Norman

A few years ago I had a roommate named Jackie. Jackie was funny, sweet, caring and like myself, loved to drink at all hours of the day. Jackie had a life partner named Norman and since they were companions for the long haul, Norman lived with us as well. Norman was her cat.

Norman was the complete anthesis of Jackie. While Jackie was affable and down to Earth, Norman was arrogant and conceited. He spent the majority of his time under Jackie’s bed in lieu of hanging out with the rest of us in the living room. When I say the rest of us I’m referring to Jackie and myself as well as two dogs that I was sitting long-term. 

On the rare occasion that Norman would grace us with his presence he’d demand that he was the center of attention. Anything else that was taking place upon his arrival became trivial and unimportant.

Norman would make his entrance by parading to the front of the room for all of us to see as if he were some runway super model. Once he had our attention he’d fall on his back so he could explicitly show off his balls.

He’s very proud of his undercarriage. Jackie would beam like a boastful mother.

When he was through exposing his genitalia to us he’d hop up and prance over to one of the dogs that were silently gawking at him. He’d wait a second for dramatic purposes and then smack the dog in its face with his paw as if the dog were some deranged pervert for watching him and then turn and sashay out of the room whilst the dog shivered in shame and fear.  

I have no doubt that when Norman passes over the Rainbow Bridge and is reincarnated that he’ll come back as Naomi Campbell in his next lives.

At first I wasn’t sure why Norman was as cunty as he was but the longer I lived with him the more tell-tail signs I saw which not only explained his abhorrent behavior, but also illustrated why he thought he was in fact THE cat’s meow.

For starters, Norman was a model cat. I don’t mean this in the way that he was an outstanding member of the feline society, but as in he modeled for print ads. In addition to that, Jackie had him certified as a service animal. Even though Norman was only interested in being of service to his own self-fulfilling needs, he was allowed to go anywhere Jackie went on the pretense that he was aiding in her health.  Long standing pet rules in public places simply did not apply to Norman, the certification badge he’d dangle around his neck was tantamount to an all-access backstage pass.

Scruffy dog tied up outside the grocery store?

Norman would look down on him with disdain as he brazenly entered the establishment as if to say “You should be me, but you can’t be because I already am, Slumdog.”

If all that wasn’t enough, Norman also received mail (addressed to him) regularly from Jackie’s family and friends. There’d be letters sent, postcards and coupons for Petsmart and other pet stores. This cat received more letters of love, adoration and discounts than I ever did in my adult life.  

So it’s no wonder Norman thought so high of himself and so contemptuously about the rest of the world, unfortunately, Jackie included.

Jackie would spend countless hours and dollars on Norman. Grooming, food, toys, etc. Norman would show his appreciation to her by shitting in her bed at least once a day. But as all abusive relationships go, Jackie would take it and keep coming back for more. Even though it was obvious that Norman needed Jackie to survive, like any excellent manipulator, Norman had convinced Jackie it was the other way around.

When Norman finally got tired of shitting on Jackie’s bed he turned his attention to my beloved couch which was the pinnacle of my adulting career. In one afternoon he’d pissed on it so much that it altered the chemical make-up of it forever. Never mind that his litter box was literally 2 feet away from the couch. When he and the couch were finished Jackie apologized profusely and immediately went online to find me a replacement. As she searched frantically she admonished Norman who was still standing on top of my defiled sofa like a victorious conquistador. Norman looked at her and then spun on his heels and raised his tail so Jackie could see the most intimate parts of his asshole (or is it cathole?).

Aside from being an entitled diva with a flair for the dramatic and a penchant for defecating and urinating on furniture that he had not paid for, Norman also had an affinity for Munchausen syndrome.  Like most sociopaths that feign things for attention, Norman loved to act like he was sick so Jackie would fawn and worry over him more than she already did on the regular. It seemed like every other week Jackie was taking him to the Vet because “he wasn’t acting like himself.”

Like all toxic partnerships that aren’t rectified, one night Norman’s nefarious shenanigans were taken too far and as always, Jackie came out on the losing end.

As mentioned earlier, Jackie and I enjoyed the drink. After an evening of boozing in our living room on our new faux leather sofa that was stain and scent resilient and watching enough reality T.V. to permanently lower our I.Q.’s, I went to bed and passed out. I awoke several hours later to my phone ringing. I didn’t recognize the number and almost didn’t answer but you know what they say about curiosity (empty threats to the dismay of some, namely me).

Hello?

Is this Chris? An authoritative male’s voice wanted to know.

Yeah.

This is Officer Larson of the LAPD. Do you have a roommate named Jackie?

I do.

Jackie is being held on suspicion of driving under the influence and we were wondering if you could come here and meet us.

Uh, why?

Glad you asked. She needs someone to pick up her cat.

Her cat is with her? Norman?

You are correct. We have reason to believe she was driving drunk with Norman. While driving with your cat isn’t against the law, driving drunk is, with or without your cat. Jackie asked us to call you to see if you could come pick him up before we take her to the station. If you can’t, Norman goes to jail too.

With Jackie?

No. The pound. Kitty jail. And it’ll cost her money to get him out. Between you and me, that’s money she’s not going to have. So are you able to help out your friend?

Sorry, Chris. Jackie said in the background.

Yeah, I’ll be there in a second.

Thanks. We’re at the southeast corner of Tujunga and Moorpark. See you soon.

I got dressed and drove in a stupor to the intersection Jackie was being detained at. Most of that stupor was due to me not understanding what had happened. Driving drunk around town with your cat on a Monday night? Who does that? But then this was Norman we were talking about. For all I knew he had demanded Jackie go out and get more tequila for margaritas while he rode shotgun and got control of the stereo. Seriously, anything was possible with this guy.

When I arrived at the location I found Jackie. She was nonchalantly leaning up against a cop car, joking around with the arresting officer. If the marked car and uniform were absent, you’d think it was just a couple of friends loitering around after the bar had closed.

I didn’t know what I expected but it surely wasn’t this scene. Maybe I thought Jackie should’ve been more shook up. Maybe I thought she should’ve been kneeling at the feet of the officer, begging him to forgive her for joy riding with a cat and an open container, swearing that she’d learned her lesson and that it would never happen again.

But then maybe I was just projecting how I’d be dealing with the situation if the slipper were on the other foot. Which by the way, was what Jackie was wearing; slippers, and the rest of her bedtime attire. The shit just kept getting more and more bizarre exponentially.

I was instructed by the officer to bring Norman’s kitty crate. I opened my trunk and brought out his majesty’s litter, while I, his humble servant, would be carrying him back to his kingdom. This was the point that I realized I had become fully immersed as a key player in the noxious, offensive liaison between Norman and Jackie. I was not ecstatic about my inclusion into this Bermuda Triangle of sorts.

As I got closer Jackie looked over at me with a smile.

Not one of my prouder moments. She said “aww shucks” like.

Are you Chris? The officer asked.

That’s me.

Thanks for coming.

Sure. Can I ask a question?

Of course.

What the fuck happened?

I’ll let Jackie explain, but it has to be quick. We have to take her to the station to do an official test on her.

I’m so sorry to do this to you, Chris. After you went to bed I stayed up a little while longer. She winked.

This was code for “I kept drinking”.

After I got dressed for bed Norman started acting like he couldn’t breathe. So I took him to a 24hr animal hospital but they didn’t have a vet on duty. They suggested I go to my regular vet in the morning. I left there so distraught and then…well…this. Let me get Norman for you.

She reached into her car and brought out King Tutankhamun. He looked at me before he strode into his crate as if to say “These flowers have wilted and I’m over their company. Homeward, manservant.”

Can I ask one more favor of you, Chris? Jackie asked.

Why not.

Can you please take him to his regular vet tomorrow morning at 6 am? I’m so very worried about him.

I stood there for a second, in my own pajamas, holding a cat, in a crate, looking at my roommate in her pajamas, in the custody of a cop, getting ready to be taken to jail.

Suuuuuuuure. I said exhaustedly. There was no point in thinking I’d get out of this unscathed. Norman had tired of the usual one-on-one misery dispensing he’d grown accustomed to with Jackie so now he thought it only practical to move on to a ménage a trois.

When will Jackie be out? I asked.

She’ll have to wait to see a judge after 8 am tomorrow, after that she can post bail. She’ll be back home, reunited with Norman by tomorrow afternoon.

This sounded like so many other stories you hear about police intervening on a domestic disturbance only to leave the victim in the company of the perpetrator so the abuse can continue. It was no different with Jackie, within 12 hours she’d be back at the mercy of Norman.

I’ll wait to hear from you tomorrow.

I started to walk towards my car, I could hear the officer instructing Jackie on what was going to happen next.

Ok, Jackie, since you’re going to be in back of the car we’re going to have to handcuff you.

I turned and watched as he did this.

Now I’m going to put you in the back of the squad car. The officer narrated.

Wait! Wait! Hold on, hold on! Jackie said as she gave the cop resistance.  

This was the moment that I’d thought would’ve been happening earlier, when she finally realized the severity of what was about to happen. When she came to understand just how costly and disruptive this whole debacle was going to be.

She was going to have to shell out over 6 grand in lawyer’s fees and fines. On top of that she was going to have to attend diversion classes for 8 weeks, do community service AND have a breathalyzer installed in her car that I would have to blow in more times than I’d like to count just so she could get to work some mornings.

What is it, Jackie? The cop asked, worried that she might freak out now.

Chris! She yelled at me.

Yes?

There was a tense moment of silence. Was she going to breakdown and cry? Was she going to become hostile and put her 10 years of jujitsu training to work and possibly cripple this public servant who just wanted to get home and get a blow job? What the fuck was going to happen? It all hinged on her next actions, which were:

Can you take my picture?

We looked at her, stunned, stupefied and wondering if this night could get any more ri-god-damned-diculous. The cop reasoned with her.

Jackie, where we’re going, you’re gonna get a few pictures taken of you.

Aww bummer. She said.

She quietly got into the backseat of the car and they drove off leaving me standing on the street alone with Norman.  

As far as I was concerned he was plutonium that I was handling without protective wear. For all intents and purposes he should’ve just been buried somewhere out in the desert with the rest of the world’s radioactive waste as a safeguard to humanity. But I didn’t have the time nor the shovel to do civilization that kind of favor. So I drove home and let him out in Jackie’s room.

He immediately jumped up on her bed as if he owned it. After a few minutes of promenading around he got settled and looked me straight in the face as he took a massive dump on her newly washed linens.

I should have let you rot in jail, you fucking feline.

When he heard me say this, he purred, as if he'd gotten one over on us all. I shut the door and hoped that at least him being trapped with the smell of his own feces was some sort of punishment. But I was only fooling myself, as far as Norman was concerned, his shit didn't stink.

Toastmaster's Speech -Body Language- Present Tense

The ongoing wow is happening now.

That’s a quote from the Richard Linklater movie Waking Life which touches on philosophy, dreams, life, death and ourselves. If you have an extra 101 minutes lying around I highly suggest you spend it on this film.

That line specifically; the ongoing wow is happening now speaks to me because I’ve always had a hard time keeping myself in the now…or the present, even though I knew that’s where all the action was.

By a show of hands, how many find it hard to stay anchored in the now when the currents of the past or the future crash against you and throw you off course?  

It seems like we’re always vacillating between the past and the future so much that we’re never able to experience the ongoing wow doesn’t it?

Our past especially, for whatever reason, has a massive gravitational pull on us.

We’ll obsessively sort through it the same way emergency response crews dig through the rubble of a building after an earthquake. We spend hours ruminating over people, places or events that we can no longer alter, save or improve upon.  

It seems the only thing that can rip us from the mental bondage of our past is the high octane charge of anxiety we get when thinking or worrying about the future.

We’ll fret over events on our horizon that have yet to pass such as an upcoming physical at the doctors, a performance evaluation at work or wondering what kinda crap we’re gonna pull out of our asses during table topics at our next Toastmasters meeting.

And when we’re not dreading real events, then we put ourselves in all sorts of fictitious dilemmas, arguments & confrontations with people and situations that may or may not even exist. This type of future fearing, by the way, is usually done in the shower or when we’re driving our car.  

In fact, I bet a lot of you couldn’t even tell me how you got here today because your mind was anywhere but in the present. All you know is that you got in the car, started driving, thought about an argument where you SHOULD’VE said something differently, wondered when and how you were going to die and then, voila, you ended up at this meeting.

Our minds love to be anywhere but in the now and we’re constantly held hostage to it and its whims. 

It’s like we’re tied up sitting on the back of a stallion and then someone fires a gun (bang!) and that horse gallops all over the place while we not only try to keep from falling off, but remain helpless to where it runs off to.

So what is it about the now that makes it so hard to stay in it?

Allow me to paint a picture: On one side we have the past. . It’s a desert wasteland with dilapidated buildings, broken down cars and homes that are in a perpetual state of rot & decay. Even though nothing in it grows & everything is dead, all of it is familiar and eerily comforting.  

On the other side is the future, an ever-changing ether of blues & greens and black with some distant twinkling lights. You can try to grab a hold of it, but it’s impossible to get a solid grip because it hasn’t yet solidified. It has a vague sense of promise to it with the constant echoes of “what if, what if, what if...”.  

Separating these two lands is a raging river of clean, infinite, vibrating energy. This is the present.

For me personally, the thought of diving into and staying in that river of the present seemed very…tense, overwhelming and intimidating, even though I knew that was the best place to be.

So I decided no matter how difficult, awkward or foreign it felt, I was going to try my hardest to always remain in it. And then, I jumped in…

At first its force felt like a roller coaster. The raw inertia made me feel like I had to brace myself to keep from being swept away.    

After I got used to it, it became a smooth flow and every moment had this frenetic, pyrophoric charge to it.  Everything was broadcast in bright, crystal clear high-definition.

I didn’t feel like life was passing me by anymore, but making me a part of it.  For the first time I no longer felt like I needed to be in a rush because I didn’t feel like I was losing time, I was experiencing it to its maximum potential.   

I realized by keeping a constant focus on the present, I didn’t have time to go to the past to try to work on things that were unfixable or run and get lost in the anxious murkiness of the future.

I was too preoccupied by being a part of the ongoing wow.  

By paying attention to the present it enabled me to create a past that wouldn’t haunt me and contribute to a future that had more stability.

Paying attention to the now is the only part of life that matters because it’s the only part we’re absolutely sure about.

So if you think you’d like to become a part of the ongoing wow but are faced with a giant HOW? I have a few tips for you.

The first; concentrate on your breathing.  It’s the best way to keep you in the present and not get slowed down by the past or sped up by the future.

Your breath is the best instrument in assuring you that you’re right here, right now. It’s the real-time metronome to your soul, there’s no 30 second delay to it. As you breathe, the now is happening.    

Second ; notice when you find yourself mulling over things past or future.  Once you realize you’re focusing on anything but the present, visualize a huge chalk board and it’s packed full of frenzied words scrawled all over it.  

Then visualize erasing the entire board to a clean slate and the only words allowed on it are ones that describe what’s happening now, once they’ve passed, you erase them in preparation for the next words to describe the next moment. And so on and so on and so on…

Lastly, some food for thought; just as are bodies reflect what we eat, our moods reflect what we think. When we’re shouldering the burdens of our past or running on empty from the angst of the future, it affects us negatively in the now and when that happens, the mind is a terrible thing to taste.  

Just as we watch what goes in our bodies, we should also watch what we allow in our heads.  Our thoughts, after all, are the foundation of our emotional nutrition.

When we’re in the now we’re feeding ourselves with the freshest parts of life. It’s like sinking our teeth into the ripest piece of fruit and letting it nourish our mind, body and spirit.

As I bring this series of moments to a close, It’s my sincerest hope that even if it was just for a little while, we were all able to be together and be a part of THIS ongoing wow which is ending...now.       

  

 

    

   

Toastmasters-How to Say It Speech-Friday Bloody Friday...with a dash of Thursday.

So, how many people took part in the annual ritualistic suicide attempt known as Black Friday shopping a week and a half ago?

I myself detest this day of department store horror more than Santa Clause hates taking his insulin shots.

And yet it seems as though Black Friday and all the selfish, senseless insanity that comes with it is our official commencement to a holiday season which is supposed to be about selflessness, peace and good will towards man.

The term “Black Friday” has more origin stories than a fruit cake has ingredients and just like a fruit cake, none of it is anything you’d want to put in your mouth and try to swallow.

The oldest explanation dates to the 1800’s when slave owners would sell their slaves the day after Thanksgiving at a discount to plantation owners that needed extra hands for the coming winter.

Please note; this particular explanation is hotly contested amongst Black Friday Scholars in regard to its veracity and should be taken with 64.79891 milligrams of sodium & chlorine. That’s a grain of salt for those of you slow at your conversion tables.

Fast forward a century later to 1951 when employers used the term to describe the high influx of employees calling in sick the day after Thanksgiving in an attempt to get a 4 day weekend.

In 1966 the term Black Friday was taken into custody by the Philadelphia Police Department to describe the complete and utter chaos that took place on their streets due to the high volume of shoppers flooding the city like a Christmas day tsunami in Thailand.  

In the early 80’s the term was used by retailer accountants that had to always post a loss for each quarter with red ink up until the Friday after thanksgiving which would have high gains, therefore allowing the accountants to use black ink to reflect profits.

And by the late 80’s Consumer Corporate America took hold of the term Black Friday and made it a permanent part of our pop-culture lexicon and defined it as the day you blow all your money, all your patience and all your common sense simultaneously.   

Through the years, the monster of Black Friday has grown exponentially to the point that one day is no longer enough to cage this fiend. So now Black Friday has been allowed to decimate another day of the week as if it was Godzilla recklessly strolling through the streets of Tokyo.  Black Friday now officially starts on Thanksgiving Thursday.

This phenomena is known as Brown Thursday. So instead of fighting with your family over Thanksgiving dinner, you’re now encouraged to go out and fist fight with your neighbor over an X box One or Playstation 4.        

Fading to black a day early is an awful idea because the last thing our broke & stressed out country needs is one more combustible log to throw on an already blazing fire of yuletide rage.  

As if the deluge of psychotic Christmas music, cold weather & company Christmas parties wasn’t enough to deal with, we now have to start the shopping pandemonium a day earlier.

But it’s not even a day earlier because people (and I use that word in its loosest term) are usually lined up outside the stores one week prior to the first day of Christmas shopping.

Camped out on the sidewalk with their tents and tables and chairs and blankets as if they were nomadic wanderers in search of a big sale oasis, or a cluster of displaced refugees navigating a war torn country.  

In fact, if you were to compare a picture of a refugee camp to a picture of Black Friday Shoppers outside a Best Buy, there’s no discernible difference. 

While refugees are usually struggling to stay alive, elude death squads or hope to God the U.S. doesn’t carpet bomb their country, Black Friday Shoppers  face an even graver danger; each other.  

Because, it truly is war, ladies & gentlemen, when it comes to Americans and their wanton lust for cheap electronics made by a 10 year old kid in China.

And once the doors finally do fly open, all those shoppers bum rush the place in the same manner you see refugees stampede towards a U.N. food truck on CNN.

You’d surmise by the way these merry marauders act that not once in their life had they seen a flat screen TV 50” in dimension. They act like the apes in Stanley Kubrick’s 2001 that stand in awe before the monolith…and then proceed to beat the snot out of one another in its omnipotent shadow.      

The tragic irony of Black Friday is that hardly anyone is there with the intent of giving to another unless it’s a fist to the face, a kick to the groin or some festive pepper spray to someone’s already weary eyes from standing in line for over 72 hours straight.

Other than that, it’s an encouraged Me-for-all Free-for –all of barbaric proportions that would impress even Alexander the Great whilst he stood amongst the still smoldering ruins of  Persepolis.  

Stabbings, shootings and being trampled as if you’re some unlucky dolt who lost his footing in Pamplona’s running of the bulls is all standard causality that comes with the territory. 

What I’d like to know is how do these people keep their heads high when they emerge from the carnage of Black Friday with their arms & carts full of junk that they’ll discard in a month’s time? It’s tantamount to coming home from a Ferguson riot after you looted several businesses just for the hell of it.

I mean a lot of these Good Tiding Gladiators strut out of stores with a sense of victory as if they’d once again slain the beast of Friday and are to return home to a hero’s welcome.

Will this dark time that visits us once a year ever end? Not as long as this fledgling economy continues to limp forward on its broken leg until someone takes it out behind the barn and puts a bullet through its head.

Until then all we can do is hope that more people turn to their laptops and forego all the madness, malice and mayhem that accompanies Black Friday (and it's evil accomplice Brown Thursday) shopping and just buy their gifts online.

Because if you think about it, where else can you buy for your brother, his wife, their children & your parents while wearing your underwear and looking at Jennifer Lawrence naked at the same time WITHOUT going to jail?

Nowhere.

That’s the beauty of the internet.  Maybe if more people were informed of this incredible shopping experience, one day, by the grace of God, we’ll be able to make Black Friday and it’s sinister sibling Brown Thursday, urban legends we use to scare our kids into being good the entire year. Because if they’re not good, they’ll be thrown to the wolves of Friday…starting at 4 pm Thursday afternoon.   

   

Getting Toasty

A few months ago I joined an organization called Toastmasters International. Sadly it has nothing to do with the act of "toasting" alcoholic beverages nor does it have to do with learning how to perfectly toast a piece of bread. What it does focus on is public speaking.

Why do you want to improve your public speaking skills, Chris? Is a question the few of you reading this may be asking yourselves. 

The answer is simple. If you plan on conquering the world, you're gonna need to know how to address it publicly to large masses of people at a time. Plus, my 7 a.m. slot for Tuesday mornings was open so I said what the hell. 

For the uninitiated or for those of you just too lazy or not properly enticed to click the hyperlink in the first sentence of this article, Toastmasters helps anyone who wants help in honing their skills in regard to speaking in front of people.

There's a large percentage of people that suffer from Glossophobia which is the fear of public speaking. I am not one of those people, however. My biggest fear is not being able to pee in a urinal when a dude is next to me peeing which is called Paruresis. Unfortunately there's yet to be a Paruresis International so I've just decided to settle with Toastmasters.

The meetings are fun and once you join you get two awesome books that give you an assignment schedule to follow. Each assignment is a speech that you are to prepare and execute following certain criteria for each individual speech. 

Once you've recited your speech at a meeting in front of other members you're evaluated on your speech subject, your voice performance and pace and your body language. Every week is a mini-competition where people with the best skills for that day are awarded a ribbon. As you can see by the pic that accompanies this article, I've kinda got a knack for this shit.

The speech subject matter can be about whatever we wish it to be, which makes for some interesting speeches from yours truly.

SO, since there's a handful of you that like to read my writing (literally, about 5 of you) I decided to post each speech I do. On an average, I do about one prepared speech every 3 weeks so for those of you looking to kill 5 minutes at work, I've got you covered 5 min out of every 3 weeks.

You can find the first two speeches here and here.

You're welcome.  

    

Toastmasters - Get to the Point Speech - Caught in the Net

By a show of hands, how many people here subscribe to Netflix?

I myself have been a long time subscriber and as if I’m not digitally manipulated enough on a daily basis by emails, text messages, or voicemails, I have an iTunes library that’s in constant disarray and a torrent bin that’s messier than a 1 yr. olds diaper after he’s just been fed Taco Bell.

So when I want a break from being a 21^st century digital boy I do so by engaging in the act of something that is exclusively 21^st century. I try to unwind by watching a movie via Netflix.

This never works out the way it was intended.  

You see, every time I pull up my Netflix I can never watch anything because there’s too much of EVERYTHING.  

Just how much is everything you may ask? Close to 9,000 movies and over 2,000 TV shows. That’s a lot of everything.  

In fact I think it’s safe to say that Netflix could easily be called the Walmart of the movie streaming industry due to the sheer volume of crap they have on hand for you to consume.

Whether it’s action /adventure, comedy, drama, horror, romance, foreign, foreign drama, foreign romance, foreign horror  or foreign drama horror comedy that has a romantic edge to it as prevalent in the Spanish film Witching & Bitching, there’s literally something for everybody.

My biggest problem is, which one is for me? And thus, every night when I go to www.netflix.com I feverishly ponder that question and stare quietly into the abyss while the abyss stares back at me.

As I’ve gotten older I’ve come to realize that nothing is more valuable than time. Everything else, more or less, you can make more of except for time, that one is always a losing sum game.

So when it comes to how I’m going to spend my leisure time I take it very seriously. I don’t want to become too engrossed in a movie that’s not for me. So I’ll attempt to peruse that which dwarfs the library of congress 10 fold in an attempt to figure out what type of cinematic experience best tailors to the unique individual that I am.

This is always nothing short of a Sisyphus task which bears no progress and ironically squanders the very time that it is I’m trying to save.

Sure, I’ll come across some interesting titles that, after reading at least two pages of user reviews I think I may like, but I never want to commit to anything because I’m afraid if I do I’ll be missing out on something better. So the movies that may be for me but just aren’t for me right now get thrown on to my Netflix list where it can be saved for me to ignore at a later date.  

I believe the whole concept of the Netflix personal list is empirical proof that Netflix knows that they’re bludgeoning the consumer over the head with too many choices to the point that the customer can’t think straight or make a decision.

In 1970 a book came out called Future Shock. In it the author coined a phrase called Overchoice. 

Overchoice theorizes that consumers can have too many choices and therefore are unable to make an optimal choice which causes stress, anxiety and unhappiness. Not to mention the inability to make a choice.

I’d say that this perfectly sums up my Netflix experience.

Now of course one could easily suggest that I just all together cancel my Netflix subscription and put an end to the tyranny of small decisions and quit entering that dastardly hedge maze night after night. 

But then I wouldn’t have access to all those choices I can’t make a choice on.

I hate it, but I’m inexplicably drawn to it. And at only $7.99 per month I can easily justify the cost even though I hardly ever watch anything because I’m too busy looking at…everything.

Truth be told, Netflix really is just like crack. It’s cheap, easy to get and incapacitates you for hours at a time. The side effects are irritability, loss of time, anxiousness, paranoia and sleep deprivation.  

And, it’s a national epidemic.

Just last week I was in a conversation with some friends and they were complaining about their lack of ability to choose what to watch on Netflix. 

They, like me, spent massive amounts of time just scrolling through the endless titles of movies, documentaries, musicals, indie films and Japanese cartoons which ultimately led them back to the safe confines of a Family Guy episode they’d watched at least 100 other times that week because they didn’t know what else to watch.

They say variety is the spice of life, however there’s a really good chance that “THEY” are a group of people that are clinically and legally insane and more than likely work at the upper echelons of the Netflix empire.

So to “THEY” I say, hey, enough with all these decisions. Man was not made to spend all of his free time deciding. Just put up a total of 5 movies for us to watch instead of over 5,000. That way we can complain that there’s nothing to watch instead of complaining that there’s too much of everything to watch.

If you liked this speech, you can watch it in it’s entirety on Netflix.com in the horror comedy foreign titles. Please note its only foreign if you’re watching it outside the U.S.

 

 

Toastmasters - Organize Your Speech - Here Comes the Tide

 I intended to give a speech on motivation and how it’s impeded by distraction, and then I got distracted. I thought it’d be a good idea to go get my mail before I started preparing my speech.

It was not.

Because in my mail I received what I believe is the social equivalent of a jury duty summons.

I’d been invited to a wedding.

Now I have nothing against the institution of marriage so long as it’s between two consenting adults regardless of racial, sexual or religious orientation. What I am a huge proponent of is the 3 ring circus of madness that signifies the kick-off of the marriage.

So instead of today’s topic being about motivation, it’s going to be the result of motivation.  Specifically the three motivating factors that contribute to my utter disdain for weddings that I’m invited to.

Now I’m not trying to be an iconoclast or a purveyor of cultural genocide. I’m just a simple man with a simple plea to stop the insanity or at the very least, stop the insanity from inviting me to spend time with it.

So without further “I do’s”…

1^st Reason Why I Dislike Weddings: They’re boring.

Let’s be honest, nothing exciting happens at weddings. Everyone knows how it’s gonna go down. They’ll be some music, they’ll be the exchange of vows and then there’s the whole “I now pronounce you husband and wife…or husband and husband… or wife and wife.”

Listen, either way, despite the miniscule nuances in gender, it always ends with the couple being married. There’s no drama, there’s no sudden plot twists where the groom realizes he’s been dead the whole time we’ve been watching this play out. It’s literally the same thing over and over. A re-run with a variation on set and cast members.

The average non-denominational wedding clocks in at about 25 minutes. Now I think the fact that it takes more time to have your car’s oil changed, get a pizza delivered or take your lunch break at work is a testament to the fact that even the bride & groom know their wedding ceremony is the prattle of the dead and even THEY themselves want it to be over faster than a knife fight in a phone booth.

And let’s not discount the side effects of boredom which are; Excessive alcohol consumption, over eating & an increase in bad decision making. I think we can agree that all three of those things happen in abundance & repeatedly throughout the night at the wedding reception which peruses the ceremony.

2^nd Reason Why I Dislike Weddings: They’re expensive. 

I’m talking obscenely expensive. Obscenity taken to such heights that even Caligula, The Roman emperor of depravity would blush at such obscenity.

A typical wedding’s cost is ballpark $23 grand…for one day. Actually not even one day, more like 15 hrs which equates to $1,533 per hour. This is lunacy at its zenith. In fact this is $500 MORE than what O.J. Simpson was paying his attorneys per hour during his murder trial.

So not only could that amount keep you from ever seeing the inside of a jail cell, but it could also be spent towards a myriad of more enjoyable things such as an incredible vacation, furthering one’s education, investing in mutual funds, stocks or 401K, putting a down payment on a home or starting a college fund for when the children arrive.

But instead of using the financial capital for something long-term & meaningful, it’s spent on invitations that get thrown away or go unanswered, renting uncomfortable tuxedos & buying an expensive gown that will be worn once and then put in a box.

Then there’s the whole paying the church, renting a hall for a reception and hiring a DJ so you can watch your aunt that’s drunk on the booze you paid for whose way too old to be twerking, attempt to twerk anyway, throw out her hip and then send you the medical bill since it happened at YOUR wedding.

And let’s not forget those of us that have to take off work to attend an event in which we KNOW two people will say “I do.” Yes, I know you do; in fact, you’ve been doing long before you got married. How about we focus on the “I don’t” as in “I don’t get paid for taking time off to attend your wedding, I don't want to have to buy you a gift and I don't want to sit at a table full of strangers at your reception."

3^rd Reason Why I Dislike Weddings: They’re stressful.

There aren’t enough hours in the day or days in the calendar year for me to elucidate on the myriad of things that can be stressful about a wedding. But more often than not, a good percentage of weddings never or almost never happen ipso facto (I really hope I used that adverb correctly). What I’m getting at is that a lot of would be weddings self destruct because of the stress that comes from the planning of it.

And if that’s not enough, there’s always the dilemma of only being able to invite a finite number of guests. This means some people that know all the other people that were invited will not be invited.

That in turn puts a burden of guilt & secrecy on those that made it to the invite list which causes THEM to stress out over keeping the wedding hush-hush as if it were some CIA cover up that will ultimately end up on social media anyway leaving the invited guests the ones held responsible for explaining to the uninvited guests why they weren’t invited in the first place.

Those invited suddenly find themselves cast adrift in an ocean of deceit; stress & anxiety that will inevitably drown them in its undertow or crush them by its tide. 

In conclusion I hope that I’ve made a valid argument for at least the personal reasons why I detest weddings and all that they usually encompass. 

And As I’ve stated before, I completely condone and support the marriage of two people wanting to spend the rest of their lives with one another and making each other a better version of themselves.

I just don’t think a wedding is the healthiest way to start off a marriage, especially when I’m invited to it.       

     

#Royal Family

Well, I’ve come to realize I’m somewhat of a sports fanatic. Yes, the one thing I’ve made fun of people both publicly and privately for so many years I’ve realized I’ve become. And honestly, I get it, I really do.

Maybe my love for my hometown sports team is because I’ve been away from my hometown for so long (going on 14 years) and when watching a game be it football or baseball, surrounded by others that are transplants from Kansas, we can’t help but bond.

We all share a lot of traits, values, information, memories, opinions, mindsets, etc. and it’s not only comforting, but invigorating, revitalizing, inspiring, familiar. In short its home. I’m around strangers but they aren’t strangers. It’s the same way pack animals indentify one of their own. And to be honest, it’s fucking awesome.

And seriously, there’s nobody better than Kansas sports fans. We really are a league of our own, a true class act. During the National Anthem of the first game of the World Series, every Royal fan in the bar stood up and removed their ball cap while it was sung. Every non-Royal fan in the joint looked at us as if we were part of some ridiculous cult performing some asinine ritual. But that’s just part of our core values; sincere politeness, respect & reverence…and of course the complete inability to give a fuck what others think.

During the heated drama of Game 7 one overzealous fan started lashing out at two Giants fans that had been attending all the games at the same bar all of us Royal fans had been frequenting. In an instant a fellow Royal fan told the guy to chill the fuck out, that the Giants fans in attendance were good people.  And after every game the Giants won (including the last game) every Royal fan went around the bar and shook the hands of every Giants fan congratulating them on a good game.

I don’t mean to blow my own self, but we’re fucking good people, fucking awesome to be exact. You can take us away from home, but it’s always in our hearts. We can’t help but be the people we are.

And seriously, what better team to represent all of us than a gang of underdogs, counted out numerous times by everyone and not once did they waiver, flinch, retreat or give up. Right up until the last second they never lost hope.

 Indeed they put their dreams on the line, knowing they could be crushed, for themselves, their teammates and their city. None of them pretentious, high profile, expensive mercenaries that lack hometown loyalty and would lend their talents to the highest bidder. They were just good old KC boys playing for the love of the game.

A game that threw them insurmountable setbacks, disappointments & failures yet they still showed up every night, despite the odds, to fight their fucking hearts out. That, I can honestly say, is just about everyone I know from Kansas. From my family, to my friends, down to the stranger sitting next to me at the bar 1500 miles away from our home, unflinching and undeterred in the eye of challenge & adversity.

We identify with teams like the Royals and the Chiefs because for the most part, they’re like us. They’re an extension of us and once you get a taste of it, plugged into that emotional matrix, you regard it as one of your own, like a child. 

Case in point, when I was at the grocery store today I was proudly wearing my KC hat and I encountered a Dodger fan with his hat and shirt who glanced at me in that certain way.  I could tell he was contemplating saying something snarky about our loss last night.

And before I could realize it I’d already planned on retaliating by grabbing a can of green beans and bashing it alongside his fat head asking him what the fuck HIS team was doing last night.

And then it hit me, I’m one of those people.  I’m for better or worse, in so many aspects, part of a gang, a group / mob mentality ready to battle on behalf of my team because my team is home. And I’ll protect and stand up for it by either word or deed.

And like I said, I get it, because my team represents my home, my entire life growing up, my friends, my dreams, my ethos, everything that is part of my psychological and sociological DNA. They represent the people I so dearly miss, both of this world and whatever lies beyond it. It’s spiritual, it’s emotional, and it’s everything that makes life exciting, all firing off at once.

And in retrospect, perhaps our Royals were not prepared to win the World Series on account of the city not having enough abandoned couches on hand to set ablaze. Nor were we prepared to celebrate by shooting each other and vandalizing the very city we were rejoicing on behalf of. No, we probably would've hugged each other (just like the stranger in a KC hat asked me to do once Gordon hit that triple in the bottom of the 9^th) & cry and scream in accomplishment.

But we don’t need the crown to know we’re already Royals and I think that’s prevalent due to the outpouring of support from fans across the internet. Sure, it would’ve been nice, but it’s never about the destination, it’s about the ride. And fuck, what an unbelievable ride it has been. One I wouldn't trade for the world, or it's title.