Since I was pretty young, I've had a real affinity for Jewish religion and culture. One of my very first friends from preschool on up is Jewish (now living in Israel, actually), and since then I've had the privilege of participating in various Jewish traditions with her and her family. From Chanukah to Passover to Rosh Hashanah to Shabbat dinner with her Bubby and Zaideh, those times had a huge impact on me, and I enjoyed every minute. On top of that exposure, I went to an Episcopalian school whose amazing religion program made ample room for learning about both Judaism and Islam. There weren't any outspoken Muslims in my school while I was there, but the Jews in my class (my friend JK included) actively bolstered the curriculum with input about their knowledge and experiences. Additionally, my parents (mom especially) were the kind of Christians who embraced Jesus as a Jew, never failing to remind me that the Last Supper was a Seder, and fully acknowledged the overlap between the two religions. I never understood how any Christian could hate (anyone, especially) Jews.
Back in high school and early college, I was thinking somewhat seriously about converting to Judaism. My mom wasn't very happy about it, not at all because of any feelings about the religion itself (see above), but because doing so would full-on negate everything raising me (pretty hardcore) Christian was all about: at the very core, either you believe the Savior's come already, or you don't. For me, it's never been that simple. Forget all of that hogwash about who killed whom; it really means nothing to me, and it makes no sense to hold an entire people accountable for something that supposedly would already have been planned for by an omniscient God-figure, right? Among many other things. But I guess at this point, I have to concede that my attraction is a lot more cultural than religious. I personally have no problem making a sort of land bridge of logic between the two religions in my mind, but the actual particulars and holes waiting to be poked in my own convictions is a lot harder articulated than believed, not to mention I don't even have a hard and fast religious take on anything. I have no answers. And maybe that's what's attractive to me about it after all: (not to go totally overboard with this, but I am a cinephile and a Coen Bros fan...) in A Serious Man, the Coen Brothers attempt to sum up the faith this way:
Larry Gopnik: I don't want it to just go away! I want an answer!
Rabbi Nachtner: Sure! We all want the answer! But Hashem doesn't owe us the answer, Larry. Hashem doesn't owe us anything. The obligation runs the other way.
Larry Gopnik: Why does he make us feel the questions if he's not gonna give us any answers?
Rabbi Nachtner: He hasn't told me.
Perhaps this is why the Catholic funeral I attended just a few days after discussing this with SR was so disturbing to me. Even in talking things out with her then, I noted one thing I hate about organized religion: "I just wish religious people would stop the whole right/wrong thing, though," I said. "They put stakes on your soul which doesn't seem fair. But to some people, that's the whole point." While questioning everything (without necessarily finding all the answers, while at the same time placing meaning on things we do know) is a core part of who I strive to be and something I see in Judaism, Catholicism struck me as the exact opposite.
I'd heard about Catholic guilt, but I hadn't really been in the same room with it during my last and only Mass experience about 7 years ago, Christmas. This time, the air was ripe with it. I don't want to get into details about the heart-wrenching service, but I was angered by the opportunities that were taken by the Church to further their agenda. Mrs. L. had lived in New York for over 20 years, so the staff at the church didn't know her. The priest and his helpers (whom we met at the wake the night before) were just so impersonal, reading from binders without looking up, and calling her a "woman of God." I didn't know her, and I don't want to take anything from her, but they didn't know anything about her, how she lived her life, or if she'd even been to Mass in the last 10 years. They proceeded to talk about how those who are saved will be consoled, phrasing it as an ultimatum, a trade of a soul for relief from grief. The service felt so routinized and cold, and I couldn't relate sitting and standing periodically to consoling my friends.
Maybe a Jewish funeral feels the same way, but it was striking how much my feelings on religion in general had swung the opposite way in a matter of three days. Part of what I'd liked so much about my Jewish experiences growing up was their strong associations with family. I see it in the traditions, I see it in my memories, I see it in my friends. In such a crucial time for someone and something to lean on, I didn't see Catholicism doing any of that. Instead, it just felt like they co-opted the situation for the propagation of their own ideas. It's the very sentiment that's pushed me away from the protestant upbringing in which I was raised. So many of my friends are atheist or agnostic, and over the years I've gradually kept my own beliefs to myself. In reality, I don't think it will ever be an option for me to believe that there is no God, but I respect others' desire to do so. In keeping to myself, I've had a growing feeling that religion and spirituality is only what you know and feel it to be, and I don't spend much time trying to explain myself anymore. Coupled with my University of Chicago education, the only thing I'm sure of is that I don't know anything. The most impressive nature to me is one of questioning and humility, and I want that in my faith too. To barter souls for peace of mind assumes one holds the key, that they know, that they are confident and sure, that they are done searching. I don't think I can stand for that.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
The New 'Hood
It's high time for a post about our new apartment. On or around July 1, SM and I moved into a new apartment in Chicago's North Center neighborhood. It's pretty awesome. The surrounding area is quiet, but has a bunch of cool restaurants and bars and cultural activities. We're pretty much just as far west as we were before, but we are 12 big blocks north. Also, we're now a 5 minute walk from the Brown Line at Irving Park, which is a huge improvement from the 20 minute walk we had before. I don't mind walking of course--the nice walks around the neighborhood was one of the things that attracted us to this spot--but when it comes to getting to work in a timely fashion, a 5 minute walk can make all the difference.
I've explained it this way: at our old place, if I was ready to leave the house 8am, my choices were to wait for the bus and get to the train station (to wait however long for a train) in 5 minutes or walk to the train station in 20 minutes. If I use CTA Bus Tracker to discover that there's a bus in 10 minutes, it saves me 5 minutes, but I'm still starting my commute at 8:10 instead of 8am. These days, I can leave whenever I want, and 5 minutes later, I'm at the train station on my own two feet, and there's usually a train (and a seat!) about every 5 minutes during rush hour. I'm getting to work consistently in an hour or a little less, instead of an hour one day, an hour and 10, 20 minutes the next.
If I'm going some place other than work, the CTA options are still plentiful. There's the Brown Line to the loop (or the Brown Line to the Red Line to 95th), the Ashland bus south but staying west, the Lincoln bus to the west of us going southeast, the Clark bus to the east of us going southeast, the Damen bus to the west of us running north and south, and the Irving Park bus down the block going east and west. Each of these options is within a 10 minute walk from our door. It's transit heaven!
Inside the apartment, it's absolutely beautiful. The building was built in 1931, and it's all brick on the outside, old wood on the inside (dark wood door with glass panes in the dining room, old style windows). It's large, with a sizable living room and bedroom, 2 closets, a hall way, a bathroom, a linen closet, and a kitchen with a separate dining room area. There are lots of built in cabinets and, as I've implied, tons of storage place, which was something we were adamant about on our search. There is also a dishwasher and a microwave above the stove. There is free radiator heat, which is pretty cool, because that's how I grew up. It's very much a practical and awesome place.
Another thing I like about our apartment is just the new perks of living alone. Alright, so I'm living with S, but he's no roommate or anything. We even have similar cleanliness and organizational habits and design desires, so most roommate differences don't even count. Anyway, there's so much you can do when you live alone. All the space is yours. All the food is yours. You don't have to move anything you don't want to. The TV is always yours. The living room is always yours. You can go into another room whenever you want. If so inclined, you can do any business you want in the bathroom with the door open.
But my #1, most favorite perk of living alone is that you can wear as little as you want at all times. (Gross Out Alert) You can walk around completely naked. It is in my top 3 most liberated feelings. One of the first things I do when I get home from work is take off my pants. It's awesome. And some days, you just need to strip down. It's your right; it's your place. If you don't already, I highly suggest getting your own place for that reason alone.
As my good friend OBM once said, "nudity and happiness go hand in hand in living in one's own place." If you don't like where you live or you're feeling down in a rut, I recommend shedding some of that clothing and taking a tour in your birthday suit. Go ahead. DO it. Take a deep breath and feel renewed. There's really nothing like it.
I've explained it this way: at our old place, if I was ready to leave the house 8am, my choices were to wait for the bus and get to the train station (to wait however long for a train) in 5 minutes or walk to the train station in 20 minutes. If I use CTA Bus Tracker to discover that there's a bus in 10 minutes, it saves me 5 minutes, but I'm still starting my commute at 8:10 instead of 8am. These days, I can leave whenever I want, and 5 minutes later, I'm at the train station on my own two feet, and there's usually a train (and a seat!) about every 5 minutes during rush hour. I'm getting to work consistently in an hour or a little less, instead of an hour one day, an hour and 10, 20 minutes the next.
If I'm going some place other than work, the CTA options are still plentiful. There's the Brown Line to the loop (or the Brown Line to the Red Line to 95th), the Ashland bus south but staying west, the Lincoln bus to the west of us going southeast, the Clark bus to the east of us going southeast, the Damen bus to the west of us running north and south, and the Irving Park bus down the block going east and west. Each of these options is within a 10 minute walk from our door. It's transit heaven!
Inside the apartment, it's absolutely beautiful. The building was built in 1931, and it's all brick on the outside, old wood on the inside (dark wood door with glass panes in the dining room, old style windows). It's large, with a sizable living room and bedroom, 2 closets, a hall way, a bathroom, a linen closet, and a kitchen with a separate dining room area. There are lots of built in cabinets and, as I've implied, tons of storage place, which was something we were adamant about on our search. There is also a dishwasher and a microwave above the stove. There is free radiator heat, which is pretty cool, because that's how I grew up. It's very much a practical and awesome place.
Another thing I like about our apartment is just the new perks of living alone. Alright, so I'm living with S, but he's no roommate or anything. We even have similar cleanliness and organizational habits and design desires, so most roommate differences don't even count. Anyway, there's so much you can do when you live alone. All the space is yours. All the food is yours. You don't have to move anything you don't want to. The TV is always yours. The living room is always yours. You can go into another room whenever you want. If so inclined, you can do any business you want in the bathroom with the door open.
But my #1, most favorite perk of living alone is that you can wear as little as you want at all times. (Gross Out Alert) You can walk around completely naked. It is in my top 3 most liberated feelings. One of the first things I do when I get home from work is take off my pants. It's awesome. And some days, you just need to strip down. It's your right; it's your place. If you don't already, I highly suggest getting your own place for that reason alone.
As my good friend OBM once said, "nudity and happiness go hand in hand in living in one's own place." If you don't like where you live or you're feeling down in a rut, I recommend shedding some of that clothing and taking a tour in your birthday suit. Go ahead. DO it. Take a deep breath and feel renewed. There's really nothing like it.
Monday, August 23, 2010
Inward Observations: part 1 of ∞
1. I think I need a career that can offer lots of independence. I like setting goals for myself that are tied to larger, more life-affirming, and practical aspects of life (i.e. education, conflict resolution, health, etc.), as opposed to being obliged to adhere to goals set for me that are tied to smaller, subjective, shorter-term initiatives.
2. The things I like best about my current job are the editing and the shooting, when I can fully immerse myself in the creation of a solid product. I don't particularly like troubling myself with the distribution or the client desires, but when I do, I am often disappointed with the relatively small sphere of influence, short term goals, and/or enthusiasm over what I see as proportionately small events/meaning.
3. I like working with something hands-on, and I learn better by doing.
4. I'm really bad at being fake, and I hate having to be fake. Fake smiles, fake interest, and fake enthusiasm tire me out. Relatedly, impressing anyone besides those I care about is never high on my list.
5. My hopes for something are almost always trumped by possible realities. I'll get really excited about something if the logistics are there to support its potential.
6. More than approval or praise, I want feedback.
7. I like when questions have a purpose, for example to come closer to a conclusion, when someone truly cares, or when the information will be used for something.
8. Inefficient systems and unnecessary elements irk me.
9. The test to pass is whether or not the issues one talks about in a meeting have any implications outside of that particular closed community. Immigration? Yes. The history of film? Yes. An upcoming community event? Doesn't excite me.
Given all of this, what is the best career for me?
2. The things I like best about my current job are the editing and the shooting, when I can fully immerse myself in the creation of a solid product. I don't particularly like troubling myself with the distribution or the client desires, but when I do, I am often disappointed with the relatively small sphere of influence, short term goals, and/or enthusiasm over what I see as proportionately small events/meaning.
3. I like working with something hands-on, and I learn better by doing.
4. I'm really bad at being fake, and I hate having to be fake. Fake smiles, fake interest, and fake enthusiasm tire me out. Relatedly, impressing anyone besides those I care about is never high on my list.
5. My hopes for something are almost always trumped by possible realities. I'll get really excited about something if the logistics are there to support its potential.
6. More than approval or praise, I want feedback.
7. I like when questions have a purpose, for example to come closer to a conclusion, when someone truly cares, or when the information will be used for something.
8. Inefficient systems and unnecessary elements irk me.
9. The test to pass is whether or not the issues one talks about in a meeting have any implications outside of that particular closed community. Immigration? Yes. The history of film? Yes. An upcoming community event? Doesn't excite me.
Given all of this, what is the best career for me?
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
A Better Dreamer [Spoiler Alert]
**NOTE: I've been writing this for 3 weeks, so it's a bit choppy and disjointed. Let me know if you need any clarification of my points, and I'll do my best to shed light on something or other.**
Exploring the three levels “on which our minds live: the past, the present, and the conditional - the realm of fantasy” ~ Federico Fellini
Of course a lot of talk has been going around about Christopher Nolan's Inception. I for one thought it was great, until I thought about it and decided that it was flawed, but still great. Christopher Nolan has great concepts in his head, and he really has a vision for his work, it's quite obvious. But my main answer to anyone who asks is that I don't think he thinks things through in layers, rather he thinks a movie through via it's plot.
Remember that whole story vs. plot thing? The plot is confined to the film or piece of fiction, whereas the story can bleed beyond the pages of the book or screenplay. The key difference is that the plot of a work of art (told in order) can portray a story out of order. Take Nolan's Memento for example: the story portrays Leonard tattooing himself to combat his short-term memory loss as he searches for his wife's killer; the plot presents these events backwards for dramatic and artistic effect. My claim is that Nolan is really good at thinking of a captivating plot, but he is not as good at fleshing out the layers of a good story.
In the case of Inception (and I won't go too in depth because that is not my main point here), the concepts such as totems, architects, and the concept of inception itself, seem intriguing on the surface, but as soon as they're done furthering the plot, they are dropped. We never find out anything more about Ariadne's totem (or much more about dream architecture once its existence as a concept is done explaining her presence); we never find out how long all of this dream stuff has been around (Mal supposedly invented the use of the totem, but if this thing has a long and storied history, you would think someone else would have needed to keep a grasp on reality); and we never find out anything about the other characters beyond their functions on Cobb's team. To those of you who use these facts to support your stupid "it's all a dream" theory, I say BOO. Even if it was a dream (which, I maintain, would be a cop out), I believe that it is important for a movie to have depth beyond what happens on screen -- more story, less plot.
The dream bit actually brings me around to my real point here. Interestingly enough, I had the pleasure of seeing 8 1/2 again last night. Great film. For once Ebert and I agree when he said that it's the best film about filmmaking. Hands down. Anyway, my main thesis here is that I think Fellini did the dreaming Christopher Nolan was aiming for, both achieving more of a dreamlike quality (one popular critique of Inception), and more successfully incorporating all those rules Nolan beats into you during all of that futile exposition. (Again, I think it's flawed, but still great.)
8 1/2 focuses on Guido, a middle-aged film director who is struggling to make the movie he's always wanted. It is a metafilm adventure, as we discover that the project described therein that is supposedly doomed to fail by all of his colleagues in the picture is eerily similar to the very film we are watching. Guido wrestles with his subconscious to figure out what he believes about love, what his life really means, and what those around him mean to him. It is personal in every sense of the word, first and foremost because we automatically assume in the first minutes of the film that the director portrayed must bear some resemblance to the real and famous Italian director, Fellini himself, and secondarily due to the behind-the-scenes look we get at Guido's varied relationships, his director's-block, and how each of them affect his work. But perhaps most personal is the fact that we dream with Guido and not only witness how the film's events affect his work, but also how they affect his subconscious. More accurately, we witness how his subconscious affects his work--even more plainly, his subconscious is the work. Thus, dreaming is a very important element to the film, and the common ground between this and Nolan's latest piece.
Returning to Inception for a bit, Nolan sets out several rules in the beginning his film that are supposed to alert the viewer and the dream invaders that they are in a dream world, and that the subconscious is alive, well, and ready to turn on the intruders. Rules range from keeping tabs on others around you (the more everyone looks at you, the more their subconscious is aware of your presence, a sign that you have tampered with too much), to staying abreast of how you arrived at your current position (a sign that you are probably in a dream), to being aware of the either the "kick" or death as some of the only ways you can forcibly get out of the dream state. Nolan lays out these rules and tips as Cobb introduces Ariadne to the world of extraction.
I would claim that, while one film predates the other by 50 years, Fellini adheres to similar rules of the unconscious/subconscious. Better yet, he teaches these rules of the dream world to the viewer by throwing them into the fray instead of giving googobs of exposition. We follow Guido seamlessly in and out of the dream world, unsure of how we arrived or where we are. Guido's dreams, like the film itself, are ripe subconscious material, ripped straight from the events of his life, past, present, and future, and holding important clues for interpretation, much like the dreams the extractors probe in their work. The eye contact of those who populate Guido's world is also an interesting characteristic of his subconscious. They stare at him (and us) with an unnaturally steady gaze, prying into his motives and desires, and, like Nolan's extractors, trying to discover what his deepest secrets are.
Throughout the movie, Guido tries to interpret his own dreams to answer his questions about making his film while battling his personal life on the side. The two intermingle until he has a realization that. Cobb, too, struggles to find a balance between his work and his personal life, and he also comes to an intermingling conclusion. While the protagonists have many similarities, it's the directors in my mind who differ in their storytelling styles. There is a subtlety that Nolan could learn from Fellini that I think is highlighted in their dreamscapes. The ease with which Fellini glides through 8 1/2 underscores the harmony between story and plot; perhaps this was because the story was so personal to the director. Nolan really told a great plot in Inception, but, for me, the transitions were rocky and drew attention to the incongruity between the story and plot. Inception is an undoubtedly an entertaining film that gets people talking and thinking, but when it comes to the better dreamer, I maintain that Fellini's got him beat.
Exploring the three levels “on which our minds live: the past, the present, and the conditional - the realm of fantasy” ~ Federico Fellini
Of course a lot of talk has been going around about Christopher Nolan's Inception. I for one thought it was great, until I thought about it and decided that it was flawed, but still great. Christopher Nolan has great concepts in his head, and he really has a vision for his work, it's quite obvious. But my main answer to anyone who asks is that I don't think he thinks things through in layers, rather he thinks a movie through via it's plot.
Remember that whole story vs. plot thing? The plot is confined to the film or piece of fiction, whereas the story can bleed beyond the pages of the book or screenplay. The key difference is that the plot of a work of art (told in order) can portray a story out of order. Take Nolan's Memento for example: the story portrays Leonard tattooing himself to combat his short-term memory loss as he searches for his wife's killer; the plot presents these events backwards for dramatic and artistic effect. My claim is that Nolan is really good at thinking of a captivating plot, but he is not as good at fleshing out the layers of a good story.
In the case of Inception (and I won't go too in depth because that is not my main point here), the concepts such as totems, architects, and the concept of inception itself, seem intriguing on the surface, but as soon as they're done furthering the plot, they are dropped. We never find out anything more about Ariadne's totem (or much more about dream architecture once its existence as a concept is done explaining her presence); we never find out how long all of this dream stuff has been around (Mal supposedly invented the use of the totem, but if this thing has a long and storied history, you would think someone else would have needed to keep a grasp on reality); and we never find out anything about the other characters beyond their functions on Cobb's team. To those of you who use these facts to support your stupid "it's all a dream" theory, I say BOO. Even if it was a dream (which, I maintain, would be a cop out), I believe that it is important for a movie to have depth beyond what happens on screen -- more story, less plot.
The dream bit actually brings me around to my real point here. Interestingly enough, I had the pleasure of seeing 8 1/2 again last night. Great film. For once Ebert and I agree when he said that it's the best film about filmmaking. Hands down. Anyway, my main thesis here is that I think Fellini did the dreaming Christopher Nolan was aiming for, both achieving more of a dreamlike quality (one popular critique of Inception), and more successfully incorporating all those rules Nolan beats into you during all of that futile exposition. (Again, I think it's flawed, but still great.)
8 1/2 focuses on Guido, a middle-aged film director who is struggling to make the movie he's always wanted. It is a metafilm adventure, as we discover that the project described therein that is supposedly doomed to fail by all of his colleagues in the picture is eerily similar to the very film we are watching. Guido wrestles with his subconscious to figure out what he believes about love, what his life really means, and what those around him mean to him. It is personal in every sense of the word, first and foremost because we automatically assume in the first minutes of the film that the director portrayed must bear some resemblance to the real and famous Italian director, Fellini himself, and secondarily due to the behind-the-scenes look we get at Guido's varied relationships, his director's-block, and how each of them affect his work. But perhaps most personal is the fact that we dream with Guido and not only witness how the film's events affect his work, but also how they affect his subconscious. More accurately, we witness how his subconscious affects his work--even more plainly, his subconscious is the work. Thus, dreaming is a very important element to the film, and the common ground between this and Nolan's latest piece.
Returning to Inception for a bit, Nolan sets out several rules in the beginning his film that are supposed to alert the viewer and the dream invaders that they are in a dream world, and that the subconscious is alive, well, and ready to turn on the intruders. Rules range from keeping tabs on others around you (the more everyone looks at you, the more their subconscious is aware of your presence, a sign that you have tampered with too much), to staying abreast of how you arrived at your current position (a sign that you are probably in a dream), to being aware of the either the "kick" or death as some of the only ways you can forcibly get out of the dream state. Nolan lays out these rules and tips as Cobb introduces Ariadne to the world of extraction.
I would claim that, while one film predates the other by 50 years, Fellini adheres to similar rules of the unconscious/subconscious. Better yet, he teaches these rules of the dream world to the viewer by throwing them into the fray instead of giving googobs of exposition. We follow Guido seamlessly in and out of the dream world, unsure of how we arrived or where we are. Guido's dreams, like the film itself, are ripe subconscious material, ripped straight from the events of his life, past, present, and future, and holding important clues for interpretation, much like the dreams the extractors probe in their work. The eye contact of those who populate Guido's world is also an interesting characteristic of his subconscious. They stare at him (and us) with an unnaturally steady gaze, prying into his motives and desires, and, like Nolan's extractors, trying to discover what his deepest secrets are.
Throughout the movie, Guido tries to interpret his own dreams to answer his questions about making his film while battling his personal life on the side. The two intermingle until he has a realization that. Cobb, too, struggles to find a balance between his work and his personal life, and he also comes to an intermingling conclusion. While the protagonists have many similarities, it's the directors in my mind who differ in their storytelling styles. There is a subtlety that Nolan could learn from Fellini that I think is highlighted in their dreamscapes. The ease with which Fellini glides through 8 1/2 underscores the harmony between story and plot; perhaps this was because the story was so personal to the director. Nolan really told a great plot in Inception, but, for me, the transitions were rocky and drew attention to the incongruity between the story and plot. Inception is an undoubtedly an entertaining film that gets people talking and thinking, but when it comes to the better dreamer, I maintain that Fellini's got him beat.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
It's how you f***ing play the game
I love sports. More specifically, I love baseball, football, tennis (admittedly the only sport I play semi-regularly), and hockey. And every four years, I love soccer.
I don't get it when people say they don't get soccer. What's not to get? It's pretty much one of the simplest games in the world: ball, your side, my side, keep away. You either do, or you don't. But rules aside, one of the things I like about soccer, especially the World Cup, is that it's a game for the whole world. I think it's really cool that there's this simple game that doesn't take a lot of money, that kids all over the world with whatever quality of equipment are playing right now, and are pretty kick-ass at it. But, I suppose it's that high school-era socialist in me that's talking.
Really, though, what I love about World Cup soccer along with most of my other favorite sports is that there's always room for surprises. I'm one of those fans who most of the time ends up cheering for the underdog. But it's not just the principle of the thing. Sure-fire wins always seem so boring to me. Blowouts hold none of my interest. Of course, I can always get into the excitement of an individual game. A game in and of itself of any kind can almost always be interesting. But in the scheme of things, there's a little less heart, and it leaves me a little more bored than I would have been otherwise.
This World Cup, I was cheering for the underdog the whole way. First I cheered for the post-colonial teams (and America, of course, which I'm not counting as "post-colonial" because we held colonies of our own at one point) in celebration of the equality of the sport, that they, too, have their own superstars and hopefuls and achievers. After they all died out I rooted for the New World over the Old. Sure, my teams have lost, but they all put up a commendably good fight, and it was totally worth it. I thought all of the teams played quite well, and I really enjoyed the heart-wrenching matches, especially when it came to Uruguay vs. Ghana. What a game. I hope the Netherlands wins over Germany. (So I guess that means I'm temporarily cheering for Germany. Just one game. For you, DG.)
Anyway, to broaden my point, as I told SM today, I think that's one thing I love about my Minnesota Twins. Sometimes it's annoying that they're often inconsistent, and that their first and second halves of seasons often differ, but even in their good years, they're rarely dominant. In their good years, they're solid. In baseball, you've got to be solid. That's what wins. I don't want a dominant team. They would bore me.* Fortunately, baseball itself is rarely boring in that way: there will always be surprises in baseball. Fuck the perfect season.** It doesn't exist. As S pointed out, the 2001 Mariners had the best record in history (46 losses), but they lost in the playoffs to the Yankees. Even the Yankees, the most winningest franchise in baseball history (besides the Giants), have had one some of the best seasons in the AL and have lost in the playoffs a bunch of times.*** Lastly, think of all the wild-card teams that have gotten to or won the World Series: nothing is certain. And it's beautiful.
As S and I agreed today, evenly-matched teams are always going to be the most exciting to watch. But don't just depend on those stats. Sure, sometimes it's the superstars who make the difference; sometimes, though, it's the who's on the field against whom, in what order, to what rhythm; and sometimes it's just how badly the players want it. But the best part is that we never quite know until the end just how all of that is going to play out.
*I hate the Yankees.
**Obviously, American football's 16-game season can be impressively perfect, and I still love it. Having fewer games definitely puts more on the line during each game, but surprises still make for the Best Games Ever. See Super Bowl XLII, 2008, Giants vs. Patriots. OMFG.
***Muahahahaha.
I don't get it when people say they don't get soccer. What's not to get? It's pretty much one of the simplest games in the world: ball, your side, my side, keep away. You either do, or you don't. But rules aside, one of the things I like about soccer, especially the World Cup, is that it's a game for the whole world. I think it's really cool that there's this simple game that doesn't take a lot of money, that kids all over the world with whatever quality of equipment are playing right now, and are pretty kick-ass at it. But, I suppose it's that high school-era socialist in me that's talking.
Really, though, what I love about World Cup soccer along with most of my other favorite sports is that there's always room for surprises. I'm one of those fans who most of the time ends up cheering for the underdog. But it's not just the principle of the thing. Sure-fire wins always seem so boring to me. Blowouts hold none of my interest. Of course, I can always get into the excitement of an individual game. A game in and of itself of any kind can almost always be interesting. But in the scheme of things, there's a little less heart, and it leaves me a little more bored than I would have been otherwise.
This World Cup, I was cheering for the underdog the whole way. First I cheered for the post-colonial teams (and America, of course, which I'm not counting as "post-colonial" because we held colonies of our own at one point) in celebration of the equality of the sport, that they, too, have their own superstars and hopefuls and achievers. After they all died out I rooted for the New World over the Old. Sure, my teams have lost, but they all put up a commendably good fight, and it was totally worth it. I thought all of the teams played quite well, and I really enjoyed the heart-wrenching matches, especially when it came to Uruguay vs. Ghana. What a game. I hope the Netherlands wins over Germany. (So I guess that means I'm temporarily cheering for Germany. Just one game. For you, DG.)
Anyway, to broaden my point, as I told SM today, I think that's one thing I love about my Minnesota Twins. Sometimes it's annoying that they're often inconsistent, and that their first and second halves of seasons often differ, but even in their good years, they're rarely dominant. In their good years, they're solid. In baseball, you've got to be solid. That's what wins. I don't want a dominant team. They would bore me.* Fortunately, baseball itself is rarely boring in that way: there will always be surprises in baseball. Fuck the perfect season.** It doesn't exist. As S pointed out, the 2001 Mariners had the best record in history (46 losses), but they lost in the playoffs to the Yankees. Even the Yankees, the most winningest franchise in baseball history (besides the Giants), have had one some of the best seasons in the AL and have lost in the playoffs a bunch of times.*** Lastly, think of all the wild-card teams that have gotten to or won the World Series: nothing is certain. And it's beautiful.
As S and I agreed today, evenly-matched teams are always going to be the most exciting to watch. But don't just depend on those stats. Sure, sometimes it's the superstars who make the difference; sometimes, though, it's the who's on the field against whom, in what order, to what rhythm; and sometimes it's just how badly the players want it. But the best part is that we never quite know until the end just how all of that is going to play out.
*I hate the Yankees.
**Obviously, American football's 16-game season can be impressively perfect, and I still love it. Having fewer games definitely puts more on the line during each game, but surprises still make for the Best Games Ever. See Super Bowl XLII, 2008, Giants vs. Patriots. OMFG.
***Muahahahaha.
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