Tag: health

“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. 

We’ve All Agreed We’re Never Going To The Gym Again

OUR WORLD: 

Yesterday it was announced that Illinois will move into Phase 4 of the “Yeah, whatever” reopening plan this Friday, which means that gyms will be allowed to reopen.  These gyms will be asked to limit capacity and do a bunch of weird shit that probably won’t help much at all, and the penalties for not doing this weird shit will be…nothing because how can you enforce any of this?  What I don’t think the government and gym owners have realized, though, is that conclusions are reached when patterns of behavior are altered.  And Illinoisans, by virtue of the 3 month long “don’t do anything!”-orders, have concluded that paying to go to a gym is a moronic waste of money and we will never do it again.

For people that do value working out and fitness (fuckin’ nerds) the past three months has been about finding other ways to stay in shape and, you know what?  They’re preferable!  While they do have workout equipment and locker rooms, a gym’s primary function is to put you in close proximity with people with who do things that annoy the EVER-LOVING SHIT OUT OF YOU!  Exercise? Yeah, an exercise in self-restraint, maybe.  Such as, “if the guy on the elliptical next to me doesn’t stop FaceTiming with his ex-wife, I will NOT kick the outside of his left knee and explode his leg.  I will NOT do that!  I won’t!”  And then, 6 seconds deeper into his FaceTime marriage counseling session, you reconsider and decide that maybe jail is worth it.

By now, we’ve all learned that we can run outside for free!  That push-ups and bodyweight exercises are effective, even though they may not look as cool as lifting dumbbells in front of a mirror.  You know what you were doing in front of that mirror, right?  (Uh…checking my form.)  Stop it.  You were admiring looking momentarily-yolked while hoping the girl who dates the better-looking, richer, more secure version of yourself, will walk by, catch that same view and…(I don’t know what he’s talking about, honey!  I swear, I go to the gym because they have the specific equipment I need to sculpt my traps!  I don’t even notice other people there, honestly!)

What else have we all been missing about going to the gym?  Well, how can you forget about how relaxing the steam room is, right?  You know, that small room where it’s hard to see but easy to smell?  That room where you walk in after working out with a towel around your waist, praying to LordBabyJesus that Terry “No Towel” Thompson isn’t sitting, spread-eagle next to the only open slot left.  Don’t worry, though, if “No Towel” is taking a day off, there’s sure to be the guy who thinks this room is meant for making new friends!  (I like making friends, though…)  Yeah because my idea of relaxing after a hard workout is sitting in a superhot, smelly room with the uber driver who is known for having “great conversations!”

Please don’t forget about the people who take naps on equipment you’d like to be using in between their 19 sets.  Just ask them if you can hop in for a quick set, right?  Nah, you’re forgetting this is the same person who is ALWAYS “I’m almost done.”

“Oh, so that’s a no?”

“Yeah, that’s a no.  Now please let me get back to my public nap while wearing a dry-fit shirt THANK YOU VERY FUCKIN MUCH!”

Yeah, but the treadmills with the televisions right on the front are really nice to run on, at least!  You’re right!  I especially love when the ONE CHANNEL I want to watch is currently scrambled so instead, I get to watch minor-league softball practice on ESPN3 while trying to figure out how to turn off the closed captioning.  Now, of course, you could simply go to the front desk and tell them that the only channels that aren’t having seizures are the ones showing “Big Bang Theory” and “Alf”, but you’re forgetting that the front desk employee is required to respond to that with a blank “why would I ever care about that?”-stare.  (I miss those stares!) 

And finally, before we decide to never walk into one of these rip-off palaces again, do me a favor and remember how great the Wi-Fi is.  Whenever there’s more than, I don’t know, ONE PERSON IN THE ENTIRE GYM, the Wi-Fi starts to sputter.  So as you’re shaking off the cobwebs from last night’s bender on the creaky elliptical, and juuuuust starting to vibe to that new Weeknd song, it stops and you see the spinny thing next to the little WiFi signal.  “Oh cool, I’ll just switch over to data now and run up my already overpriced phone bill!  JUST WHAT I WAS HOPING TO ACHIEVE ON THIS FUCKING ELLIPTICAL!”

You know that sense of pride and accomplishment you used to have when walking out of the gym?  It wasn’t from having just completed a workout.  It was from not hurting yourself or anyone around you while inside that building for the past 64 minutes.

Gyms re-opening? We’re good, but thanks!

Wait…what do you mean I have to call another number and send a fax and an e-mail and a carrier pigeon with a gimpy wing to cancel my membership?

 

MY WORLD:

Dieting is so fucking frustrating and stupid.  It is.  It is.  IT IS!  I have now gone one full week without eating any carbs, and I’m not back to my wedding weight yet.  And yes, I have been telling myself, “it’s just one week,” and “this has to be a sustained effort,” and “remember how tight last summer’s shorts felt when you tried them on 9 days ago?”  But, last night during an episode of “Ozark”, I saw the kids eating at a greasy hot dog stand, and I immediately stopped paying attention to whatever was happening in the show (Drugs! Guns! Scary!) and just started thinking about how much I love French fries.

Now, even the morning after, as I drink my blandass coffee and prepare for yet another day of zero exciting culinary experiences, French fries are dominating my thought pattern.  It does not help, DOES NOT HELP, that I weighed myself over the weekend and I was back at my initial weight even though I’ve been working out AND HAVEN’T CHEATED ONE GODDAMN TIME ON THIS DIET!  I’m eating fish and vegetables and zero bread or sugar.  I’m drinking water, carbonated water to try and trick myself into thinking it’s soda, white wine, and Michelob Ultras.  I haven’t had a craft beer in nearly 2 weeks now, and I WORK FOR A CRAFT BEER COMPANY.

Meanwhile, it appears that I have reached the age where whenever I run, the next morning I will feel like I was in a car crash.  The morning after walk down wood stairs is so painful that I have thought about crawling or just giving up completely and not leaving my bed ever again, becoming an ever-expanding blobman and telling my job “why? What’s the point anymore?”  I’m 35, not 90, but my morning walks around the house look like I’m trying to recreate a scene from an old monster movie where the monster can’t bend it’s knees and has a permanent pained facial expression.

So since running is so hard on my body now, I do the exercise bike in the basement.  I set up my laptop in front of the cheap bike I bought, and follow along to Peloton classes.  The instructors are normally really in shape which makes me think, “this shit works!”  And while I’m doing them, and sweating like a pigbeast, there’s no way that they’re not going to make me super shredded in no time!  But I swear to god, the second I’m done, and have caught my breath again, this demonic brain parasite flies into my ear and infects me with the “Yeah that was cute, but it wasn’t a run”-echo.  By the time I trudge my fat, sweaty ass back upstairs the coat of sweat may as well serve as a cloak of “yeah, but I didn’t run”-disappointment.

Am I being dramatic about all of this? Of course, but isn’t there enough awful shit going on right now that I shouldn’t have to also sacrifice eating food that makes me instantly happy?  Yeah, there’s the collapsing depression that follows, but what drug is better than a fried potato dipped in sugary red sauce (KETCHUP!)?  Or after a long day of working a job that now feels completely different and one thousand percent harder than it was 3 months ago, I get to treat myself with…the LaCroix of beers?  I swear, I could drink 18 thousand Michelob Ultra’s, and on Ultra number 17,999, while in the ambulance being rushed to the hospital for “wait, he’s drank how many beers?” I’d still be sober enough to know that Michelob Ultra’s taste like spiked, old-man fart water.

So the diet is going great and I can’t wait to attack the day and enjoy my snack of a handful of mixed nuts in a couple hours!

INITIAL “GREAT, NOW I HAVE TO DIET” WEIGHT:  202.6lbs.

LAST WEIGH IN:  I don’t want to put it in writing because if I don’t put it in writing, it’s not real.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

That moment after talking to someone when you’d normally shake hands and now you don’t know what to do so you make some dumb air-five gesture and then want to kill yourself.

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

 

K, bye.

I’m Still Married!

OUR WORLD:

How many more times are people going to write the “Exercise is the Best Distraction!” article during quarantine?  We get it, working out is good for you.  Yet these writers and trainers and celebrities wearing sports bras and cool jogging pants, can’t wait to share this “discovery” with anyone who has a pulse.  You might as well write an article entitled “Shooting Yourself in the Head Does Not Increase Life Expectancy”.

I do hope that this HISTORICALLY SIZED ordeal leads to a more empathetic and compassionate society, but…can we not turn into dopes who nod at every BLATANTLY OBVIOUS suggestion thrown our way?  If the only people outside of our family that we’re directly interacting with are Peloton trainers named Hannah, I’m worried we’ll all become amateur motivational speakers who confuse ambiguous platitudes with wisdom.  Yes, I checked dictionary.com to make sure I was using ‘platitudes’ correctly and that’s exactly the kind of unfiltered honesty we need right now!  That’s why you’re here!  That’s why I’m here!  THAT’S WHY WE’RE IN THIS RIDE TOGETHER NOT ALLOWING OUR INNERSELVES TO TELL US TO STOP RIDI–Wait.  Did you…Did I…Jesus Christ you guys, I’m starting to talk like Peloton Hannah.

Yes, exercise is the best distraction right now.  I’m not arguing that because I agree with it and because I bought an exercise bike and the Peloton app and I really wanted to tell you that.  BUT! How about some real-life, salt of the earth, HONEST other “best” distractions? Remember, the point is to distract your brain for the sake of your mental health.  Let’s bend the rules a bit, and prioritize honesty, shall we?

GETTING IN ARGUMENTS ABOUT SOMETHING SMALL AND BRINGING IN PAST DISAGREEMENTS AND OTHER UNRELATED ISSUES TO MAKE IT BIGGER

(Right when I started to write this section, I took WAY too big of a bite of a banana and now I’m thinking that mondo-sized banana bites are a top-tier corona distraction…PUSH PAST THIS, JIMMY!  DIG DEEP!)

Allow me to paint a picture:  You’re cooking dinner for your sweet, sugar baby on a Tuesday night.  Seasoning raw chicken with your bare hands is gross but you do it because you love your cutie pie, sugar baby.  Cutting vegetables you aren’t even excited about eating with a purple knife that isn’t sharp enough.  Talking yourself out of adding potatoes to round the dish out because you’ve eaten 6.7 pounds of pretzel rods over the last 36 hours.  “All I really want is chicken and vegetables,” is ALWAYS a lie, but it’ll make you both feel superior to the rest of the world for one meal, so that’s the plan.

Midway through prep, cleaning while you cook so the love of your entire life doesn’t have to lift a finger even afterwards, you notice an old paper grocery bag has reappeared…next to your newly purchased $100 garbage can.  You’ve seen this arrangement before, but she vowed to retire it once you agreed to the $100 stainless steel trash can purchase.

“Sweetheart?  What is this?”

“What is what babe?”

(Now with a hint of an edge) “This,” you say as you remain “calm”, but point.

She lets out an audible sigh (aka the couple fight’s starting whistle) and heads over to the kitchen.  When she arrives to see her HUNK of a husband standing in place while pointing at a paper bag on the ground, she knows what he’s pointing at, but MUST ask once again.

(With a distinctly annoyed tone) “What?”

This is where the fight begins and GOOD GOD is it a delicious distraction!  As you smack your lips in anticipation, remember NOT TO HOLD BACK!  NOW IS NOT THE TIME TO SLOW DOWN! (Peloton Hannah would be so proud!)  Nope!  Bring up the thousands of makeshift “grocery bag garbage cans” you’ve had to clean up in all of the years you’ve been together.  Make special mention of how now that you live in the suburbs, you can’t simply throw an open bag into a dumpster, before reminding her of the SOLEMN OATH that she took the day you agreed to put your CC # in the space below the ONE HUNDRED GODDAMN DOLLAR GARBAGE CAN SHE PICKED OUT ON LOWES.COM!

Was it an honest, no-big-deal mistake on her part?  A thoughtless, harmless error?  Uh, that doesn’t fucking matter, guys.  We’re trying to preserve our mental health by engaging in “distractions.”  So dig in, embrace your initial testosterone fueled reaction, and say something grand, like, “It’s fine, I’ve just resigned myself to having to pick up random trash bags wherever you feel like setting one up FOR THE REST OF MY GODDAMN LIFE!”

This is when she’ll be sure to point out that you are overreacting.  (Thanks Sherlock!)  And, like she’s reading the line from a script that never had a chance of being bought, she drops a “calm down” like the sledge-hammer those two words are.

Your move Jack!

“Oh, calm like you?  Like how you were the first time you met my ex?  Okay, yeah, I’ll be calm like you!”

And boom, enjoy the next few hours of not having every thought in your brain begin with, “wait, when was the last time I washed my hands?”

ROAD RAGE

If you haven’t been on the highways during quarantine, you are missing an opportunity to fear for your life from something other than THE INVISIBLE ENEMY.  Nope, on these roads the enemy is very visible, in the form of a 2009 Nissan Altima with tinted windows that just swerved in front of you going 97MPH in a driving rain.  THIS IS WHAT WE TRAIN FOR!!!!

Normally, the move would be to throw that invisible frisbee through the roof of your car and blurt out a panicked “Jesus!” before calming down by talking to yourself about how there should be an IQ test to get your license.  But not now.  This ain’t normal times!  Now, you should speed up a little.  Maybe even a lot, while laying on the horn.  Widen your eyes, open your capillaries and allow the rage to coarse through your entire body.

Do you have a gun?  Wave it!

Now, because it’s an Altima, you’re not going to want to pull even with it.  Let’s be real, Nelson and his Tinted Windowed Nissan ALSO has a gun.  But, he’s not going to be able to shoot you if you stay behind him.  So that’s all you have to do.  Get close enough to where this piece of human waste for driving faster than he should, can see you doing the Macarena with a pistol in his rearview.  THAT’LL TEACH HIM!

On the off off off chance that a cop pulls you over, just explain to him that you were looking for a worthy enough distraction to preserve your mental health, and Nelson’s Nissan was the exact tonic you were searching for!  If that doesn’t work (which it most certainly will not) well then you’re fucked and will probably be brought into the Police station.  But, if you’re charged with whatever people are charged with for waving firearms while driving, at least you’ll have something other than your last meal to talk about on your next Zoom call.

ZOOMING IN ON EVERY PICTURE TEXTED TO YOU TO FIND, AND CALL OUT ANY IMPERFECTIONS

In this one group chat I’m in, any time someone sends a picture, the rest of us zoom in on every other part of the picture that’s not THE FOCUS of what the sender intended.  Picture of their kid holding up a book?  We’re all frantically zooming around the rest of the frame looking for something…anything…that doesn’t look the way that it should—GOT IT!

“What’s with this?” is sent right below a zoomed in screen shot of a beer can in the upper right corner of said picture.  This will be followed by a barrage of hyper-critical texts along the lines of: “Wow, drinking already?” “Does your wife know you’re drinking?” “How many is that?” “When’s the last day you didn’t have 9 beers?” “Mix in a water!”

Before Dad of The Year knows it, his innocent baby picture has turned into a shame fest, devolving from sarcastic jabs, to pleas to change the subject, to finally, a legitimately angry “I’m not drinking!”

It’s never not fun.

  

MY WORLD:

Three years ago today, I got married to the VP of Ops.  To commemorate our 3rd anniversary on a blog that brings in zero dollars and has caused a few tiffs (wait, you’re seriously mad that I wrote about how you wear the same black shirt like 3 days a week?  Oh…yeah, slam the door! REAL MATURE!!!)  I’m going to write about what I remember about our first date: on May 3, 2013.

            It was a cold, dark night.  A baby’s cry in the distance.  A beggars cup rattled in between the hurried footsteps of guilt-ridden businessmen playing deaf.  “What a world we live in,” I grumbled as I lit up a cigarette under a dim moonlight.  Wait.  Shit, sorry.  Wrong night.  That’s right, the night before our first date I was probably about to get smashed on 9 IPAs or something, when my roommate, Mike, asked if I wanted to go to a concert with him, his new girlfriend, and HER roommate.

“She a girl, right?” I slurred.  Upon confirmation that “she a girl,” I quickly accepted the offer in my head, but had to do the thing where I acted like I had to think about it for a second.  I did this by looking up and saying “uhhh….”  (ACTING!)  Actually, turns out that I was the 2nd choice for this date.  My other roommate, a whiny little bitch of a human, who I’ve made cry multiple times in fights, called “Daaaaaaaave” , was asked before I was and turned down the offer.  (Years later, Dave loves to remind me of this and how I basically owe my marriage to him.  In response, I bring this up to the VP and she reminds me how much better looking I am than Dave.  So, now that’s in writing.)    

Anyway, upon accepting, I asked for a scouting report on the roommate from Mike, he said “she’s super fun, really cute, but I won’t lie, she’s kinda boy crazy.”  I’ve told The VP this and she gets mad every time.  She assures me that she wasn’t “boy crazy” (is “boy crazy” the delicate way of saying “slutty”?  We’ll never know!)  Instead, she reams Mike out and talks about how she would “like go on dates, but I wasn’t boy CRAZY.”  Who do I believe?  What do I believe?  I don’t know, who cares? Honestly, the “boy crazy” thing didn’t really faze me.  I was too busy looking through her pictures on Facebook and trying not to say things like “she’s too hot for me”-out loud.  Because, that was the thing, my confidence was still a minor issue back then (back then? Jimmy, you asked Erin how you looked yesterday after meeting a middle-aged neighbor for the first time.  It still ain’t great!) but seeing a bunch of hot girl pictures from her college sorority days definitely rattled my nerves.  I wanted to ask Mike if he thought I was pretty enough for her, but Mike and I were in the beginning stages of our friendship so…I COULDN’T LET HIM KNOW THAT I WAS AN INSECURE BABY YET EITHER!!!

The 24 hours leading up to the date consisted of me going for a long run because I used to be able to do that without stopping after 13 minutes to use my “bad ankle” as an excuse.  (“No, it’s not the fact that I drink too much and enjoy dessert every night, it’s this damn ankle!”)  After the run, I did what back then was about the bravest thing I could do…I decided to wear the J.Crew hoodie that was a little too small on me.  I’ve always SUCKED at buying clothes, which means that I normally only have one “hey, is he a cool guy?”-outfit available.  This J.Crew hoodie (that my mom probably bought for me years prior) hadn’t gotten much wear because it was the “is this guy in good enough shape to wear something this fitting?”-size.  But this hot-girl-date-night called for me to at least pretend like I could pull off this snug hoodie.  Looking back, I pulled that hoodie OFF!  (Allow me a few seconds to be sad about how much worse looking I’ve gotten in the years since…Hey!  Looks aren’t everyth—goddamnit, yes they are.  They are.  They’re everything, and I have none of them and…I have nothing.  I am empty.)

The plan was for Mike and I to go to the girls’ apartment in Lakeview, have enough drinks for me to feel not paralyzed by “Excuse me girl, am I hot enough?”-thoughts and then go to a concert at The Metro (cool person music venue by Wrigley Field that I had never been to before, but I definitely didn’t admit that, that night.  I’m sure I said something along the lines of “Metro?  Love the Metro!”)  As we walked into their garden-level unit, I did that acting thing again where I pretended like I didn’t need to guzzle rubbing alcohol to feel comfortable.  The VP was still getting ready, so I had time to settle on what pose I should be in when she entered the living room.  The VP’s roommate, Amanda, put on some music and gave Mike and I NOT NEARLY ENOUGH BOOZE!  Mike and I waited in the living room with Amanda, which meant that Mike and his new girlfriend, Amanda, made eyes at each other while paying enough fake attention to me to temper the bubbling awkwardness.

Finally, after what must have been more than 4 MINUTES, The VP entered the living room with a spin.  I’m not joking, she walked in, waved and before introducing herself, she just spun around.  It was so fucking cool.  As I scrambled to say something interesting after introducing my DUMB self, the song “Mirrors” by Justin Timberlake came on.  Mike and Amanda were being all gooey with each other across the room, leaving all the pressure in the world on me to say something at least MILDLY entertaining.  (Has anyone mentioned your tiny sweatshirt yet?) 

“You know, I don’t care what anyone thinks, this song fucking rules.”  That was the first sentence I said to my now-wife.  And she FRIGGIN’ LOVED IT!  Honestly, I could tell in real-time that she thought, “whoa, this guy is secure enough to say that he loves a Justin Timberlake song on a first date.”  Two things on that: 1) I wasn’t, but 2) You have to remember that back in 2013, Justin Timberlake wasn’t super cool yet.  He was still “that boy band guy,” so it wasn’t the coolest thing for a guy to freely admit that he was into “that boy band guy.”  My gamble paid off.  Now, she thought I was secure enough to be with her “I know I’m fine as hell”-ass, AND she thought I was funny because who says that out of nowhere?  THIS GUY DOES!

From there, the drinks were a flowin’!  JIMMY IN HIS EL-E-MENT BABAYYYYY!  (So, your element is drinking?  Cool, I bet her Mom is so happy she found you!)  By the time we walked over to the Metro, I couldn’t have cared less about who we were going to see.  I was going to talk to The VP through the whole show and not give A CARE what was going on on-stage. Seriously, Jon Lenon could’ve been resurrected for a one-night only Beatles reunion show that night, and I wouldn’t have taken an iPhone pic.  Now, it didn’t help that the band we were seeing was called “Purity Ring”—a band that neither The VP nor myself had ever heard of.  What did that mean?  You guessed it, WE ‘GON BE TALKIN’ THROUGH THE ENTIRE SHOW!!!! Yeah, legit fans of “Purity Ring” were about to HATE us…and they did.

Midway through the song about being pure or wearing rings or whatever, I got “shushed” by a (do I say what I really thought?  Even though it’ll make me sound like a meathe–) dude who looked even wimpier than me in my tiny J.Crew hoodie.  So you bet your ass your ass I responded to his “shush” with a hearty “go fuck yourself!”  Yeah, I did!  Listen, if you’re not drooling at the opportunity to show a girl who’s WAY hotter than you that you’re tough, as early as possible, I don’t know what to tell ya!  Trust me, I did the whole sensitive guy thing throughout high school and you know how many dates that got me?  ZERO!  ZERO DATES!

From there, I reveled in being public enemy number one at this show.  Now, if this were a Metallica show, would I have been so excited to be hated by everyone around me?  Absolutely not.  In fact, I would have been quite scared…maybe even cried.  But this wasn’t a Metallica show.  This was a “Purity Ring” show, a band that’s following primarily worked as freelance graphic designers who can’t wait to talk about their “disgust with consumerism” at every family gathering.  It was the perfect setting for a fake tough guy (Me) to act tough. And while The VP will say that she hated it and hates tough guys and likes sensitive guys and blah blah blah.  She loved it.  I could tell, she loved that I told that guy to “go fuck himself.”  She was impressed in that way you get when you’re uncomfortable but thrilled that you’re not next to the “shusher.”

When the show ended, The VP and I realized that we hadn’t listened to one song throughout the entire set (like I said, we were the worst people in that concert.  Hand up, we were “those people.”)  We met up with Mike and Amanda, and decided to all take a picture together.  This is my favorite picture ever.  I remember looking at it the next day and thinking “I actually pulled off the tiny hoodie!  And…I think I really, really like this girl.”

VP, I love you enough to act tough when I’m really not; to dress cool when I really can’t; and to…care for a psychopath dog that I bought for you to get out of momentarily “forgetting” your birthday ONE TIME!  (I didn’t REALLY forget it and that’s final and I will go to the Supreme Court to prove my innocence!)  

Honestly, I’m looking forward to my first suburban tiff with a guy I think I can take, because no feeling is better than the one I get impressing you.

Happy Anniversary.  I love you.

IMG_5778

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

This song still kicks LIKE A MULE!

 

K, bye.

Can You Put Out a Fire with Alcohol?

MY WORLD:

I now regularly eat hot dogs for lunch.  What used to be a once or twice A YEAR treat at a baseball game, is now an almost DAILY dietary staple (Almost daily means not every day!  That’s a victory!)  A few days back, I sent a picture to my friends of my hotdogs in the refrigerator and said “sometimes I just like to watch them sleep.”  Yes, it was a joke…but, was it though?  There have now been multiple days where I open the fridge around 11:45 (don’t lie, you know you consider lunchtime 11am now) and I just look at the hot dogs in my fridge.  Am I smiling creepily while humming “Rock A Bye Baby” in the direction of my Ball Park Franks?  No! (Is that a victory for you at this point?)  But I do look at them…and…yeah, dream of how good two of them would taste at 11:13AM on a Tuesday?  YEAH, MAYBE I FUCKING DO!

Peak levels of stress now include the phrase “only about a week’s left of relish in there.”  There’s a guy across the street from me who just sits in his window now and looks outside, and while I was eating a lunch dog (no need to say “hot dog,” THERE’S JUST NO TIME!) I caught eyes with him and raised my hot dog up to him like a “cheers!”  Yeah, that’s right.  I cheers’d a stranger across the street at 11:13AM on a Tuesday with a hot dog.  THEN! When he didn’t nod back or show any form of acknowledging my dog cheers in any way, I got offended.  And you know what? I just….

Guys.

Jimmy stop.

I made up the hot dog cheers’ing thing.

I didn’t make up the lunch dogs infatuation, but my brain is becoming so warped, that midway through writing about my lunch pups (is that funnier than lunch ‘dog’?  Yeah, it is.  Stick with it!) I actually did catch eyes with the guy across the street who looks out his window and I thought “next time I have a lunch pup, I’m going to cheers him with it.  That’ll brighten his day!”  So I will do that next time and report back re: his reaction to the lunch pup cheers.  (And you thought you had nothing to look forward to!)

Aside from lunch pups and asking the VP of Ops to waterboard me with IPAs, I figured that buying a house in the middle of a global pandemic/economic meltdown, while my job skates on ice thinner than that picture of you from high school, was a prudent financial decision.  (Just googled the word ‘prudent’ to make sure it meant what I thought it meant, and IT WAS CLOSE ENOUGH!)  The VP and I closed on our first house on Friday, while my heart attempted to close on my body simultaneously.

What should have been an exuberant, exciting moment for us, felt more like a red carpet event for the premiere of “Jimmy’s First Stroke in the Citywide Title Office.”  When asked by those nosey paps who she was wearing, The VP of Ops smiled and said “the same leggings I had on while eating Munchos this morning!” Meanwhile, I carried her purse and used it to hide the grease stain on my 2007 Cincinnati Bearcats sweatpants. It was quite the affair, indeed.  Fortunately, or unfortunately (who knows right now? Stay positive though because the super negative people are awful to be around…but it’s so easy to just…STOP!) I did not suffer my first stroke while signing the closing papers to our first house.

Instead, I kept my big leather winter gloves and big puffy winter coat on the entire time we were signing a BAJILLION pages while constantly reminding myself to NOT TOUCH MY FATTER-BY-THE-SECOND FACE.  If you have never signed closing papers on a house before, here’s what it’s like: ten million pages are put in front of you and you have to go through them, one by one, slow enough that the guy thinks you’re actually reading them, but you’re really just looking for the lines with your name under them so you can sign there and feel a momentary sense of accomplishment.  (I found my name!  Mom! Dad!  I found my name on the page!)  On page nine thousand, four hundred and seventy six, you’ll look to your spouse with blurry eyes and say something like “I no read,” before drooling and then slamming your head on the table while scream-crying “I DON’T THINK I’M MATURE ENOUGH FOR THIS MAGNITUDE OF A PURCHASE!” (That did not go over well with the guy in the office but, thankfully, he yelled at me to get ahold of myself while staying 6 feet away.)

Then, once you’re done signing page four gajillion, you’ll sit alone in a lame office while hearing the office person dude mumble things like “are you sure?” into the phone on their desk.  (Is who sure? Do I want them to be sure? I’m not sure!  Should I tell him I’m not sure?!  SIR! I’M ALSO NOT SURE!)  Eventually, he will come back into the room, still wearing surgical gloves, remind you to take the pens with you, and congratulate you in a way that sounds more like “can I finally go home now and cry into my pillow about the future of our country?”

Closing on our first house in the middle of Shitstorm 3000 felt like trying to celebrate a birthday in New York on 9/11.  “Uhhh…yay!”  As hard as I was trying to stay positive and act excited, all I felt was this overwhelming squeeze of the unknown.  (Squeeze? Strangle?)  But while I drove back to our city apartment with The VP of Ops, I kept telling myself one thing over and over and over: “we’re all in this together.”

And it’s true.  How many times has there been a situation that you’ve dealt with where LITERALLY EVERYONE YOU KNOW IN THE UNIVERSE is dealing with the same thing?  As terrifying as this is, no one is exempt.  And the ones that you’re thinking aren’t worrying about it because they seem the same as they’ve always been?  They’re just better at acting than you are.  I’ve never felt more connected to everyone than I do now.

I’ve also never enjoyed hot dogs more than I do now.

OUR WORLD: 

We’re all living in an excruciatingly elongated moment right now that will change the world forever.  The way we look at World War II documentaries and the Civil Rights movement and think “Jesus, I can’t believe that actually happened!” is what smelly fatsos will be thinking about the movies about Coronavirus that come out in 2056.  And while I’m sure those movies will focus on the most terrifying aspects of what is going on right now, I’d like to note some of the other byproducts that will probably be overlooked by PBS’ 2056, Six-Part Docu-series “Covid 19”.

Hangovers were confused for coronavirus

I was going to write something about how internet is officially the best invention ever, but then I was like “but what about booze?”  The person who invented or discovered booze had to have done so in the middle of some terrifying episode in human evolution.

I’m imagining it was some woman with a broken leg who just heard from her friend that dinosaurs exist. “What’s a dinosaur?” she asked, before hearing a T-Rex roar and squeezing a bunch of grapes harder than grapes had ever been squeezed before.  Then, because Mrs. ‘BoutToBeEatenByMegaYoshi didn’t want to waste the only juice she’d be able to reach until her bum leg became unbummed, she started sucking the ground where the grape juice ran for days on end.  By day 6, with her broken leg throbbing, she sucked the ground harder than ever before and…felt some relief.  A bit of the spins and, finally….peace!  Then she heard a rustling in the bushes and went back to freaking out that she was about to be dino feed.

Anyway, that’s basically how alcohol is working for me right now.  As day turns to night, and stressors multiply to the point of swallowing me, I pour a beer.  And then another beer.  And then an old fashioned.  And then a pilsner because now I’ve got to cool down.  And then just a smidge of whiskey because I don’t need the sugar. And then I’m snoring on the couch in the middle of the sixth episode of “Mad Men” we’ve watched tonight.

Mornings then become a fun little game of “hangover or Corona.”  The first few hours of every day are now set aside for chugging water and coffee and telling yourself not to google corona symptoms for the nine thousandth time this week.  By the time 3PM rolls around and you’ve come out of the hangover enough to realize that maybe you don’t actually have this terrifying virus, well, there’s only one thing to do:  Celebrate.

Home workouts that lasted more than 8 minutes were treated like Olympic training sessions

Not to brag (but maybe a little bit? Fine, yeah.  Check out this shit!) but I ran a marathon not that long ago!  I wasn’t a hardcore “look at me I go to the gym”-guy, but I did go to the gym and didn’t shy away from mentioning that if it came up naturally in a conversation.  “Oh, your mother got a haircut?  Weird you mention that because I had my personal best incline bench yesterday!”

However, since this whole “You should stay home and use this as the ultimate excuse to be a blob”-order has come down, working out has fallen to the back of my priority list.  I’m sure I’m not alone in this either.  Yes, it’s true that moving around and exercising makes your brain feel better, but when your job is hanging by a wet fingernail, you have asthma and YOU JUST BOUGHT A FUCKING HOUSE, getting a sweat in doesn’t exactly register as “something I should focus on getting done today!”

This means that completing a sponsored Instagram ad showing you how to do a 15-minute at-home workout without equipment, is the equivalent of completing a Michael Phelps training session.  I came across one of these smiley Instagram trainers imploring me to “stay active indoors!” yesterday and thought “he’s smiling, so maybe I should listen to him.”

So I followed his “workout”.  This was the kind of workout that I would’ve made fun of in my physical peak, but now I got two minutes in and thought “could The Rock do what I’m doing right now?”  (Yes Jimmy, The Rock could do Jumping Jacks for 2 minutes and 14 seconds).  When I finished the “workout” 11 minutes later, the thin layer of sweat on my forehead might as well have been an Olympic Gold Medal.  I went up to the VP of Ops acting more out of breath than I really was and said stuff like, “just finished a little workout” hoping she would swoon and ask if it was okay to tell her friends about her husband’s physical accomplishments.

She didn’t do that. 

Employees at restaurants are fucking brave

I think we’ve all maybe thought this for a while, but if this whole ordeal doesn’t drive home the fact that people working at our favorite “I’m getting something that makes me feel good”-institutions, are brave as hell, then get your dumbass brain examined.  Seriously, if you’ve been through a drive-thru or ordered delivery over the past few weeks and enjoyed the dopamine rush that comes from eating your favorite foods, make sure you take a second to think of the people that went outside, in public, around others, to make that thing for you and get that thing to you.

Fucking restaurant people are awesome.

PODCAST: 

The Bill Simmons Podcast with Pearl Jam from last Thursday.

MUSIC: 

The new album from The Weeknd and all of these Instagram Live concerts that bands are doing.  Here’s The Weeknd from SNL before the world blew up:

TV: 

Watching “Mad Men” for the first time.  If you’re looking for EVEN MORE inspiration to drink, start watching this show. 

MOVIE:

The VP and I watched “Catch Me if You Can” yesterday.  It’s worth it because it’s Leo and Tom Hanks, but was I blown away?  No.  I was not blown away.

 

K, bye.

What Not To Do At Weddings

OUR WORLD:

A good friend of mine is getting married in Colorado this weekend, and aside from waiting till the absolute last second to get my shit dry-cleaned, I’m going over what not to do this weekend while at this wedding.  (Wait, a 34 year old man needs to talk to himself about what he CAN’T do at a wedding?)  Listen, I’m not here to try make you think I’m cool (mission accomplished, bubba).  I’m here to help you avoid the wedding behavior mistakes that I’ve made and witnessed (mostly made, though) so that your friends aren’t talking about that time they found you drunkenly eating a sandwich lost in a random hotel hallway, looking like someone who belonged in a mugshot.  Next time you go to a wedding, make sure you don’t do the following:

IF YOU PLAY GOLF BEFORE THE WEDDING, AVOID GETTING PAIRED WITH THE AUSTRALIAN GUY.

This means you’re going to have to go to the golf course already armed with excuses as to why you can’t play with “Mike the Australian”.  Be fucking ready with these excuses, I’M NOT JOKING!  Because if they’re calling out the golf cart tandems, and they call “Mike the Australian” after your name then you’re in for a world of problems if you don’t have a “shit guys, my shoulder is really acting up” in your back pocket.  If, like me, you’re cocky enough to think that you can handle yourself while in a golf cart with a cool-accent-guy who drinks 24/7, then get ready to be IN TROUBLE.

Why?  Because whenever you’re in close quarters with an Australian guy, you want them to like you.  These people have the coolest accents in the world, and you’ll convince yourself that once you’re friends with an Australian, that some of that badassery-dust will rub off on you.  It won’t, guys.  You’ll just be the American guy who hung out with an Australian one time golfing at a wedding.  You won’t learn how to speak like that, how to act calm in the face of danger, or how to have every girl in a room thing you’re hot no matter where your hairline sits.  You’ll still be you, standing in the corner with your hands in your pockets because you forgot to cut your fingernails FOR A FOURTH STRAIGHT DAY AFTER REALIZING THEY WERE TOO LONG!!!  GODDAMNIT!!!

But once you’re in a golf cart with MikeTheAustralian, you’re going to forget all this and think to yourself “I think I’m about to be best friends with a guy who sounds like Chris Hemsworth.”  If you close your eyes, you’ll be able to convince yourself that you’re golfing with Thor.  The problems start, however, once the cart girl comes by and asks if you’d like anything to drink.  Uh….NO FUCKING DUH WE WANT DRINKS!  But while your boring, no-accent real friends are ordering Bud Lights and Snickers, you view this as your opportunity to prove how badass you are to your new Thor-sounding friend.  So you order two shots along with your beers, and before you know it, you’ve initiated a routine on THE SECOND FUCKING HOLE that whenever the cart girl comes around, you’re taking a shot with MikeTheAustralian.

I won’t lie to you guys, at first this is going to be really fucking cool.  Your loser American friends will be all “holy shit, they’re taking shots!” and be a little jealous from afar.  And Mike will be so excited that he’ll do something like slap you on the back, or grab your shoulder in that way that says “we’re gonna be lifelong friends and you’re going to be able to use an Australian accent one day because I’m going to give you the credibility to do it.”  You’ll start doing the things you do as you climb Buzz mountain, like laughing too hard at mean things, using a more gravely voice to make inappropriate jokes, and completely ignoring that it’s not even 10am, you’ve had 3 shots already and you’re supposed to be at a fancy dinner AFTER this round.  Consequences are in your fucking rearview as you lean forward, arms extended through the front of your golf cart, screaming “I’m king of the world!”

But you’re not king of the world; you’re king of the about-to-be-in-big-trouble-with-your-future-wife because, for some reason, she’s not going to find it funny when she has to dump water on you to get you to wake back up for the rehearsal dinner.  At that point, following a round of golf where you’re legitimately unsure of whether the number on your scorecard was the number of shots you took, or the number of golf swings you made, you won’t be able to explain that it was because you were paired with an Australian who you HAD to impress.  Nope, instead you’ll say something like “just took a lil sleepy nap!” And she’ll roll her eyes as she readies herself to go to the rehearsal dinner with the “keep your eye on him”-guy.

DON’T ACTUALLY FIGHT OR EVEN THREATEN TO FIGHT SOMEONE AT THE REHEARSAL DINNER.

Sometimes “fight guy” is cool.  Yeah, I know that’s an unpopular opinion, but sometimes when there’s an asshole in a bar and your group’s “fight guy” has had enough…it’s fun to watch him get all riled up.  Unfortunately, this does not apply to Wedding Rehearsal Dinners where “fight guy” will double as “he’s about to ruin the most important weekend of these people’s lives because he just got shushed”-guy.

You need to be aware enough that you could become this guy ESPECIALLY if you were paired with MikeTheAustralian earlier in the day at the golf course.  (This sounds very specific, Jimmy.  Like…)  Hypothetically speaking, IF you were paired with MikeTheAustralian at the golf course, needed your girlfriend to dump a bucket of cold water on you to wake you up after the round, and then, I don’t know, happen to get “shushed” for talking too loud during one of the groomsmen’s speech, you may find yourself in the middle of an uncontrollable rage.  Yes, we can all agree that being “shushed” is infuriating and that, in normal settings, it would justify throwing said “shusher” into an active volcano.  However, when you’re already the “keep your eye on him”-guy, and its a wedding rehearsal dinner, actions made out of rage are frowned upon.

Knowing this, I bet you’re just going to tell anyone with ears at that dinner that you’re going to “beat the shit out of Shush McGee”.  You’re going to tell all these people-with-ears this multiple times throughout the rest of the night thinking that this is your only alternative to NOT punching his face off.  The ears people aren’t going to think “wow, this guy is tough, but also has restraint.  I respect that.”  Not even close.  They’re going to think, “so, who here is going to tell security about this guy and his fireball breath?”

BE HONEST WITH YOURSELF AND MAKE SURE YOU’RE WEARING PANTS THAT FIT.

Surprisingly, this goes both ways.  Yes, at this point in MY life, I am officially NEVER in the “hey, these pants are too loose”-crowd.  But, I was there at one point in my life when I ran more often than I ate a family-sized bag of Tostitos Scoops.  If your pants are too big because you bought them when you were in a fat phase, but you’re thinking you can get away with not buying pants that fit, you’re going to regret looking like a bozo-the-clown in pictures with your big baggy dress pants.  They’re going to make you look shorter than you already are, and sloppier than you want to admit you are.  Spend the $40 at Nordstrom Rack and get a pair of pants that don’t gather at your feet.

Then there’s the other side.  The worse side.  The scarier side of this predicament.  The “yeah these are tight, but I only have to wear them for a few hours”-sized pants.  You’ll wear them out of a combination of not wanting to spend money on a style of pants you wear twice a year, AND not wanting to admit that you’ve put on weight since the last wedding you were at 14 months ago.  Guess what?  Calories matter, even if you’re standing while eating in the kitchen.  Don’t believe what they say, eating leftovers while standing in front of the fridge right before bed counts against your daily calorie total.

Now, you’re stuck at a wedding having to lean back in your chair, while keeping your legs straight so that your pants’ ass doesn’t burst in front of the bride’s Aunt Helen.  Getting on the dance floor means that you won’t even get to THINK about bending, and all of the great looking food and cake is just going to remind you that you’re a fatter version of yourself than you were at the last wedding you were at.  Not to mention, you’re friggin starving but have NEGATIVE space to spare around your waist, so eating anything other than mixed nuts is out of the question.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When you’re getting your haircut and the stylist asks how you want it and you have no idea what to say.  You want to be like “uh…shorter,” but you know she’s looking for more details so you just hem and haw until you feel like an absolute IDIOT.  JUST MAKE ME LOOK BETTER THAN I CURRENTLY DO!

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Whoa, just came across this little diddy and I lurvvvve it so so much.

 

MOM MEMORY OF THE DAY:

One time my Mom was dropping my friends and I off at the mall, and she was looking for a parking spot so she could go in and buy something for herself.  It was really crowded, so as she went up and down the aisles of packed cars, she got more and more frustrated.  Then she hit the rows of handicapped parking spots, all of which were empty…full rows completely empty.  Unable to find a spot, with snot-nosed dorks in her backseat, her anger crescendoed and she let out a “Jesus Christ, how many goddamn handicapped people are they expecting?!?!”

Sorry Mom, that’s a funny one.

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.

 

I’m Not Exercising, but It’s Not My Fault

*Quick disclaimer: Remember when I wrote about how I was shot in the head by the Chicago Bears starting kicker?  That was like so so long ago that I can’t even remember it! Tehehehehe!  I just want you to know that I’m okay.  Unfortunately, due to doctor-patient legalese that I don’t want to bore you with, I can’t get into specifics like if I was actually shot in the head with a gun by Cody Parkey.  Just know that I’m going to be okay and I WOULD get into it, but I don’t want to be tied up in court cases for the foreseeable future.  Lawyers, amirite?!?!  

OUR WORLD:

For most of you, now is the time of year you’re getting back into shape, looking in the mirror and saying things like “this year’s gonna be different”, getting more serious about your career, and showing off all the new clothes you got for Christmas.  What a hopeful time!  But then, there are people like…well, me.  The kind of people who went to the gym yesterday, realized they forgot to pack gym shorts, and used that as a very very acceptable excuse to then go home without working out.  Do you live 2 blocks from the gym too?  Did you also then drink a beer while watching “The Bachelor” on DVR?!?! MY PEOPLE!

In an effort to help all of my fellow Chairmen out there (whoa, who wants to start a “Chairmen” fan club?!?!) I wanted to help you out with things you can watch and listen to while you’re at home and not at the gym but only because you forgot to pack your shorts.    Don’t worry, we all know had you packed your shorts, you’d be pounding that treadmill like all those try-hards clogging your Facebook feed with their #NewYearNewMe selifes.

THE JIMMYSCHAIR “DAMN, I FORGOT TO PACK MY GYM SHORTS, AND I CAN’T WORKOUT IN WORK PANTS, SO I’M HEARTBROKEN TO BE FORCED TO JUST GO HOME AND DO THIS INSTEAD” LIST 

WATCH THIS:  “Bodyguard” (Netflix Show)

The first half of the first episode of this show is, quite possibly, the most exciting first half of an episode of television I have ever seen.  Quite?  You know what, I’m gonna upgrade that to ‘VERY quite’.  Aside from looking to your significant other and saying things like “holy fucking butt!” you will find yourself wondering where the main dude is from.  He has one of those “I know you”-faces and it’ll take a minute.  Then your wife will look it up on IMDB, even though you ask her to “let me think about it,” and tell you that it’s the Game of Thrones guy!  The one that….?! YEAH! THAT ONE!

I know how hard it is to get into a new show these days, with all of the options out there, but this one has an easy litmus test.  If you watch the first 15 minutes and aren’t into it, then pull the ripcord because you’re A LOON WHO COULDN’T RECOGNIZE GREAT TELEVISION IF IT SHOT YOU IN THE HEAD LIKE CODY PARKEY SHO—(REDACTED BY JIMMY’S LEGAL TEAM)—and now people are feeling bad for him?!?!?!  Sorry, I lost control for a second.  Just watch the first 15 minutes of the first episode and judge for yourself.

Oh yeah, quickly, I would like to officially announce that I have flipped my long held belief that watching a show with subtitles STINKS.  There’s an exception to that rule: if the main characters have thick accents, subtitles do not stink.  In fact, they enhance the viewing experience because you’ll no longer have to rewind every 3.7 seconds when your wife goes “wait, what did he just say?”  Trust me, aside from being able to know exactly what Andy Accent just said, you’re also going to avoid many “well maybe if you’d just pay attention and stop looking at your phone, you’d know what he said”-fights with your significant other.

What is the show actually about?  Look it up on IMDB.  It doesn’t matter, though, I’m telling you it’s good.

LISTEN TO THIS:  “Bag Man” (Podcast)

If you’re looking to not think about sports because the kicker for your favorite team recently missed a kick, forcing your favorite team out of the playoffs before they were supposed to be out, and then ended up shooting yo–(REDACTED BY JIMMY’S LEGAL TEAM)–and you’re like, how do people still feel bad for this guy?!?! Then I am BEGGING you to listen to this podcast hosted by Rachel Maddow.  Not a fan of Rachel Maddow?  First off, that’s a red flag that you’re a red jag (I’m really proud of that line and am going to take a lap around the apartment to celebrate it) but, also, you don’t have to be a fan of hers to enjoy this.  However you feel politically, there’s no argument that she has a nice voice.  It’s soothing and smart without being too NPR-ish (why does everyone on NPR whisper-talk?!?!)  

So you settle in with a smart, soothing voice to help you forget the third workout in a row you’ve missed because you forgot to pack those damn shorts again!!! From there, it’s an incredibly fascinating deep dive into the story surrounding Richard Nixon’s VP (not his wife), Spiro Agnew.  Have you heard of this dude before?  Oh…you have? Yeah, me too.  Totally.  Spiro? I thought you said ‘Steven’!  Yeah, I know Spiro.  It was confusing cuz I was all like “I definitely know a Spiro Agnew, but I don’t know a Steven Agnew.”

Anyway, as we all know, Spiro Agnew, was Nixon’s VP throughout his first term and up until right before the Watergate shit REALLY hit the fan.  He ended up resigning because of…well, people weren’t really sure but it seemed like it was kinda related to some minor tax evasion issue.  The real story of why he actually resigned was lost in the glut of history, and that’s what this podcast delves into.  Why was Spiro Agnew the first VP to ever resign while in office?  And, folks, it was not just because of some minor tax evasion charge.  We’re talking conspiracy, “I can’t believe this happened in real life”-type shit.  It’s intoxicating.

The VP and I listened to this entire series while driving down to Mississippi for Christmas and it made me love sitting in my car for hours on end.  Since listening to this podcast, I have been obsessed with everything related to Watergate and Nixon.  History repeats itself y’all, and I can’t wait to write a review 20 years from now about “Bag Man 2: Trump Did Bad Stuff!”

COOK THIS:  Gorgonzola-Stuffed Steak Roll-Ups

Every year when The VP and I head down to her family’s in Mississippi, I cook a meal for everybody one night.  It makes me feel like less of a piece of shit for eating all their food for a week, and The VP gets to offer to help me in front of her Mom (I decline this help because I don’t need help.  Ever.)  Last year I made Chicken Parmesan and spaghetti, but this year I wanted to step it up a notch; a last ditch effort to get everyone to be impressed with me despite my wardrobe.

So I looked up a fancy recipe and this one was the perfect combination of looking like it took a TON of skill and effort, while not actually taking that much skill or effort.  BINGO! Here’s what you do:

–Get a flank steak that’s butterflied.  If you get one that’s not butterflied already, GOOD LUCK PAL!

–Sprinkle kosher salt and ground black pepper all over the steak.  The higher you hold your hand while sprinkling, the cooler you look.

–Across the middle, line the steak with gorgonzola cheese, fire-roasted chopped red peppers, and arugula.  You’re going to roll this shit up, so don’t go nuts with how much of each you put in.

–Time to roll that steak over the cheese, peppers and arugula.  This is kinda gross as you really have to manhandle the meat to do this properly, but that’s what badass professional chefs do.  Word to the wise; once rolled, you’re going to need to tie this bad boy.  Have 6-8 long pieces of kitchen twine cut before you start to roll the steak.

–Once rolled, tie it up with the kitchen twine.  Think one tie every 1.5 inches along the length of the steak roll.  Tie it especially at the ends of the steak.  You’re trying to keep all the gooey cheesiness inside.

–Cut this steak roll into like 4 equal pieces.  Make sure not to cut too close to the ties, so as not to undo all the cool badass chef stuff you’ve done already.  You’re going to sear these.

–Once cut, get a cast iron skillet SCORCHING hot with olive oil.  I’m talking the kind of hot that sets off the smoke alarm in your Ukrainian Village, one-bedroom apartment (just me?)  You’re going to sear these steak pinwheels, cut-side down, for about 2 minutes each side.  Once done. Pop the skillet with the steak pinwheels into the oven (350 degrees) for about 10 more minutes.

–Take out of the oven, cover with foil on a plate, and let rest for 5 minutes before cutting the twine and serving.

–Serve and act all nonchalant about what you just did.

MY WORLD:

With my head recovering from–(REDACTED BY JIMMY’S LEGAL TEAM)–I wanted to talk about something a little lighter today.  And by lighter, I mean food that makes you heavier!  I give you the Official 2019 Jimmyschair Fast Food Chain Restaurants Ranking (Pizza not allowed):

  1.  McDonald’s:  Best chemicals in the game.  I’m not debating this.
  2.  Chick Fil A:  There’s no denying those biscuits.  Also, the service is just delightful!
  3.  Newks:  Southern sandwich/pizza chain.  The Newks Q is all I want to eat when I’m visiting the VPs fam.  Like, every meal.  I’m not exaggerating that I suggest it for every meal.
  4.  In-N-Out:  I was a hater for no good reason for way too long.  The cheeseburger is so good, it doesn’t matter that the fries suck.
  5.  Potbelly:  Chicken salad sandwich with bacon. FOGETTABOUDIT!
  6.  Starbucks: their sandwiches are tremendous.  Also, don’t sleep on their chocolate chip cookies.
  7. Taco Bell: Had it for the first time last year.  What a revelation.  The taco with the Dorito shell is a game-changer.
  8. Kane’s Chicken:  Best sauce in the entire universe.
  9. Auntie Anne’s:  Limited menu? Yes.  But is there a better smell in the world than those pretzels?
  10. Jimmy John’s:  Their bread is incredible and has become my go-to sandwich spot when I’m hungover.

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

The VP and I watched “The Bachelor” last night and it was just okay, which is why I didn’t write a full-on review.  This season is all about how the bachelor, Colton, is a virgin.  It’s weird.  There was a part that made me laugh really hard though, and so I recorded it.  Chris Harrison, the host, was talking to Colton about how people have reacted to him being a virgin.  As Colton went through some insults hurled his way, Chris Harrison forced his way in with a “that you’re not a man!” and it got me REAL GOOD.  Enjoy.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When you wake up with a crick in your neck and you have to do weird neck stretches all day that make you look like the bad guy from “Men In Black”.

JIMMY GAMBLES:

I made a bet with a friend of mine that the Cody Parkey will not be on the Bears opening day roster next year.  This means that he now has to root for the Bears to keep the person who just ruined the most fun season of the past 10 years.  HAVE FUN WITH THAT PAL!

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.

 

 

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.

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

OUR WORLD:  

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

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

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

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

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

ONTO GRADING THE TRAILERS!

“A Star is Born”

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

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

Bradley: “Hey”

Lady: “What?” (as she turns around)

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

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

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

JIMMYSCHAIR FACE REVIEW:

GOOD

“The Old Man & The Gun”

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

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

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

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

JIMMYSCHAIR FACE REVIEW:

okay

“Life Itself”

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

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

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

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

JIMMYSCHAIR FACE REVIEW:

okay

MY WORLD:  

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

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

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

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

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

JIMMY GAMBLES:

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

(Account currently at $11.42)

K bye.