Sliding over to tumblr

http://bryneyancey.tumblr.com/

Any long-form essays, short fiction, etc. will continue to be posted here, but for now (and let’s face it, for a while) tumblr is all my schedule and attention span will allow. Enjoy and follow.

Filed under: Personal

Basketball

This is the man who will lead us to the Promised Land

Being a sports fan is often heartbreaking, questionable and fleeting; being a fan of an NBA team is even worse, because not only is the league driven by stars with over-inflated personalities and senses of self-worth, but the horrifically bad officiating during many of the games featuring said stars seems to favor them more often than it doesn’t. Officials, for those who aren’t aware, are supposed to be impartial and are not supposed to swing games. But they do, and the disenchantment it causes among fans of the league is arguably the biggest reason people stop watching the NBA. The presence of the officials in an NBA game is far more prevalent than that of any other major American sport, and it needs to stop. To borrow a phrase borrowed many times over, the gray shirts need to let the players play, and let the players decide the game. The ticky tacky fouls, the non-calls on obvious goaltends, travels and hard fouls, the fouls that are actually clean blocks, the inconsistencies on each end (like, one team shooting 40 free throws in a game and the other team shooting 15 when the number of drives to the basket are similar), this all needs to stop because it’s making me hate what is far and away my favorite sport, and I sincerely doubt I’m alone on this.

I hear and read people and sportswriters all the time who say that the players shouldn’t whine to the officials. Wrong. They shouldn’t have to whine to the officials, but they do because they’re right there and they know what the fans know just as well, if not better: that NBA officials are slow, old and incompetent, and are officiating a game that’s too fast for them to keep up with. The players and coaches whining to the refs is just them trying to work a broken system to their advantage. Can’t really fault them there, because they’re not the problem. Paying close attention to this Magic/Cavs Eastern Conference Finals series only augments that.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy the Magic are up 2-1 in the series. Ecstatic. They should be up 3-0, but Lebron James made an amazing shot at the end of Game 2. No credit taken away there. He’s a great player. But the referees are coddling him in this series like he’s a baby. There’s no question he does take some fouls, especially playing the way he does, but some of the foul calls on Magic players who guard him are, as I wrote earlier, ticky tacky-type ‘fouls’ that should not be called in the playoffs. Plain and simple. I’m not one for conspiracy theories, but it really does seem like the refs and the NBA front office are doing everything they can to ensure a Cavs/Lakers NBA Finals.

And they’re going to have to, because the Magic are a better team. They’ve out-hustled and outplayed the Cavs in all three of the games in this series thus far. The Cavs don’t have an answer defensively for Rashard Lewis, and they don’t have one for Dwight Howard either, other than putting him on the line, which isn’t really defense as much as it is a cop-out strategy. Everyone is contributing; Stan Van Gundy is playing a 10 or 11 man rotation, unheard of for most playoff teams. The Magic are playing as a team.

Lebron James, on the other hand, is having to try and do it alone for the Cavs and even though he’s played great, putting up at least 40 points in each game, it hasn’t been enough outside of that amazing fluke shot to end Game 2. Even Jordan had Pippen, Grant, Rodman, etc. Sayin’. Even in a star-driven league, the teams playing as a cohesive unit win more often than not.

Filed under: Personal

Oh yeah, this is still here

Man, what happened?

I considered getting an account at tumblr — or, actually using the one I’d already made — but other than their re-blogging feature (which I like, but not enough to move), there’s nothing there that isn’t here at good ol’ WordPress. And while tumblr does seem to better suit my attention span these days, there’s certainly no reason I can’t write succinct blog entries here, too. I mean, shit. What’s the difference?

No one can say nothing quite like I can.

Anyway, I’ve been a news editor over at Punknews.org for a few weeks now and am enjoying it rather immensely. I’ve yet to take the corporate jet for a spin (it’s parked at Aubin’s house) but I’m hoping that will happen soon.

In all seriousness, it’s been something of a dream of mine to ‘work’ for the ‘Org for as long as I’ve had the internet and a vested interest in punk rock, so to be able to help out, give back, etc. is awfully gratifying.

What We Hate is on a self-imposed hiatus until June 1; I attempted to change its format on the fly after taking the Punknews job but all it really did was make me dread writing for it every day, which as I’m sure you can imagine, is not a good thing at all. I’m working on some longer articles and more exclusive content, which I believe will greatly improve the site once it comes back next week. I want to do more interviews and performance videos, which means the purchase of a video camera and/or tape recorder is on the horizon. Woe is my wallet.

But yeah, expect some random mind dumps in this space in the future — for real this time. I think way too much to not write about it.

Filed under: Personal

Red Man

“Have you ever stopped to consider the blatantly racist overtones of a product like Red Man?” I asked.

Brown juice dribbled from Paul’s chin and hit the sidewalk below, quickly mixing in with all the footprints, black bubblegum and dead leaves. “Nah. All I know is I can’t smoke cigarettes anymore, so I’m stuck with this shit. Chewin’ tobackie, like some fucking redneck or something.”

It was a warm, rainy afternoon, and a few hours after Paul and I completed the job. It couldn’t have gone any better. I mean, I’m talking flawless. There’s almost always some problem with this sort of thing, whether it’s a security guard with nothing to live for who wants to be a hero, or some asshole with a concealed weapons permit. But nope, nothing of the sort. We went in, took the money, and got the hell out. Now we were just waiting for the cops to show up.

“What do you think the joint’s gonna be like?” Paul asked.

“How bad can it be? We’ll get three square meals and an hour of outside time a day. Since we didn’t have to pull our guns and no one got hurt, we’ll probably be out on parole in a few years. Our cut of the money is already in a secure location, completely and utterly untraceable. When we get out, it’ll be there, and with a shitload of interest tacked onto it to boot.”

“Didn’t you say you had some friends on the inside?”

“Yep. We’ll be taken care of. Anyone who tries to touch us, look at us or even breathe in our direction will get a dull object right in the side of the neck.”

“Will we be able to masturbate?”

“You know, Paul, the notion of masturbation hasn’t really crossed my fucking mind. But yeah, probably.”

“Because, you know, it’s not like there’s gonna be any women in pris-”

“Look at it this way. It’s not like you were gonna be racking up the pussy anyway. Not since Sophie left you.”

“Thanks for reminding me, prick.” Paul had a defeated look on his face. I guess that quip was below the belt. He’d get over it.

The rain stopped and the sun quickly appeared, lighting up storefronts and heating up puddles. People began to filter back out onto the sidewalks. Window shoppers. Families. Elderly couples. Most of them seemed pretty happy, I thought. None of them appeared to have much money. Then I wondered if I could be happy without money. I guess I’ll never have to know.

Paul coughed up something completely unrecognizeable and spat it out near our feet. “Dude. Gross.” I said.

“Hey Charlie, you sure we shouldn’t just make a run for it? Flee the country?” Paul asked.

“Doing that would only prolong out sentence. It doesn’t make sense to run, the way we’re gonna be set up. We’re still young. Life, and a shitload of cash will still be waiting for us when we get out. We stay put and wait for the cops to arrive.”

“But what if we ran and didn’t get caught?”

“Everyone gets caught. Believe me, I’ve thought about it. It’s kept me up at night. But this is what’s best.”

I could tell by the way Paul was chewing his Red Man that he was nervous, but I felt like I was standing on a cloud. I just thanked God my mother didn’t own a television or read the newspaper. She always said they were just full of lies and obfuscation, which I mostly agree with. She’d never have to know it was me. She’d never have to know that I was the one who robbed the bank she had worked at for fifteen years that day. Jesus, thank God. I couldn’t live with myself if she knew.

I looked down the street and spotted some flashing lights. They looked to be about twenty blocks away. I looked at Paul, then back at the lights, then at Paul again. I took a deep breath of the muggy, humid air surrounding us. I was ready to cooperate.

Filed under: Fiction

Frank in a box

It’s been a day — okay, a few weeks — of other, unrelated-to-me writing, as well as my busy life as an ice cream man, boyfriend and friend to all creatures that has kept me from posting here. And on days like these, whenever I feel my eyes start to cross from staring at my monitor too much, I just need to break away and do something else for a little while. Ten minutes, even. So today, I took pictures of one of my cats lying in a box.

The box in question has been on my floor all weekend, and only when Frank is eating, pooping or snuggling with me has he not been inside it. At the risk of sounding like one of those crazy cat people, what is it exactly that makes these animals do what they do? No one may ever know, and no one may ever care because when they do things like this it’s the most cutest thing oh my gosh ever.

Filed under: Frank's Greatest Hits

World War II Propaganda Posters

Woot, of all places, posted a blurb that linked to some World War II-era propaganda posters that are fabulous. And it just goes to show all of you graphic design nerds out there that having the newest edition of Photoshop doesn’t make you a great designer. People basically created these posters with their bare hands, and sixty-five or so years later, they still look awesome. The posters with racist connotations are a bit unsettling, though.

Here are a few that I would gladly frame and hang in my apartment.

Filed under: History

Knowing

The hair of Nicolas Cage never ceases to amaze me. Simply magical.

Filed under: Movies

In which I’m honored in Norway

It’s true, folks. There is a town in Norway named after me. And it looks so cute!

Reading excerpts from this article feels like reading a mad lib with my own name inserted in every space that calls for a name or a proper noun.

“Bryne is located about 25 minutes south of Stavanger by train. The area of Bryne is 4,79 km².”

I’m a disgusting blob. Look at my total area!

“Gradually, Bryne developed into a regional education center, with a dairy school established in 1906, the National Grammar School (Rogaland Landsgymnas) in 1924 and later also a vocational school.”

I’m a disgusting educated blob. What does one learn in dairy school? How to milk animals?

“Bryne has three shopping malls, including Rogaland’s (the region Bryne lies in) second largest.”

At least I’m known for something. What have you done lately, champ?

“The rock band Kaizers Orchestra originated in Bryne.”

They originated in my ass, maybe! Seriously, listen to this crap. Bor-ing.

I now imagine myself living in Norway in a previous life — I’d be a black metal-loving commercial fisherman, and my last name would have four or five silent js in it. In a row. A walking stereotype, that’d be me.

Filed under: Idiocy, Personal

Spare some change?

Can we talk?

Cool.

All right, I never do this, primarily because I’m stubborn and I hate accepting things from people (especially money) but times are pretty tough right now, as I’m sure you’re aware. In fact, I’m sure you’re going through it as well.

For those who don’t know, my car hasn’t been running for nearly two months. It needs a new alternator (I think) and well, it ain’t a cheap fix and it’s too complicated for a novice like me to try and do myself. I need to take it to a mechanic but I just haven’t had the money, which was fine because I had my bike to get me around — ‘had’ being the operative word there. As of today, my bike is out of commission too. The chain and gears are completely messed up and the rear wheel is bent so badly that it’s grinding against the frame of the bike.

I have no means of transportation whatsoever. None.

Again, I hate asking for your charity because there’s probably millions of people who need it more than I do, but I’ve honestly never been this broke in my life. It’s a struggle to get by every month, and I’m trying to get out of debt so I can sell my car, buy a scooter and use the leftover cash so that eventually, Stephanie and I can restart our lives elsewhere. It’s the holiday season, which is the season to give, right?

Think of it this way: If I’ve ever done a favor for you in the past, or if you’ve ever enjoyed something I’ve written, or ANYTHING, consider this your repayment. A loan, even.

(WordPress isn’t letting me post the PayPal button in this entry for whatever reason, but there’s a button on my myspace page where you can donate. Or if you have a PayPal account, just send money to mightyrubberband@gmail.com).

If you can spare anything at all, please consider helping me out. Even a dollar would be awesome. Thanks for reading.

Filed under: Uncategorized

There will be blood?

I did a shoot with Stephanie and her friend Melody last week and I gotta say, the results were pretty stellar. Having a strong concept, two attractive and willing models, and a nice camera sure helped make me out to be some kind of talented photographer.

More shots lie after the jump.

Filed under: photography