Day 67: I Have Never Memorized all the U.S. Presidents in Order

Gonna type 'em here without looking it up, to test myself:

1. Washington
2. Adams
3. Jefferson
4. Madison
5. Monroe
6. Quincy Adams
7. Jackson
8. Van Buren
9. Harrison (William Henry)
10. Tyler
11. Polk
12. Taylor
13. Fillmore
14. Pierce
15. Buchanon
16. Lincoln
17. Johnson (Andrew)
18. Grant
19. Hayes
20. Garfield
21. Arthur
22. Cleveland
23. Harrison (Ben)
24. Cleveland (again)
25. McKinley
26. Roosevelt (Teddy)
27. Taft
28. Wilson
29. Harding
30. Coolidge
31. Hoover
32. FDR
33. Truman
34. Eisenhower
35. JFK
36. Johnson (Lyndon)
37. Nixon
38. Ford
39. Carter
40. Reagan
41. Bush (H.W.)
42. Clinton
43. Bush (plain ol’ W.)
44. Obama

Did I miss anyone? No? Okay.

Love,
Joey

Day 66: I Have Never [Censored]

I did a sex thing today. I’m not going to write about it. Be thankful for that!

Love,
Joey

Day 65: I Have Never Spent a Night in Long Island

My hatred of New York is well-established at this point. I guess this is as good a time as any to do a deep-dive in regards to why I feel this intense dislike of a large city.

First, and possibly most importantly, I’ll admit off the bat that I usually bring up my ill will in a humorous context (allegedly humorous?). My sense of humor is primitive and broad, definitely not nuanced. I tend to repeat the same types of jokes for years. Riffing on the things I "hate" gets cheap laughs from friends. I love making people laugh and I’m really bad at making people laugh, so this is the best I can do. If that makes sense.

So why New York specifically?

The origin of this hate is probably the fall of 2007. Before that year, I had visited New York a few times on day trips and felt no negative feelings. Traveling to the top of the Statue of Liberty as a Cub Scout was cool, walking past Ground Zero was sobering, visiting WWF New York restaurant was a nice birthday treat for a dummy kid who still liked wrestling. But the autumn of 2007 changed me.

The Phillies changed me. Our baseball team rallied at the end of the year, going 13-4 over their final seventeen games, winning the NL East title, all while the New York Mets, our dreaded rival, imploded in spectacular fashion.

And of course, it was my first month of college, the first month of a four-year party, and now all of a sudden I’m drinking and celebrating baseball wins and some of my classmates are from New York and so I’m rubbing it in their faces and I guess I slowly morphed from hating the Mets to hating New York itself.

There’s a second reason for hating New York, but the reason is more nebulous than a baseball scorecard, and maybe it might even smell a little bit like bullshit, but here it is.

I truly believe that Philadelphia is the greatest city on earth. New Yorkers, on the other hand—and I’ve observed this in action and in writing—not only believe that New York is the greatest city on Earth, but they also think that Philadelphia is a pissant town in comparison. New Yorkers have an unearned sense of superiority, and they are not bashful about it. And that pisses me off.

I get that I’m probably a hypocrite, because maybe I piss on New York every chance I get, and I piss on lesser cities than Philly. But this is a matter of "They started it!" If New Yorkers weren’t so fucking haughty about New York, than I wouldn’t need to shit on them.

I get that this also sounds somewhat pathetic, almost like Little Brother Syndrome. But being diagnosed with that syndrome would mean admitting that New York was better, as if I’m just, like, jealous or something. I’m not. And New York is by no fucking means better than Philly. It’s not even comparable.

But who knows, man. Maybe this is just retroactive justification for some bullshit scapegoat punching bag I cooked up in freshman year of college. Maybe New York is okay. I will not relinquish by claim that Philly is the best city in the world, but maybe I can relax my hatred of NY, turn it down a couple notches.

Case in point: I went to a wedding in Long Island for an old college friend. In fact, she was the person I remember quite clearly giving the most shit for the stinkin’ Mets. It got to the point in college where this chick literally punched a Phillies fan in the face. So, of course, that doubled down the razzing—"New Yorkers are dumb AND violent?!" And this pissed her off infinitely. My friend from New York is one of my favorite people. I was happy and honored to be invited to her wedding.

And we had a great time! In Long Island! Not a bad word was said about the city of New York all night (except the Best Man’s speech, which indicated that the groom is an Eagles fan, and you can see where this is going), and I was all the better for it.

So maybe I should lighten up.

Or maybe fuck New York. Fuck that fucking city in its ass. Worst city to ever exist.

Love,
Joey

Day 64: I Have Never Visited the “Pizza Capital of the World”—Old Forge, PA

I could’ve spent all 102 days of the summer doing something new every day, and have every single one of them relate to pizza. Pizza is fucking awesome, and there are just so many different ways to enjoy it, so many different styles and pizza shops, so many pizza eccentricities. For the sake of mixing it up, I’m not gonna get to everything on my pizza-specific bucket list this summer—sorry, anchovy toppings, Pizzeria Beddia, and the Philly Taco!—but I’m glad I got the chance to visit Old Forge.

The Pizza Capital of the World.

We happened to be driving to a friend’s house in the Poconos today, and Old Forge was not too far out of the way, and me and Pammy love our pizza, so we said fuck it, let’s do this shit.

There are a dozen pizza places to choose from in Old Forge (not including Domino’s, which is insane that the pizza chain would try to set up shop here). For no discernible reason other than it sounded nice, we chose Mary Lou’s.

The tiny pizza shop was absolutely adorable—and I never use that word lightly. Mary Lou herself was working the ovens, an older lady with a slight hunch and a huge smile. She gave us samples of white pie and stromboli as we waited for our red pie to cook.

AHEM, excuse me, in Old Forge, no one calls it a "pizza pie." Rather, it’s a "pizza tray." And there’s no slices either! Instead, a slice is called a "cut."

So we enjoyed our, uh, cuts while we waited for our tray. The shop was adorned with various pictures of grandchildren, a Catholic grade school class thanking Mary Lou for her support in the annual pizza drive, and most heartwarmingly, a large framed certificate indicating that Mary Lou’s car came in third place at the local Cub Scout Pinewood Derby.

And the pizza itself? It didn’t blow me away, but it was some damn satisfying pizza. If asked, I might describe it as "the best homemade Ellio’s pizza I’ve ever had in my life."

I’m a typical city snob, I won’t lie. Every time I drive through a town with a population of less than 10K, I stick my nose up, and question: "HOW could anyone live in a boring place like this?!"

But then I visit a town like Old Forge, and I’m won over by its charm. And by its pizza.

Love,
Joey

Day 63: I Have Never Played a Movie Drinking Game the Entire Movie

I am a man of this very strong opinion: Why even bother playing a drinking game if you’re not going to take it seriously and complete the game?

Movie drinking games have been played—or attempted to be played—for as long as I’ve been a heavy drinker (over a decade now!). The basic premise is that you make up rules prior to watching a movie, rules that will force you to drink as things happen onscreen.

Which sounds fun in theory! But 99.9% of the time, this shit peters out quickly. Sure, maybe you can try to drink every time Regina George says something bitchy in Mean Girls, but at a certain point it gets to be too much. It becomes a chore.

Nevertheless, every week, some friends and I gather in an apartment in Northern Liberties, crack a case of Hamm’s, order some junk food, and put a movie up on screen. And every week, we make rules to the drinking game we’re supposedly playing. And every week, maybe 20 minutes into the movie, the game is pretty much over.

This isn’t an exaggeration. We’ve never played a movie drinking game for an entire movie. I’ve never done it in my life. It’s the Summer of 2017, time to change that.

(Sidenote: This isn't some indictment of our Thursday night hangout. Almost a half-decade in, I still always enjoy relaxing and drinking and watching movies with friends. It's no one's fault that we can't finish a drinking game. These movie/drinking games are designed to fail. It's equally fun to try to follow along with the rules and to make fun of ourselves when we can't follow along with the rules.)

The chosen movie was Kong: Skull Island. This is a bad movie. It wasn’t even bad in a fun way. It was just boring bad. Which is okay if you’re playing a drinking game! It’s probably the second-best type of movie to play a drinking game, because the challenge of shoving Hamm’s down your throat can offset the dumb or bland parts of the film.

(The BEST type of movie to drink to is a classic movie that everyone in the room knows REALLY well, and the drinking gets you to appreciate parts of the movie that you may not have appreciated before.)

To make a long shaggy-monkey tale short, we completed the game. Beers were slugged until the final credits, and even during the (now-mandatory?) post-credits stinger. Here were the rules:

DRINKING RULES FOR KONG: SKULL ISLAND
 
General Rules

1. Every time a character in the movie drinks, you drink. The characters were deserted on an island without many supplies, so this rule was underutilized for this particular movie.
2. Every time the title of the movie is said in the movie, finish your drink. Unfortunately, no one, not even John C. Riley’s comedic relief, at any point yelled out “Kong Colon Skull Island!”
3. Every time a new character appears on screen, someone has to yell out another movie that the actor/actress was in. Whoever yells out a correct answer first is the only person who does not have to drink. I am very bad at this rule. (Once a year, when we get together to play this game during my birthday week, I change the rule to "Every time a new character appears on screen, someone has to yell out the movie that the actor/actress is currently in.")
4. Okay, so the nickname of this weekly gathering of friends is "Beerito," originally a portmanteau of "beer" (obviously) and the weekly meal we’d chip in for, "burritos." After weeks and months of shitty service and lack of guacamole from the local Mexican cantina, we gave up on the burrito aspect of it, but the name of the gathering stuck. ANYWAY, the rule is that if a character says the word "burrito," you have to finish your beer. AND if a character says the word "beerito," everyone has to call out of work for the next day and we all have to get drunker than we ever have in our lives. This has never happened and probably never will happen, but a boy can dream.

Kong-Specific Rules

1. Every time someone dies, you drink. Sometimes this rule didn’t apply for long stretches of the movie, and in some scenes the drinking just didn’t stop. Such is the nature of a monster movie.
2. Every time a character uses a walkie-talkie, but the person on the other end does not respond (either because the movie cuts away, or the other character is dead (unbeknownst to the first character), you drink.
   
3. Every time one or more characters stare up into the sky in genuine awe, you drink.
4. THE BANANA RULE. Every time a banana is seen, a banana is talked about, or a banana is alluded to, DRINK. I swear I saw someone in the background holding a plate of bananas. We drank just in case.

I somehow beat sleep and stayed awake the entire movie, drinking every time I was supposed to. Truly this is a summer to remember.

Love,
Joey

Day 62: I Have Never Constructed a Homemade Trap for Some Goddamn Fruit Flies

How I Dealt with Getting Rid of Fruit Flies at Work, Days #1-#974: I see a fruit fly in front of me, I clap my hands as fast and hard as I can in an attempt to squish it. If I’m successful (about 5% of the time), I flick the bug guts onto the floor, then use hand sanitizer in preparation for the next clap of death.

How I Dealt with Getting Rid of Fruit Flies at Work, Day #975: I first went to Au Bon Pain, and bought plain oatmeal in a large bowl. I stacked this bowl on top of two additional bowls, so I could get three bowls and a large glob of disgusting, plain, healthy oatmeal for only like three bucks. I brought the purchase back to work, and shoveled the oatmeal down my throat like a pig at the trough. Once the bowl was licked clean, I placed all three bowls in a row. I then took an apple that I had bruised that morning by accidentally dropping it on our kitchen floor. I took a plastic knife out of my pile of plastic knives I had stolen from Wawa, and cut the apple into small pieces. I placed these apple pieces in equal measure among the three bowls. Then, I took plastic wrap (brought into work from home), and stretched a piece of wrap across the top of each bowl, using shitty government-issued scotch tape to secure it. Finally, I took a toothpick, and poked various holes in the plastic wrap over each bowl. Throughout the day, the apples would slowly rot, THEORETICALLY attracting the flies into the bowl through the holes, where they would be trapped until they die.

As of 4:15 PM today, when I left work, not a single fly had been captured. Maybe those fuckers were scared of me, and I’ll come into work tomorrow to bowls full of dead flies. Or maybe fucking Pinterest lied to me, AGAIN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Love,
Joey

Day 61: I Have Never Had a Tattoo

I don’t really have a cohesive story to tell today. I got a tattoo. Here’s some random thoughts.

• The tattoo is about a square inch in size. My initials, JK, are written in plain black Times New Roman. It’s located immediately below my right ass cheek.
• For the past 28 years, one of the strongest reasons I’ve had for avoiding getting a tattoo is that I had trouble thinking of a tattoo that under NO circumstances I would ever come to regret. It’s harder than it sounds! What if I got a Phillies logo, and it turned out the team disbanded after some incredibly damaging sex scandal? What if I got a tattoo of some cool symbol I found in a book, but then in 2018 Kid Rock releases an album with that same symbol on the cover? What if I got something benign on my right arm but then I got offered a great job opportunity that was foiled by my potential boss’s HATRED of tattoos? What if I got the word "PAM" but then trump’s fourth wife ended up being a Pam after Melania died under mysterious circumstances during a trip to Russia? Etc., etc. etc. Unless, like, Jared Kushner becomes president or something, I think my simple initials on a hidden area of my body is about as unobtrusive and regret-proof as I’m gonna get.
• I found a tattoo parlor by googling "tattoo philadelphia" and saw what was closest to my house. That ended up being Art Machine Productions in Fishtown. They were super professional! I felt bad for my artist, Bobby, who had to work on my tattoo with my ass in his face.
• That shit hurt! Though it was only about ten minutes of pain, so I powered through. Bobby claimed that the location of my tattoo was the most painful place to get one. He might’ve just been saying that.
• My dad fucking hates tattoos. If I still lived at home and had gotten a tattoo, he would’ve kicked me out. I’m not sure if either of my sisters have tattoos. If they do, they definitely hid them when they lived at home. I truly doubt he reads this blog, but if he does, he just found out that I have a tattoo. Hi Dad!
• Pam seems to like it, though. It’s my theory that she’s really into guys with tattoos, but she hid this from me because I was anti-tattoo for so long. Don’t worry babe, I’m a badass now!
• One of the toughest parts of my Summer of New is feeling like a fraud sometimes when I’m just dabbling in something that people take really seriously. I felt like an impostor doing spin class, for instance. I know I’m never gonna do that shit again, and I felt like an asshole doing it just for this so-called "life experience," even though I didn’t really care, and probably even made fun of it a bit too much. Same with getting a tattoo. It was clear everyone at the parlor was REALLY into tattoos. All the customers were in the middle of getting really intricate tattoos from heavily tattooed professionals, and here comes some fucking schlub in khaki pants who wants his own goddamn initials really tiny on his white ass. INTRUDER. I tried to explain this in my email requesting to schedule an appointment. I believe I used the words "I hope this request isn’t insulting to the artist." The lady in charge of scheduling assured me it was not, and hey, they got paid $100 for like fifteen minutes of work, so at the end of the day I guess I could give a shit. But still. It didn’t feel right, being at the tattoo studio. That’s not where I belong.
• So no, I will not be getting another tattoo.
• But hey, check another item off my bucket list!
• And...

...I guess y’all wanna see it, huh? I’ve warned you a couple times now: the tattoo is on my ass. My very pale ass. Just know what you’re clicking.

NSFW

Love,
Joey

Day 60: I Have Never Been Tested for an STI

A conversation with my good friend who works at Planned Parenthood, sporadically texting over a 24-hour period:

Joe: So what does an STI check entail?

Friend: An STI test can look a few different ways. It can involve peeing into a cup or getting blood drawn, depending on the STIs you’re testing for. Either way, the sample gets sent away, and you should get your results in a week or two. Folks with penises used to have to get a q-tip swab in their urethra (the hole you pee out of) which was VERY painful so we make sure people know that’s not how it’s done anymore haha.

J: Jesus Christ, I didn’t know about the q-tip thing. Thank you for switching it up, Planned Parenthood. I promised my nurse today that I wouldn’t faint at the blood draw, but I would not have been able to make the same promise during a penis penetration.

And hey, what’s up with the switch from "STD" to "STI"? I guess I first learned of the switch on Degrassi.

F: Hahaha well done, Degrassi! I didn’t know they mentioned that. I joke that STDs are rebranding, but the heart of it is that "disease" isn’t the most accurate term for them. "Disease" sends the message that it’s a terrible thing that someone is stuck with forever, when in reality, most STIs are curable (and all are treatable). They really are more infections—able to be cleared up with the appropriate medication. Plus, "disease" holds a ton of stigma and we know STIs are super common. Removing the word disease also aims to reduce some of the shame and stigma.

J: I’m glad you mentioned the stigma. We both know getting an STI is nothing to be ashamed of, but I can imagine a decent amount of people feel otherwise. I was pleasantly surprised, then, how non-judgmental everyone was at PP. Even my... socially unconventional(?) answers to the questions they asked were met with a shrug.

F: Yeah I think folks in public health have seen and heard a ton. But at PP we try really hard to be open, affirming, and nonjudgmental in our care. So I’m glad they were good to you!

J: How often should you get a check-up? Does it depend on how much sex you’re having?

F: Typically we recommend folks get tested every six months or so if they’re sexually active. If someone’s style is more the monogamous route, then we’d recommend getting tested between each new relationship. I know some folks that go get tested with their new partner before getting into the sexy stuff and folks in committed monogamous relationships who get tested yearly at their physical. So really it’s about finding a routine that works for you. Going every day might be excessive.

J: I know this may be more playing therapist than clinician, but: Could getting an STI check ever come off as a lack of faith your partner’s fidelity? When you’re in a relationship, I mean, and have been for a while.

F: I think that’s one of several barriers people face in getting tested, for sure! We mentioned stigma before and I think that, paired with the way we were taught sexuality education sets us up in a bad way when it comes to getting tested. I know at least my sex ed taught me that STDs happened to people "who had too much sex and got what they deserved" #catholicschool. We never learned to approach getting tested as just another routine healthcare practice to be mindful of. My sex ed also never taught me about healthy relationships or open communication, so we aren’t equipped always to broach the topic of sexual health with a partner. It can feel vulnerable and scary and definitely like a lack of trust. There are lots of ways to bring it up and no one way is perfect, but making sure a partner knows you want to get tested to make sure you both remain safe and healthy is one way to start it.

That’s more my musings than clinical facts, but getting tested while in a monogamous relationship is definitely an opportunity to practice honest and tricky communication.

J: In your experience working with the youth at PP, just how bad is the sex ed situation with today’s teens? Do they even know what an STI is? Or is it better than I suspect, and you’re just filling in some blanks for them?

F: It depends on your state’s laws. A lot of states fund abstinence-only education ("just don’t have sex"), which studies show is ineffective, at best. In TN, we’re working under a law called the "Gateway Sexual Activity" law. It makes it illegal to teach about any behavior that could be considered a "gateway to sex." It’s incredibly vague and teachers are nervous to get sued, so they teach info that varies teacher to teacher. I’ve had students who never learned reproductive anatomy, who only saw stigmatizing, shamey pictures of STIs (which is SO unhelpful because the most common symptom of all STIs is no symptom at all), and who learned that being anything but straight was wrong. It’s illegal to have a condom on public school property. BUT I’ve also encountered teachers who have made it their mission to find ways to get young folks the info they deserve. It’s a particular brand of harmful here, but unfortunately it’s no worse that many other states in the US.

J: That’s fucking wild. I just wish legislatures would, I dunno, look at some fucking data every once in a while to see what’s effective instead doing this draconian bullshit and harming kids. But maybe I’m digressing...

It probably varies on the context of your sexual encounters, but if you had to ballpark it, how likely is someone to get an STI in his/her lifetime? Or is that, like, not even an answerable question?

F: The statistic in the US is that 1 in 2 sexually active adults will get an STI by age 25.

J: I guess we’ll find out which side of the coin I fall come next week.

F: Which is to say folks should get tested because STIs are super common, but also the notion that people are "dirty" or "nasty" if they have an STI is inaccurate—lots of people get them! People you know! So stop shaming people because it’s not nice and keeps people from feeling empowered to get tested or communicate openly with a partner.

J: Okay, so I know it’s possible to get an STI from oral sex, but the likelihood of getting one that way is lower than vaginal intercourse. Nevertheless, I’ve heard it recommended that you should wear a condom during oral as well. Is there any point that one could feel okay about saying "it’s worth taking that small risk"? Or would even considering it betray your duties as a professional?

[later] The more I think about that question, the more pointless it sounds. If your message is that 1) be safe and try to prevent STIs, 2) but if you get one, don’t be ashamed, just get it treated, all good!, then trying to determine if getting a blowjob is worth the price of an STI seems pretty flippant in that context.

F: Hahah no no, i think it’s a fair question! In a perfect world, people would use condoms/dental dams during oral sex. While all STIs are treatable, unfortunately there is stigma in on our world currently and having to tell future partners about an STI is something most folks would like to avoid having to do if they can. It’s a slightly lower transmission rate, but as Degrassi has shown us, folks can definitely contract STIs in the mucous membranes in their throats and mouths. But if someone has previously hated using condoms at all and has only recently started using condoms during vaginal or anal sex, from a harm reduction standpoint, maybe we take a breath before really focusing on protection during oral sex. Everyone’s on their journey and you have to work with them to see "how can we be a bit safer from STIs than we are now?" When teaching, I try to avoid those nuances and highlight that oral, anal, and vaginal sex can transmit STIs, so how can we lower that risk?

J: Honestly, it sounds like you know what you’re talking about, and I think those Nashville teens are damn lucky to have you. Tell me this—it’s probably enough of a struggle to get people in general to be safe and prevent infection; is there any room for sex-positive talk as well in the conversation? (Meaning the general conversation I guess, not your specific conversations with teens, which may be hamstrung by laws or guidelines) Like, is there time to impress upon people that sex itself is good, or should the focus simply on SAFE sex being good? If that makes sense.

F: Yeah! We are sex positive, for sure (to the extent we’re allowed to be—people are just WAITING for an opportunity to say PP is "encouraging" youth to have sex). Sex can and should be an enjoyable experience for everyone who is involved in it! We don’t ever tell anyone how they should feel or act about sexual behavior, because everyone brings such different life experience to their sexuality. Trauma is real, but so is enjoyment! We create a space so everyone can feel as safe as possible digging into these questions, learning the info they can then integrate with their personal values and life. When talking about STIs, we highlight that everyone can be more free to be in the moment and enjoy themselves if they take steps to prevent STIs or pregnancy on the front end. Striking the balance between trauma informed and sex positive is so important.

J: Sex really is awesome. Okay, so we’ve alluded a couple times to lawmakers come down unfairly on Planned Parenthood and other sex ed professionals. Today (as I was informed by a PP worker during my visit), the Senate is voting on the bullshit health law that, if passed, will have dire effects on PP, which in my opinion is a fucking integral part of the community. So my final question is, what can we do to help?!

F: It’s true! The bill they’re proposing would defund us. Many PPs receive Title X money, which helps them provide family planning services (B.C., STI testing, cancer screenings, etc) at low cost for people. Taking that money away would keep folks from accessing what is potentially life-saving care. People often think "defunding PP = defunding abortion," but under a national thing called the Hyde Amendment, legally no federal dollars can go to abortion services. So we need people to call their Senators ASAP! People should be able to choose to access their healthcare wherever they want, regardless of their income or zip code. The sooner people can call, the better.

Thanks to my friend for her fucking awesome insights and wise words! Very appreciative. You heard her, folks. Get those STI screenings. Donate to Planned Parenthood here. Talk to your congressmen. And watch as much Degrassi as you can!

Love,
Joey

Day 59: I Have Never Watched Ballers

During this Golden Era of Television, it’s honestly not worth watching anything that doesn’t get glowing reviews from critics. Pam and I only have like six hours per week to watch TV together; why fill those hours with okay, mediocre shit like House of Cards?

But every once in a while, in between the prestige dramas, there’s room to watch something simply to see how bad it really is.

So, on this Sunday night, the credits rolled on Game of Thrones around 10, and another one of our favorite shows, Insecure, wasn’t premiering until 10:30. We had a half hour to kill, my belly was full of Pizza Hut and leftover Hamm’s, and I didn’t feel like leaving the couch. So we just kept HBO on and watched Ballers.

Because Ballers has looked really, really bad during the endless promos we’ve seen for it in the past three years (HBO really only has commercials for HBO shows, and we watch a lot of HBO, so), I wanted to see if watching the actual show was just as painful. It was!

Pam and I and probably the rest of America can agree that Dwayne Johnson is awesome, and he did the best he could with the material given in this show. Everything else was—there’s no better word for it, sorry—corny.

Some of it plays like Rich Lifestyle Porn—look at these athletes and their mansions! Some of it plays like a high-stakes drama – will the Rock lose all this money or will he save his bank account in the nick of time with some high-risk gambit? It’s allegedly a comedy too! Steph Curry made a cameo and referred to the Rock’s character as "Spencey Spence Spencey Poo" which I guess is funny in that Steph Curry is calling the Rock a cutesy name! And Corddry plays a very outspoken rude man, which is something this actor has done a great job lampooning in the past, but here he plays it straight, and it’s really fucking annoying! But some people find that funny I guess!

I’m not above admitting that I was wrong about shows after not liking them at first, though. If someone can convince me that Ballers is a show worth watching, I’ll eat some fucking crow, I promise. Until then, we gotta find something else to watch at 10 PM on Sundays. Any suggestions?

Love,
Joey

Postscript: Try not to hold this one against me. You have to know that some days, it’s easier to count stupid bullshit like Ballers as my new thing. My summer project would be unsustainable and my wallet would be empty if I went big every day. I’m getting a tattoo on Tuesday, maybe consider it even?

Day 58: I Have Never Successfully Snuck Alcohol into Citizens Bank Park

August 10, 2007
FAILURE

Somehow I had pulled the wool over my parents’ eyes. When they, and my siblings, and my grandparents, all took a road trip down to Florida, I convinced them that I couldn’t take off work for that period of time, and so they left me home. I don’t know if they knew I’d be throwing a seven-day party. They probably assumed, but I think it was just easier at the time to look the other way, forget about it, drive down to Florida, and hope that the house was still standing when they returned.

I was a cocky eighteen-year-old, and I sure did throw a few parties that week. I kept track of how many beers we went through combined that week—almost a thousand. Not bad for underagers in a small suburban community.

All this to say that I went hard that week, and during a night when we did not have a party (the only night one didn’t happen, I believe), I got a couple friends together and went to the Phillies game. There were certainly enough cases of beer lying around the house, so we brought one.

There was no forethought, no planning. Like I said, I was cocky, not to mention stupid, and so when 7:05 rolled around, I figured it would be a good idea to stuff two bottles of Lionshead in my crotch, and give it a go.

Ten summers ago, they didn’t have the airport security machines that they have now, but there were still bouncers patting people down. And it was pretty clear that this skinny, dopey looking kid didn’t have a penis the size of two beer bottles, so I got the pat down treatment immediately, and the two Lionsheads were lifted from my jeans.

I’m genuinely shocked I didn’t get arrested. God was smiling on me, perhaps, or maybe when they imploded Veteran’s Stadium they permanently imploded the idea of a jail in a stadium. But all I got was a stern talking to, which by that point in my life I was very used to. I did not, however, get free alcohol that night. Christ I was dumb.

July 22, 2017
SUCCESS

Some shit doesn’t change. I had a free Saturday this summer, so it was time to gather as many friends together as I could for some drinking and partying. There’s no better place to do that on a nice summer afternoon than down at the ballpark.

K Lot, specifically, the lot with the big solar panels acting as a shield from sun and rain (we’d need them for both purposes today). Gathered around were 40 people, truthfully the only 40 people out of everyone I’ve ever met in my life who didn’t already have plans today.

I had twelve 30 birds of Hamm’s, ice to keep 'em cold, and a table full of food. It was a great fucking day, and an even better night, despite the 2017 Phillies doing what the 2017 Phillies usually do (lose).
But there was a sidequest to today’s activities. I was determined to make right the mistake I had made a decade prior. I was going to sneak alcohol into Citizens Bank Park.

I am no longer a cocky eighteen-year-old kid. I know now that it takes preparation to get this shit right.
Basically, what I did was this (and you can check out the YouTube video that I embedded at the bottom of this post if you need a visual). First, I took a water bottle, and cut the cap and a little bit of the plastic part from the rest of the bottle. Then, I boiled a pot of water, then let it simmer.

I threw the cap portion into the simmering water, and left it there for about fifteen seconds. Mind you, the seal is never broken on the cap. After the fifteen seconds is up, using pliers I grabbed the plastic part below the cap, and used a flathead screwdriver to pop the cap off—still with the seal unbroken!

After that, it was simple. I filled a water bottle up with gin, and just screwed the cap/seal back on. You couldn’t tell the difference.

Neither could the attendants at CBP. No one even batted an eye, and unlike 2007, there were no threats of arrest. What there was was a few gin and Sprites with my name on it, as well as the ritualistic passing of the water bottle full of gin from Phillies fan to Phillies fan. We still like to get drunk. Like I said, some shit doesn’t change.

Love,
Joey

Day 57: I Have Never Eaten a Chocolate Covered Onion (and Other Reading Terminal Shit)

Going to Reading Terminal certainly wasn’t new for me (including one memorable night when friends of ours got married at the Terminal), but it’s so expansive with so many different vendors to explore, that there is plenty of shit at Reading Terminal that I hadn’t tried, or didn’t even know existed, until today.

First up, I wanted to get some farm-to-table protein to make for dinner tonight. I stopped by Fair Food Farmstand and got some turkey thighs. Have I ever eaten turkey thighs? Yea, probably, but I can’t think of a specific instance, and fuck it, it sounded good.

Next, I brought the turkey to Condiment, a great little vendor that sold pretty much any condiment you can think of. The guy working behind the counter was incredibly nice and helpful, and recommended a marinade called mojo, which I had never heard of. The sample I tasted was fucking great, so I ordered it.

Best of all, Condiment offers a free service where they take your meat and put it in the marinade right after you buy it, so you can let your meat marinate while you continue shopping.

Before I left, I had to try the advertised Rick and Morty Szechuan Sauce, which sounds great in theory, but tasted pretty bad, and I don’t think I’d spend nine seasons trying to get any more.

So while my thighs were soaking in mojo, I did a few more circuits of the Terminal. (It wasn’t as crowded as a Friday afternoon typically would be—too many shoobies down the shore already).

I wanted to eat some weird cheeses, and found two at the Riehl Cheese Shop—tequila jalapeno cheddar cheese, and blueberry goat cheese. One made my throat burn, and one cooled it down. You can guess which was which.

Cheese wasn’t quite hitting the spot, so I walked over to Hershel’s East Side Deli to eat their famous Grilled Reuben. I actually did have miniature versions of this at that aforementioned Reading Terminal Wedding (#weddingterminal), but there was nothing like the regular-sized one. It practically melted in my mouth. I say this with full certainty: Philadelphia is THE city for grilled reubens. Fuck you if you protest, talking about some large shithole just north of us. Fuck you!!!

My regular stomach was full of corned beef but my dessert stomach was still empty, so I stopped at two different stands for a tasty treat. Well, only one of them ended up being tasty.

Beiler’s Bakery was everything I was told it would be. Their maple bacon donut was out of this world good. I find the whole "bacon" meme trend fucking insufferable, but truly, bacon on a donut was genius.

Can’t say as much for my final dessert at Mueller Chocolate Co. It’s advertised as an "April Fools Joke," and I get that, but I’m still gonna take it at face value. Yeoooo... the chocolate covered onion is not good. I can still taste that shit in my mouth.

I read a really nice article the other day about Reading Terminal, which partly inspired my journey to 11th and Arch today. Basically, the story spoke to the true beauty of Reading Terminal Market. It brings people from all walks of life together. From the family from North Philly using their food stamps on produce and fresh chicken, to a bougie Rittenhouse couple buying artisinal cheeses, to the tourist wanting to get a cheesesteak and a roast pork sandwich and a soft pretzel and a Yards Pale Ale all in one place, to some asshole with a blog eating a chocolate onion, everyone is welcome at Reading Terminal Market.

Love,
Joey

Day 56: I Have Never Eaten Pho

Today I ate pho.

Sidenote: My weekend starts on Thursdays, so by 4:30 on most Thursday afternoons, I find myself with a cold beer in my hand. Today, I was at Oscar’s, probably the best dive bar in the city, and the underdog winner for my favorite cheesesteak in Philadelphia (doesn’t hurt that they give you a cheesesteak-and-a-half during happy hour).

I Have Never Been to Oscar’s Without a Stranger Chatting Me Up at the Bar. Usually it’s a very drunk middle-aged man who is drinking before his overnight shift at a labor job in center city. Today, while I was waiting for my happy hour companion, I got roped into a conversation with Ray the Painter, and I was not disappointed.

Ray was straight out of the second season of The Wire. He had paint speckled all over his clothing, and a splattering of beer was mixing in with the paint as he spoke. He told me in great detail about his plans to go fishing overnight in Atlantic City, how to get there via train, what specific spot he fished, and how many tourists wandering by at 4 AM after losing all their money gambling who he planned on smoking up.

That was the subject that Ray the Painter could wax poetry on—his love of smoking weed. He described his methods of packing a bowl. He told me specifically where his favorite spot to smoke during work is (along Rittenhouse Square, on the corner that has the "newspaper bins for the gay newspaper"). He told me how he gets his weed (you see, his daughter has leukemia(!?), so he gives her money so she can go to New Jersey and get medical marijuana for him). And he all but begged me to come outside and smoke with him, right this second.

Sidenote’s sidenote: I Have Never Smoked Weed. My reasons are known well to those who've discussed the subject with me. Bottom line is, I don’t smoke, but I have exactly zero problems with people smoking weed themselves. I don’t mind the smell, people that are high don’t annoy me, and the shit is practically legal, even if it isn’t quite. I don’t care. People should be able to smoke what they wanna smoke.

I decided at the beginning of the summer that I won’t be adding marijuana to the list of New Things. The Summer of New is important to me, but there are just some things that wouldn’t be worth it, in my opinion. (Yes, I read a story about Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy violently fucking but refuse to smoke some innocent reefer. Sue me.)

But sitting there in good spirits, the weekend in front of me in all its glory, during that brief moment I came really, really close to just saying fuck it and smoking weed. Do it for the story, right?

Cooler heads prevailed. I ordered a cheesesteak-and-a-half instead while Ray went out front to blow marijuana smoke down Sansom St., my buddy showed up and we drank way too many beers (the only way Joey approves of losing sobriety), and Ray found some other poor souls and talked their ear off instead while I caught up with an old friend. And then I rode my bike to get some pho...

Shit, yea, so I ate some pho. Here’s a picture.

Love,
Joey

Day 55: I Have Never Read Harry Potter Erotic Fanfiction

Jesus fucking christ, what was I thinking, reading this? Probably the weirdest, most fucked up, nauseating thing I’ve ever read. I’m not even going to elaborate. I’m just going to post the link, and go to bed and get my nightmares over with. Please don’t read this.

Ughhhhhhhhhhh

Love(?!),
Joey

Day 54: I Have Never Exercised in a Rowing Class

We all have those regrets in life, those moments that, when you look back years or even decades later, you say: "What the fuck was I thinking?"

Most of those moments for me have to do with two things (and for the most part, both at the same time): 1) women, 2) alcohol.  But there was one short time in my life, in freshman year of high school, that I feel like I don’t talk about a whole lot. Sometimes I don’t even remember that it actually happened. But when I do remember, sure enough, I think every time: "What the FUCK was I thinking?"

In the winter of early 2004, I joined the crew team. As a coxswain.

There are a few things wrong with this picture. The first is that the normal size of a typical coxswain is small. As in, short and light. I am neither of those things, and though I was a little smaller in the midsection thirteen years ago, I still was tall, and I certainly wasn’t light. Why in world did anyone sign off on the idea of me being a coxswain?!

The second thing I got wrong was my assumption that, because coxswains sit in the boat and don’t row during races, it would be less strenuous on a very nonathletic young freshman boy. I was wrong. Coxswains are expected to work out with the rowers—weight-lifting, cardio—I had never run a mile in my fucking life, and now all of a sudden I’m supposed to be running five miles up and down Kelly Drive? This was a massive miscalculation on my part.

What ended up happening, during those three short weeks on the freshman crew team, was... I got made fun of a lot by jocks, who found it funny that this very tall guy wanted to be a coxswain with the short kids, and he couldn’t do any of the exercises to boot... and I didn’t step foot in a boat because I was too big to be a coxswain, so I was (attempting to) work out and exercise for nothing, and no one told me to do something else, like, why even bother keep me around?

I say all this not for pity, because this shit was on me. It was my own stupid fault.

WHY, then, did I even try to join the crew team in the first place? Looking back, it was such a colossal mismatch. But hindsight is 20/20. Back in 2004, I had no fucking clue who I was or who I wanted to be. As high school continued, I eventually found great friends and had the time of my fucking life, but I’m not gonna lie, my freshman year was a lonely year for me.

And so, I figured I would try to go out and try to join some activities. It just took me a while to figure out what I wanted to do! Did I tell you I tried out for the basketball team? That was even more embarrassing than crew. But in that winter of 2004, I thought for sure being a coxswain, despite my size and lack of athleticism, would be a good fit for me. I was so fucking wrong.

By the end of my sophomore year, I had discovered two things that made high school pretty great: 1) the theater program, which solidified my high school friendships with my true like-minded peers, as well as gave me a great way to meet girls, and 2) alcohol, and a means to get it at lax neighborhood beer distributors and through helpful homeless folk.

And yes, I said at the beginning of this post how most of my mistakes in life were due to women and alcohol, and yes, I discovered those both in high school and I made many mistakes even then. But at least they were good mistakes. They made me a better person.

But as I rowed on the ergometer throughout a tiring, sweaty, and ultimately fulfilling class this morning, I thought a lot about my folly as a coxswain, and I know now, thirteen years later, that that mistake was a pointless one to make, and it taught me nothing. Except maybe that I should never join a crew team.

Love,
Joey

Day 53: I Have Never Listened to an Entire Metal Album / K-Pop Album / Mainstream Country Album / Jazz Fusion Album

I gave my iPod a short break from the constant onslaught of indie rock jams to try out some new musical genres that I’ve never really given the time of day.

Paradise Gallows by Inter Arma

Genre: Metal

Why This Album Particularly: I don’t know anything about metal, so I went to the place I usually go for all musical knowledge, Stereogum. They have a monthly metal column that I rarely, if ever, read. Last December they ranked the best metal albums of 2016, so I downloaded #1. Here we are.

How Was It: Look, I know why people listen to metal. This isn’t some type of mystery to me. People love metal because to these people, the constant crescendos and the guttural yell-singing and the hard-as-fuck guitar riffs, all this shit gets people PUMPED. And I know that feeling. I know what it means to have a visceral reaction to music. It’s a great feeling! But to get that from metal, you need to appreciate the aforementioned musical flourishes that metal brings to the table. For the most part, I can’t appreciate it. To me, this music just feels like one big interlude, like it’s all building up to something. But that something never comes. I acknowledge that metal can be cathartic for a certain type of listener. I acknowledge that I am not that listener.

Will It Stay on My iPod: Probably not. Could I learn to like this album? Sure. Could I foresee it becoming annoying whenever it pops up on shuffle? Fuck yeah!

UN2VERSE by Jessi

Genre: K-Pop (Korean Pop)

Why This Album Particularly: Honestly, I had a hard time finding a way to download K-Pop for free. My usual sites didn’t have anything useful. So I downloaded this album because it was really the only one I could find without paying for it.

How Was It: Honestly, I was disappointed, mainly due to how similar it sounded to American pop music. At times I swore I was listening to a Fergie album. It featured slick, boring production, generic beats, and even lame-ass quasi-rapping (kind of reminded me of this sometimes). I don’t know what I was expecting. Maybe more of a throwback to, like, Spice Girls or Backstreet Boys or something. I definitely wasn’t expecting this bland shit.

Will It Stay on My iPod: Nah. As short as UN2VERSE was, it still annoyed me. There was even a song about a human being the singer’s "spirit animal," which is a huge pet peeve of mine. Fuck this.

Kill the Lights by Luke Bryan

Genre: Mainstream Country

Why This Album Particularly: Country, more so than any other musical community on earth, still shows a good amount of support for our orange leader trump and the so-called "conservative" ideals that he allegedly represents. So I tried to find a country star that wasn’t outward in his/her support of a tyrant. After a deep google dive, I couldn’t find any evidence that Luke Bryan has expressed any support for our president. He’s not outspoken against the guy either, but that was too much to ask for as far as mainstream country goes, I realize. However, I found this hilarious article about Bryan talking about Christmas, which apparently means that he HATES LIBERALS!!!1

How Was It: Unlike the K-Pop album, this was EXACTLY what I expected. If I didn’t know anything about Luke Bryan I would’ve maybe thought this was a parody of country music (okay, here’s the actual country parody). It’s littered with everything you expect: references to praying to God; sing-along choruses about drinking alcohol; plenty of talk about cowboys and whether you are a cowboy and if you’re not should you at least act like it; a song literally called "Huntin’, Fishin’, and Lovin’ Everyday." While some of the songs were okay, maybe even catchy (I did like the aforementioned alcohol-drinking chorus of "Home Alone Tonight," for example), I can’t help but just straight up hate this shit on principle alone. I know, I know, this one’s on me. It absolutely has to do with the "Culture War" aspect of it, as if Bryan is singing "If you’re a good ol’ boy who loves his momma and God and his cowboy boots, then you’re one of the good ones." It just rubs me the wrong way, because I am an asshole. I am an asshole too for imagining all the teens in fake cowboy boots and hats from the Northeast going over to Camden to see Luke Bryan sing this shit at the BB&T Pavilion, and resenting them for it. I’m Holden Caulfield, calling these people phonies!

Will It Stay on My iPod: Nope, fuck this shit.

Drunk by Thundercat

Genre: Jazz Fusion

Why This Album Particularly: I was tangentially familiar with Thundercat through his work with Kendrick Lamar on To Pimp a Butterfly. Listening to this album, it’s pretty clear what aspect of the sound on that album was due to Thundercat, especially those funky fart-y bass lines and keys.

How Was It: The bar to clear was quite low, but nevertheless, Drunk was the best album I listened to today. It was a little boring at parts; it definitely didn’t have to be close to an hour, and I despise when albums have sub-minute vignettes of any kind (doesn’t matter what band). But it really worked as background music as I typed up some reports at my work desk. Regarding the Kendrick thing—Drunk honestly sounded like the slower parts of To Pimp a Butterfly, minus the rapping. Again, not necessarily a bad thing, but nothing I could see myself getting excited to listen to, ya know?

Will It Stay on My iPod: Hmm. I think this one might actually be a Yes, at least on a trial basis. It was mildly enjoyable, and it might be nice to have a couple more mid-tempo funk jams on the iPod to compliment Childish Gambino’s latest effort. So unlike metal, K-pop, and mainstream country, I didn’t completely hate this!

Love,
Joey

Day 52: I Have Never Explored the Mount Moriah Cemetery

This is Mount Moriah Cemetery.

Here’s some more info.

PICTURE BLOG TIME (BECAUSE I AM SO SO VERY HUNGOVER)

The cemetery was quite peaceful. Exploring Mount Moriah was the perfect way to spend a Sunday morning (hungover or not).

Love,
Joey

Day 51: I Have Never Poached an Egg

Poaching an egg was easier than I expected! I learned how to do it from this YouTube video.

tl;dw:

1. Crack an egg into a small bowl.
2. In a pot, boil water, then let it simmer.
3. Gently spin the water in the pot, creating a vortex in the middle.
4. Pour the egg from the bowl into the vortex of the spinning, simmering water.
5. Wait three minutes.
6. Scoop the egg out with a serrated spoon.
7. Eat.

The only thing is that you can really only make one at a time, so while it’s good when you’re cooking for one, it may not be practical when you’re feeding your hungover housemates.

I felt like a real fucking tool taking a picture of my food.

Love,
Joey

Day 50: I Have Never Attended a WXPN Free at Noon Concert

WXPN is the best radio station in Philadelphia, and because the bar is set so low, it isn't even close.

(I'm not going to waste your time talking shit on those other radio stations, even though I'm drunk and I am pretty tempted to do so. I'm not even going to talk shit about XPN, even though there are a lot of lame music blocks throughout the day, and some shit-talking would be totally warranted. No. I'm going to speak only positively about this radio station in the paragraph(s?) below.)

What sets XPN apart from its shitty peers is the sheer scope of its musical library. 99% of the time I listen to music, it's coming out of my homegrown iPod classic, with 11K songs that I like. XPN is the only station to come close to matching the variety that music-listening should entail. They made their point by playing their entire library A-Z, 24/7, and taking like three weeks to do it. WMGK could probably do it in like fifteen hours.

Another thing that sets them apart is their commitment to the music community. Sure, Radio 104.5 is gonna blow their load when, like, blink-182 comes through town or something. But WXPN comes off as more caring, more local, more excited about legitimately good music. For the most part, when I go to a concert, simply because of the type of music I love and want to see live, I'll see an XPN banner hanging at the venue.

They care about their community. They care about the 28-year-old who steals all his music just as much as they love his dad who listens to XPN exclusively while delivering mail (unless it's pledge week, in which case he listens to the illegally download music his son put on his iPod). They care about the listeners and the artists. Even if the artist is some obnoxious asshole.

So I guess what I'm trying to get to, my point, after a few Hamm's Special Lights, sorry, my point is that XPN cares, and one of the ways they show they care is by having a weekly "Free at Noon" concert, most Fridays. The description is accurate. It starts precisely at noon. And it is free.

When I say XPN plays the best music in Philly, I mean that probably, ehhhh, 40 percent of their musical choices are fucking great. The rest are pretty terrible. (Radio 104.5 and WMGK are probably 20%, WMMR is 10%, Q102 is 5%)

But so there aren't that many Free at Noon concerts I'd legitimately desire to see, even though it's free, and even though I have Fridays off from work.

I can assure you that Waxahatchee is 100% an artist that I'd desire to see. Maybe even need to.

And guys, the band (all women) fucking ripped today. It helps that the new album, Out in the Storm, is one of the best of the year, and poignant and hard-hitting break-up album for the ages. But seeing the whole band live, rocking out so hard, it really lifted the album up yet another notch. The band flew through probably eight out of the ten songs on the album in a half hour, and those 30 minutes felt like two. FUCK, Katie Crutchfield is so goddamn good. Even that aforementioned hypothetical mailman dad was rocking out while listening LIVE and delivering mail.

Like I said, most of the time I'm plugged into my iPod (honestly, my most prized possession after, I dunno, my wedding ring maybe?), but regardless, I'm so fucking glad Philly has XPN. It really is a music community.

Love,
Joey

Postscript: I've done 50 new things this summer so far, and I've had a lot of good memories already. But my summer wouldn't be SHIT without great music in my ears. Here are the songs (from 2017) that are fueling my summer so far.

Wahatchee's "Silver" duh

Great Grandpa's "Fade"

Haim's "Want You Back"

Broken Social Scene's "Protest Song"

Single Mothers' "High Speed"

Paramore's "Hard Times" yes this Paramore album is the tits, don't let anyone tell you otherwise

Dan Auberbach's "Malibu Man" et al., seriously, I fucking hate the Black Keys, but this solo album is THE album of the summer

Bleachers' "I Miss Those Days" because any song that talks about missing the good ol' days will most likely be a good song in my books, yes even that Sheeran song, fuck.

(Sandy) Alex G's "Bobby" the best song of the year so far without drums, maybe the best song, full stop... alright I guess we're doing blurbs for these songs now, I didn't originally plan on doing that... I'll probably steal most of this for my Year in Review for music, since no one is reading this blog anyway...

Charly Bliss' "Glitter" Pam says this sounds like cartoon music, she can't appreciate higher-pitched female voices, this shit is dope

Kendrick Lamar's "DNA." I haven’t felt this loopy about a rap verse since Kendrick’s "Drank" verse as his conscience, but yoooooo, the coda to this song is bonkers

White Reaper's "Judy French" KISS LIVES

Alright, that's enough, I'm tired and drunk, goodnight.

Day 49: I Have Never Watched The Goonies

During the Summer of 2017, I’m trying to do a new thing every day. For the Summer of 2010, my goals were more modest. I wanted to watch ten movies that I had always wanted to watch but had never gotten around to. I wrote then that I was tired of people always being shocked when I admit that I’ve never seen a classic. "WHAT?! You’ve never seen that movie?!" Seven years later, that shit still annoys me.

Unsurprisingly, I did not complete that Summer 2010 movie list. I think maybe I watched Die Hard and Reservoir Dogs? (Okay, yeah, definitely watched Die Hard I see. Holy shit that blog post certainly reads like two drunk high schoolers trying to be funny.)

Surprisingly, in the subsequent years, I’ve by chance watched every movie on that list except The Goonies. (Well, okay, only if you count that live version of Rocky Horror on FOX last year.) So I guess it was time to watch this '80s movie for kids.

Being as I am a 28-year-old watching a movie for children, I definitely thought the movie was silly and stupid at times, but I acknowledge that I’m not the intended audience. I can see why kids that watched this when they were age eight would think fondly of it 20 years later.

And I laughed at some parts! I thought the acting of the kids was so over the top sometimes that I couldn’t help but chuckle. Chunk, especially, made me laugh on more than one occasion. Slapstick humor still gets me sometimes!

At the end of the day, I can say that I’ve finally seen The Goonies. So when someone yells, "HEY YOU GUYS," instead of saying, "I think that’s stupid but I don’t know why," I can simply say, "I think that’s stupid."

Love,
Joey

Day 48: I Have Never Scheduled a Wellness Check for Myself

I am a stereotype. 60% of men do not get their annual check-up. I honestly don’t remember the last time I’ve been to the doctor for a wellness check. Seven years ago maybe? I’m paying for healthcare, I might as well use it.

This article claims you shouldn’t go to the doctor unless you are sick. My nurse wife’s eyes just rolled so hard that now she needs a check-up. Of course it’s good to talk to the doctor about what’s going on.
What’s going on with me?

• Sometimes my right ear feels like it’s clogged up. It’s usually after strenuous activity, which makes me think something swells up in there when my blood is pumping? Or maybe it’s just wear and tear from loud indie rock?
• My left ass cheek has a small skin tag, which I doubt is anything crazy, but definitely worth mentioning.
• My left big toe is scaly. I don’t know how else to describe it.
• I drink a decent amount. I have to imagine that liver is close to calling it quits. How bad is it?
• My knees hurt after running extra-long distances. Any way to prevent that?
• Sometimes my dick doesn’t work.

I guess overall I seem pretty healthy. But who knows? It’s worth getting everything checked out? See you on August 21st, doc.

Love,
Joey

Day 47: I Have Never Traveled to Devil’s Pool

(picture, as always, courtesy of Pam K***)

What is Devil’s Pool?

Directions
1) Park anywhere around here that you can, but don’t drive down Livezy Lane, you can’t park anywhere on it. And be careful, a lot of people don’t want you parking on their lawns, especially all y’all douchebags trying to get to Devil’s Pool, so they put rocks on the edge of the lawns to dissuade parking.
2) Start the long walk down Livezy Lane. It’s a lot harder walking back, so enjoy the downhill walk for now.
3) When it dead-ends into the Wissahickon Creek, make a right onto the small trail.
4) Follow that trail until you hear teenagers yelling and cannonball-splashing into the pool.

Cranky Mount Airy residents HATE it.

Also, it’s fucking polluted as shit.

I will probably never swim at Devil’s Pool, because I am a germaphobe, but it was nice to finally check the place out and explore a far corner of our fine city.

Love,
Joey

Day 46: I Have Never Cracked My Phone Screen into a Spiderweb-Looking Mess

I have never cracked my cellphone screen, which is surprising, because all of my phones have been garbage and I treat them like shit!

• In high school, I lost my dumb phone on the bus.
• I bought a new (but identical) phone, and immediately jumped into the pool with it, probably trying to impress a girl during a drunken pool party while my parents were out of town.
• But my old phone was found by the bus driver, and shipped back to me, so I started using that one again.
• That phone stopped working because the buttons jammed up after punching them too hard trying to text a free service that would update you with the Phillies score.
• My final flip phone met a grisly demise. In sophomore year of college, I got really drunk at an open-bar formal, a formal attended also by my recently-ex-girlfriend. I must’ve received a flippant text from her or something, because when I read the text I got so angry I flipped the phone the other way on purpose, and threw the pieces into the street. Loyal friends collected the pieces, and I woke up with a hangover, piss all over my sheets, and a pile of plastic phone bits.
• I got my first somewhat-smart phone, which had a touch screen (a Razr! Remember those??). Eventually that touch screen stopped working because of all the greasy food I probably got all over it—that retirement home food was pretty damn great, so, worth it!
• The next one stopped working when I took it on the Great White roller coaster in Wildwood instead of placing it in the holding cubby. The G forces made it go wonky, and the phone slowed down to the point of stopping.
• Which brings us up to the current phone, which... hoo boy. On April 1st, I was walking across the street, when a group of hooligans stole the phone right out of my hand while riding past on their bikes. What ensued was a standoff between ol’ Joey and ten teenagers, with eventually the 26th police district getting into the mix. After three hours at the police station and my Narragansett buzz all gone, I returned to the bar with my phone still stolen, until a good samaritan found the phone ditched in the streets of Fishtown, saw a text from "Pam K***," and saw he and she had a mutual friend on Facebook in my cousin. I picked up my phone from my cousin the next day. It’s a small-ass world, folks.

And now that I have that shitty phone back, I went ahead and dropped it while running across Walnut St. near Woody’s, and after all the lost and stolen phones, the crab-bisque-smeared touch screens and deaths by roller coaster and pool, I finally found a new way to torture my cellular device.

At least I can still see the cute picture of Pam and a Christmas tree in the background.

Love,
Joey