Monthly Archives: October 2007

Halloween, 2007: Last Minute Costumes

Posted on by patrickhmorris
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Happy Halloween!!

Once again, it’s Halloween and I’m without a costume. This happens to me virtually every year. I start thinking of a costume in early September, come up with something that I realize sucks by mid-October and then push back all costume planning till about 11:00 a.m. on Halloween. I don’t even know why I keep doing it. When people say “your costume is pretty much the worst I’ve ever seen,” will I find comfort in the fact that the debacle I’m wearing was pulled off on a whim? Chances are I’ll just sulk away claiming that I hate Halloween, once again.

The good news is that I’m not alone. People, mainly guys, have a hard time really throwing themselves into the costume process. Is it because as we get older, we grow more self-conscious and unwilling to allow ourselves to be seen wearing a giant blue shark head as we try to hail a cab on 14th street? Is it because the pressure to come up with a good costume just doesn’t seem to be worth it when you’re pushing people out of the way to get a seat on the R train? No. It’s because we’ve lost our way. We’ve forgotten what costumes are for.

Here is your guide to last minute costumes:

Ask Yourself Why:
Are you trying to bag a girl? Are you trying to get attention at a party? Are you trying to actually escape into another personality for a night? These are important questions and until you know the answers, you can’t possibly start picking out a costume.

Here’s a hint – don’t go for laughs.

Sure, it’s easy to not take yourself seriously and to wear something that has a clear, discernable reaction (I guess people pointing and laughing at you while saying “you look so stupid” counts as a positive reaction). However, if you don’t have proper time to plan out your costume, it’s going to fall flat like a joke told by John Kerry.

Fake Blood:
I don’t know when blood became un-PC, but I think fake blood is the magic ingredient. If you dress up as ANYTHING and then throw fake blood all over you – you’ve got an A+ costume.

Accountant – Lame
Dead Accountant – Cool
Princess – Lame
Slaughtered Princess – Cool
Guy in Toga – Lame
Guy in Toga with blood all over him – Julius Caesar (cool)

The Past Year:
As a whole, we have terrible memories. Try to think of your first high school locker. Any clue where it was? I’m pretty sure that was a huge deal at the time, but I can’t even remember what floor it was on (we only had two). Because of this, most people search through the past year for costume inspirations. What does this cause? 3,000 dick in a box costumes, 2,490 Wii costumes and 1,483 from TV shows like 24 and Lost.

If anything you think of revolves around something that wasn’t an option last year, throw it out…unless you’re going to throw blood all over yourself – Jack Bauer at hour 25 would be pretty cool.

Rip Something:
The first time I went into a Halloween superstore, I nearly drove to Vermont and punched my mom in the face. For my entire life I’d resented the fact that my costumes were homemade to the nth degree. Now I knew you could just buy something and look great, I wanted revenge. Then I realized, that buying a nice costume doesn’t mean you have a good costume. It just says “Hey, look what I put no thought and effort into.” You might as well save the money and just put your pants on backwards.

As soon as an article of clothing is destroyed for the sake of the costume, you’re cooking. Try ripping off the sleeves of a dress shirt, making a vest out of a t-shirt and using the scraps to make a headband. What are you? I have no idea, but I respect you.

Stick to the Classics:
When you walk by a mirror, what do you want to think?

Option A – This is what I would look like if I were a Vampire.
Option B – This is what I would look like if I were a nerd.

You’re not boring for throwing a sheet over your head and going as a ghost. You’re cool because you’re trying to create an atmosphere of fright instead of a Guitar Hero party.

However, not all classic costumes are as easy as some people make them. For instance, a suit doesn’t make you James Bond, aviator sunglasses don’t make you a cop, a bandana does not make you a cowboy and a push up bra does not a costume make.

Whatever you decide to be, do it with some pride and don’t be afraid to have someone point and laugh at you for making a cape out of a towel. They’re not laughing at you anyway. They’re laughing at Bodindo, the Elf Master!!

Halloween, 2006

Posted on by patrickhmorris
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This is my Halloween post from last year. It it is one year later…and I feel exactly the same way

I used to think my baron refrigerator was the most depressing sight. Now, I am corrected. The most depressing site I have ever seen is Queen Elizabeth frantically shoving her way onto the 4 train at 8:30 in the morning.

Today is Halloween and I am once again inclined to lay a big “Bah Humbug” into everyone’s bags of treats. Truth be told, I love Halloween. I love pumpkins, ghouls, ghosts, the Garfield Halloween special, serial killers, pirates, fake cobwebs, haunted spirits and mini-snickers. Unfortunately, these things have all become secondary ornaments to the main festivity – dressing up.

25 years…25 terrible costumes. When I was younger I used to wear my Little League uniform around and went as “a baseball player” – which was funny because I pretty much wore that uniform around every day anyway. One year I refused to take a shower for two weeks prior to Halloween and went as “Patrick, but dirty”.

As I got older, my costumes got a little more adventurous and a whole lot more self-conscious. This meant costumes became obscure and wacky (can anyone else say “1980′s Big Corporation Robin Hood”??)

Most people love to dress up because they enjoy the feeling of escaping reality and becoming someone or something completely different. For some, this is the best holiday of the year. One year a friend and I went as Steve Martin and Dan Aykroyd’s “Two Chec Brothers” characters. I felt stupid. He felt better than ever. He said he’d never felt so cool, so alive, and so confident (What?!? Didn’t he know he was the Dan Aykroyd character!??!).

I, on the other hand, have never bought the whole “be someone else for a night” routine. I’ve never seen the enjoyment from running around in tights and a wig going “I’m Thomas Jefferson, baby!!” I spend most of my time pretending I’m someone else already. Every time I go to Carmine’s in Brooklyn I pretend I’m in the mob. Every time I dance I pretend I’m not white and every time I listen to Hip Hop I pretend I’m not the first guy they’d beat up at their show.

Of course, most people try to tell me to relax, dress up and to stop taking myself too seriously. To which I reply; I need to start taking myself MORE seriously. For instance, this morning I went around the office eating a parfait going “I’m ok, you’re parfait” for roughly forty minutes because I was so excited by my first venture down parfait lane. Less seriously? You sure?

What’s even more disheartening about Halloween is asking people what they think you should be for Halloween. They look you up and down trying to imagine you as someone/something else. Usually the first suggestion out of their mouth can pretty much tell you what they think of you. I would like to hear people say, “a prince” or “a rich, handsome, powerful man” or even “some sort of artistic genius”. But usually I hear things like “the Brawny guy” or “a Neanderthal” or my new favorite, “Carrot Top!!!”

One of the main issues about dressing up is the difference in genders. Women can dress as something cute, something scary or something sexy (although most opt for sexy) and look very attractive. Guys can only look casually stupid or elaborately stupid. I usually opt for casually stupid or what I call the whole “dumb hat/dumb glasses” routine.

However, I still went through all the painstaking bullshit this year and tried to put together a costume that aligned with the spirit of Halloween and its carefree transformation rituals. I had decided on “The Burger King” and bought a red curtain and some cotton balls to make my regal robe. Hell, I even ate at Burger King once last week to get a crown (which, by the way, the only thing more embarrassing than asking to have a crown is to be handed one that is plastered with advertisements for Men In Black II – circa 2002 – and having the woman at the register say “we don’t get that many kids in this part of town”).

My costume was set and I was ready to suck it up and blow Halloween out of the water. Unfortunately, the day before I had a conversation with my friend in Louisiana. She informed me that not only could you buy a “The Burger King” costume at a costume shop, but she already knew four people who were going as the character. Great! Not only had I selected a Halloween costume more popular than “cowboy”, but I was going to run into people who didn’t have a curtain with globs of cotton balls over their shoulders.

The Burger King, NIXED. Back to the drawing board.

I went home and rummaged through my roommates closets trying to piece together something that could easily be identified as “a costume”. So now it’s sitting here, in a black bag under my desk, waiting to be put on and marched around town as I try to get to a party that promises to be full of people who look forward to this day every year.

Of course, when I’m able to take a step back and realize that Halloween isn’t about ME, I’m allowed to enjoy the concept of hard boiled eggs for eyes, Jell-O for brains and Jaeger Meister and Orange Soda for sipping (my concoction – which I’ve yet to try, but have high hopes for). Sometimes it’s hard to remember that Halloween is not about being someone else, it’s about enjoying who you are. Also, sometimes it’s hard to say “I’ll call you” as you’re leaving some girl’s apartment the next morning dressed as Wario. Or so I’ve heard.

Do You Have A Home?

Posted on by patrickhmorris
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It’s been brought to my attention that calling someone homeless is wrong. It’s a social definition that oppresses people who do not conform to a specific, more accepted, lifestyle. It’s a slur, a stereotype based on prejudice and ignorance. How dare you look at someone begging for money and think they are without home?

I’m not sure when I came to this realization, but I’m pretty sure it was before I saw some guy on the subway ask for money and then yell “Did you call me homeless? I got a home! It’s food I ain’t got! Don’t try to insult me, man! I’m not homeless!! I’m going to kill you!!” Yeah, I’m pretty sure it was WAY before that.

I guess it’s not surprising that every social group has layers of complexity that get obscured and ultimately ignored the further removed you are from that group. For instance, I doubt a kid from Montana understands what the hell the difference between a WASP and a JAP is, but ask anyone in the North East and you’re bound to not only get accurate descriptions, but personal theories, examples and uncensored opinions on both groups.

This got me thinking – what are the different levels of “down on your luck” and how can we correctly identify each? I decided the best way to find this out was to immerse myself within this social group and find out first hand what life was like below the surface…then I remembered that I’m a blogger not a reporter. Fuck research, blind assumption would suffice.

Drug Bum:
This person is in their situation because of drugs. They either lost everything because they were doing drugs or are incapable of getting out of their situation because they are always on drugs. Generally these people are less than casual when asking for money. You should be thankful they’re even asking because if it were a little darker and there were less people around, they’d shake the money out of you as if you were a piggy bank. These people may have a home, but chances are they haven’t been there in a long, long time.

Booze Bum:
Appearance and smell are the keys here. People who live only for the bottle find most other things unnecessary. Every penny they can get their hands on is another penny towards keeping them in a state of liquid bliss. The second they sober up, they notice they’re wearing a shirt covered with dried vomit, their hair hurts from being so matted and the last thing they remember eating that even looked like a vegetable was a coffee cup. These people are generally harmless, but have a way of clearing out an entire subway car that can’t possibly be described in words. Chances are, the idea of having a home and a bed to sleep on sounds as crazy to them as the idea of sleeping on a set of stairs sounds to us.

Crazy Bum:
These people can be very entertaining…from a distance. Watching someone scream at a pay phone to “stop following me” is a lot more enjoyable than having that person scream at you. If these people had a home, I sure would like to see how it’s decorated. Chances are they don’t, or at least, if they do, they don’t know about it. One way to distinguish a Crazy Bum from a Drug Bum – the Crazy Bum never asks for money. They’re more interested in finding out why people look at them when they eat newspaper.

Man I Got Screwed Bum:
Sometimes bad things happen to good people. However, sometimes bad things happen to lazy people. Now, it’s not my place to pass judgment or figure out if a person is good or lazy, but the Man I Got Screwed Bum is perhaps the most common. These people feel they’ve been given zero chance to lead a normal life. Sometimes their stories are genuinely heat-breaking. Sometimes their stories are about how they have a PhD in “neon studies” and got fired by the “principle at the university” for having too many “climactic views” and need some money in order to buy “text books and shit” so they can mount a “lawyer case” against them for discrimination. My hope is that these people actually have houses, but get a lot of final notice letters instead of actually being on the street because of bad luck.

I Don’t Give a Fuck Bum:
These are the best bums, although rare. They openly laugh at you for going to work so you can buy clothes for your job, so you can afford to pay rent. They see your life as terrible cycle that you’re too chicken to break out of. Sometimes, you have to wonder if their right. Hell, they seem happy walking around, seeing what they can get their hands on, taking life as it comes. Do these people have homes? Who cares!?!? They sure don’t. They’re too busy strutting around trying to sell you an apple, some chips and maybe some old magazines.

Of course, these levels are still too broad and you’re bound to find intricate variations between them. The ultimate goal is to treat each person as just that, a person, and not as a member of some easy to classify group. Actually, the ultimate goal is to be able to move things with your mind. If you can do that, you can do whatever you want.

When I Meet My Genie

Posted on by patrickhmorris
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I hate Robin Williams. If I had the opportunity to hit him in the face with a 2 x 4, I would. However, out of the 2,000 movies he’s done there are at least five that were absolutely amazing.

They are:
- Good Will Hunting (depression and failure looks good on you Robin)
- The Birdcage (my affection for this movie is one of the few things I will keep from a girl I’ve just met)
- Awakenings (not even sure if he was good in it, but that movie still gives me chills)
- Dead Poets society (a movie so good you’ll think about becoming a teacher even though you thought they were the biggest failures when you were a kid)
- Mrs. Doubtfire (this movie gets severe props for having the judge call it as it is in the end .. the desperate attempt of a crazy guy to act emotionally connected to his kids)

And

- Aladdin (I’ll get to this one in a bit).

You can take your Patch Adamses, your Toyses, and your Good Morning Vietnamses right to the dump for all I care. There might be some good moments and I’m sure people can make an argument for The Fisher King and maybe even Insomia, but the six I listed are the only ones I’m willing to defend.

Even though I really enjoyed the movies I listed, I still hate Robin Williams. I don’t hate him as an actor…I hate him as an intervewable celebrity. Every time I’ve seen him on David Letterman or Jay Leno I’ve had to change the channel after he’s done his 1,000,000th impression within four seconds. If I were to lose my mind, I would probably give interviews like Robin Williams.

However, that’s the only reason Aladdin worked so well. They finally found a form where the annoying and schizophrenic tendencies of Mr. Williams could be bearable .. in animated form. And not just any animated form…this character was the ultimate “if you stand here and listen, at least you’ll get something out of it cause I’m a freakin genie” character. Conan O’Brien? Change it! Three wishes? Watch how patient I can be.

Of course, genies aren’t real. However, that’s not stopping me from coming up with my three wishes just in case they are. I mean, how embarrassing would it be to get three wishes and waste it on something like “get rid of this tooth ache” when you could have come up with “never feel pain again” if you’d just thought a little harder?
So here are my three wishes for when I meet a genie:

1) Never to pay for food or drink again
I probably eat/drink 70% of my income. It’s maddening. If I were to always have food and drink paid for then not only would I be able to eat better quality food, but I’d be the most popular guy at any bar. “Hey, what’s your name? Brandy? Hey Brandy, do you like incredibly expensive Champagne?”

I like feeling like a VIP wherever I go and boy would I get a kick out of ordering a piece of pizza and seeing everyone give the “hey, what did he do to get a free slice” look as I walked away.

Also, contrary to popular belief, I would love it when people would latch onto me for the chance of a free meal. It’s like the kid in college whose dad gave him a gas card so you always offered to drive him to the liquor store hoping he’d fill you up out of appreciation. I win…you win.

2) Hair situation solved
When I was a sophomore in high school I bought a flowbee. You know, “sucks while it cuts”…the thing on Wayne’s World we thought was a joke…the “hook it up to a fucking vacuum cleaner to cut your hair” thing? Yeah, I had that. I was so fed up with going to the local barber shop to pay someone $8 to make me look stupid that I decided to take matters into my own hands. (On a side note…as I got older I realized that the barber was also known as the town drunk. This begs the question, why would my parents let me go there when they knew what would happen? I feel like they owe me money).

Needless to say, I’ve never had a good haircut. I’ve paid upwards of $80 at pretentious salons in NYC .. jacked up head. I’ve shaved it .. misshaped head. I’ve even tried growing it out .. longer/puffier/jacked up head. No matter what I’ve done it’s always looked…blah. It’s like how when you see pictures of celebrities before they were famous and you go “wow! That guy looks like total shit!” It’s almost always because they have long, flat, poorly cut hair.

It’s also the only unknown on a day to day basis. It’s not like you’re going to put on a pair of pants one day and find out they are shorts now. Hair? No such luck. It does what it wants even with fluffy products.

All I want is for my hair to be the best it can possibly be so I can stop wondering if it would look good slicked back and blond.

3) I want a “take back what I said” button.
I should tell myself to learn my lesson and stop saying things like “you’re a brat”, but I can’t seem to help myself. I’d rather just say what I gotta say and when it goes over poorly…take back button.

This would mean I wouldn’t wake up in the morning fearing the “outbox” for my text messages. I wouldn’t talk to my friends’ parents as if they were keeping score either. Hell, I’d probably be welcomed back into the Capreze’s house even though I said the pictures of their grandfather in the dining room made it difficult for me to eat.

We’re all too careful with what we say these days. In college I used to invite people over by promising the activity of “drinking and saying things we couldn’t take back”. You’d be surprised how excited people got knowing that free speech was welcome that evening (maybe it was the drinking part too).

So those are my three wishes. A close fourth is to find myself on the set of Conan with Robin Williams sputtering frantic gibberish to my left and a 2 x 4 to my right.

Don’t Talk To The New Kid

Posted on by patrickhmorris
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I remember not talking.

The first seven days of 8th grade were silent for me. I was the new kid at a school 3,000 miles away from my previous life and didn’t have the courage to make friends or participate in class. Knowing my luck, my first impression was going to involve raising my hand and claiming that “don’t blow it” is the capital of Oregon.

At lunch, I pretended to read. After finding a bench that no one seemed interested in claiming, I opened a book I had selected as “too cool to make me a nerd and too thick to make me look stupid.” I picked The Exorcist (I found a 700 page version) and flipped through it casually as I tried to study who my likely new friends would be.

What I didn’t know is that, as the new kid, I wasn’t the one who decided.

Matthew Calden prayed on guys like me. Guys who didn’t know about the time he threw up on himself in the fourth grade. Guys who never knew him as Fat Matt Cal-dung. He relied on a fresh start because he’d already gone through all the other social cliques, wearing out his welcome faster than you can say “Matt, do you shower?”

The first time Matt introduced himself, he seemed pleasant, nice and put together. His only crime appeared to be that he tucked in his awkward dress shirt and appeared to be a little un-cool behind his wire rimmed glasses. However, it didn’t matter to me, Matt could have been a garbage can if it meant I could talk out loud and not look crazy.

My first “maybe this guy doesn’t have any friends for a reason” moment came the next day when I went to my bench and found Matt waiting for me. Not only was he wearing the exact same clothes from before, but he had a large duffle bag by his side. Apparently, Matt was a great listener as he had brought objects that reflected every moment of our conversation from the previous day.

When I had said “do you like Star Wars” I had asked it in a casual, no need to prove you’re a fan way. However, Matt took this as a proverbial line in the sand and decided to purchase the entire isle of Star Wars toys from K. B Toys. I pictured him screaming to his mom, severely out of breath, “MOM! I GOT ONE!! WE GOTTA GO TO THE MALL!!! RIGHT NOW!! WHAT’S A WOOKIE!?!?”

His duffle bag also included two baseball gloves (he didn’t know which hand to buy it for), a toy guitar that he wrote “Nirvana” on with a marker and a few toy snakes. When I asked him what the snakes were for he assured me that he too was a fan of Monthly Python.

The next day Matt was, again, waiting for me wearing the same clothes. This time the tucked in shirt held less rigid and the places Matt had wiped his snotty hand on his pants were now visible. “My mother wants to meet you,” Matt announced.

Not knowing that this was at all a big deal I joked, “is she hot?” Matt was visibly hurt. His eyes darted around, trying to avoid mine. His voice trembled as he attempted to change the conversation by talking about his allergy shot he’d missed last night. I could tell that Matt was sensitive, but being 13 and almost crying at a “your momma” joke was completely unacceptable. However, I didn’t have a lot of friends to chose from and it was either stay and apologize or find another bench to flip through a book on.

Matt took my apology well and even tried to take my suggestion to toughen up and make fun of things to heart. After school we walked to my house and Matt informed me that my backpack looked both inexpensive and non-supportive. It was a nice try, but ultimately lame.

When we got to my house, I plopped myself down in front of the tv and began flipping through. Matt asked if he could use the phone to call his mother. A few minutes later, Matt informed me that he’d be on the front lawn if I cared to join him. Apparently his mother didn’t like the idea of him being in someone’s house without parental supervision. I let Matt go stand on the lawn by himself because now that I was home, I had a better friend to give my attention to – TV.

The next day, I thought about telling Matt to leave me alone. His desperation had gotten to me and I could tell that I’d never make any new friends if people could say “aren’t you that guy who hangs around Matt?” Even though I wanted to be straight with Matt, it crushed me to think about his beady eyes tearing up as he realized that he’d “messed up again and gone too far.” I avoided him at all costs and even went to the basketball courts to watch the kids playing a pick up game. It was raining, lightly, but while people headed for enclosed areas, I stayed because I’d rather be wet then have to see Matt and the clothes he’d been wearing for the past two weeks.

Unfortunately, Matt knew every secret to getting ditched and found me within minutes. “You’re not eating? If you forgot your lunch, you can have one of mine. I pack two every day just in case.”

I wanted to scream at him “just in case what?! In case you find a friend? In case you have to stand out on someone’s lawn all night before their parents get home?” but I knew it wasn’t Matt’s fault. Perhaps I could mold him into someone more normal. He’d never had anyone focus on his good attributes and help him figure out what he was doing that was driving people away. Maybe I could be that person in his life.

Matt interrupted my thoughts by saying “My mom says you can come over on Saturday if you want. My rash should be gone by then and that’s the night we play ‘Litigation.’ It’s a game where we take turns proposing fake contractual agreements and the other people identify loop holes and site precedents.”

The ball from the pickup basketball game rolled towards us. “A little help, bro!” a kid yelled. Matt stopped it with his foot and kicked it towards me. “Maybe you should throw it. This shirt chafes my nipples if I move too much.”

I picked up the ball, held it in my hands and looked towards the kids on the court. “I think I’m going to play with these guys for a little while,” I said to Matt without looking at him. He didn’t even respond. He knew he’d lost me.

I’m not sure if Matt was sad, if he cried to his mother, or if he just moved on to someone else without thinking about it twice, but I still think about how even though he was by far the lamest person I had ever met and that if I had to spend another day with him I would kill myself with staples, he helped me in a time I needed help. I can be thankful for that.

Maybe in 2012

Posted on by patrickhmorris
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“And the winner of the 2008 Presidential Election is…NOT PATRICK!!”

It is with a heavy heart that I announce my withdrawal from the 2008 Presidential campaign. I have been wrestling with this idea for some time, but finally realized that while my chances of winning had always been slim, the personal sacrifices and overall effort caused by my campaign were too much to bare.

Not many people were aware of my candidacy. This is a sorrowful thought. I blame my lack of a following on several factors: a lack of a campaign strategy, a “I’ll do it tomorrow” attitude on my part and a budget that has frequently been described as “bottle redemption” like. Unfortunately, it is not my ego which suffers most from my anonymity. No, the American people are those who suffer. Without my revolutionary ideas and my level-headed platform, the country is doomed to face another four years of partisan battles, bureaucratic buffoonery and petulant policies.

While my candidacy is dead, my policies still have the chance to be adapted by a more supported candidate and live on. Here is just a sample of what I believe America needs:

- Health Care:
Every citizen in this country should have the right to health. While this itself is not a revolutionary idea, most health care reform proposals cannot find a way to pay for such a dream. I have.

The cold remedy business is a multi-billion dollar business, but, as we all know, every single cold remedy is a sham. The most common illness in the world and we don’t have a cure? Yeah right. Not only is there probably a cure being suppressed by the cold remedy companies, but their products are nothing more than glorified caffeine pills. If we simply replace all cold remedies with “Trucker’s Speed” we can reduce the cost of every pill to a mere $0.02. That’s over $1 profit PER PILL! Within one winter the entire cold remedy industry will be able to pay for health care for every citizen.

- War in Iraq:
My position can be seen through this story. A few years ago, I spent Thanksgiving with a couple who was going through some rough times and was considering a divorce. I thought I would be able to help the situation by my presence and humor. Unfortunately, what I found was a proverbial shit storm and a holiday that made D-Day look like a roman orgy. What I realized then and what I realize about Iraq now is that sometimes you have to admit a situation is messed up and should be left alone to beat itself up. Why put yourself in the middle?

- Campaign Reform:
It is true that the odds were against me from the get-go, but the way this government allows campaigns to be conducted is atrocious. There have already been several important democratic debates and I wasn’t invited to any of them. I constantly struggled to gain a presence, but it was always difficult when the media turned its back on me. Not one media outlet picked up my arrest for soliciting one of the seven Dwarfs at Disney World for sex. Maybe everyone knows Sneezy is a whore, but I still think it’s news worth reporting.
When I finally did get on the television, no one watched. My appearance on Animal Planet’s “Cuddle Your Mug” was barely watched and the only review I found said my inclusion was “a desperate attempt to attach (myself) to cute things in order to hide (my) horrible campaign efforts.”

I believe in this country, and I believe in the people who govern it. It has always been my dream to be a leader who can speak for the common man, the privileged snobs and the outspoken youths who think voting matters. It is unfortunate that my strategy was misguided, my funds squandered on what turned out to be internet scams, and my efforts were stilted by a degenerative medical condition known has severe non-interest. I wish the other candidates in my party (the Doritos party) the best of luck in their fight against the two major parties…the Republicans and the…the…I really should know this…Demnophiles? Decorants? Decemberists? Donconodons? Whatever, it doesn’t matter because I’m still writing myself in anyway.

Sincerely,

Patrick Morris

Record Gluttony

Posted on by patrickhmorris
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There is certainly too much of a good thing…

My father has taught me many things. He taught me how to throw a fastball, how to grill a chicken breast and how to go fishing without catching anything. What he didn’t teach me is how to have restraint when finding a deal.

I first became aware of this when I was nine years old and forced to go to the local health club to take showers. Apparently my father didn’t think it was necessary to pay for hot water in our house when we could simply borrow it from a health club. This could have been a fun process, except there is officially nothing a nine year old wants to do less than shower with a bunch of old men. For years my back side didn’t see a drop of water because I was afraid of turning around and facing the penis gallery. To make matters worse, my father encouraged me to use the pink soap in the bathroom dispenser for shampoo.

A few years later I was reminded of my father’s penchant for a deal when I found myself shoveling sand into the back of his truck. Oddly enough, my family didn’t need sand. Not then and not in the foreseeable future. However, my father said “free sand isn’t something you pass up,” because “the second you think you don’t need it, you need it.” Two years later, we still didn’t need it.

Some people might think that I would learn from his mistakes, but instead, I’ve somehow adapted them into my own style. Most specifically when it comes to food. This has never been so evident as the other night when I decided to eat dumplings.

Dumplings are delicious. I like them fried, steamed, veggie, pork, etc. Just wrap something in that dough and I’ll eat it. There’s a place in Chinatown that has embraced people’s love affair with dumplings and priced them at five for $1. What a deal!! Five wonderful pockets of goodness for only four quarters. Smelling the aroma of a delicious meal mixed with the scent of a good deal, I bought 15.

Part of me thought “I’ll save some for lunch,” but I really knew what was about to happen – I was about to set a personal record for gorging. And gorge I did. I ate these dumplings as if I were in college, eating my roommate’s secret stash of candy, not knowing if he’d return from class any minute. The zone I was in was so total, that I almost growled at my girlfriend when she asked if she could have one. ONE!

When the soy sauce settled…14 dumplings had been crammed into my belly and an epic stomach ache was gathering strength. At five in the morning I sat on the edge of the bathtub, waiting to pay the price for my gluttony, wondering why I had never received a signal from my brain saying “Ok. You proved your point. 6 is enough!”

That’s when I remembered my father. I don’t know if he had taught me to ignore messages from my brain, telling me to live in moderation, or if he’d scrambled my perspective so much that my brain sent an entirely different message. Perhaps the message my brain sent was something like “this could be your last meal” or “do you know how impressed people are going to be when they hear about how much you ate” or even “the world isn’t safe as long as there are dumplings in the world!”

Please, for the sake of my stomach, keep me away from buffets, Costco, and open bars. I have no restraint because my father taught me a heavier wallet is worth a heavier stomach and that a night spent waiting to be punished ain’t so bad.

If you have a similar story of record breaking gluttony, feel free to leave a comment. It’s the only way to ensure your stomach didn’t ache in vain.