Virgil

Baseball & Its Discontents

25 years ago today, Chicago Cubs manager Lee Elia became somewhat emotional as he spoke with reporters about the season his team was having.

The recording is legendary. I'm not sure why.

But if you listen very closely, you can almost hear him swear.

Rain of Terror

It's raining. I don't like to complain, but I have to say that I'm not a big fan of rain, or, really, of any kind of natural phenomena. I like snow, but I'd like it a lot better if it were a lot warmer. Why is it cold? That's  poor planning. Animals are pretty, but they smell bad and behave uncontrollably. Some people are able to control them, but those people can be pretty strange themselves.

Nature is, quite frankly, a problem, and one whose time is almost up. The way I see it, we're here on earth not only to have dominion over, but to eradicate and replace every other form of life. Once the planet is as clean and smooth as an Ikea parking lot, we'll really be able to make something of this place; something orderly and efficient, and sensible. Unlike weather. Weather is chaotic. Look at snowflakes. Why is every single one different? Think of the man-hours being spent on that vanity project. Ridiculous. 

Homogenization is the answer, my friends. From buildings to trees to the lowly field mouse, automation of materials and process will put an end to the anxiety of our existence, and make us truly one species: steel, glass, rubber, and concrete. From house to mouse; let the future rain down in a silvery shower of functionality; modern, simple, and ego-free.

Just make sure, when you build my place, that it's fucking huge, so everyone will know it's mine. It's only human nature.

With God On One Side

In today's NY Times is an article about one young soldier who discovered atheism (or perhaps the phrase should be "lost God") in the service, and was subject to reprimands, peer abuse and eventual discharge because of the unpopularity of his views among the hardcore evangelicals he served with. This is very good news. The only way to export American freedom to muslim countries is by making sure the deliveryperson is a bible-and-rifle-toting religious intolerant.

 

This also proves, once again, the old adage that there are no atheists in foxholes, for the simple fact that we won't let them in.

Timebook to FaceBook the Musicbook

Let me be frank. I have willpower coming out the wazoo (if that's the area I'm thinking of): I quit cigarettes after 10 years of chainsmoking, I run regularly (if not gracefully), I recently replaced the chocolate cookies in my cupboard with Fig Newtons— I've even refrained from kissing the wrong person once or twice—ah, but that's a story for grownups.

The point is, I'm able to resist most things that I should resist, if I put my mind to it— for a while, anyway. I lived in Seattle from 1991 to 1995, and escaped without a single tattoo; I was one of the last kids on my block to get a cellphone (excuse me; I should take this); I resisted creating a blog until I knew the world could no longer survive without my blazing thought-missiles, and I flat-out refused to join Friendster or Myspace until I was absolutely certain their time in the digital sun had passed and I would be left in virtual peace, watching the ones and zeros drift lazily past my laptop window.

Still, little by little, site by site, I caved, until, finally, only Facebook remained. It wasn't easy. I knew things were happening there; Myspace was deadspace; Friendster had reached the endster; and still Facebook raged like a teen-gobbling juggernaut, gorging and gobbling on its youthful prey until there were no more youths to gorge nor to gobble, whereupon it turned its bloodsoaked gaze to their elders.

Still I resisted. I was unmoveable. I didn't exactly brag about it, but when people mentioned bloggers with that special pronunciation that means "futureless uberloser", I took no umbrage. I knew that I was not part of the herd. Facebook was for trend-os. I am not a trend-o, friend-o.  Facebook is no country for grown men, and I am a grown man.

A man who is now *sob* on Facebook.

Forgive me.

I only did it for the Scrabble.