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.
Saturday, November 12, 2011
Nobody Likes an English Major
In the past few weeks, I've worked like crazy at work, and I am recently able to enjoy the fruits of my labor with a slight bump up in my finances (though the forbearance on my student loan payments also helps with that). So I can sit back for a little bit and reflect on what it is that I want out of life.
I want a life, basically.
Since last year and getting fired, I have been "out of the game," so to speak. My romantic attachment to a coworker there came to naught, mostly because I was, to use the proper English term as handed down to us from Dr. Samuel Johnson himself, a "pussy." Too many times I've come close to an emotional connection with someone; too many times I've managed to talk myself out of it or screw it up.
That ends now...or a few months from now. No, now.
Fear, of course, is a powerful emotion, as anyone who makes horror movies can tell you. It's always easier to not go into that spooky-looking house (though granted, the movie is really short and you end up feeling cheated. A buddy and I once traded ideas about how to make the world's shortest horror movie). Fear is based sometimes on experience, but most of the time it comes from the unknown, from the never-dreamt-of possibilities that your worst fears might not be realized, or at least not in the way that you imagined. Sometimes it's worse to do nothing than to do something, because even if you end up in some crazy ghost's Human Souffle, at least you're able to tell your figurative self that you tried.
I suppose it's wrong for me to air family laundry, so I won't go into details, but I have noticed that the inability to act is something of a family trait, whether to ask for help when you need it or just to be more assertive about what it is you want from another person. For a long time now, I've put my wants aside for others, mostly family, who need me to be there for them, and I don't regret it. But a central thought keeps coming up, doing its best to rob me of my satisifaction at another selfless act (though if it were truly selfless, would I take anything from it like that?). When will it be my turn?
I hope soon, or at least I hope to know soon. For now, of course, I must continue on, carrying a load that has seemed less oppressive of late, the burden of being stuck in a situation where the distance between what I want and what I have seems to be hard to cross. But I got a lot, so don't think this is anything more than a former English major's lament. I'm good, now I'm ready to be great.
I want Chuck Norris in the Octagon! No holds barred! ;-p
I want a life, basically.
Since last year and getting fired, I have been "out of the game," so to speak. My romantic attachment to a coworker there came to naught, mostly because I was, to use the proper English term as handed down to us from Dr. Samuel Johnson himself, a "pussy." Too many times I've come close to an emotional connection with someone; too many times I've managed to talk myself out of it or screw it up.
That ends now...or a few months from now. No, now.
Fear, of course, is a powerful emotion, as anyone who makes horror movies can tell you. It's always easier to not go into that spooky-looking house (though granted, the movie is really short and you end up feeling cheated. A buddy and I once traded ideas about how to make the world's shortest horror movie). Fear is based sometimes on experience, but most of the time it comes from the unknown, from the never-dreamt-of possibilities that your worst fears might not be realized, or at least not in the way that you imagined. Sometimes it's worse to do nothing than to do something, because even if you end up in some crazy ghost's Human Souffle, at least you're able to tell your figurative self that you tried.
I suppose it's wrong for me to air family laundry, so I won't go into details, but I have noticed that the inability to act is something of a family trait, whether to ask for help when you need it or just to be more assertive about what it is you want from another person. For a long time now, I've put my wants aside for others, mostly family, who need me to be there for them, and I don't regret it. But a central thought keeps coming up, doing its best to rob me of my satisifaction at another selfless act (though if it were truly selfless, would I take anything from it like that?). When will it be my turn?
I hope soon, or at least I hope to know soon. For now, of course, I must continue on, carrying a load that has seemed less oppressive of late, the burden of being stuck in a situation where the distance between what I want and what I have seems to be hard to cross. But I got a lot, so don't think this is anything more than a former English major's lament. I'm good, now I'm ready to be great.
I want Chuck Norris in the Octagon! No holds barred! ;-p
Sunday, October 30, 2011
The Witching Hour
Hello on this Halloween Eve, my friends. Are you ready for a blood-curdling tale of horror and suspense?
Too bad, I don't work that genre too well.
But I do know someone who does: John Carpenter, whose The Thing was recently remade...I'm sorry, "prequeled" by a major Hollywood studio who said "I wonder what happened at the Norwegian camp where the Thing thawed out originally" (answer: chaos ensues). The 1951 original is also good, though less gory, in case you need Halloween viewing options.
I am not a horror guy by and large, and I feel like there's an undercurrent of Puritan morality and conservative politics in even the most forward-thinking horror, a sense of punishment for daring to break society's boundaries. Sure, you get to have all the pot and sex you want, but it means a machete through the groin when you're done. That never sat well with me (of course, if I had a machete in my groin, sitting well would be the least of my worries).
I'm currently making my way thru Jerry West's memoir (talk about transition from subjects), and it turns out that he's kind of a miserable bastard. This despite being the NBA logo, playing on a Lakers team that was always denied by the Celtics of that NBA championship until 1972, and supervising both the Showtime Lakers of the Eighties and the beginning of the Threepeat Lakers of the 00's. Still, though, I like the guy. I will post a review of the book on Amazon when I get done.
Ghouls and goblins abound, but beware the scariest Halloween creature of all: Monday morning! Evil laugh!....
Too bad, I don't work that genre too well.
But I do know someone who does: John Carpenter, whose The Thing was recently remade...I'm sorry, "prequeled" by a major Hollywood studio who said "I wonder what happened at the Norwegian camp where the Thing thawed out originally" (answer: chaos ensues). The 1951 original is also good, though less gory, in case you need Halloween viewing options.
I am not a horror guy by and large, and I feel like there's an undercurrent of Puritan morality and conservative politics in even the most forward-thinking horror, a sense of punishment for daring to break society's boundaries. Sure, you get to have all the pot and sex you want, but it means a machete through the groin when you're done. That never sat well with me (of course, if I had a machete in my groin, sitting well would be the least of my worries).
I'm currently making my way thru Jerry West's memoir (talk about transition from subjects), and it turns out that he's kind of a miserable bastard. This despite being the NBA logo, playing on a Lakers team that was always denied by the Celtics of that NBA championship until 1972, and supervising both the Showtime Lakers of the Eighties and the beginning of the Threepeat Lakers of the 00's. Still, though, I like the guy. I will post a review of the book on Amazon when I get done.
Ghouls and goblins abound, but beware the scariest Halloween creature of all: Monday morning! Evil laugh!....
Sunday, October 16, 2011
Underbite of the Damned
Well, Clemson football this season is bound and determined to give me a heart attack: After going up twenty points on VTech, Tajh gets what looks like a bad injury against BC last week and then doesn't show up for the first half against Maryland. That's right, Maryland. Apparently their new QB is Tim Tebow, because he looked damn good last night. They had us beat a couple of times.
But then we came back, and kept coming back.
Sports is overused as a metaphor for life, but I feel like a season like this, as magical as it is, begs to be used by those who don't have a lot else to cling to as a reason to hold on. Whether we win anything big or not is not the issue (though that would be nice, after last season a winning record is good enough for me), it's the feeling you get when you see something that usually doesn't happen (or when it does, happens for the other team against yours) go right for your guys.
Do I think we'll go undefeated? No, I don't; but that's just the historian in me talking, the one who remembers great starts and so-so finishes to seasons past. God, it would be great, but I don't know if it's possible.
Of course, I don't think anyone had us going undefeated through seven games to start the year. Enjoy it, my friends, enjoy it.
Adversity is always around the corner, but we've been dealing with it pretty good so far. I mean, if we're undefeated, obviously it hasn't gotten to us yet.
So fingers crossed, this has already been a season to remember and it's not over yet. Nobody had us doing this so far, I wonder what else we can do with the season that's left. Whatever it is, I'll enjoy it. I can tell you that much.
But then we came back, and kept coming back.
Sports is overused as a metaphor for life, but I feel like a season like this, as magical as it is, begs to be used by those who don't have a lot else to cling to as a reason to hold on. Whether we win anything big or not is not the issue (though that would be nice, after last season a winning record is good enough for me), it's the feeling you get when you see something that usually doesn't happen (or when it does, happens for the other team against yours) go right for your guys.
Do I think we'll go undefeated? No, I don't; but that's just the historian in me talking, the one who remembers great starts and so-so finishes to seasons past. God, it would be great, but I don't know if it's possible.
Of course, I don't think anyone had us going undefeated through seven games to start the year. Enjoy it, my friends, enjoy it.
Adversity is always around the corner, but we've been dealing with it pretty good so far. I mean, if we're undefeated, obviously it hasn't gotten to us yet.
So fingers crossed, this has already been a season to remember and it's not over yet. Nobody had us doing this so far, I wonder what else we can do with the season that's left. Whatever it is, I'll enjoy it. I can tell you that much.
Monday, October 10, 2011
An Open Letter to Hank Williams, Jr.
Hey, Hank, how are you? Rough week last week, huh?
Buddy, I defend your right to free speech as much as the next guy, but when you make an ass of yourself, ESPN is within every right to fire you. Yes, I said "fire". All this BS about you going to them first and quitting? It's face-saving for you, and not particularly convincing to me. I could be wrong, but I heard about the firing before I heard about you "quitting," and I'm pretty sure one or the other has to be true. And seeing as you're prone to crazy things coming out of your mouth, well...
I'm not saying that the Disney Corporation isn't innocent in all this mess; they have a lot of skeletons in their closet. A lot. But in this case, you really left them no choice.
I get that you don't like Obama, and I get that you felt the "golf summit" was a meeting of philosophical unequals. But saying it's like Hitler and the Israeli PM getting together to shoot some tees? Why didn't you go with the notion of you and Little Richard playing music together for a "apples and oranges" metaphor (that clip of the two of you performing the MNF theme was aired on the news a few times, now that's a bizarre crime-fighting team if I ever saw one. An effeminate black man and a stereotypical drunk white Southern guy; coming to NBC this spring!).
Let's face it, though: when was the last time anyone even talked about you? 1985ish? And Hank, buddy, I am not a fan of your music anyway, but really, the MNF theme was pretty disposable. Just throw in a lyric or two about the week's two teams and ask them to cut the check before you leave the studio, 'cause that Wild Turkey IV don't pay for itself, am I right?
I kinda feel like you are only famous because of your dad (who, I'm guessing, might have had the talent in the family. I could be wrong). That's the only reason you have a career, and I'll be damned if I can think of any other reason for people to care what you think. Yes, we have freedom of speech in this country...but we also have freedom to call someone out when they make an ass of themselves.
Hank, my pal...that's you.
Ride this to the top of iTunes, if you must, but just remember: you can't drink away the crazy.
Your friend,
Trevor "None of My Rowdy Friends Listen to Your Music" Seigler
Buddy, I defend your right to free speech as much as the next guy, but when you make an ass of yourself, ESPN is within every right to fire you. Yes, I said "fire". All this BS about you going to them first and quitting? It's face-saving for you, and not particularly convincing to me. I could be wrong, but I heard about the firing before I heard about you "quitting," and I'm pretty sure one or the other has to be true. And seeing as you're prone to crazy things coming out of your mouth, well...
I'm not saying that the Disney Corporation isn't innocent in all this mess; they have a lot of skeletons in their closet. A lot. But in this case, you really left them no choice.
I get that you don't like Obama, and I get that you felt the "golf summit" was a meeting of philosophical unequals. But saying it's like Hitler and the Israeli PM getting together to shoot some tees? Why didn't you go with the notion of you and Little Richard playing music together for a "apples and oranges" metaphor (that clip of the two of you performing the MNF theme was aired on the news a few times, now that's a bizarre crime-fighting team if I ever saw one. An effeminate black man and a stereotypical drunk white Southern guy; coming to NBC this spring!).
Let's face it, though: when was the last time anyone even talked about you? 1985ish? And Hank, buddy, I am not a fan of your music anyway, but really, the MNF theme was pretty disposable. Just throw in a lyric or two about the week's two teams and ask them to cut the check before you leave the studio, 'cause that Wild Turkey IV don't pay for itself, am I right?
I kinda feel like you are only famous because of your dad (who, I'm guessing, might have had the talent in the family. I could be wrong). That's the only reason you have a career, and I'll be damned if I can think of any other reason for people to care what you think. Yes, we have freedom of speech in this country...but we also have freedom to call someone out when they make an ass of themselves.
Hank, my pal...that's you.
Ride this to the top of iTunes, if you must, but just remember: you can't drink away the crazy.
Your friend,
Trevor "None of My Rowdy Friends Listen to Your Music" Seigler
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Just Win, Baby
Another year is past, mein friends: I am officially thirty and the two, on this the day of our Lord October 9, 2011.
Meh...
Birthdays are more fun when you're a kid; you get tons of cool stuff that you didn't have before, or at least some money from relatives to enable you to buy said stuff on your own (plus a little extra if you so choose). As you get older, the choice selection in gifts gets narrower and narrower, unless you're into sexual fetish gear or collectible Star Wars figurines (for the record, neither really appeal to me).
So I went to get my niece something instead; she's just now seven months, and she keeps on growing so that six-months-size clothing is starting to be too small for her. So I got her a shirt for twelve months; she'll probably be wearing it by Christmas time.
She is my sweet baby girl...
I've had about as good and bad a year as I could have thought, in terms of professional and personal stuff. But as bad as things have been sometimes, I still figure there's a chance that my dream of being the first astronaut-late-night-talkshow-host-President of the United States could come true.
Or not.
Meh...
Birthdays are more fun when you're a kid; you get tons of cool stuff that you didn't have before, or at least some money from relatives to enable you to buy said stuff on your own (plus a little extra if you so choose). As you get older, the choice selection in gifts gets narrower and narrower, unless you're into sexual fetish gear or collectible Star Wars figurines (for the record, neither really appeal to me).
So I went to get my niece something instead; she's just now seven months, and she keeps on growing so that six-months-size clothing is starting to be too small for her. So I got her a shirt for twelve months; she'll probably be wearing it by Christmas time.
She is my sweet baby girl...
I've had about as good and bad a year as I could have thought, in terms of professional and personal stuff. But as bad as things have been sometimes, I still figure there's a chance that my dream of being the first astronaut-late-night-talkshow-host-President of the United States could come true.
Or not.
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