Weeping for Clowns

From Esquire Magazine

My whole life I’ve looked for exceptions to the “comedian who’s secretly in pain” rule.  I’ve always wanted to be the funniest guy. When Chris Farley lived, I delighted in his self-effacing style and his willingness to lean into his physicality, so to speak, and embrace that he was a big dude.. I appreciated that acknowledgement of the obvious. Yeah, I’m a big guy, and I can be funny, and THAT’S why people will like me. It’ll be funny when I fall or break a chair... When he died, even at age 15 or 16 I saw a little too much of myself in the fat guy who would do anything for a laugh, and I even got scared when my eyes were opened to the relentless abuse he inflicted upon himself through drugs and booze and all manner of things. He was clearly a guy who wasn’t as confident or happy with himself “Chris Farley the Funny Fat Guy” as I’d always wanted him to be. I’m sure another generation felt the same about John Belushi.

I probably didn’t think about Robin Williams all that much over the past 10 years, but when I heard about his death, from an apparent suicide, I was struck with sadness I couldn’t have predicted. I was saddened over his death, but especially so over the manner. And, if I’m honest, not entirely shocked.

It’s nothing I’d ever said to anyone. Mostly because I don’t think people sit around talking about the funny guys who are most likely to off themselves. I’m sure there’s someone somewhere who would have guessed drug overdose (Robin Williams’ struggles with addition were well known), but suicide always comes out of left field, even when you look back and say “All of the signs were there.”

There was something desperate about his comedy. Someone on Grantland said as much during one of the tributes, and they put it perfectly… he always seemed afraid of losing the audience, even as they were erupting with laughter over one of his bits. While many were brought to tears of laughter by his antics, I was always at least a little unsettled. There was something about the incredible, relentless drive of words and consciousness that always made me uneasy. I used to watch Letterman pretty regularly, and when Williams would come on, I’d watch the first couple of minutes in hopes that he’d tone down his spitfire stream, and usually would flip channels halfway through the interview. I just couldn’t ever get past the idea of how incredibly tiring he must have been being so ON all the time.

He was clearly the most talented guy in almost any room he was in, but there was never a moment he didn’t seem to be begging for everyone’s approval. It makes me unbearably sad to think that this man, who made millions of people laugh, and cry, and feel, and *seize the day*, was able to do those things so powerfully and magically for everyone around him, but couldn’t connect those reactions with the reality of how truly loved that made him.

It’s not uncommon for addicts to talk about how they lacked *something* or couldn’t get enough of *something* and the drugs were a surrogate for what they really needed… I have to wonder what it was that Robin Williams couldn’t get.

Of course, it never really matters how much other people love you if you can’t love yourself. What a trite and annoying cliché, but also perhaps tragically true. I just wish that every kid who fell immediately in love with the mania and genius that was Genie in ‘Aladdin’, or Peter in ‘Hook’ … every teenager who wished they’d had a teacher as dynamic as Mr. Keating in ‘Dead Poets Society’, or a nanny like Mrs. Doubtfire, or a therapist like Sean Maguire in ‘Good Will Hunting’ … I wish all of those people whose lives were so profoundly enriched by his talent and warmth and empathy and just… utter goddamned fire… were able to transfer just one pinch of that back to him, so he could truly feel it. So maybe that could have penetrated the inscrutable shell that is depression and isolation that he apparently felt through a lot of his life. Unfortunately my rudimentary understanding of that kind of depression tells me that the more you’re told how much you’re loved, the deeper your own hole can feel. “Why don’t I feel about myself  what other people say they feel about me?”

It makes me unbearably sad to think that this man, who made literally millions of people laugh, and cry, and feel, and *seize the day*,  was able to do those things so powerfully and magically for everyone around him, but couldn’t connect those reactions with the reality of how truly loved that made him.

Looking back you see it… He was always searching for that key to whatever riddle he believed he was, and all of his roles were just new attacks at his own personal Rubicks Cube. He never quite found that key, so he kept manically plugging away and plugging away and I guess he finally just decided to peel off the colors, and solve himself that way.

I sincerely hope that, if there’s an afterlife, he’s found the peace and fulfillment that eluded him in life. I’ll continue to find joy in his performances. To revel in the unbridled perfection of Genie. To well up at his warm, passionate, inspiring Mr. Keating. And I’ll wish he’d taken to heart the words of his own, Oscar Winning role in Good Will Hunting:

“You'll have bad times, but it'll always wake you up to the good stuff you weren't paying attention to.”

No Joy in Mudville

Liar. Cheater. Scumbag.

I remember when I was a kid, I loved to listen to my dad tell stories about all manner of his memories from when he was a kid.

He'd tell me about the amazing powers of The Green Lantern, and about playing pick-up basketball at the old JCC with the road teams who were in town to play the Cincinnati Royals, and about how he accidentally shredded his brother's foot in the spokes of his bike.

I loved all of them. I ate them up. I soaked them all in...

My favorite stories were always about baseball. Probably because I was utterly obsessed with the sport.

I made my dad help me recite the top home run hitters of all time. "Hank Aaron 755. Babe Ruth 714. Willie Mays 660. Frank Robinson 586."  He used to tell me that Johnny Bench could hold a million baseballs in his hand. He would tell me about how getting Joe Morgan for Lee May made the the Reds the greatest team of the 1970s and among the greatest teams ever.

I remember watching TV when Pete Rose came back to town to re-sign with the Reds. I was 4 years old and I remember seeing the footage of Pete's car coming across the bridge. I will never forget going with my mom to the game BEFORE Pete broke Cobb's record. I made a sign. Pete went 0 for 4.

The first poem I ever wrote was about the 1994 strike. The Reds winning the 1990 World Series still, 23 years later, counts as one of the 10 greatest moments of my life. Maybe that's sad, but I guarantee I'm not the only one.

 I would throw ball after ball against the wall of my grandparent's house. Always aiming for the small square my grandpa had drawn in blue crayon. Always pretending to be Mike Schmidt, who was, in my opinion, the greatest third baseman ever. I held that opinion even then, because some time in 1984 or 85 my dad and I were watching the Reds play the Phillies, and my dad pointed out Schmidt at the plate. He said "This guy is really good. He hits a lot of home runs.". Then Schmidt homered. It was like he could do it on command. It was like my dad made it happen. Baseball is magical, I guess.

No... I don't guess. Baseball IS magical. There's no 9 part Ken Burns documentary on Football... As much as we all love football, it isn't (and will never be) baseball.

And now, I'm not sure baseball is baseball.

Look... I realize I'm late to this party. The McGwires and Sosas and Bonds and Palmeiros and Giambis and all of those guys who stood there and pointed and pretended to not speak English and dissembled and claimed ignorance... they are the ones who put doubt in the mind of every fan. They are the ones who shattered the sacred records and spat on the legacies of Roger Maris and Hank Aaron and every other player who achieved their astronomical records legitimately.

Then... after all of those bombs dropped over and over... Starting with Raphael Palmeiro (outed while I was driving back from the Baseball Hall of Fame induction weekend with my dad and the Brawny Hombre) and capping off with Barry Bonds, there were swaths of legends felled by allegations, assertions, and often direct evidence of their cheating. It was a dark time, to be sure. We had a single-season and career homer champion whose numbers are questioned.  In 1998 there was this incredible home run race to 62 homers by two separate men, often regarded (along with Cal Ripken's longevity streak) as the moment baseball resurrected herself from the ashes of a horrible players strike. Only 5 years later that same chase could arguably be seen as nothing more than a slap in the face to Roger Maris and his family.

Numbers we hallowed our entire lives were being surpassed by these hulking behemoths with clubs, and as quickly as they shattered the records, they were outed as being cheats. Baseball fans everywhere could no longer hold on to the one thing they'd always had as an advantage over the fans of other sports. The statistics. The beautiful, simple statistics.

I thought we were going in a better direction. Power numbers went down to more historically consistent levels in conjunction with new drug testing policies. More and more players were openly in favor of cleaning up the sport.

And yet... Here comes Ryan Braun. A player with prodigious power and offensive polish who'd tested positive late in his MVP season and insisted he was innocent. He dragged the name of the tester through the mud. He pulled out all of the legal stops on his league-allowed appeal, and HE WON. He won his appeal on some very nebulous technicality, and he returned to the field none-the-worse for wear the next season. Don't even get me started on the "coincidence" that the owner of the team for whom Braun plays also happens to be the commissioner of baseball. How that's not a conflict of interest I'll never know.

Now, today, he was suspended for the rest of the season based on some apparently damning evidence in some report and it must be pretty clear, because the Great Appealer isn't appealing. He's now admitting to some "mistakes".  

Apparently he's just the first domino in a long line of suspensions and bombs to come. Alex Rodriguez is on the list. A-Rod is currently 6th on the all time homers list, and was up until last year the single biggest contender to pass the other cheater, Barry Bonds for the record. It's very likely now that he'll never come close, and maybe won't ever play again.

You know... none of this is news. None of us are surprised anymore. I'm certainly not.

I'm just sad. I'm sad that the stories my dad told me as a kid are somehow laced with asterisks now. I'm sad that every number has to be questioned and scrutinized. I'm sad that heroes like Hank Aaron and Roger Maris are no longer the official holders of those iconic records. I'm sad that when the dads of my generation tell their kids about the great players they watched growing up, that the most exciting ones were cheaters.

I love Tony Gwynn and Greg Maddux as much as anyway, but the players who I pretended to be on the diamond, the ones who drew me to the game I love, were the mashers and the flame throwers and a lot of those guys are liars.

Baseball better figure it out fast, because this shit bums me out. It's gotta end. We've gotta have the purity of our game.

Sad Face

I went to a movie on Monday, and I found myself getting a little weepy during the trailers. That’s right… The trailers.

Well.. One trailer specifically. It was for a movie called “Bully”. It’s a documentary that addresses the growing issue with bullying in our country, and specifically focuses on a young kid currently dealing with being bullied as well as the families of two young men who killed themselves over excessive bullying. One who suffered from Aspergers Syndrome, when he was 17, and one who hung himself at age 11. Fucking ELEVEN.

What can I say? I was affected.

I better clarify right off the bat. I was never, myself, truly bullied in school. I was always a nerdy, overweight kid, but I had just enough sports aptitude and just enough ability to bullshit that I was never the biggest target in any room, and I normally fit in adequately enough to avoid being the brunt of any bullying attack.

That said, very few things make me more profoundly sad and angry than when I hear about kids being so upset by bullying that they take their own lives.

Sometimes I wonder if maybe kids today just simply aren’t as equipped to handle themselves as they were even as short a time ago as the late 80s and early 90s when I was a grade-schooler. The more I think about it, though, the more I think the bullying actually is worse, and I start to wonder what life would have been like.

I never had a friend kill themselves because they were bullied, and I don’t remember even hearing about it happening anywhere at all, but I also didn’t grow up in a time when you can’t escape your bullies, even in your home.

I recently had a birthday where I was so overwhelmed by the positive messages I received that I declared Facebook the greatest thing to ever happen to birthdays. That may be true, but the advent of instant messaging and social media has had an ugly side effect where kids can’t escape their bullies.

Once upon a time, we were all told that the best way to stop a bully was to stand up to them. Maybe give them a good pop to the mouth. It’s not so easy anymore. Bullying can not only be remote, but anonymous. I know that when I get a negative anonymous comment on this blog, it upsets me, and I have the ability to recognize that people who hide behind their anonymity are way sadder than I’ll ever be. Try telling that to a 10 year old who’s suddenly had their Facebook page bombarded by cruel comments. I used to sort of laugh at the notion of internet bullying, but I don’t anymore. I have come to see how oppressive something like that can truly be. And it makes me sad.

It makes me angry too. It makes me angry that in spite of the growing evidence, that schools continually chalk up bullying to “boys being boys” and “girls are just mean at that age”. Honestly, if they believe it’s just part of growing up to be harassed and tormented, I’d like to put them through it for a while and see what it’s like when “Men are being men, and women are just being mean.”

So anyway, I’m watching this movie trailer before the start of this dumb comedy that I didn’t even get to see all the way through because of a power outage, and I find myself crying. There’s nothing quite like sitting alone in a movie theater and crying at a fucking preview.

It’s okay… you can make fun of me for getting emotional. If you don’t get at least a little gut-kick feeling when you see old photos of a kid who’s now dead over something so fucking preventable as being pushed around on the playground, I feel sorry for you.

I’m still not to my main point…

The movie has been rated R by the Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA), which means that any kid under 17 can’t get in without being escorted by an adult, and even worse the film won’t be able to be screened in Middle Schools and High Schools without permission slips being sent home and signed. That is… the worst thing ever.

Everything about this bothers me, and I’m not alone. A 17 year old girl in Michigan started a petition to get the rating changed to PG13, and has garnered over three hundred THOUSAND signatures. Among the signers are state governors, CEOs of movie theater chains, and many movie stars. The MPAA has so far declined to change the rating.

I started thinking about how myopic the MPAA has decided to be on this issue, and how offensive that is to me…

It’s easily arguable that the most important demographic to see this film are 13-17 year olds. How many hundreds of bullied kids could benefit from just the thought that they’re not alone in the world, or that people care about them?

Maybe there are just as many bullies who could see a real family, truly affected by the death of a kid who was mercilessly bullied. Maybe just one or two of them will realize that telling a kid they should be dead isn’t the best way to conduct themselves.

Maybe, and excuse me for being dramatic, but a life would be saved.

It makes me so sad to think about those kids who probably just wanted to go about their lives, and get through the high school with the least amount of friction, just like the rest of us. How they were threatened and tormented, and taunted until they couldn’t take it anymore.

A quote from Tyler Long’s (the 17 year old) father breaks my heart…. “They took his pride from him. He was a hollow person.”

I’m sorry, but no 17 year old kid should be hollow. Especially at the hands of some other 17 year old kid who, had the breaks gone slightly another way, could have been in that same position of having the never-ending gall to be different.

It just seems to be getting worse, and more pervasive, and aggressive, so the fact that the MPAA has decided to be sticklers on this issue of content offends me to my core.

I remember when I was 15 being showed Schindler’s List. I defy a single parent to say 15 is too young to learn about the Holocaust. I guess I needed a permission slip, though I admit I was just as likely to have signed it myself at that age. I don’t remember either way.

Kids should have to watch “Bully”, just like I had to watch “Schindler’s List”. Don’t get me wrong… they should have to watch both, really. They should be forced to hear the pained interviews of friends and family when they talk about Ty Smalley, who was 11 years old when bullies made his life so miserable that he hung himself after school. And yeah, I’ve read that the kid could give as much as he could take or whatever, but fuck that. He’s the one who they broke. It should never have happened. I don’t care if he was a Junior Hell’s Angel. He’s the broken one at the end.

I don’t want to belabor a point unnecessarily, but think about your life when you were eleven. I was in 5th or 6^th grade. I had my first kiss the Summer in between. I performed in my first play. I had crushes on various girls I don’t even remember now. I had some good teachers, and good friends, a cat named Chip and 2 crazy-ass beagle dogs, and generally my life was pretty solid.

If someone told me a kid in my class had killed themself, I am pretty sure I wouldn’t have totally even understood the concept. How does that happen?

How does it happen?

The kids who are causing this insurmountable pain need to see. They shouldn’t be allowed to wait until they’re seventeen based on the MPAA. They should be forced to watch as Ty Smalley’s father says this:

There's answers out there. ... I don't know what the answers are, but there are people who do. There are people that have the answers. We need to get the world involved. We need to find those people. We need to find that one person that can make a difference. And if we can't find that one, we're going to find 100,000 of them. And we're all going to put our heads together and we're going to come up with a solution ... if you really want to learn what suicide by bullying is all about, talk to the people who are living the nightmare. We haven't done Ty's last load of laundry, because it still smells like him. We haven't washed his sheets because I can go in there and lay on his bed and still smell my boy. You want to learn what bullying and suicide is all about, you talk directly to the people that it affects the most.

 
First and foremost I hold myself completely responsible for what has happened to my son. Ultimately my son's safety rested in my hands. I was responsible for my son's safety. I'm his DAD! ... It's my job to protect him. No matter what. No matter where he was. It was my job to protect him.

I’m sorry this is a little rambling, but I’m upset. I don’t understand how the stupid MPAA can be so obtuse about this. It’s not South Park they’re talking about. It’s a documentary about kids being bullied. It’s a real thing. A problem.

I admit that I find some of the celebrities speaking out about this to be somewhat disingenuous and maybe that’s my own cynicism, but it doesn’t mean they’re wrong. They’re, in fact, completely right. The MPAA needs to adjust this. Make the movie unrated. But the fact that they’re saying things like “It’s our job to warn parents…”. It’s bullshit. It’s offensive. For my money, there’s not a single parent out there who should object to their kids seeing this movie.

For the kids who are bullied, I’ll say it again… They need to know they aren’t alone. They need to know that people in positions of power care about them, and they need to know that they’re safe. Not just when they go to school, but when they log-in to their computers in their homes to do homework or even to watch videos of great dunkers on YouTube. They should be safe not to fear a constant barrage of torment.

Just as importantly, the bullies themselves need to know they aren’t protected from punishment just because they fall back on the excuse of “boys will be boys”. They need to see the consequences.

So that’s enough. I’ve vented, and now I want you to think about it, and if you agree with me, click through here and electronically sign the petition to lower the MPAA rating. I realize you may not have seen this movie. I’m stating my opinion that it doesn’t matter.

It should be shown.

Click here to Sign

The Grey Days of Penn State; The Death of Honor

If you asked me today to name the two men my grandfather revered more than any other, I may have been wrong, but I wouldn't have hesitated in answering. John Wooden and Joe Paterno.

I grew up rooting quietly for Penn State football as a sort of nod to the blood connection I have to central, small town Pennsylvania. My grandpa grew up in Wilkes Barre. My grandma in Mansfield. I remember so many Saturdays of my childhood sitting near my grandpa (Little Kings in hand), and hearing him talk in soft, awed tones about Joe Pa...

So it's in that context I've been following the horrible story at Penn State for the last few days with growing disgust and sadness.

There are certainly parts that are undeniable; beyond argument...

The abuse Jerry Sandusky subjected those boys to is terrible. It could be argued that it's the worst thing imaginable, and it is more than clear not enough was done to stop him from abusing others. Penn State Officials didn't do enough, and instead were worried about protecting the school's image.

Those three facts, to me, are black and white.
To me, though, maybe there's some grey as well.

Most people I've heard from would disagree. They'd say that the Mike McQueary should have physically stopped Sandusky mid-act when he witnessed it. They'd say that Joe Paterno, after being told of the incident by McQueary, didn't do enough by merely reporting the incident to Penn State officials, and should have followed up to make sure something was done.They'd say that Paterno failed as a human being and should never coach another game at Penn State. They'd say that he's forever tarnished his legacy.

I am not, in any way, saying that the way things were handled were even remotely adequate. With all the outrage, I'm sure that's a difficult thing to do, but I wonder what was going through McQueary's and Paterno's minds at the time.. I don't blame people for not trying to see their perspective. So many of the facts are irrefutably horrible, that it's easy to say "they are all I need to know".

I hope my readers will give me some leeway to try to play devil's advocate for a few. I have to believe that most people are fundamentally good. I refuse to give Sandusky that benefit of the doubt, but I'm going to look at McQueary and Paterno for a minute...

Mike McQueary is a guy who grew up in State College, PA. He knew Jerry Sandusky his whole life. He knew him as the father of his classmates, as a walking legend on the football team he dreamed of playing for, as a mentor while he finally played at that college, as the founder of a charity benefiting poor children.

Try to imagine knowing someone your whole life, and not just knowing them, but deifying them. This is, as Michael Weinreb so interestingly said, a man they worshipped in stand-up form. Is it at all plausible, even if not right or okay, that factoring all these things in, maybe it wasn't as easy to step in as we'd all hope it would be? That a person might freeze, even for a minute, when faced with seeing a thing they'd never expected to see.  I've heard dozens of people on the radio saying that they unequivocally would have stepped in right at that moment, and ushered the child to safety. That's great for them, and hopefully true, but I have a hard time listening to what other people would do in someone else's experience. I'm sure that, in hindsight, that McQueary wishes he'd done more, too. I just think it's too easy to say that McQueary should have had the presence of mind in that moment to set aside every bit of history and act as everybody else deems that he should have.

To be clear... I think he should have too, but I don't know that I make him a villain for hesitating. Or even retreating. He reported the incident, which I agree is the dirty bare minimum, but I do think it's better to do the right thing eventually as opposed to not at all.

I, personally, have seen kids getting spanked or slapped in grocery stores and parking lots, felt like it was excessive, and I've done nothing. I've been upset with myself afterward for doing nothing. I've regretted doing nothing. But I still did nothing.

I was talking to my buddy Alan this evening and his lovely girlfriend, Lesli, and she brought up this time when she saw her nephew walk into a fire and everyone froze for a minute. She said she even looked away, just as a gut reaction. She then used a phrase I've used before on this blog, and I think it really applies here.

'Cognitive Dissonance' is a discomfort felt when you hold two conflicting ideas simultaneously. The fight in your brain between what you expect to see, and what you really do see. Could McQueary's hesitation in that moment be attributed to cognitive dissonance? Could he have, in that moment, frozen while he simultaneously saw a devastatingly horrible act perpetrated by a man who he looked up to as a father figure and a legend?

Okay... That's enough about Mike McQueary. I've provided more of an argument on his behalf than he rightly deserves. In the end, the argument against him is too strong. A child can't defend themselves. McQueary was a big, healthy 28 year old man who could have stopped it. End of story.

Okay... deep breath.

I think the great Joe Paterno has some explaining to do.  Do I think he deserved to be fired? Probably, in that the public as a whole, at least outside of State College, would never have let it pass...

When I started this blog earlier today, 12 hours ago or so, I was going to try to ease off the throttle against Paterno. I was truly going to say that those who say Paterno failed as a human being and should never coach another game at Penn State, or that he's forever tarnished his legacy were not looking at the grey of the situation.

I was wrong. I was struggling with my own cognitive dissonance.

I have written 10 different excuses for Paterno tonight. I've deleted them all. I can't talk myself into any of them. There is no idolatry to fall back on. There is no reasonable excuse.  I want, so badly, to preserve the honor of this man I've respected for literally my whole life. This man my grandfathered spoke of in reverent tones. I simply can't do it.

Joe Paterno sat in his seat of ultimate power, and he did the bare minimum under the law. For the life of me, I don't know why. Maybe it's because Jerry Sandusky was his lifelong friend. Maybe it's because he didn't want to believe such horrible things about someone he knew for so long. Maybe he truly did feel embarrassed that he was "fooled".

Fuck that.

Joe Paterno was God. There are many people who would call him the most famous and respected man in Pennsylvania. The men he reported the crimes to were his superiors in name only, and everybody knows that. Joe Paterno's subsequent inaction after his token report is, in my mind the second greatest sin of the whole sordid affair. Maybe it's my strong desire to give Joe Paterno a small window of absolution, but t I keep trying to come up with a reason he wasn't responsible, but I've failed. Joe Paterno failed those children. Joe Paterno failed every person who looked at him as a moral compass.

I started today hearing how Joe Paterno's legacy was tarnished forever, and I didn't want to believe it, but it's true. JoePa may be the greatest coach in any sport, ever, but he'll never again be the paragon of blue collar honor and virtue we all believed him to be.

I'm sad for the boys who were abused, and that the firing or legacy of a football coach is overshadowing their experience.

The death of the honor of Joe Paterno isn't the greatest tragedy of the Penn State story, but it is a tragedy.

National Blog Insensitivity

The Tofu Muchacha mentioned to me the other day that there's some sort of movement for a "Blogger Day of Silence" all blogs on March 18th in an act of support for Japan.

How in the ever living hell does a "Blogger Day of Silence" solve anything? Who believes that the people of Japan give two shits about whether I talk about what Disney movies I've enjoyed lately, or what outfit The Tofu Muchacha wore today, or what Jordan Baker thought about the latest episode of Top Chef? You know who believes the people of Japan cares?

Bloggers.

Blogging is, inherently, a self-centered activity. Sure, there are some bloggers who have developed significant followings, but 99 out of 100 blogs out there started as a person talking to themselves. Only bloggers would believe that the populace of a country ravaged by natural disaster, (where people are DYING, and homes are destroyed, and oh... internet connections are being interrupted everywhere), would ever even know that a handful of self-important bloggers in the safe and warm confines of their respective homes DIDN'T blog. It's so fucking dumb.

I know, I know... It's a symbolic gesture. How bout this... if you feel that you need to make a gesture, how bout you donate to the relief funds? How about you use your blog for it's actual purpose, and write a post about how you've been affected by the circumstances you've observed in Japan.

Part of the beauty of a blog is that you can talk about whatever you want. Whatever you feel. On this blog I've talked about all kinds of nonsense just for the sake of talking about it. If I felt the need to make a blog related gesture on behalf of the millions of people who don't know I exist, I'd be more likely to go the cathartic route, and write something reflective about the tragedy.

Instead, I've felt the need to comment on the meaninglessness of a suggested gesture. And, you know, show the world (or my 11 readers) that I'm just an insensitive dick. Whatever.

You know... while I'm at it...

I've heard tell of bloggers talking about being actually offended that people on Twitter and Blogs had the unmitigated nerve to actually tweet and blog about.... NOT Japan. I know! How dare @redreporter talk about what happened with The Cincinnati Reds!?!?! How DARE Alan Sepinwall blog about TV on his TV blog?!!!?? The Nerve! The Gall!!

Listen... I understand feeling the need to all sit in a corner and cry when you can't do anything about something so horrible you can't really even comprehend the scope of it. I get it. 9/11 was like that too. Everyone just sat, transfixed, weeping and wringing their hands, and that made everyone feel so much better. But you know... it really didn't. What made people feel better? When football started back up again. And when Letterman made jokes on TV that weren't about terrorists and death.

The thing about people is... they get obsessive. We all have a need for diversion. Diversion doesn't mean we don't care. It just means we don't go crazy with grief and sadness.

And you know... if you don't want to be offended by the lack of FOCUS on TWITTER (the single least focused media outlet in the history of the world), maybe... I dunno... don't fucking go to mother fucking Twitter.

If I was all:

"I am so upset, and I really need to talk it out. I need to go somewhere where everyone is focused on talking about the exact same thing with the exact same amount of gravity I am."

You bet your ass I wouldn't go to Twitter.

All of that said...

The disaster in Japan is one of the saddest, scariest events of my lifetime. The magnitude and reach of the tragedy makes me breathe harder, and makes my hands shake whenever I see anything about it. My heart goes out to the people of Japan. I pledge to post this blog today in the hopes to let you know how trivial I acknowledge my blog to be, in comparison to just about everything. At this moment, especially when comparison to the suffering of the millions of people, this dumbass rambling should mean even less.

Make a real difference, instead of NOT blogging:
Click here to donate real money to the relief efforts.

Football and Site Biz

Merry Christmas Eve Everybody (that's right... I said it.)

First off, I'm planning to write a blog about the passing of Roy E. Disney, but haven't put it together in my head yet. Pretty sad, but he was old. His contributions were hugely important to the Disney company. We'll see what I have to say soon...

Second... Football Picks.
Last Week: 8 - 8
Overall: 141-83

This week:
Chargers
Falcons
Bengals
Browns
Packers
Dolphins
Pats
Saints
Giants
Steelers
Cards
Niners
Colts
Eagles
Cowboys
Vikings

Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzz

Some Sad News, and Football

Man... Chris Henry died this morning. That's just about the saddest thing ever. I am actually surprised by how sad I find the whole thing to be. I don't know if i'm going to write about it or not, but I've got stuff to say about it, probably. Either way, RIP Slim.

In any case, here are my picks for this week.
Last week, I went 10-6, for the season: 133-75

Here we go:
Colts

Saints
Pats
Cards
Titans

Browns
Texans
Jets
Eagles
Ravens
Broncos
Bengals
Packers
Seahawks
Vikings
Redskins