I realize I’ve promised time and time again, to not let large amounts of time pass in between blog entries and it’s now been over 6 months since my last addition to what will one day, surely be viewed upon as literary genius. I’m going to catch you up on the last 6 months of my life in a matter of a few paragraphs and you’ll hunger for more when I’m done. Either that or you’ll realize that hunger is because you haven’t eaten since breakfast and you’ll grab a hoagie.
In the past 6 months a lot has happened:
New job
New living situation in a new part of the county
And many new adventures…..
First, my new job; I’m still working for the same company but now in a different capacity. Some would call it a promotion, while I see it as one step closer to my corner office adjacent to Oprah Winfrey (the unconfirmed leader of the Free World). However I ended up in this role, I’m very grateful and in my first full year, my business plan is as follows:
1. Don’t screw up
2. Don’t piss anyone off
3. Most importantly, locate all the nearest bathrooms
If you know me and my ‘situation’, you’ll understand why number three is most important. And if not, use your imagination and look for my case study on WebMD.
As far as my living situation, I moved to Hoboken, NJ, which happens to be 10 minutes from Manhattan. I’ve got a beautiful view of the skyline from my balcony and Dumper (my cat) and I have adjusted quite well to apartment living, save a few complaints/questions.
First things first, because it’s an apartment, there’s no backyard. I’m ok with this seeing as I have no kids to keep entertained but when the weather’s bad outside, the kids on my floor find it necessary to play tackle football/UFC/cowboys and Indians, or any game allowing them to make the loudest noise possible just outside my door. And when I poke my head into the hallway to ensure Charles Manson isn’t on a killing spree, their nanny’s look at me as if I’m the problem. If I wasn’t so scared of life on the East coast and the thought that EVERYONE is ‘connected’ in some shape or form, I’d say something. Moving on.
Another aspect of my building that takes getting used to is the pool situation. And I say situation because growing up in Southern California I always had a pool in my backyard. The first time I was introduced to the idea of a community pool was the cinematic masterpiece, The Sandlot. Here, boys of various ages maneuvered adolescence by playing baseball and trying to score with the hot lifeguard at the local pool. Well, my baseball playing-days are over and my lifeguard resembles a character from Jersey Shore, Director’s Cut. Nonetheless, I’m sure this dead ringer for the Melrose Place Pool will prove to be an endless well of blog-worthy material for months to come, and as soon as I get that tribal tattoo, blow out my hair, and lather on the self-tanner, I’ll join the masses. Until then, I’ll be the pasty, creepy guy in Apt. 526 with the binoculars.
I’ve done a fair amount of travelling over the first couple months of 2010 (Cabo, Miami, California, Minnesota, Chicago), but no destination stands out to me more so then Atlantic City. A fan (and major contributor to the gambling trade) of Las Vegas, I was looking forward to my first trip to AC. While Vegas has the glitz, glamour, showgirls, and nightlife that make it world famous, Atlantic City has…..outlets. Make no mistake, good outlets, but outlets nonetheless. I’ll always remember my weekend in AC, and I got a great deal on a pair of Ralph Lauren boxer/briefs to prove I was there. Thanks, AC, see you again when I’m 90.
The subway is a whole other ballgame. First, it’s hotter than Iraq in July on the subway platform and this makes the process of jockeying for position even more crucial. You see, everyone stands in a herd until the train pulls up, hoping to get that one cherished seat that doesn’t happen to be next to the tranny wearing a Jeter jersey. The whole process is very stressful and is reminiscent of trying to get a seat on a Southwest flight. The only difference is, with the subway, I end up a sweating, confused mess sitting next to a Yankee-loving RuPaul lookalike.
Finally, I will say that one of the coolest experiences about living near NYC is having access to some of the most amazing restaurants, museums, monuments, and diverse cultures in the world. In my 6 months, I’ve had life-changing experiences that I’ll one day share with my kids. I’ll just have to save the tranny stories for when they’re college-aged. I guess this is growing up!
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Friday, November 27, 2009
Black Friday
Let me begin by apologizing to the four people that read this blog...I realize it’s been a while since my last post (roughly 6 months) and my guess is you’ve either missed me terribly or completely forgotten about me. In either case, I’m back with a slew of updates that need sharing and I vow to keep ‘em coming through 2010! That said, let’s get into it.
I’m writing from my Dad’s house, located in a small town in southeastern Minnesota, a town of roughly a thousand people. I’ve made this trip for Thanksgiving for a few years now and I’m always taken by how relaxed, how nonchalant, and how unaware of the outside world this little town is. It’s the perfect getaway when you want to turn off your cell phone and simply get lost. It’s basically America’s version of Juarez, Mexico.
As my summer travels came to an end, I encountered a number of restaurants that referred to a ‘California burger’, and I was told the same thing every time...a California burger was a burger with avocado slices...that’s it. That’s it? Really?! Having been born and raised in California I can speak first hand that there are zero restaurants with a ‘California burger’ on the menu. You’re telling me that if I throw some avocado in the mix, all of a sudden I’ve got a California burger? Even more bizarre, I’ve had California omelets, California pizza, and worst of all, a California smoothie. Do me a favor, future restauranteurs of America, stick to what you know. If you’re gonna make a California anything, then I’ll be expecting higher taxes, houses no one can afford, and waiters...I mean struggling models/actors/singers, with their head shots in their back pocket.
Final thought on summer; it’s funny how I do things now that I also did in college, only then it was on a much tighter budget. For example, I recently went to Chicago to see U2 at Soldier Field (amazing) and I can only imagine what our trip would have been like had I still been in college. In college, it would have been 9 dudes in a hotel room built for 4. Pre-concert dinner would have consisted of Busch Light and corn dogs. And if more than half of us managed to not pass out prior to U2 actually taking the stage, the trip would have been deemed a wild success. As it was, our accommodations were quite comfortable, dinner was served by a dude in a tie overlooking the city, and all of us survived the entire concert, including the encore. As my man Rosco would say, “life doesn’t suck.”
As I mentioned, I’m in Minnesota for Thanksgiving and the one thing that’s always bugged me is why people eat so early on Thanksgiving. When did that start? Don’t get me wrong, I’ll eat turkey and that’s a wrap, I’m down for the count, so eating at noon is actually beneficial. But there’s something mysterious about eating dinner at noon, taking a 4 hour nap, then waking up at 7pm with one thought: am I supposed to eat dinner now, or what?
Because I’ve been negligent and not blogged in so long, I’ve got a few topics weighing heavy on my mind:
- Why is it that no matter where I am, every time I turn on the radio, 96.3 is a hip-hop station?
- Is changing your Facebook relationship status the kiss of death, similar to getting a tattoo of that person’s name?
- Is it just me, or have you ever had a conversation with someone using multiple channels of communication (text, BBM, g-chat) with no cross-pollination or mention of the fact that it’d be easier if you both just picked up the phone like they did in the ’90’s?
- Recently someone complained to me that they hate when they sit down and the toilet seat is cold. My response was simple, I’d rather it be cold then disturbingly warm.
- Does anyone wear Ed Hardy anymore?
- I recently accomplished a feat that, like a solar eclipse, happens only once every 7 years....I finished a roll of floss. Think about it, when was the last time you knocked out a roll of floss?
And finally, the other part about getting together with extended family once or twice a year is introducing them to the person you are currently dating. Now this is an extremely nerve-racking endeavor, not suitable for the faint of heart. There’s the prepping of the person your dating about any situations that may go down around the dinner table that might catch them off-guard. You have to complete portions of your past that you may have previously glossed over. Also, it’s your job to act as the ultimate wingman, and never let that person die a slow death, stuck in a corner with that one relative that insists on sharing news of their most recent visit to the proctologist. And finally, that cute and playful teasing you do in your private lives together isn’t so funny in front of your distant aunt’s and uncle’s. Overall though, it’s been a great trip, and I’m already looking forward to Christmas. My only suggestion, a few avocado slices to garnish the plum pudding. I guess this is growing up.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Who Doesn't Love Baywatch?
Well here it is, the end of May, and I’m happy to report the sun is finally shinning in Indianapolis. Birds are chirping, flowers are blooming, graduation and wedding announcements are flooding my mailbox, and I’ve even used the bbq a few times. This grand right of passage can only indicate one thing: Spring is upon us, and I for one, couldn’t be more thrilled. So over the past couple weeks, as well as the weeks leading us to summer, I plan to maximize my Spring-time activities and milk this baby for all she’s worth.
One of the great Spring inventions is the patio bar. Growing up in Southern California, the patio bar was….the bar. Or the restaurant. There was no transition from everyday eatery to Spring-time hangout. However, living in Indy, I find myself compelled to take advantage of this gift from God and join the day drinkers for a round of Heinekens. At 10 am.
An aspect of going out, whether it be for day drinking or a night on the town, that is often overlooked, is the always dreaded, when do you want to leave conversation with your buddies. Assuredly, in a group of 5 dudes, there’s always that one guy that wants to bounce early, as well as that guy that wants to close the bar down. Then, the 3 that could go either way. This is a simple bell-shaped curve and is observed world-wide by bar-goers alike. To avoid this scenario, the key is finding your Partying Tolerance Equal, or PTE. Again, observed by party people around the globe. This person is a lot like a spouse in that communication is important and compromise always comes into play. I’ve gone through a few PTE’s in my day but have settled in nicely with my buddy Trader.
Speaking of rights of passage, my college roommate is getting married this weekend and I couldn’t be happier for the guy. They are both doctors, making them both equally way more smart and determined than I’ll ever be. While I haven’t met the future Mrs. (or is it Mrs.-Dr. Fro….always confusing) Fro, I have seen her picture and he is clearly marrying up. And while I won’t make the wedding, I did pony up for a weekend of beer, cookies, paintball, and poker in the woods of Northern Minnesota. This was 3 days that I will never forget, and the images that are emblazed upon my brain will be nearly impossible to erase. In a nutshell, going to bed at 6 am and waking up at 9; consuming nothing but cookies and keg beer for 3 days straight; getting blasted in the seeds during a 2 hour paintball session (by friendly fire, no less); and finally, our involvement with a bachelorette party at a nearby dive bar that resulted in a shoeless dance-off, crying, a near brawl with locals, another dance-off, and finally, getting blasted in the coins again, this time by an unidentified object (my money’s on you, Krebs). Congrats, Fro, and thank you, fellas, for the killer weekend. After 3 more treatments, I’m told I’ll regain full use of my special region and it will no longer hurt when I use the restroom.
I recently attended my step-brother’s high school graduation in small-town Southern Minnesota. This also allowed me the opportunity to meet the German foreign exchange student, Simon, who has been staying with my parents for some 6 months now, which in turn, allowed me to watch my parents interact with his parents. Hilarity quickly ensued. Keep in mind, Simon’s parents had been to America one time. The locale? New York City. My parents live in a town of less then a 1000 and there are defiantly more deer then people. To say these poor folks were culture shocked would be wildly inappropriate and the understatement of the decade. At one point, Simon’s mother asked me why honey comes in a plastic container that looks like a bear. My response, “Good question, and I have no earthly clue.” I then began to string together a wild fable of “honey hunters” from the ‘30’s and that through extensive market research found that people found bears friendly and a trusted resource when it came to honey. This horrible and unfunny story ended with me apologizing and singing what few words I knew of German sensation Nena’s smash hit, 99 Red Balloons. Then I asked if she liked David Hasselhoff. Then I told her I was attacked by a German Sheppard as a young child. Needless to say, I didn’t see much of Mrs. Kaiser after that stellar exchange. Simon and Aaron, congratulations on graduation, and good luck moving forward; it was fun meeting all the kids at Fillmore Central. And Aaron, when you asked what I was doing this Summer and I just looked at you and walked away…this was because Summer’s no longer exist in my world. Enjoy your time of, guys. You’ll soon be a working chump like the rest of us.
How is it that it’s nearly impossible to swallow a stick of Dentyne, but I can eat a taco in two bites?
Also, when did it become standard practice to clap when the airplane lands? Are we surprised the plane landed and we want to show our appreciation to the pilot? I don’t clap when the bartender brings me another drink. I don’t do the wave when the kid at the grocery store bags my cereal. What is this?
Another airport thought: take off the freaking sunglasses when walking through the terminal. You’re not Brad Pitt and even if you were, wearing sunglasses only draws attention to the fact that you’re a giant d-bag. Thank you.
And finally, Spring signifies the time when people start making Summer plans. These plans include concerts, family reunions, and vacation People start scouring Orbitz and Kayak for all the latest travel destination trends and hot deals, only to find that either a Caribbean cruise or a week in Hawaii seem to be the standards once again. And although I don’t get a high school Summer vacation like the kids at Fillmore Central, in the next few months I’ll find myself in a wedding in Oregon, a work junket in Napa, Chicago, Southern California, Cincinnati, Vegas, and the East Coast to reconnect with my West Coast hating brethren. A message to those whom I’ll be visiting: Please, no cookies, kegs, paintballs, or poker. No honey from a plastic bear, German pop songs, or clapping upon my arrival. And lastly, watch the nads….things are still a little ginger. I guess this is growing up!
One of the great Spring inventions is the patio bar. Growing up in Southern California, the patio bar was….the bar. Or the restaurant. There was no transition from everyday eatery to Spring-time hangout. However, living in Indy, I find myself compelled to take advantage of this gift from God and join the day drinkers for a round of Heinekens. At 10 am.
An aspect of going out, whether it be for day drinking or a night on the town, that is often overlooked, is the always dreaded, when do you want to leave conversation with your buddies. Assuredly, in a group of 5 dudes, there’s always that one guy that wants to bounce early, as well as that guy that wants to close the bar down. Then, the 3 that could go either way. This is a simple bell-shaped curve and is observed world-wide by bar-goers alike. To avoid this scenario, the key is finding your Partying Tolerance Equal, or PTE. Again, observed by party people around the globe. This person is a lot like a spouse in that communication is important and compromise always comes into play. I’ve gone through a few PTE’s in my day but have settled in nicely with my buddy Trader.
Speaking of rights of passage, my college roommate is getting married this weekend and I couldn’t be happier for the guy. They are both doctors, making them both equally way more smart and determined than I’ll ever be. While I haven’t met the future Mrs. (or is it Mrs.-Dr. Fro….always confusing) Fro, I have seen her picture and he is clearly marrying up. And while I won’t make the wedding, I did pony up for a weekend of beer, cookies, paintball, and poker in the woods of Northern Minnesota. This was 3 days that I will never forget, and the images that are emblazed upon my brain will be nearly impossible to erase. In a nutshell, going to bed at 6 am and waking up at 9; consuming nothing but cookies and keg beer for 3 days straight; getting blasted in the seeds during a 2 hour paintball session (by friendly fire, no less); and finally, our involvement with a bachelorette party at a nearby dive bar that resulted in a shoeless dance-off, crying, a near brawl with locals, another dance-off, and finally, getting blasted in the coins again, this time by an unidentified object (my money’s on you, Krebs). Congrats, Fro, and thank you, fellas, for the killer weekend. After 3 more treatments, I’m told I’ll regain full use of my special region and it will no longer hurt when I use the restroom.
I recently attended my step-brother’s high school graduation in small-town Southern Minnesota. This also allowed me the opportunity to meet the German foreign exchange student, Simon, who has been staying with my parents for some 6 months now, which in turn, allowed me to watch my parents interact with his parents. Hilarity quickly ensued. Keep in mind, Simon’s parents had been to America one time. The locale? New York City. My parents live in a town of less then a 1000 and there are defiantly more deer then people. To say these poor folks were culture shocked would be wildly inappropriate and the understatement of the decade. At one point, Simon’s mother asked me why honey comes in a plastic container that looks like a bear. My response, “Good question, and I have no earthly clue.” I then began to string together a wild fable of “honey hunters” from the ‘30’s and that through extensive market research found that people found bears friendly and a trusted resource when it came to honey. This horrible and unfunny story ended with me apologizing and singing what few words I knew of German sensation Nena’s smash hit, 99 Red Balloons. Then I asked if she liked David Hasselhoff. Then I told her I was attacked by a German Sheppard as a young child. Needless to say, I didn’t see much of Mrs. Kaiser after that stellar exchange. Simon and Aaron, congratulations on graduation, and good luck moving forward; it was fun meeting all the kids at Fillmore Central. And Aaron, when you asked what I was doing this Summer and I just looked at you and walked away…this was because Summer’s no longer exist in my world. Enjoy your time of, guys. You’ll soon be a working chump like the rest of us.
How is it that it’s nearly impossible to swallow a stick of Dentyne, but I can eat a taco in two bites?
Also, when did it become standard practice to clap when the airplane lands? Are we surprised the plane landed and we want to show our appreciation to the pilot? I don’t clap when the bartender brings me another drink. I don’t do the wave when the kid at the grocery store bags my cereal. What is this?
Another airport thought: take off the freaking sunglasses when walking through the terminal. You’re not Brad Pitt and even if you were, wearing sunglasses only draws attention to the fact that you’re a giant d-bag. Thank you.
And finally, Spring signifies the time when people start making Summer plans. These plans include concerts, family reunions, and vacation People start scouring Orbitz and Kayak for all the latest travel destination trends and hot deals, only to find that either a Caribbean cruise or a week in Hawaii seem to be the standards once again. And although I don’t get a high school Summer vacation like the kids at Fillmore Central, in the next few months I’ll find myself in a wedding in Oregon, a work junket in Napa, Chicago, Southern California, Cincinnati, Vegas, and the East Coast to reconnect with my West Coast hating brethren. A message to those whom I’ll be visiting: Please, no cookies, kegs, paintballs, or poker. No honey from a plastic bear, German pop songs, or clapping upon my arrival. And lastly, watch the nads….things are still a little ginger. I guess this is growing up!
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Less Fiber, More Free Time
So, it’s officially spring and I couldn’t be happier. Spring signifies change, growth, development of personal and professional goals, and exposing my extremely pasty legs to the public for the first time in 6 months. This year, spring means much more to me because I just spent 6 months in crappy Indiana winter and at the first sight of the sun yesterday, I actually broke down a cried a little. Not so much because it was warm, but because I saw my legs in the mirror for the first time in half a year and can only imagine how frightening they look in public.
Speaking of change, I’ve started using hair conditioner. I’m told that by doing so, my hair will exhibit a shine and fullness that can only be rivaled by those hair club for men dudes. The only problem is I’m not used to the additional step of rinsing it out when I get ready in the morning. Last week, as I was getting ready for work and putting a bit of product in my hair, I realized something was different. My hair was greasy and slick so I immediately blamed the conditioner. Well, it was the conditioner in part, but mostly due to the fact that I hadn’t rinsed it out! Here I was, dressed and ready for work sans hair gel, and I’ve got a head full of greasy conditioner. So, I did my best to look like I hadn’t just squeezed a tub of Crisco on my head and went off to work. No good. By noon I felt like that Soul Glow dude from Coming to America. Ok, so maybe I’m taking this spring thing a bit too far.
Another area of change has been my eating habits. Recently, I purchased 6 cases of wine with the thinking that I will conquer my miseducation of all things vino. I even went to Pier 1 and bought one of those huge-ass hurricane vase things that wine people put their corks into for decoration (or to brag about how cool they are because they drink wine and you drink Gatorade). So, I break out my first bottle and it comes with a screw lid, not a cork. No worries, I still have 5 other cases and I’m certain after drinking all that wine, my hurricane vase will be filled with corks. Um, not exactly. Every single bottle in every single case has a screw lid and not a cork! WTF?! So, now my house looks less like something out of a Pottery Barn catalog and more like a frat house.
I’ve also started to eat more organic and fresh-grown foods which requires me to forego my traditional Wal-Mart shopping extravaganza and turn my attention to the likes of Whole Foods, Fresh Market, and Trader Joe’s. Let’s just say the differences smack you square in the hemp Birkenstocks from the moment you walk in the front door. The music, the employees, the incredible overbearing smell of……naturalness. But I’m also taken by how a lot of the foods I eat now have an organic counterpart. An organic counterpart that costs twice as much, but a counterpart nonetheless. Did you know that organic peanut butter looks like unshaken Italian salad dressing? These fresh grocery stores are like portals to 18th century Venice, with cobblestone sidewalks, chefs flipping pizza dough into the air, and guys named Giuseppe and Emrico asking if I’d like bottled or sparkling water with my order. I think I even saw a dude with a black and white stripped shirt steering a gondola in the seafood section.
Speaking of food, I was watching TV the other day and saw a commercial for the Olive Garden. What caught my attention wasn’t the all you can eat pasta for $13.99, but the announcer mentioning that all Olive Garden chefs are classically trained at some Itialian culinary institute deep in the hills of Italy. Are you kidding me?! You mean to tell me that in these rough economic times, the Olive Garden is sending that pimple-faced 17 year-old that warmed up some pasta in the microwave and topped with Ragu to Italy for “culinary training”? You may not believe this, Olive Garden, but I DON’T BUY IT! Next your going to tell me that the kid working the French fry machine at Burger King learned his craft after a rigorous 9-month training course in Paris.
I was talking to my friend Loren yesterday and after the standard greetings of what’s new and how’s work were out of the way she said, “Oh, guess what I did?” I figured spring concert tickets, maybe booked a vacation, or even a work promotion. All wrong. She proceeds to tell me that a week ago she hit a pedestrian with her car. What?! This is the kind of thing that you mention during the “what’s new” portion of the phone call…..not 15 minutes later! She then begins to recount the story of how this guy “jumped” in front of her hood and she “nudged” him with her bumper. In other words, she was tearing through the neighborhood while texting and drinking 3 cups of coffee all at once, and slammed into this pour guy trying to get from A to B on his bicycle. The worst part, she can barely get the story out because she’s laughing hysterically.
At what point do I just leave my phone on full ringer instead of vibrate? I was in a meeting last week and my phone went off and my vibrate sounds like a dump truck driving through the Civil War.
My favorite sign of spring is seeing that occasional Friday night bar hookup turn into the undeniable symbol of true and everlasting love – weddings. I have been invited to a few already and feel quite honored to be included in guest list. There was one invite recently that caught my attention. The envelope had all the marks of a typical wedding invitation; pink, fancy writing, the stamp wasn’t upside down, and that one sheet of clearish carbon paper that you always find inside. Noticing the return address, I’m feeling bad because this isn’t someone I feel like using up a Saturday afternoon on as he professes his undying love for whichever chick he convinced to marry him. I know, I’m so romantic. As I begin to read, I realize this isn’t a true invitation, but an announcement. An announcement of marriage and essentially a solicitation for $100 to “begin their lives together” with. Let me get this straight, you want a gift for a wedding that I’m not even invited to? Is this your way of telling me I’m important enough to give you a present, but not high ranking enough to enjoy some wedding cake and the open bar? So I do what anyone else would do: get pissed because I didn’t get an invite to a wedding I didn’t want to go to in the first place, unscrew a wine bottle and pour myself a glass, and send them a congratulations card with a piece of clearish carbon paper in it. I guess this is growing up!
Speaking of change, I’ve started using hair conditioner. I’m told that by doing so, my hair will exhibit a shine and fullness that can only be rivaled by those hair club for men dudes. The only problem is I’m not used to the additional step of rinsing it out when I get ready in the morning. Last week, as I was getting ready for work and putting a bit of product in my hair, I realized something was different. My hair was greasy and slick so I immediately blamed the conditioner. Well, it was the conditioner in part, but mostly due to the fact that I hadn’t rinsed it out! Here I was, dressed and ready for work sans hair gel, and I’ve got a head full of greasy conditioner. So, I did my best to look like I hadn’t just squeezed a tub of Crisco on my head and went off to work. No good. By noon I felt like that Soul Glow dude from Coming to America. Ok, so maybe I’m taking this spring thing a bit too far.
Another area of change has been my eating habits. Recently, I purchased 6 cases of wine with the thinking that I will conquer my miseducation of all things vino. I even went to Pier 1 and bought one of those huge-ass hurricane vase things that wine people put their corks into for decoration (or to brag about how cool they are because they drink wine and you drink Gatorade). So, I break out my first bottle and it comes with a screw lid, not a cork. No worries, I still have 5 other cases and I’m certain after drinking all that wine, my hurricane vase will be filled with corks. Um, not exactly. Every single bottle in every single case has a screw lid and not a cork! WTF?! So, now my house looks less like something out of a Pottery Barn catalog and more like a frat house.
I’ve also started to eat more organic and fresh-grown foods which requires me to forego my traditional Wal-Mart shopping extravaganza and turn my attention to the likes of Whole Foods, Fresh Market, and Trader Joe’s. Let’s just say the differences smack you square in the hemp Birkenstocks from the moment you walk in the front door. The music, the employees, the incredible overbearing smell of……naturalness. But I’m also taken by how a lot of the foods I eat now have an organic counterpart. An organic counterpart that costs twice as much, but a counterpart nonetheless. Did you know that organic peanut butter looks like unshaken Italian salad dressing? These fresh grocery stores are like portals to 18th century Venice, with cobblestone sidewalks, chefs flipping pizza dough into the air, and guys named Giuseppe and Emrico asking if I’d like bottled or sparkling water with my order. I think I even saw a dude with a black and white stripped shirt steering a gondola in the seafood section.
Speaking of food, I was watching TV the other day and saw a commercial for the Olive Garden. What caught my attention wasn’t the all you can eat pasta for $13.99, but the announcer mentioning that all Olive Garden chefs are classically trained at some Itialian culinary institute deep in the hills of Italy. Are you kidding me?! You mean to tell me that in these rough economic times, the Olive Garden is sending that pimple-faced 17 year-old that warmed up some pasta in the microwave and topped with Ragu to Italy for “culinary training”? You may not believe this, Olive Garden, but I DON’T BUY IT! Next your going to tell me that the kid working the French fry machine at Burger King learned his craft after a rigorous 9-month training course in Paris.
I was talking to my friend Loren yesterday and after the standard greetings of what’s new and how’s work were out of the way she said, “Oh, guess what I did?” I figured spring concert tickets, maybe booked a vacation, or even a work promotion. All wrong. She proceeds to tell me that a week ago she hit a pedestrian with her car. What?! This is the kind of thing that you mention during the “what’s new” portion of the phone call…..not 15 minutes later! She then begins to recount the story of how this guy “jumped” in front of her hood and she “nudged” him with her bumper. In other words, she was tearing through the neighborhood while texting and drinking 3 cups of coffee all at once, and slammed into this pour guy trying to get from A to B on his bicycle. The worst part, she can barely get the story out because she’s laughing hysterically.
At what point do I just leave my phone on full ringer instead of vibrate? I was in a meeting last week and my phone went off and my vibrate sounds like a dump truck driving through the Civil War.
My favorite sign of spring is seeing that occasional Friday night bar hookup turn into the undeniable symbol of true and everlasting love – weddings. I have been invited to a few already and feel quite honored to be included in guest list. There was one invite recently that caught my attention. The envelope had all the marks of a typical wedding invitation; pink, fancy writing, the stamp wasn’t upside down, and that one sheet of clearish carbon paper that you always find inside. Noticing the return address, I’m feeling bad because this isn’t someone I feel like using up a Saturday afternoon on as he professes his undying love for whichever chick he convinced to marry him. I know, I’m so romantic. As I begin to read, I realize this isn’t a true invitation, but an announcement. An announcement of marriage and essentially a solicitation for $100 to “begin their lives together” with. Let me get this straight, you want a gift for a wedding that I’m not even invited to? Is this your way of telling me I’m important enough to give you a present, but not high ranking enough to enjoy some wedding cake and the open bar? So I do what anyone else would do: get pissed because I didn’t get an invite to a wedding I didn’t want to go to in the first place, unscrew a wine bottle and pour myself a glass, and send them a congratulations card with a piece of clearish carbon paper in it. I guess this is growing up!
Friday, February 6, 2009
Grab an Unbrella
As I write this, I’m looking over some pictures from the recent year and I can’t help but reminisce about all the new places and experiences I’ve encountered since moving to Nap Town. Between traveling to parts of the country I previously had never been, or interacting with the very unique (and slightly off) Indiana natives, it’s been a great first year. I mean, I even learned that Indianapolis is also referred to as Nap Town…a good attempt at street cred but not exactly threatening to the likes of Compton, South Central, or B-More.
One of the pastimes that I seem to be enjoying lately is coverbands. Now I’m not talking tribute bands or a revival band with 3 of the original 4 members…I’ve done that before and they are half-way cool. I’m talking full-on, fake hair, makeup and spandex. A little weird, but overall, I don’t have a problem with it. My issue comes with the coverband opening act…another coverband! With the same fake hair, makeup and spandex. My question is, at what point do these dudes climb the coverband corporate ladder and become a full-fledged headliner?
Something else that I have reflected upon over the past year is my work environment. While I love the people I work with, I’ve fallen into a bit of an everyday pattern regarding where I sit at lunch, who I socialize with, and where I park every morning. I’ve never found this to be a problem until I was asked to attend a meeting in a different building (mind you, still attached to mine). I immediately started asking around about how to get there, what to bring, and any advice that would help me on my journey. Again, same building. But the interesting part was when I got there, I didn’t recognize a single person, they dressed funny, and had weird accents. It was like I took a left at the end of the hall and ended up in Prague!
A week ago, Indy got a lot of snow and I found myself stuck in my house, with a driveway full of snow, a real-wheel drive car, and no snow shovel. I called around and it was decided that we would work from home. I’m thinking great…I can run errands, hit the gym, maybe the food court at the mall for some Sbarro’s. But instead, I ended up shoveling my driveway for 4 hours with a shovel I had to borrow from my neighbor. And of course, as I’m shoveling, I have everyone passing by telling me, “Welcome to Indiana” and, “Bet it doesn’t snow like this in Southern California”….like it’s the first time I’ve seen a snowflake. So yesterday when I drove past their house, I threw some trash on their front yard and flipped off their 8 year-old. “Bet they don’t do that in Indiana!”
Speaking of snow, did you know teachers have a special “snow hotline” that they call in the morning to find out if their school is open or closed? Yea, the whole thing’s anonymous, almost like the America’s Most Wanted tip-line. It’s all very underground and suspicious if you ask me.
My buddy Trader was watching a college basketball game recently where powerhouse Middle Tennessee State was taking on the Fighting Whatever’s from Winthrop. First, why the hell is he watching this game? Nevermind. Anyway, the crackpot sideline reporter (not Erin Andrews) was reporting on an interview she did with a player from Nigeria. She asked the player what it’s like to have an African-American president and he said not a big deal because growing up in Nigeria, all he’s ever known are African-American presidents. But wait, how has he had an African-American president in Nigeria? Wouldn’t that just be an African president?
Another question: is it irregardless or regardless?
On a serious note, one of my closest friends from Indy is moving to Missouri for basic training, and then she will complete a tour in Afghanistan. When she first told me about this, I asked why anyone would vacation in Afghanistan. I mean, isn’t it a bad time? I always heard summer was the time of year to gather the loved ones and make that annual trip to the Middle East. Anyway, Aly is a very talented law student and accomplished athlete and Uncle Sam has determined that she would be a welcome addition to the men and women serving overseas.
I met Aly my second day in Nap Town and after she beat me in a game of H.O.R.S.E., I knew we would become great friends. Over the past year we have played a lot of basketball together, watched Rudy countless times, and even took part in a late-night trip to a less the upstanding “club” with a few NBA players (picture late-night rap video come to life). She’s watched my dogs when I’ve gone out of town, introduced me to fine dining, Indy style (hot dog street vendor at 3 am), and always remained a close friend, even when we didn’t talk for a month or two.
In short, Aly will be a great friend for the rest of my life. No matter the distance, or even the country, I know I can count on a random text from her letting me know just how bad the Lakers lost the night before. She’s the kind of person we all want to be like. But unfortunately, I know that for most of us, that’s not possible. No matter how hard we try, most of us will never get to that level. That’s why people like Aly are so special and that’s why saying goodbye is so hard.
Aly, please be safe. Thank you for making me feel welcome and for always being a friend. I will never forget the fun times we’ve shared and I’ll look forward to making it rain with you again very soon. Enjoy Afghanistan, but stay away from the Halwaua-e-Aurd-e-Sujee (http://asiarecipe.com/afgdesserts.html#sujee) ……I heard it’s out of season. Saying good-bye sucks, I guess this is growing up.
One of the pastimes that I seem to be enjoying lately is coverbands. Now I’m not talking tribute bands or a revival band with 3 of the original 4 members…I’ve done that before and they are half-way cool. I’m talking full-on, fake hair, makeup and spandex. A little weird, but overall, I don’t have a problem with it. My issue comes with the coverband opening act…another coverband! With the same fake hair, makeup and spandex. My question is, at what point do these dudes climb the coverband corporate ladder and become a full-fledged headliner?
Something else that I have reflected upon over the past year is my work environment. While I love the people I work with, I’ve fallen into a bit of an everyday pattern regarding where I sit at lunch, who I socialize with, and where I park every morning. I’ve never found this to be a problem until I was asked to attend a meeting in a different building (mind you, still attached to mine). I immediately started asking around about how to get there, what to bring, and any advice that would help me on my journey. Again, same building. But the interesting part was when I got there, I didn’t recognize a single person, they dressed funny, and had weird accents. It was like I took a left at the end of the hall and ended up in Prague!
A week ago, Indy got a lot of snow and I found myself stuck in my house, with a driveway full of snow, a real-wheel drive car, and no snow shovel. I called around and it was decided that we would work from home. I’m thinking great…I can run errands, hit the gym, maybe the food court at the mall for some Sbarro’s. But instead, I ended up shoveling my driveway for 4 hours with a shovel I had to borrow from my neighbor. And of course, as I’m shoveling, I have everyone passing by telling me, “Welcome to Indiana” and, “Bet it doesn’t snow like this in Southern California”….like it’s the first time I’ve seen a snowflake. So yesterday when I drove past their house, I threw some trash on their front yard and flipped off their 8 year-old. “Bet they don’t do that in Indiana!”
Speaking of snow, did you know teachers have a special “snow hotline” that they call in the morning to find out if their school is open or closed? Yea, the whole thing’s anonymous, almost like the America’s Most Wanted tip-line. It’s all very underground and suspicious if you ask me.
My buddy Trader was watching a college basketball game recently where powerhouse Middle Tennessee State was taking on the Fighting Whatever’s from Winthrop. First, why the hell is he watching this game? Nevermind. Anyway, the crackpot sideline reporter (not Erin Andrews) was reporting on an interview she did with a player from Nigeria. She asked the player what it’s like to have an African-American president and he said not a big deal because growing up in Nigeria, all he’s ever known are African-American presidents. But wait, how has he had an African-American president in Nigeria? Wouldn’t that just be an African president?
Another question: is it irregardless or regardless?
On a serious note, one of my closest friends from Indy is moving to Missouri for basic training, and then she will complete a tour in Afghanistan. When she first told me about this, I asked why anyone would vacation in Afghanistan. I mean, isn’t it a bad time? I always heard summer was the time of year to gather the loved ones and make that annual trip to the Middle East. Anyway, Aly is a very talented law student and accomplished athlete and Uncle Sam has determined that she would be a welcome addition to the men and women serving overseas.
I met Aly my second day in Nap Town and after she beat me in a game of H.O.R.S.E., I knew we would become great friends. Over the past year we have played a lot of basketball together, watched Rudy countless times, and even took part in a late-night trip to a less the upstanding “club” with a few NBA players (picture late-night rap video come to life). She’s watched my dogs when I’ve gone out of town, introduced me to fine dining, Indy style (hot dog street vendor at 3 am), and always remained a close friend, even when we didn’t talk for a month or two.
In short, Aly will be a great friend for the rest of my life. No matter the distance, or even the country, I know I can count on a random text from her letting me know just how bad the Lakers lost the night before. She’s the kind of person we all want to be like. But unfortunately, I know that for most of us, that’s not possible. No matter how hard we try, most of us will never get to that level. That’s why people like Aly are so special and that’s why saying goodbye is so hard.
Aly, please be safe. Thank you for making me feel welcome and for always being a friend. I will never forget the fun times we’ve shared and I’ll look forward to making it rain with you again very soon. Enjoy Afghanistan, but stay away from the Halwaua-e-Aurd-e-Sujee (http://asiarecipe.com/afgdesserts.html#sujee) ……I heard it’s out of season. Saying good-bye sucks, I guess this is growing up.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Thug LIfe
Well here we are, the first week of 2009, and everyone is abuzz with resolutions and ways to improve themselves. That’s fine and dandy but my New Years resolution is a little different. Looking back on ’08, I did a lot of traveling (both work and personal), worked extremely hard in my professional life, and made more contacts and friends then I’ve ever had in my life. I feel very fortunate to be where I am in my life. With that, 2009 will be my cruise-control year. I’m just going to coast. Forget multi-tasking…I’m going to perfect my uni-tasking skills. What can I say, I’ve always been an overachiever!
I was doing the dishes the other day and as a bachelor, this is always an exciting event. Let me first say that as a kid, my family never used the dishwasher. Not because it saved water, or to slow down the effects of global warming, or even to protest the escalating situation in the Middle East. I don’t even know how to use one. So these days, I still do my dishes by hand. But because I live alone and dinner usually consists of a fork, some mustard, and a tuna can, I’ll go weeks without touching them. (This might also explain my Facebook status of “single”). But the best part of doing dishes these days is looking back at all the pots and pans I used a month ago and remembering that awesome bowl of Frosted Flakes I ate during last year’s Super Bowl.
Another great reminder of the good ‘ole days is sifting through your old shows on DVR. I had 2 weeks off over the holidays and caught up on shows from, like, a year ago. But it’s not so much the shows that I’m interested in, it’s the commercials. I saw a commercial for the “New and improved, always witty, the ever-present entertainer….Rosie O’Donnell.” Her new variety show was hitting the airwaves and was going to change TV forever. Or, for 2 episodes. Your DVR is like the best reverse fortune teller of all-time! We’ve all made a questionable wardrobe selection for a first date…with a DVR, you could go back in time and replace that 70’s era turtleneck for a t-shirt, sport coat, and jeans! (Read blog 7 and you’ll get it)
I recently got in touch with a good friend from college and she had some life-changes to share with me. Once married, she now finds herself living back with her parents…in the BASEMENT! That’s right, the cellar. Initially I was shocked and offered support, but the more I think about it, she’s living the life. Stay up late, have sleepovers, eat ice cream for dinner. I’m talking summer camp! But after talking to her, it sounds more like prison. She’s 27 and it’s lights out at 8. She has an hour for lunch and can’t have anything sharp. Abby, stay strong, and watch your back in the showers. It’s not likely a life-sentence.
Finally, as I write this, I’m in a hotel in L.A. and it’s great to be home. I caught a Lakers game on Sunday with P-Loya, did lunch at Jerry’s Famous Deli, and soaked in some SoCal sun. My only problem with L.A. is the celebrities. More specifically, the whole, I drive an Escalade and wear my sunglasses 24 hrs. a day, thing. The problem is, EVERYONE in L.A. drives an Escalade and wears sunglasses 24 hrs. a day. So I look like an idiot, asking every bus-boy, grocery store worker, and janitor for an autograph just because he’s rolling a blacked out SUV and fake Gucci’s. Hey, at least I don’t live in the basement! (Love you, A) But I do have a sink full of month-old Frosted Flake bowls to clean. I guess this is growing up.
I was doing the dishes the other day and as a bachelor, this is always an exciting event. Let me first say that as a kid, my family never used the dishwasher. Not because it saved water, or to slow down the effects of global warming, or even to protest the escalating situation in the Middle East. I don’t even know how to use one. So these days, I still do my dishes by hand. But because I live alone and dinner usually consists of a fork, some mustard, and a tuna can, I’ll go weeks without touching them. (This might also explain my Facebook status of “single”). But the best part of doing dishes these days is looking back at all the pots and pans I used a month ago and remembering that awesome bowl of Frosted Flakes I ate during last year’s Super Bowl.
Another great reminder of the good ‘ole days is sifting through your old shows on DVR. I had 2 weeks off over the holidays and caught up on shows from, like, a year ago. But it’s not so much the shows that I’m interested in, it’s the commercials. I saw a commercial for the “New and improved, always witty, the ever-present entertainer….Rosie O’Donnell.” Her new variety show was hitting the airwaves and was going to change TV forever. Or, for 2 episodes. Your DVR is like the best reverse fortune teller of all-time! We’ve all made a questionable wardrobe selection for a first date…with a DVR, you could go back in time and replace that 70’s era turtleneck for a t-shirt, sport coat, and jeans! (Read blog 7 and you’ll get it)
I recently got in touch with a good friend from college and she had some life-changes to share with me. Once married, she now finds herself living back with her parents…in the BASEMENT! That’s right, the cellar. Initially I was shocked and offered support, but the more I think about it, she’s living the life. Stay up late, have sleepovers, eat ice cream for dinner. I’m talking summer camp! But after talking to her, it sounds more like prison. She’s 27 and it’s lights out at 8. She has an hour for lunch and can’t have anything sharp. Abby, stay strong, and watch your back in the showers. It’s not likely a life-sentence.
Finally, as I write this, I’m in a hotel in L.A. and it’s great to be home. I caught a Lakers game on Sunday with P-Loya, did lunch at Jerry’s Famous Deli, and soaked in some SoCal sun. My only problem with L.A. is the celebrities. More specifically, the whole, I drive an Escalade and wear my sunglasses 24 hrs. a day, thing. The problem is, EVERYONE in L.A. drives an Escalade and wears sunglasses 24 hrs. a day. So I look like an idiot, asking every bus-boy, grocery store worker, and janitor for an autograph just because he’s rolling a blacked out SUV and fake Gucci’s. Hey, at least I don’t live in the basement! (Love you, A) But I do have a sink full of month-old Frosted Flake bowls to clean. I guess this is growing up.
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
FaceSpace
So I sit here, on my couch, with one major question weighing on my mind. You ask, is it the economy? The housing crisis? Will crude oil eventually rise again, leaving all SUV drivers crapping their pants at the pump? (Which, by the way, would make a great channel 4 news segment) No. No. No. The question I’m faced with is that age-old night before New Year’s Eve predicament that many like me have faced in times’ past: do I go out tonight and risk wasting my resources the night before the big bash??? What I mean is, tonight is like the JV game before the Varsity hits the floor. Or you know how at NASCAR races there are like, 8 races before the main race on Sunday….kinda like that. You see, I could easily go out tonight, knowing that I can sleep in tomorrow but should I go that route, I don’t know that I’ll have the energy to do it all over again manana. Life is full of uphill battles, challenges, and forks in the road. Whatever my decision, I have my great upbringing to thank.
The nice thing about this time of year is my work schedule. More specifically, my non-work schedule. My company shuts down over the holidays leaving me with a lot of good intentions for home improvement, volunteering, and self-betterment. But really, all it ever means is me not shaving for 2 weeks and a lot of movie watching and catching up on The Office reruns. In all honesty, I look homeless. In fact, no disrespect to homeless people, but I look worse then homeless. My beard isn’t so much a typical beard that lands on most dude’s cheeks, but rather the ever desired and mostly Euro neck-beard. It’s itchy and starting to connect with the hair on my neck. That’s normal, right?
The other news in my life kind of big. I finally joined the masses and started a Facebook profile. I have rejected the idea ever since a friend back in California told me about MySpace and how it changed her life forever. My response: lame. Find a hobby, a boyfriend, or try watching more TV, but MySpace? Seriously? Well, here I am, checking it everyday like a crack addict. I CANNOT get enough!! What’s worse is I’ve had that last week and a half off work and all I do is sit and stare at the computer. I must look like the lamest dude ever because anytime someone writes on my wall (Facebook lingo), I respond within 30 seconds. I’m that kid in school that never got dates and just waited by the phone…..for it to NEVER ring!! I mean, what a nerd!
But this Facebook thing is a lot more serious then one would think. There’s a whole strategy involved. How many friends do you have? How many people have you asked to be friends with…..and have said no?!?! I feel like the popular kid at the lunch table when someone asks to join my friend list. It’s an immediate ego boost! But then, when you reach out to someone and write on their wall and they never respond, you’re once inflated ego quickly deflates and you remember you’re just a loser on a couch growing a beard!
What’s with these overachievers that rent out bars for New Years? We all know these people. They’re the ones that partner with your local bar/pub/club/crap-hole that serves booze, to offer fancy purple wristbands for $100 a pop to any sucker willing to fork over the benjamins. Problem is, we all do it! Here’s my hundy, now point me in the direction of the huge dude-fest where they are serving substandard drinks at a premium price and every guy has on a sport coat and t-shirt with jeans. Yea, and when did that become the standard uniform of choice for guys going out? Don’t’ get me wrong, I’ve got buddies that pull it off with ease but this really is an epidemic. I’m vetoing the sport coat t-shirt thing and going straight gangster. That’s right, I’m rocking a beard, bed-head, I may or may not brush my teeth, and if I get thrown out before midnight than that leaves me plenty of time to come home, work on my neck-beard, and check my Facebook page! I guess this is growing up.
The nice thing about this time of year is my work schedule. More specifically, my non-work schedule. My company shuts down over the holidays leaving me with a lot of good intentions for home improvement, volunteering, and self-betterment. But really, all it ever means is me not shaving for 2 weeks and a lot of movie watching and catching up on The Office reruns. In all honesty, I look homeless. In fact, no disrespect to homeless people, but I look worse then homeless. My beard isn’t so much a typical beard that lands on most dude’s cheeks, but rather the ever desired and mostly Euro neck-beard. It’s itchy and starting to connect with the hair on my neck. That’s normal, right?
The other news in my life kind of big. I finally joined the masses and started a Facebook profile. I have rejected the idea ever since a friend back in California told me about MySpace and how it changed her life forever. My response: lame. Find a hobby, a boyfriend, or try watching more TV, but MySpace? Seriously? Well, here I am, checking it everyday like a crack addict. I CANNOT get enough!! What’s worse is I’ve had that last week and a half off work and all I do is sit and stare at the computer. I must look like the lamest dude ever because anytime someone writes on my wall (Facebook lingo), I respond within 30 seconds. I’m that kid in school that never got dates and just waited by the phone…..for it to NEVER ring!! I mean, what a nerd!
But this Facebook thing is a lot more serious then one would think. There’s a whole strategy involved. How many friends do you have? How many people have you asked to be friends with…..and have said no?!?! I feel like the popular kid at the lunch table when someone asks to join my friend list. It’s an immediate ego boost! But then, when you reach out to someone and write on their wall and they never respond, you’re once inflated ego quickly deflates and you remember you’re just a loser on a couch growing a beard!
What’s with these overachievers that rent out bars for New Years? We all know these people. They’re the ones that partner with your local bar/pub/club/crap-hole that serves booze, to offer fancy purple wristbands for $100 a pop to any sucker willing to fork over the benjamins. Problem is, we all do it! Here’s my hundy, now point me in the direction of the huge dude-fest where they are serving substandard drinks at a premium price and every guy has on a sport coat and t-shirt with jeans. Yea, and when did that become the standard uniform of choice for guys going out? Don’t’ get me wrong, I’ve got buddies that pull it off with ease but this really is an epidemic. I’m vetoing the sport coat t-shirt thing and going straight gangster. That’s right, I’m rocking a beard, bed-head, I may or may not brush my teeth, and if I get thrown out before midnight than that leaves me plenty of time to come home, work on my neck-beard, and check my Facebook page! I guess this is growing up.
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