It’s Superbowl Sunday! that day when two teams of very large men in very padded outfits will try to kill each other for funzies and a huge, gawdy ring.
I don’t watch sports – it’s just not my thing – but I do enjoy the half time shows, and the award winning advertisements that sponsors save up for this special day.
What’s a ‘lunk’?
We have swallowed the Kool-Aid, jumped the shark, and lifted the horse’s tail.
…and in so doing, created a world imagined by Phillip K. Dick, Hunter Thompson, Mike Judge, and Stephen King. Curated by Gary Larson, Louie CK, and Rod Serling…and now occupied by even our Brightest Lights, who have been sucked into this Black Hole along with the rest of us. That annoying sound you hear are millions of knuckles, dragging across the Linoleum Floor of Destiny…and the wailing of the still upright Brain Trust that allowed this to happen….
Let me save you the trouble of having to read Tweets, The FB Newsfeed, Your Local Paper, Time Magazine, The New York Times, Washington Post, The Wall Street Journal, and the Langley Falls Shopping News. I will also eliminate your having to sit through the Network News, TMZ, Etalk, Vinyl, Empire, and Keeping Up with The Kardashians, and The Sporting News and Sports Illustrated.
You’re welcome….
I’ve been slowly re-imbedding myself into the Dante’s Inferno that is the current music industry with a focus on promoting good, new music [see some of my previous blogs for my recommendations] cause, let’s face it, talking about the mistakes the labels made over the last decade is like discussing that guy at Decca Records that passed on The Beatles [his name was Dick Rowe and he made up for the faux pas by later signing the Rolling Stones].
Traditionally, Sunday is the end of the week in most parts of the world, but most of us think of the end of the week as Friday. Friday is when the work stops and the ‘fun’ starts. You can park your ass in front of the flatscreen, dig in the garden, fire up the barbecue (or the space heater, depending on the weather), go out that night and hear some tunes and get faced in a bar with your friends, or blow off steam either playing or attending some sort of sports. Hmmm…sports….
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One of the more outrageously under-appreciated facts of human existence is that some of us guys have no interest in sport. It should be better known, and in a civilized liberal democracy like ours it should also be compensated for. After demonstrating a thorough and sincere disinclination toward sporting events by the time we reach legal age – which is to say to have already endured childhood as an object of ridicule and ostracism – we jock-o-phobes should receive a monthly lifestyle allowance compensating for all the bullshit we’ve had to put up with since somebody first threw a ball our way and we dropped it.
Bullseye Records of Canada
Segarini: Don't Believe a Word I Say 