The Porkroll/Taylor Ham Argument Is For Losers

If you ever have been a third party to two New Jerseyans meeting outside of their state and one of them asks the other “do you call it pork roll or Taylor ham?”, you have my blessing to punch them both in the face. Little history for you, pork roll is a popular breakfast meat served on sandwiches almost exclusively in New Jersey. Like if you get a bacon, egg, and cheese in NJ you’re just wasting you’re time. It’s that delicious. Doesn’t matter that my college roommate called it “glorified bologna” when I brought it down to Alabama. He also deserved to be punched in the face. 

It doesn’t take a detective figure out where the correct name confusion comes from. Look at the picture above, it says both. I personally call it pork roll. But that’s not me taking a stance here, I just don’t want to write the rest of this blog writing out “pork roll/Taylor Ham” every time I reference it. 

But we’ve been led to believe you MUST take a stance on your classification preference. And tirelessly defend it. It’s awful, it’s cringey, and I’ve done it myself.

It’s a crutch really. People just don’t know how to talk to people anymore. So we’ve agreed upon these geographical inside jokes with people we’ve never met before. It’s done in hopes that we won’t stand there awkwardly sipping our drinks in deafening silence. A generation who can’t hold a conversation but squirm at the thought of silence. 

When I lived in Alabama, southerners loved introducing me to other people from New Jersey. It amazed them for some reason and they always thought I would wind up knowing the other NJ native somehow. There was a shocking amount of people from Jersey at Alabama, so this happened a lot. After exchanging the initial pleasantries and questions, someone (them or me) would go “Pork roll or Taylor Ham?”. Almost immediately the other person would die a little inside like “we’re really going to do this huh” and then answer with either pork roll or Taylor ham. 

If you call it the same thing you high five and it’s over. Figure out an exit strategy. But if you both call it something different? Jesus. You have to stand there and pretend to care about what another grown adult calls a piece of meat. Then you go back and forth with “no you say it wrong.....no you say it wrong...no YOU say it wrong....” and so on and so forth until you have to go home.

I want to repeatedly bang my head against the wall just thinking about how many times I’ve been in this situation. 

Well no more. I’m done with the charade. I don’t care what you call it. If it’s a delicious meat on a bagel with egg and cheese I’m going to eat it and shut the fuck up. I don’t think anybody actually wants to die on this hill. But if I’m wrong and you’re truly passionate this, kindly please jump in the Raritan Bay with concrete in your shoes. 

We’re better than this as a state, so I’m putting my foot down. I’ll lead the charge to stop pretending to care what other people call breakfast meat. Learn to talk about something else or be content saying nothing. 

Waging War On Italian Food

People find this blasphemous coming out of a native New Jerseyan’s mouth but Italian food is trash. It’s kids menu food. The Italians go-to, spaghetti and meatballs, is littered on every children’s menu in the nation because restaurants know that their undeveloped pallets will actually enjoy it. I’m Irish, sue me. 

Every Italian meal is the same exact thing repurposed to make you think you’re ordering something new. It’s whatever’s in the kitchen, drowned in marinara sauce. 70% of their meals have marinara sauce, the most overrated sauce going. Pasta, chicken parm, calamari, mozzarella sticks, mussels, eggplant, whatever ya got. Smother it in the same thing so everything tastes somewhat similar. Balotelli nailed it, the Italians have a serious diversity problem. 

But what about pasta? Fuck pasta. Anything that I could actually cook in college can’t be that good. Oh you don’t like spaghetti? Try rigatoni, penne, linguine, fusilli, or the bow tie one. It’s the same fucking thing! Changing the shape isn’t going to magically trick me into suddenly enjoying it. 

Right now you might be thinking, well maybe you just don’t like marinara. And you’d be right. So let’s go to the number two ranked Italian sauce and have a conversation about it that I’ll just make up:

“Why don’t you order vodka sauce then?”

“It’s just more crushed up tomatoes isn’t it.”

“Yeah pretty much. We just put a little booze in it.” 

I bet you think you have me with pizza. Don’t even. Everyone knows in their heart of hearts that pizza isn’t Italian food. Even if it once was, it’s been perverted with oil and toppings and extra cheese to fit our disgusting American pallets to the point of no return. Pizza is just as much Italian food as the corned beef egg rolls I had last night were Chinese food. Not to mention, trigger warning, plain pizza is the worst kind of pizza. Specialty slices are all the rage. Buffalo chicken, chicken bacon ranch, fucking taco slices! Does that sound Italian to you?
The best part of an Italian meal is the bread. Let that sink in. How basic does your food need to be that your biggest selling point is the base of literally every culture’s cuisine? Fucking Moses had access to the best part of your food in the middle of the desert. 
By this point there’s probably a lot of sweaty Italian-Americans mispronouncing Italian curses at me. Probably want to attack my hertiage’s food, because like I said, I’m Irish. Go ahead, Irish food isn’t anything to write home about. Yeah I go in on potatoes, but who doesn’t? 
My favorite food, Chinese. I love Chinese food so much that my mom tells random strangers that she ate a ton of Chinese food when she was pregnant with me. She has boundary issues. There’s so many options, so many different flavors on a Chinese menu that I just get lost in it. Chinese is so good that mean/ignorant people started rumors that there’s a good chance you’re eating cat and people were still like “yeah I don’t give a shit, I’ll roll the dice”. Italian could never. 

Moving Out Your Childhood Home Is Weird

I’m selling my childhood home. And by “I’m”, I literally mean me. Despite my 0 realtor experience. My mom used to sell houses before Zillow and quite possibly before the internet. So what started as her being our realtor has quickly turned into me managing the Zillow account. Taking calls, putting up ads in the Staten Island newspaper, the whole nine. It’s bullshit. 

As stressful as it is, selling it definitely isn’t the worst part. It’s the end of my childhood, the end of an era, and the end of a marriage (looking at you mom and dad). We moved there in ‘96 when I was three so it’s pretty much my first and only house.

I gutted my entire room. Closest, under the bed, everything. Nothings left. Found my favorite beanie baby, my blackberry, and valentines card from my fourth grade crush. Lotta memories in that room. Lotta memories in that house. Playing Halo 2 split screen for hours with the boys, listening to Da Drought 3 in the garage with no heat, my first kiss, tackle football in the backyard, my first fingering, two of my dogs buried in the backyard. The list goes on. I’m handling it alright though I think, can’t say the same for the rest of the family. 

My dad makes inappropriate jokes to deflect his emotions, a family pastime. The other day he pointed to a spot in his room and told my little brother that’s where he was conceived. Gross, I’ve walked over that spot no less than a million times. He’s kind of a bozo so he’s not involved in the selling process which is frustrating him. To make him feel included I had him post our Zillow page to his Facebook since he has 4,968 friends. That’s a real stat. If you gave me a whole week I don’t think I could name 4,968 people who have ever lived. He got 201 comments on the post and I shit you not he replied to every single one. 

My mom is just sad. Which is really depressing for a son to see, but she sure does make it easier. She moved out a year ago and coming back to the house makes her cry. The first 10 times we comforted her until she calmed down. After the next 30 it was like alright what do you keep coming back here for. You didn’t need to drive over just to check if the hose still worked, a simple call would’ve sufficed. Plus she loves berating my brother and I for “treating it like a frat house when we’re trying to sell”. 

As far as my siblings go, my brother has a black soul and my sister started her own family in a new house years ago. 

After telling me that they wouldn’t give me any money from the sale I found out my parents were entertaining an offer 50k under the asking price. I begged them to reconsider and worked a little marketing management. Got three more showings booked today. My parents thanked me and said I’d have a hundred bucks coming my way. I told them they just showed their fucking cards and they better split that 50k they were ready to piss away between their children if I get asking price for this thing. Light at the end of the tunnel. 

He’s Here And He’s Perfect!

Our king has made his way back into the headlines. The Rockefeller Christmas tree has bullied the Ravens and Steelers into playing at 3:30 on Wednesday. This magnificent display of nature plays second fiddle to no one. Especially not to two grossly overrated football teams.

I cannot stress how much I love this fucking tree. Raggedy looking fuck. There was a time when these pictures were released that I would search “Rockefeller Tree” into Twitter just to bask in everybody’s whining. And now it’s back. Oh you should hear my buddies down south bitching about how they’re going to miss the game cause they’ll be working. Playoff implications viewed through a gamecast all because some stick figure drawn tree is getting lights put on it up in New York. The Tree has now pissed off football people, PETA cause they kidnapped an owl, tree people I imagine, tourists, and Christmas people on account of its appearance. Who’s left to enjoy it? Me, that’s who. 

It’s just a hilarious tree. Rumor has it that the tree picked was purposely hideous to deter people from flocking to Rockefeller Center during the pandemic. I can only hope that’s true. If it is, whoever made that call deserves a raise. All these wieners crying on Twitter about how their Christmas tradition is ruined. How this Christmas tree was supposed to be their symbol of hope to get past 2020, and this is what they got. Get over yourself. Some people couldn’t go to their family members funeral this year, I think you’ll be ok not taking a picture with a tree. It’s a tree, there’s millions of them. Go outside with your iPhone. 

The shame of it is, this is the first year that I’d actually want to take a picture with the tree. It’d be my Christmas card forever. You can take a picture every year with the same looking tree. This is the one year you can get a picture with a fugly lookin tree. It’a like a baseball card with a spelling mistake, super rare. But alas, even imagining my mother screeching at me for taking the train into the city is enough to make my brain bleed. 

I don’t know, maybe I just relate to the tree. I’m also a depressing looking giant designed to keep people away from me, despite my shocking amount of Christmas spirit. Long Live The Tree.

UPDATE: Apparently they miraculously cured the tree’s appearance and now I have nothing. 

Confession: I Don't Know When Sports' Jerseys Are Ugly

Double confession I don't know how to pluralize "jersey". Jersies just looked wrong. Jerzies? Who cares, the Sixers dropped these new uniforms and it's been all over Twitter. Are they ugly? Are they tough? Who's to say. I have no idea, I never have. It's not just NBA either. Whether it's NFL, MLB, collegiate, etc. I can't seem to get a guage on how Twitter will recieve new jerseys. I can't even tell you how many times I've seen a uniform release and think "thats pretty fresh", only to have one of my snarky friends post it in our group chat with a puke emoji. Then everyone piles on it and I sneak off into the corner keeping my original assesment to myself. For whatever reason my opinion is always on the wrong side of public perception. I'm ashamed to admit that I now wait for the Twitter results before praising or bashing a new uniform. Maybe I can't get a read on sports fashion but I CAN read a room and regurgitate accordingly. I've seen jerseys I liked get dragged on Twitter only to say to a buddy at a bar "You see how gross the new {team name} jerseys are? Lol." My taste in clothing isn't all that bad. In fact, a lot of pounds ago I used to fancy myself a fashionable guy. Which is why I have such a fucking issue every time a team reveals a new uniform. All of a sudden every guy with a Twitter handle has a degree from FIT. Using terms like "color clash" and shit. Well I'm done being afraid of my stances on jerseys. No more will dudes who buy the 4 for $20 t-shirts from Champs with white Air Forces dictate my opinions. The Sixers jerseys are just fine.

GaTa Don't Play No Shit

I know I'm late, but I hangover binged DAVE yesterday. Spoilers incoming. As it currently stands, I am watching or completed 126 TV shows. 42 of which are still active and making new seasons. I try not to add any shows currently airing unless I think I'll really love it. I was waiting for a couple more seasons of DAVE before I was going to watch, but my hangover partner had other plans in mind. It was awesome. Lil Dicky very well may be a genius talent, but it was GaTa who stole the show. 

GaTa (pronounced like alliGATA) plays Lil Dicky's sort of spirit guide and hype man in the show. GaTa meets Dave by chance in the studio and helps him navigate the same music industry that shunned him. He's a motormouth who's fast paced ramblings are seeded in hilariously good counsel. I've already added "let's wiggle" to my own vocabulary. Stole it really. 

The fifth episode "Hype Man" is centered around GaTa. You witness his rock bottom and unlikely trajectory that leads him to his friendship with Lil Dicky. There's a scene that really did it for me where it's revealed that GaTa is struggling with being bipolar. The episode is a turning point for the show where the audience realizes it's not all dick jokes and rainbows. There's serious issues going on viewed through a comedic veil. GaTa's revelation to the group comes through a face full of tears. He confesses that he fears constant rejection by his peers due to his illness. Choked up, he delivers my favorite line of the whole show:

"I love yall man. You guys make me feel comfortable. You guys are weirdos just like me bro. This dude rap about havin a small dick all the time. This dude right here rubs acne on his back, no problem. This dude back here dresses cool as fuck, he knows all the hip-hop urban lingo but pronounces all his words properly! And I'm really bipolar bruh, like really bipolar." 

And he acted his fucking ass off doing it. It's a sad but funny scene. Kicks you right in the heart balls. But the tears seemed too real and the conversation too authentic. Which ultimately led to me checking DAVE's imdb page. You can imagine my surprise when I found out that "GaTa" was played by none other than GaTa. The dude plays himself. 

So I internet stalked him. Turns out GaTa is Lil Dicky's real-life hype man whom he met in the studio. He actually did have a stint in the music industry and has the Instagram pictures with a young Tyga to prove it. GaTa really was diagnosed as bipolar and is currently using his story to spread awareness and acceptance. Dude never acted a day in his life and is now a star of one of TV's best new shows. 

I don't have any proof, but Will Ferrell's impulsive pimp alter ego in The Other Guys would make a lot of sense for how GaTa got his name.  

DAVE gets my stamp of approval, whatever that's worth. Besides the wit, cringe comedy, big name cameos, and rap, my biggest takeaway so far has been from GaTa. Be yourself, be weird, and if you don't fake your relationships, the ones you want to make will find you. 

My Palm Springs

If you haven't watched Andy Samberg's new movie Palm Springs on Hulu I recommend you catch yourself up. It's funny, it's frustrating, it's thought provoking, it's a good movie. If you haven't watched it and you care, I'm going to spoil a few things. If you don't care about spoilers, well, then you're a sociopath. 

The movie is about Andy Samberg's character who's stuck in an infinite time loop where every day he wakes up on the morning of his girlfriend's friend's wedding. It feels like a destination wedding. We should all be so lucky to have our Groundhog's Day on vacation.

I don't think I'd be one of the lucky ones. If I was to unfortunately find myself in a loop I'm sure it would take place in my stupid ass boring ass hometown in New Jersey. So I got to thinking how I would spend my eternity where I grew up. This is what I came up with. 

Ways to murder myself. Kind of a rough start but let's get it out of the way. In the movie, the day doesn't only restart if you fall asleep but also if you die. Dying seems like a natural starting point to try and escape foreverness. Andy's character explains to Cristini Milioti that he went through a similar phase when she kills them in a truck accident.

I have a fear of heights so I don't do rollercoasters. I don't understand them. The only thrill of a rollercoaster is oh shit, if this goes wrong I'm dead. Pass. But if dying isn't an issue I'll drive the forty minutes to Six Flags and head straight to Kingda Ka. But knowing my shitty ticker I'll still die of a heart attack.

I've never been to the top of the Empire State Building (see fear of heights^^). I know this is terrible to say but the couple of chances I've had to go up, I swore that it'd be taken down in another terrorist attack with me on top of it. But I can't die, so even my bad luck wouldn't play a factor. In my loop, I'd jump off. I heard a quote once that humans don't have a fear of heights but rather a fear that they'll jump. So why not the Empire State Building?

Lastly, I would drown the shit out of myself. It's always bothered me that people say it's a "peaceful" way to die. Shut up. How the fuck would you know? This one I'd do just to get some answers.

Entertaining myself. Forever is a long time. With death off the table I'd treat my existence as a video game with unlimited respawns. For most of these missions I'd need money for expenses and drugs to stay awake. Money isn't a big hurdle, I'd use a million credit cards and never have to pay them back. And I'd say 70% of people know how to get meth in their hometown if it was a do or die situation. All bases covered, let's rock.

If you don't like bank robbing movies go shit in your hand. By the time I'm done, my bank robbing skills would make John Dillinger blush. People may get hurt along the way but they'll be fine when I wake up. I'll probably eat a few strays during my heists but it'll be worth the rush. It also doubles as a good source of income if I can learn how to rob a local bank in under an hour.

Next would be Area 51. This would be a Boss level mission. It would presumably take some heavy weaponry and a flight to Nevada. And meth, a whole lot of meth. Once I figured out my way in, the only shitty thing would not being able to tell everybody what I've discovered. Still worth it. I wouldn't stop until I got answers.

Last is sex stuff. Andy's character spends a lot of his time wooing his surroundings. That's just nature. I'm not going to tell you what I'd do though, piggy. If you must know, hypothetical arrangements were made.

How I'd break the loop. In the movie Milioti's character becomes an expert in quantum physics to escape their loop. If you literally gave me eternity I don't think I could crack quantum physics. So I'd go to the man who has the most clearance on the entire planet. The president. I'd drive five hours every day to DC to map out a way into the White House. Let's assume after years and years of trial and error riddled with some gory deaths, I succeed. After all this time I finally corner the president, not unlike National Treasure. I explain to him my situation but he doesn't believe me. I tell him to think of a password for him to believe me that only he would know. I say I'll do this all again tomorrow and give him the password even though he won't remember any of this. I ask him if he's thought of one, he says yes. I tell him the password. I already did this yesterday. His mind is blown, he believes me now. I explain to him he needs to keep me awake until his best scientists can figure this out. The loop breaks and now I have worldly influence. That's it, that's my loop.

If you haven't watched Andy Samberg's new movie Palm Springs on Hulu I recommend you catch yourself up. It's funny, it's frustrating, it's thought provoking, it's a good movie. If you haven't watched it and you care, I'm going to spoil a few things. If you don't care about spoilers, well, then your a sociopath.