Bully for you, bully for me
Just sharing my thoughts on sour cream container sizes with Target.
Really happy with my Fantasy Football team names and logos this season. Proud of you, boys.
I went with Hustle Wilson because I drafted Russell as my starting QB, but the Johnny Manziel picture is an essential part of understanding why he’s terrible.
Michael Brown’s Unremarkable Humanity
"The New York Times has a feature today [8/25] looking at the brief life of Michael Brown, informing us that he was “no angel.” The reasons for this are many. Brown smoked marijuana. He lived in a community that “had rough patches.” He wrote rap songs that were “by turns contemplative and vulgar.” He shoplifted and pushed a store clerk who tried to stop him. These details certainly paint a portrait of a young man who failed to be angelic. That is because no person is angelic—least of all teenagers—and there is very little in this piece that distinguishes Brown from any other kid his age.
What horrifies a lot of us beholding the spectacle of Ferguson, beholding the spectacle of Sanford, of Jacksonville, is how easily we could see ourselves in these kids. I shudder to think of my reaction, at 17, to some strange dude following me through my own housing development. I shudder to think of my reaction, at 17, to some other strange dude pulling up next to me and telling me to turn down my music.
And if Michael Brown was not angelic, I was practically demonic. I had my first drink when I was 11. I once brawled in the cafeteria after getting hit in the head with a steel trash can. In my junior year I failed five out of seven classes. By the time I graduated from high school, I had been arrested for assaulting a teacher and been kicked out of school (twice.) And yet no one who knew me thought I had the least bit of thug in me. That is because I also read a lot of books, loved my Commodore 64, and ghostwrote love notes for my friends. In other words, I was a human being. A large number of American teenagers live exactly like Michael Brown. Very few of them are shot in the head and left to bake on the pavement.
The “angelic” standard was not one created by the reporter. It was created by a society that cannot face itself, and thus must employ a dubious “morality” to hide its sins. It is reinforced by people who have embraced the notion of “twice as good” while avoiding the circumstances which gave that notion birth. Consider how easily living in a community “with rough patches” becomes part of a list of ostensible sins. Consider how easily “black-on-black crime” becomes not a marker of a shameful legacy of segregation but a moral failing.
We’ve been through this before. We will almost certainly go through it again.”
Seized by some wilderness-induced fever, we followed pickups and SUVs off the traffic clogged highway and went off-road through a stretch of desert, rocks pinging off our undercarriage all the while. It was exhilarating to be beyond the confines of those yellow and white markers.
This level of conflict of interest is massively unsurprising.
This is horrifying. The worst of Chicago politics migrated south to St. Louis.
We meant to take it easier, find a shortish hike and head back to camp for leisure time. But our memory of Chicken Foot Lake toward the end of the Mosquito Flats Trail pulled us another six or seven miles and all along that stretch of ridiculously pristine mountain glory we talked and talked and forgot about our aching knees and the idea of rest. The cheddar and pear pie we’d had for late breakfast at Pie in the Sky (because they run out by noon; it really is that good) carried us until we broke out a lazy little lunch and a giant beer to split and fed pepitas to wild mouse / bunny hybrid animals and felt dirty and happy like you only can after days of wearing out your body. Back at camp, the moon was just this tiny finger nail clip over the range and all the stars had the night to themselves to howl out from the cosmos. “Is that the milky way?” we kept asking each other, because when was the last time we found darkness deep enough to see that? And when I’d wake up to pee in the middle of the night — that dreaded cold black walk to the woods when the whole world is silent and crouched, waiting — I’d stare up at them again. Thinking maybe I dreamed a few of the layers, a few of these quilts and nets and pools of lights tangled up into each other like headlights in some traffic jam, a million light years away.
It was so good to get away together. To be exhausted by earth and brought low at the majesty of rocks older than the oldest tress; older than dinosaurs even. It was a chance, in the modern world of instant communication and opinion and offense, to look up at that breathtaking shine of stars and galaxies of stars so bright and so limitless and know “I am nothing, I am nothing, I am nothing.”
Reading California while camping might be making me freak out a little bit.
Hi, I did the ice bucket challenge because I had to. I’m not proud of it. But here are some organizations that I am proud to support in addition to the ALS foundation:
You should donate too! Then we’d be donation buddies! Anyway, enjoy me dumping water on my head.