I have never been happier than I am right now. I'm indescribably happy. I'm on cloud nine. I am grateful, blessed, and all of the other emotions that make for great hashtags.
You see, a couple of weeks ago I proposed to my girlfriend. It was joyful. It was celebratory. It was magical. Simply put, it was the greatest moment of my life.
Hours later, I announced my engagement on Facebook. The post received more than 100 likes. It was the first time a post of mine had ever received more than 100 likes. Simply put, it was the greatest moment of my life.
I joined Facebook in 2009. I waited a long time for a post of mine to be liked by 100 friends. I did everything I could to make it happen. I uploaded photos of myself with random dogs. I filled out "Which Girls character are you?" quizzes and shared the results. I thanked everyone for their birthday wishes every day for a full year. Nothing worked.
That is, until I popped the question. It's a dream come true. I'm in love. And I'm liked.
I'm excited. I'm excited to be engaged, excited to marry, excited to buy a home, excited to have kids, and excited to be liked on Facebook for all of these things.
I'm not surprised that I was so well-liked on Facebook after the proposal. I expected that. What I did not expect was that I'd be so well-liked in public after the proposal. That's been a very pleasant surprise.
There was one man who pointed both of his index fingers in our direction and commented, loudly, "Hey, what a great-looking couple!" My mind may be playing tricks on me, but if I remember correctly he performed the David Brent dance as he said it.
It's wonderful and intoxicating to be this well-liked. Had I known my popularity would rise this much after a marriage proposal, I would've gotten engaged in middle school.
The engagement has made me feel complete. I have the perfect woman by my side, an outpouring of support from strangers, and 100 likes on Facebook. What more could I want?
Maybe one thing: for 100 people to click the +1 button on this engagement post. I've never had 100 people click the +1 button for a blog post of mine.
I strolled through a farmers' market in my neighborhood this morning. I'm a strong believer in supporting my local farmers. I don't purchase any of their vegetables, mind you. As I've established on here more than once, I do not cook for myself. I visit the market strictly to provide moral support.
To be fair, there was one stand that sparked my interest. It offered treats -- what I believed to be rectangular cookies. Several of them were labeled "peanut butter and bacon." I love peanut butter. I love bacon. I'm not sure I've ever eaten the two of them together, though. I was intrigued.
And then I was disappointed. I continued to read the label and realized that it was a treat for dogs. That seemed unfair to me. Why should dogs -- and only dogs -- be allowed to eat such a delicious-sounding biscuit? How many of them even remember to bring money with them to the farmers' market?
I had brought money to spend at the market, and I would have gladly spent it on a peanut butter and bacon treat. If only it were available for humans.
After I returned home, I conducted an Amazon search of dog treats. I was truly stunned by the variety of flavors. "Peanut Butter and Strawberry Jelly." "Pumpkin and Banana." "Wild Salmon." "Filet Mignon."
Filet. Mignon. Do you have any idea how rare an occasion it is for me to eat filet mignon? I enjoy filet mignon, at most, once a year, at a fancy restaurant, right before my date tells me we should see other people.
Dogs are offered way too many food choices. I've expressed this opinion once before, in my first book, Shaneanigans. I'm quite proud of the title of that book. I'm not quite as proud of its sales totals.
In any event, I wrote in Shaneanigans:
I don’t believe dogs are that picky about what they eat...After a long day of licking themselves, are they really in a position to reject what’s in their dish? Anything must taste good at that point.
All these years later, I'm still waiting for an explanation.
A dog is an animal with simple tastes. So am I. But I don't lick myself, I assure you. So where's my peanut butter and bacon treat, farmers? I've supported your market. I've been a good boy. I want a snack!
There are still two months remaining in 2015, but I feel confident in saying that my single greatest accomplishment of the year came last Friday on a bus ride from New York to Washington, D.C. I couldn't wait to share it with all of you, right here on this blog.
Are you ready for it? Here it is: I came up with a great pun to describe the broken door lock of a small bathroom located on the bus.
I was traveling on said bus with a friend. A third of the way through the trip, he stood up to use the lavatory in the back. Minutes later, he returned and reported to me that the lock on the door was not working properly. Over the next hour, we overheard two or three passengers open the door and discover that it was occupied. How embarrassing.
My friend looked at me and wondered, "What would be a good headline for the bathroom situation?" This is a fun game that I like to play: creating headlines for stories that would never, in reality, be published by any website or newspaper.
There are only two rules to this game: 1) The headline must contain a pun, and 2) the pun must either be very clever or very, very dumb.
My friend went first. He suggested a headline that was merely fine. I couldn't tell you what it was; it was not memorable at all. If a headline is really good, it won't be forgotten.
I nodded my head; he made a solid effort, but it fell short of my lofty standards for puns. I contemplated my turn. A headline for a broken lock that disrupts passengers while they are taking care of business in a compartment on a moving vehicle. I thought of words I could use. Bus? Bathroom? Lock? Toilet? Toilet paper? Can? Flush? Urine? So many options...but which ones would make for a great headline?
I stared out the window for two or three minutes. Then, it hit me, like a flash of genius. A great headline.
I locked eyes with my friend, and with the biggest smile I've smiled in a long, long time, I said, "Swirl, Interrupted."
I was so proud of myself. It was a thing of beauty. Two words that perfectly summarized what was happening on the bus, with incredible wordplay and an impressive reference to a 16-year-old Angelina Jolie movie.
It's a moment like that one that reminds me that if I put my mind to something, I can accomplish anything. Like, say, become a headline writer for the New York Post one day.
I've invited several other friends to top my headline, but none of their suggestions have come close. If you feel you're up to the task, tweet me at @myemptythoughts. But I must emphasize to you: my headline is really special.
I will spend most of my Halloween trying to figure out how many bite-size Snickers equals 1 full Snickers, and then eating about 50 of them.
— Shane (@myemptythoughts) October 17, 2013
I've been playing a lot of Jenga lately, but with Kit-Kat bars. So, kids, if I don't have candy for you this #Halloween, that's why.
— Shane (@myemptythoughts) October 23, 2013
Candy wrappers take it easy on the day after Halloween by just lying around the house.
I've stocked up on rocks for Halloween, just in case Charlie Brown comes to my house for trick-or-treating.
— Shane (@myemptythoughts) October 22, 2014
"Blah!" -- A vampire after eating candy corn on Halloween
— Shane (@myemptythoughts) October 31, 2014
I did the Monster Mash, too, but I choose not to write a song about it.
— Shane (@myemptythoughts) October 31, 2014
Asked the cashier at the Halloween store whether it carries a "disinterested Halloween store employee" costume. Ended up buying his clothes.
— Shane (@myemptythoughts) October 25, 2013
Who do you think will be president in 2020? I like to be ahead of the curve when it comes to Halloween masks.
I was sad to read that the owner of Columbia House filed for bankruptcy this week. I owe a lot to its subscription service. Not money, because I fulfilled my obligations long ago. But I do feel a sense of gratitude toward Columbia House, because it allowed me to start my music collection as a teenager.
I was not what you would call a music fan before the age of 15. I owned a handful of cassette tapes -- mainly "Weird Al" Yankovic albums, plus a hodgepodge of '80s classics like He's the DJ, I'm the Rapper by DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince, and the soundtrack to It's Flashbeagle, Charlie Brown -- but I didn't have much interest in listening to the popular music of the day.
Until 1995, when Alanis Morissette released Jagged Little Pill. I played that album on my stereo every day throughout my sophomore year of high school. The songs were catchy. The music videos were cool. The lyrics were honest and edgy. I'd never connected so deeply with an angst-ridden harmonica player.
I was addicted to Jagged Little Pill. And then I discovered No Doubt's Tragic Kingdom and fell in love with that album, too. Slowly but surely, my musical tastes expanded and diversified -- The Cardigans and KC & the Sunshine Band were two of my guilty pleasures. Seriously.
My two favorite bands by the time I graduated high school were Oasis and the Foo Fighters. And they are my two favorite bands today, as you know if you've read my recent blog posts on my experiences at a Noel Gallagher concert and a Foo Fighters stadium show.
So, after my experiences with Jagged Little Pill and Tragic Kingdom, I was motivated to binge on lots of other music. Columbia House afforded me the opportunity to do just that. "Afforded" is the operative word here, because I was presented with a very reasonable deal: 12 albums for a penny.
It was an offer I couldn't refuse, since I was a student who didn't have a job and had only pennies to spend. I didn't need much convincing to sign up. (By agreeing to the offer, I was obligated to shell out approximately $100 on five more CDs later on, but that's what my parents' credit cards were for.)
Columbia House mailed me a sheet of stamps, representing the albums it had available. It was my responsibility to choose the stamps of the 12 albums I wanted, and affix them to the order form. It was a responsibility I took way too seriously. I must have studied those stamps for hours, weighing the pros and cons of each album. "Sure, I like Ace of Base now, but will I still want to listen to 'The Sign' and 'All That She Wants' five, 10 years from now?" [Update: The answer to that question turned out to be, "No."]
I taped the stamps I did not use to a wall in my bedroom, repurposing the sheet as the cheapest poster in the history of music. Like I said, I didn't have much money, and I'm very thrifty when it comes to home decorations. As I write this, I'm staring at posters of the 1988 New York Giants and the 1999 New York Mets hanging in my apartment. These posters are the easiest way to signal to my houseguests that a) I'm single, b) I'm older than 30, and c) I typically don't put much effort into things that don't involve stamps.
In light of this week's news, I thought it would be fun to revisit the 12 albums I received from Columbia House for my one cent. My first impression upon jotting down the list below is that it's a mixed bag. Some of the CDs I listened to a couple of times, if that, before disposing of them. (I make note of which ones.) A few are in my all-time top 10.
Here are all 12, in no particular order:
1. Oasis, Definitely Maybe
I've only listened to one album more often in my lifetime than this one: the Oasis album that followed it, (What's the Story) Morning Glory? I can't say that with absolute certainty, because iTunes didn't keep track of such stats before 2001, but I believe it to be accurate.
Definitely Maybe had a murderer's row of great sing-along rock songs: "Live Forever," "Supersonic," "Rock 'N' Roll Star," "Cigarettes & Alcohol," to name four. And it had one of the great album covers of the '90s.
Do I still own the album? Yes.
2. Blur, Parklife
Can you tell I was and am a Britpop fanatic? The title track of Parklife was so catchy that I didn't care that I had no idea what the word "parklife" meant. Admittedly, there were some Americans who didn't feel the same way.
Parklife was released in 1994. Three years later, Blur broke through in the U.S. with their self-titled album and "Song 2." (Woohoo!) But Parklife will always be my favorite album of theirs. Or, should I say, favourite album of theirs.
Do I still own the album? Yes.
3. The Cranberries, Everybody Else Is Doing It, So Why Can't We?
4. The Cranberries, No Need to Argue 5. The Cranberries, To the Faithful Departed
The first three Cranberries albums. The band fell off my radar as soon as I left high school. Sometimes your relationship with a music group runs its course and you simply have to move on. The Cranberries would be the first to tell you, Do you have to let it linger?
When I think of The Cranberries nowadays, two things come to mind: the band performing for Kaitlyn and her date on the most recent season of The Bachelorette:
And this:
Do I still own the albums? No. 6. The Verve Pipe, Villains
Remember the good ol' days, when you'd buy an entire album just so you could play one song again and again? It's the reason why Villains -- featuring the hit "The Freshmen" -- was one of my 12 Columbia House picks.
"The Freshmen" soared up the charts in the first half of 1997, and The Verve Pipe immediately became, in my mind, the best band with the word "Verve" in its name. I changed my opinion a few months later.
Do I still own the album? No.
7. Nirvana, Nevermind 8. Nirvana, In Utero 9. Pearl Jam, Ten
I'm not one to quickly embrace trends. For example, the Seattle grunge movement of the early '90s. These are three great albums, and yet I practically ignored them until they were offered to me for 1/12th of a cent each, several years after their debut. It seems their worth to me was slightly more than the cash value of your standard coupon.
I recently donated Ten to a thrift shop. Not because I don't like it anymore, but because I have a Pearl Jam greatest hits album that contains all of the major singles from Ten, and that's good enough for me.
If you ever meet me, ask for my Eddie Vedder impression. I can sing "Alive" or "Even Flow" nearly as well as he can. Incidentally, I can impersonate Rick Astley for you, too. My impressions of both are very similar.
Do I still own the albums? Yes, yes, no.
10. Soul Coughing, Irresistible Bliss
A girl I'd become friendly with at the time liked this album, so this selection was in her honor. I don't believe I ever listened to Irresistible Bliss from start to finish. What I did listen to didn't stick with me.
The album taught me a valuable lesson: Never order a CD from a mail-order music club simply to impress a girl. Do I still own the album? No.
11. Dave Matthews Band, Under the Table and Dreaming 12. Dave Matthews Band, Crash
When a Dave Matthews Band song comes on the radio, it takes me back to my college days. Their music was blasted out the windows of every floor of every dorm building on campus. You couldn't walk 50 feet in any direction without hearing "Ants Marching."
My college friend Dave had an issue with Dave Matthews Band. Fans were referring to the group as simply "Dave," and he was offended. "Why are they calling the band 'Dave,' as if that's the only 'Dave' in existence?" he asked. "I'm Dave, too." Can't argue that point.
I'm in a lucky position. There are no really famous musicians named Shane. As best as I can tell, Shane MacGowan of the British punk band The Pogues is the most accomplished artist that shares my name.
I'm not too familiar with the music of The Pogues. According to Wikipedia, they recorded seven studio albums. I'd give them all a chance, if only Columbia House were still in business....
Last night I attended a Foo Fighters concert at Citi Field, home of the New York Mets. I had eagerly awaited the concert since purchasing tickets in January. My second-favorite band, playing in the stadium of my favorite baseball team? Yes!
I'd convinced myself that this concert would be more special than the previous two Foo Fighters shows I'd seen. Why? Because the Mets -- my Mets -- were involved.
The Mets and the Foos, together. I couldn't wait. Dave Grohl and his bandmates seemingly embraced the team in the lead-up to the show. Just look at this picture. I hadn't seen grown men with Mets jerseys smile like this in years.
I'm not sure what I thought would happen at the concert, but I fully expected it to have some sort of Mets influence. My mind ran wild with ideas. Maybe the Foos could:
- Perform in their Mets jerseys;
- Dedicate "Everlong" to the greatest couple in baseball, Mr. and Mrs. Met;
- Invite Tom Seaver onto the stage for a cover of "Meet the Mets."
The band decided to go in a different direction. They chose not to acknowledge the Mets in any way, shape or form. Well, aside from selling merchandise that borrowed the Mets' colors, including a blue-and-orange T-shirt that I purchased at the ballpark.
I love to buy merchandise that's blue and orange, because those are my two favorite colors (thanks to the Mets). I have the shopping habits of a 5-year-old.
If you attend a concert and don't wear the band's tour T-shirt the next day, did the concert really happen?
My disappointment over the Foos/Mets matter aside, the concert was fun. Loud, too, louder than the other Foos shows I'd attended. Admittedly, it was a little too loud for my taste. There was actually a moment during the concert when I muttered to myself, "I get it, Dave, you don't want to be my monkey wrench. Do you have to scream it again and again at the top of your lungs?"
"Why would they come to our concert just to boo us?"
I had a good-sized headache by 10:30 p.m. And the show didn't end until 11:15 p.m., well past my bedtime. The Foo Fighters were onstage for two and a half hours. That's a long time to play music on a work night. With the long commute back to my apartment, I knew I wouldn't return home until 12:30 a.m. That meant I wouldn't be able to sleep as much as I normally do. And sleep is very important to me. Bands should be less concerned with entertaining their fans and giving them their money's worth, and more concerned with sending them home at a reasonable hour.
But these are all minor quibbles. The Foos sounded great. And, best of all, I didn't have to standto enjoy them.
Dave Grohl performing with a broken leg reminds me of how I once played Rock Band on my couch for a whole summer. I wasn't injured, though.
I've been under a lot of stress lately, for reasons I won't bore you with. It's affected the way I live my life. It's disturbed my daily routine.
For example, I typically eat four bowls of cereal for dinner, but in recent weeks I've only had two bowls. I just haven't had the appetite for more.
It's the stress. It's completely suppressed the joy I derive from the simple pleasures in life, like consuming half a box of Rice Chex at 7:30 p.m.
I'm not sure how to manage the stress. I have options, too many to count -- I could read a book, learn an instrument, play a sport, practice yoga, and so on -- but they all come with their own risk of stress. What if I choose the wrong book to read, or the wrong instrument to learn? What if I'm no good at the sport I decide to play? What if I can't find my yoga mat? I can't handle uncertainty.
Several friends have suggested that I speak with a therapist. I'm not sold on the idea. I'm worried that I wouldn't be able to afford it. The mere possibility of having to pay hundreds and hundreds of dollars for therapy stresses me out. That's a lot of money. That's a lot of boxes of Rice Chex.
I'd prefer a more cost-effective solution, one that wouldn't interfere with my cereal-eating diet. As luck would have it, I may have discovered a more cost-effective solution at 2 a.m. this morning.
I was watching the first Terminator movie on a random cable channel when I was introduced to this infomercial:
I'd never heard of Colorama before, but I was intrigued. Artwork that will melt your stress away? Can artwork really do that? I remember suffering dozens of panic attacks as a kid in art class because I couldn't stay between the lines. I frustrated my teacher to no end, which upset me to no end. My art didn't melt away my stress or her stress. It caused stress for the both of us.
I've never been much of an artist as an adult. My last honest attempt at creating artwork came in 2010, when I designed the cover for my book Shane Presents Shane's Empty Thoughts: Based on the Empty Thoughts of Shane.
The cover of Shane Presents Shane's Empty Thoughts: Based on the Empty Thoughts of Shane (still free on iTunes!).
I wanted a cover that reflected the book's title. As you can tell, I put in little effort to create such a cover in Microsoft Paint. I understand my limitations. My art is more MoMa than the Met.
But the purpose of Colorama is not to impress others or to sell them on something. It's to "create something wonderful and relax."
It should also be noted that Colorama only costs $12.99, plus shipping and handling. Far more reasonably priced than your average therapist. And would I create anything at a therapist's office that I could frame or present to a friend as a gift? Not likely.
By 2:03 a.m. I was seriously considering ordering the Colorama. But then I started to think some more. What if the free deluxe pencil kit does not have the colors I need? What if I can't keep a steady hand while coloring in bed or in the car? What if I still can't stay between the lines?
As of this writing, I have not ordered the Colorama. I'm not ruling it out for the future, but I need more time to think about it. In the meantime, I'll look for other ways to melt my stress away, and look for other late-night infomercials. Maybe I should learn an instrument....
I just changed my Facebook profile picture because, according to my family, no respectable woman would be interested in me if she were to see the old one.
I thought the photo was adorable, myself. It was taken when I was eight years old. In the picture, I'm wearing a grey sweatshirt with graphics of a checkered flag and some sort of "USA" logo on it. Presumably, the shirt promoted a racing event, but I couldn't tell you which one. Or why I even wore the shirt -- I wasn't a fan of auto racing then, and I'm not one now.
Sadly, the shirt is no longer in my possession, but I hope it found a nice home at a Goodwill store somewhere.
Really, what makes the photo so precious, from my perspective, is my hairdo at the time. It's thick, it's lustrous, and it sticks straight up toward the ceiling. I had the Cosmo Kramer look before Cosmo Kramer existed on TV. I'm kind of proud of that.
I chose it as my Facebook profile picture for three reasons: 1) I'm a private person and I generally don't share photos of myself online (which is why you don't see the Shane/Kramer pic here); 2) I have a self-deprecating sense of humor -- I like to poke fun at myself, and it's rather easy to poke fun at eight-year-old Shane (it's like I'm bullying myself!); and 3) I really do believe it's a cute pic, and that I was even more loveable then than I am now.
My family strongly disputes the latter point. They don't find the photo to be adorable at all. They find it to be absurd at best and, at worst, a major obstacle to finding love.
"Why did you post that picture on Facebook?" they asked me. "You look ridiculous in it."
Keep in mind, these are the same people who snapped this picture and thought enough of it to display it in a photo album for the past 27 years.
"How could anyone not like eight-year-old me?" I reasoned. "Looking at myself, I just want to give myself a big hug!"
"Shane, no woman wants to be with a man who has a goofy photo of himself as a child as his Facebook profile picture," they countered.
Is that really true, though? I know women ask for a lot in a partner -- good looks, job security, a sense of humor -- but I didn't realize that an appealing Facebook profile photo is also a requirement.
I'll tell you this much: If a woman were to demand to see my Facebook profile picture on a first date -- like she's a TSA agent checking my driver's license to ensure I'm legit -- I'd walk right out on her. I'd have nothing to prove to her, and neither would eight-year-old Shane.
I polled my Facebook friends to gauge the validity of my family's theory, that women would be turned off by the photo. One longtime acquaintance -- female -- mostly disagreed, writing, "Perhaps some girls [wouldn't be interested in me after seeing the picture] but would you be interested in those boring girls anyway? Cool chicks dig Kramer hair."
Another, male friend openly wondered whether I was using Facebook to pick up women.
As I mentioned at the top, I succumbed to family pressure and changed my profile picture to a more current photo. We'll see what kind of effect it has on my romantic life going forward.
