Back from Mexico

After seven days of swimming pools, beaches, sweating through every single shirt I brought, and a whole lot of eating and drinking, I’ve come home from Mexico sunburned, fatter, and somewhat relaxed.

Which bodes well, considering the veritable self-inflicted shit storm of tasks and assignments I’ll likely heap upon myself over the next few days and weeks, which includes numerous things to write for my own brog, baseball-related crap, and other outlets, and the hundreds of photos between Disney and Mexico that I’ll gradually be chipping through and attempting to get up sooner rather than later.

But the tequila in Mexico was cheap, as well as this awesome Psychosis luchador mask to add to my collection of lucha libre masks.  Overall, I cannot complain about much, and within coming days and weeks, I’ll likely have a lot of stories and things to write about it.

Impending brog hiatus

Because I’m gangsta like this.

For about the next week, and possibly some remnant days afterwards, there will not be any updates to my brog, as I will not be in the United States.  There is a high probability that I could be in a state of inebriation at the time in which anyone is reading this, but the point remains, there will not be any new posts or updates for a good chunk of upcoming days.

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One of those weighing-the-options moments

So I was sitting on a rocking horsey at a party recently, sipping on a Miller High Life.  I can’t say this line of thinking was a result of the aforementioned scenario, because I do know it’s been on my mind for a little while now.  I was people watching, and thinking about just how fascinating some people really can be, but also thinking that I don’t know any of these people.  How would I get to know these people?

Obviously, I’m not exactly the most socially graceful person on the planet, and I lack the charisma to be able to inject myself into others’ conversations and interactions without being completely paranoid that I’m coming off as a creep-o or feeling unwelcome.  So most of the times, I don’t make an effort at all, and probably give off the impression that I’m anti-social or ambivalent to others.

To get to the point, lately I’m feeling like my line of work is kind of socially inhibiting.  I look around at the people I know, and so many of them work for cool places, or at least, places where they can potentially meet like-minded people, relatable people, and people who might have even the potential to be cool and worth knowing aside from an at-work relationship.

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The inadvertent humor of wrestling sabotage

A long time ago, for whatever reason, there was some sort of beef between Hercules Hernandez and Sid Justice. I don’t care to know the nature of this beef, but regardless when they were put together in a singles match, it turned into this hilarious 30-second squash match where Hercules refused to flat out sell (pretend to get hurt) by anything that Sid did, before the match concluded quickly with Sid delivering a powerbomb where Hercules dead-fished it and popped right back up and walked away upon the three count. Supposedly Herc was fired after this display, but aside from making the smarks laugh, he made Sid’s persona look weaker than it was arduously built up to be.

Not quite as long ago, when Bill Goldberg was rising in WCW, he was slated to have a match with former English circus shooter, Steven Regal.  I say “have a match,” because Goldberg couldn’t actually wrestle, so I couldn’t really say “wrestled.” But it was something that Regal felt the obligation to exploit, to the fans, to management, and to the other boys in the back whom might also be jaded by the rapid and aggressive pushing of Goldberg. Whereas Goldberg had been having 30-180 second squash matches for weeks on end, Regal put him through a gauntlet of basic wrestling holds and chess moves that Goldberg was completely incapable of, on national television, getting out of or countering.  After the display, Regal was fired, and soon after jumped to the WWF, but the damage was done; most everyone knew definitively that Goldberg couldn’t actually wrestle.

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Photos: Scarecrows in the Garden

The Atlanta Botanical Gardens does an exhibit around this time of year, where “professionals” and “non-professional” (read: companies and private parties) construct scarecrows, to be put on display throughout a large section of the gardens.  For the second year in a row, I helped out with construction of Jen’s company’s scarecrow, the Pintrest Pixie.

The event itself was kind of nice, and a little bit symbolic of the changing of the seasons, because it’s not dreadfully hot, the sun begins setting a lot quicker, but there’s still beer to drink, and lots of people to watch.

And for what it’s worth, I thought the quality of the other scarecrows wasn’t as mundane as some of them were last year.

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This is now how it was supposed to end

The Atlanta Braves have been knocked out of the playoffs twelve times since 1995. The fact that they made it to the playoffs in twelve of the last seventeen years is impressive in its own right, but still, zero championships in that span.  Needless to say, seeing the Braves get bounced from the playoffs is truly nothing new or out of the ordinary for a Braves fan.  At least until the events of the 2012 season came along.

This was truly, the worst defeat I’ve ever seen in my entire, baseball-watching life.

To those of my three regular readers that might be tiring of how much I’ve been writing about baseball lately, you’re in luck.  Frankly, after this, I don’t really feel like writing about any more baseball, on my personal site, for a long while.

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Losing the ability to enjoy the solo ballpark experience

The saddest thing about the 2012 season to me is that in spite of the Braves’ success, and the emotional fun ride it’s been watching Chipper Jones wind down his career, I can’t really say it’s been the most enjoyable season for me as a baseball fan.  I’ve attended fewer games than I have in previous years, and despite the games I’ve gone with friends that I enjoyed immensely, I’ve pretty much more or less lost the ability to enjoy going to the ballpark by myself like I used to be able to in the past.

In years past, the end of the regular season was often a melancholy time of the year for me.  Four of the last five years, the Braves didn’t make the playoffs, so when the regular season ended, it truly was the end of Braves baseball until April.  The default, the fallback, the always something to do, with watching a baseball game was over, unless I wanted to try and find enjoyment in playoff baseball or fall or winter league baseball that didn’t always include the Braves.  No matter what, the end of the regular season was always a time of the year with an air of sadness attached to it, because something good and enjoyable was going away for a long time.

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