Normal, Non-Jeff G-Related Post

Apologies if you're not interested in fake-internet non-celebrity stalking. Here's some normal content:

First, I went to the Natinals game last week, which was fun and all but really the Abe Lincoln costume is wayyyy more terrifying than it needs to be. This thing definitely set at least three kids into crying fits, and unsettled me something fierce.


Second, we went to the soft opening of the unfortunately-named H St. Country Club on Saturday. Here's a wide shot of the mini-golf course (Ana is on the path to give some perspective):


The design is pretty awesome, really, even though I don't think the mini-golf is going to be particularly challenging. Here's The Awakening of Marion Barry:


Here's my favorite, the Zombie Presidents hole (the one on the right is Martin Van Buren, who was originally supposed to be Howard Taft, an idea that was axed by the overlord for whatever reason):


And a mixing-bowlish loop:


All in all, the place is well designed. I can't imagine making a trip of it, though. Get ready for large parties of people otherwise terrified of NE to be inhabiting HSCC.

Finally: roses again!

Almost A Car Owner + Bar Preview + Pictures

Yesterday lasted a long time. First, we test drove this, loved it, put down a deposit, will pick it up on Friday. Be prepared for pictures of driving it to Ocean City on whims in the coming months.

Next we went by to visit Teenerz, who is painting the soon-to-be-open H St. Country Club, where I took some unsolicited pictures.

This is the main floor bar:


Which includes the "locker room":


Upstairs is the putt-putt, with this gem of a loopty-loop which will likely result in multiple broken windows:


Get out of town with this rat tidal wave


and my personal favorite, the booted stretch limo horse


Lee Wheeler is responsible for all this, and he is slowly losing his mind but in the most entertaining manner.


Then we went to the Pug and hung out with two old dudes, drank whiskey and quality American beer.


Finally, Black Cat, where Tariq got all creepy-like.

Finally, Murph Blogs About You People

Feel free to send in your own examples.

Ocean City USA

It's hard to have a bad trip to the beach, it turns out. Even with no sun, and when somebody's car breaks down on the way, the ish still rulez.

The ruling, it turns out, has much to do with being an adult and getting to do whatever you want.


Like, say, eating a snow cone and a caramel apple AT THE SAME TIME.


Or spending $20 on carnival games in exchange for a toy truck and three Dum-Dums.


Like this kid, who was enraptured by the claw.


Really, the entire point of going to the beach is to go to the bars. Or, in the case of Ocean City, the bar. The Bearded Clam, that is. The greatest bar in the world. Why, you ask? Because when you get up from your seats at the nearly-empty bar, they put a reserved sign. Cuz they know you're coming back.


And because they have all sorts of quasi-vintage beer paraphernalia, like this Bud sign which seems to have something grammatically wrong with it. Either way, though, it's still hard to argue with being Uniform and Distinctive at the same time. Just like America!




We stayed at Boss Boss's condo, which was likely built by Khrushchev, and which features a) the least-helpful exit diagram ever,


and b) the best beach-themed lamp ever.



Also, Ana was there!


Bad news.

Las Vegas: Basically Just Novelty Drinks

Let's start this off right, Vegas-style, with a picture of a bakery in the airport.


What is more Vegas than Breadz?

Next is the second picture of a 24-hour bar that I've taken in the past month. Do you know what that means? Good month.


Next would be a couple dozen pictures of the inside of the casino we stayed at, including but not limited to the Dealertainers® (celebrity look-alikes who perform and also deal blackjack), but it's Vegas and they don't like cameras. So pictures of novelty drinks must suffice.

How this for suffice? 40 ounces of daiquiri in a plastic guitar. In the mall bathroom, natch.


Then disperse with the novelty drinks for the real drinks. Why? Cuz we're getting ready to go to the club, that's why.


(Aside: when you find a Sedaris book in the hotel bathroom, you know your friend is white.)


Hey, are you guys going to the club? Yes? Thought so.


What are you dudes doing? Oh.


What happens twelve hours later? Your body reminds you that you are a jackass.


But whatever there is still time to go to Fremont Street and eat fried Oreos.


In Fremont Street, you may remember, there is an experience that people take pictures of for some reason.


Other people buy Oakland Raider earrings and sparkly hats.


Oh, and some of the hats have lights in them.

Like this one the Chad is wearing. It is a USA hat.


Finally, we went to the El Cortez, which is noteworthy because it rules.


Then we came home to find that Junes had stocked our joint with Canadian chocolates


and New Glarus. Both of which are delicious.


Then we slept for 17 hours.

At RockHouse®, the Rock-themed/Beer Pong fake club attached to our hotel, Hamouda wore a singlet/jumper/onesie and drank a blue daiquiri. What did this result in?

You guessed correctly. It resulted in being accosted by a blacked-out, middle-aged tourist.

Proof That Design Cannot Progress

Every time I go to the Brickskeller I see these two cans (of the thousands on display) and wish that I could taste them. And have them in my refrigerator. And open a bar that sells exclusively them.

Work Story. Plus Housewares!

This is a little late but still a gem. On Friday, a customer hit all the bases:

1. Started yelling her order at me while I was not only making somebody else's drinks, but speaking with someone else at the opposite end of the bar.

2. String ordered (ie kept adding more drinks every time I came back).

3. After I lectured her on the rudeness of yelling her order, did so again three more times.

4. Told me that I'd get a good tip if I gave her my number.

The best part? Her friend closed the tab out when she wasn't around, and seemed unhappy with the total. So he tips a penny.


I pointed out to him that this was a bummer thing to do, and he began listing his reasons for the poor tip:

1. Poor service brings poor tip (even though he had never actually interacted with me before this)

2. My coworker had punched him in the face (not true and just weird)

3. My coworker was a dick (asked him to move)

4. I didn't include an itemized bill with the credit receipt.

At this point I gave him an itemized bill, which he didn't look at but rather balled up and threw at me before telling me to fuck off. I then escorted him out. His name is Brian Roach, btw. Feel free to not serve him if you have the chance.

Something awesome to counteract Mr. Roach: new fry pan to replace sad old one.

Road Trip USA Redux: Picturetimez

Look! It's two dudes with beards.


And a dog. The dog was bummed because he had to sit in the back.


People have lots of opinions about West Virginia. Two of them are right. 1) It is beautiful


And 2) terrifying. This is an abandoned gas station with an abandoned semi on blocks. If we had seen this at night I would likely have been murdered.


Before going to the Tri-State Dog Track and Slot Emporium, we had Arby's.


In Kentucky, the sandwich shop was selling Pickle Pops, with aren't pops at all but rather plastic ramekins filled with frozen pickle juice. We bought two and they were not refreshing.


You know what is refreshing? Buying 9 bottles of bourbon.


And then the proprietor gives you two pints of your favorite "for the road." Now that's a responsible liquor purveyor!


Soon after that we see Dinosaur World, which is impossible to not stop at.


Next door to Dinosaur World, of course, is a fireworks store where Teebz buys lots of illegal mortars and the like.

There are lots of videos of us shooting them off, but I'll just give you the one for now. (Hint: If you don't have the sound on it's going to be even more boring than it is already.)

Then we walked down the road acting all innocent and around the corner we find this big jail which explains why there were cops everywhere.


The next day we went to Graceland. I have sworn to recreate the TV room when I get the money. No fake. The bar is yellow vinyl.


Then in a Mississippi rest stop: the first of two great bathroom photos:


The cup says "SOAP please do not dump out the dispenser is broke"

New Orleans on a random Tuesday night: hot as hell and people trying to act like it's Mardi Gras. Bummer.

Recommendation: find 24-hour bar playing Death Wish 3. Take a picture of its bathroom.



In Austin, it was time for Roadtoo. Specifically, bald eagle carrying booze and fireworks.



After staying in Motel 6es for four nights, we noticed that the skier/boxer on the comforter has an arm that looks suspiciously like a red rocket. I'm guessing that life as a designer for Motel 6 bedspreads yields little excitement.