Acronyms Are Fun

Recently I found out Drake, the Degrassi alum, crappy rapper and Lil' Wayne-jock-rider, is actually an acronym. I carefully studied his flow and lyrics, which prove it's possible to be asleep while rapping, in order to decipher his code. It also turns out his slow flow and need to hammer home all metaphors might not be his fault, actually. He's Canadian, and they're about to celebrate a new millennium, though they're quite worried about the Y2k bug. In the end, I realized the secret message buried in the letters was: Dumb Retarded Asshole Killing English.

Half Cocked at the Bar

Congratulations, Arizona, Georgia, Virginia and Tennessee! You all voted to make it legal to carry a gun in a bar or restaurant that serves alcohol, and gave me one more reason to never visit.

Some people don't feel comfortable working in such an environment, but that's probably just because they haven't heard all the completely rational arguments:

• The best way to prevent getting shot is to arm everyone (historical fact: the Cold War was awesome, and well thought out. All arms races/weapon stockpiling for deterrence are.)
• “If someone’s sticking a gun in my face, I’m not relying on their charity to keep me alive,” so he should have a gun to protect himself (which came first, the gun in the face or the gun to protect?)
• Gov. Perry of Texas argues that guns should be legal in colleges after a shooting at U. Texas, stating that armed bystanders might have stopped the gunman (or perhaps one of them might have been in the shooter)

Sure, I know you're not supposed to be drinking alcohol while carrying a completely legal gun you have a permit for, but I just don't see that stopping everyone. Guns and alcohol are manly, and why shouldn't they mix? It's obviously safer than drinking and driving, otherwise that'd be legal too. People never go to bars to blow off steam. Historically, bars have allowed patrons to carry guns on them. And it's always worked out. Just ask any Wild West movie.

Guns don't kill people. Drunk people in bars in Arizona, Georgia, Virginia and Tennessee who carried their gun in kill people.

Rihanna, Pt. 2

Dear Rihanna (again),

I noticed you haven't agreed to date me. Yet. That might be my fault. I didn't really give a time or place. Or tell you how to reach me. Also, the new wardrobe might have been an excessive request, especially before our first date. Which will be next Saturday. At your house. See you then!

Sincerely,
L Bo

Expendable Plot

I like action movies. It's hard no to. I'm pretty sure it was an evolutionary necessity. Previous to action movies, men were all just a bunch of wusses. Then John Woo started making movies. Men all over the world got excited and machismo flowed through their veins like blood of henchmen in Kill Bill. We were finally able to build up the courage, muscles, fighting skills, absurd weaponry, agility for outrageous stunts and logic that doesn't always make sense. And this was how humankind eventually destroyed the evil dinosaurs.

So it made perfect sense for me to see Expendables, which is possibly the ultimate guy movie. It stars Sylvester Stallone, Jason Statham, the honorable Governor Arnold Schwarzenegger, Dolph Lundgren, Jet Li, Terry Crews (the Old Spice "Building Kick" guy), Randy Couture, Mickey Rourke, Bruce Willis, and maybe other people. Statham is amazing in almost everything, but that's not a good reason to make Crank 2 or Death Race.* Just keep making movies with the exact same plot and action scenes as Transporter 1 and 2. The action movie fan sub species seemed fairly hyped for the first ever time Sly, Bruce and Ah-nald shared the screen, but it was over in 2 minutes and boring.

Strangely enough, that's not my only criticism of this movie. It seemed that rather than hire writers, or even a single writer, to make a script that made sense and had a plot, Stallone decided to let all the "actors" make their own "plots." This must've made sense at the time for two reasons. First off, after hiring all of these action stars and treating his face like Mr. Potato Head, Sly probably had no money for writers. Secondly, everyone is familiar with the old saying "Too many chefs makes the soup delicious and even Oscar worthy." This led to lots of plot threads for each character and a twist that everyone saw coming and nobody cared about. Still, without this movie, I'd never know how to infiltrate any Third World Countries, and it's possible we'd all be speaking dinosaur now.

*Or even Crank, really. That movie was no good.

Life is Like a Box of RPGs

Not the rocket-propelled grenades, but the Role-Playing Games. Yes, I play some. Yes, I'm a bit of a dork, and I'm ok with that. Once I realized that many RPGs allow you to befriend bears or dragons, I was hooked. I draw the line at things like Magic: The Gathering, and I don't play World of Warcraft (but nor do I mock it). I recently got hooked on Dragon Age: Origins, which features many customizable characters who will join your party, including an intelligent, but non-speaking dog, a drunk dwarf and a sexy witch. One of the main aspects of these games is completing quests, which are divided into essential ones which advance the main story line, and side-quests, which you obtain by making conversation choices with characters you come across. Often times, you're forced to return to characters several times and make decisions as you pick up new information.

After playing the game for many hours over many days, I started to see my life as an RPG. Two relatives of mine were having issues with each other, and I accidentally got caught in the middle. After speaking with one, I went to the other, and heard a different side of it. It became a "he said, she said" situation, but with grown-ups. Luckily, my orb of truth was able to reveal any lies, so I transformed into a spirit wolf or some shit and attacked with my sword, Fangs of Carnage. Problem resolved.

I Can Trick a Twelve Year Old

When asked about how old I was in my SHSAT test prep class, I apparently told one of the girls 55. I say apparently, because I don't always listen to what I say. Additionally, I don't remember doing that, because it's a brush off answer, and 26 years in the future. However, when other girls in the class asked me, this girl said "Oh, he's 55," and then got flustered when I denied that outrageous lie. "But that's what you told me," she whined back.

When I finally admitted I was born in 1981, she confidently yelled out "AHA! You're 31!"

I apparently need to focus more on the math section of the test.

This Dating Life: More or Less

Okcupid.com has a feature that lists people who are similar to the profile you're checking out, with some quick thoughts on how the new person stacks up. Some I've noticed recently are similar, less spiritual, less kinky, messier, and more mathematical. This frees up a lot of possibilities. I'm so used to going on dates and thinking to myself, I like you, but I'd like you even more if you were less spiritual. Let's see....NoLoveForGod83 is looking pretty good. And finally, I have a quick way to find an atheist who likes calculators more than washing her hair or sex!

Waiting for Superman

Davis Guggenheim's exploration into our failing/failed educational system was an interesting documentary which raised many questions and had me thinking after (unlike Inception. Just saying.) Waiting for "Superman" follows 4 families in their quest to win the lottery so their children can go to a charter school, which are considered better, with almost no reason or stats given for why. There are plenty of poor man Monty Python-esque animations, which add some levity to an otherwise serious subject. The old thought that bad neighborhoods were responsible for bad schools is overturned, as Guggenheim postulates that bad schools cause dropouts, and with nothing to do all day, teens turn to crime and drugs. The teachers union is mostly villainized, with tenure being cited as a huge cause for sub-par teachers continuing to teach.

Without a doubt, this was a supremely entertaining movie which calls into question many of our current assumptions and shows that even schools in rich neighborhoods don't always properly prepare students with a great education. However, there were many flaws in the film. Not everything was addressed that could have been, and there were clear shortcomings. Unsubstantiated claims about success rates, arguments made without supporting stats, a less than objective view (without clear cut protagonists or antagonists), and an unsatisfactory ending (the rich white teen got into her lottery school, while the 3 minority kids, who were all easier to root for, didn't have their names called) were just some of the problems. The biggest one? Why was Green Lantern not in the movie?

This Dating Life: Oh, This is Your Apartment?

On a third date recently, I inadvertently (or unintentionally, if you prefer) walked my date back to her apartment. I knew it was her apartment because we stopped what I had assumed was our aimless walking, and also because she said "This is my apartment, in case you were wondering why we stopped walking." I had no problem with the walk home; we were close by, and I was going to offer to do it anyway. This just seemed like a strange way, a request-less transport. Our second date had went really well, and the third seemed to build on that. At this point, I was expecting an invite up for dessert (or, you know, maybe S-E-X), but unfortunately, that didn't happen. After some good night "discussions", she told me what a great time she had and how courteous, charming, gentlemanly and handsome I was and retreated to bed. I was left wondering why it was so difficult to gain access to a woman's apartment, and not in a creepy burglar or stalker way. Is there a magic password, like Pee-Wee Herman's word of the day?

A Joke

What's black and yellow all over, stings your ears and lasts too long? If you thought the punchline to this joke was a bee on Viagra, you'd be wrong, because the joke is Wiz Khalifa's song "Black and Yellow" and the punchline is, with this chorus, it still gets airtime.
"I put it down from the whip
To the diamonds I'm in
Black and yellow, black and yellow
Black and yellow, black and yellow."

This Dating Life: Ugh, HIM? REALLY??!!

At a recent housewarming party (at least, I assumed it was a housewarming party. Otherwise I wouldn't have brought that half full bottle of Absolut Currants Vodka I got for free as a housewarming present myself) a drunk woman asked me a bunch of questions. These included was I Jewish (preceded by "no offense"), if I was single, if I was interested in a blind date with her friend, if I drank (I was driving that night, so I only had seven none) and if I ever went into the city. I answered all the questions, but only because she told me I was kind of cute...I'm a sucker for compliments from women who are already spoken for.

I was then asked if me and Goldiloxx (code name for a friend) had ever dated. Before I could say anything, Goldi made some absurd (and completely uncalled for) gestures and faces as if she'd been stabbed by a knife that was coated in a disgusting substance, like vomit or sardines and vehemently said "Nooooo, unh-unh, noooo, nope, no, not something I'm interested in." A simple, "we never dated, but he's a great guy," would have sufficed.

Instead, Goldiloxx, who had previously introduced me to a woman with "This is ---------, he lives really far away from civilization, and you in particular, in case you had any thoughts of going home with him tonight or ever," basically told the nice woman who was interested in getting me a love life that I was undesirable (possibly due to boils all over my skin) and probably a horrible person. Thankfully, she forgot to mention that I drop kick kittens into the ocean.

NOT a Dating Service!!!

The amazing Karen, of Difficult Egg Production fame, hired me to do a couple of castings for a Verizon campaign for her. This meant models (both female and male, but who cares about the male models) would be coming to our rented studio space, posing for a few pics for me, and talking to me. Now, while I was a complete and utter professional about it, the guy side of me still got stoked at the prospect of interacting with beautiful women all day long. My hopes were dashed when I was told that I can't use casting calls as a dating service for me. So weird how every video I've ever watched on the internet says the exact opposite.

More Conversations With a Student

"I play guitar and I sing"
O, that's cool. Are you in a band with friends or anything?
"No, I don't have time for that," he said, scoffingly.
So, besides school and coming to SAT prep class, I said, expecting a sport or a job, what else do you do?
"Girls."

Rihanna

Dear Rihanna,

You are beautiful. Will you go out with me and buy me a new wardrobe?

Sincerely,
L Bo

Inception

Inception. Pshhhhh. More like "Not-that-good-eption."
Suck on that, Cobra Commander Joseph Gordon-Levitt!

This review will not be up to my usual great movie review standards, but that's only because I can't remember too much about it. I thought visually, Inception was stunning. However, the great hype machine hyped it up so much, there was no way it could live up to all the...uhm...hype. As a general rule, I'm usually disappointed by movies the masses say are great, probably because I expect too much, and possibly because I just like being a contrarian. Everyone I knew was talking about how the movie really made you think and what a questionable ending it had, etc. Spoiler Alert: I'm about to bash the hell out of the ending. And the movie in general, probably.

Leonardo DiCaprio finally finds his children and he embraces them and sees their faces (which would suggest he's awake, not dreaming, fyi) after he spins his "totem," which is a top he sorta stole from his dead wife who's suicide he was sorta responsible for, on a table. If the totem falls, he knows it's real life, not a dream. After the reunion, the camera cuts back to the top, which has a mini-hiccup and then keeps spinning, and then fade to black. I felt like the director decided he needed to pound the audience over the head with that, and that really pissed me off. I also expected the movie to be darker, didn't understand why an "architect was needed," and didn't understand why they wasted time showing Ellen Page making her own totem that she never used. Pkilla and B-Rad had problems with the whole concept of "dream invasion" and how it was never fully explored, but I think it's ok for things like that to be glossed over and just accepted. I was happy to hear they didn't like the movie at all, because my opinion that is was only ok seemed to be in the minority of just myself.

I loved Tom Hardy in the movie, but for the most part found it tough to care about the characters. It's like alternate futures, parallel worlds, or dream states in comics; the characters can die all the writers want, but at the end of the day, the status quo is still there. If anyone "died" in the dream, they'd just wake up, which takes away a lot of the danger and made me care less. Lastly, on the subject of not caring about things, is the plot and "secrets" Leo was holding throughout. They kept revealing all these tiny secrets throughout the movie, but it never felt like a big reveal or anything I cared about. Even the creepy hotel scene with his wife in the basement of the elevator in Leo's mind made me say "meh." First, we find his wife is sabotaging his dream invasions, then we find out she's dead, then we find out she committed suicide, which we then find out was partly Leo's fault because he drove her crazy by trying inception on her...WHO CARES!! Sorry Christopher Nolan. I love all your other movies that I've seen, and I'm so happy you're not shooting the next Batman in 3D, and again, this movie was visually stunning, but it wasn't the masterpiece or the mindfuck that people are claiming it is.

Nip/Tuck 1

Due to lots of pressure encouragement from Pkilla, I started watching Nip/Tuck, beginning with Season 1, because that seemed to be a good beginning point. I distinctly remember feeling completely lost during the first episode, as the show just kinda jumps immediately into the action. I also found I couldn't watch the show and eat at the same time. Bile (or some other weird yellow liquid, maybe pus??) gushing from a man on the surgery table is totally yuck and freaked me out. I often had to watch the surgery scenes from between my fingers. Here are some of my other thoughts on the first season/things I've learned (yes, it's an educational show):

-Best way to pick up a woman at a bar? Claim to be a doctor.

-Kelly Carlson is ridiculously hot. RIDICULOUSLY. HOT.

-The balance between man ass and boobs isn't leaning as far to the right as it should be.

-How is it possible Julian McMahon and Dylan Walsh are so good looking? Has either of them ever frowned in their whole lives?

-Self-circumcision, even when only off camera, is not cool.

-There's a lot of blood on the show, and again, less boobs than I was promised.

-Robert LaSardo, playing Escobar Gallardo, is easily the best part of this season. Except for Kelly Carlson, of course.

-Miami is very fake. But it's near the Everglades, which is apparently a great body dump site, as it's easy to dispose of the evidence. Thanks American Alligators!!!

-The characters on the show should be better to each other. There's a lot of cheating, lying, omitting, and hurting each other. And I hear it only gets worse.

-Episode 7, with a 3 some involving Sophia Bush and Kate Mara, is awesome. You can probably figure out why.

-Seducing a sex addict at Sexaholics Anonymous is kind of a dick move, but apparently an easy way to have sex.

-Christian Troy is my hero. I may take to calling everyone "sweetheart."

Honored by Cupcakes

One of the classes I teach for Kaplan, which is designed to get 12/13 year olds into NYC's specialized high schools like Stuyvesant, Brooklyn Tech and Bronx Science, just ended. I was amazed and taken aback a little bit by the outpouring of love from the students. Sure, I'm the world's greatest teacher and ridiculously funny, but even then a 3 hour class can feel like eternity when you've spent all day in school, you were forced to come by your parents, you miss Glee EVERY WEEK!! and your bedtime is before the class is even over. Despite all that, everyone thanked me, told me how much fun they had, and some even brought in food to share for the class, ensuring that the gourmet chocolate chip cookies I brought in would be redundant/cause diabetes. Two of the girls completely outdid themselves (and yes, I'm mentioning them specially here because I know they somehow found my blog and read it to try and get some dirt on me. Hi girls!). One made chocolate chip cookies and the other made cupcakes that all had my name on it in electric blue icing with edible (I hope?) glitter EVERYWHERE. Why can't every day be like that?

Rabbi Darkside

One of the coolest things happened to me because I was late to a Mets game: coming up the escalator at the Jackie Robinson Rotunda, I saw Rabbi Darkside, masterful MC, incredible lyricist, and educator. Thinking I'd just be able to tell him how much I loved his work, I said hi, but we ended up talking for about 30 minutes. A lot of that might be due to my friend Goldiloxx complimenting him on his kicks and such, and being a female. In any case, after a while talking about hip-hop, the Mets, and mutual acquaintances (I put the members of Chronikill on to him), Rabbi D told us about Freestyle Mondays at Sin-Sin Lounge, gave me his business card and told me to email him if I was coming.

On Monday night, I fully expected to show up to a small room with not many people and for this scene to play out:

The show is supposed to start at 10, so Rabbi D is already there with some other rappers, and greets me when I come in....
"Hey Larry thanks for coming. This is my friend Appl Juic. You already know Hired Gun and Farbeon."
Hey guys. HG, sorry I originally under-rated your album. It's on par with Rabbi D's, and spent a lot of time in rotation in my car. It's really nice to meet you, Appl Juic. I love your slightly odd flow and your vocabulary choices. Combined with your British accent, you're one of my favorite rappers!

"Thanks Larry, let me buy you a drink. This is what we call beer in English."

"Larry, I just noticed you have your camera with you and you mentioned you were a photographer when we met. This is Rabbi Darkside talking again, in case you're confused. Did you want to take some portraits of us?"

Sure Rabbi D, that'd be cool.

A little bit later, after shooting portraits and pics of people freestyling....

"Wow Larry I'm so impressed by your work. These photos are crazy good. Say, you're really cool and a great photographer and a great person. I want to be friends with you!!"

"Me too", chimes in Appl Juic.

"Also, you know I'm about to go on tour to Europe. I don't have a photographer. Why don't you come along? We'll have adventures, I'll pay you well, and you'll be our exclusive photographer. Plus you'll have a 1 month supply of beautiful European women at your call."

End scene.

Leave Me Alone, Hasidics

While walking down the streets of Park Slope on my way to teach a class, I was waylaid by a Hasidic man and his son who shouted after me, inquiring if I was Jewish. I wanted to yell back, "Yea, I am," and, without breaking stride, "are you?" This would also be accompanied by a cold stare into his puzzled eyes. Instead, I settled for cursing at him when safely out of ear shot. I don't understand how standing on a street corner and asking passerby who look like they might be Jewish (nose and shirt that says "I may be Jewish, ask me" give it away every time) will help you get in ANYONE'S good graces. Maybe the mitzvah shouldn't be for saving people, but for not annoying them instead.

Poor NBA Workers, Unite!

HD and I have been playing the Association in NBA 2K10 for 2 seasons now. For those who don't know, you play a full season, with full control over everything on your team, including coaches, and then there's an offseason when you can make trades, sign free agents, draft rookies and improve your players. Your players stats go up by how well they play and how happy they are. We're currently up to re-signing our players, which includes Jamal Crawford, who used to make 9 million dollars a year. I'm not sure if he undervalued himself due to injury, has low self-esteem, really wanted to play for us or what, but he was only asking for a million dollars a year. I thought, great, we can sign another really good free agent and have some money left over. HD, on the other hand, was distressed a little bit by this and thought maybe we should give him more money. His first thought was the worker's don't make enough. We're on the same team here; we're ownership! Dynamo's liberal tendencies are such that he felt VIDEO GAME Jamal Crawford wasn't making enough on his contract and we should help him out, so he could support himself, his video game family and his video game lifestyle.

This Dating Life: Animal Totem Pole

On a recent date, conversation turned to animals (probably when I mentioned the inherent evil in cats) and what our favorite animals were. I said bears, because I hate to lie. The lady, we'll call her Fizz, said she didn't really have a favorite. I was outraged, bewildered and hurt, all at the same time. I told her she had to have a favorite, or at least a couple favorites, like a Pantheon of animals. To have order, there needs to be a totem pole. For example, bears, dogs and tree kangaroos are all at the top, with owls and frogs below them. This organization is for me as much as for them. Bears know exactly where they rank. It alleviates concern, confusion and anxiety. They know when I show up at the zoo, I'm spending most of my time with them. How anyone could operate otherwise confuses and mortifies me!

This Dating Life: The Anti Match

On OKCupid.com, a free dating site with women who know how to post photos that they didn't take themselves while making kissy faces in the mirror, there is a matching system. Based on your interests, your attributes/skills (cause women like a guy with skills), how you answer questions and where Venus is in the sky, you are considered a percentage match to the other person. This comes in the form of % Match, % Enemy and % Friend. Recently I got an email with the title "Anti-Match." Read for yourself:

"According to OKCupid we are a 0% match. I think that's awesome."

I disagreed:

"I know you like laughter, but I hate it. You're a teacher, but I think education is stupid. You have a huge crush on Harry Potter, however, and I used to as well, so I'd say we're more like an 11.7% match. Not 12%, cause I hate rounding. Which also cost us those three-tenths of a percentage match points."

St. Lucia Vol. 7 - Revenge of the Sun

The last full day we spent in St. Lucia, we got a tremendous hookup from Alison, HD's cousin's ladyfriend. Most of the trip we kept things cheap and therefore missed out on some of the activities I was interested in, like fishing for marlins or taking an all gold yacht to Martinique. Alison works at one of the major resorts on the north end of the island, and she was able to get us a day pass to the hotel, entitling us to use the beach and it's water sports and eat all their delicious food and drink as much LLB as possible.

First up was snorkeling. I wish I lived closer to reefs or was a better swimmer, because it's really tough to go snorkeling for tropical fish in Brooklyn. Getting a glimpse into a magical, colorful and alien world transports you. It's peaceful and exciting. You're an intruder, yet no one makes you feel unwanted (and with the exception of not having gills, you totally fit in). I learned to stay away from sea urchins (they have many sharp pointy spine things), not to swim too close to rocks when the current is bashing waves against them, and that it's really hard to catch fish. I chased a small school, swimming amongst them, and tried to catch them, but only managed to look like an aquatic zombie.

Next up in the aquatic adventure queue was learning to sail a small boat. Seemed easy enough. It was a 2-man job, yet we saw people going solo. One of the guys took us out and we thought we had everything down. As intuitive as it was for HD to do it, it was the opposite for me. All I wanted to do was the dangerous, fast turn (jibe? cut? jive? who knows) which would lead to the boat capsizing if I didn't let the sail out all the way. Well, the boat did almost capsize, after Dynamo fell overboard, but in a heroic moment, I dove across and steadied the other side of the deck and then helped him back on board. Just call me Captain. Our troubles on the medium seas were far from over. There was the sail detaching from the deck, which led to the guys coming out and reattaching it. Then there was general confusion, which we weathered. Finally, the wind completely changed and we were unable to make it back in from the bay, so the guys had to come back out again and give us step by step instructions. And when that didn't work, push us a little bit too.

Jet-skiing didn't work out too well either. Once again, I may have underestimated the skill it takes to stand on skis on water while a boat pulls you and gravity, physics and other sciences try to make you fall over and get eaten by a shark. After falling 3 times before I even got up, having my arm feel like it was about to tear off, and getting hit by the boat, I decided to give up. HD fared much better, eventually getting the rope and following behind the boat. Everything looked good, until all of a sudden his boat stopped while pretty far out, for about 20 minutes. At first, I could see the tips of his jet skis, but eventually I only saw one person, and that was the driver. It turned out that the line had gotten stuck in the engine, causing the boat to stop. Because they need engines to go, apparently. Luckily, Dynamo wasn't eaten by an octopus as I originally feared (not even maimed, surprisingly) and the large British lady who was next to jet ski didn't punch him in the face as she originally threatened.

Finally, there was kayaking. Dynamo was all watered out, so he left to have dinner with his sister. I decided it was time to do some ocean/bay kayaking by myself. It started raining and it the sky was overcast, but I didn't care. I love being in a kayak. After a while of conquering the sea, I noticed a man lying on the sand being tended by a bunch of people. Upon returning to shore, I found out he had been stung by jellyfish and was having a severely allergic reaction. So severe that he was on oxygen and a stretcher. I was very happy to find out about the deadly jellyfish after I was out with them, rather than at a time where it would have done me some good. Alison saw the ambulance and heard I was kayaking by myself and assumed I had drowned or something horrible. I don't see why. Kayak. Master. For real.

I'm not, however, the master of sun block. Apparently sun block is a great idea for white folk in the Caribbean, even when they're pretty sure their legs are covered by the umbrella. Both of my legs were fully lobsterized, from toes to thighs, on both sides. The full effect didn't hit me until later, as good sunburns often don't. The next morning, I couldn't stand straight or really support myself, let alone walk. Luckily, pain killers exist. I was on some prescription strength meds for 4 days before I could move without crying like a man. Some knowledge was acquired from this tragedy, however. Lucians don't really know what sunburn is. Probably one of the many benefits of being dark skinned and all. Sure, if they stood in the sun for about 16 days straight, they might get a little tanner, but that's about it. Therefore, I got asked a lot of questions, like "what is sunburn?" "what does sunburn feel like?" "does that hurt at all?" and my favorite, "why did you get sunburned if it hurts so much?" If only I'd remembered how melanin deficient I am, this might have all been avoided!

St. Lucia Vol. 6.1 - Return of the Photographer

Sunday was the whole reason I came down to St. Lucia. No, not the mango fest, but HD's grandmother's 80th birthday. It was held at the Lucian-owned and operated Bay Gardens Resort (best hotel on the island!!) and I was the photographer. This had many benefits. I didn't have to dance and people were very insistent that I get food or would get it for me. The day started off at an open-air church in...St. Lucia. I truly believe open-air is the way to go, and having gone to so many churches in my life (4) I'm definitely an expert on this. It was very peaceful, at the top of a hill, and the breeze was able to flow through, as were the sounds of nature and the sun. Many things happened that I didn't understand, an altar boy waved the incense holder back and forth and once again, I was denied Communion. The more I'm told no, the more I want it!

The birthday party itself was a tremendous hit and a great time was had by all. I learned there's definitely a sense of humor translation in the Caribbean, and it's more than not just being able to speak patois. How did I learn this? Because not everyone I met immediately agreed I was the funniest person they knew. I'm very scientific.

This was also the first day I really felt like I was back in St. Lucia, surrounded by people I met and adored from the first trip 3 years ago. HD and I had gotten it wrong. It wasn't the things we did in St. Lucia the first time, but the people I met and the love I felt when they took us in. It was the culture and the people and the food, not the resorts and the beaches, that made me love the island.

Now, even though not much had changed in my life, it felt like I'd entered a time warp. Three years was just a drop to me, but it seemed to have aged the entire island. It hurt my soul to hear people who were so generous to me, invited me into their homes, were struggling. Despite fresh tropical fruit falling into your hands as you walk, island life isn't as easy as we tend to romanticize it.

St. Lucia Vol. 6 - Return of the LLB

As mentioned previously, I wasn't as enthusiastic about my return to St. Lucia initially. As the trip got closer, I became more and more detached, not planning anything and adopting a false sense of "been there, done that." All that changed when I remembered about LLB. LLB, for those ignorant and lazy folks who refuse to embrace what is amazing, stands for Lemon, Lime and Bitters, and is basically the nectar of the gods. Imported from Trinidad, it's sold everywhere that's anywhere in St. Lucia. My (failed) goal was to come back the sole distributor to the US of this delicious beverage.

********
Last trip, we had Ghost who hooked us up. The role of random (to me, at least) person who made St. Lucia a more fun place fell on Dynamo's "Auntie" Tina this time. Auntie Tina was Super Lucian, and also super Lucian. It felt as if she knew everyone on the entire island, and wouldn't hesitate to chew anyone out in Patois if she felt they were messing with Dynamo or I for being "tourists." Tina haggled over any price, and set HD up with a woman during his stay. She also made a grand entrance to Ma Silla's birthday party celebration, resplendent in a bright pink dress. I wouldn't have expected anything less.

********
This year, we traveled in even more style for Fish Fridays in Gros Islet. Dynamo and I got to ride in the back of Tina's friend's pickup truck and mock all the white folk tourists. I love fitting in. We first went to a tiny place in the middle of nowhere, where folk from all over the island would gather and see friends they hadn't seen all week to have fun, drink some beer and eat some delicious fish of the sea. There was lubbie (weird Lucian name for conch), grilled snapper and, if you knew the cook, turtle. I'm honestly not sure of the legality of eating turtle, and I don't know if it was a tortoise or a sea turtle or some other kind, but it was so delicious, it made my morals cry. Afterwards, we headed to the larger party in Gros Islet, which inexplicably, was run by Guiness. Guiness. The Irish dark stout. What island people want with that man?

The atmosphere, as always, was lively. Vendors in stalls covered most of the area: jewelry (handmade and junk for tourists), fish, chicken, stews and fried bake, shandy, Piton beer and most other beverages people would want. No fresh juice or LLB, though. I called bullshit. Auntie Tina got HD and me coconuts. When I told her mine had no juice in it, she got outraged and demanded a new one. Turns out, my straw was just broken. White people! There was a DJ spinning and people dancing, everyone closely clustered together. In the midst of all this beautiful movement, it started raining. That didn't stop it. We just stood in the rain, drinking beer, having fun and dancing. Well, HD was dancing. I was playing the wall, without a wall to lean on. I proved my theory that you don't need to dance to have fun...and then I went home early.

St. Lucia Vol. 5 - Caribbean Fish Strike Back

My second trip to St. Lucia was a very odd one. I usually don't travel anywhere, especially internationally, more than once unless I'm visiting friends or family. Due to this, I tried to do as much as possible on my first trip to the friendly but mountainous Caribbean nation, and honestly couldn't think of too much to do on my return voyage. I figured HD and I would be welcomed by everyone with open arms and people would be begging us for the honor of driving us around. This trip also differed because it was partially for business (I mean, completely, IRS. And stop reading my blog!). I was there to shoot HD's grandmother's 80th birthday party, a grand affair full of ornate hats and cakes that couldn't be eaten.

Aimless, and without anyone to plan trips or get us places for free, we spent much of the time relaxing in our temporary residence. Taking full advantage of the giant flat screen television and cable channels, I learned that Catwoman is a horrible movie. Not even the "but, Halle Berry in leather" argument could save it. Unfortunately, I found out that Death Race is an even worse movie. Sorry for the spoiler alerts and the surprises being revealed here.

The World Cup and the British Open (or Wimbledon, as everyone insists on calling it) were occurring during this time as well, and not watching these sports would be like an affront to the Lucian lifestyle, so we had no choice but to comply. British sports are absolutely loved in St. Lucia, which makes sense, as they were once colonized by Fawlty Towers and Andy Murray. What doesn't make sense, however, are the 4 most popular of these British sports. Soccer has rules I don't quite understand, beyond kick ball in goal. Rugby, which I learned about on the flight from Invictus, doesn't make any sense either, but that's ok, because I don't think it actually has any rules, besides Matt Damon always scores. A cricket field makes no sense, and the matches, which last for approximately 6.5 straight days, involve a huge amount of math, since scores are usually 1,800,935.74 wickets to pi to the 87th place. Lastly, there's quidditch, which barely beats both cricket and rugby for most arbitrary rules and made-up items.

Besides lazing about and watching too much TV (there's a channel almost entirely dedicated to replaying episodes of the A-Team!!!!!), we would go over to a nearby beach and chill in the Caribbean. During my first trip, I had to deal with marauding crabs. On my more recent excursions, however, I was constantly under attack from a new threat: tiny fish! They would brazenly swim up to my legs and feet when I wasn't paying attention and take out huge sections of flesh with their vicious toothed mouths, causing me endless pain. Then the blood would attract sharks, which ate me on my multiple occasions, and then I regenerated my entire body. True story. I would later get my revenge on the fish, but that's a story for another time, or posting.

Another popular activity was going down to the main city, Castries, and wandering around. Here, an enterprising and ruggedly handsome traveler could obtain delicious ginepps (mistakenly called akee by Lucians), tamarind balls, and valuable trinkets, like stone turtles. The theory/fact that nothing in St. Lucia is called by it's right name is on full display here. At the market, one can buy figs (bananas), avocados (which are, for some reason, purple on the outside) and apricots (which are actually ???? but could be this, according to a Google image search). There were also plenty of folks willing to sell crappy coconuts to tourists, while reserving the delicious ones for island folk. That's probably why I became ambivalent to coconuts my first trip. Luckily, time heals all scars and painful memories.

St. Lucia Vol. 4 - I Hope There's No Mosquitoes

My second, non-romantical trip to St. Lucia with Human Dynamo began as all trips to the Caribbean do: being woken up at 3 AM to ride to the airport. It's been a while since I've traveled, but the tedium of airport security has not subsided. I found out you're not allowed to carry overly ornate hats in plastic bags because the bag could be used as a weapon. I also found out that HD should always do the packing for his mom. The usual "hurry up, rush, wait in line" philosophy failed to hamper my excitement; this time, we were transferring to a flight in Atlanta, Georgia. Dreams of running into Big Boi or Andre, anyone from Goodie Mob or Ludacris danced through my head like scantily clad sugar plum fairies in a rap video.

Imagine my disappointment when the Atlanta airport was not quite as expected. There was NO fish and grits, NO pimp shit, and NOBODY said O-yea-yer! There were no marching bands, and I couldn't even pretend there were airplanes in the night sky. Instead, Faith Hill serenaded all the travelers with This Kiss. Maybe 7 AM is too early to expect some real down south music. Our departure gate was right by our arrival, and everything went pretty smoothly. We landed in southern St. Lucia at the Vieux Fort airport (pronounced "Vie-Eee-Ux Four Airpour") where we were met by HD's godmother, who kindly drove us to his grandmother and grandfather's house. There, I was forced to eat delicious fish and watched millions of chickens play chicken in the backyard, as cherries and cashew fruit fell liberally, coating the landscape in cherry and cashew fruit colors. And chicken poop.

This, however, was only a stopover for us. HD and I were getting to stay with his uncle and aunt in Rodney Bay, in the lap of luxury (we assumed). We each got our own room, complete with no air conditioner and no fan. Oh, and the nice area they lived in was flat, so there was no wind. And it was in the Caribbean. The first night was horrible. Sleep was impossible, and not just due to the balmy 150 degrees. Keeping the windows open meant mosquitoes could get in and I got to hear every single cricket sing it's song. St. Lucian crickets aren't normal size either, but more like Godzilla. Dynamo had skeeters in his ears all night, which I thought I escaped, but when I woke up, my legs looked like a twisted Connect the Dots, played by drunks with only red pieces. It also rains a lot, but only for 10-15 minutes at a time. So it would be 2 AM, I'd finally overcome the heat to get back to sleep, and then BAM, rain thunders down on the roof and in buckets. Usually rain helps cool things off, but it was constantly opposite day, so as soon as it was done waking me up, everything was hot again. I was rather grouchy the next day, but 2 days later we both got fans, and that helped a lot. Who would have thought July in St. Lucia would be hot?

St. Lucia Vol. 3 - Back to the Future

In honor of Pkilla's birthday that I managed to miss while stalking crabs on beautiful tropical beaches, I'm going to predict the events of the last day of my trip. This is no easy task, mind you, as I'm figuring out what will happen...in the FUTURE!!

I see...catastrophe. Yes, it's not quite clear what will happen, but I detect broken glass (everywhere) and a sweet smell. There's much buzzing about the place, but for Human Dynamo, there will be nothing sweet.

My bag will be so heavily laden with delicious LLB that it will take 7 porters to carry it 3 feet, and then they'll have to rest. So worth it.

Psychically, I'm deducing I'll spend the short plane ride from St. Lucia to San Juan exactly as I would hope...by reading about Genghis Khan's treasure and lost tomb, and sleeping. Then, I'll have mediocre mexican food at the airport terminal, and on the flight back I'll watch a movie that I will later forget all about.

Despite my best efforts to recreate the Caribbean feel by constantly saying "ye, man," something will feel amiss. Perhaps losing my minority status?

St. Lucia Vol. 2 - Are You For Scuba?

Things in list form (and not just because I'm too lazy to make proper paragraphs that somehow flow well):

- St. Lucians don't really celebrate the 4th of July. So rather than draping ourselves in the American Flag, setting off fireworks and eating hotdogs, we ate sugar cane and watched Monk. O yeah, and draped ourselves in the St. Lucian flag.

- Sugar cane is amazing! Unfortunately, it evolved so that white people can't eat it. I had to get a waiter to cut mine and then hire a guide to teach me how to eat it. You don't want to swallow the fibrous parts, apparently.

- It's impossible not to watch ALF or Different Strokes once you know they're on!!

- There's many different kinds of mangoes. None of them are called by their real name by St. Lucians, who insist on naming things in their native Creole and then speaking that language, too. Very inconsiderate, guys.

- Despite mangoes being so plentiful that it was impossible to walk on a trail without one falling into your hand at the exact moment you were hungry or thirsty, no country in the Caribbean is actually a world leader in growing them. That honor falls to India, by a huge margin too.

- On Friday, it's Fish Fridays down in Anse le Reye and up in Gros Islet. Mistakenly believing Anse le Reye to be where we snorkeled the previous day, we had a less enjoyable experience, swimming through silt, getting dragged towards large rocks by the current and seeing (but not freaking out about at all) what we mistakenly believed to be a sea snake . Of course, when I calmed down and gave it some real thought, I realized, as everyone knows, that although sea snakes ARE poisonous, there are none in the Caribbean despite many sightings, and it was more likely a snake eel, or even a snake that decided to go for a quick dip. I also befriended a local fisherman named Leroy, who noticed our two names were remarkably similar. After this stunning revelation, he told me how he captured some fishes named BLAOW (ok, actually, ballaowoo) and if I was staying longer, he'd cook them up for me. The story unfortunately has a sad ending, as I walked around the cookout asking if anyone had ballaow, and no one did. After, we went up to Gros Islet, which was a lot more happening, rowdier and with better and cheaper food, but shitty music that you could hear on Z100.

- Everyone in St. Lucia loves Rihanna's Umbrella song.

- Back to fruit knowledge. Supermarkets in St. Lucia carry ripeness charts for bananas, detailing 9 different levels of ripeness and giving colors. That's just being thorough.

- Sunblock is invaluable if you're pale.

- Human Dynamo was able to get everyone on the island to either feed us in their home or volunteer to drive us wherever we wanted to go. Such are the benefits of being St. Lucia's favorite son and not having been back there in 20 years. Family as well as friends of the family treated us to amazing home cooked meals and provided fantastic company, taking me in and treating me like HD's actual brother. My plate overflowedeth with mangoes, plantains, lobster and local fish, and my cup with LLB, aka nectar of the gods. I even learned a patois phrase: ve sala ca plae wae (not actually spelled that way) which means the glass is dirty. Technically, it means the glass is crying (probably gets teased a lot for being dirty) and it was the ONLY creole phrase to stick with me.

- Much of the island's tourist attractions are, oddly enough, built for tourists. But not the cool kind. More the pasty, over-privileged European/middle-American caricatures of tourists in movies from the 1970s kind. The tropical rainforest walk wasn't a hike, but a path carved out, covered in stones. The loud crunching that occurs while walking on the path all but guarantees you won't see any cool wildlife except for omnipresent lizards who have no fear.

- Our rainforest tour guide took us in a sky air-car-thingy (probably called a gondola, but trying to keep the romance out of it) to see the canopy and all the cool tropical trees and some birds. I learned that everything in the rainforest* has medicinal purposes and can be used by science to help cure people. If they're suffering from impotence. Because EVERYTHING in St. Lucia is used to help men have sex. There's not a single female sex aid. But passionfruit? Good for the erection. Sea-moss, which can't even be a real thing? Good for the erection. Turtle penis or shell or whatever part they have? Good for the erection. Tree bark of any tree with leaves and branches and bark? Good for the erection.

- The sulfur springs are hot and really smelly. Nothing can survive in the area. Or so we were told. I definitely saw large, stone like creatures moving about and trying to hide. But I know what I saw.

- "Bus" "drivers" in St. Lucia are something to be avoided for long trips. For your average Rodney Bay to Castries trip, definitely pay the 2 EC and get in and watch Soca videos with your bus driver and try to refrain from asking him to watch the road instead of the new Soca video. Nobody likes a back seat driver. However, for longer trips, like say to Soufriere, stay the hell away from the buses. Not only do you have to sit in a bus and wait 2 hours for the driver to get enough victims in his death machine, but then you have to suffer through hairpin turns. I don't get car sick, but when I looked out the window while driving through St. Lucia's ridiculously omnipresent hills/mountains and saw only 3 of the wheels were firmly on the ground, I got a little worried. Sharp curves are not the place to pass on 1.5 lane roads, and not having guard rails on the side is not a dare to see if you can slip over the edge. I later found out we had the worst driver in St. Lucia (yelp.com???). I refused to drive back along the route, threatening to whole up in Soufriere for the duration of the trip. We met up with a friend of HD's mom at the Diamond Falls and she told us if we ran through the entire garden and only quickly glanced at the falls, we might barely be able to meet her and get on her boat tour for free or close to it. We didn't make it. Luckily, we found a friend of Dynamo's cousin named Ghost** who was the guide on another catamaran. Next paragraph, please!

- Ghost welcomed us on board with open arms that each held alcoholic drinks for us. We traveled to Anse Concho and went snorkeling. Coral and tiny colorful fish were everywhere, and it was beautiful. Peaceful, too, if you forgot about the 7 other identical boats docked there. Funny story about that...we didn't know it was our boat leaving, so we raced to shore, legs cramping up despite our Olympic swimmer abilities, ran across the sand to return our snorkeling equipment and swam back out to the boat, which had forgotten we were on it. And then I bought a conch shell.

- To read actual detailed stories of what we did and see some photos, read HD's many trip summaries here. It's well worth it. But come back to my blog at some point too, so I don't get lonely.

*By rainforest, our tour guide meant all of St. Lucia and probably the whole Caribbean too.

**Actually, probably nicknamed Ghost

St. Lucia Vol. 1 - A New Beginning

Me and Dynamo's trip to St. Lucia started off super promising. I was well rested from my 3 hours of sleep and in a very good mood when I stepped outside in the inky black of 4 AM to see our cab not in front of the apartment. After all that, there's nothing like the invasive fluorescent lights while waiting on a line at the airport. Nothing, except perhaps being told there's a mechanical problem on the flight, we can't take off yet, the engineer's in the cabin signing some papers and we're going to miss our connecting flight in San Juan. Oh, did I forget to mention the airport security thought my camera's batteries were a magazine for a gun, and all i could think of to say was sorry?

All bad feelings disappeared once we actually made it on to the 2 PM (wait, actually 3 PM since the plane was delayed) stand by flight, met Dynamo's brother (who seemed like a character off 21 Jump Street), were picked up by Dynamo's friend and didn't actually crash when his friend took his eyes off the road when HD demanded cash payouts. Yes, according to him, St. Lucia was basically one giant ATM machine.

We stayed at the Bay Gardens Hotel, deciding to go with a locally owned and run hotel rather than one of those ubiquitously invasive resorts that all the tourists go to (there's a reason it rhymes with Vandals). Arriving to find our twin beds clearly separated, a tropical motif and an A/C that kept out St. Lucia's humidity, we started to unpack.
"I think I will unpack my clothing and put it in the closet so it is well organized and nothing wrinkles."
"I don't think there's anywhere to hang them though."
*checking the closet* "There's hangars man. Like," *counting,* "11."
"So what, like 10?"
"Are you retarded?"
"Maybe. Does it help me?"

After that clever exchange, we headed to the beach, as we had info from our reliable CI that's where the party was. And she was right. Or it could have been he was. If by party, she meant really really dark night with some tourists partying at an overpriced resort and nobody else around. We took a nice, non-romantic stroll up and down the beach, chasing smaller crabs and running like crazy from larger crabs since they'll attack with them claws. It was during this time that I managed to get a shot of the previously elusive (and possibly unheard of) St. Lucian Loch Ness Monster. We also kept hearing this really weird noise, as if there were birdbats* around, which was explained to us by friendly hotel staff as "what we call crickets here." So, they clearly weren't crickets. Using my clever sense of deduction and realizing that lucians call bananas figs (which are clearly much smaller) I extrapolated "crickets" must be Mothra, or at least something comprable. Vacations are a lot more fun when not petrified of encountering giant flying insects.

*"What are you, some sort of weird half-bird, half-bat?"
"No, I'm 100% batbird!"

L Bo Likes Lists and Linearityness

I really like things to be in linear order, so I've added some new blog entries I've been meaning to include for a while in their original spot in the space-time continuum of my blog. It's not really an obsession, but I always have to know when things took place to make sense of an event as a whole. You can find exciting tales, as well as photos, of Saint Maarten, my first trip to St. Lucia (from 3 years ago) parts one, two and three at their links. And, as a special bonus since I'll be writing about my most recent trip to St. Lucia, I will also re-post the past posts in the present. You're welcome. I also really like lists, if you haven't been able to tell or you just refuse to read most of my postings. To explain this, here are things I like about lists, in list form:

• you never really have to make a complete sentence


• unless you really want to


• sentences don't need to form coherent paragraphs


• easy to read


• can print out and swap with roommates grocery list for kick when he returns from supermarket with plastic zebra and 12 turkey basters (not actually quite sure what list those would be on)

This Dating Life: Rejected

I recently was blown off by a lady who preferred instead to watch an "I Love Lucy marathon." I guess it shows a good taste in classics, but isn't everyday an I Love Lucy marathon? The show's been off the air for 40 years yet every single channel shows it at least 8 times a day. I guess it's better than getting blown off so she could wash her hair...

Mike Birbiglia Accomplished!

As a birthday present to me (in the past, because that's when my birthday was, and it won't be again until the future, and I don't have a time machine*), Pris took me to see the amazing Mike Birbiglia at Union Hall performing new material entitled "60 Minutes of New Stories." It lasted for 60 minutes, and was incredible, like all of his shows. I'd previously seen "Sleepwalk With Me," thanks to the kindness of Janet. I sat right by the stage for both shows, but Union Hall was definitely a more intimate space. This was a good thing for me, but maybe not so much for Birbigs, who didn't seem entirely thrilled when I took the first photo of him on stage. Mike also told stories that carried heavier emotional weight, revealing more of his personal life. Comedy stands out better when it pokes through the seriousness of the past. It was an amazing show, and Mike solidified his place even further as my favorite comedian. So, congratulations Mr. Birbiglia!

Taunting/heckling me before the real stories begin. Sorry Mike!


*Yet

Manchester Pub Photos

Check out food and behind the scenes photos at Manchester Pub, a fine establishment owned by Lawrence Chan and Hudson Tang:
Food shots
Behind the scenes

Squirrels Have No Respect For Personal Boundaries

The following conversation occurred between me and Priskilla via text message on Memorial Day. I was in Boston Commons by the Tadpole Pond (or whatever it's called) and she was orbiting the Earth's moon, I assume.

Me: A squirrel just woke me up by stepping on my head.

Priskilla: Christ, how tall was this squirrel?

Me: It wasn't the jolly green giant of squirrels. I was laying down in the grass, attempting to nap.

Priskilla: I think it's awesome! Why walk on soft downy grass when you can traipse across a human skull?

America's Funniest Bear Videos (in Japanese)

Thanks to Brad for a link that eventually led me to this haunting look inside the mind of the Japanese. I love the Japanese version of Bob Saget commenting as a poor scared bear is forced to play with dangerous monkeys and killer lion cubs, all while goofy sound effects play to show the viewer how funny it is. Ever stop to think maybe this is why Godzilla attacked you?

Casino Knowledge

May 19th marked DJ turning as old as me minus 4 days. Puzzle that one out for a while. We went to Mohegan Sun for a boxing match, the ambiance and the extra income craps provides. Though I prefer MMA, my first live boxing card was pretty exciting and had all the glamor that an MMA match at a minor league stadium lacked. After the main event was over and everyone's favorite Rhodey, Peter Manfredo, won, we were able to get down to the second row and watch some pro debuts. Boxers punch hard. Fast too. Here are some other things I learned that night:

• Women's boxing is way less sexy than the internet led me to believe
• Cashing in chips, even if I had lost some, feels like a great deal for me. Here's plastic, here's money for that plastic. Win, win!
  
• The only thing more depressing than a casino at 4 PM on a Saturday is one in Rochester. I kid. Actually, I don't.
• The Roots are Jimmy Fallon's house band because Black Thought is locked up in his basement. Think about it. Have you seen Black Thought recently? Me neither!

Feliz Cumpleanos

Cliched as ever, yet I got to say it anyway. Turning 29 freaked me out more than just a little. Both because of what I'm leaving behind (the roaring 20s) and what I'm heading towards: 30. 30! Not the 30-30 club, which would be awesome, but the certainty of an uncertain adulthood.

To a young L-Bo, 30 represented an unfathomable age. My parents were 30 before I was even born, but that fact never quite stuck with me. So 30 always seemed to be (no offense parents) older to me then than it does now, as that was the age I imagined them for most of my childhood.. Because now, I don't feel like an adult, so I can't feel old. Thirty represented (/still does?) having all my shit together, having a good job, having a ton of fun life experience, including travel and living in other cities/countries, and being ready to settle down with a serious girlfriend. It makes me think of family starting and maybe taking myself a little more seriously. Having not accomplished much of that, I'm hesitant to leave my 20s behind me and move forward. Unfortunately, I'm not certain it's my choice.

O yea, thanks to everyone who came out to help me celebrate! It was a great time, as always. I appreciate the love.

Pretty Pretty Flower: The Prequel

Going back in time, these are my daffodils, which logically bloom before tulips (that's what daffodil means in Latin), apricot tree in blossom, yellow crocuses and some other plant growing next to me. So really, I can't take any credit for that first photo's plant being pretty.

Pretty Pretty Flowers

Last fall, my mom bought me some Dutch tulip bulbs at the Dutch Appreciation Month festival. I was nervous about planting them, because I'd never tried to grow bulbs before, I don't have a great track record with flowers for some reason, and the Dutch scare me a little. However, the results were wonderful, with beautiful purple, red and yellow blooms.







Also, wisteria.

The Chosen Supermarket

For my Super Bowl party this year, I ran out of time and had to go somewhere close decided to try out Pomegranate, a fancy pants large Kosher grocery store written up in the New York Times. People had been espousing it's large selection and tasty produce. They failed to mention how the clientele are oblivious to the concept of spatial relationships, often standing three deep in an aisle so you can't walk past. So on the negative side there was general rudeness, but on the positive, I walked away with some red bananas.

Everything seemed a wash till I got home with the chicken wings, and realized there were feathers on them. Not just one or two tiny down fluffy feathers either, but big-ass feathers, the kind Thomas Jefferson might have dipped in ink before signing...things. These were eagle wings! Why would you sell chicken wings that aren't plucked? There's NO benefit to it, as far as I can tell. And I can tell pretty far.

Then it dawned on me: this might be why the world bears animosity towards you. Try plucking the feathers off wings, chosen people!

Beardsley

I've been growing a huge beard for about 4 months now, chin-strapped on the sides and long in the goatee area. My mom and sister hate it and I'm scared they'll shave it off when I sleep. So I moved and didn't tell them where to. They told me I look like Abraham Lincoln, which I think is a great compliment. He was one of our greatest presidents, after all. Between that and my current elevated position at the Census, I'm sure I'll be able to make a strong run for US Senate next year. Or whenever they wanna let me apply for that job.

When You Get a New Car...

And you're feelin like a star
What you gonna do?
GHOST RIDE IT!

This is the mantra, the theme song, of the insanely brilliant ghost riding movement. Long languishing in the defined and dark shadow of regular driving, ghost riding has finally broken free. No longer will it be considered second rate, behind rolling down the strip in your whip. Ghost riding, like the proverbial adolescent who rejects his father to become his own man, has rejected conventional wisdom, safety concerns and common sense and can proudly say, "I'm my own man!"

A weekend in Amherst spent watching Rihanna videos* (good god!), Ghost Riding The Whip 4: Ghost Ride It! and other crap on youtube has taught me many valuable things. For one, ghost rided the whip, not ghost rode the whip as many mistakenly believed, is the past tense of ghost ride the whip. The other is that ghost riding was/is so popular because secretly, all rappers want to ride floats in a parade.

*PS Rihanna's military outfit seems quite functional.

EXTENSION! EXTENSION!

I know how this sounds (mostly because HD told me how it sounds) but I decided to go for an extension on my taxes this year since everyone at work was talking about how great extensions are and how they're easy to get. I didn't think to ask them how to get one, thinking all I'd have to do is go to the IRS' website and there'd be a link that said "want an extension? click here!" and it wouldn't lead me to some weird porn site.

Apparently, in order to get an extension you actually have to do your taxes, or at the very least estimate them, and pay them first. If you underestimate your taxes, you can be found guilty of something and lose your extension AND be charged a late payment. OF COURSE I WAS GOING TO UNDERESTIMATE THEM! I was going to put in ZERO as my tax liability and figure it out later. Also, any money you don't pay now will actually be charged interest.

Basically, in order to get an extension, you must go through the whole process of filing and paying your taxes anyway. I figured it'd be like when you want an extension on your term paper and you ask the teacher nicely and there are zero penalties or drawbacks or lengthy forms to fill out. Unfair.

FOSin'

The Census Bureau finally recognized the brilliance in front of them and gave me the long over due (read: I was there for 2 months) "promotion." However, since the Census doesn't actually promote people from within, since it makes more sense to hire an outsider who doesn't understand anything about the operation and train them to be a smart and ruggedly handsome man's boss, this was more of a selection to the position of Field Operations Supervisor. I went through a rigid interview process that lasted 2 minutes and mostly comprised of me saying yes. Then I found myself, on an early Monday morning, taking a familiar oath. One to defend the Constitution. One that Congress takes, but with added parts that make it even more oathful. I'm a supervisor now. Shit just got real, enemies of counting.

Black Guy, White Guy

HD and I are going to have a show (if James' ranting about us having a show carries any real world weight) about two friends living together and the important life lessons they learn. Picture the Odd Couple meets Psych meets cosmic awareness. It'll be pithy, fundamentally sound and the two title characters will have great rapport with each other. You can tell all this from the title, which is "Black guy, white guy live together." Look for it to replace anything on the WB, this fall.

And That's A Lot Cause I Got My Share...

Not yet 30, and I think I saw my first gray hair the other day. It was (and still is) sticking out from my head like some thin, gaudy neon warning light, letting me know that I'm either WAY too stressed out defending the constitution or I'm older than my birth certificate indicates. In either case, I've still got more rhymes than I got gray hairs...

Ignoring Me is Bliss

I recently completed teaching my first two live online SAT classes as a TA. The experience is very different from working at a center in front of the students. First off, it's obviously less personal. Secondly, there's WAY more students (40+) to contend with. Thirdly, it's an adjustment getting used to teaching with someone else. It's tough to sit back and work as a team with someone when you're used to being in charge of everything that happens. It's really tough when your teacher sings Miley Cyrus songs to the students. Lastly, pants are completely optional, and as a TA not on camera, so is a shirt.

The software used is fairly interesting. Made by Adobe, the students can all see and hear the teacher while following along with classroom slides and their books. The TA is in charge of a chat box and can send private messages to the students, who communicate their answers and ask questions. In theory, at least. The students actually find facebook a better way to spend their time and don't understand how to scroll up in a chat box, which accounts for the tremendous amount of questions. Students will repeat questions their fellow students just asked as well as questions they themselves just asked! I guess having 2 ways to communicate with students really just gives them two options on how to ignore you best.

This Dating Life: A Difference of Opinions

This pancakes-loving girl is great, and I'm really digging her, but there's one possibly irreconcilable issue that might come between us in the near future: animals! Sure, she thinks dogs are great, is in love with monkeys (and, like all women and dragons, shiny objects as well) and thinks cats are evil and stupid and poo-poo heads. However, she finds horses creepy (find me ONE OTHER WOMAN who doesn't love ponies!) and hippos terrifying, which is weird because I think she really means to say awesome. She also thinks tarantulas are cute and enjoys when they curl up in a ball on her arm and I'm worried she'll surprise me one day by throwing one at me. She also has no problem with octopi and squid, though she also has no problem eating them either. As long as her and HD continue, there will be less super-intelligent, dangerous and malevolent cephalapods to terrorize me. What's truly ludicrous is she thinks it's ridiculous to lock my door at night because squid and octopi may come visit, in camouflage or disguised as a boot or one of those creepy Chinese good fortune cats. GLOBAL WARMING, I protested. Sea levels are rising and shit, and I want to be prepared!

This Dating Life: A New Hope

"mmm...I like pancakes too," said a girl on plenty of fishes dot com.
"Well, I like composting also," said I. "That's a strong basis for AT LEAST a first date."
And it was. So we went to a wine bar, where I got to act like a connoisseur cause she didn't know anything about wine, and I ordered us two jugs and a nutella panino with vanilla gelato for her dinner. I was hooked.

Conversations with a Pot Head

A soft, repeated thumping startled me from my mission to throw out the garbage and check the mail Saturday night. It was my neighbor sitting in the passenger side of his van, trying to get my attention and lure me into his van. "Hey man, I just finished drinking this water bottle, and I had to smoke my blunt, so I figured I'd turn it into a bong. Just hangin' out and hot boxin in my dad's van." So we hung out for a while, during which time he continued to hot box. He told me how he was trying to open a 99 cent store, and when that didn't go over so well, told me he wanted to buy and open a bar. "Bro, it'll only take about 150 to raise. Me and my friend are gonna try it out. I got all the construction knowledge, I think it'd be great. People who own bars, they make a killing, just sit back and let the money pour in." I had a feeling I knew where it was going, and if there's one thing I know, it's you don't make a deal to buy a bar with your upstairs neighbor while he's hot boxin.

Man At Work

Updating my blog, taking photos, eating dinner and sleeping have all taken a backseat to working over the past month and a half. I'm still trying to get adjusted to working full time again (first full time job in the last two and a half years), along with teaching the SAT nights and weekends. I figure to make a lot of money now, then hibernate through next year's winter. It's been a very strange time though, as I went from working 06, 07 hours a week to the mirror image of 60 to 70 hours a week. Sacrifices need to be made, unfortunately, and that's resulted in both my blogs not being published as frequently, and a 17% loss in humor as well. On the positive side, check out this awesome ID and the swank suit!

This Dating Life, Cut Short

A while ago, in the very first of the mostly disastrous outcome "This Dating Life" series, I wrote how amazing it would be to be in a relationship you knew was doomed. No pressure at all, and with any luck, you could skip buying gifts at Valentine's Day and her birthday. I was actually able to realize this goal when I started to see a liberal, wanna-be Presbyterian pastor from Texas. Alas, it didn't even get to the "as a woman of the cloth, I'm not sure I can be with a Jew like you."

This Dating Life, Infinity

A rather attractive woman's profile said she was addicted to salty snacks, couldn't wink and wanted a funny, tall guy. I wrote to her and asked if she liked Combos (they're making a comeback, I hope) and then wrote the following: "I'm tall, and I'm willing to cover one of your eyes while you blink to make it look like you're winking, if you'd like." I meant it to be funny, but probably, offering to cover someone's eyes just comes off as creepy.

Conversations with a Moron

"Hey, 2010 Census, it's your turn!" That's how my new barber greeted me. I sat down in the chair and we started talking about the Census and how he speaks "4 languages...Russian, Hebrew, Farsi, Persian, English and 3 dialects. I was in high demand. Back in 2000, when I did it, I could do in 2 hours what it took others 8 hours to do, and I got paid by the case. Is it still the same?" I let him know I worked in the office and wasn't sure. "You got a really low test score then, almost failing probably," he assured me (I scored 100, actually.)

This all eventually led to...

Me: Oh, do you live in Briarwood?
I used to
Me: Cool. My mom works at the Briarwood library.
Why, do you live in Briarwood?
Me: No I'm from Queens but my mom works at the Briarwood library
So you don't live there?
Me: No, I used to live in Fresh Meadows with my parents.
Fresh Meadows and Briarwood, they are different places.
Me: Yes. I know. I didn't say I lived there. My mom works at the library there.
They are not the same.

Tales From a Co-Worker

Unfortunately, I had left work early, before this amazing exchange between my co-worker and a new guy:

New Guy: "So what part of eastern Europe is your family from?" (Because my coworker looks Eastern European, which is, in fact, where her family is from.)

Co-worker: My family is Polish.

New Guy: So that's like part of Russia? So then you speak Russian?

Co-worker: No, it's not part of Russia, it's a different country and a completely different language.

New Guy: How interesting. So you can't understand any Russian?

Exasperated Co-worker: No.

Office Co-Workers Say the Darnedest Things

Manic co-worker, during a discussion on apples (side-note: she confesses to being an apple connoisseur, but has the WORSE taste in apples!!) in which she professed to only eating huge apples: "I only eat small apples when I'm desperate."