Not My Fault

It’s not on me that the Steelers lost; while I didn’t bring out the vacuum, I did mop the kitchen floor and clean all the water spots on the glass shower door with Windex. And while I did make a few wagers—both of which won, a two-team and a three-team parlay—none of them were on Pittsburgh. So the only explanation for yesterday’s defeat has to be a porous defense, an anemic running game, and lackluster special teams play. It’s time for the Black and Gold to get it together fast unless they want to already be vacationing during the first weekend in January, which would be especially disillusioning since that’s right when my holiday break comes to an end.

So, I’m not going to talk about how the fucking defense gave up like 200 yards rushing to the Jaguars or how the offense puttered around until way too late in the game; instead, I’m going to mention an entertainment I actually found entertaining this weekend, a re-viewing of an old favorite film of mine, My Dinner With Andre.

I have a friend who teaches at an alternative high school in town and his students invited me to come visit their class today on the condition that I watch the movie (as they did last week) and come prepared to talk about it. So, on Friday night, after the kid went to sleep, I got wickedly vaped and settled down to enjoy the conversation of Andre Gregory and Wallace Shawn. I had forgotten how funny the movie was, especially the opening especially when Wally recalls how he as gone from being a 10 year-old aristocrat who thought only of art to a 37 year-old proletarian who thinks only of money.

The discussion in class today was mostly about boredom—what it feels like, whether it’s avoidable, what its purpose might be. I found the students’ comments mostly fascinating; certainly more engaging and even thrilling than yesterday’s fucking Steelers game.