I haven't posted in a while. But I'm not a slacker, I'm sparing you. Sparing you the ranting tirades in my head every day. You don't want to hear it. I wrote a whole post about this retarded fat black woman in Walmart (I should've just shortened it to "Walmart customer" but now I've lengthened it to absurdity instead) who was overheard saying, "There's no one at those self-checkout things, that means you can't go there." I deleted it, you're welcome.
Then there's a post that was aborted somewhere amongst a multitude of neuronal firing about someone I stuck my neck out for, who is being uncompromisingly, unrepentently stupid. And making me look terrible. Not because she sucks at life, because I suck at people.
Let's not forget the one about the...aw fuck it, I said I'd spare ya. You're welcome.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Another Year Older...
I recently had yet another birthday and I realized that it is not actually birthday, blowing out the candles or cutting my leg and counting the rings that makes me feel old. There are numerous other things that I have been noticing. For instance never before in my life have I looked for an engagement/wedding ring when I meet a woman. I was on the train one day looking at yet another engagement ring thinking “what a waste” when I consciously realized what I was doing and it actually kind of depressed me. I cannot remember when I started looking for a wedding ring but clearly getting old or becoming an adult happened sometime ago. Which I suppose is yet another sign of getting old, time to get that ginko biloba.
The next sign of becoming a grown up, in my eyes at least, was that I read the newspaper the other day, the reason being, I FINISHED THE ONLY BOOK I HAVE IN MY APT. Who is this mysterious new person and why is he reading for pleasure? I seriously may not have read books for pleasure since I outgrew Goosebumps. I know what you’re going to say, what do you mean you don’t read? My standard response is, oh I’m sorry you may not have heard they have an invention called the TV now and with my “library” of DVD’s I can rival any public library book collection. What’s the difference if I spend my time reading crime novels or watching the Wire… honestly?
Finally, it’s summer right? Why am I staying in on a Thursday night? Why did I take an exam on my birthday when it comes in the last week of July? Will I have a true summer vacation at the
And now for a few things that still make me feel young. I was a very fussy eater when I was little, which every always jokes about because I am so big now… haha I guess that change haha… I mean I’m 6’4 and I weigh over 200 pounds. My doctor, who is about 5’5 and spherical tells me I need to lose weight, tell him I need to do some crunches and he needs to lay off of the … well everything. Honestly for a kid who has spent the last 6 years in a library I’m not in the worst shape. But I digress I am happy to announce I still do not like fish, shelfish, eggs, mayonnaise or coffee. I’ve come to eat, or at least try, everything else. I know you may think that I’m crazy because I’m in law school and I don’t drink coffee… the taste, I haven’t found that magic combination of cream and sugar to make it not taste disgusting… please don’t kill me scottery. The other thing that makes me think that I’m not so old is the fact that it is 1:30 in the morning and I am still up putzing around, counting the hours until the weekend, though I have no job and will be studying day or night, week or weekend until… well… forever.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Guide to Long-Term Relationships: How to Date Someone for Several Years Without Wanting to Tandem Skydive with a Faulty Parachute
My girlfriend -- yes, I have a girlfriend! -- recently impressed a group of teenage girls by relaying the fact that she and I have been dating for over seven years. This was impressive to them since most relationships in your teen years rarely last for seven days, much less years. It occurred to me that this was a strange coincidence: not only was I still dating the same girl for this long, but we actually still like each other. Then it occurred to me that this could SO GO IN MY BLOG!
Thus, I present you with a few simple words of advice from someone who has, in fact, won at relationships. I'm going to split this up into "Guys" and "Dolls" sections, since although I have not experienced the female side of the relationship (my stint in federal prison notwithstanding), I feel confident in giving advice to women on what can ruin the relationship. For that matter, I feel confident giving advice to anyone on any topic, but I digress. Three tips for each gender, incoming.
DOLLS:
First of all, you have the distinct advantage of being the rare resource. Men will compete for your attention, and they will respond and notice when you give it. In terms of relationships, this can be a bad thing. Boyfriends know that if they've locked you up, there are at least three other people trying to pick that lock, and they might feel the need to.... install an alarm system... okay, this metaphor is getting away from me. The point is, boyfriends can get jealous very easily. You know when you're flirting with other guys, and so does your boyfriend. If said boyfriend is the jealous type (hint: he is), know your limits and know when to put an end to the eye-batting and the ass-grabbing and the pants groping.
Second: Learn to cook. I don't care if you think it's sexist. Honestly, learn to cook. You will be even more revered than you already are.
And finally: do you need to be such a harpy all the damn time? Let your boyfriend be stupid sometimes. Let him do things you think are silly. Let him be himself. I'm not saying date an idiot, but if he wants to goof off or just sit and watch TV or whatever, you don't need to be nagging him every three seconds. Trust me, back off a little and he'll be much more receptive to your "polite suggestions" in the future. Nobody wants to date a banshee.
GUYS:
Remember before how I said that you would need to install an alarm system on your girlfriend? The first line of defense is you. I'll say this, and it stands for relationships and for everything else in your life: BE AWESOME. Don't wait for some schmuck to come along and start doing charming things in front of your lady, YOU NEED TO BE THAT SCHMUCK. Is it so much to ask to put in a little time, bring her some goddamn flowers every now and then? Buy a fucking stuffed doll or something, the point is that you're thinking about her and doing nice things on your own. Luckily for us, most women have such low standards that a single flower every month or so is enough to keep her happy. Don't give her a reason to find Guy #2 more flattering.
Second: Learn to cook. No, I'm serious. Learn to cook something, anything. Cook her dinner a few times. You have no idea how much mileage this will buy you. Cook with her if she is also into cooking, it will give you something to bond over and talk about and spend quality time and all that stuff. I am one of those people who has a cooking disability (I once messed up mac & cheese), so I do the next best thing: I wash everything. And I mean everything: counters, oven, stove, mop floor, sink, fridge, every goddamn surface that is dusty or grimy, you need to clean. And not just in the kitchen. See that bathroom? That's your job now. And the living room with all your shit in it? And the garbage bags? All you.
And third, and this is the big one: CUT OUT THE EMO SHIT. If your girlfriend wanted to date a girl, she'd be a lesbian (and instantly a million times cooler). Grow a pair of balls and don't get your panties in a twist every time she goes out with her girlfriends or she talks about another guy who's cute or mentions her ex-boyfriend or whatever. Guys who flip shit at the drop of a hat are a chore, and you don't want to be a chore. You want to be a bedrock of cool, a pillar of stability, a solid anchor in a sea of retards. If she's the kind of girl who would spread eagle for another guy because she thought he was cute, then dump her ass now.
And that leads me to the final word of advice for both guys and dolls: Know when to pull the trigger. Your relationship should be a source of joy. Sure, you'll fight. Sure, you'll probably think about breaking up. But you need to decide every day whether or not you want to see this person. You need to crave their conversation and their presence and their goddamn quirks at the end of every day. If you feel like your relationship is depressing or hard work or a pain in the balls then break the hell up and go your separate ways.
As for me, it was quite a few years ago when I decided that I was in for the long haul. And it really is a conscious decision you make. You can't make it lightly, and you don't have to rush, because "long haul" doesn't have an expiration date. There should be no ultimatums, no pressure, no forced decisions. You just very naturally come to the realization that you are going to be with this person for a long time, you stop considering the "What if we break up?" scenarios, and you don't plan for a life without this person in it. You don't need to stop and ask yourself if you love someone, you just do.
Life really isn't that hard. You just need to take it easy.
Thus, I present you with a few simple words of advice from someone who has, in fact, won at relationships. I'm going to split this up into "Guys" and "Dolls" sections, since although I have not experienced the female side of the relationship (my stint in federal prison notwithstanding), I feel confident in giving advice to women on what can ruin the relationship. For that matter, I feel confident giving advice to anyone on any topic, but I digress. Three tips for each gender, incoming.
DOLLS:
First of all, you have the distinct advantage of being the rare resource. Men will compete for your attention, and they will respond and notice when you give it. In terms of relationships, this can be a bad thing. Boyfriends know that if they've locked you up, there are at least three other people trying to pick that lock, and they might feel the need to.... install an alarm system... okay, this metaphor is getting away from me. The point is, boyfriends can get jealous very easily. You know when you're flirting with other guys, and so does your boyfriend. If said boyfriend is the jealous type (hint: he is), know your limits and know when to put an end to the eye-batting and the ass-grabbing and the pants groping.
Second: Learn to cook. I don't care if you think it's sexist. Honestly, learn to cook. You will be even more revered than you already are.
And finally: do you need to be such a harpy all the damn time? Let your boyfriend be stupid sometimes. Let him do things you think are silly. Let him be himself. I'm not saying date an idiot, but if he wants to goof off or just sit and watch TV or whatever, you don't need to be nagging him every three seconds. Trust me, back off a little and he'll be much more receptive to your "polite suggestions" in the future. Nobody wants to date a banshee.
GUYS:
Remember before how I said that you would need to install an alarm system on your girlfriend? The first line of defense is you. I'll say this, and it stands for relationships and for everything else in your life: BE AWESOME. Don't wait for some schmuck to come along and start doing charming things in front of your lady, YOU NEED TO BE THAT SCHMUCK. Is it so much to ask to put in a little time, bring her some goddamn flowers every now and then? Buy a fucking stuffed doll or something, the point is that you're thinking about her and doing nice things on your own. Luckily for us, most women have such low standards that a single flower every month or so is enough to keep her happy. Don't give her a reason to find Guy #2 more flattering.
Second: Learn to cook. No, I'm serious. Learn to cook something, anything. Cook her dinner a few times. You have no idea how much mileage this will buy you. Cook with her if she is also into cooking, it will give you something to bond over and talk about and spend quality time and all that stuff. I am one of those people who has a cooking disability (I once messed up mac & cheese), so I do the next best thing: I wash everything. And I mean everything: counters, oven, stove, mop floor, sink, fridge, every goddamn surface that is dusty or grimy, you need to clean. And not just in the kitchen. See that bathroom? That's your job now. And the living room with all your shit in it? And the garbage bags? All you.
And third, and this is the big one: CUT OUT THE EMO SHIT. If your girlfriend wanted to date a girl, she'd be a lesbian (and instantly a million times cooler). Grow a pair of balls and don't get your panties in a twist every time she goes out with her girlfriends or she talks about another guy who's cute or mentions her ex-boyfriend or whatever. Guys who flip shit at the drop of a hat are a chore, and you don't want to be a chore. You want to be a bedrock of cool, a pillar of stability, a solid anchor in a sea of retards. If she's the kind of girl who would spread eagle for another guy because she thought he was cute, then dump her ass now.
And that leads me to the final word of advice for both guys and dolls: Know when to pull the trigger. Your relationship should be a source of joy. Sure, you'll fight. Sure, you'll probably think about breaking up. But you need to decide every day whether or not you want to see this person. You need to crave their conversation and their presence and their goddamn quirks at the end of every day. If you feel like your relationship is depressing or hard work or a pain in the balls then break the hell up and go your separate ways.
As for me, it was quite a few years ago when I decided that I was in for the long haul. And it really is a conscious decision you make. You can't make it lightly, and you don't have to rush, because "long haul" doesn't have an expiration date. There should be no ultimatums, no pressure, no forced decisions. You just very naturally come to the realization that you are going to be with this person for a long time, you stop considering the "What if we break up?" scenarios, and you don't plan for a life without this person in it. You don't need to stop and ask yourself if you love someone, you just do.
Life really isn't that hard. You just need to take it easy.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
The "GCLE" and Sports vs. Music
First, I should disclaim that I am not 100% sober as I type this post. I recently returned from an evening of bar bingo ("Clamo", as it's called), and I downed a few Miller Lites while waiting for a rogue thunderstorm to pass such that I could hear what the person next to me was saying. However, I don't think that my ability to blog will be affected by this chain of events; oh no. Instead, I believe that my ability to write is facilitated by small-to-moderate amounts of alcohol consumption, and you, fine reader of this blog, will be the judge of whether or not this is the case.
Second, I am going to define a new, life-altering, self-named statistic that will change the way you concieve your drinking life. You see, I'm sick and tired of college-aged asscocks talking up their night of drinking by saying things like "Yo, BRAH, I had like 18 beers last night! And I got SO WASTED!" when I had 9 beers and essentially drank more than they did, but because they chose Coors Light and I wanted to drink something that actually has alcohol in it, they get to say something more important than I say.
Thus, I've created a term that I affectionally call the GCLE, or the [My Last Name] Coors Light Equivalent. This statistic weights the alcohol content of the beers you've consumed by comparing it to the standard alcohol by volume of a Coors Light (3.1% abv, in case you were curious). In equation form, GCLE = ([alcohol of the beer you've drank]/3.1) * number of beers consumed .
Ex. Juan has consumed 3 bottles of Flying Fish 90 Minute IPA (abv: 9.3%) and 4 bottles of Yuengling (abv: 4.4%). How many GCLE's has Juan consumed?
Answer: (9.3/3.1)*3 + (4.4/3.1)*3 = 9 + 4.25 = 13.25. If Juan were a loser, he could say that he had 7 beers and call it a night, likely sleeping on his side in a pool of his own vomitus. If he were a winner, he would say he had over 13 GCLE's, smack a ho, light a cigar, and eat a giant steak.
In case you were curious, I once had over 30 GCLE's in one night. In reality, I only had about 15 beers, but they were all quite strong. The beauty of this statistic is that, if you like strong, dark beer, you're not constrained by the inherent limitations of the standard beer-counting system. I believe that the GCLE is far superior to any other method of counting beers drunk, and I challenge the scientific community to think of an even better way to calculate this vital, ego-maniacal statistic.
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Third, I am going to ask you a simple question, which was posed to me on the ride home from Highlands, NJ (the iconic setting of the unforgettable Kevin Smith movie "Jersey Girl"). If you had the choice between being able to listen to music for the rest of your life without being able to watch sports, or if you could still be able to watch sports but music were no longer existent to you, which would you pick?
Here's my answer. First, I love sports. When Eli Manning found a wide-open Plaxico Burress in busted coverage to take a 17-14 lead with 1:00 remaining in Super Bowl XLII, I jumped up and down so hard I almost busted a hole in the floor of my girlfriend's living room. I turned 21 the week that the Yankees blew the 2004 ALCS, and because of this I have a raging drinking problem to this day. I think that sports are extremely important, useful as a vehicle for life's frustrations, as a meter upon which to weigh one's success in the world, and as an important way to kick back, relax, and forget one's problems.
However, I'd choose to keep music over sports, if one of the two had to go. I've had times in my life when I was too busy to watch sports; I survived, but only because I had my iPod when I was hard at work. More importantly, music serves to organize the content of my life. When I hear the piano coda to "Layla," for example, I immediately think of the scene from Goodfellas where they find Carbone in the meat truck and his body was frozen so stiff, they had to thaw him out for two days in order to perform an autopsy. And I smile, because I remember that Goodfellas is one of my favorite movies, and I remember the first time I ever watched it (the summer after 8th grade), and I remember about a dozen other things, and it has nothing to do with anything except "Layla." That's my "Layla," and somebody else's conceptualization of the song has to be different from mine, and that's absolutely fine, because we could sit and talk about the song and never need to know what that song does to us, uniquely and inside.
So yeah, sports would have to go. I could listen to "Dazed and Confused" by Led Zeppelin a dozen times, wonder where my sports went, and eventually figure something out that would make sense. But if the music were to die? I'd have to drive my Hyundai off the levy... or something.
Stay classy.
Second, I am going to define a new, life-altering, self-named statistic that will change the way you concieve your drinking life. You see, I'm sick and tired of college-aged asscocks talking up their night of drinking by saying things like "Yo, BRAH, I had like 18 beers last night! And I got SO WASTED!" when I had 9 beers and essentially drank more than they did, but because they chose Coors Light and I wanted to drink something that actually has alcohol in it, they get to say something more important than I say.
Thus, I've created a term that I affectionally call the GCLE, or the [My Last Name] Coors Light Equivalent. This statistic weights the alcohol content of the beers you've consumed by comparing it to the standard alcohol by volume of a Coors Light (3.1% abv, in case you were curious). In equation form, GCLE = ([alcohol of the beer you've drank]/3.1) * number of beers consumed .
Ex. Juan has consumed 3 bottles of Flying Fish 90 Minute IPA (abv: 9.3%) and 4 bottles of Yuengling (abv: 4.4%). How many GCLE's has Juan consumed?
Answer: (9.3/3.1)*3 + (4.4/3.1)*3 = 9 + 4.25 = 13.25. If Juan were a loser, he could say that he had 7 beers and call it a night, likely sleeping on his side in a pool of his own vomitus. If he were a winner, he would say he had over 13 GCLE's, smack a ho, light a cigar, and eat a giant steak.
In case you were curious, I once had over 30 GCLE's in one night. In reality, I only had about 15 beers, but they were all quite strong. The beauty of this statistic is that, if you like strong, dark beer, you're not constrained by the inherent limitations of the standard beer-counting system. I believe that the GCLE is far superior to any other method of counting beers drunk, and I challenge the scientific community to think of an even better way to calculate this vital, ego-maniacal statistic.
*********************************************************8
Third, I am going to ask you a simple question, which was posed to me on the ride home from Highlands, NJ (the iconic setting of the unforgettable Kevin Smith movie "Jersey Girl"). If you had the choice between being able to listen to music for the rest of your life without being able to watch sports, or if you could still be able to watch sports but music were no longer existent to you, which would you pick?
Here's my answer. First, I love sports. When Eli Manning found a wide-open Plaxico Burress in busted coverage to take a 17-14 lead with 1:00 remaining in Super Bowl XLII, I jumped up and down so hard I almost busted a hole in the floor of my girlfriend's living room. I turned 21 the week that the Yankees blew the 2004 ALCS, and because of this I have a raging drinking problem to this day. I think that sports are extremely important, useful as a vehicle for life's frustrations, as a meter upon which to weigh one's success in the world, and as an important way to kick back, relax, and forget one's problems.
However, I'd choose to keep music over sports, if one of the two had to go. I've had times in my life when I was too busy to watch sports; I survived, but only because I had my iPod when I was hard at work. More importantly, music serves to organize the content of my life. When I hear the piano coda to "Layla," for example, I immediately think of the scene from Goodfellas where they find Carbone in the meat truck and his body was frozen so stiff, they had to thaw him out for two days in order to perform an autopsy. And I smile, because I remember that Goodfellas is one of my favorite movies, and I remember the first time I ever watched it (the summer after 8th grade), and I remember about a dozen other things, and it has nothing to do with anything except "Layla." That's my "Layla," and somebody else's conceptualization of the song has to be different from mine, and that's absolutely fine, because we could sit and talk about the song and never need to know what that song does to us, uniquely and inside.
So yeah, sports would have to go. I could listen to "Dazed and Confused" by Led Zeppelin a dozen times, wonder where my sports went, and eventually figure something out that would make sense. But if the music were to die? I'd have to drive my Hyundai off the levy... or something.
Stay classy.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
On running in the heat (and more...)
Summer is one of my favorite seasons. The sun is always up, there are butterflies fluttering through the air, and warm gingerbread men and pansies and... wait, what? Ahem, sorry about that. I like the summer most because it's warm out - no, not warm, hot. I love hot weather, because you don't have to spend five minutes getting ready to go outside. Seriously, spending the last winter in New England taught me that humans should never, ever have to endure winters in New England. It doesn't get above freezing for a month sometimes, you're walking on frozen fucking tundra that turns into ice, and you slip on it, like, all the time. It sucks everyone's balls, not only my own.
A fact that many people seem to know about me (after all, it's on my Wikipedia page) is that I like to run. Occasionally, I even run well (like, an 8 minute pace!). I've been running a lot this summer, because I'm preparing for a 5-mile race on the beach... in Florida... in August. As you might imagine, I'm going to be running in some serious heat. This race will be the closest thing to actual athletic running I've ever done in my life, and I hope that if I die, this blog will carry on in my absence.
The thing is, I can only train in New Jersey for this race, and New Jersey summers aren't quite like Florida summers. The best analogy I can think of is New England winter:New Jersey winter::Florida summer:New Jersey summer, where both New England winters and Florida summers take testicular fortitude to endure. (This analogy is evidence, btw, that anyone from NJ who ever complains about the weather, including me, is a whiny little girl. Q.E.D.)
I will now complain about the weather in NJ during the summer. It is constantly hot and sticky, and when I run, it hurts my legs and my lungs because I am in poor, poor, piss-poor physical shape right now. If you ever see me on the street, don't wave or honk at me because I am likely too delirious to notice. The only thing I can think of while I'm running in 85+ degree heat is whether or not my heart is still beating.
Last week, I went out for 4 miles and literally forgot how to walk. By this, I mean that I tripped over my own feet, fell ass-over-tea kettle and landed on my right elbow, turning the right sleeve of my shirt bloody. That was fun, believe me. I come home weighing 4-5 lbs. less than I did when I left, my head is pounding, and my arms are shaking. Having said this, I am absolutely confident that if I can keep this up, I'm gonna be in pretty good shape by the end of the summer. Or, alternatively, dead. Like I said, fellas, keep posting.
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Has anyone else noticed that virtually no one seems to be driving fast anymore? I'm actually really curious about this one; ever since gas prices became super expensive, I feel like the average highway speed has gone down by a good 10 m.p.h. However, I did a Google search on "people driving slower" and it seems that no one has been documenting this. Am I making this up, in my head? If I'm not, maybe highway douchebaggery depends upon gas hitting some crucial monetary threshold? I think I've hypothesized some crazy, Freakonomics-type shit right here. Somebody, rein me in (or run a discriminant analysis and prove me wrong). I've gone insane...
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I went to Atlantic City last Friday with Brainpan, and lost my shirt. (Not literally, but close.) When I gamble, I follow Sports Guy's advice and set a "worst-case scenario" number (for me, $300) which is the greatest amount of money I allow myself to lose. Let's just say I hugged that asymptote pretty closely, so closely that I earned a free dinner that provided absolutely no solace whatsoever.
For example, I was playing $1-$2/NL and was sucked down to my last $50 (I sat with $100, and was cold-decked). I was in middle position with Ah-Qh, and raise to $14. I'm re-raised to $32 by a caller in early position, leaving me with nothing left to do (reasonably, given my remaining stack) except go all-in. I go all-in and find that I'm up against As-Ks, not good. I turn my queen, which of course was the Qs, giving him the flush. I could talk more about this trip - particularly about all the times I had 11 vs. dealer 6 in blackjack, doubled down a 4 to 15 and watched the dealer reveal a 3 - but nobody wants to hear me whine anymore.
I will say this, however. I should be nominated for The Shiesty-Dude-from-College Memorial "Taking an STD Test" Dealing-with-Uncomfortability Award (or TSDFCMTSTDTDWUA, for short) for the 40 minutes of sleep I somehow managed on the drive home. Brainpan drove us in his Hyundai Tiburon, and with the back of my head leaning against the headrest, my forehead was pressed against the back windshield and my knees were almost against my stomach. I tried to lay sideways, but my clown feet forbade me from moving at all. However, even given this, thanks for driving, man. You got everyone home safely, which is what counts.
*******************************************************8
The above is what I like to call "mood repair." Blogging in a cranky mood is never a good idea, but doesn't this make you feel better? Aww....lookatthatcutepuppy. OK, that's enough for today. Stay classy.
A fact that many people seem to know about me (after all, it's on my Wikipedia page) is that I like to run. Occasionally, I even run well (like, an 8 minute pace!). I've been running a lot this summer, because I'm preparing for a 5-mile race on the beach... in Florida... in August. As you might imagine, I'm going to be running in some serious heat. This race will be the closest thing to actual athletic running I've ever done in my life, and I hope that if I die, this blog will carry on in my absence.
The thing is, I can only train in New Jersey for this race, and New Jersey summers aren't quite like Florida summers. The best analogy I can think of is New England winter:New Jersey winter::Florida summer:New Jersey summer, where both New England winters and Florida summers take testicular fortitude to endure. (This analogy is evidence, btw, that anyone from NJ who ever complains about the weather, including me, is a whiny little girl. Q.E.D.)
I will now complain about the weather in NJ during the summer. It is constantly hot and sticky, and when I run, it hurts my legs and my lungs because I am in poor, poor, piss-poor physical shape right now. If you ever see me on the street, don't wave or honk at me because I am likely too delirious to notice. The only thing I can think of while I'm running in 85+ degree heat is whether or not my heart is still beating.
Last week, I went out for 4 miles and literally forgot how to walk. By this, I mean that I tripped over my own feet, fell ass-over-tea kettle and landed on my right elbow, turning the right sleeve of my shirt bloody. That was fun, believe me. I come home weighing 4-5 lbs. less than I did when I left, my head is pounding, and my arms are shaking. Having said this, I am absolutely confident that if I can keep this up, I'm gonna be in pretty good shape by the end of the summer. Or, alternatively, dead. Like I said, fellas, keep posting.
*******************************************************8
Has anyone else noticed that virtually no one seems to be driving fast anymore? I'm actually really curious about this one; ever since gas prices became super expensive, I feel like the average highway speed has gone down by a good 10 m.p.h. However, I did a Google search on "people driving slower" and it seems that no one has been documenting this. Am I making this up, in my head? If I'm not, maybe highway douchebaggery depends upon gas hitting some crucial monetary threshold? I think I've hypothesized some crazy, Freakonomics-type shit right here. Somebody, rein me in (or run a discriminant analysis and prove me wrong). I've gone insane...
*******************************************************8
I went to Atlantic City last Friday with Brainpan, and lost my shirt. (Not literally, but close.) When I gamble, I follow Sports Guy's advice and set a "worst-case scenario" number (for me, $300) which is the greatest amount of money I allow myself to lose. Let's just say I hugged that asymptote pretty closely, so closely that I earned a free dinner that provided absolutely no solace whatsoever.
For example, I was playing $1-$2/NL and was sucked down to my last $50 (I sat with $100, and was cold-decked). I was in middle position with Ah-Qh, and raise to $14. I'm re-raised to $32 by a caller in early position, leaving me with nothing left to do (reasonably, given my remaining stack) except go all-in. I go all-in and find that I'm up against As-Ks, not good. I turn my queen, which of course was the Qs, giving him the flush. I could talk more about this trip - particularly about all the times I had 11 vs. dealer 6 in blackjack, doubled down a 4 to 15 and watched the dealer reveal a 3 - but nobody wants to hear me whine anymore.
I will say this, however. I should be nominated for The Shiesty-Dude-from-College Memorial "Taking an STD Test" Dealing-with-Uncomfortability Award (or TSDFCMTSTDTDWUA, for short) for the 40 minutes of sleep I somehow managed on the drive home. Brainpan drove us in his Hyundai Tiburon, and with the back of my head leaning against the headrest, my forehead was pressed against the back windshield and my knees were almost against my stomach. I tried to lay sideways, but my clown feet forbade me from moving at all. However, even given this, thanks for driving, man. You got everyone home safely, which is what counts.
*******************************************************8
The above is what I like to call "mood repair." Blogging in a cranky mood is never a good idea, but doesn't this make you feel better? Aww....lookatthatcutepuppy. OK, that's enough for today. Stay classy.
Friday, July 11, 2008
Special Blog: 7 Things That I Like
Despite my high level of acculturation and exquisite tastes, I am - at the very core - a simple man. There are days when I enjoy a 24 oz. Porterhouse and a delicious Cabernet. There are other days when a burger and fries will do. Some days, I drink fine whisky; others, Miller Lite. Some days, I travel the land, searching for experimental participants so that I can make the world a better place (and myself, wealthy) through scientific research. Others, I sit in my Mom's basement and type a blog*. (*NOTE: The above statement may or may not be presently true, as I write this blog post.)
So, in the below post, I temporarily ignore my Heathen side, just a little, as I explore the Epicurean delights that are: 7 Things That I Like (in no particular order).
1) 1/2 Lb. Cheeseburger, Grilled, made from day-old ground beef, medium-rare
As frequent readers of the blog already know, PatentlyJersey had us over his place on July 4, once he arrived home from his "Study A Broad (or Three)" in Europe. While Scottery lamented into his Sam Adams, PJ hooked me and himself up with some not-quite-fresh burgers, grilled with care and smothered in mozzarella cheese. To some people, the phrase "day-old ground beef" may elicit a stomach churn. Let me tell you, it's much better than fresh beef, and it tastes like butter. There are restaurants in NYC that age their ground beef for a month before serving the meat, even rare, to consumers. I'm not (yet) a doctor, and I'll never be a medical doctor (per se), but allow me to assure you that it's safe and delicious. Anyway, this meal is one of summer's greatest treats.
2) Wegman's
The best grocery store EVER. Free samples galore, about a dozen fresh food bars, any kind of food you might want. Incredibly fast customer service; I've never waited more than 3 minutes on line. Definitive proof that the world makes sense. If you don't like Wegman's, or have never heard of it, I hate you.
3) Getting onto an expressway just past a major accident that blocks traffic, giving you an entirely empty highway to drive on
If I were a good person, I would actually feel bad about this. But I'm not, so I don't. Having a five-lane highway to myself is an incredibly big treat, and I make the most of it. Should I drive in the left lane? How about the second-to-left lane? How about both lanes?! Yes! One time this happened to me when I was kind of tired from a long drive, so I decided to play Slalom with the lane markers. I decided that every fifth lane marker line was a slalom post, and I had to swerve the Santa Fe in between them in order to score points. This was fun, until I almost destroyed a slow-moving car in front of me. Oh well.
4) The Cal
Ripken, Jr., 1982 Donruss Rookie CardI was messing through some old boxes in the garage over the weekend, and there I saw my favorite misplaced baseball card, ever. Allow me to explain. It was the spring of 1994, and I was the worst player on my Little League team. I could barely catch the ball, and in order to bribe me into continuing playing my mom would take me to the baseball card store after every game, win or lose. One day, after I finally caught a pop-up (I was that bad), my mom let me buy a pack of the most expensive (and oldest) cards they had - the 1982 Donruss collection. When we paid for it, the guy behind the counter said, "Look out for the Cal Ripken, Jr. card," and when I opened the pack, hot shit!, there it was. I immediately placed it in hard plastic and, despite spending the last several years in my garage, it's still in mint condition. It goes for $60-$75 at card shows, but I'm gonna hold onto it for sentimental reasons.
5) (Most) Stephen King novels
I know he's campy and over-prolific, and I know he sometimes insults intelligent people's intelligences. But his characters are very complex and interesting, and when he gets it right -- like in The Stand, the creepiest novel I've ever read -- he produces some extremely scary stuff. I feel like he's best when he's being apocalyptic and science-fictiony. For example, the short story "The End of the World" in Nightmares & Dreamscapes, as well as the novella "The Langoliers" in Four Past Midnight, are two of my favorite pieces of the King canon. If we can forgive George Lucas for his shoddy dialogue and occasional leaps of faith in his scripts, I think we can forgive the King of Horror for his mistakes. Other recommendations: It, Carrie, The Shining (better in print than in movie).
6) Deadspin.com
Not for the faint of heart, and definitely not for people who can't appreciate sarcasm. (Why are you reading this blog, by the way?) My favorite sports blog, because it captures the very essence of what sports means to sports fans - just because sports are supposed to be enjoyed, doesn't mean that sports are supposed to be cherished. Most professional athletes are dipshits, but some are actually pretty cool people and should be honored for that. Most sportswriters are incompetent, douchebags, or both, but some are actually all right and should be respected. Plus, the comments on the blog are funnier than the actual content.
7) Warm summer mornings
Come on, this has got to be the best time of the year! People actually go outside and do things, hot women wear less clothes than in the winter, there's lots of barbeques and beach outings, summer-y beverages (e.g., the margarita, which would be #8 if there were a #8), people are less asshole-y than when it's cold out, and there's always football season to look forward to. But summer mornings are the best -- it's not quite warm and humid, but the sun is warm, and the air feels like it has more oxygen in it than usual. Everything looks new on a warm summer morning. So my closing note to you frigging slackers is, get up early enough to enjoy it once or twice. You won't be disappointed.
Stay classy.
Friday, July 4, 2008
THIS IS SO GOING IN MY BLOG!!!!
So I'm sitting in Mo's house, very drunk, after the second day of Scotti Gras. I've been forced (at gunpoint) to make a blog post before going to bed, so come Hell or high water I'm going to write whatever I think about as I sit here.
As a side note, BrainPan is not here, but the other 2 of my blogging cohorts are present and drinking with me. Therefore, he is to be mocked incessantly until the next time we hang out and consume "Too Much" alcohol.
Scotti Gras is the weeklong celebration of my birthday, conceived as a way for me to draw attention to myself for more than one day of the year. This is the second year of Scotti Gras, the last one having been a rousing success involving the consumption of a similar amount of liquor and the purchase of an Xbox 360. While there has not (yet) been an impulse purchase on my part, I've made up for it by drinking twice as much.
Which leads me to sort of the point of this rambling post. We spend a lot of time reminiscing about college and "the good old days," since may of us have moved on to graduate school or real grownup jobs. The days of living in a dorm room with nothing but homework and a work-study job to worry about are long gone. Now we have responsibilities that permeate through our holidays and weekends, and as a result we can never really relax. We can't be caught doing things of questionable legality, for fear of our superiors finding out. And, perhaps most importantly (and the point that will get me in the most amount of trouble, no doubt) is the fact that many of us have significant others who will look down upon our shenanigans.
Now, I typically have a dim view of younger people, especially people who act as crazy and irresponsible and immature as I did when I first entered college. However a lot of that view is motivated by jealousy: I know that I will never again be in the type of situations I was in back then, where you were in a stranger's house drinking their beer and seeing two girls make out for attention. I'm forced to remember, rather than look forward to, the crazy scenarios and poor decision-making that made those years so much fun. As more and more of my friends turn out the lights before midnight, I need to come to terms with the fact that the days of partying until the sun comes up are long gone. It's hard to let go of those times. It's hard to accept when a part of your life ends, especially when the next part of your life seems so bland by comparison.
I don't want the people who read this to get the idea that I'm disappointed with my life or the people who are in it, I just wish there were nights that involve places and activities that are unplanned. I wish there were still opportunities to make new stories instead of retell old ones. Fred once relayed a quote to me along the lines of "The weakest form of conversation starts with the phrase 'Remember when...'" meaning that you should spend your time experiencing life rather than remembering it. I dunno, maybe I'm romanticizing the life I led four years ago, maybe I'm misremembering the things that happened and how much fun it was. Maybe in four more years I'll look back and realize that this, right now, was the best of times and the stuff that happened before was just silly nonsense.
Still, that doesn't help the fact that sometimes I'd like a bit of the silly nonsense.
As a side note, BrainPan is not here, but the other 2 of my blogging cohorts are present and drinking with me. Therefore, he is to be mocked incessantly until the next time we hang out and consume "Too Much" alcohol.
Scotti Gras is the weeklong celebration of my birthday, conceived as a way for me to draw attention to myself for more than one day of the year. This is the second year of Scotti Gras, the last one having been a rousing success involving the consumption of a similar amount of liquor and the purchase of an Xbox 360. While there has not (yet) been an impulse purchase on my part, I've made up for it by drinking twice as much.
Which leads me to sort of the point of this rambling post. We spend a lot of time reminiscing about college and "the good old days," since may of us have moved on to graduate school or real grownup jobs. The days of living in a dorm room with nothing but homework and a work-study job to worry about are long gone. Now we have responsibilities that permeate through our holidays and weekends, and as a result we can never really relax. We can't be caught doing things of questionable legality, for fear of our superiors finding out. And, perhaps most importantly (and the point that will get me in the most amount of trouble, no doubt) is the fact that many of us have significant others who will look down upon our shenanigans.
Now, I typically have a dim view of younger people, especially people who act as crazy and irresponsible and immature as I did when I first entered college. However a lot of that view is motivated by jealousy: I know that I will never again be in the type of situations I was in back then, where you were in a stranger's house drinking their beer and seeing two girls make out for attention. I'm forced to remember, rather than look forward to, the crazy scenarios and poor decision-making that made those years so much fun. As more and more of my friends turn out the lights before midnight, I need to come to terms with the fact that the days of partying until the sun comes up are long gone. It's hard to let go of those times. It's hard to accept when a part of your life ends, especially when the next part of your life seems so bland by comparison.
I don't want the people who read this to get the idea that I'm disappointed with my life or the people who are in it, I just wish there were nights that involve places and activities that are unplanned. I wish there were still opportunities to make new stories instead of retell old ones. Fred once relayed a quote to me along the lines of "The weakest form of conversation starts with the phrase 'Remember when...'" meaning that you should spend your time experiencing life rather than remembering it. I dunno, maybe I'm romanticizing the life I led four years ago, maybe I'm misremembering the things that happened and how much fun it was. Maybe in four more years I'll look back and realize that this, right now, was the best of times and the stuff that happened before was just silly nonsense.
Still, that doesn't help the fact that sometimes I'd like a bit of the silly nonsense.
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