Anyone Up For Depressing Stories?

// I probably couldn't have picked a worser time to take one of my unannounced sabbaticals, but this is just another example of Alanis Morissette's words ringing true. Isn't it ironic? Non-work work (more on that later) always seems to pile up at the exact moment a platter of big news is set on the lazy Susan. Granted, I haven't exactly been chomping at the bit to sit down and find the time to throw in my pennies; the time for me to write has been there, but every time my mind grapes begin to mature, an irresistible distraction shows itself and puts the kibosh on the harvest.

In past instances of this I'd offer a mea culpa. I'm switching up the order and coming right out with it: an apology won't be happening this time around. In truth, I've never actually been sorry when I've ceased posting for weeks at a time. Looking back, it seems almost silly that I've apologized before. I don't even know why I ever wrote, "Sorry for not posting." Is it just "something to say", like when people greet each other with, "How's it going?" and they don't even await the response? And what am I sorry about? Not sharing? Is me not writing a violation of the "nice people always share" edict that was handed down to me from Mrs. DeFran in 1990? These are my thoughts. In times past I've been writing them down as soon as they've entered my noggin. That behavior will be curbed. Posts now will come at a more incidental pace, like if I was on a parade float and only threw candy at good looking women. If something comes up that merits a legitimate attempt, I'll hit it. Otherwise, I'll occupy my time with my other endeavors, ones that don't include feeble attempts at eloquence designed to mask dick jokes. Moving on...

// Like I said, many noteworthy news items have passed with nary a comment from the best blog on the internet. We're going to attempt to touch them all, so this post is likely going to be lengthy. First on the docket is Mike Phelps. Oh, Mikey. Let's peel that onion.

The more I thought about Phelps and his herbal snafu, the more I got this strangely familiar feeling of being scolded myself. Let me explain. Back in my elementary, middle and partly high school days, I was very, very hyperactive. My learning tendencies led to me to many hours of daily boredom. Ever since I can remember, grasping a new subject has come lightning fast to me. I could hear a lesson once and file it away. I knew it'd always be there if I needed it. I was very blessed with something that was a very fortunate gift to have... much later in life. During the roaring 90s in the Grosse Ile public school system - where repetition repetition repetition repetition was the order of the day - the boredom was excruciating. Out of the ~8 hours in a school day, I spent 7.75 of them inside my own brain. Having the attention span of an espresso-soaked flea made those daily doldrums unbearable. That, combined with my daily bids for attention/validation from my classmates, landed me in the principal's office at about a .900 clip.

So why does my school days remind me of Phelps? It's the pundits I hear chastising him. They sound exactly like my parents in the early 90s. Dumbfounded, yes. Disappointed, somewhat. Mostly, there's just a sense of exasperation. See, I never got in trouble for malicious stuff. I was too small to beat up anyone. I never stuck a thumb on Mrs. Rebeschini's chair. It wasn't my style. Without exception, my offenses were summarized with phrases like "unable to focus on daily assignments" and "unwilling to follow class procedures". The reaction at home was always of the "you've got it easy why are you screwing it up?" ilk. That's what Phelps is getting. In a way, his situation almost makes me nostalgic.

As far as personal judgment, I pass none on Michael Phelps. This entire incident - in which he was smoking a little weed ON AN EFFING COLLEGE CAMPUS - is a crystal-clear illustration on how out of whack this country's priorities are concerning the transgressions of our celebrities. I have many more opinions on the criminalization (and the social stigma) of marijuana. I'll save you the time and about 100,000 words for the future. The only question I have left is this: where was this outrage when he pled guilty to driving while impaired? Seriously! He was hitting a bong load at a party. He gets suspended from swimming? He gets yanked from Kellogg's? Here's the logic that comes out of this. Smoking some weed at a private party = a really, really awful thing to do. Getting drunk and driving my car down the boulevard = not nearly as bad. Stepping into Kellogg's shoes: while I really dislike what they did, I can understand why they did it, and that's what wrong with the public. The stigma around reefer is unconscionable. What kills more people every year, pot or drunk driving? What causes more families to be in pain, pot or drunk driving? What causes millions more dollars in damage every year, pot or drunk driving? I get really frustrated when I see this kind of reaction to marijuana use when only years before, THE SAME EFFING GUY pled guilty to drunk driving and was completely admonished shortly thereafter. Ugh.

// Speaking of drugs and sports heroes, my thoughts on Alex Rodriguez and his use of performance enhancing drugs are much more concise. By the way, we've got to come up with a more easily-wielded phrase than "performance enhancing drugs." I don't really know why I'm sick of hearing it, I just am. I mean, it's definitely an accurate phrase, and I usually go for that sort of thing, but we need to get something shorter. Getting back to it, the whole thing for me shakes down like this: moderately disappointing. Was I shocked? No. The sad state of affairs is that nobody's been above suspicion for a long time now. This incident just galvanized that fact. What's more sad to me is that these greedy steroid-using pricks are ruining the game, further cementing its second-tier status to our now-true national pastime, football. I love baseball, but it will never ever again be as sacred it was when our Dads were growing up. I don't like to think about this too much.

// Lately, an even more (at least for me) heartbreaking news item has been dominating the media: Chris Brown's domestic abuse of Rihanna. This one really took the wind out of my sails for so many reasons. I like Rihanna. I like Chris Brown. I liked them being a couple. Not only that, but I really dig Chris Brown's music. He has sooo much talent; his dancing and singing really remind me of Michael in his hey. If that weren't enough, I really liked him as a personality. He came across so polished and genuine in his appearances. Sure he was a bit cocky, but not in a way that made you want to punch him like Ne-Yo. It was more of a fun kind of cocky, like Isiah Thomas. When the initial shock passes, we're left wondering why did he did this. Fights between boyfriends and girlfriends aren't rare, and sure, sometimes they get very heated. It'd be prudent to say that on occasion a person's emotions run so high that their judgment takes a 15th row seat to their rage. That can happen to almost anybody -- we're all human. But there's allegations that he was choking her until she passed out! If you're choking someone so hard that they pass out, it had better be in 100% cut-and-dry self defense. It's hard to imagine that Chris Brown needed to defend himself with that much gusto. Gosh, the more I type about this the more I realize why I (subconsciously?) didn't want to. I'm getting pretty bummed out.

// I'm ending earlier than I had planned, but let's end on an uplifting/redeeming note! I finally saw Frost/Nixon yesterday, thus completing my Academy Award-nominated movie viewing blitz (minus Vicky Cristina Barcelona and Rachel Getting Married because I decided last year that I'd pay zero attention to the Best Actress and Best Supporting Actress categories after Tilda Swinton won Supporting last year and Cate Blanchett was robbed of Best Actress). The Oscars this year were great. The ceremony was really fun to watch, especially the new way they presented the acting awards with past winners complimenting the performances. I also thought Hugh Jackman did an awesome job hosting. I had no idea he could sing and dance so well.

In years past, I've really disagreed with the Best Picture selection. I thought Michael Clayton - despite Tilda Swinton - was far and away the best movie in last year's ceremony. I thought The Aviator was better than Million Dollar Baby. It's not like I harbor any real resentment. After all, although I really really love movies and everything about them, I'm far from a legitimately credible critic.

That being said, it was nice to finally agree with the Academy's decision on Best Picture. If you haven't seen Slumdog, you really should go see it tonight. I mean it. It's such a wonderful movie. When Miggy and I break down TV and movies via email as we often do, our critiques almost always boil down to one central question: to what extent does what you're watching evoke emotions? It's why I like The Dark Knight so much (which should've been nominated 5 billion times before Benny Button). That movie made me feel extremely tense and actually a little bit frightened. The Office is the same way. Sometimes when I watch that show, I feel so awkward and uncomfortable that I will literally cringe and divert my eyes from the screen for some respite. I've never been ashamed to admit it: I always cry at the endings of Rudy and Field of Dreams. These are the things that stick with you and become pleasures to watch in nearly every way. I promise you'll get similar effects when viewing Slumdog Millionaire. Even though the plot points are well-known to just about everybody by now, I won't ruin anything else by yammering on. Just trust me and see the movie. It's definitely the best movie of the year.

// Peace out.