Always Love You

Over the weekend, after going to my friend's house Friday night and then promptly falling asleep on her couch, I think I accumulated sixty hours of sleep. I'm sick. As in I have a cold. Dribbly nose, sinus pressure, stuffed up everything. This is not much "sick" for most people but since I'm rarely under the weather, I think it slayed me. Well I had trouble figuring out if I was sick or just lazy because I regularly sleep twelve-plus hours anyway. What's a few extra stuck in there? I think I have pain tolerance but no idea how to handle discomfort. Give me a quick punch in the face any time, just let me breathe regularly please. People who get sick all the time, or have allergies constantly on the attack, bravo to you all. Stay strong.

Also, I'm having trouble stomaching all this Whitney love, as three days ago she was a punchline and nobody cared. Now she's dead and everyone is so effusive. It's the Michael Jackson effect and I don't like it. I know some of you might agree, so let us make a stand. Stop this hyperbolic "I'm so sad and she was the greatest" wailing. She was the greatest but it probably would have been nice for her to hear that while alive. Please steel yourself for the inevitable Jeremy Lin backlash too, it's gonna come.

• Bill Simmons on Whitney and Squandered Brilliance, circa 2009
• Jay Caspian Kang visits Linsanity
• Kang again, "Jeremy and Jin (2010)"

I've been reading Cometbus #53 and one of the bits chronicles John Holmstrom's career as a magazine publisher. He started Punk Magazine when he was twenty one and had it fold a few times. In just a few short pages, I learned about how integral Punk was to establishing the scene, how often Holmstrom had gotten fucked over by partners, printers, or just plain bad luck -- and some of his own doing of course. It's basically a tale of constant failure but also constant rebirth. "Holmstrom's story was always ending but never over. Like the scene of the same name, Punk died again and again." There's a lot to admire about that, because a few failures probably end most people's verve to keep going in the same direction.

What I'm trying to figure out is when people first failed. And I'm trying to recall when I first felt like I'd failed at something. Throwing the basketball at the wrong hoop? Maybe not getting into the school I wanted to? (Thank goodness I didn't get into Rice actually.) Having to take Stats 402 twice? And somehow still not passing it? Okay, that was a failure, but it didn't seem to reflect on me as a person. Dropping out of school? Again, that somehow didn't put a dent in my notion of self either, although it probably should have. Failing in maintaining relationships? Is that even really a failure? Not being a good friend/son/person? I guess you could fail at life, but that seems a little broad. I'm looking for specifics. I'm gonna try to drill down to when people felt like they failed, like utterly collapsed when they thought they were going to succeed. And the subsequent decision to keep going on. If they did.

If someone I knew was like Holmstrom, starting things up and having them collapse over and over again, we'd probably speak quietly about his lack of success and the stench of his failures. He'd probably resent his unsupportive friends and hate us all. We'd call him delusional. Some articles and studies talk about how kids of a particular upbringing and aptitude are not prepared for set backs. They are used to trending ever upward and when things don't work out, they become paralyzed by their inability to overcome difficulty. This is probably a lot of people I know.

If you'll recall, there was this guy in Ohio who has an exotic pet collection but released them all right before shooting himself. Reading the article about what transpired that night is the saddest thing. Over forty tigers, lions, bears, wolves, and other assorted animals were killed. When the story first broke, people jokingly said that the authorities were probably having the time of their lives going out on a big hunt. Of course nothing could be further from the truth. It was a sad slaughter. What is hard to understand is why anyone should be allowed to keep exotic animals around, much less forty of them. Is there an amendment I missed somewhere?