Thursday, March 29, 2007

Weekend Recap Part 2: Saturday Night, Beer, Guns, and Asian Hookers

“I swear, I’ve been drunker than this and shot my guns.”

Ah, that’s comforting. That just makes everything ok. The time to get the hell out of here has come and yet still I sit here with a pair of aces in my hand, and a joker standing on the other side of the room with a loaded pistol.

It was supposed to be a typical poker night. Go out, loose my money to my friends, and come home.

The night starts off with me meeting my friends at a guy’s house that I had only met once before at a previous poker game. He wants to host that night’s game at his place, and my friends and I agree to head over.

He begins the night by shooting a 22 rifle and a BB gun in his backyard. Oookkkk. Not the way I typically start of my evenings, but I can deal. The 22 isn’t loud, and he insists that his neighbors think that he is shooting off firecrackers.

Poker commences. The conversation becomes somewhat vulgar, as is expected when people are freed from the uptight weekday grind and their tongues are loosened with alcohol. The conversation goes further than expected when he begins discussing the various ways he has pleased Asian hookers over the past few years. We all nod our heads and laugh uncomfortably. He briefly apologizes, and blames it on the large quantity of strong German beer that’s he’s had. He weakly stands up, steadies himself using my chair, and then walks into a far corner of the house.

He comes back with a pistol. Some other time I will have to fill you in on how I used to hunt and shoot guns as a kid with my dad and tell you all about my 2nd amendment beliefs. I don’t remember them mentioning it in the gun safety course, but I’m pretty sure there’s a rule about not handling guns while you’re stupid. There’s probably a rule about not handling them while you’re drunk too.

The gun is waived about, all the while he ensures us that it is not loaded. He hands the pistol to me with the barrel facing my chest. I inspect the gun and see that there’s no clip in the gun and no bullet in the chamber. I hand the gun back to him expecting him to put it away. That was a mistake. Instead he goes outside to shoot it. One of my friend’s follows.

Thankfully at this point, I am not the only one in the room with alarm bells going off in my head. He fires the gun once before we can act. It is much louder than a firecracker. One of the other people in the room rushes outside, pulls my friend inside, and convinces the drunk to stop firing and put away the pistol.

He does so. Shortly after that he gets up again to try to find a video that he had shot (no pun intended) of him doing the nasty with the Asian hookers. Thankfully, he does not find the video.

We soon finish up our game. I leave five dollars richer, an atypical night for me. I do wish that somebody had told me that the joker was wild…and drunk, on this particular Saturday night.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Weekend Recap Part 1: Friday Night, Talk to the Hand

I got my new toy in the mail on Thursday. As promised, I spent my first full day with the camera taking pictures and trying to make up for years of being a photo phantom. Unfortunately, it doesn’t help when your friends still cling to the old ways and refuse to be photographed.

On Friday night, we spent our evening swilling beer, shooting pool and chilling out in good old Arlington. Unfortunately, I’ll never have photo evidence of the night. Oh the tragedy.

Speaking of tragedies, stay tuned for the epic saga that is Weekend Recap Part 2: Saturday Night, Beer, Guns, and Asian Hookers.

Friday, March 23, 2007

Whatever you do, do not loose to Fluffy

I’m in a…how should I say…non-competitive fantasy college basketball tournament this year. This is my first year “playing” with this particular group, and one thing I was told right off the bat was: We make brackets for some of our cats.

One of the cats always picks the largest team to win. The other cat picks schools with cat mascots to beat bird mascots. If there is no cat-bird matchup, then it becomes whichever mascot could takes the other one in a fight. Could a gator beat a wolf pack? Could a tiger take a blue devil? These questions occupy my waking moments and haunt my dreams.

One thing is for certain, do not loose to the cats. If you lose to the cats you immediately become not only the laughingstock of everyone in this group, but also less of a person. You got outwitted by a creature that bathes in its own saliva and takes shits in scented gravel. You might as well get down on all fours and start licking yourself, because frankly you’re not any better than them.

Pray that I am not reduced to that level.

Thursday, March 22, 2007

How to flatter an older woman

Happy Birthday __________!

This is your 25th birthday, right? You don’t look a day over 24.

I know, I know, I’m so smooth it should be criminal.

Tuesday, March 20, 2007


If these pictures have anything important to say to future generations, it's this: I was here. I existed. I was young, I was happy, and someone cared enough about me in this world to take my picture. Robin Williams-One Hour Photo

I’ve never consciously avoided the camera. I’ve just never made an effort to have my picture taken, or to try to take photos of others. When I was recently asked to submit a digital photo to a charity auction, I browsed through three digital photos that I had. The first one was from college, back when I had scruffy facial hair and was about 15 pounds lighter. The second was a more recent photo, but I was clearly drunk. The third wasn’t a bad photo, but I was wearing a suit and sunglasses, and looked like one of the Agents from the Matrix. I ended up submitting that photo, but not without reservations.

I seem to have a supernatural ability to screw up any photos I appear in. Think you can make it easy and just tell me to smile? Not going to work, because your camera won’t capture a normal smile. Nope, I’ll come across like some grinning lunatic in a Jeffery Dahmer look-alike contest. Does your camera have adjustments to eliminate red-eye? It won’t matter, as my true nature will always shine through and you’ll have to use all your Photoshop prowess to remove the glowing red from my eyes.

What does all this mean? Should I just admit defeat, and forever hide from the camera. No! I refuse to let my poor track record deter me from taking photos. In fact, I’ve finally caught up with the rest of the industrialized world, and purchased a digital camera, which should be arriving this week. This year, I vow to take as many photos as possible, until either my friends wrench the camera from my hands and proceed to beat me senseless with it, or the camera grows tired of trying to take good pictures of me and destroys itself.

Wednesday, March 14, 2007

Dr. StrangeDrum: Or How I Learned to Start Worrying and Hate the Beat

Well, you see there’s a band.


They need a new drummer, and I want to join.

“So that’s why you’ve been practicing at all hours of the day and night.”


“Do you think you could like not do it late at night while I’m trying to sleep?”

Oh, you can hear it from upstairs? I didn’t think anyone could hear it.

It was at this moment that the blood vessels began popping in my head. I steadied myself and took a deep breath.

“Just not after 10 pm…please.”

Oh sure, no problem.

José wants to be in a band. It’s a band made up of co-workers at the hospital José works at. He needs to get good enough to have a shot at making the band. The fact that all this sounds like the basis for some teen comedy from the 80’s (or a really bad episode of Grey’s Anatomy) is the only pleasure I get out of the whole situation. Well, that and the fact that when I think about 80’s comedies I remember that scene from Fast Times at Ridgemont High, with Phoebe Cates coming out of the swimming pool. Mmm, Phoebe Cates…um, sorry back to the post.

True to his word, José stops drumming at 10 pm sharp every night. Yep, he puts the breaks on the old percussion action at 10 pm sharp, not a minute later, or a minute sooner. José drums from sunup till sundown.

Did I mention that José is just learning how to drum? Learning how to drum means pounding the same note for hours on end. I start twitching after 30 minutes.

Who knows, maybe José and his drumming will take off and he’ll become famous? When VH1 comes to interview me I’ll proudly stand there and say, “Hey, I used to room with that guy…and boy did he annoy the living fuck out of me.”

Monday, March 12, 2007

Well, my intentions were good

About midway through my Saturday at RFK, I looked straight at my friend Dan and hoisted a beer in his direction.

Me: Hey Dan, it was your idea for us all to do Shamrockfest this year, wasn’t it?

Dan: No…it was your idea.

Me: Oh…well then cheers to me then!

And with that I threw back the green swill in my cup, otherwise known as St. Patty’s Day Bud Light. Ahh, what a glorious day. Beer, loud music, good friends, and Flogging freaking Molly live. If you were there when Flogging Molly was playing, maybe you saw me, swinging from the metal bars of the soundstage to get a better view…until security pulled me down. Yes, View From Dupont, I did earn my moniker that day.

Wednesday, March 7, 2007

It must be something in the water

It seems like all my friends are either getting married, or are taking serious steps like moving in with their SO. All of this makes me officially feel like an adult. You would have thought that having a job, paying rent, and hearing Guns N’ Roses on a classic rock station would have made me realize that’s I’m no longer a kid, but nope, it’s been my friends getting engaged.

In college, marriage was always something my friends and I took bets on. “Which one of us will get hitched first?” we used to ask. We jokingly agreed that it would be one of our friends, we’ll call him “VABeach,” just because we could never see a player such as him settling down. Sure enough, I attended VABeach’s wedding back in October.

I’m not bothered though, in fact I’m pretty darn happy that my friends have found happiness. It does occasionally get on my nerves when it’s rubbed in my face, but you know what, I’ve got a new weapon. I’m going to start taking bets again. Haha, oh yes, my friends, you may say that you love your fiancé/wife/husband more than the moon and stars, but that doesn’t change the fact that the divorce rate in America is close to 60 percent.

Which one of my friends will be getting divorced first? Oh, I know, it’s a cruel game to play, which is exactly why you should play along. And you know what, really rub it in your married friends faces by betting in front of them. Here’s some theoretical dialogue: “Jack’s sure got a temper, so my money’s on Jack and Amy getting divorced first. Oh wait, but you two have almost nothing in common, and it’s common knowledge that Dianne is marrying you for your money, so I’ll place my bets on you.”

Depending on your friend, you’ll come to one of two realizations, either A) Getting married hasn’t made my friend lose his sense of humor, or more likely, B) I have a low tolerance for being repeatedly punched in the face.