It's Called "March Madness" Because the People Who Watch It Are Insane

I just need to rant a little bit about the insanity called "March Madness." Okay, so the "March" part is clear, but "Madness?" The only reason it could be called that is because the people who live and breathe college basketball this month are CRAAAAZY. Cuz if you ask me, it's a colossal snorefest.

The bottom line is that I just don't get it: Why are so many people who were actually last in college during the Ford administration watching a bunch of kids play ball who've probably never even heard of Gerald Ford?

Every year this question occurs to me, but since my husband is not a basketball fan and doesn't force me to watch the tournament, I've not had reason to really ponder it. But this year, we happened to spend a March weekend at my in-laws' house, and because my mother-in-law is a basketball fan and an even bigger March Madness fan, we ended up watching a lot of college b-ball that weekend. (Or, in my case, staring a lot at the wall just above the TV set.)

So I asked my m-i-l, "What is it that you love so much about watching non-professional players who are more than 40 years your junior and who attend colleges you have no affiliation with compete against each other?"

"I like watching good plays."

Really? Is it that simple? No, it can't be...not for most people. I mean, back in the 80s when I was a youngun, I went through a massive basketball phase, watching every Celtics game I could. Back then, NBA basketball was still fast-paced and entertaining--full of good plays!--but despite my love of the game, I didn't watch March Madness. Nor did I watch it when I was actually in college and went to lots of games because I was friends with many of my university team's basketball players.

I guess it just wasn't as big a deal back then? Though according to Wikipedia, the tournament's been happening since 1939.

So, please, can someone explain it to me? Why do so many people suddenly care about colleges they've hardly heard of before, like Butler and Gonzaga and VCU? Why? Why?

Absolut Crap

While at the liquor store earlier today (replenishing supplies), I saw something Absolut-ly heinous and offensive:

Yes, you are correct: the limited edition Absolut Brooklyn. This offends me on quite a few levels, actually. The first level is the ridiculousness of the vodka's flavor: red apple and ginger. I kinda get the ginger part but my feeling on apple is that, unless you are under the age of ten, you should not be drinking apple-flavored beverages. The very thought of lifting a glass to my lips and getting a strong whiff of red delicious makes me want to barf.

Not that this new flavor combination should surprise me. Gross vodkas have been around for decades, though the first couple Absolut variations--Citron and Kurant--were relatively grown-up, at least. Now however, other wacky flavors are available: Berri Acai (does anyone actually know what acai tastes like?), Wild Tea (are there really people out there who wish their hard liquor tasted more like tea?), and the super-sweet and cloying sounding Absolut Mango.

The second level of offensiveness is, of course, the name.

I have nothing against the regular, old Brooklyn (a sometimes gritty/sometimes lovely place); it's even my second favorite borough. My problem is with the "new" Brooklyn: the one with all the greasy, bearded hipsters, trendy bistros, and just-completed, over-priced condos.

As someone who lived for over a decade in downtown Manhattan back when it was the center of the rock-n-roll universe, I resent Brooklyn for stealing that title from the city I love. Because, despite what it desperately wants to believe, Brooklyn will never be as cool as Manhattan. TRUST ME (because I've been to Brooklyn).

Sure, it's got some cool and funky parts, but they are tiny, hip pockets nestled within a sprawling, usually-dirty, often-dangerous, 99-cent-store borough. Brooklyn as a whole will never have Manhattan's energy. You know how the second you enter the city, its energy zips through you like electricity coursing through your veins? Doesn't happen in Brooklyn.

And the third level of offensiveness is to whom the vodka is marketed. It's certainly not meant to appeal to the bedraggled Brooklyn hipsters (and that's just the chicks), because they can't afford $18 cocktails. And surely Manhattan folks aren't clamoring for hooch named after the borough that stole their precious borough's thunder, right?

Which pretty much leaves Jersey...and/or other areas of the country aspiring to hipster-dom and trendiness.

And I resent any alcoholic beverage that's marketed to Jersey.

The Dreaded Post About Religion

My husband and I watched Bill Maher’s scathing documentary, Religulous, for the first time last night and I have to say, it made me happy not to be religious. No duh, of course it did; Maher found and interviewed every religious wacko he could find, so there was no chance of religious fanaticism coming across as anything but ridiculous. Christians, Muslims, Jews, and Mormons alike were skewered.

There is no one more cynical and mean-spirited than Bill Maher, and this movie was by no means a fair and balanced investigation of organized religion. Nevertheless, I can relate to a lot of what he said in Religulous. I'm a realist (even as a child, I was less prone to flights of fancy than most kids) and therefore I've always found Biblical "stories" (The Creation, The Resurrection, etc.) hard to swallow. I can remember many an Easter, sitting in Sunday School (which my dad forced us to attend only sporadically), listening to the teacher explain the resurrection story, and trying really hard to believe that Jesus actually came back to life on the third day. Even as a kid I knew that dead is dead and there's no coming back.

Even though I had issues with some of the Bible's contents, that didn't mean I didn't pray to God just like the other kids. Every night before bed, I’d pray for my family and friends, as well as for whichever animal or people were in the news at that time (starving Ethiopians, clubbed baby fur seals, etc.). My final prayer would be, “And please, God, don’t let there be a nuclear war.” Hey, it was the Seventies, after all.

Occasionally I would communicate with God at other times, but it would almost always be when I either wanted something or was in trouble and as a result, it ended up being stressful for me, not reassuring. I figured that since God sees and knows everything, he most certainly would have realized that I only called on him in times of trouble. I was a poor-weather friend to God: when everything was going great, I forgot all about him. This made me nervous that perhaps God didn't hold me in very high regard, and therefore I was never confident that my prayers would be answered. I started to get resentful of the whole God thing.

Despite my misgivings, I generally believed in God while growing up. It seemed like the thing do to, and since I was always pretty much a rule-follower, I just went along.

But then I became a teenager and, as teens will do, started questioning everything I believed in. God and religion came under fire, and I stopped praying. I didn't exactly stop believing, but God pretty much disappeared from my life. Eh...I had other things on my mind, you know?

Then came college, and agnosticism set in. Being religious in college was almost as bad as having an STD: it made you a social pariah. You were basically considered an idiot of you were religious. I'm sure there were God-loving and God-fearing people around, but I certainly didn't know them.

And that brings me to the present. I have two young children with malleable little brains: what to do, what to do? We live in a very Catholic town, so when it comes to religion I've decided to keep my mouth shut and leave their religious upbringing to my Catholic-raised husband. He takes them to church (while Mommy goes to the gym) and leads them in their bedtime prayers. I figure my role will come later on, when they are teenagers and begin to question and doubt. I'll tell them it's okay to be unsure, that they need to make their own decisions, and that they are wonderful people no matter what they choose to believe.

What else can I do, right? After all, I can't make myself believe in something I don't. And when it comes right down to it, I'll admit it: I'm sort of with Bill Maher on this one.