Why you should have your heart broken into a million little pieces.

You will meet a girl named Simone when you are on a family vacation at the age of 11. She will have blonde hair, she will be from LA and she’ll tell you that she stars in Teddy Graham commercials back home. This will sound amazing, because you love Teddy Graham’s, and for the first time ever you’ll be convinced that you can fall in love just like the people in the movies. You will wonder if she thinks about you the same way you think about her, and this will make you wonder why you’re thinking that at all. You’ll know, though, that this is love and that you are feeling something no one in the history of time has ever felt. That these feelings are entirely unique to you and only you. She will always smell like shampoo and in your mind you’ll probably move to LA when the week is over. You will go home after the vacation and write her letters from time to time that she will not return, and you will cry because Simone and her delicious snack food commercials will never be a part of your life again, and love is hard. You will never speak to Simone again, which will hurt for an unreasonable amount of time. You will meet Chelsea in middle school. Her last name will be exotic and you will steal her from a guy who will become a best friend that you will have for the rest of your life. You will date for around a year and talk a total of five to six times, maybe. She will be your first kiss, and you will never know if you ever actually kissed or if you just flailed into each other and ended on a polite headbutt. You will pace your room wondering what you’ll say to her when she picks up when you call, the nerves leading you to hang up over six times before asking something mundane about her favorite band. You will write her a longwinded letter about your love for her, complete with doodles. She will take said letter from you, say thank you, and promptly dump you. You will wonder if there is a God and will curse women with hispanic last names for years for no apparent reason.

You will meet Mandy a year later. She will be your first french kiss. It will happen on rollerblades, rollerblades that you will race home on as though you were the triumphant misunderstood kid who beat the odds in a John Hughes film. You will wonder if it affected her the way it did you, if she was calling her friends and telling them that she had discovered magic in a curly haired young man. She will tell everyone that you kiss like a goat, and you will question what a goat even kisses like or how she knew. No matter, it will crush you and your teenage tongue. She will dump you and date the guy you stole Chelsea from. The two of you will laugh about this for years to come, the most important times being when you live together and when you then stand next to him as he gets married to the love of his life.

You will meet Sarah in high school. Her friends won’t really like you, your friends won’t really like her, and everything will feel impossibly hard even though you know that the two of you are meant to be. You are not meant to be, even in the slightest. You will break up and get back together at least 17 times until the day that your 4'11"Jewish grandmother will yell at her from the stairwell wearing a nightgown at 3 pm inexplicably, telling her to leave the goddamn house. It will be a lovely moment you and your grandmother share, if only because you realize that people will stand up for you in the most trivial of moments. You hate losing Sarah because everything is terrible and no one could possibly understand what it feels like to love and lose someone in high school but you love what you found in the process.

You will meet your college sweetheart during the first week you’ve ever lived away from your home. She will smile, dance, and hold your hand differently than the others before her because you are 18 now and you are a man and you know what love is (or at least what you want it to be). You’ll ask for her number the day after you meet and she won’t remember who you were, which you will think is the perfect story to tell people when you’re old and married. You will create endless amounts of inside jokes that no one will get at parties when you purposely recreate them in front of others. The world before her will feel indistinguishable, juvenile and unimportant. As time goes on, you will begin to feel like she is an ice cube that has been melting in your hand for five years straight, and for the first time you will understand that love is horrifically fragile and something that you can lose, like your keys, which will terrify you. She will break up with you twice due to your lack of ambition in life and you will cry until she takes you back. In a panic, you will go to live with your brother and cousin in a Nevada desert to find yourself and she will call you to tell you that she’s met a male model and never wants to hear from you again. You will cry harder than you’ve ever cried and feel a hopelessness you didn’t know existed and wonder why he couldn’t just be in sales or something. This will alter everything that happens to you ever again.

You will move to San Francisco and move in with four strangers in an attempt to pretend you are okay and open to frightening amounts of change. You will drink too much every night in a room you’ve locked yourself away in because you don’t recognize yourself or who you’re becoming, and you will sleep with people whose names you don’t remember because it’s all a blur and no one feels worthy of inside jokes anymore. You will aimlessly wander San Francisco and feel like a shell of anything you were because the girls who dance with you now remember you the next day and that’s not how it’s supposed to go.

You will cry at a wedding because Heather doesn’t like you anymore and you will feel horrified that you are a shit show that isn’t just on display, rather one that is playing at the movies fourteen times a day. After the tears dry up you will drink so much that you will fall asleep on a street corner that night in the town you grew up in and a taxi cab driver will call the police and tell them that you are dead. You will then politely ask the police for a ride home at the age of 26 and tell your mother that you’re doing perfectly fine. You are not doing perfectly fine.

You will be so embarrassed that you will write about it without leaving out a single detail, because humor is what you’ve got left and humility seems like the only way out of this mess. People will read it. An alarming amount of people will read it, and the heartbreak will begin to feel like hope. The disaster will begin to feel like the middle of the movie. You’ll begin to feel like maybe, just maybe, the girl who began to date the male model because you had no ambition was right: maybe you should be a bit more ambitious. Maybe you should write like she said you ought to.

For years, you will meet countless girls and make countless mistakes.You won’t necessarily write about them, but you’ll begin to write about you, and they might almost seem like the gasoline that reminds you that you should be a fire, even if it’s in a dumpster from time to time. You will hurt them, they will hurt you, but more importantly, you’ll both probably find ways to wake the other up. They will all be good people, you will regret so much of how it all went down, but you’ll be thankful that at least one of them caused you to put a wet towel on a duraflame log that caused a building fire that you wrote about. Because you wrote. And they had a baby with a guy who presumably made countless mistakes with someone else. And you’ll realize more and more that that’s how it works, just like everyone’s mother said: You get hurt. You hurt people. You put wet towels on Duraflames and eventually you get back up and just open the flue next time.

Then, you will meet her.

She will have a look in her eye like she’s put some towels on some Duraflames before. Like she has fallen in love in ways that you can’t understand and that if you’re willing to listen, she’ll never discuss them with you. You will sit down and have a beer that will turn into five, and you’ll go home that night and think out loud that maybe, just maybe, every last piece of heartbreak was worth it.

Years later you will ask her to marry you and cry before she does, which for the first time won’t be the embarrassing kind. She’ll say yes.

And everything, all of a sudden, will feel like it was very much worth it.


Rocket Shoes Mixtape 72: Songs to have your heart broken into a million little pieces to.

rocket shoes mixtape

STREAM IT at the links below:




DOWNLOAD ALL OF THE MP3′s at the links below:





Why you should write.

When I was a kid, my grandfather (a charming old Jew of a man) would give handwritten notes to just about everyone he came in contact with. This isn’t hyperbole: we’d go to hotels and the man would write notes in calligraphy for the people at the front desk just to make them smile. He’d leave longwinded notes for the waitress he’d met less than an hour ago. People would always come up to me and tell me how lucky I was to be Bob Sackman’s grandson, like they were a long lost aunt or uncle that I’d never met. The older I get, the more incredible and endearing that seems. My grandfather spent his whole life writing things down to make people feel good.

I think about that often. He passed away, but people everywhere around the globe still have his handwriting on paper, a tiny little piece of him that was meant just for them. The effect he had on them was always monumental. Hell, the effect he had on me was always monumental.

He made me want to write. And he taught me the only reason I needed to write was because, “because.”

Then, one day, I began to write for a living and experienced a conflicting moment when I had trouble finding my “because”.

It’s always so petty, that moment.

“I don’t have any good ideas.”

“I don’t have anything interesting to say.”

“I will misspell a word and people will judge me for not being the best at never making a mistake in my writing, all of the time, always.”

“I will incorrectly use effect/affect as I may have done above. Shit, did I incorrectly use effect/affect?”

“People will just rip whatever I say apart and hurt my feelings.”

These are all terrible, horrible, no good, very bad reasons.

Look, writing is supposed to be fun. It’s supposed to be “because.” It’s important not to lose track of how much great shit happens when you hit keys or write words on paper that are out-of-control feelings you’re dying to share with someone.

There’s some huge misconception about writing—that the people who call themselves writers have any idea what they’re doing. Like everyone thinks they’re Bukowski or Sedaris or Eggers or whoever your “whoever” is.

I didn’t start writing because I had a novel to publish or even an idea of what the hell that would look like. I didn’t start writing because I had some master plan about where this was all going. I started writing because when I was a kid, I saw an old man make people happy by grabbing a pen and not overthinking the words he put to paper.

And I get bummed when I forget that.

When I was a kid, thanks to Bob, I wrote the shit outta everything.

I wrote long-winded love letters to girls. I stretched the birthday card note to the point of “turn over to backside for more” every single time. Christ, I made up books to write book reports about because I could write more about something that I had creative license over.

And I think it’s how people should always write.

It’s easy to overthink it. To think that any piece of writing that you do has to have a point, some giant bigger meaning.

But it should be enough to know that when you write something, anything, it’s like a lottery ticket. Someone could read it and could laugh uncontrollably for the best of reasons. Someone could read it and become violently angry at your view on something (or your “non-view” for that matter). Someone could read it and feel absolutely nothing.

And any one of those things is spectacular.

Because, that’s the “because.” Write just to write. It’s healthy and there is always an amazing off chance that it affects someone more than you had any idea it ever could.

So people might hate what you say. They might really love it. They might feel nothing. Any one of those things is oddly terrifying.

But they will read it.

There’s always the off chance of that, and that’s the whole reason you wrote in the first place.

To make some tiny little piece of you available to anyone who may want it.

It may not be a handwritten calligraphy note, but it’s enough.

It’s more than enough.


Rocket Shoes Mixtape 70: Songs you should listen to while you should write. 


STREAM IT at the links below:




DOWNLOAD ALL OF THE MP3′s at the links below:





Life Advice For A Zero Year Old

A few days ago, one of my best friends had a baby. When I held it for the first time, a few things came rushing over me.


2) I gave a shit.

I'm not saying I've never cared about babies before. They seem nice enough. I've double thumb-tapped an Instagram or two of them making a face that made me think, "who knew a face could make that face!" That's about the extent of it, though. In my adult years (I use the term "adult" rather loosely), no one in my close family has had children yet, so I just hadn't felt this.

To put it in context, this friend is my Clarissa, and I'm Sam. We grew up down the block from each other and I would go to her house nightly and walk right in. Sometimes I actually even came up to her room via ladder and borderline expected the small guitar twang to occur. She's the closest thing I had to a sister, and if you told 13 year old "stealing booze from our parents and riding around on our bikes" me that I'd see this girl have a freaking kid someday and things would pretty much still be the same old same old, my 13 year old head would explode.

But, I just held him, and though my adult head has not exploded yet, it's got a lot of things on its mind.

I looked that little Benjamin Button in the eye and felt an overwhelming urge to tell him things. You know that feeling you get when you get picked up at the airport and you hug the person, get in the car and you both smile because you have no idea where to even begin? It was that, but with someone who can't talk. (Or do anything, basically. Not being a dick, little man, it's just scientific fact if we're being blunt.)

So, Tanner, here's all the things I feel like telling you. I know you're zero years old and pretty much vacillate between an intense lip tremble and pooping your pants, but I've got tons of neurotic pieces of advice floating through my head and I figure someday you might find them useful.

1. Poop your pants as much as you can right now. 

You've got license right now to essentially poop your pants whenever and wherever you want for a good amount of years. Don't feel like being at the restaurant anymore? Poop yourself. Don't feel like watching that show anymore? Poop yourself. Just feel like going poop? Poop yourself. If you do this when you're older, you're just the grown up who pooped themselves, and that will follow you around for the rest of your life. Do not take this for granted. Get pooping.

2. This is the last time crying as a male will be an attractive quality. 

Much like pooping, crying gets much less cool the older you get. I know, I know. When you cry right now, it seems to unlock unlimited sympathy. This is only because you can't talk and we have no fucking clue what to do besides hug you. Learn words and it's over. As an overly sensitive male who has probably lost 3,947 girlfriends due to crying: get it out now, man. It doesn't go well later. Unless you stub your toe. That really hurts and you can make an argument for it.

3. Enjoy your hair. 

You were born with more hair than I currently have now. In your baby head, I bet you're feeling pretty good about that. Maybe even pooping yourself in excitement (which, as stated earlier, is a fair reaction at this juncture.) Here's the thing: every day you are alive is one more day you're closer to being bald. Morbid? Sure, Tanner. It's morbid. But one day, you'll wake up and wonder why there are hairs on the pillow. Or the shower floor. Or EVERYWHERE TANNER. IT JUST FALLS OUT EVERYWHERE, AND YOU'LL NEVER BE THIS BEAUTIFUL AGAIN. While you can grow it, I recommend you try out an outlandish amount of hairstyles. Anything beyond the side part isn't quite doable past around 27 for most of us, so, get to work. Your parents are pretty cool and probably won't have a problem with whatever style you go with, and if they do, just say that Drew said you could and I'll totally take the hit (very small fist bump.)

4. This is the only time you can show your penis to strangers in an unoffensive manner for a long time. 

Look, I'm not encouraging it. I'm just saying that later in life, it's illegal for the most part. You're living in a strange gray area where you can do a hodgepodge of wildly offensive/illegal things and it's not only okay, it's often humorous. Get weird. Be "that (very small) guy" at the 1 year old pool party. Fart loudly in public places. We'll high five you for it and try to teach you the word that best describes whatever you just did.

5. Learn as many languages as you can early. 

Awww, is it sooOoOoOO hard to learn words right now? You know what's not hard later on in life if you learn them in multiple languages right now? Getting laid. Jeuh t'en prie, little man. Jeuh t'en prie.

6. It's okay to be a huge nerd, and probably lucrative, even though you don't know what the term lucrative means. 

You're going to want to do things like "play sports", or "be a man." That's fine, and I encourage it and all that. But as I write this, most people who are rich in this world are dudes who got the crap kicked out of them in most phases of childhood because they were mouth breathers who wore pants with elastic waistbands and played Dungeons and Dragons or Magic The Gathering. That baby born in the room next-door  to you in the hospital could already be learning how to code. DO YOU WANT TO BE LESS THAN HIM, TANNER? DO YOU? 0110101, LITTLE MAN. 0110101 NOW. However…

7. Start doing pushups and pull-ups as early as humanly possible.

You can make the part where you're a nerd easier if you just exercise early on. If I could have it back, I would've been ripping bicep curls at like age 6, because I'm 31 and still don't know how to do them right (and also don't do them, so.) If you're moderately jacked and doing nerdy crap, no one ever seems to have a problem with it throughout life. Plus, everyone makes fun of the kid who can't even do one pull-up on the physical fitness test day in middle school. Get ahead of it early.

8. Learn the lyrics to the song Wonderwall. 

For some reason, everyone in every city, everywhere knows them. Even when you're old enough to read this, that will be true. Learn them. It's mostly just saying "wiiiinding" and "blindddddding" a lot of times so it's not that hard. More than anything, you'll look ahead of your time. And, no. I can't tell you what a wonderwall is, nor can anyone, because sometimes people make up words and you just have to roll with it, Tanner. Stop asking hypothetical questions before you can speak or read.

9. Stop texting at the dinner table.

It's rude. Maybe by the time you read this there's some mind computer or glasses that shoot laser texts or some sh*t like that. If that's the case, don't shoot laser texts at the dinner table. Your father worked very hard to grill whatever it is you're eating and he's very good at it. I know, because I've been drunk at your first house and had the things he grills or smokes and they are fantastic. Your laser texting can wait.

10. Commit to either Spider-Man or Batman early, and don't wafer. 

This is more of a personal preference, I just think it's important to pick a side and stay on it. Whatever you do, don't pick Superman. At the end of the day, he's just a failing journalist who can fly and clean up nicely. Batman is a f*cking MAN THAT RESEMBLES A BAT and Spider-Man is a MAN THAT CAN ESSENTIALLY DO THE SAME CRAP SUPERMAN CAN AND ALSO SHOOT WEBS OUT OF HIS WRISTS. For the record, I'd say go with Batman. When he's not a man that's a bat, he's rich. Which is basically a super power, it turns out.

11. Open the door for people. 

It takes zero effort and it's very nice.

12. Talk to strangers. 

Look. Everyone's going to tell you not to talk to strangers. To be fair, it's pretty good advice until you've learned how to control your "need to get candy vs. need to not die or be kidnapped" general decision making skills. When you grow up a little, though, it's the best advice I can give. Strangers are interesting. You don't know them, they don't know you, and you'll have utterly fascinating conversations about utterly fascinating things. Talk to the lady on the bus. Talk to the person next to you on the airplane (unless they put their headphones on, you'll understand that once you get there). The best conversations I've had in my life are with people whose names I'll probably never know.

13. Don't look it up on WebMD. 

Whatever you do, do not self diagnose on WebMD. It's too late for me, because as of now I have 3,987 types of cancer, 4,298 rare diseases and at least 13 avian flus (as I write this, I'm engaged in a text message back and forth with my friend who became a doctor due to a new bump near my jaw that I fear is, no doubt, irreparable jaw death syndrome.) You have the opportunity to be better than me. Don't look it up. Take an advil, you're fine.

14. Don't ever send out a mass invitation on Facbook. Ever.

For your sake, I really hope this isn't even a possible "thing" by the time you're old enough to do so, but just know this: Everyone will hate you if you do this. Especially if you do this for a nightclub event, and probably one that has a one word name like "spill." or something just awful. If you are distributing things for nightclubs on Facebook and you're reading this, something has gone horribly wrong and I can only imagine your reading this will have happened too late. I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do for you. I still love you, though. Just don't ask me for money. (Do you need money? I'll lend you some money.)

15. Tie your shoes before you get on an escalator. 

I'm hoping by the time you've read this some future escalator has come out or they've been eradicated altogether because they are GIANT METAL DEATH MACHINES/the sharks of the transportation world. But if that's not the case, don't chance it and lace up. Look, I've never seen it happen, but I am 31 and I still don't trust those things. Since we're on the subject...

16. Learn how to tie a tie at a young age. 

I'm 31 and still struggle with this. I've had to download an app (this will be an antiquated sentence when you can read at a fifth grade level, but still) that teaches me how to tie one to this day, and I'm pretty sure that's not doing it right.

17. Tell your Mom and Dad that you love them an outlandish amount of times and remember that you are a lucky duck, bub. 

I wish you had known your Mother and Father before you were born. I've seen things, Tanner. Things maybe we can't talk about here. I've seen your Dad as the life of the party no less than 1,387 times. I've seen your Mother heralded as the Obama of young white females (okay I said that, and I was drinking, but it's valid, you just can't not like her.) I'm sure, as you read this, they are embarrassing you/have embarrassed you recently. But you've got two of the most fantastic parents a person could ask for. Let them know, or I'll come over tonight and talk to you about my emotions, which I have too many of. Either that or we'll talk about Jurassic Park, which we need to get started on as soon as you're ready because what if it happens, Tanner? What if we have to head back to Isla Nublar?

18. Wave if someone lets you into their lane while driving. 

When I looked at you on day two of your life, you seemed like the type of guy that will no doubt do this someday. This one's really just more of a formality.

19. US Weekly and never InTouch. 

And don't say you were just bored at the grocery store while checking out. Again, more of a formality, as I've heard from your Mom that this one has already gone into effect.

20. Make girls mixtapes. 

Please, just trust me on this one. It may be the most important thing you ever learn to do.

Looking forward to getting to know you, little man.

Now get poopin'.


Rocket Shoes Mixtape 69: Music even a zero year old could get into.


STREAM IT at the links below:




DOWNLOAD ALL OF THE MP3′s at the links below:




Let's All Just Calm The Insta-F*ck Down

I am not a photographer. Let me just start with that. But, as we all know over the past several years, Instagram has made me think I'm one. I'd imagine anyone reading this is guilty of that same sentiment.

That's because Instagram is really, really good at two things:

1) It makes me look way better at taking pictures than I am.

2) It makes me feel special and validated when people tell me they like said pictures.

I'll admit it, when I heard the news that Instagram was going to change it's terms and conditions yesterday, I got sorta Debbie Downer inside.


Then I realized that we're all a bunch of entitled assholes who need to just calm down every now and again. And here's my reasoning.

Let me start by saying this: Instagram went about what they did entirely the wrong way. I get that, as a business, you eventually have to, you know, make money, but there was a better way to do it than telling us they were going to aggressively STEAL ALL OF OUR THINGS AND THERE’S NOTHING YOU CAN DO ABOUT IT, MWAHAHA! Sure, they just released a "whoops, sorry" memo that makes it pretty clear they know this, but at the end of the day that's what's coming guys, because that's what happened over on their father's website, aka Facebook.

They are a business, and to be fair, they've been letting you use their business for infinity free up until now. Do you go to work for free so that other people can use whatever it is that you work on? Probably not, and if you do, you're a horrible negotiator and need to work on that.

The people who made Instagram were a bunch of good people who made something that changed the fucking world. Millions of us started communicating through pictures, and to be fair? We did it in a beautiful, really kind way (that's right, I'm getting all hippie-dippie on you).  We wanted to show each other what our lives were like, and for the most part we enjoyed "liking" other people's lives and telling them that, yeah, it looks like they're having a nice day and that makes us heart emoticon the shit out of them.

And, when the people at Instagram realized the behemoth that they had on their hands, they did what any of us would do, ever.

They made money off of it.

I wish they had done it not in the "Facebook evil empire" way that they did, but they did.

They could have had a model that offered us rights to our pictures in exchange for the use of their service if we paid them money (Flickr's model, for what it's worth) and we probably would have bitched and moaned about that as well, though. You know why?

Because at the end of the day, we're all just pissed that in some way or another, something costs money now, even if that money is just us. Maybe it's your pictures, or your info, who knows what the currency is or has to be.

But, guys, it sort of had to cost something someday. When someone comes to pick up the trash at your house? You have to pay the "pick up the trash" man and company for it. The same goes for the "unlimited access to cloud data storage" company.

I hate to be captain positivity here, but, let's try to look at this another way.

I was not a photographer, and a bunch of kids made a start-up that made me believe I was. Then, other people who use their service told me they agreed with me, and that made me feel pretty nice inside. And you know what's even funnier? It made me want to look at and like THEIR pictures and ultimately be their friend, which is the entire point of a social fucking network. Don't look now, but we're doing it right.

Instagram and its team screwed up not because they wanted to make money, but because they decided to make it like a bunch of assholes. But, if in the process of that whole thing I found out that I really like taking pictures, and I really like it when you do too? That's sort of cool, and that sort of makes them pretty good people after all.

Maybe I'll go and take pictures now and post them elsewhere. Hell, maybe i'll stick around Instagramland because, if you think I'm pretty, Instagram (twirls his hair)? You go use me in an advertisement, sugar. 

It's okay to be upset about what's happening to Instagram. It really is, and you have a valid point. But let's just be honest and say what this is really about: it's not that they want you to be an advertisement, it's that you're upset that unlimited free everything is over and more importantly, you aren't gonna get that little gorgeous heart next to your picture.

You know why I'm saying that?

Because I'm probably guiltier of that sentiment than any of you.

Keep taking pictures, friends. It's not the goddamn end of the world.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 65: Let's All Just Calm The Insta-F*ck Down


It's been a long time since I've posted, so this mix is a 3-parter. Enjoy, internet.

STREAM at the links below:

Disc 1

Disc 2

Disc 3

DOWNLOAD ALL OF THE MP3's at the links below:

Disc 1

Disc 2

Disc 3


The Bachelorette, Reviewed by a Guy. Sorta. (The Men Tell All Episode)

This week on The Bachelorette, the men were to allegedly "tell all."

That apparently meant that about 21 dude bros who got dumped on national television would tell you what you probably assumed: that they were bummed they got dumped on national television, and that they, "wouldn't have done it any differently" because that's what everyone says when they probably should have done it differently.

It was a terrible two hours of my life that I'd like back. Because I'm logical, I will instead waste a few more writing about what happened in it.

If watching The Bachelorette is like being desperate, going to a bar, getting drunk and finding the first possible person to sleep with without thinking about it, the "Men Tell All" episode is the person you wake up next to in the morning.

Here's what you missed.

Michael, the professional ex-alcoholic who wore his hair like Tom Cruise in The Last Samurai way too often, didn't wear his hair like Tom Cruise in The Last Samurai at the tell all to say to Emily, "Hey girl, I've changed."

Everyone still hates Kalon. Who saw that coming. 

In his first appearance since being kicked off the show for logically saying what everyone else was thinking (that Emily's daughter was baggage) but didn't say because they were trying to get laid by a hot blonde girl, a bunch of angry older women in the audience booed every time he came up. He apologizes to Emily, who doesn't accept his apology because she totally saw on Twitter that Kalon posted a picture at an airport baggage claim and said "I wonder if Emily's here" and wait, that's really funny. Good for you, Kalon. That's funny.

The host of the show tells Kalon he's a bad person, because he came on to the round robin marriage tournament show with the wrong intentions. To be clear, the host is a guy who is divorcing his wife, has been rumored to be hooking up with Emily, and is the host of a round-robin marriage tournament show. He should probably be judging people.

Everyone else takes turns telling him how bad of a guy he is, including the two dudes who used their child as bait on a national television show to get laid.

I miss Kalon's shallow heart.

Ryan, the guy who may or may not have starred in Sleeping With The Enemy, is hitting the fake tanner really hard. 

I mean, like, "Ashton Kutcher putting on brownface to be in an incredibly racially insensitive Pop Chips commercial" hard.

Beyond that, we're simply reminded that he was one of the only people on the show that any of us enjoyed watching, and he charms the pants off of every desperate housewife in the audience. Emily and him flirt for a bit, and we're all pretty sure that no matter who Emily picks in the end, they're going to get cheated on by Emily with this man. I can't wait.

The guy who came to the tell all with his girlfriend is probably pretty bummed that he is featured as "the only guy in the audience at a tell all for the show named 'The Bachelorette'" for a majority of the show.

I feel sorry for that guy. Next thing you know, he'll probably write 2,500 word write-ups about the show.

How embarrassing.

Travis, the guy who brought an ostrich egg on a national television show to symbolize love, apparently made Emily sing "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star" to the egg but they cut that scene because they hate us. Read that back, I'll give you a minute.

The only way you could kill your chances of getting laid any faster would be tattooing "I have herpes" on your forehead. Or, you know, bringing an ostrich egg on a national television show to symbolize love.

Chris, the guy who looked like Gerard Butler, is angry at everyone and is so heartbroken that he is sleeping with every person who also used to be on The Bachelor/Bachelorette.

Gerard spends the majority of the episode being really angry at everyone and telling them how mature he is. Sleeping with the Enemy spends a great deal of time making fun of Gerard, and we all wish he was making Emily not feel safe at night on the television show still.

We find out that Gerard will be on the show The Bachelor Pad, a spinoff show where people who lost the other round robin marriage tournaments live together to have casual sex and win money, because they figured now that they lost most of their dignity they may as well throw away whatever was left of it.

Obviously, I paused the episode to program a season pass to it on my DVR immediately.

The preview indicates that Gerard sleeps with at least three people on the show, because he's devastated about Emily, and everyone else just spends the rest of the time blasting their bi's and tri's.

Also? Gerard got a helicopter ride, too. Take that, Sean and Emily.

The guy who was heartbroken about leaving his child to go on national television and left the show because of it left his child to go on national television again on The Bachelor Pad. 

Because if you can't follow through with psychologically damaging your child the first go-round, try, try again.

Every woman in the world wants to sleep with Sean. 

Including Emily still. That must be comforting for whoever wins the show.

Doug has a full back tattoo.

And when he looks at it? Oh, he knows he made the right choice.

And finally…

Emily reveals in the credits that she is a cat lady who hates chihuahuas.

Fuck you, Emily. From the bottom of my hetero "I am the emergency contact for my girlfriend's chihuahua" heart.

Fuck you.

I miss Jef with one F's hair.

The finale is on Sunday. I'm sorry this recap was terrible, it's the best I could do.

See you next week.


Rocket Shoes Mixtape 63: I am the emergency contact for a chihuahua.

Stream the whole thing right here.


Download the whole thing right here.


The Bachelorette, Reviewed by a Guy. Sorta. (Episode 7)

Episode 7: Let's take it slow and just love each other as puppets first.

Where We Left Off

We're down to 6 dude-bros. The gentlemen who lost Cotillion last week were:

Ryan, the guy who probably beats women.

and Travis, because he brought an ostrich egg on a national television show to symbolize love.

Emily and the guys travelled to Croatia where they stood on rocks and rode donkeys in Scottish kilts because they were not in Scotland. Main takeaways from the episode were:

- Doug, the guy who I presumed was using his child as bait to get laid before I realized he's probably gay, is probably gay.

- Ryan, the guy who probably beats women with Chris Brown in his free time, was eliminated by Emily because she just couldn't tell if he's a good guy or not because he did everything short of actually hitting her.

- Chris, the guy who looks like Gerard Butler, is not Gerard Butler because he's bad at everything that requires "man".

This week we're off to Prague, the place producers of the show have heralded as one of the most romantic cities in the world because that's in no way an aggressive overstatement about the Czech Republic. Previews dictate that Arie the wet blanket has a huge secret about previously dating a producer of the show (the secret is that he previously dated a producer of the show), someone is gonna make out on a floor and that there aren't any cats here. One-on-one's this week are with Jef with one F, the guy who just gave someone in africa a bottle of water because he's better than you, Wolf, the guy whose aggressive nickname still hasn't been explained to us for some reason, and Arie, the guy who is a wet blanket who used to be doing Emily's friend who is also a producer of the show (and not the Indian woman she hangs out with from time to time in North Carolina, and by time to time I mean "when it's for the tv").

General Recap

The episode opened with a shot of emily carrying her own luggage around the streets of Prague, because it's absolutely believable that this is her only bag and that she is carrying it herself.

Once she gets settled, she walks around and stares off into the distance in about 13 locations because her life is hard.

The dude-bro's meet up with the host and he asks them if they are ready for this. I'm sort of bummed that one dude doesn't just randomly yell, "NO," throw his hands in the air, wave them back and forth and run away. Alas, they are, in fact, ready for this.

The guys are staying at a hotel named The Aria, which is funny because it's like the feminine version of Arie the wet blanket's name and I'm sure no one said that to him.

Arie sticks his head out of the hotel window and yells, "HELLO PRAGUE!" and I imagine Sean (the guy who is probably going to win) is probably so pissed that he didn't get to yell "PRAGUEEE!!!" out the window like he does at least once upon arriving in every city to let people know that he does, in fact, know the city and/or country that he is in.

Arie learns that he will have the first one-on-one with Emily, and Gerard Butler begins his episode-long nervous breakdown because he wanted the date and it's not fair. Nnnno. NnnnnnnO.

Doug gives Emily a really uncomfortable hug to let us know that he's not gay, or maybe just himself.


Look at this clock. Many people have looked at this clock. I made up that thought all by myself with no help.

Arie's date card says that he and Emily are going to "czech" out Prague together, which is a play on words because they are in the Czech Republic.

Emily stares at a clock and tells Arie that it's cool to stare at that clock where they are standing and staring at that clock because other people have stood there and stared at that clock before.

If they showed a picture book to Emily with a circle and a square and told her to point at the square and then she pointed at the square and she was rewarded with a treat at this exact moment, I wouldn't even blink.

They walk by old buildings and Arie tells Emily that it would be incredible if they got married at one of these giant cathedrals, because that's a totally rational thing to say to someone on your second date while she's also dating five other dudes that are your roommates.

At this point, the episode takes 4,208 hours to explain to us in some weird Public Service Announcement format that the rumors you've read in US Weekly are true and that Arie did, in fact, date a producer from the show years ago. We then go back to the actual show and witness Emily go into full crazy-bitch mode, as she passive aggressively baits Arie over and over trying to get him to admit to this, yet won't just ask him. So, basically, how it works in real life.

We are then notified that Arie, the producer and Emily had a secret meeting to talk about it and it's all water under the bridge. Nobody cares, and I'm angry that no one is saying anything I can make fun of, because if not then what is the point of all this.

Arie and Emily make up from their television relationship fight on a boat and Arie pulls the wettest of the wet blanket moves and tells Emily that he loves her. To be clear: a guy just said on national television that he is in love with a woman who he has been on two dates with, one in which he spent half of the time defending the fact that he used to do her friend.

Arie does the once-an-episode creepy hand thing.

They make out a little bit more after she doesn't say I love you back, and the guy whose only job is to make sure the lighting is good is presumably fired.

Emily says that she doesn't feel like Arie is the kind of guy who just throws the word love around, which is weird because he's a wet blanket who probably tells a checkout clerk that he loves her after he enters his Safeway club card number and gets discounts.

Back at the hotel, Doug goes out on a limb and says that if he had to take a guess, he's almost for sure that they're having dinner somewhere, and Gerard Butler says that he's bummed but not showing it by pouting, and then pouts.


This lock not closing is a sign that we are not in love, as opposed to the fact that we do not love each other in any way, shape or form.

On Wolf and Emily's one-on-one date, they go to the John Lennon Wall where people draw pictures of things that mean something to them. They decide to draw a boat, because Wolf likes boats and they've been on a boat. So, you know, obvious go-to. The boat they paint could have been drawn better by her six year old daughter.

Because Emily loves symbolism (even if she might not know how to spell that word), they go to some fence where you write your name on a lock and put it on the fence. Wolf has a hard time closing the lock.

It's this that tells Emily that they might not be meant for each other, not the fact that they are two people who have chosen to find the person they will marry on a national round robin television tournament.

Back at the hotel, Gerard Butler continues his nervous breakdown and says he's on edge because everyone gets to go on the dates but him and it's not fair. Then he sits on the edge of a window sill and stares off into the distance, thinking about the next Gerard Butler film he'll star in.

Wolf and Emily have dinner in some creepy dungeon that looks like a room from the film Kiss the Girls.

Back at home, Sean finds out that he is stuck with a group date as opposed to a one-on-one and decides to go out into the streets of Prague to find Emily. To do so, he yells, "EMILY!" over and over (much like he does the names of countries/cities he arrives in) because that's how you find people in metropolitan cities.

He finds her just walking around a dark alley at night, which seems pretty safe, and then pulls an Arie and eats her face.


Let's take a horse ride to a castle because I'm the prettiest princess of them all.

For the group date, Sean, Gerard Butler and Doug go on a horse-drawn carriage ride to a castle with Emily, because she is a pretty pretty princess.

It's raining and Doug asks her if she's getting wet. I laugh, because that's funny.

At the castle, Doug sits far away from Emily and crosses his arms. I think to myself that anyone who's ever read US Weekly's body language expert section would know that this is the worst thing you can do, as it shows you are closed off and may have a fear of intimacy.

Emily then makes this exact comment about his body language, and I wonder to myself if it's not Doug that's gay, but in fact me.

Doug then kisses Emily as she is telling him he will be leaving the show because she's just not that into him, and Doug gets sad and says that he thinks his girl radar is totally broken.

Yes, Doug. It is broken. Because you are most likely a homosexual.

He then cries again and makes the boo-boo face as he's driven away.

Now that the date is down to just two dude-bro's, Sean and Gerard Butler each get to spend one-on-one time with Emily. To find out who will first, she arbitrarily hands out a giant key to each of them, only one of which will open the door to the room she'll hang out in first.

Sean's key opens the door. He lets us know that his key is a big key. That, "this is a man's key," with a, "hey ladies, I think you know what I'm talking about" look.

When Gerard Butler finally gets to sit down with Emily, he continues his meltdown and says that he went a little crazy yesterday because he didn't get a one-on-one date and sort of gets angry at her, which is a surefire way to convince a woman that you're someone they should sleep with. They go back outside and Emily gives a rose to Sean and not Gerard Butler, and then kisses him while Gerard Butler has to watch, which is really good for his mental breakdown.

Gerard Butler says that if he doesn't get a rose this week, he'd be scared for anyone around him, and I'm starting to wonder if Sleeping With The Enemy is coaching him through a tiny earpiece.


Tell a doll version of me that you love it to signify that you love me too, because we're grown-ups.

For their one-on-one date, Jef with one F and Emily go to a marionette shop and buy dolls that symbolize them and Ricki. Nothing weird about that.

One of the dolls they play with is Michael Jackson, which is an awfully strange coincidence.

Jef with one F is remarkably good with the marionette dolls. Like, almost too good. Maybe he puts on shows in Africa at well opening parties. Who knows.

They go to some huge library and put on a puppet show for each other in which they re-enact every interaction they've ever had so far as puppets of themselves, because this is how adults tell each other what they are feeling for each other.

Puppet Jef with one F says I love you for the first time to Puppet Emily and then Real Jef with one F tells Real Emily that he really likes her, because only Puppet Jef with one F loves her.

They lay on a floor, and Emily says, "there aren't many people I can lay on the floor with and still be really happy." No one has any idea what this means.

Jef with one F continues his dazzling performance and basically solidifies his place as the next Bachelor when he inevitably loses to Sean by saying, "I wanna date you so hard and marry the fuck out of you." I call my girlfriend, horrified that she's at a bar with Jef with one F somewhere.

At this exact moment, I'm mortified to learn that I'm actually pro Jef with one F.


It's a wet blanket contest, and Gerard Butler is winning.

Back at the rose ceremony, they play sad violin music, because Prague is where the sad violin music is played.

Emily casually looks at pictures of all the guys next to candlelight like it's a funeral, because if you were trying to choose between two people to date in real life, you'd probably just grab their high school portraits, frame them and look at them over soft, depressing lighting.

Gerard Butler cries because it's not fair that they don't get to talk to Emily this week, and he presumes he's going to be eliminated.

Before she gives out the last rose to either Gerard Butler or Wolf, Gerard Butler interrupts her and asks to speak with her. Total bro-foul. However, this clearly sways Emily to pick him and not Wolf, and i'm pretty sure we've got ourselves a new villain.

Here's hoping I'm right about Sleeping with the Enemy calling the shots from home.


Doug, the guy who was probably gay.

and Wolf, because Gerard Butler totally bro-fouled him, and now we'll never know why he's nicknamed "Wolf" so I hope you're happy Gerard Butler.


Gerard Butler, because he is not emotionally stable, and that's saying a lot on a show called The Bachelorette.


Arie, because he still does the thing that her dead husband did for a living.

Jef with one F, because GOD dammit I'm starting to like this guy.

and Sean, because he's got a man's key.

See you next week, everyone.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 62: Songs That Puppet Me and Puppet You Would Get Along To

Stream the whole thing at the link above.


Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.

The Bachelorette, Reviewed by a Guy. Sorta. (Episode 4)

Episode 4: I hate to watch guys compete, so I went on a gameshow where 25 guys compete for me, specifically.

Where We Left Off

We're down to 13 dude-bros. The gentlemen who lost Cotillion last week were:

MC N*SYNC, the guy who probably had a coke problem and looked like a member of the group N*SYNC, if that wasn't clear.

Allesandro, the guy who called himself a gypsy king and was being totally serious/told her that her daughter was a compromise, which she absolutely is.

and Tony, one of the guys who was using his child as bait to get laid.

Emily made the guys hang out with all of her best friends and one Indian woman that she doesn't know so that she could find out who was a good guy. She went on one-on-one dates with Arie (the guy who does the thing that her dead husband did for a living) and Gerard Butler, who is too young because he is 25 and she is 26 and idolizes people who wear costumes for a living. She has begun to make out with at least two of the guys, so if this is like middle school some guy in the next few episodes will probably go for a boob grab, get denied and tell everyone else that he was not, in fact, denied. This week, Emily and the dude-bros are traveling to Bermuda. Our one-on-ones are with Doug, The (now only) father who is using his child as bait to get laid and a two-on-one with Nate the accountant and Wolf, the guy whose nickname was probably self-appointed.

General Recap

The episode opened with a shot of ducks, because we've already seen tons of horses and they want us to know that the south isn't just about horses. It's about ducks, too.

We're back at the house of the bros to hear that we're going to Bermuda. Michael, the guy who looks like The Last Samurai, is wearing a yellow headband, the kind that girls wear while they wash their faces at night.

Everyone bros out and high fives, because they are competing to sleep with the same woman and they want the other one to know that they're pumped about it.

Sidenote: Can you imagine the flight over to Bermuda? What do these guys talk about? Did someone have to get a middle seat, even if the flight was chartered? I imagine last samurai just listened to self help audio books while Allejandro (the guy who is a mushroom farmer, which is sort of like saying unemployed/into recreational drugs) listened to ambient techno the entire flight over. Hulk Charlie probably just kept saying to himself, "HULK HATE AIRPLANE. HULK AFRAID HULK GET ANGRY AND GET TOO BIG AND BREAK AIR FLYING DEVICE BECAUSE HULK'S DOCTOR DIDN'T GIVE HIM ANXIETY CIRCLES TO EAT LIKE HULK ASK FOR."


Welcome to Bermuda, I brought my daughter to a remote island because I don't want you to meet her. 

Emily has brought her daughter Ricki to Bermuda. This is logical, because she doesn't want Ricki to meet the guys, so the best place to stash her is probably on a remote island with them.

Emily mentions that it's exciting to be in Bermuda, because maybe she'll come back soon with a baby in a stroller and her husband and oh by the way she wants more babies, has she mentioned that? SHE REALLY wants more babies.

The bros drive around on Vespa's yelling, "BERMUDA!!!" over and over again to let you know that they're stoked they're in Bermuda. It's like being on a Harley, except it's a Vespa.

We've honestly been watching this episode for under five minutes and The Last Samurai has another hairband on. This time it's in blue. He's not even trying anymore, he may as well just start drinking milk straight from the carton during episodes in the background.

We learn that Doug (the guy who is using his child as bait to get laid) is going on the first one-on-one.

To show that the weather is vicious in Bermuda, they show water flying out of the infinity pool due to intense winds. First world problems.

Doug starts to sweat the one-on-one date, and all of the guys make fun of him because he has feelings and you can't have those on The Bachelorette. Doug then starts to show the first signs of being sort of temperamental before Emily walks in to break things up, and it's clear that at some point in this series, Doug is going to hit someone and that's really exciting for all of us.

Arie does a Doug impression comparing him to the Hulk, and even though I think it's Charlie who's the Hulk, I start to worry that this is The Truman Show and I'm actually writing a reality television show and I just don't know it yet.

Doug and Emily go on a one-on-one date where they go shopping for things like perfume oils. People in relationships don't even like doing shit like this, so there's that. Emily says she really likes Doug because he's really good looking, and I'm starting to wonder what Emily got on her SAT's.

They walk up to some thing called the moon gate, which you make a wish and walk under so that all of your dreams will come true. Emily wishes that she won't be single forever, which has been made pretty clear by the fact that she is on a game show where the winner becomes "not single". For the second time.

They have dinner somewhere and Emily basically says Doug is too perfect like Brad, the last guy who she was supposed to marry from television. She says he seems too perfect, which I don't understand because he sort of just seems like a douche. But hey, that's just me and I'm not on the TV. He tells Emily that he's, "just a guy..not a genius, not a dummy." He then speaks about himself in the third person, which you should never, ever do.

Emily gives Doug a rose. He says that this is the best date he's ever had in his life. So, for those keeping score at home: the best date of Doug's life was one where he went to a perfume shop and walked under a tourist location called the moon gate.

ABC cuts to awkward shots of them back and forth as Emily waits for Doug to kiss her even though he won't, because he says he's all about moving slow. It sort of just looks like someone farted.

Doug speaks in the third person some more, stating that, "if Emily wants a kiss from Doug, she'll let Doug know she wants a kiss."

Doug may or may not be impotent (which affects an estimated 18 million men in the U.S. alone).


Race boats to decide who gets to go on a date with me with a ton of other dudes. 

Most of the remaining guys back home are split up into two teams, ketchup and mustard, that are going to race each other on fancy boats. Emily says, "too be honest, I hate to watch guys compete."

She is on a nationally televised show where 25 men compete for her.

The boat race is like 4,987 minutes long and is worthless. Key takeaways:

- Ryan the football player is ultra-competitive, which nobody saw coming.

- Jef with one F hurts his finger, so it's probably going to be tough to give bottles of water to African children now.

- I have the same pair of shoes as Travis (the ostrich egg guy) which is sort of depressing.

- Hulk Charlie cries when Team Ketchup loses and says he's embarrassed by that. Which, you know, he should be, because he's crying on national television after losing a yachting challenge.

Mustard wins and gets to all sit around and hit on Emily for the night. Key takeaways:

- Ryan the football player calls Emily a potential trophy wife, tells her again that she better not get fat and says about fourteen things that football coaches say to men when they're speaking to them in their underpants in a locker room. Long story short: Ryan's not doing so well. Emily concludes that she feels like Ryan is judging her and that's not cool, even though she's judging 25 guys and eliminating them daily on a television show. Ryan may or may not have starred in the film Sleeping with the Enemy.

- Arie breathes really heavily and then creepily touches Emily about nine times.

- Jef with one F and Emily walk around and don't talk about much of anything, and then he says he's falling for her, which is how love works.

Before we set off for the 2-on-1 date with Nate the accountant and Wolf, Ryan the football player says about 98 more football coach-isms and then probably punches Julia Roberts off-screen.


Let's go cliff diving, I have ginormous fake breasts, This date is terrible, Etc. 

Emily goes for a 2-on-1 date with two of the most uninteresting guys on the show, Nate the accountant and Wolf. They go cliff diving, but not before Wolf says, "this could be a big jumping off point for the both of us." Get it? Because they jumped off of a cliff.

I'm surprised Emily didn't knock herself out with her ginormous breasts when they hit the water. Nate doesn't stare directly at them.

They go spelunking in a cave to have dinner and decide who will get the rose from Emily and who will go home.

Nate has a huge neck. I mean, huge.

Emily asks Nate what she may not know about him that she should. He says: "My parents are married. My brother is the best. I love my friends." Then he cries and says, "I can't talk about this right now." No one has any idea what Nate can't talk about.

Nate may as well just say that he loves Lamp.

Wolf then talks to Emily and is surprisingly smooth. He gets the rose from Emily, sending Nate home. Touché, Wolf. Touché.


Wear blue knee-highs, touch me all creepy or get the F*CK out. 

Back at the rose ceremony, Emily walks in to greet the men and says, "ya'll look very handsome!" They all say, "as do you" back to her and it's sort of awkward, like when you're at the movie theater and the person who sells you the ticket says, "enjoy the show" and you say "thanks, you too", even though they will not enjoy the show because they, in fact, work at the movie theater and just sell tickets.

The Last Samurai isn't wearing a headband, which is a huge improvement for him even though we haven't heard him say one word for at least two episodes, which I'm pretty sure is doing it wrong.

Jef with one F, however, is wearing knee-high blue socks and it's almost like a stun gun because I can't make fun of it and I can't applaud it.

Some of the guys joke that maybe Sleeping With The Enemy/Ryan the football player is going to be sent home. Travis, the ostrich egg guy, says that that'd be a curveball. Kalon, who probably did not play sports and/or watch them, says, "well that would be a left ball, not even a curveball." Which doesn't make sense and I have a sneaking suspicion that he would like to have not said that on national television.

Sleeping With The Enemy says more Sleeping With The Enemy shit about how, "just because Emily is the bachelorette, that doesn't make her worthy." After she leaves, he tells The Last Samurai that even if he loses he knows media people and will just become the next Bachelor. If he raised a backhand at Emily and told her to get in the kitchen at this point, I'd probably just think that it was a spin-off show.

Gerard Butler (the 25 year old who's too young) and Doug (the dad who is using his child as bait to get laid) get into an argument. Doug says he's acting immature, to which Gerard Butler says, "No I'm not a butthead YOU'RE a butthead" and then storms off.

Arie makes out with Emily somewhere, touches her a little creepily a few times and makes weird faces.


The Last Samurai, the guy who looked like Tom Cruise in The Last Samurai.

Nate, the accountant who can't talk about it right now.



Allejandro. Because he's a mushroom farmer and apparently I'm racist.

Ryan/Sleeping With The Enemy, because he did everything short of locking Emily in a cage.


Arie, because he still does the thing that her dead husband did for a living.

Jef with one F, because if you wear knee-high blue socks to a nationally televised elimination ceremony you have got to be a little confident.

and Sean, because he is sort of just in cruise control.

See you next week, everyone.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 61: I write over 2,000 words a week about The Bachelorette, which is in no way depressing

Stream the whole thing at the link above.


Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.

The Bachelorette, Reviewed by a Guy. Sorta.

I love really horrible smutty television. There. I said it.

My admitting this is sort of like a southerner waving a confederate flag saying, "This might come as a bit of a shocker, but I'm kinnnnda racist."

Sure. I subscribe to US Weekly. I've written entire 2,000+ word diatribes about how feminine I am. I'm not really throwing you a curveball here (or DID I by adding in a sports metaphor? HEY-o!).

I don't know, though. It's like people have a problem with admitting these kinds of things these days. I'm usually one of them. Because the other side of trashy, smutty television me is the guy who goes to see films at places that allow you to buy a glass of wine with my "independent cinema". The other side of me is the guy that enjoys listening to bands you haven't heard of yet.

I mean. I'm that guy.

Sometimes, though, I just want to shut-off and watch some good old fashioned crap. Which is sort of just what you did when you were a kid.

Think about it. Kids sit in front of the television and watch either a dragon that tells them how to say the letter R or a street that's infested with mythical creatures that sometimes live in trash cans and/or are giant talking birds.

That's how I'd like my entertainment. I want it to be like Teletubbies where things are colorful and just run around and maybe talk, but for the most part I get what they're doing because I understand simple gestures and read Highlights magazine when I was 8.

That's exactly what reality television is: Teletubbies with breasts and simplistic, formulaic human emotions that can mostly be understood with the volume off.

It's a guilty pleasure, and it's always a guaranteed trainwreck.

And I love a good trainwreck. Hell, everyone does, man. Because trainwreck's make you feel like a "not trainwreck", and that's something that we're all searching for daily. We all just want something, ANYTHING that makes us feel like we're doing it right and someone else is doing it wrong. The good news is, someone makes a living doing that for us.

They just might not really know it.

Since I'm  just going with it and openly accepting my love of crap, I've decided to jump into the shallow end of the pool head first (see what I did there?).

I'm going to review this season of The Bachelorette on a weekly basis. 

I have never watched an episode of a single season of the show, but it seems pretty simple: people are terrible and will do anything to get married and/or be on television and get famous. The guys on it are basically a laundry list of everyone you (re: I) have ever disliked because they are a douchebag 97.34% of the time, yet are still having sex with really attractive women. The show is what real life would be like if you could be eliminated by a hot girl at the end of the day for not being awesome. I feel like employers should probably just put hot women at work who judge men on a daily basis, because I feel like men would work a lot harder if they knew an attractive woman could dump him from his job at the end of the day. I digress.

Welcome to The Bachelorette, Reviewed by a Guy. Sorta.

(Want an in-depth analysis of the show? That's impossible, because it's a show called "The Bachelorette". Instead, I'm going to just go through the 25 guys and the main event herself and discuss my opinions on them and their likelihood of getting a rose, which is what she gives them if she kinda/sorta wants to do them.)

Episode #1: 25 dudes try to get a girls attention shamelessly. So, you know. Every night at a bar.

The Bachelorette: Emily Maynard

How She Was Introduced On The ShowRiding a horse because that's what people from the south do.

Chances of Winning: Not 100%, shockingly.

Emily was on The Bachelor a few years ago and was picked, but the guy who was said bachelor had anger management problems and wasn't marriage material, which is in no way ironic when you are on a television show that requires only that you not be a total shitbag.

She's attractive and oddly normal for a woman who has willingly chosen to find her husband AND marry him FOR THE SECOND TIME on national television. As a guy who has no shot with her whatsoever, and probably  zero common interests (unless you count the fact that we both love to breath and eat ice cream, which I'm just assuming for the latter part), I'd still find her sort of dateable, which seems like why they picked her. She's a fembot in a good way.

Her first husband died in a plane crash and she's a single mother so if you say anything bad about her every woman on the Internet/ever will hate you.

The fact that she has a daughter is going to basically restrict anyone from having sex with her. Any guy tuning into the show hoping for a slutty girl is going to be totally bummed out by this season because she actually has standards and is a good person (if you aren't picking up on it yet, i'm pretty much talking about myself this entire time).


Emily met 25 guys in a row, one by one, as they got out of a limo because that's how real life works.

It's pretty great, because they all walk up and have to pretend like they didn't watch episodes from the season she was in, knowing every little thing about her and basically tipping their hand that they've stalked the shit out of her prior to this.

So, basically: modern dating.

Below is my general take on each of them.

(Sidenote: I grabbed these pictures from ABC's site. Each bio had a category named "Number of Tattoos." Like, that was a real category in their bio. That was what they deemed "possibly a deciding factor.")

Name: Aaron

Occupation: Biology Teacher/Being Canadian

Chances of Winning: Nope.

Aaron has zero chance of winning. He is from Canada and he's poor (because he's a teacher), which just feels like a dog with three legs. His bio on ABC says that "sometimes he prepares too much for the future and doesn't live enough for today when I can enjoy it most", which is a crafty, wordsmith-y way of saying "I'm pretty not into committing and love to have sex before we have time to think about the ramifications emotionally." He wore gigantic ray-ban wayfarer eye glass frames with what appeared to be no glass in them. Which, let's face it, I find commendable. However, Emily is not from the Mission or Park Slope, so I'm not sure what he's angling for here.

*Update: I researched the episode again (okay, okay, fast forwarded through on a DVR where yeah, it still lives in my home) and realized it says he's from LA. It's amazing, the information online vs. what these guys put on TV is absolutely astounding. They all seem to be sort of lying...WHO SAW THAT COMING?!?

Name: Allejandro (wait for the next one)

Occupation: Hispanic

Chances of Winning: Nah, but he'll stick around because he's not white.

Allejandro was that guy who had a mohawk and sort of tried to act more Hispanic than he was. I respect it: producers probably have to keep you if you're "not white", so he just went for it. I suspected on looks that  he goes to clubs with one word names like "spill" with a lowercase "s". After reading on his ABC bio that he "goes big", I suspected correctly.  When I found out he was from San Francisco, I was excited because I live in San Francisco too! and then I liked him. Then the goldfish knee-jerk reaction wore off and I was over him. He didn't get much air time, so, meh.

Name: Allesandro (no, seriously)

Occupation: The Other Latin Guy On The Show/Grain Merchant

Chance of WinningIncredibly doubtful.

To be clear: The show has Allesandro and Allejandro. They shall move forward as Allesanjandro.

He did the cliche "beso me mucho" thing where he said a really generic line in "not english" and we're all supposed to be whhHoOoAhHh totally impressed. Fuck that. Try harder. He was nice enough though, and it's pretty clear that she made the choice to keep the two latinos as opposed to the black guy. We'll get to that later.

Name: Arie

Occupation: The Thing Her Husband Who Died In A Plane Crash Did, Which Is In No Way Fucked Up Of The Producers To Do.

Chance of Winning: High, Because He Does The Thing Her Husband Who Died In A Plane Crash Did, Which Is In No Way Fucked Up Of The Producers To Do.

Arie was picked because he is a racecar driver and Emily's ex-husband who died in a plane crash was also a racecar driver and oh my god have I voiced my opinion on how fucked up this is yet??!? Arie, while entirely uninteresting, will no doubt stick around because this is basically The Truman Show becoming a reality. He had a lot of shots walking around in slow motion on a race track, which means he does that in real life, too.

Name: Brent

Occupation: Technology Salesman/Being Way Too Old For A Show Named "The Bachelorette"

Chance of Winning: ELIMINATED

Brent was somewhere over 40 years old and had six children. HOLY SHIT, Brent, that's a red flag. YOU HAVE SIX KIDS, WHAT ARE YOU DOING ON A TELEVISION SHOW NAMED THE BACHELORETTE? He cried when he was eliminated, because for some reason he was surprised that a busty blonde 26 year old wasn't into adopting a Mormon entourage.

Name: Charlie

Occupation: Recruiter/The guy who almost died in what may or may not have been an accident we feel sorry for, but he was wayyyyy too vague about it so we'll be shallow and assume he was doing something fratty and while we're happy he's not dead, we're not wildly surprised.

Chance of Winning: So so. He had an endearing moment with a dog, so that has to count for something.

I have no read on Charlie. I want to feel bad, because he had some tragic accident. But he also seems like he's gonna be the dude who pulls the mega-ultra-sketchy shit later where he's kind of a d-bag and we should have seen that coming. Like, the guy who says that women should be in the kitchen in hocks on into his spit-tooooon. Also: i'm probably entirely wrong and he's a nice person, but that's way less fun to write about and we're writing about a show where people try to marry people on TV. So.

Name: Chris

Occupation: Corporate Sales/The Finest Beard Management, Ever.

Chance of Winning: With a beard like that, it's hard to lose. At least in the first few episodes.

Chris made bobblehead doll replicas of himself and Emily and made them talk to each other as bobbleheads together. In any other situation, this would be considered the creepiest. shit. ever. But this is TV, so, I guess women just roll with it. Chris, just in general, has the look of a "reality television show guy". I'm pretty sure his degree in college was "reality television show guy" and then he accidentally got a job in something that wasn't a reality television show. He has all of the looks of a contender: good looking, seemingly not too dumb, referenced that he asked his parents for advice on love. He's the chocolate chip cookie at the bakery: all else fails? You could probably buy some chocolate chip cookies and no one is gonna hate you when you get home with the bag. He appears to shave every 14.2 seconds but leaves a little stubble each time just in case he needs to be in a Gilette commercial where he strokes his face repeatedly and smiles in a mirror. At least he has a future.

Name: David

Occupation: Not A Good Singer/Songwriter.

Chance of Winning: It was like, -4,989% before he even showed up. ELIMINATED.

My favorite thing about David is that he was like the guy you know has failed at about 13 other reality shows and this was going to be his bread and butter. "I write love songs, she wants to fall in love, THIS IS MY MOMENT." The problem is, David is the worst singer/songwriter of all time. When talking about how he loves to write music, they showed a video of him hitting three keys on a keyboard while he did this:

"EmilllyyYyyY. EMILLYYYYYY. EmiLlLlLlL-heee-heee-y. EMILY."

Right now, if we had a keyboard and walked out to any street where bums are prevalent, handed them a keyboard and told them to sing about anything....like, they could sing about a pigeon...they'd be better at it than David. I am only unhappy he didn't move forward because I would have loved to hear a more polished version of "EmilllyyYyyY. EMILLYYYYYY. EmiLlLlLlL-heee-heee-y. EMILY (The Remix)."

Name: Doug

Occupation: Charity Director/Clearly Not That Great Of A Guy Because He's Using His Child Mercilessly As Bait

Chance of Winning: Great, Because He's Clearly Not That Great Of A Guy Because He's Using His Child Mercilessly As Bait

Doug had a plan from the get go. I'm actually terrified, because I'm pretty sure Doug saw the season of The Bachelor that Emily was on and adopted a child for the possibilty of a future season she'd star in. Honestly, Doug mentioned his child back home at least 48 times and even brought out a letter written by the child TO EMILY. HOW IS THIS NOT CREEPY AS SHIT? Also, my greatest hope? There is no child. I'm praying to God that Doug is crazy as shit and has no children, that he's writing these letters in broken English and poor handwriting to woo her. Try and tell me that discovery wouldn't be the best thing to happen to TV since Clarissa Explains It All. Anyway, Doug probably goes to the top 3.

Name: Jackson

Occupation: He does sit-ups for a living.

Chance of Winning: ELIMINATED

I'm not even sure Jackson knows he was on the show yet. Either that, or he just tried to get eliminated so for his exit interview he could be like "check out these abs, guys." Which he did. Jackson does not eat, he's very attractive, and it's unclear yet as to whether he can read a book. But, hey. If guys are allowed to like dumb girls, girls are allowed to like dumb guys. Clearly just on the show so he can get a spot in the back row of the next Insanity DVD.

Name: Jean-Paul

Occupation: Fish Knower.

Chance of Winning: ELIMINATED

Jean-Paul wore a bad suit and was a marine biologist. I don't know. Did he ever have a fighting chance? He was a smart guy showing up to kegs n' eggs. Seems like that wasn't going to work from the beginning. Oddly, on his exit interview, he got really emotional and I didn't see that coming. Arguably, he's Kaiser Soze. But I guess we'll never know.

Name: Jef

Occupation: Entrepre-Oh SHUT the fuck up with that, Jef.

Chance of Winning: 99%

First of all, there are two f's in Jeff, Jef. Strike 1. Jef rode up to the event on a skateboard grabbing the bumper of a limo. Christ. Strike 2. Then there's the fact that he's an entrepreneur. I just. I hate that term. It's so vague. It's such a cop out. Saying "I'm an entrepreneur" to everyone else is insinuating that you are, in fact, not ambitious, but I am. I want to be a fireman, Jef, but I don't go around telling people that. To be fair, he owns the Tom's Shoes of water, but I am patiently waiting for him to say "I also have a champagne company that, for every glass we drink, will give one glass of champagne to a small African child in need." He will, no doubt, at some point reference his travels to some place with a well in Africa/Guatemala and he will definitely make it to the final 3. He's "the real guy" that's "so not like her, but that's what she's here for, to take a chance!" I will love to hate Jef for the entirety of this show because I'm an asshole.

Name: Joe

Occupation: Field Energy Advisor, which sounds made up.

Chance of Winning: 1%

Joe did this obnoxious dance thing when he showed up. After a little research on ABC, he answered one of the questions they asked him with three exclamation marks. His occupation sounds like he read three words randomly on a resume and put them together to make a sentence. Joe, you lost before you got there.

Name: John/"The Wolf"

Occupation: Data Destruction Specialist. So, a paper shredder.

Chance of Winning: 50% on being named "The Wolf" alone.

Besides the fact that he told everyone his friends called him "The Wolf", there was nothing memorable about The Wolf. I'm kinda bummed, really, because it's a great nickname and it feels like it was wasted on the guy who no one really cares about. Maybe I'm wrong and he howls at the rose ceremony next episode. Who knows. For now, Wolf? I'm wildly disappointed in you. Do better. Name: Kalon

Occupation: King of the Douches

Chance of Winning: Winning? No. Staying on the show? Extremely high.

While everyone else showed up in a limo, Kalon flew in on a helicopter, which is kinda like showing up to the prom in a hummer. Per the code of reality television, he is "the guy that everyone hates on the show, even the viewers". He is a "luxury brand consultant", which means he probably sells Hugo Boss dress shirts at Bloomingdales and or is unemployed and has a trust fund, which is highly likely because his name is Kalon. In his interview, he said "he used to be a douche, but now he's different and wants to show the world", which means he's just a bigger douche. Kalon will stick around because they can't afford for him to leave: he's that hateable. I can't wait to see the manufactured fights they make with him.

Name: Kyle

Occupation: Financial Advisor

Chance of Winning: 50-75%

Even after re-watching, I have no real take on Kyle either way. I don't dislike him, I don't like him more than others, but I just know that he's just kind of...there. I dunno. I could care less about Kyle, but he is in the money industry so he's got that going for him.

Name: Lerone

Occupation: The Token Black Guy

Chance of Winning: ELIMINATED

Oh, Lerone. You were picked by the producers to be the token, but you got out-latino'd by Allesanjandro. We were all rooting for you to stick around for that awkward moment in reality television when a white guy says something that's a little too "not okay" for a white guy to say, considering there are at least 4 southern guys on the show. You tried, buddy. We commend you.

Name: Michael

Occupation: Rehab Consultant,which is a polite way of saying "I've been to rehab."

Chance of Winning: 25%

His hair is more beautiful than most women and he's wearing an argyle cardigan in his picture. Honestly, all I remember about Michael was that he has nice hair. And Rehab Consultant sort of sounds like "Not Drinking Alcohol Anymore Expert". Just sayin'.

Name: Nate

Occupation: Accountant

Chance of Winning: 95%

This was the one guy that Emily was visibly into. If it were the end of the night at a bar, she would have gone home with Nate. Other than that, did Nate speak? Who knows. The thing is: he's got the one thing going for him that no one else seemed to....he's got the "guy that she inexplicably wants to do" thing. And that will take you far in this world. Nate is an early runner for the "Moby Dick" award: she wants him, and won't stop until she at least hooks up with him. I have oddly high hopes for Nate.

Name: Randy

Occupation: Marketing Manager, which blows your mind after his entrance.

Chance of Winning: ELIMINATED

Randy showed up wearing a grandma costume and then stripped down to Randy, but he did the thing where he couldn't get the costume off easily and was sweating a lot. Also: he dressed as a grandma and tore his clothes off in an attempt to get a woman to have sex with him.  Shockingly, Randy was eliminated.

Name: Ryan

Occupation: Ex-Football Player

Chance of Winning: 99%

Ryan is my pick. He used to play football (she's into athletes), now he works with kids (she has one of those) but he doesn't HAVE kids (because she wants to have 4,298 more kids), and his intro was well done.  Look, sometimes, you just know when you're a guy watching a show called The Bachelorette and you're writing a 4,000 word column on it, which is in no way worrisome: this is the guy who is at least going top 2. He was engineered for tabloids, too. You can thank me when you see the "what was Ryan like in his playing days!" page in US Weekly.

Name: Sean

Occupation: Insurance Agent

Chance of Winning: I have no idea.

I'm pretty sure Sean was the guy who interrupted Kalon the helicopter guy while he was talking to Emily, which provoked a cat fight with creepy DJ guy who looks like the guy no one remembers from NSYNC, which will get to in a minute. Point being, he seemed nice enough, and Kalon was a dick to him, so. I guess he doesn't lose yet, and he says "ma'am" so that helps because she's southern.

Name: Stevie

Occupation: "MC". So, probably a Bar Mitzvah DJ.

Chance of Winning: There Aren't Enough Zeros Percent.

Stevie came in with a boombox on his shoulder dancing around like he was at a homecoming dance. He without a doubt roofies underaged girls and looks way too much like Chris Kirkpatrick from NSYNC. He has absolutely no chance of winning, but he's exciting because he's creepily into hating Kalon the helicopter guy. I couldn't be more excited for their upcoming arguments, and I hope someone asks him to sing Dirty Pop at some point, prompting him to have a nervous meltdown where he starts screaming that he is not Christ Kirkpatrick.

Name: Tony

Occupation: He buys wood.

Chance of Winning: 50% only because he has a kid.

Tony was the other guy who was using his kid from a previous failed marriage as bait. He is a next-level douche who brought a slipper with him (OMG Cinderella GET IT?)and he's one of the guys who used working out as half of his "about me" video. I love the guys using their children as bait, because this is ALSO seemingly a strong indication that you are a terrible life partner and someone chose to raise the child they had with you separately from you. It's like a neon sign that says "look, I'm a bad decision in all probability", at least when you're on a God damn TV show about getting married. I hope he saw Doug's letter from his child stunt, called home immediately and threatened his child with no allowance until he, too, wrote Emily a letter.

Name: Travis

Occupation: Advertising, so making fun of his job would be making fun of myself.

Chance of Winning: 2% just because 1% seemed boring.

Travis, by far, was the highlight of a show. He brought a fucking ostrich egg and said he would hold it and never let it break the entirety of his time on the show because it's a symbol of their love. That is some next level crazy shit, like a girl showing up to a date with pictures of the two of you photoshopped in wedding pictures (which, actually, someone has probably already done on Pinterest). The best part of this is that clearly the egg is going to break, and it's going to be the best episode of all time when it does. If you're going to bring an ostrich egg to a first date, you're never going to get laid, let alone married.


So, 4,000 words later, that's where we stand.Moving forward I think we have a pretty interesting field, and I'm looking forward to finally knowing who's "just like us" in US Weekly this season.

I promise to say less in the next post. So, you know. 3,999 words.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 60: If you're going to bring an ostrich egg to a first date, you're never going to get laid.

Stream the whole thing at the link above.


Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.


Pinterest, Explained by Someone Who Doesn't Get It

I am a bit of a social media whore. For the most part, I think anyone reading this is (how the hell else did you get here?). But I think sometimes, I am to a fault. I check Facebook incessantly for no reason. I tweet when it's unnecessary. I think in "that'd be a great Instagram shot" thoughts.

Hell, man. Just to blow time, I check Path. I'd imagine this is what becoming a drug addict or a rampant gambler feels like.

Then a funny thing happened.

Pinterest showed up. And I didn't get it.

Unless you live in a dark cave, you've heard of it. I don't know, at this point people in dark caves have probably heard of it. If you have a girlfriend, it's probably helped you understand why women hate fantasy football. Whenever I'm not looking, it's like she's just checking the waiver wire, checking to see if any new pins are available for repin. And here's the thing that really sucks...

I'm bad at it.

How can you be bad at a social network, you ask? I'll explain.

Pinterest is really simple: It's a digital pinboard that you post pretty pictures on. Do you like that outfit that one chick wore to that thing? BOOM. Pin it. Do you like that picture of food? BOOM. Pin it. Do you like that "anything that can be photographed"? BOOM. Pin that shit. Honestly: it's a really simple way to tell people what you like, and I get that.

But when I started trying to do it, I realized I was too late. More than that, I just wasn't good at it. It was the same reason people told me they couldn't relate to Twitter the way I could: they just had nothing to say. And that's the thing: I've got PLENTY to say but not that much to show you. So, essentially, I'm fucked. I'm a person who thinks in words. I lose Pictionary every time I play it but I am a certified sniper when it comes to Catch Phrase.

When I go on Pinterest, I feel like people are speaking Chinese while playing Mouse Trap and patting their head, all at once. I simply cannot keep up with the rate that things are shared. It's not only that, though.

I am just not the demographic.

I'm not saying men can't pin. Look, plenty of them are good at it. I'm just not one of them.

I tried to solve this. Could I emulate other people's boards? Could I simply yoink titles that other people had for their boards and use them as my own? It was that exact moment that I realized just how out of my league I was.

However, I did notice some patterns. On that note.

This is my interpretation of how to use Pinterest.

Make a board about DIY crafting. 

It's funny, no one seemed to be into crafting before Pinterest existed. You never heard people saying in passing, "hey, I tell you about that lamp shade I made out of sequins and old rubber tires?" Now? If i'm to believe my friend's Pinterest boards, everyone spends a majority of their life creating random terrariums or hats that make you look like an owl. This brings up a larger theme that Pinterest has essentially made people more interesting even if they're just lazily throwing pictures up on a board as a new way of hitting the "like" button. And, i'll take it. Why not. I'd rather you be into crafting than the Real Housewives of anything.

Talk about the wedding you're going to have before a man (or woman) has asked to marry you.

Seriously, it doesn't matter: Pinterest allows people to be passive aggressive as shit. Angry he hasn't popped the question yet? Drop a hint and just start posting what the floral arrangements are and what the rose petals will look like on the alter of the venue you've already selected (or all 1,894 of them on another board, entirely optional). While it would be creepy for a girl to do this in her bedroom, with or without a boyfriend, it is in no way creepy on Pinterest. Utterly fascinating to me.

While you're at it, pin what your home is going to look like someday. 

For the most part, we all live in some unbelievably boring place. It probably has some chairs, a bed and some other furniture we can presumably afford (re: shitty furniture) and maybe, just maybe, it's got some trinkets and doodads that make it "so us." Go online, find pictures of rich people's houses and post pictures on a board about what your home is going to look like when you grow up. Maybe a room with a nice lamp. Definitely a crazy nice kitchen with the crap you can't afford at Williams Sonoma. Boom. You did it.

Talk about an eating disorder you may or may not have in way that is juuuust masked enough. 

This goes for both sexes. Sure, no one really wants to hear about if you think you're fat or what weight you're gaining or losing through Facebook or Twitter updates. Those are just words and they sound like someone bitching that you don't want to have drinks with. That sucks, because you know what we all love? Attention (points finger at self as he writes this in the hopes that you will read it). But hey, guess what? Pinterest made it work! Instead, post a picture of good looking people or pictures of food you "can't eat" and now it's just a pretty picture that sorta doesn't have anything to do with you in particular. It's just close enough to sounding like self-improvement, too, so most people are into it.

Pin any well designed picture of a quote that is vague. 

HUGE bonus points if it's a variation of "Keep Calm and Carry On." That shit is so gonna get repined, just wait for the followers to get on your Pin-wagon. While your'e at it..

Find any infographic about anything. 

It honestly doesn't matter. It could be about the ratio of pistachios that get left behind because their shell has that awkward opening that's just not open enough so you can't eat it to pistachios that you can definitely eat. Seriously. It doesn't matter. If it's an infographic? Pin that shit. If you're a brand trying to get into Pinterest in a way that fans will relate to? This is your easiest way to offer kids candy in the back of a Pinterest van. Do it.

Pin pictures of babies doing things. 

It's just vague enough that it doesn't say "I WANT A BABY". It's saying, "hey, don't blame me, I'm just looking at adorable babies doing some adorable shit, what's wrong with that?" Babies are the cats of Pinterest. They're pretty much an easy go-to.

Pin pictures of tiny animals.

No matter what. Don't think, just pin that shit. Baby giraffe? Boom. Monkey riding a pig? Boom.

Pin any picture of food. 

Food was the one thing that got a little left behind when Twitter started. Explaining food isn't as cool as seeing food. Guess what? If you joined Pinterest, you just went from making Kraft Macaroni and Cheese to cooking some kind of dumpling you've never heard of with ingredients you can only buy in places that don't exist. And you're putting bacon on everything. Pinterest made everyone a foodie.

Finally, when all else fails…

Just repin anything someone else pins with a lot of followers. It's just like any other social network, guys. We're all just yelling the same thing at each other.

It's not that I don't like Pinterest. I actually really do. I just feel like I'm not good at that, and like a kid throwing things on the playground, i'm bummed out. It's just like Twitter for me for a different breed of person: I've seen people become legitimate friends in real life because they liked someone's boards. It blows my mind.

If statistics are correct, it's gonna outgrow Facebook, Twitter, Twitface, Facer, Facertweet…it's gonna be the next big thing. Hell, it's already been the next big thing for longer than you think. And this is why.

Ever watched girls on a couch while guys watch football? They often look at fashion magazines/anything and just show other girls what they're looking at and say, "that's cute."

That's Pinterest.

Forget the "like" button.

Just make the "that's cute" button already.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 59: Pin This Sh*t.

Stream the whole thing right here.


Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.

I'm Not Gay. I'm a Girl.

For a lot of my life, people have said that I'm "sorta gay." And, I get it. I'm pretty effeminate for a dude. Which is funny, because I used the word "pretty" to qualify that statement.

But, no, I get it. I just don't think "gay" is the right word.

I'm girly.

There's a huge difference. I feel bad for gay guys who get pigeonholed into the thought process that being "girly" makes them gay. No, being gay makes them gay.  I can imagine this bothers gay dudes. They just aren't that into girls, so I'm sure they don't want to be told that they are one.

What I am is an entirely different thing.

See, in my formative years, I was raised by a single mom. A single mom who had wanted a girl since she was about -22 years old. Imagine the feeling, then, of not getting a girl. The feeling of getting a household full of burping, farting boys instead. Boys that would never appreciate her love of shoes or bags. Boys that would not appreciate the haircut she got, did you notice? Boys that, put simply, would never be her daughter.

And then I happened.

Sure, I have plenty of total "dude" qualities. Left to my own devices, I'd watch Sportscenter on loop all day. I love movies where shit blows up for no reason. I like whiskey and scotch. I don't understand why it takes so long for girls to get ready. Fill in the next man cliche here. That's the thing: I'm just "dude" enough that most guys don't notice that I'm a girl in man's clothing.

Because then there's the "raised by a woman" part of me.

I love shoes.

Let me say that again.

I fucking love shoes. If buying pairs of them were a sport, I'm Tiger Woods pre-ambien meltdown.

I buy product. Not shampoo, or soap. I buy "product." My shower houses two salon pumps of Bumble and Bumble, Kiehl's and Bliss face wash, and something called "minty scrub soap." I own eye creams. Notice the "s" there? That's because I own multiple eye creams.

I just want to talk. All the time. About nothing but feelings. I have feelings bulimia.

I talk about celebrities using only their first names.

I say an uncomfortable amount of the phrases featured in the Shit Girls Say video.

I do like to dance like no one is watching.

I enjoy a good romantic comedy. So much so that I am ordered to take my best friend (a girl, obviously) to movies by her husband who doesn't want to see them.

I own Ani Difranco albums (this one arguably makes me a lesbian, but they are still girls the last time I checked).

I've been the only male invited to not one but two baby showers.

I cry when I get too drunk.

I am the closest thing a male can get to having a period.

And you know what? Screw it, man. It's who I am.

I'm not a gay guy.

I'm a f%*king girl.

The other day, I was sitting in a cubicle at an office of about 100 people I don't know. I was blaring music in headphones when a song came on that I really liked. It was catchy as all hell, the hook was great. And this is what it sounded like.

Around the fifteenth listen, I wrote my friend Julie this exact statment:

"I'm sitting in a corporate office writing serious ideas about a large brand...with this playing in my headphones. No one around me has any idea. Is this what it feels like to be in the closet?"

To answer my own question:

Yes. This is what it feels like to be in the closet. But not the gay closet.

The "girly dude" closet.

You're all invited to join. I've got at least one pair of shoes for everyone.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 58: Songs I'd Play For You If You Called Me (Maybe)

Stream Disc One right here or download the whole thing in mp3's right here.

Stream Disc Two right here or download the whole thing in mp3's right here.

There's Always SkyMall

A couple of weeks ago, I quit my job to go out into the world of freelance writing. Which basically means I stopped receiving money on purpose.

Which basically seems like a questionable life choice.

But frankly, when you do this, there are a few things that can happen: people will think you are funny and/or talented and hire you to write words again or you will die in an unemployed fire (or just be unemployed, develop an extreme drinking problem which will, in turn, cause you to be a fantastic writer again. I know, right? I love this job)…

Or you will realize that everything has words attached to it. Everything. And someone...SOMEONE is going to have to employ you. Hear me out.

Have you ever looked at crap and wondered:

A) WHY is this a thing? (Prime examples: an electronic tie rack, capri pants a.k.a.the pant that can't decide what it wants to be, 1,308 varieties of dish soap named after mountain peaks that do not exist that you have not gone to because they do not exist, etc)

B) WHO the F*CK wrote the words explaining that thing?

You probably don't experience "B" a lot unless you are a writer or a stoner (or both, which is usually the case, let's put our fingers on our noses and point at ourselves).

I think about "A" and "B" a lot. And I think about "B" so much so that I thought a full-time job wasn't required. You know why?

Because it leads me to believe that there are a lot of things that need words out there. A lot of useless, unbelievably strange things that can't even be explained by the people who make and sell them (!!).

I know this because every time I'm on an airplane, I read SkyMall.

SkyMall is perplexing because it's like 4,897 of those kiosks in the middle of a mall that oh my God WHO is going to that thing to buy a cell phone cover?

That's SkyMall: the mini-mall of mini-malls.

It's even more perplexing because someone IS going to that thing. They are buying things from SkyMall. They are buying things that are inexplicable, unnecessary…and amazing. And those things have descriptions.


And, yeah: These are real things that I may just write for someday.


Product: Protein Ketchup

Tagline: "Finally, a ketchup that's good for you!"

Analysis: Was this a 'thing'? Were people really avoiding ketchup because they couldn't load up on it before a workout? Was that the #1 problem with ketchup? Did they hire anyone to research this, or just get drunk one night and write this and send it in before thinking? I hope their next product is "Water: It won't drunk dial you."


Product: Military Binoculars

Tagline: "See the color of an eagle's eye…FROM A MILE AWAY!"

Analysis: I want to buy a pair so that this conversation can go down at my apartment someday:

Friend: "Wow. Drew. These binoculars are AWFULLY big. What are they for?"

Me: "Seeing the color of an eagle's eye."

Friend: "Why would I ever need to do tha-"

Me: "Brown. Slight green tint. It's hungry, and it's girlfriend's name is Sandra. It's lonely, but it knows it will see better days once the winter passes."

Friend: "Nevermind. I get it. I. Get. It."


Product: Gravity Defyer Trampoline Shoe (GDefy for short, obvi)

Tagline: "Now you can escape the power of gravity."

Analysis: I mean, that's just an extremely aggressive statement. Just extremely, extremely aggressive.


Product: Sound-Activated Video Camera Pen

Tagline: "Perfect for collecting solid evidence that requires discretion."

Analysis: Is James Bond flying coach? Are people getting so sketchy that they'd buy a $179 pen to see if their significant other is cheating? Here's an easier way: ask them if they are cheating. Maybe don't buy the $200 decoder ring pen.


Product: Litter Kwitter Cat Toilet Training System

Tagline: "Potty train your cat faster than most people can potty train their kids."

Analysis: What I really enjoyed about this one (beyond the cat pissing-pissing-in-a-toilet visual and the fact that only "most" of America could potty train their kids faster than a cat, not "all") was the use of "kw" instead of "qu". It wasn't like being interested in this product was enough to secure that you'd die alone…the fact that you'd buy a product that spelled the word quitter with a "kw" really puts it over the top. Like, just buy 42 cats and lock the door to your apartment and become the next episode of CSI. You're already there, you don't even need the product.


Product: The Password Vault (A small LCD electronic device that stores all of your passwords that…requires a password)

Tagli…no, you know what? No. I'm not even bothering. Let me say that again: it's a device that stores your passwords in a small, easily losable device that requires a password. NO. NNNNO. 


Product: Bigfoot, the Bashful Yeti Tree Sculpture

Tagline: "If you've never spotted Bigfoot, perhaps it's just because he's been hiding behind the nearest tree!"

Analysis: I mean. I'd make fun. But let's be real…I came real close to buying this, but I do not have "a tree", let alone many that would require the phrase "nearest". There was also a Texas Armadillo Beverage holder that I thought was ridiculous. I love that I drew the line there.


Product: Bigfoot, the Garden Yeti Statue. (Different company makes this one.) (!!)

Tagline: "…guests will be doing a double-take as they admire your creative home or garden style!"

Analysis: Who cares about the writing: I'm just mind blown that two different companies are competitively marketing bigfoot statues against each other in the same magazine/at all. Can you imagine if the neighbors got the statue after you had already bought the tree sculpture?

Husband: "Did you hear? Don across the street brought the Garden Yeti Statue."

Wife: "Seriously?"

Husband: "Seriously."

(long, long pause)

Wife: "Unbelievable. Un-F*%KING BELIEVABLE."


Product: The Big Pitcher (it's a big water pitcher)

Tagline: "Water is life! Drink healthy with The Big Pitcher!"

Analysis: (golf claps) Oh I see what you did there. 


Product: No! No! Skin

Tagline: "No pimples in no time."

Analysis: I get it. You wanted to say the word "no" twice to reiterate that not only would you have no pimples, you'd not have them in no time. Here's the problem: your product is a laser that I point at my face. A robot that shoots a laser at my face. So saying "NO NO SKIN" makes me feel like I will have no..no skin. And that sorta bums me out. Maybe have a look at the ad before you just give SkyMall the green light next time. People might be reading this wrong. (No! No! Hair was available too. But I already have! have! that).


Product: SkyRest Travel Pillow 

Tagline: "This person is able to sleep comfortably in any seat. Can you say the same?"

Analysis: I mean, no. You know what? Wanted to argue this one, because I'm not sure who has the balls to bring this (and use it) on a plane. But you're right, SkyRest. Your threatening tone is right: I can't say the same. +1 for terror pillow marketing.


It's a competitive job market out there for writers. I imagine there will be plenty of times I live in fear in between jobs, no doubt.

But hey, let's face it...

I can probably always write for SkyMall.

Probably always.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 57: Songs That You Can Enjoy With Any Backyard Bigfoot Statue

Stream the whole thing at the link above (or by clicking on the picture with the SkyMall magazine in it that you would probably be reading if you were on an airplane).


Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.

I Have a Pedialyte Drinking Problem, Toothpaste Scares Me, and So Forth.

If I were a cop, I'd just park across the street from a KFC/Taco Bell every night. I mean, it's gotta be a 100% arrest rate when people drive out of the drive-thru, right? Anyone buying an actual bucket of chicken or a sandwich with two pieces of fried chicken used as the bread are on drugs 1,976% of the time. If you are a policeman and you are reading this, congratulations. I just got you promoted to a job where you don't have to sit outside of a KFC/Taco Bell arresting people. I am confused by people who sign up to be urologists for a living. Look. I'm just sayin'. I don't know how much the money differential is, but I'm guessing it's a lot or most of these guys are closeted, because I have one and even I would argue that I don't really want to look at penises for a living. Like, you had a choice. Of ANY body part, and you said, "Penises. I choose to look at Penises for a living." Really? Were the check boxes like this?


Face Doctor - 200k w/ benefits.

Foot Doctor - 300k w/ benefits, because feet are weird.


*My favorite part about writing this…when I did about two months ago…was finding out approximately one week later that my cousin Laura is a urologist. I'm sorry Laura. I'm a dick. HEY-O!

I have a pediatric electrolyte supplement drinking problem. You should read that back, but out loud this time. It turns out it's a killer way to cure a hangover. The only catch is that you're drinking something that a baby drinks when it has diarrhea. So, you can imagine how that conversation is when you ask a Walgreen's employee where the baby formula aisle is with no baby in sight. Or what it looks like when you are feverishly pounding a bottle of grape on your way to work and people in other cars are looking at you. Ready for this? I now even eat the FREEZER POPS that they sell, because that's not weird. But hey, guess what: I'm hydrated, motherf*cker. What are you?

I don't understand how people design traffic light systems. It just seems like it would be really complicated. I know, because in Sim City I was terrible at it and it had to be the most stressful thing in the world when my not real people were getting in not real traffic jams that were making them late for their not real home lives, which presumably caused them to get not real divorced and THAT'S ON ME AND I LIVE WITH IT EVERY SINGLE DAY.

Oh, Republicans. You guys had it so easy in the coming election year. I say that because America is generally batshit crazy and I just figured that they wouldn't be cool with having a black guy as our president for more than four years before they had a "THE CIVIL WAR ISN'T OVER" panic attack. To be fair, it sort of still sounds like that's happening. And in that instance, it seems like to win the hearts of your batshit crazy cohorts, all you had to do was nominate two "not black guys" and…no, you know what? You honestly had to just nominate anyone who didn't sound like they had been drinking all morning before they started filming things and you probably would have had the next President elect. But you sure found a way to…not do that. Your current nominee options are Rick Perry, Mitt Romney and Newt Gingrich. So basically:

1) The only guy in Texas who manages to make George Bush look like a Rhodes Scholar.

2) A crazy Mormon who believes in magical underpants. (!!)


3) ….Newt Gingrich. Who I'm pretty sure has been running for president since 1848. (Probably not gonna happen, big guy. Maybe sit this one out.)

What's even more amazing is that you ruled out one other guy because he was quoting Pokemon in his speeches. (!!!)

So, in advance, may I say thank you from every Democrat. We're running against the equivalent of mouth breathers in sweatpants with weird mustard stains in the corner of their lips. Things are looking up.

There are too many toothpaste options these days, and my neurotic brain can't handle it. 

Toothpaste Brand: "Do you want whitening?"

Drew: "Sure."

Toothpaste Brand: "Do you want tartar control?"

Drew: "I mean, I'd assume so, sure…you guys are the experts."

Toothpaste Brand: "Do you want extra whitening?"

Drew: "…well, sure. Why didn't you just put the 'extra' in the last batch.."

Toothpaste Brand: "3-D whitening?"

Drew: "Wait, what?"

Toothpaste Brand: "How about cavity protection."

Drew: "Dude, what the f*ck. Why wasn't I getting that before?"

Toothpaste Brand: "How about an extreme clean?"

Drew: "…"

Then again, I guess I've never been able to make up my mind about this. Ever.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 56: A Mix For Cops To Listen To Outside of a KFC/Taco Bell

Stream the whole thing at the link above (or by clicking on the picture with too much toothpaste in it).


Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.


I Have Never Closed My Eyes. Ever.

I was informed today by someone with a medical degree that I have not been able to close my eyes my entire life. I'll wait while you digest that.

No, seriously: A doctor told me that I am incapable, and have been my ENTIRE LIFE, of closing my eyes. (!!!)

This was the actual conversation.

Drew: "My eyes just feel really tired. And dry. Pretty much always. So there's that."

(Doctor inspects eyes.)

Doctor: "Well. You can't fully close your eyes it appears."

Drew: "…"

Doctor: "Yes. You have a slight opening between your eyelid and your eye. Has anyone ever told you while you were sleeping that your eye is sort of open?"

Drew: "Wouldn't it be more strange/creepy…take your pick, really...that they were just staring at me in my sleep?"

Doctor: "Well, you can't close your eyes fully. So you're eyes are just permanently dry. We'll have to get you some eye drops and.."

Drew: "Can we go back to the part where I've never closed my eyes my entire life?"

Doctor: "Sure."

Drew: "Could we fix that?"

Doctor: "No. I mean, technically you've always had one eye open!"

(Doctor laughs at her own joke.)

(Drew does not laugh at doctor's joke.)

I'm clearly presented with two options: be wildly depressed that I'm always going to be sort of tired looking, or simply embrace the fact that oh my god there are so many funny jokes that could come out of this.

I'll obviously choose a healthy dose of both. But the latter is way more fun.

Here are some things that I now know about my life, and/or things that you could laugh about due to the fact that I have theoretically never actually closed my eyes.

I have technically been cheating at hide-n-go-seek my entire life. So, sorry if I ever was "it" and found you really quickly. Apparently I was looking.

I have never lost a staring contest. Ever.

I'm apparently better at not getting shampoo in my eyes than you are. Because we weren't on an even playing field. On that note…

It totally makes sense why I ALWAYS get suntan lotion in my eyes. This has been a running joke with my friends ever since we were little. We figured I was just the worst at applying suntan lotion, ever. And that may still very well be the case. But still. This makes so much more sense now.

I have never kissed a girl with my eyes closed. So technically, I could be that "creepy guy who always kept his eyes open" to some girl. Sorry, some girl. I was trying.

I could be in a few films and they'd be sort of amazing. 

FILM 1: Don't Blink - The story of a man whom, after scientific testing by the government gone horribly awry, could no longer keep his eyes closed. Though a tortured soul, I'd become a huge asset to the government, as I would be an ideal sniper and/or guy who stays up on watch all night. Sample dialogue:

Bad Guy: "Blink and you might miss it."

Drew: "Don't worry. (GUN COCKING NOISE). I won't."

FILM 2: Cries WIthout Tears - The story of a man born into a Native American tribe who is originally cast aside…but then brought in as one of their own when they realize he can't close his eyes and they realize his gift for "seeing everything" they cannot, both metaphorically and literally, of course.

I can't wink. At least now I have a bad/good excuse.

I have a really good excuse for having red eyes if anyone ever says I look high. I can just tell them that my eyes are open ALL THE TIME and i'm NOT LYING. Like, what?

And finally…It's always going to make me laugh now when Aladdin says "Don't you dare close your eyes!" during the song A Whole New World.

Because I can't, Aladdin.

I can't.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 54: Songs That Are Great, Even If You Can't Close Your Eyes. Ever.

Stream the whole thing at the link above.


Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.


Board Games. Revisited as an Adult.

I am not a competitive person by nature. I'm certainly not someone who's ever going to get something by means of bargaining or having that "killer instinct" that people speak of that gets you ahead in life. (Side note: Can we talk about how messed up the term "killer instinct" is? We casually throw around that people have an instinct that gets them ahead in life because it resembles a cold blooded human being who kills other people for sport. That's cool. You can have the last Tostito.)

I was thinking about this the other day, and I realized that this is why I've always been terrible at board games. And, inversely, why I've been terrible at a lot of rudimentary things in life. Money management. Property acquisition. The ability to completely screw someone over without wanting to talk about their feelings afterwards.

And when you think about it: board games are actually just a really f*%ked up way to learn about life and how it's going to go down. Essentially, we're providing children an oddly solid grasp of how the world works through a man with a monocle and a game revolving around murdering people in rooms with silly names.

So. Of course. I went fifteen steps further and started overanalyzing it.

Here's a breakdown of a few popular board games you probably grew up with and the life lessons they were probably striving to teach you.


Monopoly is a game that, title alone, should be a red flag. When you grow up, you learn that having a "monopoly" over anything is everything that is wrong in the world, so much so that we're having a bunch of protests regarding such behavior right now. But guess what: slap a shoe or a small terrier and some colors on it, and you've got yourself a hilarious game in which you strive to push your friends into bankruptcy.

Let's go through this.

The point of the game is to buy property while every now and then crossing an ambiguous place called "go" to sustain a bank account (pssst: in the real world it's called "paycheck every two weeks"). The larger goal is to "monopolize" the board. To literally buy everything and charge anyone for going near it. From time to time you go to jail (which oddly just sorta flies under the radar, I mean..who's like "Whoops! Carl went to jail again, I sure hope he rolls doubles!"). Oh, and also? There's a part of the board called "chance", slightly indicating to children that from time to time things might go horribly wrong or great for no apparent reason. Oh, and once a friend gets poor? You become a maniacal, horrible person who sits and waits to literally charge the crap out of them for nothing.

This game apparently did nothing for my property owning and renting skills, as I still seem to be playing the board game in real life, except now I make the same horrible fiscal decisions but with real money:

Drew: "So the place comes with -398 sq feet, the bathroom is pretty much inside of the room, which, let's be real Bob, we'll just call it a room because the bedroom is a part of the 'room' i'll be renting out. The stove doesn't work. There is a Mexican coke dealer who lives next door, and my hallway looks like the scene from The Shinning with the two little girls."

Landlord: "It's about $1400 dollars and.."

Drew: "I'LL TAKE IT!"

The game takes 4,978 hours to play, is run by an adorable man with a silly monocle and most people die before they can even finish it or reap the benefits of their investments.

Just sayin'.


Battleship is a game that lets people know how the world works if you were to ever go to war. Basically: fire missiles with blatant disregard as to who or where you are shooting them at, hope they hit something, and if they do continue to do so until someone dies a horrible death. If this game is correct, it takes approximately 3-5 ambiguous missiles to destroy ships.

So that's cool.


Life is probably the most wildly accurate of any game. Ready?

The game literally emulates life in the most depressing regard ever.

It's tag line? It's a game of twists and turns/Where will your choices take you? (I mean, Jesus.)

You go around a board and either get a good job or a bad job. If you go to college? You can make more money and eventually end up at a place called Millionaire Acres. If you don't? You can actually go to a place called the poor farm (I mean, again..Jesus).

When you have children in the game, they are identified as a peg you throw in the back of your car. If you obtained a fifth child, you had to lay them sideways in your vehicle because that was the board game way of saying use a goddamn condom.

And there was a tile on the board that you could land on titled "Revenge."

That shit's real, kids.

Guess Who

During your childhood, you are taught to never talk to strangers. When you grow up, you learn that the entire goal of life is to talk to strangers until one of them eventually sleeps with you and you make babies with them.

Guess Who emulates for children the practice of going to a bar: you throw out random attributes that someone may or may not have. When you eventually get close enough to guessing what you're looking for, you win.

Fairly accurate.


When you grow up, you may want to go into the field of medicine. When you do, if you want to make the big bucks, you should look into being a surgeon (or a lawyer, Mom, I know…I KNOW).

If you do become a surgeon, this game is really going to f*%king pay off.

Essentially, just try to open someone up and do not hit the ambiguous "sides". Make sure to use tweezers to remove the bad things. If you do this successfully, you make a shit ton of money. If you don't, their nose will illuminate. That or the red light that signifies their heart has stopped beating.

I was bad at this game. Sorry, Jewish family.


Clue was pretty amazing. A big no-no in life is killing people, in general. A big yes-yes in life is pointing the finger at people and blaming them without much real reasoning or backing: just have a vague idea that they were the one that did "it" ('it" being anything, really) and throw the book at them (turns out the legal system is pretty close to the game Clue, which is in no way terrifying).

The best part about Clue is that they didn't just let children know that people are probably going to kill people when they grow up, they let them know that they are presumably going to do it in some of the most f*%ked up ways possible.

For instance, one day you may be trapped in a place where an attractive woman will either have a lead pipe, a gun, a rope that she will hang you with, a candlestick or a wrench. When people aren't looking, she is going to kill you. Good luck.

So, you know. Don't kill people. But if you are ever in a situation where someone has a lead pipe, a gun, a rope that they will hang you with, a candlestick or a wrench? It's best to at least know what room they are going to do it in.

At least then you'll win.


Sorry is, without question, my favorite board game. There doesn't seem to be a lot of real life going on here. But ohhhhh that's where you're wrong.

The whole point of Sorry is to just get home. That's it. You just want to get your people home. Which, metaphorically, seems sort of heartwarming.

But here's the catch:

Do not EVER turn your back, kids, because some fucker is going to come out of nowhere and he/she is going to ruin your goddamn day and completely stab you in the back. To make matters worse, they are required to say, "sorry" when they do.

But. I mean.

At least they'll say sorry.

It's the little things, I guess.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 53: In Retrospect, Board Games Are Sorta F*%ked Up

Stream the whole thing at the link above.


Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.

Things that are difficult to do without a girlfriend.

Play Jenga. It's really anticlimactic when you play yourself. Go to a farmer's market on a Sunday. Seriously, go without a cute girl. "Yeah, just pickin' up my organic blueberries. You, uh…you come to this...stand…often?" It's like a really, really refined creepy.

Pronounce words like acai, or have any idea what that is. For some reason, girls just know these things. Like they grew up, got a "smell amazing" kit and learned how to pronounce fruits with strange accent marks in their spelling.

Figure out if it's "it's" or "its" in that one sentence you just wrote. Because everyone has their grammatical achilles heel. And couches don't know the difference when you ask. Also, see what I did there? I hope so.

Watch Sex and the City. Yeah. I think it's a good show. And when you own these DVD's and you're a male living alone, a lot of questions start coming into play. A lot. And I dare you to watch it on Netflix. Oh, I dare you. Just pray that it doesn't make suggestions for you after that. "That's so weird that Netflix recommends other shows about women that only women would watch, I usually only watch action films where things explode and people die. Strange." (FUCK YOU, JUDGMENTAL GUY. DID YOU KNOW THAT ROGER STERLING FROM MAD MEN WAS ON IT? YEAH. HE WAS. AND HE WAS GREAT.) (OH, AND I REALLY LIKE THE CHARACTER STEVE. HE IS A NICE PERSON.)

Fart on accident. Because your television doesn't care when you do. And that first time that you do around someone you're dating is always sorta funny: turns out both of you have a butt.

Rationalize going to Bed Bath and Beyond on a sunday to buy throw pillows. To be fair…they really brought the apartment together. 

See if your bald spot is growing. For some reason, taking a picture of the top of your head is wildly depressing. Especially when you forget to delete it and then someone looks through your phone and finds pictures of the top of your head…that you took. That's worse than like, midget porn.

Stay in. For some reason, the only rational reasons for staying in on a Friday or Saturday night are: you're dying, you're working, you're working while dying, or you're in a relationship.

Argue with a girlfriend. Which, face it…though sort of miserable sometimes, there's always the fun part where you pretend nothing was ever wrong and then you think she smells of cinnamon again and you want to buy a dog named Bob with her, because wouldn't it be funny if you got a dog and gave it a human name? "You hungry, Bob?" Just sorta sounds like some dude who lives at your house.

Wear a scarf. Because if you wear a scarf and no one likes it, I just assume you can say that "fill in the blank name of my future girlfriend" liked it, so I wore it for her. And then casually take it off when no one is really looking.

Wear hilarious two person costumes on halloween that require a male and a female. Can you do this with a friend? Sure. But…look. I was Cookie and Gerry Fleck with a girl one year. And let's just say the "in character" shots and prep of it were enough to wife someone up. Because someone who's willing to publicly embarrass themselves for you and be completely and totally blind to the fact that it's happening in the process? That's love.

Watch Disney movies that you know the lyrics to…and sing them. You know what? No. Forget that. If you can't accept that I like the song Under the Sea, you're a bad person and I will treat you like a pedophile: please stay at least 1,000 feet away from me.

Tie a tie. Because I still don't know how to do that. And I will look forward to the day that I can go to big boy events because my girlfriend teaches me how to do this in the mirror. So that I can not comprehend it. But at least it'll be endearing.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 52: It's Okay For Guys To Watch Sex and the City Because The Word "Sex" Is In The Title.

Stream the whole thing at the link above.


Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.

Explaining when I was 13 to a 13 year old.

13 Year Old: "What's a pager?" Me: "Oh. It was this device that I wore on my pants. My friends would call a number that would sound like an answering machine. And when they did, they'd enter in a number for me to call them at. It's like, someone saying…'hey, call me.' It was like…analog texting."

13 yo: "What does analog mean?"

Me: "I don't know. Not fancy."

13 yo: "What's an answering machine?"

Me: "There used to be machines. That literally picked up the phone and recorded things when you weren't home. Like a.."

13 yo: "Why wouldn't you just text them?"

Me: "Oh, we used to not actually like, have cell phones. So texting didn't exist. People would just go outside. And hang out with other people. You had to, you couldn't just text and shit."

13 yo: "So instead you wore something in your pants that couldn't make phone calls?"

Me: "Don't say it like that."

13 yo: "Why, you wore a robot in your pants. I'm just saying what you said."

Me: "It wasn't a robot."

13 yo: "It sounds like a retarded robot."

Me: "You're a retarded robot."

13 yo: "I don't get what that means."

Me: "That's because you're young and don't understand dry wit."

13 yo: "I don't get what that means either."

Me: "See?"

13 yo: "But I still don't get a pager. Why wouldn't you just call people?"

Me: "Because we would be out and wouldn't have phones. So, friends could page you. And you'd call them from like, a pay phone or whatever. And you could write things in "pager code". Like 07734 was hello. And 143 meant I love you…which, in retrospect, is a bit aggressive for a 13 year old. Don't tell anyone you love them yet, you don't. Christ, I sound depressing."

13 yo: "What's a pay phone?"

Me: "They used to have phones all over the place that you could call people on. You'd put money in it. Didn't your generation see The Matrix yet?"

13 yo: "What's The Matrix?"

Me: "Jesus."

13 yo: "Nobody calls anyone. Why don't you just write them on Facebook or tweet at them."

Me: "We didn't have Twitter or Facebook then. You had to meet people. Like, for real. And wait, why do you have a Facebook account? Or a Twitter account? You're too young for that shit. And wait, do you read my stuff? Don't take that stuff seriously."

13 yo: "Why wouldn't I have Facebook and Twitter. And yeah, I've read your stuff. You swear a lot. If you didn't have Facebook or Twitter how did you know if you liked a girl?"

Me: "Oh, we talked to her. She'd tell us about things. Like, interests. And then I'd tell her things. Like, interests."

13 yo: "That sounds exhausting."

Me: "How do you know the word exhausting?"

13 yo: "I'm 13. Are you serious?"

Me: "Just seems like a big word. You're very little. Like, physically. So I just figured you wouldn't know that word."

13 yo: "That makes no sense."

Me: "You make no sense."

13 yo: "Every one of your jokes just seems to be you saying what I just said back to me."

Me: "I know. Because it's hilarious. What are you looking at?"

13 yo: "Instagram."

Me: "Unreal that you know what that is."

13 yo: "My friend just posted a picture. She's hot. I liked it."

Me: "I'm worried for your generation. You guys are gonna just stop talking altogether. Like, little 'like' buttons just walking around. BOOP! I 'like' you."

13 yo: "You have a blog."

Me: "What does that have to do with anything?"

13 yo: "You're worse than me. Have you seen your blog?"

Me: "We're not talking about me."

13 yo: "I am."

Me: "I miss when you were dumb and just listened to anything I said."

13 yo: "I miss when you thought I didn't understand sarcasm."


13 yo: "Hey. I saw The Matrix. It sucked."


Rocket Shoes Mixtape 51: Songs To Say 143 To

Stream the whole thing at the link above.


Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.

A Day in the Life of the Modern San Franciscan

My alarm clock goes off. Presumably on my iPhone 4, because it's very important to me that I own the latest technology. I hit snooze. I can't believe I have to get up by 9 a.m. to make it to my place of work before 10 a.m. where I am paid to be creative and knowledgeable about "the internet," just in general. I check Twitter.

I check Facebook.

I casually thumb through emails I've received since going to bed. I should have received something from Groupon, Livingsocial, Scoutmob and Gilt Groupe if I'm really late for work.

I take a shower. While doing so, I begin to wonder why I'm so bad at saving money. I then use my Bumble & Bumble shampoo and follow up with Kiehl's face wash. I get out of the shower.

I check Twitter.

I check Facebook.

I check-in to my apartment on Foursquare, which I've named something cute and clever because for some reason I think people actually care what I call my apartment on a mobile application named after a children's playground game. They don't. I just wanted the mayorship, let's be honest.

When I am getting ready, I decide between my Salvation Army/Buffalo Exchange purchased t-shirt that I'm so proud of (because it features the name of some business I've never heard of, yet it also has a great "worn a lot" consistency that I yearn for) and my J. Crew oxford. In no way do I find this ironic for some reason.

Before leaving, I peer out of the one window in my outlandishly priced studio apartment, whose price i'm okay with as it's "just how San Francisco prices are" to see how the weather is. It is sunny, but I also know this means that it's probably 52 degrees with a wind chill of "you're freezing, why the fuck didn't you wear a coat." I do not bring a coat, as though trying to prove to the weather that I'm above it's crafty trickery. I will regret this later.

Before I go, I pack my black rimmed Ray-Ban eyeglasses and put on my Ray-Ban sunglasses. I then pack my Macbook Pro, iPad, iPhone and Kindle into my Chrome messenger bag. The Timbuk2 bag is too small and makes my collarbone hurt because I didn't splurge for the shoulder guard. These are things that I'm actually concerned about.

I walk to the Bart station, which is about 3 blocks from my house.

I check Twitter.

I check Facebook.

I check-in to BART on Foursquare, because everyone needs to know that I'm about to take public transportation. Which is kind of like the equivalent to doing something mundane, like taking a sip of a drink and telling everyone about it. Actually? I'll probably check into somewhere for this reason later. To be fair: I've heard if you check into BART 10 times you get the "Trainspotter" badge. I don't know why this is important to me. But it is. I need that badge.

I see someone doing something weird on BART. Probably a homeless guy or a drug addict or something, which are usually mutually exclusive. I'll probably tweet about that. I can't now: no service. But I'll remember to when I get off at my stop. I bet people would love to read a humorous anecdote like that, maybe it will make their bad morning a little funnier or something.

I forget to tweet that, but forget that I forgot that.

I think about how it must suck to be homeless, because I really love not being homeless.

Around the Powell stop, I begin to play Angry Birds. I can't beat one level, and it's driving me nuts. Ultimately, I'd settle for one star. That's how bad this one has gotten.

I think about grabbing a Peet's Coffee before I walk to work. I realize it's like 2 bucks, and I totally lost my mayorship to that guy and I'm way behind now, anyway, so forget it. Plus, for the same price I could get a pretentious cup of Four Barrel at the place next door to my office. That's way more logical than the unlimited, free coffee at my place of work.

I check Twitter.

I check Facebook.

I get to work. I have a bowl of organic cereal with organic milk. A few people ask me if I'm hungover. For some reason in my profession, being drunk almost all of the time is hilarious and oddly endearing. It's part of being "creative." To be fair, it's a fair question: odds are I'm hungover the majority of the time.

I go to my desk. I check a few websites that tell me about the things I need to know, in order of importance:

1) Has a celebrity died or cheated on their spouse?

2) Has a celebrity twitter account been "hacked" and were all the pictures of them naked "stolen"?

3) Is there a new viral video I should be talking about?

4) Is there a new band I should have heard about?

5) Check Twitter.

6) Check Facebook.

7) Wait, check Twitter again. Yep, I'm gonna re-tweet that joke that guy said.

8 ) Wait, now has a celebrity died or cheated on their spouse?

After I've checked the important stuff, I do some work.

I go to the kitchen to see if anyone is there to talk about any viral videos we've seen. Maybe we'll even discuss an old film we liked. Like The Mighty Ducks. I loved The Mighty Ducks. Did you love The Mighty Ducks? We talk about how Muni is terrible. Because it is. Muni is terrible.

I check Twitter.

I check Facebook.

I do some more work. I attend meetings. They seem really long. Someone says something funny, though, so it's okay.

On a conference call, someone we're talking to says a buzz-word like "synergy." We put it on mute and make fun of them.

I check Twitter.

I check Facebook.

I get lunch at some place that is overpriced. I check in to their establishment on Foursquare.

When I return to work, I will sign up for a social networking site that is new. It will involve:

1) Taking artsy pictures and sharing them with people.

2) Telling people about the music I'm listening to.

3) Telling people what I'm doing, right now, this instant, right now, this instant, no seriously, right now.

4) Telling people what I've eaten.

5) Doing all four of these things at once while then distrubuting this to Twitter, Facebook and Foursquare.

It's probably a site made by a guy who knows a guy that I know. I'll be jealous that he was smart enough to make this. I will presumably use said new social network about 14 times and then I will never use it again. But I'll be able to let people know that, yeah, I've used that. I found it hard to get into.

I'll Google something weird. I'll wonder why so many other people are Googling that. I'll know, because when I entered it into Google, it finished my sentence. People are funny. Wait, now I'm creeped out by how smart Google is.

I'll think about the movie Terminator and wonder if we're actually going to be overthrown by robots. Then I'll realize that's silly. Then I'll Google "world overthrown by robots: possible?"

I'll do a little more work. I will send emails. I will read a pdf or two.

I check Twitter.

I check Facebook.

I will go home and be annoyed that Muni is so inefficient. I'll tweet that, but in a funny way that is both relatable and honest.

Why didn't I wear my f*#%ing coat?

On my walk home, I'll consider buying a bottle of wine for when I'll be writing ideas for work later. I'll just have one glass.

I'll look at Sutro Tower. I'll feel lucky to be paying too much money for a very small apartment, because San Francisco is worth it in these tiny little moments.

I get home and call a few friends. We talk about how we want to travel. We'll probably have a few locations in our back pockets that no one would see coming. We're so interesting.

I'll go out for a drink with a friend at a dive bar. It will probably ironically have very expensive beers. That will seem off, but I'll just go with it.

I will read up on the news just in case anyone ever asks if I know about the world. It will go like this:

1) A country is at war, and I don't know anything about that country. Wait, shit, that's just a city. I thought that was a country? Wow. That's a bummer on a lot of levels.

2) Something is on fire in San Francisco somewhere.

3) Baby pandas are adorable! Oh my god, why haven't I ever been to see the pandas?

4) Blah blah blah Kate and William blah blah blah.

5) A large financial corporation did something shady, and they are having a confusing trial about it.

I watch an independent film that I heard about, it's supposed to be really good.

I will have a second glass of wine . Shoulda seen that one coming.

I check Twitter.

I check Facebook.

My alarm clock goes off. Presumably on my iPhone 4. I hit snooze...

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 48: Music For A Day In The Life Of The Modern San Franciscan

Stream the whole thing at that link above.


Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.

America, I love you and you're not bringing me down.

I have always loved road trips. I suppose it's because I equate them with that first time I was given a retarded amount of freedom in my life. Basically, you learn to drive a motor vehicle when you're a kid, and all of the sudden you think it's a good idea to go drive it until your foot hurts. It's not like a plane, where you go in a box, close the box, and then open the box to find out everything looks different: road trips are like watching America as a flip book. It's like you start the car, Bob Ross starts painting, and hours later you're in a forest with little happy trees and fluffy clouds and you're flabbergasted at how awesome it was to watch them appear. When you go on a road trip across America for one month straight with three other people you barely knew beforehand, you think of (and see and experience) a lot of really weird crap. In no particular order or sequence, this is what I found out about myself and the country.

1) Everyone in America thinks that Los Angeles and San Francisco are just two guys hanging out next door to each other geographically. Everyone. Dear America, Los Angeles is nowhere near San Francisco. And not to sound like Jan Brady, but stop talking about Marcia: we're our own goddamn person. No, I don't just bump into celebrities all the time. I don't see famous people everywhere I go. Hey, Ohio, do you see African tribal people when you go out to dinner? Oh, you don't because you live nowhere near Africa? Please look at a map. They are at the heel of the tube sock and we are almost at the top of the knee-high. Please.

2) To prove why I'm an asshole for that diatribe: I have no concept of the geographic makeup of any other city and it turns out I've been making gigantic sweeping generalizations my entire life. We're in Philadelphia? WHY ISN'T EVERYONE EATING CHEESESTEAK! We're staying in Austin tonight? LET'S GO TO A RODEO IN GALVASTON TOMORROW AT 9 A.M., I PRESUME THAT'S A SHORT DRIVE AND ALL YOU GUYS DO IS GO TO RODEOS! So, uh. Sorry about that, America.

3) You can drink for 30 straight days and you won't die.

4) If you drink for 30 straight days you will feel terrible and will begin to wish you would just die already.

5) Subway and Starbucks are in a heated battle for who can lay claim to the title "Company that owns 1 in every 3 buildings in all of America." How is there even this much deli meat?!? Are your distributors exhausted getting it to you every day? Do people really need anything other than "just a really strong fucking cup of coffee" in the middle of nowhere, USA, or are truck drivers honestly purchasing a venti non-fat cafe au lait? Here's a tip: stop opening stores. Just stop. I can't eat that many sandwiches or drink that many cups of coffee.

6) There are people in Texas that actually want the state of Texas to secede from the union, and they are purchasing actual billboards and maintaining actual websites to make it happen. Which is to say, it seems like they found out we actually hired a black guy as our president and they just freaked out and started smearing their ex girlfriend on national bathroom stall walls. Guys: she was just a bit over how you were acting like a crazy person. What you're doing isn't helping. She's dating nicer people now, don't be that guy. But on that note...

7) 99.8% of Texas gets a bad rep. It turns out that contrary to popular belief, it's mostly just full of fantastically kind people who say "yes ma'am" and "sir". Sweeping generalization after spending five days in a state? Oh, absolutely. But besides the crazy "WE WOHNT ARRRR OWNNN NA-SHUN" people who make billboards, I came away feeling like a real dick for ever saying I didn't like Texas. Forgive me, Texas. I kinda love you.

8 ) In the most unsurprising news ever, I want to move to Austin, Texas. I know. Next thing you know, I'll tell you that I hear Portland is nice and that I've been thinking about buying a record player. Okay, enough about Texas. Wait but I'm not done with the south.

9) A good portion of the south has no idea that the civil war is over, and/or that the north won. I say this because I went to a reenactment in the south, and let's just say they told us to "come back tomorrow to find out what happens." Spoiler alert, guys: it ends.

10) Louisiana proves the theory that you can fry anything and it tastes better, and that if you speak with a southern accent and smile everyone on the planet will like you. How the women stay that good looking blows my mind.

11) If you want to die laughing, ask an Australian to say the word Pseudoephedrine (pseduo-epha-dreeeeeen). Or anything that ends with an "a" (because they put an "r" on it). Or ask them what a swimsuit is (a swimmer! they call them "your swimmers"!). Or just ask them to say oh my god sorry Australians, you just say the darndest things! I'm sorry in advance, Beth. I'm not making fun, I'm sure I sound ridiculous to you, as you told me many times. But really, you call mosquito bites mozzy bites and that just makes me giggle.

12) Forget nice hotels, stay at a Hampton Inn. I am on a one man mission to put that place on the map. EVERY ONE OF THEM has a waffle maker. A legitimate belgian waffle maker. C'MON. Their bed is made of asleep. It felt like trying to date a hotel room. Like, I was that into it. Doodling it's name on notebooks in my dreams.

13) It is possible to not do laundry more than one time in 30 days. Which is going to save me about $4,239 in quarters this coming year, because I learned on this trip that yes, it is unhealthy to do your laundry every -2 minutes.

14) Everyone in America should begin to call sex "The Ultimate" and Coors Light "C Minus." Because that's what a guy on the road trip called both, and I just don't think there is a better way to say either. Try it. It feels good.

15) I really enjoy jumping off of beds and even at the age of 29 want to imitate superheroes. Please see below, but I totally get why wrecking a hotel is fun now. It hurts the next day, but it's really fun. Sorry, whoever cleaned that room.

16) People in America are really, really nice. I met maybe two people who were assholes on this trip. Two. And one of them was a cop, and he probably had a pretty good right to be, considering our car had marijuana on it's person (sorry Mom, but who's kidding, you probably saw that one coming and IT ACTUALLY WASN'T ME). But seriously: people are inherently just...good. And I know that sounds sappy, but I'm genuinely impressed with how wonderful people are if you let them be and feel like Scrooge. Which leads me to my big fear...

17) I've become an abnormally positive and optimistic person after this trip. It freaks the crap out of me, and it feels like the turning point in the movie that I didn't see coming. I'm not sure I even know what to do with it yet, it's like a puppy and I just stare at it and know that it's cute. But.

18) Don't worry. Deep down I'm still a snarky, sarcastic asshole that throws boulders from an incredibly sensitive glass house and then wonders why the windows are broken. That's never going to change.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 47: America, I love you and you're not bringing me down.

Stream the whole thing at that link.


Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3′s right here.

Songs That Sound Good When Only Four People Listen To Them. (A Road Trip Mix)

Driving across America with three people you barely know is fascinating. It starts more or less like when you begin to date someone. People are careful about what they say. They are cautious about when they even open the window. You make sure these people think you're exactly what you wanted them to think you were. And then, like magic...

You start making weird noises at each other, laughing uncontrollably at things that aren't funny, and you play the same 20 songs over and over again because it starts to sound like "you guys." And for some reason, that's cathartic and comforting.

I can't write much more while I'm on this trip. But I figured it'd be really interesting to catalog the songs that you listen to with four strangers that start to feel like family. Because they sound like "them" to me.

I'll write more again when I'm back to San Francisco in a few weeks. Until then, here's what four strangers in a car listen to.

About 4,389 times a day.

And as if I haven't blabbed it out enough, here's the first half of our trip. They even let me write and say the words.

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 46: Songs That Sound Good When Only Four People Listen To Them.

Stream the whole thing at that link.


Download the entire thing in adorable little MP3's right here.

If life is Jeopardy, I just selected "Shut the f*%k up" For One Billion.

My favorite TV shows have always been iterations of The Real World or Road Rules. The draw was always simple: it always seemed too good to be true.

The Real World was basically pretty cool until you grew up and actually experienced the real world. It's great to imagine that when I was to turn 18, I'd live in a W Hotel suite and my roommates would all be fascinatingly attractive people who were either gay, black, or white but with an open mind. Turns out if they aired a real episode of The Real World, you'd see one guy in a Holiday Inn kinda bummed that no one told him to major in anything but "communications." They did get one part of The Real World right, though: everyone is, for the most part, usually drunk, in a fight with a significant other because it turns out they're attracted to the 98% of the world they didn't meet in High School, and feel like their life is a soap opera people want to watch.

Road Rules was always the clincher for me. For some reason, the idea of living in a car has been some odd idealist dream for me. Sure, it's odd that my dream was to be a hobo, but there's something about the idea of never growing up and putting your apartment in drive when you wake up that's oddly fascinating. Everyone wants their life to be a car that just moves on when they're bored: turns out the real world doesn't really accommodate that with that "bills" shit. But this is where Road Rules was amazing: you take the concept of The Real World and apply it to the Narnia "what if my life was just one big perpetual road trip" mentality. That and I was in love with Kit from the first season.

A few months ago, my boss asked me if I'd like to be a hobo for a month. For work. With three other outrageously interesting people. And if I'd like to write about it in the process and/or be the coffee bitch. And I think I thought it was a joke.

But. Turns out it wasn't.

So hey. Guess what. It's like high school Drew got to dictate his late 20's life and is getting an opportunity to be in a bizarro season of Road Rules. Starting Saturday, I'm getting the opportunity to lug an airstream trailer across America to talk to people and take pictures with them. It's still unclear to me if my boss is a unicorn and whether or not I was on mescaline (or still am) when he proposed such shenanigans, but I guess the mescaline trip starts on Saturday and ends in June sometime.

The cast is as follows.

An Australian I haven't met yet who's really nice on the phone. A director who's very hip that every woman on the planet is attracted to and a guy who everyone at work calls "the beast." Basically...I'm not sure this is real life yet.

But i'll let you know the details once I'm off.

I'm about to drive across America in a f%*king airstream trailer. I think this is the equivalent to checking the "I want to be a fireman" box when I grow up and someone saying, "how about an astronaut instead?"

And being an astronaut sounds pretty nifty.

Don't ever let me complain about anything ever again.

(spoiler alert: I will.)

Rocket Shoes Mixtape 45: If life is Jeopardy, I just selected "Shut the f*%k up" For One Billion.

Stream the whole thing at the link up top.


Download the whole thing in little mp3′s right here.