Just kidding, it’s pretty good actually. Just wanted to use avatarded in a sentence. This post is actually about Christmas.
Normally, I do not get stressed about family gift giving and family gatherings around Christmas because, being the boy scout that I am, I usually have all my gifts taken care of BEFORE Thanksgiving as to avoid the madness of the malls and because I genuinely enjoy hanging out with my family for our annual Christmas parties due to my uncle’s ability to pour a mean brandy old fashioned sour.
Well this year was different.
I can finally see why people get stressed out this time of year. First off, I’m dealing with new job jitters and long hours that have prevented me from getting my shopping done so I had one narrow window last Saturday to get it all done.
After wandering around Bay Park Square for what seemed like hours, I was getting really frustrated. At one point, I seriously thought to myself, “fuck it, the economy sucks, everybody’s getting a Snuggie this year and that’s that.” I’m not kidding. I was so desperate, I almost bought a gift for my dad at Radioshack. Radioshack!
Did I mention that I started dating someone about two weeks ago? What the hell do you give someone for Christmas that you’ve only dated for two weeks!? The dating Gods are clearly messing with my November rule.
Things were looking grim and I was staring down the barrel of a 4:00 pm matinee time for Avatar 3D so I needed to act fast. In a flash of inspiration and a quick detour to a Packer memorabilia store on Holmgren, I think I covered all my bases and even had time for to load up on goodies before the film started.
On a side note, I give Avatar seven, maybe seven and half thumbs up. The 3D-ness was cool but not the game changer I thought it was going to be and the dialogue was weak. My biggest beef was the 2 hour and 40 minute running time. Inexcusable. Unless you’re returning a ring to Mordor or your name is Martin Scorsese, I don’t want to sit still through your movie if it’s over 2 hours and 10 minutes.
I didn’t always think this way. Back when I was making minimum wage, I used to think a longer running time was an asset rather than a liability. I was getting my money’s worth! Ben Affleck drilling a hole on an asteroid for 2 hours and 30 minutes!? Sign me up for that shit, hell yeah!
Then yesterday, we celebrated Christmas on my Dad’s side of the family. Not a lot to report there actually, I stayed sober this year for some reason and at one point during the Packer game, amidst all the chatter of my relatives catching up, I shit you not, someone make the argument that Wings was the greatest sitcom ever made.
At this point I vowed to never be sober for a Wollin family Christmas party ever again. I never confirmed who actually said the comment and I don’t want to know. I hope it wasn’t my dad. God, tell me it wasn’t my dad!
Merry Christmas everyone!
Monday, December 21, 2009
Monday, December 14, 2009
Cheetah Woods
Ugh. Terrible.
Not my joke, though. Neither is this one but it’s a lot better:
What is the difference between a golf ball and an SUV?
Tiger Woods can drive a golf ball over 300 yards.
Eh Oh!
Okay let’s get topical.
I know you are probably sick and tired of hearing about Tiger Woods in the news, but once again, the only person to blame is the media itself.
As more of Tiger’s conquests come out of the woodwork to seek their 15 minutes of fame, the more you hear about awful his character is and how he doesn’t deserve all the accolades he has received over all these years.
Nuts to that. It’s easy to point someone to their finger and say they are built of a stronger moral fiber but how many of these people make hundreds of millions of dollars a year by being the best athlete in their field and then have beautiful women throw themselves at them everywhere they go?
If you are one of these people, then cast thy first stone, but until you are, I don’t see how anyone can possibly know what kind of temptations and pressures Tiger or someone of his stature must face on a daily basis so therefore we should not be so quick to judge him.
And I think that Elin just HAD to have known what was going on. It’s hard enough to juggle one woman around in a hectic schedule let alone seven or whatever the tally is at now. I figure that Tiger and Elin must have had some kind of “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy around the home that was probably working out relatively swell but Tiger got sloppy with his pain meds and let one of these bimbos blackmail him which led to a fight and him storming out of the house all medicated up, and well you know the rest of the story.
Affairs among the rich and famous aren’t new, people. In fact, for a long period of time, it was kind of cool to make enough money to support a mistress. King Henry. Ben Franklin. JFK. A bunch of dudes from the bible. Ray Liotta in Goodfellas had at least two. The list goes on and on.
Mistresses are just what rich and famous people do. Why are we stopping the presses over this?
In fact, this spat is going to hurt the economy. Experts are saying that ratings and sponsorships are going to dry up costing the PGA hundreds of millions of dollars.
If America’s number one export is our culture (and I think it is) this scandal will hurt America’s bottom line and I can’t accept that.
Let’s all move on and let the man sort out his mess privately so he can get back to what he does best: having extreme nipple erections at the weirdest times.
No wait, I’m thinking of Phil Mickelson. I meant to say giving awkward, ill timed high fives to his caddy. That’s what Tiger really excels at.
And Tiger, if you are reading this and I suspect you might be, if you think you will never bounce back from this, well think of another high profile athlete that admitted to pain killer addiction and wife philandering that later found acceptance in the public eye and is now more popular than ever.
I’ll give you one guess. Just one. It’s Brett Favre!
Is it possible that the real crime may be that some of these chicks aren't even that hot?
Not my joke, though. Neither is this one but it’s a lot better:
What is the difference between a golf ball and an SUV?
Tiger Woods can drive a golf ball over 300 yards.
Eh Oh!
Okay let’s get topical.
I know you are probably sick and tired of hearing about Tiger Woods in the news, but once again, the only person to blame is the media itself.
As more of Tiger’s conquests come out of the woodwork to seek their 15 minutes of fame, the more you hear about awful his character is and how he doesn’t deserve all the accolades he has received over all these years.
Nuts to that. It’s easy to point someone to their finger and say they are built of a stronger moral fiber but how many of these people make hundreds of millions of dollars a year by being the best athlete in their field and then have beautiful women throw themselves at them everywhere they go?
If you are one of these people, then cast thy first stone, but until you are, I don’t see how anyone can possibly know what kind of temptations and pressures Tiger or someone of his stature must face on a daily basis so therefore we should not be so quick to judge him.
And I think that Elin just HAD to have known what was going on. It’s hard enough to juggle one woman around in a hectic schedule let alone seven or whatever the tally is at now. I figure that Tiger and Elin must have had some kind of “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy around the home that was probably working out relatively swell but Tiger got sloppy with his pain meds and let one of these bimbos blackmail him which led to a fight and him storming out of the house all medicated up, and well you know the rest of the story.
Affairs among the rich and famous aren’t new, people. In fact, for a long period of time, it was kind of cool to make enough money to support a mistress. King Henry. Ben Franklin. JFK. A bunch of dudes from the bible. Ray Liotta in Goodfellas had at least two. The list goes on and on.
Mistresses are just what rich and famous people do. Why are we stopping the presses over this?
In fact, this spat is going to hurt the economy. Experts are saying that ratings and sponsorships are going to dry up costing the PGA hundreds of millions of dollars.
If America’s number one export is our culture (and I think it is) this scandal will hurt America’s bottom line and I can’t accept that.
Let’s all move on and let the man sort out his mess privately so he can get back to what he does best: having extreme nipple erections at the weirdest times.
No wait, I’m thinking of Phil Mickelson. I meant to say giving awkward, ill timed high fives to his caddy. That’s what Tiger really excels at.
And Tiger, if you are reading this and I suspect you might be, if you think you will never bounce back from this, well think of another high profile athlete that admitted to pain killer addiction and wife philandering that later found acceptance in the public eye and is now more popular than ever.
I’ll give you one guess. Just one. It’s Brett Favre!
Is it possible that the real crime may be that some of these chicks aren't even that hot?
Saturday, December 05, 2009
Back to the Rat Race
So I finally got a job and I just completed my first week of the grind. I had been laid off since February so I had been living the high life for the last nine months. This 40 plus hour work week is really starting to cramp my style. Not sleeping in sucks.
But seriously, I’m really grateful to be working again, and working in my chosen field no less. I have no complaints.
The unemployment experience has been enlightening. Basically there are three camps of unemployed people: Married people with families that really need it, disillusioned single people wondering where they went wrong in life, and single people that are getting a paid vacation from the government and are having the time of their lives.
I believe that last group has a technical name: funemployed.
I traversed the later two camps, seemingly going from one to the other on a daily basis. One the one hand I got to go to California, Australia, and party hard for every Packer home game with no repercussions on Monday (and one time on a Tuesday).
On the other hand, looking for work and filling out applications is a pain in the ass and sitting around watching day time television is down right depressing.
One of the worst aspects of being unemployed is running into acquaintances around town and they ask you how the job hunting is going.
“Awesome. I’m unshaven and hanging out at Barnes and Noble in my sweatpants on a Tuesday morning because my job search is going awesome. Thank you for asking.”
Seriously, you may think you are offering moral support but that question always leads to awkwardness and more humiliation. If you want to offer moral support to an unemployed friend, slap him or her on the back, tell a funny story and maybe buy a round of drinks. Don’t bring the subject up at all. That’s it.
But life is good now. I have my own office for the first time in my life so my main worry now is whether or not I should drop ass or not. At first I was just letting them fly with wreckless abandon but one time my boss came barging in after I let a ripe one off like 7 minutes earlier so it was basically gone but there was still jjjjjjjjust a hint of sulfur left in the air.
At least in cubicles, you can blame the guy in the cubicle next to yours. With an office, you have no one to blame but yourself. It’s like breaking wind in an elevator. High risk but high reward. What’s a man to do?
But seriously, I’m really grateful to be working again, and working in my chosen field no less. I have no complaints.
The unemployment experience has been enlightening. Basically there are three camps of unemployed people: Married people with families that really need it, disillusioned single people wondering where they went wrong in life, and single people that are getting a paid vacation from the government and are having the time of their lives.
I believe that last group has a technical name: funemployed.
I traversed the later two camps, seemingly going from one to the other on a daily basis. One the one hand I got to go to California, Australia, and party hard for every Packer home game with no repercussions on Monday (and one time on a Tuesday).
On the other hand, looking for work and filling out applications is a pain in the ass and sitting around watching day time television is down right depressing.
One of the worst aspects of being unemployed is running into acquaintances around town and they ask you how the job hunting is going.
“Awesome. I’m unshaven and hanging out at Barnes and Noble in my sweatpants on a Tuesday morning because my job search is going awesome. Thank you for asking.”
Seriously, you may think you are offering moral support but that question always leads to awkwardness and more humiliation. If you want to offer moral support to an unemployed friend, slap him or her on the back, tell a funny story and maybe buy a round of drinks. Don’t bring the subject up at all. That’s it.
But life is good now. I have my own office for the first time in my life so my main worry now is whether or not I should drop ass or not. At first I was just letting them fly with wreckless abandon but one time my boss came barging in after I let a ripe one off like 7 minutes earlier so it was basically gone but there was still jjjjjjjjust a hint of sulfur left in the air.
At least in cubicles, you can blame the guy in the cubicle next to yours. With an office, you have no one to blame but yourself. It’s like breaking wind in an elevator. High risk but high reward. What’s a man to do?
Saturday, November 28, 2009
The Return of Wonderbat
Sorry sorry sorry, I know its been a really long time since my last post and I hate to lose any of the small momentum I’ve gained so far but this is always a busy time of year for me.
I did not write last weekend, because I was, once again, fighting off a contingent of whitetail deer in the Florence County region of Wisconsin. Once again, I kept the hostiles at bay with my Browning 270 WSM but I think I may have done TOO good of a job defending our great state because not one single deer appeared to attack me.
It’s okay though, actually shooting a deer ranks about fourth on my favorite aspects of the deer hunting experience with binge drinking, playing poker, and not showering for five days rounding out the top three reasons why deer camp is awesome.
Then I did the Black Friday shopping experience yesterday for the first time.
Never. Again.
I already hate shopping as it is, I don’t need that hatred compounded by people cramming me in aisles, sitting in check out lines ten people deep, or spending twenty minutes trying to get out the Dicks Sporting Goods parking lot. That shopping center was pure bedlam yesterday.
But I did emerge from the carnage victoriously with a ST3000 competition-grade ping pong table for $229, regularly priced at $500. So basically I got the greatest deal of all time and I’ll finally be able to practice regularly so I can beat the greatest ping pong player in the tri-state area, that player being my brother, Joey Wollin. He's good. Maybe the best.
So far I am undefeated on my new table but if we're being honest here, I’ve only played against three opponents: Greg, Rim, and myself when I play against the wall. So far the only real challenge has been myself, I really know how to get into my head and exploit my inconsistent forearm smash.
So between all the hunting, Thanksgivinging, shopping, and ping ponging, I’ve just been crazy busy so sorry about that.
Oh yeah, I got a job this week too. I start Monday. More on that next week.
If anyone dares to challenge me and my Wonderbat, you know where to find me.
I did not write last weekend, because I was, once again, fighting off a contingent of whitetail deer in the Florence County region of Wisconsin. Once again, I kept the hostiles at bay with my Browning 270 WSM but I think I may have done TOO good of a job defending our great state because not one single deer appeared to attack me.
It’s okay though, actually shooting a deer ranks about fourth on my favorite aspects of the deer hunting experience with binge drinking, playing poker, and not showering for five days rounding out the top three reasons why deer camp is awesome.
Then I did the Black Friday shopping experience yesterday for the first time.
Never. Again.
I already hate shopping as it is, I don’t need that hatred compounded by people cramming me in aisles, sitting in check out lines ten people deep, or spending twenty minutes trying to get out the Dicks Sporting Goods parking lot. That shopping center was pure bedlam yesterday.
But I did emerge from the carnage victoriously with a ST3000 competition-grade ping pong table for $229, regularly priced at $500. So basically I got the greatest deal of all time and I’ll finally be able to practice regularly so I can beat the greatest ping pong player in the tri-state area, that player being my brother, Joey Wollin. He's good. Maybe the best.
So far I am undefeated on my new table but if we're being honest here, I’ve only played against three opponents: Greg, Rim, and myself when I play against the wall. So far the only real challenge has been myself, I really know how to get into my head and exploit my inconsistent forearm smash.
So between all the hunting, Thanksgivinging, shopping, and ping ponging, I’ve just been crazy busy so sorry about that.
Oh yeah, I got a job this week too. I start Monday. More on that next week.
If anyone dares to challenge me and my Wonderbat, you know where to find me.
Monday, November 16, 2009
1498 Glen: Magic in the Making
Please evaluate the following:
A down-on-his-luck nerd is forced to move back to his hometown and share a house with a jock that formally tormented him throughout high school.
Is the following statement
A. an upcoming sitcom slated for NBC’s mid season line up or
B. my current living situation?
If you guessed A, you would be incorrect.
So yeah, I moved in with Greg “You got a fuckin’ dart in your neck, man” Altmann about six weeks ago.
And I’m exaggerating that first statement, of course. Greg and I were actually pretty decent friends in high school with the exception of the occasional Wollin Beatdown but EVERYONE participated in those so I really can’t hold that against him.
Oh. And one time he threw me into a stack of lunch trays and another time, he forced me to walk home from the airport without shoes in the middle of winter as mentioned in this previous post.
But Greg totally redeemed himself because our house is great and really cheap and Cheese digs it and best of all, it got me out of my parents place.
I should also mention that Greg did attempt to pick me up last night when I thought it would be a good idea to walk home from Anduzzi’s but idiot me decided to stumble down Lombardi to Shady instead of just stumbling down Cormier like any sane person would do so he's off the hook for the airport incident.
Mike Servais still owes me for that one, however.
As far as chores go, I do all the dishes and mow the lawn and in exchange, Greg does NOT force me to watch an old VHS tape of his quarterback highlights from our varsity football season. It’s a great system.
Apparently Greg also has a tape of the 1999 Bay Conference Shrine Bowl in its entirety but I think he is saving that for winter if I don’t shovel the driveway.
So that’s where I am living these days. Come swing by and I’ll be happy to give you a tour and maybe we can play some SNES Mario Kart but I don’t know, I don’t know if we’ll have enough time. We have a drum set too but it’s shitty.
If you come visit on a Saturday night, there’s a good chance you could win our traveling Rummy 500 trophy. It’s got a karate guy on top so you know it’s good.
A down-on-his-luck nerd is forced to move back to his hometown and share a house with a jock that formally tormented him throughout high school.
Is the following statement
A. an upcoming sitcom slated for NBC’s mid season line up or
B. my current living situation?
If you guessed A, you would be incorrect.
So yeah, I moved in with Greg “You got a fuckin’ dart in your neck, man” Altmann about six weeks ago.
And I’m exaggerating that first statement, of course. Greg and I were actually pretty decent friends in high school with the exception of the occasional Wollin Beatdown but EVERYONE participated in those so I really can’t hold that against him.
Oh. And one time he threw me into a stack of lunch trays and another time, he forced me to walk home from the airport without shoes in the middle of winter as mentioned in this previous post.
But Greg totally redeemed himself because our house is great and really cheap and Cheese digs it and best of all, it got me out of my parents place.
I should also mention that Greg did attempt to pick me up last night when I thought it would be a good idea to walk home from Anduzzi’s but idiot me decided to stumble down Lombardi to Shady instead of just stumbling down Cormier like any sane person would do so he's off the hook for the airport incident.
Mike Servais still owes me for that one, however.
As far as chores go, I do all the dishes and mow the lawn and in exchange, Greg does NOT force me to watch an old VHS tape of his quarterback highlights from our varsity football season. It’s a great system.
Apparently Greg also has a tape of the 1999 Bay Conference Shrine Bowl in its entirety but I think he is saving that for winter if I don’t shovel the driveway.
So that’s where I am living these days. Come swing by and I’ll be happy to give you a tour and maybe we can play some SNES Mario Kart but I don’t know, I don’t know if we’ll have enough time. We have a drum set too but it’s shitty.
If you come visit on a Saturday night, there’s a good chance you could win our traveling Rummy 500 trophy. It’s got a karate guy on top so you know it’s good.
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
First Things First
My first order of business is to talk about the 800 lb gorilla in the room i.e. my take on this whole Brett Favre dominating in Minnesota thing that’s going on right now. Obviously I could write a book on the subject but you’ve heard all the arguments so I’m going to skip all that and go right to the heart of the matter.
How do I feel about my boyhood and currently manhood idol playing for my most hated team in the NFL?
To use an analogy, it feels a lot like how I first felt about that chick from the progressive auto insurance commercials. The first time I saw those commercials, I thought, “wow, this chick is REALLY obnoxious. What network wonk decided this bubble head was fit for prime time television?”
But after a few months, she started to grow on me and now I have a crush on her a little bit because I can’t look away whenever she’s on the tube. I can’t quite put my finger on it, perhaps it’s her expressive facial features and her brimming optimism. Or maybe it’s because she likes to save money and is kind of busty.
Whatever it is, I’m down. I can’t wait to see what kind of zany adventures lay ahead for progressive auto chick.
I’d like to see her challenge that googly eyed stack of cash in the Octagon for total auto insurance domination. Not gonna happen though. Not her style. She would more likely become friends with it and lower its monthly premium.
Anyways, that’s how I kind of feel about Brett Favre. Make sense?
It’s clear that Brett Favre is a very polarizing figure in Wisconsin. You’d have a more cordial Thanksgiving discussing the pros and cons of abortion at the dinner table than you would talking about Brett Favre’s trade to the Vikings.
But in today’s era, with the popularity of fantasy football, it is becoming more and more acceptable to be a fan of individual players while still supporting your favorite team. I don’t see why it has to be contentious to root for Brett Favre and still be a Packer fan.
Even harder still, despite the fact that the Vikings are coached by someone who looks like and probably is a rapist, that team has a lot of likable characters. It’s hard not to like Adrian Peterson or Jared Allen, they are such ferocious competitors and they are the best in the league at their respective positions. And they’re not assholes about it so that makes them okay in my book.
I’ll go back to hating the Vikings once Brett Favre is gone (and especially if Cris Carter remains an analyst at ESPN) but until then, I’m going to root for both teams and I’m not going to feel guilty about it.
Vikings Head Coach, Brad Childress, doing a “different” kind of scouting at the local park.
How do I feel about my boyhood and currently manhood idol playing for my most hated team in the NFL?
To use an analogy, it feels a lot like how I first felt about that chick from the progressive auto insurance commercials. The first time I saw those commercials, I thought, “wow, this chick is REALLY obnoxious. What network wonk decided this bubble head was fit for prime time television?”
But after a few months, she started to grow on me and now I have a crush on her a little bit because I can’t look away whenever she’s on the tube. I can’t quite put my finger on it, perhaps it’s her expressive facial features and her brimming optimism. Or maybe it’s because she likes to save money and is kind of busty.
Whatever it is, I’m down. I can’t wait to see what kind of zany adventures lay ahead for progressive auto chick.
I’d like to see her challenge that googly eyed stack of cash in the Octagon for total auto insurance domination. Not gonna happen though. Not her style. She would more likely become friends with it and lower its monthly premium.
Anyways, that’s how I kind of feel about Brett Favre. Make sense?
It’s clear that Brett Favre is a very polarizing figure in Wisconsin. You’d have a more cordial Thanksgiving discussing the pros and cons of abortion at the dinner table than you would talking about Brett Favre’s trade to the Vikings.
But in today’s era, with the popularity of fantasy football, it is becoming more and more acceptable to be a fan of individual players while still supporting your favorite team. I don’t see why it has to be contentious to root for Brett Favre and still be a Packer fan.
Even harder still, despite the fact that the Vikings are coached by someone who looks like and probably is a rapist, that team has a lot of likable characters. It’s hard not to like Adrian Peterson or Jared Allen, they are such ferocious competitors and they are the best in the league at their respective positions. And they’re not assholes about it so that makes them okay in my book.
I’ll go back to hating the Vikings once Brett Favre is gone (and especially if Cris Carter remains an analyst at ESPN) but until then, I’m going to root for both teams and I’m not going to feel guilty about it.
Vikings Head Coach, Brad Childress, doing a “different” kind of scouting at the local park.
Monday, November 09, 2009
Fuck It. Brain Litter Is Back.
Yep. It’s back.
I couldn’t help being inspired by a certain hero of mine. You might have heard of him. This particular gentleman devoted his entire career to entertaining a generation of fans for countless years to a craft very few people could perform. But then one day, certain management said he was washed up, no good anymore, and he was banished from the place he was loved by all.
Night is always darkest before the dawn. Bound by determination and the strength of his convictions, this man among men returned to the spotlight and is now just…just absolutely crushin’ it out there.
Yes, Jay Leno’s comeback from the Tonight Show debacle is an inspiration for us all.
How could I NOT bring Brain Litter back from the depths of obscurity?
So let’s do some catching up. I got no job. I got no house. And my pet’s head is falling off.
Well not quite that last bit but things are looking relatively grim for ol’ Benny Wollin compared to one year ago today. But I’m cautiously optimistic for the future which is why I’m going to start writing again. To make a long story short, I’m looking for new ways to start taking back control of some of the things I lost and what better to start than by reclaiming my dominance in the blogosphere.
I’m going to mostly go back to the original Brain Litter formula so instead of being 25% funny / 75% adventure chronicling like Brain Litter California, it’s just going to be 100% funny again but I’m crossing my fingers it will be slightly more mature as I am a few years older and dealing with significant new obstacles.
No worries though, in addition to learning about the joys of unemployment, rest assured I won’t gloss over your favorite topics such as fast food, zombies, and hero worship of that wily new quarterback playing for the Minnesota Vikings.
Oh FYI Brain Litter is the now the official home of Ted Thompson hate mongering. A loss against the defeated Buccaneers!? Child please.
I couldn’t help being inspired by a certain hero of mine. You might have heard of him. This particular gentleman devoted his entire career to entertaining a generation of fans for countless years to a craft very few people could perform. But then one day, certain management said he was washed up, no good anymore, and he was banished from the place he was loved by all.
Night is always darkest before the dawn. Bound by determination and the strength of his convictions, this man among men returned to the spotlight and is now just…just absolutely crushin’ it out there.
Yes, Jay Leno’s comeback from the Tonight Show debacle is an inspiration for us all.
How could I NOT bring Brain Litter back from the depths of obscurity?
So let’s do some catching up. I got no job. I got no house. And my pet’s head is falling off.
Well not quite that last bit but things are looking relatively grim for ol’ Benny Wollin compared to one year ago today. But I’m cautiously optimistic for the future which is why I’m going to start writing again. To make a long story short, I’m looking for new ways to start taking back control of some of the things I lost and what better to start than by reclaiming my dominance in the blogosphere.
I’m going to mostly go back to the original Brain Litter formula so instead of being 25% funny / 75% adventure chronicling like Brain Litter California, it’s just going to be 100% funny again but I’m crossing my fingers it will be slightly more mature as I am a few years older and dealing with significant new obstacles.
No worries though, in addition to learning about the joys of unemployment, rest assured I won’t gloss over your favorite topics such as fast food, zombies, and hero worship of that wily new quarterback playing for the Minnesota Vikings.
Oh FYI Brain Litter is the now the official home of Ted Thompson hate mongering. A loss against the defeated Buccaneers!? Child please.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Chicago: More Than Just Windiness, Toll Ways, and Steve Urkel
So I got kind of this running theme of visiting cities and making hilarious references to early 90’s sitcoms and Chicago will be no exception.
My reason for this excursion was to see the exhibition soccer match between the number one ranked futbol team in the world, Brazil, versus the not so much ranked team in the world, the United States. More on that in a bit.
My Chicago buddies are classic. We tend to regress to a state of high school-ness when we hang out which is awesome, especially since we didn’t meet each other until college. It just sets a great tone for the weekend and this one was definitely a top-fiver.
One keen observation I had and maybe this was just a fluke in Chicago but it’s never happened to me before anywhere else and that is this: I was a Barley Corns on Friday and the Hange-Uppe on Saturday and both nights I cut a rug with a girl that seemed to dance at a noticeably faster pace than everyone else at the bar. Don’t get me wrong, they were both incredibly good dancers and they kept a rhythm with the beat, it was just like a double-time rhythm that was rather off-putting.
Has this ever happened to anyone else? Give me a call, we’ll talk about it.
To make a long story short, I got scared of the girls and ran away on both occasions. It was my primordial flight instinct at work.
Barley Corns was fun but rather standard fare. This bar Hange-Uppe though was something else. My buddy told it was impossible to frequent this bar without getting violated and he was apparently right. If I was a Steve on Friday, I definitely became a Stefan on Saturday. Within about a half hour this one chick grabbed me and made me make out with her while her friends were in hysterics taking pictures. It wouldn’t have been so bad except this girl was a real lunker.
I was more pissed at myself because I made an oath after my 26th birthday that I wasn’t going to embarrass myself at bars any more and I already fell off the wagon after three weeks. In my defense, I’m not acclimated to these 4 am bars and the make out jam only lasted about 10 seconds but it was still definitely 10 seconds too long.
Not a lot of other stories to tell except I’m going to go on the record and claim bean bag toss game as my new favorite waste of time, which will effectively knock Guitar Hero off it’s long-seated throne. Also, I managed to get gum stuck on TOP of my sandal, which I am still trying to figure out, given I wasn’t personally chewing gum at all this weekend. Gross.
The soccer match was sweet. Soccer is very fast and very violent. People were getting checked and slapped and tripped and there were fast kicks all over the place. This was mostly coming from the Brazilians who are a bunch of thugs. The Americans played with class, but they also played like a bunch of suck asses so I guess playing dirty is what it takes to be number one.
The best is when there is a penalty kick and the dudes have to line up and get their nuts get kicked at by a soccer ball going a 100 miles per hour. It’s pure hilarity. Especially when you look around and every dude in the stadium is holding their junk while it happens. You gotta feel for those guys out there.
So that’s that. You know, I was never that big of a Family Matters fan, to tell you the truth. Although, I still wonder what happened to Aunt Rachel and her kid and also that middle sister who all just seemed to vanish to make room for more Urkel antics. The producers of the show must have thought Family Matters actually meant getting rid of family matters so Urkel could start a short-lived novelty dance. I think those assholes marketed a line of cereal, too.
Whatever happened to Urkel-O’s, anyway?
This is the reason I became a Marketing major.
“You’re firing me because you want to make time for Urkel to invent a machine that makes him a womanizer so he can seduce my cousin? Well, I guess that’s show business!”
My reason for this excursion was to see the exhibition soccer match between the number one ranked futbol team in the world, Brazil, versus the not so much ranked team in the world, the United States. More on that in a bit.
My Chicago buddies are classic. We tend to regress to a state of high school-ness when we hang out which is awesome, especially since we didn’t meet each other until college. It just sets a great tone for the weekend and this one was definitely a top-fiver.
One keen observation I had and maybe this was just a fluke in Chicago but it’s never happened to me before anywhere else and that is this: I was a Barley Corns on Friday and the Hange-Uppe on Saturday and both nights I cut a rug with a girl that seemed to dance at a noticeably faster pace than everyone else at the bar. Don’t get me wrong, they were both incredibly good dancers and they kept a rhythm with the beat, it was just like a double-time rhythm that was rather off-putting.
Has this ever happened to anyone else? Give me a call, we’ll talk about it.
To make a long story short, I got scared of the girls and ran away on both occasions. It was my primordial flight instinct at work.
Barley Corns was fun but rather standard fare. This bar Hange-Uppe though was something else. My buddy told it was impossible to frequent this bar without getting violated and he was apparently right. If I was a Steve on Friday, I definitely became a Stefan on Saturday. Within about a half hour this one chick grabbed me and made me make out with her while her friends were in hysterics taking pictures. It wouldn’t have been so bad except this girl was a real lunker.
I was more pissed at myself because I made an oath after my 26th birthday that I wasn’t going to embarrass myself at bars any more and I already fell off the wagon after three weeks. In my defense, I’m not acclimated to these 4 am bars and the make out jam only lasted about 10 seconds but it was still definitely 10 seconds too long.
Not a lot of other stories to tell except I’m going to go on the record and claim bean bag toss game as my new favorite waste of time, which will effectively knock Guitar Hero off it’s long-seated throne. Also, I managed to get gum stuck on TOP of my sandal, which I am still trying to figure out, given I wasn’t personally chewing gum at all this weekend. Gross.
The soccer match was sweet. Soccer is very fast and very violent. People were getting checked and slapped and tripped and there were fast kicks all over the place. This was mostly coming from the Brazilians who are a bunch of thugs. The Americans played with class, but they also played like a bunch of suck asses so I guess playing dirty is what it takes to be number one.
The best is when there is a penalty kick and the dudes have to line up and get their nuts get kicked at by a soccer ball going a 100 miles per hour. It’s pure hilarity. Especially when you look around and every dude in the stadium is holding their junk while it happens. You gotta feel for those guys out there.
So that’s that. You know, I was never that big of a Family Matters fan, to tell you the truth. Although, I still wonder what happened to Aunt Rachel and her kid and also that middle sister who all just seemed to vanish to make room for more Urkel antics. The producers of the show must have thought Family Matters actually meant getting rid of family matters so Urkel could start a short-lived novelty dance. I think those assholes marketed a line of cereal, too.
Whatever happened to Urkel-O’s, anyway?
This is the reason I became a Marketing major.
“You’re firing me because you want to make time for Urkel to invent a machine that makes him a womanizer so he can seduce my cousin? Well, I guess that’s show business!”
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
PART 2 BELOW: San Francisco – More than just Trolleys, Sourdough Bread, and Tanner Family Situational Comedy
So many clichés and stereotypes to work with here…I could just have a field day…oh I might as well start with my debacle of a journey on the way to San Fran.
Wake up at 5:30 am, drive to Milwaukee in a torrential downpour, sat next to the quintessential obese person whose love handles basically spilled into my shitty aisle seat and talked my ear off while I was clearly focused on dominating the sudoku puzzle before me, five hour layover in St. Louis…all…ALL of these things I was willing to overlook on the onset of my odyssey. Why?
Because I had a first class ticket for the remainder of my trip to San Fran.
(The ticket was a gift by the way, there's no way I'd personally that kind of money on something so frivolous.)
That’s right, a ticket to the good life, a ticket to pointless pampering, a ticket for ample foot and elbow room, and most importantly, a ticket for free booze. For once in my life, it was going to be ME that was going to give smug looks to all the incoming peons riding coach, instead of the other way around. It was going to be sweet.
But American Airlines had different plans for me. Apparently they thought it would be hilarious to cancel my flight and reroute me through Dallas and as an extra jab, make me wait an extra couple of hours in St. Louis’s crappy smelly airport.
I mean, I get it, that is funny, but I was starting to get anxious and goofier. I’m a great person to travel with because the more shit that goes down, the weirder and funnier I become. Kind of like when Clark W. Griswold does anything. Or when I start drinking.
Anyways, my plane finally arrived and I was ready to booze. I was hoping to enjoy some sophisticated conversation with my fellow upstanding first class passengers while mulling over champagne and caviar but everyone around me looked really lame so I proceeded to slam as many Bud’s down as I could before touching down in Dallas.
A few Shiner Bock’s later at Dallas International and I was back in the skies again. I caught a little nap initially which was a poor idea because it made me groggy and I think I dropped ass a few times, which may be perfectly acceptable in coach, but is generally frowned upon in first class judging by the looks people were giving me when I was yawning/signaling the flight attendant for a Jack and Coke as I woke up.
Three cocktails later and I was definitely getting in the mood to talk to someone, anyone at that point, you know how it is when you’ve had a few drinks in you. Unfortunately the chick next to me was watching The Guardian, or as I am now calling it, Shitty Top Gun. All I could think from the occasional glance at her notebook screen was that if the Coast Guard wanted this film to be used as recruitment propaganda, then they shouldn’t have used fucking Kelso as their poster boy.
I thought this was pretty clever so I told her what I just said above in so many words but it must not have came out right because she gave me a dirty look and went back to her suckfest movie. I was forced to remain in sitting in silence until we landed in California, which I did not particularly enjoy.
But alls well that end well. I made it to my destination even though it was 12:30 Pacific, 2:30 Central, or in other words, the longest traveling day ever. But at least my luggage wasn’t left behind in St. Louis. Oh wait…
American Airlines, you have zinged me again!
The rest of my trip was far more exciting and will contain numerous references to Full House when the narrative continues. This much I promise you.
8/31/07
Sorry to drag this one out, it was not deliberate, once again, more of a timing crunch for me but, alas, here is a quick wrap up of the rest of San Francisco.
Since I missed out on a party night on Thursday and my luggage whereabouts were unknown, I was a little bitter and pessimistic going into the trip on Friday which is why I didn’t start off with the right perspective.
For instance, I wanted and expected to see a lot of hippies walking around but all I saw was a lot of bums and homeless people. Ditto for Chinatown. I was expecting to see a fight break out between Lo Pan and Kurt Russell any second but all I saw were Chinese people there. At least the homosexuals didn’t disappoint. That stereotype seems to ring true.
Was that last paragraph politically incorrect? I am not trying to be an asshole here, just trying to get down my travel notes.
Anyways, the only thing of note on Friday was Cody’s attempt to start a San Francisco Fight Club chapter and by that, I mean some drunk ass frat boy type took off his shirt for no particular reason and jumped my friend. It was not much of a fight, though. I would compare it to more of a spat between DJ Tanner and Kathy Santoni at lunch hour.
Saturday was sight seeing day for us. Alcatraz, Fisherman’s Wharf, that stupid road that’s really curvy all the way down, Full House Mountain; we did everything you’d expect from some jackass tourist.
One thing I found odd about San Fran is that everywhere you go is up hill. Everywhere. Even if you turned around to retrace your steps, the city would somehow still make you traverse on an incline. My calves are still hurting me.
Nightlife in San Fran is kind of weak. Everyone clears out and takes off at bar time faster than you can say, "How Rude!". I presume everyone goes home to bask in their own farts but that's not for me (sorry, this is an obscure South Park reference, but I had to work it in here somehow).
Sunday was capped with our second Brewer game, where the Brewers performed a stunning display of athleticism by losing their third straight game to the last place Giants. It made our heckling of the fans much more difficult. Since we couldn’t defend the Brewers, we had to yell politically charged statements into the crowd.
I think we represented Wisconsin proudly with, “Global Warming is only a myth!” and “Ronald Reagan was our greatest president!”
I’m only kidding. The fans might have gotten hostile and started throwing their plastic wine glasses and empty sushi platters at us if we would have yelled that kind of stuff. We were good representatives of Wisconsin with our heckling, which was both thoughtful and thought provoking, which I feel was unexpected and appreciated by the Giant fans of AT&T Park.
We spent the rest of the afternoon down at Haight and Ashbury, the neighborhood famous for the summer of love back in the 1960’s. We settled into a quaint little hippie coffee shop, where we discussed such timeless topics such as heredity versus environment, the origin of species, and whether we wipe our asses sitting down or standing up. That last one quickly escalated into the age old “wad or fold” debate, which meant it was time to go.
Thank you for the interesting weekend, San Francisco. However, I left my heart back in Green Bay, Wisconsin.
That's the Golden Gate Bridge in the background, however, I found the bridge going into Oakland far more impressive. All they had to do was paint that cocksucker bright yellow or orange and the citizens of San Fran would have had another icon on their hands.
Oh yeah, forgot to mention, Kimmy Gibbler came with us to Game 3. She wasn't as annoying as I thought she'd be.
Wake up at 5:30 am, drive to Milwaukee in a torrential downpour, sat next to the quintessential obese person whose love handles basically spilled into my shitty aisle seat and talked my ear off while I was clearly focused on dominating the sudoku puzzle before me, five hour layover in St. Louis…all…ALL of these things I was willing to overlook on the onset of my odyssey. Why?
Because I had a first class ticket for the remainder of my trip to San Fran.
(The ticket was a gift by the way, there's no way I'd personally that kind of money on something so frivolous.)
That’s right, a ticket to the good life, a ticket to pointless pampering, a ticket for ample foot and elbow room, and most importantly, a ticket for free booze. For once in my life, it was going to be ME that was going to give smug looks to all the incoming peons riding coach, instead of the other way around. It was going to be sweet.
But American Airlines had different plans for me. Apparently they thought it would be hilarious to cancel my flight and reroute me through Dallas and as an extra jab, make me wait an extra couple of hours in St. Louis’s crappy smelly airport.
I mean, I get it, that is funny, but I was starting to get anxious and goofier. I’m a great person to travel with because the more shit that goes down, the weirder and funnier I become. Kind of like when Clark W. Griswold does anything. Or when I start drinking.
Anyways, my plane finally arrived and I was ready to booze. I was hoping to enjoy some sophisticated conversation with my fellow upstanding first class passengers while mulling over champagne and caviar but everyone around me looked really lame so I proceeded to slam as many Bud’s down as I could before touching down in Dallas.
A few Shiner Bock’s later at Dallas International and I was back in the skies again. I caught a little nap initially which was a poor idea because it made me groggy and I think I dropped ass a few times, which may be perfectly acceptable in coach, but is generally frowned upon in first class judging by the looks people were giving me when I was yawning/signaling the flight attendant for a Jack and Coke as I woke up.
Three cocktails later and I was definitely getting in the mood to talk to someone, anyone at that point, you know how it is when you’ve had a few drinks in you. Unfortunately the chick next to me was watching The Guardian, or as I am now calling it, Shitty Top Gun. All I could think from the occasional glance at her notebook screen was that if the Coast Guard wanted this film to be used as recruitment propaganda, then they shouldn’t have used fucking Kelso as their poster boy.
I thought this was pretty clever so I told her what I just said above in so many words but it must not have came out right because she gave me a dirty look and went back to her suckfest movie. I was forced to remain in sitting in silence until we landed in California, which I did not particularly enjoy.
But alls well that end well. I made it to my destination even though it was 12:30 Pacific, 2:30 Central, or in other words, the longest traveling day ever. But at least my luggage wasn’t left behind in St. Louis. Oh wait…
American Airlines, you have zinged me again!
The rest of my trip was far more exciting and will contain numerous references to Full House when the narrative continues. This much I promise you.
8/31/07
Sorry to drag this one out, it was not deliberate, once again, more of a timing crunch for me but, alas, here is a quick wrap up of the rest of San Francisco.
Since I missed out on a party night on Thursday and my luggage whereabouts were unknown, I was a little bitter and pessimistic going into the trip on Friday which is why I didn’t start off with the right perspective.
For instance, I wanted and expected to see a lot of hippies walking around but all I saw was a lot of bums and homeless people. Ditto for Chinatown. I was expecting to see a fight break out between Lo Pan and Kurt Russell any second but all I saw were Chinese people there. At least the homosexuals didn’t disappoint. That stereotype seems to ring true.
Was that last paragraph politically incorrect? I am not trying to be an asshole here, just trying to get down my travel notes.
Anyways, the only thing of note on Friday was Cody’s attempt to start a San Francisco Fight Club chapter and by that, I mean some drunk ass frat boy type took off his shirt for no particular reason and jumped my friend. It was not much of a fight, though. I would compare it to more of a spat between DJ Tanner and Kathy Santoni at lunch hour.
Saturday was sight seeing day for us. Alcatraz, Fisherman’s Wharf, that stupid road that’s really curvy all the way down, Full House Mountain; we did everything you’d expect from some jackass tourist.
One thing I found odd about San Fran is that everywhere you go is up hill. Everywhere. Even if you turned around to retrace your steps, the city would somehow still make you traverse on an incline. My calves are still hurting me.
Nightlife in San Fran is kind of weak. Everyone clears out and takes off at bar time faster than you can say, "How Rude!". I presume everyone goes home to bask in their own farts but that's not for me (sorry, this is an obscure South Park reference, but I had to work it in here somehow).
Sunday was capped with our second Brewer game, where the Brewers performed a stunning display of athleticism by losing their third straight game to the last place Giants. It made our heckling of the fans much more difficult. Since we couldn’t defend the Brewers, we had to yell politically charged statements into the crowd.
I think we represented Wisconsin proudly with, “Global Warming is only a myth!” and “Ronald Reagan was our greatest president!”
I’m only kidding. The fans might have gotten hostile and started throwing their plastic wine glasses and empty sushi platters at us if we would have yelled that kind of stuff. We were good representatives of Wisconsin with our heckling, which was both thoughtful and thought provoking, which I feel was unexpected and appreciated by the Giant fans of AT&T Park.
We spent the rest of the afternoon down at Haight and Ashbury, the neighborhood famous for the summer of love back in the 1960’s. We settled into a quaint little hippie coffee shop, where we discussed such timeless topics such as heredity versus environment, the origin of species, and whether we wipe our asses sitting down or standing up. That last one quickly escalated into the age old “wad or fold” debate, which meant it was time to go.
Thank you for the interesting weekend, San Francisco. However, I left my heart back in Green Bay, Wisconsin.
That's the Golden Gate Bridge in the background, however, I found the bridge going into Oakland far more impressive. All they had to do was paint that cocksucker bright yellow or orange and the citizens of San Fran would have had another icon on their hands.
Oh yeah, forgot to mention, Kimmy Gibbler came with us to Game 3. She wasn't as annoying as I thought she'd be.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Brain Litter Sabbatical is Over!
The absence of Brain Litter reign of terror is over. All is well with the Internet again.
Let me explain:
I just got done pulling off an all-campus rager at my place last Thursday (more on that later) so I decided to take it easy Friday night. I had a craving to see the movie Camp Nowhere so I went to Family Video to get it but they don’t even carry it for some reason so I ended watching the entire Band of Brothers mini-series this weekend instead.
I found a lot of similarities between these two masterpieces of cinema. They both deal with the trials and tribulations of a ragtag group of misfits, overcoming insurmountable odds to accomplish an impossible goal. In fact, the leadership qualities and management style of Lt. Dick Winters of Easy Company and that guy that Christopher Lloyd played are strikingly similar. I guess the only real difference between the two is that one was about a bunch of middle schoolers tricking their parents into going to an imaginary summer camp and the other was a true story of 101st Airborne Division surviving nightmarish conditions in WWII, but other than, like I said, the differences are negligible.
I just thought the above analysis would make for some good blog material so there it is.
Now I’m going to steer this ship into a different direction and talk about my wicked awesome birthday party last Thursday.
The thing about birthdays is that they just usually stop getting cooler after about 23. Turning 25 was tough and turning 26 (this Tuesday) is going to be just as bittersweet.
Say, that gives me an idea to pitch to MTV. Instead of My Super Sweet 16th, they should have a show called My Bittersweet 26th. Instead of featuring a bunch of teens in the prime of their youth getting spoiled to the core, it could a feature a bunch of underemployed twenty-somethings lethargically playing beer pong in some dank basement and talking about what went wrong with their lives. Now THAT is compelling television!
I kid; my party was far removed from a depressing state of affairs. I attribute this to six main factors:
1. Tap beer from a barrel is way more conducive to drinking heavily than cans.
2. Taco Dip
3. The climbing rope tied to a tree branch in the back yard
4. Lawn mowed in diagonal pattern instead of usual straight-across pattern
5. Chips
6. Chicks
Most of the items above are self-explanatory (especially if you've seen the movie PCU in the case of items 5 and 6) but I never would have guessed the raving success of the rope tied to a tree. I swear to God, total strangers from two towns over were stopping by just to see “the rope”. It just goes to show that, whenever throwing a drinking party, you can make up any hosting shortcomings by bombarding your guests with as many novelty games of coordination as possible.
The party was really fun and to make a long boring short, I just didn’t have a whole lot to write about over the last month but things are starting to pick up now in a good way. I’m going to San Francisco next week, I’m seeing the US National Soccer Team play Brazil in Chicago in three weeks, and I’m challenging my old roommate to a series of strength and endurance contests to determine once and for all who is the most ultimate between the two of us (date undetermined); all of which should be interesting subjects.
More to come in the months ahead, people…
Let me explain:
I just got done pulling off an all-campus rager at my place last Thursday (more on that later) so I decided to take it easy Friday night. I had a craving to see the movie Camp Nowhere so I went to Family Video to get it but they don’t even carry it for some reason so I ended watching the entire Band of Brothers mini-series this weekend instead.
I found a lot of similarities between these two masterpieces of cinema. They both deal with the trials and tribulations of a ragtag group of misfits, overcoming insurmountable odds to accomplish an impossible goal. In fact, the leadership qualities and management style of Lt. Dick Winters of Easy Company and that guy that Christopher Lloyd played are strikingly similar. I guess the only real difference between the two is that one was about a bunch of middle schoolers tricking their parents into going to an imaginary summer camp and the other was a true story of 101st Airborne Division surviving nightmarish conditions in WWII, but other than, like I said, the differences are negligible.
I just thought the above analysis would make for some good blog material so there it is.
Now I’m going to steer this ship into a different direction and talk about my wicked awesome birthday party last Thursday.
The thing about birthdays is that they just usually stop getting cooler after about 23. Turning 25 was tough and turning 26 (this Tuesday) is going to be just as bittersweet.
Say, that gives me an idea to pitch to MTV. Instead of My Super Sweet 16th, they should have a show called My Bittersweet 26th. Instead of featuring a bunch of teens in the prime of their youth getting spoiled to the core, it could a feature a bunch of underemployed twenty-somethings lethargically playing beer pong in some dank basement and talking about what went wrong with their lives. Now THAT is compelling television!
I kid; my party was far removed from a depressing state of affairs. I attribute this to six main factors:
1. Tap beer from a barrel is way more conducive to drinking heavily than cans.
2. Taco Dip
3. The climbing rope tied to a tree branch in the back yard
4. Lawn mowed in diagonal pattern instead of usual straight-across pattern
5. Chips
6. Chicks
Most of the items above are self-explanatory (especially if you've seen the movie PCU in the case of items 5 and 6) but I never would have guessed the raving success of the rope tied to a tree. I swear to God, total strangers from two towns over were stopping by just to see “the rope”. It just goes to show that, whenever throwing a drinking party, you can make up any hosting shortcomings by bombarding your guests with as many novelty games of coordination as possible.
The party was really fun and to make a long boring short, I just didn’t have a whole lot to write about over the last month but things are starting to pick up now in a good way. I’m going to San Francisco next week, I’m seeing the US National Soccer Team play Brazil in Chicago in three weeks, and I’m challenging my old roommate to a series of strength and endurance contests to determine once and for all who is the most ultimate between the two of us (date undetermined); all of which should be interesting subjects.
More to come in the months ahead, people…
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