10) HOMELESS MUSICIANS > EVERYTHIN

I walked out of the Gas Company Tower and started down 5th Street. The sun was out, and it warmed my dragging legs and eyelids, both of which gravitated down the sloping sidewalk towards Olive. I liked being warm very much, but when I got to the corner I remembered that because it was warm, and because "Febru-any" was in its final days, the line at Subway would be much longer. I considered the additional time cut into my precious lunch hour unacceptable, so when the light changed I turned on Olive and decided I'd take my chances at  Yorkshire Grill, where I knew I would be eating immediately at the expense of a few extra dollars.

Olive runs adjacent to Pershing Square, a mixed bag as far as city parks go, and one of the Downtown's largest gathering spots for homeless people. If you live or work near Pershing Square you are regularly encountering homeless people, some of whom you begin to recognize or even know by name. I wasn't halfway down the block before I was solicited by a middle aged guy in a beat up brown jacket and flip flops. His toenails were black and yellow and crusted over.

"Help me out with a dollar sir?", he grumbled, standing directly my walking path. I looked him in the eye for a moment, then back at the sidewalk, and gave my head a quick shake as I sidestepped him.

Everyone has their own ethics on giving money to panhandlers. Based on my own experiences and chatting with others, I've discovered there are essentially four character types when it comes to giving.

1) "The Rigid No": Some people never give money to panhandlers under any circumstances. Usually the reasoning behind this philosophy is that the potential giver doesn't know if there money is going to help or hurt the panhandler, whether the money will feed the panhandler's family or their possible addiction. However sometimes the "Rigid No" is more capitalistic. "I have a job. I work hard for my money. Why should I give it away to some lazy stranger who bothers me on the street?". 

2) "The Food Giver": I knew a really generous girl in school who would keep peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in her car and give them out to the homeless. I've mostly just given food if I no longer want it; leftovers from lunch or a candy bar I wasn't going to eat. Giving food seems like a better, safer option than cash, but offering it sometimes exposes the sad truth "Rigid No" folks are so wary of. My cousin who lives in New York City once offered  some leftovers to a panhandler. The guy asked him what type of food it was, and when he found out it was Mexican, he rudely sneered and shook his head "No". He also told me he once saw a good Samaritan offer to buy a panhandler some McDonald's; the man rejected her offer and continued to ask for money. On the surface the panhandler who rejects food seems ungrateful. "I'm handing you food. You must be hungry. How dare you reject it?"

3) "The Pushover"- These are the people who give money if only to be rid of an overly aggressive panhandler. When I was in high school our hang out spot was a movie theater in Bethesda, Maryland, outside of which was a particularly aggressive but well-liked panhandler; let's call him Frank. My friends and I all knew Frank for his sense of humor and colorful language, but I had never been approached by him. One evening we were headed into the theater when he came up to us pleading for money. My friends were able to deflect his requests wordlessly and continued walking, but I, taken in by his good nature, apologized and said "Sorry man, I only have twenties."

"That's fine" Frank replied, and he quickly pulled out a fat stack of cash from a Big Gulp cup he always carried around and started making change. I was surprised; Frank seemed like he was rolling in dough, and it made me want to keep my money.But I was fifteen, generally a naive kid and didn't know how to deal with this type of awkward situation. I ended up getting $10 change in return.

4) "The Customer"-Some approach the act of giving as if conducting a transaction. They appreciate the panhandler who has something to offer, even if whatever they are offering is undesirable. In fact, doesn't logic dictate that a panhandler who has something to give cease to be a panhandler?

Again this seems like a fair attitude. But like all different types of giving, there are moral gray areas here as well, mainly that the whole idea of "giving" is compromised when you demand something in return. People want a service, whether that's wiping off the hubcaps of a car (I gave the guy $5) or simply a chuckle from a particularly clever or humiliating sign (I've unfortunately done that as well). "Prove to me your worth" the attitude seems to project, as if I, simply by virtue of having innumerable beneficial circumstances in my life that have led me to a job and a home, am superior and require validation from someone that I don't even know.
_________________________________________________________

Most of us have days when, depending on our mood, we can be any one of this types. I'm sorry to say that I am primarily a "Customer". But I'm not in the market for manual labor or jokes. I want to hear music.

It's an old stereotype: the homeless musician. He or she leans against the side of a building or at the end of a subway car, strumming rusted guitar strings or banging on a bucket tom as an upside down hat collects falling change. I'm a musician myself so I'm naturally a sucker for that kind of thing.  There's something about  what it adds to the atmosphere, particularly in urban areas. I dig the melodrama that comes with spontaneous music. The homeless musician provides the diagetic soundtrack for the movie in which I star. Whatever I'm doing is immediately made more important than it actually is. So whenever I encounter a homeless musician, I always feel compelled to give whatever I can.

There's an incredible blues guitarist that performs outside of the Central Library sometimes. He has a plays a beat up Stratocaster plugged into a small portable amplifier. I sit at an outer table beside a Coffee Bean across the street and watch him as I eat my lunch. He's so focused and soulful, even with the commotion of the blue collar rush and midday traffic and nonsense screams of the homeless guy standing a few feet away. As he plays he closes his eyes and doesn't seem to notice any of it. I lose track of time and before long I realize that I'm running late getting back to the office. As I gather my things I take one last look at the impoverished virtuoso and think to myself "Jesus man. What the hell are you doing out here?"

HOMELESS MUSICIANS> EVERYTHIN

9) MONDAYS > EVERYTHIN: THE FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF YOUR WEEK

Monday morning.

I sped down Wilshire, weaving in and out of blind spots and smoothly switching lanes, taking advantage of the open racing and plentiful gaps presented in a 6:00 AM commute. I fought off exhaustion at one of the many unnecessary stoplights in Koreatown by reflecting on how I spent my weekend. Like many of my weekends lately, it was enjoyed, unseized, and included only a small number of characters outside of myself. I thought about Snitch, which I saw Friday night at the Grove, and marveled at Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson's dramatic improvement in dramatics. I thought about Otto Porter for a while and Jennifer Lawrence for a while longer.  I looked at my brand spanking new mediocre haircut in the rear view mirror, matted down a stray sideburn with a palm full of saliva, and wondered if, at 23 years old, it was maybe time to start paying a barber to do it.

The few of us who work the "banker hours" (7-4) are zombies. As I hang my coat I see the lady who prepares the coffee everyday. "Monday.." we both nod, this being the first time and only time we say the word to each other, but it will eventually be uttered in the same manner to every other co-worker with whom we have nothing else to talk about. I go into each conference room and rearrange the chairs, flip the calenders, wipe down the tables, all in preparation for another long week of depositions and client meetings and events that I have been trained to believe are important. I do this quickly and thoroughly, not because I am particularly inspired this morning but because I want to get to my computer. Even on Monday mornings there are still things to look forward to.


1) The Internet is fantastic on Mondays. I settle into my chair at the reception desk, check my work email and log onto Explorer. The key for getting through Mondays, or if we're being honest most work days in general, is having a healthy and regular Internet rotation. The size and scope of your rotation really depends on the level or responsibility or level of attention required at your job; if you're an important person in your office and have maybe 30 minutes of down time, having a vast, diverse array of Internet distractions may not be your best course of action. If you're like me and have a little bit more time on you hands, you better sure up that rotation. My Internet perusal usually looks something like this (keep in mind this is the SFW version):

1) Facebook
2) Twitter (follow me @Ppatt78)
3) ESPN
4) Deadspin
5) Gawker
6) Casual Hoya
7) OVEREVERTHIN
8) CNN

I'm sure this is fairly standard; you undoubtedly share a few of these in your rotation. Our computers and phones and tablets know them by heart, and us by heart really. But they really shine on Mondays because of all the fresh updates. Of course there's new press, articles from your favorite writers or blogs or media outlets updating you on the games this weekend on the relevant political gaffe or Kardashian. I would rather wait a day or two on most "breaking news"; that way all the knee jerk Twitter reactions will have hopefully died down. I think back to the Newtown tragedy and the reckless Twitter rumors being tossed; nobody really knew what was going on until the next day.

Monday is also the best social network day. All the nice people you have been clandestinely observing via Facebook have added photos of themselves smiling with drinks in their hands, or some visited landscape ripped of its beauty by sepia tone,  or themselves wearing swimsuits, and they all have time to update us on this vital information because..

2) ...nobody really works on Mondays anyway.


The secretarial services report comes in; four different secretaries have either called out entirely or are coming in late. I shake my head in disgust. I bet they think they're geniuses. The "call in sick" Monday or Friday move is amateur hour for obvious reasons, but it shows that Monday and Friday are essentially the same when it comes to work: nothing ever gets done. Half the office is "sick", the other half that decided to show up is thinking about the weekend. We spend a lot of time in the break room saying "Monday...", and "back to the grind" when we haven't ground anything except coffee. We drink as much coffee as humanly possible and then, not by coincidence, spend a lot of time after that in the bathroom. As a rule of thumb I try to stay out of the men's restroom between 9:30-11; place might as well be London during the Blitz. 

Post-coffee

3) It's the the only day you can turn your life around.

Not much time left in the day now; the hours crawling. I'm looking through my email for a UPS tracking number. Last night before I feel asleep I ordered Reebok basketball shoes online. I did it because last week I played in running shoes and nearly snapped my ankles checking an old man as he drove to the basket; I threw out my old ones months ago because they were starting to reek and the spray was becoming less effective over time. I think back to when I was a kid, or even in college; I would never have imagined there would be a day when I didn't own basketball shoes, that I'd have to remind myself to play. So on a whim I decided enough was enough and I was going to get back on the wagon first thing Monday morning.  Nobody changes on a Tuesday or Saturday. You can't decide you're finally going to update that resume or hit the gym or learn the cello mid-week. You didn't think to start doing this or quit doing that or finally talk to her during the week, because who has the energy? The seeds of change are planted on Sunday nights; the ideas come while you're laying in your bed, maybe after football, the moments before sleep that people take to assess themselves. In that way Mondays are made more hopeful.

So enjoy Mondays, pretty soon you'll be 20% done with your week. Surf the Internet, avoid work, and dominate old people at basketball. The day is yours!

MONDAYS > EVERYTHIN

8) GUSHERS > EVERYTHIN: A CONFESSION

In more ways than I'd like to acknowledge, I have yet to become a full fledged adult. The size of my laundry pile has been at critical mass for about six years. The "Maintenance Required" light on the dashboard of my Corolla has been on for several months, and I'm starting to hear a faint and troubling squeaking noise from time to time. I often leave my keys in the door to my apartment overnight; this infuriates my roommates, particularly because my next door neighbor is a schizophrenic drug addict who thinks my roommates and I stole her ring. These are, if not inexcusable, then certainly frustrating habits and errors, not because they are particularly harmful, but because they could so easily avoided with the most basic sense of priorities and a modicum of time management skill. I have yet to develop these attributes. In fact, the goal now is not to become a functioning adult, but simply to escape a regression towards a child like lifestyle. I recently hit a new low. I started eating Gushers again.

I have a hard time talking about this, but I have an addiction. No one who has lost all their baby teeth should ever eat Gushers or any fruit snack, let alone one that dyes your tongue a disgusting shade of red-blue that somehow doesn't create purple. Good luck making conversation with anyone.  I'm 23 and  yesterday I ate a whole box, that means six packets of Gushers, in about 45 minutes. There's roughly 10 Gushers per packet, totaling 60 individual Gushers. This is a revolting amount of Gushers, but sadly not unusual for me. I've eaten twice that amount in one sitting before, and nothing, I repeat, NOTHING says rock bottom like laying in a heap on the couch surrounded by two empty boxes and twelve empty packets of Gushers. I remember seeing sparkles and tingling sensation in my mouth, surely the dissolution of my mouth and gums.

I remember the day my addiction resurfaced. I had stopped by Ralph's after an exhaustively dull day of work. I was looking for that 90 second rice that Uncle Ben's makes, went down the wrong aisle, found the fruit snacks, and the next thing I knew I was paying eight bucks for two boxes of Gushers because "God I haven't had Gushers in FOREVER!" It all happened so fast, and I suppose at the heart of it was a longing to return to a simpler, more innocent period of my life. I didn't know that this simple nostalgia trip would lock me in a vice grip of paralyzing hopelessness. I recently walked into a Rite Aid not far from my house hoping to score some Gush, but after prowling the "Groceries" section and interrogating the manager I discovered that the store didn't carry them. A person with self-respect might've grabbed a different candy, or even cut their losses and went home. I got back into my car and battled Wilshire traffic in the direction opposite my house, to Ralph's, just to get my fix. I polished off half a box on the way home.

This is the way I eat Gushers.

1) Open a packet

2) Take this:

 

3) Pop it in your mouth....that's about it. You can chew it or let it dissolve slowly. If you're revolted I understand, but I love a snack with some longevity.

Gushers are delicious, but not really. What they are is simple, like Pixie Sticks, Fun Dip, Big League Chew, processed, highly concentrated sugar rolled into convenient little balls. There is absolutely nothing to acquire as far as taste, that's why children, who have no taste, can't get enough of them. Most kids eventually grow out of their interest in snacks like Gushers, and into things like beer and raw oysters, foods that are bitter or even gross on the surface but complex and satisfying once acquired. I can appreciate adult tastes as well, I'm a man dammit, but there's nothing like the cheap thrill a Fruit Roll Up or a Capri Sun.  If you prefer "Goodfellas" to "The Godfather" you know may get a sense of what I'm talking about.

So I'm sorry Mom, Dad, any friends who thought they knew me, or teachers that have ever believed in me. I let you down. I eat Gushers, and chances are I will continue doing so. Because

GUSHERS > EVERYTHIN

6) HUMAN RIGHTS > EVERYTHIN: WHY IT'S OK TO BE ANTI-DOG





There were two young women standing on the porch, passing a cigarette back and forth between them while they stared down at the glowing swimming pool in the courtyard, escaping the dying birthday party inside the apartment. At my day job I'm usually surrounded by middle aged women, partners, associates, secretaries, receptionists; I'm the youngest person in my office by about a decade. I'm lucky to have my job, but men in the same situation as me, who work with few people their own age, understand that even the sight of young women can be a relief. Women who didn't leave awful lip stick stains on the rims of their cups. Women whose lips and eyes and legs were young, and appeared soft, and sparked my imagination in a good way.  Women younger than me and younger than my roommate who knew them. Women who not only looked younger, but swayed and thought youthfully, and when they share a cigarette with a friend, talk about whatever it is young women talk about.

What I remember from my conversation with the two young women is from the end, which is typical of conversations that don't end well. I perform much better in small gatherings and house parties than bars and clubs, so this was as good a situation as any for me to make some new friends. There was small talk, about the music and the party, and we were enjoying ourselves I think. But eventually one of the women, who was pretty like a Gilmore Girl, started shoving pictures of her dog in my face, or maybe there was a dog at the party, okay maybe I don't remember all the details but the subject of dogs came up.

"I want a puppy so badly!", my roommate gushed like a fool. All I could do was stare at the pool.

"Oh my god yes!" said the Gilmore girl. Her friend, who looked like Regina King, was also enthusiastic about the idea. "Why don't you?", she asked, "Life is short.".

In response my roommate brought the cigarette to his face and gestured subtlety in my direction. This is what I was afraid of. Back into a corner all I could was be honest.

"I'm actually not crazy about dogs." I shrug.

All of a sudden the music stopped and there was silence. Gilmore girl and Regina King and my roommate exchanged puzzled, slightly disgusted looks, as if to confirm with each other that they heard correctly. Then they turned their expressions towards me, and knowing my prospects would now certainly be unfulfilled, I made an excuse and headed back inside.

_____________________________________________________________

I tell this story because it demonstrates the very real consequences of a prejudice in our society that is too often overlooked. I'll probably get banned from the Internet and thrown in the stocks for saying this, but I don't particularly like dogs. They kinda suck. There. I said it.

To Gilmore girl and Regina King and most of the world, I know that makes me some kind of monster. "Let me get this straight...you are unable to love a dog? A furry little rascal!?  You can't accept snuggles and unconditional love? The slobber, the shedding hair, the late night barking and errant feces? You must be some sort of sociopath!", I hear them shout, and as I walk down the street I am followed by a chorus of boos and barking and car horns. After all, the non-dog minority is among the most discriminated against in America. Don't tell your girlfriend or she'll break up with you. Don't tell your boss or you'll lose your job. So for a while  I didn't tell, and I didn't ask, and I hid my true identity from the world. But no more. I can't go on like this. I've tried conforming, but I can't lie to myself anymore. So today I'm coming out anti-dog to the world. And in the spirit of equality here's a few things dog people should understand.



1) Just because I don't like dogs doesn't make me this guy.

This is my single biggest issue with dog people, and luckily a vast majority of dog people could get on board with this. But as is often the case with social issues, it's the radical minority that cannot be swayed; the people who get emotional during those Sarah McLaughlin commercials, they are the ones who immediately and unfairly equate anti-dog people to Cruella DeVille or Michael Vick . My dogaphile friends imagine I just wander around Pan Pacific Park on Saturday mornings kicking random dogs, simply because I would never want to own one. This is bigotry and stereotyping and not conducive to real debate. Just because I'm anti-dog doesn't mean I hate them. In fact, some dogs are cute, but...



2) ...come on.

I can appreciate cute animals, for about four seconds. That seems like a reasonable amount of time for an adult to look at the thing, recognize its cuteness, crack a smile, and move on with your life. But there are people who Google pictures of "cute animals" and stare at them for hours to unwind. I don't use Instagram or Pintrest, but apparently those networks are just wrought with cute animal pictures. I was hanging out with a who person who told me she dressed up her male and female dogs in bride and groom outfits, and performed a "wedding" ceremony because "(we) didn't want the dogs to have a baby out of wedlock." She thought it was "the cutest thing" and that "the dogs love dressing up", even though they have no idea what is going on. The line between cute and creepy is thin and perilous, which brings me to my final point..



Over it

3) Please treat your dog like a dog

My cousins are dog people; they've had a rotating roster of large, poorly behaved Labradors ever since I can remember, one of which bit my brother in the face when he was about six (he's anti-dog as well). Whenever we'd have dinner at their house, there would be up to three dogs jostling for position underneath the table, bumping into everyones' legs trying to grab whatever scraps managed to find their way to the floor. And if they didn't feel like waiting they would rest their chins innocently on the table until they caught you slipping and went for your roast beef. Eventually my uncle did the right thing and locked them on the second floor when we came over.

For anti-doggers like myself, few things are more frustrating than a dog that is a jerk. For large dogs, this is usually one that sniffs at your crotch like a Vortex vacuum. For smaller ones this means barking non stop for 20 minutes because a squirrel climbed up a tree. But sniffing crotches and barking at squirrels are what dogs do, so I can't blame the dogs themselves. Correcting poor dog behavior falls on the owner, and to you "hands off" dog parents out there who feel its wrong to scold little Max (all dogs are named Max), let me remind you that your dog is not your child. You are allowed to put your dog in a cage when he knocks over a vase. If you know your dog barks all the time, PLEASE do not bring it onto the plane with you. Your dog is a pet, an animal that belongs to you, something you keep alive and play with and maybe use to meet women. If the choice is between my comfort and your dog's, the answer is obvious. I am more important than your dog.



______________________________________________________________________

Few people will read this article, and from that number even fewer will look at the world any differently. The plight of the anti-dog population will continue for the foreseeable future, and since I currently live in one of the most dog-crazy cities in the country, I've gotten used to being shut down by women and watching my step every time I walk on grass. But they say great men plant trees whose shade they know they will never sit in, and I write this in the hope that one day things will be different, for my children or their children. A dog will likely piss on that tree, but I can't do much about that.

Until then, to all of you "out" and "closeted" anti-dog people out there, you brave souls, this is for you.



HUMAN RIGHTS> EVERYTHIN

5) THE ROCK > EVERYTHIN: WHY THE ROCK WILL WIN AN ACADEMY AWARD

You heard it here first everyone: Dwayne "The Rock" Johnson will be nominated for an Academy Award within the next five years. Yup. This guy.

I'll admit that it is often difficult to take him seriously, and so likely you won't take me seriously. I mean just look at his shirt in the third picture. He's been in some terrible movies, I won't deny that. But frankly who hasn't?

I'll also admit that I am a HUGE The Rock fanboy. There was a time in my life, up until I was about 10 or 11, that I knew as much about the WWF (I refuse on principal to refer to it as WWE) as I did any other sport. I idolized the wrestlers, memorized the finishing moves, ogled the divas, mastered the video games, EVERYTHING. And the Rock was by far my favorite, and when the Rock left pro wrestling to pursue his acting career was around the time I stopped tuning in. But my enthusiasm for the Rock hasn't changed. In fact during my senior year of college, the WWE announced that there would be a special guest host for Wrestlemania XXXIILV whatever, and the rumor was it was going to be The Rock! I tuned into Monday Night Raw for the first time in years on the night of the announcement. I was breathless with anticipation. Here's a clip (good stuff starts around 1:00).

Did you get chills? I was having a delirious emotional breakdown, my own Tom Cruise on Oprah moment. All the memories started coming back. 

I think the world of this guy, and he will forever be linked to my childhood. But even as legendary as a wrestler he is, I think he has the chops to be a special actor as well, and, under the right circumstances, turn in a performance capable of attracting the attention of the Academy. Here's why

1) He's a tremendous performer. Now if all you've seen from the Rock is The Tooth Fairy or Journey 2 then I'd imagine you might laugh in my face. But any of you that watched wrestling during the WWF Attitude era knows that The Rock was not just an incredibly gifted wrestler and a hulking specimen. His physical gifts were almost irrelevant. There were a lot of big guys in the WWF, but that's not why my brother and cousins and I would scarf down whatever my grandma made for Sunday dinner, scramble into her basement and fight over couch space to watch Sunday Night Heat. This is why.

There are dozens of clips just like this on YouTube; I know this because I just watched them all.  In the world of pro wrestling, no one was better with a mic in his hand. No one was better at selling a fight  Notice his use of pauses. His evangelical inflection. His sense of dramatic and comedic timing. But most of all, notice his energy. How he builds to an eruptive finish that sends an audience of 30,000 Texans, and the millions (and millions!) watching at home into a frenzy. That's not just hammy schtick...well it is, but it's innate hammy schtick. You can't teach it.

2) His career is hitting its stride.



The Rock is in everything. I feel like every trailer I watch now has half the shot filled by his biceps alone. He works a ton and he's a huge draw, so the fact that he's in a good number of bad movies is mathematical. He gets paid a lot to do a lot of movies. He clearly had a chat with Eddie Murphy.

I cannot wait to see Pain and Gain, the upcoming Michael Bay-directed movie about bodybuilders who turn into criminals, because it is considerably different than his norm. Look at the cast! Mark Wahlberg. Ed Harris. Tony Shalhoub. Anthony Mackie. Real actors!  Would you have ever imagined The Rock alongside actors like that, or doing even a semi-serious movie? It's becoming clearer with everything he does that The Rock is as talented as he is marketable. He's still doing the popcorn action flicks, as he should. He is arguably the biggest action star in the world right now, and movies like Hercules: The Thracian Wars and Lore are his bread and butter. But it's becoming clear that the Brahma Bull is interested in being more than that.



3) All it takes is the right role, the right script, the right director. Burt Reynolds in Boogie Nights comes to mind, as does Mickey Rourke in The Wrestler, even George Clooney in Up in the Air. These are actors were put in roles that, in a way, reflected their own struggles. Burt Reynolds in his character unearths his own prolific career in the film industry and his quest to be taken seriously. Mickey Rourke samples his own self destruction and self alienation. Clooney addresses his inability to settle down, never really being tied to anyone.

Pain and Gain could have been that role for The Rock, but what worries me is not the People's Champion's acting chops, but I just don't think much of Michael Bay or that PG-13 rating. What it would take is a director who can humanize the The Rock. As I mentioned, he's such a larger than life figure. He's done that role about a million times, and at this point you're really not going to change that. But  now I want to see him vulnerable. The perfect role for him would be one in which his character is unable to solve the problems he is facing in his journey despite his overwhelming physical strength, or maybe even because of it. If you've read Things Fall Apart or The Rock's autobiography The Rock Says...(you likely haven't, but it is a tremendous read) you understand the internal conflict I'm talking about. The Rock struggled mightily in his life before stardom; he floated aimlessly around Canadian Football League practice squads and the minor league professional wrestling circuit, living in the shadow of his own father who is a legend in that world. There is a lot from his own life that The Rock could draw from in creating such a character. Audiences love stories about fallen heroes, tales of strong men made weak by the circumstances that surround them. The Rock is made for a role like that.


Maybe I'm just blinded by my devotion to The Rock, but there's a lot of actors in my opinion who have greatness in them but just need an opportunity (Charlie Day anyone?). But frankly if you can't see it and continue to typecast "the most electrifying man in all of entertainment", you can take your narrow, close-minded opinion, turn that sumbitch sideways, and stick it straight up your candy ass! IF YAAA SMEEEEELLLLALALALALAOWWWW WHAT THE ROCK. IS. COOKING. Cue the music.

THE ROCK > EVERYTHIN

4) OFFICE BOUNDARIES> EVERYTHIN

I'm currently locked in a bitter and frustration war of attrition against the other receptionist in my office, and I'm losing. Like most wars, this one is ugly, childish, seemingly unending, and could have been avoided if office boundaries had been maintained.

It started with small things, magnifying every little mistake I made. Suddenly I couldn't write legibly enough. I was not handling the parking validations correctly. I was forbidden to snack at the desk because my munching was "unprofessional." "Your hair color is unprofessional", is what I wanted to say.

I woke up late one day and didn't have time to shave. "I know you like your stubble" she said, not making eye contact, "but we have to look presentable".

So what happened?

Everything was pretty good up until about a month ago. We had always been polite, even friendly with each other. Even though she is about twice my age,  we have very little in common, and she has throaty cackle for laugh, we worked reasonably well together. While we worked, about three feet away from each other, we were mostly silent, pretending not to see what was on the other's computer monitor. When we did talk we commented on the weather, the Lakers poor performance from the previous night, how we wished it was Friday, and that's it! Classic, boring workplace small talk that makes the world turn and keeps everyone happy.

But she was also gossipy, and often dished on the legal secretaries, attorneys, staff, everyone.
And as it turned out, she couldn't leave well enough alone. She wanted to be friends. She started asking all kinds of unnecessary questions, about my personal life and relationships. I would answer them to the extent which I deemed appropriate.  My responses to these questions were brief ("No I don't have a girlfriend", "I'm not sure who I'm voting for", "I was raised Catholic"). I bobbed and weaved as best I could, offering perfectly reasonable deflections that any normal person would have picked up on. I had no interest in elevating small talk into medium talk

But as I returned to reading Deadspin she would sit looking at me, almost anxiously, clearly wondering why I hadn't asked her any questions about her life. So she continued pressing, and then one day she must have decided she was tired of waiting.

"So my crazy ex-boyfriend called me last night."

"What was that?" I asked. I was in the middle of georgraphy-related Sporcle game.

"I said I had this crazy boyfriend", she said, a bit more grating this time.

"Oh really?"

"He would bring me flowers every day and be like 'Baby I love you'. He was very clingy. And you know I'm the type of person that needs to, you know, have my own space. So I would go out with my girlfriends without him and he would get all upset and be calling me and calling me. He'd show up at my house, I would have to call the police. I dumped him. I don't do clingy. I need to do my own thing. That's why I married so late."

"I see"

"It was hard, because you know people say getting married at 36 was old. People judge, you know. I couldn't just be tied down to one guy. I was young! Like you! You know what I mean! RIGHT?!", she cackled.

"Yup." I smiled.  She waited for me to speak, but  instead I slowly swiveled my chair the other way and continued my Sporcle game.

Not the coolest thing I've ever done, blowing her off like that. I'm sure someone closer to her age and gender would be more willing to chit-chat about past relationships and personal lives. Female-male workplace boundaries are easily the most rigid, and "ex-boyfriends" is not a topic I'm interested under most circumstances. Also I forgot to pause my Sporcle timer, so I didn't have time for a conversation about social norms.

Here's a story: my roommate does social media for a TV network. They were promoting their new channel in Africa on Facebook, and a post came in accusing one of their company's employees, let's call him Charlie, of being into hardcore strange BDSM sex fetishes, passing along his user ID for a related website. My roommate quickly deleted the post, assuming it was false. But when he brought it up to Charlie, the guy sheepishly admitted to everything! To be fair, it's not like Charlie was doing anything wrong or illegal. But something that should always be personal was made public, and now every time my roommate sees Charlie he imagines him with a gag in his mouth and a fuzzy handcuffs on his wrists.

So because I didn't want to listen to her crazy boyfriend story she turned on me.  This has been going on for a while now, and though my job performance has probably improved, the tension is really hard to ignore. Sometimes we revert back to our standard small talk and things get better, but for whatever reason she still wants to know the real me, which is flattering but not likely. I want to avoid a Charlie scenario by any means necessary, and if that means I have to take a little abuse so be it.

Maybe I should be more appreciative. But maybe she should also lay off my facial hair.


OFFICE BOUNDARIES>EVERYTHIN

3) STORMING THE COURT> EVERYTHIN: WHY YOU NEED TO GO TO A SPORTS SCHOOL

This awesome thing happened last night...

...but more on than later. First a word of advice. If anyone reading this is applying to college or deciding between schools,  please, go to a school that has a decent athletic program.

“But such and such college has an amazing business/studio art/screenwriting program!”, you might say. And those things matter too. There were a lot of great programs and great people at my alma mater. But the athletics there were weak and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t affect my relationship with the school, particularly post-graduation. And by athletics I'll go ahead and say "basketball and/or football". We had a top 10 water polo program, but storming a pool for some reason hasn't caught on.

We passed by the gymnasium during my first tour of the campus. My guide said that although they didn’t have a football team, everyone really got up for basketball season. It was “our thing” he said.

“Our thing? Sure it is, guy.” I said to myself. As a livelong college basketball junkie and never having seen this team play once on TV, I was naturally skeptical, and wondered whether I could stand four years of mediocrity. But I was soon taken in by the palm trees that line the central mall, and the inconceivable ocean view. The campus more closely resembled a tropical vacation getaway than a place of learning, the female population notwithstanding. As yet another blonde bombshell glided by I thought to myself “Everything else seems to fit. If the team is at least competitive during my four years here I’d be satisfied. An NIT bid would be enough to justify a four year resort vacation. Just be decent”.

We weren't decent. My freshman year “our thing” won three games. We were among the worst teams in division one basketball. After the season mercifully ended our coach was promptly fired, and our best player (who would be drafted by the Indiana Pacers three years later) transferred to greener pastures. The team improved slightly over my time in school, but we never even sniffed an NIT bid, In hindsight it was naive of me to expect that much. I love the school, but I haven't returned for a game since.

But maybe I would have if I had experienced a moment like this. Or this. Whoa, this one looks like fun! Look at Tom Crean's face in this one. Is that too much to ask for, an eight second highlight in an ESPN Top 10 that didn't include the word "Not" ?

The answer to that question is, "probably". Like so many things, Court storming is only great because its rare (Or at least it ought to be, Maryland fans) . It is a result of something that was really, really not supposed to happen. It is the trump card the TCUs of the world hold over the Kansases. Although court storming exists across the spectrum of college basketball programs,  it always a little sweeter the littler you are.

Ah! It's so great I had to post it again. To celebrate the greatness of this particular court storming let's break down the final moments with the shortest running diary in history.

0:00-0:08: As you can see from the score, the game wasn't all that close. Kansas has played like crap all game long, and true to form in trap games like this, the better team only starts hustling when they know it's all over. A Kansas player bricks a lay up, then another air balls a lay up, then a foul to delay the inevitable. 

0:13- Taller Guy: "We're getting some tonight man..."

0:30- He smiles like a kid on Christmas, takes a breath as he approaches the line. These free throws mean very little but he's never been more nervous. Of course he misses the second.

1:04- Game over. We see a split second of the first wave of fans, then we cut to Bill Self getting the obligatory handshake out of the way. I don't know the name of the TCU coach.

1:08- If you're careful you can see several players with hands raised in triumph, but they are soon enveloped by the delirious fans.

1:26- Finally rid of the ungracious and condescending Kansas coaching staff, the TCU coach can finally celebrate. He's giving measured high fives and is nearly chest-bumped into oblivion by a large fan.

1:45- That's not "Fight On". The two arched fingers apparently is about Raptors. TCU's mascot is the Horned Frogs. I don't get it either. Mid-majors rock!

1:58- When there's a winner there's always a loser.

Even if you're not a sports fan and you think I'm crazy for suggesting a game dictate your life choices, how could you not want this?! Look at the fans. Look at the players. Look at their faces. Pure happiness. Utter disbelief. They're jumping and flailing and screaming at the top of their lungs not because they're drunk but because their brains don't know how to synthesize what has just happened. So the only thing left to do is meet where it happened, in the center of a basketball court, to see if it's real and hug somebody you've never met.

I would've hugged that blonde.


STORMING THE COURT> EVERYTHIN

2) HEAVYWEIGHTS>EVERYTHIN: AN INTERNAL DIALOG

I return from a big lunch and take my seat at the reception desk. I'm bored and tired, but mostly tired. My eyes are heavy. Heavy...wait...

PAULY: “Remember Heavyweights?!?!?!”

WALNUTS: “Ha! Yes.”

PAULY: “Ben Stiller was great”

WALNUTS: “Best thing he’s ever done”

PAULY: “Judd Apatow wrote it”

WALNUTS: “Best thing he's ever done"

PAULY: “Goldberg was in it.”

WALNUTS: “Goldberg was in it.”

PAULY: "And Kenan. And Hamilton Porter from The Sandlot!"

WALNUTS: "Nope. Not Porter"

PAULY: "What? Really? That's impossible."

WALNUTS: “I know it's pretty strange. A 90's kids movie about a fat camp, and they don't bring on the fat kid from the 90's? Essential roles The Sandlot and The Big Green. Go figure."

PAULY: "I guess he wasn't. He must have been busy".  

An email comes in but I don't check it. Instead I lean back in my chair and chew on my pen cap.

WALNUTS: “Imagine casting for the kids in that movie. How would you word it? ‘We’re looking for ____ boys”

PAULY: “Heavy boys? Large boys?"

WALNUTS: “That could be misinterpreted. Maybe chubby? Chubby boys? If I were fat I don't know if I'd be offended by "chubby". There's absolutely nothing wrong with 'chubby'”

PAULY: “You know who else is in it? George Sr. himself! Jeffrey Tambor!”

WALNUTS: “(Tony Perkis voice) You wouldn’t want your father (checks the name) Maury Garner, to know that his son is a destroyer"

PAULY: “He has a great role! Worst Dad ever! God he’s awesome.”

WALNUTS: “I know! His son calls him and tells him that the camp he's paying for is nothing like the advertisements. He and the other campers are being abused and starved and ridiculed. Their letters home are being screened and confiscated. To all of this Maury sternly replies ‘I did not send you to GO KART CAMP!' What kind of response is that from a father!?”

Two terrible fathers

PAULY: “I suppose that's just Tambor's thing. And he does knock out Ben Stiller in the end, so he kinda makes up for it right? Plus Gerald wasn't really that memorable so I'm less outraged.”

WALNUTS: “It would’ve been nice to have the Hambino in that lead role now that you mention it. Wasted opportunity. Apart from Stiller the leads were sort of weak.”

PAULY: "Pat should've been played by Louis CK. He would've added necessary depth and anguish to the character. At the time he wasn't the big star he is now, so they could afford him. Plus, he's heavy. So it fits with the theme of the film."

WALNUTS: "Isla Fisher as the nurse?"

PAULY: "(Josh voice) This pleases me"

I Google Image search Isla Fisher. This pleases me.

WALNUTS: "But apart from the few casting issues, talk about an all-time classic." 

PAULY: "We must have watched Heavyweights and The Sandlot about a million times between the ages of 6-10. I'm surprised it doesn't get the kind of recognition The Sandlot gets. They're fairly similar movies. They both have an ensemble cast of kids that act like teenagers, trying to overcome the odds. But only The Sandlot gets the ABC Family reruns."

WALNUTS: "Maybe it's because The Sandlot was more about moments, if that makes sense. You had the roller coaster vomit scene, Squints' deception of Wendy Peffercorn at the pool, the Fourth of July game underneath the fireworks as Ray Charles belts it out in the background."

I get chills, just from the memory. I check the email. It's not important.

PAULY: "Heavyweights has its moments too. The weigh-in sequences with Lars and the camera, Ben Stiller swinging like a maniac on that branch hanging off the cliff, the out of control food orgy after the kids take over the camp! Every kid on the planet dreamed of participating in that!"

WALNUTS: "But Heavyweights is more about twists and turns. When Josh is kicked out of camp and then comes back, I stood up and cheered. Also I couldn't believe it when the fat British kid was so easily fooled by that fake chocolate kiss Ben Stiller makes. The stakes always felt a little bit higher in Heavyweights."  

PAULY: “Both are tremendous films. We are lucky to have been kids then. You could never make 'Heavyweights' work in 2013”

WALNUTS: “What do you mean?”

PAULY: "Well the first and most obvious reason is that the script is original. These days if the story isn't based on a book or a toy then it really doesn't have a shot."

WALNUTS: "Truth. A sad, sad, truth."

I sigh heavily as several partners walk by. "Wake up!" one says, mistaking the sigh for a yawn.

PAULY: “Second, do you think you could ever pitch it without making it sound like it’s a kids’ movie that makes fun of fat kids? You can't really get away with that anymore, the anti-bullying people would be all over it. There would be a Twitter outrage”

WALNUTS: “But it doesn't really make fun of fat kids."

PAULY: "I distinctly remember a scene where an enormous kid jumps on an inflated balloon called "The Blob", which propels the other fat kid high into the air and into the lake. This is in slow motion, set to "The Blue Danube"). Good for a laugh."

WALNUTS: "That wasn't that bad."

PAULY: "There's also a scene when the campers reveal the elaborate ways they hide the junk food. In the furniture, under the floorboard; one kid has salamis stuck to his back. Hilarious."

WALNUTS: "But we're still not making fun of the kids themselves."

PAULY: "In almost every single scene Ben Stiller makes fun of the kids themselves. He offers disparaging remarks over the PA system, verbally abuses them during their exercises, in particular pointing out their weight and why being fat makes them worthless. It's probably the best, most hilarious part of the whole movie."

WALNUTS: "But he was the villain and he falls in the end! The fat kids were the heroes! They stood up to the slim, athletic counselors and smoked those jerks from Camp MVP in the Apache Relay"

PAULY: "Good point. They also worked some serious game on those girls at the dance. That one kid gets a full on make out sesh. I can't remember the last time I've had one of those and I'm skinny as hell."

WALNUTS: "I'm just a love machine. And I won't work for nobody but you". 

I forgot who sings that song. I look it up.

PAULY: "Ok I agree there was some redemption in the end. But think about it this way: Gerald didn't lose any weight (Maury was visibly frustrated about it). None of the kids did. Gerald's happiness and self-esteem has improved, but his life expectancy and risk of heart disease did not. Plus, this kid's not going to have Goldberg and Kenan and Pat and all the Chipmunks to hang out with when he gets back to school. Who's to say Gerald won't fall back into the same eating habits and unhealthy lifestyle. So in the end what have we learned? It's okay to be obese as long as you are content to be so You shouldn't have to struggle if you don't want to? 

WALNUTS: "It's a no-win situation. The anti-bullying people would hate Heavyweights because they think it's making fun of obese kids. The people trying to end obesity would hate Heavyweights because they think glorifies being fat. 

PAULY: On one hand, this is America. On the other hand..."

WALNUTS: "..what would Michelle Obama think?"

PAULY: "Exactly! I'm telling you we're lucky, dude!"

WALNUTS: "When you're right, you're right. Also, Heavyweights deals with some pretty complex social issues."

PAULY: "That's what makes it great. Also LARS!"

WALNUTS: " Pffff your name is Lars?! What kind of name is that? Where are you from?"

PAULY: "....far away."

I giggle audibly in my seat.

HEAVYWEIGHTS > EVERYTHIN

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