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.

Reviews of New Cereals, Plus More Examples of the Taxing Life of Being a Cat that Sleeps All the Time

First, my brother and his girlfriend were in town this week, enjoying the rain, and we went to the Quarry House for some more pickles

then down the street to AFI for the Robert Mitchum retrospective, which was playing Thunder Road. If you haven't seen it, Mitchum plays a moonshine runner through the hills of Tennessee in the 50s. He is easily the toughest, most smooth-talking Tennessee moonshine runner I've ever seen on film, with nary a hint of a southern accent. Verdict: rent it, then go to DollyWood and ride Thunder Road: the Ride.


So. The other day at the grocery store I looked at the cereal aisle, which I never do because I never eat cereal. What I learned there was that the nation's cereal manufacturers have lost their damned minds. For serious, look: Froot Loops with Darkberries? What, did they run out of types of berries to add, so they just made up Darkberries? Or was it the fact that they're not berries at all, so you had to make up a new word that connotes berries but isn't tied to the idea that there is actually fruit in the cereal? Why not Goozleberries or Flibbleberries? Either of those names would be cooler and less ominous-sounding than Darkberries.


In other Froot Loops-makes-up-words-news, here is this thing called Froot Loops Smoothie, which includes "Yogurty-covered pieces," which might be the grossest thing I've ever heard about.


And Frosted Flakes has entered the small-but-growing energy drink/cereal crossover world.


And now the magazines in the grocery stores, they tell you what you think before you even think it. Like here where they tell me that I don't think Hilary Duff is edgy.









I got bored yesterday and played a free poker tournament online. I won a ticket to another tournament which if I win will give me a seat to this year's World Series of Poker. I predict that should be easy enough.

Atlas District Schmatlas District

After working on H St. for long enough, we haven't been back in a while. Which is a shame, because there's lots of good things about it.

A) The Pug, which I've mentioned before, but never mentioned the fantastic signs over the bar which you can't read here: NO SPECIALS NO SHOOTERS NO POLITICS NO FIGHTING.



B) Al the bar cat at Palace of Wonders.


C) Cobra Kisses, co-worker's hair band playing at Red & Black. Possibly the best encore/road ballad ever written (scroll down their MySpace playlist to "Gaping Hole").

Ah, Spring

Today was the first really beautiful Spring day in DC. Brisk, sunny, mid-60s, perfect for eating with the thousands of other flip-flop-clad white people who love eating outside so very much. So we did the only thing we could think of: go underground in the suburbs to our favorite bar at the moment, the Quarry House. The booze there is good, but the fried pickles are hamazing.

Also, this is the bathroom.

SCORE SCORE SCORE

Landlord just called, and on the recommendation of our spaz landlord and spaz boss, we are moving. Hells yes. Feel free to come over and relax on our front porch, which we will be having in two weeks. Adulthood here we are, &c.

When I got home after work the other night, this movie called "Let's Do Things" was on. That's the greatest name for a movie ever. Also, it was listed as "1931 (New)."


We went to the movies last night without any particular desire to see any particular movie, since it's what they call "Slim 'Pickins'" (ie Vantage Point) these days on the movie front. The only thing playing when we walked in was Horton Hears a Who, which neither of us had any particular desire to see, but decided to anyway.

Verdict: it was good. Especially this character, which is named Katie, and made me laugh out loud so hard that everybody in the theater looked at me and then laughed.


One of the problems with phlogging exclusively about oneself is that every year certain things happen, so there's naturally going to be some overlap. Remember last St. Patrick's Day? Sure you do!:


This year it wasn't quite so gross


but if you waited a couple hours and added a grown woman crying while trying to sneak gulps from her dude's Bud Light, you'd have the scene pretty well down.

Feel Like Getting Angry?

Just go to Passive Aggressive Notes, where I recently submitted a picture from work,

and read the comments.

(Plus! I apparently work in a soul-sucking place.



Which is ironic, since I always thought of the thousands of office buildings surrounding where I work as the soul-suckers. I was wrong.)

Santa Crawls and Their Repercussions

People who work in offices all day have a hard time making friends, so they have to work extra-hard to find like-minded people to do the stupid shit they like to do. In December, the stupid shit they like to do is dress up in Santa costumes and go from bar to bar drinking and losing things.* Saturday, Katie got to witness a little of the magic:


It's amazing what 30 drunk Santas will do to destroy one's Christmas spirit, so Joe and I decided to balance things out by playing some non-Christmas holiday sets on the jukebox. He started things off with Halloween (Monster Mash + Nightmare on My Street=Success), and I followed up with Easter. What follows is my set with brief annotations, in case anybody's interested in replicating it:

1. "Easter Flesh" - The Legendary Shack Shakers. Gotta start things off slow, work the crowd into the idea of a themed set; the Shack Shakers aren't what one would call a "religious" band, so nobody's gonna get all weirded out. Plus, the song is pretty good.


2. "Easter" - Patti Smith Group. Kind of a downer, but the name of the song is "Easter," so it made the cut.


3. Now that the set is in full-swing, time to throw a curveball. In nearly every situation in life, "curveball" means: KIDZ BOP. If you don't know about Kidz Bop, do yourself a favor and cure your ignorance. I played some Kidz Bop Easter song that isn't online. But rest assured that it was amazing.


4. "Easter Bunny Hop" - VeggieTales. How better to follow up kidz doing covers of popular and traditional music than with overtly religious animated vegetables singing vaguely religious songs?

5. "Easter March" - Liberace. How better to follow singing vegetables than with a little piano ditty by the master of moderation?


6. "Easter [something]" - Steve Green. Since the room has pretty much gone silent in awe of Liberace's adagios, it is important to take advantage. The best way to do that is to play an Easter song by my mom's favorite Christian Contemporary blond, Steve Green. People at the bar seemed surprised that I was singing all the words. Maybe they should check the status of their souls.


BONUSBONUSBONUS I bought fashionframes! Unfortch they are basically clear versions of Ana's realframes so I'll never be able to wear them. But maybe--just maybe--my vision will decline enough to need glasses within the next forty years. In that case, my fashionframes will be there waiting for me.


Plus! Ana says hello, Jeanne!


* Things they lost which were later found on the floor: Three credit cards, one ID, one wallet, two hats, two sweaters, one book, one scarf, $40 cash.

Helloa, mine ignored public!

I apologize! Nothing has been blogworthy of late, my legions! Here, I have some pictures for you. This first one here is some spilt dirty girl scout shot materiel from the Brickskeller this eve.


Gross!

The second is Evan, who got firet from same establishment this same eve. He's a happy young lad, with random tattoos on his arams!


So this should tide you over until Photo Essay #9 comes along, which will chronicle Martina's going-away party.

Oh, and Eddie Izzard was at Brickskeller when we were there. But I didn't Papparazzo him like I wanted to.

Photo Essay #3: Anatomy of St. Patrick's Day (Other Side of the Bar Edition)

In the world of drinking for sport, a few days a year are sacred: New Year's Eve, Fat Tuesday, July 4th--but the ultimate, the one day a year where drinking is done purely for drinking's sake, to honor the act of drinking and being drunk, is St. Patrick's Day. New Year's Eve is for amateurs, you say? I beg to differ. St. Patrick's day was made for amateurs. Here's a few guidelines for the evening:

1. In my personal bar lexicon, I consider St. Patrick's a day of mourning. So proper attire is required.


2. Bar owners: People are not spendthrifts. Take advantage of this fact! Just because domestic bottles are always $3.75 doesn't mean that they aren't special. Really, they're always special! Point out this normal special price, with the words "St. Patty's" and "Special" prominently displayed on an 8.5 x 11 sheet of paper.


3. Drunks: Remember, the whole thing is about drinking. Not socializing or excitement or something else stupid and pointless. DRINKING. So here are some tips to make it go smoothly. (1) Dude who wants food really bad: When you want to order food (waste of money anyway~doesn't help you get drunk at all), the best way to do so is to wave the menu in my face while I'm making six drinks at once. If that doesn't work, wait until I'm not looking at you, or my back is turned, and say something like "Hey. Hey. HEY! Can I get a bacon cheeseburger PLEASE?" When I tell you that you need to wait until I'm done DOING OTHER THINGS, make sure you huff and slump down in your seat. After all, you've been waiting for THREE MINUTES. When I ask you what you want, roll your eyes and sigh. This will ensure prompt, quality service, especially considering the fact that I am still in the middle of making that order for 42 car bombs that just came in. Finally, once the order is placed, make sure to fall asleep on your bar stool.


(2) Big dude with booming voice: Hey, bro! I get it! You can stand at any part of the bar and I'll hear your order. So why don't you just yell what you want from 30 feet away. Better yet, just yell drinks as your friends tell you what they want. Don't worry if I'm not even behind the bar. Just order away--they'll get made and added to your tab. We remember your name. Don't even worry about reminding us; you, sir, are memorable.

Finally, (3) Girl who's ready to party: Make sure to order all the Irish favorites. Green Red Bull & Vodka, Green Jager Bombs, Green Blue Moon Belgian White, my favorite Green fruity shot--they're time-tested libations that go down smoothly, one after the other. Or mixed! Keep ordering them! Seriously--KEEP ORDERING THEM. Another green shot of tequila? Coming right up! Want something else to be green? Got it! Green Green Green! And when you realize that you can't form a complete sentence anymore, don't worry about it. Hang out, keep drinking. It's St. Patrick's Day, for God's sake! You have won. You have reached the pinnacle. Sign your credit card slip with your left hand, because you've forgotten which one you write with. Leave the bartender $~~H"/^ for a tip on your $80 bill. Jibberish tips are what we live for.

4. Whew, the night is over. That ruled. Pour yourself a Guinness. It's what you've wanted to do since 10:30.


5. Watch barbacks clean up piles of green shit mixed with piles of possibly organic material. Laugh at them. Suckers.


6. Count the money, which very well might eclipse the GNP of a small country. Forget this fact as soon as you think it.


7. Drink bourbon. Keep waiting for barbacks to do the things they do, whatever it is.


8. Woo! All done! A successful night. No one died of alcohol poisoning. Only a moderate amount of vomit was vomited. Now to get on your bike in the freezing-ass cold of 6:30am.


Seriously, it's like 28 degrees. That is a bummer.

10. But at least the sun is coming up. That way, you won't be able to fall asleep for like six more hours. Yesss!

And that's the night.

(BONUS TIP: If you wait until the day after St. Patrick's, Fish & Chips is still just as delicious, and much less crowded. Plus, you won't vomit it up three hours later.)

This is the New One

We just got a new roommate, and she rules. We also got a new place to drink $2 Schaefer, and it rules. Things are looking ruley all around.

This is on the mirror at work. It is ironic!

Because I work at a bar.