Mondays and Oscar Recap

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Omarosa

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

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

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

(My account currently at $44.28)

K bye.

Oscars Predictions and an Ideal Friday (3/2/2018)

MY WORLD:

Happy Friday y’all! (I can say y’all cuz the VP of Ops is from the South and I’m married to her so I get to do what she gets to do because marriage is fair and that’s fair and shut up). The excitement I feel when I wake up Friday morning is the closest I now get to the excitement of childhood Christmas morning. Instead of running down the stairs to see presents, I’m running down the clock to get to drink many many alcohols. As a functional (FUNCTIONAL!) alcoholic, weekends are when I get to introduce the public to JIMMY GOOD TIMES aka JGT. I rid myself of the crippling fear of hangovers-which has ruined weeknight drinking for me forever-and am an overall much nicer, funnier, relaxed, better looking person (the better looking part of JGT abruptly ends when I wake up Sunday morning and morph into JIMMY SWEATPANTS; an overwhelmed, disheveled manager of hangovers and Sunday scaries who ONLY wears the pair of black Jordan Brand sweatpants that he bought in high school using his parents money.)

Every Friday seems to get away from me before it even starts, though. Like, I’ll get so excited that I’ll have a beer or two at lunch (BREAKING NEWS: Jimmy Good Times is at the gas station filling up that tank!) After an afternoon of e-mails, Steve Winwood tunes and some V suave, yet subtle seated dance moves, I basically run out to my car, forget any plans that I had for the night and lose myself in a “whatever, as long as I have a beer”-mindset. Think of how your dog acts when you ask if he wants a treat, then multiply that by FIFTY HUNDRED MILLION THOUSAND!

In an effort to plan ahead like uhhhhhh an adult, I would like to set forth my ideal Friday. Now look guys, while this is ideal, I also want it to be at least potentially realistic, so it won’t include deep-tissue massages from the girl in “Peaky Blinders” or Eddie Vedder introducing me to Wrigleyville bartenders as his “inspiration”. Let’s get real, here’s my IDEAL Friday.

EARLY MORNING: I get up at 6:30 feeling like a crisp bill of fucking money. The VP of Ops takes Belle out for her morning walk (already beginning to feel unrealistic…) I put on my cool-guy gym outfit, go to my Planet Fitness (can’t hear your snide remarks in this purple judgment-free zone). Bang out a killer sweat sesh to alleviate any guilt that may try to slow down JGT later in the night. Take a shower, and go to work with hair day that deserves its own series on AMC.

MID MORNING: Get to work and am greeted with coworkers feeling awkward around me because they were just talking about how much they enjoy my social media presence (don’t feel awkward guys, I’m a regular human being person just like you). The song on the office stereo changes to “Valerie” by Steve Winwood. I barely notice how great of a job I’m doing at my desk because I’m lost in chair dancing. People pretend not to notice, but they can’t help but secretly envy my effortless rhythm in the seated position.

LUNCH: We go to Big Star for margs and tacos and sit outside cuz it’s a sunny 76 degrees and my skin tans to the perfect shade of “did you go on vacation?” I’ll eat 3 tacos cuz 4 makes my stum hurt and I don’t want to get too full to enjoy their supes refreshing margy’s. Oh, and they better salt the ever-loving shit outta’ that glass, cuz JGT is a Salt Boi 4 Lyfe! Tablemates ask why I haven’t eaten many chips, I lie to them and say “I didn’t even notice them on the table” when it’s really because I have tremendous self-control and am planning to overdose on chips tomorrow. 2 margs, 3 tacos and a solid base tan later and I’m ready to polish off the last 4 hours of this workweek (UPDATE: Jimmy Good Times has crossed state lines into Illinois! “I’m comin’ home, I’m comin’ home, tell the world cuz I’m comin’ home”-JGT)

AFTERNOON: Well worded e-mails come pouring out of my fingers with Queens of the Stone Age’s “Rated R” album playing in the background. The office is beginning to empty, but I’ll wait because I’m a hard worker…and I brought a mid-afternoon beer back to my desk to sip on. What beer you ask? Let’s go with a hoppy MONSTER that you’ve never heard of but has V cool artwork on the can (I will pour it in a glass though cuz I like to show off how I’m not chugging yet). I finish that first beer right as 4:20 strikes and I make a funny, but like cool-funny weed joke to a co-worker who wears marijuana leaf socks. After he recovers from his laughing fit, we decide that since we’re in the last 20% of people left in the office, it’s time to leave and get a beer downstairs (I work at a V hot and sexy brewery and my office is above the taproom. BRAGGY BOY!)

DUSK: Polish off a beer in the taproom and go outside just as the VP of Ops pulls up to drive us back (responsible). VPOps parallel parks perfectly and takes Belle out for her dinner-time walk, while I crack an easy drinker and place my bets for the night. I feel great about all the teams I picked, and my Bovada account shows that I’ve been hot for a while now. The VP returns, Belle leaps into my arms and we twirl like we’re the last two beings on ear—(I just love her so much). Time to meet only our most fun friendos at my fave bar, Sheffields, and Belle understands. As we leave she sits, nods and smiles at us as if to say “you two deserve this.” Thanks Belle.

NIGHT: Sheffields is playing a mix of 90s alternative (JGT’S WHEELHOUSE!) along with the occasional pop BANGER that drunk 32 year-olds aren’t embarrassed to sing along to (anything by Sia or Rihanna and I. Am. In!) We’re drinking beers and laughing. My teams are up by enough that I just glance at the TV when I feel like smiling extra big. My friends talk about how good I am at gambling. VP of Ops is paying for everything because she is “so lucky”. The bartender points to the ring on my finger so all the other girls around know I’m taken (I didn’t even notice those girls). My main cool-guy bros and I hide from our spouses so we can take lemon drop shots without being judged. JIMMY GOOD TIMES BARREL ROLLS THROUGH THE WALL!!! WHAT AN ENTRANCE!!!

It’s simple, really, but I’m a simple man with simple pleasures and a simple brain (wait…) The rest of the night would mos def include late night food at Fatso’s (real place with the best late-night burger in the game) and that final at-home drink that I don’t need, but still enjoyed. For the sake of certain readers, I will leave the rest of my ideal Friday up to your imagination…but…let’s…just…say….R. KELLY IS A BLASTIN’!

OUR WORLD:

Okay, real talk, I want to make Oscars predictions but aside from like five categories, they’re pretty boring and I haven’t seen all the movies yet. Here’s what I got:

-“3 Billboards” for Best Picture because fuck this newfound backlash, this movie is bright, shiny gold.

-Frances McDormand for Best Actress is such a slam dunk that if I were her, I’d wear an “I Won” t-shirt on the red carpet.

-Gary Oldman for Best Actor because everyone says that’s going to happen and I won’t ever watch that movie cuz it looks boring and I ain’t into dat’ shiz.

-Sam Rockwell for Best Supporting Actor because he played a character that you can’t decide whether you hate or not and when you admit that to people you get nervous because you don’t know how they’re going to react to that.

-Chris Nolan for Best Director over Guillermo Del Toro because “Dunkirk” was an absolute two hour long heart-attack and “Shape of Water” made the VP of Ops and I feel weird about lonely people and their alone time.

-Jimmy Kimmel straddles lines like an expert line straddle and nails his job. Crushes the NRA; reminds everyone that Woody Allen is King of Creep Castle and the #MeToo crew should tell their snipers “shoot to kill; pats Donny T. on his bald head, but stops before Alec Baldwin carries him off on his shoulders; and makes everyone feel moderately uncomfortable when he reminds the audience that “Moonlight” won best picture last year even though more than half of the crowd will never see it.

-Jennifer Lawrence looks great, but gets even closer to the “okay, you’re not that funny so just chill”-line. I fully expect to look at the VP of Ops at some point to and say “do we not really like her anymore?”

-Quentin Tarantino shows up and I defend him because I love his movies, but deep down definitely think he does weird stuff. DAMNIT!

-VP of Ops and I agree that JoolyAnna RanSICK was born in the “Men In Black” world and, thus, is an alien.

-John Legend and Chrissy Teigen kill the red carpet, but the VP of Ops kinda’ ruins it when she refuses to stop showing me Chrissy Teigen Instagram posts that I don’t think are as funny as she does. Look, she’s funny, but the VP of Ops treats her Instagram like it never misses the mark. Meh. It’s fine. (VPOps will 100% send me an angry text about this).

-Whoever wins Best Actress will slowly walk up to the stage and then, out of nowhere, deliver their speech totally out of breath. This happens every time and it drives me nuts. Why are you out of breath when we JUST saw you WALK up to the stage?

-Incubus, unfortunately, will not be invited to perform “Pardon Me” as the rest of the “Best Song” nominees get to perform theirs even though “Pardon Me” should probably always be nominated for “Best Song” at every award show.

-Colin Firth will be shown in the audience and I will remind VP of Ops that I will never see a movie he’s in.

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

I did not plan to bottom out as quickly as I did in front of an audience, but that’s exactly what has happened. Cleveland lost last night, but Lebron smiled throughout the entire game and gave high-fives to EVERY PHILADELPHIA SEVENTY-SIXER WHO HAS EVER PLAYED FOR THE TEAM AND IT MAKES ME SO ANGRY BECAUSE IT’S LIKE HE DIDN’T EVEN CARE THAT I NOW HAVE TO MAKE A DEPOSIT TO GAMBLE AGAIN! Seriously, this losing streak has gotten more than a little re-goddamn-diculous. I will make a deposit probably after beer number 4 tonight when I’m itchin’ for a little action. Tonight? Yeah, no friggin duh. I am ready to be so fucking back with Golden State (-13) over Atlanta.

(My account is currently at $0.00)

K bye.

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

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

LETS LIKE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

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

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

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

(My account currently at $13.49)

K bye.