Marc
Santa Rosa, California
The Games
Americans love the Olympics. We love it because it reinforces that ridiculous notion that we are somehow better than the rest of the world. Better in women's soccer. Better in quickly running short distances. Better in sand volleyball. Better in building bombs. Better in making money. Better in ... everything.
But what does it really mean to be able to run 100 meters faster than anyone else? Or to ride a bike faster than anyone else? Or to kick a ball better than anyone else? I'm all for teamwork and competition and all that, but this whole notion of the Olympics standing for peace and love between the nations is ridiculous. Athletes are doping up (what a vague word, doping), and coaches are whining when things don't go their star athletes' ways, and fans are booing, and judges are messing up their math, and blah blah blah.
It just seems as though this Olympics is yet another example of global disunity, and it comes during a period in history when the world is supposed to be getting smaller and smaller, and when people are supposed to be realizing that they are more and more alike than they thought they were. But, really, what are we coming to the realization of? Are we actually realizing that there are more differences than similarities between the peoples of the world? Do we really need to go through the Olympics every two years to further that theory?
Cut the games off now. They're boring. They aren't proving anything; and especially disproving the idea that the world comes together in harmony over sports.
The Life
I sometimes get weirded out by the fact that I'm in my mid-twenties. I'm sure you all can relate. I'll start out by painting a picture: it's your first day in high school. You are fourteen years old, and you are surrounded by the senior class. They look huge, don't they? They have facial hair and massive biceps, deep voices and an air of confidence. They drive. They smoke. They drink beer, have sex with chicks, and brag about it to their friends. You, on the other hand, are short, small, diminuitive. You have peach fuzz on your upper lip, and you're not necessarily winning any bodybuilding awards anytime soon. Your voice will crackle and pop in the immediate future, but for now it has settled somewhere between high-pitched wail and choirboy on the vocals chart. You feel young, you look young, and you are lost. Your mom drives you to and from the movie theatre, the mall, and (most embarrasingly) the school. You've never seen anyone your age even hold a cigarette. The only time you've drank beer was when your grandpa let you take sips off of his when you were small, and holding hands is a big deal to you. You brag about it to your friends.
See where I'm going with this? I have a job (officially now), and it's a real job, and it's a great job by most people's standards. Lots of perks. Lots of experience. Looks good on a resume. And the pay's not all bad. I have a woman (whom I won't elaborate on). I just found out we will be moving into our very own apartment together within the next few weeks. We'll have our own furniture, our own little office space, and our own bills to pay. I have a computer (though it's busted at the moment). I have my own health insurance, car insurance, AAA Motor Club membership, a scheduled presentation at the Illinois Association of Teachers of English, and I'm a published author (no joke). Yet I still feel like a high school freshman.
I don't know what it is. Sometimes I step back from my life and assess it and think, Am I living a "real" life? This kind of shit happens to grown-ups. I'm beginning to get very excited to have the opportunity to build bookshelves with my woman in our new apartment. I've even been watching This Old House to bone up on basic carpentry skills. Yet, for the darndest reason, I still don't feel like an adult. That's probably a good thing, right?
Any thoughts? Anyone?
Santa Rosa, California
The Games
Americans love the Olympics. We love it because it reinforces that ridiculous notion that we are somehow better than the rest of the world. Better in women's soccer. Better in quickly running short distances. Better in sand volleyball. Better in building bombs. Better in making money. Better in ... everything.
But what does it really mean to be able to run 100 meters faster than anyone else? Or to ride a bike faster than anyone else? Or to kick a ball better than anyone else? I'm all for teamwork and competition and all that, but this whole notion of the Olympics standing for peace and love between the nations is ridiculous. Athletes are doping up (what a vague word, doping), and coaches are whining when things don't go their star athletes' ways, and fans are booing, and judges are messing up their math, and blah blah blah.
It just seems as though this Olympics is yet another example of global disunity, and it comes during a period in history when the world is supposed to be getting smaller and smaller, and when people are supposed to be realizing that they are more and more alike than they thought they were. But, really, what are we coming to the realization of? Are we actually realizing that there are more differences than similarities between the peoples of the world? Do we really need to go through the Olympics every two years to further that theory?
Cut the games off now. They're boring. They aren't proving anything; and especially disproving the idea that the world comes together in harmony over sports.
The Life
I sometimes get weirded out by the fact that I'm in my mid-twenties. I'm sure you all can relate. I'll start out by painting a picture: it's your first day in high school. You are fourteen years old, and you are surrounded by the senior class. They look huge, don't they? They have facial hair and massive biceps, deep voices and an air of confidence. They drive. They smoke. They drink beer, have sex with chicks, and brag about it to their friends. You, on the other hand, are short, small, diminuitive. You have peach fuzz on your upper lip, and you're not necessarily winning any bodybuilding awards anytime soon. Your voice will crackle and pop in the immediate future, but for now it has settled somewhere between high-pitched wail and choirboy on the vocals chart. You feel young, you look young, and you are lost. Your mom drives you to and from the movie theatre, the mall, and (most embarrasingly) the school. You've never seen anyone your age even hold a cigarette. The only time you've drank beer was when your grandpa let you take sips off of his when you were small, and holding hands is a big deal to you. You brag about it to your friends.
See where I'm going with this? I have a job (officially now), and it's a real job, and it's a great job by most people's standards. Lots of perks. Lots of experience. Looks good on a resume. And the pay's not all bad. I have a woman (whom I won't elaborate on). I just found out we will be moving into our very own apartment together within the next few weeks. We'll have our own furniture, our own little office space, and our own bills to pay. I have a computer (though it's busted at the moment). I have my own health insurance, car insurance, AAA Motor Club membership, a scheduled presentation at the Illinois Association of Teachers of English, and I'm a published author (no joke). Yet I still feel like a high school freshman.
I don't know what it is. Sometimes I step back from my life and assess it and think, Am I living a "real" life? This kind of shit happens to grown-ups. I'm beginning to get very excited to have the opportunity to build bookshelves with my woman in our new apartment. I've even been watching This Old House to bone up on basic carpentry skills. Yet, for the darndest reason, I still don't feel like an adult. That's probably a good thing, right?
Any thoughts? Anyone?
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