This may or may not be a confession: I have an oral fixation.
Now. Before you get all excited, let me just explain that its not a good oral fixation. I'm talking the nail-biting, pen-chewing, thum-sucking, ice crunching, food stuffing, and occational cigarette smoking. Anything that involves mindless hand-to-mouth action (again...not meant to be dirty).
My worst habit? The nail biting. I actually cannot remember a time in my life when I did not bite my nails. For at least 20 years of my life, my mother has said: don't bite your nails!!! like she was horrified and had never seen me do something so unladylike. I really can't explain the appeal. I never liked the way short nails looked, and to make matters worse, my sister was blessed with beautiful hands, complete with long nail beds that, shined up with red or pink polish, completed her petite, sophisticated girliness. But there was something about the relief from the stress that biting that nail gives. The pressure of my canine on the edge of the nail, just the riiiight amount and then CRACK...ahhh. Are you grossed out yet? Good. It is gross.
So I've taken matters into my own hands, people. Yes. You've heard it here first. I quit biting my nails. COLD TURKEY.
How did I do it, you ask? So glad you did.
Nail polish. That's it, though I should mentions that I can't leave the polish off for more than 10 minutes or I start to get grossed out by how long they look (two decades of biting, especially during your formative years yields tiny little nail beds, so the tips look downright scary). Oh, and I guess I should mention that I sometimes imaine an engagement ring on my finger with my old, bitten, stubby nails to stop myself from biting. I wish I was kidding.
At first, it wasn't so bad. I bought a couple fun nail colors, and eventually a file as they started to grow out.
But this week has been really hard. Guys, I'm like an alcoholic that has ten beers growing on her fingers. Beers that I can put right in my mouth but not taste. Beers I can stare at. Beers I can feel. I end up teasing myself, because I just want to bite them so bad. I think...oh...maybe I'll just take a little top off of the middle one because it's so long...BUT I CAN'T. Because if I bit one, I would bite them all, and they would be gone. Its strange to think how much I've learned about addiction. I literally can't tell myself that I'll never bite another nail, because then I have this overwhelming feeling to just BITE BITE BITE. I actually have to take it one day at a time. Am I going to bite my nails today? No.
In fact, I'm going to go home and put a sparkly coat of raspberry polish on them. Mostly because it's harder to see the tips through a darker color.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
oh, hey
How are you? It's been awhile. Come here often? You look great. No, seriously. That top looks amazing on you.
I've been a little...sad recently. And the 'sadness' has really curbed my want to write in a public way. I hope you understand. It's funny, the purpose of my blog is basically to write about things that suck, and then when I'm actually feeling sucky, I really don't want to write about it.
So I'm not. I'll talk about what people always talk about in these times: the weather.
It's hot out there. Like, really hot. How's everyone holding up? I would say that I was melting, but I'm actually kind of enjoying it. I know, I know. It's kind of weird, though it might have something to do with the fact that i spend 8 hours a day in a windowless cubicle.
Something about the heat makes everything heat-cancelling feel better: a glass of really cold water, the slightest breath of a breeze, the cool side of the pillow, the shady side of the street. It's a sluggish weather to go with my sluggish mood as of late.
The heat, really, serves as a memory trigger for me (as so many things do, but just go with it for me, ok?). I grew up without air conditioning, and summertime meant everything was hot and just a little damp. When we complained at night, my mom would tell us just to put our heads at the foot of our beds, a change of scenery would help us sleep. And sleep always did come, if only on the breeze that fluttered through the windows and over our cool thin sheets. I loved the heat most of all because cooling off was the most fun part: slipping away into the dark basement to watch a marathon of Jurassic Park (a family favorite), practicing our dives and playing Shark in the neighbor's pool, days at the beach playing in the waves. I'm always relaxed when it's hot out--you have to be.
But what I love the most about the summertime is the way it makes you think about all the other seasons and all the other summers. I love to pit the lush green and humidity of the summertime against the frozen pink and blue winter. Think about it: on the hottest day of the summer, you can't even contemplate the coldest day of the winter, but there they are, both in existence. It's nature's way of showing us that no matter how sad you feel, you will feel happy again, and no matter how happy you feel, you will be sad again. And there's nothing wrong with that. It was intended to be that way.
I've been a little...sad recently. And the 'sadness' has really curbed my want to write in a public way. I hope you understand. It's funny, the purpose of my blog is basically to write about things that suck, and then when I'm actually feeling sucky, I really don't want to write about it.
So I'm not. I'll talk about what people always talk about in these times: the weather.
It's hot out there. Like, really hot. How's everyone holding up? I would say that I was melting, but I'm actually kind of enjoying it. I know, I know. It's kind of weird, though it might have something to do with the fact that i spend 8 hours a day in a windowless cubicle.
Something about the heat makes everything heat-cancelling feel better: a glass of really cold water, the slightest breath of a breeze, the cool side of the pillow, the shady side of the street. It's a sluggish weather to go with my sluggish mood as of late.
The heat, really, serves as a memory trigger for me (as so many things do, but just go with it for me, ok?). I grew up without air conditioning, and summertime meant everything was hot and just a little damp. When we complained at night, my mom would tell us just to put our heads at the foot of our beds, a change of scenery would help us sleep. And sleep always did come, if only on the breeze that fluttered through the windows and over our cool thin sheets. I loved the heat most of all because cooling off was the most fun part: slipping away into the dark basement to watch a marathon of Jurassic Park (a family favorite), practicing our dives and playing Shark in the neighbor's pool, days at the beach playing in the waves. I'm always relaxed when it's hot out--you have to be.
But what I love the most about the summertime is the way it makes you think about all the other seasons and all the other summers. I love to pit the lush green and humidity of the summertime against the frozen pink and blue winter. Think about it: on the hottest day of the summer, you can't even contemplate the coldest day of the winter, but there they are, both in existence. It's nature's way of showing us that no matter how sad you feel, you will feel happy again, and no matter how happy you feel, you will be sad again. And there's nothing wrong with that. It was intended to be that way.
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
smoke signals
i've been in a funk (see last post).
fret not. i'm still here.
big ideas are brewing.
in the interim: listen to this song. it makes me want to be in love.
fret not. i'm still here.
big ideas are brewing.
in the interim: listen to this song. it makes me want to be in love.
Friday, May 6, 2011
my week
Guys, I've been sick. No, I don't have a cold, and I don't have the flu. I'm just sick. Exhausted, achy, pounding head, upset stomach, sensitive to light and noise. For like a week--almost 2 now. I've been to two doctors, both of whom listened to my symptoms, took my temperature and shrugged. "Drink fluids," they said (aside from feeling awful, I don't have a fever, so all must be right with my body). "Keep taking those allergy meds."
THANKS, GENIUSES. I STILL FEEL LIKE CRAP. Please explain to me, doctor, why I can't leave the house without sunglasses, and why I can barely be in public for more than 20 minutes without wanting to punch a baby. Please explain to me why I've barely been able to eat and why I have to pop 2 Excedrines almost every day. I DON'T FEEL WELL. DIAGNOSE ME.
I just hate feeling lousy without a concrete explanation. I hate taking 2 hours out of my day to go to the doctor--twice--only to later have to explain to my boss that well, in reality, nothing is wrong with me. I'm just in a black black pit of sickly sadness and generally feeling like I'm about to meet my maker.
Ok, fine. I'm exaggerating a tad. I'm clearly not about to meet my maker. But today while riding the Q train, the jerky motion combined with some kid's 8 AM serenade of hip hop blasting from his head phones and the extra stink of the usual Q-train-stenchiness had me almost on my knees begging for mercy. Seriously--the only thing keeping me at the office is the prospect of having to get back on the train to go home. PLEASE. DON'T MAKE ME.
So to make myself feel better I've been watching bad TV on my computer when I get home from work. Specifically, Glee.
And I can't stop. I won't even try to pretend I don't like it. I'm addicted.
But if Rachel Berry sings one more solo I actually might contemplate suicide. It's gotten so bad that I fast forward through them. She's the only character in that show I really, really hate. Does she irritate everyone else? I can't even root for her and Finn because her voice and stupid earnest faces shred my soul.
Glee crushes? Little gay Kurt. And Puck... there's just something about that stupid mohawk.
Oh no.
THANKS, GENIUSES. I STILL FEEL LIKE CRAP. Please explain to me, doctor, why I can't leave the house without sunglasses, and why I can barely be in public for more than 20 minutes without wanting to punch a baby. Please explain to me why I've barely been able to eat and why I have to pop 2 Excedrines almost every day. I DON'T FEEL WELL. DIAGNOSE ME.
I just hate feeling lousy without a concrete explanation. I hate taking 2 hours out of my day to go to the doctor--twice--only to later have to explain to my boss that well, in reality, nothing is wrong with me. I'm just in a black black pit of sickly sadness and generally feeling like I'm about to meet my maker.
Ok, fine. I'm exaggerating a tad. I'm clearly not about to meet my maker. But today while riding the Q train, the jerky motion combined with some kid's 8 AM serenade of hip hop blasting from his head phones and the extra stink of the usual Q-train-stenchiness had me almost on my knees begging for mercy. Seriously--the only thing keeping me at the office is the prospect of having to get back on the train to go home. PLEASE. DON'T MAKE ME.
So to make myself feel better I've been watching bad TV on my computer when I get home from work. Specifically, Glee.
And I can't stop. I won't even try to pretend I don't like it. I'm addicted.
But if Rachel Berry sings one more solo I actually might contemplate suicide. It's gotten so bad that I fast forward through them. She's the only character in that show I really, really hate. Does she irritate everyone else? I can't even root for her and Finn because her voice and stupid earnest faces shred my soul.
Glee crushes? Little gay Kurt. And Puck... there's just something about that stupid mohawk.
Oh no.
Sunday, May 1, 2011
using of the rogaine...check
So there's this commercial that I happen to see a lot while watching TV. Specifically, while I'm watching the Daily Show online (because I don't have TV). It's a commercial for Rogaine Foam (tm?). And it's driving me nuts.
I can't find the particular commercial I want to share with you on youtube (or anywhere, except on the Daily Show website), but I'll sum it up for you. This guy noticed his hairline was receding. He started using Rogaine Foam. It's so easy. Like brushing your teeth. It regrows hair in 85% of guys (notice the real smaht ad execs on the Rogaine account used the word "guys" so it would appeal to the younger age set...real clever, real clever. My advice? Next time also use the word "dudes" "homies" and "brahs" to appeal to all the surfers, black men and lacrosse players that are also scared of losing their hair). This is all good stuff. Seems like a great product. But something's amiss. See if you can pick it out in this version of the commercial I'm talking about:
Why are these commercial bugging me? Because these guys look fucking DEPRESSED and EMBARRASSED. Am I wrong? Their nonchalance, shrugging shoulders, and shifty, downcast eyes read like a tail between a dog's legs. They look more ashamed than the men who advertise Viagara.
Is it true? Are men really more embarrassed about losing their hair than losing their potency?
I was watching the episode of Sex and the City yesterday where Carrie and Aidan have a big fight over each other's clutter inside their small apartment. "Why do you have FIVE half empty SpeedSticks?" Carrie yells incredulously, to which Aidan replies, quite innocently, that they have different smells. She continues to pick through his box of toiletries. "Do you even wear musk? and Rogaine?--wait, you use Rogaine?" She softens her expression, as Aidan looks increasingly uncomfortable. "Are you losing--" but before Carrie can finish her sentence Aidan bursts: "I don't want to TALK ABOUT IT!" Weee...what a nerve! Ouch!
Maybe I don't get it. Women don't usually suffer from baldness of the male-patterned kind (I do know it's possible for a woman to have thinning hair). But, gents, I don't happen to see what the big deal is. Sure, full heads of hair are great. But hair does not a man make. My father is bald, and both my grandfathers are bald (my brothers are screwed). Perhaps other women care about baldness. I don't think it's a deal breaker. There are so many other things that can be/probably are wrong with you.
Bald Heroes you can have: Prince William, Bruce Willis, Kevin Youkilis, Tiger Woods, A-Rod, your dad, your uncle, your brother...
Buck up, guys. If baldness is in your genetics, work it! Just try not to look like George Costanza. And please, for the love of God, avoid a comb-over at ALL COSTS. And if you want to use the Rogaine, be my guest. Just don't be so sensitive about it.
I can't find the particular commercial I want to share with you on youtube (or anywhere, except on the Daily Show website), but I'll sum it up for you. This guy noticed his hairline was receding. He started using Rogaine Foam. It's so easy. Like brushing your teeth. It regrows hair in 85% of guys (notice the real smaht ad execs on the Rogaine account used the word "guys" so it would appeal to the younger age set...real clever, real clever. My advice? Next time also use the word "dudes" "homies" and "brahs" to appeal to all the surfers, black men and lacrosse players that are also scared of losing their hair). This is all good stuff. Seems like a great product. But something's amiss. See if you can pick it out in this version of the commercial I'm talking about:
Why are these commercial bugging me? Because these guys look fucking DEPRESSED and EMBARRASSED. Am I wrong? Their nonchalance, shrugging shoulders, and shifty, downcast eyes read like a tail between a dog's legs. They look more ashamed than the men who advertise Viagara.
Is it true? Are men really more embarrassed about losing their hair than losing their potency?
I was watching the episode of Sex and the City yesterday where Carrie and Aidan have a big fight over each other's clutter inside their small apartment. "Why do you have FIVE half empty SpeedSticks?" Carrie yells incredulously, to which Aidan replies, quite innocently, that they have different smells. She continues to pick through his box of toiletries. "Do you even wear musk? and Rogaine?--wait, you use Rogaine?" She softens her expression, as Aidan looks increasingly uncomfortable. "Are you losing--" but before Carrie can finish her sentence Aidan bursts: "I don't want to TALK ABOUT IT!" Weee...what a nerve! Ouch!
Maybe I don't get it. Women don't usually suffer from baldness of the male-patterned kind (I do know it's possible for a woman to have thinning hair). But, gents, I don't happen to see what the big deal is. Sure, full heads of hair are great. But hair does not a man make. My father is bald, and both my grandfathers are bald (my brothers are screwed). Perhaps other women care about baldness. I don't think it's a deal breaker. There are so many other things that can be/probably are wrong with you.
Bald Heroes you can have: Prince William, Bruce Willis, Kevin Youkilis, Tiger Woods, A-Rod, your dad, your uncle, your brother...
Buck up, guys. If baldness is in your genetics, work it! Just try not to look like George Costanza. And please, for the love of God, avoid a comb-over at ALL COSTS. And if you want to use the Rogaine, be my guest. Just don't be so sensitive about it.
Monday, April 18, 2011
Rom-Com v. Real Life
I'm sure it doesn't come as a shock to you that I really don't care for Romantic Comedies. I prefer serious movies--the darker the better, extra points for things like unhappy endings, deaths of children or lovers, brooding protagonists, and couples that don't end up together. Extra credit for subtitles, but only because the foreign films that make it to the U.S. are typically the cream of the crop in their native countries.
That said, I'll indulge in the occasional romp with a Rom Com. They can be funny after all, and sometimes it is nice to escape into a world where everyone's beautiful and the girl always gets the guy (or whatever). But honestly, people. The plots of these movies are absolutely ridiculous. So ridiculous that I'm going to tell you how each particular situation would end up in real life.
Say Anything
Guy falls head over heels for nerdy high school classmate the summer after graduation. It's the usual sweet little courtship: he walks her home from parties, teaches her how to drive stick shift. They have SEX. She tells her DAD. The whole thing is AWKWARD. She gives him a pen and then breaks up with him...she feels bad she's neglecting her dad. He does everything to win her back, including holding a boombox over his head under her window: in your eyes, the light the heat...
Movie outcome: After much persistence, nerdy girl FINALLY gives in and they go to England together.
Real life outcome: Guy never tries to get back with her. Broke up with him for her dad? That's just creepy.
How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days
A spunky gal who writes a cheeky column for a popular women's magazine in New York City (she's obviously wayyy above this job--having gotten her PHD or some shit in journalism from Columbia) must find a guy and drive him away in 10 days for her next article, aptly titled "How To Lose a Guy in 10 Days", to point out to women in her spunky, cheeky way everything they're doing wrong with men. She meets a RULLY hot guy who, of course, works for an advertising agency. He appears to be completely smitten while she turns on her undeniable wit and charm, and then she proceeds to torture him by acting completely insane (i.e. pretending to be vegetarian and accusing him of thinking she's fat in public, redecorating his apartment, making him miss the final seconds of the HUGE basketball game they attend by begging him to buy her a soda, making friends with his mom). Little does she know, he's been dared to woo her by his devious, pseudo-lesbian power chick co-workers in a contest to land a big diamond account for their ad agency. LAUGHTER and HILARITY ensue, until they both find out they've been tricking each other the whole time. Both are super pissed, though she would forgive him if opportunity knocked.
Movie outcome: Dude: "I don't care that you drove me nuts for almost two weeks, you are also crazy hot and we had sex at my parent's house in the shower. I love you. Let's be together forever."
Real life outcome: Dude:"Wow. You are bat shit crazy. Bye."
Serendipity
Two people have a chance encounter at a department store at Christmastime. They're super into each other and go out for ice cream. Then they meet by chance again and go ice skating. They're really into each other. But at the end of the night, the girl decides to test fate by believing if they are meant to be together, then fate will bring them back together. They write their phone numbers on random objects: a 5 dollar bill and a book, just to see if they might find them again.
Movie outcome: A complicated series of events take place, and miracle of miracles, they find each other again 7 years later and live happily ever after.
Real life outcome: They never see each other again. There are 6 billion people in the world people, COME ON. There are a million people alone in Manhattan. These two people lost their chances the second they thought a fucking 5 dollar bill with a phone number would make it back to one of them. Besides, most people use plastic anyway.
She's the Man
Girl LOVES SOCCER, but her school just cut the women's soccer program (hi, title IX? that would have solved this movie's problems from the get-go). She dresses up as her brother who, incidentally, is skipping his first year at boarding school to go be in a rock band in England, and tries out for the soccer team. She ends up falling for her RULLY HOT roommate who is also on the soccer team, but he can't tell that she's really a girl. Hilarity, including a crotch-shot gag, ensues.
Movie outcome: RULLY HOT roommate decides he's in love with her back when it's unveiled that she's actually a girl and not a boy.
Real life outcome: RULLY HOT roommate is really, really weirded out and will probably need therapy for the rest of his life and become irrationally uber masculine for kind of feeling sexually attracted to his roommate who he thought was a guy but was actually a girl.
Sweet Home Alabama
Cute southern gal turned chic NYC fashion designer his proposed to by her super hot, super successful boyfriend: he takes her to Tiffany and lets he pick out whatever she wants. She, elated, says YES YES OOOOH YES!, but has to fly back to her hometown in Alabama 'cause she's got some MAJOR skeletons in her closet. Like, she's still legally married to her high school sweet heart--he's been returning the divorce papers unsigned for 7 years (side note: there has to be some legal stipulation that you can still get divorced with only one partie's signature, right?). Turns out, she still has some feelings for Mr. Wrong. WHO WILL SHE CHOOSE?
Movie outcome: Mr. Wrong ends up being Mr. Right, and they live happily ever after in the back woods of Alabama with their shotguns, hunting dogs, and civil war reenactments.
Real life outcome: Mr. Wrong and Southern Gal have already been divorced for 7 years at the plot's beginning. Southern Gal marries Mr. Right, then divorces him and collects a verrry pretty alimony for the next three decades. Score!
disclaimer: I actually really liked all of these movies. Except for Serendipity. That one really sucked.
That said, I'll indulge in the occasional romp with a Rom Com. They can be funny after all, and sometimes it is nice to escape into a world where everyone's beautiful and the girl always gets the guy (or whatever). But honestly, people. The plots of these movies are absolutely ridiculous. So ridiculous that I'm going to tell you how each particular situation would end up in real life.
Say Anything
Guy falls head over heels for nerdy high school classmate the summer after graduation. It's the usual sweet little courtship: he walks her home from parties, teaches her how to drive stick shift. They have SEX. She tells her DAD. The whole thing is AWKWARD. She gives him a pen and then breaks up with him...she feels bad she's neglecting her dad. He does everything to win her back, including holding a boombox over his head under her window: in your eyes, the light the heat...
Movie outcome: After much persistence, nerdy girl FINALLY gives in and they go to England together.
Real life outcome: Guy never tries to get back with her. Broke up with him for her dad? That's just creepy.
How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days
A spunky gal who writes a cheeky column for a popular women's magazine in New York City (she's obviously wayyy above this job--having gotten her PHD or some shit in journalism from Columbia) must find a guy and drive him away in 10 days for her next article, aptly titled "How To Lose a Guy in 10 Days", to point out to women in her spunky, cheeky way everything they're doing wrong with men. She meets a RULLY hot guy who, of course, works for an advertising agency. He appears to be completely smitten while she turns on her undeniable wit and charm, and then she proceeds to torture him by acting completely insane (i.e. pretending to be vegetarian and accusing him of thinking she's fat in public, redecorating his apartment, making him miss the final seconds of the HUGE basketball game they attend by begging him to buy her a soda, making friends with his mom). Little does she know, he's been dared to woo her by his devious, pseudo-lesbian power chick co-workers in a contest to land a big diamond account for their ad agency. LAUGHTER and HILARITY ensue, until they both find out they've been tricking each other the whole time. Both are super pissed, though she would forgive him if opportunity knocked.
Movie outcome: Dude: "I don't care that you drove me nuts for almost two weeks, you are also crazy hot and we had sex at my parent's house in the shower. I love you. Let's be together forever."
Real life outcome: Dude:"Wow. You are bat shit crazy. Bye."
Serendipity
Two people have a chance encounter at a department store at Christmastime. They're super into each other and go out for ice cream. Then they meet by chance again and go ice skating. They're really into each other. But at the end of the night, the girl decides to test fate by believing if they are meant to be together, then fate will bring them back together. They write their phone numbers on random objects: a 5 dollar bill and a book, just to see if they might find them again.
Movie outcome: A complicated series of events take place, and miracle of miracles, they find each other again 7 years later and live happily ever after.
Real life outcome: They never see each other again. There are 6 billion people in the world people, COME ON. There are a million people alone in Manhattan. These two people lost their chances the second they thought a fucking 5 dollar bill with a phone number would make it back to one of them. Besides, most people use plastic anyway.
She's the Man
Girl LOVES SOCCER, but her school just cut the women's soccer program (hi, title IX? that would have solved this movie's problems from the get-go). She dresses up as her brother who, incidentally, is skipping his first year at boarding school to go be in a rock band in England, and tries out for the soccer team. She ends up falling for her RULLY HOT roommate who is also on the soccer team, but he can't tell that she's really a girl. Hilarity, including a crotch-shot gag, ensues.
Movie outcome: RULLY HOT roommate decides he's in love with her back when it's unveiled that she's actually a girl and not a boy.
Real life outcome: RULLY HOT roommate is really, really weirded out and will probably need therapy for the rest of his life and become irrationally uber masculine for kind of feeling sexually attracted to his roommate who he thought was a guy but was actually a girl.
Sweet Home Alabama
Cute southern gal turned chic NYC fashion designer his proposed to by her super hot, super successful boyfriend: he takes her to Tiffany and lets he pick out whatever she wants. She, elated, says YES YES OOOOH YES!, but has to fly back to her hometown in Alabama 'cause she's got some MAJOR skeletons in her closet. Like, she's still legally married to her high school sweet heart--he's been returning the divorce papers unsigned for 7 years (side note: there has to be some legal stipulation that you can still get divorced with only one partie's signature, right?). Turns out, she still has some feelings for Mr. Wrong. WHO WILL SHE CHOOSE?
Movie outcome: Mr. Wrong ends up being Mr. Right, and they live happily ever after in the back woods of Alabama with their shotguns, hunting dogs, and civil war reenactments.
Real life outcome: Mr. Wrong and Southern Gal have already been divorced for 7 years at the plot's beginning. Southern Gal marries Mr. Right, then divorces him and collects a verrry pretty alimony for the next three decades. Score!
disclaimer: I actually really liked all of these movies. Except for Serendipity. That one really sucked.
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
tom brady cried and i dont care
But whatever, we're Boston fans, we can take it, right? Brady's our boy, our hero, and we love him no matter what, because (despite the last few disappointing season ends) he still loves the Patriots and will work as hard as he can to, hopefully, lead the squad to another Superbowl victory.
Well, that's what I thought. But apparently, lots of Boston fans think that Brady's a huge pussy too, just because he got a little verklempt when remembering the most difficult day of his life thus far. OK FINE. I realize that most other people have worse days EVERY DAY than what Tom Brady went through on the day he almost didn't get drafted by the NFL. And I realize that at the end of the video he says "and I thought, Oh thank God, I don't have to be an insurance salesman'" and that's a little callous; like, sorry bro, we can't all have your heavenly gifts and be insanely good looking and be married to the most beautiful woman on the planet and make astronomically unfair amounts of money, so I don't feel that bad for you because I sit in a cubicle all day drafting correspondence and playing with numbers I don't understand. But these are not sad tears that Tom is crying. If you watch carefully, these are the tears of a man who is, at the end of the day, grateful for what he's been given. These, people, are tears of HAPPINESS.
Allow me to explain.
Imagine you're Tom Brady 10 years ago. You're 22 years old, and something you've wanted as long as you can remember, something you have not only promised yourself to, but that also has been promised back to you in the forms of, in this case, being recruited and signed with a huge college football program, and then scouted and courted by various NFL teams. At first, years before, you think this might happen. As time goes on and more things happen that point directly in the path of your goal (i.e. getting scouted, etc) it gets clearer and clearer: this is going to happen....THIS IS GOING TO HAPPEN!!! Because in a 22 year old's mind, one that has been conditioned to believe that if you work hard enough you can get what you want, doesn't see failure as an option. Then, in one night, televised, you're going to find out your fate. He was led to believe that he would be drafted in the 2nd or 3rd round. So they sit there and wait. Did anyone choose me? Did anyone choose me? Please choose me. Please CHOOSE ME. The rounds pass. Nearly 200 players are drafted. And more and more it looks like it's not going to happen. Something that you were told was probable now looks completely improbable. You realize: I'm not good enough. And you think, 'what am I going to do? WHAT AM I GOING TO DO?' That must not be a fun thing. Not one bit.
Big deal, you say. He got chosen. He's a star. Get over it, stop crying, right?
I'm not so sure. See, I think that the cameras might have caught him at a vulnerable moment. He remembers feeling worthless. He remembers, perhaps, thinking that football had been his whole life, and what did he have if it wasn't football? (Think Boobie Miles from Friday Night Lights). He thinks, perhaps, about his parents, and because he's a (dare I say it?) sensitive soul, he feels the love bubbling up as he relays the fact that his parents were with him the whole way, and how much his parents mean to him. HELL. I DON'T KNOW. It's not like Brady's a close personal friend (though, Tom, I wouldn't mind it if we were...), but he chokes precisely at the part where he talks about taking a walk with his mom and dad around the block. That's probably a big memory for him, one of intense familial support. Perhaps this is a show of a man's love and respect and appreciation for, ultimately his parents and everything they had done for him. That night they probably let him know that, in the end, it would be OK if he didn't get drafted by the NFL, that his life would perhaps take a different course, and that they loved him very much. For someone on the brink of adulthood, the moment where you get what you've been working for or don't get what you've been working for is a pivotal one. Perhaps Tom's dad said something to him that he'll always carry with him, something that lifted him out of what was, up until that point, the most awful feeling he'd ever had. I get that.
But, regardless of what the real reason is, I respect those tears and I applaud them because they were not tears of a man who is pompous or inflated. They were not tears of a man who doesn't remember from whence he came, they were not tears of a man who doesn't love his family, and they were not tears of a man who was ungrateful. "The Patriots finally called," he said. They were tears of happiness and a salute to how far he's come.You want to call him a pussy? Fine. So be it. But don't say you wouldn't have the same emotional reaction if that were you up there. Who's to say you're not watching the ESPN special right now, getting choked up?
Maybe I'm too much of a chick and I've read far too deeply into the display of emotion. But I think that he's human. And I don't think there's anything wrong with that. He's still the best quarterback in the NFL. Anyone that doesn't think so can suck it.
Thursday, April 7, 2011
real inspirationtastical, YO
Guys, it's not news that we live in a world of quotes. Everyone, it seems, loves to talk about how much certain quotes inspire them. Then they list some wonderful, flowery stuff about taking things day by day, and being patient, and loving yourself and those around you. All good things, and all great words to live by. Quotes of the inspirational nature usually come from pretty typical, and pretty reliable, sources--mommas and poets and Jesus and anonymous and political leaders and, lest we forget, Mary Schmich (via Baz Luhrmann). All trustworthy sources.
I happen to be a sucker, too.
But something's missing from our usual canon of quote language. Everyone, it seems, has forgotten that the MOST IMPORTANT inspirational, heart stopping words to live by OBVIOUSLY come from RAP AND HIP HOP SONGS. These singers and songwriters really know WHAT UP, so to speak. They really know how to, ah, get jiggy wid it.
So, accordingly, I have compiled a list of words to live by, to take with you on that long journey we know to be life. (I know, I know. You wish you thought of this before me. I'm a genius, PURE GENIUS.) I started with my list of 6,000 FAVORITE quotes, and narrowed it down to the following uber inspirational set of lyric quotes, which I will dispense into your reading eyes right...meow.
3. Blah, blah, blah. -Kesha
7. Fuck y'all, all y'all. Y'all don't like me? Blow me. -Dr. Dre
I happen to be a sucker, too.
But something's missing from our usual canon of quote language. Everyone, it seems, has forgotten that the MOST IMPORTANT inspirational, heart stopping words to live by OBVIOUSLY come from RAP AND HIP HOP SONGS. These singers and songwriters really know WHAT UP, so to speak. They really know how to, ah, get jiggy wid it.
So, accordingly, I have compiled a list of words to live by, to take with you on that long journey we know to be life. (I know, I know. You wish you thought of this before me. I'm a genius, PURE GENIUS.) I started with my list of 6,000 FAVORITE quotes, and narrowed it down to the following uber inspirational set of lyric quotes, which I will dispense into your reading eyes right...meow.
1. If you liked it, then you should have put a ring on it. -Beyonce Knowles
If your man ain't puttin that icey on your finger, guuurl you better drop him fast. He just don't like you enough.
2. No, I don't want your number, no, I don't wanna give you mine, and no, I don't wanna meet you nowhere, no, I don't want none o' your time! NO, I DON'T WANT NO SCRUBS. -TLC
Don't EVER go slumming!
3. Blah, blah, blah. -Kesha
You don't have to listen to the HATERZ if you don't want to!
4. I'm hot 'cause I'm fly, you ain't 'cause you not. -Mims
Because everyone who is fly is, incidentally, also hot.
5. I keep a blue flag hanging out my backside, but only on the left side, yeah, that's the Crip side. -Snoop Dogg
Stay true to your 'hood, knowwhatimsayinnnn?
6. Superman ain't savin' shit. -Eminem
Yeah. He's not even real.
7. Fuck y'all, all y'all. Y'all don't like me? Blow me. -Dr. Dre
Who cares what anyone else thinks? You do you, I'll just continue to be awesome!
8. Yeahya! OOOOKay! Let's go! -Lil' Jon
PAHHHTY TIIIIME!
9. Babay, I know that chu like me. You my future wifey. -Soulja Boy Tell'em
Make sure to leave some room for romanticle things, like pretending to kiss your boyfriend when you call him and he's out scoping other chicks having a guys night.
10. It must be yo ass, 'cause it ain't yo face. -Nelly
We all have to work our best asset.
What are YOUR rapper-words-to-live-by??? Skeet Skeet!
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