East Bound and Down…Loaded Up and Truckin’

“These mist-covered mountains are a home now for me, but my home is the lowlands and always will be."

- Mark Knopfler

 

The Move West

On March 9, 2007 I packed up my belongings, picked up the U-Haul trailer, and waited for The Choz.  He came over after work and helped me load up.  I soon dropped him off and headed to Lunchbox’s dad’s house.  I stepped inside, quickly ate dinner, and then headed back out to the car.  I tossed my keys to Lunchbox and said, “You’ve got the first leg”.  The two of us pushed through the night to Omaha, Nebraska before stopping at a hotel.  The first night’s drive was timid.  Neither of us were sure about how fast we should drive a fully-loaded 4Runner pulling a 3,000+ pound trailer.

Day two was a little better.  We hit the road early, on minimal sleep.  Pulling the trailer was good for the driving rotation.  We were burning through fuel so quickly we needed to stop for gas every three hours.  That meant every three hours we switched drivers and picked up some beef jerky.  Effortless.

It was about nine at night when we were approaching Rock Springs, Wyoming.  We were both hungry and wanted some dinner.  My vote was for Wendy’s.  The Lunchbox, always being difficult, wanted to try Taco Time.  Not knowing how many highway exits there were in Rock Springs, I reluctantly agreed.  I don’t want to get into all the details of my Taco Time experience, but it was horrible enough that when Lunchbox and I got back in the car I told him we were going to have silent time to regroup.  I turned up the music and settled down.  Those who intimately know the relationship I have with Lunchbox will be surprised that I snapped at him only once during thirty hours together in the car.  He can be annoying.  I can be volatile.

We stopped in Salt Lake City, Utah for the night and stayed in a two-room suite hotel…thank you Danhard.  The couple in the next room were bound to win a prize…they were going at it all night long.  Minimal sleep…again, gas, beef jerky, Red Bull, and we were off.

We got into Reno, Nevada in the early afternoon and unpacked the truck/trailer after Lunchbox showed off his trailer-backing-up skills.  I was impressed…I’m terrible at it.

Two years and twenty days later I am leaving.  A little more well-traveled, a little less employed, two years older, better at skiing, and the proud writer of a blog.

 

The Reason

Over the last two years I’ve been asked time and time again, “Why did you move to Reno?”  I’ve always given a quick and easy answer:  money.  It is partially true.  I didn’t pay for much of anything out of my own pocket while in Reno.  Danhard covered my rent, utilities, cable (including every movie channel), flights back to Chicago, etcetera.  Although the money aspect of my movie has always been prevalent, there has been more to it.

I was living in Chicago with David and Big Head.  I was driving at least an hour each way to and from work.  I was working late and making pretty good money for it.  I would park my car somewhere around my apartment on Friday afternoon and get drunk enough over the next two nights to forget where it was.  Every Sunday I would wake up at 11, throw my laundry in the washer, take a nap (usually in David’s bed), wake up and throw the laundry in the dryer, return to my nap, and wake up again to fold the clothes.

At least once a week, usually at an extended lunch with Tommy, I would put my head in my hands and mumble to myself, “What am I doing?”  I wasn't really happy.  I had drive.  I had some ambition.  I had no plan.

I had never been alone.  I had never lived without family or roommates.  I would often wonder if I was the person I was because of me or merely because of my surroundings.  I felt like I needed a change.  I needed to see if there was something else out there.

Not too soon after this awakening, the proposal to move to Reno was offered to me.  I didn’t have to think about it long.  I had some questions about the move but went with it anyways.  I wanted to do something on my own.  I wanted to see something new.

 

The Result

The past two years have been great and terrible.  There have been moments of pure bliss…solo ski runs while rocking out to The Killers, sunsets on the Pacific Ocean, hitting 5001 into the jukebox at The Buccaneer.  There have been moments of sadness…fielding phone calls from drunken friends at Buffett concerts 2,000 miles away, lonely and boring weekend nights.

With that said, I feel that I took advantage of my situation as best I could.  I did a lot of travelling within the U.S.  My limited expenses allowed me a generous budget to visit cities like Austin, New York City, San Diego…a few times, Los Angeles…a few times, San Francisco…a bunch of times, New Orleans, Las Vegas, Indianapolis, Phoenix…and all of Arizona to the north, and so on.

Over the past two years I’ve made a bunch of new friends.  Some who are very near and dear and will be so for the rest of my life.  I’ve also had the opportunity to get to know some old friends a lot better.

The past three months have been absolutely amazing.  Even with the misfortune of being crippled for a month or so, nothing has been better in a very long time.  The Winter of Dan is something I’ve talked about having for a while.  I think I fully embraced it.  It had been about 14 years since the last time in my life where I had no job, no responsibilities, nowhere to go, and no one to see.  I stopped wearing a watch, stopped caring what day it was, and stopped thinking about where I was going.

South Lake Tahoe is a magical place.  I think it is firmly seated in second place on the list of places I’ve lived.  If there were any real career opportunities in town…I would never leave.  If anyone ever wants to disappear somewhere for a while, there is no finer location than Lake Tahoe.

Over the past two years I’ve learned a lot about myself.  I think I finally have a grasp on what makes me tick.  Although the alone times can be reflective, relaxing, and enjoyable...being around good friends is the most important thing to me.

So here I am…at a major crossroads in my life.  I essentially need to start over…new job, new home, new mattress.  I’m not quite sure what lie ahead, but I know I don’t regret anything I’ve left behind.  And...at the risk of sounding cliche (something I absolutely hate)...I still haven't found what I'm looking for.

 

Fitting Songs

“Brothers in Arms” by Dire Straits

“Wasted on the Way” by CSN

“Homeward Bound” by Simon and Garfunkel

“East Bound and Down” by Jerry Reed

“Exitlude” by The Killers

 

The Future of the Blog

My intentions have always been to stop the blog once I’ve left Tahoe.  Some people whose opinions I trust and respect have encouraged me to keep it going.  I’m not sure how I feel about it.  As I stated above, this blog was written at a time in my life when I had nothing to look forward to, nothing to worry about, and no plan.  A part of me wants to just leave it at that.  A part of me wants to keep it going.  We’ll see what happens.

Regardless of the long-term future of the blog, I will continue to post this week and inform you all of my drive.  I’m sure I’ll record some good voice notes.

In closing...Goodnight Cleveland!  There will be no encore.

Turn the Page

This will be my last post from the Blue Angel Café as it is my last day in South Lake Tahoe.  Relax, relax…the blog isn’t ending just yet.  I have an emotional – well, as emotional as I get – post that I’ll try to put up tonight or tomorrow.  It has been over a week since I’ve dedicated some serious time to this blog and a lot has been going on…so here we go.

 

Guest Bloggers

I’d like to thank the three guest bloggers who posted last week.  You guys all gave me something to look forward to.  Lunchbox…you wrote an encyclopedia…I wouldn’t have expected anything less.  David…pretty standard output from you.  The Choz…a good story that I’ve been trying to tell for years…somehow you remembered all the details, although the story was riddled with grammatical errors.  Dr. Mike…fuck you…I don’t except your “my computer broke while I was writing” excuse…you are a doctor…I expect more from you.

Uncle Dan

Yes…I am now an uncle.  Bryce was born on March 21^st.  Here he is…

Although I haven't seen him in person, I assume he has hands and they're just covered.  If he has no hands, I will buy him some kickass hooks/claws. 

Ski Trip 2009…The Movie

That’s right…it’s time for me to start work on my second video.  Last week I was in Seattle, Vancouver, and Whistler with 11 other people.

Mathematics:  12 people + technology + booze = lots of pictures and videos.

I’m going to start working on this next week…hopefully I can get something together before May.

 

Trip Recap

The first night of any trip is usually the wildest.  Vancouver was a blast.  I got drunk, started my fake Canadian accent (that I would use throughout the week), lost the first of many rounds of credit card roulette, stole a taxi from some girls, got a hot dog thrown at me, and slept with a man. 

Three of us were up pretty early the next morning and were walking the streets of Vancouver.  Wow…I like Vancouver.  I had to repeat my mantra – they don’t have baseball, they don’t have baseball, they don’t have baseball – over and over to keep myself from signing a lease.  We picked up some porno mags, hopped in Boy Blue (a.k.a. The Fag Mobile…pictures will be posted soon), and drove up to Whistler.

Whistler is great.  The village has a plethora of shops, restaurants, and bars.  The house we rented was right across the street from the village.  Arpi (The Builder) and Christien (His Son) built one hell of a house…even if he didn’t splurge on insulation.  I slept in a room with Barty, Remmi, and The Incomparable Roy Orbison (inside joke).  There were many a night when Remmi and I giggled ourselves to sleep…pretty typical for a couple of men in their late 20’s.

Those are pretty much all the details from my trip that I’m going to dive into right now except for the following events:

On Thursday, while sitting at the bar, Byl turned to me and asked, “Dan, what if I was gay?”  I still have no response to this.  Luckily, he is not the man I slept with.

Canadians love hockey and curling.  They have TSN instead of ESPN.  TSN sucks.

Many of us, sans CG, have become addicted to the song “Poker Face” and its music video.  In fact, Barty, Kilpat, and I had it on repeat for about 20 minutes before going through customs to get back into the ‘States and cued it up in Boy Blue when we returned the car.

Canadians refer to “Macaroni and Cheese” as “Kraft Dinner”.  Fucking hosers.

What do three men do in Seattle when they’re 4 hours early for their flights?  Sunday brunch at the rotating restaurant atop the Space Needle.  No…they don’t have a dress code, but they should…Barty wore sweatpants.

Did we really see Ichiro?  We’re not sure why Ichiro would be in Seattle instead of spring training…but as we pulled into the airport we did see a murdered-out Toyota FJ Cruiser with a Mariners sticker and Mariners’ stadium plates that said “Ichiro”.  When we pulled up beside him we saw, through uber-tinted windows, a tiny Asian man that looked just like Ichiro.

My Alaska Air propeller plane flew about 50 feet from the summit of Mt. Rainier.  I’ll admit…I was terrified.

 

My Last Days in South Lake

I got back in town late on Sunday and had to withdraw from previously-made plans to get drunk.  I felt terrible.  I got about 12 hours of sleep on Sunday night and hit the mountain for the last time on Monday.  A pretty day.

I followed-up skiing with about an hour in the hot tub accompanied by a G2 and a Cuban cigar.  I then tried my best to glue the broken porcelain bear back together.  It looks terrible.  Monday night involved some TV and 11 hours of sleep…and here I am.

 

What Lies Ahead

I am heading up to Reno today to empty my storage unit and pack my car.  Then I’m going out to dinner with some of my former business associates.  We’ll see if the cheap bastards make me pay for my own food or not.

I’ll spend tonight in Reno at Ryan’s house, drive to Provo (I've already been to Salt Lake City and Jim Swarthout owes me some money) tomorrow and get a cheap hotel room, drive to Denver on Thursday to stay with Dale, drive to Des Moines on Friday to stay with Mason, and then stop off in Iowa City to get a buffalo chicken burrito at Atlas before heading to my new home…wow, this is painful to write…my parents’ house.

I’ll try to post along with the way with some highlights from my trip.  I may stretch out my stays in Denver and/or Des Moines depending on how I’m feeling.

Hey! Where y'all goin?

Guest Post #3 - The Choz

Our intentions were good. It was supposed to be was a spring break trip to St. Pete beach Florida. Instead it became a trip that none of want to remember, nor can we forget.

Day 1

In March of 2006, The Dub, Ukraine, Dan and myself set out to St Petersburg, Florida, to try to re-live our spring break glory days. The trip started off great. After landing in Tampa, Condor picked us up in his land yacht and we headed to his house in Bradenton. Upon arriving we played beer pong and polished off two cases at an alarming, Okoboji summer of 2002 like, pace. Then we headed out to a local strip mall bar and introduced the people of Bradenton to our favorite bar game…credit card roulette. A few hours later the bar was about to close and it was time to head back home. Dan made a quick stop to the bathroom to throw up in the urinal and we headed back to crash. The trip was looking good.

Day 2

Time to head to our hotel on St. Pete Beach. We check in and hit Harry’s beach bar. At this point we began to hypothesis about what percentage of Florida residents have tattoos. After a few pitchers and a lot of people watching we determined it to be 85%.

Dinner time was coming up and we decided to hit up Hurricane’s for some seafood. The Dub had some familiarity with the area and recommended the spot. After dinner we found a bar that looked like the type of place we could camp out for the night. The bar was Shadrack’s. If Shadrack’s was in Chicago it would be located right next to Mothers Two on Division. We walked in and I ordered four beers. The bartender told me that would be $4. This was going to be a good night. 4 hours and $75 dollars later we were smashed. It was about 2 am and we had to be up in 4 hours. Deep sea fishing awaited us. So we left the bar and flagged down a cab. The cab turned out to be the family truckster from National Lampoons Vacation. We climbed in the back window and headed back to the hotel.

Day 3

6:15 AM….Wake up call time. We are not sober. We need to get to the dock to meet our boat captain by 7. We get out of bed, get dressed and grab the necessities. Those necessities being two cases of beer and sunglasses. At the time two cases of beer sounded very logical for a 5 hour fishing trip.

We arrive at the dock at 7 am. Captain Mike of the Far Horizon is waiting for us. We hop on the boat and meet Captain Mike’s first mate. His name was Byl. Byl had been a fisherman all of his life. You could make a wallet from the skin on the back of Byl’s neck.

Captain Mike took the helm and we were off. He told us he knew of a great spot in the gulf to catch some big fish. It was going to take about an hour to get there, but he said it would be well worth it. This is where things started to get bad. Dan and Ukraine decided to enjoy the journey from the crows nest area of the boat. The Dub and I stayed in the lower deck of the boat and looked at pictures of previous fishing trips, everyone looking happy and content with their catch. Captain Mike made sure to point out the picture of him with “The Mailman” Karl Malone. Now that I think about it I bet that picture was damn fake.

About 15 minutes into the trip we realized the sea was angry. The Far Horizon began rocking back and fourth and quickly Ukraine and Dan headed back down to the lower deck. At this point the hangovers began to set in and so did the sea sickness. Needless to say only I made the whole trip without giving back to the ocean. One hour in and we hit our spot. I throw out my line and immediately get a hit. I get the fish almost up to the boat before it falls off. That was the last bite we got for 3 hours unless you count the 4 inch fish we snagged with a hook. Captain Mike was a liar. Byl was still cool.

As we headed back to shore Captain Mike gave us some tips on the dog races that night to make up for it. Fuck you Captain Mike. He then gave us a ride back to his hotel in his kidnapper van. Back to the beach for some more beers and then a needed nap.

At 5 it was time take showers and get ready for Phillies spring training game. The game was pretty uneventful. The only exciting part was watching the ball girl. She was a hooters waitress who was sitting along the left field foul line. She maybe watched 15 seconds of the game and those 15 seconds didn’t include the two line drives that narrowly missed her face. After the game we had a few beers and called it an early night. The next day was going to be big. It was NCAA basketball tourney time and Iowa had the #3 seed. It was also St. Patty’s day. Yes Sir.

Day 4

March 17, 2006. This day changed us forever. The Iowa game was at noon. The front desk told us that Ricky T’s down the street would be a great bar to watch the game. Ricky T’s was an Irish pub located on the beach. Sort of a paradox.

We get to Ricky T’s and the car bombs are flowing. The Iowa game starts up and we get some credit card roulette going. Iowa is up 10…car bomb…Iowa hits a 3..car bomb. Northwestern State you don’t stand a chance.

It was true Northwestern State didn’t stand a chance until they hit the game winning three with 0.9 seconds left. Thank you Steve Alford for setting the program back five years.

Time to go drink away the pain. We head out to Ricky T’s beach bar affiliate. If only I had a time machine to fix this mistake. Despite the loss we were in great spirits heading to the beach bar. Fueled by car bombs we blew into the bar like a hurricane. Dan quickly grabbed the microphone from the fake Jimmy Buffett that was performing and the rest of us hit the bar. Half the bar was amused by our antics the other half was probably concerned for their safety. One person in the bar found us particular amusing.

Turns out this person at the bar was Satan himself. At the time I was not aware Satan looked like the old man from Jurassic Park. The old man made sure to keep the drinks coming for us. He told us some stories and seemed to be re-living his past binging days through us. He disappeared for about twenty minutes then came back with more shots for us. We were happy to take them until we tasted them. It was the worst fucking shot I have ever had. I think there might have been an egg in there. We all looked at each other and second guessed the old man’s kind gesture. It wasn’t until a few seconds later we began to wonder why the shots we took were from hotel room cups. We decided not to worry about it and kept drinking. The party stopped when The Dub got cut off. If you know us as a group you know that if The Dub is the first one cut off we are in for trouble.

We head out of Ricky T’s and start heading down the beach to our hotel. As we are leaving the old man who handed us the worst shots on earth (that he made in his hotel room) stands out on the bar patio and screams “Hey! Where y’all guys goin?” We kept walking. This was about 3 pm. Next thing we all know we are in the hotel room and its 8pm. We all wake up at the same time. I am on the floor. It soon became clear what happened. We were roofied by the old man from Jurassic Park. After that the rest of the trip sucked. I was hung-over for almost a week. On the flight home we came to a conclusion on what the old man’s plans must have been. It was obvious he was trying to harvest organs from myself, Dan and The Dub. It was also obvious he wanted to bang Ukraine.

Ricky T's " where the locals go to get roofied"




The End.

Ruminations.... by Lunchbox

Guest post #2 - Lunchbox

Friday Night in GR

Friday night was going to be the night we were taking it easy this weekend, since we had two friends celebrating their birthdays the next day. I think we went by the Keith Richards definition of taking it easy because after consuming beverages in 8 different establishments, I was pretty bombed. The major highlight of the night had to have been when I learned my friend's last name. You would think that most people know their friends' last names, but when you have a friend that has a unique first name, sometimes that is all you hear. Well, I have a friend from Columbia that has a unique first name (cause it is Colombian), and I haven't heard him called anything else. Friday night, I found out that his last name was Escobar, and I was pretty impressed. I even made him show me his drivers license to prove it. He says it is a bad last name to have when traveling through customs. Dan asked if he is from Medillin, but his family is from Bogota.


Money Saving Thought #1

If the show 24 wanted to save some money during these economic hard times, they should base their next season on March 13th to March 14th 2010. That is the 2010 daylight savings time spring change. They could go right from the 1am episode to the 3am episode. If my calculations are correct that would save them over 4% of the total season costs.


Joke From Bruce #1

A soldier ran up to a nun. Out of breath he asked, 'Please, may I hide under your skirt. I'll explain later.'
The nun agreed.
A moment later two Military Police ran up and asked, Sister, have you seen a soldier?'
The nun replied, 'He went that way.'
After the MPs ran off, the soldier crawled out from under her skirt and said' I can't thank you enough Sister. You see, I don't want to go to Iraq ..'
The nun said, 'I understand completely.'
The soldier added, 'I hope I'm not rude, but you have a great pair of legs!'
The nun replied, 'If you had looked a little higher, you would have seen a great pair of balls....I don't want to go to Iraq either.


Wedding Booze

If one were to set up an open bar, would he be missing anything important if he had the following:

Liquor:
Tanqueray
Stoli
Makers Mark
Jim Beam
Glenlivet
Crown Royal
Bacardi
Captain Morgan
Kahlua
Amaretto
Dry Vermouth
Sweet Vermouth

Beer:
Miller Lite
Budweiser
Heineken
Something Mirco and/or Seasonal (e.g. bells, dogfish head, etc...)

Wines:
TBD
Champagne for toast

Standard Mixers like Coke, Diet, Sprite, Tonic, Soda, Cran, Orange, half&half, Grenadine

Standard Garnishes like Olive, Lemon, Lime, Cherry


Speaking of Weddings...

If someone can get a midget wearing one of these for either the reception cocktail hour or the rehearsal dinner after party, I will be a happy man. Midget


Eating Challenge

Here is the next challenge. This one is local to the Grand Rapids area...In fact, Rockford, MI is the hometown of the woman that tried to use Craigslist to put a hit on a woman in California who was married to the man she was having an affair with. Finally one where they pick up the bill if I succeed. These eating challenges can get pricey.


Jokes from Bruce #2

A blonde calls her boyfriend and says, 'Please come over here and help me. I have a killer jigsaw puzzle, and I can't figure out how to get started.'
Her boyfriend asks, 'What is it supposed to be when it's finished?'
The blonde says, 'According to the picture on the box, it's a rooster.'
Her boyfriend decides to go over and help with the puzzle.
She lets him in and shows him where she has the puzzle spread all over the table.
He studies the pieces for a moment, then looks at the box, then turns to
her and says,
'First of all, no matter what we do, we're not going to be able to
assemble these pieces into anything resembling a rooster.'
He takes her hand and says, 'Second, I want you to relax. Let's have a nice cup of tea, and then ...' he said with a deep sigh,. .. . .. . . .
'Let's put all the Corn Flakes back in the box.'


As Seen on TV

I (or my fiance) currently own the following:
The Miracle Blade III
The Magic Bullet (food processor...not something used for booger sugar)
The Quick Chop (identical to the Slap Chop that the sham-wow guy is now pedaling)
The PedEgg (that is one the fiance owns)
The George Foreman Grill

I am due for something new from an infomercial. I think the Sam-wow seems sweet, was briefly interested in the Caulk Away, and I hear the Snuggie calling my name, though I think I'm going to wait on that till my birthday when I set up a snuggie bar crawl. Does anyone have suggestions on some other As Seen On TV product that I am not aware of and may be much sweeter than the ones I'm considering.


Thurmanator Update

From the time I weighed myself on Sunday when I got home from Columbus till Tuesday morning (36 hours), I lost 10 lbs. During that time, I did not work out and ate normally.


The Bachelorette

It sounds like one of my friends from GR that moved to Chicago a couple years ago is going to be on The Bachelorette. This guy is awesome / a total retard and I can't wait to see what shenanigans he pulls. My money is on him not getting a rose because he gets drunk and hooks up with either a maid or a female on the production crew. I don't want to put his whole name on here since I'm sure the show is doing their due diligence, but his name with last initial is Ed S. I recommend watching at least the first couple episodes this year. He is kind of like a Nick W / Mason M hybrid, for those of you who know who I'm talking about. The first time I met this guy, we went out drinking on a weeknight. We probably drank more shots than drinks. He had a presentation that he had to give the next day around 11am. He woke up in his bed at 10:30am. Obviously he panicked and tried to get ready as fast as possible, but there were a couple problems. He didn't know where his wallet was, he didn't know where his keys were, and he didn't know where his car was. It turned out that the car was at one bar and his keys and wallet were at another.


Indian Food

I really like Indian Food these days.


The Guinness Anniversary Dilemma

I know some of you have seen this because I wrote this a little over 3 years ago but the time has come where we need to celebrate, and I don't think anything has been resolved.

*********************************************
Written 12/27/2005:

So today I was sitting at my desk, in my office, in my apartment, barefoot, looking at a Guinness bottle and realized that Guinness was started in 1759. That means that in just 3 years [2009] they are going to be celebrating their 250 anniversary. I started wondering what a 250th anniversary is called. We all know that 150 years is the sesquicentennial, but does bisesquicentennial work? I was unsure so I checked with my old friend Robert L. Fowler from the Department of Classical Studies of the University of Waterloo in Waterloo, Ont (that's in Canada).

According to professor Fowler: "There appears to be no single noun for 'two and a half' (duo et dimidium) and all the compounds in sesqui- yield the wrong result (sesquioctavus = 1 1/8, sesquitertius = 1 1/3 etc.); but since 'bicentennial' and 'sesquicentennial' (and indeed 'centennial') seem to be modern inventions anyway, it's open season for coinages. How about 'bisesquicentennial'? Instantly comprehensible (I think), and easy to pronounce and remember. I suppose 'sesquibicentennial' might be more defensible logically but it looks and sounds pedantic."

Apparently professor Fowler and I agree to disagree. The way I see it, both of his suggestions literally mean 300 years, and that is already taken by tercentennial or tricentennial (they are both correct). However you slice it, in three years we are going to need a word that describes the anniversary that Guinness will be celebrating. My thoughts right now are either demimillennial (1/4 of a thousand) or semiquincentennial (1/2 of 500). If any of you have expertise in this subject please reply with any suggestions. Let's not sit back and let The United States of America come up with a word in 20 years when it is the country's 250th anniversary. Let's beat them to the punch. Otherwise, we may just have to play linguistically stupid and use bisequicentennial when we know darn well that we are fooling no one.
**********************************************

I'm actually surprised that we haven't seen any huge marketing campaign about Guinness' 250 year anniversary. Someone dropped the ball on that one.


New Kids On The Block

NKOTB will be in Grand Rapids next weekend. Unfortunately for some of the girls we hang out with, our friends are getting married on the same night. Here is a little reminder of what made this band fade off the face of the earth so quickly:

"You've Got It (The Right Stuff) By NKOTB1
"Step By Step" by NKOTB2

Tuesdays with Dannie

Greetings from Canada.  We decided to take the day off from skiing.  Picked up some plastic cups and plastic Easter eggs for the First Annual 6460 St. Andrews Way Games.  I know, I know, "Easter eggs?"...well, you try buying ping pong balls in the middle of nowhere-fuck Canada.  I'm on my second bottle of champagne...love the mimosa.

Karaoke Cab

After heading off the mountain yesterday we went to the bar, technically...two bars, and got pretty fucked up.  Sometime after dark we decided to head back to the house...so we hopped in a cab.

Something about the cab and the driver seemed a little off.  He seemed a little fucked up...maybe booze, maybe pills, maybe mental retardation.  Whatever...we needed to get home.

Five of us got in the cab and noticed that there was a mini-DVD player on the dash board.  The cabbie asked us where we were from, someone said, "Chicago", he fucked around with some buttons and then...yes, and then it happened.  A very familiar piano riff came on and lyrics popped on the screen.  Yes...we were in a karaoke cab that was playing Jim Croce's "Bad, Bad Leroy Brown".  So...we sang.  When in Rome...

Talent Night Prep

According to Byl, Friday night is the group talent night.  Remmi, Chris, and I decided we are going to sing...here are a few songs we practiced on the chair lift:

"I'll Make Love to You" by Boyz 2 Men

"Water Runs Dry" by Boyz 2 Men

Human Petting Zoo

Guest post #1 - David (AKA "the real jew")

Well, it happened. I always have these great ideas, that usually get mocked and ridiculed by my friends. I eventually drop my great idea, and, inevitably, the idea is stolen by somebody else.

This particular idea of mine was for a human petting zoo. It's pretty straight forward, actually - instead of animals at the zoo, there would be people. I would "acquire" all different types of people: fat, skinny, white, black, brown, yellowish-brown, people missing limbs, people with messed up brains, etc. These people would live in an enclosed area, much like the animals at a zoo, and for a small fee, guests would be allowed in to pet and feed the humans, much like they would a goat. The humans would be "natural" (i.e. unclothed) and wouldn't be allowed to speak (I may or may not remove their tongues to enforce this).

Now, I am not inhumane or sick in any way, so, the humans in my petting zoo would be well provided for (proper food, water, shelter when it's cold, etc.). On top of that, there would be strict rules about how you could pet the humans - obviously genitals would be off limits, as this is a petting zoo, not a Costa Rican strip club.

Some of you might be thinking, "how are you going to acquire these humans?" Well, I'll tell you. I've decided the best aquisition method would be to prey on the weak (both physically and mentally), poor, and homeless. When you think about it, I would be providing a better life for these folks. They wouldn't have to worry about where their next meal came from or whether they would be sleeping on the streets that night. The mentally weak wouldn't have to deal with the stress of the real world and could roam carefree in their luxury enclosures.

The problem, as always, is that some jackass decided to make a mockery of my idea and open a half-assed human petting zoo. As always, because people couldn't appreciate the art behind my idea, I lose.

The Worst Day of My Life

I guess I’ve always been pretty lucky in life.  I’ve never really applied myself to anything or anyone and have skated through.  I’ve never really lost anyone close to me and have never had any life-threatening illness or incident.  With that said, most of the worst moments of my life were caused by me, usually as the direct result of my actions drinking.

This next story is one that I had completely forgotten until recently.  It is a tale of highs and lows, joy and pain, deceit and salvation.  And where can a tale of such epic proportions take place?  Vegas.

For the sake of brevity, many of the events that took place during the weekend will be omitted.  Only events relative to the worst day of my life will be included.  I have not proof-read this story.

 

The Las Vegas Airport Wheelchair Fiasco

It was 2004 and I was drinking a lot of vodka.  Vodka and Red Bull.  Looking back at that time I often wonder why I would consume so much Red Bull.  Was it the taste?  No.  Was it the nutritional value?  Not really.  Was it the way that one sip could make you feel like you were a freight train of power, speed, and assertiveness?  Bingo!

There was something in the air at O’Hare on that April Thursday.  I couldn’t stop my leg from twitching as I sat in the chair, waiting to board my America West flight to Las Vegas.  Looking around the terminal before boarding a flight is one of my favorite things to do.  I like to look at all the other passengers and try to figure out where their final destination is and why they are travelling.  If anyone else in the terminal had been playing that game in their mind while looking at me, they could only see one message, “GOING TO GET FUCKED UP!”.

The flight to Vegas was uneventful.  Takeoff, climb, drinks, snack, drinks, more drinks, additional drinks, drinks, descend, land.  Once at McCarran I hurried to get my bag and hopped in a cab to the MGM Grand.  Walking into the MGM Grand brought back memories.  It was not my first time in Vegas, having been there once before for an eight day stay.  That’s correct…eight days…please keep in mind that my autobiography will be titled Poor Choices:  The Life and Times of D.R.

I headed to the bar and met up with most of the other members of my party.  We were there for Bisk’s bachelor party.  An eclectic crew of about fifteen.  Ready to rock.  Ready to roll.

The first night was a pretty standard Vegas night.  I played craps for about ten minutes and lost $100.  I then drank at the bar, at the “club”, and in the casino until about 8 in the morning.  When I awoke two hours later, I was lying on the floor in the bathroom of my hotel room.  I immediately located all my possessions, hopped in the shower, and headed for the pool.

Day one at the pool was a trying time.  To be honest with you, I don’t really remember too much about it.  Every sip of every cocktail was painful.  Now I’ve drank for extended periods of time on several occasions and the same thing seems to always happen…my body systematically shuts down to conserve energy.  Usually the thought process goes first, followed by good judgement, and so on until the central nervous system goes completely.  This day it was the urinary tract.  Even though I started drinking at 10 in the morning, my first urination wasn’t until 6 in the evening.  For most people this would be a warning sign, a red flag.  For me it was just another day.

The second night was similar to the first.  Lots of drinking, little memory.  I’m sure I said some dumb things, threw out some one-liners, and, generally, made an ass of myself.  Another blackout, another 2 hours of sleep…this time, in a bed.  Woke up again, located my possessions, hopped in the shower, and headed for the pool.

Day two at the pool was a time of reflection for me.  As I sat poolside with my mirrored aviator sunglasses on, I tried intently to remember my last 24 hours.  I felt terrible but I knew I couldn’t let it get the best of me.  I soon headed to the bar and waited in line.  When it was my turn to order the bartender just looked at me and asked, “The usual?”  Confused and intrigued, I said “Sure”, and he poured me a daiquiri topped off with about an inch of brandy and covered in whipped cream and cherries.  All I could do was stare in amazement at the concoction that apparently was my “usual”.  My actions of day one at the pool came up again later when a middle-aged couple came up to me and asked, “When is the show going to start?”  Bisk turned to them and responded, “Please don’t feed the animals.”

Day two at the pool ended about the same way day one did, so I’m told.  I was standing in the shallow end, extremely sunburned, playing pool-length Frisbee with a cocktail tray while my drinks (yes…plural) floated on another tray by my side.

The damage continued through the night and into the early morning hours.  Clubs, limo rides, and “clubs”.  At about 5 in the morning, while waiting for the McDonald’s in the basement of the MGM to open, I flipped the ashtray lid on the trash can open and let it go…vomiting in the middle of the gaming floor.  Luckily, it was 2004 and not 1977, so I was greeted by a kind security staff who escorted me up to my room and didn’t try to use my face to open the doors.

I found a space on the floor and slept for a solid hour and a half.  When I awoke, to get ready for my flight, I felt the worst I’ve ever felt in my life.  After about 20 minutes of dry heaving in the shower I got dressed, packed, and ready to go.  Before leaving the room I stated, “I have never, ever felt worse in my entire life.”  Matt D. followed with, “How many drinks do you think you’ve had since Thursday?”  I paused, collected my thoughts, and answered, “At least 80 Red Bull and vodkas.”

Mathematics:  3 days + 80 cocktails (minimum) + 5 ½ hours of sleep = not a good a feeling

I then grabbed the ice bucket and headed out the door.  For the next 30 minutes I rode the elevator.  Up and down, up and down…vomiting in the ice bucket the entire time.  I finally gathered enough strength and energy to leave the elevator and made a beeline for the mini-mart in the hotel.  I purchased Pepto-Bismol, Mylanta, and anything else I thought would help.  I then downed all the pills and fluids with a Gatorade chaser, threw out my ice bucket, and headed out the door.

As I waited in line for a cab I checked my watch and realized my plane was leaving in less than an hour.  Thinking fast, I ditched the cab line and headed for the street where I jumped in front of a cab, hopped in, and yelled, “AIRPORT!”

The departure line at McCarran was terrible so I instructed the cabbie to take me to arrivals.  I then ran through the baggage claim to the check out desks.  Luckily, I was dressed for speed in my Adidas track pants, flip flops, Polo shirt (with collar popped), and sunglasses.  The line of people at the desk was terrible.  Checking my watch again, I realized the plane was going to leave in about 30 minutes.

This next part of the story gets bad.  I often joke about how I’m going to hell.  Frankly, I don’t believe in any afterlife…but if there really is a heaven and hell…this next part assures me a seat next to the red guy.

I look to my left and notice a sign that says “Special Services”.  There are two men in this line, both in wheelchairs.  With my best fake limp, I hobble over to the line.  It is eventually my turn and in my most sincere-sounding voice I tell the woman, “Hi.  My flight to Chicago leaves in about 10 minutes.  I hurt my knee and don’t think I can walk to the gate.  Is there anything I can do?”  She promptly responds, “We can get you a wheelchair and hold the plane.”  I shamefully say, “Thank you.”

This part is the worst part of all.  The woman who pushed my Larry Flint-mobile to the gate was about a 5-foot tall, tiny, tiny, older, Mexican woman.  I felt awful about it…but hey…I couldn’t break character.

When I got to the gate I was asked, “Mr. R…will you be needing a wheelchair at O’Hare?”  I quickly responded in a questioning manner, “No”, then changed my answer to a more thoughtful, “No thanks…someone will be waiting for me there.”

As I boarded the plane, the doors closed, and we started pulling back.  I will never forget the look on the face of the woman next to me when I sat down…pure fear.  I can’t imagine what I smelled like…but it must have been terrible.  As the flight attendant made her pass to check all the seatbelts, I caught her eye.  I was visibly shaking and she knew exactly why.  She then brought me a cup of ice water and placed it in my trembling hands.  I took a few sips and shook it until the ice melted.  She then replaced it with a new cup without any words exchanged.  This would continue for the entire flight.

As you may know by now, I am not a religious man.  I haven’t prayed in many, many years.  That all changed that day.  Before takeoff I started to pray.  I wasn’t praying that I’d feel better, I wasn’t praying for a safe flight…I was praying for a plane crash.  I couldn’t take it.  I wanted to die.  I wanted the plane to have some sort of engine failure and hit the mountains on the climb up.  Unfortunately, lousy God didn’t answer my prayers.

By now I’m sure you’re all thinking…wow…this guy is a horrible person.  Don’t worry, karma got me back on the flight.  The headphone jack on my seat was busted and I had to watch National Treasure without any sound.  I know, I know…awful.

So there you have it folks…the worst day of my life.

 

My Thoughts on Air Travel

I may not be the most-frequent flyer, but I fly enough to know what is going on.  Here are my least favorite things about flying:

The Early Stand

Why is it that everyone stands up once the plane reaches the gate after landing and the seatbelt sign goes off?  Really people?  You’ve just sat in one spot for 4 hours and you can’t wait another 5 minutes?  I barely fit in the fucking seat and I don’t feel the need to pop up immediately.  There is nothing better than having the ass of a 50 year old obese woman in your face when you’re trying to pull your shit out from under the seat in front of you.

The New Friend

I despise when the person next to me strikes up a conversation with me.  Other than saying “hello” or “how you doing?” or “excuse me”, there is no reason to converse.  The worst of all was on my flight home from New Orleans a few months ago.  The man next to me, with a bible on his lap, kept talking to me about iPods.  How do they work?  Are you happy with that one?  Listen buddy, I’m not sure what kind of people you think are flying from New Orleans to Las Vegas, but depending on the time of day they are either drunk or hung over.  Leave me the fuck alone!

The Bathroom Trip

Once is one time too many.  If you’re going more than once, I better see the oxygen hoses in your nose because you’re so sick that you’re traveling to cure your medical condition.  Go before you board.  Go when you land.

The Living Room

How short are attention spans becoming when people need to recreate their living rooms in the 2 square feet of space that is the tray table?  Do you really need to read, listen to music, watch a movie, play cards, take a nap, write in your journal, balance your checkbook, and eat snacks the whole fucking time?  Just sit still!  Fuck that pisses me off.

The Security Line Fiasco

If you can’t physically lift your bag onto the conveyor belt…check it!  If you see everyone else taking their shoes off…it’s probably for a reason.  Have we all lost the ability to observe and react?  Has the whole world gone mad?

The Beverage Questionnaire

Every damn airline carries the same shit.  If you haven’t heard of Coke, Pepsi, Diet Coke, ginger ale, water, and coffee by now…you are a moron.  What the fuck are the people who ask, “What do you have?” looking for?  Goat semen?  Do you have orange Fanta?  NO!  No one has orange Fanta!  You get water!  Fuck you!

 

DD-L

Lately I’ve been catching myself speaking like Daniel Day-Lewis, to myself.  It’s always the same two voices...the ones from Gangs of New York and There Will Be Blood.  Is this a problem?

I think I secretly want to be Bill the Butcher.  No...wait...it's no secret.

 

Cinco de Mayo Scramble

Glory days.

If anyone still has the email updates I was sending out from that night…I’d love to read them.  I still can't believe I lost to Remmi.  If I were Japanese...I'd have to cut my hand off.

Writing on the walls...no wonder Keystone tried to charge us $3,000 when we moved out.

 

Blog by Committee

I will be in Canada from Saturday, March 21 through Sunday, March 29.  During this time I am not planning on posting…unless the right combination of soup and spirits warrants something amazing.

I am reluctantly handing over my blog to four individuals…Dr. Mike, The Choz, Lunchbox, and David.  Although I am extremely nervous about this lack of control, I am also extremely excited by the possibilities.  Hopefully, by calling them all out here, I have motivated them to create the extraordinary.

Good luck and Godspeed.

Wow

Currently playing at the Blue Angel...

"Fuck the Pain Away" by Peaches

Changes in altitudes, changes in attitudes

This blog is dedicated to all the teachers that told me I’d never amount to nothing…to all the people that lived above the buildings that I was hustling from that called the police on me when I was just trying to make some money to feed my daughter…and all the niggas in the struggle.  

In hindsight...I haven't amounted to anything...I guess Dave Schave (8th grade science) was right.  Fuck my life.

I’ve been back in Tahoe for a few days now and, frankly, I haven’t done anything.  All the snow is gone and it is 60 degrees out…not really prime conditions to hit the mountain.  Regardless, I’m going to ski today…a couple runs to get the knee ready to hit up Whistler next week.  Standing for 16 hours on Saturday took a serious toll on my tendons, or lack thereof, and I need to loosen up and strengthen.  After reviewing my medical bills and insurance company correspondence, I decided to cancel my last doctor’s appointment.  Fuck modern medicine.

 

Q-Tips

No way around it…I love them.  There are absolutely no substitutes for a good q-tip.  I’m addicted.  I’m sure no one is more aware of this than Dr. Mike.  He had the pleasure of watching my post-shower routine for 9 months while we shared a 120 square foot room.  No Mike…I’m not going to talk about my “stretches”…sorry about that buddy…I owe you one.

I think 120 square feet may be a stretch…no pun intended.

 

Dan’s Media Gripes

My last two evenings have been consumed by the movie Australia and the TV show Lost.  I’ll save you all some time and anger…don’t EVER see Australia.  Now I’m sure it is a beautiful country/continent with koalas, kangaroos, Rodan, and drunks where us Americans can get blindsided by cars barreling down the wrong side of the road (Big Head), but the movie just fucking sucked.  It is narrated by a child who is speaking some sort of creole-esque language…can’t understand a word…like talking to the Big Spender.  It is long, it is slow, and the only saving grace is a shirtless Wolverine…wah-wah-wee-wah!

As for Lost…fuck Lost.  Four years.  I’ve given those sons-of-bitches over four years of my life for nothing.  Its 1977, its 2004, its 2007, they’re alive, they’re dead, they’re on the island, they’re off the island…AHHH!!!…blood is going to start coming out of my ears.  If this show ends like the last episode of St. Elsewhere, I’m going to go out like Mike Douglas in Falling Down.  Halleluiah…holy shit…where’s the Tylenol?

One more note for the film and television industry…probably my biggest gripe in life…volume.  Can we please make commercials the same volume as the TV shows they interrupt?  As for movies...why is the music so much louder than the voices?  Watch The Color of Money sometime and you’ll know exactly what I’m talking about.

Side note…Mike Douglas was the bomb in The Game.  Too bad you can only watch it once.

 

Letters to God

 

Mark Your Calendars

Only 138 days to go.

There was some discussion on Saturday about the 10,000 Days of BTA - DR Turns 28 Extravaganza.  The date is August 4^th.  Due to the lethargic pace of space exploration, the moon will not be a viable option for the venue.  Not sure what is next on the list, but I’m thinking either the Vatican or MSG.

 

Sounds from the Stage

On Saturday morning, MDR and I were singing our favorite songs from The Sound of Music.  Yeah, yeah…whatever…we’re gay…ha, ha.  Here they are.

“How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?”

“Sixteen Going on Seventeen”

“My Favorite Things”

“The Lonely Goatherd”

“Do-Re-Mi”

 

For David

Remember when we listened to this song about 33 times while driving to Toledo?  God Toledo sucks.

“I Feel Pretty”

Couldn't resist this one. 

Thanks to BTA…this has been stuck in my head since Friday

“All This Time” by Heartless Bastards

Egypt for Dummies

Dan has been kind enough to give me the spotlight for my vacation wrap-up post. So a big thanks to DR and his moustache.

To Dan’s dismay, I made it back without being re-enslaved. Lucky for me Jews escaped slavery over 3000 years ago, but it was close nonetheless. Anyways, while watching the sun set behind the Great Pyramid, I reflected on my time in Egypt and, much like the hieroglyphics of ancient Egypt, I carved my reflections into the stone. Below you will find a piece of my carvings.

Side note (for those who actually care about what I did): Awesome trip - Started in Cairo and took a sleeper train down to Aswan and spent a few nights cruising back up the Nile on a ship (hit Edfu, Esna, Luxor, and then flew back to Cairo). Saw/did everything - museums, pyramids, camel riding, sphinx, temples, mosques, tombs, catacombs in Alexandria, nightlife.



Air Egypt
Don’t ever fly Air Egypt. I felt somewhat safe on the plane until the oxygen masks above our head came down about 2 hours into the trip. Not everybody’s, just mine and the guy next to me. Was God trying to tell me something? The attentive staff shoved the masks back into the ceiling only to have them fall down time and time again. There’s nothing like flying with an oxygen mask waving in your face for 10 hours.

They did serve us dinner though, which I thought was nice, until the food came. It looked like somebody sliced off a piece of a cat and cooked it for 4 and a half hours. I ate bread.



Cleanliness
Not a big issue, but Cairo isn’t the cleanest of cities. 18 million people live in metropolitan Cairo and there’s about 8 million cars, and you can definitely tell. I breathed in more smog in a few days than I have in 2 years in NYC. And if you think New Yorker’s putting their garbage out on the sidewalk in unclean, just walk down a street in Cairo. Garbage everywhere (even in the Nile), people everywhere, cars everywhere – I’m glad I got my shots before I went.

Security
In some sense, traveling with your own automatic weapon carrying security guard makes you feel safe. But when you really think about the fact that you need automatic weapons and police escorts, you start realizing that maybe wandering off on your own to explore wasn’t such a good idea.

The fact that the Al Hussein (no relation to Saddam) Mosque and the Khan el-Khalili bazaar were bombed a few weeks ago might have heightened the need for armed guards. More disconcerting was that we were at that bazaar for a few hours buying crap made in China and smoking shisha.

Extracurricular Activities
One would think that a trip to a Muslim dominated country wouldn’t consist of drinking and smoking. But, as dutiful American tourists, we managed to sniff out the important stuff.

If x = # of drinks consumed per day and y = # of hours of sleep per night then x > y for 90% of the trip.

Drink of choice: Stella (not Stella Artois) and Meister Max (for those nights where I needed to ramp up quickly – 8% alcohol)



Shisha of choice: “Special” grape (not statutory grape) – actually, we couldn’t find “special” grape which was recommended to us by a local, so we had to settle for regular grape. Melon was a close second.



Sleeper train
The only thing worse than Egypt Air was the sleeper train from Cairo to Aswan. This thing looked like it hadn’t been used since the Great Pyramid was built. After hearing a blood-curling scream at one in the morning, several workers and our guide ran this girl’s room where she claimed to have seen a mouse. Nobody believed her, but she was vindicated when another guy woke up a few hours later to several mice up on a shelf in his room eating his food. I slept fully clothed with my shoes on.


Jellabiya
I wore a dress and got drunk. I am not ashamed – it was the Jellabiya party (I'll post a picture of me in a dress soon).

Gotta get back in time!

JR at Mt. Rose last weekend.  He has finally done it...he made the RGJ.

Just Another Hungover Sunday

The Bangles sang about how they wished their “Manic Monday” was a Sunday.  No thank you.  I wish today would end.  I’m extremely hungover, at my parents’ house, in misery.  I have a headache, the shakes, and a bad case of the stupids.  The only thing getting me through today is the mix-and-match vial of Advil, Excedrin, and Vicodin I carry around with me.  God bless pharmaceuticals.

 

Saturday

Yesterday was an adventure.  The drinking festivities started at around 7 in the morning with breakfast at Remmi’s place.  I cracked a beer, ate some bacon, put on my Good Luck Bear wristband and I was ready to go.

The back room at McGee’s was as dark and damp as ever.  I decided early to put one of the bartender’s on a tip retainer to avoid the hassle of reaching in my pocket.  As BTA informed me this morning, there were whispers going around, behind my back, at my early pace.  I exploded out of the gates, slamming beers left and right.

McGee’s was followed by a quick stint at the tent at Kelly’s across the street then to McGinny’s to meet back up with the crew.  Things started to fall apart at McGinny’s, as per usual.  I tried to stay coherent enough to talk to some people I haven’t seen in a while…apologies to Tyson and LC…you two caught me too late in the game for logic.

McGinny’s was followed by Burton’s where I was reunited with Mason.  You see, the last time I had seen Mason was when he was getting tossed from McGinny’s and tackled on the sidewalk.  The next time I heard his name come up was when Barty told me he was in the hospital.

Well, it seems that Mason was found “sleeping” in the lobby of a random apartment building and taken to the hospital.  Mason came to in the ambulance.  He was checked into the hospital but received no services.  The staff wouldn’t allow him to leave until someone sober picked him up.  Let’s just say that Mason has a very understanding girlfriend.

One by one we started to trickle out of the bar until Mason and I called it a night just before midnight.  I headed back to BTA’s place and made myself comfortable on his floor, for the second night in a row.  My coccyx hurts.

When I woke up this morning I saw that I had a voicemail from Byl at 12:30 in the morning.  He did it.  He drank for longer than I did.  Nice work Byl.

All in all, it was a pretty good day…and as the hospital staff repeatedly told Mason, it could have been a lot worse.

 

WWWGD?

What would Wade Garrett do?

I absolutely LOVE Road House.

 

Barversations

I realized a long time ago that I don’t like talking to random people at bars about “what I do”…especially now with my current employment, or lack thereof.  So what should I do?  How can I answer someone in a polite manner and still have the conversation end?  I tell them I’m a computer programmer.  I’ve used this move a few times and it never fails.  No follow-up questions.  Perfect.

 

Jews for Jesus

Sometime over the weekend I had a conversation with someone in a cab about a little group called “Jews for Jesus”.  Whomever I was talking to didn’t believe that this group actually exists…but they do.

 

Plane Beats

Heard the song “You Are the Woman” by Firefall on the airplane the other day.  Can’t get it out of my head...now it’s stuck in yours too.  Suckas.

 

187

To respond to an email I received from Dr. Mike on Saturday…yes, 187 is a movie starring Sam Jackson…no, I’ve never seen it.

 

The Thurmanator

I got a call from the Lunchbox this morning about his newest food endeavor…The Thurmanator.  Apparently only 7 people have ever finished the burger and all the fries.  Lunchbox makes 8.

I quote the Lunchbox, “now I know I’m in the upper-echelon of eaters.”

Gone are the days of Lunchbox’s new year’s resolution to not eat anything for money or pride.  All I know is that he still can’t drink an entire glass of sour cream…but that’s another story for another day.

 

Still Crazy After All These Years

My sister’s dog is fucking crazy.  All the little bastard does is run around in circles.  My sister believes she can train the little fucker to be a therapy dog.  No fucking way.  The only way this dog could help people is by tiring out the sick so badly that they just drop dead.  Kind of like an assisted suicide dog.

 

The Edge and Co.

“Moment of Surrender”

“City of Blinding Lights”

“Wild Honey”

“Bad”

“All I Want Is You”

"Unchained Melody" 

The Life

Nothing beats the unemployed lifestyle...sitting at Ukraine's place...drinking boxed wine...watching midgets.


Songs of the Afternoon

"Poker Face" by Lady Gaga

"Love Story" by Taylor Swift


Eat Shit K.K.

Hey Kim Kardashian...look who is posting two days in a row...fuck you bitch...fuck you!

The Greatest Blog Post in the History of Mankind

Good afternoon blog readers.  I’m coming from you live from the Reno-Tahoe International Airport on this Thursday afternoon.  Not sure why the airport has “International” in its name…you can’t even fly to Vancouver from here anymore.  Nevertheless, it has been a long time since I’ve posted.  I’ve been doing some travelling and thinking.  This blog has been written in several pieces…hope it isn’t all over the place.

 

Back in the High Life Again

After departing Los Angeles on Saturday afternoon I headed down to Pacific Beach to drink with Ryan Z, Topper, and CT.  A few beers, a few shots, a few laughs…good times.  Walked by the tattoo place where I got my ear pierced two years ago…still looks like an AIDS emporium.  One thing I noticed about Pacific Beach is that you don’t need to have a job to live there.  Perfect for me.

Saturday also marked the first time I’ve worn a shirt with buttons since Christmas.  Baby steps back to society.  Baby steps.

A very hungover half hour of driving on Sunday brought me to Jamul – a little town located in the hills east of San Diego – to visit my aunt and uncle.  The last time I was here was 1989 and, although the place looks a little smaller, it is still fucking huge.   Now if the house weren’t impressive by itself, the rest of the grounds are.  About three acres of plants and trees surround the house.  There are every type of citrus plant imaginable – including orange-grapefruit hybrids – olive trees, palms, and coconuts.  In fact, I spent about an hour Sunday afternoon just walking around the house and eating fruit right off the trees.  A pretty standard Sunday afternoon for me.

What else do you need in life?  Oh…wait…how about four satellite dishes?  How many channels can you get with four satellite dishes?  All of them.  Yes, every channel in the world.  Seriously.

My Monday included taking a drive up to Temecula to visit my aunt and uncle’s other home and to stop at a few wineries.  I got a chance to shop for some lovely sconces and bric-a-brac…it was exhilarating.  I needed something to tie the décor of my storage unit together.

I watched Jeopardy on Monday evening and, for about the 8^th or 9^th time in my life, got Final Jeopardy correct.  Benedict Arnold.  Piece of cake.

 

David

David (of “David’s Corner”) is currently on vacation in Egypt.  Those of you who know David are probably thinking, “What the fuck?”  Exactly.  Not sure how a man who eats nothing more than plain hot dogs and chicken nuggets will survive in that country for more than a day.  I mean, fuck, he already looks like he just busted out of Dachau.

Speaking of Dachau (yes…I know that is a horrible transition), I spoke to David last week about his trip.  I told him to watch out that the Egyptians don’t try to re-enslave him to touch up the pyramids.  I need him back here so that he can sing Ave Maria, wearing a Gumby costume, at my funeral.

Thinking about pyramids brings up my favorite Golden Girls conversation of all time.  Dorothy and Rose are trying to install a new toilet and are having some trouble…

Rose:  If the Egyptians can build the pyramids, we can do this.

Dorothy:  Fine, go get me 10,000 Jews and I’ll be right there.

 

MDR versus The Choz

The Choz told me this story a few weeks ago and I enjoyed it so much that I asked him to write up the transcript and send it to me.  For those of you who know MDR and The Choz…this will be enjoyable.

In early January 2009, I set out to obtain the addresses of friends and family members in order to build an invitation list.  I sent a text to MDR asking for his address.  I expected a text back listing his property address, city and zip code.  Instead I received two voicemails.

Voicemail #1

MDR:  If you need my address so you can send a wedding invitation, I want you to know that I will be coming solo and I’ll take the fish.

Voicemail #2

MDR:  Oh, and my address is…

 

Another One Bites the Dust

Earlier this week, the fine people at HSBC informed Ukraine that his business services are no longer needed and that he is now unemployed.  Welcome to the club Danny!  We should get matching rings or broaches.

 

My Tuesday Adventure

I woke up early on Tuesday morning and did what I always do on Tuesdays…picked fruit.  Filled up a box to send to my parents, leave in South Lake, and give to Mexico.

I hit the road at 9:30 a.m. and hopped back on the 5 to L.A.  From there I took the 405 to the 10 untiil I ended up at the Pacific Ocean.  The next 9 hours of my day were spent driving up Highway 1 and Highway 101…the PCH.

 

Poor Choices

Not sure why I didn’t attend Pepperdine University…probably because I didn’t have $200K lying around.  The view from Pepperdine is incredible.  Took this one at the gate to the university…oh yeah…its gated.  Wouldn’t let me through.  Motherfuckers.

Donnie

“…as a surfer he explored the beaches of Southern California, from La Jolla to Leo Carrillo and... up to Pismo…”

North of Malibu, Santa Barbara, and Solvang I hit Pismo Beach.  Wow.  I’ve never driven my car on the beach before and really, really, really enjoyed doing it.

My dirty girl on the beach.

 

The Long and Winding Road

My original plans were to head to San Luis Obispo for the night and then continue on in the morning.  I got to San Luis Obispo at about 6 and realized I wanted to keep going…so I continued up Highway 1.  The sun was setting, I rolled down the windows, and cruised.  I felt like Ben Braddock driving up to Berkeley.

Don't look down.

Now I’m not too high on nature and I don’t really care too much about sunrises or sunsets, but what I witnessed on Tuesday was remarkable.  I was all alone, standing on the cliffs at the side of the road, and watching the sun go down...good stuff.

I hopped back on my car, popped in Van Morrison’s Moondance and hit the gas.  Played 'er twice through.

Voice Notes

After about 10 hours of driving I started to lose it and, of course, talk to myself…so I recorded what I was saying.

 

8:07 p.m.

I didn’t have a car in front of me, or behind me, from San Luis Obispo until now, just south of Big Sur.

 

8:12 p.m.

At some point, this Pontiac G6 better shift to competitive driving mode or I’m going to ram them off the fucking road.

 

8:22 p.m.

Its official, there are zero FM radio stations right now.  A quick scan, a quick seek…nothing.  So what do I do?  I pop in a little Dire Straits…Brothers in Arms.

 

8:34 p.m.

Gas station stop, first time in the trip, after 1,138 miles, I finally purchase beef jerky.

Conversation with the Mexican woman clerk:

MW:  Do you want a bag for this?

DR:  No thanks.  But could you please tell me where I am?

MW:  You’re in Carmel.  What are you looking for?

DR:  Oh…I’m not looking for anything…just driving.  Have a goodnight.

MW:  (laughing)  Goodnight.

 

10:33 p.m.

Star 92.7…bringing you 92 hits every night…no commercials…”serving all of the motherload”…I don’t know what that means, but fuck, it is awesome.

 

11:34 p.m.

Skittles, Red Bull, and Achtung Baby…the stuff that dreams are made of.

 

12:23 a.m.

Somewhere east of Placerville and I’m talking to myself in a southern accent…”breaker, breaker, this is Snowman, come on”.

 

12:34 a.m.

For the second time tonight…I am the only car driving on the road that I am on…starting to sound like a shitty Train song.

 

12:52 a.m.

Finally, another car on the road…a new personal record for high beams.

 

1:02 a.m.

A fitting song to conclude my journey…”America”.

 

1:28 a.m.

Well…made it back…1:28 a.m. which makes 16 hours on the road…1,426.3 miles on the entire trip…no speeding tickets…didn’t hit anyone…money for nothing, and your chicks for free.