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After our basketball game on Wednesday nights, we all feel so good, so adrenalized, so alive that we just HAVE to smoke a cigarette. And the funny thing is: Most of us don't ever smoke the rest of the week. This prompts the funny but arguably profound question, why do we celebrate feeling alive by trying to kill ourselves? Why, when we feel most appreciative of the miraculous experience of life do we do everything in our power to hasten its ending? I suspect this takes us back to the Freudian notion of the inextricability of Eros (life force) and Thanatos (the drive to return to the inanimate). But what place does Freud have in a blog? Well, shit. This isn't just any blog. This is Teddy Vegas's blog. So, Sigmund, even if you were the kid perpetually picked last for kickball (possibly because you were the only kid smoking a cigar and talking about your mother), you're welcome here any time.
Shit. Trying to freeze out my boy Siggy???
Also, in the spirit of Thanksgiving, I offer gratitude as a Mets fan for the apparently imminent acquisition of Carlos Delgado--the only true lefty (and I'm not talking about hand preference) in baseball. It'll be great to see him sit out "God Bless America" while playing alongside Castro at Che Stadium.
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Posted on 11/25/2005
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