Our girl is notorious for not adhering to standard bed laying etiquette. She's just on another level....
In my head, every time I see a car I don’t know driving down my street I say to myself: “Who the fuck is this asshole?”
THE MEYERWITZ STORIES
Are there any limits to last names? Do people just make them up? Are there any rules?
It seems like there is just an endless abyss of last names and variations. I mean that goes for names in general, both first and last, it’s just limitless. Thormaggedon Von Batman, that's my name.
Best Picture 2017
WORLD SERIES HIGHLIGHTS FROM THE
I have no problem admitting that I am quick with the teary eye.
I cry at most every dramatic movie, or if I hear something inspirational, or watch a commercial with a dog. I cried openly when the Cubs won, my daughter stared up at me, slack jawed, trying to understand what was going on. I cried again several times watching this re-cap of the World Series.
My wife knows that I cry at everything. I love the fact that she lets me do it with class and dignity. Discreetly handing my a tissue or diverting attention in public so I don’t get odd stares.
I think I get my tear ducts from my dad. He cries a lot also. I’m not sure this story is entirely historically accurate but I think my dad opened the first date with my mom in tears after just having watched Brian’s Song, a tear jerker about the Chicago Bears. He just opened the door and was a mess. I like to think that’s how they met and fell in love.
GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY 2
Coach, our giant dog , is a close-talker, always has been. Never really thought much about it, until my wife brought it up....
“Why’s he gotta be so up in everybody’s business?”
“I don’t know. Because he’s interested?”
“Yah, but does he need to be THAT interested?”
She was right. I looked over and saw the dog standing directly in front of our daughter, approximately 1 inch separating nose from nose. He’s a close talker, always has been, never thought much about it. But now having two outside observers I realize how ridiculous this behavior is.
If you are sitting on the couch, he will walk up right in front of you, look you dead in the eye at point blank range and just stand there. If you push him away he will then shift slightly so that his body is perpendicular to you, parrallel to the TV. So now you can’t see the TV, nor can you operate the remote due to his shear size.
This TV obscuring’is a surprisingly common occurance in our house. Coach just standing there like a wingding, family members moving and contorting to get a view of the TV, one of us with the remote waving it up in the air like we’re trying to get a cell signal. He’s a close talker, always has been. Never really thought much about it.
WHAT THE HEALTH
I can’t believe Tom Brady is the same age as me. It makes me feel terrible about myself.
Does anybody else get annoyed with noise pollution? Or loud sounds in general!? I swear everyday I am both jarred and enfuriated by loud sounds eminatating from all sorts of random things. Yesterday it was the elevator bell. I honestly shouted at it out of shock and irritation. Why does it need to be so loud!?
It’s everywhere, the other day it was a public toilet flushing, then it was a motorcycle driving by and then it was my ultimate nemesis, leaf blowers. This morning I went out in my slippers and bath robe, just stood and evil eyed the landscapers across the street who were running a leaf blower.
God damn I fucking hate those things. That’s what I want etched on my gravestone: “I told you I hated leaf blowers!”
KONG: SKULL ISLAND
We just got a second dog, a puppy, equally as big as the first dog. It was a terrible idea. She is a nightmare.
I still can’t seem to get her name right. Sheetrock… Dinger… Lunch Head, I don’t know. I just yell whatever comes to mind.
Yesterday I shouted “Dick!” when I caught her chewing on my pillow.
That dog is on thin ice.
I’m reading a book that takes place in Scotland during the 18th century. It is chock full of great colloquialisms, words and sayings of the time and place. My current favorite is `cockstand.’ as in boner.
I like to say it with a Scottish Burr: “well if you’re gonna wear that dress it’ll give a me a terrible cockstand.”
This movie was awesome by the way, I am a sucker for a good period piece.
Had this dream a little while back….
I was fixing a car in the driveway with a buddy. We needed a part so we went to an auto parts store and guess who was standing in line!? Steven Fuckin Tyler. All dressed up in rock star apparel, he was the coolest dude, just hanging out in the auto parts store. We told him what we were working on and he said “Man, I know that car, let’s do this!”
So here we come back to the house with Steven Tyler in tow. The wife is super excited so she comes out and asks us if we want anything to snack on and sure as shit Steven Tyler says: “Nah, I’m cool” and he reaches in his pocket and pulls out a pack of Pop Tarts. You know the shiny silver packet with 2 Pop Tarts inside!? Yah, boom, he pulls one out and just starts casually eating a Pop Tart, says it helps him stay sober.
It was awesome. We all just worked on the car. He was knowledgable and wasn’t afriad to get dirty, wrenching on the car in all his scarves and weird jewelry, occasionally belting out a scream in folksy conversation. All the while he kept non-chalantly pulling Pop Tarts out of his pocket.
I was stoked when I woke up, I checked out Aerosmith’s tour schedule, downloaded a few songs. I’ve also been giving Pop Tarts some sideways glances in the grocery store.
One of my favorite axioms came from Dennis Leary when he said “life sucks, get a helmet.”
I’ve always loved it. I say it in my head all the time, and now especially with the kid. I wonder if that’s an acceptable thing to say as a parent. “Well I’m sorry that happened sweetheart….but life sucks, get a helmet.”
Probably should run that one by the wife.
I’ve been helping out a lot with the kid’s homework lately.
Apparently my tutoring status is being called into question because I made up some fictional math terminology. They also think I invented a country.
I’m getting increasingly more annoyed with waiting in lines. I’ve just lost my patience over the years.
When people don’t have their shit together or are on their phone it drives me nuts. Or when people are in the express lane but they have more than 15 items, and half of those items are obscure produce that need price checks, that shit will give me an ulcer.
I’ve watched myself grow more impatient over the years and its almost getting to the point where I say something. Just yesterday I sat forever behind two people who apparently had never been to a Jamba Juice and asked questions about every possible thing: “Well what’s the difference between Whey Protein and Soy Protein? Well which would you recommend? Where are you from?"
They then proceeded to change their order, twice, and finally whipped out a coin purse and struggled for exact change. I audibly grumbled, which thankfully they didn’t hear, but I’m really close to being that guy that says something. It’s embarrassing.
THE GIRL ON THE TRAIN
If somebody with Athletes Foot walks around a hot tub, and then a person in the hot tub rests his neck on that spot, would he get Athletes Foot on his neck? And if so can we please call that Neckletes Foot!?
The book I’m currently reading is all about British history. I’m particularly impressed with the names of English towns. These people are fantastic at naming things! I mean I started out in the town of Little Dribbling and ended up in Great Snoring, by way of Pucklechurch.
And from there the names just keep getting better. Towns include: Upton Snodsbury, Mudford Sock, Bitchfield, Cockermouth, Barton in the Beans and my favorite: Nether Wallop.
Shit! I forgot my other favorite: Bishop’s Itchington. I’m not making these up, go look for yourselves. And that last one correctly has an apostrophe, so that means at some point the Bishop HAD an Itchington. That sounds like something I would say late at night to the kid.
In addition nothing in Great Britain is ever just Notting, its Nottingham, or better yet Nottinghamshire. I’m getting quite a chuckle out of it. I think I would have been great back in the 16th century helping name these villages and squares. I would have been the one in the back of the town council meeting trying to add a few extra suffixes to everything.
The president of the board would announce: “Currently up for voting is the name of East Ruther.”
And people would mumble “Oh, yes, East Ruther is a fine name.”
I would then subtly cough out “East RutherFORD.”
The council members would then mumble “Ah yes, East Rutherford is a more strapping name, harrumph, harrumph.”
I’d then slyly change sides of the aisle and call out “East RutherfordSHIRE!”
“Oh smashingly good sir! East Rutherfordshire it shall be!”
And then, like at an auction, I would keep raising my racket and bidding it up.
“I say East RutherforshireHELM!”
“Mumbles of approvement from the crowd.
“Maybe even East RutherfordshirehelmFORTH!” to a smattering of claps from the crowd.
”I say, moving notion chap! Harrumph!”
And then the dagger, I’d stand up and proclaim:
“East Rutherfordshirehelmforth THE FIFTH!!!”
And the place would go nuts!
“All for East Rutherfordshirehelmforth The Fifth say “I”!”
Of course I have instituted this English way of naming things into my daily life.
My wife (Mrs. RollingHerEyesbrooke) hasn’t laughed yet, but I think the dog has taken a liking to his new nickname: Leonardfordshirehelmforth the 5th Duke of Uploading.
And like the American I am, I have whittled that down to simply Lenny, which after a few days has felt oddly familiar.
Near my sister’s house there is a large utility box that somebody has scrawled a message on.
The lettering is notably unique as they used masking tape to outline the letters, and let it sit there for months, or years. Then the masking tape was removed, or withered away with the weather, and it left an imprint that reads:
It’s my favorite piece of graffiti, ever.
The first year I had my dog he ate (or drank) an entire bottle of vegetable oil. God I love that dog.
HELL OR HIGH WATER
I was in good seats on the first base side of Wrigley Field on a normal sunny humid day in Chicago.
I was probably 10 years old or so watching my heroes on the ball field and I remember seeing for the first time the bald spot on the back of one of my idol’s heads.
It was after a play where he was thrown out at second base. His helmet got knocked off in the play and he waited there patiently while his teammates brought him his hat and glove. And there it was, I couldn't believe it. My childhood hero was just a mere mortal man. And a man who suffered from male pattern baldness.
It was later in life that I realized we all have that bald spot in our lives, it’s just a little more glaring when you’re in the spotlight.
This movie was great, go see it.
SWISS ARMY MAN
Dear Wes Borland, I am making Swiss Army Man my Movie of the Year.
I have been telling everybody to watch it but nobody has. I think they are missing out. I am so glad that there are artists out there making wonderfully bizarre films like this.
I loved it, I think you should watch it.
LA LA LAND
Has anybody noticed that Trader Joe’s hires the friendliest people!? Every time I need help they are so accommodating. Sometimes I don’t even need help, I just want to meet a new friend.
When you ask: “hey where are the granola bars?” The person stops what they’re doing and is like “Let’s me and you have have a little adventure together and go find the granola bars!” I love it, I wish every store had employees like this.
The wife and I saw this movie in the theater, I didn’t think it lived up to all the hype.
KUBO AND THE TWO STRINGS
Sometimes I think I was born in the wrong century.
We get fair amount of song requests and some of them are great, some funny, some stupid. Makes me think of Bruce Springsteen, who plays a bunch of requests at every show. People bring handmade signs and hold them up and then he just calls it. It’s impressive and I respect that.
Speaking of Bruce Springsteen, I'm reminded of the greatest group of softball mercenaries ever to walk the earth:
The Bruce Springsteens.
This story has its roots in a long ago tour I was on with some other musicians. We had the day off and were having beers at a downtown bar in Milwaukee. The bar had a bunch of old sports photos, some of minor league teams, some of the bar’s softball team, and we were struck by the wide and wonderful array of strange mascot names for these teams: The Toledo Mud Hens, The Hartford Yard Goats, The Montgomery Biscuits.
So the 3 of us asked each other: if we were to start a team of some sort, what we would call ourselves? There were a few funny ideas and a few bad ones, and then we stumbled on the gem of the day: The Bruce Springsteens.
We laughed about this and it became a conversational touchstone for months to come. Then the summer came and a rival group of friends challenged us to a game of Sloshball in San Francisco. Naturally we accepted that challenge and like the competitive bastards we are, we decided to make uniforms, with numbers, and of course we named ourselves The Bruce Springsteens.
We kicked the shit out them, poured beer on their grave and pissed in their gatorade. We then went on and kicked the shit out of another team in the neighborhood. Our heads began to get bigger and we decided to enter into a co-ed softball league. We won it. We were the kings and queens of San Francisco's drinking sports under-world.
It was then that we decided to put ourselves out for hire. Anybody who wanted to kick the shit out of somebody else in drunken team sports could hire us. Thus was born the greatest group of sports mercenaries in the Bay Area: The Bruce Springsteens.
We’re still available for the record. We’ve lost some spring in our step, some of us put on some weight, a few knees have been blown out, but we still got it.
Writing songs is like trying to catch a bird. Sometimes you just end up with a handful of feathers.
And sometimes you go out for a drink and wake up in Singapore with a full beard.
Don’t paint with the broad and clumsy brush of generalization. The way you think the world is is not the way everybody else thinks the world is.
There are people who argue to get it right, and there are people who argue to be right.
I’d like to think I’m the former, and if you ever want to discuss things, let's try to get it right.
HUNT FOR THE WILDERPEOPLE
My dad taught me how to build potato guns.
Growing up we made countless potato guns, some big, some small, some that used hair spray, some that used pure oxygen, some that used a firing mechanism, others that operated only on a match thrown in a hole. We made potato guns for uncles and cousins and gave them out at Christmas.
It was great thing to be a part of. For those of you who have built and fired your own potato gun you know what I speak of. We would shoot potatoes out over the lake, we would shoot potatoes through the field goal posts at the high school football field. We would go out to the dump and shoot as far as we could. Sometimes the potatoes themselves would catch on fire and you were treated to a beautiful spectacle of a flaming potato hurtling through space.
I think the farthest we ever shot one was over the lake where I would guess it went went a few football fields in length, a glorious shot. There were plenty of duds to go along with it, the most spectacular dud coming on Christmas day when we gave my Uncle John a brand new potato gun and we all excitedly went to the deck off the back of the house, loaded it up and…..thump. A limp potato jumped about 3 feet out of the barrel and plopped down near our feet.
That same Uncle was also the one who got knocked over from a potato gun recoil years later. It was out on a frozen lake in northern Wisconsin and after the shot I looked back and there he was, all sprawled out in the snow. It was an all time shot, maybe a hundred yards, potato caught on fire. Incredible
Fast forward to my college years where my friends and I continued the tradition. One night we were shooting potatoes in the backyard when our housemate Jessica came out and in a drunken swagger said “give me that thing, I’ll show you how to shoot it.”
She took the potato gun (which was roughly the size of a huge shotgun) and basically hip shot it, hit the bullseye dead center and knocked over the target altogether. She then `mic-dropped’ the potato gun, grabbed her drink and was out. It was awesome.
MICROBE AND GASOLINE
I have an itchy scalp. I can’t stand it
One of the many problems with social media is this Outrage Blender that everybody gets thrown into.
Why is everybody SO upset about everything!? Why is it that you CAN’T BELIEVE something happened? Is it because you are detached from the actual thing and are writing about it in some ethereal cyber space that makes you that much more outraged? Is there some existential emotional balance that is disturbed by us living so much through social media? Why can’t we just calmly disagree? Why is everybody so worked up? I don’t quite get it.
And speaking of outrage…why in the world didn’t they have more Darth Vader in this movie!? I mean who was there making this movie and saying, “yah, let’s keep this awesome character to the absolute minimum screen time.”
Growing up my friends and I would play all sorts of stupid pranks on each other.
One of my favorites was when 3 of us dudes were driving in a one-bench pickup truck, the kind where all three of you sat right next to each other in a row...... If we saw a girl or somebody down the road, the person sitting in the passenger seat next to the window would duck way down so nobody from the street could see him. All you could see were two dudes sitting right next to each other in the truck with nobody in the window seat.
That shit still makes me laugh.
The Cubs won the World Series. I know a lot of people won’t understand it, and that’s just fine, but it was one of the greatest moments of my life. We tried to put the kid to bed when the rain delay came, but she quickly came back upstairs when she heard me yelling.
I think I’m gonna be able to ride that victory through my 40s.
My prediction is that the Cubs will win the next 3 World Series in a row, then go on to win the Super Bowl the following year.