Trophies are Jacked-Up

I am a basketball referee sometimes and today during an inconsequential consolation championship game award ceremony (ahem, lame) I started thinking about the origins of trophies and why the hell we have them. I enjoyed moderate success as a youth athlete and have a lot of awards, medals, etc. lying around that just seem pointless now. If anything, I would have preferred one super-sized trophy to commemorate my mad hustle and effort over all the years of playing basketball and soccer.

Anyway, I like to think the first trophy was something like the leg or an animal or perhaps a really bad ass rock. Neanderthal hunter/gatherers most likely had very simplistic ceremonies where they tied the said leg to a vine or something before hanging around Ugluck's neck. Nice rocks would have been status symbols and could have been used to decorate caves and other dwelling places.

If we are going to be giving out awards to participants, not even winners, of youth sports, maybe society should be more liberal in the delving out of awards for other things. For example, paying with the exact change say, 100 times, should result in getting a pin or fancy patch that one can put on his/her book bag. Maybe parking in between the lines and in only one space, even if you have a really nice and/or jacked up car, could lead to gas coupons or a published interview in the local paper. Likewise, being able to tell someone what, exactly, a bushel or peck is would garner a nice prize, too.

If I could re-write history, I think that instead of trophies, pinatas would be mainstream. That would be, quite literally, sweet. As long as the candy was as full of preservatives as everything else, you could just hang them around the house and every so often dropkick and/or punch one in the face to let of steam or earn a tasty treat. Word!

~The Artist Formerly Known As Don Quixote, more recently known as TAFKADQ (pronounce that, suckers).

Strangely, it works better than I had initially thought it would-- Taf-Kad-Cue, I love it!

The Wrongness of a Perfect Match

Alright, so amidst my reffing exploits this weekend, I came across something that pokes its head out from behind the fabric of normalcy once in a great while: the perfect matcher.

This guy looked like he was straight out o a low-budget white rapper's video. He was wearing the following, all adidas and all perfectly colour (go, Britannia!) coordinated.

Track jacket: Green with some stripes and whatnot, en vouge and pseudo hip-hopish.

Shoes: Adidas superstars with the middle green stripe on the shoes removed! Secondary colour (go, Britannia!) was green, as well. They were so white I had to look away, but I also did that to call a foul or something. I dunno, wasn't that focused.

Hat: Embroidered adidas trefoil logo (old school = awesome?), green of course.

Shirt: Surprise, surprise! Green adidas shirt.

Pants: Don't remember, maybe los jeans.

Anyway, I hate that look. The guy was a walking mannequin which, in theory and practice, scares the shit out of me. Mannequins are in that special creepiness category along with ventriloqist dummies and carnies, and also part-time professional clowns and some magicians. Keep your kids away, don't make extended eye contact and for the love of everything you hold sacred, do not give them a reason to talk to or at you. Yes, some clowns can be drunkards and yell a lot as a result. I know this because my brother parked cars for county fair patrons once.

Maybe it is just me, but wearing stuff that perfectly matches is... perfectly ridiculous! Get it the hell away from me. What's worse is that he probably got the idea from the same mannequin that 100 other pudgy guys with goatees did. Now we're one step away from an army of sameness that could rise up and smoke us in an instant.

Also, I think it'd be awesome if you were allowed to move people. Maybe enforce a set limit so you get around 3 moves per day, but it would be greta nonetheless. Is that even a word? Looks fake, like phone numbers ending in 9000. It would spice up life though.

Example: some guy is taking WAY too long to order a sub at Subway (happened to me today, it sucked). I would be able to throw him to the side and say "sorry sucker, I'm up!" It'd be radical. Oh, and you cannot move someone who just moved you. Another option: shove someone out of your way when trying to refill a beverage! Note: no moves can be used in the same vicinity as liquor. That'd be trouble. Pat kicked Paul down a flight of stairs, and I think it was because Paul was in his way.

Wasn't Zack Morris in high school for like 8 years? He was the original Van Wilder.

~Matthew

The Thumb War

Today I realized that the thumb is perhaps the most under appreciated part of the human body. Think about it-- it is basically the unanimous all-star of hand appendages. So here I am, trying to help that little chunk of a thing make a name for itself. Here's a quick definition:

thumb n. The short thick digit of the human hand, next to the index finger and opposable to each of the other four digits.

Now, men will agree that there are specific parts of the female form we are pseudo-connoisseurs of. You've got yor "ass men," "breast men," "leg men," the ever-so-picky "I like girls men," etc. Women are a bit more discerning, yes, but they usually dig one of the following more than the others when it comes to potential dating partners: Personality, money, hair, um calves... I dunno, really. Snuffaluffagus?

Think hard and realize this: No one out there exists who is unto thumbs. No one freaking cares about the thumb and it sickens me!

To use a sports analogy, the thumb is the offensive line of your hand's football team. Sure, Mr. Pointer is the stud quarterback all the toes, ie. women, are interested in. The ring finger is like the running back, who also happens to score a lot of toes off the field if you follow. Even the kicker, the tiny yet surprisingly strong pinky, gets ladies because he is semi-Euro and rocks the faux hawk like a champ when he isn't wearing a helmet. Of course, the middle finger is a big play wide receiver and has no trouble seducing toes with his bling and whatnot.

Then, we have the thumb. Grinding it out day in and day out, protecting the stars and getting no love. WE'D BE LOWER THAN MONKEYS (evolutionarily speaking) IF WE DIDN'T HAVE IT! So start taking care of him/her, the hustle has been there since day one.

As far as names go, "thumb" sucks. It rhymes with dumb and not much else. How do you think it feels about that?! The pointer finger is powerful and can flick stuff, hard. The middle finger, when used properly, becomes "flipping the bird" or saying "fuck you, man" to that guy who takes too long getting ketchup at a fast food place.

The thumb is critical in giving a thumbs-up, down, and the so-so sideways motions. It also plays a huge role in "hang lose" and "a-ok," which were very popular hand gestures in the early '90s.

Of course, it could be worse... toes don't even have names aside from the generic "big toe" and "little toe." Maybe I should start getting something worked into the legislature deigned to modify current school curriculum...

~Matt

Also, I am looking into adopting a parrot. I'd love to find a Senegal, though conures are great and I known of an eclectus names Simon that could be a good buddy to have around. Of course, nothing can happen until I move. Stay tuned for updates and PLEASE watch the following movies in the following sequence: "Rushmore," "The Royal Tenenbaums," "The Life Aquatic."