009: Sundays [and Sloppy Jane]

February 4, 2019

I don’t really understand the football. I tried to watch as a child, as a Christian homeschooled basically orphan, there was truly nothing more I wanted to do than fit in and have friends, but ultimately those desires clashed with my indoctrinated superiority complex I was blessed with. The internal struggle to care about football because everyone else in my social circle did versus the stance of the outcast that football was dumb and stupid was the main event in my brain every winter. The hill I chose to die on was lonely and high, but offered a great view of the masses cheering that amazing touchdown.

The Super Bowl is on, and I am trying to catch up on editing my own work, and the paid work, while having just done back to back 11 hour days at the studio job I have. I want to continue watching old WWF Superstars episodes from May 1992, my recent guilty pleasure and a throwback to a simpler time. When wrestling wasn’t about 5 star matches and being a fan meant being an outcast in society. Everyone wore Eagles or Steelers outfits on Sundays, but my weekends began and ended with that 11am Superstars program filled with squash matches and endearing but shameless hawking of merchandise. I wish I still had that Doink teddy bear.

Times have changed, I no longer forcibly don’t care about football, and you don’t get laughed at for being a wrestling fan. It may not be exactly “cool” to watch the squared circle soap opera, but then again, being “cool” isn’t even cool nowadays. Growing up, being cool or hip was literally everything that mattered to a young buck in the 90s. It is perhaps the first sign of maturity to see those things you raised high on pedestals as a youth, be thrown aside for newer, fresher values. And if not maturity, then at least a sign of world tenure.

I should stop procrastinating and get to work. The work that matters, some that will teach me the values of forethought and planning, and others that will inform me of where I stand as I continue to measure myself against the Masters of the business I choose as my current artistic dance partner. And after getting those results and reflecting on my inadequacies, the lesson I will no doubt surely learn again tonight, is that I should not compare myself to the others. For they are them, plentiful and loud, and I am who I am, for better or worse, on a hill hacking away at my own story.

Anywhos, here’s some Sloppy Jane pictures from Monday. They’re going on tour and you should go see them.