Living Spontaneously

A mini Stadium reunion occurred this past weekend on the beautiful islands of St. Thomas and St. John in the Caribbean. This was an impromptu reunion, an exercise in living spontaneously, what with Saturday morning flights purchased two days prior. Let me just say: live spontaneously, we did. Elliot and his friend Nick ("Nasty Nick"), who turns out to be a pretty cool dude, came down for a visit. These are [our] stories (I hope someone gets that reference):

Day 1:

Elliot and Nick woke up at 4:00am to begin their journey to the Caribbean. Arriving at 11:40am, I met them outside Cyril E. King International Airport and we had hugs all around. Elliot and Nick were the first people to visit me on The Rock and so I was, admittedly, rather excited to show outsiders around the crazy place (unofficial motto of the island: Welcome to St. Thomas, You Can't Make This Shit Up.)

From the airport, we drove immediately to my one room bungalow to drop some shit off. Here are pictures of Elliot on my patio:



After we were done, we hopped into the trusty Ford Fiesta and drove the windy roads across the island to Red Hook on the east end of the island where we planned to catch the ferry to St. John. We hopped on the 1 o'clock ferry and took the twenty minute ride to St. John. Here's a picture from the ferry:




Once we got to St. John, we rented some snorkel equipment and made the twenty minute walk to Honeymoon Beach. Honeymoon Beach is in the middle of Virgin Islands National Park, and is located such that it's remote enough that it's never crowded, but close enough that it's not a problem to get to. At Honeymoon Beach, we snorkeled, chilled, walked the sand, and generally did "the beach thing". This is what I'm talking about:





Honeymoon Beach is gorgeous. Unfortunately, I don't have any pics of the cool sea-life we saw, but I will tell you we saw sea turtles, two types of rays, lots of fish and coral, and there were rumors on the beach of a nurse shark (but we didn't get to peep it).

So, we left Honeymoon beach and we went to an aweosme bar called Iguana Grill. Iguana grill opened right across from Wet Woody's, which is a St. John institution famous for it's excellent happy hour deals, awesome atmosphere, sweet name, and strong pours. Iguana Grill opened a few months back, made their happy hour an hour longer, had the same deals, and offered more seating. Excellent business plan. Excellent way to piss off the other bar. Here's a picture of Woody's (you can't beat the ambience):



And here are some pics of us at Iguana Grill:





I'm not going to mince words: we're equal opportunity drinkers, and we're going where we can drink the longest, for the cheapest, and actually be able to sit down. So we went to Iguana. We still grabbed a brew from Woody's Express Window to drink on the street, just so we could tell our grandchildren about it.

After Iguana (18 beers, 18 bucks, bitches!), we loitered for a bit:



And then we went to Rhumb Lines. Rhumb Lines is a fantastic place. They serve Asian/Caribbean fusion and awesome drinks. They have fabulous servers that act like they like me, and they have begun to give me free drinks as a result. The bar at Rhumb Lines has swings for seats (if you want them), serves Fernet-Branca (delicious), and has a live guitarist who puts up with my drunken requests. I can't ask for more. Here's a picture of us at Rhumb Lines:



And one with our bartender:



After Rhumb Lines, we hung out on the beach for a while, had a pretty strange experience with some strung out locals (ask Elliot), met a man named Whisky (!), and then took the ferry back to St. Thomas.

I have no more pictures from Saturday, but just because I know you're all so curious to hear what we did, we went back to Red Hook, met up with some friends of mine at an Irish bar (St. Patrick's Day, after all), and then went home to sleep.

Day 2:

We woke up (early!), and ventured back to Molly Malone's for brunch. Highlights of our hungover morning were the pancake wraps (sausage, egg, cheese, wrapped in pancake) and grilled cheese with egg (Nasty Nick's a vegetarian - what a bitch).

After breakfast, we had made plans with a friend of mine to go back to St. John and rent a dinghy for the day! This meant that we got to take a little Zodiac with a 15hp motor and cruise around the north shore of the island, stopping as we pleased to go to beaches, snorkel, etc. And this, my friends, is where the pictures get EPIC!

Nasty Nick drivin' the yacht:



And Elliot straddling the boat:



But wait, what's that I spot? A jolly roger on the high seas? Where real pirates like Captain Kidd and Blackbeard actually roamed?







And lastly, Pajo and Nasty Nick posing with the flag:



While this only brings us through Sunday afternoon, I have no more pictures to share. I can assure you all, however, that the rest of Elliot and Nasty Nick's visit involved pools, beaches, beer, urchin spines in the foot, and Elliot passing a fart so smelly it made me vomit.

Yes, that actually happened.

Poppin' these bottles

As I sit here and listen to the wise words of Wiz Khalifa "sayin' yeah", two things come to mind: 1) I love songs like "Say Yeah" and "Right Round" (by Flo Rida) because they inspire me to work hard so that one day I might have the ability to "throw that money in the air" or be able to "look at my Cartier" and realize its out of control, and 2) the last time I really, truly listened to the song "Say Yeah" was when we were all around for Spring Concert this past May. Needless to say, I miss you bros. There's already some whispers of planning going around for the Thursday before alumni weekend, and of course you are all invited to crash at the pad and debauch both yourselves and Uptown (or downtown) Minneapolis.

That said, thinking of the last time we all chilled makes me realize that a whole hell of a lot has changed in my life since we all last saw each other, and thus probably spoke, and therefore it's time for a LIFE UPDATE BLOGPOST.

After May, I continued to foreclose (with little shame) on the mortgages of the less fortunate until two days after July 4th. Then, inspired by the celebrations of America's independence, I too emancipated myself from the tyranny of a bank too big to fail, and within a week rushed off to Peru for what turned out to be the trip of a lifetime.

Peru deserves a post, or six, in itself, and that too shall come when I finally have the 3000 pictures that were taken by my family during the 2.5 weeks that we were in South America. However, I will give you a bit of a teaser (as I know you all await that post with bated breath). Basically, due to a combination of extremely good fortune and my mother's occupation as a minister, my family went to Peru to bond, explore Incan ruins, and generally chill out for a little over half a month.

My sister's previous travels had introduced her to a legit, real life, Incan medicine man who subsequently over the past 8 years has become one of her best friends. His family, native Quechuan (they still speak Quechua before Spanish!), basically guided us around Cuzco for the time we were there. While we hit up the ruins of Machu Picchu, Sacsayhuaman, Tambomachay, Pisaq, others, rode horseback through the mountains surrounding Cuzco, climbed Huayna Picchu, the highlight was our five day trek to Choquequirao.

Choquequirao is now what Machu Picchu was fifty years ago (but much larger in area) - discovered, not really accessible, only partially uncovered, minimally excavated. It's a site so little-visited that you can encounter things that literally have not seen daylight for 500 years. This place is unbelievable, and to be led by four guides who saw the trek we took as a religious pilgrimage was an absolutely insane experience. My family was incredibly lucky to get to experience such a trip, and I'm still amazed we got to go. Highlights of Choquequirao included swimming in the Apurimac River, riding horses through river valley/desert, camping on the farmland of sustenance farmers that are a two day hike from civilization (no electricity, running water, etc... eye-opening to say the least), the stars, and the food we had. I will flesh this all out with a later post, as promised, including pictures and whatnot. The scenery was absolutely unbelievable.

So, I got back from Peru on July 30, unpacked my dirty hiking clothes and Chacos that night, packed my dress shirts, suit, and tie the next morning, and flew to Chicago. From O'Hare, I was driven to The Q Center where I experienced a two-week crash course in learning to be a consultant. With class topics ranging from learning the consulting process to interviewing skills and business etiquette, I felt sufficiently confused at the end of the two weeks and really had no idea what I was getting myself into. After class each day, we all played beach volleyball and basketball, ate dinner (a dining hall! like college! except way better food!), and then usually went to The Clubhouse (the training center's bar). It was like adult summer camp, but I learned a ton!

Twelve days after arriving, I left - a changed man - somewhat ready to begin my consulting career. The weekend past, and I was in the office at 8:15am Monday morning, ready to meet my boss and begin work. The work I'm doing is interesting - consulting is basically an entire industry built on selling the brains of people to other companies. When a specific company wants help in doing something that has to do with business (anything, actually - a "business problem"), they can call a consulting company and the firm will send people who are experts in that situation to help - all for a fee! I work in under the umbrella of financial advisory, helping with things like operations efficiency, project management, optimizing processes, etc. I am (obviously) still learning, but it's suited to me. I will get to put my hands in lots of different industries as the years pass, and thus gain a ton of experience. I'm excited about all this. I know this explanation is vague, but whenever we see each other or chat I can elaborate.

So that brings us to present day. As I said, a lot has changed since May - new (interesting!) job, crazy trip to Peru, and (I forgot!) I also moved into a new apartment. Y'all better come see it in October.

Wh-wh-what's yo' fanta-ta-sy?

Friends,

In some parts of our great country the weather is still cold and snowy. In other parts, it's above freezing, slushy and wet. But, in the sunny locales of southern Florida and the ninety mile strip of highway that connects Tucson to Phoenix, the last few days have brought the aroma of oil on aged and dry flesh, the sight of delightfully carved long, hard, wooden shafts cracking against red-accented, white-as-a-sheet, virgin balls, the delicious aural pleasure of said balls smacking against freshly-lubed leather.

No, I'm not talking about your favorite S&M fantasy. I'm talking a fantasy of the baseball variety. More specifically: Fantasy Baseball!

Pitchers and catchers have reported for every team except for the Florida Marlins (they've already given up hope, apparently...). Only the Marlins and Will Kruesi's White Sox have yet to have an official workout (maybe they've given up hope, too?). This, compadres, means that spring training is well under way. As spring training goes by, fans of all shapes, colors, sizes, and affiliations are, by birthright, given reason for optimism. It's spring after all! Bunny rabbits hop gleefully through the prairie, flip flops are busted out, we can drink beer outside! For many fans, this optimism quickly dissipates as pitcher X requires Tommy John surgery, infielder Y breaks his foot, and outfielder Z cracks his rib. But, at least during the beginning of spring training, we can all say "Maybe this is our year!"

The shrewdest of fans will also assess their fantasy options with the utmost scrutiny throughout this optimistic time. Some of us will probably draft with loyalty to our favorite team. Nonberg will likely sit in the corner with a beer box on his head and covet the players already drafted. Past years have made it clear that any strategy is viable. Whatever your strategy, fantasy baseball is upon us!

Who's in?


NOTE: Ted volunteered to organize, as in years past, but he does not know this yet.

Life Update, and Stoking the Flames of the Brocation

Hello friends. Time for Tim's life update. I forgot where I left you all last. Anyway, I quit my job at the place named after Mark, and moved to another agency that shares the name of the current host of Late Night on NBC. This place is a step up in every way and I'm very happy with what I'm doing. I'm not using names because I feel weird commenting on my job on the internet, but nonetheless I want you all to know what I'm doing.

The client I am working on is a resurging American luxury car brand that currently produces the fastest (production) sedan in the world. Yes, you bitches will try to tell me that the M3, M5, and E65 AMG are all faster (and I would venture to say the same), but the numbers don't lie. We recently started with this brand, and it's going to be crazy, but really really fun. Advertising agencies are very interesting places. The people are smart, they are convinced they can do ANYTHING creatively, and they love pressure. It's a fun environment to work in. The job I am doing is "account management". I am an "account manager". This means that instead of playing with Excel all day (my old job), I talk to the client on the phone, meet them, find out what they want, tell everyone else at my company, and then work to make sure it all gets done. It's involved a few late nights so far, a few mistakes, but a whole lot of interesting/fun experiences. Account management is also cool because I get to touch everything (not physically). I see production, I see concepting, I see finance, I see the client. Despite the fact that it's the "business side of things", I still get a chance to be creative at time. I'm convinced it's a great job for someone with a liberal arts background.

Work has been much of my life, with the balance being taken up by playing men's league soccer, hanging out with the lady, sleep, eating, etc. Viv has an internship in Minneapolis this summer so we snagged a sweet loft to live in. It's been great - obviously there have been the ups and downs (as expected), but I've really enjoyed it. Living with a girl isn't all that bad, but I hate having to put the toilet seat down. Next weekend, I'm headed to my family's cabin for a week-long respite from work and the city life.

After that, it will be close to the end of August, we will move out of our place. I will then move back to Uptown to live with Joel Winer, Lena Tjosvold, and Laura Myers.

BROCATION: what is the deal? WE MUST DECIDE. The next time we will all see each other is homecoming/alumni weekend. So at worst case, let's make a plan then whilst we drink aplenty.

peace outs, cub scouts.

If you read this and don't immediately exclaim "I'm in!"...

…then you can mail your Stadium Membership Card to 3707 Grand Ave S, Apt 202, Minneapolis, MN 55409 where it will be promptly destroyed.

Nonberg and I were chatting on Facebook earlier this evening (as we normally do), discussing my new profile picture. Nonberg remarked that it made him nostalgic for our college years. I concurred, explaining that I too missed college, Stadium, and life under the bleachers. And then something miraculous happened – one of us had perhaps the best idea that anyone in Stadium has had thus far. I don’t know whose idea it was, and frankly, I don’t care because it’s so damn good. Read further:

My friends, we’re going to go on a trip. Stadium style! Isn’t this crazy? A trip! We're doing this because we must begin to get together, as one, annually. If we don't, despite Facebook's existence, we will not stay in touch forever. Thus, we start a tradition and then we get to party together and relive our college days every year!

Through minimal discussion, we narrowed our options down to two. In spite of not conferring with any of you prior to this decision, we’re both confident that through a full Stadium discussion we would have all come to the same conclusion. So, we’re avoiding the discussion. Think of it kind of like that time we planned a party on a Tuesday – that was dumb, because we didn’t actually figure anything out. On Thursday, we got back to planning. And the party happened, and would have happened, in any case.

So, the options are:

1) The most populous city in Nevada… the seat of Clark County… The Entertainment Capitol of the World… the home of The Strip… Sin City… the city with the largest number of churches per capita in this beautiful country of ours… the unincorporated communities of Paradise and Winchester… the 28th most populous city in the U.S.,. 36°10′30″N 115°08′11″W… more popularly known as Las Vegas, Nevada.

2) The home of three ski resorts, including two that hosted skiing events at a recent Winter Olympics… a town that straddles the border between Wasatch and Summit counties… the home of the Sundance Film Festival, the U.S. Ski Team, AND the Australian Freestyle Ski Team… according the Forbes Magazine, one of the 20 prettiest towns in the country… 40°39′34″N 111°29′59″W… What town is this, you ask? Park City, Utah.

There are pros and cons to either of these options:
-Were we to travel to Park City, Nonberg has graciously offered us his house and transportation while we were there. This is incredible. If we went to Las Vegas, we would not have such luxuries. We would probably stay in shitty hotels and share beds. We would also probably rent cars if we wanted to get around (or steal a police car)

-Were we to travel to Las Vegas, we would be able to gamble, lose our concept of time, have access to a plethora of hookers, eat at expensive buffets, and watch the Bellagio fountains. However, contrary to popular belief, we would NOT be able to breathe pure oxygen when we gambled. We would also not be able to ski, party intimately in a house, enjoy the small ski town life, or cook for ourselves.

-Park City offers us a more relaxed vacation experience: we would be able to sit leisurely in a hot tub (it fits eight!), sipping brews as the snow fell around us. I would imagine that the nightlife in Park City during the winter is quite fun.

-Las Vegas offers us a more intense vacation experience: we would gamble, drink, and party constantly for an unspecified number of days straight. I have heard that Las Vegas nightlife is decent, as well.

So it comes down to this: relax with the bros, or party non-stop with the bros? Either way, it's a bros only vacation. At closing, the poll to the right will reflect the will of the people. When the people have spoken, our destination will be chosen (assuming feasibility). The next step is deciding whether we actually want to do this, finding a date (March 2011?), etc etc. The idea is that we make this far enough in advance so that we can all afford it, find a date that works, etc. I know this is planning and not typical, but we must do it for success' sake.

Stadium 110/The Ocho: A Mistake? A Loveable Bastard Child?

I spent my evening yesterday enjoying homemade pizza, good conversation, and a game of Mad Gabs (!) with a few other Carls in St. Paul. It was an enjoyable evening and I left feeling full and content. One of the most notable occurrences of the evening was when one person commented that all of the "Stadium 110 Boys" love each other so much. That being the case, I did not deny it. However, since I am funemployed and have plenty of time to think, I thought about said assertion for a quite a while. What I will now speak of is what I concluded:

The Ocho was a Loveable Bastard Child, a Cherished Mistake, a serendipitous rooming situation, a fortuitous outcome from a confluence of (at the time) not-so-fortuitous events. Our 2008-2009 school year would not have happened as we know it but for a series of individual events that occurred and that because of which we are better off (does this count as a hanging preposition?).

As you all may recall, we entered room draw as a fragmented set out eight. If I remember correctly, Mark, Ted, and Elliot wanted to live together. John and I wanted to live together. Nonberg, BK, and Toto were planning on living together. We all are vying for Sevy, and planning on combining groups as was sensible at the time. While many enter senior year room draw with a battle-plan and a sure idea of what would happen, we "hadn't the foggiest". We weren't really helped by the draw either, as group after group snatched up Sevy quads and quints, and we were left scrambling.

John and I would not have even been at room draw had John not decided to go off campus winter term. As you may recall, John and I were about "this close" to living above Erbert and Gerbert's. Had that happened, there would have been Six. Maybe Stadium 202 would have occurred (is that the Sextet?). But, where would Alfredo have fit in all of that? We'll never know.

What if one of the Sevy rooms had been open? I believe they are almost exclusively quads. Nonberg had the lowest number, so he would have drawn BK and Toto and... who else? That would have left me, John, and two of Elliot, Ted, and Mark. I have a feeling Mark would have been fucked because, well, he was a freshman and in his words he "didn't really have any say at all" because of that. If Nonberg had opted for Sevy, John and I had taken Erbs and Gerbs, that would have left presumably two of Ted, Elliot, and Mark out in the cold. Elliot and Ted had terrible numbers. Burton double?

When Elliot, John, and I were picking our triple, we picked 203 almost randomly. I remember standing there and being like "Oh, which is bigger? Hmm I don't know. Okay we'll take 203." Surprisingly, we didn't think about proximity to 110 at the time, and to this day, I'm not sure why. Furthermore, we must consider that Stadium 110 dropped incredibly low in the draw. It should not have gone that late. Those triples usually go fairly quickly too. Yet, they didn't. Was it meant to be?

So many things occurred senior year that would simply be unthinkable without the existence of The Ocho. We didn't plan The Ocho. The Ocho was a mistake. Yet it was the best year of our college lives. Funny how that works, right?

Fighting cyber-crime one fraudulent credit card transaction at a time...

It's been a while since I've blogged. It's been a while since I've communicated with most of you. It's been a while...

Anyway, the last month has been pretty interesting. I flew to East Hampton, NY for Thanksgiving on Wednesday the 25th - as I passed through airport security I began a 3.5 month long distance relationship. I arrived in East Hampton tired and confused, but after a few days of excessive eating and drinking (split a liter of Jameson w/ my brother and drank to Ted Mullin numerous times...) things seemed alright.

The Monday after Thanksgiving I started my month-long temporary gig as a customer service representative and fraud detection specialist at an eGift Card issuer based in downtown Portland, ME. This job was actually fairly interesting. The company issues eGift Cards for a large national pharmacy chain, a large national home improvement store, and a number of national restaurants chains, among others.. A lot of people who steal credit cards like to buy gift cards because it's effectively a way to launder the money that they have access to on their credit cards. My job was to stop them during this busy holiday season. Basically, my fellow CS reps and I would review orders, do a lot of research on customers (more than you'd like to think...) and decide whether we could build enough of a legitimate profile for a real person to determine that their transaction was legit. Sometimes we uncovered somewhat elaborate fraud schemes by people using proxies in other countries, prepaid cell phones, etc. I know a lot more about how to "be a fraudster" at this point. Pretty cool stuff. Sometimes stupid customers would call in as well and ask dumb questions and I would get frustrated. A lot of the time I would be on Facebook.

So, that job ended the day after Christmas and now I'm sitting around for a few days before I head back to the Midwestern tundra that is Minnesota. When I do that, I'll be in full-on job search mode and hopefully be able to land something at least temporary as soon as possible. I'm also considering being a valet parking attendant on weekends.

A few random stories:

I went skiing on a day off a few weeks ago. I ended up somehow falling so that my left leg, just below my knee, fell onto the inside edge of my right ski. The edge cut my snow pants, cut my fleece pants, and cut my leg to the tune of five stitches. It was gruesome and bloody, and therefore I will share the picture that I took before the ski patrol lady bandaged it up so I could go back out:

My high school swim team had their alumni meet on the 26th. I got to swim a bit. Kelsey also brought Cancer Sucks caps, so my bro, sister, Kelsey, and I all wore them and took a picture. The cause is spreading.

Also, a slightly funny story: In preparation for my arrival back in Minnesota, I decided to pay my internet and gas bills today. I also realized I had yet to receive an electricity bill at my apartment - I assumed it had been sent after I left, so I called Xcel Energy just to ensure that my electricity would be on when I arrived on the 5th. Turns out they have not had a name/address to bill to since November 2008, and so electricity was cut on the 29th of November. I find it really funny that nobody paid a bill for a year, and they only just got around to turning off the electricity. I also am glad that I called because I really didn't want to have to deal with no electricity when I arrive late on the 5th.

Goldfish Swallowing, Neon Indian, Washed Out, DFA, and all things funemployed!

I was originally going to write a post a week or two back about all these sweet bands I found through Wikipedia.  I did this by originally looking up Hot Chip and then clicking through on the "related acts" link to see a bunch of others.  I soon realized that all of them shared a common label, DFA (Death From Above), and consequently downloaded everything from that label.  Then I realized all these bands were supposedly popular freshman year and I was, once again, late to jump on the bandwagon.  But nonetheless, if you were too, I would highly, HIGHLY recommend Out Hud, The Rapture, The Juan MacLean, and Black Leotard Front if you like Hot Chip.  I would also recommend The Knife.  

After my original music idea, I was going to write about the phenomenon of goldfish swallowing (apparently a common frat-party activity) originally popularized in the 1930s by Harvard freshman Lothrop Withington.  I think this is absolutely hilarious/repulsive and I'm confused as to why it was so popular.

Once it became apparent that my thoughts about goldfish swallowing were limited, and thus so too was my ability to write anything about it, I sat here, funemployed and without pants, and waited.  Then, I discovered some new music.  This stuff is actually new.  I hope nobody has heard it yet.  

I was just recently encouraged to listen to Washed Out.  My source told me, "If you like Passion Pit, you may like this."  He then sent me the EP (which has yet to be released?!).  I must say, this stuff is great.  It's sort of MGMT, sort of Passion Pit, all chill.  iTunes calls it "Synth-Pop".  Other people call it "Chill Wave".  I'm not enough of an indie/hipster dude to really know what I'm talking about, but I know enough to like this music and enjoy it for what it is.  Find the "Life of Leisure" EP on a rapidshare feed at your convenience.  To give you an indication of its liveliness, I would not end a pre-game with this music.  I would begin a night with it, and maybe end a night with it, but definitely nothing in the middle.

My enjoyment of Washed Out led me to another artist.  Neon Indian actually came before Washed Out (according to Hipster Runoff), but who really cares?  It's a similar style (Chill Wave) and very enjoyable to listen to.  Both projects aren't quite as lively as Passion Pit or MGMT, but they exude similar musical styles and therefore are very enjoyable.  I loved MGMT but got sick of them fairly quickly.  I think the variety that these bands provide will be quite useful in avoiding such an illness again.  On the pre-game scale, I think Neon Indian would prove to be a good pre-game band throughout most of an entire pre-game session.  Again, snag the EP (Psychic Chasms) on a rapidshare feed.

Enjoy the music.  See you all in a week.

Since we all know it's never too early to plan a party...

...(except if it's Tuesday and your party is on Friday).. 

WE ALSO KNOW IT'S NEVER TOO EARLY TO PLAN A PRE-GAME!! YEEHAW.

Given that Ted mentioned pre-gaming in his post, and that I am currently "funemployed" (thanks Dave), Nonberg and I have decided that I am going to compile a pre-game playlist for Friday night of alumni weekend since, well, there's nothing else to do!

So, send suggestions via comment and I will SadSteve them and make everyone happy.  And I will also entertain myself while doing so. 

There's also plenty of new music I've been listening to in my new, funemployed state of being.  So, maybe I'll post about it sometime soon.

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.

On Beer and the Manner of Things, or: My Two Trips to Rochester

This was promised a long time ago, so it is vastly overdue and will probably disappoint.

I just arrived at my apartment in Rochester (for the second time) about 45 minutes ago. I'm sure I was unclear in my last post; I came out here earlier this summer to move in a back-of-a-minivan-and-U-Haul-trailer-full amount of my stuff into my apartment. This was part of a longer road trip with my parents. Now I am here for the beginning of the semester next week.

On our road trip we visited: my aunt and uncle at their cabin in northern Wisconsin (on a lake named “Papoose” to be more specific) and my sister, her boyfriend and family in Lansing. This trip took about a week (I think we left on a Wednesday morning in July and returned on a Tuesday evening in August). It seemed like we spent an at least equal amount of time in the car as we did out of it—discounting the time spent sleeping (mercifully not in the car) of course.

Despite the long hours of driving, the trip was overall good. I will recount one experience now as I don't have time to recount most all of the trip (you wouldn't want to hear about sitting in a car anyway) and it is relevant to my situation at the moment. While in Michigan I got to go to Bell's Brewery (or brewpub as it were) in Kalamazoo. Those of you familiar with Bell's know that it is a microbrewery that makes great beer; those who aren't will have to take my word for it. Anyway, besides the beer, the actual premises of the brewpub were excellent. It didn't seem great from the outside—or even from the inside initially—but after we got our beers we headed out to the patio. This was a large mostly grassy area that looked almost as though it could have been someone's backyard. This backyard feel was amplified by the fact that the burgers and other delicacies that could be ordered there were cooked right outside the back door on a regular, back-yard, propane (or at least I think it was) grill. My family and I sat at a picnic table underneath an arbor with hops vining their way all over it. Around the corner from us was another large grassy area with a small amphitheater at it's end. It appeared that on many summer nights a band would most likely play on the stage, drawing a sizable crowd of young concertgoers on the grassy area before the stage. As it was a saturday afternoon when we were there, the grassy area was instead occupied by a few tables, one at which a group of half a dozen aging yuppies (first Google hit) from Chicago appeared to be enjoying their sojourn in Michigan tremendously.

After sampling half the menu of beers I had chosen a smoked rye ale to enjoy. It was an interesting beer. At first the smoky flavor overwhelmed the rest of the beer, but after I became accustomed to it, I could taste rather mellow pale ale flavors underneath. It would have been delicious with a barbeque pork sandwich.

Now, I earlier said that this experience related to my current situation, and you are doubtlessly wondering how. While at Bell's I also picked up a sampler six pack of beers. I brought them along to Rochester and stashed them in my refrigerator once here, with the intention of enjoying them at an unspecified future date. Upon arriving once agin at my apartment tonight (now nearly an hour and a half ago) these beers remained (and still do) the only form of caloric substance in my apartment—besides that which under even the most dire of situations would not be considered edible. And so, as I began to scribe this post I decided to sample one of the beers stowed in my fridge. I chose a cherry stout. I had very high hopes for this beer, and I was a bit disappointed (I have just minutes ago finished it). The cherry flavor was, unfortunately, a bit syrupy, and overshadowed the more hearty roasted grain flavors. Alas.

I now realize that this beer had a rather healthy 7% alcohol by volume which, as I ramble on, may be affecting my post a bit. As it is now rather late and this post is teetering on the edge of bombast (and that seals it), I must retire.

If nothing else, I can now truthfully claim that there was a time that the only thing in my Frigidaire (I just checked, unfortunately it's not actually one) was a six pack of beers.

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!

The 12 Steps to the Best Spring Term Ever™

I have been thinking over this spring break and I have come up with The 12 Steps to the Best Spring Term Ever™.  These are guidelines we may choose to follow that will help us along in having the best spring term that anybody at Carleton has ever experienced.  If we follow these guidelines, I'm confident of our success.  This is a living document, much like the U.S. Constitution, and we may make changes and interpretations as needed.  Thankfully, it will be the men of the Ocho (and any acquaintances lucky enough to be invited to join us) that will experience this Best Spring Term Ever™ as outlined.

The Best Spring Term Ever™ consists of the following:

1. Good music.  We will enjoy good music at all times.

2. Outdoor cooking.  We will cook outdoors as much as possible.  We have the grill, which is great, but we can also cook other ways outdoors.  I'm not sure how, but it is imperative that we take advantage of this. Alfie has already been thinking in the right way with his carne asada BBQ.  This is absolutely necessary. 

3. Outdoor sports.  Remember vortex football in the fall?  We must do that again, and this time our feet won't freeze off.  We will also play stick ball. And every other possible outdoor sport.  Whenever we can.  Barefoot.  As much as possible.

4. Minimal studying.  Winter term is for studying.  Spring term is for the opposite.  So, if we don't study, our fun factor will inevitably increase, and after all, that's why we're at college.

5. Good weather.  Given that we are omnipotent in the Ocho, we will control the weather.  It will always be 70+ and sunny.  This is as much about mindset as it is about the actual weather.

6. Rotblatt.  We will do our best to be in the running for the Rotblatt All-Star Team.

7. Spring Concert.  Enough said.

8. Baseball Challenge.  I don't know how many of you know about this, but Alfredo and I discussed it and both agreed it was necessary for some Friday or Saturday night this Spring.  It consists of the following: Watch a baseball game.  Drink a beer and eat a hot dog for each and every inning that passes.  Do this until you are unable to.  Follow #2 when preparing hot dogs.

9. Plenty of Ocho parties.  These are a given, but will definitely contribute to our fun factor as well.  See Stadium 110 whiteboard for ideas. Party over here!

10. Live blogging.  This has been discussed.

11.  No inhibitions.  If we throw ourselves fully into everything, we will enjoy it more. Don't hold back.  We're only here for ten more weeks.

12. Beer (or other booze).  We must do everything that is listed on this, uh, list, with the accompaniment of some type of refreshing beverage.