Kevolution Theory Destroys The Idea Of "The Sunday Scaries"

There I am; awake early (!) on a Sunday morning (!!) at the gym (!!!) doing cardio (!!!!) trying to sweat out all the craft beer I had the night before. On the TV is a story about something called “How To Combat The Sunday Scaries.” Really? Really? This is what counts as news, even on a Sunday morning? I’m guessing by the context, the “Sunday Scaries “ is the newest media propagated disease/syndrome that never really existed before, but now it does, so it’s a real thing? Anyone else notice, like over the last 10 years, there’s been an explosion of previously heretofore undiagnosed diseases? Looking at you COPD. But-guess what-there just happens to be a big pharma company that just happens to have the magic pill that can combat said malady! Goodness gracious!

Anyone else diagram out their Sunday? I do a Venn diagram for Thursday.

OK, TBH here, I really do think there is some substance to things like “Sunday scaries” and conditions like road rage. I do “suffer” from this as much as there are just a bunch of asshole drives constantly around me. And while I do ascribe to the thought that there is probably a bit of merit to what the Sunday Scaries are, I am also the fucking smartest writer you read, so you by golly betcha I also happen to have the cure.

Let’s level the field, here. This is the source video. Watch for yourself, and just imagine my heavy breathing and smelling like craft brews right next to you.

Even though this story is my first exposure to it, it apparently turns out that it’s been a thing for quite a while now. The first hit in a Google search takes me to an actual Sunday Scaries website. The folks over at Urban Dictionary seem to have come up with a definition that is pretty spot on

The feeling you have after a long week of work followed by a Saturday full of binge drinking, when Sunday hits you question your entire existence. Typically characterized by laying in bed all day and both regretting past decisions and questioning your seemingly non-existent future. Thoughts like "I"m going to die alone" and "Will I ever get a job that I actually enjoy?" consume you for the entire day while you're battling a hangover.

Wow I haven't seen Chad all day! He must have a bad case of the Sunday Scaries

I think we’re all on the same page (or in Chad’s bed) here. I think we can all agree, this kinda sorta is a thing. While science has better things to do, this does go along the lines of seasonal affective disorder. In fact, I would hazard a guess to say if you “suffer” from the Sunday scaries, you probably also “suffer” from SAD. And you also must not be a party come Sundays in the fall.

Here’s one of my biggest problems with buying into the scaries; it freely allows you to become the victim here. And, dear readers, I don’t think that’s any of you. I don’t want it to be. “Ooh, tomorrow is Monday, so that gives me permission to be a sullen sadsack and suck all the joy out of these 24 hours and try to drag my friends down with me.” Um, no. Newsflash, dickhead. Monday always comes. Just the same to you as it does me as it does everyone damn else. You cannot stop it, just like you can’t stop Tuesday (I’m not gonna bother to research this, but please don’t tell me there is such a thing as the “Tuesday Terrors.” This shit may never end.) Monday is going to happen, and if you are willing to just roll over all Sunday and give up, I have two words for you

No, not those two words, but these 2 words.

Fuck. You.

Now aside from hitting some imaginary quota where I have to tell any remaining readers to fuck off, then lament why no one reads this anymore, this is just also, plain and simple, the truth. By the Sunday Scary logic, you’re just going to give up on an ENTIRE DAY, just to be dreading the next day? Huh? How does that make sense? Look, I’m not saying there isn’t some validity to SS, but I believe buying into it makes you waste what could potentially be a great day. Instead of investing into the “Sunday scaries” how about putting some oomph into “Sunday Funday?” I’m not great at time management-ask me to tell you later-but even dipshit me sees the flaw here. I can see the danger of buying into this “scary” theory, and I have two recent examples to even illustrate the inherent danger..

A friend posted a question to the effect of “how do I turn off Memories, because I don’t want to be reminded of last year?” This upset me for a few reasons. First and foremost, they are immediately playing the victim here, and I’ll get to that in a second. While I emphasize with whatever the pain or issue might be, publicly calling it out might not be the best move here, why call it out at all? Why give it anymore power? This type of “vague booking” just creates more drama, and I believe this person is better than that. Secondly, this person has the power and control to just negate this issue all together, instead of giving it weight on their social media. While turning off Memories is quite possibly an option, I truly don’t know, but I am sure a quick Google search would yield the answer without calling attention to whatever the issue might be. I believe my friend to be stronger than all of this. Now, whatever the issue is, here’s the simple answer that they have had the entire time:

Stay the fuck off Facebook for 30 days. You’re welcome.

And while that seems to be an impossibility these days, you can at least go a few days. The #FacebookFree48 ("Geez, Kev, does EVERYTHING have to back to you?" Yes, shithead, it does, because I have all the answers.) doesn’t have to take place over just the weekend. You could, say, start it on Monday-and-boom! Look at you, your Monday just got a little bit better and you get a whole truckload of time back instead of frittering it away on FB. Point here being, my friend is not in a hopeless situation. Substitute “Mondays” for “Memories” and the situations become similar. And while certain events may be out of our control, we can control how we respond.

In my own life I had the great fortune to recently go on vacation. While I don’t know that it was quite blogworthy , just go here and it’s pretty much the same story. (Also be sure to stay tuned all the way to the very end for the Easter egg you heartless jackals didn’t catch last year.) I had already been in my destination for just a few hours, having an awesome time. Without warning, the Thought popped into my head. I did not consciously invite it. Yet, it was there. I acknowledged it, I knew what it was saying, and I did my best to shut the Thought down. In all that sunshine, it still persisted, until it had to be heard. Finally, it broke through. Just a few hours into my happy place, the Thought said:

“Your vacation is already running out.”

How.

Fucking.

Dark.

The point of the Thought, no matter how dark and premature, was still valid. A few precious hours had already ticked off what imaginary and unacknowledged internal clock I had going. I sat there with the Thought, yet I knew I had power, I had strategies and choices. This may be the first shot, but I can -no I WILL- shut this nonsense down now. In my happy place, with my person, with my dog, a few good beers, with families having a great time, with being so close to the ocean, with already awesome memories, I fired back. I acknowledged the Thought; it was in fact, true, my vacation was already a few hours gone. But I took the power to consciously say (in my head, because in resort town bar, this would be pretty embarrassing, no matter how strong the beer is) “That doesn’t matter. I am not going to let the passing of 3 hours effect the remaining 165. This will not deter me. So, thanks for reminding me, Thought, because I am grateful for this little nudge to make what’s left count. So, now, off with you, Thought, because I can now assure you I. Will. Make. This. Count.”

And then I had about another 4 beers to celebrate my victory. Woot woot!

The point here is that I, just like my friend above, have the power to take control and not be the victim here. We can both at least acknowledge the issue, but we don’t have to let it own us.

We don’t have to let one little brief spurt of time ruin everything else. Dread, fear, worry-all of that is bullshit and a glorious waste of time. Back to the issue, Monday is always going to come. Because I am so smart, I will share some possible ideas that might make it more bearable.

Make Sunday count. Instead of cowering over the fact Monday is bearing down on your, appreciate the time you have. Read, cook a good meal, lay on the couch in your (preferably yours) underwear, volunteer, draw, eat cheese, binge a TV show, write a blog no one reads, go somewhere you’ve never been, hell, even do some work. You have the choice to do whatever it is to Make.This.Count.

(Speaking of Make.This.Count, I gotta start getting tshirts, hats, mugs and other nonsense with that on it on Etsy. KT merch coming soon!)

Prepare for Monday. As we've previously seen, Monday always wins; it always arrives after Sunday. Maybe be a bit mature here (a stretch for this blog, I know) but plan for it. Using my pathetic shell of an existence as an example, on Sunday night -and pretty much every night before a workday-I prep my breakfast and throw it in the fridge, I freeze some stuff for a NutriBullet, ensure my work clothes are relatively decent, my bottle of vodka is hidden in a thermos in the car, I know what I have to do as an elected official of the US and lastly look in the mirror and tell myself how awesome I am. You can do the same, especially the part where you tell your mirror how awesome Kev is. 

Make Monday earn it. Do whatever it is that fills your Sunday up, so that Monday is like all, “Nah, bro, I see you killed it yesterday, you can just use me to reset from all your weekend awesomeness.”

Do something outside your box on Monday.

Do a little research to make your Monday better. My real life example; I have discovered a lot of places have all you can eat crabs on Monday. No matter how much Monday thinks it can kick my ass, come Monday night, I’m freaking Neptune devouring the sea.

Look, this could all go on, you get the point.

Please don’t fall victim to the fallacy that is this Sunday Scaries nonsense. Maybe come up with contrarian bullshit like “Friday Frenzy” or “Adventure Saturday.” Hell, even plan ahead for “Power Hour President’s Day” or “Awesome August 24^th.” These are the types of ideas we should be dwelling in.

I admit, I am not great with math, but I am pretty sure Monday is, like, 1/7^th of your life. Does it make sense to spend most of Sunday -also, I think about 1/7^th of your life-in fear and dread? Narrator voice: “No, it does not.”

You’re free to now go and do whatever it is to. Make. This. Count.

Extras

Director's Commentary

I've spent roughly 4 hours of my Sunday writing, researching, linking, getting pics and videos and editing this post together. 4 hours of a #FacebookFree48 Summer Sunday gone. But what I got back is this post. In my own bizarre way, I have a tangible piece of my "art" out of today. Anything else past that is just a bonus. I am satisfied that I made this count.

#FacebookFree48; The Life I Saw This Weekend

I firmly believe, long after I am gone, history will finally realize that I am a brilliant writer with brilliant ideas. None may be any more brillianter than what I've been doing the last 3 weekends. I've been staying off Facebook and social media. I have currently dubbed this #FacebookFree48. As another Monday morning dawns, I feel refreshed. I feel drama and stress free. I'm also feeling pretty damn haughty about the Free 48 I'm onto. I feel like it's my mental "down dog" and I don't even have to wear yoga pants. Or any pants really.

Dog does not have social media. Be more like dog.

One of the byproducts of the Free 48 is all the -duh- free time. I'm up and out of bed earlier because I'm not on FB seeing whose bitching about the weather or politics. I'm not on the dumper for 20 minutes now. I'm doing healthier things for my mind and body. Now, maybe you're not sold on this Free concept, so I thought I would detail all the "extra" little things in life I got to do and see this weekend. Turns out there's a lot of life that doesn't fit in your phone.


I watched the Endless Summer like I always do during the summer. It's my favorite summer movie-sorry, Jaws and Malibu Bikini Shop-and a great slice of a simpler time. I also enjoy watching it before the PC police come down on it for maybe, possibly being a tad racist in, like 1 or 2 small segments. But I really feel it was naivete and cluelessness on film maker Bruce Brown's part.

I had my faith restored in humanity, which is pretty heavy for a Saturday. As much as I loathe to do this during the weekend, I had to venture out to the store to pick something up. While I was there, minding my own GD business, a guy comes up to me and asks, "Excuse me, do you work here?" One thing I have learned about me is that I appear to look like I work at whatever place I may be in at that given time. (Like, for example, the liquor store. But at least that makes sense because I am there all the damn time, they gave me my own locker in the back.) I politely tell him no, but I also point him to someone who does. He goes over to the employee, whatever. Then the guy comes up to me and thanks me! "Hey, buddy, I just wanted to thank you. What's your name?" I am flabbergasted this kind of courtesy exists in this world. I tell him my name, he extends his hand, "Well, thank you, Mr. Kevin" and he walks away. 

I find myself listening to Michael Franti more and more. However, this is music I can only listen do during the summer. When it’s nice. And sunny. Not raining. (I know, I know, I am a music freak.) I wasn’t even digging Stay Human 2 till recently, then the click came and I dug it. I really think Franti is getting to be to young people what Buffett is to old people. Also, Roger Clyne and The Peacemakers is great summer music. I’ve been getting into the Joint on SXM. Again, when the summer goes, so does the preset for the Joint.

I’m writing more and more. I think we can all be thankful for that. Namaste, world.

Killing it at the gym. Like, to the point, I’m actually sweating. This is good news, as it aids an air of legitimacy to all the over priced UnderArmour I wear.

Cleaned out my computer. Much like myself, I’ve been noticing it slowing down lately. Look, I understand, as far as PCs go, it’s getting pretty old. (I bought it last week). I took the time to go through settings/apps and features to remove anything questionable. And I know what you’re thinking, and, no, none of this was from watching porn. Also, much like myself, I cleaned out all the cookies. My PC should be quicker now, which could mean more blogs! More likely, drunken Amazon purchases. (Narrator voice; “None of this worked.”)

I watched a lotta porn.

I went to the store to buy a frozen pizza. I left it on the dashboard, and by the time I got home, it was ready.

Came across one of the funniest sites I've ever seen

Speaking of, went blackout shopping on Amazon. I’m not even gonna check what I did, I prefer the surprise. One time, Drunk Kev went all next level and got into my subscribe & save. This explains why I have 37 bottles of Orange Glo.

I switched up my direct deposits. Yay adulting!

Finished a book. Pretended to understand it.

Reset my neighbor’s wifi password. Just to teach him a lesson. Can’t be too safe these days. I mean, with a password like FGh56://5tY7Gg5&o2@k%, he was just asking for it.

Filled out every survey at the bottom of every receipt I could find. Back up the Brinks truck!

On Sunday, like a proper and distinguished gentleman, I had brunch:

Accomplished my summer goal ahead of time; collected all 50 different bottles of Mountain Dew. Comes with free diabetes.

Multiple incidents of puppy cuddles. I have to say it boggles my mind when I see people walking their dogs, yet they're staring into their phones. (The people, not the dogs.) Like, you're walking a dog, life can't get much better.


Monday is once again upon us, with it's usual evil precision. Yet I feel refreshed and pretty sure my bullshit meter is low. I had a great weekend in many respects even if it wasn't all amusements parks and beaches. I'm grateful for the extra time I got back and the little slices of life I got to see. Now, maybe the freight train that is the work week has all kinds of bad plans for me, I can't say. But I can say I am coming from a pretty good place, and I really like my odds.

What I Learned Staying Off Facebook For 48 Hours

There I was, Saturday morning. It was a good morning as I didn’t get shitfaced on Friday night. Theory Pup 2 let me sleep in a little bit, which is damn nice of the guy. I didn’t know what time it was, but the summer sun filling the room in June colors told me it was about an hour or so later than what time I typically get up during the week. I picked up my phone, just to see the time. I was happy with the extra sleep, and anxious to actually get a full, fun Saturday in. Why stare at my phone? I can see there is a nice summer day unfolding, let’s go get it! Phone goes down, day starts. I am in the gym nice and early, so there’s only a few people who can watch me try not to drop plates and bars on various body parts that are mostly soft tissue. I get a really solid workout in. Get back home, and realize I never “checked my phone.” I can see there are no texts (no one loves me) and no important email. Here, I can make a choice, I can get sucked down the hole that is Facebook. Or I can keep the good flow of a beautiful Saturday going. I make one of those spontaneous decisions I am famous for (Like seeing how much of a pie I can eat) and decide this day is too beautiful and too promising to waste on Facebook. I am going to go 24 hours without checking FB.

This is your brain without social media.

Already, there is a uniqueness to this morning. This is not the typical start. In fact, I dare say most of us start our mornings a little something like this;  I am pretty sure most of my readers are at least comfortable enough with technology, that they have eschewed the traditional alarm clock, and just use their phone. I am no different. However, I soon found myself falling into a trap that I had set for myself. Here’s the scenario; alarm goes off disgustingly early. I open my eyes, and pray I am waking up in my bed, and not a tub of ice in some seedy hotel with a note saying some of my organs were removed, also there is a ton of rented porn on the hotel bill. (Truth be told, those two things may not have a lot to do with each other.) Upon realizing I was in fact in my own bed, I grab my phone, swipe the MFing alarm off. From there I can unlock it, and what pops right up? Right, FB, because that was the last thing I looked at before I went to bed. Now, it was fairly easy for me to stop that useless habit (checking socials and getting fired up at the stupidity I see, which in turns keeps me up all night), but the feeling to “just check FB/socials real quick” got to the point it was a flaming waste of time and immediately put me in a bad mood. Why are we waking up and checking social media? Is it FOMO?

Is it for breaking news? No. No, likely, it is to immediately start comparing ourselves to others. We don’t like what we see, either in our friends our ourselves, and now we’re dark sourpusses all day. if there’s one thing you take away from this blog today; please let it be this:

SEND ME ALL YOUR MONEY.

OK, that was just a test. Here’s the real lesson;ereHe

DO NOT CHECK YOUR SOCIAL MEDIA FIRST THING IN THE MORNING.

Any morning. In fact, don’t let it be the second, third or tenth thing you do. This lesson came quite harshly, as one morning it hit me; there is a perfectly fine and fluffy puppy belly waiting on the couch. And that’s how I start all my mornings now. Alarm goes off, I shut it off, phone goes face down, and I greet the morning with my best friend. That’s the way to do it, not by getting yourself all fired up over some dipshits on FB.

Be proud to be a jomo. G'head, be a flaming jomo all you want.

Back to Saturday. The clock tells me it’s noon, and I am in an unusually good mood and pleasantly sober! Maybe there really is something to staying off the socials, and just living your day.

So what did I do with my vast, newfound amount of freetime?

I spent time with my parents. I spent time with my dog. I read books. I caught up on magazines (Ok, from October 2018.) I binged. (TV, not rum!) I listened to music. I did shit around the house. I napped in the hammock. I found the inspiration to write after months. I spent time with people important to me. I did my best to live in the moment. And I had zero FOMO. I ventured out into the world.

I went to a bar, where everybody-everybody- ­was staring into their phone, even the bartenders and DJ. Their faces aglow in zombie like light. Their screens full of FB, IG, texts, etc. There was a bunch of people here, but it seemed like I was the only one truly there. I watch as a couple comes in and sits at the bar. Husband has on a stereotypical Hawaiian shirt, even though we are about as far away from Hawaii-in many respects- as possible. Maybe it was their big night out, maybe they had a sitter, I don’t know, but they were different. I suspect they Ubered it there, as they both seemed to be politely buzzed. As my man ordered a flight of beer, his inner Jimmy Buffett became unleashed, and he sang along with the music to his wife. A little sloppy, but not rude and offensive. And she was laughing back. They were the happiest two in the joint. Maybe it’s more than just coincidence than neither of them were staring into their phone. They were actually having fun, and almost no one saw that and appreciated it like I did. Everyone else was staring into their phones and socials. But I can assure you, I was more entertained than any other schlub there.

As I awoke Sunday, also still having both kidneys safely stored inside me, guess what? Still no FOMO. In fact, much like the IFChallenge I did a while back, it was all very positive forward momentum. “Hell, I got this far, and I feel awesome! Let’s go another day.” And I did. And, again, it was awesome.

Monday morning comes like a vengeful goblin, and I finally decide to check FB. You know what I missed? Nothing, absolutely nothing. When I logged back in, after the first 6 or so posts, it was literally the same BS. I missed little. My perspective from this experience was fresh, as I scrolled down a few more posts, I saw all the behavior that I didn’t miss in full bloom.

Stuff like:

FB not only enables creeping, it already does the creeping on you. Yes, this is old news, but this is my story. About a week or so ago, I ordered a foam roller because my back needs to crack like its full of painful popcorn. I order it, it shows up, mad cracking commences. Now, here’s the thing. I never used FB to research this, I knew what I wanted because the gym has one that works for me. (sidenote; however rolling on the floor and loudly saying, “Oh yea, that’s the spot, right there!” is not being well met.) Open FB, and wanna guess what the first sponsored ad I see is? Yup, for that exact same foam roller. Just another reminder, FB is stalking you. For some of you sickos, that might make you feel a little better about yourself. Whatever floats your boat.

Stop playing victim/attention whore with all your issues/dramas. Not to get all Tony Robbins here (especially the pervy part), but no one ever fixed a problem or achieved their dreams by just whining about them on FB. Man the hell up, buttercup. I have a theory (duh) that the people who post the least on their socials are the most grounded and self-realized people living full and well intentioned lives.Or they are super busy doing important things. I mean, it’s not like you see the President tweeting or anything. Of course, I also have a theory that Taylor Swift wrote a song about me, so WTF do I know?

Enough with the constant barrage of vacation photos. Yes, all your photos of the sunset/rise are all worthy of a mug on Café Press, but let’s limit it here, eh? You know, it is possible to go away and not post about it? (Go follow Clark Little, and that’s all the photography you need.) Every time I see you go away, I go to your empty house and rub my butt all over your doorknobs.

Kind of unrelated, but anyone know any good lawyers? Seems everybody has video doorbells these days.

Suicide is sadly still a thing. Maybe FB should stop with all the political propaganda ads, and throw in some suicide awareness PDAs and contacts. Just sayin’.

National Suicide Prevention Hotline 1 800 273 8255

@800273TALK on Twitter

I have totally slacked on my Presidential campaign. No biggie, I can just hire some PR firm to put misleading ads on social media. Done.

The amount of requests I get to like y’all side hustle pages is getting to be reGDdiculous. Look, I support small business and friend’s ventures all I can. But if your one of my FB “friends” who never says boo to me (especially on Halloween), never wish me happy birthday, never like a picture of Theory Pup 2, never acknowledge all my hysterical jokes, don’t read this here blog, then don’t fucking expect me to acknowledge your home based tchotchke selling business. You don’t encourage my waste of time and unprofitable side gig, so you can’t expect me to support yours. (Editor’s note; in the process of letting this post breathe a little bit, as I was editing it, a good FB friend asked me to like a band page. She is always supportive of me; she ‘likes’ lots of my posts and comments occasionally, so guess what? That band got a like.) (Editor’s note; I don’t know why I used the term ‘editor’s note.’ I’m the friggin’ editor here. I do all the writing, the pictures and their captions and the editing. Spoiler alert, when you see the term ‘editor’s note’ it’s almost always the writer trying to sound all haughty.)

Taking pictures of your babies every month they get older needs to end. OK, spoiler alert, EVERY BABY LOOKS LIKE EVERY OTHER BABY THE FIRST FEW MONTHS. Like, you could literally do this for 6 months, switching out a new baby every time and no one would notice. Don’t believe me? I triple dog (yes, just cutting right to the chase, here) dare you. Go nuts. Have a white girl baby at 2 months, and a black male baby at 3 months, conjoined twins at 5 months. No one would notice. They’d all just blindly hit the ‘like’ button and comment, “Ohh, it’s getting SO big!!!!” NEWS FLASH-THAT’S WHAT HAPPENS TO BABIES WHEN YOU FEED THEM! You should be calling the authorities if the infant seems to be getting smaller.

It’s apparently a law now that every time you go to the airport, you have to “check in.” It’s apparently a by law that you then have to humblebrag about either your job or your vacation. Well, whoop-de-fucking-do, peckerhead, you boarded a plane! How about this, “check in” when you’re actually flying the damn thing. Outside of that, get over yourself. Pretty sure when Wilbur and Orville Wright first flew, they didn’t immediately dispatch the carrier pigeons bragging how they actually flew and didn’t shit their pantaloons.

"Orville! Call that putz Ford and tell him his autothingamajiggies will never cut it now!"

Oh yea, I have a Twitter, too! Can't tell you the last time I checked it. is Twitter still cool? Have we moved onto something else? I need to know, so I can care less about it.

Apparently, people are now claiming to be something called “breatharians”on InstaGram. Just the fact that this horseshit has picked up so much traction on IG and the main stream media only reinforces my correct decision to not even be on IG. If you seriously think people can go months without eating, and can “breathe” in nutrition, you are truly the r-word we can no longer use. I am pretty sure IG is nothing but hot chicks wearing bikinis spouting off bullshit that everyone takes as gospel. And that’s why I’m not on IG. IG only promotes narcissism and anxiety. (That and the fact the only people I would follow are hot chicks wearing bikinis. It would be embarrassing. Yes, I am a man with flaws, but at least I own my flaws. Sometimes twice a night.)

So what do we take away from this experience, other than I have to get better at writing segues to end my posts? Maybe the time is upon us to pay more attention to what's happening outside the phone. Phones, as advanced and necessary as they are, will always come in boxes. Life doesn't, and if you think it does, you can always step out of that box and live a little bit. Just don't feel the need to feed the beast, and blab about it on your socials. 

DVD Bonus Material

In the whole "editor's note" bit, part of letting a post breathe is giving it a day or two, then trying to put it in a coherent order and getting the pictures and captions (Editor's note; this is seriously about my favorite part of putting the post together.) In this particulate case, much of the time to "breathe" was me spending countless hours researching "fitness girls on IG" all for one joke. But, still, the time invested was well worth it.) You're welcome, fellas. Turns out I didn't even use the joke I had in mind.

A Brutal Evaluation: Why I Stopped Writing

In case you haven’t noticed. Wait a minute, let me start that over again. I KNOW you haven’t noticed. I haven’t written anything in a pretty long time. In fact, by this time last year, I had five laugh and pee inducing posts already up. This year, sadness and urine retention rates are way up.

“So, Kev, whaddup wit that?” 

"How can I write when ...I....don't.....have a computer?"

Honestly, it hasn’t been bothering me at all this year. So maybe the fact it WASN’T bothering me should be bothering me? I am so confused. When the words stopped flowing, I wasn’t worried. I’m not one to force a post to come out. Whenever it happens, it just kinda happens. I hope you guys know by now, I value the time you give to read this here lil’ blog, so I am not going to insult you with half baked, bullshit posts. I work pretty dang hard for you 12 regular readers.

Recently, at what I would describe as a “work function” that us elected officials have to attend, we did an ice breaker game to start. Everyone had to offer a fun fact about themselves. When it got to me, my “fun” fact was, “I hate this game because all of your interesting fun facts make my life look lame.”

If there’s two rules of writing (or public speaking) I can offer you, it would be these:

1) Try to make people laugh. Even if they don't, they will appreciate the effort

2) Give a little piece of yourself away

Lately, I haven’t been able to do that. (in dramatic voice) So no post for you!  I haven’t had many experiences worth “our time.”

And that’s kinda it, right? “Our time.” We can do so many things with it. Sure, we all have the commitment of jobs that owns most of our clock. Life is what happens when the hours are ours. (Say that three times fast.) The “free time.” The time we do things that we enjoy. The activities that excite, challenge, inspire, drive, encourage, refresh, renew us.

Man, does anyone have a good fart joke? Because this is where I need one. I am a little rusty.

However, I truly haven’t been doing nothing. Since we’re all honest here, I’ve kinda been doing work on myself.  Now, let’s not get carried away here. I am sure you already know this, but I will say it anyway:

I AM FUCKING AWESOME AS I AM

.

Yet, that still doesn’t mean I can’t get/be better. And, no, this isn’t some hippie, new age bullshit. Think of it more like focusing my efforts where I get the best result. Some days, with the free time I have, I think it will be best if I go to the gym. Or walk the dog. Or read. Or volunteering. I can get a lot back, fairly quickly. But writing…man…

Think of it like return on investment. Sure, I can get a lot of enjoyment out of writing what I think is a funny/witty/snarky/honest post. Then, I can bum myself out by the relative lack of hits, and zero responses. I can let myself get more pissed by further seeing a banal picture getting 200 likes and 300 ZOMG!!!! comments. And I’m working on the whole “let it go” thing. It doesn’t mean I stop writing; it just means do the best I can, then, literally, let it go. There’s so much out of my control. And I am fully aware of human nature NOT to respond positively to anything. Humans suck that way, and I am pretty sure DNA backs me up on this as well.

What takes you ten minutes to read (also another reason I don’t use long words) literally takes me HOURS of time. Time to write, rewrite and edit. Or, as I have seen it eloquently called, “word surgery.” Then find, add and caption the pictures. Do rudimentary SEO in the seemingly vain hope of reaching a broader audience. Then, let it go. If people, respond/react, that is just a bonus.

I believe anything we do with our leisure time is escapism, right? You’ve had a hard shift/day/week, etc, best to blow off some steam. Isn’t that the point? And that escapism can take many forms; some positive, and some destructive. I will point to a few of my real examples, because you don’t have a blog about yours.

Say I’ve had a long week. All my constituents have been all up in my grill, calling my office, emailing me about all kinds of nonsense. “Why can’t we make this a one-way street?” “The street light buzzes too loud.” “I think there’s a meth lab next door.” Ugh, these people are so needy! And they think I work nights and weekends, too. Ha! I’ve never seen what 3:01 looks like on the office clock.

I can release some steam/escape positively by, say, going to the gym. Just me and my music, lifting heavy things, trying to justify the $100 of new UnderArmour I just bought. (That only works out to a t-shirt and one left sock, BTW.) I can be positive and get the pup out for a long walk and try to see this world through his eyes. I can dust off my old PS3, pretend I am the Undertaker and brain people with steel chairs. I can write or read. Discover new music. All positive things.

Me on a Friday and or Saturday night

I can also be destructive. I can drown my day in booze. A lot of times, the lines blur for me. Take for example, writing this here post. As I type, it’s Thursday, and the sun is going down, and Friday morning seems a week away. “You know what would make this post even more funny?” the devil voice inside says. “Rum.” I know you readers probably think the same thing. I can drink and play racing games where I run the opposite direction and try to wreck everybody. I can pretend I’m the Undertaker and brain people with steel chairs.

I’ve been trying to make better choices for myself, because I can’t make better choices for you knuckleheads. Lately, the trend has been to spend less time writing, and more time destressing in other pursuits. As a result, I liken me writing less to prostitution; there’s no real victims here. There is even a theory along the lines the less you do a thing, the better you get at it. I guess I am testing to see if that’s total bullshit or not. It’s a risk I am willing to take for you, dear reader.

Forgoing writing has allowed me to take on another difficult burden; evaluating myself to see where I actually can be better. I am pretty sure a better Kev would equal a better writer for all of us. And oh yea, I am still totes serious about #VoteForKev2020, so I better get my shit together quick. Hmm, a better Kev and a better writer….sounds like……

A SEQUEL!

Coming soon; A Brutal Evaluation Part 2.

Put The GD Phone Down and Enjoy Your F*cking Vacation

It seems my entire summer has been nothing but getting barraged by vacation posts on my social media. “Oh, look, so and so is on vacation. Here’s another 30 pictures and five check ins from Tuesday. Oh man, I hope there’s pictures of food in this collection!”

Be more like her.

Guys, we need to have some sort of summit, some kind of “code” where we reign in all this “Look social media!1! I’m on vacation!1!” Here’s what I propose as I decide if I should add this to any of my #VoteForKev2020 platforms.

1)      No more than 5 pics per day. And all 5 shots have to be different, not just slightly different poses. Exception; unless you’re a hot chick in a bikini. In which case, this is likely the only reason I keep you as a FB friend. We both know the deal here.

2)      Only 1 shot of the sunrise or sunset. You can’t have both. What are you doing up so early on vacation anyway?

3)      No more than 5 check ins per week. Plan your attention whoring carefully.

4)      Absolutely no video. Few care to see pictures of your child on the Teacups, let alone video. In fact, you could post a video of an entirely different child on the Teacups, and most of us wouldn’t be able to tell the difference.

5)      Absolutely no food porn. Can we just call a halt to this banal practice anyway? I can’t tell you how many bullshit food porn pics have been littering my feed all summer. To be quite honest, no one really fucking cares. Is your ego really that inflated that you think, “I’m am going to post this nondescript picture of what appears to be Michelob Ultra in a glass along side a plate of food that looks like it could be literally from the chicken wing place two blocks away from me.” 

Pop quiz, hotshot

The above is a picture of

1) The finest pizza with expensive beer from a villa in Italy

2) The world famous boardwalk pizza and local craft brew

3) The Monday Night Special from the shitty sports bar

Well, what do you think?

Every time I see something like the above pizza picture, I go to your house and pee somewhere. Pool, garden, doorknob, bed (both dog and human), car door handle, mailbox. I feel no guilt, you brought this on yourself.

I myself abide by the same rules. To wit, this is the first year for Theory Pup 2.0 on the beach. As this is a momentous occasion, it’s only a momentous occasion for a small amount of people. I did shoot a video of his first steps on the beach and brush with the ocean, but that really means something to just me. I kept it and didn’t post it. And since we’re all being honest here, I will tell you I took 64 pictures total. Of those, TP2 was in 58 of them. And while most certainly yes, he was rocking the dorbs, you want to know how many pics I posted? None. Zip. Zero. Nada. I value and appreciate my FB friends that much that I don’t want to waste their time on videos they won’t watch or pics they won’t look at, just long ass blogs they won’t read.

Vacations generally cost a lot of money because they are worth it. Hotels and beach houses are generally expensive to rent because part of the deal is the peace of mind.  You don’t sit around thinking of what picture to hang where or what color to paint the garage door or any other of the subliminal messages those bastards at Lowes and Home Depot implant. You don’t worry about anything because generally, there is nothing to worry about at the hotel/beach house.Yes, there may not be a monetary return on investment, but what you can get out of them is often worth it if you know what you're doing. And that's why you're here because I know what I'm doing. For the record, give me an old school, “back in the day” beach house any day. No, really, please somebody just give me one of those. HMU @ifyouseekev Until that beach house pops up, let’s get back on point. What’s the point of getting away from it all if you take everything with you? You know what I’m talking about; this wonderful device we all use called “the phone.” You finally get there, and you stare at your phone like you do every other damn day? That makes no sense to me.

"I wonder what the weather on the beach is supposed to be like today. I better check."

What is that conversation like when you return to work on Monday?

“Hey, Dick, how was your vacation last week?”

“Hi, Harry, thanks for asking! It was great! We went to the beach and I posted 50 photos a day! Then we went to the boards, and I stared my phone. We ate great dinners while I took pictures and stared at my phone. We ate ice cream and I stared at my phone. I even managed to stare at my phone while we rode roller coasters!”

“Wow, that sounds really awesome! Well, welcome back and enjoy staring at your computer screen for the next 8 hours, dick.”

On vacation, I consciously unplugged, and you know what? It was fucking glorious. I didn’t bring my PC. Left the work phone at home and never checked my work communications once and didn't feel a damn shred of guilt about it. My constituents can go a week without me. I mean, c’mon, when 45 takes his weekly 4-day vacations, you think he has his work phone, or even “the football?” No, he doesn’t, so I see no need for any of us to do any different. I used my phone sparingly. For example; running tracker & music, directions, Yelp to find new places and reviews, weather, tide chart. Maybe FB once a day. I didn’t drunk text anybody. I didn’t check my usual sports sites, besides, what other meaningful sports are in season now beyond NASCAR and UFC? I didn’t check my usual newsites. And you know what I missed? You know what happened?

Nothing. Nothing at all. In fact, for the second time this year, I find myself coming back to a Del Amitri song:

And nothing ever happens, nothing happens at all

The needle returns to the start of the song

And we all sing along like before

You know it’s possible to go to the beach and not bring your phone? I know, right, pretty freaking mind-blowing. I’m so old school, I brought these things called books and this ancient technology called an “iPod.” Not “iPad” but “iPod.” King Tut had one. Go Google it. My mind boggles when people stare at their phones all day on the beach. Yet they do, in scary, big numbers. Doesn’t matter the age, everyone is doing it. And it got me wondering, what’s the point here? Why do you pack a bag, towel, umbrella, food and drink, set yourself up, then stare at your phone the whole time? What’s the endgame here? You can just do that shit at home. Your phone is with you all the time, the beach isn’t. What am I missing here? I could have been sitting on that beach, phasing in and out of unconsciousness (naps, not blackouts) with my iPod on. A tsunami warning could go out, I could miss it and wake up to an empty ass beach with a huge wave coming at me all Rogue One style. Whoops, SPOILER ALERT! Damn it. Sorry. Anyway, I’d just look at that wave with Zac Brown playing in my ears and enjoy my last few minutes of peace. And some chicken fried.

OK, I can hear you naysayers out there, asking, “But, Kev, what if they were actually not screwing around on their phones? What if they actually were reading?” That’s a fair question, and here’s my common sense answer; because I can tell. So, let’s see, when they are constantly tap tap tapping on their screen. When they are lying on their back, neck craned to the left, where their hand is holding the phone. Lying on their stomach, creating a mountain around their phone with their t-shirt so they can see the screen, robbing themselves of the beach and ocean. Taking selfies, Twittering or Twattering or whatever it’s called, checking in, everything from the beach but not actually being on the beach.

Every morning, I would watch this family of 3, a mom and two teen aged daughters, walking to the beach. And without fail every time, the mom was eyes ahead on the prize of the beach, while her two kids mindlessly had their necks craned at 45 degrees so they could stare into their phone.

One day I even saw another teen girl texting while pedaling her bike next to a busy road. Is this where we’re really heading? Using this marvelous thing called a phone to not -oh I don’t know-actually talk to people? Anyone remember when the big threat was people just merely talking on their phone? Now it’s people texting while driving, even though handsfree devices are far less dorkly than previous models. Even when every new car comes with BlueTooth. When I saw this girl texting while on her bike, I had half a mind to run across the street and barrel into her just to teach her a valuable lesson. Alas, I had already run ½ mile in ten minutes before gassing out and just didn’t have the energy. She probably could have beaten me up.

And yes, I know this is Old Man Theory running out into his yard wearing tall white socks, screaming at the clouds and telling those durn kids to turn down their infernal music. I get kids today never not had phones. They’ve probably never bought a physical cd or physical book. Nope, all that stuff today comes magically in the air to your phone. And it stays there. And it gets lost there.

Everyone has their place; their place that heals them, inspires them, soothes them, encourages them. For me, that is the beach. So why would I bring anything to distract me from that? I have a playlist on my iPod called SummerSongs. (Yes, there’s no space in there, and no, I haven’t figured out how to correct it.) And it’s literally hundreds of songs that are about summer, remind me of summer, or were big hit songs in the summers of my current youth.

Some days, I would put my iPod on and just listen to all those songs. Two things would happen. 1) If it was an older song, memories of past summers would come rushing in, much like the tide. Where I was when I heard this song, who I was with, beach visits from the past. 2) Or if it was another song, I would find myself making new memories to it. That kid in the green shorts with matching skim board that always went ass up when he hit the wave. Those 4 girls who were talking about guys they were stalking or “ruin.” The stand up paddle boarders paddling by. Embedding memories in these songs so the next time I heard them, these moments would come back. Pleasant time bombs.

I would venture out into the ocean. Without the books or iPod of course, because that would be stupid. I would wade so far out, the lifeguards wouldn’t whistle me in, because they knew I could fight any shark dumb enough to be coming by. My eyes saw it like this; for 180 degrees, from my left to my right was nothing but me and the ocean. I could see no one else. Just me and the ocean, my ocean. The ocean I can still never make myself pee in. The sun beating a trail down on the waves tracing back to me. A million tiny suns shining back in the waves. Occasionally, dolphins (the fish, not the football players, because that would be kind of weird) would breach way out in front of me. And this was it. I hit my Zen. And

IT

WAS

AWESOME

Up to me and what’s left of my brain cells to somehow hit the pause button and remember this scene, this feeling. I didn’t have to post anything about it. I didn’t have to check in about it. It was just me and my ocean. This would have to hold me for another 51 weeks. So, soak it all in. I was able to hit this Zen moment a few more times on the beach. Each time trying to consciously be in the moment. We don’t remember the moments we lifelessly stare into our phones, we remember moments like this.

There were times on that beach where I was just trying to hit the pause button. I don’t think we need the KT Bureau of BS statistics to tell us time flies much faster on vacations. I believe the variant to be at 1.3. So when you get those moments where you have Zen or are able to live in the moment, do it. Don’t take pictures or blab about it on ChatterGram or Friendster or wherever people are jerking off these days. Appreciate where you are and hold onto it for as long as you can. There are actual non KT Bureau of BS Statistics that show people who constantly take pics with their phone remember far less than those who try to be present in the moment.

Top; Tiger Woods teeing off 2002, bottom Tiger Woods teeing off 2018. Progress?

In case you didn't get that joke.

It doesn’t matter where your Zen is. It could be a golf course in Ireland. Setting up camp in the forest. An iceberg in Alaska. (Yea, I don’t get that one, either.) The point here is, find that place and go to it. With my favorite kind of abandon; reckless abandon. Go to it as often as you can. Unapologetically. And when you get there, be there. Put the phone away. It’s just you and your Zen here, kid. No phone can capture that. Only you can. And while we’re at it, keep an eye out for forest fires, because that’s kinda your responsibility now too, champ. Only you…

I also hit these Zen moments while running, of all things. Yes, longtime readers who haven’t yet got quite tired of my juvenile humor know I absolutely detest running. I am only doing this because I have the stupid Warrior Dash coming. But running at the beach in the morning is a whole different animal. I have a running tracker, and music to help me as I huff and puff like an asthmatic Jabba the Hutt. The music I “use” for such occasions is a mix of aggressive, heavier type music, along with a few from my SummerSongs playlist. And I found as those summer songs hit, I was taking more of the sights in. The umbrellas gently moving on the beach, the hotel that somehow had palm trees on some on the balconies, trying to look studly and unfatigued as I ran past the boardwalk webcam that I often look at. Again, the next time I hear those songs, I will recall those scenes in slow motion. Because that was pretty much the way it felt like I was running.

Music is funny that way, you can hear a song you’ve heard before, but when at the right time and right environment, it can capture a memory you want to hold on to. For example, I heard this Michael Franti song while I was eating breakfast outside on Monday morning with a Crabby Mary. The Crabby Mary of course being the drink and not anybody I may have been with. So, of course, I bought this album (people still do buy music) and put it on my iPod. (OK, I might be alone in that behavior.) It will always remind me of this -and really, who has good memories of any Monday morning?- breakfast and the overwhelming gratitude that I was even able to be in this space and time. And that the Visa gift card miraculously didn’t bounce, or it would have been another morning run.

It was on these runs that this blog started taking form. As I sluggishly made my way, I literally see hundreds of people of all ages actively ignoring the beach and the life on the boardwalk to mindlessly stare into their phones. They didn’t smell the popcorn and cotton candy, nor hear the seagulls or waves. If I had the other half of my mind, I’d recklessly careen into them like I am a movie getaway car driving through boxes in an alley. I just couldn’t get away very fast. Plus, those assholes would quickly post photos of me running away. Lousy social media.

And yes, it’s not lost on me that I use a lot of these very same social medias to pimp this blog. I know, it’s lazy. I know it’s the nature of the beast. But at least I am trying to get some good, sound advice out there. And, trust me, this is all good shit. It’s also not lost on me that as I write this first draft (and let’s face it, I’m just gonna run it 95% the way it is) that I have been staring at a screen for 154 minutes now on a beautiful Sunday when I could be reading, hammocking, walking Pup 2.0. Instead, here I am, spouting sound common sense that will largely be ignored. I have faith that one day my work will be discovered and feted. I see a liberal and forward thinking college naming a wing after me.

Let me end this life lesson. If you must surf the Web while on the beach, reading this blog is acceptable. In fact, you are encouraged to let others read it, too. Afterwards, I am sure they will put their phones down and actually enjoy the waves. And if someone actually is reading this blog while on the beach, send me a picture, and I will donate some money to the charity of your choosing. (See, that’s how you use education and social media for good.)

Now put the phone down.

DVD Extra

Bonus scene with commentary

For the most astute of you, you probably notice there has been an unexplained gap from Theory Pup 1 and this New Guy, Theory Pup 2. Theory Pup 1, was lost, so, so suddenly last fall. I thought there was more time. It’s nothing that fits this humor blog, other than I truly miss him every day. Every fucking day. But TP2 is doing a really good job at plugging this dog sized hole in my heart. I mean, not enough to get a tattoo, but you never know. I don’t believe in signs. But the following is true.

As I arrived on the beach on Saturday, the first day of this illustrious vacation, I was rifling through my shorts, hoping for 20s, 50s or something even greater. I fumbled through a few old receipts. And I found a yellow square of paper, a Post it. And on that small yellow square of paper was a series of questions I was going to ask the doctor who evaluated TP1. Ultimately, they were not needed to be asked. TP1 was gone so shortly thereafter. (And yes, this opens me up for how often I wash my clothes, so fire away, fucktards.)

So here I am, at the very same beach TP1 quite possibly had the last, best time of his life. On those shores, in that sand, in front of that ocean, he found his inner pup. Acting, dancing far younger than his 13 years. Squirrel speed. Energy boundless. A part of me, a very big part of me, was dreading this "Yappy Hour." TP2 was proving to be stubborn, but to be fair, he was so much younger, by years, than the first time I brought TP1 down.  TP2 was being a very good boy, but still a bit of a dickhead.

The last day of Yappy Hour, Friday, I held that little yellow square tightly in my hand, TP2 in my other hand. I knew what I had to do. In the Grand Scheme of Things, it was full circle. Again, I don’t believe in signs. But it seemed to make all the sense in the world. As I was walking TP2 along the tide- a struggle in itself- I bent down like a Ninja and placed the small yellow paper into the ocean. The tide knew what to do with the rest. I watched it disappear into the ocean, knowing TP1 would never disappear from my heart. Not now, not ever. I miss you Big Guy, you are a great dog.

The Kevolution Theory Guide To Living in The Moment and Letting Shit Go

I never thought I would ever write a book. I never even wanted to. My wit and wisdom works in small, measured doses of awesomeness. But today, dear readers, is your lucky day. I have, in fact, written a book. And it’s a book we all need. And since I’m such a righteous dude, I am going to give this book away-FREE even though most of you refuse to ever acknowledge anything I write. (Go figure, I am the only one who can do something nice and still be bitter about it.) So, are you ready for your FREE, and dare I say, life-changing, book? That you can print out at home?

The Kevolution Theory Guide to Living in The Moment and Letting Shit Go

                Chapter 1) Living In the Moment

                                Page 1 Live in the moment

                Chapter 2) Let Shit Go

                                Page 2 Let shit go

                The End

                Be sure to buy the audio book.

Now how do I get this thing on the NY Times best seller list?

Lately, I’ve been getting into some self help books. Some serious and full of New Age hooey, but mostly these two; The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck by Mark Manson and You Are a Badass by Jen Sincero.

OK, OK, I know what you’re all thinking. “But Kev, you’re pretty fucking awesome and kind of dreamy, I don’t know that you can get anymore perfect!” Well, you’re right, but also, that is the rub with these self-help books. And by rub, I mean scam.

Also, one of my favorite Del Amitri songs.

There is this God-awful car commercial I see 5 times a night because I’m only watching the Stanley Cup Playoffs. It’s for a hybrid and has these creepy figures from the top of trophies magically come to life and run beside the car. Yea, I don’t get it either, but I am sure the spot cost millions, and teams of people worked to make it look that way. Anywhoo, it ends with all the creepy trophy people saying in unison, “Because better is a never ending quest.” Aside from being one of the most douchy things I’ve ever heard, it is also very, very true. Better is never ending. It always goes on and on. You can always bench 5 pounds more, run a faster mile, earn an extra dollar, etc. That’s the thing about “better”, it’s not quantifiable. There is no end point. And that is the psychology used to sell DVDs, magazine subscriptions and bullshit self-help books.

I am kinda embarrassed to admit I have read more than my fair share of self help books, and generally I find the buy in factor to be rather large. It’s easy for us all to admit we may be lacking in certain areas, and there is a constant voice -or voices-in our head that has a constant dialogue that is nothing but garbage. If we can shut that voice-one book called it “the inner roommate”-up we can largely live in the moment and be present. Which is universally hailed as a good thing.

Here is something I am really embarrassed to admit; I once read an Eckhart Tolle book. OK, more like tried to read an Eckhart Tolle book. It was a hundred pages of dancing around the entire crux (look it up. I’m talking heavy duty topics, so I feel the need to use important words.) of his theory. After tickling your ass with a feather for half the damn book, his big secret is…. SPOILER ALERT….

YOU ARE GOD.

Huh? That’s it. Like, literally, that’s it? That’s what you’ve been dancing around so long for? That’s the best you can do?  How many people got to that point and threw the book down in disgust and disappointment? The answer? Apparently not too fucking many, because his brand of bull shit made him a bajillion dollars and I’m here in two socks that only match where the holes in the feet are.

Let’s break down his bullshit. YOU ARE GOD.( In his big reveal, he used all caps.) OK….um……no. That makes zero sense. In both the singular and plural use of “you.” If he means the singular ‘you’, then he means me because I am the reader. And I sure ain’t God, because this would be a much better world full of puppies, umbrella drinks and roller coasters. If he means the plural ‘you,’ he means every other knuckle head out there, and we can all see that is clearly not the case. I don’t think you can “God” (“God” being used as a verb here.) by committee. The Avengers couldn’t do it, so us normal folk can’t do it either. Should you need further proof we can’t God by committee, please look at the nearest globe, and realize some morons believe the Earth is flat. I rest my case.

If we back it up just a bit, who the bloody hell has ever met a dude named “Eckhart?” Eckhart is the name of the squirrely guy with the glasses and sweater tied around his neck at the keg trying to fit in by spewing bullshit. Seriously, are you gonna take advice from an “Eckhart?” No, dingus, you’re not. But if you meet a dude at the keg named Kevin… OK, so maybe I am not being very PC by making fun of a guy for his name. But I’m still calling bullshit, this sounds way made up, so I am going to Google his real name.

AHA! I was right! Eckhart isn’t even his real name. Turns out his real first name is Cosmo! Just kidding. His real first name is…Ulrich? What the fuckety fuck?! Given the choice, I’m taking Ulrich every time. He apparently changed his name to Eckhart “in an homage to German sprritual leader, philosopher and mystic Meister Eckhart.” Yea, OK, so not haughty sounding at all. Sounds like this guy is certainly familiar with the ego. I guess that means I can just change my name to Yoda Deadpool Theory and everyone would have to call me that? Dopes.

Now, I have to see what this guy looks like. Maybe the message gets stronger when I see the vessel. And for the record, this is what an Eckhart Tolle looks like

A guy who knows his shit OR a guy who is full of shit? You decide.

You buying the bullshit this guy is spewing? No, of course not. But if this bullshit was coming from a 23 year old yoga chick, I would be enthralled because it would be the most fascinating thing I’ve heard all week.

"Honey, I have NO IDEA what you're talking about, but I am all in."

"And who is your friend?"

The two common themes in these quasi self-help books are always live in the moment and let shit go. I have just saved you oodles of time and money. The least you could do would be to buy an autographed copy of my book. You DO believe in karma, right?

“Living in the moment” is truly a never-ending pursuit. Any book will tell you it is incredibly difficult to master. Sound familiar? I will be honest and tell you I have found this to be sadly true. It’s almost GD impossible to live in the moment. There is just too much noise these days, both inside and outside of us. I will give you one pro tip that has helped me. If you are a regular reader of these self-help types of media, you always know, there is a list or a set of rules to follow. So, to simplify your life, and live in the moment, here’s 30 more rules to help you out. Sounds legit.

I’m not gonna be like that. I am not going to give this practice a name, you can do that if you’d like. I will just tell you what I do. Now, if I was a lesser, hack writer like good old Mr. Tolle, I would dance around this topic for the next 100 pages. But I’m not going to do that. So here it is;

"Me swipe right! Look at the brains on this one!"

I do my best to only look at one screen at a time. What does that mean? I put the fucking phone down and watch TV. I don’t Tweet about it or look at the show’s hashtags. The screen can be what you see, so I do my best to not be constantly staring at my phone while I am out. If you ever watch a hockey game, there is always idiots who shell out good money for seats right behind the players’ bench, then they stare at their phone the entire time. Going deeper in a metaphorical sense, one screen is your eyes; what you’re seeing. Don’t waste a beautiful day staring at your phone. One screen at a time. Namaste, bitches!

Another topic these books like to yenter on about is the use of mantras. Some books that are full of sunshine and unicorn farts suggest the use of repeating mantras-or making little notes for yourself, same thing-is quite dandy on your road to bulls…um…living in the moment. The mere practice of repeating the same thing over and over and over and over again will somehow unleash the universe to shine down upon you and make it true. Jimmy Buffett has a song called Creola that I heard in a geezer bar the other day. In it, he has a line that goes something like, “Just repeat the words I say, about a thousand times a day.” Who the hell has this kind of time or OCD? Really, a freakin’ thousand times a day, Jimmy?

To be journalistic and all, I tried the repeating mantra thing. One book (Awesome, IIRC) has you repeating something like, “I am brilliant, bright and beautiful.” I tried it. I never felt bright, brilliant or least of all beautiful. And this was while I was still in the geezer bar. Maybe this mantra thing will work with you guys. Please repeat the following about “a thousand times a day” and let me know what happens:

“Kev Theory is the best thing on the internet and I should send him gobs of money to reflect his talent. Also, I feel pretty.”

Other books (Fuck IIRC, my memory is shit anymore) suggest the use of mantras is quite damaging. His theory is you are only reinforcing the things you don’t have. Can you tell what theory I subscribe to? Just because you say or think something repeatedly doesn’t increase the odds something fantastic will happen. You think any guy just repeats “Even though I have bad hair and am morally bankrupt and probably a racist and homophobe, damn it, one day I’ll be President!” No, clearly that will never happen.

"Wait. I can prevent forest fires AND also do anything? Lucky day, lucky day!"

I’m not saying there is not a time and a place for motivational and inspiring quotes and slogans. Some people use apps that display an inspirational quote on their phone every morning. If these quotes are something that work for you, great. A trip to the book store or library might be in order. Or maybe just start following that one friend again; you know, the one that posts 20 GD inspirational quotes a day. We all have one, and my research shows them to be generally empty shells of people.

Which brings me to another point of wisdom I have gleaned from all these self-help books, articles and posts. You’re never going to find one theory, practice or author you always agree with. And that’s OK. My experience has been optimal when I do find the bits, pieces and practices that I do agree with, believe, or seem to work for me. You may-and most likely-find a book to be 70% bewlshit and 30% useful. Take that useful stuff and let the rest of that shit go. See what I did there?

I could go on. As I take a look at the word count for this post, I can see it’s one of my longest in recent memory. I will wrap up with this. I have given you the information and tools to live in the moment and let shit go. This is not an easy endeavor, but the payoff is (supposed to be) pretty fricking sweet. You have lots of options and routes, and, truth be told, it will take a combination of everything you learn to lead you to Valhalla or Nirvana or whatever I am supposed to call it. Now go live your best life!!!

Sincerely,

Yoda Deadpool Theory

DVD Bonus Content

"Here and Now" by Del Amitri I referenced above