roots

Over the last few days I’ve been downloading Nirvana songs that I used to have years and years ago when this blog was just a glimmer in my eye.

That band will always hold a special place in my heart, because when Nevermind hit, it was like a perfect storm.  You know, the kind without George Clooney as a grizzled old fisherman trying to prove a point (with disastrous results!).

Here I was, a 12-year-old kid just trying to fit in and desperately hoping for facial hair to sprout, and along comes a band that doesn’t give a fuck about anything, and in fact, hates everything that most people give a fuck about.

It was love at first listen.

When my friend showed me his tape of Nevermind, we sat down at his desk, popped it in his yellow (yellow!!!) Sony Walkman and that was it – I was a fan.  And lucky for me, I met all the requirements for being a Nirvana fan.

Poor Enough That You Already Wear Gross Flannel Shirts? Check.

Angry About Things? Check.

Enjoy Being Dirty? Check.

Within days of first hearing their music, I had used whatever money I could steal from my Mom’s purse (don’t judge me!) to purchase Nevermind and Bleach on tape and I listened to them until I knew every word of every song.  I would sit for hours in my room, listen to the tapes, write angst filled poems about how chores were oppressive and love every minute of it.

Sadly, by the time In Utero rolled around, Nirvana had become so popular that of course I had to tell everyone I didn’t like them anymore.  I even told this lie to my best friend who was, and probably still is, the biggest Nirvana fan ever.  It was something I felt I had to do, along with smoke excessive amounts of pot all day every day. What?  Growing up is hard.

But now that I’m older, and have a clearer outlook on life, or at least as clear as it’s ever going to get – I have come back to Nirvana, and it feels great.  Because when I think about it, I might not wear green and black flannels anymore, but I’m still Angry About Things and I still won’t shower until someone says, “Dude, I think I can smell you.”

Life is circular my friends.

get to it

Science and technology are overall, pretty great.

I’m glad they are around to give us stuff like electric toothbrushes and hula hoops, and yeah, I was happy when texting became available so I could send my drunken thoughts on jelly donuts (no ever eats them, it’s like this complete myth of a donut) to all my friends.

However, when we consider all the advancements that science has given us, there is one thing that is glaringly amiss:

Hopefully they make a model in something a little more masculine.

No, not Michael J. Fox’s stunning good looks – I’m talking about the hoverboard.

If there was one thing that I would ask scientists, it would be “What happened to the hoverboard?”  When Back to the Future II hit the theaters, and we saw Marty McFly creating the hoverboard by ripping apart a kid’s scooter, the entire world sat back and said, “Well, forget cancer research, this is something we need to have.”

And after the movie there were rumors – oh how there were rumors!  Mattell was busy constructing one, but didn’t have the resources to do it, and on and on.  With each rumor I wondered – is today the day they finally figure out the hoverboard?

But no.

The years went by and still no hoverboard.  Oh sure, since we first saw the hoverboard we got things like The Hubble Telescope (pictures of space!  Woo hoo!) and the cloning of Dolly The Sheep (now, with cleaner poop!), but who really cares about that stuff?  And since Back to the Future II was set in 2015, the scientists really don’t have much more time to get this thing on track.

Enough of the games, Smart People – I want a hoverboard and I want one now.

Stop everything else and get on it, scientists.  And while you’re at it, figure out how to make it go faster over water, because you better believe I plan on taking that baby to the beach.  We’ll see how cool those surfers think they are then.

nobody gimme no back talk!

I’m one of those annoying people who owns an iPhone, and yes I love it even though it has the worst service ever and sometimes vibrates for no reason at all.

One of the major selling points for the iPhone is the applications that you can download, ranging from To Do lists to games.  Of course I’ve downloaded tons of them, and then promptly never used them again.

This is how Apple gets you.  They make this cool thing, then tell you to buy other cool things to have on your cool thing, with the end result you telling your sad iPhone-less friends “Look how cool this thing is.”  It’s marketing genius really.

The problem with the apps is that they get old quickly though.  I once downloaded a soccer game (for ten fucking dollars) and I thought it was the best game ever.  The graphics were great and it was genuinely entertaining – for about two weeks.

Eventually I came to the realization that the soccer game was taking up precious memory space that I could fill with songs like “The Final Countdown” (arguably the best use of a synthesizer ever) and “Under The Milk Way” (still makes me think of Donnie Darko which still creeps me out), so I deleted it.

That’s the fate most of my apps have met – I love them for a short period of time and then I never use them again or just end up erasing them.

But yesterday another blogger told me through Twitter about an app that I love now that I downloaded it.  An app that will blow your mind – and it’s free.

I’m talking about iPity.

It’s a random Mr. T quote generator, and with the sound on, there’s Mr. T shouting at you: “Got no time for da jibba jabba!” It’s pretty much life-changing.  You can also choose quotes if you want to.  In fact last night I sat on my couch and kept using it whenever Ari would ask me something.  Once she got fed up with me and told me to stop, I used on final “No way fool!”  It was sweet.

If you have an iPhone or iTouch or iButt or whatever, go download iPity, I promise you won’t regret it.

Well, at least for two weeks.

knowing

Knowing Things is important.

Everyone likes to Know Things About Important Things, and one of the best subjects out there is the Amazon Rainforest.  Everyone loves to talk about the Rainforest, but no one actually knows anything about it.  Aside from, of course, that it must be saved!

Why?

Why should it be saved?  I’ll tell you what should be saved – this great pizza place down the street from my apartment – that should be saved.  They make the best slices in New York.  I’m not sure if it’s in danger, but if it is, I’ll do my part to rescue it by eating myself into a coma.

I don’t see why I need to know about the Rainforest if most people don’t even know what the hell it is or why we should be saving it.  Oh sure, people have this General Idea of what’s going on, but nothing solid.

Friend Concerned About Things: “Wow man, the Rainforest is in serious trouble.”

Me: “Oh?”

Friend Concerned About Things: “Yeah, we’ve got to save it.  All the medicines and things that are there.”

Me: “Medicines?  Like what?  Pepto Bismol?  If that’s where they discovered that Pink Magic I am with you, because that stuff is a life saver.”

Friend Concerned About Things:  “No man, damn.  Like serious medicines – this is serious dude!  Everything isn’t always a joke.”

Me: “Tell me one thing about the Rainforest. One fact.”

Friend Concerned About Things: “Uh, well, it’s home to lots of animals that are endangered.”

Me: “Like what?”

Friend Concerned About Things: “Like… Uh – ”

Me: “Is this going to take a long time?  I might need some Pepto.”

This is how it goes every time.  Everyone wants to save the Rainforest because it’s so important, but no one actually knows what the hell they’re saving.

So yeah, I don’t know much about the Amazon Rainforest, but at least I know that North Dakota grows more sunflowers than any other state, and that’s knowledge we can all use.

No, I don’t know how.

close but not really

Last night I watched the Oscars, and in case you missed it, Hugh Jackman hosted the show.

And instead of actually being witty and funny like past hosts such as Jon Stewart, he sang.  And sang and sang.  It was horrible.  It’s not like I don’t enjoy dancing and show tunes and – wait – no, I do hate dancing and show tunes.  A lot.  I fucking hate it.

If I wanted to watch a big spectacle of dancing and singing I’d just hang outside when the methadone clinic in downtown Brooklyn dispenses the lunch time doses.  At least those people have something to truly be happy about.

Of course lots of people enjoyed seeing Jackman up there parading around like a complete moron.  I mean he did win 2008’s Sexiest Man Alive (I took myself out of the running – the politics got to be too much), so the women loved it.

As the show went on, though, and he kept coming back on stage, I actually started to feel bad for the guy.

I realized that he was in an impossible position, one that was a no win for him no matter how well he did as the show’s host.

Even if Hugh Jackman somehow wins 47 Oscars between now and when he finishes his career, he’ll never be happy.

Because of this man:

Best Vest Ever.

Yes, that’s Paul Hogan/Crocodile Dundee/The Best Australian Ever.  Just look at this picture.  When was the last time you held a crocodile by the teeth and smiled while wearing a crocodile skin vest with nothing underneath?

Exactly.

Hugh Jackman doesn’t stand a chance.  He will never be better than Paul Hogan, and that, in many ways, makes me feel bad for him.  But not too bad.

this is the best news since your friend told you he thought no one would notice your left eye is bigger than your right

Tonight is the Oscars, so I’m going to be live-tweeting it (until I get bored at least), and I’m hoping all you other Twitter people will be too.  Just tune your TV to the right channel at 8 PM (though I’ll probably start with a little red carpet stuff before), drink a ton and let the fun begin.  Okay, you don’t have to drink as much wine as I will, but I promise Mickey Rourke would want you to.

I’ll see you or tweet you or whatever tonight.

I hate saying “tweet.”

saturdays are supposed to be fun

Tomorrow, since I’m getting married or something like that, Ari and I have to go register.

For those of you lucky enough to not know what this entails, allow me to explain: You and your spouse-to-be/person who lasted the longest without wanting to strangle you, go to stores and pick out items that people coming to your wedding can buy for you as a wedding gift.

Now, in theory this sounds fun – hey, let’s get a bunch of free stuff!  But trust me, this is not going to be fun for me.  We’re not going to places like Best Buy and the Apple Store, or even shopping online at NFL.com and NBA.com.

No.  We’re going to places like Crate and Barrel (or as I like to call it, much to Ari’s annoyance, Crap and Bullshit) Macy’s and Bed Bath and Beyond (hell on earth).

If I was in charge of registering, I’d be picking out sweet Steelers jerseys, an X-Box and maybe some cool Knicks mugs.  But because for some strange reason everything isn’t about me, we’ll be getting stuff like this:

No

Fun

For

Chris

This is what registering is all about.  Spending hours and hours picking out stuff – that goes together! – that you don’t really care about.

Keep me in your thoughts tomorrow, is what I’m trying to say.

terrifying

There’s a lot to be scared of in the world today.  We’ve got terrorism, there’s salmonella-infected peanut products and House continues to be viewed by thousands of otherwise normal functioning people across the United States.

I’ll tell you what really scares me though. Teenagers.

Right around the corner from my office is a high school, and every day, I have to walk by and hope that none of them go berserk and kill me for no reason at all.  Because that is something teenagers do.

They do things for no reason, and that makes them the scariest thing ever.

Have you seen a teenager lately?  Tell me they don’t scare you.

If their hair isn’t bad enough, at any moment two teenagers could spontaneously start making out with each other, with no regard to the fact that 1) they are both ugly and 2) other people don’t want to see their zits rubbing against each other.

Then there are the teenagers who like to start fights.

Years ago, when I was working as a Social Worker (I know, weird, right?) part of my job was to visit the families on my case load once a month at their homes.  Because I worked with low income people, this meant I spent a lot of time in the projects.

The projects can be a scary place for a White Guy In Slacks, but the only trouble I ever experienced was from teenagers.  I saw bullet holes in the apartments I was going to visit and had one lady tell me that I “shouldn’t be here,” but the worst was from the teens.

One day on my way out of a building, I passed by a group.  One of them, I suspect the Brains Of The Operation, called out, “What the fuck you doing here white boy???”

Of course I kept walking and ignored them because there were ten of them and I was wearing slacks and I was white (but not a boy) and a response that  “Oh, I was just helping a family here and getting seriously underpaid while doing it” wouldn’t have been the answer he was looking for.

Naturally they laughed at me because who works for less than they should, and maybe also because my slacks were pretty ugly.

But the point is that those teens, and teens everywhere around us, will do anything at any moment for no reason at all – which makes them scary as hell.

Come to think of it, my boss is like that too.  I think I should get a new job.

hooked

I’ve recently started drinking coffee for the first time in my life.  Yes, that’s right, I’m 30 years old and I just started drinking coffee.

At first I didn’t think I’d like it, but now every time I’m even remotely tired, I find myself thinking about it.  Which is great news to my fiancee Ari, because she is my pusher.  It’s true – the love of my life is also trying to inject me with coffee at every waking moment, like a drug dealer to a junkie.

Before I started drinking coffee, Ari would always be there to offer me “just a little taste.”

I’d stroll into the living room after waking up, and there she’d be, grinning slightly, leaning up against the couch:  “You look like you’re dragging buddy.  How about a little pick me up?”

Of course I’d refuse, because I didn’t want any part of this coffee world.  I wasn’t like the rest of them.  I was strong.

But like any good pusher, Ari was persistent.

There she was, sipping a warm cup of joe, saying, “Mmm…boy, this makes you feel all right all of the time.”

And when she finally got me to cave one day, when I was so tired I could barely watch Sportscenter (!!!), you should have seen her strut over to that coffee machine.  I told her, like any feen, that I’d just try one cup and one cup only.  But she knew.  She glanced over her shoulder as she poured the coffee, nodded and said, “Sure.  Whatever you say.”

All it took was that first cup.

Since then Ari has been ready to get me my fix at any moment.  It’s clearly her proudest moment since we started dating.  She finally got me hooked on the dope she’s been pumping since I first asked her out.

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go get a cup.  What can I say?  I need it man.

buck the trend

I’m a guy who appreciates fashion, so yes, at one point in my life, I thought it was socially acceptable to wear pink shirts and no, I don’t feel like there will ever be a time when I can forgive myself for that.

Because I try to be stylish, I’ve participated in almost every fashion trend, from Jeans That Look Like They’re Old But Aren’t to the Great Graphic Tee Epidemic of 07. I hear the latter ended when a GUESS? manager demanded a blue t-shirt – without an ironic helicopter on it – and threatened to hold the store employees hostage until he got one. Yes, it was a brutal as it sounds.

The one trend that I simply cannot, and will not adopt though, is wearing skinny jeans.

I do not wear skinny jeans for two simple reasons: 1) I’m not a rock star in a band with songs about how sad trees are when you think about it and 2) I don’t hate myself. If either of these were true, I’d probably be wearing skinny jeans every day of my life, but thankfully they’re not.

The skinny jean look on men doesn’t work for several reasons.

For starters, they hug the equipment too tightly. Our equipment, as ugly as it can be, needs space to operate. It is not meant to be squeezed together like Rosie O’Donnell in a spandex jumper. Without space a man’s equipment begins to ache, and with the hurting comes the readjusting, and with the readjusting comes the public humiliation that makes men feel sad, which causes them to buy more skinny jeans. It’s a vicious cycle.

Also, skinny jeans display what men’s legs really are: scrawny twigs that somehow support our bodies. If you surveyed men across the nation, you’d find that about 87% of them have tiny legs. The only ones who don’t abuse steroids, and you know what they say about men on steroids- well, nothing really, because men on steroids have big muscles.

Finally, skinny jeans make other men hate you.  There is no explanation necessary here.  You will lose friends if you choose to wear jeans that look like they belong on the rack at Baby GAP.

There really are no benefits to the skinny jean look for men and it doesn’t matter how hard they try.

I won’t be taking part of this trend. Instead, I’ll ride the wave out, and wait for what I hear is the next big thing: leopard print thongs. On top of the pants.

I’ve just got one thing to say about that – rawrr!