Tuesday, June 21, 2005

 
So I have these ideas for comics, but I cannot for the life of me draw. Is there anyone who reads this that would be interested in perhaps checking out some of my ideas sometime in the next two weeks and possibly collaborating?

 
John Donovan, who writes for SI.com, penned a pretty great weekend column in which he answered the following question :

In English class this last month, we read Casey at the Bat in honor of the baseball season. I don't think Mr. Thayer knew a lot about baseball. Per the poem, with Blake on second and Flynn "a-hugging third," if Casey's as great as this crowd makes him out to be, I give Casey the intentional pass with first base open and face whatever schmuck they've got batting fifth. What's your take?


I was impressed. It makes for a pretty decent read for a baseball column. It is also the epitome of baseball nerdiness, it's a fictional fucking games for chrissakes!

Donovan's column from last night was, well, jawdropping.
The piece is concerned mostly with the Indians winning streak (9 games). The Indians are playing great baseball, they've got a young talented team, it's not a huge surprise, well not enough of one to make your jaw drop.

The title of the column is 'On the Warpath' which definitely induces a headshake. Eight paragraphs down it gets better. When referring to the play of Cleveland's opponents over the last 9 games Donovan says 'Custer put up more resistance than those teams have.'

More offensive than Richie B.'s jokes about black people? No.

The Indians and Major League Baseball still use Chief Wahoo as their logo which is embarassing enough, but maybe we could curtail the 'warpath' imagery, y'know? Like maybe not call attention to the fact that white people used to love (used to? what am I talking about...still do!) that shit and think it was fucking hilarious.

 
Turning the corner from South Park St to Spring Garden Rd, out of my periphery I see a couple who I assume are going to ask me for change. Today is a day I don't feel like being bothered, I don't feel like being interupted, and I don't feel like dispensing niceties. I don't want to pretend to fumble for change and mumble a few half hearted words. It's cold, I'm broke, relatively speaking, but by no means poor by any stretch of the imagination, and simply in a bad mood and am very content to stay that way.

I repeat my mantra, 'don't make eye contact' quietly to myself' as I keep my eyes planted on the sidewalk.

'Oooooh! Do you see that? Do you seeeee? On the ground, looooook!'

'what is it?'

'A flower!!'


I'm am so embarassed, but not in a 'my child just whipped out his bird and started pissing on the basketball court' way.

  Powered by Blogger