Sofia: this article does not apply to you. At all.

One of the most potentially psychologically-damaging questions that one faces in life is: am I ugly?  (Clearly, since my face has been shown like 532,017 times as the toxic physical embodiment of the 1%, I pass.  Nobody would get that pissed about an uggo.)  There’s probably a pretty strong correlation between one’s perceived unattractiveness and being a youthful age, but I think as most folks get older and mellow they realize they probably fall into that 60-80% groupage of people who are neitherly overly beautiful/handsome (4-5% per Seinfeld) or disgusting/sickening (15-16% in most locations, jumps to around 35% when strolling through Wal-Mart).  Just to be clear, I’m talking about old school ugliness, not genetic deformities or accident victims.  I’ll also exclude African-American (and African-Canadian, for that matter) albinos due to the fickleness of melanin.  We are all aware of the benefits of beauty – you get a leg up in just about everything – but what restraints might ugliness put on future career options?

Let’s consider the other end of the spectrum for a second – it used to be easy to identify that top 5% of women, at least.  Back in my days of burgeoning adolescence, you knew that that group was comprised almost entirely of ladies who were members of one of the following organizations:

• The Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders
• The Solid Gold Dancers
• Charlie’s Angels

 
That was pretty much all you needed to know.  These days, with the 24-hour news cycles, reality television, blogs, old ladies rapping and what-have-you, it’s harder to pinpoint exactly what kind of grouping would give you the same results.  But based on my keen observations of modern culture, I can hazard a guess that the hottest ladies around now are:

• Anyone who’s ever been on the cover of Shape magazine (with less than 48% airbrushing)
• Anyone who’s appeared in a Skechers Shape-up advertisement
• Anyone who’s served as an internet tee-shirt model

 
For the three ladies who read this, I must admit that I’m not sure what the modern day male equivalent is – based on feedback from the ladies I know and some extrapolation, I’ll assume the top 5% of males are:

Anyway, this piece was intended more to point the non-pretty in the right direction.  If you are ugly, you generally need to shy away from sales or relationship-type positions, it’s a proven fact that people are more likely to buy sh*t from/interact with people that are attractive.  That’s pretty much common sense, but the equation gets more complicated if you have other negative qualities beyond ugliness.  For instance, ugly and stupid is a pretty loathsome combination – one that lends itself more to a career in serial murdering moreso than say, chemical engineering management.

There is a lot of misleading propaganda out there about ugly people occupations – always tending toward easy targets such as carnival workers, DMV employees or toll booth operators.  But have you been to the DMV lately?  Some serious hotties working the Take A Number machine these days – hell on That 70s Show, Fez worked at the DMV at the same time Wilmer Valderrama was deflowering basically every starlet around in Hollywood.  Misleading.  And a recent study in Scientific American showed that carnies, on average, have better facial symmetry ratios than any profession other than the somewhat exclusive society of French newswomen.  Carnies likely suffer from the fact that their jobs often require unfortunate hairstyles/ dental work aimed to attract curiosity seekers by startling the visual senses.  I will attempt to steer the unfortunately-faced away from such stereotypes.

So if you routinely hear things like “hey, are you Heather Graham?” or “has anyone ever told you you look like Michael Cera?”, feel free to skip the (beautiful) flowchart below.

For every John C. Reilly, there's like 4,200 Matt Damons

Later,
Chilly17

Looks pretty happy for someone about to bleed out

I’m also gonna revamp the site’s Facebook page at some point – I just finally got the ICQ page up and running, so prepping for a traffic boom from that.  I’ve got all kinds of plans, just low on motivation to actually type sh*t into the keyboard.  Maybe I’ll just update this post on Friday if any other quick stuff comes to mind and keep toiling away on the other post that I’ve kind of lost interest in.

Later,

Chilly17

Wordpress, you are seriously killing me with the spacing issues.

Am I working on a real post?  Yes.  Is it taking longer than I expected?  Yes.  Am I still f*cking pissed about the NFC Championship Game?  Yes.  Am I very pleased about the return of the beefy crunch burrito, despite the fact that I promised myself that in 2012 I would refrain from eating anything with nacho cheese as an ingredient (other than nachos, of course)?  Yes – I have long been an advocate of chips inside a burrito, but choosing Fritos over Doritos was beyond brilliant.  Let’s celebrate the return of the BCB with a look at the best some songs that reference The Bell (as I also contemplate a side-by-side comparison of the caloric/deliciousness/nauseau-avoidance characteristics of the current titans of the local dollar menu – the Beefy Crunch Burrito and the McDouble at McDonalds.)

The Top Five Songs That Happen To Mention Taco Bell (One of Which Is Beyond Terrible, so Like the Top Four (Really Three))

5.  ”Cry Just A Little” – Bingo Players

Okay, technically they never mention Taco Bell, but there is some reference to Ibiza, which I think has a bunch of Taco Bells.  (What’s the deal with Ibiza anyway?  It’s mentioned in like every rap song these days.)  So instead of an Eminem song about murder subtly titled “Murder” I went with a video of a hot chick doing hot chick stuff after she decides that her job sucks.  Also, the song is cool and I need to get some benefit out of my exposure to Sirius channel 51.  I briefly considered Penguin Prison, then went to look at the video and – I swear to God – it was a f*cking Occupy Wall Street thing!  F*ck that sh*t, I was probably close to being effigied in that video (don’t know if effigy can be used as a verb, spellcheck does not like).

4.  ”Gone” – Kanye West

This one is a little problematic in that Kanye drops what seems like a nice T-Bell reference in a pretty sweet song, but then immediately fouls it up by referencing his friend getting fired for stealing churros.  In my fairly extensive personal history with The Bell, I’ve never known them to serve churros – and I was there during the shredded beef enchilada rollout of 1985 (caution: boiling bags of beef may be warm to the touch.)

3.  ”Combination Pizza Hut and Taco Bell” – Das Racist

The YUM Brands double shout-out!  Unfortunately for the splendidly-named Das Racist, this may be the worst song anyone has ever heard.  Ever.  (I read a story about a prop bet in poker where the loser had to listen to this song on repeat for a month; seems like chemical castration might’ve been more humane.)

2.  ”Glamorous” – Fergie

Fergie spares us the meth and keeps it real with that raw-as-hell drive through experience.  Bonus props for also using spelling in this song!  I love educational songs.  Props for the sweet Mustang, but negative props for failing to bring “flossy” into the general lexicon.  (General Lexicon sounds like the possible villain in the Superman reboot.)

1.  ”My Posse’s On Broadway” – Sir Mixalot

Before he became kind of a novelty rapper, Sir Mix-A-Lot was pretty well-respected MC, purveyor of mink coats and f*cking liar for making Seattle look anything other than dreadful.  Extra credit here for actually going to a real Taco Bell, even though it was closed.  The most impressive part of this video and song?  That Kid Sensation dropped a twenty, and didn’t even miss it.

Back to work on that other post,

Chilly17

I recently had the displeasure of driving to Dallas to pick up my new ride, as driving one-way rentals all over the f*cking planet had become a little cost-prohibitive, even for a high-flying 1%er like myself.  Helpful hint for Dallas drivers: there is actually a full spectrum of pressures you can apply to the gas/brake pedals other than “stomp/slam.”  Another note for Dallas drivers – if you are going to have a fender/bender at 6:30 PM, move your pieces of sh*t over to the side of the road, rather than have like 300,000 people go 3 mph for 75 minutes while you assess the $30 damage to your bumper.  Also, state of Oklahoma – finish some of your f*cking construction!  Your whole godforsaken state is coned up!

Interestingly, I did roughly the same amount of research in buying the world’s least threatening SUV as I did in buying my 911 almost five years earlier.  F*cking internet…too much information to process – if you are thinking of buying a Ford Escape, feel free to contact me, I’ve got the market wired from Maine to San Diego.  This is my first ever SUV or truck-type vehicle, and, so far – I kind of love it.  It’s comfortable, I don’t have to worry about scraping the bumper all the damn time, it can transport more than two human-sized adults, but yet is too small for someone to ask me to move some furniture or other crap for them.  Plus, it’s got satellite radio for some unknown reason (who’s paying $17/month for radio?  F-to-the-uck that) and it is sweet hearing UTFO on the radio – I always loved how Full Force would show up on UTFO songs in some kind of participating understudy deal.  (Although, if memory serves, I did see Full Force stand alone at the Fresh Festival in 1986 – might’ve been the LA Dream Team, though.)

Also, the Escape has an electric sunroof, meaning that I have completed the career grand slam of roof types; now I know how Federer felt when he finally won the French.  (FYI – I don’t consider those after-market sunroofs that were popular for like a month in the early 80s to be a viable option, they were effectively just a hole cut in your roof covered with a small slab of plexiglass and sealed with 3-4 inches of rubber that protruded well above the glass part.  After disfiguring your vehicle, you could then pop up the sunroof roughly one inch.  Never had that kind of roof.  I’m also not distinguishing between hardtop convertible and regular convertible – hardtop looks quite stupid when on, when off they look the same, so I’m lumping together.)

The Grand Slam of Roof Options for a Vehicle

• Coupe (ie no holes in roof or means of removing the roof temporarily): Ford Mustangs, Cutlass Supreme
• Cloth Sunroof (this is like the Masters or the French Open of roof options, by far the toughest to nail down): Renault Fuego
• Electric Sunroof  (what’s a moonroof then?): Ford Escape
• Targa Top (if you need a tool kit, it’s probably not taking the targa part off): Chevrolet Corvette
• T-Tops (looks pretty stupid when the tops are off, but de rigueur in the 80s): Datsun 280ZX
• Convertible (can come off a little Californication-y) : Porsche 911

2010 Ford Escape, 2011 – present

Discriminating soccer moms are not impressed

Coolness: 4 (Not embarrassing, but doesn’t seem to really melt any panties either)

Appropriateness for Awkward Romantic Manuevers:  N/A (Nothing attempted thus far – when you live with your 82 year old mom you have a pretty wild life already)

Transmission:  9-Speed Automatic (probably only like five speeds, but I don’t really know what the difference is in an automatic anyway)

Stereo:  CD/AM/FM/Sirius w/ Ford Sync (The Sirius is pretty cool and the Ford Sync stuff should be really cool – it’s supposed to read your texts to you! – but it actually only works well with like Motorola Razrs and Blackberry 1.0s.  So it’s basically a pretty loud bluetooth headset, which is nice anyway since I’m deaf.)

Description: It’s like a truck, but with a backseat, and then an area behind that.  It’s not hard to get into (unless you are 82), it gets good gas mileage and is blue.  Also, it has tires.

Later,

Chilly17

Fuck midichlorians, my version of the force is more of a three-legged stool of awesomeness.

2011 was not a great time in Chillyville; I’m hoping this is just the critically (lauded and) important second stage of my adulthood where personal crises will eventually lead to victory parades and medals and shit.  Like a Jedi-in-training, I find myself in unfamiliar environs dealing with issues (including the loss of extremities) that I’m currently ill-prepared for – I’m probably gonna find myself sleeping in the entrails of a tauntaun soon.  The key difference between my situation and Empire is that, when living with an 82 year old lady, average room temperature in the house more closely approximates the surface of the sun than the ice planet Hoth.

Anyway, the only nugget I have gleaned here is: if you ever find yourself living in such a way that you have little to no responsibility, and just get to do whatever the fuck you choose pretty much all the time, don’t put yourself in a position where you suddenly have multiple responsibilities to multiple parties.  Because, you will find that responsibility is quite a shock to the system after years of boozing/tv for like six hours a night.  Such a shock that even jugs of Yellow Tail might lose much of their morale-boosting power.

Anyway, I feel that the dawn of 2012 is gonna start melting the proverbial carbonite (I have chosen to mix my metaphor).  I have some ideas to turn that frown upside down (and maybe start generating some positive cash flow?) and might even detail my progress here for my seven faithful readers (and the thirteen other slutty ones).  I have tried to take some time and figure out what I really want to try and accomplish, as to this point my trogging effort has been haphazard and sluggish at best.  There’s still about 439 things I think I would be great at, but unfortunately, my only proven expertise remains playing foosball, giving nicknames, and getting large groups of people to walk pretty far for lunch (all difficult to monetize).  (One positive note: two buddies and I totally had the idea for a Netflix-for-ties about a year ago, an idea that Taco recently appropriated on The League (a program that has grown on me).  So there’s that – but kudos to Taco for calling it Neckflix, nice touch.)

Advances in Hospital Technology (Probably an ISRG product)

One thing that I did not know until recently – now, at select hospitals, when you go to the surgery waiting room they give you one of those vibrating polygonal light things like you get at fine restaurants like Olive Garden or Red Lobster.  I think our Pavlovian response to these buzzers is probably pretty positive since the buzzing/flashing light is usually followed by the consumption of 14 cheese biscuits.  The ones for surgeries are a little more sophisticated, of course – they have two lines of LCD text like an old school blackberry, and give updates like “surgery has started” and “surgery completed, patient did well and is in recovery room.”  Seems like there would be some drawbacks to this device, though, if shit is going downhill – does it just say “patient died” if somebody expires on the table?  Spares the doctor a trip to the waiting room?  Maybe they should let some third party narrate the events XBox 360 style?  ”Homeboy bleedin out!”?  In five years they’ll probably just text you, so you’ll be free to hang out wherever you want while sweating out the surgery.

Later – much more coming soon, including a new entry in the Cars I’ve Owned: A Visual History series,

Chilly17

Little known fact: Suzanne Vega auditioned for the role of Elaine

(Editor’s Note: I started writing this six weeks ago, before my face had been splashed all over everywhere as one of “The 1%.”  I got the email that my face was on The View and I prepared for my future life as a pundit, as surely they would want to hear from one of the folks they specifically requested explain their “actions” – to the extent that going to a fucking party is an “action” worthy of explanation.  Of course, no one at The View responded to me, so here I am, still toiling as an unpaid internet hack.  I guess punditry wasn’t in the cards – I could’ve fucking been taping I Love The 00s right now, but nooooo, I’m finishing this column.

Additional backstory (whether you like it or not): Chillyvile has undergone significant personal upheaval in recent weeks.  I re-inherited my beloved dog (from an XSO’s Dad, don’t ask), which required me to fly to Milwaukee, drive to Memphis, get her used to me again, then drive to NYC.  After a month in NYC, the aforementioned significant personal upheaval led me to rent yet another car and drive back to Arkansas, beloved dog in tow.  I am now a man without a country, hanging out with my dad in the nursing home as much as possible to reduce some of the strain on my mom (not completely altruistic, also want her not to freak the fuck out about the fact there’s another dog in the house) and to enjoy the good days he has.  So the happy-go-lucky days are somewhat a distant memory, but I’m gonna get back on top of shit.  Right now I guess I’m gonna finish this, to the extent that I don’t boil in my own skin while drinking some Stump Jump.  Friendly tip: do not drink red wine if the thermostat is controlled by an 82 year old.)

The original title of this post was going to be “I’ve Had Just About Enough of Bruno Mars” until I learned that he doesn’t sing the song that inspires homicidal vitriol in my heart.  I’m in Memphis at the moment, via an early flight yesterday into Milwaukee to reclaim The Greatest Dog Ever (TGDE) followed by a drive through various and sundry midwestern states including Wisconsin (my least favorite accent in the U.S. and second only to Cockney for worst ever), Illinois (very polite with the construction signs – “there will be some barrels on the road in 4 miles” followed by “two miles to barrels” then “danger: approaching a couple orange barrels” and then, sure enough, two barrels, followed by “Thanks for not fucking speeding in this construction zone”), Missouri (pretty sure I caught some secondhand meth smoke as I crossed that Winter’s Bone bridge), Arkansas (where the damn day started) and then T-T-T-Tennessee. I’m pretty sure this isn’t proper paragraph construction as none of the follow-on sentences had anything to do with the opening.

(So I’ll go to the parenthetical – not just to talk about my heartland travel day, but because typing “parenthetical” gives me kind of a self-satisfied rush.  Anyway, one recurring theme whenever I had to talk to someone today was that person’s fascination with what brought me to their fine state.  It’s kind of an invasive question; I prefer to reveal stuff to strangers only in the murky anonymity of the internet.  Explaining that you flew to get a dog and then were renting a series of one-way cars to decide where that dog would ultimately reside was a little too much for me to give the car rental lady.  I did learn, however, that car rental ladies in Wisconsin don’t have a great capacity for processing obviously absurd answers like “came here to help a friend bury a dead hooker.”  Lesson learned.  I just went with “here to visit my uncle” for the next series of gas station attendants, toll booth operators, etc who were mystified by the presence of such an exotic foreigner in their midst.)

So I’ve been listening to a fair amount of regular old FM radio, which has loosened up somewhat from last year’s rigid “we play Katy, Gaga, Ke$ha and Rihanna, then somebody else, then start back over with more K,G,K and R” playlist.  Now they play a whole range of stuff including Lady Gaga, Britney Spears, Ke$ha, Katy Perry, Rihanna, Pitbull, Jason Derulo* and Lil Wayne (who I think is now just soliciting random strangers at the mall as guest rappers – call me, Lil!).  But the one f*cking trend that I cannot stand is the song where people just talk about their day – and I mean just talk.  I get that it’s a little hypocritical since I tend to like rap music – “Today Was A Good Day” is a classic – but it’s clear up front that rapping is basically just talking about one’s day in some kind of rhyming manner.  But I cannot tolerate that Taylor Swift sh*t where she is talking about how the other chick wears short skirts and she wears jeans or whatever – not just for the idiotic lyrics, but Taylor Swift is supposed to be this amazing vocal talent and I don’t get it.

Anyway, there are several examples of this phenomenon that I could cite, but I hate them so much that I just change the station.  There is one that stands above all others though – I will not name it since it’s the (supposedly) lyrical equivalent of inciting Beezlebub.  The one that starts with “I had a really, really messed up week.”  (If you don’t know it, and hear it come on, I suggest somehow muffling the sound for the next four minutes to prevent aneurysm.)  I don’t know who sings it (I’m stunned it’s not Bruno Mars though, I hate “The Lazy Song” as well and thought it was the same guy as that piece of sh*t.)  There are songs that make you change the station or maybe turn down the volume; this song makes me turn off the radio and pull over in the nearest open area; I have to pace like an expectant parent for a few minutes to get the hatred out of my system.  Again, I won’t go into detail about how awful this fucking thing is, but it’s got so many ridiculous “this song is right now” conventions to it – mentions Zach Galifianakis, Twitter**, California Dimes***.  Words are not the appropriate medium to express my detestation.  Fuck I hate it.

Anyway, there’s only one song that can get away with the whole “I’m a singer, but I’m just gonna talk about what I did today and you can do fuck all about it.”  As everyone in the fucking world knows, that song is “Tom’s Diner.”  More on that later.

* What the fuck is up with Jason Derulo and that whole “Jjjjjjjjason Derulo” effect in every one of his songs?  Does anybody else make their name a sound effect thing like that?  It’s like that Playstation noise, except much more annoying.  Although, if I ever get a guest rapper gig, I’m definitely getting the “Chchchchchillllyyy Seventeen” effect.

** Okay, the song doesn’t really mention Twitter, it’s “quit her” but it’s close enough for me to hate it even more for not going there when I guarantee the first 875 drafts of the lyrics had “Twitter” in there.

** I’m cool with the objectification of women (or men, for that matter), in general.  But the concept of localized rankings is annoying – if there’s a scale, it should be universal.  Not “Vegas 10″ just “10.”  And “dime” is stupid slang for “10″ – dime is already widely recognized as “assist” so fuck off with that jargon.  It isn’t the BCS, there shouldn’t be regional debate.  Objectify nationally, volunteer locally.

Later,

Chilly17 aka .01

Apparently I picked a bad day to stop wearing mesh shorts exclusively

I went to an engagement party.

That’s pretty much it.

I mean, I figured eventually the ladies of The View would be calling me out for something, but thought it would more likely be, for example, when my idea for a craps table with built-in urinals took off.  I’m pretty good at leaning on stuff, and I’m really good at drinking, so I thought any televised leaning/drinking exploits would be looked at in a more positive light.  Apparently, leaning/drinking and looking downward at a mass of people that have suddenly marched onto the street was an unnecessary flaunting of my privileged, son-of-a-truck-driver-with-poor-financial-acumen social status.

Let me revisit the sequence of events that led to that woman on Whoopi’s left likening this party to one of Marie Antoinette’s legendary soirees.  A good friend recently got engaged, and in a shocking and extravagant manner, the newly betrothed couple decided to invite their friends and family to celebrate said engagement at a nice restaurant.  (I did not know this practice was only customary for people who work on Wall Street, but judging from the shocked look on the hosts’ faces above – “OMG people in jackets and dresses smiling and drinking during the day!” -it must be.)

Being that 2011 is apparently the year of extreme weather in every season – with fall being no exception – many attendees (which, to my knowledge did not include the heads of any major investment banks or hedge funds) chose to enjoy their cocktails on the balcony.  (There were appetizers as well, but given the moral outrage that the mere sight of people drinking on a balcony caused – I am hesitant to reveal any details of the food that was also available on a balcony.)  At some point – I’m going to guess I was on drink number four  – a bunch of protestors showed up on the street below the restaurant.  I know it sounds irrational, but I – and some other “swells” – could not resist walking the three feet to the balcony’s ledge to see what was going on.

At this point, basically no one had heard of Occupy Wall Street.  There were some interesting signs and a little bit of the 99% chant, if I recall correctly, as the group coalesced into a semi-organized mass, conveniently right below the restaurant.  (I’m not really following the 99% thing, though.  Is it supposed to mean that 1% of the people in the country control the economy and you’re pissed that it’s impacting you in such a manner?  If it is, isn’t that more a political issue?  I don’t think it’s based on taxes paid, either, which would make more sense to me, if it’s a financial issue.  Anyway, I guess it’s catchy.  I have some experience in activism myself – I got Gristedes to change the price of Arriba salsa storewide from an absurd $7.99 to a still-absurd-but-it’s-Gristedes-and-it’s-the-only-place-that-has-Arriba $5.99 with just a couple emails to corporate.)  We waved at some people, checked out what was going on; I didn’t really get an animosity vibe from the crowd and i suspect they got only a curiosity vibe from we, the balcony people (although if they really only had peanut butter and sh*tty veggie pizza that first day, they probably should’ve revolted to get some of our food).  I finished my drink, went inside for another (the true error in judgment was probably allowing me access to an open bar) and forgot all about the “encounter.”

Then the next day someone posted the video on youtube – as I said, I didn’t get any hostile vibe at all during the actual five minutes that I was “looking down on the crowd”, but whoo-boy were the youtube commenters a different story.  “You should’ve firebombed the f*cking place!” and “Id have shot everyone in the throat and had sex with they’re corpse” and “that gray-haired f*cker has a big nose!” (Note: I’m all for making fun of people on the internet – hell, that’s one of my (money-losing) jobs – but I think suggesting the mass murder of a bunch of people you don’t know might signal a need for some internal reflection, or least a reduction in the amount of Red Bull consumed.)  Frankly, it’s pretty amazing how quickly a few graphic death threats can tarnish the memory of a nice celebration.

I resisted the urge to comment on that youtube video and forgot about it again.  Then I got an email from an Italian friend and somehow that image above (could have been the entire video, not sure from screen grab he sent) made it to the website of Italy’s biggest paper.  I had to wonder if my unphotogenic nature was somehow giving this image legs, like that one of Katy Perry without makeup?  Then I forgot about that, too, and have been in Arkansas helping with my dad for a couple of weeks, and then Saturday someone sent me this:

Whoopi: call me, happy to discuss as you suggested.  I suspect you’ll be disappointed at the divergence from the presumed narrative, as my lofty status in life is largely due to the considerable points I’ve racked up on my Qdoba Rewards card.  I won’t bore the seven regular readers of this site with a replay of my life story, but I’ve worked in a Tyson turkey processing factory with a bunch of Sling Blade types, spent some time sleeping in my car after failing out of college (Nissan 280ZX – surprisingly comfortable to sleep in, except for the fact that it somehow gets to be twenty degrees colder than the outside temperature), and toiled at the lowest ranks of the U.S. Navy. Poke around this site if you want more details – but I’m happy to play Costanza to any Andrea Dorea survivors who want to compare notes on background. Several of my friends literally laughed at loud at the idea of Chilly, child of privilege.

I did, obviously, catch many incredibly lucky breaks later on in life; I would love to say it was just intelligence, a winning personality and hard work that put me in the position to succeed.  But a whole bunch of it was just good fortune and taking a modest chance here and there.  After being laid off in late 2008 I’ve spent a lot of time having fun and trying my own ventures that have ranged from disappointing to wildly unsuccessful, so I’ll likely be working for the man again someday soon. It probably won’t be on Wall Street, as the Silver Fox look really only works for senior Managing Directors, not mid-level scrubs.  (And if I were to become a victim of mob vengeance, I have to think the mob would be sorely disappointed in their selection after reviewing my bank statements.  Likely epitaph: “They got the wrong guy.  This motherf*cker’s broke.”)

But for clarity’s sake, at this particular party, there were certainly some financial types in attendance – think Associate level, not Jamie Dimon level – but also many people who work in IT, teaching, non-profits, etc.  I’m not sure why anyone would begrudge a 27-28 year old their job on Wall Street; generally anyone in that position has made significant lifestyle compromises to get that position in the first place (worked hard in high school to get into good college, in college to get offer, and then once on the job the first 3-4 years are fairly brutal).  And not everyone who works on the Street is out synthesizing CDOs or creating other crazy derivative bets – at each institution there were probably only a handful of folks responsible for the mortgage mess; I didn’t know any of them at my firm.

As I said, I’m happy to go on The View and discuss the party and any other issues you want to talk about, like how much money bankers really make (hint: you aren’t rolling around Scrooge McDuck style for a long time) versus how crappy the lifestyle is, which tie brands are acceptable for meetings and how many days per week the average banker has foie gras for breakfast. You have my info sent via email.

Later,

Chilly17

(P.S. I’m the dude in that picture above, just in case it wasn’t clear.  I don’t know what’s up with that picture though, looks like I’m somehow parting my hair on both sides.  I have no explanation, but am considering wearing a football helmet when outside from here on out.)

(Edited to add:  I revised this post several times, and am still not too all that happy with how it turned out.  Wanted to maintain my trademark* “I’m an asshole” style, but I am also somewhat sympathetic with the protesters; also didn’t want to sound apologetic, as I/we didn’t do anything worthy of an apology.  I have, however, been saying for years that the ridiculous costs of going to even state schools are likely going to be a bigger problem than even the mortgage crisis going forward – the benefit is likely to come up well short of the investment – and the average OWS participant is pretty young.  I field a decent number of questions about college/grad school decisions, and I almost always have the same response – you need to try and figure out what is a likely/realistic return on your investment and see if that return justifies such an investment.  Eventually, undergraduate degrees aren’t even going to make sense for everyone, just too damn expensive if state schools are going to run you close to $100k in loans.  Since most jobs end up being mostly sales gigs in the long run, what’s the huge benefit of a four year degree, as long as you understand your products?

My secondary point, which is hard to glean from the text above but becomes more apparent if you peruse some of my older posts, is that I likely have more in common with the typical Occupy Wall Street protester than the people they are protesting.  Did I eventually have a pretty good job and make good money for a few years before getting canned?  Yes.  Did I pay a sh*t-ton of taxes (single, no dependents, owned nothing)?  Yes.  Did I give to charity?  Yes (but Operation Smile – you are f*cking pushing it.  I gave you money, I obviously know you exist: please quit mailing me four packets per week – and these days address labels aren’t all that helpful!)  Did I waste (opinions vary – I still hold that spreading multiple awful bets across the craps table is more therapeutic than -EV and everybody needs to have a few drinks now and then) most of the modest excess money I made?  Yes.  No regrets, everybody needs to do what they need to do.  But 23 years ago, I was in a pretty similar situation – few options, none of them particularly attractive.  I ended up on the right end of a bunch of coin flips, things pretty much went my way.  That doesn’t mean I don’t recall how sh*tty it was before things turned positive.

I applaud the OWS protesters for making a dent – people asked me about this non-stop at home, even those that didn’t know I used to work on Wall Street, so awareness is very high.  But given the young age of the average protester, I would probably caution against putting all chips in on long-term change.  Affecting political/policy change takes somewhere near forever, there is a danger of losing prime years in the shuffle – need to simultaneously try to make inroads under current systems.  Despite the terrible economy, it has never been easier to try your own thing – f*ck, these days you can start your own gig with little more than a $10/month hosting fee, a good idea and some hard work.  (I’m not a great example of this, but will keep trying.  I did score over $5 last month!))

*also the trademark of everyone else on the internet

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Doesn't look so tough

So my grand return to posting regularly hit a snag when I realized I am tired as hell and still a lazy person, but I will try to add a modicum of value with a short post.  I recently detailed what a huge pain in the ass it is to decide on a movie at Chillyville these days (Editor’s note: technically it’s SOville, but that doesn’t have the same ring to it).  As part of my continuing contribution to the non-advancement of the species, I will make this selection process easier for you.

For one thing, you can basically just skip the movies entirely, unless you have a hankering to retry The Long Kiss Goodnight (held up about as well as Geena Davis’ breasts) or an underappreciated horror classic like Trespassers (full disclosure: I’m in this movie, so may be biased).  Don’t get suckered in by the fact that they list 75 movies in each mini-category (“Foreign comedies starring ex-athletes”) – you only need to go through those once – they add like one movie per 7-8 months on there, and it will be listed first.  So if you invest some time to glance through the detritus once, you don’t need to do it again.  Invariably they will have something that’s pretty new once every five weeks that fits in like nineteen categories, but most likely you will have already seen it (The Fighter).  Stick with TV shows and documentaries and just opportunistically pick off movies on Netflix as they fall in your lap.

(What the hell is wrong with Netflix marketing?  So they split out the streaming and the mail services, and decided to call the mail service Qwikster???  Shouldn’t that be what you call the streaming service?  Oh, that’s right, you need to preserve the brand, and streaming is ultimately gonna be the whole business.  Dumbasses – should’ve just called it Mailster.)

Sh*t I Told You To Watch 500 Times and You Never F*cking Listened To Me – Now They’re Gone and I Hate You

Friday Night Lights – On a scale of 1 to The Wire, I rate this show about 90% Wire.  (Or if you prefer more conventional scoring, it’s like The Wire without Sargeant Jay, the large-but-not-quite-jovial fellow.)

Party Down – There is literally a zero percent chance you will not love this show.  It’s pretty close to perfect – great characters/writing, great acting, creative liberties allowed cable shows (aka, boobs).  I have watched it three times, it’s hilariouser every time.  Seems cynical, turns out to be sweet – sort of like a cinematic Blow Pop (okay, that analogy doesn’t really work perfectly because both parts of a Blow Pop are sweet, but it is surprising.  Maybe it’s more like a Tootsie Pop).

British Shows You Probably Could’ve Watched at Least Some of on BBC America, but Who Has Time To Flip Through All 1031 Channels?

The IT Crowd – I’m not a huge fan of traditional British humor like Monty Python and Mr. Bean (the latter is a joke, I hope), but I do enjoy quite a few British sitcoms.  They either push the Standards & Practices further than in the US, or British people just don’t really give a sh*t about sexual, um, innuendo isn’t the right word…maybe frankness?  Actually, The IT Crowd isn’t all that dirty, I’m more thinking of Coupling – also a Netflix Instant show, but it’s a bit older and has already even had a failed US version – but it is borderline stupid.  (One of SO’s British friends on hearing we watch this show: “It’s rubbish.” Also, it had a U.S. version starring Joel McHale, but the pilot never even made it to air.  Good thing, he is about as wrong as possible for the role of Roy – perfectly played here by the cop in Bridesmaids.)

The show is basically what the title says, it’s about a couple of IT nerds and their boss, who isn’t quite a nerd but she isn’t quite as cool as she’d like to be either (and she knows nothing about computers).  There are goth vampire dudes, lawsuits stemming from bottom kissing, and transgendered misunderstandings.  The creator, Graham Linehan, should be given credit for the fact that even Bin Laden loved The IT Crowd.

Pulling – Almost like a UK version of It’s Always Sunny In Philadelphia – largely despicable characters doing generally despicable things.  That might be a little harsh, despicable’s probably too much.  But they are not great people (unlike me – I’m at home down south and haven’t had any alcohol for a week.  It’s like f*cking Leave It To Beaver up in here).  It’s about a chick who dumps her fiance and then struggles to find happiness (I realize it doesn’t sound like a Chilly show, but there is a lot of boozing and debauchery in here).  The best part of the show is no doubt her ex-fiance, Karl, who manages to elevate the role beyond funny sad sack.  Typical UK show, 12 total episodes, not a huge time investment.  Worth it.

Beloved US TV Shows That Both Had Dave Foley or That One Red-Haired Chick (Note: May Be Inaccurate)

Arrested Development – Given all the recent fanfare about the AD movie and new episodes, I would be remiss not to include it here.  Probably all the comedy dorks will have already seen it, but worth revisiting before its triumphant (and I’m sure low-rated and poor-box-officed return).  A nutty family does nutty things.  (Okay, I am shocked that Dave Foley was never on this – he’s had at least a guest stint on every sitcom for the last 15 years.)

NewsRadio – An incredible cast of talented actors does nutty things.  Important note: Netflix Instant only has the first three seasons, so it’s all Phil Hartman.  No one wants to see the Lovitz ones – there’s a bunch of ominous stuff in here though that is sad in light of what happened to Hartman.  Also a bizarre reference to former Pantera guitarist Dimebag Darrell in one sequence where Lisa is a VJ for a day, who was also murdered – on-f*cking-stage – at a concert in Ohio in 2004.  If you can get past the Hartman tragedy (and the fact that many people think Andy Dick got his wife back on drugs) you will find that these shows really hold up.  Great for watching on the iPad before bed.

Documentaries About Vicious Animals That You Should Not Watch Just After Eating

Wolverine: Chasing the Phantom - I learned that wolverines are not yellow and blue, that they can survive off just animal bones for a winter, that their back feet land further ahead than their front feet while running, and that they are adorable.  Cool show.

Eternal Enemies: Lions and Hyenas – I learned that hyenas are f*cking disgusting – siblings kill one another just to prove who mom should like best (they may even eat the loser, I blocked several parts of this from my memory – also, both sexes have penis-like protuberances), that male lions can do some serious damage when pissed off and not to get attached to any character in this show because they all die.  Hey, a cute lion cub.  Is that a huge f*cking scorpion over there???  Is that f*cking scorpion eating that baby lion?!?!?  This is more unsettling than Human Centipede (First Sequence), but somehow pretty entertaining/depressing.  You will be glad you’re not a f*cking male hyena after watching, though.  So there’s that.

Later,

Chilly17

I go to Chipotle pretty frequently.  Chipotle has managed a particularly difficult consumer feat – making people think the quality of their product compensates for any potentially inflated pricing (kudos to Apple, Whole Foods and others for a similar accomplishment – Trader Joe’s belongs in a class by itself, considered very cheap and high quality!)  I go there for convenience as much as anything – if Dos Toros was half a mile closer, it’d surely cut my Chipotle time considerably – but I also live less than four blocks from the only Chipotle test kitchen.  That’s right – brown rice for me, suckas, and I tasted the short-lived chorizo before anyone else.  Dos Toros might offer a somewhat better product – but I have found a balance – if you get a large side order of the extra hot hot sauce at DT, it turns a Chipotle chicken burrito into a fairly divine experience (and, for the faint of hot- is fairly f*cking hot.)

Anyway, sometimes there’s some kind of weird sh*t going on at Chipotle – today the two guys ahead of me had their burritos weighed, apparently they were settling a dispute as to the over/under of two pounds each.  (Take the under.)  A lot of times in my hood, there are little kids ordering sh*t all kinds of ways – on little bastard had his fruit cup added to a carnitas burrito.  Most of you have faced the long lines, and generally the people in front of you know what’s what.  But sometimes, you can just tell it’s gonna take an extra twenty three minutes for some dipsh*ts to navigate the line…

The Five People You Don’t Want In Line Ahead of You At Chipotle

The Thinker/Sampler – As a veteran fast casual burrito orderer, I am able to quickly communicate my order to both The Steamer  (they throw the tortilla into that steamer thing and then slap some meat (and beans if you are so inclined) in there before handing it to what we used to call at Taco Bell The Stuffer.  With The Stuffer, it generally takes no more than eye contact to insinuate that all that I need is hot sauce and cheese.  This is not the case for everyone; heaven forbid you ever get caught behind a middle-aged ethnic lady perusing the menu as if she’s considering  the names on the 9/11 Memorial – solemn glances are not a great thing when processing a burrito.  Thinkers typically consider the menu with the same diligence that high school sophmores and juniors mull over their college choices.

The Sampler is a more highly evolved version of The Thinker – except they make the even more annoying choice of asking to sample the barbacoa or whatnot.  Anybody ever walked into McDonald’s and tried to sample a spicy chicken to see if it’s really spicy?  They’ll throw your ass out!  They aren’t in the business of wooing customers with their incredible capacity for accomodation.  These guys kill me – I have my order down to ten words or less – and they stand there with a stupid little cup like they’re at f*cking Baskin Robbins (where at least the ridiculously tiny taste spoons slightly diminish your self-respect.)

Potential Thinkers/Samplers – Middle-aged ethnic ladies, kids

Go ahead and get the chips, it's more calories, but worth it

The Perfectionist – The Perfectionist is the least common of the Chipotle misorderers, but they can cost you a significant chunk of time.  They’re the people who decide that they didn’t get enough rice after their burrito has made it all the way down the line.  This results in chaos/confusion as the queue gets confused and the potential for order errors increases exponentially (I once bit into the wrong burrito at Qdoba – which is why this article is only Chipotle-inclusive.)  Perfectionists get incredibly upset if their cheese portion varies 1/10th of an ounce in either direction – a veritable powder keg for the poor bastard/bastardesses on the line.

Potential Perfectionists – Young women, jockies, male flight attendants

The Off-Menu Orderer – It’s a little-known secret, but Chipotle will do whatever you want.  They will, literally, mix any of the sh*t they offer together for you.  You want tequila and napkins inside your burrito?  No problem.  This is a level of customer service unlike, for instance, Taco Bell – who once refused to make me a cheesy double beef burrito because it was no longer available, despite the fact that all ingredients were just hanging out, awaiting the chance to be arranged as I requested.  Chipotle will do anything that isn’t unethical – if you ask them to mate your steak with some pork, and then serve you the offspring in a tortilla, they won’t do it, because there is no way to get inter-species consent.  Other stuff is no big deal, though.  You want a quesadilla?  You f*cking got it, homie.  Do you find your burrito to be too intricately layered?  Have them mix it up before wrapping it.  Want it cut in half because you are so dainty and couldn’t possible consume 1450 calories at a setting?  No problem, Janice.

Potential Off-Menu Orderers – Anyone who knows you can do it, Janice

The Barterer – I must readily admit to being an accomplice here – SO has moved to a trade wherein she gives up half her steak in exchange for a free half serving of guacamole.  I know what you’re thinking – hey, Chilly, aren’t you making three f*cking dollars from this site every month now – why can’t you hook your lady up with a full order of guac???   Here’s my witty reply, wiseguy, she actually prefers the 50/50!  However, it’s not only slightly embarassing to have to negotiate every time, but it slows me from eating my f*cking burrito!  And I hate having to reestablish the bargaining points every single f*cking time!  Okay, in exchange for a free half-splooge of guac, I will give you a half serving of steak, and will not take an extra 123 napkins this time through.

Potential Barterers – SO, ethnic ladies that learn guac is extra

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The Tippler – I’ve actually only seen this a handful of times, but did you know that many Chipotles serve margaritas or other mixed drinks?  Guess who makes them?  The f*cking cashier…that won’t slow sh*t down at all…just go next door to Flight 151 and get your damned drinks!  I have had a lot of drinks, and a lot of fast casual burritos, but I think I’ve had less than two alcoholic beverages at burrito fast casual joints.  Don’t mix business and pleasure, ya’ll.

Potential Tipplers – This Asian girl?  That’s the only picture I saw on the internet of someone drinking at Chipotle.

You should try the 151 Oreo Blizzard, it's the blizzomb

Later,

Chilly17

P.S. I’m about to start writing like a motherfuc&er, now that I’ve got like mad traffic, fetching girls reading, momentum, and all kinds of stuff…or maybe I’ll just have another drink or two…

I yearn for simpler days...

As an old bastard/movie connoisseur, I’ve lived through parts of six different decades and it’s amazing to the degree that selecting a movie to watch has become a f*cking chore.  We’ve moved from “should we go see a moving picture tonight?” to “am I willing to sit in a roomful of assholes for two and a half hours to see this Katherine Heigl piece of sh*t that will almost certainly be the inflight movie the next time i fly Delta?”  It used to be kind of fun to roll to Blockbuster and peruse the New Releases, now it’s a grueling test of endurance to even figure out what mechanism we will use to deliver the image to our eyeballs.

A Decade-By-Decade Examination Of The Movie Selection Process

The ’70s

Things were pretty simple back then: check out the newspaper and see what’s playing…if you don’t like that, see if there’s a movie on any of the three channels you have access to.  Nothing good on?  Tough shit, go have another baby or make a pinewood derby car.

The ’80s

The mass market availability of the VCR in the early ’80s changed the movie selection game substantially.  Now, in addition to the above, one had the ability to go to a video store and check out what movies were available, with a far quicker turnaround than waiting for a broadcast debut.  There was little rush greater than perusing the New Release aisle and seeing an available copy of Howard The Duck, or something else that your mom thought was too stupid to pay $5 for in the theater.  (I remember once incurring some late fees because a squirrel fried itself in a transformer box, killing power to our entire neighboorhood while we had a tape in the VCR.  We didn’t think of just hauling the VCR down to the store – perhaps because it weighed about 75 lbs (the Seventeen household rarely had the most cutting-edge technology).

The VCR introduced us as a society to the unique decision of “would I prefer to see this in the theater, or in the comfort of my own home, at a time of my choosing?”  For fare such as Body Heat, the decision was simple; for Aliens, more complicated.  At the time, no one could envision how much more complex this was about to get.

The ’90s

The ’90s introduced the DVD (which didn’t really complicate the decision-making process as they essentially just replaced VHS tapes – although it was pretty exciting for people with limited storage space under their tv, AV nerds and pron enthusiasts) and more socially-acceptable satellite sizes (ie DirecTV) which brought Pay Per View (PPV) to the forefront.  Now there was an additional kink in the chain, the dreaded movie you wouldn’t rent at the video store, but that you might pay $5 to watch on ppv after a little too much Paul Masson rose- this is how I unfortunately ended up watching that godawful Godzilla reboot.  (Although it was a pretty sweet feeling once you finally got that DirecTV phone line thingee to work correctly, even for those not intimately interested in the 85 adult PPV channels.)

The 2000s (or Oughts or Whatever the Hell They Ended Up Being Called)

The 2000s didn’t really cause too much of a wrinkle, as the big development was probably Netflix (which would really shake things up in the next decade.)  There were certainly additional avenues for PPV, such as the Playstation Network, but it was pretty redundant with the cable PPV offerings so not such a huge deal.  Netflix allowed the annoying Type A people who were pissed that they couldn’t pre-reserve every f*cking movie at the movie rental store, to create a list of movies they wanted and then they’d mail that sh*t right to their Type A houses, complete with envelopes that you know those nerds put in their Daytimer so they’d remember to send back immediately after watching.  This didn’t work so much for lazy people like myself, who were willing to roll the dice at the video store (even after consistently experiencing the shocking absence of the next The Wire DVD from the store shelves at important junctures.)

One personal wrinkle was the “movie I’d watch only if on a plane” when I was traveling quite a bit.  I watched 17 Again in such a situation – something I’m not proud of (it wasn’t even the only option available – business class, homie.  I am ashamed, though.)

The ’10s (No One Calls This Decade Anything To My Knowledge, So Maybe I Can Start A Trend)

It’s a bit of a fib to blame the ’10s for the current glut of selections: I’m sure Netflix streaming was available prior to Jan 1st, 2010.  But for clarity of this article, let’s assume that was the case (as that’s when we started stealing the streaming from SO’s mom’s Netflix account.)  So now, with Netflix Instant (or Amazon Prime, for you Amazon nerds – look to your right, buy something!) you could watch a whole bunch of sh*t immediately, right on your tv or computer screen, for no additonal cash outlay.  Game changer.  Now, when we decide we want to watch a movie, here’s a rough description of the process.

Maybe we should watch a movie?

1. Cool, let’s check out Netflix streaming
2. Not much new on here, what’s in our queue again?
3. I’m not really in the mood for The Long Kiss Goodnight again, maybe we should watch an old tv show instead?
4. Hold on, did you try Channel 1000?  Maybe there’s some new stuff on there we wanted to see?
5. Damn, now Channel 1000 has so much crap on it it’s separated into 3 alphabetical pages
6. This is gonna take forever, what about HBO OnDemand?  That’s free at least
7. I think Boardwalk Empire is too heavy for right now, what about a couple of Curb reruns?
8. Wait, flip down to Showtime OnDemand
9. Does Weeds still suck?  Or is it better now?
10. Is the Playstation still on?  Let’s check out the PS Network, movies are $1 cheaper on there
11. Did you look at Primetime OnDemand?  Have we seen all the Louies?
12. Go back to Netflix, I think that documentary on wolverines is still on there
13. Damn, how many horror films are on here?
14. I’m getting tired, just push any f*cking button on any remote that will cause a moving image on the screen
15. F*ck it, I’m just gonna read this Us Weekly from May 2009 and go to sleep