Rebirth

Well Paul McPherson probably is not in Buenos Aires, but that will is where my search will take me for the next five months; and yes for those of you keeping track at home I am now using life and search for Paul McPherson interchangeably.

I don’t know how much I’ll blog of the trip because one of my goals is to wean myself off my blog addiction I have been feeding for the past three years. I’m now just going to jot down some of my notes on the day sans any semblance of transitions. Maybe one day I will try to write a WPM essay on my love for transitions and how I used to pour over my writing trying to make it flow as smooth as possible before I gave up on writing for the third time.

Just so I have it down in print I prophetically said that I would seriously quit journalism at least three more times before I finally do it. Right now I am still in the retirement phase that began in the summer of 2007 and I like to think that all the blogs is because they kinda pay and because as my friend Seppy once told me, “Where’s P-Mac is bigger than you now.”

--While taking a piss in Sky Harbor airport a man urinates beside me in an Arizona basketball No. 3 jersey. I die a little bit inside remembering that Brandon Jennings will never rock an Arizona uniform. Then I think that maybe he’s just a huge Will Bynum fan and I get sadder that I never got to see Will the Thrill throw it down in McKale. Then I go back to thinking about how awesome Brandon going to Europe is. Then I finish pissing.

--I normally don’t like talking to anybody on the plane, but I had to bother the person next to me twice. The first time was because I thought her shirt said “I heart DVD” then I bothered her again to ask her, “What do you call her (pointing at flight attendant)? A flight stewardess?”

“A flight attendant,” she responded. This was important as I needed to text my friend Beit Machine that our flight attendant had pretty eyes just like his sister and it was vital this was my final text message or form of communication in case the plane crashed.

I then decided that if the plane crashed I needed some better final words, so I texted my friend Tar, “This shfartz is reading an US Weekly in the BS first class with fucking sun glasses on.” Hopefully one my friends can offer a eulogy that explains that Justin wasn’t racist, he just loved the word “shfartz” and hated people who wear sun glasses indoors.

--I am 75 pages through Will Leitch’s “God Save the Fan” and it might be the best book I have ever read. Leitch is/was the founding editor of Deadspin and he now might be my favorite writer ever*. If you enjoy sports, mildly enjoy this blog, really enjoy any sports blog, have ever read Deadspin, like masturbatory jokes, want to truly appreciate Ron Mexico, enjoy brilliant writing; then you should go buy the book.

*besides Lang Whitaker