Month: December 2013

I don’t keep my phone on anything but vibrate or silent any more. It’s been that way for about, honestly, four years. So, with that said, I miss a decent amount of phone calls, e-mails and texts. Which, if you know me, is sort of pathetic because not that many people are calling, e-mailing or texting.

Still, when the phone is on vibrate, there isn’t much better than getting a text message. You might argue that a call is more significant, but frankly, that’s why it’s worse. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of these new-age hipsters that only communicates via textual message. I enjoy a good phone call every so often and even prefer it at times when I know it’ll save me time.

But, the text is always a nice feeling. For me, it’s a longer buzz than the e-mail and shorter than the ones in the ringtone. Twitter gives off two shots, voicemails are one longer one. But the text is quick, distinguishable. From the depths of my pocket, I know based on vibration when I’ve received one.

Of course, my first hope is that it’s a girl. She wants to meet up as soon as I’m free, she found my number and had to reach out to me. Naturally, this is a ridiculous premise—it’s typically a family member or friend—but a boy can dream.

And, you see, that’s what this feeling is about. It’s the excitement of not knowing who it is at first. It’s the fun of knowing that someone actually wanted to reach out to you. Of all the people in their phone book, they chose you.

Polar Opposite of This Feeling? Getting a phone call from a random number, getting excited it might be someone or something fun and having it be one of those recorded voices telling you that you’ve just won a vacation.

Unless you’re like my friend Rob, most clothes don’t fit you like they do the mannequins*. The large is just a little too long in the arms or baggy in the waste while the medium looks like you’re wearing your little brother’s clothes… from the 6th grade. The XL used to be cool in high school and the small said bye-bye about 15 years back. You’re in no-man’s land.

Then, one day, you come across a store that some how has a size for you. Of course, they still go by the traditional norms of large, medium, etc… but it’s as if this store made these measurements with you in mind.

For me, that store is Express. For whatever reason, their 1X Modern Fit shirt in medium fits me like no shirt ever has. For years, I’ve been trying to find a shirt/sweater/polo that doesn’t look ridiculous on me. I’ve either had it appear as if I’ve got a tarp stuffed into the back of my khakis or as if I’m wearing a marionette’s outfit. Nothing in between.

Until now, that is.

The funniest thing about all of this, to me, is that I’m not even much of a shopper. I do it maybe twice a year with any real earnest. Both are generally in the company of my mom and one is always around my birthday (and that’s only because it’s not socially acceptable to ask for toys any longer).

But, now that I’m at least attempting to play an adult in real life, I’ve found that at times I need to look the part. Until this store goes out of business, I can.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling? Forgetting what size you are in that store, buying the wrong size and coming home to realize your tragic mistake.

*Side note about this kid: He’s in good shape and stands at least 6 feet tall, but there’s nothing Olympian about his physique. Yet, somehow, clothes fit him like he’s had everything from t-shirts to sweaters to suit jackets tailored. It’s fabulous.

Younger generations won’t even understand this one. When this list goes to the Smithsonian in a few years time, young children from an era unaware of a time without DVRs will simply be unable to understand the joy of this feeling. Lucky us.

Of course, people my age always had the ability to fast forward through commercials, whether it was through a DVR or VHS tape. I guess, for me, I specify DVR in this feeling because I wasn’t a crazy VHS-taper. Every so often I’d tape a show or sporting event, but nothing with incredibly frequency.

Nowadays I have my DVR on the hunt for Seinfeld, making sure at least 5 are always in stock at all times. My roommate tapes Anthony Bourdain and The League. Not that any of that matters. What matters is that whatever you’re watching is pure show.

Jeopardy! goes from a half hour to about 14 minutes. Saturday Night Live goes from an hour and a half to anywhere from 15 to 40 minutes depending on the week.

There’s something nice about being able to skip out on the commercials and it’s not just being able to watch only the content of the show. For me, it’s about control. For once, with regards to television, I’m in control. I don’t need to budget a full half hour or hour any longer… unless I want to.

Oh who are we kidding. It’s all about not watching commercials. They’re largely awful and now we can avoid them. I’m sure DVR boxes will get smarter and force us to watch certain amounts of commercials, but until then, long live the >>.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling? When you are watching something on delay, skipping all the commercials and eventually catch up to live. It’s great to be caught up… but sucks that you can’t fast forward any longer.

This is clearly a male-dominated feeling. I’m not even sure all men agree with me on this, but there’s something enjoyable about the occasional seated urination.

Before you say anything, I’m talking about the times when you’re already seated for other reasons on the toilet and remember you have to pee. I’ve never just randomly sat down to pee… that would just be strange.

And, I don’t think there’s a female equivalent to this. I’m nearly certain that, for a woman, peeing standing up is neither relaxing or a welcome change in routine. It’s simply a mess.

Either way, it’s not like aiming at a porcelain bowl the size of your torso is difficult, but it’s nice to be on cruise control. To know that you can simply take a load off. Hell, you’re already seated, why not?

Hopefully this explains it best: These situations typically don’t arise purposely. Instead, for me at least, they come after I’m done doing other business on the toilet and realize, “Hey there fella, you’ve gotta urinate…. And guess what, you’re already in here! And even better, you’re already sitting down! Let ‘er rip!”

Polar Opposite of this Feeling? Trying to pee with an erection. It’s just the pits.

I suppose this one makes the list because of how truly rare it is. Think about it… how often do you actually get a check, before or after taxes, that comes out to a whole number. I’m talking $34.00 even for something. It never happens.

Amongst my group of friends there was a game we’d play call “guess the check”. First person to grab the bill gets to be the game show host and go around the room asking for everyone’s guesses. Based on that knowledge, the host, if so inclined, will guess at the end. Depending on the group of pals I’m with, we may or may not be playing by Price is Right rules.

The point of all that is this: I’ve been playing the game for a long time and never–not once–has a check come out to a whole number. Once, a friend guessed a whole number. We didn’t talk to him for a week (then again, he couldn’t do much talking either seeing as we threw him in a burlap sack and beat the shit out of him for an hour).

I’m not sure I’ll feel any true satisfaction when my day comes for this feeling, which is probably why its #250. Still, I think the rarity will account for at least a hint of a smile. And when it happens, I can cross this off the list.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling? Having a bill come out to way, way higher than you thought with a group of people you’re not that great of friends with anyways.

As today is, in fact, the anniversary of the day of my birth, I felt it only appropriate for this post to be written.

Like many of the feelings we’ve already outlined, namely #209, this one doesn’t quite have the same punch to it now that I’m a little older. Of course, it’s still garnered entry into the top 100, so it’s not like it’s fallen completely off the map. But, I think we can all agree, if I was making this list at age 9, “your birthday” would have easily been a top 5 selection.

Still, despite the fact that people no longer dote on you on your special day like they did when you were younger, there is a special air of the day. You feel entitled to do and say much more than you might normally and people don’t tend to react the way they typically might. A simple, “Come on, it’s my birthday” is sure to squash any beef.

Beyond the obvious–gifts, attention, some misplaced feeling I always have to the effect of “let me treat myself to [insert something fairly unnecessary and likely more expensive than I should be purchasing] because I happened to born on this day, years ago”–one of my favorite things about the birthday is that you can use it to get your pals together.

If I told people I was having a party on a regular weekend, odds are strong that few people show. My roommate isn’t even likely to turn up. But, when I say it’s for my birthday, then people come out of the woodwork. I don’t say that in a “my friends are phony” sense. No, quite the opposite in fact. It’s just that for whatever reason we all feel an incredible sense of duty not to let friends down on their birthday. We’ll talk shit and miss out on the things that are truly important in their lives, but a birthday party… forget it… not missing it for the world.

Another thing I love are the Facebook well wishes. You always say it doesn’t matter and who cares, right? But, you know that there’s a definite part of you that needs there to be at least some activity on that wall. It doesn’t matter who it is… hell, you might not even speak to the person… but there needs to be something. One additional note here: I love how early some people get on it on Facebook. I’m amazed, year in and year out, that there are people who consistently have the Happy Birthday post up there before 3 or 4 AM East Coast time. I can’t explain it.

Either way… while the rest of you peasants wait for your big day, today is mine. I’ll enjoy the rest of it like it’s my last.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling? Tomorrow.

I truly do applaud those that can give up bread, be it for a diet or just general health purposes. I imagine that as I get older I’ll have to limit my intake of such things, but to cut them off entirely wouldn’t be worth it. I mean that.

If you think I’m kidding, you don’t know me.

Some of my happiest times are walking back from any of the number of delis in Hoboken, sandwich in hand, ready to devour it once I’ve returned to my apartment. Sometimes I’ll go with the breaded chicken cutlet, some arugula, mozzarella, pesto spread and sun dried tomatoes. Other times it’ll be roast beef, turkey and hot soppressatta with lettuce and tomatoes. When I’m really lucky, I’ll get my true go to: just ham, hot soppressata, sharp provolone cheese and fried long hot peppers.

Just typing that stuff right now, as it’s near noon and I haven’t had lunch, gets my mouth watering and my whole body excited in a way few things can.

Of course, we all have our favorites. I’ve listed a few of mine above, but I could go on for a while. There’s the various Gobbler sandwiches around Thanksgiving, Jewish deli corned beef, hot sandwiches like chicken parm and cheese steaks… I think you get the point.

That first bite though, of your favorite, that’s a fantastic feeling.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling? Walking to the deli only to find out it’s closed.

Actually, not just a full gas tank. I’m talking about that brief period of time right after you fill up, when the needle actually rests above the F. That, my friends, is freedom.

You feel like the whole world is your oyster (though, now that I use it, what does that expression even really mean? Don’t most people dislike oysters? I do. I find the consistency disgusting, but that’s neither here nor there).

Either way… I don’t know about you, but every time this happens, there’s a part of me that feels like I should just take off for some sort of ridiculous road trip. Maybe I’ll head to California or down South. Perhaps Boston or Chicago. Point is, not wherever I am at that exact moment. Then, of course, reality sets in. The attendant hands me back my credit card with my receipt, I thank him, he mutters unintelligibly in Russian and I carry on my way.

Sometimes the greatest feelings are the most fleeting. This is one of those cases.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling? When that light comes on and you have no idea how much time you have left til you run out of gas. Your life turns into Hunger Games for a gas station.