Each Coast Bias reborn

A few days ago, I found myself in an argument with my girlfriend's crazy aunt.

I know what you're thinking. "But ECB, this is the interwebs! If you call your girlfriend's aunt crazy, she can read about it and come find you in the middle of the night and remove your spleen while you're asleep because she's all crazy and such!" And you would be correct. This is the interwebs and I guess this is public knowledge now. My girlfriend's aunt is crazy. Well, really all of her aunts are crazy. But this one (I'm not naming names, but at this point anyone who knows her family knows who I'm talking about) is C-R-A-double Z-Y. Yeah, double Z.

Anyway the argument started like this. Her Facebook status message was something like "I hate it when people incorrectly say 'Town SelectMAN.' What is this, the 1950s?"

At some point here, I was faced with a dilemma. Oh sure, I could have ignored it. But let's pretend for the sake of this argument that ignoring it wasn't an option. Because in that moment, for me, it wasn't an option. I don't know why. These things just happen sometimes. Anyway, let's say I had to do something about it. And let's say my doing something about it involved me replying to this comment and (correctly) stating that the term selectMAN does not in any way infer that only men are allowed to inhabit that position and that is a common colloquial phrase (and let's say I actually used the word colloquial because I'm sweet like that).

And then, oh, just for kicks, we'll say that the crazy aunt's hyper-liberal kool-aid drinkers came out in droves, chastising me for such a ludicrous proposition. And oh would they be right. Silly me for thinking that if we call someone a defenseman in hockey, even if the player in question is a girl, that it is degrading to her and we should change the term to "defenseperson." Yeah I'll be writing that in all of my sports copy this week. Hooray for gender neutrality, or something.

You know how sometimes, in life, something happens and you just take it in, all the while something inside of you is screaming "GOD THAT IS SO UNBELIEVABLY WRONG!" but you can't quite figure out how to best phrase it? Man I hate that. So I fired up the ol' blog again. This used to be a place for three crazy kids to post junk about sports. Rest assured there will still be some (a LOT) of sports here. But why limit it? Hey, let's just post some crap and see what sticks. No more daily updates, morning Ketchup, headlines - if I have a reader out there in the universe, he knows where to get this elsewhere. This is a voice. It's sort of my voice. Sort of the voice of others. It's just a voice. And maybe it'll be a chance to keep myself out of trouble with the girl's crazy aunts. We can think big here.

Ooo, that reminds me of a song.