Mmmm, girl.

You know it and I know it: that zip-zippery sound of winding anything up is a slow building crescendo of anticipation. You crank the plastic walking toy, spin the garden hose wheel, or twist the egg timer tightly until everything locks and loads. Don’t matter whether you’re reeling in a fish, charging a manual flashlight, or preparing a set of chattering teeth to walk across the kitchen table, it all feels great.

It’s the sound of important work about to start. It’s the sound of important work about to finish. It’s the sound of progress, movement, and clicky little baby steps toward a bigger goal. Soon the fish jumps out of the water, the flashlight lights up the campsite, or  the toy teeters across the cold basement floor.

That wind-up clicking scratches a tiny little itch deep in our brain and gives a smirky sense of satisfaction when you’ve twisted ’til you can’t twist no more. Yes, when you build energy up inside whatever you’re winding up, you sure do crank yourself up, too.

AWESOME!

Jam your elbows in that stomach, breathe in those shampoo fumes, and squeeze your knees into the puffy cushions while spooning into a quick catnap on the couch. As drool drips, skin warms, and a slippery sweatfilm slides between you, just smile, close your eyes, and fade into a quiet cuddly moment with someone you love.

AWESOME!

Photos from: here

What’s your glue movie?

For me, I’m completely sucked in anytime I accidentally stumble on A League of Their Own while flipping channels. Yes, watching Tom Hanks and Geena Davis scratch out wins on the ball diamond always hooks me like a fish ’til the credits roll.

See, glue movies are any movie you can’t stop watching whenever you see them on TV.

Nope, don’t matter how many times you’ve seen ’em, don’t matter if you own ’em already — just forget the laundry, skip the dishes, and make your lunch tomorrow, people. You’re stuck in a glue movie so start popping corn and pouring Pepsis because you ain’t going anywhere.

Now, I was chilling in my friend Nick and Julie’s basement apartment the other night when we started chatting about glue movies. After I spent five minutes spilling potato chip crumbs all over my T-shirt while describing Madonna and Rosie O’Donnell’s on field chemistry, Nick started up a rant of his own.

“You know, you would think my glue movie would be The Usual Suspects,” he began. “I can pick it up anywhere and knowing the twist makes every scene more interesting. Like, what’s true, what’s made up? I’ve seen it twenty times and I still don’t know. But then again, it’s completely unwatchable when edited for television. In the police line-up scene they say something like ‘Hand me the keys, you giant cockroach.‘ It’s awful. So… now that I think about it my glue movie is definitely Heat. Long movie, understated performance by Deniro, the best bank robbing scene in history, and enough relationship stuff so Julie gets into it.”

It was a good argument and Nick was satisfied with it. He took a long swig of his drink and nodded his head a little bit as he came to terms with his glue movie selection. Then I performed a classy Thumb & Index Finger Pre-Lick, we let a minute pass in silence, and Julie went off like a rocket:

“My movie is definitely The Mighty Ducks 2,” she started, excitedly. Nick and I looked at each other but she ramped up. “Look, I’m smiling just thinking about it. I had a crush on all the boys from the first movie, but I can only responsibly love them closer to the legal age of consent. Plus, they had a girl on the team and I always dreamed of being that female hero. And I generally love movies with kids because they remind you of actors before they were big. I mean, I loved Joshua Jackson in Dawson’s Creek because of the ducks,” she finished.

Nick shrugged and nodded, I furrowed my eyebrows and gave a dramatic thumbs up, but Julie wasn’t quite done.

“Oh yeah!” she beamed. “And the movie taught me everything I know about hockey which can be summarized in three words: Ducks fly together. This is what I yell whenever Nick’s watching hockey.”

We smiled and laughed because it was clear these movies really do hold a special place in our hearts.

Maybe you’re glued to the screen waiting for the redemption in Shawshank, nervous for the courtroom drama in My Cousin Vinny, or eager for the trip home in Adventures in Babysitting.

But no matter what, watching your glue movie is like hanging out with an old friend who pops by for an unexpected visit. After pouring a drink and settling into your couch dent, the memory pops and nostalgia drops start sparking and sizzling in your brain. Suddenly you’re reminded of drives to the movies in mom’s minivan, crashing on the couch with friends, or sharing an old fave with a new flame.

So stick with your glue movies, everybody.

They’ll be yours forever.

AWESOME!

You’re a human pillow.

Feel that tiny heart beating on your chest, that strawberry-sized hand gripping your finger, and those baby powder breaths softly whispering in and out…

When you were a little baby you fell asleep on people all the time, too. Now that you’re all grown up you’re helping another life on its way.

And just think: One day way off in the distance this softly sleeping snuggler will be doing the exact same thing.

AWESOME!

Photo from: here

Do you play golf?

Me, I’ve tried a couple times but it’s always the same: I lace up some stained sneakers, borrow rusty clubs from someone’s basement, and then scrounge around the parking lot for some dented balls for my once-a-decade tee shot.

Now, I’ve mentioned my athletic abilities before so you’ll understand why I love that golf rule which lets me call a mulligan. Have you heard of it? Basically, I swing and miss the ball a dozen times before eventually shanking it dead sideways into the dense forest.

But then I just yell MULLIGANNNNN! really loudly and everyone lets me try again.

It’s a great rule and it got me thinking: We should be able to call mulligans anywhere. Because hear me out.

What if you could call a mulligan on your driving test? Yes, after tire-punching the curb and hitting Grandma’s shopping cart you just drop the m-word and start again. Or how about calling a mulligan after an awkward side hug in the airport? Or after accidentally spitting a tiny piece of food on your date’s face?

It’s starting to sound good, am I right?

Now, my old college friend Mike is the master. See, he’s perfected the beautifully indulgent Weekend Mulligan. He often gets up and groggily stumbles around the kitchen, spills coffee grinds on the floor, and accidentally steps on the cat. But then he stares at his dark, hollow eyes in the mirror and realizes he woke up too soon.

That’s when he just calls a mulligan on the day and goes back to bed with a plan to give it another shot a few hours later.

People, life’s too short not to sleep when you feel like it. So take a page from our book and when your first couple shots land in the rough, just yell mulligan and start again.

AWESOME!

Photos from: here, here, and here

Get your groove on strong.

Yes, lock that door, shutter those blinds, and crank that bumping thumping music, baby. Because it’s time to get down with the get down:

• The Microphone. Wooden spoons are ideal but there are good substitutes like toothbrushes, combs, or even a bulky plastic hair dryer. Just don’t trip on the cord.

• The Crowd. It’s all about mirrors. Nod and let them nod right back at you. Watch them mouth the words and raise their fists with yours. What a beautiful audience.

• The Critics. There are none! This is the best part. Nobody says you’re singing out of key so just wail till you can’t wail no more. For bonus points get your voice so loud and dirty it scratches the back of your throat.

• The Wardrobe. You’ve got a few costume options including the classic ripped raggedy T-shirt and pair of faded sweats. There’s also underwear only, or even, well… you know. Relax, you look great. Time to rock out.

Yes, we’ve all been home alone and sometimes it’s fun to lose yourself in the moment.

After all, maybe you’re hanging with a heavy heart, burning with a hot temper, or just snowed in after a bad day. If there’s a black cloud hanging ugly over your head there’s no cheaper cure than having a solo dance party in the comfort of your place.

Some come on and turn it on, crank it up, and just shake it baby, shake it baby, shake it like that.

AWESOME!

Photo from: here

Thanks, universe.

Once in a while you send big blinking signs that everything’s unfolding according to plan. Yes, whether it’s a supersmooth drive home, some eerie deja vu, or a  perfect time showing up on the clock, you drop buzzy little braintwists that always keep us guessing.

Yes, it’s great when you learn a new word and then suddenly start seeing it everywhere. You know how it goes: something weird like coagulate, vexed, or perforated leaps into your temporal lobe and wedges itself there tightly, grabbing a beer, putting its feet up, making itself at home.

But then soon magazine articles are zooming the word up to your eyeballs, your college professor is dropping it in lectures, and you see it hanging strangely coagulate in the middle of a random blog.

“I never knew that word before,” you think. “but now it’s following me around.”

See, the Lords of Language know you well. They gotta repeat things to seal in the learning. So when it happens just enjoy that personal thrill, feel that connection crackle, and smile and nod because you just got a little bit smarter and a lot more

AWESOME!

Photo from: here

Dive in.

Scoring some sweet and salty rings hidden in your fries is the fast food equivalent finding a treasure chest at the bottom of the sea. Suddenly you’re an explorer stumbling upon a lost shipwreck way, way down in the darkness. While your friends linger above, you plunge deeper and deeper … eventually spotting a coral-covered chest wedged between some slippery rocks.

As your heart thump-thumps you kick the rusty lock and peel open the lid to behold a glittery sight. Your face lights up like a flashlight and your eyes pop open behind the scuba mask as you realize you’ve uncovered a hidden stash of crunchy, oily gold.

There be treasure in these fries.

AWESOME!

Photo from: here and here

Put your hand up if you ran from doorbells, hid behind pant legs, and avoided eye contact with grownups as a shy little kid.

Brothers and sisters, if your hand is up right now, you are not alone.

Yes, mute as a mouse, quiet as a cat, I was a short, snotty, bedhead-smeared ghost of a child until about eight years old.

That was when I was head-yanked out of my turtle shell by a cotton-white, curly-haired, crinkly-smiled teacher who pushed me every single day. For some reason Mrs. Dorsman cared, she just cared, and she had me reading to the class, talking out loud, and practicing my cursive on the blackboard.

Sadly, when I was 10 years old my family moved away and we completely lost touch. But the little germs of ideas she planted in me rooted deep and grew slowly as the years bumped on and on and on and on…

Yesterday morning I woke up and found this in my inbox:

— Email message —

From: Stella Dorsman

Neil, I just read the article in the Star this morning about your interesting life and upcoming book. I just need to know….are you the Neil Pasricha who was in my grade 3 class at Sunset Heights P.S.? If so, reading about you has been my truly awesome moment for today. I have been retired for ten years, but always remember my good students and hope that some of the emphasis I placed on writing skills eventually paid off. Please confirm your identity!

Best wishes,

Stella Dorsman

— Email message —

From: 1000 Awesome Things

It’s me! It’s me!

Mrs. Dorsman, you did indeed inspire and encourage me. I remember our class fondly! You are a fantastic and passionate teacher and I’m sure you encouraged thousands of students in your career. I count myself amongst the lucky! Thank you for calling my name on your attendance list outside the doors on that cold morning after Labor Day.

Neil

— Email message —

From: Stella Dorsman

Neil, SO HAPPY to hear from you…..and you’re old enough to call me “Stella” now! I also remember your Sunset Heights class as one of the highlights of my career…not all classes were as much fun.

I will indeed check out your book….I’m very proud of you…Stella

—

Well, we’ve all got those teachers who plant seeds inside us. Maybe it’s the baseball coach who leaves you on the mound after giving up some runs, maybe it’s the language teacher who helps you with that stutter after class, or maybe it’s the college professor whose inspirational talks fill you with the power to follow your dreams.

When Mrs. Dorsman picks up a copy of The Book of Awesome I hope she reads all the way to the Acknowledgments buried in the back and finds the tiny little note waiting there just for her.

“Special thanks to Mrs. Dorsman for pushing me out of my shell in third grade.”

AWESOME!

Photos from: here and here

I was a bad baby.

From the time I was zero minutes old I was wide-eyed, wide-awake, crying and cranky. Bedtime meant nothing and my parents say I’d often stand in my crib staring around the room rattling the bars all night.

Sleeplessness stuck as the years rolled on and I’d lie in the dark quiet house staring at the ceiling with my eyes bugged open for hours. Eventually I discovered books and started squinting through thick Coke-bottle glasses — lips softly moving, fingers slowly dragging — getting pulled into new worlds and new lives. Dim lights cast dark shadows by my dresser as I followed Frank and Joe to Pirate’s Cove or cracked cases with Encyclopedia Brown.

When I went to high school I tried to sleep in, I practiced even, but it just wouldn’t take. And since nobody was crazy enough to date me, I spent most of my evenings nose deep in musty yellow paperbacks tattered from the library, creasy finger-dents in the backs, big cracks in the spine.

These days my fingers can still feel the crinkly color-faded pages of garage sale Archie comics. I can still smell the musty kid’s section of the dim library basement. My brain still reels with flashbulb-popping memories of flipping pages with mom before bed.

I think I’ve loved books since I was a crib-rattling baby. I love squeezing them in suitcase pockets, leaving them teetering on toilets, and curling up with them under blankets on wet rainy days.

Today The Book of Awesome hits shelves around the United States. Next week it’s coming to Canada. And soon it’s coming to more countries around the world.

I feel tremendously lucky and honored that a chance to chat with y’all about awesome things rose out of such difficult times in my personal life. Your comments, suggestions, and support means so much to me and I sincerely hope you like the book.

And maybe this one’s for yourself, maybe it’s a gift for Grandma, or maybe it’s for a little kid with thick glasses to read under the covers tonight.

AWESOME!

Photos from: here, here, and here