#102 – Listening to An Old Mixtape (or CD) from When You Were A Kid and Loving it Just as Much as You Did Back Then

mixtapesI primarily made mixes on CDs, not tapes, but I thought that image was a lot cooler than a CD. It’s really the only advantage the tape has… it looks cooler.

Currently I drive a car that has a CD player. It’s about the only place I know where I can listen to these mixes, and I fear that’s going away. Well, I know it’s going away, but I fear that eventuality.

Sure, the ability to carry around all your songs on your phone with incredible audio quality is an upgrade. But, like with most positive change, you do lose some good. In this case, it’s the permanence that burning/taping a mix created. That was a timestamp as to what you were listening to, what you thought was cool at that exact moment in time. It wasn’t nearly as easy (and in many cases, impossible) to make changes on the fly to your playlist.

There’s something really fun (and funny) about unearthing a CD with “Scott’s RAP BANGERZ” written in my shitty pen on a CD, featuring Nelly’s “Country Grammar” and, because I put it on every cd, Common’s “The Light”. And, finding that I still enjoy the hell out of the CD… more than 10 years later.

Long live compact discs.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Being really excited to listen to this CD, but finding out it’s so scratched you can’t get more than one verse into a song without it skipping all over the place. And, of course, the songs you don’t want to hear, it plays without issue. Of course.

#131 – Finding Out They’re Making a Sequel to a Movie You Loved as a Kid

142vio1111111This feeling is entirely about the moment of anticipation. You know, that thing the entire movie industry is based upon nowadays. Teaser trailers and first looks and full trailers and international trailers and second trailers and revealed scenes and director insights… all at least 8-18 months before a movie even comes out.

It’s all about getting you hyped, quality and originality of content be damned.

The original Dumb and Dumber was, maybe, my favorite movie as a kid. I honestly rented it so often from Blockbuster that my dad forced me to get something else eventually. We definitely rented it enough that we could’ve simply bought it several times over and saved money. Ah, the days before internet shopping.

So you could imagine my excitement when I discovered there would be a sequel of a childhood favorite. Sure, it was two decades later, both star actors looked way past prime for an endeavor of this sort, and comedy sequels very, very rarely work… But I was in.

That was, of course, until…

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Watching the actual movie.

#242 – Finding Lint In Your Belly Button

istock_000067581469_smallFirst off, I think it merits mentioning that in looking for pictures to use for this post, I was so nauseated by the images that came up in my search (close-ups of belly buttons, thick pieces of lint and the like) that I seriously debated getting rid of this feeling entirely.

Then, I scratched my own belly button and found a piece of the shirt I was wearing and all was resolved.

There’s actual studies on how this even happens at all. Seriously, this guy dedicated three years to studying this “phenomena”. I mean… what is the joke for that? Honestly? A man dedicates three plus years to studying fucking belly button lint. Low-hanging fruit doesn’t even begin to describe this.

Anyway… I don’t know why or if I’m the only one who finds a bit of weird satisfaction out of getting a nice rip out of the ole belly button. Maybe it’s the cleanliness of it? I don’t know, but I know I like it.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Finding out your significant other has an outie belly button and having to tell them you can’t see them any longer.

#107 – Making A Diving Play

EDMONDSThis one goes out to all the ballers out there, grinding on the playgrounds of America and just hoping (praying) for that one chance. That one opportunity to make a play.

Nay, not just any play.

A sprinting, diving, full-extension, game-on-the-line-and-the-outcome-actually-means-something-and-you’re-not-just-diving-because-you-got-a-late-break-or-want-to-show-off-but-because-you-really-had-to-dive-to-get-it diving play.

That’s the stuff dreams are made of. Hell, the only real reason I still play softball with friends any longer is so that maybe, perhaps once a summer, a ball will randomly be hit to an area on the field just far enough away that I can’t get to it easily but close enough where I can still get to it if I put (whatever I now consider) max effort in.

At this age, I’d still even consider a half-slide, half-dive to be equal to this feeling. It’s great because it’s rare, sure, but it’s also great because it’s the same athletic excellence-feeling as dunking—something most (read: all) of us will never (ever) do.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Watching the ball go flying past you before you hit the grass/dirt and totally whiff on the catch, letting not only your team, but your entire extended family down in the process.

#120 – Getting a Paycheck in High School (or earlier)

kltzkflWhen I was a kid, I worked. I mean, “work” is relative, I suppose. It’s not like I was a farm hand or electrician’s assistant. I referee’d basketball, umpired baseball, counseled campers and for a few summers/winters in the most blatant STAY IN SCHOOL job I’ve ever had I stocked shelves at an auto parts warehouse. That job alone could get it’s own post, but I digress.

Point of all this is… I think now, if you’re a gainfully employed adult, you take paychecks for granted. Hell, most of us don’t even actually receive hard-copy paychecks any more. When they do get deposited into our accounts, it’s just a little bit we use to stave off the beast of bills, rent checks, mortgages, bank statements, car notes, college loans and other not-fun-things we spend money on as adults.

But think back, if you will, to getting those first checks. Some of mine would arrive, after what was at that point a full work week (I worked all of Saturday afternoon and two nights during the week! Gee wiz!) totaling no more than $100. Typically, it was far less. But, boy did it feel great. You didn’t care how much money was being taken out of your check, you didn’t have bills to pay. Your only concern was how fast you could spend it… how many CDs you could buy or candy at the mall or movie theater tickets or video games or jerseys… The world was yours (provided, of course, you officiated enough sporting events).

This is a top feeling because we’ll never go back there again, and primarily that’s a great thing. But, the joy of having money you earned yourself and being able to spend it only on fun shit… god, that was the life.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Every other Friday of your adult life, until you retire or die.

#76 – Eating a Red Sour Patch Kid

394389586_640I think we can all agree, once and for all, that the red sour patch kid (or, SPK as those dear to my heart call them) is clearly the most delicious.

Sure, there’s the offshoot brands–your fruits and your Xtremes (yes, there’s no “e”… it’s that much of a wild card)–but nothing quite comes close to the magic of the original big red.

Why they haven’t made a bag of just reds at this point is beyond me. To a man (and woman, and child), it’s pretty clear red is the best. Yet, somehow the watermelon gets its own bag. And the peach. And the cherry.

But no red.

Before I get too sidetracked, here’s a fun game I sometimes play when eating kids. And by “fun game”, I of course mean thing I do to forget I’m stuffing my gullet with candy.

I call it SPK Roulette. I’ll blindly reach a hand in to the bag (I’ve stopped fucking with those vending machine-sized pouches years ago… it’s the duffle bag size or bust for me), something most wouldn’t dream of doing. The intent, of course, is to pull out a red. Obviously, green isn’t a doomsday scenario, but you get the point. So, the fun comes when you hit a rip of reds, two, three, four in a row. How long can you push your luck? It’s anyone’s guess, but it’s fun for the whole family.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Biting into a banana runt. Those fucking things are the most disgusting candy on the face of planet Earth, and that includes Good & Plenty.

#241 – Getting Something Framed

roger-rabbitMore often than not, I’ve enthusiastically uttered the phrase “I’m going to frame this!” about that sports thing or this photo. And, more often than not, nothing comes of it. I wind up forgetting or deciding not to even waste the time or money on it. Most of the things I own that are framed were given to me that way.

With that in mind, here’s a story for you. A few years ago, I bought art. That’s a big deal for me, for two reasons: 1) it’s something other than an unframed movie poster to put on my wall and 2) it’s fucking art. You know, the shit grownups buy to put on their wall (read: things men buy when they start living with women and this sort of stuff inexplicably starts to matter).

Now, I should clarify.. the “art” in question here isn’t a painting or something abstract. After all, I am the one who bought it, so it had to have a little of me in it. But still it wasn’t until it arrived from Australia that I even considered the idea of framing it.

Of course, the prints I received weren’t traditionally sized and so it wouldn’t be a simple buy-it-off-the-rack job. No, no. I’d have to take it to a framing place.

Here’s two things I discovered upon visiting a few of these stores:

  1. It was going to cost me way (way, way) more to frame the items than it did to purchase them and have them shipped literally from the other side of the fucking planet. I was, and continue to be, at a loss for how something like this isn’t talked about more often. The person creating the art charges less than the person putting a wood square around it. I mean…
  2. Just like any other business, they will try to up-sell the shit out of you. One store actually offered me some sort of protective glare thing for the glass on the frame. I calmly explained that I intended to display the artwork on the inside of my apartment and promptly walked out.

So, like any disgruntled framer–or woman looking to get her craft-game on–I headed to Michael’s. I got me a nice black, normal frame (still too expensive) and picked it up a week or so later.

It felt generally ridiculous, the rigamarole and cost that went into it. But, hanging it on the wall as opposed to taping it? Well, that felt (sad as it is to say) shamelessly satisfying.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: The annoying feeling of asking someone, anyone, over and over… how does this look… here? Better here? No. No… Here. Is it straight? It’s even? You’re sure?