Stephen A Smith Heckled at the 2007 NBA Draft

Today is the NBA Draft, so you know what this means!!!!!!

Who Would Have Thought the Teenagers In the Sesame Street Shirts Would Be So Angry

http://blog.donnawilliams.net/2007/04/26/emo-wasnt-he-on-sesame-street/

Emo kids are funny, but this lady is funnier. She has a frank and open discussion on the effects of being emo, but opens it with a joke about Elmo. Its like ha ha, two kids are dead, but aren't I clever. I appreciate her talk of teenage suicide, which is and always will be a problem, but I have found that the kids who write sad things on their facebook page and dress like Robert Smith, probably aren't the ones to worry about. She kind of understands this, and undresses the idea of Emo a little bit, but at the same time I think she misses out on a pretty key thing.

Here is what I know about being emo, it means they want people to look at them because they are sad. They want the attention of other people, because look how messed up I am. And sure, sometimes they take that attention thing too far sometimes, but I think the ones to worry about are the ones who sit in the back of the class and never say anything, then sprint out of the room, hoping none of the football team catches up to them.

When I was in high school, I was one of those kids. I didn't want anyone to look at me. I wanted to go into my bedroom and shut off the lights and fall asleep. I wanted to pass through the halls of my high school with as little notice as possible. I wanted to be left the fuck alone. So that sure as hell didn't mean posting emoticons on myspace or dressing in all black and putting on eye makeup. I wanted the least amount of attention drawn to me as possible.

This isn't where I wanted to go with this I guess. I wanted to talk about this band I saw last night. They all had floppy hair and they all wore different Sesame Street characters on their shirts. When the music started, they sounded like any other high school garage band, not Earth shattering, but not offensive. But when the "singer" opened his mouth, he let out just a guttural, 115-lbs throaty death growl, for pretty much their whole set. I wanted to talk about how awesome they were in a spectacularly awful sense. I wanted to talk about how we made jokes about how his song was brought to you by the letter "BWWWWWAAAHHHHHHH" and the number "GRRARRGHG". I wanted to talk about eating fish and chips and listening to my sister bitch, but this lady's blog kind of got my mind started on something.

I'm Not Sure, But I Still Think Tiger Woods is Pretty Good

http://www.pgatour.com/2007/tournaments/r028/09/08/woods.transcript/?eref=sitesearch

I have a friend named Balls. He is about the nicest person you'll ever meet. He's generous, warm, funny and an all around good dude. However, there is a rule we all share: "Don't Argue Sports With Balls". It's not that he's dumb or that he doesn't know what he's talking about a lot. It's just that when he gets an idea in his head, no line of rational thought can dissuade that idea, no matter how ridiculous his thought may be. Also, a lot of the time he's dumb and doesn't know what he's talking about.

As a group, we are all guilty of breaking this rule, because sometimes he adopts positions on topics that are just too silly to let slide. The only time I've broken the rule was when he told me that Tim Tebow sucked and Colt Brennan is a better pro prospect and a better quarterback than him. Needless to say, that is not a very astute observation, since Brennan has a noodle arm and Tim Tebow might be Jesus.

On Saturday, I fell for it again. We were watching Tiger Woods's ridiculous third round of the US Open and noting how impressive he was since he was doing it on basically a knee held together by kelp and bubble gum. Balls, however disagreed and said Tiger wasn't that impressive at all. I immediately got up and went to the bathroom. When I came back, no one had broken the rule, but Balls was giving a dissertation to no one in particular on why it was unimpressive that Tiger was good, but very impressive that a similar athlete in another sport, Michael Jordan, could be at the top of his game. I broke the rule.

"Why would you say that Tiger isn't impressive?" I asked.

"Because he came from money and Jordan came from nothing," he said.

He was arguing that even though they had Dad's who pushed them into sports at a young age and nertured and coached and trained their kids since they were toddlers, he said that since Earl Woods had money and Jeffery Jordan didn't, Mike was more impressive.

I was immediately taken aback. For the last thirty years, there have been overly pushy dads that famously shoved their sons into sports, and maybe 1% have succeeded and of that 1% only three have made claims to being the very best of all time in their sport: Jordan, Tiger and Wayne Gretzky. Of those three, two came from a well off upbringing.

I asked Balls why he would discredit Tiger's ability just because he came from money, his response was that anyone with his upbringing could do just as well as he could.

I dismissed his claim as quickly as anyone could dismiss anything. I think that true talent cannot be contained, and if Tiger grew up hitting an acorn with a mop he would be, at the very least, a professional golfer who wins a lot. But his claim did make me think, is it really more impressive when people come up from nothing to make something of themselves? Shouldn't their current actions be taken equally regardless of where they came from? I dunno, while it's impressive that someone could be super poor and then make something from themselves, I don't think it's fair to discredit someone just because they weren't impoverished. And I grew up awfully darn poor.

I guess maybe it's just time for me to pull myself up from my bootstraps and overcome my upbringing. Although, I guess having world class talent might be an issue for me. I guess if I were to overcome my upbringing, at least I know I would have a fan in Balls if I do make it to the big time.

Rejected Google Tubes Extravaganza

http://blogscript.blogspot.com/2006_11_01_archive.html

This isn't a real post either. I know, it was one week ago and I said I would write one, and there is one percolating, but I just need some more time. I started writing something else that has taken away some of my creative juices. I don't want to write a post that is all, I did this, then this happened, and then OMG this happened. I want to write something meaningful, which I know is high concept for this here internet.

Just to keep you up to speed, here is a quick recap of what you missed since I stopped blogging:

-I had an okay interview that is making me a little nervous in the lack of call-backery.

-I got more involved in some local music stuff.

-I still hate my job and and pretty much everyone associated with it.

-I lost my wedding ring.

-Oh and this happened:




In the meantime, here are some possible google tubes that I could've done, but had nothing substantial to attach them to:

You Shouldn't Shoot Fire At Babies

Son, In This Country, It Doesn't Pay To Be Nice

It's As Clear As The Penis on Angela

Rain Sucks

Nature Hates Us A Lot

That Red Wingged Bird Has Ill Intent

I promise within the next day or two, I will post something worthwhile. Until then, um, read this

Vince Gets Rick Roll'd on Raw

I know I haven't made an actual post in a while, and tomorrow I plan on making a real one, but this is pretty awesome. As both a wrestling and Rick Astley fan, this may be the best thing ever.

Be prepared, in the next day or two, I plan on making a pretty decent post.

Sometimes You Just Need To Hear Island in the Sun

Is there a better thing in the world then the Spike Jonze version of the "Island in the Sun" video? I'm at a point in my life where I am just searching for something to make me happy. My wife does that. Hockey does that. Music does that. MMA does that. And this video does that. 3 minutes and twenty-two seconds of world forgetting beauty. Sometimes, that's all you need.

The Buffalo Are Winded and the Elk Are Jerks

http://xroads.virginia.edu/~hyper/JOURNALS/LEWIS.html

(This journal is dedicated to brave explorers everywhere. Just because it has all already been discovered, doesn't mean you can't strap on your metal framed backpack and just hike down the road.)

I had a weekend day off for the first time in a long time that didn't involve me calling in sick or just plain scamming my way into it, which was nice, but I still woke up with the same feeling of doom I wake up with every morning, which always comes to the highest fruition when I am in the shower. I take some of the most depressing showers known to man at this point. I wake up and sit there while the water pelts me somewhat uncaringly and I think about what I am going to do with my life. Also, I am fat now so sitting there naked, vulnerable, and chubby really ruins my day.

Amanda has been great and is doing her best to cheer me up, so since we had a day off together, we went on a picnic to Jester Park. Jester Park, for those unaware, has an exhibit with Elk and Bison. The Elk were standoffish as they wanted nothing more than to bathe in their pond filled with Elk guano and clumps of hair (which is still probably cleaner than any of the man made lakes that humans are allowed to inhabit in this area) but the bison spent a lot of time right by the fence, which was neat, except for how hard they were panting. It made me feel uncomfortable, like they could die at any moment. It was like playing hockey with some of the old guys I play with now.

We set up our blanket under a tree in a semi secluded, yet somehow also wide open, campground and ate some tuna sandwiches and I tried to pretend that I wasn't constantly thinking about work. At one point, though, I just plopped backwards into the grass and stared at the clouds. And suddenly, I stopped thinking about my issues. I am not sure what it was, but staring at the clouds, trying to guess what the shapes were, watching as they would either disperse into thin puffs of Marlboro smoke (according to those Truth.com ads all the clouds are made of nicotine now, right?) or join forces into one super cloud, really put me at ease. It was like time slowed down for one moment, and I was here with my girl, and it was beautiful outside and there was nothing wrong with me. It was a weird calming moment, where I literally didn't have any worries other than if that cloud looked like a fish or a bunny. I want every moment to feel that way.

Of course, since I am me, I immediately started worrying that I was wasting a day off and then I started thinking about work and if anyone was ever going to call and offer me a real job and if Miguel Torres was going to beat Maeda and if the Wings were going to finish off the Pens lead by their bearded *snicker* superstar and if I was going to have enough money to survive the next two weeks when I get paid again and then if that was going to be enough to pay the electric bill. But for about three minutes I was completely at ease with the world and everything around me. I even took a couple of pictures of the clouds with my cell phone, hoping maybe if I had visual reminders of how awesome those few moments were, I would somehow get transported back there. So far, it hasn't worked.