Thursday, December 27, 2007
I've also been working on a new title / layout for this blog. I'm hoping with enough pretty pictures you won't notice my lack of interesting posts (the Baywatch Theory).
Anyways it is election season...I think. My brain can only handle a certain amount of information, as noted in the chart below:
Don't act like the words Jeff Nomina Pie Chart don't make you hungry.
Anyways that chart is obviously a sham but the amount of cute girls in my life would decrease significantly if the zombie and bear portions were increased to be more realistic.
As you can see - there is no room for politics. I didn't vote in the last election - mainly because I believe that an uneducated vote is worse than a non-vote. (I also believe in justifying my laziness with profound thoughts.) In the years that have followed, I have been in countless arguments about the merit of my "Don't Vote, Dumbass" theory - making it actually have the OPPOSITE effect on my quest to be lazy. For this reason I have decided to vote in the upcoming election.
So where the fuck do I start??? Listening to politicians speak is like me talking to a supermodel - she is just telling me what I want to hear so I'll punch her ticket. The commercials are even worse - I'd really love to know what these people stand FOR, not AGAINST. Maybe that is why I don't get chicks, instead of saying, "I'm really into fitness and showering women with expensive gifts." I need to say, "I HATE DEAD PUPPIES AND I WON'T STAND FOR IT ANYMORE!" Hell if it got Bush elected it HAS to work miracles.
And now with the upcoming election (an extremely important one with the way things have gone the last 8 years) the important issues have been sidestepped - focusing instead on the question, "Is America ready for a black / female President?" It is hard to get motivated to get educated and go vote when so many people will vote for (or against) a candidate simply because of their race / sex. Besides, if we just had mentally challenged President, how can we be prejudice against race or sex?
So my question is - where do I go to get the facts? The candidates are too busy flinging their own poopoo at each other, the news media is skewed and I am extremely lazy.
Is there somewhere that explains and breaks down the candidates and their stance on important issues (like zombie attacks and casual Fridays)? Or am I stuck with another four years of explaining why I didn't vote?
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
I'm 24 now. My coolest years are more or less behind me - I can throw on a trendy shirt and talk about how Metallica sold out - but I know entirely too many keypad shortcuts in Excel to ever really be cool again. Every time I go to a show at the Grog Shop I get that look like, "Who brought their Dad?".
Why does an office job add 10 years to your social status? I don't have a mini-van and I'm still years away from thinking Frasier was funny - so why can't I have a tattoo?
"You'll regret it when you're older!" <-- That was the blog-version of my Mom; who doesn't read my blog but has that weird sixth sense that one of her kids is doing something she doesn't like so she sent that message telepathically. But I AM older. I'm not that blind 18 yr old kid who thought the future was like Santa - something parents told you just so you would behave. I see that life has me by the balls; and I am A-O 401K with that.
So I've decided I want a tattoo. I have wanted a tattoo since I was 13 yrs old - and now, now that I have committed myself to the idea of permanent graffiti; and being shunned by Momina Nomina - I have no fucking idea what I want. 11 years I have had to think about this - and still nothing. Not even a general idea or a few to choose from. My only discernible talent in life seems to be my indecision - so I am reaching out to you, Reader. What brilliant ideas do you have for me to permanently mark on my body only to regret later in life?
Song of the day-
Van Morrison (and The Band) - Caravan
Monday, December 17, 2007
Remember when goatees used to be cool? Shut up, Reader, goatees were cool at one time and you know it. Now goatees are reserved for guys who wear sports jerseys and still quote American Pie. What happened to the days when it was cool to have facial hair, but only RIGHT HERE.
Couldn't Mr. Telephone and Mr. Calculator have called each other and set the numbers up the same way? Why is one set up with ascending numbers and the other with descending numbers? I can't tell you how many times I am working on my calculator and turn to the phone to dial and dial the numbers backwards. At first I was embarrassed, but now I refuse to apologize for doing something that makes sense. I shouldn't have to dumb myself down to someone else's invention (I'm looking at you Mr. VCR Clock).
When I moved to Cleveland everyone kept warning me about the snow. I have lived in Northwest Ohio my entire life, and though we get snow, we don't get nearly as much as CleveLand-Before-Time. That being said, it took me about two days to adjust to the driving conditions (granted my truck makes Mother Nature my bitch). So why do the native Clevelandonians act like a natural disaster at the first sight of bad weather? I swear if a single flake drops from the sky, every driver on 480 slams on their brakes and immediately has a seizure. It is snow people - not oncoming traffic - slamming on your brakes is actually the LEAST safe thing you can do. "Hmmm, its slick outside? I think I better slam on the brakes and give the person behind me .5 seconds to react and try to stop on a sheet of ice. That is much safer than maintaining an acceptable speed!" (Editor's Note: I have never actually heard someone say that.)
Giving kids clothes on Christmas is like giving a homeless guy a coat. Yeah, he probably needs it, but it is in no way helping him buy drugs.
Song to chew on-
The Hold Steady - Stuck Between Stations
Friday, December 14, 2007
There are three kinds of thought about Christmas.
The first is Christmas As a Natural Disaster. Some people don’t see Christmas coming, they forget to board up the windows and stock up on canned goods - then all of a sudden Christmas cheer hits them like a ton of bricks. These are the people who are over-decorated, over-stressed and over-cheerful. The breed is also responsible for the famous Christmas sweaters that have elevated our society to new heights of embarrassment. You can define these victims by their glossed over stare and wide, over-dramatic smile.
Second is the Sneaky Santa. These are the people who sneak Christmas in on you. I HATE hearing about Christmas before Thanksgiving. In my mind, Christmas is just Thanksgiving with more stress – but these people feel the need to overlook Thanksgiving because “Christmas is coming!” Why concentrate on a Holiday about giving thanks for what we have, when we could focus on the commercialization of one of the most important religious holidays of the year – not to mention the presents we are going to get. Maybe it is just me but it seems a little backwards. This breed also shops everyday from October – December to be prepared. You will also find their car stereo programmed to all Christmas music.
Third, and my breed, The Grinch. I hate it. I hate the cheer, I hate the decorations, I hate the songs, I hate being wished a Merry Christmas, I hate the stress, the shopping, the traveling and the lack of emphasis placed on naps (I miss you Thanksgiving). It is just a holiday, just like every other holiday, I don’t understand the “mystique” around Christmas. It would be such a fun holiday if people didn’t go so crazy over every aspect. Is that third blow-up Santa necessary in your lawn, Neighbor Man? I love my family, I love the good food and the memories, but I don’t see the need for the other stuff. The overboard stuff.
With that said, here are the few things I DO enjoy about Christmas.
A Charlie Brown Christmas Soundtrack.
Animated Christmas movies (The Grinch, Rudolph, Frosty)
Nat King Cole’s Christmas Album
Watching little kids open Christmas presents
Chocolate and peanut-butter Buckeyes
Kids getting an expensive gift, only to play with the box for the rest of the day
Can’t I just enjoy the little parts of the Holiday without selling my soul to Santa? Why am I am Grinch if I don’t want to celebrate Christmas until…well…Christmas?
NEW FEATURE: Stealing this idea from a much better blogger (because that’s what I do) I am going to include an addition to every post. While she includes a quote that provokes thought and enlightenment, I am just going to throw a song on the end of mine.
Nat King Cole – The Christmas Song
Tuesday, December 11, 2007
You should only take a girl on a date to a hockey game if you can refrain from cheering during fights. I should not take a girl on a date to a hockey game.
Why don’t movies have sweet car chases anymore? I think every movie should contain some crazy Blues Brothers / Dukes of Hazard car chase scene at some point. Don’t act like The Notebook couldn’t use a few demolished cop cars and the General Lee flying over some wrecked bridge. I’ll get you Bo and Luke Duke!
Is there anything funnier than when someone tries to push open a door from the hinge side – or pulls a push door? I can’t help but giggle every time. Its like laughing at someone for tripping only you don’t feel like an asshole.
Two rules for airports – When the plane lands and the seatbelt lights goes off – you have another 15 minutes before you get off the plane. Unless there is some sort of gold ribbon award that I don’t know about for being the first passenger to stand up and wait in line – all it does it make you look like an idiot. No amount of frustrated sighs or impatient glances at your watch will change the fact that every plane of all time has taken 15 minutes to unload the passengers. Except maybe John Denver’s…too soon?
When you finally DO get off the plane – don’t stand directly in the doorway to hug your family. I get it – you are excited to see them, I’m happy for you, really, Nana looks great, but get the fuck out of my way or I will shove this goddamn bag of peanuts so far up your ass George Washington Carver will roll in his grave.
Thursday, December 6, 2007
So I decided to make my own Top 10 list (25 would take too long and I am really, really lazy). I would love to hear others’ opinions, as I have lead a fairly sheltered life, growing up in the country and all, so I may have missed some very important skills.
Changing A Tire.
The rest of this list is in no particular order but I think this has to be number one. It isn’t hard and everyone has to do it sooner or later. If you can’t do it and a girl comes in and does it for you – you officially have to return your penis and get a tattoo that says, “I’m a nancy boy”.
Unhooking A Bra.
Doesn’t have to be the first try, fellas – but you gotta be able to do it. If a girl is wearing some crazy bra that has a clasp harder to break than the vault of a casino – then there is no point deduction. Double-points are awarded for the one-handed release.
Haggle With A Salesman
This is really just a pissing contest – and what do guys like more than competition? Answer: chicken wings and boobs. But competition is third – and rarely are chicken wings eaten in an environment when there is some, even if unspoken, competition going on. I forget what I was talking about. Did someone say boobs?
Drink A 6 Pack Without Getting Drunk
You can be buzzing, that is not a problem, but 6 beers does not mean you are allowed to dance (the greatest litmus test of drunkenicity).
Compliment A Girl
I can hear the guys collectively making fun of me on this one. Swallow the pride boys – girls spend entirely too much time trying to impress us - so get over yourself for 30 seconds and notice the new haircut or if she obviously went out of her way on the outfit. Not saying you have to get all Joan Rivers on their ass – but it won’t kill you to acknowledge she is out of your league.
Approach A Girl At A Bar
Oh man this one sucks. Girls have NO idea because even if you approach a guy at a bar – you are still the attractive species so it is always welcomed. We are guys – we have few redeeming qualities, so trying to woo a girl isn’t as easy as you lead us to believe. That being said, a guy should be able to start a conversation at the bar, even if he gets shut down. Liquid courage is not only acceptable but encouraged.
If you can’t grill a steak then go home, asshole. Seriously. Every male guest at a cookout / tailgate should have the skills to man the grill. It’s a community activity - the grill master may need a beer, or to hit on the cute redhead from his work because her boyfriend didn’t show up to the party and she was TOTALLY hitting on him last Friday at Happy Hour even if she was wasted – there should be no drop-off when another man steps in to take care of the altar that is a grill. “It takes a village to raise a child” works for my steak as well.
You ain’t gots to drive it; but you gots to start it. Chainsaws, fork-lifts, tractors, leaf blowers, lawn mowers – a guy should know how to start anything. A side-bar of this one is that no matter how much hell a piece of machinery is giving you – you don’t give up until either you have started it, or you are bleeding. I have had wrestling matches with our old skid loader that make Ali vs Frasier look like two kittens playing with a ball of yarn. Rumble in the Jungle? How about the Meltdown in Deltown (that’s Delphos for you Clevelanders).
Pull Off The “Just-Roll-Out-Of-Bed” Look
We all have that ratted out pair of jeans, t-shirt with holes around the neck and the faded basketball camp logo, the hair that looks like it may have been styled at some point last week and that trusted pair of aviators. All guys should be able to pull off the “Fuck You” look. If you can’t leave the house without putting product in your hair, or making sure you have a clean shirt, you need to check your pants again, cuz I am pretty sure your penis is a mirage from too much hair gel.
I can’t drive stick. I’ll admit it. I have driven my old man’s grain truck which is a stick – but I could never handle driving on a highway in a manual car. How embarrassing is that? I am a redneck and can’t drive stick. Not only that, but I am not intelligent enough to make sure that I can do all ten things on my own top ten list. I really need to rethink my life.
What did I miss? I am interested to hear the female perspective – I am sure their story is much, much different than mine…
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Wednesday, November 28, 2007
A guy phone call:
Intro – A “hello” followed by a question for which an answer is not expected, “What’s up?”, for example. At least one nickname must be exchanged.
Body of the call – This section goes in two directions. 1) Asking a question or getting an opinion about an important problem. 2) Telling a funny story. This portion of the call cannot, and will not, last more than 3 minutes. Also guys can usually get the WHO, WHAT, WHERE, WHEN, WHY and SO WHAT of a call out of the way in under 2 minutes.
Normally at least one insult is exchanged DURING the call.
Joke – every call between guys will have one hilarious moment. If there has already been a hilarious moment, at least one semi-funny joke must be shared before…
The Exit – One word – “Later” works.
Total: Under five minutes. At all costs. If the male is in a car with other passengers, the call will not last over two minutes for fear of castration.
A female phone call:
Intro – A greeting immediately followed by a sentence that constantly gets higher in pitch. This flows straight into a twenty second period of both parties talking at the same time followed by laughter.
Disbelief – One side will tell a story the other side couldn’t possibly believe. “Oh my god, no she didn’t!”
Random Stories – I usually get confused and disoriented during this portion. I know there is normally two strings of conversation going at once and they somehow meet in laughter. It is like an episode of Seinfeld where each person has their own storyline going and somehow they intersect.
Apologizing - Before hanging up both sides apologize for not hanging out more and talk about how much they miss each other. They then make plans to not follow through on the plans they just made with each other.
Exit - Normally flirted with a few times throughout conversation - average time before first attempted exit and actual end of call is 7 minutes.
Insults are not exchanged until after the call.
Total: No man has ever paid attention long enough to get a final time - but rumors have been floating around that the average call is in excess of 28 minutes.
Like pop rocks and coke, me and sports or men and spandex, guys and gals simply don’t mix in phone conversations. It may have to do with guy’s short attention spans, it may have to do with the ladies’ ability to speak for 20 minutes without taking a breath, or maybe the way we look at phone conversations.
As a guy – I treat the phone as an accessory activity. I am not just talking on the phone; I am talking on the phone while I watch tv, shave, read the paper or take a nap. When guys talk we get the details out, “Hey – we are heading to the bar at 9 for the game.” Bar. 9. Game. CHECK.
Women seem to think of talking on the phone as a sole activity – not to be interrupted by other tasks. It is also a treasure hunt to find the important information in the conversation. Example: “I talked to Sandy and she said that she wanted to go with us to the bar but she had to get her hair done first – so I think I will go out to eat with Michelle and then meet up with Sandy when she gets done. I don’t want to drive because then I can’t drink but I know Michelle has a small car and is really weird about parking it downtown, so I KNOW I will end up driving. Ugh. But our reservations are at 7 and it should only take an hour and a half, then it will take me 15 minutes to pick up Sandy and at least 15 minutes to get all the way back across town to get to the bar. I don’t even know why we are going to that bar, I don’t really care about the game and its always so crowded, plus the music is SO loud. But whatever.”
I shouldn’t have to do math to figure out estimated bar arrival time.
Now I am not stupid. Ok I am stupid, but I still have figured out a FEW tricks. The reason some of you ladies talk so much is because you know that after 10-15 minutes you can lull us into an honesty sleep. It is the same as when you wait till we are JUST about asleep and ask important relationship questions. I have already started dreaming about zombies and – I have no strength to give the proper answer. So after a long convo on the phone you can slip in a quick question that the guy will answer without thinking. Sneaky. Very sneaky. Guys have no defense, and don’t have a long enough attention span to try the same trick back. It is flawless and genius. Bravo ladies.
Also, guys are always multi-tasking on the phone. It is better to just not ask what we are up to because you don’t want to know. If you hear a toilet flush – don’t ask questions. It’s better for everyone. Video phones will never fully take over because guys will never accept having to be acceptable on the phone.
Another point about guys. We are assholes. All of us – you know that one friend who is so nice and is always there for you? Nope. Still an asshole. In that respect, we assume girls call because they need to talk. Most guys will gladly sit on the phone and listen as long as there is no test at the end. Guys figure that talking on the phone is just something girls have to do – much in the same way guys have a natural instinct to burn things and high-five. So when a conversation starts to get long in the tooth – guys tune out and assume the girl will stop when she gets her fill. When we are quizzed about the conversation later, all we can think about is how we were watching SportsCenter and how bald Scott Van pelt is. Don’t feel insulted ladies, we thought we were doing a nice thing – and you have been around us long enough to know that we aren’t listening past 5 minutes.
Any additions that I missed – I know this is a touchy subject with guys – and one that we don’t normally get to vent about. So, fellas, if there is anything I missed please let me know.
PS - Special Thanks to Jason on this one - he helped add fuel to the fire and get me over the writer's block.
Wednesday, November 21, 2007
One of the smartest shows ever. I still sometimes cry at night because this show was canceled.
Who doesn't have Seinfeld on their top 5?
3. The Adventures of Pete and Pete
Why doesn't anyone else remember this show?
4. Ed (guilty pleasure)
Got sucked in to this one during college and I am still mad at TBS for playing reruns of Becker instead of reruns of Ed at noon. I even made sure I watched this while I was on spring break in Jamaica so I wouldn't miss the storyline.
I have seen every episode and still watch it twice (at least) a day. If I could do the Turk dance my life would be complete.
Lets hear em!
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
I know that makes me sound crazy – but what is this entire blog about if not craziness?
I first noticed this strange fact in high school, and have since been waiting for an odd year to come out and prove me wrong. 2007 was close, in the way the Indians were close to winning the World Series. It lulled me to sleep with a few good months and better nights before pulling the rug out from under me. So as the sun sets on 2007, I am left with an extra 20 pounds, a late summer break-up, three cracked windshields for one vehicle, the Cavs and Tribe leaving me at the doorstep with a handshake goodnight, the Dolphins somehow playing even more embarrassing than their colors, and an overall hangover that only a prime number can deliver.
But it is November, mid-November at that, and the first few rays of 2008 are peaking over the horizon. Already things are getting better – a few great weekends, some amazing new music, new cute girls and a few extra coins jingling in my pockets. No more whining from this kid – raise your glasses and salute numbers divisible by two. Forget Thanksgiving’s food coma and Christmas’ hangover –it’s almost the New Year – don’t drop the ball.
Friday, November 16, 2007
Random Friday Thoughts:
I am more surprised when I do things that make me seem young than old anymore. The first realization came when my roommate had to talk me into going to the bars to get wasted and talk to cute girls instead of sitting at home listening to vinyl records and drinking wine. The second, and slightly scarier, came when I was thinking of my Top 5 favorite shows on TV and realized that Fox’s local morning news was probably part of that mix.
If I ever have children (that I know about – kidding, Mom) I am going to immediately sign them up on 1800Flowers.com. It is impossible to lose anything that has been signed up with them. I have ordered flowers exactly once from them in four years, yet they send me emails and snail mail daily. Can I sign my car keys up? I feel like there is nowhere I can go that 1800Flowers can’t find me. Are 1800Flowers, Santa and George Bush tapping my phone lines to find out when I’ve been naughty and nice? Is there some circle of power that I don’t know about? I could travel to the middle of the Sahara and find a remote cave infested with rattlesnakes and there would be a coupon for Sweetest Day there.
I like to make jokes with big words in them, that way when people don’t laugh I can tell myself they just didn’t get it.
I have a lot of weird habits. Oddities noticed this week:
I always match my coat to my shoes
I only wear boxers with blue as the main color
I always fold paper towels perfectly in half twice before using them
Thanksgiving is by far my favorite holiday. It is centered around drinking, eating, football and naps. If sweatpants were mandatory it would be a holiday bingo.
I am not an Ohio State fan, and I refuse to become one until you Buckeyes get a better argument than, “But you live in Ohio!”. Yeah? So? I’m not an Ohio University fan? And I didn’t go to Ohio State, I could have gone to Ohio State, but I didn’t, so why would I cheer for them? That’s like voting for one candidate but cheering for another to win the election.
That being said, thank you OSU fans for giving me a reason to stumble down W 6th at 9am this weekend and drinking cold beer in 35 degree weather. Maybe I’m not acting THAT old yet.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Samaire Armstrong (of The O.C. and Dirty, Sexy, Money fame).
I know, I know, terrible shows – but look at this girl. I’d watch “Everybody Loves Raymond” if she was on it. If she told me it would turn her on I would buy Nickleback’s entire catalog (ok – no woman is worth that). Mix that with my obsession with girls with a little style (especially of the punk rock variety) and you’ve got your first ingredient. I also have a weird obsession with girls’ quirks – and that weird sideways smile fits the bill.
Tift Merritt (alt.country singer / songwriter).
She fills two needs – Southern Belle and Tortured Artist. A lil twang in the voice and my pants are two sizes too small. I’m a redneck – cut me some slack. I am also pretty sure that she writes the saddest songs in the world. Sample lyric:
“I'm gonna have a good cry over nothin'
But a handful of cigarettes.
I'm gonna leave the windows open
When I feel like gettin' dressed.
I'm gonna think hard about leavin'
See if the afternoon can tell.
I'm gonna let him lie there sleepin'
Then I'm gonna love him well.”
Winona Rider (of Girl, Interrupted and psycho-celebrity fame).
Now, she is gorgeous, don’t get me wrong, but that’s not why she is here. She fits my need for bat-shit crazy. Ever heard the stories? Johnny Depp had her name tattooed on his arm. Ryan Adams wrote 1,000,000 songs about her. She even had a stint in a psychiatric hospital. Bat-shit crazy I tell you – and I guess I am attracted to it for the same reason girls like guys with motorcycles – we all need a little danger.
Aaaaaaaaaaaand for my pinch…
You figure it out.
Lets hear it, Reader - who floats your boat and why?
Friday, November 9, 2007
My body had given up an hour earlier. Angry with a lunch of cold-meat sandwiches and popcorn, it had mutinied. I found myself sluggish and incoherent. My motivation had left long before the death of my body. I wish I could say it fought the good fight, but the mere hint of Myspace had swept it from me. As if boarding a moving train, I could only watch it wave goodbye as it shrank against the horizon of Youtube and ESPN.com. I was alone. Alone in a sense. Alone in the sense that invoices and time sheets provide little company. No, I was smothered. I decided to act quickly, before it was too late and I missed the sweet taste of Friday.
To the popcorn maker. Oh god, the sweet embrace of its salty goodness would save me, if only for a minute. Sure, I had eaten popcorn for lunch, but these were desperate times. My motivation returned, if only to convince my body to move. I made the slow walk to the kitchen. Avoid eye-contact. No delays, no small-talk, no quick questions or favors. The kitchen neared and my taste buds tensed like the first brush of a virgin’s thigh. Even this awkward sexual reference couldn’t distract me from my goal. To the popcorn maker.
I wielded my cup like a weapon, and as the great gate of the popcorn machine was lowered my heart leapt from my chest. It couldn’t bear to be part of this defeat. Worse. To be defeated is to have fought. The popcorn machine was empty. I stood, ready for battle, but having forgotten to put the war on my adversary’s calendar. I was ruined. I stumbled to the vending machine, like a drunken call to an ex-lover, it was my last hope. Chocolate? No. My diet. I couldn’t cheat now. Wait - avoiding chocolate? Has anyone seen my testicles? Stay focused. I scan the delicacies as if they were a death sentence. HH for lethal injection. Too hungry to be witty. I am doomed. The day, nay, the weekend is ruined.
Wait. It can’t be. I look away. Someone is walking through. I speak in office tongues. “How’s it going? Yeah, this weather is terrible – typical Cleveland though!” What does that even mean? I look back. It is still there. The Bugles are still there. It can’t be. One red beacon of hope among a sea of sky-blue cool ranch. I must have you. Autopilot. Wallet is out, I have one dollar. Change machine. Why have there never been Bugles in the machine before? In a life of miserable irony where does this delicious surprise… OH MY GOD TAKE MY DOLLAR CHANGE MACHINE OR I WILL THROW YOU OUT OF THE FUCKING WINDOW! Finally the coins spill out. All nickels…good to see life is still having a good chuckle at my expense. All is well.
I scrape the nickels from the floor like Carson Daly scheduling guests for his show. They slide into the machine with a metal gurgle. Bugles are moments away. My fingers twitch in anticipation. Settle boys, you’ll have your big, beautiful, fake-witch-fingernail Bugles soon. The button is pushed. The circular device spins slowly, teasing me, taunting me. Finally the bag shifts and slides. It sticks. A moment frozen in time, the battle of excitement and fear reaches its climax in my head. Someone better get a towel. I hear the slow-motion click of the oversized clock on the wall. My face is twisted, my hands clenched around the metal prison. How do I feel trapped on the outside?
Another click, the bag shifts again. It pirouettes left, then right, and finally…
Please realize there is a little exaggeration going on here. I'm really only about half this boring.
Tuesday, November 6, 2007
But back on topic – crazy girls. This week’s Look At Crazy involves something I am very familiar with – the bar scene. Now I’ve been known to stumble into a bar now and again, and invariably, after a few beers, I end up talking to pretty girls. It is here that I noticed the difference between groups of guys, and groups of girls.
When I am at the bar with my friends and a cute girl comes to talk to one of my buddies, I will do ANYTHING it takes to help my buddy out. If he needs a few bucks to buy her a beer – no problem; wing-man on a fatty – it’s cool, I’m desperate; cut off a limb as part of a crazy magic trick to impress her – that’s gonna take some tequila, but I’m in. When a girl makes a big enough mistake to talk to myself or one of my buddies, we are going to make sure conditions are perfect for the lucky fella. Sure, the girl may not be as cute as a friend would normally go after, and maybe not quite as skinny, and maybe he has so much whiskey in him we had to hang the back of his shirt on the coat rack just to get him to stay upright – but it is his mistake to make, and I’m going to let him make it.
Do girls feel this camaraderie? This “all for one, and one for all” attitude? Oh, hell no (I just did the neck thing and snapped my fingers three times).
Cracking a group of girls is harder than escaping Alcatraz. I actually bring a #2 pencil to the bars because passing the “friend test” is harder than the goddamn ACT. I now realize what a poodle-schnitzer (or whatever those dumbass dogs are) that prance around at dog shows feel like. Before talking to a girl sometimes I jump over small obstacles and let her friends check my teeth and haunches to make sure I have approval to talk to her.
But why is this? Why don’t girls trust their friend’s judgment? I understand there are a TON of sleezeballs out there, really, I do. As a guy, I know all the moves, and I see them being implemented CONSTANTLY (how girls don’t see this still confuses me – perhaps a future post). But does this mean that you need to form an impregnable wall (make your own joke here, Reader) around your friend? Can’t you trust her judgment in guys?
Guys have exit strategies (ever hear of that Pres. Bush? (whoa was that a political joke???)). If a girl is getting clingy or trying to talk about Grey’s Anatomy, we all have signs to make our buddies get out of the situation. You either shoot him a look, or a text or smoke signals if it comes down to it. It isn’t that hard. I have gotten “the sign” and literally thrown a buddy over my shoulder and carried him away. Why do girls have to have a pre-emptive strike against potential suitors?
I don’t think it would be as frustrating if girls didn’t complain so much about how, “I never meet any nice guys” and “When I go to the bar, nobody ever comes up and talks to me – I swear”. Wanna know why? Because I would rather smash my hand in a car door than walk up to a group of girls and get the usual run-around of fake names and snide remarks. I get it, you are trying to protect your friend, how nice. At what point are you just sabotaging your friend?
My guy friends are (arguably) grown-ups. They can make decisions for themselves, and I trust that they know what they are doing (even when I am confident they don’t know what they are doing). Where is this trust in girls? Even if I am at a bar with girls and a guy comes up to talk to them, I don’t interfere until I get a sign that I need to step in.
This is the 90’s people, the opposite sex does not have cooties (wait – do herpes count as cooties?).
Friday, November 2, 2007
Which brings me to today’s topic: Top 5 Favorite Songs. Top 5’s will start being a regular part of the Nook, as I am uncreative and obsessed with High Fidelity.
People’s favorite songs are always interesting in that they rarely mirror their favorite artists. I have slightly awkward man-crushes on Ryan Adams and Van Morrison, yet neither make my top 5 favorite songs. I would trade my right arm to bring Ronnie Van Zandt back to earf, but Skynyrd doesn’t make my Top 5 either. So below are my Top 5 Favorite Songs. Please feel free to dissect, ridicule and lose respect for me. All I ask is that you leave a comment with your Top 5.
1. Marvin Gaye – Let’s Get It On
2. Dusty Springfield – Son of a Preacher Man
3. Tift Merritt – Sunday
4. The Rolling Stones – Beast of Burden
5. Warren Haynes – I’ll Be The One
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
After thinking about how awesome of a weekend I had I came to a realization. Does anyone else notice my generation as being painfully superficial and boring? I am blessed to have both grown up with and now work with some extremely intelligent (read as: insane) people that provide interesting, challenging conversation on a daily basis. In terms of the bar scene, however, I can count the number of worthwhile conversations I have had on one hand. (Side note - the number of conversations that made me want to kill myself outnumber the number of times a Clevelander has talked to me about the weather).
I realize that I normally hang out on W 6th, and there is about as much free-thinking on W 6th as there are videos on MTV. The crowd I am normally around is about as cookie-cutter as you get. In fact, like the mother of a 6 yr old, American Eagle puts together entire outfits and lays them out - all it takes is Daddy's credit card and a constant effort towards getting laid and BAM - you fit in. Where did the effort go? Has my entire generation given up on connecting on anything other than a completely superficial and physical way?
Now I am not acting like some great philosiphizer. Quite the opposite, I think of myself as fairly uneducated and naïve. But I don’t let that turn me into an Abercrombie Zombie (oh please tell me I just coined a phrase). Why has my generation turned off any sense of real, one-on-one communication? Where is the effort and the enthusiasm? Our parents grew up in the 70’s, fighting “the man” on every possible issue, and here we are, being herded like sheep by the word “gay”.
The word “gay” has morphed into simply meaning “different”. Anything you do that has not been widely accepted by the herd is now “gay”. I enjoy reading, going to museums, I have a favorite artist, I prefer ‘American Beauty’ to ‘Die Hard’ and sometimes I even listen to people when they talk. All of these things make me “gay”. Remaining completely unintelligent, uneducated, unchallenged and unconnected, however, is cool (there are variables such as how expensive your jeans are and how much gel you have in your hair - but this isn’t a math lesson).
So we wander the bars like zombies – feeding on phone numbers and one-night stands. The generation that brought you “Next” is going to be walking down the aisle of a Church in a few years. That is our idea of a relationship, 15 minutes of scripted dialogue and move on to the next model (Frat Boy 2.0 or Bleach Blonde – Now With Breast Implants!)
I understand I have had my panties in a bunch for the last 6 months, but this is still extremely frustrating. What is the point of walking through life with no challenge or meaningful engagement? How can living in the status quo be not only accepted, but expected? I feel like my entire generation is so jaded we just accept whatever we are told to do (how else could Nickleback sell all those records?). My friends are all incredible people who are not only willing to call my bullshit, but bring up new and challenging ideas of their own. As I try to carve my nook in this new city, however, I find it extremely difficult to find people of the same mind set. Am I just hanging out in the wrong scene? Or is my generation really as flaccid and uninspired as they appear?
Maybe I should just shut up and pop my collar, I mean, who thinks these days? How gay.
(I had written this and then read my much more intelligent (though not nearly as handsome) friend’s blog about the same topic. He does a much better job of relaying this thought without sounding like a whiney bitch. This blog actually started out as a funny take on the bar scene and ended in a rant (a not very well thought out rant at that). I apologize, I promise I will be funny next time.)
Saturday, October 20, 2007
Today marks the 30 year anniversary of the plane crash that killed Lynyrd Skynyrd members Ronnie Van Zandt, Stevie Gaines, Cassie Gaines, Dean Kilpatrick as well as the pilot and co-pilot.
I don't think any self-respecting redneck / rock fan could let today slide without atleast bringing it up. So raise those Jack and Cokes and sing along to that terrible cover band when they kick into "Sweet Home Alabama" tonight.
Friday, October 19, 2007
Random Thoughts on a hungover Friday:
Why do I get hangovers from drinking only a few beers? I was being responsible last night, kharma, now hold up your end of the deal.
When you take away being wasted and all the bad dancing, being at a bar is just a lot of nodding and pretending you understood the person next to you. Does this mean deaf people are partying all the time? (That one might have been a low blow)
A friend of mine wanted me to join eHarmony as a test to see how the people on there actually are but I refused, "I have too much self respect for that shit." I said. But where the hell do people meet these days? I never meet anyone interesting at the bar and it is an extremely intricate maneuver to get a phone number in daylight hours without sounding like a skeeze. A friend told me the best way to is to be introduced through friends - so I now blame my singleness on you - get hotter friends, Reader!
The Cleveland Indians cancelled Rocktober. I had to miss Jason Isbell and the Drive-By Truckers and Ryan Adams would be game 3 of the World Series (if we make it). I feel dirty picking sports over music - if 17 yr old goth Jeff could see 24 yr old sports Jeff he would be PISSED. He wouldn't do anything about it though - some things never change.
When the hell did the leaves change color? Fall is my favorite time of year and I just now noticed the leaves had changed and were falling. What the hell! Luckily there is more than one October - wait...whats that, Dane Cook? Aw Shit.
Saturday, October 6, 2007
Of course I am kidding - it is just that instead of gradually making small changes, like normal humans, I prefer to get in a really shitty mood for a month and make wholesale changes. Normally when people ask what the hell is wrong with me I say, "I think I am having a mid-mid-life crisis". Seeing as how I do this at least once a year, however, I think I will just call it "Nom's Annual Period". (Ooooh the acronym is NAP - I like it)
I haven't taken stock of life since moving to the Land of Cleves a little over a year ago. I think I assumed getting a big-kid job meant I didn't need to have these freak-outs anymore. As much fun as the last year has been I have been in a pretty nasty funk for the last two months and decided to do something about it.
I have been on a health-kick that has resulted in a totally revamped diet and workout routine. Besides the fact that I lost 10 lbs and actually look in shape instead of like a fatty fatty fat fat – I once again fit into my weapon of choice – a 1982 Neil Diamond World Tour shirt. Rawr.
Another welcomed change has been my drinking habits. I love whiskey. No seriously I love the stuff. Problem is - Crown and Cokes are like a delicious candy left on the pillow of bad decisions. I can’t drink the stuff without blacking out. I still love to get smootmahootnied - but regret my last few blackouts and have learned to stop when I get drunk enough to dance (for everyone’s sake). I have also stopped going out as much. Having money left to hit up concerts and games is amazing – and W. 6th will still be there next weekend.
I have also done a lot of little things – reading, catching up with friends I have lost touch with, concerts, Tribe games and even writing quite a bit.
While I am still in a bit of a funk I think I have realized why I get like this. It is easy for me to lull myself into a routine – to become too scheduled and comfortable. I had gotten to the point where life was easy – work all week, eat junk food everyday, when the weekend hits I would roll down W 6th wasted and spend the daylight in recovery. Life was easy, and damn good.
Am I finally growing up? Of course not – don’t be ridiculous, Reader. That being said – my priorities have definitely shifted. I am getting back into challenging myself at every opportunity. The books I read, the conversations, even my diet and exercise habits are ways to see what I am capable of and avoid the status quo (that and I want to look good naked). What is the point of life if not to put yourself in every opportunity to succeed and find out what you are capable of? To quote my favorite movie "It is a great thing when you realize you still have the ability to surprise yourself...makes you wonder what else you can do."
I guess this incredibly long and painfully dramatic post comes with this realization: The pursuit of happiness is just as much about the pursuit as it is the happiness.
Or maybe I just need some Midol.
Friday, October 5, 2007
I did everything I could to tell myself the Tribe was going to get trounced by the Yankees and that I shouldn't get my hopes up - but after watching their 12-3 win last night I am in full-on man-crush mode. I have never seen a team have as much fun as this team - from Barfield giving Garko cheap shots in the kidney at every chance to Trot Nixon hitting people in the face with a pie after every game (side-note - thats the ONLY thing Trot has hit all year). When Wedge shaved off his mustache I thought this team was doomed - but much like Casey Blake's beard this team fought through some ugly outings and looks ready to kick some ass.
It is amazing how much sports can comsume a city. I have friends from back home (Delphos) who made the 3-hour drive to go to the game last night, drove home to work today and are making the drive AGAIN today for the game. Another college friend is braving the traffic (compounded by a Maroon 5 concert downtown) just to meet up and party in the post-game atmosphere - she isn't even GOING to the game. Personally, this will be my 18th game attended this season, I have watched well over 120 games on tv and have spent a sizeable percentage of my salary on Indians games / apparel. Beyond the monetary costs - the costs of my social life have been astounding - from spending so much time glued to a TV, or sitting in the corner of the bar cursing while most guys are getting phone numbers. I went on a date ealier this year that began at a fancy restaurant and ended at the Harbor Inn so we could watch the last few innings. I have gotten goosebumps three times before 11am today thinking about the game. I honestly can't remember the last time I cried, but if the Tribe somehow pulls this off I can promise you tears.
I can't explain why. I have no idea why a loss can ruin my mood - or why I still yell "Asshole!" at every Yankees fan I see. Maybe it is the camaraderie; maybe it is just to have something to talk to strangers about besides the weather - and maybe, Bob Costas is on to something with his constant "magic of sports" rants. All I know is that when the 9th inning hits and I am sitting in Pronkville, my voice having left me four innings earlier, with 40,000 friends chanting and cheering: all that goddamn time and effort is going to be worth it. Unless we lose. Then Fuck the Yankees.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Girls expect a certain amount from guys, and rightfully so. I am not blind to the fact that girls hold all of the power - you being the attractive species we should work to get you to stick around. From what I have gathered in my small amount of time around the female is that she enjoys surprises, especially those that make her feel important and attractive. Routine seems to be a form of evil - and a guy looking for a few bonus points can shoot a lay-up with a surprise dinner or flowers.
What I never hear people talk about, however, is what little things girls can do for guys.
I know, I know - guys don't deserve it and it's pretty lame for any guy to admit he wants anything from a girl that involves pants. I, however, know of one thing that every guy, every single man on the planet, possibly every male mammal on the planet and if there is life on other planets - and they have a difference in sexes - then male aliens love this as well; a good back rub.
There are many types of back rubs - the rough, clawing, cat-on-the-sofa scratch - good for an intense itch; the slow, deep back massage after a long day's work; the sexy-straddle rub in bed that always turns into something more. But none of these are as easy or as satisfying as the everyday, laying-on-the-sofa, just-barely-using-the-fingertips rub.
I have always loved this back rub - much like every other man who has ever walked the earth - but it was not until recently that I learned to appreciate it like a fine wine. Take, for instance, this past Sunday at the Browns game. As I sat with my roomate, Chuck, he looked across the crowd and commented:
"Now THAT is a good woman"
I look down and see an overweight, middle-aged man sitting next to a woman. The woman had her hand draped across his back and was giving him one of those spectacular back rubs.
"You ain't kidding!" I respond, before noticing a tanned blonde putting the cleave in Cleveland two rows away. "Wait do you mean the one giving the backrub or the hot blonde?" I ask.
"The back rub - goddamn that guys is living the life right now."
And I couldn't argue.
Side-note - my buddy Lyle pointed out the fact that when a guy starts getting a back rub he will FREEZE. No matter how awkward the position - the gripping fear that the back rub will end is enough to keep a man paralyzed in his position. I have been leaning over to get a beer and been lucky enough to get a back rub. I have no shame in freezing, in my leaned over position, and trying to still find a way to tip the can to my lips so I can get a drink while I savor the delicious back rub. Don't be ashamed fellas - you know its true.
Now I'm not an idiot (I just play one online), I realize women LOVE back rubs as well. That being said, a girl is never going to go to her friends and brag about how amazing her bf is because he gave her a back rub. It is one of those assumed roles of a boyfriend that are part of the boyfriend package. For guys, however, a back rub is one of those things that makes them think, "Damn this girl is AMAZING!" It takes maybe five muscles to give a guy back rub - and I can all but promise you he will be to scared to move through that all-day "America's Next Top Model" marathon.
I understand guys are idiots and we fuck up all the time - trust me I do. Girls deserve all of the hours put into coming up with creative ideas for dates and surprises and all of the other things involved with relationships. BUT - the next time a guy does something that makes you freeze in your spot and think, "Goddamn this guy is incredible" - remember how easy it is for you to repay the favor. And don't be stingy.
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
I lead a boring life…a REALLY boring life…I mean last week I watched almost an entire episode of Malcolm in the Middle – anyways, this lack of meaningful stimulation forces me to spend an awkward amount of time on social networks viewing people’s page, and subsequently, their pictures.
Now, as a guy I understand how guy’s pictures work. Either the guy is wasted, or striking a pose he hopes will help him get laid in the future. (I understand this is slightly redundant in that if a guy is wasted – EVERYTHING he does is in the hope that he will get laid.) My point is that there is no confusion – no head-scratchers – nothing that makes you sit back and think, “At what point in my life would I stop and say – I not only want to do this – but I want picture evidence of it later.” Which brings us to girls…
Notice in this picture - the guy is obviously drunk and happy to be in a picture with 5 good looking girls. Fair enough - he is holding his arms up and smoking a cigarette - again trying to look cool / funny in an attempt to get laid. No problems here. But why do 3 of the girls feel the need to squat? Am I confused and this is actually their high-school team basketball picture? Are they a church choir - or doing a cheer? The girl on the far right looks like she has squatter's envy since she got stuck in the back row. On both sides is a load of luxurious space that could be filled with people - but instead everyone is hunched over. Do girls always want the option to put the picture in a frame and assume they need the extra side-space? Do girls consider the squat a flattering pose? Before the picture are you like - "Wait! Make sure you focus on the tops of my shoulders and my ass sticking out!"
Now there are plenty of other things girls do in pictures that I don’t understand and may write about in the future (gang signs, kissy face, and the worst – a picture of everyone's feet) but for now lets focus on the squatting. Maybe some of you can answer the following questions:
Why must you squat?
Is it always the same person squatting (can you be a squatter or non-squatter)?
Sub-question - If not - do you fight over who GETS to squat?
Is the squat predetermined or is it done in the heat of the moment?
Why is it never the girl in a low-cut shirt?
Ok maybe that last one was a bit skeezy - but it bears asking! Knowing most of you reading this are of the female persuasion please help me understand "The Squat" and it's place in society.
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Drink it up ladies...
Random conversation from tonight:
Chuck: Would you do Queen Latifah?
Me: No?...Would you?
Chuck: Fuck yeah!
Chuck: You wouldn't fuck Queen Latifah just to tell you friends you fucked Queen Latifah?
Me: We have the same friends...and they would all say the same thing..."Why?"
Chuck: You would totally do Queen Latifah
Me: Am I drunk?
Chuck: Of course
Me: Hell yes I would fuck Queen Latifah!
Other random conversation:
Me: Chuck, if I were a spy and constantly drug you into my business and you had to get me out of trouble all the time would you get pissed?
Chuck: Am I your side-kick?
Me: No - you are still in school but I am always calling you to save my ass and you get shot at and stuff
Chuck: Do I get a gun?
Chuck: I would get a little frustrated
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
In reading my friend’s incredibly entertaining blog – I realized that girls do a much better job of verbalizing their confusion in men than men do in women. Perhaps this is because women are just so batshit crazy that man’s only response is to throw his arms up and walk away, or, perhaps, men have just accepted this behavior as a necessary evil to getting laid. Either way, I thought I would write about one thing that drives me insane about women, and more importantly, relationships.
*I should point out that this post is not a reflection of any past relationship in particular - my most recent ex may not have been thrilled about hatred for all things movement, but understood and even participated in my laziness. This post is more a collection of various conversations I have had with other guys about why they are afraid to commit.
So on to my #1 pet peeve in relationships – the scheduling. If you call me on my drive home and say, “What are you doing tonight?” My response will be, “Nothing.” – which is where the confusion sets in. To explain this I think we may need to look at the language itself.
The word Nothing.
To women – “nothing” means that the guy has nothing PLANNED. This, in turn, means that the guy should immediately make plans with her. I have never heard a girl say that she was doing “nothing” unless she expected to be invited to do “something”. A night of doing “nothing” for a girl is often spun to sound like “something” – “Are you kidding me? I am watching
Now to men. Men treat the word “nothing” as an event. Doing “nothing” is “something”. “Nothing” means I am going to go home, sit on the couch, eat shitty food and complain about how nothing is on. Even when something IS on – my plans are “nothing” – it just means I consider sitting around watching “The Office” as “nothing”. It seems girls get insulted when doing “nothing” does not turn into an invitation to do “something”. I have no problem doing “nothing” with a girl – as long as she understands the rules: the food is unhealthy, the language vulgar and movement out of the question.
Having plans is great – and extremely important in relationships. I love going out to eat, renting a movie, going to the game and all the little things that go with dating. Those are the things that you can talk about and remember and make a couple, “a couple” – but at the same time, a relationship should never turn into a full-time job. Sometimes it is just as important to have “nothing” planned.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
In Cleveland when you pass a stranger on the street you divert your eyes and say, “Sorry, buddy, I'm out of change.”
I am headin back to the hometown for a long weekend for our yearly town festival. We slap a block-long tent selling alcoholic beverages across main street - the money raised is just enough to put up another beer tent over the 4th of July.
I will finally get to see my new nephew Luke for the first time and spend some quality time with my three yr old nephew Jack this weekend. This month has been a kick in the ass for your fearless hero and if there is one thing my family won't do is give me any sympathy. Catching some shit from the old man and being bossed around by a three yr old sounds like a helluva weekend. The big city is great and all - but a few days behind an impact wrench, killing some Bud Heavy and teaching the nephew dirty words might be better for me than crawling inside of $5 Crown and Cokes.
Don't get me wrong, I absolutely love the Land of Cleves - but in the last month I have completely overhauled my diet, started working out, hit my stride at work and become born again single - sorry, buddy, I'm out of change.
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
Anyways I am going to focus this blog on anything that strikes me as humorous and any music related items I feel fit to post. I did some math earlier and figured out that if you aren't qualified to write about anything - it makes it ok to write about everything - so that will be my logic from here forward.
See you soon kiddies.