vinnievitale

[vinnievitale]

2018 is the year of the dog according to China. For me, it’s the year I’ve officially lost my mind.

I stay up roughly every night contemplating what the perfect (available) domain name would be. I’ve compiled a list of several (hundred) and probably bought most all of them. For some reason, I can’t be content with something as simple as say, my name. I’ve conVinced myself that no matter what, I need a good domain name if I expect people to visit my site. After all, what’s in a domain, if not a name?

So far here are a few of the ones I’ve come up with:

lonelyfart.com - so I can be owner of a lonely fart, dot com.

verygoodbud.com - it’s open to interpretation as to what this site could be about, but it’s sure to be full of content that will expand your mind.

crackpipedreams.com - presumably what most people think when they hear of someone still chasing their dreams past the age of 30.

rainydayrider.com - I thought of this while riding my motorcycle in a torrential downpour for 3 hours one day last summer. I like that the word “rider” can also signify a contract. Since then, I’ve come to realize it could be an ode to Bob Dylan too, which makes me like it more.

existentialrain.com - I just came up with this while writing my previous paragraph. I feel like this has potential.

vinningmethod.com - A motivational blog from the point of view of a loser who succeeds by not caring.

fantasypieland.com - I came up with this years ago and it’s still probably my favorite, but first I need to open a bakery.

bubbaridesagain.com - I had this t-shirt with this saying on it when I was a kid. On the back it had some animal riding a bike or something. I loved that shirt.

cryquitdie.com - an uplifting website about the circle of life.

cryshitdie.com - pretty much the same idea but maybe more cynical.

ijustknews.com - a community of shared “how we met” stories that should make most readers want to throw up.

reallysadnews.com - tragic news written in a sardonic way with the aim of drawing a laugh like water from a rock.

idreamofvinnie.com - because I’m vinnie and when I hit the bottle, you’ve got to rub me the right way. Yes, I just partially quoted Christina Aguilera lyrics and made a reference to a TV show that probably 90% of teenagers aren’t aware ever existed.

nightvulture.com - because people call me vulture and I stay up all night contemplating this crap. A google search revealed it’s also a GI Joe character, which I never would have known-- Teenant Mutant Ninja Turtles and Ghostbusters were my thang.

The list goes on, but you can now see why I’ve settled on vinimalism.com. I need to get rid of all the dumb things I don’t need in my life, including my thoughts, so I can focus on what’s really important: doing nothing.

The other option is calling this vinimalist.com, sort of like The Economist. If you have any opinion, let me know.

Really, I just change my domain name every year anyway to avoid having to pay $14.99 to renew, so it probably doesn’t matter what I call this. By the new year, I’ll be on to something else and never build attribution, which is a word I would have never known if not for working a short time in the god awful world of corporate branding.

[vinnievitale]

Vinitial Post

Vinimalism: how to get by in life by doing as little as possible.

This way of life should be clarified. It’s not that a Vinimalist seeks to do absolutely nothing. That would be boring and unaligned with Vinimalist values. Rather, to be Vinimalist means to do as little unwanted or unfulfilling activities as possible. Because that would be wasteful to the human spirit—which is not a tenant of Vinimalism.

In other words, a Vinimalist seeks to cut all the bullshit out of life.

Like, for example, if their fiance requests they watch her dad’s dog over the weekend, and he doesn’t want to, what’s a Vinimalist to do? On top of this watching his own dog. Which can also be assumed. Even if he’s got nothing better to do, a Vinimalist won’t pass on the bliss brought on by shirking responsibility.

I’ll tell you what he doesn’t do: he doesn’t watch either dog.

Instead, he brings his dog to her dad’s place and leaves him there so they can watch each other. Then he goes to the bar and watches the football game by himself in peace. 5 beers later he returns to the dogs to discover one is missing. It appears the bigger dog has ingested the smaller one. One problem solved. But now he’s got a new one: explaining to his fiance what happened to their dog.*

Some might think the road ends there, but it doesn’t. The solution is simple: you blame your missing dog on the fact that you were responsible for watching both dogs that weekend. When in actuality, you aren’t even responsible enough to watch one. Now your dog’s gone because she made you in charge of two. No one can contend with that.

On your watch, a dog was eaten. Had you only had to watch one dog, then presumably no dogs would have been eaten. Case closed.

Some might also think this example is far fetched, but unless you’ve ever lived in the shoes of the Dalai Vinimalist, then you know only they can truly know the truth of the truths that lie within their lies.

Today’s Vinimal Thought for the Day: If all dogs go to heaven, do all humans rot in hell? 

*No dogs were neglected on this particular weekend. Having had to watch them created the inspiration for this post. Deep-rooted contempt can be harnessed in the form of creativity, which is generally the cause most forms of art.

[vinnievitale]

The Best Part Of Waking Up

Ghost in the “Mac”-chine.

I made a cup of coffee on my own today for the first time in months. I was so set on crafting the perfect cup. I was going to make a real cup, not this French press half-ass shit my girlfriend has been doing lately where I wind up with a bunch of grinds at the bottom of my cup. I’m going to turn on a machine and brew a pot.

I pulled the ancient Krups contraption out to the edge of the counter, sneezed from the dust, and plugged it in. First things first: Finding a filter. I opened the cabinet. “Hmmm…” I opened the lower cabinet near the sink with all the disposable utensils and plates. I opened the lazy Susan and spun both shelves around. Nothing. My frustration began to build.

“Maybe if the bitch wasn’t so lazy I’d have a cup by now–” Susan that is, not the one I live with who was still currently in bed.

I went back to the machine and examined the holder for the filter again. “Oh–it’s detachable and washable. I.e. reusable. Okay, crisis averted.”

Next step: Finding coffee.

I searched the cabinet for a high-quality Hawaiian blend or something I expected we ought to have since, you know, we go places and buy coffee. I started to daydream and appreciate life. “Things aren’t that bad. Look, a container of sprinkles. And flour. Oh, and candles. Isn’t it nice having someone around who cares enough to consider other people’s birthdays? I’m a very lucky guy.” After finding another container of sprinkles, and yet another, my mood changed.

“Where the fuck is the coffee?” I muttered, ignoring the giant red plastic container in the left-hand corner of the second shelf with contents of which I was familiar but refused to settle for. I pushed unnecessary items aside; a box of popcorn, jars of vanilla extract and honey and maple syrup, an individually wrapped biscotti that had expired–the three containers of sprinkles–but found nothing that resembled a bean or even a grind.

“15 fucking tea boxes, and I’m stuck with fucking Folgers!” I grabbed the behemoth red tub and slammed it on the counter. “This is bullshit.”

Then I calmed down. “It’s alright. Folgers will do. At least it’s coffee.”

I read the instructions: 1 Serving (6 fl oz) - 1 Tablespoon.

After picking up a teaspoon from the drawer, I abruptly put it back and grabbed a tablespoon. I opened the container to reveal a partially buried measuring cup. On its side, a set of equally spaced red lines counted up to 2 tablespoons. “Sweet. Now I can make a perfectly proportioned cup of coffee!” I thought to myself.

I felt optimistic again. I even decided to make a second cup, for her.

In my excitement, I poured exactly 2 tablespoons in the filter and nearly turned it on before remembering water is necessary to make coffee. I fetched another larger measuring cup with lines that allocated for 8 ounces, or one whole cup. I poured water in the cup to the top line and dumped it in the pot, twice.

And then it dawned on me this would be equivalent to 16 ounces–4 ounces higher than the ratio Folgers scientifically determined to be the proper measurement to brew 2 tablespoons of their coffee, and thus not the optimal blend required. I attempted to resolve the matter swiftly and immediately: By pouring 1 more tablespoon of coffee in the filter.

“Hmmm… that would put me at 18 ounces of coffee. But these pots never seem to brew enough as it is.” I dumped another 4 ounces of water in.

“Shit. Now I’m at 20 ounces of water to 18 ounces of coffee. I think I need another tablespoon.”

“Fuck—now that puts me at 24! A cup is 8 ounces—why the fuck is Folgers computing in 6-ounce increments anyway???“

Eventually, I gave up and just pressed brew. I’m still not sure what my end ratio was–I’m pretty sure it was somewhere in the range of “not giving a shit” to “fuck this shit.” When the pot finished brewing, I walked over to retrieve a cup when I noticed a white porcelain canister sitting beside it. On the side, below the lid, in elegantly painted calligraphy was the word: “Coffee.”

I drank half the cup. The rest wound up getting cold while I wrote this.

[vinnievitale]

Showboken is taking over Hoboken Wednesday, August 24th at Maxwell’s Tavern!

For tickets, go to: http://www.ticketfly.com/event/1283515

[vinnievitale]

Just a few of the tickets I’ve gotten throughout the years. 

[vinnievitale]

The American Dream

Note: A real posting I came across in my career search.

ACCOUNTS RECEIVABLE REP

Job Description

POSITION PURPOSE:

Responsible for the processing, recording, and billing of debts owed to the company.

SPECIFIC JOB KNOWLEDGE, SKILLS AND ABILITIES

The individual must possess the following knowledge, skills and abilities and be able to explain and demonstrate that he or she can perform the essential functions of the job, with or without reasonable accommodation, using some other combination of knowledge, skills, and abilities.

• Must be able to speak, read, write and understand the primary language(s) used in the workplace.

• Most work tasks are performed indoors. Temperature is moderate and controlled by building environmental systems.

• Must be able to sit at a desk for up to 8 hours per day. Walking and standing are occasionally required.

• Must be able to lift up to 15 lbs. occasionally.

• Requires grasping, writing, standing, sitting, walking, repetitive motions, bending, climbing, listening and hearing ability and visual acuity.

• Talking and hearing occur continuously in the process of communicating with customers, supervisors and subordinates.

• Vision occurs continuously with the most common visual functions being those of near vision and depth perception.

• Ability to work primarily with fingers to pick, pinch, type and carry out substantial movements (motions) of the wrists and hands as well.

• Requires manual dexterity to use and operate all necessary equipment.

• Must have finger dexterity to be able to operate office equipment such as computers, printers, 10-key adding machine, electric typewriter, multi-line touch tone phone, filing cabinets, FAX machines, photocopiers, dolly and other office equipment as needed.

February 12th, 2016

Re: The incredible opportunity to work for your company

To Whom It May Concern:

Recently, I came across the opening for Accounts Receivable Rep at your company. I have 31+ years experience of sitting, exceptional pinching skills, and have mastered the ability to displace rage, all of which should make me an ideal candidate for the position.

Currently, I hold an equally unfulfilling job in a different capacity that has similar demeaning qualities for a slightly worse company. I spend several hours a day fake smiling to people who otherwise ask me “what’s wrong?” and have not yet told anyone to go fuck him or herself. Occasionally, I contemplate jumping out the window. These examples should all demonstrate my advanced level of muscle control and ability to “talk and hear continuously in the process of communicating with customers, supervisors and subordinates,” as per the job description.

Furthermore, working for your company appeals to me because I know by now that life has a silver lining: dreams are complete bullshit and whoever tells you to follow them probably already gave up on their own, and is merely instilling a false sense of hope because the only satisfaction they get out of life anymore themselves is the idea of knowing the naïve optimism of a child will one day be crushed. If you hire me, I assure you my spirit was destroyed as soon as I stopped doing most drugs after college.

Although I am not recovering from a recent spinal injury (which would better qualify me for the job), I may be in the near future if I continue to work at my current company. Assuming my body survives the impact, I will get back to you. I will also do my best to ensure all fingers remain intact so I can pick, pinch, type and carry out substantial movements like clawing out your eyeballs should we ever be blessed with the apocalypse and you are the last person with whom I am stuck on Earth.

But enough about me; I would love to hear more about you, the pointless work you do, and how much you pretend to yourself your existence matters in this world. I have enclosed my resume for your neglect until someone who vaguely knows me mentions my name so we can have a possible interview, whereby you can then inform me that I would not succeed at this job anyway. I am available in person or over the phone, whichever you prefer, though email would actually be best if you have absolutely no intention of hiring me. I assume you will disregard this though, and still proceed to waste my time under the façade of “networking”.

I am almost completely, entirely, not at all the slightest bit remotely excited about this opportunity, and definitely not looking forward to following up with you, but will give you the satisfaction of saying I am because I have no other choice.

All the best,

Vincent V.

P.S. – If considered, please confirm that lunch may be eaten at my desk through a straw everyday—I would not want to miss any valuable work time wheeling myself to the cafeteria.

[vinnievitale]

R.I.P. Larry Lumens

Today, my light bulb died. He was 27 months and 4 days old when he passed away.

“I’ll always remember the way he lit up the room when you came in. Just full of perpetual brightness and warmth,“ remarked one imaginary guest who has never stepped foot in my house.

“It’s like I was in a dark place, but then you gave me the clarity to see everything around me and show me the way man,” I profoundly stated in a drunken stupor the other night.

“When are you going to stop writing about light bulbs and get a real job?” comments my mother.

With his passing, a light in my heart has been extinguished.

This time the spotlight’s on you, Lar—you will be missed. My days will forever be a whole lot dimmer without you.

Larry “the Light Bulb” Lumens

A service will be held Wednesday, at 11pm out front of my apartment. Please arrive promptly to ensure a spot on the sidewalk. Garbage bags containing empty beer bottles and shredded credit card statements will be reserved for the first few guests in attendance.

Picture lighting courtesy of Sally Sylvania, an energy-efficient bulb with gender identity confusion. By day she is Steve, but at night her latent incandescence fully emits with the flick of a switch. She hopes her translucent experience sheds light on some of the illuminating challenges facing the LED community.

[vinnievitale]

On June 24th, comedy history will be made in Hoboken. Come be a part of it. https://www.eventbrite.com/e/showboken-the-greatest-comedy-event-on-earth-tickets-17361532812 #showboken

[vinnievitale]

Pics from last night’s Mic Club, Hoboken’s trippiest open mic every Thursday at the Dubliner.

[vinnievitale]

Smiley

Tonight I performed at an open mic at a bar in Jersey City Heights. A homeless man spit on me about 3 minutes into my set.

He didn’t do it intentionally. He just spewed a lot of saliva from his mouth when he attempted to talk. From what I could gather, he refers to himself as “Smiley” and was insistent that I hear the music in his headphones. In an attempt to be polite, I invited a listen as he spastically gesticulated his body to the beat in front of me. The next moment he was jamming one of his earbuds into my ear before I could even think to avoid being accosted.

It actually didn’t sound bad. Kind of funky. Sounded a bit like that Stevie Wonder song in “Die Hard” in Argyle’s limo when Bruce Willis calls him right when Nakatomi Plaza has been taken over. You know, the one that’s like, “Somebody shot off at the mouth and...” A Google search informed me it’s called “Skeletons”. Great song, check it out.

In any event, that wasn’t the song, yet I hoped my feigned interest was enough to appease Smiley so he would leave me alone. Not the case, as he proceeded to interrupt the remainder of my performance, dancing obnoxiously beside me the entire time.

Eventually the crowd’s mild disapproval (and by “mild” I mean they cheered only a little more loudly for me than him when I asked who they would rather watch perform) prompted someone to escort him to the door, just in time for my set to be over. Even as he was led out, he kept smiling, his horrid 4 snaggle-toothed grin reminding me to ask myself why I even do this.

Needless to say, I didn’t really get to practice any material, but I did get this story.

And for that, I suppose, I am grateful.

[vinnievitale]

A Nightmare On Vinnie Vitale Street

I awoke Sunday morning from an awful nightmare in which I was unable to take a photo with almost the entire cast of Breaking Bad as a result of the IOS 7 update.  I still haven’t recovered.

In my dream, I had encountered the actors at the airport where apparently they all had also run into each other, so they took the opportunity to pose for a selfie that Aaron Paul took.  While doing so, I asked if he would mind taking one of me with everyone on my phone and he enthusiastically replied, “Sure.”

From here, a terrible chain of events unfolded.

I attempted to bring up the camera app, but for some reason it would not open. It kept leading me through other processes, my frustration building with opportunity fading.  Frantically, I continued to tap the icon on my phone, praying it would just execute the correct function, their patience waning.

“Aaron, I’m sorry, for some reason it’s not working right. Can you give me another second?”

He attempted to stall everyone, but it was too late.  Bryan Cranston stepped forward. “Aaron, we don’t have time for this.  Let’s go.”

Then, the Pinkman himself looked at me, with empathy in his eyes–like I was Gale and he was about to pull the trigger–and stated, “Sorry.”

And they walked off, never to be seen again.

At this point, I would have rather been shot through the eye socket. He might as well have just called me a bitch; at least that’s what I felt like.  I felt more helpless and distraught over trying to operate this stupid phone than Walter watching Hank get murdered in the desert. I hurled my worthless device against the wall and broke down crying.

Why IOS7?!  Why did you have to take this once in a lifetime opportunity away from me in an experience that completely never actually even happened to me?

But technically I would argue this is worse than if it really had; if a man can’t dream, then what does he have?  Nothing but an iPhone and his shitty reality.

In the weeks that followed in my dream (it was a long dream), I was sent into a whirlwind of crippling depression where I all I could do was recount the events of that day, wishing I could somehow go back and relive it prior to downloading the IOS7 update.

Unable to cope, I treated every friend I encountered like a therapist, gauging their opinion of the update and whether I was at fault in my experience.  I came to find I was not completely alone in my assertions, although no one had missed an opportunity like mine, nor had cried in relation to the update.

Of the interactions I had, I recall relentlessly bitching to a buddy of mine until he agreed merely to shut me up. Which is pretty much how issues I raise play out in real life: I complain, friend provides rationale, and I continue complaining until they just agree the world is, in fact, against me.

“Dude, this update sucks man! I can’t believe how shitty it is! I can’t do anything on it! How the fuck do you get an app to force close now?!! I’m holding down the icon and it’s not doing anything!!!”

“You just swipe the window up.  It’s actually easier.”

“Well, what the fuck?  It’s still stupid as hell.  And what’s with all the bright colors and cartoonish looking graphics and shit?  The phone looks crappy now.”

“The redesign is supposedly to increase functionality.”

“I read that it supposedly makes people dizzy and now I see what they are talking about.  I feel like I’m going to throw up.  Are they just trying to be a like Droid or something?  This phone sucks.”

“So get a Samsung like me and stop complaining.”

“See!  I knew you hated them too!”

(brief pause)

“Dude, what’s this girl’s problem?  I just texted her and all she wrote back was “hey”.  I’m probably the most awesome guy she will ever get, and she just writes “hey”?  What kind of response is that?  Is she retarded?”

“…”

If you’re an acquaintance, things play out a little different: I complain, you disagree, and the cycle continues until you decide to stop associating with me at the bar.  We don’t usually get to the point of me complaining about girls, unless I decide to lead with that, which usually I do.  And you’re the girl at the bar that I’m complaining to about.

“So remember like 3 weeks ago while we were out at dinner I was talking to you and then your eyes shifted mid conversation, as if something distracted you?  I mean, you looked back at me right away, but for a brief moment I felt like didn’t have your full attention… I was just wondering if you remember what it was?

“…”

“Maybe it was nothing…I mean, I’m sure it wasn’t anything.  I don’t even know why I am asking you this…Seriously, forget it.  It’s stupid.”

(rolls eyes)

“No, see, obviously that was directed towards me–I didn’t mean like that.  I meant I thought maybe something else caught your attention for a second that prevented you from being completely interested in what I had to say, but obviously you are because you are still hanging out with me right now.  I knew I shouldn’t have brought this up.”

(looking bored and around the room)

“No, listen, I know I’m awesome.  I’m one of the most confident guys you will ever meet, believe me.  This is clearly evidenced by the fact that I don’t refrain from asking ridiculously loaded questions that demonstrate what a neurotic lunatic I am for overanalyzing a trivial matter that means nothing in the grand scheme of things, yet I would dwell upon for the entire length of time it took for me to eventually bring it to your attention, because from the moment it occurred I convinced myself it was not worth saying anything since it would potentially make you think I am crazy, but I was unable to refrain from at this point due to my anxiety building up and the intoxicated feelings I have from the alcohol and every time I look at you, and my belief that in order for two people to build anything that that is truly genuine and real they have to be completely honest and open with each other at all times, even if it means sometimes looking foolish or vulnerable or delusional in front of that person, which is why I am telling you this right now rather than later.”

“…uh…can I go now?”

“…”

Where was I?

Without its once pioneering and stubborn leader at its helm, Apple is currently in a state of dysfunction.  Sure, the company continues to operate, but let’s face facts: the products it has put out since the loss of Steve Jobs have done little to remind us why we were so addicted to their brand in the first place.

As Google continues to innovate and create technology with advanced functionality that I am too lazy to learn, there exists the opportunity for Apple to do nothing and remain loved for it’s simple interface design and commands.

Yet, this is where they are beginning to lose their place.

It seems they are abandoning their trademark crystal blue meth and attempting to replace it with Google heroin. I have been a loyal customer to meth all these years, but I am not about to move up to heroin.  Especially inferior heroin.

My point is, I don’t have the time, patience, discipline, or desire to start learning a more complicated process to get my fix. I shouldn’t have to google “how to use an iPhone”. I’m not looking to start injecting my social life with a needle. Just let me snort or smoke your stuff, I’m completely content with the mediocre high your technology allows my life to give me.

So please, cut the shit Apple and just stick to the same drug you’ve been giving us all these years. We meth heads are all counting on you.

[vinnievitale]

Breaking Bad Apples: A Comparison Between Management Styles Of Walter White & Steve Jobs

One of the greatest shows ever will end tonight, and with it goes one of the greatest characters we will ever see displayed cinematically: Walter White.

As the final episode nears, I cannot help but assume Walt dies, and this realization has brought on some uncanny comparisons to another figure we lost in relatively recent times: Steve Jobs.

One fictionalized, the other real, there is no denying that Mr. White and Mr. Jobs were two of the most powerful and influential business tycoons of our time.  Sure, their areas of expertise may vary a bit; one dealt meth, the other not meth.  But whether you’re a drug kingpin or tech lynchpin, the one single fundamental principle that underlies your strategy will always remain the same: increase your bottom line.

Which has led me to consider what other factors might be the same for these two “polar opposite” businessmen; perhaps their management styles?  Hmmm…I smell something cooking…is it crystal meth?  Or do I smell a Heisenberg/Jobs face-off?

After a full measure analysis, here is how the “Breaking Bad Ass” & “Mac Daddy” would measure up if we compared apples to apples:

1. Both created products that drew mass amounts of addicts

Mmmm, pop rocks.

What is this? The nano? I don’t even know at this point, but it was blue, so deal with it.

2. Both had cancer

“Why can’t you be more like Uncle Hank?”

“Why can’t you be more like Jesse?”

“Pancreatic cancer? There’s an app for that–oh shit, there’s not.”

3. Both began operations in small, unfavorable settings and grew an empire

“Oh Jesse, I’m wearing nothing but an apron and my underwear right now… Come on in!”

“Shutup Mom & Dad! How many times do I have to tell you I’m not working on my car?! I’m doing important stuff in here. I’m gonna be somebody–oh wait, you’re not my real Mom & Dad? Then fuck off!”

4. Both brought death upon anyone who dared cross them

“I would have choked you with my cock had your mouth not been full of vomit--eewwww.”

Heisenberg kill count: 150+ (includes Jane’s father and all flight passengers)

“Heya, fuck ah you ah Meester Jobs! We don wan no work for you no more. We sick of literarry working for apple a day. If you give us ah no raise, we gon-ah jump off this here-ah building!”

“Go ahead, jump! See if I care! There’s only a billion more of you I can get to do my work for free!”

Jobs kill count: 14 recorded deaths (also real people)

5. Both started businesses they were forced to leave

“Those bastards at Gray Matter stole my idea? Oh, we’ll see who has the last laugh. We’ll see…ok class, so who’s familiar with chemical combustion? I’m just going to burn the school down now.”

“You think you can survive without me??! Didn’t you learn your lesson the first time? This time I’m not coming back!”

6. Both took advantage of handicapped people for their own self-betterment

“I’m just a poor old man who dings a bell and shits himself. And you want to strap a bomb to my chair because…?”

“Hey, I may park illegally in handicapped spaces, but I own Apple so I’m entitled, no? Oh wait, I have cancer. You can fuck off now.”

7. Both had to deal with more wealthy, highly respected businessmen who stole their ideas and threatened their existence

El Pollo Hermano, muy crispy.

“Come at me Steve! I’ve done time bro! You’re micro-SOFT bitch!”

(^^^^^^Ummmm, side note… Does anyone else find it insanely coincidental where Bill Gates served time in this mug shot????? I’m actually starting to reconsider my investigation into all of this.)

8. Both strove for perfection and refused to compromise integrity for an inferior product

“Jesse! There’s been a contamination! His name is Gale! I can tell by staring at this fly’s genitals!”

“I don’t need this stuff. And I don’t need you. I don’t need anything. Except this. And that’s the only thing I need is this. Just this rug… and this coffee cup. The rug and the coffee cup and that’s all I need… and this stereo. The rug, the coffee cup, and the stereo, and that’s all I need… and these magazines. The rug, and these magazines, and the coffee cup, and the stereo… And this lamp. The rug, this coffee cup, and the stereo, and the lamp, and that’s all I need.”

9. Both had sidekicks who continually screwed up their business model

“I’m going to sell my own meth out of my RV! How do you like that bitch?!”

“I’m responsible for the death of both your girlfriends.”

“We should put out the iPhone 5C and vastly change the interface with the IOS7 update. People will love it!”

“Stop it asshole, you are ruining my company.”

10. Both were extremely charismatic and manipulative speakers

(^Clearly one of the crazy ones Jobs was referring to)

11. Both became products of their own environment. 

They started with the best of intentions, but eventually were seen as potentially evil, power hungry monsters…and we still can’t help but wonder, were they?

“Sky-lerrrrrr, you bitch! It’s mah 52nd birffffday! Bacon and ehhh-uggs!”

“Here Mrs. Hill, I got you this apple. Enjoy it; one day I will own you.”

12. Both fathered children they refused to accept as their own

“Hey Dad, you think you’re the only one whose alter ego leads a completely different life? Why else do you think I need a balanced breakfast every morning?”

“Um? I gave birth to you in 1978… shit, really??? I was on a lot of acid back then.”

13. Both used simple design as a trademark to enhance marketability

Crystal. Blue. Persuasion.

14. Just look at them:

“Say my name.”

“Read my book. Or see my movie. Either way, I am more influential than you will ever be.”

[vinnievitale]

How to prolong the time between haircuts

In this tough economy, we’ve had to spend more conservatively and come up with creative methods towards saving, some of those being related to simple everyday tasks.  Of these tasks, one is hygiene, particularly keeping yourself well-kempt.  Of course, I still recommend showering and changing your underwear on a regular basis, but there are some things we can get away with doing less frequently.  One of them is getting your haircut.

Haircuts are expensive.  They can range anywhere between $10 to $16.95.  If you go to a salon, they can cost as much as $4000 and your dignity.  Then, in the hood you have “barba” shops and these are rather pricey too.  The owners must be charging a premium for creating such fashionable looks as “the helmet” and “the chinstrap”.  Or maybe they just have really high insurance rates due to allowing Puerto Ricans to handle straight razors around your neck.

There is always the option to cut your own hair, but God knows you will wind up looking like Forrest Gump or Lloyd Christmas.  Take my word on this–don’t try it.  I know, from personal experience.  And multiple failed dates.

Sure, you’ll be thinking, “Oh yeah, I’ll ‘clean up’ a little before we meet up.”  Then 15 buzzer swipes later, you’re sitting at dinner going, “Hey, why’s she’s staring at me like I have just gotten a lobotomy? Shit, I wish I had before I decided to go through with this.”

Here is my advice; it’s pretty simple: stop getting your hair cut so often.  It might seem obvious enough, but for some of you it won’t be.   I’ll walk into the barber and see you in the waiting chair–looking like you just got out of the barber’s chair–fidgeting, and grimacing at the barber while he’s tending to his current customer.  It’s your third time this month!  What’s up with your obsession?  Is he giving you free handjobs under the cape?  I bet you love when he puts his hot cream on your neck.  Followed by the barbasol massage.

I never understood the anticipation of having those damned scissors near your head.  You could be seated with a potential psychopath.  But no, his name’s Jerry and he graduated from high school 50 years ago, and you trust him.  If you’re lucky, he might have even gone on to barber school!

Chances are more likely his traditional Italian father thought he was too much of a prissy for the mob and all these years rage has been building inside of him to the point that you get him on the day he snaps.  And now you’ve got scissors jammed in your forehead, all because you increased your odds of impending doom by going 42 times a year.  Do you really want that?

I don’t know, maybe it’s the sheer sound of the blades slicing through your hair that keeps you coming back like a Pavlov dog.  Don’t worry, the talc powder isn’t going anywhere.  You can always get your fix.  Just don’t ask Jerry about his father.

Start by weening yourself off slowly.  Instead of going once every two hours, try stretching it to like four weeks.  I promise, you’ll still be alive by the end of it.  You might even find yourself engaging in some more enjoyable activities that take your mind off letting your hair grow–like having a woman run her fingers through and pull the shit out of it while she’s riding you nasty in bed, her eyes rolled so far back in her head she doesn’t even give a damn that you have hair for any reason other than the fact that it’s something to hold onto.

Now, if that image still isn’t enough to convince you to stop the cutting–or your girlfriend insists you always do it missionary because she’s a piece of shit–then move on to your wrists.  Kidding.  I would never endorse suicide, on a public blog.  (Seriously, don’t do it.  It might get infected if you don’t succeed.)

All joking aside, you might still be wondering, “Vin, how on earth could I possibly take such risks with my personal image? I can’t having people looking at me like I’m some kind of hippie or something.”  And I don’t blame you–nobody wants that.

I have a solution for this too.  And it actually prolongs the length of time between haircuts even more, just in case long hair is what you’re going for, ya dirty hippie.

Solution 2: grow your sideburns and trim them every once in a while. By doing so, you will give off the false bravado of getting haircuts.   And while you’re faking babes out with this technique, you’ll have more cash in your wallet it to fake ‘em out with being charming at dinner.

Unless you are horrible with rhetoric.  Then, you can just sit home all night writing at your computer, hidden behind the cloak of a blog that attempts to dupe others into thinking you’re “deep” and “insightful”, when really you’re too much of stuttering buffoon to be smooth when it matters.  But at least also happens to have great hair, am I right, ladies?

Don’t believe my trimming sideburns technique works?  Here’s evidence–I haven’t cut my hair since June.  Just look at my before and after pics!

Before trimming sideburns:

After trimming sideburns:

After Latin “barba” shop:

[vinnievitale]

Vitale’s Theory Of Relative Intelligence

People are getting dumber; i.e. me.

In our endless quest for attention it’s no longer as much a concern to be smart as it is to look smart. I am basing this theory entirely on analysis of myself, which shows you how stupid and ignorant I am.

For example, I want to be a writer and sound intelligent, but instead I consider the easier task of posting a picture of myself reading a book so I simply look intelligent. And then everyone thinks, “Hey, this guy must be smart. Look at him, he’s reading a book.” And now I’ve accomplished the notion of being smart without actually having to do much of anything, other than pressing a button on my Iphone, if that counts as being smart. I don’t know, some people may think it does.

This is, in fact, how I fool people with my college degrees.

“Hey, look at this guy. He’s got 2 degrees. He must be smart.”

No, no–I’m not. That’s just a matter of perception. I got the 2 degrees so you would think I am smart. Society made it a requirement in order for me to get a job. And yet I still wonder why this has often been such a difficult task.

“Hi. I just invested about $200,000 in my future. Well, not I, per se. More so my parents did. And then I got a full-ride to grad school by making the university think they were making a wise investment in me. So no, technically I didn’t invest anything in my future. Absolutely nothing. I have no future. But I still somehow managed to get these 2 degrees. Will you employ me? I was told it should help.”

“Well, is this a job you actually want?”

“Yes.”

“Then no.”

Don’t get me wrong, I enjoyed college. I loved college. And I even felt smarter while I was there. The collegiate atmosphere is extremely conducive towards making one feel smart. But it doesn’t mean you actually are. I probably would have become smarter if I simply applied myself in anything at the time.

Like intently reading books and writing on my own, for the pure desire of doing it. Not because I had to cram for an exam in order to pass and soon forget about later. And then never have to remember for a career anyway because we just went over why. I think my point is, fuck college. I mean, I love it. But fuck it too.

We can really only be as smart as we think we are anyway, right?

Like someone could tell me, “Hey, you’re very smart.” And I won’t take it as a compliment. At all. And not because I don’t want to. But because in theory, this is impossible to believe. Let’s consider the logic.

In order to for someone to accept “you’re very smart” as a compliment, you must compare yourself relatively to that person.

In other words, if what they are saying is true, it would require that person be smart enough to assess your intellect. And in order for someone to be smart enough to assess if another person is “very smart”, they ought be smarter than the person of whom is being assessed.

So now the compliment “you’re very smart” becomes more like saying, “You’re very smart–but not quite as smart as me. How else would I know if you are very smart?”

And to me, that’s a rather arrogant thing to say. They might as well just tell you you’re dumb.

But if they themselves are dumber than you–which they likely will be if you are indeed very smart–and have taken the liberty of passing this judgment upon you, then why the hell would you listen to them?

What do they know? They aren’t intelligent enough to assess your intelligence. Tell them to go read a book and quit being an dummy. Only asses assess one another.

So next time you are about to compliment someone for being smart, think about what you’re about to say. Do you really want to come off like an asshole? Or just an ass?

This whole post is stupid. You have probably become relatively dumber from reading it–but if you tell people you read something today, they might think you’re smart. Just don’t tell them what it was.

Actually please do. I wouldn’t mind building traffic to my website. I don’t really care if people think you, or I, are dumb. According to my logic, smart or dumb, it doesn’t matter either way; we’re all the same. We’re all human. Just a bunch of moral immoral animals. Forget being the smartest guy in the room. I want to be the dumbest guy in the room and act solely on irrational instinct.

On that profound note, enjoy your day, ya stupid fuckin’ idiot.

Signed,

A smart-ass

[vinnievitale]

The saddest phone call ever

Sometimes I have phone convos with people I know I will never interact with again. And not just sex hotlines. 

Like recently when I got audited and I paid up front for audit protection because for only $40 extra I figured I might as well take the chance at being audited. Who wouldn’t? That’s a pretty good deal.  Especially since I was. So they were pretty good at guaranteeing that I needed to be protected.

Now I’m on the phone with this guy named Frank McClowan we’ll say for the sake of identity protection, though if you knew who I am actually referring to you would know that I sure as hell am not masking his name very well.  Perhaps you will have the pleasure of speaking with him should you ever take the chance at being audited.  And he’s like, “Hi this Frank McClowan from taxblahblah.com.  I am officially the most boring person you will ever talk to.  But I am here to help you.” And he was very boring, but very helpful.

What I imagine Frank McClowan looks like, if he were a cartoon. Technically he could be, I have never met him. Maybe he is a robot. He did sound like one.

They are all in cahoots.  I think TurboTax and these other companies just pay the IRS to audit people so they get more money.  Or the other way around would probably make more sense– the IRS pays these companies for information on people who probably should be audited, like me.

Regardless, this guy Frank handled everything for me, which was fine. I even got him doing extra stuff, like he’s telling me I should amend my state return to be safe and I’ve got him looking up if I’m going to be penalized because I don’t want to do it.  Meanwhile I’m in this situation because of my carelessness and Frank is just calling me back going, “I think you’ll be alright.”

So now I’ve got no reason left to communicate with him ever again and I don’t know how to say goodbye.  I’m like, “Well Frank, uh, good luck with everything.  Have a great week.  Bye now.”

Is that good?  Because I really felt like I was abandoning someone who became a close companion to me.  He saved me $100 on my audit!  He didn’t have to do that.  He could have just said, “Yes, we checked and you do in fact owe this much money.”  Instead he spent several hours on the phone with me over the span of several weeks.  I told him where I live.  He knows how much money I make.  I know where he lives.  In many ways I became closer to this boring, helpful and presumably lonely guy than many women I’ve dated.  I will miss you, tax audit man.

On second thought, maybe I’m the boring, lonely and presumably helpless guy with abandonment issues.

[vinnievitale]

A message I wrote on an online dating site to a girl who said she listens to Billy Joel and Phil Collins

Hey girl,

In the middle of the night, I go walking in my sleep because I’ve been looking for something so hard to find that it can only be seen by the eyes of the blind–until I saw her, for the longest time, I’d been in a NY State of mind, out of touch with the rhythm and blues.

I decided I’m gonna tell her about it, I’m gonna try for an uptown girl, don’t ask me why, I am an innocent man. She’s got a way about her profile that I’m keeping the faith in online dating. This is my life; at least that’s what I told my parents when movin’ out.

So whatdaya say, a bottle of red? Or a bottle of white? It all depends upon your appetite. We could just go take a ride on the Hudson River line–oh wait I stopped driving my car when I moved to Hoboken. Where do you live again? Allentown? I’ve forgotten since I started writing this message.

We all fall in love but we disregard the danger of a bad initial attempts to impress a stranger; but hell only the good die young. And I often consider myself the entertainer anyway.

Besides, when it comes to love, it’s just a matter of trust. Well, honesty helps too. And honestly I can tell I’d like you just the way you are. Though admittedly right now, it’s probably lust. But who knows, why not give this big shot a try and see if it’s a total bust? No pressure, darling, I don’t go to extremes. Though this message might tell you otherwise.

You may be right; I may be crazy–but I may just be the lunatic you are looking for! I can feel it coming in the air tonight–oh wait wrong song guy. Ah hell, I’ve been waiting for this moment all my life. I`d like to settle down, get married and maybe have a child someday. While the night is still young.

[vinnievitale]

Simplificationing

It’s all about simplification. I’m simplifying my life. It’s simple:

I’m reducing the amount of crap I have in my bedroom.

-Already did. I had no choice. I have to move out this weekend.

I’m reducing the number of words I use in sentence.

-Make sense?

Of course it does. All it took was two words. Now that makes sense. I sense sense in making that sentence. You could even get the scent of sense when I made that sentence.

Just sniff your computer or tablet screen like this dumb broad did: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zyKSawCSh7E

Creating a scent of sense is the essence of what I’m trying to accomplish.

-But to what extent? This is becoming incessant. Back to my purification through simplification process preference.

I’m reducing the number of times I think about things I don’t want to think about.

-By mentioning this I just thought about a bunch of things I didn’t want to think about. I should probably stop mentioning my attempts to do this.

Da Vinci (“Leonardo” to the complex laymen) once said, “Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.”

-I think he was right. Thus, simplification.

I’m reducing my thoughts to only those objectives that make sense.

-‘Tis the essence of success.

When I’m sitting at home alone an empty bedroom, a lot comes into perspective.

-Like why am I sitting here alone in this empty bedroom? It’s not even home. It’s a shitty apartment building that I hate living in. I can’t wait to move out at the end of this week. I probably should have done more with my life by now. I wish I didn’t get rid of my TV already because I could be watching Netflix. But then I wouldn’t be accomplishing anything which is why I probably wound up in this apartment in the first place.

I’m reducing the number of clothes that I own.

-Technically I don’t really own many of these clothes anyway because most of them I either inherited from my father or my uncle or my grandfather or even my mother, or from a friend who purchased newer clothes after lending them to me and refusing to ever wear them again, or stole from a store, or rather, “borrowed” from a store and returned to a store in exchange for something better.

I still refuse to believe I may be one of the people responsible for the financial collapse.

-After all I am just one insignificant person doing insignificant things. How could I have any impact?

There’s no way something so complicated could have happened on account of some things so simple.

-And that’s a pretty complex thought to end on. At least in my simple mind.