Month: March 2015

My apartment, generally speaking, doesn’t keep outside weather outside. When it’s freezing outside, it’s pretty damn cold inside. That said, I’m generally pretty good when it comes to just about every other spot than my hands.

Now, I’m sure I’m not the only one who has cold hands.  My roommate, for sure, is on the list. That’s a story for another day as I’m pretty sure he has some yet-to-be-discovered blood disorder, but the fact remains that cold hands—I’m fairly confident—aren’t a rare affliction.

And so, for any of the legions of you that have been where I’ve been, where gloves and blowing don’t quite do the trick, you know there’s few things better than the quick-warm. I’m talking putting your hands directly over a radiator or pot of boiling soup, washing your hands in scalding water, or simply putting your hands in your pants.*

You go from ice cold to toasty, almost instantaneously. Gone are numbness and freezing. You suddenly have dexterity, quite literally, at your fingertips.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: If you go for the hand-in-pant or sitting-on-hand strategy to warm up, that initial feeling of COLD skin on WARM flesh.

*Mock all you want, ladies. It does the job.

About three years ago, my mom kicked me to the curb. After years of doing my taxes for free, she told me I needed to either chip in or do ’em myself. I responded in kind, probably something with an expletive and neglecting of the reality of how it was, in fact, time for me to do it myself.

And so I did. I shopped around, found that–as a single man with no dependents–all those tax houses are (WITHOUT QUESTION) rip-offs and that you can just do it yourself. This feeling isn’t about the satisfaction of doing it on your own (although, that did feel good).

This feeling is about the moment a few weeks later, when a certain something came in the mail. You see, I’m old school. I could have just as easily had the refund deposited into an account of mine, but, I knew that would be too easy for them*. I opted, as I’m sure most people do not, to receive the paper check.

It’s a feeling certainly shared by at least one semi-pro hockey player-turned-pro golfer. I like knowing that they had to put in at least a little effort to get that to me. I like looking at that big Statue of Liberty on the check, the colors, the eagle, all that shit. It’s the closest I’ll ever have to one of those golf checks our pal Happy yearned for so dearly.

And, above all, you get to actually put in money to your account. So, that’s nice.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Checking your bank statement to see how much money is in it, assuming the rent check or car payment has been processed already because of how low the number is, and then realizing, in fact, neither of those have been deducted.

*Them, of course being the government, and by extension, THE MAN.

Friend: You should watch “The Last Man on Earth”

Me: That one with Will Forte? On FOX?

Friend: Yes. It’s really funny. You need to watch it.

Me: But, isn’t it on FOX?

And so, on we went, me questioning how a live television comedy could actually be recommended by someone with good taste (of which my friend is impeccable) and him answering that, despite all previous signs to the contrary, this show was actually pretty good.

This feeling isn’t about The Last Man on Earth specifically. In fact, I’ve only seen those first two episodes… and who the hell knows, the rest of the series could absolutely stink, but that’s not what this feeling is about.

What this is about is finding out about a new show, one you’d already heard of but didn’t have either enough energy or interest to seek it out on your own, actually hearing good things about it, and then watching it to discover that it was, in fact, as funny as your good-tasted friend said it would be.

Now don’t get me wrong, there’s a lot of good comedy out there. Broad City, Man Seeking Woman just to name a few… But I already knew about those. I have expectations for them and I’m not surprised when they make me laugh. But, finding a new player for the roster? That’s a swell feelin, y’all.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Well, there’s two. There’s the obvious, which is that the show you’re recommended sucks worse than Mulaney. Or, perhaps more soul-crushing, is realizing, after investing in the entire season, that it never got better than those first two episodes.

It’s really not that hard, is it? It’s right there, at the bottom of all those incessant promotional e-mails, some you remember “signing up” for, others you have no idea what you did to get in that company’s crosshairs.

But the bottom line is that bottom… line, isn’t it? That little guy, often times hidden, in smaller font that says “Unsubscribe”. All you’ve got to do is click on it, follow a few small steps, and it’s out of your hair for good. And yet, what do we often do?

Nothing.

Maybe it’s because G-Mail’s new-ish Primary/Social/Promotions division of labor has made it so that you aren’t nearly as bothered by that bullshit as you once were*. I’d still wager heavily on it being a product of you (or me) being a lazy ass.

Like most people, I get anywhere from seven to seventeen times the amount of junk e-mail as I do regular stuff. Eventually, even I get to a breaking point and start unsubscribin’ like a mo-fo.

Today, dear friends, was that day, and the extra room in that inbox feels great.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: When you think you’ve cleared enough out, only to realize that somehow even more marketing companies have your e-mail address and will flood your inbox until you either give up and let it happen, or pass away.

*If you aren’t using G-Mail for your personal e-mail, shame on you, for real.