Sometimes itís easy to forget whatís important. I know whatís important, and that should be obvious if youíve read every single entry Iíve ever written here in the last five and a half years. In all those pages youíll find that three or four times Iíve let it slip that I know whatís important.
Itís not reality television, although I was mighty upset by what happened on Big Brother 6 tonight. When youíve been watching a program for almost three months, including the live Internet feeds, and your favorite houseguest gets evicted on the last show before the finale, youíre bound to be bummed. But thatís not whatís important. (Although I am, indeed, bummed. Totally.)
Baseball is important, of course, but itís not whatís really important. So you canít get too badly unstrung when the Giants blow a late lead against the Dodgers, and you canít get too euphoric when they come back to win. You can be sad when the bullpen fails and happy when a slumping rookie gets a clutch hit, but itís not whatís important. Or so I keep telling myself.
Iíll tell you whatís really not important, although itís probably the one thing I write about most often. Work. My job. Not important. It keeps food on my TV tray and a roof over my head, but thatís all itís good for. It doesnít advance the cause of civilization or satisfy my soul. I like it, but I like a lot of other things more. Is it possible that something is necessary without being important? Obviously, I think it is.