Today I spent almost my entire day hanging out with this dog and chasing pigeons out of the warehouse. Then I got food and dranks with Paige. Then my dad called me and told me he probably needs neck surgery because if he gets hit the wrong way he may be paralyzed. To be fair, if anyone at any point in time gets hit “the wrong way” they may be paralyzed because that is the secret thing about being alive, that everything changes very quickly. Most “works of art” are about gradual change, the erosion of who we were into who we are. I think this is because it’s difficult to fully express how quickly things happen without being very long winded, which may lead you to think that life itself is similarly long winded. Life is not like Dune though, life is like whatever you feel like comparing your life to at any given moment. Maybe life is like Dune.
some classic dogs from advertising history tuesday
Indy hopped on the couch and tried to eat my salad, so I flipped him over and rubbed his stomach to distract him. We couldn’t agree on a pandora station to play until we reached “Celine Dion.” The second song that played was I Will Always Love You and I thought about all the times in my life that I sang that song to Amy, and then about how the opportunities to do that have gotten less and less and eventually we will never see each other again. Then I thought about how you never see people again all the time, from friends you rode with in cars while Wu-Tang played in the background to people you just met at this party while Wu-Tang plays in the background. The last words you say to most people probably didn’t make any sort of lasting impression in their memory. Eventually the amount of people who might carry a lasting impression of your final words with them becomes less and less until eventually you have found a family of your own. This is what most sitcoms are about, many of them starting with the letter ‘f’(Friends, Frasier, Family Ties).
At some point during the song we started hearing drums in the air, which we all took as a sign that we picked the right station. Later on we found out that it was muffled ranchero music played by the construction workers upstairs. I will never see them again. I am going to meet Cass at the museum and at some point I’m going to eat pizza and make cookies.
straight killing the instagram profile game you guys
If you look back to the beginning of modern, organized sports, the hypocrisy becomes almost comically transparent. Take the rise of soccer in England as an example. Wealthy London gentlemen who had learned the game in upper-class boarding schools were not all that stoked, it turns out, when their teams started losing to working-class players from the industrial north. The gentlemen put their heads together and reasoned that if poor, talented athletes could make a living playing sports, then the proles could train full-time and become even more of a threat. But if the workers were forced to play for free, they’d have to squeeze practice in around 80-hour workweeks in the factories. Amazingly, the Old Etonians (no kidding, this was a powerful team in the 1880s) looked into their hearts and decided that paying players sullied the integrity of the sport.
Amateurism has never been about an ideal; it has always been about control. In the 19th century, it was used to control access to the game itself. In the 21st, in American college sports, it’s used to control the economy of the game, ensuring that profits go to the organizers rather than to the players whom fans are paying to watch. In both cases, it has more to do with class exploitation than with any remotely plausible argument about purity or values.