Archive for the ‘ I Hate Me ’ Category

I Hate Me, Part 143,990

When I was about twenty I shared a house with a bunch of people. We rented from a guy who sublet it from someone else. It was a big old house in Highlands NJ and I lived there for about a year and a half. When one of my roommates pulled a gun on another roommate over a parking spot I knew it was time to go. I was there for a few more weeks after that and towards the end we ran out of heating oil. It was winter and we were right up near the water so it was pretty cold. The guy who had the heating oil account was in Florida and the rest of us had no money so we were kind of fucked. About the second day of no heat and after a day of drinking, a couple of us decided that we should burn some of the furniture in the living room fireplace. So we broke up an end table and a recliner and started a fire. Unfortunately the furniture was rather cheapish and had a good deal of plastic in it. The end table had a woodtone plastic veneer and the recliner had a lot of synthetic material in it from the foam cushions to the pleather upholstery. Now not burning plastic and foam should be common knowledge to any idiot, but a drunken idiot is a little more stupid. So we got the fire started and there was these horrible fumes coming from melting plastic in the fireplace. Instead of putting it out we just opened the windows and doors, defeating the purpose of the warmth of the fire but probably saving our worthless lives. So by the end of the night I was freezing, drunk and had a horrible headache. The next day we ditched the furniture bones and got rid of as much of the melted plastic as possible. No one ever said anything and I moved out about a week later

I Hate Me, Part 241,893

not for amateurs

not for amateurs

I was on my own for dinner and near Whole Foods so I thought I should eat something healthy and I went in for a salad. Without putting too fine a point on it, I’m not the healthiest eating guy around but I’m trying (pause for Oprah moment). Whole Foods has real good food but they’re very expensive, also they make you feel like you’re not doing enough for the planet, “[a sign saying] Are you recycling the ink from the labels from the cans you’re recycling? If not why not” and sometimes they’re a bit self congratulatory “[another sign] this ice cream is made from renewable ice.” But like I said their food is real good and the salad bar is top notch. So I grab a take out box (recycled material of course) and start shoveling in the salad; baby spinach, fetal spinach, onions, carrots. Then a problem, the smaller the “salad fixins” the larger the tongs. I’m trying to grab soy beans with tongs you’d flip a steak with and the beans are flying everywhere, into the beats, the curried celery, the shaved balsamic figs and I’m starting to get the stink eye from the other salad denizens. I threw some chicken on my salad and headed to the “dressing corral”. There was a bunch of spilled blue cheese dressing that of course unbeknown to me wound up on my shirt. “Excuse me sir, it looks like you have some dressing on your shirt.” It wasn’t just some, it looked like the bottom of my shirt was made of Blue cheese dressing. I got that taken care of and went back for some dressing.   As I was reaching over for a bottle of carrot ginger vinaigrette my giant ham-like hand knocked over the glass bottle of olive oil. (a side note: I’d like to state that I have an unparalleled record as a life long clod, when I was a child it was said I could trip over smoke.)  So the olive oil is falling in what seems like slow motion and I make a grab for it spilling some of my salad. The bottle shattered and went all over the place, oil, giant shards of glass, it was a mess. They sent out a HazMat team to clean everything up and I slunk away with a half assed salad.

I Hate Me, Part. 397,164

not me or anyone I know

not me or anyone I know

When I go to a Dunkin’ Donuts that I haven’t been to before, sometimes I’ll drive around to the back thinking there’s a drive through.  More times than not there isn’t and I’ll almost hit a dumpster or a parked car. Then I’ll be too embarrassed to go inside and I’ll go somewhere else for coffee.

I Hate Me, Part. 245,309

I know that the driving test scenario has an old and hackneyed tradition, so let me add to that.
I had my learners permit for a while but didn’t drive much. My father was the only person I had a chance to drive with. We went out once, we got into a fight and I walked home. So outside of high school drivers ed I had close to zero driving experience, and my test was coming up quickly. Enter Russ, he was a few years older than me and my friends. He worked on cars in his yard and we helped. By helping I mean handing him wrong sized wrenches and cleaning up. He was nice enough to take me for a test in his car. His car was a 1970 two door Nova. It was a six cylinder with a lettuce green paint job and a broccoli colored vinyl roof. He made it up to look like a muscle car; big tires, jacked up suspension, loud muffler. I drove it once before the test in the Sears parking lot and I stalled out a lot, which was difficult since it was an automatic. The big day came and I was a wreck, under confidence is one of my superpowers. The drive there was a blur with Russ re-telling me all the vagaries of the car. I didn’t hear a word, it sounded like a dog barking. We got to the test course and we were third in line, then second, then… Showtime. I got into the driver seat, a no nonsense instructor got in and “ok, start the car”. I went to start the car and broke the key off in the ignition. I was frozen with half a key in my hand, “start the car.” I mutely showed him the half a key. We got out of the car and Russ gave me a what-the-fuck look. Luckily Russ had a spare key and in what seemed like hours later got the broken part of the key out of the ignition with a pair of pliers. He handed me the good key, “Don’t fuck this up, it’s my last goddamned key.” Because of my key disaster the test line is now ten cars back, no one’s happy least of all me. I’m looking for ways out (If I feign a seizure of some sort, run into the woods, maybe the car will just blow-up). “Ok, let’s try this again shall we Mr. Cronin.” I started the car up successfully (alright, here we go) and I put it in reverse. I drove maybe a yard backwards when the instructor reached over and threw the shifter into park, “This test is over, get out!” I hadn’t even gotten past the start line. Russ didn’t say a word on the way home, he just blasted Foghat-Live. This was fine with me, I felt like I was made of stone and the last thing I wanted to do was talk.

I Hate Me, Part. 131,908

Sony tape recorder

Sony tape recorder

It was 1984 and I was in the process of being expelled from Rutgers, Newark. My 0.1 GPA wasn’t cutting any ice with the powers that be and I pretty much stopped giving a shit. I was hanging out at the school radio station a lot. Well radio station is kind of a misnomer, the music we played was pumped into the study halls and rumor had it that it was on cable. I had a radio show “Better Living through Noise” punk fuckin’ rock, two hundred songs in two hours. Through the station and the school newspaper I got tickets to see Black Flag, The Meatpuppets, and Nig-Heist at the Reggae Lounge. The only catch was that I had to interview Henry Rollins. I had nothing against Rollins, even though I was a Dez Cadena man myself. I just wanted to go to the show and get drunk and not worry about anything else, but free tickets were free tickets. My only problem was that I didn’t have a tape recorder, my parents had one that was a proto-boombox and was about the size of a suitcase. I thought I’d just write it down on a pad of paper like a real reporter would. A friend pointed out the shear idiocy of that move so I went to plan C. My friend Joe had a tape recorder, it was an old Sony, flat and about the size of a shoebox with a plug-in mike. Joe’s musical tastes ran to ZZ Top and Styx but he was up for it. I had suggested that Joe wear just t-shirt and jeans, he opted for cords, a satin shirt and a Members Only jacket. We got there late and missed Nig-Heist and The Meatpuppets. Black Flag was real good. After the show we made our way back to the dressing room, we got in and everybody (12-15 band members and friends) just stopped and stared at us. Hours passed. Rollins came up to us and was very cool, “Hey man, we got two shows tonight. One here and one in Connecticut, so I really can’t talk too much.” I stammered a few standard dumbass questions, “How’s the tour?”, “How’s touring with the Meatpuppets?” All the while Joe is sticking the microphone into our faces to get every word. After a few minutes Rollins looked at the tape recorder, “Hey man, that thing ain’t on, I gotta go.” The drive home was silent and I made up a short interview making sure I didn’t sound like a jackass.


I think this happened in ’93, Monster Magnet was playing in Seattle at the Rock Candy. It was about two hours before showtime and Jon Kleiman and I were hanging outside. Ben Shepherd the bassist from Soundgarden pulled up in an old ford and Jon and I went over to talk to him. Jon knew him from a tour they did a couple of years before, I met him a few times and he was cool. He said we should get in the car because he wanted to show us something. Being idiots, we did and he drove off really fast. I’m fucking kidnapping you guys and taking you back to Bainbridge Island, it’ll be cool Dave (Wyndorf) will shit himself.” I had a horrible vision of Jon and I missing the show and me being fired, Jon thought the same and we were both a little nervous. Yeah Ben, it’s sounds funny and all but uh…we’re gonna get in a lot of trouble if we miss the show.” He’s now about ten blocks from the club and I see my future as a lighting guy vanishing by the second. “No, it’ll be fuckin’ funny, really.” “Look man, I’m gonna get fuckin’ fired, Dave ain’t gonna think this is funny.” He stopped short in the middle of the road turned to us and hissed “Get the fuck outta my car you pussies.” We walked the twelve or so blocks back to the club and I haven’t seen Ben since.

I Hate Me, Part 231,091


a dwarve, Mr. Cannotbenamed

The Dwarves record “Toolin’ For a Warm Teabag” (1988?) was kind of a big deal for me and some of my friends. It was noisy, fucked up, and mean spirited. Looking back, I’m sure Dwarves were playing it for a laugh but that was pre-internet and there was no info about them, just vague rumors of debauchery and great live shows. So I was pretty psyched when I found out they were playing CBGB’s. A few of us went up to see the show and we were anticipating an insane, no-holds barred punk rock spectacle. About ten minutes before they were supposed to play I went to the bathroom. I didn’t go to the one in CB’s which besides being legendarily disgusting was usually under half an inch of fetid water. I went next door to the CBGB Gallery which was a lot cleaner, took a piss and went back. I couldn’t have been more than five minutes. When I got back my friend Jim gave me a Whatthefuck?! look and told me I missed the greatest show he’d ever seen. Seconds after I walked out the front door the Dwarves got on stage and started playing. Halfway through the first song, Blag Dahlia the singer launched himself into the drum kit completely decimating it. The pissed off drummer started throwing his drums at Blag, the drums missed him but wound up in the crowd. There was some punches thrown, a bunch of shoving and everyone left the stage. Total show time, three minutes. I thought Jim was fucking with me until I saw various Dwarves picking up drum parts from where the audience was. That show took on somewhat mythical proportions, and I was reminded of it often, “Well you missed that fucking Dwarves show. That was the best show ever, by anybody. I can’t believe you fucking missed it to take a piss, you asshole.” I saw the Dwarves a few years later and they played about 20-25 minutes, which was way to long. Maybe three minutes was the right set length for them.