Sharing Time!

We’re all just kids waiting at a bus stop

There are two groups of kids waiting at the bus stop with me. The differences between the two groups are staggering and noticeable within the first twenty seconds of seeing them.

One group: two kids with bikes. One is pudgy and one is hilariously undersized, leading me to wish that I could somehow combine the two kids into an average sized kid and ensure that adolescence would be a little less awkward for someone, albeit an imaginary hybrid kid I’ve just made up. Both have, “I’m thirteen and as difficult as it is to look at me, it’s even worse to be me” written all over them. Their t-shirts advertise a summer camp and a Nike design from two summers ago. There is a desperation to be liked surrounding them that somehow cannot be pegged to the fact that they’re young, which is even sadder.

The other group: three kids the same exact age and yet things could not seem different. Their sunglasses are cooler, their hair Efronesque. There is confidence oozing out of these kids. Confidence?! What have these kids ever accomplished? Where does this come from? Does it even matter? That’s the thing about confidence. People you just meet or who see you on the street have no idea if your confidence is earned. You can’t ask them to prove their accomplishments like an Arizonan cop asking foreigners for their ID. It’s just not done. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to try.

“What have you done in your life, young man?” I’ll ask.

“I was on the All Star team for my little leag…” he’ll say.

“Shut up! Shut up! Your accomplishments are invalid! Start to feel horrible about yourself like everyone else, you little shit!” I’ll say.

I’ll most likely be sent to jail for this outburst, but if that kid gets a seed of doubting his abilities even temporarily, I think I’ll have accomplished something.

Making the world miserable, one person at a time

When I have a daughter one day, I will name her Swoosiekurtz after the great actress Swoosie Kurtz. We will call her Swoosie for short. When I get mad at her, I’ll scream, “Swoosiekurtz, get over here!” and she’ll have to come over because that will be her name.

I’m really excited to have a young person hate me one day.

Ice cream is a gift

This dude bagging my groceries at Whole Foods looks like Zack de la Rocha. For real.

I wonder if he’ll appreciate that I’m buying the delicious new Ben & Jerry’s flavor “Freedom From Vanilla” that was developed with his group, Rage Against the Machine. It’s a creamy blend of coffee ice cream made from beans grown in Chiapas with chunks of fair-trade certified bananas, mixed together and then produced in a factory solely staffed by workers without European ancestry. On the side of the pints of ice cream is an inspirational lyric from one of their songs, slightly modified.

“It’s set up like a deck of cards

They’re sending us to early graves

But that’s cool because in heaven there’s Freedom From Vanilla ice cream

Made by the good people at Ben & Jerry’s and Unilever”

Get your pint today!

We came in 69th place

At quiz night last night the question was, “What’s the cheery name for the patch of hair underneath a man’s belly button?”

The answer was “happy trail”, but I like my answer better… trail of tears.

I read this book slowly and savored it like a fine wine in book form. Hold on, that Kenny Loggins song “Danger Zone” just came on. Gotta listen to it real quick.

Ok, that was great. One of the things you learn in improv is a concept known as “playing to the top of your intelligence.” The best improvisers do this. They’re not making obvious jokes. They take ordinary topics and elevate them. Klosterman does this well, especially when it comes to TV shows. I think if he exclusively wrote about TV shows, I’d be alright with that. My other favorite part of the book were the questions. And apparently I’m not alone in being a huge fan… it’s been turned into a parlor game.

This is the kind of book you probably can’t go wrong in buying a copy of for a friend who is a pop-culture junkie.

Joke > Fact > Odd Coincidence

The most surprising part of my weekend was while on the tour of the Avery Brewing factory, the tour guide noted that a certain machine was known as Ron Jeremy because “it fills boxes all day.” With beer bottles, obviously.

I’ll say one thing, you don’t get that kind of commentary on the Coors tour. Though it would be equally shocking if you were walking on the factory floor at Coors and they mentioned that their founder jumped to his death from a hotel room balcony. I discovered this by going on Wikipedia, which sourced that fact from a book… which happened to be written by a man whose house I’ve been to.

I always forget how small and interconnected the world is, so it’s fun to be reminded of that courtesy of a tasteless sex joke on a brewery tour.

What I write when I haven’t had much to eat all day

My birthday was this weekend. As the party wound down, we had two options: go to the strip club or Scrabble. I don’t like to brag, but I scored that night. Triple word score, that is! I got gonorrhea. On the board, that is! I call my dick “the board.” Scrabble is the name of a local whorehouse, called that because the pimp who runs said house o’ prostitution’s favorite phrase is, “don’t hate the playa, hate the game.” My birthday really was this weekend though.

I turned five.

I second that emotion

I just successfully parallel parked a car on a busy street in a major American city. Suck it, people who did not think I was capable of this!

Oh, it was just me? Well, self-haters gonna self-hate and whatnot.

Clifford the Big Red Dog saved up for years and years and was finally able to afford the liposuction he so desperately needed.

Something I wrote on my 10th birthday that also applies to today

Today is my birthday. I turn a big number that is scary. Tonight I will have a party with my friends. They are cool, but I also like being alone and reading lots of books. Books also don’t make fun of me for being a jew or the because I only wear sweatpants or because I haven’t ever kissed a girl. My favorite music is by Wilson Phillips because in their video they are three girls on top of a mountain singing about “holding on” and I can relate because I hold on to myself quite frequently. That is a joke about my penis. I should probably stop joking around about my privates soon because my parents say it is not a big boy word. I think it’s funny.

I’m excited about what being 10 will be like, though I have no idea what will happen, which is scary, but also really cool.

Now I will write the word penis five hundred times and see if it’s less funny on the five hundredth try.

(Writes the word 499 times.)
Penis.

I cannot control my laughter. My mom is taking me to the doctor now.