Wherever you come from, Whosoever you be

Happy St. Patrick’s Day, to all the lads and lasses.


Selected Aphorisms #40

The fortieth installment in our current events-y new series.

Newspaperman: increasingly rare job title or Jewish last name? You decide, America!


Sacrebleu shaka laka

Today, instead of my normal Friday morning routine of reading picture books to 5 year olds in an elementary school library (yes it’s my job), I, Daniel Woytek, am presenting my second humble guest post for the New Enthusiast. Please enjoy!

Much has been written on this weblog about a particular rookie from Old Europe who plays basketball for the Portland Trail Blazers. Now I do not want to alienate the national readership of this website and ardent Fernandezophiles, but there happens to be another continental Blazer rookie who deserves mention by Enthusiasts of all kinds for a particular skill he has exhibited during his first year in the Association. Unlikely starter and long, small forward Nicolas Batum has given Blazers fans and NBA fans that pay way too close attention, demonstrations during the season of his uncanny ability to block transition layups.

This very particular skill has also garnered him comparison to Detroit Piston, NBA Champion, All-Defensive Teamer, U.S. National Teamer/Gold Medalist and former Compton resident, Tayshaun Prince. I list Prince’s many accomplishments in part because I am one of those who feels that Batum has a long way to go to deserve such comparisons in relation to his overall game.

This having been written, there was a particular incident in the March 11th matchup between Portland and Dallas when Nicolas Batum did what he does. He blocked a transition layup attempt by Antoine Wright. As soon as I saw the play on my television (Sorry, no video avail.) it brought to mind a certain west coast transplant from Philadelphia (no not Ross McSweeney). Well, the proper synapses fired in my brain and I uttered to myself, “That’s the French Prince”. So henceforth when Nic Batum stretches his long arm after having run the length of the court to swat a would be score away from the basketball goal I will bellow with unburdened enthusiasm, “That there was the French Prince”.


Selected Aphorisms #39

The thirty-ninth installment in our occasionally soused new series.

Whenever I pour myself a scotch drink, I make a point of announcing – to no one, in particular – “Daddy needs his medicine.” That I have sired no actual children is of little consequence – the truth of my declaration remains unassailable.


Selected Aphorisms #38

The thirty-eighth installment in our lying liar of a new series.

It goes without saying that the word repent derives etymologically from re (meaning “again”) and pent (meaning “five,” as in pentagon or pentateuch). It follows that repent means, literally, “five again” – as in five-times-two, or simply the number ten. Ten was, as it still is, the perfect score for an Olympian. Thus, to repent suggests the idea of perfecting oneself, of attempting to render one’s own conduct perfect in the estimation of the Ultimate Judge. That this etymology is entirely fabricated ought to be of no concern to the reader.  Rather, the lesson is to take pleasure in the proof itself. Or, stated in slightly different terms:  QUOD ERAT DEMONSTRANDUM, suckas!


On Last Night’s Incident

In the event that the reader doesn’t immediately understand to which “incident” I’m referring in the title of this post, he or she need look no further than the conveniently embedded video which immediately follows these words.

What you see there isn’t pretty, folks. And if you’re seeing what I’m seeing, you’re seeing Lakers swingman Trevor Ariza remove a pistol from the waistband of his jockeyshorts, affix to the barrel of it (i.e. the pistol) what is commonly referred to as a “silencer,” and then attempt to assassinate, in cold blood, Blazers swingman – a.k.a. Enthusiast Numero One – Rudy Fernandez.

“But it’s just a hard foul in some dumb basketball game, Carson,” is what I hope none of you are saying. Sure, there are a lot of reasons to dismiss sport as hollow and excessively commercial, and sure, within the sport of basketball we see hard fouls all the time. Here’s a question, though: Oughtn’t the hard fouls be regarded differently when they are being perpetrated against a man (i.e. Rudy Fernandez) who isn’t so much a man as a symbol for all that is right in world? “Yes, Carson, you’re exactly right about that,” is what I hope all of you are saying in response.

I’ll admit it, when I saw Ariza foul Fernandez from behind, and when I saw Fernandez crumple like a sack of papas, and when I saw Ariza refuse to demonstrate any contrition for his woeful behavior, and when I saw the Blazers medical team affix a neck brace to the neck part of Rudy Fernandez, I lept up from my comfortable reclining chair, fetched my torch and pitchfork from the garage, and led an angry mob to the door of Trevor Ariza’s hotel room in downtown Portland, Ore. We were mad and we were gonna git him, I’ll tell you what.

But as I went to pry open Ariza’s door with the crow bar that one of the angry mobbers had remembered to grab from his garage, I stopped. I thought to myself, I thought, Is this what Rudy – that same Rudy Fernandez whose message of “loving, caring, and sharing” has rendered me (along with most other primates) a kinder, gentler, certainly happier person – is this what he would want? I realized the answer was no, obviously, and persuaded the teeming masses of the same. Situation averted, in other words.

And yet a warning still remains to all the would-be flagrant foulers out there: Regard with sufficient reverence Rudy Fernandez’s effect on our society. Remember that he is not just some incredibly handsome Spanish baller with crazy ups and a sweet trey bomb. Acknowledge that his very conspicuous relationship with God is as a soothing balm to his followers (read: everyone). And, for chrissakes, please don’t lay hands on him as he is rocketing skyward to deliver buzzer-beating fastbreak dunks. I thank you in advance.

Amen.


Selected Aphorisms #37

The thirty-seventh installment in our very plagiarizing new series.

Pierre Hadot quotes the following at length in his book Philosophy as a Way of Life – a.k.a. Number One Top Jam on The New Enthusiast pop charts this month. It’s from George Friedmann’s La Puissance de la sagesse and it goes a little something like:

To take flight every day! At least for a moment, which may be brief, as long as it is intense. A “spiritual exercise” every day – either alone, or in the company of someone who also wishes to better himself. Spiritual exercises. Step out of duration … try to get rid of your passions, vanities, and the itch for talk about your own name, which sometimes burns you like a chronic disease. Avoid backbiting. Get rid of pity and hatred. Love all free human beings. Become eternal by transcending yourself.

This work on yourself is necessary; this ambition justified. Lots of people let themselves be wholly absorbed by militant politics and the preparation for social revolution. Rare, much more rare, are they who, in order to prepare for the revolution, are willing to make themselves worthy of it.

Bizam! Oh no you didn’t, George Friedmann.


Selected Aphorisms #36

The thirty-sixth installment in our carefully thought-out new series.

Ten years ago, as a college student in New York, I usually didn’t go to bed until three in the morning or so. Now, living in Portland, Ore., midnight is about as late as I make it. As I see it, there are two possible explanations for this development: either, one, as I’ve grown older, I’ve lost the capacity to stay up so late, or two – and just as likely, I’d say – I have as yet to adjust to the time change.


Selected Aphorisms #35

The thirty-fifth installment in our analgesic new series.

Plato’s work is Greek to me – and to everyone else, for that matter. Thanks to some widely-available English translations, however, this has become what is commonly referred to as “a non-issue.”


Selected Aphorisms #34

The thirty-fourth installment in our hard-hitting new series.

I don’t get it, is Sarah the wife of the prophet Abraham or the barista who I sometimes joke around with at the cafe? It’s a difficult question to answer, I think. One thing’s for sure, though: if I worked for USA Today and wondered the same thing, I’d know exactly how to remove any doubts: by taking a poll, duh!


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