Shock of the Old

Goddamn playoffs

First of all, Kobe Bryant is a big crybaby pussy.  Seeing he could not shoot his way out of Game 7 of the Suns-Lakers series, he deliberately passed up shots in the second half and passed to his foundering teammates, so he could show the world that his team are a bunch of weak-ass chumps who could not close the deal when they were up 3-1.  Then he told his teammates not to shake hands with the Suns at the end of game 7. Boo hoo. Raja Bell made me look like a wiener. You've been MVPeed on, Kobe.

All the same, I have a ton of work to do (papers to grade, essays and blog posts to write, research to research, books to read), and no time for this non-sense.  And not only is there the Suns series, the Mavs-Spurs thing is getting interesting. Mavs could very well do it. They could. And all praise unto Dirk and Avery Johnson for doing so.

And don't even let me commence about Giro.

On the way home from work, I shall pick up a box of Wheaties with Steve Nash on the front.

Side effects include nausea, perspiration, sexual dysfunction, suicidal ideation.

Blog depression: the dawning realization of the disjunction between your perception of your blog, and its actual importance.
Bloggers should self-administer this cold douche of truth packaged in snarkiful whimsy about blogging.

About this blog:

I pulled the name Shock of the Old straight outta my ass. Nevertheless, I felt at the time that it had something to do with the burden of history, the past continually shaping the present. But really, the past is all there is. The future? Haven't a clue. The present? As soon as you indicate it, it's gone already. The only thing that is real is the past, and it's nothing but imperfect recollections of previous recollections.