“[Jrue] Holiday also taps right into the part of the brain designed to geek out over point guards—he’s got that level of control that allows him to take what otherwise might count as risks. That’s one thing in a scorer, but when a player does that with the entire team at his disposal, it’s one of those rare times when responsibility is bad-assed.”—Me, on Jrue Holiday, from the second weekly Playoff Kibitz on GQ.com. Oh, and before that door slams shut for a while … #jruedown!
“I would say that a buzz team is a team from which we don’t expect greatness during the current playoffs—but shows “great promise for the next 3 seasons and beyond.” Young nucleus of “good kids” + “a few veterans who may or may not have been there before.” A coach who has instilled a genuine “team concept” and defensive/high-octane offense brand of basketball. A franchise whose team has “taken on the identity of the city.” A team that can generate a good stream of memes for NBA bloggers.”—Carles of Hipster Runoff, writing on buzz teams (buzzteams?) for the GQ.com NBA blog.
I’ll just put this in the most blunt terms possible: I succumbed to an irresistible urge to listen to Snow Patrol’s Final Straw. Was I looking to put the finishing touches on the seduction of the sort of traditionally attractive woman who attended a large state university and is entry-level alt enough for my tastes? If it was, you’d be the first to know. Likewise, I succumbed to an irresistible urge to listen to Death From Above 1979’s You’re A Woman, I’m A Machine. Did I get dumped by that woman and feel the need to nurse my heartbreak while still being a coked-out asshole? If it was, you’d be the first to know.
“To put it another way, as I told a friend last week: I have a minor fixation on LL Bean products, which is great, because it guarantees I look like a complete asshole at every show I go to.”—Pinpointed for Oblivion, in response to my clothes ‘n’ age post. Note: I don’t even try to go to shows anymore, but this thought occurred to me recently.
“You know what the appreciation with soccer is? They have an uncanny skill level, like basketball, but it’s all with their feet. With us, we use our hands, and while footwork is very important with our sport, but to be able to maneuver and get a guy to fall or get a guy to lean one way while you mimic him a certain way. And with their speed of light, drop of a dime timing, and the ability to curve the ball … I’m fascinated by that.”—Kevin Garnett, talking to The Denim Kit about his love of everybody else’s football.
“In person, Carmelo is disarmingly casual about pretty much everything. He speaks in a slow, laconic drawl, and seems bemused by all the fuss he causes. Every big-name athlete who comes to New York has to devise a strategy to deal with The Media. Some attempt to ingratiate themselves (Nick Swisher), some are combative (Randy Johnson), some are both (Alex Rodriguez), and some magically dance between the raindrops (Derek Jeter). Carmelo sees the media circus the way a native New Yorker might: With wry humor and the perspective that, hey, this is just what happens here—it’s kinda fun.”—From Will Leitch’sCarmelo Anthony feature.
Post-post, the Recluse—who holds degrees in this type of science several times over—turned up some factual inaccuracies. Rather than correct them, which would have meant crossing over into that crazy stalking shit that don’t even make sense, we decided to take it down altogether. So congratulations if you saw it. You learned a thing or two. We, however, did not feel comfortable going any further with this. Earl, after all, is only 17 years old.
And in my opinion, this 2006 project was one of the best sports blogs no one ever knew about. But that’s kind of their fault, since they gave up after only a few months. I hear they were disheartened by not being able to obtain a “.gov” address, and from there, the dream gradually withered away.
That involves printing out every bank and credit card statement from the past year, and combing my PayPal account for biz-related eBay buys. Then I circle a bunch of shit, lament the fact that I no longer own an actual calculator, and end up owing pretty much what I’d counted on all along. Yesterday, though, I started wondering. Why not just save myself some trouble, plug in some reasonable-sounding travel and supplies numbers, and pay the IRS a ballpark amount of money? Is there honor in spending two days reaching exact figure when, admittedly, the truth is being stretched anyway? I know that taxes are the most quantitative thing ever, and that trying to turn them into an impressionistic, or qualitative, exercise is a bad idea. However, it’s also a very pragmatic one. It’s a lot like the bubbles on standardized testing forms, which worried me endlessly until I realized: just get close and you’ll be fine. What matters is getting the answer right, which here, means not getting mixed up in capital “C” Cheating. Otherwise, who has the time—on either end?
Note to America: Don’t worry, I’m sure I’ll end up sticking to my usual routine. Don’t take this as an admission of guilt or fraud, any more than the Turner Diaries are a plot to overthrow the government.
But I really don’t think I can ever see a non-Jewish therapist again. It was like one of those shows where they tell you why humans can’t live on Neptune. Also, I am happy that my people never did macho well, at least not in exile. Not a good look for helping others in need.