Real Life on Hold

My Take on Huevos Rancheros

2008-09-14T23:52:00.000-07:00

Ingredients (available at Trader Joes unless noted otherwise):

2 Handmade corn tortillas
2 Slices of Healthy Ham
2 Eggs
1 Container of mango salsa
1 Ripe Hass avocado
Cotija cheese (not carried by TJ’s)
Vegetable oil cooking spray

Directions:

1. Halve, peel and remove the pit from the avocado. Cut into thin slices and set aside.

2. Place a frying pan coated with the cooking spray on medium high heat and place a corn tortilla in the pan. While the bottom side is cooking, spray the exposed side of the tortilla with the cooking spray. Flip when the bottom side is hot/beginning to crisp. When the second side is complete, repeat with the 2nd tortilla.

3. While the tortillas are cooking, do the same with the slices of ham in another pan also on medium high heat.

4. In a third pan, also treated with cooking spray, cook the eggs over-easy so the yolks are still runny.

5. On a plate, assemble two stacks in the following order: tortilla, ham, egg, salsa, avocado slices.

6. Crumble the cheese over the top and enjoy.

Note: to time everything correctly, this will require 3 pans. To avoid cleaning extra pans or if you’re short on burners, I would cook in the following order: ham, tortilla, eggs.

Quick Hits

2008-05-01T00:03:00.001-07:00

Not wanting to move twice (esp. with regard to heavy, bulky objects), I decided to go the Aerobed route in the new place and leave my regular bed in storage. All was well and good: pulled the mattress out of storage, inflated it, set up linens and prepared for a restful night's sleep. Imagine my disappointment when the bed tried to swallow me whole at 1:00 in the morning due to a pinhole-sized hole in the bottom. Sound sleep was systematically interrupted every two hours following with a need to reinflate the bed.

Whether the recent bout of working out or the preceding period of not working out is responsible, I can't say, but I can tell you that my neck is too fat to fit into any of my old dress shirts. I had to undo the top button at lunch yesterday so my food could slip past the collar. It's also helping to curb my recently acquired habit of cracking my neck since I can barely move my head without cutting off the blood supply to my brain.

Other than that, just been doing a lot of work on the Penske file.

The End of the Line

2008-04-27T20:14:00.001-07:00

It's official: The adventure is over. Tonight marks the eve of my return to the real world. The last 14 months have been nothing short of incredible -- so many amazing adventures and experiences it's hard to believe it was only that long.

I feel like I'm returning an improved person. This last year has provided me with a lot of insight and perspective and I can truly say I've grown during that time. Backpacking across Europe taught me the value of minimizing and distilling down what is really needed to be happy. Living away from Southern California reiterated the value of friends and family and how it's easy to take the time spent with those who are close and are readily accessible, for granted. Not being able to play with the ice hockey team or see the guys for the weekly poker game helped me to appreciate all of the social activities that filled my time and the camaraderie created within. And, finally, not being able to find a decent carne asada burrito in what some argue to be the world's greatest city, somehow leads me to believe that I belong in the World's Finest City.

So, I'm back. Del Mar is where I'm calling home until my place opens up again in July and then I'll be moving back in there. The new job starts tomorrow so I'm dealing with the seemingly foreign concept of a routine -- something that I never thought I'd say I'm looking forward to. While the fast, erratic pace of the last year was exciting, stability sounds very welcoming, at the moment.

Would I do it all again? Without a moment's hesitation. I think 2020's looking good for the next go-round...

It's Bathing Suit Season

2008-04-08T15:40:00.001-07:00

I've had a few people ask me about working out and fitness lately (summer must be just around the corner), so I thought I'd share the workout plan I've been using for the past couple of months as it's been extremely effective and requires very little time investment. The regimen is based around a little known study that was conducted at Colorado State University during the 70's. Tim Ferris, author of Four Hour Work Week, distilled the experiment down and provided a simple, easy to apply routine.

The first, and best, part of this workout is that it only requires two 30 minute visits to the gym each week. Each visit is comprised of a full body workout, as it is important to incorporate as many of the large muscle groups as possible (especially the legs) in order to illicit a maximum hormonal response, which helps to build muscle and burn fat. To further boost the number of muscles used, only compound exercises are performed. Another key to this plan is to use a very low cadence when lifting – 5 seconds in each direction. This will help to increase the amount of negative resistance placed on the muscles which is where a lot of the growth response comes from. It should be noted that if you are already working out and start doing this plan, you will probably need to drop the amount of weight you're used to lifting; don't worry, the strength gains will come very quickly. For mass gains, wait about 3 minutes between exercises; for toning and fat loss, rest about 30 seconds between exercises. Finally, only do one set of each exercise, to failure (should shoot for ~10 reps).

Here is a typical workout (after warming up for 5-10 minutes):

* Squats (if you're not comfortable doing squats, leg presses would be an acceptable substitute, although not as complete)

* Chest (e.g. incline, regular or decline bench. flyes, etc)

* Outer Back (e.g. lat pulldowns, wide-grip rows, etc.)

* Shoulders (shoulder press or raises)

* Inner Back (seated rows, bent over rows)

* If you've still got energy at this point (I rarely do), you could do one more chest/tri (flyes, dips)

To further speed fat loss, a couple light-medium cardio sessions a week could be added. Eating is always plays a role in fat loss/muscle gain. I had very good results following the guidelines in the Abs Diet; a slow carb would probably be effective, as well.

In the 2-3 months I've been doing the plan I've seen substantial gains (and my eating has been far from perfect). I've lost at least 3-4% body fat and added well over an inch to my chest and legs (a lot of my dress shirts are too tight across the chest, now). To successfully monitor progress, I would recommend keeping a journal of each workout (amount of weight, reps, etc).

Real Life Back On Hold!

2008-04-01T00:03:00.001-07:00

A funny thing happened at the poker table last night. I was

playing over at the Red Rock casino where they happen to have a

really big bad beat jackpot (some casinos run a promotion that

if a player has a very, very strong hand beaten by a stronger hand,

like four-of-a-kind beaten by a straight flush, they pay everyone present

from the bad beat fund, which happened to be $167,540 yesterday).

Of that money, $45k goes to the losing hand, $35k goes to the winning

one and the rest gets split amongst everyone playing at the time.

Last time I was playing, a table hit the bad beat and we all got a $200

share of the bad beat fund.

Back to last night…I'm playing at a fairly average Texas Hold 'em table

and not getting too many good hands, until this one came up: I had

a pair of 8's in my hand and I made a full house on the flop (community

cards) which was K-K-8. I knew my hand was best, so I was surprised

when an old lady at the table raised me; she had been making a lot of

weird plays all night, so it didn't concern me since the only hands

that beat me were two kings or a king and an 8 which would have made

a larger full house and she didn't play preflop like she had the kings.

The next two community cards were a 6 and another 8. I about wet

myself when the last 8 came off as it gave me four-of-a-kind, a nearly

unbeatable hand! Unfortunately, by then, the old lady and I were

the only ones left in the hand, but we kept raising and reraising until

she ran out of chips – I think we each made about 8 bets. I triumphantly

turned over my cards and proclaimed my four-of-a-kind. Imagine my

surprise when she showed her pair of kings for a better four-of-a-kind!

At first, my heart sank deep into my chest when I realized I had lost the

hand. Within seconds, however, the whole world started to fade away

as the realization that I'd just won $45,000 came to be.

F-O-R-T-Y-F-I-V-E-T-H-O-U-S-A-N-D-D-O-L-L-A-R-S! Holy Shit!

Even as I type this now, it doesn't seem like a reality. Within that one

hand of poker, my immediate life had changed - I could put life on hold

for another year!

The rest of the night is a blur; the whole room was abuzz with activity

after it happened and everyone wanted to come over and hear the story

of the hand. I vaguely remember being taken to a back room in the

casino to fill out tax forms and collect my check. I'm shirking reality

again and I couldn't be happier!

Interlude

2008-03-25T18:10:00.001-07:00

For whatever reason, I can't seem to write the entry that is supposed to go here; something about it being the realization that Real Life on Hold is going to end soon and by not writing it, perhaps it will extend the fantasy a little longer. Instead, I'll put up a little ditty about me doing something stupid, which will likely be more entertaining, anyway.

The weather was quite warm out here in Vegas, today, enough so that I was forced to run the A/C on my way to the gym. When I got back to the car after my workout, I reached for the Clif Bar I brought with me, as I often do. Unfortunately, the heat had taken its toll on the bar, slightly melting the chocolate chips and softening the rest of the concoction significantly. No matter, as I was starving and it was still edible so I hurriedly began refueling my body as I made my way over to Trader Joes. I took care of my shopping as quickly and efficiently as possible, save for the minute or two I spent talking to the checkout lady as she took her time processing my groceries. It seemed like she was taking an extra interest in me as she kept looking my way and smiling quite a bit as she talked. I was feeling good with the endorphins coursing through my veins, having just come from the gym, and I figured she was just picking up on that.

I got home and unpacked the groceries and went into the bathroom to wash my hands. When I looked up in the mirror, it became quickly apparent why so much attention had been lavished on me at the market. My face bore not one, but two very noticeable chocolate chip smears just above my chin.

I Need Your Help!

2008-03-01T00:16:00.001-08:00

To all my regular readers, I need a little assistance. I'm applying for a writing position at a local review site/journal here in Vegas. Lacking any sort of published works/portfolio, I've been asked to submit some writing samples from this blog. If you could please let me know which entries you particularly enjoyed or thought were well written, that would help me immensely! You can either email them to me or post in the comments. Thanks in advance for your input!

A Vegas Education

2008-02-27T00:47:00.001-08:00

It's been a month since I hit Sin City, let's see what I've learned so far…

The poker career? Uh, if I had a day job, I wouldn't quit it. I don't know that I've given it a complete shot, but what I've been through so far has shown me that there is a lot more to surviving while playing cards when that is the only source of income. Don't get me wrong, I haven't lost the farm or anything like that; in fact, I'm in the black. However, I may as well be starting each month down a couple grand since money has to be made up to pay for rent, bills, food, entertainment, etc. All you 'I told you so-ers,' get 'em in now.

The off-strip experience. There are a few off-strip restaurants that I've discovered and nearly any needed amenity is readily available. Not too much else to say here other than off-strip Vegas feels like Anytown, USA, except there is a lot more driving involved.

Driving? Yes, ass-loads of it. With land so cheap and vast here, everything is spread out to oblivion. Seriously, to go anywhere is a minimum 15 minute drive. It takes half a tank of gas just to get gas. In the month I've been here, I've racked up over 2500 miles, all within the city limits.

Health. Most would assume Vegas to be pretty bad for the body. On the contrary, it's helped me get back in shape. I joined a gym when I got to town and have been fairly diligent about getting in there. I've also been making regular trips over to the ice rink and doing some skating for cardio. Being able to hit on all of the 15 year old girls helps keep the motivation up. Kidding! (they're more like 12). I've been drinking so much cranberry juice at the tables there's no fear of that urinary tract infection kicking in. Food-wise, I've been cooking almost all of my own meals and eating relatively healthy (I'd say I've lost a good 5 lbs from what I added in Europe and New York). I've got to get the abs in shape for my Thunder Down Under tryout next month.

The typical Vegas experience. Any desire to do this on a regular basis was lifted the second I set my bags down. It's like living in San Diego and never going to the beach because it's right there. Or not doing lines of blow off that hooker because there is a perfectly clean mirror on the table. I've been out a few times while living here, but solely when people have been in town visiting. On the plus side, I have been able to take advantage and see a couple of the shows that are currently playing. I've seen Le Reve (good show) and Love (good, but shouldn't have been billed as a Cirque show); tomorrow, I'm going to check out 'O' and I'm planning on seeing Blue Man when my parents come into town next month. Also managed to take in a couple hockey games over at the Orleans.

Overall…do I regret coming out here? Not for a second. I know that this isn't everyone's dream, but it was one of mine. While things may not be going down exactly as I drew them up in my head, by coming out here, it will never be an unanswered 'what if' question in my mind. And for that, I can rest easy.

Othercuts

2008-02-22T15:54:00.001-08:00

It's been said that you lose 5 minutes off your life for every cigarette smoked; I just lost the equivalent of about a 1000 packs of smokes from the tail end of my existence. You see, there are very few things more stressful to me than getting my hair cut by an unknown barber. Hence, with one or two exceptions, every single haircut in my life has been at the hands of two people and those other haircuts have always sucked – today was no different.

I should have known I was in trouble the second I walked into the place. This shop was old school, I mean really old school, like they still had leeches in the back. All of the barbers must have been active members of the AARP for at least the last 20 years. And here I come in looking like a goddamn hippy. Did I listen to my instincts and walk out at that point? No, of course not. After sitting down and mentioning that I only wanted a half inch or so taken off and the first guy refused to cut my hair, did I take that as a sign that I perhaps I should take my business elsewhere? Nope, let's do this thing.

So, there I sat, palms clenched and drenched as I watched inch after inch of hair fall helplessly around me as barber #2 took to my hair like Edward Scissorhands, only a little less emo. Oh sure, there were highlights, like when an older woman walked past and the guy pointed out that, "she sure looks good for an old lady - ass hasn't dropped yet." And just in case I missed the first time, he murmured a second, "that ass has not dropped." But mostly it was torturous experience and now I look like a freakin' pixie; another inch and I could have donated to Locks of Love. No, there will be no pictures, so please don't ask. My Padres hat will be a consistent prop in any of the pictures you do see of me over the coming weeks.

John, you've got your work cut out for you when I get back to San Diego.

Leaving Our Mark In Vegas

2008-02-13T08:51:00.001-08:00

The past week was filled with the general debauchery of Mark’s bachelor party (somehow we all survived). For obvious reasons, most of what transpired cannot be relayed; this story, however, is peripheral enough to be retold.

It’s late, late into Saturday night (Sunday morning?) and a large group of us have commandeered two blackjack tables at the new Palazzo casino. The free drinks have been delivered in excess and everyone is having a great time, as anyone in earshot would attest. I’m railbirding a table with Mark, Steve, Sean and Greg; at the adjacent table, every minute or two a loud cry of “Monkey! Monkey!” would be yelled out by Jimm in hopes that the dealer would deal herself a bust card. After one such outburst, Mark, who happens to carry a sock monkey as a good luck charm, thought it would be appropriate to toss the little guy over onto the raucous table in hopes of helping their general luck. Hilarity did not ensue.

The monkey took flight from one patch of felt to the next, and landed with a seemingly harmless, silent thud on its new resting place. This did nothing short of startle the dealer who let out a high pitched, “sshhiiiiitt!!” turning all of the heads in the place in our general direction. She started to scold Mark but somewhere amongst the first few words suffered a complete and total breakdown instead. Tears began to stream uncontrollably down her cheeks as her shoulders convulsed. Within seconds, the pit boss escorted her off the floor and she would not be seen again for at least an hour.

Abusive Furnishings

2008-02-02T12:19:00.001-08:00

Dinner time has arrived and I'm starting to stir-fry a little chickity China the Chinese chicken chow mein. I've got the pan nice and hot and, once the oil warms up, I throw in the meat and some veggies. Forgetting to turn on the exhaust fan over the stove was a poor move as the house quickly fills with enough smoke to set off not one, but two smoke detectors. The ensuing screeching of the alarms is enough to make my ears bleed as I try to shut everything on the stove down and take care of this auditory nuisance.

I close the door to my bedroom to muffle smoke detector #1 and hop up on the couch in the living room to get to work on detector #2. I rip the battery out as though it were the device's heart, hoping to kill its wailing. No luck. The alarm continues to pound its high-pitched cry against my eardrums. Ignoring my life of impending deafness, I start to alternately press the two buttons on the face of the detector in hopes of shutting it up with little success. Finally, I press and hold the "hush" button and ten seconds or so later the only ringing is in my ears.

I'm able to finish cooking and enjoy my dinner, save for the water torture-esque, incremental beeping coming from the detector as it begs to have its heart replaced. When the last of my food has been consumed, I submit to the incessant nagging. Again, I step up onto the couch, except this time placing my weight on the side arm as opposed to the back of the couch. Without warning, the sectional lives up to its namesake and the portion I am on collapses out from under me, pillows fly in all directions and I come crashing down on top of the entire piece.

My left arm is shocked with simultaneous pain and numbness as my brain tries to process what happened. "Ugh, I'm gonna need a minute," I exhale to a nonexistent audience, as I stumble to the bathroom to assess personal damages. It takes a while for the mirror to come into focus as all I can see are stars floating around the room. Eventually, I pull it together enough to visually inspect my arm and what I see is not pretty. Evidently, I came down so hard and fast onto the sofa that I managed the equivalent of a huge carpet burn along the entire length of my forearm; the top layer of skin looks as though it went across a cheese grater giving me the macroderm abrasion from hell. Add in the two bruises on either end and it's safe to say that the team of sofa and smoke detector won this round.

Ozz-Fest

2008-01-29T10:32:00.001-08:00

I played poker with Ozzy Osbourne last night. Ok, not really, but I did play with a fat, drunk guy with an accent who kept slurring while yelling at his wife, Sharon, from across the table.

Home

2008-01-26T14:11:00.001-08:00

I'm currently waiting out the final ticks of the clock before heading over to drop off a check and pick up the keys to my new place. I managed to score a two-bedroom house just south of The Strip. Should work out pretty well, commute to the office will be about 15 minutes or less, depending on traffic.

It's only been a couple days, but I already feel like I've assimilated myself as a Vegas local. Friday night came and went and I had no desire to go out to The Strip. Walking through the Wynn, my steps were not quite as light as they are when I'm vacationing out here. And spending time off-strip has left me with feelings of a town deserted. It's almost like the city was built and then half of its residents moved away (or never showed up). The stores are empty, the parking lots vacant, save for the occasional auto and, according to statistics, 40,000 homes sit empty. The eeriness that prevails is compounded by the newness of everything.

Perhaps all that is just a metaphor for the city; a place where ten year old buildings are ancient, people come and go with alarming regularity and life is but a surreal illusion. For the next 2 months, this is my home.

Going Pro - Sort of

2008-01-14T13:34:00.001-08:00

The holidays have passed which means I'm free to roam again for a bit. As alluded to previously, the next destination on the world tour will be to spend a couple months in Las Vegas. While there, I will pretend to live out the fantasy of recreational poker players everywhere and assume the role of 'Professional Poker Player.'

First things first - allow me to alleviate any fears that you (my friends and family) may have regarding this little adventure. For starters, I will be limiting myself to a set amount of money; if/when that's gone, I throw in the towel. Period. Secondly, I have no illusions of doing this for the rest of my life or making a boatload of money. Rather, it's simply something that I want to say I did - living out a dream (at least for 1-2 months).

Finally, if you are interested in reading about my poker adventures, they can be found here: http://www.mysocalledpokercareer.com. That blog will cover only stories from the tables and probably won't be too interesting to those of you who don't play. Fear not, all the remaining adventures will continue to be posted here.

More Craigslist Goodness

2008-01-08T19:44:00.000-08:00

Soundtrack of my life.

A Crappy Place to Write

2008-01-05T00:31:00.001-08:00

Welcome to 2008, everyone. I'm sure you've noticed the lack of writing over the past couple of weeks and I would like to offer up an explanation. You see, with the holiday season upon us, I've been spending a lot of time in Hemet; a situation that treats creative genius much like a baby treats a diaper.

Sure, at first glance, the answer seems obvious: with little to do in Hemet, what the hell would I write about? A possibility, yes, but I don't think that's the real reason. Instead, I'd like to propose that the opportunity cost of being creative in Hemet is simply too low. When I was in New York and opted to sit down with a pen and paper, I was choosing to forego all that the city had to offer for an afternoon with my thoughts (or giving false hope to Craigslist perverts, as was more often the case). In Hemet, I give up nothing; unless you can quantify being cougar bait at the local watering hole.

So, there it is. Look for some interesting content in the coming month(s). I'll be moving out to Vegas in a couple weeks (more on that soon) which should provide plenty of inspiring fodder.

Senioritis

2007-12-17T23:57:00.001-08:00

It's official, I'm truly living the retired life, now. Last week I pulled my slacks up to my nipples, installed some new tennis balls on my walker and accompanied my grandmother and about 40 other whiteheads on a senior bus trip out to the Fantasy Springs Casino in Palm Springs. The day started ominously when I arrived at the casino and found that the poker room had been shut down the week previous (would have been nice if they'd updated their website to reflect the closure). Scratch that, the true low-point of the day probably came when I boarded the bus and the two ladies who couldn't fit together in the seat in front of me were arguing about who's ass was bigger and then asked my opinion.

Anyway, back to the casino, I bided my time in the morning by playing a little Pai Gow and then I rejoined the group for lunch at the buffet. What a grand time we had - there was so much to complain about! The melons weren't ripe, they put ice in the water (had to send those back) and the girl took too long bringing out the coffee. Fortunately, they had sugar-free desserts so we were all able to indulge.

Following lunch, I spent a little more time on the Pai Gow table and then went to check on how the others were doing. I found one of my grandmother's good friends on the video poker machines, so I sat down next to him and threw $20 into an adjacent machine. About 20 minutes later, I notice the following cards on the screen: Ten-King-Jack-Queen of clubs and a King of spades. I took a chance and held the clubs and dumped the extra King. Imagine my surprise when the King was replaced by the Ace of clubs, giving me a Royal Flush! Cha-Ching! Suddenly the closed poker room wasn't such a bad thing.

The bus picked us up shortly thereafter and brought us back to the safety of Hemet, albeit too late to catch the Early Bird specials.

Dreamcar Nightmare

2007-12-10T11:43:00.000-08:00

Thanksgiving, 2007

The clock strikes 11:00 PM and not surprisingly, the Hemet nightlife has not only been successfully disappointing but totally non-existent, as well. We’re out at the far end of town and have decided to call it a night; just before we start heading back, however, Tom pulls the car over, turns it off and hands me the keys. “You drive.”

“Are you sure? What if something happens?”

“Don’t worry about it, what’s going to happen?”

With equal parts reservation and pure glee, I climb into the Ferrari’s cockpit. You see, Tom owns an exotic car rental service out in LA and having locked the keys in his personal car he opted to take the F355. If I were in his situation, I’d be locking the keys in my daily driver a lot.

I ease the car onto the main drag and we start making our way back to the house. The Ferrari F355 has always been one of my favorite cars and the reality of driving one does not change my mind. Like a sprinter who mistakenly signed up for a walk-a-thon, the car rolls listlessly down the street begging to be unleashed, yet the speed limit and Hemet’s finest keep us tethered to a scant 45 MPH.

Judging by the rapidly approaching headlights in the rearview mirror, someone else in this town doesn’t seem to abide by the same laws. The headlights morph into a mid-90’s Honda Accord as a blur of blue flashes by my left side. Suddenly, the brake lamps light up, the nose of the Accord dives towards the pavement and the guy is in such a hurry to stop that amber sparks fly from the front wheel wells. Not sure what this other driver is doing, I slow the Ferrari down to a crawl. This turns out to be a good move on my part as the other car comes to a stop but not before cutting into my lane. As I stop our car, I wonder aloud what the hell is going on.

“Maybe he just wants to get a look at the car, try pulling around,” Tom offers.

I begin to make my way around to the left of the stopped car. Instead, I’m greeted with reverse lights as the Accord pulls back to the left to block me again. Why did I ever agree to drive this car? Visions of carjackings start to seep into my head. I check the rearview, worried that a third car is going to come up from behind to block us in on two sides. My heart starts to pound from within my chest. I make another attempt to pull to the right of the obstruction and once more, forward progress is impeded.

My mind races, trying to come up with a plan. Before it can formulate anything, the Accord’s drivers’ side door opens and a thuggy character leans out. In his hand is a large plastic cup which, given his actions, I’m convinced contains some sort of booze. He stares straight at us and begins to speak as he starts to get out of the car, “how about letting me drive, now?”

“I don’t know what’s up with this guy, but we’re out of here.” I drop the car into first, crank the wheel hard to the left and floor it. The car wakes up, happy to be of service and next thing I know we’re flying up the street in the other direction. After a mile or so, I let off and coast down to a reasonable speed.

I turn to Tom, “I think you should call 9-1-1.” As the words finish leaving my mouth, I check the rearview mirror and my heart sinks as I see two dots of light staring back at me. The Accord pulls the same maneuver, flying up on the left and slamming on the brakes as he passes. This time, however, he cuts in front of us at speed. I get on the brakes really hard as the right side of the Accord misses our front bumper by about 10 feet and continues on down a side street. Not waiting to see if he’s going to take another run at us, I once again bury the gas and we head up the street in search of some cops that we’d passed earlier in the night.

Splitting time between the road ahead and the rearview mirror, my eyes are getting a serious workout (not to mention my heart, lungs, etc). The old adage about never finding a cop when you need one holds true and over the course of the next two or three miles, we don’t pass a soul. On the plus side, our new enthusiast friend seems to have left us alone, too, so I decide to give up on finding the cops and get onto some backstreets in hopes of making it back to the house in one piece.

As I lie in bed later that night, my heart continues to race as all of the possibilities of what could have taken place swirl around my head. What if that guy had had a gun? What if I’d stuffed the car? What the hell happened to this town? Somewhere amidst all the worry, my dreamcar nightmare falls prey to sleep.

I Come From a Land Down Under

2007-12-02T20:50:00.001-08:00

“I thought Wednesday was the new Thursday, where is everyone?”

“No, Monday is the new Thursday; no one goes out on Wednesday.”

Dave and I are wandering the streets of Manhattan desperately in search of a decently populated bar. On the plus side, the walk is probably doing us some good considering our overstuffed stomachs, courtesy of the 4 courses of dessert served up at the French restaurant where we had dinner. Not conducive to this long walk all over the city is our current attire of suits and dress shoes.

We’ve all but given up on the night save for the one remaining bar between us and the subway stop that will take us back home. Our spirits low, we step into this last chance watering hole and come face to face with Karaoke Night in full effect. Given the choice between bad singing and calling the night prematurely, we decide to stick it out.

The liquid courage takes a hold of Dave a lot sooner than it does me and before I know it, he’s on stage belting out a solid rendition of Radiohead’s Creep. As soon as he gets back to our seats the badgering begins: “Dude, you gotta go up there and sing a song…C’mon, I did it and we’re not leaving until you get up there…Here’s the song book, just pick one.”

Knowing that I need to come up with something to subdue Dave’s onslaught of ‘encouragement,’ I offer the following compromise: “alright, there’s this Australian folk song that I know. If they have it, I’ll sing it.”

Fairly confident that the masses will be spared my singing, I take a look in the song book under “T”.
Take On Me
.
.
.
Thank God I’m a Country Boy
.
.
.
And then, there it is: Tie Me Kangaroo Down Sport by Rolf Harris. Uh-oh.

True to my word, I submit my song request and warm up by ordering another round.

Thirty minutes later, I am summoned to the stage where I take the mike and with my best Australian inflection say, “alright, this here’s an oldie where I come from, I hope you all enjoy it. Here we go…” and proceed to sing the entire song in a thick Aussie accent.

The Lounge Singer

After finishing the song, I leave the stage and head to the back of the bar to find Dave. On the way, a girl stops me. “Hey, I’m very familiar with that song, but I’ve never heard that verse about the Abo’s*.”

“Is that right? How do you know the song?” I carry on in my new accent.

“I’m from Sydney…”

I continue to have a 5-10 minute conversation with this person, upholding that I am from Oz the entire time and I just moved to the States about a year previous. I don’t know what came over me, but at that moment I was Australian.

---
* - From Wikipedia: “The fourth verse was removed circa 1960,
because of its use of the word Abo, a now offensive slang term for
Australian Aborigines, and because of its implied racist context…”

I Hope That Text Was Important

2007-11-27T01:58:00.001-08:00

Being between adventures means I'm currently biding my time back home while I figure out my next move. Yes, I've become a regular George Costanza: "Hi, I'm Travis, I'm unemployed and live with my parents…" Trust me, the ladies love that one. But, that's not really here nor there as far as this little tale is concerned. What is relevant is that while home, I've been helping my dad with some computer work at his office. Over the weekend, I had to stop by Office Depot or Staples or some sort of crappy all-in-one store for some parts for said project. While I was busy not finding what I was looking for, a girl walked over in my direction, furrowed her brow and pointed at me until we reached the point of mutual recognition. Turns out it was my first girlfriend, circa junior high/high school.

As we're bumbling through the semi-awkward 'try to catch up in 5 minutes but where the hell do you start since you haven't seen each other since high school moment' she reaches into her purse and pulls out her cell phone. In my mind I'm giving her the benefit of the doubt, ok, maybe she just wants to get my contact info so we can continue catching up another time under more planned circumstances.

Nope, just being rude. So I completely shut down my side of the conversation and waited for what had to be the world's most important text messaging interaction to complete. I don't see you for 14 years and you can't give me five minutes of genuine attention? Nice seeing you too.

Man in a Suitcase

2007-11-26T22:14:00.001-08:00

While in NYC I was truly 'living out of a suitcase' as my luggage took the place of my dresser. I guess I became pretty accustomed to living this way because I didn't realize I have been doing the same thing back here at home for the last week until my mom asked if I was ever going to unpack my suitcase.

A Day of Travel

2007-11-20T12:05:00.001-08:00

Ugh, my body is none too happy about being up at the crack of dawn and is sure to make its discontent known by the constant feelings of nausea. Come to think of it, it could just be a carry over from last night's subjection to bits and pieces of the 2girls1cup video or what could more appropriately be called the most vile, disgusting, NSFW thing you should never have the displeasure of viewing (don't google it, trust me; and, if you can't heed my advice, definitely don't look it up at work).

***

I'm in the air on my way back to the West Coast and currently adding to my discomfort is the growing level of annoyance with the 'normal rules don't apply to me' woman in the adjacent row who decided to bring her stupid, yippy purse dog that hasn't shut up since we took off, on board, and is letting it run around her lap and the seat next to her. This is, of course, after the flight attendant explicitly told her, for the second time, to put the dog in its carrier and place it under the seat where it must remain for the duration of the flight. And I really wish she'd stop standing up and facing me with her pink, crushed velvet wedgie.

***

Seriously, dude, you're going to the bathroom again? Either you're doing more coke than Tony Montana or that must have been some really bad Chinese food last night. Why do I care? Probably because you bash the shit out of my seat every time you get up. Please, just go hang out in the back of the plane.

***

"Hello from the flight deck. We're running about 50 minutes ahead of schedule, so we're gonna take a little detour over the Grand Canyon. Don't worry, we'll fly back and forth over it so both sides get a good view. Let's start with the right side of the plane." The plane dips its right wing down a good 30 degrees and my view of the horizon is replaced with the Colorado River. The entire family behind me crowds the window seat to get a look and practically slams me face first into the seatback in front of me.

"Ok folks, now the left side." The plane rotates hard on its axis the other way and now all I see is sky on my right. And everyone else running to the left side of the plane as if the Virgin Mary herself was waving back at them.

"Isn't it beautiful? Great day for a tour of the Grand Canyon." True, but what is even more beautiful is that that damn dog finally shut the hell up.

We make 5 or 6 more S-turns over the canyon to kill any time advantage we may have had and continue on our way, ensuring a non-early arrival (is this why this flight only comes in on time 60% of the time?).

"You know what folks? We've got an extra few minutes to kill here, let's take you on a tour of the Hoover Dam. It's gonna be coming up on the left side, I'm gonna try to put us right over it so you can get a good view. It's such a beautiful day out there – look at that view!"

***

Oh, we're starting our final descent, time for Yippy to start up again...

***

Why is it that the only people that check the tags on their luggage are the ones who have ridiculously unique luggage in the first place? I’m standing in the baggage claim at the airport and watching a guy very meticulously check the tag on his enormous, bright purple suitcase while it’s still on the belt and other bags are starting to pile up behind the monstrosity, threatening to carry the two of them around the ‘claim. Not to be outdone, a woman 10 feet away is giving just as much attention to the tags on her pink and white zebra-stripe luggage that she just pulled off the carousel. Meanwhile, a myriad of black suitcases float down the belt as people pluck their anonymous bags without a second glance.

Bye, Bye Big Apple

2007-11-18T14:37:00.001-08:00

The New York portion of the trip is rapidly coming to a close and, as I sit here and reflect on the past 7 weeks, I already know what I'm going to miss most about this city. The jaywalking. Such a simple pleasure really. Not only is jaywalking acceptable out here, it's practically encouraged; people will all but push other folks off the curb if they're being held up. Why do I feel like I'm going to either get a ticket or run over when I get back to California?

"It Would Look Bad If You Died On My Watch"

2007-11-17T11:19:00.001-08:00

When I was younger, I used to be highly allergic to legumes, namely peas. Actually, I was allergic to just about everything, but back to the peas - it was bad enough that I could take a single pea, stick it on the back of my tongue, swallow it and I would still have a reaction. Of course, once my 'friends' got word of this, they would try to slip peas into my food in hopes of seeing me suffer.

Fortunately, I have managed to outgrow all of my allergies and haven't had any sort of reaction for about 10 years…until last night, that is. Dana, Dave and were amidst a food tour of the West Village and stopped off to get some falafel. For whatever reason, I started to have a pretty serious reaction to the chickpeas; my lips began to swell up and my throat started to constrict. Dana got very nervous (much more-so than me) and went into full disaster control mode, insisting that we get to a drug store and buy some Benadryl immediately to keep me from going into anaphylactic shock. I guess med school made trying to kill me a little less funny.

A Tale of Three Meals: Third Course

2007-11-11T22:25:00.001-08:00

Dana and I made a quick trip to Philly last weekend for what would became better known as The Fat-Ass South Philly Food Tour. When it comes to cheesesteaks, there are two 'go to' places in Philadelphia: Pat's and Geno's. Conveniently, they're right across the street from each other; not conveniently, they're a cab ride away from downtown.

The debate is endless as to which is the better cheesesteak and the long lines that snake around each joint further prove that a common opinion is still a ways off. Given that either would probably be a safe bet, we opted to go to Pat's since they claim to be the originator of the cheesesteak as we know it. Anyone who's seen the Soup Nazi episode of Seinfeld has an idea how the ordering process works at Pat's. There must be no hesitation when ordering unless an open reprimanding and trip back to the end of the line is what's desired.

Fortunately, no major snafus in the ordering process and Dana and I were presented with two perfect examples of Pennsylvania's official state food along with a side of fries and a glass of birch beer. The verdict? Pretty damn good. However, I should have heeded Dana's advice and gone with the Cheese Whiz topping instead of provolone cheese. We finished up and were ready to head back to the city when this little conversation came up:

"Uh, are you still a little hungry?" I asked, a bit incredulous that the thought could even cross my mind after polishing off all that food.

"Well, I wouldn't say I'm stuffed."

"Would we be crazy to go grab a cheesesteak at Geno's; you know, for comparison's sake?"

"I'm down."

And that's how we ended up sampling cheesesteaks (and fries and birch beer) at both venues in the matter of about 30 minutes (this time I went with the Cheese Whiz, though – a much better call than the provolone).

The rest of our time in Philly was spent checking out the stairs that Sylvester Stalone ran up in Rocky, the Liberty Bell, Independence Hall, taking a walk around the city and trying to survive a serious case of the meat sweats.