Update

So, I guess I’ve let this site lapse long enough. I don’t really want to lose my entire – now quite modest – readership, so I’m going to start posting on here fairly regularly again. I’ve said this before, though, so we’ll see what happens with that.

The ironic thing here is that if you don’t see me posting here very often, it means I’m doing a lot of writing in other capacities. I have an article coming out in the New York Post soon, along with some other things I’ve sold recently, and I’ve been doing a lot of corporate writing work in my spare time – copywriting, editing and that sort of thing.

This means writing is actually making a contribution toward paying my bills, which is a very good thing, because writing is easier than most of the shit I've gotten paid for in my life.

As I’ve said before, I’ve really been trying to phase bouncing out of my life once and for all, and I’ve pretty much managed to do that. I’ve got two semi-regular bouncing gigs going right now, both of which can be classified as “favors for friends.” Nothing serious, and nothing I actually give a shit about, although we did have a bit of a controversy the other night when some jackass managed to get his head wedged in between two cars. I also walked a guy down to the corner and told him he was “gonna get his arms ripped off” if he kept yelling at one of the other guys I work with. Those things are still fun sometimes.

This past week, I also was quoted as saying, “Clubs are so 2005.” I liked that I said that.

As far as everything else goes, I still hate crowds, loud noises and people who can’t walk at a constant speed, so nothing’s really changed for me there. I’ve also been reading a lot lately – more than usual – so I’ll eventually get around to one of my reading lists if anyone cares.

Other than that, I can and do write about other shit. You’re just not seeing it here yet, but you will pretty soon. Thanks for all the emails. I’m getting older, but I’m not dead yet.

This is really good. Read the judge's opinion.

In all the time I’ve spent working in bars and nightclubs, I think the one concept that’s been most completely foreign to me in terms of customer behavior has been the violent flip-out. You know, the one where a guy gets that look on his face and carries on – shouting threats, ripping his shirt off, maybe damaging some property, etc – for an extended period of time in front of a crowd of people.

I’ve never quite understood the purpose of public meltdowns, but they seem to have become very popular over the past few years. In fact, I think people have come to accept the fact that certain people – their friends – will tend to do this on occasion. In other words, I don’t think losing your mind and making a complete ass of yourself in public is as unacceptable for young men as it once was.

I was in the gym the other day – sans headphones, unfortunately – and overheard two guys having a conversation about an incident that apparently took place over the weekend. The exchange went something like this:

“Did you hear about Mike?”

“No, what happened?”

“He flipped out at the bar on Saturday night.”

“Why?”

“I dunno. You get a few drinks in that kid and it’s over.”

What struck me here is that the guy who hadn’t seen the incident didn’t actually ask what happened. He simply knew. When you say someone “flipped out” in a bar, it’s almost as though things follow a script. The order of events is implied. Something sets him off, he starts yelling, he gets thrown out, he yells some more, and then he either gets beaten up or ends up running down the sidewalk with his shirt off.

This is evidently customary and acceptable for young men under the age of, say, twenty-five, and everything goes back to “normal” the next day, even if this is the third time the flipper-outer has lost his mind this month.

I’m struggling to comprehend this.

If something is going to take two hours, you should tell me it’s going to take two hours. If you tell me it’s going to take fifteen minutes, and it takes two hours, I’m going to be upset after fifteen minutes. If you tell me it takes two hours, however, I’ll be fine with that because you’ve already told me it was going to take two hours.

Millions of people do this. Most of them are in my family. Dealing with my family gives me the douche chills.

I make jokes all the time about being white trash. I talk about how my dream has always been to live in a trailer next to a convenience store, and how my fantasy trailer has a satellite dish on top, and how I want to sit around drinking beer and watching football all day and night.

I also want to look up and see stars now and again.

I had an awakening today, though. I went to Target and Walmart and found out I’m not really white trash, so I probably won’t joke about that too much anymore, because it’s not really all that funny.