Grandpa

I included this in my grandfather's remembrance booklet:

The best way to celebrate one's life is by sharing memories. The following are memories I have of Grandpa, and things I learned from him along the way.

1) In America, we drive Fords.
2) Grey New Balance 991 Running Shoes are the best.
3) You've reached a new level of "male greatness" when your living room is in the garage.
4) It's ok to shape your hamburgers like chocolate donut holes.
5) When organizing the Fourth of July golf shot competition, the "intrinsic value" of the prizes are inverseley proportional to the place they are awarded. (However, it is difficult to argue the intangible value of duct tape).
6) There is nothing unfunny about winning a prize that you gave Grandpa the previous Christmas.
7) When you get a bargain, shout it from the rooftops.
8) I think everyone secretly wants a blue tractor.
9) Moving things from Point A to Point B to Point A is perfectly acceptable when you own a blue tractor.
10) When life hands you lemons, make 6 children.. (Grandpa's army leader told his entire platoon that they would never have children because of exposure to a detonated atomic bomb).
11) Put in a hard days work.
12) Inflation is real. Until about 1998, Grandpa would generously give out his "Merry X-mas" envelope, and say "don't spend it all in one place!" However, in time, this transitioned to "Well, maybe you can buy a tank of gas.."
13) The annual summer "fill up on Grandpa" at Joneseys gas station is something I will do for my grandchildren.
14) The merits of Scotch.
15) The demerits of the Yankees.
16) Why hire a latino pool boy when you can do it yourself.
17) Find the coolest girl you know and marry her.
18) Family comes first.

I miss you, Grandpa.

What's worse that getting a tetanus booster shot when you're 12 years old???

Getting one when you're 26 and being crippled by it.

I hadn't been to a doctor in approximately too many years, and I figured since I now have insurance, I might as well be tested for acute molluscom contagiousum and bird flu.

The first question he asked was "when was the last time you had a tenanus shot?" Putting on my most apt clueless countenance, I responded with "4th grade?? ish". That got the ball rolling to the point that he jabbed the needle in my arm and injected me with the tetanus fighting goodness. This did not hurt.

What I didn't expect was having no discernable use of my right arm for the following 36 hours (to date) and for what I presume, until Columbus Day.

Lifting my arm is an epic feat of grit and determination, and I am fairly confident I would lose to a fully matured 5 year old girl in an arm wrestling match. (not that I have arm wrestling matches with grade school girls.. often).

Ever had one of those days?

You get woken up by an earthquake, you're late for work, your boss is pissed at you and then you go to the bathroom and your underpants are on backwards..

Well, that was yesterday for me. Inexplicable, really.

At 4:45am on Friday, July 20, I experienced an earthquake for the first time. 4.2 Magnitude; rather benign in the scheme of things, but slightly unnerving nonetheless. I woke up to my bed- which is on a wheeled bedframe- rolling back and forth about 10 inches. For illustrative purposes, imagine you're on a stretcher with probably sand-papery sheets and an unmarked individual is pushing you back and forth at a medium pace whispering sweet trembling noises into your ear.

My alarm clock was not due to go off until 6:56am (I only wake up to palindromes), however at 4:46am I was wide awake wondering if I was going to be the first person ever to achieve heart failure from a tremor under 4.5.

Not for lack of effort, I couldn't get back to sleep for the life of me.. Until 6:40am, when I fell into that really deep sleep that happens after you've been lying awake for hours and finally give up on actually trying to sleep. Predictably, 6:56am rolled around, and I was comatose. After exerting all inner-strenth to raise my arm and reset the alarm to 7:27, I steadied myself for 31 more minutes of deep sleep and weird dreams.. Which clearly didn't come, as I started thinking about falling asleep.

So, at 7:05 I stumbled down the hall and got in the shower where an Edge Shave Gel (33% more) canister fall on my foot from a perch high enough to hurt badly.

Then I dressed myself with my recently purchased some Nautica boxer briefs, which unorthodoxly have the tag in the front. finished dressing, got to work late, didn't get a project reviewed in time to insert into the booklet that is going out to the visiting east coast porfolio manager.. for shame. And finally, had a moment to myself at the urinal, and when I was looking for the "door" of my undergarments, I instead found no "door".

Long story short, Earthquakes freak me out, I'm not a great sleeper and I'm accustomed to the tag in the back.

Ikea: Where the world goes for cheap crap.

Why does everything "Swedish" have to be so damn good??? Seriously; Volvos, Meatballs, Supermodels, Fish (the red ones are the best), tempurpedic sleep systems... And now I have to begrudgingly admit; Ikea. I had heard many things about Ikea, but I had never been to this monstrosity of a store before. So, from my pre-conceived notions I knew that Ikea had cornered the market on cheap, poor quality furniture for college students and poor young professionals. And after my first visit, I don't think I was off by much. There is no other way to describe Ikea's products as inexpensive, flimsy, not assembled, breakable, not all together unattractive, not real wood, yet useful and a good substitute until you can afford real furnishing or buy a house. I feel as though Ikea is the "My First Sony" of home decor. Just as those red electronic consumer products provided children a conduit to real/adult walkmans, tape recorders and portable singing machines, Ikea is the diaper training to furniture shopping (only without the urination). Speaking of, my trip to Ikea started with a mad sprint to the bathroom to take a piss. Upon saddling up to the Urinal, unzipping, dislodging and starting the flow, I was immediately startled (and dismayed) by the fact that the urinal surface was angled so that my pee splattered directly off the porcelain and back onto my pants. Guys- you know what I'm talking about. Girls- imagine you're 12 inches away from a brick wall and you pull the trigger of a super-soaker 3000x.. You're gonna get wet. Here is a timeline of my trip to Ikea that I only wanted to take 15 minutes: 7:04PM- Enter. 7:05PM- Inadvertently pee on self. 7:07PM- Get lost. 7:10PM- Realize they have a path with signs directing you around the show room. I follow the yellow brick road. 7:12PM- Check out rugs. Unbuyable. 7:20PM- Pick out Curtain Rods. (Have I mentioned how extreme of a life I lead?) 7:30PM- Start looking at bureaus and bedside tables. (The edge is what I live on) 8:15PM- Still looking, I stumble across a food court in the store. I order the swedish meatball dinner & Mac 'n Cheese. 8:45PM- Relish in the fact that I just ate 15 meatballs for $3. 8:50PM- Return to show room. Pick out the damn matching bureau and nightstand. 8:51PM- Realize I have to go to the warehouse on the other side of the world to pick up my items. I do this. 9:15PM- Check out. load it into my car and drive home. 9:45PM- Assembly is quickly halted since I only picked up 2 of the 3 boxes I was supposed to pick up. The next few weeks consist of: me losing the receipt in a move, them telling me I can't get the other box without the receipt, me asking them what do they expect me to do with half of an inexpensive, flimsy, not assembled, breakable, not all together unattractive, not real wood, yet useful bureau, them telling me I'm an idiot, me telling them to fuck off, them going back and recreating my receipt, me going to customer service, dealing with some choice invalids at returns, and after 1.5 hours of waiting get my piece of shit bureau. Again, I love swedish meatballs.

Premature Balding

I work in an office. I have to wear dress socks. They are really tight. They are starting to cause my leg hair underneath my socks to thin. Eventually, I assume, that if I stay on this course, I will be bald from my shin down.

Yet another reason to travel and wear flip-flops.

ps. I take solace in the fact that I have a full head of hair and don't have to wear a swimcap everyday.

Words to live by..

A few days ago I heard this on the radio for the first time in about 7 years. I am sure you've read or heard these lyrics before, but if you haven't, I recommend giving the link below a spin. I love these words of wisdom.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bwVVpwBKUp0&mode=related&search=

King Arthur's a pansy compared to these folks

I got off the BART (San Francisco's subway) the other night and I was walking to my car to drive home-

Before the parking lot came into view, I heard several violently sharp noises, as if someone was hitting a hard object with a 2X4..

And sure enough, when I rounded the corner, the parking lot was full of people dressed up as medieval knights having sword fights with wooden swords, which I can only presume were originally 2X4's.

I had to chuckled to myself. Here I was, tired, and somewhat beat down from a long day at work, and then I wander upon 40 adults dressed up to the nines (medievally, of course) re-enacting a knights tale underneath the freeway in Oakland. And no camera's were rolling. Apparently, this is a weekly event on Thursday nights after 8pm.

Needless to say, this put a smile on my face. Double needless to say, I went directly to my local blacksmith (Todd), and asked him to whip me up some good 14th century armory with snazzy buckles.

There's nothing like getting medieval on someone.

Non-stop service from Hartford, CT to Amsterdam.. WTF!

travel deals on: http://matadortravel.com/fresh

First of all, this is utterly ridiculous. And awesome at the same time. This is of discernible interest to me because I went to college in Hartford, CT and when I was living there, the Hartford Airport offered service to approximately 2.5 airports: Baltimore, Cincinnati and sometimes Newark. Talk about a vacation to die for. (eg: an above average likelihood of being shot).

Lets be serious for a second- Do you remember your college schedule? I do. The last three years of college I only took classes Tuesday thru Thursday with exquisitely drunk 4-day weekends in between. If this deal was around back in my heyday, I would have gone to Amsterdam on a tri-weekly basis*.

*This is entirely untrue, seeing as though I was a broke mo' fo' in college like most other students. BUT, lets suspend our disbelief for arguments sake, and imagine there are rich kids who attend small private liberal arts schools in New England and could afford such extravagance.. (A crazy thought, I know.)

That would have been such a cool-ass weekend trip to take during college. And I don't even like smoking pot, windmills or hookers. Just to take a long weekend to Holland from some derelict American city with no redeemable qualities like Hartford, CT is reason enough to hop on a 6 hour flight for me! That, and being locked in a room with unlimited beer at the Heineken Brewery for 1 hour after the brewery tour. Pure wonderment.

The countdown has begun..

T-minus 2 days until I start my new job. When I start on Monday, it will mark the end of my 418 day vacation between real employment. A feat I am extremely proud of. It has been the best year of my life, and I wouldn't trade it for anything in the world. (possible exception: someone professionally cleaning my room (and front car seat) in the next 24 hours).

I remember when I was looking for jobs out of college, I told myself: "I've had a lot of fun for the last 21 years, so it's time to suck it up and work 80-100 hour weeks for 5 years, have no discernible life and set myself up for a decent existence down the road.."

Boy, was that the dumbest thing my brain has ever produced. 4 years removed from graduation, and I am no where near where I thought I would be. And I love it. Sure, I am settling back into a decent and safe career, but no matter how much I get into my work, quality of life will always be priority #1. (At least until I have kids, then it will become priority #32 behind such things as; potty training, ass wiping, gerber food shipments, my wife's tolerance for juvenile behavior/humor, etc.)

While I embark on a new job and a little more stability in my life after 1+ years of living on couches, floors, nappy hostel mattresses, single beds, king beds, in tents, on buses, on planes, in cars, and everywhere in between, I will never stop craving surprises, unpredictabilities, new challenges and blue powerade. Never!

It has been one hell of a ride thus far, and the thing I look most forward to, is not knowing where life is going to take me. (Although I must admit, it is somewhat depressing knowing that I will never be a professional baseball player or child chess prodigy).

Real World Praha

This is the true story:

Of four non-strangers, 25 years in age (actually, the geriatric "casey" cat is 26), not-picked to live in an apartment, but living in an apartment nonetheless, not-picked to not-work together, and have their lives taped (confessional style in the bathroom on the low-flow toilet with a digital camera on a 4-inch tripod). To find out what happens when Kev and Casey (hosts in prague) start being polite again, (because the friend-o-meter is rising like a yeast infection) and continue being real with imported pals Frank and Stu. The Real World.

Ok, I just took the liberty of kicking my own ass for altering the sanctity of the Real World intro. I also just kissed my wallet sized photo of Wes and Johanna because it's a day of the week. (News flash to Catherine Zeta-Z and John Cusack -and later Julia Roberts: there's a new America's Sweethearts in town.)

I flew in to Prague, Czech Republic on Saturday, and I am very pleased to be here. There a 97% chance that this is one of the top 10 weekends of 2007!!

Kevin is a friend of mine from college and Casey is his fried from high school. Casey may not admit to this immediately, but we are BEST friends already. Frank is my skinny friend from college, and flew in from Virginia.

To report on the abode Kev and Casey are staying in, it is a lovely post-modern ski lodge on the 4th floor of a art-deco architectural marvel. I don't know what deco means. The refrigerator actually heats things up, so we have put all articles that we want to keep cold on the window ledge. Fingers crosses- we haven't lost anything yet.

The toilets have a very thin "seat" which poses a threat of falling in to the bowl if you have a waist of 30 inches or less. Which obviously means Kev, Casey and I are taking shifts monitoring Franks bathroom visits. Don't want to lose him.

Prague is such a cool city. Without actually knowing where the movie was filmed, this the city surroundings make me feel like Jason in the Bourne Identity and/or Supremacy. (Only without any discernible self-defense skills, an attractive women running around with me or a bullet wound in my back). Although, I suppose there I still have 3 more days here.. so there's still time.

I haven't really done much here. Prague is the perfect city to just walk around and get lost in. And to be frank, it's impossible not to get lost with the layout of their streets. It appears their urban planner was a drunk teenager using an etch-a-sketch blindfolded and listening to Nirvana.

Strolling the cobblestone streets, chilling by the river and viewing the Baroque architecture is a pleasurable way to spend an afternoon. So too, is sitting in a pub or my friends dope apartment a few blocks away from the Charles Bridge.

It's good to be here. I know approximately 1 Czech word and it is Jaromir Jagr.

Someone peed in my car during rideshare on the Bay Bridge. newsworthy..?

I wrote this to the SF chronic February 26, 2007 A.D.

Subject: Newsworthy?

To Whom it may Concern:

Just wanted to make someone aware that at approximately 9:05AM today, while driving three people (picked up in the Berkeley rideshare on College Ave/Claremont Ave) over the Bay Bridge to Downtown SF, the man sitting shotgun pulled out a plastic bag and started fiddling with his pants zipper to pull out his penis to pee in the bag. I put the brakes on this action immediately, stating forcefully "What the F%&K are you doing!! Are you serious! You are a grown man! Hold it!. WTF!!".

Here's what followed:

Man: "...But I really have to go"
Me: "I don't give a $hit! You knew this trip would take 35 minutes. Any human can hold it for 10 minutes beyond the point where they don't thing they can hold it anymore!"
Man: "Ok, I'll hold it... but I really have to go..."
Me: (Looking back at the two back seat passengers for support on my stance..)
Them: (Hiding behind their newspapers; terrified)..

(To back up, this was the first day I ever participated in casual carpool, and I did so because I was late for a job interview and need to buzz through traffic. In hindsight, this was a poor decision.)

We had just passed the Treasure Island Tunnel and were still in heavy traffic, about 5-10 minutes from Downtown SF. I was steaming. But what can you say or do?? I contemplated stopping the car and throwing him out on the bridge, but realized he would be run over or fall off the bridge, and I subsequently would be charged with involuntary manslaughter, so I nixed that plan. (If you disagree with this point, look at how dumb our nation's legal system has become).

After pleading with the man to hold it (and thinking he would, because after all; he's an adult human), and after about 2-3 minutes of groaning from the man, he went
quiet.

This was disheartening, as his silence meant the groaning had stopped, and his groaning stopping meant he pissed his pants. And him pissing his pants more disturbingly, meant he pissed my cloth passenger side seat...

(There's little I could have done to prevent this. Once you commit to casual carpool, you can't pre-screen passengers that quickly at a pick up spot. You pick up the first two or three passengers and go. The man looked respectable. Certainly wasn't homeless, but he CLEARLY had problems).

When I got to the city (Fremont St.), I pulled over and screamed at him and demanded he pay for my detailing. He said no, and pointed out that I agreed to drive him and he thanked me for the ride..

What do you do in that situation? My friends said I should have called the cops.. I was livid, but I wasn't going to do that because I would have wasted time waiting for a police report, only to serve no purpose other than a funny story for the guys to re-tell at the station with no further recourse. Plus, I would have missed my interview. (FYI: I was in utter shock when I got to my interview and told the interviewer that I would not be able to answer any questions or speak in full sentences until he understood what I had just gone through. He was happy I told him).

Long story short, this type of $hit happens to me all the time. I just never thought it would get to the point that someone I was kind enough to give a ride to would thank me by emptying his bladder on my front seat.

Fondly,

Stuart