dvr is the name of summer home in grumpy old man land

I don’t understand people who don’t love the Olympics. I mean, what’s not to like? Who watching TV is like, no no I would prefer to watch something without real drama or meaningful suspense or a touching back story. I prefer not to root for underdogs or celebrate greatness or swell with pride for the accomplishments of my fellow man. I would rather watch something like The Bachelor. I mean, come on! The ads ABOUT the Olympics are better TV than that crap. What is wrong with you? (Seriously. Have you seen that Dan Jansen ad?)

I know that the Olympics is #1 in the ratings, but I can’t believe that something like 12 million people opted for, well, The Bachelor. I am even mad at my Idol fans. As you well know, I love Idol. I do, I really do. I have, in the past, chosen Idol over social occasions or, you know, interacting with humans. But the Olympics top Idol. No contest, no question. (Those of you familiar with the transitive property might then conclude that the Olympics also top interactions with real people, but I would remind you that doing so is a logical fallacy.) (And totally true.) The whole point of the Olympics is about the whole world watching, the whole world coming together. Why wouldn’t you want to be a part of that? Yeah, I think there is a repeat of House on tonight. Maybe we should just watch that.

Now, it is the Winter Olympics, which some people consider to be the inferior one. First of all, I don’t really think there is an inferior one. They are both awesome. But I think that people prefer the Summer Olympics because of gymnastics. The Summer Olympics is full of sports that people don’t care about—anything on a horse or a boat or some of those obscure sports you didn’t even know were Olympic sports (Badminton? Judo? Trampoline gymnastics?!). The Winter Olympic sports, however, all fall under a similar category of moving quickly on frozen water—and typically, whoever does so the fastest wins. So if you like one, you really should just like them all. (And you should like them all).

Now don’t get me wrong. I’ll watch any Olympic event. I’ll watch badminton and judo and trampoline gymnastics. Hell, I’ve been starting each day this week by watching curling (yes, that does mean I’ve been getting up around 1 PM). I still don’t have a firm grasp of how it is played, and the only real conclusion I can make is that the Americans suck at it. But it is still better than anything else on TV. Also, the commentators are Canadian, so I get the enjoyment of hearing about trying to push the stoone oot of the hoose. (Also, if you are like me, you are wondering where the “second of all” went. Well, full disclosure, I’ve had some beer while writing this. So, somewhere in there.)

So, who are these people who don’t watch the Olympics? There are people who don’t like sports and people who don’t like America, and people who don’t like either. But really, what DO those people like? I assume Gossip Girl.

Still, there are exceptions to my love. Most times, when I watch TV, I think to myself “I could do that!” Sure, The Practice, I could be a lawyer. Yeah, Scrubs, I could be a doctor. Absolutely, The West Wing, I could work for the President of the United States. No problem. So, when I watch the Olympics, I think, wow I wish I were skiing or short track speed skating or playing hockey or riding down in some kind of sled! That looks so fun! But when I watch cross country skiing, I just get tired. They are just doing so much work. Like, so much work! And I am sitting around, eating Oreos, drinking beer, watching my ass make an indent into the chair I am in.

It is similar to my dislike of people younger than me who are more successful than me. Like, why are you trying so hard? Are you trying to make me feel bad about myself? It is just a reminder of how entirely average I am. Oh, you at 19 are winning Olympic medals? Well, I at age 19 was being a completely average student in college. I also had gained a considerable amount of weight since high school. Oh, yeah, I was also a part-time tutor at TWO DIFFERENT Score! Education Centers AT THE SAME TIME. 25 cents an hour more than minimum wage, baby! That’s seven whole dollars!

But I think as I get older, I just have to get over it. Like, okay, am I going to do that at age 30? Hate all successful twenty-somethings? At some point I crossover from disliking successful people who are younger than I am to just disliking successful people. I feel like I’m sitting right at the horn, age-wise, when most people who will be successful are becoming successful. Next Olympics, things will have tipped. So as I desperately prevent taking up permanent residency in Grumpy Old Man Land, I will celebrate the success of these young whippersnappers winning their gold medals and basking in international acclaim. Way to go, guys! I’ll be watching, no matter what (with American Idol on the DVR, assuming I ever learn how to use a DVR) (Seriously, it asks me so many questions that I don’t know the answer to! Maybe I’ll just try to record it using a videotape).

jesse, father of david... you know, david and goliath... right, his dad.

I set a goal to wake up at 10 AM on Tuesday. So when I woke up at 2 PM, I showered, got dressed and headed out to the mall. I know that I live in New York City and could go shopping in SoHo and walk down 5^th Avenue and all of that. Meh. I went to the mall. I was just going to Macy’s and the Gap anyway, maybe smell some Cinnabon along the way. And while there, I remembered I love shopping for ties. They are arranged so neatly in their little color wheel. It’s all so sensory. I want to rub my face all over it. But I resist, for the most part.

I am regularly tricked by the salesperson rhetoric. I don’t know why I am so trusting or so naïve, but I sincerely believe they care about my day or are legitimately complimenting my taste. Thanks, I say, with a big grin. I do enjoy the bold combination of lime green and chocolate brown. I feel like it’s a daring take on earth tones. I get a lot of generous nods in response. I wholly imagine when I’m old and alone, I will buy plenty of things sold by door-to-door salesmen and send my money to anyone on TV who seems like a nice young man.

It even happens in the most mundane of interactions. Like getting carded. I get a lot of odd looks at my ID because it is an out-of-state license (and, more likely, because I’m 25 and the picture is a 15-year-old Jesse with a mouth full of braces). So sometimes, they do the check questions. “What’s your sign?” What the bouncer doesn’t realize is that he’s about to get a whole thing about my opinion on astrology. Surprise! “Well, I’m a Capricorn, but I’m not sure how much I believe in that kind of thing. I mean there is absolutely a sense of connectedness we all have, especially to the natural world. And I do think there is something to be said for that. But, can we predict the future based on our birthday and the stars? Well, that I question.” I get a polite nod.

Once, it was, “Oh, you’re from California? So am I. Where did you go to high school.” Oh, that person did not know the package she opened. “Well, let me spin you a yarn about a little place called Archbishop Mitty! Sit tight, Trader Joe’s Wine Shop lady. This will take a while.”

And while we’re on the topic, why do people whose job it is to read IDs all day not know how to read an ID? Like, you have heard of a middle name, right? You might even have one. I get “Jesse Williams” more times than I can even know what to do with. First of all, it doesn’t even say “Williams” it says “William.” Second of all, what do you think that word after that is? My title? Jesse Williams, Duke of Hall. Did you just get lazy? I read two words, no more no way no how! Any words beyond that are lost! (Also, if this were a spoken word piece, this would absolutely have been said using the Emerald City Guard voice, which is a voice I like to pull out every now and again.).

And while we’re on THAT topic, an interaction concerning my name I have more often than “Jesse Williams” goes a little something like this:

Sign-in table person: Last name please?

Jesse: Hall.

Sign-in table person: Hong?

Jesse: …no no. That is not at all what I said. That is what you wanted to hear.

It has happened so often that I start spelling it and adding a “like the room.” To the end. To no avail. “Hall, H-A-L-L, like the room.” “Hong?” Yes, that room we all have. Our Hong room, spelled like it sounds, H-A-L-L.

And while we’re on THAT topic, why do people expect that “Jesse” is short for something? “What do you think it is short for?” I ask. “Jes..s…ica?” Yeah, that’s what I thought. Although once I did say “like from the Bible,” which increased confusion. “Jesus?”

What was I talking about? Rubbing my face on a table full of ties? Yes. So, I love ties. And I bought two. This is about as exciting as it gets nowadays, folks.

yeah, i'm about 8% sure i have a bed sore

Somehow, many days have gone by and little can be said about them. I’ve had an interview here and there. I headed out to Flushing to hang out with my best friend Corinda, my unemployment office representative. At some point I made a pie. Mostly, I’ve sat around looking at the job listings I’m not qualified for and eating food at my desk (and by desk, I mean bed). It has become hideously obvious how much of my life was defined by my job now that I don’t have one. This whole weekend went by without leaving the apartment (and by apartment, I mean bed.) (Just kidding. I had to use the bathroom sometimes, and once, I answered the door to get my Chinese food.)

I did go to my first pub quiz, which was a fine event. It was mostly just drinking some beer and surprising myself with my knowledge of the inane (What Olympic ring color represents Europe?) and of the things that no one should know because they shouldn’t exist (What is the full name of this season of The Bachelor?). I also knew how old J.D. Salinger was when he died, the number of boys in The Pet Shop Boys, and who sang “I Wanna Know What Love Is.” But I did not know any of the sports questions, did not recognize a single celebrity on a page of pictures, and did not remember the 2007 Oscar Winner for Best Picture. Well, I did know that the bantam in bantamweight was for a chicken but had no idea about fly or feathers. Chickens have feathers but can fly. Well they can sort of fly. Better than, say, I can fly. But really, how would I know about those weight classes? Clearly I was always a heavyweight. What did I need to know about the other ones?

So, overall, I would classify myself as a great third member of a trivia team. Someone needs to know sports. Someone needs to know pop culture. Those are two big pillars of trivia. But then you need a Jesse, who doesn’t recognize Sienna Miller or know anything about the Pittsburgh Steelers, but has a loose grasp on literature, Bible characters, state capitals and Jenny’s phone number (you know, 867-5309).

Sidebar: Just as I think I’m a good third team member on a trivia team, I think I’d be a great third commentator for a sports broadcast. There is the main guy, who is probably a venerable newscaster of some kind. Been around forever. Bob Costas or Greg Gumbel. Then you have someone who has played or coached the sport. Jerry Rice stopping by. Brian Boitano saying things like “Triple Salchow, Triple Toe Loop!” You know, an expert with anecdotes a-plenty. And then you have just some third person who just fills in the gaps. It goes like this:

Guy #1: So, here you have it, 3^rd and 3. This has been tough for the team all season, these third downs blah blah blah

Guy #2: You said it, Guy #1. In cases like this, you want to stay focused, work on getting the ball down the field. Back in ’89 when I was blah blah blah

Guy #1: And here’s the snap. He’s looking, looking, throws it. Incomplete!

Jesse: Oh, they really wanted to catch that pass.

They help you know what’s going on. “Well, Smith finished the course in 3:45, so he’s going to want to get at least a 3:44 to qualify.” They help you empathize. “Oh, I bet she’s disappointed she missed that shot.” They even help in those tough spots when you can’t figure out the math. “Well they’re down by 2, so they’ll need at least 3 runs to win.” I feel like if anyone can get paid to do that, I’m just as deserving. How hard can it be? Anyway. Sidebar out.

So, pub quiz was all in all jovial affair. But it could have gone another direction. See, there is competitive Jesse and there is everything’s cool Jesse. Thankfully, throw a few beers in regular Jesse and he turns into everything’s cool Jesse, not competitive Jesse. Competitive Jesse might have vehemently complained about the question “What is the only sequel to win an Oscar?” Competitive Jesse would have said, “I think you meant ‘what is the only sequel to win a BEST PICTURE Oscar’ which is a flawed question and even still, my answer of Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King is correct (and you can clearly see I wrote The Godfather Part II first before doubting myself). So I think what you REALLY meant was ‘what is the FIRST sequel to win a Best Picture Oscar.’ Right? That is what you meant. Right? Because I think you should be a little more careful with your words, mister.” But everything’s cool Jesse let it slide. Why? Because everything’s cool! I got my Brooklyn Lager, had a couple of hot wings, and am feeling good.

Competitive Jesse would have also gone apeshit on the drunk Irish lady (yes, it is important to the story that she is Irish) who accused us of cheating. (Do you want to see all the texts I’ve sent?! Do you want to look at my internet history on my phone?! You best back down because you do not go around accusing people of shit without backing it up, bitch.). Competitive Jesse would also have been more upset that we lost (by ONE point. Well technically two to win. But by one question, for sure. A single question like, what was the FIRST sequel to win the BEST PICTURE Oscar.). But competitive Jesse is nowhere to be found. Happy to be out of the house Jesse was, well, in the house.

So, I don’t know how much I would make pub quiz a regular thing. Competitive Jesse has not seen the light of day lately, but he is always lurking underneath. That is a beast best kept deep down. Oh! Speaking of, for those of you keeping count at home, my winning streak of FreeCell came to an end. 676. (I believe I literally screamed “No!” out loud). The new current one is 16. But it just doesn’t feel worth it any more. Yeah, I need a job.