Category: Blog (Page 6 of 25)

The Last Blog Post of My 20s

February 22, 2022 / Kyle A. Massa

Turning 30

On March 6, 2022, I’m turning 30. However, I suspect some part of me has always been 30.

For instance, I wear sandals with socks whenever the weather allows. I’ve prefer old music to most anything trending today (except for Lady Gaga, who’s timeless). I pre-date Facebook, Justin Bieber, and Magic: The Gathering. And as of four months ago, I became a parent.

Oddly, being a dad makes me feel young—at least for now. This is because, since my daughter Sasha is so little and she’s our first, most people call my wife and I “young parents.” Even at our most overwhelmed and sleep deprived, the mere mention of the adjective “young” makes one feel spryer (assuming “spryer” is an actual word).

But I doubt this feeling will last long. Sasha’s already said “hello,” plus her recent favorite activity is screaming incoherently, which means she’ll be talking soon. It’s only a matter of time before she asks me what my first silent movie was, or which side I fought on during the Civil War. I already know not to invite her to guess my age; I tried that when I was a counselor at a summer camp in college, and the kids guessed 44.

So I don’t feel too old yet, but I suspect I will soon. And if you couldn’t tell by the increasingly indecisive quality of this blog post, my feelings on turning 30 vary by the moment.

For instance, if I compare myself to other 30-year-olds, I’ll start feeling old—or maybe just inadequate. Derek Jeter had four World Series titles by the time he turned 30. Quick mental tally for me and…I have zero. Does this mean I’ve squandered my first three decades?

No. Of course it doesn’t! I may have spent countless hours playing Pokemon, Rock Band, and Civilization V, but that’s not the point. The point is, every 30-year-old turns 30 in their own way (unless you’re part of the 27 Club, in which case, RIP). And on March 6, it’s my turn. From then on, to borrow a phrase from Frank Sinatra, the best is yet to come.

And hey, Frank recorded that song when he was long past 30. So maybe he was onto something.

Kyle A. Massa is a comic fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include two books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

Some Semi-Serious Super Bowl LVI Tips

February 7, 2022 / Kyle A. Massa

Super Bowl

The Super Bowl is the greatest American holiday nobody gets off from work. It’s also the perfect opportunity to make frivolous bets, stuff ourselves with several varieties of chips, and Google what those Roman numerals mean. If you’re wondering what else to expect on Sunday, here are my semi-serious Super Bowl LVI tips. (By the way, I looked it up—LVI means 56.)

The Food

There’s a reason the word “Bowl” appears in the game’s title—it’s a celebration of food as much as football. But speaking of bowls, don’t use any unless they’re paper. My wife and I failed to do so one year, and we were doing dishes until midnight (can you tell I’m still salty about this?).

Another tip: Be wary of carbs—but not from a health standpoint. This is more a strategic consideration. After all, you don’t want to fall asleep and miss Aaron Donald choking somebody or a Budweiser commercial. I’m not sure which would be the greater loss.

If you insist on packing carbs (understandable), at least have some coffee handy so you can stay awake. And if you offer coffee, also offer Tic Tacs, since I doubt dark roast plus Buffalo chicken wing pizza will smell pleasant on anybody’s breath.

Bonus tip: If you have a psychotic English Springer Spaniel named Osi, hide the pizza or else it’ll all be gone by the second quarter. If you couldn’t tell, this was actually a tip from myself to myself. Our dog is terrible around food.

The Halftime Show

This year’s Halftime Show is perhaps the most star-laden affair we’ve ever had, featuring Dr. Dre, Snoop Dogg, Eminem, Mary J. Blige, and Kendrick Lamar. Granted, I dislike when each artist plays a minute-and-a-half of their biggest hits, but I’ll go in with an open mind.

I expect to make the following statement at least four times: “Oh, this is a [insert performer’s name] song?” (I do this with most music recorded after 1978.) If you have the same thought, I advise you not to say it aloud, or else you might get mercilessly shushed.

The Commercials

My advice here is to pay close attention to any ads featuring farmers. Why? Because you can learn from my mistake. Let me explain.

During Super Bowl XLVII (that’s 47, according to Google), a farming commercial aired. I recall it being very long and very boring, with black-and-white images of farmers flashing over a voiceover about farmers and farmers farmers farmers. The word “farmers” was repeated so often that I became convinced the ad was promoting an organization called “Farmers of America.”

For years afterward, I made fun of this ad at any opportunity, i.e., “Remember that Farmers of America Super Bowl ad? What the hell was that?” However, while researching this article, I discovered I was mistaken. The ad I’m describing was actually promoting Ram Trucks, of all things. Also, there is no such organization as Farmers of America. There are Future Farmers of America, Dairy Farmers of America, and the National Farmers Union, but no Farmers of America.

So I reiterate: If you want to avoid looking like a fool like me, pay close attention whenever a farmer appears in a Super Bowl ad.

Bonus tip: Tax season is coming up, so don’t accidentally file your taxes as a farmer. My wife did this once (long story), and it led to much confusion.

The Game Itself

Be prepared for at least three questionable calls. After all, the sun rises in the east, water flows downhill, and NFL referees botch important decisions. I can see it now…

Fourth quarter, close score, clock ticking. Matt Stafford zips a pass to Odell Beckham Jr. along the sideline. It’s ruled a catch and a first down. The Rams hurry the next snap, but the Bengals challenge.

Cue several slow-mo videos from numerous angles. Zoom on Odell’s pinky toe, which might graze the line.

Chris Collinsworth: Oh ho ho ho ho, I dunno, Al. I think I spot a molecule on that line.

Al Michaels: Let’s go to Gene Steratore in New York. Gene?

Gene Steratore: Well guys, my question is, did he make a “football move” before going out of bounds?

Gene spends the next 10 minutes discussing but never defining exactly what a “football move” is, by which time the refs are still reviewing the film.

Michaels: And now a word from Farmers of America. Whoops, sorry, I mean Ram Trucks.

Cut to the ad.

Michaels: And now we’re back with the call.

Head Referee Ronald Torbert: After further review and a phone call from NFL Commissioner Roger Goodell in which he insulted my manhood and threatened to put me in a headlock if the Rams don’t win this game, the ruling on the field stands.

Collinsworth: Well I just think that’s a great call, Al. Now can I talk about Patrick Mahomes for a minute?

Assuming such a scenario unfolds, my advice is to act just as aggrieved as your fellow viewers. Because no matter who you root for, you can always root against the referees.

My final tip: Have a child. I don’t mean during the game—that would be awfully loud, not to mention messy. But if you already have a kid like me, then you might get the day off after all. That’s because I’ve got parental leave the Monday following the game. Thanks, Sasha!

Enjoy the Super Bowl

I know I will, and I know you will, too—unless you eat too many carbs. In which case, you were warned.

My Most Embarrassing Writing Fails

January 26, 2022 / Kyle A. Massa

Bad Writing

My grandparents on my dad’s side were famous for never wasting anything. This is not a statement of hyperbole.

For instance, instead of killing dandelions in her yard, my grandmother served them as salad toppers. Also, my grandfather once removed every rusty nail from every board of a dismantled shed, then stored the nails in buckets in the basement for future use.

See? Nothing wasted.

I take after them in this respect, though my waste refusal has nothing to do with dandelions or rusty nails. Mine is all about writing.

I can’t discard my writing. No matter how bad it is, no matter how unreadable, I can’t write anything without using it somehow. So, this blog post is all about my lousiest work. I could (probably should) throw it out, but instead I’m sharing it with you. Hope you get a kick out of it—and maybe a few helpful tips along the way.

Pages of the Mirror

This pretentiously artsy script was my senior thesis project at Ithaca College in 2014. This was back when I feared nobody would take me seriously if I wrote comedy, so the resulting piece is emo, dull, and ultimately lousy.

Pages of the Mirror is about some dude named Danny who lives in a small town and is beloved by everyone, for some reason. When his equally beloved Uncle Jack (car mechanic with tattoos who listens to Metallica, of course) gets murdered, Danny becomes the prime suspect.

Plus, there’s an intertwined story of a mysterious fellow mysteriously named “The Writer” who’s working on a mysterious book and who continues to be generally mysterious, because I decided all this mystery would be intriguing. We soon discover this is a story within a story; the Writer is writing about Danny.

At the time, I thought this was clever. Looking back, the connection between the two stories was probably immediately obvious. Plus, it’s a classically egomaniacal story for a writer to write. (What if my writing became so good it came to life!?) I recall pulling an all-nighter the night before it was due, which is probably why I only got a B. But look at me now—I got blog content out of it.

My takeaway from this project: When you’re developing your voice, you might strike a few sour notes. Just clear your throat and keep singing.

“Apocalypse Now…or Never”

It’s hard to believe, but I’ve been writing on this here blog now for 10 years. If you explore my archives, you’ll find some bad writing. Perhaps the worst was my first ever blog post, entitled “Apocalypse Now…or Never.”

The title isn’t terrible; it’s the rest that’s ugly. Just check out this leadoff sentence:

“I’m having a hard time buying this ‘2012: World is Going to End’ crap.”

I wrote this sentence when I was 19, yet it makes me sound like I’m 60. Also, I’m pretty sure the punctuation is incorrect.

Things don’t improve from there. My intro paragraph is a block of text, and I somehow venture into a rant about Ozzy Osbourne possibly being a zombie. I don’t even address my anti-apocalypse stance until paragraph eight, and when I finally get to it, I use a funfetti cake as a metaphor.

If you want to read just how bad this blog post was, you can find it here. My takeaway: Writing gets better with age. I’m not some premier blogger, but this blog is certainly better than it was a decade ago. Second takeaway: I was right about the world not ending in 2012. Yay me.

Pleasant Street

This is another college project, though Pleasant Street was a short story, not a script. It’s so bad that I’ve actually written about it before. Not sure this is something I should brag about, but here goes…

This story has it all: A doofus protagonist, heavy-handed symbolism, clumsy language, geriatric cannibals. What more could you ask for?

Well, if you’re asking for competent plotting, compelling characters, or an interesting setting, look elsewhere. Pleasant Street is about a first-time cop named Officer Green (I warned you about the heavy-handedness) who’s assigned to walk the beat in a neighborhood called Pleasant Street. See? Because it’s called Pleasant Street, you’d never expect anything bad might happen. Brilliant misdirection.

As it happens, the residents of Pleasant Street have achieved eternal life via cannibalism. (I partially lifted this idea from an episode of The X-Files, so my apologies to Mulder and Scully.) Rather predictably, the story concludes with the main character being cooked and eaten. I would’ve offered a spoiler warning, but no one will ever read this story again—I’ve made sure of it.

As for the grade on this assignment, I don’t recall it. Perhaps my mind is repressing it to defend me. But here’s what I do remember: I never collected feedback on this piece. If I did, maybe someone might’ve told me it needed work. So that’s our takeaway for this story. Get feedback from people you trust, then use it if it works.

“10 Bold Predictions for the Future of Magic: The Gathering”

Yes, I know most readers will not care about Magic, let alone understand it. If you were to browse this article, you’d find such esoteric phrases as “enemy fetch lands,” “two-block paradigm,” and “Kaseto comes along in the new Commander product.”

However, I’m including this article because of my low success rate on these so-called bold predictions. To be clear, the writing is actually passable; I had some decent wisecracks, including a dig at Jar-Jar Binks (timeless). The issue is, I only got five of my 10 predictions right!

I won’t bore you with the details. I’ll just say this: We must deliver on our promises to our readers—especially when the promise is right in the title.

“Someday”

I’ve saved the worst for last. You think my poetry is bad now? Just check out this poem from May 5th, 2011, for a creative writing class at Ithaca College.

“Someday soon,
We’ll touch the moon.
Ride the stars to the sun.
Someday soon,
We will commune.
And then we shall be one.”

This is weird pseudo-hippy crap that sounds like something you’d cringe at if you heard someone singing it with an acoustic on the campus quad. And it’s only an excerpt! I feel like I should apologize to you for forcing you to read it. I’m sorry.

The lesson learned here is clear: Don’t F with poetry. Bad poetry is more offensive than bad prose. My poetry is still pretty bad, but at least I’m reading and studying the craft before I write more. And I’m definitely not trying to rhyme.

Summing It All Up

I’ve said this before and I’ll say it again here: I think it’s healthy to review your old work, no matter how nauseated it makes you feel. I may not be a great writer, but at least I’m better than I used to be. And sometimes, that reminder is all we need.

(P.S. I hope I made my grandparents proud. Waste not, want not!)

The World Without the New England Patriots

January 10, 2022 / Kyle A. Massa

New England Patriots

Over the past 20 years and change, only one sports franchise has won six Super Bowls, deflated somebody’s balls, and drawn the most accurate comparisons to the evil empire from Star Wars. I’m talking about the New England Patriots.

But we’re not here to pat them on the back (their fans do enough of that). Today, we’re here to imagine a world without them. So, in a world without the New England Patriots…

…Tom Brady and Bill Belichick Wouldn’t Exist(?)

I mean, they’d still exist, insofar as they’d live, breath, and, in the case of Tom Brady, mouth-kiss their children. But Brady, Belichick, and Pats owner Robert Kraft are like the Holy Trinity: One great deity housed in three vessels.

Let’s remember, Kraft hired Belichick as head coach (and effective general manager) in 2000. About three months later, Belichick selected Brady with the 199th pick in the draft. Brady became the starter in 2001, and the team we all love to hate was born.

I think that makes Belichick the Father, Brady the Son, and Kraft the Holy Ghost—but that’s a topic for New England sports bloggers.

…Cutoff Sweaters Wouldn’t Be a Thing

Fonzie has his leather jacket, Indiana Jones has his fedora, and Bill Belichick has his sleeveless hoodies. Without him, we also wouldn’t have so many surly postgame press conferences, nor one of my favorite gifs of all time:

bill belichick

…Six Super Bowl Titles Would be Vacated

When my wife and I moved from Colorado back to the East Coast in 2016, we began throwing a yearly Super Bowl party. And for the next three years, we were subjected to the Patriots. Assuming they didn’t exist and therefore won none of their titles, our parties would’ve been far more fun. Plus, these alternate realities would be in play:

The following quarterbacks would have Super Bowls: Jake Delhomme, Donovan McNabb, Matt Ryan, and Jared Goff.
Pats fans wouldn’t wear those obnoxious “28-3” t-shirts (that’s the halftime score of the 2017 Super Bowl against the Atlanta Falcons, which the Pats overcame to win).
We would’ve been spared the atrocious viewing experience that was the 2019 Super Bowl. Reminder: This game featured the fewest points in Super Bowl history, plus the tatted-up shirtless sweaty bod of Adam Levine. I’m not sure which was more obscene.
At the 2004 Pats/Panthers Super Bowl, the infamous Janet Jackson/Justin Timberlake wardrobe malfunction probably still would’ve happened.

…Jameis Winston Might Still be the Quarterback in Tampa Bay

This is the guy most famous for hurling 30 touchdowns and 30 interceptions in one season, setting the sort of NFL record nobody wants. He also got Lasik eye surgery the following offseason, which remains funny to this day.

However, Jameis was replaced by Mr. Brady, who led the Tampa Bay Buccaneers to a title the very next year. Sorry, Jameis.

…Mac Jones Might’ve Gone to the Washington Football Team

This is purely speculation on my part, but current Pats QB Mac Jones could’ve fallen four more spots to Washington in last year’s draft. I’m guessing he would’ve played over current starter Taylor Heinicke, which would spare me some embarrassment when I mistakenly call him “Taylor Heineken” (this happens often).

…There Would Be Less Hate for the Typical New England Sports Fan

A little less, anyway.

…We Houldn’t Have Gronk

Rob Gronkowski would probably still be Gronk, even if another team drafted him. Still, next to the Holy Trinity, Gronk was the most important piece of the Patriots 2.0 dynasty (making him an apostle?). And without him, we wouldn’t have Gronk Flakes or the Gronk Spike (a move that literally every other football player does, only Gronk does it Gronkier). Also, we wouldn’t have the nickname “Gronk,” which is just fun to say.

…There Would Be Fewer Football Cheating Scandals

Since the Patriots orchestrated both Spygate and Deflategate, I suspect they somehow had a hand in Watergate, too. However, all these -Gates have given Pats fans a persecution complex, which is mildly annoying coming from a fanbase that basically never lost its division in two decades. Speaking of which…

…The AFC East Would Be Far More Interesting

Since 2001, here are the AFC East division winners not named “New England Patriots”:

The 2002 New York Jets
The 2008 Miami Dolphins
The 2020 Buffalo Bills
The 2021 Buffalo Bills (as of last night…woo, go Bills!)

And that’s it. These are the results you’d expect when the varsity team crashes the intramural flag football league.

…People in New England Would Root for Some Other Team

I’m talking about states like Rhode Island, Maine, Delaware, and Massachusetts. Based on proximity, maybe they’d opt for the Giants, Jets, or Bills? More likely, they’d say screw it and become Cowboys fans, because that’s America’s bandwagon team.

But hey, there’s only one thing worse than becoming a Cowboys fan, and it’s this: Becoming an Eagles fan. So, in this instance at least, I’m happy the Patriots exist.

…We Wouldn’t Have the Adele Hype Video

In Week 4 of this year’s NFL season, Tom Brady played the Patriots for the first time since leaving and winning a Super Bowl with the Tampa Bay Bucs. NBC made a video featuring “Hello” by Adele, and the result is magnificent.

It’s one of my favorite pieces of sports content because it hits this incredible cross-section of hype, melodrama, and overblown comedy. And I’m not the only one. My wife enjoys this video so much that she regularly shows it to guests when they visit.

…The Giants Would’ve Been Spared Two Years of Joe Judge

Cool name, bad coach.

Joe Judge became the head coach of the Giants after spending seven season with the Pats. His first year was good. His second…not so much.

My fellow Giants fans will remember the 4-13 record, the consecutive QB sneaks on second and nine and third and 11, and the Washington Post hit piece by Sally Jenkins (the Jenkins article was pretty awesome). Another disappointing two-year stint, another coach fired. Let’s hope Brian Daboll does better.

…The Giants Wouldn’t Have Two of the Greatest Super Bowl Victories of All Time

Look, it’s been miserable being a Giants fan ever since we beat the Pats in Super Bowl XLVI. I can and will live in the past, and that means constantly reminding people that a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away, my team was competent. So there.

…The World Would Be Far Less Interesting

No matter your opinion on the Patriots, you’ve got to admit, they make sports far more entertaining. But as a guy who married into a family of Bills fans, here’s hoping Josh Allen kicks their asses next week.

Read more from the “World Without” blog series here. And if you want to see a specific topic, email kyle@kyleamassa.com.

The Best Worst Holiday Gifts of the 2021 Giving Season

December 13, 2021 / Kyle A. Massa

‘Tis the gift-giving season, which means there’s no better time to buy useless trinkets for people who may or may not want them. If you’re looking for odd products of dubious usefulness, look no further than this article (which is itself dubiously useful). And here we go!

The Backseat Driver GPS

Traveling for the holidays? You probably navigate with an app on your phone. But does your app offer the added benefit of criticizing your driving?

The Backseat Driver GPS does! It gives immediate and constant feedback, whether or not you want it. Just enter your destination and let your device berate you the rest of the way. Here are several suggestions you might receive:

“Come on, just go, they’re letting you in!”
“That’s not how you parallel park.”
“Honk at that guy! Honk at him!”

And so on. As you can see, the Backseat Driver GPS combines the convenience of voice navigation with the added frustration of a backseat driver. Never leave home without it.

A Subscription to Christmas Prime Plus +

Christmas Prime Plus + is the newest streaming service designed for the people who watched The Princess Switch enough to turn it into a trilogy. If you want a catalog composed of sappy, formulaic Christmas movies, you’ve got it. Here’s the basic template of all our films:

A plucky, career-oriented young woman who works at [insert for-profit office job in major metropolitan city] returns home to [some midwestern town people would describe as “cozy”] for the holidays and reconnects with [dude name], an old high school flame who’s [handsome, sensitive, a little vacant, but handsome, beloved by the townsfolk, successful, and very handsome]. Now she must choose between the career she has and the life she always wanted, [something wholesome, like a bakery shop owner]. But will she do it? [Yes.]

Start your free trial of Christmas Prime Plus + today!

The Pre-Stuffed Stocking

Stocking stuffers are a mainstay of the holiday season—not that any of us understand why. The little tchotchkes shouldn’t take the shine from the big-ticket items. So let us do the stuffing for you.

Candy canes, fuzzy socks, Amazon gift cards—they’re all mindlessly jammed inside so you don’t have to do it. Just note: The material is highly flammable, so if you hang these on the mantel, have a fire extinguisher handy.

(Disclaimer: Fire extinguisher not included.)

The Little Drummer Boy

We all know this holiday hit made famous by Justin Bieber. And there’s nothing we want more than to hear it over and over and over and over and over and over and over again. And over.

Fortunately, we’ve got a solution. The Little Drummer Boy himself! This eight-inch-tall animatronic plastic little boy just plays “The Little Drummer Boy” on repeat, over and over and over and over again. His favorite line is “ba-rumpa-bum-bum,” and he says it constantly.

Best of all, there’s no volume control or power switch, and the batteries are tucked beneath a bulletproof glass shield. So once this little lad starts drumming, there’s no stopping him until at least 2033. Talk about Christmas cheer!

Wrapping Paper Scraps

Ever noticed how babies are more interested in wrapping paper than the actual gift inside? Well, what if the gift inside the wrapping paper was…more wrapping paper?

This product comes in a variety of textures, colors, and shapes. Just scatter some on the floor and watch in amazement as your baby ignores her brand new hundred-dollar life-sized teddy bear. Plus, the paper is acid-free, so if your dog eats it, you’ll save on your vet bill!

The PermaTree

Whether you build a fake tree every year or chop one down in cold blood, the setup is always a pain. Lugging it in, finding the perfect spot, hanging the ornaments…it’s a backbreaking holiday tradition most likely invented by Krampus. Now we can avoid it, thanks to the PermaTree!

After a brief consultation with our installation experts, we’ll come in and root your tree. We use the verb “root” in the sense of “rooted to the spot,” because it’s not moving. Like, ever again. Our advanced poly-thyrene hypermetal setting and coating makes your tree a permanent fixture of your house. Once it’s there, it’s there for life. Now you really can have Christmas in July!

The Covid Home Test Magic 8 Ball

“Hey Magic 8 Ball, do I have the Omicron variant?”

“Reply hazy, try again.”

With a remarkable success rate of [undisclosed], the Covid Home Test Magic 8 Ball is a fun way to determine whether you should host that holiday rager you’ve always wanted. Behold as your relatives contort this into some sort of political statement!

The iDiaper

Being a parent for a month-and-a-half now, I know the pain of inspecting my daughter’s diaper. She can really poop, and it’s no fun to snuffle her rump just to find out if she’s done so recently. That’s why I personally recommend the iDiaper.

Made by everyone’s favorite Silicon Valley tech overlords, the iDiaper puts Siri in your baby’s butt. Next time she poops, pees, or even farts, Siri will give you a helpful heads-up. Just like on your phone, she even responds to verbal commands, such as…

Me: “Hey Siri, thanks for letting me know Sasha took a dump. Can you please clean it for me?”

Siri: “Oh hell no. That’s your job.”

Get your iDiaper soon, before the iDiaper 25 Max Pro Plus comes out and makes the previous model obsolete. Only $499.99 per unit!

Happy Holidays!

We hope these lousy gifts make your spirits bright this holiday season.

Kyle A. Massa is a fantasy author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their daughter, and three wild animals. His published works include two books and several short stories. When he’s not writing, he enjoys reading, running, and drinking coffee.

A Season Preview from an Oft-Disappointed New York Giants Fan

September 7, 2021 / Kyle A. Massa

New York Giants disappointment

Usually this blog is about writing, reading, and sometimes cats. Today, it’s about disappointment. Oh, and also football.

I’m a lifelong fan of the New York Giants. And by “lifelong,” I of course mean since my early high school days, when I discovered Madden for the Nintendo GameCube. It’s been over a decade and we’ve been through a lot: two Super Bowl victories, two identical quarterbacks, and two years of Ben McAdoo. And when I love something, I can’t help but write about it (even when it bums me out).

So here’s my preview for the upcoming Giants season.

Last Season

On second thought, let’s not review last season. Too disappointing.

The Offseason

The Giants’ splashiest offseason move was signing wide receiver Kenny Golladay, whose biggest claim to fame was being overthrown by Matt Stafford every Thanksgiving. He’s a decent number two fantasy option, but can he become a number one real-life receiver? I’m skeptical.

If we’re asking Giants General Manager David Gettleman, the answer is yes. Of course, this is the same David Gettleman who traded Odell Beckham Jr., let Landon Collins walk in free agency, and selected Daniel Jones with the sixth pick in the 2019 draft (more on Daniel later). Forgive me if I’m dubious.

In fairness, Gettleman made some savvy decisions in the offseason. I liked the signings of Kyle Rudolph and John Ross, and I really liked the addition of Adoree’ Jackson to an already strong secondary. If only the draft had gone as well. Speaking of which…

The Draft

For once, the Giants were picking outside the top 10, but just barely; they had pick number 11. There were several impressive players available, but of course, Gettleman considered none of them. He had eyes only for DeVonta Smith.

You may wonder how I know this, and no, it’s not because Dave and I are friends on Snapchat. It’s because everyone knew. To quote Matt Lombardo of GMEN HQ:

“There is a feeling inside the NFL that Gettleman is enamored by Alabama wide receiver DeVonta Smith.”

This might’ve been acceptable if the Giants were playing solitaire. However, there were 10 other teams preceding them. And one of those teams was (cue the horror-movie scream) The Philadelphia Eagles.

Eagles fans, if you’re not familiar with them, are notoriously rowdy. This is putting it kindly. For example, after their Super Bowl victory over Thomas Brady and the New England Patriots in 2018, local officials slathered crisco (and later hydraulic fluid) on polls throughout Philadelphia. Why? To prevent Eagles fans from climbing them.

See? Rowdy.

So it came as no surprise when, with the 10th pick in the 2021 NFL Draft, the Eagles once again got rowdy and selected DeVonta Smith.

Look, the closest I’ve gotten to being an NFL General Manager is playing fantasy football with my friends. But even I know that if I want a player, I shouldn’t blather about it. Clearly, Mr. Gettleman has never had to risk losing his fantasy league. (Although maybe Giants owner John Mara has, and his punishment for losing was hiring David Gettleman.)

So, with the Giants on the clock and no DeVonta Smith on the board, Dave did the mature thing and quit. He traded the pick to the Chicago Bears, who incidentally drafted Ohio State quarterback Justin Fields, who’s incidentally probably better than Daniel Jones.

The G-Men drafted some other receiver at number 20, a guy named Kadarius Toney, a.k.a. Yung Joka, according to his Wikipedia page. Pundits have claimed he might be a sleeper in this draft, which is cool, but not exactly what I’m looking for in a first-round pick.

What To Expect This Season

It’s time. We need to talk about Daniel.

Daniel Jones, a.k.a. Danny Dimes, a.k.a. Eli Manning’s approximate clone, troubles me. His career began with a bang: Four touchdowns and a comeback win against the then-Brady-less Tampa Bay Buccaneers. It was the most fun I’ve had watching the Giants since their Super Bowl XLVI victory.

However, Jones fumbled twice in that game. This was easy to disregard in the moment, but as the mistakes mounted, a pattern emerged. In 21 career games, Jones has committed 36 turnovers.

Never one to be outdone in mediocrity, David Gettleman remedied this problem by building around Jones. Hence the aforementioned acquisitions on the offense.

But if we think of Daniel Jones as the turkey in our Thanksgiving dinner, we see the logical fallacy in such moves. Say we invest in perfect stuffing, delicious gravy, jiggly cranberry sauce, and Bob Evans mashed potatoes. Great, love the support. But the turkey is the centerpiece of Thanksgiving. If it’s, say, woefully undercooked and likely to give everyone salmonella, does the rest of the meal really matter?

Look, I’m not calling Daniel Jones an undercooked turkey. He seems like a good guy. But I fear he’s not good enough to save the Giants.

Therefore, I see the Giants hovering around .500 this year (not that you can actually finish at .500 anymore, what with the 17-game schedule). Fortunately, they once again find themselves in the worst division in the league, which means they might somehow make the playoffs at 9-8.

And hey, there’s room for optimism. Head Coach Joe Judge looked solid last year, leading the Giants to a near-upset of the eventual Super Bowl champion Buccaneers, plus a shocking win over the Seattle Seahawks. They also boast a staunch defense, which should be even better this year. And let’s not forget the return of running back Saquon Barkley, one of the most electrifying players I’ve ever seen.

So, will the Giants’ solid defense and improved offense carry them to victory? Or will David Gettleman drag them down into the pits of ineptitude? We’ll find out Sunday at 4:25 eastern against the Denver Broncos. Looking forward to the disappointment.

Kyle A. Massa is a speculative fiction author living somewhere in upstate New York with his wife, their cats, and their dog. He has written two books and numerous short stories, both published and yet-to-be published. He enjoys unusual narrative structures, multiple POVs, and stories that make readers laugh.

The Real Reason Frodo Didn’t Ride an Eagle into Mordor

August 19, 2021 / Kyle A. Massa

“Bilbo and the Eagles” by Ted Nasmith

There’s a common question posed by readers of The Lord of the Rings trilogy: Is Tom Bombadil robotripping?

Also: Why didn’t the eagles help Frodo?

No, I’m not talking about the NFL’s Philadelphia Eagles (thank god). Nor am I talking about the band (though now that you mention it, I’m down for a little “Hotel California.”) I’m talking about the Great Eagles of Middle-Earth, also known as the Eagles of Manwë, also known as something else, I’m sure, because everybody has like 10 names in Middle-Earth (i.e. Gandalf).

According to this Screen Rant article, cartographer Karen Wynn Fonstad calculated Frodo and Sam’s journey was 1,779 miles long, all on foot (hobbit feet, as it were). They rowed down rivers, stumbled through bogs, and wandered into giant spider lairs, all while they could’ve hopped on giant eagles and dropped the ring into Mt. Doom.

There are many explanations, the most likely of which being that J.R.R. Tolkien wanted some actual conflict. In this post, I’d like to give you my explanation. It all started at RIA, better known as Rivendell International Airport…

“Sam,” said Frodo. “We’re late.”

If Gandalf (their travel agent) had been present, he’d have some quick rejoinder prepared. A frequent flyer is never late, Frodo Baggins… But Gandalf wasn’t present. If he was, they wouldn’t be late.

Frodo and Sam found themselves in the lobby of Rivendell International Airport. The drop-off zone outside had been a madhouse, packed with horses and ponies and passengers. It was no less chaotic inside: men, elves, and dwarves jostled and bustled like soldiers preparing for battle. All of them stood between the hobbits and their flight.

“Come on, Sam. Hurry!” Frodo, unencumbered by any bags, plunged into the fray. Sam, weighed down by all their luggage, chugged along behind.

“Do you think we can fit this all in carry-on, Mr. Frodo?” Sam asked as they ran. “Should we check a bag or two?”

“No,” Frodo answered gravely. “We’d never see them again.” He swept his gaze over the crowd, noting a dwarf slurping a pint at the airport bar, an elf enjoying a kingsfoil salad, and a hooded man reading a mystery novel. “We must hasten, Sam. The Dark Lord has eyes everywhere.”

“Even in the bathrooms?”

“Especially in the bathrooms.”

“Aye, he’s evil enough for it. Hey, did you pack the…you know?”

Frodo touched his chest, feeling the solid metal between skin and shirt. It was such a small thing, such a little thing, yet it heaved on the chain about his neck like a lead weight. It was the One Ring, the ultimate weapon of the Dark Lord Sauron, the bane of Isildur, forged in the fires of Mt. Doom, retailing for $999.99 at Jared, the Galleria of Jewelry.

“I have it,” Frodo confirmed. “But let us not speak of it. Too many ears in this airport.”

“Unfriendly eyes, unfriendly ears.” Sam shook his head. “What’ll be next? Unfriendly toes?”

As if on cue, an elf sped past and crushed Sam’s toes with a roller bag. He yelped, but Frodo didn’t notice—he was pointing ahead. “Look. The security checkpoint.” He hurried onward, leaving Sam to hobble behind.

Though Rivendell was a haven of beauty and enlightenment, its airport security was staffed by the TSA. They were a brusque people, a grouchy people, and it was said that folk who displeased them were plucked from line and cavity searched, just for the hell of it.

One such TSA agent awaited behind a kiosk, an old crone with faded blonde highlights and fingernails the size of pairing knives. Each nail was painted a vivid purple, and they clacked like the bones of a skeleton as she rapped them upon her kiosk.

“Have your passport and boarding parchment out and visible,” she growled at them.

Sam gulped. “I’m scared, Mr. Frodo.”

“Be brave, Sam. Our flight is due to board any minute.” Frodo approached the woman at the kiosk, bowed his head, and presented his documents.

The woman’s hand descended like a bird’s talon. “Name?”

“Underhill,” said Frodo, keeping his eyes down. “Mr. Underhill.” Gandalf, their travel agent, had insisted on secret names.

The woman clacked her purple fingernails, then shifted her gaze to Sam. “And you?”

Sam offered his documents. “I’m Mr., umm…Gardner?”

The woman narrowed her eyes. “That a name or a question?”

“N-neither,” Sam sputtered. “I mean, both?”

Her gaze drifted to the luggage. The woman still had yet to blink, and Frodo was beginning to wonder if she had eyelids at all. “You don’t have any razors in those bags, do you?”

“No, ma’am.”

“What about aerosol cans? Firearms? Fireworks? Lithium batteries?”

They’d never heard of such things in the Shire (except the fireworks), so it was easy to shake their heads no.

“Good enough,” she said, stamping their boarding parchments. “Now get outta my sight.”

Ahead awaited more security. “Arms and armament in separate bins,” barked one of the surlier TSA agents. “Empty your pockets, and remove all metal.”

All metal. That meant…

Frodo stopped short. “Sam. The Ring. They’ll make me take it off.”

Sam frowned. “They’ll give it back, though, won’t they?”

“They might. But what if they’re servants of the Dark Lord?”

“Oh.” Sam scratched his head. “Hadn’t considered that.”

“You two!” the surly TSA agent screamed. “You’re holding up the line. Move move move!”

They moved. Sam hauled the luggage into bins, then stacked them onto the conveyer belt. They hustled ahead.

The Ring still hung around Frodo’s neck. He tried to look as innocent as possible as he stepped through the metal detector.

Beep.

“Honestly, squirt, are your ears clogged by the fur of the Cats of Queen Berúthiel?” The TSA agent beyond the metal detector jabbed a finger at him. “Back through. And make sure your pockets are empty.”

Frodo turned around, wiping sweat from his brow. He knew it would beep again, but if he removed the Ring, they’d claim it for their own. He stepped through again, and—

Beep.

“That’s it. Time for a cavity search.” With a little too much satisfaction, the TSA agent snapped on a rubber glove.

Frodo’s eyes went wide. “They’re going to take it. Then the quest will be for naught, the Dark Lord will win, and the Shire will be ruined. And we’ll have to apply for flight vouchers.”

“No, Mr. Frodo,” Sam said, striking a determined expression. “Let us be rid of the TSA, once and for all.” Suddenly, the musical score swelled, and Sam stepped forward heroically. “He has…a pacemaker!”

The TSA agent blinked. “A what?”

“A pacemaker.”

“Oh.” The agent shrugged. “Why should I care?”

“Because that’s what’s setting off the metal detector. Just a pacemaker. No need to harass us further.”

“Hah. Good one. Now bend over, little man. Let’s make sure nobody’s smuggling any Longbottom Leaf…”

Sam looked stricken—but Frodo had an idea.

“Fine,” said Frodo, unbuckling his belt. “We’ll just be late to our trial.”

“Trial?”

“Yes, trial. My associate and I are lawyers.”

The TSA agent’s eyes went wide. “Lawyers?”

“Aye,” said Sam, nodding and smiling. It seemed he’d caught on to the charade. “We love suing people. We sue them all the time.”

“In fact,” added Frodo, warming to the role, “we’ve got a class-action suit pending against the Witch King of Angmar for stabbing people with his Morgul Blade. We’re suing him for all he’s worth—which isn’t much these days, but still. Care to join him?”

The TSA agent glowered at the hobbits. His eyes flicked from one to the other, as if sizing them up. “A pacemaker. Aye.” He snarled at them, like a rabid dog, then waved them through.

Sam gathered their belongings and hoisted them onto his back. He was still hobbling from the damage to his toes, but he did his best to keep up with Frodo. They raced through the terminal.

“We’re at Gate whatever-that-is,” Frodo huffed, pointing at the swirly Elvish runes. “Hurry, Sam!”

They hurried. They hurried through dwarvish families, elvish business professionals, human tourists, and finally, they arrived at their gate…

Just in time to see their flight take off.

They were meant to fly on the back of a great eagle, a hulking golden bird with a wing span wide enough to blot out the sun. It sped down the runway, cawed, and with three beats of its massive wings (both stamped with the words “Southwest Airlines”), it lifted off and soared into the distance.

Frodo slumped against the glass. Sam collapsed beside him.

“Cheer up, Mr. Frodo. We can always book a new flight to Mordor.”

“But Sam. We’d have to go through customer service.”

They glanced at the customer service desk. Thousands of people stood before it. Most were dead on their feet, their corpses rotting and stinking, while the living were blanketed by cobwebs and dust.

Frodo shook his head. “No, that way lies doom and despair. We have no choice but to walk, or take an Uber. And I left my phone at home.”

“Dropped mine in the toilet,” sighed Sam. “Suppose we’re walking, then. Think anyone will join us?”

“I’m sure Gandalf can book us some companions.” Frodo slapped his friend on the shoulder, then stood. “Fuck it, Sam. Let’s form a fellowship.”

Why I Find the Charmin Bears Revolting

August 4, 2021 / Kyle A. Massa

The Charmin Bears are an abomination.

…

I might be coming in a little hot there. But really, the Charmin Bears are gross.

You know them. They’re that pack of multicolored ursine cartoons that hold regular family meetings about the quality, texture, and thickness of their toilet paper. They also tend to dance crazily, rub their faces on the paper, and, worst of all, wiggle their (thankfully clean) butts at the camera.

Talk about TMI. Do we really need to watch an egg ricochet off a stack of toilet paper? Do we really need to watch a disembodied arm smear some blue substance off its wrist? (Both happen in almost every Charmin ad.)

No. No we don’t. For these reasons and so many more, I’ve had it with the Charmin Bears. Enough to write this here blog post.

I get it. Toilet paper is pretty much essential. Most people use it multiple times a day, and for good reason. The thing is, we don’t need to talk about it—especially not with such gleeful detail.

When’s the last time you had a conversation about how soft your toilet paper is, or how many ply it is? And god forbid you ever demonstrate the virtue of your toilet paper brand by dumping some thick blue liquid onto it. I understand the allure of creating cartoon characters to your products, but please. Invent some cartoons that are less obsessed with the bathroom and what goes on in it.

Take, for example, this commercial:

For those too nervous to watch the above video, it depicts two Charmin Bears sprinting down the beach in slow motion, presumably because they urgently need to poop. This is just poor planning on their part, because nobody wants to use a porta-potty, let alone one at the beach. (Also, why do we need the close-up on the bouncing butts? Also, whose idea was it to bastardize the theme from 2001?)

Some readers might be surprised by my contempt for these vile bears. I’ve been known to laugh at a bathroom joke or several in my day, and I’ll continue to do so.

But the problem here is context. Many people watch television while eating, which means you might be trying to enjoy your dinner when suddenly a Charmin Bear appears, waving its ass in your face and complaining that a competing brand left pieces behind. Thanks a lot, Charmin. I just lost my appetite for shrimp and rice.

Furthermore, the Charmin Bears need a serious review of priorities. I don’t know any other family that spends so much time discussing such frivolous topics. I’ve certainly never met a family that rubs toilet paper on their faces or debates how many pounds it can hold without ripping. Why not discuss some normal topics, like school, or sports, or the weather, or, I don’t know, anything else?

I can’t vouch for bears, but most humans use toilet paper and never discuss its merits. Sure, once in a while you’ll get some brand that’s especially crappy. But otherwise, toilet paper should be like the roof of a house: necessary, but rarely spoken of.

Now I should acknowledge that these advertisements are clearly working. Hell, I’m writing an entire blog post about them, which would delight any advertiser reading it, regardless of whether or not I actually like the ads. Perhaps that’s their strategy.

But for the time being, my distaste will rage on. Please, Charmin Bears, scale back the toilet paper talk. For the sake of us all!

The Wild Ride of Publishing Wide

July 12, 2021 / Kyle A. Massa

Being an indie author is like being a grizzled old fisherman—you catch more if you cast a wider net. (Of course, dear reader, I know you’re a human, not a fish.)

I build my net out of websites. BookFunnel, Amazon, Smashwords, even this very site you’ve found yourself on. The more sites you can buy my books, the wider my net. Speaking of which, let’s take a look at the net.

This Here Website

Yes, you can buy books on kyleamassa.com without ever leaving it. And sorry for the salesy marketing speak, but it’s now easier than ever.

When you bought a book from my site in the past, you’d receive an automated email with several files attached. Functional, but not optimal. I’ve got a better way now thanks to BookFunnel.

When you buy a book on my site, BookFunnel automatically emails you with a download page. You may select from a loaded buffet of options, including Kindle, iPad, iPhone, Android, or computer. BookFunnel will hook you up with the proper file type, and often deliver it right to your desired device.

It’s really quite an elegant service. If you’d like to try it out for yourself, you can download my triptych short story collection, Past, Present, Future. It’s everybody’s favorite price: free.

Almighty Amazon

Yes, Amazon is essentially essential at this point for any indie author. My books have been there for years—but there’s a newcomer to the party.

You may remember Big Riches, Fine Wine, and a Pinch of Dragonsbane appearing as an exclusive story on my site last year. Now that it’s existed for a full calendar year, I’ve given it to Almighty Amazon.

To be clear, you can still buy Dragonsbane on my site. Just trying to expand that net, ya know?

A Smashing Smashwords Discount

If you’ve made it this far, you’re in luck. Smashwords has an annual summer sale, and two of my books, Gerald Barkley Rocks and Monsters at Dusk, are both discounted for—please don’t pass out—75% off.

So, for the summer only, you can get either (or why not both?) for $1.24 per purchase. They are not going to get any cheaper than that!

Widening That Net

It’s important to me to make my books available in as many places as possible. Yes, I want to sell more. But I also believe book should be available to anyone who wants to read them, no matter where they find them.

I hope my wide net finds you. And, if not, please email me at kyle@kyleamassa.com and let me know. I’ll see what I can do for you!

Thanks, GRRM: Lessons Learned from George R.R. Martin

June 21, 2021 / Kyle A. Massa

George R.R. Martin

Whether written or read, every book is a lesson.

George R.R. Martin is one of the best I’ve ever learned from (and for more than just his gratuitous descriptions of food). GRRM’s writing has made an indelible impact on mine. So today, I’d like to share some of my favorite lessons with you.

(Be forewarned—there will be spoilers for his books!)

Lesson 1: It’s Good to Bully Characters

Though I’ve covered this subject before, it remains a tough lesson to internalize. Yet the truth is plain: It pays to be mean to your characters.

Nobody’s nastier than George R.R. Martin. He beheads poor Ned Stark in book one, murders Renly Baratheon in book two, then goes ham in book three by killing Catelyn Stark, Robb Stark, Joffrey Baratheon, and Tywin Lannister (among others).

And those are just the characters who die. The ones who live fare little better, i.e. Jaime Lannister getting his hand lopped off, Bran Stark being tossed from a tower, Daenerys Targaryen losing her son and hubby within hours of each other, and so forth.

I am almost certain Martin likes all these characters (with the exception of Joffrey). Yet he still bullies them. It’s the right thing to do.

Imagine, for example, if Martin liked Robb Stark too much to have him killed at the Red Wedding. Doing so would deprive us of one of the most shocking plot twists in modern literature—and television, for that matter. (I remember when the Red Wedding episode of HBO’s Game of Thrones aired. People could not stop talking about it.)

Bullying one’s characters means putting them in difficult situations. This forces one’s characters to be clever, courageous, and resilient; in short, it makes them more interesting. The meaner the writer is, the more momentous their characters’ eventual triumphs will be.

Lesson 2: Plan Ahead

As a kid, I dreamed of writing series. I dreamed of trilogies, quartets, quintets, whatever you call a six-book series, and more. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire is a planned seven-volume series, and it’s masterful.

Before anyone writes an angry comment, let me clarify. Martin’s series is masterful. His writing pace? Not so much.

But part of what makes the five existing books so compelling is their foresight. The more you read, the more you’ll notice that those vague prophecies and ethereal dreams always seem to come true. That’s because Martin plans ahead, and has a destination in mind.

Consider this passage from Catelyn Stark’s point of view in A Game of Thrones:

“Sometimes [Catelyn] felt as though her heart had turned to stone…”

An innocuous line when you first read it. Yet once we get to book three, when the Freys murder Catelyn and Beric Dondarrion resurrects her, she goes by a new name: Lady Stoneheart.

And that’s just a subtle example. Adding these nuggets throughout the series makes the books feel even more intertwined and interconnected. Plan ahead and reap the rewards.

Lesson 3: A Good Mystery Goes A Long Way

I’m not much of a mystery reader, but I probably should be. I always enjoy books with even a hint of the unknown. Martin has those hints in spades.

There’s the classic R + L = J equation, a long-standing theory which I won’t spoil for readers (but was confirmed in the series). Also, what the heck happened to Benjen Stark, who went ranging in the wild in book one and never appeared again? And what game are Illyrio Mopatis and Varys playing together?

I’ll stop there to preserve my word count. But you can visit the long-running Forum of Ice and Fire or the series’s Subreddit for more mysteries and possible explanations. If a series has enough enigmas to fill two websites with content, you know it must be special.

Lesson 4: Perfection is an Illusion

In second grade, I decided I wanted to be a writer. Fantasy was my genre, chiefly inspired by The Lord of the Rings. I loved the trilogy, yes—but part of me resented it as well. I’d convinced myself that no one—particularly me—could ever write anything better.

Then, 10 years ago, my dad invited me to watch a show I never heard before: A Game of Thrones. He’d heard about it somewhere and knew how much I loved LOTR. So, we watched the pilot. (Not really the type of show you should watch with a parent, but so it goes.)

Here’s a short list of the things I witness on my first visit to Westeros:

Nudity
Incest
Attempted child murder
Several creative uses of the word “fuck”
Characters who aren’t clearly good or evil

What blew me away was the audacity of the story. Game of Thrones took epic fantasy, a genre that celebrated heroism and the triumph of good over evil, and turned it into something far uglier—and in many ways, more compelling.

I spent the summer of 2011 watching new episodes every Sunday. The other six days of the week were spent tearing through the novels. And though it didn’t come immediately, I eventually had an epiphany: I liked A Song of Ice and Fire better than Lord of the Rings.

When you see perfection improved upon, you realize nothing’s perfect. There’s always more to be done, a higher place to climb, a better book to write. GRRM’s work helped me see past the ceilings I’d always believed were there. I doubt I’ll ever write anything better than Lord of the Rings. But if Martin could do it, it can’t be impossible.

Thanks, GRRM

Though we’ve never met, I’ve learned so much about writing from George RR Martin. I hope you did as well.