I know winter in Ithaca is never all that kind to anyone, but I feel these early days of February have been especially cruel to me.

First, I came down with a vicious cold that made me more of a walking drainage site than a human. Then The Blind Side was nominated for Oscars. And finally, as if I needed any reminder that I’m getting older, this past Saturday night, on the basketball court at Helen Newman Hall, the ball in my hands, my body poised to post up, I took one dribble toward my defender, ready to go Jeff Foote on his ass, and promptly dunked in his face threw out my back.

Take it from me, people: We’re not getting any younger. One minute you’re 21, the paragon of health, the picture of virility, wading through the masses at Dunbar’s, making it rain on the basketball court —the next you’re lying supine on your bedroom floor, your pants around your ankles because you can’t dress yourself anymore, wondering if Meals-on-Wheels does business out of Ithaca. Point is, I’m sick, cranky, exhausted and hurting, and I can’t be bothered right now with crafting a coherent, thoroughly argued, neatly organized column.

So, preamble now finished, I humbly offer you this countdown of the most flagrant, alarming, or otherwise upsetting news from the past few weeks of culture, current events, music, movies, etc. Something to fit my mood.

3. Dear John Tops the Box Office

Okay, gut check time, America: Who among us is actually going to these movies?

Dear John, Nicholas Sparks’ latest book to be brought to the silver screen, stars Channing Tatum and Amanda Seyfried, and has something to do with 9/11, a couple torn asunder, and said couple’s eventual triumphant reunion. I don’t want to pick on Nicholas Sparks, since I haven’t read any of his books, but I have seen The Notebook and it’s not exactly Casablanca.

And still the American moviegoing public seem to devour this schmaltzy, syrupy, overly-sentimental crap like it’s crack cocaine. If the rate at which we consume this type of movie says anything about our collective emotional maturity, well, then, that’s extremely disappointing. Seriously, what’s so fun about having your heartstrings tied into a knot and yanked in each and every direction?

As for the movie in question here — look, ladies, I know what the situation is with regard to Channing Tatum’s stomach. Dude does his crunches. But why not see Crazy Heart, instead? Jeff Bridges may not be eye candy, but at least he can act (and, another plus, you can leave the Kleenex at home).

2. Baptist Kidnappers in Haiti

This one’s ugly, so you may want to avert your eyes if you’re at all weak in the stomach.

Okay, so, you all remember last month’s earthquake in Haiti? The one that ravaged an entire country? Destroyed its infrastructure? Sent foreign aid groups scrambling to help? Left hundreds of thousands dead? Hundreds of thousands of others homeless? You know, catastrophe and human suffering on a plane most of us can’t even imagine.

If you’re a normal, sentient, well-intentioned human being, you took out your phone, donated 10 bucks to the American Red Cross, included all the victims and survivors in your prayers and then, somewhat guiltily, went back to your daily life. Or, if you’re a Baptist from Idaho and a member of the New Life Children’s Refuge, you went to Haiti yourself and tried to smuggle 33 Haitian children across the Dominican Republic’s border.

Now, aside from the whole religious element at play here, consider that some of these children, despite the Baptists’ assertions, were not orphans, which means that their parents, or their relatives, had to be convinced to let them go. Think of the emotional trial involved in that decision — giving up a child forever in the hope that he or she will find a better life in the U.S. This is some seriously sick stuff.

1. The Who at the Super Bowl

This, however, is sicker.

There’s a famous line from the Neil Young song “Hey Hey, My My.” It goes, “it’s better to burn out than to fade away.” I’ve never fully bought into this sentiment (what’s so bad about fading away, anyway?), but then I saw the halftime show at this year’s Super Bowl.

Watching The Who’s Pete Townshend and Roger Daltry — both of whom, by the way, decked out in hokey mod attire, looked like they’d been dressed by puppeteers — plod through overwrought versions of their greatest hits reminded me again of what happens when rock stars live too long. Honestly, was there anything more disheartening from the past week than the sight of Daltry waddling around stage, struggling to raise his arms above his shoulders à la John McCain? Or of Townshend’s beer gut flopping around each time he attempted the windmill?

Conspicuously absent from the setlist was “My Generation,” the band’s anthem from the 60s. “Hope I die before I get old”? Ahem. About that…