I just want to, like... Like.

I’ve been really negative lately. You know? No you don't. Because you never listen to anything I say. I'm always struggling over here and you just sit in your tower! (cock-ass and whatnot)

Jesus. That's exactly what I'm talking about. Right there. That last sentence and subsequent piece of TD theft. It's as if I’ve just been crapping all over any/everything that falls in front of me here lately. Like a parakeet. With bad cough.

Living a life of pointless negativity is an art form. A thing of beauty, negativisims are. As is ultraconvoluted word usage and verbage-structure of non-wordistic… words.

Right. But it isn't my thing, see? It isn't my preferred medium. Or any other size for that matter.

So, I’ve decided, on a whim (just like the time I contracted syphilis, remember that?!! Whoo!), to talk about things I like. I have no idea whether or not you will understand how deep my liking goes for the following things.

Why I like Canada.

Canada gets cold. I really enjoy a nice cold snap. I think winter is the best true season (fall is really my favorite, but it’s like, a half-season or some shit). I fucking hate the heat. I grew up in Houston, and you know what? My eyelids perspire in that godforsaken city, every August. I own a black vehicle, and the last time I was in H-town, my rear-view mirror threatened to fall off due to the heat that was circulating through the truck cabin. What the fuck is up with that? So really, I like Canada because it is not as hot as Houston.

This list is already not going the way I planned. I used negativity to prop up some positivity right there. Plus, I made up the word ‘positivity’, apparently, because my spell checker is going apeshit over it.

It’s freaking out over ‘apeshit’ as well. I just can’t manage to avoid loss for un-trying around here, or however that cliché goes. I’ll try this again.

Why I like Basketball.

Because I can’t ice skate, I’m not much of a juicer, Wrestling is for future politicians and inmates (or both, as the case may be), football is just too damn expensive, and the body count from every riot I’ve ever managed has been minimal (so no Soccer for me. Damn.).

See, I’m using the negatives to prop up my shit again.

Hm.

Mulligan the previous basketball diary.

Why I like Basketball (but better this time).

The first goal I played on was a cardboard box with a tire over it. On the ground. Against my neighbor’s garage door (right where the SHADOW of a much higher, more weather resistant basketball goal would typically be). And the ball was a strange, oblong-ish, mutated rubber-product with “Keep On Truckin!!!” repeated all around its equator, with blocky semi-trailers stenciled on there, as if spray painted. It was an inappropriately small ball for the job. I would probably be able to palm in my left hand today. My left hand is approximately the size of your average eighth grade girl’s. And you know what they say about that, don’t you?

Yep. I’m right handed.

So the ball and goal were hardly what one would consider top, mid, or low-notch equipment. But then again, I didn’t know shit about basketball either. It could have been two tennis balls, three bags of dirt, and garden weasel. I’d still call it by the same name.

That’s why I love basketball.

Subtlety was never one of my strong suits.