A quick glimpse into my life at 40

 Me, a little drunk, yelling at a cat: 

Go! No! Get outta here! You're being a dick! In this house, we're nice! If you're not gonna be nice you can go back on the street! 

Yeah, there are a whole lot of cats in my house right now. As is the slogan for most of the big and small picture situations in my life, I'm not sure how we got here. What I do know is for all of the horribleness going on around me, the cat thing makes sense. No matter how much and how many bad things feel out of my control, I try to keep finding ways to do some good in this world. I can do right by these cats. All 4+ of them.

The official policy of Mr. and Mrs. Jimmy is we still only have four cats. Yes, I am fully aware of the absurdity of using "only" as the adverb in that sentence. Like I said, I'm no sure how we got here. Anyway, we have four cats* and two long term houseguests. There's also Edgar who comes around for food, refuses to sleep in the shelter I bought and assembled for him, and gives me gentle head rubs followed by violent slashes. He's a good boy. 

I like to tell myself that one of the core truths of growing up is realizing you, or anybody else for that matter, have no idea what they're doing. I'm just doing my best, trying to do something positive, no matter how much of the world burns down around me. These cats don't know and don't care about credit scores, imaginary borders, or any other manmade nonsense we convince ourselves should dictate the way we live. They just live. If I can help them do that, maybe I can help myself do the same. And if I can't help myself, then at least I'm doing something to help these ungrateful beasts feel a little more comfortable in the world we've built around them. 

*If you're my landloard, four means two and six means what am I, the number police?

Do you want to see Broken Arrow?

It’s hard to have complete memories of a night that happened 29 years ago. We fill in the gaps with interpretations of flickers of how we remember it happening. The details might be fuzzy, but some of those feelings linger with a clarity that never fades away. I remember that musical was fucking awful. 

I know this might be hard to believe for some of the younger generations, but there was a time when you could get things for free. One of the perks of growing up in a building for performing artists was we would get access to previews of Broadway shows and all sorts of other live theatre. You would simply look on the bulletin board of available tickets and go to the main office. One day in 1996, my dad decided to get tickets to a show at the recently revived New Victory Theatre. 

I don’t remember much of that show. I can’t tell you the title, the setting, or any of the characters’ names.* What I can tell you is by the time we reached the part where the main character (who may or may not have been wearing overalls) sings a whole song about playing football on a farm during his youth, we had just about had enough of this show. Mercifully, intermission soon followed, and we agreed that one act was more than enough to endure. We were not the only audience members to reach this conclusion. 

So, there we were, out on a Saturday night, both with an unscratched itch for some quality entertainment. What do you say to your 11 year old son in this situation? If you’re my father that night, you ask, “Do you want to see Broken Arrow?” You’re god damn right I want to see Broken Arrow and build some core memories with my father. I don’t know if this is exactly what my dad said. What matters is the sentiment, the feeling that never fades away, even if my hairline does. I do remember Broken Arrow, though. 

Listen, Broken Arrow is no masterpiece. What it is is an honest to god red blooded ‘Murrican action movie. It’s a remnant of a simpler time when the idea of a potential nuclear disaster could be cheesy fun because Christian Slater is here to save the day. It remains ingrained in my memory as part of a night that I’ll always look back on fondly, despite and oh so slightly because of that dreadful musical. 

Broken Arrow will not be in list of the best action movies of the 90s. However, spoiler alert, Terminator 2 most certainly will. Dad didn’t need to walk out of musical to take me to see that one. I don’t remember what got us into the theatre that night. What I do remember is dad deciding six was old enough for my first R rated movie. He wasn’t wrong and obviously chose the perfect movie for that experience. Beyond the multitude of iconic action sequences and the best CGI of all time, it has that pitch perfect father/son dynamic that makes it one of the most enduring cinematic experiences of my life. 15/10 will rewatch and think about my dad for the rest of my life.  

My Top 10 Action Movies of the 90s

10. Die Hard with a Vengeance 
9. Goldeneye 

8. Point Break
7. Mission: Impossible 
6. Face/Off
5. The Rock 
4. Speed 
3. Heat 
2. The Matrix 
1. Terminator 2: Judgment Day

Omitted due to being too much of another genre: Batman Returns, Independence Day, Men in Black, The Fifth Element, Total Recall, The Mummy

Honorable Mentions: Demolition Man, Broken Arrow, True Lies, Con Air, Ronin

*I think I found it! A show called Different Fields opened on February 17, 1996 and closed on February 18, 1996. We walked out of the one and only showing of Different Fields. Ain't it cool?

Turns out I really need to rewatch Unforgiven and Saving Private Ryan

If this comeback is going to have any kind of theme or connective tissue, it's this: I want to go back. I want to go back to a time when life was simpler, the American dream felt real, and art was made for art's sake. I'm saying nothing new by complaining that the majority of film and television these days feels more like IP than art. But it would be nice to sit down and watch a movie without feeling like the narrative is being driven by marketing executives or some anonymous private equity ghoul. Of course, corporate influence was a very real thing in the 90s as well, but there's no comparing to the overly managed, algorithm driven hellscape we all doomscroll though today. 

I suppose I can take some comfort in knowing that the art and culture of yesterday remain frozen in time. Not just as a memory, but also as a reminder of a time that was, a time that we all experienced. Unless you're somehow 24 and find yourself looking up blogs that haven't been active for 14(!) years. 

Just as the 90s exist in the past, so does this blog. Once Hot Sauce with Everything and now back to how it all began, we circle back to our past with an eye on the future, hopefully without the whole doomed to repeat it part. What's that? We're speedrunning to another holocaust!? Well, shit. 

Anyway, as inspired by Edmund, here's my Top 10 movies of the 90s: 2025 Edition!

10. Trainspotting
9. Boogie Nights
8. The Matrix
7. Fargo
6. Terminator 2: Judgment Day
5. Jurassic Park
4. Dazed and Confused
3. Pulp Fiction
2. The Silence of the Lambs

1. The Shawshank Redemption

Tough cuts and honorable mentions: The Usual Suspects, Groundhog Day, Heat, Jerry Maguire, Office Space, Toy Story, Scream, Apollo 13, Goodfellas

I begrudgingly omitted Fight Club from this list. I acknowledge its structural flaws and somewhat oversimplified presentation, but I firmly stand behind my belief that the core message is just as potent today, just as much as it was and is misinterpreted. While Fight Club is clearly parodying the toxic masculinity that so many misguided men took as gospel, the way it synthesizes the increasingly valid frustrations many of us are experiencing with late stage capitalism makes it even more relevant than it was in 1999. Also, Brad Pitt is electric and so overwhelmingly attractive in this movie. I don't care how woke you are or claim to be. Every man ever has wanted to look, act, and yes, fuck like Tyler Durden at some point in his life. 

How many glaring omissions can you spot on my list? Comment and let me know I suck. Just don't come at me talking about Boondock Saints or some other nonsense you loved to watch in college. 

Stupid script! Nearly Wrecked Jim Carrey's Career!

My top 10 movies of the 1990s, as told to the world in 2008:

10. The Full Monty

9. Groundhog Day
8. Barton Fink
7. Election
6. Quiz Show
5. Seven
4. The Hudsucker Proxy
3. Glengarry Glen Ross
2. Festen
1. Magnolia

And my view on this today:

I stand by #1, Magnolia is an absolute behemoth of a film. It's like what I imagine the film equivalent of Infinite Jest to be, if I ever get around to reading that novel. Beyond that, the list is too provincial. I think I was trying to be some kind of anti-establishment bohemian, and the result was being a snob. A drunk snob. The worst kind of snob, and nearly the worst kind of drunk.

Having Festen so high is probably just some ill-hearted attempt to get Emerson to cut me some slack with my student loans. Glengarry Glen Ross was an excellent play (I think I read it?), but in a pre-Kevin Spacey is cancelled era, it seems weird to have it so high but exclude Usual Suspects. 

This list is dry and pretentious as hell. What was wrong with me? Seven should be #2, right? Where is Good Will Hunting? That movie is great. It's like the best wannabe arthouse mainstream movie of that time. No Fargo, but Barton Fink is on there? That's the Evan Williams talking, for sure. No Fight Club or Heat? 

This is pretty stream of consciousness, but I think I could make a strong argument for Jackie Brown being top 5. I didn't put Boogie Nights on this list? 

Quiz Show? I never even cared about the Oscars, I don't understand why I would let an award show from over a decade earlier influence me so much. 

I don't even care about leaving Pulp Fiction off, I'd do it again. Boom. I said it. 

Did no one make movies without male leads in the 90s? I'm pretty sure I saw Little Women in the theaters when I was 9. For some reason, my mom did not take me to see the Piano though. I'd be shocked if more than two of these films passed the Bechdel Test.

I think Office Space should be on this list, and I don't believe that's me just being culty. And no, I still don't care about Shawshank. Lastly, I think the original Wayne's World or Ace Ventura could genuinely crack the top 10 movies of the 1990s. Take your pick. 

-Edmund

Oh No, I said Steamed Hams. That's What I Call Hamburgers

Continuing my look into the time capsule that are 2008 blog posts, I am left perplexed by my understanding and perception of time. In the year 2000, I was 15. The year 1983 seemed like a vastly different time to me, at that age. Whether it was photos, tv clips, ads, or printed media from the early 80s, teenage me viewed nearly everything from 17 years earlier as dramatically...ancient? I remember thinking that there was a distinctly different aesthetic to the world in the 80s, as compared to what I knew as my reality in the early 2000s. 

I don't feel that way about 2008, today. Maybe because there haven't been nearly the same level of technological advancements between 2008-2025 as there were from 1983-2000? Yes, HD television is the standard now, video quality is surely better, everyone has a smart phone, etc., but I don't feel like the world looks that different to me. Maybe it's because I just don't want it to? I'd like to think the answer is something simple, like that overall video and photography technology was advanced enough in 2008, so as that my brain is recognizing nearly the same visual contrast between that 17 year block and the one from 1983-2000. Still, I wonder if I am just unable to accept an underlying sense of nostalgia that is cratering my perception of how things used to be. 

It Was the Best of Times, It Was the Blurst of Times

Looking over old blog posts we wrote 17 years ago certainly is an eye-opening experience. My initial reactions are mostly along the lines of, "What in the actual fuck?" and similar expressions derived from this surreality that I am experiencing. Here is what I learning:

I'm terrible at reading these days. My old posts feel like they last forever. Has my brain eroded that much? Was I that arrogant and wordy in 2008? Or is society to blame? Perhaps the short form language which has overcome most of our written communication has finally gotten the best of me? Or, as an early to mid-millennial, maybe it's possible that it always had the best of me. 

That being said, time to revisit some takes from the decade before the decade before this one!

I will never pay $5 for a slice of pizza.

Unsure as to how clairvoyant this take was, we need to find out how much a slice cost in 2008:

https://money.cnn.com/2008/03/19/smbusiness/Chernoff_pizza/index.htm

"Over here people come to buy pizza, working people. How much [am] I going to raise the pizza now?" asks Vicari. "Somebody come in here for two slices, and I take $5. I feel very, very bad for the person."

Heath Ledger is dead. But he sure is used in a Pizza Hut commercial.

Evidently, I was skeptical of Hollywood's relationship with capitalism and advertising at the time. Based on what I know now, I can summarize this viewpoint as painfully optimistic. 

Joe Biden screws up all the time. Don't worry about this one. Biden knows it, the Obama campaign knows it, and it is not at all a secret weapon for Palin.

Drano.

Super Bowl Prediction: Arizona 27, Pittsburgh 23.

Whoops. 

As much as it pains me to make people aware of this, apparently FrankTV is an actual program.

I think I got the Men In Black treatment for this one. Good to be reminded of things, sometimes. 

-Edmund 

Mojo is dead! Long live Jimmy!

 Jimmy Jimmy, motherfuckers. 

We are back!!!!!

Stay tuned for further updates. 

-Edmund

All I want for Christmas

Thank the lord, thank the lord, the NBA season is upon us! I won't mention the lockout ever again after this sentence because I've had enough of that business until the players opt out of the CBA in six years and we have another lockout. All I care about is that basketball, real basketball, is back and it really is all I want for Christmas. I don't care about presents; I don't care about spirit; I want to watch basketball all day.

Worse than expected: San Antonio

Better than expected: New Jersey, Minnesota, Denver, Indiana

Could sneak into the Conference Finals: Indiana

Could sneak into the Finals: Memphis, Boston, LA Clippers

Could be and epic disaster: LA Lakers, Boston (They've got range!)

Worst Team Ever: Charlotte

Coach who will get fired first: Stan Van Gundy

Coach who should get fired first: Vinny Del Negro

Coach of the Year: Lionel Hollins

Rookie of the Year: Ricky Rubio? I don't know, I don't watch college sports.

Most Improved Player: DeMarcus Cousins

Defensive Player of the Year: Dwight Howard (for the next decade or so)

6th Man of the Year: James Harden

Scoring Champ: Kevin Durant

MVP: CP3!

West Playoffs

Oklahoma City(1) vs Portland(8)

Memphis(2) vs San Antonio (7)

Dallas (3) vs LA Lakers (6)

Denver(4) vs LA Clippers(5)

OKC vs LA Clippers

Memphis vs LA Lakers

OKC vs LA Lakers

East Playoffs

Miami(1) fucking destroys Milwaukee (8)

Chicago(2) vs New Jersey(7)

Indiana(3) vs Philadelphia(6)

Boston(4) vs New York(5)

Miami vs New York

Chicago vs Indiana

Chicago vs New York

NBA Finals

Oklahoma City Thunder over Chicago Bulls in 7

This is what I kinda sorta look like

I have a strict doppelganger elimination policy. Should any of my associates ever encounter an impostor roaming the earth, they are to dispose of this person (or thing) on sight. This poses a slight problem as I have been told I look like the following celebrities:

Keanu Reeves

Wanted for stealing my thunder

Chris Klein

To be destroyed immediately

John Lennon

R.I.P

Elias Koteas

 Exactly what I will be in 30 years

If you don't know who Elias Koteas is, you are truly missing out. Known for such roles as Casey Jones in the Ninja Turtles movies and that creepy guy in Fallen, he is one of Canada's greatest of its numerous gifts to the world. I recently passed Elias Koteas in the street. I was too stunned to terminate him. Perhaps it for the best; he isn't a true doppelganger, more of a glimpse into my future. Keanu Reeves should take note.

Last Minute Emmy Predictions!!!!!!!!

I just found out the Emmys are tonight.

I am not in tuned.

Seems like a great chance to prove my prediction superiority. At any rate, some eight year old just gave the official 'Top 5 Worst Movies of the Year' for ABC. Things are getting bleak.

Best Actress Comedy: Edie Falco

Best Actor Comedy: Jim Parsons

Best Supporting Actress Comedy: Jane Lynch

Best Supporting Actor Comedy: Ed O'Neill

Best Comedy Series: Modern Family

Best Actress Drama: Mossy Mossy (Mad Men)

Best Actor Drama: Buscemi. Without mother fuckin question

Supporting Actress Drama: Christine Baranski

Supporting Actor Drama: Andre Braugher

Drama Series: Game of Thrones

I'm not making Mini Series picks.

Mirror, Mirror, On the Wall

Which one of these fraternal twins do you want to be our next President?

I'll top the list as soon I get famous

I haven't had the time to write much lately. My workload basically doubled overnight. Somewhere in all this madness is a good book or New Yorker article. One day I'll have my life together enough to write whole paragraphs. Until that day comes, here's another list.

James's somewhere between predictable and off the beaten path list of celebrity crushes

Marisa Tomei
Less than four years until she is the original member and all time champion of my hottest ladies over 50 club.

Anne Hathaway
Nothing like a nice Jewish-looking girl with perfect lips and eyes to make momma happy.

Eva Mendes
Is there a single flaw on her body? Great curves, smooth skin, and just the right amount of trouble in her eyes. She even has a perfectly sized bonus mole a la Cindy Crawford. Easily my number one if not for...

George Clooney
Duh

I'll be the first resident of The Pompous

What do you think these names are for?

Ashley

Olivia

Archstone

Mima

Atelier

Loft

Aire

WYYZ

SOS

Edge

Do those all sound like tacky restaurants to you? That would make too much sense to warrant this post. Nope, they're apartment buildings. Apparently it's no longer good enough to overpay for a cookie cutter condo in tomorrow's hottest location, today! Now we all have to live in individually branded condos so the whole world knows we chose this particular condo for its ambiguous one-word title beginning in A*. What's with that anyway? Some marketing genius must have decided A is a dominant letter or something. It's that kind of subtle confidence that convinces people that the building that looks exactly like the one down the street (inside and out) is somehow Jesus reincarnated as a condominium. Get in on the ground floor now before this neighborhood goes out of fashion!

I've been inside enough of these "luxury condos" to affirmatively state that the only identity they're selling is permission to advertise your specific income range to other people whose only means of telling people apart is how much money they make. The only identity on sale is an inflated sense of self worth. I'm not omniscient - I'm barely even presentable - but even I know if you're the only person who cares about the name of your building, it's not worth bringing up in conversation. Here's a fun game you can play: the next time somebody name drops their cookie cutter condo, make up one of your own and watch them wither up in shame of having lost the superficial status game.

Just watch, I'll end up living in one of these places. I can't really complain if I do. ***SHAMELESS GLOATING ALERT*** My boss is going to pay for my apartment, after all. ***PATHETIC BRAGGING COMPLETE***

*Unless you count "The" at the beginning, which every single one of these has. Since when were buildings rock bands?

Important questions

Some jerkass once said there's no such thing as a stupid question. That guy probably didn't talk to any stupid people. I get asked a lot of questions. Some of them are not of exceptional intelligence. These are some of those questions.

Do you have a moment for [insert cause here]? No, I don't have time. I read your precious NPR and sign petitions online. Now fuck off.

Do you have the time? Do you own a cell phone?

Are all those dogs yours? Yes, I own four dogs. I also have seventeen cats, three hamsters, a chimpanzee and three dozen goldfish. Did I mention I live in a mansion?

How do I get to [really easy to find New York landmark]? First step is saying excuse me. Aren't you supposed to think New Yorkers are surly? If you're too selfish to be polite about it, I will never give you directions. If you are exceptionally rude, I might even send in the wrong direction. (Yes, I have done this.)

Do you want to do me a favor? Of course not.

Will you me a favor? Probably. What can I say? I'm a nice guy like that.

Now I want gummy bears

Working outdoors isn't always a walk in the park. Well, it is literally a walk in the park, but don't let that distract you from my metaphor. Work with me people! Walking several miles a day with creatures designed to disobey you can be quite tiring. As it turns out, there aren't many options for a quick snack when you've got multiple dogs attached to you determined to eat everything in the store. Local merchants don't take kindly to my folk. I had to come up with a solution that didn't cost me tons of money or test the human body's capacity for bananas. 

Enter homemade clif bars. These are so good and so easy to make, I put my name on them. The thing I really love about making these bars is they can be as healthy or junkalicious as I want. Hell, you could throw in gummy bears if you felt like it. The sky is the limit!

James Bars

Dry

2 cups quick oats

1 cup crushed cereal such as Kashi, Rice Krispies, or whatever you like (You can even use pretzels)

Dried fruit, nuts, seeds, chocolate chips, anything your heart desires. My usual suspects are golden raisins, cranberries, walnuts, pistachios, sunflower seeds, and obviously chocolate.

Wet

1 cup agave nectar

1 cup peanut butter

Potential add-ons: Cocoa powder for more chocolaty goodness, instant coffee for, um coffee goodness, both for mocha party.

Mix the dry ingredients in a big bowl. Melt the wet ingredients together over low heat and stir constantly until it's one warm syrup. Pour the syrup into the bowl and mix everything up as well as you can. It will get messy. Transfer to a big plate or baking sheet and spread out flat, doing your best to evenly distribute the syrup. Let it dry and cut into bars.

Who designed this place?

I don't know when this happened, but it seems like every single grocery store in America- or at least the parts I've been to. Don't ask me about Nebraska- refuses to let you leave without walking through the check out area. More often than not, this involves shuffling through a group of paying customers and possibly ducking under some makeshift barricade. Okay, I can get on board with theft prevention, but there has to be a better method besides trapping the people who want to leave without buying something. Yes, those people exist. 

Don't be so full of yourself, grocery stores. Not every single person who steps through your doors is here to buy your precious groceries. While strawberries at $12.99/lb is the offer of a lifetime, some of us are just perusing for free samples or casing you for a public bathroom. Is it really necessary to make us awkwardly squeeze past paying customers just to exit your store? Are we supposed to feel ashamed for not buying anything? It could just be you want the superior purchasing prowess of your customers to rub off on us. Whatever it is, please provide an exit for the freeloaders, mind-changers and alike. Your suspicious glances are never going to stop me from exiting through the entrance. All they do is give me more inspiration to egregiously misinterpret those "Please Take One" signs.

It's John Cusack or Danny Glover

The day of reckoning is upon us. As if I need to offer more explanation, I'm talking about May 21, 2012, the day all the stars align, bringing forth unimaginable destruction from which only John Cusack can save us. Since this is obviously inevitable, it's probably a good idea to grab as many good karma points as you can find. What if hell really exists? Nobody wants to be the odd person out on Judgment Day. So do something good and donate to the Run For Change before it's too late. It's for kids and kids are the future until the world as we know it is obliterated next year.

Bragging Rights

As of last week, I have gone two years and counting since my last cigarette. Despite numerous attempts to be a "casual" smoker, it turns out I'm not a woman, so it was boom or bust for my quitting hopes. I had made it as long as five months at one point. The day I started again (I refuse to say relapsed. I wasn't a coke addict.) I was straight back to a solid pack a day habit. At least a dozen more short-lived "done for good" postures and countless packs later, I had crossed the point where cigarettes had anything to add to my life. I'm not sure when it happened, but at some point I no longer smoked because I liked it; I smoked because I was a smoker. 

No, I didn't up and quit when I reached this realization. I had at least two years of rueing every single cigarette I smoked before I stopped for good. Still, I don't regret that it took me so long. We all quit at our own pace. I quit when I was ready. It didn't come down to some epiphany (either real or imagined) or any self-imposed ultimatum. At some point, I just decided it was my time. Two year later, all the nicotine out my system, I still have mixed emotions about the whole experience.

Like so many young men motivated my hormones and the desire to not look so fucking uncomfortable, I started smoking because of a girl. The girl is irrelevant. Seventeen year old James was ready to grow long hair and pierce his ear if it meant getting girls to pay attention. Yeeeeah, that really happened. (For the record, chicks dig the hair.) As I was saying, she smoked, so I smoked, and I was stuck at that point. It was fun finding a brand- Marlboro, FYI and FTW- and embracing the false sense of rebellion reserved for teenagers who didn't really have it that bad growing up. But that all fades. It turns out smoking is kind of terrible for you in every way imaginable, not the least of which being the excessive trips outside during snow storms. Eventually you realize you don't know why you smoke anymore. Maybe you have piss poor anger management. Maybe every single one of your friends smoke. Maybe you convinced yourself it's part of the mystique about being a artist. Maybe you're me and you pencilled in "All of the above." However you get there, at some point, it stops making sense. 

Cigarettes are an addiction that defies logic. Drug addicts don't just get high to feed their addiction; drugs are fun. Getting high is fun. Nothing is particularly fun about cigarettes. The temporary relaxation, the so-called nicotine hit, is a carcinogenic replacement for the cheapest, healthiest relaxation method in the world: breathing. Smoking is all the downside without any of the benefits. The more you think about it, the more you realize how much you don't want to smoke anymore. So why do I still look back on those years with nostalgia?

Cigarettes are unhealthy, expensive, smelly, downright vile when you think about it. Above all else, cigarettes are cool. The desire to be cool is the reason we start smoking. The fabricated charisma surrounding smokers is more than enough to keep smokers smoking. And when it's all settled in, pride, smoker's pride, is stronger than any patch, stick of gum or holistic scam artist can ever be. I still have that pride. Even though I hate cigarettes, resent their very existence, I always argue for smoker's rights. I genuinely believe bars should have the right to designate themselves as smoking or clean living. Does that make me a Libertarian or am I just a smoker?

I still love cigarettes. Although I believe I have a good shot at remaining clean for the rest of my life - I've already come this far - I still envy those who puff away despite all the research, all the stigma, all the $13 packs. In some way I see them as braver than me, more stubborn. My Irish side admires such qualities. But I'll stick it out. They tell me I'm adding years to my life this way. It's cool, I'll cancel that out with bourbon and anxiety.

Cloudy with a chance of awkward

I was recently stuck trusted with the responsibility of training new co-workers. The actual training part isn't too demanding. We walk dogs, there aren't many nuances to discuss. As I soon found out, perhaps I wished there were was more to talk about.  

Training a new dog walker is not like training the new associate of interdepartmental meddling. There is no office to speak of, no people to deflect questions to, no escape. It's just you and this stranger walking around looking for something to talk about for six to eight hours. As it turns out, one of my trainees was quite pleasant and the other was perfectly agreeable, so I wasn't standing there in silence, searching for new ways to describe how this particular dog likes to shit. But there's still only so much you can say to a person you just met. It would have been ill-advised to bring up topics such as my penchant for mooning my girlfriend or complaints about my mother. Riveting subjects like those are reserved for close friends and anonymous readers.

I do my best not to be awkward, but I'm not Mr. Gregarious either. It's hard to talk to one person all day. When you have so many hours to fill, small talk starts looking pretty damn interesting. The whole training experience reminded how valuable small talk can be. We can't all have the gift of gab. For the rest of us, conversations with strangers can be challenging, and silences can be terrifying. So forgive us plebes for discussing the weather. Personally, I find it interesting.