1. Ryan Howard swinging at a goddamn pitch in the dirt
2. Walking into a spiderweb (which tends to happen a lot in Rockledge)
3. Teeth bleeding after flossing
4. Misuse of the word "irony"
5. How expensive books are for the Kindle
6. People that bitch about gas prices
7. My fucking knee problems when I want to run
8. That anyone would think that being extremely tan means that you are sexy
9. Job openings that require years of experience
10. King Joffrey (no spoilers in the comments please, I'm only up to the first season finale)
11. Natty Boh
12. Christmas Eve dinner (ham, homemade mac and cheese, pineapple stuffing, ugh)
12. Quoting any of the following entertainments: Anchorman, Step Brothers, Family Guy
13. Bartenders who ignore me
14. The smell of your hands after handling money, especially coins
15. Using a Mac computer
16. Cocky athletes
17. How I feel after eating hot dogs (read: fucking awful)
18. When my girlfriend works weekends
19. Back sweat
20. Pimples on my nose
21. The coughing, sputtering sound of an empty keg
22. Hearing my morning alarm ringtone on other people's phones during the day
23. Geico commercials
24. The evening news
25. Chugging beers
26. Fancy cheese
27. Being late to anything
28. Acid reflux
29. Any dish with ginger in it
30. The Big Bang Theory
31. Zubats
32. When a potential employer has you send in your resume and also fill out a separate application with the same information as the resume you just gave the employer
33. 90% of reality television
34. Losing drunk bets
35. Jordan on Scrubs
36. People who walk too slow on the sidewalk
37. Internet connections in hotels
38. Phrases like "It was so awkward," "Blah, blah, blah," and the like.
39. Basically any phrase that is printed on a Wildwood Boardwalk T-shirt
40. $7 beers
41. When a great album ends with a shitty, shitty song
42. Parking in the city on Friday or Saturday
43. Losing at bingo with only one fucking number left
44. Spoilers for TV shows
45. Sleeping in a bedroom with the window facing east and getting a face full of sun way too early in the morning.
46. Any magazine or publication that obsesses over celebrities, their love lives, etc.
47. Stupid fucking inane and pointless Facebook status updates, from anyone
48. The itch in the back of my throat when I'm around cats
49. A cell phone with no service
50. Soccer
Just focus on the music, not the beating in my chest, I need a little help to beat my personal best.
Monday, August 27, 2012
COME AT ME, BRO
My unemployment stint ends tomorrow, so just let me have one more day of sitting in my pajamas playing Tetris. HIGH SCORE, BITCHES.
Saturday, August 25, 2012
The Unemployment Blues
Unemployment has its ups and downs. I've grown accustomed to sleeping in every day. That's nice. I also have a lot of time on my hands to go for a run, mow the lawn, read a book, basically anything that fits my fancy on any given day. A typical Tuesday could turn into the best day of the week.
Still, though... I think I need to get a job. Soon. My savings will only last me so long without a regular paycheck.
So what do I want to do with my life? These are the questions that keep me up at night. What do I want to do for a living? What kind of job would fit me?
Here are six job ideas. Three of them are actual job opportunities that I wouldn't mind taking advantage of. Three of them are fake, in true PoYB fashion. I'll let you decide which is which.
JOB ONE: MAILMAN
This would be an awesome job to have. You get your exercise. You can listen to music all day. You are a beloved member of the community. You get to wear those badass shorts all the time. It's too bad that the U.S. Postal Service is going to completely collapse in a decade or two. Damn you, technology!
JOB TWO: PROFESSIONAL SHOPPER
I just love shopping so much. It's probably one of the best feelings in the world to go into a store and just pick out the cutest outfit to wear. To be able to buy these same outfits and also be compensated for said outfits, all in the name of fashion, my god, that'd be a dream.
JOB THREE: GOVERNMENT JOB
Nine-to-five ain't that bad, is it? I'd love to just push some papers for good ol' Uncle Sam and earn my keep. The gov provides good benefits, a healthy paycheck, and great work stability. I've been going on usajobs.gov and phila.gov/personnel every day at this point, and hoping for the best. (The best? "Job Counselor" for senior citizens, helping them maintain their spots in the workplace. The worst? Anything that requires a Master's degree, because fuck that noise).
JOB FOUR: WORKING WITH OLD PEOPLE
It's unfortunate, because I applied for a job at the Laf, the old retirement home I used to work at, a couple of months ago, as an "Activities Coordinator." That was before we moved back home, and when we did finally make it to Philadelphia, the position was filled. Disappointment, because that sounded like an awesome job for me—getting to hang out with the old folk, helping them with their exercises, and, I dunno, basically hanging out with old people is awesome.
JOB FIVE: PLAYING THIRD BASE FOR THE PHILADELPHIA PHILLIES
Okay, hear me out. First, I'm cost-effective. You don't have to pay me that much to play third base, which is a great thing for the Phillies, who are already stretching that payroll to the brink, on top of the fact that they are a shitty team. Second, I can catch fly balls. So anyone who pops up to third base is basically an automatic out. Third, I look awesome in pinstripes. Please consider me, Mr. Amaro.
JOB SIX: SELLING BOTTLES OF WATER ON THE SIDE OF THE ROAD
Think about it. It costs like three dollars for a case of 24 water bottles. Factor in ice purchases, which maybe stand at three dollars likewise, and you're looking to make some profit after selling a measly seven bottles of water at a dollar each. I feel like it would be easy to just take my shirt off, drag my cooler to the corner of Front and Roosevelt, and hawk that shit on a hot summer day. This is a no-lose idea!!
Beerbelly Thoughts: Etiquette
Why do people make a big stink out of drink rings on a coffee table? I actually kind of like having rings on, say, my desk or my nightstand. They look well-worn, like the furniture has a history. It gives them character. Also, who the fuck cares?
Labels:
Bite-sized,
Irregular,
Joe,
Miscellaneous,
Not Music
Thursday, August 23, 2012
Thirsty Thursday: LATIN KINGS
It was a blustery night in the winter of 2011. Those were our college days, and it was a Friday night, and we started to drink. The heavens opened, and a foot and a half of snow was just starting to accumulate on our back deck. We were, for all intents and purposes, snowed in.
Five of us sat in the living room, and only we five. Though the off-campus house I inhabited was but a one and a half blocks from campus, that distance was daunting in a blizzard. It was one of those nights that wherever you were, that's pretty much where you were gonna stay, and if you didn't think to get to Wister Beer earlier in the day, well, then you were shit out of luck.
Anyways, we were bored. What can five guys honestly do together snowed in? So we created a drinking game. Latin Kings.
The rules are based on the game of Kings, or as it is known in other neighborhoods, "Ring of Fire" or "Circle of Death." Take a deck of cards and spread them in a circle. Each number has a different value for regular Kings. Two is Waterfall, Jack is Categories, etc., etc.
That basic concept is stretched to absurd lengths for Latin Kings. Instead of each number standing for a different rule, every single card is a different rule. You need a list for this game. Here is that list:
RULES
2♦ — Give a non sequitur. If no one laughs, drink.
2♥ — Tell a structured joke (Knock Knock, etc.) If no one laughs, drink.
2♠ — Pick a booger and put it on the playing surface.
2♣ — Put your chin on the table for one turn.
3♦ — Waterfall, clockwise.
3♥ — Arm wrestle the person to the right.
3♠ — "Drunk Or Baby?" Whoever gets it wrong drinks.
3♣ — Say a lyric from your favorite song. People vote, and if you are voted down, drink.
4♦ — Everyone else do an impression of the card picker.
4♥ — Kiss the person to your left.
4♠ — Flex your muscles for all to see.
4♣ — Lick the playing surface.
5♦ — Hold your breath. If you can’t do it longer than everyone at the table, drink.
5♥ — Kiss the person to your left.
5♠ — Name your one desert island item. People vote. If voted down, drink.
5♣ — Say a haiku. People vote, and if voted down, drink.
6♦ — Swallow toothpaste.
6♥ — Finish your drink.
6♠ — Speak in Spanish for one turn.
6♣ — you can’t use names, nicknames, or point to a person for the rest of the game.
7♦ — your mother, saying “Sorry.”
7♥ — Play pattycakes. The person who fucks up first drinks.
7♠ — Take off your shoes and socks for the remainder of the game.
7♣ — Thumb wrestle someone. Loser drinks.
8♦ — Staring contest someone. Loser drinks.
8♥ — Take turns naming states and something associated with that state. Go clockwise. No repeats. Loser drinks.
8♠ — Name your favorite urban dictionary term and act it out
8♣ — Name a high school class and something you learned in it. Go clockwise. No repeats of general subjects.
9♦ — Name Bible characters. No repeats.
9♥ — Name a country and do an accent of someone from that country. People vote, and if voted down, drink.
9♠ — Name three genie wishes. People vote, and if voted down, drink.
9♣ — Name a Harry Potter character, and say the name in the voice of that character. Go clockwise. No repeats.
10♦ — Eat the nearest food.
10♥ — Name McDonald’s menu items. Go clockwise. No repeats.
10♠ — Quote a favorite movie. People vote, and if voted down, then drink.
10♣ — Be blindfolded for one turn.
J♦ — Name a category, and go around naming things from that category. No repeats.
J♥ — Tell a funny hook-up story. If no one laughs, then drink.
J♠ — Tell a funny drunk story. If no one laughs, then drink.
J♣ — Name your biggest sexual desire and act it out.
Q♦ — You are the question master for the rest of the game. If anyone answers and question you ask, then they drink.
Q♥ — Slap the person to the left.
Q♠ — You must get anyone a beer when they need it for the rest of the game.
Q♣ — Sing your Alma Mater.
K♦ — Bite weenus of the person to your left.
K♥ — Pull another card, and do double.
K♠ — Take off two articles of clothing for the rest of the game. Shoes, socks, and jewelry do not count.
K♣ — Truth or dare.
A♦ — Make a rule: math specific.
A♥ — Make a rule: person specific.
A♠ — Make a rule: body specific.
A♣ — Make a rule: verbal specific.
Joker (Black) — Everyone drinks for five seconds.
Joker (Red) — Everyone drinks for ten seconds.
Optional — Every time a ♠ is pulled, move one seat clockwise.
If you are familiar with ebb and flow of a typical party (one that involves drinking), then you know that any party can be broken up into three stages: 1) Everyone gets there and starts drinking, 2) Everyone is now drunk and the real fun starts, 3) People that are still here are shitfaced as the party starts to die down.
There is a good time to play Latin Kings (or really, any non-competitive drinking game), and it's right at the very end of Stage 1. If a game of Latin Kings is the end of Stage 1, then Latin Kings all but assures that you'll be safely riding right into Stage 2, because you all just got drunk by playing. You can't play too early in the night because people won't put their whole selves into the game. You can't play too late because being too drunk means you won't pay attention, and Latin Kings requires your UTMOST ATTENTION.
Yeah, Latin Kings isn't perfect. There are some rules that kind of suck, like "Sing a Song Lyric" or "Name a High School Subject." But hey, feel free to change them—Latin Kings is an amorphous game. Trust me, we did try changing a few over the years. Nothing has really stuck.
Some great times with this game. There was the time the game ended with Dwyer having to slap someone as hard as he could. There was the game Pam had to take off her pants, much to her chagrin and to my delight. Some toothpaste has been eaten, some cornbread spat in people's drinks, some epic arm-wrestling matches and some saucy make-outs and some very upset mothers receiving scary texts at three in the morning. Great times.
Still, I can't help but think that there's an even better Kings game out there, somewhere. That's something I'll be working on while I'm unemployed—a brand new Kings game with all new rules. And I'm thinking of making it team-based this time around. But we'll save that for some Thirsty Thursday in the near future!
Five of us sat in the living room, and only we five. Though the off-campus house I inhabited was but a one and a half blocks from campus, that distance was daunting in a blizzard. It was one of those nights that wherever you were, that's pretty much where you were gonna stay, and if you didn't think to get to Wister Beer earlier in the day, well, then you were shit out of luck.
Anyways, we were bored. What can five guys honestly do together snowed in? So we created a drinking game. Latin Kings.
The rules are based on the game of Kings, or as it is known in other neighborhoods, "Ring of Fire" or "Circle of Death." Take a deck of cards and spread them in a circle. Each number has a different value for regular Kings. Two is Waterfall, Jack is Categories, etc., etc.
That basic concept is stretched to absurd lengths for Latin Kings. Instead of each number standing for a different rule, every single card is a different rule. You need a list for this game. Here is that list:
RULES
2♦ — Give a non sequitur. If no one laughs, drink.
2♥ — Tell a structured joke (Knock Knock, etc.) If no one laughs, drink.
2♠ — Pick a booger and put it on the playing surface.
2♣ — Put your chin on the table for one turn.
3♦ — Waterfall, clockwise.
3♥ — Arm wrestle the person to the right.
3♠ — "Drunk Or Baby?" Whoever gets it wrong drinks.
3♣ — Say a lyric from your favorite song. People vote, and if you are voted down, drink.
4♦ — Everyone else do an impression of the card picker.
4♥ — Kiss the person to your left.
4♠ — Flex your muscles for all to see.
4♣ — Lick the playing surface.
5♦ — Hold your breath. If you can’t do it longer than everyone at the table, drink.
5♥ — Kiss the person to your left.
5♠ — Name your one desert island item. People vote. If voted down, drink.
5♣ — Say a haiku. People vote, and if voted down, drink.
6♦ — Swallow toothpaste.
6♥ — Finish your drink.
6♠ — Speak in Spanish for one turn.
6♣ — you can’t use names, nicknames, or point to a person for the rest of the game.
7♦ — your mother, saying “Sorry.”
7♥ — Play pattycakes. The person who fucks up first drinks.
7♠ — Take off your shoes and socks for the remainder of the game.
7♣ — Thumb wrestle someone. Loser drinks.
8♦ — Staring contest someone. Loser drinks.
8♥ — Take turns naming states and something associated with that state. Go clockwise. No repeats. Loser drinks.
8♠ — Name your favorite urban dictionary term and act it out
8♣ — Name a high school class and something you learned in it. Go clockwise. No repeats of general subjects.
9♦ — Name Bible characters. No repeats.
9♥ — Name a country and do an accent of someone from that country. People vote, and if voted down, drink.
9♠ — Name three genie wishes. People vote, and if voted down, drink.
9♣ — Name a Harry Potter character, and say the name in the voice of that character. Go clockwise. No repeats.
10♦ — Eat the nearest food.
10♥ — Name McDonald’s menu items. Go clockwise. No repeats.
10♠ — Quote a favorite movie. People vote, and if voted down, then drink.
10♣ — Be blindfolded for one turn.
J♦ — Name a category, and go around naming things from that category. No repeats.
J♥ — Tell a funny hook-up story. If no one laughs, then drink.
J♠ — Tell a funny drunk story. If no one laughs, then drink.
J♣ — Name your biggest sexual desire and act it out.
Q♦ — You are the question master for the rest of the game. If anyone answers and question you ask, then they drink.
Q♥ — Slap the person to the left.
Q♠ — You must get anyone a beer when they need it for the rest of the game.
Q♣ — Sing your Alma Mater.
K♦ — Bite weenus of the person to your left.
K♥ — Pull another card, and do double.
K♠ — Take off two articles of clothing for the rest of the game. Shoes, socks, and jewelry do not count.
K♣ — Truth or dare.
A♦ — Make a rule: math specific.
A♥ — Make a rule: person specific.
A♠ — Make a rule: body specific.
A♣ — Make a rule: verbal specific.
Joker (Black) — Everyone drinks for five seconds.
Joker (Red) — Everyone drinks for ten seconds.
Optional — Every time a ♠ is pulled, move one seat clockwise.
If you are familiar with ebb and flow of a typical party (one that involves drinking), then you know that any party can be broken up into three stages: 1) Everyone gets there and starts drinking, 2) Everyone is now drunk and the real fun starts, 3) People that are still here are shitfaced as the party starts to die down.
There is a good time to play Latin Kings (or really, any non-competitive drinking game), and it's right at the very end of Stage 1. If a game of Latin Kings is the end of Stage 1, then Latin Kings all but assures that you'll be safely riding right into Stage 2, because you all just got drunk by playing. You can't play too early in the night because people won't put their whole selves into the game. You can't play too late because being too drunk means you won't pay attention, and Latin Kings requires your UTMOST ATTENTION.
Yeah, Latin Kings isn't perfect. There are some rules that kind of suck, like "Sing a Song Lyric" or "Name a High School Subject." But hey, feel free to change them—Latin Kings is an amorphous game. Trust me, we did try changing a few over the years. Nothing has really stuck.
Some great times with this game. There was the time the game ended with Dwyer having to slap someone as hard as he could. There was the game Pam had to take off her pants, much to her chagrin and to my delight. Some toothpaste has been eaten, some cornbread spat in people's drinks, some epic arm-wrestling matches and some saucy make-outs and some very upset mothers receiving scary texts at three in the morning. Great times.
Still, I can't help but think that there's an even better Kings game out there, somewhere. That's something I'll be working on while I'm unemployed—a brand new Kings game with all new rules. And I'm thinking of making it team-based this time around. But we'll save that for some Thirsty Thursday in the near future!
Wednesday, August 22, 2012
Stop Bitching About the Facebook Timeline
Facebook is one of those subjects that I keep coming back to over and over and over again in my writings. I guess that's to be expected on some level; Facebook is such an integral part of our lives at this point, and yet it can be so fucking frivolous at times. Aren't those the types of things that we strive to cover here at PoYB, those stupid fucking inconsequential things that are nevertheless so fucking important for god knows why?
Anyway, I'm here yet again to tell you all to shut the fuck up about Facebook. Specifically, this time, I'd like you all to stop bitching and moaning about the new Timeline feature.
From what I gather, everyone is upset about the new, now-mandatory feature because it's a big change. It's tough to accept changes to something that you are so comfortable with. I know that feeling—I've hated my new phone these past two weeks simply because it wasn't my old, shittier phone.
And that's fine, but you guys have to get over it. The Facebook Timeline isn't that bad. In fact, I'd say that it's pretty fucking awesome.
What are some big differences? Well, the most noticeable change is that you can now have a "cover photo" that is supplementary to your profile picture. From what I gather, this cover photo is not supposed to be a picture of yourself, because you already have profile picture for that. But that's an argument for another time.
Another big difference? It's really easy to check out everything that you've ever written on Facebook. The timeline has a button that you can click to look at any month from any year you've been on Facebook. So I can look at how truly awful and grating my Facebook statuses were in September of 2008, or see a funny thing someone posted on my wall in 2006, or laugh at how Kev is making the same grammatical and spelling mistakes now that he was in 2007. It's an awesome feature, great for a nostalgic sap like myself.
Are there any huge differences? Not really. Shit that people put on your wall is still listed chronologically, though now the items alternate to the left and right of the actual line of time (hence, "timeline," do I really have to explain this?). Is this a big deal? No.
That's it, folks. Stop being an asshole about this stupid little thing. Your life isn't over. It's just a Timeline instead of a Wall. No need to make a passive aggressive status about it.
Book Review: The Hive
The Hive
Written by Thomas LeBeau
LeBeau's The Hive centers on a group of ragtag individuals in the rundown town who have to fight off an alien invasion. After some kind of meteorite lands in the middle of Fairfield's forest, two boys go exploring and find a silver box. The contents of the box take over one boy, kill the other, and then attempt to take command of the whole town, turning them into drones.
The novel owes a great deal to Stephen King (even specifically spelling that out with references to Derry and Castle Rock), though it lacks King's gift for fleshing out both his characters and the town the novel is set in. I love a story with a large cast of characters who all come together (see King's The Stand, or a TV show like The Wire, or even a movie like Dazed and Confused), but that type of story only truly works if you can make each character interesting and unique beyond one or two traits.
The Hive does not succeed in this regard. Instead, we have the troubled kid who is reformed, the tough old man, the brittle young schoolteacher. The novel never really takes time to breathe and spend some time with these characters before the action starts, and because of this, we are less inclined to be invested in their stories and their emotions.
The story also suffers from a case of Telling, Not Showing. Take the town of Fairfield; instead of showing us how the town has been run down and is slowly dying with each generation, the author mails it in and simply tells us these things. He puts no faith in his audience, and that cheapens the story.
The action of the story leading up to the climax, I'll admit, is quite thrilling, and LeBeau shows a panache for writing those action scenes. However, a novel with all thrill, while fun, really has no lasting impact. The Hive really suffers overall because its built on these action sequences, not the characters that are taking part in them.
Overall, I'd recommend The Hive for a quick beach read. As long as you understand what you are getting, then it's a nice way to kill a few afternoons. If you are looking for an exciting book, here it is. If you are looking for a completely satisfying book, look elsewhere. It basically amounts to just a cheap, Stephen King knockoff.
GRADE: 2 pukes out of 5
Tuesday, August 21, 2012
"That Stench!": Top Five Worst Places in Philadelphia
The following blog post was written by Joe K***, and reflects his thoughts and opinions during the time it was written. Looking back, he doesn’t stand by what he wrote anymore, for various reasons. Please read an explanation HERE. This blog post will remain published as more of a time capsule of how immature or wrongheaded I was. I do not agree with certain things that are written below. People change. I’ve changed. I am sorry.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Yes, it truly does bring a smile to my face just to be walking down Broad Street on a beautiful day. I just can't help it. I'm in love.
That's not to say, however, that every aspect of this great city is wonderful and marvelous. Here, then, are the Top Five Worst Places in Philadelphia. (Granted, this is in my somewhat limited experience. I can't say I know of all the shitty dumps in, say, University City, etc., but I have seen my fair share of the awful side of Philly, so here it is, in my opinion.)
5. Citizen's Bank Park... after a loss
We start our list with a place that's so near and dear to my heart, but goddamn, it can be depressing at times. Particularly, it becomes one of the worst places in the city to be after a Phillies loss. It's that moment when your heart sinks after that final out, and you feel like you wasted your goddamn night, and forty thousand people are feeling the same thing. And you're squished in the stadium with these people for the next twenty minutes. Packed like sardines of sadness. Everyone slinks back to their cars, and you listen to a depressed Franzke and LA on 1210 WIP while you are stuck in your car for another half hour, gloomy faces in every window you pass, and not even the cool I-95 air can cheer you up. God, that shit sucks.
4. The McDonald's bathroom at their 17th and Walnut location
Well, alright, I haven't been to this restroom in a few years now, but the thought of it still gives me chills. First off, it's on the second floor in what looks like an attic. It's like the bathroom was an afterthought. Then you walk in, and the stench hits. Unlike some bathrooms that have an all-encompassing shit smell, one that wraps around you and squeezes you tight, this one has a very sharp stench. It's like the odor shoots straight up your nose, past your brain, into your soul, and it crumbles and blows away like dust in the wind. And the cherry on the top of this poop pie is the sights that are beheld as you look around. Smears of gray and brown. Stains of yellow and green. I distinctly remember pubic hair sprinkled around the edges of the washbowl. MAKE NO MISTAKE: It was pubic hair. The place still gives me nightmares.
3. The basement at 5382 Chew St.
Colloquially known as the "FIJI House" (or rather, it was, before the alleged rape—that no one was really all that surprised by—allegedly happened in 2010), this is the location of one of the handful of cliché frat parties that occur at good ol' La Salle every weekend during the school year. You know the type: $5 red solo cups, warm beer, crowded with people that you don't really want to hang out with. Descend the stairs, however, to find a portal to one of The Inferno's Circles of Hell. I distinctly remember the basement split into four quadrants: A) people grinding to the sultry sounds of Soldier Boy Tell 'Em (God, so many memories from that autumn of 2007); B) people playing tongue quidditch and practically banging to the sultry sounds of Soldier Boy Tell 'Em; C) people straight up peeing on the walls, all over the trash that lined the walls, mere inches away from all the young folk tonguing and getting to second base; D) the washer and dryer. You didn't just walk through this basement, you practically swam through the sweat. Neon lights were a must—what girl wouldn't like a guy with bright purple teeth? The music was deafening. This is just not a fun place to be.
I was particular scarred after an experience there, strangely during the daytime. My ladyfriend at the time lost her phone in this hell the night previous (yes, we went to the FIJI house together. Date Night!), so being the chivalrous La Salle Gentleman that I am, I ventured there during free period. Dante—I mean, some random pledge showed me down to the cellar. Ominously, the lights were all broken, so I descend into total darkness. I proceed to crawl around on my hands and knees, in the muck and the mire and the stale urine, to find this fucking phone. I didn't find it, I didn't get laid for finding it, and I just fucking really hate that basement.
2. Bleu Martini
Maybe this isn't fair to Bleu Martini. Maybe their place on this list means they just got the brunt of my hate for clubs over the other places that I hate. But seriously, this shit is awful. I hate the expensive drinks, the rude people, the cramped atmosphere, the cacophony of shitty pop songs, just everything about it. Granted, I can live with these places when I'm shitfaced, but you better hope you showed up shitfaced because, well, I already mentioned drink prices.
There's plenty of other offenders that are synonymous with Bleu Martini. The Field House is pretty shitty. I don't really like Plough & the Stars either. Mad River Olde City would have totally been the club I chose, but they mercifully got shut down recently, so I'll never have to suffer through an ordeal there again. (Or maybe I should just try to lighten up and enjoy myself a little more.)
1. The inside platform between the street door and the stairway leading down to Market East Station from 12th and Filbert (right next to the Field House)
Holy Christ, is it possible to exaggerate the deathly stench that permeates this little patch of the city? I could say it's the worst smell I've ever smelled in my life, but that wouldn't do it justice. I would say it smells like piss, shit, B.O., vomit, but it somehow smells like all these things. You can't just smell it, you can't even just taste it. You can feel it. You can see it like the squiggly lines that come off of Peanuts' Pigpen. You can practically hear it, it's so bad. You know those yellow suits Walt and Jesse use to cook meth? They'd be useless here. Not even homeless people populate this barren empty platform anymore, it's just that bad. I love taking the train to visit Pam, but when I walk up those steps, for those next 20 seconds I cover my mouth and nose and eyes and blindly run for that door. It's the worst and longest 20 seconds of my day.
It is, by far, the worst place in Philadelphia.
Welcome back to Top Five Tuesdays, folks!
Monday, August 20, 2012
The Boy in the Box
On February 25, 1957, a young boy, age approximately four-to-six years old, was found brutally murdered in a cardboard box in Philadelphia. The case still remains open to this day.
This is a really interesting case that, even now with modern DNA testing and with 55 years of police investigations, still remains unsolved. No one has any idea who the boy was, who killed him, or how he ended up in that box in the woods.
This is particularly fascinating to people like me, because it happened right in our neighborhood, right in the Fox Chase area. I used to pass the site of the discovery of his body every day for work. Christ, we used to drink 100 feet from where they found the box.
Here's how old this story is: The man who originally found the body decided not to go to the police, because he found it while he was checking his muskrat traps, and he did not want the police to confiscate his traps. Fucking muskrat traps.
There used to be a "school for wayward girls" on the north side of Susquehanna Road, and directly across the street is where they found the body. A guy named Fred Benonis was being a creeper one day and trying to see if he could see any young crazy women at the school, when he came upon the box. He was a La Salle College student, because of course he was. He too didn't want to say anything about his discovery (because he didn't want people to know how creepy he was), until he had a heart-to-heart with some Christian Brothers, who persuaded him to go to the authorities.
There have been a few leads over the years—many people claimed that the boy could possibly be such-and-such a boy who went missing, but every tip of this kind proved to be a false lead, as the boy in question was usually proven to be a different boy all together, and not the boy in the box.
America's Most Wanted did a segment about the Boy in the Box in 1998, which again raised awareness of the case and lead to many false leads from people calling in. A bunch of the CSIs have also had fictional episodes based on the Boy.
There wasn't much in terms of evidence to begin with. A stray handkerchief here, a sole child's shoe there, but none of it proved to be much help.
It was a terrible crime, and it's particularly haunting because it happened so close to home.
For a comprehensive journey through the investigation, go here.
This is a really interesting case that, even now with modern DNA testing and with 55 years of police investigations, still remains unsolved. No one has any idea who the boy was, who killed him, or how he ended up in that box in the woods.
This is particularly fascinating to people like me, because it happened right in our neighborhood, right in the Fox Chase area. I used to pass the site of the discovery of his body every day for work. Christ, we used to drink 100 feet from where they found the box.
Here's how old this story is: The man who originally found the body decided not to go to the police, because he found it while he was checking his muskrat traps, and he did not want the police to confiscate his traps. Fucking muskrat traps.
There used to be a "school for wayward girls" on the north side of Susquehanna Road, and directly across the street is where they found the body. A guy named Fred Benonis was being a creeper one day and trying to see if he could see any young crazy women at the school, when he came upon the box. He was a La Salle College student, because of course he was. He too didn't want to say anything about his discovery (because he didn't want people to know how creepy he was), until he had a heart-to-heart with some Christian Brothers, who persuaded him to go to the authorities.
There have been a few leads over the years—many people claimed that the boy could possibly be such-and-such a boy who went missing, but every tip of this kind proved to be a false lead, as the boy in question was usually proven to be a different boy all together, and not the boy in the box.
America's Most Wanted did a segment about the Boy in the Box in 1998, which again raised awareness of the case and lead to many false leads from people calling in. A bunch of the CSIs have also had fictional episodes based on the Boy.
There wasn't much in terms of evidence to begin with. A stray handkerchief here, a sole child's shoe there, but none of it proved to be much help.
It was a terrible crime, and it's particularly haunting because it happened so close to home.
For a comprehensive journey through the investigation, go here.
Saturday, August 18, 2012
Beerbelly Thoughts: No Regrets
I was pretty drunk when I wrote that last post. I don't really even know what it says. I am not going to go back and read it. It's probably bad. Is it bad? It's bad.
I blame SEPTA. I waited an hour for a fucking bus last night, and I ended up walking home anyway. Two miles isn't that bad, unless it's 3 AM. and it's raining. Fuck you, SEPTA.
I blame SEPTA. I waited an hour for a fucking bus last night, and I ended up walking home anyway. Two miles isn't that bad, unless it's 3 AM. and it's raining. Fuck you, SEPTA.
Labels:
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Irregular,
Joe,
Miscellaneous,
Not Music
Summer's Over?
Shit, man. My last post kinda has me down, emotionally. I know it's not that big a deal to y'all (and I know exactly zero people actually saw that post and read it), but it's a big deal to me. Basically, my last post is ol' Joey here admitting that childhood is dead. This is it. We're adults, and it's permanent.
Which makes me think of the Hold Steady. This band is My Band. They've always been the band that is singing the songs we want to hear in our youth. Their entire catalogue is basically a narration of our teenage years.
In fact, my very first blog post was about the Hold Steady and their then-new album, Stay Positive. I would like to reprint that blog post, if you don't mind. Here it is:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Look at this motherfucker:
Does he look like he should be the voice of my generation? Does he seem like the kind of guy that would know EXACTLY what a kid like me likes to do on a Friday night?
Okay, how about his bandmate:
This dude looks like he should be serenading the Lady and the Tramp as they eat their spaghetti. He looks like some kind of reject French pirate.
And yet... somehow these guys strike a chord in my life. Somehow they come up with these songs that could've been ripped from the history of our Burholme exploits.
Here's an excerpt from their song "Massive Nights":
"And everything was partying,
everyone was pretty,
and everyone was coming towards the center of the city.
The dance floor was crowded,
the bathrooms were worse.
We kissed in your car and we drank from your purse."
Good god! If I could only name the number of times any of this shit happens with my friends and me. It's like the typical weekend night for us. We all get drunk and congregate, it's crowded, people make out and people drink some more, and by fucking god, it's a MASSIVE NIGHT.
So it seems the Hold Steady is coming out with a much-anticipated new album, their follow up to perhaps on the greatest albums in my life as a teenager, Boys and Girls in America. It's called Stay Positive. Yeah, the title is corny, but man, I've been praying really hard that this album is another mind-blower (Remember, one time I prayed really, really hard that I'd win a Harry Potter book in a school contest, and I won; who says god doesn't answer frivolous prayers?).
In an ultimate act of cool, they put like half their album online for free already (I'll buy the full album tomorrow so I can listen to it on my bus trip to Maryland). So here it was. The moment of truth. How will it stack up? Check out the first track, "Constructive Summer":
"We're gonna lean this ladder
up against the water tower,
climb up to the top
and drink and talk
this summer."
Jesus Christ! How could Finn possibly know that Burholme's water tower is the center of our town? How could he know that this would be the perfect summer experience? How is it that at the beginning of my summer, Finn touches a nerve on the very first song?
As of the end of this post I've listened to the first half of the album once through, and I can already tell it's a masterpiece. It's littered again with those things I can relate to best, in these sixteen years I call "childhood": the drinking, the partying, that girl that fucked you over, and just hanging out with your friends trying to get by.
I love you, Hold Steady.
"We drink along in double time,
I drink too much, but we feel fine."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hey! That was a decent blog post. It was my first one, back on June 16, 2008, so I I guess I don't even mind if it's shitty. (Is it shitty? I don't know. I'm kinda drunk right now.)
But to tie it up with my last blog post, I'm kind of like Craig Finn. I think we had some great times during those Summers. I think we can have some better times during these summers coming up.
What matters is that we are all together, that we are taking advantage of every fucking opportunity that we can, that we are truly living life and carpe diem-ing and all that good stuff. The metaphor: we gotta lean that ladder up against the water tower, and GET HAMMERED!
Friday, August 17, 2012
Summer's Over
For some weird reason, I used to keep record every summer of what I did each day, where I went, and who I hung out with. I have a binder with about 30 pages in it, chronicling every single day during the summers of 2006 through 2010. Each day is contained on only one line.
May 25, 2009 says "Phillies game v. Marlins w/Harry," and I vividly remember that game. Two of our friends stood in line for us to get standing room only tickets while we got shitfaced, and then they tried to compensate by chugging vodka and ended up not even making it into the game. Chan Ho Park gave up a couple of runs in relief, though to be fair, that was probably the last time he was hittable all fucking summer.
July 5, 2007 says "Fig, Day Dreams, Alex's, w/3PL" and I recall that it this night was a pretty epic Guys Night, at least from the perspective of eighteen-year-olds. Hookah smoking, somehow getting into a strip club (for the first time? I think it was the first time), getting extra hammered in a buddy's basement, these things were all new to us, four young La Salle Gentlemen, our high school diplomas still fresh, college a few months away. (3PL is "3rd Period Lunch," both the time we four ate lunch together in senior year, and also the name of the band we comprised).
June 3, 2010 says "Shore w/Pam," which was one of the most rewarding days I can remember in a long time. Pam and I took the ride down to Wildwood, hung out with Dave and Ashley on the beach, kicked back a few. We also got kicked out of the indoor water park, got shit on by seagulls, and ate some delicious Sam's pizza, all before somehow making it home in my '91 Camry without air conditioning.
May 9, 2006 ominously just says "Grounded," which it looks like was for the time that I got a little too tipsy at a Cheltenham party and ended up on a friend's bathroom floor, and for some reason called my parents to come get me instead of sleeping on that tile floor like a good little N'Easter boy. So yeah, I got grounded for a week that summer. Hey, remember when we used to get grounded?
There are a lot of one-line stories like that littered around the notebook, and I remember each and every night. So many parties, so many random hang-outs so many good memories. This was our youth.
So but the point I'm trying to make is this: Things just aren't the same anymore. There's a reason I stopped keeping this summer journal after the summer of '10, and that was because that summer was my last true Summer. That was the last time that we were going to be able to have a party on a Tuesday night. People have work in the morning now. It was the last summer that was actually a vacation from something; with no school at the beginning and end, summer is just another season. The temperature changes, and we still go about our business.
Hey! That's not to say life is miserable in our new type of summer. I'm still enjoying life. Check it:
ONE: Weekends are still packed. Like, they book up pretty quickly now because everyone has to plan their shit for only 2/7ths of the week. But those two days are always a blast. We make the most of it.
TWO: I'm unemployed (for now), and my girlfriend is a nurse, so she doesn't abide by the M-F schedule. So yeah, we can still have a great Wednesday night when we want to.
THREE: My body can't handle that Drinking Every Night thing anymore, I don't think. Sure, there were times during, say, '07 or '08 when we would go thirteen days in a row, hard every night, and still have the energy to drink on the fourteenth day. I tried that shit down in Wildwood last week, went hard Sunday night and Monday night, and I spent all Tuesday dead on the couch. I just lack the energy. So now I pick and choose what nights are going to be the night to go wild, and then reign it in other nights (which gives me a good excuse to do my fair share of designated driving, because I owe all my friends a few nights of that at this point in my life).
FOUR: I actually don't mind resting some nights, because I make the best of them too. Last night, for instance, I just sat by the pool with my good friends Scott Franzke and Larry Anderson. It was relaxing, watching dusk turn into darkness, listening to the summer breeze and the crickets and Cliff Lee give up another solo home run. I actually really enjoyed myself.
So yes, this is another instance of Joe's nostalgia, but it's wistful nostalgia more so than painful nostalgia. We really had some good Summers, but that shit is over now.
Time to let it go. Time to embrace our new lives as adults. I am thoroughly going to enjoy the rest of my summer, even though it really isn't Summer anymore.
Thursday, August 16, 2012
All Hail Facebook
Is Facebook still going to be relevant in five years? I use this website for pretty much two reasons nowadays: 1) To plan social events with the 3% of my Facebook friends that I actually hang out with in real life; 2) To make sarcastic comments that I hope are marginally funny and perhaps will get a few "Likes."
Two problems I see are as follows: 1) A lot (or a majority) of my friends are now opening their Facebook profiles to their family members, members that include parents, weird uncles, and preteen cousins. This makes me uncomfortable; 2) Most of the people that show up on my newsfeed (and my subnewsfeed?) are people I am no longer in contact with. I don't have many enemies in life—I can count the people I truly dislike on one hand. But there's a whole group of people that I simply don't need to know THAT much about. I hope we can reunite some day, High School Biology Lab Partner, but I honestly don't care THAT much whether you "Liked" some photo that your sophomore year roommate at Cliché State University posted.
First: Don't get me started about adults getting on Facebook. It's absolutely ruined everything about our social media network. The story that my girlfriend always tells me ("My roommate yelled down the dorm hallway, 'We have Facebook!' and everyone started to freak out! It was like we were granted the keys to the Ark of the Covenant!"), yeah, that seems like a long fucking time ago. Now I walk into my living room after work to see my parents showing my grandparents pictures of their (my grandparents') great-grandkids on Facebook. I sit and watch the Phillies with my parents while my Mom and Dad both sit on their separate computer machines and scour Facebook for who tagged whom in some old photos from their youth or what my crazy aunt posted as her Facebook status.
I get it, they are enjoying Facebook and they use it for different reasons. It just makes me uncomfortable that these people, our authority figures, have invaded what was once ours. Don't get me wrong, I have taken the necessary measures and have blocked every single known adult above the age of 29. I am unapologetic with this deed. My Mom-mom knows full well that she is blocked and she will never have the keys to the kingdom (the kingdom of me cursing a lot and showing my naked body covered only with a red solo cup around my private parts in an ill-conceived Facebook blunder). My teachers were all blocked. Every backstabbing University administrator was blocked twice. I searched the fuck out of Facebook until I found—watch out!—my local priest, and his celibate ass was blocked.
Because I am not saying I have anything (serious) to hide. I hope I'm a good kid. There are no profile pictures of me blowing coke or statuses that say "OMG im srsly gnna get blackout 2NITE" or disgusting wall-to-walls with my girlfriend where we exchange "I love you.... NO I LOVE YOU MORE!!!!!!!" nonsense. I have nothing to hide (Google my first and last name and I'm not on the first ten pages at all... I checked today).
But when people like your Great Uncle Pervert are online, and they are simply using their Facebook time to look at what your current Facebook status is, I think it's time to stop feeding the beast. Kids and young adults who grew up on Facebook are using Facebook for a completely different purpose than our elders. Our elderly loved ones want to reconnect with the mousy-haired kid in the front of their fifth-grade classrooms, and they want to spy on their kids. Let them do the former, and let them enjoy doing so; just don't fucking enable them to do the latter. It's annoying. I'm done with it.
Okay, so I threw all my non-Facebook-friends under a bus, why not throw 90% of my Facebook friends under another, equally effective, SEPTA bus? Here it goes: I'm tired of Facebook because of all the people (or "friends") I don't really care about anymore.
"Is he talking about me?" you are asking yourself right now. I probably am. But here is a rubric to check if I am talking about you:
1) Have I talked to you in person in the last year? (Texting doesn't count.)
2) Have I invited you to one Facebook event that I created in the past year? (I usually invite people I am comfortable hanging out with...)
3) Do I care what you had for breakfast / Do I care what your dorm room looks like / Do I care if you are friends with an additional nineteen people because you went on some stupid fucking Travel Study / Do I care where you are and where you are drinking and with whom you are hanging?
If you answered "no" to at least two of the questions, then I am talking about you! I'm tired of seeing you on Facebook! I feel bad saying this because, let's be honest, with our generation, a "Facebook Friendship" is often confused with a real friendship. If I were to go and defriend Person X with whom I shared a crazy night with at some silly party in 2006, they would be genuinely offended.
They would, and that's why I still continue to hold on to that 90% percent of people I am no longer truly in contact with—because I'm afraid to let go of past relationships. I know I haven't talked to some random schlub in five years, and I know I only talked to him twice, and one of those times I was drunk as a skunk...
But what if someday he writes something on Facebook that is relevant to me? Maybe he'll offer Phillies playoff tickets to his pantheon of Facebook acquaintances, and I'll score a ticket to a lifelong memory. Maybe he'll post on Facebook a serious question, and I'll be able to randomly offer some sound advice that will change his life for the better. Maybe he'll post on Facebook some fucking recipe for brownies, and I'll be able to take that recipe and bake those brownies and be the hero of the next grown up party I go to.
Still, because of the feelings I expressed in the previous paragraph, I have to suffer through endless Facebook Top News Feeds of bullshit and more bullshit, of comments on photos taken by people I don't know of people I don't know, of statuses of Jerseylicious updates(???), of statuses from people who have inexplicably changed their last names to "The Coldest Winter" or "Backseat," of people who I have spoken one word or less with in person, yet insist on shoving down my eyethroat endless amounts of anecdotes that will cause me to toss and turn with endless apathy.
Here we are. We are stuck. We are handcuffed to Facebook. It is not a luxury (the luxury that my girlfriend excitedly signed up for when it became available to our University in her junior year). It is a prison, and we are actively building the bars. We cannot escape. We want to, but we can't.
Don't delete your Facebook. Everyone plans their hangouts on Facebook. You'll never know what's going on on a random Friday night. Don't delete all your "friends." Then you'll lose the ties that bond you and that person you'll probably never talk to again but what if you do? For Christ's sake, and I say this with 0% of my usual Facebook sarcasm, DON'T FRIEND YOUR OLDER FAMILY MEMBERS.
I visit Facebook probably six times a day, and I hate it every single time, but what can I do? It's a social institution.
What can I do? What can YOU do? I'd say follow the line of advice I've laid out for you in this essay.
—Be aware of what other people want to read / what other people can tolerate
—Cater to everyone, not just to the people that care, because 95% OF YOUR FACEBOOK FRIENDS DON'T CARE
—Fuck your parents and your aunts and your uncles and your grandparents and your teachers and the President of your University, let them build their own Facebook. It doesn't involve you. Fuck them. Stay away, for everyone's sake.
—Fuck Facebook. All hail Facebook.
Two problems I see are as follows: 1) A lot (or a majority) of my friends are now opening their Facebook profiles to their family members, members that include parents, weird uncles, and preteen cousins. This makes me uncomfortable; 2) Most of the people that show up on my newsfeed (and my subnewsfeed?) are people I am no longer in contact with. I don't have many enemies in life—I can count the people I truly dislike on one hand. But there's a whole group of people that I simply don't need to know THAT much about. I hope we can reunite some day, High School Biology Lab Partner, but I honestly don't care THAT much whether you "Liked" some photo that your sophomore year roommate at Cliché State University posted.
First: Don't get me started about adults getting on Facebook. It's absolutely ruined everything about our social media network. The story that my girlfriend always tells me ("My roommate yelled down the dorm hallway, 'We have Facebook!' and everyone started to freak out! It was like we were granted the keys to the Ark of the Covenant!"), yeah, that seems like a long fucking time ago. Now I walk into my living room after work to see my parents showing my grandparents pictures of their (my grandparents') great-grandkids on Facebook. I sit and watch the Phillies with my parents while my Mom and Dad both sit on their separate computer machines and scour Facebook for who tagged whom in some old photos from their youth or what my crazy aunt posted as her Facebook status.
I get it, they are enjoying Facebook and they use it for different reasons. It just makes me uncomfortable that these people, our authority figures, have invaded what was once ours. Don't get me wrong, I have taken the necessary measures and have blocked every single known adult above the age of 29. I am unapologetic with this deed. My Mom-mom knows full well that she is blocked and she will never have the keys to the kingdom (the kingdom of me cursing a lot and showing my naked body covered only with a red solo cup around my private parts in an ill-conceived Facebook blunder). My teachers were all blocked. Every backstabbing University administrator was blocked twice. I searched the fuck out of Facebook until I found—watch out!—my local priest, and his celibate ass was blocked.
Because I am not saying I have anything (serious) to hide. I hope I'm a good kid. There are no profile pictures of me blowing coke or statuses that say "OMG im srsly gnna get blackout 2NITE" or disgusting wall-to-walls with my girlfriend where we exchange "I love you.... NO I LOVE YOU MORE!!!!!!!" nonsense. I have nothing to hide (Google my first and last name and I'm not on the first ten pages at all... I checked today).
But when people like your Great Uncle Pervert are online, and they are simply using their Facebook time to look at what your current Facebook status is, I think it's time to stop feeding the beast. Kids and young adults who grew up on Facebook are using Facebook for a completely different purpose than our elders. Our elderly loved ones want to reconnect with the mousy-haired kid in the front of their fifth-grade classrooms, and they want to spy on their kids. Let them do the former, and let them enjoy doing so; just don't fucking enable them to do the latter. It's annoying. I'm done with it.
Okay, so I threw all my non-Facebook-friends under a bus, why not throw 90% of my Facebook friends under another, equally effective, SEPTA bus? Here it goes: I'm tired of Facebook because of all the people (or "friends") I don't really care about anymore.
"Is he talking about me?" you are asking yourself right now. I probably am. But here is a rubric to check if I am talking about you:
1) Have I talked to you in person in the last year? (Texting doesn't count.)
2) Have I invited you to one Facebook event that I created in the past year? (I usually invite people I am comfortable hanging out with...)
3) Do I care what you had for breakfast / Do I care what your dorm room looks like / Do I care if you are friends with an additional nineteen people because you went on some stupid fucking Travel Study / Do I care where you are and where you are drinking and with whom you are hanging?
If you answered "no" to at least two of the questions, then I am talking about you! I'm tired of seeing you on Facebook! I feel bad saying this because, let's be honest, with our generation, a "Facebook Friendship" is often confused with a real friendship. If I were to go and defriend Person X with whom I shared a crazy night with at some silly party in 2006, they would be genuinely offended.
They would, and that's why I still continue to hold on to that 90% percent of people I am no longer truly in contact with—because I'm afraid to let go of past relationships. I know I haven't talked to some random schlub in five years, and I know I only talked to him twice, and one of those times I was drunk as a skunk...
But what if someday he writes something on Facebook that is relevant to me? Maybe he'll offer Phillies playoff tickets to his pantheon of Facebook acquaintances, and I'll score a ticket to a lifelong memory. Maybe he'll post on Facebook a serious question, and I'll be able to randomly offer some sound advice that will change his life for the better. Maybe he'll post on Facebook some fucking recipe for brownies, and I'll be able to take that recipe and bake those brownies and be the hero of the next grown up party I go to.
Still, because of the feelings I expressed in the previous paragraph, I have to suffer through endless Facebook Top News Feeds of bullshit and more bullshit, of comments on photos taken by people I don't know of people I don't know, of statuses of Jerseylicious updates(???), of statuses from people who have inexplicably changed their last names to "The Coldest Winter" or "Backseat," of people who I have spoken one word or less with in person, yet insist on shoving down my eyethroat endless amounts of anecdotes that will cause me to toss and turn with endless apathy.
Here we are. We are stuck. We are handcuffed to Facebook. It is not a luxury (the luxury that my girlfriend excitedly signed up for when it became available to our University in her junior year). It is a prison, and we are actively building the bars. We cannot escape. We want to, but we can't.
Don't delete your Facebook. Everyone plans their hangouts on Facebook. You'll never know what's going on on a random Friday night. Don't delete all your "friends." Then you'll lose the ties that bond you and that person you'll probably never talk to again but what if you do? For Christ's sake, and I say this with 0% of my usual Facebook sarcasm, DON'T FRIEND YOUR OLDER FAMILY MEMBERS.
I visit Facebook probably six times a day, and I hate it every single time, but what can I do? It's a social institution.
What can I do? What can YOU do? I'd say follow the line of advice I've laid out for you in this essay.
—Be aware of what other people want to read / what other people can tolerate
—Cater to everyone, not just to the people that care, because 95% OF YOUR FACEBOOK FRIENDS DON'T CARE
—Fuck your parents and your aunts and your uncles and your grandparents and your teachers and the President of your University, let them build their own Facebook. It doesn't involve you. Fuck them. Stay away, for everyone's sake.
—Fuck Facebook. All hail Facebook.
How to Deal with a Breakup, According to My iPod
According to Fleetwood Mac in "Go Your Own Way," you should stalwartly resolve to find something better:
If your girlfriend cheated on you, or if the relationship simply just dissolved, you gotta just move on, argues Fleetwood Mac's Lindsey Buckingham. There's better stuff out there, but you gotta find it your own way.
According to Belle and Sebastian in "I'm Waking Up To Us," you should take consideration of all the ways the relationship was shitty in the first place:
Sometimes a relationship is really just an infatuation, and the breakup occurred more so because you realized how awful the other person really was. It's good to take stock of all the ways that the relationship just wasn't right, and hold on to those reasons. They'll make you feel a lot better.
According to the Temptations in "Ain't Too Proud to Beg," you should beg and plead for her sympathy:
No relationship is worth giving up on. It was probably you that messed up. Go back and win her over again, even if that means sleeping on her porch step all night and day. Do whatever it takes to get her back.
According to Okkervil River in "Calling and Not Calling My Ex," you should, though tempted to go back to her, resolve not to care, and justify it by saying she isn't your problem anymore:
The titular Ex has broken the protagonist's heart, and he sits around all day thinking about her (it doesn't help that she is a TV star). But in the end, we get a resolution. She broke your heart, why bother even thinking about her anymore? "Go break their hearts," he says, and wipes his hands clean of the matter. You should do the same, is the implication here.
According to Washington Social Club in "The Breakup," you should try to make yourself feel better with small, frivolous victories.
It helps to say that you don't care about breaking up, you care a lot more about something else. You can fake yourself out this way. In the song, our lead singers says he doesn't care they broke up, he is just glad he got his CDs back ("You may have taken the best years of my life, but I got The Best of Bob Dylan: '65-'75, The Columbia Recordings"). It makes you feel better to associate good feelings with the ordeal than bad feelings (though I know you're bitter, just hide it).
According to the Mountain Goats in "Woke Up New," you should be scared of change and maintain an inability to cope.
Breaking up is tough to do. You are so used to thinking as part of a couple that you might not be able to handle living by yourself for a while. Simply hide in your room, drink too much coffee (you don't have to make two servings now, remember), and wait for the sadness to break. But who knows how long that will be?
According to Los Campesinos! in "We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed," you should just ignore the fact that your relationship is crumbling around you.
If she seems to be gradually pulling away, do what is sensible: Threaten to kill anyone who hits on her, try to win her back with your ill-advised charms, plainly ignore the fact that her heart just simply isn't in it anymore.
According to Girls in "Laura," you should consider just being friends because you sucked as a couple.
Look at how shit changed once you guys became "official." Shit changed, and not for the best. Remember when you used to be friends? Now you can't even look at each other. Being boyfriend and girlfriend ruined the friendship you had. Try to get back to that—it's going to take time, but it'll happen eventually.
According to Stars in "You Ex-Lover is Dead," you should accept that you have differences, and come to a mutual understanding that it will never work out, but it was a positive experience nonetheless.
It wasn't all bad, was it? Nah, you had some good times. And you learned a lot. And it won't even be weird if you run into your Ex at some point. Don't be sorry that you met her. Don't be sorry that it ended. Really. No regrets.
According to Art Brut in "Emily Kane," you should never give up on your first love, and always carry a torch for her, no matter what.
Ah, she was your first love. Even though you broke up so, so long ago, and you have even seen her in ten years (and nine months, three weeks, four days, six hours, thirteen minutes, five seconds), you just know she was the one for you. You'll probably never get over her. Just accept that.
According to the Band in "Long Black Veil," you should not break up with your significant other, even if it means you'll be put to death.
It's tough dealing with a break-up. So just don't break-up, it's as simple as that. Oh, you might receive capital punishment because of it, but hey, that's better than breaking up. And hey, she'll visit your grave every day.
According to Bob Dylan in "Sara," you should write a song for her as a plea to get back together.
Nah, only Bob Dylan could pull this off.
I am very much in love with my girlfriend, and this post does not reflect my life or my emotions.
If your girlfriend cheated on you, or if the relationship simply just dissolved, you gotta just move on, argues Fleetwood Mac's Lindsey Buckingham. There's better stuff out there, but you gotta find it your own way.
According to Belle and Sebastian in "I'm Waking Up To Us," you should take consideration of all the ways the relationship was shitty in the first place:
Sometimes a relationship is really just an infatuation, and the breakup occurred more so because you realized how awful the other person really was. It's good to take stock of all the ways that the relationship just wasn't right, and hold on to those reasons. They'll make you feel a lot better.
According to the Temptations in "Ain't Too Proud to Beg," you should beg and plead for her sympathy:
No relationship is worth giving up on. It was probably you that messed up. Go back and win her over again, even if that means sleeping on her porch step all night and day. Do whatever it takes to get her back.
According to Okkervil River in "Calling and Not Calling My Ex," you should, though tempted to go back to her, resolve not to care, and justify it by saying she isn't your problem anymore:
The titular Ex has broken the protagonist's heart, and he sits around all day thinking about her (it doesn't help that she is a TV star). But in the end, we get a resolution. She broke your heart, why bother even thinking about her anymore? "Go break their hearts," he says, and wipes his hands clean of the matter. You should do the same, is the implication here.
According to Washington Social Club in "The Breakup," you should try to make yourself feel better with small, frivolous victories.
It helps to say that you don't care about breaking up, you care a lot more about something else. You can fake yourself out this way. In the song, our lead singers says he doesn't care they broke up, he is just glad he got his CDs back ("You may have taken the best years of my life, but I got The Best of Bob Dylan: '65-'75, The Columbia Recordings"). It makes you feel better to associate good feelings with the ordeal than bad feelings (though I know you're bitter, just hide it).
According to the Mountain Goats in "Woke Up New," you should be scared of change and maintain an inability to cope.
Breaking up is tough to do. You are so used to thinking as part of a couple that you might not be able to handle living by yourself for a while. Simply hide in your room, drink too much coffee (you don't have to make two servings now, remember), and wait for the sadness to break. But who knows how long that will be?
According to Los Campesinos! in "We Are Beautiful, We Are Doomed," you should just ignore the fact that your relationship is crumbling around you.
If she seems to be gradually pulling away, do what is sensible: Threaten to kill anyone who hits on her, try to win her back with your ill-advised charms, plainly ignore the fact that her heart just simply isn't in it anymore.
According to Girls in "Laura," you should consider just being friends because you sucked as a couple.
Look at how shit changed once you guys became "official." Shit changed, and not for the best. Remember when you used to be friends? Now you can't even look at each other. Being boyfriend and girlfriend ruined the friendship you had. Try to get back to that—it's going to take time, but it'll happen eventually.
According to Stars in "You Ex-Lover is Dead," you should accept that you have differences, and come to a mutual understanding that it will never work out, but it was a positive experience nonetheless.
It wasn't all bad, was it? Nah, you had some good times. And you learned a lot. And it won't even be weird if you run into your Ex at some point. Don't be sorry that you met her. Don't be sorry that it ended. Really. No regrets.
According to Art Brut in "Emily Kane," you should never give up on your first love, and always carry a torch for her, no matter what.
Ah, she was your first love. Even though you broke up so, so long ago, and you have even seen her in ten years (and nine months, three weeks, four days, six hours, thirteen minutes, five seconds), you just know she was the one for you. You'll probably never get over her. Just accept that.
According to the Band in "Long Black Veil," you should not break up with your significant other, even if it means you'll be put to death.
It's tough dealing with a break-up. So just don't break-up, it's as simple as that. Oh, you might receive capital punishment because of it, but hey, that's better than breaking up. And hey, she'll visit your grave every day.
According to Bob Dylan in "Sara," you should write a song for her as a plea to get back together.
Nah, only Bob Dylan could pull this off.
I am very much in love with my girlfriend, and this post does not reflect my life or my emotions.
Don't Call It a Comeback
I miss writing. From February until July of this year, I wrote about our travels in Las Vegas. Yes, the blog sucked most of the time, but I was mainly writing for family, and I was mainly just writing about the things that we did, and how exciting can that be, really? Honestly, the main thing I got out of it was that I missed writing for Puke on Your Birthday pretty terribly.
And that's where I gave up, apparently. Good times.
So anyway, here I go. At least two or three posts a week. Some old columns (Top Five Tuesday, Thirsty Thursday, PoYB from the Vault) will be making appearances, as well as brand new, non-Degrassi material. Hopefully at least half of the miscellaneous material will be longer rants, though I'll probably mix in some shorter posts too, not unlike Nick's Tidbits when PoYB was gasping its final breaths. I am also going to start writing some reviews—albums, movies, books, restaurants, and what have you.
Not sure if anyone will be following my lead here. I know Mike S****** starts law school pretty soon and doesn't want his name plastered all over this shit (plus, he won't have time to write anything besides whatever it is that law students write). Dave and Nick and Mandy are working a lot too, so who knows, maybe it's just me. Maybe I can convince that girlfriend of mine to write about something or other. Maybe my parents... haha, nah, just kidding, they still aren't allowed to read PoYB.
Thanks for coming back, folks. I hope to be with you for the foreseeable future. And if this is another false start and I lose my enthusiasm and stop writing again, well then fuck me I guess.
I've considered rebooting this old franchise from time to time over the past couple of years, but it was always tough getting into the swing of things. Whether it was "I've been too busy" or "I have nothing to write about" or "No one reads that shit anyway," I always had an excuse. No more. I'm out of school. I'm unemployed. I live with my parents. True, no one reads this shit still, but hey, Pam will probably give it a pity read or two, so onward I type.
It's been awhile since I've given the ol' blog a whirl. Well okay, I did apparently attempt to write something while I was blackout drunk, because there it is on the blog post list, but I don't remember writing it. Let me share with you what was going to be the first PoYB entry in two years (thankfully, it wasn't):
Don't piss me off when I'm taking a poop. That's all I'm saying.Well, that's not all I'm saying, obviously. I'm tipsy, and I verbose when I get tipsy, and this is kind of a rebirthing of Puke on Your Birthday (with poop?), so that's not all I'm saying—duh. What's "all I'm saying" is this: There's a fucking etiquette you should follow when it comes to the bathroom area.
It's a damn shame I have to lecture y'all on common toilet courtesy, but it's the world we live in. Gotta accept that.
Okay, let's start when you are
And that's where I gave up, apparently. Good times.
So anyway, here I go. At least two or three posts a week. Some old columns (Top Five Tuesday, Thirsty Thursday, PoYB from the Vault) will be making appearances, as well as brand new, non-Degrassi material. Hopefully at least half of the miscellaneous material will be longer rants, though I'll probably mix in some shorter posts too, not unlike Nick's Tidbits when PoYB was gasping its final breaths. I am also going to start writing some reviews—albums, movies, books, restaurants, and what have you.
Not sure if anyone will be following my lead here. I know Mike S****** starts law school pretty soon and doesn't want his name plastered all over this shit (plus, he won't have time to write anything besides whatever it is that law students write). Dave and Nick and Mandy are working a lot too, so who knows, maybe it's just me. Maybe I can convince that girlfriend of mine to write about something or other. Maybe my parents... haha, nah, just kidding, they still aren't allowed to read PoYB.
Thanks for coming back, folks. I hope to be with you for the foreseeable future. And if this is another false start and I lose my enthusiasm and stop writing again, well then fuck me I guess.
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