The l33t effect in salary capped sports, and to a lesser degree uncapped sports, in America is a shame. It has nothing to do with LeBron as a person, or his mental toughness, or what he does in "winning" time, or crunch time, or whether or not he steps up in big moments, or is "passive", or whatever. The only thing it has to do with is the perception that you have to, absolutely have to be paid requisite to your abilities and relative to your peers at all times and to do anything less would be an admission of some kind of failing in your skill set, relative to everyone else playing the same game, and is absolutely unacceptable.
I mean, I get it: professional athletes are competitive in every aspect of their game and it makes sense that the competitive "I am the best, I will get the best" mentality bleeds over into other aspects of their lives. I wasn't terribly shocked when Tiger Woods slept with other women. The guy's a competitor. Were you really shocked back in the day when Tanya paid that guy to smash Nancy's leg with a hammer? Did I get those names in the right order? I hope I'm remembering that correctly. Anyway, when athletes do ridiculous things, why is anyone terribly shocked? 9/10ths of their lives is spent growing up in their sport and continuing that sport on an adult level against other people who have devoted the greater parts of their lives to the same game would, could, and does warp them with respect to 9 to 5 human beings who don't do what they love (not even close) and who haven't been doing it since they were old enough to... I dunno... carry a plate from the kitchen to their table and back when they were done eating.
What I've been thinking is that the LeBron effect basically makes it harder to win as a team, rather than easier. Maybe call it the A-Rod effect, or don't. That wouldn't be all that accurate as there aren't salary caps in baseball. You can throw away as much money as you want depending on your market. It's still there though, but a shadow of what it is in capped sports. In salary capped leagues the ultra l33t athlete effect is real. Basically, you are awesome. Well, I should start off by saying "this is where it starts." So, basically, you are awesome at what you do. Top twenty in the country. In the top fifty human beings on the face of the Earth at whatever thing it is that you do.
However, the only way you get to do it, is by signing on with a team and the team only has so much money to spend. On top of that, there is already an established amount of money everyone else who can't do it as well as you gets paid. So you have to be paid more because you're better than them. It'd be like a CEO of a grocery store being paid bagger money. The money establishes, or rather, confirms hierarchy. Pay grades are like school grades in that way. The problem arises when you are so good that a team has to pay you so much money that there is none left to pay the baggers or cashiers or maintenance staff and the grocery store eventually folds, but damn there was a good CEO leading them straight into the ground. You could take less money, but taking less money would be the same as saying "I'm not the best at what I do and I want to acknowledge it publicly."
The super l33t effect basically rots out the infrastructure, completely blows it out. So as contracts inflate, the model of a few super l33ts surrounded by dreck grows less and less tenable. I guess what I'm getting at is this: every time something goes wrong with the Miami Heat NBA team and the finger pointing starts up, I cringe a little bit. It is a no win situation for that team and everyone involved. If they do eventually win a championship or two, it will be great, but I think it will be the last time, at least for the foreseeable future, that any general manager will make moves that will eat the massive majority of their available folding money on a massive minority of their players (the elite few on the team). It's a bit ridiculous. It's a self perpetuating system. If LeBron could take less money to bring in a better supporting cast, would he? I guess that's up for debate too. But, we'll never know. So screw it.
Either way, athletes are paid way too much money regardless. Average people aren't paid enough. And God, if he exists, is a Steelers fan. That is all.
Clean with alcohol only. Do not attempt to replace blown fuses. Do not remove access panels. Return to certified mechanic for regular maintenance. Made in the USA.
Showing posts with label god. Show all posts
Showing posts with label god. Show all posts
5/16/12
3/23/12
But Really the Moral Is
The moral of the story is if someone offers to make you french toast and you just met them at a bar, the chances are pretty good that there will be no french toast at any point in the upcoming hours and what they really wanted went so far over your star eyed head to begin with that you probably should have just stayed home and had french toast on your own. And for that matter, why would you even go out if french toast was what you wanted to begin with. And attendant, if you are turning conversation toward food at a bar at 1 A.M., why would you believe anyone would take it any way besides having breakfast for dinner.
I don't know who outsmarted whom. I do know "well, if there's not going to be any food, I think I'm going to go" is probably the most awkward exit line in the history of exit lines. Probably right up there with the food poisoning excuse and the "I'm tired, I think I'm going to go to bed" excuse when there is a bed not ten feet away from you at their place.
It wasn't that strange of a night though. I did a lot of dream hunting. The hard part is disconnecting from yourself to a degree that will allow the prey to make an appearance and still be equipped well enough to make the kill. Like playing chess against yourself. It takes skill to make that sort of divide between consciousness and unconsciousness.
I had the shakes all day. The stupid and silly repetitiousness of motor action. The thing is, it's not stupid or silly, but necessary. Very really necessary. Very nearly. Part of it was tracking time. Part of it was sonar. Part distraction so I wouldn't have to think too much about time and space. The knock knock go of music in lieu of music. It got better and then worse and then better. The never ending search for answers. In lieu of. The important thing is I washed my hair for the first time in a while and that was an achievement because washing my hair takes forever. On the scale of 1/8th of a day dedication.
I am supremely disappointed at the failed hunt. But I will take another crack at it now that I know what I have to do. My scars have been itching more than usual. Someone asked me what happened to my face. It's all history. The local bar opened up again after the drug sting with some new bits and pieces, but it is essentially the same place with some new jerk wads there who saw the sign out front, I guess, and thought "aw yeah, a new bar", but it's the same bar. Exactly the same except for them. I don't think they understand that. Understand that the only thing new about it is them. Which is fine. I just hope they move on sooner than later so I can get a damn game of eight ball in without having to ask to be cued into their relationship roulette.
Things are going to get weird tomorrow. Not because I want them to, but because they're not going to work any other way so you embrace the weirdness, after a fashion. A familiar clip.I'm getting closer to something. I made some art today. I almost started to read a book in my spare time. I am trying to turn that almost into an already. I still have to pierce my ears and my eyebrow. Things aren't stacking up though. Not the way they used to. Now they're just roads waiting to be walked and sometimes I stand still.
Carnival is rolling around. Basically a reunion. I don't know who wants to avoid me. I want to see all of them, but knowing who wants to avoid you helps to make things easier to handle. Expectory. It's like a rectory of memories that maps outcomes over logic trees and points, graphically, to ends. It's not a place any more than a chalk board or map is a place, but it places places.
I don't know what I am going to do when I find him.Not exactly. I am going to try to bring back a trophy, if at all possible. It's a big world in there, though. A lot of places to hide to say the least. I've never been in the active position before. Then again, I've rarely had to be. There was nothing so assiduously beyond my control there to warrant active eradication. There were instances and events there I had nothing to do with (the war, the dust storm, the heart discovery, the mass migration, the shopping cart cats, the end of fossil fuels, the underground train system's metastasis, the rise of loose villainy) that I tried to roll with. Varying levels of success and confusion abiding. This is, this is different. Like getting hacked from the inside. Tampered with. Abused all over again. So we go back to war.
Summer is coming. You can smell it in the air. I want to look forward to it. I don't know when or why summer's prospect began to touch me in a bad way. Summer makes people do untoward things. It's like a full moon that last for four months. And then dies in your arms just when you've gotten to know and appreciate each other. Summer makes everyone want and try to win time. But it's just grass. Grass and leaves and yard work and half faked memories of times that didn't quite materialize the way they do in movies, but everyone thinks that this year is the year they do. The days are long and the nights are short and everything is hot as hell and restless. Restless so bad you would take your skin off if you could.
Everything that should not be alive comes to and slow wakes through spring. Houses start to breath and crack and groan in the night and the trees start to laugh. The ground gets soft and wet and comfortable and everyone brings out there best and worst outfits and nobody where's appropriate footwear and it all makes me so damn nervous. Do I look, do I not look, and for that matter what the hell am I looking at or for. The cattle train does it's dance and everyone wants to mate and sweat soaked nights turn into a search for steel sharp enough to cut through the bullshit bandied. When you're inside you want to be out and when you're out you want to be inside. And you can't wear a spacesuit when it get's that damn hot and you can't hide your face either without sweating harder than a crook at a creek with a dead body in a trash bag and locals fishing, eyes peeled at the water ahead. It's tough to deal. Everything with half an ounce of soul comes alive like it'll get into heaven if it breaths hard enough.
I just have to calm down, you know? Not just say we're going to get through this, but believe the words that I am saying to myself. Believe in the next step. Understand again that, yes, summer is going to maul my heart like a cat with a wad of toilet paper, and tear me up in ways familiar and ways I will learn anew, and not be afraid of the ... pain. Maybe this is the iteration it works out okay? That's always out there too.
I've been shaky all day. Needing to swap bodies. Bad command lines. Bad time code. But not bad everything. Some good, you know? I never know how to answer questions. The shakes. But maybe this is the summer that makes good.
///Dntel - "Rock My Boat" ...I wonder if you were alright...
I don't know who outsmarted whom. I do know "well, if there's not going to be any food, I think I'm going to go" is probably the most awkward exit line in the history of exit lines. Probably right up there with the food poisoning excuse and the "I'm tired, I think I'm going to go to bed" excuse when there is a bed not ten feet away from you at their place.
It wasn't that strange of a night though. I did a lot of dream hunting. The hard part is disconnecting from yourself to a degree that will allow the prey to make an appearance and still be equipped well enough to make the kill. Like playing chess against yourself. It takes skill to make that sort of divide between consciousness and unconsciousness.
I had the shakes all day. The stupid and silly repetitiousness of motor action. The thing is, it's not stupid or silly, but necessary. Very really necessary. Very nearly. Part of it was tracking time. Part of it was sonar. Part distraction so I wouldn't have to think too much about time and space. The knock knock go of music in lieu of music. It got better and then worse and then better. The never ending search for answers. In lieu of. The important thing is I washed my hair for the first time in a while and that was an achievement because washing my hair takes forever. On the scale of 1/8th of a day dedication.
I am supremely disappointed at the failed hunt. But I will take another crack at it now that I know what I have to do. My scars have been itching more than usual. Someone asked me what happened to my face. It's all history. The local bar opened up again after the drug sting with some new bits and pieces, but it is essentially the same place with some new jerk wads there who saw the sign out front, I guess, and thought "aw yeah, a new bar", but it's the same bar. Exactly the same except for them. I don't think they understand that. Understand that the only thing new about it is them. Which is fine. I just hope they move on sooner than later so I can get a damn game of eight ball in without having to ask to be cued into their relationship roulette.
Things are going to get weird tomorrow. Not because I want them to, but because they're not going to work any other way so you embrace the weirdness, after a fashion. A familiar clip.I'm getting closer to something. I made some art today. I almost started to read a book in my spare time. I am trying to turn that almost into an already. I still have to pierce my ears and my eyebrow. Things aren't stacking up though. Not the way they used to. Now they're just roads waiting to be walked and sometimes I stand still.
Carnival is rolling around. Basically a reunion. I don't know who wants to avoid me. I want to see all of them, but knowing who wants to avoid you helps to make things easier to handle. Expectory. It's like a rectory of memories that maps outcomes over logic trees and points, graphically, to ends. It's not a place any more than a chalk board or map is a place, but it places places.
I don't know what I am going to do when I find him.Not exactly. I am going to try to bring back a trophy, if at all possible. It's a big world in there, though. A lot of places to hide to say the least. I've never been in the active position before. Then again, I've rarely had to be. There was nothing so assiduously beyond my control there to warrant active eradication. There were instances and events there I had nothing to do with (the war, the dust storm, the heart discovery, the mass migration, the shopping cart cats, the end of fossil fuels, the underground train system's metastasis, the rise of loose villainy) that I tried to roll with. Varying levels of success and confusion abiding. This is, this is different. Like getting hacked from the inside. Tampered with. Abused all over again. So we go back to war.
Summer is coming. You can smell it in the air. I want to look forward to it. I don't know when or why summer's prospect began to touch me in a bad way. Summer makes people do untoward things. It's like a full moon that last for four months. And then dies in your arms just when you've gotten to know and appreciate each other. Summer makes everyone want and try to win time. But it's just grass. Grass and leaves and yard work and half faked memories of times that didn't quite materialize the way they do in movies, but everyone thinks that this year is the year they do. The days are long and the nights are short and everything is hot as hell and restless. Restless so bad you would take your skin off if you could.
Everything that should not be alive comes to and slow wakes through spring. Houses start to breath and crack and groan in the night and the trees start to laugh. The ground gets soft and wet and comfortable and everyone brings out there best and worst outfits and nobody where's appropriate footwear and it all makes me so damn nervous. Do I look, do I not look, and for that matter what the hell am I looking at or for. The cattle train does it's dance and everyone wants to mate and sweat soaked nights turn into a search for steel sharp enough to cut through the bullshit bandied. When you're inside you want to be out and when you're out you want to be inside. And you can't wear a spacesuit when it get's that damn hot and you can't hide your face either without sweating harder than a crook at a creek with a dead body in a trash bag and locals fishing, eyes peeled at the water ahead. It's tough to deal. Everything with half an ounce of soul comes alive like it'll get into heaven if it breaths hard enough.
I just have to calm down, you know? Not just say we're going to get through this, but believe the words that I am saying to myself. Believe in the next step. Understand again that, yes, summer is going to maul my heart like a cat with a wad of toilet paper, and tear me up in ways familiar and ways I will learn anew, and not be afraid of the ... pain. Maybe this is the iteration it works out okay? That's always out there too.
I've been shaky all day. Needing to swap bodies. Bad command lines. Bad time code. But not bad everything. Some good, you know? I never know how to answer questions. The shakes. But maybe this is the summer that makes good.
///Dntel - "Rock My Boat" ...I wonder if you were alright...
8/4/10
Golfcart Flamingo Logo
=_= very tired. The state of perpetual collapse that plagues my absolutely fucking retarded family life had me so angry and out of sorts I literally could not function and then the wonderful flip side of that situation was that I've been erased by someone I thought was a best friend (more about that later) so I had the unique pleasure of getting fucked from every direction at once. So its back on the smokes, collar up, stiff upper lip, and into that fucking wind.
This is what I managed to accomplish in a few hours of dedicated work when the bewilderment calmed down.
Three more to go. Dear god, if you're out there... please don't shit on me again today. I like getting work done. You aren't helping so just stay the fuck out of my way, okay? Thanks.
///El-P - "The League of Extraordinary Nobodies" '...and we haven't even gotten to the part where it's a joke..."
This is what I managed to accomplish in a few hours of dedicated work when the bewilderment calmed down.
Three more to go. Dear god, if you're out there... please don't shit on me again today. I like getting work done. You aren't helping so just stay the fuck out of my way, okay? Thanks.
///El-P - "The League of Extraordinary Nobodies" '...and we haven't even gotten to the part where it's a joke..."
8/20/09
you know what's weird
masturbating and having old bible hymns come to mind while youre doing it. thats whats weird. that and sex toys for guys. that and reviews for sex toys for guys... reviews that say things like "oh my god, my husband loves this, he cums in minutes." no offense to that guy, but sticking my member in a plastic sock with nubs on the inside dont zactly feel da same as that other thing i like to do... let alone using my hands. well... that and a pill for women to make them want to have sex more. does that count as date rape if you drug someone with a pill to make them want to have sex? is this a surprised rabbit !! or is it two exclamation points next to a quizzical rabbit !! ?? i mean if someone wants to have drinks to loosen up isnt it just better to skip the hangover give them a pill rolled up in a piece of cheese take them home and wait for them to turn on like a light switch? like a clap on. minus the clap. and clapping. maybe slapping. probably slapping. of hands. well thats fucking weird. that and religion. makes no sense. how is it that religious discussion seems to be on the reverse side of sexual discussion. religion is masturbation for the soul. masturbation is religion for the heart. and worship is just stupidity and insecurity rolled up into a tidy package called faith.
thats whats weird.
///yeong wook jo - "farewell, my lovely" i wish yeong would work for free so i could have him orchestrate the irreversible and gut twisting moments in my life. the man has an ear for beauty like you can only find in a family photo album that has pictures of you before you found out that not everyone's parents beat them hard enough to miss school.
thats whats weird.
///yeong wook jo - "farewell, my lovely" i wish yeong would work for free so i could have him orchestrate the irreversible and gut twisting moments in my life. the man has an ear for beauty like you can only find in a family photo album that has pictures of you before you found out that not everyone's parents beat them hard enough to miss school.
12/2/05
i am not anna nicole smith 12/02/05
Subject : I am not anna nicole smith
Posted Date: : Dec 2, 2005 6:37 PM
She is white. I am black. Our similarities pretty much end there. She attempted to make a living with her acting and endless breast enhancements (to the point where she could literally use her tits for extra shelving or a convenient t.v. dinner tray holder or even a nice crevase for catching stray crumbs when eating crunch n munch popcorn while jetting through the l.a. freeways), and only ended up alieniating every living person on the face of the earth except maybe david hasselhoff and a few perverted little kids who had no concept of what a beautiful woman really is anyway. then again david hasselhoff isnt really a person so that leaves like .000000001 percent of the population who could look at her and have thoughts other than murder/divine punishment/"retribution-for-womens-rights-though-i-am-a-die-hard-chauvanist" come to mind.
when she realized she couldnt act and no one was interested in seeing her, naked or clothed, she went gold digging with some dude 63 years her senior who died a year or so after they got hitched. I on the other hand am not banking on anything else except my ability to land that hottie who may or may not happen to be 63 years my senior and even if she did die in the year after i got us hitched and my name in the will it would still be the best damn year she ever had, god damn it! yes, i plan on becoming filthy rich through essentially servicing an older woman, but at least its not a dude, and at least i have her pleasure in mind. when you break it down its like any other job: you put in your time until theyre gone and bam! its time to retire to mutha fuckin rio forever and shag all day and drink all night with a view of one of the most beautiful landscapes on earth.
i mean, consider the alternative: i could work in a nursing home and shag the patients and get nothing out of it but a tiny pay check and union security. now you tell me you wouldnt pick the able bodied old lady with a fat wallet and a horny sand box over that poor bed ridden shmoe who will probably get you fired after your night of illicit passion. hmmmm... tabloid super star > washed up nurses assistant any day if you ask me. anna nicole isnt even a tabloid superstar. She's a pathetic example of excess gone awry and, sadly, very well documented through small distribution media that happens to be tabloidal in nature. she is a failure at life, where as i will be a resounding success because i will set out to do what i have always intended to do instead of pretending to be good at something im not by running around with two extra bald heads grafted to my chest.
$$$$ its all about the benjamins. plus i dont need any enhancing. that shits just shallow in that kind of extreme!
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