Whiteness

I’m pretty white. I did not know I was this white:

I walked into work on a Friday morning with a sprinkle of hangover. I decided to treat myself.

Bacon. Egg. Cheese. Salt. Pepper. Ketchup. On a roll.

I was plowing my way through the sandwich. I was on a roll.

After I inhaled the delicacy in under 30 seconds, I felt a tingling sensation on my tongue.

A spicy sensation.

Then I realized…

I thought the ketchup was spicy.

Yeah, I’m THAT white,

Kulture

I went to the Guggenheim Museum this weekend. Because I’m cultured (and it’s free Saturday evenings).

My takeaway obviously wasn’t about the art. It was about the naming of the art pieces.

For example, there was a painting of a bunch of colorful squares, titled, “Boy in Field.”

I know art is abstract and an experience and blah blah blah – but come on.

I’d like to name pieces of art. Here’s how I would name a few of the ones I saw.

Flounder Man

Woodstock (August 15, 1969)

Bald Jewish Man

Bald Jewish Man 2

The Only One

I threw my socks in the garbage. Not because they were dirty or had holes in them. I would never do such a thing.

I threw them out completely by accident.

I can’t be the only one who does this. I often throw trash in my laundry bin and clothes in my garbage. I catch myself all the time. Or do I?

I wonder if I’ve lost more socks to the laundry machine or to my garbage can.

James Franco

I had dinner with James Franco.

Well, I sat at the table next to him.

He always makes this face when he pours tea.

Classic James.

Food Critic

I want to be a food critic. Not the conventional food critic that eats at restaurants and writes reviews about them.

Here’s the exact scenario of what I want to do.

I was at Cava. If you don’t know what Cava is:

Fuck you.
It’s fast-casual Mediterranean food. Think Middle-Eastern Chipotle.

I was sitting right by the counter, enjoying my green-and-grain bowl with spicy lamb meatballs.

I eavesdropped on a pretty lady while ordering. She was very uncertain on what to get.

I would’ve loved to jump in, give unbiased and honest feedback based on her preferences, then make out with her.

Then I thought to myself: Cava should hire me to do that. Every restaurant should hire me to do that. I’m well informed of the menu, I understand flavor combinations, and I’m cute.

This might be my dumbest idea to date.

Birth Day, Week, Month, And Even Your Year

I’m not a big birthday person.

Yes, it’s a day where I can catch-up with long-lost friends, get a nice dinner, blackout with no regard, and apologize for underperforming during birthday sex.

I take that back. Maybe I am a big birthday person.

However, if you reason with someone by saying “it’s my birthday” and have any sense of seriousness, I don’t like you.

If you say, “it’s my birthday WEEK” and have any sense of seriousness, I hate you.

If you say, “it’s my birthday MONTH” and have any sense of seriousness, I abhor you.

All that said, it’s my birthday year. Let’s party.

Things That Feel Good That Shouldn’t Feel Good

Here’s a short list of things that feel good that shouldn’t feel good:

Water from AC units dripping on you from the street
A warm toilet seat from the person before you
Laundry heat blowing at you from the exhaust of a building

Amazon Prime Day

Everyone says the Amazon algorithm is really good at predicting what you want to buy based on recent online behavior.

I’d say they’re doing a pretty good job.

Safe to say, the “Swissmar S8224 Double Headed Reamer” has been added to my cart.

Prime Day

Whiteness