Month: October 2013

I guess “good” is kind of softballing it, no? Good, great, incredible… you get the point.

This all started, for me and my friends, with the movie Analyze This (one of both of those guys’ last funny, good films, if I may say so myself). Chazz Palminteri played the rival gangster to DeNiro’s Paul Vitti character. Palminteri’s character was named Primo Sidone (pronounced, somehow, like Son Done—like Cone).

Naturally, you’ve heard the expression(s) about how a good parking spot can also be called a “prime” or “primo” spot… Well, even more naturally, we started calling those spots Primo Sidone spots.

That doesn’t really have anything to do with anything, but the point is… a good spot isn’t always a really close spot. Of course, those are typically the best ones (especially when you pull up for one just as that spot is opening up) but the venue is key.

Maybe it’s a football tailgate, so you want a spot where you’ve got a lot of room. How about a concert where you know that you’re going to want to get out of there quickly once the show is over? This is sort of pathetic, but there’s even something to be said for simply being able to pull into a spot where you have more than enough room on each side.

The point of all this is, there’s more than just one good spot, but there’s few feelings better than finding one.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling: Having to park in one of the last spots at work.

Among many things in this world, one we adults rarely discuss in the comfort of others is the world of adult videos. Yes, pornographic films. Now, this feeling we’re talking about here isn’t what you might assume. This isn’t about why we (read: men) watch porn or what we do when we watch it (you may not believe this, and that’s fine by me, but sometimes men, myself and friends included, just watch it to watch it, like a really bad movie of sorts). No, this is about that first time (or, first times) you ever ran into porn as a young kid/teenager.

For my generation, it was sometime in middle school and there were videos and pictures we all came across that we liked more than others. However, as time went on, for no reason at all we drifted to other videos (and as the internet evolved, pictures went by the wayside). Yet, every so often, in your hunting for that sitting’s video-du-jour, you’ll come across a real oldie.

You’re scanning your favorite site and you come across a video you hadn’t seen in at least 10 years, maybe more. It occurs to you that you’ve never seen more than the short video provided on some random site because you have a brain and don’t ever, ever pay for adult videos.

But, you know that somewhere out there in the ether that video exists. And somewhere else in that ether, there’s a guy who has that video and another guy that stole it from him and is giving it away for free. But finding the name of the video? Actually tracking it down with nothing more than “Hot blonde” or “college girl” as keywords… that’s a quest that’s been raging on for, like I said, nearly a decade.

So, you begin your search. You figure that you’re off for the day, let’s really sink in and do some work here, see if this time we can find that video once and for all. And of course, 30 to 45 minutes later, you’ve found nothing and though there were some close calls, you’re in the same spot you found yourself in (albeit slightly more content, due to the effects of dopamine release).

This happens over and over to the point where you give up hope, thinking there’s enough out there for you and everyone else, so what if your white whale has disappeared?

Then, suddenly, the Holy Grail makes itself available. Like disease research, the internet is always improving, making strides. What was impossible a week, a month ago is now happening… it’s downloading.

Whether or not the video is even worth it in the long run is besides the point. You found your Holy Grail. Most men, if they’re not lying to themselves, have that Grail. Whether or not they ever find it is only up to them.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling: Downloading what you think is that video, waiting hours for it to download because it’s shady as all hell, and finding out it’s either not the video you thought or you can’t play it all.

I’ll be honest, I didn’t think of this one on my own. I have to give a little credit where it’s due, first to my friend who pointed me in the direction of this fine tweet:

Nothing better then washing your face after a long day.

— Lil Dicky (@lildickytweets) October 18, 2013

First off, if you’re unaware of who Lil Dicky is, get familiar. There’s the song about his girlfriend’s ex-boyfriend (and his huge penis), the song about why he’s really happy he’s a white guy, or the song where he makes something like 75 sports references in 3 minutes.

Second, the man makes a great point. I’m not even talking about using all those washes and scrubs with those weird little beads in them or a pumice stone or anything like that. I mean, if any/all of those are your thing, more power to you. No, I’m simply talking about getting that water running (warm for me, personally) and a little bit of suds from the soap, lathering up, washing down, drying up and moving on.

No matter how long your day has been, a nice face wash is like hitting the reset button on your Super Nintendo after you accidentally died in Mario Bros.

It’s the little things in life that count folks.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling: Sneezing somewhere, like in your car, where you can’t immediately either wash your hands or at least clean your face.

Maybe I’m out of my mind, but it seems to me like every time I walk into Target there trying to sell me (extremely) discounted sugar cookies in that area in the front. You know that area I’m talking about, the 105% off area that might as well be called “Shit No One Else Wants and That We Can’t, By Law, Give Away For Free, But Definitely Would If We Could”.

One time it was the powdered, mix-and-bake sugar cookies and frosting. Other times it has been already made sugar cookies. Sometimes they’re holiday-colored.

Every time, I stop and look at the “sale” as if sugar cookies are A) ever expensive enough that buying them on sale is worth doing and/or B) are rare to the point that I should be even remotely surprised a store that sells (almost literally) everything sells them.

But yet, I buy them almost every time. And each of those times, I feel great about it. You could argue, if you had no life and were so inclined, that this feeling could simply be “Buying/Eating Sugar Cookies”. And you know what? I wouldn’t argue with you on that point.

But for me, there is an added value, ridiculous as it may be, for getting not only the mix but the frosting for nearly 40 cookies for 99 cents.

That’s a great feeling.

Polar Opposite of This Feeling?: Buying cookies from a store when you’re expecting them to be soft and they turn out to be either stale or crispy or both.

You put one dollar, absentmindedly into a vending machine. You don’t even really want anything that this sugary contraption has to offer, you really just wanted to get out of your chair, your cubicle for a moment.

There’s a Butterfinger at E6 that looks good, a Kit Kat at E8 and some fruit snacks at C2. All of these are fine options, none particularly exciting but enough that it’s worth wasting a perfectly crisp, nice dollar bill on.

And then, you see it.

That bag of Fritos dangling at A1. It’s wedged in between the side wall and the next Fritos bag in the row.  You don’t really like Fritos much and you’re nervous about the prospect of the two bags both being more jammed in there than you can tell from your only vantage point. You weigh the pros and cons in your head and ultimately decide this is what life is about, these are the sort of risks your ex-girlfriend dumped you for never taking.

Knowing full well you could either end up with nothing or two bags of a corn chip you can’t fucking stand, you opt for the latter because two is better than one, in almost every single purchasing-related situation.

The spiral holder spins and you hold your breath. The dangling bag jiggles a little as the two bags are now both out of their aisle, but are caught between the side and front wall.

You got nothing.

Pissed off beyond belief over one dollar and snacks you didn’t even want, you look around to see if anyone has seen this crime against humanity, surely the first of its kind.

No one has.

Overwhelmed with rage, you violently shake the machine, your rocking coming dangerously close to tipping the machine. Then, it happens. Something in the heavens has broken loose.

You have two bags of Fritos. For the price of one.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling? Now having to eat those two disgusting bags of Fritos and the ensuing smell of your breath.

Frankly, remembering any dream is a great feeling, but being able to wake up and remember either a crazy or fun (or, crazily fun) dream is a top-50 feeling, no question about it.

There really isn’t much else to say about this specific feeling, so instead I’ll just tell a story about a dream I recently remembered that was both crazy and fun.

Here’s what I wrote down as soon as I woke up:

In the dream, I was some how friends with a friend from work’s husband. I should note, I’ve met this man one time and we had a fairly non-descript time together. His name is Jon and he seems like a great guy, but I honestly don’t know (sort of like how I have no idea what the fuck he was doing in my dream as I can’t even tell you what his voice sounds like).

Anyway, my best pal Jon and I were in some sort of high school/college mashup together and were chosen to head up the committee to get fellow students amped up before the annual Valentine’s Day Dance. Immediately, I offer to the group the following plan:

I will start by playing an acoustic version of The Beatles “Yesterday” in front of the packed assembly of students. Just when they’re starting to mellow out and lose interest in getting amped for a big party/dance, we will start playing “Mo Money Mo Problems” and because Jon has connections to her, Kate Upton will then walk down the parted assembly. Everyone will go crazy. Then we will dance and be merry.

No one questioned this plan. It was unilaterally approved and people were excited.

It wasn’t until I left the meeting with Jon that I realize this event was the next day and Jon not only wasn’t connected to Kate Upton (or, B.J. or Justin, for that matter), but I couldn’t play anything on the guitar, let alone a beautiful Beatles song. In fact, I didn’t (and don’t, in real life) even own any musical instruments. I was terrified.

As dreams tend to, time sped up to immediately prior to the event. Still terrified, I tried strumming on a pot that looked like a banjo to no avail. As the dance was set to begin, I left the stage (and Jon, alone up there. My best friend, totally deserted) to head back to our dorm room. In Jon’s freezer was a tub of weed ice cream which I devoured and instantly found myself high beyond recognition.

That was how the dream ended. With me high off ice cream after deserting my best friend in the whole world and without a trace of Kate Upton.

If that’s not fun to remember, I don’t know what is.

Skeptics with a penchant for shouting may point to #130 and say, “Uh, Scott, these are the same thing!”

To them, I’d say, “Uh, lower your voice, first off, and second, no, they are not.”

High fives are done among friends or people pretending to be friends. They’re primarily (if even exclusively) a male thing outside of the world of athletics.

Handshakes cross between genders, involve superiors and jobs and money and greetings. Some of the same concerns exist (e.g., sweaty palms) and some of the high five concerns have gone (e.g., one guy going high five, the other going fist bump) but handshakes are their own thing.

A good handshake communicates so much and while fleeting in time, it contains a handful (pun, intended) of factors. Sweat on hand, firmness, duration, number of pumps, eye contact, reach (that guy who has hands that reach up to your wrist is a real joy).

These are all factors and if done properly, you’re looking at feeling #129.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: The dead fish handshake.

On some days, you’ll stretch in varying degrees and elements. If you’re particularly unlucky, you might crack your back as you roll out of bed, then again as you step into the shower and a final time as you reach down to grab the shampoo. Those days are awful.

What I’m talking about is when you’ve been sitting at work for some indeterminate amount of time and all of the sudden, you remember that you haven’t stretched yourself out yet that day. You reach your arms up high, there might be a slight crack, there might not be. You twist your head a little bit to each side, reach your fingers individually out as far as they’ll go. You hold that position for what feels like an eternity and it’s at the end of that often unintentional stretch that you realize, Holy Shit, that felt great.

Polar Opposite of the this Feeling?:  When you’re stretching before you are working out (or after, for that matter) and you just can’t get that kink out of your back and you’re afraid that if you go a little further you might paralyze yourself.