The tales of a man no longer struggling with Social Anxiety, Depression, Loneliness, and Creativity.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Sunday, November 08, 2009
The Sports Team From My Area...

If it isn't clear already, I don't care about sports.
Now, THAT people play sports doesn't bother me at all. Hey, they're having fun, blowing off steam, bonding, learning teamwork, etc; all that stuff is cool by me.
It's the national league, city/state pride, obsessive, jock-off, micro-dick-ism of sports fans that piss me off.
That wouldn't be so bad if these assholes across the street didn't feel the need to set off firecrackers at midnight, shouting "WE WON! WE WON!"
I'm trying to figure out what it is that "we" won, and when to expect my prize in the mail. I don't remember participating in any sort of contest, or accomplishing anything that would merit such a display of misplaced pride while many others in the 'hood are trying to sleep.
First, let's look at local pride. George Carlin:
Now, if you're happy that your favorite team won a game, fine. Can't argue with that.
But the phrase is, "WE WON!" That implies that "we" had something to do with the team winning, and the coincidence of proximity unites us.
Since "we" sat on the couch getting drunk (or completely ignored the event), that hardly contributed to the team winning.
The next idea taken for granted is the coincidence of proximity, or the "we". Sure, my neighbors and I are New Yorkers. But how many of us were born locally? My roommate was born in Hawai'i and intends to return there. Does she count as a New Yorker? I was born upstate. I at least have that credential.
How many of the 49 NY Yankees were born in, or currently live in NY State, or within 50 miles of New York City, particularly the Bronx? After a cursory search through Wikipedia...
1) Pitcher CC Sabathia lives in Bergen County, New Jersey.
2) Pitcher Mariano Rivera co-owns a restaurant in New Rochelle, NY.
3) Short Stop Derek Jeter was born in Morris County, NJ. He has homes in Manhattan, Marlboro NJ, Greenwood Lake NY, and Tampa FL.
4) Third Baseman Alex Rodriguez (whose name I refuse to abbreviate to what the press calls him) was born in Manhattan, and still lives there.
5) First Baseman Mark Teixiera lives in Greewich, CT. (Not to be confused with cartoonist & illustrator Mark Texiera.)
6) Designated Hitter Hideki Matsui lives in Manhattan.
7) Pitcher Chien-Ming Wang lives in Bergen County, NJ.
Those are the only team players, active, inactive, coaches, whatever, that I could find evidence of living in/near NYC. 1/7th, or just over 14%, of the Bronx Bombers have any sort of proximity affiliation with The Bronx. The number may be higher; perhaps I didn't dig deep enough - I certainly don't care enough to do so.
How they can be "New York" Yankees if most of them aren't even New Yorkers, or even from the tri-state area? How can "we" have local pride about people who don't have anything but a badge to do with the area?
Friday, October 09, 2009
Life in the Big City
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
Three Seconds
That's exactly how long it took for news of Patrick Swayze's death for that gawd-awful Dirty Dancing theme to get stuck in my head. My parents LOVED that movie when it came out, and constantly played the soundtrack.
I'd like to thank Led Zeppelin & Black Sabbath for being the steel wool scraping through my mental ears and delivering me to sanity (such as it is).
I'd like to thank Led Zeppelin & Black Sabbath for being the steel wool scraping through my mental ears and delivering me to sanity (such as it is).
Monday, September 14, 2009
Odd timing
Just before I told my folks about Jill, they told me about my sister's divorce. Nine years, gone, just like that. She's apparently met the man of her dreams: a 35 year old divorcee with a 15 year old daughter.
I don't know any other details. I feel bad for my (ex) bro-in-law. Their relationship was the most stable thing in his life. Of course, the kids will have a hard time, too.
I don't know any other details. I feel bad for my (ex) bro-in-law. Their relationship was the most stable thing in his life. Of course, the kids will have a hard time, too.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Meet the Parents
Well, more like future in-laws, but you get the point.
No, I haven't formally proposed to Jill yet, but we've already discussed the names of our children, where we're going to live, and how the reception menu has to be certified Parve and held on a Sunday.
Granted, this is all a few years in to the future. Jill got fired a couple of weeks ago, from an atrocious and toxic environment: a law firm. She'd been there nearly eight years. One Wednesday night, they said, "if you don't work overtime tonight, you won't have a job tomorrow."
Ignoring the wimpy, passive-aggressive ultimatum, Jill has classes a few times a week. They cost more than the overtime pay would cover. She made it clear that she couldn't stay late. "What part of 'I'm single and in my 30s' don't they understand?" There are so many other factors that went into their decision: underlying (and sometimes blatant) racism, classism, gender bias, etc, etc, etc.
Back to the main story. Her parents flew in from California a couple days ago, and took us out to dinner last night at probably the most expensive vegan restaurant I'd ever been in. "Dad" is a retired Air Force Lt. Col. On 9/11, he plotted the flight path of Air Force One. "Mom" is a school teacher with training in psychology. "Mom" is also a chocoholic. We shared desserts.
They were funny, kind, laid-back, and generous. I felt so comfortable with them, and really adore them.
I guess I should tell my parents about Jill soon, right? I just never know how to tell them anything. It might as well be the topic for therapy tomorrow.
No, I haven't formally proposed to Jill yet, but we've already discussed the names of our children, where we're going to live, and how the reception menu has to be certified Parve and held on a Sunday.
Granted, this is all a few years in to the future. Jill got fired a couple of weeks ago, from an atrocious and toxic environment: a law firm. She'd been there nearly eight years. One Wednesday night, they said, "if you don't work overtime tonight, you won't have a job tomorrow."
Ignoring the wimpy, passive-aggressive ultimatum, Jill has classes a few times a week. They cost more than the overtime pay would cover. She made it clear that she couldn't stay late. "What part of 'I'm single and in my 30s' don't they understand?" There are so many other factors that went into their decision: underlying (and sometimes blatant) racism, classism, gender bias, etc, etc, etc.
Back to the main story. Her parents flew in from California a couple days ago, and took us out to dinner last night at probably the most expensive vegan restaurant I'd ever been in. "Dad" is a retired Air Force Lt. Col. On 9/11, he plotted the flight path of Air Force One. "Mom" is a school teacher with training in psychology. "Mom" is also a chocoholic. We shared desserts.
They were funny, kind, laid-back, and generous. I felt so comfortable with them, and really adore them.
I guess I should tell my parents about Jill soon, right? I just never know how to tell them anything. It might as well be the topic for therapy tomorrow.
Thursday, August 20, 2009
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
I hate my job.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
Jill
So, ah...it would seem that I have a girlfriend.
We started corresponding mid-October, and met up a month later. We were both listed under "seeking friends only", so there was no tension that dating usually provides.
Over the past month, things began to shift towards something more than friendship. We started talking about our bizarre dating misfortunes, our reasons for not dating, what we're trying to change about ourselves, etc., etc. She saw the potential for what we could be together, but wasn't sure if I was interested or not, so she didn't say anything, at least not directly. I began wondering the same thing, but was too afraid of screwing up yet another friendship. This escalated when we went on the town for her birthday two weeks ago. Looking back, I could feel that we both wanted more.
Jill came over Saturday to help move a few things over to Lynne's, where she got to meet her and Bowie. Afterward, we went grocery shopping, paying close attention to her dietary restrictions (vegan, celiac disease, allergies to tomatoes, oranges, sesame). We made a very good pizza (using red peppers instead of tomatoes for the sauce). She also bought a bottle of 80-proof Liquid Courage, aka tequila. We cooked, ate, and started watching the Bourne Identity. She got very comfortable on my bed, and I sat in my chair.
Pressing the issue of us, she asked, "what would it take for you to drink straight from the bottle? Doing a shot from my belly button?"
My brain fried.
"Oh no, I broke Jeff!" and she held my hand. Then I kissed her.
She spent the night, and most of the next day. We did go back to Lynne's for a couple hours while Lynne waited for people to pick up stuff offered on Craigslist. It was 8:30 PM when we realized just how late it was. It took another 90 minutes to actually separate; we both lamented that the next day was a 'school day'.
My therapist was right when she said, "you get to be happy now."
We started corresponding mid-October, and met up a month later. We were both listed under "seeking friends only", so there was no tension that dating usually provides.
Over the past month, things began to shift towards something more than friendship. We started talking about our bizarre dating misfortunes, our reasons for not dating, what we're trying to change about ourselves, etc., etc. She saw the potential for what we could be together, but wasn't sure if I was interested or not, so she didn't say anything, at least not directly. I began wondering the same thing, but was too afraid of screwing up yet another friendship. This escalated when we went on the town for her birthday two weeks ago. Looking back, I could feel that we both wanted more.
Jill came over Saturday to help move a few things over to Lynne's, where she got to meet her and Bowie. Afterward, we went grocery shopping, paying close attention to her dietary restrictions (vegan, celiac disease, allergies to tomatoes, oranges, sesame). We made a very good pizza (using red peppers instead of tomatoes for the sauce). She also bought a bottle of 80-proof Liquid Courage, aka tequila. We cooked, ate, and started watching the Bourne Identity. She got very comfortable on my bed, and I sat in my chair.
Pressing the issue of us, she asked, "what would it take for you to drink straight from the bottle? Doing a shot from my belly button?"
My brain fried.
"Oh no, I broke Jeff!" and she held my hand. Then I kissed her.
She spent the night, and most of the next day. We did go back to Lynne's for a couple hours while Lynne waited for people to pick up stuff offered on Craigslist. It was 8:30 PM when we realized just how late it was. It took another 90 minutes to actually separate; we both lamented that the next day was a 'school day'.
My therapist was right when she said, "you get to be happy now."
Sunday, June 07, 2009
Thoughts on Late Night TV
I'm terribly conflicted now that Conan O'Brien has taken over the Tonight Show. I love Conan. I love Dave. I love Andy Richter. But I freaking hate Paul Shaffer. More specifically, I hate his attempts at comedy. His "bantering" with Dave kills brain cells.
Also: I love Craig Ferguson. I hate Jimmy Fallon, but I love the Roots. And I really don't care about Jimmy Kimmel.
Also: I love Craig Ferguson. I hate Jimmy Fallon, but I love the Roots. And I really don't care about Jimmy Kimmel.
Saturday, May 30, 2009
Moving Again
I'm moving in with Lynne and Kemp at the end of June. I'll handle most of the moving myself over the next few weekends. Here's the planned schedule:
June 6th/7th: Move all comics boxes, toys, old stereo, non-essential electronics, and CDs. (Won't be going to MoCCA this year.)
June 13th/14th: Move all books, artwork & supplies, most DVDs, and everything else from under the bed.
June 20th/21st: Move kitchen stuff, home theater stuff (not the tv, though!), lamps, smaller furniture.
June 27th/28th: Everything else. Pro movers will handle the bed, bookcases, TV, A/C, dresser, etc. I'll take care of the computer the night before.
If you want to help out (keep me company while I walk the 18 blocks back & forth with a huge hand truck, making sure stuff doesn't spill off, fending off zombie pirate ninja gorilla attacks, etc), you'll be greatly appreciated. I'll need the most help unpacking on the 28th, though. For anyone who wants to sort through all my crap, it would be a field day.
June 6th/7th: Move all comics boxes, toys, old stereo, non-essential electronics, and CDs. (Won't be going to MoCCA this year.)
June 13th/14th: Move all books, artwork & supplies, most DVDs, and everything else from under the bed.
June 20th/21st: Move kitchen stuff, home theater stuff (not the tv, though!), lamps, smaller furniture.
June 27th/28th: Everything else. Pro movers will handle the bed, bookcases, TV, A/C, dresser, etc. I'll take care of the computer the night before.
If you want to help out (keep me company while I walk the 18 blocks back & forth with a huge hand truck, making sure stuff doesn't spill off, fending off zombie pirate ninja gorilla attacks, etc), you'll be greatly appreciated. I'll need the most help unpacking on the 28th, though. For anyone who wants to sort through all my crap, it would be a field day.
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