You Couldn’t Make a Safer Bet

Writing Under The Influence of B-12 & Lidocaine

There are times that I consider abandoning any semblance of reasonable discourse on this blog, and just forge ahead with nothing but the rambling posts that compose an inordinate amount of my time here.  But then I wouldn’t have room for high-concept crap like the jukebox thing, and my forthcoming missive on the theology of football.  (really)   But for nights like tonight, when I feel guilty about the frequency with which I post (or don’t), nothing quite hits the spot like a little ramble.  Kind of like how as a beer snob, I have to be in just the right mood to want a cider, but when that hankering takes root, there’s nothing but a Strongbow that’ll satisfy it.  Now off to the races:

- Among the gifts that I received for Christmas, one was a gift certificate to Brooks Brothers.  While I wouldn’t ever be caught dead in one of their sweaters, or any of their pleated pants, they are a bastion of classic style, and so I purposed to get some classic accessories there.  I’m now the proud owner of a fistful of quality handkerchiefs and a burgundy and blue bow tie.  For some reason, I’m more excited about the hankies.  Maybe it’s because they’ve already come in handy during one recent emotional evening, or because they can stand in as a white pocket square in a pinch, but I’m glad I’ve got them.

-I also grabbed one of BB’s killer non-iron dress shirts, that don’t have to be dry cleaned.  Perfect for procrastinators like myself who sometimes need a shirt for a meeting the next day and only realize this fact after it’s too late to get to the cleaners.   Their tag line should be “shirts for incompetents who want to look competent”.

- If I never hear the words “Roger” and “Clemens” again, it won’t be too soon.  Yeesh.  Look around, Rocket: no one else is going to these lengths to defend themselves against the Mitchell Report.  It doesn’t make you look innocent, it makes you look petulant like a kid who got caught stealing gum at the grocery store and tries to say that he had the gum already.

- The holiday season (and I say that not to infuriate Bill O’Reilly, but because I’m referring to both Christmas and New Year’s) was rather crazy, with several firsts established:  first Christmas where I didn’t actually see my folks on the 25th,  first New Year’s Eve spent at a hospital, first time to actually get a kiss at midnight, first time my current girlfriend didn’t break up with me on the 1st,  and first time to actually buck up and take back a gift that I didn’t really want instead of pretending I liked it and then have it sit in a forgotten corner of my apartment until I throw it out when I move.

- What a difference three weeks makes.

- I spent some time over the past couple of weeks catching up on the catalogs of musicians I’ve always been told that I’d enjoy, but never got into.  Several artists and albums stood out.  The artists: Fugazi, Ray Charles, Queens of the Stone Age, The Clash, and Minutemen.  The albums: Person Pitch by Panda Bear, Exile on Main Street by the Stones, Moondance by Van Morrison,  and In The Aeroplane Over The Sea by Neutral Milk Hotel.   The biggest surprise was Panda Bear; it’s a retarded band name that doesn’t fit their/his sound at all, but it’s beautiful, dreamy, meandering pop, the sort of stuff that Brian Wilson would’ve made in 1969 if he’d had the technology.  I guess Wilson was in bed for all those years with the hope that he’d wake up in 2007 and be able to make this album.  I’m not saying that it’ll necessarily age as well as Pet Sounds, but Panda Bear made me want to revise my Best of 2007 list.

-  Speaking of music, after listening to their music since Yankee Hotel Foxtrot came out and I made it my first-ever “I’m buying this because of the hype” music purchase (though I did the safe thing by buying it for my brother as a gift), I’m going to get to see Wilco live in March.  With the band as it exists circa Sky Blue Sky, this should be a fantastic evening.  I may even have some company for the occasion.

- After an entire season on the Texans beat for Houstonist, I’m a full fledged convert to fandom.  I don’t have any Texans gear (that’ll change as soon as it goes on end-of-season clearance at Academy), but my heart is Battle Red.  Eff the Titans and their inexplicable local fans (whether of the pathetic “they’re really the Oilers” variety or the “Vince Young parted the Red Sea” ilk), I’m going with a team on the upswing.  They’re young, fast, and defense-minded.  Watch ‘em next year; they were a running game and a bunch of injuries away from the playoffs.  One player won’t change that, but a couple additions in key areas will.

- Fearless Critic and Houston: It’s Worth It.  Two books, one Christmas present.  One awesome girlfriend.

Yeah, that’s about it.  Still just crappy rambling.   But some day soon, I’ll explain why sports writers need to stop writing snarky columns saying “like God cares about football.  Pssh!” every time a player says something about God wanting his team to win.  Ooooh, exciting, huh?

On Unclehood and Facebook

Over the past 72 hours, I’ve experienced two phenomena unique in my experience. One is an experience that has been shared (or will be shared) by most of humanity at some point, all throughout history. The other is so new that we’ve only just recently coined a term for it. I’ve had some time to try to reflect on these two events, to try to see if there is a common thread or unifying factor. I guess that’s why I’m typing this up, so that by thinking it out this way I can weave the two together.

First off, I’m officially an uncle now. While my parents have been laying claim to grandparentood for some time now, I count any familial relationship wherein one of the parties is still gestating as something less than legit. Not to say that Joshua Anthony Hays was any less of a person on Monday than he was when he emerged into this world on Tuesday, but the miracle of birth is the miracle of revelation. Of revealing something that was heretofore hidden. Nevertheless, I’m an uncle for real now, and the question of legitimacy is forever answered. For all the joking I’ve done over the past nine months about being the cool uncle, the corrupting uncle, (not that I’m going to set that aside) it’s a truly stunning thing to view your sibling’s offspring. Visions of eighteen years of birthday parties, speedy toddlers, t-ball games, and a mountain of diapers fly by so quickly that you can’t be sure if they’re your memories or premonitions of his. It’s a very cool thing, and it’ll be a sight to see as he grows older.