the last person that thought i was cool
February 26, 2013 § 10 Comments
This is my experience throughout school: I wasn’t cool enough to hang out with the cool kids. I wasn’t nerdy enough to hang out with the nerdy kids. I wasn’t popular enough to hang out with the popular kids. I wasn’t old enough to hang out with my grandparents. That’s basically how I became a “floater” in high school. I had acquaintances everywhere, I had casual friends all over, I changed best friends every year just like I changed the first day outfit every year.
I never felt like a loser because of this. Never. And I still don’t think that it made me a loser, because it wasn’t like I had a bunch of people that disliked me, I just didn’t have a bunch of close friends. I wasn’t picked on or anything, I wasn’t made fun of (that I know of) and I didn’t get wedgies or stuffed into my locker. Partly because I was twice as big as everyone else, partly because I was more of a harmless class clown than the subject of ridicule, but I keep in contact with very few people that I went to school with from the K-12 years.
Some of my best friends from middle school started drinking and doing drugs in high school, and since I didn’t really do that, we grew apart and I couldn’t hang out consistently with them. I had a group of friends that I hung out with that were a year younger than me, and that didn’t always work. I had another group of friends that were a year older than me, and that didn’t always work. I could never get too attached to anyone, but I would never want to drift too far away either.
I played sports for awhile, but I was terrible. No, let me re-phrase that: I played sports for awhile. Football, baseball, basketball, and track & field, and I was the worst athlete you’ve ever seen in your entire life. If you tried to imagine the worst athlete you’ve ever seen in your entire life, you still didn’t go far enough into just how bad of an athlete I am/was. So playing on the football team didn’t help me become popular. Spending life at the end of the bench of the sophomore basketball team didn’t get me dates with cheerleaders. Throwing a javelin 8 feet didn’t land me “Most Likely To Be Awesome!” in the yearbook.
So I wasn’t cool or popular, but could I at least find a home? Not with the nerds.
I loved movies, and I loved Star Wars, and I watched Star Trek: The Next Generation, but it’s not like I could keep up with a conversation of an actual Trekkie (offensive terminology I believe, not that I would know for certain) or Star Wars nerd. I had some Magic: The Gathering cards, but I don’t know that I actually played in any real games. I played some video games, but not intensely. My hobbies, watching movies and reciting sports statistics, didn’t really make me a part of any group of people in high school and by nature can be rather isolating. Even being a “class clown” (some would have probably just called me a “clown”) doesn’t necessarily help you either. People would rather laugh from afar, and then stay afar as I’m being sent to the principal’s office. I spent so much time in there that eventually she did become my pal. The mnemonic device really works! (I always remembered to spell mnemonic because of the episode of Full House where Stephanie incorrectly spells mnemonic. How meta.)
“Hey, remember when Kenny said that thing about the teacher?”
“Yeah, haha.”
“Want to invite him to the party?”
“No.”
By college, things were able to change a little bit. I made a few friends that I’ve had ever since and now that “cliques” and “cool” have not become a part of your societal status, I don’t have to worry about where I stand among my peers now that I am 30. Still, it doesn’t mean that most people still don’t like to think of themselves as being “cool” once in awhile or having people that see value in you where others might not have. That’s what I used to have with somebody. That’s what I think I lost recently.
I grew up with one sister, one half-sister, and one half-brother. My half-brother and half-sister are more than decade older than me and we never really lived together. We have relationships, but it’s distant. My sister is four years older than me and we did grow up together and the only three people that know for certain what our childhood was like are me, her, and our mother. That’s not a bond that can ever be replaced, but still we aren’t that close. She could not wait to move out of the house as a teen, and she never hid that fact, and she absolutely bolted when she could. Being four years older than me, no teenage girl wants to be associated with their four-years-younger brother. You would have thought that would be mostly a teenage girl thing, but since the time that she moved out of the house over ten years ago, I don’t know how many times my sister has actually called me. Maybe five times? None of them were to just see how I was doing. And I don’t know how many emails I’ve received “just because”… Maybe a couple.
I was the youngest sibling of all, and most of the time I’ve still felt like an only child. I know that all of my siblings would be there for me when I needed it, and vice versa, but none of them have ever really needed me. I just wanted someone to provide some value to, maybe even to look up to. Finally after college graduation, I became closer to some extended family and found some of that peace. but even that could only last for so long.
My mother’s cousin was not someone that I saw very much as a kid. I remember going over there once, I might have only been thirteen or fourteen, and playing with her kids (or maybe just the one kid at the time) for awhile. ”E” must have only been a tot back then and “B” might have either been a newborn or a very young toddler at best. (It would make the most sense if she was a newborn, hence giving me a reason to go over there with my mom at the time.) But fast forward to after college graduation, when I was now 23, “E” and “B” were both young ladies and over the years the family grew closer and I spent more time hanging out with my mom’s cousin and her kids. For the first time, I felt like I had someone that needed me to be a brother, that needed some guidance maybe, and that I was actually going to be the “cool” older person that wouldn’t judge you and that you could confide in.
Me…. cool?!? You’re darn tootin’! that i’ve already lost my “cool card” haven’t i? aww nuts. /kicks dirt.
When I showed up to their house, I could see the excitement on their faces that I was there. When I talked to E on the phone, I could hear how happy she was to be talking to me. The same with B. With this “new” extended family, I felt more like I had a purpose within a family, and that I could finally beat up boys for someone and give advice and be a cool dude. In high school I thought it would make me a cool dude to do freestyle raps and sing “Total Eclipse of the Heart” with perfect pitch (that’s perfect-pitch, mind you) but no? Does it not make me a “cool dude” to say that I have won two karaoke contests, know the lyrics to every song on the Boyz II Men “II” album, and have seen every episode of Saved by the Bell at least ten times? If that doesn’t make me cool, then I don’t know what does.
I don’t know what does.
But to them, to E and B, I was just cool. I didn’t have to prove anything, I didn’t have to be anything other than myself, I was just a second cousin that loved my family unconditionally. We never got to spend too much time together, I moved to Los Angeles from Seattle only a few years after college graduation and have been back sparingly since, but when I was back up in Washinton we always have a good time. Most recently we got together at a Thanksgiving function where I totally kicked ass on a Wii dancing game for tween girls and if that doesn’t make me unconditionally cool then I really am completely lost on the meaning of cool.
A few months ago, E told me that she wanted to come down and visit me in LA for her 19th birthday. I don’t exactly know how to host a teenager in LA, but somebody actually wanted to come visit me! She was very excited for the trip right up until the time that I picked her up from LAX and I could still hear that same “you’re cool to me, Kenny” in her voice that morning. It just didn’t seem like long after that though when I started to switch from feeling like “cool older bro” to “lame Dad” or “weird Uncle” and NOBODY wants to be seen as an uncle. I even hope that my actual niece and nephew see me as something other than an uncle. Friend? Sure. Confidant? Yes. The kind of guy that if you threw a party would give you the biggest gift and the card attached would say “Thank you for being a FRIEND and NOT an uncle!” Hell yes. But never a weird uncle.
We spent all day Friday at Disneyland, and by that I mean we were at Disneyland from 8 AM to 11 PM. Now I really started to feel old. My feet and back had given out when there was “only” nine more hours left until the fireworks display. But none of that bothered me as much as watching the look of admiration from my cousin evaporate and turn into a distance of “we ain’t got shit in common” that might be too far to travel; Even further than the 20 or so miles that we had trekked in Disneyland that day. And it’s a reasonable reaction for her too because just what exactly do I have in common with a person born in 1994?
I said “Let’s go on the Roger Rabbit ride!!!” (with at least three real-life audible exclamation points indeed) and I don’t know what could be cooler than a 30-year-old man wanting to go on a Roger Rabbit car ride, but she hadn’t even heard of Roger Rabbit.
She hadn’t even heard of Roger Rabbit.
She wouldn’t know of Boyz II Men. She’s never seen Saved by the Bell. Golden Girls? Get out of town. That’s when you realize that an eleven year difference isn’t just eleven years; it’s a generation. Maybe on some level this really did make me more like a “brother” figure, since I’m not close to my own actual siblings in that way, but on another level I also felt like I lost one of the last people that might have thought I was cool in the whole entire world. For a time when you think family could bond, instead it seems like getting closer can sometimes pull you apart.
When I sent her off back to Washington and said “Goodbye” I knew I wasn’t just saying any regular goodbye. I was saying goodbye to the kid I had once known and saying hello to the next phase of her being a young woman that didn’t need me to beat up any boys or provide any advice or be a big brother. Maybe B would need that one day, with another four years of being a high schooler still ahead of her, but I also won’t be around for much of it. Sometimes you just have to accept the situation you are in and find a way to mold it into the situation that makes you happiest. I never had a group of kids growing up that I ever felt fully accepted me, and I never had a sibling that I felt ever really needed me, and I never had a label of being the most popular, or the smartest, or the coolest.
But labels don’t define you. Labels are like the difference between “infer” and “imply.” You could be inferring that I am lame, but I’m trying to imply that I am cool and if you didn’t notice my “ALF” t-shirt that’s your problem. If you can’t tell that I’ve got LA Looks in my hair, sorry pal move along. Maybe I’m not the broad definition of cool, maybe I’m not James Dean or Marlon Brando or AC Slater, maybe I can’t ride a motorcycle or even cite to you every character from Star Trek, but I’ve got other things that make me cool because cool is what you make of it. Cool is being yourself and not giving a heck. Cool is doing what you do because you love it, not because someone else does.
I’ve got family that’s there for me, even if we don’t talk all the time and even if they insist on growing up and getting older. I’ve got friends that accept me for who I am and actually enjoy my jokes about politics and fart puns. And I’m not going to shy away from showing my insecurities to the world in a blog post, even if it leaves me bare and exposed, because maybe it’ll relate to just one other person and let them see that they weren’t the only one.
I actually think that makes me pretty cool.
/breaks out into Adele “Someone Like You” in perfect pitch. Perfect. Pitch.
What I’ve Learned 2 Weeks After Quitting Smoking
January 28, 2013 § 8 Comments
I put off quitting smoking for a long time really because of one reason and I am not ashamed to admit it: It seemed like it would be a really hard thing to do. I could hardly go four hours without a cigarette as it was, and “forever” is slightly longer than four hours. How could I possibly eat another meal without nicotine dessert? How could I drink another beer without a stoagie in hand, complementing the hops and barley so beautifully? How would I get through a day of work without my consistent and necessary breaks… from work? Well, two weeks since my last cigarette and now I must say…
I thought this would be harder.
That’s not meant to sound like I’m some awesome person that has great special powers when it comes to accomplishing seemingly difficult tasks. Quite the opposite, since I will do whatever it takes to avoid tasks if anything. Most people say that they hate going to the dentist because they don’t like the idea that a person is mucking around in their mouths, drilling and needling your teeth and gums. But for me, I literally just hate going to the dentist. I hate making appointments and then having to show up for those appointments. If the dentist came to me, then he could drill and poke all he wants (some sort of sex joke goes here) but it’s the actual act of going that I hate the most. So I am not even the guy that you would use as the example of a person that is great at doing stuff, and yet (my dentist will be happy about this) quitting smoking hasn’t been nearly as difficult as I thought it would be.
That’s not to say that it has been without difficulties and obstacles. Indeed, the last fortnight has been interesting and at times, annoying, but cigarettes have done little to sway me back into the fold of being a smoker. Here is what the last 14 days has been like and what I have so far learned about quitting smoking:
Coughy, like the drink only spelled different
You would think that the worst “smokers cough” would come when you are actually smoking, but for almost two weeks I have not been able to restrain myself from a terrible and constant need to evacuate phlegm from my lungs and nurture a tingling sensation in the back of my throat. So why am I being punished for doing a good thing and quitting?
For ten years I was killing the cilia in my lungs. That sure seems like a silly-uh thing to do! (Well, there’s nothing left for me to accomplish on the internet. Goodnight, everyone!)
But seriously folks, those cilia help clean out the lungs and smoke puts them out like a candle in a very smoky wind. As soon as you stop trying to murder your own cilia with cigarette smoke, they awaken from a deep coma and start cleaning the chimney chim-chim-charoo in breathtaking fashion. Unfortunately that means that they are working overtime because I kept killing them and let garbage build up in my lungs, so it’s time to evacuate the lung waste and start from scratch, which might mean a scratchy throat, but I won’t bitch about this itch. I think it’s pretty cool that I stopped killing those little guys. It really makes you think about how your body is alive. Weird, huh? How bodies are alive.
I don’t know if my coughing is going to end today or go on for several more weeks, but it’s normal. If I start coughing up blood, contact my doctor immediately. (Call 555-2424 and ask for Dr. Tanner.)
I’m a former smoker, I’m popular
It used to be that the cool kids were the smokers but now you’re not cool, you’re nothin’ but a fool. I actually would never judge a person for smoking, as I have said before, but it’s certainly not the popular thing to do anymore. At least as of 2009, there were more former smokers (49.9 million) than current smokers (46.6 million) in the U.S. Almost half of smokers had tried to quit and failed in the last year, which is exactly why I never tried to quit until I was ready.
Will I succeed or am I being way too cocky right now about quitting after only two weeks of cessation? That’s a good question, because 90% of people fail upon their first attempt to stop! I also assume that many of them did not quit cold turkey, like I did, but I simply didn’t want to switch out one addiction for another and also end up paying more money to not smoke than to just smoke. Thanks to the ~$75 I have saved already in two weeks, I was finally able to purchase the Red Ryder BB gun and shoot my eye out.
The fact of the matter is that while nicotine may be one of the most addictive substances known to man, the chemical is basically out of your body entirely 48 hours after your last cigarette. In reality, nicotine addiction is no match for habit and it’s the habit, routine, and cravings-linked-to-association-of-cigarettes that really make it difficult to quit. When you stop smoking, it’s basically a 24-hour cycle of feeling like something in your life is missing. It feels like you went on vacation and know for a fact that you left the stove on, completely unable to do anything other than think about how you left that damn stove on. I couldn’t tell you the amount of times that I have finished a meal and thought, “Time for a cigarette” only to remind myself that I had quit. It’s that self-denial of something that feels so naturally right that really makes it hard to say no to giving yourself a cigarette. That association that a smoke has with food, beer, sex, driving, talking, walking, or reading the news. You’ve cut off an arm and you just want that arm back and you’ve conditioned your brain to think that you can’t have one of those things, whatever it is, without a cigarette. It’s a habit, so how do you break the habit?
They say that it takes “21 days” to make or break a habit, but is that really true? I trust How Stuff Works more than I trust my President, so let’s take a look at what they say about 21 days:
For most people, staying away from a bad habit is a lifetime effort, backed up by the fact that those well-worn synaptic pathways never go away. There’s no apparent scientific reason why it would take three weeks to break an old habit or make a new habit. Depending on your unique physical and psychological make-up, it could take three weeks, it could take five days, or it could take nine months.
Everyone is different. Maybe I could really break my smoking habit (for the most part) in two weeks. Maybe I have another four months. In reality, I’ll probably still have smokicidal thoughts in 20 years. But the actual habit, the innate “natural” desire to have a cigarette every time I do something, like eat or drink, will subside more and more each day. It’s already mostly gone, for now.
Cancer? Sorry, no, Sagittarius.
Nobody has ever said this before, but smoking causes cancer. It’s one of the hottest new ways to cancer up yo’ body! ”Kenny, my body is completely clean. How can I get cancer?” ”That’s easy: Smoke!”
I would be lying if I said that the risk of cancer was in the top five reasons of why I quit smoking and I honestly think that “You’ll get cancer!” anti-smoking ads are the least effective. Frankly, people do not really care about long-term benefits and risks of anything. I can’t even watch a DVR’d television show without hitting the FF button four times during commercials. And you’re telling me that now I have to worry about whether or not this thing in my hand is going to give me lung cancer when I am 75 years old? Or maybe even never? I am sure we have all heard of the people that smoked until they were 100 and most people don’t have all that much interest in living to be 100. We will hold more onto the fact that a few people can live for a long time as smokers than the fact that most smokers are gonna die from it. That’s just the way it is.
No, I would list reasons for quitting more like:
- Dating
- Money
- That woman with the hole in her throat
- Smell
- Teeth
- It’s cold outside
Most people are going to live their life how they want to live and not think about the long-term consequences, because I think a lot of people live in at least some fear that they might not live to see the day that smoking kills them anyway. I can’t have this cigarette because it might kill me in 40 years? Yeah, but I also might die in a freak kazoo accident so who gives a crap? However, that doesn’t mean that I don’t think that the benefits of a longer life, or at least the possibility that I’m not going to be the one to kill myself through smoking, aren’t very cool.
The risk of heart and lung disease for a former smoker and a non-smoker are just about the same 5-10 years after cessation. Which means that I got to live a little and be free to smoke in my 20s and could completely get away with it! Ha! All you never-smokers really missed out. And by quitting at age 30, I have reduced my chances of dying prematurely from smoking-related diseases by 90%. Not only that, I have increased my chances of dying from sex-related accidents by 400% because now that I don’t smell like smoke and have some extra money in my pocket, I will need to fend off droves of ladies with brooms and fencing gear.
The desire to smoke and the desire to eat are sadly very similar
One thing that I have noticed and that I will need to stay aware of, is that it is very easy to gain weight when you quit smoking. Not only does the body literally gain water weight when you quit, but there’s a need to fill that desire to smoke with something, and oftentimes that something is food. It’s especially hard for a person like me, because I was already having ZERO problem gaining weight!
Just this morning as I drove to work I felt a major desire for something. It was an empty stomach, but I used to smoke a cigarette bright and early and this would curb the appetite for a significant period of time. I can no longer do that, so I need to find other ways to get past it without smoking and without overeating. Trust me, I’m going to keep eating, but I don’t want to trade out one negative for another and in addition to that, I am back to going to the gym on a regular basis. (Seriously, I feel so bad for males in the Los Angeles area. Sorry dudes, K-Arthur is here for the ladies and there is nothing you can do about it unless you sabotage me with cigarettes and Snickers Ice Cream bars mmmm cigarettes and snickers ice cream)
The most important thing to remember for anyone quitting smoking is that cravings will continue to happen but when you consciously think about the cravings you will notice that they never last for more than a couple of minutes. Over time, those will get to be less and less and I can honestly make it through most of a day already without a single craving. At least, not for cigarettes, but when those cravings come for food, its just important to remember that moderation is key and that the desire will still go away in minutes.
(Though when I went to the grocery store yesterday, I said f*** it and went to the yogurt aisle which seems like a legit place to go nuts without getting a bunch of food that’s bad for you, so I went down the row and got 12 different kinds of yogurt. That seemed like a good way to live out the dreams of some millionaire rock star. You know, because I can afford 12 cups of yogurt of all different flavors and styles.)
In addition to more food cravings, you also have an increased sense of smell and taste when you quit smoking. I can honestly say that my mouth feels incredibly clean and I would totally make out with my own mouth if I could. It’s like a hotbed of naturally warm spring water and I want to go skinny dipping on my tongue. Try to get that visual out of your mind now.
But these are just a few of the benefits I have already found to quitting and enough reason for me to never smoke another cigarette again. I also get improved circulation and the ability to breathe, which should also make working out more beneficial than what it was when I was a smoker. Seriously, I didn’t know what this “breathing” thing was all about until recently but it seems pretty cool. I don’t know why I have not found it difficult to quit smoking but so far it’s been a breeze, I can only hope that it will continue to be that way.
I wish I hadn’t waited so long to find out what the big deal about quitting was in the first place. At least there’s still plenty of time and opportunity to make up for it.
(Edit: I don’t know why I didn’t originally include this because it’s the most annoying part of quitting so far but maybe it’s because I’m just too damn tired. I literally have been waking up at 3-4 AM every single day since. I am not one who usually sleeps in but this is ridiculous. Smokers are heavy sleepers and so when you quit, the sleeping is lighter and it’s very hard to get a good night’s rest. Eventually I will be sleeping like a normal human being again, but definitely the restless nights have been the most difficult part about quitting. Though, not an enormous deal.)
The Room: The Book
November 30, 2012 § 3 Comments
Writing “a book” can be rather daunting if you’ve never done it before. Just ask me: I’ve never done it before and I’m daunted! However, I think I’ve stumbled upon a book idea that is not all that daunting because really it would just be a collection of essays on one particular subject. It’s a subject that I’ve spent countless hours going over in my head, I once started a blog about it, and I know that I could expound upon the subject for at least 500 pages without even feeling like I had fully covered it. (Though I won’t write 500 pages.) If you’ve read the title of this article, then you probably already know that I’m talking about the 2003 Tommy Wiseau film, The Room.
The Room isn’t just considered to be one of the worst films ever made, but I believe that it’s one of the most thought-provoking movies in the history of cinema. No fuck that, it is the most thought-provoking movie ever made. I have seen a lot of deep movies that made you think, but none quite like the mind-taxing phenomena that Wiseau somehow produced almost a decade ago.
Last night I was having a conversation with my roommate about a line of dialogue. Let me repeat that: Last night I had an entire conversation (that could have gone on forever if we had wanted it to) about a single line of dialogue. It seems like it is so simple, but The Room is somehow layered unlike most movies and the most amazing thing about it is that it was probably just an accident. (The use of the word ‘probably’ also hints at the fact that there’s a thread of possibility that it was not an accident and the world has just been trolled by Wiseau. In which case, my brain is Humpty Dumpty.)
The character of Johnny (Wiseau) is one the roof (again) and talking to Denny (how much I could talk about Denny…) and discussing what movie they should go see. Denny asks Johnny and Johnny replies: “We could see…. Oh Denny, don’t plan too much. It may not come out riiiight!”
Immediately my mind races:
- Don’t plan too much, for it might be all a wasted exercise.
- How much planning is too much planning? Because in this case, the only “plan” that Denny proposed was deciding on a film before you get to the theater…
- Why is Johnny brushing off Denny here? It seems as though perhaps Johnny could just be completely oblivious as to what movies are out, what movies even are, and instead pushes back on Denny with a lecture about planning.
- We’re talking about going to see a movie here.
- Then I also wonder, since we ARE talking about a movie here, is this sort of meta-commentary on the film itself? Was Tommy saying “Look, don’t plan too much on making a movie because in the end it might be shit.” OR was he saying “I actually DID plan too much, this is my life’s passion, and look what we have here even after all of that careful planning?”
Ultimately I don’t believe that Johnny and Denny ever actually went to see a film that day. Maybe they should have planned better.
That’s what can come about from a single line of dialogue, and I’m paraphrasing. A single scene, such as the masterful Chris-R scene, would take forever to analyze. Or the “Hi Doggy” scene, Jesus. So now I begin my journey towards writing up as many essays on the movie as I can, both analyzing scenes and trying to hopefully find answers on the intent and result of what happened in The Room. It’s not something that I could just let rest. It doesn’t really matter if anyone reads it, I’m not sure that there’s much of a market for it, but we’ll see what comes out the other end. I’m not sure what’s going to happen, that would be too much planning.
My haircut, my life
November 28, 2012 § 11 Comments
Roughly ten haircuts a year, same haircut every time, call it 15 years, 150 haircuts. Consider 95% of said haircuts have come at Supercuts, 142 Supercuts haircuts, same haircut every time, average about $20 per haircut with tip, $2,840 spent on haircuts since I was old enough to get a job and pay for my own haircuts. Two-thousand-eight-hundred-forty dollars spent so that I could keep the same haircut, almost $3000 spent just so that I can look the same.
I wonder how much extra it would have cost to look different.
Nearly 150 haircuts and still to this day when the Supercuts stylist asks me the inevitable question, “So what are we doing today?” I am still befuddled as to some of my answers. ”Umm. 2 on the sides? No, 1 on the sides. Blended into the top and then… “some” off of the top?” ”An inch?” ”How much is an inch?” ”Okay, so like this much.”
The stylist uses his or her (honestly, 95% “hers”) fingers to measure what we’re leaving, which does absolutely nothing for me because it doesn’t really represent at all what my hair is going to look like when it’s cut and her fingers are out of the way. My best answer to this point has become, “Just enough for me be able to do some work with it, not enough so that I have to.” Basically I’m going to be upset if I come out looking like an Army private because it’s too short or like an aspiring child actor because it’s too long. (Seriously, why do all male actors have long hair?) ”What’s in the middle between Pauly Shore in In The Army Now before and after he had his head shaved? I’ll take one of those.”
So many haircuts, so many trips to the same franchise, so many “No” answers to the “shampoo” question (despite how nice it is to have someone else wash your hair, I pass on paying someone to do it) and yet I couldn’t tell the person cutting my hair exactly what I wanted. At my latest Supertrip, I might have gotten the words out as quickly as I ever have: “One on the sides, blended into the top, aaannndd…. half off the top.” Fuck it, half-off, it works for sales why couldn’t it work for me?
Okay, so I’m really nailing it. Quick and easy answers, now it’s sit-and-go time. Now it gets awkward.
It all depends on my mood, but I usually prefer silence to a chatty hair stylist. If small talk with a co-worker is a pointless exercise of finding ways to fill the time and air with words, then what good does it do to chat with a person that I literally met five seconds ago and that I’ll literally leave behind with the tattered remains of my brown and gray hair that are no longer a part of me when I’m finished? The stylist and I were born one day, we will die one day, we will live a certain amount of years (at least 29 for me and preferably at least 30 for her) and within that amount of time of birth and death, we’re going to share 15 minutes. So why exactly does it matter that you know what I do for a living? I mean sure, it’s a little unfair that I already know what you do for a living, but past that we’ve come to an impasse. We are mysterious strangers, you and I, let’s remain in that abyss.
Of course, this is only my experience. Many people either:
A) Love small talk
B) Go to the same stylist every time
I would have written about another person’s personal preference or experience, if only I could be that other person. I’ll tell you what John Malkovich prefers after I find the tunnel that goes into his head. I can only detail how I feel about small talk and how I feel about it is that it’s not a preferable solution to one of the few other options a person has when they are getting their haircut. My avoidance to the distraction leaves me with that other incredibly awkward activity that a person is faced with in the moment: Trying not to stare at yourself.
Uma Thurman’s character in Pulp Fiction talked about how two people have a comfortable or uncomfortable silence, so what does it say about me being uncomfortable when the face staring across from me with a blank stare of “What am I doing here? What excuse can I make to get out of this?” is my own? Thoughts abound run through my head during these times:
- “Okay, just don’t look directly at him.”
- “Keep your chin up. I can see the double-dip chin rollin’ in.”
- “Man, I really need a haircut. Oh sweet, it’s happening right now.”
- “Why are the bags under my eyes so deep in purple and droopy?”
- “Seriously I can’t look at this guy. Hey, whats going on with that haircut behind me?”
- “Even if I did initiate small talk, I’d have to look at myself because she keeps telling me not to move my head.”
Do I talk to myself when I am alone? Sure. Do I go into a bathroom and stare at myself when I’m bored? I think I’d be saner if I simply heard voices telling me to burn things. We don’t tend to look at ourselves unless we are grooming ourselves and if we are grooming ourselves, we are occupied. Idle eyes during a haircut are the devil’s playground as well, I’d say. Idle eyes are not something I idolize. /quits writing forever because he’s nailed it.
/takes writing back up again because the alternative is more time alone with my thoughts.
You see, there are two sets of any haircut: The side you see and the side you don’t. With the side you see, things tend to get very critical.
- “It’s too short!”
- “It’s too long!”
- “I look like a six-year-old!”
- “Why am I yelling at this person?!”
But there’s definitely vanity in the side that we are going to be looking at every day, assuming that you have a mirror in your bathroom and that you use the bathroom. This is the side that we groom, the side that we touch up, the side that we feel matters if we are going out into public or on a date. I’m not metrosexual, this I know for sure. If I was, I’d probably be in so much better shape and I’d go clothes shopping more than once per presidential election, but I do use product in my hair and have a set way that I like it to look. I have no idea if anyone else thinks it looks good, but most of the time I think it looks good. (It’s a funny sort of idea when we think about what “looks good.” Everybody knows people and sees people that have a hair style that makes you think, “Wow. How could they POSSIBLY think that is an acceptable haircut or doo?” Yet, they do do their doo, dude. /quits writing again. That person, that possibly perfectly self-aware person, is probably satisfied or even elated with their current hairstyle. It’s a personal opinion. Because of this idea that people are either A) not self-aware or B) are self-aware but are completely “uncool”, I actually have inner-dialogues wondering if I am either A or B. Is it possible that my hair is now, and has always been, stupid-looking? I know that people say that you shouldn’t care what other people think, but I’m just a squirrel tryin’ to get a nut in this world. What I want to know is if I’m a blind squirrel. When I was in middle school, I tried many different experiments with my hair, but I was completely self-aware with how much I was fucking it up. I’ve spent $3000 trying not to fuck it up and yet here we are. Staring into the mirror of self-doubt. end scene.) When it doesn’t look good to me, when I think that the stylist has done a bad job, I’m not happy about it. Usually it’s because it’s too short. How could she not read my mind from the “ehhh… thiiiis much???” description? Either way, this is the part of me that I see and this is the part that I know what I am showing to the world. I’m self-aware of this part.
What I find more interesting that though is the other question I receive every time I get a haircut. ”Straight or curved in the back?” This is not a question that most girls have ever gotten during a haircut (not that I hate on girls with short hair. Natalie Portman may have gotten hotter) but what the stylist is referring to is the line at the top of the neck and the base of the head. ”Do you want corners or curves?” Wait, now I have to concern myself with how I look on a part of my body that I will literally never see? (A mirrored imagine in itself is not technically seeing, let alone a mirrored image of a mirror.) Beyond the fact that it is something that I will never see, how many people have ever look at the base of my head and thought either “Oh wow, nice fucking corners!” or “Hey buddy, we don’t take kindly to your curved neck base around here.”?
This seemingly inconsequential decision is not something that I want to think about when there are so many other decisions that are more important in my life, so I typically tell the stylist to “surprise me” because holy shit what a meaningless question. I’ve never been that big of a fan of making decisions in the first place and I’ve always told myself that if I came into a ridiculously large sum of money that one of the first things I’d do is hire somebody that knew my tastes really well (or better yet, had much better tastes than me) and then have them make many of my decisions for me. ”What am I having for dinner tonight?” ”What am I wearing on my date?” ”When do I need to go to my next dentist appointment?”
I’ll decide when to wake up, when to go to sleep, what I want to watch (because nobody fucks with my remote), and still plenty of other decisions, but I will not decide how the back of my head is going to look. Sure, I don’t want you to shave a Swastika back there, but corners or curves? There’s shit going down in Gaza.
After pretending like I care whether I have “sideburns” or not (I’m not Elvis Presley, we’re talking about the difference of like a half-inch of hair going down the front of my ears), feigning interest in how the back of my head looks in the mirror mirror (“Looks good!” every time), and brushing off whatever hairs don’t grasp tightly onto my shirt collar and neck, which never seems to be very many, my 150th-or-whatever trip to Supercuts is finished. Nearly every single one blended together to form more of a singular memory about one very long trip to Supercuts instead of dozens, and why not since I’ve spent nearly $3000 to have the same thing over and over again. A ‘Groundhog Day’ task.
So what does it all mean when:
- Supercuts is my only destination for a haircut? In & out, we aren’t trying to re-invent the beehive.
- I can do something over and over again and still not be descript in explaining what I want?
- I can’t share 15 minutes with myself staring down on me in the mirror without being uncomfortable?
- I can’t find meaning in small talk with a stranger that won’t become anything more than a stranger?
- I can’t ensure my own self-awareness of how it looks?
- I’m not concerned at all with the parts of myself that I don’t see?
- A gentle buzzing on the base of the next is next to Godliness.
(I never got to that last part in this essay but good lord, I would gladly pay another $3000 straight-up for 15 minutes a day of the clippers gently cleaning up back there. I may not care whether it’s straight or curved, but you damn sure aren’t going to skip it.)
What does it mean? What does it mean? What does it mean? I guess that’s the point- I can’t give you an answer, I’m not Dr. Melfi, but each of those little eccentricities mean something. A haircut can tell you a lot about a person, not really so much the “doo” but everything in between. The where, the how, the descriptions, the hang-ups of a somewhat interesting activity that nearly every person has to go through with a routine, everything that goes into getting your haircut can say a little something about your life. Everybody has their own experience and since people typically don’t go in groups to get haircuts, it’s a rather personal experience.
15+ years of going to barber shops on my own, 150 haircuts, $2,840 spent at Supercuts, the same exact routine over and over again without much fault or difference and what does my routine say about me?
uhhhh… I don’t know… half-an-inch?
Not a longform sports story
November 14, 2012 § 2 Comments
Unrecognized dead silence and then annoying interruption as the alarm clock sounds at 6:59 am. It’s time to wake up, it’s time to wake up, it’s time to wake up in the morning. Kenneth lumbers out of bed, silences the alarm, and walks past the large empty bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon that he had finished the night before. It’s Wednesday.
Days simply go by and the routine rarely changes. Kenneth can look back on his life and reminisce on the good times and the bad times, but he knows that the two are rarely any different. Rather than “good” or “bad,” his life just has times and then those times begin to blur together. Even at this moment as he writes this, he knows that this is now but later on it will be before and that earlier it was “in awhile” and then he even gets to this word and it wasn’t now anymore, it was then.
Kenneth shakes his head like a Yahtzee cup, he’s so confused after what he just wrote.
However, he needs to do something to provide less consistency in his life. Consistency leads to complacency and complacency is something that should only be reserved for school and work. If you’re complacent in every day life however, you’re ready to just give up. Kenneth doesn’t want to give up, he wants to move forward. He wants to advance, to pursue his dreams and reach his goals. That shouldn’t be too hard; He only wants to write a long-form sports story.
Where did it all begin?
Rural Flashback
The buzz alarms loudly, but this time behind a half-empty 40 of Olde English 800, as Kenneth fights through the cans and bottles to silence it for one more day. It’s Monday in college.
Set among the rolling hills of golden wheat and brick buildings, he knows that this will be the perfect setting for the next section of his long-form story. People love the shit out of rural America in this type of essay, and they drip from their nether regions when “rolling hills of golden wheat” are mentioned. The farms and agriculture of this country are like a domestic-foreign setting that remind us of days-gone-by. Most of the people that read these stories on the internet are used to a city or suburban setting, so it gives us an escape to read of experiences that we know little of.
Pullman, Washington is the home of Washington State University and also miles from most modern conveniences of civilization. After four hours of traveling through vast nothingness to reach the college, it’s a sight for sore eyes just to see a Safeway again. Though most of the students frequent Dissmores IGA. Readers of this long-form story will regale themselves in possibilities of what Dissmores could really be like, therefore it is more interesting than a simple Safeway.
He could go on about how instead of going to Wal-Mart, he went to Shopko. Damn, that’s random.
Forget the fact that Pullman, though small and a college-town through and through, is just another suburbanite area except that it’s full of students instead of adults. Kenneth rarely found himself in a field or farm, more likely to be passed out drunk on a stranger’s porch or his bathroom floor. However, if we can relate this to alcoholism then it will be a disease that conjures up feelings of intrigue and interest that would embellish a rather mundane college experience.
Perhaps if we go further back in the subject’s life we’ll find more interesting anecdotes of suffering and tragedy…
Subject’s Childhood
Nope, we won’t. We can try!
His parents got divorced when he was 3. His father abandoned him. Nothing too unusual for any child of America. Ruining his perception of love and marriage. Kenneth would find himself eating a lot and watching television and movies with most of his free time. This made him an obese and he escaped his wretched life by living vicariously through made-up characters and lavish realities of other universes. He was fine with it all though. He was depressed.
Ken would find himself in love with love at an early age, trading in one crush for another as school years passed by. Sex addict. However, his puppy love left him puppy crushed and he was never much of a hit with the opposite sex. Loser. Love was his only drug. Drug addict. His only currency, and he had none of it. Broke.
He had high test scores but never put forth any effort and got terrible grades. Underachiever, lazy. It wasn’t until he actually got to Washington State that he finally decided that it was time to start trying, and that’s where he finally found his passion for writing. This loser addict finally had some hope.
Readers like hope.
A Light At The End Of The Tunnel, And Other Metaphors
His article would have many analogies. Like an article, that had many analogies.
Could this article spread it’s metaphor wings and fly though? Would it be able to push out of it’s mother’s womb and birth itself into the world? Could the long-form essay make it rain words of wisdom onto a world of sorrow, washing away the ignorance of Kenneth that had been bestowed by years of this article not existing?
It could! It did. Enough of that. This article had already been through the rigors of many articles like it that had come before. There was only one thing left that it needed, one final piece to this puzzle. Oh look, another metaphor or something. I guess there was room for one more, like an analogy would have room for one more comparison. What this article needed to end though was a twist. The moment that makes you say “huh” or “woah” or “well I’ll be.”
The twist, as always, would be the identity of the writer.
The identity of the writer, the subject of Kenneth, was actually me the whole time.
Let me help you pick your mind up.
‘writers block’ is a dick
October 16, 2012 § 14 Comments
I felt the need to write something on here again. A week isn’t a long time for every blogger to go without saying something, but it’s a long time for me. I guess I have an obsession, and make no bones about it; it’s self-centered, vain, and narcissistic. I need you and I don’t want to lose you.
I’ve thought a lot about who I want to be as a writer, how I want to come off to strangers and most of whom that I’ll never meet in person. Do I want to censor myself as to not offend the reader? Do I want to go over-the-top for shock and entertainment value? The easiest answer is also the hardest to pull off: Being myself.
It’s very difficult for me to by myself. I don’t think that it’s because I don’t like me, I can stand myself, it’s just a natural fear that the next sentence I write will be the one that messes it up. But is that really possible?
poop fart jiggy jiggy bewbs bewbs bewbs
Yep, it is possible.
But the truth of the matter, sadly, is that in a way I am that sentence. I didn’t start to write it thinking that it would be true, but it kind of is. I’m weird, immature at times, random, and immature at times. Is that okay? I don’t know if it is and I’m not confident that I am taking the right steps. But what are the right steps?
When I got into this business, I mean when I really got into it, I told myself that I wanted to not just be myself but that I also wanted to be successful. I want to do something different in this business. I want people to see me for who I am but also show them that I wasn’t the same boring, bland writers that they might have gotten used to in national mainstream media. I am not in mainstream media, but I guess that’s the plan?
Can I just be myself, can I challenge some past ideologies, and also be successful? It’s a rare combination, do I have those qualities?
I don’t mind showing my insecurities to the world and I don’t think I have ever shied away from that. I haven’t gone out with a girl since February. See? However, I felt like if people could read someone that didn’t shy away from their own faults, that they could feel like this is a person that is comfortable to read because I won’t judge you for yours.
All of us, with the exception of Gosling, have faults.
I titled this about writers block because I didn’t have any damn idea what I would write about when I started. I just wrote. This is what happened. This is what I’m really thinking about I guess because I am in constant fear of failure and judgment. I write things and consistently after I post them I think, “Was that good enough? It wasn’t good enough. Nobody has said anything for ten minutes, it must have been soooo bad.”
I don’t know if I want to even post this. As I write this, I am leaning towards not posting it. But if I do, I will keep this paragraph in because I want to show you just how real that fear is. Am I going to fail with this post? I struggle to hit each keystroke as I write each word. I hesitate with every sentence. Not because I don’t know what I am going to say, but I don’t know if I want to say it.
“Am I being egotistical?”
“Am I coming off as a dick?”
“Am I blowing it right now?”
“Am I blowing off a dick right now?”
Do you see what I mean about being immature? But all I really want to be, is funny. I want to write stuff that makes a persons day a little bit better. I want to cheer people up, if I can. Days can suck for some people, they go around the internet sometimes looking for ways to get by. I don’t expect to ever compete with “sneezing cats” videos or anything, but maybe I can do a little something for one person. That would be pretty cool. When a person says that I made them “LOL” then that does feel pretty damn cool.
(However, if you only laughed internally, I’m sorely disappointed in you.)
I think that this is one of the hardest posts I’ve ever had to write, because it gives a little more insight into my mind and my writing. I don’t typically vocalize (write-a-lize?) that kind of stuff. This might be my most vulnerable insecurity. That I want to make it as a writer, that I have set high goals for myself, and that I live in constant fear of failure. I guess I have concerns that people see a fear of failure as a weakness, but I think it’s a driving force of what makes people better.
It’s only the difference between whether or not you face you fear (like if you took the steps to go on Maury and overcome your fear of toothpaste) or give into it.
I give into my fear of rollercoasters because I don’t have any aspirations of being a professional rollercoasterer. Maybe I need to take this fear straight to Maury Povich.
I guess I kind of have to hit post now.
Google Searches Provide Interesting Insight To What Brought You HERE
October 9, 2012 § 9 Comments
I’ve had a pretty crazy week that has prevented me from doing any updating to KennethAuthor but I feel better knowing that most of you update your blogs about as often as I get asked out by a girl.
(Rhymes with “Bever.” Wait, no, that looks like it sounds like “beaver” but it’s supposed to sound like “Bevver” except that I’ve never seen two “v’s” next to each other. I could continue that as a sex joke about “two v’s” but I’ll stop here. And this has been an edition of “how to not tell a joke in seven sentences.”)
On Thursday I had a tooth pulled. I am an adult. Well, physically speaking I am an adult. Just as long as you don’t count “ability to grow facial hair” then yes, I am almost 30 so that makes me an adult. One that has just had a tooth pulled. I put it under my pillow but the “girlfriend fairy” never came.
Actually, that sounds about right in at least 12 ways.
I’ve been planning on doing a longer post on getting a tooth pulled, and I will, but I want to wait until I get a good picture of the tooth as proof. It’s not pretty but it was a part of me and it finally left me just like everything else.
In order to keep this blog rolling though I wanted to update you on something that I’ve updated you on before, and that’s one of the most fascinating things about having a blog: The searches that bring you here. There are at least 45,000 people on this planet and a good 50% of them use the internet. That gives you good odds that people are doing some really weird searches on “Google.net” and luckily I get to view those searches.
I crossed over 100,000 views this year and that means that I have got quite a bit of searches to search through and find the best ones. Thank you, Internet!
Some background:
- For a long time now my most popular article has been “I Love You, Wendy Peffercorn.” I honestly would have never guessed that was going to happen but hundreds of you read it each week. I had no idea that so many other people were still obsessed with Wendy Peffercorn. My advice to anyone wanting to get hits from “Google.lycos” is that you write about something niche that a lot of people like but not a lot of people read about.
A secondary character from a popular movie made 20 years ago is a good place to start! We have childhoods and now a lot of adults are sharing those same memories, so write about things like Big League Chew, Baby Sinclair on Dinosaurs, or the film 3 Ninjas. There’s at least 50 people searching for those things right now and I just stole them from you, haha.
- Another popular post here has been “How Many People Are Having Casual Sex on OKCupid?” It’s almost as if people really care about sex. For me, sex ranks right between Saved by the Bell: The College Years and that time I was told that I was too fat to ride a horse. So yeah, pretty high.
When I started this site it was either going to be the blog that you see before you or a porn site that specialized in awkward text messages I send when I’m drunk that never get a response and actually never lead to sex™.
Intercourse sells. In this case, it was more like a “lack thereof” but people seem to enjoy that kind of stuff. This is Search Engine Optimization 101.
- I am 38 comments short of 1,000 so let’s make it happen!
- I am 220 followers short of 1,000 on Twitter so let’s make it happen!
- You’re making things happen for me, doesn’t that feel nice? Do things for others and don’t expect them to do unto you but at least science proves that you’re happier when you do things for other people than doing for yourself. I’m trying to make you happier.
- My most popular non-US readers come from the UK, Canada, Australia and Belgium. So… white people basically. Which is fine because I’m whiter than the non-February months. I accept and love all races though, so come forth.
- Over the past month I have 161 views from Germany. I like to think of just one German dude that’s come here 161 times and is just so angry with me.
- Over the past month I have 1 view from the Isle of Man and I’d like to think that he went to the Olympics. Just that one guy. If there isn’t a porn movie yet named “Isle of Man” then I am directing it starting yesterday.
Anyways, onto the search terms! These are actual terms that brought people here over the past week:
- “6″ Just the number six. That brought 56 people here in a week. Why didn’t we think of this before? At least 150 people a week have to think about the number 6 so why wouldn’t it be popular? I wrote a blog post about what the best number is in a Top 10 list and it seems to be working out pretty well. Coming up next week: “Is ‘G’ the ‘Corey Feldman’ of letters?”
- “Jodie Sweetin nude” brought 31 people here. I wrote this the last time I wrote this blog post… I still don’t have nude pictures of Jodie Sweetin nude and I never said that I did! I just get the feeling that 30 of those views came from Jodie Sweetin herself.
Kimmie Gibbler checks in next at 24 views. This country is having a really hard time letting go of Full House. They have a real “Flesh-Toned Love Affair” with that show.
- I’m still shocked about the number of people that come here on topics like dating and okcupid, considering that I literally could not tell you the last time I went on a date. I’ve had 4 or 5 girls recently where it was like, “Yeah, let’s go out!” and then something happens to prevent it like she sees a full body picture or I see that USA is running a Psych marathon.
(Search terms: ‘okcupid’, ‘what girls look for in a guy’, ‘okcupid scam’, ‘three some’ (yes, two words), ‘is it okay tk ask a girl to f*** straight up’ (not MY typo))
How lazy are people with searching Google? It’s not a term paper, just hit the backspace one time.
Oh, here is a good one: “If I ask a girl to have sex would she”
I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that if you have to ask Jeeves, the answer is no. A lot of people are curious about proper date etiquette, okcupid, online dating, what’s right and wrong to do on a first date, and more questions that bring them HERE for answers. Quite ironic, if you ask me. Though I suppose a “What NOT to do” can be just as helpful as a “What to do” site.
- 10 searches for “Blackout Drunk” brought people here. Now this is something I can understand and relate to. However, I just get this really weird feeling in the pit of my stomach when I find out that people are googling for “Blackout Drunk” What prompted that I wonder. Do people think that there is a website that will get you blackout drunk hey wait no there is your next “IPhone idea.” /writes himself a future check for a million dollars.
Okay, lets just run through some awesome searches to wrap this up:
- jason statham f*ck in movie
- dorff stephen (just because his name ‘last, first’ is surprisingly amazing)
- pictues of martin luther king jr and rosa parks and malcom x (see, not ALL white people)
- lois griffin f*cks lesbian
- gay tall men 6’6 (awesome. Is this like when TiV0 tells you that you’re gay and you didn’t know it?)
- screw you stalkers
- sex wumen 70+
- do chopped contestants get to know food before show (I DONT KNOW BUT MAN DO I WANT TO!)
- how to have sex with a woman you meet at a bar? (I DONT KNOW BUT MAN DO I WANT TO!)
And then there’s this…
- hello very cute new pic of u mmmmmm cute! how u doing? im all good interpals is playing up tho here today a bit is yours?
My 99 Problems: Small Talk, Big Problem
October 2, 2012 § 11 Comments
Enough with the small talk.
That’s it. That’s all I mean. I don’t mean, “Let’s get down to business.” What I mean to say is, can we just stop having small talk ever? As a race, as Americans, as human beings… The last thing that I put on my “To-Do List” this morning when I woke up and cried in the shower was: “Must run into Cathy and find out what she thinks about rain.”
I remember high school. It was not my favorite four years and so that’s all I ever want to do with high school: REMEMBER IT. Leave it in the past. I will never be able to forget it, so instead I’m fine with keeping it right where it is, which is stashed between my first rejection in the seventh grade and my first rejection in community college. So when I run into somebody that I “know” from school in public, there’s no reason for us to re-live any of it.
In fact, is that even what we’re doing? Are we re-living it or are we holding onto it while you tell me what you did after you graduated and where you’re working now because this is something I need to know since you dated Jim for three weeks. Or because we had English together and were in the same group once. I’m not trying to be a dick about it and act like my experiences and life are better than yours, because they’re not and that’s the point.
My life is boring to everyone except me and my closest inner-circle. Everybody’s life is really fucking boring. EVERYBODY. Why do you think that when a network sets up a reality show with celebrities, rich people, or the flavor of the month (Hi, Honey Boo Boo) they all of a sudden have to sign up for a “blow job class” or go to a haunted house? Why do you think that after a couple of seasons of the Real World they made them get jobs and take a trip to Fiji?
Because this shit (life) is boring.
Oh sure, we have our moments. That’s why we have stories. We have.. like… four stories. Each. By law. Those four stories take up about 3.5 hours of our lives and then the rest of it is: wake-up, shower, go to work, go home, eat something, sleep. Maybe you do stuff for entertainment on the weekends and go see a movie but then what story are you left with?
“Yeah, I saw What To Expect When You’re Expecting this weekend!”
“Oh wow. Tell me more!”
“There isn’t anything more!”
“OH! COOL!” /collapses /dies
Years ago I was walking through the mall and on my way into Nordstrom’s when I saw some girl from high school walking out. I don’t remember her name or face at this point but I’ll never forget that moment. We recognized each other but our only acquaintanceship was that I had a crush on one of her best friends and we all went to lunch a couple of times. You feel this gross magnetic force pulling you into a person when you make eye contact and realize that you “know” them but I did everything in my power to stop it except that I couldn’t. This was happening.
“Hey, how are you?!”
“I’m good.”
There was about two seconds of silence as we stared shallowly into each others eyes and I realized that this was as far as I was willing to take it. I said “fuck it” and decided that this was my chance to man-up and finally say what we all want to say in this very moment. I literally threw my hands up in the air and said, “Well, that’s it. See ya.”
Just end it, rip the band-aid off, let go of this need to all of a sudden “catch up” and make small talk with a person you haven’t seen in four years. What’s the worst that could happen? They’ll hate you? That could get really awkward when you run into them again in 2016 and still have nothing to say to each other.
The final point in the matter that I want to bring up is the technological elephant in the room that actually managed to capture this awkward moment and stretch it out forever: Facebook.
Holy shit, fuck facebook!
In the beginning, I accepted all friend requests. ”A FRIEND?! OH BOY I DON’T HAVE MANY OF THOSE SO YES I WILL ACCEPT BECAUSE RIGHT NOW I’M ONLY AT 101 
BUT NOW I AM AT 102!!!!”
Over time you realize that all Facebook has done is sully the reputation of what it means to be a friend. ”We saw each other in the hallway once during junior year. You dropped your apple. I saw you pick it up and continue eating it without wiping it off and despite the fact that the open side of the apple had touched the floor. We made eye contact and I rolled my eyes at you but decided not to ever tell another soul. This is our moment. This is our only moment. ACCEPT FRIEND REQUEST?”
When you started to realize that the number of “friends” you had on your Facebook account was nothing more than a status symbol, it should have been the moment you started to realize that the whole site is a sham. A lie we tell ourselves and then relay to other people, even in silent, knowing that they’ll know how many “friends” you have when they check your page. I have not deleted my Facebook account but I did do one thing: I looked at all my “friends” and realized that I could get rid of at least 60% just by unfriending anyone who I hadn’t physically spoken to in five years.
WHY THE FUCK ARE WE FRIENDS?! SHIT AT LEAST I WOULD HAVE FELT BAD ABOUT THIS IF YOU AND I HAD EVEN HAD FACEBOOK CONTACT LIKE A ‘LIKE’ OR COMMENT IN THE LAST THREE YEARS SINCE YOU ADDED ME BUT THAT NEVER HAPPENED SO FUCK YOU AND FUCK OFF.
I don’t need that awkward moment stretched out until the day that I die, even if it’s as a lonely friendless loser lying in a fetal position in my bathtub full of tears, blood and human waste because one thing I’ll know is that I didn’t die with 350 faux friends or having spent 713 hours of my life locked in an uncomfortable laser beam of conversation that included such hot topics as “What Tiffany had for breakfast this morning” and “Where Jason gets his pants.”
It’s useless. It’s dumb. It will not advance you in life one iota. Since that moment in the mall, one of the most freeing moments of my life, all I have left to say is:
/shrugs. walks away.
Coming Up: The Most Magical Vegas Trip Ever
September 11, 2012 § 7 Comments
There are a few things that I love in this life (none of which is a “girlfriend”) and now no less than two of those things are coming together this weekend. Actually, now that I think about it, considerably more than two things will come together from Thursday-Monday and here are those things that I love:
- Football
- Gambling
- Las Vegas
- Drinking
- Washington State University Cougars
- Regular cougars
- Poker
- Friends
- Staying in a hotel
- Plane rides
- Sun
- No open container laws
- Bars owned by Jimmy Buffett
- Bonus rounds on slot machines
- NOT GOING TO WORK
- Did I mention, football, drinking, poker, friendship, Cougs, and not having to go to work for 3 business days?
If you haven’t connected the dots yet, I’ll be in Las Vegas from for five days for the purpose of seeing my beloved Washington State Cougars take on UNLV in a college football game. It’s pretty much the most amazing thing that’s ever happened to me because I can’t believe I’m seeing my favorite team play in one of my favorite cities. Vegas being one of my favorite cities because I am a degenerate gambling addict.
I don’t want to brag, but I’ve nearly gambled my life away several times playing poker. No big deal.
Seeing as though I’m going with friends that haven’t spent any time playing poker, let alone marathon sessions of 18 hours, I probably won’t spend much time on the tables. But that’s fine because did I mentioned what I mentioned up there? How could all of these beautiful things be happening at once?
Have you ever seen two dolphins make out under a tree that grows money while a double rainbow lights the sky and angels play Israel Kamakawiwo’ole’s version of “Over the Rainbow” on harps?
Have you ever taken a bath in perfectly-temperatured chocolate sauce with the scent of fresh baked cookies in the air while the cast of Saved by the Bell feeds you the most amazing carne asada tacos you could imagine?
Have you ever woken up one morning to find that your bank account had been flush with more cash than you could ever spend, your beer gut had been transformed to a Ryan Gosling eight-pack, your novel was completely finished while publishers fought over the rights, your favorite childhood pet was alive again and nuzzling on your face, with a text message from your first major childhood crush that says, “Miss you!”?
Combine all those things and double it and that’s how amazing this trip is going to be. But, you know, I’m trying to keep my expectations low.
Since I will have my laptop with me anyway because I’ll have to do some writing work while I am on vacation, I will try to do some updates along the way. It will probably go something like this: “Made it!” followed by, “Tihs IS sooo23oo muhc FOUN! DRUUNKing!” and then, “Holy hell, what happened and why did I send those text messages?” before, “Lost everything! Payday is a long two weeks away ” until, “Let us never speak of this again.”
They say that what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, but technically the internet is in Las Vegas so we’ll see what kind of updates I can put out, if anything cool happens.
As if.
The Imbalance of Success; Sacrificing Finding Love for Love of Writing
September 4, 2012 § 8 Comments
I try to set goals in every area of my life. Goals give us motivation, drive, a bar to set, things to strive for, and best of all is that when you accomplish one you can scream out:
“GOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO
OOOOAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAALLLLLLLLL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!”
I’ve set goals for myself in writing that I can see progress towards every day. Maybe at times you take a step back but when you take steps back, you get another chance to survey the field and come back better the next time. It’s like playing Super Mario Bros. 3 and replaying a level for the third time, you’re going to kill that level because you know what to expect.
You need to step back sometimes before you can step forward.
Must have taken a wrong turn at Albequerque
I can see that in my writing and I’ve progressed towards a financial benefit that gets me much closer to being a professional writer than I was a year ago. It’s crazy to believe that I could make progress towards accomplishing a lifelong goal or that I could actually say that I’m a professional writer, but I now have confidence that I’m on that path.
You probably also think it’s crazy that I could be a professional writer since my second paragraph of this article was just the word “Goal!” stretched out. People will pay for anything these days!
The idea of a “dream job” is a rather broad spectrum of opinion and generalization but I’d say that if you’re getting paid to do something that you’d do every day for free, you’re living the dream. Not quite like in this Yahoo! UK & Ireland Answers question:
How Many People Do Get Their Dream Job?
Not chosen answer: Peoples dream jobs is not working in McDonald’s, it’s becoming writers, marine biologists, singers, actors, sports players, etc. Imo, 1/10 get to do their dream job. The other 9/10 are teaching, coaching, or just not doing their dream job. It’s really depressing.
Yeah, I would say that the off-chance someone would take your advice is rather depressing since you said that people that teach or coach aren’t doing their dream jobs. I’d wager that many teachers are doing exactly that since many of them are doing it for free. Or the immeasurable amount of people that volunteer to coach.
I <3 you
A dream job is whatever you want it to be and nobody can tell you that it’s better to be a writer than it is to work at McDonald’s. If that’s your dream job, who am I to judge? It’s a much more attainable dream than become a “sports player.”
Everybody has something. Many of us don’t know what that thing is, we can’t recognize our talent as a talent, but inside each of us is a quality that can be trained and honed into a quality that will service at least a tiny piece of the world. It would be easy to say that Michael Phelps has a talent for moving his arms around in the water, a natural gift that allowed him to grow his back to the size of a Smart car, but it’s not going to be so simple for all of us.
The International Business Times took some testimonials on what a dream job actually is. Here is one:
“A dream job is just a job that you look forward to going to. A job that makes you happy, it doesn’t have to be something outlandish or farfetched. And as for dreams go, once those die then we’re going to have issues” - Dexter
I think from that quote we can learn that even being a serial killer is perhaps something we are naturally inclined to be great at.
I didn’t wake up one day and think, “If I am a writer, I will have all the riches in the world!” I did however wake up one day and think, “I gotta write somethin’!” and then after that eventually clean up my vocabulary to not include “gotta” or “somethin.” It’s just what I had to do. Then it transformed into being a more specific form of writing, though still working on it over ten years later to try and find out what kind of writing I am best at and maybe try new things too.
“a butt made a fart. I’m 7. The end.”
For others, they’re going to be successful at anything they do because they’re naturally inclined to just obsess over and work hard at whatever comes to them. Was Bobby Fisher born to play chess or was he just a savant that attached himself to chess at age four and obsess over it for years until he was the best in the world by the time he was a teen? Would he not have been the best at backgammon, checkers, or Hungry Hungry Hippos if one of those was the game he chose instead?
We also adapt and change as we grow as people.
A survey of 1,100 people by Salary.com found that only 16% of people are living the dream jobs that they had when they were children. Actually seems like somewhat of a positive number considering how many people want to be Princesses or Hulk Hogans. Yet 60% also said that they still wish they could fulfill their dream jobs.
I also have changed as I have grown. I didn’t always want to be a writer. For a time I had actually switched away from writing to video editing and then back to writing, but no longer as a screenwriter but now a sportswriter. It’s not even what I would have imagined two years ago, but it’s worked out so far and it’s only just beginning.
We have to adapt to the opportunities presented to us and then find ourselves as we go.
That survey also found that less and less people were working their dream job as they got older (until going back up as people near retirement and have nothing left to lose but to pursue their dreams, or after the kids have finished college) and that’s not what I want. I want to find myself working closer and closer with my dream as I grow up because I could die today or I could die a long time from now, but I hope I died doing what I loved.
Many people are just looking for the job that pays the most, but I feel confident in saying that money will come easiest to you if you’re doing what you love to do. Money is a reward for hard work and you’re going to work a lot harder if you love what you do rather than forcing yourself to do something even though you hate it.
A Wall Street investor that despises greed isn’t going to cut it for long.
A writer that only wants to write might not make money for a long time, but then you write Harry Potter because you refused to give up and now you own England.
Family can also get in the way of pursuing those dreams. I don’t want to say that getting married and having kids ruins your dream, because for many people that is part of the dream, but responsibilities can mount and force people into a situation where they do have to put money in front of making your dreams come true. I guess lucky for me that it’s still not a problem.
The imbalance of success seems to be that you can’t always have everything. Here I am at 29, finally making headway into a career that I want so badly, and yet I can’t make a relationship happen nor do I have the desire to put any energy into it. Today I’m sacrificing a social life or a girlfriend for my dreams, and not the other way around.
It’s funny to read this article on mynippon.com about finding true love. Funny because they compare it to… finding a dream job. You shouldn’t just expect a dream job to fall into your lap just like a dream girl (or boy) won’t do the same. Now, I don’t think that the comparison is quite that apt because you could absolutely just meet someone at the right place and right time and who knows, but it certainly has some weight.
wait, is she giving or receiving?
Before I was working two jobs, I had plenty of time to browse OkCupid and then go out on dates and see what happens. I am hardly afforded the luxury of coming to my own blog and writing anymore with most of my time spent writing over a dozen articles a week on other sites and then trying to get my brain together again, let alone seeing the same 150 girls on OkCupid that have been signed up for as long as I have.
(There’s that fun thing called cynicism!)
But it’s true. You have to work on it a little bit. I expected 2012 to be a banner year in the dating department for yours truly and quickly had three interests in the first month of the year. Three incredible disappointments later, I had all but given up. I have hardly even dabbled since and we’re practically weeks away from the Mayan apocalypse.
Working on it is the last thing I’m doing. I’d love to say that can success can come in many areas of once as easily as failure can, but that seems to rarely be the case. We have to choose something and then we have to work on it. Hard. We have to fight for it and claw at it and not give up until we’ve won.
I’m working on my dream job right now. Maybe for others they’ll get married and then get an unexpected phone call saying, “We’d like you to come work for us and we are your dream job!” but for me it’s going to be the opposite. Maybe while I’m working endless hours on the writing, a dream girl will fall in my lap.
Maybe she’ll hit the contact button on my blog and say, “Hello!” 
We can’t predict the future. We can only control what we’re going to do right now. Now that I’m done writing this article, I’m going to go write. Not find love. Maybe it will find me, otherwise, it’s going to have to be on hold.
(Sorry for the Michael Bolton hold music.)
