Sao Paolo is a lovely in the spring

Spent an inordinant amount of time in front of the television today, which isn't something I'm particularly proud of. I like to think that I'm someone who, on his better days at least, will try and find something to do a little more productive, a little less empty-headed, than sit on the couch and marvel at the passage of time as bits of entertainment are thrown at me, occasionally interrupted by helpful suggestions for snacks, electronics, and other entertainment inbetween.

Today I watched football.

I admit that with some reluctance as among my friends I'm the only one who will still sit and, from time to time, watch a bunch of genetic freaks slam into oneanother at a high rate of speed. What's worse is, I know it's mindless. I know there's no logical reason to donate my time toward a band of sharply clad millionaire strangers fighting over an inflated pig, yet there I am on CHAMPIONSHIP SUNDAY watching my favored brand, the New England Patriots.

I am fairly powerless to resist, at least when games are advanced to this point and thus "matter." I blame my father entirely. I was raised a fan of the teams of the greater New England area (the Red Sox and Patriots in particular), and I'll admit, the time the Patriots won the super bowl in 2001 and, yes, a few months ago when the Red Sox ended 86 years of blahblahblah to win the World Series gave me Real Joy. Irrational, inexplicable, but no less real, Joy.

Yet to this point it's really more of a guilty pleasure. I could've been in here making something out of thin air (which I should be doing, really, instead of talking to you people), but instead I absorbed almost three hours of mindless happy-talk announcer prattle, seventy three commercials for pills that would give me a better hard-on and who knows how many mentions of the Hot New Show Numb3rs (here on CBS!). Mind you, this entire time I was not made informed of Johnny Carson dying. Not that I'm a friend or I hold this grudge against the ebbulient jocks for not breaking up our fleshy bang-bang fest with news of real death, but I wonder if NBC were broadcasting this game if they would've made mention of his passing (NBC being the network of the Tonight Show. Now THAT'S cynical.

Anyway, I watched football, 'my' team won, and yes, it was pleasant. I'm not someone who twitched at the end of the couch, donned color-appropriate clothing, or yelled at the little blips of light on my electronic Talkie Box to make them behave better. I sat quietly, passively, and let the show wash over me.

In the middle and at the end of the game my dad called me and we talked happily about the game. And that's when I don't really mind liking this crap at all.