Almost all of them were dark skinned. They were constantly running on the wood floor that was no more than 92 feet long and 49 feet wide. Everyone seemed to be chasing a spherical brown object that seemed to weigh no more than 1.4 pounds and had a circumference that was a touch less than 30 inches, 28.5, to be precise. Then, when it was all said and done, I saw the dark skinned men who were wearing white clothes celebrate (along with one unfortunate white man with a rooster-like hairdo who seemed like he was accidentally dipped in colored ink). For the life of me, I can’t figure out why it was so important to me that the dark skinned men who were wearing black clothes celebrated in the end. And when that did not happen, I was genuinely dismayed for about an hour. I don’t get it. What is my emotional stake in this? Why was I so invested? If I have this much surplus emotions, shouldn’t I be investing this on flood victims somewhere? James Gandolfini would have said “fuggedaboutit” – but right now, I can’t; unfortunately, Gandolfini can’t either. And that sucks.
Posted on: Fri, 21 Jun 2013 05:40:45 +0000
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