Clip Show

Have a good New Years everyone. Instead of a review of the year, here's a self-absorbed list of my favorite blog entries. Enjoy:

My first Nonsense blog

The subversive blog about pets in New Orleans

My first (and certainly not last) blog about debauchery in my 20s

The famous ode to my spinning instructor

I love this literary circle

Live from a New Orleans Cruise Ship

I still love you Subway

My candid conversation with President Bush

Good poem

I am going to hell

Starbucks crazy

Emerging Emergence

I hate December

Sad class ending

The art of dating (creepy weathermen)

Sushi Girl!


Thank you

Familiar Terrain

Taking the rest of the year off in order to have some fresh things to blog about. However, if you're interested, I suggest you read Matty's blog. He's been quite prolific lately.

Hey Blogclassers (and others)

Bill and I have been talking about getting together soon. We want you all to be there. Suggestions?

My Movie Week

This week I've seen more movies at the cinema than I have in the past few months, and I must say that up until today I was sorely disappointed. Nothing I had seen impressed me on any level. I was ready to write an angry tryst about how terrible Hollywood has become.

Yesterday I went to see Memoirs of a Geisha, and while the movie is gorgeous, it had absolutely no direction. It was a beautiful ship with no ruddder. What I think bothered me was that Memoirs of a Geisha could have been a great film. It just wasn't.

Same with Fun with Dick and Jane, which I saw Christmas Day. It had some really hilarious Jim Carrey moments in it. But the movie is bogged down with poorly thought out satire and the concept fizzles out way too quickly.

Of course, you know my feelings about The Family Stone. Rachel, honey, I'm still waiting on your email. I can separate your work with who you really are.

So when I went to see The Producers today, figuring my bad movie streak would continue. Most things I'd read about suggested it wasn't going to be good. The expectations were low.

But I loved it. I enjoyed every single campy, ridiculous and over the top moment in the movie. It was fun for the sake of fun, and with no pretentions.

Reviewers are looking at it through the wrong lens. The movie shouldn't be compared to the other Producers movie, or its stage counterpart. Let it live on its own. The Producers best reminded me of a zany 1930s or 40s musical. Nothing about the movie is subtle, and I appreciated that. I didn't want subtle when there are songs such as "Keep it Gay."

I think my most pleasant surprise was Will Ferrell. I actually wanted more Ferrell, which is rare. Usually I'm exhausted by his attempts to constantly make the audience laugh. In this case, I thought he was great.

Go see it, and don't think too hard. Yes, it's overacted and totally overblown at times. But that's where all the fun is.

Sidenote: Matty, yesterday you wrote me a comment discussing all this fictional stuff. What's the harm in fantastizing a little about some real celebrities? Of course, most of us know where to draw the line.

Tire Woes

While running errands this morning, I was distraught to find one of my rear tires totally flat. I'd been having trouble with the tire for weeks, and I was planning on bringing it in anyways, so today was as good as any. Fortunately for me, I had a good book on me and was ready to sit down and hang for awhile, smelling the wonderful rubber at Town Fair Tire.

It's fascinating to watch the different type of people who wait for the work to be done on the car. Rationally, it will take at least an hour to do any type of work on your car, so you may as well settle in. Some people, however, don't seem to be as comfortable chilling out and waiting.

Of course, I'm speaking of the person who gets up every five minutes for a status check, as if the folks at TFT don't have anything better to do. This person wanders around, walking beneath the tire stacks, a look of complete helplessness lingering on his or her face. I secretly wish a tire stack would fall, but only to scare them into submission. Wishing people harm is never a good thing.

Then there was the person who needed to sit uncomfortably close to me despite the fact that there was a dearth of chairs. Somehow he or she managed to sit in the chair so as to maximize the invasion of my personal space. This person snapped their gum loudly, sighing every couple of minutes and getting up to walk outside. That was a lot of fun for me.

The loud talker is the person who talks on the phone, complaining to everyone he or she knows how ridiculously long it takes to get a tire fixed. I feel bad for the person on the other end who has to listen to this. We all know how long it takes, you don't need to remind us.

Of course, there's the rest of us who have accepted our fate. I'm reading a book, happy as couldbe, while the person across from me seems quite content to watch the gameshow. We are those stolid soldiers who know how to deal with this averse situation. Just grin and pretend like it's all good. You'll be back to your normal life very soon.

Hey There Lonely Guy

Now why didn't I think of this. Oh wait, because I'm not that pathetic.

Yet.

I'm In Love (Again)

Dear Rachel McAdams,

I love you. Now I know, many times on this blog I have proclaimed my love for others, but this time I feel like you are the one. Seriously. Since I first saw you in Mean Girls, I knew you were the one for me. You and I can go places. But baby, to be completely honest with you, your new movie is a dud. If it weren't for you being in the movie, I would have fallen asleep.

I can see why my friend Elin liked The Family Stone (sort of). It definitely has its moments. The movie is tone deaf though, completely unaware of what sort of mood it wants the audience in. From one moment the audience witnesses crazy family comedy, with people food fighting, running around and slipping on things. The next moment, it becomes sappy family drama without any noticeable transition. Everyone is happy, no wait we are sad, we hate Meredith, we love Meredith. Can we just settle on something please?

I was actually angry at the movie for so falsely attempting to drag emotions out of me. It is widely known that I am an emotional person, and do indeed cry in movies. That does not mean a movie should do its best to make me cry. It all felt like someone was storyboarding the movie, saying "okay, here's where I want to audience to feel sad and cry." Nothing felt genuine.

Plus, as I noted to my friend Kim the librarian, the movie would have been a great miniseries. However, since the filmmakers decided to cram so much into the 2 hour movie, they actually ended up succeeding at nothing. No characters (aside from perhaps Owen Wilson's) become real, or even pseudo-real. Very little time is taken for character development and that made me absolutely not care. Of course, there's always Rachel to think about.

So honey, I'm really sorry I had to say all this about your new movie. You are radiant, and fantastic in it. A true beauty. One day, I know things will work out between us. Drop me an email, so we can figure out where we are going.

All my love,

Brett Evans

Christmas

I am unqualified to comment about Christmas and joy and all that good stuff. However, there are some excellent essayists and bloggers who are. Enjoy:

Salon has a hilarious essay about mixed faiths on Christmas.

Colin has an interesting Christmas essay on the Courant website.

Follow Matty D's fun adventures through the holidays.

Wil Wheaton (yes that one) has an interesting take on the real War on Christmas.

Okay, this is just bizarre.


For now, I'm off for a traditional Jewish Christmas. I've got the Chinese food place on speed dial and am dressing to go to the movies. Or maybe I'll just show up in my pajamas. Either way, those of you celebrating have a Merry Christmas.

Yes, I realize that it is also technically Chanukah, but as I pointed out before, it's a holiday for children. There really isn't much significance to it.

People I Am Thankful For

My Mother and Stepfather, who keep a guiding hand in my life, but thankfully leave me alone when they realize I need to figure things out for myself. They have become more like my friends than my parents at this point.

My uncle Peter, who has taken his brother's place and become something of my father. He always teaches me valuable lessons about being an adult while taking me out for a good time. Peter will never be dad, but he's as close as I need.

My older brother Mark, who will always be my best friend, even when he is 3000 miles away. Mark and I can stay on the phone for hours talking about nothing and loving it. I miss you man.

Ryan, who has done an amazing job of bringing me out of my shell. I've been out more in the past two months than I have been in the three years since started teaching. His humor and willingness to do crazy things is amazing.

Steve, who is my thoughtful mentor and good friend. He always is there to listen to my insane rantings and laugh hysterically. I look forward to every day because I know I'll get to see Steve.

Kerri, who always listens and provides kind words. We share something that I can't quite identify, but I know is special. She is also a great friend.

Amanda, whose personality and friendship has helped me get through some rough times. She always puts others before herself, which is a noble and rare quality in our society.

Dave, who is like a brother to me. Our humor and personalities mesh so well that I can't believe we weren't from the same womb. I miss spending every day with you.

All my other friends from work, who I can't say enough about. You are all special to me in your own way and I value your friendships. I don't want to accidentally leave someone off the list, so I'm hoping this statement will cover all of you. You know who you are.

My blogclass people, who are always willing to give me advice and warm feelings. I expected to learn about blogging and memes, but I ended up learning so much more from all of you. Hopefully soon we will be able to get together again.

My friend who is not quite a friend right now, but hopefully will be in the future. There is no point to malice, no point to judge others or feel hate. Those qualities create bad feelings in ourselves. I do not wish to have them. We should talk...

Anyone who knows me personally, but who I accidentally left off this list. If you know me, you probably get a daily dose of me being sentimental anyways. So you know how I feel and shouldn't feel snubbed. If you do, come and find me.

To all of you I know, and those of you I don't, I hope you find every bit of happiness that you deserve, not just in this holiday season but in life. Every one of you is a good person who emanates joy and love. I am lucky to be around such wonderful people.

Smush

I would place last night in the win category for several reasons, most of which had nothing to do with the date. As I discussed yesterday, last night I went out with an extremely pretty girl that I met from speed dating. She wanted to go to Crush, which is the bar where the famous weatherman incident happened. I agreed given that it would be an easy segue into that story.

So I went to the date remembering two small things about this woman:

She was a really pretty blonde.

On our five minute date, we discussed literature.

Crush has enormous round couches, which are hip and fun, except when you're trying to have a casual conversation with someone. Then it feels like you're on some sort of really bad morning talk show. There are very few places to rest your hands, and you cock your head towards the person in a desperate attempt to maintain eye contact. I will not be dating there again.

So I sit down and tell her the weatherman story, and she laughs because it is a genuinely funny story. I embellish it, using my hands to convey just how angry I acted. At some point I told her I must have looked like King Kong with the way I was flailing my arms. Timely comedy is a talent.
I'm surprised to learn that she remembers way more about me than I remember about her. She remembers that my parents live in Florida and my brother lives in Texas. She knows where I work and live and the last really good book I read. I think she remembers what my tax return was last year.

I talk a lot.

So I'm sitting there talking to this really pretty woman at a bar that neither of us are particularly comfortable in. She admits she's more of an Arch Street Tavern person. I agree wholeheartedly. Arch Street is the best.

The date was great, there was a lot to talk about and a lot of laughter. I felt a great connection with her, which is the same way I felt on our quick 5 minute date. This woman was fantastic.

All of this is unfortunate because as Matty D commented yesterday "I thought everyone at speed dating was at least 10 years your senior." I had selective amnesia and completely forgot how old this woman was. My guess, which is supported by R-Dogg, is that she's probably 35 or 36. That's a great age, but probably not the best for casual dating. I've always liked older women far more than younger women. No games, no weird messages or signals. Just honest and open relationships.

The good thing is that I'll email her today and if she doesn't get back to me I know it's probably not me. I mean it is me, but only that she's put off by how much younger I am. Which is why I'm counting this date as a victory. It makes me realize that I am indeed good at dating.

Confessions

Okay, I have an awful confession to make. Last week I went on a whole rant about speed dating and how I'd basically found the entire event useless except to talk to people. Well guess what? I'm going on a date with a girl I met that night. How do you spell hypocrite?

And I bought a new sweater for it, which means I'm nervous

And I'm nervous, which means I care.

And I care, which means I'm going to screw it up.

Which means that you'll be reading about it in tomorrow's blog.

That is all....

Did I Mess Up?

Well sort of. Yesterday I was called out by Bora for not writing a paper for blogclass. There was a twinge of guilt there, considering he's been so kind to me. I was already feeling guilty over it beforehand. Then an email from the big guy shows up, asking me in a very nice way why I didn't write a paper. He seemed disappointed. The guilt exploded into a hundred shards of glass, each piercing my sensitive heart.

Okay, that's a lie, but maybe also not so much.

There are many reasons why I failed to write a paper and none of them had to do with the fact that I'm lazy. Indeed, those who know how often I write should realize that nothing could be further from the truth. I love writing, and term papers are no exception. But in this case, I just couldn't do it.

The first reason was that I was burned out about analyzing blogging. There's an old story about how Ted Williams and Mickey Mantle were sitting in the bullpen at the all-star game. Ted plied Mickey with all this information about hitting; proper stance, shoulder rotation and so on. After the game, Mickey claims he couldn't swing properly for like a month. That's how I was feeling, like I'd lost my swing. After the fateful night where my blog was deconstructed and put back together, I'd just had enough. I didn't want anything to do with analyzing the medium anymore. Sorry.

The second reason was that I made a choice between blogging and writing my term paper and I chose blogging. My energies are best spent writing about pretty girls eating sushi with me at 3am and speed dating. I made a decision, and I must live with.

Then there's the life I must live in order to maintain my blog. More on that later...

So, I'm sorry if people were upset that I didn't write a paper. I didn't, but I'll continue to blog and entertain, while continually discovering interesting things about myself. Hope to see you out there.

On the Frontlines

It's been 354 days since the start of the "War on Christmas" and there is still no end in sight. Shock troops from ultra-liberal communist hippies have been carpet bombing the North Pole with manifestos on diversity. Santa's elves have been firing back with enormous candy cane cannons that are capable of shooting out 1000 candy canes per second. The awful pluralistic menace has retaliated by playing the phrase "happy holidays" out of enormous speakers mounted on the bodies of mutinous reindeer.

The casualties are mounting on both sides, but nobody is relenting. On the ground, there's an elf with a candy cane embedded in his skull. The sugary goodness is seeping out of his eyes. It's awful. The word is that Santa is at this moment working on a bomb that will turn an entire city into fruitcake. He says that is only his "nuclear option" though.

Meanwhile terrorist gingerbread men have been invading Wal-Mart, demanding the employees' wish the customers a "Merry Christmas." They are pressing their elf-made Christmas Tree double barred sawed off popcorn ball guns into the cashiers' sides.

Word has it that last night Frosty the Snowman triumphed over Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer in an epic battle to the death. Initially, Rudolph began to evaporate Frosty with his powerful nose. Melting quickly, Frosty was almost out of options. But in a last ditch effort, Frosty reached into his snowy abdomen, pulling out an enormous icicle. He had prepared for just such an occasion. With a look of ferocity and desperation in his dark coal eyes, Frosty threw the icy weapon of death. It pierced Rudolph's nose, causing it to explode in a hail of glitter. The reindeer fell to the ground twitching violently. Frosty slid to the broken Rudolph, took off his carrot nose, and stabbed the dying reindeer repeatedly in the heart.

Frosty was last seen heading towards the headquarters of MoveOn.org wearing Rudolph's head as a hat. His own magic hat was perched atop Rudolph's antlers. He was muttering something about Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey and how "celebrity couples never stay together."

We are getting further reports that Frosty is unhappy with Christmas over the lack of interest over his old Christmas cartoon specials. Recently a letter was received from an anonymous source telling the creators of A Christmas Story to look out. The letter ended by suggesting that Will Ferrell should also watch his back, but said because "he's just not that damn funny anymore..."

Special Thanks to Billy Mahoney who helped me write this.

Regarding my Caulfieldesque Adventures

Over the past few days I've heard several of my friend say the same thing in response to stories I tell them. The phrase is "dude, you are so Holden Caulfield." But they are all phonies, so it doesn't bother me either way. Anyone know where the ducks have gone and where I can get a nice red hunting cap?

A Reason to Stop Blogging?

Increasingly I've had this conversation with old friends that I've been trying to catch up with:

"So the other day I was (insert beginning of interesting story)..."

"Yeah Brett, I know."

"I told you this story already?"

"Nope, I read it on your blog."

Is my blog making me less interesting in person?

The Award for the Most Read Into Slogan

Goes to this woman, who clearly is analyzing something way deeper then it should have been.

Dizziness

Like all interesting stories, this one starts at the end. I'm sitting on the Q train at 4:30 in the morning telling a crack addict about the night I'd had. She felt sorry for me.

Yesterday I drove to Brooklyn to see my family and participate in a birthday celebration for my uncle. The evening was well planned out, and I was expecting very little to happen in the way of unusual. My family can be very straight and narrow.

The dinner at my cousin's house went as planned. Holiday gifts were passed out and pleasantries exchanged. All of the men filled our required roles of staring at the Giants game and grunting. A good time was had by all.

Around 9:30, my Uncle told me we'd be going to Dizzy's Club Coca-Cola in Manhattan. Dizzy's is a hip jazz place where the best New York musicians come to play. My Uncle knew the director, so we would get in without a problem. We drove to Manhattan, eager to hear some good jazz.

Before going into the club, we decided to drink Red Eyes, a mix of espresso and coffee. I'm usually only on my game if I've had some serious caffeine in me. My uncle downed his quickly while I nursed mine, hoping it would carry me through the night. Little did I know it would need to carry me through the next morning as well.

At 10:30, we went to Dizzy's, where a hot jazz trio was jamming. My uncle's friends were there, and I was sorely disappointed that most of them were retirement age. I don't know what I was expecting, but I was hoping for a few girls near my age. Nevertheless, the music was really good and so I ordered an Apple Martini and tapped my feet. Everything was going as planned.

After the first set, the bar was cleared out. We were allowed to stay because we were guests of the manager. I continued to drink my martini and talk to the older ladies. The second set began and the crowd was visibly younger. I was pleased to see many attractive ladies in the crowd.

I kept catching the eye of a gorgeous woman who I later found out was a friend of one of the women my uncle brought. She came over to me and we were introduced. Flirtations proceeded well. Drinks were ordered and life was great. She had this delightful southern accent that tickled my ears. The way she said that "the apple martini tasted like candy" was particularly great. I was wondering what I had done to attract such a pretty girl.

The jazz band was hot. After 1am, some famous New York jazz players began drifting in. At one point Wynton Marsalis came in and jammed for a bit. I offered to buy him a drink at the bar, but he just smiled and looked at the beautiful girl hanging off my arm. Manhattan can be so cool.

Cut to 3am, we are sitting in a sushi restaurant on 88th street. My uncle has long since packed it in and gone back to Brooklyn. He whispered in my ear that he'd leave the door open should I need to come back. The girl and I were feeding each other sushi. This was a bad idea. Sushi makes me sick. So does too much alcohol and long subway rides. The math isn't too complicated.

At 4am, I brought her back home where she kissed and hugged me, telling me to feel better. I was left on 45th street, every bodily function needing to be taken care of. The Port Authority has bathrooms, but only the ladies bathroom was open. Societal decrees get thrown out the window when you're desperate in the early hours of dawn.

The Q train was as empty as I expected at 3:15. I plunked myself down on a seat feeling disparaged. The rather nice crack addict sat next to me, asking if I would please by her a soda. Instead I inundated her with everything that had happened to me that night and some things that hadn't. The ride was long but I was thankful for the company. Her advice was that when I woke up in the morning, I should find Jesus. I politely told her I would and hoped she would get clean real soon. She smiled, took off her shoes and began rubbing her feet.

At 5am, I stepped off the train and dragged myself 10 blocks to my uncle's apartment. The doorman stared at me curiously before saying "Oh, you must be Brett. I've been expecting you."

Thanks Uncle Peter and happy 60th birthday.

Away For a Bit

I'm taking the weekend off to visit my uncle in Brooklyn. It's his big 40th (60th) birthday, and I don't want to miss it. I'm sure he'll be bringing us to some exotic jazz club where he'll break young ladies' hearts. He's good like that.

Of course, I'm now terrified because the senate has stalled the USA Patriot ACT. Clearly the restoration of our civil liberties is a sign to the terrorists that we are weak. But then, you can always count on our good old president to completely ignore the law and do whatever he wants anyways. I'm out.

Warning

Please, please read Jonathan Safran Foer's Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close. It is a wonderful tale of how we all connect to one another and the desire to feel intimate with another person. It is one of those novels that will change your viewpoint on society and how we relate to one another. If you were ever thinking you needed a new book to read, this is it.

But do not play the audiobook in your car. Driving down Main Street in Manchester, I was literally bawling in my car listening to one of the final, heavy scenes. People were staring at me, wondering if I was okay. I wasn't. I walked into work, my eyes puffy, cheeks glistening, realizing just how important we are to each other.

It was a pretty weird day.

Go Single Guy, Date! Date!

There are times in my life when I discover something interesting about myself because of a situation I'm put in. Such is speed dating, and the strange influence it had on me. I learned a lot about myself last night, and maybe something I didn't want to know.

The other day, a colleague of mine asked me if I would want to speed date with her. She said the woman running it desperately needed guys. I turned her down, thinking that at my age I didn't need speed dating. However, I realized that if I went to speed dating, it could be an interesting blogging experience. So I asked you and overwhelmingly people said they wanted me to do it.

Yesterday, I was still reluctant to go. After reading that the event cost 40 dollars, I was against the idea altogether. I was going to back out. But my colleague cornered me, telling me they absolutely needed single men. She put me on the phone with the person who ran it. I saw a unique opportunity.

"Hi Brett. I'm told you're a single guy."

"Last time I checked."

(awkward pause)

"Um, so anyways, would you like to come?"

"Yeah, you see, it's the holidays, and forty dollars is a lot of money. If you waived the fee, I would go."

"I can't waive the fee, but how about thirty dollars."

"Five."

"Twenty."

"Ten."

"Twenty."

"Fifteen."

"Okay, fine, I'll do it for fifteen, but only because it barely covers the costs of appetizers and alcohol."

"Can I bring my friend R-dogg for the same price?"

"Deal. But you can't tell anyone."

"Who would I tell?"

So apparently I was speed dating, but I was doing it wholesale, which appealed to the New York City Jew in me. I do love a bargain.

There's a lot of caution in the air as R-dogg and I walk into the bar around 6pm. I've showered and changed into something a little less formal while he has come directly from work sporting a nice looking suit. His manner suggests that he is only here for moral support, but I can tell he's as curious as I am.

Nametags are furnished, instructions given, hard alcohol ordered. I sat down at a table, which had a sign on it that read "Have you exhausted all the internet dating sites?" I panicked. The other day I wrote a diatribe against internet dating. Was speed dating for people who have already tried internet dating and failed?

R-dogg was looking around the room, hoping to see someone he was interested in. Our eyes met and in a moment of immense truth (horror), we both realized that we were by far the youngest people there by at least ten years. Sometimes you can feel that exact moment when hope tears itself out of your mind and dies a quick death on the floor. I hadn't even realized that there was any hope until the moment it left me.

But I'm a fighter, and also a talker. So I decided to be pleasant and jovial regardless of who the person was. My friend Kim the librarian had warned me that being mean was a sure sign of karma beating the hell out of me later on in life. I reached down inside myself and grabbed the social Brett. He was dragged out kicking and screaming.

In retrospect, I feel kind of bad. My coping mechanism for dealing with uncomfortable situations is to let whatever the hell is on my mind to crash out of my mouth. The format for speed dating is that a guy sits at a table and every five minutes the women rotate. So after introductions and handshaking, I began just talking. Those who know me realize that when I begin ranting you either better settle in or feign illness, because I don't stop. So the common speed date went something like this.

"Hi, I'm Julia."

"Hi, I'm Brett."

"Oh, so what do you do Brett?"

"Well...(insert heavily caffeinated Brett rant here.) Anyways, what about yourself?"

"Oh, uh, well..."
Ding, time to move ladies.

There were a lot of blank stares and polite "good lucks."

I learned very little about the women, but I'm sure they learned a lot about me. Almost certainly too much. I bet they've probably set up a support group for those women to recover after having to deal with me for five minutes. That's how intense I can be sometimes.

One of the more interesting things was the Journal Inquirer reporter who showed up to interview people. My hypermind began saying the strangest things about dating and interconnectedness with people. I think I quoted Marcel Proust and Plato. The actual article that comes out of it will be interesting to see. If she uses any of my quotes, she'll have to seriously format.

The evening ended with R-dogg and I meeting Kim and Langarang at another bar. Fortunately by then my energy level was sapped, so my friends didn't bear the brunt of my insane diatribes. Luckily, we spent the rest of the evening watching white collar business people badly dancing. Elaine Benes would have been so proud.