You Can't Get the Pretty Without the Boom

When I left you last, I was on the cusp of welcoming the entire family to London for an entire week of visit-related fun. I really don't have much to say about it other than it went as near to what I expected as possible and I think it's safe to say we're all glad to be back to whatever level of normalcy can be expected from our daily lives. Without going into much detail, there were a lot of fun times, some yelling, a lot of annoyance, but overall a successful visit, especially since everyone made it out alive. If you want stories, ask someone who was there to give the top three moments (they're probably all the same) and I'm sure they'll have no problem giving their version of what happened...myself included. That's about all I have to say about that...

Anyway, other than the family trip, things have been fairly hectic for me as well. After finding out the work offer had been revoked (I swear, the last time I'll mention it), I started my own job search with a frantic quality only seen in meth addicts. In the last few weeks, I have secured my very own recruiter based in Chicago and New York, my bosses have massaged a few leads (also in those cities), I have acquired a UBS lead in Chicago, applications/resumes/CVs have been feverishly sent to nearly thirty jobs in about a half dozen companies in four or five cities in the States. As you would probably expect, I have yet to hear from anyone regarding an interview or even the slightest interest in my services. Insert the normal excuses about the job market, timing, relocation costs, etc...but I do realize I have a few months here still and shouldn't really be worried too much..at least not yet. But the word “yet.”

Lets get away from the boring job stuff now and talk about something more fun...or at least what I would consider fun. The last few weeks have seen me in more different countries than probably the last 8 months combined, which is nice and also annoying at the same time. It may sound strange, but I'm not really the biggest fan of traveling...at all. It just seems more of a hassle than anything and I enjoy my comforts of home entirely too much to leave them very often. However, as I now only have a limited time over here, I feel like I have to take advantage of it by going as many places as possible in the next few weeks before the job search consumes my entire thought process. As a result, a few weeks ago I went to Poland and the Czech Republic over a long bank holiday weekend and last night I just returned from Spain. A few highlights of each place:

Prague, CZ: I was in both Prague and Krakow for a few days over the last bank holiday weekend with two of my flatmates, Art and Brian. We left on a Thursday afternoon getting into Prague around 10PM. Upon arrival of the hostel, we discover there is a bar located on the ground floor where we sampled the local offerings almost immediately. Another member of our program had been in Prague for a day earlier and we met up with him near the bar area. About a half hour later, Brian was scanning the bar when he turns to Art and me and says he recognizes a few of the girls from the end of the bar. Turns out, a few girls he went to college with in Texas were randomly in Prague the same weekend we were and two of them are doing a study abroad program for a master's type degree, or maybe the CZ equivalent. Naturally, we end up meeting them at another bar later on where all kinds of madness ensues, especially since the Czech Koruna is an extremely weak currency compared to the British Pound, meaning a beer at a higher end bar/club is about the equivalent of a pound and a half. Madness indeed...

The next night we partake in a bar crawl which starts at our hostel, takes us to one of the same bars we were at the night before along with three others. On the crawl, we meet a multitude of people, many being from the US on vacation. Side note: casual readers of this blog who may not know me personally might not know what happens sometimes when I have a bit too much to drink. I have what I call an alter-ego named Rufus who kind of takes over my psyche under certain circumstances and generally speaking...it can be quite interesting. Rufus has his own back story that completely differs from mine and there are quite a few people around the Bowling Green and London areas that know me only as Rufus. It's almost like split-personality disorder, except I know it happens and allow it...does that make sense? Eh...who cares, nobody's listening.

Anyway, there was a particular person on this bar crawl that made it known she graduated from Penn State. It was at that moment that Rufus decided he graduated from the University of Michigan and took it upon himself to completely belittle and destroy this woman's Alma Mater and the opinion she held it in. Don't ask me why...it's just kind of what he does. Safe to say she's not a fan, but that will happen. Aside from this woman coming up and repeating the same sentence about fifty times (“I really enjoyed my college experience”), the night proved to be extremely fun. The last club on the bar crawl was a five-story joint right on the river which supposedly had a different vibe and type of music on each level. Needless to say, I didn't stay very long as it's not exactly what could be considered my “scene.” On the way out, we caught up with one of the crawl tour guides named Yon (not too sure on the spelling) and he decided we shouldn't be done just yet. He proceeded to take a small group of us to four additional places (all of which I couldn't find again if I were paid) which sent the night into a spiraling downward slide. We ended up so far from the hostel it was necessary to find a cab to get back, and we were given the tourist “discount” (a mere 500 Koruna!) to travel the mile and a half back. The next day we took it easy, did some tourist junk and caught the over-night train to Krakow, Poland.

Krakow, Poland:

The train was something out of an Agatha Christie novel all the way down to the seedy train operator and impending sense of doom. It was an experience...that much is certain and despite having a sleeper cabin, not much sleep was had between the three of us. No, not like that...perv. We didn't have much of an agenda and not much happened while we were in Krakow except the obligatory trip to Auschwitz. The entire reason we went to Krakow was because of Auschwitz and it may have been the most psychologically and emotionally powerful place I've been to in my entire life. There is no need to re-hash the details, but I will say this: if you ever have the opportunity or means to go...do it. You will never be the same. It is my opinion that every single person should be required to go and see this place because you will never interpret your life the same again. Whether you were personally affected by what happened at this hellish place or not, it will alter you in one way or another. Definitely a must in my book.

Other than Auschwitz, we had the required food staples: Polish sausage, perogies, and vodka. Being as picky an eater as I am, it was food heaven...you can't get much better than kielbasa, meat and potato filled perogies and bread. It gives me half-stock just thinking about it...

Barcelona, Spain:

Last night at 11:30PM, we landed at London-Stansted airport to weather one would normally expect from London: cold and rainy. Normally this wouldn't be a big issue as those who have been around this city for an extended period of time would know it's inevitable, but I had just flown in from Barcelona where it was an incredibly amazing mid-nineties and sunny every day. Three glorious days where I saw the sun in its full force for the first time in eight or nine months. Barcelona was just about everything you could expect from it: superb weather, great food and drink, and many relaxing hours on the beach. The events in Barca would take an entire post in itself, so again, the highlights:

I met up with friends from here and one of their friends from the US on Wednesday (they had been there since Monday) and we undertook the prerequisite bar crawl. Again, I won't go into many details (mostly because I don't remember, although I believe Rufus made an appearance again), but there were many bars, many drinks, many laughs and more embarrassing dancing than I would care to admit. The night ended with a long walk back to the hostel after most of my party were yelling at the crawl organizer for not taking us to the amount of bars he promised (he took us to four...and four were promised, for the record) while he was slinking into a cab. The two girls were staying at a swanky hotel on the beach while the two guys were at a seedy hostel in the city, so we walked the girls to a common meeting place (the backward statue of Columbus) and sent them on their beach journey while we stumbled back to the hostel. As we were walking up La Rambla, on three separate occasions, the hoards of prostitutes walking the streets decided to take their chances and see if I was desperate enough to get herpegohnasyphiaids and hand over some precious monopoly money. Sorry ladies...it wouldn't happen even if you paid me. Just a few blocks later and I was able to melt into my bed for the next 10 hours, attempting to ward off the inevitable headache and/or hangover.

The next day, we met up with the ladies and had a nice quiet day on the beach. Well...quiet isn't exactly the word. Literally every three to five seconds this was heard a few feet from where we were laying: “beer, cerveza, fanta, co-cola, co-cola light” or “massage?” by what seemed like hundreds of “vendors” walking the beach trying to make a quick euro. Fuck. You. Stop ruining my beach experience with your senseless chatter.

The night wasn't much better. We met for dinner (which was nice) and then went down to the beach where apparently the entire city of Barcelona met and set off obnoxious fireworks while getting loaded. Yes...normally it would sound like a pretty sweet time, but I was not in the mood for it and literally hundreds of thousands of people + alcohol + fireworks + me = not good. We walked the entire length of the beach (while one member of our party had her hands to her ears the entire time) and afterward, said our “see you laters” and made the walk back amid the firework blasts that sound oddly like gunfire. The only solace of the night was we were far enough from the beach where the fireworks didn't cost me any sleep, but that may have just been because I was so tired from the heat and walking a few miles that day.

The next and final day in Barcelona consisted of typical touristy crap, trying to kill time till the flight left at 10PM. After a long day of walking, we made it to the airport, waited, made the flight to London and discovered the cold and rain. Another lovely night in London...

Well, that's just about all I have on this today – it was a bit longer than I wanted, but if you made it this far down, thanks for reading and as always, any questions/comments/etc, go ahead and put them where you see fit.

Quick Hitters Vol. 1

I have noticed my last few entries have been as depressing as hell, so I'm going to try and lighten the mood a bit on this one with a few random things I've noticed over the past few weeks. I'm going to call it “quick hitters” because the stories will hopefully be short and sweet. I think we both know that won't be the case, so you may as well settle in for the long haul here. Without much further ado, here we go with the first installment of quick hitters.

“Icing”

The cultural phenomenon of “icing” might be the stupidest fucking thing I've ever heard of in my entire life. In case you're unaware of what it is, “icing” is when someone is handed a Smirnoff Ice alcoholic beverage and as per the social norm, said person must get down on one knee and chug the entire bottle of sugary awfulness. I'm told in some circumstances a salute of some kind must be made while getting diabeetus from this horrible excuse for an adult beverage.

First of all, whoever made up this game needs to get jabbed in the throat because it's just flat out dumb. “Hey, here's a malt beverage almost nobody likes...and you have to drink the whole thing on one knee.” “Umm, dude, that sounds really fucking stupid...why?” “BECAUSE I TOLD YOU TO AND IF YOU DON'T, EVERYONE WILL MAKE FUN OF YOU FOR BEING A BITCH WHO DOESN'T LIKE CHICK DRINKS!” “Yeah, man...I'll pass. Have fun with that, though.”

Second of all, if anyone is ever thinking it would be a fun idea to try this to me, I would advise you to think twice. I will have one of the following reactions to an “icing” attempt:

1. Following in the footsteps of Daniel Tosh, I would find the nearest hard surface, most likely a counter top of some kind, Happy Gilmore the fuck out of the bottle and brandish it wildly until I hit skin, preferably the tiny bit covering one of your major arteries. Next time you'll know better.
2. If I'm not feeling particularly homicidal, I would simply say “Yeah, no thanks...that game is fucking lame” and walk away.

“Icing” is stupid. Please, for the love of all things sacred, let this frat game die. Don't let them win...remember kids, whenever you fall victim to a fratty game, Chad Kroeger makes more money, and therefore thinks he needs to release more shitty music. Think of the children, please.

Bathroom Etiquette

Sorry, ladies...this section is aimed more toward the men in the audience as I know nothing of bathroom etiquette in the ladies side of the crowd. Although it may humor you to hear the lengths we as a species go to avoid another penis, so by all means, read on.

A little background information: the bathroom at my workplace has three urinals and six stalls. Clearly, there's a lot of shitting going on at work, especially since most of the time nearly all the stalls are fully occupied. Since work's version of TP has a similar feeling to a heavy gritted sandpaper, I try to do most of my business at home and stick to a strict #1 only policy at the office. With this being the case, I pay a lot of attention to proper bathroom etiquette when it comes to the urinals. A few days ago, I walked into the bathroom, business as usual, and noticed the only person at the urinal station was occupying the middle position. I did not notice anyone leaving as I was entering, so I came to the conclusion this person must have chosen the middle position of his own accord. Later that same day as I was washing up from another successful visit, someone else was faced with an empty trio of urinals. He chose the middle position again. This is highly unacceptable in all social groups and settings, therefore I felt like questioning this person at length to see why he was blatantly breaking the most basic of bathroom rules.

As a measure of transparency, here are the rules as I understand them when it comes to bathroom etiquette for those who are unaware:

When confronted with an odd number of urinal stations:
-Always leave one station between you and another patron.
-If, for example, there are three stations and the outer two are occupied, use the nearest stall. If a stall is unavailable, wait until one of the outer stations or a stall is available.

When confronted with an even number of urinal stations:
-If there are two and no suitable divider is installed, same rules apply as above.
-If there are two and there is a suitable divider, both may be used freely.
-If there are four or more, leave a gap or use a stall.

The only times when it is acceptable to use all available stalls/troughs in the bathroom:
-Sporting events
-Bars

So once I saw the blatant disregard for the rules, all I wanted to do was take that fucker by the back of the neck and slam his head into the wall in front of him, all while screaming “see! You see the consequences of fucking with the rules!? Next time you'll know better, you fucking prick.” I think I may have some anger issues to work on...

British Cars

Today when I was walking back from the gym, I noticed that most British cars are stick shift, which makes them inherently better than their American counterparts. I'm not sure what brought on my curiosity, but it did not prevent me from being a huge creeper and peering into every car I passed like George McFly just to check out the gear shaft. Turns out, the winner is stick shift by a wide margin, which means British people are just flat out better drivers than Americans. Here's a short social survey you can put out there: ask your American family, friends, co-workers, etc. if they know how to drive a manual car and most of them will give a look like you just finger blasted their pet. “Why would I need to drive a manual car when they have perfectly good ones that do all that shifty stuff for you?” Just seems like more work...and we all know how much Americans love their extra work.

Now, for the few of you who may know any Brits/Europeans, go ahead and ask them the same question. They will most likely look at you like you're an idiot because to them, who doesn't know how to drive a manual car? In this respect, Britons and Europeans have a huge advantage over Americans because stick shift kicks fucking ass to drive. You can literally beat the ever-living shit out of a manual vehicle and it will come back with blood on its mouth begging for more. How do I know this, you ask? You'd never guess, but I used to own a manual car and even though it was a pussy four cylinder Chevy Cavalier, it still had more balls than any car I've owned since. I can't tell you how many times I've peeled out of some floozy's driveway going 40 in 2nd gear and then slapping it right into 4th while cracking 70 in about two seconds. It gives me wood just thinking about it...

The Warm Beer Phenomenon

As many of you know, I was back in the States a few weeks ago and the question I got most, other than “what the fuck are you doing here?” was some derivative of “how's the warm beer over there?”

Now, I'm not disputing the fact that there may be warm beer somewhere in the UK/Europe, but I have yet to encounter it. I've been to my fair share of pubs/bars/clubs and not one had beer that was supposed to be served warm. The closest thing you'll get to that might be a cast beer, but that's just a beer with less carbonation and might be a little warmer than ice cold. I'm really not sure where the rumor started or how it did, but unless I'm going to the wrong places, it holds little merit.

One item of interest regarding warm beverages though: ice is a little used commodity in the UK. The reasoning is simple, really. The less ice you have, the more beverage in your glass. In a country where free refills are few and far between, more of a room temperature beverage is better than less of a cold beverage. I can definitely get behind the minimal ice custom if it means not paying for another drink. Sure, call me cheap...but those fuckers add up, especially when you're on a limited budget.

Well, that's all for now...as usual, any questions – leave them in the comments and I'll answer them when I have a chance. Thanks for reading...