Look! It's Bevan Dufty riding Muni
With his daughter Sidney
If he can fix the fucking trains
I'll give him my left kidney
Steve Jobs passed on; I guess you'd say
His work benefitted us all
Another way to put it would be
AT&T dropped his call
The mayor's race is heating up
Ed Lee is getting attacked
I wouldn't worry about it though
He's pretty heavily Rose Pak'd
Occupy SF took to the streets
To stir up some civil strife
I doubt they're going to reform Wall Street
By yelling at my wife
The Blue Angels are here for their yearly flight
Some people think it's tacky
If the sound of fighters bothers you
Be glad you're not Iraqi
Showing posts with label The Wife. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Wife. Show all posts
Friday, October 7, 2011
Monday, August 22, 2011
Trip Report: Los Cabos
At my advanced age, I could give a shit about adventure tourism. You and William T. Vollmann can go dodge mortar fire in Tripoli or live amongst the whores of Bangladesh. Fuck that noise, my chief concern is how long it takes to get a drink and why the fucking pool closes at 8:00 pm instead of 10:00.
Well, not entirely. When I go to places like New York or London or some shit like that, I'm super into running around and going to museums and all that jazz. I guess I'm talking about the kind of vacation where you just lay around in the sun and drink. Do kids like to do that still? Oh, I guess everyone has to make it extra difficult and do it on a beach in India (NOT GOA, THAT SHIT IS SO PLAYED, I KNOW) or Bali or Madagascar or some place. I know that the harder it is to get to and the more primitive the conditions the better, right?
Well, fuck that. I'm all about it being easy and that's why we just went to this all-inclusive resort in Los Cabos called the Riu Santa Fe. We got a total deal on this place - like $200 a night, which includes all the food and alcohol you want.
That's right. ALL THE DRINKS YOU WANT. INCLUDED. That means they essentially gave us the room. I've run up $200 bar tabs on vacation in 45 minutes, so you can see why the Riu Santa Fe probably lost money on our visit.
The crowd was interesting. It was basically 50-50 Mexicans (well, I assume they were Mexicans; they were Spanish-speaking and darker-skinned; I mean, they could have been Honduran or whatever but I just got the Mexican vibe from them) and Americans. Seemed like a place where Mexicans go to vacation, too. The line at the Los Cabos airport for the Mexico City flight was longer than for the Phoenix flight, anyway. But I digress. Of the Americans, it tended towards a bit younger and, for whatever reason, sort of Jersey Shore-ish. I mean, a lot of elaborate tattoos and backwards baseball caps and gold chains and chicks who dressed for dinner by putting on skintight electric blue dresses that ended just below crotch level and 6" heels. Interesting. There were also a smattering of older couples and families with kids, and also some Australians.
The resort was huge and loosely organized around this central plaza area that was clearly meant to evoke the plaza in a Mexican town but without any stray dogs or non-English-speaking Mexicans. Instead, there were a couple of outdoor bars and a stage where they had some form of live entertainment every night. Entertainment beyond the bartenders - who, make no mistake, were unflailingly cheerful and incredibly fast - making odd rainbow-layered shooters for the assembled blockheads to enjoy. The entertainment veered from Resort Cheesy to Really Weird, but hey, it was something to look at whilst enjoying as many rounds of free drinks as you could put down before passing out.
Speaking of "free," it's nice to bring a stack of ones if you're coming to one of these places and tip frequently and with gusto. They really appreciate it and it makes you feel like less of a dick for watching someone make your drinks and then just saying "gracias" and walking away with them.
Oh, that brings up the Spanish Problem, which is, how much Spanish do you attempt if you don't really speak Spanish? Everyone who works there speaks enough English to get by, so is it weird or insulting to say "Dos pinas coladas, por favor" instead of "Two pina coladas, please"? I mean, does it seem kinda condescending? I could never figure it out. Also, why did the guy at the restaurant door say "Hola" to Americans but "Buenos dias" to Mexicans? I ended up usually ordering in English and then saying "Gracias" and walking away quickly, oddly ashamed. These are the kinds of things I worry about.
Anyway, the whole thing was a complete success, from a Morning Drinking and Total Relaxation standpoint. The food was actually really good, and the weather was nice and hot, and on the second day we found the quiet pool away from the thumping disco music and Vinnies whooping at each other and so forth. After a few days, though, I couldn't really handle the all-day all-night drinking any more and it was time to split.
The only other thing of note was the HUGE DOUCHEBAG who sat next to The Wife on the flight home. He got on in Phoenix and started braying at her immediately (she was one row ahead of me but I could hear his booming asshole voice from the back of the plane if I wanted) and I learned, involuntarily, that he lives in the Marina and had been in Scottsdale for some reason and had bought 3 bottles of champagne already earlier that day for "Sunday Funday" and just bought a place in "Pac Heights," although oddly it turned out to be near "Washington Square Park, I guess," which is, of course, nowhere near "Pac Heights" and I was trying to read and he blared on and on and on at her and finally I had to put in my headphones and turn up the music so loud it was almost painful just to drown out his piercing drunk voice. OK whew I'm alright now just had to get that out of my system.
(She also said that he showed her "every picture on his phone," and that they were mostly of him.)
Well, not entirely. When I go to places like New York or London or some shit like that, I'm super into running around and going to museums and all that jazz. I guess I'm talking about the kind of vacation where you just lay around in the sun and drink. Do kids like to do that still? Oh, I guess everyone has to make it extra difficult and do it on a beach in India (NOT GOA, THAT SHIT IS SO PLAYED, I KNOW) or Bali or Madagascar or some place. I know that the harder it is to get to and the more primitive the conditions the better, right?
Well, fuck that. I'm all about it being easy and that's why we just went to this all-inclusive resort in Los Cabos called the Riu Santa Fe. We got a total deal on this place - like $200 a night, which includes all the food and alcohol you want.
That's right. ALL THE DRINKS YOU WANT. INCLUDED. That means they essentially gave us the room. I've run up $200 bar tabs on vacation in 45 minutes, so you can see why the Riu Santa Fe probably lost money on our visit.
The crowd was interesting. It was basically 50-50 Mexicans (well, I assume they were Mexicans; they were Spanish-speaking and darker-skinned; I mean, they could have been Honduran or whatever but I just got the Mexican vibe from them) and Americans. Seemed like a place where Mexicans go to vacation, too. The line at the Los Cabos airport for the Mexico City flight was longer than for the Phoenix flight, anyway. But I digress. Of the Americans, it tended towards a bit younger and, for whatever reason, sort of Jersey Shore-ish. I mean, a lot of elaborate tattoos and backwards baseball caps and gold chains and chicks who dressed for dinner by putting on skintight electric blue dresses that ended just below crotch level and 6" heels. Interesting. There were also a smattering of older couples and families with kids, and also some Australians.
The resort was huge and loosely organized around this central plaza area that was clearly meant to evoke the plaza in a Mexican town but without any stray dogs or non-English-speaking Mexicans. Instead, there were a couple of outdoor bars and a stage where they had some form of live entertainment every night. Entertainment beyond the bartenders - who, make no mistake, were unflailingly cheerful and incredibly fast - making odd rainbow-layered shooters for the assembled blockheads to enjoy. The entertainment veered from Resort Cheesy to Really Weird, but hey, it was something to look at whilst enjoying as many rounds of free drinks as you could put down before passing out.
Speaking of "free," it's nice to bring a stack of ones if you're coming to one of these places and tip frequently and with gusto. They really appreciate it and it makes you feel like less of a dick for watching someone make your drinks and then just saying "gracias" and walking away with them.
Oh, that brings up the Spanish Problem, which is, how much Spanish do you attempt if you don't really speak Spanish? Everyone who works there speaks enough English to get by, so is it weird or insulting to say "Dos pinas coladas, por favor" instead of "Two pina coladas, please"? I mean, does it seem kinda condescending? I could never figure it out. Also, why did the guy at the restaurant door say "Hola" to Americans but "Buenos dias" to Mexicans? I ended up usually ordering in English and then saying "Gracias" and walking away quickly, oddly ashamed. These are the kinds of things I worry about.
Anyway, the whole thing was a complete success, from a Morning Drinking and Total Relaxation standpoint. The food was actually really good, and the weather was nice and hot, and on the second day we found the quiet pool away from the thumping disco music and Vinnies whooping at each other and so forth. After a few days, though, I couldn't really handle the all-day all-night drinking any more and it was time to split.
The only other thing of note was the HUGE DOUCHEBAG who sat next to The Wife on the flight home. He got on in Phoenix and started braying at her immediately (she was one row ahead of me but I could hear his booming asshole voice from the back of the plane if I wanted) and I learned, involuntarily, that he lives in the Marina and had been in Scottsdale for some reason and had bought 3 bottles of champagne already earlier that day for "Sunday Funday" and just bought a place in "Pac Heights," although oddly it turned out to be near "Washington Square Park, I guess," which is, of course, nowhere near "Pac Heights" and I was trying to read and he blared on and on and on at her and finally I had to put in my headphones and turn up the music so loud it was almost painful just to drown out his piercing drunk voice. OK whew I'm alright now just had to get that out of my system.
(She also said that he showed her "every picture on his phone," and that they were mostly of him.)
Tuesday, August 16, 2011
Programming Note
We're going to San Diego tomorrow and then Mexico on Thursday for a few days. We'll be back Sunday, so the blog will probably be quiet until Monday. C'est la vie.
In the meantime, here's a video of a chihuahua wearing booties.
Have a good rest of week/weekend/whatever.
In the meantime, here's a video of a chihuahua wearing booties.
Have a good rest of week/weekend/whatever.
Monday, August 15, 2011
Trip Report: Fresno!!!
A couple of weeks ago The Wife and I were watching the Giants lose again and they mentioned calling up someone from the Fresno Grizzlies and she said "We should go to a Fresno Grizzlies game sometime" and because we are People of Action and not just Big Talkers, on Saturday we found ourselves in a car driving to Fresno.
One of The Wife's work friends is from Fresno and I guess knows people associated with the team so we got tickets in what I assume is like Club Level here at AT&T Park and got some concessions vouchers and stuff like that. That's all nice, but the greatest gift we got was the hotel he recommended: The Picadilly Inn Shaw. I shall explain in just a moment.
Fresno is flat as a pool table and searingly hot, which felt great after the Non-Summer of High 50's in SF. When we got there it was 104. As far as I can tell, Fresno is comprised mainly of strip malls, chain restaurants, and chain everything else. So I guess it's like most of the rest of the country.
ANYWAY though. The Picadilly Inn! I don't know where to start. It was obviously built circa 1972 and NOTHING HAS CHANGED SINCE THEN. It is like visiting the set of a movie that's set in a hotel in 1972. I mean, look at our room!
That picture actually makes it look creepier than it was, which is sort of unbelievable. But it really did have that trapped-in-70s-amber vibe.
Anyway, our room was on the second floor and overlooked this garden where they were setting up for a wedding. We were kind of absently watching through the window when The Wife started to notice something. "I think there's 2 brides," she said.
GET. THE. FUCK. OUT.
So they're setting up and we decide to hit the bar up for a drink and guess what? THERE'S SOME KIND OF RODEO CONVENTION at the SAME FUCKING HOTEL and the bar looks like a slightly spiffier Deadwood. I mean, all they needed was a player piano and a bartender with a handlebar mustache and those arm garter things.
On the way there, we pass one of those little signs that tell you where things are in the hotel and it said something like "Congratulations Roxanna and Noemi"!!!! AWESOME!!! I mean, here we are being all Too Cool For School from San Francisco and we walk right into a Lesbian Wedding in Fresno. Fresno! I misjudged you and feel bad now!
We got the drinks to go and hustled back to the room to watch the wedding. I can report that both brides wore white. They looked amazing and happy. CONGRATULATIONS, ROXANNA AND NOEMI!!!
Then we went to the baseball game. The stadium is in Downtown Fresno which has obviously seen better days. Apart from the people going to the game, downtown was populated exclusively by homeless people. We walked through this pedestrian mall thing from the parking garage to the ballpark. It had obviously been an effort to get people hanging around downtown but didn't work. As we passed one older homeless lady, she greeted us by saying "Suck it, bitch." AND A FINE GOOD EVENING TO YOU, MA'AM! Anyway, nothing you can't get anywhere in SF.
The park was really nice and obviously recently built. It was a delight to sit outside at night and watch a baseball game in shorts and a t-shirt. It was 90 degrees at 8:30 p.m.
I don't have much to say about the game. Barry Zito - remember him? - started for the Grizzlies and was doing OK until he sprained something and limped off the field. The other Grizzlies pitchers weren't very good. They lost.
The next day we drove home. This was uneventful except for a stop at the Carl's Jr. in Atwater, California. HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS I have never seen a bigger collection of weirdos and freaks than at the Carl's Jr. in Atwater, California.
The Atwater Carl's Jr. has 3 Yelp reviews! If I were a jackass enough to post Yelp reviews, here's what mine would say:
"I'm not sure who was more impressive, the Charles Manson clone with a neckbeard and prison tattoos who stared malevolently at my wife the whole time we were there or the Tweaker Family featuring the kid was unusual facial hair and a topknot ponytail and Morbidly Obese Uncle with a definite Lou Albano vibe, but the crowd at this Carl's Jr. made the backwoods family from 'Deliverance' look like the Algonquin Round Table.
"Also, I'm not 100% sure if anyone here has ever assembled a hamburger correctly, but it usually involves something more than randomly shoving a meat patty and a bun and some wilted lettuce into a paper sleeve.
"It did have a bathroom, though, and also a parking space in front of the door which facilitated our very rapid exit."
So, yeah. Fresno. There you go.
One of The Wife's work friends is from Fresno and I guess knows people associated with the team so we got tickets in what I assume is like Club Level here at AT&T Park and got some concessions vouchers and stuff like that. That's all nice, but the greatest gift we got was the hotel he recommended: The Picadilly Inn Shaw. I shall explain in just a moment.
Fresno is flat as a pool table and searingly hot, which felt great after the Non-Summer of High 50's in SF. When we got there it was 104. As far as I can tell, Fresno is comprised mainly of strip malls, chain restaurants, and chain everything else. So I guess it's like most of the rest of the country.
ANYWAY though. The Picadilly Inn! I don't know where to start. It was obviously built circa 1972 and NOTHING HAS CHANGED SINCE THEN. It is like visiting the set of a movie that's set in a hotel in 1972. I mean, look at our room!
That picture actually makes it look creepier than it was, which is sort of unbelievable. But it really did have that trapped-in-70s-amber vibe.
Anyway, our room was on the second floor and overlooked this garden where they were setting up for a wedding. We were kind of absently watching through the window when The Wife started to notice something. "I think there's 2 brides," she said.
GET. THE. FUCK. OUT.
So they're setting up and we decide to hit the bar up for a drink and guess what? THERE'S SOME KIND OF RODEO CONVENTION at the SAME FUCKING HOTEL and the bar looks like a slightly spiffier Deadwood. I mean, all they needed was a player piano and a bartender with a handlebar mustache and those arm garter things.
On the way there, we pass one of those little signs that tell you where things are in the hotel and it said something like "Congratulations Roxanna and Noemi"!!!! AWESOME!!! I mean, here we are being all Too Cool For School from San Francisco and we walk right into a Lesbian Wedding in Fresno. Fresno! I misjudged you and feel bad now!
We got the drinks to go and hustled back to the room to watch the wedding. I can report that both brides wore white. They looked amazing and happy. CONGRATULATIONS, ROXANNA AND NOEMI!!!
Then we went to the baseball game. The stadium is in Downtown Fresno which has obviously seen better days. Apart from the people going to the game, downtown was populated exclusively by homeless people. We walked through this pedestrian mall thing from the parking garage to the ballpark. It had obviously been an effort to get people hanging around downtown but didn't work. As we passed one older homeless lady, she greeted us by saying "Suck it, bitch." AND A FINE GOOD EVENING TO YOU, MA'AM! Anyway, nothing you can't get anywhere in SF.
The park was really nice and obviously recently built. It was a delight to sit outside at night and watch a baseball game in shorts and a t-shirt. It was 90 degrees at 8:30 p.m.
I don't have much to say about the game. Barry Zito - remember him? - started for the Grizzlies and was doing OK until he sprained something and limped off the field. The other Grizzlies pitchers weren't very good. They lost.
The next day we drove home. This was uneventful except for a stop at the Carl's Jr. in Atwater, California. HOLY SHIT YOU GUYS I have never seen a bigger collection of weirdos and freaks than at the Carl's Jr. in Atwater, California.
The Atwater Carl's Jr. has 3 Yelp reviews! If I were a jackass enough to post Yelp reviews, here's what mine would say:
"I'm not sure who was more impressive, the Charles Manson clone with a neckbeard and prison tattoos who stared malevolently at my wife the whole time we were there or the Tweaker Family featuring the kid was unusual facial hair and a topknot ponytail and Morbidly Obese Uncle with a definite Lou Albano vibe, but the crowd at this Carl's Jr. made the backwoods family from 'Deliverance' look like the Algonquin Round Table.
"Also, I'm not 100% sure if anyone here has ever assembled a hamburger correctly, but it usually involves something more than randomly shoving a meat patty and a bun and some wilted lettuce into a paper sleeve.
"It did have a bathroom, though, and also a parking space in front of the door which facilitated our very rapid exit."
So, yeah. Fresno. There you go.
Friday, August 5, 2011
August 5, 1977: Giants at Mets
Giants lost, 3-2. Let's take a look at the Giants box:
Let's see. Bill Madlock had a nice day, 2 for 4 with a run scored. McCovey walked but was otherwise not a factor. Couple of other hits sprinkled around. Not a lot of offense. Reminds me of some other Giants team I could name!
Let's see. Bill Madlock had a nice day, 2 for 4 with a run scored. McCovey walked but was otherwise not a factor. Couple of other hits sprinkled around. Not a lot of offense. Reminds me of some other Giants team I could name!
15,747 showed up at Shea for a 2 hour 35 minute game. Probably a nice night out at the yard.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the Atlantic, in a medium-sized town in Ireland, The Wife was busy being born. She was successful in this endeavor, so I guess she had a better night than the Giants.
Happy Birthday, The Wife! We'll be seeing the 2011 Giants tonight. Hopefully they can do better than their counterparts 34 years ago.
(Also, Mark Mulder was born on the same day, so there's another baseball thing. Happy Birthday Mark Mulder.)
(Also, I know, 2 blog posts in one day. I have the day off, cut me some slack.)
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Did you misplace your Insanity Machine and accidentally leave it turned on?
I first heard it last night around maybe 7:30. It was a sound like a truck backing up, but just three beeps in a row.
BEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEP.
Of course, the first thing you think is, "That's a truck backing up" and resume to your normal activities.* As I did. Which was drinking a beer and watching "Locked Up Abroad" on DVR.
(Just in case you don't watch "Locked Up Abroad," let me give you some advice. When someone offers you $6,000 to smuggle cocaine on a plane from Lima to - well, it was Cape Town, South Africa in this one, but really, it applied to anywhere - DON'T DO IT. Also, great show. Also, the actors they use in the reenactments are always way better looking than the actual person. I mean, I almost want to fly a few kilos from Bogota to LA just to see what kind of hot dude they get to be me on the show.)
But then it goes off again. It seems louder! Like it's COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE!!!
BEEEEP BEEEEP BEEEEEEP
So there I am like a crazy tweaker on a five-day run tearing the house apart looking for the hidden CIA camera except in this case it's not a hidden CIA camera it's a fucking beeping noise making thing. I pulled the smoke detector down and examined it like I could visually see where the noise was coming from or something. BUT IT WASN'T IN THE HOUSE because the next time I was outside taking the recycling out I heard it again EVEN LOUDER.
BEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEEP
ANYWAY, I know this story is way boring but I also SWEAR TO GOD it was a real noise because The Wife heard it too when she got home.
We didn't hear it again for a long time until 6:22 this morning when it went off like an Exterior Alarm Clock
BEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEP BEEEEEP
and we were lying in bed trying to sleep and then the dog decided that would be a good time to start licking himself so it was like BEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEP SLURP SLURP SLURP
and the cat, never one to be left out of any fun, started doing her "Hurt Cat" cry OWWWWW OWWWW OWWWWW that she does when she thinks she's not getting enough attention and at that point I just said fuck it and got up.
If that thing is still going off when I get home I'm going to freak out.
So the moral of the story is, if you left your Insanity Machine on in the vague area of my house, please come pick it up.
[*] True story, there's an alarm system/loudpseaker thing where I work and occasionally the security people come on and say shit like "There is an emergency situation on the fourth floor. Please listen for further information" and it''s usually some false alarm - well, since I've worked there, it's always been a false alarm, not usually - and then after a while the Security Person hops back on the intercom and says "The emergency situation on the fourth floor has been cleared. The emergency situation on the fourth floor has been cleared. Please resume to your normal activities." That's right, not "resume your normal activities," but "resume to." I've often wondered if that jacked syntax appears in the Operating Manual because it was badly translated from Chinese like alarm clock instructions, or if it was passed virally from the Ur-Security Person on down the line. Anyway.
BEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEP.
Of course, the first thing you think is, "That's a truck backing up" and resume to your normal activities.* As I did. Which was drinking a beer and watching "Locked Up Abroad" on DVR.
(Just in case you don't watch "Locked Up Abroad," let me give you some advice. When someone offers you $6,000 to smuggle cocaine on a plane from Lima to - well, it was Cape Town, South Africa in this one, but really, it applied to anywhere - DON'T DO IT. Also, great show. Also, the actors they use in the reenactments are always way better looking than the actual person. I mean, I almost want to fly a few kilos from Bogota to LA just to see what kind of hot dude they get to be me on the show.)
But then it goes off again. It seems louder! Like it's COMING FROM INSIDE THE HOUSE!!!
BEEEEP BEEEEP BEEEEEEP
So there I am like a crazy tweaker on a five-day run tearing the house apart looking for the hidden CIA camera except in this case it's not a hidden CIA camera it's a fucking beeping noise making thing. I pulled the smoke detector down and examined it like I could visually see where the noise was coming from or something. BUT IT WASN'T IN THE HOUSE because the next time I was outside taking the recycling out I heard it again EVEN LOUDER.
BEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEEP
ANYWAY, I know this story is way boring but I also SWEAR TO GOD it was a real noise because The Wife heard it too when she got home.
We didn't hear it again for a long time until 6:22 this morning when it went off like an Exterior Alarm Clock
BEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEP BEEEEEP
and we were lying in bed trying to sleep and then the dog decided that would be a good time to start licking himself so it was like BEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEP BEEEEEEEP SLURP SLURP SLURP
and the cat, never one to be left out of any fun, started doing her "Hurt Cat" cry OWWWWW OWWWW OWWWWW that she does when she thinks she's not getting enough attention and at that point I just said fuck it and got up.
If that thing is still going off when I get home I'm going to freak out.
So the moral of the story is, if you left your Insanity Machine on in the vague area of my house, please come pick it up.
[*] True story, there's an alarm system/loudpseaker thing where I work and occasionally the security people come on and say shit like "There is an emergency situation on the fourth floor. Please listen for further information" and it''s usually some false alarm - well, since I've worked there, it's always been a false alarm, not usually - and then after a while the Security Person hops back on the intercom and says "The emergency situation on the fourth floor has been cleared. The emergency situation on the fourth floor has been cleared. Please resume to your normal activities." That's right, not "resume your normal activities," but "resume to." I've often wondered if that jacked syntax appears in the Operating Manual because it was badly translated from Chinese like alarm clock instructions, or if it was passed virally from the Ur-Security Person on down the line. Anyway.
Monday, August 1, 2011
More important brunch news
By now you guys know how important brunch is. (Wow, that's just 3 posts - a search for "brunch" on my blog returns like 10 posts.) Part of the importance of brunch is trying new places, so in that spirit we checked out Uva Enoteca in the Lower Haight for brunch on Saturday.
Not too crowded at 1 pm on Saturday. In fact, not crowded at all. It was just us (me, Wife, Sister), a table of like 7 hipsters, and one table with 2 girls. I was told there would be bottomless mimosas, but there were bottomless bellinis instead which I'm not too crazy about but whatever.
The food was pretty good. I got the fried eggs, which were 2 sunny side up eggs that arrived cold. Maybe not cold, maybe room temp. Still, warm would have been good. Came with what was advertised as "bacon" but I'm sure was pancetta. Also a salad and a little "potato cake" thing. The best part is that, pre-tip, the total tab was $60 for 3 people, including 3 bottomless bellinis. We ended up drinking 2 pitchers of them but based on the table of hipsters it looked like you could pretty much hang out all afternoon and keep getting pitchers brought to you.
Anyway, just OK, not great. 3 stars out of five.
Then we had pints on the back porch of Mad Dog and then some more things happened and the upshot is The Wife was super-hungover yesterday. The end.
Not too crowded at 1 pm on Saturday. In fact, not crowded at all. It was just us (me, Wife, Sister), a table of like 7 hipsters, and one table with 2 girls. I was told there would be bottomless mimosas, but there were bottomless bellinis instead which I'm not too crazy about but whatever.
The food was pretty good. I got the fried eggs, which were 2 sunny side up eggs that arrived cold. Maybe not cold, maybe room temp. Still, warm would have been good. Came with what was advertised as "bacon" but I'm sure was pancetta. Also a salad and a little "potato cake" thing. The best part is that, pre-tip, the total tab was $60 for 3 people, including 3 bottomless bellinis. We ended up drinking 2 pitchers of them but based on the table of hipsters it looked like you could pretty much hang out all afternoon and keep getting pitchers brought to you.
Anyway, just OK, not great. 3 stars out of five.
Then we had pints on the back porch of Mad Dog and then some more things happened and the upshot is The Wife was super-hungover yesterday. The end.
Friday, July 8, 2011
This short anecdote is illustrative of the way The Wife thinks
We were recently walking near Union Square, by where all the hotels are, and passed by the back door/loading area for some hotel, and there were 4 or 5 guys loading a series of Igloo-type coolers into a car. They were all wearing like hotel uniforms or something.
She asked me what I thought was in them and I said I had no idea.
She said she thought it was probably organs stolen from hotel guests who are now lying in their bathtubs packed in ice, still sedated, and the organs in the coolers were being loaded for transport to wealthy foreigners who bought them.
Could be.
Have a great weekend.
(P.S. You know what one of the hazards is with following ballplayers on Twitter? You find out that they have opinions that differ from your own and then you don't like them as much, even when they play for a team you like. Just today Jeremy Affeldt, a relief pitcher for the Giants who I basically liked despite his ridiculous chin beard thing, retweeted Rick Warren saying something about "Planned Parenthood's Scandal" with a link to some anti-choice group's website. Oh great. Now every time Jeremy Affeldt pitches I'm going to think about how he's all anti-Planned Parenthood, which basically means that you're anti-health care for poor and middle-class women, who might not get it any other way. I'm sure Jeremy Affeldt's wife can afford all the top-notch healthcare she wants, but a lot of people can't.)
(True story, when I was younger and poorer, my ex got her health care through Planned Parenthood and I don't know how we would have afforded it otherwise. So all you people trying to defund Planned Parenthood, go fuck yourself. God, that makes me angry.)
She asked me what I thought was in them and I said I had no idea.
She said she thought it was probably organs stolen from hotel guests who are now lying in their bathtubs packed in ice, still sedated, and the organs in the coolers were being loaded for transport to wealthy foreigners who bought them.
Could be.
Have a great weekend.
(P.S. You know what one of the hazards is with following ballplayers on Twitter? You find out that they have opinions that differ from your own and then you don't like them as much, even when they play for a team you like. Just today Jeremy Affeldt, a relief pitcher for the Giants who I basically liked despite his ridiculous chin beard thing, retweeted Rick Warren saying something about "Planned Parenthood's Scandal" with a link to some anti-choice group's website. Oh great. Now every time Jeremy Affeldt pitches I'm going to think about how he's all anti-Planned Parenthood, which basically means that you're anti-health care for poor and middle-class women, who might not get it any other way. I'm sure Jeremy Affeldt's wife can afford all the top-notch healthcare she wants, but a lot of people can't.)
(True story, when I was younger and poorer, my ex got her health care through Planned Parenthood and I don't know how we would have afforded it otherwise. So all you people trying to defund Planned Parenthood, go fuck yourself. God, that makes me angry.)
Saturday, June 25, 2011
In which I discover the mysterious allure of auto racing.
ATTENTION FELLOW COASTAL ELITES:
I have journeyed into what passes for Middle America around here and have returned with some stunning news:
AUTO RACING IS SUPER BADASS.
Like all of us, I have made fun of NASCAR forever. I mean, who could possibly enjoy watching cars go around and around for a couple of hours? THAT'S STUPID. But guess what? It's like hockey or strippers or Bananas Foster. YOU HAVE TO SEE IT IN PERSON TO GET THE APPEAL.
Backstory: The Wife won this trip thing at work. Basically it included a night at this hotel in Santa Rosa and a big group dinner (for like 30 winners in her industry) at Johnny Garlic's, one of celebrity chef/professional irritant Guy Fieri's places, and then going to the Thunder Valley Casino Resort 200 at Infineon Raceway in Sonoma on Saturday.
So I take it that it's kind of the minor leagues for NASCAR but I don't really know anything about NASCAR so I don't know how the whole thing works. The "real" NASCAR race with the famous drivers is on Sunday and that apparently is when 100,000 people show up and I hate crowds so I'm glad we weren't going to that. ANYWAY we got to watch it from a "Tower Suite" with free food and booze and they could have fat guys racing lawnmowers and if there's free food and booze I'd watch it.
That guy in front waving was the guy who put the whole thing on. Super nice guy.
So before we were all "Yeah, whatever, auto racing" but then you get there and the cars are whizzing by at like 100 mph and it is fucking DEAFENINGLY LOUD if you're outside and I don't know, there's something really cool about the whole thing. Early on I chose to be a fan of the #6 King Taco car driven by one Luis Martinez Jr. and at one point he was in 5th place but I think he finished last. After like 5 laps, I was totally into it, against every preconceived notion I had. Being in the Tower Suite probably helped with this but maybe it's cool just to be in the stands too.
So that's my discovery! Auto racing is fun! Now, I'm not sure I'm going to turn on the TV every Sunday or any Sunday at all and ever watch it again but seeing it in person is certainly impressive. Also, maybe this isn't typical of every race but by the end those cars were all beat to shit and had major body damage and parts hanging off them and shit. YAY FOR WRECKED STUFF.
I have journeyed into what passes for Middle America around here and have returned with some stunning news:
AUTO RACING IS SUPER BADASS.
Like all of us, I have made fun of NASCAR forever. I mean, who could possibly enjoy watching cars go around and around for a couple of hours? THAT'S STUPID. But guess what? It's like hockey or strippers or Bananas Foster. YOU HAVE TO SEE IT IN PERSON TO GET THE APPEAL.
Backstory: The Wife won this trip thing at work. Basically it included a night at this hotel in Santa Rosa and a big group dinner (for like 30 winners in her industry) at Johnny Garlic's, one of celebrity chef/professional irritant Guy Fieri's places, and then going to the Thunder Valley Casino Resort 200 at Infineon Raceway in Sonoma on Saturday.
So I take it that it's kind of the minor leagues for NASCAR but I don't really know anything about NASCAR so I don't know how the whole thing works. The "real" NASCAR race with the famous drivers is on Sunday and that apparently is when 100,000 people show up and I hate crowds so I'm glad we weren't going to that. ANYWAY we got to watch it from a "Tower Suite" with free food and booze and they could have fat guys racing lawnmowers and if there's free food and booze I'd watch it.
That guy in front waving was the guy who put the whole thing on. Super nice guy.
So before we were all "Yeah, whatever, auto racing" but then you get there and the cars are whizzing by at like 100 mph and it is fucking DEAFENINGLY LOUD if you're outside and I don't know, there's something really cool about the whole thing. Early on I chose to be a fan of the #6 King Taco car driven by one Luis Martinez Jr. and at one point he was in 5th place but I think he finished last. After like 5 laps, I was totally into it, against every preconceived notion I had. Being in the Tower Suite probably helped with this but maybe it's cool just to be in the stands too.
So that's my discovery! Auto racing is fun! Now, I'm not sure I'm going to turn on the TV every Sunday or any Sunday at all and ever watch it again but seeing it in person is certainly impressive. Also, maybe this isn't typical of every race but by the end those cars were all beat to shit and had major body damage and parts hanging off them and shit. YAY FOR WRECKED STUFF.
(The less said about Johnny Garlic's the better. Part of this dinner was unlimited free wine, so that part was good. But honestly, Guy Fieri, is that was real "wagyu beef," I'm a cow.)
(Also, it strikes me as sorta funny that this is the most hetero thing I could possibly have done on Pride Weekend.)
Thursday, June 23, 2011
I went to Oakland last night and saw some music and then my dog got attacked this morning (unrelated)
Let me just say preliminarily that I'm a little freaked out right now because when I took my dog for his walk at like 6:30 this morning we came around a corner and he got attacked by 3 bigger dogs. I got them off him and scooped him up and managed to yell "Put your fucking dog on a leash" before I saw that they had leashes on but I guess the chick walking them couldn't control her dogs. Last I saw as I was scurrying away was her chasing one of the dogs down the middle of the fucking street. My dog's back leg got cut and he was bleeding but now it's stopped but I'm kind of freaked out even though he's fine. Sheesh, being a parent must be fucking IMPOSSIBLE if I get this freaked out about my dog getting hurt. I don't know how you guys do it.
ANYWAY. Last night we went to see Okkervil River at the Fox in Oakland. I used to like Okkervil River. In case you're not familiar, it's semi-anthemic earnest guitar-based indie rock for white people. Seriously, I did not see a single Person of Color at the show. Not even an Asian. This must be what Iceland looks like.
So just a couple of observations about Okkervil River at the Fox Theater:
1. I say I "used to like" Okkervil River because I'm not sure if I love them any more. They kind of lost me halfway through their set when they did the obligatory Slow Portion with the lead singer Will Sheff just playing acoustic guitar by himself and then it went on and on and on with one dirge after another and it was SO BORING. Is it possible my attention span's gotten shorter as I've gotten older? How could that be?
2. Speaking of Will Sheff, it occurs to me that he sorta looks like Time Lincecum! Check it out:
Weird, huh?
ANYWAY. Last night we went to see Okkervil River at the Fox in Oakland. I used to like Okkervil River. In case you're not familiar, it's semi-anthemic earnest guitar-based indie rock for white people. Seriously, I did not see a single Person of Color at the show. Not even an Asian. This must be what Iceland looks like.
So just a couple of observations about Okkervil River at the Fox Theater:
1. I say I "used to like" Okkervil River because I'm not sure if I love them any more. They kind of lost me halfway through their set when they did the obligatory Slow Portion with the lead singer Will Sheff just playing acoustic guitar by himself and then it went on and on and on with one dirge after another and it was SO BORING. Is it possible my attention span's gotten shorter as I've gotten older? How could that be?
2. Speaking of Will Sheff, it occurs to me that he sorta looks like Time Lincecum! Check it out:
Weird, huh?
3. I know I sound like a crank who just likes to bitch, but I have sung Okkervil River's praises in the past, so that's not entirely true. I mean, I am a crank who likes to bitch, but not just a crank who likes to bitch.
4. No, really, when I saw them at the Independent a few years ago, it was maybe one of the best shows I've ever seen! They were fucking KILLER. Significantly, there was no long boring part in the middle.
5. The encore was "Westfall" and "Unless It's Kicks," so that was good. "Unless It's Kicks" is maybe one of my favorite songs ever.
6. I like the Fox in Oakland. The floor level has these different levels that lead up to the bar and at one of them there are tables and chairs. Where anyone can just sit! Heaven for old people like me. And the usher in front of us kept shooing people OUT OF OUR SIGHT LINE like I was the Prime Minister or something! I must have clicked on some box to get this service when I ordered the tickets online.
7. The Wife drove. We made it back to SF in 15 minutes.
OK, gotta go to the 12:45 Giants game BRB.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
The Bachelorette: Finally, somebody gets seriously injured
So we're still in Thailand and it seems that we're moving the whole operation to Chiang Mai, which features "many relaxing bars, several discotheques, live music venues and one street with hostess bars which cater to tourists." The Douche Alliance is installed in some faux colonial dump w/ Thai restaurant music and we see Ashley Chipmunk walking along and we're 4 minutes in before we get our first voiceover mention of Bentley, who continues to infect this show like malaria or fire ants.
He wishes he could kick her off the fucking show and I do too. Let's bring in Chantal from last season to do some mop up because this bitch crazy.
Solo date with Ben F., "Sonoma winemaker," who really does look like one of the late stages in an "Evolution of Man" exhibit at the Natural History Museum. They take one of those DPT Cushman mobiles into town and visit the "Umbrella Making Centre," where I guess tourists can simulate producing consumer goods for America for 50 cents an hour. Then they sit in front of a Very Sacred Thai Temple where they're apparently not allowed to make out, so Chipmunk suggests they do a "mental kiss" and this is where The Wife said "This is like a fucking high school......oh...ugh, ugh....."
Cut to the Nighttime Part of the date. She's wearing a romper made out of a very ugly tablecloth. They have your usual Outdoor Dinner at some Thai place. He gets the #14 and then blabs on and on and on and on about his Dad dying and his feelings and whatever blah blah blah even Chipmunk looks bored until the Fire Dancers and Fire Breathers come out and she's like THANK GOD I don't have to listen to Mr. Here's Every Fucking Thing That's Ever Crossed My Mind any more.
Group Date. 8 douches will enter the ring and sadly 8 will leave. It seems that we are doing Muay Thai boxing, which sounds GREAT to me because someone might be killed or paralyzed and then I'll like this show again. They do some crazy Muay Thai workout for like 8 hours and Ames is all "Not the face, please! Not my beautiful face!" They divvy up some boxing gear and get in the ring in some public square in front of a bunch of Thai people who are all "Who are these fuckers and why won't they hurt each other? Fuck."
You just know Ames is going to get killed because he's a Delicate Flower and YEP he gets knocked around and is led to an ambulance and whisked away to a Thai ER room where I guess some powdered rhinoceros horn and some spells will fix him right up. Later, at the Nighttime Portion of the Group Date, Ames makes a dramatic reappearance and I think his "Portfolio Manager" career might be over unless the portfolio is Care Bears stickers because he looks fucked up real bad. Meanwhile, in a solo interview, William inexplicably says "Who has 2 thumbs and is gonna win the rose on the 2 on 1 date? This guy," pointing at himself because I guess Ashley made it clear she was only marrying guys with 2 thumbs. Ashley mentions Bentley about 12 more times and gives Generic Man Blake a rose.
DOUBLE BRO DATE. William and Ben C. raft Chipmunk down a river like it's "Apocalypse Now" or something and William talks all kinds of shit about how Ben C. said he'll "clean up" on those "dating websites" and fucking Chipmunk is just like REALLY OH THAT'S BAD and fucking gets rid of Ben C. RIGHT THEN. Like why would you believe that superdouche? Why does this girl do these things? Who knows. Oh wait, she says she didn't like him anyway. He gets the Emo Raft-Away instead of the Emo Limo-Away.
We segue into yet another Outdoor Dinner, this time with William. He gives everyone major creeps by saying he's a "30 year old boy" and she tells him to GTFO. Back to your fun life selling cell phones to a gullible mall-going public.
OK, back at the resort for the Pre-Rose. Chipmunk sits down with Chris Harrison and wants to talk about Bentley. Chris Harrison is just as pissed about this as all of us.
He wishes he could kick her off the fucking show and I do too. Let's bring in Chantal from last season to do some mop up because this bitch crazy.
Soul Patch Guy gets cut. I can't remember his name. You don't care anyway. Why didn't Ames get cut? The Wife knows: "You can't put him on a plane. His head would explode." I feel the same way.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Somebody doesn't like Cliff
2 blog posts in one day! I'm turning into Mission Mission over here.
Anyways, whilst out walking the dog yesterday, I came across this curious artifact on the sidewalk:
WTF? It's one of those peel-off stickers that someone hasn't peeled off yet. Is this the Worst Nametag Ever or was someone planning on an Anti-Cliff campaign in my hood?
We walked another block and THERE WAS ANOTHER ONE, also not peeled. I picked 'em up, for sure. They'll be a hoot at parties.
The Wife found another one this morning when she was walking the dog. What the fuck is going on?
Anyways, whilst out walking the dog yesterday, I came across this curious artifact on the sidewalk:
(Last name redacted in case Cliff isn't really a drunk driver or violent felon.)
WTF? It's one of those peel-off stickers that someone hasn't peeled off yet. Is this the Worst Nametag Ever or was someone planning on an Anti-Cliff campaign in my hood?
We walked another block and THERE WAS ANOTHER ONE, also not peeled. I picked 'em up, for sure. They'll be a hoot at parties.
The Wife found another one this morning when she was walking the dog. What the fuck is going on?
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
The Bachelorette: What Happens in Vegas is Boring
I gotta say, 2 episodes in, I'm not so crazy about this season and hate Ashley's stupid face and the Mask Guy and everybody but now I'm committed so I will let the hate fuel my work this season and feed on it like a lion on a wildebeest or whatever.
OK we start out with a broclave where Chris Harrison explains how group dates work to a clearly befuddled crowd of idiots and losers. Now we're off to Vegas to get some commercial tie-ins done. Ashley and William in one jet, and a bunch of bros following behind in a Baby Mama Jet. There are some interviews and Mask Guy who is still wearing a mask says "I've taken the stealth approach, and I feel like a lotta guys are riding around in cabs." Because, what, cabs are loud and garish? You can't sneak around in a cab? Mask Guy is Functionally Retarded? All 3?
Standard Vegas Establishing Shots follow. Then we have some kind of Bizarro Fake Wedding setup with William and Chipmunk ring shopping and cake tasting and then actually starting a ceremony at the Bellagio Wedding Chapel and, sadly, they don't go through with it although Chipmunk says it's the "best first date I've ever been on!" which is the same exact thing she said to Brad on their first date last season and I get the feeling if I took her for Slurpees at a 7-11 in Coalinga and then we took a Greyhound to Fresno that would also be the "best first date she's ever been on!"
They have dinner in the middle of the fucking fountain pool thing at the Bellagio. Time for some Deep Talk about William's Dead Alcoholic Dad and YOU ARE NEVER GOING TO BELIEVE THIS Chipmunk has an Alcoholic Dad too but I can't tell if he's dead. Hmmmm, never would have guessed. Anyway, if you two end up together, DO NOT HAVE CHILDREN because it's pretty much a lock they'll be big boozers. Then the fountains go off and whatever.
Next we have a group date where the douchecabal visits the decidedly lower-rent Monte Carlo where they will have some kind of dance competition with something called JabbaWockeeZ, who are apparently some kind of dance group. They are divided into 2 groups and have to pick names and whatever, I kind of zoned out at this point. OBSERVATION: A lot of guys in "dance crews" are Asian, am I right? There's some kind of performance and some guys and something else happens.
Oh, then there's some post-show hangouts and West, who almost definitely did not kill his wife, tells his Dead Wife Story. "You don't know when the people you love will be taken away," he says. OR DO YOU? DUN DUN DUNNNNNNN. Bentley likes Chipmunk's body and wants to do maybe something dirty. He says "She has a great body, amazing butt, rocking legs," and then he says, WE THINK, "and having her tickle my" and then they bleeped it out and he might have said "intellect" but also maybe not. He's a creep! That's why she loves him and begs him to stay on the show. Because chicks really do like assholes. It's true.
Back at the Douche Ranch, Ames is mad about Mask Guy and also Mask Guy is very contemplative and stares at the pool and wonders why the fuck he decided to look like an idiot on network television.
Now Chipmunk and "Mickey" are at Mandalay Bay and she thinks he looks "A MAY ZING" because he put a fucking blazer on over a t-shirt. Imagine if he put on a tux! She'd pass out from excitement. Mickey has a Dead Mom and the stench of death hangs heavy over our contestants. Now Chipmunk may be dying too, as she reports that she has "atunophon," which is a horrible, crippling malady OH WAIT she had a "ton of fun." Never mind. Then they have a private concert by Colbie Caillat and Mickey looks REAL EXCITED which makes me wonder a little about Mickey.
Let's move along. We're all back in LA now and getting ready for the Rose Ceremony and finally Ash has a sitdown with Mask Guy who, in short order, reveals that he had a brain hemorrhage, is 35, and has been divorced. Jesus, you should drop this human wreckage like a sack of dirt.
[At this point in my notes, I wrote down that The Wife said to me "I thought we covered this. Do not draw on the dog." SORRY.]
Instead, Mask Guy gets to stay! Who left? Hairdresser, Eyebrows, and the Guy Who Called His Mom. Who calls his Mom again and it is SO FUCKING CREEPY but at least he's not on this trainwreck anymore. Dating your Mom is better than being on the Bachelorette. There I said it.
OK we start out with a broclave where Chris Harrison explains how group dates work to a clearly befuddled crowd of idiots and losers. Now we're off to Vegas to get some commercial tie-ins done. Ashley and William in one jet, and a bunch of bros following behind in a Baby Mama Jet. There are some interviews and Mask Guy who is still wearing a mask says "I've taken the stealth approach, and I feel like a lotta guys are riding around in cabs." Because, what, cabs are loud and garish? You can't sneak around in a cab? Mask Guy is Functionally Retarded? All 3?
Standard Vegas Establishing Shots follow. Then we have some kind of Bizarro Fake Wedding setup with William and Chipmunk ring shopping and cake tasting and then actually starting a ceremony at the Bellagio Wedding Chapel and, sadly, they don't go through with it although Chipmunk says it's the "best first date I've ever been on!" which is the same exact thing she said to Brad on their first date last season and I get the feeling if I took her for Slurpees at a 7-11 in Coalinga and then we took a Greyhound to Fresno that would also be the "best first date she's ever been on!"
They have dinner in the middle of the fucking fountain pool thing at the Bellagio. Time for some Deep Talk about William's Dead Alcoholic Dad and YOU ARE NEVER GOING TO BELIEVE THIS Chipmunk has an Alcoholic Dad too but I can't tell if he's dead. Hmmmm, never would have guessed. Anyway, if you two end up together, DO NOT HAVE CHILDREN because it's pretty much a lock they'll be big boozers. Then the fountains go off and whatever.
Next we have a group date where the douchecabal visits the decidedly lower-rent Monte Carlo where they will have some kind of dance competition with something called JabbaWockeeZ, who are apparently some kind of dance group. They are divided into 2 groups and have to pick names and whatever, I kind of zoned out at this point. OBSERVATION: A lot of guys in "dance crews" are Asian, am I right? There's some kind of performance and some guys and something else happens.
Oh, then there's some post-show hangouts and West, who almost definitely did not kill his wife, tells his Dead Wife Story. "You don't know when the people you love will be taken away," he says. OR DO YOU? DUN DUN DUNNNNNNN. Bentley likes Chipmunk's body and wants to do maybe something dirty. He says "She has a great body, amazing butt, rocking legs," and then he says, WE THINK, "and having her tickle my" and then they bleeped it out and he might have said "intellect" but also maybe not. He's a creep! That's why she loves him and begs him to stay on the show. Because chicks really do like assholes. It's true.
Back at the Douche Ranch, Ames is mad about Mask Guy and also Mask Guy is very contemplative and stares at the pool and wonders why the fuck he decided to look like an idiot on network television.
Now Chipmunk and "Mickey" are at Mandalay Bay and she thinks he looks "A MAY ZING" because he put a fucking blazer on over a t-shirt. Imagine if he put on a tux! She'd pass out from excitement. Mickey has a Dead Mom and the stench of death hangs heavy over our contestants. Now Chipmunk may be dying too, as she reports that she has "atunophon," which is a horrible, crippling malady OH WAIT she had a "ton of fun." Never mind. Then they have a private concert by Colbie Caillat and Mickey looks REAL EXCITED which makes me wonder a little about Mickey.
Let's move along. We're all back in LA now and getting ready for the Rose Ceremony and finally Ash has a sitdown with Mask Guy who, in short order, reveals that he had a brain hemorrhage, is 35, and has been divorced. Jesus, you should drop this human wreckage like a sack of dirt.
[At this point in my notes, I wrote down that The Wife said to me "I thought we covered this. Do not draw on the dog." SORRY.]
Instead, Mask Guy gets to stay! Who left? Hairdresser, Eyebrows, and the Guy Who Called His Mom. Who calls his Mom again and it is SO FUCKING CREEPY but at least he's not on this trainwreck anymore. Dating your Mom is better than being on the Bachelorette. There I said it.
Monday, May 9, 2011
Conversation with The Wife about how much football coaches make
The Wife: "So how much would a high school football coach make?"
Me: "Like the coach in Friday Night Lights? Like in a small town, working at a kinda poor school? Like 35, 40 K maybe."
"What about college?"
"Depends on the college."
"Well, like Florida."
"Florida? I don't know, maybe $3 million."[*]
(Incredulous) "THREE MILLION DOLLARS? To be a football coach?"
"Yeah, but it's one of the biggest football schools in the country. At most colleges, it would probably be more like several hundred thousand."
(Musing) "I should get into that. I'm just gonna need to learn what a down is."
[*] As it happens, I was pretty close; Will Muschamp, the new Florida coach, will average about $2.7 million a year. The last coach, Urban Meyer, made about $4 mil a year.
If nothing else, this exchange should prove that you don't need to know much about football to be a huge fan - and I mean HUGE fan - of "Friday Night Lights." Due to a scheduling quirk, you can now buy the whole final season on DVD as it's airing on NBC. She loves peeling off 2 or 3 episodes in a row, unshackled from network control. No ads is nice too.
Me: "Like the coach in Friday Night Lights? Like in a small town, working at a kinda poor school? Like 35, 40 K maybe."
"What about college?"
"Depends on the college."
"Well, like Florida."
"Florida? I don't know, maybe $3 million."[*]
(Incredulous) "THREE MILLION DOLLARS? To be a football coach?"
"Yeah, but it's one of the biggest football schools in the country. At most colleges, it would probably be more like several hundred thousand."
(Musing) "I should get into that. I'm just gonna need to learn what a down is."
[*] As it happens, I was pretty close; Will Muschamp, the new Florida coach, will average about $2.7 million a year. The last coach, Urban Meyer, made about $4 mil a year.
If nothing else, this exchange should prove that you don't need to know much about football to be a huge fan - and I mean HUGE fan - of "Friday Night Lights." Due to a scheduling quirk, you can now buy the whole final season on DVD as it's airing on NBC. She loves peeling off 2 or 3 episodes in a row, unshackled from network control. No ads is nice too.
The Agony of the Stolen Car: Chapter 2.
Wanna hear another long boring story about my stolen car? WELL YOU'RE IN LUCK THEN PULL UP A CHAIR.
They found it on Saturday at Laidley and Fairmount in what I guess is maybe Glen Park.
Looks pretty nice, huh? So they call me at like 8:00 p.m. Saturday and tell me it's at Auto Return and I can get it the next day.
(For those of you outside San Francisco, Auto Return is where your car goes if you get towed. People burning in the Lake of Fire in Hell being stabbed by demons with Razor Blade Pitchforks dipped in gasoline say "Man, this sucks, but at least I'm not at Auto Return.")
ANYWAY, on Sunday I entered a Kafkaesque Hell Tunnel trying to get the thing back. First stop is the main police station at 850 Bryant at 9:30 a.m. Sunday to get a "vehicle release." I ask the cop there if I can get a break on the tow fees because my car was stolen. He says "That's totally up to Auto Return. We have nothing to do with that."
Next stop: Auto Return. The total for the towing and one day storage is $481.75. Guess what? I CAN'T HAVE MY CAR. It's in another lot at Pier 70 that's not open on Sundays! FOOLED YOU TK!!!! SIKE!!!! I ask the Auto Return lady if I can get a break on the fees because my car was stolen. She says - and I'm not making this up - "That's not up to us. That's up to the police."
This guy waiting for his car goes "Hey dude. Hey dude. Check this out." He points to a sign on the wall that explains YES AS A MATTER OF FACT THE POLICE WILL REFUND HALF THE TOW FEE IF YOUR CAR WAS STOLEN. You just have to go back to 850 Bryant, M-F, and ask. Thanks, Guy Waiting at Auto Return! You were the most helpful person of the day. I hope you get your car back. Also, sweet Ed Hardy jeans.
I guess I should let the cops know about their Secret Stolen Car Tow Fee Refund Program! Imagine their surprise!
OK, now we're up to this morning. The Wife and I go out to Pier 70 to get my car.
Except no one's driving this car. It's a FUCKING WRECK.
Two wheels are gone. TWO WHEELS ARE GONE. It's on the little temporary wheels that look like they came off someone's Radio Flyer wagon. Ignition is punched and so I can't start it. Driver's side door lock punched. Stereo and speakers gone. Maybe some other interior damage, I don't know.
No fast food wrappers, though, so GUESS I DODGED THAT BULLET!
Now, if I could just get my insurance agent to call me back! STATE FARM, I'LL GIVE YOU $10 IF YOU CALL ME BEFORE LUNCH TODAY! I PROMISE I WON'T HURT YOU! PLEASE CALL ME BACK! PLEASE?! PLEEEEEEAAAASE??!!!
They found it on Saturday at Laidley and Fairmount in what I guess is maybe Glen Park.
Looks pretty nice, huh? So they call me at like 8:00 p.m. Saturday and tell me it's at Auto Return and I can get it the next day.(For those of you outside San Francisco, Auto Return is where your car goes if you get towed. People burning in the Lake of Fire in Hell being stabbed by demons with Razor Blade Pitchforks dipped in gasoline say "Man, this sucks, but at least I'm not at Auto Return.")
ANYWAY, on Sunday I entered a Kafkaesque Hell Tunnel trying to get the thing back. First stop is the main police station at 850 Bryant at 9:30 a.m. Sunday to get a "vehicle release." I ask the cop there if I can get a break on the tow fees because my car was stolen. He says "That's totally up to Auto Return. We have nothing to do with that."
Next stop: Auto Return. The total for the towing and one day storage is $481.75. Guess what? I CAN'T HAVE MY CAR. It's in another lot at Pier 70 that's not open on Sundays! FOOLED YOU TK!!!! SIKE!!!! I ask the Auto Return lady if I can get a break on the fees because my car was stolen. She says - and I'm not making this up - "That's not up to us. That's up to the police."
This guy waiting for his car goes "Hey dude. Hey dude. Check this out." He points to a sign on the wall that explains YES AS A MATTER OF FACT THE POLICE WILL REFUND HALF THE TOW FEE IF YOUR CAR WAS STOLEN. You just have to go back to 850 Bryant, M-F, and ask. Thanks, Guy Waiting at Auto Return! You were the most helpful person of the day. I hope you get your car back. Also, sweet Ed Hardy jeans.
I guess I should let the cops know about their Secret Stolen Car Tow Fee Refund Program! Imagine their surprise!
OK, now we're up to this morning. The Wife and I go out to Pier 70 to get my car.
Except no one's driving this car. It's a FUCKING WRECK.
Two wheels are gone. TWO WHEELS ARE GONE. It's on the little temporary wheels that look like they came off someone's Radio Flyer wagon. Ignition is punched and so I can't start it. Driver's side door lock punched. Stereo and speakers gone. Maybe some other interior damage, I don't know.
No fast food wrappers, though, so GUESS I DODGED THAT BULLET!
Now, if I could just get my insurance agent to call me back! STATE FARM, I'LL GIVE YOU $10 IF YOU CALL ME BEFORE LUNCH TODAY! I PROMISE I WON'T HURT YOU! PLEASE CALL ME BACK! PLEASE?! PLEEEEEEAAAASE??!!!
Wednesday, May 4, 2011
The Sort-of New Bar Night edition
Ladies and gentlemen, on the off-chance you haven't seen him, let me introduce you to Celebration Guy, who will now be my go-to guy whenever anything really great happens:
Like I mentioned, I feel somewhat conflicted about celebrating someone's death, so let's forget that's what's going on here for a second and instead focus on the batshit insane, crazy Yosemite Sam-level nuttery on display. How can you not love a guy riding an ATV with an American flag, whooping and firing a pistol into the air? GENIUS. I love you, Celebration Guy.
Hey, I know I haven't had an official New Bar Night in a while, but I have been to a couple of new places that I should catch you up on.
(This actually leads to kind of an existential question - what differentiates "going to a bar I've never been to before" from "New Bar Night"? I think it's a question of intent and quality. I'm already bored by this parenthetical, though, so email me if you want more detail on this.)
(Can you imagine if I did PRIVATE BLOG POSTS for people? Like you could write me and tell me what you wanted to hear about and I'd send you back a blog post about it? I would have to charge for that. If you want a Private Blog Post, email me and we'll work something out. I'm totally kidding. I don't want to do this.)
So I met The Wife at Buck Tavern for happy hour and to watch the end of the Giants game last Friday. A little backstory, if you're not familiar: BT used to be Just Another Bar (apparently - I'd never been there) and the it was bought by former SF Supervisor/Professional Annoyer Chris Daly to, I guess, give him something to do now that he's not pissing people off in SF politics any more. Sure enough, there he was, behind the bar.
Two things about Chris Daly: (1) he is a perfectly friendly, if somewhat slow, bartender, and (2) he is VERY LOUD. This is probably not a surprise. He was conducting various conversations with people around the bar by YELLING AT THEM. This is somewhat disconcerting if you're me and you dislike yelling because it reminds you of your broken childhood home.
Also, and this is also probably not a surprise, the conversations largely concerned San Francisco politics, which makes sense, I guess, but is also so amusing and predictable it's like the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disney World except it's the Pirates of District Six ride and it's really, really boring and instead of ARRRR MATEY it's all WHO'S RUNNING DAVID CHIU'S CAMPAIGN like I give a shit.
He clearly loves it. More power to the guy! I don't begrudge him his thing at all. It's just not for me.
Where else did I go? Oh yeah, the EXACT POLAR OPPOSITE of Buck Tavern, 620 Jones, an elaborate nightclubby kind of place. I usually avoid this kind of scene like it's a leper colony full of fundamentalists, but we have a friend who works there and we went there for happy hour and it was just fine. They have a HUGE fucking porch too that I'm sure is great when it's warm out, like today. But you can close your eyes and just hear the thumpa thumpa music and picture the Affliction and Drakkar Noir around you. Shudder.
(I don't know, maybe it's not that bad. I probably will never find out, though.)
(Definitely check it out for HH, though. And the food looked good. That patio!)
P.S. If you have suggestions for places I should go on New Bar Nights in the future, please leave them in the comments or email them to me or just visualize them REALLY HARD and maybe I'll pick up your vibe with my chakras or something.
Like I mentioned, I feel somewhat conflicted about celebrating someone's death, so let's forget that's what's going on here for a second and instead focus on the batshit insane, crazy Yosemite Sam-level nuttery on display. How can you not love a guy riding an ATV with an American flag, whooping and firing a pistol into the air? GENIUS. I love you, Celebration Guy.
Hey, I know I haven't had an official New Bar Night in a while, but I have been to a couple of new places that I should catch you up on.
(This actually leads to kind of an existential question - what differentiates "going to a bar I've never been to before" from "New Bar Night"? I think it's a question of intent and quality. I'm already bored by this parenthetical, though, so email me if you want more detail on this.)
(Can you imagine if I did PRIVATE BLOG POSTS for people? Like you could write me and tell me what you wanted to hear about and I'd send you back a blog post about it? I would have to charge for that. If you want a Private Blog Post, email me and we'll work something out. I'm totally kidding. I don't want to do this.)
So I met The Wife at Buck Tavern for happy hour and to watch the end of the Giants game last Friday. A little backstory, if you're not familiar: BT used to be Just Another Bar (apparently - I'd never been there) and the it was bought by former SF Supervisor/Professional Annoyer Chris Daly to, I guess, give him something to do now that he's not pissing people off in SF politics any more. Sure enough, there he was, behind the bar.
Two things about Chris Daly: (1) he is a perfectly friendly, if somewhat slow, bartender, and (2) he is VERY LOUD. This is probably not a surprise. He was conducting various conversations with people around the bar by YELLING AT THEM. This is somewhat disconcerting if you're me and you dislike yelling because it reminds you of your broken childhood home.
Also, and this is also probably not a surprise, the conversations largely concerned San Francisco politics, which makes sense, I guess, but is also so amusing and predictable it's like the Pirates of the Caribbean ride at Disney World except it's the Pirates of District Six ride and it's really, really boring and instead of ARRRR MATEY it's all WHO'S RUNNING DAVID CHIU'S CAMPAIGN like I give a shit.
He clearly loves it. More power to the guy! I don't begrudge him his thing at all. It's just not for me.
Where else did I go? Oh yeah, the EXACT POLAR OPPOSITE of Buck Tavern, 620 Jones, an elaborate nightclubby kind of place. I usually avoid this kind of scene like it's a leper colony full of fundamentalists, but we have a friend who works there and we went there for happy hour and it was just fine. They have a HUGE fucking porch too that I'm sure is great when it's warm out, like today. But you can close your eyes and just hear the thumpa thumpa music and picture the Affliction and Drakkar Noir around you. Shudder.
(I don't know, maybe it's not that bad. I probably will never find out, though.)
(Definitely check it out for HH, though. And the food looked good. That patio!)
P.S. If you have suggestions for places I should go on New Bar Nights in the future, please leave them in the comments or email them to me or just visualize them REALLY HARD and maybe I'll pick up your vibe with my chakras or something.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
It's not a party without American Red Cups
Because of the crumbling Irish economy, each Irish citizen living in the US is required, by Irish law, to take in another Irish citizen and support him or her until conditions improve. Thus, we have a Girl From Ireland staying with us in our house.
Nah, I'm just shitting you. The GFI is actually The Wife's oldest friend since childhood, and she's staying with us voluntarily. Actually, I agreed to it when I was drunk and would never have otherwise consented to having a houseguest for 5 weeks but The Wife is good at taking advantage of me. I'm sorta kidding. I mean, GFI is perfectly nice and just as plucky and charming as you might imagine but having anyone in your house for 5 weeks is kind of a drag. Whatever, they're in Vegas right now and I'm revelling in the time alone.
Wait, this had a point. Oh yeah. So one of the benefits of having the GFI around is hearing about the Strange and Bizarre Customs of Her Land, and the one I'm impressed with most so far is the deep Irish need for American Red Cups at parties. (In all fairness, this seems to be a British-Isles-wide phenomenon, and not restricted to Ireland alone.) You know what I'm talking about:
So apparently having red Solo cups is the key to having a successful party in Ireland or Britain because, I don't know, they're American or something. Check it out:
You do see them in every American high school film! That's true! Anyway, as capitalism teaches, every untapped market will eventually be filled. And to fill the American Red Cup market, there's Redcups.ie, your premiere Irish source for American Red Cups! Behold:
20 cups for €4.50 (plus €2 delivery). That's right, for only about $9.20, your Irish pals can party like Desperate Housewives!
Note that the same plastic cups are widely available in white in Britain. White's no good! Remember this whenever people say Americans are weird.
Nah, I'm just shitting you. The GFI is actually The Wife's oldest friend since childhood, and she's staying with us voluntarily. Actually, I agreed to it when I was drunk and would never have otherwise consented to having a houseguest for 5 weeks but The Wife is good at taking advantage of me. I'm sorta kidding. I mean, GFI is perfectly nice and just as plucky and charming as you might imagine but having anyone in your house for 5 weeks is kind of a drag. Whatever, they're in Vegas right now and I'm revelling in the time alone.
Wait, this had a point. Oh yeah. So one of the benefits of having the GFI around is hearing about the Strange and Bizarre Customs of Her Land, and the one I'm impressed with most so far is the deep Irish need for American Red Cups at parties. (In all fairness, this seems to be a British-Isles-wide phenomenon, and not restricted to Ireland alone.) You know what I'm talking about:
So apparently having red Solo cups is the key to having a successful party in Ireland or Britain because, I don't know, they're American or something. Check it out:
You do see them in every American high school film! That's true! Anyway, as capitalism teaches, every untapped market will eventually be filled. And to fill the American Red Cup market, there's Redcups.ie, your premiere Irish source for American Red Cups! Behold:
The Red Cup has been made world famous by its appearence in films and sitcoms such as Desperate Housewives, Superbad, Roadtrip, American Pie, The Social Network, The Hills and music videos by Black Eyed Peas, Fergie, Pharrell Williams, Asher Roth and Ke$ha.
20 cups for €4.50 (plus €2 delivery). That's right, for only about $9.20, your Irish pals can party like Desperate Housewives!
Note that the same plastic cups are widely available in white in Britain. White's no good! Remember this whenever people say Americans are weird.
Monday, April 11, 2011
The Mystery of the Sad Bike
About a month and a half ago (I want to say mid-February; it was close to then) somebody locked this bike to a pole in front of my house:
They never came back for it. There is sat, sadly, through the pounding rains of March and into April. Sometimes it would slide down the pole and sort of go cross-ways sticking out into the street and somebody would push it back up again. After a while, I started to idly wonder if I should do something about it, but it wasn't really bothering me and then it sort of seemed like a good experiment: What happens to a bike that is locked to a pole and then forgotten forever? I was wondering if it would slowly rust and degrade and eventually melt into the ground, like a very slow-motion ice sculpture or something.
Plus, I was hoping that it was bothering my parking-space hogging, garage-renting ridiculous request making neighbors, since it's more in front of their garage than my house. A man can dream!
And so it went, until this past Saturday. Whilst cleaning my house, I happened to glance out the window and THERE WAS A GIRL RIDING AWAY ON THE BIKE. I told The Wife excitedly about this development and she was all "What bike?" and I was all "You know, the bike that's been locked in front of the house for the past month and a half" and she gave me one of those looks that she gives me that looks like how you would look at someone who told you they were being abducted by aliens and subjected to strange tests. "Oh," she said.
I thought it was a pretty big development.
BUT WAIT. It gets better. Yesterday, I come outside and THE BIKE IS BACK. Locked to its customary pole.
WHAT THE FUCK. First of all, who leaves a bike chained to a pole for a month and a half, through pouring rain and freezing temperatures, comes back, rides it around for one day, and then locks it back to the same pole? WHO DOES THAT. Is that weird?
(Also, it's kind of amazing that no part of the bike has yet to be stolen. I live in a pretty safe neighborhood, but I didn't think it was THAT SAFE. Some places, this bike wouldn't last 15 minutes, let alone 7 weeks.)
They never came back for it. There is sat, sadly, through the pounding rains of March and into April. Sometimes it would slide down the pole and sort of go cross-ways sticking out into the street and somebody would push it back up again. After a while, I started to idly wonder if I should do something about it, but it wasn't really bothering me and then it sort of seemed like a good experiment: What happens to a bike that is locked to a pole and then forgotten forever? I was wondering if it would slowly rust and degrade and eventually melt into the ground, like a very slow-motion ice sculpture or something.
Plus, I was hoping that it was bothering my parking-space hogging, garage-renting ridiculous request making neighbors, since it's more in front of their garage than my house. A man can dream!
And so it went, until this past Saturday. Whilst cleaning my house, I happened to glance out the window and THERE WAS A GIRL RIDING AWAY ON THE BIKE. I told The Wife excitedly about this development and she was all "What bike?" and I was all "You know, the bike that's been locked in front of the house for the past month and a half" and she gave me one of those looks that she gives me that looks like how you would look at someone who told you they were being abducted by aliens and subjected to strange tests. "Oh," she said.
I thought it was a pretty big development.
BUT WAIT. It gets better. Yesterday, I come outside and THE BIKE IS BACK. Locked to its customary pole.
WHAT THE FUCK. First of all, who leaves a bike chained to a pole for a month and a half, through pouring rain and freezing temperatures, comes back, rides it around for one day, and then locks it back to the same pole? WHO DOES THAT. Is that weird?
(Also, it's kind of amazing that no part of the bike has yet to be stolen. I live in a pretty safe neighborhood, but I didn't think it was THAT SAFE. Some places, this bike wouldn't last 15 minutes, let alone 7 weeks.)
Friday, April 8, 2011
Things that infuriated me today
1. Tickets for TV on the Radio at The Independent went on sale at noon today. (Well, actually they went on sale a few days ago if you have an American Express card. I'm a normal person and don't have one so I had to wait until today.) At 12:00:01 I clicked "Purchase tickets" and it was ALREADY FUCKING SOLD OUT. FUCK YOU SCALPERS I HOPE YOU ALL DROWN IN A TUB OF HUMAN FECES AND VOMIT.
2. My ongoing War with United Airlines has now escalated, because today they told me I am NOT, in fact, getting the refund that they promised they would give me. I WILL NOT REST UNTIL UNITED AIRLINES IS BANKRUPTED AND THEIR CHAIRMAN IS FORCED TO HANDWASH EVERY URINAL AT CHICAGO-O'HARE. Anyway, now my credit card company is involved. This is not over, United Airlines. I shall see to it that you are destroyed, your offices razed to the ground, and the land where they were is sown with salt so nothing ever grows there again.
3. I'm not at the Giants' home opener. I am going Monday, though.
4. Not really THAT infuriating but my dog is undergoing dental treatment right now and I am embarrassed to say how much it is costing us for our dog to have a shiny white smile that will knock the ladeez out.
5. What, what, WHAT is it about the restaurant industry that makes EVERY GODDAM RESTAURANT think I want music to autoplay when I go to their fucking website? Is there just one web designer for the entire restaurant industry and he or she just fucking loves autoplaying shitty lounge music? Why don't, say, auto dealers or local news sites autoplay music instead of restaurants? Just fucking cut it out. You have GOT to believe us when we say: WE DO NOT WANT MUSIC TO AUTOPLAY WHEN WE COME TO YOUR WEBSITE.
There was something else but I forgot.
OK, I feel better now! Maybe writing a blog is therapeutic. I hope you have a good weekend! The Wife and The Chick Who's Visiting Us from Ireland are going to the Wiener Nationals tomorrow. What a world.
2. My ongoing War with United Airlines has now escalated, because today they told me I am NOT, in fact, getting the refund that they promised they would give me. I WILL NOT REST UNTIL UNITED AIRLINES IS BANKRUPTED AND THEIR CHAIRMAN IS FORCED TO HANDWASH EVERY URINAL AT CHICAGO-O'HARE. Anyway, now my credit card company is involved. This is not over, United Airlines. I shall see to it that you are destroyed, your offices razed to the ground, and the land where they were is sown with salt so nothing ever grows there again.
3. I'm not at the Giants' home opener. I am going Monday, though.
4. Not really THAT infuriating but my dog is undergoing dental treatment right now and I am embarrassed to say how much it is costing us for our dog to have a shiny white smile that will knock the ladeez out.
5. What, what, WHAT is it about the restaurant industry that makes EVERY GODDAM RESTAURANT think I want music to autoplay when I go to their fucking website? Is there just one web designer for the entire restaurant industry and he or she just fucking loves autoplaying shitty lounge music? Why don't, say, auto dealers or local news sites autoplay music instead of restaurants? Just fucking cut it out. You have GOT to believe us when we say: WE DO NOT WANT MUSIC TO AUTOPLAY WHEN WE COME TO YOUR WEBSITE.
There was something else but I forgot.
OK, I feel better now! Maybe writing a blog is therapeutic. I hope you have a good weekend! The Wife and The Chick Who's Visiting Us from Ireland are going to the Wiener Nationals tomorrow. What a world.
Monday, March 28, 2011
An open letter to United Airlines, the Focus of Evil in the Modern World
Dear United Airlines, Good morning! I hate to tear you away from your conference with Satan and his Army of the Night (morning seminar: "Goodness and Light in the World: How United Can Help Destroy It"), but I have just a couple of small notes on the recent trip I took on your airline. Constructive criticism, right!
Here's the Executive Summary: I contracted with you to take me from San Francisco to Tucson and back, and YOU FAILED TO DO EITHER ONE CORRECTLY. You'd think, just by SHEER CHANCE ALONE, you'd get one of them right, wouldn't you? NOPE. You actually had to TRY to fail this miserably at the task which you ADVERTISE YOURSELF AS BEING ABLE TO DO SUCCESSFULLY.
Let’s recap and see if we can figure out what went wrong:
PHASE ONE: SAN FRANCISCO TO TUCSON, VIA LOS ANGELES, THURSDAY, MARCH 24.
So The Wife and I are going to a little town outside Tucson to see my Mom, who for some reason decided to live there. Anyway, we’re supposed to leave SFO at 6:30, change planes in LA, and get to Tucson around 10:30 pm. Long layover in LA but whatever. That gives us 2 1/2 days there, coming back on Sunday.
It’s raining at SFO, and we’re about an hour delayed. Oddly, one of your minions says the delay is occasioned by “bringing in another plane from Seattle,” which doesn’t sound weather-related at all, unless the Seattle plane is a Magical Weather-Resistant Plane that can fly through the most violent storm without incident. Anyway, we all get on, very late now, and fly to LAX. We land there at 9:15. Guess what? Our flight from LAX to Tucson is scheduled to leave LAX promptly at 9:15. Now THAT flight, of course, left with Germanic precision, at 9:15:00, one minute before The Wife and I arrive at the gate. GUESS YOU CAN LEAVE ON TIME WHEN IT HELPS FUCK ME OVER HUH?
Well, that’s life. Let’s go to the Service Counter and get our hotel voucher and we’ll leave tomorrow morning. What’s that, United? You won’t pay for a hotel, because the delay was weather-related? The Magical Weather Plane wasn’t the cause? Oh, that’s great. So far, we’re out $90 for a hotel in LA, plus a $80 bar tab at said hotel that I also blame you for, United. But little did we know, the worst – much, much, much worse – is yet to come.
The next day, mirabile dictu, we get on an 11:50 am flight on standby and make it to Tucson. We weren’t vaporized by acid and the plane didn’t explode in midair, so POINT TO YOU, UNITED. YOU GET A GOLD STAR STICKER IN YOUR STICKER BOOK FOR THIS FLIGHT.
So we see Mom blah blah blah that’s a whole other blog post coming soon.
PHASE TWO: TUCSON TO SAN FRANCISCO, VIA LOS ANGELES (SUPPOSEDLY), SUNDAY, MARCH 27.
Sunday was a gorgeous day in the Greater Tucson Area. Bright sunshine, low 70s. Perfect day to travel! UNLESS YOU’RE ON UNITED AIRLINES IN WHICH CASE THIS DAY IS A BLACK AND HORRIFYING SCENE OF HUMAN MISERY AND DEBASEMENT.
Just as we arrive at the Tucson airport at 11:30 a.m. for our 1:30 p.m. flight to LAX, I receive a robocall on my phone. "YOUR FLIGHT," the robotic voice of one of United’s Archdemons Who United Chairman Glenn Tilton Keeps When Needed to Unleash Hell on United Customers informed me, "HAS BEEN CANCELLED." The culprit? Oh, it’s that tricky “weather” again! For some reason, EVERY OTHER AIRLINE has developed the capability of flying in the rain, but Ultra-Cautious United has a different approach: “A stiff breeze? A fine mist? DANGER DANGER GROUND ALL PLANES!!!! IT’S NOT SAFE!!!! WE ARE ALL GOING TO DIE!!!!!!!!!”
UPDATE: Wait, The Wife just reminded me that this flight was cancelled due to the ever-mysterious "mechanical problems," not "weather." So I was wrong to blame United's inability to fly a plane in a light fog. I should have blamed United's inability to manage to have aplane mechanically able to fly a short flight you've known about for months in advance.
United Customer Service Agent #3442. How may I help you?
So we make our way to the counter, where two United Agents await. Here we arrive at a bright spot in the story, for we chose wisely. Our guy, John Something, immediately went to work trying to get us home. The Tall Bald Guy with a Moustache next to him took a different approach. When the girl next to us asked for help getting back to LA, he said “SORRY!!! NOTHING I CAN DO!!! SEE YOU TOMORROW MORNING!!” She left weeping. Meanwhile, John Something tapped and tapped and developed a solution: We would fly USAir from Tucson to Phoenix, then USAir from Phoenix to Santa Barbara, then United from Santa Barbara to SFO. We’d be home at 8:30 that night, earlier than the original itinerary! Sold! THANKS JOHN SOMETHING!! Off we go.
I have to admit, hubris took over and in Phoenix we were positively giddy. We’d made it! Sure, we were conducting our own Personal Tour of Western Airports, but we were going to get home! I mean, USAir was taking care of shit, and United only had to do one thing: Get us from Santa Barbara to SFO! Even stupid, incompetent, hateful, evil United could get ONE THING RIGHT that day, right?
What do you think?
20 minutes before boarding time for the ON-TIME, TOTALLY PROFESSIONAL, NON-WEATHER-AVERSE USAir flight to Santa Barbara, RING RING RING. It’s one of United Chairman Glenn Tilton’s Demons calling again!!! OH NO!!!! YOUR FLIGHT, Tilton’s Pet Demon says, HAS BEEN CANCELLED.
Jesus Fucking Christ. NOW IT IS WAR, UNITED AIRLINES. Here is a list of people who HATE UNITED AIRLINES:
1. Jesus
2. Mother Theresa
3. TK and The Wife
4. All Good and True People of the World
So I get on the phone to the United Call Center, located in Strange Accentia, Somewhereland. I don’t even know what I said. My eyes had rolled back in my head and I was frothing at the mouth. Mothers were directing their children away from me. I asked to speak to a supervisor. I might have been speaking in Latin at some point. All I know is, at the end, United agreed to refund the entire ticket price and we were at the Southwest counter, buying the last two seats on a flight from Phoenix to Vegas to SFO. Which was a little delayed, BUT NOT CANCELLED LIKE UNITED DOES EVERY TIME.
We’ll see if the refund shows up on my credit card. So far, nothing.
So in closing, United, good show. You almost beat me. Cancelling that flight from Santa Barbara to SFO was a masterstroke. That would have broken many lesser men. Well-played, Glenn Tilton. Somehow we made it. Slink back to your Evil Lair and try again.
Please, please, please, refund my money like you said you would. Next time I’m in Chicago, we’ll go out for Virgin’s Blood and the Flesh of Your Enemies.
Your pal,
TK
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