Happiness is Parks and Recreation

Not to sound like too typical of a pessimistic Debbie-downing wet blanket, but it’s not often that I’m actually “happy” happy.  Happiness is more or less pretty fleeting to me; things make me happy, but it’s like getting the star in Mario; it lasts for a little bit, but eventually fades away, and then I’m just in a place slightly above neutral.  Eating a really good meal makes me happy.  Having an invigorating and productive workout makes me happy.  Seeing someone actually get pulled over in the HOV lane makes me happy.  Bettering a Varus/Blitz duo played by douchebags makes me happy.  And so forth; none of these things are genuinely major events, but for what they’re worth they all make me happy.

Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I was genuinely happy-all-smiles-uncharacteristically-generous kind of happy for any prolonged period of time, but I’m not entirely sure that many people are generally disposed for that kind of behavior.

Anyway, I’ve found something that I can add to the list: Parks and Recreation.  In the past, I’ve seen a few fleeting episodes here and there, but mostly because people I know were already fans, and were trying to get me into it by playing a random episode late into the series.  It wasn’t bad, but not having seen the show from the start and having an understanding of the character dynamics, it wasn’t something I got into.  I didn’t hate it by any means, but until I took the time to sit down and watch from the start, I probably would never really like it.

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The somewhat obligatory Christmas post

Another year, another Christmas.  Once again, I stayed home for Christmas this year, and it was nice to stay at home and sleep in, watch Parks and Recreation, eat like crap, stay up late and watch more Parks and Rec, for the better part of a four-day weekend.

I gave some gifts and received some gifts, to which I’m thankful for.

There’s really not a whole lot I have to say about Christmas this year, not that it’s really different from any other Christmas in the past, I suppose.  But for what it’s worth, I hope everyone reading this is enjoying their own holiday seasons, and that their lives are going well enough.  And on that note, I leave you all with pictures of the dog, in his seasonal Santa gear.

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Welp, if this is our last night on Earth

No better way than ending it on a high note, slaughtering the crap out of a bunch of attempted pub-stompers, with the girl that started it all, my one first true LoL love, Miss Fortune.

Not that I believe for a second that it’s the end of the world, but if it were, I can’t say that I really have many substantial regrets.  Maybe that I didn’t accomplish my goal of visiting every single Major League Baseball ballpark, or visiting Astoria, Oregon, and when I didn’t have the sense to ask out the hot girl with the blue hair at Dragon*Con that one year.

Otherwise, I think I’ve lived my life pretty full and decently.

The importance of rear spoilers

When I was sitting at a red light this morning, I saw this car pull into the left turn lane. “Nice blue color there, I didn’t know the Hyundai Accent came in that color,” I thought. And then my eyes noticed that it wasn’t wearing a Hyundai badge, but a Subaru badge. My eyebrows furrowed upon noticing this, and then I was thinking “what the hell car is this?” Upon scanning the rest of the vehicle, I saw the badge that I didn’t think was possible to be on such an unimpressive, mundane looking vehicle: WRX.

I’m aware that I’ve been talking about cars a lot lately, or at least making car-related analogies, but that’s how the brog works, I write about the things that trigger the impulse to write, and seeing this piece of shit this morning made me feel like writing about how pathetic and sad the Subaru Impreza WRX has become.

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Ryback = Goldberg Type-R

I don’t hide the fact that I have no love for the wrestler Ryback, because quite frankly I am incapable of seeing him as nothing but a bastardized mish-mash of several other wrestlers from the past.  The obvious parallel is the fact that he’s a Goldberg rip, due to the fact that he’s white, bald, jacked up and does nothing but high-impact power moves while displaying very little actual wrestling talent.

He’s also part Rhyno, due to the ring attire that almost looks as if Ryback went to a Rhyno garage sale, bought all of his old ring gear and just had all instances of “Rhyno” airbrushed out and replaced to say “Ryback.”  And like Rhyno, Ryback uses nothing but brute strength and power moves.

But last night, Ryback copied else that I felt was inappropriate, and in my distorted reality, crossing the line.  I’m not sure what prompted Ryback to even get on the microphone in the first place, as he has the speaking eloquence of Corky from Life Goes On, but he decided to try and blurble out some words to the sheep that somehow cheer his every action.  But then he said the words “Enough is enough, and it’s time for a change.”  That’s what agitated me, and prompted me to write out my displeasure at this no-talent oaf chewing up television time.

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Man, What A Stupid Commercial #004

The first thought that crossed through my head after I saw this commercial was: “Divorce papers. With a red ribbon around them.”

Not only is this commercial indeed stupid, I actually hate it. Man goes through hoops to discreetly purchase a Smart car for his wife for Christmas, only for her to become instantaneously and ungratefully smitten with a piece of shit Buick cruising down the street.

In short, man gives gift, wife is ungrateful bitch.

Although the message is very much fictitious, and I honestly will foolishly give benefit of the doubt that there really are that many people who would be so ungratefully crass to rebuff an expensive and clearly high-effort gift literally three seconds after receiving it, I just really, really hate the message in general.

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Golf drivers kind of ruin Golfs

I like the Volkswagen Golf.  I’ve liked just about every iteration of it, even when it was called the VW Rabbit.  Ultimately, it was the reason why I ended up liking hatchbacks in the first place, and it’s that bias that led me to driving the 5-door hatchback I have now.  I would most definitely would own or would have had a Golf at some point by now, except for the fact that its price point has always eluded me by putting itself into a range that I just simply couldn’t justify for a means to an end like a car.

But it doesn’t mean that I can’t still be an admirer of the car still.  I like its fairly modest appearance, while having a good deal of performance as well as the practicality of spaciousness and storage that most hatchbacks afford.  During the riceboy days, most VW Golfs could compete or best most of their Japanese competition out of the box, provided the levels of trim were appropriately compared.  And the aftermarket part culture was just as favorable and customizable to Golfs as they were anything made by Honda or Nissan.

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