Three tasks are converging this week, making my life a maelstrom of obligations, and making the obligation of twice-daily blogging inconvenient at best. We are moving through the process of buying a house at lightning speed, I actually have some intense career-related deadlines to meet for once, and Martha has decided that she will be waking up at exactly 1:20 AM every single night for the foreseeable future. I can't provide quality content under these conditions ("quality" implicitly wrapped in quotation marks, but you know that already).
For the next three days, I will be scraping the bottom of the barrel and posting as many random bullshit archival writings that I can find on my computer (an ancient documents folder, a hodgepodge Google Docs, etc.). I know I already do this too often, and if it's the type of thing that doesn't interest you, then I'll see you on Friday for some great Record Club reviews. But blogging every day is really hard, especially when the shit that ACTUALLY matters starts to get in the way.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
c. 2014
[It looks like the purpose of this letter was to have something to share with each other on our first anniversary. I don't think that plan ever came to fruition.]
Dear Pamela,
It’s 2014, and we’re not married yet (so you can still, I suppose, technically, still dance to “Single Ladies,” though you know how I feel about that, but I’m just trying to give you a sense of where we were, back then, in 2014). And I’m sitting here with the colossal task of writing you a letter that you’ll read some thirteen months from now.
This is to commemorate our One Year together as a married couple, which, I sincerely offer a hearty congratulations, because someone told me a definition of love one time that basically amounted to “You find that one person that doesn’t want to fucking strangle you because of all the annoying quirky shit you do,” and believe you me, I fucking know that I am quirky and annoying, and you officially made it one year without strangling me, so I consider that one for the Love column.
I am under the impression that these letters serve a twofold purpose. The first, obviously, is to express our love for one another, which, I’m glad to have another platform to do so, but I also believe that we do a pretty good job at doing that every day we are together (still extrapolating here, way back in the summer of 2014, but I’m pretty darn confident that on August 31, 2015, we will have still been expressing our love every day).
The second, I believe, is to offer up some kind of statement, a creed if you will, an affidavit on why this love is special. Call it Joe and Pam’s Mission Statement of Love. “What Love Meant to Me,” by Joe K***, et cetera, et cetera.
I want to present to you what I feel about this wonderful union we’ve committed ourselves to. This is my Proclamation.
Our love is a Miracle.
That’s straight-up, capital-M Miracle. Not in a sophomoric way, like a “oh my god, I can’t believe this is happening, it’s so unlikely!” kind of way. Not like that. I’m talking, Miracle, n., “a highly improbable or extraordinary event, development, or accomplishment that brings very welcome consequences.”
Let me walk you through the series of unlikely events.
[The rest of the letter gets way too specific for me to be able to share on this blog. Lots of rehashing relationships prior to meeting each other. I'm not sure why I felt like that was appropriate for a letter to be read on a wedding anniversary. No one said getting married automatically made you more mature.]
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
c. January 2016
[For Mike S******'s bachelor party, I created a drinking game based on Latin Kings, which is like regular Kings (or Ring of Fire, or whatever you called it in your neighborhood), except every single card was a different rule. It's heavy on the inside jokes, sorry.]
Rules
DIAMONDS
TWO - Truth, Dare, or Paddywagon. First one is regular. Second one is Truth,
from the perspective of Mike. If he says you are wrong, he can order
Paddywagon.
THREE - Chugging contest with Mike. Loser explains why it doesn't matter,
they are still way better at chugging. This is a classic Mike S****** tactic!
FOUR - You are Brianna R***** at prom. You were forced to be Mike's date.
Drink every time he drinks for the next round.
FIVE - Fives is guys. All guys drink.
SIX - Prove Mike wrong.
SEVEN - For the next round, yell I OBJECT to everything Mike says.
EIGHT - Beer strength contest with Mike, his choice.
NINE - Bust a rhyme, Mike related
TEN - Lead us in the Sammy Alma Mater Song.
JACK - Categories: legal terms
QUEEN - Tell your favorite S****** story but exaggerate every detail. None of us
will believe a word you said but will listen politely anyway.
KING - The cops are coming! Sprint to the top of the hill while the idiots about
to be arrested stay behind.
ACE - Make a rule
HEARTS
TWO - Act out your worst S*** memory. [Afterward] If Mike denies any part of it, drink.
THREE - Sliv asks you a law question. If you get it wrong, you drink. Get it right, he
drinks.
FOUR - You are a homeless person at Broad St. and Vine St. If you have to pee then
you must pretend the firepit is Roman Catholic High School and pee directly on it. Or you
can pretend you are in the boys bathroom at Roman and get a few friends to touch your
penis while you pee. Also, fuck Roman.
FIVE - Do your best Mike S****** impression. [Afterward] If Mike admits it is good, you
don't have to drink five seconds.
SIX - Write something filthy on Mike's Facebook wall.
SEVEN - You are only allowed to say the word DOOP for the next round.
EIGHT - You are in charge of memorizing Brianna's number in case something terrible
happens tonight and we need to contact her in an emergency and all our phones were
ruined by stripper cum. The number is 215-***-****
NINE - Bust a rhyme, Mike related
TEN - Make fun of Kev. If Mike laughs, you don't have to drink for five seconds.
JACK - Categories: Sammy members
QUEEN - I had like 50 rules when I got to this one, and I just gave up trying to think of
any more rules. Just fucking drink for five seconds.
KING - Choose another card. In addition to doing that rule, do the following: a red card
means that Mike has to give you pro bono work the next time you are in legal trouble. A
black card means that next time you are in legal trouble, he will provide pro bono work to
the people that you are going against you in court.
ACE - Make a rule
SPADES
TWO - Truth, Dare, or Paddywagon. First one is regular. Second one is Truth, from the
perspective of Mike. If he says you are wrong, he can order Paddywagon.
THREE - Guess how long Mike's penis is. [Afterward] Mike tells you how long it actually is.
[Afterward] The difference between your answer and the actual answer is how many
seconds you have to drink.
FOUR - You are in charge of making sure Mike's cup is filled the rest of the game.
FIVE - Lead a toast to Brianna for putting up with this shit.
SIX - Choose Circle Slap or Text Roulette, and play a round.
SEVEN - Pretend we're at a soccer game. Drink every time someone scores a goal.
Essentially you do nothing and this is pretty much a skip card. I guess you can yell FUCK
SOCCER and drink for five seconds if you really want to. I just want to make my point clear
that soccer sucks.
EIGHT - Explain why ripped jeans make sense financially.
NINE - Bust a rhyme, Mike related
TEN - Never Have I Ever, Mike starts with double the fingers but examples should be
intended to get Mike out quickly
JACK - Categories: Soccer teams
QUEEN - Mike is the official map reader, and he has no idea where we are going. He and
he alone got us lost. Reverse the order that we're picking cards.
KING - You are emo Mike. Sing your favorite killer breakdown. If Mike guess the song, you
don't have to drink five seconds.
ACE - Make a rule
CLUBS
TWO - Waterfall. I have no idea how to connect this game to a Mike S****** joke, so just do
a fucking waterfall.
THREE - Mike's Erotic European Adventure. Please explain. [Afterward] If Mike denied any
part of it, drink for five seconds.
FOUR - Chug an entire bottle of rum and pass out on your parents' front lawn. Just kidding,
finish your beer.
FIVE - Sing your favorite Burholme song. Choose a bassist that doesn't play bass anymore
and a drummer that makes stupid faces to join you in your song.
SIX - Lose to Mike in Mario Kart later. When you actually lose to him in Mario Kart you'll
have this card as your excuse. This is a classic Mike S****** tactic!
SEVEN - Soccer is the worst sport of all time. Explain why.
EIGHT - Mike got tired of you making fun of him and he took a cheap shot and kicked you in
the balls. Speak in a high-pitched voice for one round.
NINE - Bust a rhyme, Mike related.
TEN - You're drinking shitty beer, and Mike is drinking homemade Sammy brew. Switch
drinks with him.
JACK - Categories: People related to Mike
QUEEN - Describe your perfect Katie Highburger. If it doesn't turn Mike on, finish your drink.
KING - You're not allowed to pee unless Mike says you can.
ACE - Make a rule
~~~~~~~~~~~~
c. summer 2018
[I think I wrote this to be posted on my brother-in-law's FB page after he dismissed the Eagles' declining of their White House invitation as stupid. It was written at like four in the morning with a newborn Willow on my lap. Also—it should be painfully clear already why I needed to delete my Facebook.]
There's a lot here I don't agree with, so let's break it down:
1) I don't agree with the argument that football players, or athletes in general, do "nothing more than play a game." True—ultimately, who scores more points in a game of football means nothing in the scope of the universe. But it's safe to say that the players themselves do a decent amount in the community (some more than others, but generally they do). Just google "Eagles Charities" for examples. There's https://www.philadelphiaeagles.com/community/ which involves many of the players. There's this recent article (https://billypenn.com/2018/01/31/how-13-eagles-players-have-given-back-to-the-community/) that shows specifically how certain players are giving back. Again, this has little to do with one's ability to score a touchdown, but it's clear that there are a lot of millionaire football players who give back, and certainly do more than just "play a game."
2) I don't agree that the amount of money you have should dictate whether you have a right to an opinion, or that your decisions make you a "crybaby." This is just another version of the argument "shut up and dribble." These are grown men making a decision, which they obviously struggled with.
3) Which leads me to say that I don't agree with you that the Eagles players were wrong to make the
decision to not attend the White House. trump has been very vocal about how much he despises NFL players who don't adhere to his own personal code of conduct. Instead of trying to understand why NFL players would be protesting, he instead has called these players "sons of bitches." If Eagles players were to then go to the White House and get a photo with this man and give him an Eagles jersey, they would be condoning the actions of a man who called their peers "sons of bitches" and called for them to be fired from their jobs. Why would any NFL player condone such words? Why be used as a political pawn by such a man? Saying they refused to go because they "don't like the president" is really selling their decision short.
4) I don't agree that it was the responsibility of the Eagles players to "turn the other cheek." They have a right to stand up for what they believe in. They believe that they should be able to play football and get paid and help their communities without being belittled by a powerful politician. I don't blame them for not going. Now, does trump have the right to stand up for what he believes in? Absolutely. But let's be clear—trump's beliefs are petty. He is basically the kid who cancelled a party because some of the other kids weren't coming. His other beliefs—the racist beliefs, the sexist beliefs, etc. (please request citations if you need them)—these are the beliefs sowing the discord that you are talking about. The Eagles are just refusing to play into that. The divide in this country isn't on them. It's on trump.
5) I may or may not agree that there are more important things in the news than a man baby crying about athletes not wanting to kiss his ring... that being said, I disagree with the notion that this shouldn't be discussed at all. First, it's important to catalog our president's shortcomings and his patterns of behavior. This is supposed to be the leader of the free world, and he is a man who takes time to tweet about athletes stiffing him? You have to make people aware of it. Second, I think this is an especially important local issue, because I'm sure there are plenty of people in the Delaware Valley who are both Eagles fans and trump fans. It's important to hold news like this up to their faces and say: Choose. You can't support the Eagles and trump together. You have to consider that, if this man who you profess to be a great leader is taking time to shit on a team that you love, that maybe this man isn't who you think he is. Maybe he really IS weak, pathetic, etc. That's important (in my opinion, of course, I'm sure plenty of old white men on the internet vehemently disagree with me on this point). But bottom line, yes, peace treaties and etc. are important news stories, arguably more important than this news story, but it's not a one-or-the-other type situation. They can both be important.
In short, I'm proud of the Eagles players who refused to go, and I'm amused that trump tipped his hand so easily and made a big stink about it. I think when it comes to the Eagles vs. trump, it's really not hard to see who are the role models for our youth. Clearly, clearly the Eagles are not at fault here. They did the right thing.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
c. Spring 2006
[I don't remember if there was a specific prompt or not, but we had to give a public speech in my junior year AP English class. Note: the lack of humility is supposed to be humorous, not legitimate.]
I wrote this speech at 3 AM last night. Mr. Dempsey told us we had to write a speech probably a month ago, and there I was, seven hours before the exam, and I had yet to even start the thing. This procrastination problem of mine has pretty much existed my whole life. I fondly remember doing Spanish graded assignments in homeroom, writing lab reports during my lunch period, and completing entire Science fair projects the day before the fair. This attitude is nothing new to me.
Now, pretty much every teacher in this school is going to tell you the same thing: “you CANNOT wait until the last day to do your homework.” And I’m sure there are people in this classroom who abide exactly by this principle. They’ll spread their workload out evenly every day. They’ll spend their 30 minutes on each subject, because to them, every assignment matters. They think if they screw up once, they will not pass the class, they will not graduate, they will not get into a good college, they will be forced to work at McDonald’s for the rest of their sorry little lives.
Well let me tell you something about these kinds of people. I AM NOT ONE OF THEM.
At this point you are probably thinking to yourself “Wow, this kid is one of those lazy wastes who sleeps in every class and gets straight Cs.” You’d be surprised to know that you’re wrong. I get pretty good grades, do well on tests for the most part. And rarely do I even consider doing homework. My friends and peers, I am living proof that you can be a lazy waste and still be a star academic student.
So the question I pose to you today is this: Is there any reason whatsoever that you should worry about doing well? There are people who worry and get good grades, and there are people who don’t worry at all and still get good grades. Which one is more appealing to you? I think it’s safe to say that no one here likes to worry.
Let me give you an anecdote to make this even clearer. Two weeks ago, my history teacher gave us an essay assignment that we could write in class. I had no idea what to write the first day, so I just doodled on my paper. That night I could’ve done some work on it, but instead I played video games for six hours. The next day in class, I fell asleep for the ENTIRE class. The teacher was irate that I hadn’t started it yet, but it didn’t bother me. That night I fell asleep early, and at 4 AM, I suddenly awoke, remembering my essay was due in a few hours. So I wrote it in about a half hour. Got an A on the paper. Now, I’m not sure what that says about the teacher or the subject or my writing ability, but the bottom line is that I couldn’t have cared less about that essay, and I got an A.
I remember back in the day, I used to be pretty scared of failing. Especially in grade school, I would sometimes be reduced to tears over something as silly as Vocabulary workbook pages. Sometimes things would become so overwhelming that I just couldn’t help but cry. Then, around seventh grade, I went on vacation in February, and when I came back, I completely bombed a science test. First failure I ever received. The thing is, the world wasn’t crumbling around me like I thought it would if I failed. In fact, I felt GREAT. I was liberated from the chains of academic perfection. The vacation I had been on was amazing. Would it have been just as amazing if I had spent it studying for my science test? No way! In my mind, I sacrificed my grade for an amazing time I will never forget. And when I got my report card, I still had a 95 in science, I still got first honors. This only reaffirmed my newfound belief that in the end, worrying about academics will only hinder you, not help you.
So the bottom line is this, folks: Stop worrying about your grades! Ten years down the line, are you really going to care what you got on some stupid research paper you did for AP English back in junior year? I know I won’t. So seriously, stop studying all weekend, go out and do what kids are supposed to do on Friday nights—have fun. I don’t think you’ll regret it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
c. April 2012
[One of many, many, many Masque traditions was to have a letter from a Masque alumnus be read to the cast and crew before a performance. A shady-ass "Ghost of Dan Rodden" Facebook account asked me to write one while me and Pam were living in Vegas, and I was homesick, so I wrote one, as lame as that is. Buttfucks4ever.]
Dear Scottish Play Cast and Crew,
I'm not going to lie. I miss the shit out of the Masque. I miss the excitement of opening night. I
miss the warm-ups two hours before the show that don't warm us up at all. I miss the beauty of seeing a fully completed set for the first time. I miss the comradery, the late nights imbibing and making fun of Dwyer, the scavenger hunts, the total absence of hazing during baby week, and making out with
Annaliese at the cast party. Maybe not that last part, but I do fucking miss you guys and I pine for my
Masque days.
So when Dan Rodden was exhumed from his grave, given a Facebook account somehow, and asked
me to write a letter to you guys, my first thought was this: I thought I blocked Dan Rodden on Facebook like two years ago? But my second thought was that this would be a great opportunity to say hi to you guys, and to wish you to break a leg, and to make make fun of Dwyer a litter bit.
So here's the hello part. I hope everyone is doing really well over there on Olney Ave, studying
and keeping up with all their schoolwork and obviously I'm kidding.
This particular part is for the seniors: Don't graduate. Life on the other side of graduation is kinda
scary and it kind of sucks. You have actual responsibilities after you get your diploma. Can you imagine Joe K*** with actual responsibilities? Isn't that a scary thought? But it's true. So cherish the next few weeks. Fuck your finals, and hang out with the friends you made here, and hang out with them every night. Drink a lot at the Masque formal, but try not to black out. In general, just stay optimistic, and try to appreciate La Salle while you're still there. La Salle is a horrible, horrible school, but it's our fucking school, damn it, and you should be proud of it and proud of yourself for going there.
Okay, enough of that, here's the break a leg part. To the cast of that Shakespeare play you're
doing: You're going to do great. You worked really hard and got your lines and your blocking down
perfectly and laughed politely when Tom made really weird jokes, and I heard you did awesome last
weekend. This weekend is going to be more of the same. And if you screw up your lines, it doesn't matter, because no one understands Shakespeare anyway. To all those with a stage kiss, remember, it means something. Seriously, break a leg, everyone. I know it's going to be great.
To the crew: You guys already did an awesome job. You put up an amazing set, you worked late
into the night, you made wood jokes at diners, and you really should be proud of yourselves already. It takes so much know-how to do what you guys do. That one time I came to tech I had no fucking clue what I was doing, but you guys go on a build a whole set in like a month. It's incredible. Nicely done.
To my buttfuckers: I love you guys. I hope you were all completely sober at the fun run.
And I guess that's it. Once again, break a leg, guys, I really mean that. I have so much faith in
you guys that you're putting on an amazing show. You have a lot of talent among you.
I'm so sorry I can't make it to see y'all, but plane tickets are really expensive. I'll watch it on
DVD, I promise.
Love,
Joe K***
PS Pam says hi too. Remember that it's not totally impossible to turn that random Masque Formal hookup into a long-term relationship.
PPS Someone make a Dwyer joke for me right after this letter is done being read.
PPPS I tried to avoid saying the name of this play in the letter so as not to give all you theater nerds a
heart attack. Ah, fuck it. Macbeth.
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