Louis C.K. is the best.

This isn't my favorite Louis C.K. bit (I love everything that comes out of his face) but I find myself thinking about it a lot when I walk around New York.

 

Dog Walking.

Rain or shine, Chance and I will play ball like there is no tomorrow.

When people ask me what I do, I always laugh before I tell them. "I walk dogs." It's not a nervous laugh or an embarrassed laugh. It's just because it sounds ridiculous to me. If you would have asked me a year ago what I knew about dog walking I would have replied, "Put a leash on a dog and move your fucking feet."

During the past two months I've learned that walking dogs is much more than that. I grew up with numerous dogs (Suki, Peekaboo, Daisy (I miss you all), now LuLu, Reggie, and CoCo (The Pug Family)) and always enjoyed having them around. But now when I look back on it, I realize that I took all of them for granted. I used to make fun of people who gave their dogs a lot of attention. I either thought they were lonely, weak, pathetic, or boring. And maybe some of them were. But who isn't?

After spending most of my time with many different dogs the past few weeks I've noticed that there seems to be something more than just "escaping" reality or problems through affection towards a dog. When I watch people interact with their dogs I almost always see their best selves. They smile, they talk, they play, and sometimes they act so ridiculous I am embarrassed for them. The people do these things. And they're not embarrassed. Not at all. I might even say they're happy. They seem to let go of all the built up worry and anxiety that comes with living in a hectic city where almost everyone takes themselves a little too seriously. But they're not escaping this reality. They're just reminded that there are simple things in life that can bring smiles to their faces and all of that other bullshit that keeps them up at night probably shouldn't mean all that much.

Somebody got a haircut.

I hate people. I really do. The constant lying (to themselves and to everyone else), the show they're putting on for everyone, the apathy, the laziness, the sense of entitlement, I can go on for days. And I'm no better. But when I see people interact with their dogs, I quickly forget all of these things. They seem to take on the innocence of their four-legged friends. And what can I say, the bitterness fades for a moment and I'm happy for them.

Oh yea. What the fuck is up with this idea of being able to pick up chicks if you're walking dogs? There were no instructions on that during my 3 weeks of training. How do I get from, "Oh my god, your dog is so cute!" to, "Get your face out of that. That's an out hole and I ate Taco Bell earlier"? Sure, people come up to me and pet the dogs and ask questions. And sometimes those people are cute chicks. But how the hell has it ever, in the history of mankind, lead to a date then to a night full of mistakes and weird smells. I haven't read that guy Mystery's ("The Pickup Artist") books but I can't imagine there is a chapter on "From Hello Doggy to Doggy Style." Actually there probably is. Am I so not cool that I can't even get 1 chick after walking 15+ dogs a day. I haven't even gotten a number. No missed connection. Nothing. Does that make me 15 times the loser? That's 15 times the loser each day, 5 days a week, 75 times the loser, weekly? I mean, I guess I understand that talking about a dog is a good excuse to initiate a conversation with someone, I just don't understand how it goes from that to R. Kelly. Does anyone have any advice? Or should I just sign up for OK Cupid already and shut the fuck up?

Don't answer that.

This little dude was hanging out in a messenger bag.  I asked his owner if the dog enjoyed being in the bag. "Wouldn't you love somebody carrying you around all day?" Yea. But only if his name is Charles Barkley. What can I say, that guy looks like he can give an awesome piggy back ride.

Tail-or Gang!

Yoga and Boners. But mostly Yoga.

There is something about people who are really into yoga that I can't stand. I'm not opposed to yoga. I've done it a handful of times and have enjoyed myself. I just find the people who are really passionate about it super annoying. I think it has to do with the fact that the majority of the people look like yuppies. (Their skin color is implied.) Or maybe it's the fact that they preach about it like it's some higher form of religion. Whatever it is, I think it's a shame because I know if these people didn't bother me so much I'd probably do it more often. What do I expect? Gucci and Juicy J spending their afternoons perfecting their Downward-Facing Dog pose? They might not ever do it. But I'm sure they've got all the tips on how to perfect it....

Mmmhmmm....

Recently I was reading about all of the terrible things yoga can do to your life. I wasn't shocked at the horror stories. I expected them. What did shock me was the fact that so many people never considered the dangers of doing headstands and twisting your body so your stomach touches your asshole while breathing calmly and making sure your eyeballs don't shoot out of their sockets. But even though there are risks, there are a ton of benefits. It can be relaxing, you can prevent injury, you can strengthen your core (and possibly your mind, unless your mind is like mine, then you have no chance), and a million other things. This is one thing I read that I thought was really interesting...

Are there people out there acting on that stimulation in class? If so...playa pimp fo' real!

OK. Yoga may do a ton of things. But let's not get fucking ridiculous. YOUR own movements and poses aren't the reason your sex life might be revitalized. The chick in front of you with her asshole hangin' out. The way she bends over and does the splits and wraps her own leg around her head. HER movements are the reason your sex life is revitalized. Yeah, and she ain't even wearing any clothes. I'm going to go out on a limb (plank position) and say those are the real reasons you're rockin' that pants tent.

Yoga should be a spectator sport. My (imagined) sex life is revitalized. And I haven't moved a muscle. Thanks Yoga!

Watch your daughters.

And your dogs.

Zach Galifianakis

"My New Year's resolution is to stop saying 'You go girl!' to myself and I've already broken it 4 times and that's because I like to do a lot of puzzles." 


I aspire to be able to write shit that's this funny.

Food Stamps.

Hustlin': How to Apply for Food Stamps

A friend of a friend (Ms. Mercedes Kraus) wrote an article about her ongoing financial struggles and her quest to get food stamps for GOOD. Please click the link above to read it (or skim it if you're lazy and mediocre) before you read my comments about it. 


I'm not sure I understand the intent behind the article. I should have listened to Rick Ross a few more times. I think GOOD's Hustlin' series (I don't read it) has to do with moving forward with whatever you have and trying to put yourself in a better place to succeed. "...we go beyond the pitying articles about recession-era youth and illuminate ways our generation is coping." Why does Mercedes sound so goddamn guilty about needing food stamps even though she comes from a middle-class background? I don't really understand it. I know it's just a title, but I thought hustling implied that you gotta do what you gotta do. At least that's what I think when I see the little Mexican guys in the middle of the street selling bottles of water for a dollar on hot summer days. Or the kids selling candy bars for their "high school baseball team." So I don't feel sympathetic about any of it, but then again I don't know if Mercedes wants me to.


My problem with the article isn't really about the presumptions people (in the comments section) say she makes. I love presumptions. I'm also not against using the system to your advantage. If you can find a way to get food stamps even though you don't need them, by all means, do it. And do it big. (I'm not implying Mercedes doesn't need food stamps, I have no idea how much money she makes.) What I mean is if you're going to have food stamps, don't feel weird about it. Stack them shits up and make it rain on the checkout dork at Trader Joe's. Be proud it. (I guess you can't really make it rain with a credit card looking thing. It would be weird to keep throwing the card at the cashier's forehead and picking it up, only to do it all over again.) Justify "abusing" the system because of all the necessary basic things it doesn't offer. Like affordable healthcare or reasonably priced education. Where is all this guilt coming from? Is it colored white? That's a genuine question.


The thing that became most apparent to me is that the idea of "struggling" seems to be really lost on people. Maybe it's just my generation (and undoubtedly future generations). Or maybe it's just the underemployed college graduates that I know and talk to. Either way, it's frustrating. To me, "struggling" is something severe. It's more than not being able to buy a beer/shot deal at your local dive bar. "Struggling" doesn't mean picking an unpaid internship because it makes more sense for a future career. Tell somebody that is living in poverty that you have a nice, shiny unpaid internship for them and I will bet all $783 of my life savings that they'll look at you like you're from some place foreign and weird (the bank?). "In-tern your ass around and get the hell out of my face." To me, struggling is the genuine worry of making it another day. 


"...I look like I'm living in poverty." That's a bit (shitload) of a stretch. If I were to describe what Mercedes looks like, solely based on the Platinum Benefits card and not from my memory of seeing her out, I'd say she looks like one of those girls at the bar that won't talk to me. And for good reason. I may not look like I live in poverty (people in poverty wish they could stunt like this) but I sure do look like a guy that has a disgusted look on his face when he sees the latest handlebar-mustachioed idiot using his food stamps at Trader Joe's or Whole Foods. (Sorry, I just can't shake the picture of all the yuppie/hipster (same thing) shoppers at both of these places. I shouldn't assume that people who use food stamps only do their grocery shopping at Target and the corner store but I'm sure these places are more frequently visited than any Whole Foods.)

Search "American poverty" in Google and this is the first picture that comes up. This might be extreme but it's also closer to real poverty and real struggle.

I'm not above food stamps. I would apply for them in a heartbeat if I thought I qualified. That's a lie. I would apply for them in a heartbeat if I wasn't so fucking lazy. That's the truth. But at the same time I wouldn't justify it to myself or to anyone else by saying that I need this internship that might lead to a meaningful job at a non-profit or any of the other ridiculous justifications you can think of. No. I would say, "I got food stamps. Who wants to have a Dorito eating contest? Why you ask? Because we can. And because I ain't payin' for it." 


Most of the people I know who are college educated and working shitty jobs aren't struggling. We're choosing. We're choosing to pursue our dreams/delusions. Whether it be to make the world a better place at a meaningful job or to try to get paid by being funny (my delusion). We're choosing to live in overpriced apartments in Brooklyn, NY because that's what we want to do. We're going into credit card debt because we know at some point we're either going to settle for that corporate job and stop preaching or one of our relatives (if not our parents) has a place we can sleep and not pay rent. If we were struggling, this shit would be way different. We wouldn't dream of quitting our jobs and going on a few month vacation to India (who has a Going Away Party for that?). That's not struggling. That's living the life. Why feel guilty about it?

Plans. Plots. And Delusions.

I know that as soon as some people read this they're going to think that I'm masking my own intentions and experiences by saying "this guy I know." I want to tell the people who come to that conclusion to feast on a packed satchel of peckers and choke on one. Preferably a small, hairy, greasy one.

Moving right along.

This guy I know came to visit this past weekend. (And so it begins). Let's call him Mother Fucker or M.F.er for short. (I'm sure he doesn't F any Mothers. I just like the way it sounds). I've known him for a while and always thought he was a pretty interesting character. He's beyond nerdy. He goes to the geekiest conventions that are frequented by "male" un-showered thirty-somethings who still live with their moms, collect toys, and have yet to touch a girl that is 3D and real. (We have almost one thing in common.) I'm talking nerdier than any Harry Potter convention and creepier than a porno convention. At least at the porno conventions, the creepshows can get off to real women and not Nintendo versions of them or imported models that are only sought after because they are dressed in Chun-Li or Princess Leah costumes. But beyond all that, I hear him out. I like hearing about a world I'm not a part of. It's fascinating. What can I say, I'm attracted to weird M.F.ers.

M.F.er told us the reason he came to visit was because he was thinking of trying to get transferred here for work and wanted to see if he enjoyed New York and could see himself living here. Then he delayed his trip by a week "because of work" which ultimately made Josh and I suspicious. We began to wonder what his real intentions were. When M.F.er finally showed up it became clear that he had ulterior motives. After a few conversations Josh figured out that M.F.er came here to "casually" bump into a girl he talked to a few weeks ago. A girl that he knew was going to be in New York this weekend. A girl he talked to. Not had a beautiful short-lived relationship like 500 Days of Summer. (Ha!) Not an explosive sex-filled romantic weekend. Not even a Best First Date Ever. Nope. Not at all. A girl he talked to. Talked to once. One time. In Chicago. He came here to "casually" bump into her.

I'm sure it's tough to imagine that. I wonder how cool a girl would have to be for me to drop everything I'm doing and do whatever it takes to see her again. Don't get me wrong. I dwell on every single somewhat attractive girl that talks to me. Or looks at me. Or just acknowledges my existence. But I don't hop on any planes. Shit, you'd be hard-pressed to get me to leave my room, especially if this chick has a Facebook account with a lot of "college years" photos. I just can't be bothered. I've already told myself, "It ain't going to happen. And if it did you'll just fuck it up and have to do it all over again."

M.F.er thought it was a good idea to figure out when this girl would be in New York (which itself is completely 100% insane) then decided coming out here would be another grand idea. And how did he think that would go? "Hey. I'm here. In New York. You seem to be here too. We talked a few weeks ago. For like a few minutes. Uh. Remember? So I'm here. Yea. I'm here. Hey." Of course that's not how he thought it would go, that's how it actually would have gone. (The lack of responses from her is because she'd be busy dialing 911 or blowing the rape whistle.) Maybe this is more accurate. "Oh my god! I haven't stopped thinking about you since you explained how Godzilla would destroy King Kong! It's really you! My knight in shining Boba Fett armor! Let me put your penis in and around my mouth...forever!" Bitch please.

After sitting around and thinking about all the plotting and trickery I do, or at least plan to do, I can admit that I've never taken it too far. Actually, I almost never take it anywhere. The plots and tricks stay in my head. Right where they belong. But M.F.er sees it differently. For a girl he talked to once; he planned a trip, paid for a friend (the friend who introduced the girl to him), rescheduled a trip to make sure his schedules lined up with hers, thought a million thoughts about how it would work out, how Ryan Gosling would get the girl in the end because he always does, then he came here.

And she wasn't here. And she wasn't coming.

I can't really fathom M.F.er;'s plan. It's insane. But it makes me wonder how people can get so delusional. He's not the only person out there that would do something like this. Neither the first nor the last. Loneliness is powerful but so is delusion. Which is better? I think I have an idea. But maybe I'm wrong. There are those who will say, "Marty. You're jaded, cynical, and 5'6"! What do you know about anything?"

I don't know much. But I ain't getting on any planes. And I know I ain't no M.F.er.