Posts Tagged ‘life’

We hear a lot of the fight for equality. Equal to what though?

Equal to waking up to a pointless existence where no one appreciates you? Equal to working hard only to die before you actually accomplish anything worth a damn? Equal to Screech from Saved by the Bell?


(This is your goal)

I don’t want to be equal to anyone. That means they have everything I have. If a person can do that, and I’ve met people and boy I’ll tell ya I am not a fan, what’s that say about me?

Keep fighting for equality. It’s perception. Maybe one day you’ll be lucky enough to realize you’re better than comparing yourself to others. Equality is just a false-sense of security and saves you from the brief feeling of being an outsider.

I haven’t blogged here much in the last two years. At first it was because I had a job that drained me plus I had found other outlets where I could make money. I’m still primarily writing elsewhere about sports (people love sports) and seeing some success. I’m not satisfied though as writing is still only a fraction of my “career.”

Unfortunately it’s a tough industry. More and more people are learning English plus women who know how to write are no longer tossed into rivers to see if they can float. This immediately doubles my competition, which I’ll have to accept.

A large part of me still does enjoy writing on humorous topics. It’s tough for me to get rid of completely because I don’t take much seriously. I add my jabs and sarcasm in as necessary when writing about sports yet it’s still limited at times and when I try doing it sometimes feels forced. So I may be writing here a little bit more now that fantasy baseball season is over. Probably, my train rides home will include a little bit more writing about my life or how much everybody else is a silly person.

Ultimately, my writing goals include nothing specific. I just want to be able to say something, be heard, and then have someone hand me enough money to pay my rent, buy food, and have a little extra left for pants whenever they rip in the crotch. Or maybe that last one is society’s fault and they should just learn to accept seeing more flesh than they’re used to.

hole in pants

(These aren’t my work pants, but just so you know, all 3 of my pants I have for work have giant holes in the crotch and I have no idea what to do about it other than lose shame)

Writing about your life isn’t exactly lucrative though unless you’re already successful at something else or killed someone. Nobody is interested in the autobiography about a person who thinks their life was interesting if the only thing interesting about it was that they wrote about it. We’re not as special as we think we are and as I’m looking at Kurt Cobain autopsy photos knowing he’s younger dead than I am currently alive, it’s humbling to know how insignificant I am.

I’d love to write a little more openly. An opportunity to entertain more than inform would be dazzling! Where I’m at in life, people only want facts from me instead of opinion. I’m also tiring of editing which is why you will certainly continue to find many typos on this blog. Between writing, eating, and making sure my blinds are drawn so my neighbors can “accidentally” get a glimpse as I change in the morning, re-reading anything I write falls to the side. I can’t imagine how painful it is for you to read it once when I’m incapable of even passing my eyes along it as I type.

All of the articles I see online about getting paid to write online are outdated and reiterate the same information. The days of content farms are over. Your best bet is joining an already established site where you can break off on your own blog or killing someone. I don’t own a gun and I’m too short to clobber someone in the head without them seeing it from a mile away. I’ll just keep doing what I’m doing instead and hope someone just gives me a winning lottery ticket.

I haven’t blogged here in nearly forever (a slight exaggeration) and I happen to be drained from writing about baseball at the moment so I figured why not entertain you fine Mohicans still checking in on me here.

I’ve been writing lots, still, but mostly about baseball. I’ve been keeping up with Phalse Philly Sports, however, I’m thinking about ending the blog when I reach 1,000 posts in the next three months. Having the blog mentioned on a sports radio show multiple times seems to be its pinnacle and I think I got everything out of it that I could.

Back in December, I began writing for a baseball site. It was fun for a short while until several circumstances led to even more frustration than my life needed at the time. I’ll go into detail at a later date, but the key thing I took away from it was the importance of slideshows and other clickbait techniques. Because I know the editor I had an issue with is stalking me online now, which is really creepy, I’m going to save the juicy details until after he disappears for good.

A combination of frustrations with my flailing writing “career” and my job which seems to have become a “career” made the last two weeks pretty shitty. Hoping to find something good, I managed to discover during a Craigslist search.

Immediately I created a blog then decided my idea was too simple and I needed to not focus on one topic, rather, open it up to all baseball related news.

Since creating The Cleat Report back in July, I’ve published almost 900 posts–many being links to other places I’m writing. I thought by now I would be eligible for Adwords, but to even be considered you need to average about 600 views a day. Bloggers know how difficult this can be and if I ever want to make money writing I’m going to have to venture out in more directions.

So my new main focus is writing over at Innings Eaters. It’s unbelievably awesome because I get paid, the site already ranks high in Google, and there are plenty of competitions a boy like me can enter and enjoy. It’s far from a permanent dream writing gig, but it’s one of the best experiences I’ve had writing about baseball so far. It’s also only been a week so like the wrestling card at a WWE event, my opinion is subject to change.

That’s what I’m up to and focused on most. Life is pretty crazy at the moment so it’s nice to have something I can put a lot of energy into and get a lot back from.


(He’s making an Atheist Face)

Winter has arrived and more people than ever are slipping on the sidewalk and cracking their heads open. I am not one of them, yet.

Yesterday on my long icy walk home from the train station a funny thing happened. I met a new person who wants be my friend. I don’t want to be his friend though. Hopefully after reading this you will understand why.

Early on in my trek home, I passed a house with a man standing on the stoop with the door open. He had a strange voice, like the kind you expect to ask you for change with some sob story. He did ask me for help and with a sob story about how he has a heart condition and if I could help him while he goes inside and gets his other dog. He was worried he might pass out going up the stairs and no one was home.

Since the door was already open, the worst case scenario was that he murdered the family that lived there and was now stealing their dogs. This was unlikely and since I was not in too much of a rush to get home I offered to help him. Plus I have a soft spot for dogs and I pass his house every day and he might have murdered me if I didn’t offer help.

As he walked up the stairs to get his dog I saw her appear from the bottom part then run up the stairs. So basically he didn’t need my help at all and the story should have ended there. Unfortunately it didn’t.

He was rather chatty, and I learned quickly that in addition to his heart condition he had a girlfriend, was looking for another girlfriend and had it narrowed down to a bartender and hairdressers, took a $60,000 paycut for his new job, and will pop an ecstasy pill once a year. Already thinking he was a scumbag, I lost faith that we would ever be friends when he asked me what I do for fun. People still have fun? I thought we just exist then die.

The man came off to me as a bit of a troublemaker. He had a steady job and apparently lots of money so he’s not a complete waste of human life. I found out way too much about his ex-girlfriends in the 30 minutes we walked together and this instability made me feel really uncomfortable. Maybe the openness hurt too as I knew I could never live up to what these girls were giving him. By the fourth Portuguese restaurant we passed I decided I would avoid this man the next time our paths crossed.

Unfortunately he was walking in the same direction as I was and on my street so he would know where I lived. I was very careful to plan ahead and passed my apartment building then three blocks later told him I was going to stop at the store, which I had already planned to do. At this point he asked me to take down his number and said we should hangout sometime. If there’s one thing you should know about me it’s that if I want to spend time with you I will give you my number. For him, I just typed it in the notes section of my phone that I never look at.

The conundrum here is odd. I don’t really make friends, nor do I hangout with the ones I have very often. Years ago I would have been thrilled to make a friend who wants to hangout with me. He lived nearby too which would be perfect. Now though, I have more years of being a piece of shit to reveal to him. When you’re 20, you only have two decades worth of being a loser. At 27, I have almost 3.

Since he apparently is loaded with money and knows everyone in fucking town, I thought more about maybe actually giving him a call. I’m afraid of where this might lead though. What if he needs me to help him move shit? Not like the good kind of moving shit where I feed him oatmeal and it opens his bowels. I mean like picking up a couch.

I can’t see this friendship going anywhere. I can’t see myself being completely open and honest with him. I’d end up making up lies and stories just to seem more sane.

The only thing I have to do now is cross the street each day on my way home to avoid passing by. Thankfully he’s sick so I could always just pretend like we never met and freak him out to the point where he thinks his meds are having weird side effects. Yeah I think I’ll do that.

As if I’m not already taking up too much of my time chasing an impossible dream, I began writing for a new website. This new task has taken away from working on other projects, but from what I have learned in the last year, writing seriously has a much bigger benefit in the long run than trying to make people laugh does. In fact, making people laugh is pretty much a waste of time. Why put so much effort into something a feather to a foot can?

Anyway, the new site I’m contributing for is called Call to the Pen. For those unfamiliar with baseball, it’s a slang term for–I’m not going to even bother. To view my articles exclusively I will redirect you to my other baseball site I write by myself and the page I have dedicated to this new site. I figure, if you are interested enough to click on one link, you will probably click on a second.

You can find what I have written so far here on this really long string of words that for some reason I thought should all be part of the link.

That’s it. Just wanted to share this little piece of nonsense.

I’m also spending New Year’s with a sexy lady.

Niu Niu Timmy

No, not here. She’s only my number two and three.

There are a lot of things I am afraid to admit to others. One thing I am never afraid to admit is that I am a former fatty. When people look at me now they cannot imagine me obese. How could this slouchy shouldered, bad postured, girly forearmed guy have once been fat? I probably bring it up way too often to people, especially new ones I meet because losing weight is indeed something to be proud of. I was on a path to die in my 30s of a heart attack or eating myself to death after seeing how far away the fridge was. As proud as anyone should be when they drop a lot of weight, some people take it to a point where it becomes annoying. We all overcome obstacles and many of us are better people later on in life because we grew up struggling. There is a line that some former fat people cross where their actions are less inspiring and more irritating than anything else.

1) Remind You About It

Every once in a while is fine. When I say every once in a while too I mean it should happen once unsolicited with each person and thereafter should only come up in conversation when it’s related. Some former fat people seem to bring up their weightloss all of the time. I like to live by the theory that I may have been the person to lose the weight, but I was also the idiot who never could figure out how to put down a box of donuts. It’s like saving someone from a fire you started. There’s far less to be proud about.

2) Show You Pictures

I know more than six people who carry around, either in their wallets or on their phones, pictures of themselves when they were fat. I probably know eight people in total so that’s a pretty high percentage. There are approximately two pictures that exist of me from age 13-16, at my highest weight. The rest of those few pictures were destroyed because I don’t want to be reminded of how great eating a ton of food is, something those pictures might do. If people don’t believe me that I used to be fat then that’s their fault for having trust issues. If they must be convinced I’m sure there’s a stretchmark somewhere on my body that can act as some hard proof, or in my stomach’s case, mushy proof.

3) Act As If They Are Really Good-Looking Now

Most people will lose weight and become better looking, especially when it’s a large amount that needed to come off. While they may look better, they still don’t always look good. This happened to me when I first lost weight. I assumed I was a “stud muffin express” when really I was just a smaller version of my former self. Former fat people need to be reminded that life doesn’t end after they drop the weight. We need to remind them that there is still work to be done and not to get too cocky. They are still the same boring person they were 100 pounds ago.

4) Let Their Insecurities Hinder Your Life

Living a healthy life is great. When your lifestyle affects those around you, like you can only go to certain restaurants because you still have issues being around food, it becomes a problem. There is no way ice cream can ever be in my apartment without me emptying it out within the first hour it gets there. I know that, but I never disallow others to eat ice cream around me. The worst part is when the former fat person either must go to a certain restaurant or their schedule doesn’t work with yours because it’s during their fasted cardio session or whatever dumb fad they are into that week. Insecurities should never change the lives of others. This makes people not like you and then the made-up fears in your head will be true.

5) Offering You Advice

One former fat kid in my high school tried giving me the advice that I should never eat potatoes unless I eat meat with it too. This was terrible advice because first of all I didn’t ask for it and second of all I would never ask him for advice about anything because as a person he was below average. There is an art to reading people and whether or not they are too afraid to ask for help, which many are and will probe you to do so. Offering forceful advice out of the blue almost always is met with a negative reaction. People will ask how you lost the weight and that’s when you go into your giant explanation and share your story like it’s an episode of Oprah.

If you are someone who lost a lot of weight be proud and be modest. Nobody likes a showoff. Keep bragging about your accomplishments and you will eventually become the people you hated most.


(Everybody’s favorite former fatty, Steve Bartman)

Is Alec Baldwin smart? I hope so. His name is perfect as it matches the term Smart Alec or in more correct terms–Smart aleck.

I’m pretty sure Mr. Baldwin is dumb. If he had brains he would have eaten his brother Stephen for sustenance.

I like being a Smart Alec. In fact, it bothers me whenever I’m not. Sometimes I’m thrust into (no, not by Bill Cosby) a situation where I have to be more mature or respectful. I’m also stuck with a mini-brain aneurysm that causes me to respond less like I really think.

Name one thing worse than thinking of a funny smart ass response when it’s already too late. If you said 9/11 then okay you win. You may have even said Bill Cosby and again you win. But for me personally nothing is more painful than a delayed honest smarty pants response.

Walking through the filthy subway today toward my train, I spotted a girl that looked like a more attractive Maggie Gyllenhaal. To be fair, I describe my poop the same way; a more attractive Maggie Gyllenhaal. Bill Cosby knows what I’m talking about. Even he wouldn’t touch her.

This girl stood out because she was seemingly stuck and not in a rush. I on the other hand had a shit brewing in my tummy and a train to release my gas on. I made the mistake of making eye contact, the folly of all men. I noticed her clipboard too and knew she was trouble.

Nobody carries clipboards except for gym coaches and nuns interested in smacking you with them. It’s the flat wooden object of agenda driven assholes and the only thing on earth more likely to rape you other than Bill Cosby.

“I have one quick question for you,” she said.

For me? A question only I could answer? She said for me. This was no question anyone could help her with. This was knowledge that could only be passed from me to her.

“Yeah,” I cleverly remarked while displaying my extensive vocabulary and general kindness to all of those in need.

“Where do you think our drinking water comes from?” she asked while having a vagina.

I didn’t pause. Thankfully I was cold and in a rush. If I had time or she looked better, less like a white girl in college, I may have entertained her longer and eventually said something horrific as I tend to do in situations like these (conversations).

I thought about it briefly then said, “Uhh the sink.”

I said it in such a way too like she didn’t have some money raising pitch to give me. I answered as if she was really curious and wanted to know the answer. I sounded so sure of myself. I didn’t even inflect it like I had any doubt. There was no question mark at the end of my response.

“Thank you have a nice day,” she said as I continued walking without missing a step.

So was I right? Does the water we drink come from the sink? Or are we really just drinking the tears of women Bill Cosby knows?

bill cosby