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Awful Battle… Music Plus Still Pics? YouTube The Man, Er, Woman, Er, Egg Now, Dog!

Posted on May 26, 2009 by sgottahurt

I spend a lot of time on the TripleDoubleU. Well, a lot probably is an understatement of the amount of minutes I’ve allotted to pure waste. All I know, is it could be worse. Like, I could have burned the entire Memorial Day weekend away in front of my laptop, and that, um, didn’t happen.

My cousin, Steve, on the other hand, is what I would call a web dabbler. He dives into the stream of the information superhighway every now and again, and he phishes out some strange finds. Such as these two videos below.

Both feature interesting music choices and eclectic slide shows.

Both took a lot of time to make… but hopefully not an entire Memorial Day weekend.

(BONUS BOTH: May both get stuck in your head!)

Awful Battle, GO!

(Click here for Egg Movie 2… and oh wait, yes! There is more Linda Gray lovefesting here. My personal fave? You can never go wrong with Cascada and staring in the credits.)

In My Brain While Sleeping… Baby Pac-Man All Grown Up!

Posted on May 18, 2009 by sgottahurt

Remember this iconic offspring?

baby_pac_man

Born in 1982, Baby Pac-Man was the third game in a series that didn’t have much life left in it. Not because of the slow advancements in processing technology or because the games themselves were repetitive (well maybe that’s exactly why video games died back in the day), but just as quickly as arcades burst on the scene, the movement was deemed a fad in 1983 and they went away. (There were other reasons, too. Check ’em out here.)

SIDENOTE: That’s why Nintendo dubbed their new console an Entertainment System in 1985. “Video games” left a sour taste in many people’s mouths.

But that’s neither here nor there. This is about a dream I had, and it’s about as odd as they get. According to the Wikipedia entry, Baby Pac-Man was a he. And he was born to Pac-Man and Mrs. Pac-Man. But there is no Mrs. Pac-Man, only a Ms. So for all intents and purposes (or is it intensive purposes?), in my subconscious state, the baby’s a she. Pink bonnet anyone?

Well, basically, the dream happened to become the foundation for a feminist diatribe. Baby Pac-Man had grown into a lovely Pac-Woman, but she could not get any respect in the workplace. People kept calling her Ms. and Miss and that didn’t bother her as much as the fact they wouldn’t call her Pac-Woman rather than Pac-Man. People also thought she got the job because of who her father was and not on her own merits. Also, people kept offering her fruits and pretzels.

I don’t remember much else, but I’m sure it all ended swell. But I do wish there was something about mazes or ghosts, though…

"Why do I keep getting spam for power pellets?"

INGREDIENTS: Two different kinds of Powerade, a late night viewing of Saturday Night Live, and Little Debbie chocolate chip muffins.

Drunken Recollection… First Rule Of Bachelor Party – You Don’t Talk About Bachelor Party

Posted on May 17, 2009 by sgottahurt

For the last two weeks, not a smidge of alcohol has quenched my parched, getting-very-used-to-water, lips.

One bachelor party changed the no-drinking-in-May plan (at least for that night).
Two beers in, I was feeling tipsy.
The third film in the X-Men series almost killed my burgeoning buzz when it was brought up before the bus bid farewell.
Four… ah, I’m at a loss on how to keep this list up. Oh, wait! Four bars is the amount we visited.
Five beers came in a bucket at our second stop. Or should I say a fifth of Jack was passed around (of which I passed on).

Okay, yeah, now I give up. Anyway, overall it was fairly trouble free, aside from my cousin slapping me in the face, punching me in the gut, and tucking his feet in my armpit as he curled up in a ball to sleep – all within six minutes (I told you I’m stopping the number thing).

I recall talking to a stripper dancer woman at one of the stops extensively about this:

Like our purloined dispenser, except ours had sunflower seeds, peanuts, and Reese's Pieces. I think.

Someone in the group who will go nameless, but was prone to slapping and punching despite being sleepy, stole lifted a candy dispenser and someone else in the group got really upset about it.

The best man forbid a couple of women from joining the group on its road trip, which at the time, sounded like a bad idea to not let them, but hindsight being what it is, was simply a bad idea, so kudos to him. I can’t get too upset then that he had the bus drop him off directly at home.

Back at our original point of departure, I was done. Well, I was with it enough to eat a few Pizza Rolls.

I guess some of the other guys put the candy dispenser on top of the guy’s car that was getting upset. (Sure, he had a reason for being irritated, but it was meh at best.) I guess that inflamed him further and he smashed it on the ground. Someone else took it upon himself and completely busted it open. Quarters flew everywhere, and those who were still awake scooped them up.

The next morning, the three of us that drove together walked out into the gloomy daybreak. I spotted a crapload of quarters that went unclaimed. My reply: “I would like to say that if I was a kid right now, seeing this would make me happy as hell. But as an adult, I can’t say that I feel any different. I’m not too proud to crouch long enough to pick up a few dollars.”

My cousin and I gathered about ten bucks each. My friend with us had already grabbed about ten bucks the night before…

In My Brain While Sleeping… Animal Fights – GO!

Posted on May 13, 2009 by sgottahurt

I must confess. That header probably indicates way more excitement than my actual dream entailed. What made this dream stay with me was the fact that it was so unbelievably dumb, it awakened me giggling. It wasn’t laughing, it wasn’t chortling… it was merely tee-hee.

The fight in question: Blowfish vs. Starfish.

(Sort of) Artistic Representation

Now where could this dream have originated in my subconscious? It could have been from watching this preview:

Not only is Renegade the star, but Deborah/Debbie Gibson is Acting! in this CGI monstrosity as well? Sign me up! (You see, Debbie Gibson is my first concert experience and an early crush… *blush*)

How about some other animal fight options?

Bee vs. Jumping Spider
Barn Owl vs. Rat(creeeeepy)
Giraffe vs. Giraffe
Buffalo vs. Lion vs. Crocodile
Monkey vs. Dog
Bear vs. Shark
Zombie vs. Shark (third time on this site!)
Man vs. Wild vs. Hoax

INGREDIENTS: A sole chicken finger from the bar and lotsa agua.

If Only This Really Existed… (BTW Happy Mom’s Day, Mom!)

Posted on May 10, 2009 by sgottahurt

The plan for celebrating today, a.k.a. Mother’s Day, is this:

Finish this post.
Call Mom and tell her to check out this post.
During phone call, tell her I hope she likes the Forever Postage Stamps I bought her, and let her know that while the leftover pizza I took from her home was fine, the macaroni and cheese had some mold on it. I ate it anyway, yesterday, and I’m still standing today, sooo… Yeah, I also finished a four-year old box of Cheerios this morning and no gastric problems, sooo…
So, yeah, Mom, if you’re reading this – HAPPY MOM’S DAY! And if the product in the video below actually existed, I would have surely bought you one, probably without asking the other three to chip in. Probably.

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Drunken Recollection… Of The Cable Kind (Update)

Posted on May 9, 2009 by sgottahurt

(EMBARRASSING UPDATE: I was up for 24 hours. I may have a problem…)

How I feel right now... just waiting for tomorrow's hangover.

My daze is waning. My day is fading. I finally have high-speed access to the TripleDoubleU at home once again, and in addition to that, I’ve added cable to the package.

Mmmm, cable… it was one of the few things that got me out of the house besides trivia and drinking and sports and drinking. My friends and family had it, and I’d often visit them to partake in its offerings. I’ll miss them.

So far, I’ve caught up on back episodes of Survivor. I’ve managed to get through The Onion Movie as well as Whacked Out Videos(gah!) on G4. The latest: I’m finishing up the Top 100 One-Hit Wonders of the 80’s on VH1 Classic, even though I know the results of the list. The reason being we discussed this the other day at the bar.

JusWondering… Can You Get Drunk Off Milk?

Posted on May 4, 2009 by sgottahurt

For the month of May I’ve decided to cut out some of the things that have made my life worth living… Taco Bell, Mt. Dew, beer, um, Taco Bell, Mt. Dew, and beer, yeah…

So far, four days in, I’ve managed to keep up with the plan and maintain the social habits in which my usuals are consumed.

Friday – MGM Casino and Detroit Tigers’ game (drunk kids behind us would have been more fun had I also been smashed)
Saturday – My brother’s play (totally would have drank afterwards normally, but it was actually really entertaining)
Sunday – My friend’s softball game (I’m the scorekeeper, usually armed with a pen in one hand and a beer in the other)
Today – 80’s Night at Comerica Park (booze fest, natch)

Yet alas, here I am, prodding through with my plan, having nightmares about caving in and drinking Mt. Dew (seriously), getting tempted like crazy.

But something strange has been occurring the last few nights. As I sit down on my couch to prepare for a late night, pre-bedtime viewing of TV shows on DVD (just finished the hilarious It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia… Burn Notice is next), I’ve been partaking of a glass or two of low fat organic milk. And after drinking that second glass, I’ve been feeling a wee bit tipsy.

So I decided to investigate if this was a phenomenon, or merely something in my head. I remember in the short-lived comic book, X-Nation 2099, the mutants would get drunk off of milk. So why can’t I?

Apparently babies can get drunk off of breast milk. In Japan. Of course.

There are many cases of infantile beriberi (kakke) in Japan.In most instances the mother of the afflicted infant has beriberi.However, sometimes the mother is healthy (concealed beriberi).Ito observed such a case in which the mother did not have beriberiand called the condition “mother’s milk intoxication.” But heafterward changed this name to “breast milk intoxication” becausehe saw cases in babies who were nourished with the milk of wet-nurses.

PETA wants us to drink beer and wine, and not milk. Of course.

PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) is very provocative in its media campaign about milk, but it is correct in its message. Beer is indeed better than milk for health, as are both wine and distilled spirits.

Doing too many shots of milk produces the same result as too many shots of liquor:
Bill Murray drinks a glass of warm milk before he goes to bed.

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Drunken Recollection… Return Of The Hangover

Posted on April 23, 2009 by sgottahurt

On the taxi ride from Tom’s Restaurant back to East Village, Steve passed out quickly, and not soon after, I followed suit. Tim bid us farewell, and I remained awake for our ride back to Midtown. The taxi that narrowly missed crashing into the backseat where I was sitting probably helped…

EPISODE VI
RETURN OF THE HANGOVER

Upon reaching our final destination without reaching the final destination, Steve decided he wanted some more food. I think I agreed. We remembered seeing a Taco Bell on our way to the pizzeria the day before, so we ambled forth in search of late night seasoned beef and cheese and tortillas and rice…

The next morning, after awakening in our dirty Snuggies, we tried recalling the run for the border. We remembered that it was more like a regular deli that had a Taco Bell in the back. The Taco Bell was closed, yet the front remained in business. Weird. Steve didn’t think he purchased any food, and I cannot confirm or deny that fact, but I do know he inquired about it.

Steve – “How much for pizza?”

Worker – “$3.50 a slice.”

Steve – “I’ll give you three for a half.”

The rest is fuzzy, and so was Steve. He wasn’t feeling too hot on the morning of our ride home, whereas this time, I felt fine. Upon learning of my faux pas regarding the hot dog joint/secret bar, we made the decision to seek it out properly before leaving. We had to know if it truly did exist.

So on the way to the subway station at Times Square, we stopped at this place to get cupcakes:

"No doubt that bakery’s got all da bomb frostins/ I love those cupcakes like McAdams loves Gosling." RIP "The Notebook" Love

While outside enjoying “da bomb frostins,” we bore witness to a scene straight out of Police Academy. A short cop was surrounded by tall European women, in their late teens to mid-twenties (with an elder or two over-seeing them), and he was posing for pictures with them.

There were well over a dozen of them (a baker’s dozen?), and he had to make sure there was variety in his stylings. When Steve and I walked into Magnolia, he was letting them put on his hat and hold his night stick. When we were eating, he was fastening handcuffs on one of the girls. I just imagined that if he was called for an emergency, he’d leave her behind locked up.

From there, we took the subway to Union Square, and met up with Tim and Mike again. Tim was excited and had this to say:

I’ve finally made a union with someone at Union Square.

Anyhotdog, our final mission before leaving NYC was to locate this secret bar. It was not far from our point of departure the night before, and here’s what we found:

Not too be confused with Mark's Place.

Once inside, I stared at the counter of the narrow establishment seeking out the phone booth that would lead us to the bar called P.D.T. (Please Don’t Tell). I turned left, and there it was:

Get Smart... or Superman?

I pushed open the door, and the guy behind the counter told me it didn’t open until six. Bummer city.

Lift the receiver and wait for approval to enter the secret bar.

We ordered some dogs. I had mine made Seattle-style, in honor of this upcoming weekend’s trip. (It’s cream cheese on a hot dog in a bun.) From there, we made our way back to Madison Square Garden and Penn Station. And from there back to Newark, and then back

toward

home.

*sniff*

Drunken Recollection… The Empire Snuggies Back

Posted on April 22, 2009 by sgottahurt

In the middle of the night, a strange cough – that sounded distinctly male – startled me awake. I was passed out in a queen-size bed with my cousin Steve. We were in a hotel in New York City recovering from a long day of travelling and a longer night of drinking.

…And we were each wearing a Snuggie.

EPISODE V
THE EMPIRE SNUGGIES BACK

The pub crawl on which the trip was focused was starting at noon. It was ten when we started moving. Steve kept mentioning how well he felt; I kept quiet about how much I was not. We had set our sights on getting back to East Village by noon, but our first mission was to stop at the store to buy a vital item.

Steve called them safety pins; I referred to them as diaper pins. Steve thought we could find them at Staples; I thought that was funny. To be honest, I wasn’t even sure if they were still made. Was there a need for diaper pins anymore? (Safety pins? Maybe.) And why did we need them? We each had grown fond of our Snuggies and didn’t want to ruin them. (Oh, and we ended up finding some at Walgreen’s. They weren’t by the baby supplies, but amazingly, condoms were. Hmm.)

We had a plan to carry the three Snuggies we possessed in a backpack, and to don them as required (the third was Mike’s – another friend that was coming in from DC for his birthday). It was New York though, and we probably could have worn them the entire way from Midtown, but… well, I don’t have a clever excuse. I guess we weren’t 100% convinced the Snuggie Pub Crawl was real, and didn’t want to be left out in the cold heat (it was such a nice day… 70+ degrees).

Our first stop was the sign-up location. We had purchased four tickets in advance (even though we thought it might not be real we used credit card information on the web… go figure), and on the train ride over, Steve verified the first bar stop on those four tickets. When we arrived at the sign-up, Steve checked his pockets.

“I have some bad news.” Apparently, somewhere between checking them on the subway and walking to this bar, the printed up sheets fell out and blew away. We weighed our options. We thought of alternatives. They guy told us we needed tickets, and we didn’t want to have to purchase them again. Luckily, he accepted viewing the receipts on my iPhone, gave us four tickets and four cups (Tim from Episode IV would be also joining us), and we arrived at our first official spot:

Bar None: The Fun Begins

Now properly attired in our blankets with sleeves and with full crew in tow, the drinking began. The three of them were off in a mad dash, but I was limping. Mike put it best:

The days that start off slow very often end in a hurry.

Now I’ll let some pictures do the talking.

Needless to say – some drinks were poured, some drinks were spilled, some conversation was had, and the Yankees got blown out by the Indians! All-in-all, the crawl was a success. But the night was not yet finished…

———————————————————————–

Over the course of the day, I had received information about a secret place. The specifications were these:

It was a hot dog joint in Manhattan.
This hot dog joint had a “secret bar” located within it.
To access this “secret bar” you had to enter a phone booth and pick up the receiver to enter.
The location I was texted stated: 113 St Marks Pl

Here’s where my hubris caused an issue (and maybe drinking… maybe). I thought I understood the lay the island, and I took the location to mean “113 St. @ Marks Place”… not what it said. And the little torn brochure map I carried with me cut off around 110 St. at the the top, so how could I be wrong? Birthday boy Mike passed out at Tim’s place (near East Village), and Steve, Tim, and I made our drunken way out to the fictional 113 St. and Marks Place.

The taxi driver didn’t even correct us, and brought us to 113 St. and Broadway, way up on the west end. As I approached the waterfront, I stumbled into a closing bakery.

“Excuse me, do you know where Marks Place is?”

The confused baker answered, “He probably lives down by the river.”

As we brewed and stewed and reviewed my mistake, something caught my eye down the road. It wasn’t a wasted trip after all! This is where we had a late night burger before returning to home base (to pass out in our dirty Snuggies in a queen-size bed):

"Doo doo doo doo, doo doo-doo-doo..." - Suzanne Vega / "Tippy toes, tippy toes, tippy toes!" - George Costanza

Drunken Recollection… New York: The Saga Continues…

Posted on April 21, 2009 by sgottahurt

Okay, so where was I? Ah yes. On Wall Street, which was under construction. We were looking for the giant bull statue for the hell of it, even though we (Steve and I) were unsure if there was a giant bull statue in New York. (There is… but we couldn’t find it.)

Around this time, I finally got to hear the voice of a fellow blogger (we’d eventually meet up later during my trek through East Village). Our phones were running lower on energy than we were, so we decided in order to make it through whatever the night held in store for us, functioning electronics seemed important, and we returned to home base.

At the hotel, we plugged in our cells and due to the lack of sleep (this will be explained in the prequels), the Snuggies (this will be explained in the sequel) and bed were mighty tempting. Yes, I typed “bed” with no “s.” They only had a queen available (which I should probably specify is a bed size, seeing as how people might have preconceived notions about NYC). Apparently, a four-star hotel according to Hotwire consists of this criteria: if they don’t have a pair of twins available (again – bed size), they’ll give you each a cookie. A cookie that was prepared earlier in the day. Possibly for the continental breakfast’s dessert?

But I digress, and as such, our digestive systems had processed those cookies long ago, so dinner sounded like a plan. We asked the concierge to recommend a pizzeria (one that served booze was our only criteria). He recommended one nearby – Angelo’s, on 55th and 2nd. (Don’t I sound all local-y? My confidence in understanding the map of the city ultimately proved to be a bit too confident. Sequel…)

We ordered the flat-bread pizza and $6 beers. Steve quickly learned that when the choices for $6 beers are Bud, Bud Light, and Bass Ale, you choose Bass Ale. As we ate, we eyed the happy hour going on across the street ($3 beers!), and as soon as we finished, we headed over there for a few more (choices: Miller Lite, MGD, Sam Adams? Sam Adams, of course!) and then back to the hotel to retrieve our banes of existence means of communication.

We headed toward Central Park to await our first fellow bar hopper – another Steve. As we wandered the streets, we passed the bridge that Spider-Man battled on with the cable cars (I’m soooo cultured), and I missed the entirety of the quiet beauty that was the sunset that night.

As we began slinking in and out of a plethora of East Village bars, our group’s number grew to four with Tim, and five with Evan. Eventually my fellow blogger met up with us after a lot of phone- and text-tagging, which was cool. The hookah joint we were waiting to get into was taking too long, so we headed to another bar that carded people for some reason (nowhere else did). In the sorta dark, sorta empty, martini-ish bar (what would be the opposite of a hole-in-the-wall?) we ended up at, I brought up Lost, I investigated something weird on the table with my fingertip (thankfully it was Guinness foam), and I think I even mentioned Twilight (the movie – not the book, as if that makes a difference). Oh yeah… wonderful, wonderful Guinness was ordered around. One guy selected a bottle of wine “with one glass.” And mussels somehow ended up on the table.

Members of our group started parsing off at that point. I recall a sliver of a diner that was stopped at by the solo wine drinker and that it amazingly carried no smell whatsoever, good or bad. And somehow Steve and I made it back to home base. (Taxi? Subway? Feet?)

I’m beginning to feel like this may be Uncle Sean’s Drunk Story Time all over again… So much more to go!