Hey guys! Remember me? I’m Mallory, and I sometimes blog here. It’s been a while, I know. But don’t worry, between the Catholic guilt (it is Lent, after all), and harassment from “fans” like Scott and Mike, I feel PLENTY bad about not writing. ARE YOU HAPPY NOW, SCOTT AND MIKE?
Since it’s been two weeks since I’ve written, I don’t even know where to begin. There’s the Olympics, and the killer whale attack, and the Vajazzler, and the fact that I attended an adult birthday party at Medieval Times last night, dressed as a medieval pirate (and the fact that it was kind of amazing).
There’s also this:
And yes, that’s old — St. Patty’s Day of last year, as you might have guessed — but I was recently tagged on Facebook, and it reminded me how much I love my friends, and Cry Face, and this here blog.
Speaking of things I love, I’m kind of obsessed with this Postal Service cover of “Against All Odds”:
All that said, I have a proposal: in honor of the Olympics, and Phil Collins, why don’t we pretend that I don’t suck at updating my blog, and instead just hold hands and forgive each other (read: you forgive me)? Work for you? Good. I’m back, and I promise, I’m going to be better.
I’ve never been the kind of person to pretend to be into sports that I’m not really into. While I was something of a tomboy as a child and played about every sport available to me, there aren’t teams that I follow religiously or extra channels I order to ensure that I can watch every game of a certain season. (Case in point: my sister had to tell me that the school I’m currently attending upset the number two team in basketball yesterday. Oh, right!) That said, I do love sports, and I enjoy watching sports (clearly not on a regular basis, but still…). If a Colorado team is in the playoffs or there is a major sporting event on the teevee, I’ll probably tune in, or at least try to keep myself informed.
In comes the Super Bowl. The Super Bowl, of course, is different. A lot of non-diehard sports fans love the Super Bowl — whether for the commercials or the food or the drinking — and I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t one of them. But because this Super Bowl was different for some people I love, it was different for me.
See, my officemate and dear friend E.Lee went to Tulane for law school, as did her boyfriend and a lot of her close friends in DC. I went to a Super Bowl party at their house, replete with gumbo and jambalaya and king cake (oh my!). I won’t capitalize on their emotions or try to adopt them as my own, but suffice it to say: this Super Bowl, this game, meant a lot to them. And not because of the sport, really; as Mr. Luz put it in a heartfelt speech to the crowd, it was never about football. It was because this meant a lot to New Orleans, and because more than any other city, that city would and could appreciate winning a big game like tonight’s. E.Lee said it well when she found out that the Saints were going to the Super Bowl:
The people of New Orleans are rare. They have the fortitude to make it through the hard, heartbreaking times and the spirit to anticipate the joyful times that make it all worthwhile. It’s not about Katrina, it’s about unabashed hope in spite of endless disappointment. It’s always been that way in NOLA, and here is their great reward. Congratulations, New Orleans — the Black and Gold are going to the Superbowl!
Perhaps most impressive about Saints fans, and New Orleans folk in general, is that they have an ability to effortlessly draw people into their circle. The spirit of the city was infectious tonight, and I may or may not have sobbed along with the people for whom this win was personal. Those people wouldn’t judge me for that, or think I’m just half-heartedly jumping on the bandwagon; they’d say “Welcome the fuck aboard,” “We know,” and “Have another beer.” And I love that. That attitude is why I’m so happy tonight, and why this game managed to feel personal for a girl from Colorado who’s never so much as been to New Orleans.
What I’m trying to say, I guess, is WHO DAT. And congratulations, New Orleans. Your people and your gumbo have won me over.
If you are like me, you watch the Superbowl to eat unlimited snack foods, drink some beers and watch the commercials. I may pay attention for the first quarter or so, but then I eat, drink and socialize until the commercials come back on. And it’s glorious.
This year, it looks like CBS may be putting a conservative spin on the commercials. Uber-religious Tim Tebow and fam will be featured in a “Celebrate Family, Celebrate Life” ad discussing how Tebow’s mom’s doctors in the Philippines suggested she had have an abortion when she fell ill while she was pregnant with Tim. [Spoiler alert!] she didn’t. The ad has been paid for by Focus on the Family, who’s founder has said that gay marriage will “destroy the Earth.” Ugh.
On the other hand, CBS rejected an ad from mancrunch.com, a gay dating website. “After reviewing the ad, which is entirely commercial in nature, our standards and practices department decided not to accept this particular spot,” said CBS spokeswoman Shannon Jacobs. Jacobs also said the ads were practically sold out when they reviewed mancrunch’s concept, where two men passionately make out after their hands brush on their way to the chip bowl. Riiiiight.
Come ON CBS. I want more commercials like this: Not ones that take a stand.
Regardless, I’ll be there on Superbowl Sunday, solo cup in hand, covered in chip crumbs, just waiting it out until the next commercial.
As you’ve probably heard, Mark McGwire recently admitted that he used steroids in the 1990s, which more or less nullifies his impressive 70-home-run season in 1998. While I’m all for honesty, his confession strikes me as inauthentic and somehow cowardly. I think it’s inauthentic because he made bullshit statements like these in his interview with Bob Costas:
Still, McGwire told Costas he “absolutely” could have broken the record without using steroids, pointing to his home run prowess going back to Little League. “That’s why it’s the most regrettable thing I’ve ever done in my life,” McGwire said.
[McGwire] added: “I don’t want to use it as a crutch, but there was no drug testing. I didn’t use it for strength. I used it to help me recover from injuries.”
I find it cowardly because there’s something frustrating about someone who does something they blatantly know is wrong with the hope/knowledge that one day they can apologize for it and all will be forgiven. I’ll make a few things clear: first, I’m sure McGwire was under a lot of pressure and that this steroid thing probably has caused him a lot of agony over the years; second, I know that he didn’t have to come clean, and that he is putting his reputation at risk with an admission like this; and third, I’m sure he’s not the only one who holds this secret. All that said, he was a grown man back in the ’90s and he knew that what he was doing was wrong. It reminds me of when someone apologizes to me for doing something wrong and I’m all WHELP, glad you’re sorry, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m pissed. “Sorry” isn’t always some magic get-out-of-jail free card that instantly erases all wrongdoing. NO, NO I DO NOT FORGIVE YOU.
And the funny thing is…I don’t care about baseball. I’m not sure why this is getting me all riled up.
What do you guys think? Am I overreacting? Giving him too much credit? Is this old news, since according to my officemate, Cardinals fans have known about this for years? Am I ignoring the real infuriating story of the hour, which is the announcement that Sarah Palin will be joining Fox News as a contributor?
So everybody, guess what? I am officially finished with my second-to-last semester of school ever. (At least, let’s hope it’s for forever.) I am also back in Colorado for the next two weeks, which feels simply wonderful. I suppose I should savor this, because from what I hear, the Real World doesn’t just hand out monthlong winter breaks. Sigh.
Now that I’m at home, I’m doing my best to not launch full-on into lounge mode quiteeee yet. This means that I exercised this morning (!!!), showered, BLOW DRIED MY HAIR, and even put on a bra. The bra might be buried under a few layers of pajamas, but it’s all about the little victories, people.
In honor of not launching into full-on lounge mode, I have decided to set a resolution for myself: I am going to (try to?) post on this here blog every day while I am at home. Hold me to it! The blog has suffered with the onset of a second year of grad school, and that’s not fair to you guys.
Speaking of the blog, I’m working on getting things a little more organized around here. Like, say, posting more regularly in general and rounding up our crew of posters in a more organized way. Details to come on that.
But enough of the housekeeping issues. (Ed Note: It took me like five minutes to think of the phrase “housekeeping issues.”) Can we talk for a minute about Tiger Woods? Because I’m at home, I have had the pleasure of watching a lil daytime teevee today, and that included a trashy show about celebrities called The Insider. OnThe Insider, they said that it’s been confirmed that Tiger Woods has dallied about with at least 14 mistresses. And to that I say both, “Really, Tiger? Your wife is HOT.” And also, “Can we please stop talking about this now?” I was as interested as the next guy at the beginning of all this — and if you’ve been living under a rock, check out Shan’s original post about Tigergate — but I’m a little over it now. (Though it is incredibly ironic and noteworthy that he’s just been named AP male athlete of the year.) Sure, the dude made a lot of mistakes, but I feel like we are practically stooping to his level if we continue to focus on this. It’s kind of why I didn’t want to post about the Salahis. It’s a different situation, but at a certain point we become part of the problem by feeding into this bullshit.
Tangent (as though these posts are anything but a series of tangents): I just took a break from writing to focus on Bonnie Hunt interviewing Mary Louise Parker, and Mary Louise Parker was talking about adopting a baby and I began sobbing. SHOCKER!
In non-frustrating, non-crying news, watch this video. It combines two of my favorite things: adorable children and Taylor Swift. SOLD!:
Oh my god, right? When I was at the airport last night, I thought I saw this little girl and got SUPER excited for a second. It wasn’t her.
This whole possible scandal with Tiger Woods has me scratching my head along with the rest of the world following the story. And yes, I know, none of this is any of my business and the media probably should give the guy and his family their privacy…but I can’t help but be intrigued.
Here’s the story as it’s being reported: Tiger was leaving his Florida estate at about 3:00 AM on Friday night/Saturday morning when he ran into a tree and a fire hydrant on his neighbor’s property. At some point, his wife took a golf club to the back of his SUV, allegedly to rescue him from the car because he was knocked unconscious in the wreck. The airbags of the SUV never deployed. He was then taken to the hospital with lacerations around his mouth and released in good condition.
Ok, let’s start a list of things that are strange about this story.
1. Why is Tiger leaving his home at 3:00 in the morning? While there could be a million logical explanations for this, he hasn’t offered up any so we are left to wonder. I would conclude he is either sneaking out of his house or he got in a fight with his wife and was bailing.
2. Apparently, if car airbags don’t deploy, the car probably isn’t going over 30 or so miles per hour. Do you really think that he would have been knocked unconscious going that slowly? Maybe, but it seems far fetched to me.
3. His wife was supposed to have knocked in the back window to rescue her husband. It seems far more likely to me that she may have been taking out her anger on the back window, especially if the infidelity rumors are true.
4. Tiger had cuts and lacerations around his mouth. Again, I’m not an expert, but how do you sustain those types on injuries from a car accident like this? It makes more sense that those cuts were inflicted by an angry wife.
5. The Woods family has refused to speak to the police or the media about the incident on several occasions. The media I completely understand, but the police? If they have nothing to hide, they’re certainly doing a great job acting like they do.
Tiger’s official statement leaves a lot to be desired for the wondering public. Tiger basically says he will not speak about the incident beyond the fact that he had a single car accident and his wife acted courageously. He says all the rumors are irresponsible and untrue.
I sure wish he would elaborate and I imagine this won’t go away unless he does.
UPDATE:
Tiger apologized for his wrongdoings on his website without going into specifics. So it looks like he’s a filthy cheater after all. Tiger, I expected more from you.
PEOPLE. Running is not safe. No one should do it, ever. We already know that running leads to sprained ankles and general misery. But now we know more: if you go running — like, say, in a half marathon in Detroit — you will die. Read for yourself, from the Detroit Free Press:
In the span of just 16 minutes, three men collapsed and died while running the 32nd Detroit Free Press/Flagstar Marathon — the first deaths in the event since 1994.
The first to collapse was Daniel Langdon, 36, of Laingsburg, at 9:02 a.m., said Rich Harshbarger, vice president of consumer marketing for the Detroit Media Partnership, which handles business operations for the Free Press and Detroit News. Langdon was on Michigan Avenue between the 11- and 12-mile markers.
Rick Brown, 65, of Marietta, Ohio, collapsed at 9:17 a.m. near where Langdon went down, Harshbarger said. And Jon Fenlon, 26, of Waterford collapsed at about 9:18 a.m., just after finishing the half-marathon in 1:53:37, he said.
Sooo I’m sitting here on the couch of our Korean-in-looks-alone correspondent in the apartment that she shares with the worst guest blogger ever, Shannon Marie. We are eating all sorts of delicious foods and drinking red wine out of Christmas wine glasses at 5 p.m. because I’M IN CHICAGO, so why not? (And even though Chicago doesn’t get to host the 2016 Olympics, and even though it got kicked out first, and even though Bad Guest Blogger Shannon volunteered for the bid, it’s still a cool city, okay?)
But there’s another reason to celebrate: it’s a Google Holiday!
Today’s Google Holiday: Gandhi’s birthday! Today would have been Gandhi’s 140th birthday. Celebrate by being kind to your friends, flashing the peace sign often, and rocking a moustache, if you’re so inclined/capable.
What we were Googling: aaron carter lyrics saturday night
It’s a challenge for me to not associate Phantom Planet with The O.C., which probably says something about my musical knowledge/taste, but I lurve this song. I’m going to totally dance around my bedroom to it all summer long.
Speaking of dancing, last night Kathleen and assorted other friends of ours went to the Red Sox/Nationals game, and at the end of the game Miss Potter, my roommate, hooked us up with access to a suite. Excitement about moving from the nosebleeds to a suite (Suite 1, no less), prompted some celebratory awkward dancing. (To replicate, be gangly, then wave limbs around wildly.) See, Kathleen’s Connecticut-loving boyfriend — let’s call him Miguel — and I are both wonderfully awkward dancers. I say wonderfully because when you’re an awkward dancer, you just have to embrace and love the awkwardness, or it just gets worse. Kathleen (poor thing) was blessed with actual coordination, so Miguel and I made a pact that if we ever find an Awkward Dance Contest for Couples, we will totally enter. And totally win. Our confidence is so enormous that Miguel makes this bold claim: “I could enter an Awkward Dance Contest for Couples and win, alone.” Bring it on.
In related news, remember the time Kathleen and I reviewed the 2008 All-Star game? (Here, read it again!) J.D. Drew was at bat at some point last night, and Kathleen was all, “Hey Mal, remember the time we wrote about the All-Star game and we like loved J.D.?” And I was all, “[Awkward laugh] Yeah…I mean, actually, no, I don’t remember that at all.” Kathleen proceeded to make fun of me and said that we both had huge crushes on J.D. Drew and we were both a little ashamed (and mocked by Miguel), because J.D. Drew looks like this:
Which isn’t to say Mr. Drew is unattractive, but I mean, he is a bearded ginger, and I think I would have remembered having a huge crush on a bearded ginger. Turns out, this was the boy we were talking about in said All-Star post:
This means, of course, that Kathleen was wrong! Huzzah! I may have the long-term memory of a housefly, but I’ll take the little victories where I can find them.
This NYT story will make your day (and, obviously, it made me cry):
“Hi ya, young fella.”
Babe Ruth greeted Arthur Giddon as he did most 13-year-olds, even those in uniform. Giddon chatted with the Babe for a moment but tore himself away because he had a job to do. It was 1922, and as a Boston Braves bat boy, Giddon had to break out the bats, polish some spikes and otherwise outfit his players for that afternoon’s game at Braves Field.
Eighty-seven years later, on Saturday, Giddon will reprise his role for his now-beloved Red Sox — as a special 100th birthday present, he will serve as the team’s honorary bat boy prior to the game against the rival Yankees.
Peace, love, and Chicago deep dish.
six words to change the world. 