I am easily debilitated (in re: wifi)

Guys, I swear I did not forget what day of the week it was this time: my internet went out. So until this moment, I was unable to post, as I was trapped in my beloved neighborhood coffee shop with only my work computer. And you’ve been deprived of ponies for hours! Hours! I’m so sorry. Tragedies abound.

In coincidental news, I wrote an entire blog post (in a word processing document: no connectivity needed!) about how up and down this week was. The tragedies I wrote about there were actual, factual. Now it feels weird to post them side-by-side with my maudlin first-world whining, BUT I WILL.

Here you go, verbatim (hence, please forgive me for any repetitive language in re: “week” and “up and down”):

It’s been a weird week of ups and downs in the world of…everything. Are all weeks this weird? Let’s say yes. But it seems especially noticeable this time.

First the tragic death of Philip Seymour Hoffman. He has been beautifully eulogized elsewhere by people who actually knew him, so I will just say: Hoffman stands out in my memory as the first actor whose craft was so palpable I could admire it, and him through it ¬– not just his movies, but his skill. He was a vehicle for fragility and ugliness and complex humanity; a walking funny, mordant worldview. A sad loss, not the least because addiction is a disease that takes people away before they need go. Not the least because everyone seems to agree Hoffman was kind as well as talented.

Then the Seahawks won the Superbowl. THEN THE SEAHAWKS WON THE SUPERBOWL. Guys, everyone in my house was confused about why I was so damn excited about this game, when, in a normal year, I maybe mention sports once every three months. What can I say? I love the Seahawks. I remember going to games with my dad, in the Kingdome (God rest its soul). I remember buying (er, being bought) a Seahawks troll doll with blue hair. I remember thinking that the Seahawks probably weren’t eligible for the Superbowl, because they had never been.

Just after halftime, my sister-in-law told me she felt bad for the Broncos and hoped they’d score at least once (WHICH THEY DID JUST AFTER, THANKS A LOT KIM), expressing a common emotional reaction: desire to root for the underdog. What I’d like to say to people who decided to cheer for a Broncos comeback just because Denver was losing is: the Seahawks represent a MUCH BETTER, deeper, underdog story. Remember when I said they’d never won a Superbowl before? Remember when, last time they went to the Superbowl, they lost? Seattle fans are jubilant because we never really believed we could win the big game (in general I mean, not this game specifically) – and yet, beneath that, always believed that someday we would. IT’S REALLY MOVING. CELEBRATE OUR ASCENSION.

Then. Then there’s all this terrible conversation surrounding Dylan Farrow and Woody Allen. (See what a dreadful segue that way? I said the week was full of strange ups and downs.) All I have to say is: fake accusations of abuse are significantly less common than actual sexual abuse, and as many have already stated, when in doubt, I will always stand with the victim.

Ok, I had more to say after that, but nothing really transitions well out of a conversation about molestation.

Can you think of anything? No. Me neither. (But since we’re talking tragedy, have you seen this article suggesting that all oceanic fish will be extinct by 2048? That’s…rather catcylsmic.)