Get your geek on.
Pro Tip: If you are feeling congested and want something to loosen your sinuses up and make it easier to breathe, Nashville hot chicken will definitely do the trick. But ask yourself first: are my lips too chapped to handle this? Because the answer is yes. Yes, they are.
No, it’s not sci-fi, and no, it’s not fantasy. And, no, I don’t give a damn. It has been YEARS since a television show has made me laugh so much and so hard. Make sure your remote has fresh batteries; Cunk On Earth had me laughing so long I had to repeatedly rewind, only to laugh so uncontrollably at what I had missed that I had to rewind yet again. The jokes are so well crafted and so densely packed that it almost seems impossible that these are only twenty-eight minute episodes. This might just be the perfect mockumentary. I have not encountered entertainment so cleverly designed and so flawlessly presented since the 1989 release of unrelated Belgian techno anthem, “Pump Up The Jam.”
Yeah, I’m a week late with the Valentine’s stuff. I’ll explain later. And, yes, I know what year it is. That’s why making a mixtape – not a playlist or, for god’s sake, a USB – is something I think you should do. Because it’s not easy. It’s not quick. There’s a hell of a lot more that goes into making a mixtape than would appear, especially in the 2020s. And that’s really the point. Love is like mining sometimes. It can be heartbreaking, soul crushing work. And it hurts. But it’s the only way to get diamonds. So you do it, not because it’s easy, but because they’re worth it. Just like diamonds. Click the pic, friends, and we’ll see if we can’t muddle through this together.
Continue reading “Valentine’s Mixtape 2023”
Tonight I was reminded of something that happened to me a long time ago, and although it was never a secret, I honestly don’t think I’ve ever told anyone. But if you’re interested in knowing about relativity and/or the real me, read on.
I took an astronomy course the summer between high school and college. In order to really see the night sky clearly you need to give your eyes about three hours away from light pollution, so we all went out to the middle of a golf course, spread blankets, and just chilled in the dark for three hours. There was a girl I was kind of sweet on, and to my surprise she and I talked to the exclusion of everyone around us the entire time. I didn’t think she was interested in me, but those three hours just flew by. Before I knew it, the instructor had gathered the class around a telescope, but she and I were in our own little world and didn’t hear a thing. He was incredibly cool about it. I think he saw what was happening long before we did. He walked over to us, and with nothing but kind amusement in his voice, said, “Hey, guys. Look up.”
I’m not religious, and I don’t want to overstate things, but I’m not exaggerating when I tell you it looked like God had thrown the master switch and turned all the lights on. It was ASTOUNDING. There were thousands of stars, of all sizes and brightness. I could see colors splashed across the sky I never knew were there. It was breathtaking. And when I finally looked down, I had my arm around her. I didn’t even know I had done it. But the moment was overwhelming, and in that fleeting instant, all my teenage insecurities and self doubts just silently vanished like they were never there, and I reached out for what I wanted most right then. Love. Connection.
Her.
That was a pretty magical night. My seventeen year old self didn’t realize it at the time, but that’s the day I found out how personally important love and wonder and science are to me. And how those things are in no way unconnected. That’s the day I found out I was a romantic. Which means I am a ridiculous human being sometimes. Just unmanageably, unforgivably ridiculous. I am dramatic and emotional and way too intense. I own those faults. But they’re also my strengths, because my forty-seven year old self finally has the wherewithal to see that I’m at my absolute purest and best when I love something full bore. Because, deep down, for better or worse, that’s who I am. It’s who I’m supposed to be.
And I will never stop reaching for her.
When you eat dinner with Mark Mains and Jon Clements, Mark likes to send food home with you. Almost as much as he likes making sure you can’t put it in the fridge at work.
