thoughts on chapel hill

Yes, yes, by "tomorrow" of course I meant two weeks. Really, I will be back on the wagon soon.

The Old Well

For the second straight year, my first week of August was spent in Chapel Hill for a conference. I must say that, just as last year, I come away impressed and intrigued. On my first night in town, I texted to a friend over some late night pizza, "I really, really like bizarro Charlottesville!" I think that fairly epitomizes my opinion of the place. In general I view UNC-CH as a sort of bizarro UVA: two old, southern schools with fine reputations, classy academic programs, and great surrounding cities. Below I offer a subject-based comparison that help frame my understanding of the place.

Bar Scene: Franklin Street is Chapel Hill's answer to both the Corner and Downtown Mall. I really liked how all of the bars were along one axis at the perimeter of campus. Having both sides of the street dedicated to student revelry and gastronomy offers a distinct advantage over the Corner in the sense that it creates a virtual hyphydrome when there are a lot of people out on the town. Or when a national championship is won (not that UVA would know anything about that in a sport that people care about). The tendency of bars to charge a cover most nights was very perplexing to those of us used to bar-hopping on the Corner. The practice effectively locks folks into staying at one or two places for the whole night, but that is not too bad considering that these $3 charges typically give you access to some pretty sweet drink specials. Overall, I would I have to say that I enjoyed myself immensely each and every night I went out and hope to go back and prowl Franklin Street once more.

Campus: I found the architecture of most of the buildings on the main part of campus to be rather attractive, despite the lack of an overall theme. I think being from Virginia has me spoiled: each of the major schools here seem to have a certain look or profile to their buildings; UVA has its red brick, W&M has its pale brick, VT has its trademark Hokie Stone, and JMU has bluestone from a local quarry. I think having buildings with different styles and looks adds to the appeal of a campus and helps to give each building its own identity. Unfortunately, the campus shared something with the aforementioned schools: a smattering of buildings that were clearly designed in the 60s and 70s - completely hideous affairs with thin windows and jarring facades. Bleh. Overall, a rousing thumbs up for the scenery. I found it comparable to the beauty of its bizarro younger sister in Charlottesville.

Student Body: Now I am going to admit straight out that I am basing this judgement solely upon the group of kids I met during this conference and those few others that I knew before that are students/alums. I must say that on the whole I like what I see. The people there seem to be similar to folks you would find at UVA, except without the d-baggery and big-headedness that comes with being labeled the "top public school in the nation." (To their credit, the Berkeley kids were pretty chill about their school's prestige.) They definitely know they are the shit in NC (as far as publics go) and don't let others forget... they avoid being rich about it, though, which I definitely appreciated. I meet some really cool folks, and it kind of makes me wonder what life would have been like had I gone to this school (assuming I got in of course, which is a pretty big assumption considering you have to be a fucking baller to get in out of state).

Overall, I must say that I found Chapel Hill to be a rather charming place. The town, the campus, the people... all fit together to make UNC-CH one of those places I have a "school crush" on. Good on ya, Carolina.

threestripes revival

Last post was over a month ago at this point, but it's not as if I have not been thinking about the blog. I believe that my lack of blogging has been due to the erratic nature of my schedule (touring across the state mixed in with variable, odd, and time-consuming tasks) and the fact that when I have had free time, I have not really felt a huge urge to bloviate on any interesting topics. I have been reading some books, following events in the soccer/political world, and researching law schools, so I think my source material is getting to the tipping point where I will absolutely have to write about something to sort everything out.

Check back for a new, exciting post tomorrow!

not dead, just away for a while

I realize its been way, wayyyy too long since my last post, yet the drought will continue until around June 8. After that, when I am bound to have much more time on my hands, there will be a return to form for the ol' blog.

snow pictures

Today was day one of a supposed two and a half day snowstorm here in FroRo. With the giddiness of a small child upon hearing the news of the school closures, I went outside and snapped a few photos of the quaint snowy scenery. Enjoy!

What time is it? Who cares? Its certainly not time for school!

Its really coming down out there!

Look at that plow job! Looks like we won't be going to school again until the spring thaw!

rain day

Nothing too long today, except to share my thoughts on this Rain Day that the superintendent (supernintendo?) of WCPS has blessed upon me:

- Rain Day? Really? Although I can't complain with the lack of school today, I must say that I am disappointed in what mother nature has attempted to throw in our direction. There were calls for significant weather maladies and as of yet, all I can tell is that there was a sight glazing of ice on the trees early this morning. Maybe next time it will be a real snow day.

- Watching the Congressional Inauguration was a blast. CSPAN is a truly underrated channel. While the other news networks had the usual talking heads blabbering over a live feed from the House and Senate chambers, the CSPANs had unadulterated broadcasts from the chambers, which I appreciated immensely. It was especially fun watching the Senate proceedings, where the newly sworn-in senators had to sign the Oath Book. Now that might not sound funny prima facie, but it actually was entertaining becasue you could easily route out the veterans from the n00bs. The vets knew that the clerk who was helping them sign the book was offering them their own sentate pen to keep as a memento, but the rofln00bz0rs kept trying to give the pen back, as if they hadn't been observing everyone else keeping the pen! Our nation's finest leaders!

- Washing comforters is a pain in the ass and wasteful of my valuable quarters.

- Being sick, also not so good.

- I could go for another one of these inclement weather days tomorrow.

smell, et al.

Samuels Public Library: where the most trifling denizens of FroRo congregate when the other vagabond spots are closed.

Now, I am not one to talk. I consider the library one of the places I can most often be found aside from my home and school. I like the fact that it has free internet, many interesting books, and a great library staff that is both helpful and polite (not like most of the librarians I have come across in my life).

But I am nothing like the rest of the people that come here. I have often described the people who frequent the library as the dregs of FroRo society, and I think today is a day that proves my point unlike any other. Just moments ago, as I walked in, I noticed two things about the current state of the library: 1) that there were a lot of people here and 2) holy shit it smelled like burnt rubber and ass! As I gathered more information about the scene, I realized that these two facts were intimately correlated, as the vast majority of people in here were some of the fattest, most unkempt looking fuckers I have ever laid eyes upon. The typical cast of characters were all here, namely the Waddler, the Quiet Studying Girl (not trifling for the record, but an established regular), Snoring Old Man, and the Beard Brigade, but this time they brought their families and friends it seemed. So many stained, raggedy shirts! So many people queued for access to computers to check their MySpace! So much BODY ODOR.

As a result, I am here blogging from a carrel in the far recesses of the library. Away from all of the malodorous nonsense going on in the main area. I pray that the cloud of evaporated plebian sweat will not reach me before I can do what I need to do and get out of here.

drops of gold

I just forked out $60 for 5 ml of Zymar. $12 a ml if you do the math. No wonder this shit has a yellow hue... IT MUST BE GOLD IN SOLUTION.

Fuck. My health plan SUCKS.

I really hope at the end of the treatment I am left with x-ray or laser vision. Thats the only way this little piece of shit bottle could be worth SIXTY FUCKING DOLLARS.

iphone blogging

I just figured out how blog from the silly bazilly iPhone. Obviously this is an inferior way of keeping up with the blog, but it's an intriguing option.

I'm also thinking about doing a color reformat of the site... any
thoughts from readers would be welcome.

sweet caroline's

This weekend harbored a significant event in my FroRo life: my first night on the town in Winchester. Winchester is kind of a big deal around these parts, it plays the role of the "big city" in Northwestern Virginia (or the Valley as the natives call it) with a host of treats for the people who flock here from the hinterlands. The resplendent Apple Blossom Mall hosts many fine shops in its single story, the decadent downtown has a handful top flight bars and clubs, and Shenandoah University serves as a beacon of knowledge to all who dare gaze upon it. All in all, Winchester sure is the shit.

I happened to sample some of the night life of Winchester, the bar known as Sweet Caroline's (dun dun dun, like the song), for one of my coleagues' 29th birthday bonanza. I was the DD, so while the drinks were flowing for everyone else, I was there to make sure that everyone got home safe and without vomiting all over their nice going out clothes. Mind you that "everyone" and "their" refers to the group of twentysomething teachers I was with, who were all out to have a good time - to jam out with their clam out as one of them put it - at the club of clubs in downtown Winchester.

With such high expectations, I was sure that I was going to be let down by the reality of the place. And at first, I think I was. There wasn't much dancing going on, the average age of the people at the bar seemed to be about 56 (this number was skewed by the presence of a man we all agreed was over the age of 85) and the mood seemed to be a shade under subdued. But as the third and fourth drinks started to hit people's bloodstreams, and as the younger types filed in from their raucus pregames (no doubt fueled by the victory of local favorites Virginia Tech), the mood seemed to lighten overall and the real party got underway.

From this gathering, I learned three critical lessons:

1) If I ever get to the point where I am over 30 and trying to pick women up in a bar, I hope that my friends and family have the good sense and kindness of heart to put me down old Yeller style.

2) When a fiftysomething soulful black woman starts grinding up on you, all you can do is grind back. Its truly the only acceptable course of action. And when she reaches around for your junk? Well, you better hope that the previously mentioned grinding has had the appropriate (read: deflating) effect on the package. Otherwise you could be in for some trouble.

3) To be considered worth a second look by women at a Winchester bar, you must be wearing a hat. Preferably with a nascar number on it or the letters "VT". God help you if you are using it to cover up your baldness, though.


Those are the distilled facts garnered from my night on the town. I could provide more in the way of narrative, but I think that those points really highlight much of what I learned out there. I will be sure to post more findings once my research develops further.

first day

My first day at school was yesterday, and it was dominated by a singular, week-defining event:

The EYE BUG CATASTROPHE!!!!111

The story goes as follows:
It was around 9:48 or so (it was a very lax day, the kids had no use for college guidance on a day when they were learning where all of their classes were), when I started to rub my right eye. Typically, this process is known as 'rubbing the sleep out of ones eyes’, which at this boring and relatively early juncture of the day was exactly my plan. Typically this part of the eye is full of goodies, you know eye crust and the like. As I rubbed, though, I noted that my particular treasure this time was a lot bigger in mass and queer in texture as compared to the standard issue I typically get. As I rolled this treat down my cheek and collected it on my finger, I noticed something… horrific. Something so shocking that I am pretty sure I jumped out of my seat and shrieked.

What was this ghastly discovery?

Nothing other than a GREEN BUG. Yes, there on the tip of my finger was green insect of about 3 mm in length and .75 mm in width. The presence of this bug was disturbing in the extreme. After all, its probably one of the things you least expect to see staring right back at you when you rub your eye. Needless to say, this discovery prompted more questions than it did answers, questions such as:

1) Where the hell did this bug come from? (and sub-questions like)
1a) How did it get in my eye?
1b) Did it originate in my eye or merely land there from above or crawl there from below?
1c)Has this bug been in my eye since Saturday, when I thought I got a flying object in my eye for a bit?
2) Why do things like this happen to me?

These questions raced in my head all day, preventing me from doing my normal duties at work (of which there were very few, but still it was a considerable distraction).

For the rest of the day, I was phased by the presence of the bug, and I spent due time and diligence doing my best to measure, categorize, and analyze the bug in full detail.

All that I can provide to you, dear reader, is this somewhat blurry iPhone generated photograph of the culprit.

If you have any information that could lead to this bug’s identification or an explanation of what it was doing in my eye, please send all responses to:



wtf!?@lolerskates.edu

antenna debacle

Fact: I really enjoy the Olympics, especially the summer games and I will do most anything to watch them. Up to an including driving 2 and a half hours to go to a friendly home that features cable TV to see the games and get a home cooked meal.

Fact: I am intensely poor right now. Americorps doesn’t exactly shell out the big bucks… and the market for a side job isn’t looking so hot right now (check back for future posts on that can of worms), thus I am constantly looking for ways to get by on the cheap.

Considering these two facts, and how they press upon my conscience at all hours of the day this time of the Olympiad, the following tale must be amusing in the utmost for you, dear reader, and the universe on the whole.

At some point on Monday I decided that I had enough. I couldn’t take any more hearing about Michael Phelps’ amazing performances over the phone, couldn’t take missing out on all of the gymnastics and reading about it the next day. No, I was going to do something about it. I was going to “Be Proactive” (Habit 1 for those Steve Covey fans out there) and fix my situation… economically. Because I wanted merely a glimpse at the prime time Olympic events (none of that handball or rhythmic gymnastics bullshit they relegate to daytime CNBC ) and do so cheaply, the way to go would be to get the most basic of cable packages. Determined to get this cable as soon as possible, I charged across the street to the Comcast office during my lunch break and demanded a breakdown of their packages. Much to my chagrin, their most basic package consisted of only the first 20 channels and cost a little over TWENTY BUCKS a month. Not going to happen, I thought. It was time for Plan B: RABBIT EARS to nab the FREE NBC floating around the airwaves. Heck, I thought, if I buy the right kind, I might be able to pick up broadcast HD… for a second I thought I was going to be money in the bank (if not literally, figuratively perhaps).

Everything was turning up Brendan at Wal-Mart, especially when I discovered that not only were the rabbit ears five dollars cheaper than advertised online, but that they were HD compatible in a big way. SILLY, I thought to myself, I am going to be checking out that synchronized diving in HD in no time. I was cised until I walked up to the register, when I was served my first cruel dose of cruel reality.

Things first seemed too good to be true when I stepped up to purchase my device. I was being rung up by a ONE TOOTHED (I wish I were kidding, but this is FroRo after all) cashier named Betsy (again, if you are thinking that this is too stereotypically Wal-Mart, I will take you to her myself).

// My inner monolgue just before making purchase //

“I am such a fucking peasant grundoon right now,” my higher conscience told me. “There is no way you are going to get what you want out of this, there is a reason that Comcast sells ultra-basic cable for plebeian assholes like yourself.”

“Shut up, cheap TV, dreamy Michael Phelps,” my lower order brain replied.

// and that was that //

The purchase made, and Betsy’s visage burned in my mind’s eye, I raced home to give my TV the gift of life.

Cue Cruel Dose Of Reality #2.
Antennas are a bitch to set up. Each channel has its own frequency that demands a certain positioning from the rabbit ears and a setting on the knob that masters the set. Not only that, newer TVs (like those made before the stone age) expect to get some input that is better than 1950’s style technology, which makes optimizing the output from an antenna difficult. I didn’t know this until I spent an hour and a half trying to get the damned set to work.

Call this CDOR #3:
After hour number 2 of fussing with the primitive device (the last half hour spent looking up possible solutions on the iPhone, my lone connection to the outside world) I came to a singular and very disappointing realization: the reason that Comcast offers an ultra-basic, just the broadcast channels service in FroRo is that the signals from D.C. DO NOT REACH THIS FUCKING PLACE! Nestled comfortably in the Shenandoah Valley, the town is impervious to signals from surrounding cities… bully!

I let the immense disappointment set in for a second, gathered my wits, and decided to put the whole thing on ice until I could figure out what the hell I was going to do to get cheap TV.

More on the Great Satellite Con later…

soul mountain

Soul is a word that is thrown around quite freely these days. One can listen to a local KISS FM and hear very “soul”-ful music. One can go to the local barber shop and get a treatment of Soul Glo for their do. One can even hop on board the Soul Train if one is lucky enough to catch a rerun. The creation of any number of soul-related products and concepts cheapens the meaning of a potentially powerful word. After all, the soul is the metaphysical essence that all humans supposedly possess. That’s some important, weighty stuff. Clearly not meant to be bandied about to describe just any run of the mill person, place, or thing.

Upon my move-in to FroRo, though, I believe I reached the pinnacle of dining experiences in a place that is well deserving of its moniker. I scaled the face of Soul Mountain.
Soul Mountain is a black enterprise in the heart of downtown FroRo, specializing in Caribbean fusion cuisine presented in a culturally rich atmosphere. Its menu features a wide variety of spiced poultry and seafood, with an equally impressive drink list composed of both locally grown wines and fine international beers. The walls of the restaurant are festooned with various cultural items from far flung corners of the world: ancestral masks from west Africa, a large Persian tapestry, and a rotund ivory Buddha to name a few of the items. Unique not only in menu and décor, the restaurant also features entertainment programming that makes it even more attractive dining location. Colorful fliers on its chalkboard make it clear that each day has something unique to offer denizens of Soul Mountain: open mike on Wednesdays, Las Vegas lounge-style entertainment on Saturday nights, and dance music Thursday and Friday.

But no great restaurant can truly stand out without service to match. Soul Mountain does not disappoint in this aspect either. Ashad and I were treated to bottomless glasses of the most delicious, thirst quenching pink lemonade we had ever experienced. Our respective entrees were not only delicious in of themselves, but the speed and courtesy with which they were delivered made them even more savory – if that were somehow possible. Now, one may expect such a royal feast to come at an equally princely sum, but nothing could be further from the truth. Our meals came to a grand total of six dollars apiece thanks to a generous lunch special that capped off the entire dining experience nicely.

All of the facts considered, I hope to become a regular there. And I wouldn’t mind at all – nor would I be surprised in the least – if heaven turned out to be located upon the frosty peaks of Soul Mountain.

iphone

This past Saturday was both very familiar and life changing for me. It followed the normal pattern of collegiate Saturdays: wake up far too early, labor at a service project for about 3 hours, have a filling meal, take a shower, laze away the afternoon, and then drink heavily. Nothing all together out of the ordinary.

The life-changing part fell between the getting up too early and the manual labor. The hour of waking was about 6:30 (with a snooze or two, it actually became 6:42, but you get the idea) and the purpose was to get in line to purchase Cupertino Orchards' latest incarnation of the revolutionary iPhone, the iPhone 3G.

Now, I am the first to admit my admiration for gadgets, gizmos, and generally all things electronic. Spending hours walking around the aisles of Best Buy or their virtual counterparts on newegg.com is not a waste of time for me, but rather a necessary means for me to catch up on what is the latest and greatest in the world of technology. If this sounds weird at all, just replace 'Best Buy' with 'Nine West', 'newegg.com' with 'Steve Madden', and 'technology' with 'shoe fashion' and see if that doesn't sound like any woman you know.

But as a matter of principle I reject waiting in line for hours for the newest technology to go on sale. No, no you will never find me camped out in front of Wal Mart for that first shipment of PS3s, nor for that matter will you see me decked out in full Jedi attire for the midnight showing of a Star Wars prequel/sequel/animated movie (I am also way into movies, especially movies that incorporate sweet high tech things, hence Star Wars as an example). The whole notion of lines is distasteful to me, as standing still for hours on end is very boring and wasteful, as it could be spend lying still for hours (sleeping) or sitting (watching entertaining tv). To this point in my life, lines were to be avoided at all costs.

Not so with the iPhone. For some reason, whether it be iPhone envy (Jeff and Mike have enjoyed the iPhone for months now) or dissatisfaction with my old phone (it doesn't really slide open anymore), I found myself more than willing to wake up at the crack of dawn and park myself outside of the local AT&T store and wait for the latest shipment to go on sale. And wait I did.

The scene at the store was quite a mess, as some folks who were snubbed after waiting in line on Friday morning made sure not to repeat the mistake by arriving extra early and truly camping out. One fellow claimed that he didn't go to sleep after bar hopping on the Corner Friday night, merely making the store the last leg of his Friday night exploits. Another chap was liveblogging (on his MacBook of course) about the experience while in line. Yet another dude, the king among all, made an event out of it by bringing the whole family along: he unloaded a passenger van full of his offspring (about 6 in number, none over the age of 10) and had them accompany him in line, well-equipped with juiceboxes, board games, and Hannah Montana accessories abound. The cynical among us thought that it was all a ploy to hoard iPhones (each person in line was entitled to one phone), but it turned out just be a very ill-advised parenting move (as each kid wreaked havoc in the store once they were let in, much to the dismay of the already on-edge sales reps).

I was the average, sensible enthusiast with my book and light breakfast (an apple, how apropos) with me in line. The two hour wait wasn't too bad, and when all was said and done was well worth it. How so? Of the past 52 hours I have had the phone, I have used it in some fashion for 8 of them, which is rather impressive when you factor out sleeping, eating, and all of the other essentials that take up one's life. Waiting for, using, and loving the iPhone, I am sure it is all time well spent.

mac guy

I got a call the other night from my brother (the very one I am writing a best man speech for) asking me to make a slideshow for him and his all-too-soon-to-be wife to be shown during the reception after the wedding. This will be the second wedding-related slideshow for me in as many weeks. Previous to this time in my 22 years of life, I have never been asked to make any sort of creative thing ever.

Why?

Because most people who know me will say that I am pretty much a dullard at making creative, artsy things. Of any sort. I nearly failed art class every year in elementary school, have never been able to fold origami, and the closest thing to a drawing I can usually muster is a funny-because-its-so-terrible stick figure scene. I really can't say that I have ever had any sliver of success at any time in my life when it comes to making visually appealing things of any size, shape, or style. My parents never had my artwork on the fridge... my doodles in notebooks were usually hard long division problems... I struggle to color inside of the lines.

I suck.

So why ask me to make something pretty, something that requires an artistic eye and a flair for the creative? I think its a simple matter of pigeonholing, I've been stereotyped. Is it due to my race, my color, my creed? No. Its because of my choice in computer. I've become a "mac guy".

Apparently owning a mac makes you some kind of creative wizard - after all, why would you get such a machine if you weren't on it to make movies, highbrow digital art, or (evidently) sweet slideshows in iMovie? This is indeed an unfortunate stereotype, because I am no mac guy. Its true, I do enjoy my computer a lot, but not because I am some kind of creative genius. No - I just like it because the OS is really sweet and stable, it has some neat design features, and looks pretty good to boot.

My clients may have made a perilous choice in trusting this art class failure to make something creative. Serves them right for stereotyping.

Not to say that stereotypes can't be useful or hilarious. One only need to think of this fellow to know that.





Euro 2008 match prediction success rate: 62.5% (fucking Greeks let me down, but at least the Spanish were dominant... ole!)

best man

As some of you may know, my brother asked me to be one of the best men at his wedding this summer. Having never been to a wedding before, I found this to be a curious selection, but I didn't hesitate as I felt that it could be a great time considering I think he is a pretty cool guy and his fiancee is just wonderful. Besides, weddings are pretty jubilant affairs - or so I hear - and I am not one to turn down an open bar.

The one catch of course, is the best man toast. As one British writer said: "delivering the best man speech is like kissing the Queen Mother, its a great honour, but nobody wants to do it!" My sentiments exactly. Its not that I get nervous talking in front of big crowds, its just that the subject matter is pretty awkward to deal with. For two to three minutes, I have to wax poetic about lovey dovey shit re: my brother and his now-wife when we have maybe had a serious conversation about twice in our lives.

But the show must go on, so I am writing the speech right now, and it seems decent. Not good, not fork in the eye awful, but passable. I think it will get me out of the situation having done my duty, hopefully getting a few laughs and avoiding any embarrassing slipups or inopportune voice cracks. (I really hope my vocal cords have gotten that out of their system.) Ideally, it will pass by and before I know it I will be drinking a (numerous?) delicious jack+cokes with the rest of the groomsmen and bridal party. And then dancing up a storm in an attempt to seriously embarrass my brother. And then passing out and preparing for my epic journey back to Virginia on Sunday. More on that later.

But enough of that, here is some stuff on today's Euro action:

France 0 - 0 Romania
- more painful to watch than public access, elementary school children-produced television.
+ there is a dude named RAT on Romania.

Netherlands 3 - 0 Italy
- decidedly not what I predicted for the day... I'm sorry I assumed that the Italian National Team would show up and not the Fanculo Miss Nancy Squad.
+ Sneijder, the clutch Dutch Delight!


Euro 2008 match prediction success rate: 66.6% (took a hit as expected, but hopefully there will be recovery with the debut of LA FURIA ROJA!!!)

moustache

Being bored at home can do some pretty weird things to you. As an example, I will provide the following cautionary tale.

While at home, figuring I had no one to impress and that my parents would love me either way, I decided to shave only the cheek and neck area, leaving the 'stache area and chin covered in what sparse hair covering my facial follicles could muster. What developed was the sketchiest, skeeviest facial hair this side of Charlotte (see picture below). While this stylistic choice was a victimless crime for a few days, it soon became apparent that venturing outside of my house and partaking in significant interactions with other people (especially people that would would like to respect you) did myself a great injustice.

The casual observer would not give the deformed goatee much notice, some offered stares that bordered on fascination, but two people that I would not wish to think me a complete clown definitely made concrete judgements on my character based on the presence of the poorly developed goatee-stache. They were:

1. Chris, the car salesman (see previous post). He must have thought: wow what a fool this kid is for growing this pitiful thing on his face. He must come from a family of such fools who will be easily duped into giving me large sums of money for a small, polite Japanese car. (This was not to be the case as Dad was set in not paying more than $400 over invoice, but the haggling probably took longer based on Chris' initial read of my facial signals).

2. Jimmy, my grand-uncle. Jimmy is an interesting character. He is a retired electrical engineer from Puerto Rico who enjoys building computers in his spare time when he isn't configuring his satellite to pick up more channels than he probably pays for. I guess retirement and getting older makes you more averse to the normal modes of paying for and getting goods or services (ref: early bird specials at restaurants). But I digress. When I came in to make the obligatory visit while in Florida, he saw me and immediately made a face one makes when tasting a paricularly curious new flavor or when trying to solve a complex puzzle. I guess in this instance the puzzle was why his previously reasonable grand-nephew was sporting this offense to the senses on his face. I think the graduation present took a hit because of it, lest his precious retirement money go to cover the cost of the drugs he must have thought I was one while shaving. (Not true, Jim, just really bored at home, sorry!)

Needless to say, I shaved later that day before making a trip over to Tyler's (I don't think the abomination would have gotten rave reviews there, either). I guess the grand lesson in all of this is to not attempt facial hair unless you can grow it sufficiently to some semblance of a style. I think I will funnel my latent creative energies into other, more productive ventures (you are reading one) while at home to prevent further damaging experimentation.

RIP, creeper stache, I hardly knew ye.


Clearly hasn't learned my lesson.

new car

This weekend I got a new car as a graduation present from my parents (thanks mom and dad!). Its a silver 2008 Civic EX Coupe (pictured below). It is a welcome change from my ant-dominated, gas-guzzling disaster of a Jetta (also pictured below). Benefits of this new car over the previous Brendan-mobile include improved gas mileage, better safety features, and fewer strange crayon odors. I would also hope that this polite, efficient Japanese machine will have better luck than the six-cylindered German brute in the sense that: 1) fewer trees will choose to fall on it, 2) as corollary, it will spring fewer flood-inducing leaks, 3) and ultimately be less of a shitshow of a auto. To be fair though, the Jetta wasn't all bad. It was a stylish ride for its first few months, and at one point it featured a fully functioning 10 CD changer, a sweet chrome grill... and floor mats!

But on to the new...

Getting the car was a bit of a show. Mom and I went over to the Honda dealership to check out what they had in stock and what kind of deals they were offering. We were greeted by a gentleman named Chris, a Jon Voight looking fellow who was eager to show us around. As he extolled the virtues of the Civic, I looked nervously at Mom, who was texting Dad to see if he was on his way to the dealership. 30 minutes into car searching and she was already tired of the rigamarole and calling into the bullpen to bring out the closer. A few minutes later, on comes goateed, sunglassed, tight t-shirt sporting Dad ready to make a deal. What ensued for the next hour and a half was the time-honored absurdity known as haggling. It went something like this:

Dad offers to pay x over invoice.
Chris counter-offers x+y (citing esoteric features and options included with the model)
Dad remains firm
Chris says he will "talk to his manager" to "see what he can do"
reapeat x 10.

I think by "talk to his manager" Chris meant "use a calculator to see how much his commission would be pinched by the price reduction". In any event, they finally agreed and I had a new car. I am now soliciting all for names for this beauty of a automobile, so let the suggestions fly.

new car needs a name?

goodbye jetta!