“When I score a goal, I don’t celebrate, because I do my work. When the Postman delivers your letter, does he celebrate?”
“Best moment of the night was when I saw my mother after the game. I told her those goals were for her”
The striker's crunched explosion of a second goal against Germany showed why Cesare Prandelli kept the faith
So "Il Postino" has delivered. Manuel Neuer had sunk to his haunches, his left arm still aloft as if signalling the surrender, as Mario Balotelli ri pped off his shirt, flung it to the turf and flexed his muscles. Claudio Marchisio's embrace rocked through the forward but by the time the rest of the delirious…
I know, this blog has been awfully quiet.. for a whole week! I hate it, too.. but I got so busy. So here’s a new song/lyric video to liven up this page. I ♥ new songs!
Most humans are no strangers to pain, and the older we get the more loved ones we have lost or nearly lost to accident, illness, self-inflicted injuries, and even (if we are very lucky) old age. Death has been a guarantee through the ages, and yet we still have no words, no language set aside for the devastation we feel when we have lost somebody we love. To accompany that lack, we have yet to manage to find or create words or language for when we are faced with somebody else’s devastation. It’s this second failure I would like to discuss here.
Death makes us selfish. Other people’s pain makes us selfish.
“Oh, no,” You are saying, right now. “No, I’m not selfish. I just wish there were something I could say or do to make it better.” Of course you do. You know why? Because it will make you feel better. If you knew what to say or do, it would ease the pain your loved ones are feeling, and thus ease your own pain. And no, I’m not calling you out, Gentle Reader, and I am not saying it is a conscious thing you are doing. I’m not saying it’s your primary goal, even. I’m just saying that it’s there.
Honestly, why do you think I’m writing this post right now? Tragedy struck the life of somebody I love and care about very much, and I would climb mountains, fight dragons, and raze cities to make her hurt a little bit less—but of course, I can’t make her feel better. So to make myself feel better, I’m gonna focus on something else for a minute: blogging.
Death and tragedy turn us into comfort-seeking missiles, and it can be incredibly difficult to change course. We want the comfort to be easily found, too—in answers to questions we should not be asking the recently bereaved, for example, and the search for some kind of explanation for the loss, something that will help us sleep at night. We want to feel in that moment that whatever happened could not possibly happen to us.
But while we are asking our questions, and trying to make sense of what happened (as if there is sense to be made), and trying to be comforting and aggressively supportive, and trying to direct the emotions of the bereaved in a direction that makes more sense to us, and wondering what flowers to get and what kind of casserole to make and what kind of whiskey to bring to the memorial service…? While we are doing that, the people we are asking and “comforting” are trying to fathom their loss, to understand how it is that there is somebody in their lives they can never call again, or see again, or be able to run to for love or comfort or silliness.
2012 has brought a soul-numbing amount of death, loss, and injury to my immediate and extended families. This is not my first experience with death and loss by any means. And I may not be an expert, but I’ve had a lot of practice this year. And this is what I have learned:
Consider these things before you approach somebody who has just lost somebody they love. You don’t have to have the right thing to do or say. You don’t have to have all the answers. You don’t have to feel bad because you also want comfort and because there might be a selfish streak to how you want to handle things—hurting because somebody you love is hurting is not a bad thing. What you do have to be is loving, patient, available and always aware that it’s not about you.
I am filled with such gratitude every day that I have you in my life. You fill and complete me in ways I never knew possible. There’s nothing I want more than to see you smile and hear you laugh. Nothing can make my day like seeing you happy.
There is no such thing as the perfect person, but there can be a perfect person for someone. You are perfect for me; my perfect fit. You are the missing piece in the puzzle of my life.
This connection between us is extraordinary to me. No matter what ever happens in our relationship, I will be eternally grateful for every moment that you have been and are a part of my life.
My mind is constantly filled with thoughts of you, and each thought brings with it a feeling of euphoria- the kind one can only experience in true love. You excite and invigorate me, and you also calm and relax me. You add so much to my life. I love you more and more each day.
I wrote this poem a couple of years ago after I broke up with my boyfriend. I think many people struggle with the meaning of love. I certainly struggled with it and recently I realised I’m only starting to know what love is and I’ll probably be figuring out what love is for the rest of my life. Out of all the relationships that I’ve been in, the ones where I’ve told them that I love them without understanding it or meaning it, the one where I said it too early for the sake of the other person and the one where I never said it at all and I thought I should have. After I found out and studied what love is, I realised I have only loved one guy, I meant it and he knew it.
I hope you enjoy it
The way we move is something like a musical
The way we speak is so surreal
The way we feel is like I’ve never felt before
But I’ve got something to tell you don’t be afraid to feel it too
boy I fell in love with you
It’s something deeper than just a fling
It’s something more than the words I sing
I found someone to share this moment
And I found someone to share this feeling
I got something on my mind
Boy you better realise
That I fell in love with you
And I’m not afraid to tell you
We shared a moment with just our eyes
We shared a minute with just a smile
It took a while for me to see
Something about you caught me
There’s something sweeter than just a kiss
There’s something more than to physicalness
because it’s something to do with our hearts
It’s something to do with who we are
We opened up in just a few weeks
We shared things we use to keep in
It’s something to do with our hearts
And I know you felt it too
But boy I really loved you
We’re people from opposite sides
We’re people with different lives
We couldn’t face the test of time
I know we could’ve made it work
But I’m not that hypocrite
How do I explain this feeling?
How do I erase this smile?
It took a while for me to see
You’re not the one for me
And you better realise
I’ve got to get you out of my mind
Because I’m moving on with my life…
On her show Oprah's Next Chapter, Oprah Winfrey has had 50 Cent, Paris Jackson, the Kardashians, Rihanna, and Lady Gaga and her mother. Next Sunday she is set to also have members of the most sought after NBA championship winners: LeBron James, Dwyane Wade, Chris Bosh, and other members of the Miami Heat.
On the third anniversary of Michael Jackson’s death, daughter Paris paid tribute via her Twitter account Monday morning.
“RIP Michael Jackson,” she tweeted. “Dad you will be forever in my heart. I love you.” Earlier, she retweeted a message sent her way, reading, “The ones that love us never really leave us. You can always find them in here *heart*.”
Many others have been paying tribute as well. Michael’s brother, Randy Jackson, tweeted, “3 yrs ago on this June 25th, my brother passed,” while sister LaToya wrote, “Sad morning all. This day was the day that lead to the demise of my little brother. ‘Michael We Love’ May you RIP. Gone FAR To Soon.” (sic)
Jackson died of cardiac arrest from an overdose of the anesthetic propofol June 25, 2009. He was 50.
Dr. Conrad Murray was found guilty of involuntary manslaughter in Jackson’s death, and was sentenced to four years.