Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Filetes y "open bars"

I just talked to my Chilean host mom for 45 minutes in Spanish, and I don't even speak Spanish.

On and unrelated note, I recommend open bars at incredibly classy financial district clubs whenever possible.

Friday, July 27, 2007

What Have You Done So Far Today?

Current time: 7:32. The day started off mundanely enough. As usual, I awoke to the smooth stylings of San Francisco's own KFOG (home of World Class Rock, and by World Class Rock I really mean incredibly tight songs like "San Francisco Days" by San Francisco's own Chris Isaak, and pretty much anything by Joe Satriani). After much deliberation, I made an executive decision and got in the shower. At that point, I should have known I was in for a wild day. I generally make a point to not shower in the morning, but I guess I was feeling a little saucy or something. Luckily, that attitude changed about 15 minutes later when my bike got in a fight with a 2006 Chevy 1500 while I was riding it to the Cal Train station. True, my bike got pretty fucked up, and the back wheel has taken on many of the characteristics of, as Pam might say, "Ginny," or as Devin might say, "Beef Curtain," but you should see the truck. The ol' Veloz managed four (4) surface scratches on the front bumper of the metallic giant before getting pitched into the gutter. Bummer. The Chevy turned out to be a good sport, and offered my bike a ride home and I tagged along as well. I called my boss and let him know that I wouldn't be coming in today, I had to take care of my sick bike.

Weekend + 1. Go.

Thursday, July 26, 2007

Heroes: The Final Episode of Season 1 +Wildwood

So I just watched the final episode of Heroes last night. It was about 2.5 months after it came out on that thing called the television, but events run slowly in terms of media on Canal Street (unless it is a pre-release movie, which appears on the street 24 hours before it comes in theaters). Well, let me tell you... it was everything I hoped for and more. I don't usually get excited about television (usually only about 3/5th's), but this had my knee bobbing and screaming whoahs like a thai hooker getting slapped with a live cuttlefish. Darren, you've missed
out on this, but I bet you can catch up on alluc.tv. All I'm gonna say is that Hiro looks like a badass.

This weekend is Wildwood. Here is a description from my friend Bert:

"Anyway... for those who don't know, Wildwood is a coastal city at the bottom of New Jersey... so you know it's trashy. The boardwalk is littered with jailbait, dollar pizza and more Italian-Americans than you can shake a cannoli at. But, in this case, I am referring to the largest beach Ultimate tournament in the country."

Let's just say I'm excited and will probably be talking about this for the next 3 months. You can read more up at that link about past shenangians, but this year holds a promise for me. The promise of life (barely-legal), liberty (escape from the boardwalk p0-p0), and the pursuit of happiness (deep-fried oreos).

t-minus: 21

Tuesday, July 24, 2007

...In the Gutter...

Like Joshter Monster, the word climax also caught my attention (I found it stimulating, if you will) triggering my desire to share a little anecdote. During my late night trip to 24 Hour Fitness, I heard the following on Love Line:
Dr. Drew: Even with lube, women can only go about 15-20 minutes before sex becomes somewhat painful or difficult

Guests & Stryker: *Discussions about the validity of porn and other questions about "Ginny"*

Dr. Drew: I'm telling you, on average, 15-20 minutes. Look, it's not galvanized steel.

....And there you have it, folks. For anyone who thought otherwise, it is NOT, in fact, galvanized steel.

Saturday, July 21, 2007

A Magical Climax

Seven, maybe eight, years I have been waiting for this and it's finally here. last night C-dub and I made the trek down to Valencia and 20th to join in the festivities. Prior to arrival I assumed there would mostly be 8-12 year olds there with handful of adults interspersed. Boy was I wrong. Of just over a hundred people there may have been at most 3 persons under the age of 20. After a few free snacks and 10 minutes of waiting in line, 12:01 rolled around and I finally got to hold 759 pages of complete wizard pleasure in my hands. So don't bother trying to contact me today. I am booked solid.

Better than Christmas.

Friday, July 20, 2007

Rumble in the Corral.

Apparently, a 4.2 earthquake is strong enough to wake up Jessica and me.

http://earthquake.usgs.gov/eqcenter/recenteqsww/Quakes/nc40199209.php#details

Yeehaw.

Thursday, July 19, 2007

My room (what else)

My room smells sooooo much like beer. My room smells more like beer than my shirt did on Friday night. That is saying a lot.

Tits.

There's a party in the Mission with our name on it...literally!

http://www.sfstation.com/magnificent-7-e76231


In other news...

So I'm in the middle of my morning ritual, furiously yet indiscriminately perusing the internet, when a small squib on The Onion about Sarasota, FL- which I more or less claim as my hometown- caught my attention:

SARASOTA, FL—Sheila Newborn was left completely bewildered when the two black people she knows and set up on a date did not hit it off.

Enough said...

Wednesday, July 18, 2007

I admit defeat

I realize that a large portion of this entire blog has been devoted to me, my crap room, my small bed, and my complete lack of poon. I have tried to stay my ground as long as possible on these matters, but reality hit me like a ton of....well, fuck metaphors, reality hit me like my sleeping ass rolling onto the floor last night.

I have woken up under many conditions before: headaches, nausea, spinning, random asian people's couches, but not since I was six years old have a I woken up in a desperate panic, clinging to my bed for dear life as though I was Sylvester Stallone in Cliffhanger. Although, thankfully, my struggle did not include an incorrigible John Lithgow with a laser-sight on forehead.

So to make a long story short (of course, at this point that is moot because you already read the long story, so adding the Cliff notes down here just makes it longer) my bed sucks, and not only is it too small for myself and a yet-to-be-determined chick, but it is too small for me. And I'm not very big.


Oh, and fucking sick wok! Way to go, somebody. Oh yeah, and "incorrigible" is a really hard word to spell.

Full Circle

It's funny how the more things change, the more they stay the same. {platitude #1}

Seven hour have passed since my final open house at 324 C-anal St. Seven hours have also passed since I've had my last drink. Coincidence? I think not, but it matters very little for I am here to document my pen-ultimate open house. I cannot tell how it began because of three reasons:
1) *
2) *
3) I was late.

*written in invisible ink. Please use a 1:1 ratio of lemon juice and water to reveal. Just like Harry Potter!

Regarding #1 and 2 above, the internal nature of such beings is infernal and when the two get together, well, let's just say the laws of man (and woman) cannot describe their constitution.
Yet for all intensive purposes and thanks to the magik that is craigs' list, the turn-out was large (but not in charge).

Much wine (coolers) and beer (luke-warm) was consumed. One frozen burrito was left to stagnate. Half a ham was demolished. Many people were met, their names quickly forgotten, and their life-stories went straight to obscurity. Some phone numbers were retrieved from the trash after viewing their photos on the TelePrompTer (these ladies may or may not be called for a hang out session). 2 southern party crashers were kicked out after an impromptu photo-shoot. A spaniard decried that she would like to sleep with "all the beautiful womenz in thees open house." Her right to suffrage was ended quickly and painlessly.

Basic conclusions that became apparent as the night wore on:
a) The British do not want to regain their hold in America, and will not be residing in this united nations.
b) Architecture is in?
c) This year's model of MS will be replaced by last year's 20 year old german model in a little over a fort-night.
d) democracy is only fun while sober. after tossing back a few, tyrants appear.

As for endings, they are never pretty. {platitude #2}

7 individuals voted. In the instance of the first vote, 5 were happy. In the instance of the second vote, 7 were happy. In the instance of the last vote...... only 3 were happy, yet this minority won.

Some may say that this is a tyranny.

Others call it a royal monarchy that is afraid of change.

I call it a comeback.

t-minus:30

Monday, July 16, 2007

Acclimation Emancipation

I may finally be making the transition from New Yorker to San Franciscan. Among the many differences between metropolitan coastal juggernauts NY and SF (which, if you listen closely, you'll hear me mention no less than three times per minute), a few really seem to stick out. First of all, I seem to live with 7 people here instead of the more customary 10 in New York. Second, my room has a "window." I've read several articles about things like "sunlight," and "UV rays," and "windows," and the relationship therein, and have recently invested in sunscreen (also see "trees," "birds," "nature"). Third, and most striking, is the most phenomenally fantastic supermarket phenomenon extravaganza. Such establishments provide consumers with low, low cut-rate prices on more grocery products than a bodega-bred Brooklynite could shake a stick (or skinny-legged hipster jean) at. Why, just today I found myself caught in the thralls of Safeway's bank-busting club-card prices. Wow. Obviously overwhelmed, I stumbled through the aisles in a haze, barely comprehending what was passing before my eyes. Originally intending to purchase one small jar of pickles, I found myself unloading no less than !9! items onto the little conveyor belt thingy, pickles no where to be found. As I reached for the last item in my basket, I felt my fingers grasp the handle of a cool, plastic bottle filled with a rich, brown liquid. Whiskey!?!? Panic. Where? How? Why? It came rushing back in a flash. The stand had been tucked into a back corner near the cold cuts, and the sign had included the words "only," and "50%," and "Friday." I'd grabbed 1.5 liters of Tennessee's finest for a mere $14, and now found myself facing the cold, hard reality of my selection. Someone would have to consume the spirit, and I had a feeling that someone would, in large part, be someone similar to, if not in fact actually, me. A quick review of the ingredients confirmed it: 28% whiskey, 72% miscellaneous grain alcohol. The horror. I surreptitiously slid the bottle in between the Snickers and the Dentyne Ice, right at the eye level of an unsuspecting 8-year old. I paid and left, avoiding eye contact with the overly-friendly security guard. As I embarked on the return journey, my mind raced. Had I made the right decision with the whiskey? Didn't I need to go back and get some of those Cliff Bars for $1 each (now through July 31st)? Do I even eat cliff bars? Did I remember the pickles?!?!? As I consoled myself with a big-ass bag of Salsa Verde Doritos chips, a voice cut through the din in my head. "Hi!" it said. Again. And again. It sounded friendly. Why? Couldn't they see I was distraught? Couldn't they mind their own fucking business and let me go on my way unmolested, left to ponder fare wages, cheap produce, the cost/benefit of buying local, community supported agricultural products and the implications for Safeway's club card promotions? I gave a cursory glance. Jess. Pam. Safety. Freedom. Giggles. Wrapping myself in the warm blanket of the (seemingly) unprovoked onslaught of laugher, my head cleared. Thinking straight for the first time since I'd entered the store 8 minutes earlier, I remembered my original purpose: pickles. I passed off the bag to Pamica, put my game face on, and headed back. Minutes later, I reemerged with one (1) jar of Clausen's Pickles, and zero (0) of everything else. Acclimation complete.

Suck that, west coast supermarket.

Blogging: My new addiction

I plan to use this quote in my future writing endeavor- a memoir of my life with Gengs Cass:

"Dude, from that spot you might be able to see my bawls… And they're not pretty. I don't care what anyone says about balls; I've seen mine, and it's not a pleasant sight."


Despite my penchant for Josh-bashing, all jokes aside, I've dedicated 2 hours of my morning searching for jobs and furniture for Joshie-poo. I hope everyone is doing their part as well. However, my research has been slightly hindered; I've found that all of the spoon & a-hole jokes and references to boxes have crowded out some of the more relevant practical facts, like sociology major, work experience, etc. Besides beer brewing, what else might interest you?


Also, FYI, if you hit "settings" when looking at your blogger dashboard, you can see other people's drafts. Quite frankly DK (or should I use lower case letters?), I don't know why you don't just post your draft; the blowing off of footware really got me chuckling. I also wanted to remind you to inform Matt that should he desire to properly fuse with the rest of the torso (no biological puns intended), it is obligatory that he have an uber cheap blue floral mattress with- let's us not neglect the most vital part- a dip in the center large enough to create a centripetal force that incommodiously and awkwardly draws two sleeping bodies together with waking force.

Emma? Is that you, Michelle? And is Mike on here?

Saturday, July 14, 2007

Yikes

What the fuck happened last night?

Friday, July 13, 2007

Group Posting

Coming to you live from the Valley St. kitchen, I'm posting on behalf of Greg and myself. We spent a lovely afternoon reflecting on how mind-blowingly awesome our house is while simultaneously trying to quantify how much we rock as a group. Let's emphasize awesome and rock as a group. Then let us quantify what it means to be awesome and rock. Can one truly quantive such amazing attributes? This is the question that has dogged mankind throughout time.I just think people really are not capaable of grasping what it means to live with 7 people. Most peopla think its terrible. Let me tell you that when 7 awesome people live together its amazing. So to recap, us: 1, everyone else: 0.

Current mood: drunk
Curreny music: Madonna

The future is n- ah crap.

As some of you may know I am usually a pretty happy guy. I think I got upset once about 8 months ago. I'm kinda of like the male Jessica with a lot less high pitch shrieks. So to get me riled you really have to grind me out.

Or you have to be the Giants. Now I have been known to frequent a certain other blog during work and today happened to be the day when this was announced. Now we have put up with Brian for the past few years when nothing, I repeat nothing, has been done to advance the effectiveness of my team. I finally thought that we could go in another direction, and starting with a new GM seemed to be the right move. Unfortunately the powers that be decided we shall remain in our current declining phase.

I could rant for a while but that would only acerbate the situation. Let me just say please Brian, do something different. Something. Anything. Sign Jessica's brother to a 7 year deal. I don't care. Anything. Just don't put 35 year-old fading-slow-crappy hitters on the field. Don't force me to already give up on 2008 half way through 2007. Please. For my sake and the people around me.

But if you touch Tim or Matt I'll kill you.

Friday the 13th

Shout out to my peeps- or peep-in the torso for hanging out even though it was cutting into sleep time. I retract my previous comment of "LAME."

Now on to my favorite topic: Joshie-poo!
Okay, I guess I had this one coming to me; should you bring a lady friend home, you can use my room, but don't forget to remove the giant bottle of Benefiber. I'm not sure what kind of first impression that will leave...Fudge packer? Geriatric? Either way, it won't increase your chances of getting any so-called "poon."

For the record, I just wanted to add that beer is NOT a woman deterrent. In fact, I'm sure I am not alone in saying that brewing your own beer shows creativity, resourcefulness, and a certain fun-loving appeal...if you live in a somewhat classy bachelor pad. However, when surrounded by the previously noted decor (I don't think I need to remind anyone here), then the vat of beer gives off a different impression. Instead of proclaiming, "I'm playful; come play," it says something along the lines of: "I scratch my crotch...a lot."

Even though I sometimes refer to you as a part of the female anatomy or shout obscenities at you, I do support you in your quest to court hot Russians or other females. Wait, are you familiar with the term "females"? Perhaps I should say, "sexy bitches."

Anyway, we'll get to work on your room this weekend. I <3 my Josh-ter Monsh-ter!!!

Pamcakes to the rescue

Ok Pam, aside from the fact that I can't understand half the words you use in your post, I have one problem that must be addressed: You claim that the 5 gallons of fermenting beer in my closet are a deterrent. (Side note: this blog will tell me when I spell a word wrong, but I can't figure out how to make it tell me how to spell a word right, so I tried to spell "deterrent" at least 5 different ways until I got it right. Who would have thought it would have three E's?)
Alright, so back to the beer. Beer is, has been, and always will be my cologne (side note: I got "cologne" right on the first try, bitch). Most of my clothes smell like stale beer anyway; I may as well make them smell like fresh beer, right?

Aside from that, since you are spear-heading this whole "Josh's Room Reform" campaign, I thought of a pretty good way for you to contribute. As I type this, I am taking down all the pictures in your room, and replacing them with pictures of me. This is just temporary, but if the situation arises that I do, miraculously, against all odds, get a chick back at this house, I am just going to tell her that your room is my room.

That is already far fetched, but I know you may be concerned that if this ruse continued, it may lead to me sexing it up in your bed. Well, first off, the odds of that are equal to Alex Smith NOT rolling right and throwing out of bounds all next season. But in the off chance it did happen, I can assure you it wouldn't last more than a minute and a half.

Thanks for taking one for the team, Pamcakes.

Wednesday, July 11, 2007

Helping Those in Need

St. Francis of Assisi once said, "For it is in giving that we receive." Please keep this in mind as I ask you to join me in my crusade to help our beloved Joshter Monster...

You see, Genghis Cassidy has another problem besides the lone pube residing slightly north of his upper lip: He sleeps in a woman-repelling dorm room.

While the rest of the corral exudes classy Asiatic cowboy mixed with San Franciscan Victorian charm, Gengs, if you will, has turned his space into a twin bed nightmare replete with open dresser drawers spewing clothes (presumably clean, though still questionable), shade-less anthropomorphic lamps, a fleet of laundry hampers and a few bare paltry hangers that cry out, "Clothe us!" Let us not neglect the Prego spaghetti sauce jar turned bank or the homeless array of knickknacks. The aroma from the hops brewing in his elevated closet only add to the eternal freshman feel.

And when I use the term freshman, I am not referring to the sweaty 'roid-raging jocks secure in their knowledge of the adoring masses of jersey chasers clad in tiny denim skirts or the frat boys with their roofie cocktails who ooze slimy charm. Oh no, my friends! I am referring to those lonesome souls who find themselves sitting on the top bunk of 6B in some Harris Hall comforted by a comic book -the only place where they can find some action on a Friday night.

How is that I came to know the details of Gengs' den, you might ask? Well, after gracefully taking down an entire bottle of wine with ladylike finesse, I found Gengs to be the only one still awake at a mere 10:34pm. My remaining magnificent mates were already fast asleep, including the other half of the torso. LAME!!! Should Gengs find himself with a date, at least I will feel confident knowing he will be able to stay awake through an entire evening.

Returning to Gengs' primary predicament though, I am asking that you all donate a meager 10 minutes of your precious time for the sake of our dear friend. Look deep into your hearts and help someone less fortunate by searching craigslist for full or queen-sized beds, lampshades, bookcases, or other items that you think might transform the dorm into a room that, say, a hot Russian who enjoys an establishment such as Soupfreaks might want to frequent.

I am relying on your generosity and compassion. Do it for Gengs' sake!

Tuesday, July 10, 2007

Your hair is everywhere

So I have shaved like 3 times now (not total, but in reference to this post) and I have one hair that has eluded me. I can't tell if I keep missing it, or if it is made of steel or something, but there is a single 1 inch pubic hair residing on my upper lip. I am kind of worried it is going to keep flying under the radar until it is like 3 inches long and is getting in my food and crap. Anyway, if you see me, don't make fun of me, because I am sensitive. Not kidding. I am like a vagina that cries.

The First Tight Post From The Corral

The inaugural batch of brew is bubbling like Old Faithful. Darren and I investigated the fermenter this afternoon at approximately 1800 to confirm. The waft of hops smells amazing. Naturally so, Josh's closet currently houses our fine product. I'm pretty sure he's blacked out from the fumes. Or maybe just the excitement and anticipation of finally living the dream. You never know. This first recipe is a brown ale intriguingly called "Ripples of Venus". On a scale of 1 to the number of guys Zito will walk his next start, I would put the number of jokes we can make about that name at just under 17,000. So a handful less than the Zito issue. Expect the brew to be ready in roughly 3 weeks. Mmmm. Let's hope we can drill a hole (heh) in the refrigerator by then.

Welcome to The Corral. Be sure to wipe your feet.