Tag: television

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.

“Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” Takeaways

OUR WORLD:

The VP and I saw “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” on Saturday night (date night omg sahhh kewt!) and it was the brand of good that makes you want to buy a movie pass so that you can go every weekend.  Now, having had a full 24 hours to digest what I saw, I’d like to go over what stuck with me.  If you have yet to see this movie (I almost wrote ‘picture’ instead of ‘movie’ there in an effort to sound smarter than I am…then my brain was like, “hey, but you’re dumb.” So I went with ‘movie’.)  If you have yet to see this MOVIE, then I’d skip today’s “Our World”.  There will be spoilers because I want to write about the ending.  In lieu of calling this a “review,” I’m opting for the much snappier “things that stuck with me even after 24 hours from Once Upon a Time in Hollywood”:

Brad Pitt is the coolest man to walk the face of the earth in my lifetime.

The first time Pitt walked on screen, the VP gasped, which was nice because it muffled my gasp.  When I looked over at her, her eyes were drooling.  (Crying?)  No, not crying.  Her eyes were panting, drooling, screaming “how is there a human alive who can look this good?!?!”  She didn’t utter those exact words, but she didn’t need to, her eyes told the story.  And I was with her.  I, on the other hand, wanted to start crying while shaking my head and frightfully asking the universe “how? HOW GOD? HOW IS THERE SOMEONE THIS HOT AND COOL AT THE SAME TIME?!?!”

The hair.  There needs to be a documentary about Brad Pitt’s hair because every time I see one of his movies, one of the first thoughts I have is “I want hair like that.”  Then, I’ll probably try to style my shitty whispies like Pitt for the week following the movie, only to realize that…uh…I’m not Brad Pitt.  His hair in “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood” accomplishes this feat again (where’s the “make my hair look like Pitt’s”-product?) Somehow it’s blonde and long and full and, even though he’s in his mid-50s, the lack of gray doesn’t come off as fake.  WHAT TYPE OF SORCERY IS AT WORK?!?!

I imagine Tarantino writing his character, Cliff Booth, and thinking “I need to write the coolest guy in any room he walks into…oh right, I’ll just think of Brad Pitt.”  I’m not even 100% sure that Tarantino wrote Pitt’s character, or if Pitt just showed up and Quentin was like, “yeah, just be you.”  What direction could Tarantino possibly have given Pitt in this movie?  “Brad, in this scene, can you do that thing where you strut in a natural looking way and then give that smirk that lets the entire universe know that you’re the coolest person ever?”

In the scene where Pitt’s character tosses Bruce Lee into the car, if you didn’t start laughing while saying “fuck yes” then you need to go to a therapist and ask “why do I suck?”

In the scene where Pitt’s character parkour’s his way from the ground to the roof, did you think for a second that he probably, actually can do that?  Maybe the reason I’m not into superhero movies is because Brad Pitt can make superhero things look natural?

In the scene where Pitt’s character tells “Squeaky” that a screen door isn’t going to stop him from seeing his old friend, did you try to think of a house with a screen door that you’ve been to?  That you could return to, pissed off but projecting calm strength, to flick said screen door and tell the owner that “this isn’t going to stop me”?  Yes, whoever you’re talking to will not understand what’s going on and, possibly, call the police, but just explain that you’re not trying to become Pitt’s character from “Once Upon a Time in Hollywood.”

Remember when you were a kid and you’d see a superhero movie and then go home and dress like the superhero?  This movie and this actor can give that same feeling to an adult.  Now, where can I find some moccasin boot things and a Hawiian shirt that, somehow, someway makes me look tough?

Who’s the next super villain Tarantino’s going to avenge?

Lately, it seems that the Tarantino recipe is to go back, find the greatest villains of all-time, and create movies with endings that kill these villains in the most satisfying way imaginable.  He kills Hitler in “Basterds”.  He kills slave owners in “Django”.  He kills the Manson family in “Hollywood”.  It’s a fantastic formula, that I’m worried I’m catching onto.  Like, will I instantly know what is going to happen in his next movie if it’s about another all-time villain?  Whatever, still worth it.

This formula got The VP and I talking after the movie, though, about what super villain would be next for Tarantino to kill in the most satisfying way imaginable?  Here’s what we came up with (and what I’ve come up with since because, honestly, The VP didn’t contribute all that much to this exercise…no offense, no offense!):

  • Osama Bin-Laden
  • ISIS
  • Mark David Chapman
  • Fidel Castro
  • Lee Harvey Oswald
  • Harvey Weinstein…wouldn’t THAT be something?!?!
  • Kim Jong Un

And, shit, I just remembered that The VP actually DID contribute to this exercise.  In fact, she came up with the BEST one: Yoko Ono.

Is Leo the last great classic-Hollywood star?

There’s something to that Hollywood guy who has gotten too big to ever return to television, who when you see on screen you don’t think of as human, but “star”.  It’s that indescribable quality that we’ve seen in Denzel Washington, Jack Nicholson, and, most recently, Leonardo DiCaprio.  Whatever movie they’re in you know is going to be fantastic because THEY are in it.

Quick, try this little exercise: think of Leonardo DiCaprio and then ask yourself to write the first word down that you thought of while thinking about him.  It’s “Star” isn’t it?  (Actually, it’s not Jimmy, so…fuck your premise and fuck you.)  It’s not that he’s the best looking person of all-time (we’ve gone over this, it’s Pitt) but it’s crackling charisma paired with an unmistakable knack to draw every eyeball in every room…ever.  That was Nicholson.  That was Denzel.  That is  Leo now.

But, who’s the next star of stars?  Again, The VP and I discussed:

  • She said that Timothee Chalamet guy from the gay bike movie with THE PEACH and I almost drove into wall.
  • I said Ryan Gosling and we both groaned like “yeah, I guess..like, if we HAVE to…” then we both scrunched our faces and shook our heads at exactly the same time because WE’RE SOULMATES!!!
  • Miles Teller kinda’ has a chance.  I guess?
  • Jennifer Lawrence
  • Michael B. Jordan but no because you can never be THE star of stars if you’re never going to be the most famous person with your name.

And the answer that we finally landed on is…that there’s no one.  Now, every star is television or internet based and so it’s over.  That’s it.  Pack it in.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

When you eat like an absolute horse after working out because you’ve “earned it,” but then you go so far overboard that you start wondering whether working out is the reason you’re gaining weight.

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

THIS STAND-IN FOR GAMBLING SECTION:

Still working on it.  Actually, I’m going to be honest, I haven’t been working on it and then I got here and was like “shit.”  So…yeah.

K, bye.

TV Shows vs. The Summer

OUR WORLD:

When it’s a beautiful day in the summer and your friends are asking you to play golf, ENJOY NATURE! (fuck off hippy) or meet up for drinks on a big, dumb patio and you pass that up to stay in to watch television, you know you’ve got an all-time show on your hands.  In normal-weather cities, like Chicago, standards for television shows go up in the summer.  With 2-3 months of not-jesus-christ-it’s-freezing temperatures, passing up those days to stay indoors brings on the type of guilt that results in involuntary “I’M NOT A LAZY PIECE OF SHIT!” scream sessions (especially unfortunate when these scream sessions take place inside your office.)  Incurring that type of guilt-complex outburst to watch some Michael Strahan gameshow is CLEARLY not worth it.  But have there been any shows this summer that are worth making your co-workers contemplate having you committed?

Let’s see….

BIG LITTLE LIES

Season 1 was fantastic with a capital FANTASTIC!  I was really getting into Season 2 when I listened to a Bill Simmons podcast that basically made fun of me for loving the show…SO I GOT CONFUSED!  How are you supposed to continue loving a show that your fave podcaster is kinda’ loving but also kinda’ making fun of?  (Here’s how…uh…don’t be such a windsock little bitch?)  I AM A GROWN MAN WHO IS TOUGH AND STRONG AND I….LIKED SEASON 2 OF ‘BIG LITTLE LIES’!!!! (Why are you crying then?)

There’s just no way to deny the acting performances in this show.  I’m always overeager to give all of the credit for a show or movie’s success to the writers, but with this cast, I think they could make the fine print of your electric bill entertaining.  (I never trusted that fucking meter!)  Early in the season, when Meryl Streep begins to make her presence known, I remember looking to the VP after each scene and saying “no, no SHE is the best actress on this show!”  Reese, Kidman, Streep, and Dern all took turns hoisting the “Best Actress on TV” trophy in between scenes of Shailene Woodley and Zoe Kravitz pretending to hold back tears because they’re tough, but not all the way because they’re DEALING WITH STUFF.  (If you want to see my best impression, ask me for my Zoe Kravitz in ‘Big Little Lies’ Season 2 face.  I’m incredibly proud of it.)

Now, if you haven’t finished it, I won’t lie, the ending doesn’t deliver in the way you’re hoping it will.  It’s not so disappointing that you should stop watching it now, but if you were thinking of skipping getting bombed outside with friends you feel comfortable splitting a check with, then I’d urge you to reconsider.  Season 2 is seven episodes, and episodes 3-5 pick up the kind of momentum that makes you say things like “I wanna be a big, little liar!”  But then you watch episodes 6 & 7, calm down, and explain to your wife that you’re not a liar.

Worth giving up big, dumb patio drinking time with friends? Almost, but not if that patio serves good margaritas with fat salt crystals lining the rim.

YELLOWSTONE

I’m not qualified to even really write about this show because (you’re a bad writer and nobody values your opinions) I’m basically a full season behind.  Think of this as more of a Public Service Announcement: if you have yet to start “Yellowstone,” you need to start watching it now before you’re a full two or three seasons behind and feel too intimidated to even start it.  I call this the “Breaking Bad Syndrome”–where you know a show is amazing, but get so far behind that you feel like you’ll never get caught up so…you just don’t, but you do lie to people and say “oh, yeah” when they ask if you’ve seen it.  Based on the first 6 episodes of Season One, “Yellowstone” is on the trajectory where in about a year and a half, most of the people you know will ask if you’ve seen it and judge you if you haven’t.  It’s not too late, guys.  Start now.

Think of this show as the cowboy version of “Succession,” where you trade some witty sarcasm for good fight scenes in dive bars.  Kevin Costner is here to remind you that he’s still the man you want to become, and his kids in the show look really fucking cool in their ranchin’ clothes (wait, this show has ranchin’ clothes?!?!)  Yeah, we’re talking full-on dusty cowboy boots, flannel shirts in the heat (how is this possible?), and cowboy hats that look like they were born to wear them.  After watching a few episodes, you’ll think about adopting this look, and then quickly abandon the idea once you realize that the jeans they were aren’t stretchy (once you wear stretchy jeans, you can never return to NOT wearing stretchy jeans.)

Worth giving up big, dumb patio drinking time with friends?  Yes, unless you have friends who are from Montana and say things like “I reckon'” without sounding ridiculous.

SOUTHERN CHARM

I’m going to be honest with you guys…the show badly misses T-Rav.  BADLY.  Now, does it make me feel good that I’m lamenting the loss of a probable-rapist from a reality show on BRAVO?  No.  It actually makes me feel horrible that I even wrote that, so I’m immediately taking that back.  Folks, please disregard the opening two lines in this section; I’ve only had 1.7 cups of coffee thus far, and everyone knows that I’m not my true self until I’ve hit the 2.4 cup mark (he’s right, everyone knows this.)  

What I’m trying to say is that this season of “Southern Charm”, while still entertaining in the way that a bag of chips is satisfying, it’s causing me to feel as bad as I do after gorging on a bag of Salt ‘n Vins.  This season, more than any before, I’m finding myself saying “I think these guys are just kinda’ sad losers, though…”  (Is Jimmy finally criticizing people who drink too much?)  The episode where Austin breaks up with Madison over the phone and then gets hammered with Shep and Craig on like a Tuesday night, played like an exploding “WE’RE ADULT DO-NOTHINGS!” neon.  And I hate that I sound like that friend who gets off on criticizing reality TV, but Shep is close to 40 and looks like damp dishrag every episode.  Craig, while still lookin’ LIKE A GODDAMN SNACK, has permanent Lindsey Lohan-voice, and Kathryn feels the need to constantly remind everyone in her vicinity that, no matter how big her house is, she’s still the number one victim in the world.

Listen, it’s still worth watching to make fun of stuff with your VP of Ops (yeah, you can use it, as long as you give me proper credit every single time you do.)  But the older and more responsible I’m forced to get, the more I feel myself resenting people who are given life on a silver platter, yet still complain as much as often as they breathe.  I’M NOT SUPPOSED TO FEEL SO STRONGLY AGAINST REALITY TELEVISION AND IT’S MAKING ME UNCOMFORTABLE!

Worth giving up big, dumb patio drinking time with friends?  Not this season, but if T-Rav makes a comeback then…NOPE, NOPE, STOPPING NOW!

MY WORLD:

The VP and I moved into our new apartment over the weekend.  Clarification: when I say that “we” moved, what I really mean is that we watched three men move all of our stuff and almost die of heat exhaustion while we pretended to do things not near them because we felt so guilty.  I know what you’re thinking, “but Jimmy, did you show all the movers the scar on your leg and talk about the ankle surgery you had?”  Uh, duh guys, what do I look like?  You really think I’m going to be silent while being emasculated right in front of my wife?  THINK AGAIN, BUBBAS!  (It was still weird when you used a bright, red marker to draw a circle around your scar tho…)

Anyway, we’re in to our new, bigger apartment now and besides pretending like I’m the mayor of box city, I’ve been fantasizing about how I could configure what will soon-be my office.  Yeah guys, this will be the first apartment that I finally have an office in, and I feel like Tommy Boy after his Dad shows him the mini-fridge in his new office.  Right when we moved in, I walked into the office, opened the door to it’s closet and said “I could put coat–or jackets–or pants in here!”  To which the VP responded, “anything, you’d like to keep out of the way.”  Then I bear hugged her before barreling into the kitchen for a victory beer.  (What did you even win?)

Now, I have to play this cool and say things to the VP like, “hey, this isn’t JUST my office, this is OUR office.”  But, between you and me, it’s my goddamn office and I’m probably going to install a lock on it that I’m never going to give The VP a key to.  “Wait, really? A lock?  That’s so weird!” Will definitely be something I say to her many times before changing the subject as quickly as possible.

I’m finally going to be able to put up all of the cool pictures that the VP of Ops has had “qualms” with in past apartments (what do you mean you don’t want the picture of Michael Jordan’s last shot as a Chicago Bull above our couch?)  But what else should I do with the space?  Here are some options, I’m mulling:

  • Multiple TVs hung on the wall
  • A fancy office chair that I can see how many times I can spin around in without having my feet touch the ground
  • A mini fridge
  • A fish tank that I can put numerous really weird-looking fish in and name all of them “Erin”
  • A phone connected to the landline that I could call from my cell phone whenever The VP and I are having a “civil disagreement,’ so when it rings, I can say, “sorry, I have to take that.”

I’ll keep you updated on my office construction, but please don’t tell The VP that it’s not hers and that she’s never going to be welcome in that room.  Thanks guys.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Getting to the age where you no longer feel comfortable not updating the address on your Drivers License whenever you move.  So now, moving ALSO includes a trip to the DMV.

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

JIMMY GAMBLES:

This section sucks right now and I know it.  Until football season arrives, I’ll try to come up with something better.

K bye.

 

COMMERCIALS ARE THREATENING OUR LIVES!!!

OUR WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

MY WORLD:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I can’t wait.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

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

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

My all-time favorite commercial

WAIT, SO YOU DO STILL GAMBLE, RIGHT?

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

K, bye.

 

 

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.

 

My Farewell to Planet Fitness and Your Remote Control (8/2/18)

MY WORLD:

The past few weeks have included a lot of introspection for me.  Quiet times and deep exhales and staring off into distances while silently wrapped up in my brain.  What has caused this?  God, I can’t believe I’m going to admit this, but this blog is nothing if it’s not honest; the cause of this introspection has been Planet Fitness.  (I knew it.)  When I was at a red light and an old woman wearing a cape was crossing the street, I was thinking “is she on her way to my Planet Fitness?”  When in a dirty gas station bathroom while out on the road, I was thinking “does this Shell station outsource their bathroom cleaning jobs to Planet Fitness?”    When dreaming about running into Anna Kendrick on a quiet street, working up the courage to ask her out and as she’s about to say “I’d love to” she spots the Planet Fitness tag on my keychain and starts vomitting violently while screaming “I NEVER TOOK YOU FOR ONE OF THEM!!!”  Well Anna, your sweet baby Jimmy has some news for ya: I am no longer a Planet Fitness man.  That’s right, I told the judgment free zone to kick rocks and maybe LEARN HOW TO USE A FUCKING MOP! 

Between “the people” and “the smells” and “the facilities” and “the employees”, I feel like I’ve been withstanding a slow waterboarding at the hands of Planet Fitness since I joined.  “ARE YOU SURE YOU’RE OKAY WORKING OUT NEXT TO A MAN WEARING JEANS AND A COWBOY HAT WHILE ON A PURPLE TREADMILL?!?!”-Said the Planet Fitness manager as he slowly dripped water into the towel covering my squirming face.  For all of you out there who are thinking that $10 per month is too good of a deal to pass up, take heed: you get what you pay for, and 10 dollars gets you a gym that smells like a 2 day old Chipotle burrito bowl.

With Green Day’s “Good Riddance (Time of Your Life)” playing in the background, I’d like to take a trip down my Planet Fitness memory lane.  I promise you, all of the following mini-stories, while maybe slightly exaggerated, are true.–TAKE IT, BILLIE JOE! “It’s something unpredictable, but in the end it’s right, I hope you had the time of your life.”  (*I did not.)

SO TAKE THE PHOTOGRAPHS AND STILL FRAMES IN YOUR MIND

Now that I’ve escaped the purple hellscape that is Planet Fitness, there are certain images, still frames if you will, that come to mind when I think of my time there.  Some of these include:

–The walls on the inside of the changing room:  After a while, I realized that changing into my gym clothes in the locker room was a daily test of whether or not I suffer from claustrophobia.  The locker room was small and overcrowded and dusty.  However, this being a “judgement free zone”, I discovered that there were private changing rooms that nobody seemed to notice or use.  I could go in there, change at my leisure and not accidentally brush up against 8 dudes who live a “showering is optional”-lifestyle.  For a while, my private changing room time was nice and vital to my sanity in this gym.  I’d escape the crush of the locker room, change in peace and prepare myself to power through the workout I was about to embark on.  It was therapeutic, really.  Then one day, I walked into MY private changing room, closed the door, and…”holy fucking shit, there are black hair shavings all over the white wall.”  It was as if Planet Fitness had caught on to my changing room bliss and called a meeting to address the situation. “This fuggin’ guy is only paying $10 a month, we can’t let him enjoy the cleanly solitude of that changing room.  Who has any ideas?”  That’s when a close relative of Sasquatch himself, must have walked into the meeting room with an electric razor and a smirk.  I’m not kidding, it looked like they shaved a gorilla and then came in with a fan to make sure all the shavings stuck to the white walls.  So my private changing room time was ruined forever because all I could think of when I went in there after that was that there HAD to be little hairs still all over that place.

–The unfinished woodworking station that sat in the corner of the “stretching area”.  Nothing says “take a deep breath!” than a pile of uncut wood and stacked cans of paint!  Don’t believe me? Here’s a screenshot from an insta post I made about this corner months ago.

pfit

–The handicap bathroom stall door on the ground.  For as big as this Planet Fitness is, they only one men’s room that had only 3 bathroom stalls.  Now listen, public pooping isn’t fun for anyone, but it’s a necessary evil that all adults must come to terms with; ESPECIALLY, at the gym.  When solo rooms with locks and one toilet don’t exist, then we have to rely on stalls and…lets be honest, we’re all hoping to sneak into the handicap stall when no one is looking.  Yeah, that’s me slithering in and out of the handicap stall when I don’t hear any footsteps in my immediate surroundings.  So, obviously, I would try to do this here as well.  BUT, yet again, the Planet Fitness Fairies must have caught on to my sneaky sneaky plan because basically every week the door to the handicap stall was somehow broken and just left on the ground.  Seriously, just laying on the ground.  After about 4 straight days of seeing this door on the ground, I asked an employee if they were going to fix it and the employee said “yeah, like, I think we have the door on order.”  Who knew Planet Fitness imported their bathroom stall doors from Egypt?!?!?  Then, whenever it would arrive, via crawling camel from Egypt, the door would be up about 14 minutes before some neanderthal asshole would break it again and put it on the floor.

IT’S NOT A QUESTION BUT A LESSON LEARNED IN TIME

–When you walk into most gyms, the front desk people will grab your keycard, swipe and give you a “thank you!” or a hearty “have a good workout!”  It’s nice.  At Planet Fitness? You walk up to the front desk, hold up your keycard and are met with mouth-open, eye rolls from staff members eating pizza while reclining on computer chairs.  After an awkward few seconds, one of these very hungry staff members will flay open their hand towards the scanner.  This, in lazy person speak, translates to “scan your card yourself.”  After a while, I knew that reactions like this were coming, but I’d still try to force my card towards them as my form of protest (when’s the march?)  I DON’T WANT TO SCAN MY FUCKING CARD!  YOU DO IT!  Seriously, why are they there?  They’re not cleaning the private changing rooms, fixing the handicap bathroom doors OR scanning membership cards.  Are they actually getting paid to wear a purple sweatshirt and eat Little Caesar’s near a bunch of smelly people sweating?

–As the calendar turned to summer months, I started noticing that my Planet Fitness was doing its best surface of the sun impression.  A box with a wall of windows facing west is an issue when those windows have no issues and, you know, THE SUN SETS IN THE WEST.  This means that every day during sunset, also known as the most popular time in the day to go to the gym, this PFit was SCORCHING hot and you were staring at the sun while on your dumb purple fucking treadmill.  Okay, they may not have shades, but they have AC, right Jimmy?  THANK YOU FOR SEEKING CLARIFICATION!  That’s what I thought because I saw thermostats and big AC looking units on their roof when I’d drive by.  Then, one day I went for a normal run at a normal pace on one of those purple treadys.  About two miles in I felt like I was sweating like Patrick Ewing in his prime (look that reference up.  It’s funny, I swear.)  Being the stubborn bitch that I am, I forced myself to finish the run; bypassing all of the warning signs of heat stroke along the way.  Tough boys like me don’t have heat strokes so…I was in the clear.  When I got off the treadmill, I checked the thermostat and it read 86.  So I went to the front desk, asked for the GM and asked if there was an issue with the AC or if this is just how it is in Planet Fitness.  His response? “Hmmm, I don’t know.”  And that was it.  He smiled like “I gave your question thought, gave you an answer, and I am now completely satisfied with how this interaction went.”  As all of the muscles in my body tensed (so many muscles guys…so many!) I ran some mental math: hairy walls + broken bathrooms + rude employees + no air-conditioning = $10.  Essentially, I was paying to be EXTRA miserable while working out.  You know why most people at Planet Fitness aren’t in good shape?  Because it’s already hard enough to go to a nice gym and force yourself through a workout.  Imagine trying to get through a productive workout in your Uncle Larry’s “secret woodshed”.

That day, I decided that not only was I done at Planet Fitness, but that I was going to DEDICATE THE REST OF MY LIFE TO EDUCATING POTENTIAL CUSTOMERS OF THE HELLHOLE THEY ARE ABOUT TO SIGN UP FOR.  If I can spare one young soul the horror of those purple fucking machines, my plight will have been worth it.

FOR WHAT IT’S WORTH, IT WAS WORTH ALL THE WHILE

It most certainly was not.

OUR WORLD:

Football is back and so is negotiating for television time with your wife.  If you, like me, had kind of forgotten that football was right around the corner, you still have time to ensure that football is on your main television ALL SATURDAY AND ALL SUNDAY starting at the end of the month, when the real games begin.  It will take sacrifice and strength and CHUCKLING AT THINGS YOU MAY NOT FIND FUNNY.  Here are the steps fellas:

  1.  For the next 3 weeks, whenever you are home, give the remote to your wife and say “I don’t care what we watch.”
  2. She will be caught off-guard and start suggesting shows.  This is a test.  Don’t say “yes” to every show.  Instead, wait until about the 4th show she suggests and act SUPER EXCITED about that show (whether you are or not).
  3. Project genuine interest in this show that she has picked for every episode you watch.  Ask questions, laugh at her insights, point out plot holes.  THIS MUST SEEM LEGIT GUYS!  THERE’S NOT ENOUGH TIME TO PLAY AROUND!!!
  4. In 3 weeks, when college and pro football start, grab the remote first thing Saturday morning to put on Gameday.  When your spouse says something that The VP would say, like, “how long are we going to watch this?” You need to respond by gently reminding her that you have watched HER SHOW for the past 3 weeks.  After like two weekends of 48 straight hours of football on television, she’ll give up and probably go to her friends or maybe cheat on you and end your relationship BUT AT LEAST YOU’LL GET TO SEE IF MITCH TRUBISKY HAS TURNED THE CORNER!!!

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

FOOTBALL HYPE VIDEO SEASON!!!!

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Dear Planet Fitness,

 

JIMMY GAMBLES

Am I betting on the Bears in the Hall of Fame game tonight? YOU BET YOUR ASS I AM!!!

k bye.

Reality Shows That Should Happen and Are We Going To Move? (7/31/18)

OUR WORLD:

“The Men Tell All” episode of “The Bachelorette” was on last night and, I’ll admit, Jordan was an electric factory.  He got me laughing a few times and did make me ask The VP “is he in on the joke?” I kinda’ think that he is, which makes it funnier when he’s bragging about how he owns billboards in everyone’s head and should’ve been wearing a work vest to this episode.  Bravo, Jordan, bravo (I’m making that aristocratic face rn while nodding and giving a very pompous round of applause.)  But then the episode kept going and going and I remembered that I don’t give a shit about “The Bachelorette” this year.  IS BECCA GONNA PICK THE LOW-KEY RACIST OR THAT SMILEY DUDE WHO HAS ZERO PERSONALITY?!?!  I hate when my guy friends make fun of all of the shitty reality TV that I like, and I hate even more that I’m now one of those guys with this season of “The Bachelorette”.  However, there is a silver lining!  With the part of my brain normally devoted to this show now FREE, I have dedicated it to thinking of some reality shows that NEED to happen.  Here are the first 3 that I’ve come up with:

“Serving Patricia: The Story of Michael Kelcourse”

I’m officially all caught up on “Southern Charm” and I’d like to thank all my supporters for sticking by me while I caught up.  Took a lot of courage on your part to stand by a “reality fan” who had yet to watch the crown jewel of the south.  (Are you crying?  I am too!!! WE DID IT!!!)  I’m sure there will be spin-offs from this show most likely revolving around Shep or Craig or Naomie or the T-Rav rape trial (yikes…) BUT there is only ONE spin-off of “Southern Charm” that is absolutely necessary: the story of Patricia’s old-man butler Michael.  I’d like to call it “Serving Patricia: The Story of Michael Kelcourse”.  (Wow, creative Jimmy.)

WARNING: this will not be your typical lite Bravo fare.  I want this show on AMC or HBO or some other network that specializes in shaky, handheld camera documentary-style reality shows.

I want one cameraman following Michael Kelcourse (the fact that I spent time googling “Patricia Southern Charm Butler” is not something I’ll tell my grandkids about).  I want this one cameraman to, essentially, become Michael’s only real friend in the world; allowing him to open up about all the things that Patricia makes him do that we DON’T see on “Southern Charm”.  Patricia has “Michael, there is a body in the freezer outside that I’d like you take care of”-written ALL OVER HER.  She’s been married like 19 times, you don’t think ONE of those former husbands “disappeared mysteriously”?  GET YOUR DUMB HEAD OUT OF YOUR FAT BUTT!  MICHAEL KNOWS WHERE THE BODIES ARE!

Maybe one night after returning to his chambers (does he have “chambers”? does he live in a cage in Patricia’s basement?) Michael pours a glass of bourbon for himself and his new best friend Cameraman Jack.  About halfway through their first glass, but not yet talking, Michael lets out a deep exhale and brings his fingers to his tear-filled eyes.  “I’ve done bad things, Jack.  I’ve done bad things.”  Jack would lean forward, pour a little more bourbon in Michael’s glass and say “we all have.”  Michael would start gently shaking his head, though, and when he lifted it up we’d see his eyes were full-blown red from crying: “I was just following orders.”  That’s when the camera would be set down, but not off, and we’d hear Michael cry and reveal where all of the holes are that he had to dig for Patricia’s ex-husbands.

OR…Is there a dark side to this seemingly permanently-chipper old man butler?  I bet there is guys…I REALLY, REALLY BET THERE IS!!!  There is no way that you can bring dirty martinis to some stuck up lady with a face doesn’t move all day, every day without retreating to some secret drug dungeon that allows you to put up with a life you can’t believe you’re living.  I don’t actually think that Butler Michael is a closet opium addict, but look at the eyes, there’s something…something dark beneath….and, if there’s not, maybe he could teach all of us how to be happy living a life other than the one you dreamt of when you were 19.

michael kelcourse

 

“Backstage Pass” 

I want to know what the backstage scene looks like for old bands that USED to be known for RAGING party scenes before and after shows.  Think along the lines of: The Rolling Stones, The Who, and Aerosmith.  Listen, I don’t actually know if these bands were known for being fucking party animals, but I just assume that older rock bands all did cool drugs and were skinny alcoholics during their heydays SO JUST GO WITH IT!

They’re probably a bunch of recovering addicts now, but doesn’t being backstage after a show trigger some “man, I’d love a fucking beer right now”-urges for these guys?  How do they overcome that?  If I’ve had a weekend of hard drinking, I’ll tell myself on Monday that I’m not going to drink for a few days.  Then, I’ll go for a run, get home, open the fridge and think to myself “Sweet Baby Jesus a beer sounds AMAZING.”  3 beers later, I’m talking to The VP about how “I deserve these.”  And that’s from the rush of running on a treadmill!  Give me the rush of having 30 plus thousand people treating me like the coolest cult leader of all-time and I’d be doing keg stands on the hood of a convertible weaving down a congested highway!

Or maybe they’re not able to overcome those urges and the code of being backstage just shields them from having to publicly admit that they’re actually not sober.  Like, maybe you have to sign a non-disclosure agreement that says “when you see Keith Richards drain his 6 pack of wine bottles, you are not allowed to text your high school friends that Keith’s new biography ‘Sober & Feeling Great!’ is a book of lies”?  And if they’re not drinking or doing drugs or COOL STUFF LIKE THAT, what are these aging bands doing backstage?  Are Keith and Mick sitting at opposite ends of a big open room just flicking each other off in between telling their young girlfriends why The Beatles are overrated?  WE NEED TO KNOW THESE THINGS!

“Overnight Pharmacist”

There are 24-hour pharmacies (right? Googling….yep! There are!  Continue!) which means that there are pharmacists who have to work the 11PM to 7AM shift.  And you know what that means?!?!?! Guys with panicked looks on their faces asking for “uh, the, uh, ya’ know that pill that…the no baby pill?” and people TWEAKING out on god knows what handing over “scripts” written in crayon that say: “Just whatever he asks for. Yours Truly, Doctor”.  If I were a pharmacist asked to work the overnight shift, I would insist on wearing a full suit of armor and having a current Navy Seal Sniper Badass Killerguy as my personal bodyguard.

If you’re looking for a magic combination of elements to create drool-worthy reality television, mixing drugs, threats of violence, and darkness with a “person just trying to do their job” seems like a safe bet to me.  As for the production costs, you really wouldn’t have any.  All you’d have to do is outfit the CVS in rural Arkansas with higher grade security cameras and install some microphones and BOOM, get out of the way and let the night do nighttime things!

I will throw a bit of caution in here that this show does have the potential to be insanely sad and depressing and “this is making me feel horrible about everything.”  How do we get around this?  Simple, EDITING.  The editor of this show will play a VITAL role in dumping the inevitably heartbreakingly sad moments that must occur in pharmacies overnight.  Nobody in the world needs to see the stuff that I don’t even want to write about happening because i know that it does and I know that it would make me cry.  So…you know what, let’s just make it easy: let’s just have it be the scenes of people being nervous trying to get Plan B pills or unsuccessfully trying to get other sexual-related drugs.  An old guy coming in with a fake script for Viagra is comedy gold.  GOLD!   In fact, let’s just rename the show “Overnight Pharmacist: Only The Funny Sex Stuff and Not The Sad Other Drug Stuff”.  THAT SHOW DEFINITELY DOESN’T SOUND DEPRESSING!

MY WORLD:

The VP and I went to Nashville this past weekend, and it made me think about whether or not I could move again.  And if I can’t, what does that say about the rest of my life?

When I went to Los Angeles for grad school and student lo-(nobody wants to hear about your debt) I was VERY single and poor at an age where it was socially acceptable to be unable to afford clothes from somewhere other than Old Navy.  When I moved back to Chicago it was for legitimate family and personal reasons and I was still VERY single (The VP is beginning to question all of the “ex-girlfriend” stories…”Was I your first girlfriend?”-VP to me tonight.)  But now at the seasoned age of 33, with a WIFE!, stable job that pays some to most of our bills, and on the verge of maybe trying to become a parent (Am I having a seizure?) do I have the courage to move again?

While out with our BEST FRIENDS who moved to Nashville a couple years ago, and some other super awesome friends of ours, I was flattered to have been asked multiple times “so when are you guys moving down here?”  My answers ranged from “oh, ha ha, we’ll see” to “when you find me a job where the pay is good and the uniform is a t-shirt and minimal effort.”  The real answer is that I may be too scared to bet on being able to restart my life again at 33 when I’m not the only one that matters to me anymore.  The idea of tossing our stuff in a truck and driving off to a new southern adventure is tantalizing, I won’t lie.  But that means finding a new place to live and a new job and dealing with a new boss and what if I have to work for a mean lady?!?! WHAT IF SHE YELLS AT ME AND CALLS ME FARTFACE?!?!

Lately, thoughts of blinking and living the same life 10 years from now have been consistent and consistently terrifying.  When you drive around alone all day, your mind can only stay focused on reality show butlers for so long.  Wading into the murky “what just touched my leg?!?!”-waters of figuring out exactly what I want the VP and my future to be is fun and scary and constant.  Is settling into the rest of our lives right now, not only safe, but the financially responsible thing to do?  We have both have 401k’s!  Or is swinging for something bigger and better than slightly above average, sooner rather than later a risk that we won’t be able to even think about in a few years?  The clock is ticking!  What type of life necessitates shaking it up with a move?  Something worse than ours, right?  There are no answers to these questions, I know.

Courage is what it comes down to.  I mean, planning would be a major part of a potential move too, but it’s courage first and foremost.  Instead of waiting to get suddenly brave or find some big, cool blanket that makes me feel secure enough to stay here, I’ve decided to start something VERY cheesy with The VP.  Starting tomorrow, we are committing a half hour, each night to “Dream Time”: where we will put our phones down, put some music on and start writing down about things or places or (hopefully not people) we want to see and do.  It’s cringeworthy and I’m sure that The VP will not fully appreciate me outing our lameness on an INTERNATIONALLY READ BLOG.  While I may not yet have the courage to pull the trigger on a move or toss an immovable anchor where we currently are, I do have the courage to be honest.  When will we move? Maybe sometime.  Maybe never.  I don’t know, but we are going to start dreaming with our eyes open.

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

It’s an emo-Jimmy you’re getting today, so I’m going to lean into it and put up a song that reflects how where I’m at.  The lyrics are insightful and if you don’t sway in your chair while listening to this then you’re dead.

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Putting on a pair of pants that you’re sure are tight because they’re a 33 waist but then you take them off to look at the size tag and they’re a 34.  Can someone please invent cookie-flavored diet pills?  Tysm.

JIMMY GAMBLES

No lie, I’ve been taking big-time baths lately on baseball because betting baseball, apparently, IS FUCKING IMPOSSIBLE.  Football is coming soon and with it will come the return of this section.

(My account currently at $4.71)

K bye.

Has My Wife Taken Me Prisoner? (6/28/18)

MY WORLD:

The VP and I finished watching “The Staircase” the other night (hold your applause! PLEASE!  Standing ovation? CONTROL YOURSELVES!!!)  During the second to last episode, I started thinking that I just wanted this show to be over.  It’s dark and depressing and sad and scary and why was I watching this?  When your “escape” revolves around stories about murder and the terrors of our legal system, it should not come as a surprise when your daily stresses don’t melt away.  What happened to having a plop on the couch and sharing but a smile?  Perhaps a chuckle or two before bedtime?   Up until I was seduced by an older lady, now known as The VP of Ops, at the vulnerable age of 27, I was into happy, and, potentially, emotionally uplifting television.  “The Office”, “Parks and Rec” and “Friday Night Lights” were more my speed.  Laugh at Andy Dwyer, shed a tear for QB 1 and his decimated spinal chord, and root for Jim to finally tell Pam how he feels. (Sidenote: how many awkward “but I only like you as a friend” confrontations did the Jim/Pam story cause around the country?  You know friend-zone guys everywhere were like “if it worked for Jim, it’ll work for me!”)  But that all came to an end when my Mrs. Robinson came into the picture…

I remember The VP of Ops telling me that she was into murder when we started dating.  It wasn’t concerning in the way of like “Hey Jimmy, I’m into murder because I enjoy murdering people and I’m thinking of murdering you.”  It was more in the vein of “I like sitting on a couch with a devious smile on my face while good looking detectives battle personal demons and sexual tension with their co-workers throughout missions for justice.”  She didn’t exactly spell it out like that, but when a hot chick is on a date with you, there are NO red flags.  ZERO, FOLKS!  Seriously, she could’ve pulled out a rusty knife and told me she was into amateur surgery and I would’ve been like “cool, totally!”

Anyway, long story short, unable to resist her wily seduction techniques, The VP roped me in to her world of heavy cream dips and depressing television.  Somehow, my television viewing habits have gone from sitcoms and serialized dramas to trashy reality television and murder documentaries.  Monday through Thursday over the past few months have consisted of: “The Bachelorette”, “Vanderpump Rules”, “Southern Charm”, “Evil Genius”, “The Staircase”, and “The Keepers”.  We spend our weeknights either cackling at functioning alcoholics with undiagnosed personality disorders or silently watching strangers try to cope with the most horrific event of their lives.  The VP has turned me into your Aunt Paula.  Do you realize I’ve written more about “The Bachelorette” than I have about the Bears?  I’M A MAN FOR CHRISSAKE!  When does the Netflix doc about The VP murdering my masculinity come out?  “Did We Record The Bachelor?”: The true story of a once proud Chicago man’s descent into madness.  

What is happening to me?  I used to think it was a lame joke when I’d hear older guys talk about how their “wives run the show.”  My Dad’s friends would say shit like that and I’d toss a courtesy laugh their way while thinking A) I’m sure that’s not actually true, and B) has anybody actually laughed at that joke?  Thing is, I’m beginning to think it wasn’t a joke!  The VP doesn’t totally run the show (I’M MY OWN MAN!) but…like…maybe she does, actually.  Shit.

Let’s take a look at the last 4 days: I have cooked three of the nights and brought home dinner the third.  I then hand washed the pots and pans used for those meals, unloaded and re-loaded the dishwasher.  I have run two loads of laundry, bought her a heating pad, and taken out the trash.  We have watched episodes “Southern Charm”, “The Bachelorette”, and “The Staircase”.  ESPN has not been on our television for one second.  I broke the sunglasses that she got for me last week, but haven’t worn my back-up pair because The VP says they’re “disgusting”.  So I’ve just been squinting for the past week.  Oh, and I gave her an alarmingly asexual back massage last night.  (Realization hits as a look of panic washes over Jimmy’s face…) WHAT HAVE I BECOME?!?!

If my Dad’s friends knew what they were saying wasn’t a joke, why were they chuckling?!?!  Why weren’t they grabbing me by the shoulders and telling me to save myself before it was too late?!?! “You don’t understand!!!” should’ve been how all of my Dad’s friends greeted me while I was still dating The VP.  Folks, I didn’t plan on writing this blog today.  What you are reading is a real-time discovery that I may not be the person I thought I was.  Stay calm, Jimmy.  Stay calm.  EVERYBODY STAY CALM!!!  Quickly, what are the things I believe I enjoy now that I wasn’t into before The VP plunged her talons into my testosterone supply:

-Oysters:  Never even tried an oyster before The VP came into the picture.  Now, I get excited when I’m at a place with good oysters.  What are in some oysters? Pearls.  Who likes pearls? Girls.  Shit.

-English muffins:  I have a multi-grain english muffin every morning for breakfast now.  I used to eat bagels.  Close your eyes and imagine Clint Eastwood walking into a dusty diner.  When the waitress asks what he’d with his bacon and eggs, what do you think he orders?  Without hesitation, it’s a bagel every single time.  ENGLISH MUFFIN PROBABLY ISN’T EVEN AN OPTION IN CLINT’S DINER!

-Rolling up my jeans:  The VP says it’s “cute”.  My brothers and father make fun of me.

-Puppies:  Not to say that I used to not like puppies, but I remember a time when I wouldn’t stop EVERYTHING I was doing whenever a puppy came into my field of vision.  Now, it’s like a fire drill where I alert everyone around me that there’s a puppy and pray that I’m able to get to it in time to ask for a casual pet.  That’s weird.

-Thinking about crying when I’m alone:  I’m aware this sounds supremely depressing, but this blog is, if nothing else, honest.  Whether it’s job stress or money stress or thinking about murder documentaries or wondering what Belle does all day while I’m gone, I have begun to think about crying when I’m alone.  The strangest thing? I kinda’ like it!  I never actually cry, but I’ll think to myself “should I pull over and have a quick weep sesh in that Office Depot parking lot?”

These trends are concerning and worth revisiting.  (Now Jimmy, anticipate the call you will receive from The VP once she reads this.  You’re playing checkers while she’s playing chess!)  I’m not a prisoner, guys. Ha. Ha. (Blink twice).  To the people who have not seen me in a while, and believe that I am being held captive by my wife, I have a message for you: The VP of Ops is not holding me captive as her prisoner.  (Blink twice). She is a sweet and pretty lady that I love very much who deserves the entire whole wide world. (Blink twice).  And yes, I am listening to “Keeping Score”, the new Dan + Shay single featuring Kelly Clarkson.  It’s a lovely little tune!

(Help).

OUR WORLD:

The reason that city driving is so much more difficult is because everyone who lives in the city, and therefore drive in the city, is so stressed out by EVERYTHING that the slightest ANYTHING can set you off.  I feel like a Velociraptor (that’s one word!  Who knew?!?) while driving around my neighborhood–ready to plunge through the driver’s side window of my Chevy Equinox and go fangs-first into the next car that leaks into my lane of traffic.  Combine the sounds of a constipated toddler with the aggression of a blackout-drunk Crossfit trainer who was just put in the friend zone by his Tinder date; that’s me driving in the city.  That’s all of us driving in the city because Chicago, and I imagine all other large cities, is a garbage can overflowing with annoyances.  What are some of the other PRIME City annoyances?  Let’s take a look:

-The “was that a gunshot?”-sounds:  Whenever I’m near the VP of Ops when one of these sounds happens, I immediately say “fireworks.”  I play it cool and nonchalant so that she doesn’t worry, but (close your eyes VP) it’s probably gunshots sometimes, right?  Who is setting off fireworks on a random Tuesday night in June?  Also, you have to go to Wisconsin or Indiana to get fireworks, so what the hell are these sounds?  That’s part of living in the city that I’ll never get used to.  When I’m walking Belle at night, I say “what was that?” to a not-too-distant sound a minimum of 6 times.  When these walks are immediately following a murder documentary, you better believe I contemplate breaking into a full sprint back towards my apartment.

-Walking up to street-parked car in the morning and seeing shards of glass in the distance:  If you park on the street in the city your car, sooner or later, will be broken into.  There is ZERO chance that it won’t.  Trust me, I’ve run the numbers.  On the day it is, you’ll be walking down the block your car is on when you’ll notice a pile of shattered turquoise pebbles.  Those aren’t exotic city pebbles, though, those are what remains of your passenger-side window.  I’ve had this happen twice which means that now, whenever I’m heading down the block my car is on, I have a near heart attack whenever I see a pile of turquoise in the distance.  That color, btw, STINKS.

-City dogs and the dog-walkers:  Don’t get me wrong, I luh me some doggies (see my puppy love in today’s “My World”).  BUT!  City dogs, including my own, are much more likely to be hairy psychopaths with crippling anxiety disorders.  I don’t blame them, this is what comes with living in the city.  However, when you’re having to zig zag across streets to make sure your dog doesn’t get within 500 feet of another hairy LUNATIC, your nerves begin to fray.  This morning I took Belle on a 4 block walk and crossed the street no less than 18,000 times to avoid other dogs.  Oh, and if you see a “professional” dog walker heading your way, be aware that they think of themselves as the top of the sidewalk food chain and will NEVER cross the street first. Am I just being constantly alpha’d by other dog owners in the game of “who’s going to cross the street first?”  Do I call their bluff and play a game of chicken?  If you knew Belle, you wouldn’t either.

-The smell of weed EVERYWHERE:  I know this makes me sound like a total narc, but it really does smell like weed everywhere in the city.  Like, every. single. place.  When you’re afraid of weed like I am, this smell immediately triggers a response of panicked breath holding.  Remember when you were a kid and your go-to tantrum move was holding your breath until you passed out?  That’s me here.

-People:  There are so many.  Literally, millions and most of them do not abide by my personal code of conduct.  It’s infuriating.

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I’m just going to lean into this one…

 

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Cabbies who drive Uber.  I get that they have to adapt, but I feel tricked whenever I get in an Uber and am immediately hit with that “professional cabbie”-smell.

I HAVEN’T GAMBLED YET THIS WEEK.  MANY PEOPLE ARE TALKING ABOUT HOW INSPIRING MY SELF-CONTROL IS.

K bye.

 

THIS BACHELORETTE STINKS LIKE POOP-AND-WHY I’M NOW A CLUB GUY (6/12/18)

OUR WORLD:

I’m close to being out on this season of The Bachelorette, guys.  When the episode started last night, I was having too much fun cooking shrimp tacos and drinking a beer by myself in the kitchen that I just told The VP to let me know if anything crazy happened.  The tacos were actually done and I just kept stirring the shrimps while sipping my DEEEELISH beer and making “AHHHH!” sounds after ever sip.  After a few, “Oh my god”s coming from the living room, though, I felt it was my duty to soldier on through this episode (salute my sacrifice!)  Unfortunately, after toughing my way through that 2 hours of GUCK, I felt even closer to being out.  Let’s go over some reasons why:

1)  Becca is the definition of “Meh”:  The VP does not think she’s hot at all and I go back and forth on it.  She dresses like a dickhead, and when Jimmy Fashion is calling out your outfit choices, you KNOW there’s an issue.  We get it, you have a flat stomach.  Now, how ’bout you act like the near-30 year old you are and wear a full shirt.  (Grandpa Jimmy’s getting his gun! RUN!!!)  Aside from debating about her looks (Which I didn’t even want to do because that’s superficial and stuff.  The VP goes into mean-girl mode and drags me down with her.  SHE MAKES ME DO IT!)  She’s not interesting or funny or villainous or….ANYTHING EXCEPT “MEH”, though.  Has she said anything that has made you close to laughing?  She had the perfect opportunity to dunk on Jordan with a joke about his tinder stuff and, instead, she gave a super awkward, passive-aggressive high-five.  Look, Jordan is a tool (I actually don’t totally hate him FWIW) but maybe Becca could break out something better than her best ABC Family joke?  When she did that and then tried to calm Jordan down by saying “I was just trying to lighten the mood with a joke” I almost drove to the bazooka store to buy a bazooka5000 JUST to shoot my 11 year-old Vizio flat-screen to FUCKING BITS!   Next time you’re trying to lighten the mood, make one person in the entire world at least chuckle.

I also think that Becca took acting classes taught by a former construction worker recovering from the “look out for that huge steel beam!”-moment.  Are producers telling her to ham up every minor difficulty?  Sure, but that’s where anyone who ISN’T an AWFUL actress, just bites their lip and shakes their head while saying “I just don’t know…”  Becca, on the other hand, tries to force tears any chance she gets while saying things like “I have nothing left.”  She actually said “I have nothing left” when Clay told her he had to leave the show.  Really Becca?  Clay, while a nice enough dude, was about as charismatic as a used paper towel and had ZERO chance of actually winning this show.  Walgreens not having your favorite flavor of KIND Bars is more emotionally devastating than Clay leaving the show.  Meanwhile, Becca is clawing near her eyes to wipe away her nonexistent tears.  I’m no eye-makeup expert (please do not bring up my college emo phase thx!) but if a woman who wears GOBS of eye-makeup, like Becca, started crying, wouldn’t SOMETHING run down her cheek? IT’S LIKE SHE TAKES US FOR FOOLS!

2)  Who are we supposed to be rooting for?  I think the answer to this question is Colton, but how hard can you root for a virgin football player?  (Jesus, Jimmy’s banging on the virgin again….YOU BET I FUCKIN’ AM!)  Seriously, you’re one WHOPPER of a DOOF if you can’t parlay being in the N-F-FRIGGIN-L into one. sexual. encounter.  Lying about playing HIGH SCHOOL FOOTBALL got me laid; this dude has NFL YouTube highlights and can’t get past first base with Tia.  I’m sorry, but when you’re a guy who’s just a little too sweet and nice and cute…you enter into Creepsville.  Colton seems to be on a mission to Creepsville, USA.

So who else?  Garrett?  Oh, you mean the douche who supports the theory about David Hogg and the Parkland students being crisis actors? Yeah, I’m gonna pass on this Alex Jones fanboy.  If you haven’t read up on the tweets and instagram posts that Garrett liked, do yourself a favor and google it.  The VP had tried telling me about it throughout the first few episodes but I wanted to ignore it because trashy TV isn’t supposed to be political!  But…uh….this dude is just an asshole.  In a sick way, I’m hoping he wins and Becca has to spend the entire reunion show explaining how she doesn’t support making fun of the trans community, tossing immigrant children over a wall, and bullying high school kids who had their friends murdered in front of them.  Because Garrett, that fun-loving, gun-toting outdoorsman who just wants to show Becca a good time, enjoys all of those things.  Who else would love getting to see Chris Harrison squirm as he asks Becca what she thinks of Trump’s barbaric immigration policies?  (Here’s a link to the tweets/instagram posts that Garrett liked: https://twitter.com/AshleySpivey/status/999755526257954816/photo/1)

The one guy who is worthy of rooting for is the stuntman Leo (SWOON ALERT!).  The dude with the preposterous hair who makes me laugh in his 48 seconds of weekly screen time, however, has about the same chance of winning as my great great grandfather which is funny because HE’S DEAD!  (Yikes, that was dark.)  Barring another “he fell off the top bunk”-situation, the final 3 look to be Garrett, Colton, and Blake.  A triumvirate better known as “Who gives a shit?”

3)  The villains aren’t “villain-y” enough:  The VP does seem to genuinely hate Jordan, but how seriously can you hate a guy who talks the way he does?  His whole “my professionality is my personality” diatribe was just plain silly.  The guys around him were kinda laughing and that’s not what villains engender.  You remember Chad?  Guys were peeing their pants around him because he was so scary.  If one of them would’ve made the “I’m trying not to laugh”-face that all the dudes were making during Jordan’s spat, Chad would’ve torn their heads off their necks and snacked on their brains.  LITERALLY, GUYS!  And Jordan’s nemesis is weasel-faced David who isn’t coordinated enough to SLEEP without sending himself to the ICU.  Also, real quick real quick, in the history of “The Bachelor” and “The Bachelorette” has a tattle-tail ever won?  When David ran to tell Mom, I mean Becca, about Jordan’s tinder stuff he might as well have just left the house.  Is Jordan a tool? Of course.  But, David is a rich kid with that permanent “You obviously don’t know who my father is”-smirk.  Did you see any of the SNL skits this year where they’d have Don Jr. and Eric Trump acting like petulant, idiot babies?  DAVID IS THE SNL-EXAGGERATED VERSION OF ERIC TRUMP:

If you want me to hate a character, as ABC obviously does with Jordan, you’ve gotta give me a better adversary than the “where are the railings on the top bunk?”-guy.

MY WORLD:

I went to kind of a club place a couple weekends ago, and I think I’m a club-guy now! (Jimmy NOOOOO!!!!!)  Let me know explain.  The VP had some super cool Southern friends in town (Southern girls > Northern girls.  FACTS ONLY IN THIS BLOG!) and they wanted me to meet up with them after a work thing I had.  It wasn’t just me and the gals as there were some boyfriends there too (don’t hate the juicy goss I get to hear when it is just me and the gals TBH) but they were at some place in downtown Chicago I had never heard of.  Place I haven’t heard of PLUS downtown Chicago definitely means it was clubby.  Knowing this, I decided NOT to change my outfit following my work thang.  This meant that I showed up to a club in dirty shorts that are no less than 7 years old, high-socks, gym shoes, and a backwards hat.  The VP was mortified.  My entrance was a success.

Being the worst dressed male on the disastrously douchey rooftop, and making The VP incredibly uncomfortable in the process, turned into the most fun I’ve had in a club maybe ever?  Looking like a high school gym teacher in a sea of hair gel and vodka sodas wasn’t enough for me, though.  I would only be drinking canned beers and would NOT be shy about throwing out some painfully uncoordinated “sway-like” dance moves while standing next to The VP.  Whenever I’d feel her getting some separation from Coach Me, I’d throw my chin up in the air and belch out a thick Chicago-accented “hey babe, where you going?!?!” I never call her “babe” and I never talk in a thick Chicago accent.  I was on a mission to be THE COMPLETE OPPOSITE of every other guy on that rooftop.

While some may say this whole charade was simply a weak attempt to mask my insecurities, I would say…yeah, that’s probably right.  In all likelihood, I was in the bottom 11% of guys on that rooftop in terms of looks and bank accounts.  If I’m being completely SUPREMELY honest, there were some guys up there who I’m pretty sure were male models.  They were tools, but one of them danced with a friend of The VP and all I could think was “thank God, Captain Delicious didn’t ask The VP for a dance” because he was way bigger and better looking than me.  If, after a few “hey, I’m just casual”-canned beers, Captain Delicious would have hit on The VP, I would’ve said something like say “Hey…can you not do that?” while simultaneously praying that this dude didn’t feel like showing The VP how far he could throw me.  Thankfully, the adonis I referred to in my head as “Captain Delicious” danced with The VPs friend a few yards away from me; allowing me to whisper cutting remarks about his DUMB HAT in the VPs ear.  Yeah, I’m one tough hombre.

Following this near-death experience, though, I went back to making The VP uncomfortable while earning a beer buzz in a place known for low-cal libations.  The music was silly and thumpy, but different enough that me yelling “how about some Incubus?!?!” at the DJ  earned a few chuckles.  (Real talk: who wants to open an Incubus-only bar with me?  Incubus on the speakers, and a menu that only consists of nachos and cheap whiskey shots.  GET READY FOR FUN!)  Clubs are supremely uncomfortable for non-douchebags when they’re single.  However, 6 years later, when these non-douchebags are now married, clubs are a bastion of inadvertent comedy.  Now that I’m married and in my 30s, I’m a club guy.  CATCH ME ON THE DANCE FLOOR!

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Getting a chocolate chip cookie from Potbelly at lunch because it’s your birthday week and calories don’t count that week.

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Getting sleepy at work 2 hours after you ate a massive sandwich and chocolate chip cookie from Potbelly during your birthday week.

K bye.

 

 

 

“The Bachelorette” Recap: The Biggest Wuss in America. (6/5/18)

OUR WORLD:

Can we cool it with the crying, guys?  Last night’s episode of “The Bachelorette” was embarrassing for men everywhere.  EVERYWHERE.  From Lincoln crying about his picture with Becca being tossed into the pool, to that Southern NOBODY making an ALL-TIME cry-face after he got booted, last night may go down in history as the night millennial’s ruined manhood in America.  This episode, though, was about one thing and one thing only: Lincoln taking the crown of “Biggest Wuss in America”

I’m all for a sensitive moment, here or there, but how come every goddamn moment in this show has to be the guy proving to Becca that he’s capable of embarrassing his grandfather?  Let’s try to go through this as best as I can remember, because I am NOT going to rematch that atrocity to make sure I get the sequencing right (I HAVE WORN A TIE 4 TIMES IN THE PAST YEAR FOR CHRISSAKE!!!)  

The Lincoln Crying Part

First off, Linocln’s accent really does sound like he’s a community theater actor trying WAY too hard.  Now when the episode started and you saw guys acting excited about “being pampered” by getting to put on tuxedos, we all should’ve known that this was the start of something epically embarrassing.  What guy gets his rocks off by drinking champagne and trying on tuxedos?  That’s a fun date for a guy?  Guess I’m more of a loose cargo shorts and chicken fingers kinda’ guy (SWOON ALERT!  Also, I don’t really wear cargo shorts anymore, but I miss the times when I did.) Here’s an idea: let’s drink something that no man ACTUALLY likes while wearing clothes that make you feel like your entire body is choking.  WAIT, DO WE GET TO DRINK CHAMPAGNE IN TUXEDOS?!?! AND THESE DUDES WERE ACTING LIKE IT WAS CHRISTMAS MORNING.  Once I saw this, I turned to the VP with a “something is afoot”-look.  She knew too.

Following this misplaced excitement, Chris Harrison and the GENIUS producers threw a twist in: obstacle course time.  Guess what, Champagne Papi’s?  TIME TO GET MESSY!  YOU’RE GONNA HAVE TO CRAWL THROUGH MUD!  They should’ve made the obstacle course ACTUALLY difficult and had them run up to a family member who fought in a war and then have to explain how much they enjoyed the champagne and fashion show. “Hey Grandpa Bill, remember that time you told me about you hunting Nazis in the middle of the night when you were 19?  Well, I don’t mean to show you up, but I’m 26 and just cried because I got to try on a tuxedo.”  COOL!

Lincoln “won” this obstacle course because he cheated.  Two questions: 1) What in the LIVING FUCK was Chris Harrison doing?  Was he too busy preparing to remind all the guys that one rose left on the table means that “this is the final rose” to, I don’t know, POINT OUT BLATANT CHEATING?  This should’ve been Chris “The Captain of I-Have-Done-Nothing-Meaningful-With-My-Life Mountain” Harrison’s shining moment as he swooped in with a hand in Lincoln’s cheating-ass chest to push him back to the ice tub.  But no.  Yet again, Chris Harrison’s inactivity reminds us that he’s television’s most useless human being.  The person who refill’s Hoda Kotb’s backstage wine during “The Today Show” contributes more to the success of that show than Chris Harrison does to this.

SECOND QUESTION:  None of the guys throw a John McEnroe type fit about this cheating?  They just take it like the losers they are.  This was the perfect set up for a star-making comedy turn if one of these guys would’ve lost their mind.  Maybe they get kicked off the show, but at least they’re known as the funny guy who stands up for FAIRNESS!  If it were me, I would’ve taken my shirt off, lit it on fire and whipped it around my head while screaming “WE LIVE IN A SOCIETY BASED ON RULES!!!!”

Later that night, Lincoln and his mood ring of an accent got all emotional when Becca gave him a picture of him with her after the obstacle course “victory.”  Him pretending that this was meaningful almost caused me to punch myself IN THE FUCKING FACE.  “Oh, a picture from earlier today…sweeeeeet….”  Nope, this dumbass picture was enough for Lincoln to declare this as “the best first date” of his life.  OUCH, BRO.  VERY OUCH.  How do you think the “second best first date” of Lincoln’s life went?  The girl kick him in the nuts and staple a “I have no real friends” sign to his forehead?  (“Yes, that girl did fire a staple into my forehead, but my Aunt bought me this ice cream cone so, all in all, it was a pretty good night.”-Lincoln re: the second best first date of his life, as blood pours from his forehead onto his vanilla ice cream.)  

The episode really kicked into overdrive, though, once Fitness Coach Connor (I said I’m not a trainer!) tossed the framed photo of Lincoln and Becca into the pool.  I actually respected the move at the time.  This group of dudes was WAY overdue for a meathead moment, and this was kinda’ close to that.  I was in.  But then Lincoln tattled to Becca which eventually led to Connor giving a HEARTFELT APOLOGY.  WHAT?!?!?!!? Once Connor found out that Lincoln ran to Becca to cry about that dumb picture taking a dive, he should’ve gone to the nearest gun store to buy a sawed-off JUST so he could put it to Lincoln’s head. “Now Lincoln, you’re gonna be a good boy and go back to Becca to tell her that you dropped the picture in the pool and that your good friend Connor dove in to pick it up for you.”  I’ve decided that firearms need to be introduced to this season of “The Bachelorette”.

Instead, though, Connor forced up some “that’s not me”-type apology re: the picture in the pool.  If you weren’t yelling “oh give me a fucking break!” at your television by this point, we may be different species.  Not only that, but that apology WASN’T ENOUGH FOR BECCA.  She still had to throw the “I just need some time” at Connor.  Some time for what?  To remember that grown man Lincoln ran to you like a teacher at recess?  Hey Becca, is that the kind of guy you want to BE THE FATHER TO YOUR CHILDREN?!?!?!

Lincoln wasn’t done, though.  Nope.  No way.  The next morning, while recounting this picture in the pool situation, he started crying in front of a group of guys that weren’t there.  This was the most unbelievable crying situation I’ve ever seen.  UN. BE. LIEV. ABLE.  A 26 year-old man who is built like a friggin’ adonis just cried in front of a group of guys about a picture of him with a girl he had spoken MAYBE 4 sentences to in his entire life.  You know the Starbucks barista you’ve seen a few times?  Now imagine being surrounded by a bunch of strangers, all guys, and crying about a picture of you and that Starbucks barista that was tossed into a pool.  “She always put just the right amount of foam on top of my latte!”  During this whole scene, I was DYING for one of these guys to go into straight-bully mode: point at Lincoln, laugh like any movie villain EVER, and try to stuff him in a closet somewhere in that big, dumb house.  If you showed a video of this scene during an Anti-Bully rally, you’d see the entire crowd shrug like “are we sure we don’t want ANY bullies?”

If you still think that guys with muscles can’t be ALL-TIME-WIMPS, I would like to introduce you to Bachelorette Lincoln, “The Biggest Wuss in America”.

A QUICK JIMMYSCHAIR SUGGESTION IN LIEU OF A “MY WORLD”:

The pilot episode for “Succession” on HBO was one of the best pilot episodes I have seen in a while.  Terrific acting plus solid writing equals ME LIKEY.  If you’re looking for a new show to get into, “Succession” has “You’re going to talk to your friends about this”-written all over it.  Supposedly, other reviews said the episode was “boring.”  Too bad those other reviews are stupid and should be IMMEDIATELY redacted because that is PATENTLY WRONG.  It’s funny and smart, and if you don’t think Brian Cox is the best “angry old-guy” actor going, you need to get your head out of the sand, pal!

LETS LOVE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

I like this remix because I’m YOUNG!

LETS HATE THIS TOGETHER AT THE SAME TIME:

Supposedly, this guy saw this kid messing with a bunch of cars in the parking lot, and tried to put a stop to it.  Aside from hating this kid, the reason I hate this video is that there wasn’t some other kid to act like a hero by jumping in with a tire iron to WHOMP this little brat.  If we’re being totally honest, I would’ve been fine if this adult threw this kid into an active volcano, but I don’t think I can totally advocate for that in a public forum such as this.  If, however, someone the same age as this kid, showed up with a home-run swing and a rusty tire iron, we’d all be happy, right?

 

WRITING ABOUT GAMBLING ON THE NBA FINALS IS BORING ME SO I’M GOING TO TAKE A BREAK FROM IT FOR A LITTLE BIT.  PLEASE DON’T CRY LIKE “BACHELORETTE” LINCOLN ABOUT THIS.

K bye.