Damnit, Internet, Stop Doing That – Quizzes

I remember, back in the early-to-mid 2000’s, when I used to come home from school, drop my schoolbag off next to the front door, grab a soda from the fridge, and plop my ass in front of the family computer, basically usurping any and all potential users that day. Of course, back then, us crazy kids didn’t have no Facebooks. We had to communicate with friends with far more primitive means.

We had MySpace – the Internet’s Two Cans and a String.

Tom was more than just our friend. He was our reminder that there are lame white dudes who apparently love Get Busy Committee.

That meant there was no Farmville Notification Crisis of 2008, no Mass Event Invite Storm of 2009-2011, and no Newsfeed Auto-Play Ads of 2014. Yes, we had to go out of our way to see how folks were doing. That meant searching them by name, narrowing down their location, attempting to find the correct mirror selfie, adding them, and THEN seeing what the hell they’ve been up to.

Even though I generally have a memory of someone who’s been hit in the face with a shovel too many times, I’d like to think that this next vivid recall is true. Because I remember, at the very beginning of high school, the surge of homemade quizzes going crazy-viral. People would make up about 25-30 questions in a single blog post, answering questions about their lives, and then like wildfire, others would copy and paste it directly into THEIR profiles, to answer questions about them. I tend to refer to that as “social leprosy.”

Once we all joined Facebook, I’m almost positive I heard everyone pledge, “we promise not to treat this network as a means to take stupid goddamn quizzes.” And now, ten years later, here we are, sticking true to our word.

What little girl hasn’t dreamt of growing up to become Courtney Love?

Except not. Except quizzes are more viral than ever.

DAMNIT.

NO.

WE PROMISED. WE PROMISED WE’D STOP.

Look, I’m as much of a cinephile as the next person. I love relating myself to popular characters in television, films, and books. Creating a sense of relation between ourselves and others, whether they’re real or not, nurtures the many needs of empathy.

But let’s sit back and be real honest with ourselves. Just once.

We are not Walter White.

We are not Jacob Black.

We are not Tyrion Lannister.

We are not Rick Grimes.

We are not Cyclops.

We weren’t “supposed” to live in Sunnyside Heights.

We weren’t Marilyn Monroe in another life.

None of us are any of the cast members of How I Met Your Mother.

None of us are any of the characters Leonardo DiCaprio has played.

And lastly, I can NOT believe I have to say this, but we are NOT Rosa Parks. (Yes. I saw a quiz that asked what type of leader someone was. If you’re that focused on creating positive change, you probably shouldn’t be taking a quiz based on whether or not you’re effective.)

What these quizzes do is affirm two things: what we already know about ourselves, or what we wish was true about ourselves.

What we already know about ourselves is that we are good people, who have a passion for our hobbies and our career goals, or we know we’re “firecrackers,” who will do whatever it takes to get what we want. So, knowing what we do about ourselves, we don’t need a quiz to affirm it. We can live it.

Secondly, it’s fun to play pretend, even after we’re old enough to buy alcohol or go to nightclubs. It’s even more fun to pretend to be people/characters of influence, because it’s easy and it fluffs that ego just enough to move on to the next quiz.

I don’t know. Maybe I’m just being a 23-year-old presumptuous curmudgeon, trying to take happiness away from others. Actually, yeah, that’s probably mostly it. But if people spent more time reading non-fiction or watching historical documentaries, maybe then they could emulate the type of person they want to be, and become an individual who sets themselves apart from the pack. Harness the power of reality to become larger than life.

Or be Barney Stinson, because equating one’s self to a walking STD is much easier.

Screw it. “Block all from Buzzfeed and Zimbio.” Done. Go about your lives.

Cryeting (or Why Wilford Brimley’s Warnings Go Unheeded)

Just like everyone else in this roly-poly country, I made it my mission to consider creating for myself a stricter diet, with a deep possibility of actually going to the gym. These already-broken promises are sitting the bottom of my trash can, underneath an ice cream tub lid, licked clean.

It happens every year, and it happens to so many of us. It’s the idea of creating a positive change, and then saying, “screw it, I’m gonna chug this beer after ripping spicy chicken flesh off a bone. It’s cool – I’m watching sports.” Before you know it, you realize that you’ve actually accomplished the complete opposite – added some el-bee’s, raised your blood pressure, and shoveled out the extra cash for new belts.

I call it: Cryeting.

Eating and weeping has been around for a millennia, and the number-one symptom of both rejection and boredom.

Put yourself in this scenario (for some of you, I’ll add “again”): you recognize that the cravings you’ve been having aren’t normal, nor are you pregnant with child. You’ve resolved the fact that your recycling bin has at least 6 too many Girl Scout cookie boxes. Maybe the boxes have been torn to shreds in excitement.

So, you do a little research on the latest exercise trends. Maybe some P90X, with a kickstart from Herbalife? Or, maybe just jump right into the crossfit community, and every status from here on out will have to do with crossfit. Anyway, you decide on a new daily routine, and for once, you’re excited. There’s a brand new day on that horizon, goddamnit, and you’re gonna greet it with a hearty-

Bacon, egg, and cheese breakfast sandwich from McDonald’s. Wait, what? But, you haven’t even been to McDonald’s in over a year, since after that party where the guy had to be taken in an ambulance covered in Fireball whiskey. It’s cool, it’s just one sand-

Two? When the shit did you order two sandwiches? Was it hiding behind the-

Large chocolate shake. Cool. Neat. Didn’t even know they did milkshakes at 9 am. Now you know. Alright, after this meal, that’s when the diet begins.

Right after next week’s meal.

Yep, just getting ready after the Super Bowl. I mean, come on, it’s the Super Bowl. Who diets during the Super Bowl? Not you. You’re an American, with freedoms. Miley was right. You can be free to diet whenever the hell you want, eat Spicy Sweet Chili Doritos whenever you want, and sob openly in public whenever you want.

Go ahead. Weep deeply into your hands. Why hold onto pride when you can stomp it into submission with your own tears?

And that about sums up what Cryeting is. Creating a diet, getting ready to start it, and then just jumping right the hell into the polar opposite. It’s like our bodies are subconsciously told that winter is coming, so we go into squirrel mode and just start hoarding everything within reach…inside our stomachs.

It’s the absolute worst thing to complain about, too, because it’s so effed up to say to someone else, “man, I’m struggling to do any physical activity because I’d rather stuff my greasy face full of sweet, sweet chemicals.” Only in this country will there ever be a disease for people being TOO RICH AND IRRESPONSIBLE. (Note: for that last link, I’d absolutely send it to an article for the kid that killed four people, but when I looked up this term, I saw this Geocities-style PBS site that me giggle.)

I’ll leave it with this: sometimes making a plan is the absolute worst thing you could do to a plan. The stress of forcing yourself to stick to a strict regiment, consisting of quantifiable hard work and dedication, can serve as a deterrent. Strong motivation needs to come before those arms and legs start doin’ sets, and reps, and all those other terms I see people use on the YouTubes videos about the workings outs.

Who else is in Cryeting mode? And how do you plan on getting the hell out?

Ruben was Sorry for 2004. I’m Sorry for Blog Blockage.

Okay, so you know the scene from Say Anything, when John Cusack is doing everything in his power to win back Ione Skye (yeah, I had to look it up, get over it), and in his last ditch effort to prove his feelings, he whips out a boom box and blasts some Peter Gabriel outside her bedroom window?

This is my “In Your Eyes” moment. Except on the internet. And not as drastic. And I don’t own a trench coat popularly modeled by pedophiles in their mug shots.

It isn’t a John Cusack movie unless he’s pathetic and desperate for love. Shit, even in “Identity” he finds a way .

Like most guys in my generation, I can empathize with Lloyd Dobler. Despite how busy I find myself, I’ve kind of been an underachiever for most of my life. I struggled a bit back in elementary school, and the struggles worsened by the time I was a chunky middle schooler. It wasn’t until high school that I started to give a shit, and began dieting and getting assignments done on time. That, and I took kickboxing. Lloyd loves kickboxing. I did that, too.

But, unlike the Dobs (we’re on a nickname basis apparently), I’ve actually been working on preparing a few side projects, which will be released at a later date. But it involves a shit ton of writing, preparation, and planning, so my divided attention is driving me insane and forcing me to watch Whitest Kids U Know on Netflix on repeat.

Yeah, I know, this entry is pretty damn self-serving. I promise the next entry will be filled with much more negativity and cynicism, and everything else you guys love/loathe. For now, be patient with this underachieving butthole (heh, autocorrect changed it to “buttonhole” for a second), and you’ll be mildly rewarded with multiple strings of words forming paragraphs.

In the meantime, watch this Simpsons clip on repeat.