Ball So Hard

Among the many things in this country beyond my comprehension...

Donald Trump, the Mid-West, cats on youtube, the stock market, ESPN, ESPN2, ESPNU, ESPNNews... is Football. The moment I knew my learning curve was significant was when my Fantasy Football projections included Tom Brady and Tim Riggins. I'd always considered myself an athlete and a sports fan but my father's excessive fanaticism and ability to transform the television room into a war zone on Sunday and Monday evenings made football a bit off putting to say the least.  

Last weekend I attended my first College football game. Texas vs Notre Dame, apparently the two most popular programs in the league. The scene reminded me of the time I was coerced into Country Fest at Gillette Stadium where I barely made it past the tailgate. Tailgating should be considered a sport within itself - the preparation and sheer enthusiasm alone I find almost inspiring. And to think that a majority of these people don't even go to the actual game? That is dedication. 

Entering the stadium felt like a glorified weight room - potent testosterone and unnecessary grunting. The dramatic entrance of each team complete with smoke machines, cheerleaders, mascots, and a 50 person band had me outraged at every guy that ever complained about the length of my lacrosse games. Football takes 45 minutes just to get everyone on the field. Nonetheless, I did my best to follow but somewhere between the millionth down and the nonsensical explanation of scoring I found myself in the only place that seemed familiar - the concession stand purchasing a mystery meat sandwich and a bucket sized beverage.

So maybe I haven't given football a fair shot, I suppose it's still early in the season. But for what its worth.. first impression, this all seems a little overhyped for a sport that boasts world champions and world class athletes when all of its competitors are limited to one country. If you ask me Id say all of American football could benefit from a little less air in the balls. 

Packing List - Revised

Whoever coined the term "Funemployment" was either a retired, leathery old balding man living in Boca or an ass hole trustafarian hipster in Williamsburg. The angst and perpetual feeling of being lost has not been an enjoyable one since leaving my job. "What do you want to do?" has become a question I welcome as openly as what I imagine it might be like to endure a colonoscopy. What makes this question so infuriating is that it is something only I can answer and the answer can never be wrong... WTF. It's like discovering the cereal aisle in the grocery store only to realize you've been eating Cheerios every god damn day for the last ten years when you could have had Cinnamon Toast Crunch or Frosted Flakes or fucking oatmeal! ...I digress. 

When I look around, at the ever exciting social media crazed culture we live in, it's hard not to feel like we're all just a bunch of attention seeking, achievement oriented ass holes competing for the most likes. I have come to the either extremely liberating or completely discouraging conclusion (I have yet to decide) that everyone else is just as lost I am. 

As a result of this current unrest I have found myself back home in Maine reassessing life. The longer I stay here the more acutely aware I have become of how much I am turning into my father. For example, on two separate occasions I have found myself at Best Buy making purchases that I will discuss ad nauseam. I have also developed an obsessive compulsion with knowing the weather in every location other than my own along with following local news stories with a ferocious enthusiasm. It was at this point my brother made it clear - it is time for me to make a move.

After doing the math, over the last 28 years I have moved a total of 26 times. I have come to define "Moving" as relocating all of my possessions for a time frame ranging as little as 4 days to as long as a year. This vagabond lifestyle has forced me to narrow down the important things in my life into a single suitcase. You know, the things that matter, the things that if I died tomorrow and all that was left of me was this suitcase, it would really tell people about who Meddy Hurd was... 

Suitcase Contents:

- Miscellaneous unworn Brooks Brothers shirts accumulated over 10 Christmases.

- A picnic sized cheese board set complete with two silver serving platters gifted by my grandmother for all of my... "entertaining".

- 13 "How to" books each one serving as a reminder of my eclectic array of fleeting interests... UFO spotting: New England, Australian Walkabouts in the Bush, and Jillian Michaels - Ripped (this was a seriously awkward time for me). 

- A pair of blue leather pants with a busted zipper I said I'd take to the tailor... 2 years ago.

- An embarrassingly expensive leather jacket that I purchased under the delusional "treat yoself" influence only to be rudely awakened by the Sallie Mae reality train. 

Clearly, I have been like a hoarder, carrying around an assortment of shit that I have no use for. As I eliminate many of the "things" in my life that I have either outgrown or just never needed I get confused as to whether it was all of this stuff that has made me who I am or kept me from it, I suppose it's a bit of both.  Nonetheless, as I prepare for the next chapter of my life and what will be my 27th move Im taking a more critical inventory of my packing list and embracing the less is usually more.