Point of No Return
This is the week that we affectionately call “The Blur” around the office.
There are defining moments in life that can forever change one’s outlook on the world — or, at the least, one aspect of that person’s world.
I’ve read somewhere before that people tend to change their friends every seven years. I’m not trying to steal that little nugget and claim it as my own, I just can’t remember if it was from a scientific research study, an essay by a noted behaviorist or something offered by Eric Cartman on “South Park.” Rest assured, it came from a very reputable source.
There are certain things Americans take very seriously.
It’s been pretty quiet around the Coastal Point multiplex since the death of Leviathan last year.
As I write this column, the Baltimore Orioles have a record of 43-37. That’s 43 wins. And that’s 37 losses. That means the Orioles have won six more games than they have lost as of Wednesday morning.
Rest assured, we will have a few people in town to celebrate the Fourth of July.
Competitiveness is a heck of a thing.
With Father’s Day approaching, there is only one thing on my mind — the final round of golf’s U.S. Open.
I find myself looking at my head for an inordinate amount of time. It’s not that I’m fascinated with it, or paranoid that it’s shifting into something different. It just always seems to be around me.
For a relatively young nation, we do appreciate our past times in this country. We love baseball, apple pie, and tearing down our neighbors so we can build ourselves up — as well as hot dogs, the spirit of entrepreneurship and peace through superior fire power.
I was struck by a wave of nostalgia last week. Actually, I was gobbled up by the wave, tossed on to the beach where I was subsequently picked up by a gust of wind and thrown back into the ocean so the wave would jerk me about like a lottery ball.
I’m a fairly laid-back guy, but there are a few things in life that can regularly cause me to rub the top of my head in frustration, let out a huge sigh and mentally count to 10 as I try to find my inner calm.
Yup, that’s a gross generalization, and I fully-well realize that many people in our society today are in excellent physical condition, monitor their diets and take their wellness to heights we’ve never been able to reach before. The rest of us? Well, mostly fat.
All of us have experienced life’s peaks and valleys. We laugh. We cry. We get frustrated. We get excited. We celebrate. We mourn. The emotional rollercoaster that we all find ourselves riding from time to time can seem both excruciating and liberating, and it’s a part of what makes us human.
I always loved “show-and-tell” when I was a kid.
Many of us were playing that time-tested game of “what-if” last week.
From the moment I could talk, many of my conversations have been focused on sports, and the athletes who play them.
I bite my tongue a lot, particularly during debates between people over the national political scene. It’s not that I’m apathetic toward politics, or afraid to take a stand on something I strongly believe in, as much as it’s a case of me not having a dog in the fight.
Allow me to address the very esteemed court of public opinion regarding the significance of the weekend ahead of us. It is my argument that this is indeed the greatest of all the 52 weekends we see in a year, and that is saying a lot. After all, your honor, weekends generally rock.
A true legend turned 100 this week.
Boys will be boys, right?
There’s no secret that I’m fascinated by my dogs. The shar-pei, Guinness, fills the role of the big, happy dog that exists to eat, play and sleep. Bailey, the pug, is the princess that wants to be held and coddled, but also has a fiery temper and consistently overcomes obstacles to her health — like emphysema and an eyeball that literally popped out of her head one day after a seizure.
Since the dawn of time, man has relished the very concept of anticipation. Be it the scintillating aroma of a brontosaurus cooking over a cave fire, fresh water pouring its first cleansing drops into town from an aquaduct or opening the first paycheck from one’s first job, it’s the thrill of knowing something is on its way that can cause as much excitement as the actual event.
There are certain things that I most certainly do not appreciate when they seemingly pop out of thin air.
With as mild a winter as we have enjoyed to this point, it’s kind of hard to forget that it’s been cold in other parts of the country. And when one thinks of cold locales in the United States, one should immediately conjure up images of Alaska.
As a kid, my parents did their best to teach me not to hate anyone. Every time the phrase would escape my lips I would receive a very stern lecture on just how strong a word “hate” is, and that feeling such a vile emotion only succeeds in rotting one’s self from the inside.
Light a candle. Engage yourself in meditation or take to prayer. If you have a lucky rabbit’s foot, rub it now. This is one of those all-hands-on-deck situations, and it will take a collective effort to fend off the horrors that await.
I was going back through my New Year’s resolutions this past weekend, as well as formulating a plan on how I would explain to people how all of them are now officially dead, when a jolt of reality shot through my body.