“The Watcher” Review and No Carb Jail

OUR WORLD:

*There will be spoilers

Official Jimmyschair “We’re looking for a new show, what did you think of ________?”—

“The Watcher” Netflix

What’s it about?

It’s based on or inspired by a true story, which, spoiler alert, means that maybe something happened like this in the past, but the producers just put it in to lend immediate believability to an otherwise unbelievable story. (Wut?) This story is about a family (omg, I love families!) that buys a house in some ritzy neighborhood, but then start getting letters in the mail from someone claiming to be “The Watcher” of the house. This “Watcher” jabronie is mucho creepo, writing things like how this house needs young people’s blood, and knowing the names of the family’s kids, and other stuff that makes you look at your spouse with the “is this gonna be too scary for us to actually watch?”-look.

The letters are just the tip of the iceberg (wait, there’s an iceberg?!) as the family descends into paranoia while wrestling with the budding reality that their newly purchased dream home may be (don’t say nightmare!) turning into a bad dream that wakes you up and you feel scared but you’re not sure why because WHO REMEMBERS THEIR DREAMS?!?! You do? Cool, don’t tell anyone—nobody is interested in what you dreamt about last night. (He’s actually right. Shut up about your dreams.)

What’s Good?

-The cast is incredible. Bobby Carnivale and Naomi Watts play the two leads—husband and wife of the newly purchased bad-dream house. Bobby Carnivale is an all-time “hey, he’s in…uh…”-guy that you like because you recognize him, and Naomi Watts is just awesome in everything she has ever been in AND I WILL HEAR NOTHING ELSE ON THE SUBJECT. The suspects for who could be “The Watcher” are also all kinds of creepy and interesting character actors. Think Stifler’s Mom, and Shooter McGavin, and Larry David’s brother in “Curb”, and that lady from “The Leftovers”. You’ve seen them all, and they all specialize in different ways to make you laugh and squirm.

-The tone. It’s hard for a show to be: creepy, but not too scary; dark, but not humorless; and funny, but not goofy. “The Watcher” is able to expertly toe these lines. The writers are able to weave enough humor into the episodes that you’re not overwhelmed by the anxiety you’re feeling watching this family get terrorized.

-The length! It’s only 7 episodes and each episode is about 45-53 minutes long. You’ll finish this show quicker than you really want to.

What’s BAD? (THIS PART CONTAINS SPOILERS! IF YOU HAVEN’T WATCHED IT YET, SKIP TO THE NEXT SECTION AND COME BACK TO READ THIS PART ONCE YOU FINISH THE SHOW.)

–The main thing that gnawed at me from very early on in the show was that they should just sell the house IMMEDIATELY. I wasn’t really buying the argument for them to stay. I get it, they sunk a ton of money into purchasing this house, but when you start getting letters naming your kids and talking about how the house wants their blood and that you’ll never stop watching…I don’t know, maybe take a loss? Is living in a not-mansion really that horrific of a prospect for these people? “I do love our kids, but I also love living in a big house.” Yeah, the house is sweet, but you know what else is sweet? NOT GETTING MURDERED. Naomi Watts would use the “well, if we just cut and run, what does that teach our kids?”-argument, and to that I’d say that I’m pretty sure the kids would be all for cutting and running if that meant SAVING THEIR LIVES. Seriously, imagine the daughter getting stabbed by The Watcher, and as she lies bleeding on the floor Naomi Watts says, “hey, but at least we didn’t run from our fears, right?!” Call me crazy, but I’d opt for the route that doesn’t involve the possibility of my kids getting stabbed.

-The ending. It just felt lazy. Yes, the real-life story about this house has remained unsolved, but by episode 7 does anybody really give a shit if it’s not being totally accurate to the true story? The writers and producers didn’t mind taking liberties throughout the rest of the series, so why stop now? Naomi Watts and Bobby Carnivale are impossibly good looking, you think that’s what the real-life couple looked like? You really think the true story included a private detective who delivered all of her updates like a Broadway leading lady? Please. We lose most grasp of this being a realistic story once we see Stifler’s mom on screen. So, give us an ending! My theory is that shows that have ambiguous endings like this, where “anyone could be The Watcher! Oooooo spooky!” is the writers room just admitting that they weaved (wove? Woven?) too big of a web of suspects to come up with a satisfying ending. Here’s a hot tip from me, your resident screenwriting SAVANT (when’s the last time you finished a script?) the key to a great ending is to give the audience what they want in a way they’d never expect it. Think about how this show ended…is that what you wanted?

-Bobby Carnivale’s character constantly cupping the faces of his family. The show was creepy enough that we didn’t need Bobby C. softly caressing his kids faces every time he was trying to give them a “I’m a good dad, right?”-talk.

-The Private Detective lady with cancer came off way too actor-y. The accent, the clothes, the gloves, the eyebrows, the sickness. Everything just screamed, “you can find me on Broadway!”

So, cut the shit, should I watch this show?

–Yes. While I have some issues with the story and a few acting quirks, overall, I was supremely entertained throughout these 7 episodes. I don’t think this show is award-worthy, but there aren’t a ton of new great options these days. I always come back to this question: after dinner, are you excited to watch the next episode of the show you’ve been watching? With “The Watcher” I always was.

FINAL TAKEAWAY

Good, not great.

MY WORLD:

I’m doing the thing where I know that I need to lose weight, but I’m not totally ready to commit to a shitty diet, so I’m compromising at the “I’ll eat healthy during the week”-stage of denial. Can I just say? It sucks. Lately, fewer and fewer of my clothes have been fitting properly and there’s only so long I can go with the “must be because of how much I’m lifting!”-excuse. I am lifting (and EATING!) but I’ve also used that as an excuse to eat whatever I want, whenever I want under the guise of needing the protein! I have discovered, to my dismay, that heavy bagels are not good sources of protein. I know, I was surprised too.

Is there a worse feeling than grabbing the shirt that used to big on you, putting it on, and feeling the dreaded shirt-hug? Sometimes, I don’t love a hug. Or, when you do the laundry and you accidentally leave that pair of pants that still “fits” in the dryer? The dryer is the only household appliance I’ve ever fantasized about torturing. Like, the movie “Seven”, but my Maytag in the Gwyneth Paltrow role. (The timer knob in the box?) I’m convinced that my dryer knows to hide that pair of pants only when I’m putting on weight. That way, when I take them out later I’m forced to contemplate whether I’m ready to commit full-time to “I’m just bigger”-lifestyle. And honestly, what’s holding me back is money! I think I’d be more willing to become a dedicated Fattopotamus if someone else would shop (and pay for) new clothes for me. In the end, I’d rather not eat bread for a few weeks than go shopping…once.

After some serious self-reflection, here are the stages of my exercise to diet:

Stage 1: “They say lifting allows you to burn calories even when you’re not working out. Thus, I should lift, but also eat whatever I want, wherever I want because my body will now be able to burn all of those extra calories. If you have a hunk of meat alongside your beer and bowl of chips, that protein basically cancels out the carbs. Protein is vital!”

Stage 2: “Should I start incorporating cardio?”

Stage 3: “Hmm, my stretchy-waisted pants are tighter than they used to be. Must be because of all of the quad gains from leg day and definitely not from having dessert every night of the week now!”

Stage 4: “Shit, I need to start incorporating cardio. But first! Let’s just try not eating breakfast!”

Stage 5: “So, I’m some cardio now.”

Stage 6: “Out of curiosity, I just tried to put on an old pair of pants that do not have a stretchy waist. Now, I’m going to buy rope and write one last letter.”

Stage 7: “I know I’m bigger than I want to be, but I think my face looks like this more because of the haircut.”

Stage 8: “Delete that picture! No, now let me see your phone!”

Stage 9: “I’ll cut carbs during the week.”

Stage 10: “If muscle weighs more than fat, I’ll lose weight if I stop lifting, right?”

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

That Bears game last night was as much fun watching a Bears game as I’ve had in a couple years. Yes, it’s cool we beat the brakes off the Patriots on primetime, but I was more excited that all of our most important young players had BIG games: Fields, Roquan, Brisker, Gordon, and Mooney all made big plays in this game.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Seeing the leaves pile up in your lawn and knowing how many frustrating hours of rounding them up are ahead of you. Each day that passes, my anxiety rises.

MY BABY IS SO CUTE MOMENT:

The Warden really loves when I let my hair fall onto her forehead. She smiles huge and acts like she’s getting an award-winning massage (are there massage awards?)

MY BABY IS SO CUTE, BUT…MOMENT:

Is there anything more frustrating than trying to feed a baby who won’t take the bottle but is still desperately hungry? HEY, BABY! I HAVE A BOTTLE AND YOU’RE STILL HUNGRY! USE YOUR HEAD!

JIMMY GAMBLES:

I’m piping hot on baseball and football right now. Unfortunately, for the next couple nights there’s only basketball and hockey on. This is when I should take a few days off. That being said, you’re not my Dad. Let’s bang a Dallas, OKC, Golden State ATS parlay tonight.

K, bye.

Sports Documentaries & Strolls Down Memory Lane

MY/OUR WORLD COMBO:

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 60^th homer (I think? Don’t google it and point out that he hit his 60^th on the road or something…JUST GO WITH THIS) If it wasn’t his 60^th, 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!!!!!!

HERE’S A SONG I LIKE:

It’s Time To Try Some Stuff

MY WORLD

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 3^rd 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 3^rd 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!

https://www.yahoo.com/entertainment/dave-matthews-livestream-concert-verizon-pay-it-forward-live-234734706.html

TV SHOW TO WATCH:

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.

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.

Mondays and Oscar Recap

MY WORLD:

I think companies should have “Monday rooms” in their offices. They should with big bean bag chairs and mirrors so you could go in, dramatically drop to your knees, curl up and watch yourself gently cry as old Carole King songs played softly over the speakers. Mondays really are for the birds and, guys, I am no bird. I’m a man! A HUMAN MAN! (If my brothers are who I think they are, they better text me a socially unacceptable joke about me being a man. Clock’s ticking, fellas. Also, if they don’t text me, I will convince myself that they don’t read my blog, hold it against them and probably tell my mom that it bums me out that they can’t find the time in their day to support a brother-me-WHO HAS BEEN NOTHING IF NOT SUPPORTIVE OF THEM SINCE THEY WERE BUT A TWINKLE IN MY PARENT’S EYES!!!)

At least I’m not starting a new job today, though. Aside from a Hangover-Monday, Starting-A-New-Job-Monday is mos def the worst version of this wretched wretched day. I don’t have an absolute nightmare story of a Starting-A-New-Job-Monday (thought about making one up but I respect the 18 readers of this more than that) but I’m going to do my best to remember as much as I can about the first Mon-Fri job that I had. I’m hoping that remembering this day will put today’s Monday in perspective so that I won’t be a pouty baby at my desk and say things like “I said I’m fine!” later.

I was 28 years old when I started my first 9-5, Monday through Friday job. (See? You’re better than me!) Now, chill out. I’d had jobs since I was like 13, but they were all restaurant jobs that didn’t make a day of the week feel like a 9-5 Monday. Don’t get me wrong, there are plenty of I-hate-my-life moments when working in restaurants, but there isn’t a whole day where the entire staff returns after getting 3,2,1 BLASTOFF DRUNK for the past 60 hours.

So I was 28 years old. Restaurant jobs, grad school (cue the crippling debt tremors) and a general fear of well dressed people in tall buildings kept me away from the 9-5 path up until then. I had been dating the VP of Ops (known then simply as “Hot Fire Sexy Baby”) for about 4 months and was beginning to feel…feelings…oh boy oh boy oh boy! (Hey Erin, that was cute, right? Pay rent today. K, Thx) The sting of having dissimilar hours as HFSB along with the paralyzing insecurities associated with being a grown man whose work uniform consisted of a t-shirt reading “Fresh Pasta & Seafood” had pushed me TOO FAR! It was mostly the insecurities.

I thought I should work in advertising because I live in Chicago, had a lot of good friends who worked in advertising, and I had seen commercials before. That, my friends, is what you call a Natural Fit! My good girl friend, nicknamed “Trone”, had become kind of a big-wig at one of these agencies, and posted something on Facebook about how her agency was looking for people for some entry-level position. In my basically empty head, working at an ad agency probably consisted of me getting to write commercials for major companies who were too busy doing those secret hand-signal things on Wall Street. Business stuff. So I e-mailed Trone and probably made her cry with my well-worded, deeply personal plea for help.

She set me up with an interview, and I went shopping. I had to buy cool, business pants because the loose, pleated khaki look that I had been NAILING on Easter Sundays for years just felt a bit pedantic (callback joke. Comedy term. Comedy mind.) So I went to The Gap. I think that’s supposed to be embarrassing, but once a Gap kid, always a Gap kid. So shut up. I nailed that fucking interview in those cool pants and proved, once and for all, that lying about being excited to work for a company you’d never heard of before getting an interview with them, WORKS!

I was hired to be a “Search Analyst” for an advertising company that I’ll call “Buttlicker Digital”. (Good luck getting that burn to heal properly!) I started in 3 weeks…on a Monday. Would have been cool if I started on a Friday at 3:45PM, but GAH FUHBID A COMPANY DOES SOMETHING THAT CREATIVE!

The 3 weeks leading up to this career change were V scary for me. I quit my restaurant job in a professional way because I was about to be professional and that’s what professionals do. I went to the J.Crew outlet mall with my parents so my mom could help me pick out cool clothes like any mother would with their 6 year old. I paid for these clothes by opening a J.Crew credit card because that I figured I’d have to be in J.Crew a lot going forward to keep up on hot trends. (Instead, I paid off that initial $350 spend like 3 years later after making minimum payments until I got a bonus big enough to cover the remaining like $307. I make money, guys). Clothes bought, restaurant job quit, hair cut. All that was left was this fuggin’ Starting-A-New-Job-Monday.

I drank more than I had planned in the weekend leading up to this SANJM because I was supes nervy and drinking’s fun! Thankfully, my constant state of worry, kept me up most of the night, so getting up was not an issue. I was thinner than I am now (we’re all doing our best here) so I looked pretty sah-weeeet in my new clothes. Before I left, The VP wished me luck and was encouraging and comforting and…DEAR GOD, JUST GO FOR ME ERIN!!! YOU DO IT!!!

I took an Uber because I was paranoid if I took the train I would immediately black out and somehow end up at a Cracker Barrel in Southern Arkansas. (I’m also the guy who has to get to the airport like 9 hours early just to be sure we have enough time to get through security. This is not the VP of Ops’ favorite quality of mine.) I got to Buttlicker Digital plenty early and took the elevator up to my floor. Real talk, I went to the building the day before and mapped out where I was going to go so I wasn’t having a panic attack searching for an elevator on THE Monday.

I was starting with like 8 other people that day, so we gathered in the lobby together and said stuff like “I’m excited” and “I hear good things about this place”. We met our new boss, an absolute self-centered douche who enjoyed flirting with me and wearing suit jackets that were 2 sizes too small. But, I didn’t know that yet as he led us to our “pod”.

I was put in basically a large cubicle with 3 other nubes. I had my own desk, nameplate, laptop and…wait for it…CHAIR! I was given a schedule of “webinars” to take for the next 3 hours, until we would meet for lunch. I remember ABSOLUTELY ZERO of the skills these webinars were supposed to have taught me. I put my headphones in, went to the websites and thought about whether there was a military job looking for a scared 28 year old who DID NOT want to see combat, but did want to tell people, years later, that he was a “military man”. Webinars are cool though.

After kinda doing what I was supposed to for 2 hours and 38 minutes (subtracting 22 minutes for at least 4 trips to the bathroom where I’d sit in a stall, take deep breaths, go through Twitter, and text the VP so she could remind me how brave I am. I’m so brave.) AND THEN IT WAS LUNCH TIME. Douchey flirty boss was taking us to PF Changs because midday diarrhea is even more fun when it’s the first day at a new job! Bossman ordered like 19 apps for the table to show us that he was important enough at the company to waste their money. V chill move. I ate practically nothing. I think I had a lettuce wrap with some chicken because brave boys like myself do need protein for their brave boy big muscles.

After we finished, Bossman let out a lot of deep sighs and eye-rolls as he typed on his phone. This, kiddos, is a passive aggressive way for insecure people to remind you that they work hard and are constantly insulted because they are smarter than everyone who has ever sent them an e-mail. I don’t like people like this (even though I’m sure I’ve pulled a move like this to impress people younger than me but…ME! ME, DAMNIT! ME!)

The day continued with my 36 other bosses calling us in to big empty conference rooms for meetings that didn’t really have to happen. They’d talk about goals and synergy and Excel and, surprisingly, not why the Bears couldn’t find a franchise quarterback in the 30 years since their only Super Bowl. I went to the bathroom so many times that I’m sure my co-workers thought I had IBS or a coke problem (IBS. Come on, Jimmy, you’re not cool enough to pull off the “coke problem?”-look).

5 O’Clock came and we all had to play the game where everyone knows it’s 5, but doesn’t want to be the first to leave so you pretend to type e-mails while praying to the Lord Our Savior that you hear someone drop a “see you guys tomorrow!” Months later, I had learned to leave my jacket and bag in an empty conference room so that I could walk away from my desk at 5 (ON THE DOT!) and my co-workers wouldn’t know I was leaving for the day. By the time I got to leave on the first day, I knew I was going to get many promotions during my sure-to-be-long-and-impactful stay at Buttlicker Digital. Jk lol guys, I hung on by my fingernails and ended up quitting in a very cowardly way.

Really, in hindsight, it was a completely normal, not-that-bad day. (Whoops). BUT! It was a worse Monday than I am going to experience today, and I ate a bunch of bread and pimento cheese yesterday so there. will. be. stomach. issues. Which reminds me that a close third to Starting-A-New-Job and Hangover-Monday’s is the, all too familiar, I-Ate-Like-Absolute-Shit-All-Weekend-Monday. Tell the people my story.

OUR WORLD:

The VP of Ops and I were driving back from Nashville all day yesterday, so we only got to see the final hour of the Oscars. “The Shape of Water” winning for Best Picture is something I want to get angrier about, but we’re in the honesty business on this blog and, honestly, I’m not mad, just disappointed.

If you haven’t seen it yet, don’t worry, I’m not going to ruin it for you. “The Shape of Water” had Michael Shannon and his big chin doing big chin things and a secretly V sexual mute woman who develops feelings for a fish that, no lie, was a pretty hot fish. I’m guessing hot fish guy goes to an underwater gym for at least an hour 6 days a week. You’re not just born with pecs like that.

This movie wasn’t one where I was excited to text my dad abut after, or one that I brag about seeing to people who doesn’t see movies as often as I do. That’s the “Best Picture” test. Are you excited to text your dad about it? Are you telling your co-workers that they’re basically uncultured neanderthals for not having seen it yet? (The only reason I’ll ever go to a museum is just to then have the ability to tell people that I went to a museum. That’s a fun thing to say, but you have to play it off like it wasn’t a big deal. Like, “yeah, I went to The Art Institute because it was a Saturday and that’s a thing we do on Saturdays.”)

In the final hour of the show, the Frances McDormand speech is what stands out to me cuz she had a hairdo that I had never seen before and said a thing I had never heard before “inclusion rider”. I’ve come to learn (shoutout google.com) that an “inclusion rider” basically says moviemakers can’t be racist/sexist dickheads when staffing their movies. This sounds reasonable. Her hairdo, along with Christopher Walken’s high-waisted pants were off-putting though, right? I can say that, right? (Why are my female co-workers glaring at me? Is that a knife? Seriously Keli, why do you have a knife?)

Real talk, my favorite part of the final hour was that you could feel how uncomfortable white, American males in the audience were. That’s fair. The rest of the audience has had to have that feeling on movie sets, in conference rooms, at award shows, and everywhere else for the past very long time because those white dudes and their dads were too busy being cocky to realize that the rest of the room felt lesser than. Fuck having to feel like that. I’m a white dude, but I’m poor so I don’t get lumped in with the bad ones, right? (Being not-rich but not-actually-poor is the best!)

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Omarosa

MY BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT PROBABLY WON’T WIN:

I made a $50 deposit on Saturday night while secretly vaping in a bathroom stall. I then IMMEDIATELY bet on 3 NBA games that included a parlay. I won 2 of the 3 games and lost the other and the parlay. Overall, that means I lost $5.72, but it’s basically even which is basically a win so….I AM SO FUCKING BACK IT HURTS. GET ON MY BACK PRETTY BABIES CUZ WE ‘BOUT TO GET DAT PAPER!!!!!

Tonight’s sure fire lock of the century is Milwaukee (+2.5) over Indiana.

(My account currently at $44.28)

K bye.

Walking a Psycho Dog and Oscar Movie Chit Chat (2/28/2017)

MY WORLD:

I used to think that people who walked aggressive dogs had to be assholes themselves. The dog wouldn’t be like that if their owner wasn’t like that. Of course, that was until I adopted (oh you forgot I ADOPTED my dog? Well…don’t) an aggressive dog, Belle, and totally disproved that theory. I am SO not an asshole. How can I prove this to you? 1) I welled up during the last episode of Bravo’s “Summer House” when Carl hugged his crying mom (“welled up” = crying in guy terms but it’s not blubbering, it’s like cool sensitive guy feelings that don’t get out of hand). 2) I called my Grandpa last week just to “say hey” (and avoid the sure-to-come guilt trip from my Dad for not calling him, but that’s neither here nor there). 3) I hate clubs. BOOM. Not an asshole. Welcome to FactsOnlyVille, USA.

Now that we have established that I’m not an asshole, my dog, Belle, most certainly is. We adopted her when she was about 1.5 years old (I bought her to get back on the VP of Ops’ good side after momentarily forgetting her bday…story for another time…) We adopted her from a family in Southern Indiana who seemed normal because…they had a kid and told us they were normal. We should’ve known better. The VP of Ops and I met “The Normals” at a park in Southern Indiana and were met with a growling, ferocious beast ready to prove that she was the top of the food chain. We could only approach Belle 6 inches at a time while the owners unsuccessfully tried to calm her psycho, growling-ass down. Hindsight is 20/20, but this may have been a hint…

Belle is a total mush with the VP of Ops and I. Check out this melt-in-your-chair pic of our PRETTY GURRRRRRR

However, strangers may as well be Al-Qaeda according to her actions. Every morning before I take her out, I need to open my door (3rd floor walk-up chosen for the sake of my quads) to make sure that no other people or doggos are in the hallways…or about to enter the hallways. Seriously, if I hear someone rattling with their door lock, Belle is holding her morning tee tee poo poo (term courtesy of the VP of Operations).

Once we slink out of our building like the natural-born assassins we are, it’s a full-on cardio sesh for my eyeballs: darting to and fro attempting to avoid enemy combatants (enemy combatants = squirrels, doggos, any person, light twigs blowing down the sidewalk in the wind…) Coast is clear? It’s walkin’ time. Finding empty blocks in Chicago is dicey, however, and we are almost ALWAYS faced with some BozoTheClown trying to walk on the same side of the street as us. FUCK.

My fighter jet pilot-like eyesight will normally catch this BTC in time to cross the street, however, there are times when I convince myself that Belle has matured and now is the time to show off said maturity. A little self talk along the lines of “please God be nice,” and we’re off to HOPEFULLY walk past another human being without incident.

Normally, she’ll pull slightly on her leash, attached to the scary looking metal-teeth collar (psycho dogs wear psychokiller collars). As we approach this BozoTheClown, I’ll try to cut into Belle’s narrowing lens with a succession of quick “Hey Belle’s” or “Belle look’s”. Unfortunately, these enticing requests rarely interrupt her laser-like focus on the approaching BTC. The closer we get, the more I feel her body tensing, breathing slow, ears pin, and weight shift to her hind legs…lunge in 5, 4, 3, 2…I’ll extend my arms to wrap around her…and this fuggin’ BTC says “Hi Doggy”. THE NERVE!

Belle will lunge, I’ll grab her so she doesn’t make contact, but BTC normally cowers like the little bitch that he is (it’s easier to criticize bystanders than my dog, so get off my case). I’ll toss out an apology of sorts. “Sorry, she’s such a scaredy cat!” But, it’s too late. Damage is done. Belle has not matured and BTC probably can’t wait to tell his Uber driver what a bad dog owner I am. Hopefully, the Uber driver notices BTC’s unwelcoming aura and makes a mental note that dog’s only attack dickheads.

Flipped the script on ya’. Let’s call that the Jimmy Fliparooski.

OUR WORLD:

The Oscars are this Sunday. Let’s have a quick chat about some of the movies before I make my predictions in Friday’s blog (tease alert).

Get Out: I rented this a couple months back and watched it at home because it felt like entire friggin universe couldn’t stop talking about how groundbreaking it was. I resisted until then because I don’t like scary movies (have never understood enjoying the feelings of fear and dread…seriously, if you like scary movies, why not just make a doctor’s appointment every week so you get to hang out in the waiting room? Same feeling, right?) ANYWAY. Get ready for an unpopular opinion…this movie is supremely overrated. Sure, I laughed, but never that hard. Sure, I rooted for the good guy to escape, but never that hard. Sure, I was nervous that the bad guys were up to no good, but never that nervous. It was a movie full of me pursing my lips, nodding and going “hmm”. Like, “that was pretty good.” Confusing “pretty good” with “groundbreaking” happens when a movie no one was expecting anything from, has some decent moments. This happened with “Mad Max”, “Birdman”, and “Gravity” too. YEAH I SAID IT! Those movies, just like “Get Out”, were fine…that were turned into “groundbreaking” only in hindsight when the try-hards studied the scripts after seeing the movie and uncovered all of the hidden meanings that the unsophisticated rubes missed upon initial viewing. Guess what? If you don’t know a movie is GREAT while watching it, it’s not great. FINAL GRADE: SURE, BUT…

3 Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri: Yep! Not only the best movie of the past year, but it’s the best movie I’ve seen in the past FEW years. People’s reactions to 3 Billboards has been the opposite of Get Out: love it in the theater, then can’t wait to pick it apart a week later after they see a critic who wears cool glasses talk about how pedantic it really was (don’t know what “pedantic” means and will not look it up. It is a word that thin-mustachioed people I don’t like in my imagination use.) Here’s the thing with 3 Billboards; my mouth opened at least once every 7 minutes in this movie. “Wha?!?!” Movies are meant to consistently surprise you and I cannot tell you how hard that is to do when people have begun to catch on to movies’ rhythms’. This is why M. Night Shamalammadingdong hasn’t been the same since the “I See Dead People” movie. We caught on. Aside from acting performances that shook audiences much the way my portrayal of “Follower Rat #6” did in my elementary school’s rendering of “The Pied Piper”, 3 Billboards induced at least eight “Did you see that?!” moments between the VP of Ops and I. When you’re in front of a 90 foot screen and you turn to the person next to you to, sincerely, ask if they “saw that?” you know you’re watching something special. FINAL GRADE: YUH-HUH!

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

BOVADA PICK OF THE DAY THAT PROBABLY WON’T WIN:

Last night was an absolute bloodbath. Not only did I bet on Oklahoma, but my gambling crew and I decided we should pair that bet with the Bulls (+11) in Charlotte and enter the parlay zone. Bulls lost by 15. Oklahoma lost by a trillion. I then panicked and put the rest of my account, roughly $30 on the late NBA game: Denver (-6) over LAC. Clippers stormed back from 19 down to win by 2. Fun news to wake up to.

Thankfully, Bovada is a charitable organization and gave me $13.49 in bonus funds. Full transparency, I am waiting for one of my gambling partners to make the next pick (my picks need to be quarantined).

HOWEVER, if I were to go rogue tonight…DADDY LIKES ‘DEM CELTICS (-7.5) OVER CHARLOTTE.

(My account currently at $13.49)

K bye.