Year: 2016

My greatest fear

Hi, clean guy here. My greatest fear is that when I visit the bathroom for the sole purpose of washing my hands—like if I’m about to eat or something—that someone may think that the short amount of time I spent in the bathroom means that I didn’t wash my hands.

I know—who cares what people think? And I would usually agree. But not on this. This is important.

I’ve tried wiping my hands on my shirt as I leave the bathroom, pantomiming a sort of oh man, my hands are just still so wet because I just washed them! act. But then I worry that people may think that I think that wiping my hands on my shirt is an acceptable substitute for actual washing. Not cool.

I know—who cares what people think? And I would usually agree. But not on this. This is important.

So what do I do? Always walk out still holding a paper towel? Leave the bathroom loudly going “oh man, my hands are just still so wet because I just washed them!” Should I always comment on what luxurious hand soap they’ve got in this McDonald’s bathroom? “You’ve really gotta try that stuff… I mean, obviously I did.”

I know—who cares what people think? And I would usually agree. But not on this. This is important.

Or just wash my hands in slow-motion? I… I think I could do that.

Icky Thump

I once told this girl in a bar that I was saving the White Stripes’ final album, 2007’s Icky Thump, to listen to at some point in the future just so I could have the pleasure of listening to a new White Stripes album when there were no new ones. This was a bunch of years ago, it was true, and she said she was impressed with my self-control.

Late last year I found myself in the driver’s seat in Texas late at night with a long way to go. By then I had bought the album and kept a copy stored up in the cloud, always available but never played and just kind of hanging out. I had avoided even merely reading reviews for almost a decade, but these unfamiliar roads kinda seemed like the right time, and this night the right place to pull Icky Thump down from the sky and out through the rental car speakers.

You know, I’ve got this playlist for songs that are not necessarily great, but when I first heard them made me go “whoa—what world did this thing come from?” (The playlist is actually, literally, titled “What world…?”) Rammstein, Gorillaz, Eminem, Black Flag, Mindless Self Indulgence, and a few others, have a track apiece on the playlist. None of the songs have that effect on me anymore, but every track was once mind-melting stuff.

Would adding an entire album be violating the spirit of the playlist?

Can’t take much more of this

I was in the backseat of a car maybe a month ago when the new X-Files (2016) came up. None of us had heard whether the series was coming back for a permanent run or what. Someone looked it up on their phone and found it would only be six episodes.

“Oh, thank goodness,” I sighed.

My response baffled the front-seat occupants, one of whom asked what I had against the The X-Files. I explained badly, as I often do on the spot, how age has shown me that more isn’t always better, and my already loaded media diet means I just don’t have time or energy for that much new stuff.1 Fewer episodes equals better.

A lot of times I’d rather appealing stuff just not exist than have to exert the willpower needed to not to care about it. Everett today is thankful Seinfeld quit early. Everett today was pissed when 99% Invisible went weekly. Everett sighed and stared out the window at the news of Blade Runner 2. Everett is way too good at finding stuff he cares about, and really bad at ignoring stuff that sounds like it might be cool.

Tom Chandler has this problem with podcasts. I, um, also have this problem with podcasts.

(P.S. If you’re David Lynch, make all the new Twin Peaks you want. I’ll accommodate.)

  1. I wanted to add, but didn’t, that I always thought Milennium was better than The X-Files, because that would just confuse them and might make them think I really did secretly hate The X-Files but wouldn’t own up to it. I’m getting better about staying focused while talking, keeping the extraneous details I’m just dying to share to myself.[↩]