Monday 3/4/24
There is the word "compliment" and the world "complement." The world would be a better place if more than one out of a million people knew this.
Pre-spring weather has set in. What is pre-spring weather? You think about shutting the heat down until the end of the year, but you reconsider and make the smarter choice of not doing so. Days are frequently wet. They can reach sixty but they're sure to rain on such occasions. Most of the time it's in the forties but it could drop back into the twenties and there may be snow but you feel like it's passed. You think about how short the winter really is. Christmas sees you through the first portion. Then there's January, the only real "full" winter month. February can be more winter-y, but it's a short month, and on the first of it one may say, "Spring comes next month." And then maybe you think about autumn because you like it and just how short that is. How short all of the seasons are. And then you think about time and life and not delaying. Or maybe you do. I do.
I had a dream last night that I was in Illinois at my mother's house with my late sister Kerrin and a baby, as it turned out. Here in Boston I thought I heard this noise--like something heavy had fallen--that was real and which I associated with being here. It may have been something from outside that I mistook for an indoors sounds, or it could have been from the dream. There was a man and a woman with guns trying to get into the house. The front door was unlocked, or the bolt wasn't working properly, and I just barely secured it in time. I could look through the glass on the side, while on my knees, and see them feet--even inches--away. They had crashed into the house in a car and made a kind of hole, and one of them said to the other that they'd try that. I heard the baby crying upstairs, and my sister on the phone with the police, but in this really calm way, as if it was more important to be thorough than fast. Then this citizens brigade intervened--a staff of four led by this middle-aged woman--and captured the man and the woman while I'd been frantically speaking into the phone to the cops, having taken it from my sister. I awoke alert and unsettled.
During yesterday's Celtics beatdown of the Warriors--it was like eighty-something to thirty-something at the half--I forgot to change the channel and was subjected to a few seconds of Stephen A. Smith. A moron. An arrogant, gasbag of a know-nothing. In a world of constant societal devolution, that's who gets rich, platformed, all of that, and I don't believe there is anyone who likes hearing Stephen A. Smith. And the smug expression that is always on his face--it's a look of "I'm better than everyone." And there's nothing there. No insight, no intelligence, no wit. His "appeal" in this age is what a dick he is and that "you're all beneath me" puss on his face. He doesn't know anything. He's just this full-of-himself asshole-moron. Such an unpleasant, talk-over-you/talk-over-everyone person. In his mind, that's his right--to talk over people. To go first. Always to go first. Because he's Stephen A. Smith. That's his act and where he's coming from. His brand. Rudeness, loudness, emptiness, stupidity, boorishness, arrogance. Who does that actually appeal to? Even people who are themselves like that want others to shut up and submit so they can have full possession of the floor. And people who aren't that way don't and wouldn't like Stephen A. Smith either.
There is no link anymore between what is popular and what appeals to people. They don't even like what is popular. Popularity and actual appeal are becoming mutually exclusive constructs. What does that say about the world?
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