Welcome, Alfred (or Fredo or Cat or whatever your name is)

So a few days ago, Roomie found a cat, needed to have it neutered, and it needed a home for recovery. That home is ours. While this adorable kitten sans mittens is only with us for a few days, already he has brightened our lives and energized our home with his crazy antics, love for pot (seriously, it paws at my joints), and inability to sit still for more than 7 minutes at a time. I invite you all to greet this little friend. You can't call him by a name...he doesn't have one yet. But if you want a kitten, or know a home it can go to, let me know, because I already told this nameless ball of fur, homey, this is closing time....you don't have to go home, but you can't stay here.

Dolores Spark (Pride Festivities)

With Friday still fresh in my stomach, I head to Nini’s on Saturday morning to try to fix the problem. It works. However, I then turn around and head back to the city for what is to be my first Pride experience ever. The venue is Dolores Park for the “Dyke March,” which is basically a fancy way of saying that Dolores Park is filled with thousands of lesbians, their friends, and just about anyone involved in the community.

I’m 25, and I’ve lived in the Bay Area my entire life. I can’t think of the words for how amazing this day was. I get up there several drinks deep already, meet up with Za, Brie and McButter before heading over to the park. I’ve seen Dolores park crowded before, but never like this. The smell of smoke is all over the place, everyone is walking around boozing, laughing, hugging, making out, getting naked and urinating by the train tracks. The cops set up a perimeter and just kinda watch to keep peace.

I meet some amazing people in the park…Crystal, two girls, one sharing my Sister’s name and one sharing my grandma’s name (which is really weird because I’ve never met anyone else with that name). My sister’s name holder (we’ll call her K) is friggin awesome and keeps marveling over how high she is. Danny is there as well. Brig has her cousin Brit in town, and damn she’s awesome. The highlight of the afternoon is when she musters the courage to go talk to a girl she had been eyeing for quite some time. She comes back all aflutter.

This general social drinking/smoking and gathering lasts until about 6 or so when its time to start the parade. People gather at 18th and Dolores getting ready to march the streets. We fall in line (those of us who hadn’t left the park to go back to various apartments) and start walking. We’re about half a block down the street when I get tapped on the shoulder and asked to leave the parade because I’m a guy. “We’re all for the guys supporting, but we’d appreciate it if you didn’t march.” I tap Brie and Za and on the shoulder looking for a little help and they get pissed, “What? Who said that to you? That’s bullshit, you’re walking with us.”

While I tend to agree, I don’t want to start anything in the middle of the crowd, especially given my tenuous situation in the first place…I tell Brie, Za and McButter that it’s all good, I need to go to the bathroom anyways, and I bolt from the parade and run to the 500 Club for the restroom.

****************I’m entering social commentary zone here. If you want to skip to the rest of the actual activities of the day without reading my personal feelings on certain social situations, skip to the next line of **********************

A slight side note here on the idea of excluding males from the Dyke March, or females from the gay march, or gays and lesbians from the marriage march….I wasn’t personally offended when I was asked to leave the parade…I can understand that its for a specific purpose, and some of the more traditionals might not want to mix it up, but this is the kind of thing we need to stop in general. To discriminate against someone because they’re ANYTHING other than you is ridiculous. It only sews more hatred and contributes to a tightening of the ranks and an increased situation for building hostility where there doesn’t need to be any.

It’s one of my feelings that gay men and lesbians are discriminated against perhaps more than any other segment of society. At the moment there’s backlash against Muslims, but that comes from a narrow minded few that refuse to separate them from Muslim extremists, and there is a huge difference. Non-caucasian ethnicities often face discrimination, but that gap is consistently shrinking, and moreover, its again in the eyes of morons and not based in the institutional laws we concoct to govern our society.

However, here is an entire group of men and women who have been systematically denied equal rights based on their sexual preferences. Worse than that, there’s no reasonable justification for this. By this I mean there are two ways you can look at homosexuality, and neither provides a good reason for discrimination. One is that it’s naturally occurring and those that are cannot and should not do anything about it. On this basis, you shouldn’t be able to discriminate anymore than you would over gender, race or any other personal factor that a person is born with. If it isn’t naturally occurring, and people are gay or lesbian based on their personal preferences, discriminating against it is the same as discriminating on the basis of personal choice in something like religion. Either way, it’s an unnecessary and harmful thing to be discriminating against anyone for anything (ok, ok, I’ll make allowances for discrimination of murderers, pedophiles and rapists, the bastards).

My point in all this is that with marginalized groups, especially those habitually discriminated and held down by the broader spectrum of society, full acceptance, inclusion and the abolishment of the basis for discrimination should be the main goals. The more walls and barriers we break down, the better off the entire country specifically and world in general will be.

From this perspective, the idea that anyone supporting the lesbian community would be asked to leave a parade supporting lesbians is a bit ridiculous. I can understand if there’s some jack ass of a guy gawking, taking pictures, generally not being there for the right reasons being asked to leave. But here I am, a definite supporter, walking with several of my friends who have invited me to be there. It will be harder to gain support to liberate marginalized groups for whatever reason they’re cast out of the mainstream if the groups themselves turn away and discriminate against people from the main population who are supportive, empathetic and want to embrace the cause while changing the perception of others.

********************Resume Saturday Debauchery Here********************

I get back from the bathroom in time to rejoin them at 16th and Guerrero. It’s about dinner time and we all know that if we don’t eat, we’re gonna fade fast. We hop into a Thai restaurant with Z and E, T and Case, McButter and Za, myself and the Choosy. I feel like a spice cabinet with alphabet soup right now. X has decided to ignore me for the day, so it’s solo flying at this point. At the Thai place, I know I can’t let my guard down, and hence introduce myself to mangotini soju drinks. I drink dinner.

After dinner, we regroup at Za and T’s…they nap while I stockpile js for the evening. I’m about three done when people start reappearing, ready for what’s next. As the couches and seats around me fill up, I light a j. The next hour and a half is basically an attempt to fill the living room with smoke. I light one and pass it around. As it’s being smoked, I keep rolling. When one goes out, I light a second one and pass that. Basically, the pile keeps growing, even though we’re continually smoking, because my rolling is keeping up with the rotation. I can’t see some people on the other side of the room because the smoke is so thick. Ok, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but what’s not an exaggeration is how people can’t stop laughing and ridiculous activities ensue, including, but not limited to, T scaring the shit out of me with some porcelain mask that looks like the Carver from Nip/Tuck.

We leave there to head over to Cat Club where Lina from the Carol is working door. Windy, Brit, Brig, X, Za, T, McButter, Kels, Z and E. Unfortunately, the club is not that packed, but what it lacks in a crowd it makes up for in the ease of getting around, the lack of feeling like you’re going to die from heatstroke and the ease with which you can get drinks or go outside to smoke. Dancing continues, including a very very hot set from Ti as part of the go-go crew, including one that involves X and makes everyone on the dance floor want to switch places with either one of them. I run into the owner Patrick who gives me my standard hello.

At this point, I feel drunk, stoned and utterly obliterated on more than one level. It feels like the longest day of my life, which would make sense as that now that I’m writing this, it feels like the longest blog of my life as well. But, I’m sure that’s all worth it (fine wine takes time, right?)…not only was the entire weekend fantastic, but I had an amazing group of friends to welcome me into pride festivities for the first time. I couldn’t have asked for a better introduction.

Now…about that nap…

Pride Pictures

I took a ton of pictures this weekend at Pride, and while I'm still working on the actual blog, I figured since I could only post 5 per entry, I'd have one of just pictures. These are mostly the scenery shots, with one of Brig and her cousin...next post will have some people shots.

Run Over (Friday)

When I have both nights and a day of a weekend booked with social plans, I know it’s going to be long, drunk and amazing. This weekend was no exception. Friday night I get up to the city early, grab some sushi from Nama and pay for it with the proceeds I get from selling my Giants tickets. Even with the Yankees in town, the rest of the weekend is so frightening in scope that I can’t muster the energy to go. I head to Vic’s and get the top of my head ripped open with his new volcano.

Back at ChengJ’s, it’s Beirut and liar’s dice as we watch Bonds swat one into the deep part of the yard. On the first game of Beirut, I play with my mixed drink. On the second, however, I do what amounts to thinking I can ride on the train track only to find out that I have the top speed of a bicycle. In short, I get run down. Instead of mixing a drink and splitting it among the cups, I pour vodka and mixer into each cup. By the time I’m halfway through the game, I realize the mistake that’s been made, and my stomach, full of sushi from a few hours before, realizes it too.

I head with them to go to the Marina, but forget my camera and have to go back. I walk several blocks, grab a cab and end up at Broderick street for the farewell party by Pat. I walk in and Goldilocks, Chaz, Pat, Miller, Vic and a slew of others are all there. The place has been emptied out for the party and it’s good because it’s getting trashed. As always, Pat has an amazing cast of characters, including one girl who throws a stack of cups at me. She explains that she thought I had thrown them at her, to which I respond that that’s still not a good reason to resort to violence.

Inside the kitchen, the temperature is up around 90 and as I start to boil it makes a mixing pot out of my stomach and I have to go outside to maintain. I spend twenty minutes trying to settle my stomach down, only finally realizing that this can be done with a j. About this time, Coach shows up with his best man. It’s known in these parts as “Out-of-town-Erica Mike.

Back inside the js keep coming, dancing is happening and the kegs are…..tapped? Yes, tapped, at like 12. I get the final pieces of amusement out of the evening as Pat is force fed varying amounts of alcohol in several different containers. Coach gives me a ride back to my car at Millbrae, and I end my night, feet up, music on, j out in the comfort of my own bed.

Dancing in the Street

I know, I know, I've been promising this for about five months now. But I finally finished. Here's the deal...I go out at night, and sometimes, the mood will hit me, or my iPod will shuffle on something I can't stop dancing to, and away I go. When I dance, I've got so much joy and energy, that it's not always easy to keep it even slightly contained. In short, I loved making the videos that made up this video. I try to get shots in places that you normally wouldn't be able to dance...This video has been through about 5 different musical backgrounds and several different stylistic choices. I hope it was worth the work, and enjoy!

I Shouldn't Be Surprised

I've always loved Saabs. I thought it was because it was the car my dad always drove. Then I thought it was because they're cool, refined and fast. Now, after spending a morning in the shop waiting for my car, I found that there was something much deeper here. Apparently, Saabs are made in.......

Is She the One That Sings "Bossy"?

So I'm getting X a graduation present, and I think to myself, "what does X really like?" The first thing that comes to mind is Gwen Stefani. But I know that if I get her two Gwen tickets, I'll get to be the date. This is a scary proposition. Instead, I buy 4 tickets and a parking pass, thinking that she'll utilize them with her friends. Perfect. Only, when it comes time to actually go see the concert, she wants me to come. It defeats the purpose, but hey, I guess I get a Gwen Stefani show out of it...right?

So I start early. Intending to be the silliest guy in the room, I eat a special cookie (as one of my runners would say, "is it special because it's made with love?") and pound a double sized rodka at my apartment. This is before I get picked up. You can see a picture of me after all this, as Coach was nice enough to take one as a "before" picture. They come to get me at 7:22, which in my mind is a little late for a show that has a stated ticket start time of 7:30. But hey, who am I to stop them from getting In-n-Out?

As we head down 101, in traffic, eating animal style fries, I continue drinking. It tastes like medicine, which I guess means I got a little carried away when I was putting the vodka in. We get a text from someone at the show, and Gwen is already on at 8:12. I say that's bullshit and it's Gwen doing a song with Akon. I turn out to be correct. I take another drink to celebrate. The traffic clears up and the premier parking pass has us right next to the door with plenty of time.

Now I've been to Shoreline shows before, and I can tell you that pop/hip-hop shows really don't do well in the attendance department. I'm figuring this concert to be the same, only to see the lawn when we get there is one of the most packed I've ever seen it. I'm actually shocked. I go to the bar and wait in line only to be told that the line I'm in doesn't accept credit card. I feel wretched, so I go to the back of the credit card line only to have the bartendress insist that I move to the front of the credit card line, telling two girls that I was waiting for a while. This is true, but I still feel bad. I've carried Za's stolen pack of cigarettes in, and offer them two for their trouble. I then buy two long islands to celebrate.

On the lawn, it's Xena, myself, X, McButter, B and a host of other girls I hadn't met before. One is Arlene, and I think I've met her before. By the time Gwen comes on, she could be playing Egyptian traveler music and I'd still probably enjoy it. She of course plays her big hits, Sweet Escape, Hollerback Girl (possibly the worst song of all time), and several others. Thankfully, I can't embarrass myself anymore by knowing the names to these songs, cause that's all I know, or all I actually remember of the show. I consistently make myself a pest to X by asking, "When is she gonna play, 'Bossy'" and things of that nature. I forget who I'm told is actually the Bossy singer, but I would prefer not to hear it again so I won't dwell.

She looks fantastic. She's in and out of outfits quick, ranging from skater to prep and everywhere in between. Her only downfall is when she opens her mouth and says stuff like, "I'm like, so fucking happy to be here, like, I'm from SoCal, but I always have love for NorCal, they're like, the same." I want to grab a Valencia orange from wherever she's from and shove it down her throat. I yell into the crowd, "don't denigrate NorCal like that!!!" which I don't think anyone around me appreciates. But by this time, I've downed two long islands and a joint, so my concern for the what the people around me are thinking is at an all time low.

I leave as she plays some slow ballads or something to get more drinks. Two more long islands...

You'd expect my night to fade out here, but I distinctly remember a few more songs, some dancing and a walk to the car. I even seem to recall walking alongside the car while it was in traffic, but that could be a fantasy that never actually happened. Look at the picture and try to see my eyes at the end of the night. This is known as the after picture.

I remember getting home, a shower, and

...and then I found 20 dollars (Saturday)

I almost don’t make Saturday night. After waking up with the uneasy feeling of cotton mouth combined with a hangover, I stumble and smoke my way to Nini’s with Gavroche. We spend several minutes of our breakfast being flirted with, and many more minutes trying to stave off laughter that comes from being giddy and laughing about the more than sorry crew that the Cage runs with. I also have fun retelling him the story of the previous night, which I presume most of you have already read.

I get home from a grad party around 4:30 and decide I need a two to three hour nap to get my head on straight for the night ahead. I wake up, groggy and in the dark, at 10:15. I have two choices. I roll over, light one up, turn on the tv and relax. I jump up, pour a cold one, turn on music and rally.

I rally.

The two rodka’s before the drive up, in conjunction with a J and one more rodka on the drive turns me into an energetic, ready and crazy machine. I catch cab one over to City to find ChengJ, Marc and Ian. J starts up a conversation, the basis of which has him telling me he knows a girl that I just saw him meet. It’s the two of us standing next to a table of 6 when a drunkard walks over, moves me out of the way and steps in with a “hello, ladies” I give up on that table.

Erin who works there gets off work and we decide to hit another bar. We get there to find that it’s closed. We’re standing on the street trying to figure out what to do when J tells me to be on alert. Huh? He tells me that there’s some guys that might be trying to fight us and I need to be ready.

Now, we’ve been standing in the same spot for five minutes, haven’t talked to anyone and have done nothing other than try to figure out where we’re going. I begin to think that J is crazy and will do anything to find violence. However, I take a glance over his shoulder and see a guy and a petite blond holding this guy back who seems to be trying to get over to us saying, “I’ll fucking kill ‘em.” All of a sudden, J appears much more rational, and I start to fear the drunk man. He’s literally trying to get at us, with the only real thing standing in between us his tiny girlfriend, who I think is only managing to hold him back because he doesn’t want to hit her to get to us. Even in his more than inebriated state, he probably realizes this will hurt his chances to have sex later on.

It’s at this point that we decide to leave. Where to leave to becomes the problem though, as I want to meet Gavroche and Chaz at Anu, and J wants to take Erin back into the Marina. I actually manage to convince J to come along, and we find ourselves at 6th and Mission, deep in the thick of things, and J is obviously not pleased. After calling information, I get the address and we head over to Anu which happens to be a sanctuary of nice bar in the middle of one of the shittiest neighborhoods in the city. The gang’s all there, and right as we order a drink, Chaz says they’re leaving. I convince him to stay for another drink, and we find ourselves heading back to Vic’s, spliff in hand.

On arriving there, Goldilocks and resident Phil are passed out together on the couch. We blaze one more and I ask them for a ride back to X’s, but they’re heading in a different direction altogether. I say my goodbyes, head to an ATM and get 40 bucks for the carbide.

I’m walking down the street, see a cab, give the whistle and get him to stop. I run over, open the door, hop in back and find that my ATM trip was completely worthless……there’s a 20 dollar bill on the back seat. I’ll never end a story with, “and then I found 5 dollars” again.

Tree Leaning (Friday)

It’s Friday night, and it’s time to get back to basics. After a short shopping spree and a most disappointing meal at Outback Steakhouse, I run to the city for the used to be usual Beirut pre-game at C+C’s (and sometime G’s). The three of them are there along with mini-C, his friend, Chaz and a Chilean buddy of his who’s brought an almost goth looking Swiss chick. How many fair-skinned black haired Swiss chicks have you met? I’m up to one now.

We get the game on, followed by the new rage of liar’s dice and chase that with a cab ride out to the Marina where we start at City Tavern (like that’s anything new). We’re met there by X and her friend Sara, but we’ve been split by the cab ride so we head over to Bar None to regroup.

On the way there, I light spliff one and run into the woman from the Cage. I think most of you know who I’m talking about. Her brother is also out and about.

At Bar None, the world splits into a confusing dichotomy of city people that I hide my face from vs. drunk ass Hillsborough people that I know. I’m talking the bar has been turned into Crystal/Crocker North. You’ve got mini-Loesche, Doc’s Daughter, Chaz, Adam Smith, K. Buck, our original crew, J. Har, and numerous others. Nick insists on boozing me up by buying me drinks and making me double fist. I pass off what I can’t drink to the other Adam and watch as X makes a hypocrite of herself by sparking a cigarette.

This is where everything gets interesting. I wander over to the Beirut tables in the back and find Chaz and ChengJ engaged in mortal combat with two randoms. K. Buck and her friend KG are playing some other fools. I ask K. Buck about her marital status and am surprised to find out that despite the fact that she acts more single than most girls I know, K. Buck has been dating Emmott for like three years. I’m shocked. Shocked. Well, maybe not that shocked (Futurama)…

Over on the table, not only are Chaz and ChengJ getting whopped up on by these guys, as a friendly token, they’re furnishing the two of them with Jaeger bombs. During the course of the game, I watch Chaz pour down at least three…

We stagger into the street, smoking. I give Maurod a call, but he’s out of the area, on his way. I tell them, we’ll wait, this is all good. For the first time ever, Maurod doesn’t come through. We’re waiting, getting gradually more stoned, and no Maurod. X and Sara start to get pissed and want to get a cab. I try Maurod a few more times to no avail, we get in a cab, and I can only hope that this transgression hasn’t gotten me on Maurod’s blacklist for life.

We’re in the cab five minutes and Chaz needs to pull over. The two smokes, Jaeger bombs, beer and several mixed drinks combined with the rocking and swaying motion of the cab that’s not unlike a boat at this point, sends him over the edge. He gets out of the car, wandering around. I get out with him. He tells me, “This might be awhile…just leave me, I’ll get a cab back to C+Cs” Yea, I’m gonna leave him in the middle of nowhere in the Marina to find his own cab back.

X and Sara take the cab to take Sara home. X returns, at which point I’ve made another video (Dancing in the Street video to come this week, I absolutely promise), and Chaz’s stomach has been brought under control.

In the cab five minutes, Chaz needs to stop again. This time he’s all over the sidewalk and hanging onto a tree for dear life. He vows to never drink Jaeger again. As he drops us off, I say to the cabdriver, trying to be nice, “Wasn’t it good that he didn’t throw up in your cab?”

Cab driver is not amused. He drives away and the night fades to black.

I don't like this cat, it reads minds - pt 2 (old)

A continuation of the retyping of a journal entry....you can find part 1 here, and you can skip it all together if you don't give a shit about what my former self thought...otherwise, read away. For those that haven't read these before, I retype them as they're written, with mistakes, stupid comments, so on. The picture, however, is not old. That's a June self-portrait.

"During the turbulent acquiring of a pack of males that accompanies in some form or another all growing up, I had fallen into a group of the cool but definitely not "most popular" group. While the really cool kids partied at R T's house or some other locale getting drunk and stoned, our less cool group frequented movies, played Capture the Flag and dated the girls that were very good looking, but not considered the hottest in the school.

For some one of our birthdays, we went to see the movie Panther, a classic bitch up and Hollywoodzation of a heated civil rights movement. For weeks, months even after seeing this film, our group walked around flashing fists at each other and calling out "power to the people."

As one might imagine, middle school teachers didn't have a very large tolerance for this kind of behavior. Shortly we were flashing the fists only on the blacktop at lunch or behind the teacher's back as she went to give us some new French verb to conjugate. Then, we passed notes, single fragments of paper carried clandestinely in a walk to the trash can or passed around the room carrying a single line.

Power to the people.

As I worry about the upcoming 10 days and my completely unintelligible communication, I curse Panther for cutting in on a vast portion of my French learning time.

Ah yes, Madame Tartera. I spent two grueling freshmen semesters evading her by hiding behind N B who sat in front of me. I spent an hour every morning hiding, trying to flirt with her through notes that never got anywhere, sipping hot chocolate and cramming desperately for vocabulary tests that I inevitably failed or barely passed.

A sidenote here about grades...I have found that the vastness of the academia have set in place a system not unlike the checks and balances that our government uses that, when used properly, can virtually guarantee passing for any slightly sentient being. Picture yourself as a very large, almost hairless laboratory rat. They give you chores, say fetch a piece of cheese. When you do, you are rewarded with said cheese.

Now, I was given weekly a set of twenty french words and their english equivalents. I was told to memorize those, spit them back out onto a piece of apper every Friday morning. In the system, however, I would have to be a complete moron to ever fail this course, even with poor performances on weekly vocab tests.

See, vocab tests were worth something around 20% of the grade with the final being 40, 25 midterm, 5% attendance and 10% participation. Here is the beauty of the system: cutting class before you are 18 is illegal. Right off the bat you've got 5% of your grade as an A. Madame Tartera rewarded any student who spoke up at least 8 times a week with an A in participation. This comes out to roughly under 2 comments per day. Of course, if you choose to you can always haul ass through Wednesday, raising your hand even when you KNOW the answer is wrong, just so Thursday and Friday you can come in, hide, flirt and be left generally alone.

At this point, just by virtue of showing up and being a loud mouth you've accumulated 15% of a grade that is a perfect 100. Now you're looking at the vocab. Roughly 16 weeks or so in a semester, 16 vocab tests. Tartera lets you drop your three lowest scores so you've gotta look at your performance through 13. The number game here must be applied. If you work hard the first month and a half, which is pretty standard measurement from the return to school mindstate of a 4.0 and the harsh reality of boredom and creative wastes of time that mark the particularly dull period between Halloween and Thanksgiving right before the final crunch. So let's assume that you put in 6 scores of 17 or above, giving you just under 50% of that 20 at a solid B. Factor in one perfect score, because there will be at least one week where every word clicks and you're looking at a first half average of around 87%. At this rate, if you pull an average of a C, allowing for one complete failure and a few more B-s.

With this, 35% of your grade is an almost even balance between 85-87% and 100%, leaving you in the A range.

The midterm is going to be multiple choice which gives any nonlanguage student a view of hope. There's 50 questions composing 75% of your score and a 10 line composition worth the hanging 25, and unlike the SATS, you don't get points for correctly identifying yourself.

If you have reached the mid point of the semester showing up everyday and talking at least twice, by pure osmosis alone you have to have absorbed enough French to write 10 lines. Hell, you aren't even a mammal if you can't come up with 10 sentences. And one thing about foreign language class is that 10 sentences means 10 parts of a capital letter to period, no length requirement here. We'll chalk up a solid B+ on this portion of the exam.

The multiple choice is where you sack up and study. You need to come out of this exam with nothing lower than a C- and more optimistically a B-. If you shoot for the B, you can drop 10 questions. Go through every question and answer only the easiest ones. Then go through a second time, tightening your requirements until you whittle it down to 10. Since to this point the instructions have been clear and concise, we'll assume that you follow this one correctly and walk out of the exam with a respectable 40/B+, rounding out to the constant 85%, not pulling down on your average and not helping it all that much.

The final is about the same, only you need to perform an oral as well. This is not something to be feared. Tartera is notoriously soft in her grading of these interviews which almost every language teacher is. You repeat the formula, only this time you aim to pull a 44 on the multiple choice which shouldn't be too hard at this point in the semester because the final is cumulative, which means you already studied half of the questions for the midterm. This will get you a solid overall B. Considering that all you did was attempt to not fail vocab and purposefully shoot for Bs. At this point, you ask Tartera for a meeting where you tell her how hard you've been trying but just can't seem to get it. By virtue of this interview, a show that you really care about her evaluation she bumps you into an A-.

This is the numbers game of school. You pick your battles in advance knowing exactly when you slack and when you sack. There's no surprises and almost every teacher will leave a few outs. Find these and exploit them and you have an excellent grade for what amounts to a series of planned C performances.

It was in this manner that I worked myself to a B+ and an A- putting in no more than 5-9 hours of work total per semester. Of course, it is probably, no, definitely this manner that leaves me in my current inability to speak any French as I embark to that country.....

TO BE CONTINUED

The Morning After (aka The Failed Birthday Celebration)

Saturday, my main thought is Coach G’s birthday celebration. Last year, he got his crew out to the Mint for what was an amazing time. I can only hope that this year goes as well.

Saturday morning, still drunk, it takes 2 joints before Nini’s to even get my head on straight. Breakfast helps. What doesn’t help is immediately turning around, driving to the city and starting the afternoon with Mickey’s at T and Za’s BBQ. I manage to twist two joints that find their way around the entire back patio twice, and a blunt that’s so intimidating it makes it around the circle four times because people are too afraid to hit it.

It’s the usual suspects, but before we get into that business, I must tell you all….if you get an opportunity to attend a BBQ where T is doing the grilling, don’t you dare pass that shit up. This woman knows how to work a grill, and makes some remarkable meat, all, amazingly, perfectly cooked. How she does this after swilling numerous beers and not being allowed by me to pass the joint without hitting it, I can’t tell you. But it is, in reality, amazing to watch. It's bbq mayhem with T, Za and McButter who leave early for an Erykah Badu concert, Windy, Glasses and her two awesome brothers, Xena, E. and many more.

This starts at 3, and we finally leave the bbq when the ladies split at 10. Roomie and I head over to Damie’s place for pre-partying (a bit late, but hey, why not?) and to wait to hear from G about where he wants to celebrate. It’s about this time that he calls me to tell me that they’re lazy and have decided they’re not going out. I watch as my carefully laid plans slide swiftly down the tubes.

So without a direction due to the birthday celebrant bailing, Amie and Roomie pack it in while D and I proceed to Yancy's to pour down two drinks before the shut the bar. This helps us feel accomplished in a mildly amusing manner, and I feel like I've at least saluted the idea of the evening.

Wait a second. What was that again?

Country Club Chaos

It’s Vic’s birthday party, and it’s at a country club. I think you know where this is going. A few months ago, we all had the opportunity to attend the Grown Ass Man party thrown by Gavroche. Now, Vic is not one to be outdone, and when I heard the party was at the P G CC, I knew we were well on our way there. Guest list for this one includes Tik, Gavroche, Phil, Pat, Ronnie, Vic's girl and her friends, Drew, JK, Miller, Jon A., Chuck, James and a huge host of others.

I’ve got a rodka in me by the time we hit the gates of the club, and it doesn’t slow down when we get in and find that the open bar is already open. There are appetizers everywhere and I’m quite frankly a little blown away by the amount of talent that has shown up (not to mention the incredibly hot older Russian women). I start with……drum roll please………a long island.

Around 8 or so, they open up the main ballroom where the dinner is set up. The tables are loaded with all sorts of food, the majority of which I never touch because I’m in drinking dinner mode. Each table has multiple bottles of Ketel which is perfect when you take into account the rockstars I smuggled in in Roomie’s purse.

Vic’s roomie gets up and talks about the moment he was told they “weren’t meshing,” his brother talks about positive memories (which I was not quite entirely sure existed), and Gavroche talks about the positive aspects of resembling Vic. It’s about this time that I step out with Drew, his girl, Roomie, Alan and a few others for the first of the 6 joints I’ve brought for the occasion.

Back inside, the music is going and people have pretty much forgone entrees and desserts for the dance floor. The shots continue and the general mood of the crowd goes from buzzed to trashed. It’s when I’m outside smoking the second time that a middle aged Russian couple approaches me to smoke some of the joint. I’m a little freaked out, but I oblige them and proceed to be sucked into a real estate conversation.

Now you gotta realize…at first, I’m faded, this guy starts talking market as he’s taking drags off my joint, so I figure we’re just going to shoot the shit a bit. It’s when they jump on one of the homes I’ve mentioned as being horrible and not at all what they’re talking about, that I shake the liquor soggy contents of my mind and get refocused. I start busting out properties he hasn’t seen yet and manage to get his interest tuned in. We’ve been talking for what seems like ages when his wife comes back, grabs his arm and says, “don’t do any deals tonight!”

Back inside, I manage to beckon Roomie onto the dance floor and proceed to go crazy, all while trying not to spill the long island I’m carrying around. This does not prove to be easy. This is when the night gets real interesting. A girl starts dancing with me, and after we’ve danced for a while we decide to go walk around the club a bit. We get back into the ballroom and she leaves immediately. What I don’t know until the next morning is the following:
1) Her dad had seen us dancing together and had come over to dance near us.
2) He was so frustrated by her dancing with me that he decided the family needed to leave the party.
3) It was when he left the dance floor that she and I wandered off
4) The entire time we were walking around, he was looking for us.

Oops.

Needless to say, I’m afraid for my life. I haven’t done anything wrong, but you never know what people will do when you disappear with their daughter for half an hour in the middle of a party.

At around 2 o’clock, Roomie, Chaz and myself look around to realize that we’re the only people other than the wait staff left at the club. Literally, there’s no one else there. We somehow manage to get a cab, and that’s the last of what I remember until I wake up, still dressed, in bed the next morning. It only takes me three steps out of bed to realize that I’m still drunk.

Another fantastic Russian event, a sure winner for Vic, and more chaos than you might hope to find at a Country Club. Party on Wayne, and party on Garth.

New Blog Feature (and other updates!)

In an effort to create an ever expanding blog that captures the imagination of the audience, and brings information to the masses, I have created a new sidebar to the Cellar Door....Now, under the new Quote of the Day, The Blogs You've Been Missing and my calendar of Where You Can Find Me Soon, you will find my current Netflix queue so you can see what movies I'm checking out before the end of the month when I post my monthly movie list. Pretty spiffy, eh? I think so.

In other news, tomorrow marks another crazy Russian B-day party which I am sure to only remember a handful of. Much respect to the Roomie for filling in as a date.

Saturday night, you'll find me in the city celebrating the head track coach's birthday. Last year was a blast as we went to the Mint for karaoke and watched him get obliterated. Between tomorrow and Saturday, this is going to be a great weekend for mania, partying and of course the post weekend blogs.

And, while I have been promising this for a while, I can say honestly that the Dancing in the Street music video is very soon to be up. I've been editing it for a day or two, and need one more video (which I should get this weekend) to put the finishing touches on it. It's sure to be amusing, ridiculous and an insight into the joy that dancing brings me, that sometimes I just can't contain.

Tennis, anyone?

Saturday Night Fish Fry

There's not really any good explanation for that title, just something that involved Saturday night that I thought would work for me. It starts with an all day training session that leaves me wiped out. I get home, nap, watch Thumbsucker, a movie I would highly recommend for anyone, watch Lebron James become a grown man, and then head up to the city Rodka in hand.

Get to Damie's place about 9ish while D's still studying...kill one while waiting to hear from Chaz and Amie. They're at Bar None, so I catch a cab, get out there, only to show up and be told that Mamie was so drunk she had left to go home. Not that I had gone out to hang out with her or anything like that. I"m waiting to hear from Glasses about possibly dancing, but that call never comes in.

Do get a call from Thy who wants to meet up. She and her friend meet Chaz and I at Bar None (Johnson has left to "still be sober enough to walk to where I need to"...between some drinks, some joints and some card games, we're out late. The night culminates as we mix a drink composed of vodka, frozen berries and ice. I still can't taste the alcohol.

After getting back to Damie's place, Chaz and I smoke and juggle before passing out. I wake up when D asks if I want breakfast, and the response to my yes is bacon, scrambled eggs and eggos. I'm actually starting out a Sunday morning NOT sick to my stomach at this point.

Open house and a grad party later, I'm watching Sopranos with Damie (well, not with Amie, she was once again TRASHED), Daw, Loesche and Roomie. Wow. I won't spoil it for you that haven't seen it. But wow.

Big week this week....if you don't stop to look around once in a while, you could miss it. And by the way, check out the picture of my ankle...playing ultimate frisbee last week, I turned it under me. Guy ten yards away said he heard it pop. This is what it looks like now.

May's Movie Menagerie (14)

I got off to a really slow start this month in terms of movies. Between ultimate frisbee games, Giants games and parties, I didn't get my first movie in until the 9th. But I finished strong, with a little help from strep throat that sidelined me at home for three days and the lake house which is always good for a few. Here's the list of movies I watched this month. As always, if you'd like some more info on any of them, hit me up, or just click on the links that are the titles. Spiffy. Finally, I'm going to be choosing a "best of the month" movie. This month, that award goes to La Haine (Hate), a black and white French film that looks at society as a whole and how poverty, race, and of course hatred play into the daily lives of three teens. The movie was terrifically made, incredibly bleak and more than a little eye opening.

"It's the story of a man who falls from the top of a skyscraper. Every floor, he says to himself, 'so far so good. So far so good.' But it's not how you fall that matters. It's how you land."

9: Word Wars
14: Sherry Baby
14: 300
14: High Art
15: Brick
16: Bonnie and Clyde
18: Last King of Scotland
18: Spider Man 3
24: Quinceanera
26: Big Lebowski
26: Talladega Nights
27: Incredibles
30: La Haine

Not Like Most Thursdays

When I haven't heard from Za in like three weeks, and then get a text about going out on a Thursday night, I feel like there's nothing I can do BUT go. Due to my newly busted ankle, I'm feeling getting faded, but having a hard time with stick shift, so Roomie's down to drive but not drink. The night is shaping up perfectly.

We stay at home to watch the amazing antics of Lebron James, singlehandedly willing his team to victory by scoring something ridiculous like 29 of their last 30 points, and their final 25 overall. Ridiculous.

But then, the game ends, it's creeping on towards 9 and the roommate doesn't want to go out anymore. She's tiiiiiiired. Fine. I put on something similar to a game face, fix myself a rockstar vodka and jump in the car. I pull into the city round 10, meet up with Za and McButter (the newly happy couple) at Askew. We leave there, head down to Lucky 13 . We see E, Xex, Shrooming Architect (who had a crazy story about his shroom trip in the swamp by Lake Shasta yesterday), and a few people I'm meeting for the first time.

Round 12, McButter's tired, Za can't keep her hands to herself and, preparing for the ride home, I'm about ready myself. Za's hungry, and we end up on the way back at Baghdad Cafe . Which is cool, because after two rodka's (rockstar vodka's! I just came up with that. I feel clever, cheesy and retarded all at once) and a j, I need to utilize facilities. But the facilities are locked. For a long time. And then an even longer time. People knock, come and go, and no one answers. I can't concentrate on the conversation because my brain is filling with urine. If you think that sounds disgusting, imagine how I felt! Pounding on the door again, still no answer.

The guy that emerges 20 minutes later is skinny, long beard, shaggy hair, glasses, and out of it. He's either been nodding off or sleeping on the toilet. I return from the bathroom and find him conversing with Mc and Za, and can only smile admirably at McButter because she has the patience of a saint and continues the conversation. I'm restless and feel trapped that this guy is sitting right next to me trying to tear bugs out of his skin.

The night ends as I steal Za's cigarettes to dispose of properly, get home and add another dancing video to the collection for the (I promise!) upcoming video. I also got these awesome hat fliparoo shots with Za.

Not the most elaborate, drunk or exciting of nights, but certainly not how I normally spend my Thursdays. Don't miss the May movie list below and the new quote of the day to the right. Until next time, keep your headlights on.