I Don't Watch Sports

I've come to a decision. It hasn't been an easy one, by any means, but I feel that I have no other reasonable course of action.

From now on, I am one of those people who simply doesn't watch sports. I'm done. No more football. No more basketball. No more NASCAR. No more reading the sports section of the paper, or watching SportsCenter on ESPN. None of it. That's it. No more.

It's not because I've become jaded and cynical because of the greed of the corporate owners and of the players. It's not because of some longing caused by the loss of the nobility of athletic contests, sportsmanship, etc. Nor is it because I do not enjoy sports, or that I do not understand them. I've watched and followed sports most of my life.

So what's the problem? It's sports fans. I simply cannot take them anymore. They're jerks. Okay, they're not ALL jerks, but it has become apparent that jerks make up a dishearteningly-large portion of sports fans, and that this is an upward trend.

No one can just watch a game anymore. People take this stuff entirely too seriously, and they make everything personal. It's pathetic and sad and often infuriating. I am unbelievably tired of people making personal judgments about me - or others - based on what teams I root for, or even which sports I enjoy. Even complete strangers feel like its appropriate to make some sort of personal attack because of a piece of licensed apparel I might be wearing. Different people have different tastes and they like different things, and that's all good. But these people don't understand that, and they treat anyone who likes something that they don't like as if they were somehow a lesser person. Liking one team over another doesn't make you a better person, and if you're too ignorant to understand that then you're a sorry excuse for a human being and I'm better off not having any further contact with you. It's supposed to be a form of entertainment, not the central definition of who you are as a person.

And yes, I know that most of these jerks are just "busting my chops" and just "kidding" and they don't "really mean it." But that's the same shit that the dumb kid in the schoolyard says when someone gets upset with him for continuing to do annoying shit after everyone has asked him not to. Maybe you think you're just kidding, but you're just being an insufferable asshole and you're ruining it for the rest of us.

And maybe you could argue that I just need thicker skin. It also doesn't help that my two favorite football teams and my favorite NASCAR driver all pretty much suck. But the bottom line is I simply can no longer get any enjoyment out of sports like I used to because I have to constantly wade through the waste-deep swamp of ignorant shit that is spewed from these jerk sports fans. I'm not interested in having a meaningless argument over which team is better (or which one sucks more), or trying to recall the minutiae of fantasy stats. I just want to watch the game, and maybe have a civil conversation about it afterward if something of note happens. But the sad reality is most jerk sports fans can't actually have a civil conversation, because they can't talk for more than seven seconds before assertively declaring that someone sucks. The competition is supposed to be on the field, not among the spectators. But these clowns don't get that. So as far as I'm concerned, it's just not worth my time and effort to watch anymore. You jerks have ruined it for me.

Sure I could just try to ignore the jerk sports fans and only associate with the ones who are decent human beings. Unfortunately, that's what I've been doing for years now and it's become increasingly difficult to do so. I have come to the conclusion that it's easier to just find something else to do with my time than it is to watch the few sports and teams that I enjoy and put up with the jerk fans. There are dozens of books I want to read. I need to get back in the gym. I've been wanting to start painting again.

So that's that. I'm done. It's just not worth it anymore. The jerks can have sports, because I don't want them anymore.

Heaven is NOT for real

So there's this book that came out last November, called Heaven Is for Real, that tells the story of a little boy who died and went to heaven and then came back to talk about it. This story is being presented as non-fiction, as events that actually occurred.

If you're unfamiliar with the book, here is a blurb (from the description on Amazon.com and likely from the dust jacket as well):

"Heaven Is for Real is the true story of the four-year old son of a small town Nebraska pastor who during emergency surgery slips from consciousness and enters heaven. He survives and begins talking about being able to look down and see the doctor operating and his dad praying in the waiting room. The family didn't know what to believe but soon the evidence was clear.

Colton said he met his miscarried sister, whom no one had told him about, and his great grandfather who died 30 years before Colton was born, then shared impossible-to-know details about each. He describes the horse that only Jesus could ride, about how "reaaally big" God and his chair are, and how the Holy Spirit "shoots down power" from heaven to help us.

Told by the father, but often in Colton's own words, the disarmingly simple message is heaven is a real place, Jesus really loves children, and be ready, there is a coming last battle."

Anyway, when I first heard about this book, my initial reaction was an incredulous snort and a dismissive roll of my eyes. But the more I read about this book and the more I heard about it from people, however, the more it seemed to get under my skin. Granted, I have the advantage of never having been indoctrinated with any sort of faith or religion or spirituality or belief system, so it sometimes seems easier for me than it might be for others to be skeptical of these types of claims.

So yeah. We have the book at the library where I work, too, and it has over a dozen holds on it at the moment (WAY more than any other book I've seen since I've been there), eight months after its release. It's been at the top of the New York Times Bestseller List (Paperback Non-Fiction) for 32 weeks now. And honestly, I just don't get how people are so sucked in by this. If I was really cynical, I could dismiss it as being wholly fabricated, and written/published strictly to dupe the general public and make a profit. I'm not quite that cynical, however (though I AM cynical enough that if it were ever revealed that that actually was the case, I would not completely surprised).

I am familiar with Occam's Razor, though, even if many people apparently aren't. What Occam's Razor boils down to is that, all other circumstances being the same, the simplest explanation for an event is almost always the correct one. As such, I do not doubt that the boy in question in this book said the things that the authors claim that he said. I DO doubt that he went to heaven, because it seems to be that there are MUCH simpler explanations for all of these things, that don't include traveling to another celestial plane and conversing with supernatural beings.

It seems obvious to me that what actually happened here is that emotional and understandably distraught and traumatized parents applied their own interpretations onto the ramblings of their precocious and imaginative child (I should hasten to note also that I have not actually read this book, but have only perused it briefly at the library and read much of the coverage it has received, such as this article, among others). First of all, many of the things that he supposedly said occurred months and even years after his appendix burst. That immediately makes me question pretty much everything that is claimed in the book. The cognitive development of a child at that age is pretty wild and crazy and the formation of permanent memories is going on at the same time that many earlier memories are being purged as unnecessary. Children at this age are still earning HOW to think and remember things. To me, it would have been much more impressive if he had told the whole tale at once, uninterrupted, upon waking up in the hospital.

Then, he somehow knew about his miscarried sister, and his long-dead great-grandfather, and he could recite things from the Bible, and he told all of these neat and funny details about heaven and Jesus and how really big God is. How to explain all of this? Well, gee, I don't know; how about maybe he HEARD someone talking about the miscarried sibling and dead relative? Also, his father is a pastor and his mother is a minister; how on Earth could he ever have come across anything Biblical? Or described the wounds on Jesus's wrists (probably one of the most reproduced images in all of history)? There are clearly much simpler explanations for the boy's statements than "He went to Heaven and talked to Jesus."

And all those details about heaven and Jesus and God? How about maybe he's just got a really good imagination? When I was 3 or 4 and lived in Virginia Beach, I drew a picture of a school building, complete with kids and a bus, and wrote above the door of the school "P.S.P.S. 42." Since I had never been to New York before, my mother is convinced to this day that that picture is some sort of proof that in a former life I attended public schools in New York City (usually called P.S. for "public school" and then numbered). It seems far more likely to me that I possibly saw that nomenclature on television or a movie, even if only in passing. Or maybe it was just nonsense. I don't know. I certainly have not been able to come up with any other memories of a former life in New York City. I was, however, a very precocious and imaginative child, much as I believe the boy in this book likely is as well. Anyone who has ever spent any time around young children at all knows how wonderfully imaginative and creative they can be, and how they can weave all manner of tales and characters and stories effortlessly out of thin air.

The book also has a co-author, Lynn Vincent. It should be noted that Lynn Vincent has been involved with some VERY successful books, including Sarah Palin's memoir Going Rogue, as well as a few others. She is also a former reporter and writer for WORLD Magazine, a conservative Christian newsweekly. She is also a former lecturer at King's College as well as at the World Journalism Institute, which, according to its website, is an independent journalism school whose mission is "to recruit, equip, place, and encourage journalists who are Christians in the mainstream newsrooms of America first and then the world." She is clearly someone who prefers to write conservative Christian books, most of which sell very well.

So what's more likely? That a little boy transcended the Earthly plane and ascended spiritually into Heaven to converse with God and Jesus and the angels and his dead relatives and then returned to gradually reveal his experience in little bits and snippets over the next few years? Or that an imaginative young child said some interesting stuff that his very religious parents interpreted as some sort of vindication of their preexisting belief systems, who then collaborated with an author sympathetic to conservative Christianity with a track record of successful books?

Occam's razor: works every time!

More Things I Can Do Without

Motorcyclists

Yes, I know there are many types of people who enjoy motorcycling. Having said that, they all have at least one thing in common: they're douchebags. I think you have to be, though, before they let you buy one of those things. The Harley assholes are douchebags because they think nothing of driving up and down my road all f**king summer long with their obnoxiously loud bikes over and over and over, in some mis-directed and wrong belief that it makes them cool or special or something. It's like the Doppler Effect doesn't apply to these damn things; they're overbearingly loud for like two minutes after they've passed by. You can't talk, watch television, or even read a book because these obnoxious things shatter what might otherwise be a perfectly nice day.

Then you have the stupid kids with the crotch-rockets, who all think that traffic laws don't apply to them like they do to the rest of us, and who cause me to swear and gesture a lot when I'm trying to drive. And these "Watch Out for Motorcyclists" signs and stickers are ridiculous, too. Everyone else is told to drive defensively, but apparently, if you're on a bicycle with an engine, then you're somehow f**king special? Nope, I don't think so. Maybe you should watch where the f**k you're going just like the rest of us.

Gadget-philes

I know I've said this before, but it bears repeating: get over your damn cellphone already! It's a gadget that you probably shelled out way too much money for (even if you "know someone" who "hooked you up") and that you will more than likely replace with a newer shiner gadget in less than a year, because you do everything that Steve Jobs or Google tells you to do. Just shut up. If you need to define who you are as a person by which iThing you've got in your pocket, then you're pathetic. And I LOVE my iPhone, I really do, don't get me wrong; but it's just a tool.

The Black-Eyed Peas

Please... just stop. You're awful. Everything about you is truly awful.

Shaving

I don't have anything especially negative to say about it. I just don't like to do it and it's a pain in my ass. I'd prefer to not ever have to shave. That is all.

History "Buffs"

Not actual historians, but "buffs": people who have watched an inordinate amount of crap on the History Channel and who, when they find out that I'm a history major, insist on quizzing me on whatever random-ass subject interests them and then gloat about how I might not be able to answer some obscure and probably meaningless question about some bit of random minutiae, as if being a history major means that I know ALL OF HISTORY. "Oh, you're a history major? Well, do you know ...?" No, I missed that day my sophomore year; you know, that was the week that we were studying SHIT NO ONE CARES ABOUT.

If you tell me that you're a nurse, I won't try to quiz you on how to treat specific symptoms in a sad and pathetic attempt to knock you down a peg because I used to watch "Scrubs" and "ER." See, being a history major means that I am going to be an ACTUAL HISTORIAN, which means that I will do ACTUAL RESEARCH on ACTUAL PRIMARY SOURCES, and not just spew out regurgitated third-hand garbage from a basic cable channel that is not even remotely interested in actually educating anyone. So shut up.

Sports

This might be premature, and merely sensationalism on my part, but I am increasingly of the opinion that sports are for assholes. I just can't bring myself to care anymore. I'm actually rooting for the NFL lockout to continue so that there is no 2011 season just so that the rest of the country will be forced to find something constructive to do on Sundays (especially the fantasy football guys; it'll be so much fun watching their world fall apart). But no matter how much I think I can give them up completely, sports always somehow suck me back in. Probably because I'm an asshole.

More Mysteries of the Universe

Mystery #1 - The words "penis" and "vagina."

These are funny words. Don't try and act like you don't think they are, because you know they are. They're funny. It's okay to admit it. But the question is, are they funny because of what they mean, or are they funny simply because they're funny words? Are they inherently funny-sounding words, owing to their combination of certain phonemes? Or are they funny because we're a nation of children raised in a sexually repressed society and constantly bombarded with pee-pee and fart jokes?

If, for example, "penis" was the term for a type of serving dish, or "vagina" was the term for a percussion instrument, would the words still be funny? If you think they would be, is it simply because you cannot disassociate them in your mind from their actual meanings, and cannot adequately create an alternate hypothetical reality in your imagination, and thus the idea of "playing a vagina" - would you be a "vaginist"? - makes you giggle like a little schoolgirl? Or is it just because they're inherently funny words? And if you think that they wouldn't be funny, is it simply because you're kind of a stiff with no sense of humor who constantly brings down everyone around you? Or is it because you're slightly more mature than I am?

Mystery #2 - People who don't like the Beatles

Now, I know there is no accounting for taste. And I am partially convinced that Rob Gordon was correct in High Fidelity when he said "...what really matters is what you like, not what you are like. Books, records, films - these things matter. Call me shallow but it's the fuckin' truth..." (Incidentally, I am also convinced that the character of Rob Gordon - Rob Fleming in the novel - is based on me. It HAS to be. Because I am solipsistic.) Despite this, however, I know that people just like different things, and I don't normally hold that against them. Unless you like "Jersey Shore." Then you're an awful person and I don't want to know you.

But seriously, who doesn't like the Beatles? What's wrong with you? Are you just trying to be cool and non-conformist? Do you just not know what you're talking about? Are you some sort of pinko commie? Do you want to step outside and talk it over? I mean, if it's really that big of a problem for you, I'm happy to go outside and talk about it. I have a solution.

Mystery #3 - Don't I have better things to do?

Yes. Yes I do.

Texting is the Worst

I resisted text messaging for a long time. Actually, I resisted having a cell phone for a long time. Years, actually. I had one in my early 20s and hated it and got rid of it when my contract expired, and I then went years without one. When I finally got a cell phone about five years ago or so now - I think - and began distributing my number to friends and co-workers and my coke dealer and my probation officer and whoever else, I was very adamant. "DO NOT text me. I don't have a texting plan, and that crap costs me ten cents every time you do it. If you want to talk to me, then please just call me." I thought it was just stupid. I would always find myself trying to talk to someone while they seemingly ignored me because they were tapping away on their stupid little phone and just nodding at me in the right places. And I would want to grab them by their stupid little throats and scream, "I'M TALKING TO YOU YOU IGNORANT LITTLE JACKASS NOW PAY ATTENTION TO ME AND STOP BEING RUDE BEFORE I STOMP ON YOUR FACE." I wouldn't actually do that, of course. I would just fantasize about it, and become distracted, and then the person to whom I was talking would get annoyed with me for not paying attention to them. And they would still be texting the entire time.

The funny thing is, I find myself doing this now. Within a short while of getting a cell phone, I added a texting plan (there were four of us on a family plan and everyone else just absolutely needed to be able to text people or they just might die as a result, so I got out-voted). Within a short while after that, I was more or less constantly tapping away at my own stupid little phone, carrying on several conversations at once. I would become indignant at the idea that I wasn't supposed to have my phone with me while on the sales floor at work. "Well, then how the f**k am I supposed to know what everyone is doing right now? And how will I plan where we're going to go drink after I leave this miserable place? Something might happen and I won't KNOW about it!!!"

I now think nothing of texting someone while actually SITTING with someone else and talking to them at the same time. It used to drive me bananas when someone would do that with me. Now I do it regularly. And the worst part about it, is what for? I mean, some of the crap I text people about it pretty ridiculous. Here are some actual text messages that I have sent to people recently. Seriously, these are real messages that I have sent to people, copied from my phone.

- Your father is a wise and handsome man. Much like me. Haha

- I haven't gotten far. It has potential. He's kind of a dick, but that's partly cuz he's a marine, and partly cuz he's from Alabama, and he thinks both of those things make him more special than he really is. Lol

- I think that's how David Beckham trains, actually

- Lol maybe I should get a job there. Fuck grad school

- I kept a couple but I don't think I've had Dark Side in years. The Wizard of Floyd is pretty amazing

- Dammit stop calling me a jerk before I fight you

- Yeah totally. Want me to come kick his ass and then maybe buy you dinner and a few drinks and see about getting you out of those clothes?

- Just "eh, pretty good"? That's not good. Sounds like you need more of me around

- They apparently make the passengers refuel and service the plane after it lands. Thank you for flying US Airways

- Lol I'll bring you a sandwich

- So?? What in the blue hell does that have to do with anything? You should just bring me sandwiches. Duh. God you're dumb

- Don't tease me with sandwiches baby. That ain't cool



So, the next time that you're talking to me - or to anyone, maybe - and they're busily tapping away on their phone and seemingly not paying attention to you, inane crap like this is probably the reason why. Now why don't you bring me a sandwich and we can see about getting you out of those clothes?

Mysteries of the Universe

Mystery #1 - Restroom Graffiti

Well, I guess it's not just confined to restrooms, but I'm sure you know the type of stuff I'm talking about. Why does anyone do this? Never in my life have I entered a restroom, proceeded to do my business, and then looked around and thought to myself, "You know what this room really needs? You know, to really cap it off? A crudely-drawn penis. That would just be the pièce de résistance, the coup de grâce, and give it what the French call, I don't know what." Or maybe some poorly-constructed phrase that features prominently the word "fuck."


What sort of person does this? Admittedly, I have done similar acts myself - but not since I was a kid. Hell, I once nearly got into a fight with a stranger over an extended exchange that we made over the course of a couple weeks via writing all over the desks in the ancient study hall at Edison Junior High. But that was seventh grade. All seventh-graders are kind of assholes. It's like a law of nature. You see stuff like this all the time in bars, and well, in most bars you have to be 21 to be there in the first place. Now, I know what you're thinking; namely, that it's the alcohol to blame. But I refute that. I drink in copious quantities somewhat frequently, and I've never drawn on a restroom wall. Maybe on a friend's forehead, but that's different. What drives otherwise functioning full-grown adults to act like kids in an offensive and destructive manner?

"Well, okay," you're saying now, "maybe it's the the class of establishment which you are frequenting." I think there's a slight amount of truth to this, but the fact is I have seen crudely-drawn genitalia not only in dive bars, roadhouses, truck stops and highway rest areas, but also in country clubs, conference centers, four-star hotels and resorts, and places that are frequented by Presidents and other dignitaries. The only real difference, it seems to me, is the availability and/or willingness of staff to remove them in a timely manner.

Nor do I know anyone who would do such a thing. Or, at least, I don't think I know anyone who would. I've never seen anyone actually do it. And no one I know has ever come up to me and confessed, "Dude, I just drew a huge wang on the wall in there. It's a big veiny masterpiece." Perhaps it is done in secret.

Or maybe it's a secret society. Or a secret code, like how during the Depression hobos and drifters would carve symbols onto people's front gates to communicate whether they were nice, or had a mean dog, or were dishonest, etc.

Or maybe it's a bunch of losers who need to grow up.

Mystery #2 - Mariah Carey's "All I Want for Christmas is You"

Yeah, I know the holidays are over, but I'm still bitter about this one. And yes, I realize that everyone likes to complain about Christmas music and how it plays non-stop everywhere you go until it makes the prospect of chewing on razor blades seem pleasant in comparison. But that's not what this is about. I have discovered that I actually somewhat enjoy a lot of Christmas music, and I don't even celebrate Christmas! During the holidays, while I was moonlighting as a grocery stock-boy, I was constantly bombarded with musical holiday cheer, and I must confess I found much of it to be infectious. I often found myself whistling along with various songs, or sometimes even singing - often to the chagrin of any nearby co-workers.

But there is one exception, and that is the aforementioned abomination by Mariah Carey. I mean, come on. It's a cute idea, I guess, and kind of sweet, but the song itself is awful. And sure Mariah Carey was relevant back in the early 1990s, but that was a long time ago. Now, we're all grown-ups here, and we can all admit that not one of us likes this stupid damn song. Nobody does. And don't try and be cute and say "Oh, well actually, I've always liked it." Screw you, no you don't. No one does. It's an awful song. And it should never be played. Ever.

Mystery #3 - Women

They baffle me. Utterly and completely. I don't get them. Some of the worst times in my life have been directly caused by women. There have been a few women who, it seemed, were intentionally trying to ruin my life, and who came pretty close to succeeding. They stress me out, drive me to drink, turn my hair gray, and make me lose sleep at night.

But, despite all that, I love em. Can't get enough of em. They smell nice, they're nice to look at, and when some of them smile at me I can't imagine being any happier. To paraphrase Kurt Vonnegut, I cannot get over the way women are shaped, and I will go to my grave wanting to pet their butts and their boobs.

What's wrong with me?

Things I Can Do Without in 2011

Cable television. I actually already got rid of it, and I feel like I've had some sort of malignancy excised from my life. No longer will I be constantly bombarded with irrelevant and inane crap about people who are famous for no reason other than who they f**ked, or hot-headed and obnoxious talking heads from the "news" channels, or the incessant pressure to watch more sports lest I somehow lose some degree of masculinity, or the incessant stream of adverts and product placements urging me to work jobs that I hate so I can buy shit I don't need. I am free.

People who are oblivious to their surroundings. Seriously, I am sick to death of almost bowling someone over because they're not watching where they are going. Or even better, when someone in a store saunters along aimlessly and slowly and in such a manner so as not to let you by, completely oblivious to the concept of "other people." Look, I've got shit to do, and I don't have time to piss away because you're too much of a moron to realize that you're in my damn way. Look around you, damn it.

Contemporary country music. Seriously, just stop. It's so bad. Don't get me wrong, I like some country music. But this crap they have now is so trite, inane, saccharine, and ridiculous. I honestly don't understand how someone could seriously WRITE any of these songs and expect to be taken seriously as an artist or even as a human being, much less perform them on stage in public.

On a related note, guys wearing t-shirts with the sleeves torn off. That's just nasty. You smell like an anchovy's crotch and no one else wants to be around you. Get a grown-up shirt, you ignorant little man-child. No one cares how big and/or how tan your arms are. You can still drink Busch and put rebel flag stickers on your pickups with sleeves.

People who constantly want to have a pissing contest about their cell phone. Get over it, you asshat. It's just a gadget, it does not define you as a person. Yes, I have an iPhone, and yes I find it to be a very useful and versatile tool in my daily life. But just because you see me pull it out of my pocket doesn't mean I want to engage in an hour-long debate over the relative merits of iPhones versus Droids, or AT&T versus Verizon, or whatever. I don't care. I have shit to do. I don't care if your phone has apps or widgets or whatever that mine doesn't have, or a bigger screen, or whatever; it doesn't make you somehow superior to me. Stop trying to act as if it does. Especially when it's so obvious that I'm a better person that you are, anyway. Well, maybe not "better" per se, but smarter and better looking, for sure. And better in the sack, too. Just deal with it and get a life.

Proponents of the legalization of marijuana. Don't get me wrong, I actually am in favor of it being legalized, too, and I can't even stand the stuff. The smell of it nauseates me, and stoned people bother me. I'm just really over listening to people yammer on and on and on and on about it. Christ, don't you people have jobs or something? Oh wait, no I guess you probably don't, since you're too busy getting high all the time.

Insane women. I have no real pretensions that I will actually be able to avoid insane women in 2011, as they are drawn to me like moths to a flame. It would just be a nice change of pace. And yes, it is CLEARLY something to do with the insane women and NOT ME that causes this. Clearly. I'm flippin sweet.

Clearly.

Tea-party activist people. Please just stop. Stop. You're embarrassing the whole country. If you can't know anything about anything else, please at least know that you don't know what the hell you're talking about most of the time. If you want to get involved, that's great! Please do! Just go read something on your own, and not what Rush and Glen tell you. Form your own opinions. Please. I have my own opinion: you're idiots.

And finally, egotistical assholes who feel the need to spout off about random crap with a vague and ill-defined unjustified sense of entitlement and who are too busy inflating their own ego by pointing out others' flaws to be really conscious of their own shortcomings as a human being.

Wait a second.... Aw, crap.