We're Goin' to Jersey?

well it appears that scribbs has abandoned me for a few weeks (months, whatever). but it doesn't matter because the World Cup is about to start (siiiiiiick!). and that is sure to occupy many of my waking hours. it's a good thing too, because i've recently found myself feeling a bit low. there's a song on the radio right now, and it's doing terrible things to my soul. and yes, it's shitty, and not very deep, and . . . okay, it's a "rap" song. sorta. but it's not the rap that really gets to me . . . well, part of it does, but it's that damn chorus. her voice is mezmorizing and just hits me, deep down, at a place i don't like to talk about at parties.

but back to the song. it's just so overtly sad and about missing someone. and it kind of captures that "Standing in a phonebooth . . ." song's (the one with the B.B. King sample, "I've been downhearted babe, ever since the day we met") sad-music-with-a-hard-beat style magic. and let's face it: that song rocks.

alright, so you've heard the song. it's just alright you say? fine. you don't have to get on board. i'm quite alright being sad by myself. scribbs is saying if you're unhappy about something, either fix it or move on? something like that. well fuck that. he of all people should know that without sadness there is no happiness. one is required to define the other. so there you go, i've dropped a lesson for today. it's just as important to get sad every once in a while as it is to be happy.

The U.S. is the Kobe Bryant of international politics. You take all the shots--you get boo'ed and usually lose. You take no shots--you get boo'ed and always lose.

Why don't English-speaking Americans take advantage of all of these Hispanic immigrants? Namely, why don't we take advantage of their Spanish-speaking kids? Starting next fall, all Kindergarten and First-grade classes in schools where a third or more of the kids are already Spanish speakers should be bi-lingual. No ESL classes, no more 1-language-only American kids. All the kids, all together. Everything in Spanish in the morning. Everything in English in the afternoon. You don't need to teach them languages--just go. They'll figure it out.

If you are unhappy about something, there are only two reasonable reactions: either fix it, or get happy about it.

Current Mission: keep on keepin' on.

How 'bout them Suns?

I can't believe I agreed to this. First of all, let me be very clear here: I enjoy blogs. I enjoy reading them. I enjoy knowing people that write them. And I enjoy getting to know the people that write them by reading them. I have never written one - I think for good reason. Then along comes my boy Scribbs, "We need a blog!" he says. "We totally need a blog! It'll keep our writing sharp in this post-college-pre-grad-school-wasteland we call our lives." Okay, maybe that wasn't quite as verbaitum as I'm making it out to be, but that's essentially what he was proposing. So, eventually of course, I give in. And we find ourselves here. Supposedly at some point-counterpoint debate of the issues, the ideas, the books, the films, our daily lives, and of course, hopefully, usually depressingly, and inevitably, girls. And then what happens? He goes and plunks down some meandering nonsense about fathers and sons and ships and taking control of fate. Yes, it vaguely relates to the title of this blog, but I'm going to be quite upset if he's trying to seize control of some intellectual high ground. I will not be the court jester to this blog (I am of course much funnier and more charming than Scribbs is, so I suppose to some extent I will have to provide that angle) but I will not be the low brow to his high. The point ultmately is - don't be fooled. He talks a big game, a big mumbo jumbo game - but there are real ideas in there somewhere. And hopefully, if I stay on the point, he'll stay on the point. And then we'll all be on the point - and really, isn't that the whole idea of blogging? The sharing of ideas in an attempt to raise the level of discourse in this country, world, etc. Fuck. Now he's got me meandering off, trying to sound like I'm actually building a grander point. I'm not. And I apologize for sounding like I was. The real point is, Scribbs can be an ass who gets too full of himself, and I am here (and hopefully some of you too) to keep him in check (although I'm sure at some point I'll be the one who needs to be checked - nobody's perfect). I think this is starting to get a little long, so, as they say in Wayne's World (and this is, I assure you, only the first of many, many pop culture references), "game on."

There is a moment in every man's life when he must commandeer his own fate and captain the ship his father set sail but which he must bring to port. The time before this moment is both indeterminate and indefinite. Up until this one point, a step astray is no more than another tack along the course charted by his father. Once the moment is in set however, but before the compass and chart have changed hands, every man will see a sign, and the sign will make him fear that he will fail. In this bad omen, even a brave man may find some relief--for it suggests to him that he may yet defer his responsibility and wait in the shelter of his father's house longer still. That the man feels this relief, however, is no cause for blame. Only a naive man who has never seen the ocean does not balk when he is must chart a course in stormy seas. Any man's feelings may out themselves in this time before the storm, but only a coward's will linger when he takes the helm.

We're goin' to jersey?, we ask.

Maybe.