Man With Suspenders

Sit Down with Matthew Tsang, a Man Who Hijacked His Old Sketch Group's Webpage

[manwithsuspenders]

Tweets Explained: Issue #12

Let’s be honest, we all tweet to be retweeted. But there are times we’re looking to be understood. Unfortunately 140 characters is rarely enough to air out how we feel; so this is a regular series I call “Tweets Explained,” where I go into a lot more detail about what I was thinking the day I posted a short sentence to the public.

I always wondered if I could survive a non-solid diet, being an old man one day eating baby food. Last year, for a week after my wisdom teeth were removed, I was forced to consume nothing but mash potatoes, apple sauce, beef broth, pudding, and ice cream. Although to be honest, since I’m a glutton, I gorged myself on mash potatoes, apple sauce, beef broth, pudding, and ice cream.

It. Was. Awesome.

Chewing is for suckers. Letting every tasty morsel melt and roll around the tongue is pure ecstasy.

Oh and Percocet makes you constipated so it took 7 days for me to expel all that food. Surprisingly it was rock hard. Not surprisingly, it smelled like Satan’s rotting a-hole.

[manwithsuspenders]

Cookie Recipe for Disaster

What makes the perfect cookie? That elusive answer is extremely subjective. Whether you enjoy a soft chew or thin crispy snap, it’s hard to make a bad cookie. With changing consumer tastes, corporate fast food has to evolve or die; unfortunately they fall into dangerous comas along the way (McDonalds’ brief and ill-advised foray serving tacos is a prime example). East Coast based bakery chain Au Bon Pain, however, seems to be an expert on constructing a terrible snack.

Enter the Chocolate Chip Oatmeal cookie. Au Bon Pain has taken the well-known Oatmeal Raisin cookie and swapped out the dried fruit for bits of semi-sweet chocolate chips. It may sound like a good marriage at first but when the darkness of the chocolate accentuates the bitterness of the oatmeal base you’d think you were eating a granola bar that’s been sitting out in the sun all summer. The lack of raisin tartness leaves the oatmeal tasting bland, and the moisture just seems to evaporate right out of the cookie resulting in something that not quite chewy yet not crunchy either. That’s right, the worst of both worlds at under 400 calories each.

I did a survey of my own and no one I talked to welcomed the idea of the chocolate chip oatmeal cookie. Chocolate chip enthusiasts think oatmeal raisin is kryptonite. Fans of oatmeal raisin will eat chocolate chip if it’s lying around but not if they have a choice. For some, raisins are gross, for others, chocolate will always be more candy than it is food. Much like U.S. mediated bilateral talks between Palestine and Israel, Au Bon Pain is trying to strike a compromise that will never work.

[Not what the cookie looks like, just an approximation of how it tastes]

The lesson to be learned: Don’t try to please 2 very different types of cookie lovers, you’ll end up alienating both.

[manwithsuspenders]

Tweets Explained: Issue #11

Let’s be honest, we all tweet to be retweeted. But there are times we’re looking to be understood. Unfortunately 140 characters is rarely enough to air out how we feel; so this is a regular series I call “Tweets Explained,” where I go into a lot more detail about what I was thinking the day I posted a short sentence to the public.

Take (one) long time chum from school, insert girlfriend who’s not a bad person but is definitely putting up with you for the sake of your buddy, mix in marriage and baby, let simmer for a year, and voila: a collection of holiday cards which are now your sole means of communication.

I’m not shitting on my friends finding a slice of happiness and getting busy with their lives; when it comes to life, I’m the ultimate wingman. I am admitting that as you get older, you get focused. Whether it’s career or family, you get singular minded once those nose hairs stop being a private affair and become public domain. I can’t fault new parents with talking non-stop kids because I can’t stop talking about the things that drive and motivate me. At least parents have hope, one day they won’t have to live with their kids, one day they can regain a semblance of a interesting personal life; not me though, my dreams will never go away to college, I’m stuck with them forever.

[manwithsuspenders]

Weekend Movie: The Fifth Element

The work week is over and the party is getting started. You’ll probably dance, cruise witih your friends, and commit soft law violations. You’re young and you’ll never die but - you will be hungover. Since you’re bringing the ruckus, I’m bringing the movie recommendation because at some point you’ll be vegging in bed doing your best to hold down a stomach full of aspirin and Gatorade.

[Released in 1997 makes this one an oldie but goodie. If you’ve seen it before you’re gonna want to watch it again]

On paper, The Fifth Element sounds like a lot of ideas and ambitions rolled into one film; after all, it’s an Action Adventure Sci-Fi Rom-Com. Surprisingly enough, the reason it works so well is because the movie doesn’t try too hard to fit any of those three genres; the fewer moving parts there are then the fewer things can break.

Are there explosions? Yes, ones that would give Michael Bay a boner but no one gets eviscerated by a falling ceiling fan or impaled on a missile. Basic bullet, gun, bad guy equation is employed and employed well.

Is it set in the future when cars fly and genetic sequencing results can be ordered quicker than fast food? Sure, but the writers explain DNA in all of 10 seconds, which means they didn’t know anything about biology. (Reality Check: the business of mapping your entire genome went from science fiction to simply science, www.23andme.com)

Is there a love story? Of course there is, but it’s Bruce Willis, the eternal tough guy. He’s never kissed anyone onscreen without a mouthful of blood. It’s hard to get through a John McClane makeout moment without being reminded that you’re overdue for your routine STD test.

Is it funny? We’re talking about Chris Tucker in his prime; after Friday before Rush Hour, high pitched screaming delivered a la carte. However, even though you’re in for some laughs, the combination of clownish sight gags and absurd over the top characters (the antagonist is literally the Devil) means this script was not only never in danger of winning a Pulitzer or Golden Globe award but it wasn’t even in danger of being adapted into a show on CBS.

(Reality Check: The Fifth Element was produced before making racist jokes about Asians became hack; the Bruce Lee gag was definitely the lowest common denominator even in ‘97)

(Saving Grace: On the topic of race, the decision of writing in a Black President, pre 9-11 mind you, was pretty cool. Although the casting Tommy Lister, who also starred in Friday as Deebo the neighborhood bully, was a strange choice. For my money I would’ve went with Terry Crews. In fact, part of me wonders if Lister and Crews both lost an elaborate wager, one that forced them to switch role offers; Crews was originally supposed to be in The Fifth Element and Lister was supposed to be President Camacho in Idiocracy)

[In a parallel universe, they switched roles and my ribs hurt from the laughter]

So while you’re lying on your couch this weekend, rallying your body to turn up all over again, put this gem on in the background, it’ll suck you in and sooth your bones. You’re welcome.

[manwithsuspenders]

Rejection Rejection Letter

So you’ve submitted to a literary magazine, festival, national grant/fellowship, T-shirt Hell.com. You’ve paid the application fee, you’ve licked the stamps, you’ve reread the confirmation email to be sure. Nothing to do now but go about your life, which means simultaneously trying not to think about it and keeping your schedule open in case you get selected. Man, weren’t head games supposed to stop in college?

The saying goes hope for the best but plan for the worst. l have a tendency to expect the worst, begrudgingly put myself out there with a sea of cynicism rolling under the surface. Don’t worry, I’m setting up a kickstarter for therapy.

I’ll be honest though, having this one in my pocket is more cathartic than anything. Where my fatalists at? Make some noise! While concurrently preparing a speech to convince the cops not to arrest you for disturbing the peace!

So here is a letter you can copy and paste (as long as you give credit) to your follow-up email.

“Dear Panel of Judges/Selection Committee/Eyes Wide Shut Sexual Illuminati Cabal,

Thank you for withdrawing an application fee from my PayPal, however, at this time I cannot support your claim that you are not another b.s. event promoter. While you exhibit certain requirements of an event promoter, like a website and a Facebook page, other event promoters are much more qualified for the status of genuine and earnest. The current climate of social media allows all potential candidates to fact-check your practices. You claimed that due to the large volume of applicants, you are only able to let individuals know if they have been selected but cannot contact individuals that were not. That is a blatant overstatement since you only accepted electronic submissions and have every applicants email address on file. The courtesy of a rejection letter is as simple as sending a mass email minus the lucky few who made it into your program. Also the claim that you received more applications than you could process is not possibly true since you extended your submission period by a week which indicates you were hurting for people to notice you. We all understand that, like most Ponzi schemes, you need more applicants than you can accept to pay the application fee to keep your puppet show afloat. We do not, however, condone your policy of “ghosting” on everyone who doesn’t fit your perceived flavor of the week buzz word hot topic category. Everyone deserves the courtesy of personally hearing a “No,” This isn’t Tinder.

We have noted that you inform applicants that they weren’t good enough for your self-congratulating circle jerk by simply not informing them of anything. We will keep you in mind during the next festival/fellowship/zine submission cycle. Best of luck with maintaining your garbage product and I welcome you to solicit the uninitiated in the future.

Wait... I just checked my spam folder... OH MY GOD! You guys are the coolest. I’ll see you in Portland!

Sincerely,

[Insert Name, or Pseudonym if you value your career]”

[manwithsuspenders]

Tweets Explained: Issue #10

Let’s be honest, we all tweet to be retweeted. But there are times we’re looking to be understood. Unfortunately 140 characters is rarely enough to air out how we feel; so this is a regular series I call “Tweets Explained,” where I go into a lot more detail about what I was thinking the day I posted a short sentence to the public.

We get it - You’re thirsty. Thirsty for a relationship or maybe just a night of fun, but do your own legwork. Go out, have a genuine conversation, be giving and empathetic. Don’t simply harass someone into pimping out their family members.

Sure, being set up by friends has made the world go round. Plenty of blind dates have turned into Save-the-Dates but don’t force it, it’s unattractive. Imagine someone in a roundabout way asking if they can bang your brother or sister without ever even meeting them. Seedy proposition, no? Besides, how compatible do you think you’ll be with that sibling? “Well I had a crush on Lisa but she’s already seeing Nick so I think the next time we’re out I’m gonna ask her if she has a blood relative that’s alone like me cause I figure they have to be similar.”

Gross.

I’ve never met siblings with similar personalities (with the exception of twins but identical behavior is expected when two people share a soul). The slight gap in age or how much energy their parents had as caretakers throughout their lives results in a family with incredibly different beliefs and sensibilities; a family so diverse in mind frame that they, at times, straight up don’t get along. So that super cool person you know may be the outsider at Thanksgiving. Don’t expect lightening to strike twice, especially for the sole benefit of your peen, you narcissist.

[manwithsuspenders]

Doin’ It Chirp Chirp Style

My news feed blew up this week. Scalia’s dead, probably because he saw a video of Kendrick Lamar rehearsing for the Grammy’s and his heart couldn’t handle how wrong he’s been this whole time. Two black holes collided a long time ago and very far away and only now are we feeling the gravitational effects of Kendrick Lamar. Uncovered letters from Pope John Paul II revealed he had a crush on a married woman, but backed off when he found out she wasn’t into hip-hop (the Pope is only into chicks that are woke). But honestly, the most interesting bit of news I read this week is that some song birds are not only polygamous, getting that sweet cloaca in different area codes, but practice infidelity.

Birds are cheating on each other.

Female song birds are sneaking out of their nest, mating with random strong and attractive males, going back home to lay their eggs, and letting their long-term male partners raise the bastard offspring.

Cold blooded.

[Nice shoes, wanna fuck?]

For those of you who look to the animal kingdom for guidance on how to act in a sexual relationship, don’t. Adult chimpanzees are such the jealous type that they kill babies that don’t belong to them. Bonobo apes have orgies on the regular and ask/pay for favors with blowjobs. And now birds are dumping their illegitimate children on their safe bet nerd husbands that they married straight out of high schools. Talk about regret, you should’ve finished your last semester at Vassar.

In summary: Communicate with your partner, do you, and always get a blood test before you shell out for diapers.

[manwithsuspenders]

Tweets Explained: Issue #9

Let’s be honest, we all tweet to be retweeted. But there are times we’re looking to be understood. Unfortunately 140 characters is rarely enough to air out how we feel; so this is a regular series I call “Tweets Explained,” where I go into a lot more detail about what I was thinking the day I posted a short sentence to the public.

I was asked to participate on a new show at Helium Comedy Club, it was called “Comedy Smackdown.” The idea was that a group of 10 comedians were each to tell jokes in front of a crowd that was instructed to heckle. For those of you not familiar with the term-

Heckle - verb: to interrupt (someone, such as a speaker or performer) by shouting annoying or rude comments or questions.

At most comedy shows, heckling is taboo. Not only is interrupting the performer frowned upon but at any legitimate club, the act will get you ejected. No refund, no exchanges, no rainchecks. If you piss off the bouncer enough then you better make sure your hair looks good cause you’re gonna be on the internet under “Knocked the F Out.” Some might feel that’s an overreaction on the club’s part but you’re at a live performance and you’re yelling in the middle of a show; any audience member screaming at actors during a play would be labeled a maniac, why is it any different when the performer on stage is disciplined in comedy instead of drama?

Comedians have to learn how to deal with hecklers because even the most well run venue can’t predict exactly who is going to lose their marbles during the night; we’re the opposite of the thought police. So when it happens, it really alters the mood of the room; the crowd loses confidence in the performer’s ability, they stop being attentive and their interest wanes. If a comic can’t rally the crowd back on his side then his set is a bust and everyone goes home dissatisfied. An experienced comedian can wrangle the disruptive energy and move past it, or if he’s inclined focus on it for the rest of his time on stage, either way he maintains control. But I’ve never seen this ability to deflect upsetting comments as a skill as much as a defense mechanism. A comic bragging about how well he can own a heckler would be like bragging how well he can break a choke hold.

[ You show me a world without self-important tantrum throwing adults and I’ll show you a world without hecklers]

So you I’m hopeful you now understand how unorthodox it is to have a show where the audience is encouraged to disturb a comedian’s train of thought at every turn. The crowd was also instructed to make verbal assaults of a personal nature as long as it didn’t involve bigoted and derogatory slurs (I wanted to delve into how the audience failed to adhere to these limitations for me and me alone thus proving my “White guilt only applies to Black people” theory but that’s a different article completely). One by one, we stepped into that spotlight, said a handful of words, and then faced a barrage of insults from strangers sitting in the darkness. The fun and games aspect of the show came from the fact that we earned points every time we effectively shut down an offending audience member with a funny comeback. Needless to say the show did not go well for several reasons. The main reason was the artificial setting; the audience didn’t base their comments on our material since we didn’t have the opportunity to deliver any so they were forced to hurl superficial insults which doesn’t lend itself to the creation of humor. Another reason was that audience members didn’t know one another. They never took turns to shout out so it ended up sounding like a thousand squawking pigeons; it’s impossible to comeback to something you couldn’t hear to begin with. And lastly, unlike dealing with a real heckler, we were booked on a show where we didn’t have our normal range of clever and witty tools. Ignoring or simply talking over the heckler was not an option since we were required to play the game. We couldn’t turn the rest of the audience against the one heckler because the was no one heckler.

I can’t say I became a stronger comedian for this experience but I did learn that some people are willing to pay good money to yell indignities at another human being. And some people are willing to accept that money. And some people are willing to call that art.

[manwithsuspenders]

Go Home and J.O., Loverboy

Recently, there’s been a bunch of discussion about sexual harassment and assault within the Philadelphia comedy circuit. The catalyst was the public outing of a couple of perpetrating individuals involved in the comedy scene by several female comedians. Their real actions and crimes are being dealt with in real life so I’m stepping back to address the social media reaction in social media life (although some of my frustration stems from face to face conversations with local entertainers).

The majority of the community that cared to respond to the news abhorred the violation of women that took place, pledged their swords to eradicating the problem, and then they went back to sneaker shopping and snapchatting (I’ll get to you folks later). Then there were a significant percentage of contenders that, while making sure to point out that they in no way condone sexual violence, were worried that the newly documented information, along with the resulting cry for justice, would come with collateral damage injuring decent law-abiding male comedians. This is where I have to take a deep breath and keep myself from typing “That’s what you’re thinking about?!?!?!” over and over again. Instead I will listen to their main concerns (there were only two) in earnest and try to assuage their fears.

Concern #1: “This is going to create a totalitarian PC culture where every time I used the word ‘bitch,’ I’ll be called a sexist.”

First of all, I’m confused how “totalitarian” is in your vocabulary but you think saying bitch and being called sexist is a 1-to-1 ratio. You really need to say it a lot before it starts coming off misogynistic. Secondly, there are no laws against making someone feel crummy about themselves but there are laws against rape and making someone fear for their physical safety. So fellas, if you’ve ever called a girl a cunt, don’t worry, YOU’RE NOT GOING TO JAIL.

Real people are getting hurt and you’re talking about freedom of expression? [This is where I reminded myself to listen in earnest]

Concern #2: “I don’t want some chick falsely accusing me of rape.”

...Ok... maybe if we... ok... hmmm. Can we agree that real rape outnumbers fake accusations?

Try to appreciate how hard it is for women to report sexual assault. They face obstacles like shame and guilt, fear of not being believed, and sometimes uncertainty about the definition of assault because, let’s face it, people are scared to discuss it even outside the context of it actually happening. Even in theory, the topic makes us sweat. Any particular woman would have to love you/hate you on a galactic scale to try to file fraudulent charges against you that will probably be brushed off by the police anyway regardless of validity. It’s a good thing other crimes aren’t as hard to prosecute. Imagine being stabbed in the back with a knife by a celebrity but you lived in a society where you didn’t feel safe enough to say anything until you found out 5 other people got stabbed by the same celebrity, and in your state stabbing has a statute of limitations. Pretty messed up world.

And to those of you who just can’t let go of the possibility of false accusations: You remember how livid you were when news broke that a white cop refused to support the Black Lives Matter movement because he didn’t want to be falsely accused of unjustly killing an African American? I’ll leave you to create the parallels between the two scenarios.

[I’ve seen some men in the community use the idiom “Throwing the baby out with the bathwater” when explaining how a push to expose sexual harassment leads to a witch hunt of all men. Try to understand you’re not a baby, you’re a rational full grown adult and if a baby had your mental capacity then it would realize that this particular bathwater was acid and distance itself from that bad news]

As promised I’m now talking to all you “allies” out there. I’m calling on you to raise what you call the bare minimum. Yes, we all want to be heroes; if we saw a violent sex crime in progress in an alleyway we would call the authorities or personally step in to stop it, but on the daily front, shifting away from a society that stays quiet about sexual harassment and assault requires empathy and compassion. Although not as exciting and being the emotional equivalent of administrative paperwork, it’s vital we stay open-minded and not ignore inappropriate behavior that could be a formula for disaster. It’s crucial to listening to complaints of sexual misconduct before they evolve into something worse. This way you’ll have an opportunity to add up all the clues and prevent ill motives.

It will require patience, which is by far the hardest fact to swallow. The problem won’t be over anytime soon and you’ll have to be diligent and put in long hours. But it will be worth it.

[manwithsuspenders]

Tweets Explained: Issue #8

Let’s be honest, we all tweet to be retweeted. But there are times we’re looking to be understood. Unfortunately 140 characters is rarely enough to air out how we feel; so this is a regular series I call “Tweets Explained,” where I go into a lot more detail about what I was thinking the day I posted a short sentence to the public.

We all have those friends. Perhaps it’s a former work husband or wife. Could be that roommate back from your time in the dorms. May even be someone who admires your passion and has “to come see you do your thing some time.” Whoever they are, you haven’t seen them in years.

Years.

You may get a random text from them every six months but, in reality, you may get a random response to the texts you send them every six months. You wanna hang out with them? You better be willing to drive to within a 10 foot radius of wherever they’re currently standing; and you better hope they don’t have to get home and feed the cat because they can’t possibly have you over the house since “the place is an absolute mess.” Go out for dinner? Eeeeeee... they’re trying to watch their spending, they have a birthday’s birthday coming up. Life is expensive and that’s why they’re so busy, it’s hard to come out for happy hour between work and their bills. It’s cool though, if there’s anything you have an unlimited supply of it’s rainchecks. Or so you thought.

Luckily you matured a lot since college; you found a much more fulfilling job since that entry level b.s. you used to drudge through. Against all odds, you also have a better connection with your parents. Overall, a more complete person is staring back at you in the mirror. You have free time but not so much that you get dementedly bored. You invest stock in the people who are important to you and you dump the ones who aren’t. You know what it means to love. You’ve been in few rather life defining romances; but then again it seems so has your foul weather pal because you just got their wedding invitation.

Before you even open the slim package (anything that feels like it contains cardboard is a package) you look at the back and wonder who could you possibly know from Utah. At first, the gentle separating of the top as this might be from an old flame and you want to preserve every piece of evidence as best you can. Then you think about the Utah thing again and you rip the fuck outta that envelope. It’s them; your flaky friend back from the existential grave. If it comes with a photo then you stare hard at their future spouse but eventually admit you have no idea who they are.

You’re aware at the very least you have to RSVP if you don’t want to chance receiving a “did you get my invitation?” message. You may be a masochist and RSVP yes because you have some weird desire for closure or because you’re too nice (ugh). You may RSVP no because, while dressing up in a blazer makes you look so sexy you ask “is hooking up with my clone masturbation or incest?”, they decided a Friday wedding was a good idea but you’re not burning a vacation day.

Regardless of your choice, it’s been decided that this marriage business will be the last time you communicate with that person. Callous as it sounds, that horse needs to be put down; mercy is the greatest human quality. Besides, you already accepted their friend request and unfollowed so you’re good.

Chicken or fish? I’ll take a plate of kick rocks.

[manwithsuspenders]

Moving Day

I’m moving apartments again and I’m dreading it. It’s not that I move often but when I do, I hate myself for having so much crap I forgot I owned. My ultimate goal in life is to be able to move anywhere with a maximum of one van-full of my belongings, one trip. But after looking at all the stuff I have in storage, I realized the road to becoming a minimalist is fraught with hard decisions. Through the next few days I will be holding various items in my gaze; some of these items will go in a cardboard box and some will go into a trashcan; the choices will be base on several factors: pragmatism, sentimentality, the law of supply and demand, frustration with social norms, and the elusive x-factor. Guess I better get started.

1) Skydiving Logbook: I crossed “jump out of an airplane” off my bucket list sophomore year of college and afterward, convinced myself I was going to be a certified skydiver; it was going to be my forever hobby. Maybe it was the adrenaline talking, maybe it was a documentary I watched earlier about skydiving Elvis impersonators but I was determined enough that I spent a week thinking of ways to save the $2000+ needed for certification. I’ll “jump” to the end of this story and say 10+ years have passed and that logbook has never seen fresh ink. [Verdict: Toss]

2) Wallets: My mother got on this kick where she would get me a wallet for my birthday, Christmas, someone else’s birthday like I was a jealous toddler, etc. They came in various designs; one had a zipper, the most unpractical of wallet constructions unless you work in a gravitron. Not to be ungrateful since I think wallets are a nice present but this went on for a few years and unlike many consumer goods, they are built to last. There is no need to purchase a wallet more that once a decade; in fact since middle school, I’ve been using the same wallet my dad gave me after he collected enough of his coworkers’ Marlboro Miles (don’t worry, he got himself one too). At first, I stayed on top of my trove of tan leather hides. I re-gifted like a champion. But I had to admit defeat as I ran out of friends before I ran out of wallets. I currently have two left, three if you count money clips, and my Marlboro wallet is still functional. I want to say toss... then again with advances in modern medicine, I’ll be alive for at least another two decades. [Verdict: Keep]

3) Boomerang: A cousin of mine was studying abroad in Sydney. She was nice enough to asked me if I wanted a souvenir. I only knew of a couple of things that came from Australia and a Didgeridoo wouldn’t fit in her carry-on (Sidenote: This was way before I knew Australia makes a decent Shiraz; and to be honest, before I even knew what a Shiraz was because wine education gets place on the backburner when you’re busy downing Miller High Life wit da boyz). As prophecy foretold, I had a shiny wooden boomerang and an itch to try it out; in hindsight the artwork painted on one side probably meant it was intended to be a decorative piece but what kind of sadist makes a weapon of boyhood fantasy that is supposed to hang on a wall? So I took my new toy to the park, stood in a vacant portion of the grass, and flung it as hard as I could; and under forces I needed my engineering friend to explain to me, the boomerang went straight up into the sky about 50 feet. I watched as it slowed to a stop framed in a mix of rich blue sky and cotton clouds, floating with a slight spin before it screamed back to the ground and exploded into splinters upon impact. The boomerang I found in storage was the second boomerang I asked for when another cousin studied abroad in Australia. I’m gonna throw this one too, directly into the garbage. [Verdict: Toss]

4) Text Books: I studied physiology in college. Although I am working towards a career change into the entertainment industry, I think it’s important to keep my text books as a reference guide. I would like to know what’s happening to my body as I age or get sick even though I can’t do much about it because, as I’ve reminded my mother several times, I am not a doctor. [Verdict: Keep]

5) Handball: I grew up in NYC and like a lot of inner city youths throughout the five boroughs, I played Handball, which is like racquetball but using a slightly larger rubber ball and played with, duh, your hands. I haven’t stepped onto a handball court since I was a teenager but just like the hipster kickball leagues that exist today, I can’t help but cling on. [Verdict: Keep]

6) Fly Fishing Tackle Box: My father gave this to me in high school, once again using his coworkers’ Marlboro Miles (I’m beginning to think he was blindly throwing darts at the catalog) Being from the city, I didn’t do many outdoor activities like camping or star gazing until I made suburbanite friends as an adult. To this day, I’ve never been fishing. I’ve thought about asking my dad why he never took me out to the lake or a pier but long ago I accepted a universal answer that I keep in mind for such questions - he’s wasn’t that kind of dad. [Verdict: Toss]

*Update: Since writing this piece, someone offered not only to take the tackle box off my hands but also take me fishing sometime. Dope, I just caught myself a childhood.

7) Sheet Music: I wanted to learn how to play guitar, mostly to woo women with sweet acoustic licks (actually I wanted other dudes to think I was cool too, perhaps even more so). I bought tab notes for what I believed at the time to be the most soulful album in existence. That’s right, you guessed it, Jack Johnson’s seminal work, “Brushfire Fairytales.” Did I mention I used to have terrible taste in music? I wish I had a brush fire right now. [Verdict: Toss]

[I want to punch 2002 me in the head]

8) Guitar: Despite the Jack Johnson debacle, I still believe the sound of an acoustic guitar is beautiful and my rockstar (folk music star) dreams will never die. [Verdict: Keep]

9) Solo Cups: Technically keep since I brought these two packs of cups to a house party and they all got used. [Verdict: Keep]

10) Tupperware: Unlike Solo Cups, it’s not necessary to keep GLAD brand tupperware around, not when I get an endless, world-destroying supply of plastic containers every time I order Chinese take-out. [Verdict: Toss]

11) Mitch Hedberg’s Business Card: I was 10 months into telling jokes on stage and I still didn’t think of myself as a comedian. When people would ask if I was a stand-up, I tip-toed around the term by saying “well, I go to open mics and perform.” It wasn’t until I was on an artwork tribute show co-organized by Mitch’s widow, Lynn Shawcroft, that it made sense to me that I was doing more than messing around. Both during and after my set, I felt an undeniable energy and gained a new confidence in that room. I was surrounded by audience members who studies the man’s craft and had their hearts touched by his sense of humor. I saw hilarious shrines dedicated to someone who, although young when he passed, completed his life’s journey. I can’t say Hedberg was one of my comedic influences when I started stand-up but I had an epiphany that night; labels come and go for a lot of nonsense reasons, what you truly are depends on what you love to do and how much you put into it. Mitch Hedberg was a comic. And so am I. [Verdict: Keep]

[Clarify: Keep For Eternity]

12) Guinness Spoon: This is a specialty spoon that sits balanced on the edge of a pint glass so you can pour a perfect Guinness cocktail (the Black and Tan). I don’t even drink anymore but if I don’t get through this infuriating junk pile before my move, I might start again. [Verdict: Toss]

[thedookness]

How to Commit to Commitment

“I’ll never settle down. I want to do seasonal work with circus ring crews for the rest of my life and decorate my house with more cats.”

At some point, every woman has said that to a bleary-eyed drunk over a filthy beer glass. The appeal of being single is strong. No one you have to check in with when you’re out, no one stealing your French fries when you intended to eat all of them. No one combing your hair out to sew into little sweaters for their pet Sphynx. Why bother? Other people are exhausting, and once they get to know you, they think you’re exhausting, too! Fuck other people, right?

Well, that is until one day you’re at a bar and you meet the most neurotic person in the world and that makes you laugh, and then you can’t stop thinking about them and you realize, “Oh, wow, this is what Nicki Minaj meant when she said, ‘I floss every day but I ain’t a dentist.’” You think. Either way, you’ve fallen in love, and you need to change your lifestyle to make room for somebody else, you selfish leftswipe.* But how?

1. Get it out of your system All those things you can do as a single woman? Do them. Now. You don’t know if this guy is the one and you’ll never spend an entire day masturbating to every episode of Buffy. Have all of your platonic male friends over for one last sleepover. Survive on a large pizza for a week. Delete the tumblr account that you use to look at porn gifs. From now on, your every waking moment could be walked in on by the person you want to share your life with.

2. Really get to work on those bad habits No one knows you like your lover. And as you get closer, all of those little flaws and white lies will show themselves. So, go on, and work on being a better you. Stop eating fried chicken and whole ice cream cakes in bed, and switch to kale shards and rice juice because you told him you’ve been eating clean for the past six months. Speaking of clean, clean your fucking room. Doing bong rips and lining up all of your concert tickets in alphabetical order on your dresser doesn’t count.

3. Make sure he knows he’s important to you Your man knows that you’ve been living a crazy independent life because you told him about that time you lived in a closet in the house of a moped gang leader. And he doesn’t want to step on your toes. So, even though you’re perfectly capable on your own, set up a couple of situations to let him know you don’t know what you’d do without him. Store things you need frequently super high up, and throw away your step stool. If he’s shorter than you, even better. Use him as a step stool to reach high objects and show him that he’s the object of your affection. Or, better yet, develop a crippling addiction or terminal illness that requires you remain under constant supervision. Every man wants to be needed, and actions speak louder than words, etc., etc.

4. Create room in your life for another person Both emotionally and physically. Let go of all the shitty things your weird ex said about your kneecaps. Throw away all of your undies with holes that weren’t placed there intentionally. Tell the bartender you see three days a week after work that you’ll be seeing each other less frequently, but thanks for all the good times. Ghost on that friend who’s always telling you what a bad person you are when she’s had a couple of martinis. Kill your pets. You’re all his now.

5. Memorize the lyrics to every Nicki Minaj song ever recorded You’ll need something to scream into his face every day to wake him up. If you really love him, you will do this. This is one of the most important steps to creating a lasting, loving bond between two consenting adults. The slick rhymes and poppin’ beats of Queen Nicki are like a aphrodisiac for commitment. Even the smell of your disgusting morning breath will change, and he may be able to look you in your pasty, wretched face. Like a religious scholar memorizing a sacred text, he will be in awe of your canonic knowledge and will want to pull up in the jag and hit it with the jab like dun-d-d-dun-dun-d-d-dun-dun.

*leftswipe: n. A person generally deemed undesirable on a particular dating app.

[manwithsuspenders]

I’m gonna read this a few times then have a hard look at myself in the mirror.

[manwithsuspenders]

All Weather Tired

Let’s put aside your opinion on Global Warming and say there’s no data supporting man-made climate change or rising average temperatures around the planet; let’s agree that so far this winter, freezing cold temperatures have been sandwiched between 70 degree tropical days. On and off.

Nuts.

There’s no such thing as seasonal clothes anymore. Don’t pack away anything. Tornado insurance is only for hillbillies in the Midwest? Brooklyn 2007. Think one day the Big One is going to swallow up all the heathens in Los Angeles? Maybe you first, Virginia 2011. Godzilla is just a campy movie franchise? Giant jellyfish, Japan right now. I don’t think they make a panic room for that.

The world as we know it is getting weirder. Wear layers.

[manwithsuspenders]

Tweets Explained: Issue #7

Let’s be honest, we all tweet to be retweeted. But there are times we’re looking to be understood. Unfortunately 140 characters is rarely enough to air out how we feel; so this is a regular series I call “Tweets Explained,” where I go into a lot more detail about what I was thinking the day I posted a short sentence to the public.

People don’t normally get into troublesome situations by paying another person a compliment. Aside from HR managers fearing workplace kudos turning into corporate lawsuits, or chumps that think they’re being “led on” or “teased” simply because someone gave them the time of day, flattery is usually harmless. However, whether innocuous or not, your friends are quick to label you a flirt anytime you show someone esteem or admiration. Your friends can be real dicks sometimes, but maybe they’re right. How do you tell? I think I’ve only flirted five times in my entire life, then again, they say the first step to fixing a problem is admitting there is one.

By definition, flirting is supposed to be subtle, a bit of a dance. You don’t just point down at your crotch and scream “Want some?!” That’s why it’s so difficult to separate flirtatious behavior from a friendly personality. What constitutes hitting on someone is debatable but you’ll want to get it in writing before you go to the next big party with your significant other. Is it simply having a pleasant conversation with stranger? Does it have to conclude in sex in order to count? How does intent come into play? When are you just being charming and when is it pathological? Did you know when Hamlet said “get thee to a nunnery,” he meant a whore house?

Unfortunately it’s hard to nail down an answer because of the subjective nature of flirting; one man’s bullshit is another man’s key to the heart. Figuring it out won’t be easy but here’s a couple of tips: If you’re not sure if someone is flirting with you then talk about the other attractive people in the room; if the focus comes back to you then your achievements aren’t a topic of conversation, they’re the topic of conversation. Tread accordingly. On the other hand, if you’re not sure if you’re being a flirt then stop talking immediately, we don’t need you over-saturating the dating pool and wasting our time if you aren’t DTF. I’m half kidding; tone it down, you don’t have to make everyone feel special to be considered nice.

Happy Socializing, Folks!

[manwithsuspenders]

6 People You Want to Avoid in NYC

Living in the city means you have to deal with crowds everywhere; it can take on an odd beauty if you imagine every person as a small moving part to a giant concrete organism. It can also make your blood boil when you have to catch the next N train but some G.E.D. hopeful is standing in the middle of a staircase trying to put a SIM card into a prepaid cell phone. The crowded commute is a necessary evil in New York but if you’re like me then every unnecessary delay makes you wish someone would release a swarm of angry bees. To save you a trip to the apiary, here is a list of 6 people you want to avoid getting stuck walking behind in NYC’s streets and subway tunnels:

#1) Window Shopping Tourists: Out-of-towners are a slight nuisance throughout the year which is why I avoid “Visitor’s Destinations” 24/7. Unfortunately, during the Christmas season, the spill over from Times Square makes every side street a tourist trap. I’m all for supporting local businesses but how about you go inside the store and browse instead of dead halting on a tiny sidewalk? Don’t pretend the window display is what’s drawing you; you know exactly which stores you’re going to pop into because you’re basic and you “always shop at Bergdorf Goodman with mummy and daddy during the holidays.” I’d tell you to choke on your designer soaps but I get the feeling your coffin would block the entrance to the cemetery.

#2) Couples Holding Hands: Jesus, ok, we get it. Life has never felt this good and your love is a cocoon that envelops and protects you. I understand that you want to spend the rest of your lives together but why IN THE WORLD do you want such a large portion of your lives to be played out in a subterranean dungeon otherwise known as the MTA subway system? A twisted part of me wants to throw a sappy couple into open water where they have to tread water and see how quickly they stop holding hands once one starts to sink a little. The whole time I’m muttering “...make ME late for work?”

You know what, America’s Sweethearts? I’m not impressed. I’ve seen amazing romantics here in the city and you’re not them. A true NYC Power Couple kisses, wishes each other godspeed, and separates BEFORE entering New York’s congested underground; they both know where they’re going and they trust each other not to get lost like a dumb tourist. Stop taking a stroll through midtown Manhattan like you’re in wine country.

#3) Parents with Children: Real talk - kids are dead weight. Not only do they slow down the flow of pedestrian traffic but since they’re so small and uncoordinated you constantly have to look down to make sure you don’t accidentally kick one or get dangerously close to their gross chocolate covered hands. Once, a toddler pressed his face into the back of my jeans behind my knee to keep himself from falling over; I’ve seen drunks with better reflexes and etiquette. Before the age of five, a child is essentially a mouth-breathing bobblehead doll with no manners. Make extra effort to avoid parents who look like they actually care about their kid; at the faintest sniffle, the parent is going to full stop at the peak of rush hour, squat low to the child’s eye level, pull out a pack of tissues, and wipe off that munchkin’s runny nose. 

*Exception to #3: If you see someone pushing a crying baby in a stroller then count your blessings and draft behind them. It’s like following a blaring ambulance as it’s cutting through a busy highway. You might get dirty looks but it’s not illegal.

#4) Women Wearing Accessories: These aren’t your standard fierce females, looking good and taking names, all while sprinting from one board meeting to another. If you see a lady in a shawl, knitted poncho, or even a sun hat, do not get stuck walking behind her. Women with forearm bracelets and gladiator shoes don’t know the meaning of hustle, it’s against their nature. They dress as is they’re walking on a beach and their pace will match that fantasy. If you wanna follow anyone walk behind the mid-50′s white dudes in beige wool coats, they never screw around when it comes to commuting, only when it comes to being faithful to their wives.

#5) Jerk Who Holds His Umbrella Horizontal: This guy might not be the slowest walker but the fact he doesn’t give a shit about poking a total stranger in the eye with his oversized golf umbrella is enough reason to search for a less socially inept individual to walk behind. The only justice in the world is when you see one of these narcissists get their umbrella caught and broken in a closing door. Seriously, fuck this guy.

#6) Guy That Slouches: This person is one of the universe’s mysteries. He looks young, physically capable of at least an 8 minute mile but because of some unknown factor, he moves slower than someone doing a Bionic Woman impression. The only telltale sign that this person is about to milk his tax dollars’ worth out of the sidewalks is his subtle shoulder hunch, like he doesn’t have the confidence to walk any faster; as if a bully in a Flash t-shirt called him a pussy in middle school and traumatized him so badly, he couldn’t move swiftly ever again. In a dystopian novel, this guy would be first in line to be “recycled” but in this reality, you just gotta walk around him and hope he doesn’t throw himself onto the tracks and really jam up your day.

[manwithsuspenders]

Tweets Explained: Issue #6

Let’s be honest, we all tweet to be retweeted. But there are times we’re looking to be understood. Unfortunately 140 characters is rarely enough to air out how we feel; so this is a regular series I call “Tweets Explained,” where I go into a lot more detail about what I was thinking the day I posted a short sentence to the public.

The most non-understanding people in the world are the ones that tell you to relax. Eat shit buddy, you don’t get me or my problems if you think my attitude is the issue. There are things beyond my control so I’m gonna freak out about the situation, it makes me feel better.

Confession: I am one of those non-understanding people. Chill out dude, you’re gonna pop a blood vessel in your prolapsing butthole. I know a lot of people with volatile anger and/or social anxiety; I sympathize but I can’t put myself in their shaky shoes because when something chaotic happens, I either get depressed and the only thing I hit is the pillow and my snooze button. But I can relate to someone telling you to solve your problem by simply altering a fundamental personality trait.

I’m tired a lot. Mostly because of my combo day job night passion but also because my time management skills are on par with a 1st grader’s; you want to get lunch with me? Sure, just give me 16 days notice.

Listen, I get that I look sleepy and drag my feet at public gatherings, I know I yawn at a rock concerts like they were a little cousin’s munchin league soccer tournament (Everyone gets a trophy?!), but don’t tell me that I need a nap. If I wanted to nap I would nap, it’s not like the reason I’m awake is because the thought never crossed my mind to be in bed. I’m out in public because I’m a glutton for punishment and this is my version of cutting. What I need right now is an enabler, someone who’s gonna get me an espresso. Don’t try to change me, just fuel me up and hop on my back for the ride.

[manwithsuspenders]

Worst Season of The Apprentice

I don’t worry about Donald Trump, the politician; he’ll never be President. At most, he’ll end up a low level official in a town I would never step foot in anyway. If he really wants to pass a law badly enough he’ll throw money at it, he doesn’t need to have a council seat; the title is just to satisfy his megalomania. I don’t worry about Donald Trump, the role model. Bigots have existed before he was born, bigots will exist after he’s dead; they don’t need him in order to survive, nobody does. Liberals should spend less energy lambasting this car wreck of a human being and get back to their soup kitchen awareness habitat-for-jacket drives. I don’t even worry about Donald Trump, the extremist, because he’s simply moving towards the applause the way a snake moves towards heat and vibration. True extremists are nuts and Trump, as much as you want to disagree, is still here on our side of sanity. He walks that line perfectly while showcasing his Pro status at flame wars. People hate Trump because he is a bad guy saying crazy things. If he was a crazy guy saying bad things then we would feel sorry for him. Check out these 2 scenarios:

Trump: “All Muslims are terrorists,” / Us: “He’s a monster!”

Trump: “Halal food attracts extraterrestrials and ghosts,” / Us: “Oh, that’s a shame. We need to get him some help,”

[Wouldn’t this GIF be less funny if he was brain damaged and started crying afterward?]

So really guys, as entertaining it is to post Trump quotes on social media along with your personal WTF statement, you’re throwing your time into a black hole and you’re not going to get any return on that investment. Campaign hard for the candidates you think will change the country for the better, spread the facts about candidates that won’t, and let this circus clown implode on his own.