I've been ruminating on the state of Cincinnati sports lately.
Chad, Chad, Chad... what's become of you? All wide receivers love attention. They are used to it. They score touchdowns, they do dances, they are flashy and all-around attention whores. Usually, the money, the women, the dancing... it's enough to suffice. But then Ocho Cinco starts getting double-teamed, and T.J. Houshmandzadeh and Carson Palmer worked together in the off-season... and suddenly, Chad doesn't get the "respect" or "love" he deserves. When Marvin and the rest of Cincinnati ignore the bellyaching, he takes his tantrum to whomever will listen. Now, he is essentially crying, pouting, and pounding his fists, all in the hopes he will receive the attention he thrives on.
Remember when Corey Dillon wanted to be traded? You got your Super Bowl ring, Corey... and essential obscurity. Congratulations. I'm sure someone besides me and a random ESPN analyst remember you exist.
Chad, tread carefully... you are a gifted athlete. But you are also a gigantic pain in the ass. And most teams only have enough head room for one egomaniac. Work on getting your attention by running your legs instead of your mouth.
And then there's the Reds... I kind of wish I had written this post before last night, when Bronson Arroyo put together what is technically considered a quality start, and a win to boot. But for every strikeout, there was a horrible JTM commercial. The image of Bronson, his hair blowing in fan (pun UNintended)-provided wind, his voice straining... It's like a bad Nickelback karaoke performance... but not as entertaining. Bronson: put down the guitar. Back away from the mic. Pick up the ball. Keep it in the yard. Rinse and repeat.
While the major-league, professional sports in Cincinnati struggle, the Cincinnati Cyclones put together a ridiculously good season (a 17 game winning streak?) and are in the finals. But that's hockey. Cincinnati is still stinging from not being allowed to join the Confederacy, and they won't be having that Yankee bullshit around here.
Speaking of the Yankees, they are evil, George Steinbrenner is the Devil, and Hank is like Dubya striving to make sure HE is remembered as the douchebag of the family. Just an aside... I just hate the Yankees.
Good night, kids
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
a little pick-me-up
I realize that the last few posts have been kind of bummers... and I apologize. I kind of write when something is on my mind... and when the funny stuff comes, I just say it to whomever is around and move on. The serious stuff, I don't talk about, so it stays in my head until I write on here. Sorry 'bout that.
Anyway... I'm sweeping the deck the other night at City View and there are chips everywhere... one table in particular- there had to be more chips on the ground than got into their mouths. I thought, do these people eat like this at home? Do they get up from their dining room table with a circle of bones and peas and bread crusts surrounding them, waiting for vultures (or perhaps a family dog) to clean up? And how is it possible that they are missing their mouth so much? How much do you have to drink to forget the location of your mouth?
Of course, I was making this hilarious point the other night when Sara and Neil and another friend were over... we had a good one over that. Then, yesterday evening, Sara and I had some Klotter Conconctions and cheese and crackers. Guess what was surrounding us on the floor? Aw, damn.
I just saw a preview for a movie that's playing on FX later... An Unfinished Life. "With Robert Redford, Morgan Freeman, and Jennifer Lopez.." Wha? Jennifer Lopez? Was that an accident? I'm not a movie person, and I'm pretty sure I've never seen anything that Jennifer Lopez was in. But I primarily recognize her fame for dating and marrying. I was unaware they would cast her in movies where she doesn't play a maid or wedding planner.
Note to the winner of the Indy 500- I know that whole milk thing is a tradition, but coming from someone who has been hit in the face with whipped cream pies on two separate occasions... you will not get the smell of sour milk out of your nose for two weeks.
On the topic of Chad Johnson, because he will not be content until he has permeated every corner of the planet, including my little blog... Now he is demanding to be traded. It started out with him reminding me of a high school girl who cries and complains about her boyfriend to everyone... except her boyfriend. Now he's more like a child throwing a tantrum... and Marvin Lewis is doing what parents do best- ignoring it. Honestly, Chad... first it's that you're upset that Cincinnati doesn't love you enough. Then you don't care whether people like you, you want respect. Now you want a Super Bowl ring. Honestly, Chad- there's only one thing you really want, and that's attention. That's the reason for the end zone celebrations. That's the reason for the endless supply of interviews. Is that the classiest way to handle this situation? Shut your pie hole and take care of your business without pulling a Spencer and Heidi publicity stunt. At this point, you could be the best WR in the history of the planet, and no one is going to remember anything but you being a whiny, self-absorbed crybaby.
Enough of my semi-humorous and mostly self-indulgent ramblings. Thanks, kids.
Anyway... I'm sweeping the deck the other night at City View and there are chips everywhere... one table in particular- there had to be more chips on the ground than got into their mouths. I thought, do these people eat like this at home? Do they get up from their dining room table with a circle of bones and peas and bread crusts surrounding them, waiting for vultures (or perhaps a family dog) to clean up? And how is it possible that they are missing their mouth so much? How much do you have to drink to forget the location of your mouth?
Of course, I was making this hilarious point the other night when Sara and Neil and another friend were over... we had a good one over that. Then, yesterday evening, Sara and I had some Klotter Conconctions and cheese and crackers. Guess what was surrounding us on the floor? Aw, damn.
I just saw a preview for a movie that's playing on FX later... An Unfinished Life. "With Robert Redford, Morgan Freeman, and Jennifer Lopez.." Wha? Jennifer Lopez? Was that an accident? I'm not a movie person, and I'm pretty sure I've never seen anything that Jennifer Lopez was in. But I primarily recognize her fame for dating and marrying. I was unaware they would cast her in movies where she doesn't play a maid or wedding planner.
Note to the winner of the Indy 500- I know that whole milk thing is a tradition, but coming from someone who has been hit in the face with whipped cream pies on two separate occasions... you will not get the smell of sour milk out of your nose for two weeks.
On the topic of Chad Johnson, because he will not be content until he has permeated every corner of the planet, including my little blog... Now he is demanding to be traded. It started out with him reminding me of a high school girl who cries and complains about her boyfriend to everyone... except her boyfriend. Now he's more like a child throwing a tantrum... and Marvin Lewis is doing what parents do best- ignoring it. Honestly, Chad... first it's that you're upset that Cincinnati doesn't love you enough. Then you don't care whether people like you, you want respect. Now you want a Super Bowl ring. Honestly, Chad- there's only one thing you really want, and that's attention. That's the reason for the end zone celebrations. That's the reason for the endless supply of interviews. Is that the classiest way to handle this situation? Shut your pie hole and take care of your business without pulling a Spencer and Heidi publicity stunt. At this point, you could be the best WR in the history of the planet, and no one is going to remember anything but you being a whiny, self-absorbed crybaby.
Enough of my semi-humorous and mostly self-indulgent ramblings. Thanks, kids.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Immortality... or a lack thereof
The problem with being a writer (or someone who calls themselves a writer because they have a blog and/or a couple locally published writings) is that there is a certain level of permanence to what you have written. A sense of immortality that goes beyond the mere passing on of DNA- it's your thoughts, emotions, feelings, ideas- written out for the world to see forever. Even when it's something as trivial as this blog- I would feel it inauthentic to delete posts just because I've changed my mind. Or because I have evolved. It would be like shutting y'all out of this whole crazy process.
So, even though I have gone back and forth on grad school (yes, I'm still planning on getting the PhD, much to my chagrin), even though I've lamented being the Cute Fat Girl and am rapidly approaching Skinny Cute Girlness, and even though while I've declared my love for Jason yet know that it is highly unlikely I'll end up with him in the end- even though all that's out there... things change. But that snapshot is out there and raises doubt. I guess that's the danger in being a writer... having a blog or whatever... that people will see your struggles. While so many can keep it a secret until they come out on top, insisting that it was their plan all along... some of us suffer through every indignity, every lapse in judgment, every irrational emotion with an audience of 6 billion (no, I don't think 6 billion people read my blog... yet).
In many ways, it would be a lot easier to hide it away. It would be easier not to let people in on the crazy inside. It would be easier not to share every jolt of electrical thought current rushing through my brain. But I decided long ago that part of my life was going to be ensuring that all the people who feel like they are abnormal, deviant, sick, or alone... they are going to know that everyone has value, we are all deserving of happiness and while we are all unique, we are all in it together. So if someone is feeling down on themselves, and it makes them feel better to know that I think I'm the shit but I fuck up all the time... it's the least I can do.
I should not write at 1:30 in the morning after drinking wine. It makes me ramble.
Namaste, kids...
So, even though I have gone back and forth on grad school (yes, I'm still planning on getting the PhD, much to my chagrin), even though I've lamented being the Cute Fat Girl and am rapidly approaching Skinny Cute Girlness, and even though while I've declared my love for Jason yet know that it is highly unlikely I'll end up with him in the end- even though all that's out there... things change. But that snapshot is out there and raises doubt. I guess that's the danger in being a writer... having a blog or whatever... that people will see your struggles. While so many can keep it a secret until they come out on top, insisting that it was their plan all along... some of us suffer through every indignity, every lapse in judgment, every irrational emotion with an audience of 6 billion (no, I don't think 6 billion people read my blog... yet).
In many ways, it would be a lot easier to hide it away. It would be easier not to let people in on the crazy inside. It would be easier not to share every jolt of electrical thought current rushing through my brain. But I decided long ago that part of my life was going to be ensuring that all the people who feel like they are abnormal, deviant, sick, or alone... they are going to know that everyone has value, we are all deserving of happiness and while we are all unique, we are all in it together. So if someone is feeling down on themselves, and it makes them feel better to know that I think I'm the shit but I fuck up all the time... it's the least I can do.
I should not write at 1:30 in the morning after drinking wine. It makes me ramble.
Namaste, kids...
Saturday, March 8, 2008
(Insert clever title here)
Ugh...
Life is complicated. I hate making decisions. I'm a classic commitment-phobe... not just of relationships, but of anything- careers, apartments, hairstyles.
But I guess at some point, you have to make a decision... about something.
While I'm honestly not looking forward to it, I'm planning on going to OU in fall '09 for the doctorate. I don't want to move to Athens, or live there for four years. I don't want to go back to school. I don't want to deal with any of it... but the only job I've ever really liked was teaching college. I can't see a point to my life if I am a secretary my whole life. I don't plan on having children, and if I don't do something with the career aspect of my life, I'm going to feel like I haven't had much impact on the planet.
So, I've resigned myself to realizing that shortly before my 31st birthday, I'll be moving to Athens, and starting what will likely be a very long four years. But, if I don't go, I'll still be 35 at the end of that time, and I'd probably still be a secretary. So, what the hell.
In case you were wondering what spurred this decision... I was out with a friend and ran into one of my former students from UC. He asked me if I was still teaching, and I said no. And he basically lectured me for about 45 minutes that I needed to be teaching because I was the best teacher he ever had, etc. Then, a month later, I ran into one of my former students from NKU. We basically had the exact same conversation Jeff and I had. Both conversations made me cry like a baby. So I thought. And thought. And thought. I have to do it. I'm pissed about it, but you do what you have to do.
I made a couple other life changes. I resigned from the board of Give Back Cincinnati. It's a great group, but it's not on my list of priorities anymore... There are a lot of factors, but all that matters is that it wasn't fair to me or to GBC to keep going.
Lastly... I made a call the other night. You know, we all have those "first loves." That's who I called. Because I realized... I still love him. And I probably always will love him. In retrospect, I think that he is probably the only person I've ever met/dated/whatever that I would marry. It's a weird kind of unconditional love, because he's done some pretty stupid shit. But, from the day I met him in June 1996, I was in love. My mom even remembers me coming home and saying that I had met the man I was going to marry. Well, it's been almost 12 years. He's been married and divorced. He's got kids. He's done some stupid things. But, there is something about him that I will always love. And I told him that, because I thought... if someone felt that way about me, I would want to know. And I know him enough to know that he would want to know, too. Who knows what will come of that- maybe nothing. Something would be nice, but even if it's nothing, I know that neither of us will leave this world without knowing that. So- Jason, I love you. Always have, always will.
Random musings, I know... not very funny, or insightful. But when I go too long without writing, I get all these hostile messages... just kidding... sort of. I'm snowed in, and nothing really funny or insightful to say... just things that are true.
Life is complicated. I hate making decisions. I'm a classic commitment-phobe... not just of relationships, but of anything- careers, apartments, hairstyles.
But I guess at some point, you have to make a decision... about something.
While I'm honestly not looking forward to it, I'm planning on going to OU in fall '09 for the doctorate. I don't want to move to Athens, or live there for four years. I don't want to go back to school. I don't want to deal with any of it... but the only job I've ever really liked was teaching college. I can't see a point to my life if I am a secretary my whole life. I don't plan on having children, and if I don't do something with the career aspect of my life, I'm going to feel like I haven't had much impact on the planet.
So, I've resigned myself to realizing that shortly before my 31st birthday, I'll be moving to Athens, and starting what will likely be a very long four years. But, if I don't go, I'll still be 35 at the end of that time, and I'd probably still be a secretary. So, what the hell.
In case you were wondering what spurred this decision... I was out with a friend and ran into one of my former students from UC. He asked me if I was still teaching, and I said no. And he basically lectured me for about 45 minutes that I needed to be teaching because I was the best teacher he ever had, etc. Then, a month later, I ran into one of my former students from NKU. We basically had the exact same conversation Jeff and I had. Both conversations made me cry like a baby. So I thought. And thought. And thought. I have to do it. I'm pissed about it, but you do what you have to do.
I made a couple other life changes. I resigned from the board of Give Back Cincinnati. It's a great group, but it's not on my list of priorities anymore... There are a lot of factors, but all that matters is that it wasn't fair to me or to GBC to keep going.
Lastly... I made a call the other night. You know, we all have those "first loves." That's who I called. Because I realized... I still love him. And I probably always will love him. In retrospect, I think that he is probably the only person I've ever met/dated/whatever that I would marry. It's a weird kind of unconditional love, because he's done some pretty stupid shit. But, from the day I met him in June 1996, I was in love. My mom even remembers me coming home and saying that I had met the man I was going to marry. Well, it's been almost 12 years. He's been married and divorced. He's got kids. He's done some stupid things. But, there is something about him that I will always love. And I told him that, because I thought... if someone felt that way about me, I would want to know. And I know him enough to know that he would want to know, too. Who knows what will come of that- maybe nothing. Something would be nice, but even if it's nothing, I know that neither of us will leave this world without knowing that. So- Jason, I love you. Always have, always will.
Random musings, I know... not very funny, or insightful. But when I go too long without writing, I get all these hostile messages... just kidding... sort of. I'm snowed in, and nothing really funny or insightful to say... just things that are true.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
Why I'm a Darwinist
Two posts in one day... aren't you some lucky readers.
So with all this time sitting at my apartment alone being sick all week and stood up tonight, it gives me some time to reflect. When I was done with that, I read a Glamour magazine. There was an article written by some actor about plastic surgery and how he had tried to date women that had had it and he couldn't. You know, wondering what they are hiding or what else they don't like about themselves. Blah blah blah.
On to my next distraction- L.A. Ink on TLC. I like Miami Ink better, for the record- I think Kat Von D is as annoying as fuck. But I digress. This woman is getting a tattoo for her son. He's adopted and she was talking about her struggle to get pregnant and how she didn't understand why it was happening to her and that it was natural to have a baby. And I kind of thought... maybe it's not. Maybe it's not natural for every woman to be a baby-maker.
I thought then about boys (as I am wont to do)... I met aforementioned V-Day Stand Up Guy on the infamous internet. And I was wondering why I felt weird about meeting someone that way. And it occurred to me that all these things might be kind of related.
It's the artificial nature of it. The forced-ness. It's inorganic. The body you have, its capabilities, and the interactions of life- do you just let them happen, or do you, in the words of Tim Gunn, "make it work?" I'd rather just let it happen. Whether you believe in God or fate or none of the above, I just kind of think that there is something to be said for letting the world develop on its own. There's a big long quote by Max something or other- Ehrmann? Anyway... in the midst of the quote it says that whether it is apparent to you now, the universe IS unfolding as it should. And it resonated with me.
So, I guess all that organic loveliness, those flowery quotes and my rambling thoughts come down to one thing. Put down the Botox, adopt a needy child, and meet some guy at the grocery store, or however you want to do it, but live authentically.
Evolution- it's not just for monkeys anymore!
So with all this time sitting at my apartment alone being sick all week and stood up tonight, it gives me some time to reflect. When I was done with that, I read a Glamour magazine. There was an article written by some actor about plastic surgery and how he had tried to date women that had had it and he couldn't. You know, wondering what they are hiding or what else they don't like about themselves. Blah blah blah.
On to my next distraction- L.A. Ink on TLC. I like Miami Ink better, for the record- I think Kat Von D is as annoying as fuck. But I digress. This woman is getting a tattoo for her son. He's adopted and she was talking about her struggle to get pregnant and how she didn't understand why it was happening to her and that it was natural to have a baby. And I kind of thought... maybe it's not. Maybe it's not natural for every woman to be a baby-maker.
I thought then about boys (as I am wont to do)... I met aforementioned V-Day Stand Up Guy on the infamous internet. And I was wondering why I felt weird about meeting someone that way. And it occurred to me that all these things might be kind of related.
It's the artificial nature of it. The forced-ness. It's inorganic. The body you have, its capabilities, and the interactions of life- do you just let them happen, or do you, in the words of Tim Gunn, "make it work?" I'd rather just let it happen. Whether you believe in God or fate or none of the above, I just kind of think that there is something to be said for letting the world develop on its own. There's a big long quote by Max something or other- Ehrmann? Anyway... in the midst of the quote it says that whether it is apparent to you now, the universe IS unfolding as it should. And it resonated with me.
So, I guess all that organic loveliness, those flowery quotes and my rambling thoughts come down to one thing. Put down the Botox, adopt a needy child, and meet some guy at the grocery store, or however you want to do it, but live authentically.
Evolution- it's not just for monkeys anymore!
What NOT to wear
It's Valentine's Day, 2008. I got stood up. I have an amazing ability to get dumped/stood up/etc on holidays/birthdays.
I was relieved this past December when I was single- finally a birthday with no fear of getting dumped. I have been dumped three times within a week of my birthday- including once on my actual birthday. Last year, I was dumped exactly one week later. Happy holidays!
I suppose it's not a huge deal- we've only been on a few dates. But the thing that probably bothers me more than anything- there's a quote- maybe Oscar Wilde? Can't remember... but the gist is that the only thing worse than being talked about is NOT being talked about. Kind of like... I'd rather be hated, yelled at, whatever, than ignored. And being stood up is just that.
(Let's all assume right now that he's not in the hospital or dead- if he is, I'll give you an update).
Back to my point- I wrote a poem when I was in college (didn't we all? Ugh) about it being better that some guy I liked made fun of me than if he ignored me- because at least he's acknowledging my existence on the planet. Nothing is so detrimental to self-esteem than the complete disregard for your being.
No worries- I'm not bitter... not a knee-jerk reaction to getting stood up on the official Hallmark holiday (or is that Sweetest Day?). I still love men and will continue to do so. But, it doesn't do much for my reticence to put myself out there and display my heart on my sleeve. Not my style, and tonight, it seems like it was just the thing NOT to wear.
I was relieved this past December when I was single- finally a birthday with no fear of getting dumped. I have been dumped three times within a week of my birthday- including once on my actual birthday. Last year, I was dumped exactly one week later. Happy holidays!
I suppose it's not a huge deal- we've only been on a few dates. But the thing that probably bothers me more than anything- there's a quote- maybe Oscar Wilde? Can't remember... but the gist is that the only thing worse than being talked about is NOT being talked about. Kind of like... I'd rather be hated, yelled at, whatever, than ignored. And being stood up is just that.
(Let's all assume right now that he's not in the hospital or dead- if he is, I'll give you an update).
Back to my point- I wrote a poem when I was in college (didn't we all? Ugh) about it being better that some guy I liked made fun of me than if he ignored me- because at least he's acknowledging my existence on the planet. Nothing is so detrimental to self-esteem than the complete disregard for your being.
No worries- I'm not bitter... not a knee-jerk reaction to getting stood up on the official Hallmark holiday (or is that Sweetest Day?). I still love men and will continue to do so. But, it doesn't do much for my reticence to put myself out there and display my heart on my sleeve. Not my style, and tonight, it seems like it was just the thing NOT to wear.
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