tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53893701239657618202023-11-16T06:09:20.815-08:00Single Dude in LAThe single dudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06740865669211233387noreply@blogger.comBlogger557125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389370123965761820.post-26213870330485473692019-08-14T16:25:00.000-07:002019-08-14T16:25:01.258-07:00The Seltzer Wars<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzx8ICMidLCuKKCqV4sWPTnoW0N_yzO-qIeOFGXyZN5xcXi_1yOC3ONuSmLv6gyI78UEUh6yADdCli_DdeybUwDWELJlsmnrnSl0uH_479BlOLI0BDVaeN4pBgWA3ee3VhQOL89YEwbOdJ/s1600/Screen+Shot+2019-08-14+at+4.23.01+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1020" data-original-width="902" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzx8ICMidLCuKKCqV4sWPTnoW0N_yzO-qIeOFGXyZN5xcXi_1yOC3ONuSmLv6gyI78UEUh6yADdCli_DdeybUwDWELJlsmnrnSl0uH_479BlOLI0BDVaeN4pBgWA3ee3VhQOL89YEwbOdJ/s320/Screen+Shot+2019-08-14+at+4.23.01+PM.png" width="282" /></a></div>
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I don't write on this blog much anymore. The reasons are numerous. I'm 32, I'm not single and most of my readers have traded in their Tory Burch clutch for a giant mom bag full of diapers. It's fine, I don't hold it against you. But it is a bit shocking that even the 'younger kids' from college are now in full blown 'I have a family' mode while I stayed up until 9am last Saturday making questionable life decisions. Whatever floats your boat right? A lot of my contemporaries always looked forward to getting married and having children, I always looked forward to watching the sunrise and spending Sundays in bed ordering delivery and watching Netflix. We're both living our dream.<br />
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One thing has caught my attention lately, a topic that I am undoubtedly an expert on: bro culture. What specifically interests me is the rise of hard seltzer and White Claw. Well, I am here today to weigh in on the debate, and to accurately predict who will win the war. So whether you want to make sure you look the coolest at Homecoming this October (I'll be there by the way) or you're looking for a hot stock tip that might fund that lake house purchase later this year, pay close attention to the next few paragraphs, and maybe you'll learn a thing or two.<br />
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It begins...</h3>
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The first time I heard about White Claw was Halloween 2018. Someone invited me to a pregame that was going to be "flowing with white claws" which I assumed was some archaic colloquialism that indicated cocaine. You can imagine my surprise when I showed up to said party and saw the aforementioned White Claws, a thin white can with a large wave inviting you to crack one and let your troubles wash away like a midnight tide.</div>
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After spending the better part of a decade in a writer's room, I was familiar with the seltzer craze. Writers pound grapefruit La Croix like I slam whiskeys at an open bar wedding. However, I had never seen the 'hard' version before. I took a sip and as predicted it was disgusting and I moved on to a shot of Fireball because some things never change.</div>
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I didn't see much more of the Claws until the spring, at this point a challenger had emerged; Truly. Similarly packaged though with a slightly more feminine touch. I figured hard seltzers were intended for women that didn't want to be seen hammering beers all day. Perhaps they were more 'lady-like.' Maybe a woman ordering a hard seltzer didn't feel as guilty drinking a refreshing beverage on a warm summer day as she would being the only one at the pool guzzling down a thick double IPA. The drink was however marketed similarly as the Virginia Slim cigarette, it's not as bad for you because it's skinny and at a casual 5% ABV no one would actually become intoxicated on these.</div>
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Lifestyle Brand</h3>
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My initial assumptions proved to be false as I attended a Joshua Tree excursion at the beginning of the summer. White Claw meme culture was just setting in, but it wasn't until I arrived at a pool party of privileged white males listening to 'Kygo' and sipping on Black Cherry Claws that I knew exactly what had happened. </div>
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The bros had co-opted seltzer culture.</div>
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It makes sense if you think about it. The crisp refreshing taste of a hard seltzer embodies the care free lifestyle that most former rich Greeks strive for. No stress, no consequences, laid back, having a good time. I heard some guy announce "Ain't no laws when you're on the claws" before doing a cannonball into the pool, thoroughly soaking everyone in attendance. It's just got a better ring to it than "Gettin unruly on the Truly."</div>
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I decided to give the White Claw another chance and this time I realized I quite enjoyed it, not because the taste had changed, but because White Claw had become a lifestyle brand, the brand of people that wear backward hats, flip flops, polos, comically short shorts, and think that while Trump is a pretty bad president, eh, they'll be fine.</div>
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Hot girl summer was here and as long as we had Claws on deck it might never end.</div>
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A New Challenger Emerges</h3>
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In some circles there continued to be a debate of seltzer supremacy between White Claws and Truly. We haven't seen such a fierce split in this country since the rise of identity politics or the Harry Potter sorting hat quiz first went online. But over time, White Claw pulled ahead for a substantial lead. Bon & Viv and Truly hung on for relevance as a second and third respective choice whenever White Claws were sold out (quite common). Though it seemed the Claws would be the drink of choice for 18-35 year olds without student debt moving forward. </div>
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Then on Monday August 12th, everything changed.</div>
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Natty Light, the preferred cheap beer of frats everywhere introduced two new hard seltzers 'The Catalina Lime Mixer' and 'Aloha Beaches' which cleverly sounds like 'bitches' if you say it in a funny accent. After successfully launching Naturdays last year, it seemed that this newly self-aware Natty Light could be primed to take out the alpha dog.</div>
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But that wasn't all. Shortly thereafter PBR threw their name into the ring...but the biggest bomb came later that night when Four Loko, yes the Four Loko that used to make you shit yourself in 2010 and then wake up two days later in a bush, was also entering the Seltzer Wars.</div>
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I knew at that exact moment what I was put on this Earth to do. Now without further ado, let's break down the competitors.</div>
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Four Loko</h3>
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<b>ABV: 14%</b></div>
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<b>Target: Alcoholics, frat guys, poor people</b></div>
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Coming in at a 14% ABV in a 24 ounce can, it seems like Four Loko's entry is more of a stunt. During welcome week parties in the Big Ten some guy named Chad will show up with these at a pregame and it will be fucking hilarious. The next thing that will happen is Chad and his friend Jenny will wake up in jail because they drank six of these and then broke into some townie's house and started barking at his dog.</div>
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While the original Four Loko served the purpose of blacking you out as quickly and as cheaply as possible, hard seltzers pride themselves on being drinkable, one of the few adult beverages that you can enjoy all day and then still have a chance of making it out that night. If you were to drink two large Four Loko seltzers at noon you will undoubtedly have wet your bed by 7pm. So while I endorse this move in my capacity as an unofficial Four Loko brand ambassador, I don't see this taking off, though it could certainly lead to some fraternity hijinks ie 'icing' in the near future.</div>
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PBR</h3>
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<b>ABV: 8%</b></div>
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<b>Target: Poor Hipsters</b></div>
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The PBR entry is really confusing to me. PBR is the official drink of hipsters, specifically poor hipsters. Pull up to any bar in Silverlake and you can see a guy with a well manicured beard sucking on a can of the ribbon. Maybe it's because he's from Wisconsin, maybe it's because becoming a performance artist isn't really paying the bills. One thing is for certain, that guys was a fucking GDI and he hates frat guys, therefore he hates this whole trend. Every time this guy hears 'Saturdays are for the Boys' he dies a little inside. This guy is actively cyber bullying Joe Biden on Twitter because Joe isn't going to forgive his student debt for the Art History degree he got at Cal State Northridge.</div>
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The 8% PBR may have filled the comedy role when it was conceived, but the moment Four Loko doubled down with its entry, PBR lost all strategic positioning. The only corner they have left is to be the 'working man's seltzer,' but then again, union guys probably think hard seltzer is for girls and libs. I expect this to be a total disaster and be pulled off the shelves by the end of 2019. </div>
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Bon & Viv</h3>
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<b>ABV: 4.5%</b></div>
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<b>Target: Women, Health Conscious</b></div>
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Bon & Viv is the Ravenclaw of hard or "spiked" seltzers. It's nobodies favorite, but it's generally agreed upon that out of the Big 3, it is number two. Neither a Truly person or a White Claw person would take offense to drinking a B&V (I thought they were called Bon Ivers for two months). Following in the tradition of the Bartles and Jaymes, Zima Mike's Hard and Smirnoff Ice, B&V is geared largely toward women. It features a super rad can with two mermaids, has 90 calories and zero grams of sugar while still packing 4.5% alcohol. An anorexic could drink this shit and convince herself that she wouldn't get fat.</div>
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The slightly lower alcohol content also means that a person on-the-go can have a few of these and then drive to pick up their kids without the risk of a DUI. I wouldn't be surprised to see Gen X really grasp onto these and also folks in the athletic community. I've done a few triathlons and seen way too many people drinking Miller 64, now they have an alternative.</div>
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Natty</h3>
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<b>ABV: 6%</b></div>
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<b>Target: Bros, College</b></div>
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When I was in college Natty's marketing machine was fairly quiet. They were the budget arm of Anheuser Busch and that was that. Meanwhile Keystone Light dominated the frat scene at my college because everyone was trying to find a god damn orange can. Well AB must have noticed because shortly after my graduation, Natty really started leaning into the college scene sponsoring Barstool heroes like Smylie Kaufman, throwing epic tailgate parties and even launching a pink lemonade beer called Naturdays. Last year they even launched a <a href="https://x96.com/life/natural-light-celebrates-birthday-with-77-pack-of-beer/" target="_blank">77 pack in certain liquor stores in Maryland</a>.</div>
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The question is not whether or not Natty seltzer will catch on anywhere; it will. The question is can it go mainstream? You're certain to see cases of this shit at your local Sigma Chi chapter during homecoming, but will 20somethings at the Manhattan Beach Open be crushing these on the Strand this weekend? It's hard to say. Another thing that is synonymous with hard seltzer is an 'elite' lifestyle. Natty is clearly not elite. They've already publicly stated that their price point will be $3 less than White Claw. They don't want the Hollywood Hills parties, though you'll find them at plenty in Westwood.</div>
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Truly</h3>
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<b>ABV: 5%</b></div>
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<b>Target: Contrarians, People that don't want to be associated w/ bro culture</b></div>
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Where did it go wrong for Truly? It launched around the same time as White Claw in 2016 and enjoyed a fairly anonymous run its first two years. In fact, you could say that Truly got off to a better start when the hard seltzer craze was just starting to bubble in 2018. Though since then it's been all Claw. White Claw was the largest growth brand in the world the week of July 4th this year because, well no shit. Is there a bigger holiday for the bros? It's not all negative for Truly though. All ships rise with the tide. The segment was up to 500 million last year and the year over year growth for hard seltzer was 200% in April, long before the trend peaked.</div>
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Furthermore, the more Claws get associated with bros, the more some folks will choose to distance themselves from it. Despite the fact that I have never met someone that doesn't love to absolutely rip it on the weekends, apparently there are people that think being a 'bro' is a bad thing. (They all work for Vox and love to talk about their depression) There will continue to be room for Truly even if it will climb the top of the mountain. As the great Ric Flair once said, 'To be the man, you gotta beat the man.'</div>
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White Claw</h3>
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<b>ABV: 5%</b></div>
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<b>Target: Bros, hot chicks that know they're hot, center-right millennials, trust fund kids, the elite</b></div>
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There likely hasn't been a trend that grasped a community this hard since Fireball came out in 2012. You might remember staggering around a tailgate field and watching people pass around this bottle of cinnamon elixir. They all looked the same, they were all smiling, they hadn't a care in the world. A hit at every wedding, lake day or otherwise, Fireball completely enraptured the world. Four Loko did so before Fireball. Jagermeister did so before Four Loko. You may have seen the memes that Four Lokos walked so White Claws could run. It's an apt comparison. Somehow White Claw became the official drink of every person whose dad owns a dealership. With a divided nation politically and everyone on social media having a fucking 'brand' associating yourself with one that screams youthful ignorance, generational wealth and a bit of blissful apathy doesn't seem that bad. White Claw people go on cool vacations. White Claw people party with their shirts off. White Claw people worry about things later. The question is, how long do the Claws stay on top?</div>
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If trendy booze has taught us anything, the Claws have a good 2-3 years before they become stale. Then they'll slip into comical nostalgia like the guy that brings a bottle of Jager to a party in 2019. I predict it will have slightly better staying power as White Claw has become the category leader in a somewhat new space. As long as hard seltzers are around, White Claw will be relevant, but no one lives forever and the sad downfall of White Claw will eventually be a story you read on Buzz Feed. But let's not think about that now, let's shotgun a claw and raise a toast to the dog days of summer '19.</div>
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Official Rankings</h3>
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1. White Claw</div>
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2. Natty</div>
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3. Bon & Viv</div>
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4. Truly</div>
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5. Four Loko</div>
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6. PBR</div>
The single dudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06740865669211233387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389370123965761820.post-19045210890577567782019-04-30T15:33:00.002-07:002019-04-30T15:33:54.566-07:00Where'd You Go, Grape Kamchatka?<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
<a href="https://www.blogger.com/u/1/blogger.g?blogID=5389370123965761820" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/u/1/blogger.g?blogID=5389370123965761820" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/u/1/blogger.g?blogID=5389370123965761820" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/u/1/blogger.g?blogID=5389370123965761820" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/u/1/blogger.g?blogID=5389370123965761820" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/u/1/blogger.g?blogID=5389370123965761820" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://www.blogger.com/u/1/blogger.g?blogID=5389370123965761820" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a>I always thought it was fun to take photos holding a giant bottle of vodka.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This was literally my first ever profile photo on Facebook. It says a lot about me. First of all, I drink and therefore I am cool. But also I have impeccable style and at least one friend, who I can physically dominate. I mean look at that navy blue NBA headband and that blue and green striped J Crew polo. Who the fuck wouldn’t want to hang out with me?<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOelwahEzqHvfqCaUadeaQgLgOD4vAACxrnADW_C9ASE5hFektfs9a5sNKEx61gmwRJ3NS98DCqC5nhkILugO7gDNSydot60OB0_zm3Z0wLmHoiqyQJZbtsEdUw4w8iCP4hpGfBrk0U2RW/s1600/189774_566654223299_6104_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="250" data-original-width="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOelwahEzqHvfqCaUadeaQgLgOD4vAACxrnADW_C9ASE5hFektfs9a5sNKEx61gmwRJ3NS98DCqC5nhkILugO7gDNSydot60OB0_zm3Z0wLmHoiqyQJZbtsEdUw4w8iCP4hpGfBrk0U2RW/s1600/189774_566654223299_6104_n.jpg" /></a></div>
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I’ve zoomed in on the photo and it appears to be Dark Eyes vodka. I don’t remember it having a profound effect on me, just one of the numerous suitors in the days pre-Kamchatka. Freshman year was a blur of hazing, awkward sexual encounters and drinking lots and lots of Skol in my dorm room before basketball games. I think back then we could get a half gallon bottle for about 7 dollars.</div>
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It’s ironic that I drank the piss that I did. Like any self-respecting frat guy, I had an ‘emergency credit card’ in college which acted as an unlimited line of credit that I would never have to pay. I suppose it was just some misplaced solidarity or the need to assimilate that kept me consuming the vile bottom row vodka with my peers. Alas, I started to grow a real fondness for it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I don’t remember the exact moment Kamchatka entered my life, but it was likely sometime in late 2006 or early 2007. The first photographic evidence I found after a cursory search of my Facebook library points to March 2007, right around the ramp up to Spring Break and Little 500. Alas, this was the flavorless Kamchatka, a slight upgrade over the gasoline that was our traditional swill. <o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHeu2X9MAJgQhFmg7haXSbShiY_-0g9logvmAAU1Dm20wuHWsrRd2-JwNfImJ_WrV-5G6qvQ5QLcNMbfXVelXVB_PSUs5j3PYgRzBBFWc0fa3MWHNzptPMuE5bnFw8iPoM0JN7jfceCpOO/s1600/May+14%252C+2007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="453" data-original-width="604" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHeu2X9MAJgQhFmg7haXSbShiY_-0g9logvmAAU1Dm20wuHWsrRd2-JwNfImJ_WrV-5G6qvQ5QLcNMbfXVelXVB_PSUs5j3PYgRzBBFWc0fa3MWHNzptPMuE5bnFw8iPoM0JN7jfceCpOO/s320/May+14%252C+2007.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Further research shows the first appearance of flavored Kamchatka as December of 2007. If you look at the man in the far right of this photo and draw a line down from his left elbow you will see it, 35% alcohol, 100% perfection: grape Kamchatka.<o:p></o:p><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHrVmqKIo_faHSvlxmmFATlAR9K0OsKgBOjeaJEjBdrf3vfaaYI-VcdNnWHbY9ohn0TW7as2FpQPHNEQcVnnIfUyeSu_wd35aTxAmd_kosxmBF11tmIcOl0RTWVp15DhIXrHJi9WFra9MN/s1600/1928303_616919196889_1490_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="453" data-original-width="604" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHrVmqKIo_faHSvlxmmFATlAR9K0OsKgBOjeaJEjBdrf3vfaaYI-VcdNnWHbY9ohn0TW7as2FpQPHNEQcVnnIfUyeSu_wd35aTxAmd_kosxmBF11tmIcOl0RTWVp15DhIXrHJi9WFra9MN/s320/1928303_616919196889_1490_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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There were rumors that it wasn’t even really vodka, that it was some sort of grain alcohol infused with artificial flavors. Some would say that drinking enough of it might render you temporarily blind. We didn’t care. We just knew that by drinking a half a bottle of this we would hit the town with enough inflated confidence to fight a fucking shark.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The grape Kamchatka really hit the mainstream in 2008 and 2009. ‘Twas a staple at every tailgate, every boat trip. By the end of a four-hour session on Lake Monroe the 1.75 liter bottles would be half full of sea water, but we didn’t care. If the alcohol was strong enough to cause blindness surely it could handle a little dirty water.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Unfortunately, I graduated after four years. I moved to Chicago and I lost the family credit card. My Kamchatka consumption would no longer be a luxury but a necessity. Though as hard as I scoured the windy city, I could never find what I sought.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Fortunately, I was still quasi-dating a couple students at IU as fuckboys do. Thus, I could always look forward to my next trip down to campus. A football game, Homecoming, Little 500, a random fucking party in the middle of February that would help me forget about selling computer software.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But one day I arrived at the Big Red liquor store and realized it was gone. No grape Kamchatka. Not even Cherry. Nothing.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Thinking that this surely must be an anomaly I traveled to the other five liquor stores around town and they all told me the same thing. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“It just stopped coming.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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There were of course rumors flying around that Bloomington had ‘banned’ the beverage due to numerous cases of alcohol poisoning; a Four Loko situation all over again.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This story made sense. We drank grape ‘chatch straight and typically without chaser. It would often make me do things like this…<o:p></o:p></div>
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And this…<o:p></o:p><br />
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So I drove down to Bedford. Surely Indiana University would have less influence in neighboring towns, but again I found the same. Grape Kamchatka had disappeared into thin air.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Eventually I moved to California and would think less and less about the elixir of my youth. When I would travel back home I would see that Karkov and some other imitators had attempted to fill the gap left by Kamchatka’s departure, but none of them quite measured up.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Over the years as eCommerce and alcohol delivery improved I would periodically search for a long lost bottle. It would be a huge hit at some sort of reunion, perhaps a fifth exchange. Maybe I would hang it over my bed like a trophy from my youth.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I came close once, <a href="https://www.shopperswines.com/spirits/Kamchatka-Grape-Vodka-w9087214o2" style="color: #954f72;">finding a listing in Union, NJ</a>only to find out that the bottle was long gone. I would bring up my search to friends from all over the country and started to realize, this may have been a fairly narrow niche from the beginning.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Just today I did a search for “grape Kamchatka.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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There were only three English results.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The first is a girl that clearly went to Indiana and explains how Cherry (not Grape Kamchatka) was instrumental in her dropping out. (<a href="https://femsplain.com/the-college-dropout-8448f907a1e8?gi=ae1cd32b82fa" style="color: #954f72;">Actually you should read her post, it’s really good</a>!)<o:p></o:p></div>
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The second is an Ohio liquor distributer’s ordering guide for 2013.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The third was my friend Jen trying to get all the IU Pi Phis together for a reunion last year. Hi Jen, hope it was fun.<o:p></o:p></div>
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So what ever happened to grape Kamchatka anyway? If you just google “Kamchatka” you will learn that it is (or at least was) one of the highest selling vodkas in America…at least in the Midwest (it was distributed out of Kentucky)<o:p></o:p></div>
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Could it be that Bloomington was just a test market for grape and cherry flavors for a very specific time from 2007-2009? You would be hard pressed to find anyone that studied in Bloomington during that time that doesn’t harbor strong feelings about it one way or the other.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I find myself chasing parts of nostalgia from my youth often. I buy a Four Loko (non-caffeinated – boo) once in a while because it reminds me of going to bars like Gamekeepers in Chicago (RIP) I buy a jager bottle now and again because it reminds me of my absurd pregames in Florence. Shit, I even bought a sixer of Zima last year because it reminded me of the icing craze from a few years back,.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I just want one more bottle of grape Kamchatka so I can remember waking up on a spring Friday in Bloomington, sending out a mass BBM to all my homies in the Greek system and inviting them over for a darty…or leaving the tailgate to keep it going at my house with a DJ that also moonlighted as an accountant, blasting ‘Country Roads,’ showering beers while passersby shook their head, either in total disgust or complete envy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I don’t know if I’ll ever find that bottle of grape Kamchatka that I’m looking for, but I’ll never stop trying. Perhaps it’s an overarching metaphor for my lost youth. But as long as there is still hope for one bottle out there, I will maintain a purpose. <o:p></o:p></div>
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If you have any info on how to acquire grape Kamchatka (or even cherry) please reach out or let me know in the comments!<o:p></o:p></div>
The single dudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06740865669211233387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389370123965761820.post-67802997335239630042019-02-26T15:12:00.000-08:002019-02-26T15:12:00.559-08:00Always Remember Us This Way<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHDm8rlpWLCbWjIX2Tw9bX8bzYlPfonfGx26QPsO8Nbh3WpQ6KEVWsg2DgXHox7wziHoX9LQ3MkbunJD_6yUF33BS2WeKlrgtEJjf-OCstktGvt6E1AbjvaID0MjrWT_5LqjKyzyDMgeBC/s1600/Lady-Gaga-Always-Remember-Us-This-Way-From-A-Star-Is-Born-Soundtrack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="864" data-original-width="1296" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHDm8rlpWLCbWjIX2Tw9bX8bzYlPfonfGx26QPsO8Nbh3WpQ6KEVWsg2DgXHox7wziHoX9LQ3MkbunJD_6yUF33BS2WeKlrgtEJjf-OCstktGvt6E1AbjvaID0MjrWT_5LqjKyzyDMgeBC/s400/Lady-Gaga-Always-Remember-Us-This-Way-From-A-Star-Is-Born-Soundtrack.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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A lot has happened since the last time I posted on this blog...<br />
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I've traveled to Australia, New Zealand, Germany, Serbia and England. Indiana basketball has lost something like 60 consecutive basketball games, I've advanced in age and I'm no longer the "single" dude in LA.<br />
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Of course my beloved Star is Born (inspiration for the title to this post!) was also beaten by a movie written by the Dumb and Dumber guy that attempted to solve racism...BUT I DIGRESS.<br />
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I'm 32 now. The vast majority of my social sphere is either already in their 30's or knocking on the door. I've always been very aware of my age. Age is something that was a big deal to me because I felt so immature and behind throughout most of my life. Last to get a girlfriend, last to get a good job, last to grow up. At 30 I was unemployed, single, living in a triple and had overdrawn my checking account. (LOL there were no savings)<br />
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NOT GREAT BOB!<br />
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So you could see why I became obsessed with the number. At 22 that type off behavior is expected. At 26 it's passable. At 30 it just begins to look pathetic.<br />
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Some time over the past 2 years I decided I would stop comparing myself to people from my past; beating myself up over things like engagements, baby announcements and promotions on LinkedIn.<br />
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<i>That motherfucker is an EVP? HOW?! I let him copy ALL of my answers on a Stats final. Now he has 2 kids, a beautiful wife and flies business class? FUCK THAT GUY!</i><br />
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You see how one could spiral quite quickly. You start thinking about choices you made long ago and how the ripples have been devastating ever since.<br />
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If I wouldn't have skipped that P&G dinner that one time, would I be a sales director in Ohio? If I wouldn't have worn my stupid fucking purple tie to that Target interview would I own a 2 bedroom condo in St. Paul? Did I always prioritize partying above everything else in my life and has this since destroyed me? The answer is probably not to all of the above, but these are the thoughts that creep into your head moments before you fall asleep.<br />
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What jolted me this past year wasn't ME turning 32 it was other people from my life getting older. It was my brother turning 28, it was the Sophomore Kappas not being Sophomores anymore (they're all fucking 30!) it was people that I used to babysit getting married and divorced and holy shit when did all of this happen?<br />
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With every relationship I form, I default to a certain time in our life and hold onto it. With my college buddies it will always be the corner of 7th and Indiana, after a tailgate, blaring Country Roads. It's raining beer, the shorts are short. No one is wearing sunscreen. Not a care in the world.<br />
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My high school friends, we're driving around in an old station wagon figuring out somewhere to go. I'm thinking of a lie to tell my parents why I'm going to miss curfew. I honestly don't even have anything better to do, I just feel like hanging out and talking for a while longer.<br />
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I'm back in Chicago. I'm in a basement on Burling Street staying up way too late making questionable decisions on a school night, Beaumont is open until 4am, 5 on a Saturday but our apartment never closes. Let's grab one more round.<br />
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Then there is my LA crew. When I close my eyes I see us drenched in sweat at Townhouse or wandering around the beach at night feeling invincible. The sun is about to rise, I have to get home before it, or I'll be awake all day.<br />
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When did this stop being who we were? I didn't opt in to this life of escalating responsibilities. I thought we could stay young forever in these mental oases I had conjured up in my head. Am I the only one that wanted to run away?<br />
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I've read a lot about mental health and mental illness in recent years and given lots of thought to whether I was afflicted by it at times in my life. Do I have addiction issues? Do I suffer from depression? I think my conclusion is always something along the lines of ...'it's not a black or white issues, it's a spectrum and I'm probably somewhere on it.'<br />
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I suffer pangs of regret, hints of anxiety and waves of sadness like everybody else but not so much that I would self-identify in this way or make it a passionate crusade of mine. But I understand the existential dread, why everyone on the internet seems to be pessimistic about the world. Things are happening that you didn't sign up for. Maybe it's politics that bums you out, maybe it's climate change or something more personal. All these scenarios have something in common, they contain elements outside of one's control and that's what causes the nervous uncertainty.<br />
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One of the greatest joys of my past 6 months has been making a real effort to visit people from my past. I flew out to Sydney to spend a week with my cousins, I went to London and San Francisco to see my old Chicago roommates. This weekend I'm heading to a music festival with some Coachella alumni to try to recreate the magic (yes, even after I publicly stated on this blog that I was retiring from festivals)<br />
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I think it's important to spend time with people that make you happy. (Obviously) But I also think it can be healthy to take a stroll down memory lane once in a while. Sometimes I get too caught up in the fact that I'm 'living in the past' but isn't that what makes me who I am? A collection of experiences that shape my current self.<br />
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Think about every time you see a person that means something to you; friend or foe. There is an immediate feeling that washes over you be it positive or negative. These are the important things to latch onto as we grow up. Not a mental dick measuring contest "Why does he drive a nicer car than me?" It doesn't matter.<br />
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The girl I started dating recently asked me what my best quality was. It took me a moment because surely there are more negative than positive things about me, but then it popped into my mind clear as day.<br />
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"I surround myself with great people."<br />
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And sure it might be a backhanded compliment to...uh...myself.<br />
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But it cannot be overstated how great it is to have wonderful people in your life. I mentioned earlier that a collection of experiences is what shapes who you are but that's probably only half, with the other half being reflections of the people you choose to surround yourself with.<br />
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It won't solve the problems of the world, but when I'm feeling a little down, I find I gain the most inspiration and happiness by picking up the phone and asking a buddy if they want to just grab a beer and hang out. After a couple cold ones, laughing about teenage angst and some of the more precarious situations we found ourselves in, I usually feel a bit more optimistic about the future.<br />
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But one thing is for damn sure, I always feel less alone in my uncertainty. No one has life figured out, we're all just doing our best to fake it.The single dudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06740865669211233387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389370123965761820.post-5498879626045248402018-12-29T16:24:00.001-08:002018-12-29T16:24:39.478-08:00Top 10 Movies of 2018<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I think I’ve aged out of arthouse cinema.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I watched Roma last night and, sure, it looked cool. And yes, I was gasping for breath during the ocean scene and the hospital scene and the furniture store scene.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But you know what? I didn’t enjoy myself. Roma was a tough hang. So was Sorry to Bother You and The Hate U Give. I’m not out here trying to learn a lesson. I’m trying to enjoy myself for the next couple hours. You know what I enjoyed this year? Mamma Mia 2. Now Mamma Mia 2 did not make my list, but I took a bottle of Rose into that movie and literally danced my way out of the theater when it was over.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The world needs more Mamma Mia 2 and less First Man. And look, not to disparage the God Damien Chazelle, First Man similarly to Roma and a bunch of other movies that didn’t make my list are fine works of art that look beautiful. I guess as I get older I’m just less interested in super serious depictions of tragedy…unless it’s a war movie because war movies kick ass.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ll also have to issue my list of apologies right now, I didn’t see every single movie this year. I missed Vox Lux and Anna and the Apocalypse. After Beautiful Boy I was all set on rehab movies so I skipped Ben is Back and Boy Erased. I can’t find a Destroyer screener and I think I’m all set on my RGB content for the year so On the Basis of Sex will have to wait until 2019.<o:p></o:p></div>
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No animation and no docs on my list this year. I’m sure I forgot something awesome I watched in March, who cares, Sing Street is still the best movie this decade and 2018 was kind of whatever. To the list!<o:p></o:p></div>
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10. Eighth Grade<o:p></o:p></div>
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All that grandiose soapboxing about ‘movies are meant to entertain’ and then I drop the movie that made me the most uncomfortable this year. I hated watching this movie. It made me physically uncomfortable and I just wanted it to end before any other bad things could happen to that little girl. But I think that was the point. Director Bo Burnham is a 28 year old comedian who is objectively good looking and I would imagine that he could have sex with anyone in Los Angeles male or female. The fact that he remembers this kind of pain and angst from middle school just goes to prove that it’s a horrible time for everyone.<o:p></o:p></div>
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9. Black Panther<o:p></o:p></div>
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What can I say about this movie that hasn’t been said already? It’s the most captivating political thriller in years. It makes statements without being annoying about it and it has an all time performance from Michael B Jordan who may be the most interesting American actor working right now. The entire cast really just knocks it out of the park, all the while being set in one of the freshest and most exciting worlds that we have seen in any comic book movie. The film loses a couple points with me because I’ve really had it with the third act final battle. I didn’t need those rhinocerous looking motherfuckers rushing into battle but I guess this movie is for 8 year olds too. <o:p></o:p></div>
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8. Annihilation<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ve thought about this movie a lot and I really don’t have a fucking clue what was going on, but there was a scene in which an alien bear rips a chick’s jaw off and it’s the most metal scene of 2018. Also Natalie Portman is perfect in everything she does.<o:p></o:p></div>
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7. Bohemian Rhapsody.<o:p></o:p></div>
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This movie got shit for not being gay enough and it got shit for not making Freddie Mercury enough of a degenerate. I counter with this, when you see him stumbling through a house full of empty booze bottles and coke residue, what do you think happened? They weren’t having bible study the night before! I could watch that Live Aid sequence probably every day for the rest of my life. If Rami Malek doesn’t get an Oscar nomination I may organize a protest.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<s>6. The Favourite<o:p></o:p></s></div>
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<s>I wanted to like this movie so much more. The first half was hilarious, absurd, fun. The second half, not so much. Similar to The Lobster, Yorgos Lanthimos…you know what?</s>Fuck it. I didn’t really like this movie. I’m changing my mind. Fuck The Favourite go see 6. Overlord.<o:p></o:p></div>
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5. BlacKKKlansman<o:p></o:p></div>
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I feel like I’ve been disingenuous with my list thus far. The truth is, I probably liked To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before AND Set It Up more than Eighth Grade. I just put Eighth Grade in there so I would have some indie cred. Whatever. At least I didn’t put something super obscure like Sisters Brothers on here (even though I quite enjoyed it) BlacKKKlansman was really fucking good. John David Washington was really fucking good…and Adam Driver? I’m so glad you fucked up your back mountain biking and never went to war. I think Spike Lee is pretty hit or miss, this movie is his best in 20 years.<o:p></o:p></div>
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4. Crazy Rich Asians<o:p></o:p></div>
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My interests are always changing but I will never not be into rich people doing rich things. A rom com about the opulence of the Singaporian elite is right up my alley and boy does this thing deliver. Maybe this is why I didn’t like Roma. That movie follows a poor maid and a rich family slipping into the middle class. What a tragedy. Fewer politically motivated massacres and more POND WEEDDINGS PLEASE! Alas, the cast of CRA is stellar. Everyone is pretty. Even Awkwafina is funny. Man, I really am just a materialistic girl out here, huh? There better be fireworks at my wedding.<o:p></o:p></div>
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3. Vice<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m going to be honest with you. I find Adam McKay’s satirizing American tragedies to be absolutely hilarious. As a former hard line Republican, I really found nothing upsetting about the war in Iraq and Afghanistan at the time. I was playing a lot of Halo back then and my preferred mode in that game was ‘slayer’ which essentially means, kill more bad guys than bad guys kill you. We definitely killed more bad guys in that war than they killed us. But that’s not the point. We also killed innocents and really no Americans should’ve died to mid-east fuckery. I know that now. I’ve grown up. All that said, fat Christian Bale makes me laugh.<o:p></o:p></div>
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2. Hereditary<o:p></o:p></div>
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The less you know going into this movie the better, so I’ll leave it at this. Hereditary is the scariest movie I have ever seen in my life. Hard stop. Toni Collette deserves seven Oscars but since the Academy is made up of limp dick cowards, she probably won’t be nominated. The car scene is the wildest cinematic experience in 10 years and the piano wire shit is still giving me nightmares. Go see Hereditary you peasant.<o:p></o:p></div>
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1. A Star is Born<o:p></o:p></div>
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Oh fuck you. Yes, it’s basic. Yes, it’s very white. Yes it’s heteronormative. But it’s also fucking perfection. Listen to ‘Shallow’ again you fucking muppet. It’s magical. Listen to ‘Always Remember Us This Way.’ Ya that song bangs too. I even ride for the song at the end. It’s pretty good. I listen to it in the shower. Give this movie all the Oscars. Give Sam Elliott an Oscar. Let Lady Gaga and Brad perform the whole god damn soundtrack. You really want to give Glenn Close an Oscar for The Wife? You didn’t watch the fucking wife. Basically what I’m trying to say is that if you want to go to Vegas for Gaga’s residency, I’m down. Tiny arthouse fiends, we gave you Moonlight, a film about a poor kid getting a hand job. La La Land was robbed. Just…just let me have this. Thank you. </div>
The single dudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06740865669211233387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389370123965761820.post-73593718933850904762018-12-12T15:41:00.001-08:002018-12-12T15:52:52.691-08:00Top 10 TV Shows of 2018<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Ah yes, it's year end list SZN, the time of year where I put very little thought into putting together my 'best of' but I get thousands of views because I got Mindy Kaling's lunch for a season.<br />
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THAT MAKES ME A FUCKING EXPERT. (Apparently)<br />
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Truth be told 2018 was my first year mostly away from the TV industry. I wrote one pilot and briefly consulted on a couple treatments but I actually didn't work on a series this year. As such, I watched a bit less than in years past. Also nearly everything on my list came from streaming so I am now officially an idiot for not cutting the cord. I legit have DirecTV for the two times a year I wake up in time to watch the Colts play at 10am on a Sunday.<br />
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Now looking at it in totality my list can be categorized as things I'm in to...rich people, young love, drugs and terrorists getting shot in the fucking face. I guess I'm a pretty simple guy when it comes down to it. Let's go to the list.<br />
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<b>10. Lovesick, Season 3 (Netflix)</b><br />
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As a show it barely qualifies, the entire episode dump came while I was nursing a hangover on January 1st of this year. Season 3 (or series 3 as the Brits are wont to call it) was not as crisp as its previous iterations, but as long as Dylan, Luke and Evie are appearing together in something it's making my list. The show is about a bunch of 30ish year olds just trying to figure it out in between black outs at the pub, angsty confessions and sloppy break-ups. Inject that shit into my veins. It doesn't hurt that I aspire to have the personality of Luke and the look of Dylan and end up with a girl as beautiful as Evie.<br />
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<b>9. Jack Ryan: Shadow Recruit, Season 1 (Amazon) / You, Season 1 (Lifetime)</b><br />
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I have these tied for 9 because they are both guilty pleasures of mine. Unlike my woke counterparts, I still really enjoy getting jingoistic from time to time and fist pumping when a nameless terrorist has his head blown off. The fact that Jim Halpert and the guy from The Wire are the two protagonists of Jack Ryan: Shadow Recruit makes it that much better. The fact that this is my lone Amazon choice may puzzle you, surely Ms. Maisel or Homecoming are objectively better fare, but just think of JRSR as my Indiana comfort food when I'm feeling like 'Making America Great.'<br />
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On the flip side, You is a show about attractive people making questionable decisions. You can just go ahead and sign me up for all of that. The pilot alone has rich people doing rich things, Dan Humphrey as a voyeur, multiple scenes of gratuitous masturbation, and an arrogant douche getting maimed by a hammer! All the while it's set against a very Gossip Girly New York backdrop. While I was watching You, I wasn't sure if the show was great or if it was just made especially for me. Either way, I'm in.<br />
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<b>8. End of the F***ing World, Season 1 (Netflix)</b><br />
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I watched EOTFW hungover on a Sunday afternoon after making some very poor choices on a Saturday night. Anxiety was through the roof. That's probably the best way to watch this show, which feels like a 4 hour My Chemical Romance music video. The show revolves around two teens that kind of want to murder each other but also kinda want to fuck? Eventually they decide to go on a Bonnie and Clyde-esque tear through England and by the time its over you think Sid and Nancy had a healthy relationship.<br />
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<b>7. Narcos: Mexico, Season 1ish (Netflix)</b><br />
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Shows about drugs are objectively cool. Michael Pena is objectively cool. And let me tell ya, Diego Luna has come a long way since crying his way through sex with Mozart in the Jungle. The show has a familiar hook. The bad guys are pushing dope, the good guys are trying to stop them but you find yourself rooting for...the bad guys. Let chaos reign.<br />
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<b>6. Succession, Season 1 (HBO)</b><br />
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The only thing I think I like more than the wealthy and elite is a good old fashioned power struggle. I also enjoy dysfunctional families bc my family is painfully normal. This show has a plethora of both. Also: Underground Burning Man drug orgies? Check. Jerking off to city skylines? Check Check. A meth binge in New Mexico? CIRCLE GETS THE SQUARE! Kendall Roy was the biggest dipshit on tv in 2018 and probably the one who I would most like to get a beer with.<br />
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<b>5. Bodyguard, Season 1 (Netflix)</b><br />
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Does anyone else watch shows with the subtitles on? When I was like a Sophomore in high school my grades plummeted and my parents were afraid I wouldn't get into a decent college. I went to a psychiatrist and they ran a thousand tests on me. The results showed that I had some sort of hearing fuckery where I can't process information that is told to me, I need to read it. The real reason for my slip in grades was that I just wasn't doing homework and was spending all of my time online after football practice on AIM trying to convince people to have sex with me. Regardless, they prescribed me 40 mg of adderall a day, I went to IU and became your God for four years.<br />
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These days, I really find myself struggling to understand people that don't speak perfect English. Maybe that psychiatrist was right! Anyway I can't comprehend what the fuck Richard Madden is saying or why he keeps calling people mom, but I keep the subtitles on and the show beats ass.<br />
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<b>4. The Chilling Adventures of Sabrina, Season 1 (Netflix)</b><br />
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God this show is awesome. I like the cat and the pansexual cousin. I love the 'Mean Girls' witches, I love the Slytherin Aunt, I love that Lady Satan looks like Veronica Lodge all grown up and I love that in season two Sabrina is probably going to start fucking Archie during a Riverdale crossover.<br />
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One thing I don't like is that fact that little Sally Draper is playing a 16 year old and the show is full of near nudity. I know the actress is 19, and know that some of these scenes are not written as exploitive but GOD DAMN do not put that temptation on me, it's fucking gross. Never did I think I would be the rallying voice to stop sexualizing women on TV but I guess I am a feminist after all. *<i>None of this applies to Prudence though, strip away Prude. She might be playing a high schooler but she's 22 and I can tell the difference.</i><br />
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<b>3. Bojack Horseman, Season 5 (Netflix)</b><br />
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This is the most consistently great show on television. After five years I don't know what else there is to say. Raphael Bob-Waksberg is a genius. Satires typically have a finite shelf life but every year this show seems to outdo itself. I think that's because once you get past all the sight gags and Hollywood quips, this is a show about despair and mental illness, something that we're all acquainted with in 2018 amirite?!<br />
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If you're not a fan of animation, I get it. Listening to those Rick and Morty apostles talk about Szechuan sauce is annoying, but Bojack is different. It's as biting as early South Park and as laugh out loud funny as peak Office.<br />
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<b>2. The Haunting of Hill House, Season 1 (Netflix)</b><br />
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While this show won't quite make my best television series of 2018, it certainly had the best episode. Episode 5 'The Bent-Neck Lady' gave me such a visceral reaction, that I'm not sure I have fully recovered. I remember reading internet reviews that read 'Millennials Have Found Haunting of Hill House So Scary, They Can't Sleep!' and thinking God I can't wait HuffPo to pull a Gawker and die. But my God, I would only watch this show, with the lights on, in my room when one of my roommates was home. For whatever reason I figured the ghosts wouldn't come for me when my roommates were home...probably because my roommates would force the ghosts to party with them.<br />
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Actually now I'm laughing because I can't shake the thought of Michael chasing a spirit around the house with cigarettes and Budweisers...too drunk to realize that he was tormenting a malevolent demon. Ah, good times.<br />
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<b>1. American Vandal, Season 2 (Netflix)</b><br />
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This show is a masterpiece. It is the peak of what entertainment can be, and it's a show that is essentially built upon poop and dick jokes.<br />
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When I was working in tv, I used to think I was better than all of my colleagues. If someone got promoted ahead of me it wasn't because they were a better writer, it's because they kissed more ass or were less of a white male than me. (God do I belong on 4chan or what) I really struggle to watch a lot of modern sitcoms because I know I could so easily write for them. Love? Sure. Sunny? Def. You're the Worst? In my sleep.<br />
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Not American Vandal.<br />
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Everyone on this show is operating at such a high level it shocks me. It's so current and relevant. The style is so fresh. I was genuinely upset when it was over. I went back and binged the entire first season again. This is the type of show that made me want to write television, the type of show that says FUCK the format. Spend less time worrying about your act breaks and just come up with something new.<br />
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A year ago when I made this list I was temping at a Regus office while still trying to write. This is the type of show that makes me want to quit my job and give it one more go. Alas, cheers to the Turd Burglar and the best show of 2018.The single dudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06740865669211233387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389370123965761820.post-56673764191627008712018-11-27T14:32:00.000-08:002018-11-27T14:32:09.852-08:00To All The Girls I’ve Loved Before<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif;">Let me tell you something I’m good at.</span><br /><div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">
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I’m pretty good at grabbing some beers with the boys. Some may say I am great at it. Actually, an argument could be made that I am a first ballot hall of famer at grabbing some beers with the boys.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Could honestly be thrown on my tombstone some day: “Here lies David Moeller, who was adept at grabbing some beers with the boys.” <o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m a fun hang! People generally enjoy being in my presence.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Let me tell you something I’m not good at.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Girls. Among other things. Taking things seriously, planning for the future, making good decisions… oh it keeps going.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Talking about my feelings. Telling people what they mean to me. Being honest. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Sometimes I’m solid at the beginning of a relationship. The part where we just get drunk together and roll around under the covers all night. Other times I just do and say nothing. Wait for some other guy to scoop her up and judge bitterly from the sidelines.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Regardless it always ends terribly because at the end of the day, it’s just easier to grab a few beers with the boys.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It’s ironic because I live an inherently risky lifestyle. I text and drive, I drink to excess, I ride Bird Scooters without a helmet, I still eat romaine lettuce. If I were at a music festival and found a bag of an unknown substance I would take it. I would take all of it. And hope for the best! Chances are it wouldn’t kill me, but who knows? <o:p></o:p></div>
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Conversely, I find it nearly impossible to tell a person how I feel about them. Telling a girl that I like her is quite unlikely to kill me, yet I find it overwhelming. Dying might be unfortunate, but it isn’t awkward.<o:p></o:p></div>
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There have been four.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Four girls that I felt that burning desire for at all times of the day. Four girls I wrote countless unpublished journals to because screaming into the void was easier than having a human conversation. Four people that caused me physical pain.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Four very different scenarios, four relationships I ruined or prematurely aborted because life is hard. If I could do it all over again, I wonder what I would change.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Four girls I thought about all week at home.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Going home inherently leads to a walk down memory lane, especially when I spend the majority of the time two of the places that were so influential on me during my formative years. <o:p></o:p></div>
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I walk into Chicago’s Bank of America Theater and instantly it’s 2010 again on a cold winter night, we can’t find a cab home…the beginning of something special, maybe. <o:p></o:p></div>
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There were four but then there were all the ones in between.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’m sitting in Nick’s having beers with my dad after an IU/Purdue game. We just walked past my college house and now he’s asking about all the girls he used to meet in the IU tailgate fields.<o:p></o:p></div>
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That one’s married with a kid.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I don’t know what happened to her.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Ya, her dad was cool.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Ya, her dad was rich.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Married with a kid.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I agree that one was very pretty.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Married with a kid.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Divorced maybe?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Yes I probably screwed that one up.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But why did I always screw it up?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Was it because I was afraid of heartbreak? Afraid of an uncomfortable situation? Was it because I wasn’t sure?<o:p></o:p></div>
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Or is it just because it’s easier to pretend not to care about anything and throw back some pints.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Maybe this is why I find it so much fun to get wrecked all the time. Because when you’re shitfaced it’s easy to ignore your own insecurities and just focus on the pursuit of pleasure. Life is a story and buddy, I have a lot of them.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But a story is that, a work of mostly fiction. Something to laugh about on occasion, but stories don’t help you waking up feeling empty on occasion.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Black Wednesday comes around, I’m in Chicago. This holiday used to be my Christmas. Onesie bar crawl? Yes. Rush and Division until 4am? Obviously. The goal on this night was to drink until I lost all motor functions and then drink some more. Hopefully I would wake up in a bed more comfortable than mine to a person prettier than me.<o:p></o:p></div>
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It was then a matter time…of getting to the airport in time to fly to Chicago or Sacramento wherever I was going. Maybe I would have to drive home to Indy, maybe I wanted to shower before my parents picked me up in the city so they wouldn’t know the extent of what had gone down the previous 24 hours.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I went through security at LAX once with a black eye wearing a Pikachu onesie because I didn’t think I had time to change. This would be a great story at the Thanksgiving table.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But this year as I sat alone in my hotel room at the Moxy Chicago on Wednesday night I had no real desire to tie one off, to go on an epic Ulysseian journey seeking debauchery on a 25 degree night in Chicago. I bought a cheap ticket to Hamilton, had a couple glasses of wine and was in bed before 12.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Likewise, while I was in Bloomington with my parents, all I wanted to do was spend time with them, catch up on what they’ve been up to, get sentimental about old Bloomington memories. Even when I ran into a bunch of college friends at Kilroy’s, it wasn’t a race to see who could black out the quickest. I wanted to hear about their wives, their kids, what life events they were looking forward to.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I remember drafting up text messages to girls while I was home that were less along the lines of ‘U up?’ and more so, ‘Hey I’m sorry I screwed everything up, I wish we could have given it another shot before you moved away.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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“That’s never what you wanted.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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Home is no longer a place I go seeking some kind of king’s homecoming. That ship has sailed. Now it’s just a wistful stroll through my past, a nostalgic memory that used to feel real.<o:p></o:p></div>
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But circling back…if I could do it all over again. I guess the easiest way to deal with my pathetic emotional intelligence would be to write everyone a letter and have my brother send them out without my knowledge. What a zany scenario that would be!<o:p></o:p></div>
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In reality though, I would probably change nothing. That’s just who I was then, and this is me now. I was a child. Why did I self-sabotage? I guess so I could learn things about myself. <o:p></o:p></div>
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“That’s never what you wanted.”<o:p></o:p></div>
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That’s right, I wanted to be the life of the party, the coolest guy in the room, the person you wanted to be like when you grew up. Fun, confident, wild. The problem is I was never any of those. I was just a lost soul trying to figure everything out.<o:p></o:p></div>
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To all the girls I loved before, I’m sorry I wasn’t better. To the ones that I left hanging, I’m sorry I didn’t care more. To everyone else that did or didn’t give up on me, I just wasn’t ready back then. I’m still not ready. But some day I might be. At 31 it just took me a little longer to learn how to treat people and hopefully I’ll never forget again.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />The single dudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06740865669211233387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389370123965761820.post-60382234086261641482018-10-08T10:53:00.001-07:002018-10-08T14:35:53.780-07:00The Deuce<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Jack, Nick, Dana, Stephanie, Joey, Sarah, Sam, Mark, Michael...me<br />
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These are the people that have lived in 627 Westminster #2 since 2012, yet I'm the only one that's been there the whole time. At least three of those people are married now. Maybe four or five, I lost touch. Two still live with me for the moment. One of them moved 3,000 miles away to find himself the 9th is M.I.A. and then there's me, number 10.<br />
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A lot happens in seven years. I've changed, evolved. I've seen people come and go, friendships begin and end, multiple relationships fail and I've accumulated a LOT of stuff.<br />
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A LOT of stuff.<br />
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It's generally accepted that even if it brings about a better life situation, moving blows. The physical process is just catastrophically bad. I wouldn't wish it upon my worst enemy. Even when you involve movers, it can be an emotionally grueling process. The one life event worse than a move though may be the home renovation.<br />
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I have a noted slumlord of a property manager, but after seven years and about 30 failed city inspections I was able to convince him to install hardwood floors under threat of violence. In retrospect, this may have been a mistake. What I assumed would be a three day undertaking with a professional crew has turned into a month long cluster fuck in which one guy shows up and installs about 10 square feet a day.<br />
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All the while, all of my furniture sits outside on the patio for all of the elements. It rained last week on all of my shit, I'm sure all of it is now infested with bugs. A couple weeks ago I came home to a homeless man passed out on my couch, how exciting.<br />
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On a more personal level, it has caused me to completely clean out my room for the first time really since I moved in. I've found jury notices from 2013 that I never responded to, birthday cards from ex-girlfriends wishing me a happy 24th...random items that came in care packages from my mom and about a decade's worth of old t-shirts, socks, and old beer caps. I didn't realize how many night caps I was enjoying from the comfort of my own bed. It's a truly disgusting process, sifting through all of this garbage and deciding what to keep and what to burn.<br />
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I've been attempting to stay as far away as possible from the construction site that is my life. I hit the movies every night during the week, I destroyed myself at a festival last weekend, neither of these gave me the answers I was seeking. I decided to try something different on Saturday: head east to the desert.<br />
<br />
The first time I ever went to Joshua Tree was with roommate Nick. He was the first roommate at #2 and the first to leave. We had been fighting a lot about stupid stuff but decided to take a trip to the desert. We ended up climbing a mountain and watching a sunset together then proceeding to get extremely drunk with 10 eighteen year olds who were starting college the next week. A park ranger came and confiscated our bong and looked very disapprovingly at Nick and I (24) for hanging out with high school kids. Regardless, the desert healed our friendship and we remain close to this day.<br />
<br />
I don't know what it is about Joshua Tree but anytime I go there for answers, the desert provides. I've been back probably a dozen times since my first trip and every time I come back emotionally rejuvenated. I hoped I might find that refreshment once more.<br />
<br />
Saturday, we pitched our tent off the Boy Scout trail, one mile in, 200 feet off a path (these are the back country rules) at Outlaw Rock, a place I thought I knew as well as the back of my hand. We then set off for Pioneertown and a meal at the legendary Pappy and Harriet's. Pioneertown is a city that was created in the 1940s to be a living 1880s film set. Western television shows such as the Gene Autry Show have been shooting there for years. Now it exists as an escape for tourists in the Yucca Valley. We witnessed a wedding, had some drinks and ate some truly incredible ribs, highly recommend.<br />
<br />
Now here is what I WOULDN'T recommend...<br />
<br />
On the way back to our campsite I decided to begin my vision quest a little early and ate a few stems. This was a bad life decision. Because by the time I parked at the Boy Scout trailhead it was...<br />
<br />
A. Pitch Black<br />
B. Freezing Cold<br />
<br />
And I was without...<br />
<br />
A. A flashlight<br />
B. A fucking clue where I was going.<br />
<br />
For those that have ever wandered around the desert or a forest at night, you are probably aware that it can be difficult to walk in a single direction. Even if you think you are walking a straight line, it's entirely possible that you drift one way or the other, so the chances of walking in circles is rather high. I assure you, if you are tripping your dick off, these odds go exponentially higher.<br />
<br />
So instead of finding the answers to my questions about being metaphorically lost, I spent my vision quest being literally lost in the desert.<br />
<br />
For close to two hours I led my merry band of misfits in circles through San Bernadino's high desert. There were laughs, there were tears and there was a growing sense of desperation. At one point I thought we may have to go sleep in the car, but I was so turned around I'm not sure I knew where it was. I had flashbacks to getting lost on Mt. Baldy, but that was during the day, I had ample water and sunlight. This was 10pm, I was cold and the only assets I had on my person were whiskey and more mushrooms. Against my better judgment I took more, sometimes you need to get all the way lost before you can be found.<br />
<br />
Two hours later, I was debating whether we could survive a night exposed in the desert. I had a vague idea where a road was, so I didn't think our situation was completely dire, but at this moment I gave up. I let go. Every rock looked the same, we were not going to find our camp.<br />
<br />
And then there it was, like a shining pearl in a deep blue sea, an orange tent emerged.<br />
<br />
There was celebration of course, dancing around with a boot full of tequila watching the stars smile back upon us. Little did I know, in all of my jubilation, that my questions had just been answered.<br />
<br />
You just have to let go.<br />
<br />
Let go of the past, let go of my anxieties, let go of expectations and just...be.<br />
<br />
I've heard of this with addicts or those who are super religious: submitting to a higher power. Well to be honest, I don't know what I am submitting to, I'm just making a conscious effort to stop being my own worst enemy.<br />
<br />
I didn't find my camp until I stopped looking for it, and maybe that's a metaphor for happiness. If I am spending my whole life looking for something, maybe there's a chance I was just too distracted to realize that it was right in front of me the whole time.<br />
<br />
I was sorting through the junk in my room this morning and I had a bit of a revelation. I don't need any of this shit. Everything must go.<br />
<br />
All of it. This old mattress, this 2014 IKEA bed frame. This shitty desk I took from an Abbot Kinney law firm. Every article of clothing more than a year old, this cracked iPad, this fucking old drone. Get it the FUCK out of here. I'm DONE.<br />
<br />
But it's probably time to let go of these old letters from an ex-girlfriend who is married with a kid now. Probably time to let go of this Tri Delt Flapjack Attack t shirt. The car that's been gathering dust in my driveway for a year? GONE! I think I'm all set on at least five of these onesies, this stuffed giraffe and a couple unrequited crushes I've been holding onto for a couple years too long.<br />
<br />
Move on. Clean slate. Fresh start.<br />
<br />
It's therapeutic really, to just kind of rip off the band-aid. Start a new game, eliminate all baggage. I had a friend in college who told me she would intentionally 'fire' all of her friends every two years and start over. I thought it was insane, but now I'm starting to understand.<br />
<br />
Throwing away all of your shit and starting fresh is not a novel concept. It's a trope in movies about divorce and self discovery. Hell, there is a Will Ferrell movie called 'Everything Must Go.' I'm not going through a messy break up or anything but it has recently occurred to me that I have like three assets that I really care about.<br />
1. Nintendo Switch<br />
2. OC Christmakkuh Sweater<br />
3. Golf Clubs<br />
<br />
Everything else can fucking BURN baby. Who needs it? Why do I still have old sheets that were stained when a girl wet the bed? Why do I hoard gag gifts from Cards Against Humanity's 12 days of Christmas?<br />
<br />
It's time to bag all of this shit up and drop it at Goodwill, and some underprivileged youth out there can have all of my frat shirts, Members Only jackets, pink polos and stupid hats. When I moved out here I was making $12 an hour selling newspaper ads door to door. Now I'm making slightly more than that and my life should reflect it.<br />
<br />
If that means growing up and moving out of Westminster sooner rather than later, so be it. Because as long as I'm living the life of a 21 year old Junior in the frat, I'm never going to emotionally mature beyond that. I still love to party, and that will probably never change...but I do have the option to do it whilst NOT living in squalor.<br />
<br />
Once we made it into the tent on Saturday night we were punished with 50 mph winds. I thought the REI tent might snap in half several times, but it weathered the storm. In the morning I saw the poles had tangled up into a steel mess, but they hadn't broken. Bend but don't break. I think that's a good metaphor for my last 10 years. I was resilient in the face of adversity several times...but it's time to start the next chapter, in which Dave becomes a human adult and tries to stop sleeping on the floor so often.<br />
<br />
Sometimes we feel the most lost moments before we are found. I was wandering around in life, straying to the left or right in the darkness, often spinning in circles looking for something that I couldn't define. So let go and head back to the drawing board and get excited to fail again. One of these days we'll get it right. Westminster has been a hell of a ride and it's not over yet, Unit 2 will always be a part of me. In seven years I've experienced a lifetime of memories but it's hard to get better while staying the same. I've been lost in the desert for quite a while now, but I think I see an oasis on the horizon.The single dudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06740865669211233387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389370123965761820.post-75101157470625349542018-10-03T13:46:00.003-07:002018-10-03T13:46:53.603-07:00When it's Over<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It feels like yesterday.</div>
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I was just 19 when I made my debut on August 4<sup>th</sup>, 2006. I remember I walked onto the field on a sweltering day in Chicago’s Grant Park, tens of thousands of people around me. This was the type of stuff you dream of when you’re a little kid in Indiana, making it here to the big city. <o:p></o:p></div>
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People were in various states of undress, swimming in fountains, drinking beer. A group of guys huddled behind a tree with a shovel, unearthing drugs they had buried days before. A celebration of excess, debauchery and what it means to be young; a journey of self-discovery and very loud music.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I sheepishly walked up to a press tent and displayed a pitiful self-made pass. It read ‘The Booze News, Indiana University – Reporter.’ The guy shrugged his shoulders, gave me a wrist band and pointed me backstage. I sat there holding a Michelob Ultra, wearing a Phi Psi Cycling shirt grooving away to an afternoon of Umphrey’s McGee vibes and unlimited possibility. <o:p></o:p></div>
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That’s why people go to music festivals of course, the potential. Who will you see? Who will you meet? Who will you be? Will you fall in love or make a connection? It was never about the music for me, I was there in pursuit of a story…a memory to carry around for the rest of my life. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Every weekend was a subtle escape from the dregs of responsibility. For a few days, nothing else mattered but the people around you and the dreams of the day.<o:p></o:p></div>
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On one hand I never want it to end.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I like the chaos of it all, the thought that I am temporarily escaping to an alternate dimension where one’s only purpose is the pursuit of happiness. I like planning the outfits, staging the photos, even the long car ride to some forgotten civilization that will soon be overrun with angsty youths looking for something more.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ll never forget the afternoons in the snow, the days in the sun, the long walks back to camp or the nights that turned into mornings and everything in between. I met so many unbelievable people out there, did so many stupid things but I don’t think you can ever truly feel more free than when you’re dancing like no one’s watching even though they all are.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Last weekend was number 40 for me, a pedestrian number to some, though I can feel the wear and tear on the body at this point. Nearly a year’s worth of weekends spent trekking around fields, crashing in crowded AirBnBs and frantic packing come Monday morning. <o:p></o:p></div>
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So many long trips home, regretting every decision I’d made, only to get that itch a few months later and to run it back one more time.<o:p></o:p></div>
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On Sunday I suited up for the last time. I hit the bottomless brunch in the morning and then stormed the park in my Hawaiian shirt for one last hurrah. I left it all out on the field. So now 12 years, one month and seven days after I first walked through those gates, it’s time to hang it up.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I’ll never forget the people I met, you made it all worth it. The places we saw, the things we did, the music we heard…it will fade like an old henna tattoo but it will always be a part of me. I felt love, I felts sadness, I felt hope, often all in the course of 48 hours, but most importantly I got to live my dream for 12 years. Many others around me were forced into early retirement but I got to play a kid’s game until 31 and that’s something I will always cherish.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The sun sets on this chapter. The women in their fur and boots begin the long walk down a trail of tears to an afterparty that ended hours ago. The molly is all worn off now, the juuls empty, the weekend over.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I don’t know what lies ahead for me, simply that at this particular bar the lights just went on and an old man shouted ‘last call.’ I don’t have to go home but I can’t stay here. Peace out music festivals, it’s been real…<o:p></o:p></div>
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For now at least, because you can never rule out a comeback.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The single dudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06740865669211233387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389370123965761820.post-64393954715350401062018-08-23T12:05:00.002-07:002018-08-23T12:05:43.554-07:0010 Year<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
"Welcome to the greatest year of your life," Jake shouted to me as he tossed me a beer.<br />
<br />
I smile and give him a hug, he's shirtless per usual.<br />
<br />
"There's a keg inside, 10 handles of Kamchatka and all of Kappa is coming over. See ya."<br />
<br />
I still remember that last move in day so vividly. Driving down to Bloomington in my old Pontiac with my family following me in the U-Haul. I was cranking Dave Matthews Band Live at Central Park and didn't have a care in the world.<br />
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My parents always cried when they dropped me off, but this time it was different. I'd already left home three times, traveled halfway around the world, and now I wasn't even coming home for summers. They had shed their last tear. It was almost over.<br />
<br />
My actual moving process revolved mainly around me barking orders at my brother in between sips of beer.<br />
<br />
Put the mattress by the Xbox, the futon by the window, set up the dresser in the corner...throw that giant bean bag in the back by the AC, that will be a great place to nap when I'm hungover tomorrow. As an 18 year old high school student, his labor was very cheap. His rate? One case of BLs.<br />
<br />
The only thing left was to do was drag my 500 pound TV up the stairs, a job that required four men, though with the amount of late night Mario Kart we played, it was well worth the struggle.<br />
<br />
We were up in Btown a week early with a very full social calendar that included drinking on our porch, playing golf and terrorizing Kilroy's. It felt bittersweet being a Senior, living out of the fraternity house with one foot out the door. On one hand we were the kings of campus, the world was ours. On the other, the finish line was now clearly in site and no matter how hard we tried, we knew our time in this world was finite. The vacation was about to end.<br />
<br />
It was ten years ago today that I moved into Shingles, ten years ago that I started the most memorable year of my life. Back then who could have known that Jack, Steve, Larkin and Jake would get married, that I would live in LA, the people that would come into my life, the people that would fade. Hunter would go to London, Jack and Nick started companies. Dan and Taylor climbed the ranks of corporate America and I...<br />
<br />
Dan was the first one to get arrested that year, didn't even make it to the first day of class. I think he had some trouble finding his way home from the bar. In his defense, it was a pretty long, tricky walk home. He bailed himself out and made our tee time the following day.<br />
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I think we rented boats that week, planned our first party, coordinated a semi-formal and mapped a bar crawl. These days I can barely pay my rent on time, but back then I had the ambition to squeeze something awesome into every waking moment. I figured by the time I was 31 my life would ostensibly be over, I would be married, I'd have children, I'd be coaching the soccer team. Little did I know.<br />
<br />
The pregame would rotate between three houses. 8th and Dunn would take Thursdays before and after Bears, the Sigma Chi guys usually took Friday and our house always threw down on Saturday. We were 500 feet from the only bar that mattered and had campus exposure on three sides, like a party peninsula. One couldn't help but walk by and be in envy of the debauchery: a dj playing trance music, shirtless men participating in beer jousts, young women sucking from a bottle of Grape vodka like it contained the secrets of life.<br />
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We were assholes, but the nice kind. We wore Crocs to bars because it was funny, would tip 70% because it was awesome, danced on tables because we could. We slept all day and stayed out all night. If I could just drag myself to class, where I would sit in the back BBMing girls or breaking bricks, I could make it to the night where it would all start over again. It didn't matter what night of the week because we had static plans year round, a standing reservation if you will.<br />
<br />
Monday: bowling.<br />
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Tuesday: Kilroy's.<br />
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Wednesday: Crazy Horse/Sports<br />
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Thursday: pregame/karaoke/pregame/Kilroys<br />
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Friday: Sorority Dance/Theme Party<br />
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Saturday: Tailgate/Darty/Adderall/Darty/Kilroys<br />
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Sunday: Sleep until 4pm, smoke a bowl and watch Planet Earth.<br />
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The theme parties were absurd too. I had gear in my closet for every single decade, every offensive exchange idea that would never work in 2018 and lots of Members Only and Surf Style just for the fuck of it. We would throw wedding parties, we would throw divorce parties, we would take a bus out to a barn just to party with a change of scenery. I played more pub golf than actual golf, I spent more time coaching bar crawls than I did thinking about my future, but it just felt right.<br />
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Spring Break? That was a banger. How did we take the whole Greek system to a foreign country and have nothing go wrong. I feel like I couldn't pull that off with a group of four now. Little 5, I'll never forget. We could've won that year...<br />
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Remember Opryland? The Gossip Girl themed Trip Delt arrest? Lazy afternoons at Lake Lemon and Monroe? I thought it would last forever.<br />
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And then just as fast as it started, it was over.<br />
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I didn't have a job lined up, nor any real direction in my life, so I stayed in that 9 bedroom shack at 528 East 7th Street. Though it was summer and classes were out, I kept up the routine, living in an extended epilogue with no real purpose. I would wake up and go on day crawls, which were just bar crawls that started at noon. Every moment I slept was one less precious minute in Bloomington.<br />
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I floated around, spending some time in both NYC and Los Angeles but I ended up coming back to that house, going to the bars with a handful of people that studied in Summer Session 2, fiending for that last drop of adolescence that I so clearly could not let go.<br />
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I remember leaving and how sad it made me feel.<br />
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This was my first real house, first place I'd been arrested, first place I had fallen in for a girl and the last place where I had any business calling myself a kid. There would be no more Friday brunch at Tri Delt, no more late night smoking sessions at Chi O, no more getting girls to spend the night via the promise of pizza. It was time for me to leave, it was time to become an adult.<br />
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Steve got married shortly after I left for LA. Things were still the same when we went back. It felt like a frat party with higher stakes. It was like we were pretending to be adults, getting into nice suits, staying in a hotel, but the next day we would all go back to eating Easy Mac and calling pledges to do our laundry.<br />
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Jake was next. His wedding also felt like a gong show. We were back in Bloomington and it felt like nothing had changed. The absurdity was well chronicled on this blog. I was very pleased with everyone's lack of progress in the 'growing up' department. I thought maybe, just maybe we could all be Peter Pan forever.<br />
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But by the time Ryan got married later that year, I was noticing changes. People were showing up with dates, there were no plans for an after-after-party and people seemed to be starting to let go of the past, a troubling development.<br />
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Ten years later I found myself sweating profusely on a golf course in Barrington Hills, about to give the best man toast for Jack, almost ten years to the day of us moving in and beginning this crazy journey together. Most of my speech focused on how we had lived together for so long, so many places, so many memories. Crazy to think that we had started in a crumbling fraternity house in a 6 bedroom closet and now here we were at a beautiful country club. It didn't feel like a frat party anymore, this was real life.<br />
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It was during the speech that I had a moment of clarity.<br />
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I had spent my entire life comparing everything to that year, that time and place. 2008, Senior Year, Bloomington.<br />
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It's not that I didn't enjoy the ten years in between...I've had a wonderful time, it's just that 2008 was the last time I fully felt in control.<br />
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In college, you are given a very simple charge: graduate and don't die.<br />
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I was very good at graduating and not dying.<br />
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But everything else, came more difficult to me. Figuring out what I wanted, who I wanted to be, where I wanted to be. Getting in touch with my feelings, learning how to communicate with people and telling them what they mean to me. I also realize that while I may evolve, I'll still always largely be the same person I was in 2008. I may have different goals now and in the future but that won't drastically change my personality.<br />
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The last ten years weren't a wash. I made some of the greatest bonds of my lifetime, experienced joy, loss, pride and disappointment. But now, for the first time in a very long time I feel like I'm back in the driver's seat of my own story. I have regained the control. There will always be professional and personal ups and downs but if living in Venice has taught me anything, it's to just ride the wave.<br />
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As a writer I'm always thinking of things narratively, how do I get this character from point A to Point B and give them a happy ending. Well I don't have the precise answer yet, but I'm starting to figure it out. Every single one of my past experiences got me to where I am right now, and where I am, is the right track.<br />
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10 years ago today, Jake tossed me that beer and I could have never been prepared for the rollercoaster that followed. But If I could go back and talk to 21 year old me, I would just tell him to strap in and enjoy the ride.<br />
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And so I raise a glass...here's to you Shingles, may you always be a part of my heart.The single dudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06740865669211233387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389370123965761820.post-6420593885908432222018-07-20T12:17:00.001-07:002018-07-20T12:17:29.243-07:00Almost Good Enough<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDlRTzTjp_oC5KpZ4CzrwMo4RLTe4rFcQ5k0N3xXsLsbFaU6SgmZdr1f80avbRXf_ax-gm_bueHpRhZfeemA7a8kX_FQ5GoVXPndBKCVhxhNXKj14gw_REFkmYAzyrVdctzFuJQeg3Q_Kj/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-07-20+at+12.12.37+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="927" data-original-width="982" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDlRTzTjp_oC5KpZ4CzrwMo4RLTe4rFcQ5k0N3xXsLsbFaU6SgmZdr1f80avbRXf_ax-gm_bueHpRhZfeemA7a8kX_FQ5GoVXPndBKCVhxhNXKj14gw_REFkmYAzyrVdctzFuJQeg3Q_Kj/s320/Screen+Shot+2018-07-20+at+12.12.37+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">There is perhaps no word in the English language more soul crushing than 'almost.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-size: x-large;">al·most</span><br />ˈôlˌmōst/<br /><i>adverb</i>not quite; very nearly.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Failure is of course part of life, but coming so close to a goal and falling just short can lead to the type of despair that I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy. Almost getting the girl, almost getting the dream job, almost being happy.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was almost good enough once. I wanted to be a professional writer and I was ok, maybe even good. But there is a major difference between being good and good enough. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I often attributed my professional failings to a personality problem. Most folks in Hollywood didn't stumble out of the frat house on their way here and found my attitude to be a bit off-putting. I made the mistake of assuming that everyone at their core was like me, someone who wanted to be the life of the party and have a good time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I figured that regaling my coworkers about my weekend heroics was the quickest way to ingratiate my way into their hearts but really I was just proving to them something that I didn't yet know. I always wanted the life of a professional writer more than I wanted to be one.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I wanted a fast car, I wanted a sick apartment. I wanted to go on dates without worrying about the cost of menu items...should we get one more? <b><i>Of course</i></b> I wanted to have one more drink every time. Who doesn’t want one more drink? But instead of living in the moment, I would do the simple math and realize that every time I agreed to ‘one more’ I was setting myself back $40. On a production assistant salary those $40 increments add up fast. The first one means rent is going to be late, the next means I won’t be able to put gas in my car tomorrow, the third means the internet is going to be shut off. I hated this. I wanted to live a life free from the fear of overdrafting my checking account, free from the thought that if my car broke down I wouldn’t be able to fix it.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And that wasn't enough. I wanted to go to Yacht Week with the boys, that ski trip in Park City, take a friend out for their birthday...and this, this is what I was more worried about than 'making it.'<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">While I was going on those hall of fame nights where we took 12 ubers to 7 different neighborhoods and got home as the sun was rising, the people I thought I was so much better than, they were improving, I was just turning into a lush. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Ya I was pretty good, probably better than most of my contemporaries to be honest. But in an industry where most writers under 35 are 'replacement level' anyway, who do you want in the room, the person who is dependable or the guy nursing a brutal hangover from a pier concert?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">So there it is. I fucked up. I was almost good enough and I pissed it all away.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Everyone has a similar story of course. Maybe you were in a band that couldn't quite get over the hump, maybe you broke up with your soul mate over some petty argument. Maybe there was something you wanted so bad you could taste it and then one day, POOF, it was gone. You blew it you </span>self-destructive<span style="font-family: inherit;"> twat.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">But...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I have good news.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">The good news is that it's not too late. Today I am here to absolve you of your sins. Whether you pissed away a promising TV career by behaving like a degenerate or literally anything else, today we wipe that slate clean.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Say it out loud, write it down, it's therapeutic to come clean on your fuck ups. White girls in LA pay a lot of money to say this kinda stuff to a therapist, this site is free. Yell it at your screen right now, it won't yell back. Did you blow your marriage, did you ruin a friendship, did you give up on one of your passions because you just couldn't get out of your own way?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Well that's fine, because right now I am hitting the reset button, because the truth is...there's no such thing as 'almost good enough.' You are fucking good enough. I am good enough. My career at NBC Uni may be over for the minute but that doesn't mean that my angsty single cam dramedies are any less fire. I mean, my God, I wrote a pilot a few weeks ago about summer in Carmel, Indiana and it was fucking BOMMMMMMMB. It took me eight hours. I mean even if it's shit, that's gotta be some sort of speed record. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Pick up your guitar, write a new song. Hit up your ex girlfriend and list all of the things you did wrong. Dust off the clubs and book a tee time, start training for those triathlons again. Join a gym, reconcile with your parents, go get a new head shot. Don't give up.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I know it sucks to fail. It blows. And by all means you are well within your rights to climb into a bottle for two weeks and sulk, but after that, get over it homie.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And if you can't find someone to give you the opportunity to pursue your dream, just do it yourself. Self-publish a novel, record an EP and throw it up on Soundcloud. Can't find funding for your movie, shoot it on a god damn iPhone. We live in a time where there are just simply no more excuses not to pursue the things that make you happy. Start a podcast that has five listeners, believe me, it will become the most fulfilling part of your life; just <i>do</i> something. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">And of course because life is a cruel mistress and everything is cyclical you will undoubtedly screw up and fail again. But guess what, you can just re-read this and give it another go because it won't be too late then either. Because the only thing worse than trying and failing, is never trying at all.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Shooters shoot...remember that. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri Light, sans-serif;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
The single dudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06740865669211233387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389370123965761820.post-27357421314886691412018-07-09T12:45:00.003-07:002018-07-10T17:12:59.703-07:00Oh, the Places You'll Go<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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The car in front of me comes to a halt as I look at a the sun mercifully setting on the horizon. It is hot, in fact I'm not sure if the asphalt is quite literally melting or I'm just seeing a hazy mirage as I make my way toward the Mexican border.<br />
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My car thermometer reads 115 degrees, that's probably inflated but needless to say I feel much more like I am pulling onto the dust of the playa than a coastal weekend getaway.</div>
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Twenty five people, two houses, one peninsula in Baja California, in the resort town of Ensenada. This was how we chose to spend the hottest weekend of the past ten years. Of course there was a 30th birthday and well and you don't exactly need to twist my arm to get me to do something cool.</div>
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In fact, I've spent most of my life counting down to something. Counting down the days until college, until the next formal, spring break, karaoke night...more recently the next vacation, wedding, the next 'bloggable moment.' It's not that I don't enjoy my every day life. I enjoy recording my podcast every week and walking the streets of Venice. Heck, I even enjoy my job. It's just that I am a very excitable person and I've always looked forward to the unexpected. Alas a trip with two dozen friends 200 miles south of LA was sure to be one of the highlights of summer.</div>
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We arrived in the small town of La Bufadora around 9 o clock, Friday night, eight hours after departing LA. The property is beautifully situated on a cliff that rises about 200 feet above the rocky beach below. With no guard rails or any sort of protective measures it's shocking that this place is allowed to exist, especially with the frequency in which it plays host to extreme debauchery.<br />
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Within minutes of arriving the host is sure to tell me that he can get me 'whatever I want.' I press him for clarification and he says 'Well, I had midget lucha libre wrestlers delivered last weekend for an Australian bachelor party.' Despite my well known affinity for WWE, I thank him for the offer and respectfully decline. I have a healthy amount of Fireball and Tecate Light as well an iPhone with the last four Bieber albums downloaded and ready to go.</div>
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A private chef came over to cook us a late dinner on Friday. This quickly escalated into a Disney Power Hour which has become my favorite trend of 2018. </div>
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After eating about three pounds of beef tongue I sauntered off to bed with my bunk mate Michael Griffin and passed out to the soothing ambiance of his inebriated snoring. Day 1 in Mexico, in the books.<br />
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I wake up in sweat around 8am drenched in sweat and I am once again reminded of that brutal feeling of wanting to sleep more but being unable to due to heat. So I went through my typical burning man routine of briefly cursing the sun and then wandering somewhere to find a beer. </div>
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Upon cracking the first Modelo of the day, I realize that some adventurous folk have already made their way down the treacherous cliffside "path" down to the rocky tide pools below. So with an inflatable Peacock named Peter, I scrambled down the mountainside to take a bath in some rejuvenating 69 degree water. Several of my party were stung by sea urchins and one may have been pinched by a crab but fortunately, Peter and I made it through the morning unscathed.<br />
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At 10am it was time to load up two vans with to go to the beach for some morning horseback riding. </div>
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I have never ridden a horse, but I have seen plenty of Westerns. People in movies ride horses all the time. Men, women and children, they all ride. They ride fast. But then again people have also died riding horses. Superman was paralyzed. Scarlett O'Hara lost her father AND her daughter to horse related injuries. It probably wasn't my best idea to hop on a steed after an AM 6-pack, but alas I did...dressed all in black, it's not hard to ascertain who I would chose to portray in Westworld.<br />
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Baja California is a fascinating place, it has some of the most breathtaking natural beauty in the world, but it is also surrounded in abject poverty. There are hand made shanty towns as far as the eye can see. The majestic beach at the La Jolla beach camp doubles as a trailer park, where I imagine someone could have great success disappearing forever. The people have nothing and rely on a couple dollars from Americans on holiday to feed their children.</div>
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We ate a quick lunch in aforementioned trailer park at a quesadilla stand before making our way to the Guadalupe wine country where we took very stereotypical American photos and ran up a bill that included 37 bottles of wine and 10 plates of charcuterie. Our bill? Twenty dollars a person. Beat that Malibu Wines.<br />
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After sitting in the hundred degree sun all day, the executive decision was make to 86 an excessive night of table lording and bottles at Papas and Beer in favor of just hanging out with each other at the house, a decision that five years ago would have made me sick, I now appreciated more than anything in the world. </div>
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If I learned anything this trip it's that life is usually about the small moments that happen when you really aren't paying attention. It's about lighting a sparkler on the driveway or taking the time to look at the stars. It's about the late night bonfires when no one wants to call it a night because in the morning it will be over.</div>
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But it isn't over.</div>
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Because of course the people that make life worth living are the ones you choose to celebrate it with. I may be back in the states, my Mexican vacation may technically be over, but the people in it are still here. Add that to the fact that technically the memories will live on forever, so by that logic the trip really never ends, a part of us will always be sitting outside telling old stories and hoping to spot a shooting star.</div>
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And those are the things I will never forget, being knighted by the Alexia, Queen of Baja, Monica setting the house on fire with an ill fated sky lantern, Andrea and Kelsey attempting to buy a puppy at the border.<br />
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It's time to stop living life one event at a time, because doing the whole philosophy of "If I can just make it to _____" posits that the majority of your life you are just waiting for something to happen. What a waste. Take pleasure in the small moments, a brief conversation with a loved one after work, watching a movie with your roommates, surviving a yoga class with a friend. Sure it's ok to look forward to the weekends but it's also great to not wake up with existential dread on a Tuesday just because there are four more days until you can sleep in.<br />
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Perhaps that is wishful thinking and my endorphin count is slightly higher today than a normal Monday because my mood is inflated from an incredible weekend with a rockstar crew. But I am reminded of something from high school that I thought was complete bullshit at the time but now I finally understand.</div>
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I went to a catholic school and we did a thing called 'Senior Retreat' I think it was about finding God and you told a random group of your classmates all your deepest darkest secrets. It was super therapeutic and the idea was that everyone would be friends afterward. The whole thing was three days long and you were told to "Live the Fourth," the meaning being make the rest of your life the fourth day of retreat. Well to scale down all the religious elements one could apply that theory to a vacation or really the last time you were truly happy. Never mentally leave there, tell those people how much you appreciate them at every opportunity. Cherish the fact that these people are in your lives and will undoubtedly rub off on you to a certain extent.<br />
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Of course you can rip it too. I mean the eight hour drive home yesterday was by no means great and I was so dehydrated this morning that my urine looked like used motor oil. But I dunno, I just felt a little different today. Maybe it was the calming effect of the Pacific Ocean, maybe I had a quasi-psychological breakthrough, but I just feel better now. Everything is going to be ok because the people I surround myself kick ass. And what else do you really need? Sure, life would be incrementally better with 10 million dollars in my bank account and a clean bill of health, but I don't think I would trade my situation for the world.</div>
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I think tonight I'll do my an dual re-read of Oh, the Places You'll Go...a book you undoubtedly received at your high school graduation party. Well ole' Doctor Seuss gave me a 98 and three quarters percent chance guarantee that everything would turn out ok...and boy was he right.<br />
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Oh...and Happy bday lex! Love ya forever :) Thanks for the trip of a lifetime. </div>
The single dudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06740865669211233387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389370123965761820.post-34519809682882836702018-06-29T11:46:00.000-07:002018-06-29T11:46:05.959-07:00Monica and Me<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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It seems that often the only times we truly share our feelings about someone is when it's too late. Be it an unexpected passing or a cataclysmic fight that one can't come back from, we never get a chance to say those last few words we wanted to. In keeping with the theme of 'friendship funeral' month then I'll do one last hyper dramatic faux eulogy of my friend Monica Morell as she passes from her life in Los Angeles to New York City. I realize this is wildly over the top, but trust me, she would want it this way.<br />
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***<br />
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"Tell them I'm an actress if anyone asks."<br />
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They won't, I assure her. But I agree to go along with her charade.<br />
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"Isn't this how people get discovered?"<br />
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Sure Monica. Something like that.<br />
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We're in an Uber to a swank wrap party for the Mindy Project, probably two bottles of wine deep already. I'm wearing a purple button down shirt and my date is looking downright intimidating in a red dress that would make every one of my female coworkers blush.<br />
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Her name is Monica Morell, recently 30 and living halfway in between reality and a dream. Everything that comes out of her mouth is equal parts absurd and charming making her the ideal person to bring to a swanky party. She oozes some sense of class, though it's unclear if she was brought up that way or if she just watched enough Audrey Hepburn movies to fake it. She is completely 100% an original, there will never be another like her.<br />
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I met Monica the day I moved to Venice, over six years ago. I was desperate to find an apartment as I was currently living in my car and my roommates Jack and Nick had been evicted from their Hollywood apartment a week before. The week prior we had signed a lease for an apartment on Pacific but a shiesty landlord had torn up our agreement when someone offered to pay more.<br />
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"Couldn't we sue you?" I asked in an email.<br />
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"I'm guessing you can't afford a lawyer." Was his response, well played sir.<br />
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As I wondered up to 627 Westminster to meet my future landlord, a spunky ball of energy comes tearing through.<br />
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"Is this an open house, mind if I join darling?"<br />
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She seemed like a character, like she was putting on some sort of act. She removed her oversized sunglasses to reveal a beaming smile. Despite the fact that it was 80 degrees, she was wearing a scarf and some sort of messenger hat to go along with striped leggings and a Parisian blouse.<br />
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Without waiting for an answer, she barged on in and joined the tour. After taking a cursory view of the place she exclaimed 'I'll take it!"<br />
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This caught both me and landlord off guard.<br />
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"Well, uh...this was actually Dave's appointment..."<br />
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"Here's a $2000 deposit."<br />
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She handed him a stack of hundreds like it was nothing. Who IS this girl I thought.<br />
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Before I had time to protest the landlord looked over to me. "Unit 2 is available too, and think about it, she probably has cute friends."<br />
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So goes the tale of how I became neighbors with Monica. The cute friends actually ended up being two fairly nice guys, but no one lasted more than a year with Monica. She cycled through roommates like she cycled through men, once she found someone to be uninteresting they were gone.<br />
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As we grew closer, the mystique around Monica grew even deeper. She was not the east coast socialite that she pretended to be, but just a middle class kid from Ohio, a sorority girl that bartended at Ohio State.<br />
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We would fight often but never longer than a few days. She would admonish me for refusing to grow up, while I would tear into her about her blatant social climbing. Monica of course wanted to be a star, and why wouldn't she? With a personality as strong as hers she was certainly capable of becoming famous which frustrated her even more as she wilted away as an executive assistant at Red Bull.<br />
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I think the majority of the tension between Monica and I ended up coming from the fact that we were so similar. We were both running from a mediocre existence in flyover country. By 30 I always assumed I would be writing for a hit tv show and I'm sure Monica assumed she would be hosting something on E.<br />
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And so when both of our careers kind of stalled it was often Monica who I could turn to for a shoulder to cry on. We would have dinners that would quickly turn into four bottles of red wine and us passed out on my couch. If I had a bad break up she would suggest we stay up all night and then go for a 6am swim in the ocean. She was kind of like the sister that I never had in a way, whereas no matter how frustrated we might make each other, she would always be there for me.<br />
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Over the years we would creatively collaborate a few times, eventually drunkenly writing a pilot on napkins at a bar in Newport Beach on Thanksgiving Day. We even came up with genius plan to exploit her Puerto Rican heritage to become diversity staff writers on a TV show.<br />
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We went on trips, attempted to sneak into concerts and more than a few times would come out of black outs in the Hollywood Hills with limited recollection of how or why we got there.<br />
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The complexity of 627 Westminster would always change but Monica was the constant.<br />
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She had always talked about New York, a veiled threat that she may not always be there for me, but I knew that she couldn't actually leave. In Venice, Monica was the star of her own show, in New York she would be just the next dough eyed victim to be chewed up and spit out before she knew what hit her. So when Monica started dating a guy in New York I thought very little of it.<br />
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I never thought much of her boyfriends because, well, I never thought any of them were good enough for her. To be fair, most of them didn't think much of me, especially when we were doing clavicle shots right in front of them. I guess they just didn't understand what we were. They, like her fake dietary restrictions, may be a flavor of the month but Monica was my ride or die, a free spirit that couldn't be contained.<br />
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When I finally got the email that Monica was leaving, my world slowed down for a minute. She couldn't actually leave, I hadn't known a life is Los Angeles without her.<br />
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I convinced myself that it was another threat, a cry for attention. But the closer the deadline came, the more I thought that it might be true. I started coming home and there were just things outside my door, a long board, a few cases of Red Bull, a sweater. You're taught from a young age that when someone starts giving away all their possessions it's a bad sign. Shit this might really happen.<br />
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Of course her exit wasn't without flair as Ms. Morell refuses to go quietly. There has been an event every night for the past two weeks with expected attendance. This will culminate with a going away party tomorrow, and then I'm sure 5 more next week and then we all go to Mexico where I fully expect her to hijack Alexia's 30th birthday party, but that's ok because that's the Monica we all know and love.<br />
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With less than 10 days before she's gone forever, I've taken some time to reflect on our time together and my oh my, what a run we had. I'll never forget the Polaroids, the hand written letters, the times she kept us out of jail. What a gem you are Mon, there will truly never again be someone like you.<br />
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So as she prepares to move her life 3000 miles away and start a new beginning with Jake (a good dude!) here are some things that I want to get off my chest before it's too late.<br />
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You will kill it in New York. You found your place in the sun out here and we'll keep it warm in case you ever want to come back. Your east coast adventure begins in a week and it's just a new exciting chapter in the novel that is your life. I understand I've been known to cut you down and make you feel small but that was always just a projection of my insecurities onto you. You are smart, creative and some day you will be a star. I know we're likely to get into at least one more quarrel before you go, but I hoped I could leave you a couple words of inspiration before that happens.<br />
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You can achieve anything you want and some day all your dreams will come true.<br />
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So everyone please raise a glass to Miss Monica Morell, the most interesting person in the world.The single dudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06740865669211233387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389370123965761820.post-37484266917133630052018-06-19T16:03:00.001-07:002018-06-20T15:09:05.786-07:00Man of the Woods<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I like to hike.</div>
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Well that's not quite true. Hiking is something I do so I can have a hobby to discuss with rational adults at the office.<br />
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While in reality the majority of my weekends are spent listening to early oughts EDM and cracking beers before noon, it's important to occasionally have a tale of high adventure that is appropriate in a family setting. Alas, I set my sights for Mount San Antonio on Saturday morning thinking that if I could leave Los Angeles for even a day, I could at least avoid some of my vices.<br />
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The day couldn't have gotten off to a better start, we found the last camp site at Manker Flats campground and had a relatively quick three hour summit to the top of Mt. Baldy.<br />
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But that wouldn't be a story now would it...<br />
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<i><u>DISCLAIMER: The following contains passages of heavy drug abuse, drinking, violence, poor decision making and a couple broken laws. </u></i><br />
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I've never been one to plan in advance. I just kind of make up my mind and go. It's been a downfall of mine in many personal and professional endeavors. One or two strategic changes in my entertainment career and I would probably still be in a writer's room but alas I suppose my impulsiveness is part of my charm.<br />
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On Friday night instead of packing for a long and arduous journey I went to see a girl, then came home and proceeded to crush beers with my roommates until 3 in the morning. On four hours sleep I made the trek to Mt. Baldy with nothing but the clothes on my back and approximately 4 liters of water, water that I nearly finished on the way up the mountain, because theoretically walking down would be easier.<br />
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We were about three miles in when I realized none of the surrounding area looked familiar. I had done the Baldy loop a year prior but that day I had been more diligent, carrying a map, looking for landmarks. This day I was just trying to race to the bottom to get a beer. In the three miles of descent we had gone from an elevation of 10,000 feet to about 7,000. A little over half of a mile in elevation. I knew that there was no way I could make it back up.<br />
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Without a map or reliable cell service I started to understandably panic. I assumed that this unknown trail would eventually spit me out by some sort of road...but when? In a mile? In 5 miles? In 20? Mt. Baldy sits above the eastern LA County city of Claremont known for its five colleges, that produce half of the population of Echo Park and Burning Man. With the amount of food and water at my disposal I figured I was safe for another 5 miles max, but after that I was going to be royally fucked.<br />
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On the trail, my hiking partner Andrew tried to calm me down. As I started hyperventilating cursing the lack of signs, audibly pontificating about my impending death, he kept quietly walking ahead.<br />
You never think you are going to die by getting lost in the woods. What a loser you would have to be, right? Two more miles down the path, I slipped into a thorn bush ripping open my hands and arms. I could see signs of civilization, a mile below me, possibly the most helpless feeling in the world. Another two miles down the road, I received a single bar of service.<br />
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With 4% battery life I called my mom and begged her to find the name of the trail I was on and if it was going to spit me out or I was going to die. The house's internet was down and my phone died. I started privately writing my obituary. "Here lies David Moeller, a guy who never quite figured it out."<br />
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Another mile down the path and on the edge of collapse we ran into a stream. Fresh water that could keep us alive for a couple more days perhaps. Still there was no trail exit in sight.<br />
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Finally, 2.5 hours and five miles after discovering we were lost, Andrew and I exited on a small neighborhood trail that led us to a small village.<br />
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We had survived, BUT...<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbQGeQ2bCkDxDkiPMMOBh0qWQRy5j7Sub9GwS1NwuoqDUepHXlDvicYnseMugTx8Z_RJEJsPXdj0JKLG1sVqEs3CAWF_oBlqXam2vjrgrOIf1k88qBeaOqhi_mpQGujyIMlA_FryHM6Lu9/s1600/Unknown.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="296" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbQGeQ2bCkDxDkiPMMOBh0qWQRy5j7Sub9GwS1NwuoqDUepHXlDvicYnseMugTx8Z_RJEJsPXdj0JKLG1sVqEs3CAWF_oBlqXam2vjrgrOIf1k88qBeaOqhi_mpQGujyIMlA_FryHM6Lu9/s320/Unknown.jpeg" width="148" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Notice how the red and green pin are not close to one another.<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh so that's what we were supposed to do.</td></tr>
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Anyway...</div>
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We get into town and I head to a bar to inquire about a ride back to the campground which is 6 miles and 2,000 feet of elevation away. </div>
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We're told that Uber and Taxis do not service the area so we will have to hitchhike. </div>
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I have never done so before, but it's actually easier than it looks. (When you don't look homeless I guess) Some guy named Shane picked us up and told us about the towns most famous resident, Eddie Van Halen and some of the parties he threw in the 80's.<br />
<br />
When he dropped us at the campground, I figured the excitement of the day was over. After being lost, pondering my death and committing a minor misdemeanor by hitchhiking, all I wanted was a cold Magic Hat #8, BUT NO...because waiting for me at my campsite WAS THIS FUCKING GUY.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsjHYAkvNqLhC002Nh8bHLC2L-esNJvFtJAlTwvhlg0aq811jY5E34wsblLoeElmxDIR1_yKjzgux2ZNk-Z9ohEEOvu4a86U5KVVhkQ2-hFOk7a4fRv0w-TZOE2PElUs3qILKiMLBQ1hCY/s1600/Screen+Shot+2018-06-19+at+3.39.37+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="538" data-original-width="1082" height="159" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgsjHYAkvNqLhC002Nh8bHLC2L-esNJvFtJAlTwvhlg0aq811jY5E34wsblLoeElmxDIR1_yKjzgux2ZNk-Z9ohEEOvu4a86U5KVVhkQ2-hFOk7a4fRv0w-TZOE2PElUs3qILKiMLBQ1hCY/s320/Screen+Shot+2018-06-19+at+3.39.37+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Yes, that is a god damn bear at the Manker Flats campground. And let me tell you what, that bear sucks.<br />
<br />
We were able to briefly chase him away and make dinner, it would not be the last we saw of him.<br />
<br />
Our neighbors at the campground appeared to be celebrating a birthday and they seemed friendly enough. We wandered over and enjoyed a few beers with them. Turns out they were a large group of Burners so we had something in common.<br />
<br />
We lost track of time and soon enough it was approaching 10 o clock and the woman sitting next to me (who was wearing a Stormtrooper outfit) said "Did I take too much acid or is that a bear?"<br />
<br />
I turned around and the bear was now not 8 feet from me. In between Coors Lights and the pumping Deep House, we hadn't noticed that he snuck into the party. I immediately charge at him trying to scare him away, but only succeeded in chasing him up a tree where he would stare at me for the next three hours.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Drop_bear" target="_blank">It's hard to relax when you are at a party but you know there is a creature stalking you from above, trying to make you you the next drop bear victim.</a><br />
<br />
Eventually I decided that I couldn't wait the bear out all night and retired to the campsite hoping he would lose interest in me. Anyway the Burning Man kids were going to stay up all night smoking DMT so I assumed if the bear made a move for me they would chase him off with their acoustic guitars and hula hoops.<br />
<br />
I don't often have nightmares but it was probably around 3 o clock in the morning that I woke up screaming, believing the bear to be in the tent. I kicked my tent mate in the face and started thrashing around like a psychopath. Now I know what night terrors are!<br />
<br />
But it wasn't quite a false alarm because upon awaking I heard the burners whispering, "He's going for Drew and Dave's tent." I heard some pots and pans clanking and then someone set off a car alarm.<br />
<br />
I heard his snort, probably mere inches from my face. Only a thin layer of nylon separated me from the powerful jaws of a California Black Bear. I don't know if I was more nervous of his teeth or his claws, but I knew he wasn't happy. I waited for the inevitable, but he seemed to have felt something else to chew on. It sounded like plastic bottles? I sat paralyzed in fear for what seemed like hours until he was gone.<br />
<br />
I awoke at 8am, the Burning Man party still going strong. They offered me a beer and told me 'they stayed up all night to make sure the bear didn't get me.' Certainly they were a friendly bunch, but what was most alarming were the tattered remains of my backpack a mere two feet from where my head had been laying. I had forgotten a banana inside my pack and the bear had eaten essentially the whole bag looking for it.<br />
<br />
My body sore, my gout acting up, I wanted nothing more than to get back to Los Angeles and take a two hour shower. Maybe I'm not the outdoorsy type. Maybe it is safer for me to just live like a rock star than pretend to be Indiana Jones. I've never been attacked by a bear while day drinking. I've never gotten lost on my way home from an after party! And while I do feel less than 100% most Sundays, a Gatorade usually fixes that...I don't know who the hell is going to extract all these thorns that are still embedded in my hands.<br />
<br />
Check out the pod in the upper right corner for more details of my incredible survival story I'm sure it's only a matter of time before the Lifetime Movie Network reaches out to dramatize this tale of bravery.The single dudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06740865669211233387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389370123965761820.post-43759570388356820392018-06-13T13:39:00.002-07:002018-06-13T13:39:37.636-07:00The Big Chill<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNYGxd7UUCIIxFUlCy4Do3q3Yp5CgdtTIE0o901WIK7vbzHlqPS9sAt4ILvMG14A__tejPYdg3YNLlOfGszeohbrCyNFitAoV0AwXeGLHs0C_gLgWQe5M34uqD1UfOe8tYLUgCRnJr9phW/s1600/JNicstkFJcDE.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1000" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjNYGxd7UUCIIxFUlCy4Do3q3Yp5CgdtTIE0o901WIK7vbzHlqPS9sAt4ILvMG14A__tejPYdg3YNLlOfGszeohbrCyNFitAoV0AwXeGLHs0C_gLgWQe5M34uqD1UfOe8tYLUgCRnJr9phW/s320/JNicstkFJcDE.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<i>We begin this tale in medias res...</i><br />
<br />
"Ya, I friend zoned him for YEARS. But he was so persistent and now we're dating."<br />
<br />
"Every Incel's dream," I quip.<br />
<br />
The 21 year old intern flashes me a smile. She can't believe I know the term "incel" internet slang for 'Involuntarily celibate.'<br />
<br />
It's a Tuesday night and I'm standing in line at the Wurstkuche on Lincoln. I'm at a going away party, my second this week. I'm speaking to someone 10 years younger than me as I attempt to gain valuable insights from the Generation Z demographic.<br />
<br />
I wrote about these 'friendship funerals' in my last post. They're an interesting snapshot from your past, because like an actual funeral, people that you haven't seen in years show up to send this person into their next life.<br />
<br />
Among the crowd there is likely a person or two you dated, someone you wanted to, a person you had a falling out with and maybe someone who you can't quite remember if you kissed at that party that one time. Of course some of your current friends are there too, but it's much more interesting to check in on those who have faded from your life.<br />
<br />
The scene is full of Hollywood stock characters: the one that is still partying too much, the serial dater, the hot mess, the one who can't quite figure things out. And of course the same conversations always come about. How's work? (Spoiler: No one cares) Still living in the same place? (Spoiler: No one cares) and eventually it always comes down to dating...<br />
<br />
Are you seeing someone? Is it serious? What is his worst quality?<br />
<br />
The dating question is probably the most interesting because it gives you a window into someone's relative happiness. There is something about a person talking about their partner that they just can't quite fake. One can be on top of the world professionally, living in a swank bungalow in Hermosa Beach but if they're not quite sure about the guy/girl they're dating, you can tell almost immediately.<br />
<br />
And so when the 21 year old intern told me that she was now dating this drummer that she follows on tour and she was really happy I absolutely believed her. Though she was adamant that she was not a groupie. I told her that Penny Lane also didn't believe herself to be a groupie and she completely missed the reference because she was born in 1997. (But she's totally a groupie, she's driving with him to Las Vegas tomorrow to photograph his show...for free)<br />
<br />
Other times when you're talking to someone you can tell that when they talk about a person they're dating they aren't just trying to sell you on him or her, they are also still trying to sell themselves.<br />
<br />
So why is dating so hard especially at this age? Is it LA? Is it like this everywhere?<br />
<br />
Actually I think it probably comes down to stakes.<br />
<br />
When you're young dating is fun. You get to get dressed up and go to dinner together, attend fun parties, spend entire days in bed, hook up in public. It's almost like you're role playing the life of an adult. But then the minute things become a little stale you can pull the rip cord and there are absolutely no consequences. No wallowing in misery bedridden for weeks eating nothing but ice cream and watching nothing but mid-90's romcoms.<br />
<br />
Conversely, at 30 shit gets real. Every time one of your friends brings out a date, this could be it. This person could be coming on your ski trips the rest of your life. This person could pull a Pete Davidson and propose after three weeks. SOUND THE ALARM! I've often said, that you don't marry your soul mate, you marry the person you were dating when you were ready to get married. And maybe this is a doomsday philosophy, but it's one that is hard to argue with when the divorce rate hovers around 50%.<br />
<br />
Dating doesn't get harder when you're older because there are fewer fish in the see, it gets harder because there is more on the line. This is ironic of course because it seems that people are more willing to look past flaws when they are older, even though they are flaws you may have to live with the rest of your life. I had break ups for the most benign reasons in the past; Didn't like their laugh, hated that they snored, couldn't believe they would yell at me for starting to drink at 9am on a Saturday (ok that last one may be legit) but I would look past all that and more now.<br />
<br />
I'm sure there is some formula we could invent to predict when someone is ready to take that dive and get engaged.<br />
<br />
In fact let's try it...It's probably something like...<br />
<br />
<b>I + F = D + P</b><br />
<br />
<b>I = Independence</b>. How much do you value doing your own thing? Sleeping until noon, eating whatever you want, ripping it with the boys, pursuing women at thirst trap bars, traveling by yourself?<br />
<br />
<b>F = Fear. </b>How worried are you that you are going to make a mistake in picking a partner? Are you going to marry Glenn Close from Fatal Attraction? Is your partner's little brother going to come to you for money the rest of your lives? Is her mom already dropping hints that she may want to move in? Will your partner cheat on you and eventually give you herpes?<br />
<br />
These are the NOT ready factors. Assign these a normalized value of 1-10. You are never going to have 0 need to be independent nor will you ever have an absolute lack of fear.<br />
<br />
On the other side we have...<br />
<br />
<b>D= Desire</b> How much do you enjoy your partner and want to be married to them? How much do you want to be married in general and start floating the idea of an honest to goodness family with kids, a dog and a house?<br />
<br />
<b>P= Pressure</b> How much pressure is there on you both externally and internally to make this happen? Is your partner pushing it? Do your parents want grandkids? Is there some sort of biological clock at play? Or maybe all of your friends got married so there is nothing better to do. These are all pressures that influence your decision.<br />
<br />
So at the end of the day you will have four numbers added together to create a tipping point...<br />
<br />
Right now I'm probably about...<br />
<br />
9 + 8 = 2 + 3<br />
<br />
18 > 5<br />
<br />
As you can see I'm still a far way off. I value my independence and even if I didn't I'm fairly sure I would fuck up any serious kind of relationship.<br />
<br />
However many people could be more of a<br />
<br />
4 + 3 = 8 + 7<br />
<br />
7 < 15<br />
<br />
This paints the picture of someone who is ready to take the plunge and probably abandon the life of staying in hostels and chasing foreign tail. Not for me but I respect it.<br />
<br />
And of course there are the people who are probably like...<br />
<br />
6 + 4 = 6 + 4<br />
<br />
10 = 10<br />
<br />
This is the crowd that is truly wavering, losing sleep at night because they aren't quite sure what to do.<br />
<br />
But I think it's important to remember that in the grand scheme of things no one really knows what they are doing. You could date a thousand people, read books, talk to your parents, but life is all one long improvisation.<br />
<br />
Hell my parents probably had no idea what they were doing when they raised me, but I turned out (somewhat) ok. And that's what we need to remember when we navigate modern romance. Everyone is just flying by the seat of their pants, and that is what can make it feel so hard.<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
As the intern was walking out, I attempted to give her some truly abhorrent advice for her Senior year at Ole Miss. Go out every night, get arrested, make terrible decisions, don't worry about your school work, date ten guys at the same time, try to get it out of your system.<br />
<br />
"Wow, it sounds like you didn't...I kind of wish I didn't have to go back. I think I'm ready to just be out here now."<br />
<br />
A single tear came to my eye.<br />
<br />
You won't always feel that way.<br />
<br />
"Ok I'll try to have fun."<br />
<br />
You better.The single dudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06740865669211233387noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389370123965761820.post-86765570899505792932018-06-06T11:56:00.002-07:002018-06-06T11:56:48.079-07:00Leaving Los Angeles<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZNFAacX_MKAN_MIn_SQ4pQEc0Fp8onNWu3F6sqMsBhzOQ4scC6rni0LDfb-So5evcMkSdLTr-Lw7gyXb4oSRcSbtWzSuxyVGIxws3zUVAmp2ij2DDsLr_AcijTYro6sjT5aygqjwMcPxg/s1600/tmg-facebook_social.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="630" data-original-width="1200" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZNFAacX_MKAN_MIn_SQ4pQEc0Fp8onNWu3F6sqMsBhzOQ4scC6rni0LDfb-So5evcMkSdLTr-Lw7gyXb4oSRcSbtWzSuxyVGIxws3zUVAmp2ij2DDsLr_AcijTYro6sjT5aygqjwMcPxg/s320/tmg-facebook_social.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
No, I'm not leaving.<br />
<br />
But it seems like everyone else in my life is.<br />
<br />
My neighbor who I've been best frenemies with since March 1, 2012. A ride or die who I've traveled around the world with. People are leaving for NY, SF, Connecticut, Boston. People have already gone back to Indy, Florida, DC, Texas and Chicago. I have attended more going away parties in the last five years than weddings. It's weird, it's sad. it's confusing.<br />
<br />
Often times a going away party can feel like a funeral for your friendship. Sure social media makes it easier to keep in touch, but moving forward your relationship will change. Your friend is now the visitor, all the time is spent catching up. No more random pop ins on a Tuesday evening to complain about a bad date and just crush two bottles of wine. No more late nights on the patio talking about the future. Because the future is now.<br />
<br />
I've spent a lot of time wondering how LA fails people. What exactly were people expecting from this place? To get rich and famous, party with Kendall Jenner at a Lisa Vanderpump owned restaurant in Beverly Hills? (Lol JK only a tacky tourist would be caught at SUR) Or maybe LA was always a short term rental. A bad boy that you could leave when you were ready to get serious about life. One can find stability here, but it's much easier in the land of strip malls and reasonably priced real estate.<br />
<br />
Others may feel the need for a jolt in the arm, a hard reset. Five years ago I would have called this a quarter life crisis, but at the age of 31, do I really think I'm going to make it to 120? It's shocking how quarter life can turn into midlife in the blink of an eye. If you feel like you're just treading water here, maybe the only prudent thing to do is rip off the band-aid and get a fresh start.<br />
<br />
To be honest, I've fantasized about it, running far away to where no one knows my name. I could reinvent myself and be David, the soft spoken gardener in Tucson. I could date a nice woman that I met at the library. Maybe we would get married and have kids that would grow up to play golf at Arizona State.<br />
<br />
Because in LA I'll always be the homie you know. I've tried to change before, but I always slide back into my old habits. It's really freeing thinking about a fresh start. I'd like to see those Santa Monica parking tickets follow me to Vancouver, where I could get a job at a cycling shop and maybe stop drinking so much. I could drop a beard and go vegan, get into CrossFit. No one there would know that for 10 years I didn't make my bed, ate Taco Bell seven times a week and pissed away all of my romantic opportunities because I was too much of a coward to say how I feel.<br />
<br />
But then I see the sunset and I realize that this is where I belong. It doesn't matter if I never make it as a writer, it doesn't matter if I live in a three bedroom apartment the rest of my life. I had a dream, and that dream was to escape the land of Outback Steakhouses and Applebees (no offense to either obviously) and plant a flag in the sand.<br />
<br />
And that's what helped me realize why others are leaving. Maybe living by the beach just wasn't enough for them, maybe they had other goals and leaving was the best way for them to attain those. As the star in my own (sometimes pathetic) story I need to take a step back once in a while and realize that just because I feel a certain way doesn't make it the truth.<br />
<br />
Often times I think Los Angeles is objectively the greatest place in the world. But to be honest, it probably isn't. There are pros and cons to every city. Accumulating wealth and starting families are likely important to a lot of my peers. Perhaps pursuing a love interest, or maybe just shaking shit up for a change. And while moving is never permanent, I need to learn how to let people go and stop taking it as a personal failure by me that I couldn't make them happy enough to stay.<br />
<br />
So with that I say, all my friends that have left, are leaving or will some day, I wish you the absolute best. I hope you make it back west of Lincoln some day, but if you don't that's ok too. You have your own journey and I hope it brings you happiness. I'll be keeping an eye on you from afar, and if you ever need anything, feel free to let me know.<br />
<br />
In the mean time, there are some people that I have been actively recruiting to (attempt to) fill your spots, and the push is about to intensify.The single dudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06740865669211233387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389370123965761820.post-58557563191022690152018-05-09T10:14:00.002-07:002018-05-09T10:14:38.077-07:00Why All Your Relationships Fail<div>
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEids1vrQGTzc6Dq-RU8EfJNVQxYV5FtnSagbFwpvfJCKvJDToiKdgwpiux1_HUnia03wovylBUtFpdgxve_FUb4dZ0nfhiDXkpdie4U8MZJIt8nR8t5MrBTsjHEg79tDaLuA-pxJC2XGWzb/s1600/meme.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEids1vrQGTzc6Dq-RU8EfJNVQxYV5FtnSagbFwpvfJCKvJDToiKdgwpiux1_HUnia03wovylBUtFpdgxve_FUb4dZ0nfhiDXkpdie4U8MZJIt8nR8t5MrBTsjHEg79tDaLuA-pxJC2XGWzb/s320/meme.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
I can now predict if your relationship will fail.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
After doing countless hours of research, I have realized that most people have essentially three basic character motivations. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
1. They want <b>something</b> that will make them happy.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
2. They want to be with <b>someone</b> that will make them happy.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
3. They want to be <b>somewhere</b> that will make them happy.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's that easy, your life is essentially boiled down to a person, a place or a thing.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Let's start with category one. Something to make you happy. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
This is usually going to be a job or some form of asset. Maybe you really want to be a writer, maybe you really want to be rich. Maybe you want to be a writer that sells a ton of shows to get rich, or maybe you will blog for $5 an article out of a love of the game. It doesn't really matter. If the most important thing in the world to you is an item or real or abstract (glory? respect?) this is where you will find yourself. A slave to your passions or the pursuit of that cheddar. A person in this camp will likely always do anything to get themselves ahead professionally, they will move across the country, work absurd hours, sacrifice relationships to get ahead. This person may end up alone, and honestly they might not care.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
On to category two, these are the people that want to be around a person or persons that make them happy. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
These people could be family members, friends, a significant other or a future child. Nothing matters more than these pursuits. Many of my friends that have left LA have done so to get closer to family or moved to amore sensible place to find a partner and start their own family. A person in this camp might be over the hustle and bustle of a city, they're all set on that hectic lifestyle. Achieving professional success might be important to them, but certainly not the MOST important. Family first!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And category three, the people that want to be somewhere that makes them happy. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
These people aren't necessarily concerned about what they're doing or who they're doing it with, but WHERE they are doing it. Hell I can write anywhere, and I like my friends, but if they all left I would stay right where I am. Some people feel this way about their hometowns, some people feel it about New York (gross) and others spent there life fantasizing about some place exotic.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I am squarely in category three. At the moment, the most important thing in the world for me is to stay right in LA. I don't necessarily have a phenomenal career trajectory but LA has a beach and I like it. I also enjoy that I can be single without anyone raising eyebrows, people visit me and there is always something exciting going on.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And what that means, is it's never going to work out for me with anyone from category one or category two...UNLESS the things that they actively seek happen to be part of Los Angeles. But if I met a 26 year old girl who figures she'll have some fun and eventually move back to Texas to be with her nieces and nephews, that's a non-starter. If I were to meet an up and coming television anchor who might get transferred to Raleigh, I'm not getting on that plane.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Furthermore if I meet someone from my own category but they want to be somewhere else? It also isn't happening.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So this is how you know if your relationship will inevitably succeed or fail. Actually it's not a proven metric for success. Two people that valued living in Venice Beach above all else could certainly find something else to fight about, but if the two of you truly don't have the same goal you will never get there.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
And of course if you think 'well that's why couples compromise.' If you were willing to compromise you were never a true category one or a category three. You chose your partner, and that's great. But I think everyone could save themselves quite a bit of time when they asked in the early stages of a relationship. What's your end game?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
You could certainly save quite a bit of time that way. So there you go, I hope I haven't ruined your day. Maybe I'm just a cynic and when I meet my dream girl I'll decide to throw everything away from her. But until then it's much more likely I'll eventually just throw in the towel and marry one of my friends at say 36, provided we are both committed to staying west of Lincoln for the rest of our lives.<br />
<br />
Cheer yourself up by listening to my podcast. This week we talked about Renaissance Faires, Tiger Woods and our favorite horse occupations.</div>
The single dudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06740865669211233387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389370123965761820.post-16795227896637124872018-04-25T14:38:00.000-07:002018-04-25T15:57:38.391-07:00What is your walk up song in life?<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6OVuRcuFIXzQm35B2heVONWubwL47N-dPlYS9qpGvb41WcpOFwiUaF4XC_wPXgTL2vziNAShkIOA8GWtu-ieO6JyiYsJboWvcfrdVkjcuGTkdSzNEEMMrAr8QvHswut4fZCP5_LueFo-7/s1600/f4c0718d27fdb319c77f00a1b8a961f3.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6OVuRcuFIXzQm35B2heVONWubwL47N-dPlYS9qpGvb41WcpOFwiUaF4XC_wPXgTL2vziNAShkIOA8GWtu-ieO6JyiYsJboWvcfrdVkjcuGTkdSzNEEMMrAr8QvHswut4fZCP5_LueFo-7/s320/f4c0718d27fdb319c77f00a1b8a961f3.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">This year for the first time, the PGA Tour, the thing your
Republican uncle follows religiously, is introducing walk up music to one of
its events. The results were…interesting to say the least. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">It’s shocking how much your opinion of a player can change
by what type of music they like. For example, I kind of though Justin Thomas,
last year’s PGA champion, was a twatbucket 48 hours ago. This guy kicks fans
out of events, posts pictures of his blacked out friends (see above) and has a
general air of snobbery around him.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">But then I saw his choice of walk up song. The Circle of
Life from the Lion King, a certified banger. Now I can view all of his life
choices in a different light.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">He posts pictures of his friends blacked out because it’s
hilarious. He rocks enormous Polo horses because <a href="https://www.theodysseyonline.com/sorry-not-sorry-parents-paid-for-coachella" target="_blank">he’s rich and fuck you</a>. Guy is
essentially a certified frat legend. Hell, he probably only has fans kicked out
of events because he’s irritated that the PGA Tour won’t let him drink on the
course.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Similarly, unknown golfers have become instant legends
because of their choice of track.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCewJbIatuZrRwCOd2_nhIf0o3J_BK7Wz9c7CiZLjxEG5H_XEjBOdebyWY5xpaXF0VFHvJsCrXN77xDfXlGB3BGZ1sUim8fW6oQzZGC8P-DYNblgCSFYbTxyMTJJyMsVrDf3Wm-4rGrNE6/s1600/Ben_An_oly_headshot.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCewJbIatuZrRwCOd2_nhIf0o3J_BK7Wz9c7CiZLjxEG5H_XEjBOdebyWY5xpaXF0VFHvJsCrXN77xDfXlGB3BGZ1sUim8fW6oQzZGC8P-DYNblgCSFYbTxyMTJJyMsVrDf3Wm-4rGrNE6/s320/Ben_An_oly_headshot.jpg" width="256" /></a></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">This is Byeong-Hun An. Look at that fucking guy. This dude
is 26, is South Korean and his walk-up song is MASTER P MAKE EM SAY
UGHHHHHHHHHHH.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> </span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">What. A. Legend.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Let’s get another photo of Byeong.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj857DqQe0CU61eai4B9ZUv1AhGFfCxNhTRGm9Y-Ecegqaj9N9KZMow4cray1AuijVFGYu59oWgEfZlyDN0PtRoRjuk9drHV101LT2JPVYQkHK0RTMgTm0hAmzJ-_b20RFVDqXDzhAONxPT/s1600/Byeong-hun_An.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj857DqQe0CU61eai4B9ZUv1AhGFfCxNhTRGm9Y-Ecegqaj9N9KZMow4cray1AuijVFGYu59oWgEfZlyDN0PtRoRjuk9drHV101LT2JPVYQkHK0RTMgTm0hAmzJ-_b20RFVDqXDzhAONxPT/s320/Byeong-hun_An.jpg" width="213" /></a></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">OH MY GOD.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Do you think he prefers the angry Silkk the Shocker verse or
is he more of a Mystikal guy. Perhaps he will use the winnings from his first
PGA Tour win to buy the tank that P drove in the video. This dude is my new
favorite golfer.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0C8VxsDRF0B3ckLTCJFRT0FdSC1YQs3TW6tvOwCscSFMUhJ2tp-i-I5KRc7L8I1sVUAbmGrukbJwUMzL2C3xFuVsFZLPBEPR2sknvyp7cdW4ZN8gp4HzK9Y1FnEPO22J0HLfHYkefefNf/s1600/NO+LIMIT+TANK.png" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="185" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi0C8VxsDRF0B3ckLTCJFRT0FdSC1YQs3TW6tvOwCscSFMUhJ2tp-i-I5KRc7L8I1sVUAbmGrukbJwUMzL2C3xFuVsFZLPBEPR2sknvyp7cdW4ZN8gp4HzK9Y1FnEPO22J0HLfHYkefefNf/s320/NO+LIMIT+TANK.png" width="320" /></a></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";"><a href="https://www.golfdigest.com/story/2018-zurich-classic-walk-up-songs-that-each-pairing-will-play-on-the-first-tee" target="_blank">The entire list is right here</a>. There are some old school bangers
and a bunch of vanilla dorks that just picked Drake, but this begs the question
right now: What would your walk up song be? Do you go current or classic? Are
you serious or is this a bit of a joke.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">I’m on record as having my walk up song be “Baby” by Justin
Bieber, a timeless choice, but I have recently switched to “Just Can’t Wait to
be King” because Disney releases nothing but bangers.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">That said, I have recently put together a guide for
selecting the perfect walk-up song. As always, you are welcome in advance.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Step 1: Pick a song that is at least five years old.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">This ensures that you don’t get caught chasing trends and
your choice doesn’t age poorly. All the jamokes that picked a Drake song this week
are going to feel really dumb when everyone wakes up in 2023 and realizes that
Drake’s entire discography was a prolonged wet fart.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Step 2: Don’t take yourself too seriously.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">There is no doubt that ‘Enter Sandman’ by Metallica is a
bitchin’ song, and it does make me kinda want to run through a wall, but as a
walk up song? You’re trying too hard man. The same hard rock edge can be
attained with a more self-aware choice like ‘Sister Christian’ by Night Ranger.
It fucks, but it was also in Rock of Ages and seems like a song your dad would
put on after one too many 7 and 7s.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Step 3: But also make sure it actually pumps you up</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">This was the problem I ran into with Baby. It made me laugh
at home plate, not make me want to mash a dinger to Culver City. Your walk up
music should elevate your heart rate comparably to a baby bump of cocaine. This
is why when baseball players walk up to N Sync it’s hilarious but rarely
effective.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Step 4: Always consider cross branding opportunities.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Do you like rap? Pick a guy who is alive, because guess
what? Tupac can’t rap you a live entrance should things come to that!
Conversely, a guy named Shaggy would be more than happy to perform ‘It Wasn’t
Me’ mostly because he needs the money.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Step 5: Be somewhat original.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">On one hand, you want a song that everyone knows. You will
not be awarded bonus points for cranking out some B side of an unreleased
Diplomats mix-tape. However, as we learned in the movie Bring It On, no one
likes a repeat performance. Pick something that everyone in the crowd will know
that absolutely no one else would pick.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">Let’s run my choice through the list.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: "calibri";">“Just Can’t Wait to be King” – Jonathan Taylor Thomas.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 48px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">1.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt "Times New Roman"; margin: 0px;">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Over five years old? Yes. Lion King came out in
1994.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 48px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">2.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt "Times New Roman"; margin: 0px;">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Don’t take yourself too seriously. Yes. It’s a
fucking Disney movie.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 48px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">3.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt "Times New Roman"; margin: 0px;">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Pumps you up? Yes. The song absolutely bangs.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 0px 48px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">4.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt "Times New Roman"; margin: 0px;">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Cross branding? Yes. I could get the whole
Broadway cast out there with me or in an ABC promotion, Donald Glover star of
the 2019 reboot performs the whole song as Childish Gambino.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px 48px; text-indent: -0.25in;">
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">5.</span><span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt "Times New Roman"; margin: 0px;">
</span></span></span><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Somewhat original? Yes. Justin Thomas went
Circle of Life, but different songs from the same artist (soundtrack?) are
acceptable. Congrats to me for picking an acceptable walk up song. Let me know
what your walk up song is if you want and make sure to check out my podcast
Beer a Hole where we spend an hour talking about this bullshit.</span></div>
<a href="https://soundcloud.com/david-moeller-1/the-valero-texas-open" target="_blank">LISTEN NOW!</a>The single dudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06740865669211233387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389370123965761820.post-40892166338119260152018-04-23T15:59:00.003-07:002018-04-23T16:00:00.044-07:00The Los Angeles Flake Index
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBIvfjBZDP65WXM1H3gL31QizbFgASYM0q-_fatjptC-T43i5Davg5qrV3DnGi0ZJ9w1zCmH4Wcrjru2a1dXmiCf_4KJoLUXsNtKYcuTrLG1B_krg7NMaXXM9Unru4vN8kVJdGT_-ZNzu_/s1600/9d14413a0b14ba49d6725411b856e526%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="315" data-original-width="600" height="168" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiBIvfjBZDP65WXM1H3gL31QizbFgASYM0q-_fatjptC-T43i5Davg5qrV3DnGi0ZJ9w1zCmH4Wcrjru2a1dXmiCf_4KJoLUXsNtKYcuTrLG1B_krg7NMaXXM9Unru4vN8kVJdGT_-ZNzu_/s320/9d14413a0b14ba49d6725411b856e526%255B1%255D.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Welcome friends to the Los Angeles Flake Index aka the LAFI
(not to be confused with my friend Lapi) a tool that can be used to decipher
the likelihood of your scheduled plans falling apart due to unforeseen circumstances
such as work, illness or more likely ‘general disinterest.’</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">As millennials we have rejected our once social behavior and
now it is universally accepted that most of us would rather sit on the couch
watching Netflix in pajamas whilst devouring an entire pepperoni pizza than
hang out with essentially anyone. There are varying degrees of course, for
example a Tinder date is much more likely to be cancelled than dinner with a
visiting friend. You’ll bail on someone you’re trying to fuck much quicker than
a family member that needs a tour.</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Allow me to be your guide through the cesspool that is human
interaction in Los Angeles, a never ending web of lies and disappointment.</span></div>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b>Category 1: A first date.</b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Likelihood of cancellation: 80 percent</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">If you make plans with a stranger on a dating app the
likelihood is that these plans will fall through. The reason for this is
because when you are texting it up on a Thursday you can smell the weekend. The
idea of going to a bar with a member of the opposite sex sounds exciting. The
following Monday/Tuesday this seems like much more of a chore. Common excuses
would be things like “I have to work late” or “I forgot I’m playing in this
charity Softball game.” But what you’re really saying is, it just seems so much
easier to go home and masturbate before watching the latest Netflix Documentary
(or after if you are aroused by that sort of thing)</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Also in this category would be ‘work drinks’ with a member
of the opposite sex, because this is just a thinly veiled excuse for a date.
Any time I met an assistant that I was even vaguely interested in I would
trojan horse her into going out with me under the guise of talking shop. It
worked like 12% of the time.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b>Category 2: Plans with a friend across town</b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Likelihood of cancellation: 60%</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">LA is incredibly tribal when it comes to neighborhoods.
Sometimes I will make plans with a friend that lives in Santa Monica, a mere mile
away from me but when it comes time to make the trek I render it an
insurmountable journey and make up an elaborate excuse to free me from the burden.
If that person lives east of the 405 or even God forbid east of La Cienega?
That trip becomes virtually impossible. This is why good friends that live in
Los Angeles can go years without seeing each other. I don’t think I’ve seen my
friend Eric since Christmas, but he’ll still probably be in my wedding party!
That’s just the way this town rolls. The one redeeming factor about this type
of event that keeps the cancellation rate under 100% is that both parties
understand the magnitude of this event and will plan well in advance for
something bigger than just a standard ‘dinner.’ Think a concert or something
similar. Matt and Kim got me to Hollywood last week for the first time in 2018.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b>Category 3: Plans with a friend in the neighborhood</b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Likelihood of cancellation: 40%</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is a bit of a double-edged sword because making plans
with someone that lives down the street can feel trivial. Sure, it’s
convenient. You could potentially just walk and meet them at a local bar, but
this also lowers the stakes considerably. If you don’t feel like going, hell,
you’ll see them in a few days, maybe even tomorrow. What is most likely in this
scenario however is the ever crafty pivot. A last minute change of plans to a
more amenable location. Like instead of meeting for dinner, you text your
friend that you don’t feel like changing out of your pajamas but you just
ordered a 12 pack for Drizzly and 30 dollars of Chinese take-out and there is 5
episodes of The Terror on your DVR. Now that’s a night that anyone can get
behind.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b>Category 4: A visitor from out of town</b></span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Likelihood of cancellation: 10-35%</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">4A: A platonic friend of the opposite sex – 35%</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I will often try to accommodate any and all visitors that
come to LA for a couple reasons… </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Reason 1: People from my past understand how fucking cool I
used to be.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Reason 2: I want everyone that visits to return home with
positive reviews about me.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>However, I am
more likely to cancel on a female friend that a male because if they are
visiting with a boyfriend or staying with other friends I feel less of an
obligation to show them a good time. Also it is much less likely they are
sleeping on my couch.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">4B: A homie – 20%</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I mean they are probably staying on my couch, but if they
aren’t and they are in a fancy hotel downtown or something and want me to come
out on a Tuesday (I’m looking at you Jake) I just can’t get up for that. A lot
of New Yorkers have a really hard time understanding that LA is DEAD
Monday-Wednesday. Any time someone asks me what the popping bar is on Tuesday I
want to respond THE XANNY BAR that I take at 8pm so I can go to sleep. I
apologize for disappointing but LA doesn’t have a strong social culture on
school nights. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">4C: An old fling – 15%</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I don’t want to go to far into Always Sunny territory here,
but if an old fling hits you up when she’s in town it is implied that shit is
about to go down, with minimal effort too. While going on a date may sound
difficult, it is relatively painless to invite your ex-girlfriend over for two
bottles of wine and some no strings sex. Still…depending on how hard I raged
the weekend before, I might turn down the offer for sole possession of my bed.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">4D: A family member – 10%</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">This is obviously a terrible look, but like it’s your mom…if
you REALLY have to get out of it, she’ll probably understand.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><b>Category 5: A girl you are dating</b> </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Likelihood of cancellation: 5%</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Of course you WANT to flake on your girlfriend all the time,
but she also has a good indicator for your bullshit. If you blow her off once,
maybe you can survive it. But once that thing becomes a habit? It’s the
beginning of the end. Spin zone: If your girlfriend dumps you for being a
flake, you will have substantially more time to disappoint everyone else in
your life. God LA is the worst, we should all just learn to say no to plans
because we would rather be watching cat videos on Instagram than doing
literally anything else.</span></div>
The single dudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06740865669211233387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389370123965761820.post-89447938273930613282018-04-11T12:06:00.001-07:002018-04-11T12:06:03.214-07:00The Fourish Reasons People Go Out<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCIZbZeassvkbvWjUH1VQG9MgCFnKWYq9bXLBNroK18DWjXwKL7F1MMX1tKCXpt7gCBhKZtsBCqaXf374W0IyR5LFk-3xBuRHHoVQbdJGjP9wwqGXJG3oQMvaVa4fkGJXVWqWSIDz8Mlb1/s1600/bottles.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCIZbZeassvkbvWjUH1VQG9MgCFnKWYq9bXLBNroK18DWjXwKL7F1MMX1tKCXpt7gCBhKZtsBCqaXf374W0IyR5LFk-3xBuRHHoVQbdJGjP9wwqGXJG3oQMvaVa4fkGJXVWqWSIDz8Mlb1/s320/bottles.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Thank you all for your kind feedback on my last blog. I really appreciate all the support. My goal was to touch on some of the general angst of aging and the insecurities we all feel. I'm not great at talking about how I feel in person so it's nice for me to be able to put them on paper once in a while.<br />
<br />
That said, I've got a question this week...<br />
<br />
Why do people go out? A myriad of reasons I'm sure, but I think I've drilled it down to four primary categories. So please accompany me on this social experiment and let's get to the bottom of it.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">PRIMARY (STATED) REASONS</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<b>Reason 1: Sex</b><br />
This one is easy. You go out because you think you are going to get laid either in the short term or the long term. The short term play sees you approaching a girl on a crowded dance floor and performing the entire choreographed dance from "Bye, Bye, Bye" thinking that will convince a girl to at least go make out with you in the corner. On the long term side, maybe you will meet someone there and they will ask you out on a proper date! For the purposes of this exercise those are the same.<br />
<br />
<b>Reason 2: Rage</b><br />
Just as sage old Alfred said 'Some men just want to watch the world burn.' Some people are just here to get fucked up. They like to drink because of the great unknown. Tonight could end in a strip club in Tijuana or a hot tub in the Hollywood Hills. Either one would be acceptable really, but the only way to get there is to drink more and always say YES. Call the dealer, cancel tomorrow's plans, we're watching the sun rise tonight.<br />
<br />
<b>Reason 3: Stunt</b><br />
You've got money to burn and you want people to know it. Maybe you like the idea of being in control, it's an ego thing so you pick up every check, buy every bottle so people call you 'daddy.' It might not even be a sex thing, maybe you just want to assert dominance over a certain section of people. Maybe you want to make someone jealous, or maybe you just followed Dan Bilzerian on Insta too long and figured that's the best way to live.<br />
<br />
<b>Reason 4: Socialize</b><br />
This is a bit of a catch all. This is why reasonably well adjusted people go out. They go out because they want to get out of the house, to see friends, check out a new hot spot, maybe dance. They are not necessarily interested in pulling some strange, hitting a high score on a breathalyzer or spending in the four figures, they just wanna go out ya know?<br />
<br />
OK this would be a very obvious and short blog if we stopped here, but there are secondary reasons people go out. This is usually more of a nefarious hidden agenda or a reason for hitting the town that informs their primary reason. None of these reasons can stand alone but they can change the direction of the evening...<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">SECONDARY (HIDDEN) AGENDAS</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><b><br /></b></span>
<b>Agenda A: Spend Nothing</b><br />
Spending nothing can't be a primary reason for going out because you can spend nothing just sitting at home and drinking rubbing alcohol. However, you can attempt to do all of the primary reasons while also attempting to spend as little as possible.<br />
<br />
<b>Agenda B: Revenge</b><br />
Similar to the stated reason of stunting, the hidden agenda of revenge switches from making yourself look cool to hurting someone's feelings.<br />
<br />
<b>Agenda C: Secret Hookup</b><br />
Similar to sex but this time you don't want anyone to know about it.<br />
<br />
<b>Agenda D: The sneaky black-out</b><br />
Sure, you told your girlfriend that you were going out to catch up with the boys. That was a lie.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">NOW LET'S ADD THEM UP</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span>
On any given night there are a thousand different things you can do in LA, but what is the ideal night out when we combine some of these stated reasons and hidden agendas for hitting the town.<br />
<br />
<b>1a. You're going out to meet chicks but you don't want to spend a dime.</b><br />
House party, ideally at one of your female friends' house with a ton of her friends that you don't know yet. You have a warm open since you were invited there and it's assumed that you aren't a serial killer. There are full bottles of vodka in the kitchen so anyone with half an ounce of charm and some quick thinking can come up with some terrible drinking game that will end with you making out with some random in the closet.<br />
<br />
<b>1b. You're going out to meet chicks but also piss off your ex.</b><br />
Wherever your ex is. Then you're going to aggressively pursue women right in front of her, buying them drinks, public displays of affection and a very public exit together. That will show her.<br />
<br />
<b><strike>1c. You're going out to meet chicks but also hook-up on the down low.</strike></b><br />
That's too much of a double negative.<br />
<br />
<b>1d. You're going out to meet chicks and/or black out.</b><br />
You can go anywhere, wherever you go there will be women and booze, and hey if you strike out, worst case scenario you pound the bottle until you forget all of your shortcomings as a man and wake up in a puddle of your own urine. Win/win really.<br />
<br />
<b>2a. You're here to paint the town red and spend exactly 12 dollars.</b><br />
Fortunately for you $12 is the exact price of 4 Four Lokos at your local 7/11. You can probably also get a bottle of bottom shelf vodka for approximately the same. Your perfect night is a free concert in at the street fest a few blocks away. You can get blind drunk shouting the words to Sugar Ray's "When It's Over" and still have enough money for a 2 buck chuck night cap.<br />
<br />
<b>2b. You're here to rage and ruin someone's day.</b><br />
The office Christmas party is the most reasonable place to do this. You pound the Merlot at the open bar all night until you are nice and loose enough to say to Margot, the office gossip, 'Oh, you didn't know that me and Janet from Accounting were fucking?' You just walk away smiling knowing that Margot will do the rest. Hopefully Janet's husband doesn't mind.<br />
<br />
<b>2c. The Irish Goodbye</b><br />
Tell me if you recognize this story: One of your pals recommends a random ass bar or party way across town. You guys show up and your friend immediately disappears. The next day he says something like 'oh man, I was so fucked up, I ubered home alone.' That is a lie, he has a mistress that lives in Echo Park.<br />
<b><strike><br /></strike></b>
<b><strike>2d. The raging secret black out</strike></b><br />
One cannot fundamentally keep their black out a secret if they tell you about it.<br />
<br />
<b>3a. The Poor Stuntman</b><br />
Spending nothing and balling out may seem to be opposing forces but there are other ways to lord over a party such as a wedding with an open bar. The guy with the sickest dance moves, who sets up the limbo, who gets Double Dutch going and inevitably sneaks a bottle from behind the bar straight to the after party is the guy who will wake up with a bridesmaid.<br />
<strike><b><br /></b></strike>
<strike><b>3b. Stunting as revenge?</b></strike><br />
Stunting in front of anyone that you hate is implied revenge, nothing more needs to be said on this.<br />
<br />
<b>3c. The sneaky Stuntman</b><br />
A rare move, but a strong one. This is the guy that takes you all to Bungalow and buys you bottles as a distraction so he can quietly vanish with a hooker into room 837 of the Fairmont.<br />
<br />
<b>3d. The classy black-out</b><br />
This is the guy that buys 17 bottles of wine at dinner because if you get shitfaced while spending a lot of money it doesn't make you an alcoholic, it makes you wealthy.<br />
<br />
<b>4a. The responsible human</b><br />
This person wants to see their friends but not break the bank. They may just have a couple beers and go home. How about that!<br />
<br />
<b>4b. The upper road guy</b><br />
This guy just wants to get back out there and show his ex that she didn't crush his spirit. This in itself is a form of revenge to show her that you are doing better without her.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>4c. Maybe tonight's the night</b><br />
This guy just wants to see his friends, but also he's madly in love with one of them and you never know...tonight could be the night.<br />
<br />
<b>4d. The Yes man</b><br />
This guy just wanted to see his pals but he knows the type of people that are going to be there, he knows he doesn't have any plans tomorrow. We'll just see what happens right? He's never too disappointed when he ends up rolling in a warehouse in Boyle Heights.<br />
<br />
SO THERE YOU GO. Everyone is a liar and they're always angling for something they don't want to say out loud. It's ok, it's just part of being young...ish.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b></b><strike></strike><br /><br />
<b><br /></b>
<b><br /></b>The single dudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06740865669211233387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389370123965761820.post-44450891108578840642018-03-28T11:43:00.002-07:002018-03-28T11:43:41.540-07:00The Loneliness of the American Savage
<br />
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<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">It’s Two O’clock in the afternoon as I lay on an old couch
that I bought used from a friend after a bed bug infestation destroyed all the furniture.
I’m trying to watch golf and calm down after a weekend of extreme drinking. My
endorphin count is negative.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Elsewhere one of my two roommates is having a full blown
panic attack because he lost his company car keys and thinks it may lead to his
firing. He goes to a bottomless brunch to deal with stress. I see my phone
start vibrating. It’s my dad and there is absolutely no chance I am mentally
prepared to talk to him. In all likelihood he wants to ask me about the college
basketball games over the weekend or even a shot Tiger Woods just hit. </span></div>
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But
there is a chance something is wrong at home, a chance I overdrew my bank
account over the weekend, things that I am in no way prepared to handle on a
Sunday. I twice hit the ignore button and 20 minutes later when I receive a
text asking if everything is OK, I can barely muster the energy to just respond
‘yes.’</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">For those of us that chose to live this life we’ve managed
to freeze time in a way. I still look substantially younger than my age, often
mistaken for 23 or 24. I have a hairstyle that a college kid might sport, I
wear hoodies to work. I’ve maintained an athletic frame. Sure, some fortuitous
genetics might be at play there but sometimes it seems I’ve tricked my body
into not aging. Perhaps it’s the fact that I get 12 hours of sleep on Sundays when
I don’t get out of bed until 3pm. Or that my liver is so busy processing
alcohol and fast food that my body has forgotten to start turning me grey. I
don’t look GOOD per se, just perpetually like a 20something on the back end of a
bender. Nothing a shower and a good night’s sleep can’t fix.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">But also frozen in time is a lifestyle. I’m still living
paycheck to paycheck in a starter apartment with multiple roommates. I’ve
bounced around entry level jobs in the entertainment industry because of a mix
of bad luck and personality conflicts. Well and probably poor performance, let’s
be real. While more and more people look to real life responsibilities, I keep
existing in a kind of vortex in which 2011 never ended.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">People are always happy to see me, I think it reminds them
of a simpler time; a guy who just wants to have fun, a person who doesn’t
stress about the insecurities of growing older. As you can imagine though the
romantic relationships are typically brief and fleeting. Women our age aren’t
looking for a guy who his friends refer to as ‘a hero.’ They aren’t looking for
the life of the party. They want a dependable partner, someone they could see a
future with. Some may find me acceptable for the night, especially coming off a
break-up. Being in proximity to me will certainly make you feel young again, if
only for a short while before you return to reality. I’m a good hang but it
could never be serious.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Depression as humor has really taken over on the internet.
People love to use a self-deprecating tone to laugh at their inability to find
a partner, poke fun at their unwillingness to get out of bed every morning or
satirize the fact that they often stay in at night and cry. In psychology this
would probably be considered a displacement, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">I’ll take my sad feelings and use them to make others laugh! </i>Whereas
the life I live turns into a classic regression. I try to push out of my mind
any feelings of negativity and just focus on getting to the next good thing. I
just need to make it to the weekend, this trip I have planned, this holiday,
this movie release. The problem of course is, these good things come and pass
while I remain empty.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Sure, it is a way to live but there has to be something more
to life than ripping it with the boys all weekend and limping through a week
until the following Friday, living vicariously through my own past
accomplishments doing deep dives through a TimeHop history that once revealed a
future of so much promise.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">People that I haven’t seen in a while will often give me a
wide smile and say things like ‘you haven’t changed a bit’ which I’m sure is
intended as a compliment or at least a term of endearment but it also reminds
me that my feet have been stuck in mud really since college and all I have to
show for it is a few free t shirts I got as wrap gifts.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">I rarely write seriously on this blog because it’s much more
fun to write about dating and hard living than it is to be honest with oneself.
But for those who always assumed I wasn’t self aware, I assure you the smile is
often a mask as I’ve been hanging on by a thin thread for quite a while at this
point. It’s an interesting position to be in when everyone loves you but also
kind of perceives you to be kind of a joke, unfortunately myself and countless
others in my position do nothing that would lead one to draw any other
conclusion.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">Some may see this as a cry for help, but I promise it isn’t.
I write so much stuff on here the glamorizes debauchery. Sure, it’s an ACT to a
certain extent and most of my more autobiographical writing comes in tv and
film where my last three projects have been 1. About a guy at IU. 2. About a
guy and his relationship with his conservative father and 3. A chick who wants
to run away from life’s challenges and live in a hostel.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px 0px 10.66px;">
<span style="font-family: Calibri;">That said, it helps to be open and honest on here sometimes
as well, it freshens my perspective and helps me clear my thoughts and reset my
goals for what trials and tribulations lay in wait. At the moment, I’m not
necessarily where I want to be or who I want to be, but at least I know who I
am and where I want to go.</span></div>
The single dudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06740865669211233387noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389370123965761820.post-12516317401484196272018-03-27T10:11:00.001-07:002018-03-27T10:11:30.232-07:00FUCKBOY MADNESS: Final Four<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I know what you're thinking.<br />
<br />
1. I skipped the Elite 8<br />
2. The bracket format and college basketball have been beaten to death at this point.<br />
<br />
You're correct! So today I will crown a champion and be done with this gimmick that went on far too long.<br />
<br />
BUT FIRST...<br />
<br />
My podcast is live! You can subscribe on Apple just like with a normal podcast.<br />
<br />
<a data-saferedirecturl="https://www.google.com/url?q=https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/beer-a-hole/id1364179632?mt%3D2&source=gmail&ust=1522255288261000&usg=AFQjCNEo8IgJu9Q1nSYRRByD2NlQLOqkLQ" href="https://itunes.apple.com/us/podcast/beer-a-hole/id1364179632?mt=2" rel="noreferrer" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #1155cc; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12.8px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;" target="_blank">https://itunes.apple.com/us/po<wbr></wbr>dcast/beer-a-hole/id1364179632<wbr></wbr>?mt=2</a><br />
<br />
I've wanted a podcast for a very long time. Originally I was going to do a podcast about the O.C. because I think it is the greatest show of all time. In the pilot episode the antagonist is wearing puka shells, driving a lifted truck, punches the protagonist in the face and utters the line "Welcome to the OC bitch. This is how we do it in Orange County."<br />
<br />
It's magical. I could do a 12 part series on that scene alone.<br />
<br />
Anyway, I came up with the idea of calling it the brO.C. which would have been a blatant rip off Gilmore Guys but I'm positive I am funnier than them. I was working on a show with a bunch of OC alums and could have gotten great interviews. I just needed a partner. At first I thought about my friend Kevin, then Nick, then my roommate Sarah. I even wrote an outline for that unfortunately Sarah did not share the same affinity for teen soaps that I do.<br />
<br />
Then I was going to do it with a girl named Libby which would have been great because she has two Soho House memberships and I think she wants to be famous just as bad as I do. Alas we got drunk and were too hungover to record on a Sunday so the dream died.<br />
<br />
Cut to 2018 I am horrendously drunk at James Beach with a couple of my buds and we are all bitching about making things for other people. I float the idea of a podcast. Sure, but what do we talk about?<br />
<br />
Well, we're on a golf chain that gets about 400 messages a day. We are all in a fantasy golf league, we play golf, we've been to two PGA events already this year. We'll record on Sundays with a special guest. We'll try to use fake names for when I inevitably cross the line. It will be a comedy podcast that happens to mention golf.<br />
<br />
Our first episode was recorded after St. Patrick's Day and honestly you'll probably never hear it. I consumed two bottles of Rex Goliath merlot and uttered the phrase "Fatty Reed is a fucking TWAT." At least 12 times. Last week we cleaned it up a bit and posted what you hear above. Whether we get 10 listeners or 10,000 we'll aim to record every Sunday of the PGA season and hopefully have some fun along the way. Regardless, it feels good to make something.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">TO THE BRACKET...</span><br />
<br />
<br />
In the northeast quadrant Trust Fund gave cocaine a run for its money but lost in overtime due to cocaine's miraculous energy burst late. May have to check those guys for performance enhancing substances.<br />
<br />
In the southeast Murray Hill beat frats in an ugly game as both teams seem to be on the downslide.<br />
<br />
In the northwest Ghosting obliterated the upstart 'U up?' and in the Southwest in another non competitive game Benching dominated male feminists in what some reporters called 'an actual hate crime.'<br />
<br />
The final four....<br />
<br />
Ghosting vs. Benching<br />
<br />
Cocaine vs Murray Hill<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Breaking down the West Final (fuckboy habits)</span></b><br />
Ghosting vs Benching is almost a battle of the old vs the new. Ghosting has been around since the beginning of time. Sure it has changed as the 'You never called" has been replaced by the "You stopped answering my texts.'<br />
<br />
Conversely benching is a relatively new phenomenon. It's easier than ever to arrange a suitable army of back-up chicks when you think things with your main chick may be about to head south. Tinder, Bumble, Coffee Meets Bagel all these stupid apps are engineered in a way that you could have a side piece in every neighborhood of Los Angeles and if you have the skill none of them may be aware of the other. I'm sure this behavior too has been going on forever, but now it's easier than ever. If you have the attention span to capably text six women at once, Benching should be a breeze.<br />
<br />
<b><span style="font-size: large;">Breaking down the East Final (fuckboy lifestyle)</span></b><br />
Interestingly enough Cocaine and Murray Hill are two blue blood programs that have seen better days. It's almost like a North Caroline Indiana matchup on the east side of the bracket. Murray Hill seems to have been replaced by the hipper, younger, Brooklyn. Whereas casual cocaine usage seems to have gone out of favor for either Adderall or just not being a drug addict.<br />
<br />
However because these trends are cyclical and teams only need to get hot at the right time, both have made a deep run. Hell, in winter in New York it helps to be close to the action in Manhattan and possibly the only thing strong enough to convince you to go out in 15 degree weather is a couple chalkers and disco naps.<br />
<br />
*********************************************************************<br />
<br />
In the west Ghosting won fairly convincingly. As Omar Little once said 'You come at the King, you best not miss.' Benching failed to rise to the occasion.<br />
<br />
The east matchup was much closer but Murray Hill faded down the stretch as their mind was probably on the fact that their $5,500 rent payment on their 700 square foot studio was due Friday and they spent too much $ on cocaine last weekend to cover it.<br />
<br />
The early money was on cocaine to take the title. As they always say, if you see someone on a coke bender, get out of the way. But some very hefty wagers on Ghosting by the wise guys late moved this line to a pick 'em.<br />
<br />
Cocaine got off to a great start, but really started to hit a wall in the second half. The players started complaining about sinus pain and needing a cigarette. By the end of the game half the team was on the bench with nose bleeds.<br />
<br />
Ghosting prevailed in Fuckboy madness and cut the nets while ignoring the texts from every woman they had slept with during the tournament.<br />
<br />
When asked why he thought they won, the ghosting coach was quoted as saying. "Well hey, we all know cocaine makes your dick not work, right? In order to be a true Fuckboy, don't you need to be able to, ya know, fuck?"<br />
<br />
Truer words have never been spoken. Please join me in congratulating the winners of the 2018 FUCKBOY MADNESS, Ghosting!The single dudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06740865669211233387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389370123965761820.post-91394466003885262642018-03-23T11:00:00.000-07:002018-03-23T11:00:47.911-07:00HappierHow are you doing? It's a light, innocuous question but interestingly enough the true answer could be quite dark. The expected answer is 'great' or at the very minimum 'all right.' Very rarely will the person say "Actually I'm terrible, I lost my job, I'm in debt, my marriage is failing and I think I have developed gout.' There are certain social norms that prevent us from talking about our feelings even with those closest to us like family and friends. Bearing this in mind, I wanted to try a thought experiment and attempt to track my relative happiness over my whole life.<br />
<br />
I assigned each year with a score of 1-10 based on how happy I think I was at that age.<br />
<br />
A score of 1 would indicate that I was actively looking for a bridge to throw myself off of<br />
A score of 10 would indicate that I was feeling like I was peaking on Molly and wanted to call everyone in my phone and tell them I love them.<br />
<br />
Of course this is not entirely scientific, I may remember things being better or worse than they were at the time, but I wanted to plot this on a graph and make some observations about life, both mine and growing up in a more general sense.<br />
<br />
The results...<br />
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<br /></div>
Looks something like an interval training regimen on an elliptical machine.<br />
<br />
<b>The Negative</b><br />
The first observation is the three obvious dips.<br />
<br />
They start at 12, 22 and 30.<br />
<br />
This coincides with the beginning of middle school, the end of college and the end of the 20's.<br />
<br />
Middle school was probably the worst time in my life. I believe I hit a low point of 3 at the age of 13. I'm pretty sure I was not alone in this, in fact just last year there was a movie released called 'Middle School: The Worst Years of My Life.' Middle school blows. Kids are mean, social politics are bullshit and everyone is starting to go through puberty. I can't even remember much, it's like I repressed all the awkwardness.<br />
<br />
The next drop is the end of college which even if you didn't have a wonderful collegiate experience that I did, it's easy to see how living with zero responsibility to getting a job and paying bills would shock the system to nearly anyone.<br />
<br />
The final drop is at 30 which likely coincides with professional frustration and angst about aging.<br />
<br />
<b>The Positive</b><br />
The next observation is the three obvious rebounds. YOUR BOY IS A SECOND HALF TEAM.<br />
<br />
After the middle school debacle, my happiness slowly climbed through high school until reaching a lifetime high in college. FIVE YEARS OF TENS IN A ROW. Some people don't get five tens their whole lives.<br />
<br />
The next rebound begins at 24 when I moved to Los Angeles. This shows that I was willing to make a change, if something isn't working, fix it. I had a decent run in LA before faltering again at 30, which leads to the last rebound.<br />
<br />
At 30 I spent a year feeling sorry for myself and thinking about all the mistakes that I had made and if I had done one thing different everything would be OK. At 31, I think I just said 'fuck it' and learned to live with myself for better or worse.<br />
<br />
<b>Random musings</b><br />
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<div>
I maintained a very happy childhood except for that first year where I almost died at birth, but after that 0-6 was pretty rad. I credit my mom for lots of trips to the park and Disney World.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
2001 was my lowest happiness rating, it's also when 9/11 happened so I think we could argue that my happiness is unequivocally tied to the happiness of the USA.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Conversely my 2005-2010 happiness was maxed out coinciding with the first four seasons of Gossip Girl. Season 5 everything in the show and my life seemed to deteriorate, so I can blame Chuck Bass for all of my shortcomings.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<b>Conclusions</b></div>
<div>
It seems I have always been happier when nothing matters. As a kid? Happy as a clam? As a college student? On top of the world! Navigating pubescent relationships and the crushing realities of the real world? Not the greatest. But I've proven resilient, I've never bottomed out and I always manage to rebound to at least a 6 or 7. Life is never going to be as simple as it once was, but that doesn't mean I can't hope for the best.</div>
<b></b><b></b><b></b><br />The single dudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06740865669211233387noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389370123965761820.post-15750748158184000892018-03-20T12:21:00.001-07:002018-03-20T12:21:14.467-07:00FUCKBOY MADNESS: Sweet 16<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
I need to stop saying yes to things. I commit to any trip under the sun despite having a negative net worth. I do things like agree to meet people at Bungalow despite having 7% battery and knowing I will end up walking home 4 miles including past the fucking LA Marathon course.<br />
<br />
It's a disease. I say yes because I am a people pleaser. But really all I want to do is sit on my couch or party in extreme proximity to my house. People like to say things to me like 'hey wouldn't it be fun to get out of Venice for a night?' No. It fucking wouldn't. Maybe for you a change of scenery and some 'creative cocktails' sounds nice. For me it just seems like I'm setting myself up for some awful present day Odyssey where I find myself blacked out and alone with a dead phone in Echo Park and I have to make my way home before sunrise or an angry drug dealer will kill my cat. It's like a terrible remake of The Warriors.<br />
<br />
Usually my week looks like this.<br />
Sunday: I'm not moving off the couch and I'm never drinking again.<br />
Monday: I'm going to suffer through work and then come home and go to bed at 8pm.<br />
Tuesday: Hey I can actually speak today, also still no desire to drink! Must not be an alcoholic, yay!<br />
Wednesday: This is the type of night it would be nice to have a girlfriend and 'accidentally' finish a bottle and a half while not moving off the couch.<br />
Thursday: Well it's basically the weekend and Three Wishes bottles are only $2.99...<br />
Friday: Ok I'll go out as long as I can walk there.<br />
Saturday: 9am I WILL SAY YES TO LITERALLY ANYTHING YOU ASK ME? WANNA GO TO VEGAS? FUCK YA! WANNA MURDER SOMEONE? I'M IN! LET'S CARRY OUT A 16 HOUR BENDER THAT WILL GIVE ME CRIPPLING ANXIETY FOR THE NEXT WEEK!<br />
<br />
...and this behavior has been repeating itself for well over 10 years now. And yes, I am setting you all up for me saying no to all of your requests from now until Saturday.<br />
<br />
Let's look at the bracket...<br />
<br />
What a wild weekend of games, right? Trust Funds became the <strike>first</strike> SECOND 16 seed to ever upset a number one! I guess the 'entrepreneur fuckboys finally figured out that thirsty women would rather you not pretend to have a job and just cop to that family money homie!<br />
<br />
The full results, favorites in bold:<br />
<br />
<b>Ghosting</b> over 'being out of town'<br />
<b>Send nudes</b> over 'I'm sick'<br />
<b>U up over</b> Netflix and Chill<br />
Friends in town over <b>Dead phone</b><br />
<b>Breadcrumbing</b> over negging<br />
Calling yourself a feminist over <b>splitting the check</b><br />
<b>benching</b> over zombieing<br />
<b>cushioning</b> over love bombing<br />
<br />
No real surprises in the Fuckboy behavior region. Friends in town over dead phone actually makes a lot of sense when you think about it because a friend could presumably be in town for ten days and if you kept your phone dead of ten days you would be a psychopath.<br />
<br />
Calling yourself a feminist was a minor upset over splitting the check but you could have seen it coming a mile away because a true fuckboy wouldn't take you near a restaurant.<br />
<br />
So our Sweet 16 match-ups in this region are<br />
Ghosting vs Send Nudes<br />
U up? vs Friends were in town<br />
Breadcrumbing vs. Feminist<br />
Benching vs Cushioning<br />
<br />
Honestly wouldn't be surprised to see Send Nudes make it out of this bracket. I realize that no one uses Snap Chat any more but never underestimate the desire of a fuckboy to just jerk off and completely avoid being within miles of you.<br />
<br />
Things were much more exciting on the fuckboy lifestyle side of the bracket. The aforementioned Trust funds created a huge upset and now have a favorable run to the final. Drake took out Chuck Bass but now faces a very steep uphill battle with other late night 'afterparty' staple cocaine.<br />
<br />
The results:<br />
Trust fund over <b>Entrepreneurs</b><br />
<b>Slow fade</b> over USC<br />
Drake over <b>Chuck Bass</b><br />
<b>Cocaine</b> over Entourage<br />
<b>Frats</b> over finance<br />
Cuffed Jeans over <b>Music Festivals</b><br />
<b>Facial Hair</b> over Scott Disick<br />
<b>Murray Hill</b> over Pastels<br />
<br />
The Sweet 16 Matchups are:<br />
Trust funds vs Slow Fade<br />
Drake vs Cocaine<br />
Frats vs Cuffed Jeans<br />
Facial Hair vs Murray Hill<br />
<br />
There are going to be some good games this week. Get your popcorn and rose ready.<br />
<br />The single dudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06740865669211233387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389370123965761820.post-69311915015170033952018-03-13T12:53:00.004-07:002018-03-13T12:53:40.778-07:00FUCKBOY MADNESS: Round 1<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Welcome to Fuckboy Madness, the bracket that hits way too close to home for your pathetic dating life. This year since Indiana basketball blows, I've turned all of my attention to the absolute worst in dating trends for my dear Millenials. If all holds well we will find the king of the fuckboys by the end of the NCAA tournament.<br />
<br />
I know the bracket above is blurry as shit, so have no fear I will be posting all of the seeds below as well as some micro analysis on the first round match ups. If you would like to participate feel free to text me your thoughts and perchance I will take them into consideration while I arbitrarily pick all of the winners. ONTO THE MATCHUPS!<br />
<br />
*Note the seeds are totally fucked up on the free bracket generator I used, so don't worry about them.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: x-large;">THE FUCKBOY BEHAVIOR REGION</span><br />
<div>
1. Ghosting vs.</div>
<div>
16. "I've been out of town"</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Ah, the classic guy that stops responding vs the one that gives some lame excuse when you pressure him for answers. Should be an easy win for the one seed.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
8. SEND NUDES vs.</div>
<div>
9. I'm sick.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Interestingly enough, "I'm sick," Could be used as an excuse NOT to hang out with you, or to get you to send nudes. This should be an interesting battle, might even go to OT.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
5. U up? vs.</div>
<div>
12. Netflix and Chill?</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
In this 5/12 game we have the guy that doesn't want to fuck you until he's good and drunk vs the guy that wants to fuck you without spending a penny. Tough call! Could see an early round upset here.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
4. My phone was dead all day vs.</div>
<div>
13. I had friends in town</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Two classic excuses squaring off early. I guess this comes down to whether you like your fuckboys pretending to ignore you because they are riddled with anxiety or they're still behaving like they are 22.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
6. Breadcrumbing vs.</div>
<div>
11. Negging</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Ah yes, the guy that's totally not into you until maybe he is vs the guy that read that stupid book in college and likes to practice the techniques on lonely women. BONUS POINTS IF SHE JUST GOT DUMPED AND IS SUPER VULNERABLE.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
3. Splitting the check vs.</div>
<div>
14. Proclaiming to be a feminist</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The selection committee must have had a sense of humor on this one because this is exactly the type of rationale a 'male feminist' would use when splitting the check.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
7. Benching vs.</div>
<div>
10. Zombieing</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Which is worse, a guy that keeps you around in case his top hook up falls apart, or a guy that doesn't text you for six months and then hits you up out of the blue like nothing fucking happened. I can feel half of your heart rates starting to race, I'm sorry.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
2. Cushioning vs.</div>
<div>
15. Love Bombing</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Cushioning is of course scouting for future prospects while you feel a relationship falling apart to soften the blow when it comes. Love Bombing is going WAY over the top early in a relationship only to not care and make the woman feel totes insecure. Men are awful LOL.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 32px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">THE FUCKBOY LIFESTYLE REGION</span></div>
<div>
<b><br /></b></div>
<div>
1. "Entrepreneur" vs.</div>
<div>
16. Trust Funds</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I'm an 'entrepreneur' usually means I have a 'trust fund.' Tough seeding for trust fund, but understandable because they are dope.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
8. The slow fade vs.</div>
<div>
9. The University of Southern California</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Honestly if you combined the two you may be looking at a Final Four team.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
5. Chuck Bass vs.</div>
<div>
12. Drake</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
The biggest fictional fuckboy vs. the biggest real one.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
4. Cocaine vs.</div>
<div>
13. Entourage</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Two powerhouse programs with a storied tradition of fuckboying, Entourage and cocaine both had down seasons, but you can never count either of them out.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
6. Fraternities vs.</div>
<div>
11. Working in Finance</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
At an 11 seed, working in Finance could be a Cinderella pick to make a run, but a tough draw going against the entire Greek system in the first round, even if with a whirlwind of controversy in the current political climate frats are weaker than ever.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
3. Music Festivals</div>
<div>
14. Cuffed Jeans</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
UPSET SPECIAL!! Cuffed Jeans makes their first appearance in FUCKBOY MADNESS against the rapidly declining 'Music Festivals' who are likely overseeded due to past reputation alone. If you're looking to impress your friends with a major dark horse, ride the cuffed jeans far.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
7. Facial Hair vs.</div>
<div>
10. Scott Disick</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Facial hair is the type of mid-major you have to love, especially drawing a team like Scott Disick who had to run the table in the 'reality star fuckboy' conference tournament even to get in.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
2. Murray Hill vs.</div>
<div>
15. Pastels</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Pastels made a solid run in 2010, almost winning the whole tourney before getting knocked out by MDMA but I don't expect the magic to hold in 2018. Despite the rise of Brooklyn, Murray Hill is still a storied program with lots of Tournament experience, wouldn't be surprised to see them take it all the way.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Did your team get snubbed? Do you have hot takes going into the first weekend? I want to hear from you! Enjoy the games and remember TRUtv is 246 on DirecTV.</div>
The single dudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06740865669211233387noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5389370123965761820.post-10282484264989748922018-03-07T10:22:00.000-08:002018-03-07T10:22:22.216-08:00Dating by Decade: 98 vs 08 vs 18<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
It has to stop.<br />
<br />
I have to stop thinking I can go on long weekend benders and then grab a 6am flight on a Monday morning and go straight to work.<br />
<br />
It's a great idea in practice, because of course when planning a vacation, you don't want to think about the end of it. That's depressing. Tacking on that Monday flight alleviates a lot of anxiety. It adds a whole extra day to the trip. A day to drink. A day for activities. A day to meet the girl of your dreams and fall in love!<br />
<br />
In practice you spend the whole day hungover dreading your 4am wake up call, 6am flight and 9am work day. Your plan back fires and your Sunday scaries give you a full fledged panic attack.<br />
<br />
Alas, when I finally returned home from Park City last night I wanted nothing more than to lay on the couch and watch pathetic reality TV. I couldn't properly relax though due to one of my roommates pacing back and forth like he had a gun fight in the morning.<br />
<br />
"What are you doing?"<br />
<br />
"Uh, this Bumble chick...she wants me to...call her."<br />
<br />
I asked no follow up questions because I immediately understood his general unease.<br />
<br />
Call her? What the fuck was she thinking? I don't like talking to my closest friends and family on the phone, let alone some stranger who I'm just trying to get nudes from. We came to the conclusion that maybe she's just old fashioned or early onset carpal tunnel in her texting fingers. For sure strange.<br />
<br />
I can't remember the last time I called a girl on the phone that I was interested in. If I call a girl on the phone we are either already dating or it is deliver some vital information like "I'm outside in the uber and he's being a douche, come out now." But it hasn't always been this way.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>Prologue:</b><br />
Back in 1998, I remember the fear of calling a girl's house during middle school. Worst case scenario her dad would answer and I would immediately hang up. BEST case scenario my middle school crush would answer and we would...talk? About what? I don't have a fucking clue. My middle school girl friend used to page me (yes I had a pager get on my fucking level) and then I would call her and sit around on the phone and try to re-enact bad movie clichés. YOU HANG UP FIRST.<br />
<br />
By 2008, everyone had cell phones and I was largely off the "phone call" train. But I also didn't send THAT many texts during hours of business. I typically stuck to texting girls the evening plans and then going through my phone book at 3 in the morning and sending 'U up?' BBMs to anyone that I thought I had a better than 3% chance of boning. Because in college I went out every night and usually if I was interested in a girl I would just start dancing with her until either she ran away because I was too sweaty or we started making out. That's how college relationships work.<br />
<br />
Now in 2018, people are afraid to leave the house and communicate strictly via dating apps and texting. Asking a girl out is easier than ever. You don't have to call her dad, you don't have to approach her at a shitty dive bar. There is an implication that she might want to date by the very fact that you are talking to each other on a dating app. If you DO ask her out and she says no, you can just delete the message and pretend like it never happened. There will be no fallout at school (Haha Moeller asked out Laura and she said NO!!!!) There will be no fallout in your social scene (But didn't you just try to fuck my sorority sister last week) No, no one knows each other now so if you shoot your shot and miss no one will ever fucking know.<br />
<br />
<b>The Question:</b><br />
All that said, in which of these three decades was dating the easiest? Which was it the hardest? I'm operating under the assumption that most readers will generally be the same age as me and this could just as easily be is dating easier in your teens, 20s or 30s. But I think it's fun to tie in the decade specifically all the technologies that I <a href="http://singledudeinla.blogspot.com/2018/01/a-history-of-dating-in-digital-age.html" target="_blank">mentioned in this article. </a><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">1998; an overview.</span><br />
I was extremely good at sports. I had all the best video games. I was 6'3 and had a subpar basement compared to my richer friends. Despite this, I was painfully uncool and terrible with girls. 1998 me relates to the male protagonist in 13 Reasons Why, Ryan Gosling from Remember the Titans, with a splash of Lady Bird wishing she had the better house.<br />
<br />
How to date in 1998:<br />
Well as an 11 year old, I couldn't drive. Any time I wanted to go hang out with a girl, someone's parents would have to drive. The likely destination would be a movie theater or someone's basement. Sometimes there would be a pool or a hot tub involved. There was no alcohol. I honestly can't remember what I did with the opposite sex before alcohol.<br />
<br />
What makes you desirable:<br />
Looks, humor, how much money your parents make.<br />
<br />
How to communicate:<br />
Home phones and AIM, but really home phones. AIM launched in 1997 so it existed in 1998 but it was far from main stream. It was rare for anyone to have that second dedicated phone line for dial up internet and cable modems were still a couple years away for most. In theory you could talk to girls at school but that's way too scary.<br />
<br />
Ya, if you wanted to ask a girl out you would have to sack up and call the house and say something incredibly lame like 'Hey, it's David from school, is Ally there?' Fathers were the worst gate keepers, sometimes there would be follow up questions like "What do you want to talk about?" or just flat out no "Ally can't talk on the phone after 7." Additionally, there was always the fear that dad would stay on the phone and listen to you. Fuck that.<br />
<br />
The good:<br />
Dating in 1998 was innocent. No one was getting their heart broken. There was no ghosting, bread crumbing, submarining, caspering or whatever the fuck the kids are doing today. Also any middle school 'hook ups' were rather benign so it's not like there was ever a situation in which someone could feel taken advantage of.<br />
<br />
The bad:<br />
No booze, phone calls, no texting, supervised hang outs, waiting for birthday invitations to your crush's roller skating birthday party that never came. Man outside of baseball season, I hated being 11.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;">2008, an overview</span><br />
I was no longer good at sports. I had all the best drinking games. I was 6'3 and had a god-tier live out house. I was pretty cool and decent with girls. 2008 me relates to Bluto from Animal House, Ryan Gosling from Crazy, Stupid, Love and the irrational confidence of Andrew Keegan from 10 Things I Hate About You.<br />
<br />
How to date in 2008:<br />
As a 21 year old, I could drive but was consistently too drunk to. Any time I wanted to hang out with a girl, a pledge would have to drive me. The likely destination of a date would be a cabin, barn or hotel. Sometimes there would be a pool or hot tub involved. Oh God there was alcohol. <span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">I honestly can't remember what I did with the opposite sex before alcohol.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"></span><br />
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">What makes you desirable:</span></div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
Looks, humor, how good your frat is, how much money your parents make.</div>
<b></b></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><b><br /></b></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">How to communicate in 2008:</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Text or text-adjacent apps mostly. Also, when you're in a microcosm where you're partying constantly and already know everyone you can talk to girls at school and it isn't scary anymore.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Dating in college (if that's what you want to call it) was a major matter of convenience. If two of your friends were dating two girls in the same sorority and there was a big dance coming up, one might look at it as a jigsaw puzzle if you will. Group pregames followed by a lot of backdoor brokering. (Liz is into Mike and Claire said she can TOLERATE Jon. She def won't fuck him but if he pays for all the booze she might give him a handjob) But that's the big secret, there wasn't a lot of dating going on in college. One of your buddies needed a girlfriend so there was always a group in play.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">The good:</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">College is an incestuous cesspool. You can play six degrees of Eskimo Brother with almost everyone you know and nothing really mattered. Communication was easy, the stakes were incredibly low. Booze was everywhere. I loved being 21.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">The bad:</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Due to the above, infidelity was at an all time high and everyone knew absolutely everything about you. If you went home with a Tri Delt Sophomore and lasted less than 30 seconds in bed, everyone on Third Street knew about it the next day.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 24px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">2018, an overview</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">I'm kinda good at sports again! I have all the best card games. I'm still 6'3 and have a flea bag apartment in a dope neighborhood (conclusion: mid-tier and rising) I'm a lovable loser who people are still hoping will figure it out some day and I'm 'MEH' with girls. 2018 me relates to Ryan Gosling from La La Land, Miles Teller from The Spectacular Now and Joseph Gordon Levitt during the worst parts of 500 Days of Summer.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">How to date in 2018:</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">As a 31 year old, I can drive but my Mini Cooper exploded. Any time I want to hang out with a girl, a Uber has to drive me. The likely destination of a date is be a dive bar or I go over to her apartment complex. Sometimes a pool or hot tub involved. There's still alcohol and thank God for it, because I'm more self-conscious now than I was at 11.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"></span></span></span><br />
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">What makes you desirable:</span></span></span></div>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
<div style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">
Stability, how much money you make, how much money your parents make.</div>
</span></span></span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><b><br /></b></span></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">How to communicate in 2018:</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Most of the world is exclusively on dating apps. Outside of that the world communicates via meme, gif and boomerangs on Instagram.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Dating in 2018 because it's both easy and hard. At 31, you don't need to look like peak Jesse Matcalfe, look at all the attractive people that date ugly. You know what people in 2018 want? A nice guy, someone that wants to buy a house and have kids some day. Someone that won't go blow a thousand dollars on hookers and cocaine on a Saturday night. Sure there is a hook-up economy on every app. There are attractive females looking to bang attractive males and 'hey, maybe it will turn into something.' But the dating scene, the actual people who are looking for something? They really just want you to care. </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">The Good: </span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">Man if you were an awkward nerd growing up but now you have some money to throw around, boy do I have good news for you! All you have to do is post your job title and height on a dating app and you're golden.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">The Bad:</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;">If you've skated by on charisma your whole life and aren't quite ready to stop 'living the dream' boy do I have some bad news for you. No amount of lies on a hinge profile are gonna get you the girl if you can't afford the bill at Gjelina.</span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-variant: normal; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; display: inline; float: none; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; text-align: left; text-decoration: none; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-size: large;">Conclusion:</span><br />
The set of circumstances in a certain era of your life largely dictate when you will excel at dating. If you were the rich kid with the biggest basement growing up, you probably crushed middle school. If you were in the best frat in college and looked good with your shirt off, you were the king of college. If you have a good job now and your dick works, well things probably aren't too shabby either.<br />
<br />
That said, which year was dating the easiest and which was it the hardest? In 1998 there was a scarcity of resources. If you found someone to date you weren't constantly tempted by every woman's social media feed. In 2008 we had technology that made communication easy, but not too easy. In 2018 you can see every photo of every person you've ever met, talk to 45 people at once and still have to live with the dread of getting older every day.<br />
<br />
For those reasons I say...<br />
2008 easiest<br />
1998 middle<br />
2018 hardest.<br />
<br />
We've all become too cynical to figure out love, the divorce rate will climb past 60% and we will all rediscover the bliss of college when we finally make it to retirement homes.<br />
<br />
Naw, I'm just kidding. It's harder than ever to date now, but we'll all find love some day.The single dudehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06740865669211233387noreply@blogger.com0