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.

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.

Bullshit Facts About Myself (Work Edition)

Open up work email; hey, we're having everyone in for a meeting! (Yea, I know, that's a rough open, but it's the best I can do on a Tuesday.)

And to make things even more douchetastic, we’re going to be doing-wait for it-ice breakers! I have been asked to forward three random facts about myself. As a struggling writer and accomplished asshole, I find myself conflicted. This makes me feel happy, because most edgy writers seem to have some sort of conflict that is fuel. The angel on my shoulder says to get in the spirit of the thing and offer appropriate facts. The devil on my shoulder says let’s make wild shit up. And since the bar likes to take this thing called “money” in exchange for the ambrosia that is “alcohol,” I think the angel wins out this time. But the devil is the one that mostly writes these blogs and my better stories.

 I mean, it could be worse. What’s worse than ice breakers? (You know you know the answer, you just don’t wanna say it.) Role playing! No, not the sexy kind with cable guys, pool boys or where the chick gets “stuck.” No, the kind of role playing where there are totally unrealistic situations and you respond by spouting out company jargon. Can we please just move past this? Isn’t there a PowerPoint we need to see or something?

And this is exactly why I need to be a writer; for the life of me I can’t come up with even three interesting facts about my boring ass. Instead, all these come out. So while I struggle to come up with three facts that make me seem like the Most Interesting Man in the Room and impress the lone hot girl, I will use my time by doing what I apparently do best; screwing around and making no additional money. Maybe my high school guidance counselor was right about me.

As I envision it, these “facts” will be read aloud in a cold meeting room.

Three swigs of whiskey, first thing in the morning, every morning.

I like to crop dust meeting rooms.

I think that people who look at Facebook while they are supposed to be working are big, fait, hairy losers.

I was the sixth grade spelling champ. (True). The winning word was apodyopsis.

This was quite popular in Catholic school.

Taylor Swift wrote a song about me.

There’s so many lies on my resume, I’ve honestly forgotten what’s true and what’s not.

I have eleven fingers. (Watch everyone else look around the room.)

I had successful gender reassignment surgery.

A year later, I changed my mind and had another successful gender reassignment surgery.

I write a wildly successful blog.

When I was a child, my class went on a field trip to the local zoo. We went into the snake house. No one knew that a poisonous snake got loose. Before anyone could stop it, the snake bit me. And then I bit that sunna bitch right back.

I see a shrink 3 times a week for what he’s termed “murderous tendencies.”

I’ve appeared on American Idol. And The Voice. And The Four. And Rockstar; INXS. And Nashville Star. And every other POS music reality show you morons can’t seem to get enough of.

Every pair of underwear I own says “Tuesday.”

I dated Ms. Wisconsin, then dumped her for Ms. North Dakota.

This is really the current Ms. North Dakota. Eyebrows kinda on fleek, but not too shabby.

I played pro lacrosse in my early 20s.

I was a professional foot model. (OK, inside joke, I once wrote for a blog under a redic fake name-we all did-and those last two facts were in my bio. Good times.)

Connor McGregor is afraid of me.

I was in a famous viral video. I didn’t know those two girls, but I did supply what was in the cup.

I wasn’t born in America. I was born in one of those shithole countries.

I have a patent for the 27^th letter of the alphabet.

I run marathons in my spare time.

I read every email and enjoy working nights and weekends.

I changed the signature in my email to “Holla at ya boy” and no one has ever noticed.

My last concert was Luke Bryan. He’s great. Especially when he’s wearing a cap.

Tell me there's some sort of machine somewhere that just churns out all these dudes that look the same.

I enjoy independent films in my downtime.

I find role playing a useful and worthwhile exercise during these meetings.

Best piece of business advice I ever got; don’t shit where you eat. And on an unrelated note, sorry, Gina, but it’s over. Stop sitting next to me.

June 40th

Wait, it’s almost the 4^th of July already? Wasn’t it just like Memorial Day? Why does the time between Memorial Day and the 4^th seem to fly by? Even if you’re sober. It’s just not fair, it’s just not right. We need more summer. We need more beach, pool, coolers, Frisbee, hiking, hammocks, suntan lotion. . We need more time here, we need a longer summer. So I have come up with an idea-June 40^st. Who doesn’t want a longer summer? More time for pool parties and BBQs. More time for college girls to take bikini pics on Insta. And I am pretty sure this will benefit the farmers as well. Someone track down Willie Nelson and Neil Young, and I believe they will agree with me. I think they’re currently splitting the Chairman of Agriculture position.

You DO know what this is the source picture for, right?

We all know summer gets the short shrift anyway. Doubt me? Go into any store like Target or Bed Bath & Beyond. Up until July 4^th, everything in the front of the store is all about summer; BBQ supplies, patio stuff, American flags, etc. I assure you, come July 5^th, all that shit is GONE. Even worse, it’s replaced by the dreaded Back To School BS. Look, I want all those little rugrats out of my way whenever I venture out into the general public, but even a miser like me says this is too much. Give the kids a summer fer chrissakes!

Yup, so I am proposing we add 10 (ten) days onto June. It makes perfect sense, as most of my whacked out ideas do. Who doesn’t want an extra ten days of summer? It’s win win!

Kevin, you just can’t arbitrarily add ten days to the calendar, it doesn’t work that way. You have to take the 10 days from somewhere else.

Whoa, who dafuq let you into the bathroom? I’m taking a dook, writing this shit out (like, literally). And you want an explanation? Ok, fine. We’ll get rid of the week between the Pro Bowl and the Super Bowl. Nothing gets done that week, anyway. Unless you live in Philadelphia, Cleveland or Buffalo.

That date always changes. You can’t take a week that always moves.

Really? You’re splitting hairs, here. OK. We’ll take the week from February. That’s the shortest month anyway. No one will notice. Hell, if I can even work it to get rid of Valentine’s Day, even better.

Ugh. Brilliance is always met with resistance. Go with me here, folks.

This still doesn’t make any sense. Plus you’re talking about adding ten days, but only replacing a week. There’s still three other days to deal with. 

UUGGHHHH. Can’t we just add ten days to the calendar? Who said the Greeks got it right, anyway? The 4^th of July is when- the 4^th of July? In the old June, that’s 4 days after the last day of June-the 30^th. So, new June will now absorb that date, and the 4^th of July will be celebrated on June 34^th. You pinko commies want to fight me on that one? Happy June 34^th America!

Now every year is 374 days.

OK, hotshot, what about Leap Years?

What am I, am mathematician here? Look, we’ll have three years to figure that shit out. I’ll have top men working on it. Top men.

Kev's Warehouse of Whacked Out Ideas

We can’t NOT afford to do this. Here’s what not having the extra 10 days of summer looks like.

Pretty bleak, huh?

Now here’s what those 10 extra days of summer looks like.

Frolicking like a boss.

"I would like to have your hot buns as well." 

Something smells fishy here.

OK, fine a little eye candy for my 2 female readers as well.

I swore I'd never put selfies of me on my blog, but here we are.

Gettin' my swole on. (And what's the deal with the hair on the guy in the bottom right?)

Very nice,

You're welcome, ladies.

Still, you can’t just add 10 extra ten days. You have to be, like the President or something.

President? Look, I’m just a dopey white guy with bad hair and no prior experience. But “president’ you say….hmm….

.

#VoteForKev2020

The Circle of Life; The Cycle of Crap

Life is cyclical. For every reaction, there is an equal and opposite reaction. For every yin, there is a yang. Often all we do is just shuffle stuff from one spot to another. It’s all some sort of karmic balance. You give to get.

So I come home one day to find a flyer in my mailbox. It seems someone on the street thinks it will be a good idea to have a garage sale. I think this is a horrible idea. It’s an odd phenomenon, garage sales. Who had the audacity to look at all their junk and go, “You know, I betcha my neighbors will pay me for some of this crap.”

This to me just sounds eerie. I mean, if I had to, I would much rather buy stuff from someone I didn’t know. I would feel kinda strange buying something from my neighbor. I don’t know why I get caught up in this sort of stuff. Like I will be suspect when I see what crap my neighbor is hawking. I mean, if it’s not good enough for him, what makes me think its good enough for me? “Geez, if my neighbor Mike is selling this 10 lb. dumbbell, there must be something wrong with it! Maybe it’s only 9.8 lbs.” I don’t know about you, but the thought of buying clothes at garage sales is kind of, well, icky for lack of a better word. What happens if they then get jealous seeing me wear their old clothes around the ‘hood? “Damn, that Kev sure knows how to rock my old velour track suit.” This is too much pressure for me.

Yes, I know this is a great opportunity to get rid of a lot of stuff we don’t use. But is it efficient? I mean so we have to waste a whole night picking out shit we don’t want/need in the hopes one of our neighbors is gullible enough to snap it up? And even if we do sell anything, will the profit of 3.47 justify the time and effort it took? I think not.

This is one example where I blame reality TV. It’s gone through fads; bike building, poker, wedding cakes, little people and now we have something called American Pickers. I haven’t really watched the show too much, but it’s basically about these 2 guys who go and swindle…uh buy old shit from people who don’t know its true value. For example, they see a rusting metal sign and buy it for $20, and it gets appraised for something ridiculous like $500. Now in this economy, I want to meet the tool that has 500 to blow on a shitty sign. Great, so now I have a sign that has some sort of assigned value, WTF am I going to do with it? Hint; you’ll put it in the damn garage with the rest of your stupid shit. So now everyone thinks they will find a diamond in the rough. Everyone thinks they are going to find that long lost Renoir painting in the crazy cat lady’s shed. Get real.

Do people go to these things with lists? Is there something really specific they are looking for? If so, that is a pretty poor way to shop. I really think people go with the mentality of, “lemme see what I can buy that I would never normally buy new.”

Yea, I have a ton of old shit I don’t use in my garage; so does everyone else. That’s what garages are for. I think there is some sort of long standing ordinance in my township that says so. In fact, a quick cursory look around my garage reveals all kinds of candidates. Who needs a 42 quart fryer? Because I at one time apparently did. Boxing gloves, every garage sale always has boxing gloves. And bowling balls. I also have some sort of component to a Sony stereo that I am sure is outdated by now. I see a half inflated palm tree. I have an empty keg.( And yes, it was a killer party.) I think my neighbors will see how little I think of them and their tastes when I try to push all this shit on them. “Hey, Lou, you need a half used can of teal spray paint?”

So I am doing what any self-respecting man would do. I am getting the hell out of Dodge for the day. I’ll stick the wife with the responsibility of hawking my shit that I would be too embarrassed to myself. She can sell my hard hat that holds 2 beer cans. She can sell my wrestling ‘action figures’. I’ll dust off all my old Nerf guns and wipe the rat poop of the electric racing set. Ha, that’ll teach her for wanting to participate.

My street will be littered with picnic tables and card tables, all holding the SWDW (shit we don’t want). CD holders, shoe trees, glasses from Burger King. Out of fashion blouses, worn shoes, dignity, ugly lamps. I hope the Google Map car doesn’t pick tomorrow to drive down my street.

The irony is that soon enough, anything you buy will slowly morph back into ‘junk’. That popcorn popper you bought will reside in the spot where you kept the never used funnel cake kit. Yin and yang. In and out.

We all know how the deal works; most of this shit will either be left out all night, or put out on the next trash day. If you play the waiting game, you will be rewarded.

This was one of those rare, rare occasions where I was pretty wrong about the whole deal. My guess of grossing 3 dollars was way off. Good lord, people will buy anything if it’s cheap enough. That electric race set netted us five big ones. Of all things, it turns out the Nerf guns were most popular. T tells me kids were snapping them up. After realizing we had the hot commodity, we of course jacked the price up. Even as she was wrapping up, a mom and teary eyed son appeared at our door. “I’m sorry to bother you, and I normally don’t do this sort of thing,” she tells T, “but my husband and son were just here and he bought a Nerf gun. Now my youngest one wants one, too. Do you have any left over?” We just so happened to have some left over, and being big hearted and all, T didn’t even jack up the price like I would have done. My biggest fear is that all the neighborhood snots are going to be running around and assaulting me with my own weapons.

My guess is my street will be doing this again next year. My guess is it will be all the same shit that was out before; just on someone else’s table. My guess is I will be spending the week in my garage signing baseballs as Babe Ruth and that player who was on steroids. Not, not that one, the other one. Now if you’ll excuse me, its trash night and I’ve got some work to do.

Control Issues

It was time for a change. We had gone on too long this way. It’s kind of a shame. We had been together for so long; we had grown so comfortable together after all this time. Together, we had witnessed some of the best and worst things in life. However, change was in the air. Parting is never easy, especially during the holidays. Over the years, I had known just what buttons to push, and now it was no longer working. I hate to put myself in the callous joke of “trading in for a younger model”, but that is in fact what I did. It still pains me to think of it though….

I got a new remote control for the TV. What were you thinking I was talking about?

The time had come. After countless hours in front of the boob tube searching for the thinnest excuses for entertainment, the ol’ remote was breaking down. Much like my romantic life, my ability to turn the TV on was less and less consistent. The channel up key had stopped working all together. So no more scrolling up to scan channels, I could only scan down. And that’s just the TV remote. I have another one that works the sound system/DVD player. That one doesn’t turn the damn thing off anymore. Somewhere along the line, the battery cover has gotten lost. The one spring that holds the battery in is all beat to hell and only serves to randomly shoot the battery out of the back. I am surprised it still works, and hasn’t caught fire yet. It’s a hassle to work the TV with one remote, and the audio/DVD with another. Sure, the TV remote claimed to have the capability to control the sound system, but that is a lie. A dirty lie.

After a fair amount of research, I finally came across the fabled remote that should control everything. For Hallowmas, I splurged and bought this magical instrument that would only add to my laziness. Aw, the lazy days of controlling my TV, DVD and audio with the flick of a button on one remote. Surely, these will be the days I tell to somebody else’s grandkids.

While I could regale you with the more than 2 freaking hours it took me to program the damn thing, that is not the point of this Klog. Suffice it to say, it wasn’t quite as easy as I thought, though not impossible. Deep down, every guy wants to think he is a whiz when it comes to remote controls; like it’s in our chromosomes. That’s why we always must hold the remote, because we have the penis. We know how to use it better and more efficiently than womenfolk. (I am referring to both the remote and the penis.)

I won’t tell you how the damn thing still won’t turn on my sound/DVD player. After going through all three recommended practices, and the bugger still won’t turn on. The new remote is so advanced, that you can aim the old remote into it, press the function, and the new remote will pick up the signal and make it happen with the new one now. Surely, this is why universities exist. Now get to work on X-ray specs and jetpacks.

The new remote has a pretty cool feature; the ability to program four channels as favorites. So instead of wasting precious milliseconds on pressing 2 buttons, I hit one of these four keys and –BAM-my favorite channel comes up. Wow, science is cool. Now this left me with a dilemma; just what are my favorite 4 channels? How can I narrow channels down to just 4? I did not expect such a dilemma to arise over the holidays.

I have a lot of channels that I would consider ‘good’, it’s just that I don’t watch them all the time. Now this is getting like Facebook; do I like/watch Spike enough to make it one of my favorites? Will ESPN get all pissy? I at least catch a break, since I have like 4 religious channels and 3 that are in Spanish. Ningunos canales religiosos del bullshit para mí

The first thing I do is make USA the ‘A’ favorite. So you’re thinking I must watch a lot of USA, which would be wrong. In fact, I don’t think I watch it much at all. However, USA is also known as NCIS Central. Every time I do turn on USA, it’s freaking NCIS. 2 in the afternoon, 4 in the morning. They should just change their name to UNCISA. NCIS happens to be my wife’s favorite TV show, and when ever I turn on any damn TV in the house, it’s always on USA. Hey man, I know which side my bread is buttered on.

That leaves me with 3 open slots. I pick Discovery because I to tend to watch that a lot. I also pick TLC. I think that in the unlikely event a snooty friend decides to root through my remote, I would at least appear semi-intelligent. (This is the exact reason I don’t have any Britney Spears in my iPod.) Now I’m down to one. I secretly wonder if all the other channels knew of this, and would send me presents to sway my favor.

Do I watch Comedy Central enough? What about MTV and VH1? ESPN 2? Tru TV? Man o man, talk about Sophie’s Choice. No really talk about it, because I never saw the movie.

For the sake of closure-and I know you all must be deathly curious-I decide on Animal Planet. It seems the logical choice. And I’m sure the dog appreciates me keeping his tastes in mind.

That will be the hardest thing to do with programming the new remote. Sure, the sound still doesn’t turn on and off. Don’t even ask me about the damn DVR player. And for some reason, the garage door opens every time I hit the mute button, but I am sure that is just a temporary thing. I feel like I have conquered my kingdom a little more. I am in a bit more control than I was yesterday.

Music Industry Rant; Time Management

Originally written 9/17/7

Ah, yes, the rants are starting. My package ran out last week, and I basically played nice. It’s finally time to roll out what my experience of working at a major label was like. Please keep in mind, these are all my opinions, experiences and thoughts. It’s safe to say (or hope) some of these situations have been resolved. And while some of these might be WEA specific, I am sure they effect every label.

Today’s topic, class, is time management. It’s precious in any job. Especially when you are home based. Pretty much everybody on the field rep and market leader rep level worked from home. (Maybe it’s coincidence we were mostly the ones to get the ax? Hmm, is it too early to start conspiracy theories?) There are great advantages to working from home, I recommend everyone do it. Far less distraction, no travel time, company doesn’t have to pay to rent an office & utilities, etc.

I will star with how a basic week was for me. Of course, this is different for every rep, but this is how I worked it. Up and in front of the computer by 7:15. On a good day, plow through email & music websites till about 10 or so. Be back home generally by 3-4. Again, sit in front of the PC for another hour or so. Day would be wrapped up by 6 or so.

A few years ago, someone who loved spreadsheets got control. And, hence, a huge waste of time vortex started for us. Labels love to rely on numbers. Doesn’t matter how faulty or insignificant they are. And we were landslided with spread sheets, and charts and just too much. Honestly, if I sat down and read every Excel spreadsheet, I would never get a chance to leave the house. All to what? Digest and dissect too much info, at the cost of seeing how accurate it really is? Let’s look at something called “impressions”. Impressions is the estimated number of how many people heard a song. First off, those numbers are estimated. Secondly, that’s just the number of people who heard the song. Doesn’t mean they liked it; doesn’t even mean they heard the damn thing. But, hey, if 45 million people heard s ong, well, damn it, it must be a hit.

We would also get detailed breakdown of spin information. Spins are the numbers of times a station plays a song. A station could play a song over a hundred times. So, on paper, it looks like it is a hit. If you read all these spreadsheets, that would be an easy conclusion to make. But it could be wrong.

Often times, certainly not every time, I would go into one of your stores, tell you all this info, and ask what you felt about the song/artist. You would say “I’m not feeling anything on it.” There can be many explanations for this. It’s not like the promotion (i.e.radio) department isn’t doing their jobs. Often times, there may not be a reason. But the song isn’t connecting; it’s not resulting in sales for your store or my label.

There was too much email. Really, it’s like the higher the person is, the more clueless they are about using the reply all button. Kids, I kid you not, it would not be uncommon to go out for a few hours, come back to find 50-60 emails. Often times these were replies to an original emails. Somewhere during those threads, us field level types would just reply to ourselves, lamenting how this thing got out of control. I had a ton of memory in my email, and often I would get warnings that I was over my limit.

Conference calls. Ugh, a bane of my existence. We would have one “new York” call every other Thursday. This was probably the single biggest waste of time. First of all, every one from NY, Boston, Philly, and DC would be on this. Everyone in NY would sit around a big table, talking into a speaker phone. While I hated these calls, I would often keep myself in check by thing, “It could be worse. I could actually be sitting in that room. I know I wasn’t the only one on Instant Messenger. These calls were very NY centric. Sure, NY is it’s own animal, and a vastly different market than the others. But, man o man, did we waste a lot of time talking about NY. Look, your all in the same room, don’t waste my fucking time when you can just end the call and talk amongst yourselves. It was during these calls that we would all go over the latest new release books. It was during these calls that label ‘regionals’(from WB and Atlantic) would come in and give us the latest info on the releases in the book.

Towards the end, we had the ‘local’ call, which was just the Philly market on their own call, NY on their own, etc. I found these calls incredibly informative. It was just us, usually bitching about what a waste the NY call was. On this call, we shared real information, all the stuff we felt & saw while actually out in the real world. No BS-ing, ny hype, just keeping it real, and talking music. I still miss those calls.

Before the call, I would spend some time with the book. I would highlight what I thought to be the pertinent info. Just like back in college, and I would retain it just about as long. Now, you would look to these regionals to have the latest info, to know their shit, to tell us something we didn’t already know. You would be looking wrong. Often times, I honestly believe said regional would never have opened the damn book before the call. Sometimes, they would just have the pages from their releases, and they wouldn’t be in the order that everyone fucking else had them in. It’s a simple request, really. Don’t waste my time reading the book back to me. Assume I can read, and work a highlighter. Instead, just tell me something that’s not on the page. Tell me of a second single, tell me of a tour, tell me of an advertising campaign, or TV shot. But they couldn’t. It was just them, grossly unprepared, reading the book back to me. I find this rude, discourteous and unprofessional. They wouldn’t tell us all the info we knew. Someone would ask, “Do you know anything about this getting an exclusive with Target?” A brief silence, followed by something like “O, thanks for asking me” or “Thanks, I forgot to bring that up.” That is vital info we need to let our (real) accounts know. It’s not popular, but it shouldn’t be hidden from the sales reps.

It was difficult to make store visits effective. I considered this my bread and butter. It was a treat to get out into the read world, and see if this WEA hype was fact or fiction. After all, I was a marketer, and you can’t learn much about the market behind a phone and PC screen. We would have a list of titles we were to check at accounts. Over they years the list grew to be a beast. They tried to manage it by breaking it down by account (Best Buy had their own, FYE, had their own, etc) It first started out at just a few titles, and at the end, it was probably 20-25 titles per account. I could oftnen have it memorized. And some of the titles made you scratch your head. I remember one time we were checking target for some obscure BS title. None of us could find it. Turns out, Target never even carried it. Who’s supposed to be checking this? The list wasn’t totally uneffective. It did help us ID a few problems, such as Target not carrying titles they’re not supposed to. There were weeks where we could ID a problem and act to correct it. It wasn’t all bad. It just wasn’t managed correctly. There were titles on there that didn’t need to be there.

We were required to post pics of our displays. WEA chose Shutterfly. Shutterfly is a good site to use for occasional posting. But daily posting was a pain. It took 11 clicks to post one picture. I know, I counted.