Time for your weekly edition of the Deadspin Funbag. Got something on your mind? Email the Funbag. Today, we're covering bad days, ketchup, shirtless coaches, and more. Image by Sam Woolley.
Before I get to the Funbag, a quick programming note: There WILL be a Jamboroo column on Thanksgiving. It should run early before the games start. So be on the lookout for that while your mom makes you spoon cranberry sauce out of a can because she doesn't trust you with the important cooking duties.
I read your article about being a transfer student. Much like you were, I'm struggling socially and haven't been able to make friends. I know you said you didn't have a much better experience at your next school, but would you recommend transferring anyway? It's what I want to do, but my parents want me to stick it out because of the academic merits of the school I'm currently at.
I can only speak from personal experience, but I don't regret transferring. It didn't do wonders for my social life, but that's on me. At least I ended up at a school that was a much better fit for me in other ways: size, proximity to home and friends at other schools, etc. I thought I was ready for some bigass rah-rah school but the truth was that I was immature and still needed the nurturing environs of some isolated dipshit liberal arts joint.
Sometimes you have an idea of what you want out of a college while you're touring around and perusing all the course catalogs ("They have a class on Tarantino!") and reading The Insider's Guide to Colleges (my parents had a copy of this and I eyebanged the social life rankings intensely) and that vision of what you want for a school ends up being at complete odds with what you actually need, because 18-year-olds are poor arbiters of such things. Every high school senior thinks he can make a good decision about where to go to school but that's complete horseshit. He'll pick a $50K per year place just because he saw a hot chick on the quad steps.
If money allows it, I would recommend transferring if you really feel as if you've made a terrible mistake, as if there's nothing you could do personally to improve your quality of life where you are. It's not a cure-all. You will probably struggle to make friends at the new place, perhaps even more so because you're new. But maybe the change in environment will give you a fresh attitude or plunk you down in a city where you can make friends outside of school or what have you. Or maybe you'll find a girlfriend. It's no guarantee. My brother-in-law transferred two, possibly even three times before finally graduating from a school nearby. That's just how shit goes sometimes, but it's always worth making the effort to extract yourself from what you know is a hopeless situation.
Just don't transfer to Duke.
I was watching SNF this past Sunday and I kept seeing the Carrie Underwood commercial for her musical special "Sound of Music" live on NBC. Since it's live, what are the chances that there are bookies lurking somewhere to take bets on if she fucks up or not? Over under?
There are always bookies around willing to take bets on anything you're stupid enough to bet on. Even if you bet $1,000 on a nip slip or something, I assure you that you won't want to watch that broadcast. You know how NBC does the Thanksgiving Day Parade every year, and the parade features an unhealthy number of lip-synced numbers from unwatchable Broadway musicals? Well, picture one of those musical interludes stretched to two hours. That's what NBC has in store for you. The only saving grace? LIVE NAZIS. You never know what will happen when you get live Nazis.
If someone came to you right before you went to bed tonight, and told you (credibly) that tomorrow would be the happiest day of your life, how would that change the rest of your life?
I don't think it would change it much. When you're 37, you are already well aware that the happiest day of your life has probably already happened. There was probably some day when I was a kid when I was frolicking in mud and eating paste and was blissfully unaware of the horrors of the world, like NAZIS and slavery and serial killers and all that. No dark edge to my joy in any way. That was probably the happiest day of my life and now it's gone.
But that's all right. Just because your happiest day is in the past doesn't make the somewhat less happy days worse. Besides, no one can REALLY pinpoint the happiest day of their lives. It's an arbitrary listicle. Was it your wedding day? The day your kids were born? The day you graduated? The day your favorite sports team won a title? It's hard to single out one exact day and say yes, THAT was it. Anyone who claims otherwise is a liar or is trying to impress Richard Deitsch. Memories are too fleeting and life is far too formless and unquantifiable for that to be the case. As a grownup, every day has its varying percentages of good and bad shit happening. You know too much about the world for it to be otherwise. And as an adult, I almost treasure the bad as much as I treasure the good, like when Louis CK talked about crying on the side of the road:
You can have a shitty day and, in a strange way, appreciate the shittiness when something makes you angry or sad, or something shocks you in a way that you'll never forget. Life needs that color, even if it isn't always fun to experience firsthand. At least you get something fun to bitch about the NEXT day, which is all I ever want in the Internet age. It's important to me to find things that anger me every day, so that I might hop on Twitter and tell the world how much it angers me. Like stale bread, AMIRITE GUYZ?! That pleases me.
I'm gonna tell you about a good day. I was 19 and a virgin. I took a girl out bowling and brought her back to my folks' house. They were not home. I poured her a glass of water as we stood in the kitchen and stared at each other for a little bit. And then, after an awkward pause, I went for it and kissed her and I'll be goddamned if she didn't kiss me right back. Then she let me take her shirt off. Right there in the kitchen (Sorry, ma). FIRST SHIRTLESS WOMAN YO. After we hooked up, I drove her home. Then I got on the highway, driving nowhere in particular, and sang along to the radio as loud as I possibly could. That was a good day. If that was the best day ever, or it was my wedding day, or it was that time I went to a party shitfaced and everyone knew the words to "Pour Some Sugar on Me" and sang along to it in perfect unison, or it was that time I took my kid out for an ice cream sundae and she never got up from the table ONCE while we ate, I'm OK if things are never quite that amazing again.
Don't you get so mad at guests on late night talk shows who stand up when the interview is over, and start to walk away? BEFORE it cuts to commercial? So annoying.
As a viewer, I get annoyed about this as well, because I could be missing out in precious banter between two never-before-paired guests. I would like to see what Jennifer Lawrence has to say to that chimp lady!
But I get why they take off as soon as possible. I went to a taping of "Conan" this fall and during the commercial break, everyone just sits there awkwardly while the band plays real loud and the stagehands move shit around. It's not a natural social environment. Also, it's cold as shit, and there's free food and booze waiting for you in the green room. These GLORY BOY celebrities are so used to being on television that they take it for granted, I tell you!
By the way, any time you go to a live taping like this, there is always 500,000 pounds of lighting and electrical equipment hanging from the ceiling over the entire stage. And I spend the entire taping wondering if some rope overhead will snap and a giant lighting rig will crush and kill everyone below. I don't WANT that to happen. I'm just saying it looks threatening. I don't trust some lazy ME-FIRST UNION WORKER to secure that boom.
I feel a sense of great personal satisfaction every time I open a condiment packet perfectly just so that only the corner is diagonally ripped, thus allowing me to direct a perfect even stream of mustard on my hot dog. Obviously, the alternative to this is when you rip the packet in half so that the contents come out in one shapeless glob all over your fingers.
I have also tried to rip off a perfect corner only to realize that I haven't actually created an opening in the pouch at all. All I did was create an extra piece of garbage. And then I tear it down the middle and everything goes to shit. This is why all fast food joints need to emulate Chick Fil-A and hand out the newfangled Heinz packets that give a "squeeze or dip" option. Whole new world of french fry consumption. But I know other places won't do this because that packaging is probably .0001 cents more expensive than the old, shitty packets.
Packaging costs are a big fucking deal to companies. I worked on the Hershey's ad account for a bit right when they changed the Kit Kat packaging to save money. Kit Kat used to come in a foil wrapper and paper sleeve, and opening it was a delight. Like treasure, it was! But that shit cost money, so they switched to plastic wrap instead. IT'S NOT THE SAME. Worst day of my life, people.
By the way, one of the more agonizing things in life is when you try to open a bag of cereal or chips clean across the top and, instead, you get a tear going straight down the middle. Ruins the whole fucking bag. I should probably leave the opening of things to more experienced hands.
The other day I was giving my dogs a dog treat and of course they were going completely bonkers. They were doing backflips, sitting, laying down… I pretty much could make them do anything to get that little dog treat. What is the human equivalent of a dog treat?
When a child wants candy. You can make a kid do pretty much anything when you hold the candy out. I've made my kid jump. I've made them do a "candy dance." I've demanded hugs. They will do filthy rotten horrible things for a package of Fun Dip. It's awesome.
The only adult equivalent is a man who is about to get sex. The woman gives the green light and the man tears off his clothes and adjusts the lighting and spritzes the room and basically will do anything else requested to make sure the deal is consummated. OH MY GOD WE'RE ACTUALLY GONNA FUCK THIS IS GREAT DO YOU NEED ANYONE KILLED BECAUSE I'LL DO THAT.
I just turned 25 last week. I'm single and have relatively no interest in starting something. I think I've lost my faith in not necessarily women, but humanity in general, in that I genuinely believe no one can stay 100% faithful. Maybe I'm speaking from personal experience, but I meet an attractive lass but shy away from locking it down because I inherently feel it's going to crash and burn at some point. Things like marriage don't necessarily terrify me, but I'm in no hurry because of the impending failure. I know it's not normal, but what's your take?
It's a self-fulfilling prophecy. If you feel like all relationships are doomed to fail, then PRESTO! All of your relationships are probably doomed to fail. You have to believe that—despite all the divorce and adultery and economic woes and gourd porn out there—that somehow YOUR relationship is special enough to transcend all that. It takes a certain blend of naivete and breathtaking arrogance to believe that (it's why young couple are really fucking annoying), but that's how pretty much every relationship starts out. Most relationships don't end that way. Most of them end with a vase being thrown at your face. But you HAVE to start out that way or else you'll just be some asshole with a shitty attitude who dies alone.
I've been married 11 years now. Is it 11 years? I really have to work hard to remember at this point. Before I met my wife, I had a nightmarish relationship with another girl that lasted for 18 grueling months. Somewhere in there, in a desperate attempt to stop the fighting, I suggested to this girl that we go get married. Not a formal proposal, but just one of those times when a guy talks about marriage just to drum up the romance. I easily could have married (and divorced) that girl at some point. The door to an alternate dimension slides and I'm trapped in an unhappy and unstable union with an insane person, with maybe a kid thrown in for added misery. It happens to plenty of people.
Instead, somehow that relationship ground to a merciful end before I did anything stupid, and I am now happily married. I have no way of knowing if that'll ALWAYS be the case, but I have faith that it will be. This December, my parents will celebrate their 50th wedding anniversary, which is completely insane. I should buy them a bag of wild rice or something for the effort. There's no guarantee that your relationship will succeed, but that doesn't mean it's doomed to fail. Some of them DO work. You gotta have faith in the girl and in yourself that you'll love each other enough to work through all of the horseshit. It's worth the risk, even if you end up failing. That's why motherfuckers get married over and over again. You see some guy getting married for the third time and you think, "What is that moron doing?" He wants to believe, even if that isn't the practical thing to do.
What is worse:
When dipping chips/pretzels/carrot sticks, etc. and your knuckle/finger grazes the dip, or...
When snow gets just under your gloves and touches your bare wrist?
I get irrationally upset when either happens.
The latter is worse because it's painful and the pain lingers. If you get salsa on your knuckle, you can just lick it clean off and get right back to dipping, much to the horror of fellow partygoers. But if you get snow up your sleeve or down your crack, you are in for an extended period of cold, wet, sodden misery. Sometimes I try sucking the melted snow out of my jacket sleeve, only that makes everything smell like drool. So now I'm cold and I smell like fucking drool. WORST DAY EVER. As an adult, I have no tolerance for this. Kids don't mind. A kid will get snow down the crack and stay outside for another eight hours until they come down with scarlet fever. I can't roll like that anymore. I'm not young enough to ignore the misery.
Also, a bonus FUCK YOU to snow when it gets on woolen garments like gloves and collars and forms little ice clumps that cannot be shaken off. You've got some nerve, snow.
What is the percentage of the population of the world that you would have sex with? My answer was 5%; which works out to around 175 million people. Do you think my estimate is over or under?
Are you drunk or sober? Did you just finished gratifying yourself, or are you currently mid-fap and just about to reach the precipice of ecstasy and you will do ANYTHING to have ANYONE naked in front of you to do with as you please right at this moment? Because the percentage varies wildly in all instances.
Anyway, let's say you're drunk, and therefore you have a sweet spot for any woman between the ages of 20 (being generous here about your chivalry) and 45. Census data gives you about 1.3 billion ladies to toy around with in that demographic. Let's go ahead and drop half of those women due to varying factors: looks, criminal backgrounds, possible communicable diseases, bunions, etc. That still leaves you with over 9 percent of the world's population. Somehow, that feels low. You're a man. You'd stick your dick in a drain pipe if you were hard up.
How many of the bottom NFL teams (starting with the worst by record) in any given year, would need to be combined before the new team could be competitive with the Super Bowl champ? The front office management of the worst team could cherry pick the players from those teams. They would probably never get a decent QB but the rest of the team could be good enough to compensate.
You could make a dominant NFL team with just two shit teams. In this day and age, the difference between the league's worst team and its best isn't that big anyway. Tampa went to Seattle and hung three TDs on the Seahawks before they finally caught up. If you combined the best players from Tampa with the best players from Jacksonville or Atlanta or Minnesota or Houston, you'd have a fucking great team.
If you combine the Jags and Bucs, you'd have an offense with a rapidly improving Mike Glennon at the helm, with MJD as your back, V-Jax and Cecil Shorts at wideout, Darrelle Revis in the secondary, Paul Posluszny and Lavonte David in the linebacking corps, and you'd have Gus Bradley booting Greg Schiano out the door. That team can win twelve games easily. Hell, both the Texans and Falcons were Super Bowl contenders before this season started. They have both had shitty, unlucky, injury-plagued, miserable seasons, but that doesn't diminish the talent on either roster. If you combined the Falcons and Texans and had Matt Ryan throwing to Andre Johnson with J.J. Watt batting balls on the other side, you'd have a fucking juggernaut.
Which professional football coach looks the worst shirtless? Andy Reid (huge fat guy)? Rex Ryan (probably has like ten square meters of extra skin now)? Bill Belichick (flesh may have grown into ragged hoodie)?
As of right now? John Fox.
/going straight to hell
Are left-handed guys at a disadvantage when it comes to wedding bands? Can I wear it on my right hand? I feel like my normal every day activities are being hampered by a $40 piece of tungsten (oh ya, I bought the cheapest thing I could find).
I don't see why you can't wear it on your right hand if that's more comfortable. Do you wear your watch on your right hand as well? If someone gives you shit for that, just tell them to fuck off. Wearing a wedding band on your right hand doesn't automatically downgrade it to a promise ring. Wear it how you want it. I knew a dude with no hands who wore his wedding ring on a gold chain around his neck. That was badass. If I had no hands, I would do that too.
Seen on the video bulletin board at my grandmother's assisted living home for Alzheimer's residents. On a 1-10 depressing scale, where does this rank? Gotta be at least a 9, right? God, I hope I don't get Alzheimer's.
Aw man, that's pretty rough. I wanna buy those people an imaginary cupcake.
Last night after work I was walking through the dimly lit, mostly empty parking garage. Then I noticed a lady walking toward me. And for whatever reasons, I immediately went to great lengths to make sure she saw my wedding ring — as if it was a comforting patrolman's badge or something, an implied announcement proclaiming "AT EASE MA'AM, I AM NOT A RAPEY MURDERER!!" This was entirely stupid, of course, in that evildoers can probably wear wedding rings, too. How much less threatened did she feel because of my wedding ring? 65%? Zero? (Also, I was dressed in a business suit not a rubber butcher's apron, so factor that in too.)
You're assuming that she noticed your wedding ring at all, which she probably didn't. Or if you flashed it too conspicuously, she probably thought you were some crazy asshole who was like I CAN'T HAVE AN AFFAIR WITH YOU EVEN THOUGH I'D BE DOWN WITH IT (One of my favorite parts of Die Hard 2 is when Bruce Willis flashes his wedding ring at a cute airport clerk who hits on him—I've been dying to smoothly rebuff a come-on like that for 11 years and am still waiting ... "Just the fax, ma'am."). A wedding ring is probably too small a thing to have an impact in that scenario, certainly compared to your general appearance, race (unfortunately), wardrobe, and body odor.
Having your actual wife with you is another matter, by the way. That eliminates the threat entirely. If I see one other dude in a parking garage, I assume he's gonna rape me. I see a couple? GET A ROOM, YOU TWO.
How far would you have to be pushed to actually throw down with someone in a wheelchair? Obviously I'm not going out of my way looking for an opportunity to fight the handicapped, but I would think it would really take something more than words, possibly life threatening to get me to that point.
I was in a supermarket once and a lady in a handicapped scooter bullied past me. I think she even screamed "MOVE IT" at me, which was a real dick move. I wasn't even occupying the middle of the aisle. That lady can fall off a waterfall, for all I care. Anyway, I did not throw down with this woman even though I had vivid daydreams about cutting her brakes. You're only gonna fight a handicapped person if they're a threat to you or your family. And even then, you might think twice, especially if you've ever watched The Pianist.
Time for the email of the week!
So I am middle school PE teacher. I have had bronchitis and hay fever the past three weeks, and was out sick Monday and Tuesday. When I returned Wednesday, one of my sixth grade girls came into my office and said, "Here's a present I hope will make you feel better". I have almost 250 evil preteens to argue with/attempt to force a workout into, so I do not know many of their names yet. They have them scrawled across their PE shirts in my poor handwriting with a black Sharpie, but this little girl had not yet changed so I had no clue who she was. I simply said, "Thank you" and took them. And then I looked at my "gift". Pizza flavored hard candy.
Who in the world thinks these things up? It got even better when I looked at the back. Gluten free, sugar free, salt free, and kosher. And at the bottom it mentions that excessive consumption may have laxative issues.
I couldn't bring myself to try one, even though it was still an hour until lunch, and my teaching partner flat out refused one as well. Today I finally opened one of the individually wrapped red candies that looked like a cough drop. I sniffed it. It smelled like cheap bad pizza. I wanted to puke. I just couldn't do it. The whole bag is still in my desk.
My question to you is this- is this a truly innocent and thoughtful child? Does she like this candy and wanted to share the joy of it with me? Did her parents invent it and are trying to make a buck by giving it away and spreading its popularity ? Or is it a backhanded insult, saying this is what she thinks of me? As cynical as I am, dealing with these midget monsters 6 hours a day 10 months a year, I would like to think it was a goodwill gesture. But I am not touching that candy.
If it says "Candy," kids will eat it. They are dumb.