Sentimental Side Ahead, Tread Lightly.

The name's Adam. I like to smoke. I'm in engineering. It means I hate myself. Enjoy the schadenfreude. Fuckface.

Fortunately, baseball is like life, and everything will be forgotten tomorrow. The majority of fans will revert to being selfish, forgetful and generally ethical people, and I will revert to being a jocular ne’er-do-well and a passable father. Basically all the good teams won. The standings will not have changed, only incremented. We will all be slightly more serious tomorrow.

Patrick Dubuque (Lookout Landing)

Read the rest: “77-59: Everything is as it should be”

(via mightyflynn)

Careless Whispers of a Good Friend

Life is an unpredictable whore. It’s funny really, as much as you think something is set in stone - it’s not. But maybe it’s about perspective. Maybe because I’m too close to the situation to see that nothing is set in stone, rather life is as unstable as a waterlogged hillside. Mountains of misfortune, emotion or even success ready to pile down unexpectedly. Life is still a whore though.

Sticking with the theme of perspective, it’s almost too easy to make a reasonable assessment of a situation when you’re not emotionally involved. That’s nearly common sense. How many times have you seen people walking down the street only to say:  those two are totally into each other. But find yourself in a similar situation, it’s not as easy - at least not for me. Goddamn Pandora’s box. Always complicating shit. But at the same time, it makes life interesting. I wouldn’t be able to write about the goods and happenings of my life if emotion didn’t rear its’ beautifully hideous head.

For example, the ever excellent HONY page has gone on an international tour, in which so far the page has covered the small but profoundly immense life events of people in the Middle East and East Africa. A picture of a young man in the Congo was posted with the caption,” I’m going to be a doctor to find the cure for Ebola.” Reading this on the bus brought tears to my eyes. This is possibly due to the ambitiousness of the  young man in a situation where it is so difficult to prosper. But to someone else, it’s just another kid that will never go anywhere, probably be picked up by a militant group where he’ll die with a Kalashnikov or a panga in his hands. His ambitions not too different than some black youth wanting to go to the NBA. But my perspective allows for this line of thought to be - well, not valid but understood. Yeah, perhaps that person may just be a close-minded fuck but maybe that person has never seen what I have seen and who knows: they may be more passionate about it than I am if they were exposed to it. Perception is a wonderful thing.

As much as perception is a wonderful thing, it can also be a terrible thing. Just like the close minded fuck who looks down on someone, it can lead you to do something that you might regret. Ever since I was a kid, I had a tendency to be the reactionary type. I have a Konstatin Levin type jealousy complex. If there was a biochemical that could turn one’s skin into a glow in to dark green, I’d be that shade most of the time. While withholding the scandalous events of the past weekend, I realized, just two hours ago that ladyfriend is probably not the ladyfriend for me. Which makes me sad. But the beauty of this realization is that I was too close to see this. My friends were able to make an excellent judgement call, even while unspeakably inebriated. Which prevented me from using my shit perspective in making a terrible mistake. Even though my friends have a tendency to be annoying as fuck I love that they love me and look out for me. I’m super glad I didn’t just about jump into a seemingly laconic oasis - merely a facade. Looking in the long term, I think that was the right decision.

So for now, I’m going to see how this night plays out, but first -  a cigarette. 

sweatrer:

ur insecure ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
i kno what for ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
ur a bitch ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

(via geezers)

You can learn little from victory. You can learn everything from defeat.

—Christy Mathewson (via mightyflynn)

mightyflynn:

Kokoyakyu (2006)
Directed by Kenneth Eng
Written by Alexander H. Shear
______________
Summer Koshien, Japan’s national high school tournament, begins today. Kokoyakyu, a fascinating 53-minute film about teams preparing for and playing at Koshien, originally ran on PBS’s POV series in 2006. Click through to view the film in its entirety.

mightyflynn:

Kokoyakyu (2006)

Directed by Kenneth Eng

Written by Alexander H. Shear

______________

Summer Koshien, Japan’s national high school tournament, begins today. Kokoyakyu, a fascinating 53-minute film about teams preparing for and playing at Koshien, originally ran on PBS’s POV series in 2006. Click through to view the film in its entirety.

Confusion Break Bone

Good evening gangsters,

Forgive me if this piece has an unusual panache or an unusual lack of panache, out of cigarettes for the time being so we’ll see how effective I am. If ladyfriend and friends of ladyfriend ever read this shit: feel free to kick my ass, you probably know where to find me. Oh yeah I am slightly buzzed from my favourite brewed bevy so keep that in mind.  

Confusion can break bone. Who knows it might very soon break mine. Did I make a mistake? I don’t know because my mind hasn’t cleared like rain. In fact it has made it more soupy. Messages stuck, like cars congested on a freeway. 

Oh, the chorus is about to come in..

'But Adam! You guys were drunk it meant nothing!” Says the rational part of the brain. But that's all the more reason why it did mean something. Fuck man I'm confused and it's about to break a bone. 

Oh but it was amazing. For once in a long time I didn’t have to control anything, there was no heavy handedness in the right direction. It was soft, gentle adjustments -  but firm when need be. For once I didn’t have to promise: ‘i’ll figure it out’ or ‘leave it to me’. This was shown in the soft kisses and caressing - gentle nudges in the right direction. It never felt like this with anyone else. It felt right this time. This time I never wanted it to end. If I was still there I’d be a happy man. Did I find the girl in this dream? I don’t know. I might come back to this post in a year and believe this with an even greater conviction; or I might come back to this post in a year and slap myself for being such an idiot. Life is fickle.

In the middle of the seemingly infinite drug like bliss, the phone rings. ‘Adam we fucked up we’re so wasted we need you to come get us.’ The bliss is abruptly jarred, now just foggy memories. I now have to show heavy handedness and assert control. ‘I have to go,’ I breathlessly whisper. Which makes me laugh now because I could never use that voice again, even if I tried. The testosterone allowed my voice to drop a few extra octaves, I guess.

So, and dismayingly so, I leave. Rounding the corner, I plop myself down on the curb and have a cigarette, trying to process what just happened. It was that dreamlike. When the nicotine of one was not enough I had another, then another - when I was fucking interrupted by a slurred voice over the phone. Aren’t scientists supposed to have high tolerances or is such a gift reserved for the master race: engineers.

With that I leave you with a gift of Nobel Prize winning Literature. From 100 Years of Solitude:

But when he was alone again in the last dawn of Macondo, he opened up his arms in the middle of the square, ready to wake up the World, and he shouted with all his might: Friends are a bunch of bastards!

PS (for ladyfriend) come along and kick my ass if you don’t like this but this is how I felt about you at the time.  

International Motherfucker

The female singers of the legendary Egypt 80 band shriek International Motherfucker!/International mother shut your mouth!

Motherfuckers, that’s what they all are.

The fuck who shot down that plane in Eastern Ukraine.

Motherfucker.

The fucks who shoot rockets at each other in Gaza. 

Motherfuckers. 

My family.

All motherfuckers. Tout le Monde.

Fuck I’m so mad I can’t even rationalize my thoughts. If you read this and it does not make sense, I don”t blame you. My thoughts are moving at the speed of light .Every emotion. Every wrong that has been done by me in the last 6 years, rearing its’ ugly motherfucking head. 

I’m not like this. I hate being angry. I like to coexist peacefully, always ceding, sometimes a justified, argument to avoid what I thought was unneeded conflict. The world doesn’t need another angry motherfucker, yelling at another angry motherfucker. It makes no sense. 

All I want is a simple life. All I want to do is read my books. Go to school. Smoke a few cigarettes. Maybe have a girlfriend who will hold my hand, challenge me, make me a better person. In Peace. Salaam. Shalom. 

No motherfuckers. 

People say I don’t talk about my feelings enough, going on to say that this is why I’m in this situation to begin with. What good will come of that?  Be patient, Adam. Things will work out. Pray, God will help you. Fuck that shit. The world we live in is results’ driven. I’m a fan of progress, that only comes by working toward it. Not sitting, thumb burrowed deep in your ass. 

I used to have the mindset of Boxer, the sometimes too faithful horse in Animal Farm. I must work harder he will say. Even when things don’t go right because he’s getting bent over - tragically unbeknownst to him. Boxer eventually dies, a spent shadow of his prime. God damn me if I go down that way.

But it hurts, so much. I’m so tired of saying ‘I’ll figure it out’. Especially when I’m trying to solve a problem that is not my own. No, you figure it out. Solve your own shit. Don’t bring it to me. Take your motherfucking problems and keep them to your motherfucking self. I don’t need that shit. 

I have a future to build. A ring to earn. 

Stay the fuck out of my way. 

Motherfucker. 

Three days later edit: scrap the Boxer the horse aka the feel sorry for me paragraph. That was first rate shite. 

collegehumor:

Oh no! Middle school students have taken over a printing facility, and they’re publishing their own versions of five popular magazines!

Finish reading 5 Middle School Magazines