Like it says above, “Season’s Greetings” to everyone out there! And I’m not referring to Christmas. Although I have to admit, I’m somewhat surprised that I haven’t seen any Christmas decorations up just yet. I mean, it’s already August, the winter festival is just around the corner. It’s never too early to stock up on Santa’s and sleighs and candy canes and all that other gobbledygook that people buy for mass consumption in what has become a nearly three month long event. Oh yeah, I can’t wait for that.
No, when I say “Season’s Greetings” at the end of August, there’s only one thing I’m referring to. Actually, there could be several things that I would be referring to, including, though not in any way being entirely limited to: the new football season starting (both college and professional), the start of a new school year (with new freshmen chicks moving into town), the start of a new hockey season for the recreational league I play in, or the rapid launch of several new video game titles before the winter Christmas Crunch. So yeah, there’s plenty of things to be looking forward to lately, but I’m not here to talk about any of the aforementioned. Today, I really want to talk about Oktoberfest.
More appropriately, I want to talk to you about Oktoberfest style beers. I mention this because this past Monday I went and did something that most single guys are required by law to avoid unless absolutely necessary: I went grocery shopping. Have no fear, though, I’m not turning into some strange cooking creature (read: “woman”). I stick to the manliest of essentials when shopping and hit most of the major manly food groups. This included the frozen pizza group, the salty snack group, the TV dinner group, and milk (because, well, no refrigerator is complete unless there’s a carton of month old milk in the back).
While shopping, I would be remiss if I didn’t journey down the beer aisle to at least take a gander at what America’s brewing companies were offering for my consumption. I wasn’t paying much attention, seeing as how I still feel the need to drink that last fourth of the bottle of bourbon I have, plus the six-pack of milk stout, and the two bottles of chilled sake in the fridge before acquiring any new booze. Now that might seem like a lot of alcohol to you, but let me assure you, I’m the kind of guy who drinks a lot of alcohol. I find that it’s the best way to support domestic businesses (for the record: the sake was brewed and bottled in California).
But lo’ and behold, I did stumble across a case of Sam Adams Oktoberfest Beer. Of all the Sam Adams varieties, and there are numerous ones these days, the Oktoberfest stands near the top in terms of tastiness. But I’ve had that before, and seeing as how Oktoberfest comes but once a year and I can’t get that particular style of beer during any other occasion, I decided to try something I hadn’t had before. And seeing as how I was shopping in a grocery store (note the fact that I was there to buy groceries) and not a specialty beer shop, the selection of micro brewed seasonal beers was somewhat lacking. But that’s ok, I have until the end of Oktober to venture forth and soak up all the seasonal style beers. So, in the end, I selected a six-pack of Blue Moon’s Harvest Moon Pumpkin Ale.
Now there’s a difference between an Oktoberfest beer (known as Oktoberfestbier in Germany) and a spiced pumpkin ale. Both are available during the same time, the end of August until the end of October. And since it’s the end of August, I’m going to start enjoying both styles of beer now, while I can. And just so you know, I’m about halfway done with the Harvest Moon Pumpkin Ale. My only hope is that I’ll finish writing before I finish my beer. Otherwise, I’ll have to get up and go get another beer. And I think we all know I’m loath to make that much effort.
In my continuing struggle to educate the masses on the wonders and intricacies of alcohol of all shapes, colors, flavors, and varieties, I will now attempt to disclose the inherent differences of these two seasonal fall brews. The traditional Oktoberfest beer is a Maerzen lager that is reddish in color, rich and smooth, exceptionally malty (but not too sweet), and with a complexity of added spices. The more contemporary Oktoberfestbier is fairly similar, but is lighter and paler to entice a more diverse crowd.
Pumpkin ale is similar in color, though it tends to be a bit lighter than traditional Maerzen. Similarly, the pumpkin ales also contain a strong malty backbone. The big difference is that pumpkin ales use pumpkins for flavoring. I’m guessing that’s how they came up with the name, though I can’t be entirely sure, I have been misled before. Brewers use freshly chopped pumpkins, a puree, or other natural or artificial pumpkin flavorings to get their desired taste. In addition, pumpkin style spices are employed as well. This can include nutmeg, cinnamon, and cloves.
Though I usually group these two beers together main because they’re both malty, include spices, and come out at the same time of year, they are decidedly different beers. I think, in the long run, I prefer the pumpkin ale. But then again, there is something to be said for a true Maerzen beer, since it has been around for over 130 years. What can I say? I’m a sucker for tradition.
As for my recently purchased Blue Moon’s Harvest Moon Pumpkin Ale… well, I’d have to say it’s a pretty decent beer. If you like Oktoberfest style or pumpkin ale style beers, you certainly can’t go wrong with it. Personally I think that there are better spiced pumpkin ale’s out there, but since Blue Moon is owned by Coors Brewing Co, it has much larger distribution than many other specialty and local beers. Therefore, it should be easy to find in your local grocery store, whereas many other seasonal brews can only be found in specialty beer shops.
Well, I’m about done with my beer, my second beer of the afternoon, actually. I’m beginning to think that drinking and writing many not be inclusively conducive. I have no idea if that last little word pairing is grammatically correct, or even if it makes sense, but I do know that it kind of rhymes. And after two beers, I just don’t really care about making sense anymore.
Showing posts with label holidays. Show all posts
Showing posts with label holidays. Show all posts
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Wednesday, April 11, 2007
The Cadbury Creme Crisis
Yesterday I slipped off into dusky darkness of night for a secretly planned covert mission. The date was April 10th, two days past Easter Sunday. The mission: seek out and acquire discounted Easter candy still sitting on store shelves. Mission status: unconfirmed.
I’m sure you are all aware of the wondrous joys of the varying Easter Day candies out there. There’s everything from sugary peeps to sweet flavored jellybeans to milk chocolate bunnies. But I wasn’t there for any of that. This particular assignment had me looting for the very best in Easter candies. The royalty of the chocolate realm. That’s right, the Cadbury Egg.
There is something regal about the thick chocolate coating and the smooth creamy inside goodness of a Cadbury Crème Egg. It’s chocolate and sugar and… and well that’s pretty much all there is. But what more could you want? As far as I’m concerned Cadbury Eggs are by and large the top of the line not only when it comes to Easter candies, but any kind of confectionary at all. It’s just that damn good.
So now you see why I was lurking around local grocery store yesterday. I need me some sugar-happy awesomeness. And unfortunately, I wasn’t able to feed my sugar addiction. I don’t know if you can tell, but my hands are shaking at the keyboard even now when I type this. The store was out of Cadbury Eggs. The bastards didn’t have any left. Oh sure, they had all sorts of other sugar related sweets, but I didn’t want any of those second rate Easter goodies.
I need to get one thing off my chest right here and now, while I’m still frustrated and unsatisfied enough to think it’s actually important. To be perfectly honest with you, I’m not all that partial to peeps. I mean, seriously, what the hell is up with peeps? I swear the things taste like chalk. They’re supposedly sugar covered marshmallows in interesting shapes, but I always found them to be more of an insult to my digestive system. If I ruled the world, I’d put peeps on a banned list of foods that could never be served. It would be right up there on the list right next to refried beans. Hey, if you grew up with my brother, you wouldn’t want to see refried beans on the table ever again.
Oh, there were plenty of those peeps there at the grocery store, that’s for sure. They were there in assorted colors, shapes, and flavors. Apparently chalk has differently flavors now. There’s regular sugar flavored chalk, chocolate flavored chalk, and some sort of mint flavored chalk as well. Have you noted my complete and utter disdain for what I consider the redheaded step child of Easter candies? Good. Let’s move on then. (I still think they taste like chalk, damn it!)
I realize that Easter is a holy holiday of sorts and all I have so far only talked about candy. That may have something to do with my thriving need for chocolate coated sugar goo, or it may be that I don’t have a whole grasp on this “Easter” thing. Now, I’ve never been a religious person and I don’t go to church. I’m fairly certain this means I’m going to burn in hell for my sins, or whatever equivalent afterlife awaits me. But that’s ok, I’ve more than come to terms with that. Keeping all that in mind, I have come up with my own interpretation of what the true meaning of this Sunday holiday is all about.
So Jesus died on a Friday and they now call that Good Friday. Why someone would deem it necessary to name the day Good Friday to celebrate the torture and death of their lord and savior, I will never know. Easter is supposed to take place on the third day of the death of Jesus whenhe mysteriously rose from the dead, exited his tomb without moving the giant stone covering the door, and began to pass out chocolates and painted eggs to all of the little boys and girls.
Ok, so I know this isn’t 100% correct. Back in 33AD they hadn’t quite discovered chocolate yet. Chances are, the reborn Christ was passing out shoots of sugarcane instead. I think it might be important to note right here that I have never actually read the Bible. I hear it’s a very popular book and has been translated into more languages than any other literate work, but in my defense: it's a really really big book. Can you actually expect me to read that whole thing? Though, I have heard good things about the parts with the smiting and the hailing bits of fire and brimstone and whatnot. Now that does sound like an exciting read.
Maybe Jesus didn’t pass out sugar and colored eggs. Maybe he truely did rise into heaven to join his Father. Or maybe some grave robbers came and stole his body in the intervening time. Honestly, I don’t know, I wasn’t there. And neither were you, so don’t go trying to correct me. What I do know is that about 2000 years ago a man died. His hands were staked into a wooden cross and he was hung up and left to perish. Now, two millennia later, I get to eat Cadbury Crème Eggs in his memory. And for that, I am eternally thankful. That Jesus guy is ok with me.
Of course, right now I am noticeably without my Cadbury Egg in all its gooey goodness and sweet, sugary splendor. That’s ok though. Today is another day. I will reactivate my mission and go on my convert prowl once again for my coveted prize. It’s nearly the same as your kids looking around the yard and the house for hidden eggs on Easter morning. The only perceptible difference is that I’m willing to stab someone in order to get my egg. Nothing matters except the egg. Not sleep, not work, not money nor health. I will get my egg.
As you can see, I’m going slightly mad with the mere thought of it. So I’d best be on my way. Although, it just occurred to me that as of this minute, I crave that damn egg more than I crave sex. And let’s be honest here, as a 23 year old male, sex is an absolute necessity. I guess it’s best not to dwell on that fact. The sooner I get a Cadbury Egg in my mouth, the sooner my desire is satiated.
If you happen to know of a place in the Raleigh-Durham-Chapel Hill area that one might be able to procure said delectable chocolate coated egg, please, don’t hesitate to contact me. I will do anything it takes to get my hands on one, and I do mean anything. (Note: the word “anything” in this context does not actually encompass all forms of conduct. The author reserves the right to define the word “anything” in this context as “sex with a beautiful woman” or “sex with two beautiful women” or “lounging in a large hot tub, drinking extravagant wines, eating only the finest of foods, and smoking a Cuban cigar, while having sex with two beautiful women” whenever he deems fit. The author is also not responsible for any loss of limbs to any bystanders while he is in hunt for the currently elusive Cadbury Crème Egg. Void where prohibited. All rights reserved.)
I’m sure you are all aware of the wondrous joys of the varying Easter Day candies out there. There’s everything from sugary peeps to sweet flavored jellybeans to milk chocolate bunnies. But I wasn’t there for any of that. This particular assignment had me looting for the very best in Easter candies. The royalty of the chocolate realm. That’s right, the Cadbury Egg.
There is something regal about the thick chocolate coating and the smooth creamy inside goodness of a Cadbury Crème Egg. It’s chocolate and sugar and… and well that’s pretty much all there is. But what more could you want? As far as I’m concerned Cadbury Eggs are by and large the top of the line not only when it comes to Easter candies, but any kind of confectionary at all. It’s just that damn good.
So now you see why I was lurking around local grocery store yesterday. I need me some sugar-happy awesomeness. And unfortunately, I wasn’t able to feed my sugar addiction. I don’t know if you can tell, but my hands are shaking at the keyboard even now when I type this. The store was out of Cadbury Eggs. The bastards didn’t have any left. Oh sure, they had all sorts of other sugar related sweets, but I didn’t want any of those second rate Easter goodies.
I need to get one thing off my chest right here and now, while I’m still frustrated and unsatisfied enough to think it’s actually important. To be perfectly honest with you, I’m not all that partial to peeps. I mean, seriously, what the hell is up with peeps? I swear the things taste like chalk. They’re supposedly sugar covered marshmallows in interesting shapes, but I always found them to be more of an insult to my digestive system. If I ruled the world, I’d put peeps on a banned list of foods that could never be served. It would be right up there on the list right next to refried beans. Hey, if you grew up with my brother, you wouldn’t want to see refried beans on the table ever again.
Oh, there were plenty of those peeps there at the grocery store, that’s for sure. They were there in assorted colors, shapes, and flavors. Apparently chalk has differently flavors now. There’s regular sugar flavored chalk, chocolate flavored chalk, and some sort of mint flavored chalk as well. Have you noted my complete and utter disdain for what I consider the redheaded step child of Easter candies? Good. Let’s move on then. (I still think they taste like chalk, damn it!)
I realize that Easter is a holy holiday of sorts and all I have so far only talked about candy. That may have something to do with my thriving need for chocolate coated sugar goo, or it may be that I don’t have a whole grasp on this “Easter” thing. Now, I’ve never been a religious person and I don’t go to church. I’m fairly certain this means I’m going to burn in hell for my sins, or whatever equivalent afterlife awaits me. But that’s ok, I’ve more than come to terms with that. Keeping all that in mind, I have come up with my own interpretation of what the true meaning of this Sunday holiday is all about.
So Jesus died on a Friday and they now call that Good Friday. Why someone would deem it necessary to name the day Good Friday to celebrate the torture and death of their lord and savior, I will never know. Easter is supposed to take place on the third day of the death of Jesus whenhe mysteriously rose from the dead, exited his tomb without moving the giant stone covering the door, and began to pass out chocolates and painted eggs to all of the little boys and girls.
Ok, so I know this isn’t 100% correct. Back in 33AD they hadn’t quite discovered chocolate yet. Chances are, the reborn Christ was passing out shoots of sugarcane instead. I think it might be important to note right here that I have never actually read the Bible. I hear it’s a very popular book and has been translated into more languages than any other literate work, but in my defense: it's a really really big book. Can you actually expect me to read that whole thing? Though, I have heard good things about the parts with the smiting and the hailing bits of fire and brimstone and whatnot. Now that does sound like an exciting read.
Maybe Jesus didn’t pass out sugar and colored eggs. Maybe he truely did rise into heaven to join his Father. Or maybe some grave robbers came and stole his body in the intervening time. Honestly, I don’t know, I wasn’t there. And neither were you, so don’t go trying to correct me. What I do know is that about 2000 years ago a man died. His hands were staked into a wooden cross and he was hung up and left to perish. Now, two millennia later, I get to eat Cadbury Crème Eggs in his memory. And for that, I am eternally thankful. That Jesus guy is ok with me.
Of course, right now I am noticeably without my Cadbury Egg in all its gooey goodness and sweet, sugary splendor. That’s ok though. Today is another day. I will reactivate my mission and go on my convert prowl once again for my coveted prize. It’s nearly the same as your kids looking around the yard and the house for hidden eggs on Easter morning. The only perceptible difference is that I’m willing to stab someone in order to get my egg. Nothing matters except the egg. Not sleep, not work, not money nor health. I will get my egg.
As you can see, I’m going slightly mad with the mere thought of it. So I’d best be on my way. Although, it just occurred to me that as of this minute, I crave that damn egg more than I crave sex. And let’s be honest here, as a 23 year old male, sex is an absolute necessity. I guess it’s best not to dwell on that fact. The sooner I get a Cadbury Egg in my mouth, the sooner my desire is satiated.
If you happen to know of a place in the Raleigh-Durham-Chapel Hill area that one might be able to procure said delectable chocolate coated egg, please, don’t hesitate to contact me. I will do anything it takes to get my hands on one, and I do mean anything. (Note: the word “anything” in this context does not actually encompass all forms of conduct. The author reserves the right to define the word “anything” in this context as “sex with a beautiful woman” or “sex with two beautiful women” or “lounging in a large hot tub, drinking extravagant wines, eating only the finest of foods, and smoking a Cuban cigar, while having sex with two beautiful women” whenever he deems fit. The author is also not responsible for any loss of limbs to any bystanders while he is in hunt for the currently elusive Cadbury Crème Egg. Void where prohibited. All rights reserved.)
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
Meat, It’s What’s for Dinner
Well, I hope you all had a wonderful Steak and Blow-job Day last week. I know mine left a little something to be desired; namely, I didn’t eat a steak and I didn’t receive a blow-job. But you know what? That’s ok. If you know anything about Steak and Blow-job Day and my personal feelings towards the other holidays, then you’ll know why I didn’t get any of the good stuff.
But what is Steak and Blow-job Day? It is a holiday with very recent origins. It takes place every year on March 14th, exactly one month after Valentine’s Day. You see, on Valentine’s Day men get the privilege of treating the special lady in their life to a wonderful evening full of flowers, chocolates, romantic dinners, and many other thoughtful and wallet emptying devices. Some people think it’s unfair for women to have a special day like that while men don’t.
Thus, Steak and Blow-job Day was born. Its founder, Tom Birdsey, explains how the holiday works: “No cards, no flowers, no special nights on the town; the name of the holiday explains it all, just a steak and a BJ. That's it.” We all know how much women love to be fawned over in romantic fashion. The candlelight dinners, the thoughtful gifts, these are the things that make women feel special. Guys are slightly different creatures. The only things we need to feel special are a steak and a blow job. Preferably not at the same time.
I know most women reading this probably think the entire holiday is sexist. Let me put your fears to rest right now, it is 100% completely sexist. Hey, guys have to listen to your whining and complaining all year long and pretend to still love you for it. The very least you could do is to cook him up a nice juicy steak (Outback does curbside take out, if you haven’t mastered the cuisine arts as of yet) and give him one blow job. Trust me, it’s not going to kill you.
I think the problem with this holiday is that it’s not getting enough exposure. Nobody knows about it. I have yet to see a calendar with the venerable Steak and BJ Day clearly marked. This is a momentous problem. How are we supposed to spread the good word about this holiday if we can’t even get it printed in calendars? Well, I for one pledge to not stop for fare or quarter in my eternal efforts to get Steak and Blow-job Day on every calendar in this country!
I figure that it’s can’t be too hard. I mean, every calendar I have ever owned (read: every Anna Kournikova calendar ever made) has included Boxing Day in its winter holiday repertoire. And do you celebrate Boxing Day? Yeah, I didn’t think so. Now, I don’t really know a whole lot about Boxing Day, but I do know that it originated in Great Britain and is still celebrated in Canada today. What are those crazy Canadians celebrating and why is it the day after Christmas? I honestly have no idea.
As a general rule, I don’t like to question our neighbors to the North. I mean, they speak French up there. And that just scares me. Although I have to admit, the Canadians have always been trustworthy allies in times of need. Sure I may poke fun of them every now and then, but in all honesty, the Canucks are all right. I mean, they invented hockey, so they have to be ok. And I’ve always enjoyed their beer.
Back to the matter at hand, however: how to get a new holiday accepted by the masses. I’ve been running a few ideas through my head, and I think I’m on to something. The Cattleman’s Beef Promotion and Research Board might just be interested in a new holiday that revolves around steak. I mean, the US turkey industry would only be a fraction of the size it is today without Thanksgiving. Just think of how much more beef they could sell if only half of every couple in the America bought just one steak on Steak and BJ Day. Now that’s a lot of beef.
I think I can hear cattle produces across the country lining their pockets with our money already. And you know what, I’m ok with that. They provide a valuable service to the community. I mean, they make steak. And steak is good. There is no denying the absolute goodness of steak. So meaty, so juicy, and so yummy… I like steak. Steak, it’s what’s for dinner.
But steak is only half of the holiday. The other half is 100% free of charge. That is, as long as your female partner doesn’t mind giving out the oral components of sex. But, if your woman for some strange reason doesn’t like to go down on you, or refuses to give you a blow-job, then it is perfectly acceptable for her to hire a prostitute as a fill in for this holiday tradition. I’d just like to point out that unless you live in Las Vegas, prostitution is illegal.
I’m beginning to think that Sin City is going to become the US capital for Steak and Blow-job Day celebrations. And when you think about it, that’s not a bad idea. The city could put on a large parade. I could be kind of like St. Patrick’s Day, but with more steak… and more blow-jobs. Hey, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right?
Interestingly, Steak and Blow-job Day occurs on the same date as White Day in Japan. See, in the Far East, Valentine’s Day is celebrated by women giving gifts of chocolate or other goodies to men. In fact, a guy could receive gifts from three or four different girls on this one special day. Now, before you all start packing your bags to move to the Land of the Rising Sun, let me explain White Day.
On White Day, one month after Valentine’s Day (March 14th), guys have to give gifts to each and every woman that gave them something in the prior month. Beyond that, the men are expected to spend at least three times as much on the ladies as they did on him. So as you can see, with possibly more than just one woman to spend money on, this could be a very expensive venture.
With that in mind, I think Steak and Blow-job Day fills a necessity in the US. The roles may be reversed in the Japanese holidays, but the theory is the same, and it is sound. I think this is a very important holiday that we all need to jump on as quickly as possible. And it’s not just for the benefit of the men out there. The American economy survives off consumerism. I’ve said it before and I’m saying it again. The fact that you spend all of your hard earned cash each and every holiday is what keeps our economy moving along.
Steak and Blow-job Day extends that holiday period for an entire month. That means more spending, more unabashed consumerism, and more growth for the economy. Remember, the beef industry needs your dollars just as much, if not more, than you do. So it’s time to get this holiday in full swing.
I expect that next year we will have a much larger following for the august Steak and Blow-job Day. I, for one, will not rest until all of America has accepted this holiday. I realize that this is an uphill battle, but for the sake of our economy (not to mention men everywhere) I must not fail. I’m sure that with a little help from the Beef Board and the city of Las Vegas, I will persevere. And please, do your part to make next March 14th the best Steak and Blow-job Day ever!
But what is Steak and Blow-job Day? It is a holiday with very recent origins. It takes place every year on March 14th, exactly one month after Valentine’s Day. You see, on Valentine’s Day men get the privilege of treating the special lady in their life to a wonderful evening full of flowers, chocolates, romantic dinners, and many other thoughtful and wallet emptying devices. Some people think it’s unfair for women to have a special day like that while men don’t.
Thus, Steak and Blow-job Day was born. Its founder, Tom Birdsey, explains how the holiday works: “No cards, no flowers, no special nights on the town; the name of the holiday explains it all, just a steak and a BJ. That's it.” We all know how much women love to be fawned over in romantic fashion. The candlelight dinners, the thoughtful gifts, these are the things that make women feel special. Guys are slightly different creatures. The only things we need to feel special are a steak and a blow job. Preferably not at the same time.
I know most women reading this probably think the entire holiday is sexist. Let me put your fears to rest right now, it is 100% completely sexist. Hey, guys have to listen to your whining and complaining all year long and pretend to still love you for it. The very least you could do is to cook him up a nice juicy steak (Outback does curbside take out, if you haven’t mastered the cuisine arts as of yet) and give him one blow job. Trust me, it’s not going to kill you.
I think the problem with this holiday is that it’s not getting enough exposure. Nobody knows about it. I have yet to see a calendar with the venerable Steak and BJ Day clearly marked. This is a momentous problem. How are we supposed to spread the good word about this holiday if we can’t even get it printed in calendars? Well, I for one pledge to not stop for fare or quarter in my eternal efforts to get Steak and Blow-job Day on every calendar in this country!
I figure that it’s can’t be too hard. I mean, every calendar I have ever owned (read: every Anna Kournikova calendar ever made) has included Boxing Day in its winter holiday repertoire. And do you celebrate Boxing Day? Yeah, I didn’t think so. Now, I don’t really know a whole lot about Boxing Day, but I do know that it originated in Great Britain and is still celebrated in Canada today. What are those crazy Canadians celebrating and why is it the day after Christmas? I honestly have no idea.
As a general rule, I don’t like to question our neighbors to the North. I mean, they speak French up there. And that just scares me. Although I have to admit, the Canadians have always been trustworthy allies in times of need. Sure I may poke fun of them every now and then, but in all honesty, the Canucks are all right. I mean, they invented hockey, so they have to be ok. And I’ve always enjoyed their beer.
Back to the matter at hand, however: how to get a new holiday accepted by the masses. I’ve been running a few ideas through my head, and I think I’m on to something. The Cattleman’s Beef Promotion and Research Board might just be interested in a new holiday that revolves around steak. I mean, the US turkey industry would only be a fraction of the size it is today without Thanksgiving. Just think of how much more beef they could sell if only half of every couple in the America bought just one steak on Steak and BJ Day. Now that’s a lot of beef.
I think I can hear cattle produces across the country lining their pockets with our money already. And you know what, I’m ok with that. They provide a valuable service to the community. I mean, they make steak. And steak is good. There is no denying the absolute goodness of steak. So meaty, so juicy, and so yummy… I like steak. Steak, it’s what’s for dinner.
But steak is only half of the holiday. The other half is 100% free of charge. That is, as long as your female partner doesn’t mind giving out the oral components of sex. But, if your woman for some strange reason doesn’t like to go down on you, or refuses to give you a blow-job, then it is perfectly acceptable for her to hire a prostitute as a fill in for this holiday tradition. I’d just like to point out that unless you live in Las Vegas, prostitution is illegal.
I’m beginning to think that Sin City is going to become the US capital for Steak and Blow-job Day celebrations. And when you think about it, that’s not a bad idea. The city could put on a large parade. I could be kind of like St. Patrick’s Day, but with more steak… and more blow-jobs. Hey, what happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, right?
Interestingly, Steak and Blow-job Day occurs on the same date as White Day in Japan. See, in the Far East, Valentine’s Day is celebrated by women giving gifts of chocolate or other goodies to men. In fact, a guy could receive gifts from three or four different girls on this one special day. Now, before you all start packing your bags to move to the Land of the Rising Sun, let me explain White Day.
On White Day, one month after Valentine’s Day (March 14th), guys have to give gifts to each and every woman that gave them something in the prior month. Beyond that, the men are expected to spend at least three times as much on the ladies as they did on him. So as you can see, with possibly more than just one woman to spend money on, this could be a very expensive venture.
With that in mind, I think Steak and Blow-job Day fills a necessity in the US. The roles may be reversed in the Japanese holidays, but the theory is the same, and it is sound. I think this is a very important holiday that we all need to jump on as quickly as possible. And it’s not just for the benefit of the men out there. The American economy survives off consumerism. I’ve said it before and I’m saying it again. The fact that you spend all of your hard earned cash each and every holiday is what keeps our economy moving along.
Steak and Blow-job Day extends that holiday period for an entire month. That means more spending, more unabashed consumerism, and more growth for the economy. Remember, the beef industry needs your dollars just as much, if not more, than you do. So it’s time to get this holiday in full swing.
I expect that next year we will have a much larger following for the august Steak and Blow-job Day. I, for one, will not rest until all of America has accepted this holiday. I realize that this is an uphill battle, but for the sake of our economy (not to mention men everywhere) I must not fail. I’m sure that with a little help from the Beef Board and the city of Las Vegas, I will persevere. And please, do your part to make next March 14th the best Steak and Blow-job Day ever!
Wednesday, February 21, 2007
Enter the Pig
Happy New Year! Yes, I know we’re already into February, but that doesn’t mean it’s not the New Year. According to the Chinese calendar, the New Year started this past Sunday, February 18th. You did know this right? I mean, the Chinese only had the most powerful and dominant culture on the face of the planet for over 800 years. They had armadas capable of taking on every European power contemporary to them. And I bet you thought they only invented fireworks and ate with chop sticks.
So how did you spend your Chinese New Year’s Eve? You probably weren’t doing the same thing you were on the Gregorian New Years. I know I wasn’t. On December 31st I was a huge loser and didn’t go out or do anything. But this time around, I decided to go out and enjoy myself, which, of course, means copious amounts of alcohol. Hey, what did you think I was going to do? It’s New Years.
In celebration of the New Year, I joined a group of my Asian friends and headed out to downtown Raleigh. If you haven’t had the chance to get to know an Asian person, then let me tell you a few things about them. They like to gamble and they like to drink, a lot. Yes, I know it’s stereotyping, but anyone who likes to booze as much as I do and play poker as much as I do is perfectly ok by me. As far as I’m concerned, most Asians are good people.
We ended up going to Five Star, an Asian themed restaurant right in the heart of downtown. The restaurant stays open for late nights as a night club, and of course, they were all ready to go for the New Year. Or at least I thought they were going to be. When I showed up around midnight, the place was packed with white people. Now, being a white boy myself, I shouldn’t have a problem with that. But here I am, in an Asian restaurant/nightclub on the eve of the Chinese New Year and I’m surrounded by white people. I’m sorry, but I was just a little weirded out by that.
On the plus side it made my friends that much easier to locate. Once I found everyone, I learned the reason why the majority of the people there were not minorities. There was a cover band playing at the time that was supposed to finish up at 12am and let the DJ take over. But all of the white boys kept insisting that the band continue to play. Which for me wasn’t a big deal. That is, it wasn’t until the band played a cover of Aretha Franklin’s I Will Survive. Now don’t get me wrong, Aretha sings a pretty good tune, but this cover was awful, it was truly an insult to my eardrums. The worst part, however, was that all the white boys started jumping up and down and singing along.
Now I know by the stroke of midnight most of those guys had probably imbibed in enough alcohol to knock out a full grown horse, I’m sure. Still, that doesn’t excuse singing along to a crapped out rock version of a classic R&B song. Stupid white people.
Ok, enough with the racial partition. I’m not really sure I’m qualified to talk about that anyway. Luckily enough, the band eventually had to leave and the DJ was able to take over. Originally he began playing some recent hip hop hits, but later in the night he began to play some old favorites. Now, I’m not huge into rap and hip hop. That was always my older brother’s thing. I usually prefer the rock and roll. Hey, I’m a white boy, what’d you expect? But I do enjoy a lot of the older, classic R&B and hip hop.
As the place started to clear out, leaving a mostly Asian group behind (plus me) the DJ started playing such favorites as Boyz II Men, Blackstreet, and Cypress Hill. My friends moved to the dance floor and I adjoined to the nearby sofa to mouth off the lyrics I hadn’t heard in ages. Needless to say, I didn’t bother to get up and dance. Let me assure you, there’s a very good reason why. It’s as much for your benefit as it is for my own. Trust me, you don’t want to see me dance.
Back in college I was given the most wondrous opportunity to watch a video tape of my drunken self attempting to dance. I should probably thank my college buddies for goading me into dancing while I was severely inebriated and then recording it for all prosperity. But considering the fact that they make fun of me even to this day at every conceivable chance, I don’t think “thanks” is the word I’ll be using. Suffice it to say, I keep off the dance floor. Besides, I’m white, I’m not supposed to be able to dance.
Now knowing how my friends are, that they like to take shots throughout the night (many, many shots), and knowing that I had a much longer drive home than anyone else, I decided to be a complete and totally weenie. And you know what, I’m ok with that. I bought one drink and nursed that baby for the entire night. But my friend Kim decided I was going to take shots with her, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Well, not that I’m in the habit of saying no to an incredibly attractive girl who’s trying to get me drunk. Still, I attempted to put up a fight. Well, I sort of put up a fight… for a minute. Ok, maybe it was more like thirty seconds. Did I mention before that I was a complete and total weenie?
It was to no avail however. Not only did Kim manage to get me to down two shots of whiskey (I refused to drink tequila with her), but several other people forced various other forms of alcohol on me as well. It didn’t help that we knew the bartenders working that night and they were very persistent in goading us to buy more booze. Needless to say, everyone in my group was having a good time.
As the night wore on, several of the helium filled balloons that were stationed against the ceiling of the building began to float effortlessly down to us on the floor. But with only a sharp poke to the bottom of the party favor, the balloons would majestically levitate back up to join their brethren. Now, knowing that the balloon fell from its initial perch I realized that it was running low on helium. I began to wonder how little of a force was needed to get the inflatable back up to the ceiling and exactly how long it would be before gravity was able to counteract that force and bring the balloon back to the ground.
It was about that time I realized that I was being a huge nerd. And I blame this squarely on my family. Heck, I don’t even like physics. But if you grew up in my household, this sort of stuff would have brushed off on you too. My dad and brother were both mechanical engineering majors in college, my uncle runs a shop that machines industrial tools, and my grandfather flew airplanes in the Air Force briefly before joining the FAA. At Christmas time, we sit down to play some cards and I end up listening to discussions on thermodynamics and other such scientific hullabaloo. That’s about the time my brain cells start shutting themselves off in boredom (there’s a reason I didn’t follow in my family’s footsteps). And my parents wonder why I keep a fifth of bourbon at their house year round when I only visit for a scant two weeks during the holidays.
Finally, the end of the night came, the DJ turned off the music, and we were all forced to leave. You usually get the feeling you’re not wanted when people are cleaning things up all around you and stealing away the sofa you were sitting in just five minutes prior. I’d like to think I’m subtle enough to pick up on those clues. As we left Five Star, my friends suddenly began asking me over and over again if I was ok to drive home. Sure, they try to force drinks down my throat all night, then they worry if I’m ok to drive. I understand totally. Ok, maybe I don’t. Anyway, I had less than four drinks in a two and a half hour period, and on a full stomach, so I was more than ok to get the job done. Even then, I had to promise Kim I’d send her a text message to her phone when I got back safe and sound. I’m willing to bet she was fast asleep before she ever got that message, but at least I know my friends care about me.
So that was my New Years, and I hope you had a great one as well. Oh, and in case you didn’t know, it is now officially the Year of the Pig. According to the Chinese zodiac pigs are gluttonous animals that enjoy the carnal pleasures in life. So yeah, I think I’m going to enjoy this year.
So how did you spend your Chinese New Year’s Eve? You probably weren’t doing the same thing you were on the Gregorian New Years. I know I wasn’t. On December 31st I was a huge loser and didn’t go out or do anything. But this time around, I decided to go out and enjoy myself, which, of course, means copious amounts of alcohol. Hey, what did you think I was going to do? It’s New Years.
In celebration of the New Year, I joined a group of my Asian friends and headed out to downtown Raleigh. If you haven’t had the chance to get to know an Asian person, then let me tell you a few things about them. They like to gamble and they like to drink, a lot. Yes, I know it’s stereotyping, but anyone who likes to booze as much as I do and play poker as much as I do is perfectly ok by me. As far as I’m concerned, most Asians are good people.
We ended up going to Five Star, an Asian themed restaurant right in the heart of downtown. The restaurant stays open for late nights as a night club, and of course, they were all ready to go for the New Year. Or at least I thought they were going to be. When I showed up around midnight, the place was packed with white people. Now, being a white boy myself, I shouldn’t have a problem with that. But here I am, in an Asian restaurant/nightclub on the eve of the Chinese New Year and I’m surrounded by white people. I’m sorry, but I was just a little weirded out by that.
On the plus side it made my friends that much easier to locate. Once I found everyone, I learned the reason why the majority of the people there were not minorities. There was a cover band playing at the time that was supposed to finish up at 12am and let the DJ take over. But all of the white boys kept insisting that the band continue to play. Which for me wasn’t a big deal. That is, it wasn’t until the band played a cover of Aretha Franklin’s I Will Survive. Now don’t get me wrong, Aretha sings a pretty good tune, but this cover was awful, it was truly an insult to my eardrums. The worst part, however, was that all the white boys started jumping up and down and singing along.
Now I know by the stroke of midnight most of those guys had probably imbibed in enough alcohol to knock out a full grown horse, I’m sure. Still, that doesn’t excuse singing along to a crapped out rock version of a classic R&B song. Stupid white people.
Ok, enough with the racial partition. I’m not really sure I’m qualified to talk about that anyway. Luckily enough, the band eventually had to leave and the DJ was able to take over. Originally he began playing some recent hip hop hits, but later in the night he began to play some old favorites. Now, I’m not huge into rap and hip hop. That was always my older brother’s thing. I usually prefer the rock and roll. Hey, I’m a white boy, what’d you expect? But I do enjoy a lot of the older, classic R&B and hip hop.
As the place started to clear out, leaving a mostly Asian group behind (plus me) the DJ started playing such favorites as Boyz II Men, Blackstreet, and Cypress Hill. My friends moved to the dance floor and I adjoined to the nearby sofa to mouth off the lyrics I hadn’t heard in ages. Needless to say, I didn’t bother to get up and dance. Let me assure you, there’s a very good reason why. It’s as much for your benefit as it is for my own. Trust me, you don’t want to see me dance.
Back in college I was given the most wondrous opportunity to watch a video tape of my drunken self attempting to dance. I should probably thank my college buddies for goading me into dancing while I was severely inebriated and then recording it for all prosperity. But considering the fact that they make fun of me even to this day at every conceivable chance, I don’t think “thanks” is the word I’ll be using. Suffice it to say, I keep off the dance floor. Besides, I’m white, I’m not supposed to be able to dance.
Now knowing how my friends are, that they like to take shots throughout the night (many, many shots), and knowing that I had a much longer drive home than anyone else, I decided to be a complete and totally weenie. And you know what, I’m ok with that. I bought one drink and nursed that baby for the entire night. But my friend Kim decided I was going to take shots with her, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer. Well, not that I’m in the habit of saying no to an incredibly attractive girl who’s trying to get me drunk. Still, I attempted to put up a fight. Well, I sort of put up a fight… for a minute. Ok, maybe it was more like thirty seconds. Did I mention before that I was a complete and total weenie?
It was to no avail however. Not only did Kim manage to get me to down two shots of whiskey (I refused to drink tequila with her), but several other people forced various other forms of alcohol on me as well. It didn’t help that we knew the bartenders working that night and they were very persistent in goading us to buy more booze. Needless to say, everyone in my group was having a good time.
As the night wore on, several of the helium filled balloons that were stationed against the ceiling of the building began to float effortlessly down to us on the floor. But with only a sharp poke to the bottom of the party favor, the balloons would majestically levitate back up to join their brethren. Now, knowing that the balloon fell from its initial perch I realized that it was running low on helium. I began to wonder how little of a force was needed to get the inflatable back up to the ceiling and exactly how long it would be before gravity was able to counteract that force and bring the balloon back to the ground.
It was about that time I realized that I was being a huge nerd. And I blame this squarely on my family. Heck, I don’t even like physics. But if you grew up in my household, this sort of stuff would have brushed off on you too. My dad and brother were both mechanical engineering majors in college, my uncle runs a shop that machines industrial tools, and my grandfather flew airplanes in the Air Force briefly before joining the FAA. At Christmas time, we sit down to play some cards and I end up listening to discussions on thermodynamics and other such scientific hullabaloo. That’s about the time my brain cells start shutting themselves off in boredom (there’s a reason I didn’t follow in my family’s footsteps). And my parents wonder why I keep a fifth of bourbon at their house year round when I only visit for a scant two weeks during the holidays.
Finally, the end of the night came, the DJ turned off the music, and we were all forced to leave. You usually get the feeling you’re not wanted when people are cleaning things up all around you and stealing away the sofa you were sitting in just five minutes prior. I’d like to think I’m subtle enough to pick up on those clues. As we left Five Star, my friends suddenly began asking me over and over again if I was ok to drive home. Sure, they try to force drinks down my throat all night, then they worry if I’m ok to drive. I understand totally. Ok, maybe I don’t. Anyway, I had less than four drinks in a two and a half hour period, and on a full stomach, so I was more than ok to get the job done. Even then, I had to promise Kim I’d send her a text message to her phone when I got back safe and sound. I’m willing to bet she was fast asleep before she ever got that message, but at least I know my friends care about me.
So that was my New Years, and I hope you had a great one as well. Oh, and in case you didn’t know, it is now officially the Year of the Pig. According to the Chinese zodiac pigs are gluttonous animals that enjoy the carnal pleasures in life. So yeah, I think I’m going to enjoy this year.
Wednesday, February 14, 2007
Maybe Life is Like a Ride on a Freeway
I’m driving down the interstate, rain is pouring down all around my car, the traffic has slowed to a 55 mph crawl (hey, for the interstate, that’s slow). I just finished playing Black Hole Sun by Soundgarden (which seemed appropriate at the time) and now I was listening to the final seconds of regulation for the UNC vs. Virginia Tech basketball game. Things were starting to get just a bit stressful.
Maybe I should explain better. After watching the Carolina Hurricanes win over the Los Angeles Kings, I had to drive back to my place in Chapel Hill. I was already hyped up from a very physical and close scoring hockey game, so my nerves were a bit on edge. The rain was pouring all around me making it very difficult to drive. I wanted to turn on my rear windshield wiper to clear up the view in my rear view mirror (yes, I drive a station wagon, feel free to laugh at my expense), but then I remembered that the back windshield wiper no longer works. It’s a safety feature. See, the button for the back windshield wiper is hard to locate on the dashboard so I would have to take my eyes off the road for a few seconds to find it. And taking your eyes off the road is just plain unsafe. I should thank my car’s manufacturer for designing my car to meet such rigorous safety standards.
The stress continues to pile up. The road conditions, listening to the boys in baby blue not quite finishing off the game the way they should, the two and a half beers I consumed during the hockey game… it all adds up. I should let it be known that being stressed out is a bad way to drive. Luckily for me, I’m a safe driver. I made it home in one piece and without incident. Unluckily for me, the UNC game went into overtime.
And, as you already should know, UNC lost it in overtime and were swept in both games this year by Virginia Tech. The boys in blue let me down. So that’s why I’m right here, on a Tuesday night, sitting in front of my computer, drinking beer and attempting to write in semi-proper English, which is not an altogether easy task, let me assure you. Ah, beer, you’re my one and only true friend.
Well, that isn’t entirely true. See, I didn’t exactly buy my tickets for tonight’s hockey game. A friend of mine was kind enough to give me a spare she had. It was pretty much a last minute thing, and it is nights like tonight that make me proud to have a near non-existent social life. Hey, if I wasn’t going to the hockey game in person, I would be watching the game on TV anyway. Luckily for me, Andrea was nice enough to take me to the game so I could watch it in person.
Being the nice guy that I am, and we all know how nice I am to women, I took Andrea out to dinner before the game. Hey, if she’s cool enough to take me to a hockey game, I can treat her to dinner. Let me recap for a second just for your benefit: I had dinner with an attractive girl and then she took me to a hockey game. This, my friends, is what we call a win-win situation. Well, not quite as good as winning the lottery then being named the sole heir to Hugh Hefner’s estate, but still, it’s pretty damn good. And Hugh, if you’re reading this, I still expect you to leave me the Playboy Mansion in your will.
So, that was my Tuesday. It was pretty eventful, all things considering. And today, Valentine’s Day, probably won’t be nearly has eventful. I won’t be having dinner with any beautiful women tonight, nor will I be watching any collegiate or professional sporting events. I usually boycott Valentine’s Day because well, as far as I’m concerned Valentine’s Day was invented by the De Beers family. You know the De Beers, they’re the people who basically have cornered the international diamond market. They’re the reason why you have to spend three month’s salary on a shiny, semi-ounce rock that otherwise has no rational value.
If you don’t believe my conspiracy theory about this love-sick holiday, then simply turn on your TV. If you don’t see at least two commercials for jewelry during every commercial break, then I’ll give you 100 carats worth of quarters (which is probably just one quarter… possibly two). But you know what, you really should go out and buy your loved one lots of presents. If you don’t spend a crap-ton of money on your favorite female, then it shows that you don’t love her (1 crap-ton = 100 short tons). Love is indubitably tied to gross materialism.
Don’t let the circuitous media fool you, love isn’t some all-prevailing romantic force. Simply put, love is money. Although, as a quick disclaimer, I feel the need to inform you that I was the guy who spent his entire college career trying to marry into money. Let me tell you, marrying a wealthy chick is a lot harder way to get rich quick than I thought. Seriously.
As far as I’m concerned though, love is money. In fact, I love money. Every night when I go to bed, I curl up with a 100 dollar bill and caress it as I fall asleep. It is my one, my only, my everything. Now if it would just hurry up produce a couple hundred more bills just like it, I’d be one happy and content man. The man who coined the term “money can’t buy happiness” most assuredly was poor. I know that I would be happy if I had one million dollars… actually, ten million, I’d be happy with ten million dollars. Well, you know what, we’d better make that an even 100 million dollars, just to be on the safe side. If I had 100 million dollars, I’d be one of the happiest men alive.
But unfortunately, I don’t have quite that much money right now. I don’t even have the Playboy Mansion either. Apparently, I don’t have much. What I do have is another three beers in the fridge that aren’t going to drink themselves. Hey, the Tar Heels lost today, I’m entitled to my booze. But hey, life could be a lot worse. I could be a Duke fan. What are they ranked again? Oh, that’s right, they’re not ranked. Sucks to be a Duke fan.
Maybe I should explain better. After watching the Carolina Hurricanes win over the Los Angeles Kings, I had to drive back to my place in Chapel Hill. I was already hyped up from a very physical and close scoring hockey game, so my nerves were a bit on edge. The rain was pouring all around me making it very difficult to drive. I wanted to turn on my rear windshield wiper to clear up the view in my rear view mirror (yes, I drive a station wagon, feel free to laugh at my expense), but then I remembered that the back windshield wiper no longer works. It’s a safety feature. See, the button for the back windshield wiper is hard to locate on the dashboard so I would have to take my eyes off the road for a few seconds to find it. And taking your eyes off the road is just plain unsafe. I should thank my car’s manufacturer for designing my car to meet such rigorous safety standards.
The stress continues to pile up. The road conditions, listening to the boys in baby blue not quite finishing off the game the way they should, the two and a half beers I consumed during the hockey game… it all adds up. I should let it be known that being stressed out is a bad way to drive. Luckily for me, I’m a safe driver. I made it home in one piece and without incident. Unluckily for me, the UNC game went into overtime.
And, as you already should know, UNC lost it in overtime and were swept in both games this year by Virginia Tech. The boys in blue let me down. So that’s why I’m right here, on a Tuesday night, sitting in front of my computer, drinking beer and attempting to write in semi-proper English, which is not an altogether easy task, let me assure you. Ah, beer, you’re my one and only true friend.
Well, that isn’t entirely true. See, I didn’t exactly buy my tickets for tonight’s hockey game. A friend of mine was kind enough to give me a spare she had. It was pretty much a last minute thing, and it is nights like tonight that make me proud to have a near non-existent social life. Hey, if I wasn’t going to the hockey game in person, I would be watching the game on TV anyway. Luckily for me, Andrea was nice enough to take me to the game so I could watch it in person.
Being the nice guy that I am, and we all know how nice I am to women, I took Andrea out to dinner before the game. Hey, if she’s cool enough to take me to a hockey game, I can treat her to dinner. Let me recap for a second just for your benefit: I had dinner with an attractive girl and then she took me to a hockey game. This, my friends, is what we call a win-win situation. Well, not quite as good as winning the lottery then being named the sole heir to Hugh Hefner’s estate, but still, it’s pretty damn good. And Hugh, if you’re reading this, I still expect you to leave me the Playboy Mansion in your will.
So, that was my Tuesday. It was pretty eventful, all things considering. And today, Valentine’s Day, probably won’t be nearly has eventful. I won’t be having dinner with any beautiful women tonight, nor will I be watching any collegiate or professional sporting events. I usually boycott Valentine’s Day because well, as far as I’m concerned Valentine’s Day was invented by the De Beers family. You know the De Beers, they’re the people who basically have cornered the international diamond market. They’re the reason why you have to spend three month’s salary on a shiny, semi-ounce rock that otherwise has no rational value.
If you don’t believe my conspiracy theory about this love-sick holiday, then simply turn on your TV. If you don’t see at least two commercials for jewelry during every commercial break, then I’ll give you 100 carats worth of quarters (which is probably just one quarter… possibly two). But you know what, you really should go out and buy your loved one lots of presents. If you don’t spend a crap-ton of money on your favorite female, then it shows that you don’t love her (1 crap-ton = 100 short tons). Love is indubitably tied to gross materialism.
Don’t let the circuitous media fool you, love isn’t some all-prevailing romantic force. Simply put, love is money. Although, as a quick disclaimer, I feel the need to inform you that I was the guy who spent his entire college career trying to marry into money. Let me tell you, marrying a wealthy chick is a lot harder way to get rich quick than I thought. Seriously.
As far as I’m concerned though, love is money. In fact, I love money. Every night when I go to bed, I curl up with a 100 dollar bill and caress it as I fall asleep. It is my one, my only, my everything. Now if it would just hurry up produce a couple hundred more bills just like it, I’d be one happy and content man. The man who coined the term “money can’t buy happiness” most assuredly was poor. I know that I would be happy if I had one million dollars… actually, ten million, I’d be happy with ten million dollars. Well, you know what, we’d better make that an even 100 million dollars, just to be on the safe side. If I had 100 million dollars, I’d be one of the happiest men alive.
But unfortunately, I don’t have quite that much money right now. I don’t even have the Playboy Mansion either. Apparently, I don’t have much. What I do have is another three beers in the fridge that aren’t going to drink themselves. Hey, the Tar Heels lost today, I’m entitled to my booze. But hey, life could be a lot worse. I could be a Duke fan. What are they ranked again? Oh, that’s right, they’re not ranked. Sucks to be a Duke fan.
Wednesday, January 31, 2007
You Have Entered the Forbidden Zone
It is now exactly two weeks and one day until we come out of the dreaded Forbidden Zone. I may have mentioned this before, although I’m not sure, but the Forbidden Zone is something that I made up entirely on my own. And don’t worry, it’s not some crazy part of a comic book universe that makes no sense in the overall scheme of things but makes up for it by sounding really cool. No, the Forbidden Zone isn’t even a place, real or imaginary. It’s really more of a state of mind.
Actually, it’s a time frame. The Forbidden Zone is a vastly important time of every calendar year that I observe each and every time around. It begins on November 14th and ends after February 14th. This three month span of the year is dubbed “The Forbidden Zone” because it is absolutely crucial that you avoid relationships during that time span. So basically, don’t let women get close to you, or better yet, don’t date any girls for that whole three month period.
Now bear with me, because I have some very good reasons for telling you this. The winter holidays are supposed to be a time of loving and caring, rejoicing and appreciating. But in reality, and I’m sure we’re all feeling the reality of it right now, those holidays are about making us spend money. Think about it. How much of your hard earned cash have you spent on your loved ones since mid-November? And how thin is your pocket book looking right now? I’m even willing to bet that you have plans to spend even more money (whether or not you can afford it) come February 14th.
Let me tell you that this particular part of the year is very important to our economy. I don’t want you to quit spending money altogether, just stop spending it on dates. During the winter holidays of Thanksgiving, Chanukah, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, and whatever else it is that you may celebrate, literally billions of dollars are sent roaming through the economy. And this is a good thing. We depend on this influx of money every year, and without it, our economy would flat-line and the integrity of our country as a whole would be in danger. Whole societies have crumbled beneath the under-indulgent weight of a lackluster winter holiday sales slump. Rome is a prime example.
Sure, the historians say it was a mix of splitting the empire, the increase in barbarian raids, and the unsure method of selecting a new emperor. But I know the truth. We all know the empire was in decline, but they were still rich and they had the largest army on the planet. All it took was one lousy Saturnalia (which is the ancient Roman holiday that takes place around the same time as Christmas). For some reason that we may never know, the great and wealthy Romans decided not to go out and spend massive amounts of money for their holiday. Alas, there were no decorated fig trees, no Saturnalia Games in the Coliseum, and no Roman orgies. Hey, get your head out of the gutter! The Roman orgy was a large party of Roman elites that ate and drank excessively, even to the point of forcing themselves to throw up so they could eat and drink more. It reminds me of college.
So you see, without the large amounts of coin being pass around, the Roman economy grinded to a halt and led to its eventual destruction starting when Rome itself was sacked by the Visigoths in 410 AD. Moral of the story: if you don’t spend lots of money during the holidays, Rome gets sacked by barbarians. Ok, that’s more of a history lesson than even I need.
So why have I designed this Forbidden Zone? We all now know that emptying our wallets during the cold months keeps our country from falling apart. So why would I warn you about this particular time? Well, it’s all due to the one element which is recognized by all scientists to drain your money faster than anything else. It’s woman. The Forbidden Zone is a period in time where you should avoid dating women. If not, you will end up spending more money in this three month period, than you will for the rest of the women you meet for the other nine months combined.
Now don’t get me wrong. If you already have a long term relationship going into November 14th, then by all means, keep it going. You shouldn’t dump a girl just because you’re about to hit the Forbidden Zone. Hey, you got yourself into that mess, don’t expect me to get you out. And if you’re married… well then you have my condolences. You’re beyond even my help.
Honestly, I just want you to do one favor for me. This Valentine’s Day, when you’re planning on taking out a person of the female persuasion, just ask yourself: “Is she worth it?” Take a long look at how much money you’re squandering on this particular female and decide if you’re really going to be happy with the way you’ve spent your hard earned cash.
I mean, if your date is planning on bringing over some girl she kind of knows from her gym later that night to join you, well then by all means spend as much money as you can afford. But if your date is going to give you a hug and tell you how good of a friend you are before leaving you alone for the rest of the evening, well, was it really worth spending $200? Because if your answer is yes, I can just come over there, set your two hundred dollar bills on fire and kick you in the balls repeatedly while you watch your money turn to ash in front of your eyes. That will take all of five minutes, and you can have the rest of the evening to play Halo 2 (or whatever multiplayer game it is your kids are playing these days).
I just want to make on thing straight. I don’t hate Valentine’s Day. The fact is, I’ve never had a date on the holiday before, and that doesn’t bother me one bit. Personally I feel that if there is a girl that I care about enough to take out and spend that much money on, then I’ll do it. But if there isn’t a girl in my life who just is that special, then there’s really no point. I have better things to do with my time and money than waste them on someone I don’t really care that much about. What really gets me angry is all of the guys I talk to feel they need to have a date for Valentine’s Day. It’s like their life is worthless without one. But that’s just not true.
There’s nothing special about February 14th. In reality, it’s just another day out of the year. If you don’t have a date lined up, then please don’t even bother worrying about it. You’ll be saving yourself plenty of money and tons of headaches. Trust me on that one. And if anyone asks you about it or makes fun of you, just tell them that you’re stuck in the Forbidden Zone. Once February 14th passes, you’ll be free to date again. Free to hang out with annoying women who only care about your money and not about who you really are as a person. Ah, the wonderful world of dating, how I’ve missed you these past three months!
Actually, it’s a time frame. The Forbidden Zone is a vastly important time of every calendar year that I observe each and every time around. It begins on November 14th and ends after February 14th. This three month span of the year is dubbed “The Forbidden Zone” because it is absolutely crucial that you avoid relationships during that time span. So basically, don’t let women get close to you, or better yet, don’t date any girls for that whole three month period.
Now bear with me, because I have some very good reasons for telling you this. The winter holidays are supposed to be a time of loving and caring, rejoicing and appreciating. But in reality, and I’m sure we’re all feeling the reality of it right now, those holidays are about making us spend money. Think about it. How much of your hard earned cash have you spent on your loved ones since mid-November? And how thin is your pocket book looking right now? I’m even willing to bet that you have plans to spend even more money (whether or not you can afford it) come February 14th.
Let me tell you that this particular part of the year is very important to our economy. I don’t want you to quit spending money altogether, just stop spending it on dates. During the winter holidays of Thanksgiving, Chanukah, Christmas, Valentine’s Day, and whatever else it is that you may celebrate, literally billions of dollars are sent roaming through the economy. And this is a good thing. We depend on this influx of money every year, and without it, our economy would flat-line and the integrity of our country as a whole would be in danger. Whole societies have crumbled beneath the under-indulgent weight of a lackluster winter holiday sales slump. Rome is a prime example.
Sure, the historians say it was a mix of splitting the empire, the increase in barbarian raids, and the unsure method of selecting a new emperor. But I know the truth. We all know the empire was in decline, but they were still rich and they had the largest army on the planet. All it took was one lousy Saturnalia (which is the ancient Roman holiday that takes place around the same time as Christmas). For some reason that we may never know, the great and wealthy Romans decided not to go out and spend massive amounts of money for their holiday. Alas, there were no decorated fig trees, no Saturnalia Games in the Coliseum, and no Roman orgies. Hey, get your head out of the gutter! The Roman orgy was a large party of Roman elites that ate and drank excessively, even to the point of forcing themselves to throw up so they could eat and drink more. It reminds me of college.
So you see, without the large amounts of coin being pass around, the Roman economy grinded to a halt and led to its eventual destruction starting when Rome itself was sacked by the Visigoths in 410 AD. Moral of the story: if you don’t spend lots of money during the holidays, Rome gets sacked by barbarians. Ok, that’s more of a history lesson than even I need.
So why have I designed this Forbidden Zone? We all now know that emptying our wallets during the cold months keeps our country from falling apart. So why would I warn you about this particular time? Well, it’s all due to the one element which is recognized by all scientists to drain your money faster than anything else. It’s woman. The Forbidden Zone is a period in time where you should avoid dating women. If not, you will end up spending more money in this three month period, than you will for the rest of the women you meet for the other nine months combined.
Now don’t get me wrong. If you already have a long term relationship going into November 14th, then by all means, keep it going. You shouldn’t dump a girl just because you’re about to hit the Forbidden Zone. Hey, you got yourself into that mess, don’t expect me to get you out. And if you’re married… well then you have my condolences. You’re beyond even my help.
Honestly, I just want you to do one favor for me. This Valentine’s Day, when you’re planning on taking out a person of the female persuasion, just ask yourself: “Is she worth it?” Take a long look at how much money you’re squandering on this particular female and decide if you’re really going to be happy with the way you’ve spent your hard earned cash.
I mean, if your date is planning on bringing over some girl she kind of knows from her gym later that night to join you, well then by all means spend as much money as you can afford. But if your date is going to give you a hug and tell you how good of a friend you are before leaving you alone for the rest of the evening, well, was it really worth spending $200? Because if your answer is yes, I can just come over there, set your two hundred dollar bills on fire and kick you in the balls repeatedly while you watch your money turn to ash in front of your eyes. That will take all of five minutes, and you can have the rest of the evening to play Halo 2 (or whatever multiplayer game it is your kids are playing these days).
I just want to make on thing straight. I don’t hate Valentine’s Day. The fact is, I’ve never had a date on the holiday before, and that doesn’t bother me one bit. Personally I feel that if there is a girl that I care about enough to take out and spend that much money on, then I’ll do it. But if there isn’t a girl in my life who just is that special, then there’s really no point. I have better things to do with my time and money than waste them on someone I don’t really care that much about. What really gets me angry is all of the guys I talk to feel they need to have a date for Valentine’s Day. It’s like their life is worthless without one. But that’s just not true.
There’s nothing special about February 14th. In reality, it’s just another day out of the year. If you don’t have a date lined up, then please don’t even bother worrying about it. You’ll be saving yourself plenty of money and tons of headaches. Trust me on that one. And if anyone asks you about it or makes fun of you, just tell them that you’re stuck in the Forbidden Zone. Once February 14th passes, you’ll be free to date again. Free to hang out with annoying women who only care about your money and not about who you really are as a person. Ah, the wonderful world of dating, how I’ve missed you these past three months!
Wednesday, January 03, 2007
Now the Morning Light Has Come and Kicked My Ass
So I woke up Tuesday morning, went straight to the bathroom, and threw up. Let me assure you, it was not fun. Regurgitation is something I try to avoid as a general rule, mainly because I have a really hard time breathing right after I violently vomit and expel the contents of my intestines. Totally not cool.
To figure out why I was hunched over my toilet praying to the porcelain gods at 9:30 in the AM, we need to rewind a bit to Monday. That’s right, New Years Day. I did not go out on New Years Eve, mainly due to the fact that I’m a huge loser. Personally I don’t consider myself a loser, but if you stay in New Years Eve and go to sleep nursing a cold you caught from your father while visiting the family for Christmas, then by default, you are a loser. And no, I’m not bitter at my dad for giving me his cold just in time for Christmas and New Years. Nope, not bitter one bit.
So here we are on Monday, January First. Or, as I always remember it, Company Holiday Party. We have our party a little bit later than most companies, but trust me, it’s totally worth it. The boys upstairs set up a nice dinner at a hotel, hand out usually five to six tickets for free drinks per person, and get the hotel to offer rooms at a discount for people attending the party. That last little part is especially nice, because after about three fourths of a bottle of bourbon I do not need to be getting anywhere near my car. And that’s something that I can’t stress enough, I drink good old fashioned American Whiskey. I buy domestic and thereby support the hardworking American.
So after a nice sit-down dinner of filet and shrimp (the filet was much better going down Monday than it was coming up Tuesday, trust me) I headed out to the hotel bar to start drinking with the rest of the alcoholics. Well, it wasn’t starting so much as it was continuing. I think I was the first person to show up before dinner so I could hang out at the bar, get the whiskey flowing, and watch some of the Rose Bowl (Unfortunately, I missed the Fiesta Bowl with Boise St. beating Oklahoma 43-42 in an overtime spectacular). Being there that early gave me the opportunity to talk the party organizers into giving me a few extra drink tickets. What can I say, I’m a sucker for free drinks. Now apparently after dinner, while I was at the bar, I missed my name being called out to receive a door prize (an Ipod, I think), so they gave it to someone else. I didn’t get an Ipod because I was busy drinking. C’est la vie. That’s pretty much the story of my life.
Do you mind if I take a break from my current storytelling to ask you a philosophical question? Is it ok to watch a 17 year old girl making out with a 19 year old girl? Or more importantly: Is it ok to enjoy watching a 17 year old girl making out another girl? And I ask for absolutely no reason whatsoever. …except for the fact that the previously mentioned event happened Monday night not three inches from my face. And truth be told, I enjoyed watching, very much so. That doesn’t make me a dirty old man, does it?
There’s a trick to drinking at the company holiday party. Well, there’s a trick at my company party at least. When everyone is hanging out at the bar after dinner, you’ll usually find me drinking with the general managers. Now why would I be spending my time with my bosses at a party where there’s underage female to female tongue action going on? Mainly, my bosses are almost as big of alcoholics as I am. And that’s saying something. So every time I see the big boys trying to decide what shot to order, I quietly slide on over and suggest Red-headed Sluts (Jager, peach schnapps, and cranberry juice). Because really, who doesn’t like red heads?
Now, I know what you’re thinking. Three fourths of a bottle of bourbon and several shots, I should probably not be surprised that I ended up getting sick. I mean, alcohol is not the healthiest of substances. Well, let me assure you that I have discovered, by means of my uncanny intellect and astounding analytical skills, that beyond any shadow of a doubt, it was the steak that made me sick, not the alcohol.
To be perfectly honest, alcohol and I go way back, especially whiskey. We’ve had a very long and fruitful friendship, and I am very reluctant to believe that alcohol would betray my trust like that and cause me to get ill. This is why I choose to believe it was the food at fault. Armed with that knowledge I can now go out this weekend and continue my relationship with alcohol unimpeded by any needless worries.
Luckily I had the foresight to make sure I didn’t have to go into work Tuesday. The last thing I need is to be working with a fragile stomach and light head. Well, actually, the last thing I need is group of ninja assassins stalking me at night. But the being sick at work thing is still pretty bad. I feel sorry for the guys who actually had to go in today. It must suck to be them.
Well, I think that’s pretty much the highlights of my night. I drank a lot of whiskey, watched some indiscretions, and took some shots. How many shots did I have? …no seriously, how many did I have? I don’t have a clue. And this seems like it might be relevant information taking into account the first sentence in this passage.
Although, I have to say, I am proud of myself. I made it to my room, all on my own, and got into my pajamas and into bed. That’s quite an accomplishment. Usually at one of these things, I wake up the next day sitting up in my bed, fully clothed (shoes and all), with the lights still on. I have no idea why I would need to go to bed in a sitting position with the lights on and my pants still unremoved. Apparently, I usually have very good reasons, though I’ll never quite know them fully.
You know what, I just had an epiphany. It is completely ok for me to enjoy watching underage girls making out with each other. No worries there. And yes, I do realize I’m going to hell. I’ve come to terms with that.
So here’s hoping that you had a wonderful holiday season. I hope yours was packed with as much wonder and excitement as mine was. And always remember, just because the holidays are over, doesn’t mean you have to stop having a good time. Getting out and enjoying yourself is a year round affair as far as I’m concerned. As I always say: eat, drink, and be merry!
To figure out why I was hunched over my toilet praying to the porcelain gods at 9:30 in the AM, we need to rewind a bit to Monday. That’s right, New Years Day. I did not go out on New Years Eve, mainly due to the fact that I’m a huge loser. Personally I don’t consider myself a loser, but if you stay in New Years Eve and go to sleep nursing a cold you caught from your father while visiting the family for Christmas, then by default, you are a loser. And no, I’m not bitter at my dad for giving me his cold just in time for Christmas and New Years. Nope, not bitter one bit.
So here we are on Monday, January First. Or, as I always remember it, Company Holiday Party. We have our party a little bit later than most companies, but trust me, it’s totally worth it. The boys upstairs set up a nice dinner at a hotel, hand out usually five to six tickets for free drinks per person, and get the hotel to offer rooms at a discount for people attending the party. That last little part is especially nice, because after about three fourths of a bottle of bourbon I do not need to be getting anywhere near my car. And that’s something that I can’t stress enough, I drink good old fashioned American Whiskey. I buy domestic and thereby support the hardworking American.
So after a nice sit-down dinner of filet and shrimp (the filet was much better going down Monday than it was coming up Tuesday, trust me) I headed out to the hotel bar to start drinking with the rest of the alcoholics. Well, it wasn’t starting so much as it was continuing. I think I was the first person to show up before dinner so I could hang out at the bar, get the whiskey flowing, and watch some of the Rose Bowl (Unfortunately, I missed the Fiesta Bowl with Boise St. beating Oklahoma 43-42 in an overtime spectacular). Being there that early gave me the opportunity to talk the party organizers into giving me a few extra drink tickets. What can I say, I’m a sucker for free drinks. Now apparently after dinner, while I was at the bar, I missed my name being called out to receive a door prize (an Ipod, I think), so they gave it to someone else. I didn’t get an Ipod because I was busy drinking. C’est la vie. That’s pretty much the story of my life.
Do you mind if I take a break from my current storytelling to ask you a philosophical question? Is it ok to watch a 17 year old girl making out with a 19 year old girl? Or more importantly: Is it ok to enjoy watching a 17 year old girl making out another girl? And I ask for absolutely no reason whatsoever. …except for the fact that the previously mentioned event happened Monday night not three inches from my face. And truth be told, I enjoyed watching, very much so. That doesn’t make me a dirty old man, does it?
There’s a trick to drinking at the company holiday party. Well, there’s a trick at my company party at least. When everyone is hanging out at the bar after dinner, you’ll usually find me drinking with the general managers. Now why would I be spending my time with my bosses at a party where there’s underage female to female tongue action going on? Mainly, my bosses are almost as big of alcoholics as I am. And that’s saying something. So every time I see the big boys trying to decide what shot to order, I quietly slide on over and suggest Red-headed Sluts (Jager, peach schnapps, and cranberry juice). Because really, who doesn’t like red heads?
Now, I know what you’re thinking. Three fourths of a bottle of bourbon and several shots, I should probably not be surprised that I ended up getting sick. I mean, alcohol is not the healthiest of substances. Well, let me assure you that I have discovered, by means of my uncanny intellect and astounding analytical skills, that beyond any shadow of a doubt, it was the steak that made me sick, not the alcohol.
To be perfectly honest, alcohol and I go way back, especially whiskey. We’ve had a very long and fruitful friendship, and I am very reluctant to believe that alcohol would betray my trust like that and cause me to get ill. This is why I choose to believe it was the food at fault. Armed with that knowledge I can now go out this weekend and continue my relationship with alcohol unimpeded by any needless worries.
Luckily I had the foresight to make sure I didn’t have to go into work Tuesday. The last thing I need is to be working with a fragile stomach and light head. Well, actually, the last thing I need is group of ninja assassins stalking me at night. But the being sick at work thing is still pretty bad. I feel sorry for the guys who actually had to go in today. It must suck to be them.
Well, I think that’s pretty much the highlights of my night. I drank a lot of whiskey, watched some indiscretions, and took some shots. How many shots did I have? …no seriously, how many did I have? I don’t have a clue. And this seems like it might be relevant information taking into account the first sentence in this passage.
Although, I have to say, I am proud of myself. I made it to my room, all on my own, and got into my pajamas and into bed. That’s quite an accomplishment. Usually at one of these things, I wake up the next day sitting up in my bed, fully clothed (shoes and all), with the lights still on. I have no idea why I would need to go to bed in a sitting position with the lights on and my pants still unremoved. Apparently, I usually have very good reasons, though I’ll never quite know them fully.
You know what, I just had an epiphany. It is completely ok for me to enjoy watching underage girls making out with each other. No worries there. And yes, I do realize I’m going to hell. I’ve come to terms with that.
So here’s hoping that you had a wonderful holiday season. I hope yours was packed with as much wonder and excitement as mine was. And always remember, just because the holidays are over, doesn’t mean you have to stop having a good time. Getting out and enjoying yourself is a year round affair as far as I’m concerned. As I always say: eat, drink, and be merry!
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
The Most Wonderful Time of the Year
Indeed, it is the most wonderful time of the year. And for the record, I’m not talking about Christmas. Not that there’s anything wrong with Christmas, although sometimes the holiday does confuse me a tad. A fat man in a red suit with a bunch of elves represents the birth of Jesus Christ; I’m not totally seeing the obvious connection here.
But it is the most wonderful time of the year. With the release of two new next generation video game systems, by Nintendo and Sony, a new age in interactive entertainment has blossomed. However, there’s far more than that going on than just some fancy new consoles. In the past month, more has happened in the video game industry then perhaps the last two years combined. Let us take a quick look at what has happened since November:
Guitar Hero 2 hit the shelves in early November giving me some brand new songs to rock out to. Then we had Final Fantasy 12 hit the Playstation 2 while the remake of Final Fantasy 3 dropped on the Nintendo DS. And as you know, I’m a huge fan of the Final Fantasy series. Hell, I even own Mystic Quest for my SNES (bonus points go out to those you who already know what that game is). Then there’s Gears of War, Children of Mana, Disgea 2, and far too many other titles to name in the space I have here. Oh, and there’s this little known game called the Legend of Zelda, the Twilight Princess too. You may have heard of it.
I think by now, its safe for me to confide in you. I’ve bared enough of my soul over the past nine months that I feel almost comfortable in speaking of my feelings. Almost comfortable, but let’s face it, I’m not exactly the emotional type. That being said, I’m not afraid to tell you that I have wept, on more than one occasion, tears of absolute joy over the amount of high quality content that has come out recently for video game enthusiasts.
There is so much out there right now that I do not have the hours in my day to play all the games that I would like. Well, I guess I could have worse problems. Like cancer. I mean, that would suck, right?
Since Christmas is only days away, I thought I’d give you my thoughts on the must have gifts of the season: the Nintendo Wii, the Sony Playstation 3, and the Xbox 360. If you don’t have one of these items on your wish list (assuming you don’t already own all three), then we just can’t be friends anymore. Hey, it’s not my fault that you’re a loser.
First off, the Nintendo Wii. Ok, I’ll admit, the name scares me. It did the first time I heard it, and it continues to this day. But there are some benefits to it. It’s very catchy in some phrases. Such as, “I’m going to go home to play with my Wii.” Or, “How come girls always look at me funny when I ask them to come over and play with my Wii? I’m sure that if they’d just touch my Wii, they’d love every second they had their hands on it.”
Nintendo’s nomenclature aside, the Wii is very different from its competitors. If you’re looking for the high powered, top of the line graphics, high definition, and all that jazz, then Nintendo isn’t pandering to you. Simply put, the Wii is pure fun. I preordered mine (mainly because I’m a huge dork like that) and it is truly the most fun I have ever had with a console (even my Nintendo DS, which I have been known to take out to a romantic dinner on the occasion).
Case in point: a guy I work with, who had previously mocked Nintendo for their lack of processing power and true next-generation graphics, had a chance to sit down (or stand, as it was) and play a few rounds of the Wii sports package. The next day he was thinking of going out and purchasing a Wii just for that game (which comes included with the console). In all honestly, once you get a chance to get your hands on the console and play a few games, you’ll have the video game experience of your life. And trust me, the best is yet to come. Although, I still don’t understand why girls seem so upset when I ask them to touch my Wii. I just don’t get it.
The downside comes when I turn the system on. For some reason, whenever I power up my Wii, I don’t turn it off until six hours later at the minimum. I can’t tell you how many days in a row I’ve stayed up until 5am playing on that thing. And that can’t be healthy. Oh, and as for the stories going around about people losing their grip on the Wii-mote and having it fly out of their hands and breaking expensive plasma TVs and tearing holes in drywall, well, all I can say is: baloney. Two Fridays ago I was at a party with no less than 20 people who were well intoxicated and took turns playing Wii sports. Not a single Wii-mote was dropped or otherwise inadvertently used as a projectile. And trust me, my shirt reeked of spilled tequila halfway through that party, so I know everyone was enjoying themselves on the liquor front. So if you break something with your Wii-mote, it is 100% completely user error. Don’t blame it on Nintendo. If a bunch of drunken idiots can play without breaking anything, I’m sure you can too.
Well, there’s not much I can say about the Playstation 3 other than the fact that I’m still not convinced that it actually exists. I have yet to see a tangible model. Sure, I’ve seen the creepy TV commercials that feature what appears to be a demented baby (with no actual footage of game play). And honestly, they scare me. But until I get one of these mythical consoles in my hand, I will continue with my skepticism. I suppose I should believe in the Playstation 3. I suppose I should believe in Santa Clause and the Tooth Fairy as well. But I don’t. And even if I did, why would I want to buy one? Last I checked, Sony was charging $600, a DNA sample for cloning purposes, the rights to turn your house into a nuclear waste dump, and your firstborn son. And that’s just for the console! Who knows what they’re charging for the games.
Nintendo sells their console at $250 a pop and makes money on every one sold. Sony, on the other hand, loses money every time they sell a Playstation 3 for $600. Just some food for thought.
And now we get to the Xbox 360. This is Microsoft’s second foray into the console market, and to be honest, I’m impressed. Even though it has been out for a year now, the system is still very powerful and plays great graphics, especially in high definition. The price is very attractive at $399 for the “pro” console (only a blind, deaf, mute quadriplegic with down syndrome would ever think of buying the $299 “core” console… and even then, he’d have to be really drunk) since it is a full $200 cheaper than the Playstation 3.
The real strength of the Xbox 360 lies in the fact that it has been selling for an entire year. The ensuing titles launched for the system since its inception make it very attractive, and it is far easier to get a hold of the console than either of its competitors. Gears of War and Dead Rising are two games I would seriously love to play in all their high definition glory. And best of all, I have yet to see the blue screen of death appear on any Xbox console. I would have never guessed that Microsoft had it in them.
So there you have it, my take on the video game season of 2006. And from what I’ve been told, Christmas is less than a week away, so you’d better hurry up with that last minute shopping. I hope the information I’ve provided can help you in that aspect. If the ones you’re shopping for have absolutely no interest in the above, then really, there’s no reason to love them anymore. Oh, and why you’re out, do you think you can find some girls who want to play with my Wii? It’s in dire need of some multiplayer action, if you know what I mean.
But it is the most wonderful time of the year. With the release of two new next generation video game systems, by Nintendo and Sony, a new age in interactive entertainment has blossomed. However, there’s far more than that going on than just some fancy new consoles. In the past month, more has happened in the video game industry then perhaps the last two years combined. Let us take a quick look at what has happened since November:
Guitar Hero 2 hit the shelves in early November giving me some brand new songs to rock out to. Then we had Final Fantasy 12 hit the Playstation 2 while the remake of Final Fantasy 3 dropped on the Nintendo DS. And as you know, I’m a huge fan of the Final Fantasy series. Hell, I even own Mystic Quest for my SNES (bonus points go out to those you who already know what that game is). Then there’s Gears of War, Children of Mana, Disgea 2, and far too many other titles to name in the space I have here. Oh, and there’s this little known game called the Legend of Zelda, the Twilight Princess too. You may have heard of it.
I think by now, its safe for me to confide in you. I’ve bared enough of my soul over the past nine months that I feel almost comfortable in speaking of my feelings. Almost comfortable, but let’s face it, I’m not exactly the emotional type. That being said, I’m not afraid to tell you that I have wept, on more than one occasion, tears of absolute joy over the amount of high quality content that has come out recently for video game enthusiasts.
There is so much out there right now that I do not have the hours in my day to play all the games that I would like. Well, I guess I could have worse problems. Like cancer. I mean, that would suck, right?
Since Christmas is only days away, I thought I’d give you my thoughts on the must have gifts of the season: the Nintendo Wii, the Sony Playstation 3, and the Xbox 360. If you don’t have one of these items on your wish list (assuming you don’t already own all three), then we just can’t be friends anymore. Hey, it’s not my fault that you’re a loser.
First off, the Nintendo Wii. Ok, I’ll admit, the name scares me. It did the first time I heard it, and it continues to this day. But there are some benefits to it. It’s very catchy in some phrases. Such as, “I’m going to go home to play with my Wii.” Or, “How come girls always look at me funny when I ask them to come over and play with my Wii? I’m sure that if they’d just touch my Wii, they’d love every second they had their hands on it.”
Nintendo’s nomenclature aside, the Wii is very different from its competitors. If you’re looking for the high powered, top of the line graphics, high definition, and all that jazz, then Nintendo isn’t pandering to you. Simply put, the Wii is pure fun. I preordered mine (mainly because I’m a huge dork like that) and it is truly the most fun I have ever had with a console (even my Nintendo DS, which I have been known to take out to a romantic dinner on the occasion).
Case in point: a guy I work with, who had previously mocked Nintendo for their lack of processing power and true next-generation graphics, had a chance to sit down (or stand, as it was) and play a few rounds of the Wii sports package. The next day he was thinking of going out and purchasing a Wii just for that game (which comes included with the console). In all honestly, once you get a chance to get your hands on the console and play a few games, you’ll have the video game experience of your life. And trust me, the best is yet to come. Although, I still don’t understand why girls seem so upset when I ask them to touch my Wii. I just don’t get it.
The downside comes when I turn the system on. For some reason, whenever I power up my Wii, I don’t turn it off until six hours later at the minimum. I can’t tell you how many days in a row I’ve stayed up until 5am playing on that thing. And that can’t be healthy. Oh, and as for the stories going around about people losing their grip on the Wii-mote and having it fly out of their hands and breaking expensive plasma TVs and tearing holes in drywall, well, all I can say is: baloney. Two Fridays ago I was at a party with no less than 20 people who were well intoxicated and took turns playing Wii sports. Not a single Wii-mote was dropped or otherwise inadvertently used as a projectile. And trust me, my shirt reeked of spilled tequila halfway through that party, so I know everyone was enjoying themselves on the liquor front. So if you break something with your Wii-mote, it is 100% completely user error. Don’t blame it on Nintendo. If a bunch of drunken idiots can play without breaking anything, I’m sure you can too.
Well, there’s not much I can say about the Playstation 3 other than the fact that I’m still not convinced that it actually exists. I have yet to see a tangible model. Sure, I’ve seen the creepy TV commercials that feature what appears to be a demented baby (with no actual footage of game play). And honestly, they scare me. But until I get one of these mythical consoles in my hand, I will continue with my skepticism. I suppose I should believe in the Playstation 3. I suppose I should believe in Santa Clause and the Tooth Fairy as well. But I don’t. And even if I did, why would I want to buy one? Last I checked, Sony was charging $600, a DNA sample for cloning purposes, the rights to turn your house into a nuclear waste dump, and your firstborn son. And that’s just for the console! Who knows what they’re charging for the games.
Nintendo sells their console at $250 a pop and makes money on every one sold. Sony, on the other hand, loses money every time they sell a Playstation 3 for $600. Just some food for thought.
And now we get to the Xbox 360. This is Microsoft’s second foray into the console market, and to be honest, I’m impressed. Even though it has been out for a year now, the system is still very powerful and plays great graphics, especially in high definition. The price is very attractive at $399 for the “pro” console (only a blind, deaf, mute quadriplegic with down syndrome would ever think of buying the $299 “core” console… and even then, he’d have to be really drunk) since it is a full $200 cheaper than the Playstation 3.
The real strength of the Xbox 360 lies in the fact that it has been selling for an entire year. The ensuing titles launched for the system since its inception make it very attractive, and it is far easier to get a hold of the console than either of its competitors. Gears of War and Dead Rising are two games I would seriously love to play in all their high definition glory. And best of all, I have yet to see the blue screen of death appear on any Xbox console. I would have never guessed that Microsoft had it in them.
So there you have it, my take on the video game season of 2006. And from what I’ve been told, Christmas is less than a week away, so you’d better hurry up with that last minute shopping. I hope the information I’ve provided can help you in that aspect. If the ones you’re shopping for have absolutely no interest in the above, then really, there’s no reason to love them anymore. Oh, and why you’re out, do you think you can find some girls who want to play with my Wii? It’s in dire need of some multiplayer action, if you know what I mean.
Wednesday, December 13, 2006
I Wish I Was a Sentimental Ornament
Did you see the game Monday night? I know there’s all sorts of exciting shows about “heroes” on Monday nights (even though I still say the X-Men animated series that aired on Fox back in the 90’s was way better), but how can you pass up a chance to watch Chicago play football? Well, I can’t. Living in North Carolina is nice, but one drawback is that network television doesn’t broadcast NFC North games (that’s Midwestern teams) in this area. But hey, Monday Night Football is nationally broadcasted, thank you ESPN.
So did you see it? Did you see Rex Grossman not cough the ball up a single time? Did you see Devin Hester run for two touchdowns on kick off returns (breaking the single season return for TD record)? And that is especially spectacular seeing as how on his second TD kick-off return the Bears had “the hands” team on the field. Basically that means he had the skinny wide receivers and defensive backs blocking for him, and he still ran the ball right up the middle and into the end zone. Not only is he that good, but after the game in an interview he gave credit for his accomplishments to God, his teammates, and to his mommy. Aww, isn’t that nice? I’m just glad to see that at least one person who came through the University of Miami’s program in recent years isn’t a total screw up.
But hey, if you want to know all about the football game, you can go over to ESPN.com or you can be like me and check out the story on the Chicago Bears official site. Yes, I’m that big of a Bears fan boy. Feel free to make fun of me. Also, Rex Grossman is my hero. Feel free to make fun of me again.
Ok, now that I got all of that out of my system (DAAA BEARS!)… yes, now that it’s all out of my system, I can get on with this weeks silliness. So, it’s the holidays, and yes now that Thanksgiving is over, so it’s officially the holidays. It’s the time of year for so many things: overplayed songs, fat jolly men, elves (when the hell did a Lord of the Rings character get to be a Christmas symbol?), candy canes, and last minute shopping. And I’d like to take some time to talk about the last one, if I can.
I’ve never been a huge fan of holiday shopping. Let’s face it; I’ve never been a huge fan of shopping for anything. Heck, I go clothes shopping maybe twice a year, and that’s only if a cute blonde drags me to the mall so she can pick up a new pair of outrageously priced pants. Have I ever told you how much of a sucker I am for a girl in tight pants?
But I regress. I was talking about Christmas shopping before I got waylaid by images of blonde cheerleaders dancing in my head (sugarplums are totally overrated). You know, there are parts to the holiday that are really fun. On Christmas morning, when you see a loved one open up a present and they are surprised and overjoyed at the wonderful gift you bought them, it’s just an awesome feeling. It would be great if I could do that each and every year. Unfortunately, it isn’t always easy picking out gifts for people.
Let’s talk about my dad for a few minutes. What do you get a man who already has a table saw, drill press, router table, and a planer? At this point in his life he has more variable speed power drills than most small nations, so I can’t get him one of those. Although, let’s be honest here, a man can never have too many power drills, that is just a solid fact. So trying to find a gift for him isn’t the easiest of mental exercises. But I managed to pick him up something that I think he’ll get some use out of… hopefully.
And then there’s my mom. Two years ago I bought her a book. To this day I still don’t think she’s read it. I have to cut her some slack though, since the school she works at made her head of her department this year, despite the fact that she and my dad will be moving next summer (yes, because having someone for only one year in a leadership role makes complete sense). Last year I got her some loaf pans because she’s a bit of a baking fiend around the holidays. And that doesn’t exactly do wonders for my waist line (it’s sad that I have to worry about that, I must be getting old). I moved away from bake ware this year, so I hope she likes what I bought her.
Then there’s my brother. Luckily he decided that we shouldn’t exchange presents anymore. This makes my job tons easier seeing as how my brother has always been hard when it came to the holiday gift giving. Upon hearing this, he quickly rebuked that he was not in any way difficult to shop for. Apparently he forgot all about the nine hour stalk for a winter jacket that spanned between two different cities, back when he was in high school. Let me tell you, those were fun times. And by fun, I mean they were horrible. I already had a winter jacket. All I wanted to do was stay at home and play my Super Nintendo (this was a few year back, you know), but no, I had to be dragged along all over the place just so my brother could finally pick out an overpriced, dull, brown coat. Thanks big brother, you’re really an inspiration to me.
Well, that’s the end of my list. Two gifts, shortest Christmas shopping list ever! As you can see, there are no females to shop for this year. Fortunately, I was able to dodge any and all relationship attempts for the past month or so. I think you all know that by mid-November you need to check romantic interactions and wait for the holidays to pass. Personally I think that between November 15th and February 15th, you should avoid dating and relationships. It saves you tons of money and trouble. And trust me, there’s always trouble.
If you happen to already be in a relationship prior to the avoidance period, that’s perfectly ok. Your girlfriend (or wife or fiancé or what-have-you) has sufficiently stuck around and put up with your crap long enough, that she deserves to be rewarded with a present. Just remember to follow the guidelines: no jewelry for the first year, no diamonds unless you plan to marry her, no puppies at all (yes I know they’re cute, but who do you think is going to have to clean up after it?), and you’re only allowed to get her a scented candle once (generally at your first shared Christmas/birthday/anniversary).
Oh, and just a helpful note. Your feminine significant other might tell you that you don’t have to do anything special for the holiday. Let me translate this for you, since some guys seem to not get the hint. What she’s really saying is: “You have to do something special for me. Because if you don’t I will be very hurt and will feel like you don’t love or care about me. And your chances of getting laid will drop significantly.” Hey, I may not understand women (and I probably never will), but you really need to trust me on this one. You know as well as I do that women tend to misstate the truth at times.
As for me, I have a pretty short list this year. I merely asked for a Gregory Palisade backpack , Final Fantasy 12 for the Playstation 2, and Final Fantasy 3 for the Nintendo DS. And if you must know, yes, I’m a Final Fantasy fan boy as well. So please, by all means, feel free to make fun of me yet one more time.
So did you see it? Did you see Rex Grossman not cough the ball up a single time? Did you see Devin Hester run for two touchdowns on kick off returns (breaking the single season return for TD record)? And that is especially spectacular seeing as how on his second TD kick-off return the Bears had “the hands” team on the field. Basically that means he had the skinny wide receivers and defensive backs blocking for him, and he still ran the ball right up the middle and into the end zone. Not only is he that good, but after the game in an interview he gave credit for his accomplishments to God, his teammates, and to his mommy. Aww, isn’t that nice? I’m just glad to see that at least one person who came through the University of Miami’s program in recent years isn’t a total screw up.
But hey, if you want to know all about the football game, you can go over to ESPN.com or you can be like me and check out the story on the Chicago Bears official site. Yes, I’m that big of a Bears fan boy. Feel free to make fun of me. Also, Rex Grossman is my hero. Feel free to make fun of me again.
Ok, now that I got all of that out of my system (DAAA BEARS!)… yes, now that it’s all out of my system, I can get on with this weeks silliness. So, it’s the holidays, and yes now that Thanksgiving is over, so it’s officially the holidays. It’s the time of year for so many things: overplayed songs, fat jolly men, elves (when the hell did a Lord of the Rings character get to be a Christmas symbol?), candy canes, and last minute shopping. And I’d like to take some time to talk about the last one, if I can.
I’ve never been a huge fan of holiday shopping. Let’s face it; I’ve never been a huge fan of shopping for anything. Heck, I go clothes shopping maybe twice a year, and that’s only if a cute blonde drags me to the mall so she can pick up a new pair of outrageously priced pants. Have I ever told you how much of a sucker I am for a girl in tight pants?
But I regress. I was talking about Christmas shopping before I got waylaid by images of blonde cheerleaders dancing in my head (sugarplums are totally overrated). You know, there are parts to the holiday that are really fun. On Christmas morning, when you see a loved one open up a present and they are surprised and overjoyed at the wonderful gift you bought them, it’s just an awesome feeling. It would be great if I could do that each and every year. Unfortunately, it isn’t always easy picking out gifts for people.
Let’s talk about my dad for a few minutes. What do you get a man who already has a table saw, drill press, router table, and a planer? At this point in his life he has more variable speed power drills than most small nations, so I can’t get him one of those. Although, let’s be honest here, a man can never have too many power drills, that is just a solid fact. So trying to find a gift for him isn’t the easiest of mental exercises. But I managed to pick him up something that I think he’ll get some use out of… hopefully.
And then there’s my mom. Two years ago I bought her a book. To this day I still don’t think she’s read it. I have to cut her some slack though, since the school she works at made her head of her department this year, despite the fact that she and my dad will be moving next summer (yes, because having someone for only one year in a leadership role makes complete sense). Last year I got her some loaf pans because she’s a bit of a baking fiend around the holidays. And that doesn’t exactly do wonders for my waist line (it’s sad that I have to worry about that, I must be getting old). I moved away from bake ware this year, so I hope she likes what I bought her.
Then there’s my brother. Luckily he decided that we shouldn’t exchange presents anymore. This makes my job tons easier seeing as how my brother has always been hard when it came to the holiday gift giving. Upon hearing this, he quickly rebuked that he was not in any way difficult to shop for. Apparently he forgot all about the nine hour stalk for a winter jacket that spanned between two different cities, back when he was in high school. Let me tell you, those were fun times. And by fun, I mean they were horrible. I already had a winter jacket. All I wanted to do was stay at home and play my Super Nintendo (this was a few year back, you know), but no, I had to be dragged along all over the place just so my brother could finally pick out an overpriced, dull, brown coat. Thanks big brother, you’re really an inspiration to me.
Well, that’s the end of my list. Two gifts, shortest Christmas shopping list ever! As you can see, there are no females to shop for this year. Fortunately, I was able to dodge any and all relationship attempts for the past month or so. I think you all know that by mid-November you need to check romantic interactions and wait for the holidays to pass. Personally I think that between November 15th and February 15th, you should avoid dating and relationships. It saves you tons of money and trouble. And trust me, there’s always trouble.
If you happen to already be in a relationship prior to the avoidance period, that’s perfectly ok. Your girlfriend (or wife or fiancé or what-have-you) has sufficiently stuck around and put up with your crap long enough, that she deserves to be rewarded with a present. Just remember to follow the guidelines: no jewelry for the first year, no diamonds unless you plan to marry her, no puppies at all (yes I know they’re cute, but who do you think is going to have to clean up after it?), and you’re only allowed to get her a scented candle once (generally at your first shared Christmas/birthday/anniversary).
Oh, and just a helpful note. Your feminine significant other might tell you that you don’t have to do anything special for the holiday. Let me translate this for you, since some guys seem to not get the hint. What she’s really saying is: “You have to do something special for me. Because if you don’t I will be very hurt and will feel like you don’t love or care about me. And your chances of getting laid will drop significantly.” Hey, I may not understand women (and I probably never will), but you really need to trust me on this one. You know as well as I do that women tend to misstate the truth at times.
As for me, I have a pretty short list this year. I merely asked for a Gregory Palisade backpack , Final Fantasy 12 for the Playstation 2, and Final Fantasy 3 for the Nintendo DS. And if you must know, yes, I’m a Final Fantasy fan boy as well. So please, by all means, feel free to make fun of me yet one more time.
Wednesday, November 08, 2006
Hurry Christmas, Hurry Fast
Listen closely because I’m only going to say this once: If I stab someone before New Years, don’t be surprised. No really, I’m going to stab someone, I’m just becoming that crazy. I could stab myself, but honestly, that would hurt too much. And I’m really not into the whole masochistic thing anyway.
Yes, I realize that it is getting colder outside, and yes I realize that everyone looks forward throughout the year to Christmas. But there is a rule that I strictly follow: Do not play Christmas music until after Thanksgiving. You could say it’s an unwritten rule and that you don’t have to follow rules that have yet to be set in stone. Well guess what, I just wrote it down and you just read it. So from now on, please adhere to it.
You may be aware that general elections were yesterday. I hope you all went out and voted. Although, I’m not one to vote down party lines or vote for who was going to give the most tax cuts or spend the money on the most welfare programs or anything silly like that. Instead, it’s better to vote for whoever I think would be most likely to support a bill making it illegal to play Christmas music before the Thanksgiving holiday. This is a real issue people. Do you really want guys like me running around with sharp objects feeling the need to draw blood from someone just because we had to listen to the Christina Aguilera Christmas album 13,427 times in a row (and yes, I have been counting)?
The answer is simple: vote to imprison those who play holiday music with impunity. Everyone is getting so worked up about whether or not our military is actually torturing prisoners of war at
But I can’t just stop there. No, there are far too many atrocities being committed by everyday Americans throughout the month of November. Some people even have the audacity to put out their Christmas lights before Thanksgiving. It’s blasphemy I tell you! Anyone who puts up their lights before they begin baking their turkey is un-American. There, I said it. It is acceptable to cook a duck or a ham instead of the traditional turkey. However, an entirely vegetarian Thanksgiving dinner is right out. Those people insisting on preparing alternate foodstuffs instead of meat (for instance: tofurky) for their giving-of-thanks day should immediately be put on the terrorist watch list by the Department of Homeland Security. The pilgrims ate turkeys, damn-it. They didn’t struggle to survive through frigid
I think the overlying problem here is that Thanksgiving is getting overlooked as a major American holiday. Everyone gets wound up for Halloween and trick-or-treating and dressing up and whatnot, then afterward, people only want to think about Christmas. And I know that no one outside of the
Thanksgiving is the time for family and friends to get together. It is also a time to reminisce about the things you are thankful for in your life. There is a reason it’s called “Thanksgiving” you know. This is why you’re supposed to go home for Thanksgiving, so you can spend time with your family that you have been neglecting all year long. I’m pretty sure most of these holiday traditions were invented in the 1800’s by grandparents who wanted to keep their offspring coming back every year so they wouldn’t get lonely. Although nowadays grandparents lead busy retirement lives: they have to collect Social Security, fill out all those Medicare forms, and generally complain about how computers, video games, and MTV are corrupting today’s youth.
But in the spirit of Thanksgiving, and I truly believe in celebrating and spreading the wholesomeness of this particular holiday, I’m going to list all of the things that I’m thankful for. I’m thankful for next generation video game systems (Wii!), chicks in bikinis, good ol’ fashioned American bourbon, my literally dozens of fans who read this site, chicks in miniskirts, my friends who have actually stuck by me through my many moves and phases of life, chicks in tight pants, and my family, because my mom cooks the best Thanksgiving dinner ever. No seriously, she does. It’s a whole feast complete with no less than three homemade pies every year. My family rocks.
So please, I’m asking you nicely, don’t skip over the great American holiday that is Thanksgiving. Don’t buy into the materialistic hype that has become Christmas right after you finish eating your Halloween candy. Stick with the noble, family oriented November holiday. Hey, it may not be on the same date every year, but by being on a Thursday it practically guarantees you’ll have both Thursday and Friday off of work. And really, can you ask for more than that?
If you don’t respond to niceties and requests, maybe you’ll respond to threats. Don’t forget, I have many sharp and pointed instruments at my disposal and I’m just insane enough to use them on someone. You probably think I should just channel this abusive rage at the manager who insists on playing Christmas music where I work. Well, the problem is: she’s a female, she’s cute, and she is very, very nice. And I’m pretty sure that I’m incapable of harming a nice, attractive woman. Some women just have this strange power like that. It’s really not fair.
And for those of you who insist on putting up your lights and playing your music before November 23rd this year, this is what I have to say to you.
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