Day-to-Day

It’s coming, dear reader. My only excuse for the amount of time my 9/12 post is taking is that it is the first of what I hope are many posts that are not typical NegativeNeil posts. In other words, this one is a bit more mainstream. Stay Tuned!

I got some pretty good footage on Saturday, but not enough of what I wanted. Truth be told, my cover was blown. It doesn’t matter though, there are some great clips in my camera that I’ll be uploading ASAP. Sit tight, readers.

Hello, dear readers. My apologies for a very long and unexplained absence. I’ve been wallowing in unemployment, unable to overcome the shock of watching my life pass by without participating in it. That is no more. I’ve broken free and next week I embark on the journey to employment!

To signify my sincerity that I am indeed no longer a phantom on this website of mine, I’ve planned a little something. Over the last month I have watched in horror as mouth-breathing radical conservatives spewed anti-healthcare vitriol in town halls across the country. I wanted to do a post about it and make fun, but as President Obama said on wednesday night, these people would be laughable if they were so appalling.

Many of you know my disdain for Glenn Beck. Some of you might know that he has a little project called the 9/12 project wherein he sheds crocodile tears and pleads with America to remember how we felt united on the day after 9/11. He does this, of course, while masturbating to a picture of Reagan, trying to forget Bush’s trampling of civil liberties, and screeching about Obama’s malevolent socialism tightening it’s tentacles around Real America’s™ neck.

Well, the anti-healthcare people and Glenn Beck’s political amnesiac’s are joining forces tomorrow in Washington D.C. for a giant anti-… everything protest. Anti-government, anti-bailout, anti-healthcare, immigration, Obama, liberal, etc. etc. It’s gotten to the point that I don’t even think these people know what they’re protesting anymore, they’re just unhappy about their ideology no longer steering America, and having to follow the orders of some non-white President. Case in point: no one can shut up about how Obama isn’t a legitimate President because he’s wasn’t born here.

Nevermind that if his mom was on the fucking moon at the time she ejected him from her womb he would still be a legal U.S. citizen because she is. Nope, let’s conveniently forget that. Nevermind that all of these people shrieking about Obama’s legitimacy turned a blind eye when Bush’s Presidency was granted by a court order and a recount scandal. They were ok with that.

Anyway, I digress. The point is, I’m going to D.C. I’m actually on the bus RIGHT NOW. I brought a video camera, and a few ironic signs. I’m hoping to blend in and become one of the frothing morons this weekend so that I can capture some juicy video clips. I will, of course, upload all of these videos. I hope, of course, to return with some interesting stories to write about.

Hello again, dear readers. I apologize for my prolonged absence. I arrived in New York wide-eyed and hungry for life experience, but as soon as I started work at my school I was constantly exhausted. I did not originally plan to work at a school that had kids stay overnight for the week which required me to stay on the clock 18 hours a day. Alas, that job is over and now I’m working in Manhattan instead of the Bronx. I’m very pleased with the change: for starters, I’m not running this whole shindig anymore. Instead I’m just teaching a class which is what I wanted to do all along. It’s also a 9 to 5 schedule which allows me to sip some scotch and write from time to time.

My first day was a painful reminder that eight-year-olds are a tiring breed of child. Furthermore, 8 eight-year-olds are downright exhausting…

I arrive in the morning after tracking down a cup of coffee. 6am alarm clocks have never been my thing. The director of the campus seems like a nice guy: my age, a distinct “camp” personality. After sitting in the lounge area greeting kids as they arrive nervous and unsure what to expect, I meet the first of my eight students. Kevin defines ‘jew’ like I never knew a child could. He’s hilarious, very theatrical, speaks like an adult and makes bad jokes he knows are bad and then laughs at them with a fake elongated chuckle. It takes me 5 minutes of conversation before concluding that he will be my favorite. It took another 5 minutes to completely reverse that position.

I’m summoned to the check-in table because another of my group has arrived. This one’s mother asks to speak with me and explains that her son, Brandon, is very shy. It will take him a while to adjust, and feel comfortable around other kids. “Not a problem!” I proclaim with that cheesy confidence I exude around parents. It’s quite possible that it will be a problem, but why make them worry? On the walk back to the lounge I ask the same customary questions I asked of Kevin: how old are you? What grade are you in? Where are you from? Do you like videogames? All of these were answered in mumbles. Brandon is a very shy boy. Brandon is African-American.

“Kevin, meet Brandon. He’s also in our class this week. He’s eight years old, going into fourth grade, and really likes Pokemon. If I’m not mistaken, you two have a lot in common. You’re practically doubles!”

“Well, yes except for the skin color of course. Did you know that white people used to think that black people were slaves?”

Flabbergasted. What the fuck, Kevin? This is how you make a first impression now? What happened to your comedic charm? Kevin is staring intently at Brandon awaiting a reply. Brandon, I think, is about as shocked as I am so I quickly fill in.

“Yes, well, luckily we have advanced as a society so that all of us are equal!”

“Eh… to an extent….”

Shut the fuck up, Kevin. While you’re right that my reply has no nuance, this is hardly an 8-year-old’s normal cup of tea. Can’t we talk about Pokemon and World of Warcraft some more? I change the topics and hope that we haven’t done irreparable harm to Brandon’s ability to acclimate. Andrew then arrives. He’s a bigger kid, asian, and all the other instructors exchange a knowing glance when his name is mentioned. Apparently he’s a trouble maker. I return to the group to see Brandon holed up in a chair while Andrew is leaning in too close for comfort.

“…aren’t you going to say anything? You have to speak up or else people won’t like you and think you’re weird!”

“Brandon would you like to come over here and meet one of our other instructors?!”

Jesus christ. I forgot how unfiltered little kids are. The rest of them arrived mostly without a hitch. The one girl in my class being the one exception: she is a compulsive toucher. She’s has to be touching something at all times. Most of the time this was my hand, arm, finger, belt loop, pocket, or shoulder. This is hard for me because I am unaccustomed to that level of affection from, well, anyone. And especially from some little girl I don’t know. The rest of my week was spent finding creative new ways to distract her into hanging onto Kevin, which was always funny.

And that was that. Friday came and went, all the kids had a great time, and at 6pm I drank a glass of whiskey and breathed my first sigh of relief. Tonight I’m seeing Adam in concert in New Jersey with my mom and a gaggle of her old friends she grew up with. Tomorrow I have a brand new set of kids that will undoubtedly horrify and amaze me.

I woke this morning bleary-eyed, clocking only 3 hours of sleep for the night. It’s six in the morning and my father is anxiously wrapping his knuckles on my door. See, it’s 2 hours until my flight leaves which means it’s just about time for my dad to become a nervous wreck about missing the flight. I chose Wednesday morning for my flight because that’s typically when the least amount of people will be traveling. We live 20 minutes from the airport. Do the math: we’ve got plenty of time.

I sit in bed for a little bit letting it sink in. Goodbye California. I stumble into the shower and proceed to not bathe. I just stand there letting the water cascade against my back for a little while. Finally, I’m lathering and rinsing and doing all that must be done in a shower.

I do some last minute packing and reordering. I cannot for the LIFE of me find my Nintendo DS. This will make for a boring flight. WHAT WILL I DO IF I CAN’T INTERACT WITH AN INANIMATE OBJECT FOR FIVE HOURS?! This frantic search for the DS almost consumes my morning, much to the dismay of the other resident of the house, Amy, who has put forth the effort to make some home-made bread and coffee for the occasion (sorry Amy, I did appreciate it. Thanks). It’s nearing 7am, which means my Dad is nearly manic at this point. He’s injecting hints as to the time and desperate need for our departure, but he’s trying to temper it by at least sounding at ease. Unfortunately the frequency of these friendly reminders betrays an acute fear of missing the flight. After Amy and I torture him for a few more minutes by exchanging proposals for exactly how to completely unpack and repack my suitcase, I submit. Alright dad, we’re going. At the last minute, I roar in triumph: I found my DS! This plane trip is saved!

Despite her repeat warnings at the possibility for water works, Amy maintains her composure. Whether she got misty-eyed once she was safely behind the front door is a mystery. Dad and I joke and talk during the ride. Somehow I’ve managed to get “Everybody Hurts” by R.E.M. stuck in my head ever since my shower this morning and I’m torturing him with intermittent karaoke renditions of the chorus. I always suspect that when one has a song stuck in their head that they haven’t heard for years, there is some latent subconscious reason. Honestly, though, I’m not hurting and “everybody hurts sometimes” is such a tautology that I’m shocked it became a hit song. It’s like singing “Sometimes we get sleepy” and parlaying that into a platinum single. Take note, Adam.

I get to the airport at exactly 7:00am and by 7:18 I’m standing by the gate. Neil – 1, Dad – 0. That’s when it hits me: I forgot my fucking iPod. Doom. If there is a crying baby on this flight we’re all gonna die. I radio the bad news to Dad with an address he can ship it to.

On the plane I’m directed to seat 22E. What the hell? I bought this ticket 4 months ago and JetBlue offered me my choice of seat. I chose 6A, gleeful with the knowledge that I will be happily seated towards the front of the plane, with a window so that I may observe the fabled Flyover States I’ll likely never visit. Now I’m in the back of the plane sandwiched between some jackass with every Eagles album ever made on his iPod and some other guy who slept the whole way. He was alright.

I soon discover that everyone has live TV built into the seat they’re facing and that’s just great. No iPod necessary, I guess. I plug my headphones in to listen to… static. The headphone jack is broken on my seat. Grand. Whitenoise vs. hundreds people jostling, breathing, crying, snoring etc. Tough pick. Once we’re in the air the guy to my left promptly falls asleep as I lean over to plug my headphones into his TV. The other guy eyes me suspiciously before I make a show of glancing at his iPod and proclaiming “On The Run. Great album!” and flashing a thumbs up which seems to mollify him. Eagles fans are so easy to manipulate. How do you think that band has clung like a barnacle for so long?

And then I fall asleep. I wake with an hour left on the flight and flip through TV for the remainder. It was a bit tedious: every time I flipped Sleeping Man’s TV, I had to change to the same channel on my TV so that I wasn’t invading his space. But I got through it and once again justified my choice to never watch TV. It’s trash. Ironically, not once during the plane ride did I reach for my DS. And my fevered search for it is the reason my iPod was left behind. Oh, Fate! You torture me so!

We land and I proceed to baggage claim. I grab a Rolling Stone on the way because Adam’s on the cover, lips slightly apart doing his best “Which of your kids am I going to defile? Son or daughter?” face. I read the article while waiting for the baggage to arrive and my driver, sent by 20/20 is wandering around with a sign raised high that reads “LAMBERT”. Very subtle. Some hushed whispers elicit from the gaggle of girls behind me and I realize I’m very obviously telling everyone we’re related and put it away.

The 20/20 interview was great. The woman who organized the whole thing is my kind of person. Salty and sarcastic with a mouth that isn’t shy towards strangers. We’re immediately comfortable with each other. The interview mostly focused on the recent revelation that Adam is gay. Huge surprise, America, I know. Then it’s over.

I talk to my mom and we agree that we both suffer the same symptom in interviews: we ramble. She notes that Adam never rambles and I posit a guess. The dynamic towards him in interviews is different. Reporters want to know everything and he controls access to information as he sees fit. Therefore in interviews you see Adam give succinct, witty responses. My mom and I are just greedy famewhores desperate for every second in the limelight. So we sit there and ramble, desperate for every crumb of information with which to make a trail for the interviewer. It’s pathetic really, but that’s how it is. We aren’t pathetic people, we just like validation. Nothing wrong with that.

I take a car to Brooklyn and hang out with my friends for the rest of the evening. It’s grand. I’m so happy to be here and excited to be with them again. Everyone drops off to bed one at a time until I’m left here on the couch. I’m jetlagged and writing this up. It feels good to write again. I’m excited to have many things to talk about. Ideas are bubbling in my head. What should I turn negativeneil into? I’m thinking there should be a video component involved. I’ve got 2 weeks to explore the city before I start working. But tomorrow I’m not doing a damn thing: my new Macbook will arrive in the mail and I will undoubtedly play with it for the day. I’m a sucker for new nerd-toys.

Ah, the blissful regularity of life has returned. No more flying at 9am and returning at midnight. No more must I tremble with rage during commercial breaks on set while “Corey” riles up the crowd with stale jokes and horrible delivery.

Yes, regularity is what I’ve needed and I’ve been eating a bunch of Santa Cruz fiber. After all the craziness of Idol I really needed time with friends and– OH FUCK I’M MOVING!

Well, this week is progressing way too quickly. I have exactly 7 days before I move and I’ve literally done nothing except make a To-Do list that I have no intention of adhering to. Yesterday I walked along the beach and got all sentimental instead of packing. Today I woke up in a haze and made invites for my going-away party. I rock climb in an hour and have dinner with an old friend.

It just doesn’t feel as if I’m leaving. It’s strange: I’ve spent months in anticipation for this big life changing event and now that it is soon to occur I’m defiant.

On the plus side, I can finally begin to do stuff again. I don’t have a job to sap my creativity and I do have plenty to talk about in the coming weeks. I’m very excited about teaching again and being around kids. They’re fun and weird, fearless and uncensored. Which is approximately what I am except for the fearlessness part.

So officially, welcome back to Negative Neil.

Alas, dear readers, the end is nigh. This week marks the end of American Idol and my self-imposed moratorium on making new negativeneil posts ends.

Soon there will be many things to be negative about. Frankly, I’m a bit troubled as of late at my mood.

I quit my job! My horrible, soul-rending job! At least the people I worked with were really cool, but that job had to end.

I feel… saturated by familial bonding, fraternal pride, and such. It’s hampering my ability to bitch or moan about anything.

The American Idol finale also happens to mark the 3-week countdown to leaving California for New York. I hope that during this time I spend some time as a quivering introspective maniac hell-bent on finding meaning in the life I’m leaving behind. I also hope that such manic soul searching finds it’s way onto this site.

So, I guess what I have to say is hang tight if you do indeed still read this page. I will be back in full force very shortly.

Also, I installed a spam filter after some bots nailed one of the posts with 500 comments in one night. So far it says it has blocked 2,000 spam comments. This seems a bit high so if anyone got their comment blocked unwittingly, I apologize.

Stay tuned…

No, I’m not dead and I didn’t shut it down and change my mind. I guess there were just hiccups at my hosting company. I am taking a break, though. I’m very tired: I’ve been waterboarding Sean Hannity for 3 days now.

This week I managed to quell the urge to post here for a variety of reasons.

Mostly, I was hoping the Idol fervor would die down a bit and I wouldn’t feel all self-conscious about what I wrote. I’ve been reading the sites that are linking here and it seems like more than a few of you figured I’d get freaked out eventually. It took 5 days, so if you had a pool going it’s time to collect.

It has subsided a bit, but I’m still a bit weirded out. I guess it’s what I deserve for half-jokingly wishing for riding some coattails. I think it’s bottomed out as much as it’s going to. I considered disabling comments, but I actually appreciate some of them. The generic “came for Adam, stayed for Neil!” comments I’m just going to delete from now on since it’s repetitive. But if you’ve got something to say about the subject matter, by all means!

I’ve received a few comments and emails from people who were offended by this or that and hoped that “Adam doesn’t share these opinions.” So let me be perfectly clear: this is a public blog. I don’t care if you read it and hate it. I care a bit more if you read it and like it because who doesn’t like a pat on the back once in a while?

But this is not a blog about Adam Lambert. It is not a blog about being Adam Lambert’s brother (except sometimes). It’s a blog where I complain about things I find funny or stupid. Sometimes I wax philosophic or political, or whatever comes to mind in my day-to-day life. If you want to be negative too, have at it. Like this guy. That’s my favorite comment so far even though 80% of it is false conjecture, at least it’s funny and bitchy.

That said, let’s address some themes I’ve seen in comments/emails:

Dear Neil, you’re an asshole because you insulted fat people.

I don’t care that you’re fat. I also didn’t insult “fat people”. If you check the post, I referred to them as “morbidly obese”. This term is used for people who’s size is actually a threat to their lives if left unchecked. If you are morbidly obese, please make some changes in your life. Furthermore, I didn’t say that fat people shouldn’t have sex, I said I couldn’t imagine having sex if I were fat. This is likely due to having never been fat and having no concept of how I would move with an extra 100 lbs. of blubber surrounding my frame. Let’s be frank here: I’m already probably pretty underwhelming to sleep with. Adding quite literally a whole other person’s weight to my frame and further restricting my movement, stamina, etc. probably wouldn’t help in the least. See that? That was self-deprecating humor. There’s a lot of that around here, so rest assured that I’m not sitting in an ivory tower.

Furthermore, I was trying to be funny so lighten up. I don’t care if you’re a BIG BEAUTIFUL WOMAN which, by the way, is a moniker I’m willing to bet is only employed by Big Big Women. I’m glad that you have a “healthy sex life”, though I think throwing the word “healthy” in there is pretty misleading. There’s nothing healthy about being 400 lbs. Which is, by the way, the figure I cited in the post. 

Dear Neil, I completely agree with all that whining you did about Politics. I, too, think that Obama is an evil librul fascist SECRET MUSLIM.

How some of you got the impression that I was anything but liberal is beyond me, but please do not interpret my general misgivings about a new Democratic administration to mean that I’m totally with you in thinking Barack Obama is a secret Muslim. What the fuck is wrong with you? This viewpoint is so appallingly stupid that I’m left in one of those rare moments where I can’t find the words to express how little worth you possess. 

Dear Neil, I would like to follow you on Twitter / be your facebook friend. 

I should have said this last week, but I didn’t. It’s nothing personal to any of you, but please understand that I get a bunch of these per day and I’d really like to keep the twitter/facebook stuff private. It’s not an elitism thing, it’s just that we simply have nothing to talk about and you want to follow/friend me because of Adam. That’s fine, I’m sure he appreciates the support, but there’s a reason Idol doesn’t allow him to use social networking sites while on the show (privacy, access), and I presume the same standard should apply to me.

Again, let me be perfectly clear: thank you for visiting this site. It is public for a reason and I invite anyone to come on here and comment on the posts. Thank you for supporting Adam, I really hope he succeeds with your support. Please do not conflate these two statements into thinking you should come on here to support Adam. 

Ok! Now that that is out of the way, I’ll get back to writing barely humorous tripe about my life! 

Also, from now on, I’ll confine my combative responses to commentary to the comments section itself.