“I think I am a genius, but not a rebel. I have my life, my world, I do what I want, without annoying anyone. I believe I am more intelligent than the average person. It is said that geniuses are misunderstood. So perhaps genius is so different that people don’t understand. The talent God gave me is beautiful and wonderful, but it is difficult because you are always facing other people keen to judge you. There are few people with such talent, so there are few able to judge what I am doing.”
“Europe’s problems are a lot like ours, only worse. Like Wall Street, Germany is where the money is. Italy, like California, has let bad governance squander great natural resources. Greece is like a much older version of Mississippi — forever poor and living a bit too much off its richer neighbors. Slovenia, Slovakia and Estonia are like the heartland states that learned the hard way how entwined so-called Main Street is with Wall Street. Now remember that these countries share neither a government nor a language. Nor a realistic bailout plan, either.”
Rich Thompson should go by the name “Dicky Thompson,” but he doesn’t. Rich Thompson is 33 years old, and Rich Thompson is a rookie baseball player. Rich Thompson is the best. For The Classical.
That is a case of Mike’s Hard Light Lemonade and Cranberry Lemonade that was given to me for no charge. For The Billfold, I wrote about PR emails, PR people (who, for the record, are all mostly not-terrible people), and being tempted to fill my apartment with more things like this free case of alcohol.
I don’t know what LeBron James is doing here. Presumably, he’s taking a picture of some grass and some goalposts and some white-painted lines on that grass. LeBron James also did something last night. He had 28 points, 9 rebounds, 6 steals, and 5 assists in an NBA playoff game, yet he still managed to disappoint a lot of people. That actually makes sense … in the way that people being stupid is not surprising.
Something that doesn’t make sense: LeBron James is a part of Liverpool FC, and Kenny Dalglish is not.
There is nothing that I currently know re: everything.
“I’d like to end up floating on my back with swimmies on, bright orange ones with yellow ducks all over them, with a pair of sunglasses on, lenses empty (obviously), in someone’s backyard pool water (but a pool with it’s cover still on). With two ducks swimming nearby, in the pool-cover pool-water, quacking (but really laughing, it just sounds like a quack to us because we don’t recognize duck-humor) at me.”
— Win or lose, this is where Rangers fans can expect to be Sunday morning
That is basically what the English Premier League just said about the current iteration of itself. So, yay! Good for them, being so great. Sure, this year’s version of the EPL has been pretty fun I guess, mainly because Manchester United might not win (/karate chops a Redwood) and mostly ever other team has been really terrible for multiple, significantly-long stretches.
(I’m writing this as a non-biased observer—all non-biased people hate Manchester United—but as a real person, I’d label this year’s version of the EPL as THE STUPIDEST SEASON IN THE WORLD’S HISTORY OF STUPID SEASONS BECAUSE I ROOT FOR A TEAM THAT HIT THE GOAL FRAME 33 TIMES AND MISSED FIVE OF THEIR SIX PENALTY KICKS BECAUSE SERIOUSLY GOD WHAT THE HELL MAN.)
Whether or not 11-12 is the BEST EPL SEASON EVER doesn’t really matter because it’s a stupid, meaningless distinction. It’s just that labeling this year as the best year fits in with the idea—the generally very true idea—that English soccer is best defined by not pace, power, blood, or MEN BEING MEN, but by a complete lack of self-awareness. And that is how you end up with Roy Hodgson managing your national team. I got fake-angry about this for Vice—”fake-angry” because I don’t care enough about English soccer to be legitimately mad. At least, that’s what I tell myself before I close my eyes each night.
