The pictures that contain no images of Lauren or myself were shot while we were taking out plunge in a barrel. It wasn't so bad.
31 July 2008
30 July 2008
Part I: Not Falling for Niagara
Departure time: 4:45am, Sunday July 20th. EST.
Destination: Niagara Falls, NY, aka Buffalo/Grand Island.
Objective: see the falls, eat some wings and celebrate our initiation into the elite club of cross country adventurers. Well, maybe for me. This is Lauren's 2nd movement but the first apparently offered as much fun and sightseeing as a trip to the proctologist. Although, perhaps the proctologist might beg to differ on the sightseeing issue...
We arrived in gloomy Niagara Falls around 2:30pm after a simply gorgeous drive across 90 West through NY. Ok, gorgeous might be a tad exaggerated. Deplorable might be a better term here. 90 W on the NY Thruway is nothing short of painful. The only saving grace is that some of the rest stops offer Starbucks, which is nice. Other than that, it's been my least favorite stretch of road travelled. That has now changed...more on that to follow in the latter stages of the trip.
After trying to check into the Crowne Plaza in downtown Niagara prematurely, we staked out in the lobby bar and ordered up wings and beer. One great thing about upstate NY is the cheapness of Molson Canadian. I, for one, love this beer. It's light, relatively flavorless and totally refreshing. Perfection. The wings were solid. Nothing you'd go crawling back for, but a nice effort for a hotel bar, all be it in BUFFALO. I thought wings were supposed to be the shit up there? Guess we went to the wrong place.
Ok, onto the Falls. I will say that the Falls themselves are just beautiful. The sheer power of the thousands and thousands of tons of water that pour over the falls every second is something to see, for sure. The way things are set up, you can really walk to any vantage point (which you'll see in the upcoming photos) and get all the angles. We didn't make it onto the Maid of the Mist, which is the much heralded boat ride that takes you to the very mouth of the falls and exposes its riders to the pelting mists created by the crashing waters. We watched several of these boats transport people to and fro and it looked like a great time. We opted to cross the border into Canada to enjoy the limitless pleasantries and boundless beauty that is Ontario.
The Canadian side is basically a giant, seedy amusement park that rivals the Santa Monica pier...only a much dirtier and far less enjoyable experience. What we witnessed was some kind of cross between a monster truck rally and a Cindi Lauper concert but without good music. The only music you hear is the circus-themed bullshit as you walk by the Ripley's Believe It Or Not, watching the outpouring of oglers who probably haven't left their houses since 1984. Although, that was a good year. We tried to find a restaurant that was to our liking and eventually we settled on Subway. I'm sorry, but you really can't miss with Subway. You watch those fuckers make your sandwich and you can make absolutely sure they put on what you ask for. Plus the bread is fresh. Final bonus: Lauren and I can eat there for under $10. Sold.
After concluding our Canadian visit (side note: the US charges $.50 for re-entry...penny-pinching bastards) we ended the night with a little frozen custard. That shit is weird, man. We thought we'd be refreshing ourselves with something that resembled soft serve, but we were wrong. The stuff tastes ok for a minute but it's way too rich and it just feels unnatural. Plus, it doesn't melt. It merely warms over but maintains its shape and form. Two points for cleanliness factor, one hundred points for weirdness factor. We will not be eating frozen custard ever again. Oh, and for those in Ohio that refer to frozen custard as an Eastern treat, you can stop that blasphemy right now. Soft serve is what we eat in the east, not your bullshit custard.
Overall, I give Niagara a 6.5 on a scale of 1-10. To recap, the Falls are amazing and they account for all 6.5 points of the rating. The rest of that area may as well be burned, for all I care.
Please enjoy some shots of the Falls and stay tuned for Part II, That Toddlin' Town.
Destination: Niagara Falls, NY, aka Buffalo/Grand Island.
Objective: see the falls, eat some wings and celebrate our initiation into the elite club of cross country adventurers. Well, maybe for me. This is Lauren's 2nd movement but the first apparently offered as much fun and sightseeing as a trip to the proctologist. Although, perhaps the proctologist might beg to differ on the sightseeing issue...
We arrived in gloomy Niagara Falls around 2:30pm after a simply gorgeous drive across 90 West through NY. Ok, gorgeous might be a tad exaggerated. Deplorable might be a better term here. 90 W on the NY Thruway is nothing short of painful. The only saving grace is that some of the rest stops offer Starbucks, which is nice. Other than that, it's been my least favorite stretch of road travelled. That has now changed...more on that to follow in the latter stages of the trip.
After trying to check into the Crowne Plaza in downtown Niagara prematurely, we staked out in the lobby bar and ordered up wings and beer. One great thing about upstate NY is the cheapness of Molson Canadian. I, for one, love this beer. It's light, relatively flavorless and totally refreshing. Perfection. The wings were solid. Nothing you'd go crawling back for, but a nice effort for a hotel bar, all be it in BUFFALO. I thought wings were supposed to be the shit up there? Guess we went to the wrong place.
Ok, onto the Falls. I will say that the Falls themselves are just beautiful. The sheer power of the thousands and thousands of tons of water that pour over the falls every second is something to see, for sure. The way things are set up, you can really walk to any vantage point (which you'll see in the upcoming photos) and get all the angles. We didn't make it onto the Maid of the Mist, which is the much heralded boat ride that takes you to the very mouth of the falls and exposes its riders to the pelting mists created by the crashing waters. We watched several of these boats transport people to and fro and it looked like a great time. We opted to cross the border into Canada to enjoy the limitless pleasantries and boundless beauty that is Ontario.
The Canadian side is basically a giant, seedy amusement park that rivals the Santa Monica pier...only a much dirtier and far less enjoyable experience. What we witnessed was some kind of cross between a monster truck rally and a Cindi Lauper concert but without good music. The only music you hear is the circus-themed bullshit as you walk by the Ripley's Believe It Or Not, watching the outpouring of oglers who probably haven't left their houses since 1984. Although, that was a good year. We tried to find a restaurant that was to our liking and eventually we settled on Subway. I'm sorry, but you really can't miss with Subway. You watch those fuckers make your sandwich and you can make absolutely sure they put on what you ask for. Plus the bread is fresh. Final bonus: Lauren and I can eat there for under $10. Sold.
After concluding our Canadian visit (side note: the US charges $.50 for re-entry...penny-pinching bastards) we ended the night with a little frozen custard. That shit is weird, man. We thought we'd be refreshing ourselves with something that resembled soft serve, but we were wrong. The stuff tastes ok for a minute but it's way too rich and it just feels unnatural. Plus, it doesn't melt. It merely warms over but maintains its shape and form. Two points for cleanliness factor, one hundred points for weirdness factor. We will not be eating frozen custard ever again. Oh, and for those in Ohio that refer to frozen custard as an Eastern treat, you can stop that blasphemy right now. Soft serve is what we eat in the east, not your bullshit custard.
Overall, I give Niagara a 6.5 on a scale of 1-10. To recap, the Falls are amazing and they account for all 6.5 points of the rating. The rest of that area may as well be burned, for all I care.
Please enjoy some shots of the Falls and stay tuned for Part II, That Toddlin' Town.
I'm having trouble with the photos...a separate post is in order. Sorry for the inconvenience.
-Le Management
29 July 2008
French Has Landed
I repeat, French has landed. Here I sit, at my new desk in a new city, new surrounding...new coffee to drink (Coffee Bean...better than DD and Starbucks. Yes Dad, better than DD. You'll see.).
I have decided that my recollection of the trip that just concluded for Lauren and I shall be done in stages. I'm not exactly sure of the chronology or the number of stages that I'll employ but I can assure you that by the end of the log, you'll be fully up to speed on where in the world/US French has been over the last 10 days or so. I want to start with thank yous.
1. My folks.
Guys, thanks for putting me up at 9 Ray over the last 8 weeks. I think we all agree that it was the most pleasant 8 weeks that we've ever spent under the same roof, eh? Mom, you learned a few things about flavor in your food and Dad, you learned that jalapenos are our friends. We enjoyed the treasure that is the Pickled Onion, bearing fruits of beer and chicken wings at a ghastly low price on Tuesday nights. We sipped homemade mojitos, cheap wine and cheaper beer and kind of just hung out. It was a lot of fun and I'm looking forward to showing you around the beauty and grandeur that is Los Angeles come late September.
2. The Mexican Jew, aka Tito.
For those of you who aren't aware already, Tito is Lauren's brother. We're now roommates I guess, but Tito provided us with a travel kit of sorts to both take up some time during our long and arduous journey as well as expand our minds a bit and make us laugh. It was wildly successful, a lot of fun and I learned a thing or two about the Flight of the Conchords as well as the Roots new album. Thanks bro. Good shit.
3. The Goldstein's.
My new Innkeepers, I suppose. I guess time will tell if I turn out to be a good houseguest, but I can assure you that I will be doing my dishes from now on. Your hospitality, as always, is as meaningful as it is welcoming and warm. Thanks for putting me up and putting up with me.
4. Lauren
Finally...the one person who shared a trek of 4000 miles across this fruited plain with me. I wouldn't have shared it with anyone else, baby. Thanks for the company, your DJ skills and your passion for buffalo wings. We made it to Buffalo Wild Wings, dammit. And isn't that what really matters? On a side note here, all of their sauces are totally bearable with the exception of the Blazin'. I handled their second hottest with no issue but the Blazin', their hottest offering, blew my doors off. I went a good 10 minutes before I could even think about putting anything in my mouth as the capsaicin proceeded to give my tastebuds the asskicking of their lives. Remember what Drago did to Apollo? Yeah, that kind of beat down.
Trip details, Part I to follow.
14 July 2008
"A Really Crappy Story"
I received this email this morning and I can't tell you how hard I laughed...I can't fully explain how much fervor was behind my uproariously hefty chuckles and convulsions of laughter.
The identity of this individual shall remain anonymous unless he chooses to divulge this information himself, via the comment section. All I can add to this purportance of peril is say that I was not affected beyond my normal output of gas. I am admittedly a gassy individual (this may or may not please my future roommates out west) so even a slight spike in activity down below probably goes unnoticed on my part. The only deviation from the norm that occurred on my part that evening was due to the fan layout in my room, as any flatulence would imminently get stuck in a cross breeze just above my nose, creating a veritable fart cyclone above my bed. Just read on...
Dude, I really think there was either 1. some cross contamination issue on Friday or 2. the marinade did some crazy shit to my GI. I had the WORST ride home ever. I nearly crashed like 5 times because of the most painful gas I've ever experienced. I didn't want to stop because I needed to get home. Every mile that went by seemed to take like 20 minutes. I was literally using my hand to keep what felt to be the biggest, most aggressive crap ever from coming out. I started out saying, "if I can just get home I'll be fine". Then it was, "if I can just get to a dunkin donuts I'll be fine". Then it was, if I can just find a wooded area I'll be fine". Then it was, "if I don't crash my car I'll be fine". About three quarters of the way home the gas subsided and I felt good, I felt like I could make it home but I knew it was only a matter of time before it returned. Then, about a mile from my house, as I was getting on 495 one exit away, it came back with a vengeance. Someone working at Stop & Shop that made that meat wanted me to lose everything in my car, my brand new car. I floored it, 90 MPH, eyes watering, sweat pouring, "just let me get home, just let me get home, just let me get home". Of course, the light at the end of the ramp was red. The light at the end of my street was red . . . but I was going to make it, I was going to make it!
I pull up to my house, (literally pulled up to my house, driving on the lawn nearly to the porch) and I take one step out of the car and my ass explodes. Simultaneously I try to pull down my shorts and squat to no avail, I fall backwards and I quickly pull down my shorts but it's too late. There is shit everywhere (but my car thank god). The lawn is covered, my legs are covered, my brand new kicks are like mini toilet bowls filled with shit. There was so much shit you would have thought that I dove into a shit swimming pool. It's 11:00pm, I strip naked on my front lawn, still sick and I pull out the hose. I spray myself down with freezing cold water, go inside and sit on the toilet for another half hour and continue to shit my brains out. Now my bathroom is covered in human waste. The floor, the toilet seat, the sink, everything! There is shit everywhere and as far as I know, the whole neighborhood is meeting about whether or not to call the cops on the guy that drove on the lawn, got out, shit himself silly and is now running around naked with a hose and spraying random things like the back of my nut sack with 120 pounds of pressure.
I was up until 1:30am, sick, exhausted, cleaning the bathroom, taking like 3 showers. It was a total disaster and in the morning I still had to go out and clean the lawn, my clothes etc.
The identity of this individual shall remain anonymous unless he chooses to divulge this information himself, via the comment section. All I can add to this purportance of peril is say that I was not affected beyond my normal output of gas. I am admittedly a gassy individual (this may or may not please my future roommates out west) so even a slight spike in activity down below probably goes unnoticed on my part. The only deviation from the norm that occurred on my part that evening was due to the fan layout in my room, as any flatulence would imminently get stuck in a cross breeze just above my nose, creating a veritable fart cyclone above my bed. Just read on...
Dude, I really think there was either 1. some cross contamination issue on Friday or 2. the marinade did some crazy shit to my GI. I had the WORST ride home ever. I nearly crashed like 5 times because of the most painful gas I've ever experienced. I didn't want to stop because I needed to get home. Every mile that went by seemed to take like 20 minutes. I was literally using my hand to keep what felt to be the biggest, most aggressive crap ever from coming out. I started out saying, "if I can just get home I'll be fine". Then it was, "if I can just get to a dunkin donuts I'll be fine". Then it was, if I can just find a wooded area I'll be fine". Then it was, "if I don't crash my car I'll be fine". About three quarters of the way home the gas subsided and I felt good, I felt like I could make it home but I knew it was only a matter of time before it returned. Then, about a mile from my house, as I was getting on 495 one exit away, it came back with a vengeance. Someone working at Stop & Shop that made that meat wanted me to lose everything in my car, my brand new car. I floored it, 90 MPH, eyes watering, sweat pouring, "just let me get home, just let me get home, just let me get home". Of course, the light at the end of the ramp was red. The light at the end of my street was red . . . but I was going to make it, I was going to make it!
I pull up to my house, (literally pulled up to my house, driving on the lawn nearly to the porch) and I take one step out of the car and my ass explodes. Simultaneously I try to pull down my shorts and squat to no avail, I fall backwards and I quickly pull down my shorts but it's too late. There is shit everywhere (but my car thank god). The lawn is covered, my legs are covered, my brand new kicks are like mini toilet bowls filled with shit. There was so much shit you would have thought that I dove into a shit swimming pool. It's 11:00pm, I strip naked on my front lawn, still sick and I pull out the hose. I spray myself down with freezing cold water, go inside and sit on the toilet for another half hour and continue to shit my brains out. Now my bathroom is covered in human waste. The floor, the toilet seat, the sink, everything! There is shit everywhere and as far as I know, the whole neighborhood is meeting about whether or not to call the cops on the guy that drove on the lawn, got out, shit himself silly and is now running around naked with a hose and spraying random things like the back of my nut sack with 120 pounds of pressure.
I was up until 1:30am, sick, exhausted, cleaning the bathroom, taking like 3 showers. It was a total disaster and in the morning I still had to go out and clean the lawn, my clothes etc.
-FIN-
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