It makes me weep.
It makes me weep.
Jon Hopkins is a treasure.
I honestly don’t know which track to share, they’re all so darn impressive. I haven’t listened to a record with this many jams crammed into it since Wolfgang Amadeus Phoenix. For now, let’s go with the breathtaking “Knife.”
Holy smokes, guys! No offense to Daft Punk, but I’m pretty sure that VV Brown has made the album of the year.
blameaspartame the college years 2003
Blameaspartame was once a nice young boy.
I live in Los Angeles, but I am not of Los Angeles. Nor, to be honest, am I from Ohio (though I was born there). I’m from a small burg in Southeastern Indiana, and the true reason I am a fan of Cincinnati sports is because back in the olden times when I was a lad we watched television over antenna and the stations that we could pick up at my house came out of Cincy, not Indianapolis. A handful of miles north and I might not be shouting the Bengals fight song every time we/they scored a touchdown or screaming”Who Dey” into a child’s terrified face. I might instead be wearing Colt blue, lucking into drafting the best QBs of their respective generations; i might be so adept at winning that I become an incredibly fucking boring machine. I might know the sweet taste of Super Bowl victory. But I don’t. Hey, at least the Reds have won a World Series in my lifetime: I know what that feels like, though I was spoiled by it coming when I was 12. Not yet had I suffered through a cognitive adulthood filled with sports-based self-loathing. There was so much to come: the corruption surrounding Michigan Basketball and the Fab Five, Ken Griffey Jr. returning home to suffer through a rash of injuries and terrible Reds baseball, Dave Shula being allowed to coach a professional sports team for nearly five fucking seasons, Robbie Hummel’s ruined ACL, Pete Rose’s exclusion from baseball, backbreaking Drew Brees’ interceptions, Carson Palmer’s fucking knee. Things that would drive me into the wilds of depression and tears and no sports and, mostly, jealousy towards other people whose teams won consistently.
I’ve been in LA for a dozen years and I’ve rooted quietly for the Dodgers. At one time, I owned a Dodgers hat, though I had a crisis of faith a few years ago and decided that I would only wear the hats of sports teams that I claimed as my own. I didn’t want to be seen as any kind of fair-weather fan; you must know that my dedication to the Reds and the Bengals and the Boilermakers coursed through my veins. But I have to admit that I’ve been rooting against the Dodgers this season and I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s Yasiel Puig being the leagues pre-eminent heel. Maybe it’s my inherent dislike for any team that seems monetarily built for success, which is borne of small market jealousy. The Reds can’t throw dollars around like the Yankees or the Red Sox or even the Cubs and certainly not like the (apparently budget-less) Dodgers. Yes, yes I know that the Dodgers went through a terrible Frank McCourt era and they certainly have had players I’ve enjoyed (I’ll always have a soft spot for Paul Lo Duca and Eric Karros and Eric Gagne and Andre Ethier and Matt Kemp and, until recently, Russell Martin) but this team doesn’t feel like the Dodgers. They have the feel of the Yankees, or that fucking amazing year when the Lakers bought Gary Payton and Karl Malone and still fucking lost (it was glorious). And I’ll be completely honest here, and I’m sorry Los Angeles friends: I wanted the Dodgers to lose in the playoffs. After the Reds limpdicked their way through a loss to the motherfucking Pirates (which, of course, I believe I jinxed a week earlier by posting some dumb Reds-related thing to tumblr which I immediately removed because sports makes people insane), I was rooting for the Braves. Why the fuck should my friends have any amount of fun and success while I’m sitting at a bar nursing a beer and watching the world fall apart around me, my team searching for answers after the most depressing season of 90-win baseball you could possibly imagine left them barefoot and pregnant again. I didn’t have the fun of watching my team go from worst to first. I had the fun of watching my team — a team picked to go all the way — play like a bunch of old, spoiled babies who just expected the Central to be handed to them on some gilded platter. I hated the fucking Reds, but I love the Reds so it will come to pass. I didn’t like these Dodgers, though. These Dodgers could go fuck themselves.
Until last night.
Last night it all changed. I still don’t want the Dodgers to win the World Series: let’s not get too crazy. I don’t feel like this team has suffered enough. It’s not like they play in Detroit. They were gifted a shitload of money because they had to suffer through some bad ownership for a few years (yeah, try having this guy be your owner for the past thirty and into the foreseeable future and then maybe we’ll talk about what it’s like to feed off the bottom). It won’t be charming like when the Diamondbacks beat the Yankees and all my friends were rooting for them because my friend Dave is a diehard Dbacks fan and he deserved it because Phoenix never wins anything ever ever ever. No no no. I don’t want my friends to get to be those insufferable big city assholes who have won and won and won again (hi New York / Boston!). My allegiance sits with Detroit currently because… I don’t know. Actually, I do. Max Scherzer losing his fucking mind after working his way out of a bases loaded eighth. That was fucking fun to watch. That was passionate and I could relate to it and I like to imagine that everyone in hardscrabble Detroit deserves it even though we know that a fucking baseball team can’t stave off plight the same way a football team doesn’t fix hurricane damage.
And I am not fucking sad the Pirates lost. Fuck them. They’re enemies and I hate them and they bounced my beloved boys from the playoffs and they fucking overachieved this year and I hope next year they return to being footnotes of history because fuck ‘em. Fuck ‘em and Fuck Pittsburgh. I almost got into a fight at the barbershop with a Steelers fan a few weeks ago because of course I did and I hope he walked out of there and his leg broke in two and a dog pissed in his face. Steelers fans are the worst and even Steelers fans will tell you that. For the Steelers mere existence, fuck the Pirates. Fuck the Pirates and the Steelers and even the god damn Penguins I hope Sidney Crosby gets deported and strapped to a chair with empty milk bags and forced to watch Red Green while Neil Peart’s drum solos drill a hole straight through his ear canals and then his stupid head is covered in batter and fried and served at a million Tim Horton’s chains U.S.A. U.S.A. U.S.A. U.S.A.
Ahem. I was saying: last night, that all changed.
Last night, the Cardinals won.
There are four teams I hate more than any other in all of sports: the Pittsburgh Steelers, Notre Dame Fighting Irish, Duke Blue Devils and the St. Louis fucking Cardinals. Three of those hatreds have been part of my life for as far back as I can remember. One of them is fresh, having only popped up in the last few years, and that’d be the Cardinals. I mean, there are other teams I hate of course, but it is more due to their shit-eating, insufferable fan base and media oversaturation than the product they actually put onto the field. But my god, the Cardinals. The Cardinals are the hall monitors of baseball, the kid that asks for homework if the teacher forgets to assign any. Read that quote above! Follow the “Baseball’s Best Fans” twitter feed! Look Yadier Molina in his twisted visage! Those things are fucking horrible. I am trying very hard to be above wishing death on them but my god I hope Yasiel Puig rams a bat through Molina’s eye and then skull fucks him while Mike Matheny whines to the umps about the lighting in Chavez Ravine. I hope Juan Uribe eats Michael Wacha and then shits out a pitcher that the Cardinals place in their farm system and he doesn’t turn out to be fucking amazing because jesus fucking christ it was twenty four years between Reds no-hitters and the Cardinals give them out as Halloween candy.
I work with a guy from St. Louis. He is perfectly fine and gentlemanly and capable and we cannot be friends because he wears St. Louis Cardinals gear. I will never fully respect nor like him. It’s a character flaw. It’s akin to having a crush on someone and then finding out that they have a swastika tattoo. There is something wrong with you people. No one likes you, you delusional fucks. You think we do, but we don’t. It isn’t implied that we have to. Just because you are from St. Louis and have the “best fans” and do things the right way, the Cardinals way, doesn’t automatically bestow you with our acceptance and kindness. You’re the valedictorian who got there by skipping AP level courses. You’re the son of the factory owner who goes out drinking with the boys on the floor not realizing they use it as ammunition to hate you behind your back. You are a WASP. You are every smiling, beaming, beautiful child born rich in this country that has never had a slight piece of grime around your fingers who just expects that people will automatically like you because you are rich and beautiful. We do not. We hate you. We want you to fail. The enemy of you is our best friend and now our rooting interest. You are the patriot act and PRISM and the government shutdown and everything else wrong with America. You are the frat guy that gets drunk during the Olympics and shouts U.S.A. over and over in an attempt to be ironic. You are everything that makes me feel that the cards are stacked and the dice is loaded and that life is ultimately and inherently unfair. You are everything that makes me feel insecure and insignificant. I hate you so much. I hate you I hate you I hate you.
Thanks to the always amazing diese05.com, I recently stumbled upon Andhim. It’s right in my wheelhouse. This collaboration with Super Flu is particularly impressive.
Oof. Painful game for the Cradz today. I’m not bothered, though. We’ll get ‘em tomorrow.