What Are We Gonna Do With All This Trash?: November 2009

November 19, 2009

ZUT ALORS!!! ZUT ZUT ET ZUT!!!!

(Yes, this is a futbol post, and yes, a futbol match has stirred up some emotion in me)

Ummmmm...yeahhhhhhh...soooooo...just like an untoward game of balltap (as opposed to consensual balltap), Thierry Henry goes and sticks his hands where they don't belong... and he gets away with it.

So, instead of Ireland potentially going to the World Cup for only the 4th time in history, Henry displays his 'hand of God' and passes to the douchebag with the chrome car for the winning goal.

Il n'y a pas de justice!!

November 13, 2009

Colorful Words To Click On...

--Has Sammy Sosa seen a ghost, or become a ghost? I really do applaud Sammy's total commitment to becoming white. Notice his first quote to ESPN Deportes: "I'm not a racist." Well played, sir.

--Legos are a gateway drug. And because you clicked that link, the cops, feds, KGB, Yakuza, and a Danish toy company are now after you. Congrats.

And, let's see now, hmmm... {desperately struggling to find another entertaining link}..this at least seems to have potential (Mike, you'll have to watch on Hulu)...

--"The Prisoner" update premieres this Sunday on AMC; I'll give anything with Sir Ian McKellen a shot, and I guess Jesus could use a second chance (also of note, Christopher Nolan is thinking about a movie version).

A History Of Trash

Trash, at first, was a pretty cool guy. You know, he’d come over with some beers, and you’d hang out and have a couple of laughs. Maybe Trash brought some weed with him, and you guys tried to sync up Dark Side Of The Moon with The Wizard Of Oz until you remembered you lost your VHS copy of that movie sometime in college and that you fucking hate Pink Floyd. Good times were had, nonetheless.

But then, you don’t know what changed, but Trash started to overstay his welcome. He’d just linger for hours, never taking the hint you wanted him to leave, no matter how many times you yawned obnoxiously or mentioned how early you had to get up tomorrow. Trash just didn’t get it. You were getting older. You didn’t have the time anymore to stay up until 3 a.m. to talk about the Port season of “The Wire” or how much you miss Jawbox. Eventually, you just stopped taking Trash’s phone calls and no longer replied to his group e-mails about sneaking into abandoned mental hospitals.

Last time you saw Trash, he was smoking alone outside a local dive bar, looking down at his decaying and mismatched shoes. You hoped he had been doing well. You hoped he had not been hurt by the disintegration of your friendship. And if he had, you wanted to comfort him. You wanted to tell him that even though people move on with their lives, it doesn’t mean they stop caring. You wanted him to see in your eyes a sincere appreciation for the time you shared, because all the relationships in our lives help make us who we are, and even if you weren’t the best of friends anymore, you wanted him to know that there would always be a piece of Trash in your heart.

But instead, you looked away and crossed the street. You were with your new girlfriend, and you really didn’t want to have to explain Trash to her. She’d never understand.