Sunday, March 23, 2008
10:42 pm
it was just today that I really began to understand the dichotomy of certain aspects of life here compared to back home. a lot of things are similar, sure. it seems that most strangers in the city are equally as timid, although I do receive the occasional random comment from someone about my trench coat in both places. recently a surprising amount of these have been compliments, which is quite a deviation from the paradigm. let me set the scene for the typical comment I received about it before a couple months ago:
I'd be walking down the street, in a store, in the mall, etc., perhaps having a conversation with a friend or just walking by myself, and from the opposite direction would approach a small herd of high-school aged kids dressed in societally-claimed cool clothes purchased from any place you might expect and bearing a large indicator of the fact so that everyone who sees them is well aware of their knowledge of current fashion trends. as we pass each other, I mind my own business, talking to whomever I'm with or just entertaining to my inner dialogue. however, they do not choose to provide me the same courtesy. instead, after they are behind me, I hark upon the faint whisper of the word "freak," or something to that effect, presumably spoken under the assumption that it was said quietly enough for me to not hear by the self-proclaimed shepherd of the flock, to which all others simply acquiesced to. this is immediately followed by the obedient, muffled laughter of his cronies. the first couple times this happened I experienced some kind of quasi-offense, but now I tend to just write these people off as self-serving, immature and intolerant and respond with a very polite sounding, "thank you very much!" even stopping in mid-sentence to do so if necessary. then I continue walking as they quicken their pace and try to pretend as if they had never triggered the event to begin with.
ehem, well, I went off on a bit of a tangent there, as I've a tendency of doing. anyway, for some reason I've been receiving positive comments about my coat lately and I've yet to discover any kind of explanation. granted, these haven't been coming in abundance; just a one every few weeks or so, but it's a welcome change. but now, time to get back on course.
the point of that rant was to segue into an area of life that I've discovered to be profoundly different here in Chicago than it is back in Michigan, and that is the attitude and approach to the wonderful sport of hockey. I am, and always have been, a Detroit Red Wings fan, but I'm a fan of the game in general, so Dave and I decided to catch a Blackhawks game while I was in town. my hopes at the beginning of the season were to see a Wings game here in Chicago, but there were conflicts with that, which may not be such a bad thing considering our rather dismal record against them this season. we both woke up a bit late, so we had to head out pretty much as soon as we got out of bed. we took the El and then once we got off we had to walk a few blocks to the United Center, which will henceforth be referred to as UC.
approaching the United Center.
we purchased two tickets for a whopping $24 total. for those of you unaware, the cheapest tickets available for games in Detroit cost $22 which almost rivals the price of two in Chicago. the only exception that I'm aware of are the $9 Wings tickets which were implemented just this season, and are quite hard to come by due to a limited supply and the necessity to purchase them in person at the Joe Louis Arena (JLA) box office as opposed to online or over the phone. I have stories of these adventures, but they can wait until another day.
I haven't been to many professional hockey games, and this was the first one that I've been to outside of Detroit. I must admit that the UC is a bit nicer arena than JLA, although I would expect it to be considering that the UC has only been in operation for about 13 years and JLA is approaching more than twice that age. UC is much more modern, with escalators providing convenient access to all levels, as opposed to JLA where the upper and lower decks are only reachable by stairs once inside the actual stadium. the UC corridors seem much wider, which makes getting around a lot easier, although this could just be an illusion caused by a difference in attendance in each building. the seats allow for a bit more leg room, which is a concern for a Peron of my frame.
we wandered around the halls for a little while, searching for our section. I decided to wear my Red Wings Steve Yzerman jersey to the game, assuming that since they were playing a different team, I wouldn't receive too much flak over it.
this was wrong.
I was informed by several people that "the Red Wings suck." now, I'll admit that Detroit has been less than stellar against the Blackhawks this season (I think our current record against them is 2-3-1) but we are dominating them in overall points. even after Chicago won today's game against St. Louis, Detroit is still almost 30 points ahead of them. this made me realize something; Dave has relayed stories about the extent of some of the drug use here, but this instance solidified my understanding of it. the only way I could rationalize these people's logic was to assume that they were on drugs so intense that they actually thought that they were existing not in the present, but in the 1970s during the "Dead Wings" era. I shudder to think of the aftermath of such negligence.
while we were walking around it became quickly apparent that I was not going to experience hockey like I would in Detroit. see, Detroit hockey fans go to a Wings game solely for that reason; to see a Red Wings hockey game. I've had the joy of going to five Detroit Red Wings games so far this season and every game as been equally enjoyable in terms of the atmosphere and people. a majority of the fans obviously possess a bias but tend to be quite amiable toward outsiders and opposition. there isn't a lot going on besides the game, and everything fancy is happening on the ice. but we've had a powerhouse team for about a decade and a half and the fans don't require any extraneous entertainment because our team more than provides it. but Chicago has had a failing team for quite a while now (although with the recent additions of Kane and Toews, that may soon change) and it takes more to satisfy the fans than just a hockey game. there are mascots for teams that have nothing to do with the sport, and may not even actually belong to a team; I saw cats and dogs, birds (possibly a pelican). hell, I think I even spotted a goddamn dinosaur. anyway, more on that later...
now, I can't really tell you how good the seats were for the tickets we purchased, because I truly have no idea. however, I can show you the view from the seats that sat in.
there was an annoying kid in front of me, but he does not appear in this picture.
once we settled in, we talked for a few minutes. I reminisced and told stories about amazing plays made by the likes of Nick Lidstrom and Pavel Datsyuk I'd seen this season. but then, the lights went down and things got loud. that's when the video started playing on the scoreboard and there was a small laser light show on the ice. I took a short video of it, but the quality is terrible because it was on a digital camera.
the Blackhawks own animated teams.
I'd estimate that this movie ran for a duration of at least four minutes, possibly closer to five. much of it was computer generated and showed off the amazing abilities of the players when faced with animated opponents. then it showed highlights from previous (real) games; goals, saves, hits, etc. this was something else I was not used to, as there is nothing similar to this in Detroit. the players simply skate out, warmup for a few minutes, and then the game begins. the video was well received by the Hawks fans. I suppose they need something to be excited about since their team rarely delivers...
after the teams warmed up and the anthem was sung, the game began. I was disappointed to see that Hannu Toivonen was in net for the Blues since I was hoping to see Manny Legace, but I shrugged it off and just prepared to enjoy the game. almost immediately I found myself analyzing nearly every play made and finding most decisions to be wrong. for every pass, deke and shot I would try to imagine what Lidstrom or Zetterberg would have done instead, and then try to continue the play from there in my head. it was difficult to try to imagine what Datsyuk would have done because he is, as some of you already know, a ninja, which makes him very unpredictable. this made the game a bit more interesting and made me even further appreciate the team here in Detroit. Chicago is a relatively young team with a lot of players without a lot of experience, and it shows in their play. I saw them make a lot of mistakes synonymous with rookie players. a symptom of this is the attitude of the fans. after having a bad team for so long, the fans have been forced to lower their standards. if there is ruckus among the crowd at a Wings game, then you know that something substantial just happened. however, standard and mediocre plays generally induced a cacophony of "oohs" and "ahhs" from the Chicago crowd. orthodox plays like dump ins from center ice that happen to be on net were received by excited anticipation by most of those in attendance.
for those of you who haven't been to a hockey game, then you are probably unaware of this, but there are people who clear off the ice during commercial breaks. while the players are skating and tearing up the ice, snow starts to build up and it makes skating more difficult, so whenever there are commercials a few people come out with shovels to clear some of the snow off around the nets where most of the action takes place. in Detroit, these people are generally males, seemingly in their late teens, maybe early 20s. but in Chicago, just to further reiterate that hockey games are not to be viewed as the only source of entertainment at the UC, the people that clear the ice are very attractive, very young women wearing pink jackets and bunny ears, who I deemed the Playboy Shovel Bunnies.
Playboy Shovel Bunnies
Playboy Shovel Bunnies video. once again, sorry for the quality.
to be fair, they don't always dress that way. I was watching a Chicago game on television and they showed them briefly and they weren't wearing pink jackets or bunny ears. instead a bikini top was solely responsible for concealing their upper bodies. apparently they aren't called the Playboy Shovel Bunnies, but the Chicago Blackhawks Ice Crew. I found this to be kind of ridiculous, but I'm certainly not inclined to complain...
anyhow, the game started off pretty slow. no goals were scored in the first period, and nothing else particularly interesting happened. thankfully things got exciting during the intermission due to a riveting mascot game.
I swear one of those is a dinosaur.
sorry about the shaky-cam. I was trying to make it edgy.
fortunately things picked up in the second. St. Louis struck first with a goal about halfway through the second period, but Chicago tied it with a couple minutes left, making it 1-1 going into the third. Chicago went up 2-1 with about 11 minutes left, but St. Louis quickly answered back with a goal tying it up at 2. with just a couple minutes left in the game it looked like they were headed to overtime, but Tkachuk scored on a breakaway on a steal after Kane lost control of the puck, putting the Blues up 3-2 with just over a minute left. however, Chicago refused to fucking die and tied it up less than 30 seconds later, forcing the game into overtime, and this was when I got swept up in the ineluctable excitement of the game. Chicago went on to win in overtime on a goal by Kane off a rebound, redeeming himself for the giveaway that lead to Tkachuck's go-ahead goal that almost made them lose. this outcome came much to Dave's dismay, as he was hoping for the home team to lose. admittedly, so was I, but I enjoyed the end of the game too much to care about that.
as the crowd cheered and the players celebrated on the ice, Dave and I started to make our way out of the stadium. we went to the bathroom before we left and I overheard conversations between ecstatic Blackhawks fans about what an "amazing game" it was, additional proof of the lowered standards there. much of the game was fairly dull, although I will admit that once it got heated at the very end and during overtime, things got quite interesting.
after leaving the arena we made our way to the El. along the way we encountered an SUV full of kids who decided to honk the horn and scream out the window at us as they passed by. apparently they did so rather thoughtlessly as they were forced to stop at a red light not more than roughly 75 feet in front of us, and were, I assume, immediately made to feel like jackasses.
after the game we headed to the Melting Pot to enjoy a very nice and pleasantly lengthy dinner. we discussed life and philosophy and shared observations over some delicious fondue. Dave dominated most of the conversation, as he has a tendency to do, although I've never minded. he sees things in a way completely different from me and takes many things into great consideration that I generally never even provide a second thought. this uniqueness has inspired many great monologues that I've had the enjoyment of... I guess "interpreting" would be the most accurate word.
after dinner we went back to his apartment and started watching Gangs of New York and I started writing about today. just a couple minutes into the movie I remembered how badass that film is. we're about an hour into it right now, and we both just decided to switch it up to Venture Bros., which I must provide my undivided attention, so it's time for me to leave.
"oh! was it worth it Shaq?!"
-jon
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
From the Archives: Chicago - 3/23/08
From the Archives: Chicago - 3/22/08
Saturday, March 22, 2008
11:38 am
I open my eyes, expecting to find myself still playing Hunter, but instead the title screen of Gladiator is playing on the television, my laptop is open and lying in front of me, my desktop icons are inexplicably and mysteriously missing and I can't hear anything out of my left ear except for a very slight humming sound. the clock says that it's just past four in the morning so I've apparently been asleep for quite a while. I get up and walk out to the kitchen. I notice that QP's door is open so I peek inside to find it uninhabited. I assume that he slept wherever it is he left to last night and I briefly wonder if maybe he's walking up to a similar unpleasant feeling right now. but hell, from what I've heard, waking up in an apartment not his own to find half of his auditory senses rendered incapable seems like operating procedure for him. but for me this is foreign goddamn territory to the point where I'm keeping a close eye on the treetops. I'm still feeling a bit wobbly, so I just grab my toothbrush out of my suitcase, brush my teeth, and then stumble back onto the futon to get some more sleep.
when I wake back up it feels like several days have passed, but in reality it's only been a couple hours. The Gladiator title screen continues to play on repeat and my left ear is still proving to be ineffective. both my body and mind are resentful for what I did to them last night and they are making it clear that they are unhappy with me. my brain is pounding to try to escape its skull prison and my stomach feels eager to leave my body. I lie there for a few minutes in agony, then force myself to get up and drink something, which makes me feel quite a bit better. Dave is still asleep so I grab my laptop, quickly solve the case of the missing desktop icons, and then start writing.
well, I managed to catch up a bit on what happened yesterday. Dave woke up not too long ago and we almost simultaneously realized that we had not finished off Hunter last night and then immediately acknowledged the necessity to do so, which means I'm off to do some more slaying.
[expletive deleted]
-jon
3:26 pm
we have, once again, successfully completed Hunter: The Reckoning. I don't know how many times I've beaten that game, how many zombies I've killed while playing it, or how many hours of my life it has claimed, but frankly, I don't think I want to know. actually, it would be nice to know the kill count, but I don't care to be burdened with an answer to either of the other questions.
now we're watching Smokin' Aces and awaiting the arrival of the Mexican food that we ordered from Carbon while I'm still trying to catch up a bit on previous entries. fortunately, it looks like we're not doing much today and I'll get a chance to rest a bit and enjoy a few movies.
…
well, a few hours have passed and I've made only marginal progress. I ended up focusing mostly on the movie and talking to people online while chatting with Dave a bit and commenting on the movie. right now we're watching The Kingdom, but Dave just ran out to the store with a friend of his who picked him up so I paused it.
well, I just stumbled across something that I, personally, find extraordinarily hilarious. right now I'm working on the entry for the first day. I've got most of the writing done so I'm just looking around for a few web sites I want to link to and figuring out the coding since I don't really know any html or anything. I use Firefox and I have an add-on installed called Googlepedia. what it does is whenever you do a Google search it also searches for the most relevant Wikipedia article and displays the Google results on the left and the Wikipedia article on the right. for instance, if you search for "detroit red wings" you will get these results:
search results with Googlepedia
as I was reading through what I had written on the first day, I decided that the "Auto Suck" I mentioned probably deserves some visual clarification so I Googled "auto suck 12 volt" to find an acceptable web site to link to and was quite surprised by what Wikipedia returned…
resourceful much?
now, I know MacGyver was renowned for his tactical use of common items, but his intricately improvised devices were usually conceived in order to escape an immediate life or death situation; not to get his rocks off during a boring stakeout using a car cigarette lighter and a vacuum attachment. but I suppose if I was that resourceful I wouldn't conform to conventional masturbation either.
well, back to the movie for me. catch ya later.
defying the laws of odor.
-jon
8:47 pm
okay, so, I lied about getting stuff done. actually I surfed the net, talked to a few people on instant messenger and listened to the Detroit Red Wings game online. right now our boys are up 4 - 1 over the Columbus Blue Jackets. Dave's back from the store and just got done telling me a story about it. his friend, Logan, picked him up. Logan has a couple friends visiting from out of town and decided to give them an abridged tour of the city. they drove by campus and checked out a few buildings and then he drove to the south side to check out the ghetto. as Dave put it, "we went to the ghetto. we were driving pretty fast, like you would on an African safari." kind of makes me wish I had tagged along, but now is no time for regrets. we're about to finish watching The Kingdom and then some Venture Bros. I'll catch you cats on the flip side.
Pavel Datsyuk is a Ninja.
-jon
From the Archives: Chicago - 3/21/08
Friday, March 21, 2008
10:56 am
well, I didn't quite get to finish where I left off last night due to extraneous circumstances I'd rather not detail here. but what I will say is that we were watching a Steven Seagal movie called Belly of the Beast which is probably more ridiculous than you can imagine it. then the Chinese food arrived, we ate, and finished watching the movie. after laughing at the absurdity of the godlike power of Seagal, we both went to sleep.
Seagal is a vengeful god.
before passing out last night I was going to write about the rest of the day so I'll continue it here instead. after the laptop died on the bus I had very little left to do. I tried reading a bit more while drowning out the sounds of the movie and managed to finish a couple more short stories which I only vaguely remember now. we made another stop for a little while to get something to eat, but I wasn't hungry so I just walked around for a few minutes and called Dave to let him know that the driver notified us that we'd be arriving in about an hour, which turned out to be wrong since he didn't take the one hour time change into account and I didn't bother confirming his accuracy. once we left I continued reading just a bit more, and then watched The Three Stooges for about half an hour while debating whether or not I should try talking to the girl behind me again or the girl in front of me. I decided that, since I already tried talking to the girl behind me long before and failed, I wouldn't bother again, and the girl in front of me kept receiving phone calls at about five minute intervals, and reading while waiting for the next, so I didn't want to disturb her. whenever I'm reading something and someone interrupts me I always find it annoying. so instead I just kept watching The Stooges and enduring boredom.
not too long after that, thankfully, we arrived at Union Station, so I gathered my bags, and headed inside the station to escape the wind. Dave had arrived there nearly an hour early due to the incorrect ETA that the driver had provided at the last stop and he called me about forty minutes before we'd gotten there to ask where we were. I told him on the phone that the driver apparently didn't acknowledge time zones so it was still going to be a while. I called Dave and notified him of my arrival, but he didn't answer, so I waited a for him to call back while wandering around and enjoying the aesthetic of the station. as I was approaching the Great Hall my phone started to ring. it was Dave calling me back and he said that he would be there within a couple minutes, so I took a seat on one of the benches to wait.
behold my superior skills of artistry and be amazed.
once he got there we left to head back to his apartment, stopping at Qdoba's on the way to grab something to eat. this venture from the station to his place made me very regretful of how much I packed because my arms were tired and my hands sore after only five or six blocks, about half of the way. thankfully I got a short rest once we got to the El. for those of you unfamiliar with it, the El is the name for Chicago's rapid transit line, which consists of subway and elevated rails. actually it's called the "L" but I'm going to call it the El so deal with it. after the treacherous journey was over and we made it to his apartment the first thing I noticed was a giant, and presumably stolen, street sign among a bit of a mess in the front room.
front room.
most lenient "no fatties" rule ever.
I was finally able to relieve my limbs, have a seat, and enjoy the delicious queso dip from Qdoba's. after that we chatted a bit more and finished sharing a couple stories we had started on the walk over. we went over to his friend Tim's apartment to get Dave's computer and then carried everything back to his pad to set it up.
after talking a bit more and setting up his computer we decided to head back over to Tim's but before we left I went to the bathroom. when I walked in the first thing I observed was America the Book and The Alphabet of Manliness leaning against the wall on top of the toilet, which pleased me.
that gorilla had it coming.
but it was right after this, when I looked to the right of the toilet, that I spotted a very intense looking plunger, which I felt compelled to closely examine.
the only plunger Seagal is willing to use.
once I felt adequately acquainted with the contraption I went back out to the kitchen and then Dave went to the bathroom. while he was in there, I decided to investigate the kitchen a bit. I looked around and saw dirty cups and shot glasses with remnants of liquor and mixed drinks left in them. I looked in the refrigerator, finding very little inhabiting it, which is not surprising considering that the tenants are both males in their 20s. I opened the freezer to find that it was even more barren than the fridge. all I discovered in there were two ice trays and about thirteen cents in change; a dime and three pennies, possibly four since it looked like two might have been stuck together.
back in my grandma's day that was enough to buy a Coke.
we walked over to Tim's apartment and fired up the Xbox 360 to play Halo 3. I attempted to find a control scheme that would allow me to successfully utilize the Guitar Hero 3 controller but my efforts were, unfortunately, all in vain so I resorted to using a standard Xbox 360 controller. we started playing some ranked Team Slayer and I consistently annihilated most everyone on the opposing team, and in a game of Shotty Snipers on Valhalla I actually had more kills than the opposing team of four people combined. if you play Halo that ought to mean something to you, but if you don't then it doesn't really matter. I must admit that much of this success was attributed to my icon, which, for those of you who have recently played Halo 3 with me will know, is the mauve (pronounced moh-vay) unicorn and lavender explosion. I believe it is this icon that provides me my powers. however, this achievement paled in comparison to Dave's impressive verbal abuse towards the opposition as Dolomite, one of his angry black personas, spouting out comments such as "I will eat yo' babies, Motherfucker!" it's the voice that really makes the character but that, unfortunately, cannot be conveyed through this medium.
after playing Halo for a while we called it quits and walked back to Dave's, ordered the Chinese, and put the movie on which brings us full circle to where I left off last night.
well, I've managed to finish up yesterday, but we're about to head out so I'm off.
"I liked you much better as a bitch!"
-jon
11:42 pm
time to play a little catch up, so here are today's events thus far: when I woke up Dave was still sleeping so I used that time to write earlier. once Dave awoke we went to a deli a couple blocks away called Kathy De's for lunch. since they're going to be closed all weekend for Easter they were trying to get rid of everything so our subs and salads were half off, which was mighty sweet. we went back to Dave's to eat and then decided to repair to Tim's to hang out with him and play some Halo. Tim and Dave talked about a few people they knew at the fraternity that Dave was in a couple years back while I focused solely on spreading public awareness of the supremacy of whatever color I happened to be for that game by eradicating Master Chiefs and Elites that differed in complexion. I was, once again, rocking out the mauve unicorn and lavender explosion so I was performing spectacularly. after a while a couple of their friends, Noah and Kurt, stopped by to hang out for a little while. they talked while I played Halo and won a few games of Lone Wolves. Noah drove us all to a grocery store so we could pick up a few drinks and then he dropped Dave and me off at his apartment. Dave and I made a couple drinks (gin and Fresca) and then decided to tackle our ritualistic Hunter: The Reckoning run through. for those of you who have not had the pleasure of playing it, it's a game of unlimited ammo and seemingly endless zombies, so if perpetual and repetitious zombie-slaughtering is your bag, I'd definitely recommend checking it out.
we got through a level or two and then the effects of the gin started creeping up on us. we took a break from Hunter to warm up the leftover Chinese from the night before and then QP, Dave's roommate, stopped in with his friend so we talked to them for a bit before they left. we made a couple more drinks, devoured most of the Chinese, and then got back to de-animating the recently reanimated. once the gin became more prevalent, so did Dolomite. one of the interesting characteristics of this personality is that he speaks, almost exclusively, in bizarre declarative statements that end with the exclamation of the word "motherfucker." I'm unable to remember most of what was said, but I do distinctly remember him saying "I'll teach you to bleed red, Motherfucker!" and "this isn't the Declaration of Independence, Motherfucker! this is the Declaration of Beef Jerky!"
and this is where we're at now. we've occasionally been taking breaks to make a drink or grab something to eat, so I've been chatting with a couple people online and writing here as we go along. I was talking to a this kid I met online who prefers to be referred to as "Dan," but whose actual name conjures painful memories. I said something to him along the lines of "right now my friend is in his kitchen talking to his ramen noodles as his imaginary black persona named Dolomite." I don't know why I said this to him, especially considering it was completely unsolicited as there was a short silence in the conversation preceding that statement.
we've got some music playing in the background to accompany our merciless slaughter of the undead, stone gargoyles, vampires, exploding spiders, jabberwockies, and the like. we started with some Led Zeppelin which makes me realize that I don't listen to nearly enough of them. while there was some downtime in the game between levels, we started talking about music and after a short while the conversation turned toward a local band called Wyatt Hood who are admirably reminiscent of older bands, including Led Zeppelin and Lynyrd Skynyd, among others. this mention of them has us both itching to listen to them, so we throw on some Wyatt Hood and revel in their sound. by this time the gin is in full effect and we both really let the tunes envelop us. I now know what it feels like to be that annoying drunk guy at a concert who gets way too into the music. they are an amazing group and everytime I listen to them they reiterate and make abundantly clear every disappointment I see with most modern music. they possess a natural patience and musical diversity that it seems many bands are incapable of. Dave said something about them to the effect of, "that guy can make his guitar sing for him, and that's real talent," which I agree with; he really can make those strings work wonders. seriously, check 'em out.
well, I just prepared myself another drink and I'm just beginning to flirt with high gear, so it is in this state I leave you. time for me to kill countless more zombies and then get some much needed rest. I'll see ya on the other side.
I can't remember if it was a homing suppository or anal GPS.
-jon
From the Archives: Chicago - 3/20/08
Thursday, March 20, 2008
8:18 am
I look at the clock and it informs me that it's approaching 5 o'clock in the morning. I've been unable to sleep and I need to be awake at seven, which means even if I pass out at this instant I'm still only looking at about two hours of sleep, which will just leave me more drained than if I decide to endure the two hours awake. so instead of continuing to hopelessly try to get to sleep, I keep writing and every once in a while allow myself to be distracted by the television. I just put in the third disc of Titus, and I'm remembering why I used to like the show so much. sure, it pales in comparison to Arrested Development (which, if you're unfamiliar with, shame on you. but that rant can wait until another day), what I consider the deity of all television shows, but that, by no means, makes it bad. it's kind of like comparing Dion Phaneuf to Nicklas Lidstrom. Lidstrom separates himself from the pack in almost every category available and generally does so by an astounding margin. he is sublime in his play, nearly flawless in his foresight, and he can he can read the game better than almost anyone that's ever played it, and he manages to do it with such grace, such elegance, that when you watch him perform you think to yourself, "well, shit, I could do that. give me a stick, strap a pair of skates on me and write me a check for a few million dollars." he is truly sui generis. and then there's Phaneuf; he can be a bit improvident and may not always show the best judgment. many times when he goes in for that big hit he ends up on the ice just like his target. he's also been known to stumble a bit when he's frustrated. However, he's still a great defenseman, and although it may not always look pretty, he gets the job done. I have similar feelings about Titus; it's good, but it's not Lidstrom-good.
after I write a bit more, I find myself becoming distracted more often and at longer intervals. I don't realize it yet, but I'm becoming increasingly tired, so I succumb to my desire for stimulation and focus entirely on Titus. lately I've been trying to limit the amount of "entertainment" I allow myself to enjoy and try to focus on more fruitful activities, but I decide to let myself indulge a bit now. by this point, it's past seven and I need to be leaving soon. I hear Monica rustling herself out of bed and she walks in to find me typing on my laptop and inquires if I had slept at all. I admit that I had not and she shakes her head at me. I've been having a bit of a problem with that lately. sleeping, that is. I can never get to sleep at a decent hour and then sleep for a prolonged duration which usually conflicts with other activities I have planned for that day since unconsciousness tends to make it difficult to attend to prior engagements. I get up and begin preparing for my departure. I go to the bathroom, brush my teeth, gather my things, put on my shoes and coat, then head downstairs and say my goodbyes to my friend who was kind enough to lend me her couch for the night. at this point I head out on my arduous two block journey. now, two blocks certainly isn't a great distance to have to travel, but it's cold, windy, and I'm carrying a fair amount of luggage because I am an inexplicably paranoid over-packer.
once I make it down one block I am forced to wait for the crosswalk. I'm surprised to see so many people out so early in the morning, and assume that most of them are at least borderline insane. at the crosswalk there is another girl waiting for the light. it changes and we both begin crossing the street. at first she fails to notice me, but once we get all the way across she becomes aware of my presence. her pace quickens a little, but I'm still keeping stride with her, though I'm not making a particular effort to. I suppose I can't blame her; seeing a very tall person in a long black trench coat carrying a suitcase that could, feasibly, hold a human body if dismembered properly can instill a very legitimate fear in a person, even on a busy city street.
eventually the girl enters a building off to the right and I continue down the street, briefly considering how much potential worry I could cause her if I pursued her, but only for a moment's amusement. I reach another crosswalk and must wait for the light to change once again, and when it does I proceed to the other side of the street. at this point the stop is within sight, and I'm hoping to spot other awkward-looking strangers with overstuffed luggage standing around a street sign waiting for their ride to arrive. however, at this point, it appears that I'm the first (and possibly the only) one to arrive, so I have a seat and wait. I take out my notepad and scribble down a couple things to write (most of which are actually in this very spiel) but soon the wind convinces me to put on my gloves, and since I am not eager to discover the extent of my inability to write with gloves on, I instead resort to my memory to store whatever else I want to write.
a few other people show up at the stop and we wait. the bus arrives, the driver gets out and greets everyone and instructs us where to place our luggage, and then everyone hops on board. our driver is a slightly older black gentleman, perhaps 45 years of age, and he's quite charismatic and funny.
I'm on the bus right now and it seems we've reached our next stop and my battery seems to be running a bit low, so I guess now is as good a time as any to put this entry on a temporary hiatus.
Arrested Development > soup > everything else.
-jon
11:00-ish
back on the road again. I've spent the last decent chunk of time reading, which proved to be a tad difficult. I started one book and decided that my pathetic grasp of the English language would not provide a sufficient understanding of what the hell I was reading. then I started another and came to the (possibly false) conclusion that there were other books in the series that I should probably read before it. so then I tried another one (I brought several, just in case these problems should present themselves) and decided that was my best bet. it is a collection of short stories, the first of which is roughly 50 pages, so I decided to read that. once again, I was made to feel borderline retarded since there was much I did not understand, but was able to derive most of the meaning from context provided by what I understood. one factor that aided in this difficulty was the movie that was playing on the bus, which, I believe, is called Man of the House. whether it's called that are not, it's that fairly annoying Disney movie starring Chevy Chase and Jonathan Taylor Thomas, both of whom have been rightfully allowed to sink into obscurity. the one where they join that little Indian tribe thing. you know the one I'm talking about; it's the one where the main characters learn a lesson from overcoming a problem. yeah, it's that one.
I feel it is worth straying from this story for just a moment to mention that we just passed a billboard advertising the Lion's Den Adult Superstore off of Exit 12 on I-94. I thought it an important point to bring up, so if you're interested, do check it out. I'm sure it's wonderful. (I would also like to mention that I am in no way associated with the Lion's Den Superstore off of Exit 12, nor have I even had any contact of any sort with the aforementioned vendor of, presumably, sex toys and sex enhancers possibly including, but not limited to, dildo trees, forehead strap-ons, speculums, vibrators made to look like the Prophet Muhammad , anal hamster wheels, Meryl Streep blow-up dolls, genitalia rings, Xenu anal beads, intercourse hammocks, and if you go on the right day and ask for the right person, you might even be able to attain the conveniently travel sized Auto Suck which can be powered by your car's cigarette lighter. for examples of other novelties you may be able to find and purchase there, you may want to consult this article.) but, I digress.
anyway, back to what I was talking about. the movie did prove to be rather distracting while I was trying to read, but I managed to finish the story. I didn't find it to be spectacular, but it was enjoyable and helped kill some time on this fairly long trip. in fact I may be well across state borders without even being aware due to my utter lack of proper observation of highway signs.
well now, it would appear I've gotten quite a bit ahead of myself. there is one rather noteworthy point I have yet to discuss. after we made our first stop and decided to take a break from writing, I made the extremely uncharacteristic decision to accost a girl sitting a few rows behind me. I think she had been sleeping before we arrived at the Ann Arbor stop, but I noticed that she had awoken when the driver announced something over the loudspeaker. she is traveling with another friend, who is still sleeping, and since I didn't have any desire to write or read at the moment (which is pretty much what my activities are limited to at the moment) I went and sat in the row in front of her and kindly asked if she wouldn't mind chatting a bit, assuming she wasn't too tired (I wanted to make it clear that I wouldn't think her impolite for wanting to sleep). unfortunately, she did seem rather tired and said that she intended on sleeping since she has a much longer trip scheduled than I do and it was still rather early in the morning. I am still in the row directly in front of her and she was sleeping just a few moments ago but was once again awoken by an announcement by our admirably funny and charming bus driver that we'd soon be making another stop. now I feel a just a tad bit creepy for writing about her while she is sitting within such close proximity. perhaps after this stop I will find someone worthy of sharing idle conversation with, but for now, friends, I must leave you, as I was just informed that my battery is at a perilous low.
giving grammar the middle finger.
-jon
10:38 pm
well, thankfully, I am off the bus, sitting on a futon at the apartment, and awaiting the delivery of the Chinese that we ordered not too long ago. apparently it was a very perplexing call on the restaurant's end because after we called and ordered, they called us back asking what we ordered. it seems they still have much to learn about Engrish.
you want egg roll with that?!
-jon
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Well, it finally happened. I got raped in Detroit.
Well, not literally, but monetarily.
The day did not start off well, with my alarm jarring me to consciousness at 8am after only four hours of sleep due to some Gears of War induced sleep deprivation, and even after that the cessation of GoW I had some trouble because of a certain Ghost haunting me for a bit. But I forced myself out of bed, because I needed to get down to Joe Louis Arena to get my Red Wings tickets. When I finally got out of bed about half an hour after waking up I ate breakfast real quick and then got ready for the trek down to D-Town (I promise not to call it that again, I just wanted something to rhyme there). I called Jasmine and Kyle to wake them up and then my brother and I left to pick them up before heading to Detroit.
The drive there wasn’t bad, although my car didn’t much appreciate the extra bodies in it. When we got off the freeway and into the city we passed by the notorious Fist Statue, and as we did I made a remark about its symbolism for your potential to get, well, fisted in the city. Little did I know that this wasn’t a joke, but a prophesy. I was worried that there may be an excess of traffic due to the auto show, but there was surprisingly little. However, I did discover that there was a dozen or so WWE semi trucks parked along the side street that I usually park on when I go to get tickets from JLA. The alternative to parking in the street was to pay $10 at a lot across the street. I decided that I didn’t want to pay $10 to park so that I could purchase $9 hockey tickets, so, even though there were only a couple other cars parked in the street besides the semis, I decided to park in the street. Wow, did that turn out to be a terrible (and kind of ironic) decision.
At this point, it was about 9:45, and the box office didn’t open until 10, so we waited in line, outside in the cold. There were surprisingly few people there, considering the turnout the other times I’ve done this, but I was just happy that I wouldn’t have to wait as long. At 10 the doors opened and we got inside, but ended up waiting in line for another 45 minutes anyway because all of the ticket windows were moving incredibly slow, ours in particular. When we finally did get our tickets I was just relieved that I was able to get them for all the games we wanted and, with tickets in hand, we headed back to my car.
We parked a little ways down the street, but as we were walking I became very apparent of a startling lack of my car. I requested confirmation from everyone else that my car was no longer occupying the physical space where we left it. Devastatingly, they all agreed. At first I considered that it may have been stolen, but it wasn’t very likely, considering it was in plain sight and there were quite a few people around the area… including a few police cars, which led me to the next option; it had been towed.
We continued walking down the street, hoping to find it inexplicably, but safely, moved a couple hundred yards down the street. My wishes almost came true; it had been safely moved down the street, but it was very obvious how it had gotten there, as we found it atop a tow truck. As we approached, the driver of the tow truck was attaching a second car to the back of his truck and I informed him that it was my car that he had. A police officer approached contemporaneously and told me that I would have to pay the driver whatever he requested to get my car down, at which point I was told that it would cost $75 cash. Unfortunately, we only had about half that on us collectively, so Kyle ran inside Cobo Arena to go to an ATM as I tried to think of an alternative. The only one offered to me by the police officer was to pay with a credit card at the impound, which would be significantly more expensive.
At this point, I was pretty much proper fucked. Kyle was taking a while inside, but the guy started to take my car down. Thankfully he was pretty cool (or, more likely, greedy) and said that he would drop the car for $20 cash and we’d be straight, so I gave him the money and we had my car back. Unfortunately, that was when I noticed the ticket on the windshield, which is going to run another $30, but it still could have been a hell of a lot worse. Apparently if I pay within 10 days then there’s also a $10 reduction to the fine, so that should only cost me $20.
After we got my car back we made our way back to the highway, passing the iconic Fist, which I’ve come to realize is more of a warning than a decoration. Take my advice, and heed its waning.
Does anyone else have any fun law-related stories? Feel free to share them by leaving a comment. Or something. Is there anybody out there? Can anyone even hear me?
Thursday, October 9, 2008
Hockey is Finally Back
The clock continues to tick the moments by, and the realization that every second that passes carries the arrival for of four A.M. even closer make each one seem wasted. Common sense tells me I should be sleeping, but that’s simply not an option. I no longer experience these nights with any reliable frequency. Stability and happiness can have that affect, and I much prefer my current state, but I will admit that I sometimes miss these nights. I’m unsure if it’s from a genuine longing or pure nostalgia, but the desire is there. Granted, this insomnia is generally the result of what I perceive to be justifiable apprehension in preparation for a presumptive devastating catastrophe related to a girl that is unknowingly causing me such distress. But, tonight, well, this is entirely different. Tonight I am not plagued with worry, regret or sadness, but excitement. Only 15 hours separates the present from the future that I’ve been waiting for since June 5th. At 7:30 tonight rubber will meet ice and the hockey season will have begun. Arguably the season started on Saturday, considering the first regular season game was played that afternoon, and three more games have been played since, but for me the season doesn’t really start until the first Detroit Red Wings game has started. In addition, the four games that have been played thus far were played in fucking Europe, a fact even more tenable to uphold that the season hasn’t really begun. I am the proverbial schoolgirl, having recently attained the knowledge that my genitals are capable of achieving complete control over the opposite sex and giddy with anticipation of the consequent enjoyment that I’ll receive from causing havoc by practicing this dominion.
Okay, maybe women aren’t as evil as I’ve been known to say. And, in addition to being false, maybe that isn’t a great analogy, either. Give me a break, it’s late.
With sleep out of the question, I’ve chosen to attempt to extract entertainment from television, a difficult enough task at a reasonable hour and nearly indomitable now. Thankfully I don’t require much reliance on it at the moment, as my mind is crowded with thoughts that demand contemplation. The new season offers many questions. Will the acquisition of Marian Hossa prove to be as beneficial as expected? He’s a great player, there’s no denying it, but where will he be best placed? During pre-season he was placed on a line along with Datstuk and Holmstrom while Zetterberg was moved to the “second” line along with Franzen and Hudler. Personally, I disagree with the decision to split Pav and Hank, known collectively as the “Euro Twins.” The two have developed a playing style that is seemingly dependent on their pairing at times. They individually do things that I don’t think would be possible if not for the other one being on the ice. They have an inexplicable awareness of each other at all times. They are, without being aware of it, the strongest argument for the existence of extrasensory perception that I’m aware of. I’m curious how much Babcock will demand of Hossa on that line. If he holds him to the same expectations that he had of Zetterberg, then I fear that Hossa will be ground to dust under the pure weight of it all. I’m also unsure of Hudler’s promotion to the second line. I’ve got nothing against him, but I think there are a couple other players that have proven themselves more worthy. I think after some further development that both Hudler and Valterri Filppula could be solid material for a second line, but right now I think Dan Cleary is much more deserving of the position. He’s shown tremendous dedication and he’s played on the top line in the past so he’s more familiar with the pressure associated. Of course, this could all change at any time…
For the first time in recent memory, the goaltending situation actually seems to be almost entirely decided before the season is starting. Chris Osgood will be starting with Ty Conklin acting as backup. It’s good to see Osgood finally being given this opportunity after consistently performing so well throughout his time here in Detroit, especially during the playoffs last season when he took over for Hasek in the first round and was solely responsible for the position after that. I’m sure Conklin will be playing a fair amount of the games during the season, perhaps 10 – 20, but I’m excited to see how well Osgood can do with an entire season as a starter.
Defense continues to essentially be a non-issue. Every defenseman we had last year has returned for this season, which has actually created the advantageous problem of having an abundance of qualified candidates. There are several of our prospects that appear to be ready to make the jump to the NHL from the minor leagues, but there simply isn’t room for them. Meech proved last season that he was capable of holding his own in the league, and I’ve heard that Jonathan Ericsson will almost definitely be added to the roster for next season. Although he’ll be out for a month and a half or so, Chris Chelios is returning for a remarkable 25th season, although he’s not likely to log a lot of playing time. Lebda will be back, and hopefully will improve on his performance from last season. For better or worse (almost certainly for worse…), Andreas Lilja will be back to haunt us for at least another two years. We were fortunate enough to hang onto Brad Stuart, who will remain paired with Niklas Kronwall, which proved to be a very effective combination in the playoffs. And then, of course, there is The Defense Pair. If I didn’t know any better, I’d probably feel bad for Brian Rafalski. He’s an outstanding defenseman, and on almost any other team, he would be the defenseman, but instead his talent is dwarfed by the mere idea of The New Captain. But I’m fairly positive that any potential lack of recognition is being more than compensated for by the fact that he has been deemed worthy of playing alongside the man known as The Perfect Human. I’m speaking, of course, of Nicklas Lidstrom. He will be gracing our team in his third year as captain. There’s little that needs to be said of the man. He is almost unquestionably the best defenseman of his era, and arguably the best of all time. And yet, he still seems to be underrated by some. Based strictly on numbers, he is impressive, but to truly appreciate what he’s capable you have to really see him play and study him. At first, some of his decisions seem almost inexplicable. He appears to be out of position, but somehow the puck always comes right to him in a spot where no one ever expected it to go. The first couple times that you notice this you’re prone to simply write it off to pure chance, but after he repeatedly accomplishes this every game, you’re forced to rationalize it some other way. He demonstrates almost impeccable prescience with a consistency that most people would not fathom possible. But he does not execute his unique style of play in a way that would ever draw attention to him. He is subtle in everything he does. He rarely ever hits anyone, and he gets hit just about as often. You won’t often catch him in a situation where he’s forced to rush back. He plays the most minutes of anyone on the team and, almost, more than anyone in the entire league, but also manages to spend barely any time in the penalty box. His approach to leadership can be likened to how he plays; he does not rely on spectacle, but subtlety. The logic is simple. Every game he plays more minutes than any other player, and he outperforms every other player, but he never draws attention to it. He doesn’t brag, he doesn’t complain, he doesn’t make excuses. And if he doesn’t then no one can. Ironically, his humility is one of the things often bragged about by other people.
Ehem… well, I said that there isn’t much that needs to be said about him, but there’s certainly plenty that can be said about him. I have the tendency of going on for much longer than I expect to when I get on the topic of Lidstrom.
I was planning on writing on a variety of other topics tonight, but it’s getting rather late, there’s absolutely nothing good to watch on television, and I’ve already gone on for longer than I probably should have. There will likely be further updates in the very near future.
we walk together forever
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Canada
There I was, spending my night like I’ve been spending a lot of nights lately; playing The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess. I had just finished the Temple of Time, which was possibly my least favorite Zelda dungeon I’ve ever played. It’s boring, repetitive and tedious. I spent most of my time going through the same puzzles, which were far too simple and straightforward. Also, considering its late stage in the game, the boss was far too easy. After finishing off the temple I ran around for a while to snatch up a few heart pieces and such while pondering some of the reasons that I disliked it so much. That was when my phone rang. I was a bit surprised to see that it was Sarah calling because it had been a while since we last talked, so I quickly wondered what it was she could want before answering it. This is pretty much how the conversation went:
Me: Hey, what’s up?
Translation: Hey, what’s up?
Sarah: Hey, not too much. What are you up to tonight?
Translation: Hey, I’ve got quite a bit going on. However, I know you never do anything or participate in social functions. You're doing me a favor.
Me: Not too much.
Translation: I probably haven't done anything in well over a week. I can’t be sure because it's hard to tell time without events or a schedule to help keep track.
Her: Megan and I are going to Canada and Ashley was supposed to drive us but she bailed so I was wondering if you could drive us back?
Translation: Get your shoes on. You’re crossing international borders soon.
Me: Hmm, I don’t know. I don't really see what's in it for me. Seems like work...
Translation: It's late and I’m kinda tired. Plus I’m playing Zelda...
Her: Well, you have had my Wii for a couple months now and I’ve let you borrow it for free.
Translation: Seriously. Put your fucking shoes on or I’m taking the Wii.
Me: Well, I am using it right now, so I guess I kinda owe you.
Translation: Yes, masthta.
After I had gotten off the phone and acknowledged that I am, in fact, a little obsequious bitch, I got my shoes on and fortunately remembered that I would need my birth certificate to make it over the border so I found that. She called me when they got to my house and as I got to the door to go outside, Sarah was standing on my porch with a large flag pole that I was told to store in my house as it may look a bit suspicious going through customs. I put it in my basement, which is where it still resides as she has yet to take it back, while she went back to the car, and once I walked outside I was instructed, through a series of vague hand signals, that I was supposed to go around to the back of the car on the driver side. I did so, got into the car, and realized that Sarah’s friend, Steve, was also going with us. I had met Steve once before on a night when Sarah, her brother and I all went out to a club. My interactions with him are not completely aware to me as some of the night was apparently removed from memory as the result of a few regretful drinks I decided to have that night. However, from what I could remember, I did recall that he was pretty cool and had a brilliant sense of music, which was quite fortunate for me, as he was responsible for choosing the music that we were listening to when I entered the car. He was playing music off of his iPod and, although I didn’t recognize barely any of it, I enjoyed almost all of it. We stopped at Meijer before getting onto the expressway so that Steve could purchase a Father’s Day card (this happened the night before Father’s Day). Steve, Sarah and I all went in while Megan stayed in the car. He quickly found a card and shortly after having a quick laugh over a certain someone’s attempted suicide, I received some spectacular news concerning a couple people that I vowed revenge against at a party a couple months back. The details must remain secret (in case someone actually reads this), but basically they did my work for my by ruining their own lives.
As we were walking back to the car I began to prepare myself for the musical bliss that I was sure Steve would continue to supply, but that luxury proved itself to be only temporary since Megan had commandeered the radio while we were inside. I was then forced to brace myself for the onslaught of inexplicably popular modern music which followed. I unhappily endured the noise for the rest of the drive to Steve’s house in Detroit, not too far from the Ambassador Bridge, so that Steve could drop off the Father’s Day card and also get his birth certificate. He also brought back a couple text books, which become important later in the story. After running that errand we headed to the bridge.
Once we get to the customs officer at the border, Sarah is talking to her and answering the questions that they normally ask. Then, when she asks if we have anything to declare, she says no, but Steve decides to pipe up for some reason. He announces that he has several textbooks currently in his possession including, but not limited to, a Japanese language book and a book on how to write an essay to get accepted to a grad school. As Steve made himself look more and more suspicious, I forcibly avoid panic and instead convince myself to enjoy the humor of the situation. She then asked a question that could have lead to catastrophe; when she inquired if any of us had any weapons, Steve, who is almost a black belt, nearly replied “yes,” in reference to his hands. Thankfully he avoided that urge, but we were still asked to pull aside in order to be searched. As we began to pull away to the customs’ office, I began laughing quietly while Sarah and Megan asked Steve, “What the hell is wrong with you?!”
Once we had parked in the designated area we were asked to exit the car while they searched it for items of interest. We were then told to go into the custom’s building, where we had to give our identification and such to someone and then we had to wait in another room for a bit. Sarah was becoming noticeably panicked, while I maintained my traditional insouciant demeanor. However, if I had a standing bench warrant for my arrest, as I later learned she had, I suppose I may have been a bit more apprehensive toward the situation. Although, I don’t know if I’d be trying to cross the border under those circumstances either so I can’t imagine it ever becoming a problem for me. Regardless, after waiting for ten minutes or so we were informed that we were free to leave, and so our trip to Canada continued. While driving across the bridge Sarah and Megan joked around with Steve about things he should avoid while going through customs. I briefly consider the potential hilarity to be enjoyed by shackling Steve (he’s black) and claiming him as a slave on our return trip across the border but I decide not to share this thought with everyone else since I don’t know him very well and there was a myriad of reactions he could have to a statement such as that, a solid majority of which could be devastating to my well-being (remember, he’s nearly a black belt, and may actually be by this time).
Once we got into Canada and reached the main strip we found a parking garage and then started walking around to find an acceptable establishment to enter. Being a person who rarely partakes in excursions such as this, I was a bit surprised at the scene. I’ve rarely seen streets so packed during the day, let alone when it is nearly 1 A.M. The ladies finally decided on a club called Woody’s Outhouse. As we walked up to the doors there were a couple bouncers, one of which, a rather tall and large man, told us that the cover was $3 for girls and $5 for guys. However, when I passed him he said that it would only be $3 for me, possibly because he sympathized with a fellow “big ‘n fluffy person,” or perhaps because he recognized me as the unfortunate hapless soul who agreed to come with great reluctance and would later be responsible for these soon-to-be drunken teenagers. Or maybe he just thought I was a girl. No matter what the reason, Sarah paid for me anyway, so I really didn’t care. Before we even got inside I recognized a noise similar to that I had heard a lot of in the car and I, once again, greatly disapproved of these sound waves forcibly entering my ears. Once inside I discovered dozens of people “dancing” to said noise. The reason for the quotes is because I don’t consider what those people were doing as dancing, but I realize that my opinion does not align with the opinions of most. Also, I’m not clever enough to think of another word to accurately describe it. Personally I consider the engagement in such activities more appropriate while under the dominion of psychotropic drugs much more potent than alcohol, but hey, that’s just me.
The girls quickly made their way to their bar and ordered and drank quite a few potions while I cautiously discerned my surroundings. Steve, meanwhile, had managed to disappear. Soon after they decided that they wanted to “dance” and tried to coax me to do the same, which I had no desire of doing given the absence of the aforementioned drugs. No, I had decided long ago that I was there merely for observation. I did agree to escort them to the “dance” floor, where I remained for several minutes, standing awkwardly in a sea of movement around me, to better perceive the experience. Then I decided to take a seat at the bar and grab a drink for further reflection, which lead me to several realizations.
As nearly anyone reading this will be aware of, I haven’t had the greatest luck in regard to relationships, due in part to a deep-rooted insecurity dating back to even before my first serious relationship which tends to cause problems. And then there’s my reprehensible desire to try to chase after the women I’ve lost. I was recently guilty of such stupidity once again just a couple months ago when I started seeing one of my ex-girlfriends for, arguably, the third time. We had not been talking for several months prior to this when she decided to initiate a sabbatical from our radio silence and called me. After things went south once again after only a month or so, I decided that I was correct in thinking that I shouldn’t be associating with this person for several reasons. Immediately following that was a major, but short, depression that ended when I made myself realize how much better off I had been since we had stopped communicating. But in the past couple weeks I’ve been thinking about her once again which has caused a minor clandestine sadness, but being at that club reminded me of the pivotal differences that made us so incompatible. I’ve obviously been unaware of her actions since we stopped talking, but back when we dated she went out occasionally. This night made me realize how appreciative I am not to be involved with someone who willingly participates in activities such as this, regardless of frequency. I guess I share the same feelings about dance clubs and the inclination to feel like a “hate camel” as Bill Hicks.
While I was thinking about all of this, I was also doing a cost comparison of the Coke that I had gotten from the bar. I believe that they served it to me in an eight ounce glass, filled mostly with ice, so I’d make the generous estimate that there was actually only about four ounces of Coke in the glass. That drink had cost me $2. Based on my estimation that the glass actually only contained roughly four ounces, after some simple arithmetic, that would mean that Coke cost roughly 50 cents an ounce. Now, I would imagine most people would compare the cost per ounce of that drink to perhaps a 20 oz. Bottle or a 2-liter since those are common volumes that Coke can be purchased in. I, however, decided to compare extremes. I had gone to 7-11 earlier that same day with my friend, Mikey, and he filled something called a Team Gulp, a one gallon red monstrosity whose name implies that it is meant for several people, perhaps a “team,” but he has been known to tackle the challenge himself. I own one of these myself, which has fondly earned the nickname of “Truth,” while Mikey’s goes by the epithet of “Justice,” but I had forgotten mine at a friend’s house a few weeks back and still hadn’t gotten it back yet so Truth did not join us on this journey. For those of you who are a bit rusty on your customary unit conversions, one gallon equates to 128 ounces. That is 16 times the amount of liquid that could potentially fit into the glass I was drinking from at the bar, and around 32 times the amount that was probably actually in the glass. Subtract a few ounces for ice and not filling it all the way to the top, and we’ll say that he actually only put about 116 ounces of pop in it. He paid 99 cents for this, plus tax, which came to a total of $1.05, which is the same price as freedom. He actually only paid $1 because the cashier just took five cents out of the penny tray to avoid having to make change for $2, but just to make it a more accurate comparison, we’ll say he actually paid the whole price. So, assuming that he had 116 ounces of pop and paid a total of $1.05, by dividing the price into the volume, we get approximately 0.00905, which would mean that he actually paid less than one cent per ounce. Now, dividing that price into the estimated 50 cents I was paying at the bar indicates that the Coke I was more than 55 times more expensive than the pop from 7-11. And this was without even having any alcohol added to it. I, once again, acknowledge that I am a little obsequious bitch, and then I move onto other thoughts.
(Note: I may be wrong about the price of the Coke at the bar. It may have actually been $4, but decided to give them the benefit of the doubt in order to avoid mistakenly making a greatly exaggerated comparison.)
When I realized that I was doing a mental cost analysis of a beverage, I knew I was bored as hell. Then I heard a most amicable sound; it was the unmistakable tune of “Sweet Home Alabama,” and once I had taken a moment to ensure that it was in fact that and not Kid Rock’s atrocious plagiarism “All Summer Long.” This was the first song that I could actually recognize as music since the last song Steve had chosen in the car. Unfortunately, the victory was short lived, as the DJ decided to mute the song whenever the words “sweet home Alabama” were being sung so that the drunken blob of people could all simultaneously screech their own rendition of the lyrics. The song was also cut off quite short, only having been on for a minute or so, before being replaced by more noise that I believe goes by the name “Soulja Boy,” or some ridiculous nonsense like that. The girls returned to the bar to have a couple more drinks and they were quickly accosted by to guys that had been standing near the bar for a couple minutes. They talked for a little while and the guys bought them all a few rounds before returning to go flail their bodies about on the “dance” floor. It was then I realized that I had been reduced to deafly watching soccer and baseball (two sports I don’t like) highlights in a Canadian bar while sipping on an exorbitantly expensive Coke. For the third time I acknowledged myself as a little obsequious bitch and decided to try to make the best of it. I feigned enjoyment while watching sports replays, hoping that this would trick myself into thinking I was actually having a good time. This plan failed immediately, and instead I just sat there and was forced to listen to some of the “music.” It was then that I devised the theory that most modern music had been haphazardly scrawled across blank pages of sheet music by Helen Keller.
The girls returned not too long after with their newly attained admirers, who bought them a few more drinks. Now, before this night my suspicions about nightclubs had only been postulation, but based on the circumstances of the people I was with and their actions I had attained confirmation and I composed this definition: Nightclub - a place where outside relationships seemingly don’t exist and the bounds of fidelity are stretched to their very limit. I wonder about what kind of borderline infidelities my ex may have committed while I was her non-boyfriend while she was out, with complete male strangers using her as the equivalent of a glorified, human humping pole. Then, once again, I feel relieved for having been removed from that situation.
Thankfully by this time it was approaching closing time which meant I would soon be able to leave the wretched place. The girls were still “dancing” so I decided to order another Coke. It was at this time that I had the good fortune to look down at the floor and see a Canadian $20 bill and, since most people had already left the bar, I assumed that the person that dropped it was already long gone. I picked it up, ordered my Coke, and when I tried to hand the $20 to the bartender, he waved it off and walked away. Within moments I had found $20 and gotten a free Coke. I felt like I was being rewarded for the suffering I had volunteered myself to endure. I finished off my Coke and then me and the gals headed out to find Steve, who had apparently escaped off to a pizza shop. Along the way I got to witness the dichotomous effects of alcohol; Megan and Sarah had been reduced to drunken blabber while two guys were yelling at each other on the street, one screaming at the other “Go back to fucking Michigan!” It was strange to see blissful honesty an arm’s length away from ignorant rage with both scenarios being a result of the same substance.
Once we had found Steve I generously offered to treat everyone to McDonald’s with the money I had found before leaving for The States. After we finished eating we headed for the tunnel back home which, as it turned out, was extremely busy. Megan complained about having to pee the entire half hour that it took to get through the damn thing, and when we finally did we luckily breezed through customs and stopped to let her go to the bathroom. After that both Megan and Sarah were asleep which allowed Steve to exercise dominion over the music we listened to, which I greatly enjoyed. His musical tastes can be described as nothing short of wonderfully eclectic. I had the pleasure of experiencing music spanning nearly every genre and style and made me realize how disappointingly narrow my knowledge of music is. The remainder of the trip was spent in this fashion, with Steve providing the music and me grooving to it, until arriving back at Oakland around 5 or 6 A.M. where I was finally able to get some rest (but decided not to sleep and instead jotted down some notes about the night that I wanted to write about; in retrospect, not the best choice.)