year, I've not had the confidence to be myself around women. I've tried to "woo" them, or whatever, just failing miserably because deep down, I didn't believe any of it. But now, I have to say, my confidence is sorta back. And while I don't think it is any of your business to say what all brought this about, I suppose it will suffice to say that I'm not looking for someone else to make me feel better about myself anymore. Getting fired might have been the best thing that ever happened to me, because it forced me to take a long look at myself and realize that I'm often the reason I can't get anything I want. Self-defeater, party of one. And that's not what falling in love should be about, this urge to define yourself through someone else's eyes. It should be about you saying...I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me.
Okay, bit cliched there at the end, but you catch my drift, imaginary audience to whom I feel I am speaking?
Anyway, time to get back on that horse, only this time I think I'll be a more confident rider. If I'm not...believe me, I'll probably bitch about it here.
Clemson is used to...well, how to put it nicely? Stinking. Not just choking, but downright self-murder, especially as the season winds down. And we damn near did so, not once but twice, first at NC State (making their back-up QB look like Dan Marino and Tom Brady's love child) and then against South Carolina (where the new guy most definitely is a love child of Aaron Rodgers and Peyton Manning). So going into last weekend's ACC Championship game against Virginia Tech, to say that I had little hope would be an understatement.
I had lost faith entirely.
It's always sobering coming back down to earth, when you had been on a magical carpet ride of 8-0 football, against opponents who weren't terrible (but maybe weren't as good as they were before, ahem, looking at you Auburn). Doubt is a painful emotion, not because it comes around suddenly but because it creeps under your skin until the next thing you know, you can't even look in the mirror anymore at your orange shirt because deep down you know the wide-eyed innocence of pure unadultered fandom is no longer yours. You have questions about the special teams, you moan the inefficiency of the defense, and your quarterback is not really "your" quarterback so much.
So while I enjoyed the fact that we won last weekend, I couldn't really take any credit for believing that we'd do it. I didn't even watch the game until the fourth quarter, preferring instead to catch up with an old favorite of mine that I hadn't seen in a while.
(500) Days of Summer is, to my mind, the coolest, intentionally cool romantic comedy of our current age. But when I first saw it, and on subsequent viewings, I missed the point; I thought the film was indeed a love story, despite the protestations of the voiceover at the beginning. But upon rewatching it, and after experiencing a personal epiphany of which I may or may not elaborate later, I got it: the film isn't about love, but how to fall in love, and how not to fall in love is ably demonstrated by Tom, the protagonist with whom I couldn't help identify because we have both been known to misread The Graduate and wear Joy Division t-shirts. Behind the indie-rock soundtrack and Zooey(sic) Deschanel's blue eyes, it's the story of how we often talk ourselves into believing things that just aren't so.
Fans do that a lot, in the sports world: we want to believe that our teams are better than they are, or if they're not, that there's an explanation for that that's easily definable (i.e., the curse of Bambino, or the Billy Goat). For a lot of Clemson fans, it's just more comforting to believe that we suck, and that we will continue to suck, with occasional flashes of non-sucking thrown in to suck in the new fans year after year. My niece will be surrounded by Clemson fans, so the poor child will have no choice, you see. But I remember the Boston Red Sox of '04 deciding not to overthrow the Bambino so much as ignore the hell out of him, and just keep playing baseball. You do recall how that turned out, right?
For the longest time, at least over a year, I've not had the confidence to be myself around women. I've tried to "woo" them, or whatever, just failing miserably because deep down, I didn't believe any of it. But now, I have to say, my confidence is sorta back. And while I don't think it is any of your business to say what all brought this about, I suppose it will suffice to say that I'm not looking for someone else to make me feel better about myself anymore. Getting fired might have been the best thing that ever happened to me, because it forced me to take a long look at myself and realize that I'm often the reason I can't get anything I want. Self-defeater, party of one. And that's not what falling in love should be about, this urge to define yourself through someone else's eyes. It should be about you saying...I'm good enough, I'm smart enough, and doggone it, people like me.
Okay, bit cliched there at the end, but you catch my drift, imaginary audience to whom I feel I am speaking?
Anyway, time to get back on that horse, only this time I think I'll be a more confident rider. If I'm not...believe me, I'll probably bitch about it here.
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