Thursday, December 27, 2012
Monday, December 17, 2012
Reggae and Santas and Latkes, Oh My
Alright, I'm gonna have to go into the Way Back Machine, aka the What Happened More Than Two Weeks Ago machine for this one. Lucky that I put a title on a blank blog, or I'd probably have no idea what I'm writing about right now. We're looking at the weekend of the 14th, 15th and 16th of December.
Given that JMill was about to get out of his Google work, he was anxious to get out and about. He heard about a show at the Red Devil Lounge on Friday night that one of his friends was playing in. I figure it's a bar on Polk Street, can't be too horribly bad, why not give it a go? On the way there he tells me that the band is a Reggae band, and I inwardly cringe because really, just how many good white Reggae groups have you ever heard in your entire life? Ever? But the night is about to get interesting because he's got a group of friends that he regularly hangs out with, and to be honest with you, the Reggae is good. Like really good. Not as in I bought a CD and remember their name way, but in a I'm really impressed that I didn't want to vomit all over my shoes while listening to you type of way. So, big ups to that group.
The next day is the annual event known as SantaCon. For those not in the know, SantaCon is a Saturday that happens every December where just about everyone in the Bay Area dresses up in Santa or Elf costumes, gets blitzed out of their skulls and then goes bar-hopping around the city in the middle of the day. Now, for the revelers, this is always an extremely awesome event. I mean, have you ever danced with 100 other Santas in a bar while it's still daylight out? However, for the bartenders and the bouncers, this day sucks because you have a bunch of drunk idiots walking around before 4pm, trashing the bar, getting into various sorts of shenanigans and otherwise acting like they're hoping to be on the naughty list come Christmas.
I head up with JMill again and we meet up with MonSherm, a good lady friend of ours who, by my estimate, has been drinking since about 11AM. Wanna talk about an awesome bar party game? MonSherm has with her a stack of 3x5 notecards. On each notecard is a question, command or drinking game. She then goes around the bar handing these out to strangers. I'll tell you one thing: drunk people love this game. The minute one person gets a card, every person in their group wants a card too. I stick a card in my reindeer hat, and people are mesmerized trying to read it and then respond to it. All the while, following the rallying cry of "Let's get drunk and hit on elves," Mill disappears only to be spotted five minutes later dancing with some girl. Then five minutes after that making out with some other girl. Then five minutes later, buying a different girl a drink at the bar. And five minutes after that making out with her friend on the dance floor. All the while, I'm standing in a stupor watching this with an amazed expression on my face, as some chick in a Mrs. Claus outfit gets the entire bar's attention by throwing the guy she's with on a bench and then lap dancing him with the moves of what looks to be a stripper on speed.
A side note here: It's astounding that bouncers don't ever want to let me bring a backpack full of rum into a bar. I just don't get it.
After a few hours of this, we stop to refuel and it's about time to get over to my second party of the evening, a holiday party of ultimate frisbee people in the Mission. We eat a few burgers, MonSherm and JMill head back into the bars, and I begin the trek from Polk Street to the Mission by way of the crepe stand. I do all of this with the intention that I'll show up to the advertised 8pm party at about 8:45. This'll work because frisbee people are notoriously large partiers, so I figure by the time I get there almost an hour late, they'll be nearing my level of drunk. It's a "Non-Denominational Holiday Party," which is pretty much what every Jewish/Catholic/Christian/Hindu/Muslim group in San Francisco celebrates.
Just to be on the safe side, I take off my reindeer hat before ringing the door bell, at a door that sounds suspiciously quiet. And it's opened up by the host and her husband, who are still in their pajamas and not expecting anyone for another hour.
I like to call these Larry David moments. That moment when you do something so completely awkward without even knowing that you're doing it, and then have to deal with the consequences afterwards. So imagine me, drunk, so absolutely crazy thankful that I hid the reindeer hat in my backpack, wondering why I came so early and how long I'll have to wait before other people show up.
The situation isn't all downhill, however. The host is making potato latkes, a favorite of mine, and being the first one there means I get to eat as many as I want because no one will be around to tell me I'm eating all the latkes. Or getting fat eating all the latkes. About 40 minutes later, people do start to show up, and I pretend that I haven't eaten any latkes at all as the second batch comes out. All told, I eat somewhere in the range of 15 latkes before catching my BART home.
Just another December weekend in San Francisco.
Given that JMill was about to get out of his Google work, he was anxious to get out and about. He heard about a show at the Red Devil Lounge on Friday night that one of his friends was playing in. I figure it's a bar on Polk Street, can't be too horribly bad, why not give it a go? On the way there he tells me that the band is a Reggae band, and I inwardly cringe because really, just how many good white Reggae groups have you ever heard in your entire life? Ever? But the night is about to get interesting because he's got a group of friends that he regularly hangs out with, and to be honest with you, the Reggae is good. Like really good. Not as in I bought a CD and remember their name way, but in a I'm really impressed that I didn't want to vomit all over my shoes while listening to you type of way. So, big ups to that group.
The next day is the annual event known as SantaCon. For those not in the know, SantaCon is a Saturday that happens every December where just about everyone in the Bay Area dresses up in Santa or Elf costumes, gets blitzed out of their skulls and then goes bar-hopping around the city in the middle of the day. Now, for the revelers, this is always an extremely awesome event. I mean, have you ever danced with 100 other Santas in a bar while it's still daylight out? However, for the bartenders and the bouncers, this day sucks because you have a bunch of drunk idiots walking around before 4pm, trashing the bar, getting into various sorts of shenanigans and otherwise acting like they're hoping to be on the naughty list come Christmas.
I head up with JMill again and we meet up with MonSherm, a good lady friend of ours who, by my estimate, has been drinking since about 11AM. Wanna talk about an awesome bar party game? MonSherm has with her a stack of 3x5 notecards. On each notecard is a question, command or drinking game. She then goes around the bar handing these out to strangers. I'll tell you one thing: drunk people love this game. The minute one person gets a card, every person in their group wants a card too. I stick a card in my reindeer hat, and people are mesmerized trying to read it and then respond to it. All the while, following the rallying cry of "Let's get drunk and hit on elves," Mill disappears only to be spotted five minutes later dancing with some girl. Then five minutes after that making out with some other girl. Then five minutes later, buying a different girl a drink at the bar. And five minutes after that making out with her friend on the dance floor. All the while, I'm standing in a stupor watching this with an amazed expression on my face, as some chick in a Mrs. Claus outfit gets the entire bar's attention by throwing the guy she's with on a bench and then lap dancing him with the moves of what looks to be a stripper on speed.
A side note here: It's astounding that bouncers don't ever want to let me bring a backpack full of rum into a bar. I just don't get it.
After a few hours of this, we stop to refuel and it's about time to get over to my second party of the evening, a holiday party of ultimate frisbee people in the Mission. We eat a few burgers, MonSherm and JMill head back into the bars, and I begin the trek from Polk Street to the Mission by way of the crepe stand. I do all of this with the intention that I'll show up to the advertised 8pm party at about 8:45. This'll work because frisbee people are notoriously large partiers, so I figure by the time I get there almost an hour late, they'll be nearing my level of drunk. It's a "Non-Denominational Holiday Party," which is pretty much what every Jewish/Catholic/Christian/Hindu/Muslim group in San Francisco celebrates.
Just to be on the safe side, I take off my reindeer hat before ringing the door bell, at a door that sounds suspiciously quiet. And it's opened up by the host and her husband, who are still in their pajamas and not expecting anyone for another hour.
I like to call these Larry David moments. That moment when you do something so completely awkward without even knowing that you're doing it, and then have to deal with the consequences afterwards. So imagine me, drunk, so absolutely crazy thankful that I hid the reindeer hat in my backpack, wondering why I came so early and how long I'll have to wait before other people show up.
The situation isn't all downhill, however. The host is making potato latkes, a favorite of mine, and being the first one there means I get to eat as many as I want because no one will be around to tell me I'm eating all the latkes. Or getting fat eating all the latkes. About 40 minutes later, people do start to show up, and I pretend that I haven't eaten any latkes at all as the second batch comes out. All told, I eat somewhere in the range of 15 latkes before catching my BART home.
Just another December weekend in San Francisco.
Friday, December 14, 2012
10 Things to Think About on a Friday
1) Obviously the headline today is the school shooting in Connecticut. It goes without saying that this is a horrendous, incredibly horrific act. At the same time, do we really think that stricter gun control laws would have prevented a person intent on murder from obtaining two relatively "normal" hand guns? I get that the immediate backlash is to say gun control, but the war on drugs hasn't stopped drugs, Prohibition didn't stop alcohol, illegal prostitution doesn't stop prostitution and even making guns completely illegal won't stop someone from carrying out this kind of monstrosity if that is their goal. No matter what you try to control, or how strictly you try to control it, the people who want something will find a way to obtain it.
2) Speaking of illegal things and on to lighter notes, I'll give 20 bucks to anyone who can find out where this is being served and how I can have it. Illegal foie gras on a duck burger served somewhere in San Francisco.
3) Are you more excited about the Fiscal Cliff or the Walking Dead half-season finale cliff-hanger?
4) If you could have the government tackle just 1 area in the coming year, would you want them to focus on:
a) Gay Marriage
b) Gun Control
c) Health Care
d) Fiscal Cliff
e) Tax Code Simplification?
5) You have two options: rainbows and kittens or sunshine and puppies. Choose wisely.
6) Survey Question: If only one domestic animal could exist, and all the others would be immediately extinct, which animal would you choose and why?
7) Y'all have been noticing that the Golden State Warriors are crushing it right now, right? 15-7 as of this post.
8) Assuming that the world will end in two weeks because a bunch of drugged out Mayans said so, are you foreseeing a Christian rapture, a nuclear apocalypse, a firestorm of asteroids, extreme natural disasters, or the sudden disappearance of the sun? I'm gonna vote none of the above because the Mayans were nuts. I'd hope for the disappearance of the sun though because the rest sound painful and horrific.
9) Got a laugh out of this. That's about it. Someone with Photoshop capabilities had too much time on their hands, and I'm a sucker for a tuxedo.
10) I'm wondering if these girls from Penn State's Chi Omega have been following the news lately. You do realize that your school just faced one of the most major scandals in American university history, right? You're aware that the wave of bad press and bad publicity surrounding Penn State is like a tidal wave washing over the Poconos, destroying the face of honesty and integrity that used to be JoePa's school, right? RIGHT?! No? Then surely you know that sororities are in need of more of a makeover for bad stereotypes outside of anyone other than Kanye West? So why the hell are you posting this picture of your Mexican themed Halloween party? They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but this one leaves me speechless.
2) Speaking of illegal things and on to lighter notes, I'll give 20 bucks to anyone who can find out where this is being served and how I can have it. Illegal foie gras on a duck burger served somewhere in San Francisco.
3) Are you more excited about the Fiscal Cliff or the Walking Dead half-season finale cliff-hanger?
4) If you could have the government tackle just 1 area in the coming year, would you want them to focus on:
a) Gay Marriage
b) Gun Control
c) Health Care
d) Fiscal Cliff
e) Tax Code Simplification?
5) You have two options: rainbows and kittens or sunshine and puppies. Choose wisely.
6) Survey Question: If only one domestic animal could exist, and all the others would be immediately extinct, which animal would you choose and why?
7) Y'all have been noticing that the Golden State Warriors are crushing it right now, right? 15-7 as of this post.
8) Assuming that the world will end in two weeks because a bunch of drugged out Mayans said so, are you foreseeing a Christian rapture, a nuclear apocalypse, a firestorm of asteroids, extreme natural disasters, or the sudden disappearance of the sun? I'm gonna vote none of the above because the Mayans were nuts. I'd hope for the disappearance of the sun though because the rest sound painful and horrific.
9) Got a laugh out of this. That's about it. Someone with Photoshop capabilities had too much time on their hands, and I'm a sucker for a tuxedo.
10) I'm wondering if these girls from Penn State's Chi Omega have been following the news lately. You do realize that your school just faced one of the most major scandals in American university history, right? You're aware that the wave of bad press and bad publicity surrounding Penn State is like a tidal wave washing over the Poconos, destroying the face of honesty and integrity that used to be JoePa's school, right? RIGHT?! No? Then surely you know that sororities are in need of more of a makeover for bad stereotypes outside of anyone other than Kanye West? So why the hell are you posting this picture of your Mexican themed Halloween party? They say a picture is worth a thousand words, but this one leaves me speechless.
 |
| We Are. Penn State. |
Thursday, December 13, 2012
Get a Room, or a Library
Monday night I was invited out for drinks at O'Neill's in San Mateo, and ran into one of the biggest pet peeves I have. Someone not knowing their place.
I'm not talking about a student who gets unruly with a teacher, or a person berating someone clearly in a better position than them type of knowing their place. I'm not talking Gone With the Wind or Roots white racists telling slaves that they don't know their place. Simply put, I'm not talking about any of the common themes and derogatory meanings usually attached to someone not knowing their place. I'm talking about someone literally not knowing where they are and acting like an idiot because of it.
I'll preface this story by saying that the person acting like an idiot in the bar was actually the most sober person in the bar.
My friend and I arrived at about 10 to find three different groups at the bar. In the back at a round table was a group of four people having some cocktails and looking at what appeared to be work documents. I support this. Any opportunity to mix work with drinking sounds like a great thing, unless of course you're a bus driver, truck driver or any other pilot of any kind. Also probably not recommended for surgeons. But hey, if you're just looking at some hand outs and papers and chatting, what better way?
At the bar you had a group of regulars, you know the grizzly old guys who just need to get out of their house so they don't feel like they're drinking alone. They're pretty harmless, have their 6 drinks or whatever and leave, and generally are the only reason bars stay open on a Monday night. This group of regulars were joined at the bar that evening by my friend and I, as well as two girls, one of which had a light beer and the other who was sipping a glass of white wine. We'll get to the intelligence or lack thereof of drinking white wine at an Irish pub later.
Last, there was a group of about 8 people sitting at a table who were absolutely shit housed. This group was singing to the songs, making jokes, laughing loudly and basically doing everything you imagine goes on at bars. And they were doing it on a Monday which means that they either didn't have to work on Tuesday, they did but didn't care if they were hung over, or they had something serious to celebrate and come what may for the rest of the week. Regardless, when I see 8 people out on a Monday night having a great time, I'm excited and happy for them and wishing I didn't have to wake up at 5:45 the next morning.
About midway through my drink, I look over my friend's shoulder to see the two girls shooting angry glares and looks over at the drunk group. One of those, "Oh, my, God, Becky, why are they being so obnoxious?" looks. And as I watch this idiot blonde girl sipping her chardonnay, she keeps turning around and throwing nasty looks over to the drunk table. A loud chorus of "Don't Stop Believing" breaks out when the song comes on the bar's stereo, and little Ms. Napa says out loud, to her friend but loud enough for the bar to hear, "Oh my god, will you shut up?!"
Of course, drunk people don't notice this, but I'm enraged. I have the urge to pick up my hi-ball, throw it as hard as I can at her head (after drinking the contents of course), and then walking up to her and forcing vodka down her throat. I have the urge to yell, "Shut the fuck up you moron," at her while buying a new round for the people at the table. Of course, my friend is a lady, so I'm being restrained and polite. Then, blondie sets off a firestorm by turning around, raising her voice so the table can hear her and yelling, "Will you PLEASE be quiet?!" This sets off the drunk table of course, and they turn around to say exactly what I was thinking for the past 20 minutes: "This is a bar!"
Not a library. Not your dining room at home where you can drink crushed grapes and watch The Bachelor in peace, not an SAT testing facility and certainly not a funeral parlor. A bar. Where people go to drink alcohol, talk and sing with friends, get inebriated and do things they can't do at home on a Monday night like have an 8 person sing along to Journey and cause a nuisance to all their neighbors. One of the drunk girls has a hand on her man and manages to diffuse the situation by telling him to ignore those idiots. Then, two even more drunk morons stumble in, two guys who are close to drooling and look like their eyes could shut and leave them passed out on the floor at any minute. Pretentious wine snob blonde girl, who they see immediately as potential hook up material (I guess even idiots look hot when you've had enough whiskey), becomes their new neighbor at the bar and she begins trying to enlist them into fighting her fight for her, even going so far as to send one of the guys over to ask the table to be quiet. Poor guy has a BAC over .12, so he doesn't even know what he's really doing when he does it.
Finally, the confrontation ends when the drunk group decides to switch bar locations and check out McGovern's down the street. But not before the two sober chicks let loose another tirade about "showing respect" and "keeping the volume at a reasonable level," which is met with 16 middle fingers and one more, "You're in a fucking bar bitch, go home if you don't like it."
Once they're gone, girl looks over at me. I've been glaring at her the entire time with daggers, and she makes eye contact with me and shakes her head, rolls her eyes, like, "Can you believe there are people this idiotic in the world?" My return stare says, "Yes, I can believe it, because I'm looking at you right now."
If you want to drink in peace, as in peace and quiet, pick a place to drink where the volume level is acceptable to you. Parks are good. Your home is good. Bring a flask to your local library. Hell, I've even heard monks like to get drunk off wine in silence, beating the first neophyte to speak out loud. Go there. But for the love of all things sacred, know your place. Know your setting. Know where you are. And if it's a bar, where people go to get drunk and be loud, and you don't like it, either shove another drink down your throat and join the party or shove a ball gag in your mouth and walk out the back door, because people would rather see you undergo the Zed Pulp Fiction treatment in the back room than hear you bitch about someone being too loud in a public forum for alcohol intake.
So to the blonde chick at O'Neill's on Monday night complaining over her glass of chilled white, I hope I don't see you again. Because if I do, I'm going to take 5 shots of tequila as fast as humanly possible, top them off with a Mind Eraser, and then pick the bar stool next to yours for my famous top of my voice rendition of every single song from West Side Story, while playing drums on the bar with a jackhammer.
Don't be that girl. Pick a place with your required decibel level or leave, but don't tell other people to keep it down in an Irish pub on a Monday night. You're in the wrong place.
Tuesday, December 11, 2012
Shaver Lake Shenanigans (Happy 30th)
 |
| Every answer is Za. |
Looking for something that slept 10 people and was out of the reach of a big city, Za found a sweet cabin at Shaver Lake outside of Fresno. Nestled in a small community amongst the woods, this cabin was more house, two floors, huge deck looking into the woods, hot tub and fireplace. Seriously excellent. After getting off work on Friday, I met up with Rya and Lina from the Carol to embark on the 3-4 hour drive up there. We'll skip over details of the moment that fog on the mountain up almost crashed us off the road.
 |
| She's thrilled to be heading outdoors. |
I got up around 8:30 and some folks already had breakfast on. Marge admitted to dreaming about how to finish the puzzle she was working on. What happens when I wake up that early on a Saturday? Well, I end up with a cocktail sitting in the hot tub by 11, of course. Then breakfast number 2 was served. Seriously, two separate egg scrambles and bacon servings in the course of three hours separated only by cocktails. Astounding. While a few people had reading and studying to do, five of us set up outside in the crisp air and gorgeous sunshine to play dominoes.
 |
| Serious chefs at work. |
After that, we needed a rest. We adjourned to the TV for He's Just Not That Into You mixed with some Heisman awards where Manti T'eo got shafted. Think about it...best defensive player in the country, on the best defense in the country, winner of 7 post-season awards, yet no Heisman. I get that a Freshman is a great story and all, but really, show some guts and do something new.
 |
| Breakfast #2 |
 |
| Double 9 needs much counting. |
Then it was time for Beirut. JD and I re-formed our unholy alliance and proceeded to demolish anyone else who stepped on the table. I'm talking to the tune of undefeated, including one shut out. There are evenings when you don't feel you can miss. On this evening, I forgot what missing even felt like. 4 cups in a row? No problem. Two balls in the same cup? Easy. Hitting a final shot from 10 feet behind the actual shooting line? Child's play.
So what do you do when it's almost midnight and you've done everything that we did in just one day? You play Hot Tub Dominoes of course. And yes, that's exactly what it sounds like. I found a floaty device in the garage, pumped it up and all of a sudden we had a floating domino table in the middle of the hot tub. I stole this idea from the game of floating Beirut we played in Mexico during the wedding festivities.
So there you have it. 1 day that basically lasted 60 hours. The rule still applies: When you congregate to celebrate someone awesome, awesome things happen. Za set up an amazing weekend, he made it all work, and the entire time, as I looked at a tree or saw a deer scamper by or landed a ridiculous hammer within 2 feet of the hole, I thought to myself, "Thank you buddy. Can we do this again next weekend?"
 |
| Woodland Thuggery |
 |
| Thank you domino panorama. |
Saturday, December 8, 2012
Instruction Manual: Taps
Here's a drinking game I was reminded of last night when no one wanted to play dominoes, Cards Against Humanity, Checkers, Taboo, Risk, Monopoly, or make a puzzle. And when I started talking about it, no one else in the group of 10 we have at this cabin had ever played it before. Given it's hilarious, easy to play but fun to lose, and only requires a circle of humans and a bunch of drinks, I thought I'd share it with you so you too can enjoy the game known as Taps. I think I was taught this by Topher.
This is a directional counting game. You object is to count as high as you can, moving around the circle using hand signals as you count out loud. For beginners, getting to 20 is usually the goal. You need at least 3 people to play, but there's no limit to how many can play. The count and rotation must go smoothly and quickly. A hesitation, a missed hand signal, the wrong person making a hand signal, basically any point that messes up the count or isn't the correct move results in the person who made the mistake taking a drink. After they've taken the drink, they begin the count again at 1. You must be strict with the rule. It's easy to count as high as you want in this game if you allow sloppy moves to count. If the move does not keep the rhythm of the rotation, stop and drink.
1) Get your drink.
2) Sit in a circle.
There are three types of hand signals:
1) The signal for any number that is not a multiple of 5. This signal, as shown below, can point right or left.
This is a directional counting game. You object is to count as high as you can, moving around the circle using hand signals as you count out loud. For beginners, getting to 20 is usually the goal. You need at least 3 people to play, but there's no limit to how many can play. The count and rotation must go smoothly and quickly. A hesitation, a missed hand signal, the wrong person making a hand signal, basically any point that messes up the count or isn't the correct move results in the person who made the mistake taking a drink. After they've taken the drink, they begin the count again at 1. You must be strict with the rule. It's easy to count as high as you want in this game if you allow sloppy moves to count. If the move does not keep the rhythm of the rotation, stop and drink.
1) Get your drink.
2) Sit in a circle.
There are three types of hand signals:
1) The signal for any number that is not a multiple of 5. This signal, as shown below, can point right or left.
2) The signal for any number ending in 5 (5, 15, 25, etc) The trick with this number is that the direction it point changes depending on which number you're on. At 5, this hand signal points with the bottom hand. At 15, the direction is dictated by the top hand. At 25, it's back to the bottom hand and so on.
3) Signal for any multiple of 10. The person at 10 picks whoever they want in the circle, points to them and says, "10." However, at 20, 40, 60 if you ever get that high, you point and DON'T say the number out loud. So, 10, 30, 50, say the number out loud and point, on the even multiples, point but don't speak.
To begin, pick the player you want to start, have them say, "1" while making one of the two signals in (1) above. If they go left hand across to their right shoulder, the person to their right says, "2" while making their signal go to the direction of their choice. If it is their left hand to right shoulder, the person to their right is 3. If it's their right hand to their left shoulder, it goes back to the person who said one. Same for 3 and 4, and then comes the hand signal for 5. Six is back to the cross over the chest move until 10 which brings in the point, 11 is back to the cross over the chest. And so on.
You get the point. Ready, set, drink.
Friday, December 7, 2012
Where Childhood Meets Academia
 |
| Let's Go Little Joe! |
I've done them all. If you're an early 80s child like myself, you probably know that I'm talking about the best way to defeat Glass Joe. If you don't know who Glass Joe is, and don't recognize the picture here, maybe you were living under a rock or were in one of those households that swore off Nintendo as devil worship. But in my house, unless you could reach and beat Soda Popinski, you were nothing.
I grew up playing Tyson, watching Tyson, and then watching as Tyson slowly unraveled everything he had built for himself following his rescue from the streets. The loss due to lack of preparation, the rape conviction, and then the sad decline of his boxing skills until he decided to go cannibal on Evander Holyfield. As a sports fan as well as a history fan, watching the demise of one of the most feared boxers to ever live, and a man that as a kid I felt was invincible, was a sad wake up call to the brevity of glory in the world of athletics. It taught me a lot, but at the same time, I guess even now as Tyson moves to cameo roles in movies I still wish for one more moment of boxing glory from him. I want to rewind the tape of time and have him beat Buster Douglas. Would he have gone on to be the greatest boxer to ever live? More importantly, would his continued invincibility in the ring save him from himself outside of it, as well as saving his victim from the most horrendous crime a man can commit? We can't know, but when you watch his knock out rounds from the beginning of his career and rise to glory, you can't help but wonder.
In college I took a Theater class focused on Solo Performance. In it, we'd pick topics and write monologues to perform. Then, we polished one piece, and performed it on stage for an audience as the final. Mine was about smoking on campus and then hitting on my Spanish teacher. But the class in general put a love for the solo performer in me, so now when I see monologues and 1-man shows, they strike a chord. Naturally, when I heard about Tyson's one man show, Undisputed Truth, I was intrigued, especially when I heard an excerpt of his story about coming home during his divorce from Robin Givens to find her sleeping with a then unknown Brad Pitt.
Then this week they announced he'd be doing a show at the Orpheum in March. I had to buy a ticket. Whether it's a train wreck or a masterpiece is anyone's guess, but overall reviews of the show have been positive and at the very least, I'll get to see an icon from my childhood who turned sour take the stage to tackle a performance medium that I love. More than that, it's a true tale of redemption. Here's a man who left the lowest of slums to reach the heights of boxing fame, only to allow hubris to dismantle his career, crime to push him to the prison boxing originally saved him from, and lavish expenditures and drugs to drain the fortune he had built. Here he realizes the second act. Cleaned up from drugs, taking a hard and honest look at his life, and sharing both the funny and unfunny from what has been one of the more tumultuous athletic careers of the last 50 years, Tyson puts himself in an open and vulnerable position. But from a man who has lived his life, both good and bad, in the spotlight, trading in his former ring invincibility for theatrical vulnerability may just be the toughest battle yet.
And who knows, maybe, just maybe, he'll do a little of Phil Collins for the true believers.
Thursday, December 6, 2012
This One's For You, Pops!
I blame this on my Dad, and you should too. After letting this blog lay dormant for almost two years, moving on to other things, and spending more time reading than writing, he asked me about Now's In Between the other day and said he missed reading it. Hell, I didn't even know he read it to begin with, other than that one time he told me he thought I was drinking too much alcohol on the weekends (Happy Father's Day to me!)
But then I started thinking about it and I was like, hey, I may be older now, but I'm wiser, and I still live a more exciting and adventurous life than most people I know, and definitely more dynamic and well-rounded than all the married couples I know who have faded into their single focus domestic pursuits (more power to 'em if they're happy,) so why shouldn't I be on here sharing my exploits? And hell, if my Dad is the only one who wants to read it, I love you Dad, you're awesome, and I thank you and Mom and P every day for every bit of the person I've become. Well, maybe not the socialite part of me...you're more of a hermit in that regard.
I also feel a strong urge to start writing again. Something, anything...reading my older posts got me a bit inspired. I feel more alive somehow when I'm writing, like my brain wants to jump out of my head, do a dance around the room and then sing showtunes. I've used ultimate frisbee team emails to fill that void, but it simply isn't enough and has an audience of 17. And while writing is a bit like working out, being harder to get back to once you've put it down, I have no doubt that I can, and probably better than before as I shed old habits, pick up new tricks and expand my focus. I also don't want people on the Interwebs to think I died in 2010 and didn't invite them to my funeral. That'd be some rude shit on my part.
So...what have I done since March 28th, 2010? Everything short of selling my belongings, moving to a foreign country and becoming a priest. Although, as this post indicates, someone forgot to tell me that people don't blog anymore in 2012. They just Tumblr.
I finished my Master's degree, got a job, lost a job, got a better, higher paying job with less responsibility, and started paying off my Master's debt. I lost a girlfriend, then said good riddance to a fake friend who set out to sleep with said ex-girlfriend a week after we broke up, got back together, broke up again and then found out I had matured since I was 22 and was able to remain friends with her after the break up. For someone who erases the slate and starts fresh after the pain of a break up, usually burning the bridge with a stick of dynamite, finding a way to be friends again was a huge step for me. I didn't go all Bill Murray in Broken Flowers and start rekindling relationships with all of my exes or trying to have make-up sex with them, but that isn't to say that I didn't consider it for a time. ABols taught me a great deal about myself, relationships, the endings of relationships, and the beginnings of new friendships, which I thank her for.
I relaxed my grip and said goodbye to a few long term friendships that didn't make sense or offer support anymore, and said hello to a variety of fun and exciting new friendships that expanded my horizons and social circles. They say as you age that the circles you move in get smaller and more fixed, but that hasn't been my experience. Funny how time and situations slowly but surely reveal the people who are truly there for you vs. the ones who like how the words sound when they say them but don't know how to back them up when you need it.
Had a summer fling with a girl I knew from high school, bought into it when she told me she was falling in love, started falling myself and then she stood me up one night and never returned any of my attempts to contact her. I even sent a hand written letter in the mail...who does that these days? And still no response. Don't know what happened there, but it was undeniably the strangest and possibly most painful ending to a relationship I've ever endured because of the abrupt uncertainty of it all. I still wake up some days hoping that she'll call. Strange how someone can hurt you badly, to a point you know you should no longer care or want them around, but feelings for the times and memories you shared together can outweigh all of that and still give you a broken type of hope, like a bird with one bad wing determined to leave the ground.
What, you thought I'd write about all my triumphs but not mention the hard stuff? Then how could you ever trust me to tell you the truth? I may be anonymous, but that doesn't mean I can be dishonest.
I won four Ultimate Frisbee league championships in San Francisco as captain of the team, learned how to ride, then bought a motorcycle, and finally ditched the 10 year old futon bed from college in exchange for a bed that an adult somewhere might actually own. Bought some pretty little gold fish, bought some new fish when they died, and bought two new bookshelves because my stacks of books started taking over my bedroom.
I went to about 7 weddings, including ones in Mexico, Denver, Boston and San Francisco. I got drunk at all of these, yet still managed not to offend any of the brides during any of my speeches. Although looking back, that probably would have been more amusing.
I turned 30, which was a classy black tie affair. Actually, it was a bar crawl in San Francisco that I wore a tuxedo to while making my friends wear at least a suit and tie. No, I don't feel older. In fact, the fact that I haven't yet made anyone intentionally or accidentally pregnant makes me feel younger than my peer set.
One of my sisters got married and moved to Thailand, the other one had two kids to add to her first and bought a house in the Mormon heart of Utah. This is great because it gives me a few people to corrupt later down the line. Hopefully one if not both of these sisters will move back to California soon, because if I can tell you one thing, it's being the only child out of three still within a 50 mile radius of your parents is not easy. Suddenly all the hopes, dreams, problems and hardships are yours to deal with while your siblings get to check in on Skype every once in a while.
Went through three more roommates that I thoroughly enjoyed, watched the Giants win 2 World Series, and helped a few people avoid arrest on a few occasions through sharp thinking, quick talking and a humble spirit of dealing with police. I gave up buzzed driving to and from San Francisco in exchange for a Caltrain-BART arrangement. This means I'm partying more and worrying about getting caught or dead less. It's a very good thing. 50 dollars for a cab sounds a lot better than 10,000 for a DUI.
Kept seeing movies, kept listening to new music, kept being ridiculous. Kept being irreverent, abrasive and over the top on Twitter. Bought a new computer, bought a new TV and bought myself a new social life. Reading that sentence again I feel the need to point out that I do not mean that I was paying for escorts. Got several new tattoos, which I look at daily as I think about where I've come from and where I'm going. I also wonder constantly what the coroner will think they mean without me there to explain them.
Basically, I kept loving everything I'm doing while having enough amazing events and people in my life to overlook the occasional bump in the road. I'd say I'm blessed, but I'm not religious, so I'll say that life has been extraordinary and I wouldn't trade the last two years for anyone else's, even Tom Brady. And especially not certain people that are no longer around. I may be stupid sometimes, but I would never move to the South. And I may like Giselle, but losing a Super Bowl doesn't sound appealing to me. And I'd never want to attend Serra like Tom did.
Rather than build lofty expectations on my return to this blog like I did in February of 2010, only to go silent again a month later, I'm just going to say I'm back, leave it at that, and let my posts speak for themselves.
In two weeks, I turn 31. And I don't intend to slow down, move aside or stop for anyone. I'm having way too much fun here. Join me.
But then I started thinking about it and I was like, hey, I may be older now, but I'm wiser, and I still live a more exciting and adventurous life than most people I know, and definitely more dynamic and well-rounded than all the married couples I know who have faded into their single focus domestic pursuits (more power to 'em if they're happy,) so why shouldn't I be on here sharing my exploits? And hell, if my Dad is the only one who wants to read it, I love you Dad, you're awesome, and I thank you and Mom and P every day for every bit of the person I've become. Well, maybe not the socialite part of me...you're more of a hermit in that regard.
I also feel a strong urge to start writing again. Something, anything...reading my older posts got me a bit inspired. I feel more alive somehow when I'm writing, like my brain wants to jump out of my head, do a dance around the room and then sing showtunes. I've used ultimate frisbee team emails to fill that void, but it simply isn't enough and has an audience of 17. And while writing is a bit like working out, being harder to get back to once you've put it down, I have no doubt that I can, and probably better than before as I shed old habits, pick up new tricks and expand my focus. I also don't want people on the Interwebs to think I died in 2010 and didn't invite them to my funeral. That'd be some rude shit on my part.
So...what have I done since March 28th, 2010? Everything short of selling my belongings, moving to a foreign country and becoming a priest. Although, as this post indicates, someone forgot to tell me that people don't blog anymore in 2012. They just Tumblr.
I finished my Master's degree, got a job, lost a job, got a better, higher paying job with less responsibility, and started paying off my Master's debt. I lost a girlfriend, then said good riddance to a fake friend who set out to sleep with said ex-girlfriend a week after we broke up, got back together, broke up again and then found out I had matured since I was 22 and was able to remain friends with her after the break up. For someone who erases the slate and starts fresh after the pain of a break up, usually burning the bridge with a stick of dynamite, finding a way to be friends again was a huge step for me. I didn't go all Bill Murray in Broken Flowers and start rekindling relationships with all of my exes or trying to have make-up sex with them, but that isn't to say that I didn't consider it for a time. ABols taught me a great deal about myself, relationships, the endings of relationships, and the beginnings of new friendships, which I thank her for.
I relaxed my grip and said goodbye to a few long term friendships that didn't make sense or offer support anymore, and said hello to a variety of fun and exciting new friendships that expanded my horizons and social circles. They say as you age that the circles you move in get smaller and more fixed, but that hasn't been my experience. Funny how time and situations slowly but surely reveal the people who are truly there for you vs. the ones who like how the words sound when they say them but don't know how to back them up when you need it.
Had a summer fling with a girl I knew from high school, bought into it when she told me she was falling in love, started falling myself and then she stood me up one night and never returned any of my attempts to contact her. I even sent a hand written letter in the mail...who does that these days? And still no response. Don't know what happened there, but it was undeniably the strangest and possibly most painful ending to a relationship I've ever endured because of the abrupt uncertainty of it all. I still wake up some days hoping that she'll call. Strange how someone can hurt you badly, to a point you know you should no longer care or want them around, but feelings for the times and memories you shared together can outweigh all of that and still give you a broken type of hope, like a bird with one bad wing determined to leave the ground.
What, you thought I'd write about all my triumphs but not mention the hard stuff? Then how could you ever trust me to tell you the truth? I may be anonymous, but that doesn't mean I can be dishonest.
I won four Ultimate Frisbee league championships in San Francisco as captain of the team, learned how to ride, then bought a motorcycle, and finally ditched the 10 year old futon bed from college in exchange for a bed that an adult somewhere might actually own. Bought some pretty little gold fish, bought some new fish when they died, and bought two new bookshelves because my stacks of books started taking over my bedroom.
I went to about 7 weddings, including ones in Mexico, Denver, Boston and San Francisco. I got drunk at all of these, yet still managed not to offend any of the brides during any of my speeches. Although looking back, that probably would have been more amusing.
I turned 30, which was a classy black tie affair. Actually, it was a bar crawl in San Francisco that I wore a tuxedo to while making my friends wear at least a suit and tie. No, I don't feel older. In fact, the fact that I haven't yet made anyone intentionally or accidentally pregnant makes me feel younger than my peer set.
One of my sisters got married and moved to Thailand, the other one had two kids to add to her first and bought a house in the Mormon heart of Utah. This is great because it gives me a few people to corrupt later down the line. Hopefully one if not both of these sisters will move back to California soon, because if I can tell you one thing, it's being the only child out of three still within a 50 mile radius of your parents is not easy. Suddenly all the hopes, dreams, problems and hardships are yours to deal with while your siblings get to check in on Skype every once in a while.
Went through three more roommates that I thoroughly enjoyed, watched the Giants win 2 World Series, and helped a few people avoid arrest on a few occasions through sharp thinking, quick talking and a humble spirit of dealing with police. I gave up buzzed driving to and from San Francisco in exchange for a Caltrain-BART arrangement. This means I'm partying more and worrying about getting caught or dead less. It's a very good thing. 50 dollars for a cab sounds a lot better than 10,000 for a DUI.
Kept seeing movies, kept listening to new music, kept being ridiculous. Kept being irreverent, abrasive and over the top on Twitter. Bought a new computer, bought a new TV and bought myself a new social life. Reading that sentence again I feel the need to point out that I do not mean that I was paying for escorts. Got several new tattoos, which I look at daily as I think about where I've come from and where I'm going. I also wonder constantly what the coroner will think they mean without me there to explain them.
Basically, I kept loving everything I'm doing while having enough amazing events and people in my life to overlook the occasional bump in the road. I'd say I'm blessed, but I'm not religious, so I'll say that life has been extraordinary and I wouldn't trade the last two years for anyone else's, even Tom Brady. And especially not certain people that are no longer around. I may be stupid sometimes, but I would never move to the South. And I may like Giselle, but losing a Super Bowl doesn't sound appealing to me. And I'd never want to attend Serra like Tom did.
Rather than build lofty expectations on my return to this blog like I did in February of 2010, only to go silent again a month later, I'm just going to say I'm back, leave it at that, and let my posts speak for themselves.
In two weeks, I turn 31. And I don't intend to slow down, move aside or stop for anyone. I'm having way too much fun here. Join me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
