K-Mark

We've come to another Friday, my Puddlers. There is another round of summer movies to be had, another round of summer dresses to observe women wearing and the continued hope of periods of rain, giving way to after-rain, which might be the most pleasant time to live in a city in the summer—especially if a park and a bar and a woman in a light purple dress are nearby.

I'll be dodging the heat this weekend and listening to the new Bon Iver album, which is fantastic. I recommend you listen to it as well as I'll probably be writing about it, rain, and Cat Stevens very soon. Also, next week look for one of those sprawling epic posts that has made me famous among those who detest fame.

However, today, we have Mark Jack in what I believe is one of his most poignant and on point posts, which is saying something because I feel like he has been on a roll over the past month. So, without further ado, I give you your Friday dose of Mr. Mark Richard Jack.

In Search

Mark Jack

Sometimes it seems like there is a certain satisfaction in circling around the glories of cultural appetites, even when it might be better to avoid that kind of taste altogether, that kind of circuitous observance and thought. I feel like I ought to do less of that, that circling, and instead move straight to the page or the computer screen or whatever. But then I fear my hand’s weakness, my eyes’ unwillingness and my mind’s flightiness and I circle and circle.

So when I’m told, “You can’t just get drunk and wait to become a writer,” or something like that, I’m terribly embarrassed by all the crass assumptions I’ve been making.

But Hell.

I just finished reading Swann’s Way and, don’t worry, I’m not going to talk about it. I don’t know that I could say anything that worthwhile. It is a stunning work that has enough baggage around it without my contributions. I was talking to a friend recently who said she tried to read it but couldn’t get into it, claiming disinterest in long passages about doorknobs. I don’t remember any particularly long passage about a doorknob but if it’s in there, I want to find it and confront one of the (most likely) most beautiful descriptions of a doorknob in literary history. Read it.

Reading Proust’s long passages on memory, I am forced to confront my own problems as “presence.” I wish I could be upset about something I’d done, rather than something I continue to do, for I could look on it all, then, as my past. For so many years I have not regretted, which is perhaps to say that I have not truly remembered. Either way, while I have recognized mistakes I’ve made and disliked aspects of my previous selves, I have never wished for the opportunity to change.  I have been fairly content with myself—the smug bastard—and perhaps feared some disruption of the space-time continuum, and so never even considered things like, wanting to go back to high school and not buy that weed that got me expelled. I find myself rejecting, somewhat, that Doc Brown mentality recently, which leaves me in a shitty position. And I must admit that, while I am more inclined to it, time travel remains a fantasy.

I am actually happier, now, and in a fuller sense, than I have been for years, and it is this happiness that has made my regrets more punishing, as I have reached a place where I am beginning to feel that I deserve or at least have worked for a better life than one which consists of being taken advantage of at service industry jobs. I was interviewed on a WNYC show last fall and they tried to tell me I’m “malemployed” because I worked at a bar even though I have a B.A. That is, until they found out I majored in literature.

I think it is important to struggle with memory and reject mistakes, but not punish oneself for them in the present. I mean, we can’t be depressed because we did something shitty when we were ten, but we shouldn’t convince ourselves that the event was an integral part of a delicate narrative that has led to a person; a “me” that I am satisfied with, to a reasonable degree. Somehow, that attitude, which has been the predominant attitude of my life, is one that refuses real confrontation with oneself, either in the past or in the present, and one which, as it performs an act of avoidance also performs an act of inclusion. That is to say, we refuse to confront our mistakes so as to better establish them in convenient areas of our lives so that they are remembered as fitting, linear narratives. “Even though I shouldn’t have behaved that way,” this manner of thinking suggests, “it was integral to the self that I have become and to reject that mistake is to reject my self, which is a mistake.” Dumb bit of logic there, eh?  I mean, why shouldn’t we reject ourselves, ever. I reject the drug obsessed arrogant puissant that I was my freshman year of college. I wasted a lot of time, a lot of everyone’s time. That kid that I was was a piece of shit, and since there is no Dolorean to take me back, I cannot know that if I slapped my former self around a bit and made him get his shit together a little sooner that somehow the world would’ve ended yesterday. Also, and this is the truly unfortunate thing about the lack of a flux capacitor, I cannot slap that obnoxious piece of shit that was me around, not even a little. My one consolation is to understand that; that self is not me.

Mark

P.S. I am moving to Berkeley, CA in August. Any help with job opportunities would be awesome. Thanks.

Theoharides On Sports Villains

Welcome to a scorching New York Wednesday, my Puddlers. Although, it seems like the entire country is suffering from the heat. You already know how I feel about it: bring it on, bring on the madness, bring on the homicide and score it to this song.

Speaking of the Heat—well I won't go into yet another collapse by Miami last night. The Heat's penchant for playing better when their backs are up against the wall is getting extremely infuriating and hopefully it doesn't cost them the series. In any case, this NBA Finals is shaping up to be an extremely memorable one, which is fresh on the heels of last year's excellent seven game series between the Lakers and the Celtics. All good things for the NBA.

While we are on the topic, Alex Theoharides is here today in his regular slot to weigh in on hating the Miami Heat and why its good to generally hate different players in sports. I'll leave it to Mr. Theoharides from here.

On Sports Villains or How Lebron James’s Decision Made the NBA Finals Interesting Again.

Alex Theoharides

Look, as a sport’s fan I can’t stand the Miami Heat. It’s in my fan DNA to dislike them - even prior to their current run of amateurish exhibitionism. Back when the New York Knicks were coached by Jeff Van Gundy and still played de-fence, the Heat were their last great rival. Their games were epic slugfests, filled with flagrant fouls, bench clearing brawls and suspensions. When I think of the Heat, I still think first of Tim Hardaway’s lickity-split crossover, PJ Brown tossing Charlie Ward over his shoulders, and Van Gundy hanging on to Alonzo Mourning’s ankles like a bratty toddler who didn’t want his father to leave for work (otherwise known as my favorite NBA highlight … ever). Those Miami Heat were easy to hate (anyone else find it interesting that Heat and hate have the same 4 letters? no? just me? great.) because they played an ugly brand of basketball. However, I always had a begrudging respect for them. The Heat of old weren’t sports’ villains, but simply grisly veterans willing to knock someone down if it meant they could advance to the next round of the playoffs. The Knicks were no different, perhaps even worse, and collectively the two teams so ruined the aesthetic of the NBA game that Commander, excuse me, Commissioner Stern had to institute sweeping rule changes into the league.

This Miami Heat team is different. Lebron and Wade play beautiful, sometimes breathtaking basketball. They defend, they attack the rim, they go after offensive rebounds, they make highlight play after highlight play … in short they play basketball exactly how it should be played. Still I hate them. I hate the way they came together. I hate the way they celebrate every good run as if they just won an A.A.U championship. And I hate how easy the game comes to them. Look, I admire the Heat, but I don’t respect them. I love watching them play basketball, but I don’t like the way they turned the NBA into a league in which superstars can just decide they only want to play with each other. I hate the Heat, I hate the Heat, I … I can’t stop watching the Heat.

Villains are great for sports. They give otherwise neutral sports fans a clear understanding of who they should root for, and, more importantly, who they should root against. Sports are more entertaining when fans have a vested interest, however insignificant, in the outcome. Some of my greatest childhood memories are of watching my favorite villain, Michael Jordan, repeatedly defeat every single fragging (yes, as in Battle Star Galactica) team in the NBA year after year, with that same damn wagging of his tongue. However, not all sport’s villains come in the same shape and size. Some, like Jordan, are all villains because of their greatness. They are only villains to those who root against them. Others, well, how about, in keeping with Dictator Domino, I just make a list. (Please note the high total of Knicks and Yankees, aka, my attempt to not play favorites)

Sports Villains

The Michael Jordan Division

True superstars, whose talent renders the outcome of games entirely too predictable; true superstars who break the hearts of sports fans year after year with their on field exploits, their perfect shots, or throws, or catches.  

Joe Montana

Jerry Rice

Emmett Smith

Peyton Manning

Lebron James

Derek Jeter

Pete Sampras

Lance Armstrong

Wayne’s World

Yes, as in Wayne Gretzky, the great one, who I loved to watch, but who millions secretly detest because he, like everyone else in this list, was a pretty boy, who always seemed to get all the calls, all the stats, and yes many of the wins.

Magic Johnson

Tom Brady

Alex Rodriquez

Andre Agassi

Dan Marino

Roger Federer

Ty Cobb Division

Truly unlikable sonsofbitches, loved only by their team’s most ardent fans, and disliked by teammates and foes alike, who seemed to care more about their stats then they did about their teams performances

Wilt Chamberlain

Roger Clemens

Pete Rose

Oscar Robertson

Kobe Bryant

Barry Bonds

John McEnroe

Nolan Ryan

Eric Lindros

Curt Shilling

The Bill Romanowski Division

Hardworking, needle-some, whiny players, who made up for either their lack of age or talent, by barking at opponents, cheating at every good opportunity, and generally acting like Class A boors.  

Bill Laimbeer

Kevin Garnett (circa 2008 -2011)

Dennis Rodman

Kevin Youkilis

Charles Oakley

Robert Parish

Ron Artest

Scott Stevens

The Orel Hershiser Division

Goody two shoes players, who somehow always seemed keen on reminding you of exactly how great they were, in a way, somewhat reminiscent of that kid we all had in math class, who not only got the answer first, but then preceded to spend five minutes telling you all about how he got the answer first. We get it Oral, you were a great pitcher, yes, you won all those games in the playoffs, yes, yes you were great. Just shove it already! It doesn’t help that these fine folk have a cruel tendency to end up as sports broadcasters.

Tim McCarver

Rick Barry

Kareem Abdul Jabbar

Greg Maddux

Paul O’Neill

Reggie Miller

J.J. Reddick (Duke version)

Christian Laettner (Duke version)

Basically any Duke player besides Grant Hill

The Manny Ramirez Division

Just Manny being Manny.

The Marriage of Federer and Nadal: Who's the GOAT?

On Sunday, Rafael Nadal won his 6^th French Open title. The win gave him his 10^th Grand Slam championship. In winning the match he raised his overall record against Roger Federer to 17 and 8. The fact that Rafael Nadal “owns” Roger Federer has suddenly changed from some kind of heat of the moment boast to something more closely resembling fact.

In the course of the 2011 French Open, the narrative for Roger Federer changed from the fact that he might be washed up to a rumble that he looked in top form to, “He’s back! Good God look at that serve, he’s back!”—the last comment coming after his epic victory over Djokovic in the semifinals. Now, after a loss to Nadal on Nadal’s preferred surface, Federer finds his story in a strange place: he is suddenly and unceremoniously being removed from his thrown as the Greatest of All Time. Why is he being removed? Because he has been able to consistently beat everyone besides Rafael Nadal. Now, Djokovic too has a winning record over Federer, but this is seen as some latter day changing of the guard in the story of Roger Federer’s tennis career. Djokovic is now the upstart whose head is finally on straight—and enigmatic roadblock to Nadal’s ascension as the Greatest of All Time. Djokovic is a fine player, but Nadal has beaten Federer in Federer’s prime. First it was only on clay. Then, he took him to the limit at Wimbledon in 2007 before finally beating Federer the next year in perhaps the greatest tennis match of all time. Nadal and Federer are tied together by time and history and, unfortunately, there is nothing we can do about it for better and for worse.

As this article points out, how can we consider Roger Federer the Greatest of All Time if he has not been able to consistently beat his greatest challenger? Nadals 17-8 record against Federer suggests less of a rivalry and more of one player dominating another—Nadal’s rugged strength and defense mastering Federer’s elegance and seeming magic. As Wiedeman points out, Michael Jordan never had one opponent he could not consistently beat. Michael beat everyone, even those initial bullies like the Detroit Pistons who stood in the way of his dominance. Do 16 Grand Slam titles truly matter, do they mean anything if you can’t beat your greatest competition?

It’s an interesting question and I say that the 16 titles do matter. I don’t particularly like Federer despite all of his well-known grace, good sportsmanship and class. Federer makes the game look easy and beautiful, but there always seems to be something forced behind it all, something I can’t quite articulate, but to me is painfully evident. However, he is a fantastic champion and quite frankly dominated the sport of tennis for nearly a decade. He has the most Grand Slam Championships of all time and that kind of success has to mean something. Even if the competition of the field was inferior in the heart of his dominance, tennis is set up so that even an inferior field can breed an upset over an overwhelming powerhouse of a champion. Nadal is my favorite tennis player of all time, but Federer is the greatest player of all time.

As much as I love sports and love comparing different players and eras, I know that the exercise of comparison is wrong. Even though Nadal and Federer are peers in a sense, there is a certain distance between them. Federer is close to five years older than Nadal, which is equal to ten years in tennis. They do almost represent two different “eras.” But their greatness and their rivalry and their combined shadow over the field causes us to compare. It’s hard not to since they have been magnetically drawn to each other in their stature, which is directly due to both their achievement as well as time.

I was reading Jeff McGregor’s piece on Nadal and Federer and he suggests that Nadal is slowly becoming Federer, that his game is evolving beyond its initial reliance on strength and ungodly endurance. McGregor says that Nadal has become a much better shot maker and technician, closer to Federer’s mold. I don’t know enough about tennis to know if this is true or not. Nadal never exudes the elegance of Federer on the court and he’ll never leave you speechless with his array of trick shots. However, Nadal has improved his serve so that he breaks it out when he absolutely has to. To my eye, he no longer presses with as much force during a match so that you wonder if his knees will explode. He still has that reputation, but it is no longer his actual identity. His actual identity as a tennis player is the best defensive player of his era and perhaps the most accomplished shot-maker, even better than Federer. He doesn’t have the same magic tricks, but a ball you thought was dead will suddenly coming back to you at the strangest angle. Nadal doesn’t dress it up—he just does it. And, because he cares so much, because he plays so hard, you never know when he might unveil a new trick, a new element to his game. That new element will most likely be something as simple as his shocking service game at the 2010 U.S. Open.

Nadal’s 6 French Open titles tied Bjorn Borg’s record. I read about Bjorn Borg to finally learn about his career. He was a prodigious talent who won 11 Grand Slam titles and retired from tennis at the age of 26 for mysterious reasons. Arthur Ashe later described him as follows:

“By the time he left, the historical challenge didn’t mean anything. He was bigger than the game. He was like Elvis or Liz Taylor or somebody.”

The description of his game sounds like some strange combination of  Nadal and Federer. And maybe that means something, but what I was mainly struck by was the field that Borg played against. He won titles against Ashe, Connors, McEnroe, Vitas Gerulaitis and even Rod Laver. When reading about Borg, there was an overwhelming sense of history that rose from the era he played in. I’m not trying to say that the historic field makes Borg a better champion than Federer or Nadal, nordoes the fact that he has such an iconic stature within the game—its just who he is, its just what Bjorn Borg means. He is the mythic figure with silver locks who sits courtside at all the Grand Slams. He is the enigma. He is something that “tennis,” the very definition of the sport as something done in history, needed to exist.

Nadal and Federer have made me love tennis. It is a sport whose psychology is perhaps not matched elsewhere. Not even my beloved basketball has no many ebbs and flows in momentum and psyche that can seemingly happen in an instant. It is one man against another man, each one relying on his endurance, body control, confidence and acquired skill. It represents all of the individual traits and philosophies I admire in life: independence, self-reliance, competition and success. Where sometimes I find myself facilitating others, perhaps to both their detriment and mine, tennis has no facilitations, only individual reliance and achievement. Nadal and Federer made me realize this.

No, Nadal is not becoming Federer, but they are tied together by something that may look like a fusion or transformation. Obviously, their rivalry ties them together. As a sports pundit, Mike Greenberg, said, Federer and Nadal are writing the history of tennis right now. When we talk about tennis we will talk about Nadal and Federer. Perhaps it is their difference in style or the fact that the stakes are so high whenever they play; or perhaps it is merely the fact that Federer vs. Nadal is all we truly want to see. But maybe it is something else. Nadal and Federer need each other and the sport of tennis has needed them both. I don’t believe you would have an ambitious but mentally fragile Andy Murray, a quirky but dangerous Soderling, an always game Del Potro, Ferrer or Monfils, and even a motivated Djokovic if Federer alone was running roughshod over the sport. It is their combined dominance that inspires others. Two men existing and battling in a rare air is far more encouraging than just one man battling himself (Jordan may have been the lone exception to this rule). Nadal and Federer are tied together by something more than a rivalry, they are bound by some kind of mysterious fate, their actions, their victories and failures that are history. And when those things are involved, which one of them is the greatest of all time doesn’t really matter—even if I’ll always be rooting for Nadal.

Don't Break My Mark

It's Friday once again, my Puddlers, and I am definitely looking forward to this weekend. I'm going to keep this preamble short by just saying you should all love your friends, feel bad for victims of the terrible tornados, know that the best place to be during a tornado is underground or in a natural ditch, and that when you are up 15 points in the fourth quarter with a chance to go up 2-0 in the NBA Finals, you do not stop running your offense and rely on "hero-ball" aka throwing up three-pointers.

That's it for me this week. Now, I leave you with the one man who can do what he does—Mr. Mark Jack.

High, Low and In Between

Mark Jack

What about the fact that we speak too greedily of ourselves? Are we too readily to see in this action a dilemma? Is it possible that we too arbitrarily suggest, by identifying this action as a dilemma, an ethics imperfectly followed?

What of it all?

Moreover, who has allowed the proliferation of such a voice, such an increasingly pedagogical voice, here? (Matthew!!)

There is some strange double movement, here, of democratic specialization. Perhaps it is merely a chaos of opinions imperfectly read as such and the problem of such misreading is due to this confused space. But what space?

Much of the writing I encounter on the Internet is decent at best, but the lack of hierarchical positioning renders our navigation of worth difficult as the decent manifests itself on the same level as the heinous and the sometimes profound. My ability to traverse the information as if perusing a schizophrenic quilt, in my mind, does not perform a revolutionary re-reading of knowledge or power, but instead, relegates language to advertisement. Reading the average blog, one quickly comes across a blue, underlined phrase that, if clicked, takes the reader to yet another page with its own set of blue links to more pages, ad infinitum. Moreover, all this linkage is surrounded by unapologetic advertisements.

In addition to this one may find that most posts are merely a re-rendering of popular culture as performed by the main players into the form of journal. By inserting the presence of the I into the happenings of the day, or some new record, we are asserting both our (meaning bloggers) individuality—as personal and yet non-specialist—and our expertise—as we may suggest, by hyperlink not our knowledge, which might be imperfect, but another’s, which, though possibly imperfect, is at a remove from us, and so deniable, making our assertions as expert via un-impeachability.

So what?

I do find it both discomforting and comforting. The ease with which I, earlier today, watched a music video of Dominique Young Unique and, then, watched a video of Elaine Scarry lecturing at Cambridge is, despite the joy I find in such an ability to access information, a bit disconcerting. Perhaps I am discomforted because I cling to the old forms of access as a means to power, perhaps in my unease I reveal the reluctance with which I approach the focus of much my liberal arts education, which was to challenge such limited access, and subsequently reveal my desire to remain privileged.

What I am actually concerned with here is not that one has greater access to information—that, I think is positive—but rather that varied information is given almost equal resonance. The discussion I might have in an academic setting may carry over to the bar, and I have been delighted when it has, but in no way should we confuse the alcoholic passion of the bar discussion with the rigor of the academic. Both have their merits, but we are given cues as to how much and what kind of attention should be given in the physical world while the internet largely erases such cues, which is why, perhaps, you are here, reading this. Sorry.

The Internet seems to operate spatially and yet I do not find myself using spatial vocabulary.

I have used the word “here” many times in this post and yet, even while my assumption is that here refers to the virtual space of this blog, I can’t help but simultaneously position myself in my bedroom where I am writing this and where I would most likely read it. Here, then becomes a spatial specific word but not a site specific. The word “on” is another commonly used word, which operates in terms of a spatial metaphor. As I write this, I am on a chair, but I am also on my computer.

These are not exactly profound realizations, but I think it is important to recognize the limitations of the spatial metaphors used for the Internet. The collapse of high and low culture is not new to the Internet and, I believe, a positive thing, a sort of continuation of the modernist utopian project. However, the collapse of notions of expertise is problematic. In addition to this, the boundaries of culture and language largely remain. Google searches do not routinely return results that are pages in different languages or that were created in other countries, even if English speakers.

There is a strange geography that we are routinely exploring, and as comfortable as we become and as dependent as we become upon this world we have yet to truly confront the ethics of this space in the same way we have in the physical world.  I look forward to the explorations and the critiques.

Love,

Mark

Farewell Big Aristotle, Goodbye Shaq

It brings me a certain level of pain to feel forced to throw up a post about basketball that isn’t about the NBA Finals. I want to write about the fact that all of the sports pundits who are so reluctant to give Miami any credit for the run they are on are completely in denial. Yes, Miami’s defense is that good. Yes, they have learned to play well together. Yes, their supporting cast is not as bad as we all thought it was now that all of the players that were supposed to play are finally on the court together when it matters. Yes, Dallas is not that much better of an offensive team or team in general. Please just give Miami credit, despite your inclination to be angry at surface appearances rather than to completely understand the entire experiment. I’m tired of short sighted declarative remarks on who the Miami Heat are. Let’s think about the narrative of basketball in general, of people in general and of where we are not only in the history of the NBA, but as a society in relation to our heroes, our values and what we deem as virtues.

However, I have to write about Shaquille O’Neal because we will probably never see him play basketball again.

In 1993, I was backstage at a talent show (yes, talent show) at my elementary school, Pearl S. Buck Elementary. I was going to be lip synching the words to the “Fresh Prince of Bel Air” and doing an early 90’s dance routine with two friends of mine (I was seven years old and it was the angular, neon, early 90’s). I was just beginning to learn about and understand basketball. Hell, I was just a few weeks removed from my first two great basketball experiences (watching the 1993 East Regional Sweet Sixteen live and then the 1993 NCAA Championship late at night) and a few weeks away from one of the most formative basketball experiences of my life (watching Game 3 of the 1993 NBA Finals when the Suns beat the Bulls in triple overtime 129-121). We were backstage at the show and kids were talking about someone named “Shack.” I imagined who this player was that they were referring to. I didn’t watch basketball as religiously as I do now and the Orlando Magic weren’t in the 1993 Playoffs. I only found out about Shaq, Shaquille O’Neal, at the 1993 Draft when a player named Penny Hardaway was traded by the Golden State Warriors to the Orlando Magic for Chris Webber. The announcers were baffled because a teaming of Webber and “Shaq” (as it was actually spelled) seemed unstoppable. They showed clips of Webber on the Fab Five Michigan team, which I was familiar with. Then, they showed clips of Shaq. I don’t think I had seen anyone jump as high as Shaq. Not Shawn Kemp, not Michael Jordan, not anyone. He jumped with a different force; he broke backboards. That summer, I lowered my net and started practicing my dunks. I was seven years old and my hands hurt when I grabbed the rim.

As the 1990’s continued and I grew into my consciousness as an active person and as a basketball fan, I pledged allegiance to Jordan. There was just something right about him. His movements were so smooth, the angles and places he got to were unreal, there was just an element of inevitability about Michael Jordan—he was the hero and he was always going to win. It’s only later in life that I understand the toll that took on him personally as well as on those around him, but then, it just seemed right. Michael Jordan was the best player. When Shaq and the Orlando Magic unceremoniously dumped Jordan and the Bulls from the 1995 Playoffs, I was furious. I watched as Shaq and Penny victoriously carried a vindicated Horace Grant off the court on their shoulders. And I was more than pleased a year later when the Bulls swept the Magic in the Eastern Conference Finals, effectively ending the Orlando Magic’s “Penny and Shaq era” as Shaq moved west to the Los Angeles Lakers.

Jordan retired. The league went on strike. Tim Duncan won a championship, but Shaq was the best player. He was to be the new face of the league. Then, a young Kobe Bryant joined him and things started to happen. Shaq had always been a force of nature—a huge and imposing physical specimen, who nonetheless had a playful and goofy demeanor (see Kazaam!). However, in 1999-2000, Shaq became the immovable object. Shaq took on that air of inevitability. You fed Shaq the ball and he either got to the rim for a dunk, an easy layup, the baby hook or he passed it out to an open man or he was fouled. Shaq was fouled a lot. They invented the “Hack-a-Shaq” for God’s sake, which was one of the worst developments in basketball. I’ll remember the “Hack-a-Shaq”—it is an unfortunate part of his legacy—but I’ll mostly remember the dominance, the inevitability you felt when you watched Shaq. I hated the Lakers during their dominant run from 1999-2004. I hated Shaq, I hated Kobe, I hated Rick Fox and everyone else. They were a great team, though, and Shaq was phenomenal.

However, from my perspective, it seems like there should have been more. I know that is unfair to say and I don’t know why I’m saying it about a player I never liked, but simply marveled at and acknowledged his greatness. When Jordan entered that realm of inevitability he seemed to revel in it, it seemed to permeate everything about him, whereas with Shaq it never did. With Shaq, he seemed to see his own inevitability, he saw the shape and knew it for what it was and decided that it wasn’t for him. So, perhaps that makes him better in a way than Jordan, perhaps the psychological and spiritual damage is less. After all, Shaq is known for his off the court penchant for solving crimes as a volunteer police officer, for his playful antics, his sense of humor and his charity. And that all comes with being a basketball player and a larger than life figure. Shaq was always comfortable in his skin as a big man, which is a proven rarity (see Kareem Abdul Jabaar to this day), and he was perhaps comfortable with not realizing his total potential as a basketball player. He went through seasons out of shape, he pouted about fame and his importance. He left feuds and a bad taste in his wake (see Penny Hardaway, Kobe Bryant, Dwyane Wade and even Steve Nash). There was a convincing essay by the FreeDarko guys that made a very convincing claim that perhaps Shaq was never the person we imagined him to be—perhaps it was all an act, by someone who was maybe more insecure than we imagined.

And yet, he won four titles, the 2000 MVP Award, 3 Finals MVP Awards and other accolades. He was a star beyond stars. He was a rock. He was there year after year. He was Shaq and he was inevitable.

This past year in Boston you knew it was the end of the line. Shaq stayed away from the spotlight other than his good-natured antics with the citizens of Boston. He stressed the importance of taking less money to play for a winning team, something he never said before. He was not a force of nature, but rather someone you were hoping could give you ten points and five rebounds a night. The only inevitability about Shaq was that he would be injured. So, I’m glad he retired. He was a phenomenal player that I will never forget. He is certainly one of the top five centers or “big men” of all-time. We may never see a player play Shaq’s type of physical, forceful post game again (Dwight Howard is a long shot to even come close) and that makes me sad. Yet, I still feel like he left something behind. I still remind the periods of Fat Shaq, the player who somewhat took his own inevitability for granted. Maybe, like I said, he knew what it was and didn’t want it, maybe it was a conscious decision. And I know you’re not supposed to compare a player to another player, especially not to Jordan. But there is something about embracing that rare trait of inevitability that is appealing to me, that seems honorable, no matter what the damage may be. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe Shaq is right. I’m not sure that we’ll ever know for sure and maybe that’s just one of the ways that people are different.

In any event, thank you Shaq for having left your mark. Thank you for making the history of the NBA that much richer. I’ll be seeing you shortly on TV somewhere.

Theoharides on the Apocalpyse

Hey, my Puddlers. Sorry for the lack of action or communication over the past week or so—writing up these hilarious lists, maintaining an absurdist based Twitter feed, and posting things to Reddit can really take the life out of you. I also went away for the Memorial Day weekend and I have some kind of idea swirling around for an epic post; something with "mud on it" as Delmond from Treme so recently said on a great episode of that show. I'm going to try to get it up here this week, but it may have to wait until next week due to my busy personal and professional life (plus the NBA Finals is taking up much of my attention).

Also, later this summer I will be taking a break from posting in order to finish my revision of Last Mound of Dirt so that I can begin pitching it to agents. This should also coincide with the redesign of the entire site, so stayed tuned for announcements regarding all of that. There is no Mad Men season this summer so I won't be doing recaps to fill in the space. Instead I may just post guest posts and small little updates or thoughts from myself. Nothing going over 300 to 500 words, though. We'll see. I may just give the entire world a vacation.

Anyway, this week we'll have a Mark Jack post on Friday and next week or the week after we'll make another stop in the mind of Puddles of Myself Special Guest Columnist, Erik Lilleby, who will share another personal story.

However, today, we have Mr. Alex Theoharides who has a few things on his mind:

Theoharides On America in the Age of the Apocalypse:

A Rant & A List (Let’s Call it Wednesday)

Alex Theoharides

The Rant (written, as all good rants should be, in the third person plural):

America the wonderful, we proclaim. Land of opportunity and of Thanksgiving. Jazz and Hip Hop. Steinbeck and Kerouac. Cracker Jacks and Micky D’s. Microsoft and Macintosh. Baseball and Football and Basketball (oh my!).

And yes, also the Land of the Apocalypse.

This past month, Americans have waited with baited breath for the earth to cave in beneath us -- our breath held not because we fear the end of the world, but because we secretly pine for it, longing to be witnesses to the end. How else to explain our obsession with crazed preachers and Mayan calendars, our deep-rooted affinity for movies such as Armageddon, Mad Max, Water World, I Am Legend, novels such as Cormac McCarthy’s The Road and Roberto Bolaño’s 2666, our bitterness that this past week didn’t end with earthquakes but with yet another proclamation -- the end is nigh, the end is nigh.

America’s obsession with the Apocalypse stems from our base understanding of ourselves, of our nation and its place in the history of the world. American children are taught to be dreamers, to live with a suspension of disbelief; the suspension being, of course, that America is the ideal society. Borne out of the linear dynasties of Greece and Rome and the United Kingdom, America, we feel in our heart of hearts, our bones, is the land that stands for all that is right in the world. Sure we protest the Wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. Yes, we bemoan the actions (or lack thereof) of our political elite. Certainly, when we travel abroad, we feel contempt for our fellow stupid Americans. However, lurking just beneath our skin-deep criticism of our nation is our deep-rooted pride in the American Dream, in the Greatest Generation’s storming of Normandy, in the Beats travelling by jalopy from sea to shining sea.

We want America to go out on top. We don’t really care about the threat of global warning. We’re not good about conserving water, recycling, reusing, or reducing. And we secretly suspect re: (hope) that the rash of earthquakes, giant waves, hurricanes and tornadoes that have occurred over the last few years is a sign. A sign of what? Of the Apocalypse (cue somber music), of course.

Signs of the Apocalypse

Yesterday, two eight-year-old boys in front of me on line at the local Dunn Bros coffee shop, ordered Caramel Mocha Lattes.

Barry Bonds, without making a big deal of it, without even jamming a single needle up his sizable rear end, offered to pay tuition for the kids of the Giant fan in a coma.

The President of Urban Outfitters (yes, that hipster locale) has been making large donations to anti-gay politicians.

Lebron’s “The Decision” turned out to actually be good for the NBA.

A fetus has over 200 friends on Facebook.

A rash of horse herpes has forced a group of riders to practice their craft on … wait for it … stick horses.

Airline passengers got into a fight over a reclined seat.

And yes, I wrote a blog post about the Apocalypse.

Top 20 Friendships of All-Time Part 2

It's Thursday, my Puddlers, and I'm back to provide you with Part 2 of the Top Twenty Friendships of All-Time. You can look at Part 1 of the list by clicking here.

Before we begin there are a few honorable mentions that did not make it on this list: Artie and Larry Sanders, Bart Simpson and Millhouse, Laverne and Shirley, Rory Gilmore and Paris Gellar (for the evolution), Bruce Springsteen and his guitar, Michael Jordan and Charles Oakley, Zach Morris and Jesse Spano, Zach Morris and Skreech. Those are only a few of the honorable mentions and you can feel free to contact me with some of the friendships that you think are tragically missing from this list. I'd be glad to hear and entertain your arguments.

One more note before we begin: Dirk Nowitzki is playing out of his mind right now. If you are a marginal fan of basketball, you need to watch what Dirk is doing on a nightly basis. He is making impossible shots seem easy. His fadeaway is unguardable and his one-legged jumper has become the only other trademark move of this current era besides the Rondo fake/scoop layup. It has been absolute treat to watch Dirk play over the past month and I can only hope he continues to play at this level in the Finals, because it will only make it that much better and competitive.

Now, we continue with the Top 20 Friendships of All-Time:

10. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid -  This may have been the first “buddy” movie of all-time. I say that unofficially, but I am fairly confident in my assessment. Some may say that the relationship between Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid was more a “here and sidekick” relationship, but I see it as more of an evolutionary Don Quixote and Sancho Panza dynamic. Cassidy’s time in the world is up, but he refuses to believe it. The Kid is more of an equal to Cassidy than Sancho Panza was to Quixote, but he doesn’t know any better about the world changing so they continue on in their outlaw adventures in the face of their unknown pursuers—continuing a delusion about their own existences.  So there’s that and also the fact that they both like the same woman but manage to not fight over her. And something has to be said about dying side by side with your friend in Bolivia in a gunfight when you are completely outnumbered by Bolivian soldiers. Finally, they are both so handsome and cool. I definitely think that I have more of a Cassidy (read Newman) vibe—impossibly good looking and distinguished.

9. Aaliyah and Missy Elliott – Their friendship was perhaps the most prominent female friendship in modern R&B, although it only lasted a short time. They were both cutting edge artists who worked together as well as with Timbaland at the turn of the millennium. There’s actually not much more I can say about this friendship other than the fact that they both made some revolutionary music about ten years ago and that Missy paid tribute to Aaliyah after she died like any true friend would. What? What else do you want from me? I’ve expounded about plenty of fictional and real friendships so far and there was bound to be one that was a little shorter than the rest, right?

8. Paul Simon and Art Garfunkel – Their friendship is like a fine wine: aged, stored in a musty cellar over time, has a slightly bitter taste at the back of the tongue but with a slightly sweet, full-bodied finish. Simon and Garfunkel first met each other in elementary school in Forest Hills, Queens and started singing together at a very young age. They split up after high school, but reconnected a few years later and created some of the most memorable music and harmonies of all-time. Can you imagine creating an enduring and complex work of art like Bookends or Bridge Over Troubled Water with your childhood friend? Imagine you are Paul Simon and you have just written “Bridge Over Troubled Water” and you know your friend and singing partner so well that you understand he will master the song more than you ever could. Sure they fought and broke up, but it gave us “The Only Living Boy in New York.” And they had perhaps the most famous friend reunion ever at their 1981 Central Park concert, which was complete with rain and a record audience. Sounds like a Top 10 friendship to me.

7. Martina Navratilova and Chrissy Evert – This was a classic sports friendship. By that I mean that the excellence of these two women at tennis and their exhaustive competition completely overshadowed the fact that they were actually great friends. Also, their respective images caused people to confuse their personalities. Chrissy Evert with her blonde hair and turn of the 1980’s good looks was seen as the delicate and graceful champion. Meanwhile, Navratilova, with her gawky, slightly masculine appearance and eastern European bark, was seen as the hyper competitive aggressor. Well, that and she started to dominate Evert and every other women’s tennis player in the era. In reality, Evert was far more competitive and outspoken while Navratilova was humble and mild mannered. The public’s misconception and focus on their rivalry only brought these two women closer together as friends.

6. Thelma and Louise – No friendship list would be complete without Louise Elizabeth Sawyer and Thelma Yvonne Dickinson. First of all, these two just get credit in general for basically setting the tone for early 90’s women’s looks and fashion—Geena Davis especially since she was one of the archetypal babes of the 1988-1993 era. In the more specific, you have to like this friendship because of the way that these two women bonded over their trapped lives and were able to take a stab at some kind of freedom or liberation even if it got away from them. Their relationship is the go-to relationship for female outlaws and perhaps female buddy movies in general. There is nothing that says friendship or loyalty more than killing a guy who is trying to rape your friend and then going on a road trip to stay on the lamb and avoid the feds. Plus they have the iconic image of driving the 1966 Thunderbird Convertible off the cliff as they hold hands. All women should be so lucky to be friends like Thelma and Louise were.

5. Larry Bird and Magic Johnson – This is perhaps the greatest sports friendship of all time and one of the best overall sports stories, as I have previously written about. There were countless themes and factors that tried to stand in the way of the friendship between Magic and Bird: race, natural rivalry, NBA lineage rivalry, and personality. However, these two not only channeled all of those things into some of the most compelling athletics ever, but also into a lasting friendship. Larry and Magic were not friends for much of their NBA careers. It wasn’t until the late 80’s that they began to actually speak to each other. However, it was the usually reserved Bird that publicly showed his love if Magic when he expressed such great concern and sorrow over Magic’s contraction of HIV in 1991. These two friends not only had a legendary impact on the game of basketball, they also had an impact on each other’s lives. Two polar opposites who combined to drive and inspire the other.

4. Doc Brown and Marty McFly – No one in Hill Valley ever questioned the friendship between a 17 year old 80’s rocker and an eccentric old man scientist. The reason was because the friendship between Marty McFly and Doc Brown was so great. These two not only set the bar for time travel, but they also made the Delorean one of the most iconic cars of all time. Their sense of adventure and scientific curiosity often put the balance of the universe and our very existence in jeopardy, but everything seemed to work out. Sure Marty caused Doc to let a “Great Scott!” from time to time or Doc’s scientific jargon left Marty baffled—overall these two understood each other. How else do you explain the intuition of Doc flying the Delorean up the side of Biff Towers in the alternate 1985 to allow Marty to jump off the roof onto the hood of the Delorean so he could smack middle-aged alternate Biff in the face with the Delorean door in order to escape from being shot and go back to 1955 to correct the space-time continuum? All of us can only wish that we had the ability to read our friends’ minds that well. I’d argue that the adventures of Doc Brown and Marty McFly have not been surpassed in the past 25 years. Were this old man and this young 1980’s teen great friends? You’re damn right they were.

3. Neal Cassidy and Jack Kerouac – With all due respect to Jay Gatsby and Nick Carraway, the friendship between Jack and Neal has been the most influential friendship on my life, which is something that thousands of men can say. Kerouac and Cassidy set the blueprint for the modern male friendship. They were young, good-looking, all-American, adventurous, maintained a prolonged friendship, shared the other’s wife/girl at the time, and devoted an intense attention to each other that people often mistook for homosexuality. The friendship between Neal and Jack represented what all guys want, a buddy to take road trips with; to smoke cigarettes and drink bad coffee with; to drive maniacally across the country and pick up women, but to also marvel at the natural beauty of the world as well as the simple holiness of a stretch of road or the seats in a diner or vanilla ice cream on apple pie. You have the trope of the book smart introvert who longs to be a freewheeling, street-smart, naturally masculine con artist in play. The writer who loved women but is awkward and clumsy around them confessing his soul, while the other is an expert driver who seems to fall into a girl in every town and makes them all fall in love with him. In a moment of fervor (I won’t say what substance was fueling me) I once turned to my friend Chris Redder on the way to a keg party in out senior year of high school and said, “You’re the Neal to my Jack.” And we ambled along in his white Jeep in the fading twilight of one of those high school springs that you can never get back. The keg party was good that night—we owned it. Any guy lives to be able to say that phrase about a friend. You may not be able to get those twilights back, but you can cherish the enduring friendship and mythology.

2. Oprah Winfrey and Gayle King – This is a timely friendship due to the fact that Oprah’s show just went off the air after 25 years and there is not much I can really add to what this friendship symbolizes. Oprah is the most powerful woman in the world and one of the most, if not the most powerful media presence in the world. Gayle King is her best friend as well as an intelligent editor, radio show host and general advice giver. The two have been friends for over 30 years and have a close bond and attention to each other that people often mistake for homosexuality, which, as we covered in the previous entry, is the sign of an iconic friendship. In the modern era, when people refer to being good friends, they use Oprah and Gayle as the example. And that’s not just between my friends and I, women usually do it as well. Basically, when you say Oprah and Gayle, everyone—even a majority of men—knows you are talking about two great friends. To me, that factor alone has to put them in the Top 3.

1. John Lennon and Paul McCartney – Some people may scoff at this one since John and Paul were collaborators and band mates more than they were actually friends. However, they started off as teenage boys in Liverpool and they started off as friends. As I’ve covered before, the Beatles are such a unique phenomenon that it’s hard to delve into their mythology time and time again. However, I love the Beatles and I love both Paul McCartney and John Lennon in such great amounts that we have to dive in. Paul and John were close friends just as the Beatles were as a band. However, through their friendship and partnership some of the most enduring tropes were developed for collaboration, the most notable of course being that John was the smart one who wrote more complex, confessional lyrics and harder edged songs, while Paul was more whimsical and tended to write songs about funny characters and could toss off a simple melody with ease. Anyone who has had a creative friend or a friend in general tends to think of where they fit in the John and Paul dynamic, whether you are working on a musical project or any other artistic endeavor or if you are just reacting some event in your life. You take a minute to wonder, “Am I John or Paul in this scenario?” Their partnership driving the Beatles for most of their time as band almost singlehandedly changed the pop-culture of the entire world. Their partnership has left an indelible mark not only on music in general, but also humanity. We all know that they had a falling out that lasted pretty much until John was assassinated, but the true grief and devastation that Paul felt after John died was the emotion born out of being friends with, knowing and loving someone for a long, long time. That was at the heart of the Lennon/McCartney partnership and for that reason they get the number one ranking on yet another perfect list that you can’t really argue with.

Top 20 Friendships of All-Time Part 1

One of the best parts about reading this blog is observing and enjoying the lists that I post from time to time. One of the other great parts about reading this blog is intently following my long, romantic and poignant posts on friendship, which is probably the virtue I have sought to define for much of the twenty-five years I have been alive. I’ve quoted Michael Chabon before, but his quote from The Mysteries of Pittsburgh that it is friendship and not love that truly eludes us is probably one of the most true statements that has ever been written. One could write for hours about what it means to be a good friend to another person. What a good male friendship consists of or what a great female friendship consists of. And even more hours could be spent analyzing male and female friendships or whether the relationship between men and women is ever truly a friendship. There are layers upon layers and gestures upon gestures that lead us to great and meaningful discoveries about who we are as people and what we value in others. We can make great virtues out of our friendships and drive our friends crazy by holding them to high standards, or we can place little value on friendship and sleep with our best friend’s girlfriend. And even then, there is plenty of grey area. It is a topic I will spend the rest of my life trying to define.

However, in the meantime I’ve decided to probe history, movies, TV, music and literature in order to find the Top 20 Friendships of all-time. This list is so in depth and eloquent that we’re breaking it up into two parts. Believe me, that’s definitely the reason we’re splitting it up and not because I had to fill in some space this week.

So, without further ado, here is my list of the Top 20 Friendships of All-Time:

20. Dawson Leary and Joey Potter – I think that this ranking will immediately have some dissenters due to the fact that these two characters have a spot in any twenty-something’s heart. Dawson Leary and Joey Potter were introduced to us in 1997 on the WB and for those of us in our early to mid teens were directly influenced by the relationship between Dawson and Joey. She was the pretty tomboy who snuck into his window at night to talk about life. He was the film geek who just couldn’t see how beautiful she actually was and that he loved her. There was a classic element of tragedy to their friendship and that tragedy was called love. The fact that Dawson romantically loved Joey is actually what drops them down on this list. Sure they had a star-crossed romance that eventually ended up with them not being together. But over that time you can’t overlook that these friends slept together, which somehow disqualifies them from the mystic connection that an actual friendship is. With romance, you can pin the sensation down from time to time and express love, passion or romance in sex. Friendship is only briefly defined by obscure actions, nonchalant conversation and beer that slowly fades away. Some may believe in sex being possible between friends (e.g. the Natalie Portman fuck-buddy movie) but I’m more of a skeptic. Sorry Joey and Dawson, maybe you should have stuck to talking shop about Spielberg.

19. John Adams and Thomas Jefferson – This has become one of the most underrated friendships of all time. These guys were once bitter political rivals in the early days of this country. They both lived in the shadow of George Washington and were trying to form the country in line with their own strong visions. It was a classic story of fame and politics getting between two friends. Adams and Jefferson were originally close during the days of the Revolutionary War, even setting some Lennon/McCartney precedents by penning the “Declaration of Independence” together. However, the growing interests of this country both home and abroad tore them apart. The greatest betrayal may have been Adams’ appointment of the “Midnight Judges” after he lost the 1800 election to Jefferson in an attempt to spoil Jefferson’s presidency by putting some of his men in the Supreme Court right before his term was up. Jefferson was able to pass legislation to remove these men from office and slowly their friendship resumed as the bright candles of the White House faded from each of their eyes. They started an epic letter correspondence (like two other friends who will appear on this list) until the day they died—which was the same day. On his deathbed, Adams famously uttered, “Thomas Jefferson survives.” However, before the Internet and Twitter there was no way he could have known that his friend had already died a few hours earlier. Nothing says friendship more than the belief that no matter how you fail or no matter if your time is up, you are thinking about how your buddy is continuing on.

18. Monica Geller/Rachel Green/ Phoebe Buffay – This list would be not be complete with out an entry from the legendary sitcom Friends, which was probably one of the most iconic cultural items of the entire decade of the 1990’s. Some would say that Joey and Chandler were the better “friends” on the show, but I have to give it to the girls. Friends as a show was not believable in the slightest, but it seemed like the fights between Monica and Rachel were more believable as friends. Now, Phoebe generally didn’t have storylines involving her fighting with Monica or Rachel, but she was definitely a good source of comic relief to ease the tension when there was a fight. And of course she had her feelings hurt from time to time as well. We’ve all seen the show—these women had some good times and some bad times. They fought with each other and slept with men that the other liked. They all lived in New York in the same apartment and waited a long time to have kids in non-traditional ways. Wait a second; maybe the show was more realistic than I thought.

17. Han Solo and Chewbacca – This might be the most famous interstellar friendship of all time. Spock and Captain Kirk were too aloof. Now, friends will be aloof, but their relationship was different, it felt too professional. Obi wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker had more of an older brother/younger brother dynamic and Luke and Han had a sort of romantic rival dynamic that was eventually settled when it was revealed that Leia was Luke’s sister. Han and Chewy, now that was a friendship. From the moment we meet them in A New Hope, we get a sense of their back-story, that this galactic swashbuckler and his large hairy friend had all kinds of adventures together and truly cared about each other. You can picture Han and Chewy behind the wheel of the Millennium Falcon on some long space startrip across a galaxy far, far away, smoking cigarettes and listening to the Replacebots and just idly talking and roaring about how strange life can be and how just the simple good looks of a spacewoman can ease their aching hearts. If you don’t think that these were the two of the greatest friends of all time, then you are racist and need to look at yourself in the mirror.

16. Gertrude Stein and Ernest Hemingway - "That is what you are. That's what you all are...All of you young people who served in the war. You are a lost generation." That is the concluding line of a story about a mechanic that Gertrude Stein told to Ernest Hemingway, which inspired his inscription for The Sun Also Rises. Their friendship was a short but powerful friendship. Stein introduced Hemingway to bullfighting, encouraged him to give up journalism and embrace fiction and even helped edit some of his earliest work. Stein was like a mother figure to Hemingway, which is a friendship that is not often discussed in the world and literature: mother as friend to son. Now, of course there were Oedipal undertones as Hemingway has admitted that he wanted to sleep with Stein because of the fact that she reminded him of his mother, but they never did (unlike Dawson and Joey). They had a terrible falling out in 1926 that cut their friendship short. But they had already helped each other in many ways in their art, in their identity as Americans abroad and in life.

15. Jerry Seinfeld and George Costanza – Some people may complain about this ranking, however, I was conflicted putting these two in even this slot. My main issue with the Seinfeld/Costanza friendship was this elemental fact—were they even friends? Think about it: one of the fundamental traits of the characters of Seinfeld was the fact that they all took some level of pleasure in the misfortune of others, including their own “friends.” That fact made the show realistic, because there is an element of truth in the fact of wanting to see the misfortune of others. Even in groups of friends, we laugh when a friend trips or “eats it.” We love to see slapstick happen to the people we like spending time with; it is one of the strangest phenomena in life. So, when George got into a mess, who was the first to laugh most of the time? Jerry. And vice versa. Now, that still doesn’t overlook the fact that these two grew up together and that Jerry let George spend so much time at his apartment venting about all his problems, lies and insecurities. Now, that is the mark of a true friend: listening and generosity. People may claim that Elaine and Jerry had the better friendship, but their friendship was based on romance and then the resulting post-relationship sexual tension, which is a rare occurrence. However, in my mind the non-sexual tension trumps a sexual-tension related friendship. Any woman that I have sexual tension with I usually don’t call my friend because I’d be thinking about sex more often than our friendship. If I have sexual tension with a girl, I tend to call her “this girl I know,” rather than “my friend.” To me, that’s just being honest with myself because I never think about sleeping with any of my friends.

14. Rory Gilmore and Lane Kim – Another rule of this list is that it does not include the “family friendships.” Obviously Rory Gilmore and Lorelai Gilmore as “friends” would be in the top five of any “Top Friendships” lists; that fact is undeniable. But you still have to give credit to the other anchor in Rory Gilmore’s life, the indefatigable Lane Kim. Lane is the epitome of a rock scholar. When Lane talks shop to Rory you learn something every time. Due to her strict Korean upbringing she even had to install a secret compartment in the floor of her room to store all of her records. Those were records she shared with Rory so she could outsmart any snobby girl or guy at Chilton or Yale. Also, Rory needed to know some deep cuts to keep up her witty banter with Jess outside of Luke’s Diner or by the gas station. This friendship wasn’t a one-way street either. Rory helped Lane with all of her schemes to sneak out of the house or to go to a party to meet her bandmate and boyfriend Dave. Rory also convinced Lorelai to let Lane’s band practice in their garage. Lane and Rory’s friendship endured Rory going to a different high school and then going away to college. Speaking as a person who has retained friendships with some people for nearly fifteen years, I can safely say that maintaining a close friendship over the passing of years and circumstances is no joke. We could delve into the different nuances of a “maintained friendship,” but lets just settle on the fact that Lane Kim and Rory Gilmore were some of the best friends to come out of Star’s Hollow, Connecticut.

13. Jay Gatsby and Nick Carraway – One of the most mythic and ambiguous friendships in history, the relationship between Nick Carraway and Jay Gatsby has influenced me perhaps more than any other in fiction, history or real life. It was the friendship with Jay Gatsby that caused Nick to utter the famous line that he wanted “no more privileged glimpses into the hearts of men,” which is how most male friends and even female friends feel from time to time when confronted with the enormity of what being a friend means. “No, no more. I can’t have any more empathy.” It might just be the melancholy yet crisp nature of the prose or of the tragedy of the story itself, but the relationship between Nick and Gatsby just seems to mean so much. Gatsby represents a romantic way of looking at the world, while Nick retains some sort of pragmatism and yet finds the appeal in Gatsby’s way of seeing the world. Nick sees some value in the kindness and attention that Gatsby can display with a smile or an “old sport.” And Nick ultimately sees how the world will use up a man with all of Gatbsy’s traits and just move onto the next house lit up with money and the glow of champagne. Nick is not able to save Gatsby, but he does relay one heartfelt compliment to him, by stating that he’s better than the rest of their group near the end of the novel. We never see things from Gatsby’s perspective, but in real life, sometimes its just that one comment, that one compliment from a friend that can make all the difference—that one phrase that illuminates the relationship in a new way.

12. Sancho Panza and Don Quixote – This friendship has perhaps been overlooked due to the fact that it is a well-established tenet of western literature (i.e. no one reads Don Quixote anymore), but it is one of the most iconic. You have the hero (even if he is comedic) and his trusty sidekick. The sidekick supports him on his foolish whims because he actually doesn’t know better himself and even plays a joke on the hero at one point because he can’t resist (isn’t this how most guys spend most of their 20’s?). The two go on an epic journey together, which was one of the earliest and most well-known “road trips” along with The Odyssey and Pilgrim’s Progress. The friendship between Sancho Panza and Don Quixote suffers because they are embedded in our consciousness and culture in ways that we have forgotten. However, all you need to know is that Sancho Panza was by Quixote’s side when he thought he couldn’t go on anymore.

11. Bob Uecker and Norm MacDonald – I’ll admit that this friendship gets such a high ranking because of its seemingly random nature and also because I love both of these guys independently that finding out they were weird cross-generational friends was just an added bonus.  Their friendship can basically be summed up in this story told by Norm MacDonald in a vintage Letterman moment (at this point Letterman has that same “I don’t care vibe” that MacDonald does, though Norm is much warmer and less curmudgeonly in his vibe).  The friendship between Uecker and MacDonald covers that strange and great situation where you have an old guy who is friends with a middle-aged guy because they share some kind of ancient secret of men.  Norm MacDonald and Bob Uecker just seem like two guys. It’s as simple as that. One has made a career out of a great announcing voice and a love for baseball and just happens to be a funny guy; the other on his love of comedy and a unique delivery. They are both just men in the most non-testosterone way possible.  They remind me of beer and putting on a worn navy blue hat. There is something to be said for that.

Click here to continue to Part 2.