Watching Hoarders hits a little too close to home

I need a psychiatrist to explain to me why I always start throwing out crap whenever I watch Hoarders.

I don't even watch that show regularly, but whenever I turn it on and see someone find a dead cat buried until a mountain of trash in the hallway, or a bathroom that looks like someone opened their ass cheeks and sprayed all over the walls, I have to stop whatever I'm doing and clean something.  It never fails. 

Last time I did this, I threw out a bunch of stuff in my closet that I had forgotten was even there.  None of that stuff was hurting anyone in the back of my closet, and since it's already packed tight, there was no need to even worry about it.  It wasn't going anywhere.  Well, not after I saw someone tear up their carpet to reveal the inner mold carpet underneath.  I found a computer in my closet.  A computer.  And threw that shit in the trash. 

I found that computer, an old laptop, hundreds of video tapes, a box of old computer wires, a DVD player that didn't work, a VCR that didn't work; okay, I didn't find it.  I knew it was there, but like those people, I kept it for whatever reason.  I had plans for it, I was going to fix it and use it, I was saving it for a rainy day, shit like that.  And none of that is true, because I'm lazy.  I'm not fixing a damn thing, or paying anyone else to do it, because the means I gotta get up and take it to the person who is industrious enough to fix it. 

This isn't even the first time I've done it.  Last time I watched Hoarders, I threw out a bunch of books, paper, two more unused computers that I planned to fix, and cleaned out my junk drawer.  That's right, I had four unused computers in here at one time.  Who the hell keeps that many unused computers around?  I have a one-bedroom apartment, not a workshop in my garage.  And say I did fix them.  What was I going to do with them?  They were all old as shit.  The reason why they were unused is because they were all too old to upgrade. 

Maybe I do this because I fear becoming one of these people.  It's not like I don't have the packrat gene.  I've always liked keeping everything.  And every so often, when my room got to the point where it looked like one of those houses on TV, my mom would give me about three hours to get my shit organized.  I would fail, because I was easily distracted and overly sentimental about scrap paper with superheroes scribbled on it.  My mom would come in about an hour early with a garbage bag, because she could see that I was just wallowing in my own filth, and throw out everything.  If I wasn't using it, it was gone. 

Eventually, I would move out and I was free to keep all the useless junk I wanted.  And I did.  I mean, it was organized, to some degree, because I could bring over females and they would actually take their shoes off.  I didn't keep a nasty house, just a cluttered one. 

Then, they put that show on the air.  And not only that, I actually started visiting houses like those as part of my job.  Those people have a million excuses for why their houses look like that.  "Oh, you just caught me in the middle of cleaning up."  "Oh, we're just getting back from vacation."  "It's the kids, they won't clean up." "I can't stop the cats from pissing everywhere."  No matter how damaged their homes were, there was an excuse for why it was like that.  Like I'm stupid or something.  If there's a well worn path through the chaos, then that means you always live like this. 

One lady couldn't even give an excuse.  She just sat on a chair in the hallway and stared at the mountain of stuff that filled up her living room.  Another lady was basically just like, "fuck it, just step on my mattress, because I have nowhere else for you to stand."  The excuses all sounded just like the ones I gave my mom, and worse yet, the ones I told myself.  Except those last two ladies.  They had just given the fuck up.

So watching Hoarders or being in those houses made me itch.  Seriously.  I felt like I needed to clean up something, so I didn't wind up being buried in garbage.  While it's funny to watch some sad sack on TV talk about how they had to buy a hot plate for the living room because they couldn't get into their kitchen anymore, it is a fear of mine to wind up like that, dying alone in my house because no one could get to me.  So if I was still at work, I'd clean out my truck.  I had to do something to prove to myself that even though I'm a packrat, I'm not like them.  I can't be like them.  I refuse to be like them. 

Okay, so maybe I don't need the psychiatrist to explain it.  The truth is, I'm a giant pussy.

The Whining

I'm gonna regret wasting that great title on this trifle of a blog entry.

The purpose of this resurgence of blogging on my part was supposed to teach me discipline, something I've never had before.  To write even when I'm exhausted, or hungry, or whatever.  When it's time to write, it's time to write.  Well, I've fucked that all the way up.  But I have learned that when I'm stressed or anxious or going through anything emotional, I can't write.  And I can't write because I can't focus.  So, there's that. 

I haven't written in days.  I've thought about it.  I've wanted to.  I've even sat down at the computer or with an open notebook and prepared to write.  And didn't do shit. 

I take that back.  I did brainstorm a little the other day and came up with a short Superman story I want to write.  So I did accomplish writing a few paragraphs.  But I don't really count that. Still, I guess my question is, how do the professionals deal with this sort of thing?  They probably just sit down and power through it, I'm guessing.  Then again, that's why they're the professionals.  I'm just sitting here on my laptop, pretending to be a writer.  I'm full of all these doubts about whether or not I can even do it, so I guess in my case, it's easy to get knocked off of my game. 

Boy, this is personal. 

Not too personal, though.  I mean, I'm not going into the causes of what brought me to this point, because that would make me the sort of person who's too stupid to realize that they shouldn't be putting their personal business on the internet.  But I think it's okay if I talk about this stuff, because it's part of my learning experience. 

I want to get better.  I will get better.  And I've learned some things in these past few days that will make me better. 

I have to suck it up, no matter what it is, and write.  And if something is preventing that from happening, then I need to get away from that distraction so I can write.

It's my own fault, really.  I allowed it to happen.  So, all I can do is pledge to myself not to let it happen again.  And if I fail that time, try again.  And keep trying until I get it right.  

It's so easy to root against Lebron James

I don't think it's any secret to anyone who knows me that I'm rooting against the Miami Heat in the NBA Finals. Been rooting against them the whole time, even though it's been a fool's errand for most of the playoffs. And they're not really a hateable team, like Patrick Ewing's Knicks (or Carmelo's, for that matter) or the Bad Boy Pistons. Those teams were filled with assholes, top to bottom. And yet, even though i like most of the players on this team, i just find them so easy to hate collectively.

Maybe it's the fanbase, or maybe it's the way they came together, but there's something about this team that makes them fun to hate. It's more than just the fact that they're the best team in the league. San Antonio has been the best team in the league frequently, and they've never brought out the hate like this team has.

Most people would point to the Decision as the catalyst, and they'd be right to a degree, because that was one of top dick moves of this young millennium. When they're doing a retrospective of this century in 87 years, the Decision will be listed among the detritus. Granted, so will any number of Kanye West moments, but Lebron can't be expected to top someone who spends every waking moment perfecting his asshole craft.

But that blew over, for the most part, after Lebron shit the bed in the Finals. The next year, people were pulling for him again. This year, people seem to be back to rooting against him, but not with the anger like two years ago. And that's the part that i can't seem to figure out.

Because it isn't Dwyane Wade. He's pretty much universally loved and respected, despite his ex-wife's best efforts to paint him as an abusive father, as well as his suspect fashion choices. It isn't Chris Bosh, because everyone was pretty indifferent to him until the internet turned him gay. It isn't even Ray Allen, mostly because he benefits from two people on his old team being giant peckers. Could be Norris Cole, though. I can't stand Norris Cole.

That leaves us with Lebron, because in the end, it always comes back to Lebron. Thing is, he's almost impossible to hate, and i know because i know my way around some hate. I really tried to hate Lebron, but once he won his championship, and i saw the joy on his face, i couldn't help but be happy for him. That's the joy that i see in him in so many other moments, like that time he tackled that guy who won all that money hitting that half court shot. When i saw that, my campaign of hate was done. I was so disappointed, because i used to pride myself of being able to hold a grudge, even to the point of deteriorating health.

But right on cue, ESPN was there to gin up hate for him again. The comparisons to Michael Jordan started up, and this time, they were for real. ESPN was going to make this shit stick.

Thanks to the Worldwide Leader, it became very easy to root against Lebron again. Because those of us who saw Michael Jordan aren't going to allow ESPN to put Lebron's one title, won in an era as soft as a memory foam pillow, up against Jordan, who was beat to shit by those hated Knicks and Pistons on the way to six titles. Undefeated in the Finals. No disappearing acts. Not even allowing a Finals series to reach a seventh game. Even if Lebron won seven titles, they would never be as respected as Jordan's because of how he won those titles. But ESPN is brainwashing a younger generation into thinking they would be, because younger generations don't know shit. We have to correct that, because if that's what ESPN wants, then ESPN is a threat to intelligent thought everywhere.

Lebron is an amazing talent and player, but when this dude gets to Finals, he looks like he doesn't know what he wants to do out there. Too often, he wants to try to get others involved, even when there's no play to be made. But just the week before, when it was just the Eastern Conference Finals, he was dropping 40 on a team that was flailing desperately in an attempt to stop him. All of his greatest moments seem to come in the conference finals.

He's so talented, but that talent makes him maddening to watch sometimes, because he's probably never going to be the player he could be. As great as he is, he could be so much greater. This man should be dominating everyone, all day, erry day. With his physical gifts, the question of who's better between him and Jordan shouldn't even be asked anymore. And depending who you think is better, it isn't.

So Lebron, despite his personality and his physical gifts, makes it easy to root against him. Because championship or not, no one wants to see a pretender get elevated to legendary status. And if Miami loses to San Antonio this week, he's going to be exactly that.

Maybe this whole exercise about writing everyday is taking hold, because i didn't write yesterday, and the whole day, i felt like i should have. I guess this is the kind of self-torture that real writers have to deal with.

Even though i was traveling most of yesterday, attending a wedding, and hanging out with family, i still feel like i could have taken a few minutes in the shitter to write a few words. Well, maybe not, because i never found a few minutes to go in the shitter. Still, there was a nagging guilt hanging over me all day. Even today.

Technically, I haven't written for two days, because it's now after midnight. I don't really like this feeling of having failed to meet this obligation that i made. So all i can do is start over with it. This won't happen again.

Well, not for a long, long, time, anyway.

I Can't Believe I Rented It - Man of Steel

It's damn near impossible for me to talk about "Man of Steel" on the level that I want to without giving away spoilers.  I won't say if it's good or bad, because my friends say that I don't like anything, and I'm a harsh critic.  I'll just say, it's not unterrible, and I'm not even 100% sure what that means.  I didn't hate it, but I didn't love it, either.  I can say this, it's better than "Superman Returns," but that's not hard to do unless you're making "X-Men 3." But here's a quick, spoiler-free rundown of the movie.

1. Superman doesn't have taco meat.  Seriously, someone could have run the clippers over his chest before he put on the suit.

2. Lois Lane is no longer the dumbest investigative reporter on the planet.  I'll let you figure out what that means.

3. Also, she must have powers, too, because she somehow shows up everywhere Superman goes.  It's like she's Bruce Wayne after he gets out of that pit.

4.Y'know General Zod, if you had just gone next door and terraformed Mars, none of this would have ever happened.

5. People really shouldn't spend that much time saving themselves with a Superman flying around. 

6. It's like Superman is in a competition with Spider-Man to see who can ruin his own secret identity the fastest.

7. He throws punches this time. Unfortunately, for him, he isn't very good at it or most things.  As a result...

8. They beat the brakes off of Superman.  Seriously, they curbstomped his ass.  Rocky style.

"Man of Steel" does have some decent moments.  But they're surrounded by a bunch of changes to the Superman mythos that are either unnecessary or illogical.  And the movie never seems to be building towards anything.  But I guess that's just the hater talking.  The filmmakers seemed to be more concerned about making Superman relatable than making him super.  He's got all kinds of angst about being an outsider, so he's Emo Superman this time around, which I guess is a step up from Deadbeat Stalker Superman.

The movie was darker than the usual Superman movie, and felt like it should have been a sequel.  There are some emotional moments for the characters that would have had more weight if there had been a first part.  I guess they felt like they could get away with not building relationships between the characters, because we all know most of them and have a pretty good idea of how they would act.  But at the same time, they acted like they wanted to throw out the rule book and have a brand new Superman. 

To put it in nerd terms, they wanted to reboot "Star Wars," but throw on the ending of "The Empire Strikes Back."  That's the simplest way I can put it.

One thing they did do was make Jor-El interesting, for the first time ever.  I don't know why filmmakers keep holding onto Jor-El, because once he presses the button on the rocket, there really isn't any reason to ever bring him up again.  But he found his way into three Superman movies now, and multiple seasons of Smallville.  He still wasn't necessary, but there's stuff for him to do to justify paying Russell Crowe.  Jor-El was actually a human being in this, and has one of the best scenes in the movie.

The highest compliment I can pay to a movie is, "I can't wait to buy this on DVD."  For this one, I can wait.  It'll be on HBO sooner or later.  But it wasn't a bad flick.  It's just not a Superman flick, kinda like how "The Dark Knight Rises" wasn't really a Batman movie.  I guess that's why they called it "Man of Steel," so they can't get sued for false advertising.

Casting black actors as white characters is cool. Just not this time.

Just a heads up, this is probably gonna get a little nerdy.

So the word is that Michael B. Jordan, a young black actor, is in the running to play Johnny Storm, the Human Torch, in the next Fantastic Four movie. The Human Torch is white, so naturally, the comic book world has lost it's shit. 

Most people who don't read comics are probably like, "Good for him.  We need more black heroes."  Normally, I'd agree with those people, because I also think we need more black heroes.  Just not the kind who rhyme all of their dialogue, like they did when I was a kid.  More than that, I think we just need more positive and heroic black figures in these kind of movies.  It's important to see yourself represented in the media in a positive way.  Maybe if we had more of that, fuck ups like Benzino wouldn't be TV stars. 

I've actually written about this before, when I wrote about Miles Morales replacing Peter Parker as Ultimate Spider-Man.  Read it here, and tell me how good and smart I am.  Anyway, I explained why replacing white characters with black or Hispanic ones isn't that big a deal and won't cause the fall of the republic.  That change happened in 2011, and as best I can tell, Marvel is still in business.  If Fox goes through with casting Michael B. Jordan as Johnny Storm (I can't believe I haven't made a bigger deal out of his name), they're gonna keep being alright.  But I'm still gonna go the other way this time.

One of the big complaints about Miles Morales was that it felt like they were forcing a black character into that role, but that was stupid, because Marvel was killing off Peter Parker anyway.  Might as well throw a black man in there, because throwing in another white guy would be boring and expected. 

But forcing a character into a role is exactly what this feels like.

It would be one thing if it was a character like Heimdall, who was played by Idris Elba in the Thor movie, or when Kerry Washington played Alicia Masters in the other Fantastic Four flicks.  That was fine, and not because they're minor characters.  In fact, I'm cool with Laurence Fishburne playing Perry White in "Man of Steel," or Jamie Foxx playing Electro in the next Spider-Man, because making them black doesn't change the story.  You don't have to explain why this guy is black.  That's not the case with Johnny Storm. 

No, the word is that they're gonna say that Johnny Storm is adopted, and that's how his sister, Susan Storm, the Invisible Woman, is gonna still be white.  And that's the part that will bother fans the most.  They're changing the story, and not even for a good reason.  If you really want to make Johnny Storm black, then why not make his sister black, too, so you don't have to explain anything?  If you're gonna go there, then go all the way there.  Just be like, "They're black now.  And what?  Get used to it, because we're also gonna make Idris Elba the next James Bond." 

"Well, what if they introduced a brand new Human Torch who isn't Johnny Storm, but is still black?  Would that get those panties out of your ass?"  First of all, Straw Man, that was very rude.  But to answer your question, no, it wouldn't, but that's just because I don't think movies are the place for the director to experiment with "his vision."  That's how Superman became an emo stalker with bastard children.  Leave that shit to the comic books, where they can have another character come through and kill the mistake in the goriest way possible.

So just leave Johnny Storm white.  Not because Michael B. Jordan isn't a talented or even deserving actor, and not because I believe that white characters should stay white.  There will be other chances to piss off racists and bigots by trying to create a progressive comic book universe.  Like when they eventually cast Idris Elba as Iron Man.  Just let them come naturally instead of trying to shoehorn it in, like this one.

Not having a good cell signal is the worst thing ever

It enrages me to live in a city that doesn't have decent cell phone coverage.  Talk about first world problems, but there shouldn't be a single spot in the metro Atlanta area that isn't bathed in 4G.  Sweet, fast, cancer-causing 4G. 

See, the problem with technology is that it raises expectations. 

Now, back in 2003, I didn't even want a cell phone.  I was like, "I don't like talking on the phone, anyway. That's money that I could be spending on wrestling t-shirts."  But you know how that story ended.  My then-girlfriend would convince me to get one, because in those days, I was powerless against a pretty face.  You wouldn't believe the stupid decisions I made back then.  And thanks to those stupid decisions, nowadays, I cannot be swayed, much to my girlfriend's chagrin.  Pretty brown eyes or not, I'm not buying you a brand new shoe collection (Note: she doesn't really want a new shoe collectionOW STOP HITTING ME).

But in those suckerish days, I couldn't say no, and within four months, I was already on my second phone, because I couldn't take the first one outside of the county without losing all coverage. Two phones, and damn near $300.  And I didn't even want the thing. 

Even still, I figured I'd have that phone for the next 50 years.  Then, they introduced text messaging and I no longer had to pretend that I was interested in talking on the phone.  And 3G and 4G internet after that, which made it so I no longer had to leave the bathroom when I wanted to look up the names of those other three Thundercats on Wikipedia.  Just like that, I was in fat ass heaven. 

I didn't even want all of this crap originally.  But the phone companies kept making things better, and cheaper, and faster.  They made all of these promises in a world where I was happy being able to avoid all phone calls simply by walking outside.  Antisocial loners like me could vanish for hours or days at a time and no one thought it strange until bodies started being found by the police. 

Now, if I'm not connected to the grid during every waking moment, I feel like I missed something.  If I was made to choose being able to read Twitter every day and losing contact with some of my relatives forever, it would be Twitter all day.  I might not have been close to some of those relatives, but I need to know how Roland Martin is dealing with his six nieces.  I need to know what snarky response Bomani Jones is going to have for that stupid-ass question in his feed.  And what of the ongoing Jemele Hill/Michael Smith t-shirt war?  I AM RIVETED.

And you did this to me, phone companies.  Now that I have it, it needs to work all the time.

But that isn't the case, is it, T-Mobile?  It's 2013, we got folks talking about sending people to Mars, we got glasses that show the internet, motion activated video game systems...basically, we live inside the first 20 minutes of "Back to the Future Part II," and I can't even go to Lawrenceville without hitting a dead spot, can I, Sprint?  Twenty minutes outside of Atlanta, and I'm back to the Stone Age with no reliable 3G/4G coverage.  I'd understand if I was out in Winder, because civilized man has yet to reach out that far, but Lawrenceville has its own freeway, and two stadiums within spitting distance.  There should be a cell phone tower on every corner, like in every dystopian future. 

So someone needs to get this fixed, because one thing I do know: I don't want reliable coverage bad enough to have to pay Verizon every month. 

I need a quick favor. No, it's not money related.

Every day, i check the hits on my blog to see many people actually read what i wrote. I'm not gonna tell the numbers, but it's increased about 500%. That's not saying a whole lot, because i used to get about eight hits per post, unless i said something fucked up about a famous person. Okay, i won't tell all the numbers.

So for those of you who have been visiting when i post, i thank you. It sucks when you post something you actually think is good or funny, and no one ever sees it. Now, in hindsight, i realize that many of my old posts were rambling and self-indulgent. It happens.

But since I've got your attention, i want to keep it and hopefully, expand it. Since it's a blog, i can't physically grovel at your feet, but i can digitally suck up. And i can only do that by catering to you and kissing your asses. Metaphorically.

So please tell me, o wise and learned reader, what would you like to see me write about? Or what did you like for me to write about in the past? I'm not saying I'm going to gear everything to what you want (too many of you watch reality shows for me to do that), but I'm curious about what you guys expect from me.

I'm still gonna write about whatever catches my attention, but at least it won't surprise me when a post about Senate confirmation hearings gets 10 hits. Maybe I'll write more about what you want me to write about. I'm versatile.

Unless you want me to write about reality shows. That would mean I'd have to start watching them, and frankly, my remaining brain power can't take the abuse.

So leave your thoughts and ideas in the comments. And again, thanks for reading this time around.

This was a stupid idea.

I don't think i thought all of this through.

I mean, i wanted to start writing again and i wanted to do this boot camp thing, but at the same time? The only good thing about it is that the pain in my ancient and feeble bones gives me something to write about. Problem is, i don't ever feel like doing it. I'm so worn out that i can't be bothered to get on the computer. I'm doing this on my cell phone.

I love technology, because it allows me to maintain my lazy lifestyle while creating the appearance of being productive. I don't even have to type, because I'm using a Swype keyboard. Actually, even that's too much work, because i could have been using the voice transcriber the whole time. I'm such a sucker.

Anyway, i just didn't see this being that difficult, but what do i know about hard work? I spent my entire high school career drawing pictures of Spider-Man in class. Evidently, it ruined any hope i had of developing work ethic, but on the bright side, have you seen my Spider-Man?

I guess i have to turn over a new leaf at some point. Might as well be now, in my advanced years. Someone really should have warned me about the dangers of being lazy, besides my parents, teachers, and the few friends i had who were less lazy than me. I blame all of you for not getting through to me, because none of this is my fault. I'm still not mature enough to accept responsibility.

Side note: Don't tell my parents i said that. And if anyone does, i was just joking and you're a liar, you snitch.

I'm going to post fiction. Just not today.

Believe it or not, I'd like to write more than just blogs. 

I mean, I get a kick out of it and I'd slice at least two or three of your throats to get a paying gig doing this, because cable customers (yourselves included) are some of the most horrible people on earth.  But there are other things that go through my mind, and I'd like to get some of them down on paper.  I'm forever coming up with short stories, comic book ideas, movies, and who knows what else.  Some of them, I actually get to explore, but most of them remain unfinished, in my notebook. 

The purpose of the blog, at least for the time being, has been to develop some sort of discipline when it comes to writing.  I've asked all of you to help keep me on task, and some of you have really jumped on board with that.  I thank you.  But that's why some of these blogs have been  really, really shitty.  Writers are supposed to write, even when they have nothing to say.  In the past, I just wouldn't have written anything that day.  Or I might have written something that I wouldn't post.  My blog is littered with the remains of unfinished blogs about whatever half-baked thought I had that day.

I'm trying to get past all of that.  Not the blogs, those are fun.  I'm talking about the hangups I have about my own work, and my lack of discipline.  And at some point, what I'd like to do is actually post short stories on here sometimes, or at least excerpts of longer stories that I've worked on.  But I'll be honest with you, that idea scares the shit out of me.  It's one thing for me to post these silly blogs about something I read in the news.  It's another thing entirely to expose something that personal to the world.

I've shared a few things I've written in the past, and it was nervewracking to do that when I have.  I felt I needed the feedback, though.  I needed to know that someone thought I was good.  It's different from this blog, because when I started it, I was doing it for me.  Eventually, some people would tell me that I was good.  Even though I didn't write anywhere else but here (I did land spots at Collocue.com and  BlackSportsOnline.com once, though), I could see the improvement I was making.  Seriously, go back read the early blogs.  But only if you're ready to go to sleep. 

So, since I've started getting somewhat personal and serious in the blog since i began writing in it again, this is the next thing I'm putting out there.  I'm going to post something I've written one day.  I don't know when or what it will be, but just that I'm going to get brave and do it.  I'm not saying that this blog is going to become a space for fiction, because let's face it: At some point, Justin Bieber is going to do something that requires me to insult him and won't be able to help myself.  I usually save that stuff for Twitter, but he's begging for people to go in on him, and I don't want to let him down.  Follow me @ThadOchocinco, by the way.

I just have other things I want to write about and I'm going to do it here, as a test run.  I'm declaring it right now.  I just have to build up the courage first.

This wiretapping bullshit

Everyone seems to be losing their shit over this NSA wiretapping thing.  I guess no one wants the government to listen to their phone sex sessions.  I should be bothered by this more than I am, I guess.  But I'm not.  Not really.  I mean, I saw this story already.  They did it on The Wire. 

They collected numbers and saw who folks were calling.  That kind of stuff.  Once they had reason to suspect someone was doing something, they got a warrant and listened to the pay phones.  So unless you're calling terrorists overseas, they're probably not even going to care who you're calling, let alone ever listen to your calls. 

Yes, they could do it at anytime.  But for what?  Do you know what you people talk about most of the time?  I promise you, your conversation about what happened on Scandal isn't going to help the government catch terrorists.  Your boyfriend probably doesn't want to listen to you talk about that bitch at work that you can't stand.  I doubt some intelligence analyst will be able to put up with it for longer than 15 or 20 minutes.  And let's not act like you people are really concerned about who's listening to your phone calls.  I listen to your phone calls all the time, in the store, when you're talking all loud about your personal business.  I didn't even need a wiretap to know that you're about to get evicted or that you stole $200 from your aunt. 

I'm not blaming President Obama for this, either, because it started before him, and it will continue after he's gone.  I guess he probably doesn't have to do it, but you'll all be mad as hell if you find out that something happened that could have been stopped by collecting phone numbers. I'm not saying I trust what the government is up to at all times, but think about what happens in the government.  Think about all of the stupid shit that these fuckers get caught doing.  The same government that gave Mexican drug lords guns and didn't put in trackers that lasted more than three months is the same one you're all worried about using health coverage and phone records to impose a totalitarian regime. 

If anything, be afraid of corporations doing shit.  They'll do anything to keep you spending money on their stuff.  The government needs you to have a certain level of productivity so they can keep collecting tax money.  Sure, they could turn on the people, but it's really not that likely. 

And even if they do, what are you really going to do about it?  I don't think you can do anything to prevent a drone strike. 

Being the best that I can be

I have a lot of favorite writers.  They're all better than me.  Now that we've established that, I'm still gonna do the damn thing.

For a long time, I had a hang up about that.  Basically, I'd compare myself to those who inspire me and found myself lacking.  Actually, who am I kidding?  I still do it.  I'm not gonna pretend that this sudden creative output on my end means that I'm magically healed.  The questions are still in the back of my mind.  For all I know, they'll be there forever.  When I do this, I'm not as funny as Seanbaby or Drew Magary.  I'm not as prolific as Bill Simmons or as profound as Ralph Wiley.  When I write stories, I'm not as inventive as Geoff Johns or Fred Van Lente. 

But that doesn't mean I should stop, either.  I can still bring something to the table. 

You'll never be satisfied if you're constantly comparing yourself to others.  You're on your own path, trying to make your own way and find your own voice.  Just because you feel that someone is better doesn't mean there's no place for you.  If that were the case, the only players who would have even tried to go to the NBA after Michael Jordan would have been Kobe and Lebron.  There's a whole league of other stars who are also great without being the greatest of all time. 

And who knows, you might one day become just as good or better than those you admire.  But you won't know until you try.

When I was growing up, I wanted to draw like Jim Lee.  Jim Lee is the best artist in the world, ever, as far as I'm concerned.  He's the one who defined the look of the X-Men for my generation.  Whenever I would draw the X-Men, they were based on his interpretations.  I'd try to use his techniques and poses and anything to try to get closer to his level.  Over the years, I got a little better, but never anything close to what he could do.  And that frustrated me.  By the time I reached college, my childhood dream of drawing comic books was dead.  By the time I reached my 30s, I had given up drawing altogether.  I had reached my limits, and drawing was no longer fun or relaxing.  It had become a constant struggle to get my ideas from my head onto the paper.

Then, one day, my girlfriend was looking through one of my old sketchbooks, and to her, I was amazing.  She told me that I should have never given up drawing to begin with and that, if I hadn't stopped, who knows what could have happened.

And that's the point:  Who knows?  No, I was never going to be Jim Lee, but that doesn't mean what I could do was worthless.  I'm probably not going to take up drawing again, besides the occasional doodling, but those lessons I can put towards the writing that I do now.

I have something to say.  It might have a lot of cusswords in it sometimes, but there's a message and point of view in there that is uniquely mine.  It can't be found anywhere else but right here.  And with some work, maybe that voice will be appreciated by others.  And I think that's true of anything.  

So if you have a dream and you're worried about how it stacks up to someone else's output, stop doing that to yourself.  You're just killing your own progress, because you're trying to be them instead of being the best you that you can be.  While you're knocking your own moves, because of a person who doesn't even know you're there, you're not appreciating exactly how good those moves are in their own right.

Bandwagon fans ruin the NBA Finals. And everything.

It's that time of year again.  The NBA Finals have started, and tons of people have come out of the woodwork to pretend like they've been watching basketball all along.  You know these people.  They haven't watched a game since Christmas (the Slam Dunk Contest doesn't count, and I know your attention span isn't long enough to watch the All-Star Game), and suddenly, they're Hubie Brown.  They expect you to trust their analysis when they don't even know who's on the Spurs roster this year.  This is the time of year when you get such insightful gems like, "I don't think Lebron James plays with enough heart."  Thank you, Skip Bayless.

They figure because they know a little something about the Miami Heat, that makes them a basketball aficionado.  It doesn't, assholes.  Knowing something about the Miami Heat is like knowing something about "Jersey Shore."  You didn't have to actually watch it to know who had herpes.  Everyone on that team is a star.  Three of the biggest names in the NBA are on there, along with Ray Allen, who everyone remembers from the Celtics, and Chris Andersen, whose tattoo turtleneck makes him look like a fucking clown.  The Heat are as much of a mystery as Dora the Explorer.  You're not impressing anyone with your encyclopaedic knowledge. 

If they wanted to impress someone, they'd tell us something about San Antonio.  If you're a true basketball fan, you'll know something about the NBA's least marketable team for the last 20 years.  Never before has a team been this successful while also being this boring.  The NBA would rather have the Milwaukee Bucks in the Finals, because at least Brandon Jennings will have a wild haircut.  Now, the bandwagoners are like, "Oh, yeah, I know them.  They're boring as hell."  And that's how I know they don't watch, because San Antonio has been pretty entertaining since Popovich remembered that Tony Parker isn't 47 years old, like Tim Duncan.  Just because Tony Parker looks like he's thinking about ruining another marriage when he's on the floor doesn't mean that they can't hold your attention. 

I'd rather the bandwagoners not watch sports at all, then show up at the end, like half of the people watching the Super Bowl.  They know they'd rather watch "Love & Hip-Hop: Atlanta," so who are they trying to fool?  Their half-hearted interest is actually ruining everything, because they're the ones who made sports owners add concerts to every sporting event.  Because for them, the two best teams battling at the end of a hard-fought tournament for league supremacy isn't enough.  The greatest players in the world locked in competition isn't enough of a lure. 

But horseshit like Beyonce performing at halftime?  Suddenly, it just became appealing.  "OMG!  Do you think she lost all the baby weight?"  That's all it takes for all the men in the room to want to jam that beer bottle into their wrists.  At least until Beyonce actually appears on screen.  Then, they can talk about that baby weight or how Kim Kardashian is a whore all they want to, because no one is listening. 

So thanks a lot, bandwagon fans and idle spectators.  The league's desire to keep your interest instead of maintaining ours got Jessica Simpson booed at the Rose Bowl.  I hope you're happy.

They can't all be winners: Thad talks about Fast Six

Disclaimer:  I know this isn't my best work, but my purpose for doing this is to try and get in the habit of writing every day.  Just keep that in mind.  In fact, you're better off not even reading this.  I promise. If you leave now, you can still catch the second segment of The Colbert Report.

I don't care what you people say, I refuse to believe that Fast Six is a good movie.

Oh, sure, I'll eventually watch it, because it's just a matter of time before Starz airs it.  I'll watch it then and not a minute sooner. That's how I saw Fast Five, and I think that worked out well, because I didn't spend a dime to watch it.  In fact, because of my job, I actually paid less to watch it than people who actually pay for Starz.  And even though I wasted about three hours of my life (it took me two times to get all the way through it) watching Paul Walker and Vin Diesel continue being two of the most boring actors alive, I don't regret it at all.  No, that's a lie.  I do regret it.

All of the action sequences in the world couldn't make that movie good.  You'd think that they would have learned that after XXX. But they didn't, because they keep making Fast & Furious movies, and worse than that, they keep putting Tyrese in them.  For that reason alone, I wonder how these movies keep getting made.  As ridiculous as the decision was to make Tyrese an actor, I want know who thought he made a believable tough guy.  I feel like I should have been in the room when that decision was made, because I remember that Coke commercial.  As a general rule, I try to stay away from movies with Tyrese in them.  The only reason why I saw Transformers was because I knew I was going to trash it later.

So, it's already got three shitty actors working against it.  If the writing of Fast Five is any indicator, in between scenes of cars going fast or cars going around corners or whatever the fuck, they'll just stand around between those scenes and pretend to be fully fleshed out characters.  That's the kind of shit writing that has The Rock forgetting that he spent the whole last movie trying to take these motherfuckers to jail.  The whole point of him being in the movie was to catch these guys, and the two times he could have arrested them, he got his ass kicked, or let them go, because they murdered another guy who was also a piece of shit...I guess?  And that was after they spent the last 20 minutes causing catastrophic property damage.  Hurricanes have ravaged this land less than they did, and this fool lets them walk away.  You know what, I'm not gonna try to make sense of this bullshit.

And y'all want me to go back for more?  Fuck you.  I can create the same experience for myself on the toy aisle at Walmart, with 100% less bland actors.  And if it's all about Vin Diesel's voice, shit, I can do that, and I have more charisma than a pair of work boots. 

There's a special place in hell for the person who invented boot camps.

This is probably the most physically taxing writing I'm ever going to do.  I made the mistake of going to a boot camp today, because you're never too old to make mistakes.  And now, I'm barely able to keep my eyes open long enough to write this.  Stupid prior commitments. 

Who was the masochist who invented the concept of boot camps, anyway?  Sure, it's good for our armed forces, because at the very least, the people tasked with defending our borders should be able to exercise for an hour without throwing up.  But regular slobs like me?  I don't see why I should have to do that.   And as it happens, I can't.  Well, I didn't actually throw up, but kneeling on the side of the track, waiting to vomit while people in far better shape than me run by is almost the same thing.  I was so exhausted that I wasn't even embarrassed by how pathetic I looked.  I couldn't walk for long stretches by the end, I kept a mouthful of that pre-vomit spit, and I was on the verge of a coma for the entire ride home.  Basically, I was everything you'd expect a fat guy to be.  Homer Simpson would be proud. 

What's messed up is, going into it, I believed all of that "mind over matter" bullshit.  That I could hop off the couch and will myself to the end of the workout.  Well, that is an absolute lie, my friends.  The "Insanity" commercial, where regular people like you and me claim to dive feet first into a horrible workout, and get through it with grit and gumption?  That's crap.  The truth is, those people are ringers and if you really try to do that without building up to it, you will die.  I know this to be true, because my ghost is typing this right now.  I hope all of you will be attending my funeral on Saturday. 

If I were still alive, I would impart the message that you shouldn't let skinny people and their judgmental stares keep you from working on what's proving to be an impressing front butt.  Yeah, getting in shape takes hard work, but so does shortening your lifespan by eating what passes for affordable food in America.  Sure, the people who love you would tell you that they want you around longer, and that exercise will help extend your life, but I'll be happier wasting that time catching up on "Sons of Anarchy."

I wrote this since I can't assault my coworker.

There's always that asshole at work who makes everyone else's job harder.  I hate those motherfuckers.

Today, I wound up being in these folks' house until 7:30 because one person at my job didn't even try to do shit right the first time.  And when he was there the first time, he was allocated a full day to get the job done.  He didn't have a full day's worth of work, just a full day's worth of time.  So naturally, he half assed it, which is how a camera gets filled with water.  And who plugs in a camera outside with the criminals, anyway?  When I left, I wanted to smack that dude in the mouth.  And who knows?  It could still happen, because we'll all be at the warehouse in the morning.  Dreams about smacking shitty coworkers are the things that keep us going.

Our jobs are already hard enough without having to clean up after some sorry drag-ass who's just trying to do the bare minimum.  I don't mean just me.  I mean all of us.  Unless our job is something like "Congressman," "porn star," or "professional baseball player," we all have to work hard at our jobs.  And no matter how lowly or lofty our position in life may be, there will always be that one person who deserves to get kicked in the throat for creating more work than they actually do.  You already know who that person is at your job, don't do you?  And even though punching them in the chest until you break all of their ribs would be exhausting, you'd still rather do that than clean up their messes.  If we wanted that, we'd have kids.  And if you already have kids, you probably smack them around for doing this sort of thing.  It's okay, I won't tell the cops, because I encourage that sort of thing.

But sadly, there are all sorts of social norms and LAWS preventing us from bringing violence into the workplace.  And that's just unfair.  These unjust laws are keeping us from teaching terrible people a fucking lesson.  And the lesson should be: "Do your share or get your skull cracked open."  I don't pay taxes so these shiftless layabouts can keep their skulls uncracked.

Don't you realize that if was the 1920s, we'd all be working for some robber baron who'd have armed thugs break our knees for taking a coffee break?  Sure, labor laws have brought us some good things, like our employers having to let us go home at night, and the banning of asbestos, but some things were also lost, like being able to snitch on that slacker who made us have to stay out another three hours.  I know people say that snitching is bad, but you'd snitch everyday if you knew that your snitching going to lead to that sorry asshole getting dragged in the back office some sweet and immediate retribution.  I bet they still have thumbscrews in that office.  That seems like the kind of thing they'd keep in there.

Someone's going to read this and laugh because they know they're that type of person, so if you're laughing at this, you're a piece of shit, and everyone hates you.  They probably don't hate you directly, but everyone you know hates this kind of person, and if they don't, they're just as worthless as you are.  No one wants to pick up after someone else, especially a grown ass man or woman.  I hope someone fills your kidneys with bleach.

Day 3. I want to burn down College Park.

Fuck, this is hard when you don't have any inspiration.

This morning, I had a whole buncha stuff to say about the Wolf Creek Amphitheater in College Park, because, really, fuck Wolf Creek Amphitheater.  Unfortunately, because of the three hours of sleep I've had today, I forgot all of it.  But I remember enough of what happened to keep being mad.  For instance, if I wanted to walk for a mile and sweat through my clothes, I would have gone to the gym, where it's okay for fat people to do that.  Usually, mixing exercise and music is called Zumba, but these folks think it's a natural fit for a concert.  But it was all worth it, because I got to see a really good live show.

Slick Rick, Keith Sweat, and Mint Condition performed, I could hear Jon B and Nappy Roots in the distance, and I heard tell of Big Boi and En Vogue performing as well.  I might have seen them myself, but College Park Police are a group of imbeciles who can't even direct traffic without turning the road into a parking lot.  So, yeah, I missed all that shit. 

Look, I ain't gonna lie, I was late.  But I wasn't late enough to miss half the show.  There are varying degrees of lateness, and I was still in the "acceptable" range.  It ain't like I left the house at the start time.  That would make me more of a stereotype than the chicken and watermelon I'm about to have for dinner (no, for real.  This is really about to happen.).  All that I was supposed to miss was a stand-up comedian, and who cares about that, because no one goes to a concert to hear jokes.  It makes me feel the same way as when I see commercials playing at the movies.

Wolf Creek Amphitheater didn't have the foresight to predict that their plans for parking were never going to work.  It was my first time down there, so they might say that they've had other shows that went well.  I'd concede that I really didn't know what I was talking about, if it weren't for the the fifth entry in my Google search being a Yelp entry from a year ago that says all the same shit.  So in a year, they couldn't improve on anything?  Wolf Creek Amphitheater can eat shit.

Because really, who funnels thousands of cars worth of traffic into three two-lane highways that lead to one parking lot?  People who don't know shit, that's who.  And unfortunately for my old man ankles, people who don't know shit are in charge of parking.  They did have three shuttles running people up to the gate, though, and that would have been a brilliant idea if those shuttles weren't stuck in the same traffic as everyone else.  So that left a legion of overweight people to drag their chairs and coolers half a mile down a narrow road, through the woods.  Allowing that much thigh-friction to be that close to all those trees is both wrong and dangerous.  

Now, having said all of that, I'm still going back on August 3, because K-Ci and JoJo will be there with Dru Hill, and who can resist two train wrecks for the price of one?  I'll be really upset with myself if I miss Dru Hill curbstomping Sisqo while K-Ci and JoJo are passed out in the middle of the stage.

Ugh...day 2. This sucks.

For me, this is usually the moment where all of my momentum peters out.  And it still might, because I have absolutely nothing to say today.  But this is sort of a public reclamation project, kinda like how people post their weight loss progress online.  I assume that people are watching.  Might not be the same people every day, but I assume someone is looking, lurking, waiting for me to slip, so they can call me on it.  At least, that's what I hope, because that's what I need. 

I've never had any mentors or anything like that.  There's never been anyone who has tried to actually guide me in any particular direction.  I mean, I've had people tell me that I could do various things.  I've received encouragement.  I've had people tell me, "this is what you should do."  So what makes this time so different? 

Well, for one, the person that I spoke with yesterday has actually worked in the field that I'm seeking to get into.  That right there separates her from everyone else I know.  I've never known anyone who has actually put in the work themselves to do what I want to do.  Her words hit me a little bit differently, because she could actually tell me exactly what I needed to do.  And she did, which is why I'm writing all of this out.  So if you're taking it personally that someone else's words got me to do this instead of yours (and there are a few of you out there), please don't. This isn't about you, and I'm sure there are tons of things I've said to all of you that didn't strike you like I'd hoped.  Hell, I've got a blog that exists as an eternal monument to that fact.  Just be happy that someone got me to look at things a little bit differently.

One more thing, all of these blog entries aren't going to be like this.  I've never been one to put my personal business online, so don't expect this to continue forever.  I'm probably going to get back to the same all over place topics that I used to, but I'm developing a foundation to do it on a regular basis. So just bear with me.  This is gonna be boring for a second.