Yes, it’s satisfying alright, because many delicious cookies were eaten, without witnesses, in a very quick and steady stream by shoving them into your mouth, chewing a few times, and then swallowing quickly to make room for the next one. You’re a monster and you love it.
Eating cookies like Cookie Monster is great because, more than anything, it represents freedom. Yes, free thought takes you to the pantry, free will makes you grab that cookie package, and free reruns keep you company while you sit down and enjoy. You’re the Executive Chef in your personal Dessert Kitchen here. Just tell me that’s not liberating.
I mean, sure, we all know it’s not the greatest idea to eat a pile of cookies just before bed, but that’s not the point. The point is: You can do it. Yes, you’ve come a long way from the portion-controlled snacks you got when you were a kid, maybe two cookies on a small plate with a tall glass of milk that just whet your appetite for more. Now it’s all you all the time, baby. Nobody is going to stop you except you. You can eat a whole row. You can eat two whole rows. You can plow them in there. You can savor them slowly. The point is it’s such a great feeling to scarf cookies with abandon like Cookie Monster.
Truly, he is the role model for us all.
AWESOME!
When a work friend becomes an outside-of-work friend
The nine-to-five brought you together.
Cracking jokes by the copier, swapping stories on the line, laughing in the lunchroom, you found a friend between policies, procedures, and paperwork. When you got together, you started noticing you were just you, just hanging out, just laughing about your day.
Then one day your friendship zoomed to a new level. Maybe you grabbed a beer one night, got a surprise birthday invite, or became new texting pals.
Yes, you turned a work friend into an outside-of-work friend, baby. It wasn’t easy but you took the chance, you made the leap, and now you’re rocking with someone new.
AWESOME!
Running to the door when your mom or dad comes home from work
After playing, playing, playing, you finally hear the car pull into the driveway, the boots clomp up the steps, and the key slide into the front door.
Time to drop what you’re doing and race down the hallway for a big welcome back celebration.
Also known as The Hallway Rock Star Moment.
AWESOME!
Wearing a sweatshirt that hasn’t been washed yet
Feel that fuzz.
Yes, when you toss on a brand new sweatshirt just smile and enjoy the smooth silky softness rubbing against your skin. There are no lint balls, fraying sleeves, or crinkled tags scratching at your neck. It’s just the cottony soft freshness of a brand new friend.
Of course, we both know the washer and dryer will slowly murder our sweatshirts over time. That’s why if you’re like me you try and stretch out that cozy first-wear feeling as long as possible. You keep wearing it and wearing it and wearing it and wearing it, all the while hoping nobody calls you out on the fact that you don’t wash your clothes.
But come on, it’s worth it. It’s worth the looks. It’s worth the stares. It’s worth the undershirts smeared with red lint. So go ahead! Toss on a pair of sweatpants, plop down on your cushy couch, and lie back in your sunny and relaxing world of
AWESOME!
Experiencing déjà vu
Déjà vu is that strange feeling of having already experienced a new situation sometime in the past. You chalk it up to a dream or vision of the future and briefly think you might be a long-lost descendant of Nostradamus who sees over the horizon of time. You conjure up visions of curing terrible diseases, cashing in on the stock market, or always getting the right answer on Final Jeopardy!
Now you just need to harness your powers.
AWESOME!
Tossing garbage in the trash can from far away
If your bad back, busted ankle, or bum knee is keeping you off the courts, then get ready to lean back and remember the game you loved ...
Just grab the apple core, swivel your chair sideways, and shoot a majestic three-pointer into the metal garbage bin. And don’t worry—if you’re inside the line, just go with a hook shot off the glass fire extinguisher case hanging on the wall.
Two points!
Now, before you start firing, it’s important to make sure you’ve got a size and weight that works. Waxy, balled-up hamburger wraps are great. Flimsy granola bar wrappers are not. If you try tossing those granola bar wraps you’ll find yourself missing the hoop and then casually glancing around to see who noticed before sheepishly sharp-elbowing your way to the rim to scoop your own dirty rebound.
No, the key to pulling it off is simple: Grab a ball that flies, aim your hands to the skies, and fire that garbage into the trash can nearby.
AWESOME!
Experiencing déjà vu
Déjà vu is that strange feeling of having already experienced a new situation sometime in the past. You chalk it up to a dream or vision of the future and briefly think you might be a long-lost descendant of Nostradamus who sees over the horizon of time. You conjure up visions of curing terrible diseases, cashing in on the stock market, and always getting the right answer on Final Jeopardy!
Now you just need to harness your powers.
AWESOME!
Taking your ponytail out
Okay, you know how good it feels when you peel your socks off at the end of the day? You know how your crinkly leg hairs all get a chance to relax, stretch out, and breathe a sigh of relief?
Well, taking out your ponytail is like that times a million.
All your hair unbends and finally points in the other direction. Shivers swirl down your spine as you curl your neck and shake your head out. Yes, all the pressure melts away and it feels like an instant scalp massage. Plus, if you tied your shaggy mane up when it was wet, then it’s even better because somehow everything got twisted even tighter up in there. You can’t wait to let it down and start scratching at that postponytail itchy scalp.
Taking your ponytail out is the getting comfy equivalent of putting on your PJs, taking your bra off at the end of the day, or twisting and turning all your sheets and blankets in the middle of the night till you get ’em jusssssssssst right.
AWESOME!
Learning a new keyboard shortcut
One day my friend Gillian told us about the first time her mom used a computer.
It was a long time ago, back, back, way back, and the story goes that the whole family was unpacking their chunky new PC in the middle of the living room. Styrofoam was cracked apart, boxes were torn up, and then they all slowly shuffled toward the gray Box of the Future, waiting for its information powers and knowledge showers to rain down upon them.
Now, most of the family had used a computer before so someone suggested mom get her e-groove on first. A lamp was turned on, a shiny wooden chair brought from the kitchen, and mom sat down while the machine slowly booted up. Then, while everybody was waiting, she carefully unwrapped the mouse from its plastic bag and calmly put it on the floor by her foot.
And as everybody watched, Gillian’s mom slowly mimed typing and started pushing her foot on the mouse like a sewing machine pedal.
It was a hilariously cute moment.
Because we were all there once too.
Sure, maybe you didn’t think stepping on the mouse made the computer go, but you probably were an awkward pile of keyboard konfusion as you got up to speed. Maybe you typed with two fingers or you took a tutorial to master double-clicking or signed up for DOS classes down at the city center.
But come on, no matter what, no matter when, you know it’s undeniably true: You once sucked at computers too.
But then you got a bit better, then a bit better, then a bit better, and now you’re pretty good. You started double-clicking instead of triple-clicking, changed your resolution from super zoomed-in to super zoomed-out, and started typing without looking at the keys.
You turned into eYou, a barely recognizable qu
ick-clicking Year 3000 cyborg version of yourself.
Of course, way down deep in your core you’re still the same person who touched a computer for the first time and learned everything from scratch.
You still remember the excitement you felt as you learned all those tips and tricks. And that’s what makes it exciting as you keep learning tips and tricks. Yes, whether it’s a new keyboard shortcut or learning how to whistle, whether it’s stopping on skates or playing “Stairway to Heaven” you still feel the joy of learning buzzing through your body every day.
You weren’t sure if you could do it, but then you tried it, and then you could. You started CTRL+TAB’ing through your browser and CTRL+SHIFT+T’ing when your butterfingers accidentally closed a tab. You started Spacebaring down websites and SHIFT+Spacebaring back up. You CTRL-Z’d all your problems away, baby.
Learning a new keyboard shortcut feels great.
That’s because learning anything new feels
AWESOME!
Figuring out a tricky plot twist just before they reveal it
Because at that moment you go from a greasy slack-jawed popcorn-kernel-n-sweatpants-covered couch potato to a fast-talking screenwriter with sharp eyes, a whizzing mind, and a backup second career.
AWESOME!
Getting shotgun on a long car ride
We always brought quarters.
When I was younger someone’s mom would always steer a bumpy vanful of us to the local mall where we’d spend all Saturday watching movies, loitering in arcades, and flipping through crinkly video game magazines at 7-Eleven.
When we’d had our fill of action movies, orange Slurpees, and Street Fighter finishing moves, it was always time to fish for quarters and feed them into pay phones until someone’s mom, dad, or big sister swung by to pick us up.
For years we were at the mercy of those drives to and from the mall.
Sometimes they came, sometimes they didn’t, sometimes we’d grab a cab, sometimes we’d walk for miles through the rain, kicking cigarette butts and tossing snowballs at stop signs.
Our world changed when we started getting our driver’s licenses.
Chad was first, then Mike, then the other Mike, then me, then Scott. Soon we were taking lessons, practicing with our parents, and heading out in creaky cars, grabbing burgers, renting videos, and flipping through video game magazines at 7-Eleven.
Yes, we were a gangly pack of sweaty sixteen-year-olds, speeding on highways, smoking in parking lots, and going on chicken wing crawls around town. They were dreamy days full of long laughs, wild thoughts, and big ideas. And I’ll be honest when I tell you I miss them.
Of course, cramming into tight cabs with five other bony asses meant there were good seats and bad seats. Don’t get me wrong: cruising through empty streets, dark downtowns, and flashing orange lights was always a fun time. But I’m just saying there were good seats and bad seats, that’s all.
By far and away the best seat was Shotgun, also known as the passenger seat. To land this Seat of Power, adjusting radio stations, cranking air-conditioning, directing drivers, you simply had to yell out “Shotgun!,” first, on the way to the car, within sight of the car. You got shotgun as many times as you could get it, as long as you called it, first, on the way to the car, within sight of the car.
By far and away the worst seat was Hump, also known as the middle seat in the back. To land this Seat of Pain, squeezed between pocket keys and pointy pelvises, straddling the floor bump, with only a thin lap belt holding you in, you simply had to yell out nothing, last, on the way to the car, within sight of the car. Generally there was some jockeying at that back door too, with overly polite grins and friendly hand gestures ushering you in, before you realized you were crawling headfirst into the alligator’s mouth. Sometimes the score was ultimately settled through locked doors, frantic racing around the car, and dirty hip checks.
Since landing that middle seat was so painful my friends and I started yelling out “Anti-hump!” right after someone called shotgun. We agreed this move granted Hump Immunity , preventing the person who called it from getting saddled in that terrible seat, with its impossible-to-buckle-inwithout-touching-someone’s-ass seat belt.
When you got shotgun before a long drive you were loving it lots. You weren’t responsible for eyes on the road and gas in the tank. You weren’t wedged into the sardine tin of sharp elbows and bony legs. No, you were King of the Car, Special Guest DJ, Emperor of Cold Air, and the most comfortable person on those long hauls to downtown concerts, distant cottages, or 7-Elevens way across town.
AWESOME!
That smooth feeling on your teeth after you get your braces off
Say goodbye to elastics, say goodbye to nicknames, say goodbye to closed-mouth-with-dimples smiles for family pictures.
When you finally get your braces off it’s like being released from a torture device that has held you captive for years. Suddenly you can lick your front teeth, floss in less than an hour, and eat corn on the cob and candy apples for dinner.
Welcome back, baby.
AWESOME!
That one email account you use for all your spam
Sorry, you need my email address?
Sure, no problem, clothing store mailing list, open-house real estate agent, or random membership-required website.
Hit me up at
[email protected].
AWESOME!
Drawing on steamy mirrors with your fingers
Peel back that mildewy curtain and let’s get down to business.
Freshly soaped and squeaky clean, your wet n’ steamy self towels dry and rolls on some Stink-B-Gone deodorant. But just before you pop from the hot steam room to the goosebumpy hallway, it’s time to stop for a moment and be a fingerpainting Picasso.
Yes, for a minute let the blurry morning haze and the upcoming stresses of school or work melt away as you start streaking your fingers up and down the steamy glass.
Crowds slowly gather at this stormy seashore and look over your shoulder as you calmly and quickly paint pretty pictures on your cliffside easel. Soon clouds part and the sun glimmers off the distant ocean waves as strangers stop walking their dogs, kids peek over from the ball diamond, and old folks hold hands and smile as you whip up masterpiece after masterpiece. Images pop up as they ooh and aah—it’s a happy face, a heart, a house with smoke coming out the chimney, or a love letter waiting for the next person to have a shower.
Sure, in a few minutes the mirror fades to clear and your paintings drift away. But for an instant you’re a naked artist, brushing up against greatness, fame, and a cluttery bathroom counter.
AWESOME!
Eating anything from your own garden
I was the Basil King.
A few summers ago I lived with a girlfriend in a cramped old apartment in the suburbs. The place didn’t have an elevator or air-conditioning so we’d come home after some sweaty staircase cardio and strip off our shirts, flip on the fans, and eat popsicles on the balcony as sweat streamed down our shiny foreheads.
Dinner was always a quick affair with points awarded to whoever braved the steaming hotbox to whip up a meal without cranking the oven, turning on the stove, or moving very much.
Since we were spending most evenings sitting outside we decided to dress the balcony up a little bit. We upgraded our sticky plastic chairs to slippery nylon ones. We grabbed some plastic tumblers from the dollar store. And, most important, we bought a tiny pot of basil and set it down in the corner.
It was the first garden I ever had.
And soon I loved that pot of basil like a son.
See, bouncing around college dorms and basement apartments for years meant no time, no money, no gardens for me. The pot of basil was a new day, a new dawn, and a new life to look after. When we first sat it on the corner of that balcony, I looked down at it like it was a helpless newborn swaddled in rags in the delivery room.
“I will raise you like my own,” I promised the tiny basil pot that da
y. “I will give you sunlight, I will give you water, I will give you love.”
“I will eat your limbs,” my girlfriend helpfully added, rubbing her belly and licking her lips like a grizzly bear gazing up at a sticky beehive in a tall pine tree.
But I meant my words and every day I’d poke around the plant, softly feeling the plastic sheen of new leaves, picking off tiny spiderwebs, and pouring clean water into its dirty home. Soon the basil rewarded me with bright fragrant leaves reaching up and out of its pot, trying desperately to give me a big hug for my love.
It wasn’t long before everything we made included basil.
We threw it on pizzas, tossed it in pastas, and made enough pesto to open a flea market stand. I loved that plant like no other and it gave me a bountiful balcony harvest. We’d even freeze it in bunches and hand it out like loot bags to visiting friends. “Thanks for coming over,” we’d say, stuffing a fat baggie into their hands and winking. “Here’s a little something for the ride home.”
It really is a beautiful moment eating anything from your own garden. In our modern world of pizza pockets, meat wands, and canned everything, there’s something real and something honest about raising your own plants. Forget pesticides, forget bug sprays, forget frozen fish sticks from the other side of the planet. This here’s the real deal: planted out back, picked out back, and dropped straight into your dinner.
AWESOME!
Seeing shapes in the clouds