On The Christmas Spirit

I generally try to resist getting into the groove of the Christmas spirit for as long as I possibly can. When I went to the mall a week after Halloween and saw Santa entertaining a long line of children, I nearly had a meltdown.

I heard White Christmas on the radio in July. I know that it was a joke, but it still caused my blood to boil momentarily.However, the lights are now up on my house, the cards have begun to arrive and presents have now officially been purchased.

I found myself crooning along to Elvis as he sang about a Blue Christmas on my way home from the gym today.

I looked in wonderment at some of the decorations on the homes around mine.

I had a thought today that seeing the tree in Rockefeller Center would be the highlight of my month.

So despite all of my resistance, it's official:

It's going to be a Haastile Christmas indeed.

On Drinking

Let's face it kids, alcohol is a part of a our culture, it's a part of our souls.

Whether you love them, hate them, or are completely indifferent to them, alcoholic beverages shape a person's daily life in way that sometimes aren't even noticeable.

Say for instance that you go out on a weeknight, get totally hammered and then arrive late for work the next day and you lose your job. Exhibit A.

Or maybe you go to your local watering hole, and end up seeing the girl that you always had a crush on in high school. Her looks have faded slightly over the years, but hey, she's still a fox. After several mind-erasing cocktails, you end up having a wonderful and consensual tryst that evening. You wake up refreshed and full of life. Step 2.

Or it could be that your father was a raging alcoholic, nasty, abusive, and vicious. And that is the reason why you refuse to ever consume even a drop of the poisonous liquid. What do we have behind door number three?

In my case, it's kind of a mix of all three.

My dad's a drinker, not a nasty one or anything, but he can put them away. There was once a time when I considered him an alcoholic, and he probably was. But it didn't faze me at the time.

But then my formative years passed and I grew stupid. I partied nightly, drank heavily, cavorted with the ladies I now call "biddies." Frankly, I made horrible decisions.

I've had some hellacious hangovers. Ones that kept me in bed for days. On the verge of alcohol poisoning at least once.

Then I consider my role models.

My dad. A drinker.

Charles Bukowski and Ernest Hemingway, my favorite writers. Heavy drinkers.

Hell even Humphrey Bogart (my favorite all-time actor) was a drinker in a bunch of his movies.

So that brings us to me. A surefire alcohol enthusiast?

Not anymore.

I'll enjoy a drink now and again these days. But my days of hard partying and stupidity are far behind me. And all it took was waking up one morning looking at myself in the mirror and not liking the person looking back at me. It was at that moment that I vowed to never be that person again.

Oh sure, I've had fun since then, but it's been a long time since that day.

And I've never once looked back or regretted it.

On Reading

I was just reminiscing, and I remembered that one of my fondest memories of my childhood was trekking to the public library one a week with my mom.

I loved the excitement of picking out different books, and increasing my skill level of reading as I went along. I was reading long chapter books by the time I was six.

Hell, later in life I even worked at that same public library for two years in high school all the way into my first year if college.

So it was with a bit of surprise last week that I realized that not only did I no longer have a library card, I had not actually been to the library in roughly six years.

I went last week, picked up a new card, and am now making a solemn vow to myself to read more.

I actually do like reading, as befits an English major. I like reading novels, plays, poems.

Not textbooks though, that's just a waste of time.

But I was a little bit let down when, in the course of last Sunday's trips to two local libraries, I saw absolutely not one child at the library picking out a book.

Sure, there were tons of kinds picking out DVD's or videos, but not books. It didn't hit me until just now, but that's really a travesty.

It's funny that at my age I'm starting to tell 'When I was a little boy" stories, but I find myself doing it more and more. In addition, I think that girls today dress way too slutty (I know, may the man-law Gods strike me down for saying that), and I will now affectionately refer to them as "biddies." I also think that Americans eat way too much fast food.

And the more people that are younger than me that I come to know, the fewer people there are that actually enjoy reading. Ridiculous.

When I finally find a girl that loves to read, she'll be the one that I marry.

I mean, she has to be a super hottie to boot, but the reading will go a long way too.

On Lying

I might go see the new Twilight movie next week.

I lied to all of you about never ever seeing that film.

It will never happen again, I promise you.

On Bliss

A very subjective term, I choose to discuss the term "bliss" tonight.

To some, bliss could mean dismembering a body. And I'm not entirely sure why I led with that.

To others, it could mean making the perfect Chicken cordon bleu for dinner and a chocolate sauce to follow with dessert. Or maybe "after" dessert.

Still to others, it could be cuddling with a teddy bear (or two) and enjoying a warmed up brownie or blueberry muffin.

You'll notice that I make reference to food a couple times here, because to a lot of people, food can be the epitome of bliss.

To sports fans, the idea of kicking back and watching your favorite team while munching on some hot wings and a couple beers verges on the orgasmic.

To this guy, bliss can occur in several scenarios.

One, I can be lounging in bed, and one of my dogs will randomly come over and cuddle up with me. It's stupid, but I love it.

Second, the scenario above. On the NFL's opening Sunday this season, I enjoyed buffalo wings and several frosty beverages. And to be quite honest, it was one of the best days I've ever had.

Third, and probably the most "blissful" of the scenarios that I'll lay out here, involves another person. A two person blissfest if you will.

Here it is, I'll set the scene:

It's a weeknight (could be any time between Monday and Thursday night), you're on the couch/lounging surface with the person you love. It doesn't matter what's on TV.

Then all of a sudden, the perfect movie or comedy special or sporting event comes on. You look at your significant other, fully expecting them to exercise their veto power of what program you will be watching. Instead, they look back at you and say "I LOVE this movie/show/team!"

Your heart skips a beat, your mind races, and you just might get a little excited.

THAT, my friends, is bliss.

On Professional Wrestling

As anyone that knows me can tell you, I am a huge professional wrestling fan. And before you begin lighting torches and chasing me out of town, I'll address a couple of things.

First off, I know that wrestling is "fake." It's fake in the same way that bullfighting is staged. There is a huge margin for error, for injury, and in some cases, for death.

I have seen first hand, the life changing toll that pro wrestling can have on a life.

I was in attendance at Nassau Coliseum when on October 5, 1999, in the middle of the ring, former NFL defensive end and then-WWF superstar Darren Drozdov was dropped on his head during a improperly-executed powerbomb attempt and paralyzed from the neck down.

Even more recently, Japanese wrestling legend Mitsuharu Misawa lost consciousness in the ring after being suplexed and was pronounced dead a short time later. The cause of death was attributed to a cervical spine injury.

Second, I know that it's silly. It's a male soap opera. But in this soap opera, no one's sleeping with their enemies wife. Nor are they plotting against each other. And they certainly are not wearing outlandish outfits made to catch the eye.

Oh wait, they do all of those things. Forget that argument.

But none of that has ever really mattered to me. Even since I was five years old and saw my first then-WWF program on Saturday afternoon, I was hooked. I couldn't even tell you the reason why.

I still can't.

There was even a time when I wanted to be a pro wrestler. I spent hours putting my body through hell trying to perform the moves that I saw on TV in my friends' basement. Hitting my head over and over on a tile floor might account for my insanity now.

My best friend and I even performed periodically as a tag team at the summer camp that we worked at.

So call me what you will. I like professional wrestling, and I'm not ashamed to say it.

What I am ashamed of however, is that I have NEVER owned a pair of stretchy, ball-crushing tights.

I mean who doesn't look sexy as hell in those?

On Hiatus

I will be going on a Haastile Hiatus until Sunday. But I'll be back and better than ever come that day.

Bank on it.

On Blazing New Trails

Big things could be looming on the horizon.

The dawning of a new type of greatness is drawing near.



Cryptic, huh?

On New Endeavors

Thinking about entering into an unholy partnership with Dr. Zombie.

Discovery Zone.

Dragon Zord.

Drunken Zebra.

Depressed Zookeeper.

What will it be? No idea.

Where will it be? Not a clue.

When will this take place? Who knows.

But it's on.

On Multivitamins

Have you ever wondered how there could possibly be so many components packed into a multivitamin?

There's so much going on in that little pill, it's like a foreign film.

And whether you're swallowing your pills like a grown-up, or chewing a Flintstones "multi" like a five year old, you sleep sound at night, knowing that you're getting some type of redeemable value out of it.

Also, if you're taking a Flintstones vitamin, you probably go to bed earlier than most third graders. In fact, I guarantee that.

Now, the multivitamin that I take is roughly the size of a small aircraft. I feel like I need to down four gallons of water just to cram this thing down my throat.

But on the plus side, I feel better when I take it, which is probably the point in the first place.

On Truth

Honesty is always the best policy.

It may shed doubt, but at least you can never be labeled a liar.

And it's funny how stupid little things can eat away at you, even when they don't matter in the slightest in the long run.

When something is so perfect, there can be no secrets. Relationships are a good example.

Lies can abound in a relationship; some are teeming with them. In my experience, the only real course of action is full disclosure. Only then can everything be 100% perfect.

I know that now.

On Tradition

Unlike most people my age, I genuinely enjoy visiting with my grandparents.

My maternal grandfather is funny just because he normally has no idea of what's going on, because he can't hear anything and he'll repeat questions or say something that has nothing to do with anything.

My paternal grandparents are just as entertaining.

My grandmother, who us grandchildren call Gratti (the story there is that my cousin Cara couldn't pronounce "Grandma Marion," and it evolved from there), a woman who was referred to in her high school yearbook as "faultlessly feminine," is a perfect lady. She is always dressed well, and her hair is always neatly pulled back. She takes great care to cook, clean and manage the household. She also spoils her grandchildren.

She also curses like a sailor, especially in traffic.

Simply put, she's the greatest grandmother a kid could hope for.

My paternal grandfather, PaErn (His name is Ernest, figure out the contraction) is equally as awesome. The man knows everything about everything, and is the man to go to if there's a question about any family matter.

For years, he was the master of woodworking, until cataracts and Parkinson's Disease put a halt to that.

Now he hangs out and watches morning talk shows and Jeopardy. And in no way is that sad or depressing. He loves it.

My sister and I visited them earlier this evening with the intent of delivering a birthday card to my grandmother, who turned 81 today.

Nearly an hour later, I looked at the clock and realized how much time I had spent just getting lost in stories. That happens regularly.

It's this type of thing that most people lament not encountering in their lifetime, time with their loved ones.

I'm lucky, in that I've had a lot of time to get to know my grandparents. So I will never have that regret.

On Literature and Film

The title of this blog almost sounds as if it would be an English or Cinema class on any college campus. But I assure you, it is not.

Instead, it is about me, and my love of both literature and film, one in particular.

Now my favorite movie is High Fidelity, which is based upon a novel of the same name by Nick Hornby.

My favorite book, American Skin, is supposedly being optioned as major motion picture. But I won't hold my breath on that one.

In my experience, and many people will agree, books are almost always better than the films based upon them.

One example of a film being better than the book is Forrest Gump. The original novel, written by Winston Groom, was filled with incredibly random things that the title character did, including becoming a professional wrestler. The film streamlined things, and has since been referred to as a cinematic masterpiece.

The book Hannibal Rising by Thomas Harris was fantastic, I devoured it when it first came out.

The film was nothing short of horrible.

So it was with great trepidation that I took a chance and watched the film Of Mice and Men, based upon the John Steinbeck work of the same name.

I would probably put Of Mice and Men in my top three literary works, behind the aforementioned American Skin and To Kill A Mockingbird (also a wonderful film).

The relationship between George and Lennie is beautiful. The naivety of a simple Lennie, mixed with the caring, but gruff personality of George makes for a great backdrop. These characters love each other. The final pages of the book (which I won't ruin here) actually caused me to tear up upon reading them for the first time when I was in high school.

And I quite honestly was not disappointed by the film, much to my delight.

I did not view the original version of the film, the 1939 one that starred Burgess Meredith (Mickey in the Rocky movies) and Lon Chaney Jr. (the Wolfman himself) as George and Lennie respectively. But frankly, I would have loved to see Meredith bitching at Chaney in his gravelly voice. I think that that would have been hysterical.

Instead, I watched the 1992 version starring Gary "Lt. Dan in Forrest Gump" Sinise and John Malkovich as George and Lennie.

Automatically, I did not want to buy Malkovich as Lennie, who is supposed to be very physically intimidating, but meek. Malkovich isn't even close, as he is squirrelly and wholly terrifying looking.

Instead, I LOVED this movie. Malkovich was phenomenal as Lennie, and portrayed the role with near perfection. Due to clever camera work, they did make him seen overpowering and huge. And I am always willing to buy Sinise as curmudgeonly and clever, so that fit well.

Add in the guy who played Mr. Hand in Fast Times at Ridgemont High as Candy, and I'm completely sold.

Film has overtaken literature in this case. This one was perfect.

On A Walk To Remember

You know, for a guy who is stereotypically portrayed as macho, jock-y, even as an asshole at some points, I do enjoy a good chick flick.

It's actually a well known fact. And I tend to surround myself with like minded friends. Most of them love the tearjerkers as well.

So it was with little trepidation that I put the film A Walk To Remember into my Netflix queue. However, it is worth noting that I did not do it unsolicited.

Girlfriend's favorite flick. Mandy Moore (who is number two on my list of celebrity crushes). Death.

This is the triad of Haastile joy.

So let's talk about this shall we. And I'll refrain from talking about Ms. Moore for as long as I possibly can.

There's a few problems I had with this movie:

First off, who the hell cast tranny look-alike Daryl Hannah as Shane West's mom? Obviously someone owed her a major favor. She was certainly a scene stealer, but for the wrong reasons. Instead of recognizing her brilliant acting, I instead scrolled her scenes frame by frame searching in vain for her Adam's apple, or signs of a wang.

Second, even in dowdy clothing and bad hair, Mandy Moore is not ugly. Don't try to make her ugly. It's like taking The Last Supper and putting Pop Tarts on the table. Criminal.

Third, well...I got nothing. This movie ruled.

Here's some things that I loved.

First, the line "I might kiss you."

Instead of following this cliched line with "I might let you," the filmmakers instead decided to go with "I might be bad at it."

Stopped me dead in my tracks. What a great answer!

Second, it was obvious that something was up with Mandy Moore from the start of the film. However, they waited a good while into the movie to tell you what it was. I liked the suspense.

Third, sure, the idea of Shane West and Mandy getting married at such a young age is kind of stupid. But it's romantic and heartfelt. That always gets me.

I'm a big softy.

Fourth, prominent Mandy Moore singing. Something about her voice captivates me. Same with Mel actually. Hmm, draw your own conclusions here.

On Guinea Pigs

I am mystified by the ability of my guinea pig to captivate the attention of anyone or anything that enters my room.

My mother fawns over him. My dad says hello to him. My sister tries to steal him.

The dogs sit here for hours and stare at his cage, even though it's four feet in the air and they can't see him.

Sure, he's adorable, but hes not that adorable. His shrill squeaks awaken me every morning at sunrise, just so he can have baby carrots.

He shrieks even louder at night when it's time for him to eat his dinner, normally spinach.

Plainly put, my guinea pig, Hemingway, is a diva.

But he's adorable and furry, so I'll let all of his faults go.

It's kind of the same story with my grandfather.




-Oh, and I'll be watching the film A Walk To Remember later tonight, so expect a full report on that in tomorrow's blog. Because after all, I am a Mandy Moore fanatic.

Without all of the creepy hang-ups of course.

On Experimentation

There's three words that I dread hearing come out of my father's mouth.

"Here, try this."

The first time I remember hearing those words, I was five years old, and he had a fork full of potato salad in his hand. I have hated potato salad ever since then.

Generally, when he says these words, he was normally created some kind of strange taste sensation that he loves, but might cause other peoples' skin to crawl.

The only concoction that I remember loving was iced tea and orange juice. And he didn't even come up with that, my grandmother did.

Anyway, the reason that I bring it up today is that I waled in the house, and without even a hello, I heard "Here, try this,"

Once I heard the phrase repeated, I walked back in to the kitchen to find my father extending a glass of red wine my way.

I'm a wine snob, everyone knows this.

Long story short, I didn't enjoy the scarlet liquid that I imbibed.

However, it got me thinking about the idea of taking chances and experimentation as a whole.

Sexually, experimentation can be quite a pleasurable experience. That one I can attest to.

Romantically, taking chances can be incredible. They can also ruin your life.

Emotionally, taking chances is the same as romance. It's all hit or miss.

But you never know unless you try. And I'm going to try more from now on.

On Fatherhood

No, I'm not trying to announce anything.

I am not going to be a father. Not yet at least.

However, the thought of fatherhood is a subject that I am always willing to discuss. Anyone who knows me will tell you that I love kids, and that unlike a lot of guys, am very eager to one day become a father.

But I often wonder what kind of father I would be.

Would I be like my maternal grandfather; stern, distant, and the disciplinarian of the family.

Or maybe like my paternal grandfather; stern, wise and always willing to listen to anything that another family member has to say.

Or will I be the kind of father that my own dad is; stern, sometimes wacky, and as loyal as a pitbull.

Something tells me that I'll be stern. Any doubts there?

I look upon my three years as a camp counselor to shed some light on the answer to this question.

For eight weeks, those 10-20 kids are my life. From the hours of 8 to 5, keeping them safe and happy is my primary concern. I have a high tolerance for bullshit, but at the same time can be either firm or kind when the situation arises. The bad kids hated me and the good kids loved me.

If I had to yell at them everyday, chances are that kid kid wasn't a fan of mine.

But my patience with these children was uncompromised. Much like my own father, once my tolerance for something is reached, I'm not going to hold back. However, until that point, I'm as gentle as a lamb. And anyone who worked with me this past summer, with my group of sixteen psychopathic kids, will attest to that.

But back to the real question at hand.

I watched the film Big Fish last night, and I have to admit that I was enthralled by the stories that the father weaved for his son. I think that I would be good at that kind of stuff. I'm creative. I'm fun.

I want to be the kind of father that never says no when his child asks him to go outside and play. I'll always push them higher on the swings, or throw a ball around for hours.

I want to be the kind of father that their child can come to with any little problem, but that child also has been taught what problems need parental interference and which do not.

I want my daughter(s) to be daddy's little girl. I want my son(s) to look at me as their hero.

I want my father to visit years from now, and in a moment of downtime, be able to say to me, in all sincerity, "Bryan, you are a wonderful father."

The Hills Are Alive With The Sound Of Music

I've felt like crap today, and strangely, it's gotten my creative juices flowing like crazy. None of that will be reflected in this post, but I'm just letting y'all know.

Just a few things that I'm thinking about:

- I really like the song Sin for a Sin by Miranda Lambert..

- Instant mashed potatoes (or "faux-tatoes" as my father calls them) are not bad, as long as they have gravy on them.

- I want to get more tattoos.

- Being nauseous blows.

- Guinea pigs can be just as big a pain in the ass as a 90-pound dog.

- I might have beaten my Taco Bell addiction. But my addiction to muffins still looms large.

- I would be completely at home as a farmer. But that's not an aspiration.

- I really want deep dish pizza.

On Fantasy Football

As a young sportswriter last year, I wrote an article for the Binghamton University newspaper about the maddening qualities of fantasy football.

Few things in life have the potential to cause my inevitable mental breakdown than fantasy sports. Football is normally the biggest mindfuck of the whole lot.

I spent (and yes, I really did count the minutes) 49 minutes today switching my fantasy roster spots back and forth. Ultimately, the choice between starting Minnesota's Percy Harvin or Arizona's Anquan Boldin, both of whom are very questionable, came down to several factors.

First, the things I should be basing this decision on:

1. Harvin plays an extremely tough Steelers defense, and his sore shoulder may not hold up.

2. Boldin is playing a good defense (NY Giants), and is nursing an injury (high ankle sprain) that normally keeps players out for weeks.

3. Boldin is tough as nails, and always plays hurt. Harvin does too, but plays fewer downs.

Then of course, there's the crazy reasons that I took into consideration. And these of course, are the reasons that I truly base my decisions upon.

1. The Cardinals have cuter uniforms, which went in favor of Boldin.

2. www.flip-coin.com, which also told me to start Boldin.

3. ESPN's Adam Schefter first updated his Twitter account with Harvin's status for today, but seven minutes later updated Boldin's, so there was no help there.

Ultimately, I went with Boldin, which I am praying does not eventually come back and bite me in the ass. But it will, because the colossal bitch that is fantasy football just loves to mess with my emotions.

And yes, I am well aware that I sound like a mental patient.

I Have Ninety-Six Fewer Problems Than Jay-Z

Three things that I hate today:

1. Not being able to breath.

-I have no idea when or how I got sick, but it blows.

2. Being awakened far too early by inane text messages.

-my friends should know that texting me before 10 a.m. on a weekend could be a hazard to their health (in the form of me reaching through the phone and strangling them).

3. Mish-moshes of leftover food.

-throwing leftover chicken, steak and pasta in a casserole dish and covering it in mozzarella cheese does not constitute a fresh dinner.

However, it was delicious.

On Paparazzi

While driving home from the gym this afternoon, the song "Paparazzi" came on the radio. As I drove the length of the Meadowbrook Parkway, I listened intently to the lyrics of the song, and was legitimately creeped out by the song.

After a quick text to make sure that I wasn't the only person that found the song absolutely spine-chilling, I was instructed to view the video before actually deciding if I should file a restraining order against Lady Gaga, so that I never have to see her or her insane outfits in person.

So I watched the video.

After rocking slowly in the corner and repeating "I'm okay, I'm okay" for several minutes, I collected myself and here's my thoughts.

Very creepy video indeed.

Putting aside all of Lady Gaga's Halloween costumes she calls a wardrobe, all the murder and violence, and even the fact that she rocked on crutches (I'm not sure why though, spinal injuries aren't funny....well, I'm sure that they could be), my biggest issue with the video was this:

The guy in it. The one who is supposed to be her boyfriend.

That guy deserves a medal of honor or something for making out with that vicious girl-boy. He cupped her buttocks, kissed her, fondled her.

My toes are curling just thinking about it.

So let's hear it for Lady Gaga, and all her things that make you go "Blech."

Five Things

Here is Five Things I want to accomplish before I die. I short "bucket list," if you will.

1. Publish at least one novel.

2. Have a six-pack. And not the delicious type of the beer variety. I want the sexy, "girls want to run their fingers over them" abdominal type.

3. Own a horse. No real reason, I just want one.

In fact, I'm pretty sure I've never even been on a horse.

4. Run a 5K race. Which is a long way off, since I freaking hate running.

5. Get married and have three children. Boring and a little cliched, but it's really what I want.

Lies

Here's some truths about lies:

-People who tell you that they enjoy giving presents rather than receiving them are lying. Blatantly.

-If a girl tells you that she loves performing oral sex, but doesn't mind that you don't reciprocate, she lying. Badly.

- Diet Dr. Pepper tastes nothing like regular Dr. Pepper.

-There is no Santa or Easter Bunny. However, there is a Tooth Fairy. His name is Evan, and he lives in Queens.

-Receiving packages in the mail is infinitely better than sending one.

- No one would bring books with them if they had to be stranded on a desert island. What would they bring? I have no idea, but it sure as hell wouldn't be the complete works of Jules Verne.

And it's not just people in everyday life either. The movies lie to you all the time.

Examples:

-Big Daddy: Styx is not the greatest American rock band, nor did they catch a bad rep because most critics are cynical assholes. The fact of the matter is, they're Styx, and they suck.

- A Bronx Tale: the worst thing in life is not wasted talent. There's any number of things that are worse. Off the top of my head, I can think of the following:

1. Being locked in a room with a pair of angry badgers.
2. Slamming your balls in a car door (I'm sure it's possible).
3. Witnessing your grandparents having sex.

- Alvin and the Chipmunks: Much as I want to believe it, chipmunks can't talk.

Fact.

And furthermore, they cannot sing either.

Answering some questions

I've been overwhelmed by questions and ads today, so let me take some time to answer some of these queries:

1. Yes, I would like sloppy joes for dinner.

2. No, I do not want to learn German in 10 days.

3. Yes, I would like to try new Tropicana orange juice, now with more pulp.

4. Yes, I will bring your groceries inside Gratti, and no, I don't mind at all.

5. No, I do not have a light.

6. Yes, I do know where the broom and dustpan are.

7. No, I do not want to know how to procure Viagra for pennies on the dollar. And no, I don't need it.

8. Yes, I am in love.

9. No, I do not have swine flu. But if you'd like to read my rant about it, here's your opportunity.

10. Yes, I do say "honestly," "apparently," and "frealz" way too often.

On Hank

Charles Bukowski once wrote "there's nothing worse than too late."

And I agree with him on that. So here's a few things that I need to say, so that they're out there, and I can't ever have the excuse that by the time I could say them, it was too late.

1. For the first time in my life, I'm truly happy.

2. It is my dream of dreams to be a published writer. And not of sports articles or opinion pieces, because I've already accomplished that.

3. I've done a lot of bad things, but paid for them in their own ways.

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5. As long as I have love, nothing else matters.

6. I think that Justin Timberlake, U2, and the Twilight series are severely overrated.

Seems like a short list, and it is. But those six things are true and all-encompassing.

Finally....

Back in November of 2006, I bought myself a beautiful little 5-disc stereo system.

It got used for the three days following the date of purchase.

Since then, not once.

But ever since the wonderful people at Dell decided to wipe my computer clean of everything on it several weeks ago, including the thousands of songs that I had on my iTunes, I have been living in a very quiet world.

Until today that is.

I spruced up that stereo, found a great place in my room for it; one that allows for optimal listening conditions. The acoustics are even great.

If this sounds a little thorough for the placement of a music playing implement, it's not. When you love music as much as I do, you can never do enough to ensure that your tunes sound the best that they can.

The first CD I played?

Hag, The Best of Merle Haggard.

And why does the music of a 72-year old country musician take paramount over all the other songs, artists, or genres in the world?

Because I love outlaw country, plain and simple.

But that's a story for another day.

My true medium

As an English major, words are most certainly my thing.

I was asked tonight what words I hate. I then thought of words that I love as well. Here's the short list:

Words I dislike:

the "c word," penetration, hate, screw, intercourse.

Now lest you think I only am including dirty words, or ones that have that type of connotation, here's some others that are not filthy at all.

Sticky, binding, needle, shiver.

Now here's a few of my favorite words:

Swirl, advantageous, vexed, conundrum, creep.

And my all time favorite, and it has been for quite some time:

CRITTERS.

I dare you to say that out loud and not giggle. Or at least smile.

My own little hell

I'm currently watching Stick It.

Yes, I'm watching a tween movie about gymnastics.

Which says one of two things;

One, I'm a creepy old man.

Or two, I"m so tragically hip, that this is actually cool.

I'm gonna go with option two. Because clearly I'm not going to cop to being creepy. Or old.

Ok, maybe old.

Oh, and I ate Carvel while watching.

So maybe I am creepy.

C'est la vie.

A Lesson Learned

There really is no better feeling in the world than someone thanking you for all that you do for them.

It warms you up inside. It makes you feel whole.

Right now, I'm warm. And I'm whole.

But even better is knowing that the person who is doing the thanking is just as supportive of you as you are of them.

Someone telling you that they'll "always be your biggest fan" goes beyond those words, and transforms into something bigger.

It transcends definition.

It defies logic.

And truthfully, there can nothing better than that.

Grrr

No, I'm not trying to be intimidating.

Ok, maybe I am, but only to the tech support team of Dell Computers in India.

A total of four hours and $120 has been spent by me over the course of the last three days trying to figure out why my laptop couldn't connect to the wireless connection in my house.

After telling three different technicians that they problem was obviously the wireless card in the unit, and essentially being told that I was an idiot, a final technician finally diagnosed what the problem was.

My wireless card wasn't working properly.

If it were possible to reach through a phone and strangle someone, there'd be several dead citizens of India right now.

That's not even Haastile. It's hostile. The real word.

Thought on the VMAs

Watched the MTV VMAs last night, and as always, I have some observations.

First off, I was excited that Russell Brand was going to be the host. I loved him in Forgetting Sarah Marshall. I love his stand-up even more.

So I was incredibly let down when after the entire length of the show, he had fallen flat on his face (metaphorically of course) and was completely unfunny. Isn't the host of an awards show supposed to be entertaining? Because MTV hired the wrong guy for that job this year.

Second, Lady Gaga.

If Tom Cruise needs any help in proving that mental illness is a real thing, he need look no further than Lady Gaga.

Nevermind the fact that she showed up to the award show with Kermit the Frog as her date. Disregard the thirty-thousand costume changes that she underwent over the course of the evening. Completely forget her faux blood-drenched performance of "Paparazzi."

This woman is a complete original. High praise does not come easily to me, but she can sing, and she's certainly an edgy and talented performer.

Kudos to Miss Stefani Germanotta aka Lady Gaga!

Finally, and you knew I wouldn't leave this out, Kanye West.

Never before have I ever felt genuine rage for a celebrity. Congrats Kanye, you're the first.

First off, you interrupted a very deserving artist (Taylor Swift) in the middle of a heartfelt and genuine acceptance speech.

Second, you made an absurd claim that Beyonce's "Single Ladies" video was one of the greatest of all-time.

If dancing badly in a leotard is the key to success, sign me up right now.

Third, is Kanye really so petty and depraved that just because he doesn't have a hit single right now, or a new album "dropping" soon, he needs to climb on stage and annoy everyone.

Praise goes to the audience for booing him every time his name was mentioned for the rest of the night. It's nice to see that some people still have class in this world.

And speaking of class, the aforementioned Beyonce showed heaps of it when she won her award for Video of the Year and instead invited Swift back to the stage to finally complete her speech.

See, not all artists are disgusting human beings, Kanye.

And I use the term "artist" loosely. You're a punk, plain and simple.

It's A Good Day

So as many of you know, the Haastile One is a huge football fan.

And as many of you know, most of my friends and I view this days as a national holiday.

Today is the first regular season New York Giants game of the brand new NFL season.

So here's a few facts about this day:

1. I will be glued to the television from around 4 o'clock on today.

2. I'm wearing blue.

3. I likely will have no voice left by the end of the evening.

4. Cold beer might be in my future.

5. As long as the Giants destroy the Redskins today, I'll be ecstatic for the next three days.


-In addition, the MTV VMA's are tonight. Normally this wouldn't really excite me, but Russell Brand is hosting.

Incidentally, Russell Brand is my new favorite comedian.

Not just anyone can make elephants funny.

This crazy haired, leather-clad Brit can do just that.

For your convenience, you can view the elephant bit here

Oh, and one last thing:

GOOOOOOOO G-MEN!

Dad

As youngsters, little boys are often overheard telling their teachers, friends, and family that their fathers are their heroes.

I never really felt that way.

Now don't get me wrong, I love my father, and he loves me, but we were never the type of people who had a "Hey son, let's play catch" relationship. I think we've actually said the words "I love you" to each other exactly twice in my life.

But that was fine by me. I never had any complaints with that. Nor do I now.

Dad worked long hours in construction, before beginning his own business around the time I was ten. He still continues to do back breaking labor everyday, simply to provide for my family.

And he's never complained. Never asked for anything in return.

And yet he still made time to watch a movie with my sister or myself. Or to take us to a museum. We still knew that he loved us. He still took time to know us.

It's funny. I feel like I become more and more like him every day.

We sound the same. I get mistaken for him on the phone all the time.

We look similar, especially since my daring decision to grow a goatee.

And you know, looking back now, my father really was a hero. He instilled in me what it is to be a man. A real man.

And after all, isn't that what all men should truly strive to be?

Realizations

I just realized something potentially life altering.

I like comic book movies, Lord of the Rings and Harry Potter.

I might be a nerd.

Which means the inevitable ass-kicking is on the horizon. From myself.

Oh wait, I balance out that Holy Trinity of Geekdom with the Triad of Macho-ness (which of course is a love of sports, ultimate fighting and cars).

Oh, and I've actually kissed a girl.

The World is balanced yet again!

Hooray!

Stupidity

I just saw a woman who was easily seven or eight months pregnant. Rollerblading.

Doesn't that seem like the direct opposite of what you should be doing?

Maybe it's just me.

If it's broke, I'm gonna fix it.

Why is it that on holidays (today being Labor Day), everyone finds it necessary to go to the gym.

Just because you have the day off from Blockbuster doesn't mean that you need to be here when I am.

The membership costs the same if you use it once a week than if you use it everyday. So why are you on the elliptical when I want to be?

This leads to a bigger problem of overcrowding in gyms. But that's another rant for another day.

Anyway, after a short gym visit, because I could barely breathe with all the people there, I returned home with the intention of riding my good ol' trusty bike.

Mind you, I haven't been on the damn thing in close to two years, but still.

After dusting it, oiling the chain, making sure everything worked, I pumped the tires up, and was ready to take it for a spin.

Instead, the front tire went immediately flat.

So a Walmart trip is in the works to buy new tires or something. Anything to get that thing back to being in working order.

Who's coming with me?

A Day at the Medieval Festival

So I was startled awake this morning by my father asking me if I wanted to go to the Medieval Festival with my family. After an emphatic "Yes!" I rushed to get ready, basically inhaling a bowl of Cheerios, and we were on our way.

Things I heard/said at the Medieval Festival:

- "I'm going to the bathroom to have a sword fight...with myself." [my father]

-"Where'd she get that outfit, Ye Olde House of Juggery?" [me, about an older woman with a completely inappropriate outfit]

- "Is that a fruit cup? I LOVE fruit cups!" [medieval jousting guy, stopping his rant about jousting helmets to ask a little kid about their snack]

- "If you loved my step dancing, you can also see me Tuesday through Friday at Cheetah's." [my father, referencing a woman participating in renaissance dancing]

- "They'll ask her to join the show. She can be Lindsay, Mistress of Bitchery." [me, after one of the performers yelled at my sister for heckling him]

Things I saw at the Medieval Festival:

- a fire eater setting his leg on fire, which burned for 20-30 seconds before it was extinguished. He was later taken away in an ambulance.

- A man resembling a lawn gnome.

- obscenely large barbecued turkey legs.

- horseys!

- a guy dressed as a cross between a member of KISS and a vampire. But medieval-y.



What a day, maybe I'll go back next weekend.

But I won't be going alone. Other people need to see this ridiculousity.

Yes, I made up that word. It fits.

Recommendations

I am certainly not a person who likes to be told anything.

Anyone who knows me will tell you that.

So it is with great trepidation that I accept anyone's input on anything that I'll supposedly "love."

Food, movies, music. Doesn't matter. Your recommendations mean nothing to me. If it's something that I feel that I'll like, I might try it, view it, listen to it.

I've lived by this credo for many years, but I have stuck to it like a secret oath for over a year now, ever since I finally mustered the courage to partake in the Mexicano treat they call Chipotle.

Let me preface this with the following: I love Tex-Mex food, Spanish comida, Puerto Rican fare, anything of that persuasion.

I can safely say this to you now. I will never eat Chipotle again. Never mind the ludicrous prices they charge for barely any food. It's just not good.

A good friend of mine always talks about how great the place is. The last time he did so, I almost backhanded across the face.

Music is another area where I will accept little to no input. In fact, there is only one person who consistently tells me about good music.

The latest of which was Halestorm's "I Get Off."

Suggestive title huh? It's a good song. But since I won't take input from anyone, why should you take mine?

But for every great song from a band like Halestorm, there's a million from bands like Kasabian.

Who?

Exactly.

Finally, movies.

Listen, I love the classics, ok. Casablanca and the Godfather. Citizen Kane and the Wizard of Oz.

All wonderful flicks.

But as I said earlier, for every Raging Bull, there's a countless list of real duds.

The Deer Hunter.

Three words I never want to hear again.

I love Robert DeNiro. I love Christopher Walken. Hell, I even love that squirrely guy who played Fredo in the Godfather who's in this film.

I HATED The Deer Hunter. I waited so impatiently for it to end.

Why did I hang on for the duration?

Because I wanted to say that I gave it a fair shot.

Oh, and I'm a glutton for punishment.

Paging Mr. Potter.

One of my biggest pet peeves over the course of the last few years has been the hordes of people that are in love with the man-child they call Harry Potter.

Bearing in mind that I don't have nearly the time to read the humongous textbooks that Potter author J.K. Rowling tries to pass off as novels, I was never a fan of the films either.

Then, by chance, I happened to be in my dorm room about a year and a half ago at school, and caught about ten minutes of one of the films, later finding out it was Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire.

Resisting temptation, I never watched the film again until about a year ago, when I finally saw Goblet of Fire in its entirety.

FML, I was hooked.

Since then, I've outwardly tried to act as if I hated the franchise, and everything it stood for.

Inside, I wished to be right there at Hogwarts with Harry, Ron and Hermione.

In fact, I think I'd have been a hell of a Quidditch player.

In addition, I feel like I would have been a valuable member of Harry's entourage. Voldemort kill me?

Good luck, you slimy looking bastard.

Let me say this though, there will never come a day where I sit down and read a Harry Potter novel. Never.

(Flash forward a number of years to the Haastile One sitting in a rocking chair reading Harry Potter to his children)

I have ordered the Potter flicks at least twice each through Netflix, find myself saying that I'd make a great wizard, and actually looking at merchandise from the franchise while I'm shopping. Things are bad.

Now that I've gushed about this enough, I feel the need to go kick my own ass.

But seeing as I can't do that, maybe I'll go brew some Polyjuice Potion and turn into someone who doesn't like Harry Potter films.

But why would I want to do that?

Waning Haastility?

Today's been a great day. I don't think a single angry thought has entered my head.

Maybe I'm softening in my old age.

For once, I got a great night's sleep (despite people thinking that I'm a vampire), slipping into dreamland before 1 a.m.

I awoke around three, to find one of the dogs passed out on my floor, resembling a white throw rug. She looked at me, acknowledged that I was giving her permission to stay there, and proceeded to flop back down and dream about chasing blue jays.

Waking well rested this morning, I ran the few errands that I had to do today, then returned home to do absolutely nothing.

These are the days I cherish.

But in reality, I've been happy for quite awhile now.

Could the Haastile One be losing his edge?

Hell to the no!

Appearances Can Be Deceiving

So here's a nice little story for you, the reader.

This morning, I ventured into my friendly neighborhood post office, with the intention of mailing out a package. More specifically, a padded mailing envelope.

Stepping up to the counter to the middle-aged clerk behind the counter, I explained that I wanted to mail this package out. This event went off without a hitch, until my transaction was nearly complete, and she asked me "IS there anything else I can help you with, stamps, additional postage, etc?"

Realizing that I was indeed low on stamps, I requested a book of stamps.

She pulled out a sheet of stamps depicting everyone's favorite TV family, the Simpsons.

She then proceeded to say to me, "These look like the stamps for you," and patted me on the top of my head.

Shrugging off the fact that that this freaking mouth breather just made me feel like I was four years old, I only managed to stammer "Umm, why would you assume that I wanted these?"

Her answer was baffling.

"Well, hon, what are you, 16 or 17? You kids love these Simpsons. My grandson loves them. He's 12."

Ladies and gentlemen, I haven't looked 17 since I was oh, 15. Now I'll be the first to admit that when I am clean shaven, I am a babyface. However, as of this writing, I have a full goatee, and that not withstanding, I am over six feet tall.

So, here she got 17 years old from is beyond me.

I guess she could sense my frustration, because she then said "But if you don't want these, I can give you the regular adult (loved that) stamps.

"No! I want these," I stated. "They're super cool."

I then pulled out my credit card and paid for my purchase.

"And by the way," I said "I"m not 17...but thanks for the compliment."

The gentleman behind me in line began belly laughing as I exited the establishment.

The Most Important Test

A lot of people fear the SATs, or LSATs. Others fear AP tests or exit exams from college.

I have always feared another, much more important test; meeting a significant others parents.

I've never really had too much difficulty with these meetings, but they do always send shivers down my spine, because hey, who in their right mind is really comfortable with the idea of someone romancing their offspring?

However, I would like to share a fun experience with you, the reader.

I was 17, ages ago, and had begun to date a girl named Michelle. She wasn't the best looking of females, but I was young and I really just wanted to get my first kiss over with (Yes, the Haastile One was a late bloomer, shut up).

Now let me sum myself up briefly. I'm 6'1", and athletically built and have blond hair and blue eyes. Joking friends used to call me the Aryan Warrior.

Anyway, Michelle failed to mention that two of her father's childhood years were spent in a concentration camp during World War II.

So I ended up walking into a man who took one look at me, and started screaming that I was unfit to date, simply because of the way I look.

I'd consider it profiling, but that would be unfair to people who have actually been profiled.

Long story short, the romance lasted for roughly another week before things ended. Badly. She ended up going to prom three weeks later with one of my best friends.

Back to my point though.

That first meeting can be crucial to the way that parents think about you. But it doesn't need to be a soul crushing experience. Most parents are pretty nice, and realize that the situation is nerve wracking. As I've said, it can't be easy for them either.

However, to diffuse the situation, just show up with a Mel-lynn (and anyone who gets that joke is very smart indeed). A Mel-lynn is the perfect gift for any parent. It'll be loved by everyone.

An Essential Skill

While I was bumming around the house today, a question suddenly appeared in my head.

"What is one essential skill that every man should have?"

Some would say the ability to sew. Others (probably all female) would probably demand that this fictional man have the ability to service a woman orally.

Personally, I can do both, so I ain't worrying.

Back to the task at hand, and the answer was right in front of me, literally.

I looked down to realize that I was chopping an onion in order to facilitate the making of a Philly cheesesteak (Postscript: It was delicious).

At that moment, it hit me. Every man should be able to cook a real meal.

I'm not talking about grilling either, as most of my friends will tell me that they can "cook" because they can slap a piece of meat on a searing hot surface and burn it to perfection.

Anyone can do that.

And anyone can microwave some pizza rolls.

No, I'm talking about going to the store, buying the raw ingredients, and preparing a real, home cooked meal.

This my friends (and I'm talking to 99% of my college comrades here) will necessitate more than one pot or pan more than likely.

So pay attention here guys, I'm gonna give you a real easy meal, and hopefully, you won't end up burning the house down.

Go to the store and purchase the following:

-one box of whatever your favorite pasta happens to be.
-one jar of pasta sauce, whatever flavor you dig.

THAT'S ALL YOU NEED!

This isn't rocket science people.

So here's the directions for this meal, one by one.

1. Get a pot.

2. Fill the pot 2/3 of the way with water.....still with me?

3. Put the pot over the burner on the stove. The stove should be on, probably high heat.

4. Bring the water to a boil. Salt may speed up this process, but just a little.

Does your head hurt yet?

5. Once the water is boiling, put in the pasta and cook until it sticks to the wall (Guys will love tossing hot carbs at the wall).

6. In the meantime, in a saucepan (look it up), heat the sauce, low heat will suffice.

7. Once the pasta is sticking the wall, drain it in the sink, preferably in a colander or strainer, not just directly into the sink.

8. Serve the pasta/sauce in a bowl. Or plate. Or whatever you eat food off of.

Making this simple meal for a girl will guarantee you at least a little makeout time. The fancier the better though.

Ask my buddy Dave, when he makes Chicken Cordon Bleu, it slays the female species.

-And that kids, is a Haastile lesson in cooking.

Here's to Creepy Friends

For someone who has a limited tolerance for bullshit, I certainly have made a life of having strange friends.

And right now, I'm less than occupied, so let's run through a few, shall we.

(Note: I will be changing their names. Badly.)

1. Peebo: 24 years young. Mr. Drew Peebo is perhaps the creepiest human ever born on Earth. This is the guy who once asked a girl out by asking her if she wanted to "party like a rock star."

-The same guy, who in the heat of the moment, pointed out that his hand, perched upon a girl's thigh, was "dangerously close to her vagina."

-The same guy who, huddled in the corner of the aptly named FunZone, once told a small group of people that he was exhibiting signs of both herpes and HIV (thankfully, he has neither).

- Oh, and he has a blowout like a teenage guido. Only he's a goofy Jewish guy.

2. Tipp: Age 26. Andy Tipp's only kiss from a girl came when I insisted that a former girlfriend of mine give him a kiss goodbye as we were leaving the mall. What occured next was somewhere in between a train wreck and a tsunami. Anyone who witnessed it, which consisted of me and three old men (One of whom was heard to say "Oh sweet Jesus!"), will be forever changed.

-this is the same guy who chased his prom date up her front walkway in pursuit of a kiss, only to have the door slammed in his face. Rather than give up, because the girl clearly wanted him, he continued to court (stalk) her, even bringing her a tub of aloe vera gel when she told him that she had a sunburn.

Oh, did I mention that this happened at 3 a.m., while he was wearing a bathing suit and insisting that they go to the beach.

No? Well it did.

3. Matt Boogler, 26 years on Earth.
-other than stripping in front of me and diving into the ocean at 5 a.m. on prom night, Matt's had a relatively tame life....until recently.

- as a graduate assistant at an Ivy League university, Matt gets all the top notch gals. Not. His first sexual experience was characterized as "rolling around naked a bit."

- his current girlfriend is a 17 year old high school senior. I'm not going on.

Could I embarass more of my friends? Yes

Do I want to? Yes.

But there's days worth of material there, so y'all will just have to wait.

Perfection

When a guy can find a woman that will watch whatever his guilty pleasure television show is, he's found the one.

That is one of my only firmly-held beliefs.

Pro wrestling, Family Guy, stag films, etc. They're all a woman's kryptonite.

So if your gal is sitting there, enduring an entire episode of whatever you're watching, especially on a regular basis, run, DO NOT WALK, to the nearest jeweler, and purchase a big, sparkly ring.

Then, place it on your lady's finger.

You're now married.

Well, kind of.

But you're happy. And sometimes, that's all that matters.

It's ours, let's keep it.

Ok, so here it is; I am a red-blooded American male, and a sports fanatic.

There may very well be a support group devoted to people like me.

However kids, my opinion matters just a bit more than the average person, because I've actually been paid to write about the world of sports, and tossing humility aside, I am damn good at it.

So here's what's eating me today; people, or more importantly, men in America complaining about the game of baseball.

I'm sure that there's a lot of other things that someone could sit and bitch about when it comes to the game, but these are the top three:

1. The games take too long.
-this is not McDonald's, it's not supposed to be fast. If you want a quick game, go play air hockey. Baseball is athletics at it's finest form (leave your steroid comments at the door, I'll get to that in a minute). A pitcher versus a batter. Man versus man.

These showdowns take time, so suck it up.

2. There's nothing here for women.
Since when don't women enjoy baseball? Former hottest woman on Earth Alyssa Milano does commercials for fantasy baseball, so doesn't that automatically mean that women like it?

No?

Oh, ok. Disregard that then.

3. All the players are on steroids.
- So are all the players in the NFL, NHL, NBA and professional wakeboarding.

Bottom line, I can sit here and complain about Barry Bonds or whoever hitting a bunch of homers and then claiming to have done it completely clean.

Bonds, your head is the size of a large pumpkin...it wasn't that way ten years ago. You can build muscle, but not in your cerebellum.

However, what's the point? Steroids equal big numbers on the field, which leads to big numbers off the field.

Are steroids the answer to lagging attendance and revenue numbers? You never know.

That being said, do I condone the use of steroids in professional sports? No.

But as the old adage goes, there's no such thing as bad publicity.

So if asses start to fill the seats, whether it's at the ballpark or on the sofa, I'll keep my mouth shut about it.

Texts before 10 a.m.

Early morning texts piss me off.

There you are, fighting Mike Tyson in his prime (and you still have both ears), or you're just about to nail that dream girl, and BEEP-BEEP-BEEP, someone decides to shatter that fantasy world with an inane text about their drunken antics of the previous night (who cares about that random bar skank you fanned on), or stupid plans for later (Us planning out an event taking place three days from now can wait a few more hours).

If I wasn't so tired, I'd reach through the phone and smack you.

However, the text this morning contained good subject matter, so I'm gonna look the other way on this one.

Late Night Hijinx

You know, there was a time where my late nights might have been spent having sex, or maybe causing chaos with the boys.

Tonight however, I'm sitting here with one eye on the tv, watching Caddyshack, and the other eye on my keyboard, typing lines from the film to my buddy Dave (coincidentally, one of the greatest bloggers out there), who is typing them right back.

Are we losers?

No, in fact, this activity is so badass, that it doesn't even have a name.

It's nameless.

What is Haastility?

What does it mean to be hostile?

Dictionary.com defines it like this:

–adjective

1.	of, pertaining to, or characteristic of an enemy: a hostile nation.

2.	opposed in feeling, action, or character; antagonistic: hostile criticism.

3.	characterized by antagonism.

4.	not friendly, warm, or generous; not hospitable.

–noun

5.	a person or thing that is antagonistic or unfriendly.

6.	Military. an enemy soldier, plane, ship, etc.

However, being "Haastile" is a completely different ideology.

In order to attain true Haastility, an individual must display at least three of the five characteristics, set forth by the ancient Haastile Charter.

Here they are, in no particular order:

1. Say whatever is on your mind. You may hurt some feelings, but people will always say that you speak your mind and are truthful.

2. Carry yourself well. Don't act like an asshole, but never seem timid either. This is far easier said than done.

3. Know a little about a lot. Pulling random facts out of thin air seems silly, but in the long run, it's just impressive.

4. Be the man. The go-to guy (or girl...no sexists here). People want to hear your opinion on things, mainly because it's either insightful or funny.

5. Be Bryan Haas.

The main thing to remember here kids is this; anything is Haas-able.