I've got a few weekend tradations, one of them is drunk dialing. Drunk dialing is a true artform. It's got a basic structure, but upon this framework the dialer is provided the opportunity to express themselves.
There's only one rule of drunkdialing:
Don't dial unless you're happy drunk. If you're depressed or angry drunk, not only are you a shitty wingman, but you've got no business drunkdialing.
My personal style of drunk dialing is a little more nuanced, I like to think. Usually, I dial long distance. This makes it more of an event, becuase you're calling a friend that you probably don't see that often. Sometimes I'll dial family too, because the family that calls you drunk off their face at two am is the family that loves you. But most of the time I dial non-family folks. Like Jenelle.
Another thing I stick to is weekends. Although there's something to the weeknight drunkdial, it kind of makes you look like a soak if you're not on vacation. Plus, you can be pretty sure that if you drunk dial someone on Saturday night, they're probably not going to be too irritated with you since they don't have to work in the morning.
The length of the conversation is up to you. I tend to talk a long time, mostly because I'm drunk, but also because I'm just a windbag in general. If no one answers, I usually feel obligated to weave an extremely loud, obscenity laced screed that usually climaxes with an insuation that the callee's mother is a loose woman.
The other of my weekend traditions is cooking. Aside from the obvious benefits of cooking (having something to eat, thusly avoiding death by starvation), it's a great way to spend some time with people. With the amount of spare time in the weekends, it also affords one the opportunity to make a stock of leftovers from which to choose for weekday lunches.
This weekend, it's fried chicken. In the South, fried chicken is serious business; so it takes a little time to prepare. I just put it in the fridge for it's buttermilk soak. I have no idea why pepole do that, my grandmother showed it to me so I just do it. well, sort of. I've mutilated her recipe a little by adding hot sauce to the soak; but hey, that's progress for ya.
After soaking, it gets seasoned heavily with a blend of spices, coated lightly in flour, and fried in Crisco. Grandma always said that frying chicken in anything other than shortening was just plain old Yankee bullshit.
After frying, the peices are cooled and served. Grandma also said that eating fried chicken while it's still hot from the fryer is plain old corporate bullshit that KFC came up with to save money. I think it's just as fine either way, but it seems pointless to argue with a former Screven County Women's Baseball League pitcher who's holding ten pounds of cast iron kitchenware in her hands.
Why post about fried chicken and drunk dialing in the same post? Because absolutely nothing soothes a hangover like great fried chicken.
I’m not a big fan of nicknames unless they’re derogatory and used behind someone’s back. But what really tips me over the edge is people who decide they’re going to bestow upon themselves a nickname. And yes, adults do this.
There’s a big difference between legitimate and illegitimate nicknames.
Let’s say a guy buys a boat and tells all his friends about it. Eventually the friends go on the boat which is promptly run aground due to incompetence. The friends decide, spontaneously, to start calling the guy “Captain” much to his dismay. This is a legitimate nickname.
The other way is to pick a nickname for yourself (because you’re mildly retarded) and then try to put that nickname into play. I’ve seen this play a hundred times but two incidents come to mind immediately.
The first time I saw this phenomenon was in college. A guy stuck his hand out and said, “They call me Rebel.”
I was taken off guard and though I knew I was dealing with an asshole I couldn’t be bothered about it. The next time it happened I was ready for it. I was at a barbeque and a guy came up and stuck out his hand:
“They call me Crash.”
“But what’s your name,” I asked. He looked shocked.
“Everybody calls me Crash.”
“But you must have a real name? Is it Cecil or Hubert or something?”
He walked away fuming. Point, game, match.
I’m sorry, but I really can’t help myself. Anybody who has the balls to start a sentence with, “They call me…” is going to get shit from me. Not to mention the fact that people with real nicknames never introduce themselves with it. Most wish it would go away.
For the common good, please stamp out self-imposed nicknames at every opportunity.
De ponders going underground. As someone who blogs in anonymity, I can tell you there are a few guiding principles. Some are obvious, others I had to break or fuck up to learn.
The first thing about blogging incognito is to actively limit your exposure. You only want certain types of friends reading your blog. Any member of the general public is fine, but don't run around telling everyone to keep in touch with you via yur blog. If they don't know you well, you're blogging is going to make them think your a nutcase or an asshole or both. Close friends, on the other hand, are already aware of these tendencies and don't really seem to care. My wife, sister, and I think occasionally my big brother read this blog. No one else who reads here could point me out in a lineup. It makes things easier that way.
Obviously, never use real names. Even real first names, regardless of their relative ubiquity. I made this mistake once, and an acquaintance from my past popped up one day to tell me he thought I was a dick, a betrayer of his trust, and that we were pretty much never going to hang out again. At the end of his little tantrum he, pouting and stomping his foot for emphasis, demanded I remove the post(s). I saved the writing because I enjoyed it, scuttled the site, and resurfaced on a different one. During my hiatus, I made the effort to go through the offending stuff and change the instance of every real name, using a the 'Find and Replace' function in MSWord. I don't even use fake names, because if you're going to go to the trouble to give someone a fake name, give them a really good fake name like Brick, Chowder, Slingshot, or Jean Luc Picard.
While we're on the topic of names, try to avoid identifying your employer. Employers and blogs have never made good bedfellows, just ask any of the number of people who've been dooced. Also, it's not a good idea to be specific about the city you live in.
Establish an anonymous email account via gmail or somesuch. You can use it as a proxy, so you can communicate with folks off the blog without having to send them an email from thisismyname@thisismyISP.whatever.
Blogging in anonymity is a weird thing. You want to connect with folks, but you want to do so without showing them your ass. The reason this oxymoronic dynamic arises is the amazing exposure you get via the web. You're not just writing in that free local rag, or reading poetry during open mic night at some hole in the wall. Anyone can read your blog, which means if you want to blog anonymously that you've got to put up a semipermeable membrane that allows you to control how much people know about you. Which, as any good anonymous blogger can tell you, should be nothing.
UPDATE:
Forgot this one. If you're already blogging and wish to start anew without losing some of your loyal commentariat; there's a loophole. It is possible to send emails out to your regular commenters (the ones who only know you through the blogosphere) telling them you're going under deep cover. Most of the time they'll respect your wish to be on the downlow because everybody loves being part of some big secret. Although they may occasionally slip. Look, I'M NOT PERFECT, OKAY!?
Today I was walking from my car to the office and there was a guy three cars down who was arriving at the same time. As he got out of his car I was able to smell his cologne from thirty feet away, outdoors. As usual, it enraged me.
What possesses people, both men and women, to swim laps in that shit everyday? Can you imagine working with this guy? Last week I was olfactorily offended at a restaurant by a woman four tables away. This has got to stop.
You shouldn’t be able to smell that shit unless you’re close enough to kiss somebody. Meanwhile I’ve got people at work who reapply that shit three times a day. It’s taking the goddamned paint off the walls. Have you ever had to sit in a conference room with someone who has bathed in perfume? Because I have and I’m here to tell you it’s migraine inducing.
Stop. Now. Before I start accosting you publicly
In my opinion, there's a lot of complete bullshit out there regarding men's grooming. Cleaning yourself is a pretty simple process, and there's an entire industry built on selling products to the public that do the vast majority of us no good at all. I'm beginning to lose interest in this whole 'How to be a Man' thing, so this'll be quick and dirty.
Showering - If you look in your shower and see more than two bottles, you're losing your grip on your own masculinity. A guy needs a bottle of shampoo, and maybe a bottle of conditioner or some kind of bottled soap instead of a bar. Let's be honest here, anything else is more effort than I'd want to put forth to get clean. You don't need a different kind of soap for every part of your body, either; so you can eighty-six the facial cleansers, moisturizing rubs, and exfoliating gels. Your face gets enough attention with regular soap and a shave.
Shaving - I prefer shaving with a blade as opposed to a handheld electric, but that's just me. My hair doesn't grow fast or thick, either; so I can usually go a day or two without having to shave. Plus, I think there are a lot of pleasant side-effects of shaving with a blade. I usually don't go with a scented shave gel or anything; I run a pretty run of the mill foam. My grandpa taught me how to shave, and he actually used the old-school method with a foam brush and everything; so there's a bit of nostalgia there for me. I recently picked up Gilette's new five blade razor, and have been pleased with it. It was inexpensive too, because I bought it (and a set of replacement blades) at a cheap introductory price when they first came out. It shaves nicely, and seems to last longer. Don't bother with the electric impulse BS either. That's just retarded. For more info on shaving, there's actually a ShaveBlog that will give you all the indepth info you could ask for.
Hair - I have short hair, so for me it stays pretty simple: shampoo, hair gel. I don't have a part either, when I get a haircut I just have them clean it up. A dab of gel in the morning the size of a pea, a little hand tousle; and I'm out the door. The less crap you put in your hair, the less you'll look like a complete ass. Loading up on hairspray, gel, mousse, and brillcream is only going to be harsh on your hair and give you the appearance of an uptight dillhole. If you have longer hair, I guess using a little conditioner might help; but I wouldn't know because I'm not a hippie.
Shoes - I work in an office, which unfortunately means I have to wear ties and nice shoes. A nice set of shoes is a pain in the ass, because they need to be polished every week or so. My old man was military, and in my childhood I used to sit with him while he polished his shoes and polish my own. It's pretty simple, and can be done while watching a TV show or sitting on the porch with a beer. Supplies are cheap: a soft shoe brush, the appropriate polish (usually sold by color, I use parade gloss black), a soft peice of cloth (an old t-shirt works perfectly), and some edge/sole shine. Put one hand in the shoe, and use the brush or cloth in your other to remove any dust and loose debris from the outside shoe leather. After sufficiently clean, apply the polish to the entire shoe in circular strokes similar to the motion you'd use with car wax. Let it sit for a minute or two, and buff with the brush. For a higher shine, you can do a second coat and then buff with the cloth moistened. I've had military buddies who swear by heating the polis up with a lit match, but I think they just do that because it's an excuse to light something on fire.
Clothes - I'll admit, I have a simple approach to this. I try to by wrinkle-proof clothes when I can, but you have to be choosey with your brands here, as some wrinkle free stuff is made out of burlap. If you know how to iron, that's great for you. I don't. So I'm either subject to the kindness of my wife, or taking my pressable clothes to a dry cleaner. See, wrinkle-free is the way to go. Contrary to popular myth, you can wash coloreds and whites together. The father of my first college roommate ran a cleaners, and he knew all these great shortcuts for washing laundry. Using cold water will allow you to wash anything in the same load that's not brand new or prone to shrinkage. Although I must admit, whites come out better in hot water with a little bleach and detergent. Stain removal can be a bitch, but if you splash the area immediately with cold water, you should be straight. If that's not possible, hit it with a stain remover when you get home. 'Shout' has this great product that comes in a squeeze bottle and has a bristled applicator - and you can apply it and leave it on until you're ready to do laundry, you don't have to wash it immediately. Whatever you do, don't rub; dab. You don't want to push the stain further into the cloth, and you don't want to apply heat. Heat denatures the proteins in biological stains (blood, wine, other food related stains) and helps them set. Or something.
Oh, and clip your fingernails.
So this frickin 8-yr old girl just blew up a Steinway. Blew that fucker up. Here I am , trying to enjoy a plate of nachos and some mindless, bullshit reality TV; and this wonder walks on stage and shatters the competition. She literally has more talent in her fingertips than the rest of the competition put together. I mean, I watch this show because I think it's funny what kind of panhandling, unoriginal, freakish bullshit passes for talent in this country and this girl shows up.
She should win. She may not, but she should.
Goldstein, in true form, brings the front lines into our living rooms. Interstingly enough, though, was a quote in the page he links to at Hot Air that I disagree with:
A friend of mine just e-mailed to say he’s been discussing the situation with an Israeli analyst, who told him the problem with attacking Iran is that “you can’t scare a prostitute with a penis.”
To which I replied, “You can if it’s big enough.”
I humbly offer my correction: "You can if you put it in the right place. Hard."
Okay, this is simple. As a general rule; if it involves meat, flames, smoke, or sauce (strictly for meats or pastas); it's in safe man-cooking territory. Inappropriate dishes would include baked goods (cookies, cakes, muffins; however I'll make an exception for items like pot pie and shepherds pie), souffles, and anything involving whipped cream or a sifter. Your mileage may very, but there are at least a few items that are man standards; and should be mastered.
Sandwiches - Every man should posses the culinary skill to whip up a respectable sandwich. I don't mean PB&J either, I'm talking Dagwood Bumstead. A guideline I like to use is that a truly good sandwich can be eaten for any meal, not just lunch or breakfast. I usually start with some lightly toasted bread, and from there I just start pulling junk out of the fridge. The great thing about a sandwich is you can put anything on it. I usually stick to turkey (or ham), mustard, hot sauce, maybe some salad dressing, lettuce, tomato, banana peppers, bacon, eggs, black pepper, cheese, and the the occasional smattering of green olives. But obviously anything can be used; just aim for your favorite flavors. I like spicy, tangy foods; hence my aforementioned choices. The only rule is don't put garbage in your sandwich. Kraft Singles, Bacon Bits, Miracle Whip, turkey bacon, and tofu are all good examples of garbage. They're just shitty substitutes for the real thing. Although they may imitate the consistency of real ingredients, they taste like the package your real ingredients come in.
Grilling - Anything can be grilled. Show me a food that can't be grilled and I'll show you someone who's got no skills behind a Weber. Grilling is a post in and of itself and there are innumerable books, webpages, and even TV shows on how to grill properly. Even if you have only a little grilling experience, understand that the two most important factors are time and sauce. As for method, personally there's no debate between charcoal and gas - charcoal wins hands down. However, I have been known to use gas and even electric if I'm grilling during the week. But when you've got the time on the weekends, go with coals. The heat is more evenly distributed and easily controlled; as is flavor. And if it takes a little time, you might just have to force yourself to have a few beers and socialize. As for sauces, they are of even greater debate than the gas vs. charcoal discussion. Georgia, North Carolina, Kansas, and Texas all have radically different approaches to barbecue and rib sauces; and one man's grilled Mahi is another man's waste of a catch. Try a bunch of recipes and pick the ones you like; then meddle with them at home. I prefer vinegar-based BBQ sauces; the easiest of which is a storebought barbecue sauce mixed with a little hotsauce, mustard and white vinegar.
Stews - Here's another dish where time is important. More often than not, the longer the pot simmers, the better the flavor. The key is using a low enough temperature to avoid burning the food; but still cooking it through. That's why I recommend a crockpot. Man, you can throw your ingredients and spices into the crock pot; head to work, and come home to a hearty flavorful dinner. Most recipes tend to follow a standard framework with multiple variations. For beef stew, I like to stick with beef tips. Coat 'em in a little flour, lightly brown them, set them aside and deglaze the pot with a little broth. Add onions, carrots, celery, potatoes and your choice of spices. When the onions and celery start to get soft, top off with more broth, toss in the meat, and bring to a boil. From here, just bring it back down to a simmer, slap a lid on it and walk away. Well, not forever or anything; you can come back when you're hungry. The great thing about stew is it stores well, and you can put it in several smaller containers for lunch during the work week. A much better alternative than foraging the corporate savannah for egg Mcmuffins or fried chicken.
Chili - Similar to stew but with a tomato base; chili is a culinary wonder. A thick chili can be spread on sandwiches, a chili of milder consistency can be used as dip, and a soupier chili is great for taking to the office in a thermos (similar to stews above). And also similar to stews, it is a framework that has multiple variations. One of my favorites is a crock-pot version my friend came up with that he aptly calls 'Man Salad'. I know, it sounds weird; and the first time he asked me if I wanted to try his Man Salad I wondered if we really knew eachother all that well. But it is what it is. Which is basically peppers, onions, sausage, ground beef, tomatoes, and baked beans simmered in a sweet barbecue-type sauce. It's great on sandwiches and as a dip; a huge hit at football parties.
If you want more in depth info on cooking in general, there are a ton of resources out there. Check out allrecipes.com; probably one of the best recipes sites I've found. They have a searchable database; but you can also enter a few items you have laying around the house, and it will search for recipes with those ingredients. Also, Alton Brown has a TV show, 'Good Eats', on the Food Network that I highly recommend. His approach is basic but highly informed, and he's not impressed with useless trappings. As with all of the entries in the "How to Be a Man" category, none of these guidelines are written in stone. The point here is that cooking is not a domain that should be absent a little testosterone. At least now no one has the excuse that they didn't have a place to start.
I went shopping over the weekend. That’s not something I say with pride. Fact of the matter is I needed something and was forced to go get it. We walked into the place and my wife and I split up, her, naturally, to women’s shoes and I to menswear.
My mission was accomplished quickly enough and having no desire to hang around the women’s shoe department so I got to looking around. I saw it all. A pair of men’s jeans that cost $180. WTF? I’m not cheap and I was appalled. I can’t imagine the idiot that spends $180 on jeans but I’d like to meet him.
Next I went to sport coats which I’m always in the market for. I love me my sport coats. It’s amazing what will catch your eye when you’re not looking for something specific. And that’s just what happened because I glanced up and sitting there before my eyes was a seersucker suit. It was a thing of beauty. I reached up and touched the fabric and smiled.
The first thing that occurred to me was I would need a straw hat to go with it. The next thing that occurred to me was what a perfect ass I would look like wearing that thing. I stood there lost in thought for a few moments; it was as if my whole life was flashing before my eyes. Yes, if I wore that suit I would look like a pompous ass. The perfect ass. I immediately started looking for my size when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
“What do you think you’re doing?” It was my wife.
“I’m buying this fine suit of clothes.”
“Have you lost your fucking mind?”
“On the contrary—“
“Stop. You realize that you’ll have to wear white shoes with this? Are you prepared to wear white shoes?”
I wasn’t. That was a show stopper for me. And gingerly, I put the suit back on the shelf. When I turned she was already walking away and I had to trot to catch up. She had already forgotten the suit.
Four days later, I have not. And this morning I found out that it’s permissible, even fashionable, to wear tan loafers with a seersucker. I’d been had.
These two co-workers walked into my office today and started speaking spanish to eachother. Normally it wouldn't bother me, but they basically sat at my desk and made themselves at home. Personally, I thought it was pretty damn rude.
So I stabbed them with my letter opener. Just kidding, but I did go over to their desks and 'crop dust' it. If you know what I mean.
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We do people insist on coming to bother you when you're obviously busy? Dude, I'm happy that you're able to get paid a salary for doing nothing of value; but I was not offered that job. So please, go take the trash out or something.
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How frigging hard is it to lay carpet? Why the hell is it taking 3 weeks to recarpet my office? Seriously, I'd be in a much better mood if I could have my door back. Then I wouldn't have to sit out here in this damn cubicle and get bothered by foreigners and lazy, clock-milking layabouts.
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24 days until I go on vacation. 576 hours. 34,560 minutes. 2,073,600 seconds.
And counting.
If you Google my real name (in paranthesis) and the appropriate sanctioning body, the only results that come up are my regional championship driver's points. How sweet is that?
However, if you just google my real name (in parenthesis) you get some Hollywood actor guy's official website. Frickin' wannabe.
I've had it with this metrosexual nonsense. This new fad is an attempt to take the grit out of manhood - to subtract from the essence of man. It's a crock of shit. James Bond, Frank Sinatra, Cool Hand Luke, The Duke - these men had grit. They also had style, but they didn't need designer clothes, facial cleansers, or spring salads topped with tangerine slices and walnut crumbles to achieve it. So I've decided to embark on a journey to remind us all that men don't need Paul Mitchell, The Queer Eye Crew, or pastel colors to be a modern man. We'll cover cooking, clothes, hygeine, music, all kinds of crap; so keep checking this category.
Dressing Like a Man
Firstly, take notes from the penultimate man heroes. Bond wore black and white tuxes - to everything. Don't worry about sprucing up your formal wear, man. Black and white is timeless, elegant, and is the masterful balance of unassuming yet sophisticated. As far as dress shoes go, I prefer a parade gloss black shoe or black and white wingtips. Sinatra wore wingtips. Sinatra. Wingtips.
When dressing for the office, stick to monocrhomatic shit. If you've got brown shoes, wear a brown belt. Black shoes, black belt. Easy to remember, right? Always go with neutral colors for pants - black, grey, off-white. Not only are these easy to find, but they'll go with just about any matching shirt/tie combo. I can't match colors for shit (probably because I have a set of balls) so I usually take my wife with me for shirt/tie shopping. Notice that you'll hardly ever find a straightup grey pair of pants; same with brown. They usually have little threads of other colors woven in. Find a shirt that hints at those colors, but isn't too dark. Then pick a tie that alludes to these same colors. It all sounds very complicated, that's why I suggest taking a wife or sister along. They just have an eye for that subtle color shit.
As far as casual wear goes; if you actually pick this kind of stuff out, you're beyond help. If any real man had his druthers, it'd be t-shirts and jeans for every occasion. Really, if you have to think about what you're going to wear on Saturday afternoon or something, you've been completely corrupted by BS. Pick a pair of old shorts, a grimy undershirt, and those sneaks you've had since you were in college and get your but out there and mow the lawn or change the oil. Please tell me you know how to do that.
Next time we'll cover grooming. Or maybe cooking. But who knows.
I used to make dinner and hotel reservations under fake names. Can't do that hardly at all anymore though.
Unfortunately, it seems to me that the vast majority of folks clogging the nations airports, highways, and vacation destinations have absolutely no frickin' clue when it comes to even the most basic do's and don't's of travelling. As someone who's travelled, moved, packed, unpacked, trekked and roadtripped an ungodly number of miles across this great nation; I figured I'd toss a refresher out there. Most vacations last a week or less; probably because none of us have the time for a much longer vacation, and when we do it's usually coupled with a relocation, retirement, or job change. In these instances there's so much other stuff going on, that no one would really consider them a vacation. Hence, they shall be ignored for the purposes of this...screed. So will special needs travellers; mostly because I do't really have any valueable advice other than what you might find elsewhere.
1. Pack light. A decent carry-on bag can be a real time saver when traversing long distances. If you've got connections or transfers, you don't have to worry about some bonehead handler tossing your bag onto the tram headed for Indonesia while you're headed to gate A24 for a flight to SeaTac. Something with wheels is always nice, and they also make convertibles with backpack straps tucked away behind a zipper. These are a real convenience when a wheel breaks or gets stuck. This happened to me once, and I had to drag/lug my carryon through O'Hare. What a pain.
When packing for a road trip or family vacation, packing light becomes nearly impossible. However, there are some workarounds. Stick to the one bag per person rule, and try to leave as many non-essentials at home as reasonably possible. Idiots from all over flock to the beach every summer in an endless stream of minivans with bicycles, luggage carriers, kiddie pools, and kayaks strapped to their bumpers, roofs, and trailers. Hello, these things can be rented at a fraction of the pain in the ass it must be to haul them hundreds of miles. Another way to save space is avoid bringing items that you can afford once you arrive. I've seen people pack coolers of groceries instead of just buying them at a local chain store. Unless you're going to a remote location, it's pointless to try and save money by bringing your 35 gallon cooler.
2. Accomadations. For week-long vacations, avoid getting a hotel room. Usually, a rental property can be found for a fraction of the cost of a hotel room; and come with more amenities. These places usually rent by the week, but can be had for weekends, especially if you or one of your companions is a member of one of those timeshare-points-dealies. Further, sharing a rental property with a few friends chops the cost up in peices, and still leaves one with plenty of personal space. These rental homes come in all price ranges and all levels of comfort; so don't be afraid to check places like VRBO.com or vacationrentals.com for listings in your destination area.
For shorter term vacations like three or four day weekends, it might be easier to find a hotel depending on specials, time of years, etc; but I've been in a few situations where it was still cheaper to rent for a week even though I actually was only going to be there for a few days.
3. Things to do. Before you leave, make sure you don't have some kind of distorted perception of what your destination is like. Vegas is not all glitter. It's actually only glitter for a block on either side of Las Vegas Boulevard. Washington, DC isn't all museums and monuments either; it's also homeless people on the mall. I'm just saying, if you're going somewhere because of the novelty; you're going to be pretty disappointed by day three, espeically if it's raining. Look up lesser known spots in the area, find hole-in-the-wall hangouts, scout the web for places of interest to you. Maybe there's a bar that your favorite writer hung out in; or a plant nearby that manufactures your favorite automobile. If worst comes to worst, you can always just go for a walk or ride the subway. Personally, I could never travel to a place without taking at least one day to simply wander. Never underestimate the adventures you can have by getting lost.
4. Companions. Some people are Planners - they have a predetermined itinerary and a tight schedule of the week's events. My old man is like this. He even goes to bed early, and help you Jesus if everyone else is out rabble-rousing all night and comes home late. Other people travel by the seat of their pants - even getting to the destination is a disorganized process. I've travelled several times with one friend, and I've never been anywhere on time with him. He stretched a four hour drive into an eight hour death march through tourist hell. It took us an hour just to get out of town; and we hit every outlet, niche restraunt, and old friend's house within an hour of our route. Either travel with people who match your style, or make arrangements that alleviate these differences. For example, I never share accomodations with my dad and I always make seperate travel arrangements than my buddy. This way I can travel with them without experiencing the overwhelming urge to punch them in the throat.
5. The return trip. Always leave a spare day between your return and your first day of work. Return trips are sad, depressing events. You're just coming back from the best vacation ever; you've got a bronze tan, some hilarious stories, and a seriously low tension level. Soon, you'll be back at work putting up with the relatively insipid morass of your chuckleheaded coworkers. At this point you usually start drinking heavily on the plane, in the airport, and/or in the car. You arrive home horribly depressed; you need a recovery day. I'm telling you, a free day will help you recalibrate and it'll take the edge off of the transition.
So hopefully I contibuted to the body of travel knowledge out there. If not, I'd wager that at least some of you got a kick out of the 'insipid morass of your chuckleheaded coworkers' phrase. Look for follow-up posts in this category on specific locations in the future.
This was a true story.
The class ring bit was a joke that apparently no one got.
Not only is it a true story but I glossed over most of it and completely left out the six hour emergency room visit and cleaning up of what seemed to be huge pools of blood (not mine).
The one thing I’ll never forget is how heavy my buddy’s head was. I remember learning somewhere that the average adult human head weighed sixteen pounds, but I’m telling you that thing was heavy when I was trying to pry it off the plate. I paid with my friend’s credit card because he’s the one who ordered the expensive (even for me) wine and then caused a huge scene. When I reflect back on the whole thing I view it as one of my worst days.
Five points each to:
And while I’m at it I owe Trey Givens and Orgoo five points each from a few months ago. Jim, when you find the time, would you do the honors? I have no idea how.
I always wanted to learn fencing. Ever since I saw Errol Flynn play Robin Hood in the classic film. I knew it was off base, even as a kid. In the 12th century they didn’t use fencing foils they used big ass two handed swords. But it didn’t matter to me; I wanted to be a swashbuckler. The original heavy swords were used against armor, and with the decline of people wearing armor (gunpowder), lighter, faster weapons like the rapier were developed and carried by the gentry.
Fencing is a sport associated with high culture, mainly because in the heyday of high culture a gentleman was expected to defend himself or the honor of a lady. As the use of the sword diminished in real world situations, the art of the sword remained very much alive but developed into a competitive sport. Fencing is a direct descendant of the duel.
There are many styles of fencing, most notably Italian, French and Hungarian. The original fencing weapons were the Épeé and the Sabre. The Épeé was a pointed rapier while the saber was a military cutting sword. Eventually the Foil was developed as a safer version of the Épeé and is used as the introductory weapon most of the time.
Fencing is an extremely demanding sport. Speed and stamina are huge factors and those not in top physical condition stand little chance. Like most other martial pursuits, footwork plays a very important role in fencing.
There are rules and scoring systems involved but I’d have to look them up and I’m lazy and frankly it’s getting tiresome typing this out. I suppose the point to this, if there is one, is that the sword arts were traditionally taught to the privileged and for the most part it remains that way today.
A few years ago I decided to try fencing just to have some fun. The idea of bringing a sword down on the wrist of an opponent does have a certain appeal. Christ, was it complicated. And absolutely exhausting. It was a very brief affair for me and I’m not generally a quitter. I do have training in martial arts, high level training in fact, and while they don’t have the romance of the sword they are a great deal more practical, and in today’s world they have replaced the rapier when it comes to defense of a gentleman or a lady’s honor.
Martial arts is a topic I don’t like posting about for a multitude of reasons, but I will give the fine readers here a few tips.
Footwork is the most important aspect of fighting. I don’t mean kicking, I mean footwork. Parries, blocks and strikes are intended to be used in conjunction with footwork and I have found over a great many years that it is overlooked by 90% of practitioners. Poor footwork causes problems with critical distance and weighting. Lunging will leave you overextended and at the hands of an experienced man you’re doomed. Footwork sets up the critical positioning needed for the hands to work.
Kicking is highly overrated. When I see people kicking to the face I start belly laughing. With two feet on the ground you have a root and balance. Lift one leg up higher than the waist in real fight and I promise I will break your back. Literally. Using high kicks originally designed to dismount a man from horseback, is ludicrous. Stay away from “sport” martial arts which teach this nonsense for point scoring. Kicking is best used for entering on an opponent, and they should be kept low.
Here’s your chance for some points. Five SBD points for a correct answer.
Circa 1990
A friend and I were at an outdoor beach bar trying to work off a hangover. We’d found that if you went about three o’clock you’d get to see the majority of the hotties standing up, shaking the sand off and showering away the salt before heading home for the day. The outdoor bar, part of a hotel actually, was located directly across from the little shower and in close proximity.
My friend and I were the only patrons that afternoon until a lovely girl in very short shorts walked up to the bar and ordered a drink. Soon a conversation developed and before long I was plying this girl with rum-runners toped with Bacardi 151. And while I was engaging the young lady my friend became rather bored. There was just the one girl and business was business. Since he was driving he couldn’t really leave me there until I had radar lock.
My friend was somewhat depressed by the developing situation and decided he should start doing shots of various types and before long he could barely stand up. But he was a happy drunk.
“Let’s go out to dinner,” he slurred. “I’m buying.”
So the three of us, with me behind the wheel, went to an overpriced seafood place on the water. Here’s where it starts getting fuzzy. We ordered all kinds of expensive shit. My friend continued to hammer drinks while I continued to work the broad, who was very attractive and at that point, pretty drunk as well. I felt a hand on my thigh. Then I felt it moving up under my shorts, at which point I told my friend we’d be right back and went out to the car.
On the way out there I had a moment of clarity and began to wonder what I was getting myself into. I had only known the broad about an hour and she was making it perfectly clear that I was going downtown. Even in my haze I was aware that any girl willing to go legs up after knowing someone for an hour (and in broad daylight) had a pretty high skank factor. I began to question my judgment. She was fairly young, but you never knew where people had been and I had no condoms. To make a long story short, I restricted the activities severely, and the next day I couldn’t find my class ring, but that’s another story.
A short time later we were walking back into the restaurant when I saw the maître d' running towards us.
“Sir, I need to have a word with you.”
I just stood there looking at him.
“There is a problem with your friend. The other diner’s are complaining.”
“I’ll take care of it,” I said. I had a good idea of what the problem would be.
When we got back to the table my friend was sitting there passed out with his face buried in what looked like a plate of grilled mahi-mahi with yellow rice. I could see how this would be a problem. All of our entrée’s had arrived and the broad was already eating and there I stood wondering what the hell I was going to do next. I tried shaking him but he was really out. I eventually stood behind him and used all my strength to pull his face up out of the plate by his hair. I held it there for a moment, covered in rice and whatever sauce was on the fish, and then let go again. It plopped back down into the plate.
There was no rousing him. I looked up and noticed that every customer and employee in the place was staring at us. I made the international hand sign for the check and tried to wake up Sleeping Beauty but had no luck so I wrenched his wallet out and paid the bill with his credit card, leaving a ridiculously high tip. It took a lot of effort to get my friend up and on his feet but I managed to do it, much to the relief of everybody in the place. He still had food all over his face. So I’m trying to get him out the door and the broad, who was not phased by any this, went into the bathroom and I decided the best thing to do would be to fucking flee while she was in there.
So I’m in a rush trying to get away from the peculiar woman and my friend, who by the way had never acted like that before or since, is staggering severely and as I’m guiding him he starts hurling on a car and the scene continued for some time afterwards but you get the idea.
I've had it with all these health products that are sold as panaceas. Someone I know was talking about how they went on this '30-day cleanse' and lost all kinds of weight. Yeah dude, I had a friend that tried that right after we finished up a 12-day backpacking trip. It's fucking called giardia.
Or the guy on TV selling a book of home cures for everything from high blood pressure to erectile disfunction. Hey, I got an idea I'll sell you: QUIT HAVING A SODA AND A BIGMAC AT EVERY MEAL, YOU WILDEBEEST! Really people; if you're so concerned about your weight or your health; take a look at your shitty lifestyle and maybe cutdown on the bonbon's or something.
Or the pills that are basically ten glasses of juice condensed into a capsule. People go out and buy all this shit that's supposed to be 'natural' or organic or whatever. I mean, if you want to be naturally healthy maybe you should try, I don't know, eating some fruits and vegetables. Maybe a little fish too. "Step away from the SlimJim and no one gets hurt."
And don't get me started on diet sodas. That's like smoking light cigarettes - all the cancer, and only half the fun. If you're going to drink soda every day, just drink theregular shit; because when your adult-onset diabetes develops, at least you can say it tasted good.
People fuckin' baffle me. If you're a lazy fucker who stuffs your face with shitty foods and doesn't exercise; you're gonna get hopelessly fat. Trying to circumvent this by giving yourself a month-long case of the shits or taking a few vitamins isn't going to change the fact that you're a lazy fucker who stuffs your face with shitty foods and doesn't exercise. There's no pill for that.
On some crappy reality show recently they had this obese girl who wanted to be thinner, right? The course of the show is like 40 days or something. I'm not sure what kind of logical association disorder this girl has; but woman, you're not going to drop 150lbs in 40 days. We could put you on an all-crack diet and we wouldn't get those results. To me, even airing the show just reinforces for some people that weight can be dropped easily. Listen, even Jared had to walk to Subway everyday. Let's try and be honest with ourselves, okay?
Yesterday I posted some things about bloggers that annoy me. I realize now that I left out a big one. Some bloggers like to inflate their megalomaniac egos by letting on that they know “a secret.”
The secret is can be something involving national security, but usually it’s about another blogger. “I got a call last night and found out what the story is on Phil.” Yeah? Well no one knows who Phil is except for you and your three incestrous readers. You need to get dressed and go outside. Get yourself a 7-Eleven burrito or something.
All of these traits that are so prevalent in blogging are important. Adding up all these annoying little things over time will eventually be the sum total of a bloggers mental illness.
I suspect psychologists will be using blogs for diagnosing patients soon. I predict that within the next five years whenever you go to a shrink’s office the first question they’ll ask is, “Do you have a blog?”
It’s all there isn’t it? A year’s worth of posts would be gold for a shrink. High points, low points, paranoia and especially delusions of grandeur. And that’s just the small stuff. Add in multiple personality disorders and manic depression and now you’re really rolling.
The first shrink who thinks of this will probably get the Nobel prize.
You cannot tell me I’m wrong. I can look at three posts and tell if someone’s crazy. Hell, crazy makes for entertaining reading. But not everyone has a blog. Next questions, “Do you read or comment on any blogs?”
Hell if I was a shrink I’d be cruising the blogs all day looking for customers and writing emails.
Dear Tequillajohnny,
I was going through your archives and I couldn’t help but notice…
My work is done here. Thesis complete.
Look at these beauties. 100% guaranteed not to make your ass explode.*
Yes, Victor. That is charcoal. I'm all grown up now.
* Though some of my sauces have been known to make asses burn.
I don’t see the point of criticizing others unless it’s done it jest or the person really deserves some grief, but there are a shitload of bloggers I can’t stand. Some of them are popular but most of the people on the list aren’t especially high traffic sites.
The Great Pretender
I have a lot of pet peeves and a lot of things annoy me. One of those things is when people pretend to be experts on things or talk about things as if they had a great deal of knowledge, experience or insight when in fact they’re completely off base or just plain wrong. I’m not talking about opinions, which are subjective, I’m talking about facts. There’s an old saying…A Chinaman can say anything about kung-fu and be believed, no matter how ridiculous. The same is true for the Internet.
The One Trick Pony
Yawn.
A Dollar Short
Some bloggers become obsessed with a post they write or a topic that amuses them. Temporarily. They then try and milk it for a week before they decide no one gives a shit but them. Shampoo, rinse, repeat. These people have more false starts than the 400 meter event at a school for the hearing impaired.
The Shockblogger
Self explanatory. This sleight of hand technique is used to misdirect you from the absence of actual writing.
The Tin Men
Here we go round the mulberry bush. Some people would shoot their mother for a hundred more hits a day. Trying too hard reeks of desperation and is terribly sad. I recommend a drive in the country or perhaps a good prescription drug.
I don’t think I need to point out that these are not mutually exclusive.
Feel free to add your own in the comments or take a shot at me. I’m thick skinned.
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That’s what I see when I visit some blogs. It’s not browser trouble.
The paragraph above is actually more interesting than most of the stuff I’ve read in the past few days. Sorry.
So my buddy grilled some spareribs on the 4th; and there was a bunch of leftovers. Since we hosted the barbecue, I naturally claimed some of said leftovers for myself. Of course, I hadn't had any that day either, so I was eager to try some later. Well, Sunday I heated a half rack up for a late breakfast/early lunch treat. An hour later, I was pissing out my butt.
Let me tell you, bad pork just doesn't fool around any more. I mean, it just wouldn't let up; literally, I was shitting so hard I was sweating. For at least