As I watch my Minnesota Twins do their best to lose three games in a row to Tampa Bay, I find myself pondering the difference between “winning,” “losing,” “not winning” and “not losing.” Somehow, in some way I haven’t quite yet worked out, I think they’re four distinct things.
Filed for future reference.
In a conversation recently (about atomic bombs), I was reminded of a line I heard once from another skydiver. The line concerns stuff guys like. I’ll have to dig through my archives to find the original text, but it went something like this: “If it goes very high, very fast, makes a loud noise, explodes or catches fire… it’s cool” It occurred to me that NASCAR easily covers two of those and sometimes reaches four of five, which may explain why I find it so oddly compelling.
This, of course, also explains skydiving (high, fast), gun sports (loud, fast (bullets), explosions), rollercoasters (high, fast, loud, hopefully no explosions), fireworks (duh, kinda canonical there; high, loud, explosions) and, of course, any action movie (all of the above).
In the last year or so, I’ve become a Whovian, a fan of The Doctor. I don’t mean Dr. Seuss of Whoville fame, but another Doctor entirely. The Doctor. Doctor Who! (Who? Yes, Who. Cue Abbott; cue Costello; catch the rabbit; fetch the jello.)
Fatigue poisons aside, this life-long Star Trek fan has found a new love, and I’m so sorry Captains Kirk, Picard, Sisko and Archer, but the new love… is better. I’ll always remember and cherish our times together, and I promise to visit often and to be gentle when I speak of you (and I will speak of you now and anon). And we’ll always have Paris!
So, would everyone please stand up and move down one seat? You, Bab5, wake up and move over; Mal and Zoe need your seats, because my Captains need theirs. Princess, Han, other guy, if you could perhaps move to the row behind us so that G’Kar and Londo could have your seats. (Thanks! Appreciate!)
Doctor, do please have a seat!
So I was up all night working on this List of Assassin Movies, and man are my arms tired.
Wait, that’s not the right punchline. I must be punchy.
(But remind me sometime to tell you the story of how that punch line caught the eye of the woman I married (and then, shortly thereafter, unmarried). You see us above in our glory days in the perfectly good airplane we jumped out of (and what an apt metaphor for our marriage that is).)
Check it out (if you like that sort of thing; assassin movies, I mean, not checking out pages (well, that, too, obviously) or whatever I was just nattering about). I’m sure I’ve forgotten a few movies that should be on the list.
Thought for the Day: Is it possible that a key difference between “them” and “us” (and you know the them us mean) is the degree of self-awareness?
Can you be truly self-aware and still be a jerk? What do you see when you look in your mental mirror?
Consider and discuss. There will be a quiz Monday (but I’m not committing to which Monday).
Wonder of wonders, miracle of miracles, the Twins are up a run (3-2) in the fourth. Maybe we won’t be totally humiliated today. In our own ballpark. I’m starting to identify with Cubs fans.
And, yet, before I can even push (well, click) the Publish button, it’s tied at 3 in the 6th. Oh, Twins; you’ve taken me from Killebrew to killing brews just to dull the pain. My Homer Hankie is now needed to dry my tears.