Call this the embers of December. The drive’s on, a buzz, likely full out panic, as everyone pushes through the crowds trying to get gifts, find gifts, spend money, fear money. Everything is coming to full implosion. Families, like asteroids, are headed from all corners of the world, moving fast. Fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, grandmothers. All of them holding onto their recriminations, their happiness, their disappointments, their insecurities. Holiday trips that have been planned, tickets bought, drink schedules organized, condoms purchased, could all topple in the next few days as people wake up with scratchy throats. Stomachs start to churn unexpectedly. Noses drip. And if that wasn’t enough the litany of excuses, pleadings, follow. Allergies, just allergies. The fish must have been bad last night. I’m only suffering a hangover. Can’t be the flu, I got a shot. Please, I can’t be ill. Let me get through the holidays. Let me survive Granny Nonni’s piercing, judging, disappointed, stare. Let me be well enough to get laid on New’s Year Eve. And then let me turn a corner next year, lose weight, make money, be a better version of me.
These are the dark heart moments of December. The true sleigh bell horrors.
Within the same ten days that mail drones were being pumped up by Amazon, Canada Post set a drone on themselves. Canada Post knew that it was inhumane to have mail delivery people running zigzag down the street, mail flying out of the sides of their mail bags, as the evil new Amazoids dive bombed from the sky, launching discounted books, sweaters, coffee beans, and light beams from their orifices at the houses and apartments that the mail people were delivering to. Canada Post has performed hari-kari upon itself before the dreaded Amazoids get to them.
The Raptors were 6-12 with Rudy Gay. They’re 10-14 without him. The idea that they’re gutting the team for brighter days is nonsensical. These are not the glory days of the Raptors fan. They traded Gay because he’s terrible, his contract is awful, and because watching him hold the ball for twenty-eight seconds caused dark matter implosions.
If the Gay trade is anything, it’s the second major critical reaction to Bryan Colangelo (the first moving Bargs to New York in a matter of seconds while Colangelo held Bargs in a tight embrace for years). And how embarrassing to hear Colangelo still duking it out in the Rudy pulpit a few weeks ago with his unbelievable hallucinogenic statement that the Kings have “a mandate to increase the talent level of [their] team as opposed to depleting it.” Are we really talking about Gay? Is Colangelo selling himself? Is he the missing talent level from the Raptors?
Note to self: when your company lets you go, go quietly. Prove them wrong at your next job. Don’t colangificate on your past misdeeds after the bodies are found.
Colangificate: To ignore (or hide through trades) one’s failures and still talk about them as if they were successes.
When I selfie myself it’s usually after two am. I’m hoping the cats stop scratching at the door, my girlfriend doesn’t wake up, and that the IPad doesn’t slip off the edge of the sink until I’m finished.
The only way to build anything from IKEA is with a pizza nearby. This was true in 2013, it’s going to be equally as true heading into 2014.
In another of my desperate quick-money schemes I got hooked on a toilet paper contest that peddles a ten thousand dollar return for anyone who finds the golden square amongst the toilet roll. This has meant thinking that the next time I wipe my ass could be the winner.
Best store sign this year goes to Choo Choo’s, a defunct club that, in its heyday, had someone hand paint its sign in Ghost font. Promising chocolate martinis two-for-one always, Choo Choo’s went the way of many smoked-up dreams. Or as my friend, William, said when I pointed at Choo Choo’s, “Yeah, another club that went up in flames for nefarious reasons.”
When Mike D’Antoni was coaching Amar’e Stoudemire for the New York Knicks critics complained that D’Antoni was playing Stoudamire so much that his health depleted knees were being ground to dust. Then when D’Antoni started coaching the Lakers, Steve Nash went down almost immediately with a knee injury and this season is out with a back injury. Meanwhile, Kobe Bryant suffered a torn Achilles injury last season that he somehow came back from only to go down again with a knee injury. And through it all, Mike D’Antoni wanders the sidelines, smiling under his mustache, looking much like the guy tying women or dynamite to train tracks. Do I think D’Antoni runs his stars into the ground? I’m starting to. And I wonder if it has something to do with his knee-replacement surgery last your, his fear of his own body decaying, and his resentment at never having been a superstar player or superstar coach.
Small hopes for 2014: Jason Kidd is fired after spilling a hot dog with the works on the court during a game. The Knicks trade Carmelo Anthony and James Dolan for a squad of cheerleaders. The Raptors don’t fool themselves into thinking they should gut the entire team and start again. And that I stop eating full meals after eleven pm (remember when you could do that and not have extreme nightmares).
Radio Metraville Holiday Special: http://soundcloud.com/