"The game ends. 1-0 to Germany. Landon Donovan looks like he's crying, perhaps he thinks it's his fault, like Seaman, but it isn't. That young man has signaled his arrival, as has his team on the world stage. And how does the U.S. team know it's arrived at the top table? The Americans just got their hearts broken by the Germans after outplaying them. Welcome to the glorious world of international football, America." -- Michael Davies, ESPN.com
No more holy shit
But they did themselves proud
I'm a hazard to myself
Don't let me get me
I'm my own worst enemy
It's bad when you annoy yourself
Don't want to be my friend no more
I wanna be somebody else
-- Pink, "Don't Let Me Get Me"
I liked Monster's Ball, liked the pacing, liked the artificial laidbackness. I rarely believed it, though. The acting of the two leads is exemplary, like the rest of the movie, and they overcome some rather astonishing melodramatic plotting. The acting of Puffy is something less than exemplary, it must be said. As many critics have noted, Halle Berry does a fine job but it's nearly impossible for her to overcome her great looks. For history's sake, I'm glad she got the Oscar, but Renee Zellweger did a better job. Seven on a scale of ten.
There's a thread going on BigSoccer right now that fascinates me. I'm not going to discuss it much here, since I've already posted several messages on BigSoccer if anyone's interested. The discussion is about the following: if you are a USian who's first language is English, should you be watching the World Cup on the English-language ESPN/ABC networks, or the Spanish-language Univision/Telefutura networks? Check it out and find out why I'm a traitor.
Things you never thought you'd see department:
Hockey's championship, the Stanley Cup, is decided. Tiger Woods wins the U.S. Open in golf. The Lakers are once again NBA champions. And the cover of the "number one" sports magazine in the United States is:
Holy Shit Otra Vez
It does anyway.
In about 45 minutes, it begins.
We went out to dinner for Father's Day, and the guy at the restaurant asked me how I thought it would go. I pointed at first my head and then my heart and said "which one?" He said "your head." I said "Mexico 2 USA 1."
Here's to my heart: USA 2 Mexico 1.
It's Father's Day, and Robin suggests I should write something about my own father here on this blog.
Problem is, I don't have much to say. He wasn't a bad father, he wasn't a good father. He wasn't physically absent, although he was emotionally absent. He seemed to believe in a particular way of life, but he also went to jail for embezzling. If you got him at the right moment, you could bring a tear to his eye, but it usually had to be his moment ... he didn't bother to show up when I graduated from college (I can't blame him for not showing when I graduated from grad school, since by then he was dead). I might worry that I would become a father like him, but the truth is, I'm far more like my mother, and that, I can assure you, is much scarier.
That one was why we stay up into the middle of the night.