This is all kinds of shit going on.
Shit is going down like you wouldn't believe.
Shit is so hard.
Look at this shit. Would you look at this shit?
Someday you will remember how you read this, and you will think "I was younger then," and then you will decide that everything as it exists in your (future) present is not as awesome as it was the moment you were getting down with my shit.
Shit is all kinds of shit.
We're in the shit right here.
HAPPY PASSOVER.
The best passover meal I had was courtesy of Moroccan Jews. Remember the Moroccan Jews next time you're eating brisket that feels like a shoe sole. Somehow, someday, somewhere there is a Moroccan Jew rubbing saffron-spiced Salmon all over his hairy, Semitic chest.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Thursday, February 12, 2009
Balls.
One of our hot water pipes is cracked. There is a cloud of steam arising from this small hole in the downstairs bathroom. We found one of the cats in the basement and it was warm and apparently been huddled next to the steam leak like one of the ocean-floor microorganism.
My brother was in middle school choir and his choir was to march in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. I don't think it was the actual parade - probably a rehearsal, as I would've remembered if the incident I were about to describe was on Thanksgiving Day - but my brother was late for an event because he was busy in the restroom and took like 45 minute shits during this point of his life. Already 10 minutes late, I finally heard him wash his hands, open the bathroom door, and bolt out of the house while wearing his "I Hear America Singing" red sweatshirt. Now I was home alone, and I went upstairs to use the restroom but it was clogged with my brother's toilet paper. I flushed the toilet about 5 times, which of course caused it to flood.
Water streamed out of the top of the bowl and started to drip downstairs onto the clean clothes in the laundry room below. For reasons I don't understand the lid never shut on the toilet so water kept flowing out. I ran outside and knowing no other recourse knocked awkwardly at the door of my next door neighbors', the Iranian Jews.
Mind you there are only like 45 Iranian Jews in the world, six of whom were my next door neighbors and one other being Navid from the new "90210." So of these 45 left in the world I am greeted by the mother, who speaks poor English and who I insist must come to my house. Following me she runs up to our bathroom and sees the puddle of poop and pee water. She grabs a handful of towels, and throws them right onto the floor. Then she makes the wise decision (me being 9 at the time was unable to make) of shutting off the water flow to the toilet by shutting off the valve behind the bowl. So then we stood there in the piss soaked towels and she told me to wash my hands, and I did. I don't think she had been in my house before and I don't think came in there again. My father made me redo the laundry. The Iranian Jews moved out on a random day. Then the raccoons took over their house, and the heater almost exploded, and the grass grew a foot high.
My brother was in middle school choir and his choir was to march in the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. I don't think it was the actual parade - probably a rehearsal, as I would've remembered if the incident I were about to describe was on Thanksgiving Day - but my brother was late for an event because he was busy in the restroom and took like 45 minute shits during this point of his life. Already 10 minutes late, I finally heard him wash his hands, open the bathroom door, and bolt out of the house while wearing his "I Hear America Singing" red sweatshirt. Now I was home alone, and I went upstairs to use the restroom but it was clogged with my brother's toilet paper. I flushed the toilet about 5 times, which of course caused it to flood.
Water streamed out of the top of the bowl and started to drip downstairs onto the clean clothes in the laundry room below. For reasons I don't understand the lid never shut on the toilet so water kept flowing out. I ran outside and knowing no other recourse knocked awkwardly at the door of my next door neighbors', the Iranian Jews.
Mind you there are only like 45 Iranian Jews in the world, six of whom were my next door neighbors and one other being Navid from the new "90210." So of these 45 left in the world I am greeted by the mother, who speaks poor English and who I insist must come to my house. Following me she runs up to our bathroom and sees the puddle of poop and pee water. She grabs a handful of towels, and throws them right onto the floor. Then she makes the wise decision (me being 9 at the time was unable to make) of shutting off the water flow to the toilet by shutting off the valve behind the bowl. So then we stood there in the piss soaked towels and she told me to wash my hands, and I did. I don't think she had been in my house before and I don't think came in there again. My father made me redo the laundry. The Iranian Jews moved out on a random day. Then the raccoons took over their house, and the heater almost exploded, and the grass grew a foot high.
Have em saying
There was an ad today in the NYRB for the Norman Mailer Writing Colony. I'm sure the schedule involves looking at dudes in "that way" and loudly, forcefully describing your female sexual conquests in a room with mixed company. I need not mention that the colony is located in Provincetown, Massachusetts.
Wednesday, January 28, 2009
I have nothing to do right now
My coworker suggested I do a crossword puzzle and I said "OK," but then I suck at crosswords so I tried sudoku. I used to be good at Sudoku but that was years ago and now the things at which I shine are 90's alt rock trivia and picking wine pairings. What would really make my day is if the one of the dudes from like Hum started a winery.
Speaking of Hum they had a reunion show last NYE in Chicago and apparently Matt Talbott has lost all sense of tonality in his singing. Listen to this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a3cqw71lKv8
Brace yo selves.
Week 2 in racism being over. Last night I stood naked before my bathroom mirror trying to utter racist epithets but all that came out was a jarble of consonants. It was fucking weird. I blame society.
In other stories this shit is the front fucking page of the NYTimes website:
Headline is: WHITE HOUSE UNBUTTONS FOR UNFORMAL DRESS CODE.
Larry Summers and Rahm Emanual, why are your jackets still on? Larry Summers looks like the type of dude whose candy store mysteriously closes after 6 months of business, and in that pic Rahm looks like he's got on Siouxsie Sioux makeup. Look at this picture of Larry Summers.
"MYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERG"
So um Larry do you have anything else to add?
"MYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERG"
Good to know. Check out Sheed being all "yes we can!":
Never forget.
Speaking of Hum they had a reunion show last NYE in Chicago and apparently Matt Talbott has lost all sense of tonality in his singing. Listen to this:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a3cqw71lKv8
Brace yo selves.
Week 2 in racism being over. Last night I stood naked before my bathroom mirror trying to utter racist epithets but all that came out was a jarble of consonants. It was fucking weird. I blame society.
In other stories this shit is the front fucking page of the NYTimes website:
Headline is: WHITE HOUSE UNBUTTONS FOR UNFORMAL DRESS CODE.
Larry Summers and Rahm Emanual, why are your jackets still on? Larry Summers looks like the type of dude whose candy store mysteriously closes after 6 months of business, and in that pic Rahm looks like he's got on Siouxsie Sioux makeup. Look at this picture of Larry Summers.
"MYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERG"
So um Larry do you have anything else to add?
"MYEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEERG"
Good to know. Check out Sheed being all "yes we can!":
Never forget.
I'm so doing this
http://www.cwtv.com/upload/file/cw-90210-clean-clear-video-upload
It is theoretically impossible that I will not win. I've already done the calculations. They're right here on my desk. Fuck you.
It is theoretically impossible that I will not win. I've already done the calculations. They're right here on my desk. Fuck you.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Some shit
The reason I never updated for more or less the entire month of December was as such: I would wake up at 9, go to work, and sell wine until 5 or 6. And then I would work on grad school applications until 10. And then I would sleep. And then I would go back to work and be hit with questions like "I want your best wine in a blue bottle," or "I want a merlot but not a sweet one."
One quick note for all casual wine drinkers: 99% of the wine which you see on the market has precisely no residual sugar in it. It is all converted to alcohol during fermentation. This is how you get "wine," and not "Manischewitz." Sure, dessert wines, ports, sec and demi-sec Champagnes, Moscato d'Asti and the like, Boone's Farm and the like, cream sherry, and most German Riesling on the shelf have residual sugar. But that's it. Merlot, Shiraz, Pinot Grigio, Cabernet, etc? No, not sweet. What people usually confuse as "sweet" is usually the a full-bodied wine combined with the fruit character from the grapes, and usually lack of tannin. They get that oily texture and fruit coming together, and none of the sandpapery feel from the tannin, and somewhere along their synapses these combined sensations convert to a word which we pronounce "sweet" and which signifies the presence of sugar. But there is no sugar. Note.
Speaking of beverage nerddom, my favorite customers are beer customers. Wine customers generally have an idea what they want, and also trust us more to make good decisions (which I think we usually do) when it comes to pairings, gifts, recommendations. Beer drinkers assume that since their beer of choice is Guinness (because their great-great grandpa was Irish and they are therefore just as Irish as I am, shalom) and because GUINNESS RULES they are therefore beer experts and need NO HELP of salespeople like my coworker who has tried over 4,000 beers and is an excellent homebrewer. We call these customers mustache people. Why?, I don't know, they probably have mustaches. Also note some customers talk about how FUCKED UP they get from drinking two Guinnesses without knowing that Guinness has a smaller ABV than Budweiser. I just ruined all your Irish pride.
Anyhow one day a customer wanted me to help him pick a keg. I suggested to him Pilsner Urquell and when he asked me to describe it I said it was a "golden lager" at which point he interrupted me and said "BAH, I hate lagers." He then asked me to describe Sierra Nevada, which I said was a Pale Ale and then "Bah, I hate ales" (yes he really said "Bah"). Keep in mind that by saying that he hates ales and lagers, he denotes that the only beer he likes is lambic (which is sort of an ale anyway), hard cider, and kvass. Mustache people.
I'm kvetching. Pride of the Irish y'all.
One quick note for all casual wine drinkers: 99% of the wine which you see on the market has precisely no residual sugar in it. It is all converted to alcohol during fermentation. This is how you get "wine," and not "Manischewitz." Sure, dessert wines, ports, sec and demi-sec Champagnes, Moscato d'Asti and the like, Boone's Farm and the like, cream sherry, and most German Riesling on the shelf have residual sugar. But that's it. Merlot, Shiraz, Pinot Grigio, Cabernet, etc? No, not sweet. What people usually confuse as "sweet" is usually the a full-bodied wine combined with the fruit character from the grapes, and usually lack of tannin. They get that oily texture and fruit coming together, and none of the sandpapery feel from the tannin, and somewhere along their synapses these combined sensations convert to a word which we pronounce "sweet" and which signifies the presence of sugar. But there is no sugar. Note.
Speaking of beverage nerddom, my favorite customers are beer customers. Wine customers generally have an idea what they want, and also trust us more to make good decisions (which I think we usually do) when it comes to pairings, gifts, recommendations. Beer drinkers assume that since their beer of choice is Guinness (because their great-great grandpa was Irish and they are therefore just as Irish as I am, shalom) and because GUINNESS RULES they are therefore beer experts and need NO HELP of salespeople like my coworker who has tried over 4,000 beers and is an excellent homebrewer. We call these customers mustache people. Why?, I don't know, they probably have mustaches. Also note some customers talk about how FUCKED UP they get from drinking two Guinnesses without knowing that Guinness has a smaller ABV than Budweiser. I just ruined all your Irish pride.
Anyhow one day a customer wanted me to help him pick a keg. I suggested to him Pilsner Urquell and when he asked me to describe it I said it was a "golden lager" at which point he interrupted me and said "BAH, I hate lagers." He then asked me to describe Sierra Nevada, which I said was a Pale Ale and then "Bah, I hate ales" (yes he really said "Bah"). Keep in mind that by saying that he hates ales and lagers, he denotes that the only beer he likes is lambic (which is sort of an ale anyway), hard cider, and kvass. Mustache people.
I'm kvetching. Pride of the Irish y'all.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
-9
This one's for you, Harrie.
There are two bank thermometers a block apart in Iowa City. In the afternoon the US Bank thermometer, because it gets some daytime sun, consistently reads about 10 degrees higher than the Midwest One thermometer. And right now the US Bank thermometer is reading "-9".
People who say "talking about the weather is boring" has never lived in the midwest. Science fact right there. This weather shit is fucking epic. People write books about the Iowa weather, and you know what: the books are actually pretty good. I probably will never experience anything as intense as weather in Iowa. And I've been to concentration camps.
In fact, I was going to catalogue, right here, the intense weather that I've experienced in my six years here, but I realized it would've taken too much time.
But for example, the Saturday of flood week last June I was part of a large crew of sandbaggers working by the University library. I was in a chain of people moving sandbags down towards the levee. After doing this two hours, a guy with a megaphone tells the crew that there is a severe thunderstorm warning and that we must leave. So we go to a bar. And the baseball game on the bar TV is interrupted by the local weatherman, saying that we're in a tornado watch. I go outside and there are two shirtless people. One minute the wind blows and it is humid, and then another minute the wind blows in the opposite direction and it is crisp and dry. Then it hails. Then I look up and clouds are moving in all kinds of directions, forming a funnel cloud. The people I am with decide we should all take off our shirts so we do and we flash cars. Then it is sunny, then it rains again. It is downpouring across the street but sunny and warm on our side. The bartender is blaring country music. Every cloud in the sky, of which we have a clear view, is moving in a unique direction. The funnel cloud is to the south. Then the funnel cloud passes.
There are two bank thermometers a block apart in Iowa City. In the afternoon the US Bank thermometer, because it gets some daytime sun, consistently reads about 10 degrees higher than the Midwest One thermometer. And right now the US Bank thermometer is reading "-9".
People who say "talking about the weather is boring" has never lived in the midwest. Science fact right there. This weather shit is fucking epic. People write books about the Iowa weather, and you know what: the books are actually pretty good. I probably will never experience anything as intense as weather in Iowa. And I've been to concentration camps.
In fact, I was going to catalogue, right here, the intense weather that I've experienced in my six years here, but I realized it would've taken too much time.
But for example, the Saturday of flood week last June I was part of a large crew of sandbaggers working by the University library. I was in a chain of people moving sandbags down towards the levee. After doing this two hours, a guy with a megaphone tells the crew that there is a severe thunderstorm warning and that we must leave. So we go to a bar. And the baseball game on the bar TV is interrupted by the local weatherman, saying that we're in a tornado watch. I go outside and there are two shirtless people. One minute the wind blows and it is humid, and then another minute the wind blows in the opposite direction and it is crisp and dry. Then it hails. Then I look up and clouds are moving in all kinds of directions, forming a funnel cloud. The people I am with decide we should all take off our shirts so we do and we flash cars. Then it is sunny, then it rains again. It is downpouring across the street but sunny and warm on our side. The bartender is blaring country music. Every cloud in the sky, of which we have a clear view, is moving in a unique direction. The funnel cloud is to the south. Then the funnel cloud passes.
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