NEW YEAR'S RESOLUTIONS ARE STUPID

Well, it's New Year's Eve again. Tomorrow means it's time to switch into Go-Getter mode and swear to quit doing something that you love or do more of something that you hate. You like McDonald's? Better make a New Year's Resolution to stop eating it FOREVER. Do you hate to exercise? Time to drop a $300 initiation fee at the gym and vow to go ten times a week. Do you like TV? Social media says you must throw your TV out the window and hope it doesn't land on a homeless man's head. Because if we don't use a singled day of the year as a measuring stick to better ourselves, then what's the point of living?

If I were a betting man*, I would bet with complete confidence that for every 10,000 dummies who make a New Year's Resolution, 9,999 of them crumble within the first week. Most within a few days. And the main reason being: they only made a resolution because their mom stopped biting her nails or their dad stopped drinking and driving or their cleaning lady stopped putting Clorox in the Brita. There is zero logic in quitting when you're not ready to quit. Do you stop eating you dinner because someone else finished eating? No, you eat it all and feel awful and go home and cry like everyone else in the world.

I bet the French don't have New Year's resolutions. I bet the French wake up January 1st at their normal rouse of 11am, smoke three packs of cigarettes before lunch, drink 50 cups of coffee, have sex all over the place, and then live until they're ninety years old because they don't strut around telling everyone that they are going to do Hot Yoga thirty times a week or run twenty miles a day in the freezing cold weather. That shit is bananas. And to be honest, I'd rather gain 700 lbs and be rolled around in a wheelbarrow than have to go running on a day like today. Seriously, just fork-lift me into a wheelbarrow and parade me around as the loser who will eventually have to be chainsawed out of his house by a SWAT Team because I was too lazy to get on the treadmill. At least I'll be warm and happy that I chose to be a horrible slob.

I once tried to quit smoking as my New Years resolution. It lasted about 20 hours. Two nights later, I was out watching a Sunday night NFL game chain smoking like a Meth addict. And this happened because I didn't really want to quit, I just wanted an answer for those people who ask incessantly: What's your New Year's Resolution going to be?

Oh me? Just quitting smoking, cold turkey, No big deal.

(smoked thirty cigarettes five hours later)

Now, I don't even bother to make one up. Why fake it? Yeah, I should probably drink less coffee and get more sleep and I should probably stop luring hobos into my basement and strangling them with bed sheets, but I'll fix all those glitches eventually--no need to establish a timeline. Last year I vowed to workout more to stop my back from crippling me, and I did, but not until March. Sure, it may have had something to do with a medical expert 'advising' me to go to the gym, but I still followed through with it.Take that, America!

But there is also a flip-side to the peer pressure of having to make a New Year's resolution - there are those people who pretend that they are above resolutions, because they think they're perfect. Oh the gym? BEEN GOING THERE SINCE THE 90'S. Lose Weight? TRY 25 LBS SINCE AUGUST. This attitude, I don't get. Don't act like you're better than the people who are out there, using Facebook to tell anyone who will listen that they are going to better themselves, even if it's only to satisfy a peer's opinion. You're not better than them. You're equally as terrible. You are the same person who claims to have everything first and to have started every fad. Actually, you're worse than those poor bastards who claim to be quitting Fish Filets only to be seen a few days later knee deep in tartar sauce.

If you're going to do something to better yourself, just do it. Don't go around announcing the fact, prancing around with fitness guides and nutrition magazines. Stop doing that--no one's buying it. You want to do charity work? Go do some charity work. You want to learn karate? Go take a fucking karate class. You want to dye your hair red and change your name to Red Velvet Go for it. Just stop telling me about it.

And if you don't want to do anything, then don't. Keep eating those bag-fulls of Five Guys fries. Keep smoking those unfiltered Camels. Keep drinking that homemade toilet wine. It's your life. All I ask is for everyone shut the fuck up about it.

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*For the record, I am not a betting man for two reasons - 1) I am a coward and I fucking lose my shit while watching a dealer rake in my $20 at a black jack table because HE'S STEALING MY MONEY; and 2) I also have the gambling luck of someone playing Russian Roulette with a musket)

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BEING A FAN OF THE NEW YORK JETS SUCKS

Look at this photo. Just look at it. That’s me. I was probably six or seven-years-old when it was taken. Just a bright-eyed little shit with a weakness for Taiwanese-knockoff sports memorabilia and an adorable amount of love for the New York Jets. Little did I know that Mark Gastineau’s sweet mullet and Wesley Walker’s cool glasses and Freeman McNeil’s everyman work ethic wouldn’t be around forever, and that the team I had fallen unequivocally in love with was at its core the physical equivalent of a trombone slide that went on sliding for eternity. Because rooting for the New York Jets is like rooting for a complete stranger to run up to you, tell you the sky is made of Skittles, kick you in the balls, and then when you fall to the ground, rips your wallet from your pants.

That’s what you’re in for, kid. So get ready.

In case you’re a stowaway that just got off a fishing boat from China, Monday night’s disaster against the Titans summed up everything you need to know about the New York Jets organization. Bad personnel decisions: check. Horrible play-calling: check. Terrible skill position players playing pivotal roles: check. A ridiculous turnover to end the game: check. A weak/stupid/wasted offseason coming back to haunt them when they have nowhere else to turn: fucking check. The 2012 Jets didn’t even deserve to have their name associated with the word ‘playoffs’. In fact, they shouldn’t even have their name associated with ‘Garbage Factory’ because I assume that at the Garbage Factory there are functioning employees who don’t fumble the fucking the ball every five seconds and throw dump passes 900 feet over the garbage factory foreman’s head. But the team got what they deserved – a swift painful end to a painful season, realigning themselves with the NFL’s obsolete.

Sure, I know that there are plenty of terrible NFL franchises around that have technically suffered far worse than Gang Green. The Browns? Sorry, I’d rather live in Kabul than Cleveland. The Bills? If my team had lost four straight Super Bowls, I would have become a monk and lived in exile for eternity.

But the Jets are a special blend of shittiness. An exotic, Turkish blend, if you may. Because unlike teams who face geographical and media-market hurdles, the Jets were gifted with one of the biggest media markets on the planet. They have the location, the fan base, and the revenue stream to potentially recruit the sport’s top football minds, unlike some franchises that have to convince a potential GM that his family will just LOVE Tampa in August and that the six-pound Palmetto bugs are adorable. Forget the vapidity of the West Coast or the salt-of-the-Earth atmosphere in the Midwest--New York has the ability to humble even the most egotistical of egos. On top of that, New York has culture and arts and events shooting out of its asshole, a never ending stream of stuff to do for even the most bored families. Also, kids who attend school in Manhattan probably leave fifth grade with better educations than 75% of the rest of the country’s high school graduates. I wish that I was kidding, but when Kate Hudson or Jennifer Garner shells out $100K a year to whichever Charter School little Applesauce is attending, then you know damn well that they are expecting a return on their investment.

Unfortunately, the Jets are unable to utilize any of these advantages. Leon Hess dropped dead and his estate sold the goddamn team to goddamn Woody Johnson. And Woody Johnson has gone on to craft a franchise that excels most at making poor decisions. Start with the coaching lineup from the past decade. After Bill Belichick resigned via cocktail napkin, the Jets have had the pleasure of employing a patsy (Al Groh), a bat-shit crazy fool (Herm Edwards), an egomaniac who probably kisses himself in the mirror (Eric Mangini), and a big fat asshole who makes foot-fetish pornography with his wife (Sexy Rex). Also, after blasé GM Terry Bradway was kicked to the curb following a vanilla campaign that leeched off the success of Bill Parcells, fans were introduced to used-car-salesman Mike Tannenbaum as his replacement. The roster of executives and coaches who have run this franchise is as inspiring as a superhero team comprised solely of multiple Aquamans.

What complicates matters further is that poor decision-making at the executive and coaching level will obviously have an impact on the player personnel department. And I can’t stress enough how true this rings for the Jets. So whenever someone points out that the Jets have been somewhat relevant over the past decade, I’m quick to assure them that any semblance of relevance came out of pure coincidence, not because of tactical strategy. For example, take a look at the Jets past two decades of 1st Round Draft Picks (24 picks total). Out of 24 picks, the Jets took EIGHT offensive skill position players: two quarterbacks (Pennington, Sanchez); two wide receivers (Keyshawn, Santana Moss) and FOUR FUCKING TIGHT ENDS (Johnny Mitchell, Kyle Brady, Anthony Becht and Dustin Keller).

Twenty Years. Eight skill positions. Four tight ends. If those statistics don’t scream stupidity, then you don’t know the meaning of incompetence.

The cyclical banana-peel-slip can be traced right back to the head honcho, Woody Johnson. A self-proclaimed "hands off" owner, Johnson has done himself no favors by being oblivious to his franchise's shortcomings. Even this season, after Tannenbaum traded for Tim Tebow, Johnson marveled at the intensified media presence, as if Tebow was some no-name bumpkin who just happened to land in the media capital of the world. He's also stated - most likely slipped - that the Jets are in the “media business.” Well okay, Wood, thanks for clarifying. I was under the assumption that you wanted to win a fucking Super Bowl or something. Glad to know your quarterly numbers are up, you dick.

Oh, and one more thing--PSL’s. Nothing is worse than imposing PSL’s on your fans. I know the Jets aren’t alone here – fourteen other NFL teams impose the same regulations (including the Giants) – but is there anything worse than having to pay thousands of dollars just for the right to buy season tickets that cost thousands of dollars? It’s literally the perfect summation of why Woody Johnson is a greedy-fucking-asshole who doesn’t care if the Jets sport a .300 winning percentage or sink into an active volcano. FYI - Johnson’s estimated worth according to Forbes is $3.5 billion. BILLION. Why be a straight-shooter who fans universally adore when you can be a slimy fucker who shits all over his loyal sheep?

I honestly don’t believe that there is any hope for the Jets. Not immediate or long term. And this isn’t me being Chicken Little--I seriously think the Jets will, even at their very best, jump and fall short for ever and ever. Scoot over, Vikings.

Even still, after all that bitching, the ineptitude doesn’t thwart my allegiance. It’s like defending that cousin of yours who weighs 300lbs and likes to eat from the trash. Yeah, he’s awful and terrifying to be around, but he’s still your cousin. And what else am I going to talk about during football season? Golf handicaps? Fuck golf. Investment strategies? Please. My investment strategy is in the form of five random numbers and one Powerball number, bitch.

My only hope left – and I know I’m not alone here – is that every single time Woody Johnson makes a statement to the press, he ends it with an announcement saying he’s moving the team to Los Angeles effective immediately. Or to Anchorage. Or to fucking Beijing. Just as long as they’re uprooted and gone and not my problem any longer.

Until then, Just End the Season. Every…Single…Season. 

Click HERE to follow @NotRyanAdam on Twitter  

I want to be clear about something regarding this post – I fully understand that there are plenty more terrifying things happening in this world right now, things so horrible and incomprehensible that it makes me sound like a fucking dickhead for complaining about the state of one shitty NFL franchise.  As I’m sure we all astutely recognize - now more than ever - life is a precious, fleeting gift that we should take the time to celebrate on a daily basis. I don’t care if this sounds cliché or hokey, because it’s true. And I don’t care if I sound like a money swindling pastor when I say we all need to enjoy each fucking day as if it were the best day ever. Because you never fucking know when or how the curtain will come down.

But I do appreciate the power of humor--it serves as an easy distraction when life gets despondent. And I think that’s always been the point of my blog – to make light of annoying shit by making bad jokes about inconsequential stuff. And I plan of continuing to make bad jokes about low-hanging fruit while I can. It doesn’t mean I’m taking advantage of my time – I actually believe the opposite, in fact. (end of sermon)

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CHRIS BROWN NEEDS TO GO

The other night I was downloading music to make my wife a CD because I am the best husband in the whole world, and while many-a-ladies husbands are out buying diamonds and Mercedes and luggage made of emeralds, I am making awesome mix-tapes for my woman so she can have some fresh beats to groove to, so take that.

But while I was putting together the mix-tape, I kept running into trouble, mainly because the music I listen to is either depressing Blues/Alt Rock, or obscure weirdo shit that could probably be classified as terrible by normal people’s standards of what is nice to listen to, and what isn't. So I turned to the iTunes Top 200 singles list for help. But instead of being overwhelmed by the dog-shit populating the list (there is a lot), I was awed by something much more interesting: Chris Brown has like seven songs on the chart. So I was all like, thee Chris Brown? Like the one who punched out Rihanna* and then got the beating commemorated as a tattoo on his neck (I’m not buying his other explanation), and then he wooed her back by promising not to punch her face in again? And then went on to threaten this female comedian with a custom beating of her own, only to jump off Twitter like a coward when fans reacted badly to his absolutely weird and horrifying threats? Like that Chris Brown?

Yep - all signs point to those charting songs belonging to this classy guy. Needless to say, I thought we (we meaning the 'Royal We' of society that’s comprised of mostly rational people) had decided against Chris Brown retaining his fame and making a whole lot more money off us? I thought he was firmly in our rear-view, an ugly blemish that will be forgotten about in a few years, leaving him plenty of time to smack-around meth-addicted prostitutes in a motel parking lot somewhere near Gardena? I thought that was the plan?

I guess I shouldn’t really be surprised by Chris Brown’s continued success. And yes, I’m fully aware that I’m not really “ahead of the curve” writing an article about how much of a shithead he is. But I do think I am ahead of the curve by saying that I hate people who buy Chris Brown’s music more than I hate Chris Brown. I mean seriously, there are plenty of other talentless assholes auto-tuning their music, so why do people insist on buying Brown’s albums?

I decided to see for myself. So I listened to about five iTunes previews of his most popular songs, which is the exact same way the Grammy committee determines its winner each year, I think. And after listening to these previews, I said to myself: "Wow. That was great. I think I’ve changed my mind about Chris Brown. He’s probably just misunderstood. I’m sure Rihanna asked to be kicked out of a moving car."

Wait, just kidding--he’s terrible. All of his music sounds exactly the same and he sounds like he has a sinus infection, which he probably got from running around with his shirt off all the time. Thus, I find no logical reason for humanity to continue to shower him with money and fame. Case closed.

Okay, I know it's more complicated than that. I know this is a free country and we all have the goddamn right to do what we goddamn want, goddammit, and if we want to eat Turf-and-Turf with bacon on top and watch eight-straight-hours of “Teen Mom” and then go to Wal-Mart to buy more Cool Ranch Doritos super-packs and then sue Wal-Mart when we subsequently trip over the blue dot special display because we weigh several thousand pounds and are too busy reading Tweets by Christina Aguilera to be paying attention to where we are walking, then goddammit, we have the right to do that. It’s a free country and we’ve “earned” the right to do what we want whenever we want.

But then again, shouldn’t we draw the line somewhere? I mean, it’s one thing for a celebrity to snort cocaine off a Japanese samurai sword and end up running down 5th Avenue naked and screaming and crying, and then do a fake rehab stint to make things all better with his or her fan base, because, well, nobody got punched in the eye several times and thrown out of a moving car. And I can even deal with a male celebrity punching another male celebrity in the face, because most of them deserve it and none of those idiots can fight anyway so we know nobody will get hurt. I guess the same goes for female only brawls, too. People drink, people do drugs, people fight, people urinate in public. Shit happens.

But a  guy who beats the shit out of his girlfriend and shows no regret whatsoever? Nope. He should be shunned like an Amish kid when his family finds out he's addicted to Xbox Live.

In conclusion, I’m not sure there is hope for the general masses, but at the very least, can we keep this shitbag off the pop charts? Please? Then you can go back to gorging on Taco Bell and DVR-ing The Kardashians and playing Farmville. Deal?

*I am also not really fond of Rihanna - she is a moron for getting back together with this clown and setting a horrible example for the millions of kids who emulate her, but I don't care enough to really care, if you catch my drift. Bottom line: everyone is stupid - FIN.

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STACCATO HATE - 12.6.12

THE CHRISTMAS ALBUM MARKET IS FLOODED
Not everyone deserves to sing Christmas songs and have them played in Target over the loudspeaker. Sinatra: Obvs. Every idiot who ever appeared on American Idol: take a hike. Maybe I'm biased over who can and cannot record an album (I’m sure Johnny Mathis probably punched a hooker or two in his lifetime, and I know Dean Martin probably choked a few minority elevator operators in his day) but still, how many fucking renditions of "White Christmas" do we really need? Nothing is worse than when I find myself enjoying a song only to realize it's someone stupid singing like Nicole Simpson and not Natalie Cole. Fuck Jessica Simpson.

What makes the Christmas Album market even more terrible is, it’s most populated by absurdly wealthy artists who are trying to make a quick buck by tricking old people into buying more Christmas CD’s. Said artists will hire a savvy art director to design the cover to resemble a Bing Crosby album that was released 40 years ago. Then, Wal-Mart will build a display stand and the old geezers will come running, fists full of cash. It's highway robbery. And then these artists use the royalties to buy their stupid Yorkie a tree house with custom interior designed by Vera Bradley. Fuck them.

FLU SEASON
Walking around Manhattan during Flu Season is like walking in front of a giant water cannon that shoots only bacteria in your face. Everywhere you turn people are hacking and coughing and sneezing and looking like someone just hooked fishing lures to their eyelids. And most people are too stupid or lazy or terrible-of-a-human-being to care whether or not you are hit by diseased cough shrapnel. If I were mayor of this city, Governor’s Island would be turned into a leper colony for people with colds, and I would operate it like the refugee camps in Children of Men.

Also, fuck flu shots. And fuck the mass hysteria surrounding them. I’ve never had the flu, and I’ve never had a flu shot, and yet every year I feel compelled to get one because every single person I know is getting one besides me. It’s a mob mentality--I wouldn’t be surprised if the syringes were filled with Hi-C. So obviously if there's ever is a real worldwide pandemic, and Walgreens is handing out free vaccines, you can bet your cupcakes that I’ll spurn their help and end up a flesh-eating corpse.  

THIS TEACHER (Link)
Anyone who decides to crush the dreams of a bunch of kindergarteners should be sent to Abu Ghraib and have bamboo shoots stuck underneath their eyelids. What a fucking bitch. Just because you’re a miserable bag-of-shit doesn’t mean you should take it out on a gaggle of bright-eyed little kids. For fucks sake, I don’t think a day goes by where I don’t want to stop a youngster that I see in the street and yell into his face, “IT’S ALL DOWN HILL FROM HERE, JUNIOR.” But I don't. Let them figure it out for themselves.

TV'S MID-SEASON FINALES
Nope. Sorry, network assholes, this is not a real thing. I fucking hate AMC for doing this. I think they learned it from ABC, who used to pull this shit with Lost so that the season would bleed into sweeps week without “subjecting” its fan base to reruns. And this practice has probably been around for decades, but I’m placing the blame solely on a small sample size because I don’t feel like Googling specifics. Regardless, the fact remains that I’d rather be hit with a rerun or ten than have to bear two months of inactivity. WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO UNTIL FEBRUARY??? WHAT HAPPENS TO DARYL AND MERLE???

VIRGIN EGGNOG
If you drink eggnog without some form of alcohol in it, and you're not four years old or Santa Claus, then you’ve probably strangled a hitchhiker at some point in your lifetime. There is only one reason an adult should drink eggnog: to mask all of the delicious booze you're guzzling while sitting around a bunch of kids and your mom. Carrying a bottle whiskey around the living room while the young ones open presents = bad taste. But carrying a giant glass of ice cream and milk and Jameson = gentlemanly.

Also, the people who buy milk cartons of eggnog from the grocery store are probably cannibals.

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