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.