I wish I had come up with this joke a before I posted that last blog but, the title of that last one should have probably been "So I was talking with some ladies on the internet..."; and other ways to make people laugh unintentionally. That would have been hilarious. Onward!
So I think it's time to update a few of you on my current situation in life. No! I haven't beaten Final Fantasy XII yet, and I don't think it's ever going to happen so stop asking. About two months ago I was cut from my semi-lucrative, semi-professional career as a production manager for a small production house in Pioneer Square. I enjoyed a good, but tenuous run there, and when the company fell on hard times financially I was 'let go'. Do not weep for me though, I am still freelancing for them, and I couldn't be happier to have been let go. I was filming and editing high school sports for fuck's sake.
So now I'm a valet, for one of the few valeted hotels here in the city, and to be honest I am having a lot more fun than I have in almost two years. That isn't to say there aren't some downsides. For one, I hate driving. I fucking hate it. It's not that I am a bad driver, I am actually quite good, but it's the rest of the assholes who drive that make me hate it. However, over the last few weeks I have developed what can probably only be described as "stunt driving skillz". I'm working on being able to drive on just two wheels at the moment, but I'm starting to get tired of being tasered by the police every time I try and resist arrest. Then there is the tourist factor, and most of you know how much I hate tourists. Yet, I endure this hate, teeth clenched in a perpetual smile, and continue to fuel the myth about how it "is always raining here, gosh!" which is something you hear everyday here even if you don't work at a hotel.
Why I am having so much fun then? Aside from getting to 'stunt' some pretty sweet rides? For the tips my dear internet, its for the tips. Much like strippers I get tipped quite often in 1 dollar bills, but unlike strippers I get to drive the expensive cars they often perform fellatio in, so theres another plus, I don't have to give anybody head. In the 'high-end' hotel business people will give you money for doing very mundane and everyday things. For instance, about two weeks ago a nice gentleman who may or may not have been intoxicated gave me a 20 dollar bill for simply holding open the door of the cab he was entering. I long for the days when money means that little to me.
While tips are cool and everything, there is something that I find truly fascinating about driving other peoples cars. It's like walking into a complete strangers house for the first time, only it's scaled down considerably, and those most pertinent information about this individual is immediately available. Let's start with what kind of car they drive. People who drive Mercedes-Benz's are often lack taste, and bought the vehicle because they also lack imagination but have money to spend. These same people rarely (if ever) have music playing in their car, a true mark of a dilettante. BMW, Audi, and VW drivers appear to be a bit more grounded than the Benz people. Their cars tend to be a bit more dirty, and their musical tastes seem to range, though, I have yet to find one that doesn't listen to something that hasn't been on the Top 40 for over the last thirty years. Let's move on though, because I could talk about the musical habits of these people forever.
The smell of some of these cars...oh god the smells! I get into some of these cars and think to myself (between gag reflexes) "They actually drive around in this shitty funk all the time?" I was in a car two days ago that I had to roll all the windows down in, and they were manual windows. It smelled like the person had washed their dog with foot sweat and then locked that poor animal in the car, which was parked in the middle of a Wal-Mart parking lot in Phoenix AZ in July, and then waited for it to die, only to return and throw a bag full of sock eye salmon cut with the putrid stench of Ellensberg, WA right next to that dogs rotting corpse. In other words, it kind of smelled. Anyway, I pull up to the front of the hotel spring from the car dry heaving a little, and start rolling up the windows, all while covering my face with the sleeve of my jacket. The comes out, throws his new dog into the car, hits me with a five and speeds away. I only wish I could have said something to him, but he was Canadian. Which brings me to my final observation.
Canucks are the stingiest fucks on the planet. Europeans, who had never heard of tipping before coming to the U.S. tip better then our neighbors to the north. I shouldn't even call them neighbors, because a neighbor would tip. Their dollar is worth more than ours too! You wouldn't believe how many times I've been stiffed by one of those maple leaf worshiping mofo's. Do me a favor, next time you are in B.C. or Quebec or Saskatchewan, don't leave a tip, it will make up for everything in the grand scheme.
This job is the easiest wage earning position I have ever had, and I wish I had found it when I was 19. For the first time in my life I have no complaints about the job itself, which is a weird feeling, because when I come home and the Queen of Games asks me how my day went, all I can really say is "It went well." Strange. Perhaps I've grown a little wiser, or lost some of that ego I used to so proudly whip about. If anything, I am enjoying how uncomplicated my life is for the time being, and I am happy I've found a new thing to bitch about.
Fuck you, Canada.
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
Monday, November 5, 2007
whimsical sweaters
What started out as a joke ended up being one of the best weeks I've spent on the internet. About two weeks ago Koniferous, Steve, The Lobbyist, and I got into one of our normal daily email wars, where we send various links to on another, riffing on the state of union, net-neutrality, cats, fat people etc. etc. The thread became very heated after I sent a link to this website. Koniferous quickly replied by saying something along the lines of "I only understand about 1/3 of what you are say in these emails." Steve added "It's something that only internet dorks get." I shot back by saying that I will stop sending nonsense to them when I get a girlfriend, until then the madness will continue. Soon, The Lobbyist and Koniferous both chimed in saying that I would have to get in line behind the both of them on that front, due to the bi-lateral dryspells they seem to be going through. It did not take Steve very long to reply, and thats when my internet life changed.
Steve decided to heed our call for women, by trolling Craigslist personal ads in our respective cities. What was surprising is that he actually took the time to find each of us three separate women that we might be interested in, instead of doing something hilarious like sending us tranny personals or something of that sort. Anyway, after I received my three prospects I decided to take Steve's challenge and roll with it. Here is the email I sent to the first one, she had a questionaire, which I actually found kind of clever in a dumb way.
1. Yes or no: technology should have stopped at the gear.
This is a strange question. One, because where else can it go besides the gear? Are you talking about the software or firmware for said gear? If we didn't have those things then the 'gear' would be completely useless. Secondly, no.
2. What would you do if you ruled the world?
Re-vive the electric car, build a mono-rail out to Ballard that connects to downtown, and get rid of all those damned zombies.
3. What do you think of ayn rand is hot?
Another strange question. I am assuming what you meant to say here was "Do you think Ayn Rand is hot?" or maybe it's rhetorical like, "What do you think of Ayn Rand's hotness?" To which I can only reply, not really, but that's only because I never knew her personally, and I've never read anything that she's written, also because I find people who quote Rand are often pretentious jerks. Sorry, if you are into her, it's just never been my bag.
4. do you like big brown eyes?
Being of that persuasion myself, it's hard not to like them. But I suppose if they are too big, like say, the size of tea-saucers I'd be a little freaked out.
5. do you like going to art walk just to get drunk off free wine?
Actually, that's just a bonus. What I don't like about Art Walk are all of the tourists and hipstery kids hanging about.
6. Are you devilously handsome, cocky, egotistical, brooding but have a heart
a heart of gold?
I am violently handsome, modest, quiet, and introspective with a keen sense of loyalty.
7. Are you metrosexual or androgynous?
Well, I take a shower everyday and keep my nails cut which I hear is something those metrosexuals do. I wear clothes that fit me, but show off my rather skinny frame. So are you talking androgynous like Bowie or "It's Pat" from SNL? I also have a short beard which might exclude me from the androgyny category.
8. do you have any brothers or sisters?
I have an older sister, Inga, who is 29 years old, and two younger brothers, Alec and Henry, who are 23 and 17 respectively.
9. do you know what you want and usually get it?
I usually do what I want and get what I want about 50% of the time. Such is life.
10. ( and just for fun) fill in the blanks
Strippers______when_______moon________gin__________in your dreams
breakdance, the waxing, distills, while
I really hope that was satisfactory, and also hope to hear from you soon.
So that kind of kicked things off, and got me to thinking. Why don't I go out and find more of these personals? It's like a whole new game, right? Eventually I decided I would go to Craigslist and find the most interesting/weird ads and reply to them. Partly because it was so damn fun answering some of the ads in bazaar or satirical ways, but mostly it was out of my own morbid curiosity. In the end, after replying to about ten or so I only got three replies back. It probably didn't help that when I would send these women emails, they were as snarky (if not more) than the above. I decided I would have to kick this one up a notch.
I would have to post my own personal, and I did.
It was equal parts love lorn mid-twenties dude, and clever bastard, thanks to Chuck Klosterman. You see, I used one of Klosterman's 23 questions in it, and that was basically what inspired literally twenty different women to email over the following week. Now, I didn't admit right off the bat that I had aped one of his questions, but I was sure that someone would almost immediately call me out, but out of the twenty or so women who emailed me only one saw through my bullshit, and called me out.
After answering the question, most of the ladies would tell me a little about themselves. What kind of music they listen to, where they work, standard boilerplate stuff. Some, unprompted, would send me pictures. Let's get something straight, I NEVER asked for pictures, nor would I ask for pictures. It just seems kind of creepy, and really you never know what you are going to get. I got two pictures from two seperate women that made me want to end this experiment, these were perfect examples why these nets can be kind of scary. There are weird people on them. I won't go into too much detail, let's just say that there was some exposed skin involved, lots of exposed skin.
The best part of this whole thing was how much I learned. We spend so much time emailing and chatting with friends and family, you forget that there are millions of anonymous strangers seeking connection. I finally found the answer to a question that's been bothering me for years; How do people find 'love' on the internet? Not that I fell in love with any of these people I was chatting with but the majority of the responses and the ensuing threads that came after were intriguing to say the least, I would probably want to hang out with them if it wasn't some sort of weird 1 on 1 internet blind date type of situation. I was propositioned several times for meet-ups but decided not to, because of my own hang ups. I like the idea of this new type of 'social revolution' but I prefer the old fashioned way of meeting people. Drunk, and through friends.
The experiment ended almost as quickly as it had begun. I had narrowed it down to three different girls, all of which suddenly lost interest in the whole thing about two days ago simultaneously. What happened? I'm not sure, maybe they discovered this blarge (like one industrious minx did) or maybe they grew tired of my ego maniacal rants. Who knows, the point is, it was worth it and I plan on taking the same strategy to a different website/medium very soon. I kind of enjoyed being fawned over by women. It was just like that brief period in my life when I was 22....
By the way, if have any faith in my powers to select music then take heed. The new Jens Lekmen album, "Night Falls Over Kortedala" is the absolute note! Buy it now, and give me a huge high five later.
Steve decided to heed our call for women, by trolling Craigslist personal ads in our respective cities. What was surprising is that he actually took the time to find each of us three separate women that we might be interested in, instead of doing something hilarious like sending us tranny personals or something of that sort. Anyway, after I received my three prospects I decided to take Steve's challenge and roll with it. Here is the email I sent to the first one, she had a questionaire, which I actually found kind of clever in a dumb way.
1. Yes or no: technology should have stopped at the gear.
This is a strange question. One, because where else can it go besides the gear? Are you talking about the software or firmware for said gear? If we didn't have those things then the 'gear' would be completely useless. Secondly, no.
2. What would you do if you ruled the world?
Re-vive the electric car, build a mono-rail out to Ballard that connects to downtown, and get rid of all those damned zombies.
3. What do you think of ayn rand is hot?
Another strange question. I am assuming what you meant to say here was "Do you think Ayn Rand is hot?" or maybe it's rhetorical like, "What do you think of Ayn Rand's hotness?" To which I can only reply, not really, but that's only because I never knew her personally, and I've never read anything that she's written, also because I find people who quote Rand are often pretentious jerks. Sorry, if you are into her, it's just never been my bag.
4. do you like big brown eyes?
Being of that persuasion myself, it's hard not to like them. But I suppose if they are too big, like say, the size of tea-saucers I'd be a little freaked out.
5. do you like going to art walk just to get drunk off free wine?
Actually, that's just a bonus. What I don't like about Art Walk are all of the tourists and hipstery kids hanging about.
6. Are you devilously handsome, cocky, egotistical, brooding but have a heart
a heart of gold?
I am violently handsome, modest, quiet, and introspective with a keen sense of loyalty.
7. Are you metrosexual or androgynous?
Well, I take a shower everyday and keep my nails cut which I hear is something those metrosexuals do. I wear clothes that fit me, but show off my rather skinny frame. So are you talking androgynous like Bowie or "It's Pat" from SNL? I also have a short beard which might exclude me from the androgyny category.
8. do you have any brothers or sisters?
I have an older sister, Inga, who is 29 years old, and two younger brothers, Alec and Henry, who are 23 and 17 respectively.
9. do you know what you want and usually get it?
I usually do what I want and get what I want about 50% of the time. Such is life.
10. ( and just for fun) fill in the blanks
Strippers______when_______moon________gin__________in your dreams
breakdance, the waxing, distills, while
I really hope that was satisfactory, and also hope to hear from you soon.
So that kind of kicked things off, and got me to thinking. Why don't I go out and find more of these personals? It's like a whole new game, right? Eventually I decided I would go to Craigslist and find the most interesting/weird ads and reply to them. Partly because it was so damn fun answering some of the ads in bazaar or satirical ways, but mostly it was out of my own morbid curiosity. In the end, after replying to about ten or so I only got three replies back. It probably didn't help that when I would send these women emails, they were as snarky (if not more) than the above. I decided I would have to kick this one up a notch.
I would have to post my own personal, and I did.
It was equal parts love lorn mid-twenties dude, and clever bastard, thanks to Chuck Klosterman. You see, I used one of Klosterman's 23 questions in it, and that was basically what inspired literally twenty different women to email over the following week. Now, I didn't admit right off the bat that I had aped one of his questions, but I was sure that someone would almost immediately call me out, but out of the twenty or so women who emailed me only one saw through my bullshit, and called me out.
After answering the question, most of the ladies would tell me a little about themselves. What kind of music they listen to, where they work, standard boilerplate stuff. Some, unprompted, would send me pictures. Let's get something straight, I NEVER asked for pictures, nor would I ask for pictures. It just seems kind of creepy, and really you never know what you are going to get. I got two pictures from two seperate women that made me want to end this experiment, these were perfect examples why these nets can be kind of scary. There are weird people on them. I won't go into too much detail, let's just say that there was some exposed skin involved, lots of exposed skin.
The best part of this whole thing was how much I learned. We spend so much time emailing and chatting with friends and family, you forget that there are millions of anonymous strangers seeking connection. I finally found the answer to a question that's been bothering me for years; How do people find 'love' on the internet? Not that I fell in love with any of these people I was chatting with but the majority of the responses and the ensuing threads that came after were intriguing to say the least, I would probably want to hang out with them if it wasn't some sort of weird 1 on 1 internet blind date type of situation. I was propositioned several times for meet-ups but decided not to, because of my own hang ups. I like the idea of this new type of 'social revolution' but I prefer the old fashioned way of meeting people. Drunk, and through friends.
The experiment ended almost as quickly as it had begun. I had narrowed it down to three different girls, all of which suddenly lost interest in the whole thing about two days ago simultaneously. What happened? I'm not sure, maybe they discovered this blarge (like one industrious minx did) or maybe they grew tired of my ego maniacal rants. Who knows, the point is, it was worth it and I plan on taking the same strategy to a different website/medium very soon. I kind of enjoyed being fawned over by women. It was just like that brief period in my life when I was 22....
By the way, if have any faith in my powers to select music then take heed. The new Jens Lekmen album, "Night Falls Over Kortedala" is the absolute note! Buy it now, and give me a huge high five later.
Sunday, September 23, 2007
i need an editor
I like to think that over the last six years of living here in Seattle, I've developed some sense of personal style. I wear clothes that fit my skinny frame (e.g. "men's small") not to look trendy but to look good. Let's face it, people judge you first by your looks and then if those can keep their attention long enough, by your personality. Sad but true, we are visceral beings by nature, and the first train out of the 'sense station' is the ocular one. We make snap judgments of people based on their appearance and then extrapolate from there on what that person must be about without ever talking to them. I'm told we do this with everyone we see and meet in less than 7 seconds, which a long time ago seemed impossible to me, until I started doing it consciously. In other words; recognizing the fact that I was sizing someone up by what they look like. Which brings me to my pink shirt.
OK, so it's not really pink, but many would categorize it as 'pink'. I like to think of it more as a reddish-white. American Apparel describes the color as "coral", which I think is close but unfortunately I did not get the shirt at American Apparel, I got it at Urban Outfitters. That's right I shop there, I have a dick and you can eat it. They sell some of the best cotton tee's I have ever worn, in a variety of semi-unusual colors, I like to pick up a couple whenever I am in the store. Defensive maneuvering aside, I decided to get the t-shirt in question. When I grabbed it I didn't twice, it was a color that was appealing to my eye, but I should have noticed the first red flag. My Mom, who graciously bought me the shirt along with what I am sure my friends will eventually deem as a "hipster hat", said "So, I'm buying you this hat, and this pink t-shirt?" To which I replied "Actually, you are buying me this cool hat, and also this these t-shirts. Oh, I guess this one is kinda pink, huh? I didn't notice." Seriously, I said that, and I let my Mom buy clothes for me, please see previous line about said dick.
It is not weird to see some heterosexual male strolling down a public street here in Sea-teezy (that's how us Seattlite's refer to Seattle) wearing a pink t-shirt, which may or may not have a screen print of a giant cock on it in purple. Why? Maybe because it's ironic (the penis part, not the pink part, or maybe the pink part too) or perhaps it's because pink is just a fucking color. Yet, the minute you leave the city for somewhere like, I don't know, Renton, you are instantly berated by bucktoothed teenagers, who think that Panic! At the Disco kept them from committing suicide. Well I have news for you teenagers: The color pink is cool, P!ATD is not, and soon your going to realize this and you will probably find yourselves (again!) with one of your dad's ties around your neck attached to the door knob of your bedroom very soon, maybe even after you read this post.
RANTY!
That last part was in reference to what happened tonight while filming a Sounders game. There I was, running some cable before the game kicked off, when I hear from the stands "Only real men wear pink!" Classic. I ignored the comment like a cool dude would, but about an hour later during half-time I was confronted by three teenagers who were at first trying to get on "TV" after not acknowledging them for about 3 minutes one of them piped up "I like your shirt, you look like a girl!" Burn. While I could have picked that statement apart by saying something like "Wow! Your idea of what a girl looks like must be very strange. Are you attracted to women with flat chests and facial hair? Because if you are, you are in for a world of hurt, there aren't many of us out there." Instead I turned to the youth and said "Well, at least I don't sound like a girl." Which is what I actually said, to which he said while on the verge of tears and running away as his friends laughed at him "Panic! At the Disco will make me feel better!" No they won't son, no they won't. That tie you got your dad for Christmas last year is looking pretty good right now, huh?
All puberty and horrible, horrible teenage suicide jokes aside though. I find it funny that when I leave this city I become an entity in style, both negative and positive. While here (within the city) I find that I look like every other male on the street. Skinny, bearded, hooded, and possibly hungover. To be honest, if I could I would dress like a completely insane person, much like my father does now. I would go for a more indy-rock kinda of look and not the hipster-lite that I seem to be in now. I'd wear even tighter pants with wing-tip shoes, huge collared shirts from the seventies. My hair would be cut into one of those mullets that all of the European soccer players seem to be rocking. Wacky scarves would be the main thing I was known for, and I would have a nickname among the rest of the hipsters. Something like; Endangered or Roflmao.
In the end it all goes back to a conversation I was having with Mr. Proper the other day about dress. I was telling him about how I never want to go back to wearing a uniform of any kind, that includes wearing slacks and a nice shirt. When he asked 'why?'
"I am going to ride this 20 something thing, til' it crashes." I'm pretty sure I said that.
OK, so it's not really pink, but many would categorize it as 'pink'. I like to think of it more as a reddish-white. American Apparel describes the color as "coral", which I think is close but unfortunately I did not get the shirt at American Apparel, I got it at Urban Outfitters. That's right I shop there, I have a dick and you can eat it. They sell some of the best cotton tee's I have ever worn, in a variety of semi-unusual colors, I like to pick up a couple whenever I am in the store. Defensive maneuvering aside, I decided to get the t-shirt in question. When I grabbed it I didn't twice, it was a color that was appealing to my eye, but I should have noticed the first red flag. My Mom, who graciously bought me the shirt along with what I am sure my friends will eventually deem as a "hipster hat", said "So, I'm buying you this hat, and this pink t-shirt?" To which I replied "Actually, you are buying me this cool hat, and also this these t-shirts. Oh, I guess this one is kinda pink, huh? I didn't notice." Seriously, I said that, and I let my Mom buy clothes for me, please see previous line about said dick.
It is not weird to see some heterosexual male strolling down a public street here in Sea-teezy (that's how us Seattlite's refer to Seattle) wearing a pink t-shirt, which may or may not have a screen print of a giant cock on it in purple. Why? Maybe because it's ironic (the penis part, not the pink part, or maybe the pink part too) or perhaps it's because pink is just a fucking color. Yet, the minute you leave the city for somewhere like, I don't know, Renton, you are instantly berated by bucktoothed teenagers, who think that Panic! At the Disco kept them from committing suicide. Well I have news for you teenagers: The color pink is cool, P!ATD is not, and soon your going to realize this and you will probably find yourselves (again!) with one of your dad's ties around your neck attached to the door knob of your bedroom very soon, maybe even after you read this post.
RANTY!
That last part was in reference to what happened tonight while filming a Sounders game. There I was, running some cable before the game kicked off, when I hear from the stands "Only real men wear pink!" Classic. I ignored the comment like a cool dude would, but about an hour later during half-time I was confronted by three teenagers who were at first trying to get on "TV" after not acknowledging them for about 3 minutes one of them piped up "I like your shirt, you look like a girl!" Burn. While I could have picked that statement apart by saying something like "Wow! Your idea of what a girl looks like must be very strange. Are you attracted to women with flat chests and facial hair? Because if you are, you are in for a world of hurt, there aren't many of us out there." Instead I turned to the youth and said "Well, at least I don't sound like a girl." Which is what I actually said, to which he said while on the verge of tears and running away as his friends laughed at him "Panic! At the Disco will make me feel better!" No they won't son, no they won't. That tie you got your dad for Christmas last year is looking pretty good right now, huh?
All puberty and horrible, horrible teenage suicide jokes aside though. I find it funny that when I leave this city I become an entity in style, both negative and positive. While here (within the city) I find that I look like every other male on the street. Skinny, bearded, hooded, and possibly hungover. To be honest, if I could I would dress like a completely insane person, much like my father does now. I would go for a more indy-rock kinda of look and not the hipster-lite that I seem to be in now. I'd wear even tighter pants with wing-tip shoes, huge collared shirts from the seventies. My hair would be cut into one of those mullets that all of the European soccer players seem to be rocking. Wacky scarves would be the main thing I was known for, and I would have a nickname among the rest of the hipsters. Something like; Endangered or Roflmao.
In the end it all goes back to a conversation I was having with Mr. Proper the other day about dress. I was telling him about how I never want to go back to wearing a uniform of any kind, that includes wearing slacks and a nice shirt. When he asked 'why?'
"I am going to ride this 20 something thing, til' it crashes." I'm pretty sure I said that.
Monday, August 20, 2007
wanderlust pt. 1
Internets! Holy crap, I missed you so much! Sorry, I've been on vacation. What been going on? They gave up the search for those miners?! Get out. Lindsey's still in rehab? Wow, I mean wow. Mit Romney for President? Yeah, I could see that happening. Me? Well, I was in New York for a few days, and then I went on a cruise. To where? Bermuda of course, where else would I go? How was it you ask? Ummmm.....let me start with New York.
New York was intoxicating. Definitely the biggest city I've ever been in. Shen Zhen was huge and different, Barcelona as well although it was not much bigger than Seattle. But New York! I mean, I've seen it in movies, TV, and pictures, but to actually be there was something else. It was not at all like I had imagined it. It was something different, exciting, gritty. Full of assholes, just like me, and the hipsters! Oh sweet crunkington, the fuckn' hipsters! They put those kids at Linda's to shame. The sweet confusion that I felt while wandering was something that I haven't felt in a long time. Granted, I spent a lot of my time in tourist areas, and only got but a small taste of what the city must really be like. I went to Broadway; where I saw the awesome Avenue Q, and 'Little Italy' where I spent my time getting ripped off by eastern Europeans, claiming to be Romans or Chinese. Soho, where my brother and I were treated like complete outsiders at a restaurant and ultimately ignored. We went to the Museum of Modern Art, which was fantastic, and my sister and I went to the American Museum of Natural History, or whatever and solely to see the exhibit shown in the last scene of "The Squid and the Whale". The rest of that museum turned about to be really cool.
In the end, New York was a place I eventually could find myself living in and also a place I want to avoid. In other words; just like Seattle you must find the places that you are most comfortable with and stay there until you are comfortable, then you can move on.
So that portion of my "vacation" ended after 4 short stressful days and we found ourselves meeting up with the other 13 members of my extended family for a 7 day cruise to the isle's of Bermuda. To all of my twenty-something readers/friends heed my advice. DO NOT GO ON A CRUISE IF YOU CAN FLY TO YOUR DESTINATION. Flying is cheaper, faster, and for the most part, you don't have to worry about getting giardia. Which 40 people on my ship contracted, consequently turning the ships staff into a bunch of "hygiene Nazi's". More on that later.
The vessel we were on was called the Norwegian Crown, and was constructed sometime in the late 1980's, and holy shit if it's interior didn't reflect the 80's coke induced aesthetics. Gold and mirrors everywhere, I hate referencing this piece of shit movie but it will give you an idea of what it was like. Imagine Tony Montana's mansion in "Scarface" and you have a pretty good picture. The music that they played everywhere didn't help dispel the eightysness of it all either. It was like the top 40 from '85-'93, but not the real top 40, but some bizarro world top 40 where all the good hits from that decade were replaced by the "Electric Slide" and "Macarena". I shit you not, I heard those two songs several times during our fantastic voyage. I could tell you so much about the food, which was "free"(for a reason) and the on-board entertainment which was also free, but I wish we could have paid for them not to be on the ship, because I would have given up a year's worth of my salary to get back the hour of my life that Adam Ace, the Crazy Comedian, embarrassingly wasted. I could devote an entire post to that poor bastard and his "act" alone. But I won't, because the best part about this cruise were all the people on it, oh and the pink sandy beaches of Bermuda. Totally beautiful, when I marry a rich woman that's where we are going to have our summer home, right next to Catherine Zeta Jones and that old dude she's married to, his name escapes me at the moment though ummm....Catcher's Mitt perhaps? Seriously though, how the fuck did that guy do it?
I have spent years making fun of people with mid-western and southern accents for years. It hasn't just been me though, but our country as whole, where in fact we should be jibing on people from the north east! Comparably, the people in the mid-west have nothing on people from Staten island. From now on when people I hear use the phrase "the dregs of society" I will think of people who were born and raised in New Jersey. The majority of the people on this cruise were from Staten island, Long island, and Newark. It took awhile for me to get over their accents but once I had done that, I was absolutely dumb-founded by their lack of imagination and wit. I realize that sounds very elitist of me, and it is, but these were some of the most tacky and clueless people I have ever had the displeasure of being around. I realized early on that there was no escape, and accepted my fate, thereby allowing me some very good people watching time, I combined this time with many brief conversations that I had with people on my ship and came to these conclusions:
Average Cruising Age: 14-19 and 40-75
Average Weight: Fat
Average idea of a 'good' vacation: Cruise
Average choice of an 'imported' beer: Bud-Light
Average clothing choice even when indoors at public eating areas: back hair or tracksuit
I spoke with one enlightened woman of about 70, who said that this was her 7th(!) cruise, and that every time she finished one she swore she would never do it again. When I asked her why she had embarked on yet another one of these horrible things she said "In the end it makes me happy to see all of these young people have such a good time." Indeed, there were a lot of young people having a good time on this cruise. To be more precise, there was probably a larger teen aged contingent than any other age group aboard, and yes they were definitely having fun. Before entering my room one night I saw a small group huddling around a Nalgene bottle conversing. I paused at my door for a moment, and this is what I overheard:
Teen 1: How much did you put in there?
Teen 2: Well, I filled half with Coke and the other half with vodka!
Teen 3: That's 50%! Skelkin!
Creepy Skinny Guy Fumbling With Key To Lock: Pussies...what the fuck does 'skelkin' mean anyway? What the eff happened to 'rad'?
Teen 1,2,and 3: Get jam-howed, you fram-prizk!
CSGFWKTL: Word.
...and then all hell broke loose, and I started punching teenagers in their acne covered faces. Wacky. No, that really didn't happen, but you can find out what happened next week in part two. I am making this a two parter because this has turned into a really long post and my internets are getting weak. So tune into my final point and analysis. Thanks for reading.
Who loves you?
New York was intoxicating. Definitely the biggest city I've ever been in. Shen Zhen was huge and different, Barcelona as well although it was not much bigger than Seattle. But New York! I mean, I've seen it in movies, TV, and pictures, but to actually be there was something else. It was not at all like I had imagined it. It was something different, exciting, gritty. Full of assholes, just like me, and the hipsters! Oh sweet crunkington, the fuckn' hipsters! They put those kids at Linda's to shame. The sweet confusion that I felt while wandering was something that I haven't felt in a long time. Granted, I spent a lot of my time in tourist areas, and only got but a small taste of what the city must really be like. I went to Broadway; where I saw the awesome Avenue Q, and 'Little Italy' where I spent my time getting ripped off by eastern Europeans, claiming to be Romans or Chinese. Soho, where my brother and I were treated like complete outsiders at a restaurant and ultimately ignored. We went to the Museum of Modern Art, which was fantastic, and my sister and I went to the American Museum of Natural History, or whatever and solely to see the exhibit shown in the last scene of "The Squid and the Whale". The rest of that museum turned about to be really cool.
In the end, New York was a place I eventually could find myself living in and also a place I want to avoid. In other words; just like Seattle you must find the places that you are most comfortable with and stay there until you are comfortable, then you can move on.
So that portion of my "vacation" ended after 4 short stressful days and we found ourselves meeting up with the other 13 members of my extended family for a 7 day cruise to the isle's of Bermuda. To all of my twenty-something readers/friends heed my advice. DO NOT GO ON A CRUISE IF YOU CAN FLY TO YOUR DESTINATION. Flying is cheaper, faster, and for the most part, you don't have to worry about getting giardia. Which 40 people on my ship contracted, consequently turning the ships staff into a bunch of "hygiene Nazi's". More on that later.
The vessel we were on was called the Norwegian Crown, and was constructed sometime in the late 1980's, and holy shit if it's interior didn't reflect the 80's coke induced aesthetics. Gold and mirrors everywhere, I hate referencing this piece of shit movie but it will give you an idea of what it was like. Imagine Tony Montana's mansion in "Scarface" and you have a pretty good picture. The music that they played everywhere didn't help dispel the eightysness of it all either. It was like the top 40 from '85-'93, but not the real top 40, but some bizarro world top 40 where all the good hits from that decade were replaced by the "Electric Slide" and "Macarena". I shit you not, I heard those two songs several times during our fantastic voyage. I could tell you so much about the food, which was "free"(for a reason) and the on-board entertainment which was also free, but I wish we could have paid for them not to be on the ship, because I would have given up a year's worth of my salary to get back the hour of my life that Adam Ace, the Crazy Comedian, embarrassingly wasted. I could devote an entire post to that poor bastard and his "act" alone. But I won't, because the best part about this cruise were all the people on it, oh and the pink sandy beaches of Bermuda. Totally beautiful, when I marry a rich woman that's where we are going to have our summer home, right next to Catherine Zeta Jones and that old dude she's married to, his name escapes me at the moment though ummm....Catcher's Mitt perhaps? Seriously though, how the fuck did that guy do it?
I have spent years making fun of people with mid-western and southern accents for years. It hasn't just been me though, but our country as whole, where in fact we should be jibing on people from the north east! Comparably, the people in the mid-west have nothing on people from Staten island. From now on when people I hear use the phrase "the dregs of society" I will think of people who were born and raised in New Jersey. The majority of the people on this cruise were from Staten island, Long island, and Newark. It took awhile for me to get over their accents but once I had done that, I was absolutely dumb-founded by their lack of imagination and wit. I realize that sounds very elitist of me, and it is, but these were some of the most tacky and clueless people I have ever had the displeasure of being around. I realized early on that there was no escape, and accepted my fate, thereby allowing me some very good people watching time, I combined this time with many brief conversations that I had with people on my ship and came to these conclusions:
Average Cruising Age: 14-19 and 40-75
Average Weight: Fat
Average idea of a 'good' vacation: Cruise
Average choice of an 'imported' beer: Bud-Light
Average clothing choice even when indoors at public eating areas: back hair or tracksuit
I spoke with one enlightened woman of about 70, who said that this was her 7th(!) cruise, and that every time she finished one she swore she would never do it again. When I asked her why she had embarked on yet another one of these horrible things she said "In the end it makes me happy to see all of these young people have such a good time." Indeed, there were a lot of young people having a good time on this cruise. To be more precise, there was probably a larger teen aged contingent than any other age group aboard, and yes they were definitely having fun. Before entering my room one night I saw a small group huddling around a Nalgene bottle conversing. I paused at my door for a moment, and this is what I overheard:
Teen 1: How much did you put in there?
Teen 2: Well, I filled half with Coke and the other half with vodka!
Teen 3: That's 50%! Skelkin!
Creepy Skinny Guy Fumbling With Key To Lock: Pussies...what the fuck does 'skelkin' mean anyway? What the eff happened to 'rad'?
Teen 1,2,and 3: Get jam-howed, you fram-prizk!
CSGFWKTL: Word.
...and then all hell broke loose, and I started punching teenagers in their acne covered faces. Wacky. No, that really didn't happen, but you can find out what happened next week in part two. I am making this a two parter because this has turned into a really long post and my internets are getting weak. So tune into my final point and analysis. Thanks for reading.
Who loves you?
Sunday, August 5, 2007
(...the...)
I called my friend Dantron the other night to wish him a happy 24th. After talking for a little while he mentioned this blarg, and how he has been reading it. I can't say how much it pleases me when I hear one of my friends, who I don't think read this retarded thing ever, do in fact read...it. He had a few qualms with the new format however. For one he is hardly ever mentioned, and two what the fuck happened to the "Barack" blog? "The 'barack' blog," I asked "What the hell is that?" He then went on a diatribe about all of my "big" words and how it was something I used to sometimes write on MySpace. "Ahhhh...you mean 'baroque' blogs." "Yeah, whatever you snarky fuck, I used to love those hate filled rants. What happened to those?" I then promised that I would bring back the Baroque Blog at least once as a gift to him. So here you are Danny, happy birfday.
There are three things that I will probably never stop thinking about, and that will probably never change in order of importance as long as I live, unless I win the lottery, then 2nd and 3rd will become 1st and 2nd and 1st will become third. Money, Women, and Music. Now: Women. I think about women a lot. So much so that I feel oddly gay when I start critiquing their fashion (I did it here). I'm no prize pig myself when it comes to fashion, but it's pretty hard to rip apart a dude who primarily wears jeans and a t-shirt. Anyway, I've dedicated a lot of thought to this and I think it's time that I just come out and say it. STOP WEARING THOSE ENORMOUS SUNGLASSES. You don't look mysterious, you definitely don't look like the gorgeous Audrey Hepburn (admittedly she doesn't look that good here either however, go back and watch Roman Holiday, then try and tell me to tell me she is not a stunner), and men do not find you more attractive because of them. These fucking things cover up one of, if not the most flattering aspects on a woman. At best, you look like an insect. At worst, Paris Hilton. Please stop.
OMG, video games! Fuck the next gen, the Nintendo DS is where it's at. Not only is the Legend of Zelda: The Phantom Hourglass coming out soon but Square Enix is remaking Final Fantasy VI(?) in glorious 2.5D! I piss my pants every time I think about playing these games, which sucks because it means that I am spending a lot of money on laundry these days, and often reeking of urine.
BREAKING: Page France is my new favorite band. Finish this blarge, and go and buy their new album. Also, these two are almost too much to handle, Mr. Proper and I saw them at the Capitol Hill Block Party last week and they rocked it. Kim is way more cute in person and cannot stop smiling.
Apparently I used to end each of these with the latest death of one of my hero's, and then I would write my own obituary for them. (Un)fortunately, no that I think is cool has died, unless you count my friend Kreamy, who should have died the last time I saw him, except the knife that I used was to dull to actually do any damage, fear not though, because I don't make the same mistakes twice.
Baroque Obama in '08
.
There are three things that I will probably never stop thinking about, and that will probably never change in order of importance as long as I live, unless I win the lottery, then 2nd and 3rd will become 1st and 2nd and 1st will become third. Money, Women, and Music. Now: Women. I think about women a lot. So much so that I feel oddly gay when I start critiquing their fashion (I did it here). I'm no prize pig myself when it comes to fashion, but it's pretty hard to rip apart a dude who primarily wears jeans and a t-shirt. Anyway, I've dedicated a lot of thought to this and I think it's time that I just come out and say it. STOP WEARING THOSE ENORMOUS SUNGLASSES. You don't look mysterious, you definitely don't look like the gorgeous Audrey Hepburn (admittedly she doesn't look that good here either however, go back and watch Roman Holiday, then try and tell me to tell me she is not a stunner), and men do not find you more attractive because of them. These fucking things cover up one of, if not the most flattering aspects on a woman. At best, you look like an insect. At worst, Paris Hilton. Please stop.
OMG, video games! Fuck the next gen, the Nintendo DS is where it's at. Not only is the Legend of Zelda: The Phantom Hourglass coming out soon but Square Enix is remaking Final Fantasy VI(?) in glorious 2.5D! I piss my pants every time I think about playing these games, which sucks because it means that I am spending a lot of money on laundry these days, and often reeking of urine.
BREAKING: Page France is my new favorite band. Finish this blarge, and go and buy their new album. Also, these two are almost too much to handle, Mr. Proper and I saw them at the Capitol Hill Block Party last week and they rocked it. Kim is way more cute in person and cannot stop smiling.
Apparently I used to end each of these with the latest death of one of my hero's, and then I would write my own obituary for them. (Un)fortunately, no that I think is cool has died, unless you count my friend Kreamy, who should have died the last time I saw him, except the knife that I used was to dull to actually do any damage, fear not though, because I don't make the same mistakes twice.
Baroque Obama in '08
.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
purge
Blarg purge! You don't even want to know how many blogs I write, the ones that you actually see are just ones that I either stuck with long enough to finish, or felt good enough about to publish. I write about everything, and nothing. Everyday minutiae, condensed into a 5 paragraph digital shout. The main reason I don't publish a lot of these blogs is because I am trying to make this less personal and more about ideas and thoughts. The problem with my MySpace blog was that it was too personal and I used it like a blunt instrument. Here are a few of the post that I didn't finish.
"atm ninja?" I am not sure where I was trying to go with this one, but I am guessing something really cool happened at the bus stop.
I left work at 5:55pm the bus would arrive at the stop outside of Starbucks at 6:07pm, but I would not go straight there. I first had to drop by the ATM so I could pull out some cash to give to my roommate for this months cable bill. As I made strode towards the cash machine, I noticed another man who was clearly making for the same machine I was. There were a lot people downtown because today was the second day of the Mariners season. So I increased my pace and attack angle, and easily caught the guy off guard, deftly removing my wallet from my pocket, flipping it open and inserting my card. I couldn't help but notice in the reflection of the camera's protective screen, how indignant the guy was over the fact that I had so easily overtaken him. Clearly, he was pissed, but little did he know, he was dealing with an ATM ninja. I was in and out of that bitch in less than a 45 seconds. Cash and card in hand. Strolling confidently past the man I had just usurped, I couldn't help but feel pretty bad ass. The faux-hawk and aviators were a plus at that point.
I arrived at my stop with about 3 minutes to spare before the 66 came. 1
"jeff & those gays" I actually have a finished version of this blog waiting to be published, I just thought that the second paragraph was kind of funny.
I liked Jeff Tweedy more when he was getting run over by the wagon, instead of riding it. That is all I am really going to say about the new Wilco album. The first half is pretty good albeit a little jammy and at times it can be pretty schmaltzy even in Tweedy standards. It really just goes to show where drugs can be good for you m'kay.
I've been living in Ballard for approximately 3 weeks and I think it's the best decision I've made in years, actually the hair removal from my back via laser, now that was the best decision I ever made. I've been doing a lot of thinking and exploring within Ballard and have decided it is probably the best neighborhood in Seattle, even if it is a little out of the way, we're a helicopter ride away from the nearest I-5 entrance/exit. That, as far as I can tell is the only downside and even then it isn't a downside because I don't own one of those auto-mo-whats-its, and I-5 is primarily for the gays. Word on the street.
I think the main reason why I love it here so much is because it's like a small town in a large city, and it reminds me of my hometown before it started turning into a strip mall. Fuck
"big love" This one actually had some legs! The jokes are good, and topical but I started getting a little self-righteous there at the end.
1: As much as I like to think that thousands of people are reading this blog, the truth is that it's somewhere closer to 527 people, and out of those people, about 132 actually can't leave the house unless they read a fresh blarg written by me on Monday or Wednesday. So, to you I apologize.
2: If I am not writing inter-blogs, than I am scouring these nets for my own obscure fetish. What is it? Sock Puppet BDSM. Now the internet knows and much like this girl, I am no longer safe.
Anyway, good weather has seemed to grace this fair city, and like rats escaping a sinking ship, the tourists are coming out from their hiding places in retarded droves. There are only a few things I hate about living here, but the number one thing I can't stand are the fucking tourists. Holy shit do I hate them. I hate for the fact that they think they need to act like "Seattle-ites" when they come here. They mostly try and accomplish this feat by going in to any Starbucks they happen upon and order the same ridiculous drink they get themselves when they are at home in Bum-fuck-nowheres-ville, all the while wearing a t-shirt adorned with Kurt Cobain's face that they bought at Sea-Tac airport when they got off the plane, while I stand in line behind them considering whether the jail time is worth me smashing a vacant coffee mug over the back of their ignorant skulls.
Case in point. I was a block away from work, and as I walked by what I can only assume was a large Mormon family, I heard three of the younger female members exclaim; "Oh look! An art store! Let's go in." While I could pick that quote apart alone like a pretentious fuck for several paragraphs, I won't because what they did next was absolutely hilarious. They went in to the store. Which is really where it gets funny because the place they went into was clearly a frame shop, and very obviously marked that way. With the multitude of galleries located in the Pioneer Square area they chose a framing shop to go in to. I wish now that I had just waited in front of the shop and looked through the window just to see the looks on their faces as they realized their mistake, if they realized it at all.
My point is, when I am touristing it up in a new place, I don't try and act like I am down with the cities "theme". I do everything within my power to avoid the places where other tourists go. Not bec
"sweet jane" This one was supposed to be about the clerk at the QFC that I have a huge crush on but I wasted to much time writing about the scene with my mother and grew board with the whole thing. Such is life.
When your own Mother has lost faith in you, you pretty much know you are fucked.
I flew home last weekend mainly to visit my family. While sitting at dinner with my Mom and sister, my Mom mentioned that she might want to sell her house. She had said this before, citing the fact that it's way to huge for one person to be living in all by themselves, which is true. But oh internets, if you could only see this place! It was built over 120 years ago, and my Mom took it upon herself to restore, and even add on to it. It is truly a beautiful house, and one of the first places I actually ever called 'home'. I digress however, when she said that she was looking to sell, I sarcastically (big surprise!) asked "Where will your grandchildren come and play?" Scoffing she replied "Do you have a girlfriend?" "No." "I wonder how much I can get for this place now?" Burn! She is right to ponder though. My siblings have terrible taste when it comes to picking boy/girlfriends. My brother is especially gifted in when it comes to
I've been spotty, at best, when it comes to posting on time or frequently. Not that any of your internets give a shit, hopefully Peter Means Rock will come to my aid with a spanking new website and I will be able to give up this blargging crap for good.
"atm ninja?" I am not sure where I was trying to go with this one, but I am guessing something really cool happened at the bus stop.
I left work at 5:55pm the bus would arrive at the stop outside of Starbucks at 6:07pm, but I would not go straight there. I first had to drop by the ATM so I could pull out some cash to give to my roommate for this months cable bill. As I made strode towards the cash machine, I noticed another man who was clearly making for the same machine I was. There were a lot people downtown because today was the second day of the Mariners season. So I increased my pace and attack angle, and easily caught the guy off guard, deftly removing my wallet from my pocket, flipping it open and inserting my card. I couldn't help but notice in the reflection of the camera's protective screen, how indignant the guy was over the fact that I had so easily overtaken him. Clearly, he was pissed, but little did he know, he was dealing with an ATM ninja. I was in and out of that bitch in less than a 45 seconds. Cash and card in hand. Strolling confidently past the man I had just usurped, I couldn't help but feel pretty bad ass. The faux-hawk and aviators were a plus at that point.
I arrived at my stop with about 3 minutes to spare before the 66 came. 1
"jeff & those gays" I actually have a finished version of this blog waiting to be published, I just thought that the second paragraph was kind of funny.
I liked Jeff Tweedy more when he was getting run over by the wagon, instead of riding it. That is all I am really going to say about the new Wilco album. The first half is pretty good albeit a little jammy and at times it can be pretty schmaltzy even in Tweedy standards. It really just goes to show where drugs can be good for you m'kay.
I've been living in Ballard for approximately 3 weeks and I think it's the best decision I've made in years, actually the hair removal from my back via laser, now that was the best decision I ever made. I've been doing a lot of thinking and exploring within Ballard and have decided it is probably the best neighborhood in Seattle, even if it is a little out of the way, we're a helicopter ride away from the nearest I-5 entrance/exit. That, as far as I can tell is the only downside and even then it isn't a downside because I don't own one of those auto-mo-whats-its, and I-5 is primarily for the gays. Word on the street.
I think the main reason why I love it here so much is because it's like a small town in a large city, and it reminds me of my hometown before it started turning into a strip mall. Fuck
"big love" This one actually had some legs! The jokes are good, and topical but I started getting a little self-righteous there at the end.
1: As much as I like to think that thousands of people are reading this blog, the truth is that it's somewhere closer to 527 people, and out of those people, about 132 actually can't leave the house unless they read a fresh blarg written by me on Monday or Wednesday. So, to you I apologize.
2: If I am not writing inter-blogs, than I am scouring these nets for my own obscure fetish. What is it? Sock Puppet BDSM. Now the internet knows and much like this girl, I am no longer safe.
Anyway, good weather has seemed to grace this fair city, and like rats escaping a sinking ship, the tourists are coming out from their hiding places in retarded droves. There are only a few things I hate about living here, but the number one thing I can't stand are the fucking tourists. Holy shit do I hate them. I hate for the fact that they think they need to act like "Seattle-ites" when they come here. They mostly try and accomplish this feat by going in to any Starbucks they happen upon and order the same ridiculous drink they get themselves when they are at home in Bum-fuck-nowheres-ville, all the while wearing a t-shirt adorned with Kurt Cobain's face that they bought at Sea-Tac airport when they got off the plane, while I stand in line behind them considering whether the jail time is worth me smashing a vacant coffee mug over the back of their ignorant skulls.
Case in point. I was a block away from work, and as I walked by what I can only assume was a large Mormon family, I heard three of the younger female members exclaim; "Oh look! An art store! Let's go in." While I could pick that quote apart alone like a pretentious fuck for several paragraphs, I won't because what they did next was absolutely hilarious. They went in to the store. Which is really where it gets funny because the place they went into was clearly a frame shop, and very obviously marked that way. With the multitude of galleries located in the Pioneer Square area they chose a framing shop to go in to. I wish now that I had just waited in front of the shop and looked through the window just to see the looks on their faces as they realized their mistake, if they realized it at all.
My point is, when I am touristing it up in a new place, I don't try and act like I am down with the cities "theme". I do everything within my power to avoid the places where other tourists go. Not bec
"sweet jane" This one was supposed to be about the clerk at the QFC that I have a huge crush on but I wasted to much time writing about the scene with my mother and grew board with the whole thing. Such is life.
When your own Mother has lost faith in you, you pretty much know you are fucked.
I flew home last weekend mainly to visit my family. While sitting at dinner with my Mom and sister, my Mom mentioned that she might want to sell her house. She had said this before, citing the fact that it's way to huge for one person to be living in all by themselves, which is true. But oh internets, if you could only see this place! It was built over 120 years ago, and my Mom took it upon herself to restore, and even add on to it. It is truly a beautiful house, and one of the first places I actually ever called 'home'. I digress however, when she said that she was looking to sell, I sarcastically (big surprise!) asked "Where will your grandchildren come and play?" Scoffing she replied "Do you have a girlfriend?" "No." "I wonder how much I can get for this place now?" Burn! She is right to ponder though. My siblings have terrible taste when it comes to picking boy/girlfriends. My brother is especially gifted in when it comes to
I've been spotty, at best, when it comes to posting on time or frequently. Not that any of your internets give a shit, hopefully Peter Means Rock will come to my aid with a spanking new website and I will be able to give up this blargging crap for good.
Monday, July 9, 2007
bus rides are for closers
In lieu of my latest opus over my brief stint in Ohio, where I attended this years National Synchronized Swimming Competition, I have decided to post this blarg about being a real life "hero". Mainly because that post needs to be perfect, and this one doesn't.
I have had a grand total of 3 opportunities to look/be a real life hero in life, of which I am now 0 for 3. Let me give an example from the time that I would decide to stop pussing out and act the next time a situation presented itself.
My brother and I were in Barcelona visiting my sister who was working in Spain at the time. One night the three of us went out for dinner and drinks. After dinner, Scringa thought that we should go for a tour through her old neighborhood, which was rather seedy. Full of Spanish teenagers, Moroccan teenagers, and Moroccans. In other words, the barrio. It's not the kind of place you walk around at night if you are a local, let alone a tourist. As my brother and I were having our picture taken in front a wall with some graffiti on it that said; "TOURISTS YOU ARE THE TERRORISTS" smiling like a couple of dumb Americans, a young kid comes sprinting by us, followed shortly by a young woman who my sister would later tell us was screaming "Give my back my purse you dirty bitch!" As they ran by us some Spanish dude abandoned his girlfriend to give chase. It was at that moment I realized what I was witnessing. My first ever "purse snatching", and I wasn't going to do shit about it. We watched as the young man, the girl who's purse had been purloined, and the Spaniard disappeared towards yet another building designed by Guadi.
I pretended like I didn't know what was going on as I often do when there is something fucked up going on. The next morning I went to the little cafe I had been going to every morning since arriving and ordered my usual cafe con leche. Taking a seat outside I lit a cigarette and began to replay the brief scenario over in my head, only this time my brother and I joined the Spaniard, let's call him Raul, in chase. I fantasized about how we would corner that little bastard, he'd probably try and fight us, but my brother is kind of a big dude so he wouldn't stand a chance. So as my brother and Raul, were getting there hits in I would grab up the purse and return it to the grateful, young, sexy Spanish girl....and this is where the fantasy goes to places that are best dedicated to the classier of trashy romance novels, or Cinemax "pornos". In other words; we get are faulk on. That's what happens with heros.
In reality I am pretty sure Raul was led down a dark alley while chasing the purse thief, and was met by the dudes gang who all happened to have knives, and some cutting ensued.
What brought about this brief trip down memory lane? Well, yesterday a chance to be a hero arose, and it was damn near bulletproof. I got lucky and ended up on the 15 Express from downtown to Ballard, a bus I rarely catch but am glad when I can get on it because it cuts the trip home down by about 15 minutes. We are about halfway to Ballard when a you "g-ish" looking white dood with a sidewayz baseball cap comes charging to the front of the bus. The thing with express buses is that they have limited stops, hence the express part, and there is always some poor asshole who doesn't realize this and ends up having to ride the bus until they can get off and catch a normal one back to their destination. That's what most people do, that's what I've done, but this douche wasn't going to act like a civilized human, he was going to act the way he was dressed; like a privileged suburban white kid with a hard-on for 50 cent. He began first by verbally berating the driver, then (and this is what raised my ire) tried to force open the front doors of the bus, which wouldn't budge an inch. He then went back to the bus driver and got back in his face. My pulse quickened and I began looking at the other passengers, who were visibly nervous over the whole sitch. Between sizing up the dude and slowly repositioning myself on the seat so I could leap at the guy I was also looking to the other male passengers for some sort of confirmation like "If you do it dude, I'll join you." No such luck, but I figured if I at least could wrap my arms around the dickhead, some of the others would quickly join me. I calculated that this would all take only a few seconds.
There I was, about to jump out of my seat, my blood hot with rage and adrenaline, when the driver, to my surprise, actually stopped and let the asshole out! My guess is that he could see me seething in his rearview and just didn't need to be on the 7'o'clock news that night. Who could blame him though huh? Who wants to retell that embarrassing story on the news?
"So I was calmly dealing with an irate passenger like I do everyday like ten times a day, when all of the this skinny guy comes flying out his seat to try and...well I don't know what he was trying to do, but I'll tell you what, I've never seen a man go down from one punch like 'slim' there did."
Cut to b-roll of me being carried off of the bus on a gurney to the ambulance, with an oxygen mask over my face. To be honest I bet when the time comes to be a hero and I actually pull it off it will never be able to hold a candle to my actual fantasy. Really the only reason I would even consider doing something that could possibly get me hurt/killed is not for the glory but for the girl.
She happened to be sitting two seats in front me and when the guy finally got off she looked at me and smiled. We'd be faulking later.
I have had a grand total of 3 opportunities to look/be a real life hero in life, of which I am now 0 for 3. Let me give an example from the time that I would decide to stop pussing out and act the next time a situation presented itself.
My brother and I were in Barcelona visiting my sister who was working in Spain at the time. One night the three of us went out for dinner and drinks. After dinner, Scringa thought that we should go for a tour through her old neighborhood, which was rather seedy. Full of Spanish teenagers, Moroccan teenagers, and Moroccans. In other words, the barrio. It's not the kind of place you walk around at night if you are a local, let alone a tourist. As my brother and I were having our picture taken in front a wall with some graffiti on it that said; "TOURISTS YOU ARE THE TERRORISTS" smiling like a couple of dumb Americans, a young kid comes sprinting by us, followed shortly by a young woman who my sister would later tell us was screaming "Give my back my purse you dirty bitch!" As they ran by us some Spanish dude abandoned his girlfriend to give chase. It was at that moment I realized what I was witnessing. My first ever "purse snatching", and I wasn't going to do shit about it. We watched as the young man, the girl who's purse had been purloined, and the Spaniard disappeared towards yet another building designed by Guadi.
I pretended like I didn't know what was going on as I often do when there is something fucked up going on. The next morning I went to the little cafe I had been going to every morning since arriving and ordered my usual cafe con leche. Taking a seat outside I lit a cigarette and began to replay the brief scenario over in my head, only this time my brother and I joined the Spaniard, let's call him Raul, in chase. I fantasized about how we would corner that little bastard, he'd probably try and fight us, but my brother is kind of a big dude so he wouldn't stand a chance. So as my brother and Raul, were getting there hits in I would grab up the purse and return it to the grateful, young, sexy Spanish girl....and this is where the fantasy goes to places that are best dedicated to the classier of trashy romance novels, or Cinemax "pornos". In other words; we get are faulk on. That's what happens with heros.
In reality I am pretty sure Raul was led down a dark alley while chasing the purse thief, and was met by the dudes gang who all happened to have knives, and some cutting ensued.
What brought about this brief trip down memory lane? Well, yesterday a chance to be a hero arose, and it was damn near bulletproof. I got lucky and ended up on the 15 Express from downtown to Ballard, a bus I rarely catch but am glad when I can get on it because it cuts the trip home down by about 15 minutes. We are about halfway to Ballard when a you "g-ish" looking white dood with a sidewayz baseball cap comes charging to the front of the bus. The thing with express buses is that they have limited stops, hence the express part, and there is always some poor asshole who doesn't realize this and ends up having to ride the bus until they can get off and catch a normal one back to their destination. That's what most people do, that's what I've done, but this douche wasn't going to act like a civilized human, he was going to act the way he was dressed; like a privileged suburban white kid with a hard-on for 50 cent. He began first by verbally berating the driver, then (and this is what raised my ire) tried to force open the front doors of the bus, which wouldn't budge an inch. He then went back to the bus driver and got back in his face. My pulse quickened and I began looking at the other passengers, who were visibly nervous over the whole sitch. Between sizing up the dude and slowly repositioning myself on the seat so I could leap at the guy I was also looking to the other male passengers for some sort of confirmation like "If you do it dude, I'll join you." No such luck, but I figured if I at least could wrap my arms around the dickhead, some of the others would quickly join me. I calculated that this would all take only a few seconds.
There I was, about to jump out of my seat, my blood hot with rage and adrenaline, when the driver, to my surprise, actually stopped and let the asshole out! My guess is that he could see me seething in his rearview and just didn't need to be on the 7'o'clock news that night. Who could blame him though huh? Who wants to retell that embarrassing story on the news?
"So I was calmly dealing with an irate passenger like I do everyday like ten times a day, when all of the this skinny guy comes flying out his seat to try and...well I don't know what he was trying to do, but I'll tell you what, I've never seen a man go down from one punch like 'slim' there did."
Cut to b-roll of me being carried off of the bus on a gurney to the ambulance, with an oxygen mask over my face. To be honest I bet when the time comes to be a hero and I actually pull it off it will never be able to hold a candle to my actual fantasy. Really the only reason I would even consider doing something that could possibly get me hurt/killed is not for the glory but for the girl.
She happened to be sitting two seats in front me and when the guy finally got off she looked at me and smiled. We'd be faulking later.
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