House of the Dragon Review & A Gassy Preview

MY WORLD:

The more I look into my one-month-old daughter’s eyes, the more I catch myself exhaling, looking up to the sky while gently shaking my bulbous head, only to return to her innocent gaze and say, “Dude, are you fucking kidding me?” She’s not, though. She’s not kidding because she doesn’t know how to kid, yet. The Warden IS NOT kidding, she’s just there…like a lump. This big eyed, lumpy Prison Dictator bats her eyes at me because that’s just what her body does, yet I’m supposed to wax poetic about it every time a stranger or older person or some random gooey parent who wears big, flowy shirts asks me how being a new Dad is. I’m a good enough writer to tell them the things that will trigger their tear ducts, but I’d rather (do anything else in the world?) tell them about the aspects of early parenting that are PRACTICALLY and TANGIBLY AWESOME.

The Farting.

We’re not reinventing the wheel here, folks. When your little baby starts ripping audible farts, it’s not only funny, but it opens up your world of fart comedy (yes, we’ve all felt confined in our fart comedy worlds).

The other night, as I sadly went to bed before I was drunker than I wanted to be (when’s the candlelight vigil for your buzz?) I exacted the only revenge I’m able to exact on The Warden, by putting her down in what has to be a very uncomfortable bassinet. You see, it’s kind of the only way I can get her back at her for terrorizing my ability to sleep. “Oh, so you’re going to get me so tired that I can’t even get a proper buzz? Well, hope you like sleeping on this paper-thin pad resting on WICKER!”

As I snickered at her inability to secure a more comfortable sleeping situation, I scrolled Twitter because that’s what you do when you’re INSANELY tired, not buzzed enough, and need sleep. The VP was doing face stuff in the bathroom (putting on war paint?) and we weren’t talking because it’s the time of day where stories are over. Nothing is interesting. Nothing is exciting. Everything sounds like the static you get when your TV’s signal goes off and you don’t know where the remote is and why has the volume gone up to level one trillion and we’re staying calm, we’re all staying calm because this is nobody’s fault, BUT WHO STOLE AND HID THE FUCKING REMOTE?!?!

What I’m trying to say is, we were ready to go to sleep. But then…The Warden farted so violently, that there was no possible way to stop ourselves from laughing hysterically. This fart should have a Vegas residency, that’s how funny it was! This fart, made us forget how tired we were, how disappointed I was in not being to stay up long enough to secure a proper buzz, how deeply annoyed The VP as to be with my insistence that we not use a pacifier because “then whenever it falls out of her mouth, she just freaks out again”. (Isn’t a break in the freak out symphony better than no-break in the freak out symphony? WHY IS A CONSTANT FREAKOUT BETTER THAN ONE WITH BREAKS?!?!)

The Warden’s fart healed us.

In our laughter, we are one.

You can eat whatever you want, whenever you want.

New parents enter a judgement-free zone (like Planet Fitness!) that protects them from questions like, “aren’t those chocolate chips meant for baking cookies and not you eating them straight out of the bag at 3:07 PM on a Tuesday?” Or, “isn’t the idea of those low-calorie ice cream bars to substitute your full-on dessert and not act as a dessert appetizer?” Or, “are you sure that tortilla chips are considered ‘good carbs’ because they’re made from corn?”

Who doesn’t like a fat Dad? (You. You see yourself getting fatter and hate your-) NOBODY! EVERYONE LIKES A FAT DAD.

What’s next?

Parental Leave.

Not working is sweet. Do I need to explain this? (You wrote it, dude. At least TRY to make it interesting?)

Taking care of a small human cry-machine isn’t a tropical vacation, but let me offer you this “would you rather?”-scenario:

Would you rather get a call from your boss asking you about some work thing that you’ve put off because it sucks/you hate it

-OR-

Would you rather deal with your Warden scream-crying a mere 19 minutes after drinking a full bottle?

You take the screamer because you can put the screamer in a rocking swing and say, “just gotta let her cry it out,” and sound like a seasoned parent when saying that. Try ignoring your boss and telling your spouse that you’re “just gonna let her call it out,” and eventually you’ll be lying to your Dad that you were laid off because of “complicated company stock stuff” when you were actually fired for “ignoring your boss.”

OUR WORLD:

Since today is the day of “this may be a recurring segment on Jimmyschair if I…uh…feel like it later,” let’s start another one in this section, entitled “48 Hours Later Without Looking Stuff Up on Google”-Review. Why the no looking stuff up on Google thing, you ask? (We didn’t, you just feel the need to justify your laziness). Because when you’re having a conversation with someone and talking about whether you loved or hated a show/character/storyline, etc. you’re going to remember the aspects that MATTER. Think of it as a test for these shows or movies. If something is great, we’re going to remember it 48 hours later without having to go to Google and type “Wait, what was that thing I liked in the show I watched the other night?” (You sure you want the title to be that short? Why not “48 Hours Later Without Looking Stuff Up on Google While Your Kid Scream Cries in the Background and You Pray That ‘Crying It Out’ is a ”-Review?)

For my first “48 Hours Later Without Looking Stuff Up on Google”-Review, let’s talk about HBO’s first episode of “House of the Dragon”. If you’re worried about spoilers or a review that leaves you wanting more, yeah, stop reading (lowering expectations really is your go-to, isn’t it?)

“Game of Thrones”, especially in the early seasons, was so intoxicatingly good that it’s fair to compare the early episodes of it’s first spinoff series to the original. I remember watching the pilot episode for “Game of Thrones,” and sharing a “holy shit, did you see that?” look with my then roommates after the INTRODUCTION. That’s what I was looking for with this pilot episode. And you know what? I wanted it within the first five minutes because that’s what “Game of Thrones” did and that’s what almost all good new shows have to do now. There’s so much goddamn content out there, that if a show doesn’t shove you up against a wall and scream “LOVE ME!” within the first five minutes, you’re going back to the streaming well.

48 hours later, I don’t remember the opening of this episode. (See a doctor?)

What I do remember is a horrifically graphic pregnancy scene that I hate watched through my fingers. Is that really the kind of scene we need in the first episode of the most widely anticipated series debut of the past few years? That’s the kind of scene that belongs in the middle of season two, when the show has given you enough “holy shit, did you see that?!”-scenes, that you allow it to torture you with the occasional “holy shit, I wish I never saw that!”-scene. “House of the Dragon” gave us a scene I wish I could forget as THE climactic scene in the series debut.

I also thought that the two male leads were lacking gravitas. Sean Bean was the male lead in the original, and is the kind of actor, with the kind of jawline and cool weathered face that you bought him as a legitimate warrior. These two actors who I couldn’t pick out of a lineup, playing the white-haired leads were about as memorable as the first time I ate a cracker. “I guess I liked it. I have had crackers since…” I can’t remember seeing them in anything else, they both lack any sort of on-screen charisma that makes me excited to see what they’ll do next, and I didn’t really buy that they were the ones leading soldiers during a time period where soldiers were so scary barbaric, I’m pretty sure I’m not the same species as them. (Correct Jimmy, they were ‘men’ and you are a human who wears floral colored crocs in public).

Isn’t it also confusing that the young girl who is now being groomed to take over the Iron Throne definitely looks EXACTLY like a younger version of the last main girl in “Game of Thrones”? What was her name? Pretty dragon-riding girl who slept with Drago? Danerius? (No chance you spelled that right.) You know who I’m talking about, and this girl looks like a younger her, and does things the younger her would’ve done, but…guess what….it’s not her! So, that’s not confusing at all.

And the dragons. What about the dragons?!?! The fucking show is about their house and the coolest thing we see them do in the first episode is cremate a dead mom and her dead newborn? Who drew that up?

“Hello ‘House of the Dragon’ writing team. What do you plan to have the dragons do in the first episode?”—HBO Executive

“We were thinking we could show a team of people hold a screaming woman down while a ‘doctor’ kills her by cutting open her stomach and ripping out her kid who, also dies, but like, a little later.”—House of the Dragon Writer

“Uh, what about the dragons, though?”

“Yeah, we’ll have one of them blow fire on them at the funeral.”

“On who?”

“The dead Mom and baby.”

“But, they’re already dead.”

And that is precisely the moment the writers should have looked at each other and said, “maybe the coolest thing we have our dragons do, in the first ever episode of our show called ‘House of the Dragon’, is not act as a match at a cremation ceremony.”

We’re all going to stick with this show for a while (we are?) because we are in this together and “Game of Thrones” was an incredible series, and so they’ve earned at least us watching 6 episodes of their first spinoff. But maybe next episode, we could get a dragon dunking a basketball? SOMETHING?!?!

LETS ALL LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

It’s my favorite time of the year for beer because it’s OKTOBERFEST (Octoberfest?) season!!! Now, there are a billion at the store, but here are some Jimmyschair tips and recos for what to do with these (he’s a professional, folks! Well…was. Wait, yeah, didn’t you quit your job in beer? Yeah, you did! So now you’re just a…drunk!)

Tip: Buy a bunch of them now and let them hang in your beer fridge, or if you don’t have room it’s not the end of the world if these sit at room temp. These kinds of beers will last a good 3-4 months minimum (some, you can stretch to 6) AND their quality doesn’t totally hinge on them being kept cold the whole time. Now, if you can keep beer cold, do it. But, if you’re stuck on space then don’t worry about having these chill in the corner of your basement.

Recos:

-Paulaner “Fest Bier”–they’re “marzen” is good too, but I prefer the one that says “Fest Bier”

-New Glarus “Staghorn”–you can only get this in Wisconsin. If you’re near, it’s worth the drive and do it soon because these usually sell out FAST.

-Half Acre “Lagertown”–best brewery in Chicago and it’s the founder’s favorite beer they make. Convinced yet?

-Sam Adams “Octoberfest”–I’m not even sure I love this beer, but my Dad does so that counts for a bunch of beer points.

-Sierra Nevada “Oktoberfest”–They used to switch up this beer every year where they’d brew it with another VERY OLD German brewery. Now? I’m honestly not sure what they’re doing, but Sierra is a beast and doesn’t miss on this style.

LETS ALL HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

People over 60 who post political memes on Facebook. Hey, Rey, we all know which side of the aisle you’re on and NOBODY wants to join you.

JIMMY GAMBLES:

The PGA Tour championship is this weekend and there’s a staggered scoring system. What does that mean? That the longer shots you pick, have an even LESS likelihood of breaking through. (Does that mean you’re finally going to just pick the people you think are ACTUALLY going to win the tournament?) BUT LETS PICK SOME LONGSHOTS ANYWAY!!! Feed my fat butt Tony Finau, Cameron Young, and Jon Rahm. (*Disclaimer: Jimmy has not won a golf bet in so long that he literally cannot even remember the last time he did win one. He keeps saying he enjoys betting on the sport, though, because his guys have been close a few times and ‘close’ to a losers like Jimmy act as reasons to keep picking the same way every single time).

K bye.

At Least You Don’t Have These Jobs and Tommy Boy Lines (4/9/18)

OUR WORLD:

It seems that I’m running into a bit of a traffic jam on jimmyschair. It being Monday, I’m ready to continue the “At Least I Don’t Have To Do That”-Job List–that I started last week. However, I also had delayed the “Vanderpump Rules” induction into the jimmyschair Reality TV Show Hall of Fame. PLANNING JIMMY, TRY IT SOMETIME!!! (Readers must be getting restless. Are they beginning to think about NOT reading this blog?! ARE THEY GONNA GO BACK TO SCROLLING THROUGH FACEBOOK WHILE ON THE TOILET?!?!?) Fear not–people who probably were not fearing cuz they don’t really care! I have decided that today’s “Our World” will be the second edition of the “At Least I Don’t Have To Do That”-Job List. Tomorrow, after what’s sure to be an electric episode tonight, “Vanderpump Rules” heads to the hall of fame.

With snow falling, and me dealing with having had a martini probably a little too late last night, I need this list more than ever (Sunday ‘tini time is fun because you’re playing with fire after 8PM. Sunday “‘Tini Time” Jimmy is undefeated versus Monday “Get Ready for Work” Jimmy. Monday Jimmy is weak and fragile like an old lightbulb.) Last week, meter maids, construction workers and Starbucks barista’s were the jobs that made me feel better about starting the week off. This week, I’ve got some real gems:

–Entry-Level Personal Trainers: There have got to be no less than fifteen thousand trillion people who like working out and watching “American Ninja Warrior” in college and think “I should be a trainer!” I understand thinking that getting paid to work out is a decent gig, and being named to star in the “Rambo” remake probably isn’t in the cards, so becoming a trainer sounds logical. I believe these college kids, like most college kids, are forgetting about what the lower rungs of this profession entail. (How is there not a college course called “entry level jobs are ACTUALLY like this…”?)

Now I don’t know this because I don’t want to look it up or ask someone, but I imagine getting into the personal training game includes passing out resumes at local gyms. Do they include what they lift on their resume? Or, is it all looks based? I’m sure there are certifications that they need, but what differentiates Joey Triceps from Danny Deltoids when they both have the same certifications? I’m thinking it has to be A) Looks B) Looks C) Looks. Anyway, the gyms that these newbies are getting into have to be like the Planet Fitness’s of the world (IF YOU JUDGE, YOU’RE OUT!)

So they get hired either by Planet Fitness or like a suburban community center and they get paid BUPKISS to motivate creepy older people and high school kids to work out harder. The older people are definitely just looking for someone to talk to and look at for the hour of the day they’re outside of their house, and the high school kids are probably being made to go by their shithead parents. Next thing Danny Deltoids knows, he’s spending half his day apologizing to Esther about the treadmill buttons not having larger print. Or, he’s trying to get High School Ryan to stop checking his snapchat but he can’t get too mad about it because Ryan was bullied at school last week. “Hey Ryan, bud? Maybe put the phone down and hop on the elliptical? No, my tone wasn’t aggressive. Actually, is that a new filter? Oh cool bud! You’re doing great!” Then Ryan’s Dad comes in and is all like “why is my son still fat?” and Danny has to lie and not say “cuz he’s a lazy piece of shit.” Ryan’s Dad doesn’t buy any more sessions with you because he doesn’t believe in the “excuse business” and then it’s back to Esther’s bad eyes and wandering hands. If there’s a sequel to “Get Out”, I propose Danny Deltoids play the lead.

-Beer Delivery Drivers: Remember the last huge party you had when you lived with roommates? You guys bought a keg and then realized that you live on the third floor of a walk up…so….SHIT. It probably took you like an hour and a half, using 3 guys to move the keg up one stair at a time. By the time you got it into your dirty, ice-filled bathtub you couldn’t wait to tell your girlfriend how much your hands hurt. Now, imagine adding snow, a pissed off bar owner and rickety stairs to that equation…OH! AND IT’S ALL YOU DO ALL DAY EVERY DAY!

I’ve worked with these dudes and they’re basically superheroes in my eyes. Ever think about how a keg gets to the basement of your favorite dive bar? That staircase that you’d like a harness to just walk down? Yeah, beer delivery drivers finnagel a dolly like friggin’ wizards as they trek down a basically-verticle group of splintering stairs. I worked at a place like this and always had a new, genuine, tears-in-my-eyes apology ready for the driver when he was done delivering the kegs. Would he have just preferred me slipping him a five dollar bill? Doubtful. These apologies were guttural, the type you see at the end of rehab shows when their family comes to visit. “I just want you to know that I’m sorry and I value everything you do for me.”

-Movers: Hear this warning first; once you hire movers, you can never NOT hire movers again. So if you’re still in the post-college “pizza and beers?” phase of moving, then stay there. But, if you’re nearing 30, moving in with a spouse and your friends are no longer impressed by shitty pizza and cheap beer, hiring movers is a GAMECHANGER. The first time I hired movers, I literally filmed them on my phone like a DOUCHE because I was so amazed by what they could do. They had a dude who was like 130lbs, put our couch–OUR FUGGIIN’ COUCH GUYS!–on his back and trucked up the three flights of stairs like it was nothing. UN-FUCKING-BELIEVABLE.

Then, there was the second time I hired movers and they showed up to our apartment, looked around at all of The VP of Ops’ bullshit, and said “oh wow…all of this?” I so badly wanted to be the cool guy and say “nah, I’m lighting all her stuff on fire later cuz boys rule and girls drool, right?!?!” We’d all laugh and high-five and they’d be relieved and I’d probably save money but…ya know…The VP needs her hideous silver spray-painted side tables! Ha ha ha. (Veering off for a second, I dream of throwing like half of our furniture out when the VP is out of town and then convincing her that we got robbed and I was so so scared.)

But the movers don’t get to say they’re not carrying that. AND! They don’t get to show up to a place, realize that first floor is a STEEP first floor, that may as well be a 5th floor, and just turn around to leave. As a mover, aside from the sheer physical exhaustion associated with lugging shit up and down stairs, you have to be terrified every time you get to a place about what “surprises” you’re about to encounter. They’re never going to be happy surprises. More along the lines of “I swear that’s a wine stain on the mattress”-type surprises…and then they have to laugh a little and be like “yeah, wine is that bright red color, and I’m positive it’s not blood!” THEN! At the end of moving the murderers out of their walk-up, they’re given a lukewarm blue Gatorade that the murderers bought and then forgot to put in the refrigerator. “Oh thanks guys, I prefer my gatorade room temperature when it’s 97 degrees outside!”

Who’s feeling better about what they do? MONDAY’S GONNA BE GREAT!

MY WORLD:

Out of the blue, my sister texted our family chain asking for everyone’s favorite line from “Tommy Boy”. If you don’t really know me (like really really know me…and my deepest darkest secrets…) then you may not know that “Tommy Boy” is my all-time favorite movie. Hands down, not-a-joke, it’s number one. So now my day is gonna be kinda ruined because all I’m going to think about are my favorite lines from that movie. From the top of my head, here’s what I’ve got so far (DON’T HOLD ME TO THESE PLEASE! DEAR GOD, PLEASE! I’M TRYING MY BEST!):

“Hm, surprised you didn’t know that.”-Chris Farley to David Spade in the car about the “thin candy shell”.
“These shoes are Italian, they cost more than your life!”-Rob Lowe to Chris Farley after the cow-tipping escapades.
“I can put six packs of be–soda in here!”-Chris Farley freaking out to his dad about the mini-fridge in his office.
“Richard? Who’s your favorite little rascal? Mine’s SPANKY!”-Chris Farley after walking in on David Spade during that special time.
“I’ll just have a sugar packet or two.”-Chris Farley’s restaurant order after they refuse to make wings for him.

I’m going to need to work on this harder. I promise to report back in good time.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

How I feel most Mondays…

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I was happy Patrick Reed won yesterday, but his shirt was all kinds of AWFUL…

Reed

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT I AM GENUINELY CONFIDENT IN BECAUSE I DESERVE GOOD THINGS TO HAPPEN TO ME AFTER GETTING REAR-ENDED BY A GUY WITHOUT A LICENSE:

So you saw the 5 guys who I picked in the blog last Thursday for the Masters…what you didn’t see is that I had $4.29 left in my account and my friend told me to bet on Jason Dufner and Patrick Reed. Thing is…I ONLY BET ON PATRICK REED! BOOM BABY! $4.29 last second bet on Reed scored me like $250. I am so stinking rich right now, guys. Does he have a punchable face? Yes. But, I wanted to kiss that face like a romance guy when he made that putt on 18. Remember when you all thought I was definitely not back? UHHHHH…..WRONGO, LOSERS! I. AM. BACK.

(My account currently at $256.83)

K bye.

My Last Weed Experience and Movie Reviews (3/21/18)

MY WORLD:

I’ve fallen into this routine when I write these blog posts (aka yet-to-be-truly-discovered-voice-of-a-generation-masterpieces) where I listen to the same three songs as I start to write. From Dave Matthews Band’s Live Trax Vol. 6: Fenway Park, I listen to “The Idea of You”, “Grey Street” and “Bartender”. From there, I’ll usually drift into some cool underground artist that you probably haven’t even heard of so, like, don’t even try (Oh…you HAVE heard of Sia?) Between these songs and the lingering pot smoke I detected on my morning walk with Belle (of course I immediately called the Police), I was reminded of the day I realized that I couldn’t smoke pot anymore; the last time I went to a Dave Matthews Band concert.

I’m going to say it was the Summer of 2013 because 2011-2015 is basically the same to me now, and I don’t remember exactly and I don’t want to look it up so…SUMMER OF 2013! My brother Matthew, my roommate Dave and myself bought tickets to see DMB at Alpine Valley, a little Wisconsin farm town a couple hours outside of Chicago. Yes, I did realize I was seeing Dave Matthews Band with guys named Dave and Matthew and, yes, I did bring this up at least 19 times throughout the day.

My brother met Dave and I at our apartment for the pre-concert pump-up session that is needed before any big show. This PCPU (pre-concert pump-up…come on, keep up) consisted of playing Dave Matthews Band songs LOUD while drinking beers and going through what songs we NEEDED to hear at the concert later. (I love how during every PCPU, you’ll say something about how disappointed you’ll be if they don’t play a certain song and then you feel the need to KEEP BRINGING IT UP to the people around you during the show. Nobody cares. Let’s not do that anymore.) After a few beers and shots (oh my god guys, shots?) it was time for us to make our way to the meet-up where shuttle buses were taking people from Chicago to Alpine Valley.

I know people paint the picture of typical DMB fans wearing cargo shorts, and pookah shell necklaces, and, I don’t know, other sweet-ass shit, but I never notice that. And I didn’t this time as we waited with the cargo-shorts wearing masses to get on the buses. Whenever I’ve gone to a Dave show I just notice that everyone around me is pretty nice and excited. (Suck it hipsters.) So while I would love to recount some “you wouldn’t believe how bro-ey these bros were”-stories, I just remember people being nice and excited. (Make something up Jimmy! This is boring!) As we got on the bus, however, I do remember IMMEDIATELY panicking that there was no way I was getting out of smoking weed today.

Right after college, I got pretty good with weed. I could wake and bake and do fun stuff like go swing on the swings at a park where I was the only person above the age of 7 (ya know, fun-not-creepy-at-all stuff like that!) I worked in a restaurant, had a good relationship with a dealer and really enjoyed getting stoned to watch movies. But I lived alone, and that meant getting stoned alone far too often…which leads to solo freak outs in the dark. (Tonight’s plan? Get home. Smoke. Eat an entire bag of Tostitos with queso. Freak out about my future in bed. CAN’T WAIT!) After one too many of those “I’m an absolute failure in life forever”-freakouts, I swore off the sneaky smokey treat.

But then I’m sitting on a bus surrounded by nice, excited people, no! Friends! WE WERE ALL FRIENDS ON THAT BUS! Sitting in thin clouds of pot smoke, I was thinking “I mean, all my friends on this bus seem to be handling marijuana quite well. Frankly, they seem to be enjoying themselves QUITE a bit! Therefore, I have decided that I am cured of my weed-freakouts and will, again, partake in that sneaky smokey treat.” Actually, it was much more out of a fear of being labeled as a lame-o that I told Dave and Matthew that I’d smoke with them when we got off the bus.

Dave and Matthew acted excited about me agreeing to smoke with them. That is because they had never had a front-row seat to my weed freakouts. Ignorance is bliss, friends. We arrived at Alpine, got off the bus and snuck behind…well, we didn’t really have to hide because everybody in that world was smoking weed. So Dave pulled out his bowl and I took a hit. It wasn’t a massive coughing-fit hit, but I held it in like a pro and gave a pretty dope head nod to my brother Matthew as if to say “Y’all know me, still the same old G.” I was cool weed guy for, approximately, the next 8 seconds. Then I made Dave give me his sunglasses and got REAL quiet. (Oh no…Jimmy Freakout has entered the building!)

As we made our way to the lawn area, I made my way into my brain to begin the weed freakout in public routine. Paranoid about my heart racing, I decided a beer would help slow it down. WRONGO! It was dusk and I was keeping these stolen sunglasses over my eyes like my life depended on it. Seriously, if Dave took those sunglasses back, my body would have eyes would have melted and my body would have exploded and my Mom would have been all “I can’t believe my son exploded from weed!” Dave and Matthew seemed to be doing okay, but we were all quiet.

Dave ran into people he knew and introduced me in my sunglasses-in-the-dark self to them. I was thankful to Dave for this because when you’re stoned to the point of almost crying, meeting a complete stranger is EXACTLY what you want to do. (Hello, my name is Name. Good to name you. Name!) The show began and my symptoms only grew. Why was it so fucking loud?!?! I was positive that everyone around me was talking about why I was wearing sunglasses in the pitch black. (Because I’m scared! Okay? I’m so scared!) I tried to get into the music, threw a few fake “I’m having fun”-smiles at Dave and Matthew and attempted to kinda dance. I’m sure it looked more like an adult with cryface who was having a mild seizure. I absolutely needed a really firm hug from someone telling me “it’s going to be okay”…and I really had to pee.

Like, I really really really had to go pee, but it was dark and super crowded. I thought if I tried to make my way to the bathroom, that I’d never be able to find Dave and Matthew again when I came back. My brain evaluating the future = I’d search frantically for my sweet brother and brave roommate only to realize that they had already gotten on the bus back to Chicago…and I didn’t know anyone else there…and I would die alone in the lawn pavilion amidst concert debris at Alpine Valley. Hold it or die was my choice. I saw a guy near me pee into a bottle and I was very jealous of his pee-courage. I looked down at a water bottle near me, but it was too crowded and people were definitely looking at me like “don’t even think about pissing in that bottle near me.” Like, at one point I leaned down to maybe grab the empty bottle and I’m pretty sure a guy pointed a machine-gun at me and said “not another move.”

Whether he just sensed me nearing a heart attack or actually heard me mutter “help!”, Dave came to the rescue. He had to go to the bathroom, did I want to go? I LOVE YOU DAVE! Thing is, Dave is a very fast, aggressive walker and he took off like he was in a race. I did the half-jog-half-I-cant-walk-this-fast-naturally thing to keep up. He stormed through the crowd in a way that I can only describe as magnificent. Keeping up with this magnificent storm was difficult and so I did what any self-respecting adult male would do. I jogged to get real close to him and grabbed his hand when he swung it back. Like a little brother holding on for dear life was me clutching onto Dave’s paw. (I’m not dying in Alpine tonight!)

Post-pee (oh yeah, I kept an eye on where Dave was the entire time we were in the bathroom) we met outside the bathroom. Now, I don’t know if this next part is completely true, but it’s how I remember it…Dave looked at me and I looked at Dave the way a dog looks at it’s owner walking out of the door with a suitcase. (Don’t leave me). And Dave extended his hand. I will never be more excited to hold hands with anyone ever again. He led me back to our lawn area like a true gentleman. When I got back, my brother Matthew said “Jesus, this weed is freaking me out.” THANK GOD! I’M NOT ALONE!!! WE’RE IN THIS TOGETHER!!!

The rest of the concert consisted of all of us talking over the music about how bad we were handling the weed. It was comforting, but still scary because we were all still kinda stoned. We chugged water and gatorade and didn’t listen to the show because all that mattered was getting back to sober. Ever have that feeling? Like, you would DO ANYTHING to just get back to zero on the effed-up scale? I would’ve taken a punch from Godzilla if that would have sobered me up.

That was the last time I smoked weed (basically). And here we are 5ish years later and guess who is going to the June 30 Dave Matthews Band concert? Me, Dave and Matthew. I hear CBD is pretty chill.

OUR WORLD:

With our sports teams dying on the vine and weather that is still shitty enough to justify staying inside FOREVER, I figured I’d help you out by reviewing the movies currently playing at the theater near my apartment. (Movie date? Movie date!) Now, I have not seen all these movies, but I will review them anyway and not tell you whether I saw it or not. Think of it as a fun guessing game.

The Shape of Water: Not as good as you want it to be. Get ready to look at your date a few times to make sure if they’re okay with fish sex. Michael Shannon is cool. Jimmy Rating = “Good, ya’ know, not great. Good though.”

7 Days in Entebbe: More like 7 Days in NOTHANKYOUtebbe (sick burn Jimbo!) Do you like seeing movies with actors you’ve never heard of about a thing you never knew happened? Well actually, sometimes I do because then I can talk about it like “I can’t believe you haven’t heard of the 1976 Air France hijacking!” This movie is no bueno, but it allows you to sound smarter than your friends. Jimmy Rating = “Even though it wasn’t very good, I know more than you because I saw this movie.”

A Wrinkle in Time: Oprah, magic and people whispering “this isn’t as good as the book.” I didn’t read this book and I don’t appreciate everyone making me feel like a dummy for that. Jimmy Rating = “Nah, I’m good.”

The Death of Stalin: I supported Stalin dying, so I support this movie. Jimmy Rating = “You don’t?”

Thoroughbreds: A couple girls try to kill a mean dad and then a skinny guy who kinda looks like Elijah Wood (but isn’t Elijah Wood) shows up to thwart their plan. Don’t hate the plot, but it is hard to get over the “I’m just not sure that isn’t Elijah Wood” whisper-fight you’ll get into with your date during this movie. Jimmy Rating = “IT’S NOT ELIJAH WOOD!”

Red Sparrow: Jennifer Lawrence as a sexy, ass-kicking spy with a bad haircut. Sounds like a winner until you realize that no one has talked about his movie since it came out like 3 weeks ago. That can’t be a good sign. Jimmy Rating = “Maybe in 18 months when the VP of Ops is out of town and I’m drunk and there’s nothing else on demand.”

Annihilation: Weird, artsy sci-fi where Natalie Portman looks to the sky a lot and the people around her tell her to “get back!” It’s good, but you won’t get it because you don’t like art, so just skip it and watch another episode of Spongebob. Jimmy Rating = “You just don’t get it.”

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

The time you realized you’re not good at drugs. (Sigh…)

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT I AM GENUINELY CONFIDENT IN BECAUSE I DESERVE GOOD THINGS TO HAPPEN TO ME AFTER GETTING REAR-ENDED BY A GUY WITHOUT A LICENSE:

I didn’t gamble last night and I really wanted to. I even sent out a trial balloon text to my gambling crew about putting some money on the Blazers (+4.5). No response = no bet…and then the Blazers lost by 4 AND WE WOULD’VE WON! DAMNIT! Back to gambling tonight because I am done with zero action nights. Put the mortgage on Cavs (-1.5) over the Raptors.

(My account currently at $28.21)

K bye.

Navigating Sports Fans at Work Today (3/15/2018)

OUR WORLD:

Today is the first day of the NCAA Tournament, the REAL kick-off for March Madness. This is the 4th of July in the middle of March, celebrated indoors, without fireworks or hot dogs, but…GODDAMNIT, YOU GET WHAT I’M SAYING. (I’m on edge, and I’m not apologizing for it today. I’m a full pot of coffee deep and my nerves are….FOR THE LOVE OF GOD STOP BARKING BELLE!!!) Today is a super big deal for sports fans, and the fact that a candidate hasn’t run on a “I’ll make the first 2 days of March Madness National Holidays”-platform is a real mystery. (Jimmy Politics IS IN THE BUILDING!!!) However, I do realize that today is also a prime day for the non-sports fans to poke fun at and needle people of my ilk. I am asking, for the sake of sports NUTZ everywhere, that you refrain from doing that today. (I’m not kidding. This is not a joke and that is why there is no joke being inserted here. This is a serious ask from a serious man. Simply, today is not the day. NOT. THE. DAY.) Along those lines, here is a guide for you non-sporties out there at work today looking to steer clear of the glare/wrath/shout/get-the-fuck-away-from-me-RIGHT-NOW-ANDY:

*Before I begin, from here on out, I will be referring to the Sports Fans as “Jimmy’s” and the Non-Sports Fans “Hitler’s” because I am Jimmy and, I don’t know, “Hitler’s” has a ring to it.

This Morning: The “Jimmy’s” will be BOUNCING into work. No coffee crash this morning because they’re going to keep drinking it until lunch. Can’t crash if you never stop, everyone knows this. The train to PURE-BLIND-JOY-VILLE has left the station and the Jimmy’s are hanging off the sides waving their newsboy caps in the air like they did in the old-timey movies. We’re going to paradise!

The-Train

Adrenaline through the roof because ALL of the “Jimmy’s” have convinced themselves that this is they year they win their NCAA pool. (I am SO in that mindset right now.) They’re settling in to their desks and smiling and shooting cool head nods at everyone, including the “Hitler’s”.

This is the part of the day where a Hitler may get caught in the middle of a few Jimmy’s talking about what upsets they have today. Hitler’s, this is the only time you will be able to make the “Sports!” joke without SEVERELY pissing off a Jimmy (saying “Sports!” in the middle of a sports convo is Hitler’s go-to “joke” even though it never actually makes people laugh. Next time, just say “I feel left out!” Same effect. It’s what I do when people talk about wrestling or books.)

The Jimmy’s will be listening to good-times music (think, “Valerie” by Steve Winwood on repeat) because they need positive vibes. Don’t even think about putting the office speakers on something like Bon Iver or The National because positive vibes and positivity and being optimistic and everything is going to be great! I FEEL GREAT! THIS IS GOING GREAT!!!! (I literally just said “I feel great!” outloud in my chair while listening to “Valerie”) Hitler’s, get it out now. You can’t touch the Jimmy’s at this moment. Roll your eyes, audibly sigh and say stuff like “Tom, is your powerpoint ready for the meeting?”

As we near tip, the Jimmy’s will be chair dancing, making explosion noises like “BOOOOSH” after every e-mail they fire off, smirking at fellow Jimmy’s around the office and, fuck it! LET’S DANCE GUYS! TODAY IS OUR DAY!!!! TODAY IS OUR FUCKING DAY!!!!

Lunchtime: The Jimmy’s are beginning to split into factions now. Some are winning, some are beginning to lose and crumble. The coffee crash is expedited with a lunchtime beer. Hitler’s, watch out for the Jimmy who orders the second lunchtime beer…they are entering a dark place and you don’t deserve any of the attitude they’re about to throw your way. “I don’t know, Bill. I said I’d get to it after lunch!” These types of minor outbursts are to be expected at the point. Not too mean, but they’re getting close. You did nothing wrong, okay? It’s not-HEY! It’s not your fault!

You will also notice that The Jimmy’s are beginning to turn on each other. Rivaling factions of Jimmy’s in the same vicinity is a recipe for dis–well, not disaster. More like, “I get it, your sleeper is up 13 at half”-type tiffs. No one is super pissy yet, but there are some Jimmy’s who are beginning to question if this really is their year. (Wait? But…this is my year, isn’t it? This can’t…this just can’t be.)

Post-lunch self-awareness for Jimmy’s will be at an all-time low. They will be mediocre, AT BEST, at their job and that is not okay (but like, it kinda is). I point this out because Hitler’s need to stand back now. Don’t go up to a Jimmy to see if they “returned that e-mail yet.” It’s not the time. Now is the time to for the Jimmy’s to be smashing the refresh button on ESPN.com’s NCAA scoreboard. Pretend you can’t hear their muted cheers or stifled curse words or audible “his foot was on the line!”‘s. Jimmy’s are not looking for conversation, they are talking to God.

Early Afternoon: The Jimmy’s will be rubbing their faces and blinking very hard at this point. If they’ve taken losses in the first batch of games, they’re giving themselves pep talks. If they’ve hit on some wins, they’re probably taking deep breaths while mouthing words like “calm down, just the start. Long way to go.” They’re a little more approachable at this point, but no sudden movements or brazen attempts at sarcasm. It’s a fragile time. If Wright State beats Tennessee, they’re back on track..but…STAYING POSITIVE! NO BUTS! WE’RE ONLY THINKING HAPPY THOUGHTS RIGHT NOW!

Hitler’s, if you REALLY need something done for work, now is the last time you can ask. Be gentle and kind with your requests. The Jimmy’s are beginning to feel a twinge of guilt for ignoring 3 hours worth of e-mails, but that doesn’t mean they don’t have good hearts. They’re ready to do some, SOME! work, but don’t get nuts or mad. A simple, “Hey Jimmy, if you have time, would you mind?” Done. Love the ask, and, guess what? Doing it right now! Sorry if I was a little short earlier. Then they’ll make an embarrassed smile, shake their heads and roll their eyes a little at how childish they’ve acted.

leo-decaprio-shoulder-shrug

This is when you, Hitler, give the confused, “Don’t even worry about it!”-look with a lazy airwave. You’ll jump straight to the top of a Jimmy’s “he/she is a good person” list with a move like that.

The second batch of games begins and their concentration will begin to wane back into the ESPN scoreboard. If they haven’t finished whatever they “need” to finish…it’s gonna have to wait. Mmmkay? It’s just gonna have to wait.

End of Day: The Hitler’s have probably had it by now. I get it, being surrounded by a group of people who are SUPER interested in something you have no idea about, must SUCK. I am not friendly in situations like this. Like, when I go to Farmer’s Markets in the summer and people are freaking out about $7 tomatoes, but all I can think about is how hot I am and how Mariano’s ALWAYS has tomatoes…that are ALWAYS cheaper. “Not getting it” stinks, and I want you Hitler’s to know, that I know, that it stinks.

You’ve had to put up with en entire day of adults wildly cheering for and against teenagers that they’ve never met. It’s a dynamic that’s easy to mock, but doing so is a total dick move. No matter how funny your “You didn’t even go to that school”-reminder may be, no one will laugh. You’ve had to swallow all of your go-to “sports don’t matter as much as the thing I like”-jokes and quips for an entire work day AND YOU’RE READY TO BLOW.

Therefore, this is the most dangerous time of day. The Hitler’s have HAD IT with the lack of productivity and barbarism of The Jimmy’s, and The Jimmy’s have lost a few games by now and are beginning to calculate how much money they have spent on failed brackets over the past 5 years. (Don’t! Guys! Guys! Don’t do that!) The exit from work must be careful for both parties. To avoid setting off this powder keg, here’s what I suggest for the walk out: Jimmy’s should identify themselves by tying their coat around their waist. (I do this on the reg because A) The VP of Ops HATES it and B) It’s makes sense sometimes). Hitler’s should identify themselves by, no matter the weather, wearing their fingerless gloves (come on, I know you have them.) Waist-coaters should not get in the same elevator as the fingerless-glovers, and Fingerless-glovers should not ask the Waist-coaters how their day was. This is the time of day where it’s just better to be safe than sorry. Avoid each other.

Tomorrow will be similar. Don’t fight it.

MY WORLD:

Today’s “My World” is short and sweet…CUZ STEVE WINWOOD JAMS!!! This is my year to win a bracket because I never have and The VP of Ops has and that is bananaland UNFAIR. I plan on dominating the television whenever I am home over the next 96 hours and not. apologizing. for. it.

VALERIEEEEEE! CALL ON ME! CALL ON ME, VALERIE! COME AND SEE ME! I’M THE SAME BOY I USED TO BE!

(one of my top 6 favorite things to do in life, is to sneak up behind the VP of Ops and whisper into her ear “I’m the same boy I used to be.”)

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

heirloom-tomatoes-on-sale-at-a-farmers-market-isaquah-washington-BNMKEC

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT I AM GENUINELY CONFIDENT IN BECAUSE I DESERVE GOOD THINGS TO HAPPEN TO ME AFTER GETTING REAR-ENDED BY A GUY WITHOUT A LICENSE:

Listen, I’m officially afraid of the JimmysChair gambling curse and today is not the day to test it. Therefore, I will simply wish you all luck. The next 4 days are going to be a grind, pack a lunch.

(My account currently at $67)

K bye.

Car Crash Fall-Out (3/9/2018)

MY WORLD:

While waiting for the estimate for my repairs in the work lounge of the Glenview, Chevy Dealership, I texted Fred, the guy who hit me. Yesterday, I nicknamed this guy “Cryface McFlatBrim”, but I’m going to call him Fred today because A) “Cryface McFlatBrim” is kind of a lame joke that I’m not proud of, and B) His name is Fred. (Wait, he’s going to call someone by their name? No snappy nickname? WELL, WHY THE FUCK AM I EVEN READING THIS?!?!)

While I didn’t delve too deep into it yesterday, Fred told me that he was driving his wife, Gail’s car to drop their daughter off at a nearby city college. Gail, unlike fuckin’-ruining-my-morning-Fred, does have a license and car insurance. I took down all of this info but, probably sensing that his wife would give him a harder pankin’ than any future fellow inmate, Fred insisted I contact him with repair costs so he could pay out of pocket and keep this all hidden from his wife. Fred did not seem to understand that Gail may start asking questions once she saw the hood of her car looking like a boy scout tent. According to my calculations, Fred is not a planner.

Now sitting in the work lounge, I texted Fred to see if he’d respond. I didn’t trust my handwriting, so I wanted to confirm all of Gail’s car insurance info with him confirming some of her information. But really, I wanted confirmation that I had just been taken advantage of by a bad driver with a good cry reflex. No one would be mad at me for letting this dude go. In fact, I’d tell the story full-well-knowing that I’d be portrayed as the real victim; a softie who got taken advantage of. (Awwww, Jimmy’s so cute.) Paying for the repairs out of my pocket would only enhance my victim-ness, creating even more sympathy for myself whenever I’d tell this story. My cynical suspicions were confirmed.

Until he texted me back 8 minutes later. (Well, he still won’t live up to his word. Listen Fred, I’ve already written the end of this story in my head.) He confirmed Gail’s car insurance information, but again insisted that I call him once I get the estimate so he can pay out of pocket. He tells me “I work for GM I make a 1000$ a week I will pay u.” (Shit, this guy makes more than me?) I almost texted him back to just stop texting me now so I don’t get my hopes up that he’s going to follow through on his word.

Stevey Eyebrows, the manager of the body shop, comes to get me in the lounge. (Wait, is Jimmy Nicknames back?!?! MOM! JIMMY NICKNAMES IS BACK!) Steve tells me that the oil change went well (do they sometimes not?). He hands over a few sheets of paper and says “you may want to sit down when you go over the estimate” before pretending he was too busy to sit with me. Hey Steve, ever heard of being a shoulder to cry on? (Dear Steve’s Wife, you don’t have to live like this.)

Alone and afraid, I read through the estimate. Yomma momma. $1,100. I took a picture of the estimate and texted it to Fred. He responded “For tour bumber”. Yes Fred, “for tour bumber”. I reminded him that my car is leased and that they need to replace the bottom part of the “tour bumber” (it’s not mean to make fun of spelling because he has an iPhone and, therefore, HAD to have overridden autocorrect because he was POSITIVE that it was “bumber” and not “bumper”). Then the texts went silent for a little bit.

I paid for my oil change and confirmed with Stevey “My Shoulder is not for your Tears” Eyebrows that my car was drivable. It was. I got in my car, eager to call my parents and friends to tell them how hard my life is. (I’d end all the convos with something like “not that big of a deal” so they’d think I was extra tough. Can’t knock this sturdy boy down! Oh, also…please help me.) Then Fred called.

“You mean to tell me that your bumper is gonna cost me $1,100? I’m going to need you to mail me that estimate” is how he started off the convo. In my book, that’s known as “instigating”. Sometimes when I’m put in situations that are about to require confrontation, I’ll channel my father; a 64 year-old hard-ass psycho who I’ll be afraid of forever. So I did that. Top of my lungs, not screaming, angry yelling that Fred is “fucking nuts if you think I’m trying to take you for a ride. What? You think I forged an estimate sheet just to text you a picture of it?!” I reminded him, in a not-so-gentle-way, that the reason I let him go was because he was crying hysterically. His voice raised to say that he “barely hit me” and that “this just doesn’t sound right.” As I took a deep inhale to unleash absolute-fuck-you-Fred-fury, I heard another voice on his end.

“Sir?” It was a tough, older woman. “My name is Gail. I own the car that hit you. Thank you for letting my husband go. We are going to pay for your damages. We just don’t have $1,100 in the bank.” Shit. Did they just pull a fliparooski? Am I a bad guy now cuz I yelled at a poor, older woman? (No Jimmy, all good guys in movies have that scene where they scream at homeless grandmas. Moron.) Maybe because she pulled off an immaculate fliparooski on me or just because she had a calming mom-voice (nothing better), but I liked this woman. I apologized for getting so heated at her husband and explained what had happened earlier. She thanked me for trusting that they’d follow through, and told me to go through her insurance. “That’s what insurance is for” is exactly the kind of thing my mom would say, Gail must’ve known that. I told her that I appreciated her (NOT FRED!) and that I only wanted to deal with her from there on out. She gave me her phone number.

I went back into the body shop and went over how best to file the claim through her insurance. (As an adult male, I’m aware that I should probably know how to do this, but I don’t. I bet I know stuff you don’t know, so like…just chill.) I needed her to file the claim before I did because that’s what Steve said and Steve knows. So I texted my new pal Gail how she should go about doing this. For entertainment purposes in this story (lawyers don’t read blogs, right?), maybe I said Gail was driving the car. MAYBE IS NOT A DEFINITELY! THIS IS ENTERTAINMENT! (“It is?” would be such a sick burn). I sent the text and headed off to work.

Thing was, I didn’t really know Gail. She told me what I wanted to hear, but I was still careening down poop-river without a paddle, and it had been 38 minutes without a response to my text. “Oh, you think mom-voice is gonna get you off the hook? Check this out Gail!” I shot over a kinda’ threat (was definitely a threat) saying “just so you know I have recorded our phone calls and saved our text message exchanges. I will use them if I am forced to report this to the police.” I’M A MAN! I AM STRONG!

My phone rang immediately. Evidently, Gail didn’t want to respond to my initial text because she was driving. She sternly told me not to threaten her. “Don’t do that”-then hung up on me as I started to backtrack. Well shit. Always a bummer when the tough-guy routine backfires (wait, you actually DO want to go outside and fight? Uhhhh…just kidding! LOL!)

A couple hours passed. I did my job, figuring I’d file a claim with her insurance company a little later, that she’d then deny and…I’d just suck it up and pay the damages. I wasn’t happy or mad. I didn’t feel good for basically getting a guy out of jail. It just felt like a reminder that everyone’s life is hard and, sometimes, you have to do selfish things in order to get by. I understood Gail. If I were in a little tougher financial position, would I bail on something like this if it were the other way around? Maybe. I’d feel SUPER guilty, but…maybe.

Gail called me at 3:09 PM. She told me that she had to retire due to a heart condition and that my threat-text had made her a nervous wreck. (Threats are not chill!) I apologized sincerely, and explained to her that I had put a lot of faith in a couple that lives in another state and that I’m not exactly made of money. I told her that Fred was not my friend, and she started laughing. “Oh, he’s keeping his distance from me. He knows I’m pissed at his dumb ass. I called you because I filed a claim with my insurance company saying everything you said happened. I don’t care if he has to work a hundred extra shifts, he’s gonna pay me back for this.” We laughed together cuz Fred really does suck! We talked about how long Fred is going to have to be her personal servant for at least two weeks. “Two weeks? More like two years!” Gail rules, guys. She didn’t know Fred took the car that morning and, supposedly, has told him multiple times to stop driving without a license.

I apologized again because I can’t believe I threatened an innocent older woman with a heart condition (writing that out made me feel worse.) Gail reminded me that “this is what insurance is for” (swoon) and that her daughter, a nurse they were visiting, also leases her car. I kinda but most definitely welled up. After thanking her for dealing with me in an honest way, I told her to call me next time she was visiting the city so I could take her (NOT FRED!) out for a beer. “Oh, honey, I will most definitely do that!” was the absolute perfect response.

I don’t know if I’ll get the money or if the insurance company will pull legal tricks or maybe Fred will convince Gail that getting out of this situation is worth a little short-term guilt. But, I really like Gail. I hope she comes back to Chicago sometime (BUT NOT FRED) and I get to buy her that beer. Fuck cynicism. Take a chance and maybe you’ll get to drink a beer with a new friend. Offer stands forever, Gail.

OUR WORLD:

It’s Friday!

Honestly, it took me a very long time to write the ‘My World” section today and now I need to shower before I go to work (ooooo dirty boy!)

HAPPY FRIYAY!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Yes, there’s an ad at the beginning of this video, but I am a new Khalid fan and feel V COOL about liking a young R&B guy.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

The face your dog makes when you leave in the morning.

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT I AM GENUINELY CONFIDENT IN BECAUSE I DESERVE GOOD THINGS TO HAPPEN TO ME AFTER GETTING REAR-ENDED BY A GUY WITHOUT A LICENSE:

I ACTUALLY WON 2 OF THE 3 BETS I PICKED YESTERDAY!!! I DON’T WANT TO TALK ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED AFTER THAT BECAUSE IT DID NOT GO AS WELL.

Today? Alabama, Kentucky and Xavier against the spread.

(My account currently at $0.00…i said i didn’t want to talk about it)

K bye.