So I just recently returned from the motherland, which I call Mexico. My brother and I decided to drive down taking a total of 36 hours and according to Google.com 2030 miles. This was way too much time to spend in a car. I hadn’t visited Mexico in 2 years and with the drug wars and kidnappings that have started in the last few years the trip was a little tense for me when I crossed the border in Mexico. Also driving in Mexico makes you appreciate the roads and driving in the United States since double semi trucks drive at about 70 mph and have no disregard for other vehicles on the road. Anyway, it’s a little sad to see that the drug cartels have begun to infiltrate my parent’s hometown and violence has slowly begun. In the last few months there’s been two shootings and this one guy was brutally beaten and tortured and executed in the town. Like I said this trip was a bit tense, but I was assured that I would be safe as long as I didn’t go looking for trouble. So I usually kept my distance and actually had a lot of fun during my short stay.

For starters, the day I arrived there was a huge party. This party was a bit special because it was essentially my cousin’s prom. However proms in Mexico or at least this one was a bit different from the ones we’re used to. This prom was not necessarily a party for the graduates as much as it was a party for everyone in town. Also since my cousin pretty much organized the party he sat us down at a table right next to the band and set up two bottle of tequila on our table, which later multiplied to 5. Needless to say we were pretty drunk and we had to wake up the next morning at 9:00am to vaccinate the cattle on our ranch. It was quite an interesting day especially since the sun was also blistering hot.

As far as parties went that was pretty much the craziest it got while I was there. However, I am sure my liver is glad to be home since on average I think I consumed at least 2 beers or 1 drink a day. My excuse, I was just partaking in the culture of Mexico but it seems like Mexicans just really don’t stop drinking sometimes. They even wake up to it sometimes. My brother was really excited about drinking this drink that is pretty common with people who work on ranches and farms. The way the drink, known as a pajarete (pah-jareteh) is set up is you take chocolate powder and sugar in a cup you pour some alcohol that makes everclear look like water and then you add freshly milked milk. And I mean fresh the milk goes straight from the cow to your cup. I was a bit skeptical at first, but it was actually quite tasty and I also didn’t get sick, which often occurs to people who don’t regularly drink fresh milk of this sort. With this drink I also got my first crack at milking a cow. This task is a lot more difficult than it seems but I did get some milk out. However, the cow did not like my milking and almost knocked out my teeth. Luckily her back feet were tied up.

While in Mexico I also got a chance to try Mexican moonshine raicilla. It is no wonder some of this stuff is illegal since I’m sure I could have run my car on it, but when it was mixed with something it wasn’t too bad.

Aside from drinking I did some things that I thought were pretty cool. I taught myself how to drive stick. I drove a truck that was stick for the first time and only staled once which is cool considering that the road was windy with many ups and downs and was significantly bumpy. I also fired a firearm for the first time. That’s what happens when rival drug cartels come onto our turf, no I’m just kidding. The person who takes care of our ranch when we’re not there loves to go hunting and has quite a few rifles and guns. So one day when we were out working he brought out his rifle and asked if we wanted to shot some cans. For being my first time I was pretty good I managed to hit 2 can on three shoots and the cans were about 50 meters away. The next time I was not so good though. This guy brought out his favorite rifle, which is a 243 and has a scope on the top. After the last time I was feeling pretty confident about my shot but the last rifle didn’t have a scope and it didn’t have as much of a kickback. Well anyway we put the target much farther about 150-200 meters away. I set up to shoot and when I fired I realized I had setup with my face way too close to the scope and the kickback from the rifle caused the scope to split part of my eyebrow. Luckily it didn’t split deep enough to require stitches but it still bled a bit. I didn’t give up though; I went up again this time with my face farther away from the scope and managed to hit the target. Take that scope.

Well I hope all of you are enjoying your summers and I will post more of my adventures as the summer goes on.

Alfredy out.

Rotblatt 144

It was a blast.


They had fireworks right before giving out the shirts.

My friend Katie designed the shirts.

After a week of crappy rain and weather, it was 75 and sunny all day.

Didn't nap at all, but got quite sunburned.

There was george's vinyard pizza along with the usual bagels, burgers, chips, and dogs.

30 kegs of Northern Lager!

I drunk dialed a lot (some of you guys).

Took three breaks though away from the field. One for tavern breakfast, one for a friend's
radioshow, one for a dip (read: pool party) in cowling.

I stayed till the end.




...It was hands down the best Rotblatt I have been to...

Just for you, Mark.

The whole powerpoint file is available if you email me. I can't figure out how to post a powerpoint.

Addendum to "I Know What I Did Last Summer": What's Wrong With Bars That Serve Too Much Beer

I never, ever thought I'd have a problem with bars that serve beer.  In fact, I don't have a problem with bars that serve beer.  The bars that serve TOO MUCH beer are the ones with which I have a problem (never hang your prepositions!).  And really, I never thought I'd have a problem with too much beer, either.  Alas, things change.

I hope you all know what I'm talking about.  We've all been to the-best-beer-bar-in-the-world, with the-biggest-selection-of-beer-on-the-planet.  But, we've all been to different places.  How does this work!?  Places like Capital Ale House in Richmond, VA, The Flying Saucer (a chain!), and the Brickskeller in Washington D.C. all come to my mind.  I've been to all of these, but others exist as well.  Ebenezer's in Lovell-fucking-Maine is supposedly the best beer bar in the world (according to our favorite site, Beer Advocate).  But, really, bars like this exist everywhere.  In fact, as I mentioned in the previous post, I went to one in Dallas and it was so fucking pedestrian that I don't even remember the name.  My main problem is simple: they all claim to be unique, and yet, they're all the same.

Every single one of these beer bars claims to have the best selection, and be the only place in the world where you can have such an experience.  But, really, they all have exactly the same selection, and they all make the world of beer seem rather small.  They also all claim to serve ridiculous Belgian beer and be the only place that does that, but really, they all serve ridiculous Belgian beer and are NOT the only places that do that.  I could go on and on.  They've all begun to blend into one stupid beer-serving entity in my mind at this point.  I used to love these places.  I'd eat them up.  But now, when offered the chance to go to one, I'm emotionless because they don't move me.  They shouldn't move you, either.

My second problem with these places is that they're all so fucking expensive.  Ordering a bottle of High Life will cost you at least 4.50.  That seems ridiculous, because I can buy a six pack of High Life for about 5 bucks.  That's more than the rule-of-thumb traditional 400% markup on booze that bars and restaurants follow.  The 400% markup is absurd enough, so paying anything more is stupid.  Don't even get me started on how much is costs to order anything even remotely crafty.  Plus, half the shit is in bottles anyway.  Who goes to a bar to drink beer in BOTTLES?  I can drink beer in bottles at home!  When I do that, I'm not limited by some stupid menu, but rather only by what I can or cannot buy.  

My third problem with these places is that they are boring.  Their ambience, their atmosphere, their overall drinking environment all lack any interesting qualities.  Nobody goes to these places to get schwasted (because everything is so fucking expensive), so you never see any interesting people.  Rather, you simply see people doing what they could be doing at home: sipping on beer.  Yet, they'd prefer to come to a place to be bored with other people and pay too much to sip on beer together.  When I was in D.C. at the Brickskeller I began to play darts with Elliot's friend on a dart board that had barely been used.  If you've been to the Brickskeller you know this place has been around a while.  It's a bar, people!  Play darts! Don't sit there being bored.  Also, we played some music from their juke box and I think the fact that the atmosphere went from soft talking about the Belgian brew to actual music was difficult for some to handle.  It's a bar, people! Play music!  Don't sit there with your hushed voices.

My fourth problem with these places is that the people who frequent them think they know way too much about beer.  I know amongst all of you myself and perhaps Ted are viewed as beer snobs.  But really, I don't pour different types of beer into different types of glasses to accentuate the bouquet that may or may not exist.  I don't sit there with my collared-shirted friend discussing the many aspects of the creamy head that sits atop my glass.  I say I like the taste and I drink it.  I drink more than one.  I drink it rapidly.

My fifth problem with these places is that they carry an unwarranted air of sophistication about them.  Case in point: Deep Ellum, Boston, MA.  This place is not even a very good "beer bar", but they had perhaps the most snobbish attitude of any of which I have yet visited.  After each person was served beer in a different type of glass to best present the beer that was ordered, we enjoyed what seemed like liquid gold, as we had paid just about that much for the privilege of drinking such nectar.  Soon after, I decided that I was sick of beer (because these places kinda suck), and I wanted a Red Bull Vodka.  Well, apparently this place was too-fucking-good for Red Bull.  I went to the bartender and asked, "If I were to order a drink that necessitated the use of Red Bull, would you be able to serve it to me?"  Not only did she just say "No" (which would have been at least acceptable, albeit quite sad), she laughed in my face and said "Absolutely not!"  Fuck that.

I Know What I Did Last Summer

Today is September 12th.  This date officially marks the end of my summer - it's time to get down to business.  I can't really remember when the last time I posted was.  I just know it was a while ago.  Thus, I give you an update on this most significant of days, explaining what I have done for the past six weeks, and more importantly, what I plan to do for the upcoming months.

Sometime around July 20 I boarded a bus in Portland, ME and drove to Boston, MA where I boarded a plane to fly to Baltimore, MD where I got off a plane and boarded another one where I flew to Dallas, TX where my aunt picked me up in the airport and I boarded a car and was driven to her house.  I spent a few days in Dallas, going to cool places like the Apple Store, the Nasher Museum, Primo's,  and a place that served a lot of obscure beers (I forgot the name, but if I remember this topic I will explain why this does not matter).  

Sometime around July 23 our fellow stadium-mate John Vigeland drove the Lexus From Texas™ across the vast expanse of Texas megalopolis from Fort Worth to Dallas, and retrieved me from my aunt's house.  We drove to a hare krisha temple where we were served vegetarian Indian cuisine and only requested to donate money.  The food was delicious and we were quite full at the end of lunch.  We spent the next few days in Fort Worth meeting John's friends, going to get ice cream at Braum's, and preparing for the Great American Adventure™.

On July 26, we awoke ourselves from our slumber at the early hour of 6am.  We packed the car, ate some food, and set out on our adventure by 7:30am, ready to conquer the Eastern Seaboard.  Our destination was Nashville, TN, as we had heard about an excellent blue grass jam session set to occur at 9pm that evening at the Station Inn (complete with blind banjo player!).  As we drove east from Fort Worth, we promptly got lost.  

We soon found our way back on track, set the cruise control to 75mph, and pointed the car towards Nashville.  We arrived approximately 12 hours later, enjoyed the blue grass jam sesh, local beer, and pizza, and then walked along Broadway for a bit.  Nashville is a sweet city.

Now, so as to not bore you all with a day by day description of our road trip and all that occurred, I will simply list out the next few stops because, frankly, typing out an extended description of each simply does not do the trip justice.  Check out the facebook pics if you want more.

1. Nashville, TN (already explained)

2. Marshall, NC (rafting the Pigeon, karaoke in Asheville, etc.)

3. Charlotte, NC (Halo 2 all day and laundry)

4. Richmond, VA (request further explanation)

5. Shenandoah National Park, VA (much needed respite from alcohol and civilization)

6. Washington D.C. (Elliot's pool)

7. New York City, NY (fuck the police... and the prices... and the tolls...)

8. Cherry Valley, NY (chilled in a debris hut)

9. Boston, MA (pretended to buy engagement rings, saw really cool ceramics)

10. Naples, ME (helped my parents move, rope swings, etc)

We stayed in Naples for like ten days and then went to Algonquin Park in Ontario, CA.  This drive took a long time, but the destination made the drive well worth it.  We stayed at my family's cabin for ten days and then we were off to Northfield!  We left quite early in the morning, and toyed with the idea of driving straight to Northfield (18 hours).  We would have accomplished this except for two things.  One, we got slightly lost and probably went about an hour out of our way, and two, we were detained at the U.S. border for about 45 minutes, suspected of carrying marijuana from Canada to the U.S.  I kid you not.  Let me explain:

Looking a bit scruffy, unkempt, and generally "progressive", John and I drove through Sault Ste. Marie, ON toward the American border.  We made our way onto the International Bridge, connecting Canada and the U.S. and were politely reminded by a road sign to "Smile!" because we were on camera.  We met the Border Patrol agent who politely asked for our passports.  We gave them to him, he took them into his little shack, and then told us to wait.  Another officer came out of a different building carrying a still-unidentified piece of metal equipment and strictly directed me to drive alongside him as he walked.  We were to pull into the garage bay that was open to our right.  As we pulled in, it became apparent to us that there were probably about nine other officers along with the previous two, all just chilling in this garage bay.  We were instructed to exit the car, walk to a table, and empty our pockets onto said table.

Having done so, the agent then rifled through our wallets, smelled my hat (wtf?), and the following exchange occurred:

Officer: Where are you coming from today?

Me: Algonquin Park in Ontario

Officer: Really.  Did you go to Hemp Fest?

Me: No, sir.

Officer: Were you anywhere near HempFest?

Me: No, sir.

Officer: How do you know each other?

Me: We went to school together.

Officer: What was your major?

Me: International Relations (should have said "horticulture")

John (interjects): I was studio art!

Officer: Who is the car registered to?

John: My father.

Officer: Well let's get this all straight.  This car is going to be searched completely.  If we find anything at all, you two will be headed to prison and the car will be seized.  I bet your father wouldn't be too happy about that.  So, let's make this easy.  If there's anything at all that we should know about or that you shouldn't have, tell us now.  Or else, this could get real messy.

Me:  I can't think of anything (nervous breathing, heart pumping out of body)

They search the car, and two funny instances occurred.  One, the dog freaked out at one point, clearly smelling something.  All the officers got a little excited, and it turned out that they found a box of Kashi Go Lean that we had sitting in the trunk.  Two, an officer was going through our stuff in the back seat and came across a plastic baggy full of tea leaves.  He held it up, examined it, and proclaimed, "Guys! I've found the mother lode!"

After they found nothing (phew!), we were free to go.  This, combined with taking a wrong turn later in the drive, forced us to stay at an AmericInn in Wausau, WI and drive the remaining four hours of the drive the next morning.  We arrived in Northfield on August 31, having completed 4789 miles of driving between July 26 and August 31.  Our road trip was effectively finished.

In Northfield, I helped John move in, chilled with Viveka a bunch, and just generally relaxed.  I avoided real life for twelve days, and awkwardly pretended I was in college again.  I ate at Tiny's, went to the Cow, went to the Reub, went to Ho Bro's, went to the Hideaway, ate Basil's gyro pizza (twice!), napped in Memorial while watching baseball, and tried to avoid walking around campus and being that guy.  I guess napping in Memorial sorta messed up that plan though.  Oh, I also got the new phone numbers for the yellow security phones for Memorial and Cassat.  Word.

But, all good things must come to an end and so too did my time in Northfield and my summer.  No longer can I avoid supporting myself and getting a job.  Right now, it looks as if I'll be moving to Minneapolis and working for a start-up I got involved with this summer.  Things will become a lot more clear in the coming week, and I will keep you all updated as to what is occurring.  In an ideal world, I will have solid plans at the end of this week and hopefully be moved out there by the end of the month.  Be optimistic.  

Coincidentally, the end of the month is homecoming.  I am doing my very best to make sure that I am back for that, as I would like to avoid being tarred and feathered, being banned from the blog, or having a penis drawn on my face with Sharpie.  I really want to be able to jump on Mark and Alfredo and BK while they sleep so soundly.

Untitled.

The lack of original content over the past few weeks has brought this blog to a point of near death: we've got a pulse, we're just not breathing (too soon?).  I can only hope that my efforts at resuscitation prove more effective than those of the cardiologist Dr. Conrad Murray (too soon?).  

That being said, there are a number of very important issues that I would like to throw out on the electronic "table" for your consideration.  Many, if not all, have to do with what I have experienced since I arrived home late last Sunday night, the 21st of June.

I shall start by saying that as dogs age, they calm down.  I never thought this would ever happen with my dogs.  They are two of the most rambunctious, energetic, and neurotic creatures known to man.  They always have been.  I figured they always would be.  But now, at the ancient ages of 9 and 11, they are beginning to chill.  They sleep all the fucking time.  You used to not be able to enter or leave the house without a barrage of barks from both of the bitches.  Now, you can do either and hear nary a noise.  The best part is, if you enter the house while they've been sleeping, they wake up once the door opens and amble down the hallway towards you with these bleary-eyed looks on their faces, partially annoyed that you came home and thus woke them up, but also completely guilt-stricken since they know they weren't competently performing the only job they've been given - guarding the god damned house.

So since I got home, I really haven't done a ton.  I've been searching for jobs, talking to alumni, doing a little bit of research work for a small renewable energy start-up, playing Frisbee twice a week, and eating ice cream while watching movies.  I've been "out" 3 times.  The first time I went "out", I went to Bray's Brewpub in Naples, ME.  I played horseshoes in the dark as I drank their "Stanley Steamer UnCommon Ale".  I eventually was driven home by a friend.  We drove through Windham, ME instead of taking the shorter route because we (I) wanted food.  We went to Burger King and enjoyed some chicken fingers.  We realized that you can get four piece tenders from the dollar menu, but an eight piece for 2.69.  So, needless to say, we got two four piece orders and saved $.69.  Just remember, whatever you do, don't go to bed before the King.

After Burger King (which I must add, we went to partially because I had just seen those commercials linked above), we went to Tim Horton's and got an Iced Cappuccino and a sour-cream-glazed donut.  Hell yeah.  Given that none of you Stadium dwellers have a Tim Horton's in your state, I will be courteous enough to give you some background information.

So this brings me to the second time I went out.  If I recall correctly, it was actually the first time I went out, but since I didn't play horseshoes and drink "Stanley Steamer's UnCommon Ale", it wasn't as memorable, so I'm mentioning it now.  I went to the Dogfish Bar and Grille on Free Street in Portland, ME, where I met my sister for a few beers.  The Dogfish is the sponsor of my adopted summer league frisbee team, and is a place where my sister once worked.  It's probably one of the best restaurants in Portland (if you ever decide to visit), as it provides a great atmosphere, a low cost, and pretty much kick ass food.  We discussed life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness, drank two Rogue Dead Guy Ales each, and then I went home to bed.

The third time I went out was last night, a Monday.  I met my brother, sister, and a friend of theirs at The Snug, another bar in Portland.  It's an Irish Pub, and let me tell you, they don't fuck around in there.  I'd never been 'til last night, but apparently over Christmas my brother went in, wearing an argyle sweater.  He paid with an orange debit card, and the bartender, when taking his card, looked at him and said, "Look at you with your orange card, ya fancy fuck!"  The Snug was decent, but we got bored, so we went to Brian Boru.  While Brian Boru is the name of an Irish king, it is also another Irish pub in the quaint city of Portland, ME.  It's also probably the only place that had anything going on last night.  There was a one-man gig going, a dude with a guitar, singing some sweet tunes.  I will get to this more in a second.  

But first, I'm going to make a comment on drink prices.  Last night's special: PBR tall boys, $2.00.  First off, that's a deal.  No place in Northfield would ever come close to 16 oz. of beer for $2.00.  After that, I ordered a black and tan.  A black and tan at the cow costs $6.50.  At Brian Boru it cost me $4.75.  For Little Orphan and Nonberg, that adds up to $1.75 saved!  Bottom line: prices in Northfield are terrible.  That's the one single reason I can find that makes me happy to have left the place.

So, we're sitting in Brian Boru, listening to this dude play some music.  After playing, "The Weight" (Take a load off Annie, take a load for free), he said he was done.  Then he started playing Stairway to Heaven, and improvised all the lyrics.  He talked about the bar, the bartenders ("His name is Jim, because that's what his motherfucking Mom named him"), and used the refrain "Now I'm drunk" and also the line "It's not close to closing time so buy more beer".  I wish I had a recording, because it was hilarious.  Unreal.  It will never happen again.  But it was all to the tune of Stairway to Heaven.  He played the whole damned song, and improvised all of the lyrics.

Completely switching gears now.  You may or may not recall that I woke up Sunday morning of sixth weekend and could not move my right leg.  My knee cap was swollen much larger than it should have been.  This was the result of an unfortunate stumble I took while running with broken sandals.  I ended up essentially laying out onto the concrete in front of Brooks House.  But, as I did not bleed anywhere, I kept telling everyone I was superhuman.  I did not know that my knee was incredibly, incredibly hurt.  So, I woke up the next morning and my first words were "Fuck, I can't move my knee.  That hurts so much."  So, the pain subsided and I could walk again.  I figured everything was fine.  But, after seven weeks, I still can't kneel on it and there seems to be an indentation in my patella with a bunch of chunks of something moving around.  So, I called the doctor, explained, and he didn't even bother seeing me.  He just said, "We're referring you to the orthopedist.  You'll get x-rays."  Tight.

Lastly, I highly recommend working Reunion to any underclassmen that read this.  I cannot publish the reasons why.  

Beer Drinking 101: Lesson 1 (Boxer Blogging)

The is the first installment of the new stadium 110 feature, Beer Drinking 101, team taught by Tim and Ted.

Lesson 1: The new toast.

"My M.O. is the new toast," says Tim (Note: M.O. are Mark's initials). So Mark Olson tonight invented a new toast (on his birthday) without even knowing or remembering it. This toast is all about efficiency.

Here are the steps:
1. Put the beer to your lips
2. Commence drinking
3. Move in for the toast
4. Clink drinking vessels, continue to drink
5. Continue to drink as long as you like

As you can clearly see, this toast is at least twice as efficient as a regular toast; the drinking begins before the toast and doesn't stop 'til you're good and drunk. Enjoy this maneuver the next time you're drinking.

Stay tuned for more Beer Drinking 101, the team taught drinking course by Tim and Ted.

P.S.: Johnny V. is a bitch (-Tim)
P.P.S.: I forgot (-Tim)
P.P.P.S.: Did we mention that we're drunk and in our boxers?
P.P.P.P.S.: Mark vomited in the Reub.
P.P.P.P.P.S.: The first drunk blog post of the term
P.P.P.P.P.P.S.: Original content bitches!