This morning I registered for the online edition of the New York Times because I wanted to read an article about how Africa is so hot right now. Gawker suggested it, and since I get most of my news these days from Gawker, I figured I should read it to keep in touch with the snobby East-Coast liberal I've repressed since moving to Chicago.
Registering for the NYT online edition is really annoying because I know that I've done it before and can't remember what email I used.
After trying to log-in with every possible identity (oh, come on, NYT online editon, you don't remember me? coatesjt at jmu dot edu? jotyco? jmuflyyboi69?), I gave up and registered for a new account.
When prompted for the super secret question, I chose, "What is your favorite book?" I responded with Sophie's Choice because, well, it's my favorite book. But the NYT would hear none of it. They refused to respect my opinion and told me that I had made an error. After a few more unsuccessful tries, I put in The Da Vinci Code and they finally let me read the dumb article.
(The last part isn't true, but wouldn't it just be hi-larious if it was?!)
Monday, August 14, 2006
Moments from Saturday night that I wish I could forget (in chronological order):
1. Very Drunk Girl on the El who asked me if I had a fire crotch.
2. Paying a five-dollar cover charge to get into “Finn McCool’s.”
3. Paying an extra five dollars for a Blue Moon.
4. Switching to Bud Lite because it was “cheap” (in other words, less than five dollars).
5. Hitting Nicole’s boyfriend’s friend in the head with the back of my head while telling a story.
6. Having two girls at the bar say to me, “Who do you look like?! Come on! You know who it is,” and having to reply with, “Have you seen Rent?”
7. Seeing many chubby women get up on the stage to pole dance and show off their thongs for free shots.
8. Seeing a girl from my creative writing class who apologized for being so drunk, to which I replied, “It’s fine because I’ll probably never see you again.”
9. Doing my interpretive dances to “Let’s Get It Started.”
10. Having my glasses fly off my face during said interpretive dancing.
11. Hitting the poor girl who was trying to sell test-tube shots in the head with the back of my head during my celebratory interpretive dance concerning the recovery of my glasses.
It’s because of nights like Saturday that I’ve been hungover for all of 2006.
2. Paying a five-dollar cover charge to get into “Finn McCool’s.”
3. Paying an extra five dollars for a Blue Moon.
4. Switching to Bud Lite because it was “cheap” (in other words, less than five dollars).
5. Hitting Nicole’s boyfriend’s friend in the head with the back of my head while telling a story.
6. Having two girls at the bar say to me, “Who do you look like?! Come on! You know who it is,” and having to reply with, “Have you seen Rent?”
7. Seeing many chubby women get up on the stage to pole dance and show off their thongs for free shots.
8. Seeing a girl from my creative writing class who apologized for being so drunk, to which I replied, “It’s fine because I’ll probably never see you again.”
9. Doing my interpretive dances to “Let’s Get It Started.”
10. Having my glasses fly off my face during said interpretive dancing.
11. Hitting the poor girl who was trying to sell test-tube shots in the head with the back of my head during my celebratory interpretive dance concerning the recovery of my glasses.
It’s because of nights like Saturday that I’ve been hungover for all of 2006.
Saturday, August 12, 2006
For a good time, call Candy on the 151!
Since I now live a block from a bus stop that goes right to my office building, I’ve been taking the bus instead of the train to and from work. It kind of sucks because the buses are rather slow, and the people who ride the 151 are rather boring and unattractive. Sometimes I wonder if I should take the train and walk the four blocks to my apartment. I mean, it’s more effort, but the odds of crazy are much higher. And you know how much I enjoy crazy.
Yesterday I was riding the old 151 and hating it. There was a family of tourists (a couple and their grandson) who jumped on at the bottom part of Magnificent Mile, and for some reason they decided to sit far away from each other and shout about how much they love Chicago. When we rode by the lake, the grandmother shouted about how the lake was really choppy. Her husband responded, “Chops?! Steak chops?! We have a steakhouse in Atlanta called Choppy!!” (CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT? SHUCKS.) Meanwhile, the grandson who was sitting right in front of me put a piece of plastic bag on his finger and yelled, “I! HAVE! NINE! FINGERS!”
I was listening to my iPod but lately I haven’t been able to get the volume to go up very high. (Are you reading this, Steve Jobs? Call me about that.) I tried leaning back in my seat, hoping that the few inches farther from the nine-fingered child would allow me to listen to my music in peace. I started to zone out until I heard the woman behind me talking on the phone.
I thought I heard her say, “First, I’m going to take off your shirt.”
OF COURSE I hit pause on my iPod. Of course I did. So would anyone else. When you hear what could possibly be a mid-twenties woman having phone sex on the bus, you try to eavesdrop. But discreetly; I didn’t take out my earbuds just in case.
But come on, what are the odds that I’d hear someone having phone sex on a bus? I mean, that’s a gem. I was immediately thinking about the blog entry I could write, but I knew that I’m not that lucky. I’m on the 151 driving up Lake Shore Drive. No way.
And then she said, “…and then I’ll straddle you…”
Holy shit.
So there I was. I had the loud eight-year-old with a bowl cut who was loudly repeating everything his grandfather said. I had an older woman who leaned over me to wave goodbye to her friend standing at the bus stop. And then I had the girl behind me trying to make her boyfriend (I assume) get off over the phone.
I heard snippets of the conversation, something involving her doing things “ever so gently.” I also noticed some weird noise that sounded like rubber moving around, and I was kind of freaking out that the girl could have possibly been masturbating less than a foot behind me. It amazed me that she could get that into it, because, honestly, it was the most boring phone-sex conversation I had ever overheard. She kept going at it though, saying, “Uhhhh huuhhhh…” a lot. I kept looking around to see if anyone else was noticing this, but everyone looked bored.
When we approached my stop, I assume that the guy, well, finished up, because then the girl started talking about how she’d be home in about fifteen minutes, but she had to stop at the grocery store first.
When I got up I tried to play it cool and glanced back at her when I started to step off the bus. I realized that she was holding a balloon flower in front of her face. That explained the noise I heard, so it made me happy that she wasn’t so trashy that she would actually masturbate on the bus. Well, audibly masturbate on the bus.
I’m never going to ride the train again.
Yesterday I was riding the old 151 and hating it. There was a family of tourists (a couple and their grandson) who jumped on at the bottom part of Magnificent Mile, and for some reason they decided to sit far away from each other and shout about how much they love Chicago. When we rode by the lake, the grandmother shouted about how the lake was really choppy. Her husband responded, “Chops?! Steak chops?! We have a steakhouse in Atlanta called Choppy!!” (CAN YOU BELIEVE THAT? SHUCKS.) Meanwhile, the grandson who was sitting right in front of me put a piece of plastic bag on his finger and yelled, “I! HAVE! NINE! FINGERS!”
I was listening to my iPod but lately I haven’t been able to get the volume to go up very high. (Are you reading this, Steve Jobs? Call me about that.) I tried leaning back in my seat, hoping that the few inches farther from the nine-fingered child would allow me to listen to my music in peace. I started to zone out until I heard the woman behind me talking on the phone.
I thought I heard her say, “First, I’m going to take off your shirt.”
OF COURSE I hit pause on my iPod. Of course I did. So would anyone else. When you hear what could possibly be a mid-twenties woman having phone sex on the bus, you try to eavesdrop. But discreetly; I didn’t take out my earbuds just in case.
But come on, what are the odds that I’d hear someone having phone sex on a bus? I mean, that’s a gem. I was immediately thinking about the blog entry I could write, but I knew that I’m not that lucky. I’m on the 151 driving up Lake Shore Drive. No way.
And then she said, “…and then I’ll straddle you…”
Holy shit.
So there I was. I had the loud eight-year-old with a bowl cut who was loudly repeating everything his grandfather said. I had an older woman who leaned over me to wave goodbye to her friend standing at the bus stop. And then I had the girl behind me trying to make her boyfriend (I assume) get off over the phone.
I heard snippets of the conversation, something involving her doing things “ever so gently.” I also noticed some weird noise that sounded like rubber moving around, and I was kind of freaking out that the girl could have possibly been masturbating less than a foot behind me. It amazed me that she could get that into it, because, honestly, it was the most boring phone-sex conversation I had ever overheard. She kept going at it though, saying, “Uhhhh huuhhhh…” a lot. I kept looking around to see if anyone else was noticing this, but everyone looked bored.
When we approached my stop, I assume that the guy, well, finished up, because then the girl started talking about how she’d be home in about fifteen minutes, but she had to stop at the grocery store first.
When I got up I tried to play it cool and glanced back at her when I started to step off the bus. I realized that she was holding a balloon flower in front of her face. That explained the noise I heard, so it made me happy that she wasn’t so trashy that she would actually masturbate on the bus. Well, audibly masturbate on the bus.
I’m never going to ride the train again.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Awkward Two-sday.
Awkward moment #1:
I was sitting at the desk in the file room because my manager was out of the office this morning. I was talking to my student worker friend about vaccinations (long story) when this woman from the other side of the office walks in. I see her fairly frequently, and even though we've been introduced before, she is like everyone else from the counseling side of the office who avoids eye contact and polite hellos when I walk by in the hall. Anyway, she seemed startled that I was sitting at my manager's desk, and she said, "Are you on the phone?" I looked over at the phone sitting in the cradle and wondered if she was trying to call the number and is accusing me of yapping away at work. Anyway, I told her no, and she gave me this crazy look and said, "Were you talking to yourself then?" I looked at her as if she was crazy, then I look over at my student worker, who is also looking at the woman like she was crazy. Then Crazy Lady sees Student Worker and realizes that I'm not telling myself that I should get a tetanus shot.
Crazy Lady shrugged it off and said, "I don't think we've met. I'm M." Then she began to ask me about a file. Meanwhile, Student Worker and I still glared at her. I was fairly offended that a. M forgot who I was and it took this long for her to take the initiative to re-introduce herself, and b. She thought I was the crazy one, even though whenever I see her in the hall I think that she reminds me of post-Bobby Brown Whitney Houston. Now I will get more delight out of her shouting, "Hell to the No!" in my head.
Awkward Moment #2
Remember the Fuckhead Twins? Well, the one "who looks sort of like a middle-aged investment banker trapped in a nineteen-year-old's body" was in the elevator that I took down to the first floor on my lunch break. He was wearing a suit, reinforcing my theory that he's two shitty poems away from pursuing an BS in finance. I avoided eye contact and acted like I didn't see him even though there was no one else on the elevator. Apparently he works at the bank on the first floor, which makes me want to walk down there right now and get a roll of quarters (I need to do laundry real bad) from him and pretend like I have never seen him anymore.
It's the little things that get me through the day.
I was sitting at the desk in the file room because my manager was out of the office this morning. I was talking to my student worker friend about vaccinations (long story) when this woman from the other side of the office walks in. I see her fairly frequently, and even though we've been introduced before, she is like everyone else from the counseling side of the office who avoids eye contact and polite hellos when I walk by in the hall. Anyway, she seemed startled that I was sitting at my manager's desk, and she said, "Are you on the phone?" I looked over at the phone sitting in the cradle and wondered if she was trying to call the number and is accusing me of yapping away at work. Anyway, I told her no, and she gave me this crazy look and said, "Were you talking to yourself then?" I looked at her as if she was crazy, then I look over at my student worker, who is also looking at the woman like she was crazy. Then Crazy Lady sees Student Worker and realizes that I'm not telling myself that I should get a tetanus shot.
Crazy Lady shrugged it off and said, "I don't think we've met. I'm M." Then she began to ask me about a file. Meanwhile, Student Worker and I still glared at her. I was fairly offended that a. M forgot who I was and it took this long for her to take the initiative to re-introduce herself, and b. She thought I was the crazy one, even though whenever I see her in the hall I think that she reminds me of post-Bobby Brown Whitney Houston. Now I will get more delight out of her shouting, "Hell to the No!" in my head.
Awkward Moment #2
Remember the Fuckhead Twins? Well, the one "who looks sort of like a middle-aged investment banker trapped in a nineteen-year-old's body" was in the elevator that I took down to the first floor on my lunch break. He was wearing a suit, reinforcing my theory that he's two shitty poems away from pursuing an BS in finance. I avoided eye contact and acted like I didn't see him even though there was no one else on the elevator. Apparently he works at the bank on the first floor, which makes me want to walk down there right now and get a roll of quarters (I need to do laundry real bad) from him and pretend like I have never seen him anymore.
It's the little things that get me through the day.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Count it off.
I'm tired. For some reason I couldn't get to sleep last night and was up past three. And I woke up at six. And I would write something eloquent about how yesterday was my one-year-in-Chicago mark, but I can't. I knew I would be this tired last night so I began this blog post. All I have to do is post it and then I can think of ways to stay awake for the next eight hours. Do you think anyone would miss me if I went and took a fifteen minute nap in the bathroom? I'm highly considering it.
Anyway, after one year of living in Chicago:
Amount of money spent on rent: $8215.17
Amount of money spent on public transportation: Approx. $900+
Amount of credit card debt: $433.41
Amount of money owed to parents: Approx. $5000+
Number of roommates: 5
Number of Chicago MySpace friends made: 12
Number of internet contacts met in real life: 4
Number of JMU alumni I know in Chicago: 13
Number of job interviews: 8
Number of interviews at temp agencies: 4
Number of temp assignments: 5
Number of days worked at Urban Outfitters: 4
Number of days before official employment: 282
Number of Jennifer Aniston sightings: 0
Number of Jennifer Aniston sightings (vicariously through others): 2
Number of genuinely embarrassing drunken moments: 4
Number of visits to Bar Louie in Wrigleyville: 5
Number of regretful visits to Bar Louie: 5
Number of concerts attended: 19
Number of DVD rentals from Netflix: 139
Number of Gilmore Girls DVD rentals from Netflix: 24
Number of hours watching Gilmore Girls (on DVD): Approx. 4,950
Number of Craigslist missed connections written about me: 2
Number of serious Craigslist missed connections written about me: 0
Number of trips to Schaumburg: 2
Number of rides in U-Hauls: 4
Number of crimes witnessed: 1
I hope Chicago: Year Two brings more brushes with celebrity, less JMU alumni, and more crime. Seriously, Chicago, let's step it up with the crime.
Anyway, after one year of living in Chicago:
Amount of money spent on rent: $8215.17
Amount of money spent on public transportation: Approx. $900+
Amount of credit card debt: $433.41
Amount of money owed to parents: Approx. $5000+
Number of roommates: 5
Number of Chicago MySpace friends made: 12
Number of internet contacts met in real life: 4
Number of JMU alumni I know in Chicago: 13
Number of job interviews: 8
Number of interviews at temp agencies: 4
Number of temp assignments: 5
Number of days worked at Urban Outfitters: 4
Number of days before official employment: 282
Number of Jennifer Aniston sightings: 0
Number of Jennifer Aniston sightings (vicariously through others): 2
Number of genuinely embarrassing drunken moments: 4
Number of visits to Bar Louie in Wrigleyville: 5
Number of regretful visits to Bar Louie: 5
Number of concerts attended: 19
Number of DVD rentals from Netflix: 139
Number of Gilmore Girls DVD rentals from Netflix: 24
Number of hours watching Gilmore Girls (on DVD): Approx. 4,950
Number of Craigslist missed connections written about me: 2
Number of serious Craigslist missed connections written about me: 0
Number of trips to Schaumburg: 2
Number of rides in U-Hauls: 4
Number of crimes witnessed: 1
I hope Chicago: Year Two brings more brushes with celebrity, less JMU alumni, and more crime. Seriously, Chicago, let's step it up with the crime.
Friday, August 04, 2006
Trust me. I'm so ready to rock.
Last night Nicole and I went to see this band in an Irish pub in Wrigleyville. I know what you're thinking. Why would we want to go to an Irish pub in Wrigleyville to see the type of band that would play in an Irish pub in Wrigleyville? Well, this band has one good song that Nicole and I used to play on our radio show, and Nicole is one of their two-hundred MySpace friends, so we decided to go. And we made plans to get drunk and tell the lead singer of this unfamous band that we played his one good song on the radio.
Talking to the lead singer wasn't that exciting, obviously, because I was tipsy, Nicole was drunk and silent, and he was just some dude. But he gave us free CDs, so that was nice.
But let's talk about the real excitement of the night: watching the opening bands.
The first band announced in the middle of their set that they were playing their second show. I think that's the best way to describe what they sounded like; they sounded like they were playing their second show. About seventy percent of the crowd (which was only fifty people) were their friends and family. We were sitting next to the drummer's parents, who filmed their set. When the drummer's mom turned on the camcorder, she said, "Okay, we're ready to ROCK!" Also, there was the awkward moment at the end of the set where the band played "Shitty Pseudo Jam Band Song #8" and two of their friends walked up and waved their lighters in the air. Then a third friend took a picture of them with her phone.
The other twenty-nine percent of the crowd was there for the second band, which was apparent because they were all Asian. I don't mean to be disrespectful here, but I would like to point out that I've never seen a band that is three-fourths Asian. But hey, Asians can rock, too. And by "rock" I mean "bore me." My favorite part of the set was when they had everyone "give it up" for the first band. The lead singer said, "I really loved that they brought back that Talking Heads / Cake feel." I looked over at the dudes from the first band and I don't think they knew who the Talking Heads were.
Before the show, Nicole turned to me and said, "Do you think the opener named their band 'Quarter Mile' because of The Fast and the Furious?" I just stared at her and said, "What the hell are you talking about?" She said, "You know. Vin Deisel says he 'lives his life a quarter mile at a time.'" I told her I didn't know and that I was sad that she did. After a brief period where I questioned our friendship, we saw the Asians start setting up their instruments. Nicole turned to me and said, "See! You know they named their band after The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift!" THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is why I'm friends with Nicole.
I should also mention that I had an awkward bathroom experience, which should come as NO surprise. I walked into the men's room to find that there wasn't a urinal. There was a stall, of course. And a large trough. A trough for peeing. I did not use it. Troughs are for feeding, not peeing into. I might as well have peed in the sink.
The last bit of hilarity happened on the way home. Nicole was gloriously drrrunk from her three and a half Sierra Nevadas, and she called her boyfriend to tell him, "This is the first time I've been so drunk since the night I made out with you for the first time!" (Nicole = 100% classy, 100% of the time.) I assumed he expressed concern that she was walking the mean streets of Chicago at night (he's from the Southside and witnesses shootings occasionally) (we had to walk through Boystown; I once overheard a drunk guy say it is the place where women are the most likely to get raped because "they aren't expecting it"), because she said to him, "Don't worry. Tyler is my rape-whistle."
When someone says that about you, you know you're BFFs.
Talking to the lead singer wasn't that exciting, obviously, because I was tipsy, Nicole was drunk and silent, and he was just some dude. But he gave us free CDs, so that was nice.
But let's talk about the real excitement of the night: watching the opening bands.
The first band announced in the middle of their set that they were playing their second show. I think that's the best way to describe what they sounded like; they sounded like they were playing their second show. About seventy percent of the crowd (which was only fifty people) were their friends and family. We were sitting next to the drummer's parents, who filmed their set. When the drummer's mom turned on the camcorder, she said, "Okay, we're ready to ROCK!" Also, there was the awkward moment at the end of the set where the band played "Shitty Pseudo Jam Band Song #8" and two of their friends walked up and waved their lighters in the air. Then a third friend took a picture of them with her phone.
The other twenty-nine percent of the crowd was there for the second band, which was apparent because they were all Asian. I don't mean to be disrespectful here, but I would like to point out that I've never seen a band that is three-fourths Asian. But hey, Asians can rock, too. And by "rock" I mean "bore me." My favorite part of the set was when they had everyone "give it up" for the first band. The lead singer said, "I really loved that they brought back that Talking Heads / Cake feel." I looked over at the dudes from the first band and I don't think they knew who the Talking Heads were.
Before the show, Nicole turned to me and said, "Do you think the opener named their band 'Quarter Mile' because of The Fast and the Furious?" I just stared at her and said, "What the hell are you talking about?" She said, "You know. Vin Deisel says he 'lives his life a quarter mile at a time.'" I told her I didn't know and that I was sad that she did. After a brief period where I questioned our friendship, we saw the Asians start setting up their instruments. Nicole turned to me and said, "See! You know they named their band after The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift!" THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is why I'm friends with Nicole.
I should also mention that I had an awkward bathroom experience, which should come as NO surprise. I walked into the men's room to find that there wasn't a urinal. There was a stall, of course. And a large trough. A trough for peeing. I did not use it. Troughs are for feeding, not peeing into. I might as well have peed in the sink.
The last bit of hilarity happened on the way home. Nicole was gloriously drrrunk from her three and a half Sierra Nevadas, and she called her boyfriend to tell him, "This is the first time I've been so drunk since the night I made out with you for the first time!" (Nicole = 100% classy, 100% of the time.) I assumed he expressed concern that she was walking the mean streets of Chicago at night (he's from the Southside and witnesses shootings occasionally) (we had to walk through Boystown; I once overheard a drunk guy say it is the place where women are the most likely to get raped because "they aren't expecting it"), because she said to him, "Don't worry. Tyler is my rape-whistle."
When someone says that about you, you know you're BFFs.
Thursday, August 03, 2006
No more naps.
On my lunchbreak earlier, I walked down one flight of stairs so I could take a nap. I didn't want to be on my floor because I wanted to avoid any awkward interaction with my coworkers or bosses who would happen to walk by and think I'm that crazy coworker who sleeps on his lunchbreak. I thought going to sleep on another floor would be less embarrassing, since only strangers would see me slumped over in a chair. I got over the fear of sleeping in public a long time ago. That's what the JMU library was for.
Anyway, I fell asleep as planned, hoping that I'd wake up as soon as my alarm went off so I wouldn't be that crazy person who was sleeping in a public place while the alarm on his cell phone went off.
Luckily, I woke up about twenty minutes later when people walked behind me. When I opened my eyes, I was really confused, because I had no idea where I was. I jumped up from my chair, but then figured out where I was. Then I noticed that there were people sitting pretty close to me. Staring. Because I was that crazy person who just had a freak-out in public.
Anyway, I fell asleep as planned, hoping that I'd wake up as soon as my alarm went off so I wouldn't be that crazy person who was sleeping in a public place while the alarm on his cell phone went off.
Luckily, I woke up about twenty minutes later when people walked behind me. When I opened my eyes, I was really confused, because I had no idea where I was. I jumped up from my chair, but then figured out where I was. Then I noticed that there were people sitting pretty close to me. Staring. Because I was that crazy person who just had a freak-out in public.
Wednesday, August 02, 2006
Let's learn mathematics with Project Runway!
Now that Malan and Keith are gone and there's no one to gross me out and piss me off*, respectively, I figured that PR fans need a new villian, and that person is Laura.
In case you didn't know, Laura is an ARCHITECT. She also has FIVE CHILDREN. I, and Laura, thought you should know this. Do not forget it. If you forget it, I, and Laura, will remind you. Every five minutes.
Also, for those of you who don't watch Project Runway and don't get who Laura is, I've come up with a handy mathematical equation for you.
Neko Case + Architecture + Five Kids + Penis = Laura.
YOU'RE WELCOME.
*Keith doesn't piss me off. He** was the best designer on the show.
**For those of you who don't watch the show, Keith looks like Jude Law if you're kinda drunk.
In case you didn't know, Laura is an ARCHITECT. She also has FIVE CHILDREN. I, and Laura, thought you should know this. Do not forget it. If you forget it, I, and Laura, will remind you. Every five minutes.
Also, for those of you who don't watch Project Runway and don't get who Laura is, I've come up with a handy mathematical equation for you.
Neko Case + Architecture + Five Kids + Penis = Laura.
YOU'RE WELCOME.
*Keith doesn't piss me off. He** was the best designer on the show.
**For those of you who don't watch the show, Keith looks like Jude Law if you're kinda drunk.
I blame Kevin Costner.
I can’t write a blog post about my mom and then forget about my dad, now can I?
My father is kind of a baby. I don’t mean that in a negative way, it’s just that he cries at movies and TV all the time and I make fun of him for it.
I remember when we were in Nags Head one year and we went to see A League of Their Own. Remember that part when Betty Spaghetti gets the news that her husband has been killed in action? Well, I remember looking over at my dad and he was wiping at his eyes while Betty sobbed on screen. I poked at him and giggled and he looked at me and growled, “I GOT DUST IN MY EYE.”
My dad would always get angry with me when I pointed out how he’d cry so easily. He’d say, “I used to tease my daddy, too. We used to go see war movies and I’d laugh because he’d cry when John Wayne died.”
Once I remember we got into a real fight over this. I don’t remember exactly what happened, but I repeated a story that my mom used to tell about how my dad cried during an episode of The Brady Bunch when Marcia was punished for something and couldn’t go on her high school skiing trip. I distinctly remember us yelling at each other, which is weird given the cause of the argument. Usually I’d fight with my parents because I didn’t want to study for a math test. Or they wouldn’t let me watch Pulp Fiction. I had a relatively dull adolescence, probably because I didn’t actually hit puberty until I was a few months into my seventeenth year.
I thought of this last night while I was watching TV. I got home yesterday afternoon before five, realized that I had nothing to do, and I said to myself, “I’m going to sit here and watch TV.” It never happens. So I happened to click through the HBOs and saw that a movie was starting on HBO 37, so I decided to watch it.
It turns out that the movie was Field of Dreams. When the title came on the screen, I kind of groaned. Field of Dreams? Baseball? Kevin Costner? Bo-ring. I mean, it’s a good movie, one of the “feel-good” types that I’m generally against. And it’s about baseball. A feel-good movie about baseball makes me feel kind of uncomfortable, just like certain movies based on Stephen King stories that take place in prison. They just don’t sit well with me.
There was nothing else on, and I hadn’t seen the movie in several years, so I just kept watching. And then I got hooked. I had forgotten how good that movie is! Really! It’s a great, happy movie about the glory of the old days of baseball! And redemption! It has themes that not related to baseball! And the acting is great. Kevin Costner! (I know, I know. What happened to him?) Amy Madigan! James Earl Jones! Ray Liotta! Burt Lancaster!
By the end of the movie (stop reading here if you haven’t seen the movie – and if you haven’t, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN FOR THE PAST FIFTEEN YEARS?) I was in a terrific mood. Shoeless Joe and the seven other White Sox got to play baseball again! Moonlight Graham finally got to bat! Kevin Costner’s kid fell off the bleachers and started choking but Moonlight Graham came out of the field to save her, making the sacrifice of never playing baseball again! His evil, corporate brother-in-law realized that they shouldn’t sell the farm! Terrence Mann gave a fantastic speech about the glorious memories of baseball and how people would definitely come to Iowa! Then Shoeless Joe invited Terry to go with him into the cornfield! AND THEN KEVIN COSTNER’S DEAD FATHER WITH WHOM HE WAS ESTRANGED WAS THERE AND HE GOT TO INTRODUCE HIM TO HIS WIFE AND DAUGHTER AND GOT TO PLAY CATCH WITH HIM AND OH SHIT I GOT DUST IN MY EYE.
Are you happy now, Dad?
My father is kind of a baby. I don’t mean that in a negative way, it’s just that he cries at movies and TV all the time and I make fun of him for it.
I remember when we were in Nags Head one year and we went to see A League of Their Own. Remember that part when Betty Spaghetti gets the news that her husband has been killed in action? Well, I remember looking over at my dad and he was wiping at his eyes while Betty sobbed on screen. I poked at him and giggled and he looked at me and growled, “I GOT DUST IN MY EYE.”
My dad would always get angry with me when I pointed out how he’d cry so easily. He’d say, “I used to tease my daddy, too. We used to go see war movies and I’d laugh because he’d cry when John Wayne died.”
Once I remember we got into a real fight over this. I don’t remember exactly what happened, but I repeated a story that my mom used to tell about how my dad cried during an episode of The Brady Bunch when Marcia was punished for something and couldn’t go on her high school skiing trip. I distinctly remember us yelling at each other, which is weird given the cause of the argument. Usually I’d fight with my parents because I didn’t want to study for a math test. Or they wouldn’t let me watch Pulp Fiction. I had a relatively dull adolescence, probably because I didn’t actually hit puberty until I was a few months into my seventeenth year.
I thought of this last night while I was watching TV. I got home yesterday afternoon before five, realized that I had nothing to do, and I said to myself, “I’m going to sit here and watch TV.” It never happens. So I happened to click through the HBOs and saw that a movie was starting on HBO 37, so I decided to watch it.
It turns out that the movie was Field of Dreams. When the title came on the screen, I kind of groaned. Field of Dreams? Baseball? Kevin Costner? Bo-ring. I mean, it’s a good movie, one of the “feel-good” types that I’m generally against. And it’s about baseball. A feel-good movie about baseball makes me feel kind of uncomfortable, just like certain movies based on Stephen King stories that take place in prison. They just don’t sit well with me.
There was nothing else on, and I hadn’t seen the movie in several years, so I just kept watching. And then I got hooked. I had forgotten how good that movie is! Really! It’s a great, happy movie about the glory of the old days of baseball! And redemption! It has themes that not related to baseball! And the acting is great. Kevin Costner! (I know, I know. What happened to him?) Amy Madigan! James Earl Jones! Ray Liotta! Burt Lancaster!
By the end of the movie (stop reading here if you haven’t seen the movie – and if you haven’t, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN FOR THE PAST FIFTEEN YEARS?) I was in a terrific mood. Shoeless Joe and the seven other White Sox got to play baseball again! Moonlight Graham finally got to bat! Kevin Costner’s kid fell off the bleachers and started choking but Moonlight Graham came out of the field to save her, making the sacrifice of never playing baseball again! His evil, corporate brother-in-law realized that they shouldn’t sell the farm! Terrence Mann gave a fantastic speech about the glorious memories of baseball and how people would definitely come to Iowa! Then Shoeless Joe invited Terry to go with him into the cornfield! AND THEN KEVIN COSTNER’S DEAD FATHER WITH WHOM HE WAS ESTRANGED WAS THERE AND HE GOT TO INTRODUCE HIM TO HIS WIFE AND DAUGHTER AND GOT TO PLAY CATCH WITH HIM AND OH SHIT I GOT DUST IN MY EYE.
Are you happy now, Dad?
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Cyberchondria.
I think we have established that my body hates me. This is a goddamn fact. So it really comes as no surprise that today I have a sore throat, a runny nose, and - oh, terrific - my left eye is swollen.
Now, I know that my body isn't used to the sun. One look at my legs will clue you in. They are as white as this blog. But seriously, Me, can't you just NOT GET SICK FROM STANDING IN THE SUN? I drank so much water this weekend, put on sunscreen, wore a goddamn bandana around my forehead to keep the sweat from pouring down my face and into my eyes. I have a distinct line on my forehead now from that bandana. Are you happy, Me? Do you want to look like an asshole with a stupid tan line? Well, congratulations.
And at this point I look up my symptoms on WebMD because it's become so ridiculous. Today it tells me that I have Grave's Disease. Grave's Disease. Because I typed in "swollen eye." I feel like Grave's Disease should probably not be the first article to come up in the "swollen eye" search, but I'm not a doctor, only a hypochondriac, so I don't really know anything.
Speaking of hypochondria, I happened to also look that up on WebMD and found this article. The title is "Internet Makes Hypochondria Worse."
The jokes have started to write themselves.
Now, I know that my body isn't used to the sun. One look at my legs will clue you in. They are as white as this blog. But seriously, Me, can't you just NOT GET SICK FROM STANDING IN THE SUN? I drank so much water this weekend, put on sunscreen, wore a goddamn bandana around my forehead to keep the sweat from pouring down my face and into my eyes. I have a distinct line on my forehead now from that bandana. Are you happy, Me? Do you want to look like an asshole with a stupid tan line? Well, congratulations.
And at this point I look up my symptoms on WebMD because it's become so ridiculous. Today it tells me that I have Grave's Disease. Grave's Disease. Because I typed in "swollen eye." I feel like Grave's Disease should probably not be the first article to come up in the "swollen eye" search, but I'm not a doctor, only a hypochondriac, so I don't really know anything.
Speaking of hypochondria, I happened to also look that up on WebMD and found this article. The title is "Internet Makes Hypochondria Worse."
The jokes have started to write themselves.
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