From 2017 to 2018

As we end this year and rapidly approach 2018, here’s a selection of quotes that sum up my state of mind from the end of last year to the end of this year and to the end of next year (yes I can see into the future). Come enjoy!

Professional

End of 2016: “There’s this tour guide book that I read and look at stuff going oh and ahh!”

End of 2017: “So apparently I’m a CEO now. Bow down to your corporate master!”

End of 2018: “I built the Tour Noir NYC empire from the ground up! You chicken shit stockholders and board members should all…yeah get security, I am not leaving peacefully!”

Politics

End of 2016: “This was pretty bad. But it only feels like an ominous prologue.”

End of 2017: “The moderate Democrat beat the Republican pedophile in Alabama by a whole point? Now that’s what I call progress!”

End of 2018: “That Republican sodomized a statue of Jesus and still won evangelicals by 70%!”

Yankees

End of 2016: “THE SANCHIZE shall rise!”

End of 2017: (no quote – just salivating)

End of 2018: “It took them 5 games to win the World Series? Fire CASHMAN!”

Knicks

End of 2016: “Maybe Phil Jackson is using reverse zen triangle motivation through alienating his star player and the rest of league? I really don’t know at this point?”

End of 2017: “This feeling of not being a joke...it’s so strange…it feels almost dirty, almost wrong.”

End of 2018: “Latrell Sprewell will make a fine coach!”

Star Wars

End of 2016: “Rogue One was good, but I hear in 8 Anakin is a space sloth and there’s a magic tree and that Rey is a Skywalker and is the reinencarnation of the first jedi and Snoke is the first sith…”

End of 2017: “I saw Kylo Ren take his shirt off in the shower and he is shredded. He has an 8 pack.”

End of 2018: “Han Solo was good but I hear in 9 Chewbacca has a lightsaber duel with Kylo Ren and that the Ewoks come back and eat the Porgs and that Poe and Finn get married and Rey is the maid of honor…”

Bob Dylan

End of 2016: “Maybe he’s done with all the Sinatra covers…”

End of 2017: “He played 5 shows at the Beacon and I only saw 3…”

End of 2018: “Maybe he’s done with all the Pink Floyd covers…”

Movies

End of 2016: “I’m going to make it a point to see at least 3 movies not staring superheros.”

End of 2017: “I’m going to make it a point to see at least 3 movies not owned by Disney.”

End of 2018: ‘I’m going to make it a point to watch a trailer of a movie not owned by Disney.”

 Television

End of 2016: “No I haven’t seen the original streaming content produced by (x) but I’m sure it’s very good.”

End of 2017: “So I can’t watch that show anymore because that guy has been an open secret creep for years apparently.”

End of 2018: “It’s nice that we forgave that creep from (x tv show) but in all honesty he was amazing and that show is great!”

Romance

End of 2016: “FINE. EVERYTHING IS FINE. NO PROBLEMS AT ALL, AND NO I DIDN’T REALIZE MY LEFT EYE IS TWITCHING.”

End of 2017: “…So the bumble girl said her name was Ashley-Juliet and that I could only call her that….me and the coffee meets bagel girl spent 4 hours getting wasted talking about how we had nothing in common…then this Tinder girl said I was going to hell.”

End of 2018: “And well after coming to her senses, she finally said yes and that’s how I became Mr. Emma Watson.”

Happy 2018!

Unrequited Tinder Love 4

Tinder can be a place where you go on a whirlwind of matching to messaging to meeting to adult situations. Other times it’s a place where you send messages into the void. Here are the my messages into the void.

Tinder 1

Message One: How about fremulon as well?

Message Two: Shh

Analysis: I was way too clever for my own good by playing off her bio and referencing the end credits for Brooklyn 99. Plus do I really want to go out on a date with someone who likes that show (yeah I said it  - not a fan)?

 Tinder 2

Message: Can I be a vans in a world of nikes?

Analysis: I suppose I’ll have to live out my days as a New Balance in a world of Skechers. Does the punishment fit the crime? According to the Tinder Gods – yes. Yes it does.

Tinder 3

Message One: Staunch. Power word there.

Message Two: I need a credo for sure

Analysis: I’ll take her silence as a firm but polite “go fuck yourself only I may have a credo”.

Tinder 4

Message: Do you also want a list of references?

Analysis: She must have already seen my references and was so overwhelmed by the incredible prestige that she felt I was so overqualified for the job of first date and decided to never answer. I commend her knowing her limitations. Good hunting!

 Tinder 5

Message One: Who is that actor?? I know that creepy gaze!

Message Two (6 months later): Casual necking at lookout point perhaps?

Analysis: Sometimes I’m just too clever for my own good. Maybe time to update my references to the current century, but then again, why should I change something that works 20% of the time? I like those odds.

Tinder 6

Message One: I’m also a Leo! Bold zodiac!

Message Two: So how are you liking Nyc so far. Im a tour guide so ask me anything.

Analysis: Nothing gets a girl all turned on like saying your main ambition in life is trying to convince tourists they aren’t going to get stabbed on the subway to Times Square. Also wise decision to compliment her on her astrological sign because we totally pick those. Well played Jason.

Tinder 7

Message: What if it’s a baseball? What financial forms would you require?

Analysis: Welp another shot a true love destroyed by our national pastime. Thanks a lot baseball you cockblocker!

Tinder 8

Message: A mermaid?? I was in the mermaid parade this weekend. Did you go?

Analysis: The Mermaid Parade is awesome and one of the most fun things you can do in New York. A true cultural event. My friend and I got the most hollers and catcalls out of anyone due to our expertly made green bubble wrap bras. Her loss.

Tinder 9

Message: What’s the last music thing that occupied your mind?

Analysis: Based on her lack of response it’s still occupying her mind to the point where it has consumed her and she can’t think of anything else forcing her into a catatonic state. Please send help post haste!

Tinder 10 

Message Duck duck duck goose?

Analysis: The message is golden but the girl was pregnant in her pictures. Probably better she didn’t respond…

So Happy swiping and may only 50% of your messages go into the void!

Tinder Social Advice

There are few things that are constant in this world. For one, the sun will rise in the east and set in the west. I assume there is a second constant, but a third, yes a third constant in this world is that I am a TINDER GOD. But like any God (especially the Greek ones), I have my problems and foibles. So I decided, it’s time to create my own Mount Olympus and by that I mean form a Tinder Social group with two esteemed friends. After some preliminary swiping, matching, messaging, and then un-matching, I have come up with a helpful guide for the group swipers.

As with anything in life, make sure you pair up with attractive people, but not that much more attractive than you. Nobody wants to be telling the story of how they ended up alone on a three on three group date.

People it’s a Tinder Social Group not a Tinder Social Jason (trademark). I can’t be the only one sending out poor openers. We’re a team over here. We need to spread the poor messaging out evenly.

Make sure everybody knows what their role is in the group and have them play to that strength. Your gif guy should only send gifs – this is no time for him to be experimenting with “words” and “sentences”. Same goes for the guy whose job is to solely swipe yes on 19 year olds. Don’t go for “age appropriate”. That’s not why we cast you in our group.

Take solace in enjoying how far apart you are from your group by obsessively staring at the miles away part of their profiles. Also take the time to bask in a quiet superiority as you judge how lame their pictures and bios are (you like dogs – real original asshole).

Always get your math right. If there are 3 guys and 2 girls, that means each dick gets two openings (ladies choice of course). Now if there are 2 guys and 3 girls, each dick gets a full three openings on one person with a choice of either the mouth and ass on the third capped off with both dicks penetration the vagina at the same time. Again people, simple math. You don’t have to be a whiz to figure this stuff out.

Remember in a 2x2 or 3x3 group date you should each find a different person to fall in love with. Nowt sometimes life doesn’t work out that way and two people can fall for the same special someone. If this scenario does arise simply ruin your close friendship and compete for the affection of that someone. In the end, attempting to sleep with a tinder date is more important than years of close friendship. You’ll be happy you sacrificed all those years for a night of possibly having sex.

If you’re not intent on engaging on an all-night 3 on 3 group orgy fuckfestorama ala Zoolander, then you need to open up Tinder and delete your profile because you are wasting all of our precious gangbanging time.

Just because it’s Tinder Social, doesn’t mean that all the normal Tinder rules are out the door. When you match with a group it is still necessary to run around your apartment screaming, yelling, and imagining your perfect future with a potential group of soulmates.

On the date, it’s important to show that you are a united front. So make sure you and your team all wear the same exact outfits and say the same things at the same times. Consistency is key.

If a date ends poorly there’s always the option of fucking the people in your Tinder Social group. Right? Right?

There it is – use my wisdom to your advantage and get those group dates a going!

Leo Tinder Fuckboi

As usual my well thought out plan had gone awry and I had to think of a back-up. The plan was to get her to come with me to what was sure to be a super fun birthday party with drink specials and mutual friends. There we would drink, laugh, socialize, but then always return to each other as if we were bound by an inescapable magnetic charge. Unfortunately that charge was weak as she declined the invite to do something else. Something without me. So when a wrinkle appears, naturally the solution is to pull out the apps and start swiping. I noticed a recent conversation that lay dormant, but not out of malice or by the grace of a moronic message. It was just over. So I figured to start it up again and see what would happened. Worst comes to worst I could just see some pals and see where that takes me.

Before the party, I decided to meet up with a friend for happy hour drinks. It was raining and he was bored at work, so it came as no surprised that he was a few in when I arrived. We took advantage of the two for one drinks and I was settling into a soliloquy about why Bob Dylan is a god (a subject only popular with a very select few individuals), when I felt my phone vibrate. To my surprise the flame notification appeared and I was presented with a resurrection. Looks like the conversation wasn’t dead.

As expected, I ignored my friend and started typing away seeing what was up. She was vague, sarcastic, and quick – just what I wanted in my messaging. Feeling the confidence that a few whiskey cokes brings to my already overinflated ego, I invited her to hook up with me at the party. It’ll be fun, I suggested, why not. She was down to crash this party, but gave me a warning that she was tall and that she could slouch if I felt that was necessary. Of all the threats to my masculinity height is at the bottom of my list. Who cares if she’s taller than me, as long as she looks like her pictures and sounds like her messages I’m fine. My friend agreed with the sentiment and we took to the train to get to the party.

Nothing says fancy like a velvet rope and that’s what greeted us at the southern restaurant/bar in Union Square. We said the magic name and the rope lifted and in no time were enjoying the remnants of a birthday happy hour. I found the birthday girl and said my thanks and congrats on making it through another year and I did mean it; she is a lovely person. One of the gems in my book and I explained that I would be sharing her special day with a random girl from Tinder. In fact I made it a point to warn or tell everyone that they would be privy to one of my infamous tinder dates. The scene was set.

An hour passes and my friend is deciding whether he wants to mingle or stumble on to the bathroom. He picks the second option which we both agree is wise. I look up to outside the velvet rope and see someone who matches pictures two, three, and five on a specific tinder profile and I slip into “charming Tinder mode”. By this I mean I go through the publicly weird process of asking someone if they are indeed the person from the picture square on my phone. She says yes and I’m relieved because pictures two, three, and five were the best ones on her profile (she later would mention that I resembled pictures one and three on mine).

So we get to talking and I assume I’m being witty because I see her mouth turn upright into a form that most would describe as a smile. But at this point happy hour has been going on far too long for me and it’s beginning to show. I usually make it a point not to drink before meeting a new person, but then again I don’t always follow my own rules because I’m an idiot. Some things are unavoidable. But apparently I’m charming because she keeps biting at what I’m saying while throwing it back at me in double time. I can respond to most of her remarks and she seems impressed that I’m holding my own despite being in the middle of drunk squints. By this time my friend has left to do his own thing but before he leaves I introduce him to my date and he mutters out “the things I would do to her”. If there’s a better compliment in the world I haven’t heard it.

As with most birthdays it becomes that time in the evening where the venue must change for fear of stagnation and we decide it’s time to depart and go our own way. She asks if I’d like to go to Beauty Bar and “do some drugs”, to which I reply with the very debonair “okay”. Smooth indeed. So we’re walking to Beauty Bar where I decide to employ my classic pick up line of “hey on the way to Beauty Bar let’s make out, it’ll be fun we’ll walk, we’ll talk, it’ll make the time pass”. She agrees and we go for it in front of an apartment complex with raised grass and very pointy barriers. This is when the height starts to play a role, as I have to lean up to get any traction with my drunken, slobbering make out. What a delightful reversal of roles I think and before I can come to any sort of conclusion we’re off and walking.

Beauty Bar is a fun place, and I go there often. It’s got a dance floor and for a small price they do your nails. I’ve never gotten but it seems fun so why not. Anyway, she doesn’t feel like dancing so we’re sitting adjacent to the dance floor and the conversation moves to sex. In a boastful way she claims that she never orgasms during sex. Great, I think, the pressure’s off for the night! Don’t worry I assure her, that ain’t gonna change tonight. My assurance plays well and she motions that it’s time to do drugs. After a bouncer denies our attempt to go into the bathroom together we figure that maybe the old fashioned way of one by one is better. She goes first and then attempts to hand me a bag but I drop it akin to Alvy Singer in Annie Hall. Thank god it’s in a bag and I go into the bathroom do a bit and then it’s off to be jittery on the L train.

I’m shaking on the L train when she pulls out a notebook and asks me to review her art. The sketches are fine, but it’s not like I was going to say anything else. Plus I find the L train to be a notoriously bad place for art criticism. We get off and get to her place and start doing things, until well things end and I decide it’s time to go to the bathroom because why not seems like the right thing to do. So I tip toe through the darkness and turn on the lights only to see the effects of what I previously thought was gentle neck gnawing. Turns out what most people would consider gentle neck gnawing my body took as the tiger that attacked Siegfried and Roy. My neck is all shades of black, red, and purple. Simply put I look gross.

It’s around 7 in the morning when I arrive back in the room (I left for the bathroom at 6:55). I tell her about my mauling and she feels embarrassed but more so about the disparity in souvenirs. I figure it’s time to leave because she has to wake up in a couple of hours and I’d rather leave when I’m wide awake and horrified sooner than later. She’s cool about it and I get dressed and take a very long walk through the foggiest parts of Brooklyn to the train. The people on the train stare and I don’t blame them, it’s not every day you see an active warzone on a guy’s neck. Lucky them.

I make it home and attempt to use every hickey trick in the book, but at best I can only manipulate my neck into varying shades of maroon. Since I’m mortally opposed to turtle necks, it looks like I’ll be wearing my night out for a bit. So in the days that follow life returns to normal, minus the first round of questions and horrified stares from friends. Such is life I suppose.

A week or so passes and I hit her up again and we go through the same routine but far more sober and in Brooklyn. It’s fun but nothing special until the end of the night when she tells me she keeps a list of all the guys she’s slept with and a little bio about them. I ask to see mine and she looks, laughs, and says “Leo Tinder fuckboi. Christened my mattress”.

Fuckboi? Really, I ask her. The Leo and tinder part are accurate, but fuckboi, yikes – was I one of those? She says not really – she claims it was there because she thought I would never call again and my doing so mitigated the term to something a bit tamer. I can’t remember what she turned it to because like a previous other demoralizing ranking, it began to cloud my mind. I couldn’t focus like before and went into a low power sarcastic mode. The night went fine and we bantered, but who knows what about because man does that term just sting. We went back to her place and I told her to lay off the neck because my family already had enough things to talk about at Passover and things happened and then like before I left but this time not as a fuckboi. Well at least a fuckboi that wasn’t going to call her back. So I guess I was a fuckboi again, but why would I want to call somebody back who called me a Leo Tinder Fuckboi. I was surprised she remembered my sign. These thoughts kept me occupied as I strolled through the foggy Brooklyn neighborhoods. I felt a bit like Walt Whitman walking through old timey Brooklyn, but then I figured Walt Whitman had never been referred to as a fuckboi. Or at least not in the versions of “Leaves of Grass” I’ve read. I made it to the train and prepared for the long trip back to Queens knowing two things. One, I was not going to see this person again in a romantic way again. And two, I was going to spend a good amount of time taking “am I a fuckboi quizzes”.

Ugly Love

You ever see two ugly people walking on the street together holding hands and you look at them and you think good for you guys; you did it. Congrats at beating the overwhelming odds and finding that someone special. You look at these two ugly ducklings and give that nod of approval. Not only did these two uglies find love but they got the approval of me, one of the beautiful people. Now naturally after you pass these two ugly but in love people your kind thoughts turn negative. How is it that these people, or rather these ugly people were able to find love and you, a beautiful person, are still lonely and single? What the fuck?

But then you think, is that really what I want? I mean sure, those people look happy and for all intents and purposes they are, but is that really what life is about? Shouldn’t we be dating out of our comfort zone and try for the hotties upon hotties. Who wants to end up with an ugly? Is that the life for me? These questions linger in your head and then you start to get mad and even a tad bit jealous at those two ugly people you saw holding hands down in the village. I mean how did they even meet? They must be using the same methods as the rest of the human population. It’s got to be some combination of online and app dating. Could it be real life? Is that what I’m missing? Is that how all the undesirables meet – sans dating application? You then dismiss the thought because it’s obviously absurd – it had to be through some online apparatus.

So maybe, your mind begins to wander, it wasn’t the medium but the purpose. Could they have been so worn down by rejection that they just accepted their fate in life and decided to become one half of an ugly couple sandwich. Woo, what a terrible thing to have to think about. What an internal monologue that must be. Sure I’ll be in the ugly but that’s something and something is better than nothing. Then you think, what a sad thing to do. To settle so early and easily. To romantically die without a fight and never try to punch above your weight class. What a tragedy indeed.

Jesus, but who am I to judge on such shallow criteria goes the part of the brain you wish would pipe down more often. Should ugly people have to live a loveless life just because they don’t fit your arbitrary standards of beauty? Why that’s absurd you go, what was I even thinking? Maybe they complete each other emotionally and intellectually, isn’t physical beauty only one of the legs of the relationship chair. But then retorts the part of the brain you wish would speak less, isn’t physical beauty as important as an emotional and intellectual bond. That’s what brings the spark and magic and turns a magical friendship into a passionate relationship. The bonds of the mind and spirit are important but try explaining that to a flagging hard on or a rapidly drying pussy. So in the words of our genitals, let’s not downplay the importance of looks.

Maybe, just maybe, these uglies both find each other beautiful. And not that fake inner beauty nonsense but they truly have the hots for each other. It could happen, people are into weird things. You think about your own body. You certainly have some “eccentricities” and “peculiar parts” that some would find attractive and others would find downright unappealing. Hey to each their own, but then again don’t we have at least a baseline to judge beauty on. Could these people just have hit the baseline or found one appealing physical notion about each other and been like “that’s all I need I’m out”. Could they have been the person that only tries one flavor of ice cream, enjoys it, and then orders it on the spot without trying anything else? Is this the pair of people you just saw passing hand in hand in the village?

Now your mind takes a detour to the past trying to answer what could be a disheartening question. Have you ever in your dating career gotten the approval nod that you gave to the uglies? Has anyone ever given you, “one of the so called beautiful people”, that condescending good for you look when you were walking down the street with a love? The ego leaps into defensive mode saying no never, but then you think back on every walk you’ve ever made in public. You scour your memory banks like some 70’s reporter scanning microfiche at the library for any traces of the look. The results: inconclusive you’re positive it has definitely happened. In a city of 8 million people someone was bound to find you and your lover part of the select group of uglies and thought aww good for you guys, you did it. You overcame the odds.

The thought just sickens you. How could you be a willing accomplice in a vicious cycle that helps nobody at all. Love should be celebrated not ridiculed. The ugliness of the participants should be irrelevant. What a noble stance you think and you become instantly proud of yourself. And to think, you thought this wouldn’t be a productive walk. Never doubt yourself, now that’s a motto to live by. Until of course you see an even uglier couple holding hands as you hit the Chelsea neighborhood of the city (it’s been quite a walk) and think are you fucking kidding me? How did this one happen?

A Macy's Debacle aka I'm Not Crazy!

So get this. I’m in Macy’s because I need to buy a pair of pants. More specifically brown skinny jeans. Now for some reason purchasing this particular pair of pants has become a Don Quixote like quest for reasons beyond me but whatever. I like me some brown skinny jeans. Why this is less popular than fucking red or purple Joker pants is again beyond me. If I ran the world’s supply of jeans (rather than just the banks and the media – I’ve said too much) things would be much different. Much, much different believe me. But I don’t so I guess I can go, in the words of Mr. Levi Strauss, “fuck myself”. Pearls of corporate wisdom like that are why he became the powerhouse jeans manufacture he is today.

Getting back to whatever point I was making, I’m in Macy’s looking for brown skinny jeans at the Levi’s store in the contemporary men’s floor aka what used to be that weird floor one and a half which was only accessible by a middle escalator when I find me some brown jeans. So far so good. Well way to get ahead of yourself because they only have them in the slim cut. Jesus, don’t you get tired of always being wrong? Terrible. Just terrible. I see that these are the only moderately skinny pants in the brown color persuasion that Macy’s offers so I decide to be generous and see how they fit. I’m just in that kind of mood. So I go to the dressing with my said pair of slim brown skinny jeans and try them on. They don’t fit or rather they don’t fit my European normal or American anorexic body, so I figure I’ll just drop them off and continue my seemingly endless search. And here’s where the problems begin.

Normally dressing rooms have a clothing rack or a hook or something to put your unwanted clothes on after you try them on. Usually they take up the entrance or exit (yes we have taken a minor philosophical detour on how entrances can double as exits) of the dressing room and serve as a way of making sure clothing doesn’t end up on the fucking floor, preserving a sense of decorum in this rapidly declining society. As I exit the entrance of the Levi’s dressing room with my pair of unwanted pants draped over my shoulder I find nary a clothing rack to place them on. Since I’m not, as the kids would say, “a fucking asshole” I decide to ask someone where I should put said clothing. I go up to an associate at the register and ask if there is a rack or place to put my clothes. The lady looks at me and starts talking to me like I’m an insane person. What do you mean you need a rack just put your clothes anywhere, what are you talking about, and so on and so forth.

Is this the way we like to run our store? This is Macy’s, which prides itself on being the premier department store in the world and you can’t provide a basic store accompaniment? Mind you this is not some outlet store Macys, this is the Herald Square Thanksgiving Day Parade Miracle of 34^th street Macys. This is the one that murdered Gimbels. What a steep decline to the excellence I for some reason falsely believed Macy’s prided itself on providing.

After suffering such injustice I decide to do the only logical thing and check out every other dressing room on the floor to see if they have a clothing rack. Well welly welly welly well, they all have places or racks to put unwanted clothes. I snap a picture of every single one and proudly walk back to the lady at the Levi’s store register and show her and her manager the clothing racks, basking in my petty glory. Actually that last part didn’t happen (but I did check out every dressing room and they did have racks – let the record show). Instead I simply folded my pants and put them back where I got them, muttering and ranting until I was kicked out. Well not really the kicked out part. I left on my own free will. But I was a ranting and a raving.

So fast forward to yesterday when I’m still looking for brown pants and again I find myself back at this forsaken Heralds Square Macy’s where again I have been disappointed by the selection of skinny jeans. Why I expected things to dramatically change in a week, I have no idea. Just call me an optimist. So I go back to the Levi’s store and its dressing room and to my surprise I see a sign telling people to put the clothes they do not want on a clothing rack. Good advice I think. I turn to see where this clothing rack is and again it is nowhere to be found. Instead I see a couch filled to the gills with jeans and people looking mildly confused looking for a clothing rack.

In short I’m not crazy. I swear.

A Primer on My Favorite Bob Dylan Tracks

3 Favorite Songs from each Bob Dylan album (studio/selected live/bootleg series): A Primer (subject to change on a whim)

Studio Albums (Plus Greatest Hits with new songs)

Bob Dylan – Song to Woody, Talkin’ New York, House of the Risin’ Sun

Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan – Masters of War, Blowin’ in the Wind, A Hard Rain’s a Gonna Fall

The Times They Are A-Changin – The Times They Are A-Changin’, Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll, Boots of Spanish Leather

Another Side of Bob Dylan – It Ain’t Me Babe, Spanish Harlem Incident, Chimes of Freedom

Bringing it All Back Home – It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue, It’s Alright Ma (I’m only Bleeding), Love Minus Zero/No Limit

Highway 61 Revisited – Like a Rolling Stone, Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues, Desolation Row

Blonde on Blonde – Just Like a Woman, Sad Eyed Lady of the Lowlands, Visions of Johanna

John Wesley Harding – I Dreamed I Saw St Augustine, Drifter’s Escape, Ballad of Frankie Lee and Judas Priest

Nashville Skyline – Lay Lady Lay, Tell Me That it isn’t True, Tonight I’ll Be Staying Here with You

Self Portrait – Gotta Travel On, Wigwam, Copper Kettle

New Morning – Man in Me, Went to See the Gypsy, Sign on the Window

Greatest Hits Volume 2: I Shall Be Released, Down in the Flood, You Ain’t Goin’ Nowhere

Pat Garrett and Billy the Kid – Knockin on Heaven’s Door, Billy 4, River Theme

Dylan – Mary Ann, Lily of the West, Sarah Jane

Planet Waves – Forever Young, Hazel, Never Say Goodbye

Blood on the Tracks – Tangled Up in Blue, Idiot Wind, Simple Twist of Fate

The Basement Tapes – This Wheel’s on Fire, Tears of Rage, Goin’ to Acapulco

Desire – Isis, Black Diamond Bay, Oh Sister

Street Legal – Changing of the Guards, Senor (Tales of Yankee Power), Where are You Tonight? (Journey Through Dark Heat)

Slow Train Coming – Gotta Serve Somebody, Slow Train, Precious Angel

Saved – Pressing On, Solid Rock, Covenant Woman

Shot of Love – Groom’s Still Waiting at the Altar, Every Grain of Sand, Heart of Mine

Infidels – Jokerman, Neighborhood Bully, Union Sundown

Empire Burlesque – Tight Connection to My Heart (Has Anybody Seen My Love), Dark Eyes, Clean Cut Kid

Biograph – Up to Me, Abandoned Love, Positively 4^th Street

Knocked Out Loaded – Brownsville Girl, You Wanna Ramble, Under Your Spell

Down in the Groove – Silvio, Let’s Stick Together, Ugliest Girl in the World

Oh Mercy – Most of the Time, Shooting Star, Political World

Under the Red Sky – Handy Dandy, TV Talkin’ Song, Cat’s in the Well

Good As I Been to You – Blackjack Davey, Sittin’ on Top of the World, Froggie Went a-Courtin’

World Gone Wrong – Blood in My Eyes, Delia, World Gone Wrong

Time out of Mind – Love Sick, Tryin’ to Get to Heaven, Cold Irons Bound

Love and Theft – Mississippi, High Water (For Charlie Patton), Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum

Modern Times – Thunder on the Mountain, Someday Baby, Workingman’s Blues #2

Together Through Life – My Wife’s Home Town, Shake Shake Mama, Beyond Here Lies Nothin’

Christmas in the Heart – Must be Santa, Little Drummer Boy, Winter Wonderland

Tempest – Long and Wasted Years, Pay in Blood, Tin Angel

Shadows in the Night – The Night We Called It a Day, Stay with Me, That Lucky Old Sun

Fallen Angels – Young At Heart, Melancholy Mood, On a Little Street in Shanghai

Triplicate – I Could Have Told You, Stardust, Stormy Weather

Selected Live Albums

 Before the Flood – It’s Alright Ma (I’m Only Bleeding), Most Likely You Go Your Way (and I’ll Go Mine), Like a Rolling Stone

Hard Rain – Idiot Wind, Shelter from the Storm, Stuck Inside of Mobile With the Memphis Blues Again

At Budokan – Shelter From the Storm, Love Minus Zero/No Limit, I Want You

Real Live – Tangled Up In Blue, Ballad of a Thin Man, It Ain’t Me Babe

Bootleg Series

Volume 1 – 3: 1961-1991 – Idiot Wind, Angelina, Series of Dreams

Volume 4: Live 1966 – Like a Rolling Stone, Tell Me Momma, I Don’t Believe You (She Acts Like We Never Have Met)

Volume 5: Live 1975 – Lonesome Death of Hattie Carroll, It Ain’t Me Babe, Romance in Durango

Volume 6: Live 1964 – Don’t Think Twice It’s All Right, Mama You Been on My Mind, Talkin’ World War III Blues

Volume 7: No Direction Home – Just Like Tom Thumb’s Blues, Visions of Johanna, Maggie’s Farm

Volume 8: Tell Tale Signs – Born in Time, Most of the Time, Red River Shore

Volume 9: Whitmark Demos: All Over You, Gypsy Lou, I’ll Keep it With Mine

Volume 10: Another Self Portrait: Time Passes Slowly, Pretty Saro, Thirsty Boots

Volume 11: Complete Basement Tapes – Edge of the Ocean, I’m Not There, Sign on the Cross

Volume 12: The Cutting Edge – Can You Please Crawl Out Your Window, Instrumental, Stuck Inside of Mobile With the Memphis Blues Again

Can We Pass Over Passover?

Does anybody really like the Passover holiday? Along with Yom Kippur, Ramadan, and Lent it falls in the ever popular holiday category of “don’t do this”. These can’t be popular with the faithful because nobody likes to be told what they can’t do or more importantly what they can’t eat. It’s one of the main reasons Michelle Obama’s very smart maybe we should give our kids heathier dining options program was met with such scorn from a select group of morons (other reasons in no particular order: “don’t tell me how to raise my child”, racism, and reactionary partisanship). But let’s get back on track to the completely real events (my eyes have now rolled completely to the back of my head) of how the Jews left enslavement in Egypt. Do we really think that on the one year anniversary of leaving Egypt the survivors thought to remake that flavorless yeast free shit bread dubbed matzo? I’m going to go with the opposite. I bet they made the yeastiest most leavened bread they could muster as a hilarious final fuck you to the Pharaoh. Like fuck you Pharaoh now that I’m free and not being chased by chariots and an army I don’t have to skimp on the yeast and can make a delicious bagel and stuff it with the finest lox and cream cheese (no low fat nonsense on this occasion) while complaining about how for the last year we’ve been blindly following Moses and we seem to be wandering around in circles. Coincidence, hardly! I mean, I can’t be the only one who notices this aimless wandering right? If I am, I’ll shut up, but people c’mon. It’s been a year and well that Promised Land ain’t looking anywhere closer, but that’s just me and Bathsheba, and the lately the Cohen family bringing this up. But fine I’ll give it a rest today and enjoy this delicious leavened bread and give thanks that we don’t have to eat that matzo shit. Am I right in saying that “bread” was the roughest part of that day? Man was that gross. So a toast to yeast…and somebody asking Moses what the hell is going on because seriously I’m not going this for another thirty-nine years. If that isn’t a perfect historical recreation of the second Passover I don’t know what is.

Also let’s talk about the movie The 10 Commandments staring Charlton Heston, Yul Brynner, and Edward G. Robinson. It’s a great film and all but man are the Jews in that movie not the smartest. For some reason, despite all of Moses’ many miracles time after time without fail the chosen people decide to listen to Dathan. Moses has the staff that turns into a snake, he caused the plagues that ravaged the Egyptians and did no harm or rather “passed over” the Jews, and for the grand finale he parted the Red Sea to allow safe passage to freedom. Now any fully functioning human being would think this would earn Moses the benefit of the doubt. Oh no, not with crowd because apparently parting a sea can’t match up the dulcet mobster tones of Edward G. Robinson’s ever convincing “where’s your God now Moses” speech. Naturally the people listen to Dathan, the Jewish informant to the Pharaoh and the biblical equivalent to Uncle Tom. This is the guy who left bondage being carried on a bed-throne while the rest of the Jews had at most a basket and a three legged donkey. So this is the guy they chose to listen to when Moses leaves to take a twenty minute breather. Despite all God has done for them in the last week, the Jews somehow listen to Dathan’s idea to build and worship a golden calf while somehow roping Aaron, Moses’ brother, into the scheme. Again, what are we doing Jews? Why a golden calf and why Dathan. The guy has been wrong and against you the whole movie. Why would we decide to follow this guy over the person who performed actual miracles? What a fickle people. So anyway, Moses comes down, gets pissed, kills all the sinners with the Ten Commandments tablets and then wanders around until he decides to give the reins to Joshua and ascend to heaven at the ripe age of 120. And that’s the story of Passover and reason we can’t east bread for a week. What a ride.

Observations from an Adult Dinner Party

Parties with actual food are amazing. Not just perfunctory nonsense but things I would like to go back to for a second and even third helping. The food took effort and naturally it taste delicious and it makes an excellent chaser for the red wine and vodka I’ve been mixing and chugging. Sure, I like a bag of cool ranch Doritos as much as the next guy, but it really can’t hold up to miniature steaks, caprese salad, and pasta puttanesca. Plus it gives me something to do when my mingling hits a snag. Oh don’t mind me, I’m just enjoying the party in my own way: by stuffing my face.

From our first middle school dance to our last retirement home shuffle, dance parties will always be the same. Women will take up the center going crazy and having the time of their lives while most of the guys (there is always a Travolta superstar in the mix) will awkwardly stand to the side clutching a drunk until being forced to join in and pretend like they are doing these lovely ladies a favor. Okay I’ll totally buy the fact that you’re not having a time a half. Whatever you say man. Is it sad or comforting that we never escape the same holding patterns from our preteen years? An existential question for the ages.

Nothing makes somebody at a party feel old than when you refer to their friend as your friend’s mom. Also it takes away their agency as a person. Here is an accomplished woman and yet I only know her as the woman who gave birth to a dear pal of mine. A male pal too. The loathing I felt, oye I would never wish on anyone else. Oye!

This one is exclusive to me, but I can talk about things before 1995 and not be seen as some sort of weirdo. Ah the pleasures of listening about 1970’s New York with artists and former hippies will never cease. Add in the occasional story of meeting Lou Reed and all is right.

Funk music with the occasional disco aside kills with all crowds. Everybody loves dancing to the hits of the 80’s. “Bad and Boujee” on the other hand is a song meant for a very specific generation.

If You Can't Handle Me at My Worst...

“If you can’t handle me at my worst you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best”

When did this quote become a badge for people to wear around them like it’s some sort of universal truth? First of all there is no evidence off of my quick Google search that Marilyn Monroe ever uttered these words in that succession so let’s leave one of our cultural icons alone. She deserves better than to be associated with this ode to unfunny narcissism.

Let’s unpack this quote. If you can’t handle me at my worst than you sure as hell don’t deserve me at my best. Why is this person assuming that their best is so goddamn special that it outweighs all their negative qualities? Like what is so redeeming about this person that I’d be so willing to overlooking all their worst aspects. This imaginary person is setting a bar that they can’t ever live up to because they’ve already created a scenario where anything but a large payout in good qualities is a waste of time. Nobody wants to break even, we need some hefty returns on this investment and that means you need to have a best that is fucking golden. Nothing else will do for such boasts of narcissism. You’ve set the bar that high.

And another thing, do you think you could handle yourself at your worst let alone pawning it off on some poor, unsuspecting sucker? Take a deep dive into your psyche and confront your personal demons. I’m talking about the deepest darkest ones that keep you up at weird hours of the night endlessly pacing the floor while muttering and twitching. Think about what would happen if you were to give in to that side of your personality and just run with it. You’d probably hit some places and realizations that you wished you kept buried away. Sounds like a nightmare to the say the least, huh? Doesn’t sound much like a fun person or a good time Charlies, eh? So why would you want to pawn this monster off on some unsuspecting schumck? Exactly. It’s selfish is what it is and downright irresponsible to try and bring somebody down in the hole that you’re in by promising glimmers of personality sunshine. Terrible, just terrible you make me sick!

So in conclusion, just stop it. It’s so annoying. Nobody ever wants to see themselves at their worst let alone other people. I’m sure your best is great, but if you keep making people muck through the mud of your worst nobody is going to care or want to see it. Then that’ll really bring out your worst and boy, you better have a fantastic best to make up for that one.

3 Times When Lying is Acceptable

3 Times When Lying is Acceptable

When I asked you what you’ve been up to lately and your only answer is some combination of nothing and working. That’s a lame ass response that I don’t have time for and it makes you look bad. You really can’t think of one exciting or interesting anecdote to share in the time since we passed. I mean we live in New York City, you must have a horrific subway story or have witnessed a crazy person or at least have been on an exciting date or hook up. So if you can’t rack your brain for something, please start lying. You can even tell me it’s a lie, I won’t mind. It’ll at least be more interesting than hearing about that “world changing start-up” you keep grinding away at. But if straight up lying isn’t your style do what I tend to do and exaggerate or change some details to make your tale all the more exciting. The truth is good and all but sometimes a key exaggeration just takes the story to a whole new level. Like one time I hooked up with a circus clown and when I relay the story I like to say that she kept on her makeup and had a unicycle. Now parts of that story are true and others aren’t, but I think the combination of the muddled truths and obvious falsehoods create a rich tapestry that comes from the experience of hooking up with a former/current circus clown. So in short learn how to tell a story people. Our species has a strong oral tradition and I’ll be damned if it’s going to descend into a series of “nothing much, just working” conversations.

Writing in your online dating profile bio that you hate liars. Suuuuure you do. Who doesn’t just love the totally truthful among us? You know the type of person who dumped you by going through all your specific character flaws in a candid, honest, and mature way that brought you to one of the numerous dating apps that doesn’t have an “e” in their name. So go on be that person with the supremely unique pet peeve of hating liars (what I’ve never heard of such a person who hated being deceived) and I’ll pretend to believe that you’re into me for a reason other than my resemblance to John Lennon/Harry Potter. See lying helps us all!

When you don’t want to tell the truth. Can’t get more obvious than this people. Hey someone asked me a question and I don’t want to give the honest answer but I have to respond. How can I get out this one? Oh wait I know, I’ll just lie and make my life that much more manageable for the foreseeable present and let future me deal with the consequences. Problem solved. Again, easy stuff people

One Year Later

One year ago to the day my Nana died. It’s surreal to watch somebody you’ve known your whole life, especially somebody who was so feisty and full of life, go gently into that good night but sometimes people get sick and they just don’t get better. The week leading up to her the death was like a snowball that turned into an avalanche. When we took her into the hospital nobody thought she would be gone in a week. It seemed like something she had overcome before but slowly it dawned that this was different. She wasn’t getting better. It dawned on me after leaving the hospital on Wednesday that this was it but Thursday was the last day. Nearly everyone she loved was able to see her that day as she lay there. I wondered as people passed through if Nana ever thought this would be the way her lived in story would end. If when she was younger she thought her last moments would be in the company of her daughters, son-in-laws and grandkids. How did she think she was going to go?

I don’t really remember the last words she said to me but I do remember calling my mom when she took her to the hospital and hearing Nana say tell Jason thank you for calling. She could barely speak due to her hardness of breath but she still had the old world polite manners to thank me. Or how when she could barely function in those last hours she still had the Nana like instinct to point to people’s nails to remind them to get a manicure. That kind of stuff just floors me. She was as I like to say, a Nana.

I do remember though, the last words I said to her. It was getting late and was time to leave the hospital and I went over to her and started to say “I’ll see ya soon” but I stopped before the soon part because I thought soon was a weird thing to say. I didn’t want to say goodbye because who wants to say goodbye so I settled on my usual “I’ll see ya later Nana” and that was it. How can you say goodbye to somebody who you’ve seen nearly every day of your life? It’s a question I didn’t want to answer but came up with one anyway.

She died peacefully the next morning and the rush of the practical took over. By the end of the weekend was the funeral and the shiva call and then just silence and a remembrance candle burning away. Nothing to do but think about it and just keep on keeping on.

It’s been a year since she’s died and so much has changed. Her perfect Nana home on East 29^th street is now just another New York City apartment. My family moved out of our old area and have transitioned from proud Manhattanites to less boastful Queensers. I’m working at becoming a tour guide something that had never crossed my mind a year ago. I’ve fallen in and out (and in again and out one more time) of love with some very lovely women, but I could have guessed that one. Our country is being run by leaders with a frighteningly high degree of insanity and incompetence. In her high school yearbook from Washington Irving, dated 1946, the theme was about the hope of peace and unity that would come after World War II. Now it seems we’re farther than ever from those ideals. It’s been quite a year since her death.

But things go on I suppose. I felt guilty anytime I had fun for a period knowing she was dead. For me to be out experiencing things while she couldn’t felt wrong. I got over that but a weirdness still lingers on. I guess it may never fully leave.

One of the lasting memories from that weekend, other than the brutal cold, was thinking about how this was the first time I could remember Nana being the center of attention for a group larger than her immediate family. She hated any sort of mass attention and it seemed oddly fitting that her funeral would be the only event she would be the focus of. Just another thing that made her not just a Nana but the Nana and most importantly my family’s Nana. We miss you.

Snow in the Winter?

People it tends to snow during the winter. Stop freaking out about a few inches of snow. It happens, especially when it’s cold out! We should know how to deal with this already. So why does it feel like every year I have to listen to a million frantic reporters standing in front of some snow plows and explain what is going to happen and how the city will prepare for another storm of the century. Spoiler alert – it’s going to be the same thing they did last year and the last year and all those other years sans the ONE snowstorm that Mayor Bloomberg decided wasn’t a big deal and then turned out to be the biggest deal. I blame that one fuck up for the reason we all freak out and go into nuclear holocaust mode the second the Doppler radar picks up anything resembling a winter wonderland. The Mayor will most likely close public schools for the day (prompting our new Education Secretary to ask how she could implement these closings permanently), snow plows will be deployed, businesses will run sort of normally, salt will be carelessly thrown around, and the subway will be awful because the MTA hasn’t figured out how to run them efficiently in weather that can’t be described as “San Diego” like. We’ve done this before people and I’m going to guess we’ll be doing this dance again – maybe in a few weeks. Gasp, what a trip this season can be with the freezing rain.

Perhaps all the freaking out over a foot of snow is preparation for the very near future when snowfall will be an uncommon phenomenon due to global warming and our present administration’s policy that it is a hoax perpetrated by the Chinese. Then all these “breaking news” updates about snow will make sense. Ah, I can see it now. A young reporter stands in front of a rusted out snow plow dressed in a blazer because it’s the heaviest coat he’s ever needed. He soon dies of exposure and the network gets blamed for putting a rookie out there for the most physically taxing assignment in years. How could they! The Mayor of our fine city interrupts every broadcast and repeats on a loop how to sprinkle salt onto a frozen sidewalk. A nostalgic Buzzfeed article about how only 1990’s kids will remember real gloves will go super- duper viral. And of course the subway will be awful but nobody will be able to tell the difference between that and normal service.

The way people freak out about snow every year reminds me of how my body fails me every springtime during allergy season. My body should know that pollen really doesn’t pose a threat to me but for some reason every goddamn April to June my body decides it’s the biggest problem in the world and goes into maximum overdrive to protect my poor body. Slowly it realizes that it was wrong and gradually my face stops feeling like its on fire. Every year my body has had to deal with pollen and every year without failing it gets the response wrong. Just one year I’d like my immune system to be like oh wait it’s just pollen let’s not freak out, but that’ll never happen. Same thing with snow. Oh this happens every year, let’s deal with it like it’s a yearly occurrence rather than viewing it as the winter rapture. I like to think we as a society, or at least as New Yorkers, are better than this.

Facebook Invite Annoyances

Why are you saying maybe on a Facebook invite? Checking maybe says I’ll go unless something better comes around which means I’ll totally drop your thing. Maybe is just proving to the people in the group that you have a life filled with wonder and possibilities and you can’t be tied down to one thing. You’re a peacock goddamn it and you need to fly! A maybe says don’t think for one second that your little birthday party or clarinet recital is the only thing I could potentially attend at 8:30 this upcoming Saturday. If there is one satisfying answer in the world to people planning an event it is the always fun “eh maybe”. At least when someone says no you have total metaphysical certitude that you’ll have one less person to worry about. A maybe just hangs people in suspense and tries to turn the event about you as if everybody will be on their tip toes awaiting your arrival. Nobody is glancing at the door to see if you’ll turn that yellow maybe into a green yes. The nerve and narcissism of some people. Awful. Just awful.

Also if you can’t attend an event that was proposed through Facebook, decline it without putting out the always necessary essay of why you can’t attend said event. Again it’s nothing but pure narcissism and ego feeding. I’d love to go your little birthday soiree but unfortunately I have plans that are more important than the one day of the year that’s supposed to be centered around you. Who are you trying to impress by putting the reason you can’t attend the event? It’s not like the host is going to see your plans and decided fuck it let’s do what they’re doing. Cancel my party I can’t compete with this kid’s trip to Wilmington, Delaware. Why try to upstage the host who so graciously decided to share an event with you? This humble host looked through a list of profile pictures and when they came to your face decided, “sure why not” and made you a part of their special day. Now you want to tell them that not only can you not attend (for shame) and doubly you have better things to do. Terrible. Just terrible.

The proper way to decline a Facebook invite is to just click decline and leave it there. When I am making my little events I could care less the reason you can’t go. All I know is that you are dead to me. If you must disclose the reason why you can’t attend, text the person or tell them directly. Don’t let the world know what you’re up to, no one on the thread cares or frankly enjoys getting lame ass notifications from the birthday thread. If you’re not updating the info on the party don’t post in the thread. I can’t believe we’ve had Facebook for so long and still don’t know how to properly RSVP to an event. Disappointing. Just disappointing. 

A Series of Unfortunate Events Review

Below are some thoughts on Netflix’s A Series of Unfortunate Events. I had read the books way back in the day and thought why not watch the show in one night. There are spoilers because c’mon.

The Baudelaire orphans were okay but I never felt connected to their struggle other than jeez what an unlucky bunch of kids. This isn’t an indictment of the actor/actresses playing them but more on their characters. They always seem to get out of everything so easily so I never felt like they were ever in any danger. Plus they are super pretentious and rather cold and distant which I will wildly assume is due to their rich kid upbringing. The fact that Klaus looks and dresses like mini-Woody Allen isn’t helping matters much either. Violet looks so similar to Emily Browning from the movie adaptation that I wasn’t sure for a minute if the time space continuum had collapsed and it was the same actress. Sunny was a baby and the biting scenes were fine so I’m not going to pull the obnoxious move of critiquing a baby’s acting. I mean who does that.

Count Olaf was the highlight and every scene he wasn’t in for me was a drag. Neil Patrick Harris was everything I wanted this throw-back mustache twirling villain to be and I felt myself sort of rooting for him as much as I was calling him a piece of shit (lovingly of course). He even was able to bring in some unsettling menace particularly when he put his arm over Violet and said “he can touch anything he wants”, that’s creepy kid’s show or not. Out of all his disguises I’d have to put the bumbling Stefano first just for that ridiculous popcorn gag and the knife explanation. Shirley was interesting in the way they went for the classic 40’s buxom beauty but she was not fleshed out enough. They could have gone further with her. Captain Sham was the best in terms of disguises but other than the spoon playing I found him to be the weakest of the three. Plus why didn’t Sunny just bite off his peg leg earlier? Come on baby!

It’s funny what I remember from the books and what I didn’t when watching the series. I know they changed up the fourth book a bit and gave Sir and Charles a discreet romantic relationship but other than that I spent the whole series going “oh yeah I remember that sugar bowl thing and VFD means something major”. All the Baudelaire guardians were great from Aasif Mandvi’s cheerful but misguided Dr. Montgomery Montgomery to Alfre Woodward’s fearful Aunt Josephine. My main problem with them is that they all chew up the scenery and suck up all charisma from the bland Baudelaires (again more a problem with their characterizations) that I wasn’t invested in the suffering of the kids. I wanted to spend more time with the adults than those plucky orphans.

Seeing Patrick Warburton as Lemony Snicket was kind of weird. I kept waiting from him to make a joke but kudos to him for playing against character and playing a quasi-straight man/unreliable narrator type. It took a bit to get used to, especially with all that dictionary word defining early, but eventually he flowed well with the rest of the overqualified and delightful adult cast.

Breaking the fourth wall has become an unwritten rule in modern television apparently but this time I wasn’t annoyed with that trope. Probably because I was under the spell of that the delightful Count Olaf. My favorite instance came with Stephano preferring an evening of streaming long form television to going to the movies and then finished the joke by complaining to one of his henchmen about the matter on the phone in the next scene. Well played NPH.

Mr. Poe is probably the real villain of the series. The orphans are never wrong yet he refuses to listen to them. What the hell man? Just once wouldn’t he think it would be prudent to listen these odd children who somehow have been right about everything so far?

Good twist with Will Arnett and Colbie Smulders being the parents of the Quagmire triplets. Didn’t see that one coming.

The real highlight of the series is Neil Patrick Harris changing up the theme song for every episode. Let that man host the Tonys!

Overcoming Writer's Block (or Something about a Date)

A week ago or something to that effect I wrote a story about a failed romantic encounter. Much to my amusement and chagrin it became quite popular. It’s a weird feeling when someone greats you as Mr. 3.5, but hey at least that means they read your stuff. I did enjoy telling the story so I thought why not go down that well again and reminisce about another escapade of my romantic days. But perhaps this time I’d switch it up. Instead of telling a tale of me falling, falling, falling, I’d relay a story of triumph. This time I thought it’s time to weave a yarn of a positive romantic story to prove to the my faithful following and to my myself (but mainly my faithful following) that I am not necessarily the Woody Allen/ Larry David/ Harry Potter looking character I seem to portray. A good idea I thought until I hit a major problem. I could not find the words to tell what’s true.

Simply put I got a case of the old writer’s block. I got through several opening paragraphs of this, at least to me, delightful story but I just couldn’t commit to a version that I liked. Different problems with my method would occur but always at the same spot and it was a very early spot in the story. I couldn’t get passed meeting her after work. I would play with a long vague introduction of the past and segue into my feelings at the present but that would just abruptly end once I typed, “I put my guide book away and we walked through Bryant Park.” Other times I would start trying to ape what I did for the 3.5 story but that style was different. That story had an immediacy to it that I couldn’t nor should want to replicate. The Clash once sang that lightning strikes not once but twice (off their Sandinista album) but I’m not the Clash and the bolt was long gone. Why couldn’t I do this? Why couldn’t I write about a particularly fun date I had?

It’s not like the date was boring or ordinary; it had some great twists and turns and I had certain parts mapped out but I couldn’t fully connect the pieces. What was preventing me from putting this down the way it needed to be written? Maybe the story was too personal but then again when has that stopped me from ever sharing anything. Case in point a respected colleague of mine dubbed me “no-filter Thompson”. As nicknames goes it’s weak in the rhyming or alliterative department but it more than pulls its weight in the field of accuracy. There must be something to it because it’s stuck to the point where I on occasion try to live up to that lofty title. I don’t mind it, in fact I find it quite disarming. My theory is if I open up and am completely honest you’ll have no problem doing the same and we can start connecting as people. Also I just don’t care. Usually I’m trying to amuse myself by sharing my “hilarious” stories with others. It’s how I please the narcissist in me.

But getting back to the point, why couldn’t I write this story where things ended up very good. Why was this particular dating anecdote giving me so much trouble? My stories of failure or strangeness had poured out but for some reason nothing was flowing when I tried to accentuate the positive. Am I just a negative person? Was it really that simply? Had I grown so accustomed to living out a self-proclaimed “bizarre” life that when something “bizarre and great” happens I don’t know how to process it? Jesus, if that was the honest truth that would be fucking depressing, but I don’t really think so. It had to be something else cause I’m not necessarily a negative person but more the type who embraces their emotions a little too fully. Probably a little too much if you ask certain friends and colleagues of mine but hey someone once told me that kind of living was cathartic. Actually that person was me but that’s a topic for another self-indulgent blog post.

In the end I think it had to do with how much that day and date meant to me. A popular thing to do towards the end of 2016 was to discuss how we all survived an abnormally poor year. But I was talking to some people and we decided to flip the script and talk about what we enjoyed most about 2016. I thought about some great moments I had over the year, but I kept circling back to that date with her. It was a night where everything got better and better and every time I replayed the past I kept remembering different details that would make me smile. Moments would flash by and my glasses became rosy red and the nostalgia would reach its full effect. I would think back to us sitting on a bench overlooking the 59^th Street Bridge like we were shooting a remake of the famous scene from Manhattan. Of course the only difference was that there were a bunch of bums near us and one of them was so kind as to offer us a piece of his dinner which we both foolishly accepted, but in retrospect (and several doctor appointments later) turned out to be a strange highlight of the evening. Or later when she grabbed my cheeks and said “ahh I love this face” and I thought it was one of the greatest things I had ever heard. Or towards the beginning of the evening when we ate oysters in a way that would make Tom Jones proud. Maybe it was the heavy nostalgia shading my eyes, and it most likely was, but that was probably my favorite moment of last year. It wasn’t simply how well the date went, but who it was with and the timing of it all. It was something I had wanted for a long while and it was all happening and I didn’t want it to end.

Which brings me back to my main point of why I couldn’t write about this particular evening of mine and that was because it would never come out the way it deserved to be told. There would always be something incomplete and left to linger on in the streets of Manhattan. And that’s fine, maybe it’s better than me going into my no-filter Thompson mode. It was my favorite time of last year and there is no way I can express that in lines. It was one of those moments you look back on and can’t help but be glad that it happened and that you were lucky to be involved. Now of course it would have been simpler to state this now obvious reason a few paragraphs ago but sometimes self-indulgence at 4 in the morning can be a good and incredibly cathartic thing. Perhaps it’s just the narcissist in me.  

Golden Globes Recap

Thoughts on this year’s Golden Globes:

Why doesn’t Kristen Wiig host the Golden Globes? I think she’s the only comedian who routinely never booms on award shows and is hilarious with every comedian she’s paired with. Her bit with Steve Carrell was easily the comedic highlight of the night (don’t dismiss this as faint praise due to the lameness of the host) and reminded people to YouTube every other bit she’s ever done on an award show. Now naturally the question arises of whether she can sustain this hilarity for the thankless role of host or do these segments float because they break up the monotony of this intolerable circle jerk? I’m willing to bet on the first theory and I hope she gets a major hosting gig soon.

Meryl Streep gave the speech of the New Year but my favorite part was the predictable right wing criticism that accompanied it. The only shocker was that Trump didn’t finish his “Meryl is overrated” tweet by ending it with “sad”. That seems to be his preferred sentence finisher. Then came the conservative chorus of Hollywood being elitist and out of touch with the middle of the America and this time that claim ran even more hollow than usual. How are you going to say that the guy born to incredible wealth and lives in a golden penthouse is somehow not an out of touch snobby elitist? He has a star on the Walk of Fame and has spent his life trying to get has far away from the middle class and poor as possible by building those giant eye sores for the rich and well to do around my fair city (and the world). When has Donald Trump done anything for anybody outside of himself or those who could further his position and his place? I’ll give you a hint: never! So stop pretending that Donald Trump isn’t a part of this Hollywood elitist culture, I mean his brand is based on being the national embodiment of the rich New York City asshole. So let’s cut it out with this whole Donald Trump is a man of the people routine.  

Kudos on the cameramen for focusing in on noted Hollywood conservatives Mel Gibson and Vince Vaughn during Meryl Streep’s incredibly passionate and liberal speech. Those reaction shots were all worth it.

We get it Tom Hiddleston, you’re a good person and you do god’s work. Again good work on the cameramen for finding the few reaction shots of people who didn’t roll their eyes all the way to the back of their skulls.

Jimmy Fallon’s monologue was kind of funny, but then again you let Trump of the hook and tussled his hair, so mixed feelings I guess?

I actually think the Golden Globes does it right in terms of having separate categories for comedies and dramas. Why we have this idea that comedy is inferior to the frowny face mask is beyond me. So good on that. Now if they would start nominating better movies…

Why were the people behind La La Land talking about their movie like it was the ultimate outsider movie? Tell me again how Hollywood was against a movie that has been described as a love letter to Los Angeles and its musical past? I fail to see how anybody in Los Angeles would want to make that kind of film especially when it stars two of the most attractive and bankable stars on the planet and directed by the guy (from Harvard) whose last film won a ton of awards. What a bunch of wide eyed dreamers!

Donald Glover and Atlanta continued the new show wins many awards streak that Lena Dunham and Girls started (which was continued by Andy Samberg and Brooklyn 99). And in keeping with this grand Golden Globes tradition look for it to somehow never win another award no matter how good the show remains.

And finally, Brad Pitt is still really hot and beloved by his Hollywood peers. That is how you win a breakup despite losing custody of your children. Well played Mr. Pitt.

How to Pick the Right Dating App

Join these dating apps/websites if:

Bumble

If you enjoy swiping on the hottest, most beautiful people in the world while in no way expecting a match.

(Guy) It’s fun to know that women also suck at sending out messages.

(Girl) The thrill that comes with not receiving a sexist comment until the third message. Truly the enlightened casual dating app.

Tinder

If you enjoy basking in the intense judgement of others that comes after you say “so I met them on Tinder”.

Enjoying never knowing if you two are dating, quasi-dating, seeing each other, friends with benefits, or just you know hanging out and stuff, super casual.

You want to get really close to somebody, like spend every minute of every day with them only to have them never reply to any of your texts or calls out of the blue. Act now, the joys of ghosting can be yours!

JSwipe

You could always have your self-esteem significantly lowered.

Your hero is Norman Bates.

You’ve read all of Phillip Roth’s novels and thought that’s the guy for me.

Christian Mingle

You’re trying to find somebody who also thinks that screaming at women outside of a Planned Parenthood constitutes the perfect first date.

For the kinky Christian – it’s always a threesome because no matter who you date, you always date with our lord and savior, Jesus Christ.

Their “dating algorithm” is the only type of science you’re willing to believe in.

OkCupid

You like answering a million personality questions that will ultimately be ignored based on how hot you are.

(Girl): You enjoy being bombarded with countless messages and threats if god forbid you don’t reply within 30 seconds of receiving another shitty “sup” greeting.

Finding out how much of a mortal enemy you are with a stranger because you both had different answers to the question of which “shitty early thousands emo band are you?”

Match

Commercials always tell the truth and never exaggerate or lie!

Your life is passing you by very quickly and it’s about time you dragged somebody down with you.

Dating should be neither fun nor interesting at all.

eHarmony

You’re secretly super Christian (do a quick search I’m not joking about this one…the founder’s a goddamn crazy Christian).

Christian Mingle is for harlots and heretics. Give us something even more Christian (again look this shit up)!

You’re trying to go straight from being single and unhappy to being married and unhappy.

A 3.5 out of 10

I was sinking fast and needed a way out. A week ago things had gone from good to bad and I thought it was time to start rebounding. The problem with that theory was that I chose to look backwards rather than forwards. I opened the rolodex and thought of someone I had liked but knew would never be more than a like. It seemed like the perfect temporary solution. We had fun back in the day and ended on decent enough terms – a mutual ghosting of conversation and meetings. Nothing was sour at all. It just ended. But I was feeling low and I had this feeling that if I came a calling she would respond. It took an hour after the initial lame entry text, but after receiving the always ominous “who is this” reply, we settled into some pleasantries before deciding to meet up the next day. I had it. The road was paved and all I had to do was show up before the rebounding would commence in earnest.

We decided to meet around Union Square which was pretty dumb considering that I would have to search for her in the midst of a winding holiday market, but she’s a fan of simplicity and minimalism so I found her quickly at the edge bundled up and smiling. Just like that we started downtown, talking and catching up. We made sure to hit on all the major points – Halloween, the election, Thanksgiving, her birthday, and so on and so forth. I was even able to sneak in some remininsces as we passed by Washington Square Park. The night was going as well as it could be and I decided to crank up the nostalgia factor by taking her back to Pianos, which is for some reason is my go to date place. Why I go there is a mystery. The place is always jammed packed, the upstairs has a cover, the drinks are pricey and small, and the entry hand marker takes at least two days to wash away. But for some reason I am a loyal customer. Go figure. Anyway we head over and start downing some drinks. The conversation is going fairly well, we’re laughing and joking at what seems to be an even pace. I’m my usual “charming” self and she’s the same. I like what’s happening. We’re a few drinks in when for some reason we start talking about dates and such and she mentions she likes to rate guys and how her friends think it’s weird. I say not at all we all judged people, I mean we met on Bumble. She laughed and agreed. I playfully asked what my ranking was and she told me I was a 3.5 and that it wasn’t out of five.

A 3.5 out of a whole ten. So specific and so low like Jesus what was happening. She was surprised I didn’t agree with her assessment of the night. I said you’ve been laughing at everything I’ve been saying. Apparently I was wrong on that front. She had been laughing at her reaction to my jokes and stories. Nobody has been able to tell me what that means. I couldn’t get over that. A 3.5, talk about an ego blow. The only thing worse was a half hearted attempt at consoling me with the revelation that I started at a mediocre 6. I must have been on some sort of roll to take a 2.5 point drop on her scale of gentlemanly likability in a matter of an hour and a half. She said I was a lot higher back in the day but what I had perceived as a mutual ghosting had in actuality dropped me way, way down. That’s fair I thought, but you also never called me back. I contended it was mutual and she agreed but that I still had to pay in the rankings.

I think we talked for longer, but I don’t really know what about. That ranking had engulfed and consumed me. This was supposed to be a slam dunk and here I was back in the rain. We left and got something to eat and then for some reason I went back to her place for reasons a friend of mine describes as solely masochist. I get on top of her bed and lay down while she sits on the other end. I make a lame pass that gets quickly shut down as I think to myself is it really worth it. So we’re talking about something and she asks about my reasons for hitting her up. I start to lie but she knows I’m lying. She calls me out on it really quick and she’s right to do so. Why would I lie to the person who said I was a 3.5 to my face? She was brutally honest with me so I suppose it’s my turn to repay the favor. I tell her about a hurt I had suffered recently and how I was trying to rebound. We had gone on a few fun dates before which always ended with the bonus of hooking up or fucking so I wanted to take a trip down memory lane and I needed to feel good about something. She told me that moved me up to a 4.5 but that was my peak. You know, just what everyone wants to hear after pouring out the pain bottled deep inside. She knew what the deal was when I made a joke earlier about being depressed. She said it sounded more believable than the previous times I had thrown out that old chestnut. I talked for probably twenty minutes about what was bothering me and it felt weird but refreshing to talk so openly to someone I knew I was never going to see again. I talked, she listened and told me things I can’t remember and then we segued into talking about her last sexual experience. We chatted and like that it got late.

I mentioned I was ready to leave and she said I could stay if I wanted. We’re we going to do anything I asked and she said no. I’d sleep on one side and she’s take the other of her king sized bed. What’s the point I said and she asked if I thought that just because I got her a drink meant that I was entitled to sleep with her. Of course not I said, that doesn’t mean anything. Plus you bought the second round so that excuse was invalid. I asked when she knew she didn’t want to sleep with me and she told me it was decided when she agreed to meet. So that was another in a series of fun revelations. That seemed like the perfect time to leave so I got my shoes and walked outside into the lower east side. Well that backfired tremendously and I guess I deserved it I thought as I prepared myself for the long walk back to the E train by cuing up Bob Dylan’s Blood on the Tracks album. It’s the only thing I was listening to at the time. Still is.