Instead of Writng……..

Trying to get myself in the the right mind-set to write, but all I do is change the shuffle on my iPod, and read other bloggers who obviously are having a much easier time at this. I grabbed a beer. That’s supposed to help right? I even poured it in my Simpsons Christmas themed glass. That’s gotta work.

C’mon, who’s not inspired? Me, that’s who. Maybe Seth Rogan’s face frozen on my tv from when I paused it over an hour ago. The same time I was supposed to start this manifesto.

Nope. Seth’s just not my type I guess. Well, I guess I’ll take the easy way out. Here are a few poorly thought out idea turds:

Un-related Random Thoughts
*Listen to Rush with a good set of head phones (not plugs). This is required course-work for this blog, and it will be on the test.
*Im an idiot who couldn’t come up with anything resembling a test if my life depended upon it.
*I’m thinking maybe I should start sucking at my job. I’m getting too many weird compliments from my boss. I can only figure it’s because I’m not a complete idiot, and they’re not used to it.
*I spent ten minutes tonight looking for a frying pan. I looked in every cabinet ten times, and was convinced it had vanished, and I thought I was losing my mind. It was in the dishwasher.
*Sons of Anarchy is waiting on my DVR. It’s a guilty pleasure. Once a week I vicariously lead the life of a muderous Harley riding bad ass simply by working my remote control.

So, that wasn’t that shitty, was it? I got a few things off my chest. Maybe a laugh or two. Good talk, right guys? Well you’re a fickle bunch, and Ima be me. You do you. Who the fuck is writing this? Grinding to a halt……

Bye,
https://poorlythoughtoutthoughts.wordpress.com

Opinions Are Like Assholes

Opinions are like assholes. Usually, the person stating one is an asshole. Need proof? The following are things I learned browsing the “Opinion” feed on Word Press:

*Iggy Azalea is a white racist, and Nikki Minaj is very upset about it.

*Feminists want to kill everything masculine.

*Cats are better than dogs. Whew, glad someone cleared that up for me. 😻

*Pro-choice people won’t be satisfied until all the adorable thimble sized babies are brutally massacred by filthy liberals.

*The band Snow Patrol is “shite”. I liked this one for two reasons. One because it’s true. Two, because the blogger used the more sophisticated British version- “SHITE!”.

*Selfie shaming is a hot social issue. Seriously, fuck off. Just fuck off.

For a second I was sure the Word Press App was broken, and had mistakenly imported my Facebook feed. Seriously, tho at least on Word Press I have to seek out the stupid, while Facebook is a never ending source of moronic opinions and endless baby pics that no one wants to see. I swear the first person to use the term, “I can’t even” was reading their weird cousin’s pro guns pie chart.

So, I’m done for now. I’m sure more things will set me off tomorrow, and if I remember what they were, I’ll be sure to share. But, until then try and post something that doesn’t make me want to stare into an eclipse. Will ya!?

– https://poorlythoughtoutthoughts.wordpress.com

A Slacker is Born

I think I actually remember the first time I consciously indulged in the fine art of slacking. I was seven years old, in my second grade class-room. It was quiet time, and we were supposed to be doing work in our work-books. All the other kids were studiously hunched over their desks with pencils scribbling furiously. Well, this just didn’t look fun at all to me. I clearly remember leaning back in my chair, looking at my work-book, thinking “nope”. I just sat there looking around, listening to the silence and feeling completely removed from whatever motivation was driving my peers. My teacher, Mrs. Weinstein didn’t seem too concerned, so I was also learning the pros of being under the radar.

Now, it might sound as if I was just being a brat, and shrugging off work, but it wasn’t about that. I wasn’t looking for trouble, passing notes or shooting spit-balls. I was just enjoying being alone in my own thoughts. And, the thing I remember more than anything about the moment was just feeling at peace. Peace in doing my own thing (which was nothing). Peace, listening to the silence. Peace, realizing the freedom in exercising free will. Peace in being the outsider.

So, the dreamer, outsider, slacker was born in that moment. There are times where these traits are obviously detrimental, but for the most part I’m glad to bear them. Contrarily, I see others in this world who spend their whole lives reacting needlessly to the pressures of the outside world. They are so stressed, and I wonder if they ever take the time to just slow down, and visit with themselves. Collect their thoughts, and breathe for a minute while everyone else is scribbling furiously. Hey, it works for me.

– https://poorlythoughtoutthoughts.wordpress.com

Night Driving

The party ended too early as usual. It was nice, but that’s all. Just nice. I drive off into the dark suburban night, turn the radio on, and add just a little more volume. A nice mid tempo classic with jangly guitars and a hard steady kick drum mixes nicely with the night-time wind rushing in. My left arm rests atop the open window. It’s chilly, but I like it there. Feels good.

Making my way through dark tree covered streets. Sleepy-time here. Manicured lawns with a few stray skateboards abandoned by un-concerned youths. Flickering TVs reflected in the windows.

Red light. 120 seconds. Not a single car comes the other way. Look left. Look right. Still red. Screw it. Highway entrance ahead. Radio reports a faster kick drum. Speed up. Volume up. Let’s go……….

Feeling better. The little 4 cylinder’s race to no-where, the radio sounds, and the wind on my arm and cheek inspire where the party failed to. It’s dark here as well at 80 mph. No lamp posts. The only lights are road reflectors on the lane markers. They whiz by becoming continuous winding lines threatening to hypnotize. I successfully resist. Deep breath. Smile.

Exit off the dreamway. More sleepy-time lawns and windows. Another red light. Hmm, those head-lights creeping up in my rear-view look familiar. Well, no blowing this light. Taking mental inventory…. Only 2 beers like 2 hours ago. Won’t matter if Captain Midnight suspects inebriation. Green light. It’s cool. Just do the speed limit. We’re good right? Crap, forgot about that dysfunctional tail light. Hope it’s on tonight. Check rear-view. Gone. Victory.

A few more turns. One final turn. Pulling in to my spot with the radio still cranked. Sorry neighbors, this is important. Roll the windows up. Lean my head back on the head rest. Smile. What a great night.

https://poorlythoughtoutthoughts.wordpress.com

Poorly Thought Out Post

I was gonna post a post about how I was pissed that Joan Jett tickets are over-priced, but I couldn’t get a coherent argument together, and I remembered that it wasn’t 1983 or whenever people last cared about Joan Jett. So anyway, I’m not seeing Joan Jett.

Then I was gonna post a post about how I’m really enjoying being on Word Press, and how everyone here is super nice and encouraging , but then all the positivity and happiness made me want to vomit.

Then I was gonna post a post about how I always knew I could write things people wanted to read, and now I’m doing it sort of, and it’s so great, and blah, blah, blah. So nah, that sucks.

So I guess I won’t write anything tonight. And that’s ok….. Hey wait, what’s that above. Did I write something? Nah, that doesn’t count. Or does it? I’m not sure. Eh, whatever.

https://poorlythoughtoutthoughts.wordpress.com

Too Much Gas

Actual dialogue I had engaged in with 2 strangers yesterday:
Me: “Fuck you! And Fuck You!”
Other guy: “Fuck you, you trash!”
Me: “Fuck you, you fuckin theif!”
Him: “Mother fucker!”
Me: “You’re a fuckin idiot!”

Not proud of it, but I think I was justified. It was just a routine trip to the gas station, but I got screwed, and the non-cha leant attitude I received devolved me into an obscenity screaming lunatic. My Brooklyn, Italian ancestors would be proud at least, but I’m not sure I am. I’d like to present the situation here for review. Please feel free to call me an asshole if you feel it’s warranted, but back it up if you must. Anyway, here goes:

I pull into the gas station after work. A droopy eyed young male attendant comes to my window. I say clearly, “$20 regular please.” He grunts his understanding as I hand him my debit card.

He puts the nozzle in. (In Jersey you’re not allowed to pump your own. Usually this is great.) He walks away to service other cars. I wait and browse my podcasts. A minute goes by, and I turn around to see if It’s done. I rub my eyes as I think I see the counter go from $29 to $30. I take a beat, assess, and now I’m sure. This dude f’d up. I honk my horn to get his attention. I point at the pump.

“Hey, I said twenty.”

He stops the pump, and looks in at me as I say in a loud agitated voice, “I said twenty. I’m not paying for that.” The price had gone to $31.68.

He tells me to wait, turns around, runs my card and gives me a receipt for $31.68. Then he asks me in a non-cha leant Eastern European accent.,

“So what we gonna do?”.
“Whaaaaaat? You’re gonna refund me $11.68!”
“Can’t”
“Whaddya mean can’t!? I said $20. You over-charged me.”
“You have gas.”
“You gave me extra I didn’t ask for!”

He asks me to stop yelling. I ask where his boss is. He points to a skinny looking guy in sixties getting in a car across the lot. I first have to ask Mr. What we gonna do to step back so I don’t run over his foot. I drive over to the boss, take a deep breath and say calmly out the window, “Excuse me are you the boss?” He nods surprisedly. “I need to talk to you”.” I continue. I step out of the car and walk over trying to convey an attitude of seriousness without being at all threatening. The attendant has made his way over.

“Your employee over-charged me. I need a refund.”
Bossman is non-plussed.
I clarify, “I asked for $20 regular. He charged me $31.68.”
Droopy face chimes in, “I thought you say fill it.”
“I said $20!” I’m starting to get agitated again.
Boss in a Middle Eastern Accent: “You have the gas.”
“I didn’t want it. I asked for $20. He gave me $31.68. Give me a refund!”
“Take out gas.”

At that comment I went from highly agitated to fucking pissed off.

Pointing in his face, “You’re the gas guy! You fucking take it out!”
Now he tries to spin it. “You drive tommorow, next day. You use gas anyway.”
“This is insane! You’re stealing from me! Give me my $11.68 back!”

The next few exchanges are about how does he know that I’m not just lying and how it’s not possible to give me a refund. I reply that he’s insane to think anyone would conjure up a stupid fight like this. I also embarrassedly refer to my twenty years of retail experience, and make a cash registery gesture with my hand as proof that it’s very easy to refund a customer when you fuck up. He disagrees. I decide it’s a losing battle and it’s time to exchange fucks (refer to the top of the post). I’m screaming first as I walk to my car, then from the window as I drive off.

So, I am glad that I stood up for myself, but disappointed that I let these a-holes get to me. I haven’t had a confrontation like this in years, and that last one was a put on to impress a girl. So, the whole thing took me by surprise. And, it wasn’t the amount of money. It’s that these guys thought it was ok to force me into a sale I didn’t agree to, and when called on it they couldn’t give two shits, or do the right thing. I guess I’m sick of being shit on by outside entities. I mean, even the cable company refunds you if you call them out for charging you for channels you didn’t ask for. The god damn mother fuckin evil cable company has better morals than these guys! Ahhhhhh!

So, what do you think. Was I wrong? Over the top, maybe? Help me sort though this, cause I can’t afford therapy. Not that I need it….. Ahh, damnit, I’m droning. So what’s up Pressers? How’d I do?

– https://poorlythoughtoutthoughts.wordpress.com

Podcasts- They Don’t Suck!

I am very surprised to have become a fan of the relatively new art form known as Podcasting. As a long time listener of the legend, Howard Stern I was kind of a dick in my attitudes towards the pod people. Howard truly is my hero, and I thought there’s no way these “pretenders” could dare dabble in his trade. I actually plan to do a proper and lengthy post about Howard, and his affect on me , and how I see the world, but I need some time to wrap my head around that. Anyway, after a few years of dismissing the art form I’ve totally turned around on the subject of podcasters.

A few I regularly listen to include WTF with Marc Maron, The Diary of Jen Kirkman and The Nerdist with Chris Hardwick. All three are talented comedians with an appreciation for dark humor. Each has their own original take on life, and all are great at expressing themselves in an engaging way that keeps you listening.

WTF’s Maron is a 50 year old guy with the heart and spirit of a 20 year old. He regularly rants about the mundane, but never comes off as a curmudgeon like most people his age would. You empathize with him, and smile as he talks himself down acting as his own therapist. The show is interview based, and his guests run the gamut from mainstream Hollywood actors to obscure musicians to all sorts of comedians. No matter how big or small the guest, Marc gives each his undivided attention, interest and curiousity.

The Diary of Jen Kirkman has been a revelation for me. Kirkman literally sits alone in her bedroom talking into a microphone attached to an ipad. She’ll just take you through whatever events in her life that seem interesting to her, and have you hanging on every word. She doesn’t go for huge laughs. It’s not needed. The key to Jen Kirkman is her ability to be so honest and down to Earth at the same time. Jen truly doesn’t give a fuck, but is also a sweetheart. And, she’s so punk rock. If she saw this, she’d probably tell me to get a life, but with a smile.

The Nerdist is probably the most fun of the three. Chris Hardwick has the energy of Doctor Who #10 only with blond hair and much more Americaner. Yeah, I know I said Americaner. Let it go. Anyway, Hardwick will regularly riff with his partners, comedians Jonah Ray and Matt Mira, creating some real funny moments from real conversation. Laughs are usually centered around their nerdy obsessions that will include the day’s current superhero movie or some classic video game they played as kids. Their guests are always relaxed and fit in seamlessly.

So, for those of you who are sick of the boring shticky commercially over-loaded radio guys, or just want something different and with substance check out a podcast. There’s a zillion besides these, and they’re free! Don’t settle for the shit being shoveled at you. There’s still cool stuff out there in the world.

– https://poorlythoughtoutthoughts.wordpress.com

Word Press People Problems

Blargh, I thought I had an average aptitude for internet navigation, but Word Press is kicking my ass. Is it me, or does it make simple things like getting up a profile pic much more difficult than necessary? I had to create a “Gravatar” profile to get the pic up. Strange. This Gravatar thing also makes other stuff like trying to follow people challenging too because there’s not always a link or follow bar. Maybe they’re trying to weed out dummies like me, but word Press really needs to simplify IMO. I’ve got to go figure out how to to change the website that pops up under my pic to Word Press instead of Tumblr. I don’t even know how or why it did that. *Lots of sighs…. Maybe tomorrow I’ll get back to actual writing.

– https://poorlythoughtoutthoughts.wordpress.com

Damn that subject is too much for a quick post

I wanted to post a quickie about a few of my favorite radio people and podcasters, but didn’t realize I’d be relegating the legend and master
Howard Stern to a few poorly thought out thoughts. So, I’m gonna take my time on that one. Maybe later tonight, tomorrow or whenever I can waste away a few hours properly to pay tribute to a man who has done so much to…………. Wait, not yet. Gotta stop myself. Time to empty the dishwasher and eat something. Bye for now!

Small Talk

People are so damn boring. Nobody has one interesting thing to say. Not one person I talk to during the course of the day has an intelligent thought or humorous uhh, quip or anecdote. Blah blah fuckin blah! Same bs over and over. And nothing’s worse than small talk. Small talk sucks in general but there’s certain small talk like wedding or funeral small talk that’s un fucking bearable. For instance, once a year I have the same conversation with the same distant older cousin. Whenever someone gets married or dies she’s there. She’s in her sixties. Her name is Judy or Mary or Frank. I don’t know. So every time Judy corners me and is like “So you’re in Jersey?” “Yeah still in Jersey Frank, uh I mean Judy” “No kids yet?” “No not yet.” “And you mom and dad are in Jersey too?” “I’m sorry Alice I heard its open bar and I need to get black out drunk before anymore relatives recognize me.”

And, I hate when people want to talk about their job. It’s always someone whose thinks his job is exponentially better than yours. He’s only a few years older and knows just how to climb that corporate ladder to the tune of 30k a year. And much like I can’t get Judy’s name right he thinks mine is Bro for some reason. “Bro you just gotta go for it you know. Bro fuck that noise, see what I did bro I told my boss if I don’t get that 25 cent merit raise I was walkin bro.” All the time he’s fake texting like I’m the asshole he’s trying to get away from, and oogling 14 year old girls I’m pretty sure we’re related too. Real standup guy.

So, if you see me at a party don’t feel obligated to spend 5-10 minutes awkwardly boring me with inane questions or bragging about your shiny new Hyundai. A simple nod and wave from a distance is perfectly okay. However, there is one phrase that will get my attention: “Hey, wanna do a shot?” Now that’s a conversation starter.