So I don’t know if you’ve heard, but the economy isn’t doing that well. You know how when you were a kid, and you were kind of bummed that you only had like twelve dollars to your name? Because that meant that you probably couldn’t buy my buddy/kid sister? It kind of seems like EVERY business on the planet America woke up and thought, “oh shit, I only have like twelve bucks left.” Except change my buddy/kid sister to “everything that makes the world work”, and that’s what people/businesses can’t afford these days. This guy I know re-tweets the national debt every week (and by “guy I know” I mean this guy who’s an “internet friend” who I met once at a company bowling party. I know, I’m awesome. Say it out loud) and right now, it’s at $10,626,078,634,370.54 (I love the fifty four cents. Really? I mean, round up at that point). Honestly though. That sounds like a number I’d make up in middle school if someone told me I could charge them anything for my new Air Jordan’s, and then we’d giggle at how silly of a number that was and I’d go be bad at sports in good shoes again.

I know it’s not funny at all. But the thing is, it’s getting oddly hilarious what companies are cutting back these days. Did you hear the post office is thinking about not delivering the MAIL six days a week anymore? Just like, cutting back a day to save a little cash? Um, really? It’s not as though my life would be over if my subscription to US Weekly took an extra day to show up (yeah, I have a subscription to US Weekly. Judge away), but the US Postal Service is cutting back? I just feel like that’s a little alarming. I just find it ironic that it’s gonna take longer for me to get the bills I have to pay now. Seems like maybe we should focus on some other things first. You know, like maybe we all just sit down and decide that just by default, it’s unnecessary to light Las Vegas with 1.21 gigawatts every night. Maybe we could take the savings there from the guys who run Las Vegas (who clearly seem to have lots of moneys) and apply it to the national mail carrier. Just me, but I think it’s worth a thought.

The best, though, is that we were all kind of wondering quietly if maybe Starbucks was making poor business decisions for a while here. You know, maybe it was unnecessary to open four hundred billion coffee shops. Just in general. Because there ARE blocks in NY where there are more than one Starbucks. And the last time I checked, i’m not ordering a large coffee (NOT A FUCKING VENTI, STARBUCKS. A LARGE), grabbing it, and immediately challenging someone to a death-hot beverage chugging contest so I could make sure I could hit up the Starbucks that is coming up in 500 feet again. Their business model seemed to be “really fucking bad” on a scale of “good” to “poor”. Well I heard today they were going to close 300 stores, fire 6,000 store workers and fire another 700 corporate folks. While I think they could have made this decision a couple of years ago (honestly, how many people does it take to pour a cup of coffee/froth milk? 16 people per shift Starbucks? this seems aggressive), I just think it’s crazy that the economy even has super-mega-conglomorate-globo-corporations (which is a real phrase) pissing in their pants and freaking out. I mean, how the hell are we supposed to feel when this is happening to STARBUCKS, people? Where are they going to be just like us anymore? I guess the grocery store. Until they close those, which wouldn’t even shock me at this point. Honestly, if I woke up and heard “food” went out of business, I’d probably just mosey along and figure it’s been awesome but I better start with the hunter-gathering.

I guess my point…while I never have one…is that this is pretty scary. And the root of it all is that I honestly woke up the other day and thought about the fact that anyone can lose their job at this point, and that this actually really scares me more than anything, because it got me thinking: I can’t tie a tie. I’m screwed if I have to start interviewing again. And i’m being honest. Every formal event I’ve gone to? Someone ties it for me in front of a mirror, asks me if I got it, followed by me saying, “yeah totally.” Then I fail to tie the tie. They stare at me with a look like, “really? were you listening at all?” Followed by me gazing back with a look that says, “Yes. Wait, but no.” And then they tie it for me because I’m a big boy and I just act like I’m totally a grown up the whole night even though I know the truth… But if I gotta go back out there? I’m screwed. So here’s hoping somebody figures something out. Or superman comes down to earth and punches the economy in the face after a GINORMOUS battle, thus sending it off to the planet Zorgon…which can’t happen on so many levels both metaphorical and reality-wise, but it would be awesome nevertheless.

In other news, I got almost all of my facts from today’s post from Perez Hilton. I am pretty sure this says a lot about me. But I’m also pretty sure that means I’m awesome.

I’ll see you at the mailbox on Saturday when we’re all standing outside pissed that US Weekly hasn’t shown up yet. I’ll be the one holding the fifty four cents.

Where was this woman when I was growing up? Any day now, I SHOULD be able to grow real facial hair. Until then, i’ll continue to use “wow are you really THAT sensitive?” shaving cream and take 400 hours to shave three hairs on my face. Someday…a boy can dream…

Link Below = Genius

(thank you @Danielle_C for the link)

“The making of a great compilation tape, like breaking up, is hard to do. It takes ages longer than it might seem. You gotta kick it off with a killer to grab attention. Then you gotta take it up a notch. But you don’t want to blow your wad. So then you gotta cool it off a notch. There are a lot of rules.” -High Fidelity

So, technology these days is kind of on a roll. Turns out you can do anything with magical future devices from the palm of your hand. I mean, buy food, buy a movie ticket AND select your seat (which causes some RIIIdiculously pretentious fights at the good old Kabuki theater between investment bankers in sweater vests), get streaming HD movies on FRIGGIN’ demand. This revolution has probably been greater for the stoner race than any, as it has only furthered their progress on the “do not talk to anyone or look anyone in the eye” gameplan for life (really, this is a win-win. We give stoners the toys, they hide and don’t bother anyone). Point being, every time a new technology comes out, it renders the old obsolete and strangely silly when you think back on it. Remember when you were a kid and you would record TV shows with a VHS player? I mean, the joke about setting your VCR is just ridiculous now, because lord knows the magical troll in my DVR always knows what time it is AND that I’d like it to record Gossip Girl, no matter how lacking in heterosexuality this is. Really though, there is no reason to go backwards in terms of technology, because the future devices and ideas taking over? Brilliant (even though I’m still waiting for the invention of the rocket shoe). Except for one.

It dawned on me the other day: What the hell happens to the mixtape/mix CD within the next few years? Is it on the verge of going extinct, like when you talk about how weird it is that people ACTUALLY used to get polio? Because telling me I lose the capability to use the mix tape in a friendly/romantic capacity is like telling me that I have to go fight in a war but I can only jump kick and slap people and everyone else gets guns. And guns with like, lasers and future gamma rays I don’t even know about yet, just that it would really hurt if I were to be hit by one. No but seriously, we are at the brink, truly, where there is going to be a legitimate paradigm shift once and for all in the music industry. You just don’t go out and buy an album these days. For the most part, the digital world has finally dominated and now that’s where you get your music. There will be no more CD’s, really…even burnables.

Sure, it seems ridiculous at start. But if tapes disappeared as fast as they did (I still, to this day, remember my first cassette single, “whoomp there it is”…no shame, no shame), aren’t CD’s just around the corner here? Think about it. People give people mixes now, and people essentially take that and just rip it to their computer. That’s the logical step, so that you can get it on your iPod as fast as possible. You know why? Because they barely sell personal, portable music devices that actually play physical media anymore. Think about the Discman. That device now seems like pong or something.

What scares me is that this means the logical next step is people simply wanting it faster. Sending each other the files, giving them a flash drive with the songs on it; this all seems like the creepy, heartless logical next step. Sadly? This absolutely terrifies me and concerns me. The mixtape is friggin sacred. Seriously. Do you know HOW many girls I’ve tried to woo with this device? This is how I GAUGE my interest in a girl. How badly do I want to make that mix? What are the themes, lyrical angles, concepts I’m looking to portray through the 18 or so tracks? In high school and college, Ben Harper meant, “I would really love it if we could take off our clothes sometime.” Later, I would get better at the art of mystery. For instance, what DOES that Broken Social song mean? Huh? Is it forward? Or highly metaphorical? GOD I want to get up and shimmy thinking about the joys of the mixtape. Do you know how many friends I’ve stayed in touch with through mixes named things like”There’s no chicks here, there’s not even any chips?” Honestly. Telling me I can’t make a mix is like telling me I’m not allowed to eat food anymore. It’s like telling me I can only write with my left hand from now on. Which is REALLY hard, and usually causes me to REALLY focus on my r’s and a’s. I’m an overly emotional, whiney guy who awkwardly lunges at girls through music. What the eff am I going to do now?

Basically, the Lloyd Dobler/Rob Gordon in me is sad. Am I about to lose my sword? My go-to, overly-emotional romantic gesture? How do I get girls now? Because I’m certainly not getting them with my huge pecs and striped shirts at the bars. If it’s over, I want a mourning party where tons of people show up and everyone brings a mix and we all lay it down to rest:

“Hey guys. My name is Drew, and uh, I’m here today to share my last physical mix with you, entitled “Oh I’m sorry, did your pants just get rocked off?” It’s got some great ’08 stuff but I went a tad old school also and threw on a little retro for the good old days. Didn’t seem right to not put yankee hotel on there, you know? Excuse me, I…I need a minute…”

I know, I know. There is the website mix (muxtape, opentape) and I just tried it out. It’s at the end of the post, and I get that it’s a great way to melt peoples faces off. It’s still fantastic, but it’s just not the same. The personal mixtape? It’s legitimately telling someone you give a crap and HONESTLY spent a lot of time on them. I can describe the reason for any placement of any song on any mix I’ve ever made. And I ALWAYS know where I’m putting the Aberfeldy song, even though it only makes rare appearances. Further, I can describe the theoretical meaning I was going for as well. Seriously. I go into this KNOWING that these songs are full-on memories I’m begging to create with someone. Sharing music with someone to me is like showing them what I look like with my underpants on: I’m trusting you here. Sigh. Who knows when it’s all truly over. But if it’s soon? I’m Mel in Braveheart. I will hand these mixes out until I can’t do it anymore. Because I can’t let the dream die. In the words of the great Steve Perry, don’t stop believing.

Click below to listen to my first pass at a truly online “digital” mix. Be gentle, this is my first time…

“Now, the making of a good compilation tape is a very subtle art. Many do’s and don’ts. First of all, you’re using someone else’s poetry to express how you feel. This is a delicate thing.”

EMOTING YOUR FACE OFF, ONE DAY AT A TIME (a mix by andrew hoolhorst)

So whilst watching the new apple keynote this morning, a few thoughts dawned on me, which were all ENTIRELY terrible…but funny I think.

So apple just brought out iWork and iLife ‘09. I kind of love that they could throw “i” in front of anything and I will buy it. Not only that, i’ll feel like the most adorable human being on the planet in the process. I mean, this is the company that made SOCKS for iPods. Wow. What scares me more is that this means there was presumably an iPod sock market out there. Which at least makes me feel better about some of the purchases i’ve made in my lifetime (re: box of foot warmers in college. of which I used one. awesome). Anyways, the most awesomely creepy thing that came out in all of this was a new iPhoto that can digitally scan people’s faces so that in the future, it knows who they are and can tag photos accordingly. Which brings me to my point.

Get ready for a million awkward posts about how badly iPhoto biffs it. And by this I mean accidentally is racist or cruel towards all your friends. Seriously, THINK about how many “FAIL” opportunities there are here. A list that co-workers and I have come up with:

- Do you have asian friends or are you asian yourself? Because I have a feeling that when it screws up and labels two asian guys the exact same person in your entire photo library, it’s not that funny. Or it is kind of. I’m not sure yet. Wait, yeah it is. Don’t worry, i’ll insult my own people soon to make up for this. Stay with me.

- It will be ultimately hilarious when it thinks that your dorky white guy hipster friend is a black dude or something, or vice versa. These posts will be rampant, I almost guarantee it (you just got the Men’s Wearhouse ads in your head all day. You know what’s funny? I NEVER saw that it was “wearhouse” instead of “warehouse” before I just googled that. You’re so CLEVER George Zimmer…)

- What about when it can’t recognize a photo of my profile vs. a front facing shot of me? Do you know why I ask this question? Because i’m Jewish. And honestly? My nose is just two different beasts from two different angles. Forward facing? I could definitely be your catholic best friend. Profile? Umm…i’m definitely Jewish.

- Here’s a good one: what about ugly people and/or children being labeled as the family pet? C’mon, that’s funny. I mean, if it thinks the dog is actually Sarah the ugly chick who hangs out with the hot chick because hot chicks always flank themselves with at least one ugly girl to make themselves look better? That’s funny.

- Finally, this one isn’t racist…but I think it’s funny. I don’t think sorority girls (or just girls from the state of Arizona in general, as I’m convinced they are building an aryan race there…) can use the new iPhoto. You know why? Because of the sorority girl “let’s all totally take a picture together!” picture. This one. Yeah, you know exactly what i’m talking about. Sorority girls go to bars and take 412 pictures of them awkwardly smiling in front of a bar. Either with a drink in their hands, or making a silly face. And honestly? Every night looks exactly the same. iPhoto has its work cut out for itself if it thinks it can in any way differentiate these people or these nights. The only luck it has on its side is geo-tagging, which will at least help it understand that no, that is NOT the same bar Cindy and Mindy are at.

Anyways, to say i’m excited about the ENDLESS posts all over the web about this is a vast understatement. Keep in mind I also think Apple is brilliant and love them and want to have their babies even though it’s not possible. But really, get ready for software to become the most insulting person in the US. I predict a lot of ugly girls crying at who iPhoto thinks they really are.

So i’ve got a general stance in life: everything that goes wrong is someone else’s fault, and there is SOME way that I can complain/be melodramatic about it. It works, seriously. I believe this dates back to when I didn’t get to be in little league as a kid. Did I ask my mother if I could be on a team? No. Of course I didn’t. Have I let her off the hook for the last eighteen plus years about this fact? No. No I have not. You know why? Because it’s her fault that I didn’t ask her to put me on a team. I thought I was getting the message across. You know, throwing tennis balls at the garage for FOUR YEARS STRAIGHT. Talking to myself in pure play-by-play fashion, discussing how “Hoolhorst’s arm is really tired because he’s thrown 126 pitches this outing”. Watching baseball all the time. It’s cool though. I didn’t want to be the next Lincecum (because it’s clear I would have been. You should have SEEN me shrugging off the invisible catcher’s signals so I could throw only 102mph fastballs right down the plate..and my PITCH PLACEMENT…wow). I didn’t want to get throngs of women on the sole fact that I threw a ball fast. Nah. I was much more intent on being the kid who talked to himself in his front yard alone while wearing a helmet and chewing crayons (I’m not sure if this is a fact, but it’s melodramatic, so it seems to fit with the theme well). Point being, it’s her fault.

I bring this up because I’ve been trying to think of what to write about lately. I’ve sat here for days (I know, I know, over a month’s worth, i’m a bad blogger), and everything I come close to writing? I blow it off and talk later about how GREAT this idea was that I had for a post, but blame something else for why I did not write this. Thought process:

Drew’s Inner Monologue: “THERE it is! I’ll write about how I have tons facebook friends, yet only hang out with like, two dudes! Nah, some guy wrote about that in the Times, even though it was a shitty article and mine would have been better. I know, Drew, you ARE the best! Anyways, what about the McDonald’s “What are you, Nuggnuts?” campaign? I mean, what does that even mean? Is it an insult, a simple statement of character, a challenge? Can I write 1000/2000 words on this? Eh, not enough there. How about the fact that I’m too sensitive and this makes me a pain in the ass to deal with sometimes! Wait, I’d be too sensitive about writing about being too sensitive and then if someone DID say it was a valid post, I’d be even more sensitive about that. Man, people are assholes. Fuck it. I’m gonna go get a bottle of wine and watch 30 Rock. You’re so SMART, Tina Fey…I wonder if she’s single or if she’s gonna get divorced soon…she’d totally agree about the nuggnuts thing.”

So, as has been the trend with Rocket Shoes all too often, I’ve been slacking on writing. And this is odd, because this has become far and away my favorite pass time, even more so than blaming other people for my problems! As mentioned before, I take you guys out on remarkable dates (patting myself on the back and trying not to fall too hard in love with myself…) and then dump you without any explanation.  But it’s not my fault. It turns out the economy got shanked in the back alley and if I’d like to keep a job, I can’t just write witty, pointless banter on a blog all day while ignoring responsibility (which is how this basically started) and have to contribute to the company that employs me. I know, right? What fucking nerve. Also, I just get lazy and don’t want to write at night, which again isn’t my fault, I just can’t think of why not (but it’ll come to me).

See? See what I did there? I rationalized why I’ve been lazy! And I made my sound employment the issue! GOD i’m good! I knew it wasn’t my fault! Phew. On that note, I am going to make a concentrated effort to write more. I’m in good shape to do so, as I write much better when I’m either heartbroken or depressed about mundane shit that isn’t worthy of actually complaining about. You know, like the fact that I get heartburn sometimes. Or that my DVR keeps screwing up and is not recording episodes of Fringe (shhhh…you know you kinda wanna watch that show. ADMIT IT. PACEY FROM DAWSONS CREEK PEOPLE. PACEY!). Or that that hot chick on the bus keeps ignoring my countless efforts of wooing her by not saying anything to her at all, and rather relying on the fact that I figure she just knows that we’re perfect for each other and that she wants to have 10,000 of my babies and that our dog would be called Hank. So hey, with all that in play, I figure I got some time to write.

I’d like to personally thank Daisy, a girl whom I’ve never met who I find way too funny. By writing this, I officially become a plethora of things:

a) creepy

b) creepy

and

c) creepy

But I was threatened that if I didn’t blog more, she wouldn’t link here. And honestly? This made me sad and pretentiously concerned…SO pathetically sad and pretentiously concerned because I like writing and I love when people say nice things to me because i’m cheap and easy and love to blush at compliments pretending that they don’t make me feel fantastic. Even if it wasn’t a compliment at all? I’m taking it that way. Because if it wasn’t one, I can at least complain about it later or find something else to be melodramatic about. Which ironically then makes me write more, which helps it all come full circle. But honestly, please read her. She’s funnier than the movie Clue. And that movie was really funny. Okay enough complimentary talk about someone I don’t know and enough creepy for one day.

The song of the day is by Atmosphere, and is self explanatory. Sometimes I listen to it and wonder if the white rapper in me wrote this in my sleep one day, because he complains more than anyone on the planet but me (and believe me, there is a FIERCE white rapper in me. My flows are silly). And…wait for it…I TOTALLY get him, man! You are SO right, pal! Keep on complaining about girls and life, and I will keep buying the shit out of your records. Because hey, fuck it…it’s everything but me. Let’s high five and cry together.

On that note? Good talk, see you out there. My mom’s new dog looks like Falkor from The Neverending Story. And I love you all. K bye.

11-scapegoat

I am the least athletically inclined athletic person I know. Now…I use the term “athletic” loosely. This means, basically, that I’m not in a wheelchair and could probably run a couple miles if it was forced upon me. Well maybe a mile, and i’d probably complain afterwards. And I can shoot a basketball with horrible form and no spin whatsoever, but it often has a very good chance of going in inexplicably. But anyways. The irony of this statement is that all I ever want to do is watch or talk about sports. Ask me to play football on Sunday? Absolutely not, I’m busy/my foot hurts/my dog died/I have glaucoma. Ask me to watch football on Sunday? Done and done. As long as I don’t PERSONALLY have to play? Of course! I’d love to critique people who are incredibly active and athletic and talk about what they could be doing better! I’ll rattle off ungodly amounts of useless stats about that guy who just came in as the third down back. I’ll even tell you his backup’s backup. I bring this up because of what fantasy sports have done not only in my life, but in the general male population at large. While it has made a bunch of guys who USED to play sports lazy asses, It has also oddly created a level of bromance in the world that is unprecedented. Fantasy football has made softies out of men all across the land. Especially the lazy ones. Like myself.

I’m sick for fantasy sports. And before you start, YES, I am aware of how “lame” they are and how ridiculous it is (and by lame I mean how stupid you are for thinking they are lame. Yes, you). Yes, I select 12 guys to play sports for me so that I don’t have to. I follow them, I get upset when they get hurt because I wouldn’t have rolled MY fucking ankle if I was out there running for us…and I CERTAINLY wouldn’t have shot up that nightclub with my friends, as I would have known the suspension that would have loomed over my head (jax, jax, jax…). I relentlessly follow these guys, so I can make fun of the guy I’m playing that week because he didn’t have MY guys who are playing MY sports for me, and that his played sports worse for him. I know all of these facts. And oddly, I’m okay with them.

So a few years back though, I felt lonely with my team. I don’t know…maybe because they weren’t real people I could talk to and I was yelling aimlessly at a computer screen (which is healthy). Only a shot in the dark there. But on a random whim, my brother and I decided that we would start drafting a team together about three years ago. This way, we could not actually play sports with other people…together. And here’s the best part: it’s been a strange glue that holds us together. Sure, there was plenty of brotherly love before fantasy Dualhorst Hoolhorst was born (not the name of our team, but as of this moment it SHOULD be in contention starting next year). I mean, my brother has always been my best friend. Even when he threw the Joe Montana Sports Talk Football genesis cartridge at my head when we were younger. Which, ironically, was the mode of fake sports I played back then. Wow. But I genuinely look forward to our fantasy sports dorkus drafts. We make huge evenings of them. We bring over notes (no i’m serious, we may as well have a whiteboard we can write on during the draft, we are THAT in denial that this is not a real draft), we have honest discussions about gameplans and how we’d like to focus our strategy this year. Honestly, i’m not quite sure how Adam’s girlfriend takes it so well while not being seriously worried about her long-term boyfriend when him and his brother are chestbumping and high fiving because they “drafted” a “sleeper” in the 9th round of their fantasy draft. Yes, that really happens. But yes…I look forward to these nights every year. And after I leave his place? I’ll probably call him in a few hours to talk about waiver wire pickups we should look into, trades we might want to make…and just generally how awesome we are for how we well we fake drafted our fake team. The funny thing is though…that we genuinely bond over this.

We’ll hang out more often and watch sports together. We’ll end up talking all the time and laughing at how outrageous our psyche’s have gotten, because we are ridiculous and truly hurt when our team loses. We often lament about not playing that tight end last weekend (that’s what she said…had to, sorry), we wonder if the Housh trade was the right move or if we were just trading for a name. We’ll get angry with each other over opinions of who should be starting on our squad that week…I mean, these are all serious issues in my life now. Honestly. But the best part is? Fantasy sports took something ridiculous (which would be, uh, fantasy sports) and found a way to make bromance cool AND totally okay again. You know how in real sports when a guy makes a good play, and his teammate runs up and smacks him on the ass, as if to say, “hey buddy, good job out there”? Fantasy sports has given me the dork equivalent of being able to do this without actually being athletic…or just look like I’m hitting another dude’s ass randomly. Instead, if Adam makes a good pickup? I can gush about it to him. About how smart he is, how proud I am to be a co-owner with him, because he had the foresight that it just wasn’t LT’s week and we should play Julius Jones no matter how ridiculous that looks on paper. I mean, I can honestly bromance it up, and it is in no way gay at all. All because we fake play sports together. Brilliant.

So if something ridiculous can bring my brother and I closer and make us spend more time together? I mean, no matter how loser-ish it is, what’s so wrong with that? On that note, I have to go study up, as we have a fantasy basketball draft tonight. And after that? We’re watching Starship Troopers 3, so we can then pretend that we are fake future soldiers that shoot laser beams at things. Because that’s what brothers should do together: stupid shit they’ve been doing since they were kids. And I think fantasy sports got us back there. And I couldn’t be more excited about it. Unless Anne Hathaway randomly wanted to do me tonight. Then I’d probably tell him fantasy sports are for losers and never call him again.

So it’s been a while since I’ve written. I know…you missed me. I missed you too, sweetheart! It’s like I went out on all these cute dates with people who read the blog, and then just stopped calling one day out of the blue. I mean really cute dates. I got the door for you, we shared desserts, you laughed when I got a bit of it on my nose and we giggled. We both agreed that skinny jeans are ridiculous, and that most people who wear them are trying too hard. And I said, “No I like you…” and you said, “no I like YOU!” and then we did this back and forth for 3 minutes. And then giggled again. And then we awkwardly made out in the car and the seatbelts got in the way, but we laughed because my elbow hit the horn and that guy got scared when he was walking by. Yeah guys, our dates were that cute. You were SURE I was going to meet your parents, and we’d get married and have a million babies (or you would just read my blog and I’d keep writing). But then I was just a huge dick. And I stopped writing…and didn’t even give you an explanation. Ew. Who does that? Well, I took a little “timeout”. I took what we will call a little “depression sabbatical”. Yeah, I made that term up, but it works. You know why? Because breaking up fucking sucks, and all you do is feel sorry for yourself and tell everyone how hard it is and how “they don’t understand.” That’s not obnoxious or anything. Sorry to about 42 people on that one…turns out the world isn’t over and I’m fine now. So instead of writing about this everyday for about a month and some, I thought…uh…maybe i’d just sit this one out until I didn’t hate life. Annnnnnnnd we’re back.

So I shot myself in the foot. When I was living in gross-disgusting-OH-MY-GOD-MY-LIFE-IS-SO-FUCKING-CUTE-land, I decided that I would just broadcast the shit out of it (I say this as I write an entirely self serving blog…). I mean, you’re dating a hot girl. She’s nice. You want to talk about it. It’s like people with babies. They just do things that are obnoxious that only they like, but they think you want to hear about it. You know, they put an oversized hat on a baby, and then say, “oh my god, the baby looks funny because it’s wearing an oversized hat! let’s take a picture and send it to 267 people! I bet they want to see my baby in this hilarious oversized hat!” But you don’t want to see the baby in the oversized hat. You actually think the baby looks weird. Because babies look like aliens. And then it has spit all over its face. And weird crap on it’s nose. And actually, the baby just looks ugly with an oversized hat on. So the moral? I go through a breakup, and realize that the oversized hat pictures are everywhere. And the cute commentary? Everywhere. It’s plastered on facebook walls…myspace comments (which is a dirty mini-mall I refuse to visit anyways, so this breakup was also like breaking up with myspace, so I’ve got that going for me. It’s like finding out I cured myself of crabs or something)…flickr pages. Shit, every nerd avenue on the planet? I was vomiting cuteness on it. I mean, it was fantastic during the grand run of it. But then all of the sudden…you’ve set up an obstacle course of pain for yourself when it ends.

You can’t just breakup anymore. I guess this doesn’t apply to everyone…but I feel like most people have “this” life I just explained on social networks. Before? You call a girl, tell her she sucks and you’re over it, and then you lose her number. And if she went to Menlo? You never really have to see her again because you go to M-A (cough*cough*SHELBY*cough*cough). But now? My GOD man…there’s no escape. You break up. Then you think, “welp…I guess I should hide or erase the nine billion pictures I have on my computer and all my accounts so I don’t cry and eat two whole pizzas everytime they come up and catch me off guard”…but then you have this conflict, because you aren’t REALLY over the breakup for that first week. So you leave them (this is a horrible mistake. don’t do this. run. run for your life away from these things), and then you try to “ignore” them. Which is slang for waiting until you are a bottle of wine deep and decide the best idea right now is to stab your feelings in the face by looking at these pictures. But oh wait it gets better…you’re still “friends” on facebook! So guess what, slugger…facebook will just do the hard work for you and crush your soul whenever it feels like it! Facebook is just that really shitty friend who doesn’t get it:

Facebook: “Hey Drew, did you see that your ex-girlfriend is totally loving life right now? No i’m serious, that’s her status update right now. No, seriously, look! It’s right here! It says “(fill in ex’s name here) is totally loving life right now! Also, who’s that Mark guy that she just became friends with? Yeah whoa, at 1am…sounds pretty…nevermind…Well, I mean, I know who he is…but I guess you probably want to do some sleuth work huh? Well, that makes you creepy. Okay bye for now! I’ll be back in an hour when her new status update says that she’s going out drinking tonight with ‘new’ friends…mysterious right? Hope it’s a date she’s going on! Anyways, later.”

So you do this unspoken thing. For a few weeks, you write YOUR status messages as some elusive “hidden message”. Why? Because you are ridiculous and 12 years old. And you think that EVERYONE cares as much about what you are writing as you do. (Hint: they don’t)

Drew Hoolhorst had a CRAZY night last night…

Drew Hoolhorst is wondering what he was doing at 3am….when he was with tons of chicks. TONS of chicks…last night. (aren’t you wondering what drew was doing at 3am? he’d tell you. you know, if you still wanted to talk. he still loves you…wait nevermind)

Drew Hoolhorst feels fine. No seriously. Really great. He can’t believe HOW much he’s moved on and is totally just like, hooking up with hot chicks left and right again!

Also, make sure to go through the awkward part where you have to no longer “list yourself as in a relationship”. Those emails you get are going to be fun. No, that’s not awkward at all. But you know what? You were the asshole who listed yourself as in a relationship. Yeah, you, Drew. So stop whining about it. The point being…

Breaking up on Facebook is hard to do. It’s awkward, and it makes a normal breakup about nine billion times harder. And I’d say it set me back way more than a breakup would have back in the day. It made me a big fucking Eyore, and it sucked. But it’s over. And one day you DO wake up, and the cliches ARE true. You feel fine again, you find out everything happened for a reason, some things were problems you didn’t even know about so it’s good you broke up…blah, blah, blah. Oh, and you get over it. In general. So that’s nice. Being depressed sucks. Remind me not to do that again.

And here’s the kicker: You look at girls again a few weeks later, and you think, “Wait, she’s REALLY attractive. Can I call her? I CAN??!? And she’d “date” me?? Well why didn’t anyone tell me this shit, I would have stopped sitting in a dark room eating cheez-its while crying a LONG time ago if I knew this was going to happen.” And then, ironically, all you want to do is talk about THAT girl. And all of the sudden you are doing it all over again. And the irony feels so good, you just start it all over again. So that’s hysterical.

So sorry for the break. I hope you are still reading, because i’m gonna try my darndest to win your hearts back. I didn’t want to break up. It’s not you, it was me. But I’m cool now. I think I’m the funniest person in the world again. And my music taste is impeccable. So let’s get the shit kicked out of us by love.

The song of the day is happy. Because I’m happy again, so I thought i’d go for the lowest common denominator. And if you don’t like Vampire Weekend, it’s probably because everyone and their mother told you to about them 4 months ago and you got annoyed and decided not to be a follower. Get over it. They make music that sounds like magic tricks and gummy bears. And I’d like to think this song is a clear gummy bear. Re: The best gummy bear of all time.

SIDENOTE: Isn’t it ironic that this whole post is about not blasting out your life because it may be weird later after you reveal too much, and that’s all I’m doing the entire time? I feel pretty good about it. YES WE CAN!

04-ottoman-1

So I woke up on a street corner at 4am in Menlo Park this weekend. True story.

I’m still trying to figure out what was going on in drunk drew’s head. There are MILLIONS of questions here, probably starting with “why did you fall asleep on a street corner at 4am this weekend in Menlo Park.” I’ve put the story back together through many renditions and follow up research through many sources, so I think I finally have it down.

So, it’s probably never a good idea to drink a glass of champagne to start the evening with a raspberry in it. I mean, just on a lot of levels. This is not going to give you any image you were probably striving for at the wedding. You know, like “I like girls.” What I’ve also discovered is that the waiters at the Circus Club (where the reception was held) will pour wine until you can’t feel feelings anymore. Honestly, those guys are GUNNERS. Take a sip, BAM, he’s poured aggressively for you again. Next sipHE’SALREADYPOUREDAGAIN. “Wait sir, that was my fifteenth glass, I think I just need to slo..” POURED AGAIN. So this is probably where the sound mindset I acquired for the rest of the night came into play. Fast forward to leaving the reception (after cleverly switching to vodka tonics, which were obviously gonna keep the night going, and/or make me not be able to open my left eye by 9pm), and our crew cleverly decides to go to the bar that has zero rules whatsoever.

Soooo, begin the fratastic flip cup tournament. Which lasted about one hour longer than I needed to be drinking glasses of beer over and over again. My first sign of “maybe we should call it a night” begins here, where Kevin and Dave go shirtless for no other reason…well no good reason, and decide to wear their ties around their heads like Rambo. Now here’s where my favorite part begins.

Dave’s girlfriend tells me that I should sit tight, and that a cab is coming in ten minutes. I say, “that sounds great!” and then uh, just wander off down the street for no apparent reason. This is my fourteenth awesome decision of the night. After walking/trying to run, then realizing I don’t want to run at all and walking again for about 3 minutes, I randomly get into a car of two high school chicks. No, seriously. I don’t even ask who they are, I just assume that this is of course the “drew hoolhorst” shuttle going to the precise location I was aiming for. Good thinking Drew! Next time make sure they are holding a butterfiinger outside of the car and run after it! I then proceed to drink more (why do people do this?) at Patrick’s house, until I realize it’s 3:30 and everyone has either gone home or passed out. So, being about a mile or so away from home, I opt to obviously make that next walk instead of sleeping on one of the 9,142 beds or couches at said comfortable house I’m already at. High five, Drew!

So in walking home about a block, I realize, inevitably, that I don’t want to walk home at 3:30 in the morning, because it’s really far and walking has made me realize that I’m JUST not going to sober up anytime soon. I have evidence on the phone that at this point I google search yellow cab in menlo park (you know, since yellow cab or ANY cab company in the world is either 777-7777 or 333-3333), and call them for the pickup. I sit down on the corner and wait for the cab.

Fast forward thirty minutes later to the part where there is a cop nudging me as I’m laying face down on the street corner, full suit and tie. Strangely, I don’t even find this all that odd and keep professing that, “I was doing the right thing! I had the right intentions!” even though I have no idea what this really means. Since i’m a big boy grownup and am clearly wearing my big boy pants, I give the cop my mom’s phone number (26 years old…um…) and he drives me home. Upon arrival at casa de angry mother who kind of hates me, I proceed to now tell her that I was “doing the right thing! I had the right intentions!” When she asks where my jacket is that i’m mysteriously not wearing, I let her know that “I left it at my other house.” Um, what? Really Drew? Now the best part.

Upon waking up, I asked my mom how the cop found me. She informs me that he was called by a cab driver, who drove to the corner of Santa Cruz Ave. and Olive Ave. and found a guy face down on the street corner. He honked a bunch, but it appeared, “the kid was dead.” So yes, this weekend I was pronounced dead by Yellow Cab. But you know what? The way I see it? I’m the real winner, because all I wanted was a ride home. Not only did I GET that ride home, but it was free! AND I got to nap in between! DOUBLE WIN! I wish everyone was as smart as me.

So the moral of the story is: If you want a ride home, just call a cab, pretend to die on the side of a road and wait for the cops to come. Make sure to tell them that you are doing the right thing and that your intentions are good, and always leave your jacket at your other house. Oh, and have them call your mom. This will let everyone know how much of a big boy you are.

In other news, things are going pretty well right now. Prrreetttty well….

The song of the day is by the greatest thing Canada has ever birthed. Tokyo police club could hit a stick on an empty plastic cool whip container and yell “la la la tacos!” and I’d think it was the best song anyone ever made. Honestly, I challenge them to do this, I will spend 99 cents on the single. That’s a promise. They don’t have a bad song that i’ve found to this day, but this one just gets better and better with time. Enjoy. Oh, and thanks, random police officer. I owe you a ride sometime.

02-in-a-cave

So I got to thinking last night, and I think Apple is onto something but they need to take it to the next level. I mean, they basically are Motherbrain from Metroid these days (NERD01101NERD01001NERD), so I think it’s possible for them to do this and I want it to happen.

So this genius thing? Awesome. No, not the geniuses in the store, they are just glorified half-nerds who should be working at subway but instead got their cute little genius shirts to sit there and mock us all day long at the Apple store. The genius option I speak of is the one now in iTunes. They basically integrated pandora into iTunes… kudos, you cute little appleoids, you. Now, even on the iPhone when you are listening to a song, the little genius button appears and taunts you to hit it.

iPhone: “Oh hey Drew. That song is really good, I mean… I guess. If you are a loser. What? No I didn’t say anything. Anyways. You know what would be better though? No I mean, not to pry. Oh nevermind…oh wait you do want to hear what I have to say? Oh okay. Then how about these 13 songs? I know, perfect right? What can I say. I was made at Apple headquarters, also known as nerd heaven. K, later.”

So here’s what i’m thinking: what if you were in the process of calling someone, and apple set up an option where you could hit the genius button in THIS situation? I KNOW. AWESOME. Basically, your phone could say, “whoa whoa…I mean, I like Ashley just as much as you do…but I did some research in your phone book and her phone book, and here is a list of friends i’ve come up with that would be a better conversation at this point. No, Drew, trust me, it’s gonna be way better and I think you’d be better off just calling these people. Call Sarah first, but then be sure to call Erica next. Oh man, that one’s gonna be awesome. Remember, i’m iPhone. I’ve seen the future. Robots take over, but we’ll get to that later. Oh, and remember this: peaches shaped like octagons…it’ll make more sense later…IT’LL MAKE MORE SENSE LATER.”

Think about it…personally? I don’t make good life decisions it turns out. Right now i’m living alone in my apartment looking for a roommate and my rent is too expensive, and I juuuust keeeeeep on buying 34×32 jeans when I KNOW i’m a 34×30. On top of that, I continue to eat cheeze-its when I know they just aren’t gonna make me feel that good. And really, Drew, 3 DAYS before you can shave. Or else it’s going to look like you got in a battle royale with wolverine again. And he kicked your face’s ass…like you didn’t even get a punch in, you just took it like a chump. So why not just give in all together and let Apple make my life decisions as well at this point? I know Steve has the technology in there somewhere. I swear they are making dolphins that make music underwater right now through iSonar, AMONGST other things, but that’s a whole different theory of mine. Okay I’ll stop, but point being…c’mon Steve, give us the life genius button. I know it exists.

The song of the day, my friends, is essentially one you would hear me moronically howling out of my car or apartment if you were ever in the neighborhood. But you aren’t, so you don’t. If you were though? Howlling. I think most people hate it, but I mean, talk about a song about making a comeback and pulling your shit together. And the guy is just a total whambulance like myself, so I enjoy a fellow whiner. Eh Eh Eh Eh Eh Eh Eh….here’s to you, Born Ruffians. You are making this little jew sing again. And he needs it. And that “eh eh” part a sentence back makes no sense unless you actually listen to the song. MINDGAMES, HA! K bye.

01-this-sentence-will-ruin-_-save-your-life

Dear Everyone,

If you read the blog regularly….and I think this is like 6 of you (hey, better than “not 6″, right?)…I apologize for my disappearing act. Let’s face it, I was just Cameron Frye of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off, Mikey from Swingers…I don’t know, fill in your “whatever guy in whatever movie who is kinda a bummer, doesn’t bathe and doesn’t shave for a bit” guy…and that was me. But I’m working on it. I’ve shaved. I’ve gotten a haircut (which, in turn, was a partial WTF when said haircutter tells me i’m not balding but…i’m balding…sweet! That helps!). And you know what? I’m not dead. But as we all know, very well, breakups are hard and they make you:

1) EXTREMELY not funny

2) Believe that the only programming on television is:

• ch 702: Everyone is in love!
• ch 703: No, Seriously, EVERYONE is in love!
• ch 704: Wait, are you bummed right now because you just broke up? How about this program about love!
• ch 705: Oprah
• ch 706: Honestly. You should think more. Are you thinking enough? If not, overanalyze everything, Drew!
• ch 707: Have we mentioned that it’s a bummer you just went through a breakup?

3) Kinda bummed out and just wanting a second to yourself

But hey, we’re gonna be okay, fellow rocketeers. Life goes on, everything happens for a reason, fill in metaphor for life here. And we are slowly, SLOWLY finding ways to mock society again and find irony in everything we see over on my side of the Bay. And I look forward to not being a big effing Eyore here very soon. Thanks for the support, and thanks for hopefully still reading when i’m back in action in…which I think is tomorrow. Rocket Shoes for me is like Sex In The City for girls…it’s annoying to everyone else that they like it so much, but you don’t complain because it makes them so happy and keeps them occupied. Wait, what? Insult, TO MYSELF. YES WE CAN!

On that note, to hopefully bring the funny back, I’d like to point out a wonderfully confusing grammar fail my brother mentioned to me the other day that I finally had the fortune of seeing. And also, i’m posting a song that is, in theory, not only AMAZING…but it’s my anthem right now. Swedes know how to rock. Bring me home, Sweden. Bring me home.

Love,

Drew Hoolerific Hoolhorst

01-the-comeback

Please, someone...explain the quotation marks. Please.