For all of the new and spontaneous things that have been happening in my life lately, it’s oftentimes the familiarity of an old hobby or tradition that can feel most refreshing. I’m back in the Editing mode, so may I present, my first Premiere Pro export:
This fall season was looking to make my third consecutive year without football. Not as a fan, since the NFL is back in action and already making my head spin. Seriously, how do the Superbowl champs lose the season opener? Even in defeat the Giants disgust me. I’m also convinced by this point that Belicheck actually tells the Patriots not to care until they’re in a tough spot. 19-0 will never happen, but having come so close before, now all they can reasonably do now is perfect their game under serious pressure. They’ll be back in it again come January.
Regardless, watching and playing the game are two very different experiences. Growing up in a small upstate New York town and playing on the team that supposedly holds the National All-Time Winning Record for Public High Schools, there wasn’t much of a choice for the male children in Dolgeville. Nor do I wish there were, it really was that once-in-a-lifetime kind of experience. A rite of passage into adulthood for a small group of boys each year. Some vivid memories and fun talking points… I never dropped a pass. Every catch I made was for a touchdown. No kidding. 1 for 1 makes a perfectly fine record and comes with some great bragging rights to boot.
Moving onto (what seemed like) the only college in the nation that didn’t have a football program was a pretty drastic change, but ultimately one for the better. Intramurals saved the day, as this was when I discovered Flag Football. May not have been quite as macho, but it only takes one hit from a 250lb+ linebacker to make you realize your own mortality. After trading my pads in for flags and the helmet for a bandana (Stars & Stripes with a matching badass knee brace that would soon follow) I was back on the field as much as possible. Over the course of my four years at RIT I took the class eight times, which technically made me a double major. Bam.
Aside from the life-changing ACL tear that came toward the end of a sophomore year winter pick-up game (still caught that pass too, then walked home) it always served as the 90 minute escape I needed each week to keep my sanity in check and that other dream alive: I like to joke around about still having four years of NCAA eligibility left. I’ll cash in if I make it big in the next ten years so I can afford to go back to school and finally get that dance degree. Breakdance.
The point of this all, besides procrastination, is to share my joy with finding football back in my life. But on neither the grass nor the turf… this time, the sand. Huntington Beach in Orange County is home to NLA Sports and a small band of Nagles, which makes for a great excursion each Saturday. I get family, a car, the beach, football and free fajitas all in one afternoon. Can’t complain about that.
I almost got in my first West-side fight over the weekend. Some homeless dude didn’t approve of my red Hawaiian shirt so he smashed a glass bottle of booze at my feet. Clearly indicating that he wanted a shot at the title, I ripped off my shades and gave him the thousand mile stare. He immediately started and swearing and limp-walked away away. Jabroni. This picture I took a few weeks back (also in Hollywood, appropriately enough) gives you a pretty good idea of what was about to go down.
Lastly, Looper was a wildly entertaining and fairly original time-travel action flick. I’ve waited a few too many days to write a substantial review of it, so you’ll just have to take my word for it here.