TV is my year-round sport
I stopped playing soccer in elementary school. Quit baseball in middle school. Wimped out on basketball in high school.
And since my body went directly from frail and skinny to dumpy and bloated, I was never in “football” shape. Though I guess I’m kind of shaped like a football these days.
I didn’t stick with sports for two reasons — one, I suck at sports, and two, I was way better at watching TV. In fact, I don’t mean to brag, but I’ve kind of honed my body into the perfect TV watching machine.
Still, even I have my limits. TV used to be a fall sport. New shows, new seasons, new stories. Occasionally, you’d get a mid-season replacement, but mostly you finished up well before spring and could play a few pick-up games with reruns, if you were bored.
Nowadays, the new shows never stop. And I’m not talking about “reality” TV, which sucks at being a genre as much as I did at baseball, soccer, basketball and track — the summer has real, honest-to-God scripted fare.
I used to be able to rest up for the fall, get my trainer to check out my remote control hand, buy new pillows for the couch, but now I’m watching “Burn Notice” and “True Blood” and “Warehouse 13.”
My volume thumb is aching. I’m adding padding to my butt as fast as possible, but it’s never enough and BOOM — the calendar says we’re a month away from the fall season. All new shows. And I don’t know if I can handle it.
Maybe it’s time to just watch TV recreationally — it’s a younger man’s game, these days. But, Favre-like, I keep coming back.
Why didn’t I stick with basketball? I was awful, but at least nobody makes you play when it’s snowing outside.
Another year…
Despite fervent protestations from my readers and several noted judicial scholars, I have once again been allowed to live another year.
Turning 31 was not as big a deal as turning 30 was, which was (in turn) not as big a deal as 29 had been.
Thirty-one is no 21 or 25, that’s for sure. Those years held some significance, if only because they held new opportunities for me. At 21 I could (legally) drink. At 25, I got married.
At 30, I worried a bit about my reaction to turning 30, not realizing that my worrying was the reaction.
It was 29 that punched me between the eyes. That was when I started to panic that I would not, in the last year before 30, accomplish all those things that I thought I would do. And my panicking was well thought out, as I proceeded to not accomplish anything.
It’s a tradition I’ve kept up ever since. I’m reading no great novels, nor writing any. I’m certainly not trying any harder at this job. My back lawn is still a mess (and no, that’s not a euphemism) and I can’t grow a tomato to save my life.
And so, another year. Here’s to mediocrity! Wooooo–*cough*cough* ooo!
…another year.
God Bless Texas
I hope you’re not expecting me to be funny today. Those storms last night had my dog and my wife (and by extension, me) awake when we should have been sleeping. I’m too tired for funny.
(Editor’s note: Then how do you explain the rest of the crap you write?)
With that in mind, I hope you enjoy this video of a Texas deposition. WARNING: Some of the language in this video is foul and very, very humorous.
I know they have two pro football teams and access to the Gulf of Mexico, but I think this video puts Oklahoma and Texas about even. (They may still be a little ahead of us if you count Rep. Sally Kern.)
