So needless to say last night’s entry left a brother kinda wiped out, kinda stupefied, too spent to even search for answers. As I sat on my couch flipping between Keith Olbermann and what has to be my 50th viewing of “Casino” (does anyone ever really tire of seeing James Woods get his ass kicked or Joe Pesci threaten Charlie the Banker?), began to make a mental list of other things that brighten my mood when the spiritual chips are down. Here are some of my faves:
The theme song to “Tiny Toons. Seems random and infantile but it’s impossible to sing this whole song aloud or even listen to it without cracking up from embarrassment. How did my Dad manage to stomach sitting through entire episodes of this show with my brother and I after school? That’s love. If I were ever to rob a bank or end up in a police standoff and wanted the hostages to think I was capable of anything, I’d make the bank manager sing that song while marching in place in his blazer and boxers, hitting him and/or a random onlooker with my rifle butt whenever he got a lyric wrong. If I were a young hostage, seeing something like that would probably put me off cartoons and boxer shorts for the rest of my life.
Cocoa Butter. Certain cosmetic products like lipstick make no sense to me. Cocoa butter is not one of them. I love what this stuff does for the softer sex. Is like getting a girl’s otherwise average legs digitally remastered in high def. There’s no more muscle tone than was there before, no less stubble either, but everything looks better when it’s shiny, right?
The first day after payday. As close as I come to feeling like a high roller. Steak and eggs for breakfast, on a Thursday. A lunch that costs more than $10. Buying people drinks for no reason at all. Pay off my bills like it’s the Death List Five. Two days later it may be back to ramen and hot dogs, rationed bologna and stale cheetos, but that first day is glory like the Battle Hymn Republic.
The way your room looks so much cleaner just because you made your bed. This tactic is extremely high yield in the perception department, especially considering how little time it takes. I wish there were other quick fixes in life that paid off this handsomely, would abuse the system like it was the slowest child in the factory.
Going to museums with friends and making distractingly inappropriate remarks about the art. The acoustics in those places are fantastic, nothing takes the potency a field trip lecture or the intimacy of a first date like overhearing some clown exclaim from the other side of the room “check out those mammaries son, makes me wish I was a baby!”
UFC matches where one of the fighters has been talking real cocky, only to walk face first into a roundhouse kick within the opening seconds of round one. Especially enjoy the post-fight interviews where fighters get reflective and talk about how getting kicked in the face brought them closer to their Lord and Savior. I’m sure it did sir, the way he knocked you out, you almost got to meet Him. My other favorite thing about short UFC fights is when it’s a pay-per-view party and everybody starts looking at each other afterward like “what do we do now? Got any weed? Beer pong? Nothing? I should be heading home…”
Free meals. A lot of vendors come by my office to pitch their building products; you’d be surprised how much more receptive you are to buying windows when eating a panini you didn’t pay for.
Tom Brady getting sacked repeatedly in Superbowl XLII. I know my Patriots fan-friends won’t like me for still reveling in this but oh baby baby was that ever sweet. Can’t stand the Patriots, I hate them almost more than I love football. I know his leg’s busted and that sucks because the League loses when it’s deprived of it’s best competitors, blah blah blah, yackety shmackety, but on a visceral level, I’d rather watch Tom Brady get sacked than be a judge at a lap dance contest. New York is Washington’s division rival, but for me, that was the most emotionally satisfying football moment since Superbowl XXVI. I literally cried the night the Eagles lost to the Pats in the Superbowl a few years ago, vowed to never watch football again, the pain was too great. “Never again” turned out to be “until the start of the next season”, but who’s counting? Tom Brady, I can’t wait til you come back man, watching sacks just isn’t the same without you.
Trying to eat nachos quietly in a crowded movie theater. Don’t look at me like that sir? I know it’s almost as loud to you as it sounds in my head, but no one should be this uptight while watching “Stealth”.
Seeing pundits get their comeuppance. Thank you Robert Gibbs. I wish I had a uterus so I could carry that guy’s baby. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zgn6rjGbp0c Out-Friggin’-standing.
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