An eight-year-old boy has sparked an unlikely outcry in Sweden after failing to invite two of his classmates to his birthday party.
The boy’s school says he has violated the children’s rights and has complained to the Swedish Parliament.
The school, in Lund, southern Sweden, argues that if invitations are handed out on school premises then it must ensure there is no discrimination.
Um, what?
I’m pretty much against discrimination towards others in any form but I fear this crosses well into the realm of the absurd. Do you discriminate anytime you don’t invite everyone you come in contact with to a party you have? Could you even imagine doing that? It should be said that I’m not one of those “Hooray, let’s be friends with everyone!” types, so maybe this doesn’t register with me like it would with whoever wrote this crazy rule.
It seems to me though that equating not getting along with everyone to discrimination not only cheapens the meaning of the term “discrimination” but sets up an unrealistic world view for children – sometimes people just don’t get along. It sucks, but it’s part of life. That’s not to say I would ever condone bullying or fighting amongst kids, but this is almost going too far in the other direction (not that we don’t do anything like that on this side of the Atlantic).
You’re telling me I was discriminated against on every Valentine’s Day between 1992 and 1995, leading to my well-documented seething hatred of that holiday and all it stands for? Or that my failure to be invited to any Sweet 16’s (yes I am still very bitter about this) was a form of discrimination? Anti-Tino discrimination, right? Right! It all makes sense now. I wonder what the statute of limitations on legal action is, come to think of it…
I’m not one to tell Sweden or anyone in Sweden what to do and I genuinely enjoy the work of one Henrik Lundqvist (the poster on my wall agrees with me) but I fear my Swedish friends have strayed too far on the peace and love spectrum this time.
Scatterbrainitude is the word that best describes what I’m about to write. It’s going to get big as an adjective, so remember to tell everyone that you saw it here first when it’s asked about in some ridiculous VH1 pop culture game show a decade from now. It will mean: what happens when someone wants to talk about a few different things with no real cohesion or theme to be found anywhere. It will also be the title of my post-fame autobiography, Scatterbrainitude: The Life and Times of an Easily Distracted Boob and the subsequent movie where I will be portrayed by Brad Pitt on stilts. Here goes!
Talking on the phone more than I usually do recently has made me realize that I use the word “like” too much in conversation. For somebody that writes Pulitzer-level masterpieces as beautifully and articulately as I do (note to random readers: sarcasm), using the word “like” in every other sentence in conversation is a bit silly. I need to cut that shit out because I don’t need to sound like a 15 year old girl discussing like what a dreamboat the high school football captain is and how like it’s sooooo totally not her fault that she got a C in algebra and how like totally ridic it is that some girls are just totally unfashionable!!!! Bah. Well over the line between casual conversation and inarticulate blabber.
I always find it interesting and somewhat morbid that many on Facebook appear to rush to celebrate people in death. Before last week, none of my friends would’ve joined a Tim Russert fan group but he’s gone and – voila! Suddenly everyone admits that, yes, they do sometimes watch Meet the Press as opposed to Jackass. Same with George Carlin yesterday. Both were great losses and I’m not saying this is inherently wrong but it’s ironic to me that many people do more celebration of others in death than in life.
It turns out Mike and the Mad Dog might be done. I don’t listen to sports radio as much as I used to, and I tend to think both of them are now windbags (in particular on their show), but a certain part of me feels sad that something I listened to growing up (and that admittedly increased my interest in sports) may be over with. I’m not sure I’m totally cool with myself for feeling that way, either.
I submit to you that RoboCop was a sloppy but effective police officer. Also, did you know they almost made a Robocop vs. Terminator movie? I shit you not! Wikipedia even says so. Not sure whether I’m relieved or sad that this never happened.
I began an internship this past weekend by petitioning for a local candidate. Needless to say, the responses I got from people when I asked what their political party affiliation was were often downright depressing due to the level of apathy, ignorance, or even revulsion people had to the political process. If you continue to wonder why things don’t change one way or another you may want to take a look at your neighbor because odds are they don’t care. I’ll write more extensively about it some other time, for now though that’s all I have.
And with that, my stream of consciousness ends. For now, anyway.
Just as I realized this evening that the $140 million Mets were percentage points behind the Pittsburgh Pirates in the Wild Card race and I was getting ready to light myself on fire in front of Omar Minaya’s house in protest, Ron Darling and Gary Cohen began discussing the latest mentally unstable rant from baseball’s resident village idiot: Hank Steinbrenner. On Chien-Ming Wang getting injured on Sunday running the bases (and being out until at least September):
‘My only message is simple. The National League needs to join the 21st century,’ Steinbrenner said in Tampa, Fla. ‘They need to grow up and join the 21st century.
‘Am I (mad) about it? Yes,’ Steinbrenner added. ‘I’ve got my pitchers running the bases, and one of them gets hurt. He’s going to be out. I don’t like that, and it’s about time they address it. That was a rule from the 1800s.’
Besides the fact that this rant smacks of “Waaah! My toy got broken!” (Hank wasn’t so outspoken about the DH a few days ago), Cohen astutely pointed out that the American League did not adopt the DH until 1973 – well into the 20th century. Darling (himself a pitcher) noted that Wang’s injury could also be taken as a commentary on the athleticism of pitchers, presumably with tongue-in-cheek (although looking at this guy makes you wonder). I also bolded the “I” for a reason – Hank doesn’t like that the NL doesn’t use a DH so obviously, the NL is wrong.
The comment got me looking into the matter further. The DH has also not been the same infusion of offense for most American League teams that it has been in years past. Milton Bradley, surprisingly, has the highest OPS amongst qualified DH’s with only two other players breaking .800. A recent e-mail I received from the Yankees implied, rather laughably, that Hideki Matsui deserved the injured David Ortiz’s All-Star DH spot. In reality neither deserves it more than Bradley, although one wonders whether his reputation as something of a lunatic will cost him a spot on the roster (All-Star Games are awash in politics and favoritism when it comes to selecting players, making the entire debate over selection and their validity as Hall of Fame criteria downright absurd).
There’s also a theory that in recent years the DH has given the American League an advantage in interleague play as American League rosters are built for the inclusion of an additional hitter whereas few National League teams can afford the luxury of a bona-fide slugger on the bench for these games, like for example the New York Mets (oh, wait). I’d have to look further into this as my initial, somewhat lazy search for a study on the matter has come up empty, but it seems like fairly valid logic. Looking at how some DH’s have performed this season I wonder if that will hold true this year, although there’s something to be said for the potential lineup flexibility it provides a an American League team in its park.
Either way you look at it and whatever your rationale may be, it’s somewhat silly that such a rule difference exists between the two leagues and it probably should be settled one way or another. Don’t count on it, however. And please, don’t let Hank Steinbrenner’s whims play into the decision.
One of my least favorite dilemmas is that of “writer’s block”; to desire to express oneself through the written word only to find you have literally nothing to express at that moment. It’s pretentious of me to say that because it implies that I’m actually some kind of literary maven who makes a life for himself writing whatever nonsense I write here, but I do enjoy it.
Briefly, I considered writing a post mocking some of the literary atrocities that are the personal ads on Craigslist. I figured “Hey, why not become a caricature of my bitter miserable self and blast some dumb girls for their horrible spelling, grammar, and general lack of cogent thought!”. However, that might be going too far, even for a mean-spirited asshole like me. Besides, making fun of people who write listings with titles like “Be the sin too my city!!!” is like shooting fish in a barrel. With a bazooka.
Similarly, I also thought about using Craigslist as an experiment to see if “douchebag Tino” could outdo “regular, dork Tino” with the ladies (my feeling is: yes). I then realized that that would also be kind of mean and manipulative and that it’s sort of been done before, and probably better.
If you’re asking yourself “Why do you bother with Craigslist?” it’s precisely for this reason and none other. I confess that I did try the online dating scene rather unsuccessfully (surprise!), have in the past blasted eHarmony, and even wrote a bitter, ticked off letter on CL before that that got me into an argument with a good friend of mine. So I’ve been there and done that before. Besides that I’ve also come to realize a lot of people capitalize off the loneliness and desires of others and it isn’t worth getting caught up in anymore.
With that business out of the question, why not write about the New York Mets again? Because if the Mets were a dead horse that was getting beaten by the internet community, they’d be the glue on some little kid’s art project by now (oh, shit, maybe I should lay off the dead horse jokes for a while). All my venom over their current situation gets spewed out on internet forums and conversations with friends, anyway.
Now that I think of it, I did have a couple of revelations recently. For one, I’d rather pay $20 to go drink and hang out in the city than go to Port Jefferson or some other Long Island town. It’s the equivalent of a $20 cover to go to ten times as many places with one-tenth the desire to punch myself in the face or choke on Axe body spray.
On top of that, finding an old box of school-related junk in the attic proved amusing. I enjoy finding old notes from teachers telling my parents that I was “not attentive and disinterested” in my first grade class. Sixteen years later I wonder how much has changed. Also, if I could go back in time and slap my 1999 self in the face, I would.
As one of my undoubtedly loyal readers couldn’t wait to point out after my James Bond study, I don’t have much of a life. I’ve spent most of the past week holed up in my house, searching from afar for a new vehicle that will allow me to once again join the rest of the civilized world now that my pimpwagon is dead. I’ve kept myself busy with my Nintendo Wii, making sure that I added accurate depictions of Jean Luc Picard, Dr. Zoidberg and Ali G to my Mii collection. I’ve also been playing my new bass, and I literally spent an entire day reformatting the shitfest that was my computer’s hard drive. I know what you’re asking yourselves, and yes I am strapped in because my life is a one way ticket to the THRILL ZONE!!!!11!!1!1
Obviously, having a lot of free time also means that I’ve been watching a lot of sports, and that means a lot of New York Mets baseball – at least when my satellite dish isn’t crapping out like it was earlier in the week. I digress. Being a Mets fan is, as I’ve made it clear here many times, a completely infuriating and unsatisfying experience (not unlike my sex life AMIRITE?!?!?!?! HI-OHHHHH!!!). Uh, so anyway, last night’s loss to the San Diego’s Padres was a perfect example of what being a loyal Mets fan entails. Let me recap the game, for those fortunate enough to have not watched it.
Mike Pelfrey managed to allow only one run during his six innings on the mound thanks to the Padres’ absolutely horrid offense leaving approximately 147 men on base. Hence, despite a Mets offense that looked equally horrid last night, they at least had a chance to win the game as it was tied 1-1 going into the late innings. Having the Padres constantly threatening and the Mets not mounting much of a serious threat throughout, however, I sensed otherwise. By about midnight, the following rambling thought had entered my head:
“The Mets are definitely going to lose. This is going to be one of those bullshit West Coast games. It’s going to be tied going to the ninth, or going to extra innings, and they’re not going to score, and they’re going to lose and I’m going to have stayed up late and watched it and not get any sleep, and I have work tomorrow and I’m going to be tired and annoyed all day because I stayed up to watch this shit.”
So, guess what happened?
The Mets couldn’t score another run, and the left-handed train wreck (less of a train wreck this year, but still) Scott Schoeneweis entered the game in the ninth. Three walks (one intentional) later, the bases were loaded for future Hall of Famer Pete McAnulty. With one out Schoeneweis did what any horrible pitcher would do and hit McAnulty with a pitch, forcing home the game winning run at about 1:00 AM EST. The Padres celebrated and presumably conferred on what kind of gift basket to send Schoeneweis. I went off to bed with too few hours of sleep ahead of me.
Predictable? You bet. And I stayed up for all of it. Does that make me loyal or stupid?
When I’m sleep deprived, I tend to think the latter.
