Googly

Friday 4/5/24

Not yet four thirty in the AM and first piece of the day is written: an op-ed on Hank Aaron. Don't know if I'll be able to move it, but wanted to at least try.

Swayman had a better game for the Bruins last night. Marchand punched in his 400th goal. I seem to remember a guy who wrote a piece for Sports Illustrated talking about Marchand as a future Hall of Fame type of player when no one else thought such a thing.

Pittsburgh did beat Washington, but the Islanders won, too. That's the problem with chasing it this time of year--you look at the standings and a team might only be two or three points back, but that's different when they're two or three back of just one team rather than three.

There will be much lighting up soon. That's stressful seeing that, right? "Will it be me?" "Will it be me again?" Probably. Could just not be a bigot and stop trying to suppress the best work there is.

Yesterday there were two women--about thirty--sitting next to me at the cafe. College graduates. Talking about a long distance relationship gone awry. She was hurt because he was out hooking up with other women and it turns out it might not be a love for the ages. (The volume of the music only goes so high on an iPhone and it can be impossible not to hear this kind of thing.)

These two women were like talking, frantic, googly-eyed sock puppets. A "literally" in nearly every single sentence.

It's amazing to me how stupid we are. How stupid just about everyone is. It was literally this, it was literally that.

It wasn't literally anything, sock puppets.

Then people talk in these cliches but as though they believe themselves to be these masters of invaluable wisdom that no one else could provide, for that is how dim and delusional people now are. "You miss all of the shots you don't take."

I look up to see this look of self-satisfaction on the face of the issuer of this grand truth, as if Socrates has showed up and weighed in.

Finally, I took out those earbuds, having mentally conveyed to Ella Fitzgerald that her interpretation of the Cole Porter songbook would have to wait, and I said, "What did you expect to happen? His cock head has needs!"

Relax. I did not say that his cock head has needs. I'm sure he was an asshole.

But more to the point: Is there any intelligence out there? Any depth? Anywhere? Any substance? Does anyone have anything interesting to say and their own way of saying it? Anyone at all?