Gettin Real Up in Hurrrr

It has come to my attention that I have not posted on the DR in almost three weeks. There are many things that I don't do over the course of three weeks, but posting on the DR should not be one of them. So what better way to spend a Saturday night than hopping back in the blogging saddle and touching on a smorgasbord of relevant social concerns.

First some business to take care of: Sammy is hurt. I know, it's positively shocking. I, too, thought he was indestructible, an athlete immune from injuries that plague the more common man. But alas, it is only his mind that is superhuman, not his ankle. The man has a bright future working for the Geek Squad, if nothing else. So Elton slides to the middle, and we march forward with Sammy leading from the bench, rather than from the paint. As always, I remain vigilant, and big things await our Sixers as spring nears.

Not quite as important, yet equally as shocking, reality tv has taken a turn for the worse. As some of you might know, it's not beyond the Big Firm to mindlessly tune into MTV and watch trashy white people share a jersey shore house, or a straight guy tell his parents that he does gay porn for a living. I'm even mildly entertained by meth addicts breaking their addiction and fat kids training for a triathlon. But this year's Real World, set in tropical Red Hook, Brooklyn, is taking it too far. For those of you who have better shit to do...well damn you. Let me set the stage- This year's show features an Iraqi-war vet from Gettysburg ignoring his post-traumatic syndrome symptoms in favor of pursuing a most unpromising singing career; a male mormon virgin who wears eye-liner and pastels; a gay dude from South Beach who trains dolphins and wears V neck t-shirts deeper than the massive man's voice in the Trading Places jail scene, or that of Michael McCrary of Boyz II men fame; a meathead from New England; a black jawn with a firm backside and breasts like cassaba melons; and oh yeah, a tranny with a deeper voice than the gay dude's V-necks. A TRANNY! A true and honest slice of American life. In fact, I venture to say this is "realest" house in all the land, J-Roll's humble abode excluded (Martha...even you- and everyone who went to GFS - will like this link). The transgender individual is fresh off a trip to Thailand where her manhood was removed in favor of some lovely lady lumps. Now I don't know about you, but I go to Bangkok for the the clean air and the massages. But I suppose it's also a safe and sanitary destination to interrupt God's work. But my beef with her has nothing to do with her chosen path, her affinity for boy shorts, or even her constant dead-arms. Really, I just feel damn near terrible for the incredibly drunk, coked-up frat boy bankers in New York grinding on her in the bar for all the world to see. Plenty of people want to get on tv. Plenty of people are willing to romance a questionable companion if they think that will get them on the Real World. But I'm not so certain those same people would be eager, let alone willing to freak dance a post-op tranny to impress their friends all for a mere 15 seconds of shine. I see a lawsuit, and/or a suicide complicating matters in the near future for the show's producers.

On a completely unrelated note, when I'm not watching shows that simultaneously uplift my self-image and destroy my sense of worth, I am dodging do-gooders on the street like the Mets avoid the playoffs. It would appear that children - namely international children- need my hard-earned money. It would also appear that not just anybody can throw on a Children International fleece, carry a clipboard, and ask you if you have a free moment. Nope, you have to be abrasive, annoying, and persistent. Let it be known, Children International volunteers sucking money from this already depleted economy who populate the corner near my residence and State Street near my office: Americans don't support their own children, let alone international children! Sure, it's a foregone conclusion that I already can't tolerate you, but why make me hate the poor innocent children on whose behalf you purport to solicit money?! Selfish, I tell ya, straight up selfish.

Now that I'm all worked up, I have nothing more to contribute to this esteemed webosphere. Happy Black History Month to all.