theCDP.net

The Communist Dance Party.

2012-02-10T00:01:00.007-06:00

Hey, you. This is my final post to my 8-year-old blog. It was really nice of you to check back frequently for more updates and general banter, and then make an educated decision to continue to return here. Thanks.

Good Riddance.

2012-02-09T00:01:00.015-06:00

So, there you have it. After eight years, two books, 1260 essays, thousands of comments and millions of hits, it’s finally curtains for The Communist Dance Party.

When I started the CDP, I did so on a crappy Hewlett-Packard PC under the stairs of my studio apartment. Today, I write within the masculine confines of my own office inside of my own home. In 2004, Celia was my 20-year-old fiancée. Today, she’s my wife of nearly eight years. Back then, I was an unemployed, rural transplant fresh out of college. Today, I’m a grizzled Madisonian and a proud employee of the state of Wisconsin. At the age of 22, I weighed 150 pounds, ate no meat and drank no caffeine. In 2012, I weigh 160 pounds, sporadically eat shrimp and drown every possible sorrow with a four-shot latte. I consider that last one more of a parallel step than anything, but you still get the point: Despite my repeated missteps, things apparently turned out okay for me.

I started writing stories online so I could stay connected to my friends and family back home (in 2004, MySpace was horrid and Facebook didn’t exist), but deep down, I always wrote as a therapy for never being able to properly verbalize the things that I was feeling. One facet of my writing that showcases this heavily is the fact that every essay is almost always 1% dialogue and 99% inner dialogue. For every embarrassing situation I shared with the hopes of making a connection with other downtrodden dorks, I also did so because I desperately needed to know that others had shared the same feelings and instances. My public goal may have been to create a like-minded community of people who saw the humorous absurdity of the world and experiences around them, but privately, I really needed to know that I wasn’t alone in feeling so alien. I always needed your words a lot more than you needed mine.

We’ve all had rough childhoods; I don’t care how privileged or lucky you think someone was, I'm certain they suffered at some point in their upbringing. My parents messily divorced when I was 10, and for the next eight years, my life was in complete disarray. None of my friends noticed due to my constantly cynical and upbeat nature, but I was forced to be an adult from a very early age, and the things I learned about myself even then are ethics I still hold close (and mostly secret) to this day. My escapes from reality were innocent and typical, yet integrally vital: Music, Television, Movies, and above all else, Writing.

Most people think that the concept of “I write because I have to” is bullshit cliché. Those who claim they write without the goal of income and popularity are branded as liars; merely a snooty defense mechanism when they inevitably don’t achieve the writing goals they’ve set for themselves privately. This is simply not true. I am a person that does things until I do not enjoy doing them anymore, and then I simply walk away from them when I feel they’ve run their course. I’ve made money doing this. I’ve also turned down a lot more money to do things I didn’t want to do. These decisions never took more than a second to make in my head, and there’s nothing more to it.

There aren't many things in our lives that we get to be 100% in control of, so when these moments arise, you should hang on as tight as you can, and not let anyone take it from you, ever. If this opinion means that I'm not a 'professional' writer, then fine. I don't want to be one. Still, jaded and pompous know-it-alls will stubbornly try to convince you that nobody does things (even artistic things) without personal gain in mind, and even if I burned the next 10 books I wrote before anyone got the chance to read them, they still wouldn’t be swayed to believe otherwise. If I’m nothing but a hobbyist writer for the rest of my life, that would be okay with me. And it had better be okay with me, because that’s probably how it’s going to turn out.

If I’m allowed to give you any writing advice (and I usually didn’t), it would be to ignore this talk altogether. If all you want out of life is money and popularity, attempting to achieve these goals through writing is about the most futile, soul-sucking and roundabout path possible. If you simply want money, work harder and buy fewer things. If you simply want notoriety, murder someone. If you want to be an artist, find the thing inside of you that you want to say, and find the best possible outlet with which to say it. If it can be said with a painting, paint. If it can be said in a song, sing. And if you think it can be said in a book, write. The end. Nothing else can matter. Not money or success, not embarrassment or failure. Nothing.

Also, if I may be hypocritical for the billionth (and perhaps final) time, I'd also encourage you to stop listening to anyone's advice about how and what to write. I'll never be the best at what I do, but one of my skills is that I'm prolific concerning content. I can write a ton of stuff in a short amount of time, and I didn't do that by frequenting sites about motivation for writers and words of wisdom from those at the top. Shut the computer off, close your office door and say what's on your mind. If you really want to do it, you'll find the time and motivation. If you merely like reading self-help, you'll find plenty of time to do that, too. Choice is yours.

For the last time, I want to sincerely thank each and every person who has ever read and enjoyed something that I’ve written. I cannot tell you how much that means to me (I’m not that good a writer). Your comments, e-mails, camaraderie, friendships and stories of your own have permanently and positively shaped the last eight years of my life. I have legitimately made friends with a lot of you, and for an introverted shut-in from an unincorporated town in Wisconsin, that is not lost on me. Most of you are more talented, more motivated and just plain funnier than I am. I'll continue reading your stuff, and I hope you’ll still want to read mine.

Thanks to you, I have a filing cabinet full of handwritten letters, a CD rack full of unbelievable Mix Tapes and nearly a decade of positive memories. You gave me the courage to say what I wanted to say, the platform from which to say it, and the encouragement to work extremely hard to succeed at something I thought I was good at. I sincerely will not let you down.

Thank you to my family, especially my mom and sister. I do my best to not drag you through the mud, and it makes me very happy to know that you’re proud of my existence. There’s a fine line between encouraging your child to be anything they want while still reminding them how much of a no-nothing dumbass they are, and I think every woman in my life has towed it perfectly where my ego is concerned. As I continue to write about my experiences and the people that I love, it's my goal to have as many people as possible see what strong, creative and loving people you both are.

Finally, I want to thank my wife. The Missus. Celia. Not only did she have to edit nearly everything I’ve ever written and pretend it’s James Goddamn Joyce, but she had to listen to every nervous breakdown, drunken tirade and egomaniacal rant about the world not going the way that I want it to (a shocker, I know). She understands the territory that comes with being the husband of a delusional, wannabe writer, and she also understands that the next chapter is going to be even smoother beyond the horizon. We were both insanely emotional people eight years ago, and we still are, just now in the correct ways. She also had to see me naked and be my best friend for the last 12 years, a job I wish on no upstanding citizen of this planet.

Thank you, Celia; because of your radiating love and awesomeness, I’ve completely run out of unpleasant stories to tell. You’ve exorcised every last demon that made my work relevant, and for that I thank you immensely.

We're almost done here. The CDP ends tomorrow. Thanks again.

The UW-Whitewater Swim Team.

2012-02-08T00:01:00.007-06:00

Pooping your pants will not earn you any friends.

When I was in kindergarten, the class pant-pooper was a kid named Benji. It seemed as if he had an accident every day, so much so that his parents started outfitting him with a revolving door of sweatpants in order to make the aftermath a little more bearable and easy to maintain. He pooped his pants for years; the last time I remember it happening, it was at his birthday party when we were in the 3rd grade. It brought the tee-ball game to a screeching halt.

I’m certain he didn’t have his problem under control in the 4th grade either, but I sort of lost touch with him after I accidentally hit him with a baseball bat and we stopped speaking to each other. Whether it was math, science, lunch or recess, you could always depend on Benji to eventually freeze like a statue in mid-sentence, eyes welling up with fear and embarrassment as he once again lost the ever-present battle of not vacating one’s bowels. Poor bastard; he’s probably in jail now.

My mother is convinced that I wasn’t entirely toilet trained until I was five years old, but this is revisionist history (and more importantly, just a funny thing to say about your kid in public). Truth is, my bathroom habits were exemplary. I never had accidents, always knew when I needed to go, never asked for help and always did my work in private. When other first grade boys took great pride in urinating off the top of a jungle gym like Moses atop Sinai (I’m only assuming that was part of the story), I was avoiding splashback and remembering to tuck. Such undignified behavior and accidents shall never befall me, for I was regal, responsible and possessing of adequate muscle control.

Then I got the flu.

You know the kind of flu I’m talking about. The little kid flu. The worst virus of your life flu. The sleeping on the bathroom floor, 103-degree fever, surrealist nightmare flu. Down was up. Up was down. Full House was my favorite television show. ‘Ice, Ice Baby’ was in constant boombox rotation. It was touch and go; for a good four days, I was confined to my room. The shades were drawn, my meals were slid under the door and the days started to melt into each other like soft pocket watches in the blistering desert heat.

It was on one of these nights in particular when the incident in question occurred. I was barely clinging to reality as I drifted off to sleep, sweat soaking through the sheets and mattress as I began dreaming about having to run a mile for gym class.

There I stood on the dewy track, wearing nothing but shoes, socks, and a pair of skintight swimming trunks that I inherited from an older cousin. They were purple, with the words ‘UW Whitewater Swim Team’ embroidered on the back. These Speedo shorts existed in reality, but I hardly ever wore them. I always pushed them further and further back into my underwear drawer, as they were ill-fitting and I couldn’t swim (I considered this false representation). Furthermore, they looked like a Crown Royal bag, and were nearly as tiny. However, I was low on laundry this week, so I had no choice but to don them. Why they had to follow me into my dream is beyond me.

When the gun went off, I began my journey around the track, overgrown with weeds and moss. Everyone was there to cheer me on: My mother, my 18-month old sister, Neil Armstrong, Hulk Hogan and Jimmy Carter were just a few of the more notable names in attendance. Not wanting to let them down, my legs began pumping and I hurtled my pale, mostly-nude body along the blacktop, the cheering and clapping serving as my incentive to set a Winneconne Elementary School class record.

Then I shit my pants.

My sprinting turned to a jog, then a saunter leading into a confused duck-step as the realization of what happened arrived in waves of confusion. The last thing I remember was Jimmy Carter
shaking his head in disgust as I began to awaken. My hair soggy with perspiration and body atrophied by this horrific flu, I peeled myself out of bed to steady my consciousness, make sense of what had transpired, and grab a glass of water. It wasn’t until I stood up that I made the unfortunate discovery. Of all the dreams that I ever wanted to come true, it figures that this was the one I was granted. Much like my disappointing effort on the track, I had indeed had a Benji moment in my own bedroom.

I was sick. My head wasn’t in the right place. Nothing was making sense to me, and now I was in a state of panic. It was probably three in the morning at this point, and any logical idea that I had to possibly quell this unfortunate circumstance was still hours or even days away. Going with the first idea I came up with, I took off my underpants and made my way over to the attic. My bedroom was on the second floor of an old farmhouse, and the attic was on the same floor, accessible by a spooky-looking half-door on the far side of the room. For years I would have nightmares about aliens and phantoms emerging from this door, but on this night, I pushed these fears aside and made my way towards the intimidating entrance. I had a deposit to make.

Working only under the guidance of moonlight, I pulled the tiny attic door open. Within were long-forgotten boxes of baby clothes and Christmas decorations, exposed insulation and probably about a dozen wasp nests. I clutched the underpants, reared back and flung the contents far into the pitch-black depths of the attic. It was over. I closed the half-door, remembered to wash my hands, and went back to sleep. My irrational fear was that I’d somehow face embarrassment or even punishment if it were discovered that I accidentally shit myself while in the throws of a sickness that I probably should have been hospitalized for. My theory (and I’m assuming here) was that I’d hide the evidence and it would never be spoken of again.

And I was right. For a while.

Months passed. I got better. By this point, it was winter and I had forgotten all about the tragic incident. My parents had taken trips into the attic from time to time, but my shameful delivery hadn’t been discovered. I was operating under the assumption that everything, underpants and all, had been eaten by mice. I had committed the perfect crime.

It was about two weeks before Christmas when I heard my mother screaming from the attic. I was playing River City Ransom on my Nintendo in the living room when my body suddenly went cold. This wasn’t going to be good for anyone. For the next 20 minutes, I eavesdropped on my parents as they tried to make sense of what they were looking at.

“What is that?” my mom inquired.

“It…it looks like shit,” my father eloquently stated.

“What animal could have done that?” Mom fired back.

“I dunno,” Dad said quizzically. “Maybe a raccoon. A big one.”

“Maybe we should put a trap up here or something,” Mom said. Surely, she didn’t want wild vermin running rampant throughout the house.

This went on for what seemed like forever: my mom and dad hovering over a pile of their son’s feces, hypothesizing as to its origin. Apparently, it all must have been thrown clear from the UW Whitewater Swim Team trunks that fateful night, and for that, I was simultaneously relieved and disgusted. In that moment, silently listening to this exchange from the stairwell, I knew how poor Benji felt every day of his childhood; being chastised, frightened and embarrassed due to a mere lapse in cognitive reasoning.

My parents cleaned the attic and bought a raccoon trap. I never told a soul, and they never caught the raccoon.

For a decade, I considered this the most embarrassing thing I could ever tell anyone about myself, and it wasn’t until a few years ago that I even told my wife, who now brings it up at any and every social occasion possible. Personally, I don’t think this should be held against me too much, though. If you dream about pooping your pants, and you wake up having pooped your pants in real life, and you cover it up by heaving the evidence into the adjacent attic, then have you really pooped your pants at all?

Yes. Yes you have.

The Funniest Thing I've Ever Seen.

2012-02-07T00:01:00.006-06:00

When I was a sophomore in high school, I was fortunate enough to spend nine days in the UK. While the trip itself is well worth its own essay (I had a gun pulled on me during an attempted mugging), there is one moment that will always stick out in my head whenever I think of London.

Well, two moments, actually. When I think of London, the first thing I usually remember is how it poured rain every single evening, and how I lurched through the back alleys on a nightly basis like Jack The Ripper for the sole purpose of slinking from my hotel to a nearby Burger King. For nine straight nights, I ate nine straight Bacon Double Cheeseburgers by myself, clothes soaked and very much alone. But hey, that’s the Morrissey-esque portion of the trip; we’re talking about funny stuff here (of course, Morrissey’s a vegan, so he’d never be caught dead inside of a Burger King).

Oh, and I also tried to purchase a replica of Excalibur at the Stonehenge Gift Shop, but was told that it was impossible for them to ship a five-foot long, diamond-encrusted weapon back to the United States. Pricks.

On one particularly beautiful Friday morning, a few friends and I took a walk to a nearby courtyard that was bustling with children, pigeons and random British passersby. Our goal was to relax for a few hours, take in the scenery of a foreign country and maybe purchase some souvenirs for our folks (my mom got a crystal paperweight, proudly endorsed by the Queen Mum herself!). The vibe was gorgeous. The elderly were feeding breadcrumbs to birds, the uniformed schoolchildren were laughing and skipping about, the architecture was stunning and the sun was shining. It was something I’ll hopefully always remember as a truly beautiful moment.

However, when in Britain, do as the Britons do. For Americans like us, our only experience with English culture was Benny Hill and Monty Python. Fortunately for me, I was about to see the epitome of slapstick from a first-person perspective.

From across the courtyard, about 20 yards away, my buddy Vinnie spotted an empty, single-occupant park bench in the shade. At the same exact time and distance away, an elderly woman, maybe 80 years old and sporting an armload of groceries, spotted the same bench.

Now, when this normally happens in life, one of two things occurs. One, the younger man backs down, gives the bench to the old woman and continues about his day. Either that, or they exchange in an awkward dance that consists one of person offering the bench to the other until someone gives in.

Neither of these things happened.

Vinnie’s eyes tightened and locked onto the old woman, who in tune, tightened and locked onto Vinnie. They took turns darting their glare back and forth from one another to the distant bench. It looked like the beginnings of an Old West shootout, only instead of gunfighters, we had a scruffy punk kid taking on a geriatric with a basket full of vegetables and bread. I was in between them with a front-row seat, and quite frankly, I was already laughing. I knew exactly what was about to happen, even though I knew it made absolutely no sense whatsoever.

Like nothing I had ever seen before, both Vinnie and the old woman started moving towards the bench. Slowly and unassuming at first, always keeping a peripheral on one another, then breaking out into a saunter and eventually a full-on sprint as they, honest to God, raced each other to the abandoned bench.

I didn’t know what was more hilarious; that Vinnie had no intention of giving up this bench to precisely the type of person that you should give a bench up to, or that the old woman had clearly been in these types of battles before, and knew it was kill or be killed.

Like a car wreck, time slowed down as these two sprinting idiots reached the bench at exactly the same time (I still have no idea how the old woman was able to move so fast). Akin to the grand finale of Musical Chairs, Vinnie’s left ass cheek and the old woman’s right ass cheek rammed into each other and hovered inches over the bench, as they tussled, tug-o-war’d and fought for sole possession of, apparently, the only empty bench in England. Had I not been around Vinnie all morning, I would have sworn that I was on a hidden camera show. Normal people don’t act this way.

We’re not even at the best part. The old woman won.

With a swift, LeBron-esque shimmy, she rodeo-clowned Vinnie with her bag of groceries, confusing him just long enough to claim the seat for her own, as he stumbled and shuffled over to a drinking fountain, a defeated, embarrassed and completely classless man. As long as I live, I’ll never forget the look on that old woman’s face when she lowered her head and started running.

That final night in London, we spent the last of our money on cheese, bread and tin foil, and made grilled cheese sandwiches by cooking them in the complimentary trouser presses that were in every room of our hotel. We had five different sandwiches going in five different rooms, which led to a particularly surreal quote by Vinnie as he chatted with me in the hotel bar. After complimenting him on the deliciousness of the sandwich, his wristwatch started beeping.

“Crap!” he exclaimed. “I’ve got to go; I have a sandwich up in room 108!”

Every now and then, it doesn’t suck to be me.

It's Great To Be Eighteen.

2012-02-06T00:01:00.008-06:00

Everyone in the Emergency Room was disgusted when they saw me.

As I stumbled through the coughing, sneezing and moaning onlookers, I pressed my left hand up to the left side of my head. The pain was still radiating through me, and the blood that soaked through the bandages and onto my palm was a reminder that the most painful moment of my life was seemingly finished.

My surgery was over. My mother was clutching my right forearm, leading me back to the car. I could keep my balance fine without her, but she clung to me because I couldn’t hear anything. The bandage was wrapped tightly around my head, cocooning both ears in silence. Tufts of hair sprouted out of the gaps where the turban of gauze was haphazardly applied, the left side soaked completely through with dark blood.

Even though I was hurting, I still wondered what the stunned onlookers were thinking. Maybe they thought I was shot in the temple. Perhaps they thought I had attempted suicide. A freak, earlobe-lopping accident at the barbershop was a long shot, but still entirely possible. One thing was for sure: I was officially deformed for life, and I could have easily prevented it by not being such a selfish, spineless, prideful kid.

I had turned eighteen less than two months prior, and for someone so intent on being treated like an adult, having my mother drag me out of the ER wasn’t necessarily what I had in mind. For as concerned as she was with my well-being, she still took a moment to revel in my misfortune when we got to the parking lot.

“Tell me again how great it is to be eighteen,” she said with a satisfied grin.

I couldn’t hear a word she was saying.

ONE HOUR EARLIER.

“AAAUGH! God f***ing damn it!”

I was screaming so loudly, the entire wing of the hospital must have heard me. I was face-down on the operating table, strapped in tight and given no medication for the pain. Instead, two female nurses did their best to console me as the doctor began the process of cutting the back of my left earlobe off.

“Ryan!” my mom exclaimed. “Don’t swear!”

“It’s okay,” one of the nurses said. “This is a very painful procedure.”

“SHIT PISS CHRIST,” I howled through gritted teeth, my face mashed against the vinyl gurney.

I felt every scalpel slice. I heard every incision. I felt the warmth of the blood running down my head, and in my peripheral, I could see the mountain of crimson gauze the nurses were using to soak it up. If you were to tally up every drop of blood I had spilled in the seventeen years leading up to this moment, this topped them all combined.

“This is one of the more…pervasive infections I’ve seen,” said the doctor in a horrible display of bedside manner. I responded by repeatedly kicking myself in the back with my heels. It was literally all I could do.

“Let’s start suction,” the doctor said, motioning to the quieter of the two nurses. She then produced a device I normally see at the dentist’s office, only this time around, it wasn’t being used to remove fluoride and lukewarm water from my palate. It was being used to suck the pus and blood from the gaping hole in the back of my head.

As you can assume, the sound of this was repugnant, and the sensation was unbearable. I was making up curse words by this point.

“AAAUGH! TONY SHIT-ASSING LITTLE!”

This went on for about 45 minutes, until the doctor felt that he had sufficiently cleaned out the infected earlobe. “We’re just going to bandage it up for now and let you clean it periodically until it heals,” he said. “For the love of God though, don’t OVER clean it. Jeepers…that lobe blew open like a spider egg; you’re lucky the infection didn’t get into your bloodstream.”

“Thank you for your time,” I said, composing myself as the nurses unstrapped me and began wrapping the gauze turban around my head. One of them got my mom’s attention. “Please assist him out; his hearing may be impaired.”

ONE DAY EARLIER.

“You have to go to the hospital right now,” Celia said. Thankfully, she was speaking to me again.

My girlfriend was checking out the back of my ear; I had been hiding it as best I could for the last six weeks, but it was becoming too big of a concern (emotionally and literally) to ignore.

Every day, the infection seemed to get bigger. No amount of ointment, rigorous cleaning or gentle massage seemed to do the trick. The pain was intense, and the swelling was now at a veritable breaking point. “It looks like a peanut M&M full of pus,” Celia said, silently contemplating just how much of a naive doofus her boyfriend really was.

“Serves you right, really,” she chirped as she inspected the discolored lump. “This would have never happened if you wouldn’t have ditched me.”

“I…ouch…I already told you I was sorry,” I said. “Besides, it…OW!...it wasn’t my fault. And it was my birthday.”

“Yeah…how’s being eighteen working out for you, by the way?”

“Okay, that’s enough. I’ll go to the hospital tomorrow.”

TWO DAYS EARLIER.

I reached my breaking point on St. Patrick’s Day.

At school, all of us seniors wore shamrock-shaped nametags around our necks, and throughout the day we would give our lanyards away to a person of our choosing. This could be a significant other, a good friend or merely a random passerby (if you didn’t care). Like most high school gimmicks of this nature, the popular kids were given the most nametags, and the rest of us felt like the Sneetches without stars.

I was sitting in the library, doing the People Magazine crossword puzzle, waiting for Celia to show up so I could give her my lanyard as a way to apologize. Surprisingly, nobody had noticed my infected ear to this point; I was covert in my mannerisms and always backed away from friends when I ended conversations. Sort of.

Just then, Paul strolled in. Paul was a gangly, overbearing, foul-mouthed bully (one of those kids that got held back in kindergarten and took it out on the rest of the class for the next 12 years). I usually steered clear of Paul’s wrath, but he was on the warpath today, snatching lanyards from around the necks of anyone in his way. I’d say he was sporting about 30 of them by the time he got to me.

“I’ll take this,” he grunted, as he violently yanked the lanyard from around my neck with an upward thrust. I was in the midst of standing up as this happened, perfectly content to remove the nametag myself and simply hand it to the mongoloid… but I didn’t do it in time. The pain hit me a millisecond before I realized what had happened: the back of the lanyard was snagged on my massively swollen earlobe, and Paul was tugging on it with all his might.

I’m not one to pick fights with bullies, but not only was I in pain, I also faced potential eternal embarrassment if my secret was discovered. Losing the nametag was no big deal; having the Class of 2000 discover an alien life form growing out of the back of your ear is another disaster altogether. I flipped out and started swinging until the lanyard came loose and we had to be separated.

Minutes later, I ran into the bathroom to survey the damage. The cyst was bleeding and hemorrhaging, and I spent the next 10 minutes getting it to stop long enough to face my peers for the remainder of the day. Celia, expecting to receive my shamrock, continued to not speak to me.

I couldn’t do this anymore. I had to tell someone.

TWO WEEKS EARLIER.

People with OCD shouldn’t get their ears pierced.

Everything I read preached constant cleaning and meticulous attention, but nobody said anything about the risks of over-cleaning and excessive attention. Using alcohol, saline and peroxide to the point where your body no longer manufactures the necessary chemicals with which to properly ward off infection and allergy. Chalk it up to inexperience; this was my first time.

When the swelling initially began, I did my best to drain it naturally and let nature do the rest of the work. However, once things began to get out of hand, everything closed up shop and I was unable to get anything out of there. Even my earring was stuck.

Nonetheless, I kept this a secret, mainly to save face in front of my girlfriend (who wasn’t talking to me) and mother (who was pissed off beyond words), but mostly because I was embarrassed and terrified. This was supposed to be something I did to look cool and rebellious, not something I did because I wanted to go to the hospital and get a piece of my head lanced off.

ONE MONTH EARLIER.

On the day of my 18th birthday, I was supposed to be at the high school. Celia was playing in the school’s Pep Band, and I promised her that I would be there to see her play for the first time. However, my friends had different plans for me.

“We’re taking you to the mall to get your ears pierced. It’s free on your 18th birthday.”

"Guys, I really don’t want to do this. Besides, I need to be back at the school. Celia’s playing in the-"

“So what? You’re not leaving the mall until this gets done.”

At this point, my friends had a 60/40 stroke over my decisions compared to Celia. However, today was the last day they would misuse their power of manipulation over me, as from February 2, 2000 onward, this Balance of Power switched permanently. In a moment of teen selfishness, I went along with this excursion, and Celia played her first Pep Band concert in front of nobody. I apologized to her from a pay phone in the Food Court, but she was having none of it.

The piercing didn’t hurt, but my anxiety was already in hyperspace. I asked volumes of questions concerning care and maintenance; why I didn’t just tear it out when I got home is beyond me. I guess part of me thought it was cool, and at that point in my life, I was doing anything I could to demonstrate my newfound independence in front of my mother.

That night, I burst through the front door of my mom’s house sporting my piercing with pride.

“It’s great to be eighteen!” I shouted. And it was.

11 YEARS LATER.

Celia, now my wife, claims that it looks like a ‘baby’s butt.’

She’s referring to the back of my left earlobe, which long ago shrunk and healed up, but not before leaving me with a lump of misshapen scar tissue that (to her, at least) looks like the rump of a newborn. I never got another piercing, and to this day, my mother reminds me about the masterful judgment lapse on my first official day of adulthood.

We all make mistakes. Some of us get arrested. Some of us get our asses handed to us in an alley. For me, I just wanted to impress my friends and rebel against my parents in the most stereotypical way possible. In doing so, I was reminded that when it comes to me, there’s no such thing as ‘the most stereotypical way possible.’ I’ve heard a lot of horror stories about tattoos and piercings, but most of them don’t end with “And then they lanced my earlobe off.”

Lesson learned. Again.

Technically Speaking.

2012-02-03T00:01:00.005-06:00

Here are a few technical (and personal) things I wanted to address before the CDP signs off next week.

1. The CDP isn’t physically going anywhere. The site, the essays, the photos, the comments and everything else is staying right here. In fact, I just renewed both of my Photobucket Pro accounts for two years each (at a steep cost of $80, no less) to make sure nothing went dead as time went on. I’m not a fan of watching websites deteriorate with age and neglect, and even in retirement, I don’t plan on watching the CDP suffer a similar fate. The message board where my wife and I first began conversing in 1999 is now a porn site, and that’s unfathomably tragic to me. It’s like watching your childhood home get bulldozed and pooped on.

The only thing that could possibly change in the distant future is that the forwarding URL (theCDP.net) could lead you to another page should I choose to create one sometime down the line (I currently have no plans, but I will be renewing the domain because I want to keep it). The root destination of the CDP (communistdanceparty.blogspot.com) will be around as long as Blogger exists. In short, nothing is ‘leaving the web’ except for me, because...

2. My online presence will be greatly diminished for a while. It’s kind of like when your parents get divorced: Daddy still loves you and cares about you very much, but he’s not going to be around as much as he used to. I work best in quiet, dark rooms with little-to-no subterfuge and lots-to-yes whiskey, and you people are constantly distracting me with your productive lives, cat photos and sexy glasses. Personally speaking, I want to legitimately spend some time away from my computer, and professionally speaking, I need to get back to my roots, because…

3. I will continue to write. I promise. The whole damn reason for this shift is because I want to write books, and I intend to work very hard in the upcoming months to accomplish this. For a while now, I’ve been working on two future book ideas simultaneously. Nothing furious, just mostly outlining and note-taking (one is at about 18k words, the other at 13k). It is my goal to get both of these books in your hands within the next three years or so. If I’m fortunate enough to work with a publishing house that will take some backline work off of my hands and put a little money in my pocket, fantastic. If not, I’ll simply self-publish again. What’s important is that I get to write whatever I want, and you get to read it if you’re interested. That’s all that matters, and all that will continue to matter. Speaking of you and I…

4. You can get a hold of me at any time. My e-mail address is communistdance@yahoo.com, and my Twitter (twitter.com/ryanzeinert) and Facebook (facebook.com/ryanzeinert) accounts will remain functional for the foreseeable future.

Thanks much. Sound off in the comments section and enjoy your weekend. The final week of the CDP starts Monday, and we're going out with a bang.

Today I Am 30.

2012-02-01T00:01:00.008-06:00

I wasn't, nor am I now, apprehensive or depressed in any way about turning 30. I could have just as soon gotten myself killed in a farming accident before the 90's even began (and believe me, I came close a few times). 30 doesn't mean what it did even a decade ago, and for me, it's just a new set of challenges and goals I cannot wait to accept and promptly ignore while watching The Walking Dead.

I live in a city where 30 means less than nothing. Madison (like Portland, apparently) is a place where young people go to retire, and despite being part of the white collar workforce since 2004, I sometimes feel like I haven't worked a single day since I moved here. Every week for the last 9.5 years I've lived a life of simple pleasures that I refuse to take for granted.

Two weeks ago, it was 55 degrees outside. Any time it's over 50 in Wisconsin, we're happy; for it to happen in January was absolutely unfathomable. I left my office to get coffee, and as I walked the two blocks I saw beautiful people, complete with beautiful friends, clothing and domestic pets, thoroughly enjoying an unexpected afternoon of unseasonable warmth. The vibe was optimistic and giddy; nobody seemed to be taking that day for granted, and were making the most of it by merely being out and about during a stretch of Winter where most Wisconsinites have no choice but to cocoon and regulate their heartbeat. Spring in Madison is a rebirth, and we were getting an early sneak peek of what we have to look forward to in a couple short months.

Between my office and the coffee shop is a nondescript brick building that it probably overlooked by thousands daily. The rest of us recognize this place as Smart Studios, the hallowed ground where Butch Vig produced life-changing masterpieces of music by bands like Nirvana, Smashing Pumpkins, Garbage, Archers Of Loaf, The Promise Ring, The Poster Children, Jimmy Eat World and Death Cab For Cutie. It's a landmark; the entire structure should be airlifted to the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame. I have also walked past this building nearly every day for the last eight years, always taking at least a second to remind myself what it has done for my overall enjoyment of being alive. This unseasonably warm day created a snapshot of a moment that caused me to tilt my head and smile.

In February of 2007, our good friends moved from Green Bay to literally down the street from our place. Understand that, until the age of 18, I lived in an unincorporated town miles away from the nearest friendly neighbor (I went to school in a different village). Being able to spend every weekend for five years now (and sometimes many times a week) drinking, dining and playing MarioKart with your friends is a luxury I never had the opportunity to experience as a teenager.

The first night I drunkenly left their apartment and merely walked down the street back to my place, I remember feeling incredibly lucky. There is no substitute for living close to lifelong friends, especially when it's something you never had growing up (my house was on an unpaved road). It's not lost on me, and being a Madisonian, it's a privilege most all of us have now. The next time you rely on your neighbor for something, take a minute to realize how awesome it is that you get to do that. Again, a snapshot of something seemingly small that has made me very happy.

Celia and I have known each other since 1999. I was 17, she was 15. Today, we are 30 and 28 respectively. We're such different people in so many different and astounding ways since we first met, both as a couple and as individuals, yet every day we become stronger and more inseparable, and I'm hopelessly addicted to that feeling. Just a few days ago, we drove down the street to the diner nearest to our house. We spent the next hour conversing about our families. It was a meal and a topic we have shared many times before, yet the conversation was still passionate and insightful.

I had been trying to get her to go through piles of rubbish in the basement in the hopes that we would clean it out enough to utilize the empty space more efficiently. She refused to part with tons of childhood memorabilia, memorabilia of which I had none. Celia, being someone who never had to move into a new house until she met me, had successfully been able to hang onto each and every possession she had ever obtained. I, on the other hand, moved frequently and inevitably had to part with nearly everything I had owned prior to 2000. This spawned our conversation, and it allowed major insights not only into our upbringing, but also the reasons why we value (or devalue) certain things in certain ways as adults.

I learn something new about Celia every day. It was the type of conversation I want to continue having with her until I die; we talked long after the check arrived, only to drive home and continue talking. Again, this is something I cannot possibly take for granted. If I get to live this way for another 60 years, I still wouldn't be sick of it.

Today, I am 30. My 20's were an absolute joy; I received, accomplished and achieved more than I ever thought I deserved. I am healthy, comfortable and complacent, yet fiery, cynical and motivated. I wholeheartedly appreciate what I have, yet I will work harder than ever to get more. I'm not as quick to fly off the handle concerning the people that I love, but I will still throw an entire sandwich at my television if I see a commercial I feel is insulting to my intelligence (seriously; I've done this). Dare I say, the pieces are falling into place that are turning me into a better person, whether I was asking for it or not. I'm optimistic enough to proclaim my 30's as a decade of evolution and success, but pessimistic enough to see the humor in being hit with a cement mixer first thing tomorrow morning.

Because really, how fitting would that be?

Thirty Years. Ten Bucks.

2012-01-30T00:01:00.006-06:00

The Missus is going to kill me for this.

So, I'm turning 30 this week, and I wanted to do something fun and relevant to celebrate the occasion, so here goes:

This week only (now through 2/4/12), you can buy a signed and Priority-shipped copy of Aerating The Mashed Potatoes for $10.

That's it. Send $10 (check/cash) to:

theCDP.
PO Box 865
Sun Prairie, WI
53590

...And a signed copy of Aerating will be shipped to you immediately. Simple as that. I have a limited quantity of these books, so it's first-come, first-serve. In fact, just go ahead and do this right now. Let me know if you have any questions, and remember that it's this week only. Thanks much.

The CDP In Review: Best Lists/Countdowns.

2012-01-27T00:01:00.010-06:00

The CDP In Review: Best Essays (2011)

2012-01-26T00:01:00.004-06:00

Here now, 11 of the Best CDP Essays from 2011, listed in ascending order of greatness. None of these essays are available in book form or anywhere else; enjoy.

#11. 'Tat's All Folks.' - 1/11/11
My first tattoo doesn't turn into a humiliating failure. Yet.

#10. 'Canceling The Simpsons? Best Idea Ever.' - 10/10/11
Why the greatest television show of all-time needs to leave to remain relevant.

#9. 'The Most Realistic Video Game Ever Made.' - 7/18/11
How UFC Undisputed blew my mind right out the back of my skull.

#8. 'The La Crosse Incident.' - 8/8/11
Possibly the most paranormal experience I've ever had.

#7. 'Happy 7th Anniversary; Sorry I Ruined Your Life.' - 7/11/11
The anniversary we spent in the cabin of a tow truck.

#6. 'The Cutest Loser.' - 10/17/11
The Missus accomplishes something nearly miraculous.

#5. 'Somebody Must Have Stepped On A Butterfly.' - 7/27/11
Time Travel exists, and I have proof in the form of a children's book.

#4. 'Identity Theft Is Unfortunate.' - 4/18/11
Waking up to no money in your bank account is a humbling, terrifying, infuriating experience.

#3. 'The Golden Briefcase.' - 6/20/11
The Summer I spent peddling pornography and mowing lawns.

#2. '2011 State Of The CDP Speech.' - 12/26/11
I'm nearly 30; it's time to do something else for awhile.

#1. 'So Long, And Thanks For Laughing At My Poop Stories.' - 2/18/11
Thanks, indeed. How a day at a High School changed my perceptions of nearly everything.

Sound off in the comments section and enjoy your day.

The CDP In Review: Best Essays (2008-2010)

2012-01-25T00:01:00.003-06:00

Here now, the Best CDP Essays from 2008 to 2010. Some of these ended up in my second book, 2010's Aerating The Mashed Potatoes. Enjoy.

‎'The Hole To Hell.'
‎‎When you're a little kid, hanging out you're with your best friend, anything is possible.

'I Have A Black Belt In Armchair Jiu-Jitsu.'
‎How I injured myself watching people fight.

'10 Hard-Hitting Questions.'
‎I will ask you these questions when we meet, so you'd better brush up.

'The Communist Search Party.'
‎I once ran away from home because I didn't want to finish writing my book. Here's the saga.

'Shoot To Kill.'
‎The day I turned down murdering an animal, and became a man.

'A War Of Words With An Unarmed Man.'
‎I take on religion, e-mail spammers and bad album covers in one fell swoop. I actually had to consult with an attorney on this one.

'A Feral, Angry Cantaloupe Of Hellfire And Awful.'
‎Hedgehogs aren't born awesome; they're trained to be awesome. The rest just give you night terrors.

'The Broken Elbow Quadrilogy.'
‎The Missus broke her elbow, and because of that, I hate Roller Derby.

'The Leukemia Nickel.'
‎The guilt-driven racket of the Leukemia Society.

'One Week In Dubuque.'
‎A long weekend photoessay into one of the most surreal cities I've ever drunkenly wandered.

'The Basement Treadmill Of The New Millennium.'
‎On setting goals, becoming what you want to be, and eventually settling on what you already are.

'I Still Do Weddings.'
‎I have officiated two weddings. Here's the story behind one of them. Spoiler Alert: I get drunk at the reception, botch their license and ruin everything.

'The Pre-CDP Essays.'
‎The Teen Years, the Band Years and the College Years. Pretty interesting stuff if you want to know how I became...you know...who I am.

'Look At Me, I Can Use A Computer!'
‎I honestly still don't understand why people bring computers into coffee shops.

'It's All Okay.'
‎How a man being killed by a flying car battery changed my life forever.

'The Walking Dead Friday - Season One.'
‎The entire collection of Walking Dead Friday. Zombies ahoy; I'm pretty good at recapping television shows, which is a lot like being good at nothing of significant worth.

'Play Don't.'
‎My mom took me to therapy when I was a kid. It didn't last long, and here's why.

'Why I Will Never Be The Host Of This Old House.'
‎Boiling water, exploding sump pumps, three feet of snow and proof positive that I have no business whatsoever owning a home.

'Shop 'Till You Drop (Or Stab Someone).'
‎The time I got trolled at a supermarket and nearly stabbed a guy. A must-read.

'To Here Knows When.'
Just...look, I know I have a lot to be thankful for, but believe me, you don't want my life.

‘Lost Friday – Season Six.'
Over the course of five years, I recapped about 100 episodes of Lost. Here's all of 'em.

Sound off in the comments section and enjoy your day.

The CDP In Review: Best Essays (2006-2008)

2012-01-24T00:01:00.004-06:00

Here now, the Best CDP Essays from 2006 to 2008. Hereby known as the 'Golden Era.'

“Twenty Photographs Of Door County.”
Sometimes, a weekend away from everything with a few good friends is better than the most expensive vacation money can buy. This was not one of those times.

“1989 CDP Evaluation.”
My First Grade teacher was a vindictive, awful, unintentionally hilarious woman.

“The CDP vs. PETA.”
I take on PETA and win. Kind of.

“Eat Me, Cake.”
One of my favorite bands declares unwarranted chemical warfare on their fans.

“The Geek.Kon Aftermath.”
I enter a Guitar Hero tournament at a bona fide Nerd Convention, and make an unforgivable mistake during my ascent to immortality.

“My iPod ‘Asploded.”
Apple doesn't care about me, my car, or my money.

“A Ziploc Bag Full Of Chocolate Chip Cookies.”
The feel-good essay of the decade.

“Who Wants To Date An Internet Has-Been?”
I deal with being washed-up before anyone even knew who I was.

“Shove That Crystal Ball Straight Up Your Chute.”
Sylvia Browne and other psychics are called to task.

“Snap, Crackle, Poop.”
Never exercise, because you'll probably break something and ruin your life.

“Your Karma Ran Over My Legma.”
I am Even Steven. This is not a blessing, and it nearly leads to my death on the freeway.

“Kickin’ It With Cliff.”
Did you know I have an older brother? Enjoy one of my weirder, rare forays into fiction.

“26 Things That Suck About Turning 26.”
Most of these still ring true now that I'm about to turn 30.

“Grumble, Alone, Grumble, Polysics.”
An epic featuring a sleep study, loneliness, Japanese punk rock and the scariest venue in Milwaukee.

“A Life Without Tires.”
I need to be a more dependable and trustworthy person, and a blown tire made me realize that.

“Talking Sex With The CDP.”
Dim the lights and set the mood.

“Adventures In Cyber Sex.”
Dim the lights and set the...oh man, this is wrong.

“Everything Plus One.”
I love my wife. Here is one of the many times I have proclaimed that in public.

“You Have No Idea What ‘Having No Idea’ Means.”
Will I renounce Agnosticism for true love? Yes. Yes I will. It doesn't mean I'll succeed, though. Here's a tragic tale for the ages.

“Meet The New American Gladiators.”
Speaking of tragic tales, here's my tribute to the greatest show to almost instantly get pulled from the air, the reboot of American Gladiators.

“Don’t You Go Forgetting About Me.”
I had a physical relationship with a teacher once. For realsies. Check it out; it's sort of beautiful and crazy and even crazier still.

“Boom Goes The Spider Bite.”
Ever fall into a toilet trying to kill a spider? Enjoy a story that will remind you why I have to write down the things that happen to me.

Sound off in the comments section and enjoy your day.

The CDP In Review: Best Essays (2004-2006)

2012-01-23T00:01:00.002-06:00

Here now, the Best CDP Essays from 2004 to 2006, voted on by myself and nobody else. Some of these essays ended up in my 2007 book, 65 Poor Life Decisions. Most did not.

"Good Morning, Dark Lord."
When my band played a show in Upper Michigan, we didn't realize we'd end up in an argument with a mob of Christian Conservatives.

"Adventures In Broadcasting."
Shortly after snagging a job announcing High School basketball games, I end up implicated in one of the biggest sports scandals in Winneconne history.

"The Price I Pay."
I hate this guy. Still do, actually.

"The Long And Winding Road."
One of the weirdest weekend vacations of my life: Swingers, fake cruise ships and a Beatles tribute band.

"I Just Don't Understand."
Please don't steal from me. It hurts my feelings.

"On Getting My Head Chainsawed Off."
On getting back into video gaming, and wetting one's pants with fear.

"The Toronto Diaries."
I spent eight days in Toronto with my best friends. Everything went wrong, and here's proof.

"Support Your Local Cat."
Everyone likes cats on the Internet. Here's a story about mine.

"Razor Burn."
I talk beards before the hipsters ruined them for everyone.

"Harry Potter - The IMAX Experience."
A cranky old man rant about the state of movie theaters (and films themselves).

"Where's My Promotion?"
Sometimes, offices trust their lowliest employees with unbelievably expensive things. At one time, I was that employee.

"10 Stupid Jobs."
I am the #1 Google search for 'Stupid Jobs,' a legacy I'll probably take to my grave. Not sure if I'm proud of this or not, but it's definitely a thing.

"It's My Costume."
Worst Halloween ever. End of story.

"Subbin' It Up."
I cut this essay from my book because I thought the tone was too mean. You be the judge.

"Insect Karma Revolt."
If this essay, about an office battle to the death with a horsefly, doesn't make you laugh, you have no business being here.

"Tackling Reggie White."
I've heard from many people that this is their favorite CDP essay. Hall-Of-Famer Reggie White adds me to his list of decimated defensive enemies.

"The CDP's Guide To Vegetarianism."
Want to go vegetarian? Here's an easy way to do it.

"No Scents Whatsoever."
I was never good with the ladies. Here's how a decent attempt at love ended up with a near trip to the hospital (and jail).

"You're A Woman, I'm A Machine."
Ever sit through a three hour Timeshare pitch in an attempt to snag free plane tickets to Hawaii? I did.

"The Homecoming Quadrilogy."
Someday this will be made into a movie. Here's one night of my teenage life that, sadly, was like dozens more I haven't written about yet. Really, you're going to want to read this Four-part epic.

"Intro-Feedback-Setup-Punchline-Repeat."
After the 2004 Presidential Elections, I started a political cartoon. Seriously. Ran for several months. Check it out, most of them are still funny.

"The Worst Album Covers Of All-Time."
One of the first CDP essays to go viral, here's a snapshot of the worst album covers ever, containing my trademark witty banter.

"The Loud Neighbor Sextet."
Our apartment neighbors kept us awake for months with their frantic lovemaking. So we decided to go to war. One of us eventually moved out as a result. Another must-read.

"My First Job."
My first job. The very reason I started the CDP in the first place was to talk about the Hardware Store that supplied me with income from 1999-2002. Essential viewing, this.

Sound off in the comments section and enjoy your day.

The CDP In Review: 2010

2012-01-20T00:01:00.002-06:00

(Originally published 12/20/10. I didn't do a 2011 Review, so this is the last one of these you're going to get. More cool stuff next week, though.)

What did 2010 mean to you? Seriously, I'd like to know. While I accomplished much, I feel like I may have sleepwalked through the bulk of it, zombified by my own deadlines and routine. Judging by the current mindset and mentality of those around me, we're all skidding collectively into 2011 on fumes; exhausted, beaten and completely unsure of what tomorrow holds.

It's like an epic film, only in real life, that's not as fun as it sounds. Mostly we're just tired all the time.

In January, I made my intentions known to publish my second book by the end of the year. This became my top priority, dropping me into a self-imposed Boot Camp that I only emerged from just a few weeks ago. I think I wrote some good posts over the last year, and I'm certain that things happened on a national scale that effected me personally, but I'll be damned if I can remember any of them right now.

I got up (most days), went to the office, went home, wrote a few pages and went to sleep. For nine straight months. I also may have drank a few cups of coffee, gotten drunk a few hundred times and took a shower or two, but that has to be the extent of my deviations. When I commit, I commit like a psycho. I created something in Aerating The Mashed Potatoes that I'm pretty fond of, but just like when I wrote Book #1 in 2007, the blog tended to get neglected at times.

Fortunately, The CDP Year In Review is here to remind us exactly what went down over the last 350-some days. Read along, click the links and have fun. You might learn something; I know I did.

January 6 - Kicking off the year in style, I have four impacted Wisdom Teeth removed. I almost instantly develop an addiction to muscle relaxers, which actually may explain why I don't remember too much about what else happened this year.

January 14 - I revisit a childhood memory: Digging a hole straight through to hell.

January 18 - Turning down the chance to murder another living thing says a lot about the character of a child.

February 5 - The first Lost Friday of the final season, another thousand pages of jokes and captions. The only people on the planet that wrote more about Lost were the writers of the show themselves.

February 16 - The CDP turns 6. Its baby teeth are all messed up, but in a cute way.

February 24 - The CDP Worldwide Mix-Tape Trade #7 arrives to much cheering and acclaim from music nerds on every coast.

March 12 - My first (and last) Lost Friday Liveblog. This is fun to do, but I get the sneaking suspicion everyone else hates it.

March 17 - My Favorite TV Theme Songs. I'm officially out of things to rank.

March 26 - The greatest episode of Lost ever? The greatest Lost beard ever?

March 31 - Why (sane) adults don't go to Cost Cutters.

April 2 - Another great Lost Friday as the series begins to wind down. We started to come to the sad realization that almost none of our questions would be answered, which I actually found hilarious. Joke was on us.

April 20 - A little write-up I did about the Lost producers visiting Madison. They also wrote the new TRON movie, too.

May 21 - Lost Friday - 'What They Died For.' So many deaths.

May 28 - Lost Friday - 'The End.' Faith wins the 'Science v. Faith' argument, but only in a fictional sense.

May 31 - Now that Lost is out of the way, I start catching up and focusing on the book. I debate calling Book #2 Pinkerton, but the Missus talks me out of it because she likes it when I make money.

June 9 - Buy my old book before you buy my new one. Not the other way around, please. It's a fine book, but I don't want you to step backwards through my evolution as a writer. Then again, my mom liked the first one better, so I could be wrong on this.

June 14 - Speaking of mom, here's one of the better essays featuring her dysfunctional relationship with me.

June 30 - Nothing like a borderline Nervous Breakdown to make you re-evaluate stuff.

July 12-16 - My Top 30 TV Shows of the 90's. Melrose Place mysteriously absent.

July 19-23 - My Top 100 Movies of the 90's. It's Pat!: The Movie mysteriously absent.

July 26-30 - My Top 150 Albums of the 90's. Toad The Wet Sprocket mysteriously absent.

August 2 - The 8th (and final) Worldwide Mix-Tape Trade. For now.

August 16 - My 2010 Emmy picks. I did very well, yet won nothing. I got what I deserved.

August 23 - My Annual Fall TV Preview delivers the goods once again. This is usually one of my favorite posts of the year.

September 6 - I announce the title of my almost-finished book. The world collectively shrugs, says, 'Wuh?' and goes back to cleaning the refrigerator.

September 20-24 - My Top 50 Ska Albums of All-Time. I'm an expert; don't dispute me.

October 4 - The Walking Dead Friday replaces Lost Friday...for a little while. I commit to recapping 6 episodes, thinking for sure that the show would flop and be canceled. It becomes the biggest basic cable hit of all-time.

October 18 - The book is done. I have patience. I have drive. I have determination. Another goal accomplished...ladies.

October 22 - The cover of Aerating The Mashed Potatoes is revealed. The literary world scrambles to catch up with its pure beauty and Pop Culture brilliance. Lawsuits are flung from every corner of the globe.

November 2 - Aerating The Mashed Potatoes is unleashed to an unsuspecting (and still unsuspecting) public. Apparently, people don't like laughing until they piss their pants anymore.

November 5 - The debut of The Walking Dead Friday. I miss Amy already.

November 15 - My celebrity status can't even sell out a Chuck-E-Cheese.

December 10 - The Season 1 Finale of The Walking Dead Friday. Goodnight, sweet zombie.

December 13 - My favorite Tracks of 2010. Young Money's 'Bedrock' is criminally overlooked.

December 14-17 - My favorite Albums of 2010. Not a fantastic year, but decent nonetheless. Just like the CDP.

Well, there you have it. 2010, revisited through the eyes of the CDP. Sound off in the comments section and enjoy your day.

The CDP In Review: 2009

2012-01-19T00:01:00.003-06:00

(Originally published 12/14/09.

2009 was pretty far from the Worst Year Ever, but most of us would have a damn hard time justifying it. I mean, it makes sense that the closing year of the 'Decade From Hell' or 'Lost Decade' would continue the process of stomping our faces into the mud for just a little while longer. When I look back on it personally, it feels like everyone either failed, died or let me down in some way; or a little of all three in a few occasions.

But hey, we have to stay positive if we're to make the '010's any better. We need to once again pull ourselves up by the collective bootstraps, wipe the crust out of our eyes and get some work done. For me, 2009 was about nailing down everything that I intended to keep, leap headfirst into a ditch and hope that most of what I've worked for remained intact after the Apocalypse. For the most part, it did, but for a lot of us, it did not.

Yeah, me and the Missus were each furloughed at our respective places of employment, a State money-saving measure that probably took somewhere in the neighborhood of $3500 directly out of our pockets so far. We missed this money, had to tap into our savings at times, and really cut back on the unnecessary puff and fiffle that we normally blow our hard-earned cash on. While I still want that cash back, I can say that being more broke more often has reminded me to appreciate having any money at all, and forced me to be more wise with my investments. I grocery shop more intelligently. I've learned to handle my checkbook like a pro. I'm doing more with less, which has to be the American motto for 2009 (if you're a normally-functioning human being, that is).

Here on the CDP, the tide ebbed and flowed. So, if you're just catching up, or can't get enough of what I'm bringing to the dance, let's take a look back at the year that was, through the eyes of the Little Blog That Could; the CDP. Take time to check out the links and dig in.

(My buddy. My Nephew. Evan.)

Who knew that eels were so terrifying?
Every liquor changes me in some drastic way.
Ziggy's chubby hand of fate ruins my day.
Lost Friday returns for Season Five!
I get the worst virus of my life; vomit streak ends.

(I've never drank more than I have in 2009. I blame the economy.)

The CDP turns 5 years old. Can't legally drink, but still does.
This kind of thing only happens on my birthday.
Jack and Kate do it.
I compose the greatest motivational speech in history.
I quit blogging forever...for three days.

(I lost one cat and gained two more this year. Here's one.)

Local News is hilarious.
Actual, photographic proof of the paranormal!
QVC is hilarious.
A new batch of MySpace Poetry for your aching soul.
WRENCHES!

(Sometimes I get bored at work. Pac-Man Scone!)

One of my funnier Lost Friday captioning sessions.
The Missus busts her elbow all to hell during a roller skating session.
I partake in Digital Detox Week; local media finds this interesting.

(I miss you.)

I survive Digital Detox Week and return to tell the maddening tale.
The best Lost captions from Season 2, Season 3, Season 4 and Season 5.
Relive the Lost Season 5 finale with one of my better recaps.
Remember, it's all okay.

(If you ever need to know what I'm doing, chances are it's this.)

June was 'Simpsons Month,' where I became your new best friend by painstakingly counting down the 100 Greatest Episodes Of The Simpsons, including 30 Honorable Mentions and my choices for the Worst. Episode. Ever.

(This photograph wasn't staged.)

Nothing ruins your night faster than a rabid hedgehog.
I go missing. Hit the road. Blow this pop stand.
My Top 20 Super Nintendo games.
My Top 20 Sega Genesis games.
My whereabouts are finally tracked to Iowa.
My Top 25 UFC moments. Quite a good list, actually.
Captured.

(If I keep using my iPhone so much, I'll need glasses like these for real someday.)

What am I doing at a casino?
What am I doing on the Mississippi River?
Is this the greatest toy store on Earth?
What am I doing in Dubuque?
The 2009-2010 Fall TV Preview is my biggest and best yet.

(I try to keep my workspace interesting. This is all overflow from my home office.)

The CDP Worldwide Mix-Tape Trade #6 was a huge success.
The Forward Music Festival rolls into town. I see nobody.

(Damn! Hip-Hop Scone be draining my iPod!)

I spent the month of October personally reviewing each and every Mix-Tape that was sent to me for the CDP Worldwide Mix-Tape Trade #6, as well as gearing up for the first-ever CDP Decade In Review.

(I don't remember when this was from, I just hope I wasn't by myself.)

My favorite instantly-cancelled TV shows of the decade.
The most popular TV shows of the decade.
The worst TV shows of the decade.
My favorite overall TV shows of the decade.
My favorite films of the decade.
My favorite music videos of the decade.
My favorite books of the decade.
My favorite concerts of the decade.
My favorite video games of the decade.

(I'm working on a surprise.)

My favorite albums of the decade (75-51).
My favorite albums of the decade (50-31).
My favorite albums of the decade (30-11).
My favorite albums of the decade (10-1).

Well, there you have it. 2009, revisited through the eyes of the CDP. Sound off in the comments section and enjoy your day.

The CDP In Review: 2008

2012-01-18T00:01:00.002-06:00

(Originally published 12/22/08. I guess I took a lot of photos of myself this year.)

2008 was really something amazing. From the biggest Presidential election of our lifetime, to the beginnings of a major economic disaster, to The Dark Knight raking in almost a billion dollars worldwide, it was a year of big successes and even bigger failures.

From a personal standpoint, it was decent. I bought a house, continued to sell copies of my book, wrote a lot of good essays, stayed productive and attempted to be a relatively decent human being to those I came into contact with. If it were Pass/Fail, 2008 counts as a Pass, but just barely.

Here on the CDP, the tide ebbed and flowed. So, if you're just catching up, or can't get enough of what I'm bringing to the dance, let's take a look back at the year that was, through the eyes of the Little Blog That Could; the CDP. Take time to check out the links and dig in.

I kicked off 2008 with one of my most popular essays of the year, concerning the triumphant return of American Gladiators. As you may remember, the writer's strike was in full effect at the time, making way for such brainless nostalgia as this and Knight Rider. I also started the groundwork for the CDP Worldwide Mix-Tape Trade #2, which turned out to be a huge success and became a quarterly feature. The Lost Season 4 Preview was equal parts awesome and bittersweet, as it was to be my third and last season of skewering my favorite television show ever. I rounded out the month by pondering some superficial issues on the day before my birthday.

I hit the blogosphere running on the day of my 26th birthday, penning a massively-forwarded essay about the massive suckfest that is, well, turning 26. From there, things only got bigger as Lost Monday returned and I made the hilarious decision to take on PETA. After my Page 2 interview with the Wisconsin State Journal, I thought that nothing could top the high I was on, but that all changed after I started a long and beautiful relationship with Heroes supervillain and the single best thing about Season 2 of Friday Night Lights, Brea Grant. The CDP also turned four years old, officially meaning that it's embarrassing to me personally when it pisses itself in public. The new Cake album almost caused a Defcon 3-esque evacuation at CDP Headquarters, leading me into a depression that only my childhood self could shake me from. From there, I wrote another hilarious Lost Monday, dug up a particularly horrible evaluation of myself from the First Grade, and wrote an episode of The Soup, if The Soup were a three minute long, Internet-only show that focused on just Lost.

March brought problems. With all of the hoopla over 65 Poor Life Decisions more or less behind me, I focused on a big office promotion that left me conflicted and eventually right back to where I started from. I then took an online survey that led to me mocking smokers, causing an almost-instant nicotine-fueled backlash from the masses. I apologized, although I secretly didn't care. I waxed poetic about The Worst Song Of All-Time and the subsequent arguments I've had with the Missus about it, wrote another episode of the Pop Crunch show, and went back to my High School days to wrap up one of the most popular personal essays in CDP history. If this month wasn't strange and stressful enough, it rounded out with a legal battle over an album cover with a clinically insane preacher, and I decided to buy a condo for good measure.

It was no April Fool's Day joke; the success of 65 Poor Life Decisions helped me to buy my first house! And while this was a momentous occasion, it led to a few problems I've never faced before. Just to keep myself sharp, I wrote 1000 words in 30 minutes on a Christopher Walken-hosted episode of SNL, and even offered up some tips for lazy guys to remain fashionable. I wrapped it all up with a decent Lost review and one of the most optimistic essays I've ever done.

Hey, who's not interested in reading a comprehensive list of the Greatest NES Games of All-Time? Furthermore, who doesn't want to hear about falling down the stairs and busting up your ankle? Planning the most punk rock garage sale in history? The third CDP Worldwide Mix-Tape Trade? Also, as the Lost Monday finale drew closer, I compiled a two-part collection of the best photo captions from the Season 4 that was.

June kicked off with the end of an era, as Lost Monday trumpeted its swan song. I also got serious and talked about the recent trend of completely pulling 'non-fiction' memoirs and essay collections out of your butthole. I also celebrated my fourth anniversary with one of the sappier essays you'll read all year. Say what you want, but chicks dig that crap. Then George Carlin had to go and die on me, which sucked about as hard as I figured it would. From there, I did a full-day Liveblog from the most rundown hotel in Madison while on assignment for work. And hey, because Summer is for nerding out, I did a countdown of the Top 30 Atari Games of All-Time, broken into two equally-awesome parts.

A lifetime of music is a hard thing to digest and regurgitate, but I did my best. Also, who can forget the most-commented-on post in CDP history? And, because my life is an open book for whatever reason, I even let you all into my house. The Dark Knight was so freaking amazing, I just had to give stuff away in its honor, and how often does a conversation with your mother turn into a killing spree? The Summer had begun to take its toll on my sanity, so I answered some questions that were asked of me and pondered quitting life.

August got off to a relatively positive note, as I had a nervous breakdown and drove to St. Paul to drink myself to death. Fortunately, I survived and came back home to find out that I was the least-dateable person on Earth. Wanting to turn the tables on the CDP readers, I gave you a little survey of my own to fill out, and got into the Olympic spirit. I then officiated another wedding, and almost ruined a few established marriages in the process. Oh, and I still think that using a computer in a public place is nothing more than a modern-day fashion statement.

If you had told me five years ago that I'd write over 800 online essays, I'd punch you in the face. Then again, I didn't think I'd get into a fistfight at a supermarket, either. And I certainly wouldn't believe that I would publicly publish a document of my experiences with the Kama Sutra of kissing. Getting back to what I do best, the CDP launched the First Annual TV Week in September, documenting my favorite shows for each year I've been alive, my Top 20 Shows of All-Time, a tribute to the Programming Block and my 4th Annual Fall TV Preview. If that wasn't enough, the CDP Worldwide Mix-Tape Trade #4 was launched and I counted down the Top 30 CDP Essays from 2004-2006. Damn.

October was a month of reflection at the CDP, as we counted back the Top 30 Essays from 2006-2008 all month, 7 days a week. I suppose we'll have to do it again in two years, but between you and me, there's no way I'll still be doing this in 2010. I'm very much decade specific, sort of like Ralph Maccio or Boyz II Men.

Fresh off of a month-long blogging vacation (sort of), we launched ourselves into the biggest Presidential election ever, and I also wrote about beating the crap out of people for money. A brilliant High Schooler from New York wrote an English paper about yours truly that attributed to his eventual graduation, which probably excited me more than it did him. I started to fear Writer's Block, but that all changed as soon as I got my first piece of hate mail in years. Finally, a financial planning course that I attended through my place of work threw me into a spiritual awakening that forced me into thinking differently about how I piss away every penny I make. I also consider it the funniest and least-boring essay about money ever written.

No matter where I go, the CDP-proclaimed Worst Album Cover Ever continues to follow me. Cleaning an old filing cabinet led us to the historic week that was The Pre-CDP Essays, and by the time we emerged back to the present day, my sump pump had exploded and flooded my basement. I then capped off the year the way I always do; by counting back my favorite songs and albums of the year that was.

Which brings us right up to speed. Thanks for stepping back through this year with me again. I know it was bipolar at best, but we made it through, and 2009 looks to be equal parts challenging and rewarding. Sound off in the comments section and enjoy your day.

The CDP In Review: 2007

2012-01-17T00:01:00.002-06:00

(Originally published 12/21/07. There was no 2006 Year In Review because I was in a bad mood the week I was supposed to do it and pretty much deleted the entire thing. It happens.)

2007 was a monumental year at the CDP. Web traffic tripled across the boards (2500 people will read this post before Christmas; 2800 before Kwanzaa). Content and essays were about as good as you could expect from a borderline-reclusive with crippling ego issues that doesn't do anything for anyone anymore. Pop Culture pundits collectively took their dignity back from Perez Hilton and proclaimed me the current King of the Castle, which is about as mixed of a blessing as having a hot stepsister. Hell, I even published my first book, the profits of which allowed me to do the bulk of my Christmas shopping this year (I sure hope everyone likes pennies and string!). Friends were made, enemies were crushed into powder and gallons of brandy were injected straight into my liver.

2007 was also the year that the Madison Cultural Elite welcomed me into their world with open arms, hoisted me onto their collective back and ran me around town while I giggled and tried to hold the pee in. Local press has shined upon thee, hip tastemakers proclaimed me to be 'in,' and I was successful in not getting fired from my job for the fourth year running. I spent hours in line at the Post Office due to the loyal fans that wanted an autographed copy of my book, and turned my home office into a monument of receipts, Priority mailers and packing tape. I've been told it's all tax deductible, even the bubble wrap.

So, if you're just catching up, or can't get enough of what I'm bringing to the dance, let's take a look back at the year that was, through the eyes of the Little Blog That Could; the CDP.

January 2007
3 - I attempt to get edgier with my fashion sense. It doesn't go well.
5 - Evan, the Official Spokesbaby of the CDP, takes a vacation.
8 - Morphing into a genetic freak takes more work than I'm willing to give.
9 - Randy Orton's head explodes on national television.
22 - Alcohol and karaoke: an American institution.

February 2007
1 - I turn 25 years old. Teenage girls officially find me 'creepy.'
9 - Lost Friday returns for 2007. Hilarity and beards ensue.
14 - The CDP turns 3 years old; finally stops pooping itself.
15 - "What the hell is in our driveway, honey?"
21 - I learn a hard lesson about fatherhood: It sucks ass.

March 2007
7 - I once again create a Mad-Lib. Traffic reaches all-time low.
12 - I have cybersex against my will; Chris Hansen isn't amused.
14 - The five stages of grief, updated for the 21st Century.
28 - Me and the Missus have a language all our own: Annoying.
30 - Lost Friday rolls along. Phrase "Bulletproof Breasts" enters lexicon.

April 2007
2 - I don't have any black friends.
4 - Thanks to good fortune, I almost die in a fiery car wreck.
5 - One of my first (and best) interviews ever.
16 - The very first Live Video Chat takes place. Chat #2 yet to happen.
24 - I make an effort to not be the least responsible person alive.

May 2007
1 - How many times do I have to repost this essay before people care?
7 - The CDP & Pork Tornado: The Golden Spike of humor blog excellence.
15 - I love having drunken, emotional breakdowns at public functions.
21/22 - The best Lost captions of Season 3. Oh, the huge Manatee!
28 - The 65 Poor Life Decisions process begins with a whimpering bang.

June 2007
13 - My annual visit to the House on the Rock. Abject terror ahoy!
15 - The CDP gets a glowing review; my ego takes out an entire city block.
25 - Sometimes I miss my old car, then I realize that I actually don't.
27 - Live Video Chat #2 is cancelled due to nobody giving a crap.
28 - 65 Poor Life Decisions is in full swing; I'm in full depression.

July 2007
5 - Welcome to Devil's Lake. Go to hell.
13 - My single greatest contribution to society, hands down.
16/18 - I teach you how to make a Bomb Pop in my YouTube debut.
23 - I suffer the worst injury of my adulthood thus far.
31 - Bon Jovi visits the family corn stand. Wait, what?

August 2007
1 - Heinz ketchup is magic!
9 - I break my iPod, along with the spines of everyone at the Apple Store.
20 - The aftermath of the worst vacation of my entire life.
23 - My best friend was a 40 pound cat. No Photoshopping required.
29 - My pain is your belly laugh. Enjoy.

September 2007
3 - The CDP Fall Television Preview, pre-strike and full of wide-eyed hope.
10 - I'm not known for physical humor, but...here you go.
24 - We visit the Lodi Corn Maze and get all grabby with stuff.
25 - Ken: By Request Only. An Internet mystery solved by me.
28 - The Missus gets a new car. Hipsters everywhere shed a tear.

October 2007
5 - Dropping a bomb at the EAA.
10 - Geek.Kon PWNZ every N00B in Madison.
12 - I answer everything you ever wanted to know about First Base.
17 - 20 photographs of my Door County vacation. Apple-scented, of course.
24 - An awesomely epic rant on loneliness, aging, the scene and my friends.

November 2007
6 - 65 Poor Life Decisions is finished. Lock up your nerdy daughters.
13 - The Nationwide Mix-Tape Trade reviews start. Friends are lost.
27 - I give you a behind-the-scenes peek into the last six months.
28 - 65 Poor Life Decisions is locked and loaded, and so am I.
30 - The Single Greatest & Most Important Day In CDP History.

December 2007
5 - If only for a fleeting moment, I was your king.
6 - You'd assume I was smart enough to handle the Post Office. Nope.
7/14 - Positive press for my book continues. Blushing at an all-time high.
17 - I name my favorite albums of 2007. Any and all cred is destroyed.
18 - I expose myself to friends and fans. A collective 'ew!' chimes out.

There you have it; an entire year of my life, condensed and organized for your careful scrutiny. Take your time with this post; check out the links, sound off in the comments section and enjoy your day.

The CDP In Review: 2005

2012-01-16T00:01:00.003-06:00

(Originally published 12/27/05. If you really want to see the 2004 Year In Review, there it is.)

January 2005.

Without question, 2005 started off horribly as my Grandfather lost his battle with cancer.

One year later, and it still hurts. The whole family feels it whenever we get together, and he's not around. I've been pretty fortunate, as my young family hasn't yet had to experience many losses in life. When a guy like this disappears from the planet, there's a huge hole where he used to be. It can't be filled, but you can learn to one day accept it. I go on for 100 pages about how amazing he was and still is, but you should get the point.

The month started to get better, but not by much. My lunch got stolen from work following a massive pulled neck muscle that benched me for three days. Whilst depressed and sad, I had an in-depth analysis of mortality and death. Finally, we all had a gathering in Green Bay shortly before my birthday that lifted my spirits and got me ready for happier times.

February 2005.

On the 12th of February, the CDP turned 1 year old. We're still not toilet trained yet, but we're ashamed when we don't make an effort to not poop our pants.

I turned 23 this year, and that once again got me nostalgic for crap that happened not 5 years ago. This inspired me to write a four-volume piece on my first job. In the series, I discuss the nature of the position, a brush with a murderer, a near-death experience and a run-in with the scariest guy I've ever met. It was an interesting job, and I'm glad that I had the chance to work there. Some day I will write a full-length book about it and get rich on other peoples' problems.

This was also the month that I started to grow my hair long. As it turned out, the "Year of the Shaggy" was kind of a bust, but it was a hoot while it lasted.

March 2005.

There's a certain depressing quality in losing all of your money at a casino. What's worse, when you do it a second time, you have nobody to blame but yourself. When something like this happens to you, it represents a moral crossroads in which you must choose what path your life must take. In my case, it caused me to sign up for a 5-mile run. Death was looming, and it had my name on her list.

With NCAA March Madness in full-bore, I was reminded of the time that I caused one of the biggest sports controversies in Winneconne history. My bracket was shot, I lost $10 in the office pool and Kentucky made me cry again. Spring could not arrive fast enough. I bought an IPod and started training for my run.

April 2005.

Because I was burned out and tired, I handed the CDP reigns over to Gabe for a day. This would be the first and last time I would ever consider such a thing. Jokes are funny.

This was also the month that brought us the infamous "Eyeball Post." Still one of the most popular posts ever, it hopefully brought awareness to unnecessary close-up photos of somewhat beautiful people.

Meanwhile, back at work, I almost lost $27,000 and my job. Life is a fickle business sometimes. To cheer each other up, we spent the day at Wisconsin Dells, tricking a timeshare salesman to give us plane tickets to Hawaii. Depending on how much money I get back in taxes, we might cash these in come 2006. With so much on my plate this month, a recap was in order.

Man, the Sugar Puff Daddy had it going on! Using his mad skillz as a reference, I was on the prowl for Take Your Daughter to Work Day. And if that wasn't enough, I managed to accomplish my 5-mile goal without having to go to the hospital. That was a big deal for me, and I still limp around when the weather's just right.

May 2005.

Happiness comes in small packages. It's a cookie or a Kit-Kat bar. It's a kiss on the cheek or a nice compliment. Take them and appreciate them, or they will disappear. All this and more when I publish my self-help book, entitled, "I Hate You, You Freaking Idiot."

As I get older, I realize that it's nice to go to the mall with your Mother. She buys you things that you can't buy for yourself. Me and the Missus also celebrated our 2nd Annual New Glarus Day Trip. We'll probably do this at least once a year until once of us is confined to a wheelchair. I ain't pushin' nobody nowhere.

June 2005.

June was unforgettable. Kind of.

You never forget the day that Tony Little shows up at your door and whoops your ass. No sir. The same goes for when you dream about beating the crap out of your Dad over a sleazy pair of women. Better yet, what about the time that you humiliate yourself in front of a co-worker? Not me.

What's really unforgettable is your first anniversary, especially when it doesn't end in divorce. What's really unforgettable is spending 8 days in one of the biggest cities in the world with 3 of your closest friends. Simply amazing.

July 2005.

The CDP's 200th Post was pretty cool, too. You know, in a very...very small capacity. This transitioned smoothly into me losing my freelance job due to "creative differences."

It's not Toronto, but Mount Horeb isn't without it's charm. I think it might have to do with the Nazi hats.

August 2005.

This is what happens when a writer with OCD gets heat stroke. On the other hand, things aren't always as they seem. Just when I think I've won you over again, I hit you with the most brutally honest and frightening post about myself ever. Never think I'm not honest. In the aftermath of this post, a lot of people expressed concern for my well-being, and others criticized my actions. Take from it what you will; just know that I never intended on having it taken so seriously. I'm just fine.

The Missus picked herself a Fantasy Football team this year. They were awful, but they beat the Packers.

Just as August was spiraling into the gutter, Ben and Sherry saved it with a spectacular wedding.

September 2005.

For my money, there's nothing better than taking sexy photos of myself with a cell phone. If anything, it turned me on to talking about something besides myself all the time. I have since retracted the statements I made in this post. Expect 2006 to be the Year of the Me!

Taking my new format in stride, my 2005 Fall TV Preview generates over 100 comments. My Lost Season Two Preview does just as well. I soon realize that pop culture is far more interesting than cats and mustard. Just then, Mutton Chop showed up and ruined the party for everyone.

Remember when that insect almost killed me? I do.

My first unofficial Lost Friday was published, and I hit the road for Minneapolis.

October 2005.

My weekend in Minneapolis was incredible; Arcade Fire was earth-moving and the zoo made me love dolphins again. I don't know what more you can ask of a city. I tried to put a new advice column up, but the public didn't receive it very well.

I also shared with you the saddest Halloween story of all time, as the Lost Fridays started to rack up.

Just in time for Halloween, we spent the day at a real-life haunted-themed farm. I slingshotted some gourds, we got lost in a corn maze; it was a great day.

November 2005.

Sweeps Month ended up being out most successful month ever at the CDP. I owe it mostly to Lost Fridays, but also to year-end festivities like the best comments of 2004, the Boycott Unity retrospective, and concern over the well-being of Gabriel.

I hate the mall, but not as much as I hate Steven Avery.

After a super-sized Lost Friday, I came back with 50 things I'm thankful for, just in time for that Thank-holiday. The Missus also turned 22, and I gushed over her for a while.

December 2005.

The last new Lost Friday I did was also my most favorite, because it was composed 100% by me. The best comments of 2005 were locked and loaded, along with each and every one of my year-end music lists.

I also grew a beard. It ruled. I gave it a name. 'Beardy'.

The best and worst of 2005 were discussed briefly, and we all parted ways for the holidays. Christmas was fantastic; I got more than I deserved, and it was great to see my family under the same roof again. That pretty much brings us right up to speed.

Sound off in the comments section and enjoy your day.

Hey, I Never Showed You My New Tattoo!

2012-01-09T00:01:00.001-06:00

So, the photos are kind of blurry, and I didn't take the time to make it camera-ready, but here are a few shots of the half sleeve I got in July of 2011. I do plan to write actual essays between now and February, but I figured a few of you would like to see this. If you did not want to see this, go ahead and keep that to yourself.

Bene at Big Guns Tattoo in Madison did this for me. He specialized in exactly what I wanted, so it was a perfect fit. The process took a staggering 6.5 hours, and we did it all in one sitting. I learned a lot about myself that day; basically that I could experience pain to the point of hallucination without going into shock and messing myself. I consider it a learning experience, and it wasn't until afterward that Bene explained to me that most people don't knock out a half-sleeve in one sitting. Lesson learned.

You'll notice that it only goes to my elbow. This is because by the end of February, I'll be completing the rest of the sleeve, right up to my collarbone. More than anything, you're looking at half of a year-long project that I can't wait to complete. Trust me, the finished product is going to be incredible. This ink also goes along nicely with my first tattoo, lurking over on my right forearm.

Sound off in the comments section and enjoy your day. I'll be back before you know it.

The State Of The CDP Speech - 2011.

2011-12-26T00:01:00.016-06:00

(This is either the most heartfelt essay I’ve ever written, the most insanely egomaniacal, or a little bit of both. Just a heads-up.)

I’ve been fortunate enough to document nearly every major or noteworthy event of my 20’s on the CDP. This has come in handy both emotionally and mechanically; it’s quite comforting to flip through the scrapbook every now and then to see what I’ve accomplished and would eventually become, but it’s just as rewarding to use it to settle an argument about a specific date or story. The CDP has allowed me to remember more details about my life than I ever could have without.

This year, however, was different. For me, the bulk of 2011 was lived outside of the blog. Undocumented and kept uncharacteristically private. I had just as much time to write this year as any other, and my experiences over the last 12 months were as important to me (or more) than any other year of my life, but due to reasons I’m about to explain, you didn’t really hear about any of it.

I like to write funny stories. When something quirky happens to me (and it happens a lot), I kick it around in my head for a couple days, write it out and pass the humor (and savings) on to you. I’ve always tried (and sometimes even succeeded) to avoid the trappings I loathe most about a typical blog, and to a greater extent, what I loathe most about nearly everything posted on the Internet. Which is:

1. Complaining without artistic payoff, and
2. Bragging without artistic payoff.

As it stands, I’m arguably about to do both.

What I see in 99% of blogs, Tweets, status updates and any other avenue of Social Media, are people telling you either how much their life sucks or how much their life rocks. Period. Nothing else. Just some broad, general statement they feel the need to share with you for no unselfish reasons whatsoever ("My life is sooo great right now!!!"). Either your immediate sympathy or your deepest envy is being requested by someone who needs the attention dearly ("My life sucks; I'm poor and want to die"), but lacks the effort or talent to place these desires in a format that’s even remotely entertaining. This drives me crazy. It’s admittedly a bit off-kilter, misguided and more than a little asshole-ish, but it’s a pet peeve that keeps me honest, and void of posting any more nonsense on the Internet than I already do. It’s also the reason I’ve been so mum this year.

(Green Bay needs to repeat this year, only because it was impossible to enjoy the last one if you lived in Madison.)

No less than six days after the Green Bay Packers won the Super Bowl, my city (Madison) and my state (Wisconsin) declared war on itself. We were instantly awash in protests, recalls, union-busting and shady political dealings the likes we’ve never seen before in these parts. A new kind of dividing line was drawn that we hadn’t seen in a long time; not one of Left Wing vs. Right Wing, but of the chasm that exists between the classes. This feud grew larger and larger, eventually spreading to nearly every major city in the nation and directly to Wall Street. Call me biased, but I firmly believe that the global Occupy movement began right square in the center of the Wisconsin State Capitol this February, and I was there in person to see its zenith.

I didn’t want to be there, and that's a very important thing to remember of the bulk of those who participated. Teachers, students, firefighters, cops and state employees didn’t want to be there. None of us wanted to take the shuttle bus down to the Square in the freezing cold. None of us wanted to be on Fox News (or even The Daily Show), being portrayed as thugs that were vandalizing the Capitol and whining over entitlements. I, in particular, didn’t want to participate in mindless chanting or a “Who can create the most clever sign?” contest.

I wanted to do what I always do: Go to work, do my job, come home, write and spend time with my wife. But I couldn’t. A face, a number and a voice of opposition had to accompany the resistance to what we felt were woefully unethical political decisions, so we spent all Winter (and Spring, and Summer, and Fall) doing what we thought was right. And whether it turns out to be a victory or a failure, I can say without hyperbole that we changed the world this year.

There is nothing more about this that hasn’t already been said more eloquently, which is why I said next to nothing about it online this year. I don’t write about Politics anymore, I don’t want to complain without artistic payoff (Rule #1), and as a state employee, I felt a certain responsibility to keep some opinions to myself. I still do, and I’ll continue to. The battle rages on, and even though you didn’t read about it on the CDP this year, it has encompassed a tremendous amount of my time, energy, anxiety and emotion. There. Done.

(Yours truly prepares to walk out in front of about 13,000 people at the Bradley Center.)

On the exact opposite side of this coin, I have been blessed with some extremely good fortune this year. My love of Mixed Martial Arts (MMA) has been touched upon a few times here, and as an employee of an agency that, as of September 2010, now controls the state regulation of MMA, I somehow stumbled into a dream job that I had fantasized about since I was 13 years old. For the last ten months, I’ve been making a (semi) living regulating my favorite sport. I’ve met idols, witnessed incredible events, traveled thousands of miles and most importantly, directly shaped the future of a sport that only seems to be growing exponentially with each passing day. Not many people can say that they found their dream job while working for the state, but my fortune (and dumb luck) concerning what I’ve been doing for money this year is almost too good to be true. Which is exactly why I haven’t been talking about it.

I have stories about my job that I’d like to tell. Of course, for many reasons (being allowed to keep said job being one of them), I cannot do that for the time being. Anything I can tell you would only be bragging without artistic payoff (Rule #2), so for most of the year, I’ve kept this good news predominantly to myself. I’m having a great time, and merely telling you that without an accompanying story about me being knocked down a peg when I least expect it makes me feel like a prick. There. Done.

(She's the most beautiful woman I've ever met. I'm a potato-headed goon.)

On the domestic front, things have stayed relatively the same, with one major difference: I no longer give a shit about anyone but my wife anymore. Let me back up, because I’m about to say something kind of beautiful (or psychotic).

Don’t get me wrong. The cats are still healthy, my friends are still fantastic, the income is still razor-thin and my extended family is still keeping their head above water, but my marriage has entered a phase I can only describe as “Permanently Bonded.” I thought I knew what Love was when I met Celia in 1999. It was subsequently redefined multiple times; most notably when we moved in together in 2002, got married in 2004 and celebrated our 5th Anniversary in 2009. At the beginning of 2011, it was redefined again, but in a way I didn’t think was possible or ever could have prepared for.

I never took Celia for granted, but there were times I could have been more available, supportive and compassionate. I knew that I cared about her more than anything, but the thought always existed in the form of a given. An assumption more than a gut feeling. The sort of talk you were more likely to hear from your Grandparents than newlyweds: “Of course I care about that woman more than anything. We’re married; that’s just the way it’s supposed to be, right?” What I didn’t (naively) realize what that there was more to it; an emotional switch about to be flipped that turned me into more of a husband (and man) than I ever could have achieved through actively attempting.

I don’t know what caused it. Perhaps it was the political turmoil. Perhaps it was the monotonous stress of balancing the (empty) checkbook for the millionth time. Perhaps it was the realization that we have been together for 11 years this January (and 12 years as of today). Whatever the case, I heard a voice in my head that said, “You know what? I could lose everything. Everything I’ve ever owned, loved or held dear, and it would be alright, legitimately alright in every emotional or physical way, as long as I had Celia by my side.”

This wasn’t forced. I wasn’t looking for this. This wasn’t pheromone, dopamine or hormone-induced sentiment. Celia didn’t request more from me. This thought didn’t arrive as the result of a death, injury or fear of infidelity. This was an organic, subterranean thought that bubbled to the surface and completely obliterated every thought I’ve ever had about what it meant to cherish something. And since that moment in January, it never left.

From that point forward, something was lifted off of me that I didn’t even realize was weighing me down. Every doubt, every financial worry, every possession, every past regret, every unrequited love and every failure was blown permanently off of the map. I used to think that I was the kind of person who could maintain a decent relationship with anyone. Now I know that the only thing I ever want to be good at is making certain that Celia lives the best possible life with me at her side. That sounds like the sort of thing I should have come to terms with a decade ago, and I thought I had, but now I know that I really have. I don’t have to think about it anymore. I don’t have to think about anything anymore. It just happens. I don’t need praise and attention. I don’t need success and wealth. I have her, and that makes me indestructible.

I used to work at a hardware store frequented by elderly retirees and the almost-dead. A lot of these men and women were widowed, but every so often, I’d see an old couple shuffle in. They’d probably gotten married in the 40’s or 50’s on a complete whim, had children, grandchildren and great-grand children, retired and spent somewhere near the last 60 years together. But they’d be holding hands, finishing each others' sentences and looking at each other with a love and respect that they’ve had since they first met. This, I now realize, is arguably the culmination of a life lived perfectly.

Since I started the CDP in 2004, I have lost one grandparent, and my wife has lost three. Apart from our personal sadness, we’ve seen what happens when the surviving spouse finds themselves completely lost without a map. After a certain amount of time together, you give so much of yourself to your spouse (and rely on them for so much) that a part of you goes right into the casket along with them. My grandma never learned to drive, can’t balance a checkbook and will not leave the house by herself, because these are all things she did (and needed to do) with her husband around. My wife’s grandmother is constantly convinced she’s penniless and poor, seemingly unaware that her late husband maintained finances that could comfortably retire her for the next 30 years.

I used to pity this behavior, confident that I would always be self-sufficient regardless of what future emergencies would arrive. What I never expected was the realization that I didn’t want to exist wholly without Celia; that the secret to a perfect marriage was the ability to willingly give so much of yourself to your spouse that a separation (through divorce or death) would irrevocably destroy you. I don’t want to be okay without my wife, because it would serve as devastating proof that I didn’t give enough to her. I want to be ruined, and I completely understand this now.

Whew.

I know that all got a little heavy, but it’s yet another reminder of why I haven’t blogged too much this year. I used to stay up late and write while the Missus slept alone. Now, I don’t want to miss a second of my time with her, even if we’re just laying unconscious by each other’s side. It is what it is, and I’m not going to tinker with happiness. Who knows, she’s probably cheating on me as we speak. I’d probably deserve it, too, if only for all those times I bought sub sandwiches when we were supposed to be on a budget. Furthermore, it might be the last essay I ever write on the Internet about how great my wife is, so I figured I'd go all out.

(Cageside at the Allstate Arena. Billy Corgan sat behind me.)

Anyway, it is for all these reasons that CDP content has been more than a little light this year. My responsibilities, duties and life in general have been more hectic, terrible and wonderful than ever, but it all goes against what I feel is my duty to write about here. That might not make a lot of sense to you (I’m having a hard time justifying it), but it’s just something I felt strongly about, and trusting my gut is something I’ve always done concerning my writing (for better or for worse). We don’t have full, 100% control over many things in our lives, so when they come around, I don’t take that privilege lightly. I think being someone who writes online isn’t so much about opening yourself up to the world, but more about knowing exactly when to close up shop and shut your damn fool mouth.

So, there you have it. Not only the reason why I didn’t blog too much this year, but a Cliff’s Notes version of what’s been keeping me busy in the interim (the Man, my job and the Missus, respectively). There’s also a final reason, and it plays directly into why the CDP will cease to be come February: I’m thoroughly finished with this medium, and this medium is thoroughly finished with me.

For eight years, I’ve written well over a thousand stories. I’ve categorized and ranked tens of thousands of pop culture items. I’ve made fun of everything (and everyone) I’ve ever loved. I’ve dragged my every insecurity, flaw, fear and innermost taboo into the spotlight, where I pummeled it mercilessly for a public audience. I’ve geeked out over things that nobody else cares about. I’ve declared my hatred for things that everyone cares about. I’ve made you laugh really, really hard. I may have even spent your hard-earned money at some point. At the age of 22, I went all-in for a shot at a captive audience. I used my own life as currency, and to a certain extent, it succeeded in ways I couldn’t have imagined. I also lost friends, exposed a lot of skeletons and made things significantly harder for me in a lot of ways, too.

This shit has changed my life forever.

I only want to continue writing in this medium if I can do what I did at the CDP’s peak: consistently crank out a buttload of relevant content every single day, all while ceaselessly promoting myself and keeping abreast of everything (everything!) that’s going on with everyone (everyone!) in my online circle. I cannot do, nor do I want to do, any of those things anymore. I think there’s a certain romanticism (even concerning a stupid website) to walking away from something forever when it can no longer be done at an ability that satisfies the creator (see Watterson, Bill). I half-ass absolutely nothing in life that I care about, so the decision became apparent without much thought well over a year ago: It’s time to do something else. Simple as that.

But we’re not done just yet.

The CDP will return in early January with new content. The final post will be on February 10, the date of the CDP’s 8th Anniversary. Sound off in the comments section and enjoy the remainder of 2011. Thanks much for reading this; I appreciate it.

-Ryan J. Zeinert

The CDP's Top 20 Albums Of 2011 (5-1).

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5. Wugazi - 13 Chambers

4. Beastie Boys - Hot Sauce Committee, Pt. 2

3. Cymbals Eat Guitars - Lenses Alien

2. Saves The Day - Daybreak

Before we reveal my favorite album of 2011, here's a rundown of my previous picks for Album Of The Year:

2003 Winner: The Weakerthans - Reconstruction Site 
2003 Runner-Up: The Postal Service - Give Up 

2004 Winner: Arcade Fire - Funeral
2004 Runner-Up: Communique' - Poison Arrows 

2005 Winner: Of Montreal - The Sunlandic Twins 
2005 Runner-Up: Clap Your Hands Say Yeah! - Clap Your Hands Say Yeah! 

2006 Winner: The Velvet Teen - Cum Laude! 
2006 Runner-Up: P.O.S. - Audition 

2007 Winner: Arcade Fire - Neon Bible 
2007 Runner-Up: Polysics - Karate House 

2008 Winner: Girl Talk - Feed The Animals  
2008 Runner-Up: Ra Ra Riot - The Rhumb Line

2009 Winner: P.O.S. - Never Better
2009 Runner Up: fun. - Aim And Ignite

2010 Winner: The Hold Steady - Heaven Is Whenever
2010 Runner-Up: The Tallest Man On Earth - The Wild Hunt

1. Louis CK - Hilarious

I've always set some unofficial rules for myself when it came to choosing my top albums of the year, and one of them was generally leaving comedy albums towards the bottom of the pack. This year, however, Louis CK was impossible to ignore. A career year to say the least, he was finally recognized as the best stand up comedian on the planet (a deserved honor), was nominated for an Emmy for his groundbreaking FX series Louie, and released one of the best stand up albums of all-time with Hilarious, my (far and away) choice for the Best Album Of 2011.

Although Hilarious was released in 2011, it was recorded in 2009 (in Milwaukee!). If you want to check out his latest offering, Live At The Beacon Theater, it can be downloaded for a scant $5 at LouisCK.net.

Thanks for reading. Sound off in the comments section, tell me what your favorite album of 2011 was, and enjoy your weekend. The CDP returns Monday with the 2011 Year In Review.

The CDP's Top 20 Albums Of 2011 (10-6).

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10. Explosions In The Sky - Take Care, Take Care, Take Care

9. Adele - 21

8. Patton Oswalt - Finest Hour

7. The Decemberists - The King Is Dead

6. New Found Glory - Radiosurgery

Sound off in the comments section and enjoy your day. The countdown concludes tomorrow.

The CDP's Top 20 Albums Of 2011 (15-11).

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15. Less Than Jake - Greetings From…

14. I Fight Dragons - KABOOM!

13. Cake - Showroom Of Compassion

12. Deer Tick - Divine Providence

11. M83 - Hurry Up, We’re Dreaming

Sound off in the comments section and enjoy your day. The countdown continues tomorrow.

The CDP's Top 20 Albums Of 2011 (20-16).

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Honorable Mention - The Beach Boys - Smile

20. Tennis - Cape Dory

19. Foo Fighters - Wasting Light

18. The Go! Team - Rolling Blackouts

17. The Get Up Kids - There Are Rules

16. Girls - Father, Son, Holy Ghost

Sound off in the comments section and enjoy your day. The countdown continues tomorrow.

The CDP's 5 Assorted Favorites Of 2011.

2011-12-12T00:01:00.016-06:00

Track Of The Year - 'Imperial Walker' - IFIHADAHIFI

"This is what happens when you poke a badger in the eye."

The 2011 Capitol Protests were fierce, vocal and put the world on notice, but they were also done with intellect, DIY know-how, and what can only be described as unmistakeably twisted Midwestern humor.* Longtime Wisconsin noise powerhouse IFIHADAHIFI encapsulate all of these traits seamlessly, so it seemed fit for them to not only score the soundtrack to our solidarity, but provide us with the most memorable (and important) track of the year (at least where I'm from).

'Imperial Walker' is not only a call to arms, but a reminder of what the state of Wisconsin has been through since early February ("14 Senators on the lam"). As the Recall efforts heat up, IFIHADAHIFI has pledged to donate every penny of 'Imperial Walker' profits to Progressives United, an effort to keep the working man politically competitive with the billionaire businessman.

(*After Fox News aired footage of what looked like Wisconsinites vandalizing the Capitol and running rampant in the streets, eagle-eyed observers noticed that there were palm trees visible in the background, which of course meant that Fox aired incorrect footage of an incorrect riot in an incorrect city. The next day, hundreds of Madison protesters brought inflatable palm trees with them, decorating the Square with a flowering plant that wouldn't survive a minute in a Wisconsin February. We don't get mad. We mock.)

Book Of The Year - The Visible Man - Chuck Klosterman

I can't tell you what this book is about; it would ruin it for you. If you like (or even vaguely like) Klosterman, sci-fi, pop culture, psychological ramblings, voyeurism and unanswerable questions, however, The Visible Man will provide you with a fun, brief ride that will leave your perception of what it means to be 'genuine' permanently skewed.

Film Of The Year - Warrior

(Honorable Mentions go to Super 8 and Harry Potter 7.5. I haven't seen The Muppets yet.)

Warrior was overlooked, made a modest amount of money and disappeared from sight. But it was also a critical smash, worlds better than it had any business being, and was easily the most exciting, emotional and profoundly dark film I've seen all year.

Regardless if MMA is your thing, the performances, gritty cinematography, soundtrack (provided perfectly by The National) and storyline will be more than enough to satisfy. A sleeper that should be rented or (hopefully) pop up on Netflix, Warrior has been accurately described by critics as 'heartbreaking and emotionally satisfying' and 'an unapologetic powerhouse of emotional conflict.' I promise you'll dig this one.

Live Moment Of The Year - 2011 WWE Money In The Bank (Allstate Arena - Chicago)

I've seen some great concerts this year, but it's been the sporting events that really spoiled me in 2011. I wasn't in person to see the Green Bay Packers winning the Super Bowl, but I was lucky enough to be in attendance for the Milwaukee Brewers clinching the division for the first time in 30 years; an experience I'll probably never forget (linked video shot by the Missus).

On the MMA front, I was fortunate enough to see Fedor fight in the United States, an absolute rarity at the incredible Strikeforce show earlier in the year. Also, I experienced a legit dream come true when I attended and facilitated a UFC event in Milwaukee a few months back.

But nothing, and I mean nothing, compares to what I was lucky enough to experience at Money In The Bank at the Allstate Arena. If you're not a wrestling fan, you'll never understand this, but for those in the know, you'll remember it as being perhaps the greatest WWE PPV (and main event match) in WWE history. CM Punk literally walked out the front door of the arena as champion, cementing one of the most epic and organic rises to WWE greatness in over a decade. I mean, listen to these crazy bastards (myself included) cheer on their hometown boy, while simultaneously booing the face of the company right out of the arena. It was a true moment in time.

I remember leaving the arena, voice completely gone, with 15,000 others who were shell-shocked and in awe as to what they experienced. I was concerned that the crowd didn't come across on television as much as they did in the arena, but as the Missus scanned the websites and tweets on her phone, it became clear that we were fortunate enough to be in the audience for one of the coolest events a wrestling fan could have ever attended. It was awesome; end of story.

Top 15 TV Shows Of 2011:

15. The Ultimate Fighter
14. Person Of Interest
13. Saturday Night Live
12. The Simpsons
11. Mythbusters
10. The Office
9. Beavis & Butthead
8. 30 Rock
7. Bob's Burgers
6. Adventure Time
5. Louie
4. The Walking Dead
3. Modern Family
2. Community
1. Parks & Recreation

At first, I figured The Walking Dead would be a lock at #1. But Season 2 has been a little lacking halfway in, and the arguments against it have become too hard to ignore. Modern Family is still as flawless as ever, but I can't help but think that Season 3 isn't as good as their Season 1 arrival in 2009. What I wanted were shows that are better now than they've ever been, continuing to cement their legacy and out-do themselves every week.

Community is doing just that; approaching Arrested Development levels of depth, callbacks and renegade satire of everything they find both ridiculous and beloved (an almost sure sign they're on the brink of cancellation; networks can't seem to deal with that). They throw everything against the wall, keep anything that sticks, and for those reasons, they are the most dynamic and sharp comedy on TV today. But they're not the best.

Parks & Recreation stood in the shadow of The Office for less than one season, but have cut their own mold as a powerhouse ensemble, giving us a show that seems to be hitting a stride of perfection that has lasted nearly two years now. They can literally do no wrong at this point; each character works so seamlessly with the other, that almost any combination functioning as an episodic lead will mine comedy gold. This is currently a great time to be a fan of TV comedies, but in 2011, Parks & Recreation has become untouchable in its combination of characters, stories, jokes and themes. A winner, top to bottom.

Sound off in the comments section with your favorites and enjoy your day. My list of the Top 20 Albums Of 2011 begins tomorrow and runs through the end of the week.