Snugg-diculous

I have long had issues with The Snuggie. I won't even get into them here and there is no argument. They are stupid. The ads are worse than the product, and this one made me particularly agitated. It's possible that my male PMS was in overdrive and that is why I actually yelled at the TV throughout the commercial, but I think its stupidity stands for itself.





Am I to believe these people like their Snuggies so much they are raising the roof because of them? Do people still do that? What are you so excited about? Your lives are so sad and the romance in your relationship is clearly dead since you wear separate, thick, blankets while you snuggle. No double snuggie?



Dick...heads...dick....heads...DICKHEADS!!



Your clue was snuggie? You picked the thing of which there are four in the room for your clue? You love it that much that you will forfeit points so that there is one more mention of the wonderful, magical blanket with sleeves?



Your dog reads? Your dog reads about his own breed? You dress your dog in a matching snuggie and glasses? This dog looks like he wants to kill himself. In reality, he would probably be taking advantage of the book.



Is grandma knitting herself something less ridiculous than a Snuggie or a noose to hang herself? Who is she waving to? Goodbye everyone, I'm offing myself in my Snuggie. At least my corpse will be warm for a bit.



No, seriously, stop raising the damn roof!

Karma's a bitch...a bigger bitch than you

I was at Dunkin' Donuts today. I have a love/hate relationship with Dunkin' Donuts. I love their coffee, but I don't like that I am addicted to it and it's expensive. Sometimes their service is not the best. In fact, there are certain Dunkin' Donuts where the service is consistently terrible. You have to know the good ones and the bad ones. I know the good and bad ones near anyplace I have ever lived, worked, or frequented.

Even so, I am always polite if there has been some kind of mistake with what I have ordered. And I don't act like my time is TOO important if the service is slow. If you're that important, go to Starbucks with the other wealthier, more uppety people.

There was a complete douche of a woman in Dunks today while I was there. They didn't have the bagel she wanted. So she demanded her money back, which is fine, but she did it very bitchily. Then her 3 fat daughters/daughters friends needed to use the bathroom. They harassed the woman to buzz the door open. They missed it because they are slow, fat, and stupid. Then while she was waiting on me, they kept harassing her to buzz the door. Then the fat woman's husband came in with the dog, who immediately went for her ankles, because dogs sense evil. She continuously kept complaining, asked for more ice and commented that she had to "make her own coffee." No, you had to put in 12 more sugars because you are a tubby, bitch and you need artificial sweetness. I think when I was leaving she was asking for a manager.

I left wanting her to be punished by karma. I actually have a desire to BE karma. Like a hero, or a force of nature, I want to be in charge of doling out karma both good and bad. Is it bad for me to wish something on her? I just want her to get what's coming to her for being a miserable bitch. Maybe she already got it. Maybe everywhere she goes, the poppy seed bagels will already be sold out and her coffee won't be sweet enough. Sure, she'll take it out on some poor girl behind the counter, but maybe they'll be rewarded by the next customer who leaves a decent tip, and she'll never get the bagel she wants. She's obviously not short on starchy food to keep her unpleasantly plump.

Black Friday

Thanksgiving, perhaps my favorite holiday, is over. It was okay- more on that at a later point. My former favorite holiday was Christmas. I almost wrote old favorite holiday, which makes me realize that the French word "ancien" meaning both old or former makes more sense than I always thought.

Tomorrow is Black Friday, the huge shopping day that officially segues into the Christmas season, and is actually the reason I don't like Christmas as much anymore. In just a few hours, people will be knocking down doors and walking over other floors made up of tile, clothing, and spines, to get fight over sale items.

I worked in a toy store for five Christmas seasons. I have survived five Black Fridays, or as we called it in the industry "Green Fridays." To this day, I can handle a lot of pressure at work and can think on my toes because I worked in one of the top five toy stores in our chain, in the entire country, on the biggest shopping day of the year, five times. It was actually usually fun- they gave us food, drinks, we got an extra dollar as a bonus with our check. It was intended for us to get a refreshment, which was cute, since a bottle of Coke was already $1.05 at that point. We also occasionally received tips (there goes the $5 bucks you saved).

Tomorrow will be the 7th year I have not worked at the toy store on Black Friday, yet still it makes me anxious. While it was fun, I saw the lowest of the low in humanity during these times as well. Fighting, stealing, swearing, pushing, yelling, accusing, threatening, verbally assaulting. The police had to be called on several occasions. There was always a new "hot" toy. I didn't see the Furby until after Christmas, and I WORKED in a toy store. I remember them being returned a lot because they were stupid. And I remember them ending up on a sale endcap for $5 and no one wanted them.

But, everyone had to get up at 4 a.m. to get one because they heard they were supposed to. There weren't even really ads for the toys all that often, so kids didn't know about them, just their parents. Your 1-year-old doesn't know what a Tickle Me Elmo or a Sleep and Snore Ernie is, even though the people on the news told you to get her one. When she does meet them, she's going to think they are frightening and run away. If she could speak and knew the word "demon" she'd be sure to scream it.

When people tell me they are getting up for the sales, I try to tell them not to. Some people think it's fun; I think it sounds terrible. To each his own I guess. While trying to find a Youtube video of a stampede into a store on Black Friday, I instead came across something much more disturbing. I found a video someone had posted, taken from their camera phone, of a Walmart employee receiving CPR from an EMT crew. He died. He had been trampled by everyone rushing into the store.

I hate a lot of things, irrationally, and will admit that I have no reason to hate them. The memory of Black Fridays still stick with me, and don't think I'm crazy to hate them. Good luck and Godspeed to all of you who think it's worth it. You are probably already getting into your car to camp out to save a bunch of money on some overpriced item that you think someone should want.

I, on the other hand, can't sleep. I never slept before working a 4 a.m. to 4 p.m. shift. The past few years I have had trouble sleeping because I want to completely miss the insanity. I want to go to sleep when it begins and wake up when it's over. I am celebrating Blackout Friday.

Thankful

I am thankful for the Muppets. I am thankful they are still active in pop culture. I am thankful that Electric Mayhem still rock after over 30 years. I am thankful that someone worthy of covering Queen did so and not some chumps.

Note: Beaker definitely says Me-me-me and never ever meep. Jus' sayin'.

Home is where the fart is

I am living in my second apartment since moving into the city. The first, I found on Craigslist and made my decision over the course of a week. While it worked out all right, and my roommates were cool, it was never home. Actually, 3 out of the 5 people I lived with were cool. One was okay, but left in the middle of November and the rest of us were scrambling before the holidays to find a replacement or find $200 extra each to cover the rent. Her replacement constantly smoked pot and said it was just incense (who burns incense besides potheads?), left her dyed red hair in the shower drain, and being rude to all of us, including me, and all I did was ignore her because when she first moved in, I thought she was the cleaning lady.

In my second apartment, I am home. As a trio, we searched apartments, sometimes in pairs, in every combination of two possible. We had nachos and a drink over our decision to sign the lease on the place we loved. Then, we rallied the next day when we found out that apartment wasn't available. We even worked as a unit creeping out one of the realty agents on a hot July 3rd morning with mentions of baby chambers, bacon chambers, Buddha statues, and a life history of Bubbles the chimp. No, I don't know what a bacon chambers is, but I think the baby chambers was a room full of babies.

My first apartment mirrors the first room I had in college. No one really ever saw my room freshman year of college. I would prop the door open when people came, and then close it, and reopen it only to join them wherever we were going. Very few people saw my apartment last year. Being a huge dork for metaphors and television, I decided it was as if there was no money in the production budget (if my life was a TV show) to build a set for the dorm room or the apartment.

I always thought that it was because of the stuff. Freshman year, I didn't have my own computer at first. I had a lofted bed. No fridge. Few belongings, besides a Buffy poster. Sophomore year, I had a futon, fridge, posters and personal effects everywhere. But I also had a roommate I could be myself around.

I can remember the moment it felt like home. He farted. So, I farted. From then on, we could fart. That's disgusting, I know, but can you really ever be at home if you don't fart? Since I live with girls now, I don't run around farting, but I can be myself. I can do the weird things that I couldn't have done around my old roommates, without feeling all eyes on me, or feeling weird. Usually, they join in. We are all a little off, which is why we often say to each other "What are we?"

Now I can buy a tacky wreath and put swords from my Halloween costume through it as a decoration, because my roommate suggested it. While I do the dishes, and pick up several butter knives, it's okay if I start singing "I-look-like-Freddy Krueger/ when I was the dish-eeessss!" When I start humming a tune, and my roommate starts doing the Pee Wee Herman "Tequila" dance, I look at her, puzzled, because that's not the tune I was humming. But I like where her head's at, and that she is a weirdo just like me.

I believe the children are our future...I don't want to go to there

On any given day, I receive a lot of dumb phone calls. Today I received a down-right frightening phone call. It was the 1,987th thing that has happened since I started working at the school that I makes me fear the future.

We sent out letters last week to all the students receiving an F at midterm. Out of about 1500 students, there are 500 students. There could be 1,500 actual Fs. Included with this letter are all of the resources that students should have been using all semester, but have not.

A father called in today to ask if he could speak to someone about the letter that came to his house about his son's failing grade. His wife opened it, even though it was addressed to his son. This man somehow made that sound like it was the school's fault. I had to explain to him three times that we sent the letter to the most recent address his son left with the school, and to his name. In some cases, students leave their parents addresses even though they live in the dorms or in apartments because that is a more permanent address. This student, however, still lived at home. Sooooo what is the issue?

The issue did not seem to be that the student is failing. His father asked why he was failing and I told him I don't know and until someone checks his FERPA, I couldn't tell him if I did know. No, the big question that this man had for me was, "How do I show him the letter without him know my wife open it?" That was not poor grammar on my part; that's how he asked, in a thick accent.

Why are you asking me, a single 27-year-old, how to run your household? I almost said "Just put it in another envelope" but that wasn't really the issue, and I'm not getting involved. I could tell you that it seems like you married an overbearing, intruding, distrusting woman back in the '80s, but that is not really helpful. I could tell you to stop paying for your son to go to school if he's wasting your money and everyone's time.

The thing that puts fear in me is the lack of fear for this kid. His father is concerned that he will be mad about the letter being opened. Understood, we used to get pissed if my mom opened mail, particularly admissions letters and report cards. Admissions letters should be opened by the children because it is their life and their dream. Usually, our report cards were given to us to bring home. Why? Because we could be trusted. And if our parents found out we were hiding anything, they would kill us.

This kid should be afraid that his mom is going to kill him and his dad is going to call him an idiot, and threaten to send him to the army. Instead his dad is afraid of him. Who is afraid of their kids? They were afraid of Macaulay Culkin in "The Good Son." His mom dropped him off a cliff.

No wonder kids today do whatever they want, go wherever they want, and talk to everyone however they want. They're not afraid of anyone. A lot of our students seem to be a little afraid of me. Why? Because I don't make idle threats, or buy into their excuses, or let them blame other people when they are the one with the problem.

All these parents need to say is "I brought you in this world, and I'll take you out!"

What up with that?

When did Kenan become funny on SNL? I have always enjoyed him as French comedian Jean K. Jean, but that was mostly because I love bad French. I found him hilarious in these sketches.

Reba!

Political wiiilll!

Kristen Wiig is still my favorite, followed by Fred Armisen, Jason Sudekis, Bill Heder, and Andy Samberg.

If even Kenan is going to be funny, I'm going to start watching SNL a lot again this season.

Not cute

I've only been dating for shortly over a year. For the most part, it has been good. So far I've had only one real nightmare date, and that was my fault for not going with my gut and instead, agreeing to a second date when one was enough. I have a pretty decent screening process in place, and for the most part it isn't that hard. In 9 out of 10 cases, I am done as of the first message.

Here are the some social networking site message qualities that will get you nowhere:

1. Too young. I have gotten messages from 19-year-olds. 18-year-olds. And 17-year-olds. Um, hi, I work at a college. Do you want homework help? I make about 105 TV and movie references everyday. Have you ever even seen The Facts of Life? Do you know that "That's what she said" dates back to at least Wayne's World, not The Office? I look fairly young- I know this because a 92-year-old told me I look like a kid and an 18-year-old, upon finding out how I old I was said "Twenty-" and only mouthed "seven." I look young, but you'll make me feel old.

2. Too old. On the flipside, I don't want to make anyone feel ancient. I also just think that old people are...gross. 30, still in my age range. 35, for the right person. I have been messaged by a 58-year-old, who tried to give me some sagely, condescending advice. Thanks, Yoda, I have a dad, and I don't listen to his advice.

3. Poor grammar. I'm not perfect. And in this blog, I don't really worry excessively over proper punctuation. If you're going to compliment my looks, though, you should be able to pull that off without coming off as stupid. I don't know how often I need to hear "Your cute." My cute what? It's "You're cute" and I know. Are you just into looks? Because I'm not.

4. Overly persistent. Two or three times, I have been messaged by the same individual 3 times. Did you forget you messaged me? How flattering! I love being forgotten! If not, desperation isn't cute.

5. Too bold. Someone sent me a message that read "I think I'm due for a Boston trip soon. U down?" Really? Whatever you heard about me, it isn't true.


Despite the awkwardness I have read, this one was my favorite.

"Hell no, Tim! I'd not make you sleep on the couch and just watch me. That'd be so like, rude.
My profile is referring to sitting on the couch, watching a movie. Not watching someone. Where did this come from, perv?
And you gotta be kidding me! 1984 is MY favorite book (along with Lord of the Flies). And Queen is MY favorite band (along with Yes). Too much! Look at my profile. See?
So you have decent, but not all THAT unique taste. 1984 is a phenomenal book, but a lot of people like it. If you don't like at least a Queen song, then you are useless. Too much? Not enough! And, how do I know you didn't add them your profile just now?

AND, I write ... comedy sketches! And I taught a workshop in comedy writing. So just what are you tryin to do here, Tim? Be me? You can't. That position's already filled, by me. But if you'd like to talk about different positions, now that might be cool.
So far you're not funny, so your sketches probably suck and you're a creep so you shouldn't be allowed to teach anything. Be you? I am pretty sure I'm better than you, and I don't feel bad saying it. Other positions? You're 40. Can you even get in that many positions? And also, gross.

I also play piano professionally (umm, yea, as opposed to unprofessionally).
Within this context...not at all cool or sexy.

Hope to hear from you, runner-boy!
Nice nickname, douche.

Three words: Nice Little Saturday

Frank: I told my wife I wouldn't drink tonight. Besides, I got a big day tomorrow. You guys have a great time.
College Student: A big day? Doing what?
Frank: Well, um, actually a pretty nice little Saturday, we're going to go to Home Depot. Yeah, buy some wallpaper, maybe get some flooring, stuff like that. Maybe Bed, Bath, & Beyond, I don't know, I don't know if we'll have enough time.
-Old School

I like to think sometimes that I am young, and fairly hip. Actually, no I don't. I don't like to be too serious and I would hate it if I couldn't let loose, so in that way, I'm young at heart. On the other hand, I've been an old man since I was about 4. So at 27, I am ancient. Friday nights I feel more ancient than any other time.

Earlier in the evening, around 6, I went out for dinner and then afterward, for some drinks. That's right, 6, almost early bird time. I was in by 10. I am happy about that.

Tomorrow, I have big plans. The roommates and I are going to The Dollar Tree store and getting Christmas decorations. We will do this after taking a stroll and getting some breakfast together. Later I plan to meet up with a friend. Maybe chat; a light dinner. I am very excited about a relaxing day, without any crazy plans or places to run off to, or parties to attend.

Saturday night could go either way. On Saturday nights, I could be content sitting in, but usually I want to get out and have fun. Part of me is slowing down. I still have the energy in me for one big weekend night. This should work out nicely, so that I still have a night to meet people, but I will already be ready to settle down. Because, well...I'm old as fuck.

I love my nice little Saturdays.

Facilitate!

We have a student worker who can't be trusted to do even the simplest tasks in my office. Today I had a brainstorm and thought of something that needed to be done, would get her out of our hair for a while, and would give her something to do. This task was shredding old files, that are unnecessary and take up space we could use for other things. I'm kind of on a cleaning streak at work, in light of being twice restructured, and hopefully expanding my job scope and responsibilities.

On top of it getting things done, keeping her occupied, and taking a long time so I don't have to be bothered giving her something else to do, she wanted to do it. She was excited to use the shredder. I'll admit, it is kind of fun. I sent her off on her merry little way. She was happy. I was happy. My boss was happy. And brownie points for me for thinking of something so simple but that needs to be done.

About 20 minutes later, the student came back because there was a problem. The bin for the paper at the bottom of the shredder was full. In the past, facilities would come and empty the bins, because they make a ridiculous amount of mess, and dust, and we can't just throw them in with the regular recycling or trash. I knew before calling facilities that they were going to say this isn't their job.

I disagree. Facilities wears jeans and old raggedy clothing. Why? Because as the cleaning lady in my freshman dorm said, "You are here to clean, not for the social aspects of life!" I don't really ask much of them, but we wear different clothes to work for a reason. I have to follow a dress code because I work in an office. I must look neat, professional, and presentable. There are days when I get a little lax and wear sneakers. Sometimes on Wednesdays I wear jeans, just for scuz. Today, however, I was dressed particularly nice. And in my nice clothes, there are often times where I have to run up and down the stairs, climb under desks to move computers, rearrange furniture, sharpen pencils, and several times completely clean and overhaul an office or room.

Today, in my charcoal slacks and black button down, I emptied the bin into a plastic bag, so as to minimize the dust, even though it still caused the student worker to cough. This is probably not proper, but then, I'm not facilities.

What is my point? If I am supposed to dress pretty but do facilities-type jobs, then why do the people who don't do facilities type jobs get to dress like slobs and not speak English? I would love to do that. Someone could come in looking for a tutor and I could just say "No comprendo, bitches and then lift my paint-stained jean leg up and put my sneakers on the desk." Either they start dressing real pretty like me, or start doing the things that might actually make them messy. Otherwise, it's jeans and a ripped tee for me from now on.

It's hip to be square

It annoys me sometimes what can be called news, or journalism, or interesting, or gossip. I will write about it here, because I promise to be none of those things.

The Yahoo! front page had this as their feature story:

Demi Demi Moore Demi Moore Demi Demi Moore...

Basically, the article is saying that W photoshopped a huge chunk of Demi Moore's thigh off and then shows a closeup picture. I have taken the closeup and with my excellent Illustrator skills, have shown that there would be a clear path beneath the sarong from her thigh to her hip.

Demi is old, and very pointy. At the same time, she is kind of hot. I think it's stupid and irresponsible for someone to try to create controversy- insinuating that W is trying to pull a fast one on everyone- without thinking about it. And also, someone got paid to put this on Yahoo! It is pointless for me to comment, but I ain't gettin' paid squat.

My new boooyfriend

This product, the Boyfriend Pillow, is not new; but, I had forgotten of its existence. It will be the first in a new feature called "Products We Hate."

It is probably the only time that having a boyfriend seems lamer than having a husband, as in the husband pillow:

This one features the delightful young cast of High School Musical. What a fun hubby!

The boyfriend pillow is creepy. Does it really need a hand on it? If you feel the need to have fake hands covered in fabric touching you, you should probably kill yourself. Who are you pretending is touching you wearing gloves? A scarecrow? Michael Jackson? Michael Jackson as a scarecrow? Straw aside, it would probably be more comfortable snuggling up with this scarecrow and his weird bizarro Garfield appendages.

Is the arm of the chair this sad woman is sitting in not enough support? Sadder and weirder still are the ads that show the women in bed with the "boyfriend." The name is appropriate, because any man that enters your life and sees this thing is quickly leaving, and you'll need your pillow to support you and hold you in its gloved embrace. Sadly it isn't easily hidden away in a drawer like other boyfriends.


Perhaps men and women who grew up in the '80s remember fondly their Pillow People friends. Come to think of it, I haven't seen ads featuring men. The makers of the Boyfriend Pillow are not very progressive. Anyways, I wish I still had my Pillow Person- I had the Pillow Fighter. I don't recall him having such a sad face. And even though I recall him having smooth, silky gloves, I wouldn't cuddle with him. The bruise on his face showed that he wasn't much of a fighter, but that doesn't mean he's a lover either. I wouldn't cuddle with him because, well, that's just sad. I wouldn't personally do this, but if you want to cuddle, at least get a dog. Because as they say, "It's YOUR dog."

Oh and ladies, check out that fabbo turquoise shirt on the boyfriend. Your boyfriend pillow probably has a boyfriend pillow of his own- maybe a Slanket.

Life as a TV show

Obviously, TV shows are an example of art imitating life. Sometimes, though, life imitates this art form right back.

I'm not just talking about the ridiculous things that happen that make you feel like the butt of life's scripted jokes. Do you ever have those things happen to you that make you feel like you're a TV character, because no one would really appreciate it except for an audience that knows your character? I point to the classic example of myself in college, walking to class, when suddenly, my underwear fell out of my pants. No one witnessed this. At the time I was so confused that my first response was to grab the elastic around my waist to make sure they hadn't somehow shimmied down my leg to the pavement. This was not the case; the pair on the ground had clung to the inside of my jeans and loosened during the walk. My pants were much baggier then, which was the style at the time. Oh, I also weighed 2-hundo.

There are hundreds of these classic moments, and sometimes life finds a way of bring them together like the best TV writers. Last fall, rushing on my way to a date, I was splashed by a car going through a puddle left from the rain earlier in the day. No, not puddle- small pond. Not car- giant SUV. Not splashed- hit by a 6 foot wall of water that left me looking like I sat in the front row at a Sea World killer whale show. I ran uphill, in Chucks mind you, because I was going to a concert, so I had to look real cool, back to my apartment, and changed the jeans and hoodie. The tee shirt stayed unharmed. A short while later, my friend, who happens to be fond of DJs invited me out for drinks. Her and her friends discussed their crush on one in particular. Later, I told her I had gone on three dates with him. I was complimented on not doing a "Saved By The Bell" spit take earlier in the night.

*Flashback: she often flirted or spoke with DJs at college events and bars. We her laughed this was when the following dialogue was exchanged: "I just like DJs." "We know."*

At some point in every TV show, and in life, we become caricatures of ourselves. In the later seasons of TV shows, characters are so well known, we just "get" them. The writers don't have to try as hard as they did writing them.

Jerry Seinfeld was always portrayed as a neatfreak and obsessive. In one of the later episodes, we see him throwing out shoelaces because they touched the floor of a men's room.

My friends from college and I had our sixth "Geeks Thanksgiving" yesterday. This is a tradition we started right after graduation, and have not skipped one since. It's nice to know that some things change, but some things stay the same.

Erin tells us how she tells her kindergartners "That's ridiculous, go away" when they're bothering her.
Liz makes weird noises and when we make fun of her defends herself in a high pitched squeal.
Courtney drinks a 20 oz. bottle of Coke at dinner because she doesn't like anything healthy, and doesn't like "grownup drinks." Twisted Tea does not count.
Keith has a new hobby, making jewelry.
Those of us at justforscuz volunteer to sit at the kids table, which is fitting since we refuse to take part in adult relationships or proper adult behavior.

With life moving forward-people getting engaged, married, soon having kids- it's good that we can count on our friends to stay who they are when that's what we need. That's why we loved them in the first place.

Our TV show ended. We don't see each other often enough for there to be a series based around our interconnected lives. It's sad, but all good things must come to an end. As I said when "FRIENDS" had its finale, which we all watched together, "I'm glad we're ending when we are." My roommate looked at me and said "We're ENDING?" like I was an idiot. And I love that somewhere across the ocean in Spain, he's probably rolling his eyes at something I've done that he can just sense.

We have all moved on to spinoffs. Some survived and some did not. I like to think that mine is still going, because fortunately it's based on hating my job and being awkward at dating. That won't change anytime soon.

It's nice to know that once a year we can have our TV Reunion Special: Geeks Thanksgiving.

One for me, one for you

In 2009, I had 2 big personal accomplishments, about which you are probably sick of reading. The first was enrolling in Sketch writing classes at ImprovBoston. The second was running the Providence Marathon.

The former, writing class, had a clear outcome from the beginning: Level 1 to begin writing and getting my ideas on paper; Level 2 to hone my skills, explore different types of sketches; Level 3, work with classmates to write, cast, and produce a show. The latter, the marathon, was much more open-ended: I could run the Providence Marathon again; I could run the Boston Marathon; I could focus on improving my speed on shorter races.

I did both of these things for me. They were personal accomplishments. I began writing class alone, and though I have made new friends in the class, it will remain a personal accomplishment when all is said and done, and has hopefully gone well. I began training for the marathon because I was inspired by my friends who were mentoring a group of high school students. Although I trained with them a couple times, and ran the race alongside them, I ran my own race and finished before the rest of the group.

I am definitely taking Level 3 this winter, on Saturday afternoons. I want to run with team Dreamfar in Providence in 2010, which involves early morning runs on Saturdays. The first roadblock in my mind is that runs may interfere with class. I realized that this will probably only happen a few times, if ever. The second roadblock was the thought that if I do run, I will be running as a pace group leader. I won't be running the race for me. I won't be trying to improve on my time from last year. It won't be my own race. I thought to myself if I would be all right with that.

Quickly, I figured it out. Was I any less proud of my friends who finished after me? Was I less proud of the students who finished after me, including one who had lost his mother just days before? Was I less proud of the kid who was told to stop trying because his body seized, but he wanted to finish, even if walking? Was I less proud of the girl who was the very last person to finish the race, after the finish line had been deconstructed and whose finish line was composed of her family, friends, and fellow runners?

No. That is what I remember most, more than my own run. I was proud of myself, but I was more proud of each one of those people. I can't imagine the pride my friends felt after mentoring those students for months. I want to be part of that, more than I was this year.

In 2010, I will be writing for and acting in my first comedy show. That is for me. I will also be training for a marathon. That will be for others. It won't be for personal gain or accomplishment, but somehow I think it will be more than worth it. I can't help if it still leads to personal growth.

March 19, 2010 SketchHaus
May 2, 2010 Providence Marathon

What the meep?

I saw a blip about this on the news, and then researched further on the interweb.

Meep banned in schools

In essence, students at Danvers High School, have been saying "Meep" too much. According to the article, and the 7 News teaser, "Meep" is the catchphrase of Beaker from the Muppets.

I don't think so. Beaker, if anything, says Mee-mee-mee. He also speaks and repeats what Bunsen Honeydew is saying, but with more Ms and Es. Rarely does he add a P. His drawbridge mouth might not even be capable of it.



None of these beakers say Meep. Yet, Muppet marketing has coined his phrase as meep. This proves that kids will just buy into anything, even if not true. Kid are dumb.

You know who says "Meep?" The Roadrunner. He thinks it's so nice, he says it twice. Are these kids trying to be the roadrunner? No, because the Looney Tunes are kind of lame.

How dare anyone try to ban something that's annoying because the Muppets say it? Muppets are people too! This is a slippery slope and soon we'll be living in a Orwellian 1984 where we don't have enough words to express our feelings or thoughts. Next will be ban the gays' "Hey, girl, hey"? What if in 2001 we banned the mostly-black "Holla" and its white cousin "Holler"?

In conclusion, there is so much ignorance in this world, even in a liberal state like Massachusetts. These ignorant children are confusing the adorable attempts of a puppet-mad-scientists assistant to express his feelings despite his debilitating speech impediment with the cackle of some jerk cartoon bird who's always attempting to kill a coyote, when he could just run away and leave it at that. And trying to ban something that the Muppets say? That's just straight up racist.

Van Gogh on girl!

"What would life be if we had no courage to attempt anything?"- Vincent Van Gogh

I had dinner with a very good friend tonight, to wish him well on an upcoming endeavor. I gave him a card with this quote from Vincent Van Gogh. He didn't read it until after dinner, and after we made a failed attempt at Stump Trivia. I think most of our points were earned because of my excessive television viewing for most of my childhood.

He gave me something too. He gave me some news that put things in perspective for me. This news made me realize I need to be more of a complete person. I need to move forward. I need to go on. Every once in a while, we deserve to take a break and sit tight in our lives. The longer we rest, the less we live. I have been resting on this one for a while.

I have attempted a few things Since last September: living on my own, comedy writing class, a 10K, half marathon, a full marathon, zumba, cardio funk, this blog, dating. These all stemmed from being comfortable with myself. Maybe I'll never be entirely comfortable with myself. All of these things were a long time coming. Since last September I have made some progress. Then I rested.

Tonight I need to stop resting, and keep living, no matter the outcome. First I'll need some courage. And by that, I mean wine.

Honorary November 8th post

Today I had my second to last class of Sketch Writing Level II. We have had a few weeks off, which is not a good thing for me. When given too much time, I tend to do nothing with it. I wrote a sketch, and some ideas for a classmate's sketch from the last class. During most of the editing critique, we were all telling each other "It's good." There weren't a lot of critiques to make. Our instructor Dave commented on that as well. He said he felt bad just telling us "I like it" since that isn't really necessarily constructive criticism.

My Level I teacher stressed the importance of finding writing partners, because it can just be great to bounce ideas off of someone else. I feel like I do this in real life. Most of my friends are hilarious, and when we talk and joke, there is an energy there that just makes everything funnier. Today felt like that. We started Level II as two halves of Level I classes coming together, like two junior high schools learning to coincide as one in high school. We still give feedback, but we've all become much better at the craft, so the comments are "Here's how to make this funny part even funnier!" and not "Here are the jokes you should cut!"

We did a brainstorming activity today, as we always do. Today, we were supposed to just shout out ideas on what's funny about: Negotiation, babies, and religious ceremonies. At first there was silence. Then an idea or two. Then a joke. Then a ridiculous story. By the end when the list was read back to us, we were all laughing hysterically. Earlier in the class, there was even a real life spit take. My classmate Megan and I weren't even angry that we had coffee spit on us. As I told the spit-taker "You just became a real life 'Saved by the Bell' character!" Nothing wrong with that.

As writers, we all have more work to do. Our sketches are not perfect, but one of the things we have been saying more and more is that new ideas will come from acting it out and rehearsing the sketches. We are talking about staging the sketches, which is what we will actually be doing after the next course. My classmate Ciaran said "We HAVE to be in the sketches when they do it!" I am frightened to actually be in the sketches, or to have something I've written performed; I am more excited than I am frightened. I have one more week of Level II left and then I will be signing up for Level III. I am considering taking some improv classes too, to make me less of a stiff for my big debut.

Since I have no money right now, because I am at that point that happens every few months where all of my bills are due before I get my paycheck, and I may finally find out how my overdraft protection works, but I still need to eat, I did some inventing in the kitchen tonight.

I knew that I had the following: turkey cutlets, various soups, frozen vegetables, taco seasoning. More specifically, I reasoned out that I have cheddar cheese soup (which I bought on sale for a dollar. Holler), frozen peppers (also a dollar. Holler back). What would I make of this? Dinner, of course. It did require buying a bag of chips, though, because I could only think of fashioning this into some sort of dip. I took a trip to CVS and hoped that Halloween candy would be on sale. It was, but more the Mike and Ike's and not so much the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups I wanted. Peanut butter was on sale for 3 for $5 which was a steal! I am officially old or poor, because I get excited about sales and love telling everyone about them. At that price, I can eat one jar tonight which is what I always have to fight the urge to do.

While cooking I took the time to take a picture only because it made me think "We are eating peppers and chips!"





This led to my roommates and I saying "We are eating peppers and chips!" over and over for the next five minutes.

Along the way I decided that I was going to throw in some refried beans, for why nots. Actually what I think I said was "Hey, refried beans, you're gonna join the party."

Recipe:
1 turkey cutlet, cut into small pieces
1 can of Cheddar Cheese soup
1 can refried beans
1 cup (I am lying I don't measure things that aren't premeasured) of frozen pepper strips

I think that was it.

Directions:
Thaw the peppers in the microwave. Cook the turkey cutlet in a bit of olive oil in a saucepan on medium high heat. Once the turkey is cooked on both sides, add the vegetables to cook them a bit. Next, add the cheddar cheese. Add the refried beans and mix them all together. Done and done.

Serve:
I threw the mess that looked like dog food in a bowl, topped it with some plain yogurt (I stole it from my roommate--if you don't have one of these, you will have to buy more food). I drizzled on some enchilada sauce and edged the bowl with baked scoops.


I will get at least one more meal out of this. I am kind of a pig, you could get two. If you are one of those people who has no roommates, you can eat it all right out of the saucepan in one night. No one has to know.

30 Gremlins in 30 days

I find myself pondering the situation where I started a post before midnight and posted it after midnight, as was the case with my last entry. It's similar to the case of the Mogwai and Gremlin. One wonders, as a character did in the sequel, if they start eating before midnight, but get a piece of food stuck in their teeth, will the friendly, furry, little dinkers turn into their scaly, mischievous, though often entertaining alter egos?

Do I have to write a post on every day? Or will 30 posts in 30 days fulfill the requirement? Here is my answer, see if you can follow the logic. You could turn one mogwai into a gremlin every day for 30 days. Or, you could turn 30 mogwais into 3o gremlins overnight. Either way, you have 30 gremlins to deal with. I know that one gremlin at a time is much easier to deal with than dozens upon dozens. Luckily, in this situation, it just means you'll have to read more at once and you probably won't end up going through your window when they rewire your chairlift.

Werewolf Bar Mitzvah, Spooky Scary

Boys becoming men, men becoming wolves.

Every year, the day or two after Halloween, I come up with an excellent Halloween idea and then forget about it by the time it comes around again. This past October 31st, I was proud of myself for coming up with my dinosaur costume early (which was adorable if I must say so myself). But, I woke up this morning with an idea for the perfect Halloween party. A werewolf bar mitzvah. I'm not going to expand upon the details, but think about it. Next year, hopefully I will have a home that is not located in suburban CT and will host this lovely party. You are all invited. Yes, you. All 4 of our followers who read this blog.

That said, I love Halloween. I love dressing up in ridiculous costumes and watching multiple Lady Gagas have dance offs around stripper poles. I love waking up a hot mess the day after wearing a dinosaur hoodie on a friend's couch, not knowing how I am going to get home to CT. Ah, memories.

But, with Halloween's end comes the start of the inevitable NaNoWriMo (National Novel Writing Month). For the past 2 years, I have signed up and failed miserably. I sort of expect to fail. But, not this year. This year, I don't have a job that sucks out my soul and creativity. I have a total of 3 friends located within 10 miles of me which means minimal distractions. I am living with my parents and having regular flashbacks to the year 1999. My novel may end up being a coming of age story of a 27 year old aspiring writer trapped in suburban CT, but it will exist and it will hit the 50,000 word mark by Nov 30. That said, I will also participate in this blog post writing challenge.... I mean, why not add more writing onto my to-do list this month? I have a world of time on my hands.

Don't worry, I'll remember all of you when I am famous.