scott spinelli

Let’s do this one in reverse.

Polar Opposite of This Feeling?: Getting on to the train or in your car or anywhere else and you know it’s going to be a while before you can charge again. For most people, the device we’re probably talking about here is a cell phone, but for me it’s my iPod (Yes, I still use one of those old school, big charging port, no-WiFi-just-music iPods… sue me).

I’m starting off like this because this feeling always is dangerously close to careening off the edge and into disaster. But, when you are able to skate the line and wind up in the clear, that’s a glorious win.

Imagine: you pop on down the stairs and into the subway, blissfully listening to whatever new Bruno Mars song has caught your fancy. For whatever reason, you take the device out of your pocket to check something and are stunned to discover how low your battery is… You panic, initially, wondering how on Earth you’ll be able to survive the rest of the journey without music to block out your fellow human travelers. Then, you start thinking of ways to minimize the damage… What if I don’t hit the volume or ‘next song’ buttons? How about lowering the screen brightness or volume in general?… Ultimately, you decide to press on, realizing you have no choice, but desperately fearing the dark side of this reality.

It doesn’t happen often, but when you do make it to the other side unscathed and in the good graces of your battery, that’s got to be as good as cheating death.

It should be pointed out, this is a very superficial feeling. I mean, let’s be fair here: it’s not like we’re talking about this person (be it a girl you think is hot, a minor or major celebrity, someone that can help your career, whatever) actually doing something for you. They’re simply hitting a button which relays what you said, to the people that listen to what they say. Realistically, there isn’t much less they could do to show support.

But, in the world of twitter, it means a lot. Many of us have gotten that retweet from someone that made you say, “Holy shit, (someone) just retweeted me!” And yes, as I’m sure you’re wondering, it’s happened to me. Twice, actually.

His name is Edward Burns. I’ve detailed my fandom of him before (here and here), so we don’t need to get into that again. I’m a fan, big time—this we know. And as such, it comes as no surprise that, after watching Newlyweds and Fitzgerald Family Christmas, I tweeted out something positive both times.

Now, I realize it makes sense he’d retweet something good about a movie of his, but the fact is he has a lot of followers and couldn’t possibly do that for every single tweet. That I happened to be a random selection out of the thousands—well, that’s just good fortune.

And while I don’t think it makes me a better guy, it certainly made me feel better at that moment.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Reaching out to someone on twitter, especially someone you know, and getting nothing in response. A public ignore.

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.

I try to keep a generally healthy lifestyle. I don’t overindulge in fast food or ice cream or cakes. Sure, I’ve been known to have my Sour Patch Kid fixes, gone for days from my job and apartment only to be discovered in frazzled haze, dusted with sour sugar flakes behind the Walgreen’s on Washington Street… but that’s another story for another day.

The point of all this is to say that, while I do like to make certain efforts to keep healthy, I can’t pretend that I don’t indulge in eating some stuff that can’t be classified as anything other than garbage. Sure, it’s not actual trash but it might as well be. You know, going in, that it’s not a great idea, but you can’t resist.

And that, in fact, is the funniest part. Only the actual eating of said horseshit makes you feel good. No one feels good on line at Popeye’s, or when they’re throwing away that little paper box, grease having made it’s mark on the sides. It’s only while consumption is occurring, not for a minute more or less. That ought to say something, no?

But, shit… those moments when you are ripping apart a tender, wolfing down a mini-burger, slurping down a soda… not much better than those.

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: The exact moment you finish, and you know you’re probably going to need cous cous or some salad-type shit for the next three meals just to put yourself back in balance.

Don’t fear it. Seriously, trust me… Just try it once, if you haven’t already, and you’ll never want to go back with another human.

Think of the benefits… You don’t have to talk to anyone, you don’t have to explain any of the plot to anyone, it costs half as much (no more dates to the movies, enough already), you can go to whatever showing of whatever movie you like at whatever theater is most convenient to YOU… There’s really no downside.

It’s not like a sporting event or a meal, things that generally work better in the company of others. The whole idea of the movie, the reason you’re in that huge, dark room is to drown out anything other than that enormous screen in front of you.

So, next time the urge hits you to see a movie… Don’t ask anyone if they are free. Don’t text anyone. Don’t make any calls. Just find the next time you are free and where the movie is playing most conveniently for you. Set that time aside, go to the movie, and enjoy.

You are welcome

Polar Opposite of this Feeling?: Man, there’s so many. How about being forced to see some nonsense your significant other wants to see, but you’d never watch if it was LITERALLY the only thing on TV during an immobilizing storm. Or, being at the movies and being surrounded by people (namely, women in this case) who can’t stop asking the people with them to help explain every twist and turn as if the person(s) with them had received an advanced copy of the script.