The Blackout

There are many potential immediate side effects from a night of drinking. People have experienced the punishment called hangovers. Some get headaches, feel sick, get the spins and go through other miserable experiences when waking up the morning after. I would personally take all of those possible morning penalties over the worst of them all…The Blackout. People who have black spots from the night before think they have it good, but little do they know the dangers of blacking out. That’s why I’ve decided to explain what The Blackout is all about and help you prepare to identify it and best protect yourself.

Webster’s dictionary defines Blacking Out as the act of blacking out. Let me elaborate by explaining that Blackouts involve short-term memory loss of a piece of, or the entire preceding night. Your average run-of-the-mill Blackout will usually allow the subject to recall the earlier stages of the drinking experience but can’t remember anything after a certain part of the evening. The major issue with Blacking Out isn’t the brain damage which you might have or your liver failure but the potential that you offended someone the night before or did something you shouldn’t have and can’t remember doing it. Every moment knocks off precious minutes to make that apology phone call or bracing yourself for an ass whooping by whoever. I know that I’ve woken up a few times and felt like I’m in the movie Memento, trying desperately to piece together my evening to figure out what adventure I’d been in. The best advice I can give is to stay calm, take some deep breaths and try to think like a detective for a little bit.

The key to figuring out where you’ve been and what you did is to start looking for clues right when you wake up, every second is crucial. Start by trying to identify your surroundings. Are you in your bedroom or your own apartment? Is this your neighbors place? Are you on a front lawn somewhere or at a stranger’s house? All are key questions to begin the unfolding process. Next, start to look around and see who’s there. Do you recognize the person sleeping next to you? Are there a bunch of people lying on the floor? Is the person sitting next to you in the drunk tank touching you? Finally, start taking inventory of yourself; see if there are any scars or noticeable marks that can uncover a clue. Passing out in your clothes is the best sign, that probably means you were just too drunk to change. If you have a few knife wounds, you were probably in a dangerous fight you didn’t belong in. Claw marks or bites can indicate that a wild animal attacked you, like a bear or tiger, which is common in Manhattan. Finally comes the crucial decision of running away or staying put. If it’s your own apartment, I advise you stay put. If you know you shouldn’t be where you are, don’t want to be where you are, or still have no clue where you are, I advise running away quickly and going home. Or at the least, catch a bus or train home from whatever state you’ve ended up in.

The key is practice and the more times you Blackout, the easier it gets to piece together the night. So listen up kids and start learning how to brace yourself for Blackouts now so you can be more prepared when you’re in a time crunch situation a few years down the road.

Tough Guys?

I have always been very proud of the state of New York of which I was born and raised. Now that I’m living in Manhattan, I have a ton of pride towards my new home and could not see myself living anywhere else in the country. We have great sports teams (although I hate the Yankees, I do respect their tradition and wins), an unbelievable nightlife, and it is the center of the Universe for business. Tons of movies have been made about New York, generally giving our city an image of being full of tough guys: Goodfellas, A Bronx Tale, The Untouchables, Analyze This, and The Soprano family lives just over the bridge. New Yorkers love being portrayed as tough and having that “I don’t take nothing from nobody” attitude. That being said, I am shocked at how scared and pathetic New Yorkers get when it snows out.

Since as early as I can remember, New York was never able to handle snow. When I was in elementary school, the district would close down the schools a day early for the chance that it might snow tomorrow. If it snows in the city, all public transportation stops immediately. It’s not like the fact that it snows in New York should surprise anyone, we are in the Northeastern part of the United States. Is the state government under the impression that we live in a Puerto Rican climate and snow is a freak occurrence? Every year it snows and mass hysteria breaks out, this is nothing new. I lived in Indiana and they never had snow problems. If 5 feet of snow came down, we still had classes and people drove faster for fun. But not New York, it’s a state-wide emergency if there’s a 2% chance that it might snow.

Yesterday morning, reports came out that it was going to snow later that afternoon and everyone was talking about a huge storm coming our way. It was as if the cold war started again, people were running to the stores to get enough food and supplies to last through the blizzard, children were crying and screaming, people took off work early. I had plans for yesterday around 7 which were cancelled at lunchtime because of the dangers of traveling in the snow storm which is supposed to start in a few hours. If anyone actually listened to the weather report and “severe” storm warnings, they might read that we were only expecting around 5-7 inches of total snow. I think the final total in the city was 4 inches when the storm ended. For a city which fought off a 200 foot ape when King Kong climbed the Empire State Building and houses more potential mafia people than anywhere in the world, we sure get frightened by a few inches of frozen water. I’ve seen the movie Godzilla and when he attacked Manhattan, I don’t remember the 4,5,6 subway line being shut down. However, a couple of snowflakes fall and we have to shut down the bus system immediately.

So to all you New Yorkers out there who become little school girls when it snows, toughen up. We’re suppoed to be the “How you doin?” city. Not the “I’m doing just fine! My brother-in-law picked me up from the airport and everyone’s been real nice!” city. Step it up, be tough, and lets try to act the way the rest of the world thinks we should.

Pets

Throughout my childhood, I’ve always had a pet or two to keep me company. I had three dogs in my lifetime when I was living on Long Island, Pepper, Butch, and Cookie. They were fun company and were wonderful animals with the exception of Butch who was legitimately insane. Since I went to college I have not had any pets and now that I’m living in Manhattan, I don’t anticipate starting. Having a dog in the city must be the worst experience ever. For all of you Midwesterners and non-New Yorkers out there, you need to understand that there is literally no grass in the majority of Manhattan. That means that if a dog urinates or takes a #2, you have to clean up after it. Also, NYC apartments are relatively small and the dog has nowhere to run around all day. It’s not an ideal place for a pet, however I understand why people have them.

In New York, there is one reason and one reason only to have a dog and that is to meet people. It is such a pain in the ass to maintain a pet in New York, but everyone knows that if you walk a dog around Manhattan, within the first 5 minutes someone will stop to pet your dog. This is a proven fact and works without fail. There are people in NY who will walk their dog around 14 times a day for the chance of meeting a new girl. The dog loves it because it’s not in the cramped apartment all day and the guy loves it because he’s guaranteed to meet someone. Guys are willing to pick up the poop of a dog with a smile on his face just for this opportunity.

Gary on the other hand is not big on handling feces, taking care of pets, or feeding them. There are times when I’m too lazy to get off the couch to feed myself, let alone a living animal. Plus, what can a dog really do for me? I have plenty of best friends, and dogs can’t clean, talk, or fix things. I want a pet that’s really going to pitch in with cleaning, cooking, and other chores around the apartment. Luckily, I’ve put plenty of thought into this and have limited my options down to two possible pets, one slightly more controversial than the other. The two “animals” I would like to have living in the city is either a small monkey or an Oompa Loompa.

Monkeys are just as adorable as dogs and can help out around the house. I’m sure you can train them to clean, maybe do some light cooking. When you walk a monkey you know the girls would love it and give you plenty of attention, plus they can probably feed themselves. More importantly, monkeys are known to enjoy throwing their feces around. Why not teach it to throw their feces in a NYC trashbin? The benefits here are immeasurable.

The major drawback I see is that the efficiency and effectiveness of the monkey are pretty much limited to simple tasks and as far as I’m aware, they can’t talk. That’s why Oompa Loompas would probably make the best pets. I’ve heard that the Oompa Loompa population has been steadily growing over the past 3 years in the jungles of Santiago, Chile. You can order them online and they come within 4 business days in a big box. I’ve heard that Oompa Loompas are gourmet chefs, can be potty trained within a week or two, and don’t make too much noise. Something that might become irritating after a while is that the Oompa Loompas communicate through song, so getting a straight answer out of them can be challenging. However, they’re known to ponder many deep thoughts while they’re singing to you which can be interesting. I think all Oompa Loompas are training in philosophy or something like that. Now I’m not sure that females would be too impressed while you’re walking your Oompa Loompa on a leash since they’re not too attractive and are kind of freaky looking. However, your Oompa Loompa can serve as a great golf caddie if you get one who is tall enough, so it makes up for it in other ways.

So there you have it, a monkey or Oompa Loompa is the Manhattan pet that I am looking to get. All the other animals out there just don’t do it for me. Good luck finding something more useful around the house and is easier to take care of.

Official Archive Day

I was too busy the last two nights to put together a routine that I thought was funny enough so today, I'm going to shade out and call it an archive day. Just like Chapelle Show has a "Best Of" show, here at The G-Man News-Stand, we're doing the same.

Take the time to go back and review some of those stories you missed. The Valentine's Day and Valentine's Day warm-ups were very well received. I thought the bit about texting was very informative and helpful. Or maybe you'd prefer a blast from the past and read my plug for taking up smoking? And of course, who can forget the White Pants?

I'm going to update the G-Man Favorites section on the right hand side of the page and need your feedback. All of the routines listed above as well as a few others are up for consideration of this amazing honor to be a G-Man Favorite story. If you think any should be removed, replaced, or which routine deserves to go on the Favorites listing, let us know.

So with the best avoidance of writing a routine I've done yet, have fun reading old stuff and expect a funny routine Thursday and Friday.

Hallmark Cards

The act of giving someone a present is a very self-fulfilling process. It’s great to see the look on their face, the excitement…the magic. Sometimes going out and buying the gift is a fun experience as well. Could provide a few laughs and entertainment while you ponder in a store all of the possibilities. Buying the card for the gift…that just might be the worst experience ever and I might officially quit giving cards for any holiday or birthday from here on out.

Now I guess I can almost understand giving a Hallmark card if you need to mail something or can’t be present for the event. However, if you are physically going to be handing the present to the person and they will open it immediately, can’t we do without the card? It’s not like I will hand a person a gift and they’ll be like “Wow, I wonder who this one is from?” You know who the box is coming from, I just handed it to you. But no, the rules of society say that we need to lay down $4.75 for a regular sized Hallmark card to give a little explanation why we are giving a gift. Are there people out there who on their Birthday start doubting themselves and think that it might be Christmas? Or maybe sometimes the cards that start with “To my dad…” are there to remind the person what their relationship is. “Hmmm…Oh yeah, this is my son, not my grandmother.” Plus, there is so much pressure with the card being opened right in front of you; this whole process needs to stop.

I’ve wasted so much time roaming the rows of potential Hallmark cards trying to find one that perfectly “fits me.” The key is finding that one diamond in the rough that isn’t too corny, makes you giggle, and won’t completely humiliate you when a person reads it in front of you. So you go up and down the rows giving the cards practice reads, testing them on people, analyzing each word. You try to visualize yourself giving the card to the person and anticipate the reaction. In the end, the entire process takes around 1-3 hours but you do feel a slight sense of accomplishment when you finally pick a card. You took a near impossible task of looking through hundreds of cards in front of you to find the one that truly completes the gift giving process.

Now here’s some bad news that you don’t want to hear but I’m going to lay it down anyway. I’m pretty sure that most people don’t care what’s in the card and once they get it start thinking about how long they are obligated to keep it on display. The person who received the card knows that this person probably spent tons of time looking for the perfect card. But how long can you really keep a Peanuts character card reminding you that you are old out on the kitchen counter? People giving the cards become so emotionally attached to the card they give that you have to be very careful. Maybe there should be a direct correlation between the time people spend looking for cards and how long you must hold on to it. So if you searched for a card for 30 minutes, you jot that fact on the inside of the card and the recipient keeps it on display for a day and 10 minutes. If you looked for the card for 5 days, the recipient will keep your birthday card for 3 months. It’s that simple, just give us some kind of formula to fix the card keeping etiquette.

If you work for Hallmark in the writing department and are reading this, please try harder. I think the majority of the writers gave up trying to be humorous somewhere in the mid 90’s. Actual funny cards would probably change everything but until then, we’ll keep looking for the best we can find and hope for the best. On a side note, this article once again proves my theory that Hallmark controls the world.

Presidents' Day

Hey Jimmy, do you love Presidents' Day?

Of course he does. He's doing his Presidents' Day dance!

That's right, today is Presidents' Day. It's an interesting Holiday because there's no real way to celebrate it. Fourth of July, we know to blow things up. Valentine's Day, we send flowers and chocolate. Thanksgiving, we eat until we are completely spent. For New Year's Eve, we do the same as Thanksgiving except replace the "eat" with "drink" and replace "spent" with "throwing up." But how to you appropriately celebrate Presidents' Day?

Well, I don't think anyone really has a clue. If you go by television commercials, it seems that if you're not buying a car on Presidents' Day, you're a complete idiot. As a Manhattan resident, I don't need a car nor can I afford one, but after watching commercial after commercial telling me how much I can save buying a new Ford truck, I'm strongly considering it.

From what I've learned after doing some internet research, Presidents' Day is the celebration of the birthday of President Washington and President Lincoln. Now I don't know how they used to celebrate birthdays back in the 1700s and 1800s, but I do have a good idea how our current President may celebrate. Lets try to enjoy the former Presidents' b-days like it's their birthday in 2005. Send out the evites, line up the shots, and wish the Presidents' Happy Birthday in the way we know best...by drinking ourselves stupid. Now if you're going to celebrate properly you'll do the shots they deserve by drinking their age, somewhere around 500 or so shots if you drink for both Presidents. Sure, you make drink yourself dead, but at least you're being truly patriotic and celebrating the birthday of the Presidents like you would your own.

So whether your sleeping-in, working, skiing, or drinking, have a Happy Presidents' Day and find some time today to thank our troops.

Starting Early

It’s been a long week, you’ve been working hard and late, and Friday has finally approached us. Since you’ve had your eye on going out all week, you feel a sense of excitement and anticipation. All that hard work and dedication does not go unrewarded tonight when you begin your evening and start drinking a few adult beverages. I’ve been thinking about Friday happy hour since Tuesday afternoon and I’m pumped to go out drinking with some friends. Despite being excited for hitting the bars on a Friday afternoon, a vision has crept into my mind which makes me more than a little nervous. What is the vision you ask? It’s a picture of myself, after drinking more than a few adult beverages, piss-drunk and blacked out, eating late night McDonalds. I’m nervous that I might have a small problem.

I’ve actually done some homework by looking through some medical research manuals and found out that the proper terminology for this type of behavior is “Preemptive Shitfaced.” Sorry for the language but that is what the scientists and doctors are calling it. I have had many a days viewing myself getting wasted hours before going out and I think I am subject to this condition. But the question I’m asking myself and the readers out there should as well is, “does this mean I have a drinking problem?”

After minutes and minutes of pondering, I determined that I do not have a drinking problem. Alcoholism can be identified by spotting a few indicators. Try to apply these to yourself and see if you have a problem if you just get Preemptive Shitfaced. Firstly, do you drink alone? I have never come home after a long days work and drank my own vat of liquor. I’ll actually rarely have a beer alone. That being said, if I invite one person over, that makes it fair game to get out the funnel (beer bong for you Midwesterners), line up the shots, and start going to town. Do you drink everyday? I refuse to drink on Sundays and sometimes even Mondays. I know people out there who would attach an IV of vodka to their body on a Monday night if it was sociably acceptable; those are the people with problems. Finally, do you replace dinner with a liquid meal? Well, I won’t lie to the readers out there; I do drink many of my meals on the weekend and especially Friday nights. Looking ahead to this Friday night, I already know that I’m starting at a happy hour and there’s a 95% I won’t be eating dinner. Now I know what everyone’s thinking, “Gary, there’s a lot of vitamins, nutrients, and protein in beer. Plus, isn’t lite beer on the Atkins diet?” I hear your cries but rumor has it that it’s not great for you to replace meals with beer. And if you think a loophole is having a fruity drink to get your vitamins, I’ve looked into it and I don’t think it works. Kids, eat your food and vegetables, it’s good for you.

So one out of three isn’t too bad and it’s official that I do not have a drinking problem. I just enjoy spending quality time, drinking a couple beverages with good company. Anyone out there who is already Preemptive Shitfaced, I feel you and start counting down the hours. Have a good weekend, especially those of you getting off for President’s Day.

Cell Dangers

If there’s one thing I can’t leave my apartment with every morning, it’s definitely my cell phone. If I forget my keys, my doorman can let me in later. Forgot my money? I’ll stop at an ATM later. Not wearing any pants? I’ll buy some new ones on the way. But the day you leave without your cell phone, all hell breaks loose. The panic settles in immediately, fear overtakes your body. You feel naked and alone, lost in a jungle with no way out. I know that I am so dependent on my cell phone that if it broke down or I lost it, I might as well jump out a window because I’m worthless. The cell phone is in my opinion the best technological development of all time. But sometimes you just have to look past the convenience of a technological advancement to see the harm it is actually doing to people.

What harm am I talking about? Let me tell you a little something about Gary in the mid to late 90s. Prior to my cell phone days I knew everyone’s phone number. I didn’t even need a write down numbers in a phone book because I had it all stored upstairs. I was like the Rainman, I can tell you your phone number, your neighbors phone number, your phone number if you lived in 3 counties over, your cousin’s phone number, a homeless person’s phone number backwards…everything. For fun, I’d study the yellow pages so I knew every Nassau County number by heart. In 1996, I was the runner-up in the New York State amateur phone number guessing competition. For the record, I lost in a heated match against a 15 year old who was doping and his name was released in Canseco’s book. But once I got a cell phone, an interesting trend developed. Rather than jam another 10 digits in my head, I’d type the number into my phone, just to see what would happen.

Before I knew it, all of my numbers were stored in my cell. I stopped memorizing all numbers, deleted the numbers formerly in my head by drinking massive quantities of beer, and became completely dependent on my phone. It wasn’t until my first cell phone crash till I realized how screwed I really was. Now fast forward a few years to the present. I have completely lost the ability to memorize any number whatsoever. I can barely remember my age, what year it is, how tall I am, my apartment address, everything. The cell phone has destroyed my memorizing abilities and I am forever ruined because of it.

A second harm that I would quickly like to write about is the harm it can do to other people. Now many of you won’t believe me but I’m going to fill you in on the real reason why you can’t use a cell phone on an airplane. The story they want you to believe is that it interferes with the plane equipment and signals. The truth is that when a plane is flying at such high altitudes, using a cell phone can make someone’s head explode one out of five times. The cell signal combined with the air pressure cause people’s heads to literally combust and blow up. If you think I’m kidding, try making a cell phone call next time you’re in the air. Before you can finish your conversation, the pilot will get on the intercom and scream, “Who is using a cell phone?!? The co-pilots head just exploded!!” Now if that isn’t harmful, I don’t know what is.
So I have no memory of numbers and the next time I take a flight somewhere, my head may burst. Many of you will argue that I can’t remember anything because I drink way too much. To that I have no comment, but I’m sticking to blaming it on t

Move It Along

I’ve heard it be termed as a sanctuary, their office, shop, confession, and other ridiculous terms. Supposedly, going to the bathroom is a time for thought and reflection. I know people read Newspapers in the bathroom, talk on their cell phone, play games on their handheld devices, and other activities to just “get away” from it all. You feel safe while sitting in the most defenseless position possible and no one can bother you. I however am not one who subscribes to these beliefs.

I know many people who look forward to their bathroom experiences and plan their day around it. They save up a Newspaper to read, schedule phone calls around it, book 25 minutes in their planners, and so on. My roommate, The Angriest Man Alive, has a routine where he comes home from work, strips down to his boxers and a T-Shirt, and then attacks the bathroom with a new magazine for at least a half-hour. I may be alone on this but I am not a big fan of going to the bathroom to do a number two. I’m usually pretty busy and don’t have time to sit for 30 minutes on the toilette to read a paper. It amazes me why people feel the need to sit around after doing their “business” (which can be accomplished in the first 3 minutes) just to continue reading or to be alone. Mind you that there is literally a piece of feces sitting below gaining smell momentum. Aren’t there more clean environments to finish reading that article? I’m an in and out guy and that’s what I want to encourage to the masses.

By conducting interviews and doing extensive research on what people would classify as their “dream bathroom,” I’ve come up with a few common trends that the masses generally want to see in the stalls. Many subjects want a magazine rack with new magazines and newspapers, a television, phone on the wall, handicap bars, etc. Don’t people realize that all of these things just make your bathroom experience longer? I just don’t see the purpose. Firstly, I do not think I want to read a magazine or newspaper after it’s been touched by 30 strangers using the toilette earlier that day. Just doesn’t seem too sanitary. As far as the phone or a television goes, why can’t you just watch tv or call people after going to the bathroom? I know it’s an outrageous idea but ponder it for a second, it makes sense. And the handicap bars…I’m not really sure why that goes into a dream bathroom but I guess they look pretty cool and serves some purpose that I’m not aware of. I’ll agree to keep those in.

Let me tell you what I want to see in the bathroom. Since I like to be fairly efficient, lets put something in the stall that can help you kill two birds with one stone, is not very fun, and will help move people in and out so lines don’t build up. Lets install a small, face-sized mirror to the wall. Right below the mirror, we can have a dispenser of dental floss. No one likes to floss but it is important and when’s a better time to do it than when you’re just sitting around doing “nothing.” By the time you finish flossing, you’ll probably be done relieving yourself, tired from that intensive work flossing requires, and ready to move on.

Rather than continue to rant on bathroom behavior, I want to ask something that I do not understand. It’s possible that I’m just slow but maybe others are having similar problems as me. Now for the record, I prefer to lay toilette paper down on the seat rather than use those pre-made seat covers. Why? Because I don’t understand the covers. If they come in the horseshoe-shape then I get the general idea, no problem. However, more often I’ll come across the full circle toilette seat covers. I’m never sure if you’re just supposed to lay the whole thing down or rip out your own section before laying it down. Then sometimes you get the circle-style toilette seat covers with the middle section still in there. Do you leave that middle part attached to act as some kind of mechanism for easy entry or do you rip that off too? It’s so confusing and when you’re in a race against the clock to use the bathroom, these are not questions you want to ponder. Plus, I’m a business guy, not an arts-ann-crafts specialist. Either give me something that makes sense and works without effort or get those covers out of there.

So to conclude, let me give some advice for the kids out there. While you’re young, don’t get into a habit of reading or wasting time in the bathroom. Before you know it, 45 minutes of your day is allocated to an activity which can take a roundtrip total of 4 minutes. Learn from me.

Supermen

As an accountant, I do not work in a very dangerous profession. It's a safe, quiet industry and you will very rarely see us making the news for anything other than business-related stuff. I've never read anything in the papers about how an accountant saved someone's life, discovered plutonium or was attacked at work by escaped zoo animals. Nope, it's a conservative field with low-risk and high reward. Yet there is a dangerous profession out there that we come in contact everyday and these risk-takers are not getting the due credit they deserve. They are the delivery guys who ride bicycles in Manhattan and by far are the bravest people I have ever seen. In an effort to get people their food as fast as possible, delivery people will ride their bikes at the speed of light, fighting through traffic, weather, danger, and potential injury or death. I've written about delivery people before in reference to the massive tips they get, now lets look at their training and motivation.

There's some kind of hidden delivery guy code that you just do whatever it takes to get to your destination. They pretend like they don't speak much English and can't understand traffic laws, but I'm convinced that it's a front and they are some of the brightest minds in the world. I've seen these lunatics go through red lights, dodge busses, run over people, whatever it takes. For their full tip of $2.28, they're willing to risk their lives and those around them. Sometimes you just have to sit back and respect the effort they're putting forth. I wouldn't't go as far as to call them Supermen, but they're dancing on that line.

I have a vision about a Delivery Man Academy somewhere outside of Manhattan where these people go to train. It's very similar to the "Farm" where the CIA is trained, isolated and top secret. Stores recruit their delivery guys from all around the world, some are former cyclists, military, chef's, and the most qualified and daring delivery people ever. They're put on a strict diet, weight lifting regiment, and are trained in high-speed bike riding tactics. These "soldiers" are put through hell to be able to handle all of the potential disasters that can happen. Judging from what I've seen on the streets, the training exercise when they practice getting knocked off their bikes by speeding busses has to be the most difficult. The first few times must be pretty painful but then you start to get the hang of it and you bounce right back up, food in hand, ready to get back on the bike to deliver. I'm fairly confident that if I got knocked off a bicycle at 50 miles per hour by a NYC bus going 80, my life would probably be over. But not these warriors, they just shake it off, scream something no one can understand, and keep on going.

I presume running over innocent patrons is also a tough lesson plan for them to pick up. I have almost been ran over so many times by these nutjobs that I'm convinced that they're intentionally gunning for me. They ride through such crowded streets and sidewalks that their chance of an accident per trip has to be around 70%. I thought about their mentality, and the key for success is making split decisions and sticking to it. For example, when there's a group of people in your way and you have to run over someone, choose the oldest and frailest because they can easily be ran over, might not remember it, can't fight back, and will probably not hurt your delivery time too much.

So I would like to solute these brave men for tempting ultimate death to get me my turkey sandwich. For the few times I felt that my life was at risk, I forgive you. Thanks for the effort and keep on trucking.

Valentine's Day

We’ve been dreading the day since February 15, 2004 and here we are, another Valentine’s Day upon us. This weekend really gave me a chance to think about the holiday and what it means to me. Currently being single, I went through the same emotional roller coaster that everyone single goes through: It’s starts with anger which turns to envy, the envy will grow into a rage, then relief followed by cold sweats, and finally acceptance. We know we can’t avoid the holiday, the best thing to do is just let it be and hope it goes by quickly.

Just for the record, I don’t know who started Valentine’s Day, how the day originated, or why we celebrate it but I do know this, a man did not invent this day. The most obvious clue is in the selection of the colors. Back in the old days, there must have teams of female scientists and psychologists conducting experiments and performing extensive research to determine which colors can truly break a man down. I’m sure that after years of testing, the women made a breakthrough in discovering that the colors red and pink when put together in large strategic doses can cause temporary brain damage to a man. The colors make men feel weak and confused. We start losing our minds and start believing that we are obligated to spend as much money as possible and entertain any girl in sight. If the colors were blue and black for example, this day would be entirely different. The women would want to cook, clean, and bring us beer, the man would be obligated to sit around watching football in his boxer shorts and not lift a helping finger, and it would be a great time for all. But of course that’s not the case, red and pink has shut off the part of the brain that makes men think and we are forever helpless against it.

When this day comes around I start wondering if there are any holidays I actually like. Then I remember some of the fun ones, like the Fourth of July. This holiday has got it right. We do two things that all Americans love to do: drink and blow things up. Nothing says great family holiday like drinking a case of beer and lighting a firework that can blow up 2 square blocks if used improperly. Or how about Thanksgiving? It has the perfect ingredients of not having to work for a few days and eating as much as humanly possible. There’s also an important trend forming here with the 4th of July and Thanksgiving with the lack of giving gifts. Personally I hate any holiday where there is a requirement of presents. That’s why I’m a big fan of President’s Day. I have no idea which Presidents we are saluting or when President’s Day is. That being said, I’m not required to take someone to dinner, get them flowers, or buy any gifts so damnit, I’m going to celebrate the hell out of that day.

To shed a little light on the male view of Valentine’s Day, we really need to break down what it’s all about. Clearly, the main issue here is for the man to do whatever is necessary to hook up. We’ll wear pink sweaters if that’s what it takes. We’ll listen to Kenny G and Michael Bolton if that works. We’ll buy expensive gifts, flowers and dinners, take women to theatre or ballet, and even watch that romantic chick-flick you’ve been dying to see. Why? Because the man is aware that no matter how much she plays it down, Valentine’s Day is important to her and by planning ahead, treating her nice, buying her nice things, and showing her a good time, he’ll most likely cash in. There is an easy math formula that I’ve compiled which shows that there is a direct correlation between the money spent on Valentine’s Day and the probability of hooking up. I’d say for every dollar spent, your chances improve by approximately .0025 of a percent, so in theory you need to spend $400 to be guaranteed to get laid. It’s a pricey day, especially in Manhattan, but if you play your cards right it could pay high dividends.

So good luck to all of the Valentine’s Day couples out there. To all the single people reading this and wishing death upon their best friend because they’re in a relationship, take a deep breath and calm down. Tomorrow is a new day and you can have satisfaction in knowing that there are 364 days until the next Valentine’s Day and you spent a hell of a lot less money than your non-single friends. Good luck everyone and leave comments on how your day is going, how it went, or what’s currently bothering you about today.

A Small Valentine's Day Warm-up

Well here we are, a few days before Valentine's Day and I can already feel the madness of this terrible holiday creeping in to the picture. I've had requests from readers for me to post a routine that I performed while I was still at Indiana about Valentine's Day. I thought about posting it today, but will instead hold off until Monday, the actual day of death.

Just to give you all a taste, those of you who have seen me perform my Valentine's routine know that every year, I can sense Valentine's Day approaching by the little signs floating around. The colors in stores start to change, the air gets thinner, dogs become frightened, and most telling is when I receive a Valentine's Day card from my grandparents. For as long as I can remember, my Grandparents have sent me a Valentine's Day card a few days before the "holiday" always wishing me the best. In addition to the very sweet card is an exciting Valentines gift. What is this gift you ask? A check made out for $5. Every year I get this check and although I appreciate the gesture, I'm always baffled as to why, if they are insistent on sending me $5, can't they just drop a $5 in the envelope and send it to me. Now I love my grandparents, but it's such a hastle to receive the check, endorse it, and get it to my bank on Long Island to deposit in my account. It actually costs me $12.50 round trip on a train just to go to Long Island. Now I have an MBA in accounting and a specialization in corporate finance. In all my years of studying, models prepared, and research, I can officially state that I am losing money on this transaction. Are we that afraid of the postman these days? If a $5 bill somehow gets lost in the mail, is all of our retirement funds and assets going to get seized? The problem is that my grandparents study their checking account bank statements, so if I don't cash the check within a 4 day period, the rumbles begin in the family. I won't even get into the one year I didn't cash the check.

So last night when I went to check the mail, there was my Valentine's Day card from my grandparents and of course, a $5 check was enclosed. So that can only mean one thing, Valentine's Day is frighteningly close. If you're "celebrating" this weekend, I wish you all luck. Girls, behave. Guys, be strong. And if my grandparents have actually figured out the internet and are reading this, it's all in good fun. I love getting the $5, it's almost worth a beer in Manhattan and damnit, it's delicious. Check back Monday to hear a great Valentine's Day comedy bit and have a great weekend.

The I-Pod

The I-pod has revolutionized how we walk anywhere. I’ve had mine for about three months and I feel like I’m a different person because of it. After about two weeks with the device, the I-pod becomes more than just a contraption to listen to music. Before you know it, the I-pod consumes you and the addiction begins. Suddenly you can’t walk anywhere without having the I-pod on you, whether it be walking to work, a two minute walk to the store or a trip to the bathroom. The music soothes you as you move, kind of keeps you going. I think the major appeal to walking everywhere with music is that you kind of feel like your in a movie. If a slow ballad comes on, maybe you’re in the part of a movie where you’re pondering something important. When the beat picks up, you’re at the point in a movie when the character throw caution in the wind and is determined to get something done. Whenever Eye of the Tiger comes on to my I-pod, watch out because there’s a good chance I’ll attack a random person on my walk.

I enjoy watching other people walking with their I-pod’s, you can learn a lot about a person. It’s always interesting to watch someone just start to rock out and sing out loud. I know I’ve been victim of that, just walking along and a great song comes on. Some kind of mild case of taurettes kicks in and I feel the need to play air drums and sing a few lines. It’s embarrassing but there’s nothing I can do about it, just the power of the I-pod.

When it was very cold this winter, I would get all bundled up to face the cold NYC wind-chill. Part of my process was putting on my headphones under my hat and then putting the I-pod in my inside coat pocket where I have a chance of changing the song without actually touching the I-pod, thereby keeping me warm at all times. That being said, my biggest problem with my I-pod is that I rarely charge it and I have to deal with it dying on me a lot. So quite often, I’d be all bundled up, half-way through my walk and suddenly the music stops. The normal person would probably figure out that the I-pod died, take the headphones out of his or her ears, put the thing away and continue walking. I couldn’t do that because I didn’t want to get cold so I just kept it in my ears. Let me tell you, it’s weird using headphones without any music coming out. Sometimes to compensate and to make passer-bys think that I’m actually listening to music, I’ll start dancing in place, maybe sing a line from a random song off the top of my head. The logic is that maybe I won’t get to listen to any music, but at least the person next to me thinks I’m listening to music…

Updated 2/11/05 - I'd like to post the funniest comment I saw for this article. It was written by Steve who also has a great site called Simply Amazins which you can visit through the link on the sidebar.

Rather than pretending to listen to music with headphones on, I think it would be much more crafty to actually start speaking ABOUT the people who are walking by.

Let them think that you're receiving special instructions about them:"Yeah, the guy with the blue shirt is standing right here... No, I don't think he suspects anything.

The operation will go on as planned."Then smile with the knowledge that you just freaked out someone who will be completely paranoid for the rest of the day.

Texting

As technology continues to advance in the world, especially in the communications industry, we are finding new ways to communicate with each other. Cell phones, Blackberrys, Instant Messaging, Emails, and two-way paging are just some of the many ways to talk to someone. Yet one form of communication has been bothering me for a while which everyone reading this has participated in.

The beginning of text messaging was the end of talking as we know it. Here is a concept where the sole purpose is to send someone a short message, get the quick short response, and that’s it. I use text messaging because of the convenience and ease of use. If I need to get a quick answer to a question or tell someone where I am, it’s a very convenient way to pass along a message. However, we all know when we are sending a text to another, there’s a hidden message being sent as well. People may not like that I’m exposing this but we all know it’s true. Sending a text message is basically like giving a big F-U to whomever you are sending it to. You’re basically saying to them, “I could call you right now, ask you a question, have a nice little chat, but I’m not going to. I hate talking to you. You’re boring, annoying, and I don’t want to hear how your day went. Instead, answer my short little question, leave me alone, and when I’m ready to talk to you, I’ll contact you…and you dress funny and smell bad.” I know it seems pretty harsh but it’s the truth.

I am aware of this underlying message when I receive a text and it drives me nuts. Of course there are extenuating circumstances, but more often than not calling someone is much faster and easier. I suck at typing messages into my cell phone, it takes me forever and is very time consuming. By the 8th series of texts back and forth to answer someone’s question, I’ve spent $1.40 on texting this person as opposed to a free phone call, I’ve burnt 70 calories trying to vigorously type away with my thumbs since it feels like a race against the clock, and my rage starts to grow. You are asking me, since you’re too lazy to call me in person, to pay to send you a note that you’ll probably need clarification on or have follow-up questions, over a time period of 30 minutes which could have been solved a 4 minute phone call. Am I the only person who thinks this is not the best way to talk to someone?

So you might be asking yourself, “Gary…if you’re so against text messaging, why do you send texts?” To that I’d have to say for the same reasons listed above. I probably don’t want to talk to you and just want you to answer my question without hearing your life story. That being said, if you get a text from me and have read today’s post, I’m talking about the other people I text, not you…

The White Pants

And in a fraction of the time, we're up to 2000 hits. So in celebration of another milestone, let me share an experience that happened to me a few years ago and what I learned.

During my time in graduate school at Indiana University, I made tons of new friends and met a bunch of interesting people. I didn't get a chance to get too close to everyone I had classes with, but by the end of my first year I was fairly well acquainted with about 80% of the MBAs I regularly saw. One individual in particular I was not so well acquainted with was a very quiet, shy, and sweet girl in my class. She kept to herself mostly, didn't speak the best English, and was friendly and polite. During my time in grad school, I'd say that I had one small conversation with her prior to this event and it probably went something like, "Hey Gary" and I responded "Hi." Very deep conversation as you can see.

I was in a food court in my second year of business school and I heard a quiet whisper of a noise coming from behind me. I turned to see the girl I referred to above saying hello to me. She was a nice girl and I heard she had a small crush on me, so to be polite I struck up a quick conversation with her about how everything is going, how are classes, and so on. At the time she was wearing a very bright outfit, light colored shirt and white jeans, very stylish and she looked nice. I was waiting for my food and had my hands free but she was holding on to a food tray packed with stuff, slice of pizza, maybe a bag of chips, and an open container of iced coffee. The conversation seemed to be winding down and I said bye. Just as I was about to grab my food to walk away, the girl somehow loses her balance, the tray goes flying into the air and the open container of iced coffee spills all over her. Luckily I was unharmed, not a splash touched me, but this poor girl had coffee stains all over her bright shirt and white pants, we're talking completely covered.

Some people might rush to her aid, scramble for napkins, maybe pick the tray up and help her clean. But I was frozen in my place. This was perhaps the funniest thing I have ever seen in my life, too funny to even laugh. Here was this girl completely covered in coffee, on the verge of tears, everyone stopping to look. She sees me standing there, staring at her in shock. We locked eyes and glared at each other in silence for what seemed like hours. Finally said to me, "It's ok, you can go." I was still speechless and in another world mentally and could not get myself together. After contemplating my options, I gave her a slight nod, turned around and walked away.

It was possibly the rudest thing I've ever done in my life but when I think back I couldn't imagine handling it differently. I don't think we ever spoke again the remainder of my Indiana days. Did I learn anything from this event??? I don't think so. I probably should have helped her but hindsight is 20-20. Next time you see the most ridiculous thing ever, see how quickly you react. Lets see some comments on this one.

Jimmy, Timmy, Timmy, Jimmy

Today's post will go up at one this afternoon. Take some time to read the archives this morning and watch Jimmy dance, dance, dance.

Hey Jimmy, do you want a candy bar?

The Superbowl

The Superbowl is an event that is special in all our hearts. The entire world watches the game, it’s a great opportunity to spend time with friends and family, the commercials are great, and we know that once the game is over spring is on the way in a few weeks. But what is Superbowl really all about and what makes this day so special?

I pondered this question all week leading up to the game, why is this day so important? It’s probably not the actual football being played, I’ve watch with many people who hate football but still won’t miss a second of the Superbowl. It isn’t the people who you watch with. This year I watched the game with only five people rather than go to a huge party. Just as I thought the answer never would come to me, I was finishing up my third slice of pizza after eating my 15th buffalo wing and my stomach started to ache. It was at this painful moment that I realized that Superbowl is all about eating.

I’ve watched every Superbowl since sometime around 1986. I am very educated in the game of football and know so many details about the game it is puzzling. Yet I couldn’t tell you who was the leading rusher of last year’s Superbowl. I have no clue who or where I watched the 1995 Superbowl. I can barely even recall most of last night’s game. But if you asked me what toppings were on my second slice of pizza I ate during the second half of the 1997 Superbowl, I can quickly tell you that it was a mushroom slice with extra cheese. This day of football is all about justifying eating anything in your site. How can you justify it? It’s Superbowl damnit, that’s why. Last night, I had three different kinds of buffalo wings, pizza, all different types of chips, celery, a gallon of soda, and whatever else came across my line of sight. I was an unstoppable force eating anything in my path. Even when I was completely full and my stomach was turning, I still had some kind of food in my mouth. To everyone there, we acted like this was our last super. We ate quickly with purpose and left no wing untouched. It’s almost a failure if you don’t finish all the food, your own personal battle. As the football players battle on the field, us warriors were fighting against the two large pizzas and wings, clawing desperately through the fatigue and pain to finish all the food.

When all was said and done, I’m fairly confident that I gained around two pounds in one full evening of eating. I probably won’t eat again for a day or so, it was that intense. I would like to give a quick congratulations to one of my eating teammates who actually ate more food than the other four people combined. To protect the innocent, I’ll call him Scott who managed to knock off somewhere between 30-35 large buffalo wings, 3 slices of pizza, a large bag of Doritos, other assortments of chips, his own 2 liter bottle of soda, and possibly the delivery boy, we’re still trying to figure out if he made it out of the apartment alive. Scott is a hero to many, scary to others, and he deserves kudos for his big day.

Unproductive Days

Being that last night was a Thursday and the weekend starts on Thursday during the wintertime (Wednesday in the summer months), I decided to go out to the bars. Now I know full well that I have work early in the morning on Friday and during the early stages of drinking I'm consciously thinking about waking up early and being productive at work. Yet no matter how long you think about it or how hard you try, you always drink more on a Thursday than you would any other day of the week.

After a few hours you suddenly become a math wiz, calculating the exact hours of sleep you can sneak in if you went home that instant. The key is understanding yourself to really figure out how many hours you will sleep. Some will factor in having two more drinks, not getting a cab, throwing up, fighting off the spins to determine how much sleep they can really get. I personally have to consider the strong chance of getting food on the way home, 2 drunk-dial phone calls, trying to find my bottle of Tylenol, using IM, and finding something good on tv. You start justifying those hours of sleep in your mind and keep on drinking. Sure I can work tomorrow on 3.5 hours of sleep. Sure I have a crucial meeting at 9:45, but 4 hours and a new shirt should do me well.

Then you wake up to your alarm and everyone swears off drinking for the rest of their lives. "What was I thinking, I'm such an idiot." It usually feels like a cruel joke trying to get out of bed, tossing and turning to fight off the spins, hitting the snooze button at least 7 times. You finally do get to work, late of course, you sit there and just kind of wonder how in the hell you're going to get anything done. When you sober up around 10:45, the headaches start,you get very tired, angry, upset...every emotion goes crashing through your skull. It's not until around 3 in the afternoon till you're fully recovered and then we all know what time it is...time to plan your Friday evening. After swearing off drinking just hours earlier, the excitement of happy hours and going out that night outweigh your promise to yourself.

Hope everyone is feeling better as they read this. You're not alone and remember, going out tonight is only a few hours away.

McDonald's Madness

One of the greatest things about New York City is how everything delivers. This is a hard concept for most non-New Yorkers to understand but you can literally get anything under the sun delivered straight to your apartment. Whether it be dinner, rental movies, groceries, furniture, or toiletries from a bodega, NYC has made it very easy to live without a car and have everything brought straight to you.

That being said, I am having a major issue with one particular store which is very close to my apartment and also delivering. I get confused and angry thinking about it and it needs to be brought to everyone's attention. On the corner of my building, not more than a block away, is a McDonalds Restaurant. It's your standard McDonald's, dangerously open 24 hours a day on the weekends and till 1am on most other nights. Posted on their windows for the public to see is their delivery number. I've had people come visit me from out of town fascinated by this and beg me to order-in some McDonalds. I fight it everytime because it is wrong, allow me to explain.

I think it's pretty clear by now that McDonald's is not a healthy place to eat. There was recently a movie made about it how a guy only ate McDonalds for a month and gained a ton of weight. However, it says a lot for your character if you walk to the restaurant to get your food, or at least walk to your car to go there. It burns a few calories before the 1,000 calorie gorging you're about to do. Now let me make this very clear, if your fat ass is too lazy to get out of your apartment and walk the 1-2 minutes it takes to get food from McDonald's, you should be shot and put out of your misery. With all the information we have today about how bad this stuff is for you, at least do what I call the "walk of shame." That would be the walking to and from McDonald's, thinking the whole time about how unhealthy the food is you're about to eat. The panic and stress should help burn a few calories by itself.

I called McDonald's delivery just for research value to see what it was all about. Turns out that they actually have a minimum order to get them to deliver the food to you. When I heard this I started thinking about what's actually on the menu. Half the items are $1 a piece, and value meal can run you $4-5, what kind of minimum could it be? They explained that it is required to purchase $10 worth of food to get them to do the door-to-door service. I know for a fact that you can feed a family of 17 in Somalia for about $10 at McDonald's, what crazy bastards are ordering that much food? I think they're trying to make you even fatter so you eventually become helpless and can never leave the apartment, thereby forcing you to continually order-in. A huge McDonald's conspiracy.

So basically, if you're going to eat McDonald's, eat least do the walk of shame and literally walk to McDonald's. Everything else is fair game in my book in NY, order away and enjoy meeting some new friendly delivery people.

Groundhog Day

Are there any good Holidays in the entire month of February? With the exception of Valentines Day which you'll hear my rant about in two weeks, Groundhog's Day has to be the dumbest holiday out there. It's predictable, boring, and pointless.

My first problem is that I don't think the Groundhog is fit to predict the weather. For over 100 years, this stupid, ugly little rodent has been predicting our weather and I've had it already. I'm addicted to the weather since I really hate the cold so this is a very important event for me and I'm astonished that with all the developments in science and technology that we still depend on this oversized rat to tell us that it's going to be cold for another 6 weeks. There has to be a better option than this. I'm convinced that the Groundhog actually likes the cold weather and that's why he consistently tortures us with his long winters.

Maybe the real issue is that we're using the wrong Groundhog or animal to predict the weather. I cannot remember the last time we had a short winter and it's probably the Groundhog's fault. In sports, if you continually lose year after year, your ass gets fired. After so many consecutive years of predicting longer winters, don't we all think it's time to fire this rodent and try someone else? Lets get a new groundhog or a different animal who can be an impact player, a real go-getter. We need a replacement who can guarantee us 2 short winters out of the next three years, set some high goals and motivate us. I propose an animal audition, just line them up somewhere and conduct interviews. We can ask them why they feel they can predict the weather better, what skills can they provide that the Groundhog couldn't, what salary are they looking to collect for this (save taxpayer dollars), and so on. I believe that a monkey would probably make the best weather predictor. Sure they like to throw their feces at people, but they're smart, cute, and have 4 thumbs, that's got to help in some way or another.

So I'm starting the anti-Groundhog revolution. I checked the results this morning and at 7:31am, with 14º, clear skies with a wind chill of 3ºF, Punxsutawney Phil saw his shadow. Stupid Groundhog...looks like 6 more weeks of winter. You know the Groundhog is hanging with his friends right now after working this morning just laughing it up. Down with Groundhogs.

Leave Breakfast Alone

Breakfast is by far, without a doubt my favorite meal of the day. There are very few breakfast foods that I do not enjoy: Eggs, omelets, Pancakes, Waffles, Biscuits, Bacon, Hash Browns, Ham, Sausage...Everything is delicious to me. One of my favorite things to do as a kid was go to those all-you-can-eat breakfast buffets with my family so I can just pig out and eat a little bit of everything. I've eaten breakfast food for lunch and dinner on many occasions and look forward to any opportunity to kick off the day with a nice large breakfast.

It's amazing how one simple word can ruin all of this joy and excitement for me. I first noticed it in a hotel a long time ago, they offered free breakfast in the morning. When I awoke that morning all set for some eggs and bacon, I was severely disappointed to see only bread. But I put it in the back of my mind until I saw it again at a seminar. I'm all excited for a nice hot breakfast and what is sitting there? Some muffins, not worthy of being called breakfast at all. This horrific word is "Continental" and I will hate it forever. Standing alone, I'm not really sure what it means, but once you put it in front of the word breakfast ("Continental Breakfast" for all you short-bus kids out there) it ruins my favorite part of the day. You go from delicious omelets and pancakes to croissants, rolls, toast, english muffins, and butter. That is not a breakfast, it's crap.

The most similar combination of words I can think of ,which I also am very against, would be non-alcoholic beer. Now I love beer for many reasons, it picks you up when you're down, tastes good, listens to your problems, likes to hang out, and knows how to be a good friend. I even don't mind the word non-alcoholic, I like sodas and juice, non-alcoholic friends can come in handy sometimes, that's all I got on that word. But once those words are combined, you have a worthless beverage that serves zero purpose. I quickly remember "beer doesn't taste good, it's terrible, what was I thinking." I've seen grown men cry after drinking some O'Douls, it's a very sad site. All their hopes and dreams crushed after one simple sip.

Now I've never cried eating a Continental breakfast, although I'll admit that I've been on the verge of tears. The word Continental has destroyed my love for breakfast and has killed a small part of Gary in the process. Since I was 14 and first discovered Continental Breakfasts, I don't sleep much anymore, get headaches all the time, prefer dark rooms to sunlight, and rarely laugh. But my time is done, there's no hope left for me. Go out and enjoy life, find some real hot breakfasts and try to forget that Continental Breakfasts even exist. You must all fight and move on, I believe in all of you.

I'm sure this will have a major impact on all your lives. Leave breakfast alone and lets ban the word Continental.