well, i’m done with sports. that was uncomfortably similar to the Bartman game, given that the critical moments weren’t run-scoring plays, they were not entirely self-contained base-running errors by kenny lofton, then the actual thing that caused (my) heart to microwave itself in its own juice and blood to dribble out of (my) eyes was the
mike mordecai dustin pedroia date rape moment. then again it was less similar to the Bartman game in that I wasn’t laughing at Cubs fans or rocking and clapping back and forth. actually now that I’ve started talking about it the one thing i would like to do is to immediately cease talking about it until i feel better. which will be not today.
i was going to write some lunatic thing calling people out for bailing on wes anderson when nothing’s really changed about his movies but then i got distracted by a bunch of work that i should be doing instead, and i’m ultimately deciding in favor of the work. i don’t think the world needs a(nother) sloppy gloss on why (a person) thinks people do or do not like wes anderson and whether those people might be described as justified. wes anderson movies are just audiovisual anti-depressents for white (construe broadly) people (construe narrowly); i tend to find them comforting and humorous, other people apparently find in them the need to write tired and insensate articles about whether or not it is metaphysically acceptable to have a movie with or without both pink and brown skin, and if the people with pink skin are nattily turned out in ill-fitting mod suits, how that effects everything. i’m not linking to anything because i don’t feel like reading anything.