The Many Interpretations of Business Casual

I recently got employed at a place. It’s a business place that sells things to other business to do their business things. It’s exciting to everybody else. I like the fact that so long as I do my business job I can get payed, get my parents off my back about how I wasn’t making money doing any of the things I was doing. To be fair to them, most of those things I was doing was just sitting, eating, and watching random funny things on any streaming service I could think of. It was fun but mostly boring and unsatisfying toward the end of the day when I was doing nothing.

Now I have a job in a business doing business-minded things with business-minded people in a business-minded world. This is interesting to me and, I imagine, nobody else. Mostly because I am not a business-minded person who likes doing business-minded things as I find them to also be unsatisfying and rather difficult to focus on. I think this makes it rather difficult for me to want to stay in any kind of business position, even if I know that there is a good chance that I might have to do these business-minded activities for the rest of my life.

I think the toughest thing for me is that I do not understand the standard form in which people dress. Most people call it “professional dress.” I call it “uncomfortable for no reason other than trying to prove to other people who aren’t really their friends but are also kind of their friends that they are adults and business-minded people just like those other people who are trying just as desperately to prove they are also, I fact adults.” I think the most confusing thing to me is when you go to an office and they say the dress code is “business casual.” I think this is another way to say to dress just uncomfortably enough that you don’t feel fancy like you would be wearing a suit, but not comfortable enough that you can meet your friends after work and go to a bar.

I think the main problem with “business casual” is that is has yet to be properly defined, so any office that implement this style of dress may have some guidelines completely different from another office. I had an internship in college that said “business casual” where I could wear jeans three days a week, or wear a tie if I wanted, so long as I wasn’t in sweats basically. Another internship I had had the guidelines of needing to wear some sort of slacks with a button-up collar shirt, but you get to wear jeans on Friday, so happy days!

Then there are places like my father’s current employer who used to require that they all look basically semi-formal and wear ties every day, except Fridays in the summer. Then they could take the ties off and act like little children who had to go to church every day this week because they are visiting their grandma in Arkansas. When they decided that they couldn’t hire any young people or really any people at all they decided to change the dress code policy in the employee handbook, but the change caused the dress code to take four pages out of the book. I don’t know how many of you have seen an employee handbook lately, but they tend to take about thirty pages give or take, and four of theirs were for dress code. That may not seem like a hefty sum, but this is the thing that also needs to talk about expectations, benefits, office environment, even what to do when you are getting ready to leave.

Essentially the place my dad works at sounds like it kind of sucks and still is not very good at hiring any young people who are trying to join the work force. I think they maybe also don’t want to because the older white guys who are running the place are probably scared about what will happen to this country when the millennials are eventually in charge. I think there is some validity in that fear, but mostly I think they need us to take over since they are unable to use the computer their business now revolves around.

Now I think one of things that really turns me off business-minded culture is that when I want to go into what is known as the first date, or interview, (My bad. I just had to throw in a shameless plug to something else I wrote a couple months ago).  I have to dress into their culture to try and impress them, and as stated earlier, prove to them I am an adult. I do not like being an adult, it is the worst idea anybody came up with. Deciding that childish things are not worth while and we need to mature so we can fit into society. I think that’s bullshit. I like being a child, and being mature just takes a lot of effort, that really, I never really want to take when doing most things that I really don’t feel like are necessary for me to do.

I think the most unnecessary part of adult life is if a man wants to look like a man in any kind of formal scenario he MUSt wear a tie. If it is not clear from anything I have ever written on here that I am not a tie person, then you are not paying attention to the neurotic ramblings that you have been reading, if anybody is reading this consistently. However, I am willing to break it down for you. I hate ties. They are uncomfortable. They are unnecessary, and I really don’t think that they look good. I’m pretty sure they are just a holdover from when we wore those like bushy things on our shirts (maybe a cravat) that had the purpose of keeping the tops of shirts tied. Now they serve no purpose because we have buttons that keep our shirts together, and we don’t even button the top one without a tie on “because it looks weird.” Meaning the only purpose of the tie is to make the space between your neck and the cloth collar even tighter. Which just doesn’t make sense to me anymore. I think most people think a suit and tie looks sharp, and I just think that the guy wearing the suit probably just wants to go home so he can strip down naked and complain about how hot it is. At least that’s all I want when I wear a suit.

I guess basically what I’m trying to say is that if I could just never dress like a business-person again that would be amazing. That’s actually one of the reasons I write on here sometimes, and not nearly as often as I should, and that is to get to a point when I no longer have to pretend I understand business, and can just live in a world where most days it doesn’t matter if I know the requirements for business casual, because I haven’t left home today because I just need my computer in my bed and I am still in my boxers.

Garrett Eicher, Casual business.

 

P.S. I looked it up. The origin of the tie comes from King Louis XIII when he hired Croatian mercenaries and part of their uniform was a piece of cloth wrapped around their neck. Louis was taken by this and required it at any events at court from then on. So, as always, it’s the French’s fault.

The Suitcase on My Floor: An Introspective

I think something emblematic of my general indifference towards, well, life is the unpacked suitcase that has been sitting on the floor of my room for over two weeks now. I didn’t even think about it for two weeks until my father pointed it out to me last Wednesday when he walked into my room. I would see it every morning, still holding a few of my favorite shirts, and then dig into my dresser for something to wear that day instead. It has gotten to the point that I haven’t unpacked it but am now going to write an essay about it, look at it after I’m done writing, and still not unpack it when I’m finished. I think that this shows a general sense of procrastination on my part, because if something does not seem urgent when I am doing it, I am not likely to do it in that moment. I will instead do something mindless, time-consuming, or both in a pointless attempt to kill time until that thing becomes immediately demanding of all my attention.

I don’t know why I do this, and I don’t know how to get over it, but one of the reasons I started on this platform is because I actually use it to procrastinate. That might sound weird to some people who are not fans of writing, but I have started stories for myself that I have never shown other people to keep myself from writing an essay. Most of these stories then remain unfinished when the essay needs to get done, and I don’t come back to them out of lack of caring or necessity, or whatever the force is that drives me to do whatever thing it is I am supposed to working on. I would like to finish some of these stories, but I am bad at saving things, and worse about backing up files, so many of them have been lost to space and time and it is hard to pick something back up when it has been lost. There’s a mourning period to creators over their lost work, the same kind of emotions that make it difficult for us to write scenes about characters we care about dying, because we are often unable to distance ourselves from our work. It is not just a part or extension of us, it is us.

In many ways these stories that I don’t finish or lose make me feel as though maybe if I do write some of them and share them, then I am closing a chapter on my life, and that’s terrifying. Many of my peers, I think, struggle with a similar anxiety, many don’t. I have met some people who are very good at jotting down every idea in their head in the notes app on their phone and schedule everything in their life around the point in their day when they are dedicated to their craft. I wish I had that in me, but there is something about putting a story down and the anxiety of showing it to other people can be overwhelming. Which is why this platform is weird, but important to me.

Much like a full suitcase sitting on my floor for two weeks, I’ll look inside my head and see the same massive stories going through it and never do anything with them. I don’t know why, but I have some theories. In fifth grade I wrote, with some help from my mother, a story about a man who one day wakes up in the body of a wolf. It was partially inspired by the games Pokémon: Mystery Dungeon (a game series in which a person does the same thing but with Pokémon), and a T-shirt another boy was wearing at my desk group, which happened to have a wolf on it. The story was originally a page long, and simply detailed how his life had changed to basically being a wolf. It was typed up by my mom because she is awesome, and I entered it into a district writing competition, from which I never heard back from. That or my mom just didn’t want to let me know they did not enjoy the piece. I figured it out later.

The fact that they rejected me is not important to me today, because this story has been bouncing around in my head for over a decade now, and I have rewritten several parts of what is now an epic quest about friendship, betrayal, and loyalty with supernatural elements I don’t know how to explain, but would like to try in a longer form some time. I have villains planned, an entire map of a world made out in my head and know so much lore of this world I’ve never shared with anybody, because I keep putting it off with mindless activities. I write stupid, unedited pieces about dating (which was not interpreted the way I thought it would be by some people), dogs, and now a suitcase on a blog I don’t even know if my closest friends read. Maybe I don’t want them to. Maybe this should be a thing I use to reach out to strangers instead of posting on my social media for people I know to see.

Maybe I decided to start by sharing these small inconsequential things to get myself ready to share the bigger pieces of my life. I think that is ultimately what I am writing this for, to make myself accountable to start putting down these things bouncing around in my head, to make sense of them, to create and destroy worlds as others have before me and will long after I am done.

That’s a nice sentiment. I really like the idea of that, but it doesn’t fix what has always been my biggest fear, and I think a lot of writer’s biggest fears. When we start putting down these epic stories and spilling our guts onto the page, how do we start cutting things? I don’t mean sentences here or there, but entire pieces of what you see to be the identity this world you’ve created but know it might not resonate. How do you cut off a piece of your idea? A piece of you?

I have been bad at proofreading these posts, something I have been told I should be better about by some people close to me, and maybe I should. I also shouldn’t. One of the reasons I didn’t do that is because it was me unfiltered, honest as I can be, and in the very form I wanted it to be. I make fun of myself and other things and worry that maybe it shows me in a bad light, even though so far, I have used a heightened sarcastic version of myself when writing. That person has been absent today because sometimes life isn’t about making fun. Today, for me at least, it is about contemplation. It’s about being honest with myself about why I haven’t gotten to this suitcase yet.

I think that maybe I put off these things that should be done to give myself an excuse when it isn’t done right. Tell myselft that I just didn’t have the time, or maybe if I had tried harder it would have been better. I would do that all the time in school. I would put off essays because if I got an unsatisfactory grade then it wasn’t because of my skill level, it was because of my low effort, and therefore all criticism is moot. I write into my own bad habits as a writer like run-on sentences and my tendency to ramble instead of getting over them for the same reason, making my problems worse through over-reliance.

If I use the excuse of not noticing something or being too tired at night, I may never get to the suitcase sitting in front of my dresser. If I keep my thoughts to myself I may never gain any kind of readership. I tell myself I don’t care about gaining followers here which is an obvious lie. It takes a certain kind of narcissism for somebody to share something that was originally conceived as a journaling device a couple months ago, which is why the first few posts don’t have any views and are pretty spread out. In sharing these thoughts, I think I am trying to take accountability away from myself and put into the hands of others. Then maybe, I won’t start sharing these worlds for me, maybe then I will do it for you. Maybe, after writing this I won’t put everything in that suitcase away to get it out of my sight, but because with it gone it will stop annoying my dad. At the same time, I kind of want to leave it there to see if it really gets on his nerves.

Garrett Eicher, a suitcase packed with excuses.

Forget Easter, Today we Talk About Dogs

I was originally going to write a thing about Easter and how I often forget it, maybe because I have a firm stance of “maybe” on the whole God thing, but probably because everything surrounding the holiday just makes no sense at all. I was going to go through and break down what doesn’t make sense since a lot of the Pagan traditions of it come from different Pagan faiths like Christmas. I would then break down how the fact that a giant bunny comes to your house to not give but hide a basket and a bunch of eggs is maybe creepier than Santa watching children in their sleep. I mean have you seen a mall Easter bunny? They are my nightmare.

Examples of my nightmare

I was going to do all that, but when I was writing it I realized that it was all kind of boring and done before. Not that I’m unwilling to tread familiar water to see if I can get more people to read this, I’m not, and I will probably do something next week about bad politics next week just to see what kind of people might want to read this and piss off select members of my family (Uncle James). Ultimately, I decided not to run the piece because I just didn’t like it and decided that I will just draft the work I have done and try again next year. Maybe I will be smarter by then, but I doubt it.

Instead today I am going to take my time to talk about the last week I have had and talk about the weird habits my dogs, and many other dogs I’m sure, exhibit (shamelessly gives this one a picture of dogs for clickbait). Because the past week my family went on vacation to Florida and I had opted out of going having spent four years in Florida for college and had generally gotten over the whole point of being there after seeing what it is actually like year-round. It’s basically what you’d expect, and I won’t get into it here because you probably already know what I have to say, and I am planning to write about that at a later date and would rather save my material. So, that left me alone with the three family dogs for any entire week, where I pretty much only held real conversations with other humans twice. That of course doesn’t count grocery store or restaurant clerks.

To be specific and for those who may not know these beasts that my family owns I will have to describe them in the best way I know possible, by giving you a picture up top and again here so you know what I’m talking about and don’t get confused. I could just describe them like I did the random people in the thing from last week in that job interview, but that was mostly because I felt rude just taking a random photo of strangers who I’m pretty sure didn’t like me, but I assume that of most people, more a personal fault than anything else.

dog trio

Not pictured is the bag of treats I had to hold in my hand to take this picture.

In this photograph form left to right you have Finley, who is my sister Kaitlyn’s dog and normally resides in Milwaukee, but since she opted to go on the vacation with my parents and other sister Taylor, he got to enjoy the chance to leave Wisconsin. Which I imagine he must have been happy about because I am always overjoyed when I get to leave the state after having my fill of beer, cheese, and Midwestern racism and stereotypes. In the middle is Woodson, named after Charles Woodson, who is my brother Griffin’s dog (kind of) who normally lives in Illinois with us but will probably travel with Griffin when he moves to wherever he gets what is known as a big boy job, probably in Texas, and lives with him for the rest of his days. I will be sad when this happens because he is my favorite of the three. Don’t tell the other dogs because I don’t want to hurt their feelings, but I do feel quite comfortable expressing that here as dogs are often unable to read. Then there is Fozzy on the right, who is debatably the cutest, but also debatable the most annoying. I could tell you the breed of the other two dogs we rescued, being Finley who is part long-haired chihuahua and part something I’m told is hypoallergenic, and Woodson who is mostly black lab and something else (chou?) in the mix. Fozzy however is so mutted as far as dogs go that I can never remember what he is exactly. I think part golden retriever, part Shetland sheep dog, part everything else that just sits licking on the couch until he sees something out the front window and goes into a fit of barking. I tend to just describe him as Fozzy.

My past week has mostly consisted of me being woken up by the dogs at around 7:30, where I am being licked non-stop by Finley and Woodson, who may also just be worried because at some point in the night one of them closed the door I left wide-open for them to get into the room to cuddle with me and wake me up, and Fozzy (their leader) was trapped on the other side of the door. I bet Woodson closed the door because he has very little control of his body and his tail has been labeled as a weapon before. Not to mention that the sooner I would get out of bed, the sooner they would get their food and that is all that really matters to them. Well I guess they also got lonely after going six straight hours without attention.

I would then promptly go back to sleep on the couch because I do not like being up before nine if I don’t have to be and even then, that is a little early. I would then go about my day and they would go about theirs. The problem is that when you are home all day with three dogs, nothing is more important to them than a person sitting on the couch rubbing their belly. I believe this to be a universal truth of at least most dogs. Now people sit on the couch for a multitude of reasons, stop me if you already know this. But people, sorry let’s not discount dogs as people, humans will sit on the couch to read, play video games, write blogs nobody reads but they really want them to because there’s at least two half-funny jokes so far in this bit.

Anyways that would mean that we would have conflicting ideas of whether I would want to pet them, and they would always think it was time to pet them. And when I say “they” I mean all three at once because they don’t understand that I can only properly love one dog at a time. Now I am not complaining, I love the dogs, and it is nice to be around them because they love me unconditionally. I would like to believe it is just me and I am special, and I will not open this up for debate

The other problem is the dogs participate in cuddling in varying degrees of success. Finley is actually a really good cuddle when he wants to be, because he’s small enough to just sit on your lap and sometimes doesn’t care you pet him. Fozzy can be an okay cuddle, the only problem is that when you stop petting him he starts freaking out and does anything he can to get you to get back to the petting or he gets up and goes to anyone else sitting on the couch. Woodson, however, is not good at cuddling in the slightest. The first issue is that he is a lab who thinks he is still small enough to be on your lap, which he really isn’t, and the second being that he is never fully on the couch when he wants to cuddle. Instead he climbs up just enough to get his paws on your thighs, with his back feet placed firmly on the ground, while he licks your face until you push him down or make the mistake of scratching his ears. I always make that stupid mistake.

Now while dogs can be good for comfort and warmth at night (I used Woodson as a foot warmer a couple times this week) they are not the best conversationalists. I tried a couple days ago to have an enlightening conversation with Finley while we were watching Community (we were in season 6 so it wasn’t that important to watch). He looked at me in a way that made me what his thoughts were on the matter of religion. I looked deep in his eyes which seemed to understand talking about the difficulty I sometimes have in my life and how I can’t say for certain there isn’t a god, but no religion has ever expressed a being that makes sense as the creator of the universe to me. And while this has been a thing I think my mother feels she has failed me in as she is a woman of faith herself, we also never went to church when I was growing up. I mean if there is a God shouldn’t there be a way to prove or disprove it? Is there more than faith and texts that may have been written by people who talked to him from a mountain top or knew his son? Or is that all we need? Is there more to know about the life after this one? And Finley looked at me as if he knew what I was struggling with, then let out a small howl like he does and buried his head in my chest as if to tell me to shut up and it has been too long since I scratched his belly.

Garrett Eicher, missing people.

Gilbert Gottfried’s Interview Process

I know this comparison has been made in the past, but I find that looking for jobs is a lot like dating. I’m at a point in my life where I am trying to do a lot of both and I’m continually doing equally well in both fields, as to say not at all. When I go to interviews, though, I find myself dressing nicer than I normally would; as I typically find myself in some sort of comfortable pant and a t-shirt with some sort of character graphic on it ranging from Daffy Duck to Jack Skellington. I’ll put gel in my hair (to seem more attractive and put together), and when I get there I smile often, try to be funnier, and lie all the time about what I am capable of and willing to be doing.  The main difference I’ve found between interviews and dates is whether you want it to end in sex.

On a date you sit there and try to figure out what you can say or do to get to spend the night with that other person (or at least that’s how I view it). While in an interview you sit there hoping this strange old man is not hoping that he can get in your pants, well that’s how I imagine women look at things, since every man everywhere pretty much wants to sleep with any woman who would let him. I don’t know. It’s a negative view that assumes every man is a sexual deviant, which may not be true. I know I for one am definitely sexually a disaster of a human being and embrace that as often I can, but in a positive way. If there are positive ways for that. There might be. Maybe? I bet John Hamm could figure it out if any man has.

Now, I also realize that if you have sex on a date there really isn’t a guarantee that you will get the second date, but if you sleep with somebody after an interview I think there is at least a pretty high chance that you got the job. I know that you probably shouldn’t look at it this way, but I mean it does prove that you are willing to bend over backward for your career (ba…dum…tiss…please don’t hate me).

Hell, even the ways people can get jobs and interviews is almost the same as the way people find dates. They go online and make a profile that explains what they are interested in and what they are looking for in a future employer. Sometimes you will message this hot new job with all this anticipation thinking that it is definitely not out of your qualifications, and then never hear back from that sweet corner office. Other times you get an e-mail letting you know that that insurance agency that won’t cover your travel expenses is hiring and wants to meet you whenever you get the chance. You then unsubscribe from that service because you realize that the only jobs really looking for something on Start Wire seems to be those commission-based opportunities who definitely won’t appreciate you the way you deserve. And they should appreciate you more because who else could want that position?

I actually went to a couple interviews for a few of these sales positions at some of these insurance companies. I won’t disclose which ones for fear of you judging me more than you already are, or judging this company for thinking I might be a top candidate. I will say that one of these companies decided that the best possible choice to play the voice of their mascot is Gilbert Gottfried, but that’s all I’ll say. Well, not all I’ll say. I will also say that the Gilbert Gottfried-affiliated insurance company had an interesting interview structure. I received an e-mail, not from Gilbert Gottfried, but somebody who sported his animated persona in their sign off. They wanted to meet me at a group interview/meeting/conference/presentation. It was kind of like the Bachelor of interviews except more drama and less television. I went because I didn’t’ have any plans that day and needed an excuse to get out of the house, plus they promised light breakfast accommodations and coffee. Cool.

They told me that they needed a copy of my resume, which is normal, but also, they could easily find that online through the platform they swiped on me for, but whatever, reading is hard. Technology is harder.

When I got there, they put me in a room with five other people, I was the last one to arrive, but I was still early by four minutes, so who cares.

Probably my dad. Dad, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry.

Sitting in the room starting from my right all the way around the table was in this order: a middle-aged white woman who’s name I’m pretty sure was Karen, so I think that covers everything you need to know about her; me, a young twenty-something with no idea of what his future will look like, but is pretty sure it will have nothing to do with Gilbert Gottfried; a man who may have been the oldest person I had ever seen walking around, and wasn’t aware he was still allowed to do that; two Indian/Pakistani people (I forgot to ask for this bit) who may or may not have been married, me assuming this might make me racist (?) but again, I forgot to ask and that may have also been rude, they just looked unhappy to be there, and unhappy in general; then there was a woman who’s face was frozen into a permanent scowl from a constant lifetime of being done with people’s bullshit, I am not sure if she worked for Gilbert Gottfried or not, but she did not seem to be there for the job because she may have been the crypt-keeper’s mother and haunts my every nightmare a month later. I hope you got through that explanation in one piece because I did not.  I know there are better ways to break that up, but I am lazy and did not want to do it.

After waiting for about ten minutes (meaning he was six minutes late so I had time to spare. Suck it, Dad!) the manager of the branch came in to talk to us about what he wanted us to do for him and what it would entail, but in a way that made it seem more like he was doing us a favor, which to me he was really just eating up an hour and a half of my morning without even giving me so much of a muffin, which in their initial e-mail they promised me snacks. I was a little annoyed there were no such snacks. I should write a strongly-worded letter to Gilbert Gottfried, but he might be more confused than anything. I don’t think he actually has any decision-making power over the insurance agency.

The manager decided that he wanted to tell us all about his story, which to sum up pretty much started about three-thousand years ago when Ancient Greece was still the highest power of the land, before Gilbert Gottfried was the sort of funny cartoon duck caught in live-action we all know and mostly loathe today, in a strange foreign land of Ohio (I think?). He was a fresh-faced kid just out of college who had not quite realized that everything he said was solely bullshit, kind of like somebody else (me) who may be sharing his bullshit as we speak with friends and strangers. Some man wanted him to work for the soon to be Gilbert Gottfried-affiliated insurance which would pay him a lot of money, because he managed to sell a bajillion million units of insurance in a year for his first forever of doing it, eventually making like all of the money he had ever heard of by selling this insurance.

I did not like his pitch. Not because of the money thing, or how interested he seemed in his pitch. He was fully committed to it, and you could tell he believed in his product and how he was sharing it, but I want to talk about the way he spoke. I know this post is already way to long, and most anybody would have lost interest by now, but I am going to keep going because I am reminding myself how much this man annoyed me.

So, I believe that as a rule there is a certain number of rhetorical questions you can have in about an hour for any kind of presentation. What could that number be? Well, I’ll tell you, that number is generously about eight in the span of any hour. This man in the first five minutes of talking to us, after being six minutes late, no exaggeration, was about twenty-one, I know because I started counting. His use of rhetoricals did not slow down either, why would it? How could it? In fact, if anything, he started using more. I don’t know what kind of salesman school he went to, and I bet he knows more about selling things than I do, but if you ask so many rhetorical questions that it starts seeming like you’re just asking yourself questions in order to remember what the actual term you are using makes you seem like maybe you don’t remember any of this or at the very least are clinically insane and are trying to get us to see what your mind is like, then maybe you should work on your pitch just a little bit more. Maybe he thinks it’s a good ear grabber or expected us to respond to these questions in a quiz fashion and we just never did so he decided to keep talking, I don’t know, and really do not care. The only two things I know about this man is that he definitely had hair implants and wore a giant ring on his right hand unironically because he thought it made him look tougher.

So, when his parade of questions and self-responses was finished we each left with an information packet with Gilbert Gottfried’s famous bird persona spattered all over it, as if that would sell me on the job. I never flipped through that packet because I was scared of finding more questions inside. Gilbert Gottfried’s insurance firm sent me an e-mail the next day asking if I would accept a rose for the next round, one away from home towns (I can do more Bachelor references), and found out that you can, in fact, say no to the rose.

Garrett Eicher, Gilbert Gottfried’s number one fan.

Super Bowl: A Break Between Commercials

The Super Bowl is a strange experience when compared to most other American television events. It is one night that decides the champions of the NFL, but it is also more that. There is this culture built around going to parties to watch what happens no matter if the people going to the party even care about who wins. They bring food, talk before the game, and fill out little squares on a poster to guess what the score is going to be after each quarter and at the end of the game. You make small amounts of money on this thing and I think that is really what sports has become today, a way to gamble. That isn’t something I want to get into though, because breaking down every piece of why there is so much blatant gambling in society sounds like a whole philosophical essay, and I am not really a philosophically (hey, look that’s a word) minded person.

I am just an observer of this strange event that happens once a year to watch the Patriots win or lose against whichever NFC team is willing to take on the challenge of seeing if they can piss off Tom Brady. I just think it is odd even how the viewing of this game takes place, because unless the game is swayed on way or another, you cannot talk when plays are happening. You also cannot converse with those around you or you might miss one of the million-dollar advertisements that really can be the highlight of the game. There is a lot going on in the Super Bowl, but one of the main things is that the commercials are often some of the funniest and most known advertisements in the history of television.

From Budweiser’s Beer Bowl series in the ‘80s, to the current run of Dorito’s commercials that are on an exceptional run of whatever they are thinking about, there is just so much the ads can do, from trying to be dramatic to the typical laugh your ass off strategy. But, companies like Coke have decided that it is a good idea to dampen the mood and run political commercials about how we are all the same and need to work together to make the world a better place. While I agree with that sentiment and think that taking shots at conservative ideals is always fun, it can be odd when watching that after a commercial for Farmer’s Meet (a website designed to get farmers to meet their future spouse). It seems like an unnecessary site and there does not seem to be any communication between the different advertisers on how they want to make the commercials, and in order to make their ads stand out in a way they normally don’t, I find it to actually make much of the viewing experience a bit jarring.

I love the funny commercials and I am not nearly manly enough to stop myself from crying at anything moderately sad. So, when I see something like Coke making commercial about how families need to stay together in this messed up world I hide by the food table and cry into the seven-layer dip that whoever brought and walk away before people start asking why it tastes like sadness. So, the viewing of these commercials can at times make the game that people go to watch almost seem like the break between the commercials that actually make us laugh and cry and come together to talk about and make videos about the next day. Or, in some cases like the Mountain Dew Kick Start commercial with the Puppy-Monkey-Baby from two years ago, scream in terror and cry for out mothers to save us from this infernal hell that we have been transported to.

The Super Bowl also has a strange way they convey their halftime, as instead of just watching some men we don’t pay attention to talk about what the teams need to do in order to come back and win the game, we do that and then watch some celebrity do an average performance in a stadium with no acoustics. People will then complain about how Beyoncé (I love how spellcheck knows the queen’s name) wasn’t as good as she was at the Grammy’s last year, and it’s just like yeah, because that was in a concert hall. This is a place made for being loud, so the quarterback cannot announce his order to his soldiers. All the sound just bounces back at you and gets lost in this loud boisterous group of people who seem to only know how to be quiet when the National Anthem tells them it is time to be patriotic for two minutes because this country allows them to spend all their money to come to this game and sit in the one-billionth row up way back in the quarter so you might be able make out which one is the player you really want to see in real life.

I’m sitting here making fun of every aspect of this weird game that takes more precedent than any other championship in America, or any Awards show, and yet I know that I will be watching it as soon as it comes on. I will cheer with everybody and laugh at commercials, because it is hard not to be swept into this strange cultural experience. To not be captivated by this one game that makes people who do not watch football the rest of the year care, and take sides, is just something not other event seems to be able to do. I will root for the team I think is most likely to lose, because who doesn’t love an underdog? Not to mention that I grew up a fan of the Lions, so I know that I will always need to find a second team to live vicariously through because of course I will. The Lions may never make the playoffs, but who knows. That is the joy of sports I think. It’s the fact that everybody needs to know what happens next, so that we can tell the stories of what we saw that day.

 

Garrett Eicher, Super Bowl Fan

Why I shouldn’t Say this to Other People

Ever since I was a kid I would be the type of person that would just say whatever came to mind as it came to mind, especially if I thought it was funny. What I later found out is that it is not, at all funny, because it would always come out in a way that would hurt people’s feelings. It is not my fault that people can never read my tone as sarcastic, or realize that whatever it is that I just said is meant to be taken in a lighthearted manner that does not necessarily mean to offend (unless your name starts with a “J,” obviously). So, what I decided is in order to preserve people’s feelings in the moment, I am going to try and filter myself through the existence of this site, and share what I was thinking or wanted to say here, so that I can hurt somebody’s feelings after the fact.

I think this could be a good plan so that I can potentially avoid the awkward conversation of them getting mad at me, because I am mature, and then everybody can know that Jason is an asshole who goes around with a machete and a hockey mask and expects people to think he’s a fun guy for it (Freddy is much more huggable).This should be a good plan, as I twist every situation and stretch most truths so that people will be on my side in any argument, and then if I get any readership at all, they can just yell at you over the internet. Don’t believe me? Check some internet comments sometime, hopefully even the comments underneath this post.

So, that’s what this is going to be, just the random, rambling thoughts of a newly graduated millennial currently searching for a job in a market that is not entirely fond of millennials who write blogs whining about their entitlement. I hope that I don’t do anything that could make people angry with me, but also if I do it’s not like it will affect me in any significant way that could potentially harm me in the slightest. Wish me luck world, or drop into the ocean, I don’t care either way.

Garrett Eicher, Entitled Millennial.