The Return of the Blog. For Real.

July 4th is a time for celebration for the country and for me it's a time to iron out my own hypocrisy. For years (possibly decades, I lost count) now I have claimed I do not enjoy fireworks. I will never completely understand the significance of chemicals reacting in the sky as a symbol of freedom or independence, but maybe that's the point. We are now free to try to blow off our on fingers (all 10 of 'em!) at least once a year. This is what Thomas Jefferson lived for (along with making sweet sweet love to slaves, of course).

But, I guess being dragged to a field in the middle of a town as a youth and watching embers fall down around me, permanently turned me off to the idea of fireworks being cool. I have not been excited for them since I can remember and this year was no different. I was headed to the beach for the 4th for some debauchery that had the possibility of bordering on illegal. I had giant plans to cook some meth, experience my first hooker and possibly drink some wine and then I realized I would be spending the weekend with my parents and not Zach Galifianakis' character from the Hangover.

As I was preparing to leave (packing over 38 pounds of laundry into my fany Nissan Sentra) I told my roomate that I was going to to beach and not excited about fireworks anyway. Fast forward to the next night.

It's July 4th and after close to 24 consecutive hours of watching my parents watch their computer screens I decided I needed to be inspired (or at least jarred awake by loud noises and shiny things). I ripped out the iPhone to try to figure out where the town fireworks would be. Good news! Only ....an hour away! That's right, a beach town in the middle of summer decided that no one would want to see fireworks in person (and even considers any fireworks on the island illegal. Jefferson would not be pleased. Unless he was slave-banging when he heard the news, of course).

Internet research assured me that if I was "inventive" enough I would be able to find fireworks displays around. I decided to do the most inventive thing I could - I stepped outside. And I heard them! Dear lord, I heard the glorious sound of popping and sizzling skin! I looked into the sky and saw nothing. I walked in a circle that was approximately 3 feet in circumfrence to see if I could scout them. I couldn't. I couldn't get any more inventive than this.

The noise kept getting louder, and instead of getting more excited I started to fear for my life about what a bunch of rednecks with illegal fireworks could do in a wooded area (although waking up to a flaming tree falling through the roof would ignite the senses.) I returned to the depths of the couch and flicked on NBC, hoping to at least catch the NYC fireworks. The cable box said it was on, but the fireworks display being put forward disagreed. IMMENSELY DISAGREED. It sounded like they were just playing a radio station as the mayor shot off single color bottle rockets over the ocean.

5 minutes went by and it ended in an unspectacular fashion. I was disappointed until the mayor came on the TV and said that Wilmington, NC had the best fireworks in the nation (he was high), and then I learned that NYC's fireworks were next although the mayor claimed, "There is no way they are gonna have better fireworks then us! Yee haw!"

The broadcast fades. Music provided by WHQR Radio Wilmington. I knew it. Within 5 seconds the NYC fireworks were on and they immediately outshone the Wilmington fireworks. I watched for 15 minutes before deciding that fireworks, legitimately weren't for me and maybe I suffered from the "you only want what you can't have disease."

Later on in the evening CBS decided to have Craig Ferguson (a good ole fashioned American who just happens to have a Scottish accent) host the Boston fireworks with guest performance by the corpse of Neil Diamond! (Official CBS name). My parents raved about how good he used to be, but by that point I was already deaf from his shriek. He then played a song (which I cant recall) that climaxed with an unfurling of the American flag while a drunken crowd roared.

This part of the performance was so over the top that I couldn't contain myself from laughing out loud. This caused a slight smack from my father (who is patriotic), but I don't understand why drunken Americans cheering drunkenly at a cliche is patriotic. But maybe my opinion doesn't matter, I didn't take time off from making slave babies to create America, I'm just the fireworks hypocrite.

The Return of the Blog.

Everything is more complicated than you think. You see only a tenth of what is true. There are a million little strings attached to every choice you make: you can destroy your life every time you choose. But maybe you won't know for 20 years. And you'll never ever trace it to its source. And you only get one chance to play it out. Just try and figure out your own divorce. And they say there is no fate, but there is: it's what you create. Even though the world goes on for eons and eons, you are here for a fraction of a fraction of a second. Most of your time is spent being dead or not yet born. But while alive, you wait in vain, wasting years, for a phone call or a letter or a look from someone or something to make it all right. And it never comes or it seems to but doesn't really. And so you spend your time in vague regret or vaguer hope for something good to come along. Something to make you feel connected, to make you feel whole, to make you feel loved.

And the truth is I'm so angry and the truth is I'm so fucking sad, and the truth is I've been so fucking hurt for so fucking long and for just as long have been pretending I'm ok, just to get along, just for, I don't know why, maybe because no one wants to hear about my misery, because they have their own, and their own is too overwhelming to allow them to listen to or care about mine.

Well, fuck everybody.

The Time I Experienced Real Southern Dining

So, in contrast to the Barrel (CB's as I like to now call it, so I can sound appropriately like a trucker), I went to a little "Meat and Two" in Greensboro called Hable's Hearth. I'll be honest, it doesn't sound delicious as my mind automatically connects olde English words like "hearth" with "cholera" and "your ox couldn't forde the river." Needless to say Brandon and I were hungry and so we departed work to visit Hable's Hearth on a Tuesday or possibly a Wednesday. 

Brandon had only heard of this place through a friend and I'm pretty sure that friend had never actually eaten there, so we have no point of reference for this meat and two (Side note: A meat and two is a restaurant where you choose 1 meat and two vegetables. The menu incorrectly listed Mac and Cheese and possibly Grits as vegetables.) I was also made aware that this place was in the basement of some other type of store on a street that I rarely visit and parking was sketchy at best. We found the place and then got out of the car and instantly realized this place had no windows and I guarantee you've probably never been in a restaurant with no windows, because you would remember it, you feel like you are eating at grandma's and that you won't be escaping until you clean your plate and fix here 1977 microwave. Good times. 

Once we walk in, we are immediately greeted by a sign that says "THIS IS A FAMILY RESTAURANT, DONT CURSE, DONT BE RUDE. TIP." Or something like that. This automatically made me feel like smashing the windows they didn't have. I am greeted by a waitress that seats us immediately at a booth where the seats were definitely rescued from a school cafeteria, it was that shitty plastic that sticks to your legs but is somehow also still ice cold, great for any temperature occasion! (This is not suprising considering, the seats cannot tell what the weather is like outside and I guess they just try to do their best to make you feel hot and cold all at once. And yes I'm hung up on the no windows thing. I think it's just weird to basically eat in someone's basement unless the food is free.)

The rest of the dining room is what my parents basement looked like in 1987. Wood panelling, miscolored shag carpet and a retractable screen door that apparently seperated the giant smoking section from the small 7 table non-smoking section. The "kitchen" was in the dining room and was seperated by dated interlocking wood fencing so you could see the workers not spit (or spit) into your food. 

We order quickly and we both get the special "Chicken Dumplings, 1 Side, 1 Drink for 6.00 even (with tax)". Sounded like a deal. The waiter then gave us cornbread and inferred that it was unlimited (I would test this.) Less than 3 minutes later the food came out on plastic plates that I ate off of as a child (half because it was the 80's and half because I was a child and I was given plastic so I wouldn't smash it.) Apparently this restaurant doesn't trust it's clientele to not have a civil war flashback and start smashing. 

The food didn't look great (possibly because it was obviously pre-prepared) but it tasted pretty good. There is nothing like eating a combination of Chicken, Dumplings and cornbread off of plastic. Brandon and I couldn't decide between mashed potatoes and sweet potatoes, so we each got one and divided it in half. I tried the sweet potatoes first and they were pretty good but tasted like they had been doused in cinnamon or some other ingredient that screamed "AUTUMN RECIPE." The mashed potatoes were decent at best and Brandon and I both agreed that while it wasn't great, it was worth the $6. 

After finishing my meal, I ordered two more free cornbreads (they weren't that good, but they were FREE) and polished them off while Brandon and I debated who "Hable" was. I decided that it was a last name because Hable as a first name just seems too dumb and the only name close is to it is Hazel and you might be retarded if you are aiming for Hazel and you get Hable. Brandon spewed some argument about another first name that rhymes with Hable that I can't remember (Mable?), and was convinced it could be a first name. So as we checked out, Brandon noticed a sign that indicated Hable was the last name and I was victorious. 

I can not declare a winner in the Faux Southern dining vs Real southern dining because both were not places I'd jump to go back to. If it was about money I'd go Hable's because it was dirt cheap and sometimes I like to cower in spaces with no natural light. The atmosphere in both? Nothing short of atrocious and the food was pretty close to equal as the mad scientists at CB's know how to make your eyes feel like they want to fuck a skillet. 

The Time I Experience True (and Faux) Southern Dining

Recently, I had the chance to experience two contrasting styles of Southern dining. Being a New Jersey transplant, I try to avoid any sort of Southern leaning life experiences, but with the blog running short on topics I took a bullet or 2 for the team and decided to try a Cracker Barrel (which I'm sure REAL southerners would scoff at while trailer park southerners get their best shoes on when they go out for the big Sunday dinner at CB) and a "Meat-N-Two" (doesn't this already sound delicious?)

I went to the Cracker Barrel with Amelia in the middle of the afternoon on a random Wednesday or Thursday (who can remember? I was so giddy for the experience). Now, in all honesty, I have been to a Cracker Barrel once before, but it was at least 8 years ago when my mind wasn't fully capable of realizing the complete retardation this restaurant represents. We get to Cracker Barrel and we have to swim through a sea of rocking chairs that probably sit about 5 feet high (they may or may not have been built for Paul Bunyan and his ox, Blue) and two Cracker Barrel employees who decided to do some paperwork outside (although what actually happened was one decided to do paperwork outside then called upon the second to physically stop the papers from blowing away.)

Once inside you have to make your way through a gift shop/general store. Now this is something I can't really comprehend, who really needs to commerate a trip to a restaurant (which is a chain and can be found in every city from Virginia to Florida) by buying Cracker Barrel paraphenalia and other weird southern knick knacks. The rocking chairs are included in the things you can purchase (only $189!!!). Again, these chairs are at least 5 feet and will only fit in the bed of a pick up truck, this will tell you all you need to know about Cracker Barrel clientele - They assume that you will be bringing a pick up truck with you today. Good times. 

We are seating in the non smoking section, which bears a terrible similarity to the smoking section in that it smells just like...the smoking section. A quick glance to my left and I discover that the only seperating these two sections is a half wall with a wooden fence like structure (specifically designed for letting smoke through, I think). Our waitress (Ashley?) comes up and she is nice enough until I realize that she has a 2 star apron. What is a 2 star apron, you ask? Well apparently CB decided that they would rank their waitresses and then let you know which ones are shitty. The thinking went something like this "Oh hey new customer, this is your waitress Ashley. We could have given you a 4 star, or even a 3 star, but we want you to know that you are getting a two star waitress. See, we've even embroidered it on her apron, kind of like a shoutout to Hitler. Here at Cracker Barrel we will give you our 3rd best quality waitress and hate Jews, like the true southerners we are."

It was ordering time - we both decided on some sort of "Skillet Special" - hers was broccoli cheese, maybe some chicken? and bread crumbs in lieu of rice. Could you eat that many  bread crumbs? Did you know bread crumbs could be substituted for rice? WE'RE YOU AWARE OF IT?  I had the mushroom, rice, chicken combo. Both orders came quick and were somewhat delicious although I felt like I had just ingested a tube of slow digesting glue. 

While waiting on the food I notice a card on the table saying that Cracker Barrel had collecte unique American merchandise and hung it on the walls (this is completely original, no matter what TGIFridays, Applebee's Chili's, or any local bar says or hangs on the wall. CB WANTS YOU TO REMEMBER THIS.) They also say that you can look around and check it all out. I was hoping no one would do this because it would be weird to be eating and have someone leaning over your table to look at Louis Armstrong's saxaphone reed or an old KKK picture while you are shoveling down corn bread that had no sweetness at all. Cracker Barrel gets a B on Food and a C on creepiness. 

Part 2 Tomorrow.

 

Week In Review

Monday - 

Guitar Center - I hate guitar center. Let me start by saying this. I hate dealing with musicians who think they are better than you (and they are better than me, but then again I don't play a genre of music referred to as "Cock Rock"). I went to Guitar Center 3 times in the last 2 weeks and here is how they went:

Time 1: I went to Guitar Center to buy a small amp so that I could start to pretend to play in a band. I had already tested the amp I wanted during a previous excursion, and so I went in head up and bright eyed, hoping to look like someone who had had no idea what a "guitar" was and desperately needed help being stripped of his cash. This did not work, as I waited for a solid 10 minutes as Guitar Center employees (you can tell because they probably have a pony tail, some sort of facial hair, and a plethora of tattoos,) walked by, completely disregarding me. I should've tried my normal tactic when faced with this situation at retail outlets, raise both my hands real high and hope someone helps (I decided against this, because the image of someone putting both hands in the air might inspire a flame out loser to start playing "Freebird") 

Eventually, I went up to the counter to ask the fine young man if he could help me get a guitar. He then muttered "maybe" and gave me an extended talk on a warranty. After taking 5 minutes to find someone to cover the front, then 5 minutes to get the amp, he came back and rung me up. Well, if you don't count the 10 more minutes it took for a manager to respond to the constant page of "need customer service at the front desk." (Apparently washed up musicians still trying to "make it" aren't reliable or speedy in anyway. Who knew?) Finally, I check out, warranty in hand, which coincidentally leads to time 2. 

Time 2: The same day I bought the amp it broke. A knob fell off as I was carrying it in and amazingly, all the knobs on an amp are important. So I went back a few days later to return it, thanks to my nifty warranty. Before you can enter the store with an item, you have to check it in, to make sure you aren't stealing it and pretending to bring it back. So I walk into the store and wait. And then another guy with a return comes. We wait. A third cowboy joins the party and we all wait. The store had just opened so it wasn't busy (there was maybe 2 other customers in the store.) As I stood there, I noticed 1 customer being helped by 2 employees and these employees would occasionally stare in my direction, not make direct eye contact and go back to helping this guy figure out which axe will make his cock seem longest.

Eventually a guy said he would help me, but he had to help the customer that was already being helped by someone else first. Eventually the manager waddled over and called everyone to the front. They exchanged the amp with no problem from there. They didn't even check the box and so I wished that I had poured cement in there instead of an amp. 

Time 3: I went to ask the fine fellows if they had a guitar pedal that I needed. 

Me: "Hey, do you have this guitar pedal?"

DBag: "No."

Me: " ...Can I order it?"

DBag: "We don't have it."

Didn't even check inventory. Just looked at me, and then my said shirt and said he knew someone who worked at my company, and gave me a name that I didn't know and asked if I knew him. I wish I could've said "Hey, do you know Mark at Guitar Center in Freehold, NJ?"

Thursday: 

I ordered a guitar pedal on eBay. I won it for dirt cheap, well below what others were going for, which in turn left me with this message in my inbox:

"Yo, you got this dirt cheep. IM PISSED. Whatever."

So I had high hopes that the package would contain said pedal and perhaps some feces. So I was anxious to get it, of course. I tracked it and knew it would be coming on Thursday and so I got to my apartment complex at 5:58, the office closes at 6. As I pull up, I see the sign on the door that says "see you at 9 tomorrow." I am pissed, but I get out and see one of the ladies inside. I knock on the door and make the international symbol for "package" (which is basically holding your hands 6 inches away from each other like you are about to eat a loaf of bread like a child from a Dickens' novel). She said no (even though the package was within 4 steps of her current position. I said, "It's not 6 yet." She looked at me and did the most stereotypical thing a middle aged black woman could have done "YES IT IS," with some fierce head movement for emphasis. I got back in my car, slammed the door and then proceeded to lay on the horn all the way back to my apartment. That'll show her. 

Saturday:

I always knew I lived in the bad part of town. Whenever I tell anyone what road I live off, they cringe slightly, and for some reason never want to make the trek over. Today, I officially found out why. I was googling my apartment complex and found a review page with the first review headline "DO NOT LIVE HERE UNLESS YOU WANT TO GET STABBED OR DO HEROIN."

I had to click, before I even read the post, the reviewer gave a link to the Greensboro police report website and said "type in the complex address and watch the reports pile up." I did, I set the date range from Jan 1, 2009 to today. Can you guess the number of incidents in those 45 days? Would you guess over 100? You'd be correct. In fact there were too many to list. I started clicking and found that almost all of them were break ins. I am shocked and awed that my shit hasn't been stolen yet. At more than 2 break ins per day, it's only a matter of time before a "hoodlum" as the review said, collects my things, disperses them throughout the Greensboro area pawn shops and buys himself some shiny rims. 

The review said to count myself lucky if this hand't happened to me yet. So, as of tomorrow I will be looking for a new place to live (this isn't the only reason, as I've found I can live for at least $300/month cheaper in areas that are significantly less shady). Let's hope I don't get robbed in the meantime. 

The Time I Went to The Grammys II (Part 2)

Adele wins the best new artist award and I am shocked. I love Adele's song "Chasing Pavements" even though rumor has it, it's about being a lesbian (granted, I've only heard this rumor for Christan radio stations that refused to play it, but apparently "pavement" is code for vagina.)

So I hope that Adele doesn't die an early death like Mama Cass from eating one too many ham sandwiches. This girl is 20 and probably weighs a metric ton. 

Morgan Freeman comes out to introduce Kenny Chesney and claims they are friends. My mind almost explodes on the spot. 

Next up was probably the 2nd best performance of the night with MIA decked out in a sort of Frog looking bikini/pregnancy outfit (I believe she wore this so that if she popped the baby out the slutty mesh netting would catch the baby and she could just keep on performing). She lip-synched part of her "Paper Planes" song (which I only liked until it was played behind the trailer of Pineapple Express) and then CBS made the feed black and white when Lil Wayne, Kanye, Jay-Z and a mysteriously un-handcuffed TI came out. They rapped a little ditty about having some swagger and pretending to be the rat pack (Black Pack? Has anyone used this yet?) The performance was definitely captivating as some of the greatest rappers "in the game" as Dan would say, all got together and sang off key all at once. Quite a feat. 

They were immediately followed by Paul McCartney playing an old Beatles' song (with Dave Grohl's fatter, older brother on drums). And I was convinced that he would cut off this Beatles' song after 2 minutes and play some terrible song off his new CD (that will most likely win 8 awards next year), but he didn't. He played 3 short mintutes and got off stage. Thank you. 

Jay Mohr introduces somebody but only because he has a show that will get cancelled by CBS in 2 months. He got real fat (he thought this would make CBS like him more and keep his terrible show on for 8 seasons like other overweight comedians - Kevin James, anyone?)

Next up Sugarland performs and I can't help but believe that this is Trudy Weigel from Reno 911 with a blond wig on. She is nervous and awkard and not very attractive and to my knowledge, neither has been in the same room at the same time. 

Sometime later on (the show really started to drag and I was trying to sneak in 4 minute segments of Swingers in between) Gwenyth Paltrow put on some braces and made herself a 13 year old again (luckily she would not have to suppress any breasts to accomplish this feat, as she has none) and some how managed to gargle that Radiohead was playing next. 

And they did. Oh god they did. Or more accurately, Thom Yorke conducted the USC marching band while Johnny Greenwood played guitar. The performance was just awesome, I have only gotten into Radiohead in the last 3 years and I've always wanted to see them, but seeing a show in any Arena or Stadium is the equivalent of watching a 13" TV from a football field away. Not fun. I was speechless though, Thom Yorke is a wiggly one eyed genius. 

Sam Jackson then comes out to introduce TI and Justin Timberlake and says "One of these is my great friend another is a great musician." Would you have offered to eat shit if he said Justin Timberlake was his friend and TI was a great musician? Well Sam Jackson just made you eat a shit sandwich. Their performance just kind of read like one long "please I've learned my lesson don't put me in jail" rant.

Jamie Foxx comes back on stage for some to act as a member of the Temptations. No longer is Jamie Foxx a comedian or actor, he now makes his living ripping off old black motown legends. Good times. Also a surprise, he has grown his hair out so that you can't see his crazy stupid head tattoo. 

The show is nearly at 3 hours and so CBS decides it's time to slow it down (after a very solid first 3 hours, bravo CBS) and take 12 minutes worth of commercial breaks before the last performance. Unfortunately I stuck around to see Lil Wayne do a tribute to New Orleans (I was hoping he would play his awesome new rock song "Prom Queen" - youtube it for fun) but instead a whole bunch of brass instruments came out and he rapped. Boring. 

I didn't stick around for album of the year because I knew it would go to Robert Plant for some god awful reason (voters liked Led Zepplin?) I woke up the next morning to see that I was correct and once again, the Grammys end on a sour note! Nothing like ending a solid show with 28 minutes of commercials and 2 minutes worth of giving false praise to an album that no one bought or will listen to and enjoy. 

A belated Super Bowl blog will run later this week. 

The Time I Went to The Grammy's II (Part 1)

So for the second year in a row I got a front row seat at the grammy's in front of my HDTV. Thanks to my recent "everything must go" attitude, I am down to one television channel. Thankfully on this particular Sunday night, that channel is CBS (Never again will I be thankful that my only channel is CBS unless I want to kill myself by watching Everybody Loves Raymond re-runs and The Big Bang Theory first runs). So here we go, there are no time stamps just commentary (I find that refreshingly unoriginal.)

The show starts off with an incredibly old U2 playing a brand new song which has officially bombed at radio. I have yet to hear this song until now and for that I am thankful. I find out the name of this song is "Get on Your Boots" because the lyrics are flashing at me in 50 foot letters, trying to give me epilepsy. The only other aspect that stood out was that Bono was definitely wearing platform shoes, a la Baby Spice in 1996. They are most likely Sketchers. 

Whitney Houston followed up U2's performance with a nice little drugged out number of her own that went something like. "I'm Whitney, please like me again. Remember how Bobby beat me and made me do crack? Feel bad for me. IM BACK." That's what she meant to say it actually came out like "Damn these cue cards are hard to read. I can't believe anyone can do this. Oh, you want to see my thigh? Let me take 15 seconds to compose myself and make sure I don't fall over before sliding my dress up. What's that? My ativan bottle fell out of my purse? Oh my. Oh my. Ohhhh my." She was a mess, she presents Jennifer Hudson with the best R&B album and if I gambled I would've gambled all my money that she would win. It's automatic when 3 family members die. I'm surprised Susan Lucci hasn't discovered this yet. 

The Rock tries to make a Katy Perry "I Kissed A Girl" joke and bombs, followed by the CBS cameras showing Katy opening her eyes real big in faux embarrasment. You will the whites of her eyes at least 12 more times during this broadcast. It's her go to move. 

Justin Timberlake takes the stage and also fails at comedy. He then teams up with Al Green, Keith Urban and the shell of Boys II Men to sing an Al Green song. Other than Boys II Men adding about 400 lbs between them, the only other notable thing is that they dance terribly (most likely because of the weight gain.) I'm also glad to see that Keith Urban was able to put down the bottle long enough to pick up a guitar. 

Coldplay comes out and plays a slow song and then they are mysteriously joined by Jay-Z. It was weird, it was like he was freestyling he was so bad. (I too, could probably rhyme over with over). I had the most fun with this because I was waiting for Joe Satriani to hop up on stage and serve Coldplay with a subpeona because they apparently stole one of his songs and are avoiding him. The tension is just killing me! The highlight here is when singer Chris Martin lifts his arm up to reveal that his shirt is about 4 inches to short for this performance. 

Carrie Underwood is sexy. Until she sings. Her dress is fantastic showing lots of thigh and making Tony Romo weep at the thought of what he used to have. Then she starts singing and it sounds like a fat 45 year old trailer park floozy who aint gonna get cheated on by her man no more. Only 15 more years till this happens!

Al Green is singing again, but this time it's during an award. I do not appreciate this. I believe we are about 30 minutes in and only 2 awards have been handed out. I'm ok with this. Coldplay wins songs of the year and quickly get off stage so they don't get served. 

Kid Rock has had an interesting career. When he came out he rode the coattails of the douche bag rap rock genre. When that dried up he kind of disappeared before realizing those fans were still there they just all went into the military because that's what guys who like Kid Rock do. So now instead of doing rap rock, he plays southern rock that proclaims his love of America. I don't like it, but it's an ingenious move on his part. Good market research kid!

Taylor Swift and Miley Cyrus sing a song about being fifteen even though neither of them are and then share an awkward high five after, that sort of screams "I hate you but we have the same fans let's show them that I didn't just call you a bitch 5 minutes ago." Miley says this, she wears the pants. 

Jason Mraz gets dressed up to present an award, wearing jeans and converse all-stars. God, he really keeps it real, you know? I hate Jason Mraz because I read that he started making music because he was tripping on LSD while listening to Dave Matthews and decided that's what he wanted to do with his life. Shows that he has a real passion. Coincidentally I often snort coke and listen to Ricky Martin to get the same inspiration. 

Next up the Jonas Brothers take the stage with Stevie "the human blimp with a leather jacket thrown over him/it" Wonder. One of the brothers forgets the lyrics to "Superstitious" and I wonder how many times a rendition of this song has been played on the Grammy's. I'm guessing somewhere between 12 and 50. 

Blink 182 reunites and for some reason I am unfathomably excited for this even though a) I only really loved one album and b) I have not missed them at all. The good news is that I still hate Tom. Let's hope they cut out his vocals chords for the next record and just replace it with a 4 year old whining about shit and piss. 

Katy Perry has a nice fruit themed performance that is hindered by the fact that she has a headset instead of a handheld mic. She has no idea what to do with her hands so she mostly prances around like a 50's pin up girl (shocked?) and CBS is very careful not to do any closeups because her boobs are literally bouncing a good 6 inches in every direction. Damn you Janet Jackson. 

Part 1 raps up with the self-proclaimed greatest rapper of all time, donning a mullet so fierce Tito Jackson would be jealous. He sings a song with Estelle that I've heard before but I never knew who it was. She lets her backing track do most of the singing and I'm just thankful Kayne only raps and doesn't sing his new auto-tuned single. 

Back tomorrow with Part 2. 

25 Random Things (From Facebook)

1. I have fallen asleep listening to TV shows for the better part of this decade. This originally started because I needed something to focus my mind instead of my own terrible thoughts, but now it is built into my nature. This started with Scrubs, Arrested Development, The Office and now 30 Rock. They have to be comedies. 

2. I regret not taking better advantage of the social scene in college. Having an inferiority complex does not make for fun times (most-ul-ly). 

3. I have not drank any alcohol, since my mother used to like to watch the funny look on my face when I tasted Corona at the tender age of 10. It began as a hatred of alcohol but has become principle as everyone I know that has ever been "straight edge", like me, has decided to drink at some point after they are 21. 

4. I am straight edge and in addition to drinking, I do not and will not ever smoke anything. 

5. My parents are on facebook and that is not so secretly embarrassing. I am 100% positive my mother will read this note and, in turn, that makes me not want to write this note. I hate that old people take over young people's mediums. 

6. My mother used to have the AOL screen name "kelsonsmom". This would be embarrassing on it's own, but she would then steal my friends screen names from MY buddy list and then look at their profiles. It gets worse. Remember 8 years ago when everyone had those "who has seen my profile?" trackers in their info? Well let's just say most of my friends profiles would show that "kelsonsmom" had looked at that profile. 

7. I am already running out of random things and sort of feel like a sell out for writing this. I can't believe that 25 random things is sweeping facebook. What possessed one random kid one day to be like "I'm gonna post 25 random things about me and send them to all my friends and within a month 38% of facebook will hop on this." Anyone could've done this. 

8. I have only seriously dated 3 girls in my lifetime. I have been interested in some form or another in approximately 37. There will be a book coming out that documents this amazing inability of mine. 

9. I am addicted to television, but because of my recent poverty, cut off my cable. Thank god for Hulu. 

10. I went to catholic high school and used to be all about God and going on spiritual retreats. Catholic school changed this and I haven't been to church in any form since freshman year of college and that was only because I like a girl (a valid excuse). 

11. I used to do high school theatre. I am not and was not a good singer but I always got a minor role selling apples or cleaning shoes in the background. 

12. After each performance of each play the male cast would go into the changing room and play "Date Rape," by Sublime. You can insert your own joke here....

13. My favorite band is The Appleseed Cast. Out of my 271 friends on facebook I would wager a guess that only 12 of them know who The Appleseed Cast and half of them probably found out because of me. I love when people ask me who my favorite band is and I say "You wouldn't know them." And they say "Try me." This is probably one of the reasons I still list them as my favorite band even though they've only put out one good CD in the last 5 years. 

14. I am in a band called It's Just Vanity. This band has been together for approximately 4 or 5 years and we've put out one CD and played exactly 2 shows (acoustically). This will be rectified in the coming months. 

15. I am uncovered by health insurance. Once I was uncovered, I made the mistake of watching Michael Moore's "Sicko" and proceeded to watch the rest of the film with giant tears in my eye. I do not recommend this. 

16. I used to hate reading. I now love reading, my favorite author is Chuck Klosterman. I also enjoy David Sedaris and really, any sarcastic essayist.

17. I have exactly 2 solid friends left from high school. All the rest basically hate me for some reason that I will never exactly get. This makes me mildly sad as my senior year in high school hanging out with them was pretty awesome. I hope they read this and will want to hang out again at some point in time.

18. I have taken 6 years of French and at some point would like to try to actually speak the language. Often, I am too scared to speak to the Haitians at work in French. They speak way too fast for me. They also hate me because I'm white. 

19. Most of my best friends live at least 450 miles away, excluding one who goes to school in South Carolina.

20. Even though I am very much into music and can probably classified in the indie or emo genre, I love sports (which is a rarity in that world.) I love the New York Mets, Miami Dolphins and Charlotte Bobcats. 

21. I am a gambling addict. This started on a whim during football season (where I made over $100 and has finished as of yesterday when I was gambling on San Antonio Spurs games. I swear this is it (until next football season.)

22. Out of college, I thought I had my dream job working in the music and movie industry. Within 10 months I was burned out by promoting bands and TV shows (Frank TV) that sucked and working 60 hour weeks for companies that never thought I was doing enough. So now I do manual labor for a tyrant. 

23. I passed my first and second kidney stones at the tender age of 21 and it was incredibly painful. Most people don't get kidney stones until their 30's or 40's. I hope I just traded up in life. 

24. I have been driving for 7 years and I am already on my 5th car. My grandma left my a car in her will (it was crashed before I ever drove it), my second car was totaled in an accident in North Carolina, third car just up and died, the 4th car was a Prius and it was awesome and expensive, so I sold it. I now drive a Nissan Sentra. 24a. I am not a car guy and could not even begin to tell you how cars worked. 

25. I love movies. Movies often make me cry, especially when its an emotional scene where a normally lame band like Snow Patrol or Spiritualized plays in the background. I immediately get the soundtrack and proceed to fall in love with the female characters.

The Time I Got A Parking Ticket Two Years Ago

I came across this on the Elon Pendulum (school newspaper) website, as I was googling myself to try to find a website I had built during my Elon career. This ran in the Letters to the Editor section and in reading it again, I am very proud of it and have posted it here, for you, unedited. Enjoy.

Recently, I became a member of the parking ticket fraternity of Elon University. The one who inducted me was probably the same one who inducted many other students here, for his only job is to assign parking tickets. While I realize that a parking ticket is not a huge deal, there are certain circumstances of this particular incident that alarm me.

First, let me backtrack and give you the situation. I was forced to park on campus for about five minutes as I was driving to the library to pick up audio CDs, since ESTV had none left. I parked in a visitors spot for literally four minutes, with no parking sticker on my car, and received a ticket at the halfway point of my criminal act, two minutes after I entered the library and two minutes before I came out.

I immediately went to Campus Police to argue the ticket. I told them that I had parked in a visitor’s spot with no parking sticker on my car, thus inferring I am a visitor. I was then told I am not a visitor and cannot park on campus, even for four minutes, until after 5 p.m.

Needless to say, I was a little upset, as $50 for a parking ticket is a little . . . expensive. Just a note: New York City parking tickets are $65. The city has 8.1 million residents – Elon has 5,000. It might be harder to find a parking spot there, but that’s just my guess.

Now, I find it only justifiable that I point my anger at the man who gave me this ticket and the company of which he works for. I decided my problem is not that this man’s only job is to hunt down criminals like any police officer – his job is to hunt down minor criminals for parking infractions. There are still real criminals roaming the campus of Elon, as we have witnessed from the increase of reported incidents this year.

Personally, I have had more than $2,500 worth of equipment stolen while at Elon (an iPod, laptop and DVDs).

Yet, instead of hiring an additional officer who could roam the campus on foot to protect students, we have an officer who roams in a car, causing students more grief than anything else.

I find it preposterous that I received a parking ticket in four minutes, yet the police officers who lived less than 20 feet from me when I was robbed still have no clue where my laptop is. As a student who paid $27,291 this year, I shouldn’t have to pay a $50 dollar fine. My money could be better spent protecting myself and other students rather than being used to pay more money to fund a salary that will only give students more parking tickets.

Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go pay my $50 parking fine, so that I can pay my $70 graduation fee, so that I can graduate, so I can move to NYC and never drive again.

-Kelson Fagan, ‘07

Week In Review

This week was fairly uneventful as I was able to somehow force myself into doing 55 hours of labor (this becomes unusually hard when in previous weeks I have only worked 8 hours the entire week. It's like my muscles (and my wallet) atrophied over that period). So the week started with a bang:

Monday - MLK Day

I woke up at 4:30 AM Monday and, in case you were wondering, Monday was a national Holiday and I dare anyone to wake up before 5 am on a national holiday and not want to immediately kill themselves. Why was I granted this honor, you ask? Well children, it's because I decided to blow my college degree and turn to forced manual labor instead! Thanks Elon!

Needless to say Monday was not a great day and the work basically continued from there until Friday, the first day I was actually able to do something that could even possibly be described as "fun" or "not sitting in a 4 hour meeting about brick laying." 

Friday - Charlotte Bobcats 

I had work at 6 AM friday, but this was good, as it allowed to me to get out early and go down to Charlotte to see my beloved Charlotte Bobcats versus the Phoenix Suns. 2 things were going to make this night awesome, the Bobcats jersey I got for Christmas from RJ, and the fact that it was NASCAR night at the arena. (For those of you not familiar with sporting events, I feel like having another sport night at a basketball arena is a fairly uncommon occurence. I can never imagine NASCAR having an NBA night and why not? Because NBA fans and NASCAR fans do NOT go well together. Would you have the Soul Train awards give a special presentation at the Country Music awards? No.) Needless to say, I had my fingers crossed that I would be involved in a second near-shooting in as many Friday nights. 

On the way, RJ and I stopped at Friendly's to get Happy Endings and we were met by a waitress that was all kinds of confusing. I say this because her age was somewhere between 12 and 25. I would lean towards 12, but the 200 pounds hanging off of her bones would say otherwise . She acted like a 12 year old though, giving these weird scrunched up faces, looking off in other directions and all and all being too nice (meaning she obviously hasn't hit the mean streak of high school yet). It was weird for us, I had to literally bite my lip to keep from laughing anytime she spoke to us, that sounds mean, I know, but hey, she's gonna hit high school soon and will definitely be known as Libby the Lard or Tammy the Tank. 

The game was awesome as the Bobcats blew out the Suns (unexpectedly) and the NASCAR fans packed the stadium (enough that RJ and I had to wait in line for 20 minutes to buy tickets and then, since we are pros, requested a specific section and row, at 2x the regular price, only to find when we got our tickets, they were in the exact corner of the stadium (worst seats in the house.)) As we went through security, we realized the wand lady was only wanding like...every 5 people. My hopes for that shooting were going up. 

The climax of the night (for most fans) was the awarding of the NASCAR champ trophy to the champion, who apparently, was too busy to show up. Again, this is all confusing, I can't imagine the NFL giving out the Super Bowl trophy at the Golf Tournament down the street. Was this the real ceremony, or were they just repeating it for NASCAR fans' sake? If they were just repeating and they knew he wasn't showing up, what was the point of even repeating it? So many questions, none of them answered. This is not unusual for a Bobcats halftime show. 

Saturday - 

After getting home at midnight Friday night, I woke up at 5 am to work from 6 AM - 6 PM. I was really excited. I don't normally talk about things that happen at work, but I need to make an observation. Their was a soccer conference in this weekend. At this soccer conference, all the ADULTS were wearing ADIDAS track suits. Different colors, types, sizes (thank god), so they weren't a mandatory uniform. But this made me wonder, what other parent or adult wears like...athletic clothing to formal meetings. Can you imagine people walking around in football gear, trying to wedge themselves into seats? Why is this ok? It is fair to say I will never get that swooshing sound out of my head, as hundreds of parents walked with their parachute panted legs to close together. (My favorite part of this entire thing was working with this group's AV guy and watching him try to setup a projector, fully decked out in his soccer regalia. I'm sure the conversation went like this in his hotel room:)

Man: (putting on parachute outfit)

Wife (or life partner): Honey, it sounds like you are crinkling 50 plastic bags for fun, what are you doing?

Man: I'm putting on my uniform for work.

Wife: ...You are setting up a few projectors, don't you think jeans would be more appropriate?

Man: Honey, I'm doing MANUAL labor, I gotta be loose, gotta be able to move quickly. 

Wife: Oh....ok. (Wife goes back to bed, her mind split between pondering a divorce and wondering if she could sew jeans onto his skin.)

Sunday -

The week ended on a high note when I delivered pizzas sunday night. I put in my two week notice and had 10 delivery's for the first time in weeks (normally, I walk out with about $8). I thought I was raking it in, but when it came time for me to cash out, it all went horribly wrong. I figured out I owed about $45 and I had about $80 in cash. Which means I had made $25, which is not terrible, per se, until I started adding it up. (Of course I didn't do this until I got home, which was too late). But here's how I know I either physically lost money or somehow added wrong at the end. Be careful with the next paragraph it's like a terrible SAT question, I don't want anyone to have a seizure.

Each delivery is $1.50, plus whatever tip I get. So at 10 deliveries, I should get at least $15, with no tip yet included. Now, I took at 6 credit cards, with tips added on. 2 of those had $5 tips. So that would be $25 for the night. But that's not including tips on 8 other deliveries. I normally average about $2 per tip, so that would mean I'm down about $16 dollars. But I know for a fact, that my lowest tip was $2 (in quarters, no less) and that I had 2 deliveries where I got tipped $5 in cash. So that's $35, not counting tips from 6 houses. If I then say, each of those was $2 (though they weren't), I should've made $47. So I'm now down by at least $22. And this is why I'm quitting pizza, because I'm apparently to dumb to keep the money I make. I also have this stinging feeling in my gut like when I lost $100 worth of Jeffrey Money after Christmas one year and I couldn't buy my Star Trek action figures like I wanted. Ironically, I was going to use this money to finally complete that action figure collection. Oh world, how cruel thyne are.

Week In Review

This is a new segment that will just take small stories of the past week that aren't awesome enough to make their own post. Essentially, they are losers, but when combined into one post they are long enough to pass.

Sunday - I was doing my laundry in the "bad" part of town (mostly to challenge myself to see if I would make it out ok.) I did not. I was sitting in my car, listening to the radio, when a gruff gentleman that would best be described as "wigger" walked by my car. He took a glance in, and saw I was there so he asked me a question. I couldn't hear him and so I answered "no." (Because whatever question he asked me, the answer was definitely no.) So he made the motion to roll down my window, which I would never do, because that's basically saying "yes, please put a gun or knife to my neck while I sit here unable to do anything." I turned off my radio so I could hear him threaten me with his "from the streets" tone. 

Apparently I showcased an attitude when turning off the attitude because I turned and he asked me what the fuck my problem was. I said "What's your question?" He said, "Do you live around here?" and I said "no." (Which was untrue but at this point I would've told him I had the plague just to get him away from me). He asked me again "DO YOU LIVE IN GREENSBORO?" At which point I said "no," in a tone that inferred "You are a retard. Did you not hear me say no 3 seconds ago?"His response "WHAT THE FUCK IS YOUR PROBLEM BITCH? FUCK. YOU." 

And he walked away, into the laundromat. I decided to drive away, because he would definitely be coming back out and I didn't want another confrontation that would assumedly end in me getting a little too witty and consequently geting shived. 

Wednesday - I was in Chapel Hill with Ashley and we were driving around looking for Sangria to make some sort of meal. Unsurprisingly Target only had about a 30 gallon bottle, and since that was about 29 7/8 gallons too many, we decided to hit up the ABC store. Now, I'm not familiar with ABC stores, but I know they sell only alcohol. So we go into the store and ask the clerk if she has Sangria. Not only does she not have it, she has never even heard of it. I feel that when a Straight Edge kid who has bought alcohol once in his life knows what Sangria is, and you, a liquor store attendant do not, maybe it's time to find new work. 

Anyway, we ask where we could get some because a customer has now arrived to chime in. And his answer is really the point of this whole story. In the most effeminate, condescending, "I belong in SoHo in an off-off broadway play" way, he says "Ummmm, don't you normally MAKE Sangria?" This may or may not be true, but we needed a very little amount to aid in the cooking and frankly I wasn't prepared to spend hours letting grapes (or whatever is in Sangria) ferment to appease this young man. We tried to explain we just needed a little, was there anyplace that would POSSIBLY sell it and, again, both of them came up blank. 

Friday - Ashley came over Friday so that we could see My Bloody Valentine in 3D. I was discussing this with my co-worker who mentioned he would be seeing it at the same time, same place and offered to pick up tickets before hand for us. I agreed and gave him 16 bucks because normally movies are 8 bucks there. We would be seeing the 10 PM showing and the chance to get attacked by knives in 3D was just overwhelming me. 

I called him around 8 PM to ensure he got the tickets. He had. Only 2 more hours. Around 9:30 we make our way to the theatre to meet up and get our tickets and 3D glasses which cost an additional 3 dollars each (I really enjoy seeing a movie for $11 and unfortunately I can only assume that this movie would cost about $20 to see in NYC.) So on the approach to the movie theatre I get a call from this co-worker, the conversation went like this:

Jerrod: Hey, are you at the theatre yet?

Me: No, I'm about 2 blocks away. 

Jerrod: Ok,  because the movie has been cancelled. 

Me: Why?

Jerrod: Somebody got shot. 

Me: Ummm, WTF?

Jerrod: Yeah, the cops are evacuating everybody now.

We met up with him to get our sweet 3D glasses and tickets in the hope of maybe going back and getting a refund when all the blood gets cleaned up. I later watched the news to see what was happening and all sources point to the opening of Notorious (the movie about a rapper who got shot 12 years ago). Apparently the star of the film was there and that made someone angry enough to shoot someone. Ladies and gentleman, Greensboro, North Carolina!

The Time It Became 2009

2009. The big time for resolutions and starting a new. But who am I kidding, I have already broken my resolution to not eat fast food (twice today!) and I'm still in the same job in the same broken down city. So why not celebrate in a town thats far far away. That's right Cary, NC. 

The evening started off splendidly, having to deliver pizzas from 6 PM - 9 PM (and of course clean up afterwards). Making my arrival in Cary at about 10:30 PM, which would be fine if, you know there wasn't a specific thing at midnight that everyone on the eastern seaboard gathers around for. When I got there everyone was partying! Dan forgoed the hoodie in lieu of a peacoat that I'm pretty sure he may have described as "brilliant" (or possibly the sale was brilliant, either way I hate the use of that word for a description that doesn't directly correlate to Asian children.) 

Dan and I proceeded to be terrible guests to our host by making fun of her cooking (apparently the 2 step break and bake cookie instructions were 2 steps too many) and then hiding her purse and all of its contents around the house and blaming it on the roomba (aka, the first wave of robots to kill their home owners). Then everyone gathered around the table to play apples to apples, which is a somewhat fun game, if you know everyone playing.

In the game, one person turns a card with a subject, and then people use one word descriptive cards to try to match it and then, subjectively, the person chooses his favorite. I almost always go for the funny angle, but apparently when 4 people you are playing with don't know you, they find it offensive (however, I thought it hilarious when Dan matched his Pearl Harbor card to "cuddly" (or something like that)). We were playing and playing, until someones sister showed up and the sister's husband was a cop.

Now, this wouldn't be a bad thing for me, I wasn't even drinking, but I do like to make casual references to heroin abuse and throw in the odd "fuck tha police" into sentences. So when the cop came, the game broke up and we proceeded to turn on "Dick Clark's Rockin New Years Eve w/ Ryan Seacrest." (I was especially upset that the Apples to Apples game ended so early because I had a Helen Keller card waiting to be used for something inappropriate.)

Instead I turned my inappropriateness to Dick Clark and his stroke mouth. At first, it was fun to make fun of the old guy as he stumbled across words that he used to recite in his speech. After two minutes, my brain flipped and immediately felt terribly guilty (I'm being honest) as you could tell from the pained look in his eye that he was frustrated with himself for not being able to do this. So I give Dick Clark credit for trying and for at least giving us another year before Seacrest decides to take over NYE celebrations by taking an injection to become as big as "The Hulk" and then throwing the ball onto the waiting patrons in Times Square as he devilishly cackles "SEACREST OUT."

After the ball dropped Dan, Steve (not wearing his famous going out sweater) Ken and I all proceeded to play video games (Rock Band and Scene It!) until 4 in the morning, even though I had an hour drive home and had to be at work at 8 (yes, 8 on New Years Day. Which, if I had to pick, would be the worst day out of all 365 to go in at 8 am. Gooooooooo manual labor!) I left the house and didn't start feeling sleepy until about halfway. At this point the only way I could stay awake was to roll down all the windows and stick my head out to make sure that the 20 degree air would blow at 80 MPH on my face. (This brought back flashbacks of the time I drove from New Jersey to North Carolina starting at 1 AM after being awake all day. Really not the smartest thing I've ever done. Although a great way to get on "America's Funniest Home Videos" when you fall asleep at the wheel and drive into incoming traffic.)  

I arrived home slightly before 5, ripped off all my clothes set my alarm for 7:30 and proceeded to fall asleep in about 10 seconds. When I went into work the next morning I openly seethed at anyone in the building, even those who were not at all responsible for making me work that day and the proceeded to leave at 10 am. Yes, I had to work for 2 measley hours on New Years Morning (I also found out that this is not counted as double time. In the future I hope to work on all major national holidays like Christmas and Thanksgiving and not get paid accordingly for it. Way to keep the morale up!). 

I went back to bed at 10:30 and set my alarm for 3 PM, so that I could still be somewhat productive and of course over slept it and woke up at 6:30. So, all in all, I would say my New Years Eve experience was a smashing success (much better than fighting off the urge to commit suicide on the "most depressing to be alone" holiday.) The start of 2009? Less of a smashing success and more of an awkward cartwheel done by a fat kid, showing off for his mom, crashing into a group of girls half his size, followed by 5 minutes of solid shrieking from the girls. 

2009, you may have won the first battle (and the second battle - fast food resolution), but it is January 7th and you will NOT win the war. (My other resolution was to write more in this blog and I'm 5/7 . Go me.)

The Time I Went to New Jersey (Part 4)

The next morning I woke up early to go have Dunkin Donuts with my dear friend Derril. He had work at 9, so we set an early time of 8:15 AM, so that we could chat like the dear old school chums we are. We also invited our friends Lou and Ryan, but apparently neither could drag themselves out of bed that early.  Derril, the perennial "on time guy" arrived at 8:30 and we caught up on old stories (mostly me complaining about my life). 

Once Derril left for work, I headed back to my parents house to help them setup their new HDTV which went swimmingly until we had to lug the old TV down two flights of narrow stairs. Now, when I say old TV, I mean the 37" bucket of bolts that may have been from 1990 and literally weighed 200 pounds. I'm not sure why these TV's even existed, flat screens should've always been around. 

Anyway, I went to test my new Blu Ray player with my dad's television and it would read, and start the disc menu, but when I hit play, it wouldn't work. The other buttons on the actual unit all worked (you know, like brand new equipment should) but not play. I then searched for the remote and it was not to be found. Merry Christmas Kelson, here's the broken blu ray player you always wanted! Not to out do myself, I decided that I would trip and tumble down the stairs on my way out, causing a slight discomfort in my back that would only be added to by my heaps of driving down the East Coast. 

I packed up my car and hit the road around 10:30, planning on meeting my friends Kate and Kristen at the King of Prussia mall (and yes, King of Prussia is the name of a town. Voted worst town name in history!). We both seemed to arrive at the same time and decided that California Pizza Kitchen was the best bet for food (because I always love paying $12 for a small pizza) and then I waited for 10 minutes as they trekked across the mall to the CPK. 

I hopped back on the road, dreading the traffic I would face in Philly, but miraculously, I got through Philly and hit absolutely no traffic and dear god, that changed. The traffic first started when I hit the Maryland border and then continued all the way until Baltimore. 60 miles. Going about 35 miles an hour. By the time I hit the DC traffic after an hour of no traffic I was about ready to snap and enact the scene from either Vanilla Sky (where Cameron Diaz tries to kill Tom Cruise by driving off a bridge while shouting I SWALLOWED YOUR CUM) or from Tommy Boy (where a supposedly dead deer rips through my car like it just ate a big bag of mallomars and really needed to shit). 

I was originally supposed to meet my friend Caroline in Richmond at 6, but at 3:30 I was still in Baltimore and called her to tell her I didn't think I'd be there until 8:30. I was being dramatic, or so I thought. 5 hours to get from Baltimore to Richmond (a mere 150 miles). By the time I actually got to Richmond it was 8 PM, I had already texted Caroline to tell her to forget it (although this was pre-empted by her calling me, telling me she already ate and she was now at a bar with some guy I met once in passing 2 years ago, but that the bar had food and I could eat while they watched me). This did not seem like something I was ready to handle after being in the car for nearly 10 hours with 3 hours still to go.

I decided I'd just stay the night with my friend Dan, in Cary, which is about an hour closer than my house. I finally arrived in Cary at 10:30 PM, a full 12 hours after I left my parents house in NJ (a normal trip takes me 9 hours on average). We then proceeded to buy jalepeno poppers which, when eaten 3000 calories at a time, do not sit well at 1 am in the morning. We were up till 2 or 3 or maybe 4 (the days all blur together when you are as cool as me) and then proceeded to wake up early and go to Target to shop for Blu Rays. 

When we got there we were met by a terribly stocked blu ray section that didn't even have the specials that had come out that day. I then turned my attention to the Blu Ray players and bought one, knowing my parents would just send me the money and return the one they go me. The electronics department clerk was the most terribly depressing man to look at: balding, acne scars everywhere, current acne and probably as tall as Michael J. Fox (in 4 years when the Parkinson's knocks him down to 5'0".) He begrudgingly checked us out and we went home to test my new blu ray player. Same issue. It would appear on screen, but the play button would not work. I also noticed that the on screen displays were exactly the same as mine. This was a different brand, but apparently same manufacturer. So I opened the original blu ray and tried it with the new remote and voila it worked! (Of course I would basically buy 2 of the same blu ray player and get lucky enough for one to have a remote). 

Then as I was packing both of them up (one to return to target sans remote) Dan said "uhhh, Kelson? What's that right there?" A remote. The original blu ray player's remote was sitting there, in its packaging on the outside of the styrofoam holders the blu ray comes in. I do not know why they would hide it there and not IN THE BOX, with all the other cables, but there it was. Crisis averted (other than the fact that apparently if you lose a remote for your blu ray player you are fucked.)

We then proceeded to watch football on Dan's HDTV before heading to the bar to watch the Jaguars and Dolphins play. Since Dan and I had eaten an entire pizza and breadsticks by ourselves we were not hungry, but Dan ordered cheesecake so that we werent sitting in a bar for 4 hours paying for nothing (NOTE: We ordered Pizza from Papa John's told them we had a coupon that would make our order $17 and then they just accepted it, and didn't even ask for the coupon. Thusly, I will now call Papa John's with slightly ridiculous coupon orders like: Order a small pizza and get 2 large pizzas and breadsticks free). 

The only other remarkable thing from the bar was the new waitress. I saw her from across the room and my jaw dropped while Dan just shook his head. I have a penchant for skinny girls with brown hair and she fit the bill to a T. Her bangs swooped in her face (like an emo girl!) but she had the rest of her long brown hair up (meaning she had a multitude of looks, you know for when we have quick costume changes). She had two small star tattoos on her wrists (which I would normally think is lame but in this case convinced me she was slightly emo, slightly indie.) Then coup d'etat was when we heard her talk: SMOKERS VOICE. When it sounds like you may work for a sex hotline, you may be hot. 

After openingly gaping at her all afternoon, Dan finally saw things my way and also thought she was hot. However, because we didn't order much food she had no reason to check on us, which left me stalking from a far. At one point I caught her name as she told it to someone else (I read lips as a hobby) and I immediately forgot it once we left the bar. Before leaving, I was able to get up the courage to ask for the check (I owed $2 for a coke) and then proceeded to tip another 5, half, because as someone who works for tips I enjoy getting nice tips, and half, because I have the faint hope that the next time I go to this bar at 5 on a Sunday, she will be there, remember I tipped her decently and fall in love with me. That's just the hopeless romantic in me (again like Cameron Diaz in Vanilla Sky). 

So that was my trip to NJ. It ended on a nice note, as the next day I found out that Dan's cheesecake had ended up in the sink and I thought that was a nice denouement for the trip. I just kept going and going and going and then it ends with some vomit. Bravo, New Jersey, you always come through. 

The Time I Went to New Jersey (Part 3)

Friday - December 26, 2008

The next morning I woke up incredibly early to take advantage of some sweet Early Bird specials at Kohl's (according to the internets the day after Christmas is quickly becoming Black Friday II). So combine that with the everyday low prices of Kohl's and it makes 5 AM on the day after Christmas seem worth waking up for. I got to Kohl's around 6:15 and spent a solid 30 minutes debating how to spend my gift card (jacket, sweatshirt, or a 4th, 5th and 6th shirt that all look the same, by the same brand, just different style. I went with a combo jacket/hoodie, as I fear I will never look normal in a real winter coat. I got a fleeced lined hoodie that will keep my street cred in check. Amazingly, I walked out of Kohl's with $7 still on my gift card (I have self control). 

I then proceeded to hang out with the dogs and watch The Simpsons movie on HBO until it was time to go back to my Aunt's house and install an HDTV and TIVO. As part of my sweet manual labor day job, I have learned quite a bit about technology (this is a lie, everything I know about HDTV, I learned from the internet.) Thus I have become the go to guy for the family, which is fine, because for me it's easy, I get treated like royalty ("Oh MY, you know ELECTRONICS? You can match COLORS?" Yes, I can.) and I get paid. So I spent about an hour or so installing an HDTV and HD TIVO for my Aunt and Uncle and then proceeded to drag my mother to the mall so that I could buy a new pair of Vans. 

The mall parking lot literally had no spaces. We waited for a solid 15 minutes just to get into the parking lot, while my mother continued to ask "are you sure you want to do this?" Oh, I was sure, as there are no Vans shoe stores within 300 miles of North Carolina (interesting, considering that the local mall has approximately 8 shoe stores - 4 women, 1 Foot Locker and 3 stores that all have sort of abbreviation as a name and sell nothing but Lugz and $200/pair Nikes. I'm not sure, but I feel like that MAY not be my style.) 

Once we got into the parking lot, I told my mom to drop me off and drive around while I took 3 minutes to go get a pair of shoes. She pleaded no (apparently wanting to waste as much of my day as possible) and told me she didn't have her license. After trying to subdue the urge to scream "WHO DOESNT ALWAYS BRING THEIR LICENSE WITH THEM?" I calmly explained that the cops who monitor the parking lots aren't real cops, wouldn't pull her over anyway (unless she suddenly got a seizure and just plowed through child after child on the sidewalk) and probably weren't smart enough to read her license in the first place (perhaps give them a Bennigans discount card as a fake?).

I finally convinced her, ran up the escalator to find that the Vans store had two types of slip on shoes: colored and checkered. No patterns, nothing fancy (because I need a pair of fancy slip on sneakers) and so I left. It took me about 5 minutes of running around the parking lot looking for my mother, who apparently found a parking spot and, because I was not looking for a parked car, I totally missed. Then it was off to home to prepare for my evening with my friend Emily. 

I had had plans for New Jersey this trip. Reaching out to several friends to hang out in the weeks prior to the trip and securing loose plans (including a friend who I can only get a hold of once a year who, apparently (and braggingly) dates a guy in the band from the iPod commercial "I tried to do handstands for you.") In my 4 days, I saw 2 of these people, making my batting average about .200. One of these people was my dear friend Emily, who I hadn't seen in nearly a year. We were originally going to meet in NYC, but because getting into the city is about as fun as listening to Gavin Degraw yodel, we decided to meet "halfway" in White Plains NY. 

White Plains is a city, apparently, with a booming downtown area - complete with a Wal Mart on one side and the richest, fanciest mall on the other. We visited both, but not before I had my first encounter with a "The Container Store," which only sells containers. Fancy containers though, because I know when I'm organizing my old shitty t-shirts or CDs they need to have their own $4,000 coffin. Yeah, I'm not a "The Container Store" fan (also, because it's weird to write "a" and then "The Container Store.")

We visited the mall, which makes you pay for parking (classy) and started walking around looking for a place to eat, it came down to PF Chang's and a Diner. Considering PF Chang's is expensive we chose diner. Wrong choice. I had the honor of having the worst service ever at a restaurant. Below is a quick recap of the errs of the waitress:

- We are seated at a table that has not yet been cleared, including tip money from the last customer. 

- Our waitress doesn't even come to get our drink orders within the first 10 minutes of being seated. 

- Once she does come, we are not yet ready to order food, which obviously pisses her off and she walks away, bringing the drinks back 5 minutes later. She puts the drinks down without letting us order food and escapes. 

- A few minutes later Emily calls her over and we order, but not before she throws (yes literally throws) straws at us after Emily asks, "Could I please have a straw?" (Geez Emily, stop being such a bitch, using please and shit. You think you are better than me with your etiquette? THIS ASIDE HAS BEEN BROUGHT TO YOU BY THE MIND OF OUR WAITRESS.)

- The food came out a short time later but sucked. The burgers were dry and of course they cost $10. My thoughts started to lust for $12 sweet and sour chicken. 

The diner also had this sweet donut inside. But that's about it as far as enjoyment factor. 

We then proceeded to walk around the mall which only held stores like "Gucci" and "Ann Taylor" and "Designer I've never heard of." Needless to say, we decided Wal Mart would be more fruitful. 

We got Wal-Mart and it was 2 floors! (Oh the city has such great nuances.) With the birth of this 2 floor invention comes the cart escalator. The cart escalator is located next to the regular escalators and works simply: push cart in, it will guide it slowly to the next floor for you. So Emily and I are headed downstairs and the guy behind us is having trouble getting his cart to go down (he doesn't see the "BROKEN" sign or he possibly couldn't read it, as Emily and I were the only white folk in the store.) He pushes the cart extra hard and it comes flying past me, barrels down through the doors at the bottom, designed to stop the carts, and smashes into a 40 something man who just stands there acting shocked as he waits for it to hit him. 

It hits him, square on. The combination of the rattling death cart and his thud to the ground will always be engrained in my memory. The man was hit, stumbled back and then possibly thinking he could make a scene, decided to fall and let out a loud groan. This being America, no one offered to help him up and I was just now reaching the end of the escalator, I was about to walk over and help him until I hear "DON'T MOVE. STAY DOWN. YOU CAN SUE!" followed by loud shouts for security. It was quite the site to see and totally made the 3 hour round trip worth it. 

Emily continued to stare as I continued to shop and when we went back upstairs 10 minutes later he was JUST getting up (his injury you ask? Embarassment.) Emily and I then proceeded to stand in the 12 Items or Less line for 20 minutes and even pulled off the always risky "switch lines because the other line is moving faster." Normally this doesn't work for me but I guess if an old man can get hit by a runaway metal cylinder, than anything is possible! It's Christmas time!

I then got a call from my Uncle that his new TV was broken and I offered to come look at on my way back from New York. An hour later, I arrive, unplug the Tivo, wait 30 seconds and wait for it to boot up and it looks to be working. I show them how to use Tivo and I quickly scurry back to my parents house. Deciding that I would be leaving the next morning (a full day early) because I couldn't bear sitting in my bedroom, waiting for my friends to call and risking a high school flashback that would surely end in tears and 4 hours spent listening to the entire Dashboard Confessional discography. 

Part 4 (The Final Chapter) tomorrow. 

Later in the week:

The Time I Went Christmas Shopping

and 

The Time It Became 2009

The Time I Went to New Jersey (Part 2)

Thursday - Christmas Day

I woke up Christmas morning with all the glee of a small child who really wanted a spongebob squarepants bicycle or a life size barbie (I secretly hoped I wouldn't be disappointed, like a 6 year old mormon girl would be disappointed getting a black life size barbie.) I had really asked for one thing this year, a blu ray player. As my obsession with technology has come to pass in the last few years, I have always wanted the blu-ray, scanning the Best Buy circular weekly to see what the price was. In November, I saw a blu ray player online for $129.99 and almost broke my fingers trying to type quick enough to buy it (luckily my single digit bank account kept me in check). I also was an early adapter to the HD DVD format which is now defunct (this fact still stings), so Blu ray would be my redemption. 

So Christmas morning was a big deal to me. I saw a bunch of presents in my pile and got overwhelmingly excited because since I hit college and became an "adult," Christmas just hasn't been the same as when I was a kid. My mom offered me my first gift. Blu Ray. Done and done. I didn't even need to open the rest of my presents Jesus gave me my one true gift (if this were over 2000 years ago it would be like getting Frankencense. Yeah, that awesome.)

The rest of my gifts included very adult things - a calendar, gloves, a new shower curtain (because mine had enough mildew to build it's own colony) and a vacuum, because I haven't vacuumed my apartment since Amelia moved out, which puts the dirt buildup at 6 months. I got my mom a bluetooth iPod speaker system for her new office (this would not have flown at her old office at Bloomberg, because the old office was really just a series of drones as far as the eye can see. No walls, no boundaries, I think they may have even sat on each other's laps). I got my dad his own sirius radio after that gift went over so well for my mom last year. I then helped him install it in his car while my mom made cinnamon rolls (our Christmas tradition). They were both quite pleased with the gifts (mostly because I'm an amazing gift giver) and I then took a nap before dealing with the extended family. 

The extended family celebration is normally dreaded by both my father and I (or at least it was when I was in high school.) My grandmother had somewhere between 8 and 18 siblings and most all of them came to my Aunt's house for Christmas dinner. As a kid, and even to this day, I suppose, there was no one within ...15 years of me. So I often entertained myself as the family got drunker and drunker. We'd all huddle in a small living room and dining room (made smaller by the fact that the dining room table was extended from one wall to the other so that 25 people could sit) and then eat catered food, just like jesus intended. 

This year was different though, there were 9 of us and only 7 I recognized. I hadn't been apart of this celebration in a few years, because we've had Christmas at the beach recently (I almost threw up in my mouth while typing that, it sounds so yuppie to say, "I summer in Nantucket and Winter in Supply, NC." I've been told Supply IS the Nantucket of the south, look it up, they even have their own grocery store!) I suppose people dropped out due to deaths (everyone in the family is over 60 except my parents and I) or marriage (my 2nd cousins 3 times removed all married later on in life) or odd trips to Qatar (I have nothing). So it was me and my parents, my aunt and uncle, my 2nd aunt and uncle and one of my aunt's sisters and her son? Maybe? I'm not sure he was pushing baldness but screamed "I'm A Jersey Shore Italian." (Two looks I hope to never see cross paths again). Everyone was nice, so the dinner went fine, but it was odd not having the whole family around. 

Several key elements came out of the conversation with the family, first - they discovered that I, unlike my parents, was a liberal and that I could now be accepted into the family (my mom's side of the family is very liberal, while my dad's side probably is preparing to move to the most conservative country in the world (which at this point is probably Iraq or Turkey or somewhere where women are shot for showing the skin of their hands during evening hours)). 

Secondly, I got the "Oh, when are you getting married?" thing. Which would normally be ok, but considering the fact that my MUCH younger cousin just got engaged and that I have no prospects for marriage on the horizon, well it made me think. "Oh god, I'm 23 and I'm at LEAST 3-5 years away from marriage. Oh god, I'm gonna die alone. There is no way I fill this timeline to my families liking. Shit." It's really not the best nugget (or nuggnut) to put in the head of a kid who has girl issues up the ying yang. Thanks family. 

Thirdly, my mom and extremely liberal vegetarian uncle had a 15 minute conversation about 9/11, very loudly in front of the entire dinner table. They didn't talk about conspiracy theories (thankfully), my mom commented that she now worked a block from the WTC site. At this point, people were ready to open presents and I was ready to leave. Mother kept on going, despite several interruptions from family saying "Is it dessert time? Is it gift time?" Nope. It wasn't it was time to talk about the most depressing tragic event of our lifetime on Christmas Day! Essentially, we just let the terrorists win. 

Finally, we opened presents, back in the day, I used to get a present from every family member, which was awesome. Then as I got older, only a few people gave me gifts and a few of them were very iffy (I got a model diecast car 2 years in a row. I hate cars. I was 13, not 8. I hate cars.) Now, I'm finally in the family grab bag, which means I give one gift and get one gift. This day and age everyone gives and gets gift cards and so, I gave a staples gift card and got a Vans gift card. We went home and I cuddled with my Blu Ray player while I slept. 

Part 3 Tomorrow. 

The Time I Went to New Jersey (Part 1)

The following is an account of my Christmas "vacation" "week." (I put both of these in quotes because is it every really a vacation when you have to drive 20 hours in 4 days and then spend time with family? And week was in quotes because it wasn't really a week vacation, because my jobs like to schedule me immediately after Christmas and ON New Years Day. And yes New Years is a national holiday, but who cares about that, let's schedule someone for an 1 GODDAMN hour of work on a national holiday, you know just to be annoying. And if I'm coming off bitter, it's because lemons have nothing on me at this point.)

Wednesday - 12/24

If there is something I love more than anything else in life it is traveling on major travel days throughout the year. I was forced to leave on the 24th because my full time job scheduled me on the 23rd (I should be grateful for this, because those 4 hours were about half of my total monthly hours. So the math looks like this: 

Full Time Employee - 160/month (roughly)

Kelson in December - 8 hours. 

Fun times. 

I woke up at 6 AM so that I could deal with the technology issues my computer was having. Two things happened in the days leading up to Wedensday. First, I discovered my computer takes about 15 minutes to boot up, which is probably the cause of a virus. The second, which was much more life threatening, was that I deleted about 70% of my music when transferring my 160 GB collection to a new harddrive. Fate smiled upon me because it only took me 10 years to collect and only 2 minutes to lose! There is a god!

The worst part was that I had purchased tons of movies and TV shows on iTunes including the great Dark Knight recently. (To be fair, I got a digital download copy of The Dark Knight and when I realized it was gone and I went into the dumpster outside of my apartment to try and find the garbage bag I threw out the day prior, to look for the code. Needless to say, with my luck, the garbage had been emptied that day. Yes, I'm desperate.)

At 7:15 I left the house to go pick up Lou in Chapel Hill as he was going to make the journey with me. I told him I'd be there at 8 and at this point I'd be willing to bet 70% of my music collection that he wasnt ready. I get a call from him at 8 and he tells me he just woke up. Now if only Satan would come through on that 70%....So I get there at 8:15 and he is actually ready and we leave. 

We make a stop at a restroom just into Virginia and it is NOT one of those fancy rest stops. This rest stop was probably transplanted from a high school gym that was built in 1948. The bathroom radiated heat when you opened the door and not just a normal heat, the stench that reminds you of changing in the locker room before gym class in high school (and if you were a chubby nerd in high school, these are not fond memories). I subdued my 'Nam like flashback and got back on the road. 

A few hours later we stop at a Wendy's and go inside because ordering for two people at a drive thru would make any fast food workers head explode. Lou orders and then I order and Lou gets his food as I'm ordering. I wait for my food in front of the "pick up area" and the lady puts a bunch of chicken nuggets in a bag (I ordered a burger) and shoves it at me. "10 Piece NUGGET." She stares at me when I don't take it. She then shoves the bag in my face "10 PIECE NUGGET." I say "not mine." And she proceeds to toss it on the table, before finally processing how to differentiate "burger" and "nuggets" on her screen. 

We hop back on the road and start cruising, Lou tries to convince me that its a 70 MPH zone so I can do 85. I punch Lou right in the sternum. He then whines about having to wear his seatbelt and does the thing you do when you are a child and puts the shoulder strap behind his back. (I momentarily debate taking his advice and going 85 into a tree or a semi. I decide against it). We reach Wilmington, DE which for some reason smells like a dumpster, oh wait, it's Wilmington Delaware, that's why. 

I needed to pick up my cousin in Philadelphia and so we used my fancy iPhone to navigate towards her fiancee's house. What she did not tell me is that he lives about 18 minutes off the highway and that 17 of those minutes are spent driving through a ghetto. This was a real ghetto too, bums on the corners, boarded up shops, a wine depot on each block and enough chain link fencing to make Michael Vick's dogs jealous. 

We find his house and park in the driveway. As we get out, we hear a tap on the window, but we don't see anybody so we keep walking. As we get to the door, a man comes up behind us and says " YOU PARKED IN MY DRIVEWAY." I say oh..I thought this was the driveway for this house. Not realizing, the house was a duplex (or that duplex's even existed.) He walked away and 1 minute later when we went to leave he was nowhere in sight. This man wasn't even trying to get out of the driveway. He was apparently just monitoring the driveway from his window, making sure no one parked in it. Merry Christmas!

When we finally got out of the sinkhole of Philadelphia we started to see snow. Lou and I both haven't seen real snow in ages and it was somewhat heart warming. I dropped Lou off and my cousin and I proceeded to her house, but not before stopping at Dunkin Donuts, where two 18 year old wiggers were manning the counter. The smaller one proceeded to hit on my cousin and even gave her a free donut, that according to her tasted "off". I insinuated that it was semen and I was probably not wrong. 

We finally got to her house around 6 PM, 11 hours after I left my house and proceeded to have a joyous family Christmas eve dinner. Highlights include:

- My aunt and uncle being shocked that I got them gifts for the first time ever (this was a theme for me this Christmas)

- Me cracking everyone up (which has been the theme of my life recently) 

- My father saying I should do stand up comedy, to which I responded I would be no good at and then my aunt coming up with the idea for "Dinner with Kelson," where my stand up comedy show would be random people having dinner with me and me ripping them apart. Look for that on off off broadway in 2 years (when the economy rebounds and I can get an old lady to front me $2 mil for this.)

Part 2 Tomorrow.