I would like to introduce a new phrase into the American lexicon.  I inadvertently tested it a few months back when I told a story to my co-workers at The Screenwriting Center.  They flew with it . . .

I was just telling some guy named John that it was 3:16pm.

Back in 2000, I was living in New York.  Well, not New York.  Well, actually, New York came later.  I would like to say at the time I was living in New York because it sounds much, MUCH cooler than Oradell, NJ.  Yes, beautiful Oradell.  Situated next to the Mall capital of New Jersey, Paramus.  I was young, optimistic . . . and surrounded by various GAP locations.  I was set for life! . . . Of course, my hosts were definitely ready to kill that attitude.

How quant. And white. And . . . boring.

I moved to New Jersey because a guy I went to College with was going to move to Manhattan and he invited me to stay with his parents while we looked for a New York apartment together.  Well, that was the beginning of one of the worst eras of my life.  I have an abundance of stories of how this family made me feel unwelcome and guilty about my whole life.  Stories that range form blaming me for a pipe bursting in their basement to telling me that I should give up on acting to kicking me out of the house because they wanted a guest room . . . I don’t mind saying this, The Delaney’s are AWFUL, DESPICABLE people.

I should have known what I was getting into when they showed me the meat locker.

One day I was doing laundry.  I had quite a lot.  Their washer and dryer was located in their unfinished basement.  I had to go and down the stairs a lot that Sunday.  Next to the basement entrance was a little reading room where Mr. Delaney read the paper.  An old New Jersey home with old wooden basement stairs — it naturally makes creaks and noises.  So, going down those stairs creates a few bangs and — oh, I don’t know, stepping sounds?  Well, after a few trips up and down the stairs, Mr. Delaney stops me and says, “Easy on the stairs, Tim.” . . . . . . . . .

Easy on the stairs?

I guess if this was the staircase, then I’d be wearing feather shoes . . .

What the hell!?  Is my 170 lb frame going to collapse your shitty house?  I mean, I know that you blame me for your decades old plumbing bursting in the basement.  I know that Mrs. Delaney got mad at me for horribly cutting my finger, causing me to go to hospital to get my thumb cauterized.  I know I was annoying when I insisted for paying for my own long distance calls.  I guess it’s inevitable that you’d think I would break your stairs.  I mean, I looked skinny but in reality, I’m a very dense man.  I look 170 but in reality, I weight about 700.

Granted, at the time I had an adamantium skeleton.

Fucking idiots.

So, if you ever run into to someone who is over zealous, or excited or a little hyper about something stupid, just tell them, “Easy on the stairs, man.”