So I’ve been in this coffee shop all day working. It’s a small place with a big bar/counter where the customers sit. I’ve been here for many hours, and throughout the day, the guy working here has started up conversations with upwards of 15 girls who have come in and sat down at the counter. Each time, he figures out a way to start up the conversation, and then inevitably steers things toward his knowledge of wine, his writing, his time in Europe, or one of his other key selling points. He offers them free samples. He cracks jokes. And by the time they leave, he has figured out how to give them his card or get their number—sometimes he wants to invite them to a writing group, sometimes he wants to introduce them to a friend of his who can help them in their career, sometimes he wants to email them an invite to a big party happening this weekend. For him, this is quite the job he’s found. He’s just a young, single guy, living the dream. Doing his thing. Meeting the ladies. There’s only one problem—
I’m sitting here.
He is incredibly upset that I’m still here. Indeed, I am yet to be treated to a free sample. I’m still awaiting a personal description of the wonderful, delicate Pinot Noir they have in stock this month. There have been no stories of the Alps told in my direction. Nay, it seems that all I’m doing for our friend is making him self-conscious about repeating the same tactic or the same story. He can’t repeat, because I’ll know. I haven’t been looking at him, but he knows I know what’s going on. At one point, he said something to a lovely lady about letting life take him where it may, and I couldn’t help but glance up at him. He quickly glanced at me to see if I was indeed looking at him, we made eye contact, and then we both quickly looked away. In that brief moment of connection, his piercing hatred of me could have cut through 1,000 diamonds.
And though I have finished my work for the day, I am now left feeling that my work is not yet done. No, I have a duty now. I must stay. I can’t let him repeat his stories. It has become my purpose.
So I’m gonna hang out. And write about some things that have been on my mind.
______
First, and relatedly, on Saturday night I placed a garbage bag over my head, cut holes for my head and arms, taped a big “D” on the front, and went out as a d-bag for Halloween. As I’ve explained before, Halloween is all about being a d-bag, so the costume made a lot of sense.
Now that was all well and good. Except when someone would be like, “Oh, funny! I get it, you’re a d-bag. Nice touch with the shoes.” And I’d be like, “Wait, no. No, those are just my normal shoes.” Or they’d be like, “Oh, good d-bag hair” and I’d be like, “Fuckin, no. No, that’s just my normal hair. It’s just the fucking bag, okay?” Once is probably enough for that costume.
______
One funny element of Halloween is all the people who have to work all day in a costume. You’ll go into a store on Halloween and there’ll be 11 staff members, all of them dressed up. Now you know that not all 11 are happy about that. Especially when they’re in a bad mood. Is there anything worse than being in a pissy mood when dressed as Willy Wonka? Nothing is more awkward than a cranky adult dressed in costume.
This year, I witnessed a real treat. I was lugging my 570lb Mac desktop tower all around Manhattan and made one stop at a place called TekServe, a Mac support store. While there, I had the pleasure of seeing a woman dressed as a fairy end up in a quarrel with a customer. He was all like, “You need to give me a refund on my service,” and she was all like, “I’m sorry sir, but as I’ve told you, you are past the 30-day window,” and the whole thing escalated. And the elephant in the room was that this man was arguing with a fairy.
So then the customer insists on talking to the manager, so she calls for Chris, and Chris the goblin walks over and enters the conversation. So this guy is arguing with a fairy and a goblin, and they’re all full adults in the world, and I’m thinking, “For some reason, we’ve all decided that this holiday is a great idea.”
Till next year.
______
Since I’ve begun writing this post, a live pianist has entered this place with his keyboard and is playing with the keyboard volume at a level at least twice high as it should be in these circumstances. And no one is gonna have the balls to say something. At least he’s playing jazz. Jazz is all about texture and doesn’t have a distinct melody or lyrics and is therefore the easiest music to hear and still be able to focus. At least for me. Luckily, I’m close enough to our friend behind the counter that I can still clearly hear all of his conversations.
______
Someone let me know when it’s safe to go to ESPN.com again. I went to the site this morning without thinking and gagged when I saw the full-page banner of the heinous Yankee celebration. Next is their poisonous street parade of hate and bigotry. Great timing to move to New York.
______
Speaking of the street, I saw a dog pooping today and it made me laugh. He looked so unhappy that I was watching him. It’s just a hilarious sight that continues to be funny.
______
So far, I’ve experienced only two situations with cabs—either there are 7 available cabs passing every minute or there are none for 20 minutes. One or the other. What the hell?
______
For the first time in 4 years, I live in an apartment with a squirter in the kitchen sink. You know, that thing you pull out next to the faucet and press the handle and the water comes out of it instead of the faucet and you can aim it around. But I’m apparently terribly out of practice. Three times I have inadvertently pressed it on when it’s aimed at me or in the air. And it has taken me an upsettingly long time to figure out what the hell is happening before I unclench my hand and stop the water. It’s a chaotic scene.
______
Two commercials I don’t get:
1) The Bud Light slogan, “The difference is drinkability.” Really, Bud Light? You have a $30 billion advertising budget, and your team came up with, “The difference is drinkability”? What does that mean? What is drinkability? It’s easier to drink than Miller Light and Coors Light? That’s the big message you want to convey? Are there customers out there who are like, “My main problem with the beer options in my life is that they’re hard to drink.” I really, truly believe that I, alone, without any team, any experience, or any research at my fingertips, could have come up with a much more effective ad campaign than that in 10 minutes. Even something completely boring and unmemorable and uncreative like, “Taste the difference” is more likely to make me want to go to the store and get a case of Bud Light than “The difference is drinkability.”
2) In one of the 300 Cialis commercials that aired during the baseball playoffs, I noticed that the disclaimer at the end went, “Cialis does not protect against sexually transmitted diseases, including HIV.” Wait. What? Are there dudes out there who hear, “We should use protection-- I have HIV” and respond with, “It’s okay, baby, I took a Cialis”?? Even the dumbest dude couldn’t possibly make that linkage in his head, right? It’s like a car salesman warning a customer, “Now sir, remember—the increased horsepower in this vehicle you bought will not protect you in a head-on collision with another car, including an 18-wheeler.” That would make no sense, right?
______
I’ve discussed my handshake-hug troubles before. Those, of course, are still going strong—but a new wrinkle has further complicated things. So I’ve been going to a lot of hip-hop shows since coming to New York. No, I’m not a fan of hip-hop. But I have a good friend, Jesse Abraham, who is awesome at it, and I’ve been going to see him perform, which is fun. And the thing is, hip-hop dudes do not shake hands. They do the thumb-link with the right hands followed by the left arm man-hug, followed by the elastic-finger right hand pull-away, followed by the right hand fist pound. So clearly I botched it like the first nine times. It was horrible. And when I finally figured out how to do it, I kept forgetting the final step—the fist pound. So I’d do a really good job the whole time and the guy would be like, “Okay, this dude’s not so bad.” And then he’d go for the final pound and there would be nothing there for his fist to pound. And then he’d look at me and I’d be like, “Oh, let’s…let’s get that right!” and hold my fist out, and he’d just shake his head and softly pound my wretched fist. Bad times.
So anyway, I finally have seemed to get it down. I get it right at least three out of four times now.
But a new problem has surfaced—now I’m in the hip-hop handshake habit, and when I shake everyone else’s hand, I’m automatically going for the thumb link now, without thinking about it. Which is also incredibly awkward. I even accidentally went for the thumb link with a 50-year-old the other day. As we linked thumbs and just kind of held our hands still there for a second, we both wished we were elsewhere.
So now I’m gonna still have the normal handshake-hug anxiety that I always do, and to top it off, even if I guess right with the handshake I still might fuck it up.
______
An anonymous person posted a link to a site called wimp.com a few posts ago in the comment section, stating, “It will keep you occupied.”
Well, 700 hours of my life later, I can say A) you were correct, and B) seriously, what the fuck?
Like, I have a lot of stuff to do. And now I didn’t do it. Because I kept going farther and farther back and watching all the clips. A real dick move, anonymous.
So yeah, Wimp posts five or so video clips every day. The videos are hit or miss, but the good ones keep you coming back. I’d say out of an average five, one is dumb, two are decent, one is good, and one is excellent. They range from 20-second slapstick clips to 15-minute educational videos. If I just kept it to the five new videos every day, it wouldn’t have been a problem. The problem happens when there’s something I need to do that I really don’t want to do, and I end up on Wimp, and I keep finishing one video and helplessly clicking on the next one down.
Their forte is absurdly cute animal clips. Like this. And this. And this.
And this is cool.
And, um, this.
I’ll leave you with this. I’ve watched it at least 15 times.
Thursday, November 05, 2009
Wednesday, October 21, 2009
Beyond the Blindfold
I was watching a thing the other day where some scientist explained that our entire universe might be a small bubble in some much bigger thing.
This, in turn, threw me into a “reality moment.” During which I freaked out for a second before returning back to my normal delusional state.
Let me explain further.
Humans, including myself, spend most of their time with a delusional blindfold on. This blindfold allows us to care about stuff that happens in life. Because in reality, life is completely, totally, and comically unimportant.
Let’s look at it for second. Our universe has been around for 15 billion years. Humans biologically identical to us have been around for about 100,000 years. So let’s create a small scale to put that in perspective. Let’s divide everything by 100 million and say the universe has been around for 150 years. If that’s the case, humans have been around for 8.5 hours. So if the universe were a civil war battle sight dating back to 1860, the human race is a tourist that arrived today to check it out.
And that’s 100,000 years of human history.
Think about that for a second. When we talk about BC and AD, we’re talking about 2,000 years. Ancient Rome, Ancient Egypt, Aristotle and Plato, Jesus, Confucius, the Vikings, the Crusades, all of that old shit—we’re talking about 2 or 3,000 years of history, or about 1/50th of all of human history. In our civil war battle sight scale, Jesus showed up about 10 minutes ago.
Now a person lives about 100 years. That’s 1/20th of this recent history and 1/1000th of all human history. If the universe is 150 years old, each human lives about 30 seconds. As a 27-year-old, I’ve been around for 8 seconds.
Okay, so that’s time—let’s move onto space for a second.
The universe has been expanding at light speed for 15 billion years, meaning it is currently a sphere with a radius of 15 billion light years and diameter of 30 billion light years.*
To put that in perspective, light travels 186,000 miles in a second, meaning a “light second” is a distance that would wrap around the Earth seven times. So a light year is impossibly huge. And the universe is 30 billion light years across.
Not a small sphere.
Our galaxy, the Milky Way (a really stupid name for a galaxy, by the way), is a disk about 100,000 light years across. And the Earth is a sphere with a diameter of 8,000 miles.
So to scale this all down, let’s say the universe is the size of the Earth. If that’s the case, the Milky Way is a disk 140 feet across—an ice skating rink.
Using that same scale, 1 light year would be .43 millimeters, about the width of a grain of sand (making a cubic light year one grain of sand).
And 1 light year is 733,212,000 times longer than the diameter of the Earth (8,000 miles). So 700 million Earths stacked on top of each other would be the height of one grain of sand.
I’ll spare you the math here,** but that means that if the universe is the size of the Earth, you could fit over 300 octillion, or 300 trillion trillion, Earths in one grain of sand.
To take it a step further, if a human is about 5 cubic feet in volume, you could fit 6 billion trillion humans in each tiny Earth speck.
In the "Universe = the size of the Earth" scale, one human is the tiniest, most microscopic of all microscopic particles.
Now—I’ve been here before. I think I was about 6 the first time I started to boggle my mind thinking about the instant of time and speck of space we each occupy before evaporating into non-existence for the rest of eternity.
But this thing I watched on TV—this “The universe may only be a tiny bubble in a much greater thing”—threw me for a new loop.
Because what that means is that our whole universe might be incredibly tiny in the scheme of all things, and if it is just one expanding bubble, it means that its own 15 billion year existence might be a speck of time itself.
Which makes the time and space of a human even more of a needledick.
But here’s the crazy thing about humans—humans are smart enough that they know how insignificant they are. We are the only species on Earth that can conceive of either our own insignificance or our own death. Indeed, I am a microscopic particle here for only a brief moment who knows that I am a microscopic particle here for only a brief moment. A person is a speck of nothing who materializes for a split second, realizes where it stands in the scheme of time and space, understands that it will soon disappear back into nothingness for eternity, says “Wait, what the hell?”, and then disappears into nothingness for eternity.
A human appears out of nowhere—gets it—and then vanishes.
And all of this begs the question:
If I know that I am the tiniest speck of dust around for a split second only, then why was I so upset when my fantasy football team lost on Sunday?
Why do we care so much about what happens in life?
Because of our delusional blindfolds. Thank god for the delusional blindfolds.
Humans, though intelligent enough to realize the intense and harsh truth, also have a built-in brain mechanism that makes us kind of “forget” about it on a day-to-day basis. And once we’ve stopped thinking about the truth, we can get all worked up about life and be good people and we can be passionate and enthusiastic about things and we can care about consequences and family and relationships and friends and sports and everything else. Which makes our 30 seconds of existence way more enjoyable. The world would be a pretty grim place without the delusional blindfolds.***
The fact is, even now as I’m writing this, my delusional blindfold is back on. I know this because I’m not really upset about any of this—it just fascinates me. But when I heard that guy say that thing about the universe being a bubble, I had one of those really intense moments where the reality pierced the blindfold for a moment and I was like, “Oh my GOD!!” and that’s what prompted me to write this in the first place.
And so, I’m gonna go back now to doing my microscopic thing here for my 30 seconds. Might as well be a happy little speck.
____________
*This is the size of the “observable universe” which is, according to many scientists, far smaller than the full extent of the universe. And while 30 billion light years is often cited as the diameter of the observable universe, others have suggested differing sizes based on the curvature of time-space and other factors that I don’t understand.
**Since the Earth and a grain of sand have volume, you have to cube that first magnitude to figure out how many Earths could fit inside that grain of sand. What we’re really figuring out is how many Earths could fit in a cubic light year. And since 733,212,000 Earths, lined up, would equal the cube’s edge, we cube that total to get the amount of Earths that would fit inside the cubic lightyear—or in our “Universe = Earth” scale, the grain of sand. 700 million cubed is about 300 trillion trillion.
While we're here, I came up with these rough approximations while in nerd mode:
Earth diameter x 100 =
Sun diameter x 100 =
Earth orbit diameter x 100 =
Solar System diameter x 1,000 =
One light year x 100,000 =
Milky Way diameter x 300,000 =
Observable Universe diameter
***The microscopic elephant speck in the room here is that I’m clearly not religious, and someone who is will probably see things quite differently. Religious people who believe strongly in some form of afterlife don’t need a delusional blindfold, because for them, reality is not something you need to try to forget about all the time.
This, in turn, threw me into a “reality moment.” During which I freaked out for a second before returning back to my normal delusional state.
Let me explain further.
Humans, including myself, spend most of their time with a delusional blindfold on. This blindfold allows us to care about stuff that happens in life. Because in reality, life is completely, totally, and comically unimportant.
Let’s look at it for second. Our universe has been around for 15 billion years. Humans biologically identical to us have been around for about 100,000 years. So let’s create a small scale to put that in perspective. Let’s divide everything by 100 million and say the universe has been around for 150 years. If that’s the case, humans have been around for 8.5 hours. So if the universe were a civil war battle sight dating back to 1860, the human race is a tourist that arrived today to check it out.
And that’s 100,000 years of human history.
Think about that for a second. When we talk about BC and AD, we’re talking about 2,000 years. Ancient Rome, Ancient Egypt, Aristotle and Plato, Jesus, Confucius, the Vikings, the Crusades, all of that old shit—we’re talking about 2 or 3,000 years of history, or about 1/50th of all of human history. In our civil war battle sight scale, Jesus showed up about 10 minutes ago.
Now a person lives about 100 years. That’s 1/20th of this recent history and 1/1000th of all human history. If the universe is 150 years old, each human lives about 30 seconds. As a 27-year-old, I’ve been around for 8 seconds.
Okay, so that’s time—let’s move onto space for a second.
The universe has been expanding at light speed for 15 billion years, meaning it is currently a sphere with a radius of 15 billion light years and diameter of 30 billion light years.*
To put that in perspective, light travels 186,000 miles in a second, meaning a “light second” is a distance that would wrap around the Earth seven times. So a light year is impossibly huge. And the universe is 30 billion light years across.
Not a small sphere.
Our galaxy, the Milky Way (a really stupid name for a galaxy, by the way), is a disk about 100,000 light years across. And the Earth is a sphere with a diameter of 8,000 miles.
So to scale this all down, let’s say the universe is the size of the Earth. If that’s the case, the Milky Way is a disk 140 feet across—an ice skating rink.
Using that same scale, 1 light year would be .43 millimeters, about the width of a grain of sand (making a cubic light year one grain of sand).
And 1 light year is 733,212,000 times longer than the diameter of the Earth (8,000 miles). So 700 million Earths stacked on top of each other would be the height of one grain of sand.
I’ll spare you the math here,** but that means that if the universe is the size of the Earth, you could fit over 300 octillion, or 300 trillion trillion, Earths in one grain of sand.
To take it a step further, if a human is about 5 cubic feet in volume, you could fit 6 billion trillion humans in each tiny Earth speck.
In the "Universe = the size of the Earth" scale, one human is the tiniest, most microscopic of all microscopic particles.
Now—I’ve been here before. I think I was about 6 the first time I started to boggle my mind thinking about the instant of time and speck of space we each occupy before evaporating into non-existence for the rest of eternity.
But this thing I watched on TV—this “The universe may only be a tiny bubble in a much greater thing”—threw me for a new loop.
Because what that means is that our whole universe might be incredibly tiny in the scheme of all things, and if it is just one expanding bubble, it means that its own 15 billion year existence might be a speck of time itself.
Which makes the time and space of a human even more of a needledick.
But here’s the crazy thing about humans—humans are smart enough that they know how insignificant they are. We are the only species on Earth that can conceive of either our own insignificance or our own death. Indeed, I am a microscopic particle here for only a brief moment who knows that I am a microscopic particle here for only a brief moment. A person is a speck of nothing who materializes for a split second, realizes where it stands in the scheme of time and space, understands that it will soon disappear back into nothingness for eternity, says “Wait, what the hell?”, and then disappears into nothingness for eternity.
A human appears out of nowhere—gets it—and then vanishes.
And all of this begs the question:
If I know that I am the tiniest speck of dust around for a split second only, then why was I so upset when my fantasy football team lost on Sunday?
Why do we care so much about what happens in life?
Because of our delusional blindfolds. Thank god for the delusional blindfolds.
Humans, though intelligent enough to realize the intense and harsh truth, also have a built-in brain mechanism that makes us kind of “forget” about it on a day-to-day basis. And once we’ve stopped thinking about the truth, we can get all worked up about life and be good people and we can be passionate and enthusiastic about things and we can care about consequences and family and relationships and friends and sports and everything else. Which makes our 30 seconds of existence way more enjoyable. The world would be a pretty grim place without the delusional blindfolds.***
The fact is, even now as I’m writing this, my delusional blindfold is back on. I know this because I’m not really upset about any of this—it just fascinates me. But when I heard that guy say that thing about the universe being a bubble, I had one of those really intense moments where the reality pierced the blindfold for a moment and I was like, “Oh my GOD!!” and that’s what prompted me to write this in the first place.
And so, I’m gonna go back now to doing my microscopic thing here for my 30 seconds. Might as well be a happy little speck.
____________
*This is the size of the “observable universe” which is, according to many scientists, far smaller than the full extent of the universe. And while 30 billion light years is often cited as the diameter of the observable universe, others have suggested differing sizes based on the curvature of time-space and other factors that I don’t understand.
**Since the Earth and a grain of sand have volume, you have to cube that first magnitude to figure out how many Earths could fit inside that grain of sand. What we’re really figuring out is how many Earths could fit in a cubic light year. And since 733,212,000 Earths, lined up, would equal the cube’s edge, we cube that total to get the amount of Earths that would fit inside the cubic lightyear—or in our “Universe = Earth” scale, the grain of sand. 700 million cubed is about 300 trillion trillion.
While we're here, I came up with these rough approximations while in nerd mode:
Earth diameter x 100 =
Sun diameter x 100 =
Earth orbit diameter x 100 =
Solar System diameter x 1,000 =
One light year x 100,000 =
Milky Way diameter x 300,000 =
Observable Universe diameter
***The microscopic elephant speck in the room here is that I’m clearly not religious, and someone who is will probably see things quite differently. Religious people who believe strongly in some form of afterlife don’t need a delusional blindfold, because for them, reality is not something you need to try to forget about all the time.
Thursday, October 08, 2009
Top of the Heap
I was reading a Thomas Friedman column the other day, and he mentioned the “blogosphere,” which he said “at its best enriches our debates, adding new checks on the establishment, and at its worst coarsens our debates to a whole new level, giving a new power to anonymous slanderers to send lies around the world.”
Then I thought about my blog and how I talk about toast and stuff, and I felt bad about myself.
Like, people always say things like, “the unfortunate gaffe was devoured and sharply criticized by bloggers,” or “the breaking news shot through the blogosphere at lightning speed” – and then I’m over here talking about which shirt color you should wear when you’re sweating and trying to figure out how washing machines work.
The point is, this blog is an extremely irrelevant one in the blogosphere. Like, the blogosphere is definitely very irked that this blog is inside the sphere. I’m picturing the blogosphere as a congress in session—and they’re all voting on shit and debating stuff and then this one congressman is alone at his desk, away from everyone, staring intently at a tower of slinkies he has constructed, and debating in his head whether he should go for one more slinky, or if that’s pushing his luck. That’s this blog.
And since I have now been in New York for almost three weeks, it seems like a perfect time to fire 14 further irrelevancies right into the heart of the blogosphere:
-Moving from LA to New York is a bit of a shock. Everything that sucks about LA is great in New York, and everything that’s great about LA sucks in New York.
-When you get to someone’s apartment, they usually have to buzz you in. The other day, someone buzzed me in, and then like 12 seconds later when I was getting in the elevator, the buzz was still going. This was insulting. Like, them buzzing that long was them sitting there holding the buzzer, thinking, “Tim’s a pretty big idiot—I want to give him enough time to figure out how to open both doors and get inside.” In fact, I would say that this is a good litmus test of how dumb the person buzzing thinks the person they’re buzzing in is—the longer they hold the buzzer, the dumber they think you are.
-In LA, as you know, the weather is impeccable—80 and sunny basically every day of the year. The problem with that is, you always feel like shit watching TV or going to a movie. You can never sit inside on a rainy or snowy day and be all cozy and watch TV or football or play board games or do whatever all day. When you do that in LA, the sun and beautiful weather through the window makes it automatically depressing. I’ve said many times that I actually really miss the bad weather days of the East Coast. Then, the other day while sprinting through the street in the pouring rain (no umbrella because I’m an idiot), stomping through puddles, I cursed myself for all of my earlier statements. It basically rains 80% of the time in New York.
-Twice now I’ve gone to a bar for dinner and asked for the menu and they’ve given me a stack of take-out menus and told me to order from one of the places and that they’ll deliver it to the bar. Apparently this is common here. Didn’t happen once in five years in LA.
-In LA, if you head out for a big night, you’re just starting to have fun when they flick the “last call” lights on and off at 1:30am. Horrible. Most US cities are like that. Suddenly, I can actually stay out when I’m having fun, as things keep hopping until 3 or 4am. A huge plus to this city.
-Another plus is that I suddenly have an element of exercise in my life in the form of walking everywhere, after not moving for the last five years. If I have the time, I’ll basically walk anywhere I need to go here. It’s not just that the distances are more reasonable in New York—it’s that the walks are interesting. In LA, a 45-minute walk is on some suburban-feeling sidewalk with nothing but cars going by. You feel like you’re wasting your time. But in New York, you walk past a thousand people, a hundred shops and restaurants, and dozens of different sections of the city, all with different cultures.
-I went into a little Chinese take-out place in Chinatown the other day, and they were extremely rude and basically ignored me until I finally gave up trying to order and left. No culture is more insular and less interested in integrating than Chinatowns in US cities.
-I’ve moved into an apartment on the Lower East Side. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. A friend needed a new roommate and the area seemed cool. Do I feel like I might get mugged every time I come back late at night? Yes. But after getting used to having to endure a 15-minute drive to get to any restaurants or coffee places and a 20-minute cab ride to get to the nearest bar, having 40 restaurants and 30 bars within a 10 minute walk is incredibly exciting.
-When you first move into a new apartment, the first 24 hours are fascinating, because you’re learning all of these critical facts about your future life. Like opening the shower curtain for the first time and hearing the rings screech against the bar and being like, “Well, that screech is gonna be a big part of my life” or being woken up by a screaming, crying kid in a nearby apartment on your first morning and realizing that you will be forming a deep, dark, passionate hatred over the months ahead.
-Along those lines, I was out late the other night and came back wanting food, and the only place open was a weird Russian restaurant. I went in and asked for a menu, and the woman was like, “You have the beef!” Frightened, I sat down, and a few minutes later, she brought me a plate of beef. I ate it and felt horrible a half-hour later lying in bed. The problem is, it is on my block and apparently the only place open in the wee hours, which means I’ll be served a plate of beef about 50 times over the next six months by that woman. Not good.
-On the plus side, there is a matzah factory a block away from my apartment. I discovered it last week and stood there staring at their operation, fascinated, and creeped them out until they finally gave me a piece of matzah in hopes that I’d then leave. Very exciting discovery.
-My company’s LA branch is currently being run by my business partner and our two LA directors. Soon, there will be a New York director and a New York office and Tim will be on a Normal Person Schedule. The thing is, though, that at the moment it’s just me running the New York branch, and without having other people to work with every day and an adult place in which to work, I have found myself quickly slipping back into the Tim-Zone, somewhere I haven’t been in about three years. In the Tim-Zone, my schedule drifts back and back until I’m both waking up and going to sleep at hours that I can’t tell other people. I’m like a 19-year-old girl who went to a religious all-girls high school and was repressed by her parents and then sluts it up freshman year of college. Suddenly with no checks and balances, I’ve found myself on Hawaii time. My goal is to get on Pacific time by November and eventually settle into Mountain time (which walks the fine line between respectable and inhumane). At the moment, though, it’s getting ugly. The other day, I found myself telling someone in all seriousness that I had an “early meeting” the next day, which was at noon. I unintentionally fasted until 5pm a couple days ago, and it wasn't Yom Kippur. And on the back side, I’ve been creeping people out by sending work emails at 2am.
-As we do not yet have a New York office, I’ve been spending a ridiculous amount of time each week working in Starbucks. Starbucks and I have gotten pretty tight at this point. It has free internet, plentiful outlets, delicious coffee and tea, serviceable food, a bathroom, and constant entertaining people-watching. And when Starbucks is your office, no matter where you are in the city, your office is right down the block. I’ve been adamantly sticking to one cup of coffee a day, so I don’t die. Caffeine has a ridiculously strong effect on me. In the two hours after having a cup of Starbucks coffee, I’m suddenly incredibly SMART and AMBITIOUS and CONFIDENT and OPTIMISTIC and OPEN-MINDED and DRIVEN. Then, a few hours after that, I want to quit everything in the world immediately and move to Tuvalu and lie there and slowly pass away. So I keep it to tea after the morning cup.
-It crossed my mind to check out the New York Harvard Club as a place to conduct interviews. So I went to the website to see what the deal was with it, what it cost, etc. and I was completely struck by the pictures they put on the website. Now, Harvard is obviously a ridiculous entity, but this was impressive even for them—the pictures on the website could have been straight out of The Onion. They picked the douchiest, most stereotypical Harvard pictures possible. The below picture was my favorite. Tell me The Onion could have come up with someone better than this guy:
Three more things:
-The recent Budweiser “cheesy game-show” commercials with the “grooler” or whatever are possibly the worst commercials anyone has ever made. I have no idea how anyone thought those would be good commercials.
-This is cool.
-The baseball playoffs are back. As usual, I’m completely petrified and stressed out. So much potential for misery. Also, my thick, quivering hatred of the Yankees and their loathsome fans is going to become even thicker and more quivery by living in New York.
Then I thought about my blog and how I talk about toast and stuff, and I felt bad about myself.
Like, people always say things like, “the unfortunate gaffe was devoured and sharply criticized by bloggers,” or “the breaking news shot through the blogosphere at lightning speed” – and then I’m over here talking about which shirt color you should wear when you’re sweating and trying to figure out how washing machines work.
The point is, this blog is an extremely irrelevant one in the blogosphere. Like, the blogosphere is definitely very irked that this blog is inside the sphere. I’m picturing the blogosphere as a congress in session—and they’re all voting on shit and debating stuff and then this one congressman is alone at his desk, away from everyone, staring intently at a tower of slinkies he has constructed, and debating in his head whether he should go for one more slinky, or if that’s pushing his luck. That’s this blog.
And since I have now been in New York for almost three weeks, it seems like a perfect time to fire 14 further irrelevancies right into the heart of the blogosphere:
-Moving from LA to New York is a bit of a shock. Everything that sucks about LA is great in New York, and everything that’s great about LA sucks in New York.
-When you get to someone’s apartment, they usually have to buzz you in. The other day, someone buzzed me in, and then like 12 seconds later when I was getting in the elevator, the buzz was still going. This was insulting. Like, them buzzing that long was them sitting there holding the buzzer, thinking, “Tim’s a pretty big idiot—I want to give him enough time to figure out how to open both doors and get inside.” In fact, I would say that this is a good litmus test of how dumb the person buzzing thinks the person they’re buzzing in is—the longer they hold the buzzer, the dumber they think you are.
-In LA, as you know, the weather is impeccable—80 and sunny basically every day of the year. The problem with that is, you always feel like shit watching TV or going to a movie. You can never sit inside on a rainy or snowy day and be all cozy and watch TV or football or play board games or do whatever all day. When you do that in LA, the sun and beautiful weather through the window makes it automatically depressing. I’ve said many times that I actually really miss the bad weather days of the East Coast. Then, the other day while sprinting through the street in the pouring rain (no umbrella because I’m an idiot), stomping through puddles, I cursed myself for all of my earlier statements. It basically rains 80% of the time in New York.
-Twice now I’ve gone to a bar for dinner and asked for the menu and they’ve given me a stack of take-out menus and told me to order from one of the places and that they’ll deliver it to the bar. Apparently this is common here. Didn’t happen once in five years in LA.
-In LA, if you head out for a big night, you’re just starting to have fun when they flick the “last call” lights on and off at 1:30am. Horrible. Most US cities are like that. Suddenly, I can actually stay out when I’m having fun, as things keep hopping until 3 or 4am. A huge plus to this city.
-Another plus is that I suddenly have an element of exercise in my life in the form of walking everywhere, after not moving for the last five years. If I have the time, I’ll basically walk anywhere I need to go here. It’s not just that the distances are more reasonable in New York—it’s that the walks are interesting. In LA, a 45-minute walk is on some suburban-feeling sidewalk with nothing but cars going by. You feel like you’re wasting your time. But in New York, you walk past a thousand people, a hundred shops and restaurants, and dozens of different sections of the city, all with different cultures.
-I went into a little Chinese take-out place in Chinatown the other day, and they were extremely rude and basically ignored me until I finally gave up trying to order and left. No culture is more insular and less interested in integrating than Chinatowns in US cities.
-I’ve moved into an apartment on the Lower East Side. I don’t know what the hell I’m doing. A friend needed a new roommate and the area seemed cool. Do I feel like I might get mugged every time I come back late at night? Yes. But after getting used to having to endure a 15-minute drive to get to any restaurants or coffee places and a 20-minute cab ride to get to the nearest bar, having 40 restaurants and 30 bars within a 10 minute walk is incredibly exciting.
-When you first move into a new apartment, the first 24 hours are fascinating, because you’re learning all of these critical facts about your future life. Like opening the shower curtain for the first time and hearing the rings screech against the bar and being like, “Well, that screech is gonna be a big part of my life” or being woken up by a screaming, crying kid in a nearby apartment on your first morning and realizing that you will be forming a deep, dark, passionate hatred over the months ahead.
-Along those lines, I was out late the other night and came back wanting food, and the only place open was a weird Russian restaurant. I went in and asked for a menu, and the woman was like, “You have the beef!” Frightened, I sat down, and a few minutes later, she brought me a plate of beef. I ate it and felt horrible a half-hour later lying in bed. The problem is, it is on my block and apparently the only place open in the wee hours, which means I’ll be served a plate of beef about 50 times over the next six months by that woman. Not good.
-On the plus side, there is a matzah factory a block away from my apartment. I discovered it last week and stood there staring at their operation, fascinated, and creeped them out until they finally gave me a piece of matzah in hopes that I’d then leave. Very exciting discovery.
-My company’s LA branch is currently being run by my business partner and our two LA directors. Soon, there will be a New York director and a New York office and Tim will be on a Normal Person Schedule. The thing is, though, that at the moment it’s just me running the New York branch, and without having other people to work with every day and an adult place in which to work, I have found myself quickly slipping back into the Tim-Zone, somewhere I haven’t been in about three years. In the Tim-Zone, my schedule drifts back and back until I’m both waking up and going to sleep at hours that I can’t tell other people. I’m like a 19-year-old girl who went to a religious all-girls high school and was repressed by her parents and then sluts it up freshman year of college. Suddenly with no checks and balances, I’ve found myself on Hawaii time. My goal is to get on Pacific time by November and eventually settle into Mountain time (which walks the fine line between respectable and inhumane). At the moment, though, it’s getting ugly. The other day, I found myself telling someone in all seriousness that I had an “early meeting” the next day, which was at noon. I unintentionally fasted until 5pm a couple days ago, and it wasn't Yom Kippur. And on the back side, I’ve been creeping people out by sending work emails at 2am.
-As we do not yet have a New York office, I’ve been spending a ridiculous amount of time each week working in Starbucks. Starbucks and I have gotten pretty tight at this point. It has free internet, plentiful outlets, delicious coffee and tea, serviceable food, a bathroom, and constant entertaining people-watching. And when Starbucks is your office, no matter where you are in the city, your office is right down the block. I’ve been adamantly sticking to one cup of coffee a day, so I don’t die. Caffeine has a ridiculously strong effect on me. In the two hours after having a cup of Starbucks coffee, I’m suddenly incredibly SMART and AMBITIOUS and CONFIDENT and OPTIMISTIC and OPEN-MINDED and DRIVEN. Then, a few hours after that, I want to quit everything in the world immediately and move to Tuvalu and lie there and slowly pass away. So I keep it to tea after the morning cup.
-It crossed my mind to check out the New York Harvard Club as a place to conduct interviews. So I went to the website to see what the deal was with it, what it cost, etc. and I was completely struck by the pictures they put on the website. Now, Harvard is obviously a ridiculous entity, but this was impressive even for them—the pictures on the website could have been straight out of The Onion. They picked the douchiest, most stereotypical Harvard pictures possible. The below picture was my favorite. Tell me The Onion could have come up with someone better than this guy:
Three more things:
-The recent Budweiser “cheesy game-show” commercials with the “grooler” or whatever are possibly the worst commercials anyone has ever made. I have no idea how anyone thought those would be good commercials.
-This is cool.
-The baseball playoffs are back. As usual, I’m completely petrified and stressed out. So much potential for misery. Also, my thick, quivering hatred of the Yankees and their loathsome fans is going to become even thicker and more quivery by living in New York.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
On the Road
I’m in New York. Apparently I live here now.
I already have a number of things to say about this ridiculous place, but there’ll* be plenty of time for that.
For now, let’s back up to Sunday, 9/6—my last day in LA.
Andrew “The Body” Finn, Winston and I made our final preparations at the apartment and prepared for our voyage—a 3,500 mile drive to Boston. Though only Winston and I were moving, I had successfully coaxed Andrew into coming along by promising him that we could spend a lot of time in Texas (he refers to Friday Night Lights as “My stories”).
As I packed up the car, things got tight. I took stuff out and put it back in. I got creative with the positions of everything. I used every conceivable cubic centimeter of space. And I couldn’t quite do it. Something had to give.
So I tried another idea—I moved the passenger seat forward about a foot. And everything fit!
But it was too good to be true—upon seeing his diminished legroom, Andrew threw a small tantrum. “If Winston’s big dumb cage wasn’t so big and dumb, I wouldn’t have to move my seat forward.” He had a point. Winston’s cage is about 3 feet by 3 feet. It was taking up a huge amount of space. Winston’s head emerged from his shell—he didn’t like where this was going.
I looked at Andrew, then at Winston, then back to Andrew.
Indeed, the cage would have to be left behind—I did, after all, have a small, travel cage that I use when Winston and I go on outings together.
It was going to be a long week for Winston.
Finally, we were ready. We pulled out of the driveway, got on the 10 highway, and I waved goodbye to LA.
Here is what proceeded:
Day 1: LA to Tempe, Arizona
- About four minutes into the drive, Winston started having a panic attack. He was not happy about his living quarters for the week. Not liking to see him so unhappy, I took an old towel out of the trunk, placed it on the passenger seat floor, and told Andrew that since he had deprived Winston of his normal home, this was only fair. The Body consented.
- The drive from LA through Arizona is intensely beautiful. Right out of an old Western movie with the weird landscape and mesas and cacti and all that. Very few people around these parts.
- Eastern California is the first of several places along this drive that creep me out a little bit.
- Especially creepy was the massive windmill farm somewhere around Palm Springs, CA. Thousands of windmills covering the land, creeping everyone out.
- We hit Tempe at night, got a hotel, and went to a strip of bars in the city center. Surprisingly lame scene.
- At one point we were talking to some people and I referred to Tempe as "Temp-ay" instead of "Temp-ee" and was publicly ridiculed.
Day 2: Tempe, AZ to Van Horn, TX
- Andrew had a negative experience in Albuquerque once and now he hates the entire state of New Mexico. And we were both pretty psyched about Texas, so we decided to make it a 10-hour driving day.
- It was around this time that things began to turn sour between Andrew and Winston. They got in a fight when Andrew was trying to nap and Winston kept walking into his feet and waking him up. I had to loudly intervene and threaten to turn the car right around and head back to LA if the fighting continued. They both sat there quietly, sulking.
- It was also around this time that we began to see the deer roadside warnings. Most people think little of deer signs. Not me and Andrew. When driving Andrew’s car to LA two years earlier, we had swerved off the highway going full speed late at night in Montana to avoid hitting a dumb fucking deer standing in the middle of the road. No one was hurt, but we both wish the deer had been. I’m a bit baffled about how they know the exact span of highway the deer will decide to show up on. One deer warning sign said “Next 2¼ miles.” Really? Not 2 miles? Not 2½ miles?
- Late at night, we hit El Paso, Texas, and eventually called it a night in a small town called Van Horn, Texas.
Day 3: Van Horn, TX to Austin, TX
- When we woke up, we were on a different planet, called Texas. It felt like we were in another state that decided to go out on Halloween as “Texas.” Every billboard had the word Texas in it somewhere, every home had the Texas flag blowing in their front yard and Texas-shaped plaques on the front door, and a typical radio commercial would go something like this:
Do you eat ribs for breakfast? Do you call your wife’s car “Not my truck”? Do you breath football – like, literally heat up a football so hot that it melts and eventually boils and then vaporizes into a gas which you then inhale? If so, you’re a Texan. Not someone who moved to Texas—a REAL Texan. And a real Texan deserves a real truck. Come to your local Chevy dealer and get the best end-of-summer deals on a brand new truck. A truck only worthy…of a Texan.
I had to keep reminding myself that we weren’t in a tourist thing – that this was just a normal thing on the radio. It was fun to imagine being in Boston and replacing the word “Texan” with “Massachusettsan.” It would be completely absurd.
(Then again, every other commercial in Boston is like, “Are you fat and loud? Do you have two sons named Papelbon and Manny and a daughter named Youk? Did you skip half of your daughter’s wedding to catch the end of regular season game #93? Then that makes you a Red Sox fan. Not one of those pussy out-of-town college kids—but a real, lifelong, fat, loud Red Sox fan. So call the only windshield-replacement company worthy of a real Red Sox fan—1-800-54-GIANT!” That’s not normal either.)
- While Texas cities are cool, the most interesting thing to do in Texas is to stop in the small towns. We had lunch in a town called Fort Stockton, and suddenly, we were on the set of Varsity Blues. We went to a diner full of photos of the local high school football team and “Home of the Panthers” in huge print on the front. There was also a pawn shop advertising an assortment of guns in the inventory. Andrew and I walked in, felt like huge daisies among all the gruff men in there, and left.
- As we made our way through Texas towns, I had the urge to pull over and ask someone (in an old Jewish person accent), “Excuse me, but where can I find the Jewish Community Centah?” but I resisted.
- Finally, we hit Austin. We had friends of a friend there, so we went out with them. Austin is cool, and a really weird place to be after 600 miles of pure Texas—suddenly there were Starbucks and Whole Foods and people with tight jeans. If normal Texas mated with West Hollywood, you’d get Austin. For all those people who have been only to Austin in Texas—hate to break it to you, but you haven’t really been to Texas.
Day 4: Austin, TX to Waco, TX
- We wanted to hang out in Austin a little more, and I had my fantasy football draft that night**, so we spent most of the day in Austin. It was here that we had our first Barbecue of the trip. That was at least 2/3 of what we were on this particular route for, so it was highly anticipated. We went to a place called Lambert’s, where I ordered 850 ribs and left feeling like I had been impregnated by a manatee.
- At night, we headed North on a short trip to Waco. The whole David Koresh debacle really sucks for Waco. Like, it's a normal city, and the whole Koresh thing happened outside of the city somewhere, and now Waco and everyone who lives there is permanently associated with weird shit.
- As we hit Waco, I pulled the old Tim stop-sign classic (not stopping) and got pulled over. Getting pulled over is a really unique and bad feeling. There are some rules about getting pulled over: First, when the lights go on and you hear the siren and look in your rear-view mirror, you have to swear. It’s a rule. Then, when the officer comes up to the window, you say all of these respectful words, like, “Officer,” and “Sir,” and “You’re right.” I got my most humble persona on and got all respectful and only got a warning.
Day 5: Waco, TX to Normal, OK
- We zipped through Dallas, but not before stuffing our faces at a BBQ place called Peggy Sue BBQ. 850 ribs. Homemade spicy BBQ sauce. Onion rings. Peach cobbler (I didn’t even want the cobbler but just wanted to keep fucking my body while I was in the zone). Our combined IQ after the meal was 106.
- Continued along into Oklahoma. Over 1,000 total miles of driving in Texas. Before exiting Texas, Andrew was pulled over for having out-of-state plates (he was actually pulled over for going 30mph in a 20mph school zone, but he was going the speed of traffic so the plates were the only explanation). When the (female) officer came up to the car, Andrew said something along the lines of, “Ma’am madam madamoiselle m’lady my pretty Ms. Madam” and only got a warning.
- Our original plan was to go to Oklahoma City (also permanently associated with an incident, but at least this one makes everyone sympathetic, not creeped out), but we had been advised by our friends in Austin that the only fun to be had was in nearby Norman, Oklahoma—the home of Oklahoma University. Why not?
- We went to some big sports bar, where someone immediately told us that we were obviously from the East Coast. Fail.
- What might have been a really fun night was ruined by my head making the bizarre life decision of having an allergy attack in the bar. Nothing could possibly be less cool than the guy having an allergy attack. It’s not like I have allergy attacks regularly. I have no idea what the hell was going on. But I alternated between sneezing and making that face where you have to sneeze but can’t. Finally Andrew snapped and was like, “Well get the hell away from me – you’re ruining this for both of us.” So I went and sat by myself and tried to make it go away. When it wouldn’t, I left the bar and stumbled over to a corner gas station and bought Sudafed, nasal spray and Visine. Least cool person ever. Things actually started to look up after that. Until I decided to use the Visine a half hour later and accidentally put nasal spray in my eye, setting me back two hours. I’d prefer to forget this entire night.
Day 6: Norman, OK to Lawrence, KS
- My hideous performance aside, Norman seemed like the way to go for young people and nightlife in a farming state, so we decided to go for it again in Lawrence, KS, the site of Kansas University. But not before stopping in Oklahoma City for a massive BBQ meal at a place called Iron Starr. The funny thing is that gorging ourselves on pounds of red meat was the healthy part of our days. We’d eat junk food in the car and fast food at night. Then usually alcohol would make its way into the picture. All with a dash of “no exercise.” It’s not really our fault—you try eating well on a drive across the US. Not really possible. The only person who maintained a decent diet was Winston, who continued with his tried and true “Lettuce with a side of lettuce.”
- Speaking of Winston, he and Andrew reached their breaking point on this day. Winston bumped his thimble head into Andrew’s foot one too many times, and Andrew freaked out and threatened to throw him out the window. I started yelling, “Andrew! Co-exist! You have to co-exist with Winston!” He exploded back, “I’M co-existing!! I’m co-existing! This asshole isn’t coexisting. He’s a selfish fucking asshole!” After some more yelling, all three of us rode in silence for awhile.
- This day was 9/11. It would suck to have your birthday on 9/11.
- The last time I had seen a non-American car was about six states ago.
- We hit Lawrence that night and headed out to what was apparently a college bar. After you’re out of college for awhile, you forget what unbelievable douchebags frat guys are. Andrew and I felt like we were in a douchebag museum. We just marveled at them in their natural habitat. Then it hit us that we were old and we left.
Day 7: Lawrence, KS to St. Louis, MO
- The Body flew back to LA from Kansas City, as was the plan, leaving me and Winston to make the rest of the journey on our own.
- To keep with the trip’s themes, I started the day by both gorging myself at a place called Rosedale BBQ, and getting pulled over – this time, for driving with iPhone headphones in (really?). Yet again, no ticket. But like, what the hell? I’m a terrible driver—granted—but in five years and 40,000 miles in LA, I was pulled over twice. How are we pulled over three times in a week of driving? Mid-country cops must have much less on their plate, I guess.
- The plan was to make it all the way to Indianapolis on this day, but my dumb Honda (the same I car I drove when I was 16—I know, get in line, ladies) couldn’t quite do it. I started hearing a loud buzzing, so I stopped at a Firestone, and the guy was like, “Yeah…yeah your wheel is gonna fall off before you hit Boston.” Apparently I had a wheel bearing issue, whatever the hell that means. Of course, it was too late in the day for them to fix it there (that would have been too easy), so he made an appointment for me for the next morning in St. Louis, a mere three hours further. He told me they opened at 8am and that I should get there at 7:45 to ensure they could do it that day.
Day 8: St. Louis, MO to Buffalo, NY
- After waking up at 10:30am every other day on the drive, waking up at 7:15am was particularly unpleasant. I got there at 7:45 on the dot. And the fucking place opened at nine. I cursed a lot and kicked the wall and planted on the grass and waited for an hour.
- At 9:00, the guy showed up and did an inspection of my car. The obvious elephant in the room when he got in the car was that there happened to be a tortoise in the passenger seat. He saw it. I knew he saw it. And he knew that I knew that he saw it. But no one said anything.
- Five hours (and more money than I’d care to discuss) later, he finished and I took off for Buffalo. For those of you not familiar with US geography, St. Louis to Buffalo is a beast of a one-day drive—especially starting at 2pm:
Six states in total. Some thoughts:
- At one point I saw a “Low Flying Planes” sign. Huh? So what are they warning me about? Do these planes get that low that I have to watch out for them??
- Every 100 miles or so, I’d notice a “Runaway Truck Ramp.” First of all, how often do trucks “run away”?? And why? And when a guy is in a truck and he’s like, “Oh hell, the asshole brakes aren’t working,” how incredibly happy is he when he happens to come upon a runaway truck ramp? And how upset is he if he accidentally misses it??
- When I entered Indiana, it said, Welcome to Indiana, birthplace of Lincoln. Wait, what? I used to think Lincoln was born in a log cabin in Kentucky. Wasn’t that the story? But then Obama, during his campaign, was all like, “I am Lincoln. Lincoln is me. We are both from Illinois. Illinois is the land of Lincoln. Lincoln is the Obama of land.” So I was already confused. And now Indiana is trying to get in on this? Come on.
- I called my sister Lindsay during the drive and was telling her that I had eaten nothing but BBQ, fast food, and gas station junk food for the last week, and she yelled at me. She made me get off the highway and go to Subway and get a vegetable sub. Then she told me that when she did a 14-hour drive earlier this year by herself, she would put the car on cruise control when the highway was empty, sit Indian Style, and eat dinner with a fork and knife. While driving. I’ve never heard anything like it.
- I made a lot of phone calls during this drive. It’s funny, cause when you’re the one on a long drive you’re like, “So, how about the Red Sox?! They’re looking good, huh? Let’s talk about potential playoff batting orders.” And the person you’re talking to is like, “Yeah, I’m gonna…I’m gonna go.” And then you’re like, “Let's play 20 Questions!” and they’re like, “Yeah, no…I’m gonna go back to what I was doing.” And then sometimes there’s the really awkward situation when you’re the one on the long solo drive and you get sick of talking to the other person and you want to get off the phone. You can’t make an excuse—they know you don’t have anything you could possibly have to do. You’re just like, “Um, I’m gonna………….go.”
- By the time I hit Pennsylvania, it was pitch black, I was delirious from 12 hours of driving, and maybe it was the weird state I was in, but the Erie, PA area really gave me the willies. I would have bet hundreds of dollars that there were both werewolves and ghosts in the area. Plus, it was really foggy, and I kept seeing the dreaded deer signs on the side of the road. Really scary times. I was pretty resigned to getting murdered in my hotel room that night.
Day 9: Buffalo, NY to Boston
- This day was uneventful (not a whole lot happening in upstate New York as far as I can tell) until I hit Western Massachusetts (also a creepy place, for the record) and decided to stop and watch the Patriots game with my friend Morgan, who lives there. He told me his address and for some reason, my iPhone decided to ignore his house number and just put the pin down in the middle of his road somewhere. This would not have been a big deal had I not been in rural-ass Western Massachusetts—following the road to the pin, the road became a dirt road, which became a small dirt path, which became a hiking path. I suddenly found myself somewhere I should have been on a mountain bike, not in a shitty, old, Honda. Bad times. I made it eventually, but this was not what I needed after 3,800 miles of driving over the past nine days. Of course, on the way out, the correct route turned out to be an easy drive along paved roads. Idiot.
- That night at about 1am, I hit Newton, MA (where I’m leaving my car). Done.
- Nothing will make you appreciate airplanes more than driving a long, long distance. This felt like an epic journey—but normally, it all happens while you sit there for a few hours and watch TV.
Some pictures:
This is the one of the cartograms I posted in a previous post. It shows each county in the country and the spectrum of voting in each during the Obama-McCain election. It was cool to look at as we drove.
My two driving mates.
Winston's pad for the week.
Windmills give me the willies.
It wouldn't be a Texas home without a Texas star on the side.
Or a Texas-shaped plaque on the front.
Or a Texas flag in the yard.
Not in LA anymore.
Not in New York either.
One of many.
Another. So so good.
Winston tried to make a run for it. It was unsuccessful.
Another unsuccessful attempt.
Glaring at me.
A needledick raking the lawn of a frat he was rushing at Kansas U.
Health food.
It wouldn't be a cross-country drive without car problems.
Such a scary part of the country.
Driving somewhere this car was never ever meant to drive.
*“There’ll” is a weird word. If you stopped someone on the street and said, “How do you spell there’ll,” they’d have no idea what you were talking about. And when someone who doesn’t speak English sees “there’ll” in writing, they’re definitely like, “English is kind of icky.” Like when I see a word like “auchenbachenzimschaunberg” in German or “blieuaeiux” in French.
**Ladainian, Ryan Grant, Darren McFadden, Michael Bush, McNabb, Carson Palmer, Steve Smith (Car), Santonio Holmes, Mario Manningham, Justin Gage, Lance Moore, Steve Breaston, Owen Daniels, Kaeding, Cowboys. 2-0.
I already have a number of things to say about this ridiculous place, but there’ll* be plenty of time for that.
For now, let’s back up to Sunday, 9/6—my last day in LA.
Andrew “The Body” Finn, Winston and I made our final preparations at the apartment and prepared for our voyage—a 3,500 mile drive to Boston. Though only Winston and I were moving, I had successfully coaxed Andrew into coming along by promising him that we could spend a lot of time in Texas (he refers to Friday Night Lights as “My stories”).
As I packed up the car, things got tight. I took stuff out and put it back in. I got creative with the positions of everything. I used every conceivable cubic centimeter of space. And I couldn’t quite do it. Something had to give.
So I tried another idea—I moved the passenger seat forward about a foot. And everything fit!
But it was too good to be true—upon seeing his diminished legroom, Andrew threw a small tantrum. “If Winston’s big dumb cage wasn’t so big and dumb, I wouldn’t have to move my seat forward.” He had a point. Winston’s cage is about 3 feet by 3 feet. It was taking up a huge amount of space. Winston’s head emerged from his shell—he didn’t like where this was going.
I looked at Andrew, then at Winston, then back to Andrew.
Indeed, the cage would have to be left behind—I did, after all, have a small, travel cage that I use when Winston and I go on outings together.
It was going to be a long week for Winston.
Finally, we were ready. We pulled out of the driveway, got on the 10 highway, and I waved goodbye to LA.
Here is what proceeded:
Day 1: LA to Tempe, Arizona
- About four minutes into the drive, Winston started having a panic attack. He was not happy about his living quarters for the week. Not liking to see him so unhappy, I took an old towel out of the trunk, placed it on the passenger seat floor, and told Andrew that since he had deprived Winston of his normal home, this was only fair. The Body consented.
- The drive from LA through Arizona is intensely beautiful. Right out of an old Western movie with the weird landscape and mesas and cacti and all that. Very few people around these parts.
- Eastern California is the first of several places along this drive that creep me out a little bit.
- Especially creepy was the massive windmill farm somewhere around Palm Springs, CA. Thousands of windmills covering the land, creeping everyone out.
- We hit Tempe at night, got a hotel, and went to a strip of bars in the city center. Surprisingly lame scene.
- At one point we were talking to some people and I referred to Tempe as "Temp-ay" instead of "Temp-ee" and was publicly ridiculed.
Day 2: Tempe, AZ to Van Horn, TX
- Andrew had a negative experience in Albuquerque once and now he hates the entire state of New Mexico. And we were both pretty psyched about Texas, so we decided to make it a 10-hour driving day.
- It was around this time that things began to turn sour between Andrew and Winston. They got in a fight when Andrew was trying to nap and Winston kept walking into his feet and waking him up. I had to loudly intervene and threaten to turn the car right around and head back to LA if the fighting continued. They both sat there quietly, sulking.
- It was also around this time that we began to see the deer roadside warnings. Most people think little of deer signs. Not me and Andrew. When driving Andrew’s car to LA two years earlier, we had swerved off the highway going full speed late at night in Montana to avoid hitting a dumb fucking deer standing in the middle of the road. No one was hurt, but we both wish the deer had been. I’m a bit baffled about how they know the exact span of highway the deer will decide to show up on. One deer warning sign said “Next 2¼ miles.” Really? Not 2 miles? Not 2½ miles?
- Late at night, we hit El Paso, Texas, and eventually called it a night in a small town called Van Horn, Texas.
Day 3: Van Horn, TX to Austin, TX
- When we woke up, we were on a different planet, called Texas. It felt like we were in another state that decided to go out on Halloween as “Texas.” Every billboard had the word Texas in it somewhere, every home had the Texas flag blowing in their front yard and Texas-shaped plaques on the front door, and a typical radio commercial would go something like this:
Do you eat ribs for breakfast? Do you call your wife’s car “Not my truck”? Do you breath football – like, literally heat up a football so hot that it melts and eventually boils and then vaporizes into a gas which you then inhale? If so, you’re a Texan. Not someone who moved to Texas—a REAL Texan. And a real Texan deserves a real truck. Come to your local Chevy dealer and get the best end-of-summer deals on a brand new truck. A truck only worthy…of a Texan.
I had to keep reminding myself that we weren’t in a tourist thing – that this was just a normal thing on the radio. It was fun to imagine being in Boston and replacing the word “Texan” with “Massachusettsan.” It would be completely absurd.
(Then again, every other commercial in Boston is like, “Are you fat and loud? Do you have two sons named Papelbon and Manny and a daughter named Youk? Did you skip half of your daughter’s wedding to catch the end of regular season game #93? Then that makes you a Red Sox fan. Not one of those pussy out-of-town college kids—but a real, lifelong, fat, loud Red Sox fan. So call the only windshield-replacement company worthy of a real Red Sox fan—1-800-54-GIANT!” That’s not normal either.)
- While Texas cities are cool, the most interesting thing to do in Texas is to stop in the small towns. We had lunch in a town called Fort Stockton, and suddenly, we were on the set of Varsity Blues. We went to a diner full of photos of the local high school football team and “Home of the Panthers” in huge print on the front. There was also a pawn shop advertising an assortment of guns in the inventory. Andrew and I walked in, felt like huge daisies among all the gruff men in there, and left.
- As we made our way through Texas towns, I had the urge to pull over and ask someone (in an old Jewish person accent), “Excuse me, but where can I find the Jewish Community Centah?” but I resisted.
- Finally, we hit Austin. We had friends of a friend there, so we went out with them. Austin is cool, and a really weird place to be after 600 miles of pure Texas—suddenly there were Starbucks and Whole Foods and people with tight jeans. If normal Texas mated with West Hollywood, you’d get Austin. For all those people who have been only to Austin in Texas—hate to break it to you, but you haven’t really been to Texas.
Day 4: Austin, TX to Waco, TX
- We wanted to hang out in Austin a little more, and I had my fantasy football draft that night**, so we spent most of the day in Austin. It was here that we had our first Barbecue of the trip. That was at least 2/3 of what we were on this particular route for, so it was highly anticipated. We went to a place called Lambert’s, where I ordered 850 ribs and left feeling like I had been impregnated by a manatee.
- At night, we headed North on a short trip to Waco. The whole David Koresh debacle really sucks for Waco. Like, it's a normal city, and the whole Koresh thing happened outside of the city somewhere, and now Waco and everyone who lives there is permanently associated with weird shit.
- As we hit Waco, I pulled the old Tim stop-sign classic (not stopping) and got pulled over. Getting pulled over is a really unique and bad feeling. There are some rules about getting pulled over: First, when the lights go on and you hear the siren and look in your rear-view mirror, you have to swear. It’s a rule. Then, when the officer comes up to the window, you say all of these respectful words, like, “Officer,” and “Sir,” and “You’re right.” I got my most humble persona on and got all respectful and only got a warning.
Day 5: Waco, TX to Normal, OK
- We zipped through Dallas, but not before stuffing our faces at a BBQ place called Peggy Sue BBQ. 850 ribs. Homemade spicy BBQ sauce. Onion rings. Peach cobbler (I didn’t even want the cobbler but just wanted to keep fucking my body while I was in the zone). Our combined IQ after the meal was 106.
- Continued along into Oklahoma. Over 1,000 total miles of driving in Texas. Before exiting Texas, Andrew was pulled over for having out-of-state plates (he was actually pulled over for going 30mph in a 20mph school zone, but he was going the speed of traffic so the plates were the only explanation). When the (female) officer came up to the car, Andrew said something along the lines of, “Ma’am madam madamoiselle m’lady my pretty Ms. Madam” and only got a warning.
- Our original plan was to go to Oklahoma City (also permanently associated with an incident, but at least this one makes everyone sympathetic, not creeped out), but we had been advised by our friends in Austin that the only fun to be had was in nearby Norman, Oklahoma—the home of Oklahoma University. Why not?
- We went to some big sports bar, where someone immediately told us that we were obviously from the East Coast. Fail.
- What might have been a really fun night was ruined by my head making the bizarre life decision of having an allergy attack in the bar. Nothing could possibly be less cool than the guy having an allergy attack. It’s not like I have allergy attacks regularly. I have no idea what the hell was going on. But I alternated between sneezing and making that face where you have to sneeze but can’t. Finally Andrew snapped and was like, “Well get the hell away from me – you’re ruining this for both of us.” So I went and sat by myself and tried to make it go away. When it wouldn’t, I left the bar and stumbled over to a corner gas station and bought Sudafed, nasal spray and Visine. Least cool person ever. Things actually started to look up after that. Until I decided to use the Visine a half hour later and accidentally put nasal spray in my eye, setting me back two hours. I’d prefer to forget this entire night.
Day 6: Norman, OK to Lawrence, KS
- My hideous performance aside, Norman seemed like the way to go for young people and nightlife in a farming state, so we decided to go for it again in Lawrence, KS, the site of Kansas University. But not before stopping in Oklahoma City for a massive BBQ meal at a place called Iron Starr. The funny thing is that gorging ourselves on pounds of red meat was the healthy part of our days. We’d eat junk food in the car and fast food at night. Then usually alcohol would make its way into the picture. All with a dash of “no exercise.” It’s not really our fault—you try eating well on a drive across the US. Not really possible. The only person who maintained a decent diet was Winston, who continued with his tried and true “Lettuce with a side of lettuce.”
- Speaking of Winston, he and Andrew reached their breaking point on this day. Winston bumped his thimble head into Andrew’s foot one too many times, and Andrew freaked out and threatened to throw him out the window. I started yelling, “Andrew! Co-exist! You have to co-exist with Winston!” He exploded back, “I’M co-existing!! I’m co-existing! This asshole isn’t coexisting. He’s a selfish fucking asshole!” After some more yelling, all three of us rode in silence for awhile.
- This day was 9/11. It would suck to have your birthday on 9/11.
- The last time I had seen a non-American car was about six states ago.
- We hit Lawrence that night and headed out to what was apparently a college bar. After you’re out of college for awhile, you forget what unbelievable douchebags frat guys are. Andrew and I felt like we were in a douchebag museum. We just marveled at them in their natural habitat. Then it hit us that we were old and we left.
Day 7: Lawrence, KS to St. Louis, MO
- The Body flew back to LA from Kansas City, as was the plan, leaving me and Winston to make the rest of the journey on our own.
- To keep with the trip’s themes, I started the day by both gorging myself at a place called Rosedale BBQ, and getting pulled over – this time, for driving with iPhone headphones in (really?). Yet again, no ticket. But like, what the hell? I’m a terrible driver—granted—but in five years and 40,000 miles in LA, I was pulled over twice. How are we pulled over three times in a week of driving? Mid-country cops must have much less on their plate, I guess.
- The plan was to make it all the way to Indianapolis on this day, but my dumb Honda (the same I car I drove when I was 16—I know, get in line, ladies) couldn’t quite do it. I started hearing a loud buzzing, so I stopped at a Firestone, and the guy was like, “Yeah…yeah your wheel is gonna fall off before you hit Boston.” Apparently I had a wheel bearing issue, whatever the hell that means. Of course, it was too late in the day for them to fix it there (that would have been too easy), so he made an appointment for me for the next morning in St. Louis, a mere three hours further. He told me they opened at 8am and that I should get there at 7:45 to ensure they could do it that day.
Day 8: St. Louis, MO to Buffalo, NY
- After waking up at 10:30am every other day on the drive, waking up at 7:15am was particularly unpleasant. I got there at 7:45 on the dot. And the fucking place opened at nine. I cursed a lot and kicked the wall and planted on the grass and waited for an hour.
- At 9:00, the guy showed up and did an inspection of my car. The obvious elephant in the room when he got in the car was that there happened to be a tortoise in the passenger seat. He saw it. I knew he saw it. And he knew that I knew that he saw it. But no one said anything.
- Five hours (and more money than I’d care to discuss) later, he finished and I took off for Buffalo. For those of you not familiar with US geography, St. Louis to Buffalo is a beast of a one-day drive—especially starting at 2pm:
Six states in total. Some thoughts:
- At one point I saw a “Low Flying Planes” sign. Huh? So what are they warning me about? Do these planes get that low that I have to watch out for them??
- Every 100 miles or so, I’d notice a “Runaway Truck Ramp.” First of all, how often do trucks “run away”?? And why? And when a guy is in a truck and he’s like, “Oh hell, the asshole brakes aren’t working,” how incredibly happy is he when he happens to come upon a runaway truck ramp? And how upset is he if he accidentally misses it??
- When I entered Indiana, it said, Welcome to Indiana, birthplace of Lincoln. Wait, what? I used to think Lincoln was born in a log cabin in Kentucky. Wasn’t that the story? But then Obama, during his campaign, was all like, “I am Lincoln. Lincoln is me. We are both from Illinois. Illinois is the land of Lincoln. Lincoln is the Obama of land.” So I was already confused. And now Indiana is trying to get in on this? Come on.
- I called my sister Lindsay during the drive and was telling her that I had eaten nothing but BBQ, fast food, and gas station junk food for the last week, and she yelled at me. She made me get off the highway and go to Subway and get a vegetable sub. Then she told me that when she did a 14-hour drive earlier this year by herself, she would put the car on cruise control when the highway was empty, sit Indian Style, and eat dinner with a fork and knife. While driving. I’ve never heard anything like it.
- I made a lot of phone calls during this drive. It’s funny, cause when you’re the one on a long drive you’re like, “So, how about the Red Sox?! They’re looking good, huh? Let’s talk about potential playoff batting orders.” And the person you’re talking to is like, “Yeah, I’m gonna…I’m gonna go.” And then you’re like, “Let's play 20 Questions!” and they’re like, “Yeah, no…I’m gonna go back to what I was doing.” And then sometimes there’s the really awkward situation when you’re the one on the long solo drive and you get sick of talking to the other person and you want to get off the phone. You can’t make an excuse—they know you don’t have anything you could possibly have to do. You’re just like, “Um, I’m gonna………….go.”
- By the time I hit Pennsylvania, it was pitch black, I was delirious from 12 hours of driving, and maybe it was the weird state I was in, but the Erie, PA area really gave me the willies. I would have bet hundreds of dollars that there were both werewolves and ghosts in the area. Plus, it was really foggy, and I kept seeing the dreaded deer signs on the side of the road. Really scary times. I was pretty resigned to getting murdered in my hotel room that night.
Day 9: Buffalo, NY to Boston
- This day was uneventful (not a whole lot happening in upstate New York as far as I can tell) until I hit Western Massachusetts (also a creepy place, for the record) and decided to stop and watch the Patriots game with my friend Morgan, who lives there. He told me his address and for some reason, my iPhone decided to ignore his house number and just put the pin down in the middle of his road somewhere. This would not have been a big deal had I not been in rural-ass Western Massachusetts—following the road to the pin, the road became a dirt road, which became a small dirt path, which became a hiking path. I suddenly found myself somewhere I should have been on a mountain bike, not in a shitty, old, Honda. Bad times. I made it eventually, but this was not what I needed after 3,800 miles of driving over the past nine days. Of course, on the way out, the correct route turned out to be an easy drive along paved roads. Idiot.
- That night at about 1am, I hit Newton, MA (where I’m leaving my car). Done.
- Nothing will make you appreciate airplanes more than driving a long, long distance. This felt like an epic journey—but normally, it all happens while you sit there for a few hours and watch TV.
Some pictures:
This is the one of the cartograms I posted in a previous post. It shows each county in the country and the spectrum of voting in each during the Obama-McCain election. It was cool to look at as we drove.
My two driving mates.
Winston's pad for the week.
Windmills give me the willies.
It wouldn't be a Texas home without a Texas star on the side.
Or a Texas-shaped plaque on the front.
Or a Texas flag in the yard.
Not in LA anymore.
Not in New York either.
One of many.
Another. So so good.
Winston tried to make a run for it. It was unsuccessful.
Another unsuccessful attempt.
Glaring at me.
A needledick raking the lawn of a frat he was rushing at Kansas U.
Health food.
It wouldn't be a cross-country drive without car problems.
Such a scary part of the country.
Driving somewhere this car was never ever meant to drive.**Ladainian, Ryan Grant, Darren McFadden, Michael Bush, McNabb, Carson Palmer, Steve Smith (Car), Santonio Holmes, Mario Manningham, Justin Gage, Lance Moore, Steve Breaston, Owen Daniels, Kaeding, Cowboys. 2-0.
Sunday, September 06, 2009
Leaving LA
Five years ago, this exact week, I arrived in LA after four days of driving from Boston. Tomorrow morning, I’m getting back in the car and heading back to the East Coast. To New York.
I’m a big fan of cross-country drives (I’ve done four), especially when they represent the transition from one era of life to another. My life has basically had three eras:
1) Growing up in Newton, MA for 18 years
2) Going to college for 4 years
3) Living in LA for 5 years
Between the first and second era was a 15-minute drive from my parents’ house in Newton to Cambridge with all of my stuff. I tried really hard to appreciate the significance. This drive from my childhood home symbolized my departure from childhood—the next time I was in Newton I’d be “visiting my parents,” after having lived with them for my whole existence. Unfortunately, my Dad and sister were in the car and kept yapping about something dumb and refused to let me soak in the moment. I remember my Dad clearly thinking to himself, “This d-bag is acting all dramatic about this drive.”
But after Era #2, I had some serious time to reflect on the transition. I packed everything I owned into my dumb Honda, convinced my sister to come along, and headed West. Having to actually drive 3,000 miles to LA was a good way to underline the significance of the distance I was moving—to help appreciate the magnitude of space that separates the two coasts (then, upon arrival, I had nowhere to sleep and stayed in one of the worst motels that could possibly exist).
So I’m happy to be making the move to Era #4 via dumb Honda once again.
LA and I have a weird relationship. LA doesn’t really bother me, and I don’t bother LA. We coexist pleasantly together. And we hardly ever fight. But our relationship lacks inspiration. There aren’t enough highs and lows. Over the last year or two, I’ve begun to yearn more and more for the excitement and misery of New York. And though I leave LA with relatively little attachment to the city, my last day here has suddenly made me pretty emotional about the whole thing. You’re alright, LA. You’re alright.
I’m a big fan of cross-country drives (I’ve done four), especially when they represent the transition from one era of life to another. My life has basically had three eras:
1) Growing up in Newton, MA for 18 years
2) Going to college for 4 years
3) Living in LA for 5 years
Between the first and second era was a 15-minute drive from my parents’ house in Newton to Cambridge with all of my stuff. I tried really hard to appreciate the significance. This drive from my childhood home symbolized my departure from childhood—the next time I was in Newton I’d be “visiting my parents,” after having lived with them for my whole existence. Unfortunately, my Dad and sister were in the car and kept yapping about something dumb and refused to let me soak in the moment. I remember my Dad clearly thinking to himself, “This d-bag is acting all dramatic about this drive.”
But after Era #2, I had some serious time to reflect on the transition. I packed everything I owned into my dumb Honda, convinced my sister to come along, and headed West. Having to actually drive 3,000 miles to LA was a good way to underline the significance of the distance I was moving—to help appreciate the magnitude of space that separates the two coasts (then, upon arrival, I had nowhere to sleep and stayed in one of the worst motels that could possibly exist).
So I’m happy to be making the move to Era #4 via dumb Honda once again.
LA and I have a weird relationship. LA doesn’t really bother me, and I don’t bother LA. We coexist pleasantly together. And we hardly ever fight. But our relationship lacks inspiration. There aren’t enough highs and lows. Over the last year or two, I’ve begun to yearn more and more for the excitement and misery of New York. And though I leave LA with relatively little attachment to the city, my last day here has suddenly made me pretty emotional about the whole thing. You’re alright, LA. You’re alright.
Thursday, September 03, 2009
Weddings, Etc.
My good friend Will got married on Sunday. Good friends’ weddings are mad emotional. Nine years ago, Will told me that there was nothing he could imagine being more excruciating than his own wedding day (he hates being the center of attention). But he’s really into this chick, so it turned out to be a wash.
Anyway, there’s one thing all weddings have in common: I’m desperately stuffed by the time dinner starts. They’re all the same—you finish the ceremony, everyone pours into the party area, the Christians make a bee-line to the bar, the Jews trample over people to get to the food, I shove a constant stream of food into my mouth for 15 straight minutes, and then we all head to our tables. Though nearly comatose from my binge of heavenly hors d'oeuvres, I use my last ounce of energy to elbow people aside to ensure that I don’t end up sitting next to a shitty person, and collapse into my seat. And then they’re like, “Dinner time!” and serve Course #1 of 5. I would rather be an oppressed Russian serf laying brick walls under Stalin’s rule at that moment than eat, but somehow I end up eating at least 2/3 of the dinner, all in the form of picking at it because it’s immensely delicious. Then people expect me to dance.
Nothing is worse than when I’m stuffed and not yet drunk and all the d-bags get up to dance and they’re all judgmental and self-righteous because I don’t want to go with them. If I have even one ally who will stay at the table with me, I don’t budge. But I’m not quite secure enough to sit at a table alone at a wedding, so I usually end up on the dance floor. Now when I’m on an empty stomach, I need four drinks to dance. But on a full stomach, I need at least nine. So I stand there, bopping my head like an asshole, and I’m incredibly envious of the life of a Russian serf. Meanwhile, all the Christians are way less stuffed, way more drunk, and dancing happily. Christians 1, Tim 0.
Another common experience of mine at weddings is the miserable pressure when interacting with the bride or groom. First of all, I have trouble getting anything intelligent or witty out of my mouth because I’m kind of star-struck. Secondly, every second I’m talking to one of them, in my head I’m like, “You idiot—hurry up and say something useful! You’re talking to the groom, for Christ’s sake. Do something memorable or emotional! But not too cliché. He’s been hearing cliché things all night—say something original. Oh god, he definitely can’t believe he’s spending this much time talking to your useless, ugly face. Why are you so ugly?! He’s definitely trying to get out of this conversation right now—he has so many important interactions to have, and lord knows this isn’t one of them!” And so on.
Anyway, by the end of the night, both the Jews and Christians have gotten liquored up and everyone’s dancing and sweating profusely. This is fine for everyone—except the idiot in the royal blue shirt (me), whose sweat is intensely visible. White and light blue shirts hide the sweat pretty well. But royal blue turns navy blue when wet. I feel like I’ve made this error multiple times in the past, and seem incapable of learning.
Then, after a weekend of yelling, I had lost my voice. When you lose your voice, you don’t sound cool—you sound like a fucking loser. Nothing is less dignified than a man whose voice is cracking. Simultaneously, I was in a super-irritable, bitchy mood on Monday and Tuesday after the weekend because of the lack of sleep. Bad combo—an irritable person without a sense of humor about himself whose voice is cracking relentlessly.
Let’s move on.
Here are three special links:
This magician is like, “Yo, watch this—you know how people are really boggled by magicians? And you know how monkeys are kind of just extremely dumb people? Well check out how boggled this extremely dumb monkey is by these fucking tricks. One of the best videos of all time.
People who do incredible sand shows are more talented than everyone else.
If finding this story wonderfully funny is wrong, I don’t want to be right.
Finally, a little Ted Kennedy story:
My senior year of college, my friend Brian and I volunteered to be ushers at an on-campus event where Ted Kennedy and then-president Larry Summers were speaking (easy way to watch the event for free). After the event, Brian and I were walking around having a beer, and we ended up stumbling into the room where Kennedy and Summers were mingling with Harvard d-bags. Everyone was in a suit. Except me and Brian, who were in shorts and t-shirts, since we were ushers never intending to be seen. But we thought “what the hell” and stayed around.
So we walked over to Ted Kennedy to shake his hand. But because of what we were wearing, he couldn’t see us. Like, he literally couldn’t see us. Our casual clothes were invisibility cloaks. He would shake a student’s hand (who was in a suit) one foot away from me, then turn towards me, but his eyes would pass right over me and Brian and he’d continue on his way. It wasn’t an aggressive thing—I really believe he couldn’t see us.
This suddenly became a fun game. We kept circling around in front of Kennedy and he would walk elsewhere, not knowing anyone was in front of him. So we’d go over and block his path and he’d kind of change directions, as if there was a tree in front of him. We tried splitting forces and forming a two-pronged attack. But he’d shift through the middle of us.
We decided to try to shake Larry Summers’ hand. He couldn’t see us either. We circled around him (quite the distance) and he’d casually change directions and shake someone’s hand nearby.
But then, Summers walked up a small staircase.
Brian and I saw our opportunity. We rushed around to the top of the staircase, and stood there, side by side, blocking the way off the stairs.
He walked toward us, step by step. Something had to give.
He got to the top, stopped in front of us, and he blinked. He and I stared into each other’s eyes. Finally, he spoke:
“What—do you—do here?”
“We’re seniors,” I replied. He reluctantly shook our hands—after all, we had left him with little choice—and continued on.
We never conquered Kennedy.
Anyway, there’s one thing all weddings have in common: I’m desperately stuffed by the time dinner starts. They’re all the same—you finish the ceremony, everyone pours into the party area, the Christians make a bee-line to the bar, the Jews trample over people to get to the food, I shove a constant stream of food into my mouth for 15 straight minutes, and then we all head to our tables. Though nearly comatose from my binge of heavenly hors d'oeuvres, I use my last ounce of energy to elbow people aside to ensure that I don’t end up sitting next to a shitty person, and collapse into my seat. And then they’re like, “Dinner time!” and serve Course #1 of 5. I would rather be an oppressed Russian serf laying brick walls under Stalin’s rule at that moment than eat, but somehow I end up eating at least 2/3 of the dinner, all in the form of picking at it because it’s immensely delicious. Then people expect me to dance.
Nothing is worse than when I’m stuffed and not yet drunk and all the d-bags get up to dance and they’re all judgmental and self-righteous because I don’t want to go with them. If I have even one ally who will stay at the table with me, I don’t budge. But I’m not quite secure enough to sit at a table alone at a wedding, so I usually end up on the dance floor. Now when I’m on an empty stomach, I need four drinks to dance. But on a full stomach, I need at least nine. So I stand there, bopping my head like an asshole, and I’m incredibly envious of the life of a Russian serf. Meanwhile, all the Christians are way less stuffed, way more drunk, and dancing happily. Christians 1, Tim 0.
Another common experience of mine at weddings is the miserable pressure when interacting with the bride or groom. First of all, I have trouble getting anything intelligent or witty out of my mouth because I’m kind of star-struck. Secondly, every second I’m talking to one of them, in my head I’m like, “You idiot—hurry up and say something useful! You’re talking to the groom, for Christ’s sake. Do something memorable or emotional! But not too cliché. He’s been hearing cliché things all night—say something original. Oh god, he definitely can’t believe he’s spending this much time talking to your useless, ugly face. Why are you so ugly?! He’s definitely trying to get out of this conversation right now—he has so many important interactions to have, and lord knows this isn’t one of them!” And so on.
Anyway, by the end of the night, both the Jews and Christians have gotten liquored up and everyone’s dancing and sweating profusely. This is fine for everyone—except the idiot in the royal blue shirt (me), whose sweat is intensely visible. White and light blue shirts hide the sweat pretty well. But royal blue turns navy blue when wet. I feel like I’ve made this error multiple times in the past, and seem incapable of learning.
Then, after a weekend of yelling, I had lost my voice. When you lose your voice, you don’t sound cool—you sound like a fucking loser. Nothing is less dignified than a man whose voice is cracking. Simultaneously, I was in a super-irritable, bitchy mood on Monday and Tuesday after the weekend because of the lack of sleep. Bad combo—an irritable person without a sense of humor about himself whose voice is cracking relentlessly.
Let’s move on.
Here are three special links:
This magician is like, “Yo, watch this—you know how people are really boggled by magicians? And you know how monkeys are kind of just extremely dumb people? Well check out how boggled this extremely dumb monkey is by these fucking tricks. One of the best videos of all time.
People who do incredible sand shows are more talented than everyone else.
If finding this story wonderfully funny is wrong, I don’t want to be right.
Finally, a little Ted Kennedy story:
My senior year of college, my friend Brian and I volunteered to be ushers at an on-campus event where Ted Kennedy and then-president Larry Summers were speaking (easy way to watch the event for free). After the event, Brian and I were walking around having a beer, and we ended up stumbling into the room where Kennedy and Summers were mingling with Harvard d-bags. Everyone was in a suit. Except me and Brian, who were in shorts and t-shirts, since we were ushers never intending to be seen. But we thought “what the hell” and stayed around.
So we walked over to Ted Kennedy to shake his hand. But because of what we were wearing, he couldn’t see us. Like, he literally couldn’t see us. Our casual clothes were invisibility cloaks. He would shake a student’s hand (who was in a suit) one foot away from me, then turn towards me, but his eyes would pass right over me and Brian and he’d continue on his way. It wasn’t an aggressive thing—I really believe he couldn’t see us.
This suddenly became a fun game. We kept circling around in front of Kennedy and he would walk elsewhere, not knowing anyone was in front of him. So we’d go over and block his path and he’d kind of change directions, as if there was a tree in front of him. We tried splitting forces and forming a two-pronged attack. But he’d shift through the middle of us.
We decided to try to shake Larry Summers’ hand. He couldn’t see us either. We circled around him (quite the distance) and he’d casually change directions and shake someone’s hand nearby.
But then, Summers walked up a small staircase.
Brian and I saw our opportunity. We rushed around to the top of the staircase, and stood there, side by side, blocking the way off the stairs.
He walked toward us, step by step. Something had to give.
He got to the top, stopped in front of us, and he blinked. He and I stared into each other’s eyes. Finally, he spoke:
“What—do you—do here?”
“We’re seniors,” I replied. He reluctantly shook our hands—after all, we had left him with little choice—and continued on.
We never conquered Kennedy.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
24 Things That I Enjoy
This morning, I decided to make some toast.
I don’t have toast enough. It’s extremely delicious. Frankly, toast is way more delicious than it should be. Because all it is is dumb hot bread. And because of this, I think that I always assume that toast kind of sucks. That I’ll end up disappointed. That there’s gotta be a better option than toast.
But then sometimes I remember. I think, “Wait, think about when you’ve actually had toast—I’m pretty sure it’s extremely delicious.” And I’m like, “Holy shit, YES. Toast is actually amazing.” And then I make toast.
So that’s what happened this morning, and I found myself popping two pieces of bread in the toaster oven.
But there’s a problem. I am surprisingly incompetent at making toast. I’d say I get it right about 4 out of 10 times. The other 6 times it ends up burnt to the point of being inedible. And it’s kind of my fault, but it’s also kind of the toaster's fault.
So here I was this morning, making some toast, and things got tricky. I was using one of those cliché old toasters where you put the slices vertically into the slots. And when it sprung the toast up triumphantly, it simply wasn’t done yet. So I pushed it down again. This is where I always get myself into trouble—the “it just needs a little more” stage. Because it’s always closer to being ready than it looks, and, without fail, I will always forget about it until I smell burning.
When I realized I had ruined the toast, there was no swearing or anything—it’s not only predictable, it’s expected. I just shrugged and put two more pieces in.
When they sprung up, I was left with no choice but to push them down again. And then, once again, I forgot about them. After throwing away my second round of toast, I had run out of bread. Toast would not be occurring today.
This left me in a familiar spot—I’m upset with myself, I’m upset with life, and I need someone to tell about it. And so out you came, little people in the laptop.
Now had I not just written an extensive list of things that annoyed me, that would have been a natural way to go with things. That not being an option, I thought about the other side of the coin—the good side of toast. The toast that always surprises me with its deliciousness. The toast that I named my fantasy baseball league after. The toast that I’ve now written so many times in this entry that it looks and sounds like a completely bizarre word.
And that side of toast makes me happy. So I embarked in quite a different direction.
24 things that I enjoy:
1) Pre-1959 pennies. Before 1959, pennies looked like this:
For years, I collected two things: shot glasses from various countries I visited, and pre-1959 pennies. Then in college my drunk friend Eve knocked over my entire shot glass collection and shattered most of them. Now I only collect old pennies.
2) Adults having tantrums in public. Now I love public disputes as much as the next guy, but adult tantrums are a special brand. You often catch them at the bank, the post office, the airport, the DMV, or other places that no one ever wants to be when they’re there. These are also the places where employees are rude, because you’re not really a customer—you have to be there and they know it. And often, the tantrum-thrower just waited in a long line, got to the front, and found out that they had to come back another day for some reason. Whenever I happen upon a public adult tantrum, I stop whatever I’m doing and watch intently.
3) Old people’s gizzards. By gizzards I mean their under-chins. I realize that gizzard is not the right word, but when I was young, I always thought that the red thing that hangs from a turkey’s neck was called a gizzard (and it really should be, shouldn’t it?), and so I still use the word for that purpose. Old people have spectacular gizzards.
4) Being inside the carwash. It's exhilarating, cozy, and productive all at once.
5) Dog toes.
Dog toes are hilarious, rubbery little round pads. Could anything be funnier and more pleasant? The best part is that it doesn’t hurt dogs when you play with their toes, but it really irks them. When I squeeze a dog’s little squishy black toes, he’s always like, “The fuck? Stop that.”
6) The smell when you walk into a Chinese restaurant. It’s weird—it smells better than the food itself. I don’t know how they pull it off. Same goes for Starbucks. When I walk by a Starbucks in the airport I’m like, “Holy shit I want coffee right now,” but the actual coffee doesn’t really smell as delicious.
7) This quote:
“Political Science reduces to Sociology.
Sociology reduces to Psychology.
Psychology reduces to Biology.
Biology reduces to Chemistry.
Chemistry reduces to Physics.
Physics reduces to Math.”
When my sister Lindsay hears something that fascinates her, she does this face where her mouth opens in this dumb-looking smile and she kind of looks up and to the left and just ponders the shit out of what she just heard. This is the kind of quote that would leave her with that face for at least eight seconds.
8) Factory production lines. Efficient.
9) When you order a sandwich to-go and they wrap it really satisfyingly. You know how they do that sometimes? Where they pull the paper really tightly around the sandwich and then fold the ends over and then wrap it in another piece and then put it in a bag and it’s all crisply done and satisfying? It's something I enjoy.
10) Street shows.
You think those people are delighted because this guy sucks? No, they're thrilled because he's obviously intensely rad. In most cases, street performers are pretty phenomenal. I just have great appreciation for anyone who has practiced anything that much. The juggling on the ladder ones are great, break dancing is always a joy, and there’s nothing more entertaining than a really top-level street magician. There’s also this guy on the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica who comes out on Saturday and does this delicious bubble show. He blows these bubbles inside other bubbles and blows smoke in some of them and all that. One time I walked down the Promenade with a girl on a date and we got to the bubble guy and I was riveted and she was clearly bored and in my head I was like, “Well, that’s it for her.”
11) The “Tea House” theme in Gmail. Every time you log on the little bear is just doing whatever he likes to do, just living his life. I yearn daily to drop everything and move to China and find him and live with him.
12) When Andy Roddick loses.
I spend every golf major rooting for Tiger and then if he falls out of contention, I lose interest. Likewise, I spend every tennis grand slam rooting against Roddick and when he inevitably loses, I lose interest (unless Federer-Nadal happens). He’s just an immense dick.
13) This website. Just a tremendous procrastinating website.
14) Huge snowstorms.
Anyone who doesn’t like massive snowstorms has no inner child. How fun is it when the weather people are all freaking out and there are all these alerts everywhere and then five feet of snow fall over 24 hours and everything is closed for three days? Every part of that is fun and exciting. Torrential thunderstorms are pretty great too.
15) Baby feet.
What a silly object. It’s like you took a normal foot, scaled it down to one tenth of its normal size, and then pumped it full of water.
16) Mosquito bites. Now let’s be clear—I loathe mosquitos. Nothing is more upsetting than lying in bed and suddenly hearing the little high-pitched buzz two inches from your ear. Which is basically his way of saying, “I’m gonna feed on your blood all night while you sleep you little bitch.” But—the bites themselves are delightful to scratch.
17) Mindless, addictive iPhone games. Because I’m doing my best on this list to leave out obvious things, like “summer,” and “steak,” and “compliments,” I’ve used every ounce of willpower I have to leave off the iPhone. Instead, here are the best games to play for like four minutes while sitting in a waiting room or standing in line:
PapiJump
Paper Toss
Photo Hunt
Bloons
MotionX Poker
Peggle
Flight Control
SkyWorks Ping Pong
Topple
Wurdle
18) That moment when the alcohol first kicks in. You know—you’re somewhere, maybe at dinner, and you’re having drinks. After a little while, you get up to go to the bathroom and you’re like, “Whoa.” This always puts me in that “Fuck it, life is good” mood. And suddenly, the night is full of possibilities.
19) Making lists. I’m an organized procrastinator. That leads to a lot of lists (including this one).
20) Things where other people bust their ass and are miserable and I get to be comfortable and entertained. The Olympics is a classic one of these. It’s like, “You worked for every day of your life and you and all your family and friends are incredibly stressed out—all so I could have a beer on this couch and be entertained.” Winter NFL games are another. On Thanksgiving, everyone loves sitting in a warm house watching miserable dudes in a strenuous battle in a 10 degree snowstorm.
21) Babybel cheeses.
Fun and delicious.
22) Greek Myths. Always a good time. I especially enjoy when Zeus is doing his thing, being a rad dude, but he has to constantly deal with Hera being all up in his piece.
23) Those mini-movies at the beginning of Pixar movies.
Definitely better than any actual movie.
24) Bratty kids whining and crying in public. This contends with street shows and adult tantrums for top-level public entertainment. If the kid is too young, you feel bad for the parents, and it detracts from the fun. But when the kid is like five or older, it’s obviously just a product of their parenting, and it’s a pure pleasure to watch.
Part of my enjoyment may stem from the fact that I was an only child for the first five years of my life and was the subject of a number of these episodes myself (then my sister came around and my parents were like, “Seriously, I don’t really give that much of a fuck about you so you should probably go elsewhere,” and I was forced to acquire other tactics of problem-solving). One time when I was about four, I was in the grocery store with my mother and we got to the check-out and I saw the candy and was like, “Oh Christ that looks heavenly” and inquired about the possibility of having one. My mom said no but was willing to compromise with some grape gum they were selling. I was like, “That’s funny that you suggested I get some grape gum, because I could have sworn I just said I wanted candy.” After the second “No,” I was left with no choice but to throw a fit. Normally a softie (hence my brattiness), my mom went with a surprise move, pulling the whole “Okay well now you get nothing.” And she walked away. Left standing there, horrified at the prospect of getting nothing, I was suddenly very into the grape gum. Though it was just me standing there now, I reached for the gum. In my frantic state, I couldn’t even get it out of the rack—it kept slipping. I looked up at the cashier, who was (undoubtedly thrilled to be) watching the whole episode, and I said to her, sobbing, “But my mom said I could have it.”
I never got that grape gum.
I don’t have toast enough. It’s extremely delicious. Frankly, toast is way more delicious than it should be. Because all it is is dumb hot bread. And because of this, I think that I always assume that toast kind of sucks. That I’ll end up disappointed. That there’s gotta be a better option than toast.
But then sometimes I remember. I think, “Wait, think about when you’ve actually had toast—I’m pretty sure it’s extremely delicious.” And I’m like, “Holy shit, YES. Toast is actually amazing.” And then I make toast.
So that’s what happened this morning, and I found myself popping two pieces of bread in the toaster oven.
But there’s a problem. I am surprisingly incompetent at making toast. I’d say I get it right about 4 out of 10 times. The other 6 times it ends up burnt to the point of being inedible. And it’s kind of my fault, but it’s also kind of the toaster's fault.
So here I was this morning, making some toast, and things got tricky. I was using one of those cliché old toasters where you put the slices vertically into the slots. And when it sprung the toast up triumphantly, it simply wasn’t done yet. So I pushed it down again. This is where I always get myself into trouble—the “it just needs a little more” stage. Because it’s always closer to being ready than it looks, and, without fail, I will always forget about it until I smell burning.
When I realized I had ruined the toast, there was no swearing or anything—it’s not only predictable, it’s expected. I just shrugged and put two more pieces in.
When they sprung up, I was left with no choice but to push them down again. And then, once again, I forgot about them. After throwing away my second round of toast, I had run out of bread. Toast would not be occurring today.
This left me in a familiar spot—I’m upset with myself, I’m upset with life, and I need someone to tell about it. And so out you came, little people in the laptop.
Now had I not just written an extensive list of things that annoyed me, that would have been a natural way to go with things. That not being an option, I thought about the other side of the coin—the good side of toast. The toast that always surprises me with its deliciousness. The toast that I named my fantasy baseball league after. The toast that I’ve now written so many times in this entry that it looks and sounds like a completely bizarre word.
And that side of toast makes me happy. So I embarked in quite a different direction.
24 things that I enjoy:
1) Pre-1959 pennies. Before 1959, pennies looked like this:
For years, I collected two things: shot glasses from various countries I visited, and pre-1959 pennies. Then in college my drunk friend Eve knocked over my entire shot glass collection and shattered most of them. Now I only collect old pennies.
2) Adults having tantrums in public. Now I love public disputes as much as the next guy, but adult tantrums are a special brand. You often catch them at the bank, the post office, the airport, the DMV, or other places that no one ever wants to be when they’re there. These are also the places where employees are rude, because you’re not really a customer—you have to be there and they know it. And often, the tantrum-thrower just waited in a long line, got to the front, and found out that they had to come back another day for some reason. Whenever I happen upon a public adult tantrum, I stop whatever I’m doing and watch intently.
3) Old people’s gizzards. By gizzards I mean their under-chins. I realize that gizzard is not the right word, but when I was young, I always thought that the red thing that hangs from a turkey’s neck was called a gizzard (and it really should be, shouldn’t it?), and so I still use the word for that purpose. Old people have spectacular gizzards.
4) Being inside the carwash. It's exhilarating, cozy, and productive all at once.
5) Dog toes.
Dog toes are hilarious, rubbery little round pads. Could anything be funnier and more pleasant? The best part is that it doesn’t hurt dogs when you play with their toes, but it really irks them. When I squeeze a dog’s little squishy black toes, he’s always like, “The fuck? Stop that.”
6) The smell when you walk into a Chinese restaurant. It’s weird—it smells better than the food itself. I don’t know how they pull it off. Same goes for Starbucks. When I walk by a Starbucks in the airport I’m like, “Holy shit I want coffee right now,” but the actual coffee doesn’t really smell as delicious.
7) This quote:
“Political Science reduces to Sociology.
Sociology reduces to Psychology.
Psychology reduces to Biology.
Biology reduces to Chemistry.
Chemistry reduces to Physics.
Physics reduces to Math.”
When my sister Lindsay hears something that fascinates her, she does this face where her mouth opens in this dumb-looking smile and she kind of looks up and to the left and just ponders the shit out of what she just heard. This is the kind of quote that would leave her with that face for at least eight seconds.
8) Factory production lines. Efficient.
9) When you order a sandwich to-go and they wrap it really satisfyingly. You know how they do that sometimes? Where they pull the paper really tightly around the sandwich and then fold the ends over and then wrap it in another piece and then put it in a bag and it’s all crisply done and satisfying? It's something I enjoy.
10) Street shows.
You think those people are delighted because this guy sucks? No, they're thrilled because he's obviously intensely rad. In most cases, street performers are pretty phenomenal. I just have great appreciation for anyone who has practiced anything that much. The juggling on the ladder ones are great, break dancing is always a joy, and there’s nothing more entertaining than a really top-level street magician. There’s also this guy on the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica who comes out on Saturday and does this delicious bubble show. He blows these bubbles inside other bubbles and blows smoke in some of them and all that. One time I walked down the Promenade with a girl on a date and we got to the bubble guy and I was riveted and she was clearly bored and in my head I was like, “Well, that’s it for her.”
11) The “Tea House” theme in Gmail. Every time you log on the little bear is just doing whatever he likes to do, just living his life. I yearn daily to drop everything and move to China and find him and live with him.
12) When Andy Roddick loses.
I spend every golf major rooting for Tiger and then if he falls out of contention, I lose interest. Likewise, I spend every tennis grand slam rooting against Roddick and when he inevitably loses, I lose interest (unless Federer-Nadal happens). He’s just an immense dick.
13) This website. Just a tremendous procrastinating website.
14) Huge snowstorms.
Anyone who doesn’t like massive snowstorms has no inner child. How fun is it when the weather people are all freaking out and there are all these alerts everywhere and then five feet of snow fall over 24 hours and everything is closed for three days? Every part of that is fun and exciting. Torrential thunderstorms are pretty great too.
15) Baby feet.
What a silly object. It’s like you took a normal foot, scaled it down to one tenth of its normal size, and then pumped it full of water.
16) Mosquito bites. Now let’s be clear—I loathe mosquitos. Nothing is more upsetting than lying in bed and suddenly hearing the little high-pitched buzz two inches from your ear. Which is basically his way of saying, “I’m gonna feed on your blood all night while you sleep you little bitch.” But—the bites themselves are delightful to scratch.
17) Mindless, addictive iPhone games. Because I’m doing my best on this list to leave out obvious things, like “summer,” and “steak,” and “compliments,” I’ve used every ounce of willpower I have to leave off the iPhone. Instead, here are the best games to play for like four minutes while sitting in a waiting room or standing in line:
PapiJump
Paper Toss
Photo Hunt
Bloons
MotionX Poker
Peggle
Flight Control
SkyWorks Ping Pong
Topple
Wurdle
18) That moment when the alcohol first kicks in. You know—you’re somewhere, maybe at dinner, and you’re having drinks. After a little while, you get up to go to the bathroom and you’re like, “Whoa.” This always puts me in that “Fuck it, life is good” mood. And suddenly, the night is full of possibilities.
19) Making lists. I’m an organized procrastinator. That leads to a lot of lists (including this one).
20) Things where other people bust their ass and are miserable and I get to be comfortable and entertained. The Olympics is a classic one of these. It’s like, “You worked for every day of your life and you and all your family and friends are incredibly stressed out—all so I could have a beer on this couch and be entertained.” Winter NFL games are another. On Thanksgiving, everyone loves sitting in a warm house watching miserable dudes in a strenuous battle in a 10 degree snowstorm.
21) Babybel cheeses.
Fun and delicious.
22) Greek Myths. Always a good time. I especially enjoy when Zeus is doing his thing, being a rad dude, but he has to constantly deal with Hera being all up in his piece.
23) Those mini-movies at the beginning of Pixar movies.
Definitely better than any actual movie.
24) Bratty kids whining and crying in public. This contends with street shows and adult tantrums for top-level public entertainment. If the kid is too young, you feel bad for the parents, and it detracts from the fun. But when the kid is like five or older, it’s obviously just a product of their parenting, and it’s a pure pleasure to watch.
Part of my enjoyment may stem from the fact that I was an only child for the first five years of my life and was the subject of a number of these episodes myself (then my sister came around and my parents were like, “Seriously, I don’t really give that much of a fuck about you so you should probably go elsewhere,” and I was forced to acquire other tactics of problem-solving). One time when I was about four, I was in the grocery store with my mother and we got to the check-out and I saw the candy and was like, “Oh Christ that looks heavenly” and inquired about the possibility of having one. My mom said no but was willing to compromise with some grape gum they were selling. I was like, “That’s funny that you suggested I get some grape gum, because I could have sworn I just said I wanted candy.” After the second “No,” I was left with no choice but to throw a fit. Normally a softie (hence my brattiness), my mom went with a surprise move, pulling the whole “Okay well now you get nothing.” And she walked away. Left standing there, horrified at the prospect of getting nothing, I was suddenly very into the grape gum. Though it was just me standing there now, I reached for the gum. In my frantic state, I couldn’t even get it out of the rack—it kept slipping. I looked up at the cashier, who was (undoubtedly thrilled to be) watching the whole episode, and I said to her, sobbing, “But my mom said I could have it.”
I never got that grape gum.
Thursday, July 30, 2009
33 Things That Annoy Me
I’m currently sitting in a chair, in Starbucks, in line for the bathroom. Let me explain.
I was working on my laptop in a Starbucks when I had to go to the bathroom. So I got up and walked toward the bathroom, but it was locked—someone was in there. So I waited. And waited. And waited.
I asked the barista (they have their own word) if there was a key I was unaware of. No, she explained—if it was locked it meant someone was in there.
So I waited. And waited.
I’m a very impatient person. Sometimes I don’t notice that someone is slowing me down, whether it be a car, pedestrian, cashier, or whatever—but the second I come out of my daydream and it hits me that minutes of my day are slipping away because someone else is being slow, I get angry.
I often try to “punish” the slow-goer. I want to make them realize how terrible a person they are, and make them regret it. So if a car is inching along like an asshole, I’ll finally swerve into the left lane and around them and cut back into the right lane in front of them. And for a moment, nothing is more satisfying. “Aha!” I think. “Now you realize how horrible you are, and you’re embarrassed about what you did!”
But here’s the thing—I’m a pussy.
So after that one satisfying second, I set eyes on their face and suddenly I’m overcome with regret and guilt. Like, I see a 70-year-old man driving and a 10-year-old in the passenger seat, and just like that, I am deeply self-loathing. “When did you become such an asshole?” I ask myself. “When did you become such a monster?”
The whole cycle is a pretty consistent part of my life.
So standing outside this Starbucks bathroom, it hit me that 10 minutes had gone by—10 minutes that I could have been working—and I got angry.
What the hell is he doing? Is he shitting? Could he possibly be shitting?? In a Starbucks?? Really? You’re shitting in a Starbucks? Is he doing a line of coke? What the hell could take 10 minutes? And I’m just WAITING here!
It was clear that he needed to be punished. But since I couldn’t swerve my car around the bathroom, I decided to pull a different move: I got my chair and laptop and planted my ass next the bathroom door.
It was brilliant. Think about it—I am now working while I wait and when this horrible, selfish person comes out of the bathroom, I’ll have made my point. He'll see me sitting there and realize what a bad thing he's done.
[UPDATE: After another few minutes, a 55-year-old Mexican man walked out. He looked like a nice guy. Seeing my chair, he said, “Oh, I’m sorry.” And I immediately hated myself.]
In any case, just the thought of people going unbearably slowly and slowing me down in the process has me in the correct mood to pen a list of 33 things that annoy me.
1) When you order a bagel and cream cheese to go and they give you the stupid little container of cream cheese and a plastic knife instead of spreading it for you. Then you’re in the car, weaving around on the road while you try to spread the cream cheese, and you inevitably get cream cheese all over the place.
2) Unfriendly Hasidic Jews. I’ve probably interacted with 15 Hasidic Jews in my life, and at least 11 have been really unfriendly to me. For example, I was walking through Brooklyn yesterday and came across some Hasidic Jew children, and decided to take their picture. I ended up with this:
3) People who don’t use Gmail keyboard shortcuts. Same goes for people who “delete” in Gmail instead of “archive” (or worse, leave old messages in their Inbox to build up). When used efficiently, Gmail is way, way better than when used inefficiently. The best thing I can compare these people to are people that type with two pointers while looking at their hands, instead of with all their fingers while looking at the screen like a normal person. But at least the non-typers are most likely mocked regularly, so they’re aware of their tomfoolery. The Gmail dummies don’t even realize they’re doing anything wrong.
4) The Voicemail Recording Catch-22. There’s no good solution to the voicemail recording problem. Either I try to be original and come off like a complete d-bag, or I conform to “Hi, you’ve reached Tim Urban, please leave a message” and I’m part of the retarded voicemail matrix. I’ve ranted multiple times about the voicemail lady, who says bullshit like, “If you still want to leave a message for this person, press 1; to page this person, press 2”—but what I’m doing with my recording is no better. I’m wasting everyone’s time. “Please leave a message”—what the hell does that mean? Obviously they know what to do. Why am I wasting their time? In my ideal world, the phone would ring four times and then you’d hear a beep and start talking. No recording. How much better would that be? But if I did that now, everyone would be like, “Dude, your voicemail is broken.”
5) Those plastic coffee cup lids you get at coffee places where you lift up the little flap to drink and the corners drill into your lower lip. You know what I’m talking about? Who the hell came up with this design? What I end up having to do is fold the little corners in a little and it solves the problem. But the fact that I have to do this is ridiculous when they could easily fix it with a better design.
6) When I was young and I would go into a locker room with my dad and he would say, “Who cares? It’s just boys” when I would tell him I didn’t want to shower in public. I’m convinced that this is a generational thing—every man over 50-years-old is obsessed with showering in front of other men. And every dude I know my age is really uncomfortable with it.
7) When you’re in the car at a stoplight and you look at the person in the car next to you and they somehow know and turn and look back at you. This is just a weird thing. Every time I look at someone in a neighboring car, they somehow know and turn towards me, causing me to awkwardly turn away.
8) The word funky.
9) When British people stress the first syllable of “Barack” instead of the second when they say “Barack Obama.” How does that happen? It’s not a word that people ever used before. Why wouldn’t they just say it the way he himself says it? How do they end up with a different pronunciation? When he first got famous, were they just like, “Uh oh, a new word. Hmm, we like saying things in a different way than Americans, so let’s change something…how about we accent the first syllable instead of the second? Yes, that will do.”
10) When people ask me when I’m moving to New York even though I’ve told them six times. This happens constantly. It doesn’t matter how close the people are to me—parents, sisters, friends, business partners—it’s the same story: they ask me when I’m moving, and I tell them. Then, the next time my move is brought up, they’re like, “When are you moving again?” And I tell them. Then, at some later point, they ask again. And again. What the hell? Is it just that boring of a fact?
11) When I ask a waiter what I should order and he says the wrong thing. This is a real dickish move by the waiter. He’s like, “And what would you like to order?” and I’m like, “Ummmmmmm I uhhh….ummmmmm…I’lllllllll getttttttttttt….well what do you recommend?” And he’s like, “I love the codfish.”
And now what am I supposed to do? Order the fucking codfish that I obviously don’t want? Where does he get off suggesting something that I don’t want? Now I have to either order his fucking codfish or make everything really awkward for the waiter, myself, and everyone at the table by ignoring his suggestion.
12) When I find a rad picture of Neptune online and I try to make it my desktop background and the dumb desktop stretches it out into an oval.
13) When I burn my tongue eating soup or drinking coffee or tea, even though I’ve done this 700 times before and I should have learned the lesson a long time ago. The worst part of this is that it’s a nagging annoyance for the next 30 hours.
14) When girls “comment” on other girls’ facebook photos, saying things like, “omg you are sooooo gorgeous! miss u so much!” even though they’re clearly rooting for that friend to gain 15 pounds.
15) When I charge my phone in the car and the little icon says it’s like three quarters full but then it runs out in 22 minutes because the icon was lying. Really? They can figure out how to allow me to have a free-flowing, live conversation with someone across the Pacific by talking into a little piece of plastic, but they can’t get the battery icon to correlate with the battery charge?
16) When d-bags say the names of Latin American countries or cities they’ve been to and they use the full Spanish accent because they’re d-bags. People are especially annoying about “Uruguay.”
17) When violinists make that stupid face and go into convulsions while they’re playing. For example.
18) Websites that start making sound when you open them. You know, like ones that have ads with sound or annoying “intros” that pop up when you first go to them. This is always annoying, but it’s completely enraging when you’re in a situation in which you didn’t want people to know that you were surfing the web and the fucking sound blows your spot.
19) The fact that I have no air conditioning in my car even though I’ve gone to get it fixed twice. This is a) too boring a story to write out, and b) incredibly infuriating.
20) Girls that are terrible kissers and are way too aggressive with their big dumb tongues. Everyone who’s not like this has had this experience and knows what I’m talking about. But I’m pretty sure that people who do this don’t realize that they’re terrible kissers.
21) When I do that thing in Microsoft Word where I type a little string of hyphens and press Enter and it makes a full line but then the line gets poisonous later. Nothing is more annoying. Only some lines go poisonous. When they do, they start doubling into two lines when you scroll past them, and then when you try to delete them it won’t let you, and then it starts screwing with the text around it. There’s a good chance that this only happens to me.
22) Shitty shower curtains that break a lot.
23) When a waiter—or anyone, really—brings you a drink and holds the glass with their fingers on the rim where you’re going to put your mouth. I’m especially anal about this because the managers at the restaurant where I waited in college—Fire and Ice—were incredibly adamant that we not do this. Then again, those managers would also demand to smell your hands when you came out of the bathroom to ensure that you washed them—which was just violating and degrading. And now this is reminding me how much I hated the managers at that restaurant.
24) When people in front of me in the grocery store check-out line have 64 coupons. Little makes me angrier than this. The cashier’s like, “really, lady?” and has to scan each one for 20 minutes while I stand there watching, heart racing, head exploding, and they total to like $4.72 off. This has happened to me at least five times.
25) When people write “hahah” in emails or texts instead of “haha.”
26) Overuse of the phrase “must-win” in sports. The purpose of the phrase is for games that aren’t officially elimination games but in which a team is, for all intents and purposes, eliminated if they lose. Examples would include a baseball team four games back in the Wildcard playing one more game against the first-place team with seven games left in the season (if they lose they’re five out with six games to go, while if they win they’re three out and actually have a shot), or an NBA team down 2-0 in a seven-game playoff series (no NBA team has ever come back from 3-0—although I do believe it has happened in baseball). Instead, idiot announcers use “must-win” about basically every important game (like when an NBA team is down 1-0 in a seven-game series).
27) Diners that don’t do things correctly. Diners should butter my toast for me, cook both bacon and home fries well-done, and bring the fucking Tabasco Sauce without me having to ask a second time.
28) People who get indignant and whiny when you play weird two-letter words against them in Scrabble that are, in fact, in the Scrabble dictionary. That’s like a baseball catcher insisting that the game should have no stealing allowed because he never learned to throw well to second. (No, I’m not any fun to play Scrabble with.)
29) When people want to take the stairs even though there’s an elevator. Look, I’m sorry that you’re self-loathing that you had dessert after lunch, but some of us are both lazy and comfortable with our weight.
30) People that don’t clean while they cook. Nothing is easier than cleaning while you cook and nothing is harder or more upsetting than cleaning the entire kitchen after you eat. I’m not much of a cook, but at least when I do cook, the kitchen is completely clean before I start eating—not because I clean while the food gets cold, but because I just clean stuff and put stuff away as I use it. But when you clean nothing while you cook, it all builds into a big, hideous mess—plus, it takes 12 seconds to clean things like frying pans right after you use them, but an hour later it takes a big effort. And you’re full and tired at that point and the last thing you want to do is clean some gross fucking kitchen.
The worst is when you’re with a group of friends and someone cooks for everyone, except they’re one of those people who doesn’t clean while they cook, so their friends have to toil away for a half hour after dinner while the chef sits there like a fucking martyr. And while they’re cleaning, all the cleaners have to be like, “Wow, Josh, that was such a great meal! Thank you so much!” And I’m sitting there, scrubbing some fucking pot, and I have to say this shit too, even though I hate Josh and everything he stands for.
31) When people say “on accident” instead of “by accident.”
32) When I'm having a bad golf day and people start complimenting my bad shots. You know you're having a bad golf day when your fellow players start complimenting your bad shots. When I'm golfing decently or well, people only say something when I actually hit a really good shot. But on a bad day, I'll shank a ball off the tee that goes 150 yards and slices into the adjacent fairway, and people are like, "Nice shot, Tim!" and I want to swing the club at their teeth. This is especially annoying if the person or people you're with have never seen you play decently before so they assume this is your best.
33) When people sneeze or cough without covering their mouths. Especially if that person has a cold. Videos like this make me want to move to Antarctica by myself.
More things that annoy me.
I was working on my laptop in a Starbucks when I had to go to the bathroom. So I got up and walked toward the bathroom, but it was locked—someone was in there. So I waited. And waited. And waited.
I asked the barista (they have their own word) if there was a key I was unaware of. No, she explained—if it was locked it meant someone was in there.
So I waited. And waited.
I’m a very impatient person. Sometimes I don’t notice that someone is slowing me down, whether it be a car, pedestrian, cashier, or whatever—but the second I come out of my daydream and it hits me that minutes of my day are slipping away because someone else is being slow, I get angry.
I often try to “punish” the slow-goer. I want to make them realize how terrible a person they are, and make them regret it. So if a car is inching along like an asshole, I’ll finally swerve into the left lane and around them and cut back into the right lane in front of them. And for a moment, nothing is more satisfying. “Aha!” I think. “Now you realize how horrible you are, and you’re embarrassed about what you did!”
But here’s the thing—I’m a pussy.
So after that one satisfying second, I set eyes on their face and suddenly I’m overcome with regret and guilt. Like, I see a 70-year-old man driving and a 10-year-old in the passenger seat, and just like that, I am deeply self-loathing. “When did you become such an asshole?” I ask myself. “When did you become such a monster?”
The whole cycle is a pretty consistent part of my life.
So standing outside this Starbucks bathroom, it hit me that 10 minutes had gone by—10 minutes that I could have been working—and I got angry.
What the hell is he doing? Is he shitting? Could he possibly be shitting?? In a Starbucks?? Really? You’re shitting in a Starbucks? Is he doing a line of coke? What the hell could take 10 minutes? And I’m just WAITING here!
It was clear that he needed to be punished. But since I couldn’t swerve my car around the bathroom, I decided to pull a different move: I got my chair and laptop and planted my ass next the bathroom door.
It was brilliant. Think about it—I am now working while I wait and when this horrible, selfish person comes out of the bathroom, I’ll have made my point. He'll see me sitting there and realize what a bad thing he's done.
[UPDATE: After another few minutes, a 55-year-old Mexican man walked out. He looked like a nice guy. Seeing my chair, he said, “Oh, I’m sorry.” And I immediately hated myself.]
In any case, just the thought of people going unbearably slowly and slowing me down in the process has me in the correct mood to pen a list of 33 things that annoy me.
1) When you order a bagel and cream cheese to go and they give you the stupid little container of cream cheese and a plastic knife instead of spreading it for you. Then you’re in the car, weaving around on the road while you try to spread the cream cheese, and you inevitably get cream cheese all over the place.
2) Unfriendly Hasidic Jews. I’ve probably interacted with 15 Hasidic Jews in my life, and at least 11 have been really unfriendly to me. For example, I was walking through Brooklyn yesterday and came across some Hasidic Jew children, and decided to take their picture. I ended up with this:
3) People who don’t use Gmail keyboard shortcuts. Same goes for people who “delete” in Gmail instead of “archive” (or worse, leave old messages in their Inbox to build up). When used efficiently, Gmail is way, way better than when used inefficiently. The best thing I can compare these people to are people that type with two pointers while looking at their hands, instead of with all their fingers while looking at the screen like a normal person. But at least the non-typers are most likely mocked regularly, so they’re aware of their tomfoolery. The Gmail dummies don’t even realize they’re doing anything wrong.
4) The Voicemail Recording Catch-22. There’s no good solution to the voicemail recording problem. Either I try to be original and come off like a complete d-bag, or I conform to “Hi, you’ve reached Tim Urban, please leave a message” and I’m part of the retarded voicemail matrix. I’ve ranted multiple times about the voicemail lady, who says bullshit like, “If you still want to leave a message for this person, press 1; to page this person, press 2”—but what I’m doing with my recording is no better. I’m wasting everyone’s time. “Please leave a message”—what the hell does that mean? Obviously they know what to do. Why am I wasting their time? In my ideal world, the phone would ring four times and then you’d hear a beep and start talking. No recording. How much better would that be? But if I did that now, everyone would be like, “Dude, your voicemail is broken.”
5) Those plastic coffee cup lids you get at coffee places where you lift up the little flap to drink and the corners drill into your lower lip. You know what I’m talking about? Who the hell came up with this design? What I end up having to do is fold the little corners in a little and it solves the problem. But the fact that I have to do this is ridiculous when they could easily fix it with a better design.
6) When I was young and I would go into a locker room with my dad and he would say, “Who cares? It’s just boys” when I would tell him I didn’t want to shower in public. I’m convinced that this is a generational thing—every man over 50-years-old is obsessed with showering in front of other men. And every dude I know my age is really uncomfortable with it.
7) When you’re in the car at a stoplight and you look at the person in the car next to you and they somehow know and turn and look back at you. This is just a weird thing. Every time I look at someone in a neighboring car, they somehow know and turn towards me, causing me to awkwardly turn away.
8) The word funky.
9) When British people stress the first syllable of “Barack” instead of the second when they say “Barack Obama.” How does that happen? It’s not a word that people ever used before. Why wouldn’t they just say it the way he himself says it? How do they end up with a different pronunciation? When he first got famous, were they just like, “Uh oh, a new word. Hmm, we like saying things in a different way than Americans, so let’s change something…how about we accent the first syllable instead of the second? Yes, that will do.”
10) When people ask me when I’m moving to New York even though I’ve told them six times. This happens constantly. It doesn’t matter how close the people are to me—parents, sisters, friends, business partners—it’s the same story: they ask me when I’m moving, and I tell them. Then, the next time my move is brought up, they’re like, “When are you moving again?” And I tell them. Then, at some later point, they ask again. And again. What the hell? Is it just that boring of a fact?
11) When I ask a waiter what I should order and he says the wrong thing. This is a real dickish move by the waiter. He’s like, “And what would you like to order?” and I’m like, “Ummmmmmm I uhhh….ummmmmm…I’lllllllll getttttttttttt….well what do you recommend?” And he’s like, “I love the codfish.”
And now what am I supposed to do? Order the fucking codfish that I obviously don’t want? Where does he get off suggesting something that I don’t want? Now I have to either order his fucking codfish or make everything really awkward for the waiter, myself, and everyone at the table by ignoring his suggestion.
12) When I find a rad picture of Neptune online and I try to make it my desktop background and the dumb desktop stretches it out into an oval.
13) When I burn my tongue eating soup or drinking coffee or tea, even though I’ve done this 700 times before and I should have learned the lesson a long time ago. The worst part of this is that it’s a nagging annoyance for the next 30 hours.
14) When girls “comment” on other girls’ facebook photos, saying things like, “omg you are sooooo gorgeous! miss u so much!” even though they’re clearly rooting for that friend to gain 15 pounds.
15) When I charge my phone in the car and the little icon says it’s like three quarters full but then it runs out in 22 minutes because the icon was lying. Really? They can figure out how to allow me to have a free-flowing, live conversation with someone across the Pacific by talking into a little piece of plastic, but they can’t get the battery icon to correlate with the battery charge?
16) When d-bags say the names of Latin American countries or cities they’ve been to and they use the full Spanish accent because they’re d-bags. People are especially annoying about “Uruguay.”
17) When violinists make that stupid face and go into convulsions while they’re playing. For example.
18) Websites that start making sound when you open them. You know, like ones that have ads with sound or annoying “intros” that pop up when you first go to them. This is always annoying, but it’s completely enraging when you’re in a situation in which you didn’t want people to know that you were surfing the web and the fucking sound blows your spot.
19) The fact that I have no air conditioning in my car even though I’ve gone to get it fixed twice. This is a) too boring a story to write out, and b) incredibly infuriating.
20) Girls that are terrible kissers and are way too aggressive with their big dumb tongues. Everyone who’s not like this has had this experience and knows what I’m talking about. But I’m pretty sure that people who do this don’t realize that they’re terrible kissers.
21) When I do that thing in Microsoft Word where I type a little string of hyphens and press Enter and it makes a full line but then the line gets poisonous later. Nothing is more annoying. Only some lines go poisonous. When they do, they start doubling into two lines when you scroll past them, and then when you try to delete them it won’t let you, and then it starts screwing with the text around it. There’s a good chance that this only happens to me.
22) Shitty shower curtains that break a lot.
23) When a waiter—or anyone, really—brings you a drink and holds the glass with their fingers on the rim where you’re going to put your mouth. I’m especially anal about this because the managers at the restaurant where I waited in college—Fire and Ice—were incredibly adamant that we not do this. Then again, those managers would also demand to smell your hands when you came out of the bathroom to ensure that you washed them—which was just violating and degrading. And now this is reminding me how much I hated the managers at that restaurant.
24) When people in front of me in the grocery store check-out line have 64 coupons. Little makes me angrier than this. The cashier’s like, “really, lady?” and has to scan each one for 20 minutes while I stand there watching, heart racing, head exploding, and they total to like $4.72 off. This has happened to me at least five times.
25) When people write “hahah” in emails or texts instead of “haha.”
26) Overuse of the phrase “must-win” in sports. The purpose of the phrase is for games that aren’t officially elimination games but in which a team is, for all intents and purposes, eliminated if they lose. Examples would include a baseball team four games back in the Wildcard playing one more game against the first-place team with seven games left in the season (if they lose they’re five out with six games to go, while if they win they’re three out and actually have a shot), or an NBA team down 2-0 in a seven-game playoff series (no NBA team has ever come back from 3-0—although I do believe it has happened in baseball). Instead, idiot announcers use “must-win” about basically every important game (like when an NBA team is down 1-0 in a seven-game series).
27) Diners that don’t do things correctly. Diners should butter my toast for me, cook both bacon and home fries well-done, and bring the fucking Tabasco Sauce without me having to ask a second time.
28) People who get indignant and whiny when you play weird two-letter words against them in Scrabble that are, in fact, in the Scrabble dictionary. That’s like a baseball catcher insisting that the game should have no stealing allowed because he never learned to throw well to second. (No, I’m not any fun to play Scrabble with.)
29) When people want to take the stairs even though there’s an elevator. Look, I’m sorry that you’re self-loathing that you had dessert after lunch, but some of us are both lazy and comfortable with our weight.
30) People that don’t clean while they cook. Nothing is easier than cleaning while you cook and nothing is harder or more upsetting than cleaning the entire kitchen after you eat. I’m not much of a cook, but at least when I do cook, the kitchen is completely clean before I start eating—not because I clean while the food gets cold, but because I just clean stuff and put stuff away as I use it. But when you clean nothing while you cook, it all builds into a big, hideous mess—plus, it takes 12 seconds to clean things like frying pans right after you use them, but an hour later it takes a big effort. And you’re full and tired at that point and the last thing you want to do is clean some gross fucking kitchen.
The worst is when you’re with a group of friends and someone cooks for everyone, except they’re one of those people who doesn’t clean while they cook, so their friends have to toil away for a half hour after dinner while the chef sits there like a fucking martyr. And while they’re cleaning, all the cleaners have to be like, “Wow, Josh, that was such a great meal! Thank you so much!” And I’m sitting there, scrubbing some fucking pot, and I have to say this shit too, even though I hate Josh and everything he stands for.
31) When people say “on accident” instead of “by accident.”
32) When I'm having a bad golf day and people start complimenting my bad shots. You know you're having a bad golf day when your fellow players start complimenting your bad shots. When I'm golfing decently or well, people only say something when I actually hit a really good shot. But on a bad day, I'll shank a ball off the tee that goes 150 yards and slices into the adjacent fairway, and people are like, "Nice shot, Tim!" and I want to swing the club at their teeth. This is especially annoying if the person or people you're with have never seen you play decently before so they assume this is your best.
33) When people sneeze or cough without covering their mouths. Especially if that person has a cold. Videos like this make me want to move to Antarctica by myself.
More things that annoy me.
Thursday, July 09, 2009
Less Than Ideal
Good: Coming home after 10 days away, landing in LA at 11pm, cabbing it to my apartment, excited to go to sleep immediately.
Bad: Realizing that I gave my roommate my keys so he could move my car, assuming that even though this roommate was going out of town, the other roommate would be there upon my return. As it turns out, neither one was in town-- I was locked out.
Good: Deciding to call some friends in hope that someone would be awake to put me up for the night.
Bad: Remembering that my phone was out of batteries because I played iPhone Scrabble the whole plane ride.
Good: Deciding I would go to a nearby bar and use their outlet to charge my phone.
Bad: Realizing I left my charger on the East Coast.
Good: Going to the bar and asking them if I could use their phone.
Bad: Realizing I didn't know anyone's phone number except two friends who were both out of town.
Good: Deciding to drive to a hotel for the night.
Bad: Remembering that my car key is also on my key chain.
Good: Scanning my apartment, noticing a window I could potentially climb through.
Bad: Looking down and realizing that if I slipped while doing so I'd fall 30 feet to my paralysis and/or death, and deciding that wasn't that rad a risk to take.
Good: Realizing that I could use my laptop and get an internet signal from inside the apartment.
Bad: Emailing people but getting no responses yet because it's 12:45am.
Still Bad: Currently sitting at my apartment, on the steps, out of ideas, checking baseball scores.
Good: The weather is nice.
Bad: Realizing that I gave my roommate my keys so he could move my car, assuming that even though this roommate was going out of town, the other roommate would be there upon my return. As it turns out, neither one was in town-- I was locked out.
Good: Deciding to call some friends in hope that someone would be awake to put me up for the night.
Bad: Remembering that my phone was out of batteries because I played iPhone Scrabble the whole plane ride.
Good: Deciding I would go to a nearby bar and use their outlet to charge my phone.
Bad: Realizing I left my charger on the East Coast.
Good: Going to the bar and asking them if I could use their phone.
Bad: Realizing I didn't know anyone's phone number except two friends who were both out of town.
Good: Deciding to drive to a hotel for the night.
Bad: Remembering that my car key is also on my key chain.
Good: Scanning my apartment, noticing a window I could potentially climb through.
Bad: Looking down and realizing that if I slipped while doing so I'd fall 30 feet to my paralysis and/or death, and deciding that wasn't that rad a risk to take.
Good: Realizing that I could use my laptop and get an internet signal from inside the apartment.
Bad: Emailing people but getting no responses yet because it's 12:45am.
Still Bad: Currently sitting at my apartment, on the steps, out of ideas, checking baseball scores.
Good: The weather is nice.
Friday, July 03, 2009
19 Things I Don't Understand, Volume 4
For the second year in a row, I’ve joined my family on a little summer vacation in Cape Cod. And for the second year in a row, I somehow have found myself being the one making the three-hour drive from Boston with my grandparents in the car.
There really is nothing like taking two people in their mid-to-late 80’s on a three-hour drive.
Here is a sample interaction:
Grandfather: For Christ sake, Timothy, how far is this place?
Me: It’s in Truro. We have a long way to go.
Grandfather: We’ve been driving for four hours!
Me: We’ve been driving for 35 minutes. We’re about a fifth of the way there.
Grandfather: How could we not be there already? We’ve driven across the whole state!
[5 seconds of silence]
Grandfather: I don’t see any signs for Truro. Are you sure you’re on the right road?
Me: Yes. We’re on the right road. I have the directions here.
[I show him my iPhone]
Grandfather: What’s that, your radio?
Me: Yes. It’s my radio.
Grandfather: Well I haven’t seen any signs for Truro. Call your father and ask him if we’re on the right road.
Me: No, I’m actually not gonna do that. I have the directions right here.
Grandfather: Enough with your damn radio! Put your hands on the wheel.
[I put my iPhone down]
Grandfather: Both hands! Put both hands on the wheel!
[Now driving with my hands at 2 and 10 o’clock]
Grandmother: Timothy, slow down, it’s teeming buckets.
Me: It’s not raining. It was raining earlier. Then it stopped. It is no longer raining.
Grandmother: Put your windshield-wipers on, Timothy.
Me: But it’s not raining.
Grandfather: Christ, Timothy, how far away are we going?!
Me: We’re going to Truro. It’s about a three-hour drive.
Grandfather: We’ve been driving for six hours already!
Me: It’s been 38 minutes.
Grandmother: Timothy, why don’t we stop and wait for the rain to slow down. The road is awfully dangerous.
Grandfather: Slow down, Timothy.
Me: But I’m going—
Grandfather: Just slow down!
[10 seconds of silence]
Grandfather: What is that? There’s wind blowing in this car.
Me: That’s the air conditioner.
Grandfather: Timothy, do you feel that? What is that? There’s wind blowing inside the car!
Me: That’s the air conditioner.
Grandfather: The who?
Me: The air conditioner.
Grandfather: Like hell it’s the air conditioner! There’s wind blowing right here! [Turns the heat up to 78 degrees even though it’s sweltering in the car already]
Grandmother: Timothy, where’s your jacket?
Me: [non-response]
[10 seconds of silence]
Grandfather: This can’t be the right road. There’s no way it’s this far.
Later in the drive:
[Grandfather finishes eating a peach]
Grandmother: Eddie, where are your teeth?
Grandfather: What?
Grandmother: Your teeth. Where are your teeth?!
[Grandfather realizes that the dentures which comprise several of his teeth are not in his mouth]
Grandfather: I haven’t the slightest idea. I must have swallowed them!
Grandmother: You didn’t swallow them...look on the floor.
[Grandfather looks on the floor]
Grandmother: Check your pockets.
Grandfather: Why the hell would I put my teeth in my pockets?
Grandmother: Just check your pockets!
[Grandfather checks his pockets]
[Grandmother checks the bag with the peach pit in it]
Grandmother: Timothy, pull over. Your grandfather lost his teeth.
[I pull over. We search for his teeth. We don’t find his teeth. It later turns out he never had his teeth. It turns out he had left his teeth at home.]
There were several cars driving to Truro for this family trip, and any of them could have been in charge of transporting my grandparents. There was no obvious reason it would have been me. And yet, for the second year in a row, I found myself making the trip with them.*
And quite simply, I don’t understand how that happened.
And so, to commemorate my bewilderment, it’s time for 19 more things I don’t understand.
1) Why fans riot when their team wins. I’ve felt like breaking, vandalizing, and burning things before after watching an important game involving one of my favorite teams. But it tends to occur when things went badly for me and my team. Yet after the Lakers won a few weeks ago, jubilant fans were like, “Yeah! Yay Lakers! Let’s smash the windows of that old man's shop downstairs! Go Kobe! Let’s kidnap that lady’s kid!” And this happens all the time, all over the country—after great victories. I don’t get it.
2) How old is too old with food. I never know when food has expired. Someone pointed to a rotting banana on the counter last week and told me it was completely fine to eat. Apparently you can slice the mold off cheese and it’s good to go. Eggs can allegedly be eaten three weeks after the expiration date. Stuff in oil supposedly lasts for years. Water that has been sitting is said to accumulate bacteria after a few days and should be tossed. Bread should be refrigerated. So should Parmesan cheese. Hot sauce does not need to be refrigerated. But ketchup does. Frozen meat lasts a year. Frozen fruit lasts forever. Sell-by date. Consume-by date. Best-by date.
Seriously, what the fuck?
I hate this topic, because I never know what to do, and I am always scared to test the limit after a childhood of my mother telling me everything “is fine, just eat it.” I have undoubtedly thrown away countless amounts of not-yet-expired food because I’m confused and frightened.
3) How a washing machine works. The washing machine may compete with the dishwasher in its complexity. But it’s different. While the dishwasher is deeply mysterious in what happens inside once you close the door, the washing machine is at an impossibly high level in its controls.
Go ahead. I beg of you. Tell me what the hell these dials mean:
Washing Machine #1:
(In case you were wondering, that’s “1, 2, 3, cloud, 4, triangle, shower, half-shower, swirl, 5, 6, beaker, 7, shower, half-shower, small swirl, 8, 9/leaf, 10, shower, half-shower, small swirl, Z, rapid 32 apostrophe)
Washing Machine #2:
(2, 6, W, 8, 12, oblong off, 2nd rinse, S, R, 2, 6, W, 10, 14, pre-wash, 2, 4, ENZYME SOAK, 30, SOUS, little off, S, R, 2, 6/W, 10, little off, S, R, C)
Washing Machine #3:
(95 degrees, 60 degrees, flower, 40 degrees, hygiene plus, active 40 degrees C, Mini 30, feather, 40 degrees, fox, swirl, castle, 30 degrees/pig's face in water, snowflake, 40 degrees, sushi, snowflake, beaker, 40 degrees, 60 degrees)
How is anyone supposed to understand what the hell is going on with a washing machine dial? Further, what the deuce does “permanent press” mean? What’s being pressed? And how does a washing machine “press” something? And why is it permanent? How does a washing machine press something so hard that it can never be unpressed?
4) When you capitalize and when you don’t. Winter? winter? fall? Summer Semester? Chemistry? math? History? Happy new Year? internet? jetBlue? Sincerely yours? Atlantic Ocean? south? East? Democrats? The president? Oh my god? master’s? Avenue? midwest? Pacific standard time?
5) Why flight attendants have to specify exactly when it is that they’re saying goodbye. Every time I leave the plane they say, “Bye bye now.” Why “now”? “Bye bye” would accomplish everything, you’d save yourself time, and you wouldn’t creep me out as much.
P.S. Bye is clearly one of those words. One of those words where if you write it a lot and look at it for awhile it starts to look really weird.
6) Political systems in other countries. Other countries are always talking about the “ruling party” and the “majority coalition” and like 3 or 4 parties who all have “seats” in the “Parliament” and share influence somehow. I don’t really get it. I also don’t get the difference between the power of a Prime Minister (prime minister?) and President when there are both in the same country. Like in Russia. Putin is the Prime Minister and Medvedev is the President but Medvedev is Putin’s bitch. I always thought “Prime Minister” was kind of synonymous with “President” and I most certainly don’t understand the situation when a country has both. And then there’s all those Middle Eastern countries with their kings and their princes and their Prime Ministers. Confusing.
7) Why rolling suitcases were only invented recently. Seriously, what the hell? The wheel was invented like 56,000 years ago. And now we’re using wheels for advanced things like cars and bicycles, but the 1990’s roll around (pun) and everyone’s still carrying their luggage around like an idiot? When the original purpose of the wheel before all the advanced uses was to help humans transport heavy things without lifting and carrying them? I distinctly remember going to the airport in my earlier years and everyone was lugging their suitcases everywhere. Only in the last 10 or 15 years did rollie suitcases emerge and now—obviously—everyone uses them. I just don’t get why this “innovation” didn’t happen hundreds of years ago.
8) Why people leave their cell phone ringers on at night. I always get really angry if I call someone late at night and they pick up and tell me I woke them up. I’m always like, “Well why the hell is your cell phone ringer on??” And they’re like, “Wait—you’re mad at me??”
I just don’t get it. If I left my cell phone ringer on at night I’d sleep 20% less in general. Most mornings when I wake up I have a couple missed calls, either from the late night or early morning. What if all those calls woke me up? And what if all those people had to think, “Wait, Tim might be sleeping—I'd better not call him,” instead of calling and leaving a message that I can hear when I wake up.
I try to figure out rational reasons for leaving the ringer on, but I have a hard time coming up with one. Most people are like, “What if there’s an emergency?” But think about it—what emergency? What could occur that requires my immediate input or help or attention that can’t wait until the morning? Sure, someone you care about could get hurt or be in trouble—but if you’re really that intent on finding out the second it happens, then get a land line and tell your close family and friends to call it in case of emergency. Isn’t that a better option for the one emergency every ten years than being woken up 2,588 times in those ten years just in case that one moment occurs?
9) Whether “bi-monthly” means “twice a month” or “once every two months.” And it’s not just me. I’m pretty sure that no one knows this.
10) What the hell a Kosher diet entails. I have close friends who keep Kosher. And yet, I don't get it. There's the whole milk and meat thing. But there's also the whole "each meat in itself must also be Kosher" thing. And then there's the shellfish thing. And the thing with the separate plates. Further, is "Kosher" capitalized? I thought going to Wikipedia would help. Instead, it tossed this one at me:
One of the kosher requirements is having cloven hooves such as goats, pigs and cows. Pigs, in spite of their cloven hooves, remain non-kosher because they lack the other kosher sign, cud-chewing. Horses are entirely uncloven.
11) How to stop on roller-blades. I haven’t roller-bladed since they got huge like 15 years ago. And for good reason. I don’t know how to stop. So for awhile I pulled the whole “Go until you want to stop and then zoom into a bush or dive head-first onto the grass” until I finally said fuck it and gave it up.
12) What the deal is with butlers. What really is a butler? Is it a servant? An assistant? What does he do? Does he live in the house? Are there women butlers? Is there butler school? Is there a butler ladder? Like, do butlers work their way up from shitty families to prominent ones? Is it competitive? If a butler is in a bar and a girl is like, “What do you do?” and he’s like, “I’m a butler”—does she think he’s a needledick, or does she think he’s kind of rad? Can people hit their butlers? Do butlers sit at the dinner table with the family? Can butlers hook up with women in the family? Do they really stand all upright? Are the large majority of butlers in Britain? This is just a taste of my butler questions. I could go on for pages.
13) What really defines an “Arab.” Is an Egyptian an Arab? A Palestinian? A Moroccan? Are all Arabs Muslims? Is an Iraqi Jew an Arab? I’m pretty sure people from Iran aren’t Arabs. Is it a race? A region? Is it somewhat synonymous with Middle Eastern Muslim? Or not at all? And where does the adjective “Arabian” fit into all this? Is everyone on the “Arabian Peninsula” an Arab? Is Arab also one of those words that looks weird when you type it a lot or have I just typed it so much that at this point any word would look weird?
14) Where the water comes from in those refrigerators with a water dispenser on the door. This is probably something I should understand. But that doesn’t mean it’s something I do understand.
15) Why things air earlier in the Central time zone than in the other three. What does it mean when something airs at “7/6 Central”? Does it mean that it airs at 7:00 for the Eastern, Mountain, and Pacific time zones and at 6:00 for the Central time zone? And if so, why? Why would it be different for the Central time zone?
16) Why soccer refs know the amount of time left during garbage time but refuse to make it public. During the heartbreaking USA-Brazil match the other day, I was brought back to a familiar question—how hard would it be for the refs to slap an exact total on garbage time and have it on the ticker for fans to see? Is it a power trip? Do they just not know exactly so they figure they’ll “ballpark” it? Do they want the freedom to let a team finish an attack before calling it? I don’t get it. It leaves so much room for referee subjectivity. If your team lost in the last second of garbage time and you suspected that the refs let it go on longer than they should have so the team could “finish their attack,” how furious would you be?
17) Why people are obsessed with The Police. Their music kind of sucks.
18) Why people can’t have the same type of food twice within a given period of time. People are always like, “No, I just had Chinese on Thursday, let’s get something else” or “No, I’ve had Italian twice this week, let’s get something else.” I don’t get it. Who cares? Are people ever like, “No, I had a Sam Adams last weekend, give me a Heineken”? No—so why with food? Do people taste food for four straight days, and want the taste fully out of their mouth before having it again? Does their Chinese-meter have to fill up again? Do they know that they don’t have to order the same thing? That menus have a variety of options? No—intra-country variety won’t do. They’ve had their fill of the whole cuisine of Mexico after eating that burrito on Monday. Mexico and its entire culinary tradition will have to wait, as it has found itself in the penalty box until the requisite waiting period has expired.
19) What car alarms accomplish. We’ve all heard them going off. Haplessly. Pointlessly. What do car alarms achieve? They’re set off by their fool owners far more than by thieves. And they’re such a commonplace sound at this point that a dude could steal a car and drive it around with the alarm going off and I wouldn’t blink an eye. And why do they go through the idiot rotation of various alarm sounds? It’s like a guy at the car company was scrolling through his options for possible alarms and someone recorded it and decided to make that the alarm.
I just don't get it.
More things I don’t understand:
Volume 3
Volume 2
Volume 1
*On a bright note, we passed a town called Sandwich, and if you don’t think I stopped there, ordered a sandwich, and then said, “I’m eating a sandwich in Sandwich,” you don’t know me very well.
There really is nothing like taking two people in their mid-to-late 80’s on a three-hour drive.
Here is a sample interaction:
Grandfather: For Christ sake, Timothy, how far is this place?
Me: It’s in Truro. We have a long way to go.
Grandfather: We’ve been driving for four hours!
Me: We’ve been driving for 35 minutes. We’re about a fifth of the way there.
Grandfather: How could we not be there already? We’ve driven across the whole state!
[5 seconds of silence]
Grandfather: I don’t see any signs for Truro. Are you sure you’re on the right road?
Me: Yes. We’re on the right road. I have the directions here.
[I show him my iPhone]
Grandfather: What’s that, your radio?
Me: Yes. It’s my radio.
Grandfather: Well I haven’t seen any signs for Truro. Call your father and ask him if we’re on the right road.
Me: No, I’m actually not gonna do that. I have the directions right here.
Grandfather: Enough with your damn radio! Put your hands on the wheel.
[I put my iPhone down]
Grandfather: Both hands! Put both hands on the wheel!
[Now driving with my hands at 2 and 10 o’clock]
Grandmother: Timothy, slow down, it’s teeming buckets.
Me: It’s not raining. It was raining earlier. Then it stopped. It is no longer raining.
Grandmother: Put your windshield-wipers on, Timothy.
Me: But it’s not raining.
Grandfather: Christ, Timothy, how far away are we going?!
Me: We’re going to Truro. It’s about a three-hour drive.
Grandfather: We’ve been driving for six hours already!
Me: It’s been 38 minutes.
Grandmother: Timothy, why don’t we stop and wait for the rain to slow down. The road is awfully dangerous.
Grandfather: Slow down, Timothy.
Me: But I’m going—
Grandfather: Just slow down!
[10 seconds of silence]
Grandfather: What is that? There’s wind blowing in this car.
Me: That’s the air conditioner.
Grandfather: Timothy, do you feel that? What is that? There’s wind blowing inside the car!
Me: That’s the air conditioner.
Grandfather: The who?
Me: The air conditioner.
Grandfather: Like hell it’s the air conditioner! There’s wind blowing right here! [Turns the heat up to 78 degrees even though it’s sweltering in the car already]
Grandmother: Timothy, where’s your jacket?
Me: [non-response]
[10 seconds of silence]
Grandfather: This can’t be the right road. There’s no way it’s this far.
Later in the drive:
[Grandfather finishes eating a peach]
Grandmother: Eddie, where are your teeth?
Grandfather: What?
Grandmother: Your teeth. Where are your teeth?!
[Grandfather realizes that the dentures which comprise several of his teeth are not in his mouth]
Grandfather: I haven’t the slightest idea. I must have swallowed them!
Grandmother: You didn’t swallow them...look on the floor.
[Grandfather looks on the floor]
Grandmother: Check your pockets.
Grandfather: Why the hell would I put my teeth in my pockets?
Grandmother: Just check your pockets!
[Grandfather checks his pockets]
[Grandmother checks the bag with the peach pit in it]
Grandmother: Timothy, pull over. Your grandfather lost his teeth.
[I pull over. We search for his teeth. We don’t find his teeth. It later turns out he never had his teeth. It turns out he had left his teeth at home.]
There were several cars driving to Truro for this family trip, and any of them could have been in charge of transporting my grandparents. There was no obvious reason it would have been me. And yet, for the second year in a row, I found myself making the trip with them.*
And quite simply, I don’t understand how that happened.
And so, to commemorate my bewilderment, it’s time for 19 more things I don’t understand.
1) Why fans riot when their team wins. I’ve felt like breaking, vandalizing, and burning things before after watching an important game involving one of my favorite teams. But it tends to occur when things went badly for me and my team. Yet after the Lakers won a few weeks ago, jubilant fans were like, “Yeah! Yay Lakers! Let’s smash the windows of that old man's shop downstairs! Go Kobe! Let’s kidnap that lady’s kid!” And this happens all the time, all over the country—after great victories. I don’t get it.
2) How old is too old with food. I never know when food has expired. Someone pointed to a rotting banana on the counter last week and told me it was completely fine to eat. Apparently you can slice the mold off cheese and it’s good to go. Eggs can allegedly be eaten three weeks after the expiration date. Stuff in oil supposedly lasts for years. Water that has been sitting is said to accumulate bacteria after a few days and should be tossed. Bread should be refrigerated. So should Parmesan cheese. Hot sauce does not need to be refrigerated. But ketchup does. Frozen meat lasts a year. Frozen fruit lasts forever. Sell-by date. Consume-by date. Best-by date.
Seriously, what the fuck?
I hate this topic, because I never know what to do, and I am always scared to test the limit after a childhood of my mother telling me everything “is fine, just eat it.” I have undoubtedly thrown away countless amounts of not-yet-expired food because I’m confused and frightened.
3) How a washing machine works. The washing machine may compete with the dishwasher in its complexity. But it’s different. While the dishwasher is deeply mysterious in what happens inside once you close the door, the washing machine is at an impossibly high level in its controls.
Go ahead. I beg of you. Tell me what the hell these dials mean:
Washing Machine #1:
(In case you were wondering, that’s “1, 2, 3, cloud, 4, triangle, shower, half-shower, swirl, 5, 6, beaker, 7, shower, half-shower, small swirl, 8, 9/leaf, 10, shower, half-shower, small swirl, Z, rapid 32 apostrophe)
Washing Machine #2:
(2, 6, W, 8, 12, oblong off, 2nd rinse, S, R, 2, 6, W, 10, 14, pre-wash, 2, 4, ENZYME SOAK, 30, SOUS, little off, S, R, 2, 6/W, 10, little off, S, R, C)
Washing Machine #3:
(95 degrees, 60 degrees, flower, 40 degrees, hygiene plus, active 40 degrees C, Mini 30, feather, 40 degrees, fox, swirl, castle, 30 degrees/pig's face in water, snowflake, 40 degrees, sushi, snowflake, beaker, 40 degrees, 60 degrees)
How is anyone supposed to understand what the hell is going on with a washing machine dial? Further, what the deuce does “permanent press” mean? What’s being pressed? And how does a washing machine “press” something? And why is it permanent? How does a washing machine press something so hard that it can never be unpressed?
4) When you capitalize and when you don’t. Winter? winter? fall? Summer Semester? Chemistry? math? History? Happy new Year? internet? jetBlue? Sincerely yours? Atlantic Ocean? south? East? Democrats? The president? Oh my god? master’s? Avenue? midwest? Pacific standard time?
5) Why flight attendants have to specify exactly when it is that they’re saying goodbye. Every time I leave the plane they say, “Bye bye now.” Why “now”? “Bye bye” would accomplish everything, you’d save yourself time, and you wouldn’t creep me out as much.
P.S. Bye is clearly one of those words. One of those words where if you write it a lot and look at it for awhile it starts to look really weird.
6) Political systems in other countries. Other countries are always talking about the “ruling party” and the “majority coalition” and like 3 or 4 parties who all have “seats” in the “Parliament” and share influence somehow. I don’t really get it. I also don’t get the difference between the power of a Prime Minister (prime minister?) and President when there are both in the same country. Like in Russia. Putin is the Prime Minister and Medvedev is the President but Medvedev is Putin’s bitch. I always thought “Prime Minister” was kind of synonymous with “President” and I most certainly don’t understand the situation when a country has both. And then there’s all those Middle Eastern countries with their kings and their princes and their Prime Ministers. Confusing.
7) Why rolling suitcases were only invented recently. Seriously, what the hell? The wheel was invented like 56,000 years ago. And now we’re using wheels for advanced things like cars and bicycles, but the 1990’s roll around (pun) and everyone’s still carrying their luggage around like an idiot? When the original purpose of the wheel before all the advanced uses was to help humans transport heavy things without lifting and carrying them? I distinctly remember going to the airport in my earlier years and everyone was lugging their suitcases everywhere. Only in the last 10 or 15 years did rollie suitcases emerge and now—obviously—everyone uses them. I just don’t get why this “innovation” didn’t happen hundreds of years ago.
8) Why people leave their cell phone ringers on at night. I always get really angry if I call someone late at night and they pick up and tell me I woke them up. I’m always like, “Well why the hell is your cell phone ringer on??” And they’re like, “Wait—you’re mad at me??”
I just don’t get it. If I left my cell phone ringer on at night I’d sleep 20% less in general. Most mornings when I wake up I have a couple missed calls, either from the late night or early morning. What if all those calls woke me up? And what if all those people had to think, “Wait, Tim might be sleeping—I'd better not call him,” instead of calling and leaving a message that I can hear when I wake up.
I try to figure out rational reasons for leaving the ringer on, but I have a hard time coming up with one. Most people are like, “What if there’s an emergency?” But think about it—what emergency? What could occur that requires my immediate input or help or attention that can’t wait until the morning? Sure, someone you care about could get hurt or be in trouble—but if you’re really that intent on finding out the second it happens, then get a land line and tell your close family and friends to call it in case of emergency. Isn’t that a better option for the one emergency every ten years than being woken up 2,588 times in those ten years just in case that one moment occurs?
9) Whether “bi-monthly” means “twice a month” or “once every two months.” And it’s not just me. I’m pretty sure that no one knows this.
10) What the hell a Kosher diet entails. I have close friends who keep Kosher. And yet, I don't get it. There's the whole milk and meat thing. But there's also the whole "each meat in itself must also be Kosher" thing. And then there's the shellfish thing. And the thing with the separate plates. Further, is "Kosher" capitalized? I thought going to Wikipedia would help. Instead, it tossed this one at me:
One of the kosher requirements is having cloven hooves such as goats, pigs and cows. Pigs, in spite of their cloven hooves, remain non-kosher because they lack the other kosher sign, cud-chewing. Horses are entirely uncloven.
11) How to stop on roller-blades. I haven’t roller-bladed since they got huge like 15 years ago. And for good reason. I don’t know how to stop. So for awhile I pulled the whole “Go until you want to stop and then zoom into a bush or dive head-first onto the grass” until I finally said fuck it and gave it up.
12) What the deal is with butlers. What really is a butler? Is it a servant? An assistant? What does he do? Does he live in the house? Are there women butlers? Is there butler school? Is there a butler ladder? Like, do butlers work their way up from shitty families to prominent ones? Is it competitive? If a butler is in a bar and a girl is like, “What do you do?” and he’s like, “I’m a butler”—does she think he’s a needledick, or does she think he’s kind of rad? Can people hit their butlers? Do butlers sit at the dinner table with the family? Can butlers hook up with women in the family? Do they really stand all upright? Are the large majority of butlers in Britain? This is just a taste of my butler questions. I could go on for pages.
13) What really defines an “Arab.” Is an Egyptian an Arab? A Palestinian? A Moroccan? Are all Arabs Muslims? Is an Iraqi Jew an Arab? I’m pretty sure people from Iran aren’t Arabs. Is it a race? A region? Is it somewhat synonymous with Middle Eastern Muslim? Or not at all? And where does the adjective “Arabian” fit into all this? Is everyone on the “Arabian Peninsula” an Arab? Is Arab also one of those words that looks weird when you type it a lot or have I just typed it so much that at this point any word would look weird?
14) Where the water comes from in those refrigerators with a water dispenser on the door. This is probably something I should understand. But that doesn’t mean it’s something I do understand.
15) Why things air earlier in the Central time zone than in the other three. What does it mean when something airs at “7/6 Central”? Does it mean that it airs at 7:00 for the Eastern, Mountain, and Pacific time zones and at 6:00 for the Central time zone? And if so, why? Why would it be different for the Central time zone?
16) Why soccer refs know the amount of time left during garbage time but refuse to make it public. During the heartbreaking USA-Brazil match the other day, I was brought back to a familiar question—how hard would it be for the refs to slap an exact total on garbage time and have it on the ticker for fans to see? Is it a power trip? Do they just not know exactly so they figure they’ll “ballpark” it? Do they want the freedom to let a team finish an attack before calling it? I don’t get it. It leaves so much room for referee subjectivity. If your team lost in the last second of garbage time and you suspected that the refs let it go on longer than they should have so the team could “finish their attack,” how furious would you be?
17) Why people are obsessed with The Police. Their music kind of sucks.
18) Why people can’t have the same type of food twice within a given period of time. People are always like, “No, I just had Chinese on Thursday, let’s get something else” or “No, I’ve had Italian twice this week, let’s get something else.” I don’t get it. Who cares? Are people ever like, “No, I had a Sam Adams last weekend, give me a Heineken”? No—so why with food? Do people taste food for four straight days, and want the taste fully out of their mouth before having it again? Does their Chinese-meter have to fill up again? Do they know that they don’t have to order the same thing? That menus have a variety of options? No—intra-country variety won’t do. They’ve had their fill of the whole cuisine of Mexico after eating that burrito on Monday. Mexico and its entire culinary tradition will have to wait, as it has found itself in the penalty box until the requisite waiting period has expired.
19) What car alarms accomplish. We’ve all heard them going off. Haplessly. Pointlessly. What do car alarms achieve? They’re set off by their fool owners far more than by thieves. And they’re such a commonplace sound at this point that a dude could steal a car and drive it around with the alarm going off and I wouldn’t blink an eye. And why do they go through the idiot rotation of various alarm sounds? It’s like a guy at the car company was scrolling through his options for possible alarms and someone recorded it and decided to make that the alarm.
I just don't get it.
More things I don’t understand:
Volume 3
Volume 2
Volume 1
*On a bright note, we passed a town called Sandwich, and if you don’t think I stopped there, ordered a sandwich, and then said, “I’m eating a sandwich in Sandwich,” you don’t know me very well.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
