Office Politics

// Preschool Politics

By Joey Camire .
08.01.10 // Office Politics

Preschool Politics from Blommit on Vimeo.

View Comments / Aug 01.10 / Office Politics / by Joey Camire

// “It is the East, and Sarah is the sun”

By Joey Camire .
07.21.10 // Summer Blockbusters

Not sure how much y’all keep up with Sarah Palin, but some of you might have heard about one more in a long line of controversial statements she made recently.  Long story short, she had a series of tweets that contained either made-up or misused words.  Now, if you’ve ever read any of my posts before, you will know that I am in no place to criticize, my spelling is horrendous and I’m still figuring out that comma thing.  However, that’s not what made the whole debacle interesting, that feat goes to the following tweet:

“”Refudiate,” “misunderestimate,” “wee-wee’d up.” English is a living language. Shakespeare liked to coin new words too. Got to celebrate it!”

That’s right “folks,” Sarah Palin isn’t afraid to give herself credit where credit is due.  She loves making up words.  She regularly sends submissions to Mirriam-Webster.  But everyone has got something to say. “Haters gonna hate.”  However, Sarah Palin is not the type of person to let people make vacuous claims sitting down, “you betcha” she’s gonna prove it to the world that she is as Shakespearean as the next hockey-mom.

This summer Sarah Palin will be staring in a series of Hollywood Blockbuster re-makes of Shakespeare’s classics.  Take a look at the posters below. (Click the images to see the originals.)

Sarah Palin in Hamlet – “A countenance more in sorrow than in anger.”

Sarah Palin in Othello – “Thus do I ever make my fool my purse.”

Sarah Palin in Romeo and Juliet - “O! she doth teach the torches to burn bright”

Sarah Palin in Shakespeare In Love – “I liked it when she stabbed herself, Your Majesty.”

View Comments / Jul 21.10 / Summer Blockbusters / by Joey Camire

// The Battle For Lebron

By Joey Camire .
07.11.10 // Competition

View Comments / Jul 11.10 / Competition / by Joey Camire

// Gum, Music and Melancholy

By Joey Camire .
06.21.10 // Just Friends

I might be reaching here, but the phrase “Just Friends”, may be the singly most culturally significant phrase of all time.

Now, I’m not a cultural historian by any means, but I make that claim without any irony or misdirect.  I genuinely think those two words are probably responsible for more significant pieces of culture and art than any other possible two word combination in this or any other language. I can think of a lot of different types of artists that can attribute some of their most famous pieces to this all too used phrase. In fact, the majority of Van Gogh’s work alcoholism and depression were probably spurred by those terrible words. But the art form I know the most about, or at least had the most exposure to, is music, so I’m going to keep it there.

Though it’s probably hard to believe, I too went through an awkward phase.  Some might argue that I am still in it.  To those people, I say “Fuck You.”  However, in that awkward teenage phase, like millions before me and millions after me, I used music as a form of catharsis.  Imagine if you will, my pale 12 year old body akimbo on a brown shag carpet alone in my bedroom with my Aiwa stereo system cranking out the the saddest songs I could find.  So many of my favorite songs from the 90‘s are attached to this mental image in my head. It’s funny, even when I wasn’t pining over some unrequited adolescent love, I wanted to be pining, and music always made that possible.

At it’s core, the phrase “Just Friends” is the gentlest but most bitter form of rejection there is.  It means that the person delivering this heart wrenching phrase to you cares enough about you to not give it to you straight, but doesn’t care enough about you to be with you.  The first time you ever hear this phrase delivered directly to you… is earth shattering.  It brings on an onslaught of questions that shake your self confidence to the core. But, I’m getting a little ahead of myself, so let me take it back a step.

I’ve been sitting here trying to nail down when exactly it started.  When my obsessions with sonically feeling the rejection of another person’s love started, and whether or not it was actually based on an real experience or whether it was a feeling that is solely derived vicariously from some musician’s agony.

In third grade, before I ever owned my own CDs, I had the Nirvana Nevermind album on cassette.  It had been given to me by a cousin who was going to throw it away.  I can distinctly remember doing math problems on grey scratch, paper always in a cardigan at least in my imagination, listening to this album over and over again.  As an adult I can now see the irony of the lyrics of “In Bloom” as they say “He’s the one, who likes all our pretty songs, and he likes to sing along…. but he don’t know what it means.”  I can picture Kurt laughing as he planted emotional land-mines in my psyche, waiting until the day that I did know what it means, stepping right on the activator and being blindsided by melancholy.

By fifth grade, I had already started building my very own record collection.  While the math problems got more difficult, my style of solving them stayed the same: sit alone in my room blasting music.  Albums like Green Day’s Dookie or The Offsprings Smash allowed me to address any pent up anger I had directed at my teacher for assigning me those ridiculous math problems in the first place.  And then I got The Counting Crow’s August and Everything After, and things started to change.  For those of you who haven’t listened to this album in it’s entirety, suffice it to say that it is a compendium of gloomy prozac laden tracks fit for some Gen X movie about how hard life is.  I think this album, most specifically the songs “Sullivan Street” and “Anna Begins”, were the seminal pieces in my love for songs about the awful intensity of love.

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During fifth and sixth grade my love for music only grew.  I had a paltry allowance from my parents of $7 dollars every two weeks.  This probably seems like an extremely random number, but it was chosen quite cunningly by my father.  At the time, you could buy just about any CD for $14 dollars or under.  Essentially, what it worked out to was that I was doing all of my chores and trying to behave as well as I could, evoking super human powers for an 11 or 12 year old, just to get a single CD every month.

Typically, my experience with music was solitary, but at the end of 6th grade there was a dance.  There had been dances before this, but those dances had only consisted of boys running around the gym asking the DJ to play 311 “Down” on repeat, and because the DJ was just someone’s parent, they begrudgingly obliged.  I still hate that song.  But this upcoming dance was going to be different.  The girls, who had been cloistered away by their fathers prior to this were going to be allowed to attend, because it was a graduation dance, and the girls’ mothers undoubtedly told their fathers that “this will be something they will remember for the rest of their lives.”  I highly doubt that today as adult women, they often reminisce with their friends about that one great dance, that elementary graduation school dance that changed their lives.  But, I was happy there would be girls none the less.

Truth be told, a dance in an elementary school gymnasium filled with 6th graders is about as cool as socks and sandals, but it was still a huge night for me.  This was the night that I would slow dance with a girl for the very first time.  I had been trying to work up the courage the entire night to ask Allison, my then girlfriend who I had also held hands with for the first time the very same day, to dance with me.  The DJ announced over the speakers that it was the very last song and I waded through the crowd looking for her, knowing I probably wouldn’t see her for the entire summer, since the dance was during the evening of the very last day of school.  I was wearing a polo shirt tucked into jean shorts with a braided leather brown belt.  What I’m trying to say is, I was dressed to kill.  The music started playing, and I found her, and for some reason I found the need to invoke gallantry and put my arm out and asked “Will you dance with me?”  She quietly obliged, and we awkwardly pressed our lilliputian frames against one another.  Now the song that played is pivotal, had it been a song I hated I would have just chalked it up to getting to touch a girl and went home with a smile on my face, but it wasn’t like that at all.  Instead, the song was “Crash Into Me” by Dave Mathews Band, unquestionably the most impossibly appropriate song that could have played at that moment (I know that now as an adult, but I didn’t understand the underlying story of masturbation at the time).  For six minutes and two seconds Dave Mathews made me believe that I had figured out what love was all about.  Spinning around in tightly wound concentric circles with an erection while touching a pretty girl.  It was that simple. Life seemed pretty optimistic.  Things were coming together.  I went home, snuck into my dads CD collection and listened to that song on repeat as I fell asleep.

Eventually, in 7th grade, Allison broke up with me.  This is most probably due to the fact that I would avoid talking to her at all costs.  I did this because I had no idea what to do or say to a girlfriend and everyone else was making out with their girlfriends in the hallways.  After Allison gave me the old “heave ho” I had my first experience with unrequited love. This story doesn’t involve a whole lot interesting twists and turns, in fact the entire story took place in a single room over the period of a few months.  Aside from being easy to tell, it is also one of the most embarrassing stories I have, and every time I think about it I get an awkward shutter.

A girl in my middle school home room asked me for gum one day.  It just so happened that I had a pack of Winter Fresh in my pocket because blue gum seemed really cool for some reason, so I obliged and gave her a piece.  She proceeded to give me a huge hug.  Now, I had been hugged by girls before, not often, but this wasn’t unprecedented.  But this girl had boobs, and they were big, they were really big, and they touched me, and I liked it.  From that day on I made sure I always had gum on me.  While I was socially awkward, I wasn’t an idiot, and I clearly understood that having gum was going to drastically increase my odds of getting to make physical contact with boobs again.

But this plan wasn’t working.  She wasn’t taking the bait.  I waited, and waited and she wouldn’t ask for any more gum.  I would leave the pack out on my desk, at the risk of being chastised by my homeroom teacher, and nothing.  So I did the only logical thing I could think of that would bring me closer to her… I bought a pack of gum and I gave it to her.  She laughed, and smiled, thanked me, and hugged me again.  The second time was as sweet as the first.  I was Johnathan Taylor Thomas, I was Devon Sawa, I was a lady killer.

Being that this plan was so successful.  I just kept on doing it. But there was a hitch, even though gum was cheap, I was in seventh grade and had no source of income.  So every morning before my father woke up, or while he was in the shower I would steal a quarter from his pocket.  I felt so incredibly guilty about this, but that guilt was the price I had to pay to keep up my appearances with the ladies.  And as it turns out, boobs were more important than my fear of eternal damnation.  So I would leave five minutes early every morning and secretly run off to the corner store, every day, without fail. I would arrive in homeroom early and take my seat in the front row.  I would have the gum ready in my hand.  And I would make the hand off without saying a single word.  Not even one.  Some days I didn’t even look at her.  And she would take the gum.  And not say a word.  Not even one. Some days she wouldn’t even look at me.  I was in love, and I didn’t know how to say it, so I let the gum do the talking.

Eventually, I decided I was going to ask the busty blonde out.  But I didn’t want to ask her in person, face to face. That was entirely too terrifying.  Instead, I decided I would write her a note like I had seen so many other people write.  To give you an idea of my level of cool at the time, I had to ask someone how you fold those square notes.  It seemed awfully complicated, but I knew that it was the social standard.  That night, after receiving my lessons on the art of love note origami, I went home and wrote a note.  It said how much I liked her, and how cool she was, and asked whether or not she “wanted to go out with me.”  I purchased a pack of winterfresh that morning, like I had every morning for countless weeks prior, understanding the importance of this pack over all the others.  When I got to homeroom my heart was racing, my body was trembling slightly and I started to sweat.  I decided to slide the pack of gum into one of the creases in the intricately folded note, this way I didn’t have to hand her two things.  I needed this to be simple.  As she entered the room, I tensed up and held out the note for the hand off like I had done just the day before.  I couldn’t have said anything if I tried, I couldn’t even muster a “hi”. She took the note and went to her seat.

Assuredly, she had probably been expecting this day, or something like it, for some time.  I mean, honestly, there was a creepy kid in her homeroom giving her a pack of gum everyday.  A kid who she barely knew, never spoke to and had an incredibly stylish parted bowl cut.  Well, she read the note.  I couldn’t look back to see her reaction due mostly to sheer terror, but I imagine she was probably doing everything she could to fight back laughter.  As I sat watching Channel One news I realized how absolutely ridiculous this inquisition was.  What was I thinking?  I was asking her out, having never actually carried on a real conversation with her, not even by a seventh grader’s standards.

At the end of homeroom, I sat and waited in my seat in the front of the row.  Most days I was one of the first one’s out of the classroom because the my next class was on the other side of the school and the teacher was a stickler for punctuality.  Today, though, I sat steeped in what I know know to be doom.  I knew I was doomed to feel the oncoming embarrassment.  I sat there, facing forward as the rest of the class shuffled out, not glancing at them, not actually seeing anything, I was paralyzed, frozen at my desk.  I considered running, but I decided to just stay and take it on the chin.  We were the last two left in the classroom, and she rounded the corner of the aisle to the front of my desk.  She smiled at me, and I could see a piece of bright blue gum in her mouth.  She didn’t say anything, just looked me right in the eye, briefly, placed the note on my desk, and walked out of the room.  I waited until I was the only one left in the room and I very slowly peeled open the tangle of paper.  All it said was “I’m flattered, but I think we should just be friends.  Thanks for all the gum. ~Beth”

I spent the rest of the day in silence, reliving over and over again the experience, vowing to never ask another girl out for as long as I lived.  It was just too much.  I was small, and frail, and not cut out for romance.  Love was for men, like the men in the movies, that look women in the eye and take them by face, and pleasure them into submission.  Love was not for people who write notes to anonymous girls who they thought about everyday but couldn’t even muster the courage to talk to them.  I was a boy.  I would always be a boy.  And boys don’t get the girl, men get the girl, and I barely even had pubes.  Men had pubes, men had beards, men had women.  I was just a boyish borderline stalker.

During the weeks that followed I can only imagine how angsty I must have appeared to my parents.  I would come home and go to my room and do homework and listen to songs like “Glycerine” or “Say It Ain’t So” on repeat.  They would play over and over again, and I would leaf through the liner notes as if some sort of answer to my problems was going to pop out of them.  I didn’t even know what my problems were, I just knew I had them, and clearly these guys did too. On particularly optimistic days I might go back and listen to “Crash Into Me” again, but over the course of the preceding 6 months it had somehow lost it’s luster. So I looked to other songs.  I played “Misery” by soul asylum with the hook that strained out “Frustrated Incorporated” over and over again.  I listened to “Brick” and “Wonderwall” and Melancholy And The Infinite Sadness.  And I wallowed, and I moped, and I licked my wounds.  I listened to songs like “Self Esteem” and took solace in lyrics like “the more you suffer, the more it shows you really care.”  I just didn’t get it.  I didn’t get girls, and it was nice to know that there were other people out there that didn’t get girls either.

It seemed like so many other people in the world had been told by a girl in 7th grade that she wanted to be “Just Friends,” and while they never seemed to get over it, they were pretty fucking cool.  I was pretty sure I could handle that lifestyle.  I could be bitter and angry for the rest of my life as long as I could wear cool clothes and play music for other sad people like me.  I was very much OK with that.

I told my dad how I was feeling, and while he assuredly found the humor in a despondent twelve year old telling him his life was over, he never let it show.  He told me that lots of people ask girls out, and lots of people get rejected.  I told him, none were as painful as mine, and he agreed that this was probably true.  He also told me that I was only scratching the surface in terms of songs about men being told by women they should be “Just Friends.”  He was right.  He played me “Layla”, Clapton’s song of unrequited love, and I knew my dad was much cooler than I would ever be.

While I don’t have any statistics to support this, there are really only two types of songs men sing, songs about getting the girl and songs about losing or being rejected by the girl.  Everything else is irrelevant.  Think about some of your most favorite bands or artists, and ask where they would be if they hadn’t been slammed with “Just Friends.”  Bob Dylan, Neil Diamond, Neil Young, Beck, Bon Iver, Death Cab For Cutie, Marvin Gaye, The Beach Boys, Nirvana, Prince, Billy Joel, Elton John, The Eagles, Third Eye Blind, Jeff Buckley, John Mayer, Oasis, R.E.M, Weezer etc etc etc.  Without getting too niche or out there, you can quickly see where this is going.

The point is, that while it totally sucks to be slapped across the face with the phrase “Just Friends,” the ensuing rejection is one of the most culturally prolific drivers of art and music.  Without that rejection, we’d only be left with music like Wham! and Miley Cyrus, and that is a world I would much sooner not live in.  It’s not that I wish all that sadness on people, it’s just that it makes my life that much more beautiful, I’m still a human being and I want to have pretty things in my life.

In the end, I’m happy that I went through my gum giving phase and eventual rejection.  I certainly wasn’t happy then, and it’s taken me 13 years to even write about it, but it was that rejection and ensuing low point that allowed me to appreciate all the music I love so much.  I can’t pretend that I would love songs like “Bankrupt on selling” or “The District Sleeps Alone Tonight” had I not felt the way I did back then.  So then, maybe, this whole story is just one big thank you note to the girl who left me wasted in homeroom in 7th grade.  Intricately folded and filled with little secrets.  Thanks Beth, you gave me the gift of rejection, something I never would have had if we weren’t “Just Friends.”

View Comments / Jun 21.10 / Just Friends / by Joey Camire

// They’re Secret For A Reason

By Joey Camire .
06.10.10 // Secret Identity

Everyone has secrets. No one is completely forthright. If there is anything universally true about people, it is that we all keep dirty little secrets. I’m mean filthy, disgusting, ewy ewy ewy, gross secrets, not Desperate Housewives “I fucked the gardener” secrets (though maybe you have those too). That’s why living with someone you love is hard, because you have to learn all their nasty little secrets. We all have them.

Because we’re all gross, we go out everyday with the difficult task of keeping our secrets to ourselves. Of not letting our lycra costumes show under our clothes. Of putting on a mask to hide our idiosyncrasies. For better or worse, our real, uninhibited selves have become our secret identities. Unfortunately, our secret identities aren’t heroic, they’re just icky.

You don’t have to look any further than the American political system to see the validity of this assertion. Politicians are essentially forbidden from being themselves. However, most of us don’t have to work as hard as politicians to protect our true oddness. This is because no one actually wants to know our secrets. In fact, smart people avoid learning other peoples secrets. It’s kind of hard not to look at someone different when you find out they use washable cloth-toilet-paper.

If you have been smart enough to avoid learning your friends’ and co-workers’ true identities, and you have no idea what I’m talking about, you’re in luck! Over the past 25 years, I’ve been paying attention. Because I’m gross. I’ve made a list of all the gross things I could remember that I’ve encountered. Some of these secret identities are common, some are more rare, but I’ve met at least one person with each. Don’t ask who, you don’t want to know, but they are real.

The Classics.
The fart smeller
The booger eater
The finger nail collector
The finger nail eater
The scab collector
The scab eater
The nervous pubic hair plucker
The underwear sniffer
The poop inspector
The shower pee-er
The bed wetter
The chronic underwear repeater
The dirty clothes sniffer (just cause you do it doesn’t make it any less gross)
The toothbrush non replacer
The ear wax licker.

The Sexual.
The crying masturbator
The pocket masturbator
The pocket cut out public masturbator
The girlfriend’s-underwear-wearer
The other peoples hamper inspector
The dirty sock hoarder (yes this is sexual)
The anime lover
The furniture humper
The chronic wet dream guy
The facebook masturbator (how does that make you feel?)
The twitter masturbator (boring)
The food lover (think literal)

The Random
The spit cup guy
The dirty tissue collector
The chronic finger sniffer
The enema dieter
The belly-button lint collector (this is real)
The anti-dish-washer
The pet french-kisser
The genital tugger
The poop journal keeper (not for health reasons)
The sleep walking pee-er

View Comments / Jun 10.10 / Secret Identity / by Joey Camire

// “You’re So Mom!”

By Joey Camire .
05.04.10 // Your Mom

You’re stupid.

You smell bad.

Your face.

Your Mom.

These are the tried and true insults that have withstood the test of time.  They’re the Casablanca of name calling.  The fifth symphony of slights.  Everyone knows them and they never let you down.

The question is, why is “Your Mom” in the mix?

I understand on some level.  No one likes when people talk about their mom.  But when it comes down to it, the essence of truly being ‘Mom’ is pretty much the most badass, rugged, no bullshit thing you can claim.

Hardcore
Oh sure, you’ve climbed mountains, you bench 230 and you can drink until you throw-up, puke, and rally.  You are pretty effing rugged. But your mom spent 9 hellish hormone saturated months growing the sack of flesh you’ve learned to call your body.  However, not before she had to squeeze your oversized head out of her vagina, or if that didn’t work had you cut out of her abdomen.  Suddenly, you don’t seem so rugged after all.

The Plan
Sure we all have plans.  Plans to go to the gym tomorrow.  Plans to get married some day.  Plans for this weekend.  But truly being ‘Mom’ means you have a plan for everything.  A true mom can predict the future.  She is carrying wipes, stain sticks, mosquito sticks, sun screen, epi-pen, animal crackers, Benadryl, bungee cords, a lasso, gorilla glue and birth control pills.  She has this in the event that you trip and fall on the way to family photos right into a bee hive.  She wipes your skin, sticks you with an epi-pen and gets the grass stains out of your freshly pressed khakis.  She covers the sting with mosquito stick to stop the itching and gives you a Benadryl to prevent any swelling. She knows that the prolonged time in the sun while she was injecting you with pure adrenaline could increase you chance of skin cancer so she lathers you with SPF 30 just to be safe.  She shoves you in the back seat with a sack full of animal crackers, but not before she glues back together your favorite toy you broke during the fall.  She lassos in your now panicked siblings and straps them in the back seat with bungee cords.  She makes it on time to the family photos, but not before popping a birth control pill because she isn’t stupid enough to do it again.  That is A Plan.

Nurture
If you’re luck you’ve been afforded the opportunity to love something.  A dog maybe, and you buy him treats.  Maybe a boyfriend or a girlfriend, and you make kissy faces and canoodle all over the place. You even have friends that you care so much about you occasionally buy them a drink at the bar, because that is love.  A mom though, she will love the shit out of her kids.  She will love them when they come home with the most ridiculous haircut that seemed like a good idea at the time.  She will love them when they decide to take up the trombone.  She will kiss her children even when most people would wash after shaking their hands.  She will love them SO HARD, they will actually believe they are special.  They’re not, and she knows it, but she loves them into delusion.  That’s love.

The big question is, with a True Mom’s superpowers, why is “your mom” still an insult we so readily use?  I think we should turn it into a compliment to beat all compliments.

“You’re So Mom” means that you are exuding the superior essence of a True Mom.  You are exhibiting super-human abilities.  You look like you might be able to lift a car off of a crushed child.  You look like you could take on 25 tasks at one time.  You look like you are pretty much holding together the lives of everyone around you.  It says you’re kind of a big deal.

With Mothers Day fast approaching, what better way to show your mother that you love her than by turning her name into the ultimate accolade?  Think about it.  You know she’ll love it.

View Comments / May 04.10 / Your Mom / by Joey Camire

// Backseat On The Road Of Life

By Joey Camire .
04.29.10 // In The Back Seat

Life is filled with hard decisions.  Situations that force you to decide what’s more important, and what you can let fall by the wayside.  Decisions are, in effect, all there is.  Where you are right now is the product of a decision to not do something else.  The fact that you are reading this, something I am truly grateful for, is the result of deciding not to work or study or stare at a wall.  At the end of reading this, though, you will be faced with a question.  Was that the right decision?  Should you have been working? Or reading something much more intelligently and eloquently constructed on a much more pertinent and meaningful topic and site?  Probably.

It’s those decisions that, over time, construct the fabric of our life stories.  And it’s that retrospect that allows us to decide if things are turning out accordingly, or if we need to make a few alterations here or there.

Of course you’ve heard the phrase “Hindsight is 20/20.”  It has to be one of the most overused and infuriating phrases in the English language.  Most of the time people use it rhetorically, a small bit of language they have on deck to fill a void in a conversation, or to console someone crying about a mistake they made.  But that phrase trivializes the act of looking back, and finding clarity in the events that have transpired.  It’s that act, of looking back, that is your best defense against a life of regret.  It is the course correction on your life path.  It’s the annoying British voice on your gps telling you that you’ve missed a turn.  It’s your self awareness.

When I decided to write this piece I realized that I needed to figure out what I’ve allowed to take a back seat in my life.  I made a short list of things I think I should put a little more thought into or spend more of my time on so that things end up the way I hope them to.  Some of it is completely trivial, some of it is a little more consequential, all of it related to my own self-perceived shortcomings.

Hair
This one is pretty self explanatory.  It literally looks like my hair was cut by Michael J. Fox.  I could probably go around telling people I grew out what appears to be three, count ‘em three, rat tails on a dare.  But who would believe someone dared me to recreate a rodent monage á trois on the back of my head?  I’d like to have a more polished haircut, I feel like it would make up for the lack of polish I exude in most other areas of my life.  I’d also like people not to wonder how a homeless person got into a business meeting when I’m at work.

Apartment
How did we let it come to this?  My lovely girlfriend would probably tell you that it’s all we could afford or some other likely story.  The truth is we were too busy with work and transitioning out of grad school that we kind of just rushed into it.  Probably should have spent a little more time in weighing our options.  Believe it or not, this was by far the nicest one we saw.

Reading
I’m literate. Sure. However, those first two sentences had an average word count of 1.5, so you can see how I could probably afford to do a little more reading.  I have consumed somewhere around 20+ books in the past year… they’ve just all been audio books.  I also read a lot of blogs and news on a daily basis, but they hardly challenge my verbal skills (with a few exceptions). I feel like I could afford to be a more learned man, and books are probably a good place to start.  Now just to actually follow through on that.  Literacy, something worth reading about.

Clothes
My whole life I’ve been an observer of dads.  I knew someday I would end up being one, so I figured why not scope this thing out in advance.  The biggest thing that I always said I didn’t want to be was the awkward strangely dressed dad.  You know the one, with a floral print polo shirt tucked into his elastic waisted khaki shorts.  Running around with his all purpose white sneakers with pushed-down tube socks.  See where I’m going?  While I’m far from ignorant to style and fashion, I’ve allowed myself to use the “no money” excuse to pay less attention to my sartorial side.  No more.

All of these life changing choices and positive realignments are great, but sometimes it’s also important to put things in the back seat for a while.  For example, I’ve always had this dream of someday having an article published in a magazine.  In a perfect world, it would probably be New York Magazine, and I would feel like the learned man I mentioned earlier.  The truth is, I have a lifetime to accomplish that goal, however unrealistic it may be.  Right now, I’ve got more pressing issues to deal with, like getting a haircut so I don’t look like the rat whisperer.  Hopefully, someday, I’ll pull that goal out of the backseat, buckle it in shotgun, and drive off into the sunset.  But if I don’t, and I can accomplish one or two of these on the list above, I think I’d be OK with that.

View Comments / Apr 29.10 / In The Back Seat / by Joey Camire

// Master of None

By Joey Camire .
04.23.10 // Your 75th Birthday

Today I am 25 years old.  It’s not my birthday, but that is the number of revolutions I’ve made around the sun. I am a third of the way to my 75th birthday.  As most any 25 year old dude would tell you, I’m pretty confident about making it to 75.  I don’t think I’m invincible, of course not, but I exercise and eat pretty well and as of yet I’m free from the clutches of any debilitating diseases.  I’ve got a pretty good Vegas spread to hit 75.

With that said, I wanted to look back at my life thus far, and try to imagine what a tripling of that time would look like. For sure there are going to be things that I am fully unprepared for like spawning little mutant clones of myself, 401Ks, a diversified portfolio, and a swollen prostate. But a lot of the coming 50 years will probably have a somewhat familiar ring to it.  I’ve already built and fortified an identity, and while it will undeniably flex and shift some, I don’t believe I will be having any kind of rebirth or crisis of identity.  I kind of like what I’m working with right now, however pretentious that may sound. I like who I am.  Therefore the question becomes what have I filled my life with so far, and how will that look as I get older and amass more similar experiences.  What type of life will the more august version of myself tout?

As I sat, introspectively pondering my existence, I realized that the only truly consistent thing in my life has been curiosity.  The rest of it has been mostly fleeting or transient as a rule.  I played about every major sport as a child; football, baseball, soccer, Tae Kwon Do, wrestling, Brazilian jiu jitsu and none for any truly extended period of time.  I skipped through hobbies like a stone on a pond from baseball cards, rock collecting, and small machines to chemistry, poetry, and bicycling.  I’ve never really been one for favorites in any regard.  I don’t have a favorite band, movie, TV show, ice cream flavor, or anchor of MTV news.  I majored in psychology in undergrad only to switch to neuroscience half way through.  Then I decided I would go to graduate school for mass communications.  I dabble in writing, videography, kinetic type, programming, science fiction, music, film, mullets, politics, activism, medicine and philosophy.

I don’t think mine is a particularly uncommon or interesting case.  I’m certainly not the only person with such a frenetic style of involvement.  The truth is, I think it is something that is becoming more and more commonplace.  There are many people who can’t seem to find their singular niche and therefore settle in to become experts of nothing.  And that’s a truthful description of myself, I am not an expert at anything, but I know enough to be dangerous at most things.

So where is this schizoid style of living coming from?  Well lucky for you, armchair hypothesizing and theorizing is another one of the pastimes I like to dabble in.  So here goes…

In the past several decades the number of people who have been afforded an education has exploded.  This is both in regard to opportunity for basic education but also the number of people who seek higher education.  However, the current educational system is based on vertical specialization.  You earn a specific degree which makes you a low level expert in a particular field of study.  Over the past few decades we’ve been pumping out people who have an extremely focused expertise, who then go off and work in a specific field for a long time, only further focusing their knowledge base and potentially narrowing their view of the world.

While many truly brilliant people have greatly advanced their own individual fields with their work, in recent history there have been very few who have casually crossed the lines of multiple disciplines.

The Renaissance, and the overlapping Enlightenment, were characterized by explosions in both education and discoveries.  However, many of those great discoveries came from people who crossed the isle, so to speak, into new fields of study amassing a knowledge of many things.  They were then able to put seemingly disparate things together from different specialties and push not just their own field but entire nations’ world views forward by leaps and bounds.  Our very own Thomas Jefferson, the father of the constitution on which we base our entire way of life, was one of those people. Some call them renaissance men or polymaths, I would just call them interested in diverse fields of study (oh, and brilliant).  Today, more than ever, we need these types of people to put together all the random and brilliant discoveries of the last 50 years that were made in specific disciplines and make something bigger of them.  We need people to put all the puzzle pieces together.  What we need are Modern Renaissance Men (and Women).

I know that, in brutal honesty with myself, I am nowhere close to people like DaVinci, Leibniz or Jefferson in terms of true genius and ability or general disposition.  In fact, it is probably beyond pretentious to even make the comparison.  But I would like to think, maybe, I share a common spirit with them, a curious nature about all things and a desire to make sense of it all.  And maybe that will amount to something.

On My 75th birthday, I want to be able to look back at my life and recount a story of varied interest and richness of experience.  I want to be able to say that I bounced around making sense of all the strange questions of the world, even if they are truly trivial in nature.  On my 75th birthday, I want to be able to give myself the gift of a lifetime spent as a modern Renaissance Man.  I may not solve the truly pressing problems and I may not invent an entire field of theoretical physics, but if I can look back and say that I lived like a Renaissance Man I know at the very least my life will have been truly interesting.  And I think that would be the best gift I could ever give myself.

View Comments / Apr 23.10 / Your 75th Birthday / by Joey Camire

// A Store Brand Life

By Joey Camire .
04.16.10 // Store Brand

Store brand food gets a bad wrap, but they’re not all bad. They’re not all that good, but it’s all not that bad.  While, often times, store brand foods are not as delicious as brand name foods, they aren’t without redeeming qualities.  They fill you up, they’re fortified and enriched, they have ingredients as well as nutrition facts.  They’re not usually flashy, or organic, or fair trade, or gourmet, or infused, or air cooled, or free range, or hand picked, or local blah blah blah.  But they feed you, and you aren’t hungry, and there is something to be said for that.

As a child, when my dad brought home “Apple Dapples”, it goes without saying that I was disappointed.  Oh sure they had Zinc and Iron, but they were no Apple Jacks.  However, he was safe from any charges being brought up against him by DCIS for child neglect since he fed me.  Which was nice.

This lead me to question what the equivalent to store brand would be in other things.  Most things in life have a crappier version, but don’t all have names, so I decided to explore what a totally store brand life would be like.   This is my list.

Store Brand Job
You will make 40 grand until forever.  There is no opportunity for promotion or raise or variation in your daily routine…. But you have healthcare.

Store Brand Kids
They’re solid C students.  They don’t particularly like you.  They won’t take care of you when you are old… But they have healthcare.

Store Brand Girlfriend
She doesn’t cook.  She doesn’t particularly like you. She cries after sex… But she shops at T.J Maxx.

Store Brand Haircut
It itches for an extra day after it’s cut.  It exposes that weird lump on the side of your head.  It drastically diminishes your appeal with the opposite sex… But you saved enough to drink until you forget.

Store Brand Facebook
Your grandmother is on it.  Your boss is on it.   Your friends aren’t on it. Your ex-girlfriend and her new boyfriend post pictures on it… But you can mindlessly waste just as much time on it.

Store Brand Apartment
It has a refrigerator.  It has a toilet.  It has your bed… But they’re all in the same room.

Store Brand Sex
It is not particularly interesting. Kind of “frictiony.” You will definitely get a cramp. There is a strange, unlocalizable smell… But both parties ‘“finish.”

Store Brand Music
You can’t make love to it.  You can’t dance to it.  It all sounds kind of like Nickelback.  It will always get stuck in your head… But at least it’s not actually Nickelback.

View Comments / Apr 16.10 / Store Brand / by Joey Camire

// Hell Hath No Fury…

By Joey Camire .
04.08.10 // Tantrums

We all have our moments, I know I do, but all of our tantrums combined still pale in comparison to the mood swings and fits of rage thrown our way by Mother Nature.

View Comments / Apr 08.10 / Tantrums / by Joey Camire

// Learning To Laugh

By Joey Camire .
03.28.10 // Laugh Tracks

Laugh tracks are social cues.  They allow us to know, at any given point in a show, when to laugh.  They are serving a purpose, whether or not it is a purpose you want to be served, they are serving it.  You got served.  They are aligning our senses of humor.

Here is a great analogy.  Someone yawns.  You see them yawn, and often uncontrollably, you yawn in response.  This is a programmed response in your body.  It is a way to align sleep cycles with the people in your community or family unit.  A slightly more graphic example is the way in which women’s estrous cycles line up when they share common space.  It’s nature’s way of putting people in your community on the same page.

I think laugh tracks serve the same purpose.  Entertainment as an industry, puts out an incredibly fractured offering of content.  It’s all over the place, from dark comedies, to bro-comedies to slapstick, there is a varied style in which to laugh.  However, personality differences aside, most people have consumed a fair share of network sitcoms in their lives.  Most people who read Blommit can probably remember back to the days of T.G.I.F.  Those Friday nights, having sleepovers with your friends, hunkering down in front of the television to watch Steve Urkel screw something up, or Corey Mathews make moves on Topanga.  The one thing all of those shows had in common were laugh tracks.

Laugh tracks aren’t any different than seeing someone yawn or “smelling the menstruation”, they are a way of culturally aligning people’s senses of humor.  Hear me out.  Laughter is contagious, if you’ve ever been around a small child in the throws of a giggle fit, you know this is true.  What a laugh track seeks to do is to point out the areas of a show where the writers have inserted a joke.  By hearing other people laugh, regardless of whether it was canned or not, your natural reaction is to join in the laughter.  Over time, you are conditioned to laugh at the same types of things as the other people watching the same shows.  You know the right times to laugh, and when it is not appropriate (as deemed by ABC).  Your sense of humor gets a sort of central anchor point that allows you to relate to others, even if you find other things funny that they don’t.

You might be thinking this a sort of conspiracy theory type of idea, a super paranoid thought.  It’s not at all, I think it’s a great thing, giving us all a means of relating to one another.  But you might be skeptical, so let’s consider an example.  Let’s say you are watching a movie by yourself, something I think we’ve all done at one point or another.  For the sake of the argument, we’ll  say it’s a comedy that you are enjoying.  How many times do you laugh out loud when you are by yourself watching something without laugh tracks.  I would contend that it is dramatically fewer than when you are in the company of others or in the presence of a laugh track.  In this case you are enjoying what you are watching, but you may be laughing or finding humor in different parts than someone else would find funny.  It’s because you aren’t being aligned with a cultural standard of humor, either by someone in the room or the inserted laughter of a sitcom.

I wish I could add laugh tracks to this as you are reading it.  It would probably make it a lot more enjoyable, and might help me make my case.  In the end, you may totally disagree with this idea.  But would it be such a bad thing to have been given a way to always be able to relate to your friends?  To have people laugh at the jokes you make because they understand the timing and context that you both learned as a child?  I don’t think so.  I mean, there is probably a reason why most people didn’t smile in older paintings or photographs.  Humor was confined to small groups or communities.  Laugh tracks have given you a way to make people all around the country, or even the world, laugh at the things you do or say.  And there isn’t anything wrong with that.

View Comments / Mar 28.10 / Laugh Tracks / by Joey Camire

// Booyah! (Disambiguation)

By Joey Camire .
03.16.10 // Booyah!

There are lots of words we use everyday. Profound.  Most of these words though, have many nuances in the way we use them.  Exclamatives are especially rich with subtlety.  You scream things for many reasons, and with a word like “Booyah!” you can run the gambit of emotions and it is still strangely appropriate in each case.  I’ve taken 6 examples, but trust me, “Booyah!” is pretty much the swiss army knife of the english language. We’re only scratching the surface.
Interesting note: I’m fairly certain that, other than rare examples, “Booyah!” is used almost exclusively by men.  This is because we have smaller brains and when we get excited can’t communicate with real words.

The Taunt

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This one is used among friends when you really want to be a giant dick.  You are making it clear to the other man that you have larger testicles than he does, and that he needs to be reminded of it.  It is usually used in cases when there has been a long and drawn out battle of some sort.  Example- You and your friend are arguing over who had a better beard, Bob Ross or Bob Villa. You agree that this will be solved by calling your friend Craig because he as the best facial hair of anyone you know.  When Craig sides with you, you turn to your friend and give him The Taunt Booyah!

Vicarious

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This is most commonly used by over zealous fathers at childrens’ sporting events like little league or pee wee hockey.  This “Booyah!” drips with satisfaction as it rolls out of the speaker’s mouth.  This is primarily because this father is allowing this moment to make up for his complete lack of sporting ability as child.  It is his validation in a world that has been too hard on his soft thin skin.  It is bittersweet however, to know that his son is better than him. Listen for this in the subtle inflections.

Speaking Tongues

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This particular “Booyah!” is not one that can be chosen to be used at will.  I’m afraid it is completely involuntary.  It comes out in moments of extreme intensity, when you are so out of control pumped that you can’t stop your mouth from moving.  Classic examples are after scoring the winning point in a pick-up basketball game or after slamming four cans of Monster Energy Drink so you can stay up late enough to meet with your guild and defeat the final instance in World of Warcraft and then you land the epic armor and you jump up to scream only to knock over the garbage can filled with urine because you couldnt’ leave your computer.  Those are just two examples though.

Sexy

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This “Booyah!” is fairly limited in its uses, but what it lacks in range it makes up for in appropriateness.  It’s almost exclusively used immediately after giving a woman (or man) “a good dicking.”  Now the love making doesn’t actually have to be good for the other person. Au contraire. In fact it is more than likely not going to be good judging by the fact that the person chose to finish coitus with this term.  However, it is extremely important that this person believes that they have just bestowed upon their lover  a gift, and that said lover should be thankful.  If you ever hear this in person you should probably re-evaluate your love life.  I’m just saying.

Shocked Repetition

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This “Booyah!” can be explained simply.  Disbelief followed by a moment’s realization of an achievement, followed by elation.  If you listen closely you can hear each step.  The moment of realization is usually accompanied by sudden uncontrolled movement, more than likely running in circles with hands on head or jumping and spinning.

Debonair

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This “Booyah!” is like Bigfoot – you’ve probably never heard someone say it and if someone tells you that they have, they are probably lying.  It draws its power from the paradox it exists in.  Almost all “Booyah!” are characterized by intense, often-time uncontrolled emotions, but this one is delivered cool and calm.  It’s the type of thing you could imagine absolutely blowing your mind if said by James Bond… Brosnan, not Craig. Craig could never pull this one off.  If you do ever get lucky enough to hear this sung into your ears, be careful. It’s either Pierce Brosnan in disguise or a siren trying to drive you into the rocks. Either way, you’re in deep shit.

View Comments / Mar 16.10 / Booyah! / by Joey Camire

// The Best Damn Thing!

By Joey Camire .
03.09.10 // Best Day Ever

Some things in life are so good it feels like time slows down.

The Best Damn Thing! from Blommit on Vimeo.

View Comments / Mar 09.10 / Best Day Ever / by Joey Camire

// Parental Training Wheels

By Joey Camire .
03.04.10 // dogs

There are a lot of major life stages that we go through as humans. Often the changes during transition periods are huge and can be monumentally stressful or trying. Moving from kindergarten to first grade was a big one, and then middle school to high school was another. In that vein striking out on your own as you head towards college was, albeit awesome in many ways, a very large transition in its own right. As soon as college is finished you’re welcomed with a cold, dripping wet hug from the real world. Heart warming. Not to mention all the major transitions you’ve made in relationships, first kiss, all the other bases, first heart break, long distance, short distance, it’s complicated, friends with benefits, she’s just not that into you, one night stands… You get the point. But through all of these major shifts and transitions you never really get any preparation for what’s to come. The closest thing you get to preparation is John Hughes movies to help ease the transition. The one area of difference, where you can prepare in advance in a sort of intermediary phase, is parenting.

Tatiana, my lovely lady friend, and I have three dogs. They are all sorts of hybrid mutt monsters. Three slovenly little soldiers of fortune who found their way into our lives by exploiting our soft empathetic ways. It’s true, they’re all mutts, rescues of one sort or another, that were not planned for. They are basically the equivalent to “Whoops!” babies and “pill beaters” in the canine form. Now, I don’t pretend they are human, they don’t own any clothes or coats or boots. I don’t take them to dog events or feed them some sort of ridiculously expensive food. But I do think they can be like training wheels for parenting if you take dog ownership seriously.

Don’t confuse what I’m trying to say, I learned WHAT it is to be a parent from my own mother and father, but I’m learning loosely HOW to be a parent from my dogs. I’ve been formulating this opinion for a little while now. It happens in the small day to day interactions when you see you’ve actually learned some things. I’ve made a list of some of the things I’ve learned, a sort of “Everything I need to know I learned in kindergarten” list, but with dogs. I encourage you to disagree with me, or call me a creeper, or a nutcase.

Love And Responsibility
I’ve always been a responsible person. Of course I’ve had my lapses of judgement, keg jousting is a great example, but I usually get things done. However, it is a whole new level of responsibility to have someone’s survival, other than your own, resting on your shoulders. It’s not just a matter of feeding them, it’s a matter of adding as much consistency to their lives as possible to keep them balanced. And the love that comes back your way from accomplishing that is a whole new kind of love.

Stability
The dogs have had a stabilizing effect on my life. A sort of grounding if you will. They force me to come home and take care of them, when I might have otherwise not returned to my apartment other than to sleep.

Fundamentals Of Discipline
I don’t pretend that disciplining a dog is anything like disciplining a child, but its a great start. It teaches you to analyze a problem behavior, find the root, and fix it. The lack of verbal communication forces you to be consistent. Whether this will come in handy when my kids get in trouble at school for blowing an entire pouch of fundip up their nose, I’m not sure. But I’d like to think so.

Quality Of Face Time
Dogs aren’t willing to take a call from you as a substitute for spending time with them. You realize the importance of in vivo interactions. I’m sure most children wouldn’t want to make that substitute either. We’re all still animals right?

Remind You Of Your Mortality
There is something about being responsible for someone else that reminds you of your own mortality. I believe, from conversations with friends, that this is one of the biggies in the transition into parenting. While I expect it to get worse, the dogs have already softened that blow for me.

Humility
There is nothing like picking up dog poop every day to really bring you down to earth. Or waking up on Saturday morning at 7 o’clock, hungover and disoriented, to a vomiting dog to really take you down a notch.

Simplicity
For the most part, a nice rawhide aside, dogs don’t really want for much. They would much rather just spend time with you. You can buy them all the most ridiculous toys or treats but more often than not, they’d rather just be in your company. There is something to be said for that.

Forgiveness
Inevitably, you fuck up. And dogs don’t let it slide, they can hold grudges that usually means something gets chewed up, but they always let it go. I’m still learning this one for myself.

Empathy And Affection
Of course I understood this one before getting my dogs, but not fully, not in the way that others can need your affection. That their lives get progressively worse if you don’t give it. And that sometimes, even when you aren’t feeling that way, you need to be, or at least fake it.

I had more one the list, but they were just little things like “Love without judgement” or “Trust is earned” and I think most people already get that, and if they don’t a dog won’t change things.

So do you think I’m on of the crazy ones? The “freaky dog people”? The oddities? Or can you see the merit in what I’m saying? That you can become a better parent when it matters, by loving a dog now. It’s just another example of dogs being man’s best friend. A case of Fido taking all the bruises from falling off the bike while you are learning, so your kids won’t have to. I guess the real way to find out if this is true is to ask my children whenever it is that I have them. I’ll show them this in 20 years, long after all my dogs have passed, and I’ll ask “How do you feel about Ragamuffin, Diablo and Gus now?”  That’ll be the real test.

(I’ve also added a few of the videos I’ve done with the dogs below so you can get a feel for our monsters.)

What Does Your Dog’s Voice Sound Like? from Blommit on Vimeo.

Humans 1 – Dogs 0 from Blommit on Vimeo.

View Comments / Mar 04.10 / dogs / by Joey Camire

// Joey Camire’s Facebook Stat’s

By Joey Camire .
02.26.10 // Status Updates

I’ve always liked facebook for it’s ability to keep connected with people you would otherwise lose connection with.  I suppose that the big seller for most people.  But I was wondering whether or not my perceived level of interaction with friends, family and co-workers was as high as I believed it to be, or whether it was just a flawed perception.  I went back and categorized all my previous posts to understand what exactly it is that I’m putting out into the world, and then I counted the variety of type and number of interactions I actually have on facebook.   It turns out I’m giving the world 1.31 gold nuggets a day.  To tell you the truth, I felt like I was a lot more involved on facebook, so this came as a pleasant surprise that I may actually be getting work done throughout my days.  I was also happy to see, that while I’m hardly drawing crowds to my little tid-bits and insights into the world, I am actually interacting with people.  It’s nice to know that you aren’t sending things out into a vacuum.

After doing this little exercise I felt like maybe face book actually is adding value to my life.  What do you think?  Is facebook adding value to your life?  Or is it just stealing your time?

View Comments / Feb 26.10 / Status Updates / by Joey Camire

// Post-It Notes and Hugs

By Joey Camire .
02.19.10 // Post-It Notes

When I was thinking about what to do this week, I really honed in on the word ‘note’.  I realized I hadn’t written anyone a note in a very long time, at least that I could remember.  I also realized I didn’t have anyone that I could think to write a note to, nor could I remember how to fold those cute little squares, so I decided to write some notes to random people on my way in to work.  Aside from a few strange looks it was a great experiment, and I’m really considering keeping Post-its on me all the time.  The idea of people reading my random notes and wondering who wrote this stupid little post-it makes me smile.  Here are a few of the notes I left around town.

View Comments / Feb 19.10 / Post-It Notes / by Joey Camire

// Bear vs. Wolf

By Joey Camire .
02.13.10 // Firsts

I’ve never been much of an artist.  I don’t think there is or ever will be anyone who would disagree with that.  I’ve just never had the patience.   I expect beautiful things to come out of the pencil or paints in an expedient fashion, and for some reason they don’t comply.  That may be the reason that this “FIRST” of mine is so vividly ingrained into my memory.

A little context. It was 1992 and I was in Mrs. Wexler’s second grade class.  It was a time of experimentation.  Should I wear “Thundercats” underwear or play it safe with “Ninja Turtles” briefs?  Should I just brown bag my lunch, or roll the dice and see what’s on the “hot lunch” menu at school?  Should I eat this Elmer’s paste?  Is Tonya a boy or a girl, cause she looks like a boy, but she pees in the girls bathroom.  These are the things I was struggling with.

One day I was struck with inspiration.  Was it a muse? The Glue? The curious love note from Tonya? I can’t be sure today, but I decided then that I was going to try to draw something for the first time.  Of course I had played with crayons before, and colored in coloring books, but I had never decided of my own volition to put pen to paper with the intention of drawing something prior to that day.  It was a big step.  I was considering long term situations here.  If I enjoyed what I was about to do I could be in for a lifetime of criticism and defeat and poverty and bad hygiene and really skinny jeans.  I moved forward anyway, knowing full well what I was getting myself into.  If art was going to be my true calling, something that really made me happy, I was ready to make the sacrifices.  I mean, I wasn’t all that clean in second grade anyway, I was on a bathing-every-other-day regiment and I had no problem keeping on that schedule through adulthood.

What came next was truly epic.  I felt as though I had been possessed by a muse, my veins coursing with inspiration, and the #2 lead from the half used Dixon Ticonderoga in my hand was the only way to release this inspiration into the world.  I can’t be sure of the time frame, it could have been minutes, it could have been hours, but I was left with a masterpiece.  At least that’s how I felt.  I was swelling with pride.  And then the thoughts went through my head, “How could I ever surpass this?”  I understood what art was now, I had experienced the joy of creating beauty and I was ready to move on to new things.  Art wasn’t for me.  Well continuing with art wasn’t for me, clearly, judging from the tour de force laying in front of me on grey “math paper”, art was for me if I wanted it.  But I didn’t.  I put my pencil in my cubby hole and I decided to move on to bigger and better things.  I never did figure out that Tonya mystery!

Yesterday, at work, I tried to recreate the my original masterpiece.  It left me with a lot of questions.  Why does the bear look like a Chupacabra?  Why is there a Gnome just hanging out watching the bear and the wolf about to have a serious battle, and smiling?  Why do both the bear and the wolf only have two limbs?  Is this what the original drawing actually looked like?  The last question is the big one.  In my head I remember it as one of Plato’s Ideal Forms, perfect, what all other pieces of art are modeled after… But in real life it looks like a piece of shit.  Hopefully in a few days I’ll be able to remember the first version more clearly and forget this picture of the two legged aliens about to fall over and/or fight.  Also, if you are reading this and work for the SyFy network, all rights are reserved for “Bear vs. Wolf” but if you are interested we can work out a deal for a made for TV movie.

View Comments / Feb 13.10 / Firsts / by Joey Camire

// Climax For A Cause

By Joey Camire .
01.25.10 // Orgasms

As a man… what an awesome way to start a thought piece right?  As a man, I’m quite a fan of orgasms.  My own, in particular are quite fascinating, but I suppose that is part of it.  Orgasms developed as an evolutionary strategy for procreation.  When you procreate to fruition, i.e. leaving your seed in a female, you are left with great feelings of pleasure and euphoria.  However, in a sentient species such as human beings it is one of those few primal urges left driving our behavior.  And it does, undeniably, drive our behavior on an extreme level.  Guys, and ladies I’m not discriminating just speaking to a relatable experience, think about all the things you do on a daily basis to achieve an orgasm with a woman.  You actually shower in the morning, you put on those jeans that cost you $70 and an ironed shirt.  You throw goop in your hair, spray some foreign yet fragrant scent on your skin and maintain your facial hair.  These might all seem commonplace, but the end goal is always copulation ending in orgasm.

And why wouldn’t it be?  Orgasm is literally the greatest physiological feeling humans can naturally acquire.  Sure some chemicals, such as cocaine, mimic the feeling in pleasure centers in the brain and create heightened experiences.  But for those of us, excluding Sir Tiger, who want to avoid addiction, orgasm is the ultimate.

Now consider the world population, hovering today somewhere above 6 billion, and growing.  When you consider that, you realize that orgasm as a strategy is effective, arguably too effective.

Think for a moment, of what could be accomplished if our orgasms, and the drive they create within us, were put to better less primal uses?  What if you wanted to do ANYTHING as much as you want to eff? The world would be an entirely different place if we were able to direct that energy towards a new goal.  Species security via population levels has been accomplished.  In the vein of a thought experiment, I figured we could do a few hypothetical scenarios for orgasm energy redirection.  Makes it sound way cooler when you phrase it that way.  Human Orgasm Redirection and Negation of Excess Energy Experiment. H.O.R.N.E.E.E.  I never cease to impress myself.

The Environment/ Energy Crisis –
Instead of spending your time getting dolled up for work or socializing everyday, you would re-invest that time in walking or biking to work be cause the simple thought of reducing your carbon foot print gives you a half stock.  Every time you put your recycling out to the street you climax.  Parks would start popping up everywhere because planting a tree or flowers would be like having a totally stellar hook-up.  The internet would no longer be filled with porn, instead BBC’s Planet Earth and Ken Burn’s National Parks would be the new material for everyone’s “spank bank.”  If you did have to drive somewhere, and it was in an electric vehicle, you’d need a cigarette when you arrived to your destination.  Staring at neighbors solar panels would be the new business of voyeurs and peeping Tom’s.  Pimps would no longer sell women, but carbon offset credits to seedy men in dark alleys.  Arbor day, April 27, would be the new Valentines Day, resulting in tons of being children born at the end of January.

Obesity / Healthy Lifestyle
Everyday, the cure for for your morning wood (and whatever the corresponding equivalent in women is) would be a well balanced breakfast.  You’ve heard stories about runners’ orgasm before, well it would be commonplace.  In fact, gyms would be the nouveau bordello, adorned in red lights and adding a whole new need for those white towels.  McDonalds would get people addicted to high protein tofu burgers cooked in extra virgin olive oil.  Introductions and business cards would now include your BMI.  Eating anything that was not organic would result in a sensation similar to “blue balls” or “PMS”, i.e the sensation of pressure in your sexual organs.  Needless to say everyone would be svelte and fit and would have ridiculously low blood pressure and cholesterol.  Type II diabetes would be all together gone, as well as heart disease and arteriosclerosis.  This would essentially achieve what orgasm does today by extending the length and quality of life.

You can do one of these on your own for almost anything and it works as long as that goal is more complex than simple population growth.  The reason it works is because you get almost unanimous co-operation towards any goal.  Try it on your own with any of these examples.

World Peace
Education
Health Care
Compassion

The most interesting part of this is that with the understanding of modern physiology of both the brain and endocrinology, this endeavor is more than likely possible.  Maybe something worth considering as a means of infusing more desirable traits into society.  It’s a little “Twilight Zone” sounding but it would be a way of adding positive feedback across all groups for desired behaviors… For good or evil, duh duh duh.  Okay, I know I’ve taken this as far as this forum befits,  but I’d gladly keep the discussion going in the comment section if you are interested in strange sexually directed game theory… I anticipate a lot of comments.

View Comments / Jan 25.10 / Orgasms / by Joey Camire

// Onomatopoeia And Pudding

By Joey Camire .
01.19.10 // Onomatopoeia

View Comments / Jan 19.10 / Onomatopoeia / by Joey Camire

// Sloppy Drunk: An (Failed) Experiment

By Joey Camire .
01.13.10 // Sloppy Drunk

My goal for this post was to document the process of getting “Sloppy Drunk.”  It’s tough to say whether or not I actually accomplished that, seeing as there isn’t really a set standard.  Maybe I should have undertook that endeavor instead.  Regardless, the goal was to have one drink and then be asked a question to try to highlight the slow downfall.  Needless to say, this methodology broke down.  I’m actually traveling right now on business in LA, so I only had one friend to come out and go through the process with me, and by the end of the evening I was just drinking by myself and talking to the camera as if it were a interested third party.  I don’t know how entertaining this will actually be, but you can at least see me drunk at the end of the night.  Which is nice!

View Comments / Jan 13.10 / Sloppy Drunk / by Joey Camire

// Like Only Eating The Marshmellows

By Joey Camire .
01.02.10 // Highlight Films

Watching highlight films is like only eating the marshmallows out of your lucky charms.  You only get the good bits.  But where is your fortification?  Your full compliment of vitamins and minerals?  Your balanced breakfast?  You forgot about those didn’t you?  Well great, now you probably have scurvy, or rickets, or a goiter!

Highlight films should be consumed the way fats and sugars are in the food pyramid.  Or heroin.  In small doses.  Oh sure highlight films are great.  They give you all the best parts of the game without the annoying announcers or the halftime show, but what are you left with?  Nothing you can really bite your teeth into.  You can’t make an emotional connection with a highlight reel.  You don’t want to settle down and get married to a highlight reel the way you do with Tom Brady or Derek Jeter or Tiger Woods.

That’s the thing.  Highlight reels truncate the storyline or remove it all together.  All you’re left with is the denouement.  The climax.  While that sounds nice in theory, just lots of climaxing, you lose the build up.  It would be like if sexual encounters were only as long as an orgasm.  Where’s the foreplay?  Sounds kind of boring.

This isn’t a ploy to ask you to stop watching highlight films or shows, or even getting highlights in your hair, it’s just a healthy way to consume them.  If you treat Sportscenter, for example, like sugar or masturbation you’ll be perfect.  Something sweet to hold you over and give you a pleasure spike, but not enough to get by on all by itself.  Watch the real event or game.  Kill an evening or a Saturday afternoon taking things in long form.  You’ll be healthier for it.  Well mentally anyway, I’m sure the beer and Doritos don’t do much for your physique.

View Comments / Jan 02.10 / Highlight Films / by Joey Camire

// The Bossest Bosses: A List Of The Top Bosses

By Joey Camire .
12.27.09 // Bosses

I’ve got issues.  I do.  I’m big enough to admit it.  I have trouble with authority… primarily because I’ve always thought myself smarter than the majority of the bosses I’ve had.  Great.  I’ve divulged the fact that I am an arrogant insubordinate asshole.  I always knew this site would be a great career move.

All that said, though, there are certain bosses you know you would absolutely love to work for.  Even douchey underlings like myself would wake up in a state of elation at the prospect of going to work in the morning. Whistling “Good Morning Sunshine” and dancing in the shower.  You know, that annoying shit you might see in the opening montage of a movie… except you would actually be doing it yourself every day of your life.

Now you’re probably saying “Really? Who could give me such a wonderful feeling as I prepare for work everyday?”  The truth is, I’m not sure.  Everyone has a different personality and wants different things from their work life. However, I’ve compiled a list of the people I would love to work for.  A sort of all-time greatest boss list, if you will .

Santa – Okay, you might be thinking one or more of the following: North Pole, No Vacation, Naughty List.  You’re not wrong, the North Pole is in fact remote, you will work year round, and your boss will always know if you’ve been naughty or nice.  However, Santa Clause Inc. has consistently made the Forbes top 20 employers list.  They boast one of the best 401K/benefit packages in the world.  And let’s not even get into the in-office cafeteria… 24/7 milk and cookies is an often under-appreciated perk.  Couple this all with the fact that all employees are essentially cloistered in close quarters and you have the makings for some serious in toyshop love connections.  You’ve heard “what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas,” well that was actually invented by the North Pole, they just actually know how to keep their mouths shut. ‘Nuff said.

Stephen Segal – I mean this one should speak for itself.  He’s Stephen fucking Segal.  He’s a legend. Have you even seen “On Deadly Ground?”  If you work for Stephen Segal you essentially get the perk of a body guard as your boss.  So, if you’re having any issues, maybe someone wants to rough you up a bit, look into a job with “The Steve”… But don’t call him that. No. That is a privilege.  The one downfall is you pretty much can’t fuck up or you will taste the wrath of some lethal Akido.  I don’t actually know what that is, but I do know that it will pretty much break anyone’s elbow, and is only rivaled by DMX’s street fighting in “Exit Wounds.”

Stephen King – I can’t totally be sure about this one, thus he is aptly placed in third.  However, I am fairly certain working for Stephen King would be one of those strange coming of age type stories… but with magic.  He would be the really strange sensei type character offering me wisdom only in the form of parables or haikus and then place me in extremely perilous situations where I would be forced to figure out those nuggets on my own or face certain doom.  Of course, being the person I am, I would narrowly avoid some sort of magical peril and learn my lesson.  Plus he might teach me how to write better pieces than this swill you are currently consuming… though of course it would follow a path loosely reminiscent of “The Page Master” with Macaulay Culkin, or at least that’s how I dream it.

Tony Danza – Come on. This guy had a show about how freakin’ Italian and BOSS he is.  To this day I still vacuum the way he does in the intro. I’m not kidding. Plus he was a pro boxer, and I feel like that has to count for something.  Also if he at any point over the course of the life of the series slept with Judith Light (Angela) or Alyssa Milano (when she came of age) you can switch his spot with Stephen Segal.  I’m serious.  He earned it.  In spades

Rick Ross – This guy wrote a song about how boss he was, and everyone agreed that he was right.  There were no livid editorials in Source or Complex demanding a recanting of such egregious lies, nay, it reached #17 on the billboard top 100 at its peak.  An affirmation of his status as “the Boss.”  Had I written such a song, claiming to be in charge of any number of employees, there would have been an uproar.  People could see through that.  Additionally it would be nice to have Rick Ross as your boss for the immediate boost in street cred he would afford his underlings.  I live in Bed-Stuy and I could use some.

Myself -  While I am currently no one’s boss, as you’ve learned from this piece, I’d probably be really great at it.  I have all the qualities a great boss needs; I’m always right… even when I’m wrong, I think I’m smarter than everyone else, I’m a great judge of character as you can tell from the list of people I want to work for, and anyone who worked for me would most definitely wake up singing everyday.  I’m still not ready to take the role yet though, mostly because I haven’t come into any mystical powers yet.  Santa has magic corn and a workshop, Segal has pure badassness, Stephen King has the creepy wisdom and possible dark portals, Tony Danza had a show and Rick Ross had an album.  However once I get a skill, I’ll be THE BOSS!

View Comments / Dec 27.09 / Bosses / by Joey Camire

// The (Snow)Man

By Joey Camire .
12.20.09 // The Man

View Comments / Dec 20.09 / The Man / by Joey Camire

// Hand-Me-Don’ts

By Joey Camire .
12.07.09 // Hand-Me-Downs

Growing up, dressing myself was a lot like freedom of speech during the Bush Administration; You can say whatever you want, but someone is watching you, so you’d better not say the wrong thing.  Thankfully, when I was dressing myself as a small child that person watching me was not Dick Cheney.  However, I essentially had an arsenal of acceptable school clothes as established by my mother until entering 7th grade.  Any deviation from established guidelines resulted in the wrath, and she had little tolerance for recidivism.

Usually when we went shopping for new clothes she’d listen to my input and the resulting wardrobe was not terribly offensive.  There would be the occasional piece that she would purchase on her own, something she though looked “Nice” which translates to “On Sale.”  But the worst of all wardrobe evils was Hand-Me-Downs.  Growing up we didn’t have a ton of money, but what I did have was a cousin who was a few years older than me.  The result was a steady flow of clothes coming my way at the beginning of every season and growth spurt.

The problem with not having money is that my mother inevitably decided to keep the Hand-Me-Downs.  The economic necessity of the situation would cloud her judgment and everything became “just what he needs.”  Trust me, I did not need a new Bugle Boy cardigan purchased 5 years prior in size “Husky.”  I was not even a “Regular,” nay, I was a “Slim.”  Inevitably though, those are the types of things that come down the Hand-Me-Down chain.  A sparkling new pair of Body Glove shorts that look like they were worn on the set of ‘Wet Wild And Crazy Kids!’, a teal sweater that would make even Bill Cosby cringe.  Honestly, look at this picture.

That leads me to my point, 300 or so words of context later.  There are certain objects that you never want to get as Hand-Me-Downs.  A handful of things, that almost never work out for the best, and who’s power over mothers is almost all encompassing!

-Sweaters- Sweaters that arrive to your house in a white garbage bag filled with “Previously Loved” clothing can bring tears to the eyes of any 8 year old.  Mothers have an instinctual drive to keep their children warm.  Fearful of their child ‘catching cold’, they often over dress their kids just in case.  For this reason sweaters immediately create a warm feeling in a mothers womb, as they fall in love with the heat bringing power they have.  Unfortunately Hand-Me-Down sweaters are infallibly hideous.  If they looked good the original owner never would have gotten rid of them in the first place.  As the temperatures of Northern New England dropped moms everywhere shove sweaters over their childrens heads, drying the crocodile tears as they stretch over their over-sized skulls.

-Anything That Matches- Mom’s also have an instinctive drive for matching.  The moment they give birth to their first child they can’t help but make things match above all else.  As is often the case with Hand-Me-Downs, they were clothes too ugly for normal people to wear, but if they match anything you own your mother would not be able to resist herself.  In my own personal life it resulted in wearing maroon jeans with maroon shirts, green jeans with green shirts, blue jeans with blue shirts… you get the picture!

-Shoes- They will never, ever, ever, ever fit.  If they are too big, you will never grow into them, you will somehow skip the exact size.  Even if they would appear to be the right length they will always have the original owners foot imprints in the sole.  Walking a mile in another shoes is entirely over rated.

-Clothes With The Tag Still On Them- Another irritable mom magnet are clothes that were handed down with the store tags still on them.  No matter how ugly, unfitting, or strange smelling they are moms will still make you wear them… “Cause they still have the tags on them.”  Parachute pants do not look good no matter what you do to them, no store tag can ever change that.

Sadly, as a potential future father, I will have no power to save my children from this wretched fate.  They too will have to experience this on their own.  I saw my own father shoot me empathetic looks as a sweater was pulled over a turtleneck, cringing powerless over my mothers drive to keep me warm.  Everybody knows a dad stands no chance in interfering with a mothers instincts.  I can only hope some day I have the means to buy my children new clothes, and shelter them from the terror of Hand-Me-Downs.

View Comments / Dec 07.09 / Hand-Me-Downs / by Joey Camire

// You Can

By Joey Camire .
12.01.09 // Tripping

View Comments / Dec 01.09 / Tripping / by Joey Camire