#a moron that wasted 15 dollars today | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

weeklyfangirl · 5 years ago

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Frat Boy Pt. 18

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7 (1), part 7 (2), part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12, part 13 , part 14, part 15, part 16, part 17

NOT having to wait a year for another update?! WHO AM I?!?!! A new woman I tell you. Fortunately (or not) Frat Harry’s the same ‘ol Frat Harry. And this time you let him into your life a little more. But will he stay? Enjoy loves, lemme know what you think ;)

“So turns out Mike’s bottle of tequila was $350 and John and I had already dank all of it. When Mike told us how much it was, we just had to be the full dicks. You start apologizing at block parties and you lose your edge. Stuff is borderline evaporative!” Father looked around at our unimpressed faces and his red face grew darker, exploding from wheezing laughter. “Oh, come on! It’s funny!!” His wheezing subsided with a toss of his eyebrows. He shrugged dramatically. “Good thing I appreciate my humor.”

Paul sat at the head of the table, the top two buttons undone on his blue business button-down. He made eye contact with me, both of our eyes widening. I’d given him a quick side-hug, one of those awkward lean-down-because-the-other-person-is-too-lazy-to-stand-up hug. It’d almost been a year, but it was the same customary greeting we’d developed. Their plates were already stacked in the sink, but my mom had readied plates of mash potatoes, string beans, and steak for Harry and I.

They were sprawled out, tummies full, all of them looking like they’d had long days at the office. Father especially. His face was reddened like the whites of his eyes, his hair standing on end.

I poked at my steak.

“You missed it, Y/N. He’s already five glasses in,” Paul continued. Teasing father was the one thing we could connect on - but he enjoyed it a little more than I.

Mom leant over the table, rolling her eyes. “At least. This is his ‘not drinking during the week,’” There was a smile, though.

Dad held up his hands. “Hey! I haven’t had one sip of tequila. Wine is like water now.” He turned to Harry, as if his frat boy radar sensed a fellow drinker in his midst. “You have that problem…?” He fished for a name.

Harry’s shoulders straightened. “Harry.”

“Harry?” he asked.

Before Harry could answer, Paul’s eyes narrowed. “You look familiar.”

It was like somebody sprinkled coked-out fairy dust over Mother. She sat up straighter, eyes twinkling, and sprawled her hands on the table as if to reveal the grand hurrah that Harry was the heir to all the land. Which, in modern day Newport, perhaps he was. I tried to come up with something to rescue Harry, but she beat me to it.

“His dad’s a doctor here. Coast Shores Medicine. Mr. Styles runs his own practice.”

“He can speak for himself,” I grumbled, stuffing my mouth with mash.

My mom stirred, voice low, “Honey, I was just letting them know.”

My dad’s eyes bulged out of his head before erupting into laughter. “You- you’re-” He pointed his finger, looking between Harry and me. He laughed more.

“Dad,” I warned. It’d clicked in his mind. At the end of summer, before I’d even known the Styles legacy let alone seen Harry’s face, we’d walked past the Styles medical office and my dad absolutely BLASTED their ostentatious display. My dad’s boisterous - Can you believe this idiot??! MORON! DIPSHIT! - blared in my mind like a flare gun.

Father caught my daggers. “Oh, relax,” he wheezed, settling down. He wouldn’t say anything, for now. “I transferred more money into your account today by the way.” He winked, pointing to me. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” But I shrunk in my chair. I know Harry wasn’t one to talk about living off family money, but I didn’t want him getting the wrong idea either.

Completely oblivious, Harry smiled politely, answering Father’s previous question. “We all have our vices.”

“Speaking of addicts-” Paul started.

“Oh, God,” Dad huffed.

Paul put his hands up with a humorless laugh. “I wasn’t targeting you, but now that you mention it-”

“Paul.” I frowned.

My warning tone flipped a switch in him.

“What?!” It was sharp, full of irritation, and no matter how long it'd been since I’d heard it - I stilled. His eyes challenged me to press him further, but I didn’t. “Can I speak?”

“All right,” mom said. “Let’s settle down.”

“I’m calm,” Paul declared tersely. “I don’t know about your daughter.”

I scoffed, fighting the urge to bite back.

Harry tensed, and if I was an inch further I wouldn’t have heard his breath get a little deeper.

Without breaking his stare, Paul sat back in his chair, pushing up his sleeves. “Okay,” he started. “As I was saying. I don’t know if you guys saw on the news - probably not, but there was a scandal at the company last week.”

The company – AKA Rich Silvang Industries. Paul went straight from college and his internship to full-fledged Wall Street investment banking. He was only three years older than me, but he hadn’t lived at the house since he was eighteen. By 17 ½ all his things were in boxes. Meanwhile, I was almost twenty-one and still had half my things in my old room.

Mom practically gasped. “Really?” her voice swam with concern.

“I think I saw something about that,” Dad mentioned, putting on a serious tone.

“Maybe you did hear about it, then. It’s pretty big. The president was caught in his Vegas penthouse suite filled with drugs, and they arrested him for drug trafficking. They’re searching for someone to replace him right now.”

My mom’s hands dropped in her lap. “Wow.”

“Could you be the replacement?” I asked.

“Ha, yeah. I wish. I’m a few years off from that.” One thing you need to know about Paul - he has a plan for everything. If he wants something, he’ll buy every book to learn the ins and outs before making a move. His career was no different.

“What’d they find?” Harry asked, brows stitched in curiosity.

Paul puffed out a breath. “Everything. Heroine, cocaine, meth, ecstasy. It was just sitting there, in his suite. His girlfriend’s arrested, too.”

“God, what a dipshit,” Dad breathed, irritated disbelief. “This guy has all the money in the world-”

“Three thousand million dollars,” Paul corrected.

“Three tHOUSAND MILLION-!” Father squeaked. “God, if I had that money- GOD, why the hell would you piss it away like that.”

“Greed,” Mom said. “Is this the same president who donated all that money to helping foster children? The one invited you for a weekend in Aspen?”

“There’s only one president, mom.”

“Well I hope you didn’t USE anything.”

Father ran his hands through his hair, still distraught at the impotence of those with money to enjoy their money. “I mean, I’d be fishing on an island somewhere.”

“On YOUR island that you BOUGHT,” Paul pitched in.

“With three thousand million,” I breathed. “If someone has everything in the world…” my voice trailed. Human nature was a mystery to me. A complete and utter mystery sometimes. Why get involved in drug trading when you had more than you could possibly need. You could fish off your personal island and then declare that island it’s own country if you wanted to. You could give hundreds of thousands of people access to clean water! Education! Tampons!! Essential things!!!

Harry suddenly rested his hand on my thigh beneath the table, completely silent. My mom caught the action, a knowing smirk appearing on her lips.

“Money is wasted,” Father sighed dramatically, placing a hand on his belly. “Oh!! Speaking of, I have an important question for you.”

It took me a second to realize he was looking at me. “Yeah?” I asked, skeptical.

“Can you grab me another bottle of red?”

----

The hot water ran over dishes clattering in the sink, and I winced, but I didn’t pull away. I could still feel the crusted blood beneath my nails.

“Quick, somebody grab a camera.”

Father stood in the entranceway to the kitchen, hands up, mouth open in a ridiculous pressed circle like an orangutan. “Y/N’s doing the dishes!!”

“Haha. Very funny.”

Father sighed, running his hands over his face with a tired smile. “God that was a tiresome dinner, huh.” He tossed the empty wine bottle from hand to hand.

My eyes widened. “Yeahhhh.”

Harry, Paul, and Mother were still by the table, talking on some new financial law. I timed an escape perfectly. So had Father.

“Are you staying the night?”

“Hm.” I hadn’t thought about that. “Maybe.”

“Is he spending the night?”

I smiled, not sure what he was going to say to a boy spending the night. The situation certainly hadn’t come up before. “I don’t think so.”

“I mean, I don’t care. You’re an adult, you can do what you want. Mom might not like the idea.”

In any other case, I’d agree. But this was the Styles boy. I think she’d make an exception. As if knowing where my mind was heading, his blue eyes suddenly twinkled with something mischievous. He finished his thought out loud. “Styles, huh... Isn’t that funny. Where’d you meet this kid?”

“English class. Small world, huh?”

“For how small it is we don’t see Paul too much, do we?” he asked. It was a more serious question than I was used to. One that didn’t need to be answered.

My hand suddenly came too close to the metal faucet, burning it, and I quickly turned it off, moving the dishes to the drying rack. An old Patsy Cline song crackled through the old radio in the kitchen.

“I don’t see too much of-” you either. But the words died on my lips when I saw Father’s notoriously clear eyes, wet with springing tears. I stood, shocked, not quite knowing what to say. I couldn’t be mad at him. Not for money, not for drinking. Maybe it was the wine getting him emotional.

He gave me one of those dad smiles, patting my shoulder. He hugged me, a proper hug, and I stood, stiff, before relaxing, letting myself be held. I hugged him back, feeling like I was six and he’d just told me he was going away for business. “Let’s go to the shake shack soon,” he said, softly, the slight jokey tone trying to reappear. “S’been a while.”

Guilt pricked me. Guilt for growing up, guilt for leaving, guilt for something I couldn’t name. “Course, papa.”

Over his shoulder, I met Harry’s gaze from the kitchen table.

Later at the door, we stood telling Paul goodbye.

Harry stood behind me in a protective stance while Paul adjusted his briefcase. “So what are your plans for the rest of the year? Are you going to add that extra class next semester, finish early?” he asked, the business-technical tone coming back in his voice.

“I’m going to finish my internship at the practice.”

“Good. Good. Then what?” Only half-joking.

“I don’t know, I have another year to figure it out. Go to med school, probably.”

“Probably?!” He knocked on the door as he started to leave. “Time flies! Better figure it out, Y/N.”

I smiled, the only thing I could do.

“At least you’re going into something employable!” he called. The car beeped behind him, and he loaded his briefcase in the car.

I smiled tighter.

“She’ll be fine, Paul,” Mother waved behind me.

He waved back.

“Wait!” Mom called. “You’re not going to give us a hug goodbye?”

He jogged back up the side-yard to the door, giving them hugs. Harry a handshake. Me, a side-hug.

“Will we see you soon?” I asked.

“Why?”

“Thanksgiving.”

His brows rose. “Mom didn’t tell you?”

I shook my head.

“This was our Thanksgiving. I leave for Japan next Wednesday.”

“What?” I knew for a fact Thanksgiving was two weeks out.

“Honey..” she scolded. To Paul, “I told her we were going to do it early, she just doesn’t listen.”

“I’ll be back after Japan.” He exchanged a look with my father I couldn’t quite decipher.

Some vague memory of Mother telling me about an early Thanksgiving was there, buried beneath sororities, and gangs, and policemen questioning me. And beneath a thick layer of pig’s blood.

“Sorry, I forgot.”

But he was already in his car, closing the door behind him.

We stayed until the headlights disappeared, a sharp wind bellowing in and shaking the curtains. Harry didn’t stay to watch Paul leave. When my parents left for their room, I found him by the painted green wood table, picking at the edge.

“This is from my fourth birthday.” I pointed to a dark circle on the edge of the table. “I ate my cake so fast, the candles knocked over and almost put the whole house in flames.”

“You didn’t blow them out?”

“There was cake. I didn’t see the candles.”

He smiled. “You’ve lived here a long time?”

“Since I was born.”

“Not bad.”

I led him wordlessly through my past, going through the 70s living room over plush stained carpet, down the hallway past family photos. It was a wordless tour. He stopped in front of a gold frame. It was all of us, on the beach in white. Paul and I had our arms around each other, laughing with gaps where our baby teeth had fallen out and the new ones had yet to come in. Our parents stood behind us, trying to wrestle us in their own arms, wind-whipped hair covering half my mother’s face. Taken seconds before we all fell over and Paul kneed me in the jewels, Father liked to say.

Harry caught himself staring, easily catching up with me in the short distance to my room.

“The grand reveal,” he murmured.

I was suddenly nervous. He followed close behind, entering a space of Frank Sinatra and Elvis posters. My old white wire bed frame stood in the middle of the small space, Winnie the Pooh sheets and mismatched purple pillows on top. The rest was taken up by a large pink bean bag that touched the foot of my bed and the mirrored closet with a European travel collage I’d taped together in its bottom-right corner when I was sixteen.

He looked up at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to my ceiling, oddly reminiscent of his sister’s old nursery room. “It’s cute,” he finally said. And somehow when he said it, it didn’t sound condescending.

He approached the near-empty bookshelf against the wall, now holding my mom’s arts and crafts and random junk bins. Ever since I moved out, more of her had moved in. She still left the walls untouched, though. Harry plucked at a photo booth strip I’d taped to the walls when I was thirteen. The summer after middle school. Matt and I were smiling, tongues out, sticking up our noses, pretending to strangle each other…

He tried to tape it back, but the tape had lost its stick.

“It’s fine,” I said, taking the photo back. I propped it up against the bins.

“Do you have most of your books at the dorm?

“Yeah. The rest we sold a while back.”

“Spring cleaning?”

“Kind of??” I wrestled with whether to tell him the slightly more complicated truth. I’d hesitated too long though, and just came out with it. “Actually no, not really.”

He raised his brow, looking at my lips, waiting for me to digress. For some reason, I didn’t care if he knew. Maybe because I knew he had secrets, too. Even if he wouldn’t tell.

“When we were younger… about four years ago now? It was a really rough time, financially.”

Harry didn’t say anything, didn’t move. I continued, “We had to get rid of a lot of things to afford the lease.”

“You guys have been leasing this same house?”

I nodded. “It’s a lease-to-buy option. So maybe, one day…” I let my voice trail off. Maybe we’d own it. A potential dream, pretty impossible on paper. “It’s an old lady who owns this house, really sweet. She rents the house to us for a lot less than she could. I think it’s because she doesn’t want somebody else to buy it and tear it down, and she liked our family, too. She grew up here.”

He dusted the spine of Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. “That’s one of the few I kept. Cliché, I know, but…” -I shrugged- “Who doesn’t love Mr. Darcy, right?”

He turned, a softness in his eyes.

“We had to sell a lot in the house to make the payment on-time. She’s sweet and has the final say-so, but her family essentially runs her finances. They’re not so sweet.”

“You had to sell your books?”

“They were nice. Rare. My Grandpa picked them up for me in antique bookshops he’d visit when he’d travel. People sell a lot more than that to make it… like their bodies, their souuulllll.”

“Y/N,” he scoffed.

“What?” I sat at the foot of my bed, watching a once-again awkward Harry not quite what to do with his body. “It’s better now! A lot better than what it was. We still live here,” I shrug.

“Why don’t you live somewhere else?”

He didn’t say what he was thinking. Some place we could afford.

“My dad needs to live by the water. It’s his lifeline.” I paused. “That, and wine. If he works this hard and dies tomorrow, he wants to at least enjoy it.”

“Your brother…-”

“Wasn’t always an ass.” I smiled.

“I wasn’t going to say that.”

“I know.” I lay down, closing my eyes. I sensed him move towards my feet. “I don’t think he’s ever forgiven my dad,” I admitted. I didn’t say what for, but as soon as the words were out of my mouth, the words I’d wondered about for years, I regretted it. That was too personal to share, even to Harry. With the tact of someone who learned not to speak about his past, he noticed. He didn’t bat an eye, didn’t press, just silently accepted. He moved his hands along the only other Austen cover I had. Sense and Sensibility.

“You know…” he started, voice delicate as silk. “Austen’s dad went to a publisher on her behalf without even telling her.”

“Really?”

He nodded. “He got declined, but- still. He did everything he could to help her succeed with her work, with her dreams.”

“Where are you going with this Shakespeare.”

“I can see that in your dad. He really loves you.”

I propped myself up on my elbows. “You know, for a boy who’s supposedly failing his classes, you’re pretty smart.”

“Y/N,” he laughed lightly, settling in a strong gaze. “I was never failing.”

The room stilled. “What do you mean?”

“You know what I mean.” He gently nudged my legs over, settling in beside me. I turned on my side, the Austen book cradled in the nicest hands I’d ever seen. “I didn’t know how else to get you alone,” he admitted, a quiet confession.

“Josiah de Saude didn’t know how to talk to a girl.”

“Oh, come off it,” he laughed, my favorite shiny laugh. And suddenly I was grinning, too. “I used to know what to say.” His eyes ran over my face, lingering on my mouth. “But then you came along, Y/N,” he admitted. His smile faded.

With a strong gust of wind, the brush outside thwacked against my window. I jumped. It was always eerie, no matter how old I got. Inside, we had blankets, childhood memorabilia plastered to my walls, the steady thrum of a heater that’d just come out of summer hibernation. The outside wasn’t as calm as it was here. Here, in this mix of childhood and whatever it was that made my heart beat wild, we were safe. If only for a little while.

I almost forgot Harry was next to me before the back of his hand brushed my leg. His fingers stroked my thigh, the skin beneath him tingling. A simple touch was all it took, and suddenly each cell of my body was on high alert, informing me, fairly quickly, that he didn’t let his hands wander. Did he want them to?

“They’re coming after me now,” I said, when it was clear he wasn’t trying anything. His eyes were closed, but his nostrils flared when I spoke. The hickey he’d given me was still there, carefully hidden by pounds of coverup. My fingers memorized its spot. It seemed to burn anew, reminding me of its place as its giver’s face shadowed.

It needed to be said.

Maybe my paranoia wasn’t just paranoia. Maybe it was my sixth sense. A warning. Maybe they really had been watching me. Maybe they’d memorized his mark, too. I remembered Harry shouting at me before disappearing on the field. If they fuck with you, they fuck with me. Was I just a walking target?

“They won’t get to you.”

“They could’ve.”

“They aren’t dumb enough to do something like that,” he glowered.

“Something like what?”

Words stalled at the curve of his lips.

“Something like what,” I repeated, slightly panicking. What had these people done before? Wouldn’t be dumb enough to rape me? Kill me? Hadn’t they come close enough?? His chest rose with a deep breath. “Tonight wasn’t a mistake,” I whispered.

“You’re right, it wasn’t.”

“Well then what do they want? Because if it’s money they’re barking up the wrong tree.” I propped myself on an elbow, silently begging him to open his eyes. He did, hand running gently up my spine. “Do you even know?” I asked, suddenly horrified that he might be as in the dark as me.

He swallowed, hooded eyes darkening.

“They want what I have,” he said. “And they’ll threaten me in any way they can until they get it. They’ll fish out any weakness. And then they’ll exploit it.” His voice softened at weakness.

Money, then. They wanted money. Unless… unless his weakness was me? I shook the thought away.

“Why can’t you tell the police? Why can’t you just… tell them what’s going on?” I was becoming the girl I hated in movies. The girl that as soon as something horrific happened, she made an awful decision to try and solve it herself instead of CALLING THE DAMN COPS. Which is what I yelled at the screen, every time. CALL THE DAMN COPS. Which is what my brain was yelling at me, every day. CALL THE DAMN COPS. Neither of us listened.

“It’s more complicated than that,” he brushed off.

“Does this have to do with your ‘association’ with them?”

His voice turned sharp. “That’s enough with the questions.” A horrific tremble rippled up my spine. The tone, so harsh and authoritative, just like my brother’s, made my skin crawl. He looked at me, sighing. “Please, just trust me on this. The less you know the better.”

“It’s a little hard to trust you when you’re the reason I’m a target.”

My words lingered for a horrible moment. A long, drawn-out silence. I could practically feel them dissolve into Harry’s skin before he sat up, leaping to his feet.

I panicked. “I mean, it’s just hard to trust anyone when there’s so much that could happen. Things I don’t even know that could happen to me. Or even my family.” He scratched his collar, looking at our reflection in the mirror. My body scrambled upright, tearing itself from the blankets. “I don’t know what these guys are capable of. If you could just tell me, maybe-”

“I should go.”

“No, Harry- wait!”

He stalled at the door. I met him there, tugging at his sweater sleeve. He’d looked so lovely in my room, in a different part of my life he’d only just entered. And now to see him leave my safe place so suddenly hurt me deeper than I thought it would. He turned, begrudgingly. The green ivy of his eyes had cooled, hardened, becoming impenetrable.

“Don’t leave. Please. You can’t keep coming and leaving, it’s more than confusing, it’s… it’s completely maddening!”

He leaned his head back against the door, practically groaning, but pinched the bridge of his nose instead. He took several levelled breaths. Finally, “You think I want this?”

I stilled. “Want what?”

The horrifying possibility that “this” referenced us, petrified me. But the insecurity that he didn’t want me vanished when he looked traitorously at my waist, strong hands following suit. They gripped my sides, tugging me lightly forward. Suddenly I was drunk off the thought of them pushing me further, enough to make me dizzy... but they didn’t push. Strong hands kept me a safe distance apart, at any second looking like they could pull me into him or push me away.

“I want so many things, Y/N,” he breathed. “But all of them seem to do with you. And I don’t-” He seemed frustrated with himself as his brows stitched, trying to find the words. “I don’t know how to handle this. Everything’s so entangled.”

A knock at my door made us both jump. It creaked open, Mother poking her head in with a wide smile.

“I heard it was a good game tonight,” she half-whispered.

Harry cocked a smile, and his hands fell from waist. “Yeah, it was.” Guarded eyes look to me. “Y/N went with my sister.”

So he had seen. I couldn't tell if there was irritation lacing his voice, but there certainly wasn’t joy. Entangled….

“Oh, that’s fun. We’ll have to go watch you sometime huh honey?”

I nodded slowly, eyes wide, silently asking what in the HECK are you doing in here??

She drummed her fingers along the door. “Are you staying the night? You’re more than welcome to sleep on the couch. I know it doesn’t look that big, but it’s actually quite comfortable with all the blankets...”

“You’re so sweet, really,” he started. And Mother believed it. I believed it. His entire look softened. “But I can’t, unfortunately. I have an early practice tomorrow. And I have to get gas on my way home.”

My heart sank. The car. He needed to move my car.

“Oh, really?” Mother opened the door wider. “It’s getting late, though. It started raining…”

“I’m used to a little rain,” he said, slipping past my mother. I remained behind her, arms crossed. “Thank you for having me. It was a lovely dinner.” He looked to me, betrayed and abandoned, something sad and regretful brimming in his eyes. He lifted a finger to his brow in salute, then turned on his heel, heading down the hall.

“Bye Harry!” She called. Then, to me, “Don’t you want to walk him out?”

I shook my head, fighting back a slew of angry words as I sulked to my window. I opened it, wide, letting the first sprinkles of rain hit my face.

“Oh honey, shut that, you’ll get the sill all wet.”

“I just want to feel it for a little while,” I said.

“You’ll catch cold!”

“Mom, please.”

She flinched. “Okay. Just a little, though. Want me to close your door?”

I nodded, a gust of wind blowing and almost slamming it shut itself.

“A storm’s coming, Y/N,” she shivered. “Don’t stand there too long.”

I wasn’t sure when she left my doorway, but I knew when he left the driveway. An engine roared to life and the rain surged with a frenzy. I listened as the grumbling faded away, down the street and off to somewhere unknown - but not out of my life. That part wasn’t in my control, but there were things that were. I couldn’t stand around and wait for him anymore. Mother was right.

I closed the window, walking to the foot of my bed. Alone, a soppy looking girl stared back at me from the mirror. She sat on a familiar bed, wet hair plastering her face, droplets hanging from her nose, from her lashes. She looked only partly relaxed, the rest of her poised, tensed, like she could either jump or sleep in any given second. She looked exhausted.

But there was something alive, still. Just beyond her eyes, a little ember catching spark.

I wasn’t going to stand around. The window had already opened. The rain had hit the fan and it’d soaked me through. Nothing was going to change unless I did. Unless I moved.

Waiting for a boy to verify my safety?

Yeah, no thanks. If Madame Bovary taught me anything,

I’d get that myself.

part 19

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keywestlou · 6 years ago

Text

NEW YEAR OLD NEWS HITTING KEY WEST IN THE FACE

Key West’s traffic problem has steadily grown over the years. As our island increased in popularity, so did traffic congestion. Cars, bicycles, and pedestrians the primary culprits.

I have been writing and talking about the problem with increased frequency this past year. Especially the past couple of weeks as Christmas and New Year have brought hordes of tourists to Key West.

We welcome them. We welcome their business. However Key West forgot along the way to expeditiously work on the traffic problem. Lip service and a study recently received that took 2 years to complete. Not enough.

Death and injury hang like a black cloud over Key West.

A recent study revealed that Key West was ranked #1 among Florida cities with populations of 15,000 to 75,000 for bicycle fatalities and injuries.

Friday and Saturday found 2 accidents occurring that support the congestion premise. Yesterday’s Miami Herald said re Key West that “…..traffic has been congested on the tiny island.”

A truer statement never expressed.

Friday a tourist drove excessively and recklessly through Boca Chica down U.S. 1 to the triangle entrance to Key West. Seven cars were struck. Two of them police vehicles. Fortunately, injuries minimal.

Yesterday morning at 10, injuries more significant. A dead driver and a passenger in critical condition.

The accident occurred on North Roosevelt Boulevard. Involved tourists. The driver was traveling at a high rate of speed. Lost control of his vehicle. Traveled through the parking lot of Kim Kuban’s. Came to a stop when it hit a boat parked in front of the pawn shop nearby.

Note we are only at the beginning of the New Year weekend!

I stayed in yesterday and watched 2 great football games. The top 4 teams in the U.S. playing for the right to go against each other in the championship game.

Clemson destroyed Notre Dame 30-3. Both teams undefeated going into the game.

Alabama beat Oklahoma 45-34. The game not as close as it might appear. Only 2 minutes into the second quarter and Alabama was ahead 28-0. Both quarterbacks superior.

Alabama especially impressed me. A well oiled machine. Do everything right. Know how to grab that extra 4-5 yards on a run. Passing spectacular.

I pick Alabama over Clemson.

Syracuse basketball yesterday also. Syracuse destroyed St. Bonaventure 81-47. Not a big deal.

Syracuse has now concluded its pre league schedule. 9-4. Not impressive. The ever dangerous ACC season is around the corner. Big time hard fought college basketball! The quality of Syracuse play will be determined in those games.

I am concerned.

Later this afternoon, it will be the Gardens and then Hot Dog Church for me.

The year 2018 has been bad for manatees. So far, 804 killed. Boat strikes and the red tide responsible. Generally, 400-500 a year are killed. Primarily by boat strikes.

Major hurricanes the past few years. The most recent Michael which destroyed the Panhandle, parts of Georgia and the Carolinas.

Irma and Maria last year.

Recovery slow. Federal assistance insufficient.

Every time a natural disaster occurs, Trump goes on TV and says we have the money to deal with the problem. The truth is we do not. Ergo, recovery takes years. People suffering longer than they should.

Some examples.

Georgia significant when it comes to timber farming. Michael damaged 2.5 million acres of trees. The timber business contributes $25 billion annually to the economy. Involved are 124,000 jobs.

Georgia needs help big time re its timber business.

Florida’s Panhandle feels increasingly forgotten. Michael hit 2 miles less than a category 5.

The federal government is slow coming up with financial assistance. Two reasons. The federal bureaucracy and a lack of funds. The feds tell the states and municipalities to go to the bank and borrow necessary monies. The feds promise to reimburse the borrowings.

Good luck! Takes forever to get reimbursement. Irma was 15 months ago. Monroe County, Islamorada, Marathon, and Key West are still waiting for reimbursement dollars.

Panama City recently borrowed $50 million to help with Michael recovery. It will need more. Debris removal alone is estimated at $60-80 million.

Mexico Beach City was the worse hit by Michael. Close to total destruction. The hurricane hit at 155 mph. Power and water restored. Much little of anything else. Of its 2,700 dwellings, only 500 are habitable today.

The point being made is the federal government is failing in its responsibility to help.

If the federal government were functioning properly, Trump would be on TV telling the Nation what a good job he is doing. You do not see him or hear it.

While people are suffering because of the failure to help, federal dollars are being pissed away. An example is New Year’s Eve at Mar-a-Lago. Trump will probably be in Washington. His family at Mar-a-Lago.

Secret Service is required to provide certain safeguards for the President and his family. Secret Service has rented $54,020 worth of tents to be used for security checks and safe spots for VIPs. Secret Service also recently paid $41,000 for generators and site towers. I am not sure if these items are directly related to New Year’s Eve.

Golf cart rentals by Secret Service pushing $400,000 this year. For use by the Secret Service in guarding the President and his family when playing golf.

Note that the Secret Service agents are not being paid. The Secret Service cap was reached December 21. Keep in mind also that 800,000 federal employees are laid off or working without pay till the shutdown is over. On top of which Trump recently announced that he is placing a freeze on federal employee salaries. They will not receive their small annual raises scheduled for 2019.

I have never met Roger C. Kostmayer. A senior Key West resident who writes Letters to the Editor. To all the publications. He vents. He expresses wrongdoing/impropriety as he sees it.

In a recent letter of KONK Life E-Blast, Roger wrote re MAGA. MAGA from Trump’s perspective means Make America Great again. From Roger’s, Morons Are Governing America.

China fighting toilet paper waste.

Tourism on the rise in China. Public toilets, also. Toilet paper in public toilets is either being wasted (left on the floor in large unused amounts) or being stolen to be used at a place where toilet paper is not available.

What I shall now describe is being used in Jinan. Planned for use throughout China.

Toilet paper users are under scrutiny. Watched. A form of facial recognition technology. It is part of the toilet paper dispenser.

China says 27 inches enough toilet paper per usage. If someone attempts to use or take more, the facial recognition gimmick will recognize him/her and refuse the person toilet paper. A 9 minute wait involved to get additional paper.

The technology sophisticated. It can tell if the person is new or a returning user.

I looked for a New Year’s quote. Tons of them. Searched for something different, yet pointed.

Wally Lamb is the author of the quote. Never heard of him. He has a nice touch with words, however. Read them slowly, think for a moment, flavor his words: “Accept what people offer. Drink their milkshakes. Take their love.”

Enjoy your Sunday!

NEW YEAR OLD NEWS HITTING KEY WEST IN THE FACE was originally published on Key West Lou

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flauntpage · 7 years ago

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OPINION: I Saw a Diverse and (Mostly) Well-Behaved Parade Crowd

I walked at least eight miles on Thursday.

My wife went down to the parkway around 7 a.m. and my dad and I got on the EL at Girard Avenue around 8:15 a.m., headed to City Hall.

We had some trouble, ironically, crossing Broad Street, so we had to get back on the Market-Frankford line and walk down from 30th Street Station.

Not totally ideal.

For some reason, the subway concourse was blocked when we tried to get through, though other people, like Russ, had no issues moving underground to the other side of City Hall. And sections of Broad that were opened earlier (like Locust Street) were completely blocked off by 9 a.m., so whatever.

Anyhow, because of that “roundabout” trip throughout Philly, I feel like I got a good, long look at what I thought was an incredibly diverse turnout.

If I had to guess, I’d say 50% of the crowd was white, 40% was black, and the other 10% was anybody and everybody who lives in Philly. I saw a decent number of Hispanic and Latino families, and some Asian families, too. Women were well-represented (40% maybe?) and I saw lot of children, too, who seemed to be doing okay in the large crowds. The area I walked was Locust up to 17th and the Parkway, on both sides of the route.

After the motorcade passed by CB headquarters at the Ritz, I saw a black guy taking pictures with his group and a makeshift Lombardi trophy. A random white guy walked by to look at the faux trophy and the first guy, Lamar, grabbed him and told him to get into this photo:

I walked over to Lamar and asked if he’d share some thoughts on the parade experience.

“It was Shangri-La,” he said. “It was a utopia of Eagles green everywhere. We waited all these years, my whole life. I’m 34. It was beautiful, everybody getting along, everybody in unison. There’s nothing bad I can say about it.”

Lamar described the crowd as cool, and wild, but in a “fun way.”

“They were behaving themselves. It was all fun stuff, like a ‘fun’ wild, not a ‘destructive’ wild, because there were kids around. It wasn’t any of the negativity that the national media wants to give us. It was just Philly. We’ve got another level of fun. You have to be from Philly to understand it.”

A pair of guys across the street, Andrew and Sean, flew in Thursday morning from Tampa.

“We were born up here but we moved when we were younger and we’re still diehard fans,” said Andrew, who grew up in Cherry Hill. “We flew up at 6 a.m., got in at 10:35, and came right over to the parade. It was an awesome experience. I’m 28 years old right now and my dad is 62, so he was four years old for the 1960 championship and has never seen a Super Bowl. And we haven’t obviously, so it’s the only championship I’ve seen outside of the Phillies in 2008.”

Andrew says he and Sean bumped into some other people from Jersey that they didn’t know and spent part of the parade hanging out with total strangers.

“Honestly, it wasn’t as bad as some of the things you see,” he added. “Mostly it was family fun. Most of it. I mean, there are those guys who are on top of statues, and it’s fun to see because it’s part of the experience, but everybody was pretty well behaved overall. I didn’t see any fights or anything like that. I think everybody was unified by the win.”

Torrey Smith seemed to share that opinion:

People keep asking me what was the best part about the parade…to me it was looking around and seeing people from different races, social class, and their families together…United for one reason…To celebrate the success of their football team!

— Torrey Smith (@TorreySmithWR) February 9, 2018

So when I look at that crowd I want people to experience that type of unity all the time. So when you question if athletes should just stick to sports you are dead wrong…we can help be and create the change we want to see because the people are connected to us and we are them!

— Torrey Smith (@TorreySmithWR) February 9, 2018

There was, of course, some dumb stuff that happened.

Here’s an idiot damaging city property and wasting taxpayer dollars on the future repair:

Shoutout to the guy at the parade who fell off the light pole pic.twitter.com/4Mqt6iXL6w

— Austin Vitelli (@AustinVitelli) February 8, 2018

I don’t have any context for this, but it looks like drunk dorks going after each other:

Classic City of Brotherly Love pic.twitter.com/PpS4pYeb7a

— Barstool Heartland (@barstoolhrtland) February 8, 2018

And Glen spotted a couple of morons being morons:

First trouble of the day. Two idiots start fighting for space in front of the Palm. One takes a swing at a cop. Someone will see the end of this parade from jail. pic.twitter.com/kbJs6eBcyc

— Glen Macnow (@RealGlenMacnow) February 8, 2018

And if more idiot lawbreakers were in action, they’ll hopefully be identified and tracked down, like the suburban kid who was arrested post-Super Bowl for flipping the car. His father, ironically, is named “Whitey,” which is perfect.

Otherwise, I didn’t see a ton of misbehavior. Pissing in public was probably the worst, though I only saw four port-o-jawns on the south side of City Hall. I’m not sure how it looked on the parkway. A lot of businesses closed their doors and others were just swamped with people, so the bathroom situation was highly questionable and logistically impossible to nail down. Market Street near 13th was a clusterf#@! of people trying to stay warm while waiting in line for the EL, post-parade.

And the pot smoke is expected, so whatever, should be legal by now anyway. If you’re bothered by a whiff of that in the air, might be time to recalibrate your moral compass, though I do empathize with parents who have to explain the smell to their kids.

The thing that really bothered me isn’t even specific to this parade, or white people, or black people. It’s actually a Philly problem in general, but people just throw their trash on the ground with total disregard for decency. I understand that this is a massive parade with thousands of people walking around, and the trash can situation is less than ideal, but show some pride in your city. I see garbage and dog shit and cigarette butts laying around EVERYWHERE in Philly on a normal day, so we really have to do a better job here, as Andy Reid would say.

Also, it was just people being lame in general by overdoing things. For instance, the “Fuck Tom Brady” chant was funny the first time, but not the 2nd, 3rd, 4th, 5th, or 27th time, so that got old quickly. Same with the “Nick the Dick” cheer. Some of y’all need new material.

And when people are trying to get from one place to another, don’t just shove them in the back from behind; take a look ahead to see why they’re standing still. Maybe they’re stuck also. I had to wait 15 minutes to leave the Ritz because people simply could not organize themselves in a two-way fashion. Employees had to come down to the lobby and literally tell people when to leave and when to enter, sort of like that road construction where one lane is shut down and you wait for the PennDOT dude to flip the sign to tell you when to go.

Another thing I spotted was this crew, the same jabronies who showed up at the NFL Draft with their fake Christian message:

I followed these guys for a bit and didn’t see a ton of folks harassing them. I think people were just sort of rolling their eyes instead of wasting their time engaging in the pointless back and forth. That’s different from what I saw in April, when the “Jesus or hellfire” peeps had a larger group and garnered more attention from the crowd:

This guy says you don't need the Eagles when you have Jesus Christ pic.twitter.com/fsvrjCxeGQ

— Kevin Kinkead (@Kevin_Kinkead) April 27, 2017

“The Eagles are masturbators!”

“No, not that!”

That’s about it, as far as my experience, which was five or six hours in a relatively small portion of the parade route near City Hall.

I didn’t see it all, but neither did Ernest:

Staying in my empire today while the plebeians, I mean Eagles fans, enjoy the #EaglesParade. pic.twitter.com/vILnxlJXNt

— Ernest Owens (@MrErnestOwens) February 8, 2018

Better to be a “plebe” than casting judgement from the ivory tower.

Just my opinion.

OPINION: I Saw a Diverse and (Mostly) Well-Behaved Parade Crowd published first on https://footballhighlightseurope.tumblr.com/

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amtushinfosolutionspage · 7 years ago

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Peter Chiarelli Has Made Life Difficult for Connor McDavid and the Oilers

When Peter Chiarelli became the general manager of the Edmonton Oilers, there were two prevailing schools of thought:

1) This is great, because no longer is this team run by former players that starred in the 1980s and had no idea what to do when it came to managing an NHL roster. Chiarelli had success in Boston and with Connor McDavid coming to town, this bodes very well for the future.

2) Chiarelli ruined the Bruins before their time with way-too-big contracts for veterans and a trade of a generational talent in Tyler Seguin because he took his shirt off at a bar and liked to have sex or some dumb shit that still makes no sense to this day. With the Oilers having cap space and a plethora of great young players (many of whom have gone shirtless in public and engaged in sexual intercourse), this could be a bad mix.

Even if you leaned toward option 2, with McDavid and Leon Draisaitl and Ryan-Nugent Hopkins and Taylor Hall and Jordan Eberle there was no way Chiarelli could fuck this up, and if he could, it would take a long time. If Chiarelli were Winston Wolfe, you’d be asking him to get rid of six bodies at Jimmie’s house instead of the one. No way he could get that job done before Bonnie came home from the hospital.

The Oilers are 2-5-1 with 15 goals through eight games and showing signs that Bizarro Winston Wolfe has already fucked up Jimmie’s shit in record time.

Let’s start with the positive—the Oilers’ score-adjusted Fenwick through eight games is 55.61 percent, the fourth-best mark in the league, according to Puck On Net. That’s a phenomenal number, even if there are still 73 games remaining. You can’t argue that the Oilers aren’t flattening teams during 5-on-5 play.

Chiarelli trying to justify the Hall trade and Draisaitl contract. Photo by Dan Hamilton-USA TODAY Sports

What you can argue is that number is greatly inflated because of McDavid. Without him, the Oilers are just about a 50 percent possession team in all even-strength situations. McDavid is in the mid-60s (!) and is basically to the Oilers what Erik Karlsson is to the Senators—a one-man wrecking crew without much help behind him.

Although with the Senators, Karlsson never really had much help; with the Oilers, McDavid had his help traded or was saddled with players that aren’t very good and weighing him down. McDavid has a point on nine of the Oilers’ 15 goals and was on the ice for another. Where did all the support go? It disappeared? How does that happen?

It happens when you continuously trade-in your sports cars for Kias. When you ship out Hall for Adam Larsson and Eberle for Ryan Strome, there will be consequences. When you reportedly say no to a PK Subban trade, that’s going to be an issue, especially when you think the answer to your defensive problems over the long term is Kris Russell. When you think you can replace Hall with Milan Lucic, you will eventually get negative returns.

Think about the issue Sidney Crosby and John Tavares have dealt with their entire careers—they’ve had no wingers. Tavares lugged around PA Parenteau and Matt Moulson for years while Crosby carried a cavalcade of guys that would probably be in the AHL right now if not for the blessed luck of playing on his wing, and landed Chris Kunitz a spot on a stacked Olympic roster. This didn’t really hurt the Penguins (three Cups is pretty good) because they had all kinds of depth behind Crosby while Tavares has only gone beyond the first round once in his wasted Islanders career.

It’s as if Chiarelli saw Crosby having success without a talented winger and took all the wrong lessons from it. “If Crosby can do it with Jake Guentzel and Conor Sheary, McDavid can do it with Patrick Maroon and a guy we just drafted a few hours ago.”

And McDavid can do it with those guys! His numbers show that!

What you can’t ask is for Nugent-Hopkins and Draisaitl to make things happen with Lucic, Strome, Drake Caggiula, Mark Letestu, Zack Kassian, etc., on the second and third lines. Remember when Evgeni Malkin was saddled with Blake Comeau and Jussi Jokinen and the Penguins couldn’t get out of the second round? That’s the Oilers’ future with this group of forwards and it’s almost entirely Chiarelli’s fault.

It’s fine if the Oilers were using their abundance of forwards to fix the back end, and Larsson is fine, but you need more than Larsson to make your team a true contender. Last year may turn out to be a McDavid-fueled aberration that allowed everyone in Edmonton to really think the reason the Oilers were bad all those years was Hall.

The move that will probably make or break Chiarelli this year and next year is the Draisaitl contract, one that looked bad about a month after it was consummated. Eight years and $68 million after one great season when your entry-level contract is expiring is horrendous when David Pastrnak got six years and $40 million in the same situation (albeit without the great postseason like the one Draisaitl had, the thing GMs have been overvaluing for years). Chiarelli isn’t allowed to lament a lack of cap space in the coming years when he overpaid by about $2 million per season for Draisaitl.

The Draisaitl contract is likely to complicate things for Edmonton in the near future. Photo by Anne-Marie Sorvin-USA TODAY Sports

If Draisaitl can be the Oilers’ version of Malkin, then… well, based on the talent around him, the Oilers will be the version of the Penguins that can’t get over the hump because they don’t have the secondary scoring required to win a championship. But unlike the Penguins, the Oilers actually had it in spades before Chiarelli parted with it for 60 cents on the dollar.

You can’t let Chiarelli off the hook because the Eberle and Hall contracts preceded him, because a) those contracts weren’t bad and b) he replaced them with Lucic, Russell, the too-big Draisaitl contract, etc. He’s botched this thing but no one really noticed because the Oilers found a way to overcome it last year. Hockey’s rampant luck has a way of masking bad managerial decisions, as did Cam Talbot’s phenomenal 2016-17 season stopping high-danger shots during his league-high 73 starts.

This entire situation seems avoidable, but really, this is the butterfly effect from having incompetent morons that had 22 goals in the 1980s running your franchise for years. If you have dopes steering your organization into iceberg after iceberg, any captain that has never steered a ship into an iceberg will seem like a savior. Chiarelli applied for the job with an iceberg-free resume and even directed a ship to a Stanley Cup, so there was no way ownership wasn’t going to hand him the keys two years ago.

What no one realized was that while Chiarelli knows how to avoid icebergs, he prefers to drive his ship with the anchor scraping along the bottom of the ocean to make the voyage more challenging than it needs to be. The Oilers can still get to where they want to go, but the captain has made it more difficult than it ever needed to be.

Peter Chiarelli Has Made Life Difficult for Connor McDavid and the Oilers syndicated from http://ift.tt/2ug2Ns6

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racingtoaredlight · 8 years ago

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Ranking The 50 Best Non-Kelly Olynyk Players In The NBA, Part 5

There are a maximum of 449 non-Kelly Olynyk players on NBA rosters nowadays, give or take an injury exception or two. Make no mistake, they are all ridiculously good at basketball compared to the population at large. But, in the NBA universe, some players are better than others. I’ve taken the liberty of poring over stat-laden spreadsheets, breaking down game film, snorting piles of coke, throwing darts, flipping coins, arguing with my pets, sobbing uncontrollably, and going with my gut to arrive at a list of fifty truly elite athletes.

A couple of points of order before we start:

I’m disregarding the players’ contracts for this exercise. So, a guy doesn’t move ahead of a better player due to costing less, and conversely a player won’t be dinged for being “overpaid.”

This isn’t a “Who I Would Build A Franchise Around For the Next Five Years” kind of deal. I’m ranking these gents based on who I would want for next season, and next season alone. So the value of older players isn’t totally crippled by expected age-related regression, and young guns don’t automatically rocket to the top of the list based on potential alone.

That’s pretty much it. Let’s get the party started.

PART 1 PART 2 PART 3 PART 4

#10. Chris Paul. Chris Paul seems miserable to play with. Having said that, he’s one of the most efficient point guards in the history of the league, and he unquestionably makes his teammates better. He showed the first real signs of decline this season, but was still among the league’s best. If Chris Paul is running the show for you, you’re in good shape. My grandmother is a resident of Winston-Salem, North Carolina and is a huge Wake Forest fan. She’s also an avid reader of this here blog, and called me the other night and said “Clahde, if yew don’t have Chris Pawl in yer top teein, I’m never makin’ yew any fried chicken an hush puppehs ever agin. Also, I’ll come ta yer house an bleed yew ta death with yer grandaddeh’s letter opener.” My Gram’s a big Chris Paul fan.

#9. James Harden. Harden’s game is so horrible to watch. I know intellectually that the things he does make total sense within the rules of the game, and can kind of sort of appreciate the fact that he’s mastered the techniques he uses. But, being subjected to it is just brutal. Having said all of that, there’s no denying that he’s an extremely effective player. He’s the only legit franchise player in any sport that if I were a team owner, I would sign, and then never watch any of my team’s games. I’d spend the season doing normal super-rich guy stuff, like hunting supermodels on my private island, and having sex with transients. Maybe I mixed those two things up, maybe not. Fuck you, I’m rich.

#8. Nikola Jokic. Sub-ranking of best Jokers: 1) Ledger, 2) Jokic, 3) Nicholson, 491) Jared Leto. I know this blurb is supposed to be about Nikola Jokic and his extremely high ranking, but I really want to talk about how much Jared Leto sucks. Look at this shit. I still can’t believe these are things that really happened. If he was a REAL method actor he would’ve thrown himself into a vat of toxic waste. Pussy. In what world are Jared Leto’s contributions as an actor worth putting up with a single one of those things? YOU’RE A DOLLAR STORE DANIEL DAY-LEWIS AT BEST, YOU PIECE OF SHIT. Jared Leto wasn’t born, he sprung into existence after a group of homeless heroin addicts jerked off into a trunk filled with costume jewelry. Nikola Jokic has amazing passing skills for a 7-footer.

#7. Kawhi Leonard. I obviously think Kawhi is a great player, given that I have him at #7. But, I do think he’s just a smidge overrated. The Spurs as a whole benefit from the exaggerated narrative that they’re this unsexy, workmanlike, small-market, does-everything-the-right-way team. So, when they were pitted against the hated, “everything-that’s wrong-with-today’s-athletes” Miami Heat superteam in those two Finals match-ups, the desire to see them prevail clouded popular opinion and caused their greatness to become a tad overstated. Kawhi Leonard benefitted the most from this. Again, he’s an awesome player and any team would love to have him, but this notion that he’s the second best player in the NBA is a bit much. He doesn’t really create for other players, and his defense actually took a small step back this season. Great player, but not in my top five.

#6. Karl-Anthony Towns. There’s nothing not to love about KAT. He’s the best and most complete big man in the NBA, and he’s not even 22 years old yet. He pulled down 12 boards per game this season, and has the length and athleticism to lead the league in blocks. He averaged 25 points per game while hitting 54% from the field, 37% from three and 83% from the foul line. He’s also goofy and hilarious off the court. I’m so riled up over here I can’t even think of any jokes to write. Why did the chicken cross the road? TO TELL EVERYONE HOW FUCKING AWESOME KARL-ANTHONY TOWNS IS!

#5. Giannis Antetokounmpo. Figuring out who to rank higher between Giannis and KAT was the toughest part of this entire exercise. KAT has the higher floor, but The Greek Freak’s abilities have no ceiling. He’s honestly one of the most amazing athletic marvels of our time. I gave Giannis the nod by the slimmest of margins based on his ability to legitimately play all five positions, and on the fact that he’s a literal superhuman. Like, nothing is off the table for next season with him. Could he rampage through next season like a 6′ 11″ Russell Westbrook and average a triple-double? Yes, he could. I’d settle for him continuing to develop as a three-point threat, because once he adds that to his arsenal there won’t be any way to stop him. At only 22 years old, his game has plenty of time to grow, which is terrifying as a fan of an Eastern Conference rival, and exhilarating as a fan of sports in general.

#4. Stephen Curry. Anyone who tries to act like Steph isn’t a devastating offensive player is a moron. The dude can put the ball in the basket as well as anyone on Earth. He’s an incredibly efficient shooter from anywhere on the floor. The fact that defenders have to pick him up as soon as he crosses half-court warps the entire structure of a team’s defense, and makes the Warriors’ offense extremely difficult to handle. His personal stats took a hit this season with Golden State’s addition of Kevin Durant, but that doesn’t mean Steph’s skills have diminished in any way. He’s the best shooter to ever play the game.

#3. Russell Westbrook. Russ is a horrifyingly intense individual on the court. The most common criticism of him is that he shoots too much. This would be a valid criticism, if there were a single other player on his team that could score with anything resembling consistency. Westbrook doing everything for OKC this season was actually their best option on every possession. Would people like him more if he’d deferred some, and the team won ten fewer games? That’s craziness. He’s probably the most explosively athletic point guard to ever play, and he’s operating at the peak of his powers. This season definitively proved that as long as you have Russ, you’ll make the playoffs regardless of whatever collection of shit-smeared mannequins you surround him with. That’s the definition of a franchise player, in my book. The making the playoffs no matter what part, not so much the shitty mannequins. That’s a gross image, I don’t even know why I wrote that.

#2. Kevin Durant. I’m in agreement with everyone who believes that it was lame as hell for KD to join the Warriors. His decision dropped one team from the ranks of title contenders while making a different team a nigh-unbeatable juggernaut. For me, that makes the league as a whole a little less fun. But, I can understand why he did it. His game couldn’t possibly be a better fit anywhere than it is in Golden State. He’s right there with Steph Curry when it comes to shooting efficiency, the only difference is that KD is seven feet tall with crazy long arms. His jumper is completely unguardable. Aside from the winning and the wide-open looks he now routinely gets, another benefit of his move to the Warriors is that he’s able to show that he’s actually pretty damned good defensively. In a lot of the lineups Golden State throws out there KD is the lone rim-protector, and he’s done a better-than-expected job in that role. But, let’s not pretend that KD’s value is coming from his defense. When it’s all said and done, he really could go down as the greatest scorer in the history of basketball.

#1. The PB & J. There’s never been a team in any era that wouldn’t cast aside their best player in favor of a PB & J. This playmaker combines slightly savory peanut butter with a sweet, fruity explosion of jelly between a couple of slices of starchy, carb-loaded Heaven, and it’s headed straight for the Hall of Fame, no doubt about it. The PB & J is universally beloved in every locker room it’s been in, and that kind of morale-boosting ability is desperately needed in the dog days of an 82-game grind. Team chemistry is no joke. The PB & J gets bonus points because to the best of my knowledge Delonte West never fucked it’s mom.

HONORABLE MENTION: LeBron James.

THE MASTER LIST:

1. PB & J 2. Kevin Durant 3. Russell Westbrook 4. Stephen Curry 5. Giannis Antetokounmpo 6. Karl Anthony Towns 7. Kawhi Leonard 8. Nikola Jokic 9. James Harden 10. Chris Paul 11. Paul George 12. John Wall 13. Anthony Davis 14. Rudy Gobert 15. Jimmy Butler 16. Marc Gasol 17. Kyrie Irving 18. Damian Lillard 19. Draymond Green 20. Isaiah Tomas 21. DeMarcus Cousins 22. Gordon Hayward 23. Kyle Lowry 24. Joel Embiid 25. Kemba Walker 26. Hassan Whiteside 27. Blake Griffin 28. Kristaps Porzingas 29. DeAndre Jordan 30. Klay Thompson 31. Kevin Love 32. Eric Bledsoe 33. Andre Drummond 34. DeMar Derozan 35. Bradley Beal 36. Myles Turner 37. Paul Millsap 38. Carmelo Anthony 39. Brook Lopez 40. CJ McCollum 41. Mike Conley 42. Al Horford 43. LaMarcus Aldridge 44. Goran Dragic 45. Dario Saric 46. Jeff Teague 47. Dwight Howard 48. Andrew Wiggins 49. Nikola Vucevic 50. Otto Porter Jr. Honorable Mention: LeBaron James

Well, there you have it. These were fun to write, I hope they were fun to read. For the readers who aren’t really NBA fans, why are you so racist? Not cool.

#NBA #Basketball #Rankings #Lists #Giving The People What They Want

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freelancertexas005 · 8 years ago

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A small thought on economics

The other day I happened upon a microenomics textbook at a library sale for $0.25. (The macroenomics was there too so I bargained for $0.40 for the pair) I took macronomics in college and had to self teach microenomic idealogy to pass so I thought it would be interesting to actually learn about.

Im reading the ‘understanding economics and why we learn about it’ part that’s mostly irrelevant to anything other than to convince the authors that they didnt waste their tine writing this book. I found the most interesting thing though. They dabble a bit into economic philosophers and how they shaped the way our government runs now. Names such as John Maynard Keynes, John Stuart Mill and more are dropped. It’s all very boring non sense from my highschool social textbooks when it begins talking about economics for citizenship. They go on about the importance of learning about economics on a basic level to better understand how our government is using our taxes. Things we need to pay attention to. The questions economists, and we, should be/are asking ourselves. Things like, and I quote, “Is the government right in seeking free ® trade with the United States?” and “Should we continue to subsidize farmers and set up more farm-products marketing boards?” and “What can be done to reduce unemployment?” (-Microeconomics Fourth Canadian Edition, Campbell R. McConnell and William Henry Pope)

You know what I realized? These are questions that our government struggles with today. I became curious and checked the front. It was published in 1987. In 30 years our government still couldn’t figure out a decent system even via trial and error? Why is it that the last time anyone had a philosophical break through in economic theory was in the 19th century? Guys, we need a new John Maynard Keynes or whoever. We need someone to think outside the box. Someone to look at the system and say “This makes no fucking sense. Why aren’t we doing this?”

Lets start here, how about this? Instead of looking for a trained workforce abroad why don’t you give tax payers job priority. Or tax them more instead of giving them a free ride. If you bring in a doctor from India and give him a tax free loan to start himself off here so he can practice then why is it that when he makes $150, 000 in a year he doesnt pay more then 15% income tax. But I make $3700 in a year. And entire fucking year. And im getting taxed 30%. Or worse yet, when we do this same practice with UNSKILLED immigrants. I’m a Canadian, but I can’t get any assistance when I got injured and couldn’t work. I’m a Canadian and there aren’t any jobs for me because I can’t legally sign a contract saying I’ll work for less than minimum wage in exchange for room, board and citizenship. Why the fuck is it that we gotta help everyone but the people at home. Lets fuck our dollar so the US won’t throw another whining fit about their economy and how they don’t want to trade with us. I could go on about this bullshit. Point is someone needs to step up. Come up with a good idea, put Trudeau on his knees and get him to suck your cock (put on a strap on if you have to) and fucking fix this mess. And really it starts with people voting Conservative and stopping being fucking morons.

#economics #government #bitching about stuff #y'all are fucking idiots #stop letting the liberals in #canadian politics #canadian economics #insight #i hope your listening trudeau #you're the worst piece of shit out there #fix shit #thoughts

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flauntpage · 7 years ago

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Peter Chiarelli Has Made Life Difficult for Connor McDavid and the Oilers

When Peter Chiarelli became the general manager of the Edmonton Oilers, there were two prevailing schools of thought:

Even if you leaned toward option 2, with McDavid and Leon Draisaitl and Ryan-Nugent Hopkins and Taylor Hall and Jordan Eberle there was no way Chiarelli could fuck this up, and if he could, it would take a long time. If Chiarelli were Winston Wolfe, you'd be asking him to get rid of six bodies at Jimmie's house instead of the one. No way he could get that job done before Bonnie came home from the hospital.

The Oilers are 2-5-1 with 15 goals through eight games and showing signs that Bizarro Winston Wolfe has already fucked up Jimmie's shit in record time.

Let's start with the positive—the Oilers' score-adjusted Fenwick through eight games is 55.61 percent, the fourth-best mark in the league, according to Puck On Net. That's a phenomenal number, even if there are still 73 games remaining. You can't argue that the Oilers aren't flattening teams during 5-on-5 play.

Chiarelli trying to justify the Hall trade and Draisaitl contract. Photo by Dan Hamilton-USA TODAY Sports

Although with the Senators, Karlsson never really had much help; with the Oilers, McDavid had his help traded or was saddled with players that aren't very good and weighing him down. McDavid has a point on nine of the Oilers' 15 goals and was on the ice for another. Where did all the support go? It disappeared? How does that happen?

It happens when you continuously trade-in your sports cars for Kias. When you ship out Hall for Adam Larsson and Eberle for Ryan Strome, there will be consequences. When you reportedly say no to a PK Subban trade, that's going to be an issue, especially when you think the answer to your defensive problems over the long term is Kris Russell. When you think you can replace Hall with Milan Lucic, you will eventually get negative returns.

Think about the issue Sidney Crosby and John Tavares have dealt with their entire careers—they've had no wingers. Tavares lugged around PA Parenteau and Matt Moulson for years while Crosby carried a cavalcade of guys that would probably be in the AHL right now if not for the blessed luck of playing on his wing, and landed Chris Kunitz a spot on a stacked Olympic roster. This didn't really hurt the Penguins (three Cups is pretty good) because they had all kinds of depth behind Crosby while Tavares has only gone beyond the first round once in his wasted Islanders career.

It's as if Chiarelli saw Crosby having success without a talented winger and took all the wrong lessons from it. "If Crosby can do it with Jake Guentzel and Conor Sheary, McDavid can do it with Patrick Maroon and a guy we just drafted a few hours ago."

And McDavid can do it with those guys! His numbers show that!

What you can't ask is for Nugent-Hopkins and Draisaitl to make things happen with Lucic, Strome, Drake Caggiula, Mark Letestu, Zack Kassian, etc., on the second and third lines. Remember when Evgeni Malkin was saddled with Blake Comeau and Jussi Jokinen and the Penguins couldn't get out of the second round? That's the Oilers' future with this group of forwards and it's almost entirely Chiarelli's fault.

It's fine if the Oilers were using their abundance of forwards to fix the back end, and Larsson is fine, but you need more than Larsson to make your team a true contender. Last year may turn out to be a McDavid-fueled aberration that allowed everyone in Edmonton to really think the reason the Oilers were bad all those years was Hall.

The move that will probably make or break Chiarelli this year and next year is the Draisaitl contract, one that looked bad about a month after it was consummated. Eight years and $68 million after one great season when your entry-level contract is expiring is horrendous when David Pastrnak got six years and $40 million in the same situation (albeit without the great postseason like the one Draisaitl had, the thing GMs have been overvaluing for years). Chiarelli isn't allowed to lament a lack of cap space in the coming years when he overpaid by about $2 million per season for Draisaitl.

The Draisaitl contract is likely to complicate things for Edmonton in the near future. Photo by Anne-Marie Sorvin-USA TODAY Sports

If Draisaitl can be the Oilers' version of Malkin, then... well, based on the talent around him, the Oilers will be the version of the Penguins that can't get over the hump because they don't have the secondary scoring required to win a championship. But unlike the Penguins, the Oilers actually had it in spades before Chiarelli parted with it for 60 cents on the dollar.

You can't let Chiarelli off the hook because the Eberle and Hall contracts preceded him, because a) those contracts weren't bad and b) he replaced them with Lucic, Russell, the too-big Draisaitl contract, etc. He's botched this thing but no one really noticed because the Oilers found a way to overcome it last year. Hockey's rampant luck has a way of masking bad managerial decisions, as did Cam Talbot's phenomenal 2016-17 season stopping high-danger shots during his league-high 73 starts.

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