A delayed reaction to the Boston Marathon bombing

Sometimes life is funny.

One moment, you’re sitting there, not updating your blog for several weeks. The next, you’re enjoying a Monday evening cocktail out of a pint glass commemorating the terrorist attack you were at last week.

Yes, for those of you who didn’t already hear me not shutting the fuck up about it last week, I was present for what I’m told is the worst attack on American soil since 9/11. One doesn’t generally expect to be about six beers deep during the worst attack on American soil since 9/11, but then again, one doesn’t really expect it to happen at all. For me, I also didn’t expect to be about a block away from the second explosion.

I thought for a while last week about writing something on it. Actually, I did write something on it. But I was a little buzzed at the time (lay off, it’s been a long week), and it was one of those catharsis drafts that I don’t think I want to read back after the fact, so I’ve no idea if it was any good (probably not).

I didn’t really have any feelings about it until around the middle of the night on Wednesday, when I woke up to a loud truck and thought a bomb was going off. That  jarring little wake-up and the endless news coverage felt more real than being at the actual attack. I don’t know why I don’t have a lot of feelings about it, or why I felt calmer on the day than I have at every job interview and date I’ve ever been on.

I don’t really know why, but I didn’t want Dzhokhar Tsarnaev to die this past Friday. Not because I wanted by-the-book justice, and only partially because I hope for answers. Shit, I could probably guess the answers. I think I just didn’t want anybody else to get hurt. I’ve talked to people who were miles and miles away from those pressure cooker bombs that seemed angrier about it than I feel even now. Maybe those big feelings don’t come quite as easily when you’re still shouldering the “could’ve been me” thoughts. Maybe it’s just brain chemicals protecting me from overthinking. If that’s the case, those chemicals picked a strange time to kick in, cause I’ve overthought everything there is since I started eating solid foods.

I don’t think it’s really any of those things, though. I think, when you’re near a big, heavy, violent thing that doesn’t make sense, you turn it into a dream so that the harder you try to reimagine it, the farther away it gets.

My best to those a little closer to the bombs and those affected in the aftermath who don’t have the luxury of letting it go like a bad dream. Donate here if that’s your thing. No pressure but, in the grand New England tradition of personal guilt, if you don’t, you should feel like a little bit of an asshole.




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Erin Burnett = Chandler Riggs

Last night, I blew my own mind. Today, I spent the day picking up the pieces and carefully reassembling my mind.

I spent countless, grueling, soul-trying hours re-training myself to use simple objects. First, a straw, because I needed fluids. Then, slowly, I introduced more complicated tools, like crazy straws. Before I knew it, I had once again taught myself to use just a little bit of Adobe Photoshop. Just enough to put my mind-blowing realization to digital paper:

Shhhhh. Sh-sh-shh. Don't say anything. Just look upon it.

Shhhhh. Sh-sh-shh. Don’t say anything. Just look at it.

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I Don’t Get It!: The Stock Market

Every once in a while I like to dispense a little free and unsolicited financial advice. Par example, did you know that: buy low/sell high? Here’s another tip: before committing any of your hard-earned cash to a potentially risky market investment, put yourself on a media blackout. There’s so much going on in our daily lives that popular social media outlets like Google+ can offer a MASSIVE set of distractions. And when you’re distracted, you don’t have your eyes on the prize.

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Art in Rear-view: “Diamonds” by Rihanna

Sometimes it takes a good 5-6 months to really digest a piece of art. After all, scholars are still talking about great works like Picasso’s Guernica, Munch’s The Scream, and Wes Craven’s Scream 4 (aka Scre4m).

So there’s absolutely no reason why me deciding to review the song “Diamonds” by Rihanna, when it came out in September of 2012 and it’s currently March of 2013, is anything less than a “fresh” move. You know, in the 1800s, it took about 5 months for a blog to cross the continental United States.

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BLAG recommends: Henry’s Kitchen

Hey guys,

If you’ve been a regular reader (ha ha ha), then you might have noticed by now that I’m not always the most consistent at being funny/clever/easy to follow/having a good work ethic/producing content/properly citing image sources/being emotionally available.

Well, who is, right? But while I may not always be producing great Web content, I’m very often consuming it. Some of it is extremely compelling, because that’s what I demand from anything I pay attention to that isn’t also paying me. For example, I watched six hours of The Bachelor last week, in one sitting. Man, Tiara was such a bitch.

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The mudslide mix already has alcohol in it.

Huh?! What? Who are you? What are you doing in here?

Oh, sorry. It’s just you, thousands of readers. BLAG just woke up. Sorry. How long was I asleep for?

Twenty-one days? Are you serious? Who let me do that? Oh, don’t give me that shit where you’re mad at me for being asleep too long. Nothing anybody does while they’re asleep is their fault, including sleeping more.

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SportsBLAG: Beyoncé Roundup

Well, I asked your opinions on the Facebook fan page and, after doing some light math, you voted overwhelmingly in a 2:1 ratio that I do a write-up on Beyoncé, following her exceptional performance at the Super Bowl on Sunday.

But what can I say about Beyoncé that her concurrently elegant and powerful thighs haven’t already said, and more tactfully than my dumb words could allow? She’s got a longer Wikipedia article than the current Pope, and that guy was up to all sorts of things before Beyoncé was even born. German things. My point is I don’t have the time to read all about Beyoncé just to satisfy the literary cravings of my BLAG-addled word-junkies. Here’s what I do know about her:

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An open letter to ‘blag2point0’

The following is an open letter to the beast behind “blag2point0“:

Dear Fiend,

First, let me say that whatever kind of sick pleasure you take from emulating me is very flattering. This really is a dream come true.

Having said that, you’re pissing on my turf, bro. Let’s take a look at your content thus far:

If you want to defeat your enemy, you need to BE your enemy.

First of all, everybody knows that. BLAG 1.0 provides a unique perspective and original ideas. “blag2point0” is just regurgitating the plot from Face/Off. And guess what? Face/Off did it better.

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‘Wrong Window’: A horror story for the modern teen

Before I get started, let’s bullshit a little bit. How are you doing? OK, that’s enough.

With summer right around the corner, on a long enough timeline, thoughts drift to idyllic summer campfires, telling scary camp stories. Remember those, from TV? Kids now just don’t get to have that experience. They don’t watch scripted television. They watch hypersexualized Korean cartoons on the Internet, and “meme” at each other.

Sure, you get a little older (like, 19) and you have a bonfire on the beach and do a little underage drinking, and the cops showing up right as you’re about to set the lifeguard chair on fire is arguably more terrifying than any stupid scary story that some stupid teenager tells to his stupid teenager friends. And maybe kids are still doing that. But it’s not quite the same, is it?

Well, I’ve got a horror story that I think this current crop of teens and tweens will really be able to relate to. Of course, they’ve already stopped reading because I hit the 140 character mark in the opener, but that doesn’t matter. Nothing matters.

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Yelp Review: Refried bean quesadillas

It’s time again for another installment of “Yelp Reviews for Parts of My Life,” which would almost definitely be better titled “Me Reviewing Stuff I Tried to Cook for Myself.” But, you know what they say about branding: stick with your first idea and never reinvent yourself!

Amateur food porn

Category: Low-effort/Mexican dish

Mystery rating to be revealed at the end!

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