Awwww yeah. This is the real stuff right here.

This time we’ve got the story of how a guy called James, nay, Smith (You’d think that they wouldn’t use the take where they messed up his name on the first try) went to America and invented basketball, apparently as a way to entertain all the moustachioed dudes with suspenders. Right on. As I’ve mentioned before, all I really want from these Parts of My Heritage is for them to be embedded into my brain so that I can reference them throughout my life. Well, we’ve got referencability coming out all over the place in this one. “But I need these baskets back,” alone is but several other lines are suitably memorable. Oh, and also the music is pretty sweet. Plus, basketball apparently had tackling and a vastly more comical form of dribbling? I totally approve, pretty much all around.

This one goes all the way. A classic that totally deserves Five out of Six Pieces of PDR’s Reviewing System Cake. But who is the dude watching Peach Basket guy retrieve the ball?

Over this last week I have purchased seven DVDs from Blockbuster locations that are dying here in Halifax. Now, I love my DVD collection and its extensiveness, (as shown in this here not even up-to-date list) so I am quite pleased to be adding to it for the first time in quite a while.

That said, with every DVD I add to the collection I also add to my annoyance, because I know I shouldn’t have a DVD collection at all. At the place where human technological development is, there is simply no need for it. Ideally all the movies (and music and so on) would be kept in a vast repository online where we could all see the movies we want, when we want. These physical copies of the movies that I so enjoy are entirely pointless. And yet I still like them. It’s rough being a greatly self-contradictory fellow.

Of course, when DVDs are finally an obsolete technology, this collection is going to seem like a lot of wasted time and effort.

(For the record, I’ve just realized that one of my new seven DVDs is Fullscreen. I didn’t even know they still had those.)

Why is it exactly that this song…

…which undeniably rocks in live performances can be so dull in the album version. I’ve got both on my computer and when it is playing random musics at me and the album version comes up, it just makes me sad. Sad because I know how good the song can actually be.

But that’s not actually what I came here today to talk about. Obviously, I’m here to give advice to the Catholic Church.

I’ve heard a lot over the last decade about “fast-tracking” people to sainthood (most recently John Paul II) to please the masses and create more modern examples of holiness or whatever they’re up to. The problem is, for Catholics to get to be a saint you have to be canonized, and that involves having to have been documented doing miracles after they die. That, I have to say, is pretty hard and to get these miracles documented, sometimes they come up with some pretty lame ones. And that cheapens miracles a bit. Plus, if saints are meant to be people we aspire to be like, most of us are probably never going to do any genuine Magic-Style miracles.*

I propose that, when I’m Pope in a hypothetical situation wherein I am Pope, the whole thing will just be a List of People We Think Are Pretty Awesome. You don’t need to do miracles for that. You just need to be Pretty Awesome. It’s hard to encourage the masses to do miracles. It’s not as hard to promote general awesomeness.

*Of course, I think all you wonderful people are capable of Everyday-Style miracles. That falls under the Awesomeness banner.

A message for radio stations: When you come in between the songs to tell us that you don’t interrupt the songs, you have interrupted the songs. That is all.

Why are there so many sitcoms set in radio stations, but I can’t think of one set in a graveyard.

Okay, so sure, I’ve been like double my already high usual levels of both “self-hatred” and “hating my job” because this month sucks more than typical at work. I’ve beat myself up for not getting a closer look at a cat and I’ve beat myself up for locking myself out of my apartment (see my last two posts) and that’s the just stuff I hate myself for that I remembered to post about. At least the lockout thing I can find funny because it was a way of shaking up dull routine, but it still took several hours of my time. I’ve also been sleeping fitfully at best and getting less reading done at work. So anyway, I’m not spending as much time doing things I’d like to do is what I am trying to use this paragraph to say.

So one day this week I woke up late and watched the Daily Show and Colbert as I am wont to do and then turned on my music and prepared to do whatever it is I do with my days, but then I realized the time and that I needed to get ready for work sharpish. I muttered to myself “No one told me when to run, I missed the starting gun” and people with good taste will recognize that is a line from “Time” by Pink Floyd, an awesome song about the passage of time bringing us all closer to death.

Within ten seconds of my quoting this, the clamorous opening to the song begins on my computer. It was on random, so there was no way I am aware of that I could have subconsciously picked up that it was next. It was a pretty sweet coincidence, but I didn’t think so much of it that I would have bothered to post about it here.

Tonight, at work, during a rather dull moment I got the assistants to watch things while I went into the office to get a head start on the paperwork I had to do at the end of the night. In the office I had a radio playing tuned to a local station. As soon as I sat down I realized Time was playing, which reminded me of the previous occurrence. It was a pretty easy night at work so there were literally a dozen or more times when the operation was smooth enough that I could have gone off to do that and I chose the one time that Time was playing. Pretty neat.

So anyway, ruling out the possibility that I have just developed some sort of unconscious prescience relating only to that one song, I am left with the option that the Song is Following Me. If the universe is using the song in an attempt to cheer me up, I thank it, but couldn’t it maybe choose a song that is not about Exactly What Is Depressing Me? If the universe is trying to mock me… okay then yeah, good choice.

For posterity’s sake I will point out that at the actual end of the night when I was finishing the paperwork they played Wish You Were Here, another Pink Floyd song which, while melancholy, does not cut so deep into specifics with me. And I love that one too. Clearly Q104 is the station to go for for Pink Floyd, I guess. Not that they don’t play plenty of crap in between.

Anyway, the time is gone, the post is over… thought I’d something more to say…