The Current State of (like, some) Television (10-3-18)

OUR WORLD:

When all you do for a couple weeks is go to work, hang at home with a recovering VP (remember El Lumperoni? Yeah, that’s gone now), sleep and eat and okay, there was some other stuff too….(stay focused Jimmy, this is what writing takes!) THE POINT IS WE’VE DONE A LOT OF EATING AND WATCHING TELEVISION LATELY BECAUSE SURGERY IS A PERFECT EXCUSE TO DO JUST THAT AND NOT FEEL TOO GUILTY ABOUT IT! One of the few cool things about helping your wife recover from a surgery is that you kinda’ get to act like you’re recovering too and that means eating whatever you want and not going out and watching as much television as you want WITHOUT GUILT!!! I have descended into full-on “it’s okay if we don’t do that”-mode. So, in an effort to take a break from being completely useless in the name of solidarity (no, my ankle is still not fully whole, but I’m not a look-at-me-guy) I would like to provide some quick reviews for tv shows that you can watch when your mother in law is staying with you as your wife recovers from lumperoni surgery:

“The First” (Netflix)

Hand up, it was going to be nearly impossible for me not to love this show. It’s about space and Sean Penn is the star? Even if it turned out to be a rap-musical with Penn doing an Arnold Schwarzenneger voice, I would probably talk myself into loving it because “Sean Penn takes chances!” Fortunately, SEAN PENN USED HIS NORMAL VOICE AND IT’S NOT A RAP-MUSICAL! (For a second, I thought about just leaving my review for this show at that. Can you even imagine?!?! Aren’t I a GOOF?!?!?!)

This show is about Sean Penn trying to be a part of the first mission to Mars while repairing a fractured relationship with a college-aged daughter who likes doing the scary drugs sometimes. I know what you’re thinking: “Didn’t Sean Penn also play father to a college-aged daughter in ‘Mystic River’?” Uh, you bet your fucking ass he did! CAN YOU SAY WHEELHOUSE?!?! If you weren’t convinced yet that Sean Penn isn’t the best “I love my daughter, but I have personal demons”-actor in the game, this show settles that. Nobody walks the tightrope of love and struggle better than Penn, and that’s on display again in “The First”. Remember the “is that my daughter?!?!” scene in “Mystic River”? There are a couple of those scenes throughout the first season of this show, and they are not overacted, or overdramatic. They give you goosebumps as you shake your head and say “nobody is a better actor than Sean Penn.”

So like, have I driven home the fact that I love Sean Penn enough yet? K, got it. Aside from King Sean, this show is deliberate with it’s storylines and relationships. Nothing feels forced or manipulated or not completely realistic. For a show about going to mars 20ish years in the future, that’s not a minor accomplishment. The technological advances they show in society feel attainable and not silly. There are no flying cars, but there are self-driven cars and…uh…Jimmy likey (dude, 3rd person, really?) This is the kind of show that comes on five years ago and everyone is blown away by how well-done it is. TV is so crowded with fantastic shows now that the top tier don’t get the sort of adulation that they used to. “The First” belongs on that top tier.

Final Jimmyschair Verdict: Watch it and please don’t try to enlighten me about Sean Penn’s potentially sketchy personal life because I don’t care about that.

“The Voice” (NBC)

I used to be very ready to jump to the defense of this show whenever the HATERS would start to get lippy. “But Blake and Adam have real chemistry!” is definitely a sentence I have said in the past. Unfortunately, my muscles are tired from not working them out (isn’t that called atrophy? I SAID THEY’RE TIRED!) so I don’t have it in me to defend this show like I used to. Kelly Clarkson and Jennifer Hudson now sit in between Adam and Blake and everything in this show just feels kinda’ played out and pointless.

Blake and Adam pretend to talk shit to each other, but it’s hard to replicate genuine shit talk when you’re on NBC and can’t say things that real guy friends say to each other, like “oh yeah? How about you go fuck yourself?” I know these dudes have that in them too because Blake drinks a lot and Adam has been on Howard Stern. You know they’re dying to tell each other to “suck on deez nuts,” but they can’t because of the government so instead they gently make fun of their manicured wardrobes. Oh, and that’s another thing, can Adam cool it with the sweatpants? He’s gotta be almost 40 and is still not in a cool enough rock band to wear whatever he wants without consequences. He’s wearing sweatpants and Jordans and I, for one, have had enough.

The real weak spot of the show though is that neither myself or The VP or The VP’s mom or your mom or anyone you know can think of one actual star that this show has produced. Quick, who is the biggest star to ever come from the contestant pool of “The Voice”? That, my friends, is what we in the biz like to call “a problem.” If you connect with a contestant and are rooting for them to become the next Kelly Clarkson, then there are stakes and a real pot of gold at the end of their rainbow. But when you’re rooting for someone to be as famous as that country guy who sang rock songs a few years back and no one has heard from since, it feels less critical. And speaking of Kelly Clarkson, who knew she was unbelievably annoying? She thinks everything she says is hilarious, she gets up and walks around on stage way too much and makes everything about her. Hey Kelly, please stick to singing songs that nobody I know actually likes that much and GET OUT OF MY FACE!

Final Jimmyschair Verdict: Welcome to Skipville, USA. This show has run its course and Adam Levine is beginning to realize it’s happening right before his band becomes the most unpopular pick to ever play the Super Bowl Halftime Show.

“Chopped” (Food Network)

This show is perfect background noise while you scroll Twitter and Instagram and Snapchat and your group chat and GMail and espn.com and WE’RE ALL ADDICTED TO OUR PHONES! Did background noise shows like this exist before we were all more interested in staring at our phones? Or, did they come about because some twisted Hollywood genius was like “maybe we should create shows that are non-offensive and don’t take much attention so people can Instagram-stalk their co-workers overweight aunt with the weird hair.” Chicken or the egg, am I right?

Non-offensive background noise is a new category of television show that I believe is VASTLY under appreciated. Most of the time, when I ask The VP what she wants to watch, I’m hit with a “I don’t care” as she continues to not look at me, transfixed by her phone screen. I’m not throwing shade at that answer, either, because I know I do the same thing sometimes. When either of us are in that mode, we can’t put on a new cool show that takes concentration because we’ll get annoyed that one of us is constantly asking “wait, who’s that guy?” So instead, it’s easier to put on some non-offensive, minimum concentration required type of show that masks our new most glaring addiction. These types of shows are especially valuable when your mother in law is in town and staying at your place. (Real talk, I like when my mother in law stays with us. No snappy zinger coming, I just do like it.)

Oh, so “Chopped”? You know it. The show does what it’s supposed to do. So instead of evaluating specific aspects of a show that you’re watching to avoid needing to monitor specifics, here are some other shows that fall into the “Non-offensive Background Noise” category: All of Food Network, “The Office” reruns, “Parks and Rec” reruns, “Seinfeld” reruns, “Comedians in Cars Getting Coffee”, and regular season baseball games.

Final Jimmyschair Verdict: Put this on and get back to what you really want to do–watching videos of kids getting hurt on Instagram. Seriously, check out @kidsgettinghurt on Insta. It’s gold.

MY WORLD:

So I still need to finish my Ireland recaps, but I was starting to get self-conscious that the 7 readers of this blog were like “we get it, you went to Ireland!” Hitting the pause button on those for now. As I alluded to in the above section, the VP had surgery last week to get that lump out of her booby. It went well and our friends are amazing and I want to write about it but my writing muscles, like the rest of my body, are out of shape right now. Gimme a couple of days back in the gym (aka on my dining room table chair sitting and writing) and I’ll turn out a decent “my world”. If this section is reading like an excuse today, that’s because it is. Honestly only here.

LET’S LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

The new album from Metric is AMAZING. Here’s a live version of my favorite song off of it…

LET’S HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

That Cubs game last night.

JIMMY GAMBLES:

I have been an absolute fiend gambling on everything since I got back from Ireland. I got up over $400, so I pulled $300 out (a check I have yet to receive yet btw but I’m not even worried about it…not even one little bit that I haven’t received a check I asked for 11 days ago now). Feeling especially hot, I bet almost every college football game last weekend and lost every single bet I made. Not kidding. Every single bet. So, I made another deposit for NFL Sunday and, again, lost every single bet I made. Then I made another deposit last night before the Cubs game because the year they won the World Series I bet on them every game so it was really for luck’s sake. And the Cubs lost last night. In short, things have been going less than ideal.

(My account is currently at: $0.00)

K bye.

I Don’t Know How to Do Many Simple Things (8/21/18)

MY WORLD:

A few days ago, I got out of the shower, grabbed the towel hanging on the towel hangy thing (hook!) and brought it to my nose. The classic “as long as this towel doesn’t smell like dinosaur B.O., it’s clean”-check. I know what you’re thinking, “but Jimmy, did you also look at the towel to see if there were any obvious stains?” Do I look like an animal? Of course I did. So that means it’s clean, right? As long as there are no obvious stains and it doesn’t stink, a towel is clean no matter how many consecutive days you have used said towel.

When I was a kid, I used to marvel at how my parents just knew stuff. They knew how to get to the mall. They knew how to check my toothbrush to see if I had actually brushed my teeth. They knew how to make sandwiches! THEY KNEW EVERYTHING! And while they passed on enough survival skills for me to make it 33 years, they did not pass on some skills that seem relatively meaningless, but have become gaping holes in my progress as an adult. Oh, and when I say “they did not pass on,” I mean “I pretended to listen when they taught me about _______.” Aside from not knowing how to tell if a towel is dirty or not, here are some other adult-things that I should know, but definitely do not…and probably never will.

How to hang a picture:

It was much easier to hide this deficiency when I was living alone or with roommates. There’s always one roommate with a fancy toolbox who can’t wait to show off the ruler-thing with the water bubble in the middle. (Yes, I know it’s called a leveler, but ruler-thing with water bubble in the middle just felt right.) Whenever we’d move in and got to the point where it was time to hang all our “sweet sports posters” around the apartment, I’d pretend that I was busy doing something else until THAT roommate broke out the power drill and started asking “how’s this look here?” Whenever I’d hear that question, my body would finally relax, for my secret was safe another day. “Looks great! I’ll start putting away the silverware!” Little did they know that the silverware was already jammed into a drawer that I could no longer open. No matter, Jimmy NoHang was out of the line of fire.

When I lived alone, and there was no one to inspect or judge what I did to the wall, I would only hang stuff with wires in the back. My process? Nail in the wall, wire on the nail. BOOM! JIMMY HANGS IS IN THE BUILDING! Did I find the stud? Pretty hard to find the stud when you have no idea what that is so…uh…no, I did not find El Stud. An anchor? Those are only for boats! Was the frame level? Take five steps back, squint and you tell me if it looks “pretty level.” Better yet, let me save you those five steps, it’s fine. Was it centered? Did you not just hear me re: the picture being level? I TOOK FIVE STEPS BACK, LOOKED AT IT AND SAID “IT’S PRETTY GOOD.” WHAT ELSE DO YOU WANT FROM ME?!?!?

Unfortunately, using the caveman method of hanging stuff on walls (nail, slam, hang!) is a secret not meant to see the light of an apartment shared with a significant other. The friggin’ VP of Ops sniffed out this deficiency of mine the way a dog smells another dog on your jeans. When we first moved in together she handed me a super heavy mirror to “just hang over the dresser.” You got it babe! That mirror rested on top of our dresser for the 2 years we were in that apartment and was the subject of multiple “wait! don’t hit the mirror!”-warnings. Mirrors that lean against a wall, instead of being hung on a wall, were very in at the time.

Since then, we have moved to a new place where I actually DID hang said mirror on the wall…by putting a wire on the back of it and slamming multiple nails into a wall. Quick tip on nails and walls: if you hit the nail with a hammer and it doesn’t go any further, just hit the nail harder. If the nail still doesn’t budge, then take it out and move it a little to the side and try the exact same process. The mirror now hides about 8 false starts for me and the nails, but it’s up! And no, I am not worry-free when I sit directly in front of it. Have you ever played the “I hope this big, heavy mirror doesn’t fall on me!”game? It’s a rush!

mirror

How to know when it’s time for a new razor:

When I used the Gillette Mach Whatever that had the moisturizer strip on the top, I would know I needed a new razor when that strip went bare. But then, I grew up and realized that, that dumb fuckin’ strip was probably just a devious ploy by evil Johnny Gillette to sell more razors. Not so fast! I can use this razor until…shit…when?

My dad used to use the disposable razors when I was a kid, which made the whole process easy: use it, toss it. But I saw commercials about the Mach 3 that looked really cool and my friends were using it so, what? I’m supposed to be the lame kid who uses the cheap bic razors? NOT ON MY WATCH! And it’s not like I’m Beardy McThickBeard ova’ here, so I can probably get away with using the same Gillette for….shit….I still have no idea. Worse yet, the Gillette’s are kinda’ expensive AND the razor refills are locked behind glass at most stores. This is me every time I’m in a store looking at the razors behind the glass, “I’ve gotta go ALL THE WAY up to the front and ask someone to come unlock these? Meh, I’m sure I’ll be fine for another week.” I do that for like a hundred weeks in a row.

The breaking point usually comes that once or twice a year when I pump myself up about finally, truly becoming a cool adult man. It’s usually the same time of the year where I’ll go to a decent store, buy 8 of the same shirts in different colors and a new pair of pants because “this is what real men do.” On the way home from the outlet mall (leave that part out!) I’ll pass a Walgreens and be like “you know what? I’m going to buy a nice razor because that’s what real men do.” Yeah! I want the best a man can get! Then, as I wait for Angry Paulette to come and unlock the razor treasure chest on aisle 4, I’ll stare at my phone and start to panic as I type in the password for my Chase Mobile Account. By the time Angry Paulette arrives with the tiny key, I 100% do not want to spend $17.99 on this razor anymore, but she’s already here and it would be weird if I didn’t after putting her through the enormous trouble of walking from aisle 4 to the register and back. So, I smile through all her huffing and puffing as I follow her back to the register with my overpriced Gillette while going over how long I can go without paying my cable bill before they shut it off. It’s cool guys, you’ve got a whole ‘nother month.

How to change a tire:

Tough day for my masculinity on today’s chair, but these are deeply held secrets that must be brought out into the open because I couldn’t think of anything else to write about today! The fact that I don’t know how to change a tire is something I really really really did not want to write about because I’m positive that it will lead to me blowing out a tire in the very near future. It’s called jinxing yourself, and if you don’t believe in that stuff then I’m jealous of your rational thought patterns.

This is an instance where my dad definitely taught me how to change a tire multiple times, but I just pretended like I was listening every time and never actually learned how to do it. The advent of internet phones has soothed my fears of this deficiency since I can just google “how to change my tire,” if it happens, but still. If The VP and I are driving to Mississippi and I blow out a tire in the middle of “who the fuck lives in a place without cell service”-Arkansas we are officially screwed.

What would probably happen is I would pretend to be calm about the whole situation while leafing through the car manual held in my glove compartment. When I’d get to the part about putting the car up on the jack though, my insecurities would get the best of me and I would convince The VP that “shit, I’m missing a tool.” I’d act all mad about not being able to do it myself, but like “whoever put this tool kit together just forgot the…” I’d have to quickly come up with something that sounds like the name of the tool I’m missing. Okay okay, “whoever put this tool kit together just left out the tire iron.” THAT’S DEFINITELY A THING THAT SOUNDS NECESSARY!!! The VP would buy my book of lies and then we’d either have to wait for a not-scary older man to stop and help OR until the town put up a cell tower so I could google “how to find a not-scary older man who can come out here and change my tire for me, but tell my wife that the reason I couldn’t do it was because I was missing a tire iron.”

OUR WORLD:

The VMAs were on last night and The VP and I had absolutely zero interest in watching it. Instead, she went through Instagram and showed me pictures of the artists that were winning awards and we played the “oh my god, we’re so old!”-game. From afar, I hate this game, when people over 30 but under 45 laugh to each other about how old they feel because they can’t play video games all day or know the top-rated show on MTV anymore. Hey, lets chat about something super mundane that I did and then laugh because I followed it with a “oh my god, I’m so old” punchline! HAHAHAHAHA! Pass the barf bag.

But when you’re alone in your apartment, and feeling older than you’ve ever felt because that’s the truth, you kinda…laugh to yourself about how old you are. And guess what I am right now? I’m alone in my apartment. DAMNIT! Let’s go through the Top 10 list of things that make people over 30 feel old even though we’re not and it’s actually kinda’ obnoxious when we say stuff like this:

When we suffer a relatively minor injury.
When we are hungover.
When we scroll through Instagram and mention how many pictures of babies are in our feeds.
When we cook at home.
When we choose to stay in on a Friday night and text apologies to our friends because “we’re so lame lol”
When we talk about buying a Costco. membership.
When we go to any college sporting event at any college.
When we tell everyone with ears how busy we are at work.
When we find the one gray hair on our heads and then proudly talk about how you’re not going to pull it out.
When we get up early.

I hate this shit.

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

From time to time, I’ll go on kicks where I get super back into 90s bands. Currently, I’m in a anything-Chris-Cornell sings on phase. Enjoy the best rock voice of all-time.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When you eat leftovers in the morning and then lunchtime hits and you’re like “well, am I allowed to even eat lunch after smashing through that whole plate of leftovers at 9:07 this morning?” So you just get a small bag of almonds and look forward to dinner.

JIMMY GAMBLES:

I bet on preseason football over the weekend and went 1 for 2. Overall, I lost $7 this weekend but that’s because of baseball. By the way, FUCK BETTING ON BASEBALL! I mean, I’m still gonna do it, but I’ve decided I hate it. HATE.

(My account currently sits at $43.18)

K bye.

Movie Trailer Reviews (Pt. 2) & I May Have to Retire from Sports (8/17/18)

OUR WORLD:

I get panic sweats from not being in my movie theater seat 5 minutes before showtime. Getting The VP anywhere on time is a struggle I fully realize will plague me the rest of my life, but getting to the movie theater and airport with plenty of time to spare is something I will never be rational about. We will be at the airport two hours before our flight. We will be at the movie theater 20 minutes before showtime. In the words of every U.S. Government Official in every action movie with terrorists: “this is not a negotiation.” Unfortunately, forceful military analogies don’t work as well as ones involving fried food when it comes to connecting with The VP of “I’m Almost Done With My Make-Up”. Along those lines, here is what I plan to tell her the next time I’m about to sweat through my shirt at the thought of missing the trailers.

Jimmy: “Can we go ye-”

VP: “I’ll be done in two minutes thank you very much.”

Jimmy: “This theater has mozzarella sticks.”

That’ll work. She may chuckle and act like that’s not going to work, but the make-up brush will go down and there will be newfound urgency to her movements. Mind you, I won’t look into whether the theater does or does not, in fact, have mozzarella sticks, but I can deal with that meltdown once we’re in the building. Yes, we’re going to see a movie, but passing up trailers is like…how can I put this in a way that The VP would understand: Trailers are mozzarella sticks; meant to be a tasty treat before the main course, but so overwhelmingly delicious that they ALWAYS overshadow the entree. Are you passing on free mozza sticks? I didn’t think so. Let’s get into Part 2…

“First Man”:

Ryan Gosling has officially entered the “if he’s in it, I’m probably going to want to go see it” tier of movie stardom. Obviously, we’re going to be interested because space movies are sweet, but seeing Ryan Gosling and…WAIT, IS THAT COACH TAYLOR?!?! DID HE TRADE IN HIS FOOTBALL COACHIN’ WHISTLE FOR AN ASTRONAUT COACHIN’…WHISTLE?!?! YOU BET YOUR FUCKIN’ ASS HE DID!

If you’re not already in on a movie featuring space, Gosdaddy, and Coach CoolDad, may I interest you in a scary sounding soundtrack? The music in the background of this trailer makes me look out of the sides of my eyes before walking slowly to the window with an inquisitive expression on my face. I may whisper something like “what in the…” before turning back to the camera before CUT!

WHAT DID I SEE IN THE WINDOW?!?! Space, guys. I saw’d space stuffs.

I do understand hesitation in buying a ticket to see a movie where you already know the ending; we land on the moon and are all like “suck it Russia!” That’s a valid argument against this movie, and the same one I use when explaining why I don’t go to Bond movies: we know he’s never gonna die. HOWEVA! The movie “Patriots Day” changed my mind on historically-based movies: there is drama involved in the details of missions we only saw the final results of. “Patriots Day” is about the Boston Marathon bombers. Yes, I knew the good guys got the bad guys, but I did NOT know what it took and it was ABSOLUTELY fascinating to see that. “First Man” is about landing on the moon. Yes, I know Neil Armstrong makes it, but I did NOT know that a certain former Texas high school football coach with a smile that could melt an iceberg was the one pulling the strings backstage. Clear eyes, full space-shuttle-gas-tank, can’t lose.

JIMMYSCHAIR FACE REVIEW:

GOOD

“Widows”:

Pairing the writer of “Gone Girl” with the Viola Davis cry-face is a deadly combination, but I’d be lying if I told you that I wasn’t leery of an action movie led by a 53 year-old woman who appears to be in just decent shape. Is that fair? Yes, Tom Cruise is older than Viola Davis in Mission Impossible, but he’s cut from stone and is the best movie runner of all time. Have you ever seen Viola sprint down a dock with a boat burning in the background? Me neither. I know Viola Davis from being a mayor in an action movie I can’t remember and for delivering all-time cheesy lines in promos for “How To Get Away With Murder”.

I did, however, start to buy in once I saw that Michelle Rodriguez was part of the “let’s kill the guys who killed our husbands”-crew. Alright, if we have Viola Davis delivering dramatic lines with no facial expressions and Michelle Rodriguez doing Michelle Rodriguez things, you have my attention. Rodriguez has “don’t fuck with me” written all over her face and is in the kind of shape where I’d be nervous about pissing her off in a dark alley. Okay, starting to buy in, starting to buy in…then, hey! There’s another one in the crew with a shaved head and arms bigger than Bruce Willis’ in “Die Hard”! Now we’re cooking with gas!

As the tense music nears the crescendo and I start remembering how much I love Colin Farrell in everything he has been in, I begin to slowly turn my head towards The VP to give her the “let’s see this”-look when…Oh, Viola no….PLEASE!…DON’T SAY IT!

Viola: “No one thinks we have the balls to pull this off.”

She did it. I can’t believe it except I totally can because I am now convinced that Viola Davis has a clause in every contract that reads “Viola will give at least 18 dead-eye stares into the camera, and must be the one to deliver the most cringe-worthy dramatic line in the movie.” I get that women are leading action movies now and I support that, but if there’s going to be a wink-like line that the female lead has to say in every one of these movies COUNT. ME. OUT.

JIMMYSCHAIR FACE REVIEW:

BAD

“Little Stranger”:

-Somehow, in the midst of our trailer binge, The VP of Ops stole the remote when I wasn’t looking and went straight for the British-y looking trailer. British accents and big old houses are catnip for the VP, AND SHE’S NOT EVEN A CAT, GUYS! SHE’S A WOMAN! Meanwhile, I take British accents and fancy clothes and big old houses as an affront to my Chicago sensibilities. So yes, I did spend most of this trailer giving the VP my unmistakable “you got a lotta fuckin’ nerve”-stare.

I didn’t intend to turn this trailer review into an examination into my marriage, but the fact that she picked this one is the type of selfish move that MUST BE CALLED OUT. The VP’s thought process had to have gone something like this: “Jimmy hates scary movies, and british accents, and big old houses, but mayb—Oh wait! It ALSO has no one either of us have ever heard of in it?” So then there must have been only one thing she could have said to herself, “FUCK JIMMY!” There’s no way around it, this was a stone-cold “Fuck Jimmy”-decision.

In the trailers picked thus far, have you seen anything along the lines of a documentary about Greg Norman’s 1996 collapse at The Masters? Or, wait, remember that trailer I reviewed about the 2001 NBA Draft where the Bulls took Tyson Chandler AND traded up for Eddy Curry and I was convinced that the Bulls were about to start a new dynasty? No, you haven’t heard of either of those trailers because a) they don’t exist and b) even if they did, I have enough COMMON DECENCY to not force my less-decent-than-me wife to sit through them. It would be like your allergist diagnosing you with a peanut allergy while eating a delicious Dark Chocolate and Peanut Butter Kind Bar. I don’t mean to exaggerate too much, but…it’s the way a serial killer thinks, right? Guys? I’m right. The serial killer is like “hmmm, I really enjoy murdering people, but I know this woman won’t enjoy being murdered so…ahhh, fuck her!” Tell me how that’s different than what The VP did here. I’ll wait. (Pssst, it’s not different.)

As far as “Little Stranger” goes; who sees these movies? Ooooooh a bunch of rich brits with weird facial hair are tormented by bells in their house that are ringing when they shouldn’t be. Here’s an idea guys, buy a new house without bells!

JIMMYSCHAIR FACE REVIEW:

BAD

MY WORLD:

An update on my dead ankle? Sure, thanks for asking. It still hurts, but the brace the doctor gave me has gotten me some sympathy and gotten me out of some tasks around the house, so that’s nice. Honestly, what this injury really signals is that I’m never not going to be terrified to play any sport again for the rest of my life.

The few times I’ve played basketball over the last 5 years, I was constantly thinking about tearing my ACL because two of my friends did it. “Hey guys, can I just be the guy who makes all the inbound passes? That’s a position, right? Inbound passing guy?” But now, after destroying my ankle by WALKING, there’s no way I’m going to be able to enjoy playing any sport ever again without thinking about some catastrophic leg injury. (Catastrophic? You turned your ankle Jimmy. Fuckin’ relax.) BUT WHAT IF I CAN’T RELAX?!?! WHAT IF I NEVER RECOVER?!?!

I remember when I was in my 20s and I would hear people in their 30s talk about how old they were and how their bodies changed and blah blah fuckin’ blah. They were all drama queens who didn’t know how to work out properly. And then this shitty thing happened where I turned 33, rolled my ankle in a goddamn pothole and now I’m POSITIVE I’m never going to be able to run without my ankle exploding again. Did I have to contemplate this new reality after being invited to play soccer by a group of teenagers by my apartment last evening? No, they didn’t invite me and…well, they don’t even exist, but I have created this situation in my brain. And if this situation ever does present itself, I will be compelled to tell these teens to relish the years between 13 and 19 before dramatically lifting my right pant leg to reveal my never-to-be-whole-again 33 year-old ankle.

“And that’s why I can’t play soccer with you guys. Ever.”-I’ll say as I embellish a limp back towards my dumpy apartment building.

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

GUYS! GUYS!! HEY GUYS!!!! THE NEW DEATH CAB FOR CUTIE ALBUM IS OUT!!!! I’ve had it on in the background as I wrote this, this morning, but haven’t focused on it yet. No matter, I’m sure it’s earth-shatteringly delicious. Here’s a sure-to-be hot hot track of the new album that I found a live version of!

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When your dog hangs her head off the side of the couch in an undoubtable effort to make you feel guilty for not providing a yard for her to frolic and play in like all the dogs got to in the movies she saw as a puppy. Hey Belle, who’s stopping you from getting a job and contributing?

JIMMY GAMBLES:

I’m back at $0 in my account after only betting parlays for the last week. Confidence is at an all-time low. Not joking when I say that I cannot remember the last time I won a bet. I could look it up because it’s probably been about 3 weeks, but that’s a warning….THAT I’M DUE TO GO ON A REAL HEATER!!!!

(My Bovada account is currently at $0)

K bye.

Movie Trailer Reviews (Pt. 1) and I’m Getting Fat (8/15/18)

OUR WORLD:

Every few months, on a random lazy night, The VP and I will go full-on short-attention span Millennial and choose to watch a bunch of 2 minute movie trailers instead of diving into a new show. (So watching a show has become too hard for you? Says a lot.) For the sake of all of my devoted readers, The VP and I did the thing at the end of each trailer where we look at each other and either raise our eye-brows and purse our lips together, crunch up our nose and furrow our brows, or something in-between. It’s a complicated grading scale, I know, but here’s the breakdown:

GOOD = “Even though we’ll eventually talk ourselves out of it, we should DEFINITELY see that movie when it comes out!”

okay = “It’s going to take someone I trust freaking out about how good this movie is, but I’m not shutting the door.”

BAD = “That movie is going to stink worse than a VP taco fart.”

Before I get into the trailers we watched, I would like to point out that the pictures of me above were taken this morning at roughly 6:45 AM. Why did I use those? Well, you know in the swimsuit issue when they have pictures of “curvier” women to show that there are women of all different shapes and sizes? And then those women are hailed for being brave? Well, I used these pictures to show that there are men out there with bad morning hair and large foreheads that shouldn’t be afraid to SHOW IT OFF! WE’RE JUST AS VALUABLE AS HOT GUYS! If this inspires even just one guy with bad morning hair and a big forehead to head out into public without running a comb through his hair, then I’ve done my job. We can’t all be Johnny Hotbod AND THAT’S OKAY! IT’S NOT OUR FAULT!

ONTO GRADING THE TRAILERS!

“A Star is Born”

Bradley Cooper could not look cooler and is definitely making me think about trying to grow my hair out AGAIN because “maybe this is the time it looks like movie star hair!” I know this is a remake because my dad told me (Dads!) but let’s be real, none of us are going to watch the original because nobody my age cares about Barbara Streisand or Kris Kristofferson. You know who we do care about? Dave Chappelle playing a gravely-voiced wisdom-doling friend to Bradley HotHair. We should all try to find a friend who smokes, wears an old tank and tells us when our “social” drinking has become an issue.

Best line in this trailer is HANDS DOWN when Cooper drops this heater on Lady GaGa as she walks away from him:

Bradley: “Hey”

Lady: “What?” (as she turns around)

Bradley: “I just want to take another look at ya.”

MELT-ALERT! If you’re single, I would HIGHLY suggest using this line on some unsuspecting philly who may have self-esteem issues (I used it on my dog Belle this morning and it didn’t land. She just kept walking…Fuckin’ bitch.)

As far as Lady GaGa goes, here’s the deal: VP loves her and I’m iffy. She does seem like a bit of a try-hard who too easily vacillates between “elegant, sparkly dress singer lady with Tony Bennett” and “dirty shirt, dive bar every-woman”. It usually bugs me, but I’m buying her in this preview. Matta a’ Fack, this feels like PERFECT casting. When she starts singing towards the end of the trailer, The VP started crying and my body was RAVAGED by goosebumps. If you’re not tingling at the 2:06 mark, check yourself into the nearest morgue because you, my friend, are a dead person.

JIMMYSCHAIR FACE REVIEW:

GOOD

“The Old Man & The Gun”

I want to be more excited about this than I am. When we first watched it, I def gave the “gotta see this”-face because I was trying to convince myself. Robert Redford is my Mom’s all-time crush and makes a wrinkly face look cool. He’s also a forever-star and this feels like the last time he’s going to be in a movie that allows him to be the star (felt bad writing that). Then they drop the “it’s a true story” bomb right on our big, dumb heads and we’re thinking “oh triple-fuck-yeah!”

But how interesting can a movie about an old, polite bank robber be? I love bank robbin’ movies as much as any other genre, but the best parts of those movies are the guns, chase scenes, and fiery “we’re going down in a blaze of glory!” speeches that the leader ALWAYS gives to the rest of the crew towards the end. Redford giving soft smiles and cute shoulder shrugs takes away from the “he could die!”-tension. Casey Affleck playing the cop who’s hunting Redford is a solid choice because Casey knocked that role out of the park in “Gone Baby Gone,” but even he seems charmed by Redford’s cute antics. Give me Jon Hamm getting pissed about the “not fuckin’ around crew” in “The Town” ALL DAY over Casey blushing about the note Redford left on a stolen dollar bill for him.

Redford does deliver a patented cool-guy line when he talking to Sissy Spacek about life metaphors, and says: “You know what I do when the door closes? I jump out the window.” Can anyone pull a line like that off in real life? There has to be a documentary somewhere about a real-life bank robber who tries to talk like that, but it just comes off as cringeworthy, right?

Oh, real quick, Tom Waits is in the movie and when I hear his voice all I can think about is how Heath Ledger based his “Joker”-voice off of Tom Waits. Sorry Tom, but you’re the Joker forever now.

JIMMYSCHAIR FACE REVIEW:

okay

“Life Itself”

This movie CAN’T WAIT to make you pretend not to be crying while sitting next to your weeping wife. One hundred percent chance that you’ll look down at your feet at some point in this movie while telling yourself to “fucking get it together, you’re an adult in public.”

First off, is the “Hola”-guy fat Channing Tatum with a mustache? Once that guy hit the screen, all I could think about was “what the hell happened, Channing?” Anyway, I’m torn on this trailer because I think I’m falling madly, deeply in love with Olivia Wilde, but I can’t remember anything she has been in that’s actually good. She’s stunningly gorgeous, and ALWAYS comes off as “down to earth” because she has weird haircuts and wears college-girlfriend clothes, but is she a good actress? If she was, I’d be able to think of ONE role where I thought she was good, right? (Hey Olivia, welcome to Jimmy’s attempt to play hard-to-get. I assure you, however, that he is not hard to get at all.)

Meanwhile, Oscar Isaac has officially wrestled the “that guy who’s in everything I hear is good but don’t see”-trophy from Viggo Mortensen. He’s a good actor because he looks actory and I say “Oh, I like this guy” when I’m around other people, but I’m not positive I’ve actually seen anything he has been in. This casting is feeling like some sort of magic trick. Like, at the end of the trailer, I’m half-expecting David Blaine to just show up dangling a pocket watch in front of me while whispering “you DO want to see this movie.” I do? I DO! Wait…do I?

The voiceover dialogue is heavy handed but well-written. The song playing in the background makes me feel…emotions…and makes me want to…probably wait to watch this on demand. The dead parents joke towards the end is solid, but then immediately feels off-putting when we see beardy Oscar Isaac having a MOMENT with a Starbucks in his hand. This is the movie that your parents see and your Dad stays completely silent while your Mom assures you that it’s “INCREDIBLE!”

JIMMYSCHAIR FACE REVIEW:

okay

MY WORLD:

Should I just get fat? I have a fantastic excuse of my badly sprained ankle to put some weight on AND get sympathy at the same time. In fact, I think if I put weight on it’ll only draw attention to my horrible, horrible, “he’s tougher than me for walking on it”-ankle injury. How would that happen? Thanks for asking; people would see me, immediately think to themselves that “wow, he has let himself go,” only to be smacked right in their dumb, judgmental face with me lifting my right pant leg to reveal A FREAKING ANKLE BRACE! I’d plunge the dagger deeper with a line like, “killing me not being able to workout.” And you better believe the only shirt I’ll be wearing is my 2013 Chicago Marathon shirt that has gotten VERY TIGHT. Get ready to feel bad about your inner thoughts re: my weight.

Real talk, I have felt a little bit bigger since this horrific, horrific injury and I am getting self-conscious about it. You ever put a pair of pants on that feel tighter than they usually do, but then quickly tell yourself “I mean, they did just come out of the dryer”? Because that was me yesterday–blaming the dryer and not the fact that I’ve eaten maybe 37 mini-York peppermint patties over the past…uh…one day. Why was it hard to get to the third notch of the belt? I mean, I probably just tried to fasten the belt lower on my hips than normal. Hips are wider than waist. Obviously. I definitely pulled my pants up a few times yesterday and sucked in to be like “yeah, they’re still loose!” They weren’t loose though, guys. I repeat, not loose.

Shouldn’t my body realize that I’m not able to workout and compensate accordingly? Hey body, I’m not lying on my back while eating an entire bag of Goldfish because my ankle DOESN’T hurt! How ’bout a little help, metabolism? Maybe Mr. Metabolism could pick up some slack one fucking time.

Since Mr. Metabolism and my dumb body are too lazy to help me out and keep my waistline in check, I’m thinking I just lean into this to prove what assholes my body and my metabolism are. “Wait, so they clearly know your injured, and they’re not doing anything to help you out? And yeah, you deserve to eat chip products on your back with an ankle like that!” THAT’S WHAT I’M SAYING!

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

This song came on this morning and I stopped what I was doing to just smile and bop my head around to the beat. Try it.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

The street we live on is closed through the weekend for a children’s carnival. Great. I can’t wait to see how calm Belle is about getting walked next to screaming kids who think they’re allowed to pet anything that comes near them. Hey kids, if you like your fingers, I suggest keeping them away from my anxiety-ridden doggo.

JIMMY GAMBLES:

I got a “bonus” from Bovada yesterday because THEY LOVE ME! and definitely not because I’ve been losing at an alarming pace and Bovada has nicknamed me “The ATM”. I’m not kidding, I can’t remember the last win I had. I am in full-on, betting only parlays mode because I need a big win to make up for recent losses. This strategy, thus far, has proved fruitless. Its gotten so bad that I have begged for picks from a guy I work while referring to him as “Baseball Guy” because he talks about baseball sometimes. Talk about baseball once in my presence? Guy MUST know how to pick games. I lost the first parlay he gave me.

(Account currently at $11.42)

K bye.

My Dog is Scared of a Dead Fly

MY WORLD:

So Belle, aka “Numbah One Pretty Gurrrr” aka “BOB” aka “BOOF” aka “I Kinda Blame You For Ruining My Ankle The Other Night When I Stepped In A Pothole While Walking You”, has started this NEW thing where she’s scared of a dead fly. This is no exaggeration. Yesterday, when The VP got back from work (I was still out working because of an ethic instilled by my parents at a young age, but that’s neither here nor there) she noticed that Belle was acting a little weirder than normal. After a few minutes, VP realized that there were one/MAYBE TWO flies in our apartment. (Does Jimmy live in a dumpster that he calls an “apartment”? Who has seen this “apartment”?) The VP reported that, quoting from her actual text, “Belle heard a fly and now she legit won’t move. Just standing completely still.” By the time I got home, The VP had yet to kill the fly because her hand eye coordination rivals that of a blind amputee, and Belle was in our bedroom, hiding under our bed. Totally normal behavior for a 56 pound dog to be TERRIFIED of a housefly. WE REALLY LUCKED OUT WITH OUR FIRST DOG GUYS!

After some tense negotiations between myself and Señorita Dog, I got her to come out from under the bed for a proper pet sesh. For whatever reason though, me telling her to “stop being a weirdo baby” did not stop her from being a weirdo baby once she spotted the fly land on The VP’s purse. Belle backed up the way you would if you walked in on Michael Myers sharpening his favorite stabbin’ knife. Going into hero-mode, I grabbed The VP’s “Shape” magazine and ended this insect’s life with the snap of my wrist. To remind Belle what kind of man her Daddy is, I grabbed the dead fly’s rotting corpse, smashed it against my forehead, and smeared it’s blood down my face while growling like a PREHISTORIC BEASTMONSTER!!!!!! This did not calm her down. Instead, she went right back into our bedroom and under our bed and has basically been theres since (as of 6:37AM this morning).

Therefore, since my barbaric display did nothing to soothe her newfound fear of flies, maybe Belle would appreciate hearing some of my irrational fears and how I deal with them. As a dogfather, I must be able to relate to Belle whenever possible. Belle, you are not alone, here are my most irrational fears:

Old Southern Men: Show me an old guy with a southern drawl who mumble-talks and you can find me locked in the nearest bathroom texting my mom to “just come get me now.” I’m not sure if they all have monster hands and a permanent limp too, but THEY DEFINITELY DO and it only adds to my crippling anxiety around them. Why? Because, like, they just seem murdery or mad or I’m not a real man or did he just ask me if I chew wood on a grass boat? WHAT’S A GRASS BOAT?!?!? Dealing with this fear consists of me either giving hearty courtesy laughs anytime they open their mouth, or just going full-on “bear survival mode” and sitting as still as possible while not making a sound. (If LeRoy can’t see me, then he can’t kill me and hide my body in that grass boat thing where he chews wood.) This fear has caused serious mental issues anytime I walk into a living room and an Alabama game is on the television. A flood of “oh jesus, there’s an old southern man nearby”-scaries takes over my brain as I collapse into the fetal position under the nearest coffee table.

“Jimmy, why are you under the coffee tabl-”

“I’m not Jimmy.”

The “Unsolved Mysteries” Theme Music: Do you remember that show about ghosts and scary stuff that was hosted by the dude in the trench coat? My parents would watch it when I was a kid and I’d get so scared by it that eventually I would run out of the room crying whenever I heard the opening theme music. I used to think that they kept doing this because they were SICK PEOPLE who thought a scared kid was funny (crying kids running is hilarious and needs to be an instagram account), but now I think it was a way for them to get me out of the room. Like, maybe my Dad really wanted to watch some sweet new Rated R movie that just came on HBO, but I was busy being all “hey Dad, let’s watch some lame bullshit show TOGETHER!” Quick-thinking Dad brain probably loved having the “Unsolved Mysteries” theme music trick in his back-pocket. He’d put that on and I’d be out of his hair; makes perfect sense. What’s even sadder, though, is that at 33 I still haven’t grown out of this. The VP thinks it’s funny and I know I should think it’s funny, but I don’t. When I told her of this fear she got her friends to send me audio texts and snapchats featuring that theme song. The VP would laugh like an idiot and I would try to chuckle but mostly think about “maybe I’m not falling in love with this evil beast woman.” And no, I won’t post a video with that song in it because I’M NOT IN THE MOOD TO FEEL LIKE A HELPLESS CHILD BEFORE I GO TO WORK!

Shopping Carts Behind Me: Whenever I hear that horrific rattling of old shopping cart wheels closing in on me from behind, I am POSITIVE that a serial achilles-clipper is pushing that cart and my achilles is next on his clip-list. Yes, a huge fear of mine is something happening to my achilles tendon, but has anyone in the history of grocery stores had theirs demolished by the bottom shelf of a shopping cart? If the answer to that is “yes,” I do NOT want to see the YouTube videos. If the answer to that is “no,” it may actually be worse because that means it’s DUE to happen sometime soon. The shopping cart record of not cutting an achilles is the DiMaggio hit-streak of grocery store records; and someday, some especially vicious cart pusher is going to make history. I’m gonna be the victim unless I start wearing my chain-link pants whenever we run out of paper towels.

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Heard this song at my dentist’s office yesterday (clean teeth club) and I couldn’t wait to tell people about a hipstery sounding song that I liked. SO THAT’S WHAT I’M DOING! Wait…I’m not watching the video and it suc—-IT’S ABOUT THE MUSIC! JUST CLOSE YOUR EYES AND LISTEN!

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

The people who are saying that they’re ready for summer to be over. If you are one of these people who makes the argument that you’d rather have it be 10 degrees than 95 degrees outside, then you should wear a helmet around me because I will hit you in the head with a metal baseball bat for being a DUMB.

AM I ACTUALLY A BAD GAMBLER? OR, IS MY LUCK ABOUT TO TURN AND QUITTING NOW WOULD BE LIKE SELLING APPLE RIGHT BEFORE THEY CAME OUT WITH THE iPOD?

Fresh new deposit into my account and IMMEDIATELY on the following golfers for the PGA Championship: Tiger Woods, Patrick Cantlay, Jon Rahm, Jason Day, Marc Leishman, Daniel Berger, Aaron Wise, Thorbjorn Olesen, Joaquin Niemann. I’ve never heard of Niemann or Wise, but that’s the sign of a good gambler…you trust the odds. Oh also, real quick, my gambling-confidence is at an all-time low and I’m positive I’m going to lose every bet I make for the rest of my life and I still won’t stop. I’M NOT ADDICTED. (My Bovada account is currently at $12.60)

K bye.

How I Actually Hurt My Ankle & “The Bachelorette” Finally Ended!

MY WORLD:

Do you remember when you were younger and the rough-housing you were doing with your siblings or friends came to an abrupt end when one of you got ACTUALLY hurt? No one questioned how you got hurt because you were always surrounded by people who saw you smash your face into a hammock pole while running a post route in your friend’s front yard. One second you’re all laughing, the next, you’re flat on your back with a panicked look, while saying “help, help, help, help.” Reminiscing about those “help, help, help, help” moments is hysterical, until you find yourself on your back again. Only this time, it’s in a Chicago alley at 11:30 PM and you’re saying those words to your dog; who’s more interested in that bag under the dumpster next to you. As I have come to find out since late Saturday night, when I took my numbah one pretty gurl for what should have been a nondescript walk, the difference between childhood and adulthood injuries is stark; childhood injuries are funny, adulthood injuries are suspicious.

I took Belle for a walk on Saturday night, stepped in a pothole in the middle of an alley we were walking down, and destroyed my ankle. That’s it! That’s the story! (I’ve never trusted these “pothole” stories). I crumpled to the ground, not knowing exactly what happened, aside from the fact that my right ankle felt like it exploded, and laid on my back trying not to cry. (If anyone has video of this, I’m sure it would go viral. “ManBaby almost cries alone on back in alley.”) Belle was sweet and kinda sniffed my face while also being like “dang that sucks ’bout yo leg, but lemme check out what’s under this dumpster!” I get it, dumpster searches and barking at minorities are Belle’s top priorities.

After hobbling up to my apartment, three flights of stairs that felt like ten billion flights of nail-crusted stairs, I told The VP that my ankle was dead. DEAD. DONEZO. FINISHED! She helped lay me down on our stupid, shitty couch that we took from our friend’s trash pile 2 years ago (not a joke) and got me long socks to wrap my grapefruit of an ankle with. Why socks? BECAUSE WE’RE THE ONLY ADULTS IN THE WORLD WHO DIDN’T HAVE A GODDAMN ACE BANDAGE IN THEIR HOUSE. Anyway, with my ankle wrapped in my V fashionable Nike knee socks, I started contemplating what the next few days were going to entail: constant leg pain, an obnoxious trip to a nearby x-ray room, and, most importantly, having to convince everyone that this wasn’t a “Jimmy was hammered drunk and did this”-incident. I could already hear the people in my head responding to the pothole story with “yeah, but what really happened?” I STEPPED IN A POTHOLE. THAT’S IT! (Pretty defensive IMVHO)

Now, I won’t lie, was I totally, completely sober? No, I was not. GOD FOR-FUCKING-BID I ENJOY AN OFF-DAY WITH A FEW ADULT BEVERAGES!!! I was a few beers deep when I took Belle on this fateful walk, but it’s not like I was challenging people to race me down a fire escape after my 14th shot of “whatever’s cheapest”-Tequila. First off, I don’t even really like tequila, so that’s hole number one in your “you had to be smashed argument”. (I do like margaritas, but we’re talking shot-wise here, folks. STAY FOCUSED!) Second! Wouldn’t you think I could come up with a cooler sounding story than “I stepped in a pothole” if I was actually trying to hide the fact that it was a drunken escapade gone wrong? I’m a writer (amateur) for chrissake! But still, the first two friends I texted about my injury replied with, essentially, the same responses: “how drunk were you?” There wasn’t a “oh, that sucks, I’m sorry,” or “ouch!” or “let me know if I can help while you’re UNABLE TO WALK AND PERFORM BASIC HUMAN FUNCTIONS.” NOPE! JUST BLATANT DISTRUST OF THE BACKGROUND SURROUNDING MY INJURY. BLATANT. DISTRUST.

Therfore, since it has become apparent that my “friends” will not believe the “ACTUAL STORY” regardless, I would like to put forth another scenario in which my ankle may have gotten injured…I will leave it up to the reader to decide how my ankle actually became the size of a grapefruit:

The Second Dunk Attempt Story:

So The VP and I were walking back home following a lovely meal we had just enjoyed at a local Italian eatery. Naturally, I had a salad and water because I don’t eat food for enjoyment, I simply eat for sustenance. You don’t put unleaded into a diesel engine, nah’mean? During our stroll, we encountered some local ruffians whistling and hooting and hollering at my lovely wife. Being the secure, masculine man that I am, I simply smiled and waved, as if to say “thank you, I agree.” Unfortunately, however, a member of said ruffian group, named Burt, misinterpreted my gratitude and decided to confront me.

“Think you’re better than me?” Asked the menacing Burt.

“Sir, what is your name? I would like to address you properly,” I responded as The VP attempted to pull me and my huge torso muscles in the opposite direction.

“My name is Burt,” he said–which is when I knew “this guy’s name is Burt.”

“Hi Burt, my name is Jimmy, I’m not sure if I’m better than you. However, I certainly was not meaning to imply that with my wave and toothy, picturesque smile. To be honest, I might be better than you at some things, but worse than you at others. If we spend the time tallying up everything, well, Burt, that would take days.”

“I’m talking about that,” Burt said as he pointed to the nearby basketball court.

Following some negotiation, Burt and I decided that we would decide who was better at dunking a basketball. The VP, never having seen me dunk before because I’m humble and don’t like to show off, pleaded with me to “just let it go.” But I couldn’t let it go; not with my wife’s honor at stake. So I tied my casual, yet fashionable Levi’s loafers extra tight and followed Burt to the basketball court.

Using the manners that my parents taught me when I was a young boy, I allowed Burt to go first. Burt grabbed the ball from one of his ruffian friends, pounded it twice on the ground to show that he was strong and ran towards to hoop. As he took off, he put the ball in his right hand and began a tomahawk-like motion as he neared the rim. His legs splaying through the air, he whipped the ball forward and…right into the front of the rim. Failure washed over Burt’s face as he landed. He missed his dunk and, even worse, pulled away from me when I tried to console him.

Now it was my turn. Unfortunately for you, the reader, I don’t want to get into too many details regarding my dunk because I’m so humble, but let’s just say it was a 360 windmill between the legs that left the ruffians stunned and my wife so proud that she immediately called her Mom to revel in what an amazing athlete she had married. But I don’t want to get into it further than that.

“Beginners luck!” Burt snarled as he whipped the basketball into my chest. “Do it again, or I won’t admit that you’re better than me at dunking!”

Not wanting to highlight Burt’s lack of intelligence by dispelling the faulty notion of “beginner’s luck,” I obliged his infantile request. However this time, while gliding through the air like a Peregrine Falcon approaching his unsuspecting prey, I noticed Burt sticking his leg under the basket, directly where my right foot would land post-awe-inspiring-dunk numero dos. Thankfully, my eye-body coordination is so stunningly fast, that I was able to adjust my landing immediately after throwing down yet another rim-rattling 360 windmill between the legs dunk.

Once landed, with my right foot narrowly missing Burt’s maliciously placed leg, I didn’t say anything to his now despondent-looking face. Instead, I simply winked at him and then blew a kiss to my adoring wife. That’s when Burt took the handgun out from his waistband and pistol-whipped my right ankle.

And that’s how my ankle got hurt.

OUR WORLD:

Last night, this season of “The Bachelorette” came to a merciful end after a 3 hour show that included about 6 minutes of interesting television: when Blake almost had a heat stroke while getting dumped, and when Garrett tried to explain that Instagram’s “Like” feature is too complicated for him to grasp. We can all agree that this season sucked because Becca has the personality of a plastic spork, and the only guy with charisma, Jordan, was probably a paid actor. So we move on and hope that next season they make Chad “The Bachelor”. But there is one thing that stuck with me throughout last night’s episode, that I just can’t shake…Chris Harrison SUCKS.

How is it that someone with no discernible talent becomes the face of the most popular television franchise on ABC? I understand the need to cast a “straight man” opposite some outlandish character in a buddy comedy, but why cast one to host an ultimately, mean-spirited reality dating show? When Blake came out last night and everyone was watching how sad he was about getting dumped in front of a gajillion people, Chris could’ve cut the tension with a little joke, or asked an insightful question about where he goes from here, or….ANYTHING OTHER THAN ASK “HOW DOES WATCHING THAT MAKE YOU FEEL?” That’s the question that people without functioning brains are wondering. “Hey Blake, when you watch that time you got kicked in the nuts while wearing a suit in 120 degree heat, does that make you feel good?”

Remember too, that this episode is Chris Harrison’s chance to shine. It’s the Super Bowl of his season where he is one of the main characters in the show and he comes to the table with the “how did that make you feel?”-question?!?! An ABC executive should have come out on stage at that very moment and stapled an oversized dunce cap to his dumb head while informing him that he has been sentenced to life in prison for “being a horribly stupid dating show host.” NO POSSIBILITY FOR PAROLE!

Quickly, here are my top 5 suggestions for people to replace Chris Harrison:

Dave Chappelle
Amy Schumer
Dr. Phil
O.J. Simpson
Barack Obama

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

My Mom posted a video about this dog on Facebook a few days ago and he’s now my second (maybe even first) favorite dog in the world.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Chris Harrison.

JIMMY GAMBLES…

I’M AT $0 AFTER THE CUBS WON BY 2 LAST NIGHT EVEN THOUGH I BET THEM TO WIN BY 3-4. COOL GUYS!

K bye.