Shattering Labels

I have an amusing, perhaps ridiculous, last name. Names are our most defining characteristic. It’s given to us when we are born and unless you undergo some sort of legal process it stays with you until it’s etched on your tombstone, urn, or whatever when you pass.

We go through life with our name as our stamp. You put it on the top of every paper you write throughout school. It’s the first line on your college applications. I hope it’s the first line on your resume - if not, that might explain why you’re unemployed. It’s right there when you file your taxes. When you introduce yourself, it’s what you say.

Our second most defining characteristic is our age. People may try to hide from it, others may revel in it (my neighbor has a kid who proudly pronounces that he is “8 and a half” whenever he sees me). It’s an indication of our passing of years. Some try to claim it’s an indication of wisdom. It is not. It’s just a number.

So we have our name and our age. That’s who we are. And it certainly is enough to distinguish people from one another. I ask any of my friends if they would ever get confused if someone said “Do you know the 36 year old Ravi Pimplaskar?” 

“Which one?”

People choose to individualize themselves further. They get tattoos or piercings. Or make certain fashion choices. This is how we express ourselves. It’s making a statement. People may interpret that statement differently. But that’s what makes personal statements so great - they are open to interpretation. 

But that doesn’t define us. It’s an expression of what we are - what we do. Saying “She’s the gal with the tattoo” tells you nothing about that particular person. If it does, you are stretching and jumping to conclusions.

People also choose to identify with different things. My heritage is Indian. I root for (mostly) teams from Pittsburgh. I am a Democrat (likely socialist). I have a blog with my name on it. These associations are how we have chosen to relate. People may choose to feel about certain associations differently. But that’s what makes associations so great - they are susceptible to feelings.

But these associations don’t define us. It’s simply proof of being a living, breathing individual. Saying “He’s the socialist who roots for the Steelers” shouldn’t tell you how you feel about that person one way or another.

I base my life on human interaction. I care about your name because that’s what I want to call you. I don’t care about anything else. You be who you want to be. I’ll be who I am. Free of judgment. 

That’s how I want to live life. 

The Coming Out Party

I am gay.

This is me coming out because I don’t want to go home with a random female.

I am gay.

This is me coming out because I think a marriage contract is about legality not about love.

I am gay.

This is me coming out because society doesn’t believe that true love exists.

I am gay. 

This is me coming out because I don’t care what you think.

I am gay.

This is me coming out because if saying "I am straight" means I am part of the majority - I would rather not.

I am gay.

This is me coming out and saying, if the world won't accept who we love, then it really doesn't matter who we are.

I am happy. Because if you have read this far, it's because life isn't about judgment.

I am Ravi. Who are you? 

Rapture Dos and Don'ts

It was pointed out to me a few days ago that the world is supposed to end on Saturday. My first reaction was “Cool - I don’t have to pay my bills this month!”  However, while I was going through the process of not paying my bills, certain other thoughts occurred to me. Like, “Why the hell did I start a new blog 2 weeks before the world was supposed to end?” ... and “Hey! Cool topic - let’s blog about the end of the world!”

For those who haven’t heard, sometime on Saturday an event called The Rapture is predicted to occur.  This was new information to me as I always assumed that Rapture was simply a song by Blondie. For those unfamiliar with the tune, Debbie Harry raps during the song about a “Man from Mars” visiting the earth and eating cars, bars, and guitars. It is pointed out during the song that if the bar has a TV on, that bar is safe. So if you believe that Blondie’s version of the event is correct, simply go to the nearest bar with a TV (make sure it’s on though) and you will be safe. I expect that this is how most of my readers spend their Saturdays anyway, so you should be good.

As scary and strange as Blondie’s “rap prediction” is, however, the real Rapture predicts events that are far more bizarre and frightening. It predicts that graves will open, “saved” souls will rise to the heavens, and the rest among us who are temporarily spared will be forced to live among disease, death, and destruction for 5 months until we are finally put out of our misery when the Earth is annihilated - which I believe is the premise for every zombie movie ever made.

So yea - that’s what we are looking forward to.

Now, it might occur to some of you that with the world coming to an imminent end, there are probably many other better things to be doing than reading a blog post. I mean think about the last time we thought the world might end - New Year’s Y2K. How bummed would you have been if you had been reading a blog post that night when - well, when nothing at all happened. That being said, this could very well be the most important blog post you’ll ever read as I aim to provide you with tips of what to do and what not to do on Saturday night. So this is my parting gift to you as we prepare for the End of World as We Know It (and I feel fine):

DON’T Tell someone you love them. I’m telling you now - don’t waste your time. The best case scenario is “I love you too”, but who cares - you won’t be around to enjoy that mutual love. Worst case scenario is they don’t tell you the same and you head into the end of world unrequited. Wait, actually worse case scenario is that you say it to someone who ends up as a zombie. And then you get chased around by a love struck zombie for 5 months.

DO Tell someone you hate them. On the flip side, what better way to celebrate everyone’s demise than telling your arch nemesis how much they suck? There’s no sense in seeking forgiveness or calling a truce when there is no tomorrow. So why not just use them to vent your end of the world frustrations? Trust me, there is only upside in this.

DON’T Visit the grocery store. Why spend money on something Saturday that will be available for free Sunday?

DO Visit your local bar. Aside from saving yourself from the possible rhyme-possessed “Man from Mars” eating you, this is a much better way of utilizing your rainy day funds. Besides, with the right amount of alcohol, you stand to forget that the Rapture even occurred Sunday morning. (“Uhhhh hey - I feel like the world ended last night....  what happened?”)

DON’T Pray for forgiveness. While it may be true that saved souls do rise to the heavens with the promise of an eventual return to earth, it’s likely too late for you. Why waste your time? Besides, this earth is going to be annihilated in 5 months. Do you really want to take your chances with this “new earth”? The rest of those “saved souls” probably aren’t all that much fun anyway.

DO Streak Naked. While this suggestion is partly because there are some of you I would like to see naked, it also is because Saturday night might be the last time you have the option to streak naked without the possibility of getting eaten by a zombie.

DON’T Worry where your friends and family are. If there is ever a time to live in the present and not the past or future, it’ll be Saturday night. Is mom calling on the phone? Hit ignore. No time for chit chat with Mom when you’re trying to make the most of your last few moments.

DO Eat pop rocks and drink coke at the same time. The Rapture thing isn’t a myth, so why not see what other myths might be true? If your stomach explodes, who cares - you’re only living 5 more months anyway. 

And with that, I wish you all well this Saturday night. If you have other tips for the readers, feel free to include them in the comments section below. I can be reached directly until Saturday night at pimplaskin@gmail.com. Oh, and just so you all know - I hate you. 

Rocky Means What He Says (or Does) Too

I mentioned in my inaugural post that my dog Rocky might add in his two cents occasionally on the blog. I was talking with him about my post earlier in the week, and he basically sat there and stared at me. It occurred to me that he was likely angry about the topic of my post because as a dog he probably gets misunderstood all the time. So I asked him if he “wanted to post on the blog” and he reacted the same way he does every time I ask him if he wants something. He stood up and wagged his tail. So I assumed that meant yes and handed him the computer....

jwqfrouogeriugaieldgkjskf......  Woof! That’s better.  The really need to calibrate keyboards differently for those of us with paws and no opposable thumbs. Dad is correct in that as a dog I do feel very misunderstood. Which is completely idiotic, since it’s not like there are an infinite amount of ways to interpret my behavior. I mean, I’m a dog. Usually I either I want to eat something, pee on something, or sniff something. It’s not that complicated.  But to help you all out, here is my list of things I say or do and what I actually mean:

What I Say or Do	What I Mean
“Woof.”	“Give me a treat”
“Woof!”	“Alert. Someone is here who may either want to attack us or give me a treat.”
“Awrroooo.”	“Hurry up. I have to pee on things.”
“Awrroooo!”	“Where did Daddy go? I might eventually have to pee on things and he’s not here.”
“Grrrr.”	“Stay away from my food.”
“Grrrr!”	“Alert. Someone may be too close to my food even though I hear them in the hall behind a closed locked door.”
<Peeing on a tree>	“The tree is mine now.”
<Peeing on a wall>	“The wall is mine now.”
<Peeing on anything>	“The world is mine now.”
<Sitting and Staring at you>	“Give me a treat”
<Sitting and Staring at you>	“Take me outside.”
<Sitting and Staring at you>	“I’m contemplating world domination by peeing on everything.”
<Wagging my tail>	“I’m so happy! Give me a treat.”
<Wagging my tail>	“I’m so happy! Let’s go pee on things!”
<Panting>	“I’m hot. Give me water. Or a treat.”
<Panting with ears back>	“I’m scared. Get out of my way, I need to hide in the bathtub.”
<Lying down and staring at you>	“Why aren’t you entertaining me by giving me a treat or taking me outside? You’re so boring.”
<Lying down and staring out the window>	“I will pee on that... and that...  and that...”
“ZZZZZ”	“I’m dreaming of treats.”
“ZZZZZ”	“I’m dreaming of peeing on things.”

If you want to reach me, you can email my dad at pimplaskin@gmail.com. Or message me by peeing in the vicinity. Dad will be back next week!

I Meant What I Said

As those who know me well can tell you - I am obsessed with words. Whether it's word play, sentence creations, semantics, definitions, synonyms...  I probably spend way too much time thinking about words. You might be calling me a geek right now while you are reading this, and you would be absolutely right. The definition of "geek" is: "a peculiar or otherwise odd person, especially one who is perceived to be overly obsessed with one or more things including those of intellectuality."


And the fact that I just defined "geek" for you proves my geekdom in this area.

As someone who is a word geek, I often wonder if people follow the literal meaning of what I was intending to say or write.  Recently, I used the words "I meant what I said" to validate what was intended to be kind words. It quickly became apparent from the less than gracious response that "I meant what I said" ended up being less a validation of the words I used and more a validation of the interpretation they made of them.

Remember the SATs? Sitting in a overheated classroom, armed with a number 2 pencil, surrounded by classmates madly coloring in bubbles, with the entire "this is your future" cloud over all your collective heads. You turn the page to the "Reading Comprehension" section, read the first paragraph and realize that you didn't actually "comprehend" any of it. So you read it over again.  This process will repeat itself at least 2 or 3 more times before you finally give up and move to paragraph 2 since you needed to leave yourself time to answer the 3-6 multiple choice questions at the conclusion of the passage.

In real life (and by "real life", I mean "SMS", "email" or "Facebook"), there is no multiple choice quiz nor time limit. We can simply read a passage as quickly as we want and respond however we want. This response will often be completely off-topic and irrelevant. Of course, this will result in a similarly off-topic and irrelevant response by the original "author" and so on until basically you are left with a conversation of 30 consecutive off-topic and irrelevant responses. If the SAT "Reading Comprehension" section involved shooting off an off-topic and irrelevant response rather than multiple choice questions after reading each passage, we all would have aced that section.

So combining people's low attention spans and misinterpreting what we say, it seems that we're facing an uphill battle when it comes to truly comprehending each other's intended words. As this blog is still establishing it's purpose, perhaps it's not too lofty of a goal for me to attempt to use it to better our communications.

So in the spirit of understanding each other better, I've compiled the list below of common phrases cross-referenced with their intended meaning. In some cases, you will see the literal meaning does not match the intended meaning. This is not the fault of the communicator, but rather your fault for misinterpretation of their words. You can avoid this by clipping and saving the chart below so anytime people use these phrases, you can pull it out and decipher their actual intent.

What they said	What they meant
“I’m sorry”	“It’s someone else’s fault”
“I’m really sorry”	“You are making way too big of a deal over this. It’s someone else’s fault”
“I’m really really sorry”	“Leave me the hell alone.”
“Trust me.”	“I hope you can’t hack into my cell phone and email.”
“I trust you”	“As soon as you turn around, I’m hacking into your cell phone and email”
“I’m telling you the truth.”	“You are an idiot if you are buying any of this.”
“I’m not judging you”	“You are a complete idiot.”
“I’m a huge fan.” (regarding a sports team)	“I can name 3 players on the team.”
“I’m a huge fan.” (regarding a celebrity)	“I’m a stalker.”
“I’ll have one more drink.”	“I’ll be here for awhile.”
“I love you.”	“I’m drunk.”
“No really. I love you.”	“It’s possible I just threw up.”
“I’m leaving now.”	“I haven’t even jumped in the shower yet.”
“I’ll be over shortly”	“Feel free to watch the entire Godfather trilogy.”
“I’m on my way.”	“I’m not coming.”
“Can I borrow $1?”	“Can I have $1?”
“I’ll pay you back.”	“I’m secretly hoping you forget about this.”
“I was just thinking about you.”	“I totally forgot who you were until a second ago.”
“I was just going to call you.”	“I deleted your number off my phone.”
“I’m crazy busy.”	“I spent the last 3 hours on Facebook.”
“I’m heading to the gym.”	“I’m heading to the gym only if there is nothing good on TV, such as an old ‘Saved by the Bell” episode which I’ve seen 27 times already.”
“I’m looking forward to seeing you.”	“I’m already thinking of excuses to break our plans.”
“I had a great time. Let’s do this again soon.”	“I’m never calling you again.”
“I heard you.”	“I’m not paying any attention whatsoever.”
“I’m listening.”	“I’m listening to something other than you.”
“I meant what I said.”	“My words have no meaning.”

Have any additions to our list? Please add to the comments section below. If you have anything you want commentary or advice on, please send to pimplaskin@gmail.com. Be back again later in the week! 

Dreams of Football, Blowfish, and Oliver from the Brady Bunch

There are two ways you can interpret dreams. The first is to analyze each detail and try and tie it to some behavior in your life and then come to some ridiculous conclusion. Like how the dream is telling you that you need to drink more juice or that you need to visit your mother. 

The second way is to look at the entire dream, spend a second trying to remember if anyone was naked, chuckle, and then go on with your day. 

Last night I had an odd one - I was playing in an important football game. On the penultimate play I was heading onto the field to play halfback. We were facing 4th and 1, up by 2, with only a few minutes left on the clock. One problem - I had no idea if I was supposed to get the ball on the play.

As I waited for the snap, I figured I would just wing it and if the QB gave me the ball I'd keep running. The ball instead went to some mid 40s bald white guy with a mustache who was playing fullback. I tried to make a block, but I realized the defender was a female wearing a long white dress. As I normally would when faced with a female wearing what potentially could be a wedding gown, I ran the other way.

Not to be deterred, the fullback blasted over the woman in the dress and ran down the field before doing an interpretive modern dance between the 20 yard line and the end zone. The dance succeeded in running the remaining time off the clock and allowed our team to claim victory. It was a big moment.

If you were to interpret this, you might point to details such as me not knowing the play, attempting to make it up as I went along, and then running away when I had the chance to do something. You could then come to the conclusion that this means I pay little attention to things, live life by the seat of my pants and run away from potential opportunities while others get the glory. Maybe we could be completely literal and say that an interpretive dance class would be one way for me to seize the opportunity of life.

Or we could simply conclude that it's unfortunate that neither the girl in the white dress or the fullback were naked (depending on your taste) and move on.

In college, I had a recurring dream where a overgrown blowfish used to try to make out with me. I'd use every maneuver in the book to get away, but it always persisted. Some fish just never get the hint. One of my over-exuberant female friends came to the conclusion that the fish represented a girl in my life. She was convinced that I should give the fish a chance in my dreams or I would risk never finding out who the fish represented. Not making out with the fish in her mind could possibly lead to missing out on the love of my life. Myself, on the other hand, simply thought it was weird to make out with a fish.

Plus - the fish wasn't naked. It was wearing a tutu.

Generally, I would rather quickly process a dream and move on. However, I do know many people who analyze and overanalyze their dreams. They tell their therapists about it, fortune tellers, their dog, their taxi cab driver, the old woman sitting alone in the subway, a wooden spoon....  anyone. Which is why I shouldn't be surprised that one of the first "Pimplaskin" requests I got was to interpret a dream:

So I have a recurring dream about the Brady Bunch.  See, I am perhaps the world's most knowledgeable Brady Bunch fan.  In my dream, I am a member of the Brady family.  And then that little prick cousin Oliver comes to live with us.  I always thought he ruined the show.  As the dream continues, he spills ketchup on my white t-shirt. I proceed to beat the living crap out of him.  Then I end up in Mike's den and am being lectured, by way of meaningless cliches, by Mike and Carol.  Just before I am handed out a punishment, I wake up, Every time. What the f does this mean?

I'm not a big Brady Bunch fan. I've seen enough to know that many of the show's episodes were focused on family squabbles. So, it stands to reason that in this dream, you are not only a member of the family, but also part of an episode. As the self-proclaimed "worlds most knowledgeable" fan, we know a couple things. First, you are a loser with few friends. Second, you feel the need to brag about your Brady knowledge which makes you a loser with few friends.

Now, as the episode goes along you realize a few things are amiss. First, Oliver is there. Which means you are stuck in the final season of the show. Your life as a Brady will quickly come to an end (apart from reunions of course). Second, you are wearing a white t-shirt. This has to make you angry since the Brady boys were always dressed in vintage trimmed tees or disco shirts. As the "world's most knowledgeable" fan, to show up dressed like you should be a cast member of Grease is embarrassing. So you are sitting there seething that your favorite show is ending and that you are dressed like you are about to watch the T-Birds race Grease Lightning against the Scorpions rather then belt out "It's a Sunshine Day" with Peter and Bobby....

When Oliver, that PRICK Oliver, pours ketchup on you.

Now, admit it - when this happened in your dream, there was canned laughter. There was always canned laughter. And this pushes you over the top because while you were the idiot dressed like you should have been going to Rydell High, the canned audience thinks Oliver is hilarious. And all of a sudden you realize that YOU are the one ruining the show. So not only have you fouled up your own life, you now have fouled up the Brady Bunch! As you sit there listening to Mike's cliches, this sorry realization hits you. And the reason you wake up before you get your punishment is because waking up IS your punishment. You aren't a Brady. You are simply a loser with few friends.

And the worst part about it, no one appears to be naked in this dream. Depending on your taste, next time you might as well have the Brady of your choice show up naked. That might make you feel better when you wake up. Oh, and also make sure you aren't wearing that ridiculous white t-shirt.

Sweet Dreams all. Unless you are reading this at work. Then perhaps you should stay awake. Please send your submissions to pimplaskin@gmail.com.  Until next time...

This is how it begins....

Once upon a time - what a fricking useless that statement is. First of all, if you are writing a story, it clearly happened during a "time". Starting anything with those words is blatantly being cliche as a writer. And I realize that I started with those words. So I should warn you - I may sometimes be cliche.

Secondly, time is forever. Past, present or future. If forever are your limitations, saying "Once upon a time" isn't really offering anything to the reader. So let’s talk about that “forever” capacity. We can easily say something like “that was the best or worst dinner ever". These are classifications you hear every day - you may even be using them right now (i.e. "this is the worst blog ever!").

So what does "ever" really mean? I will submit myself to the humiliation of being the guinea pig to my own experiment.

Best Dinner Ever:

I'm partial to my family's Thanksgiving dinners. Always repeated never imitated. Sometimes stuffing contests happen (those are about the tasting best stuffing, not stuffing of.... nevermind). The crowd changes year to year, but I don't think anyone ever leaves disappointed. At least no one has flicked me off at the end of it. And as much as I love Thanksgivings with the family, it may say a lot about the human condition that the "best" seems to be where no one leaves cussing someone else out (and I realize that some readers may have been cussed out at their last Thanksgiving dinner - and to those people, I just want to let you know that you deserved it. Seriously. Jerk.)

Hypothetically, for most men, the best dinner ever would involve someone, ummm...  let's just say pleasuring during. And after, you left to a standing ovation. If I were to get greedy, the dinner would consist of chicken wings, with a side of chicken wings, and a dessert of chicken wings. All served by adoring women chanting my name.... while topless.

That would be the best... Unless it happened at Thanksgiving.

Worst Dinner Ever:

I went on a first date with a girl I was obsessed with. It was a huge night for me - my chance to tell her how awesome she was and show how frickin Pimplaskin I was. Well, I told her how much I wanted to be with her. She spent the first half of the dinner telling me every reason why we couldn’t be together. Nobody said a word during the second half. I didn’t eat a bite. She got her dinner to go. We had a 30 minute ride in mostly silence until she tried to comment on the weather. I turned up the volume on the radio to drown her out.

Oh yea. I married that girl.

Oh. I also divorced her.

So the best can be the worst. And the worst can also be the best - and then also maybe the worst. In reality, extremes really don't exist... for the most part, we are in between.

So this blog isn't about a best or worst. It's not about a stop or start. There is no definition. It's about in between. It's about Pimplaskin. Which means the best ever can also be the worst ever, and the worst ever might not be that bad, and that it really doesn't matter because we are all just trying to be the best we can and put a smile on someone else's face. For me - I hope that smile is yours.

OK - before we go too far, the definition of "Pimp" is:

A pimp is an agent for prostitutes who collects a portion of their earnings. A pimp's job is to advertise their prostitute's services to the proper potential clientele without alerting law enforcement as to their presence, and protect exclusive rights to turf where their prostitutes may operate without competition.

First, I don't know any prostitutes. I know several girls who have a lot of sex - just not with me. I wish they paid me every time they had sex with other guys. That would be a hell of a business model. I'd even give bonuses for cuddle time.

Second, I work in marketing. So if you do want to be a prostitute, I could definitely help you market your, um.... "assets" and find clients... but I've also signed a lot of non-competes in my life. And if there is any crowd I don't want to mess with more than the Pimp and Ho crowd, it's corporate lawyers. So yea, I'm kind of a wuss... therefore not really a "Pimp".

Third, if you have got past the first 2 conditions and still think this might be a place to find or be prostitutes, I should just point out that Pimplaskar is my last name... and while the name might be misleading, it basically means "person from town of Pimpal trees". So unless you are a VERY VERY good looking tree... I'm pretty sure me or my relatives can't help you.

So Pimplaskin - what you are going to get is me. For better or worse.It will definitely be random. You might find it offensive. It will likely be illogical. But you will always be entertained.

What I want from you is your anecdotes.... or your problems... or a picture.... or an illustration.... or a song... or a link... or whatever situation you have that you need commentary about. I'll give advice, as long as you can understand sarcasm. You can send them to pimplaskin@gmail.com. Everything anonymous.... and not returnable. Because as you know - Pimplaskin ain't easy.

Love you all,

Ravi

P.S. I have dog. His name is Rocky. He will give his thoughts sporadically as well. He's gone through a lot so I apologize in advance for his blunt, candid, odd, blatant, and occasionally brilliant commentary.

His story can be researched here if you are inclined: http://helpfindrocky.blogspot.com/