NIN

The opening act started off with a gong; it might as well ended with it.  Few opening acts ever really entertain me, maybe one or two more are memorable, and whoever they were last night, well they've been forgotten already.  I must be getting old, as I appreciate shows that start as early as a school talant show (especially if there's less talant) .  Fortunately the opening act started early, and even more fortunately they ended early.

Looking at all the lighting and electronic gear on the stage, things looked like this was going to be as much of a light show as a concert.   After a not too long intermission, NIN hit the stage.  NIN is Trent, plus whoever he drags along with him on that particular tour.  For this tour, Trent employed out of work Cenobites (not cinnabites) as his guitarist and basist.  One sported a boufant/mullet, and the other looked like a long lost member of the Hair Bear Bunch.  Is Trent Pinhead in disguise?

Things really didn't get going until several songs in, and with the overly nice (this is a NIN show--where's the angst) subdued crowd, they never really got to the usual rolling boil.  Before long, the screens decended, the lights got all weird, and the brown note montage began.  Experimental music and crap share a common thread, and there's a fine line betwix the two.  All in all it was kinda cool (thus it's experimental, not crap), but I thing I needed some payote or shrooms to appreciate it fully.  The giant touch screen Ableton setup was real cool however.

Once thing finnaly got rocking, Trent and co decended back to hell.  After the requisite pause, they returned--Hellraiser II!  All in all it was a great show, mostly because I got reunited with my old posse, which was a pleasant surprise.  Getting to see the redneck hobbits, now that was a bonus.

My knight in slobbery fur

I haven't dropped off the edge of the Earth--there is one ya know! I've just been busy, lazy, and sore. I could write about being busy, but that's no fun, besides most of its work stuff, and I don't want to get fired. Writing about being lazy seems oddly hypocritical, and well that leaves us with sore. You see a few weeks back, my back, decided that it wasn't really my turn to load the dishwasher, and I was hammered with the lovely reminder that you're alive that is deathly pain. That and an inability to move (even more than that brought on by lazyness), and I was in need of help. For centuries we've all had the reliable, loyal, and slobbery rescuer available at a beacons call--no not that Life Call I've fallen and can't get up shit. You see most of us are beyond earshot, but some of us gluttons have them on the premises for moments like this!


Kuma, my knight in slobbery fur!

Before I knew it, I was being attended to, and for once not leaned upon, as Kuma was there for me to lean on him! He was like a big lumbering walker, which is more than I can say for myself, as I was just big and lumbering. Kuma led me to a more modern lifeline, my Blackberry, which brought Liz and then the wonders of Columbus' wonderful ER experience. I just wish Kuma had his barrel, as I could have just drank my way to good health and bypassed the ER. Or I could have just went to his vet, which could have been cheaper and offered a less feral waiting room. Good to know in case this ever happens again, and I hope it doesn't.

I'm fine now btw

Putting the cart before the horse (part 2)

I told you there would be more!

In Doolin we noticed a lot of hokey Irish souvenirs playing up the sheep as an iconic symbol of Ireland. They were cute and all, but gosh, we saw 100x more cows than sheep. Maybe after one too many Guinness the sheep and cows start to blur together.

After the two joyful days in Doolin and the surrounding area, we trekked to Connemara. The region is divided by several mountain ranges (yes Liz they're mountains, not hills :p) and dotted, nee blanketed with sheep. Sheep on either side of the rode and on the rode. Fences seem to be more a suggestion of a boundary than a real indifference, and the sheep's brazen attitude toward oncoming traffic made Canadian Geese look timid. Maybe it's the punk rock inspired spray-painted doos? Regardless, they really are the most striking memory of our journey--well that is if you ignore the bizarre inhospitable manor house we stayed in (imagine the hotel from the Shining with a Frenchmen pretending to be Irish running the show).

The Zetland Country House really was in the country, which we found out when the only available lunch offerings was their own (based on their 60 Euro dinner prices and the readily apparent creepiness, we passed). Our wanderings led us on a 10 kilometer trek to a marginally less isolated place which featured a gift shop/pub/restaurant. Given that was our only option, we begrudgingly took them up on their lackluster dining options and watched an Irish soap featuring chlamydia and statutory rape as the main story line. Sadly the TV show was better than the food.

After this lackluster beginning to our Connemara stay (which we drove forever from Doolin to get to), we saddled up our mighty Getzy and drove on. We barely made it to the gorgeous Kylemore Abbey before closing time, but alas the gardens that interested us more than the abbey were already closed. The abbey itself is now home to an exclusive girls school--you know the type that you see in horror movies. We took pictures (and a passer by was kind enough to take our picture) and moved on (to the gift shop).

We also had to pass on the nearby national park. Irishmen take note: if it's daylight until fucking 10:30pm, don't close your outdoor activities at 6pm--that's lunacy! We enjoyed the the rest of our journey by driving through the countryside, taking in the beautiful vistas, and driving on the stunning Sky Road near Clifden. We finished our day by enjoying a delightful dinner on the patio of a pub.


Even more to come ...

I'm grabbing the bottled water and heading the the basement

There end is near!!!!

There will be a Cornhole game for the Wii! I've written about this exercise in laminess and idiocy, before. What is the world coming to! I'm still waiting for a decent curling game for the Wii. Now that's a sport worth promoting.

My Dream

You know I actually write a gazillion cryptoblogs, but many never really become tangible, thus the dearth of blogs lately. This got me thinking about my lifelong ambition, my manifestation of the "American Dream" (btw isn't it rather ethnocentric of us Americans to assume such aspirations are exclusively American? What's the Canadian dream? never mind, that was expressed in Strange Brew). Anyway, I was was thinking about not writing a blog about writing a blog about something I dream of that I always wanted to do but never have--kinda like the blog I wasn't writing ...

Gosh, no wonder I get headaches, it's like some tangle of wires thrown in a drawer! Still with me? Ok, my dream, the Cryptozoo! Duwha? We've all been to zoos, and most of us live to tell (those jackasses who harrass innocent and rather bored tigers excluded), and well they're big expensive, and the market is rather saturated. Yeah, elephants are adorable, Sun Bears are cute, and we've all seen monkey masturbate. Been there done that. My dream is so much grander, a zoo for animals that don't really exist! A cryptozooological paradise!

Who needs an orangutan when you can have a sasquatch? Who needs goats in a petting zoo when you can have the goat sucker! Who needs a zebra when you can have a unicorn! This is stuff P.T. Barnum can only dream of, and now I can only dream of! The beauty of my innovation isn't the wonderous nature of the critters, as others have already made them up (moonshine, marijuana, and other vices may have played a role as well--is it a coincidence that big foot gets sighted in forrests with shrooms or Nessie gets spotted by drunken fishermen?), rather it is the limited overhead. Yes this is a business (I suppose that's the American aspect of the "American Dream"), and there are costs and consumables.

The costs, next to none. It's a cryptozoo, so once the animal actually exists, well then it belongs in a real zoo. As long as it's a zoo for make believe animals, there only needs to be make believe exibits. A fenced in area with trees, large foot prints, maybe a nice pile of poo (readily available thanks to owning a Saint Bernard) and voila! an exhibit of a sasquatch. Set up some interesting sound effects, pay a cryptozookeeper to stand there and talk about seeing the sasquatch a little bit ago (heck there are whack jobs who would do it for free--and not even know how full of shit they are!). Next to that a pond, with a smoke machine running full tilt, maybe a few odd shaped logs floating around (and a beer cart selling concessions to boost "sightings"), and you have a Loch Ness Monster display. A few gnawed up goat carcased, a stand selling souvineer barf bags, and you have a chupacabra lair. The list goes on and on ... Oh, and don't forget the nightly alien light show!

As for the consumables, well that's the souvineer stand. Who would want to go to the worlds only crytozoo and not come home with a cute plush Abominal Snowman or the even more Abominal Snowwoman? How about souvineer sasquatch poo (time to turn Kuma into a cash cow)? T-shirts, lunch boxes, goat meat, the list goes on and on.

Any investors?

The End of The Year

Well, it's that time of year again. but I will spare you the monotony of a year end recap (well, for today at least). Last weekend, well weekend before last, as I've procrastinated a bit, Liz and I attended the year end party for her employer (rhymes with Yolanda). Now I've been to a couple of events from my employer (rhymes with Haitian Pride), though I kinda expected something much nicer, as Liz's coworkers have described this party as a prom of sorts. Anyway, enough of the buildup.

The party was at the Arena Grand, which is a newish mid-sized downtown theater. The Arena Grand has 8 screens, a large central lobby, and a couple of mezzanines above that. I half wondered how a company party could occupy all of this space, but the invite mentioned quite a few destinations (it had a New York City theme), each complete with food and activities. As we approached the garage, it was obvious that only company employees were welcome, and as we walked toward the theater, we were greeted with covered and heated walkways instead of a cold windy sidewalk. We get to the theater, and most people are dressed rather nicely, with many guys in suits and tuxes and many ladies in dresses and gowns. Some took it to the next level, with dress kilts, kimonos, and full cowboy regalia. We quickly got over our people watching, and sought out the food.

Our quest was brief, as we were bombarded with salmon hor'dourves and butternut squash shooters (yeah, there may be a NYC theme, but we're still in Ohio). We walked past a huge spread of meats and cheeses, as we were on a quest for sushi. We came, we ate, and we conquered. Damn there was a shitload of sushi there, and since we were unfashionably early, we could chow down. Afterwards, we sought out dinner. Yes, there were hor'dourves, sushi, and dinner. Dinner included all kinds of meats and mashed potatoes in martini glasses.

After dinner, came desert (chocolate fountain), and then pictures, a movie (Fred Claus), a comedy showed (we ducked out), video games (Wii), and karaoke (of course). There was a jazz band at dinner, which like the sushi was outside of the theater. Back to the video games, watching a couple in a suit and gown play Wii Tennis is a hoot. I never used a Wii before, but I got quite a workout bowling. On our way out we scored cotton candy and a Coney Island hot dog.

Needless to say it was very grand, larger than I expected, and blast. Next year I'm bringing a doggy bag.

A Sheep in Wolf's Clothing Part II

Last week or whenever it was I commented about the hidden menace of Christian radio in disguise. Well this week I found out that there is an even more popular sheep in wolf's clothing on none other than American Idol. You see Chris Sligh, the nerdy mop headed dude is more deacon than dork. He's a former student at none other than Bob Jones University. Yes THAT Bob Jones university, the one even Billy Graham and President Bush (neither known for liberal views) distanced themselves from. Well Graham was practically disowned by Bob Jones because he actually had the nerve to talk with Catholics. You see Bob Jones Jr thinks this of Catholicism:

"not another Christian denomination. It is a satanic counterfeit, an ecclesiastic tyranny over the souls of men....It is the old harlot of the book of the Revelation—'the Mother of Harlots.'"

Well things are getting a bit more reasonable at Bob Jones, as they will allow interracial couples since 2000. Yes folks, it wasn't until 2000 that it was OK. Blacks weren't welcome at all until the 70's, and that was only due to tax implications (well money does come before bigotry).

Here are some of their enlightened rules:

• Freshman and sophomore residence hall students must sign out before leaving campus; students with junior and senior privileges may leave without signing out between 7 a.m. and 7 p.m.. Curfew is at 10:25 p.m., and residence hall students must be in their own rooms and quiet at 11 p.m. Lights must be out by midnight.
• Each student is provided with a filtered e-mail account. Using unfiltered Internet access via computer, mobile phone, or satellite phone is prohibited for residence hall students. The university provides content-filtered Internet access for student use that blocks pornography, "lurid violence," racial hate, and other "objectionable content."
• DVD/VCRs are not allowed in residence halls; DVD players on computers cannot be used for watching films. Televisions may be used only as monitors to play video games.
• Students are forbidden to attend movie theaters or, when visiting local homes, to watch any films with a rating higher than a G rating. Residence hall students are not permitted to play, use, or own video games that are rated T, M, or Ao or that include profanity, sensual or suggestive dress, rock music, graphic violence, or demonic themes.
• Students may not listen to country, jazz, New Age, rock, rap, or contemporary Christian music.
• Residence hall students are permitted to work off-campus only until 10:25 p.m. on weekdays and midnight on weekends, and students may not solicit door-to-door without a retail license or permission from the dean of students.
• The University will not allow anything displaying the logos of Abercrombie & Fitch or its subsidiary Hollister to be "worn, carried, or displayed" on campus even if the logos are covered because these companies have "shown an unusual degree of antagonism to the name of Christ and an unusual display of wickedness in their promotions."

If All Else Fails, There's Always Starbucks

If I recall correctly that was the motto of the Department of History at the University of Florida, and if it wasn't, well it should have been. Worry not, things are going well at work, so well we even got a bonus--not too much, otherwise I'd be writing about far cooler stuff--say maybe a new digital SLR.

Anyway, this is going somewhere ... yeah, with my bonus, I got Liz and I a new friend. No I didn't buy some slave on the internet, though having someone to clean the house, shovel the driveway, and amuse the dogs would be nice, but I did get a helper. His name is Frank. Unlike the somewhat creepy bunny dude in Donnie Darko, he's rather friendly looking and has a clear purpose.

Well, here's Frank, why is he called Frank, well he's the FrancisFrancis X5, and I'm not calling anything Francis, so we decided on Frank. I'm pretty much fueled on caffeine, hell I already had four different coffee making apparatuses (including another espresso machine), and I've been wanting a real espresso machine for a while. Deciding that I should get something fun with my bonus I decided I should splurge on an espresso machine. Given that Liz and I have started to amass a small collection of handsome appliances (and the great deal Illy has on these things), I decided to get an extra perdy machine.

So, in the days that have passed since Frank has stormed into our life, I've done what I do best, and learned everything there is to know about him and making espresso (lattes, cappuccinos, and other drinks too). There are quite a few interesting resources, ranging from geeks to champion baristas and everything in between. Now i just need a home still to help me unwind at the end of the day.

We came, we saw, we took pictures (finally over)

Before long it was time to depart SoCal and head back to Sacramento. We decided to take a detour via San Francisco to make our trip all that much more interesting. Mother nature almost made us make a detour of her own, but we were able to go as planned via I-5--unfortunately all was not well there. You see they had quite a bit of snow (a few inches, which might as well be a few feet in Southern California). Folks there just don't know how to handle snow. When I say that, I'm not just speaking of the average Joe, as the folks taking care of the roads appear clueless too. Rather than use something sensible, such as salt (likely plentiful too--they have that big ass ocean to get some from) , they used the only thing that is more plentiful--sand! While salt and sand may appear similar at first, only one of the two helps melt ice/snow, and they chose the wrong one! So to make things safer (both from the snow/ice and the man made obstacle: that stupid sand), they insist on escorting the cars at a ridiculously slow speed to make it all safe and retarded. I officially started to miss Ohio.

Spending an afternoon in San Francisco certainly falls short of seeing it all, but we packed quite a bit in. I got to see the Golden Gate Bridge, Alcatraz, and we ate at Fisherman's Wharf. My quest for Rice A Roni went unfulfilled, but we enjoyed some great seafood with nice views.

Speaking of views, we got to spend a while admiring the wonderful characters that were at Pier 39. These included so many interesting people that Liz had to refrain from commenting to keep her voice in check, and there were the sea lions too. Even if I did get some Rice a Roni, the highlight still would have been the Sea Lions. They were huddled onto a few floating docks--packed almost like refugees (they likely smelled better though). These big fellas seemed to enjoy the sun and the tourists. Whenever a boat would pass, they would stand at attention and great the guests with a loud chorus and many waves. Every once in a while one of the sea lions would want to crawl on top of the others, which would create quite the ruckus.

The only other memorable moment of note after returning from San Francisco was flipper boy, a dude who wore a tank top that would qualify as long sleeves, since his hands were attached to his shoulder. Miraculously, we were able to watch him eat ice cream and watch others watch him eat ice cream (which was even more entertaining). Sadly no pictures.

California was interesting, enjoyable, and a nice diversion from our day to day life, but we were very glad to be going home after a week. Thankfully everyone was safe and sound when we got home. We're definitely going back (Liz's parents newfound liking of me would cease if we never went back), and hopefully we can spend more time towards to top half of the state, perhaps touring wine country as well.

At least they still have that darn band

Yesterday I wrote about the upcoming match-up between good and evil; right and wrong; culture and hillbilliness ... The battle was waged, and despite a bad beginning, all went well (kinda like the Rebel Alliance loosing Alderan, but winning the war). What made it all so much sweeter was enjoying it with my comrades (that and the free food).

Leading up to the game, all we heard were tales of how unworthy Florida is and how great the Buckeyes. What is a buckeye? A nut--a poisonous nut. I'm not Steve Irwin, so I'll take my chances with a nut any day over a Gator. I think a few more people realize that today. Anyway, before the games meat markets had 'gator meat', which was advertised as tasting like chicken, as that's what it really was. I haven't seen any cock fighting, but I've seen an alligator tear apart a dear. There must be a difference. A local pizza chain had a special 'Block O' pizza, which was really a clever scam to sell a pepperoni pizza with less pepperoni (up until recently Ohio State didn't have any admission standards, so this was like taking candy from a baby). When I wasn't being oppressed within the economy, I was being badgered at work (now a badger can be kinda scary, kinda like a wolverine, but I still would rather take on both than a Gator--silly Buckeyes just didn't know what they were up against).

The Local chapter of the Rebel Alliance Gator Club hosted a viewing party, so we figured we had to join in the fun. Liz was a trooper and joined me in our early attempt to case the joint and establish a foothold on some prime real estate. Our efforts quickly paid off with rather good free food and various beverages. Soon we were joined by Steve, Malachi, and Darlene, who brought us good luck by rubbing her Gator-to-be belly. Soon all was left was to graze the free food and wait and wait.

Imperial spies penetrated our stronghold, but they were outnumbered (not to mention outclassed), and when the game began, they were delighted with the early happenings. They were short lived, as good prevailed over evil, and freedom reigned over the formerly oppressed. For one night, the evil clutches of Buckeyedom were crushed and obliterated. Through it all, alcohol helped keep the agents of evil in denial, even prompting them to play the Imperial March Hang on Sloopy. Undaunted the rebels just danced away, and low and behold, that slutty crackwhore bitch sloopy let go. In the end, the distraught, beaten, and humiliated couldn't bear to make eye contact. When I could catch a glimpse of their expressions, it almost seemed like they lost a piece of their soul.


As you can see in the picture above, even the modestly named "The Best Damn Band in the Land" (Ohio State is also good at Synchronized Swimming--football is really the only weak link. Shit, they lost in basketball too).

Well today is a new day. The skies over Columbus are Buckeye gray, and there many eyes scarlet from a night of tears. I know down in Florida, it is warm, sunny, and folks are happier for the win, but they're not obsessed. They have the beach, nice weather, and so much more, and football is just a game. Maybe one day the deranged Buckeyes up here will get that. Buckeyes really are poisonous--they lead to an unhealthy obsession with all things scarlet and gray.

Today is the day

After a month of anticipation, weeks of badgering and teasing, and the dread of dealing with sore winners (or more likely sore LOSERS), the day is upon us. The mighty Florida Gators, my alma matter and all around great school will face off against the hellions, hoodlums and hicks of THE Ohio State University. Unfortunately, I live in Columbus, home to all the aforementioned hellions, hoodlums, and hicks (fortunately many can't read and many more lack computers to read this).

Tonight I will join my brothers and sisters of the Gator Nation attending a viewing party at a friendly night spot, which hopefully will be safe if only through the strengths in numbers of concentrating all of us easy going pacifists in one place. Regardless, a fire extinguisher and bullet proof vest can always come in handy (this is Columbus mind you). Liz, my brave and too good for me girlfriend, who has no football disposition (though a hatred of all things Buckeye obsessed does brew within) will join me, which is rather kind of her. I hope she doesn't have to be a shoulder to cry on or worse, someone to bail me out.

It's that time of year--damnit!!!

So it's Christmas in Ohio--yeah me. This will be my 2nd Christmases here in Ohio, and I've done a pretty good job of picking the best years to be gone (that 2004 week without power sucked royally, well it sucked for those who were here). This year has the added stress of the impending arrival or Darth Gudrun, my Sith German, mom. The weeks of planning have descended into a frantic week of buying gifts, cleaning house, and getting everything that would be needed to avoid this being a disappointment for her. Adding to the event is that this will be the first time Liz has met her. Oh, I'm also busy loading my dad's new PC for him (well my mom, as it will be her gift to him). He has never used a PC, so it will be a challenge.

Anyway, I've managed to flick numerous people off, curse many more, and stare down a few, and they all deserved far worse (I couldn't afford the missile launcher option on my Mazda), oh and I've found myself grabbing shopping carts, purely for there potential use as weapons if shopping gets outta hand. Speaking of which, I decided to put off buying the standing rib roast until today. Bad move. I've pretty much decided to get all my meat at a local Italian market/butcher shop, which is a relic to a bygone era, and their meats are amazing. I really can't go back to supermarket meat, and their prices make it hard to do so as well. Well, I get there right after they open at 10am, and their lot is full, neighboring office lots is full, and the roadway is littered with cars parked on the right of way--oh shit. I decide that I really don't have a choice, and suck it up and go in. I grab a number, a pink one labeled 98. Ok, so I check the board to see what the current # was, 19. Fuck. Now if you're gonna brave the madness just to get your number, you're likely gonna stick it out, and you're gonna buy a shitload of meat. Oh, and everyone there is an Italian housewife or a grandma. They all have carts, and they mean business. Knowing that I can't wait it out and hold on to my sanity, I decide to take my number and run.

I run home; I do laundry; I go to Weilands (another local market) to check out their meat and buy some booze for Darth; I got to Giant Eagle and spend 30 minutes and $30 there; then I returned. 84. Not too bad, but I still had to wait, elbow to elbow with a lot of blue hair in my grill. As I wait, I see they are giving out yellow numbers, not too surprising as the pink ones were almost done when I grabbed mine, but then I realized that most people had blue numbers. The new #s were over 100 back in line from what was being called--shit, it sucked to be them. Before long I ordered my meat, and braved the line to checkout, which too 45 minutes or so.

Well, back to cleaning. Merry Christmas to all.

No Messin Wit Da 614

I've been home ill the past few days, with an added touch of foot pain likely induced by being stepped upon by the enormous puppy. In my boredom, I've watched a few movies (including some that I knew would suck, thus enhancing the potential for sleep--didn't work) and surfed the net a bit. In my travels, I read up on some underground DVDs (well I guess that cats out of the bag) containing fights from 'the 614'. Wanting to see if these videos are just lame (think Vanilla Ice on Celebrity Boxing), amusing (think bum fights), or hardcore (don't think I've really seen that yet), I check them out via YouTube.

The first clip is rather subdued, even boring (don't think I'll want to front that I represent the 614 after that):




The second has a cool sound track (representing the 614) and is a bit more chaotic and violent (probably just a tad worse than COPs):




The last one has a good ole fashioned cat fight:



All in all, more disappointing than amusing. I guess we always OSU riot footage:



Oh, btw, there is an OSURiots.com webpage. Perhaps it's reach problematic status when people start buying URLs.

It's almost over

After a year of what could tamely be described as hype and perhaps more accurately hysteria, the end is near--for this year. Once every year representatives of the fine institution up in Ann Arbor play the hoodlums from Columbus in a football game, and the hooligans who idolize the process and invest their lives and sanity into the silly rivalry allow the irrational enthusiasm to reach a crescendo--typically leading to fires, flipped cars, pepper spray, rubber bullets--you know the usual riot stuff. Time to make sure the insurance is paid up, the fire extinguishers are full, and I need to see if I can borrow Maurice's kevlar outfit. Weeks of incessant murmuring, boisterous remarks, and blinding amounts of red are converging upon tomorrow, with quite a bit of turmoil today, mostly in the form of nausea inducing potlucks (my office reeks of sour kraut). What's sad is that it's all so devoid of pageantry or anything truly positive. It makes me miss the simplicity of the hokey homecoming parade of Gainesville (local schools close--as do many businesses) along with the mediocre comedy of the always over hyped Gator Growl.

I hope we make it through this weekend--if this is my last blog, adieu.

A Blast from the Past

Every now and then I have nothing better to do than look back at some previous part of my life, and I usually end up laughing. I suppose that's a good thing, but some times I'm not so sure, anyway ...

Someone mentioned going to gay clubs, and I recalled some of my coworkers I used to hang out with down in Gainesville, and where we'd go. Gainesville is an odd town. It's a big town, but hardly a city, and the plethora of students and generally progressively minded folk made it rather open to all sorts of people (sadly with all sorts of smells, but that's another blog). Anyway, me and my friends/coworkers would often go to this establishment known as the University Club, or simply UC.

If you've clicked on the hyperlink, well, you know what type of establishment it is. If not, let's just say they were proud of the fact that the entrance was in the back. Depending on what night you'd show up, you could see a real eyeful, but if you stuck to Thursdays it was rather heterosexual friendly, plus that's when all the drag queens performed. More than a few actually worked at the same company as me. What's odd is looking back to how many times I went to an un-air-conditioned gay bar in Gainesville, Florida (arguably the hottest sweatiest place in the US). On top of it all, I'd drag (maybe not the best word choice) back to work, only to see many of the people I saw the night before (sometimes they were expressing a different gender).

I honestly think I went out more on Wednesday and Thursday than Friday and Saturday (Friday was house party night and Saturday was pretty much the same). Wednesdays I'd either go to a coffee bar for open mic night at a Common Grounds, a coffee bar that also had good beer--cheep! or if I was hangin' with a posse, 80s night at the rotator. The place was called that because the bar rotated. Well one of them did. Since the place was owned by ABC liquors, it had like 5 bars in a small venue, and everything was cheap house brand stuff ($3 long islands--big ones!). The dance floor was a crazy Saturday Night Fever-style light up affair. What really topped it all was the reality that the other six nights a week the place was a redneck bar (it was 10 miles outside of town).

Oh, speaking of cheap long islands--there was Ashley's Mexican Pub (yeah, what a concept), which featured long islands and margaritas in goldfish bowls. The best part was they were $4. The worst part--you needed to alcohol to cleanse your mouth from their less than stellar food. After a few, you wouldn't give a shit.

Ah, those were the days. I don't miss them, but I do think about them every now and then.

Some Fond Memories of Old

Being football season and the best part of football season (that period before the Gators lose), I'm a little nostalgic for some of the memories I've had attending games. I started going to UF games back when I was in high school with both my brother and a friend of mine procuring tickets. I would go to an occasional home game (especially against shitty teams) or even the SEC championship (my friend's parents really saw me as a positive influence in his life, so they would take me on trips to Atlanta and shit). Anyway, it all was rather fun, but the real fun started when I got to college. From watching colossal Peyton Manning chokes to ungodly scores against mediocre teams I saw a lot.

1996 was cool, as I went to 10 games, got to meet Rick Flair--whew!, taunt Kirk Herbstriet, see police dogs and mace get used (all the same game), and I got to wait in line for tickets for over a day. Boy that was quite a scene, as people brought couches, TVs, Playstations, and an insane amount of junk food to hold them over. We all camped out in the stadium, and the athletic department even pitched in for pizza. That led up to being able to watch the Gators win their only national title (and my revulsion for how nasty New Orleans was--it has since bathed). Also in there was an unfortunate incident in Atlanta where I strained my groin yelling real loud. Fuck that hurt.

Speaking of yelling loud, I once had someone get the cops on me for making too much noise. I used to go to all the Jacksonville Jaguars games, and the dude in the seat in front of me claimed I was harming him by cheering a little. The cops laughed at him, the rest of the seating section taunted him, and he never returned. That seat remained unoccupied the rest of the year. Perhaps the most eventful happening at a Jacksonville game was watching a drunk guy swing and miss hitting some guy he was pissed at and hit his own daughter. Poor girl. Oh, we sat in the 'no drinking, no cussin' section of the stadium--lot of good that did.

I suppose I'll go to more games sometime in my life, but it was quite a blast then, and it will likely never be the same.

My Last Hurah

During my brief stint in college, I was lucky enough to be on the University of Florida College Bowl team, and I got to travel to a couple fine cities, and many not so fine places. Even if our destination sucked, the journey was usually fun, and the people watching potential, always made things even more interesting. After graduating, I had to pass the baton onto a new era of combatants, and I left the glory days of road trips behind me.

Well that was the way things were until one summer, Jeff, the never ending student asked if I wanted to join the folks on a road trip--a masters tournament, which basically means one open to old hags like me (I may have been 23 at the time). Anyway, I jumped at the chance. We would be going along with Alex, the fella with the most remarkable memory I've ever seen and Mark, the only dude I knew who took estrogen pills--long story. Anyway, the tournament was in Washington, DC, and it also had a trash tournament, which probably was the main motivation for Alex and Jeff. We were taking a rental up there, and we would stay with Stacia, our old advisor, who fondly referred to us as 'pookies'. She was living in DC as a part of her career as a PC PR rep.

The trip started ominously enough, as the rental was a Mazda 626. I've rented dozens of cars over the years, and I've never so much as seen a Mazda on a rental car lot. The car wasn't the biggest means of transit for a Sasquatch like me, and four dudes in any car could get crowded. Oh, and it started to look like I would have to drive the whole way. What was worse was that we were gonna drive all night and get there in the morning, which was when the tournament began. Ugghhh.

After a couple hours on the road, we stopped for gas, and owing to the fact we were in Georgia, the guys came back from their trips to the restroom with 40s (such beverage choice is illegal in Florida, though I'm pretty sure driving with open 40s is illegal in Georgia as well). I resigned myself to having to drive the whole way. ugghh. The trip through Georgia was rather uneventful otherwise. South Carolina too, but we were looking forward to a stop at South of the Border. South of the Border is a uh ... well it's hard to describe. Basically it's the last exit in South Carolina (thus the name, well at least from a North Carolina perspective), and it is Mexican themed--very badly stereotyped, and rather racist. Pedro is the Mickey Mouse equivalent, and he's quite the beaner. They have restaurants, hotels, campgrounds, and Pedroland. Of course there are bad tourist trap style souvenir stands, gas stations, and stands. What was new and quite foreign to all of us was these big empty buildings with signs that said "Adult Video Games".

?!?!?!?! Adult Video Games? Interesting--bizarre, yet interesting. First off we wanted to know what exactly an adult video game is--our imaginations wandered. Secondly, why was such a brilliant idea so popular to create such vast establishments, yet so mysterious to us? Also, why were they all closed? We were rather perplexed, yet too shy to ask. We had to drive on--confused, tired, and wearily looking ahead to North Carolina and Virgina yet to go.

We eventually got to DC and the lovely campus of George Washington University, which really wasn't that lovely. The tourney was a disaster for me, as I was basically a wreck from having to drive the whole way without rest, and owing to the fact it was a masters tournament, it was rather dry and free of the usual chaos and unpredictability (and endless supply of Krispy Kreme and Surge) of regular tourneys. It was summer, so campus was dead, and I don't remember much else.

We hung out with Stacia, went to Georgetown (shamefully commericalized these days) and washed down a few margaritas. We waxed nostalgic about the good ole days before crashing. We headed home the next day, with some relief while Jeff drove. Thank god for that, as that 626 was the biggest piece of shit I ever drove. It would bounce the opposite direction of any pothole or bump. We figured out what the adult video games were--video poker, which was just banned, thus the closed establishments. Not as exciting as I imagined.

The world is going to hell

Flanagan's, a place that fancies itself as a cool hangout with a bar, decent food, and social activities ranging from mediocre cover bands to 'beach' (who are we kidding--we're in OHIO!) volleyball, now is advertising it's latest contribution to the masses of central Ohio--Cornhole Leagues! WTF!!! I cannot believe this shit. I never understood why people in the Midwest feel the need to play this lame game (at least the trendy popularity of Sodoku or poker involve a bit of aptitude and mental activity), and it baffles me that it continues to remain popular. I still see $60-80 cornhole kits which consist of two painted boards with holes in them and a bean bag. What a ripoff, but then again white trash has never been known for fiscal responsibility. I shouldn't be too surprised at Flanagan's, as it is the same place that goes all out with it's Irish heritage on St Patties Day, more so with its Mexican heritage on Cinco de Mayo, and doubtlessly will jump on the Bastille Day bandwagon.

From the best city to land of the fat drunk

When I first moved to Gainesville in 1995, Money Magazine proclaimed it the best place in America to live (a small boost from Jacksonville, which it ranked #3). It didn't seem all that special, but hey, it wasn't Detroit, and I liked it. Over the years one thing led to another, and now I'm in Lovely Columbus. When I arrived here it was declared the 5th fattest city in America (and from the looks of it people here take the competition seriously). Now I read that it's the 5th drunkest city (I see a lot of overlap, especially with big fat Buckeye fans). I don't know what this all means, but I suppose if I had more civic pride I should be stuffing my face and drinking like a fish.

Trapped in Utah (continued)

Well after finding all the watered down beer (oh, and no wine at all) at grocery stores, I decided to embark on a quest to find the real McCoy. In Utah (like Soviet Russia) you have to get the real stuff from the government. There aren't many such stores in the state, but most of them are in Salt Lake City, so I was able to find one. It was quite a drive, and when I got there I drove past it, as it's deep into a shopping center with no sign on the street and only a small one on the building.

When I enter I see it's all utilitarian and there are no specials, gift boxes, or anything cool. Booze isn't much pricier than Ohio, but beer certainly is. Many six packs had one or more bottles missing, as someone could only afford a bottle or two. Beer is in fact sold by the bottle, and since any bottle of alcoholic beverage requires a special stamp. This per-bottle tax seems to hit beer the hardest, especially 12oz bottle of cheaper beer. Basically if you drink 1 liter bottles of high alcohol German beer your better off than Bud or something less exotic. Fortunately, the store did take credit cards (none of that lame cash only shit we have in Ohio), and they had a decent selection.

Now I just need to find a coffee shop. Seriously