Mister Faded Glory | The critique of everything

And unfounded statistics, ridiculous hyperbole, and fodder for lazy Washingtonian reporters can be found here. Enjoy. (By the way, now that I know creating monkey-men is outlawed, there goes my fucking summer.)

Okay, I’m reaching. Granted. But scroll down to the part about “human-animal hybrids.” Then you’ll see.

ANYHOO, remember about two months ago when the media was creating a huge hubbub about the bird flu and an incoming pandemic? Well, it’s now spreading through Turkey and Iraq infecting people, and we’re reporting on Alito, the SOTU, and Super Bowl Big & Tall.

Yep, the bird flu … in … Iraq. Can’t see any problems with that. Let’s run that downpage. Better yet, in the B-section. Right under Ask Amy.

Can’t see that it’s going to spread any further from there! (Pounding sarcasm button with head.)

About the Super Bowl. Then I promise, not another peep about it from yours truly.

Nicknamed Super Bowl Extra Large — Ho ho! Get it? — Okay, that’s lame. Everyone and their dog-eared sports columnist is making that joke because of the NFL’s ridiculous attempt to convey some sort of magnitude to its premier game, nicknaming each Super Bowl with Roman numerals (I shudder each time I read an article or column that references a Super Bowl past as ‘Super Bowl XX‘ sted ‘the 1989 Super Bowl.‘ Godawful copy editing.).

Okay, that wasn’t the one quick thing. Bear with me, you know I’m long-winded.

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Well, this is clearly the most abysmal sports weekend ever. Don’t get me wrong, I do have other things in my life to take part in. I can amuse myself in other ways. However — on a lazy weekend, I enjoy turning on the tube to sports — and having those sports be interesting is a plus.

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Have I bitched about Salina not carrying any good movies? Like, ever?

OK, so I have. At length. Well, how about allergies? Have I bitched about that?

Most of you who know me, know that my allergies keep me at Defcon-5, seconds away from a sneezing attack, throughout April, May, August, and September of each year.

HOWEVER, in the fabulous state of Kansas, I suffer from allergy attacks year-round. This is because, No. 1, the state is flat, No. 2, the state is windy, No. 3, winter no longer exists here, just hard freezes at night which immediately thaw during the day as the temperature swings upward 50 degrees, and No. 4, I’m allergic to batshit Republicans.

Anyway, off to go sneeze some more. Am I ever leaving here? Probably not. I’ll preheat the oven, as a precursor to sticking my head in there. ‘Night.

Either it’s a slow news & sports week, or … well, I don’t have any other way to finish that sentence.

Anyway, announced today, name changes are in the cards for two junior franchises in professional sports. The Tampa Bay Devil Rays (Perhaps after losing out on longtime quarry Angel Pagan) have decided to drop “Devil” from their name sometime in 2006, possibly after the season (Assuming anyone notices whether or not they actually play). No word yet if Tampa intends to change its nickname completely — or will just leave it at “Rays.” They apparently are just now realizing that “Devil” may have a negative connotation, and at the same time are looking down their noses at New Jersey.

Across the, uh, pond, Anaheim, now free of a plaguing Disney ownership — will abbreviate its name from The Mighty Ducks of Anaheim to Anaheim Ducks, which is a little bit cool (but the modifier could have remained, just never used, with Ducks the main focus in all memorabilia). Works for some.

This all could have been a lot more interesting if the two franchises had agreed to trade nickname modifiers — who wouldn’t be intrigued by the Anaheim Devil Ducks? And what about the Tampa Bay Mighty Rays? No one even knows what that means! Ray Romano? Rays of light? Rays from a laser gun?? Who knows!

Or does this only (a) interest, or (b) occur to, me?

Here’s your Cubs update for the day — the Baby Bears have signed Angel Pagan.

Another weird signing/trade close to the season. See 2005, Randolph, Steven. See also 2005, Bartosh, Cliff. It could also signify the outlook for the season — how can we believe in the Cubs, when one of their players himself clearly believes in nothing whatsoever? (cymbal clash!)

As of right now, I think it’s just for name value. It’s a paradox — a heavenly creature combined with a heathen last name — and the Cubs just couldn’t avert their eyes, powerless to stop from inking him. Oh, the mystery!

Once upon a time there was a sports magazine that was loved by all — featuring weekly profiles on larger-than-life stars, inside information into all major sports, and thoughtful, well-crafted pieces on subjects ranging from skeet shooting to baseball salaries to golf tournaments to sports mysteries.

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Oh, so THAT’S why I’ve been in a foul mood for nearly 18 straight hours. It’s my douchebag alert. It’s on high.

Maybe it’s a Sunday, maybe it’s the weather, maybe it’s nothing.

Tomorrow, I’ll try to be better. But I can’t shake – tonight – the overwhelming feeling of dread, as though each second that passes moves me further away from the life I want.

Each minute that passes reminds me that I’m nowhere any closer to doing what I want with my life.

And each moment that ticks by reminds me of how insignificant I am. I can’t stand to lay in my bed one more second, I feel like I’m accomplishing absolutely nothing of which I’m capable — that years of potential were either misguided and/or, now, wasted. The darkness taunts me.

I’m getting older, I don’t want to go to work tomorrow, I don’t want to go to work – in my current career – again.

And I don’t know, not tonight, how I’m going to face the day in the morning. It’s fear, it’s apprehension, it’s sadness. And until I drop off to sleep, my neuroses will continue to haunt me, and I’ll be absolutely terrified of the impending rest of my life.

One more time around, might do it …

As a semi-recurring treat, I’m going to title some posts with questionable phrases, that may trip a red-flag within Google’s search engine — soon, somehow, to be government property — and blacklist Mister Faded Glory for all eternity. He’s dangerous like that. Well, he wishes. (Okay, you got me. Basically, “counting bodies like sheep to the rhythm of the war drums” has been running through my head all day. Well, wouldn’t it for anyone?)

That’s it for the weekend, I’ll be working on some other various writing projects and won’t check in until Monday. Have a good one.