The year-end post, circa 2018

As I believe more and more with each passing year, time begins to feel like it moves faster the older we get.  I go to work in the morning, do my thing there, come home, have dinner, tidy things up and do one or two tasks I had in mind, and then it’s suddenly 10 pm, and now I’m at the point of the day where I can’t really commit to anything too time-consuming, lest I put myself into a position of going to bed too late, and then being tired at work the next day, and therefore I usually just end up going to bed at a sensible time.

Rinse, repeat, and suddenly it’s the end of December, and we’re on the cusp of closing out 2018 and entering 2019.

I’ve often said in the past that it seems silly the notion of encapsulating things into calendar years, and having hope that things will miraculously be better the following year for no reason at all other than the fact that the last number in the date has ticked up one.  I say that, but I still find myself at the end of every year putting together these kinds of posts reflecting on a calendar year, and deciding whether it was good, whether it was bad, or more often than not, somewhere in the middle.

As far as two thousand and eighteen is concerned, I’m fairly confident that I can say with conviction that it was a pretty good year.  Not somewhere in the middle, but definitely up in the upper quartile of being good.  To those who kind of follow my life, the reasons for such are pretty obvious, but it kind of goes without saying that I’ve made some pretty big strides in my life in general, with none of them being larger than proposing to mythical gf, and making her mythical fiancée and soon-to-be future wifey.

I always figured there would be marriage in my life at some point, and it’s been an enjoyable albeit steady and deliberate ride, as that’s pretty much how I do most important things in my life, but I knew I was making the right choice moving forward, because as has been often times the case with the things in our relationship, things just felt right, and it was just time to make it more right, and move forward in our relationship to the next logical step.

Before I go any further reminiscing, getting engaged is what sets 2018 high atop years past, and by that logic, 2019 already has the groundwork laid down for it to be hopefully better. 

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Oh, Atlanta #877

To quote an internet commenter who was quoting any brand consultant:

the best diversion to consistent mediocrity is new branding and messaging.

That being said, you know what that means!  A new logo was made for something that didn’t need it!  And not only was a new logo created for something that didn’t need it, it also cost $590,000 to “make!”

Man, I am absolutely in the wrong business.  I totally need to find a way to get back onto the agency side that somehow has entire cities in their back pockets, to where they can charge over half a million dollars to rip off the Airwalk shoes logo, and then package it in 75 words of fluff and bullshit that could sell water to the ocean.  Because I’m pretty sure I could plagiarize one thing a year and be completely satisfied pulling in six figures for doing such and then calling it a year.

I mean I don’t even know where to begin with this perfect example of federal waste and in all likelihood crooked Atlanta politicians spoon-feeding their bedroom buddies.  But I think the most succinct place to start is with just the symbol itself:

  • The shapes that form the “star” in the logo are a series of “A’s” – or arrows – that spiral around a central axis, “symbolizing the freedom of movement provided to the region.” 
  • The arrows point toward and away from the center, “creating pulse-like movement.” 
  • The shape is reminiscent of a star, “and stars have provided guidance to travelers for thousands of years.” 

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The epitome of owned

I know that I concluded that Atlanta United winning an MLS Cup “counts” towards the city getting a long awaited championship, but if you ever wanted more proof that MLS doesn’t get any respect, look no further than the fact that the reigning MLS Champions won’t be able to play its CONCACAF Champions League home games, at home; due to a scheduling conflict – with Monster Jam and Supercross.

AKA the Grave Digger white trash redneck monster truck show and a bunch of dirtbikes pretending like they’re Excitebike.

So despite the fact that Atlanta United accomplished the impossible in getting the cursed monkey off the city’s back by winning a professional sport championship, they’re still denied the opportunity to represent the United States to a likely packed home field against Costa Rica’s Herediano fútbol club.

This is what I liked to declare, owned.

It’s really kind of silly too, because anyone who lives in Atlanta has probably seen just how maniacal it gets in the city whenever there’s an international friendly featuring one or two Latin American squads.  Mexico vs. Venezuela easily filled 65,000 at the Georgia Dome, and Honduras vs. Mexico easily matched that. 

If Atlanta United drew 73,000 into the Benz for the MLS Championship game, imagine just how easily it would draw another 73,000 featuring the heroes of the city versus, a Latin American squad?

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Everyone could use some emotional support chicken

Just when you think Popeyes is onto something potentially legendary with their unveiling of Emotional Support Chicken, they have to shoot themselves on the foot and only make it available in a shithole like Philadelphia.  And not just the city itself, but instead the fucking airport, which is already, much like the rest of the city it’s in, one of the biggest blights within the country.

However in spite of my general ambivalence for Philly, I still have to tip my cap to Popeyes for such a hilarious and creative idea, that just tickles my fancy and makes me green with envy that it’s not available everywhere else, or at least Atlanta, so I could get my hands on a box of emotional support chicken as well.

I fly enough to have plenty of aggravation at the current state of the world, where the concept of emotional support animals even exists.  The airline industry has morphed into this hideous symbiotic orgy where the carriers have carte blanche to fuck customers left and right with price gauging, shrinking seats, antiquated boarding procedures and a myriad of things that makes flying amongst the worst occasionally necessary experiences there is, but because there’s an endless demand for travel, passengers are now allowed to get away with shit like emotional support animals, which is basically a bastardized ruse for people to be allowed to fly with their pets.

And frankly, as with most nice things in the world, selfish shitheads ruin and abuse the small pleasures by lying their asses off and proclaiming every Tom, Dick and Harry dog and cat as emotional support animals, or even more offensive, service pets.  There’s no secret that just about anyone can buy on eBay or just make their own service vests for their pets to futilely deceive the world around them that they’re more important than the average pet, and they most certainly capitalize on such inefficient enforcement, by trotting their very-much-not service animals into airports and acting surprised when they defecate in public or on the plane or bite people or attack other fake-ass service animals.

But because the world today sucks, nobody’s really allowed to call out any of these fake fucks, because everyone’s afraid of the one person that actually is legally and medically cleared to have a service animal and their service animal is actually a service animal, and then getting sued, or worse, made viral, because any scene will inevitably be caught by someone’s phone and then put on YouTube.  So despite the fact that there are hundreds of miserable lying fucks, nobody can really stop them.

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