what the pilgrims should have done

This Thanksgiving was a strange one for me because it marked the first time I wasn’t with family to celebrate it.

With needing to rent a car because of Jack, it ended up being way too much trouble to get out of the city, so Ari and I went to a friend’s apartment to eat ourselves to the brink of death and drink so much that we did this when we got home:

Vodpod videos no longer available.

more about “dance magic dance“, posted with vodpod

Did you watch that?  I know, I don’t watch videos on blogs either.  In fact I have a strict policy of only watching them if they are under two minutes.  But that video is only 35 seconds, and it is worth it.  Plus I even used Vimeo, which is somehow cooler than Youtube now even though I don’t really understand why.

A little background on that video:  Earlier in the day, I was browsing iTunes and realized that I had been a complete asshole until then for not having Elton John’s “I Guess That’s Why They Call it The Blues.”  So I downloaded it to my phone.

I really don’t know what I was thinking, not having this classic to listen to at any moment.  I mean, Stevie Wonder has a harmonica solo in it!  I repeat – a harmonica solo!  Stevie Fucking Wonder!  Well, I didn’t want to be the kind of person who lives their life without this song, so I got it and listened to it about five times before we went to dinner.

Naturally, when we got back, I decided to put the song on yet again and dance with Jack.  This was all captured by our other friend who mainly laughed at us but also had the presence of mind to document it for later viewing.

The highlights of the video include the song itself, which makes you A Better Person, Ari making some sort of concoction and declaring it “Pup Stuffing!” and me dancing with Jack, which really was just me whipping him from side to side, while singing along at the top of my lungs.

I’m not really sure, but that might have been the best Thanksgiving ever.

holidays are good for things

I have some good news and some bad news. First, the bad news: I won’t be back until December 1st, because my Thanksgiving vacation begins tomorrow.

Take a moment. Breathe. Breathe dammit!

I know that my blog is central to your existence and my being gone until the 1st might push you over the edge faster than having to watch Paris Hilton’s My New BFF, but it is something that must happen.

Now for the good news: it’s Thanksgiving on Thursday!

While everyone likes Thanksgiving, it can be quite different for me because I’m a vegetarian.

A meat eater’s Thanksgiving typically goes like this:

1) Sit on the couch and drink.

2) Watch TV and try to avoid any and all interaction with family members, especially Uncle Gregg, who has a problem with remembering to zip his pants.

3) Eat turkey then pass out. Hope Uncle Gregg doesn’t notice and position himself dangerously close to you.

A vegetarian’s Thanksgiving goes like this:

1) Sit on the couch and drink.

2) Watch TV and try to avoid Uncle Gregg, while simultaneously answering everyone else’s 47 questions about why you don’t eat meat, despite the fact that you haven’t eaten meat for the last ten Thanksgivings.

3) After answering all of those questions, have someone ask you “But you can eat turkey, right?”

4) Eat pasta and try to pass out. Hope Uncle Gregg doesn’t notice and accuse you of being “one of those hippies or something” while his zipper is down.

Of course any holiday with the main purpose to eat and drink too much is okay with me, so I can’t complain too much.

And who knows, maybe this year Uncle Gregg will be wearing underwear.

See you all next Monday.

good lord

Yesterday Ari and I were taking our dog for a walk when we stumbled upon something that shocked both of us.

It wasn’t a crack head trying to sell us a tent.

It wasn’t a guy pissing on a street light pole in broad daylight.

And it wasn’t even a middle-aged woman telling her friend that she “was gonna go all crazy and shit” if she didn’t get paid later that night.

Even though all of those people can be found all too frequently around our neighborhood, it wasn’t any of them.  Instead, it was a giant, overwhelming, sun-blocking church.

god damn!

This church was not there about a month ago.  But suddenly, there it was.  Huge.  Massive.  With lettering basically yelling “Jesus Christ is The Lord!” at us.

How is it that apartment complexes take at least a year or so to be put up, yet churches seem to spring up at any moment and, quite frankly, scare the hell out of you?

I think that’s exactly the effect that they’re going for.  They sit around a table, discuss how to make Jesus even more intimidating than he already is, and then it’s settled: They will build a gigantic church, way bigger than necessary, that will scare all the Non Believers shitless.

And that’s exactly what happened to Ari and I.

When we saw this church, we stopped cold in our tracks and stared at it.

In fact, my exact words were “Jesus fucking christ!”

Somehow, I can’t help but think that’s not what they were going for, but then again, I don’t think I’m really their target audience.

 

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down for the count

Ever since I started boxing I’ve been – as caveman as it sounds – kind of wanting to get into a fight.  The only reason being that for the first time in my life I feel like I could actually kick some ass, instead of getting in two punches, closing my eyes and praying to the heavens that the gym teacher breaks it up soon.

The problem I keep running into is that fighting someone when you’re a thirty-year-old man is, you know, kind of frowned upon.

Plus the scope of what I would actually punch someone in the face for has dwindled significantly since I was a teenager.

Back in high school, a short list of Totally Acceptable Reasons To Punch Someone looked like this:

1) Someone took your pen.  Pens aren’t cheap!  Well, they kind of are, but that’s not the point fool!

2) Someone spilled something on your Starter.  Damn bro – you know I’m a Canes fan even though I don’t know any of the players and sports are confusing to me in general!  Stop playin’!

3) Someone looked at you.  What are you looking at?  You think this is some kind of looking party???

4) Someone beat up someone you barely knew but was popular.  Jim, I mean Gregg, I mean – whatever – he was awesome, so let’s get that dude!

5) Someone talked to the girl you might have eventually talked to but haven’t yet. We had so much in common! She has a “May the Schwartz Be With You” sticker on her binder too!

Of course I didn’t even fight in high school (the last fight I was in was in 8th grade), because I was a Class Clown-type, which we all know is that dude who can make everyone laugh but when The Shit Goes Down he is usually seen running away while wiping tears from his eyes.

And now that I’m older and those reasons don’t really apply once you graduate high school, I’m just not sure if I’ll ever get into a fight and be able to show off my abilities.

That truly does make me sad, but I guess it’s one less phone call from the police at 3:45 AM that my fiancée will have to worry about.

For now.

statement made

I know it’s not okay to say that you like Nike because of all the sweat shop stuff and something about their shoes being made from the skin of Brazilian babies, but I’m a huge fan of their workout clothing and shoes.

Everything I wear to the gym is Nike.  In fact the CMO of Nike just texted me and told me that because I’m blogging about the brand, he’ll pay me three small children every time I write Nike.  So Nike, Nike, Nike.  I hope those kids are hard workers.

I realize that their stuff isn’t any better than any other sporting goods company, but the reason I am so obsessed with Nike is that when I was a kid, I could never have their shoes.

When I was young Nike Airs had just came out and obviously any kid that was worth anything had to have them.  This was a problem for me because I was a kid who was worth nothing.  Because I was poor.  I’m talking steal-your-friend’s-G.I. Joes-because-you-can’t-afford-any poor.

I remember pleading with my Mom and Dad for the Airs and being instantly rebuffed because for some insane reason they thought food was more important – a point I still dispute to this day.

Because they couldn’t afford to buy me Nikes (or Bugle Boys, by the way) my parents took me to the shoe store and bought me another brand of sneakers.  After I stopped crying and pounding my fists on the wall in protest, I thought that maybe it would not be that bad and I’d end up with some sweet Reeboks, but that’s not the way it went.

While all my friends walked around with their new, flashy, These Make You A Better Person Nike Airs, I had on my feet a brand of shoes called Winners.

Yes, Winners.

Just for the record: Nike > Winners.

The amount of ridicule that I endured because of my all-white Winners still sits with me today as I type this, and that’s why I go out of my way to purchase any and all Nike apparel/footwear.

It’s to let people know that I am A Person now.  A Person who wears brand names and sometimes has money in his pocket that he might spend at any moment!

But most of all, it’s for that little boy inside of me who still carries the pain of wearing generic sneakers to gym class, and who had to hear “Nice Winners, Loser!” one too many times.

a healthier you

It’s winter again, and with that comes people freaking out over going outside with their hair wet.  Every winter I hear it: “Oh no, my hair’s wet, I’m going to get sick!”

No.

No you’re not.

You get sick from germs, okay.  Germs.  You remember Bald Man sneezing behind you while you were waiting on line to buy that sweater (blue does not look good on you, by the way)?  That’s how you get sick.

You remember Hacking Old Lady in the elevator yesterday, who may or may not have been checking you out which may or may not have turned you on in an “I think I have problems” kind of way?  That’s how you get sick.

It’s not from your hair being wet.

You want to take a shower and step out into the freezing winter day with nothing but your socks on?  Go ahead.  You won’t get sick from it.  You might, depending on how many Fried Foods Tuesdays you’ve enjoyed, scar people who see you for life, but you won’t catch a cold.

If you really don’t want to get sick this year, how about washing your hands once in awhile?  Maybe instead of not washing up after you take a piss because you have to rush back to your work computer to see if anyone wants to gchat with you (they see the green “available” dot and they are not taking the bait dude, let it go) you take a minute and scrub those hands.

It doesn’t matter though. You’re probably reading this and thinking that it makes sense, but you still don’t believe me, and that’s fine.

But just remember, I’m a guy who you’ve never met who also writes a blog, and that makes me an Expert About Everything.

tall tale

A friend of a friend of a friend of a friend has a story and it goes like this:

This girl owns a big ass snake and loves it.  She even lets it sleep with her at night, curled up at the end of her bed.  One day she notices that it stops eating like it normally does, so she starts to get worried.  She also notices around this time that the snake stops sleeping normally and begins to sleep completely stretched out alongside her at night, instead of curled up at her feet.  So the girl takes the snake to the vet and explains everything that has been happening.  The vet looks at the girl in complete shock and tells her, “The reason why your snake has stopped eating and is stretching out alongside you at night is because it’s preparing itself to eat you.  It stopped eating to make room for you, and is stretched out to see if you will fit inside it.”

Now, after hearing that story certain concerns arise.

For one, what exactly is going on in this woman’s life that she lets her snake sleep with her?  I think the woman needed someone to talk to.  You know, about being fucking crazy.

Another issue is that if a snake that big decided to stretch out alongside you, it is probably not a good sign. No one has ever called me a genius, but I’m pretty sure that after the first night this happened, she should have put it in its cage at night.

There are countless other concerns that come to mind when hearing that story (did she cuddle with it?  And if so, for how long? Did the snake snore?) but when I first heard it, I didn’t care about any of that – I was just upset because I realized that I don’t have a good story.

Nothing.

That friend who knows that story can enter into any situation and immediately feel comfortable, because she has that story to pull out on people.

No matter what people are talking about, she can interject with, “Yeah that’s great, but you want to hear something really crazy?”  And of course people will be interested, because everyone loves Crazy – just look at America’s obsession with Britney (Comeback my ass.  She’s still bat shit nuts, mark my words).

But me?  I’ve got nothing.

I could pull out the time when I missed the train and thought I was going to be late to work but then another train came right away! But somehow, I don’t think it’s as powerful as Snake Woman.

Something’s got to give.  Maybe I’ll try and make something remarkable happen and have a quality story all to myself, something that will always elicit ohhs and aahhs from people.

Or maybe I’ll just steal the Snake Woman story, because I think that’s much more my speed.

So I know this girl, right?  Well she has this snake…

 

UPDATE:

So apparently the snake story is complete bullshit.  Maxie and Ben even wrote about the same thing in August.  Obviously this makes me feel better because now I know everyone has shitty stories just like me.

the heart of the matter

I’ve never been a big fan of brunch, mostly because I tend to judge things before I actually give them a chance.  I’m sure that logic will eventually catch up to me when I’m banished to Hell for telling God that “Heaven probably sucks anyway,” but for now, that’s how I roll.

But despite my previous judgments otherwise, my opinion of brunch changed for the better yesterday, and I think the reason was that I missed the entire point of the activity.

I used to hate brunch for these Scientific Reasons: 1) It’s too close to lunch time.  If I wanted eggs and all that stuff, I’d have them when I woke up, not at noon. 2) It’s too close to breakfast.  The internal conflict of whether or not I should have something to eat before brunch is enough to drive me insane. 3) During football season, brunch can run dangerously close to interfering with the one o’clock games, and missing football is something that makes me angrier than Amy Winehouse when she loses her crack pipe.

However, yesterday, when Ari and I went to brunch at a place by our apartment and we had A Good Time, I finally figured out what brunch is meant for – getting drunk before noon!

We both talked about things that I now forget because we were drinking and we laughed at a grown woman hula-hooping outside, it was great.

And because we were both drunk, I’d Think About Things which seemed grand at the time but were only really grand because I couldn’t stand up straight and it was 11:47 AM.

After that brunch, I am officially converted.  Today I awoke a brunch fan, and maybe sometime we can all get brunch together, too.

I do hope you drink though, because by the time I’m on my second mimosa you might be questioning why you’re friends with me in the first place.

not here

I’m over at Burt Reynolds’ Mustache today with a post about America’s Next Top Model.  I know.  I can’t forgive myself either.  Please go read it though, it’ll make your day.  Or maybe not.

joy

Last night on my way home from work my headphones for my iPhone broke, which means I have been commuting without my music and that means I’m slowly losing my mind.

Trying to navigate your daily life in New York without your music is like going to see a Wayans brothers movie – if you care about your mental health at all, you just don’t do it.

Because I don’t have my music, I get to listen to The Sounds Of The City while on the train, and believe me the sounds are not pretty.

Anyone who doesn’t live in the city, imagine for just one minute that when you climbed into your car to go to and from work, it was jam packed with complete strangers, some of whom have less respect for deodorant than you do.  

That is what life in New York is like.  

Every second of my life I am surrounded by strangers, no matter where I am, no matter what I’m doing – there is always someone else right next to me.

That’s why I’m not friendly.  That’s why I don’t say “Hello Sam!” to Sam’s dumbass every time I see him. If I tried to be friendly to every single person I came in contact with I would end up killing myself.

And that’s why having music is so vital to making it through my day.

Just last night I had to listen to one guy tell his friend or coworker or whoever-the-fuck that he lived close to the 14th street stop on the L.  And oh my was his friend jealous!  In fact, would you like to know what he said???  I bet you do!  He told his friend, “That’s sweet man.  So it only takes you about ten minutes to get to the office?  That’s so much faster than me.”  Isn’t that just great???

So now because I don’t have my fucking headphones that cost more than I can admit without you looking at me with Judging Eyes, I know that this dude who lives near 14th street also lives close to his office.

Fucking fantastic!

Of course I don’t have time to get new headphones today, so I can’t wait to hear everyone else’s conversations on my way home tonight.  Maybe one of them will be about a crazy dream someone had last night!  Or better yet, someone can talk about how their kid did in school today.  Yes. That would be just great.

People make me so fucking happy!