Proof

by anna on 07.15.2010

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proof

How, and when, do you just know things are true in life? Do you need proof? Or is proof just the thing that makes you feel better about relying upon the bits and pieces of stuff that your unconscious mind has picked up upon and processed to make a gut decision?

This is going to annoy people (and by people I mean Kerry) because I’m talking about basketball again. But only to make a point about something. It’s to do with how there are things going on around us, all the time, that we absorb . . . like pieces of the cultural imagination that we absorb without really realizing it. And they kind of influence us and how we make decisions or opinions, even when we don’t realize it. When I was in school I got used to reading culture in this way and I know it totally makes me sound like a blowhard but I’m saying it anyway: I still read everything like that now. I still look at things the way I did in graduate school, even if it’s just an episode of Fanboy and ChumChum. It’s not because I want to be a blowhard. It’s more like . . . a pathology. So anyway, a lot of times people will say that I’m reading into things. I’m used to that. Anyway.

As you might be aware, last week LeBron was to announce where he was going to play basketball in a big dog and pony shown on ESPN. And Mr. Right-Click and I had been discussing it, and I had announced rather authoritatively that he had to go to Miami. That there was no chance he was going anywhere else. That if he didn’t go to Miami, then he was not really serious about wanting to win an NBA Championship, and that he just wanted to be a big fish in a little pond, etc. After we found out that Chris Bosh had signed, then I was even more resolute in this thinking.

Chris Bosh's tweet

Mr. Right-Click, I think, was leaning toward him going to Miami as well, but wasn’t as certain as I was — the main reason being the eight player question (ie can they get 8 more players to get a full team with those salary restrictions — and incidentally, the answer to that, unfortunately for the Lakers, is starting to look like yes) and also the loyalty to Cleveland. And Mr. Right-Click, by the way, is a far more learned student of basketball than I. He has studied the game for the entirety of his life, and can cite games like Bible verses. So for him, watching a basketball game is like studying a text, but still he was not so sure about LeBron’s intentions, even if he thought that Miami did seem more likely than most of the other choices. I think he just wasn’t totally convinced.

where's lebron

Now, after the fact, and in the media chaos that ensued, things have started popping up that suggest that LeBron had always already intended to go to Miami. That — despite his claim to have made the final decision that morning — there have been rumors about a documentary being made about LeBron, Wade, and Bosh deciding to make the move to go to Miami. And that if you go back and piece through the media ephemera that is available on this, you can find bits and pieces that suggest the Miami decision was there all along. And that, if you had been looking for it, you could have seen this coming, months ago, because they really were not hiding it all that carefully, as it turns out. The charade of making it seem like a “decision” that we were in on was all a lie that was built up for PR hype, and one we could have figured out, if we had been paying attention.

Did I hear something that made me think LeBron was going to Miami? Not that I remember, certainly. Not consciously. But it made me wonder when I found out that there had been these slip ups. I definitely remember seeing LeBron take off his Cleveland jersey after losing to the Celtics in the Eastern Conference Finals, and there is no mistaking the symbolism involved in that act. What kind of arrogance is involved in thinking that nobody is paying enough attention to pick up on the clues to figure out a stunt of this magnitude? Or is it not arrogance, but just the assumption that by the time the cat is out of the bag and everybody has been traded, nobody will care when the decision was made, or whether what you said was true or not, because new jerseys will be sold and new teams will be formed with new tickets to be sold, regardless of whatever you’re talking about?

Maybe they’re right.

Most people aren’t paying attention. And even if they are paying attention, they won’t say anything about what seems like an inconsistency or something that requires further explanation or something that suggests less than plain dealing because the truth is, most people would rather not get involved. And to be honest, I understand why people would rather not get involved. It is kind of a pain in the ass to always be the one who gets involved. It sucks, in fact. Sometimes, I feel like I’m in a giant room full of people, and there’s somebody in the middle of the room acting like a jackass, and I’m sitting in the corner, looking around, thinking, “REALLY? None of you are going to say anything? SERIOUSLY?” And then, once again, I find myself saying something. And then, once again, I find myself having people hate me for it.

Sometimes, I’m the person in the middle of the room acting like a jackass, too. But the bitch of it is, nobody will say anything, because, umm, I’m the only one who does it. So that’s the flipside, I guess.

The other day on Twitter, I suggested that something another blogger said was inappropriate, and it made me question something this blogger had said had happened to their kid. I’ve thought about it a lot, and I’m not going to link to the post or even discuss what the issue is at length only because I don’t want the blogger’s kid to read this at some point and be hurt by it someday. I could be wrong, god knows, and also — worse — what if I’m right, and then not only does the blogger’s kid have to read about this but then they have to read about what all of these other people are saying about their mom and dear god how did I even become involved in any of this? In short, people, this post was originally a lot longer and made a lot more sense but I just cannot do it. I fear that if I do, even if I’m right, you all will hate me for making you look at something horrible, and the blogger will hate me a lot more than she already does, and the kid will be hurt further. So basically, big time loss for everyone involved, with no real upside that I can see.

But still. I am sitting here feeling like I should post something because my gut is saying something. My gut is saying something is wrong here. I think people are under the impression that when I post things it is to stir up trouble or to get attention but actually there are times when I’m pretty conflicted about it. This is one of those times. I am not at all convinced that I should post about this. I hate being vague about this. I know that some of you will instantly know what and who I am talking about and hate me for this. I know others of you will be pissed off that I’m being vague again. This is one of those times where I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I feel compelled to say something. I feel like nobody else will. Something is wrong. Maybe all that is wrong is that I didn’t like something I read the other day. And maybe that’s all that needs to be said. So whatever. I’m saying it.

So go ahead and start burning my jersey now — because I’m taking my talents to South Beach View definition in a new window. I have been planning it all along. I was only pretending to let you in on The Decision.

buzz lightyear pjs

Occupationally speaking, it has been my biggest fear that Mini would grow up to become an engineer.

And look: I don’t want you to tell me about all the fucking wonderful engineers you know, OK? Or about how you are an engineer and how you shit golden bricks. Because I get it, I get it. My brother is a nuclear engineer, OK? And we are thick as thieves.

No, I am talking about that other kind of engineer, like the undiagnosed Asperger’s engineer. The kind of undergraduate I was saddled with in a Shakespeare class who would say, “I don’t understand why there’s an English Literature requirement.” This is the kind that has stricken fear into me of the engineering profession.

Even with all the liberal arts people in my family, there’s enough of an engineering strain for Mini’s love of machines and robots to scare the shit out of me. I will do anything to downplay it. I’ll be like, “Hey look, buddy! Look at these books over here!” Or “Look at the flowers!” Or even, “Do you want a cookie?” to get him away from the gears and tools and shit. And dear god, the trains. In other words, the electric neon signs that are pointing to THIS KID WILL BE AN ENGINEER TO SPITE YOU.

Except lately, even more disturbing professional signs have been creeping up. And these signs are perhaps the only possible thing that could be worse than engineer because they don’t preclude engineer but merely compound the problem of engineer. Those signs are suggesting middle manager.

Witness the following conversations we have had recently:

Conversation Snippet 1

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry, buddy, I didn’t mean to do that.”
Me: “It’s OK, Mamma. Take a deep breath.”

Conversation Snippet 2

Mr. Right-Click: “Mini! We’re going to go get a haircut today! WOO HOO!”
Mini: “Calm down, Dada.”

Conversation Snippet 3

Mr. Right-Click: “Look at this, Mini, you’ve spilled water all over this pillow!”
Mini: “No, look, Daddy, this side is fine. This side is good as new.”

Conversation Snippet 4

Me: “Wow, look at this, Mini — two police cars blocking off this road. That’s weird. I’ve never seen that on this street before.”
Mini: “It’s OK, Mama. We just need to be patient.”

Conversation Snippet 5

Mini: [eating strawberries] Mommy, what are these new food containers about?
Me: What do you mean what are they about? They’re for your lunch.
Mini: You need to take these back to the store.

Now is this, or is this not somebody who is ripe for training in the profession of managing expectations? Or of getting people to do things for other people with a minimum of grousing and raging against the injustice of it all? Or, most disturbing of all — of looking at the decisions of an underling and deciding, after the fact, that they are faulty, and requiring them to do them over, for no apparent reason other than to exert his own authority?! And what if it’s not merely an engineer or a middle manager? What if he becomes an engineer AND a middle manager? What if he’s a middle manager at an engineering firm?

[Rending garments]

Of course if you ask him, Mini will tell you that he wants to be a rock star. This doesn’t lessen my worry much, but it does make for better party conversation.

ChumChum the Cat

Here’s what happened.

A while back, we got Edie, who you will remember is like the cutest cat basically ever in existence, but then Mr. Right-Click got mad at me for suggesting that perhaps she wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. Well.

Since Coast left, we have been waiting around to find another friend for Edie. And since what happens when you have a three year old, and you have a kitten, is that you name a cat “Edie” and then everybody ends up calling her “Baby Cat.” So then you are faced with one cat whose name is Edie, but is called Baby Cat, and then what are you supposed to name the next cat, who really will be a baby, when the first one is called Baby Cat, but is twice as big?

Maybe you remember I wanted to name the next cat, a boy, Andy, to match the Edie name? Well, needless to say, that idea got nixed. Even though, as you can see, ChumChum shows a penchant for art and totally should be named after Andy Warhol. But whatever: I got to name Edie.

Totally should be named Andy, because look at him

Mr. Right-Click wanted to name the cat Deco, which he claims is a real name but I say it’s a movement, not a name. So we came to the tie-breaker, which includes Mini’s store of cartoon characters. Mini wanted, actually, to name this cat Chum Chum and rename Edie to “Fanboy,” after his favorite show, “Fanboy and ChumChum,” a cartoon on Nickelodeon with no redeeming value whatsoever that we do allow him to watch, yes, and that no, you shouldn’t allow your children to watch if you haven’t already because once you do, there’s no going back.

Anyway, ChumChum is another Maine Coon cat like Edie, though he is a more unusual color called a red silver white or something like that. We went to visit him this past weekend, and this was the first time the kittens were allowed to see outside visitors so it was a little bit more difficult to get pictures of him. But he’s pretty cute. Not as breathtakingly gorgeous as Edie, but nobody is. He’s more of a rugged Daniel Craig kind of handsome cat. A good companion to Edie, but not likely to outshine her.

We will pick him up the week after I return from BlogHer View definition in a new window. I can’t wait to see how he fits into the ecosystem of the Right-Click household.

He seemed like a sweetheart, but it’s always a gamble with cats, if you ask me.

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