Let’s Make Outlandish and Unachievable New Years Goals That We Will Inevitably Fail At!
I love the new year. And here’s why.
It’s all about setting goals that are ridiculous. At least for me. Instead of setting some moderate ‘resolution’ for myself, it’s always like, “I WILL LOSE 40 POUNDS, AND WILL NOT QUIT UNTIL I’M EMACIATED AND PEOPLE THINK I NEED HELP!” My dieting skills usually involve “I’ll just eat cereal every meal of the day.” Hey, guess what? That doesn’t work. Because it turns out there’s a reason you were eating hamburgers. Because they taste like ‘delicious’. Turns out shredded wheat tastes like ‘meh’, and after your 9,246th bowl of it, it tastes like ‘not that delicious’. Other goals I have set that have failed in years previous:
- I will not get in a fight with my girlfriend! (no seriously, I think this was in high school. Oh to be young and naive to the fact that dating solely involves fighting, sexual relations and the occasional shared interest. Shhh..I know that was pessimistic)
- I will stop smoking pot entirely! (a little background on this one: I was in college, I was roughly smoking a weed amount that equals “a lot”/”you should be mentally retarded and useless in any conversation with another human in daily interactions.” Ambitiously, I was just going to wake up and stop? Hilarious. I made it two days. Then I watched Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles and ate an entire jumbo box of Mac and Cheese. You win, Kraft. You Win.)
- I will stop lying, just in general, ever. (Which, ironically becomes a lie when you lie about something. See how I did that? I know, you’re amazed at my use of clever wit. This is also impossible because lying is great fun from time to time. Like when I tell the DMV that I am of Asian decent, just to see if they are paying attention)
Point being, I’ve decided this year to scale it back a bit and go for the baby step format of resolutions. I figure, if I set the bar ridiculously low, I will inevitably want to high five myself by years end. So here’s where I’m at for 2010 life goals.
I will listen to Hall and Oates a lot.
I am close to even declaring this the year of Hall and Oates. No, i’m serious, try to not enjoy them upon letting them back into your life. For starters, Hall clearly does most of the leg work in the band, while Oates just kind of stares with a perm in the background of every video. Incredible, has anyone ever gotten THIS hardcore of a free ride before? I commend you, John Oates. Secondly, their music is 100% good, every time. I don’t get it. They also have a knack for singing about some seriously creepy shit without being called out on it, at all. “Private eyes, are watching you” … “Your kiss is on my list” (common female reaction to either of these should be: what list? you’re watching me? stop, that’s gross.) Private eyes is prominently featured on 2010’s opening mixtape due to my current man-crush.
I will read a book.
You ever been talking to a girl, and she says, “so what’s your favorite book you’ve read lately?” and some other guy says, “oh I just recently enjoyed finishing up Cormac McCarthy’s The Road, it was interesting..” and you say “I just watched Back to The Future Part 2!”? Yeah, how’d that go? Turns out not so well in my experience. Here’s something I’ve learned: girls love to read. Wait, check that: normal people love to read. You know why? Because it makes you less dumb. And I just don’t seem to do it very much. I don’t think reading sports journalism counts. And I’m positive Us Weekly doesn’t. So i’m going to set the lofty goal of at least one book this year. Again: I’m looking for an extremely low ask of myself in my resolutions. I think one book is doable. And I will automatically say that Dan Brown doesn’t count, because I may as well just watch a movie with Nic Cage in it and wonder if he has discovered that he, in fact, does not have hair.
I will learn to accept the banana as a food that I should eat.
Inexplicably, I do not eat bananas. Turns out they are really good for you. You know how people try to aggressively change their whole diet? Turns out I like food. So instead of making an outlandish claim that I will only eat acai berries or some weird shit like that, I’m opting for the “I will eat bananas” theory. I love the word banana in general, and feel like it’s some guy that hangs out with my friends that I always say I don’t like and when everyone says, “why don’t you like banana? that guy is awesome!” I just don’t have a reason why. So hey, banana, i’m sorry for being a dick. You can be in my smoothies now, I’ll stop substituting you.
I will not be fat.
This one is my favorite, and here’s why. Every year, almost every human being on the planet goes with the resolution that they will lose some aggressive amount of weight. Or that they are going to get washboard abs (hey guess what? that’s really hard, and if you have a job and/or friends you like hanging out with, you just ran out of the time it takes to attain these). So here’s my theory: i’m just not going to ever be fat. I don’t have to look like Brad Pitt (I know, I know, but we already look so much alike…). I don’t have to eat only 12 calories a day. I will just not be fat. That’s it. If i’m ever getting fat? I’ll just stop, because fat is a shitty best friend that always sucks at life. Really, guys, that’s kind of all that matters. If you have a half of a personality? Most people will just be excited that you aren’t fat and sleep with you. I know. This knowledge bomb is pretty much blowing up your mind right now. Feel free to join me. The water is fine, and there is plenty of room in the pool.
On that note, this is a mix that I made for the new year that was so goddamn ambitious, it took up two “not real” cd’s. Basically, I just got too excited so I made it two mixes. Hall and Oates is on there, so you’re already halfway to awesome just by listening. Happy new year everyone.
Rocket Shoes Mixtape 18: Let’s Make Outlandish and Unachievable New Years Goals That We Will Inevitably Fail At!
And you can download both as mp3’s at the links below.
We’re Getting a Little Too Liberal With The “Beyond” Part
Seeing as it’s Sunday and my life sometimes resembles a 40 year old Soccer Mom (sans the children, mini-van or “I’ve got my life figured out and together” part), I took a trip to everyone’s favorite “it’s so sad that I find this to be an outing” store, Bed Bath and Beyond. Whether you admit it or not, everyone goes here every now and again and it’s kind of like Costco: you go to buy the most obscure shit on the planet and leave with 14 things you in no way needed. You know how ridiculous a Costco trip is…you go to buy 20 pairs of socks, a lifetime supply of cheez-it’s (just me? just me) and of course, booze in “I’m an alcoholic” portions. Bed Bath and Beyond is fairly similar. You go to buy a wok and some towels (which is ridiculous enough to begin with) and leave with a new shower head, two oscillating fans and a candle (again, crickets…judge, I bought a candle. Screw you). And I always kind of loved that about the place: they come at you from ninety different angles and it’s almost like you just submit. It’s as though the store is an 8 year old you’re babysitting and just do whatever it tells you because you don’t want to hurt it’s feelings. If it wants to play “everyone’s a robot”, you play “everyone’s a robot.” Today’s trip, however, bothered me.
The triple B is out of control. Where it used to be kind of funny that they had weird trinkets and doo-dads, it’s just getting weird now. It’s like the store is on an episode of hoarders (if you haven’t watched this show, don’t: it’s the most horrific thing I’ve ever viewed). Apparently, the buyers at Bed Bath and Beyond cannot say no to any vendors anymore.
Bed Bath and Beyond: “Okay, could you send us some down comforters, some pillows, um…let’s see, some towels..”
Vendor: “Great. How about some army men, every product that is marketed ‘As Seen on TV’ and two walkie talkies?”
Bed Bath and Beyond: “Um, we really don’t need that. We’re just kind of a domestic store, so..”
Vendor: “Trust us, people are gonna LOVE this shit. And you are marketed as “Beyond”, so why not get a little risky? We’ll send you a robot dog toy as well.”
Bed Bath and Beyond: “Okay. Yeah, I guess you’re right. We’ll just put that stuff next to the bedding, because that seems logical.”
I don’t even think I’m exaggerating this fake phone call, either. Here are some items I saw on my way to buying a pillow top for my mattress today.
USB Mp3 Turntable: Obviously, this will come in handy when you want to spin crazy tunes with your new…pots and pans. Apparently, Bed Bath and Beyond presumes you are either a drug addict raver or a 13 year old teenage male. Either are logical, as you came here to buy towels. (?)
12-In-1 Wooden Game Set: Again, they are getting a little liberal with the ‘beyond’ part here, no? I just don’t see the connect with “I came here to buy bedding” and “I want to play checkers!”. So confused.
Fake Walkie Talkies: This was maybe my favorite. Because they weren’t even real. They just figure if you are decorating your home, maybe you’ll also want to be treated like a four year old and be given a fake walkie talkie to keep you busy so Mom and Dad can finally get some time to relax. This was located next to the shower heads. Seriously.
Roller Skates: …no, seriously. Roller skates. Now if I’m ever just sitting around wondering where I can finally purchase that set of 1970’s roller skates that I’ve always wanted, I’ll know where to go. To the bedding store.
A USED bottle of hand soap: Apparently Bed Bath and Beyond thinks “Beyond” means “You’re a hobo/You’re THAT poor.” Don’t believe me? You should.
Trying to navigate your shopping cart around the place is awkward now. They can barely fit in the aisles because there is so much useless shit there. Are they honestly turning a profit? You’re telling me they don’t end the day and think, “Welp, maybe we shouldn’t order any more pairs of roller skates, they just aren’t moving like we thought they would.”
Sure, I’m the asshole. Because at the end of the day? I spent my Sunday afternoon going to a store named Bed Bath and Beyond. I just think someone needs to tell them to maybe calm down with their liberal use of “Beyond.” It’s a bit much now.
I just wanted a fucking towel.
On that note, seeing as it’s Chanuka and the Jew in me is into the eight crazy nights spirit, I couldn’t sit on my hands for another minute apparently and went ahead and made another mix. I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed the terrifying experience I had at this store today.
Rocket Shoes Mixtape 17: Mixtapes the Jewish Way (every goddamn night a new one)
And you can download the whole thing here.
Challahhhhh.
Text Messages. From The Future.
I was sending my friend Patrick a text this morning to find out where we were meeting for our morning coffee date (ADORABLE), and apparently I accidentally emailed him. Now, if you are one of the “everyone” who has a phone that sends email, AND you work in a funny haha industry, you’ll know that it’s almost custom to have a funny email signature. My friend, for instance, has one that says “Sent from my mini robot.” Another person I know has one that says “Sent from my pocket”, which actually always just kind of creeps me out. Anyways, mine says “Sent from the future” because I think that’s hilarious and have no idea why.
When he got to coffee he asked me about why I had sent him this message from the future. I laughed, and then he got very serious and asked that if I had really been in the future, wouldn’t I have known where to meet him for coffee? GET IT? We’re hilarious. But wait, we are. So I started thinking about it, and I thought about how cool it would be if there was such a thing as “Future Text Messaging” and then in turn I thought about all the hilllARRRRious things one would say with such a technology. I then wasted a part of my morning writing them out during a meeting. Because this is what I do with my time. So this is what I would text people from the future text messaging service, with a rationale as to why I would in each situation with each imaginary person. I promise I talk to people in real life and am not a homeless person who thinks of stuff like this when he talks to no one. Ever. Am I talking? Here they are.
“HA HA HA!”
Oh, I was just anticipating you’d be having a conversation with people and no one would laugh at your joke, and I’d want to make you feel good, so I wrote you to say, “HA HA HA!” to let you know that I laughed approximately three times, and it is in capitals as though to say that it was, in fact, a hearty chuckle.
“That coffee is too hot.”
In the future, I will know that the coffee you were about to drink is too hot. Please do not drink it, or at least give it a minute or two. Or do that thing where you blow on it, as though this will do anything to cool the scalding hot beverage down because you have magical ice breath.
“Don’t eat the pizza.”
This is to me about when I have the choice between pizza and not pizza. I will inevitably avoid this future text, and future me is pissed even writing this. Do I ever listen? Why does future me even bother.
“I love you”
This was anticipating you’d be totally into me by now. As you have zero interest in me as of yet, I thought i’d just throw this out there just in case things turned around. If this is the future where you aren’t in love with me, sorry, this was a creepy future message.
“Look out!”
Self explanatory. You probably got this though and already got hit by whatever it is that was biking by or whatever, so you’re probably on the ground and thinking, man I wish someone would write me a message from the future to say “hey, look out, maybe to your right to be exact.” I’ll be future faster next time.
“Do we have to talk about this now?”
Because in the future, whatever the problem is, I probably want to know if we really have to talk about this right now because I’m busy doing other stuff and/or I just don’t really want to have this conversation. Just a given.
“I’m sorry you have VD.”
This is a really mean one, because I probably could have told you not to hook up with that girl at the bar and/or I could have reiterated the fact that I’d really like you to maybe use protection if you do so. Sorry, I was future drunk and forgot to tell you. I can’t always be future perfect.
“I know, can you believe that’s how they ended that shit after all of that?”
This is the message I send you from the future when the final episode of Lost airs and we’re all inevitably pissed at however they end it. Future “Fill In Your Own Name Here” will probably write this message, too, to many other people.
“Don’t ever act again.”
This is to Elizabeth Berkeley immediately after she says the “I’m so exciiited, I’m sooo…scaaaared!” line in that episode of Saved By The Bell. That is the best line you will ever have in your career, Elizabeth, and you should just stop right now. Showgirls is not a good career move, no matter what they tell you.
“Maybe don’t do that.”
This is to Tiger Woods. About anything he will ever do, ever.
“I can’t believe we finally met and you’re in love with me, yes I’ll make out with you!”
This is the future message I send to Anne Hathaway. We’re future laughing about how silly it is now, because we future can’t believe that we didn’t know each other when I wrote this post!
I’ll end right there, because that’s as creepy as I can get. I think.
The Space Needle Is Like An 8 Year Old Who’s Bad At Soccer and Other Thoughts
Here are a few things that don’t merit an entire post, which is funny, because that means I think talking about New Moon actually merits an entire anything. Moving on. Random thoughts. Annnd GO.
The Space Needle Is Like An 8 Year Old Who’s Bad At Soccer
I was just in Seattle this weekend for a bromance trip with a few friends I grew up with. Seeing as we wanted to do something other than “drink all day and strike out with girls”, we decided to spend one afternoon gazing upon the Space Needle from a vista point (I love saying “vista point” because it sounds like a proper way of saying “a hill”). When we got to staring at it, it dawned on me: the Space Needle is really sad at this point in history. Here’s why.
Think about other monuments: the Sphinx, the Leaning Tower of Pisa, etc. If you went and looked at any one of these? You’d say “hey, holy crap, that’s amazing.” The Space Needle? Not so much. First of all, there are other buildings that are taller than it at this point IN SEATTLE (okay maybe it just looks like it, but still). So that’s awkward. So this says to me: Seattle is holding on to a memory. It’s like your kid is the shittiest soccer player on his team, and you still have to go to his games and say, “stop picking on him, he’s trying!” It’s like the Space Needle is a piece of macaroni artwork that your kid made that you hang on the fridge…but Seattle’s kid is 18 and they haven’t taken the picture down yet. Maybe it’s time to renovate the thing. To make it, you know, as awesome as the name “Space Needle.” C’mon, Seattle. You’re better than this.
For the record, I also just compared the Space Needle to the Leaning Tower of Pisa. I’m aware this is an entirely unfair comparison. I don’t care. It substantiated my argument, and that’s all I ever care about anyway.
I’m Wearing 3,477 Shirts A Day If My Laundry Routine is Legit
I was on the phone with my friend tonight when she asked what I was doing. To which I responded, “Oh you know, doing my laundry.” I then realized I had said this to her in the last 4,387 conversations we had. And it’s not just her. I started thinking about it, I’m somehow ALWAYS doing the laundry. So here’s my thought:
Either I’m wearing 14 pairs of pants a day along with 4 button ups and 19 t-shirts, or I’ve just decided to wash random things at random increments all day, every day, for no apparent reason. It’s unreal. I just folded 6 t-shirts this evening and hung 4 sweatshirts. When did I find the time to wear these things in the past 12 hours that I’ve been home from Seattle? I confuse myself. I need to find more interesting things to do with my life. You know, like write about how I do the laundry too much. (….). Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go put on 6 pairs of socks.
The Muppet Babies was the creepiest television show of all time
This is a hold over from the last post, but I wanted to talk about this. Do you remember the show the muppet babies? Let me refresh your memory.
I know. Creepy as shit. Let me get this straight: the show’s theme is that a bunch of baby muppets live in a basement that they are never let out of. Since this would get a little sad and depressing, they have no other choice but to imagine the places they could go if they weren’t in child jail. From time to time, a woman who’s face we never see walks in to check on them. Ummm.. this is a children’s show? “Hey kids, if mom and dad never let you out of the room they lock you in, there’s someone (and by someone we mean a small animal puppet) out there just like you! It’s okay!”
This was my favorite show on television for much of my childhood.
The Targeted Advertising For The TV Shows That I Am Interested In Have Me Concerned About Myself
In the past few months, I began to take note of what is advertised to me during the television shows that I watch. Here’s a general idea:
- A commercial that tells me how to get all of that spam off my computer. (Translastion: we assume you do a lot of shady shit on your computer like visit porn sites)
- A commercial asking me if there are any amazing inventions I’ve thought of that I should finally tell someone about. (Translation: you probably still smoke pot at the age of 27 and don’t do too much with your life)
- A commercial for tampons that help me if I don’t “smell good” (Translation: I’m watching female programming, and beyond that, have gross private parts)
- A commercial for ring tones I can get on my phone (Translation: Turn off MTV, Drew. Seriously. You’re 27 and watching Jersey Shore or The Real World/Road Rules Challenge..which is in it’s 18th season, buddy. Seriously. Stop.)
The scary thing is…I think they are basically hitting their demographic. I’m just disappointed that I’m it. It’s like TV telling you to try a little harder, just doing it in the most passive aggressive way possible. Touché, television. Touché.
Here’s Rocket Shoes Mixtape 16: If Doing Your Laundry Were An Olympic Sport, I’m Michael Phelps
You can download the whole thing here.
Weekend At Bernie’s is Called “A Life Sentence in Prison” In The Real World
Lately, movies are bothering me. I don’t know what it is, but there just aren’t any good old “wait seriously, that’s a movie plot?” movies coming out like when I was young. Because that’s why you go to the movies: to sit there for a few hours and not think about the fact that everything in the world is terrible (that is if you believe the news…or you know, facts). Where have the days gone when Arnold Schwarzenegger would just randomly go into the jungle to fight a man-alien-beast predator thing with no real answer as to why this was occurring? Movies are in a phase that “the rap music” was in when I was younger: they either make a bad remake of something or they just make a movie starring a female that no one in the world likes and then continue to inundate us with intriguing facts about how she struggles with dating douchebags (Sidenote: why do we need movies for this? Can’t I just go watch girls have brunch and listen to them talk?).
However, in the middle of this nostalgic train of thought I was having about my favorite bad movies of yesteryear, it dawned on me: every “great” old hokey movie I was naming had an alarmingly creepy plot. I will list five to prove this point, because if I didn’t limit myself to a number, this would become a 747 page book.
Weekend At Bernie’s
Ready for this? In this hilarious romp, two guys go to spend a weekend on an island with their rich boss. He dies. Since they are terrified of being suspects if and when they notify the police, they instead just hang out at his house, have parties and spend his money. All while dressing him daily in different clothes (wow) and having him sit dead in chairs and stuff so people think he’s alive. Got that? They hide the fact that a guy is dead so they can spend his money and hang out at his nice house. No, seriously. Let me explain how this would play out if you went on vacation and came back and told your friends about this.
Friend: “Hey man, how was vacation with your boss Bernie?”
Drew: “Oh, I got there and he was dead! It’s cool though, I just hid him around the house and had girls over and spent his money and shit like that. I was like, WASTED the entire time man! And his friends? H-O-T, dude. It was awesome. I think I might even do it again sometime soon.”
Friend: “Wait, Bernie died? Have you called the cops yet?”
Drew: “Oh, no way man. I just decided not to tell anyone. It’s cool, no one will notice that he’s dead or anything and that I’m spending all of his money. Want to come to his house in the Bahamas sometime? I just put sunglasses on him, so he totally looks alive and shit.”
Friend: “…”
Soooo you just went to prison basically. Because a guy died. And you didn’t report it. And instead just put sunglasses on him and slept with his friends after you pretended to walk around the house with him while he was dead, and your friend and you propped him up. That’s cool. There’s nothing wrong with you psychologically. At all.
(Second Sidenote: I saw both of these in the theater. Yes, there was a sequel. Yes, really.)
Don’t Tell Mom The Babysitter’s Dead
The mother of four children decides to go on vacation for two months, during which time she will leave them with a babysitter she found randomly and does not in any way know. I could talk about the sketchy parenting alone for another 4,389 words, but I’ll move on (whose mother does this? WHOSE?). The day she leaves for vacation, the babysitter dies. Since the kids don’t want their summer to like, TOTALLY suck, they decide to take her dead body and leave it in a box on the doorstep of the morgue (…wow…) and then just live out life while not telling their mother. Hilarity ensues as they bond through an old lady dying (and, you know, them carrying the secret of unloading a dead body illegally) and learn to love each other as a family. How, you ask? Well, the eldest gets a job with a fake resumé and in turn learns the entire meaning of life and responsibility through sexual harassment in the office and stealing money from her boss (this film is also how every child in America learned what “petty cash” was). In the end, they randomly learn how to build ice sculptures, Mom gets home and is pleasantly surprised at how great her family have become, and no one tells her that they illegally hid the death of an old woman.
(Third Sidenote: This is my favorite movie of all time)
Big
In what is heralded one of the greater films of all time, a young boy wants to be tall enough to ride a roller coaster so he can score babes, wishes for this to happen, and becomes a thirty year old man. Because of this, he is forced to leave his home because his mom finds him in his adult body wearing only little children’s underpants. Once out of the house, he scores a job at a corporate toy company, moves up in the business because he has the mind of a child, and in turn charms an older woman who then wants to sleep with him. Which means she basically wants to sleep with a twelve year old boy. Don’t worry, his Mom is never TOO concerned, because she just thinks her son was kidnapped…because that’s what he calls and tells her. He then decides this sucks, and wishes to not be old anymore. In the end of the film, we see his lady interest smirking back at him in his twelve year old form, as if thinking, “Drat, he WAS a little boy…how silly is it that I wanted to fuck that guy? Oh well, guess I better just go home and pretend this never happened!” Amazing. Just amazing.
Camp Nowhere
A young boy is about to be shipped off to computer camp (OHHH BROTHERRR!) and can’t believe how lame his summer is going to be. Realizing a bunch of other kids his age are facing the same lousy predicament, he hatches the brilliant plan of blackmailing an aging alcoholic former drama teacher who was fired for unspecified reasons (…) to host a fake summer camp. Young children then live in the woods with a creepy old man all summer without the knowledge of their parents.
There are no words.
Mrs. Doubtfire
An out of work man, Daniel, is divorced by his affluent, well-to-do wife. Due to his money troubles, he also loses custody of his children in the process. To alleviate this problem, he fakes the identity of an aging Scottish woman and moves back into the house posing as a nanny to the children. He then spies on the new relationship his wife is having. When it becomes known that their Nanny is, in fact, Daddy, he then loses visitation rights…until the judge AND his ex-wife realize that the kids miss…Daniel’s fake identity he’s created. So then, it’s totally cool and he can have partial custody of his children again. Daniel is not arrested for false identity, or creepily living in the house of his ex-wife posing as an 80 year old woman. His fake breasts also set on fire at one point, because boobs on fire is funny and not in any way horrifying for children to see in a movie theater.
My childhood hurts.
Hey Edward, You’re A Vampire: Be a Little More Sexually Promiscuous
So for starters, I think I’m on Team Jacob after tonight. Let me explain.
I went into tonight with an open mind. I say this because, well, as a 27 year old male, I went to see New Moon. In a theater. Which should state a lot about, you know, your life. But I did. You know why? Because I also have a subscription to US Weekly and say things often like, “You know, I hear octo-mom said she’s cool with having more kids, which I just think is ridiculous!” I think about these things. Like, for real. I just don’t see what seeing a teenage girl vampire movie is going to do to kill my man-card credibility at this point.
But I went, and I left with a lot of thoughts running in my head. For starters, I thought about the fact that I saw a movie that contemplated whether or not someone should date a vampire or a werewolf. Then I thought about this: why is this an argument? Watch these movies, it’s a serious no contest. And here’s why.
Bella has two choices. You see, she WANTS to date the vampire Edward. She does. But he’s a vampire, so he does shit like look tired (as anyone who’s been alive forever should…stay with me) and continuously talk about how he’s depressed. Who would EVER like a guy like that (again, ladies, still single over here). You know what else he does? The same crap that emo kids do: he leads her on and then complains about how hard life is and that people would just be better off without him in their lives. Oh boo fucking hoo, Edward. You’re a vampire. It could be worse. Because guess what? We’re not all permanently attractive and we don’t all have a perfectly acceptable reason for killing anyone. Grow up. Oh, what’s that? You’re over 100 years old? I mean, see a psychiatrist about your abandonment issues. He’s pale, and he cries a lot. Pretty sure this is where most girls would opt out, but hey, that’s just me assuming again.
So guess what he does at the beginning of the movie (spoiler alert for anyone who is 16 and is worried they can’t guess the plot of the “vampire movie where they don’t have sex ever, thus defeating the purpose of a vampire movie”). He tells Bella that it’s just gonna be too hard if they date, and he just stops calling her. Girls LOVE that. And poor Bella’s only other option, you ask?
A guy named Jacob. He has zero body fat, likes her a lot, and does man things like fix cars and drive trucks. Oh, one other thing: HE’S A WOLF. I know, right? He just jumped on the “holy shit that’s awesome”-o-meter about 2,476 notches. He hangs out with only good looking people, and doesn’t seem to have parents that set any rules besides “don’t be a wolf all the time, just when it looks cool.” You know what else he doesn’t do all the time? Complain about everything. I have just described a guy that most girls would probably date. If he were an asshole, every girl on the planet IS dating this guy right now (hey o! i’ll be here all week). I know what you are thinking: “But Drew, my boyfriend is an asshole and not a wolf.” And to that I say, how do you know? Because if your qualifier is “well he never has ripped pants” I would say that our friend Jacob has magical not-rippy-pants that come and go as they please. So keep an eye on that guy, ladies. If he ever says something like, “I just want to go stand on a rock and stare at the moon all night,” well, I called it. I called it.
Now, again, I don’t want to ruin the “holy-shit-this-movie-is-predictable” movie for you, but let’s just say Bella might be a little indecisive. But this is where my confusion lies: how is this in any way a contest? That would be like if you told me I could date a clinically depressed girl who couldn’t get a tan or a girl who only wore bikini’s…like, even when it’s raining inexplicably…and also seems to just really want to do it with me. I want to believe I’d think it over for about 13 seconds (because oddly, I do believe I’d be like “well what’s the clinically depressed girl’s favorite band…and how clinically depressed are we talkin’ here…”) and then I’d go with the pretty much always naked girl.
Bottom line: I left tonight not believing a thing about this movie. And not at all because it was about an age-old vampire/werewolf battle. But because I just don’t think Bella would have to even flip a coin on this one. But as usual, even in the movies, the universe laughs at me and then does things that make no sense.
Hey, Edward: YOU’RE A VAMPIRE. YOU HAVE A BRITISH ACCENT. YOU ARE FAIRLY FIT. Get out there and score some vampire ass. You’re pissing the rest of us off who don’t have these factors on our side, you pouty bitch.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go wonder how I just wrote a 1,000 word essay on a teen vampire film. And truly thought about it and weighed the pros and cons of an argument about it.
Ladies and gentlemen, your 2009 Andrew Hoolhorst!
I'm pretty sure this guy should be able to score some vampire ass. I mean that in the most not-heterosexual way possible.
Sharks Don’t Need Activists, And Other Things I’d Like To Talk About
Because sometimes, half baked thoughts are kind of the one’s you really want to share anyway, and you can’t dedicate an entire 1,000 word essay to your prospective ideas for the seventh film in a horror franchise. A couple of thoughts I’ve had lately.
You cannot be a shark activist.
We were talking at work today about something inconsequential while trying to do what everyone does at work (not work), when my friend brought up something about how a woman was a shark activist and she met the guy she’s dating now at a shark activist “thing”. Do sharks need activists? Seriously? I’m pretty sure they kill everything, and it’s pretty much not a challenge for them, BECAUSE THEY ARE FUCKING SHARKS. Seriously, you know what needs activists and people protecting it? Things that get killed by sharks all the time.
Now don’t get me wrong, sharks are awesome. The boy in me wouldn’t allow me to not say that, because they basically just go around eating things and then just kind of swim around all badass, like “yeaaah WHAT.” I just think we need to draw the line at shark activism. Stop it, hippies. Not everything needs a picket line. I’m pretty sure the “I’m the best at killing everything in all the land” sharks are doing just fine. Sidenote: Who goes to a shark activist “thing” AND meets their boyfriend or girlfriend there? Really?
Why do payphones still exist?
Who is using them? Do they dial 1-800-Collect? What is this, 1996? I ask this because the other night, I was at a bar with a payphone in it. A guy, who was blackout drunk (I know this because he had dip in his mouth and was spitting into his cup…and by cup I mean he was spitting on the floor) randomly got up from his seat, threatened to punch me for looking at him (totally fair, blackout drunk guy) and then ran into the wall. At this point, he grabbed the payphone, tried to talk into it until he realized he hadn’t called anyone. Then he angrily hung up the phone. In a way, I feel like this entire visual I just gave you should, in some odd way, be a metaphor for how payphones just aren’t useful. Because guys like this are the only people I can think of still trying to use them. Maybe it’s time to let go, phone companies.
I have the best idea for the movie Saw 7.
So by now, i’m pretty sure we all know the premise of Saw 7: people die and it hurts a lot the way they die. Now, what you may not know if you haven’t seen every sequel because you do things that make no sense like me, is that the reason the killer picks his victims is because they are wasting their life and not living it wisely. You know, don’t take your life for granted, blah blah. So here’s my thought for Saw 7 (which is already confirmed and filming…which…is amazing, just on a lot of levels): I think the victims in Saw 7 should be the people who actually went to Saw 6. Wouldn’t the target demographic for the killer be the people watching movies about him killing people in ridiculous fashion, AND spending over ten dollars on it AND two hours of their worthless lives doing so? See that? Genius. It says, “wow, we are making terrible movies and you just keep on seeing them” while ALSO saying “we care about our fans”. This also basically qualifies me to die in said premise. So there’s that.
While housesitting months back, I realized I’m essentially the human equivalent of a dog.
I was housesitting and hanging out with my family dog a few month’s back, when it dawned on me: Doc and I are fairly similar. When nobody pays attention to him, he just sleeps (check). He barks at things randomly and doesn’t seem to have a point (me talking in general, check). Sometimes he’ll just drink anything he finds, and then throws up all over the place later and doesn’t seem to find this odd, as he just drinks it again about an hour later (check). His idea of getting a female dog to like him is to try and fight with her incessantly (um, check). Randomly for no apparent reason, he’ll just hump my leg (I don’t know how this relates to me, but I think it’s funny). It was a horrifying moment when I put this all together.
Don’t buy a Big Mac and fries and then order a diet coke.
I mean, just have the regular coke at that point. I think you gave up on the “diet” in that effort with the 4,000 calories that came before your calorie-free beverage. Thanks.
I’m done ranting for the day. Here’s a mixtape.
Rocket Shoes Mixtape 15: Technically, A Cat Can Wear Pajamas (Consider This Mix Said Pajamas)
And you can download the whole thing here.
No, You Were The Only Person Who Thought To Be Lady Gaga For Halloween. Because No One Read “The Internet” This Year.
The older I get, the less interesting Halloween is to me. I know, I know…sacrilege. So many people hold it up to be the greatest holiday of all time (besides Kwanzaa, which even black people haven’t figured out yet…don’t worry, guys, Jews don’t understand a lot of our own holidays either). But when you get older, it’s like everything that was great about Halloween from your childhood gets taken away, and all you are left with is an awkward costume you probably paid too much for and some embarrassment in a taxi cab. Like when I got in my cab this year to go out to a party, and was greeted by my cabby saying, “Sup, Jewish werewolf. Where you headed to?” Okay I take it back, I almost high fived him immediately. And I guess watching the walk of shame is almost worth it entirely (this year’s highlight: still drunk Lady Gaga walking home outside my window at about 8am, clearly not drunk enough anymore to think that dressing as “is she a transvestite?” was a great idea).
Essentially, here’s the realization I’ve come to: adult Halloween is just an excuse for girls to dress in a costume. I’m not going to give you the “it’s an excuse for girls to dress slutty” argument, because you’ve probably heard it ninety times, and frankly, no one is really complaining about that demographic. But no, it’s kind of like a girl saying we should take salsa lessons when you are dating her: in no way is this at all something you want to do, and it’s guaranteed to be one big night of awkward for you, but you know that if you just smile and say yes, you’re going to get laid, so you do it. Halloween. Same exact concept.
I can’t lie though, I do enjoy the costumes you get to see in the process. I will now go through this year’s highlights for me of what I saw in the Castro.
1,434 Girls Dressed as Lady Gaga: The highlight here was in no way the novel idea to dress like Lady Gaga. No, it was the fact that EVERY one of these girls seemed to think that no one thought of this, and looked appalled when they saw “that bitch” totally wearing the same thing. What’s even more amazing about this is that it may be the only time that dressing like a slutty girl who got drunk and stole her mom’s makeup and then mugged an eight year old in a ballerina costume ISN’T a novel idea and you aren’t the only one who did it. Amazing.
My Best Friend Dressed as a Lifeguard: Again, not because it was novel. I appreciated this one because Kevin didn’t think that it was in any way a strange idea to go to the Castro in an extra small speedo…and um, not much else…when you are a 6′4″ extremely attractive straight blonde guy who works out more than most people eat food, which is a metaphor that was ironic to use in and of itself. There is no problem with this. Unless you get black out drunk and then have to get walked home by your friend. Who is wearing a werewolf costume and a yarmulke. The cat calls that ensued were priceless. “DAMMMMMN JEWISH WEREWOLF’S SCORIN’ SOME FINE LIFEGUARD ASS TONIGHT, LEMME GET SOME MMMMM!” At one point I almost got defensive and yelled back, “HE’S NOT JUST SOME PIECE OF MEAT! YOU BEHAVE, PERSON IN DAISY DUKES AND A SILLY WIG, WHOSE COSTUME IS CLEARLY ‘MAN IN DAISY DUKES AND SILLY WIG’, WHICH BY THE WAY IS AN ODD COSTUME AS IT DOESN’T REALLY SEEM TO BE ANYTHING IN PARTICULAR!”
Drunk Amelia Earhart: Granted, clearly the costume didn’t come with the “drunk” moniker when she bought it (but if that was for sale in a store, guess what, I’d buy it. Just on principal). But what’s great about this and many costumes is that it accidentally becomes more and more awkward and ironic as the night goes on and the owner of said costume gets drunk. Because I bet this girl thought, “hey, Amelia Earhart was a great story in the history of women, as she was the first woman to fly solo across the Atlantic!” However, in the process of the evening, this person then goes from being the great story in women’s history to “that girl dry humping the dude who’s not jacked enough to be the guy from 300 but that’s what he dressed as.” Welp, guess you missed the whole “classy lady” part of your character. But hey, you tried.
Drunk Chick in Glitter: You didn’t even try. I respect that, because this means you wanted to get drunk and thought, “welp, i’m gonna get shit if I go out and don’t wear a costume, but I want to drink…oh cool, I have some glitter.” That was it. I completely respect that.
Jon and Kate Plus Eight Fighting On The Street Corner: The “isn’t it funny that we’re dressed as a depressed couple who are in a loveless marriage but will stay together because we signed a contract stating that we have to because we have eight children who are our reality TV cash cow?” costume gone horribly wrong, when it turns out you are, in fact, a depressed couple in a loveless relationship because you are fighting about how “Jon” didn’t introduce you to his friend who was a girl. Amazing to watch. Thank you for that. Life imitating art. Reality TV art.
More than anything, Halloween just pisses me off because it gives Starbucks an excuse to jump the gun entirely and start rolling out the Christmas themed cups on November 1st. Way too early. Give it time, guys. We haven’t even had our racially insensitive holiday where we eat turkey yet.
Rocket Shoes Mixtape 14: Hey, Starbucks, It’s Not Okay To Make My Cups Holiday Themed Yet
And you can download the whole thing here.
All and all, I kind of just wish I had gone to suburbia and gone trick or treating as a 27 year old in a jewish werewolf costume, so that when the parents opened the door and saw me and looked confused, I could have just acted like I didn’t think it was because I was a creepy old guy who still wanted candy (because I do, dammit) but instead because they didn’t watch 30 Rock.
Now Known as “Unicorn Land”
Analytics for a website are a funny thing. They’re pretty amazing, as I can see who reads the blog, what state they come from, etc. For instance, I have someone who reads every time I post from Malaysia. MALAYSIA! How cool is that? Not only have I never even been there, I would not have been able to identify this country on a map, even if you offered me an unlimited supply of only white gummy bears (haribo, obviously) before I started ranting on this puppy. Whoever you are, Mr. or Mrs. Malaysia, I’m a pretty huge fan of you and will even try to work in silly Malaysia jokes or cool facts from here on out. FOR INSTANCE…did you know that the Belum rain forest has more Malayan tigers per square kilometer than any other animal sanctuary in the world? C’mon people. How can you not get behind a country that owns the largest tiger per square kilometer ratio in the world? Malaysian tourism board, where ARE you on this one? “Malaysia: we’ve got a fucking ton of rad tigers.” Boom. You just became a vacation destination. Ladies and gentlemen, website analytics at work.
Point being, this completely self absorbed technology is one of my favorite things on the planet. It’s also great for being completely creepy. I know when someone from a region or town reads something (I see you ex-girlfriends…I SEE YOU…wait, call me. No, don’t. We probably hate each other now, nevermind.). My favorite feature, though, without a doubt, is the ability to see how someone reached your site via a search engine. Basically, if someone searches google and somehow reaches this blog, I get to see what the search was. C’mon. That’s fascinating.
So because I apparently refuse to do anything worthwhile with my time, I was sifting through these search terms the other day, and found some absolutely hilarious ones. I also figured out some major themes of what I write about. Below are the findings and how often they were searched to get here.
*Note: I didn’t alter a thing here. Yes, someone actually searched Tom Cruise and got to this blog. Wow. Talk about a confusing moment for them.
1. “Drew Holhorst” (386 times) – There is nothing exciting about this one. It just goes to show that whoever is fortunate enough to marry into my family has to come to terms with the fact that no one will ever spell your name right. Whoever you are, future wife, your last name is also presumably better than “Hoolhorst”, so I’m sorry in advance. That sucks. I should know. I’m also completely confused on the fact that over the summer, people googled my name incorrectly this many times. I made it, Mom. I MADE IT!
2. “Metaphorical Costumes” (23 times) – Really? What’s neat here is that I don’t think I’ve ever written about this, so presumably, this was a huge let down for 23 people. We’ll get to the “huge letdown” section soon. If by “metaphorical costumes” you meant to type “complains about everything”, then I take it back. You just struck gold, you little googler, you. Welcome.
3. “Virgin” (16 times) – Amazing. And sad. And amazing. The fact that google has decided that i’m a top hit for “virgin” has me worried that a search engine is judging me this hard, and/or talking shit to me. Oh yeah? Well if I had a search engine, google, I’d have you come up when anyone searched “small penis”. TAKE THAT (and touché…touché…).
4. “Daisy ex drew hool” (15 times) – This one is exciting, because secretly I hope that one day I can be a recurring pathetic US Weekly point of interest, and this makes me feel like the villain on Season 3 of The Hills or something. Also, this means that Daisy told at least 15 people or so that I dated her. Win. It’s the small victories, folks.
5. “Dundo Xayyaphay” (12 times) – This one is absolutely fascinating, because for starters, I forgot about writing about my friend Dundo. However, upon searching for his name myself, I remembered that Dundo was the guy who tried to barter a phone with 100 nintendo games for my iPhone I was selling on craigslist. Here’s the awesome part though. The only other thing that comes up when you search his name? An article detailing the indictment of three brothers charged with burglary, extortion, torture, threats, dissuading a witness and gang allegations. They apparently (wait for it) kidnapped someone and held them for ransom. So where’s Dundo in all of this, you ask? Oh. HE IS A FUGITIVE. When he tried to buy my iPhone, it was a year after the date of the article. Seeing as his bartering skills were…poor…I can see why Dundo was maybe shying away from becoming a salesmen for a living. I’m never buying or selling anything on craigslist again. Unless someone has an awesome limited edition pogo ball. Or I need concert tickets. Or someone has a terrible apartment I can rent (don’t worry, the last time I got an apartment through craigslist, it was later discovered that my landlord was a registered sex offender. So that’s cool.). You win, craigslist. You always do.
6. “Tom Cruise is hella good looking” (3 times) and “Is Tom Cruise good looking?” (2 times) – The good news for you, Tom, is that only two people searched the internet questioning your good looks, while three people thought you were hella good looking (unbelievable that either three people searched this exact term, OR that someone searched this term THREE TIMES). Here’s my favorite part: did this person expect that the internet was going to answer this question for them somehow? It’s not a magic eight ball, guys. If this was the case, you should also search “What is the cure for aids?” and “Where is a million dollars located?” Maybe start with those ones next time.
7. “50 pull ups a day” (3 times) – At least the internet thinks I’m working out.
8. “San Francisco Herpes” (1 time…thank god only 1 time) – At this point, I’m convinced google dislikes me in some way. That’s just mean, google. Why are you telling people I have herpes? What is that? Did we date and I cheated on you one time or something? Not only are you spreading violent rumors, you’re telling them where you can find this false holder of herpes? Shame on you, google. Shame on you.
9. “Horst fuck woman” (1 time) – Man, oh man, did the guy looking for animal porn suffer a letdown when he found a blog where an overly emotional mid-twenties guy was talking about his feelings. Close on the spelling, guy. Close.
10. “Ex Girlfriend doesn’t call”/”Ex girlfriend doesn’t like you”/”Ex girlfriend hates you”/”Ex girlfriend wants you to stop calling” (each searched one time) – Okay. Okay. I get it. I could talk about ex girlfriends a little less. Although I guess writing this right now isn’t really helping, because now it’ll just come up more often when people search that…WHY CAN’T I STOP TALKING??
11. “Fat guy ugly breakup” (1 time) – You made your point.
12. “Fat drool hot pocke… - OKAY I GET IT. AND YEAH, I LIKE HOT POCKETS. (and yes, I’m serious, the search was “fat drool hot pocket)
13. “Unicorn Land” (1 time) – Best. Compliment. Ever. Thanks, Google.
Finally though, my favorite searched term for how people get here. While it only came in 2nd (286 times)…it says a lot.
“Awkward.”
Too true. Too true.
It Worries Me That I’m Emotionally Invested In A Television Show About High School Football Players
Let me start by saying that until about one week ago, I hated the state of Texas for the most part.
If you ask me the reason? I have none. That’s my favorite part about so much of my reasoning in life. I just irrationally back outlandish statements with absolutely zero rationale or logic. Let me go through some examples of this.
- I believe that picking up a penny on a sidewalk will bring you good luck, but only if it is heads up. If it is tails, I just figure you’re going to die and/or you will pee your pants in a crowded room or something. Why? That’s a stupid question, and don’t ask that (that means I have no reason). Also, in no possible way have I considered that picking up a penny on a sidewalk will not bring you luck but, in fact, hepatitis. My theory is obviously more logical than that.
- I don’t like the taste of a salad, yet have not even attempted to eat one since I was about seven years old. In other words, I’m basing much of my current health on the fact that I didn’t like the taste of something 20 years ago when I also: a) thought I was a magical warrior because I owned a plastic sword and b) did not know that Santa Claus was in fact not a real human being and would not possess the ability even if real to own magical flying deer and a small satchel that apparently held presents for the entire population of the planet. Got that? I thought this was a completely logical proposition. So good thing I haven’t tried salad since. Way to stick to your guns, Drew.
- To this day, I believe that Anne Hathaway will logically be into me if and when she does meet me. I feel that when she does meet me, she will see that I’m a good guy who has excellent music taste, and because of this we will go on charming yet hokey dates, like maybe bowling (because then she’d be just like us…obviously) and/or a funny senior bingo night at a local rotary club (it’d be so charming because I’d show her that we can just have fun and not worry about her being famous while also laughing and making old people smile). See what I did in that one? I showed you that I’m completely out of touch with reality, and have in no way factored in that this entire theory is not only creepy, but that it is also creepy.
So when I began watching Friday Night Lights this past week during the “oh my god I’m going to die” sickness, I did what I always do: found a completely irrational line of reasoning to rationalize the fact that I am now in love with the state of Texas based entirely on my love for fictitious characters living in a fictitious town living out fictitious relationships that I completely relate to my own real life. Wow.
I just really appreciated the fact that I changed my entire opinion of a STATE in the UNION because of a television show about high school football players. Sometimes, you just can’t make this shit up.
In honor of this, Rocket Shoes Mixtape 13 will be named in my new obsession’s honor:
As always, you can download the mix here.
Clear eyes, full hearts, can’t lose.
(Yeah, I’m quoting my friends on the Dillon Panthers. If you were cool enough to forge friendships with fake teenagers on television, I bet you’d do the same.)
My name is Drew. I live in San Francisco. I just want someone to invent a hoverboard. Until then, I'm gonna rant about everything and make mixtapes. You should hang out. K bye.
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