Tag: gambling

I May Be in Serious Legal Trouble

MY WORLD:

My world is a little baby girl right now (every living thing in the universe just rolled their eyes.  No Jimmy, I’m not kidding.  Even cadavers, and weird animals with no eyes.). Yeah, writing that first sentence made my skin crawl, but I promise to always be honest in this blog (tell us EXACTLY how much you owe in student loans then!) and that’s a totally honest statement.  I’m not writing it to sound like the sensitive, stunningly hot, surprisingly JACKED Dad that you’re thinking I may be (not thinking that) I’m writing it because I’ve been trying to think of what to write in this section and I don’t want it to ALWAYS be about our dumb baby who CAN’T EVEN FART WITHOUT CRYING YET!  Seriously, what if you cried every time you farted?  Actually, yeah.  If you’re reading this and you don’t have kids yet and are wondering “but Jimmy, now that you’ve been a parent for 4 seconds, what is parenting REALLY like?”  WELL, SINCE YOU ASKED!  If you’re wondering if you and your partner are ready to parent a newborn, try this: for the next 24 hours, every time you have to fart, start scream crying.  Every single time you feel a fart, you have to start huffing, and then have that constipated huffing sound VIOLENTLY turn into growling cries that last no shorter than 11 minutes.  After 24 hours, if neither you or your spouse has started cutting yourself, then you’re ready to be a parent!  Congratulations!!! 

Okay, that was a sidetrack.  (I hate you.)  My world is the little baby in my house right now, so you’re just going to need to bear with me and this section for a little.  For the sake of this dumbass blog, my wife is the VP of Ops, and my baby will now be referred to as “The Warden”.   I promise it won’t be all parenting stories.  Now, instead of complaining about the things a baby does (you just did that, though?  Oh, you think the readers won’t be able to tell that your “hypothetical” challenge was related to your daughter?  So you think your readers are dumb.  See this everyone? HE THINKS YOU’RE ALL IDIOTS!)  I’m going to write about how bad of a parent I am here.  I think you need to know the mistakes I’m making because there’s a chance that I shouldn’t be allowed to do this.  Like, legally.  I’m not a lawyer (then why do you have SO MUCH student loan debt?)

Last night, I think I almost popped the Warden’s head off.  Not…wait…okay, it’s not like I grabbed her head and was trying to rip it off (this is not going well.)  You need context (and YOU need a lawyer.)

So, the Warden was going El Nutso.  It was about dusk and, according to our calculations, she should have been sweetly resting in her swing thing so the VP and I could cook and drink ranch waters until driving would be a crime.  Surprisingly, our calculations were off.  (You just put ‘80085’ into the calculator, didn’t you?) The Warden alerted us to this miscalculation with the use of rage squirming and growl howling deep into the early night sky.  Like any fabulous parents, the VP and I both calmly took turns reminding the Warden that we could, in fact, hear her and that we would love to comply with any requests.  Unfortunately, the Warden did not have any demands.  She simply needed the world to hear her. 

The VP held her on her chest.  I cradled her gently and rocked her back and forth while singing her my new song, entitled “I love you, but you are being kind of a jerk.”  Then we put her in the rocking swing.  We put the sweet music on in the rocking swing!  The shusher machine (wut?) Yeah, we literally have a little machine thing that just goes “shhhhhhhh”.  So we put that on.  No dice.  Then the VP was all like, “well, should we sell her on the internet?” and I was like, “no, this is my baby!  And I love her!  And that love is worth more to me than the hundreds of thousands of dollars we might be able to get for her on the internet. Not to mention, I bet you don’t even know what website we could list her on!  Do you?!  Do you know what website we could put her for sale on?  What is the website?  What is it?  Yeah, but how do you spell that?”

I shut The VP’s laptop HARD, and told her “I got this.”  I took the Warden, who I love more than hundreds of thousands of dollars, into the other room as I went into “Daddy’s got this”-mode.

That’s when I almost popped her head off.  You see, I have recently been implementing this burping method that I saw on Instagram.  Now I know what you’re thinking, “you’re going to Instagram for parenting advice?”  Well, the portly woman in the video had white hair and spoke in calming tones so…uhhhhhh, yeah, I think she knows what she’s doing!

This perfectly legitimate burping method, includes me putting the Warden on my knee and then holding her cheeks with one hand, while my other hand works on her back to help her sit straight up as I rotate her around in small circles.  The idea is to expand her stomach, allowing her diaphragm (haha you said diaphragm) to expand and expel gas.  DAD OF THE FUCKING CENTURY, MUCH?!?!?!

However, the Warden’s violent wailings had an unforeseen consequence of forcing my brain to tell my body to something else.  You see, instead of my brain telling my other hand to go on her back, my brain told my other hand to go on the back of her neck.  So, when I tried to sit her up straight, my hands were basically ONLY HOLDING HER HEAD.  In short, I lifted her by her head and, look, she’s small and I think there was definitely a chance of it popping off.  Judging by her screams, against all odds, increasing in volume, it did appear that the Warden, too, thought her head was about to pop off. 

Now, I know the Warden is clearly at fault here for screaming me stupid, but…like, am I in any legal trouble?  Legally speaking, can I be charged with ‘attempted head pop’?  That’s not a charge, right.  It’s not, so, you’re actually the one on trial now.  How dare you accuse me of attempted head pop! Don’t tell me how to parent!  Nah nah nah, SAVE IT!  MY LIL BABY WARDEN’S HEAD IS STILL ON!  TELL IT TO THE JUDGE!  I’LL PUT YOU ON TRIAL!

(Are you fucking drunk? Or you’re just dumb all the time now?)

OUR WORLD:

You know that feeling when you’re in a small, shitty town and you go to a restaurant that you know is going to suck?  That’s what being a Bears fan this year, and most years, is like.  You’re super hungry and want a break from the gas station ‘Subway’, so you say something like “we should give Memphis Grill a shot!”  And instead of reminding yourself that there’s no goddamn way a place in Arkansas called “Memphis Grill” is going to be good, you dilute yourself into thinking this place was on the ONE episode of “Diners, Drive-Ins, and Dives” that your fatass hasn’t seen yet.  Well guess what tubby (really going after your fat self here), just like every episode of Triple D, you’ve seen this Bears season before!  And just like “Memphis Grill” it’s going to make your stomach hurt and make you sad. 

But who wants to read about this sour meat NFL season Bears fans are about to chow down on?!?! That’s no fun.  So, the same way you convince yourself that Arkansas’ “Memphis Grill” is going to actually be good, let’s do that with the Bears.

The “you can’t mess up a hamburger that bad” possibility:  Justin Fields has dominated football games since he was a little kid.  He was the top recruit in the country out of high school, and then threw for a billion touchdowns at Ohio State.  He had one of the best, toughest performances I’ve ever seen in a bowl game against a Clemson defense that is probably all in the pros now.  I know the Bears suck at life, but they can’t mess HIM up that bad, right?  He can’t dominate every level of football, get to the league, look around Soldier Field and go “oh wait, I’m a Bear now, so I need to start sucking ass at playing football”.   RIGHT?!?! 

The “as long as you stay away from the seafood, you’ll be fine” possibility:  As long as we run the ball and play solid defense, we’ll be able to stay in games.  And if you stay in games, you can steal some? And if Justin Fields doesn’t realize he’s supposed to SUCK now that he’s a Bear, maybe he can actually win us a game or two?  As long as our defense holds up, we could surpise some people.  Hey, Eberflus-led defenses have been awesome in Indianapolis and it’s not like they’ve had superb quarterback play over the past few years.  And those Colts teams contended for playoff spots basically every year he was there.  So…hmm…

The “every town has a hidden little gem” possibility:  What if Darnell Mooney IS that dude?  I know he was drafted in a late round and has oddly skinny legs, but what if he actually does turn into a legitimate number one receiver?  His training camp highlights have been pretty sick.  Him and Fields seem to have some serious chemistry.  Cooper Kupp wasn’t a first round pick!  Is it that OUTRAGEOUS to envision Darnell Mooney as Cooper Kupp-lite?  If he turns into a legit number one, I could see Cole Kmet taking some strides and becoming an above-average tight end.  If you close your eyes and just say “Darnell Mooney becomes a LEGIT number one receiver this year,” the Bears offense has a chance to be not awful.

Okay, I’m exhausted.  That was mentally and physically exhausting.  But you better fuckin’ believe those are the little thoughts running around my head as we head into this NFL season. 

CAN’T WE GET LUCKY ONE TIME AND NOT HAVE DIARRHEA AFTER A BEARS SEASON?!?!

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME: 

College football kicks off a week from tomorrow.  Next week, we should talk about what we’re all going to be doing and cooking and eating and drinking and wearing.  I might buy a new QZ.  IN FACT, I AM GOING TO BUY A NEW QZ!!!!

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME: 

The self-checkout lanes at grocery stores.  I will stand in line to have humans that are NOT ME scan and bag my groceries.  I can’t be the only one who gets big time anxiety when using the self-checkout lane and running out of space on the scale after I’ve scanned a bunch of items.  It’s like there is ZERO CHANCE I’m not going to get the error message on the screen saying “Please put your item on the scale after scanning.”  It makes me so mad I wanna hit the screen with a spiked hammer.  JUST MAKE A BIGGER SCALE AREA!

JIMMY COOKS:

I’m on a huge sandwich kick lately (lately? Okay pal!  Hey everyone, Jimmy JUST got into sandwiches), and I recently made one for my brother that was a HIT.  I stole the recipe from a restaurant I used to work at, but last I checked…that restaurant doesn’t have a blog.  Sooooooo, MY RECIPE NOW BITCH!  Here’s what you do:

  1. Find someone you want to impress with a great sandwich.
  2. Tell that person to sit back, relax, and strap it down.
  3. Buy a nice French baguette, prosciutto, brie, arugula, red onion, and mayo.
  4. Cut the red onion into thin slices.  Razor thin.  If you don’t cut yourself while cutting this onion, the slices aren’t thin enough.
  5. Cut the brie into triscuit-like squares (are rectangles okay? WHAT ABOUT TRIANGLES?!?!)
  6. Drizzle olive oil on the baguette and slightly toast it on a pan (on a pan? Why not a bowl?  Thanks for the tip!)
  7. On baguette, you’re going mayo, prosciutto, brie, arugula, thin thin THIN red onion (thin, as in the opposite of Jimmy)
  8. Give that person you’re looking to impress this sandwich.
  9. If this person^ is an attractive female, give her my telephone number and don’t tell her I’m married.
  10. Yes, you can put some Dijon mustard on there, but only if you hold up the mustard and say in your best French accent “pardon, do you have any grey poupon?” and then laugh hard like a real jerk until the entire room feels uncomfortable.

K, bye.

Have you done these fun summer things yet?

OUR WORLD:

I’m going to find out how many days until the local grade school starts back up, and then hang a MASSIVE banner counting down the days from my roof so that all the neighborhood kids are reminded that they have to go back to school in “13, 12, 11…” days.  Now, here’s the thing, I’m not going to do that because I don’t make enough money to buy a very huge banner every day.  BUT! One day, when I’m making the BIG BUCKS, I’d like to think that I’d do that because it would make my group chat laugh and that’s basically the most important thing in the world. (Yep, checks out.)

Unfortunately for them, kids are at the point of summer where it’s all about “back to school” and in the words of 11 year-old me, “ugggghhmmm,” (did you just try to type out the sounds you used to make when you started to cry?  That did NOT land.)  Now, are there kids who, unlike me, actually enjoyed school?  Kids who, unlike me, looked forward to seeing their friends every day?  Kids who, unlike me, had friends who didn’t create a game called “Jimmy rides a bike in front of me while I throw a football at him until I’m able to knock him off the bike”?  Sure, that’s possible.  But I suspect that most kids are dreading every day that moves closer to them having to go back into the buildings that make them learn and be self-conscious about every single action they take.  (But Jimmy, you’re still so self conscious that you refuse to shave your beard because you think it’ll make you look even fatter than you are now.)

Wait…I’m fat?

NOT NOW, JIMMY! (You are, though.  You are fat.) I SAID NOT NOW!

What I’m trying to get to is that I think we’re all entitled to celebrate the fact that we’re no longer kids and, therefore, we ADULTS still have a good amount of summer left!  (Yeah!  Suck it, kids!)  So, what should we do to celebrate the REST of our adult summer? (Adult summer? Like, sex stuff?) Here’s some suggestions from your favorite Old Bitch (Is that your nickname now?) I mean, Old Coach (then why did you write “Old Bitch”?) CAN I JUST WRITE THIS?!  GODDAMNIT!  WHATEVER! 

Here are 5 things you should do before it gets cold:

  • Drink on a boat while wearing something your spouse hates.

-Guys, wear that boxy, short sleeved button down where you leave all of the buttons open and your wife asks, “are you seriously not going to button any of them?”

-Lady women, wear…I don’t know.  Something that either makes your husband uncomfortable because it’s too revealing (Why do you have to know if Justin is going to be on the boat before picking your outfit?)

  • Listen to music that you’re kind of embarrassed that you liked in high school, while grilling with a cigar (yeah, and a drink).

-I’ll be putting my iPhone in a cup (JUST BUY A GODDAMN PORTABLE SPEAKER!) and playing early Fall Out Boy (the songs with the Pete Wentz screamo?  Neighbors will love that!) I’ll also be pretending to like the cigar I’m getting zero buzz off, while drinking a summery clear-drink like a gin and tonic that I AM getting a buzz off of.

  • Go get ice cream during work hours on a weekday.

-I honestly can’t remember the last time I went to an ice cream shop (Ice cream store? Ice cream parlor?  Parlour? Nope.  Impossible.  Moving on.)  It does sound really nice, though.  Right? Also, it’s super American.  Ice cream cones? Come on!  I’m thinking mint chip in a cone, but I won’t lie to you—I can’t remember the last time I had ice cream out of a cone and I’m nervous about the drippage!  (Slob.)

  • Seriously think about how sweet it would be if you were able to put a pool in your backyard and talk, in detail, about how you’d build it out.

-Look dude, you’re never gonna have your own pool.  That purchase is NOT IN THE CARDS FOR YOU, JACK! But, you can talk about how you would set up your backyard yard for a whole pool/outdoor bar set-up.  You know, like the chef guys on Instagram who make awesome sandwich creations on their awesome outdoor kitchen next to their awesome outdoor pool surrounded by their perfectly manicured yard?  (Know what they don’t have, though? A big rusty grill.  So…got ‘em there!)

  • Wake up early on a Saturday to walk to a local coffee shop and, while there, text your neighbor asking if they want anything, but what you’re really doing is letting them know that you’re better at enjoying weekend summer mornings than they are. 

-A super fun/white thing to do is spend way too much money at a coffee shop early on a weekend morning.  We’re talking scones, and coffee drinks, and a croissant!  Maybe another scone!  (A very cool 21 year old named “Cal”  just pulled your pants down in public, called you a small-dicked loser, and then took a crystal clear picture of you with his brand new iPhone.  Cal is actually the head of a fraternity and, suddenly, the entire frat is there now…also taking pictures…and laughing at you…and now they’re sending the picture of you with your pants down to all the girls they know.  You’re going viral.  The picture of 37 year-old you, with your pants around your ankles, holding an $11 Vietnamese coffee and 3 cranberry scones is going VERY viral.) Scone guy!  

MY WORLD:

The VP of Ops and I have a baby now. 

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME: 

“Hacks” on HBOMAX.  I don’t want to put the effort in to remember the last 30-minute show that made me laugh hard, so I’m just going to say I can’t remember a 30-minute show that made me laugh this hard.  It’s funny, well-written, and pretty well acted (but you said the second lead kinda sucked.  You said!)  Watch it and let me know your thoughts on the second lead.

Oh, and Crocs!

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME: 

The LIV Golf Tour thing.  I’m going to write more about this sometime soon (what about the baby? Are you going to write about your baby?) but I don’t understand how any of this is good for the golf fan.  For the “it’ll give you more golf to watch!”-crowd, I’d like to ask you this: when is the last time a new format of a sport popped up that you then became a big fan of?  Anyone super into “The Big 3”?  How many times has the XFL failed now?  The PGA Tour, and the format they use, has been around for a hundred years because fans of golf like it.  Good luck to Patrick Reed, though, gonna miss rooting for him!

JIMMY GAMBLES: 

Very exciting news on this front!  My betting partner and I have placed college football and NFL futures bets!  Futures are fun because you can’t lose them immediately.  Also, when your NFL team sucks like mine does (go…uh….bears….) these bets give you something else to root for.  ALSO! (starting another sentence with ‘also’?  The return to this blog is going great!) If you get any of your futures bets right, you can brag about how smart you are, but if you lose, no one will remember when you told them that Kyrie Irving was going to win last year’s “Most Vaccinated”.  Without further ado, here are my three favorite futures bets for NFL/NCAAF:

  1.  Heisman Winner – Jaxson Dart (+6000)
  2.  NFL MVP – Christian McCaffrey (+15000)
  3.  NFL Comeback Player of the Year – MITCHELL DAMN TRUBISKY BABY!!!!

K, bye.

I’m Moving to Maine

MY WORLD:

Over the past few years, whenever I go out of town, I start a conversation with myself about whether or not I could see myself living wherever I’m going.  Do you do this too?  When did vacations or work trips turn into scouting expeditions featuring Zillow searches and me saying things to an Oyster shucker I just met, like, “I keep thinking I should move to Maine.”  He responded with a “yeah, you should,” but what he probably meant was, “dude, I don’t know you or care.”  I went to Maine this weekend and told a lot of people that moving there was on my mind, and now I’m doing the thing where I return to normal life and talk myself out of doing something drastic.  But why?

I’m sure that part of the reason I think about moving as much as I do is because I know, deep down, that the VP and I probably won’t.  What’s the risk of thinking about jumping off the high-dive, when you don’t even know where a pool with a high-dive exists?  The process of moving to a new state is so daunting that considering it ‘basically impossible’ feels like an instinctual reaction.  Yeah, I’m in a better mood on vacation or when on a work trip that feels more like a vacation than sitting behind my desk does, but am I drunk?  (You? I mean, probably.)  

I’d never been to Portland, Maine before and I thought it was beautiful (HOT TAKES ON A MONDAY, Y’ALL!!!)  “It feels like I’m in a postcard,” is a line I think I said to 42 different people over the span of my three days in the Northeast.  (Yeah, I’m sure it’s been used before, but I still DIG that line.  SO BACK OFF!)  It smelled like the ocean with seagulls providing the soundtrack to hipster coffee shops, oysters, and people who seemed in better shape and more relaxed than me.

I’ve never been awed by the ocean, but I was this time…fuckin’ lighthouses are cool to look at from a distance and not go in!  (I did that!)  We drove to a more rural area one day, through woods and fields with little creeks and houses with decks where cell phone reception wasn’t very good.  Thankfully, though, it was good enough for me to run a Zillow search that revealed houses near creeks in Maine go for less than apartments with creeks in Chicago.  (See what I did there?  With the creeks thing?)  So I went into “well, could we actually figure out a way to live here?”-mode.

This consists of me telling the people around me “I think I wanna move to Maine”; me texting The VP that “I think I wanna move to Maine”; and me asking the guy who just rang me up for my first Maine bagel if I “should move to Maine?”  It’s a scientific and thorough fact-finding mission, one that has been honed over the past two years of being annoyed with Chicago rent prices along with OTHER PERSONAL ISSUES THAT I DON’T FEEL LIKE DISSECTING RIGHT THIS SECOND!

Usually, the people around me will toss a “I think I’m supposed to laugh here”-chuckle my way; The VP will say something along the lines of, “yeah? Do you think I could open a wine and cheese shop there?”; and the bagel man will pretend not to be annoyed with yet another out-of-towner idealizing a place where he works as a cashier for a local bagel chain.  (Does YOUR paradise include clocking in at a place called “Mister Bagel”?)  I’ll push back on the courtesy laughs from those around me.  I’ll remind The VP that just because she eating cheese and drinking wine doesn’t necessarily qualify you to open a wine and cheese shop.  And I’ll take to heart when Bagel Man says, “yeah, you should come here.”  (He’s definitely not saying that because it’s just the easiest thing to say in that moment.  HE REALLY KNOWS THAT I SHOULD BE IN MAINE!!!)

Then at night, I’ll have a few drinks, try to think of what I’d do to…ya know, make money in Maine, and come up with something attainable, like “writing something that sells for hundreds of thousands of dollars.”  (This blog ain’t it, buddy!)  BUT MAYBE, for a few minutes, it feels like something that could happen and then I get to imagine my new Maine life.  Living in a house by a creek with a deck means I could sit on a rocking chair in the morning and LOOK OUT AT A CREEK WHILE EXFOLIATING MY FACE WITH THE STEAM COMING FROM MY HOT CUP OF COFFEE!!!  From there, I could write for a few hours, before bringing my dog on a long walk into town to get a sandwich that, somehow, doesn’t make me as fat as a sandwich in Chicago would.  Oh, and my dog Belle?  She gets it, “can’t be a psycho in Quaintville, USA,” so she lets kids touch her snout without sending them to the emergency room.

After leaving the “sandwiches that are good for you”-store, Belle and I swing over to The VP’s wine and cheese shop to sample the new cheese (Kraft singles?!?!) she brought in and congratulate her on being named Trip Advisor’s “Best Place to Spend Too Much Money And Then Brag to People That You Love Supporting Local Business.”  When doggo and I return, it’s time for me to put my big, brown, comfy boots on to do my afternoon hike workout that leaves me sweaty and with, somehow, a perfectly full and manicured beard.  (That’s what happens when you get into hiking, right?)  We cook a dinner with wooden utensils and eat outside after telling all the bugs and mosquitoes to politely “leave us alone” because in Maine, the bugs listen.

There are people that live lives like this.  Do I know any?  No, but I’ve seen it in the movies and I’m not being facetious when I say that I’m beginning to fully realize that stuff in movies is inspired by stuff seen by real people in real life.  People have seen lives like this and written them onto screens.  And I have watched those screens before.  I’VE SEENT IT!

So why will I do what I always do after a trip, and spend the next few days talking myself out of what I just saw and felt and thought?  I have no problem with getting whiskey-drunk, but hopes-and-dreams-and-fantasies-drunk is a line I just can’t cross.  I’m aware this has been a rambling entry, but sometimes that’s what a blog should be.  And since this has already been all over the place, how about I just stop before talking myself back into the sobriety that includes whiskey but not the other more fun stuff?

OUR WORLD:

Heat wave > Polar vortex.

LETS HATE THIS AT THE SAME TIME TOGETHER:

When you make a can of chicken noodle soup that has been in your cabinet for a year and, after eating, you start wondering how the chicken in that can was still safe to eat…Is it actually chicken?  Yeah? Then how is it okay after sitting in a room temperature can for a year?

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Tom Cruise doing Tom Cruise things will always be one of my favorite things.

JIMMY GAMBLES:

Yeah, I lost all my bets on The British Open and got to watch them lose while on a plane back from Maine.  The guy sitting next to me was wearing sunglasses the whole flight and, I swear, he was doing it so he could watch me rolling my eyes at Shane Lowry ruining my picks.

K, bye.

 

 

COMMERCIALS ARE THREATENING OUR LIVES!!!

OUR WORLD:

When did television decide that 98.91% of all commercials should serve to scare the ever-loving shit out of the viewers?  I was watching the boob tube (cool guy term for “television”) with my Dad last night and a commercial came on featuring a home video of a guy singing karaoke.  Immediately, I knew this guy died.  How did I know that? (Because…YOU KILLED HIM AND HAVE BEEN CARRYING A HEAVY CONSCIENCE EVER SINCE BUT IT’S TOO LATE TO CONFESS NOW, SO YOU’VE DECIDED YOU WILL BE BURIED WITH THIS SECRET!!!) No, I knew this guy died because the stakes in so many commercials have been raised so high that if you don’t do the thing that said-company wants you to do, then the penalty is death.

Yes, they’re normally for good causes.  It’s not like “Hey, if you don’t use these Clorox Anti-Bacterial wipes, we’re going to have you put on our secret serial killer’s ‘who’s next?’ list.”  It’s ads like this one where Joe BlueCollar is singing karaoke until the screen goes black and we read that “This is Joe B.”—more singing, then black again, “And he was struck by a car and killed in a work zone.”  I think it was like the Illinois Department of Transportation trying to get people to drive more cautiously around work zones.  Listen, I, too, am against innocent road construction guys getting murdered by cars but…does that mean I was pro-car-murder before seeing this ad?  And that’s not even the point, I know, because it raises awareness subconsciously and blah blah blah.  I KNOW!  But, I’m trying to make a joke about how fat I’ve gotten to my Dad, in between innings of a Cubs game, and now I feel like a dick for using this poor guy’s eulogy as the soundtrack to my “boy, is my tummy big”-bit.

Now, if this were some rogue “let’s make the viewers think about death in a jarringly real manner”-ad, then maybe I’d have more tolerance.  But no, it was followed by a commercial starring a smoker in a hospital bed, with a hole in her neck talking about how she regrets ever starting smoking.  After that, while praying for some lightness with one of those fucking “can you hear me now?” spots, you’re uppercut with a ‘Cancer Centers for America’ commercial telling you that they’re “here for you” when that stupid fucking disease knocks on your door.  WHAT THE FUCK EVER HAPPENED TO THE BOWLING CAVEMEN TALKING ABOUT INSURANCE?!?!

Again, these are all great causes; that is impossible to dispute.  But, are we not allowed to just…I don’t know, escape the real world for a couple hours at the end of the day?  It’s not like I was tuned in to the “Get Ready To Be Freaked-The-Fuck-Out About Everything In The World”-channel (GRTBFTFOAEITW isn’t quite as catchy as NBC).  Can there be an option put into our televisions that allow us to opt-out of these incredibly heavy commercials that make us think about the very things we’re trying to forget for a few hours before we go to sleep?  (Hey Zenith, want to become a relevant television company again?  INVENT THIS!)

You know where I don’t see all of these “careful, an invisible murderer with a big, sharp knife is under your bed”-commercials?  Instagram.  Facebook.  Twitter.  Maybe that’s why we all find ourselves staring at those screens instead of our televisions?  Sure, it’s easy to make fun of Big Brother and those personalized ads, but wouldn’t you prefer seeing an ad for a watch you were talking about 6 seconds prior to seeing an ad reminding you that jumping off a tall building without a parachute usually results in death?  Tapping into my phone’s microphone > Tapping into my worst fears.

MY WORLD:

The VP and I are moving for the six-bajillionth time in a couple weeks and I’m already regretting it.  A few months back, it rained really hard in Chicago and the window frame in our living room started leaking like crazy.  Brown water came through and ruined some shit we really don’t care about, but, when it happened, we both acted like that water landed on our life savings and then burst into flames.  We sent picture texts to each other of stained curtains and lamp shades and side tables like “HOW WILL WE EVER PROCEED WITHOUT OUR BLUE CURTAINS?!?!”  It was all dramatic and we probably got wrapped up in the moment because it’s really exciting when you’re presented with a legitimate opportunity to get mad at someone other than yourself.

So I got really mad at our buildings management company.  I demanded being reimbursed for damages and when they pushed back in the slightest, I lost my brain and threatened legal action.  (The only thing I know about legal action is that you “threaten” it when you’re really, really pissed off and don’t know what else you can say to back up your argument.)  At the time, I’m sure our 39 year old building manager read my e-mails like “do they think I ordered God to send the worst rainstorm in Chicago history?  They’re aware they rent a dumpy apartment in a mediocre neighborhood, right?”

The VP and I continued along with our misdirected-anger rampage until we reached the very measured, logical conclusion that the best way to exact revenge on our management company was to move out at the end of our lease in July.  (Good luck finding tenants who never clean the inside of the oven and have a dog that tries to bite neighbors!!!  THAT’LL SHOW EM!)  Our management company probably held a company-wide champagne toast when we notified them we were bailing.  While mid-level employees that we’ve never met were getting champagne-drunk on some random Tuesday, The VP and I were busy patting ourselves on the back for standing on principle and volunteering to do one of the most stressful things someone can do: move.

Since we made this principled decision, in between shaking hands at the rallies held in honor of our courageous stance, we’ve found other “back up” reasons for why we had to move.  These included things like: needing to be walking distance to a Dunkin Donuts; needing to have an office that allows us to escape each other under the guise of having to “work”; and, cuz.  A comprehensive list it was, tough to argue with the logic there.

So I picked out all of the other neighborhoods we’d prefer living in, looked at Zillow and Craigslist on my phone until my eyes stung, and….quickly realized that we couldn’t afford to live in any of those other neighborhoods.  (Um….management company? ‘Member all that stuff I was threatening?  That was just like a goofy laugh-joke.  Hahahahahahahahaha help me I’m in too deep now.)  It was too late, so I checked out an apartment about 6 blocks from our current place, walked through it one time without paying all that much attention and said “clean wall! shiny floor! sign lease!”  (Master Negotiator Jimmy up to his old tricks!)

Two nights ago, we got the keys to our new place and walked through it with our still-not-calm dog.  It’s a fine apartment, that’s bigger than our current spot, but I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t go home after, think about the reality of moving, look into the mirror and dramatically whisper “what have we done?”  Since maybe sharing my anxiety will help me cope with it, here is what I’m MOST not looking forward to with regards to this move:

  • Talking to Comcast for no less than 9 hours and, somehow, ending up with a cable/internet package that costs exactly the same as the one we have now.
  • Doing the whole “I know I’m never going to wear this again, but I’m still going to pack it because this moving box is closer than my garbage”-thing.
  • The VP sending me an endless stream of texts about new couches that she wants to get and then ignoring my texts asking her “have you Venmo’d me your share of next month’s rent, yet?”
  • Having Belle snap at our new downstairs neighbors and me trying to laugh it off while saying “she’s such a fake tough-guy!”
  • Trying to assuage the guilt I’ll feel watching movers by offering them Gatorade…then realizing that the Gatorade I just bought for them was off the shelf, and not from a cooler, so I’m handing them room temperature Gatorade and they’re pretending to be grateful.

I can’t wait.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Still, the “Most Annoying Commercial of All-Time” GOAT

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

My all-time favorite commercial

WAIT, SO YOU DO STILL GAMBLE, RIGHT?

Yes, and I need to pick out my British Open winners soon SO LAY OFF!

K, bye.

 

 

Mindless Television and “The Chicago Reset”

OUR WORLD:

You know it’s an especially sad state of affairs when you find yourself searching for a television show and the number one quality you’re looking for is a show “that doesn’t require much effort.”  Usually, this comes after having eaten two mini-brownies, putting on the same pair of mesh shorts you’ve been wearing at night for the past two months and letting out sigh that really sounded more like “oooooof.”  (Was it even a ‘sigh’ then?!?!)  When the physicality of SITTING is too much if it also includes having to use your brain for more than four seconds at a time, things are GOING ON.  Over the past few months, I have found myself in this position.  (Sitting? Yeah, we know Jimmy.)  

This thing happens when you get back into snacking, baked goods and allowing yourself to go into “fuck it”-mode, where all you want out of a television show are some bright lights, gentle smiles and OBNOXIOUSLY SIMPLE STORYLINES.  I think this is why Food Network and HGTV exist, but I have found other shows that fit the bill.  Thus, I give you the Jimmyschair “I’m Too Lazy To Watch A Show That Makes Me Use My Brain Even A Little Bit”-Television Show Rankings:

5)  “The Voice”

It’s a show revolving around people singing, other people pushing a button that means “good singing” and a guy whose haircut changes every commercial break.  “The Voice” has a hypnotic quality to it that is kicked off with that person? woman? group of people? Proclaiming “This is…THE VOICE!” every time you go in and out of commercial.  It’s almost like they know they’re aiming for the people that have gotten too into baked goods recently and are going in and out of a carbohydrate daze.  Every seven minutes, when they find their eyes beginning to shutter, they’re SHOCKED with a “THIS IS THE VOICE!”  I’m pretty sure while watching this, I’ve turned to the person in the room with me and nodded after hearing this.  Like, “hey, this is The Voice, they’re right.”

Once your set in knowing what you’re watching (thanks to the constant reminders) your lazy brain gets to scan Twitter and Instagram aimlessly while listening to contestants you’ll never see again, do their best “I’m more than a karaoke star”-rendition of “Shallow.”  You’ll catch yourself thinking for a second that it’s Lady Gaga, look up to see that it’s not, and then listen a teensy bit closer so you can make some insightful critique like “got pitchy there.”  (I don’t know what ‘pitchy’ means, but The VP of Ops says it and she did music stuff in high school.  So…yeah, I use it.)  

If you zone out while refreshing Instagram for the 856th time in the last nine minutes, and forget to listen long enough to decide whether Sally Soprano sang that Train song well enough to advance, just wait to hear the big “boooosh” sound the buttons make when the judges hit them.  Did the producers know that the audience would be paying as little attention as possible?  “Hey, just incase they don’t see the big buttons light up and the chairs turn around, let’s add a big, dumb sound effect!”  (Thank you producers.)  

If that’s not an easy enough show for you to follow, then just enjoy the hair stylings of Adam Levine.  Every time the show comes back from commercial break, turn to the person next to you and say “he change his hair every time they go to break?”  You’ll get a half chuckle and that’s all you’re really looking for.

4)  Local News

The local news knows you don’t go outside very much.  (Wait…do they have spies?  WHO’S THERE?!?!)    Why else do you think they make the entire show all about the weather segment?  A couple quick hits about some horrible things going on not-that-far-from-where-you-are-sitting are softened because the guy telling you these things is, for some reason, smiling while reading the teleprompter.  So you’re not sad, but more sure than ever that you’re in a legitimate sugar stupor (shooting is bad, but smiling is good…so….it’s okay?)  

But what every local newscast is REALLY about, is the weather segment.  The weather person has the most charisma of the anchors (that’s a low bar….OUCH!) and they know that the people watching have been looking out their window for hours, going “I think it’s gonna rain soon, better stay in.”  So every segment teases what everyone watching is really waiting for.  “Don’t worry, we’re going to tell you soon that it’s okay that you’ve stayed inside for the last 13 weeks!”  I also think that’s why in the forecasts, the Weatherperson always says “with a chance of rain.”  It traps the tubbos inside–fearful of even the slightest chance of being pierced with one of those water droplet things.  (I’M HIT!!!!)  

3)  House Hunters

You’re sitting in a house-like thing (does a one-bedroom apartment count as a house?) and you get to watch people looking at house-like things while making judgements like “I really don’t like this backsplash.”  Riveting and exactly what you’re looking for.  Impossibly easy to follow, featuring narration by a lady with a very soothing voice and starring two people where one is ALWAYS obnoxious.  (The casting director has to have so much fun telling that person, “hey, you’re the obnoxious one in this episode.  Make sure you scrunch your face up and critique a carpeted bedroom at least twice!”)

If you haven’t paid close attention throughout the show–because that’s the point of watching it–don’t even worry about it!  Why? Because this half-hour show includes A RECAP before the final segment.  They give you a “get out of confusion”-free card because they KNOW you haven’t really been watching!  “Okay people, we know you’ve gotten deep into your group text chain, so real quick, here are the 3 houses these dummies are deciding between.”  Haven’t been watching? BOOM, you’re back.  You get to toss out a you-can-tell-I’m-concentrating-because-my-eyes-are-squinting- “I like the one wif da pool,” before the couple you don’t like for no good reason picks the ONE WIF DA POOL!  Nothing like feeling accomplished while sitting.

2)  The Office

This goes for any show you’ve seen more than nine bajillion times.  For me, that show is “The Office,” thus, it’s why it is the current king of “I don’t know what to watch, let’s just put _____________ on.”  I don’t think I even really watch the episodes anymore while they’re on.  It’s more a cover for me to scan my phone.  If the TV is on and I’m able to toss out a chuckle here or there, then I can’t be accused of being addicted to my phone, right? You may not have sat down to totally dissect this phenomenon, but that’s what is happening.  Other shows that fall into this category are “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia”, “Seinfeld”, “Friends”, “Curb Your Enthusiasm”, and “Parks and Rec”.  These are the “If I was addicted to my phone, how would I know when to laugh?”-shows.  We’re not fooling anyone…(DID THAT JUST BLOW YOUR FRIGGIN MIND?!?!)

1)  Anything Guy Fieri

What is a more joyful sight than Guy’s face?  He’s never not on the verge of EXTREME happiness.  And what causes this EXTREME happiness?  Something that we all can get inside our refrigerator!!!  While a good amount of food and cooking shows, are trying to help you elevate your palate, Guy tells you that your palate is FINE AND IF YOU’RE TOO GOOD FOR A DINER, YOU CAN FUCK RIGHT OFF TO HELL!  But instead of saying those exact words, he communicates that with ENERGY and spikey hair.

If you’re not watching the show, it’s okay because his voice is so excited and happy that you are subconsciously convinced that you, too, are also excited and happy.  Again, you’re in a trance-like state, so when your brain processes a booming voice doling out the virtues of a trailer that serves waffle fries, it’s like you’re in that trailer with Guy and ABSOLUTELY LOVING EVERY SECOND OF IT.  (I’M SO LUCKY TO BE EATING FRIED THINGS INSIDE A TRAILER PARKED BEHIND THAT ABANDONED MOTEL!)

Tip your hat to the King of Modern-Day Hypnosis, Guy Fieri.

MY WORLD:

I went to a Cubs game and sat in the bleachers on Saturday.  If you’re not from Chicago, here is the literal translation for that first sentence: “I sat in the sun and drank 82 beers on Saturday.”  (Just 82?  Not foolin’ anyone Pal!)  Anyway, I came away convinced that no matter how old you are, if you live in Chicago and are feeling the need to hit the “reset” button, the bleachers at Wrigley are where you go.  (My how elaborate your drinking justifications have become, Jimmy…)

If you haven’t been to the bleachers, it’s not the same as just going to a Cubs game.  It’s another world.  A world where age doesn’t exist, beer is currency and the sun is that friend who keeps telling you to “just enjoy the moment!”  There was a guy in his 60s with really good hair, dancing during every inning break.  There were a few fights far enough away to feel safe while yelling “GET HIM!!!” There was a friend who masked sweating through his shorts by having our group douse him with water in between innings, and then feigning anger by yelling “not on my new shorts!”  And, of course, there were and obscene amount of Bud Lights.

Looking to hit “reset”? Spend a day sweating on a bench in the sun, high above Sheffield Ave.  You’ll wake up the next morning dehydrated, yes, but you’ll also be rid of whatever was inside you that pushed you to reach for that “reset” button.  After the age of 26, you can only do one Wrigley Bleacher day during the summer, but no matter your age or circumstance, I think we all need one “Chicago Reset.”

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When you wear sandals and are walking up the stairs, and your sandal catches the lip of a stair and you slam your shin into the front of the next stair.  I saw this happen to a friend in the bleachers and I wanted to hold him for the rest of the game.

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

 

DOES JIMMY STILL GAMBLE?

Yes.

K, bye.

HOT CHICAGO RESTAURANT REVIEW #1

OUR WORLD: 

You know those restaurants that you hear about, for what seems like years, that you always tell yourself “I gotta check that place out!”?  I’ve gone to some of those recently and I want to tell you about them in a very honest, borderline dumb, way.  If, like me, you hate Yelp because you used to work in restaurants, I’m here to offer some guidance for the HOT Chicago Restaurant Scene.  Whenever I ask my friends about a restaurant, I’m not looking for a poetic, Bourdain-like breakdown of flavors and the social injustices that went into creating the circumstances necessary for said restaurant to thrive.  I’m basically looking for a caveman-esque answer to “Eat there? Should I?”    I give you the first Jimmyschair “Hot Chicago Restaurant Review for Cavemen”

Au Cheval:

You’re going to wait.  This is the number one issue I hear from people who have been here and want to be Johnny Contrarian by talking about something other than the show-stopper burger.  Why complain about something you KNOW is going to happen?  Do you complain about getting wet when you take a shower?  “I had to wait 3 hours!  For a burger!”  Okay…and hasn’t everyone you’ve EVER talked to about Au Cheval told you about the wait?  If the answer is ‘no’, you’re either lying or from planet ‘Yeah-Probably-Just-Lying’.  Either way, that excuse doesn’t fly anymore because I’m outing all of you “I had to wait!”-crybabies.  If you don’t want to wait, go to a shitty restaurant that nobody wants to go to.  Problem solved.  If you want to eat the best burger you’re ever going to have?  Grow up, shut up, and have a few pops after putting your name in at Au Cheval.

Here’s an overlooked positive to SURVIVING the wait at Au Cheval: you’ll get to tell your friends a dramatic tale of enduring hours spent sitting and drinking beers next door before getting in.  If you’re looking for a way to jump into your story of heroism, feel free to steal this starter: “Technically, I was never in the military, but…”  By the time you get that magical “your table is ready” text from the Au Cheval host, you’ll have a comfy buzz and a new chapter for your memoir, entitled: “Overcoming Adversity.”

Once inside, you’re in a comfortable diner that is more effortlessly cool.  The servers know their shit and are nicer than the gatekeeper hosts and hostesses–probably because they’re tipped more.  Also, when 94% of your customers are just going to order a burger, how hard is it?  (I say this as a former-server, which means I’m allowed to say this.  If you haven’t served before you are never allowed to critique servers.  EVER.)  It’s dark enough in there to hide how fat you’re going to feel after the meal, and lit in a way that will disguise your double chin with shadows.  It’s a magic trick that adds to the experience; a burger place that protects you from the shame associated with eating a burger and fries.  WHAT A CONCEPT!

Are there other things on the menu?  Sure, but who gives a shit?  You’re going here for the burger.  Oh, the drinks!  I heard they have craft beer!  Yeah, they do and I love beer, but that’s not why you’re here so don’t fill up on anything other than the burger.  (This is a concept I’m just coming around to in my early-30s.  Drinking beer fills you up and, therefore, takes away from the enjoyment of the meal itself.  CALL ME JIMMY COLUMBUS AFTER THAT DISCOVERY!) Get the single with the egg on it.  I think the double is too much, and the bacon distracts from how amazing the burger is by itself.  You’ve had good bacon before, you haven’t had a burger like this.  I don’t care about overhyping it or whatever excuse you want to find to sound different after eating here.  It’s the best burger I have ever had.    And the fries?  They come with a garlic aioli dipping sauce that you’ll think about leaving    your wife for.  “Honey, I’ve realized that you can never make me as happy as the garlicky dipping sauce at Au Cheval.  It’s okay, you can take the kids.”

I don’t remember or care if they have dessert.  Probably.  Whatever, you’re so euphoric after the burger and fries that you just want to go home so you can go to sleep and dream about the meal you just had.  The only thing that makes it better is when you see the check.  Look, it’s not cheap for a “burger place,” but not all burger place’s are created equal.  I compare the feeling after eating here to the impressed feeling I get after eating at a fancy steakhouse.   Unfortunately, that steakhouse feeling is quickly murdered by the   steakhouse check–“do you offer payment plans?”  Here, the check is manageable enough that you can pay for you and your wife without secretly hating her for the rest of the night.

CAVEMAN REVIEW = Food good.  Price good.  You happy.  Go.

MY WORLD:

So I’ve gotten fat again.  It has been a slow process, but I did it.  I’d like to credit my late-summer sprained ankle for giving me the excuse I needed to not work out.  When I did get back into “working out,” I made the decision that running is really hard and so I was gonna not do that.  The way I framed this decision, however, was more “I’m going to start lifting.”  My thinking was that if I could make my shoulders and arms big enough, it would make my growing stomach look smaller in relation.  What I didn’t account for, stupidly, is that bigger arms don’t mask a puffier face.  AND!  I’m not secure or rich enough to buy all new clothes.  Unfortunately, when you get bigger, your clothes get tighter.  It’s actually bullshit, if you ask me.

Now I’ve gotta do the thing where I run more and eat less.  IT’S NOT FAIR!  I hopped on the treadmill last night and wanted to stop after three seconds when I saw a fat dude next to me going into mile 6.  Not working for him!  Running sucks, no question.  But, you know what sucks more?  Worrying that your thighs are going to explode through the legs of your pants while at work.  (That was me, yesterday.)  Or, when you’re sitting with friends at a bar and you’re wondering if you can unbutton your pants without anyone noticing.  It’s a tricky maneuver that risks looking like you’re playing with yourself in public.  Have I pulled it off before?  Of course, but then I was faced with the fear of having to get up with the possibility that my pants could totally unzip and fall down.  Was this an event on “Fear Factor”?

Anyway, I’m gonna eat like a lame for a while now and get back into running.  Great, can’t wait for my legs to hurt every morning.  Shocked that I got fat after reading me write about about how I’ve thought about leaving my wife for garlic aioli?  ME TOO!  Last night I ran and didn’t have a beer, though, so I may be thin again.  I’ll keep you posted.

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

The first two episodes of the new “True Detective”!!!  Mahershala Ali is putting on an acting performance for the ages (if you’re watching it, you get that ‘pun’, right?  Yeah, I’m proud of it.)

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

“The Bachelor” and “Vanderpump Rules” are off to very ‘meh’ starts this year.  I’m still watching kinda’, but I’m close to bailing.

JIMMY GAMBLES:

I zeroed out my account last weekend.  Betting against the Patriots at home was something that I regretted the second I made the bet.  It was also really fun that Andrew Luck showed up with a dead arm in Kansas City.  Thanks guys!

(My account is currently at $0.00)

K bye.

 

No…Not….WINTER!!!

OUR WORLD:

Whoever came up with the term “Winter Wonderland” never lived full-time in a cold-weather city.  (Did you look that up?  So, you don’t know.  Please don’t lie to your readers, Jimmy.)  Winter in a cold-weather city is a nightmare filled lined with salt stains, dry skin and wet socks that is only mitigated by the fact that it becomes socially acceptable to eat more.  For my Chicago brethren, this morning is the first time this year where I woke up cold, saw a bunch of bare tree branches and started tremble-crying that “it’s puffy coat time….”  Then the VP woke up and asked why I was crying but I was just welling up, which is different than crying and she just doesn’t understand because her winter coat doesn’t make her look like a Michelin Man EVEN WHEN I’M DOING WELL WITH DIET AND EXERCISE!  YEAH, I COULD BUY A DIFFERENT COAT, BUT I’D RATHER SAVE MY MONEY FOR ALCOHOL AND GAMBLING AND GOING OUT TO DINNERS!!!!  No, none of this happened, but the point is that it could because the older I get, the worse I get at containing my emotions re: winter.  Here are the top 3 worst things people in Chicago are dreading about winter:

Walking through slush while wearing your sporty no-show lil’ baby socks.

You wake up in early December and it snowed a little bit last night.  Nothing crazy.  In fact, when you look out your window you say something “oh, not that bad.”  So you’re in that “this sucks, but it could suck harder”-winter-purgatory that feels almost like happiness.  You get ready for your day and pack your gym bag.  But when you get to the sock portion of ready-time, an option presents itself: do I wear my big, hot, winter socks AND pack my no-show lil’ baby socks for the gym? OR! Do I just wear my I-don’t-have-cankles-and-these-lil-socks-prove-it socks for the day so I get to the gym ready to go and I don’t add to my mounting laundry pile with another pair of socks?  You go with one pair of socks because it’s “not that bad” out and if you’re forced to add 2 more socks to that laundry pile, it may tip over and bury you alive before your wife realizes that she hasn’t been asked “can I put sports on?” for over 18 minutes.  Yeah, you just died in a pile of dirty clothes and now your wife is going to jail because how could she not know?

So you put your no-show socks on slide into those cool boots that your Mom got you last Christmas.  It’s not that bad, you’re fine.  By the time you hit the bottom of the stairs on your way out, you’ve totally forgotten that whole excruciating sock decision you just had to make.  The podcast you’re going to listen to is queued up on your phone for the drive to work, and you’re damn near excited to hear if Bill Simmons will ask Jonah Hill the deal with his weight fluctuations.  You toss your gym bag in the passenger seat and…fuck.  Right as you step off the curb, your foot is wet.  The snow didn’t look that bad because it melted, and your body weight caused a splash when it landed on the street.  Tiny-brain you didn’t tie your boots that tight so the splash fell inside your boot and found its resting place all over your tiny-sock-covered foot.  Cool.  Now you’re Wally Wetfoot and you better tie that boot tight because you know the thing about wet feet?  They STINK.  Good luck trying to hide that stank foot in an office surrounded by people who don’t have a villainous pile of laundry forcing them into bad decisions.

Bundling up before taking your dog out and catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror by your door.

You’re lying if you tell me there’s not one second every winter, while getting yourself and your dog ready to go outside, that you don’t remember when you didn’t have a dog and think “that was a happier time.”  Don’t even try to tell me that when it’s negative 9 and you hear the wind howling, you’re not mean-squinting at your dog hoping he’ll be like “you know what, I can hold it.”  But whatever, dogs rule so you when you’re done putting their booties on to protect from the salt, you bundle up like you may get locked out and have to sleep in the snow.  Puffy coat, itchy scarf, old Bears hat, and the camouflage gloves you bought with your brothers at a gas station in Michigan.  Originally, you bought those gloves as a joke, but now they’re just your gloves and your wife can’t believe that she picked you.

When you’re done tucking your loose sweatpants into your boots, you grab the leash and march towards the tundra.  Unfortunately, your wife likes hanging mirrors near doors.  At first you thought it was just coincidence, but now you’re wondering if these mirror placements were part of a more sinister plan to prey on your insecurities.  Said mirror grabs the corner of your eye and you take a quick glance to see how you lo—JESUS, I’M UGLY!  Aside from the winter fat suit, the parts of your face that you can see are white pale mixed with little dry patches (thanks freezing wind!).  Moisturizing is a way of life that you must commit to, and it’s never been more obvious.  Like being hit with a wave from the ocean, you’re forced to go through every part of your last 6 meals.  When was the last time you went to the gym?  Yeah, you went, but did you even try that hard?  Or did you just go to say you went?  And, shit, you’ve been digging those dark beers lately.  And the outfit?  You’re not better than the Jordan Brand Cincinnati sweatpants you bought in High School?  You’re really not better than that?

“I’m better than this,” you say to your wife as you head out.  She smiles.  You’re gonna change.

Once you’re outside, she calls her Mom. “I’m coming home.”

Going to a Mexican restaurant and ordering a margarita to play pretend summertime only to come crashing back to reality the second you look out the window and see the look of pure terror on the driver that has lost control of their car while skidding on the ice.

Once late-January hits, you’re about to snap.  Two-plus months of frigid temperatures and short days have taken their toll, so you excitedly make a plan to go to a Mexican restaurant for a little “Let’s pretend it’s hot outside!”-meal.  It’s different than the norm and your spouse is like “he’s full of surprises!”  You’re proud of your ingenuity.  It’s cute, guys.  So cute.  You know what’ll make it even cuter?  Toss a hawaiian shirt and sunglasses on!  Can you say “Summer in January”?!?!?!

At the restaurant, the servers are kinda’ annoyed with how cute of a couple they’re waiting on, which makes you even more proud of your SAH KEWT plan.  You order drinks and not just drinks; we’re talking margaritas with extra salt baby.  Nothing spells summer like salt, tequila and limey sugary shit!  While you wait for Señor AnnoyedWithYourCuteness to get your drinks, it’s time to start reminiscing about awesome summer stories.  Remember that time you went on the boat and jammed out to pre-nutso Kanye jams?  Oh oh oh, how ’bout the time you had a picnic at the beach and made fun of the uncoordinated volleyball player ruining it for the rest of his team?!?!  And, guys, ‘member the time you grilled those burgs and made everyone address you as General Grillmaster for the rest of the night?  You’re laughing.  Reminiscing.  Dreaming, perhaps.  The margaritas arrive and it looks like each crystal of salt was placed by hand around the rim of your glass.  You do a cheers but don’t actually touch glasses because you want ALL the salt.  Then you hear a screech.

Your eyes dart to the window and see that the snow has picked up and a 1993 Dodge Neon is skidding past the stop sign right outside.  It’s not an emergency, but you lock eyes with the driver and share the “shit, there’s nothing you can do”-look.  The Neon hits the curb and is fine; it’s a piece of shit anyway, so another dent on the bumper will blend.  But it snapped you out of your summer fantasy.  Your spouse knows it too.  Now it’s a waiting game to see who’s going to ask the question you’re both thinking first…”You know we still have like 3 months of this shit?”

YEAH, I KNOW!

MY WORLD:

When I’m not writing this blog in the morning, I’m trying to work on a script and it’s really difficult guys!  In film school, I was only able to write shitty scripts AND I COULD WORK ON THOSE ALL DAY, EVERYDAY.  Now, I’m writing before work and…oooooo momma, I’m having trouble.  Turns out that coming up with a totally original movie idea is not something you can do just because you…uh…want to do it.  The first “assignment” I have due with my writing comrade is due tomorrow and I’m about 20% of the way done with it, so yeah, I’m stressed.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Realizing that the reason political ads are the way they are, is because THEY WORK.

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Saw her perform on SNL and, ladies and gentlemen, we have a NEW CRUSH ALERT!!!!

JIMMY GAMBLES:

As you know, I had been on an epic losing streak.  We’re talking the kind that you would tell your grandchildren about when they ask why you live in such a shitty part of town 45 years from now.  Then, Sunday happened.  Guys…I hit a 4-team parlay and it felt like I, personally, defeated ISIS and saved humanity from their reign of terror.  The VP did not share my level of excitement, but she did hit me with a semi-genuine “oh, yay!”  So that was nice.  Did I squander some of my winnings by then betting on the Packers moneyline because my friend is a Packers fan and I’m a great great great friend?  Yes, I did, but I also cemented my status as a “great great great friend” in the process.  So, as far as I can tell, that’s pretty much breaking even.  I told a few people yesterday to bet on the Titans moneyline and then forgot to place that bet myself, so…that was fucking annoying.  Probably gonna take tonight off to watch voting results while praying the Republicans takes that much deserved L.

(My account is currently at $100.72)

K bye.

Work (11/1/18)

OUR WORLD:

Meh, I’ve been wrapped up in my own world lately.  Go see “A Star Is Born” if you haven’t.

MY WORLD:

You know what is one of the coolest feelings I get to feel in life?  It’s when someone says that I should get back to writing this blog because they miss reading it.  There’s nothing deep or poetic coming, it’s just a cool fucking feeling.

I don’t want this blog to devolve into one post every three weeks that basically explains why I haven’t been writing it (uh oh, I feel that’s what’s about to come here though…)  BUT (no!  He’s gonna do it!) that’s what’s about to come here.  The reason I haven’t been as active on Jimmyschair is because I think I’ve been going through some sort of third-life crisis (planning to live till you’re 99?  Sure, pal.  Those drinking habits will NEVER catch up with you!) AND because I’m trying to write a script that will someday win a competition and me a bunch of money…But mostly, because I’m fucking awesome at making excuses.  That’s the truth.

When I got back back from Ireland, I felt kinda’ changed.  When I told my Dad that it was a “life-changing experience”, he did what I would’ve done before I left if someone told me that: gently rolled his eyes in a “I’m not being openly”-rude, but “I’m not not being openly”-rude kind of way.  When he did it, I wasn’t offended, but felt more certain of it.  Like, “oh, you don’t believe me? watch this”….So I proceed to get kind of depressed about my place in life for the next 6 weeks. See Dad!  Before I left, I was relatively happy.  Now, I’m relatively sad.  HAPPY TO SAD SOUNDS LIKE A LIFE CHANGE TO ME!!!

Let’s not go overboard here, either.  Using the “D” word (depressed? oh, yikes) is something I did by accident in the paragraph above.  I still use that word lighter than most, and it’s because that’s how I was raised.  I get that joking about depression is a big no-no today, but…just, come on.  I’ve been kinda’ down lately and I wanted to use that word so get over it.  Have I been clinically depressed?  (What are you a fuckin’ doctor?)  No, I haven’t (HE DOESN’T KNOW THAT FOR SURE, GUYS!)  There are just times when it feels like, “fuck, am I too far behind to catch up?”

How does this happen?  I’ll tell you!  You go on the trip of a lifetime.  You see the world for, literally, the first time, and you come back home feeling invigorated and like you’re going to change a few things to live that fuller life that’s possible.  But first you have to rest and be lazy for a few days because you’re tired from the trip.  Then after you rest, you’re like, “wait, what was that thing I was gonna do?”  By then, your body and brain has reacclimated to being that chair person that’s on every episode of trashy daytime television crying about how they’ve “tried every diet and NOTHING works!”

I wasn’t eating that well and had started to convince myself that gaining a few pounds is a thing that most adult males do, so fuck it.  I got back into snacks and scrolling through instagram for hours on end!  HOW COULD ANYTHING GO WRONG?  Maybe, JUST MAYBE, scanning the internet for everyone’s best picture of them living their best life for hours on end, isn’t the healthiest habit.  Maybe it hypnotized me into forgetting about how manicured people’s Instagram lives are.  Actually, not ‘maybe’, that’s what happened.  Instagram started feeling like a window into the lives of those around me and those lives looked way better than mine.  Where’s the window showing someone have a near panic-attack when trading in their leased 2016 Chevy Equinox?  “So like, how close do they inspect all the dents and dings?  Do they use a magnifying glass?  Or, just like run around the car real fast and not look closely at all?”

So then it’s time to play the age game, right?  The “I’m 33 years old so I shouldn’t be dealing with”-whatever game.  Mine version of the age game went something like “I’m 33 years old so I shouldn’t be panicking about how I’d pay for moderate car repairs.”  (I’m still kinda’ panicking about that btw, but I’m gaining perspective.)  Then, instead of going to the gym to make my brain feel better, I’d jump into the pity party steam-room and inhale only excuses.  “It is dark out and you’re sad about not being a millionaire so it’s okay to skip the gym.”  AGAIN, WHAT COULD GO WRONG?

Shit gains momentum when you let it.  All of a sudden, I’m kinda quiet and getting angry about things that shouldn’t make me angry.  You know how you get annoyed when you hear someone unwrapping a little piece of candy?  They crinkle the wrapper for two seconds and you feel a rush of “JUST THROW IT THE FUCK OUT!”  But once second number three hits, you’re fine and you totally forgot about it.  I was more of the “I still remember you and that fucking wrapper AND I WILL EXACT UNMERCIFUL REVENGE!” like a day later.  You ever tell your spouse or someone you’re super close with “I’m not mad at you, I’m just mad at everything” through clenched teeth?  The VP may have heard that once or twice.

Then I’d sit down in front of my computer, stare at the blank screen and try to write Jimmyschair.  Except now, the feeling I get looking at the blank word document had seeped into the rest of my life.  It wasn’t a challenge, it was standing over me celebrating it’s knockout.  And, guess what? The canvas is comfy!  I think that’s how it happens.  The first few times you’re lazy and stop trying and have a few beers and some pizza, it’s really enjoyable!  And if it’s not really enjoyable, it is really easy.  You’re like “wait, not trying is definitely easier than trying.  This is great!”

The canvas was comfy at first.  Not writing this blog was easier than writing this blog, so I did that.  But my tricky tricky brain did this thing where it convinced me that the reason I wasn’t writing this blog was also because it’s kind of a waste of time.  If I’m overtaken with stress about paying for a dented bumper and rent and our flights for that wedding and student loans and shit, we’ve gotta have a kid soon, right?  If I’m consumed with money-related stress, then I should only spend time on things that can make me money, right?  And, spoiler alert, I don’t earn money from this blog.  Thus, waste of time.  My mind jiu-jitsued my laziness into an acceptable response to stress.

So I stopped writing my blog for a while and spent time trying to figure out a way to make money writing.  But writing is like going to the gym, which I was also NOT doing, in that the longer you go without doing it, the harder it is to get back into it.  The next logical step to take, once out of proper writing shape, was to make the decision that writing a script was where my efforts should go.  Writing a blog was too hard, but writing my first script in 6 years and making it a good enough one to win a competition and provoke a Hollywood bidding war was reasonable.  YIKES!  Try taking a year off from running then convincing yourself a week before the Boston Marathon, that you could win it.  It should not have come as a surprise that the following mornings were spent, yet again, staring at a blank page, unable to muster a fuckin’ thing.

I forced myself to the gym again.  My ankle hurt and all my workout shirts were a little tighter than they used to be, but I went and forced the treadmill.  And it felt good.  My legs hurt like “should I go to a leg doctor person?” but it felt good.  And then I did it again and again and took a little break and then again and again.  I’m getting there.

I texted two old screenwriting friends for the first time in years and asked if it was still possible to do the whole write-a-movie-thing.  I knew they’d respond “yes,” but I needed to see it.  They didn’t respond “yes” though, they responded “FUCK YES!”  So now I created a writing schedule with one of them to hold each other accountable as we write our next script.

With the script work and the gym and my job, I just didn’t have time for Jimmyschair.  Right?  Right.  Until I did.

That felt good.

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Yeah, I got really into this movie and soundtrack.  I’m sure it had nothing to do with my moods…

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When people drive down alleys behind your apartment like they’re actual roads and almost smash into you and your numbah one pretty girl dogga.  Even if they’re not that close to actually hitting you, it wouldn’t be the worst thing if Michael Myers stumbled upon those drivers alone at night.

JIMMY GAMBLES:

It should come as no surprise that my bout with laziness and being kinda’ blue coincided with a DASTARDLY gambling run.  Does it also then come as no surprise that I didn’t start writing this blog again until I won my first parlay in weeks on Monday night and that’s the last bet I made?  Yeah, I’ve taken two days off to bask in the glory of my Monday night parlay, and you know what?

It feels good…and it’s going to feel even better when the Raiders cover tonight against the 49ers.  Yes, the Raiders blow, but betting on CJ Beathard as a favorite makes me wanna puke.

(My account is currently at $70ish)

K bye.

 

 

Jimmy Butler is Giving Jimmy’s a Bad Name and I Won’t Stand For It (10/11/18)

SPORTS WORLD:

*NEW SECION ALERT?!?! Sometimes I feel very passionate about sports and I want to go off on rants, but I haven’t here much because I don’t want to ostracize readers who don’t like sports.  But…sometimes, like today, I have to do it.  I promise, even if you don’t love sports, I’m going to do my best to make it relatable and still enjoyable.  We’ll see how that goes…

Imagine walking into work today and seeing a co-worker, lets call him Hector, who had been bitching non-stop about his salary for the last 4 months.  He would always start his bitch-a-thons with “I’m not going to make a big deal about this, but…” and then he would proceed to make a big deal out of every little action that management did or did not take.  “You see the way our Bubba Bossman just BCC’d me on that e-mail, but then says nothing to me? Yeah, he needs me, but doesn’t want to admit it,” is a thing Hector says a lot.  You hear these ramblings and pretend to seem interested while praying that a time machine is invented so you can go back to when you made your college choice without realizing you were signing up for a lifetime of student loan debt and, in turn, forcing yourself to work a job less inspiring than that horribly bruised banana that you’ve just been too lazy or depressed to throw out for the last 8 days. Will this soul-crushing student loan debt help you wrestle the “Most Depressed Family Member”-title away from your cousin Alex whose parents divorce sent him into a deep depression even though he was 38 when it happened?  You hope not, but if so, at least you get to root for that school’s football team!  IT’S NOT THAT BAD, ALEX, YOUR PARENTS ARE HAPPIER NOW!

So Hector comes in today and begins railing against you, the rest of the office and, without fear of repercussions, against the higher-ups.  He’s firing off e-mails with panache; hitting the button on his mouse hard with his fist and yelling “SENT ANOTHER ONE!” after each reply.  “How many have you sent Jimmy?” he asks loud enough for Bubba Bossman to hear, but you’re still working through why Hector needs a fucking mouse when he uses a laptop…

“Uh, I don’t know, probably like-”

“You don’t know is fuckin’ right!  YOU DON’T KNOW SHIT! YOU DON’T DO SHIT!” Hector snarls at your lackadaisical response to a question that’s not even that relevant because it’s not like you’re judged on how many e-mails you send, but whatever.  Hector is on fire and arguing with him would take the kind of effort reserved for a job you don’t kinda’ hate.  So you let him continue, and he does.  Stalking around the office like he built it; calling out Sara Ann for scrolling through Facebook “I didn’t know we were being paid by how many statuses we ‘liked’ Sara Ann!  You see this Bubba? You see me pull shit like this?”; ripping Larry’s leftover salmon out of his hand before he’s able to put it in the microwave, “Reheating fish, Larry?  EVERY GODDAMN DAY?” as he whips the tupperware container into the fat stomach of Phil, the guy in the office who people like but have no idea what he does and it just seems like he walks around to chat with everyone.

Is everything Hector is doing completely unwarranted?  Probably not, but he’s acting like such a cock you’ve got to be thinking “dude, just let me get through my day so I can get back to numbing my endless waterfall of personal dissatisfaction with alcohol, television and my dog who doesn’t get to play outside enough because I can only afford a 1-bedroom apartment in a neighborhood without a dog park.”

Do you know Jimmy Butler?  Well now you do.  Jimmy Butler was Hector yesterday in Timberwolves practice.  The look-at-me try-hard at work; the co-worker who loves to sigh at their desk and mutter, just loud enough for people to hear, “god, I’m so busy.”  It’s insecure and obnoxious and, we get it, you’re letting people know that you do your job.  The difference, though, between Jimmy Butler and YOUR insecure co-worker, is that Jimmy Butler is currently on a contract set to pay him over $18.4 million dollars this year.  But he’s not happy because he claims that his co-workers don’t try as hard as he does and his bosses, after offering him a 4 year, $110 million dollar contract over the summer, haven’t made him feel important enough.  Don’t believe me?  Here’s what Butler actually said to a reporter following his Hector-like outburst at practice yesterday: “It’s kinda like, I don’t know – a slap in the face? I don’t know how to put it but it made me think like maybe I’m not that important to your organization.”  HE ACTUALLY SAID THAT IN FRONT OF A CAMERA THAT WAS RECORDING TO BE PLAYED ON A SHOW WATCHED BY MILLIONS OF PEOPLE.

Now I’m sure that some of his teammates, like some of your co-workers, don’t try as hard as they can all the time.  I’m sure there are days when Karl Anthony-Towns shows up late and hungover and rolls his eyes whenever Coach Thibs tells him to “PICK UP THE PACE!” Fine.  But if your idea of leading, as it is Jimmy Butler’s, is to embarrass you in front of said-boss while also putting on a “look how hard I try!”-show, welcome to the world of the delusional because you aren’t leading as much as you are making everyone around you hate your fucking guts.  (In other news, I really have to go poop right now and have been waiting for The VP to leave for work to do so and her Uber keeps canceling and I’M ABOUT TO LOSE IT!)  

A while back, it became easy to poke holes and make fun of fan arguments that began with “when you make that much money…”  And maybe that’s because those arguments were coming out of mouths stuffed full of half-eaten bratwurst spewing their thick Chicago accent and scrambled thought progression onto sports radio airwaves.  But, if we’re being totally honest, wouldn’t you react to your co-worker the same way?  Wouldn’t you want to tell Hector to go fuck right off if you were the one he was calling out or you were the boss who had just offered him a hefty raise within a brand-new 4 year contract?  And isn’t it very very understandable that these “go fuck right off”-emotions are amplified by the fact that the person acting like this will make more money this year than your entire 23andMe roster will ever make in all of their lifetimes combined?  Jimmy Butler is very good at basketball, but he’s very bad at making fans want to root for him.  And if Jimmy wants to really examine his whole fall-back of an excuse-mantra of “this is about business,”  you know what he would find?  He would find that an organization trying to attract new fans by signing HIM would be making a BAD business decision.  To hell with Jimmy Butler, he can fuck right off.

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I saw my favorite band Death Cab for Cutie over the weekend and they were amazing and I can’t wait to write about it.  Here’s a live version of my favorite song off their new album? I may have posted this before but I don’t care.

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

It’s pretty cold outside today.  It’s cold enough to make you remember that winter is around the corner and that means: snow, and slush, and salt stains on your wood floor that you may not be able to ever get out and then you’re gonna have to pay some sort of penalty when your lease is up and FUCK!!!! WINTER IS COMING!!!

JIMMY GAMBLES:

For me, I’ve lost a lot of money recently and if you can’t tell from the rest of today’s blog, it has not put me in a good mood.

K bye.

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

OUR WORLD:

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

“The First” (Netflix)

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

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

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

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

“The Voice” (NBC)

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

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

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

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

“Chopped” (Food Network)

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

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

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

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

MY WORLD:

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

LET’S LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

 

LET’S HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

That Cubs game last night.

JIMMY GAMBLES:

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

(My account is currently at: $0.00)

K bye.