alcohol

Drunken Recollection… Tron And Lil’ Wayne = Cheese And Whine

Posted on by sgottahurt

I’m no fashionista.  (I even felt uncomfortable writing that word.)  I don’t dress in the latest fashions (if Target or Kohl’s ever become haute couture, I’ll be set).  I don’t even wear a suit to formal affairs (I have my standard white dress shirt, random tie, black pants, and until someone called me out on wearing a certain vest to their wedding – a certain vest).

So please do not judge me as I judge another.  My sisters always said it’s 10% what you wear and 90% your attitude (I think they borrowed liberally from another saying), but there was this guy at the bar that made some choices, and then some additional choices on top of those, and… well, let me explain.

First off, he was in mid- to late-twenties, and he was wearing a hooded sweatshirt bearing what I call “a Tron pattern.”

(Not So) Artistic Representation

(Not So) Artistic Representation

Which on its own, I guess, would be fine and dandy (I shall never write that phrase again).  But he could have worn something akin to this, instead:

Boba Swett...shirt

Boba Swett...shirt

And he would have pulled off the look a bit better.  But he also could have actually gone to this extreme like this guy:

Does he Master Controller to Tron?

Does he Master Controller to Tron?

Yet I’m not done.  The sweatshirt was a few sizes too small, as it tapered and adhered to his arms.  A bad choice on its own, but forgivable if he opted NOT TO WEAR THE HOOD.  It was snug on his noggin, and seemed to pull up the shirt underneath as well.

So what? you might be thinking.  He can just put down the hood.  My response: then why doesn’t he pull up the back of his pants!  He had them purposely draped below his gray boxer briefed bum, as his leather belt held them firmly there.  My friend, Jess, thought he might not know, but I knew he knew.  It was another in a long line of bad choices.

The coup de grace for me was when my friend Devin was doing karaoke of Lil’ Wayne’s “A Milli” (which is a dumb song, btw, with some of the worst lyrics… check them out after the jump).  This too-small-Tron-hoodie-wearing, non-boxer-pants-sagging doofus jumped up to sing with him, and he couldn’t keep up!  He ruined it for Devin.  Oh well.  Like I said, who am I to judge… in my 90’s X-Men tee and skaterboi jeans with the cuffs rolled up.

(SIDE RANT: What’s the appeal of Lil’ Wayneanyway?  Is he big merely for the fact he may have been the first to integrate electronica with rap?  Why couldn’t he be a nice, clean cut guy like Chris Brown, and get cozy with a sweetheart like Rihanna?)

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InASense, Lost… What Is It With Kids These Days

Posted on by sgottahurt

When I was just a wee lad back in the day (I’m prepping for St. Paddy’s), it was awful fun for the adults give kids a sip of beer and watch their reactions.  I’m the oldest boy of all the cousins on my father’s side, and for quite awhile I was the only boy (my brother broke the streak when I was nine… there were nine girls and me… ever notice how the more girls there are, the higher the octave of screeching goes?)

What I’m getting at is it wasn’t uncommon for my elders to make me the butt of the joke.  Some might have thought it would encourage drinking, but I never took a sip of alcohol (not counting my relatives’ pranks) until I turned 19 and could legally do so in Canada.  My other tendencies in alluded-to innocence: I was more interested in Nintendo than IN-tendo (if you catch my innuendo), smoking was a disgusting habit my parents had and I swore I would never have, and drugs… well, I’d stick only to any of the natural kind.

But nowadays, you have 13 year olds becoming fathers…

…parents pulling new tricks on their kids for laughs (and filming it and putting it on YouTube… “Thanks Dad… what are you, like, thirteen, or something?”)…

…or teaching their kids to be pretty good at smoking.

Vodpod videos no longer available.

more about “Everybody Freak Out About This Toddle…“, posted with vodpod

 

I guess you could always over indulge your child and baby them so they can become insulated and protected from the rest of the world (read: spoiled), that they never have to deal with R|E|A|L|I|T|Y.  Heaven forbid someone take their Cloudsong…

Drunken Recollection… I’m Drunker The Smarter I Get

Posted on by sgottahurt

Last night, I had the first confirmation of a theory I’ve long held to be true.  It’s not quite a Theory Sheet level theory (yet), and the jury is still out on whether or not it’s repeatable, but I’ve at least found an available and consistent means to test it.

The Theory: Thinking while drinking makes you smarter.

power-speed-chute

I was going to describe how the parachutes are like beer and the running is like thinking, but the picture makes me laugh for some reason, so I'll write nothing but this.

 The Test: Brain Age 2 for the Nintendo DS

Basically, two nights ago, I dug out my DS because I didn’t feel like turning on my TV and PS3 to play a video game to fall asleep.  Brain Age 2 was in there and since I didn’t feel like changing that out (I was tired… and a little lazy), I gave it a go.  It was a sober night, and I was rated a Brain Age of 54.

Last night, I had a good five drinks in me as I went to bed.  I pulled out the ol’ DS one more time and I was rated a Brain Age of 34.  That’s a substantial gain, especially when considering my average was previously 53. 

I knew it!

The big question that remains: Do I have to stay drunk to stay smarter?

Drunken Recollection… Drinking Math Still Sucks

Posted on by sgottahurt

Math is fun (yeah, right).  And as I’ve mentioned before, drinking math is not.

So today, I’m just going to lay out some basic numbers when it comes to me and my imbibing.

  • Number of miles that I’m able to handle a hangover: 21.44
  • Maximum number of hours I can handle working: 6.5
  • Maximum number of hours I can handle drinking: 8
  • Percentage of beer left in bottle before I order next bottle: 50
  • Number of days per week I’m at the bar: 4
  • Number of days per weekend I’m at the bar: 1
  • Average time I should stay at each bar on St. Patrick’s Day: 2
  • Amount of bars I would like to visit on St. Patrick’s Day: 6
  • Amount of bars I will actually visit on St. Patrick’s Day: 3, tops

Also, here’s a chart I made based on many experiences:

Dmitri Martin eat your Taco Bell heart out!

Demetri Martin eat your Cheesy Double Beef Burrito out!

Drunken Recollection… Late Night Repo’s Are Buzzkills

Posted on by sgottahurt

The weekend was a jam-packed one, and it didn’t leave me much time for any kind of self-reflection and intellectual introspection that I usually reserve for this blog.  (Yeah, right.)  Let me rewind the events of the weekend to get to Friday, a random night where not much happened other than random things…

vvrp verp Car dealership, free car battery under warranty during oil change vrip vrap Work day spent finishing weekend work vrrp vvip Trivia comeback to no win during NHL All-Star game where there were no Red Wings plus Pistons barely lose to Rockets vvvp Ate out at Chili’s vvvp Visited Grams vvvp Met up old friends Saturday night vvvp After working vvvp After nursing hangover… click clack… CLUNK

Okay, rewinding was about as exciting as the Twitter experiment (again, yeah right)… Basically, on Friday, my brother was working in a speakeasy, so to speak.  It was an interactive play that took place during the 20’s, that acted as a fundraiser for a local theatre troop.  I passed the goons guarding the door using the password that not many guessed.

Re-enactment:

Goon: “What’s the password?”

Me: “What.”

Goon: “You may enter.”

My other family members worked the open bar so in my double-fisting of rum and cokes, the ratio of everything went like this:

PLASTIC < COKE < ICE < HANDS < RUM

In turn, this lead to me achieving a sufficient level of what I call “Wedding Drunk” (it’s a different form of “Superhero Drunk” and fodder for a future post).  As the festivities wound down, the group I was with headed to a local hole-in-the-wall bar, where I proceded to karaoke a Weezer song after my cousin Steve ignited the party with his rendition of “Sweet Caroline” (also fodder for another post).

My brother was absent from this collection of the acting troupe, and our rides were kicked out for being trashed (well, at least Richie was the one deemed smashed out of the Venessa and Jess Trifecta).  Steve and I were left behind with the Actors! and someone else offered to drive us to an afterparty once the bar started closing.

(SIDE STORY: Steve had spotted one woman earlier in the night that made him proclaim – “She will be flashing her breasts at some point tonight.”  He was right.  The things you learn while away at college.)

To be honest, I have never seen such a magnificent driver as Kate, a.k.a. She who drove Steve and I elsewhere.  While searching for Toto’s Africa and Asia’s Heat of the Moment on her Zune, her path never waivered – not one bit.  We were going to drive to her house to pick up her dog, but we kept driving around through a subdivision and eventually ended up at the final destination.  We wondered why we didn’t stop and get the dog.  Kate’s answer:

My boyfriend was there.

Around 3am, the repo man showed up and took our gracious host’s truck.  Major buzzkill.  We called for a taxi.  (They hung up on us repeatedly while we were trying to figure out where we were.)  We parted ways with the Actors! around 4am.  I b.s.’d with the bald driver of the Chrysler 300 about life, politics, the universe, and religion, and ate macaroni and cheese once back at the Trifecta’s homebase.

In closing… Viva la Wedding Drunk!  Boo-Hiss Repo Men!

Happy Find… CanIDoBetter?

Posted on by sgottahurt

This website is a treat.  I’m working while hungover.  Have fun.

Oh, it’s called CanIDoBetter?  Just keep clicking that name.  Need a nap.

I think I can do better, btw…

I may need to do more research before making that decision.

I may need to do more research before making that decision.

(via 89X FM)

Sober Recollection… Going, Gothic, Gone!

Posted on by sgottahurt

Last night I went out for my friend, Jenny’s, 30th birthday.  We went to a goth industrial night club in Detroit called the (Leland) City Club:
Like Blade rave minus vampires and blood shower, I think

Like the rave in "Blade" minus vampires and blood shower, I think

We arrived late by my standards (courtesy of the snow and collected company), but it’s primarily an afterhours spot, so to the regulars, we were probably early.  Since it was midnight, I could have either pounded as many bottles as possible, or keep my mind clear for people watching.  Speaking of clear…

  • Upon arrival, I thought “I’ll keep my mind clear,” and I saw a dude in a clear shirt.  Then a grand woman passed by that put the BOOST in bustier, and I thought, “Biiiig.”  Then a woman no taller than 4′ followed her, and I thought, “Smaaaall.”
  • On the telly above the bar, this scene from “Superbad” was playing.  Notice the wound on McLovin’s cheek at the end… is it CGI?  It sure looks like it was digitally added, and I never noticed until last night:
  • A woman sat on a dude’s lap in the corner, straddling and facing him.  There was no movement, per sé, but I wondered if they were doing the deed.  I brought this up to another friend, Lisa, and she suspected the same.  It wasn’t until moments later that I saw them both smoking side-by-side that my suspicions were confirmed.
  • The electric chandelier above us had energy-efficient coiled black light bulbs:

Like this, but purple
Like this, but purple
  • There was a dude that looked like an elf, and a dude/dudette (?) that looked like an anime character, amongst many other things.  I pondered what percentage of people here partook in the Renaissance Festival (nice alliteration… at least the first part).  Since two people in our group of eleven had, it was fare to assume they weren’t alone.
  • I wasn’t surprised to find out that I knew some of the music (Ministry, Depeche Mode).  I was surprised to smell fabric softener coming off someone’s black hoodie with the anarchy logo on it:
Smells like Snuggle

Smells like Snuggle

  • I learned that my brain may be wired like that of a moth, as my eyes were wont to follow any bright light in the form of glow sticks, light up yoyos, and a shirt like this (the sound bars actually moved):
See the music, taste the light!

See the music, taste the light!

  • Finally, my nerdery outstepped itself by conjuring up reference to an obscure “Star Wars” character no one in my group knew, as there was a guy who looked exactly like this, save the green pigmentation… and his hair was in a bun:
"How do I get to Detroit? Is it on Hoth?"

"How do I get to this... Detroit? Is it on Hoth?"

(Sorry BillyGoatBluff, but it was another sober night.)

So Long, And Don’t Let The Automatic Door Hit You On The Way Out!

Posted on by sgottahurt

Asta La Windows Vista, Baby!

Asta La Windows Vista, Baby!

The hell hole that stole my soul will finally be no more.  Circuit Shitty is set to close it’s remaining 567 stores by the end of March, and it’s website will shut down today.

Why do I have such disdain for the retail store?  Let me count the ways:

  1. I took the job to avenge my sister – I should have known better.  I had recently moved back from L.A. where I worked at a Best Buy.  There, they had taught me that “Circuit City” was the enemy and “working for commission” was evil.  As the DVD market was beginning to grow, I remember us laughing about the ridiculous plan CC had in motion to develop DIVX (more on this in a moment).  My sister, Tammie, had opened store #3604 back home, and she had been complaining about a manager that kept hitting on her/harrassing her.  She refused to take action so I got a job there to make sure it stopped.  It did.  That manager ended up helping me make a lot of money, so he ended up being an all right guy.  Cursed Southern salesmanship!  (NOTE: To be read as “curs-ed”… not “curst”… thanks.)
  2. It elevated my lifestyle.  When I started there in August of ’98, working in the SOHO department (Small Office Home Office), I made something like $700 my first full-commission week.  The next week, I made $1oo more, and the next – $200.  I had worked at a medical center prior to BB, and at BB, I was the Media Department’s Senior (which is a splash above regular).  This money influx was amazing.  There were days I could make my week’s pay that day.  I spent more than I saved.  And it took me a long time to break that habit, as well as another.
  3. It turned me to drinking excessively, amongst other things.  You see it in every movie: Tom Cruise, Matthew McConaughey, Giovanni Ribisi… they start making money and things *snap* start *snap* happening.  I had so much money I didn’t know what to do.  Couple this with the fact I worked at a nightclub Friday and Saturday nights… well, I didn’t do completely stupid things.  I just drank more than I even do now and partook in inhaling and occasionally ingesting certain types of vegetation…
  4. I had to make the sale.  No.  Matter.  What.  I never outrightly lied.  I may have slightly bent or tip-toed to the edge of what our service plans covered, but as long as I worked there, anyone that came in with a problem was taken care of by me.  Too bad I was only there for a year-and-a-half (too long).
  5. The DIVX Dupe.  For those of you only familiar with the media format, there used to be format with the same name.  The idea was you’d buy a disc for $4.50 and once you played it in your machine, you had access to it for 48 hours, after which you had the option to pay $15 more to permanently unlock it, or could “rent” it again for $3.  It put a DVD player in my house, but it was a dumb idea.  And I was forced to sell this product to every customer.  And since it was in the TV Department, all out wars broke out between SOHO and TV (because of the spiffs).  When it finally folded as a format, all the discs went on sale for a buck or two.  I bought pretty much every one.  They exist in a box in my basement and predicted my eventual DVD purchasing habit (I currently own over 1200).
  6. The CompuServe Rebate Ripoff.  For the first Christmas I worked, people had to save up to buy a home pc.  The cheapest complete system (14″ monitor, tower, printer, and of course – service plan) cost $1585.55 out the door, with something like $50-$100 in rebates.  I killed at selling this package, and it probably made me eighty-some bucks a pop.  The following August I spent backpacking in Europe and upon returning, the well had dried up.  The cheap machine boom was upon us (as was the looming Y2K fiasco), and at the center of the shitstorm laid the CompuServe rebate.  Anyone would get a $400 dollar rebate for signing a 3-year agreement to join the dial-up service at $21.95 per month, so everyone and their kitchen sink were coming in for the “FREE” pc.  Hardly any commission on that, and try to sell service plans I did – to no avail.  Where I had been swimming in cash at the end of ’98, I dove into an empty pool at the end of ’99.  I wouldn’t last many months more because in addition to making peanuts for pay (I was back down to $400 per week – the horror!), the quality of products we sold had also diminished.  This lead me to take a second job overnight at Target which brought me a great group of friends I still associate with to this day, so maybe Circuit City wasn’t that bad after all.

(I feel cleansed like this was some type of confession.  BB CCing you in hell!)

Another one buyts the dust...
Another one BUYts the dust…

Drunken Recollection… Recollecting Is Getting Harder To Do When Drunk

Posted on by sgottahurt

What in the heckity-yeckity is going on with my mind?  I can’t remember things as easily as I used to mere years ago.  I’d like to blame it on aging, but since I’m in denial of going through that, I may have to blame it on drinking (and no, I do not have a problem).

It’s especially bad when the memories corrupted are the ones that were at one time so automatic (it has not yet affected my corrupted memories, ifugetwutimsayin).

How could I forget such nerdery as the titles of these:

The Voyage, um, The Journey, uhh... The Something Something

The Voyage, um, The Journey, uhh... The Something Something

It's Something...tion, like Generations or Insurrection, right?

It's Something...tion, like Generations or Insurrection, right?

Couple that with the fact I could not get to that wrinkle in my brain where I stored the third film to my Rutger Hauer Awesome Crap Trilogy: “Blind Fury,” “Deadlock“/”Wedlock”, and ?

(The third is the original version of  “The Hitcher.”  “Ladyhawke” gets an honorable nod.)

Now, what was I talking about again?

Uncle Sean’s Story Time… When Red Wings Attack At The Bar!

Posted on by sgottahurt

Gather ’round, gather ’round, kiddies… it’s time for another one of Uncle Sean’s drunk stories… this is a tale about how to go out with a bang… or not to, depending on how you look at it…

After moving back to Michigan from Los Angeles, I was out of work but willing.  Your Aunt Becky worked at a night club in Royal Oak that I had frequented prior to leaving and during my return visits home.  They needed someone to run the pair of dance floor servant stations (and by run, I mean run back and forth and get ice and replenish other supplies).  I was their man.  This story isn’t so much about my first day (which happened to be an *NSync concert before they blew up… see SIDENOTE at bottom of post).  It’s about my last day working there (well, my first last day… I went back a couple more times to help or when I needed money).

I had announced to all it was my last day, and everyone was sad to see me go.  One of the order loaders arranged it so that I would get a bottled water filled with vodka so I could make drinks for myself through the night.  And partake of it, I did.

The funny thing about drinking while working in a night club is that people tip better when you’re on the same playing field as them.  I would help out the bartenders from time to time when I was slow and they were swamped.  This night was no exception.

A patron came up and ordered a shot called Red Wings.  “What’s that?” I asked.

“Cranberry juice and Jaeger,” she responded.  She ordered three shots.  I asked if one was for me, and she said to make it four.

Did I ever tell you Jaeger is my death nail?  Each of the liquors have a varying result in my actions, but they are consistent.  Jaeger is the anomaly.  Jaeger answers the next morning’s question – “Why did I do that?”

The woman came up shortly after that, and ordered another round.  Coupled with the screwdrivers I’d been downing, this is the last thing I recall.

Later, your Uncle Jay (who also worked there) and Becky would recount to me what followed.  As the night winds down, it’s my job to count out what items were left, to dump the ice trays, and do general cleaning.  I don’t know what time I disappeared, but Jay took care of my bars as well as his.

After the place closed up, my manager had a brainstorming session with Jay and Becky that went something like this:

“Perhaps he got in a fight, and the bouncers didn’t recognize him, and they threw him out?”

Jay and Becky shook their heads.

“Well maybe he met a girl and ditched this place with her?”

A pair of negatives again.  “That’s not the type of person he is,” Becky explained.

Jay piped in, “Check all the toilets.  He’s hugging one of them.”

Surely I was.  Upstairs, in the employee stalls.  Becky knocked on my door.  I remember that her voice sounded like an angel.

I pulled myself together and made my back to the main floor.  It turned out there was a concert the next day, and we had to set up all the chairs.  That was my penance.  If only that was the type of person I was…

MORAL OF THE STORY: Red Wings Team = good.  Red Wings Shots = bad.  Unless by “Shots” you mean “Scoring Attempts” then = good, again.

(SIDENOTE: Justin Timberlake and crew came out dressed in spaced suits to the Imperial Death Marchfrom “Star Wars.”  Their costumes made them look like the guys in colored hazmat suits in those old Intel commercials.  Girls had to be pulled out of the crowd from passing out.  Insane!  Who passes out at a night club anyway… never mind.)

Picture this, only worse.

Picture this, only worse.