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On Monday I had to undergo the much dreaded dental procedure--a root canal. I've survived 6 days of constant pain, a swollen face, and one ridiculously sensitive tooth; not to mention frustratingly meager eating abilities. And for someone who's main food vice is a bag of Tim's chips, this week has been absolute hell. When you factor in my extremely low pain threshold, coupled with the fact that I'm prone to whining, you can imagine how bad its been (for me and everyone around me).
But I decided to make things better. Not through medicine or a positive outlook on life. Nay. Instead, I decided to ease my pain with purchasing power. Yesterday, I drove up to the Starbuck's of electronics, Circuit City. Actually, Best Buy is probably the biggest electronics super store prostitute, but I digress. Long story short, I bought a nice, new 42" Samsung Plasma TV. Not on a whim, my young naysayers. This purchase has a history. Let me take you back to Black Friday, 2007. My friend, Ben (the one I often slaughter in RBI baseball) and I were willing participants in the stupidest post-Thanksgiving tradition ever invented--shopping. Let me preface this by saying I was fully aware of the need to arrive as early as possible--my friend Ben was not. He mistakenly theorized that the crowds would be gone by mid-day and that we'd have no problem finding the TV I wanted. Needless to say, by the time we got there, the TV I'd envisioned in my living room was sold out. I had been ready to make a $1300 commitment, but the TV of my dreams was gone. I was crushed.
Which brings me back to yesterday. Ultimately, I need to thank my friend Ben. Because of his shopping ineptitude, I was able to get an even better TV for about $400 less. Also, thanks to Ben, I can now gloat that "My TV is bigger than yours". Ah, gluttony. My tooth feels better already.
Just in case you blinked and missed my online debut in to the modeling world--here's one link to get you caught up:
http://www.blackbirdtees.com/store/talk-shirty-to-me-73/cherry-octopie-211.htmlOf course, the magic doesn't stop there. My scruffy mug is featured several times within the site. But don't take my word for it, make your way over to my girlfriend's newly launched website, Blackbirdtees.com, and check me out--don't forget to look at all the awesome t-shirts too! And if you have $25 left over from your stimulus payment, treat yourself to some new attire. Hey, it's the summer now. Time to get some color in your life. Yeah, I'm talking to you Seattle-ites. I see you in your khakis and your safari greens; not to mention your tevas and muted blue REI button-up. Spice it up a bit. Shake up your circle of friends. Show them you know cool. You live cool. You ARE cool.
After 4 years of overwhelmingly awesome facial hirsuteness, I've decided to nix the beard. I'm joining the flocks of white people--all of whom seem to be sporting rather lackluster goatees. At first glance, my new look my seem somewhat pedestrian as well. However, when you factor in the atypical side burn length and overall exacting precision and angular acuteness of said goatee--well my friends, you've discovered a formidable facial hair opponent.
Oh yeah, did I mention my hair is about a foot shorter too? My stellar goatee and sideburns may have entranced most of you unprepared observers. Hopefully though, you won't miss what has to be the best professional haircut I've ever received. For that I have to thank Joie over at Rudy's Barbershop on Greenwood Ave. She not only made me the increasingly confident, ever so good-looking, badass man that I am--she gave me a damn fine haircut too. I recommend hitting her up--especially if you're used to describing yourself as a caveman...or Jesus. She's got magic in them fingers, I kid you not.
I'm obviously enjoying my new look--seems like others are too. It would be great if I could forever elicit looks of surprise and sheer glee from all who admired my new do. Sadly, this new look will probably only buy me about another 2 or 3 weeks of admiration. After the initial shock and amazement has worn off, people will go back to remembering what my face looks like and how my hair spikes up when it's short. But surprisingly, the praise will return.
It often takes months for people to spot changes. But then again, changes don't usually occur in the form of lopping off one's locks or taking a razor to one's scruffy face. They're more likely to surface in less visible ways (or in the case of hair--about .44 millimeters/day). Given these circumstances, it's a little easier to excuse people for not noticing something that you feel is different, new, or special. By that rationale, it's probably just as easy to excuse someone for not giving you a compliment about it too.
I think we all sometimes privately yearn for this kind of attention. No one really seems to admit it, but hell, it feels great when someone pays you a compliment. In recent years, I've tried to be a positive person. Of course I've slipped every now and then, but in general, I think I've done a pretty good job. This new look has made me think a lot. I think everyone needs to experiment with new things--ideas, jobs, looks, friends. Sometimes those changes can be even smaller than you think--and maybe even easier.
I've decided that June 20th will be the day my gorgeous, spiraling lady locks will meet their demise. Yes folks, it's time. In September of '06 I vowed to not cut my hair until nipple contact was reached. It looks like my vow will be honored; for in a few months, my nipples will start to see black rain from above. No longer will the comparisons to Jesus Christ (the Superstar) be abound. On a side note, riddle me this--if Jesus would have lived until age 87, what year would he have died? Answers must be given in A.D. form.
This of course brings us to the upcoming "10000 B.C." flick/travesty. I will inevitably be dragged to this movie, kicking and screaming--not unlike a caveman being trounced by a really lame, computer-generated woolly mammoth...or saber-toothed tiger. Take your pick. Either way, it'll be like yawning your way through an unwatchable ice-aged Star Wars prequel--only, this movie will be the prequel to all other horrible, special effects-driven disasters directed by Jerry Bruckheimer. Although, the question must be asked. What would Jerry B. have done with the Star Wars prequels? Or better still, what would Jesus have done?
I need a new challenger. My friend, Ben, is no longer a threat to my RBI Baseball supremacy. I've now won the last 20 of 25 games (or something ridiculous like that). Whether it's lame teams like Minnesota or Houston, I still get the job done. During our last round I pitched 3 1-hit gems and clobbered a total of 15 home runs (maybe even more--it's hard to remember). Ben needs to practice. He needs to learn the art of hitting to the opposite field, stealing a base, and bringing home that all important 8th inning go-ahead run. He needs to go down to RBI 2 and learn the basics. When he's mastered these skills, only then will he be ready for the bigs.
Colman, Dykstr, and Strwby will be awaiting his return.
Hey, ass head...quit spitting on my car! This is now the 6th time in 2 months. Why are you targeting me? What have I done to deserve disgusting drool oozing down my driver's side window? Every time I park in front of the Kort Haus Bar this happens. It's either the same drunk face head (that's right...face head) or a member of the Greenwood loony brigade. I'm actually leaning towards the latter, and here's why. One night, as I drove up 67th, a man with a beard (not unlike mine) and a crazy glare in his eyes, spit directly in front of my vehicle. It wasn't a "Gross, I just swallowed a bug" spit--there was intent behind his saliva missile. What makes a man spit at a vehicle? I really don't know.
Here's what I do know. I'm willing to invest at least $100 to install a camera in my car to catch this mystery spitter. Is this excessive? Am I taking this too far? I think not. I will catch you Spit Man. My car has been across these great United States far too many times--it certainly does not deserve your vile germs splattered across its window. You will pay Spit Man, you will pay...
Every day I drive down Greenwood, I seem to notice a new "tag" on the side of a building or on the face of a road sign. It upsets me. And not because it defaces the look of some one's house or because someone is clearly breaking the law. Nay, it upsets me to see such a lack of creativity coming from today's hoodlums. If you have the guts to spray paint something, why not create something interesting? Are you really going to risk a misdemeanor charge by spraying "MBT" on the side of a trash can? My personal favorite is the tag "jeans". At least this person went with a noun, and not just their initials. And contrary to what you might think, "jeans" actually makes me think a bit. I digress. But seriously, where is the creativity? Remember back in the 80's when graffiti artists spray painted murals on NY streets? Boxcars, underpasses and buildings were layered with intricate designs that could easily be classified as art--at least to most. These were images that drew attention to not only the works themselves, but to the landmark that was being "defaced". In their own way, these misdemeanor works of art add a depth of character to the landscape. They are a base form of artistic expression and they deserve respect.
This is a plea to all the lame Greenwood spray painters and taggers. You make Seattle look weak. How can we ever attain the level of coolness that NYC and Chicago have attained, when our street artists can only manage to spray paint their initials? I know there's creativity out there. I sense the artist within you yearning to be expressed. Take the $45 you'll blow on "Halo 3" and go buy 5 different colors of spray paint. Think of all the cool images you conjured up the last time you smoked pot. It's still lame, but hopefully you see where I'm going with this. I'd rather drive down Greenwood and see a unicorn with a joint in its hoof, galloping down an escalator, than "MBT". Make us proud.
While 5 games to 4 is by no means an ass-kicking, I'll go ahead and give Ben his delusions of grandeur. Technically, I was defeated. Although, if you examine the evidence game by game, I could have easily won 8 of the 9 games. Let's not forget that I was Houston in one game for God's sake! If it weren't for Ben and his damn pick-off moves, we'd be talking about how many double digit strikeout games I pitched. I'm not complaining, but Ben favors teams with power hitters. He'll either hit a home run or strikeout. I tend to favor more balanced teams with more consistent hitters and reliable pitchers. Which choice do you believe is in line with the spirit of RBI baseball?
All I know, is that next week will be a different story. No more boneheaded running goofs. No more right-handed strikeouts from "Sbrhgn". No more fielding goofs on routine fly balls. Next week is all business. Nine game sweep time, perhaps?
I've been to many Thai restaurants; East Coast to West--and the best is still Richmond's very own, Thai Diner. Is it the greasy Pad Thai style? Or is it the Chinese broccoli option for the Pad See Ew? The unrivaled spice tray or the insanely addictive fried spring rolls? Well, yes...and yes, and yes, and hell yes. Jack, Jesse and the Thai Diner crew really know how to treat their regulars like regality. If you've never been, you're missing what could easily be the best food experience of your life. Unfortunately, I live in Seattle--so Thai Diner eludes me for about 99.9% of the year. But I will continue to make my yearly pilgrimage to the holiest of Thai restaurants--for even 1 day of bliss is worth 364 days of emptiness.
I kicked Ben's ass in Nintendo RBI baseball this weekend. I like to win. Nay, I like to dominate. And friends, this was total domination. For those of you who have played baseball games on the ancient 8-bit systems, you'll surely be familiar with the "slaughter" rule. Little league veterans will also be aware of this blunt, yet highly accurate term. Simply put, when the winning team goes ahead by a predetermined amount of runs, the game is over. Needless to say, when my bubbly men went up by 10, tears formed in the corner of Ben's eyes. The game was over. My domination was complete. Who's next?
Anyone else tired of speed traps? I am. Just in case you're driving down Aurora, remember this entry. The police will most likely be aiming a radar gun at your car as you speed up to try and gain momentum after the Aurora bridge. C'mon police--give us a chance. Can you at least point your radar guns at us on level ground. If I don't speed up to go up a hill, every car behind me gets pissed off. If I brake the whole way down a long hill, guess what?--every car behind me gets pissed off. Haven't you already busted enough innocent drivers? Same thing with the red light cameras. This system will never work. It's never the drunk retard that gets busted running a red light; it's the guy who can't decide whether to stop or not. So instead of slamming on the brakes, they cruise slowly through the intersection. And for their caution, they are rewarded with a $500 ticket. Enough I say. If you want to give people speeding tickets, stick to the highways. I say it's fair game. As far as the red light cameras are concerned...can we give tickets to pedestrians that walk super slow after the walk sign has changed? Because if someone runs a red light, I say they're fair game too.
