I finally feel a little liberated. I honestly never gave a shit about football, but like many of us, I trudged out to some kind of Superbowl party every year, to watch two teams I did not care nor know anything about battle it out.

I used to say it was for the commercials, but I only buy experiences and not stuff now (at least, as much as possible – I still have to clothe myself, wash dishes, that sort of thing), so I don’t really give a fuck. Functional or experiential, not collectible.

Most commercials are shit anyway, trying way too hard. Wazzup wasn’t that funny.

Plus, the orange menace was going to be there, because, of course, he fucking was, and the less I see of that absolute piece of garbage, the better.

The half-time show is occasionally interesting, but I lost interest after they forced the Red Hot Chili Peppers to lip sync. I have seen anyone I actually cared to see since Tom Petty.

(Scratch that, the year with Eminem was pretty good).

So, yeah, I did what’s now become our new tradition and a much more enjoyable one – the Puppy Bowl followed by a movie.

A glass of wine.

Maybe a shot of cream liqueur, because we fancy.

Or some shit.

Anyway, enjoy your sport named after another sport that doesn’t have anything to do with the original sport and has very little to do with feet connecting with balls, making it aptly misnamed.

America. You’re so predictably boring, and your favourite sport?

It’s tedious as all get-out.

Target: 1100 words
Written: 108 words, novel: Bad Neighbours

Read: The Personal MBA, Josh Kaufman
Comics: Images Of Shadowhawk 2-3, Shadowhawk v3 1-2
Music: No1 Record - Radio City, Big Star

I didn’t think they were any good anymore. Like not terribly, but comfortably mediocre, like most teams.

I like baseball, but do people actually care anymore?

It requires a patience and attention that doesn’t really exist in our Instagram/Snapchat/TikTok world.

After all, why have a long-lasting memory when it can just disappear in twenty-four hours. I wonder if this generation’s instances of Alzheimer’s are going to spike because of the lack of long-term memory-making abilities.

Everything has to be a filter; nothing real, nothing dirty.

Unless they want to cancel you, then even the hint of an accusation can destroy a person’s entire world. That’s something I struggle with; where’s the line between believing victims and voiding one’s own ability to determine bullshit?

Because let’s face it, in this era, everyone can make themselves a victim in a heartbeat, by referencing feelings. I hear it all of the time, and while in many cases, there’s legitimacy, in a lot of cases, it’s herd mentality, jumping on a trend to abdicate one’s own responsibility in one’s own life.

Framing is everything, and I think it behooves us to be both harsh in the judgment of those who would exploit others and open-minded to the possibility that maybe not all accusations are legit (intentionally or otherwise – sometimes people just can’t see that their hurt or spite isn’t the whole picture).

Anyway, how we got to me treading the line on cancel culture from baseball, I don’t know.

Target: 900 words
Written: 192 words, novella: The Mungk

Read: The Wishsong Of Shannara, Terry Brooks
Comics: Once And Future 8-10, Die 12
Music: Live! The Ramones! Woo!