I’m going to find out how many days until the local grade school starts back up, and then hang a MASSIVE banner counting down the days from my roof so that all the neighborhood kids are reminded that they have to go back to school in “13, 12, 11…” days. Now, here’s the thing, I’m not going to do that because I don’t make enough money to buy a very huge banner every day. BUT! One day, when I’m making the BIG BUCKS, I’d like to think that I’d do that because it would make my group chat laugh and that’s basically the most important thing in the world. (Yep, checks out.)
Unfortunately for them, kids are at the point of summer where it’s all about “back to school” and in the words of 11 year-old me, “ugggghhmmm,” (did you just try to type out the sounds you used to make when you started to cry? That did NOT land.) Now, are there kids who, unlike me, actually enjoyed school? Kids who, unlike me, looked forward to seeing their friends every day? Kids who, unlike me, had friends who didn’t create a game called “Jimmy rides a bike in front of me while I throw a football at him until I’m able to knock him off the bike”? Sure, that’s possible. But I suspect that most kids are dreading every day that moves closer to them having to go back into the buildings that make them learn and be self-conscious about every single action they take. (But Jimmy, you’re still so self conscious that you refuse to shave your beard because you think it’ll make you look even fatter than you are now.)
Wait…I’m fat?
NOT NOW, JIMMY! (You are, though. You are fat.) I SAID NOT NOW!
What I’m trying to get to is that I think we’re all entitled to celebrate the fact that we’re no longer kids and, therefore, we ADULTS still have a good amount of summer left! (Yeah! Suck it, kids!) So, what should we do to celebrate the REST of our adult summer? (Adult summer? Like, sex stuff?) Here’s some suggestions from your favorite Old Bitch (Is that your nickname now?) I mean, Old Coach (then why did you write “Old Bitch”?) CAN I JUST WRITE THIS?! GODDAMNIT! WHATEVER!
Here are 5 things you should do before it gets cold:
Drink on a boat while wearing something your spouse hates.
-Guys, wear that boxy, short sleeved button down where you leave all of the buttons open and your wife asks, “are you seriously not going to button any of them?”
-Lady women, wear…I don’t know. Something that either makes your husband uncomfortable because it’s too revealing (Why do you have to know if Justin is going to be on the boat before picking your outfit?)
Listen to music that you’re kind of embarrassed that you liked in high school, while grilling with a cigar (yeah, and a drink).
-I’ll be putting my iPhone in a cup (JUST BUY A GODDAMN PORTABLE SPEAKER!) and playing early Fall Out Boy (the songs with the Pete Wentz screamo? Neighbors will love that!) I’ll also be pretending to like the cigar I’m getting zero buzz off, while drinking a summery clear-drink like a gin and tonic that I AM getting a buzz off of.
Go get ice cream during work hours on a weekday.
-I honestly can’t remember the last time I went to an ice cream shop (Ice cream store? Ice cream parlor? Parlour? Nope. Impossible. Moving on.) It does sound really nice, though. Right? Also, it’s super American. Ice cream cones? Come on! I’m thinking mint chip in a cone, but I won’t lie to you—I can’t remember the last time I had ice cream out of a cone and I’m nervous about the drippage! (Slob.)
Seriously think about how sweet it would be if you were able to put a pool in your backyard and talk, in detail, about how you’d build it out.
-Look dude, you’re never gonna have your own pool. That purchase is NOT IN THE CARDS FOR YOU, JACK! But, you can talk about how you would set up your backyard yard for a whole pool/outdoor bar set-up. You know, like the chef guys on Instagram who make awesome sandwich creations on their awesome outdoor kitchen next to their awesome outdoor pool surrounded by their perfectly manicured yard? (Know what they don’t have, though? A big rusty grill. So…got ‘em there!)
Wake up early on a Saturday to walk to a local coffee shop and, while there, text your neighbor asking if they want anything, but what you’re really doing is letting them know that you’re better at enjoying weekend summer mornings than they are.
-A super fun/white thing to do is spend way too much money at a coffee shop early on a weekend morning. We’re talking scones, and coffee drinks, and a croissant! Maybe another scone! (A very cool 21 year old named “Cal” just pulled your pants down in public, called you a small-dicked loser, and then took a crystal clear picture of you with his brand new iPhone. Cal is actually the head of a fraternity and, suddenly, the entire frat is there now…also taking pictures…and laughing at you…and now they’re sending the picture of you with your pants down to all the girls they know. You’re going viral. The picture of 37 year-old you, with your pants around your ankles, holding an $11 Vietnamese coffee and 3 cranberry scones is going VERY viral.) Scone guy!
MY WORLD:
The VP of Ops and I have a baby now.
LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:
“Hacks” on HBOMAX. I don’t want to put the effort in to remember the last 30-minute show that made me laugh hard, so I’m just going to say I can’t remember a 30-minute show that made me laugh this hard. It’s funny, well-written, and pretty well acted (but you said the second lead kinda sucked. You said!) Watch it and let me know your thoughts on the second lead.
Oh, and Crocs!
LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:
The LIV Golf Tour thing. I’m going to write more about this sometime soon (what about the baby? Are you going to write about your baby?) but I don’t understand how any of this is good for the golf fan. For the “it’ll give you more golf to watch!”-crowd, I’d like to ask you this: when is the last time a new format of a sport popped up that you then became a big fan of? Anyone super into “The Big 3”? How many times has the XFL failed now? The PGA Tour, and the format they use, has been around for a hundred years because fans of golf like it. Good luck to Patrick Reed, though, gonna miss rooting for him!
JIMMY GAMBLES:
Very exciting news on this front! My betting partner and I have placed college football and NFL futures bets! Futures are fun because you can’t lose them immediately. Also, when your NFL team sucks like mine does (go…uh….bears….) these bets give you something else to root for. ALSO! (starting another sentence with ‘also’? The return to this blog is going great!) If you get any of your futures bets right, you can brag about how smart you are, but if you lose, no one will remember when you told them that Kyrie Irving was going to win last year’s “Most Vaccinated”. Without further ado, here are my three favorite futures bets for NFL/NCAAF:
Heisman Winner – Jaxson Dart (+6000)
NFL MVP – Christian McCaffrey (+15000)
NFL Comeback Player of the Year – MITCHELL DAMN TRUBISKY BABY!!!!
I don’t love “Mare of Easttown”, okay? Is that okay? Goddamnit, stop breaking into my house, scaring my dog and screaming “but it has everything you love” at the top of your lungs at me! That’s illegal! STOP VIOLATING LAWS TO INTIMIDATE ME INTO LOVING THE KATE WINSLET MURDER SHOW!!!
I know that it’s a good show. Just like I know that Anne Hathaway is beautiful and Derek Jeter was good at baseball. But, there’s just something gnawing at me. Like, “if she’s so beautiful, why are you more attracted to a well-made everything bagel with chive cream cheese?” Or, “if he’s such a great shortstop, how come I always thought his highlights were overrated?” I know “Mare of Easttown” is a good show, but a combination of COVID, my boss, and “Saturday Night Live” have ruined it for me. This is my truth. (When did you become so brave, Jimmy? Should we stand and applaud now? I’d like to.)
First off, there’s no way around Covid numbing my television senses at this point. I’ve watched so much shit from my couch (couch?!?! WHAT HAPPENED TO THE CHAIR?!?!) over the past 15 months, that I don’t even know what’s good anymore. Everything is just on. To get me excited about television right now, I think you’d need to bring Chris Farley back to life to star in a show called “Hey Jimmy, Chris Farley Isn’t Dead Anymore.”
Also, I get that everyone loves murder, but maybe we could all get excited about something that has to do with…I don’t know, ANYTHING ELSE. The VP of Ops (wait…she’s still with you? Why?) is also the VP of ConsumingAnyMurderContentAvailableToTheHumanRace, so that may play into my current boredom with the topic. But, when’s the last scripted show that wasn’t revolving around a murder that you were excited to watch? (Succession Succession SUCCESSION! SUCCESSION!!!!) It’s definitely “Succession”, but that hasn’t been out since people started getting wiping down their groceries. It’s all murder shows and murder podcasts and murder documentaries and maybe-he-didn’t-murder-her shows and talking about murder and giving murder a try and lying to your wife about giving murder a try. ENOUGH WITH MURDER! (Wait.)
Then, there’s my boss who told me it was a laughably bad show after the third episode. Call me what you will, a good employee, loyal, (a blind sheep) whatever, but it had an impact on me. The person who is basically in charge of whether I get to pay off my massive and mounting gambling debts (your wife knows, Jimmy. We all know..) laughed about how bad this show was. Guys, he laughed. The accents, the overacting, the plot, were all like Chapelle punchlines to him. And this laughing fit was AFTER I told him that he needed to start watching it because of how good it was. Having your boss laugh in your face is a real gut-check moment and so I checked my gut, and my gut said “hey, maybe the guy who runs the company you work for knows more than you.” So shit.
Finally, there was the SNL skit “Murdur Durdur”. If you enjoy “Mare of Easttown”, just keep enjoying it and don’t watch this skit. But, if you are wondering why you can’t quite get to the “hey! It’s Sunday and Mare is on!”-level of excitement, give this skit a whirl. For me, it completely ruined the show and I haven’t been able to take it seriously since. I don’t know how to grade SNL skits other than “it made me laugh” or “it kinda made me laugh”, but this one made me laugh AND THINK! “Wait…is this whole show just…silly?” Watching this skit is like watching a food documentary in your 30s and realizing that all the “low calorie” and “diet” products that you’ve been consuming your whole life are actually worse for you than the alternatives. “So…diet’s are bad? WHO AM I?!?!?!” (You’re Jimmy, and you currently can’t fit into any pants of yours that don’t have the elastic waist thing.)
Look, I’m still watching it (oh wow! Thank you!) but you have to know that I’m kinda lying when I tell you how good I think it is. I’m tired of murder and I’m tired of television and I’m tired of my couch (again with the couch! WHERE’S THE FUCKING CHAIR?!?!) I think I need to go to a few crowded malls again to reignite my passion for staying in. Or maybe, go pay a bunch of money for a mediocre concert that’s IMPOSSIBLE to get to and back from? Maybe that’ll remind me how amazing television is. Or, I don’t know, maybe I could try murder again and see if it made me feel anything other than underwhelmed by the lack of adrenaline it created. (Oh. Yeah, you have a nice Monday too.)
I don’t like you. I want you to know that. No fluff, or qualifiers, I just want you to know that I, Jimmy Pomerantz, a lifelong Cubs fan, do not like you. (Is this because the Cubs didn’t hire you for that job application you put zero effort into?)
Now, being the big, important, side-parted adult that you are, I’m sure you’ve become a pro at pressing your lips together and feigning a look of concern when fans tell you this. “Hey, I walk up and down the rows of Wrigley because I actually care what the fans think!” What a crock of shit. When did owners decide that all fans are knuckle-dragging morons who will empty their thin wallets no matter how upper management treats them? (Probably in year 53 of the Cubs sucking, yet still selling out basically every game…FAIR POINT! MOVING ON!) This whole “I walk amongst the fans”-line is so condescending, it makes me want to eat expired food just so I can throw it up for effect. How is that a favor? A king coming down from his throne to walk amongst the peasants and then asking the peasants for gratitude just for doing that. “Please applaud me for putting myself in the same physical vicinity as you poor losers,” is another way of describing “walking amongst the fans.” It’s the more accurate way of describing your interactions with the people whose wallets you own.
Here is what you’ve done to me, as a fan:
You’ve turned Wrigleyville into a giant cash register. When you started with the whole plan to update the area around Wrigley, it was easy to be persuaded that new and updated is always better than old and dirty. There were people on the radio telling me that there was no downside and that all of these updates would lead to higher payroll and greater player satisfaction. “New locker rooms!” “Big screens!” “New restaurants!” Who argues against big screens, better teams and tastier treats?!?!
For those like me, tell me what’s better about Wrigleyville now than 10 years ago? The taco place? Okay, but who’s ripping margs right before heading into Wrigley? Sorry, but beer and hot dogs are all that are meant for baseball. The rest is just sparkly bullshit that no actual fan is really into eating on gameday. Oh, how about the big new bars in the hotels that have zero character, charge through the nose for EVERYTHING, and give everyone who works there a walkie talkie? Can I not have a server who looks like an air traffic controller? I don’t know, maybe it’s just me, but being served by people who look like they belong on a runway isn’t exactly the most welcoming atmosphere.
Oh, but then there’s Gallagher Way! Or, whatever the grassy area is where I think you need a ticket to get in, but maybe sometimes not? I don’t know and I’ll never know. Either way, it’s just an extension of the astronomical prices you see INSIDE the ballpark. What’s special about that area? Grass? Are we really that excited to stand on BLADES OF GRASS that we’re willing to pay the same we would for a beer inside the stadium? What am I missing? The appeal of Gallagher Way is….what? And who the fuck is Gallagher anyway? At least try to trick me into some feelings of nostalgia by calling it “Ernie Banks Way” or something a little more identifiable.
Then you created a new network for Cubs games and began hardball negotiating with local cable companies and streaming services to make sure that you were able to upcharge the generations of Cubs fans through their cable bills as well. Because, if you’re not getting money from your fans in every conceivable way, you’re just not a good business, right? Isn’t that the rationale? Okay, so I bit! You were fucking around with Comcast when Marquee started, so you know what I did? I left Comcast and signed up for Hulu Live because Hulu had reached an agreement with Marquee. Sweet! I can watch the Marquee team that hasn’t signed a Marquee position player free agent since Jason “Watch Me Roll Over This” Heyward. THEN! After one year, you guys decide “okay, we’ve got Comcast, now lets fuck with Hulu” so you took Marquee off Hulu until they met your demands…which they still haven’t. So now, I’m supposed to what? Switch back to Comcast? Why, so you can do the same thing again next April? Fuck you dude.
And spare me the “growing pains” excuse of a new network and blah blah blah. The reason you’re able to negotiate these insane rights deals with your own network is because of the centuries worth of Cubs fans who have created this demand. Instead of looking to SOLELY capitalize on that goodwill, maybe…I don’t know, ease into it? You’re new here, pal. Oh, but the World Series Jimmy! Remember the World Series?!?! Yeah, we won a World Series in 2016, but that was because of Theo and the players. What did you do? Hire Theo? Big whoop! “Hey, the best GM in the game is upset in Boston, should we try to get him?” WHAT A VISIONARY! And since that move, what have you done to make the typical Cubs fans life more enjoyable? More bathrooms at Wrigley? Okay. Cool. Thanks for the urinals.
Where are the extensions for our best players? You really telling me that mid-to-late 20s Kris Bryant, Wilson Contreras, and Javy Baez are too old to build another contender around them? We JUST went through a rebuild in 2014, now we’re doing that again? So what, every decade, we get a few good years before some absolutely brutal, unwatchable ones? Where’s that consistency you talked about when you came on? That go out the door when you and your family pissed Theo off by making mega donations to that orange megalomaniac?
What you’re doing is putting on a costume out in public, while assuring the people that work for you that us fans aren’t going anywhere, so it’s okay to treat our wallets like their own personal debit card. Remember, in 2015 when you people would ask, “What would you give up for a Cubs World Series?” Clearly, behind the thick wood doors with big locks atop the Cubs offices, Tom Ricketts was asking that same question.
Yesterday it was announced that Illinois will move into Phase 4 of the “Yeah, whatever” reopening plan this Friday, which means that gyms will be allowed to reopen. These gyms will be asked to limit capacity and do a bunch of weird shit that probably won’t help much at all, and the penalties for not doing this weird shit will be…nothing because how can you enforce any of this? What I don’t think the government and gym owners have realized, though, is that conclusions are reached when patterns of behavior are altered. And Illinoisans, by virtue of the 3 month long “don’t do anything!”-orders, have concluded that paying to go to a gym is a moronic waste of money and we will never do it again.
For people that do value working out and fitness (fuckin’ nerds) the past three months has been about finding other ways to stay in shape and, you know what? They’re preferable! While they do have workout equipment and locker rooms, a gym’s primary function is to put you in close proximity with people with who do things that annoy the EVER-LOVING SHIT OUT OF YOU! Exercise? Yeah, an exercise in self-restraint, maybe. Such as, “if the guy on the elliptical next to me doesn’t stop FaceTiming with his ex-wife, I will NOT kick the outside of his left knee and explode his leg. I will NOT do that! I won’t!” And then, 6 seconds deeper into his FaceTime marriage counseling session, you reconsider and decide that maybe jail is worth it.
By now, we’ve all learned that we can run outside for free! That push-ups and bodyweight exercises are effective, even though they may not look as cool as lifting dumbbells in front of a mirror. You know what you were doing in front of that mirror, right? (Uh…checking my form.) Stop it. You were admiring looking momentarily-yolked while hoping the girl who dates the better-looking, richer, more secure version of yourself, will walk by, catch that same view and…(I don’t know what he’s talking about, honey! I swear, I go to the gym because they have the specific equipment I need to sculpt my traps! I don’t even notice other people there, honestly!)
What else have we all been missing about going to the gym? Well, how can you forget about how relaxing the steam room is, right? You know, that small room where it’s hard to see but easy to smell? That room where you walk in after working out with a towel around your waist, praying to LordBabyJesus that Terry “No Towel” Thompson isn’t sitting, spread-eagle next to the only open slot left. Don’t worry, though, if “No Towel” is taking a day off, there’s sure to be the guy who thinks this room is meant for making new friends! (I like making friends, though…) Yeah because my idea of relaxing after a hard workout is sitting in a superhot, smelly room with the uber driver who is known for having “great conversations!”
Please don’t forget about the people who take naps on equipment you’d like to be using in between their 19 sets. Just ask them if you can hop in for a quick set, right? Nah, you’re forgetting this is the same person who is ALWAYS “I’m almost done.”
“Oh, so that’s a no?”
“Yeah, that’s a no. Now please let me get back to my public nap while wearing a dry-fit shirt THANK YOU VERY FUCKIN MUCH!”
Yeah, but the treadmills with the televisions right on the front are really nice to run on, at least! You’re right! I especially love when the ONE CHANNEL I want to watch is currently scrambled so instead, I get to watch minor-league softball practice on ESPN3 while trying to figure out how to turn off the closed captioning. Now, of course, you could simply go to the front desk and tell them that the only channels that aren’t having seizures are the ones showing “Big Bang Theory” and “Alf”, but you’re forgetting that the front desk employee is required to respond to that with a blank “why would I ever care about that?”-stare. (I miss those stares!)
And finally, before we decide to never walk into one of these rip-off palaces again, do me a favor and remember how great the Wi-Fi is. Whenever there’s more than, I don’t know, ONE PERSON IN THE ENTIRE GYM, the Wi-Fi starts to sputter. So as you’re shaking off the cobwebs from last night’s bender on the creaky elliptical, and juuuuust starting to vibe to that new Weeknd song, it stops and you see the spinny thing next to the little WiFi signal. “Oh cool, I’ll just switch over to data now and run up my already overpriced phone bill! JUST WHAT I WAS HOPING TO ACHIEVE ON THIS FUCKING ELLIPTICAL!”
You know that sense of pride and accomplishment you used to have when walking out of the gym? It wasn’t from having just completed a workout. It was from not hurting yourself or anyone around you while inside that building for the past 64 minutes.
Gyms re-opening? We’re good, but thanks!
Wait…what do you mean I have to call another number and send a fax and an e-mail and a carrier pigeon with a gimpy wing to cancel my membership?
MY WORLD:
Dieting is so fucking frustrating and stupid. It is. It is. IT IS! I have now gone one full week without eating any carbs, and I’m not back to my wedding weight yet. And yes, I have been telling myself, “it’s just one week,” and “this has to be a sustained effort,” and “remember how tight last summer’s shorts felt when you tried them on 9 days ago?” But, last night during an episode of “Ozark”, I saw the kids eating at a greasy hot dog stand, and I immediately stopped paying attention to whatever was happening in the show (Drugs! Guns! Scary!) and just started thinking about how much I love French fries.
Now, even the morning after, as I drink my blandass coffee and prepare for yet another day of zero exciting culinary experiences, French fries are dominating my thought pattern. It does not help, DOES NOT HELP, that I weighed myself over the weekend and I was back at my initial weight even though I’ve been working out AND HAVEN’T CHEATED ONE GODDAMN TIME ON THIS DIET! I’m eating fish and vegetables and zero bread or sugar. I’m drinking water, carbonated water to try and trick myself into thinking it’s soda, white wine, and Michelob Ultras. I haven’t had a craft beer in nearly 2 weeks now, and I WORK FOR A CRAFT BEER COMPANY.
Meanwhile, it appears that I have reached the age where whenever I run, the next morning I will feel like I was in a car crash. The morning after walk down wood stairs is so painful that I have thought about crawling or just giving up completely and not leaving my bed ever again, becoming an ever-expanding blobman and telling my job “why? What’s the point anymore?” I’m 35, not 90, but my morning walks around the house look like I’m trying to recreate a scene from an old monster movie where the monster can’t bend it’s knees and has a permanent pained facial expression.
So since running is so hard on my body now, I do the exercise bike in the basement. I set up my laptop in front of the cheap bike I bought, and follow along to Peloton classes. The instructors are normally really in shape which makes me think, “this shit works!” And while I’m doing them, and sweating like a pigbeast, there’s no way that they’re not going to make me super shredded in no time! But I swear to god, the second I’m done, and have caught my breath again, this demonic brain parasite flies into my ear and infects me with the “Yeah that was cute, but it wasn’t a run”-echo. By the time I trudge my fat, sweaty ass back upstairs the coat of sweat may as well serve as a cloak of “yeah, but I didn’t run”-disappointment.
Am I being dramatic about all of this? Of course, but isn’t there enough awful shit going on right now that I shouldn’t have to also sacrifice eating food that makes me instantly happy? Yeah, there’s the collapsing depression that follows, but what drug is better than a fried potato dipped in sugary red sauce (KETCHUP!)? Or after a long day of working a job that now feels completely different and one thousand percent harder than it was 3 months ago, I get to treat myself with…the LaCroix of beers? I swear, I could drink 18 thousand Michelob Ultra’s, and on Ultra number 17,999, while in the ambulance being rushed to the hospital for “wait, he’s drank how many beers?” I’d still be sober enough to know that Michelob Ultra’s taste like spiked, old-man fart water.
So the diet is going great and I can’t wait to attack the day and enjoy my snack of a handful of mixed nuts in a couple hours!
INITIAL “GREAT, NOW I HAVE TO DIET” WEIGHT: 202.6lbs.
LAST WEIGH IN: I don’t want to put it in writing because if I don’t put it in writing, it’s not real.
LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:
That moment after talking to someone when you’d normally shake hands and now you don’t know what to do so you make some dumb air-five gesture and then want to kill yourself.
What happened to big, star-studded comedies that were there just to make you laugh and not ALSO have some sort of ending or gimmick that kinda’ made you wanna cry or jump in front of a big fast train? The Will Ferrell comedies. The Adam Sandler movies. The Chris Farley flicks. Hell, is Sacha Baron Cohen even alive anymore?
Yes, I know Sacha Baron Cohen is alive, but he’s doing the thing where he’s proving that he’s a more well-rounded thespian by doing some dramatic television series that I think one person in my life said was “alright.” COOL SACHA! Or Steve Carrell? What, you’re only allowed to do movies where you play anything OTHER than a funny person? WE GET IT, YOU’RE MORE THAN BRICK TAMBLIN! Sandler lost his nerve when he had kids so now all we get are dumbass Netflix movies for small humans with tiny brains or him proving his acting chops by playing some strung-out gambling addict? Don’t even get me started on Ben Stiller. DON’T EVEN GET ME STARTED ON Ben “I’ll Only Be In This Movie if it Involves A Failed Marriage and Me In Corduroy” Stiller.
Seth Rogan made a superhero movie and “my friend has cancer now”-movie. Jonah Hill is allergic to being anything other than artsy now, and Jim Carrey has become a full-time Trump troll (don’t hate that career move btw…) Todd Phillips went from making “The Hangover” to writing and directing “Joker”. It’s not like you see dramatic actors trying to prove that their comedic geniuses. Is Christian Bale about to shock all of us by starring in a buddy cop movie where he has a silly haircut and a lisp? DOUBTFUL! Did I miss the trailer for Denzel Washington’s new movie, “My Betchy Dad!”
Now, I don’t know if all of these actors had a secret “let’s not do comedy anymore”-meeting in the refrigerator section of a Home Depot, BUT it has been A WHILE since we’ve since a big, goofy comedy. Without googling, try to think of the last all-caps COMEDY that you saw. I’m not talking about dramedy either, so don’t give me “The Big Sick”—which, yes, was funny but…ultimately, set in a hospital dealing with super heavy issues that I, personally, am looking to escape when I choose to watch a comedy. (Side rant, does anyone ever have this thought when deciding to watch a comedy: “I’m really overwhelmed with coronavirus, and Trump, and all the civil unrest, and my job being completely different than it was 3 months ago so I’d like to watch a comedy. However! That I’d like that comedy to involve something heavy…yes! Like cancer! Cancer comedy, sign me up! Wait, is there a comedy involving a drug addict who may be on the verge of killing himself? TOUGH DECISIONS!)
Okay, you’ve had time to think now…it’s “Bridesmaids”, isn’t it? The last COMEDY movie whose main purpose was to make you…uh…BIG LAUGH, was “Bridesmaids”. And did you know when “Bridesmaids” came out? 9 FUCKING YEARS AGO!
So what happened to movies like “Ace Ventura”, “Old School”, “Billy Madison”, “Nutty Professor”, “Superbad”, “Knocked Up”? I’m genuinely curious why we have totally steered away from making movies like this. The first thought that pops into my head is that comedians got a little scared of offending a bunch of people and so they veered into genres that aren’t reliant on some form of shock value. I’m sure the superhero boom didn’t help movies like this. Maybe American society just had so much great comedy for so long that we unknowingly put out “can we get more murder content?” vibes into the creative world.
Whatever the reason, I fucking miss a big, dumb comedy movie. Last night, while The VP of Ops listened to her “Catty Girls Talking About Brutal Murders In Graphic Detail” podcast in the other room, and I debated diving back into “Ozark”, I felt compelled for some lighter fare. Who knows, maybe something that in this HISTORICALLY DARK TIME could…I don’t know…make me laugh? And after trying to find a new comedy that I hadn’t seen before, then maybe something that’s at least recent AND FINDING ZILCH, I settled on “Eastbound & Down”. (If Kenny Powers doesn’t make you laugh, I’ve got nothing for you. Nothing. Ever.)
After a few 26 minute episodes, I started thinking about my favorite comedies and then I went to sleep because I knew what I was going to write this morning was such an important topic that I needed to sleep on it, before I held it up for the world to see. (Cue the “Lion King” music where the baboon geezer or whoever holds up Simba to the animal kingdom crowd and then you hear “THE CIRCLE OF LIFE! AND IT MOOOOVES US ALL!”)
Human kingdom, here are the Top 5 COMEDIES* of All-Time:
*Remember, these are solely FUNNY movies that don’t involve cancer, or aids, or scenes with people who have scars on their wrists.
“Tommy Boy”
Big Scene That Kills: When Farley is in the office on one of his first “sales calls” and he asks the guy whose office it is if he can use his toy car for a demonstration about Callahan break pads. You can hear Farley’s voice in your head saying “Oh my god!” and “New guy puking in the corner!” and “Here comes the meat wagon!” The way that Farley does the siren sound in this scene is how I have made police siren sounds ever since.
Smaller/Overlooked Part That Also Kills: When Farley first gets the job from his Dad at Callahan. His Dad shows him to his new office and the thing Farley freaks out about most is his mini fridge. “You can put 6-packs of bee—Soda in here!” Brian Dennehy cutting him off Farley listing everything he could put in the fridge with “Anything, you want to keep cold.”
“Superbad”
Big Scene That Kills: The part that my brain immediately goes to is when Jonah Hill tries to buy alcohol and starts fantasizing about potential scenarios. “Hope Piggy can ruuun,” is definitely something I said under my breath when around a security guard. Then the old lady in the fantasy saying “Enjoy fucking Jules!” and Jonah responding with a giddy, “I will!” And then finally with the security guard slitting Jonah’s throat with a broken bottle before we see him return to the parking lot empty handed.
Smaller/Overlooked Part That Also Kills: In gym class soccer when Michael Cera is given shit for not really trying by a classmate, and he responds, “It’s soccer. It’s soccer.”
“Anchorman”
Big Scene That Kills: It has to be the scene where Ron is calling Veronica trying to get her to leave San Diego so he can go back to being the anchor. Ron posing as her doctor, Chim Ritchels: “And guess what? You got knocked up”…”You saw me, you don’t remember.”
Smaller/Overlooked Part That Also Kills: When Paul Ruud is waiting on the Panda to give birth and he gets pissed and calls the Panda “Pandajerk!”
“The Wedding Singer”
Big Scene That Kills: It’s a minor role, but Steve Buscemi’s best man speech is one of my all-time favorite comedy scenes. “I’ve always been the screwed up one, right dad?” “Why can’t you be more like Harold? Harold would never beat up his landlord. Little newsflash pop, Harold ain’t so perfect.” “Best man! The Better Man! Before Hitting the drums and playing the guitar “Cuz I’m the best guitar player in the world! Self taught! No lessons, thanks Pop!” I have used the “Best man! The Better Man!” line so many times throughout my life that I know believe that is is mine. I own that line. Seriously, if you want to use that line you need to ask for permission from me.
Smaller/Overlooked Part That Also Kills: When Sandler goes off-stage and his back-up singer comes in to sing “Do you really want to hurt me?” and we just hear a huge, burly voice from the back growl “YOUUUU SUUUUUCKK!!!!”
“Wedding Crashers”
Big Scene That Kills: The football scene has Vince Vaughn, Owen Wilson, AND Bradley Cooper firing on all cylinders. Cooper yelling at his friend for not anticipating the rush. Vince Vaughn writhing in pain on the ground saying he can’t breathe. Owen Wilson getting pissed that Vaughn is making them “look like a bunch of pussies”.
Smaller/Overlooked Part That Also Kills: When Owen Wilson and Vince Vaughn go quayle hunting and Wilson says, “I don’t even know what the fuck a quayle is!”
MY WORLD:
I have put on weight.
Didn’t we all agree when the quarantine went down that we were all dealing with enough stress and negative thoughts that we could eat or drink whatever we wanted? I feel fucking duped by everyone who made a “Quarantine Fifteen!” joke, and that’s a feeling that won’t be easy for me to get over. Because I make jokes that I really feel and am experiencing. I WAS inhaling cookie carbs like a Roomba after taking a gravity bong hit. I WAS drinking the way people eat on Thanksgiving, “A little of this, some of that, a dash of-“
And now I’m pulling my t-shirts when I put them on so they don’t hug my new love handles while out in public. (What a fun new routine!)
It’s just total and complete bullshit that being in shape before doesn’t guarantee that you’ll be in shape forever. (Remind everyone, Jimmy…now…DO IT!) I RAN A GODDAMN MARATHON!!! (LET ‘EM KNOW!) 26.2 MILES!!! (SCREAM IT FROM THE ROOFTOPS!) I’VE GOT THE FUCKIN MEDAL HANGING FROM MY OFFICE WALL FOR ANYONE WHO WANTS TO SEE IT!
And now, not even 7 years later, the only shorts that fit me are the ones made out of mesh? Does The Chicago Marathon have a manager I can speak to about this?
Anyway, now I’m doing a fucking dumb diet and running again and my whole body hurts and I swear to god, if this weight doesn’t come off QUICK, I’ll just commit to being a “big guy.” Until then, however, because I’m such a nice and honest person, I’ll keep you updated on my progress.
INITIAL “GREAT, NOW I HAVE TO DIET” WEIGHT: 202.6 lbs.
LAST WEIGH-IN: 200.8 lbs.
P.S.
Dear Bread,
I’ll never not love you.
Forever Yours,
Jimmy
LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:
Getting out of your car that you parked away from everyone in the parking lot, getting almost to the front door of the grocery store, and realizing you left your mask on the dashboard. The new “wallet, phone, keys” pocket-check now must include checking for your mask.
Let me get my sea legs back before you start judging me again. Admittedly, I’m very out of writing-shape…
Is becoming obsessed with watching documentaries a natural part of aging? Are cool 17 year-old dudes who just got home from lifting in their friends’ garage, DURING A FREAKING PANDEMIC, asking their Mom’s to remember to DVR the Lance Armstrong documentary? (Yes, there are a group of dudes who lift in a garage down my block and…would I be forever honored if they invited me one time? Sure. Is that so wrong? IS LIFTING WEIGHTS WITH SOME COOL GUYS SO WRONG?!?!)
Somewhere around the debut of “30 for 30”, or getting married, or realizing that saying I watched a documentary was as close as I could get to saying I read a book, I decided that documentaries were worth more than the average flick. Maybe there just aren’t a ton of television shows you can watch and then brag about what you “learned” afterward. “Last night’s Vanderpump Rules really taught me that doing cocaine in your late 30s just makes a person look like a sweaty lunatic.”
Or maybe, the more likely reasoning behind our new documentary obsession, is that it’s fun to relive the parts of your life that were happening parallel to some memorable national or local storyline. (Is he done with this pseudo-philosophical rant, yet? I know it’s been a while since he last wrote, but Jesus Christ GET TO THE FUCKING POINT!) For those like me, constantly looking for a documentary to watch, I’ve got some quick takes on ones I’ve seen recently. However, because I’m one spicy baby, I’m going to give you an insight into the parts of my life I got to relive while watching said documentary. Hopefully, this will give you a better appreciation for what The VP of Ops has to deal with. (What if this makes me really jealous of The VP of Ops, though? Like, should I tell her how lucky she is to live with such a cerebral individual who pulls off the jeans and sandals look better than a 90s GAP model?!?!)
THE LAST DANCE: DA MICHAEL JORDAN DOC
We all agree that we don’t need fancy names for documentaries, right? Like, everyone just calls it “The _________ doc” no matter what the title is, right? When you were talking to your friends about “The Last Dance”, there’s no way you weren’t just calling it “The Jordan doc” or “The Bulls doc”. Great. Just had to establish that.
Every once in a while, a movie or show or documentary comes along where you are POSITIVE it’s going to be great. (Nacho Libre!) The first few that come to my mind are: “The Dark Knight”, “The Departed”, and “Old School”. Once you see the trailer, it’s a LOCK that, that movie is going to be awesome and you’ve already gotten defensive just thinking about anyone who would disagree with you.
That was The Jordan Doc. Going into it, I was salivating at the thought of The VP saying ANYTHING the least bit critical of this doc. There could’ve been an episode entitled “The One Where Michael Jordan Talks About How Much He Hates Women From Mississippi” and I would’ve shot The VP my patented “Don’t Say Anything Negative About Michael Jordan”-glare.
Fortunately, there was not an episode centered around Michael Jordan hating where my wife is from. (Phew!) Instead, there was the Michael Jordan version of everything that happened during the most engaging run the NBA has ever seen. Spare me the takes about what Jordan embellished or, fuck even lied about, because who cares? We all know what happened. What we didn’t know was how Jordan’s mind worked while it all happened. An insight into the mind of the most charismatic athlete of our generation? Yeah, I guess that sounds FUCKING INCREDIBLE.
And it was. How do you become the best basketball player of all-time? When I was a kid, I’d watch Jordan in a game, and then go out into the driveway and shoot, and run towards the hoop like I had a shot in hell of dunking, and then go back inside and tell my parents that what I really needed was his newest pair of shoes if I wanted to play like Mike. If only I had been able to watch this when I was a kid, I would’ve known that all I had to do was to manipulate any situation into a deeply personal challenge that was worth DYING FOR to overcome. (Like that time The VP told you that chicken you grilled was “good” but you knew the way she said “good” meant it wasn’t that good? And then you used that slight to motivate you to open up a Michelin-starred restaurant that you called “Still Think It’s Just “Good” Chicken NOW?!?!?!”)
MEMORY LANE STROLL DURING THIS DOC:
The most exciting time in my life was when Jordan began practicing with the Bulls again after his first retirement. He hadn’t decided to come back yet, but there were news reports everyday about how his car was parked in the Bulls parking lot, and how he was practicing with the team.
I remember I’d run upstairs so I could watch the local news talk about this possible Jordan return on my shitty antenna TV. When the TV would get fuzzy, I’d gently adjust the rabbit ears while saying prayers to God that sounded something like, “Dear God, please let me see Alison Rosati throw it to the Channel 5 field reporter standing in front of the Bulls practice facility!” Every 5PM local news felt like a potential Christmas morning where the best present EVER was possibly under the tree.
Finally, that present came in the form of a fax that said “I’m back.” Even now, the thought of those words makes me want to wake up jump on my bed and wake up my smelly wife while yelling “He’s back!!!!”
LANCE: DA LANCE ARMSTRONG DOC
This followed up the Jordan doc in ESPN’s “Is This a 30 for 30?” doc-series, and I went in ready to dunk on anyone who wasn’t a Lance fan going into it. Pre-conceived notions are the best! (Try singing Aerosmith’s “Sweet Emotion” but substitute “Preeeeeee-conceived notions” because that’s just what I did and I want you to UNDERSTAND MY LIFE!) A guy raised hundreds of millions of dollars for cancer research and inspired generations of people with the scariest disease you can get, but we have to hate him because he lied about taking drugs in a sport where…everyone lied about taking drugs? What was I missing? (Nothing. You never miss anything, Jimmy. You’re so smart and aware.)
And then…this thing happened where I watched the documentary and started having these “Uh oh”-thoughts. Like, when his first coach was talking about how much of a dick Lance was. Or, when he left his first wife pretty soon after they had their first kid. Or, when multiple teammates of his talked about how they were never given a chance to compete because everything was about supporting Lance. Or, when his former team trainer talked about how Lance tried to ruin her life for telling a story about how she saw him use ‘roids… And “Uh oh, Lance is kind of a dick.”
Thankfully, I watched this alone, so I didn’t have to defend my Preeeeee-conceiveeeeeed notions. If, like me, you think that overcoming cancer, raising HUNDREDS OF MILLIONS of dollars in cancer research (HUNDREDS!), and inspiring countless people who are fighting CANCER(!), gives you a free pass to act however you want in all other areas of your life, this doc puts that to the test! I still think that the good heavily outweighs the bad with Mr. BikeMan, but get ready to cringe a few times and look over your shoulder scared someone is going to ask, “you still think that guy is a good guy?”
MEMORY LANE STROLL DURING THIS DOC:
Who didn’t have a Livestrong bracelet? I remember the Livestrong bracelet led to a SERIES of unfortunate jewelry choices on my part. I felt so cool and good about the yellow band, that I thought, “what’s better than one rubber band?” So I started wearing like 5…on each wrist…Then, THAT snowballed when I saw the lead singer of Coldplay wearing like 200 thin bands around his wrists. (No Jimmy…don’t say that you…) So I bought the exact bands Chris Martin was wearing and wore like 100 little bands around my wrists for a while! Like, more than a month!
Here’s a piece of advice that I wish ANYONE IN MY LIFE had given me when I was going through the “wear as much shit around your wrists”-phase of my life: Just because one of the biggest rockstars in the world looks cool in something, doesn’t mean YOU will cool in that same thing. Especially when you’re a waiter who hasn’t had a girlfriend in over 4 years.
YIIIIIIIIKES!
LONG GONE SUMMER: DA MARK MCGWIRE AND SAMMY SOSA DOC
I’m not going to lie to you because that’s the thing you write before you say something that’s somewhat revealing and/or surprising: I watched like 7 minutes of this doc. (Honey? Today’s Jimmyschair has a review about a documentary he hasn’t even really watched. Make sure you don’t miss it!) Unlike the Jordan doc, Da Sosa Doc had the feel of a surefire terrible movie from the start. Like, you saw the trailer and thought you were in because that was a fun baseball summer, but then you woke up sweaty later that night and yelled, “I BET THEY’RE NOT EVEN GOING TO TALK ABOUT STEROIDS THAT MUCH!!!”
And from everything that I heard, they didn’t, and it sucked, and I’m happy I didn’t try to convince The VP that it would actually be good. (What’s worse than standing up for a movie that your spouse doesn’t want to watch, only to have it be horrible?) In case you haven’t heard similar things, now is when I suggest you listen to me and SKIP THIS DOC!
MEMORY LANE STROLL DURING THIS DOC:
The only Cubs game my Mom brought me to where it was just her and I, was during this home run derby summer. She brought me to the game where Sosa hit his 60th homer (I think? Don’t google it and point out that he hit his 60th on the road or something…JUST GO WITH THIS) If it wasn’t his 60th, it was somewhere around there because Wrigley went absolutely BONKERS when he hit it. One of those few times I remember being at Wrigley and having a great time BEFORE booze was involved in these trips.
After watching an entire Cubs game in Wrigley SOBER (should a documentary be made about me?) my Mom and I got onto the train home and ended up sitting across from my little brother’s Godfather, Kevin. What I didn’t know at the time is that Kevin was enjoying this game in the A.B. column and Kevin was BLITZED OUT OF HIS MIND on this train. I remember wondering why his face and eyes were so red and why he couldn’t really talk. My Mom covered it up pretty well because I didn’t think about him being hammered until recently, when I realized that almost everyone over the age of 19 leaves Wrigley not being able to walk or talk.
And now that a lot of my friends have kids, and I still don’t, I’m thinking that I may be on the Kevin path…Where my friends’ wife is going to have to lie to her kids about why Uncle Jimmy couldn’t talk that one time they saw him on the train. Please, just tell your kids “he’s had a hard life. Give him a break.”
LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:
When you cook chicken breast and it actually doesn’t taste like the most bland bullshit ever. We used some Trader Joe’s rub on chicken breasts last night because I’ve gotten PUDGY and I didn’t hate them! But, you know what I do hate?
LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:
That thing that I just wrote about the chicken breasts. Jesus Christ was that boring and lame AND I HAVE NO PERSONALITY ANYMORE NOW THAT I LIVE IN THE SUBURBS. I LIVE A LIFE OF BLAH!!!!!!
How many more times are people going to write the “Exercise is the Best Distraction!” article during quarantine? We get it, working out is good for you. Yet these writers and trainers and celebrities wearing sports bras and cool jogging pants, can’t wait to share this “discovery” with anyone who has a pulse. You might as well write an article entitled “Shooting Yourself in the Head Does Not Increase Life Expectancy”.
I do hope that this HISTORICALLY SIZED ordeal leads to a more empathetic and compassionate society, but…can we not turn into dopes who nod at every BLATANTLY OBVIOUS suggestion thrown our way? If the only people outside of our family that we’re directly interacting with are Peloton trainers named Hannah, I’m worried we’ll all become amateur motivational speakers who confuse ambiguous platitudes with wisdom. Yes, I checked dictionary.com to make sure I was using ‘platitudes’ correctly and that’s exactly the kind of unfiltered honesty we need right now! That’s why you’re here! That’s why I’m here! THAT’S WHY WE’RE IN THIS RIDE TOGETHER NOT ALLOWING OUR INNERSELVES TO TELL US TO STOP RIDI–Wait. Did you…Did I…Jesus Christ you guys, I’m starting to talk like Peloton Hannah.
Yes, exercise is the best distraction right now. I’m not arguing that because I agree with it and because I bought an exercise bike and the Peloton app and I really wanted to tell you that. BUT! How about some real-life, salt of the earth, HONEST other “best” distractions? Remember, the point is to distract your brain for the sake of your mental health. Let’s bend the rules a bit, and prioritize honesty, shall we?
GETTING IN ARGUMENTS ABOUT SOMETHING SMALL AND BRINGING IN PAST DISAGREEMENTS AND OTHER UNRELATED ISSUES TO MAKE IT BIGGER
(Right when I started to write this section, I took WAY too big of a bite of a banana and now I’m thinking that mondo-sized banana bites are a top-tier corona distraction…PUSH PAST THIS, JIMMY! DIG DEEP!)
Allow me to paint a picture: You’re cooking dinner for your sweet, sugar baby on a Tuesday night. Seasoning raw chicken with your bare hands is gross but you do it because you love your cutie pie, sugar baby. Cutting vegetables you aren’t even excited about eating with a purple knife that isn’t sharp enough. Talking yourself out of adding potatoes to round the dish out because you’ve eaten 6.7 pounds of pretzel rods over the last 36 hours. “All I really want is chicken and vegetables,” is ALWAYS a lie, but it’ll make you both feel superior to the rest of the world for one meal, so that’s the plan.
Midway through prep, cleaning while you cook so the love of your entire life doesn’t have to lift a finger even afterwards, you notice an old paper grocery bag has reappeared…next to your newly purchased $100 garbage can. You’ve seen this arrangement before, but she vowed to retire it once you agreed to the $100 stainless steel trash can purchase.
“Sweetheart? What is this?”
“What is what babe?”
(Now with a hint of an edge) “This,” you say as you remain “calm”, but point.
She lets out an audible sigh (aka the couple fight’s starting whistle) and heads over to the kitchen. When she arrives to see her HUNK of a husband standing in place while pointing at a paper bag on the ground, she knows what he’s pointing at, but MUST ask once again.
(With a distinctly annoyed tone) “What?”
This is where the fight begins and GOOD GOD is it a delicious distraction! As you smack your lips in anticipation, remember NOT TO HOLD BACK! NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO SLOW DOWN! (Peloton Hannah would be so proud!) Nope! Bring up the thousands of makeshift “grocery bag garbage cans” you’ve had to clean up in all of the years you’ve been together. Make special mention of how now that you live in the suburbs, you can’t simply throw an open bag into a dumpster, before reminding her of the SOLEMN OATH that she took the day you agreed to put your CC # in the space below the ONE HUNDRED GODDAMN DOLLAR GARBAGE CAN SHE PICKED OUT ON LOWES.COM!
Was it an honest, no-big-deal mistake on her part? A thoughtless, harmless error? Uh, that doesn’t fucking matter, guys. We’re trying to preserve our mental health by engaging in “distractions.” So dig in, embrace your initial testosterone fueled reaction, and say something grand, like, “It’s fine, I’ve just resigned myself to having to pick up random trash bags wherever you feel like setting one up FOR THE REST OF MY GODDAMN LIFE!”
This is when she’ll be sure to point out that you are overreacting. (Thanks Sherlock!) And, like she’s reading the line from a script that never had a chance of being bought, she drops a “calm down” like the sledge-hammer those two words are.
Your move Jack!
“Oh, calm like you? Like how you were the first time you met my ex? Okay, yeah, I’ll be calm like you!”
And boom, enjoy the next few hours of not having every thought in your brain begin with, “wait, when was the last time I washed my hands?”
ROAD RAGE
If you haven’t been on the highways during quarantine, you are missing an opportunity to fear for your life from something other than THE INVISIBLE ENEMY. Nope, on these roads the enemy is very visible, in the form of a 2009 Nissan Altima with tinted windows that just swerved in front of you going 97MPH in a driving rain. THIS IS WHAT WE TRAIN FOR!!!!
Normally, the move would be to throw that invisible frisbee through the roof of your car and blurt out a panicked “Jesus!” before calming down by talking to yourself about how there should be an IQ test to get your license. But not now. This ain’t normal times! Now, you should speed up a little. Maybe even a lot, while laying on the horn. Widen your eyes, open your capillaries and allow the rage to coarse through your entire body.
Do you have a gun? Wave it!
Now, because it’s an Altima, you’re not going to want to pull even with it. Let’s be real, Nelson and his Tinted Windowed Nissan ALSO has a gun. But, he’s not going to be able to shoot you if you stay behind him. So that’s all you have to do. Get close enough to where this piece of human waste for driving faster than he should, can see you doing the Macarena with a pistol in his rearview. THAT’LL TEACH HIM!
On the off off off chance that a cop pulls you over, just explain to him that you were looking for a worthy enough distraction to preserve your mental health, and Nelson’s Nissan was the exact tonic you were searching for! If that doesn’t work (which it most certainly will not) well then you’re fucked and will probably be brought into the Police station. But, if you’re charged with whatever people are charged with for waving firearms while driving, at least you’ll have something other than your last meal to talk about on your next Zoom call.
ZOOMING IN ON EVERY PICTURE TEXTED TO YOU TO FIND, AND CALL OUT ANY IMPERFECTIONS
In this one group chat I’m in, any time someone sends a picture, the rest of us zoom in on every other part of the picture that’s not THE FOCUS of what the sender intended. Picture of their kid holding up a book? We’re all frantically zooming around the rest of the frame looking for something…anything…that doesn’t look the way that it should—GOT IT!
“What’s with this?” is sent right below a zoomed in screen shot of a beer can in the upper right corner of said picture. This will be followed by a barrage of hyper-critical texts along the lines of: “Wow, drinking already?” “Does your wife know you’re drinking?” “How many is that?” “When’s the last day you didn’t have 9 beers?” “Mix in a water!”
Before Dad of The Year knows it, his innocent baby picture has turned into a shame fest, devolving from sarcastic jabs, to pleas to change the subject, to finally, a legitimately angry “I’m not drinking!”
It’s never not fun.
MY WORLD:
Three years ago today, I got married to the VP of Ops. To commemorate our 3rd anniversary on a blog that brings in zero dollars and has caused a few tiffs (wait, you’re seriously mad that I wrote about how you wear the same black shirt like 3 days a week? Oh…yeah, slam the door! REAL MATURE!!!) I’m going to write about what I remember about our first date: on May 3, 2013.
It was a cold, dark night. A baby’s cry in the distance. A beggars cup rattled in between the hurried footsteps of guilt-ridden businessmen playing deaf. “What a world we live in,” I grumbled as I lit up a cigarette under a dim moonlight. Wait. Shit, sorry. Wrong night. That’s right, the night before our first date I was probably about to get smashed on 9 IPAs or something, when my roommate, Mike, asked if I wanted to go to a concert with him, his new girlfriend, and HER roommate.
“She a girl, right?” I slurred. Upon confirmation that “she a girl,” I quickly accepted the offer in my head, but had to do the thing where I acted like I had to think about it for a second. I did this by looking up and saying “uhhh….” (ACTING!) Actually, turns out that I was the 2nd choice for this date. My other roommate, a whiny little bitch of a human, who I’ve made cry multiple times in fights, called “Daaaaaaaave” , was asked before I was and turned down the offer. (Years later, Dave loves to remind me of this and how I basically owe my marriage to him. In response, I bring this up to the VP and she reminds me how much better looking I am than Dave. So, now that’s in writing.)
Anyway, upon accepting, I asked for a scouting report on the roommate from Mike, he said “she’s super fun, really cute, but I won’t lie, she’s kinda boy crazy.” I’ve told The VP this and she gets mad every time. She assures me that she wasn’t “boy crazy” (is “boy crazy” the delicate way of saying “slutty”? We’ll never know!) Instead, she reams Mike out and talks about how she would “like go on dates, but I wasn’t boy CRAZY.” Who do I believe? What do I believe? I don’t know, who cares? Honestly, the “boy crazy” thing didn’t really faze me. I was too busy looking through her pictures on Facebook and trying not to say things like “she’s too hot for me”-out loud. Because, that was the thing, my confidence was still a minor issue back then (back then? Jimmy, you asked Erin how you looked yesterday after meeting a middle-aged neighbor for the first time. It still ain’t great!) but seeing a bunch of hot girl pictures from her college sorority days definitely rattled my nerves. I wanted to ask Mike if he thought I was pretty enough for her, but Mike and I were in the beginning stages of our friendship so…I COULDN’T LET HIM KNOW THAT I WAS AN INSECURE BABY YET EITHER!!!
The 24 hours leading up to the date consisted of me going for a long run because I used to be able to do that without stopping after 13 minutes to use my “bad ankle” as an excuse. (“No, it’s not the fact that I drink too much and enjoy dessert every night, it’s this damn ankle!”) After the run, I did what back then was about the bravest thing I could do…I decided to wear the J.Crew hoodie that was a little too small on me. I’ve always SUCKED at buying clothes, which means that I normally only have one “hey, is he a cool guy?”-outfit available. This J.Crew hoodie (that my mom probably bought for me years prior) hadn’t gotten much wear because it was the “is this guy in good enough shape to wear something this fitting?”-size. But this hot-girl-date-night called for me to at least pretend like I could pull off this snug hoodie. Looking back, I pulled that hoodie OFF! (Allow me a few seconds to be sad about how much worse looking I’ve gotten in the years since…Hey! Looks aren’t everyth—goddamnit, yes they are. They are. They’re everything, and I have none of them and…I have nothing. I am empty.)
The plan was for Mike and I to go to the girls’ apartment in Lakeview, have enough drinks for me to feel not paralyzed by “Excuse me girl, am I hot enough?”-thoughts and then go to a concert at The Metro (cool person music venue by Wrigley Field that I had never been to before, but I definitely didn’t admit that, that night. I’m sure I said something along the lines of “Metro? Love the Metro!”) As we walked into their garden-level unit, I did that acting thing again where I pretended like I didn’t need to guzzle rubbing alcohol to feel comfortable. The VP was still getting ready, so I had time to settle on what pose I should be in when she entered the living room. The VP’s roommate, Amanda, put on some music and gave Mike and I NOT NEARLY ENOUGH BOOZE! Mike and I waited in the living room with Amanda, which meant that Mike and his new girlfriend, Amanda, made eyes at each other while paying enough fake attention to me to temper the bubbling awkwardness.
Finally, after what must have been more than 4 MINUTES, The VP entered the living room with a spin. I’m not joking, she walked in, waved and before introducing herself, she just spun around. It was so fucking cool. As I scrambled to say something interesting after introducing my DUMB self, the song “Mirrors” by Justin Timberlake came on. Mike and Amanda were being all gooey with each other across the room, leaving all the pressure in the world on me to say something at least MILDLY entertaining. (Has anyone mentioned your tiny sweatshirt yet?)
“You know, I don’t care what anyone thinks, this song fucking rules.” That was the first sentence I said to my now-wife. And she FRIGGIN’ LOVED IT! Honestly, I could tell in real-time that she thought, “whoa, this guy is secure enough to say that he loves a Justin Timberlake song on a first date.” Two things on that: 1) I wasn’t, but 2) You have to remember that back in 2013, Justin Timberlake wasn’t super cool yet. He was still “that boy band guy,” so it wasn’t the coolest thing for a guy to freely admit that he was into “that boy band guy.” My gamble paid off. Now, she thought I was secure enough to be with her “I know I’m fine as hell”-ass, AND she thought I was funny because who says that out of nowhere? THIS GUY DOES!
From there, the drinks were a flowin’! JIMMY IN HIS EL-E-MENT BABAYYYYY! (So, your element is drinking? Cool, I bet her Mom is so happy she found you!) By the time we walked over to the Metro, I couldn’t have cared less about who we were going to see. I was going to talk to The VP through the whole show and not give A CARE what was going on on-stage. Seriously, Jon Lenon could’ve been resurrected for a one-night only Beatles reunion show that night, and I wouldn’t have taken an iPhone pic. Now, it didn’t help that the band we were seeing was called “Purity Ring”—a band that neither The VP nor myself had ever heard of. What did that mean? You guessed it, WE ‘GON BE TALKIN’ THROUGH THE ENTIRE SHOW!!!! Yeah, legit fans of “Purity Ring” were about to HATE us…and they did.
Midway through the song about being pure or wearing rings or whatever, I got “shushed” by a (do I say what I really thought? Even though it’ll make me sound like a meathe–) dude who looked even wimpier than me in my tiny J.Crew hoodie. So you bet your ass your ass I responded to his “shush” with a hearty “go fuck yourself!” Yeah, I did! Listen, if you’re not drooling at the opportunity to show a girl who’s WAY hotter than you that you’re tough, as early as possible, I don’t know what to tell ya! Trust me, I did the whole sensitive guy thing throughout high school and you know how many dates that got me? ZERO! ZERO DATES!
From there, I reveled in being public enemy number one at this show. Now, if this were a Metallica show, would I have been so excited to be hated by everyone around me? Absolutely not. In fact, I would have been quite scared…maybe even cried. But this wasn’t a Metallica show. This was a “Purity Ring” show, a band that’s following primarily worked as freelance graphic designers who can’t wait to talk about their “disgust with consumerism” at every family gathering. It was the perfect setting for a fake tough guy (Me) to act tough. And while The VP will say that she hated it and hates tough guys and likes sensitive guys and blah blah blah. She loved it. I could tell, she loved that I told that guy to “go fuck himself.” She was impressed in that way you get when you’re uncomfortable but thrilled that you’re not next to the “shusher.”
When the show ended, The VP and I realized that we hadn’t listened to one song throughout the entire set (like I said, we were the worst people in that concert. Hand up, we were “those people.”) We met up with Mike and Amanda, and decided to all take a picture together. This is my favorite picture ever. I remember looking at it the next day and thinking “I actually pulled off the tiny hoodie! And…I think I really, really like this girl.”
VP, I love you enough to act tough when I’m really not; to dress cool when I really can’t; and to…care for a psychopath dog that I bought for you to get out of momentarily “forgetting” your birthday ONE TIME! (I didn’t REALLY forget it and that’s final and I will go to the Supreme Court to prove my innocence!)
Honestly, I’m looking forward to my first suburban tiff with a guy I think I can take, because no feeling is better than the one I get impressing you.
Guys, it’s okay to look into your neighbor’s windows now. (Deep gasp…. “Honey? Do you know where our binoculars are?”) No, stop it. I’m not talking like in the creepy Peeping Tom sense, I’m meaning like, if you can see into your neighbor’s apartment or house, it’s okay to just stare into there now. It’s quarantine and there are only so many episodes of “Mad Men” you can watch while pretending that all you’re thinking about isn’t “Dear God, when can I look at MY FUCKING PHONE AGAIN?!?!” (New nightly game in our household is watching the other one on the phone while “our” show is on and acting like you’re not super pissed and jealous about it. Is there a more condescending question than, “Why do you need to look at your phone so much?”)
Anyway, you can look into your neighbor’s window now. As long as you’re sitting in your place, and you’re not using binoculars (“Forget it! He said ‘no binoculars’. DAMNIT!”) And the reason I know it’s okay is because that’s what I was doing for the 37 minutes prior to writing this. What I did was, I sat down at my writing desk (it’s special because it’s white and…my laptop sits on it!) opened a blank word document, and then…stared out my window and into the apartments of ALL of my across-the-street neighbors! Nothing too interesting, but there were a few instances where I’m sure this guy on the 3rd floor saw me, and I just didn’t try to hide that I was looking into his apartment. Usually, I’d do the thing where I’d awkwardly look up at the ceiling and then leave the room, but not tonight…NOT IN QUARANTINE! I’M LOOKING IN YOUR APARTMENT, BUB! AND THERE AIN’T A GODDAMN THING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT!
So voyeurism is a new thing I’m trying, and that got me to thinking: What else would I do or try now that I am so obscenely quarantinoed (“torpedoed” with the quarantine blues = quarantinoed)
SMOKING CRACK
I would. If a drug dealer was riding his bike up and down my block yelling, “I’m going to give free crack to someone in whichever apartment building I stop in front of tonight!” and that drug dealer stopped in front of my apartment, where I just so happened to be looking out the window, and we made eye-contact, and he was like “You! You want some free crack?” I’d be like “Yeah.” Of course he’s wearing latex gloves, and I would insist that he simply leave it at the front door to my building because of contactless pick-up and all. But yeah, as long as he did that, and was willing to explain to me from the sidewalk up to my 3rd floor apartment how to smoke crack, I would do it.
There are just so few opportunities in life to justify smoking crack in your apartment, that I feel like passing up the covid quarantine justification, is a disgusting waste of a perfect excuse. Also, we’ve all watched all of the drug shows and documentaries and news stories, and I’m sure, like me, you’ve thought “I bet I wouldn’t get addicted if I tried it.” And you know what? YOU WOULDN’T IN QUARANTINE! Unless the generous drug dealer decides to bike down your block again, but chances are he won’t because he’s busy spreading cheer to surrounding neighborhoods. Free crack is one thing. Free crack TWICE? Dream on, weirdo!
And if you do it just once, in the safety of your own apartment under the horrified supervision of your southern wife, what’s the worst that could happen? (Not a serious question, do not send me google articles about the first, and last time people smoked crack. DON’T RUIN MY DREAM!) Would explaining why you felt compelled to do this to your wife be uncomfortable? Of course! But what is she going to do? Leave? Where? It’s a quarantine babe, ain’t nowhere to go!
In fact, I’m pretty sure smoking crack suppresses hunger, so I would make a health-based argument to The VP that would go something like this: “VP? Hi, it’s me Jimmy. You know I want you to find me attractive, right? Well I know that you’ve noticed me eating 8 meals a day and snacking in between, and I can tell that my turbo-charged weight gain is really bumming you out. So! What if I told you I could ingest something that would suppress my appetite and cause me to lose a few lbs?” As the VP would pretend not to be supremely disgusted by my newly explosive waistline, she’d say something like, “Oh stop…but what?” That’s when I’d show her the spoon with the crack on it.
Now, would she be excited? No. I can’t imagine any wife is excited when her husband announces that he’s going to smoke crack in front of her. BUT! There is a chance that A) She doesn’t know that it’s crack on the spoon, or B) That if it does end up causing you to lose weight, she’ll justify the means to the end of your waistline expansion. Obviously, there is a ‘C’ option that could take place where she calls her mom crying that “Jimmy is smoking crack!” but I think that’s unlikely because this is my dream AND what woman wants anyone to know that their husband is a crack smoker?
So, I’d end up getting to smoke crack without most of all of the negative consequences associated with smoking crack NOT during a quarantine. The positives include:
Getting to finally see what all the “buzz” is about with this crack thing!
Can’t get addicted when you only do it once and have no chance to get it again…anytime soon at least.
Can’t get arrested at a time when cops have much more important things to do than bust a pudgy 34 year-old looking to “just try something crazy, man!”
Can’t lose your wife because the government says she is not allowed to leave the house. By the time all of these restrictions are lifted, she’ll be laughing about you smoking crack!
It has to be a pretty kick-ass high, right?
Am I asking for someone to send me crack and instructions how to do it from the spoon thing? (Like, can you use any old spoon or…is a spoon even involved? Wait, no…I’d just need a pipe wouldn’t I?!?!) I am not looking for someone to send me crack and instructions on how to do it. But, yes, if it were sent to me I would smoke it…and, I would probably try heroin too now that I realize that’s the one you use with the spoon. Either one.
HACKING A WEBSITE
In normal-times, hackers suck. They sit in front of their computers all day and just fuck with websites because they can, while we’re all out being COOL PEOPLE doing things like drinking shots with people you don’t like that much, and hiking. However, when EVERY PERSON is sitting in front of their computer all day, aren’t hackers the coolest? By default, they become top of the human food chain. Well, since I don’t want to be at the bottom of that food chain, because the bottom…uh…DIES! I’d like the opportunity to prove my worth by hacking a website.
I wouldn’t want to be a hardcore, governmental website hacker that gets hauled away by The Punisher. No, instead, I’d like to be that like friendly, harmless hacker guy. Like, hack into the TJ Maxx website, rename it “TJ Min” and make it so the ONLY product available is a bandana that says “Born to Ride” on it. Everyone’s aunt, having just recently learned how to e-shop on account of quarantine, would be so excited to check out what TJ Maxx has to offer until… “How come all I can buy is this very very cool bandana?” Then they’d buy the “Born to Ride” bandanas even though they don’t even ride! SUCKERS!!!!
Most of the reasons why I would try these things during quarantine come back to me being able to tell people that I did that thing once, and this is no exception. I’m imagining some dumpy dinner party I’ll be invited to a few years down the road, where I don’t really know anyone and am giving The VP half-smiles from across the room that she knows mean, “can we get the fuck out of here now?” As I’d guzzle WHATEVER alcohol was available in between menacing half-smiles, some blob would come up to me and say, “Hey, I’m Blobbington, what’s your name?” It would be at this precise moment, that I would bypass the typical introductions: “Don’t worry about my name, Blobbington. I’m a hacker.”
Blobbington would try to chuckle off the “I’m a hacker”-thing to ease the tension, but I’d lean into it and give him a menacing “I’m not fucking kidding”-chuckle. Then it’s awkward, but I’d have the power position in this interaction that I never really wanted in the first place. “I’ve hacked websites, and that’s all I’m going to say about that.” Then I’d finish my drink, hold out the empty glass for Blobbington to take, and yell across the room, “I’m leaving now!”
And I’d be able to do all of that because I tried hacking a website during quarantine.
DM’ING CELEBRITIES
I want to DM celebrities because getting celebrities to personally respond to me would feel like a real victory and I know that’s sad, but it’s true. How many boring ass stories about someone’s celebrity sighting have you sat through? How many have you enjoyed? The answers to those two questions are: a billion! And zero!
Buuuuuuuuut, if I told you a story about how I DM’d Robert from “Shark Tank” about “how proud I am of you for being an advocate for the very short businessman community,” and he responded with “Thx” and a praying hands emoji, wouldn’t you enjoy that? I bet you would!
Which celebrities would I most like to DM, aside from “Shark Tank” Bob, and what would I say to them hoping to elicit ANY sort of response? I’m glad you asked!
Adele: “Can you palm a basketball?”
I really want to know. I think she can.
Scottie Pippen: “Be honest, do you think you were better than Michael Jordan?”
How many nights do you think Pippen stayed up thinking, “If Phil would just let me take the last shot, I’d be the star!”
Just saying “I love you” to all of my celebrity crushes in the hopes that one of them would respond, “I love you too.” Then I could show off and tell everyone that “Don Draper’s mistress from Season 3, episode 7 of ‘Mad Men’ loves me too!”
PODCAST TO LISTEN TO:
Season One of “Up and Vanished”. I listened to it on a road trip a while ago and I don’t remember details, but I remember it was engrossing.
MUSIC TO LISTEN TO:
A bunch of musicians have been playing live concerts from their homes during this quarantine, and I watched some of Pete Yorn’s on Instagram live. That was good. But I also just found that Dave Matthews plays a solo show on Yahoo and it’s recorded and I can watch it whenever I want. So…yeah, maybe I’ll check it out. Whatever. I do what I want.
Here’s the link…I don’t know if it’ll work because I suck with computers, BUT I’M TRYING MY BEST!
I’ve been having a really hard time focusing on television shows, so I’ve been leaning more towards shows that I can enjoy without paying THAT much attention to. One of the best for this kind of viewing is “Shark Tank”. I feel like it’s on 24/7 and I always kinda’ enjoy it without having to really try that hard.
MOVIE TO WATCH:
The VP and I watched “Sicario” a few days ago and it was smart, intense, and cool. I like those things.
I now regularly eat hot dogs for lunch. What used to be a once or twice A YEAR treat at a baseball game, is now an almost DAILY dietary staple (Almost daily means not every day! That’s a victory!) A few days back, I sent a picture to my friends of my hotdogs in the refrigerator and said “sometimes I just like to watch them sleep.” Yes, it was a joke…but, was it though? There have now been multiple days where I open the fridge around 11:45 (don’t lie, you know you consider lunchtime 11am now) and I just look at the hot dogs in my fridge. Am I smiling creepily while humming “Rock A Bye Baby” in the direction of my Ball Park Franks? No! (Is that a victory for you at this point?) But I do look at them…and…yeah, dream of how good two of them would taste at 11:13AM on a Tuesday? YEAH, MAYBE I FUCKING DO!
Peak levels of stress now include the phrase “only about a week’s left of relish in there.” There’s a guy across the street from me who just sits in his window now and looks outside, and while I was eating a lunch dog (no need to say “hot dog,” THERE’S JUST NO TIME!) I caught eyes with him and raised my hot dog up to him like a “cheers!” Yeah, that’s right. I cheers’d a stranger across the street at 11:13AM on a Tuesday with a hot dog. THEN! When he didn’t nod back or show any form of acknowledging my dog cheers in any way, I got offended. And you know what? I just….
Guys.
Jimmy stop.
I made up the hot dog cheers’ing thing.
I didn’t make up the lunch dogs infatuation, but my brain is becoming so warped, that midway through writing about my lunch pups (is that funnier than lunch ‘dog’? Yeah, it is. Stick with it!) I actually did catch eyes with the guy across the street who looks out his window and I thought “next time I have a lunch pup, I’m going to cheers him with it. That’ll brighten his day!” So I will do that next time and report back re: his reaction to the lunch pup cheers. (And you thought you had nothing to look forward to!)
Aside from lunch pups and asking the VP of Ops to waterboard me with IPAs, I figured that buying a house in the middle of a global pandemic/economic meltdown, while my job skates on ice thinner than that picture of you from high school, was a prudent financial decision. (Just googled the word ‘prudent’ to make sure it meant what I thought it meant, and IT WAS CLOSE ENOUGH!) The VP and I closed on our first house on Friday, while my heart attempted to close on my body simultaneously.
What should have been an exuberant, exciting moment for us, felt more like a red carpet event for the premiere of “Jimmy’s First Stroke in the Citywide Title Office.” When asked by those nosey paps who she was wearing, The VP of Ops smiled and said “the same leggings I had on while eating Munchos this morning!” Meanwhile, I carried her purse and used it to hide the grease stain on my 2007 Cincinnati Bearcats sweatpants. It was quite the affair, indeed. Fortunately, or unfortunately (who knows right now? Stay positive though because the super negative people are awful to be around…but it’s so easy to just…STOP!) I did not suffer my first stroke while signing the closing papers to our first house.
Instead, I kept my big leather winter gloves and big puffy winter coat on the entire time we were signing a BAJILLION pages while constantly reminding myself to NOT TOUCH MY FATTER-BY-THE-SECOND FACE. If you have never signed closing papers on a house before, here’s what it’s like: ten million pages are put in front of you and you have to go through them, one by one, slow enough that the guy thinks you’re actually reading them, but you’re really just looking for the lines with your name under them so you can sign there and feel a momentary sense of accomplishment. (I found my name! Mom! Dad! I found my name on the page!) On page nine thousand, four hundred and seventy six, you’ll look to your spouse with blurry eyes and say something like “I no read,” before drooling and then slamming your head on the table while scream-crying “I DON’T THINK I’M MATURE ENOUGH FOR THIS MAGNITUDE OF A PURCHASE!” (That did not go over well with the guy in the office but, thankfully, he yelled at me to get ahold of myself while staying 6 feet away.)
Then, once you’re done signing page four gajillion, you’ll sit alone in a lame office while hearing the office person dude mumble things like “are you sure?” into the phone on their desk. (Is who sure? Do I want them to be sure? I’m not sure! Should I tell him I’m not sure?! SIR! I’M ALSO NOT SURE!) Eventually, he will come back into the room, still wearing surgical gloves, remind you to take the pens with you, and congratulate you in a way that sounds more like “can I finally go home now and cry into my pillow about the future of our country?”
Closing on our first house in the middle of Shitstorm 3000 felt like trying to celebrate a birthday in New York on 9/11. “Uhhh…yay!” As hard as I was trying to stay positive and act excited, all I felt was this overwhelming squeeze of the unknown. (Squeeze? Strangle?) But while I drove back to our city apartment with The VP of Ops, I kept telling myself one thing over and over and over: “we’re all in this together.”
And it’s true. How many times has there been a situation that you’ve dealt with where LITERALLY EVERYONE YOU KNOW IN THE UNIVERSE is dealing with the same thing? As terrifying as this is, no one is exempt. And the ones that you’re thinking aren’t worrying about it because they seem the same as they’ve always been? They’re just better at acting than you are. I’ve never felt more connected to everyone than I do now.
I’ve also never enjoyed hot dogs more than I do now.
OUR WORLD:
We’re all living in an excruciatingly elongated moment right now that will change the world forever. The way we look at World War II documentaries and the Civil Rights movement and think “Jesus, I can’t believe that actually happened!” is what smelly fatsos will be thinking about the movies about Coronavirus that come out in 2056. And while I’m sure those movies will focus on the most terrifying aspects of what is going on right now, I’d like to note some of the other byproducts that will probably be overlooked by PBS’ 2056, Six-Part Docu-series “Covid 19”.
Hangovers were confused for coronavirus
I was going to write something about how internet is officially the best invention ever, but then I was like “but what about booze?” The person who invented or discovered booze had to have done so in the middle of some terrifying episode in human evolution.
I’m imagining it was some woman with a broken leg who just heard from her friend that dinosaurs exist. “What’s a dinosaur?” she asked, before hearing a T-Rex roar and squeezing a bunch of grapes harder than grapes had ever been squeezed before. Then, because Mrs. ‘BoutToBeEatenByMegaYoshi didn’t want to waste the only juice she’d be able to reach until her bum leg became unbummed, she started sucking the ground where the grape juice ran for days on end. By day 6, with her broken leg throbbing, she sucked the ground harder than ever before and…felt some relief. A bit of the spins and, finally….peace! Then she heard a rustling in the bushes and went back to freaking out that she was about to be dino feed.
Anyway, that’s basically how alcohol is working for me right now. As day turns to night, and stressors multiply to the point of swallowing me, I pour a beer. And then another beer. And then an old fashioned. And then a pilsner because now I’ve got to cool down. And then just a smidge of whiskey because I don’t need the sugar. And then I’m snoring on the couch in the middle of the sixth episode of “Mad Men” we’ve watched tonight.
Mornings then become a fun little game of “hangover or Corona.” The first few hours of every day are now set aside for chugging water and coffee and telling yourself not to google corona symptoms for the nine thousandth time this week. By the time 3PM rolls around and you’ve come out of the hangover enough to realize that maybe you don’t actually have this terrifying virus, well, there’s only one thing to do: Celebrate.
Home workouts that lasted more than 8 minutes were treated like Olympic training sessions
Not to brag (but maybe a little bit? Fine, yeah. Check out this shit!) but I ran a marathon not that long ago! I wasn’t a hardcore “look at me I go to the gym”-guy, but I did go to the gym and didn’t shy away from mentioning that if it came up naturally in a conversation. “Oh, your mother got a haircut? Weird you mention that because I had my personal best incline bench yesterday!”
However, since this whole “You should stay home and use this as the ultimate excuse to be a blob”-order has come down, working out has fallen to the back of my priority list. I’m sure I’m not alone in this either. Yes, it’s true that moving around and exercising makes your brain feel better, but when your job is hanging by a wet fingernail, you have asthma and YOU JUST BOUGHT A FUCKING HOUSE, getting a sweat in doesn’t exactly register as “something I should focus on getting done today!”
This means that completing a sponsored Instagram ad showing you how to do a 15-minute at-home workout without equipment, is the equivalent of completing a Michael Phelps training session. I came across one of these smiley Instagram trainers imploring me to “stay active indoors!” yesterday and thought “he’s smiling, so maybe I should listen to him.”
So I followed his “workout”. This was the kind of workout that I would’ve made fun of in my physical peak, but now I got two minutes in and thought “could The Rock do what I’m doing right now?” (Yes Jimmy, The Rock could do Jumping Jacks for 2 minutes and 14 seconds). When I finished the “workout” 11 minutes later, the thin layer of sweat on my forehead might as well have been an Olympic Gold Medal. I went up to the VP of Ops acting more out of breath than I really was and said stuff like, “just finished a little workout” hoping she would swoon and ask if it was okay to tell her friends about her husband’s physical accomplishments.
She didn’t do that.
Employees at restaurants are fucking brave
I think we’ve all maybe thought this for a while, but if this whole ordeal doesn’t drive home the fact that people working at our favorite “I’m getting something that makes me feel good”-institutions, are brave as hell, then get your dumbass brain examined. Seriously, if you’ve been through a drive-thru or ordered delivery over the past few weeks and enjoyed the dopamine rush that comes from eating your favorite foods, make sure you take a second to think of the people that went outside, in public, around others, to make that thing for you and get that thing to you.
Fucking restaurant people are awesome.
PODCAST:
The Bill Simmons Podcast with Pearl Jam from last Thursday.
MUSIC:
The new album from The Weeknd and all of these Instagram Live concerts that bands are doing. Here’s The Weeknd from SNL before the world blew up:
TV:
Watching “Mad Men” for the first time. If you’re looking for EVEN MORE inspiration to drink, start watching this show.
MOVIE:
The VP and I watched “Catch Me if You Can” yesterday. It’s worth it because it’s Leo and Tom Hanks, but was I blown away? No. I was not blown away.
A good friend of mine is getting married in Colorado this weekend, and aside from waiting till the absolute last second to get my shit dry-cleaned, I’m going over what not to do this weekend while at this wedding. (Wait, a 34 year old man needs to talk to himself about what he CAN’T do at a wedding?) Listen, I’m not here to try make you think I’m cool (mission accomplished, bubba). I’m here to help you avoid the wedding behavior mistakes that I’ve made and witnessed (mostly made, though) so that your friends aren’t talking about that time they found you drunkenly eating a sandwich lost in a random hotel hallway, looking like someone who belonged in a mugshot. Next time you go to a wedding, make sure you don’t do the following:
IF YOU PLAY GOLF BEFORE THE WEDDING, AVOID GETTING PAIRED WITH THE AUSTRALIAN GUY.
This means you’re going to have to go to the golf course already armed with excuses as to why you can’t play with “Mike the Australian”. Be fucking ready with these excuses, I’M NOT JOKING! Because if they’re calling out the golf cart tandems, and they call “Mike the Australian” after your name then you’re in for a world of problems if you don’t have a “shit guys, my shoulder is really acting up” in your back pocket. If, like me, you’re cocky enough to think that you can handle yourself while in a golf cart with a cool-accent-guy who drinks 24/7, then get ready to be IN TROUBLE.
Why? Because whenever you’re in close quarters with an Australian guy, you want them to like you. These people have the coolest accents in the world, and you’ll convince yourself that once you’re friends with an Australian, that some of that badassery-dust will rub off on you. It won’t, guys. You’ll just be the American guy who hung out with an Australian one time golfing at a wedding. You won’t learn how to speak like that, how to act calm in the face of danger, or how to have every girl in a room thing you’re hot no matter where your hairline sits. You’ll still be you, standing in the corner with your hands in your pockets because you forgot to cut your fingernails FOR A FOURTH STRAIGHT DAY AFTER REALIZING THEY WERE TOO LONG!!! GODDAMNIT!!!
But once you’re in a golf cart with MikeTheAustralian, you’re going to forget all this and think to yourself “I think I’m about to be best friends with a guy who sounds like Chris Hemsworth.” If you close your eyes, you’ll be able to convince yourself that you’re golfing with Thor. The problems start, however, once the cart girl comes by and asks if you’d like anything to drink. Uh….NO FUCKING DUH WE WANT DRINKS! But while your boring, no-accent real friends are ordering Bud Lights and Snickers, you view this as your opportunity to prove how badass you are to your new Thor-sounding friend. So you order two shots along with your beers, and before you know it, you’ve initiated a routine on THE SECOND FUCKING HOLE that whenever the cart girl comes around, you’re taking a shot with MikeTheAustralian.
I won’t lie to you guys, at first this is going to be really fucking cool. Your loser American friends will be all “holy shit, they’re taking shots!” and be a little jealous from afar. And Mike will be so excited that he’ll do something like slap you on the back, or grab your shoulder in that way that says “we’re gonna be lifelong friends and you’re going to be able to use an Australian accent one day because I’m going to give you the credibility to do it.” You’ll start doing the things you do as you climb Buzz mountain, like laughing too hard at mean things, using a more gravely voice to make inappropriate jokes, and completely ignoring that it’s not even 10am, you’ve had 3 shots already and you’re supposed to be at a fancy dinner AFTER this round. Consequences are in your fucking rearview as you lean forward, arms extended through the front of your golf cart, screaming “I’m king of the world!”
But you’re not king of the world; you’re king of the about-to-be-in-big-trouble-with-your-future-wife because, for some reason, she’s not going to find it funny when she has to dump water on you to get you to wake back up for the rehearsal dinner. At that point, following a round of golf where you’re legitimately unsure of whether the number on your scorecard was the number of shots you took, or the number of golf swings you made, you won’t be able to explain that it was because you were paired with an Australian who you HAD to impress. Nope, instead you’ll say something like “just took a lil sleepy nap!” And she’ll roll her eyes as she readies herself to go to the rehearsal dinner with the “keep your eye on him”-guy.
DON’T ACTUALLY FIGHT OR EVEN THREATEN TO FIGHT SOMEONE AT THE REHEARSAL DINNER.
Sometimes “fight guy” is cool. Yeah, I know that’s an unpopular opinion, but sometimes when there’s an asshole in a bar and your group’s “fight guy” has had enough…it’s fun to watch him get all riled up. Unfortunately, this does not apply to Wedding Rehearsal Dinners where “fight guy” will double as “he’s about to ruin the most important weekend of these people’s lives because he just got shushed”-guy.
You need to be aware enough that you could become this guy ESPECIALLY if you were paired with MikeTheAustralian earlier in the day at the golf course. (This sounds very specific, Jimmy. Like…) Hypothetically speaking, IF you were paired with MikeTheAustralian at the golf course, needed your girlfriend to dump a bucket of cold water on you to wake you up after the round, and then, I don’t know, happen to get “shushed” for talking too loud during one of the groomsmen’s speech, you may find yourself in the middle of an uncontrollable rage. Yes, we can all agree that being “shushed” is infuriating and that, in normal settings, it would justify throwing said “shusher” into an active volcano. However, when you’re already the “keep your eye on him”-guy, and its a wedding rehearsal dinner, actions made out of rage are frowned upon.
Knowing this, I bet you’re just going to tell anyone with ears at that dinner that you’re going to “beat the shit out of Shush McGee”. You’re going to tell all these people-with-ears this multiple times throughout the rest of the night thinking that this is your only alternative to NOT punching his face off. The ears people aren’t going to think “wow, this guy is tough, but also has restraint. I respect that.” Not even close. They’re going to think, “so, who here is going to tell security about this guy and his fireball breath?”
BE HONEST WITH YOURSELF AND MAKE SURE YOU’RE WEARING PANTS THAT FIT.
Surprisingly, this goes both ways. Yes, at this point in MY life, I am officially NEVER in the “hey, these pants are too loose”-crowd. But, I was there at one point in my life when I ran more often than I ate a family-sized bag of Tostitos Scoops. If your pants are too big because you bought them when you were in a fat phase, but you’re thinking you can get away with not buying pants that fit, you’re going to regret looking like a bozo-the-clown in pictures with your big baggy dress pants. They’re going to make you look shorter than you already are, and sloppier than you want to admit you are. Spend the $40 at Nordstrom Rack and get a pair of pants that don’t gather at your feet.
Then there’s the other side. The worse side. The scarier side of this predicament. The “yeah these are tight, but I only have to wear them for a few hours”-sized pants. You’ll wear them out of a combination of not wanting to spend money on a style of pants you wear twice a year, AND not wanting to admit that you’ve put on weight since the last wedding you were at 14 months ago. Guess what? Calories matter, even if you’re standing while eating in the kitchen. Don’t believe what they say, eating leftovers while standing in front of the fridge right before bed counts against your daily calorie total.
Now, you’re stuck at a wedding having to lean back in your chair, while keeping your legs straight so that your pants’ ass doesn’t burst in front of the bride’s Aunt Helen. Getting on the dance floor means that you won’t even get to THINK about bending, and all of the great looking food and cake is just going to remind you that you’re a fatter version of yourself than you were at the last wedding you were at. Not to mention, you’re friggin starving but have NEGATIVE space to spare around your waist, so eating anything other than mixed nuts is out of the question.
LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:
When you’re getting your haircut and the stylist asks how you want it and you have no idea what to say. You want to be like “uh…shorter,” but you know she’s looking for more details so you just hem and haw until you feel like an absolute IDIOT. JUST MAKE ME LOOK BETTER THAN I CURRENTLY DO!
LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:
Whoa, just came across this little diddy and I lurvvvve it so so much.
MOM MEMORY OF THE DAY:
One time my Mom was dropping my friends and I off at the mall, and she was looking for a parking spot so she could go in and buy something for herself. It was really crowded, so as she went up and down the aisles of packed cars, she got more and more frustrated. Then she hit the rows of handicapped parking spots, all of which were empty…full rows completely empty. Unable to find a spot, with snot-nosed dorks in her backseat, her anger crescendoed and she let out a “Jesus Christ, how many goddamn handicapped people are they expecting?!?!”
Jimmy's Chair 