Blood is red
Smurfs are blue
I've been a bit terse
What the hell's it to you?
I've received some complaints due to my lack of flow here on the ye olde blog. And to be quite frank, I really don't care. I haven't had anything that I care to write about as of late and that's a whole bunch-a fine, in my mind. A whole bunch-a fine.
Here's something for you to chew on...
http://thechuckwagonjournal.blogspot.com
Once again, this is the blog of my folks, Chuck and Kathy, who are currrently ensconced in a westward movement of epic proportions. They're having the time of their lives and as you'll read, they haven't once thought of killing each other over the course of the three months they've been travelling...methinks this a boldface lie, but hey. Who knows.
I promise to be more proactive on my blog. Jabroni.
26 September 2008
11 September 2008
Something New
I started a new blog.
http://goaheadifuckingdareyou.blogspot.com/
I've decided that a lot of my colorful ranting about little things that really, really bother me deserve their own blog.
What you can expect: some questionable language. Well probably a lot of questionable language. If you're not one to take too kindly to a smattering of cuss words, go read http://thechuckwagonjournal.blogspot.com. Actually, do read this one. It's my parents' chronicle of their own cross country journey in real time...unlike mine. They're on day 10 right now and should be somewhere in Wyoming.
Inevitably, something gets under my skin each and every day. If you care to know what that might be on a given day, read this blog. Go ahead. I fucking dare you.
See what I did there?
http://goaheadifuckingdareyou.blogspot.com/
I've decided that a lot of my colorful ranting about little things that really, really bother me deserve their own blog.
What you can expect: some questionable language. Well probably a lot of questionable language. If you're not one to take too kindly to a smattering of cuss words, go read http://thechuckwagonjournal.blogspot.com. Actually, do read this one. It's my parents' chronicle of their own cross country journey in real time...unlike mine. They're on day 10 right now and should be somewhere in Wyoming.
Inevitably, something gets under my skin each and every day. If you care to know what that might be on a given day, read this blog. Go ahead. I fucking dare you.
See what I did there?
10 September 2008
What WILL They Think of Next?
Ever have those moments where you say that to yourself? I had one last night as I watched the new JJ Abrams drama, Fringe (hooked me instantly, by the way). It was a commercial for one of the newest diabetes monitors to hit the market and the come in 4 fashionable colors so you can personalize your diabetes. I had many thoughts flood my brain after this commercial. For one, I wish they had Wilford Brimley do this ad. "Check your blood sugar; check it often. And pimp your diabetes monitor; pimp it hard. You have diabetes...there's just no reason for you to not be cool and have diabetes." I wonder if they'll come out with covers for the monitors so you can be moody with it. Don't want your monitor to be blue today? Fine, use the black cover. Or the yellow one. You have options...you may have diabetes, but you have options with your monitor and its color. Don't let diabetes run your life, and don't let your diabetes monitor leave you in a fashion conundrum. There's just no reason not to have a cool diabetes monitor.
Why have we not seen the pimped out wheelchair or motorized scooter yet? With all the shootings we hear about on the news and all the gang-related shit out here in LA, there's got to be a market for wheelchairs with 36" rims and spinners to boot. What about a lowrider wheelchair? Or one with fucking hydraulics?? So you can't walk, fuck it. Blast Dre and bump down that sidewalk. I know someone could make money doing this. Could give new meaning to the term 'ambulance chaser'...not just for lawyers anymore.
I also don't feel like we're doing enough with the keychain. People of the 80's had some serious issues with the janitor-style keychain...unless this was only a symptom of my aunt Joanie and her daughters. I recall shit like bandannas on there, like forty-six some-odd keys of various uses, a few mini, stuffed cats, a Vegas-themed thing and some other shit. Nowadays, the keychain is reserved for cards that link us to various clubs. CVS. Stop & Shop or Ralph's or whatever your local grocer is. The gym. Petco. What have you. Most people have a car device on there that locks and unlocks. My dad has always been a proponent of the mini Swiss Army knife on his and I think this is one of the best ideas ever. You have a small blade, a file, a screwdriver and a toothpick at all times. Beauty. But this is what I mean...shouldn't we be taking greater advantage of the one part of us that never leave home without? Shouldn't there be an iPod that hooks to our keys? It would have to be tiny like the Shuffle, of course. I'm always wishing I had tic tacs, but I know if those bastards made a container that attached to my keychain, I'd buy them more often. Same with gum. I don't know, it just seems like we need more from our keychains.
Wow, a remake of Tainted Love just came on in Coffee Bean. It's one I haven't heard yet and it's pretty nice. Anyone know who this might be? On other musical fronts, I'm due some congratulatory remarks on account of finally downloading iTunes to my laptop. I no longer have to screw up my lady's iTunes with my devil music.
Why have we not seen the pimped out wheelchair or motorized scooter yet? With all the shootings we hear about on the news and all the gang-related shit out here in LA, there's got to be a market for wheelchairs with 36" rims and spinners to boot. What about a lowrider wheelchair? Or one with fucking hydraulics?? So you can't walk, fuck it. Blast Dre and bump down that sidewalk. I know someone could make money doing this. Could give new meaning to the term 'ambulance chaser'...not just for lawyers anymore.
I also don't feel like we're doing enough with the keychain. People of the 80's had some serious issues with the janitor-style keychain...unless this was only a symptom of my aunt Joanie and her daughters. I recall shit like bandannas on there, like forty-six some-odd keys of various uses, a few mini, stuffed cats, a Vegas-themed thing and some other shit. Nowadays, the keychain is reserved for cards that link us to various clubs. CVS. Stop & Shop or Ralph's or whatever your local grocer is. The gym. Petco. What have you. Most people have a car device on there that locks and unlocks. My dad has always been a proponent of the mini Swiss Army knife on his and I think this is one of the best ideas ever. You have a small blade, a file, a screwdriver and a toothpick at all times. Beauty. But this is what I mean...shouldn't we be taking greater advantage of the one part of us that never leave home without? Shouldn't there be an iPod that hooks to our keys? It would have to be tiny like the Shuffle, of course. I'm always wishing I had tic tacs, but I know if those bastards made a container that attached to my keychain, I'd buy them more often. Same with gum. I don't know, it just seems like we need more from our keychains.
Wow, a remake of Tainted Love just came on in Coffee Bean. It's one I haven't heard yet and it's pretty nice. Anyone know who this might be? On other musical fronts, I'm due some congratulatory remarks on account of finally downloading iTunes to my laptop. I no longer have to screw up my lady's iTunes with my devil music.
08 September 2008
A Very Brady Sequel
Blog world is quiet thus far...quiet for the Monday following a potential career-ending injury to Tom Terrific. Although now, he's more like Tom Troubled, or Tom Too Bad. I'm not trying to make light of this in any way, shape or form but I will say this: I am so thankful that I am not in the city of Boston right now.
I've been chatting with a few of the guys I used to work with in Boston and all reports are the same: people are totally out of it today. Women have shed tears, men are pissed off and little babies are spitting up all over their #12 bibs. I get it, I do. He's the face of the franchise and the face of the NFL, for all intents and purposes. He absorbed what many are alleging to be a cheap shot and from what I know as of right this second (which equates to little more than zilch), he's probably mangled his ACL/MCS/knee thing-a-majig.
The response out here is something I never thought I'd see as a Patriot fan. People actually laughed at the news report during the early games yesterday. You see, it's funny to outsiders who see the Patriot conglomerate/juggernaut as merely a black mark on the league due to the bullshit with Spygate or whatever you want to call it. Apparently this injury to the formerly Favre-esque Brady is payback...a little karma action, as Earl might contend. My question is, how are Pat fans panicking at this point? Isn't there some pretty pertinent precedent here? Didn't we all shake in our shoes collectively when Mo Lewis all but decapitated Drew Bledsoe back in 2001? Yeah, we did. Now we're here, without even the slightest aftertaste of Bledsoe bitterness and two rings...not to mention a perfect regular season. Wait a second here...what's really at work?
The Patriots manage to blow a perfect season at the hands of the (gulp) Eli Manning-lead New York (gasp!) Giants, finishing a deplorable 18-1*. Hilarious, right? Yeah, ok. But this happens in the wake of this taping scandal and suddenly black clouds start to roll in on this once marveled and oft admired picture of hard work and coaching. Belichick is a bozo, a cheat. Now the Pats are the Evil Empire of the NFL and they have haters in more places than the Sox have fans across the globe. And now, in the first quarter of the first game of the 2008 season, the poster boy of all poster boys goes down with a career-threatening knee injury. Gene Upshaw is rolling over in his grave (whatever that means...what does that mean? Rolling over? Not banging his fists? Spewing cuss words all over? Crossing him arms and pouting?). I find the timing of all this to be very, very interesting.
How insane would it be if the Jets are now captained to the AFC crown by Brett fucking Favre? Is this a joke, people? The Jets are suddenly looking pretty damn good to contend for the division, like it or not. I still tend to believe that the Patriots will win it, seeing as though Tony Eason could probably win the AFC East with the likes of Moss, Welker, that O-line and that D-line. Cassel will be fine if they don't do something ridiculous and hand things over to a Chris Simms or Tim Rattay. Look at this scenario for a second. Cassel is a huge man with a big arm and a brain. He knows the system as well as Brady if not better and now he's in charge. If he's given some time to sit in the pocket and do what good pocket passers do, Moss will have another 20 TD grabs and the Patriots will win 11 or 12 games and be back in the playoffs. But you have to be intrigued by the possibility of the Favre Jets to be there in January. He's slingin' it again...in case you missed the 4th-and-13 that he willed into the arms of one of his receivers to basically win the game. How long until the Madden 2009 covers are all reproduced with Favre in a Jet jersey? Make the originals collectors items and sell new ones with him on the cover as a Jet. It'll be a new Madden curse, only this time it will involve a seemingly washed up, wily veteran who will retire, then unretire, and take his team to the promised land. Madden 2010 will feature Warren Moon, who will unretire to lead the QB-desperate Chiefs back to glory.
I've been chatting with a few of the guys I used to work with in Boston and all reports are the same: people are totally out of it today. Women have shed tears, men are pissed off and little babies are spitting up all over their #12 bibs. I get it, I do. He's the face of the franchise and the face of the NFL, for all intents and purposes. He absorbed what many are alleging to be a cheap shot and from what I know as of right this second (which equates to little more than zilch), he's probably mangled his ACL/MCS/knee thing-a-majig.
The response out here is something I never thought I'd see as a Patriot fan. People actually laughed at the news report during the early games yesterday. You see, it's funny to outsiders who see the Patriot conglomerate/juggernaut as merely a black mark on the league due to the bullshit with Spygate or whatever you want to call it. Apparently this injury to the formerly Favre-esque Brady is payback...a little karma action, as Earl might contend. My question is, how are Pat fans panicking at this point? Isn't there some pretty pertinent precedent here? Didn't we all shake in our shoes collectively when Mo Lewis all but decapitated Drew Bledsoe back in 2001? Yeah, we did. Now we're here, without even the slightest aftertaste of Bledsoe bitterness and two rings...not to mention a perfect regular season. Wait a second here...what's really at work?
The Patriots manage to blow a perfect season at the hands of the (gulp) Eli Manning-lead New York (gasp!) Giants, finishing a deplorable 18-1*. Hilarious, right? Yeah, ok. But this happens in the wake of this taping scandal and suddenly black clouds start to roll in on this once marveled and oft admired picture of hard work and coaching. Belichick is a bozo, a cheat. Now the Pats are the Evil Empire of the NFL and they have haters in more places than the Sox have fans across the globe. And now, in the first quarter of the first game of the 2008 season, the poster boy of all poster boys goes down with a career-threatening knee injury. Gene Upshaw is rolling over in his grave (whatever that means...what does that mean? Rolling over? Not banging his fists? Spewing cuss words all over? Crossing him arms and pouting?). I find the timing of all this to be very, very interesting.
How insane would it be if the Jets are now captained to the AFC crown by Brett fucking Favre? Is this a joke, people? The Jets are suddenly looking pretty damn good to contend for the division, like it or not. I still tend to believe that the Patriots will win it, seeing as though Tony Eason could probably win the AFC East with the likes of Moss, Welker, that O-line and that D-line. Cassel will be fine if they don't do something ridiculous and hand things over to a Chris Simms or Tim Rattay. Look at this scenario for a second. Cassel is a huge man with a big arm and a brain. He knows the system as well as Brady if not better and now he's in charge. If he's given some time to sit in the pocket and do what good pocket passers do, Moss will have another 20 TD grabs and the Patriots will win 11 or 12 games and be back in the playoffs. But you have to be intrigued by the possibility of the Favre Jets to be there in January. He's slingin' it again...in case you missed the 4th-and-13 that he willed into the arms of one of his receivers to basically win the game. How long until the Madden 2009 covers are all reproduced with Favre in a Jet jersey? Make the originals collectors items and sell new ones with him on the cover as a Jet. It'll be a new Madden curse, only this time it will involve a seemingly washed up, wily veteran who will retire, then unretire, and take his team to the promised land. Madden 2010 will feature Warren Moon, who will unretire to lead the QB-desperate Chiefs back to glory.
06 September 2008
Final Destination
Stage VI, Parts II & III
We departed San Francisco with slightly heavy hearts, as we could not stay in this wonderful city any longer. But we'll be back. We would our way down to Santa Cruz and the home of the banana slugs...also known to Lauren as home for a few years of college. I don't know why anyone would want to attend college anywhere else other than the University of California at Santa Cruz. Campus lends itself to a national forest which happens to border the ocean. Come on. COME ON.
We walked amongst the girthy sequioas and under the circling hawks that protect the campus. I felt a sense of peace about the place as we trapsed about the campus...Lauren told me about the system of grading without actual letter grades and about the regularity of hippies that attend the school. I could only imagine how this place is a veritable haven for pot smokers of the collegiate age, given the natural beauty of the campus and the feeling like you're in some protective community where anything goes and nothing goes beyond the gates of the campus.
Anyway, please enjoy some more of my lovely Lauren's photo journalism, Santa Cruz and Gilroy style.
Cowell College...one of the eight or nine colleges that are a part of the system at UCSC and the college that Lauren attended while she was there. Cowell is the Liberal Arts college and it overlooks the ocean, as you can see here. You know, maybe I'll just go back to school at UCSC and start over. It's not like I learned anything from my 5 years at UMass, anyway. 
Expansive fields on which one can play various sports and the backdrop is, as I may have mentioned, the ocean. Pretty sweet deal.
More from the fields o'er the ocean.
And finally, the Gilroy Garlic Festival. Without expectations, this place blew our minds. Who knew that a celebration of garlic could produce such a mass of food and shit to see. We should have come earlier and spent the entire day, but we didn't know what we were coming into. Instead, we spent a few hours here in Gilroy, we ate jalapeno poppers, garlic ice cream, garlic potato chips, buffalo wings and...beer. We drank some beers which tasted glorious in the 98 degree heat. We took this photo in front of a giant, burning clove of garlic. We then returned to our vehicle for the remaining 4.5 hours of driving that would land us in Los Angeles to find that some dipshit had left the passenger's side window down. Yes, with all of my belongings atop the car, in the car and about the car as well as Lauren's bag, wallet, cell phone and my cell phone, iPod, GPS, etc etc etc...I left the passenger's window open. For three some odd hours. Amongst a slew of garlic-seeking stragglers from all over. It could have been a disastrous climax to a long and arduous journey of 4000 miles, but no one took our stuff. They probably walked by and figured, hey, why fuck over someone who stinks of garlic and beer? 
I almost forgot...Bowen, we did happen upon a banana slug, seen here on his laptop. He was too busy to take a picture with us...turns out he was spoofing the biographical Tupac movie with a version of his own called "Slug Life". He was surpisingly trendy with his D&G shades and Uggz knockoffs...yeah, called Sluggz. Ripoffs. But apparently they do indeed exist and they are intelligent creatures. They just don't care to take photographs with humans.
05 September 2008
Stage VI, Part One
Our last leg of the trip...finally. In my opinion this was the best leg simply because of all the stuff we got to do/see/eat/smell. Here's how it went:
Part I: downtown San Francisco. Awesome city. It's widely known that Bostonians love San Francisco and I guess I now know why. You get some of the same feels, only over a much grander sprawl. Unfortunately for us, we were only in the city for a handful of awake hours so our exposure was quite limited. But I'd say that we made the best use of our time that was possible. Enjoy.
Bay Bridge from the car. 
AT&T Park, Home of the San Francisco Giants.
More AT&T...
...and one more...AT&T & Me. Aesthetically, this is a beautiful park. I've always been a jealous fan of McCovey Cove. I want to blast an opposite field homer into the ocean, don't you?
Dottie's Cafe on Geary St. Place is UNREAL. We had the pleasure of sitting at the countertop, due to the fact that we were in line at 7:10am for a 7:30 opening. We watched the grillmaster/owner flip flapjacks, spin out omelettes and scrambles, hash out the potatoes and poach eggs for benedicts. It was awesome, the food was insanely good and I even admitted that the dude made a better scramble than I do. Listen, you can't fuck with my breakfast prowess. I'll spin you off a scramble with spinach, mushrooms, shrimp, goat cheese and hot sauce that'll have you singing my name all the way to bottom of your plate. I digress...Dottie's is a MUST GO if you're in San Fran. I recommend the smoked trout scramble.
Financial District
Golden Gate Bridge
Me and Lauren at the park that precedes the wharf. You can't see them in the photo, but Danny Tanner is behind us, picnicking with Michelle and DJ. Stephanie couldn't make it because she was on the phone with a boy. How rude.
The start of the wharf with the Bay Bridge in the backdrop.Part's II and II of the Final Stage are to follow very shortly, so check back if you have any interest in seeing UC Santa Cruz or a lovely photo from the Gilroy Garlic Festival.
03 September 2008
Red Means Stop, Green Means Go. Yellow Means...
Please enjoy the following account for how my brain reacts to seeing a traffic light turn yellow as I approach an intersection.
Light is green, brain is set to easy, comfy mode. Foot remains lightly pressed on the gas pedal, speed in maintained, passenger (Lauren) in a stationary and apparently content state.
Light turns yellow, brain immediately pukes out a command to my right foot to jerkedly depress the brake in one, quick motion. Speed drops considerably, car jolts a bit, passenger jerks forward then back, looks considerably annoyed and kinda pissed.
Light remains yellow, just a split second after it turned at this point. Brain flip flops, pukes out another genius command to jam on the gas. Speed increases significantly, car jolts a lot and passenger's head hits the headrest rather impactfully. Passenger totally pissed, starts to offer audible complaints/barbs in my direction.
Light turns red as car approaches intersection, brain sends final command to foot to apply enough pressure to the brake pedal to break human bones if they were underneath. Car comes to a screeching halt, passenger jerks forward with great force, settles back into seat and begins to shower me with insults and more barbs, asks what the hell is wrong with me.
I don't know why this happens every time I see yellow light.
Light is green, brain is set to easy, comfy mode. Foot remains lightly pressed on the gas pedal, speed in maintained, passenger (Lauren) in a stationary and apparently content state.
Light turns yellow, brain immediately pukes out a command to my right foot to jerkedly depress the brake in one, quick motion. Speed drops considerably, car jolts a bit, passenger jerks forward then back, looks considerably annoyed and kinda pissed.
Light remains yellow, just a split second after it turned at this point. Brain flip flops, pukes out another genius command to jam on the gas. Speed increases significantly, car jolts a lot and passenger's head hits the headrest rather impactfully. Passenger totally pissed, starts to offer audible complaints/barbs in my direction.
Light turns red as car approaches intersection, brain sends final command to foot to apply enough pressure to the brake pedal to break human bones if they were underneath. Car comes to a screeching halt, passenger jerks forward with great force, settles back into seat and begins to shower me with insults and more barbs, asks what the hell is wrong with me.
I don't know why this happens every time I see yellow light.
02 September 2008
Overheard
This is unreal. I'm sitting here at Kinko's in Santa Monica and currently, this is what I'm overhearing. I'm trying to keep up with this one-sided phone conversation. But I'm laughing so hard that it's extremely difficult. Incorporate about a 10 second pause between each statement you read.
"David Hansen told me that his father is Jewish."
"David Hansen had a party thirty years ago that I went to with Mark Jackson. There was alcohol there but I didn't drink any of it."
"It was David Hansen's party. It was here that David Hansen told me his father is Jewish. There was a lot of alcohol there but I didn't have any. You can ask Mark Jackson, I bet he'd tell you."
"I went to Westminster Elementary with Mark Jackson. We've been friends for thirty years. Westminster Elementary is on Abbot Kinney and some other street. But I went to a party at David Hansen's with Mark Jackson many, many years ago and there was a lot of alcohol there. I didn't have any alcohol though. You can probably call Mark Jackson and ask him."
"David Hansen told me his father is Jewish."
"David Hansen told me his father is Jewish."
"David Hansen had a party in Santa Monica that I went to with Mark Jackson. I didn't know whose party it was until I got there, but once I got there I learned it was David Hansen's house. David Hansen had the party and there a bunch of kids from Santa Monica High School there, drinking alcohol. I didn't drink alcohol there, though. Mark Jackson will tell you that if you call him."
"I saw David Hansen on the 3rd St. Promenade and he told me that his father is Jewish."
"David Hansen told me his father is Jewish."
I can't keep up with this anymore. It's too much. Who is this guy talking to? He sounds like a fucking parrot, for Pete's sake. David Hansen's father is Jewish. He told me that. David Hansen told me that. I didn't drink any alcohol at David Hansen's party. You can ask Mark Jackson.
"David Hansen told me that his father is Jewish."
"David Hansen had a party thirty years ago that I went to with Mark Jackson. There was alcohol there but I didn't drink any of it."
"It was David Hansen's party. It was here that David Hansen told me his father is Jewish. There was a lot of alcohol there but I didn't have any. You can ask Mark Jackson, I bet he'd tell you."
"I went to Westminster Elementary with Mark Jackson. We've been friends for thirty years. Westminster Elementary is on Abbot Kinney and some other street. But I went to a party at David Hansen's with Mark Jackson many, many years ago and there was a lot of alcohol there. I didn't have any alcohol though. You can probably call Mark Jackson and ask him."
"David Hansen told me his father is Jewish."
"David Hansen told me his father is Jewish."
"David Hansen had a party in Santa Monica that I went to with Mark Jackson. I didn't know whose party it was until I got there, but once I got there I learned it was David Hansen's house. David Hansen had the party and there a bunch of kids from Santa Monica High School there, drinking alcohol. I didn't drink alcohol there, though. Mark Jackson will tell you that if you call him."
"I saw David Hansen on the 3rd St. Promenade and he told me that his father is Jewish."
"David Hansen told me his father is Jewish."
I can't keep up with this anymore. It's too much. Who is this guy talking to? He sounds like a fucking parrot, for Pete's sake. David Hansen's father is Jewish. He told me that. David Hansen told me that. I didn't drink any alcohol at David Hansen's party. You can ask Mark Jackson.
26 August 2008
Park City, Utah
Stage V: Park City, UT
Here's the long and the short of it:
Long was the drive to Park City, short was our stay. More of a true winter resort ONLY, we arrived at the deserted Canyons Resort in Park City late in the afternoon on Thursday, July 23rd. And for the first time on our journey, Hotwire failed us. There was no reservation at the resort under either name so we had no room at first. After an hour or so at the front desk things were cleared up and we had our room. It's amazing how little fight I had in me following 2100 miles of driving prior to landing in Park City. As much as I wanted to lay into the Hotwire rep for embarrassing me at the front desk at the resort, I just didn't have it in me. Sure, I wanted free shit as a result of the mishap. I wanted a deal, man. We booked every room on that trip with those fuckers, they owed us. But I was subdued by my fatigue and yearning for a square meal.
The greatest part of this stop was the tub in our hotel room. I can't tell you how much we valued the jacuzzi-style, giant bath tub that lay waiting for us in the bathroom. So following a suprisingly elegant and gourmet dinner (Lauren had a nice piece of tuna and I had a game bird meatloaf sandwich...tremendous), we relegated ourselves to the confines of this tub and sort of just melted into it. Our bones were tired as we made a lifeless human stew. After our glorious soak, we had all we could do to climb into bed and rest our heads. Sleep came quickly, but not as quickly as 5am. Friday would be our longest day of driving, through the deplorable wasteland that is Nevada and ultimately over the border into California, landing in San Francisco.
I wish I had more to say about Park City but like I said, this stop on the tour was much more of a rejuventing rest (all be it a short one) than anything else. Plus, as I mentioned, there wasn't SHIT to do up there. Alas, there are photos.
The Canyons Resort, Park City, UT. Here's where you valet your car for free, but then pay $18 for the garage. I guess this is more acceptable than the $49 charge for parking in Chicago and San Francisco. I should mention that at 5am, it was only about 55 degrees in Park City. The lowest temperature we encountered on the trip was 48 degrees as we wound through the Rockies. Conversely, the highest temp was 104 degrees in beautiful Fort Hays, KS. That was recorded about three hours before the 48 degree reading, marking a 56 degree change over a three hour span. I was very excited about this.
Here's the long and the short of it:
Long was the drive to Park City, short was our stay. More of a true winter resort ONLY, we arrived at the deserted Canyons Resort in Park City late in the afternoon on Thursday, July 23rd. And for the first time on our journey, Hotwire failed us. There was no reservation at the resort under either name so we had no room at first. After an hour or so at the front desk things were cleared up and we had our room. It's amazing how little fight I had in me following 2100 miles of driving prior to landing in Park City. As much as I wanted to lay into the Hotwire rep for embarrassing me at the front desk at the resort, I just didn't have it in me. Sure, I wanted free shit as a result of the mishap. I wanted a deal, man. We booked every room on that trip with those fuckers, they owed us. But I was subdued by my fatigue and yearning for a square meal.
The greatest part of this stop was the tub in our hotel room. I can't tell you how much we valued the jacuzzi-style, giant bath tub that lay waiting for us in the bathroom. So following a suprisingly elegant and gourmet dinner (Lauren had a nice piece of tuna and I had a game bird meatloaf sandwich...tremendous), we relegated ourselves to the confines of this tub and sort of just melted into it. Our bones were tired as we made a lifeless human stew. After our glorious soak, we had all we could do to climb into bed and rest our heads. Sleep came quickly, but not as quickly as 5am. Friday would be our longest day of driving, through the deplorable wasteland that is Nevada and ultimately over the border into California, landing in San Francisco.
I wish I had more to say about Park City but like I said, this stop on the tour was much more of a rejuventing rest (all be it a short one) than anything else. Plus, as I mentioned, there wasn't SHIT to do up there. Alas, there are photos.
The Canyons Resort, Park City, UT. Here's where you valet your car for free, but then pay $18 for the garage. I guess this is more acceptable than the $49 charge for parking in Chicago and San Francisco. I should mention that at 5am, it was only about 55 degrees in Park City. The lowest temperature we encountered on the trip was 48 degrees as we wound through the Rockies. Conversely, the highest temp was 104 degrees in beautiful Fort Hays, KS. That was recorded about three hours before the 48 degree reading, marking a 56 degree change over a three hour span. I was very excited about this.
The gondola, which had taken the night off on Thursday. Had we more time, we could have taken this bitch to the top of the mountain and had lunch for a mere $40 a person. And I'm pretty sure the lunch was pb&j's. Hey, it's all about the views, man. The views. Look at that sun rise.
This is kind of a shitty photo...one that I took, undoubtedly. I believe this to be our resort from afar with the mountain behind it. Yes, that mountainous, cone-shaped mass behind the resort is in fact a mountain.
Sunrise in Park City...
And finally, Chad and Lauren, pre-coffee at 5:30am as we prepare to depart Park City. She looks cute at this time of day. I look like a fucking idiot.
And the final stage of the trip shall follow shortly.
25 August 2008
To Know A Vail
Stage IV: Vail, Colorado
I know, I should have wrapped up this trip wrap-up long ago. It's not like I'm pressed for time to write out here.
To me, the last two legs of the trip offered some of the best and some of the worst of our journey. The 500 miles or so between Lawrence, KS and Vail, CO presented the most boring, mentally challenging stretch of drive that I ever hope to encounter. In fact, I can't imagine a more monotonous ride than that, except maybe 98% of Canada by car. There is nothing- and I repeat: NOTHING- between Lawrence and eastern Colorado. I had to check my sanity several times as Lauren snoozed away comfortably in the passenger's seat, never having noticed my newly created imaginary friend Dierks, a miniature dodo bird who liked to entertain. I discarded him just outside of Denver, when his services were no longer in demand. I wish him well.
I will say that the trek across Kansas became well worth it as we wound our way through a suburb of Denver in search of dinner, aka Buffalo Wild Wings. Aside from the abdominal failure that I experienced halfway through our meal (side note here: BWW was redoing one of the bathrooms at the time and therefore, it had to be shared between the sexes. Upon my exit from said bathroom, a woman sat in waiting with a look of fear on her face. I can't say I blame her.) we enjoyed our feast of bird. They let us try all all the flavors by way of a true pallet of sauce and while the Blazin' beat my ass pretty good, we loved their medium hot sauce and thus purchased a bottle to go. Also well worth it? Seeing the Rockies for the first time, and by that I don't mean the Coors Field Nine. I felt like a little boy when those fuckers finally peaked over the horizon and introduced themselves.
I have more of a pictorial theme for this particular stage, chiefly because of the sheer beauty of Vail, Colorado and the majesty of the Rocky Mountains. Please enjoy my lovely girlfriend's photography and further French commentary on the scenery.
This is where one might buy a lift ticket (imagine!!) in the winter. Picture lots of people in hats and scarves, some with poles even. I hear people like to ski here when it snows.
For some reason I was overly excited about these tunnels that burrow through the mountains. To me, there's nothing like a highway that digs right into the base of a mountain and carries you right through to the other side. Ahh, the marvels of human evolution and the DPW. 
More from the streets of the village...
Still to come: Park City, San Francisco, Santa Cruz and the Gilroy Garlic Festival.
I know, I should have wrapped up this trip wrap-up long ago. It's not like I'm pressed for time to write out here.
To me, the last two legs of the trip offered some of the best and some of the worst of our journey. The 500 miles or so between Lawrence, KS and Vail, CO presented the most boring, mentally challenging stretch of drive that I ever hope to encounter. In fact, I can't imagine a more monotonous ride than that, except maybe 98% of Canada by car. There is nothing- and I repeat: NOTHING- between Lawrence and eastern Colorado. I had to check my sanity several times as Lauren snoozed away comfortably in the passenger's seat, never having noticed my newly created imaginary friend Dierks, a miniature dodo bird who liked to entertain. I discarded him just outside of Denver, when his services were no longer in demand. I wish him well.
I will say that the trek across Kansas became well worth it as we wound our way through a suburb of Denver in search of dinner, aka Buffalo Wild Wings. Aside from the abdominal failure that I experienced halfway through our meal (side note here: BWW was redoing one of the bathrooms at the time and therefore, it had to be shared between the sexes. Upon my exit from said bathroom, a woman sat in waiting with a look of fear on her face. I can't say I blame her.) we enjoyed our feast of bird. They let us try all all the flavors by way of a true pallet of sauce and while the Blazin' beat my ass pretty good, we loved their medium hot sauce and thus purchased a bottle to go. Also well worth it? Seeing the Rockies for the first time, and by that I don't mean the Coors Field Nine. I felt like a little boy when those fuckers finally peaked over the horizon and introduced themselves.
I have more of a pictorial theme for this particular stage, chiefly because of the sheer beauty of Vail, Colorado and the majesty of the Rocky Mountains. Please enjoy my lovely girlfriend's photography and further French commentary on the scenery.
This is where one might buy a lift ticket (imagine!!) in the winter. Picture lots of people in hats and scarves, some with poles even. I hear people like to ski here when it snows. 
Mickey's Piano Bar inside The Lodge at Vail. Mickey owns the bar and still plays here every night, as he's been doing for thirty years. Seeing as Lauren and I were the only couple under 50 in this place, he took a liking to us and made the night we spent there very enjoyable. He played me some Scott Joplin which was awesome and he took a few other requests from us as well. The only thing I regret is mixing scotch, beer and gin over the course of the 3 hours we spent there. I paid dearly for that one the next day.
Mountains n'avec pas le neige.
And mountains avec le neige.
For some reason I was overly excited about these tunnels that burrow through the mountains. To me, there's nothing like a highway that digs right into the base of a mountain and carries you right through to the other side. Ahh, the marvels of human evolution and the DPW. 
The first shot of the village at Vail, but notice how Lauren captured the flight of this hawk just before he dives below the horizon. Elusive he tried to be but ohh, the crafty hawk was outsmarted on this day.
More from the streets of the village...
The one shot I took.
Still to come: Park City, San Francisco, Santa Cruz and the Gilroy Garlic Festival.
15 August 2008
Que, Si?
Stage III: Kansas City, MO/Lawrence, KS
Ahh yes, the halfway point of the trip. Chicago to Kansas City is roughly another 500 miles through the rest of Illinois and then the length of Missouri. One stop in Mexico, MO for gas and a McDonald's sundae/grilled chicken sandwich (the only McD's stop on the trip mind you...Subway, as I mentioned, was our provision of choice). Missouri provided Lauren and with our first glimpse of the mightly Mississippi River (seen below).
Sure, these are taken from a moving vehicle but all things considered, the quality is right there.
We arrived in downtown KC late Tuesday afternoon and I put in the call to a one James Hammen. We agreed that he would pick us up at the hotel and take us on a mini tour of the city (also known as the direct route to the restaurant) and eventually to dinner where Alex would meet us after class. Let it be known that upon entering Jimbo's blue Element, the iPod mounted on the dash was playing Zeppelin's Going to California. And it was apparently purely coincidental. This is the stuff that dreams are made of, my friends.
Shortly thereafter, we (me, Lauren, Hammen and Alex) would be sitting in Manny's Mexican Restaurant drinking Corona's, margueritas and sampling the diablo sauce that was reported to be very hot. It was not, but I did encounter an internal battle the next day due to excessive consumption of el diablo. Anyway, aside from getting cozy with el diablo at Manny's, I also learned of Hammen's blatant fear of tequila. I brought two shots of Patron back to the table at one point and I got the Hammen Heisman...he deferred to Alex. Just pointing this out is all.
So we wrapped up at Manny's and decided that Lauren and I needed to see Lawrence the next day. Breakfast in downtown Lawrence was a real treat, at Milton's Cafe. Really good stuff. I had a particular appreciation for the self-service coffee bar. all for $1. Nothing like small town prices, either. We loved Lawrence. It would have been a great place to go to college, as the town itself was really cool. Interesting shops (that we couldn't go into because it was ass early) and a Jimmy John's that apparently gives out free sub samples on occasion. Let it also be noted that throughout the outdoor breakfast we enjoyed, there sat a box of Jimmy John's loaves on a bench adjacent to our table. Just pointing that out. Here's us at Milton's.
So we concluded this leg of the trip with an escorted ride to KU (thanks Alex), where we would shop the bookstore for a long time. That place is huge, by the way and how one can choose a single t-shirt to purchase is beyond me. I eventually did, and Lauren found some sweet red shorts with 'Rock Chalk' across the ass. Very nice.
Thanks for Hammen and Alex for a great time in Kansas. Unfortunately Lawrence is the only good thing about Kansas, as you'll learn when I post about stage IV of the trip...Western Kansas to Vail, Colorado. Little place called Fort Hays, KS in the western part of the state...place I'll never forget.
14 August 2008
LA King
Read this: http://sports.espn.go.com/mlb/columns/story?columnist=stark_jayson&page=rumblings
I'm not quite sure what to make of the whole thing, really. I was a Manny apologist for a long time, along with a lot of friends and some family members. It's hard not to be when talking about not only the best player on your town's team but arguably one of the best players to ever don the Boston uniform. I once wrote into Gordon Edes of the Boston Globe (one of my favorite sports writers along with the aforelinked Stark) suggesting that Manny is one of the top three right-handed hitters of all-time in the history of baseball. It's not that big of a stretch to lump him in that category, really. Back then I didn't care about all the antics that came along with having Manny Ramirez on the Sox roster. I guess I kind of care now.
I read this article and I too wonder about the makeup of Dodger fans. Don't get me wrong, I think it's fantastic that they are now poised to take the NL West and return some sense of pride to this city that hasn't been realized since the days of Gibby. 20 years is tough, I know. Try 86 on for size. I also know for a fact that there are some diehard Dodger fans who love the game, continue to support their boys year in and year out and those people, some of whom I've conversed with at the gym, aren't applauding Manny and his suddenly workmanlike ways in Dodger blue. They're wowing Jason Bay and Kevin Youkilis for "existing without Manny". Interesting. Your Dodgers are rejuvenated, playing great ball and most importantly, in first. You probably should be saying things like "thanks for Manny", or "think the Sox will be fine without Manny?" It's nice to not hear those types of questions, because the Sox are fine without Manny and Boston is better off.
Maybe Kevin Youkilis isn't doing anything new, because he's not. In Youkilis, the Sox have a guy who cares more about one, single swinging strike than Manny ever cared about an entire season of baseball. Youkilis may be a pain in the ass in terms of his emotions and dramas on the field, but it's merely because he loves to play, hates to lose and more importantly, LOVES to win. I'm not sure Manny ever cared about losing. I know that Manny had some kind of problem with Youkilis, displaying some his ability to slap a man with a backhand much like the famed "bitchslap" we've all come to know. Impressive. And from what I know of that situation (hearsay, mind you) it had to do with Youkilis getting on Manny a little bit for not caring enough and Manny felt as though Youk perhaps was taking a game scenario a little too seriously. Case in point. Doesn't every game count? A loss in May could very well come back to haunt a team in the playoff hunt in late September just as easily as a loss in...well...late September. They all matter in some regard.
I tend to wonder how D Lowe, Nomar and others in LA that have worn the navy and red cap in the Fens feel about having Manny back on a common roster. Nomar and D Lowe both alluded to him being a great hitter and a powerful presence in any lineup. True. I will never discount Manny's ability to change the face of a team, a game or a season for that matter. He's one of the greatest hitters of all time and apparently he works harder off the field than most. He likes to keep that under his cap for whatever reason. I guess I'll give Manny credit for not caring what anyone thinks of him. Clearly he couldn't have cared less about the feelings of others in Boston. Reportedly, 24 of 25 Sox on the Manny-included roster thought it was time to go. The one who didn't? Not surprisingly David Ortiz, his best friend.
I don't know about you, but I'm happy about the Jason Bay era in Boston. Through the looking glass that is my laptop and Sportscenter, he looks like a likable guy. He hits, he fields and all fingers point to him being a good clubhouse guy. Plus, he's 29. Of course you lose something in terms of power and production but I'm willing to bet that it turns out to be minimal at worst, especially when you take into account that an unhappy Manny in Boston was often times an unproductive and cancerous Manny. As the season trudges on, the Sox making the playoffs won't be about just Jason Bay's bat, or Jon Lester's arm or Jacoby Ellsbury's legs. It'll be about the team effort and unity of a clubhouse that would appear to a happy place once again.
Side note: if Jed Lowrie gets benched when Lugo returns from the DL, it'll be a travesty. There's another guy I want in the Sox lineup every night. I think he already might have more hits in two months than Lugo has had all season. And we ALL know the errors are down with Lowrie at short.
Side note II: my rainless streak in LA is officially over, and it lasted 20 days. It rained for five minutes on my way home from the gym today. Waaaaaaaaaaaaah.
I'm not quite sure what to make of the whole thing, really. I was a Manny apologist for a long time, along with a lot of friends and some family members. It's hard not to be when talking about not only the best player on your town's team but arguably one of the best players to ever don the Boston uniform. I once wrote into Gordon Edes of the Boston Globe (one of my favorite sports writers along with the aforelinked Stark) suggesting that Manny is one of the top three right-handed hitters of all-time in the history of baseball. It's not that big of a stretch to lump him in that category, really. Back then I didn't care about all the antics that came along with having Manny Ramirez on the Sox roster. I guess I kind of care now.
I read this article and I too wonder about the makeup of Dodger fans. Don't get me wrong, I think it's fantastic that they are now poised to take the NL West and return some sense of pride to this city that hasn't been realized since the days of Gibby. 20 years is tough, I know. Try 86 on for size. I also know for a fact that there are some diehard Dodger fans who love the game, continue to support their boys year in and year out and those people, some of whom I've conversed with at the gym, aren't applauding Manny and his suddenly workmanlike ways in Dodger blue. They're wowing Jason Bay and Kevin Youkilis for "existing without Manny". Interesting. Your Dodgers are rejuvenated, playing great ball and most importantly, in first. You probably should be saying things like "thanks for Manny", or "think the Sox will be fine without Manny?" It's nice to not hear those types of questions, because the Sox are fine without Manny and Boston is better off.
Maybe Kevin Youkilis isn't doing anything new, because he's not. In Youkilis, the Sox have a guy who cares more about one, single swinging strike than Manny ever cared about an entire season of baseball. Youkilis may be a pain in the ass in terms of his emotions and dramas on the field, but it's merely because he loves to play, hates to lose and more importantly, LOVES to win. I'm not sure Manny ever cared about losing. I know that Manny had some kind of problem with Youkilis, displaying some his ability to slap a man with a backhand much like the famed "bitchslap" we've all come to know. Impressive. And from what I know of that situation (hearsay, mind you) it had to do with Youkilis getting on Manny a little bit for not caring enough and Manny felt as though Youk perhaps was taking a game scenario a little too seriously. Case in point. Doesn't every game count? A loss in May could very well come back to haunt a team in the playoff hunt in late September just as easily as a loss in...well...late September. They all matter in some regard.
I tend to wonder how D Lowe, Nomar and others in LA that have worn the navy and red cap in the Fens feel about having Manny back on a common roster. Nomar and D Lowe both alluded to him being a great hitter and a powerful presence in any lineup. True. I will never discount Manny's ability to change the face of a team, a game or a season for that matter. He's one of the greatest hitters of all time and apparently he works harder off the field than most. He likes to keep that under his cap for whatever reason. I guess I'll give Manny credit for not caring what anyone thinks of him. Clearly he couldn't have cared less about the feelings of others in Boston. Reportedly, 24 of 25 Sox on the Manny-included roster thought it was time to go. The one who didn't? Not surprisingly David Ortiz, his best friend.
I don't know about you, but I'm happy about the Jason Bay era in Boston. Through the looking glass that is my laptop and Sportscenter, he looks like a likable guy. He hits, he fields and all fingers point to him being a good clubhouse guy. Plus, he's 29. Of course you lose something in terms of power and production but I'm willing to bet that it turns out to be minimal at worst, especially when you take into account that an unhappy Manny in Boston was often times an unproductive and cancerous Manny. As the season trudges on, the Sox making the playoffs won't be about just Jason Bay's bat, or Jon Lester's arm or Jacoby Ellsbury's legs. It'll be about the team effort and unity of a clubhouse that would appear to a happy place once again.
Side note: if Jed Lowrie gets benched when Lugo returns from the DL, it'll be a travesty. There's another guy I want in the Sox lineup every night. I think he already might have more hits in two months than Lugo has had all season. And we ALL know the errors are down with Lowrie at short.
Side note II: my rainless streak in LA is officially over, and it lasted 20 days. It rained for five minutes on my way home from the gym today. Waaaaaaaaaaaaah.
04 August 2008
Top Five: Los Angeles
Perhaps it's a little early for me to be judging what the best things about LA are, a mere 9 days into my residence here. However, it might be interesting to see what changes about this Top Five over time and what remains. I have a funny feeling about a few that are pretty certain to reserve a permanent spot on this list...please enjoy.
1. The weather. Everything you've heard, everything you've seen and everything you've read about the weather out here is entirely true. And most of the time, it's vastly understated because folks don't want to make 'other people' (aka New Englanders) overflow with jealous rage. Let me tell you something pal, it's fucking fantastic. I've been working outside as I've mentioned, and thus far, the variations in temperature have been no more than 5-10 degrees away from that magic number of 75°. That's a pretty nifty number when we're talking temperature. So when people talk about "it must be the people", or "it must be the sunsets" or even "it must be the air" (save it, the smog isn't even an afterthought) they are lying to you. They are lying sacks of shit. It's the weather, man. The WEATHER.
2. I already mentioned the weather, yes? Let's move onto the coffee. I guess I was growing tired of Dunkin', or better known to New Englanders as crack. Starbucks is everywhere, yes. But Coffee Bean is not. I'll never understand why more places don't serve their drinks with crushed ice. It improves the rating of the drink by 2 points alone if it simply has crushed ice. Is it that much more expensive to use it? No way. Coffee with crushed ice. A-ok in my book. Although as I champion Coffee Bean, I encountered my first gripe yesterday: too much ice. Not only did the peabrain take 10 minutes to make my ICED COFFEE, he left me with what equated to three sips of coffee. Thanks Dbag. Time to go back to ice school and learn about what an acceptable amount is. What's not acceptable? An assload, which is what you delivered to this guy yesterday. Tighten it up, sport. (avoid the little black dude at the Bean in downtown Palisades...he's an icy little fucker)
3. The food. This is merely a consequence of moving to a new city. The food is new, it's exciting and in LA, there are waaaaaaay too many new places to go on a given day. I feel as though I had a good handle on dining in Boston. I knew where to get great sushi, great steak (once upon a time), great chowder, an awesome sub, a tasty breakfast...now I get to learn the culinary ropes all over again and I'm amped up about it. I will tell you that there's an incredibly cheap and generous sushi place in Santa Monica that has good stuff and the service is fast. Well, fast might be the understatement of the year. Lauren and I are there last night and our first roll came out in 30 seconds. I shit you not. 30 seconds. And it was constructed well, I might add. The others, not so much but they were acceptable. We had finished the entirety of the meal and paid the bill in under 20 minutes. You can't power through McD's at that speed, son. I am suddenly cautious of the fish quality, however. Lauren pointed out that their overuse of mayo might be simply hiding poor quality. Maybe so. But I'm going to keep testing that theory until I get violently ill there. Stay tuned, puke fans.
4. The roads are mostly freshly paved from what I've seen, and the backdrop of the Pacific Ocean and the endless beaches off of the Pacific Coast Highway will never get tired. And the drivers here are a fucking delight! I never really considered myself to be an asshole driver. Maybe a tad aggressive at times, sure. Unreasonably impatient, yes. Occasionally prone to violence inflicted on the steering wheel, mhm. But I'm a good driver. From what I've seen so far, no one is terribly aggressive. People obey the rules of the road and, get this Mass residents, Angelinos apparently understand what a YIELD sign means! I can now die in peace. So for all you fucking halfwits who continue to STOP at a YIELD sign, take a lesson from drivers out west. It means proceed with caution. And under NO CIRCUMSTANCES do you stop, lest there be a free beer stand that suddenly appears out of nowhere. Then and ONLY then can you stop at a YIELD.
5. The Dodgers are growing on me, slowly but surely. Yes, Manny being here gets the bulk of the credit for that but also receiving votes are Vin Scully, the uniforms and the all-you-can-eat tickets. Let me rephrase that...the tickets that include an all-you-can-eat buffet. I hope to get to a game this month and I can't wait to count how many Manny t-shirts are in attendance. I heard that people had them on from game one of his stint here, #99 and all. (side note here...the whole "great one" moniker that certain SportsCenter anchors are using in Manny highlights needs to stop. Seriously. It's an insult to the actual Great One, not that Manny isn't great. He's just not THE Great One) I also really like the fact the Dodgers are the only team in baseball that have the rights to a color; Dodger blue. And there's something really neat about the red numbers on the front of their jerseys. Neat. Hey, that's neat.
I don't know what's gotten into me lately...I'm apparently using the word 'neat'. Must be the weather.
1. The weather. Everything you've heard, everything you've seen and everything you've read about the weather out here is entirely true. And most of the time, it's vastly understated because folks don't want to make 'other people' (aka New Englanders) overflow with jealous rage. Let me tell you something pal, it's fucking fantastic. I've been working outside as I've mentioned, and thus far, the variations in temperature have been no more than 5-10 degrees away from that magic number of 75°. That's a pretty nifty number when we're talking temperature. So when people talk about "it must be the people", or "it must be the sunsets" or even "it must be the air" (save it, the smog isn't even an afterthought) they are lying to you. They are lying sacks of shit. It's the weather, man. The WEATHER.
2. I already mentioned the weather, yes? Let's move onto the coffee. I guess I was growing tired of Dunkin', or better known to New Englanders as crack. Starbucks is everywhere, yes. But Coffee Bean is not. I'll never understand why more places don't serve their drinks with crushed ice. It improves the rating of the drink by 2 points alone if it simply has crushed ice. Is it that much more expensive to use it? No way. Coffee with crushed ice. A-ok in my book. Although as I champion Coffee Bean, I encountered my first gripe yesterday: too much ice. Not only did the peabrain take 10 minutes to make my ICED COFFEE, he left me with what equated to three sips of coffee. Thanks Dbag. Time to go back to ice school and learn about what an acceptable amount is. What's not acceptable? An assload, which is what you delivered to this guy yesterday. Tighten it up, sport. (avoid the little black dude at the Bean in downtown Palisades...he's an icy little fucker)
3. The food. This is merely a consequence of moving to a new city. The food is new, it's exciting and in LA, there are waaaaaaay too many new places to go on a given day. I feel as though I had a good handle on dining in Boston. I knew where to get great sushi, great steak (once upon a time), great chowder, an awesome sub, a tasty breakfast...now I get to learn the culinary ropes all over again and I'm amped up about it. I will tell you that there's an incredibly cheap and generous sushi place in Santa Monica that has good stuff and the service is fast. Well, fast might be the understatement of the year. Lauren and I are there last night and our first roll came out in 30 seconds. I shit you not. 30 seconds. And it was constructed well, I might add. The others, not so much but they were acceptable. We had finished the entirety of the meal and paid the bill in under 20 minutes. You can't power through McD's at that speed, son. I am suddenly cautious of the fish quality, however. Lauren pointed out that their overuse of mayo might be simply hiding poor quality. Maybe so. But I'm going to keep testing that theory until I get violently ill there. Stay tuned, puke fans.
4. The roads are mostly freshly paved from what I've seen, and the backdrop of the Pacific Ocean and the endless beaches off of the Pacific Coast Highway will never get tired. And the drivers here are a fucking delight! I never really considered myself to be an asshole driver. Maybe a tad aggressive at times, sure. Unreasonably impatient, yes. Occasionally prone to violence inflicted on the steering wheel, mhm. But I'm a good driver. From what I've seen so far, no one is terribly aggressive. People obey the rules of the road and, get this Mass residents, Angelinos apparently understand what a YIELD sign means! I can now die in peace. So for all you fucking halfwits who continue to STOP at a YIELD sign, take a lesson from drivers out west. It means proceed with caution. And under NO CIRCUMSTANCES do you stop, lest there be a free beer stand that suddenly appears out of nowhere. Then and ONLY then can you stop at a YIELD.
5. The Dodgers are growing on me, slowly but surely. Yes, Manny being here gets the bulk of the credit for that but also receiving votes are Vin Scully, the uniforms and the all-you-can-eat tickets. Let me rephrase that...the tickets that include an all-you-can-eat buffet. I hope to get to a game this month and I can't wait to count how many Manny t-shirts are in attendance. I heard that people had them on from game one of his stint here, #99 and all. (side note here...the whole "great one" moniker that certain SportsCenter anchors are using in Manny highlights needs to stop. Seriously. It's an insult to the actual Great One, not that Manny isn't great. He's just not THE Great One) I also really like the fact the Dodgers are the only team in baseball that have the rights to a color; Dodger blue. And there's something really neat about the red numbers on the front of their jerseys. Neat. Hey, that's neat.
I don't know what's gotten into me lately...I'm apparently using the word 'neat'. Must be the weather.
03 August 2008
Part II: Chicago, IL
Buffalo to Chicago. Roughly 500 miles, give or take a few. If you sneeze, you’ll miss Pennsylvania, which represents about 30 miles of this leg. You then pass through what I believe to be the most beautiful part of this country: Ohio. And if you believe that, you’ll probably also believe that since I’ve left for California not only have I taken up a life of pimping, but I’m also now Hispanic and my name has been changed to Chancho.
Ohio is awful. It couldn’t decide whether it wanted to be a state with three fairly decent sized and fairly cool cities or a desolate range of partially tended farmland. So we were left with a place that offers three kinda crappy, not-so-cool cities and a desolate range of partially tended farmland. It just has nothing to offer as far as I’m concerned, but what do I know? They do have Cedar Point which I’ve heard is the best place to ride a roller coaster in the world. In a past life, that would have been good enough for me to crown Ohio as the most beautiful part of this country.
Onto Chicago, which now stands as my favorite city in this country that I have visited. Sorry Boston, but there’s something about Chicago that exudes a coolness that other cities don’t seem to offer. It’s part New York, part Boston and part San Francisco; all three of those in themselves are wonderful places but take the best parts of them all and combine them into one and you get Chicago. It has the charm of a small city, the look and occasional feel of a big city and the waterfront of a coastal city. We arrived late in the afternoon to check into the Intercontinental hotel on Michigan Avenue. I drove by it the first time and as a result, we didn’t make it back to the hotel for another 20 minutes.
I could have let the parking rate for the hotel really chap my ass ($49 per night) but I let it roll off. My mindset the whole time on this trip was one of careful apathy when talking about practicality. You may think that the Intercon is anything but practical, but Hotwire makes pretty much any hotel a one star joint in price. It’s the way to travel, especially when you’re booking for the next day and theretofore by the skin of your teeth. I digress…our room was sweet, the view was cool (down Michigan Ave from the 22nd floor) and the location was perfect for what we needed. After all, when you’re in a city for one night and you want to be able to get the feel of it in a short period of time, you need to be centralized and within a few walking minutes of everything that interests you. For us, that was Nordstrom, the Chicago river and Gino’s East.
By the time we got out of the hotel room, it was time to eat. We briefly browsed the sales tables on Nordstrom and off we went to Gino’s per the suggestion of Neal, Lauren’s stepdad. Being from Chicago, he was our virtual tour guide for this trip. He didn’t fail us. Gino’s was great. We shared a deep dish pie with spinach and garlic, an order of buffalo wings and a pitcher of Bud Light. Sure, we eliminated the prospect of making out later on that night, but this wasn’t about the romance of Chicago. It was about the food and the city itself. The wings were, interestingly enough, better than the ones we had in Buffalo. And the pie was glorious. Lauren had to put half of the cheese aside in order to avoid cheese overload and certainly a bout of constipation. Rightfully so, because there was enough cheese on that fucker to impress Pizza the Hut.
I have to comment on our waiter from Gino's. His name was 'DJ', but that was short for something like Djovanovic Jokovic. Or something blatantly Russian. He was pretty unattentive, spoke poor English and forgot to put in out order for free garlic sticks (we were given a coupon by the concierge at the hotel for a free appetizer of Gino's choice). His response to me when I asked about the sticks was as follows:
Me: Are we getting those garlic sticks?
Russian DJ: Garleek Steeks...ooohhhhh...vun second.
(Russian DJ scurries away, returns in two minutes)
I check on steeks, keechun messed up. Sorry bout dat. You want me put in order agayne?
Me: No, it's ok.
He told us to come back with the coupon another time and use it then. We were ok with this suggestion, full well knowing that it might be years before we're back in Chicago. And we weren't mad at Russian DJ. In fact, Lauren and I both agreed that we'd have blamed the kitchen as well, had we forgotten to put in an order of garleek steeks.
Post dinner, we circled a few blocks and eventually walked in the direction of a nifty outdoor park that had an art showcase going on at the time. After this, we took some more pictures by the riverfront and decided to retire for the night. We would rise early the next morning, grab some breakfast burritos from a totally random place (really, really good) and then it was off to Descartes Coffee to try and get free Wifi with which to book our next hotel. Unsuccessful. And their coffee wasn't quite as superb as I had imagined in my daydream about Descartes Coffee. So again we fell into a Starbucks, had good coffee and bought some internet time with which we'd book our hotel in Kansas City...land of Hammen and Jayhawks and a SWEET Sonic drive thru. Not that we actually went, but the thing looked really tight from the street.
Ohio is awful. It couldn’t decide whether it wanted to be a state with three fairly decent sized and fairly cool cities or a desolate range of partially tended farmland. So we were left with a place that offers three kinda crappy, not-so-cool cities and a desolate range of partially tended farmland. It just has nothing to offer as far as I’m concerned, but what do I know? They do have Cedar Point which I’ve heard is the best place to ride a roller coaster in the world. In a past life, that would have been good enough for me to crown Ohio as the most beautiful part of this country.
Onto Chicago, which now stands as my favorite city in this country that I have visited. Sorry Boston, but there’s something about Chicago that exudes a coolness that other cities don’t seem to offer. It’s part New York, part Boston and part San Francisco; all three of those in themselves are wonderful places but take the best parts of them all and combine them into one and you get Chicago. It has the charm of a small city, the look and occasional feel of a big city and the waterfront of a coastal city. We arrived late in the afternoon to check into the Intercontinental hotel on Michigan Avenue. I drove by it the first time and as a result, we didn’t make it back to the hotel for another 20 minutes.
I could have let the parking rate for the hotel really chap my ass ($49 per night) but I let it roll off. My mindset the whole time on this trip was one of careful apathy when talking about practicality. You may think that the Intercon is anything but practical, but Hotwire makes pretty much any hotel a one star joint in price. It’s the way to travel, especially when you’re booking for the next day and theretofore by the skin of your teeth. I digress…our room was sweet, the view was cool (down Michigan Ave from the 22nd floor) and the location was perfect for what we needed. After all, when you’re in a city for one night and you want to be able to get the feel of it in a short period of time, you need to be centralized and within a few walking minutes of everything that interests you. For us, that was Nordstrom, the Chicago river and Gino’s East.
By the time we got out of the hotel room, it was time to eat. We briefly browsed the sales tables on Nordstrom and off we went to Gino’s per the suggestion of Neal, Lauren’s stepdad. Being from Chicago, he was our virtual tour guide for this trip. He didn’t fail us. Gino’s was great. We shared a deep dish pie with spinach and garlic, an order of buffalo wings and a pitcher of Bud Light. Sure, we eliminated the prospect of making out later on that night, but this wasn’t about the romance of Chicago. It was about the food and the city itself. The wings were, interestingly enough, better than the ones we had in Buffalo. And the pie was glorious. Lauren had to put half of the cheese aside in order to avoid cheese overload and certainly a bout of constipation. Rightfully so, because there was enough cheese on that fucker to impress Pizza the Hut.
I have to comment on our waiter from Gino's. His name was 'DJ', but that was short for something like Djovanovic Jokovic. Or something blatantly Russian. He was pretty unattentive, spoke poor English and forgot to put in out order for free garlic sticks (we were given a coupon by the concierge at the hotel for a free appetizer of Gino's choice). His response to me when I asked about the sticks was as follows:
Me: Are we getting those garlic sticks?
Russian DJ: Garleek Steeks...ooohhhhh...vun second.
(Russian DJ scurries away, returns in two minutes)
I check on steeks, keechun messed up. Sorry bout dat. You want me put in order agayne?
Me: No, it's ok.
He told us to come back with the coupon another time and use it then. We were ok with this suggestion, full well knowing that it might be years before we're back in Chicago. And we weren't mad at Russian DJ. In fact, Lauren and I both agreed that we'd have blamed the kitchen as well, had we forgotten to put in an order of garleek steeks.
Post dinner, we circled a few blocks and eventually walked in the direction of a nifty outdoor park that had an art showcase going on at the time. After this, we took some more pictures by the riverfront and decided to retire for the night. We would rise early the next morning, grab some breakfast burritos from a totally random place (really, really good) and then it was off to Descartes Coffee to try and get free Wifi with which to book our next hotel. Unsuccessful. And their coffee wasn't quite as superb as I had imagined in my daydream about Descartes Coffee. So again we fell into a Starbucks, had good coffee and bought some internet time with which we'd book our hotel in Kansas City...land of Hammen and Jayhawks and a SWEET Sonic drive thru. Not that we actually went, but the thing looked really tight from the street.
Stay tuned for Stage Three: Kansas City, MO/Lawrence, KS
01 August 2008
First Impressions
As I near the end of my first full week here in the city of Angels (I have yet to see an angel, by the way...with the exception of the LA nine who play down in Anaheim and frankly, they're more devils than angels with the beating they put on the Sox recently), I want to reflect on some of the things that have impacted things for me so far.
For starters, work is sort of a combination of things for me lately. I wake up at 4:45am in order to get to my client base when they get to work on the east coast. This doesn't bode well for my incredibly strong penchant for sleep lately, but who doesn't want to stay in bed when the alarm goes off prior to 6am? 7am? 3pm? Taylor, I'm talking to you. By the time 8:00 rolls around, I've already put in 3 hours of work. But instead of taking a lunch break, I make coffee and a nice, big breakfast for me and mine. So lunch is technically a breakfast break now. By the time lunch rolls around, it's the end of the work day. It's totally bizarre but fucking fantastic at the same time. I'm lucky enough to have a place to work that offers free Wifi and it also happens to be outside, in the midst of several water fountains and plenty of palm trees. All in all, it's not bad. In fact it's totally and completely awesome. I have lunch with Lauren every day in this public garden and then I go to the gym.
The gym is otherwordly from what I am used to. I run on a treadmill that sits outside and overlooks the expanse of the Pacific Ocean from its third story perch. For some reason, no one else runs on these treadmills; they opt for the indoor and far more typical variety. I guess there's no novelty of perfect weather for the average Los Angelan but for me, I suspect this won't wear off for a long, long time. Lauren mentioned to me today that the biggest part of the novelty will come in October/November when the weather doesn't take a fucking drastic turn towards shit town. My morning conversations in December will go from "Should I wear long underwear under my slacks today?" to "Should I wear my board shorts under my shorts today?" The word booyeah comes to mind.
The last thing I want to discuss briefly before I shut down and enjoy the rest of this perfect afternoon is Manny. Somehow he's a Dodger now, and the LA lineup loosely resembles a patchwotk Sox team from years back. On a given night, you could be looking at Manny, D Lowe and Nomar all in Dodger blue, and the topper would be them being managed by Torre which is more of an ironic twist of fate. If this were a year back, I'd be talking about how weird it is that Manny will be playing for Grady again but I would have to surmise that Torre is just tickled that Manny will be in HIS lineup for once and not the opposing team's lineup. I won't go too much into detail about this whole trade because frankly, I don't care that much. Manny's expiration date in Boston probably shouldn't have been as late as it ended up being and he had certainly worn out his welcome there. LA on the other hand is a dream situation for him. They need a pwer hitter and they need a personality in a town that thrives on characters. The fans here are going to love him and I would only imagine that he'll love being a Dodger for the time being. I can see him finishing his career here if all works out, and that's just fine with me.
Part II, Chicago is still a work in progress. Stay tuned.
Salut mes amis.
For starters, work is sort of a combination of things for me lately. I wake up at 4:45am in order to get to my client base when they get to work on the east coast. This doesn't bode well for my incredibly strong penchant for sleep lately, but who doesn't want to stay in bed when the alarm goes off prior to 6am? 7am? 3pm? Taylor, I'm talking to you. By the time 8:00 rolls around, I've already put in 3 hours of work. But instead of taking a lunch break, I make coffee and a nice, big breakfast for me and mine. So lunch is technically a breakfast break now. By the time lunch rolls around, it's the end of the work day. It's totally bizarre but fucking fantastic at the same time. I'm lucky enough to have a place to work that offers free Wifi and it also happens to be outside, in the midst of several water fountains and plenty of palm trees. All in all, it's not bad. In fact it's totally and completely awesome. I have lunch with Lauren every day in this public garden and then I go to the gym.
The gym is otherwordly from what I am used to. I run on a treadmill that sits outside and overlooks the expanse of the Pacific Ocean from its third story perch. For some reason, no one else runs on these treadmills; they opt for the indoor and far more typical variety. I guess there's no novelty of perfect weather for the average Los Angelan but for me, I suspect this won't wear off for a long, long time. Lauren mentioned to me today that the biggest part of the novelty will come in October/November when the weather doesn't take a fucking drastic turn towards shit town. My morning conversations in December will go from "Should I wear long underwear under my slacks today?" to "Should I wear my board shorts under my shorts today?" The word booyeah comes to mind.
The last thing I want to discuss briefly before I shut down and enjoy the rest of this perfect afternoon is Manny. Somehow he's a Dodger now, and the LA lineup loosely resembles a patchwotk Sox team from years back. On a given night, you could be looking at Manny, D Lowe and Nomar all in Dodger blue, and the topper would be them being managed by Torre which is more of an ironic twist of fate. If this were a year back, I'd be talking about how weird it is that Manny will be playing for Grady again but I would have to surmise that Torre is just tickled that Manny will be in HIS lineup for once and not the opposing team's lineup. I won't go too much into detail about this whole trade because frankly, I don't care that much. Manny's expiration date in Boston probably shouldn't have been as late as it ended up being and he had certainly worn out his welcome there. LA on the other hand is a dream situation for him. They need a pwer hitter and they need a personality in a town that thrives on characters. The fans here are going to love him and I would only imagine that he'll love being a Dodger for the time being. I can see him finishing his career here if all works out, and that's just fine with me.
Part II, Chicago is still a work in progress. Stay tuned.
Salut mes amis.
31 July 2008
The Falls In Color
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.
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-
26 June 2008
Hats Off To...Hats
I mentioned my hat fetish yesterday, so I felt it necessary to dedicate an entire blog entry to the hat, or the cap if you prefer. I have to begin by saying something that I might regret...my favorite MLB cap, all things considered, is the Yankee hat. It's very simple and totally classic. You could say the same for the Red Sox cap but I prefer the navy and white. Hence, my current cap of choice is the Atlanta Braves away cap that discards the red brim for an all navy backdrop and a simple, white A. I also happen to believe that the NY logo is one of the best of all time. The Knicks used to employ the same, exact logo but they got away from it. And don't confuse the Yankee NY with the Met NY, or the former Giant NY.
That's the thing with uniforms in general and their accompanying hat which is actually considered a part of the uniform...simple is better. Some of the worst uniforms/caps of all time are those that took the new and hip approach that is certain to wind up in a Building 19 within a year of inception. It doesn't work. Classic looks in uniforms and hat do not go out of style and perhaps most importantly, they carry an aura of something original and unchanged...unfettered. For instance, you know that when Babe Ruth played, the Yankee uniform was essentially the same. Reggie Jackson, Don Mattingly and Derek Jeter...they've all worn the same uniform. Nothing has changed. There aren't many teams in any sport that can make this claim.
But back the cap...my goal is to own all 64 hats that are a part of the Authentic MLB collection today. I probably won't see this through because I've recently been made aware of the ultimate cost of this venture (thanks baby) and it scares me to think that I would spend that much on a bunch of hats. However it's a harmless hobby and if I spread the purchases out over time, it's really not that bad.
Some of the worst: I hate the Tampa hat...always have, from the original, awful green and purple piece of crap to the current TB logo. It's too big and once again, they've already changed their entire color scheme and uniform structure. I will say though, getting away from the sleeveless jersey is the best thing they ever did. Those are a fucking disgrace and every team that has one it its' repertoire should be ashamed. Tank tops are for the NBA. Moving on...I don't like two-toned caps at all. Cincinnati, Pittsburgh (with the red brim...what the fuck is that?), Oakland, Atlanta, Cleveland, Colorado, the Mets, Baltimore...I could go on. And most teams have one of these as a Spring Training hat or something...except the Yankees. I just don't know why there became this initiative to add unnecessary colors to the hat. The Colorado hat should be either all black or all purple with the CR...the Reds hat all red or all black...etc, etc. Yeah, these teams all have a one-color hat, but it's usually their alternate hat. Oakland has an all-green and an all-black cap as part of their four-cap arsenal (totally unnecessary, by the way and it throws off my collection's balance). They should move to just the two and eliminate the two tone. I realize this is a bit contradictory because the two-toned yellow and green Oakland hat is old school, but it's terrible.
I need a nice, classic baseball hat if I'm going to wear it often. Again, that Braves road hat is a prime example. The Red Sox cap is a nice option as is the Yankee hat (again), the Marlins cap, either Tiger hat, some of the Cleveland caps, etc. In terms of throwbacks however, it gets a little more dicey.
You look at some of the really "out there" caps that teams used to wear honestly, it's mind blowing. The old Padre caps with the yellow and brown are a prime example, but they're equal parts ugly and awesome. Same goes for the Toronto cap, the old White Sox cap (the one with the batter and SOX in bold letters; red, white and blue), the baby blue Phillies cap, the Brewers mitt cap...these are some really great additions to any cap collection and they're sure to get a few "wow, sick cap" comments if you're out in public.
Not to go totally off track here, but I just described a meal I made for Lauren and I up in NH last weekend to one of my co-workers. Here's how it went:
Me: "Yeah man, I made these really good turkey burgers up in NH."
Guy (his name is Guy...not just calling him "guy"): "I love turkey burgers. Little mayo, slice of tomato (kisses his fingers like an italian)."
Me: "Sounds great. But get this: I put a bunch of Frank's Red Hot in the meat, form up the patties and throw them on the grill. Just before they're done, I throw pepperoncini slices on top of the patties and cover those with a slice of jack cheese. The cheese melts, I take them off and place them on warm buns. I then add avocado and arugula and serve them with a side of ranch, per Lauren's suggestion. Fantastic. You'll love them, I promise."
Guy: "I bet. Wait dude, you realize how we sound right now, right? Listen to us. Most men would at least try to sound manly when describing a burger to another man, like, use a big slab of beef, huck that shit on the grill and sear it then serve it up bloody. We're like, yeah, I use an avocado and some spicy arugula. It's a delight."
Me: "Shut up, dude. I like arugula."
***to give credit where credit is due, those turkey burgers are the brainchild of Lauren and they really are incredible. Try them soon.***
That's the thing with uniforms in general and their accompanying hat which is actually considered a part of the uniform...simple is better. Some of the worst uniforms/caps of all time are those that took the new and hip approach that is certain to wind up in a Building 19 within a year of inception. It doesn't work. Classic looks in uniforms and hat do not go out of style and perhaps most importantly, they carry an aura of something original and unchanged...unfettered. For instance, you know that when Babe Ruth played, the Yankee uniform was essentially the same. Reggie Jackson, Don Mattingly and Derek Jeter...they've all worn the same uniform. Nothing has changed. There aren't many teams in any sport that can make this claim.
But back the cap...my goal is to own all 64 hats that are a part of the Authentic MLB collection today. I probably won't see this through because I've recently been made aware of the ultimate cost of this venture (thanks baby) and it scares me to think that I would spend that much on a bunch of hats. However it's a harmless hobby and if I spread the purchases out over time, it's really not that bad.
Some of the worst: I hate the Tampa hat...always have, from the original, awful green and purple piece of crap to the current TB logo. It's too big and once again, they've already changed their entire color scheme and uniform structure. I will say though, getting away from the sleeveless jersey is the best thing they ever did. Those are a fucking disgrace and every team that has one it its' repertoire should be ashamed. Tank tops are for the NBA. Moving on...I don't like two-toned caps at all. Cincinnati, Pittsburgh (with the red brim...what the fuck is that?), Oakland, Atlanta, Cleveland, Colorado, the Mets, Baltimore...I could go on. And most teams have one of these as a Spring Training hat or something...except the Yankees. I just don't know why there became this initiative to add unnecessary colors to the hat. The Colorado hat should be either all black or all purple with the CR...the Reds hat all red or all black...etc, etc. Yeah, these teams all have a one-color hat, but it's usually their alternate hat. Oakland has an all-green and an all-black cap as part of their four-cap arsenal (totally unnecessary, by the way and it throws off my collection's balance). They should move to just the two and eliminate the two tone. I realize this is a bit contradictory because the two-toned yellow and green Oakland hat is old school, but it's terrible.
I need a nice, classic baseball hat if I'm going to wear it often. Again, that Braves road hat is a prime example. The Red Sox cap is a nice option as is the Yankee hat (again), the Marlins cap, either Tiger hat, some of the Cleveland caps, etc. In terms of throwbacks however, it gets a little more dicey.
You look at some of the really "out there" caps that teams used to wear honestly, it's mind blowing. The old Padre caps with the yellow and brown are a prime example, but they're equal parts ugly and awesome. Same goes for the Toronto cap, the old White Sox cap (the one with the batter and SOX in bold letters; red, white and blue), the baby blue Phillies cap, the Brewers mitt cap...these are some really great additions to any cap collection and they're sure to get a few "wow, sick cap" comments if you're out in public.
Not to go totally off track here, but I just described a meal I made for Lauren and I up in NH last weekend to one of my co-workers. Here's how it went:
Me: "Yeah man, I made these really good turkey burgers up in NH."
Guy (his name is Guy...not just calling him "guy"): "I love turkey burgers. Little mayo, slice of tomato (kisses his fingers like an italian)."
Me: "Sounds great. But get this: I put a bunch of Frank's Red Hot in the meat, form up the patties and throw them on the grill. Just before they're done, I throw pepperoncini slices on top of the patties and cover those with a slice of jack cheese. The cheese melts, I take them off and place them on warm buns. I then add avocado and arugula and serve them with a side of ranch, per Lauren's suggestion. Fantastic. You'll love them, I promise."
Guy: "I bet. Wait dude, you realize how we sound right now, right? Listen to us. Most men would at least try to sound manly when describing a burger to another man, like, use a big slab of beef, huck that shit on the grill and sear it then serve it up bloody. We're like, yeah, I use an avocado and some spicy arugula. It's a delight."
Me: "Shut up, dude. I like arugula."
***to give credit where credit is due, those turkey burgers are the brainchild of Lauren and they really are incredible. Try them soon.***
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