Sunday, March 27, 2011
Traveling
Getting prepared to go to Paris made me remember that there would be a few barriers, one being the customs and way people behave. I tend to act out regardless no matter which country I'm in but it's still at least good to know which ones you're breaking. Then there's the language barrier, which going to a place like France can make your life a little difficult. Think about it, why do people want to go to Paris? The Wine, the romance, the history and the food. The food in France is supposed to be immaculate, in fact it was the French who really taught us how to cook, just ask Williams Sonoma. Having said that you should know that nowhere else in the world, save China, will you eat such strange food if you don't know what to eat or order. Steak tartar sounds good, right? Heard about from the movies did ya? It's raw hamburger. Not bad, but weird. How about some nice cow's brains in a good hollandaise sauce? So I've worked up a few questions that everyone should ask when traveling to avoid eating or doing something that will forever scar them. "What part of the animal does this come from?" This can also be used while clothes shopping. "How many legs does this animal have?" Some places eat insects, you may as well have bragging rights if you eat a grasshopper. "Did you spit in this because I'm American or because you hate all people?" Never worked in a restaurant have ya? It's a rhetorical question. "What is tripe?" I know it's intestines, I'm still just waiting for some country or group of people to give a good reason why anyone eats it. Or better yet, why do we pay a premium to eat it? Because it's harder to prepare? IT'S WHERE OUR SHIT COMES FROM! Who thought that would be a good thing to eat? "Which sex club did the Republican Jack Ryan take his ex wife Jeri Ryan to that tanked his political career when it came out that he was trying to get her to have sex with strangers in front of him under the guise of a romantic trip to Paris?" What? I want to take a picture of the place. I'm sure there's more I need to know, but for now I'll have to learn these phrases. I'm thinking that last one will be misinterpreted. I mean, how many politicians have been busted for this? Right?
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Get Your Kicks on Route 22
You gotta have your exit strategies. That's what someone told me about living in Jersey. which worries me but once you live here you realize she wasn't talking about anything malicious. My coworker was talking about the fact that Jersey will do everything it can to stop you from getting to wherever you're going. It's like a swamp, especially if you're driving. You ever try driving in a swamp? Me either, but I'm pretty sure it's a similar feeling.
You have to understand that there's two ways to live in NJ, you can take mass transit, which is a slow slow death on your way to a soul crushing train ride through an industrial park. Or you can drive, which is like playing grand theft auto in that you driver really fast, are constantly running over things (ten points for a skunk!), and you pretend people are potholes. Of course, when you drive in real life, you don't actually pretend that people are potholes as you run over them. I mean, THAT would be crazy. Yes, that would be. I've actually turned hitting potholes into a game and I am wracking up a high score. I'm so good at this game of hitting potholes that I don't even try. In fact I try to avoid them! But there's just too many! I'm not gonna say I have the high score, but that's only because I don't use Route 22 more often.
Now I talked earlier about having your exit strategies, I also titled this blog entry after Route 22, how are they related you ask? Well let me tell you. I was leaving work last week and I needed to go to the car dealership where I bought my car to get my plates. The dealership, whom shall be here fore mentioned as $%&@!!! is on Route 22. So I said to myself, "go on! Give it a try!" And away I went. At first my newest escape route seemed fine, no real problems. That was the first 30 seconds. Then it was like driving on a third world countries back roads that had recently been bombed and had trenches dug into it throughout the length of about 5 miles. Only there were more potholes. I know I've already talked enough about how confusing Jersey roads are, but trust me it only gets much worse when you're trying frantically not to ruin your car by avoiding the potholes.
However, after my terrifying pothole maze I found a paradise. Not really sure who's paradise, but I know someone must love it. On Route 22 there are a ton of little stripe mall type things. Not really strip malls...but something. There were these combination places that really didn't make much sense, or did they? There was a Brazilian Steakhouse/Sushi place, because guess what? You need that protein and it doesn't matter what animal is all you can eat. Then I saw the all encompassing all awesome 7-Eleven/Check Cashing/Hooter's Restaurant. Yes, that was real, no I have no idea who came up with that idea but...Shear. Genius. Also, I saw this one that was a Starbucks/Generic Chinese Restaurant. Both kill your appetite, both give you the runs, yet these two are polar opposites. Starbucks is $5 coffee meant for the affluent, cheap Chinese food meant for anyone who really doesn't want to spend $5. I saw other combination stores, but those were definitely the top three.
So make sure you find your exit strategies, and may they lead you on to more interesting adventures.
You have to understand that there's two ways to live in NJ, you can take mass transit, which is a slow slow death on your way to a soul crushing train ride through an industrial park. Or you can drive, which is like playing grand theft auto in that you driver really fast, are constantly running over things (ten points for a skunk!), and you pretend people are potholes. Of course, when you drive in real life, you don't actually pretend that people are potholes as you run over them. I mean, THAT would be crazy. Yes, that would be. I've actually turned hitting potholes into a game and I am wracking up a high score. I'm so good at this game of hitting potholes that I don't even try. In fact I try to avoid them! But there's just too many! I'm not gonna say I have the high score, but that's only because I don't use Route 22 more often.
Now I talked earlier about having your exit strategies, I also titled this blog entry after Route 22, how are they related you ask? Well let me tell you. I was leaving work last week and I needed to go to the car dealership where I bought my car to get my plates. The dealership, whom shall be here fore mentioned as $%&@!!! is on Route 22. So I said to myself, "go on! Give it a try!" And away I went. At first my newest escape route seemed fine, no real problems. That was the first 30 seconds. Then it was like driving on a third world countries back roads that had recently been bombed and had trenches dug into it throughout the length of about 5 miles. Only there were more potholes. I know I've already talked enough about how confusing Jersey roads are, but trust me it only gets much worse when you're trying frantically not to ruin your car by avoiding the potholes.
However, after my terrifying pothole maze I found a paradise. Not really sure who's paradise, but I know someone must love it. On Route 22 there are a ton of little stripe mall type things. Not really strip malls...but something. There were these combination places that really didn't make much sense, or did they? There was a Brazilian Steakhouse/Sushi place, because guess what? You need that protein and it doesn't matter what animal is all you can eat. Then I saw the all encompassing all awesome 7-Eleven/Check Cashing/Hooter's Restaurant. Yes, that was real, no I have no idea who came up with that idea but...Shear. Genius. Also, I saw this one that was a Starbucks/Generic Chinese Restaurant. Both kill your appetite, both give you the runs, yet these two are polar opposites. Starbucks is $5 coffee meant for the affluent, cheap Chinese food meant for anyone who really doesn't want to spend $5. I saw other combination stores, but those were definitely the top three.
So make sure you find your exit strategies, and may they lead you on to more interesting adventures.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Lazy Sunday Night
I can see why Sunday's are seen as spiritual in Christianity. I get the one day of rest you have built into every religion. It's nice when you can just kick you legs up and relax and contemplate the week. That one day of rest does wonders for the soul, just don't let your mind wander too much when you're contemplating. Like while watching Jersey Shore on MTV I imagined seeing the cast in a bowling alley or someplace and everyone hyping them and getting all excited while I could care less. Then someone calls me out on not being star struck and they're like "this is the cast of Jersey Shore! What the fuck have you done with your life?"
Ouch, right?
How is it a bunch knuckleheads can make so much money and develop a "career", however short lived it is. While I can't seem to achieve my desired status as a published author these catch phrases have found a way to get paid as assholes. I'm not mad at them, I'd have jumped all over that situation. Damnit, even talking like them now. I also can't talk, yeah I got a college degree, but what else have I done? Written a book that hasn't been published? Lived in China? That's kind of a cool but all I really got was some cheap clothing and pretty pictures. So far I'm being outdone by trash tv. I need to get a celebrity pregnant.
So here we are, Sunday night, and it's dominated by all the trash and reality shows one could want. There's a show about wedding cakes, wedding cakes! That means that the market for watching cake shows was so great that they needed a sub category. I'd rag on it more except I love cake and they do some crazy shit with that frosting. And somehow while writing this I've gotten sucked into my own Jersey Shore marathon. Is it that we all wished we lived other lives and so we watch other people live while we wait? Or is it that it is a fatal flaw of humanity that we believe the grass is greener on the other side? Maybe we just like our bloodsports, i.e. the self destructive behavior of the idiots on our favorite reality tv shows. It may be making me dumber, but I think I'm gonna finish this marathon like a champ before it becomes a situation over here. Damn I sound like a douche.
Ouch, right?
How is it a bunch knuckleheads can make so much money and develop a "career", however short lived it is. While I can't seem to achieve my desired status as a published author these catch phrases have found a way to get paid as assholes. I'm not mad at them, I'd have jumped all over that situation. Damnit, even talking like them now. I also can't talk, yeah I got a college degree, but what else have I done? Written a book that hasn't been published? Lived in China? That's kind of a cool but all I really got was some cheap clothing and pretty pictures. So far I'm being outdone by trash tv. I need to get a celebrity pregnant.
So here we are, Sunday night, and it's dominated by all the trash and reality shows one could want. There's a show about wedding cakes, wedding cakes! That means that the market for watching cake shows was so great that they needed a sub category. I'd rag on it more except I love cake and they do some crazy shit with that frosting. And somehow while writing this I've gotten sucked into my own Jersey Shore marathon. Is it that we all wished we lived other lives and so we watch other people live while we wait? Or is it that it is a fatal flaw of humanity that we believe the grass is greener on the other side? Maybe we just like our bloodsports, i.e. the self destructive behavior of the idiots on our favorite reality tv shows. It may be making me dumber, but I think I'm gonna finish this marathon like a champ before it becomes a situation over here. Damn I sound like a douche.
Tuesday, March 15, 2011
Rambling Along
I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to say here. There's an old writer's trick where all you do is write. Sounds cliche but it's about just writing what you are thinking about at that moment right then and there. By simply writing you break the creative dam in your mind and all of a sudden you've written two pages and talking about a story that has no purpose. Like that fact that right now the light in my kitchen is flickering. It's a fluorescent light and when it isn't working properly it looks like the lighting used in a movie just before someone gets killed. Which is an awesome seg way to my next topic.
I miss the wind. Not really connected, I know. And most would not get the metaphor, but I miss the wind. I'm a wanderer, that doesn't mean I have no home or that I have to move around constantly. It does however mean that I need to travel, to experience. I need to feel the wind on my face with a fresh smell that I cannot place. Some of my happiest experiences are when I've traveled and it's not because I didn't like where I lived. It was because of the excitement. The adventure. I don't think I need to tell you all that I read a lot of Dungeons & Dragons books (and I still do). I like the idea of the adventure, being able to roam and see things and places that most only read about or experience from their couches.
It is this adventure that I crave, to walk not on a beach but on a well worn path the locals use. Even if that's a main drag in Paris. When I went to Paris for the first time, it was during a time when the "anti-France" movement still carried an abnormal amount of weight in our country. And walking one of the streets I came upon Franklin Delano Roosevelt Ave. One of those stark reminders about our past that people seem to want to forget. I liked seeing that, it was a connection to my homeland on a random street in Paris, France. It's little things like that that I like when I travel. Watching the scenery, taking in the sites of the city, and the wind on my face reminds me of my ever steady desire to explore. That dream I had as a child never faded, it only grew.
I miss the wind. Not really connected, I know. And most would not get the metaphor, but I miss the wind. I'm a wanderer, that doesn't mean I have no home or that I have to move around constantly. It does however mean that I need to travel, to experience. I need to feel the wind on my face with a fresh smell that I cannot place. Some of my happiest experiences are when I've traveled and it's not because I didn't like where I lived. It was because of the excitement. The adventure. I don't think I need to tell you all that I read a lot of Dungeons & Dragons books (and I still do). I like the idea of the adventure, being able to roam and see things and places that most only read about or experience from their couches.
It is this adventure that I crave, to walk not on a beach but on a well worn path the locals use. Even if that's a main drag in Paris. When I went to Paris for the first time, it was during a time when the "anti-France" movement still carried an abnormal amount of weight in our country. And walking one of the streets I came upon Franklin Delano Roosevelt Ave. One of those stark reminders about our past that people seem to want to forget. I liked seeing that, it was a connection to my homeland on a random street in Paris, France. It's little things like that that I like when I travel. Watching the scenery, taking in the sites of the city, and the wind on my face reminds me of my ever steady desire to explore. That dream I had as a child never faded, it only grew.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Ikea Zombie Defense
I've been spending a little time trying build myself a home lately. Not literally, I mean, I buy a crate and by the time it gets home it's crooked. But in other ways, moving in with the girlfriend, bringing out some of my art, and buying a good piece of furniture that can hold my clothes. One that isn't black, plastic, and with the words "Glad" on the outside of the box. So I made my way to Ikea in New Jersey, which is in the middle of an industrial war zone, and I found myself wandering through the isles with one stark realization. Ikea would make terrible zombie defense structures.
Now mind you this is a pretty random thought, but whenever I go to Ikea I know what I want. It should take me no more than fifteen minutes to get in, buy what I want, and get out. Yet that place is a maze that rivals a casino in massive amounts of confusion. Shortcuts? Not with how we all read that freaking map. And why can't I just turn around and walk back the way I came? Why do I have to walk through EVERYTHING just to get to where I'm going to have to carry some heavy furniture by myself? So while I wandered, my mind went to very obvious places. Zombie defence.
Now Ikea is known for its cheap furniture, some of it as thick as tank plating, some of it is paper colored to look like wood. This is the first part of the problem. Because some parts of Ikea furniture are thick and sturdy, you assume you can toss it around, right? Wrong. The paper mache doors on your wardrobe monstrosity cannot handle the rage that's building while reading the instructions. You think that flimsy door panel can hold up to a zombie attack? So now you have to defend all the windows in your house and you won't get any sleep. What if they just built some zombie defense furniture? That brings me to my second point. Cause I'm making two.
After my epic journey titled "Lord of the Rings: The Get Me Out of Ikea/Mordor" occured and I somehow fit my massive armoire in my two door Civic Coupe, I headed home to put the massive beast together. Yes I know this blog is riddled with run-on sentences, eat it. When I finally got home and took out all the pieces and dug around I found the instruction manual. While I sat there and looked through the small novel of instructions I realized the other problem for zombie defense that occurs when putting together Ikea: the instructions are in ancient Egyptian. It's pictures, and they number the parts on the instructions, but they don't number the pieces. So you have this black and white picture showing you different boards that are of similar length and width and then you have to put it all together. Make sure the holes are facing the right direction on the sides! There is a help line on the instructions, but it's in Swedish and without the bikini team Sweden has nothing I want and that's including furniture. Stupid guy in the beginning of the instructions looks all happy, that's just because he doesn't have to put the furniture together. I'm on day three, three, of putting together the armoire. I know zombies move slow but I just couldn't outrun them trying to put together this barricade. Anyways that's my second point, those instructions suck balls.
Being that the moveable closet is almost finished, I'm really starting to feel at home again. Home has been an odd word for me. Really the lifestyle I've chosen makes the concept of home very fluid, because it has to be. Yet here I find myself, nestled in to a place I'd never thought I'd be. While I've taken time to bash New Jersey and the numerous things I've come to be annoyed with by it. I still find some threads falling into place that make me feel at home. Every morning I grumble about my commute, but there's this moment, every single morning, that I get to watch the sun rise over a mountain. I smile every time I see it crest. And the commute home is long, and it will wear on me from time to time. When I leave work I don't say I'm going back to my apartment, I say I'm going home. Because there is a young woman here who make me feel welcome, who has made her's mine, and of course mine her's. I've found a peace here, I am still a wanderer at heart and with my travels, but no matter how many times I put on my shoes, I know exactly where my feet will lead me. I just might take a round about way to get there. And that I'll still blame on the Jersey roads, which were of course designed by Ikea.
Now mind you this is a pretty random thought, but whenever I go to Ikea I know what I want. It should take me no more than fifteen minutes to get in, buy what I want, and get out. Yet that place is a maze that rivals a casino in massive amounts of confusion. Shortcuts? Not with how we all read that freaking map. And why can't I just turn around and walk back the way I came? Why do I have to walk through EVERYTHING just to get to where I'm going to have to carry some heavy furniture by myself? So while I wandered, my mind went to very obvious places. Zombie defence.
Now Ikea is known for its cheap furniture, some of it as thick as tank plating, some of it is paper colored to look like wood. This is the first part of the problem. Because some parts of Ikea furniture are thick and sturdy, you assume you can toss it around, right? Wrong. The paper mache doors on your wardrobe monstrosity cannot handle the rage that's building while reading the instructions. You think that flimsy door panel can hold up to a zombie attack? So now you have to defend all the windows in your house and you won't get any sleep. What if they just built some zombie defense furniture? That brings me to my second point. Cause I'm making two.
After my epic journey titled "Lord of the Rings: The Get Me Out of Ikea/Mordor" occured and I somehow fit my massive armoire in my two door Civic Coupe, I headed home to put the massive beast together. Yes I know this blog is riddled with run-on sentences, eat it. When I finally got home and took out all the pieces and dug around I found the instruction manual. While I sat there and looked through the small novel of instructions I realized the other problem for zombie defense that occurs when putting together Ikea: the instructions are in ancient Egyptian. It's pictures, and they number the parts on the instructions, but they don't number the pieces. So you have this black and white picture showing you different boards that are of similar length and width and then you have to put it all together. Make sure the holes are facing the right direction on the sides! There is a help line on the instructions, but it's in Swedish and without the bikini team Sweden has nothing I want and that's including furniture. Stupid guy in the beginning of the instructions looks all happy, that's just because he doesn't have to put the furniture together. I'm on day three, three, of putting together the armoire. I know zombies move slow but I just couldn't outrun them trying to put together this barricade. Anyways that's my second point, those instructions suck balls.
Being that the moveable closet is almost finished, I'm really starting to feel at home again. Home has been an odd word for me. Really the lifestyle I've chosen makes the concept of home very fluid, because it has to be. Yet here I find myself, nestled in to a place I'd never thought I'd be. While I've taken time to bash New Jersey and the numerous things I've come to be annoyed with by it. I still find some threads falling into place that make me feel at home. Every morning I grumble about my commute, but there's this moment, every single morning, that I get to watch the sun rise over a mountain. I smile every time I see it crest. And the commute home is long, and it will wear on me from time to time. When I leave work I don't say I'm going back to my apartment, I say I'm going home. Because there is a young woman here who make me feel welcome, who has made her's mine, and of course mine her's. I've found a peace here, I am still a wanderer at heart and with my travels, but no matter how many times I put on my shoes, I know exactly where my feet will lead me. I just might take a round about way to get there. And that I'll still blame on the Jersey roads, which were of course designed by Ikea.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
Ranting and Raving
Questions? You have them and I answer them. All of them. Twice a week. That's right, all the universes knowledge on random topics given to you in the form of rants. I mean, I don't actually answer anything, but I have things on my mind (plural) that need to get out!
First, I've noticed that I've been driving a lot more lately what with my job being 40 miles away. This means one thing: potholes. No, wait that's a different rant about a pothole that I have to cross over every day on my way home that's like a reverse speed bump on the highway. Who cares that it covers two lanes of traffic like it's something out of a cartoon. Not even the biggest one on that stretch.
Back to the real rant, I use a lot of gas now. I was smart, got myself a good gas mileage car. Always use regular too. Want to know why? It has nothing to do with my low performance engine (shut it), it has to do with the realization that whenever a tanker comes to refill a gas station it has one tank. ONE. And its never labeled. So.....how do they get fuel for Regular, Super, and Premium? And is that even the order they're supposed to be in? How is Super better than Regular? You telling me your Regular gas isn't Super good? And no offense, but many people compare gas to alcohol, and any time I've ever seen a bottle of alcohol with the words "Premium" on it, it wasn't premium. In fact it was probably gas. See? There's logic in this rant. So the gas companies (Sponsored by BP, Beyond Petroleum), are selling us gas a premium while they use one truck to fill up their stations. Now maybe you're thinking, "hey, maybe they use more than one truck." Pfft. That sounds like a fact to me. Then why is there only one nozzle intake? That's right, now I'm dropping some sick knowledge on ya!
I had another rant but I already forgot what I was going to say. Not sure if ninjas were involved, but they could have been. Today blog is presented in full audio by PhillipsCononco Morris, selling you gas and cigarettes because those are two products that should ALWAYS go together. Dumbasses.
First, I've noticed that I've been driving a lot more lately what with my job being 40 miles away. This means one thing: potholes. No, wait that's a different rant about a pothole that I have to cross over every day on my way home that's like a reverse speed bump on the highway. Who cares that it covers two lanes of traffic like it's something out of a cartoon. Not even the biggest one on that stretch.
Back to the real rant, I use a lot of gas now. I was smart, got myself a good gas mileage car. Always use regular too. Want to know why? It has nothing to do with my low performance engine (shut it), it has to do with the realization that whenever a tanker comes to refill a gas station it has one tank. ONE. And its never labeled. So.....how do they get fuel for Regular, Super, and Premium? And is that even the order they're supposed to be in? How is Super better than Regular? You telling me your Regular gas isn't Super good? And no offense, but many people compare gas to alcohol, and any time I've ever seen a bottle of alcohol with the words "Premium" on it, it wasn't premium. In fact it was probably gas. See? There's logic in this rant. So the gas companies (Sponsored by BP, Beyond Petroleum), are selling us gas a premium while they use one truck to fill up their stations. Now maybe you're thinking, "hey, maybe they use more than one truck." Pfft. That sounds like a fact to me. Then why is there only one nozzle intake? That's right, now I'm dropping some sick knowledge on ya!
I had another rant but I already forgot what I was going to say. Not sure if ninjas were involved, but they could have been. Today blog is presented in full audio by PhillipsCononco Morris, selling you gas and cigarettes because those are two products that should ALWAYS go together. Dumbasses.
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