Power Rankings: Most Embarrassing Hobbies and Phases

My high school years were fraught with unrefined tastes. Four of the five hobbies and phases detailed herein occurred during the Pre-Book Brandon era—that is, the time spanning from birth to when I first willingly read a book (age 19).  I can make no better argument for the importance of reading than the horror that you, brave reader, are apparently poised to confront.

5) Linkin Park

Linkin Park released Hybrid Theory fourteen years ago, and this album’s presence in my cache of CDs serves as my personal warning against tattoos. In other words, what I consider cool, refined, or exemplary of me will eventually be dishonorable, brutish and antithetical to Future Brandon.

While working for my university’s newspaper staff one night, a fellow editor denounced my musical taste as “average,” alluding to the chorus of “Crawling” as evidence:

Crawling in my skin

These wounds they will not heal

Fear is how I fall

Confusing what is real

Not exactly Shakespeare, I granted him. My friend seized the opportunity, suggesting that liking Linkin Park and being snobby about literature was a form of cognitive dissonance.  While I did not care for that person at the time and have since contented myself with the subjective nature of my own musical taste, the encounter devastated me. He had deftly exposed that my very core featured a rube and a faux-intellectual failing miserably to coexist. And a Brandon divided against itself cannot stand.

4) Phog.net

A common interest forum for fans of KU athletics, this site contains separate forums for different sports, as well as for politics and the aptly named Ape Room (religion, pop culture, movies, Kate Upton, etc.).  I spend nearly every waking minute with Phog.net up on my browser. Even now, in the waning minutes of the work week, the tab is there, beckoning and tantalizing me like the lights of Las Vegas. I am mesmerized and compulsively drawn to it, like those who take their social security checks straight to the slot machines.

The understandable aspect of the hobby is the thirst for knowledge. Since KU basketball viewing is unabashedly my primary hobby, I wish to be abreast of any development or piece of information affecting the team. Are there any injuries? What is the spread for Saturday’s game? Is Doug Gottlieb trolling us on Twitter again?

Unfortunately, my crippling addiction to this site also owes to the omnipresence of debate. As a younger man, I avoided conflict—even virtual conflict—at any and all cost. These days, I exchange verbal fisticuffs with faceless strangers on all of, but not limited to, the following subjects: gun control, The Walking Dead, soccer, the JFK assassination, Phillip Seymour Hoffman as a source of empathy, and whether Perry Ellis is a deserving whipping boy for the board on the heels of a KU loss.

The realm is further appealing because typing things from behind a computer screen is easier than actually speaking to other people who happen to share my interests. (It’s both a warm memory and a harsh reminder of my gutlessness that I first approached my wife on Facebook.) And though there’s no mute button for people you’d like to ignore in real life, Phog.net extends the handy Ignore feature for those posters who reek suspiciously of K-State trolls. When I reflect with dismay on my diminishing social skills, I don’t have far to look for the culprit.

At this moment, my go-to time waster “is temporarily unavailable” due to scheduled maintenance. I feel like I’m missing a limb.

3) “A blind disregard for things other people liked until you somehow discovered their merit on your own” –Nick Sayre

Somewhere amid the tragic-comedy that was high school, I inexplicably developed a contrarian nature. That is, I willfully resisted anything that was wildly popular, perhaps as an unconscious attempt at recompense for some of the regrettable dalliances yet to come in this post. If I clearly could not trust others to tell me what was cool or worth my time, I would categorically reject anything and everything that attained mass appeal. Beneath the veneer of a Pro Cuts fade and GAP clothing beat the heart of a burgeoning hipster before hipsters existed. I was anti for the sake of being anti.

And so it was that I refused to read Harry Potter until the summer of the final book’s release. I also insulted my brother’s favorite band with the witless epithet “Jimmy Eat Poop.” Those who know me at all don’t need help in appreciating the irony, so I will only impart the following: One of the best and most memorable nights of my life included both a Jimmy Eat World concert in downtown Lawrence and the midnight release of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hollows. I sang along, word for word, to every song. I devoured all 759 pages of the book the next day. 

2) Dragon Ball Z

Commonly abbreviated DBZ, Dragon Ball Z is a Japanese anime television series that was eventually dubbed into English. The show follows the affable and casually powerful Goku, his son Gohan and the rest of the ragtag “Z team”—defenders of a world that is unaware of their existence or the various alien tyrants threatening to Alderaan the planet. The most appealing aspect of the show is that the characters possess otherworldly powers: They can fly (sometimes through mountains), move faster than agents in the Matrix, and shoot balls of energy through their hands. In this respect, at least, the show is not unlike many of the science fiction and fantasy films that have captured the imaginations of dorks across time and cultures.

Why the embarrassment, then? The first reason is self-evident: Dragon Ball Z is geared toward children. Though ostensibly a violent show—even the weakest characters pack more punch than all of Pakistan’s WMDs—viewers only occasionally wrestle with the concept of death. When a main character does die, he can be revived by a reptilian genie who can only be summoned when all of his “balls” have been located. The second reason is that the show sacrifices everything for suspense.  Entire episodes pass with characters hunched over, balling their fists and “powering up.” Between constipated grunts, heroes and foes may exchange some terse dialogue. Though there are plenty of titanic bouts between wild-haired combatants with powers that put the Twelve Olympians to shame, the show’s creators devote most of their attention in building up the importance of a given fight. In revisiting the epic Cell and Gohan tilt, I discovered that seven minutes and forty seconds of show-time pass before the two exchange a single blow.

Then there are the transformations. Once a character reaches a certain plateau in his training, and looks sufficiently constipated, he manages to transform. For Goku, Gohan, and the other Saiyans (did I mention that the show’s main protagonists are aliens, themselves?) this involves a change in hair color and eye color along with a substantial upgrade in strength and speed. The result is always a sight to behold, but you could listen to Don McLean’s “American Pie” and deep clean the bathroom before anything happens.

I’m only going to say this once, but my teenage brothers and I owned the following DBZ items:

•  Actions figures
• Wall scrolls
•  A Vegeta button-up shirt (mine)
• Most of the seasons on VHS cassettes

Also, for my film class’s final project, I constructed a DBZ music video to the timeless P.O.D. hit “Boom.” You may mock accordingly.

Though hardly a source of pride, I’m retrospectively pleased that I did not latch onto the show because of its popularity. My brother introduced me to Japanese animation and this show struck some chord¹ with me. I only later learned—much to my astonishment—that other people my age watched the show. During one fateful basketball practice, my shoes squeaked so badly that my teammate quipped, “You sound like Cell from Dragon Ball Z.” My eyes widened in astonishment. “You watch Dragon Ball Z?” His reply serves as one of my favorite memories from high school (which should tell you quite a bit about my high school experience): “Man, EVERYBODY be watchin’ Dragon Ball Z.”

As great as that moment was, it was later tarnished to some degree when I realized that some of my teammates used “Let’s go watch some Dragon Ball Z” as their code for “Let’s go smoke weed.”

1) WWF

During my junior high years, everybody who was anybody watched the World Wrestling Federation. It was as indispensable to late 90’s coolness as wearing Abercrombie and Fitch. The only excuse I can offer up for the following paragraphs would be that conformity is essential to social survival when you’re a teenager. If left to view Wrestle Mania in a social strata vacuum, without the tastes of Southwest Junior High’s crème de la crème impinging upon me, I may never have developed a passing adoration for a beer swilling redneck giving people the bird and yelling monosyllabic words into a microphone. But that’s not a luxury you have when you’re 15. 

The essence of professional wrestling lies in the spectacle of two mammoth humans pretending to fight one another in front of a live audience. Prior to that, though, each participant waits for the cue of his distinctive theme song before emerging from behind the curtains, fixing the audience with a basilisk stare, and dramatically making his way to the ring where, depending on whether he’s a Heel or a Face, he’s cascaded with boos or applause. If the show were this simple, though, my dabbling would not serve as such a source of lasting shame. You see, televised wrestling attempts to combine its easily understood hand-to-hand combat element with actual story lines and drama. There’s endless plotting, ever-shifting alliances, and near-naked women occasionally tussling in a pool filled with some sort of lubricant. In short, it’s a poor man’s Game of Thrones.²

The fact that I watched the show—to say nothing of the time that passed before realizing every episode was fundamentally the same—should be reason enough for deep regret. But alas, I dug a deeper hole. Here, I’m forced to reflect upon and lament just how oppressive an elder sibling I was during my adolescence. Not only did I obsessively watch Monday Night Raw and incorporate Dwayne Johnson’s tired catch phrases³ into my daily speech, but I forcibly dragged my brother Nick into the muck.

My family used to own a trampoline—an omnipresent mowing headache in the backyard—that served as the confluence of my Neanderthal comportment and my brother’s passivity. Rather than filling his free time with any number of constructive and enjoyable pastimes, Nick endured countless hours of receiving The People’s Elbow and the Stone Cold Stunner. He became quite adept at feigning the appropriate reaction to whichever move I performed. I even made him play my theme song on a portable CD player as I emerged through the screen door and onto the deck. Van Halen’s “Right Now” filled Biltmore Drive’s summer air as I pounded a can of caffeine free Pepsi ala Stone Cold Steve Austin.

And since I’m so fond of mocking the linguistic choices of others, I’d be remiss to neglect mentioning one of the most embarrassing items to ever exist in my own lexicon, thanks in equal parts to this wrestling phase and a certain friend I had at the time: “Beasted” (verb). My friend would boast of “beasting” his sister into the family room couch with a Powerbomb or German suplex. Such stories and elaborate descriptions, unfortunately, only inspired me to up the ante with the backyard brawls. It was thus with much trepidation that Nick granted assent to me launching him off the deck and onto the trampoline below. I can only imagine the deluge of spite and terror filling his mind while on the receiving end of these airborne beastings. When I informed him of my intention to write on this subject, his response was a rather incisive commentary of our adolescent relationship: “There were times I didn’t like you very much, but we’re cool now. This is where I cross you off the to-kill list and relax with my guns and lipstick.”

Did not make the list on account of awesomeness: 

Being at the Lake, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Ghostbusters, Reading, Viewing Sports, Playing Sports.

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1 Likely nothing more than that it sparked a desire to blast my teenage foes into oblivion with balls of energy—I remember actively fantasizing about this.

2 I'm talking Eddie Murphy in "Trading Places" poor.

3 The most famous of which involved telling other adults that "it doesn't matter what your name is" and threatening to turn an eclectic array of items "sideways" before shoving them up the victim's "candy ass."

In Defense [and attack] of Vocabulary

In high school, I would make the short drive back home during lunch period. Sure, this was partially inspired by my anti-social constitution, but I also much preferred my mother’s leftover casseroles to whatever greased slop the cafeteria palmed off as food. While microwaving said leftovers, though, I would routinely inhale an ice cream sandwich and a handful of Cheez-Its simultaneously. It never occurred to me that such a habit was strange—I had a limited amount of time and wanted to cram as much variety in those minutes as possible. Enough to offset my mild aversion for eating leftovers, at least. George Steinbrenner may have enjoyed eggplant calzones every single day, but such uniformity in gestation is unconscionable to me. For my birthday lunch, my loving wife presented a spread that included shrimp cocktail, three types of cheese, pistachios, potato chips, and Sour Patch Kids. I was so thrilled that I forgave the kalamata olives for their noted absence. When it comes to eating, I want options and variety.  

When writing or speaking, I also want more options. I enjoy the complexity and variety. Some prefer simplicity and limitations when it comes to language, and Twitter is the best and most salient current example. Verbal or written expression can be very challenging, and I understand opting for whatever makes things easier. At some point in time, unfortunately, having a vocabulary became downright uncool. As a society, we don’t have trouble praising other forms of intelligence or skills with a given craft, but a demonstrated aptitude with words may rub people the wrong way. Groupthink determined at some point that saying words like “banal” was pompous, elitist, gratuitous, or pretentious. Particularly when you’re a teenager, use of elevated vocabulary is as much an act of social suicide as joining the North Shore mathletes.

A lot of times, all that a vocabulary really indicates is that you've done a lot of reading. People have pointedly informed me that I “don’t have to” use big words, but some of us enjoy vocabulary like others might enjoy gardening, knitting, or braining the undead in video games. Incorporating new words into your speech might be as satisfying as throwing a touchdown pass, though some would prefer to liken it more to spinning a basketball—needlessly flashy and pointless.

Instead of accepting the social reprisals I willingly incur (and have in the past)[1] for saying “you slay me” instead of “that’s funny,” I’m here to fight fire with fire. Yes, dear reader, many popular words and expressions – adopted for comic purposes or the sake of simplicity – offend me and are corrosive to society at large. When I feel the push for social dialogue to mirror that exchanged by the vapid characters in “How I Met Your Mother” or “Friends,” I get a bit edgy and have no intention of sitting idly by. A few particular items gained enough cache to transform into memes, and they are forced down our unwilling throats like so many Channing Tatum films.

The terrorists, as it turns out, were craftier than we ever imagined. We’ve been looking for anthrax and WMDs while they’ve slyly waylaid us with a far shrewder incursion. If you use any of the following words and expressions, I’m sorry to tell you that you are a victim and, unfortunately, part of the problem.

The List

Before I begin, I want to acknowledge that many of the items on this list are merely common, stock expressions people use when they want to share something on social media. They represent the freeway that enables your thoughts to reach someone else. Viewed this way, none of the following are inherently inferior to any other available means of expression. All of my criticism is personal and subjective, and the fact that I’m even moved to write about this subject probably makes me a bit crazy. In truth, I feel a bit like this guy. Proceed with all due caution. Probably some undue caution, too.

1. That Awkward Moment

The tour de force of the terrorists’ linguistic jihad, this one has done so much damage that it serves as the namesake for an upcoming movie.[2] If the film stays true to popular use, expect for star Zac Efron to endure the gamut of encountering an ex girlfriend, arriving to a meeting with mismatched socks, and debating a Holocaust denier at a bar mitzvah. The only thing those examples have in common? That each of them can somehow be expressed through TAM.[3] When people invoke the word awkward, they usually mean something else, or something much more specific. While they may merely intend to convey some dramatized form of discomfort, more often they mean to project that a certain situation either a) is amusing or b) evokes a strong emotional response. Awkward somehow morphed into an incredibly flexible catchall word by which people present any experience they find Facebook worthy.

There are other words at your disposal. Use them.  

The above illustrates my point perfectly. This isn’t any more awkward than Florida Gulf Coast advancing to the Sweet 16. It may have seemed wildly improbable at one point in time, but the fact that it happened makes you uncomfortable?

2. Really? Seriously?

Believe it or not, incredulity can be expressed in other ways. I get it, though. This one is meant to serve as a rhetorical question, suggesting that an unfortunate event or someone’s behavior is beneath characterizing with adjectives. And that’s pretty bad.

3. Boss (adj.)

I focus here on “that was pretty boss” as distinct from “How ya doin’, boss?” though both may as well be Nickleback harmonized with babies crying against a chorus of people vomiting. How “boss” emerged from the innumerable corpses of slang words generally meaning “good,” I’ll never understand.  Give me tight, on point, or even noice ahead of boss.[4]

4. That ___, tho.

Here, I must confess that I probably don’t get it. Though (tho) can signify a change in topics or focus (e.g. "I think we should discuss our budget, though") or a counter to something (e.g. “Channing was good in Coach Carter, though”). As a conjunction, though can mean “in spite of the fact.” I’m not sure that this meme necessarily serves any of these functions, however. Mostly, I gather that it means X is good, or I plan to do X.

“That dunk, though.”

“About to eat this rack of ribs, though.”

Both examples are devoid of any context whatsoever, and that may be the entire point—whatever is expressed is apropos of nothing, but apparently good enough to transcend any context. Above any explanation, as it were.  

***

I’m here to liberate you from these star-crossed expressions. In lieu of a wizard’s staff and actual sorcery, I present the following case for a lexicon not confined to 180 characters.

1) Humor 

Unless you get your jollies from some troglodyte like Dane Cook,[5] it’s worth mentioning that much humor results from the gift of gab.

“There are all manner of lesser imps and demons, Pete, but the great Satan hisself is red and scaly with a bifurcated tail, and he carries a hayfork.” [O Brother, Where Art Thou]

Miles: Half my life is over and I have nothing to show for it. Nothing. I'am thumbprint on the window of a skyscraper. I'm a smudge of excrement on a tissue surging out to sea with a million tons of raw sewage.

Jack: See? Right there. Just what you just said. That is beautiful. 'A smudge of excrement... surging out to sea.' [Sideways]

2) Eloquence for eloquence sake 

It can be as pleasing to the ear as a fine melody.

3) A Means to an End

Your stock of words can be employed to attain a certain objective. That’s right—words can help you get what you want! Do you want more or fewer weapons in that arsenal?

Imagine bullets metaphorically here, and I think you’ll get the idea. If you want more moving examples, consult some famous historical speeches. 

Of course, there are other uses for so-called big words, but this really should suffice. If you do not see the clouds peeled back and feel vaguely woozy from your erstwhile lexical enslavement, I’m afraid that you’re beyond elvish medicine. To the rest of you: Breathe the free air, my friends.

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[1] Here’s an admission. It’s on me to determine whether my company and situation will respond favorably or unfavorably to certain lexical items. However, I’d like to mention that I was once mocked for saying “remarkable.” That, my friends, is not on me.

[2] One I won’t be viewing purely on principle, in case you were wondering. You have to stand for something in this world.

[3] I can’t bring myself to type it more than once.

[4] These are some of the worst slang examples for “cool” that I could produce.

[5] Heaven help you. 

The Hater’s Guide to Sports: Volume I

Preface: If you know me well at all, you know that I harbor and express negativity. I possess strong opinions about even the most relatively innocuous of things, ranging from Michael Gambon’s portrayal of Dumbledore...



 to the fact that someone like Robin Thicke is famous. (Is there a more scathing indictment of modern society?) My friend once called me a misanthrope after I took to social media to condemn How I Met Your Mother. It should come as a surprise to no one, then, that sports – while one of my greatest sources of diversion and joy – also stirs my antipathy. If you likewise enjoy sports but prefer to nourish as rosy an outlook on them as possible, I beseech you to read no further. Fellow haters may read on and look forward to future installments. 

When I lived in Abilene, TX, my friends convinced me to venture two hours east one weeknight to attend a Newfound Glory concert. Despite my complete lack of familiarity with the band, the prospect of an evening in Dallas with two good friends was a welcome reprieve from self-inflicted graduate school angst. What I didn’t know, however, was that each of the lead acts could be summarily described as Kill-Yourself Metal. Lots of guttural moaning, wailing, nihilism, oppressive body odor and – sandwiched between it all – me, fending off hordes of moshing teenagers. It felt as though all the world’s Hot Topic patrons had suddenly descended upon me, eager to mate, fight, or possibly both. To say nothing of the hours spent waiting for NFG to take the stage or their subsequent performance, I came to a very important revelation that night: When deciding whether to attend musical events in the future, be selective.

In a similar spirit, I encourage everyone to exercise choice before deciding to engage in a game of pickup basketball, even if that was your sole purpose for going to the gym. Even though I’ve played the game for most of my life, I somehow forgot (until yesterday, apparently) that the basketball court is as much a magnet for punks and narcissists as the casino is for degenerates. Since I’ve already detailed my thoughts on a certain pickup basketball archetype elsewhere, I’ve decided to offer something constructive and accessible rather than singling out any one red flag. Fortunately, a cursory perusal of the game’s participants will reveal whether you should get in on the next game or content yourself with shooting free throws. Yes, this is an exercise of profiling a basketball court, in a manner of speaking. The good news is that the task is seldom difficult.

If you discern one or more of the following, kindly refuse:

• Multiple teenagers – neurology shows that their brains have not fully developed, making them less averse to risks, consequences, and committing felonies. Bear that in mind before engaging these feral life forms in an activity they may view as an opportunity to abandon all decorum and embrace their most base instincts.
  
• Hero ball – one or more players who shoot each and every time they touch the ball. The ripple effect is seen when teammates place hands on hips and remain stationary while our Hero acts as the dementor of the hardwood.
  
• Loud and repeated verbal altercations – these disputes are waged with a very limited range of vocabulary.
  
• A ball-handler consistently ignoring screens set for him – often a byproduct of hero ball in which help from a teammate may be regarded as an affront to Hero's individual scoring ability.
  
• An attempt at anything you've ever seen in an And 1 mixtape
• People who say "And 1" on the court 

Conversely, these are positive signs:

• People smiling – if other people seem to be having a good time while playing, there’s a good chance you will, too.
  
• Three or more passes on multiple possessions – the less dribbling, the better. Straight out of Norman Dale's playbook.
  
• Verbal encouragement – examples include, but are not limited to, “Nice pass!” and “Good D!”
  
• Noticeable and sustained effort – basketball (even in its most amateur expressions) reaches its full potential when everyone plays hard without displaying any of the aforementioned red flags.
  

Of course, my recommendations assume that you value the same things I do. I want to play hard, sweat, make my share of shots, and walk away without vivid fantasies of doing this to people. As you may have guessed, the criteria I have established eliminates many games you will encounter. In those situations, you will have to weigh your desperation to play against the flawless standards provided herein. Can you be satisfied when only rebounds and steals afford you the luxury of touching the ball? Will you risk teenagers throwing the ball at your head if you block their shots? Would you, as I would, deprive teenagers of many privileges if anointed emperor of the world? Such are the questions you must ask yourself. No matter how desperate you may be for competition, try to keep in mind that the game at hand probably won’t be your final opportunity or your only outlet. You, too, can say no to toxic pickup basketball.

In short, you must choose, but choose wisely. The quality pickup game will give you joy. The bad one…will take it from you.