Top 10 of 2007 and then some...

So once again, its been an extended amount of time since I last wrote a blog entry. And yes, the same excuses still ring true....I've been busy, Haven't been around, and the like, and so forth, etc...


And once again, since it has been so long since my last entry, things have changed. Only this entry marks the biggest changes of my life since I graduated from school. As this year winds to a close, I think back to where I was at this time last year, and how far I have come on so many levels. 07 really was a year where (slowly) my life started to come together until this month, things have taken a sharp move upward.


Tomorrow starts apartment searching in the Washington DC area, due to a job I landed in our nation's capital. I will be the full-time Overnight Web Editor for WTOPnews.com, a news website run by D.C.'s leading news radio station. A friend of mine always talked about how she thought I would fit in well in D.C., and I am eager to see if she's right. I have always loved D.C., visiting multiple times, always obsessed with the history of the past the progression of America's future. Living a mere Metro ride away, and being in the section of the city that seems to be the Manayunk version of D.C., I really can't wait to see what this job, this town, and the future have in store for me.


Part of the reason I am excited to start this new phase of my life is because I am not doing it alone. I have a fantastic girlfriend who is going to be with me as I transition into this new beginning. The relationship hasn't been around that long, but already I can tell this isn't going to be some flash-in-the-pan ordeal. Intelligent, beautiful, funny, and inspiring (whether she knows it or not), she's been outstanding and we aren't even six weeks into the lifespan of the relationship. While I have never been afraid to do anything alone, this job/move is the biggest deal I have ever had to deal with. While I think I would ultimately succeed alone, to have her around is only going to take me to levels I don't think I could have reached without her by my side. She's fucking hot, too.



So, all that's left is to tie up some loose ends, enjoy the rest of the holiday season, and that's it. I won't say goodbye to Philly, because I do plan on being able to visit since I have weekends free. In the world of myspaces, facebooks, iPhones, and the such, I will never be too far away from my true home.


In my own tradition, my last post of the year is always my top 10 albums of the year. However, I don't plan on being so long-winded as I usually am. Below is the list.

10) Common - Finding Forever
9) Lupe Fiasco - The Cool
8) The White Stripes - Icky Thump
7) Yellowcard - Paper Walls
6) Jay Z - American Gangster
5) Fall Out Boy - Infinity On High
4) Modest Mouse - We Were Dead Before the Ship Even Sank
3) Coheed & Cambria - No World For Tomorrow
2) Jimmy Eat World - Chase This Light
1) Kanye West - Graduation.

Merry Christmas and I hope you all have a happy and healthy 2008.

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RIP Sean Taylor

http://www.thenaughtyamerican.com/2007/Sports/11/27/Media-To-Sean-Taylor-You-Had-It-Coming-744.html

I lost a lot of respect for people in my profession the past couple of days.

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It’s alive!
Category: Blogging

This was supposed to be the spot where I was going to tell you about the horrible trip back from San Diego to Philadelphia. But I dreaded actually sitting down and writing it. And then I got busy with going to Chicago, and then I got busy moving to Manayunk, and then I got busy with Eagles season, and then I got busy with the Phils post-season, and now we are on a bye week and the Phils season is over. And I am still dreading writing the long version of San Diego: Day 5. So I'll give you an abridged version in a paragraph:

      Flights booked days in advance. No room for us. Mauled. Drop $300 to get on a JetBlue Flight to JFK. Double Mauled. Create new word to describe super-level of Mauled: Burrelled. (Word now rendered useless due to Burrell actually playing well) JetBlue Flight is glorious. Benoit death breaks. Weird feeling. Get to JFK @ 11:30. Friends make fun of J for his burns. Sit in parking lot in JFK for hour. Mauled. Eat Burger King, bitch about it not being In-N-Out. Mauled. Get home around 3 am. Fall asleep thinking of ways I can move to San Diego.

There. That's done.

Big things that have happened since then:

1) Moved to Manayunk
2) Partied like a rockstar @ Lollapalooza
3) Actually becoming an acquaintence of a future HOF NFL player.
4) Hung out with a bunch of my favorite bands @ this summer's past Warped Tour
5) Actually planned and conducted my first big event at the radio station. Kinda proud of the way it turned out.

Some more big things could be on the horizon, but we shall have to wait and see.

In the meantime, check out the following albums that have come out since my last post that I recommend for your listening pleasure:

Interpol - Our Love to Admire

Portugal. The Man - Church Mouth

Common - Finding Forver

The Starting Line - Direction

Envy on the Coast - Lucy Gray

Matt Nathanson - Some Mad Hope

Kanye West - Graduation (obviously)

Four Year Strong - Rise or Die Trying

Motion City Soundtrack - Even If It Kills Me (the most suprising out of lot)

All Time Low- So Wrong, It's Right

Albums that haven't come out yet to look forward to:

Jimmy Eat World - Chase This Light

Say Anything - In Defense of the Genre

Coheed and Cambria - Good Apollo... Volume II - No World For Tomorrow

Angels and Airwaves - I-Empire

Jay-Z - American Gangsta

Radiohead - In Rainbows

Off to Penn State this weekend with Lotto. Lotto in college now. Weird.

Currently listening : In Defense of the Genre By Say Anything Release date: 23 October, 2007

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San Diego: Day 4

(Alright, I apologize, it's been longer than I have expected to re-hash this epic weekend. I have been doing this, that, and the other thing (stuff I wished I blogged about too…Baldinger's house, my incredible discovery in the 950 Hummer, and my two-week ordeal with possibly the worst female walking this planet) and just haven't had the time to sit down and plow through the last remaining San Diego days. Only after Huck and Heff yelled at me last night did I realize that it's been almost a month since I've actually been out there. With two glorious weeks looming (Warped Tour, the actual move in, Lollapalooza), I better clear my head of all these memories to make room for some impending ones. Alright, back to our regularly scheduled program….)

Sunday

9:45 am: We all awake and pack up our shit and check out of the hotel. Tommy was nice enough to let us crash at his place an extra night so we could enjoy as much as San Diego as possible. We fill J in on how bad Nick's game was the whole night. He laughs at us both and reminds us that no matter how mauled he may be, he still has a girlfriend waiting for him at home.

10:30 am: We stop at the 24-hour burrito joint to grab some breakfast. While Pilla orders, J and I collapse on a table. I think the sun is eating away my brain. I don't know how J is even alive right now, as his skin looks like all of his capillaries have ruptured.

J: "So what did you think of the trip?"
Me: "Oh my god, this has been awesome. I wanna come back as soon as possible. I bet you can't say the same."
J: "What? I had an awesome time."
Me: "Are you serious?"
J: "Yeah, I mean, for what it's worth. Yeah, I'm burnt, but I mean look around, this place is sick. Plus, a saw a Sox game and got drunk when I could. It's been fun"
Me: "Wow, man, If I were you, I would have wanted to go home after the sunburn set in."
*Pilla sits down with three burritos, J unwraps his and his eyes widen*
J: "Is that ham??! I ordered a freaking potato burrito! I LOATHE Ham!"
Me, Pilla: "HAHA! MAULED!"
J: "This is it. I'm done. I wanna go home."
Me: "Really….? This is what is going to set you off, a freaking burrito."
Pilla: "Just go up and ask for a new one."
J: "It hurts to move. Forget it. FUCKING HAM!"

12:30 pm: We get to Tommy's and chill out for a little bit, despite the fact that Tommy isn't even there. Guy was nice enough to let us three crumbs chill at his house while he's at work. He left us a note telling us to buy this stuff called Solarcaine that would help us with our sunburn. After buying a can and running a test on Pilla and I, we realized that 1) this stuff is the ultimate solution to sunburn and 2) J would probably need a entire can for himself. To actually help J apply the stuff, we had to CUT his t-shirt off his body. What a complete debacle.

12:45: Jay, now somewhat comfortable, gets ready for another day inside. While dicking around on Tommy's computer, he points Pilla and I in the direction of possibly the funniest YouTube clip I have seen: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D3K-mrlYG7Y

This clip alone has spawned about 45,000 jokes in the month since we have seen it. The best quote to sum it up came from my friend Sands who said upon viewing "What are the chances that Roadhouse is this guy's favorite movie? Like, 6,000%?"

Also, I have viewed the clip so many times, I know have a false sense of security about knowing how to kick someone's ass in a bar fight. So when you are reading the "Giggs got his ass kicked at a bar" blog, know that this YouTube clip is partly responsible.

1:30: Pilla convinces me to go out to the beach one more time, even though I'm 1) massively hung over and 2) massively miserable that we have pulled no ass in the four days we have been out here. Pilla, always the optimist, gives me the whole "last day in San Diego" speech, and I cave. He also tells me after I agree that Nick will be joining us on the beach today as well. Awesome. I estimate Nick striking out with at least 40 girls on the beach before the day is done.

2:00: Nick meets us on the beach, with a 12-pack of Tecate. Alright, fine, now I HAVE to drink. Nick also tells us that his cousin will be joining us later in the day. Whatever. I put in my iPod and fade away.

2:10: I spent the weekend trying to determine what album best fits modern day California. I couldn't decide between Red Hot Chili Peppers' Californication and Jack Mannequin's Everything In Transit. I think the former works for L.A., but for the San Diego beach sense, Jack's Mannequin is perfect. Pilla is actually having a conversation with the three cute girls in front of us, while Nick is striking out with a girl who, by all means, is the epitome of SoCal. Blond hair, boobs, tan, gorgeous all around—looked like she walked off a Maxim cover. Meanwhile, Nick is spitting his awful, awful game. Pill and I and pointing and laughing like 15 year olds. Good god, just give it up, bro.

2:30: Nick's cousin, Faye, arrives from a soccer game. Faye doesn't look like a bloodline relative, 28 year old Phillipino, San Diego native, with a great body. I am unfazed, I am pretty much content with chocking up a zero for this trip. I continue to float away to the tunes coming out of my iPod. Pilla strikes up a conversation.

2:45: Pilla has stopped talking and is following my iPod lead. Faye, however, won't let this stand.

Faye: "You guys are losers."
Me (still plugged in): "What?"
Faye: "You guys are losers."
Me: "Uh….excuse me?"
Faye: "What are you doing with headphones in? Look around, does anyone else have headphones in?
I look around and notice that the answer to this question is: no one.

Faye: "Oh man, you east coast boys. You guys don't get it. No one here is listening to their headphones; the beach is a social event. You go to the beach to hang out, drink beers, and hang out with the other people doing the same thing on the beach. That's where everyone meets everyone and plans to meet everyone later at the bars."
Me: "Wow, I'm sorry, it's different back home. Everyone sits on the beach at the Jersey shore and just kinda loafs around.
Pilla: "Yeah, we can't even drink on the beach. Well, sorry, it's illegal, people still do it, but it's more a family thing. I mean, they make you PAY to sit on the Jersey shore."
Faye: "Wow, that really sucks. Well, now you guys know what's up. So talk to me."

4:30: Pilla has made nice with Faye, and she has invited us out to Reggae Night at Longboard's, a bar we had tried to get into the previous night, but the bouncer tried to get us to pay him to get into a bar that had no cover in the first place. Asshole. But Pilla was pretty adamant that Faye was into him, and Faye told him that she would show up with a friend. So that's the way it works. Find the girls on the beach, drink with them all day, and then go out at night and party more. The work is done during the day, you can't pull the girls in at the bars at night. God, it's all so simple now….

6:30: Pilla tells J and I that he will buy us dinner at a nice place to atone for the horrible meal we had the night before. We eat at a place called Gringo's that was as good as Rocky Baja's was awful. Awesome Mexican food, extensive tequila list, hot waitresses…this place was head and shoulders the best place we ate that wasn't called "In-N-Out". We all entered food comas around 8.

9:00: Jay once again falls back for the evening, as Pilla is convinced he has set himself and I up for a sure deal with Faye and her friend. I just want to enjoy myself one last night, so as long as I have some good tequila and hear some good reggae, I'll be fantastic.

9:45: We get to Longboard's and a line is forming. Apparantly, Sunday night Reggae is a big local thing. That's fine by me, since I am getting sick of talking to people from anywhere but California. We hear someone call in our direction: "Hey, cute east coast boys!" Faye and Friend are getting out of their car to meet us. Faye looks remarkably different than she did on the beach; a mix of Lucy Liu and the lead singer of the Pussycat Dolls. I think Pilla just started foaming at the mouth. The friend addresses me in a VERY flirtatious fashion as I notice she's 1) cute, 2) short and 3) ample in the chest area.

"Hi, my name is Katie, nice to meet you Greg," with a smile and….was that….a latin accent?

Oh, si. Si, si, si, si, si.

Pilla and I turn to each other and start celebrating to one another like the Phillies just won the division. We might have a good night after all….

10:00: 3$ Red Stripes all night long. I think between the 4 of us, we drank 12 in 8 minutes. Not to mention the Cazadores (best Tequila on the Market) shots between beers. Faye and Katie keep talking about how they like our sneakers. Odd, but, hey whatever works. Katie and I talk for a while about everything from how she has lived in Montana and Italy to how she is a blend of Puerto Rico and Croatia. Again, odd, but she's short, busty, and latin, so I'm not complaining.

10:30: The reggae band is awesome. The Red Stripe is flowing like Aquafina. And the girls are loving Pilla and I. Things pick up on the dance floor, when Pilla and I disappear with our respective girl. Katie is a little bit of a loose cannon, climbing up on stage every once in a while, which doesn't meet the approval of Longboard's bouncers. I keep getting glares from them that say "get control of her NOW, bro." When I do, we turn into "that" couple at the bar, being wildly inappropriate for everyone around us to see. While I do hate being like that, I'll let it slide as long as she keeps kissing me.

11:15: Reggae set ends and we are back at the bar banging down more Tequila shots. Faye and Katie throw out the idea of coming out east to visit Pilla and I. Pilla and I present the actual idea that, towards the end of August, they in fact should. Claims are throw down, and while I still don't know if they were serious, I would love to have them come out to visit us. Phone numbers we exchanged, and well, maybe I'll have a new story for everyone about the end of the summer.

11:30: Another set begins. More inappropriate behavior continues. Pilla taps on me on the shoulder to tell me that this scenario is "the opposite of mauled." I agree, and turn back to find myself right back in Mauledville. Katie has once again climbed up on stage, and the bouncers have had just about enough of this little fireplug.

Agitated Bouncer: "Are you with this girl?"
Me(Drunk, stunned): "Well I mean, I'm not with her, I just met her.."
AB: "What? Whatever, dude, you and whole group are out, we can't have her doing that."

11:45: You would think being tossed out of a bar would stop the inappropriate behavior. It didn't. A conveniently placed bench outside Longboard's became a show for patrons waiting in line for the bar. We were in our own little world, and while I am sure it was a spectacle to be seen, I really did not care at the time. I was drunk in California hooking up with a short, big-breasted, latino chick. Score one for Giggs.

11:55: Faye informs us that Katie is way ahead of us on the drunk scale, as she was drinking on her flight back into town from Chicago. Turns out that might have been true, because once she got into a cab, she immediately passed out. Faye, being a good friend, hops into the cab with her and speeds off, leaving Pilla and I massively drunk in front of the bar.

Pilla: "Mauled! We could have gone back to their place!"
Me: "Oh, like any bodily function was going to work right now, I'm fucking smoked."
The wise thing for us to do would have been to call it a night then and there. Then again, you are talking about two kids who decided it was smart to sit in the sun for 3 days after getting horribly burnt.

12:00 am: We head into the PB Bar & Grill and down a bunch of lunchboxes and Flat Tire pints. The DJ in the bar is one of the best DJ's I have heard in a while, and I was still in the mood to dance, so Pilla and I grab whoever we can and join the huge party going on in the bar. At one point, the entire bar was just clapping to the beat of the music. Awesome end to an awesome night.

2:00 am: More burritos and more drunk dials. I pass out somewhere on Tommy's living room floor. When I awake in the morning, I know I am going to bitch about the fact that I have to leave….Oh, if I only knew what lay ahead on the trip home….

Currently listening : Everything in Transit By Jack's Mannequin Release date: 23 August, 2005

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San Diego Day 3

Saturday
9:30 am: I wake up to ESPNNews blaring on the TV. Some horrendously bad interview from San Francisco with Robin Williams and Billy Crystal where Williams is referring to Barry Bonds as Barry "Big Booty" Bonds. Apparently Robin's rehab didn't go so well. The two stiffs conducting the interview are in stitches.
J arises (I thought he was in a coma) screaming that if this stays on, the TV is going in the ocean. I remark if that happens, the TV will see more of the sunlight than J will the next 3 days.
"Mauled, son!" Pilla's awake.

10:30: We decide that J can only be out as long as the sun isn't out, so with the clouds having not been burned off yet, we head to IHOP for breakfast. My back feels like it was raked across a football field of hot coals. J is walking down the block looking like a combination of a senior citizen and Lurch from the Adams Family.

10: 45: We get to IHOP and the hostess asks us if we want to sit indoors or outdoors.

Pilla (in all seriousness): "Oh, outside, definitely."
J: "Mark, you gotta be fucking kidding me!"
Pilla: "What?"
Me: "You see how burnt he is, right?"
*Pilla returns with a blank stare*
Hostess: "Um….I'll get a booth inside."

11:15: J tells us how he nearly vomited five times while we were out last night. Great breakfast conversation. J also remarks how our waiter Arturo, keeps saying "Okay" after every sentence, and how it's really annoying. Some would say J's cranky.

Arturo: "You guys, okay?"
Me (laughing to myself): "I think we're good."
Arturo: "More coffee, okay?"
*J rolls his eyes*
Me: "No, I'm good."
Arturo: "Okay. More OJ? Okay?"
Pilla: "Uh….Okay."
J (under his breath): "Mauled, okay."

I ask J to leave the poor guy alone. J relents and remarks how he is probably in the back saying:
"You should see these three east coasters at table 12, okay. The fat one is redder than the bacon on his plate, okay. He is so mauled, okay."

12:30 p.m.: We go back to the hotel where Pilla and I decide to suck it up, bathe in suntan lotion, wear a shirt all day, and still enjoy PB. J calls us idiots, and wisely decides to stay inside. He gets ready for a day full of ESPNNews, and as we leave, the anchors tease the Willams/Crystal interview, they seem to be getting ready to play it again.
"Mauled!!" in unison.

1:30: Complete with shirts on (the only two crumbs on the beach who are sporting them) we begin drinking and enjoying the scenery. Saturday is even more packed than Friday's crowd. Even more kegs have been rolled onto the beach. We decide to peruse around for a little bit, and come upon one of the smartest ideas I have ever seen. From far away, it looked as if there was this huge crater in the sand for no reason whatsoever. We thought it might have been just a place to store kegs. We were vastly mistaken. At the bottom of the crater was a beer pong table. Then, the smart frat boys (a team I thought was an oxymoron) dug two trenches on the ends of the table, so they were waist deep and level with the table. I would have taken a picture if it wouldn't have made me look like a total tourist.

2:30: More of the same with the football. I would lead Pilla perfectly into a group of hot girls, and he would (figuratively) drop the ball. We have no shot with anyone.

3:30: We decide to call it an early day due to various reasons:

1. Pilla and I we're starting to burn through our shirts. (I somehow ended up with a burn on my chest. With a shirt on. I'm still boggled to this day.)
2. Tommy's friend Nick had struck out with at least 35 girls in the span of an hour and killed any last hope we had of taking to girls around our home base. Nice guy, no game. Jesus, this guy make me look like Vinnie Chase. (Okay, that's getting ahead of myself. But you get the picture.)

6:00: After a quick nap, we convince Jay to suck it up and come out with us for dinner. Since we didn't get a good feel for downtown SD the night before because of J's Muhammad Ali impression, we decide that we are going downtown for dinner. J is furious that we aren't eating at In-N-Out. We convince him that we are going to a place that will have nice food and it will be a good meal.

6:45: Driving on the 5, we pass the outskirts of San Diego, in which the houses are built into the mountainside. I state that I want a particularly big one peaking out over the cliffs. I ask J which one he wanted to own, and he shot back with "The one that serves In-N-Out." Well played.

7:00: We are all starving. I'm ready to consume my seat belt. I'm yelling at cars to move from their parking spots: "Pull out already, dammit!" Pilla chimes, "That's what she said." Again, well played.

7:10: Every restaurant looks amazing. One in particular stops us in our tracks as the hostess is dressed in sheer white pants and a diamond encrusted halter top that is prominently displaying two hugely fake, hugely glorious, huge boobs.

For some reason, we don't eat there.

7:15: We stop outside a place called The Gaslamp Steak House: Not Your Typical Strip Joint. Tommy tells us that the waitresses are all smokin' girls and the place has a strip club feel.

For some reason, we don't eat there.

We choose the place next door: Rocky Baja's, which has a Johnny Mañana's feel to it, but serves a lot of seafood. Whatever, this will do. Or so we thought.

In an hour and a half, we saw our server three times. The food was greasy, mediocre bar food that was overcooked and overpriced. But the moment of the meal came early on when the waitress ID'd us all, and J, while rummaging through his wallet, realized the following:

"Wait….my ATM card is in the machine 4 blocks away….Mauled. MAULED!!!"

I don't know whether to laugh at J or hug him. (I laughed. A lot.) J decides he just wants to get drunk to forget about his physical pain, so we all head back to PB.

10:00: We start at a place called Moondoggie's, which looks like it is brimming with femininas. We are there for 5 minutes and realize the following:

1. I may have 10 lunchboxes tonight. (I was already 3 deep.)
2. That guy walking towards me right now went to Temple with me.
3. All the hot girls in here have dudes attached to them.

11:00: After 6 lunchboxes, we decide to check out bars that might have some better options. (see: No dudes.) Nick suggests the Tiki, and J says something to the effect of "If we end up there, I'm punching someone in the face." J then reaches for a bar napkin to wipe the sweat off his face, and then turns to us to tell us "Fuck this, I'm going back to the hotel." Turns out, if you get really bad sun poisoning, you skin begins to blister and puss. All over. Even your face. And the gunk seeps through white shirts. J is so mauled.

12:00 am: After walking up and down the main strip of PB, we finally settle back at Plum Crazy. I had walked my Lunchbox drunk off, so I'll wanted to do is sit at the back bar and catch up. Pilla and I pound Cuervo shots while Nick continually whiffs with girls. We should have made a drinking game out of it, but then I would have come back in a wooden box. Nick at one point decided to hit on a girl that was playing pool, and I think I heard her say something like "If you don't get out of my way, I'm going to hit you in the balls with my pool cue."

12:45 a.m.: Tommy and I actually strike up a conversation with a cute girl at the bar.

Tommy: "Yeah, our poor friend is so burnt he left."
Cute Girl (feigning interest): "I don't blame him this place is weak tonight."
Tommy: "Well they are all on vacation so I feel really bad for him. They are all interested in moving out here, you should try to help me convince them all to move out here."
Cute Girl (suddenly interested): "Oh yeah, where are they from?"
Tommy (pointing to me): "Philadelphia, South Jersey area."
*Cute girl picks up her beer and just walks away*
Me: "What was that?!?!"
Tommy: "Wow, Ice cold."

Ice fucking cold is right! What the fuck do I have do out here to get some play? What the fuck are we missing?!?! What don't I get?

1:30 am: For some reason, the bar closes. Tommy takes us to the burrito place again. Pilla and I strike up a conversation with a girl at an outside table. She seems interested, until she tells us she's here with her kids. Which made no sense that a woman with kids would be out at 1:30 am at a drunk food stop, but then here come her little 4 and 6 year-old running to her lap. It took everything inside not to weep at our failures.

1:40: Tommy tells us to try some rolled tacos. They are taquitos that I can get in the frozen food section at Trader Joe's. I'm angry at just about anything right now. My dreams of hooking up with a short latino are burning away like the morning California clouds. One more day….

Currently listening : Paper Walls By Yellowcard Release date: 17 July, 2007

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San Diego: Day 2

Friday

8:30 a.m.: I awake in my hotel room, not knowing how I got there, and surprisingly not hungover. I credit it to the glory of the lunchbox. I check for my phone, which is buried underneath my covers for some odd reason, and see I have about 5 voicemails from people who I drunk dialed a couple hours ago. I made lots of enemies back home in a short amount of time. I walk out on my balcony and I am greeted with this:







The lovely Pacific Ocean greets me.....but so is a vast layer of fog. Pilla begins whining like someone shit in his cereal. I tell him that as long as it isn't raining, I'll be out on that beach.

11:30 a.m.: The Cali sun has burned off all the fog (key word is BURNED), and people are beginning to meander onto the beach. Tommy dropped a huge bomb on us, telling us that drinking is LEGAL at Pacific Beach, the only beach in San Diego county in which the practice is legal. To make things even better, every 7-11, supermarket, and even drug store, carries 12 packs of Bud, Miller, Coors and Tecate (basically Mexican Bud light). We hit the supermarket (which was filled with hot girls doing the same thing we were) stockpiling beer for the day. 2 cases and a Heineken party keg later (side note: the Heineken party keg is fantastic. 20 bucks for a little under a case, which is the cheapest you will ever get Heineken.) we are ready to hit the beach. Amount of sunscreen put on beforehand: 0.0 ounces.

12:30 p.m. : It's about 83 degrees, the water is blue, not a cloud in the sky, and I am on my way to being very drunk. Not only that, but we quickly are figuring out that our hotel is in front of a prime piece of real estate, as college kids begin to set up tents and drag kegs onto the beach. And the girls are quickly following. In a span of 10 minutes, I saw the hottest 30 girls I have ever seen in my life. Some variation of "oh my god, look at that" would be uttered roughly 4,000 times in the next hour. Once again, I try to figure out ways to stike up conversation, and realize I got nothing to offer compared the jacked-up, inked-up, bronzed out dudes that are as plentiful as the hot girls themselves. Pilla drags me away from my beer to throw the football. Obviously, throwing the football = accidentally running into hot girls.

1:15 p.m.: Phillip Rivers be damned, I am the best QB in the San Diego area right now. I am leading Pilla directly in front of groups of girls with pinpoint accuracy. Although, like the Chargers, my receivers are useless. Pilla doesn't strike up any conversations after he pulls in great catch after great catch, which is frustrating the hell out of me. On my last effort of the day, I see the 3 hottest asian girls I have ever seen walking towards Pilla, and fire a rocket directly at them. The asians flinch, Pilla makes a remarkable catch.....and all he says is "sorry." Upon return, I punt the football 30 yards down the beach out of disgust.

2:00 p.m.: Pilla and I hit the ocean to try and body surf waves (no shot of actually getting on a surfboard), only to be confronted by a cute lifeguard:

Cute Lifeguard: "Hey! Unless you guys are going to the bathroom, I need you to say waist deep!"
Me: "Wait....what did you just say?"
CL: "This is a surfing beach primarily, we keep non-surfers in so they don't get clubbed."
Me: "DId you just ask me if I was going to the bathroom?
CL: "Yeah, people do that."
(CL runs away, Pilla starts signing the Baywatch theme)
Pilla: (to the baywatch theme) "Youuuuu're so ma-uled..."
Me: "What if I was taking a shit?"

1) I can't believe lifeguards concede the fact that people can just pee in the ocean. 2) I can't believe the water is that clean despite the fact that people openly pee in the ocean. 3) What if I was taking a shit?! What?! She was vague! She didn't say just "piss"; she didn't clarify....

2:07 p.m.: I pee in the ocean.

2:15 p.m.: I lay down and put in the tunes and just enjoy the scenery. By "scenery", I mean "plethora of big fake tits." I also notice that a lot of people are sporting Red Sox gear. Which means one thing: that's right, it's the West Coast version of Red Sox Nation! Which means, another ball park stolen from its own fans! Awesome. This will be a true indicator of how good Padres fans are. J looks around and giggles to himself, to which I reply "This is going to be torturous." To which, apparantly, struck J's short fuse:

"No, what is torturous is how you two keep rooting for the fucking Phils. That organization is a fucking disaster. How do you justify rooting for them? The owner pisses on your leg and will tell you its raining. What a joke. Pat Burell. Omar Daal. Danny Tartabull. You two are dopes."

Mauled.

Speaking of Red, I can feel myself finally starting to burn. So can Pilla and J. We finally cave and put 30 SPF on, and I decide it would be wise to sit in a chair. My logic the whole day was "it's not that hot out, I only burn when its hot out." It would prove to be the worst logic I have ever followed, right behind, "locking myself in a dorm room with 40's strapped to my hands sounds fun." I crack open another beer and forget about it.


2:30 p.m.: Sweet dear lord, the two girls in front of me are without a doubt, the hottest girls I have seen since getting out here. One even has purple hair, and she's still on a scale of 1 to 10 on the East Coast Hotness rating scale, a solid 18. (For clarification, the West Coast Hotness scale is on a totally different level than an the East Coast. A 10 on the East Coast, is a 7 on the West Coast. Don't even try to argue this.) Unforunately, I couldn't snap a photo of them actually facing me, but I did the best I could in order to grab the hotness of both of these girls:




I cant wait to hear girls I know send me comments like "Giggs, shes trashy" or "you WOULD say that about her, tell her to a eat a meal." You know what that is, it's jealousy. I've shown this picture to multiple dudes, all of which have had reactions that gauge somewhere between "extremely pleased" to "floored." And yes, the blond/black hair contrast thing going on lately is probably trashy. LOOK AT WHO IS WRITING THIS. Save the comments, she was smokin', she wins the for the weekend, END. OF. STORY.


3:30: p.m.: We are all very red, J being in the lead, I can start to feel myself burning despite the fact that I have suntan lotion on. We all decide that to beat Padre traffic, we should bounce from the beach now. We should have bounced 90 min beforehand to reduce our chances of, what is now inevitable, skin cancer. Right now, our backs, chest, and every part of J's body and fried to a crisp. But we still look white....for now....


4:30: p.m.: We decide that in order to duplicate the gloriousness of the first night, we must start the night off with more In-N-Out Burger. Tommy, once again coming through in spades, not only agrees to take us there, he reveals to us the "secret menu", including the heart-stopping, artery-clogging "Animal Style." Animal-Style can not be explained, just viewed:



and eaten. I plowed through an Animal Style Double Double and Animal Style Fries like it was the first meal I've had since my birthday. J plowed through 3 Double-Doubles, and gave no creedance to any assemblance of manners. In the meantime, the cute girl behind the counter was going through her usual schpiel that I'm guessing all In-N-Out burger girls are supposed to do: be bright and cheerful about handing out these glorious meat morsels. However, the voice in which this particular girl announced the order numbers, was, to say the least, unique. Since this is only a print medium, I have no way of doing it justice right here. Rest assured, that it was every thing a California valley girl stereotype lives up to. As numbers flew off the board, J grew increasingly annoyed with this girl and her "number thirty-sevennnnnnn!!!" was ruining his meal. So when he ordered his 3rd Double-Double, imagine the look on his face when she dropped the sweetness and handed him extra napkins and said "these are for you when your crying because the Padres swept your ass." Tommy, Pilla, and I nearly choked on our fries. "MAULED!!!!" we howled as this girl stuck it to him, and the 10 other Red Sox fans who just happened to be dining with us. J was just owned by a 17 year old girl. It was first of many mauls of the night.


5:00 p.m.: We spend the car ride downtown coming up with every foul-mouthed, sexually perverse thing we can possibly come up with, but doing it in the "In-N-Out" voice. It would quickly become the running joke of the weekend. J begins to tell us how bad his body is beginning to hurt. I can start to feel my back tighten up. A bathtub full of Aloe may be in our short-term future.


6:30 p.m.: We get to Petco Park late, since every member of Red Sox Nation clogged the 5 coming from Pac Beach to Downtown. By the time we park the car, make our way to the stadium, scalp Tommy a ticket, we are minutes from game time. Unforunately, we all wanted to check out the amenties of the park. We had to deal with what we could catch on-the-fly. Assessment is as follows: Petco Park beats the Cit. With ease. One of the coolest things there, is the fact that behind the centerfield wall, where Ashburn Alley would be, is lawn seating for fans. That's right, a lawn. Where people bring blankets like they are watching a concert @ Tweeter. And I was amazed because this would never, ever work in Philadelphia . It would be populated with nothing but drunk kids who fought anyone who walked by, or families fighting over spots, or generally an awful experience for every one involved. Not in San Diego, people are actually behaved. It was amazing. Also, another very cool thing was something called the ICON skybox, which was a skybox attached to the top of a nearby Skyscraper that overlooked Petco. Imagine if you could watch a live baseball game from the top of Liberty One. Great effect. Some downfalls however were the confusing concourses (much easier to get around The Bank) and the fact that there is too much visual stimulation during the game. J said it best: "Whoever designed this park has ADD." It was the fifth inning, and if you asked, I couldn't tell you what was going on the game for the most part. And it was Dice-K/Maddux. Take it easy, Petco. Let some of those light boards sit a few plays out.


8:30: We are surrounded by Red Sox nation, and sure enough, there are inhabiting Petco in throngs. And I think we were stuck in the section with the 30 worst Red Sox fans ever. One latino was holding up a "Ramirez/Ortiz '08" bumper sticker, as if some camera was going to spot him in the nosebleed seats we were in. Not only that, before every pitch, this guy would scream "Come On, K! Roll the Dice!". (note: Matuzaka through over 110 pitches) The fat-ass sitting next to Justin thought he was a bad-ass by screaming "San Diego sucks!" once every half-inning to try and stir up trouble. But the worst had to be the white-trash losers sitting the row in front of us, with their cut off Varitek t-shirts, and fake platium-and-diamond Boston B's hanging around their neck. They all looked like the guys who Matt Damon kicks the shit out of in Good Will Hunting. Some gems from this guy were "San Diego don't have any hittahs! Tony Gwynn retiahd!" and after Dice-K worked out of a jam, Tooly O'Toole turns to his buddies for some fist pumping and chest thumping like they just won the ALCS: "The Pahdres ah in Dahngha (danger), this is ah gahme!" I only helped aggravate the situation when Ortiz hit a fly ball that every Boston fan thought was long gone, and then it turned out to be a soft pop-up to Mike Cameron. "ROU-TINE! Sit the FUCK down!" "I bet you do the same thing when Ryan Howard flies out," J shot. (I do.) While I just stewed in my own anger, Tommy was much more outward with his anger.

Tommy: (sitting in front of us, turns back to Pilla and I): God, this is bad, Sox fans are the worst.
Idiot Sox fan: "Sorry you San Diegans don't have any haht(heart).
Tommy: "I just live here, I don't root for them."
Idiot Sox Fan: "I'm just jokin, man. At least your nawt from Philly, they ah so hostile."
Tommy: "Actually, that exactly where I'm from."
Idiot Sox Fan: "Huh?"
Tommy: "Yeah, we are all from Philly."
ISF: "God, you guys are the worst."
Me: (overhearing this all): Come to the Linc on a Sunday and say that.
ISF: *silence*

(So his point was proven. Shut up. And yeah, I said The Linc, but so what? He didn't know I was a Redskins fan. Eagles fan or not, I'm not letting some Boston puke rip on Philadelphia.)


Which brings me to a conclusion I reached: Red Sox Nation is now tied with the Cameron Crazies in my book for the worst fan base on the planet. For every one good Red Sox fan (Jamie, J, Lotto) you have 30 shitheads who act like because they won ONE world series, they are the best freaking baseball team to ever play the game. Don't get me wrong, if I wasn't a Phils fan, I would root for Red Sox. I love that team. But let's face facts: half of Red Sox Nation joined the club in 2005. Shit, Lotto, my brother, who is one of the good ones, joined because he liked those SNL skits where Jimmy Fallon screamed "No-mahhhhhh!" Suddenly, women who never gave a shit about sports, like baseball, but like the Red Sox because of all the cute shirts that can be bought off the internet. If I see one more girl with some shirt that says "Everyone loves a Red Sox girl" or "Varitek is wicked cute" and only wears it because "it's fabulous", I'm going to jail for murder. Name me what team Varitek was traded from. Name me the player that stole the base that started the 2004 rally. Tell me who Manny played for in the 90's. I am 100% sure that half of Red Sox nation can't answer these questions. Red Sox Nation isn't a fan base, it's a fad. And one that I hope dies out, so I can go back to the days where it was fun to talk to Red Sox fans.

9:15: I start to notice it's getting a little chilly. It was only going to be 65 at night, but it feels colder due to the sunburn. Wish I would have brought my hoodie.

9:17: I turn to ask J if he's cold, and notice he is shaking. Make that convulsing. He is incredibly red, and does not look good in the least. I ask him if he is okay, all I get is "no." I ask him if he wants to leave, all I get is "no." I am freaked out.

9:19: J immedately calls an audible, and says to me "Let's go. Before people think I'm Jim fucking Eisenreich."

9:25: We book in the bottom of the 7th, because Jay might be dying. Slightly dissapointed because it was a close game (wanted to see Trevor Hoffman come out to Hell's Bells) but not that dissapointed because it was one of the most boring baseball games I've ever seen (Sox won 2-1, only one extra base hit, a weak Manny double) We exit out the front of Petco Park, which might be the exact entrance to the ball park in Heaven:



Notice the stairway in the bottom left with the Padres logo superimposed on a fountain. Just freaking awesome. Jay is walking up the street going "m-m-m-m-mauled."

10:00: We head back to the hotel, and it might as well been a horror scene. Justin can barely move. Pilla and I remove our shirts and gasp at how burnt we both are. I have just random burns where I missed with suntan lotion (what is THAT!?!!) Even my calves are burnt, which is something that in my 23 years of life, NEVER HAPPENED. It all catches up with us at once, as within 10 mintues we are all passed out. I try to pull myself together, and rally the troops to go out again. (Sunburn be damned, im not staying in my hotel room in San Diego, fuck that). Jay puts the kibosh on his night by taking a cold shower (which only made things worse) and asking to be bathed in aloe. Looking at Jay made my sunburn hurt more. Half asleep, Pilla and I suck it up and go out to meet Tommy....


11:15: ....at the Tiki. Now at the Tiki, there is a three-piece band who's combined age might be 180. I nurse a beer like a baby-bird. Tommy introduces us to a firnd of his, Nick, who seems like a cool dude. Pilla and I look at each other like if we have to spend 10 more minutes here, we're taking over the bar ourselves.

11:20: We convince Tommy to take us somewhere a lil more upbeat. "a lil more upbeat" = a place with girls. We cross the street and go to Typhoon Saloon, which looks like San Diego's answer to Tiki Bob's. Which, normally I would scoff at, but the girls at this place are like the girls at Tiki Bob's....only hotter, not as trashy, not as annoying...and hotter. I will deal with this, despite my body's every effort to shut down my systems. Fuck you, brain. Let me party.

11:30 Nick buys us Car Bombs. I take it, thinking it would wake us up. Instead of waking us up, I nearly throw it up. It's gonna be a bad night.

11:35: Nick is striking out with girls at the bar, Pilla and I decide to take a spin through the back of the club.

11:45: Girls everywhere, registering on average a 12 on the East Coast scale. We would be all over them, if we weren't falling asleep on the railings. I believe at one point Pilla turned to me and went "That girl.....does she want it.....cuz she can ge---"....and he was out on the bar. Mauled.

12:30 a.m.: We call it an early night and head back to the hotel. Jay looks like a roast pig. We are out for the count, and possibly dunzo for the rest of the trip. This is feeling like a horrible, horrible idea.... Maybe Cali isn't the place for me..


Day 3 coming soon.

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San Diego: Day 1

For a while now, I have tinkered with the idea of moving out to Cali. I have a bunch of friends that think they wanna do the same thing, I know a bunch of people out there already, I think it would be a good chance to see what exactly I am made of, etc... but I wanted to go out there for anywhere from a week to a month to have a first-hand experience to see if I could fit in. So when playing poker a few weeks ago, my boy said "someone backed out of the San Diego trip", I couldn't get "count me in" out of my mouth fast enough. Ideally, I wanted to try L.A., but I mean, San Diego is still SoCal; close enough. Plus, I had free airfare and tickets to a baseball game. I couldn't go wrong. Right? Um.....

In true Simmons fashion, the running diary of my trip to San Diego lies below. Not exactly exact timing (it has been a week since), but pretty much chronologically follows the weekend out on the left coast. Enjoy.

Thursday

5:00 a.m. : I awake in South Philly hungover and running on 2 hours sleep due to a birthday party the night before. Pilla is already bouncing of the walls like New Found Glory is playing a show in his basement. I'm trying to psych myself into being awake, thinking about all the girls I plan on oggling/harassing over the next 4 days. Pilla's friend Jimmy was nice enough to take us to the airport, and J's girlfriend Jacki, who hooked us up with free plane tickets is nice enough to escort us there as well to make sure we get through the airport smoothly. Her thoughts of getting us through the airport smoothly are the closest we actually come to having "smooth" interaction with anything involving an airport all weekend.

6:30 am: Justin, or J as he is known, is ripping Pilla and I for checking our bags. His girl friend agrees. "Don't blame me when your bags end up in Santo Domingo instead of San Diego," she remarks. I'm still half asleep, so I don't bother to be a smart ass. I just remark to Pilla about all I want to do is hook up with a "short, big-titted, latin chick." I feel like that would make the weekend.

7:15 am: After banging out an overpriced, undercooked breakfast sandwich from the airport food court, we arrive at our gate for our 8 am flight. So did about 300 other people. A US Airways rep gets on the PA system:
"Ladies and Gentlemen, this flight is overbooked. If anyone holding a ticket would like to sacrifice their seat so someone else could take this flight, US Airways will put them on the next flight to San Diego and give them two tickets to anywhere in the country, Thank you."

No one budges.

At first, I didn't think this was a problem, until I was told that our tickets were standby tickets, and that this meant we only got seats if seats were open. Which on this flight, was now an impossibility. I try to get Jacki to bump us in line. No shot. Following conversation ensues:
J: "We are so mauled."
Me: "So what's the next course of action."
Pilla: "Apparantly there is a 4 o'clock flight out."
Me: "Awesome. That's only 8 hours away."
J: "Mauled."
Jacki: "I can put you on a 10:30 flight to L.A."
Me: "L.A. is three hours from San Diego, no."
Jacki: "Why don't you rent a car?"
Pilla: "What? That would cost us an arm an a leg, and then we would have to drive back to L.A. to go home."
Jacki: "I'm just trying to get you guys to the west coast. Where is your sense of adventure?"
Me: "Where is your sense of a wallet? Just put us on the four o'clock flight."
J: "Mauled!"
Pilla: "What are we going to do till then?"
Me: "Get out bags, take a train back into the city, and sleep.

8:20 am: It dawns on Pilla and I that while we never got on Flight 150 to San Diego, our bags did. J and Jacki immedately begin the jokes. "At least you'll have time to back new bags." It's two hours into vacation and I'm already miserable. J is lovin' every minute of our torment. Karma would turn out to be a HUGE bitch.

10:45 am: After taking a train back to Center City, Jimmy pulls his second solid and lets us drive back to Pilla's apartment using his truck. Worst comes to worst, I got to catch up on my precious sleep, as well as taking in the season 4 premiere of Entourage.

(Didn't like it. Wanted to have them stretch the season out over the entire movie-making process. I mean, they drug this Medellin thing out for so long anyway, if Vince's passion was that strong, they couldn't have shown us so much more while actually on-location. And the whole mockumentary thing was dumb. The show is supposed to (partly) be about going BEYOND the usual "inside look" and that angle took away from it. And can someone PLEASE put Sloan back on the show! Christ.)

2:30 p.m.: We get back to the airport, amidst a car ride full of bag jokes. I have no idea if my bag, packed with $500 worth of clothing, is in San Diego, San Francisco, or any other spanish Saint town you could think of. Just put us on the fucking flight already!

4 p.m.: After sweating through the crapshoot that is standby seating, we finally get on a flight to San Diego.

4:30 p.m.: "Uhhhhhh...this is your captain speaking, we are going to be taking off for San Diego once we get through the lines uhhhh......there is heavy traffic coming from all around so we will be delayed about a half an hour from taking off....we will let you know when we are taking off." "Mauled!", says J.

5:00 p.m: "Uhhh...this is your captain speaking, we are next in line and will be taking off shortly."

5:05 p.m.: "Uhhhh....this is your captain speaking, it looks like we have been re-routed and should be expecting to take off in a half an hour." WHAT?! Jay continues with "Thank you for flying Mauled Airlines." I start commanding for alcohol service immedately.

5:35 p.m: We finally are put in the air to a chorus of cheers from the disgruntled coach area. I've read the same Blender mag three times since I got on the plane. J has cracked roughly 45 bag jokes, and Pilla has said Mauled in some way, shape, or form 250 times since 4 o'clock. We are off to a roaring start.

Sometime between 5:30 EST and 7:30 WST: We all start talking about what we want to do with our nights once we get off the plane. I remark about how I want to go to J6 Bardowntown. Pilla, and I quote, "just wants to fuck sluts." J, the fat one of the group, has the best idea out of all of us and declares the minute he gets off the plane he is "running to the nearest In-N-Out Burger. I instantly agree. Anyone who reads Tucker Max and/or has a friend who has been out on the west coast has been told of the mystique of In-N-Out Burger. Since we are all starving, we delcare it the first stop. I quip that my bag has probably had three Double-Doubles since it's been there. So I hope.

7:30 pm WST: Bags in hand (thank GOD), Pilla's friend Tommy picks us up from the airport. Tommy went to high school with Pilla, and was lucky enough to be stationed by the Coast Guard in San Diego. Rough life. Tommy was also nice enough to be our tour guide, bar scene specialist, chauffeur, and just overall helpful local to us three Philly crumbs the whole weekend. Big ups to the awesome host that, without him, our trip would have been a complete and utter disaster.

All three of us take ten steps out of the airport and instantly forget the horrors of the Philly airport debacle. The San Diego scenery is everything I hoped for and more. Palm trees, mountainside houses, nice ocean smell, clean...something to the effect of "I'm not going home ever again" was uttered roughly 700 times in 10 minutes.
Jay instantly asks (see: orders) Tommy to take us to In-N-Out. Tommy happily obliges. A short drive later, we land in your usual suburban shopping center, complete with a lil red, white, and gold hut hidden out of view. As if it were built to be to be concealed and found.

For those of you who have never experienced In-N-Out, it's like McDonalds, only exactly the opposite. The menu consists of five things: Cheeseburger, Hamburger, French Fries, Milkshakes, and the burger that was without a doubt crafted by the Lord himself: The Double-Double. The people working behind the counter are friendly, smiling, teenagers who look like they ACTUALLY like working an a burger joint. The place is spotless. Basically, its like you stepped back into the 50's, when burger joints were the cool place to hang out and nobody thought about trans-fats or Atkins diets or vegan alternatives.

I was lucky enough to have the cute girl behind the counter call my number first (something that I will get into on Day 2) and sat down to enjoy my Double-Double. You know that scene in "Harold and Kumar" where they dive into White Castle at the end. That was us x10. I nearly wept after my first bite. I had to stop to think about the glory that just entered my mouth. J looked like he had just found buried treasure. I would later remark that "this was a pivotal moment in my life, and things and occurences in life will be divided into two categories: 'Before I ate In-N-Out Burger' and 'After I ate In-N-Out Burger'".

8:30 p.m WST (we'll be on that time until Monday): We arrived at our hotel in Pacific Beach, the Surfer Beach Hotel, so we could drop off our shit and head to the bars. The hotel was a last minute audible thanks to Tommy who told us not to stay downtown and stay closer to his place (HUGE move). Click on the link and look at how close we were to the beach. No, really. Do it. Just try not to let any sand hit your keyboard. Yeah, that close.

9:30 p.m.: Tommy informs us that despite the fact that we are SoCal, there are a plethora of bars on the main drag in Pac Beach that align themselves with certain football teams around the country. One such bar, under the name Plum Crazy, advertises itself as "The Home of the Philadelphia Eagles". Pilla and J automatically love the recommendation, I mutter that as long as their are hot girls, I don't care. Immediately J breaks out the "hey Greg, where are the Redskins bars, I hope Chris Cooley is there with his hot pants . Jason Campbell. Mark Brunell." Which leads me to tell him that I am a fan of the Redskins the same way he is a fan of the Red Sox, which then started a Phillies arguement, which ultimately just led to all of us ripping on Pat Burrell for 35 minutes. God, we all hate him so much.

10:15 p.m.: We step foot into Plum Crazy, and immedately are loved when we tell them we are from Philly. Car bombs and beers everywhere. And, as the bar begins to get packed, girls like this start showing up in droves. San Diego, breathe it in, it always goes down smooth.

10:20 p.m.: Tommy introduces us to a new drop-shot drink that could quite possibly ruin our weekend: The Lunchbox. The Lunchbox is as follows: Any type of light beer, topped off with a splash of O.J., complete with a shot of Amaretto for your drop. Drink it like a car bomb. Apparantly orginated in Wisconsin (for some reason this makes complete sense to me) and was introduced to Tommy up in Alaska, brought to San Diego, and undoubtedly will be drank many more times on the east coast before the summer comes to a close.

10:45 p.m.: After 2 more Lunchboxes, Tommy tells us we are going to hit up a "pretty chill spot" called the Tiki. With the clientel that is filling Plum Crazy, I hope that we aren't making a mistake.

10:50 p.m.: Walking down the main road, we begin to take in the female population of PB. Which is, hands down, by far, the hottest women I've ever seen. Turns out the way it works out is NO ONE from San Diego is actually orginally from San Diego. But the people that do come there to live are the hottest %1 of the general population. No one in our crew is complaining, just dragging our jaw lines along the sidewalk.

11:00 p.m.: We arrive at The Tiki. "Pretty Chill Spot" = Fucking dead. There are about 20 people at the bar and some dude who looks like Weird Al Yankovic's brother playing the acoustic guitar. J goes to order a Whiskey and Coke and the bartender says, "No." Apparantly, the only liquor that is available at The Tiki was this imported Korean Vodka. At least I think it was vodka. And the only way this so-called Vodka could be consumed was in drink called a "180 Blaster" which tasted something between Red Bull and gasoline.

11:10 p.m.: After Pilla gets hit on by a woman from Lower Merion (3,000 miles away to talk to a chick who lives 20 minutes away from home), we bounce from the Tiki (hopefully never to return), we venture to the Pac Beach Bar and Grill, which we get into for free because Pilla started singing Metallica lyrics that were coming out of the bar.

12:30 a.m.: Things got hazy. There were a plethora of lunchboxes, a few pints of Flat Tire (west coast's answer to Yuengling), and some Cazadores shots. (my new favorite tequila) I would talk to women but 1) I know from the get go I have NO shot, and 2) I am 75% sure I couldn't form a sentence. Pilla and J were having better luck with two females at the bar until the one broad revaled she had a 16-month old son waiting for her at home. Normally a MILF hunter extordinare, this caused Pilla to recoil. Tally after one night: 0-for-2.

12:55 a.m.: In my drunken stupor, I convince myself that I could move out to SD in 6 months. I also can't wrap my drunken lil brain around the notion of why anyone wouldn't want to live out here. I turn to a guy sitting down behind me, as if he was watching and listening to my rant the whole time.
Me: "Hey, you live here?"
Fat Dude: "All my life."
Me: "What do you do in January?"
Fat Dude: "Uh...What?"
Me: "Have you ever seen snow?"
FD (smiling, getting where im going with this): "No."
Me: "Do you own anything North Face?"
FD: "What the fuck is North Face?"
Me: "Does it rain here ever?"
FD: "Rarely."
Me: "How sweet is your life?"
FD: (grinning like he won the lottery): "Fucking sweet."

1:45 a.m.: Tommy takes us to a walk-up 24 hour burrito place. He keeps telling us about "California Burritos" and how they are comparble to Double-Doubles. I'm not really listening, as Pilla and I are being drunken obnoxious Italians talking about girls going "Look at that one....I think she wants it.....because she can GET IT." (which was a phrase uttered roughly 14,000 times over the course of four days, and still has not gotten old. I understand that none of you find this as humorous as we did all weekend.)
2:15 a.m.: I am crushing a California Burrito back @ Tommy's place. Tommy asks me to compare In-N-Out to the burrito and I tell him, "it's like comparing LeBron to Kobe, you can't do it." I then remark "How is California not the fattest state in the Union?' to which Tommy replies "Cocaine is a hell of a drug..." Point taken.

2:20 am: The drunk dials back east start. J tells one of his buddies "you can't eat a burrito because you're straight edge." I told Jamie Quad to grow up at least 40 times and then handed the phone off to Pilla who when asked what to say I replied "say somethin' derogatory." Between the 3 of us, 126 calls were made. Give or take. And that's the last I remember….


Continue to day 2....

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My birthday present to myself is a moment of severe clarity.
Current mood: indescribable

From time to time, I do like to write about some serious shit on this blog. And this past weekend, I came across something that honestly chilled me to the bone so much that it affected my sleep patterns.

First and foremost, I hate to be so depressing, but when something this chilling comes along, it's hard not to talk about it. I don't like letting it sit on my mind, despite the fact the proceeding story is surrounded by a tremendously epic song by one of my favorite bands.

Back when I wrote my "Top 10 CD's of 2006" blog, I called Brand New's The Devil and God are Raging Inside Me the "closest thing to Radiohead American rock music has to offer."  Well, a few of my friends, who are adamant Radiohead fans, ripped me. One in particular said to me "C'mon Giggs, Brand New is good, but Radiohead sings about stuff that actually matters. War, famine, cancer, that's what makes Radiohead so big. Brand New doesn't do that."

Well, I can honestly say that she's wrong, but I can also honestly say that I wish  I didn't find out the way I did.

A few days ago, while skimming absolutepunk.net (which is quickly becoming my favorite website), there was a story listed about how Oprah talked about the story behind one of Brand New's songs off their latest album, Limousine. "Why the fuck was Oprah talking about a Brand New song?" I had no idea that said song was even about anything more than Jesse Lacey's own personal demons with God and love and what not.

Jesus, was I oh-so gravely wrong.

Limosuine is about a inexplicably heinous drunk driving accident that happened in Long Island on July 4th, 2005. I'm not going to rehash it because any way I could describe could fall short of the utter gravity of the entire situation. You can read what happened here. (Warning: the images and the story itself is quite graphic.) The more details I read about the story, the more I researched it, the more I read on AP.net...the more the story absolutely tore me apart.

I am not going to get up on a soapbox here and scream and rant and rave about drunk driving, because I can tell you first hand that I know there has been at least one time I have gotten behind the wheel of a car when I shouldn't have. It hasn't been outside of city streets and I never wen't over 25 mph. I know my friends have also done the same thing, some more times than I care to re-hash. That doesn't make me or my friends right by any stretch of the imagination. But after reading this and listening to this while reading the lyrics (side note: the only song sadder than this song is Tears In Heaven...and that's a discussion I don't want to ever have), it slapped me dead in the face at what an irresponsible shit I have been when I did get behind the wheel of my car. There is absolutely no excuse for what I did, or what any of my friends did. I am not condeming anyone as a bad person, but to make a utterly stupid and reckless decision is one of the poorest choices, I, or anyone else could make. Never again. 

I turn 23 in two days. I look back on this 22nd year of my life and while I have been fighting my own demons, I feel that I made a huge jump from being just a kid to an adult. This moment of clarity; of recognition of my own faults only helps me to realize that maturation isn't a weekly, monthly, or yearly process, it's constant. And I hope I can find it within myself to keep up that consistency.

For the love of God, if you are a friend of mine reading this, read this next sentence as if I am speaking to you, and you alone: If you EVER need a ride home from a bar, call me. If I'm sober, I'll come pick you up. If I am drunk, I'll pay for a cab to drive me whereever you are. Shit, if I am out of money, I'll walk to where you are so you have someone to walk home with. If you are a passerby and just happened to stumble upon this blog: please heed my advice. I can't stomach the thought of anyone, young or old, dying on the L.I.E, or any highway for that matter, like this.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

On a much much much much MUCH happier note, again, I do turn 23 on Wednesday. While I do appreciate all the MySpace/Facebook wall birthday shouts, call me. 610-223-4586. Even if it's for 10 seconds, even if its just "hey, happy birthday greg, gotta go, bye", I would appreciate it 10x more than a MySpace message.

Currently listening : The Devil And God Are Raging Inside Me By Brand New Release date: 21 November, 2006

11:14 PM - 1 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Angelina is now on my radar again. Yesss.

I'm currently annoyed with myself.

I have wanted to update this blog for some time now, since I have a plethora of things to write about, but the crux of this blog was going to be about two great books that I have come across in the past couple of weeks.

One book is Killing Yourself To Live by Chuck Klosterman. I wasn't going to bore you with the details, I was just going to elaborate how Chuck and I seem to be on the same wavelength on a number of different planes. While the book on the outset seems to be about dead rock stars, at the end of this book I found myself thinking "I have no idea what the hell this was about, yet I get what he was trying to say all along." Which, in a roundabout way, makes sense and is probably one of the many reasons I love Klosterman. While I vastly enjoy his writing style, there are passages in this book in which Chuck breaks down his own philosophy on music, sports, women, and the absurdity of life that echo EXACTLY what I think on the same exact situations.

Now, this is the part where I was going to interject text to back up the claims that I think exactly along the same lines. But, my dumb ass forgot the text at my parents house, where I finished the book last weekend. And, really, truly, I am probably the only one out of the 12 of you who read this that is really dissapointed I can't convey this to you.

Well, thanks to Google Book Search (something I stumbled on while trying to search for passages from this book, an astounding tool btw), I can injerject only my 20th favorite passage from this book, which, again, for the 12 of you who do read this, you will understand exactly why I think Chuck and I are on the same wavelength:

"You would be fascinated by the myriad components of Diane's life, were I so inclined to explain them; it's an unfathomable collection of events, all things considered. And when I say "all things," I truly mean the entire spectrum of existence; her ex-boyfriend, her father, Bowling Green University, the role of women in the media, Judaism, her ex-boyfriend, hydroelectric fossil fuel alternatives, an ill-fated stint in the Peace Corps, Kraftwerk, Pedro Martinez, the Internet, a grizzly beat who attacked her car four years ago, Alfred Hitchcock's 1938 film The Lady Vanishes, competitive speed chess, the principles that once governed the Soviet Union, and her ex-boyfriend. However, all the stuff is her life; that stuff has nothing to do with me, really, and it would be wrong for me to comment on anything that doesn't affect me directly (in fact, it's probably wrong for me to even comment on things that do affect me directly, since she's obviously a real person who probably did not expect to end up in a book where she first kissed me, although--by this point--I have to assume any woman who kisses me halfway expects I'll eventually write about her in some capacity, since I always do)."

Now, the book that I am currently reading...

Everybody Hurts: An essential guide to Emo Culture kills me page-by-page because it rips into everyone of my friends. And if its not ripping my friends, it's ripping me. There hasn't been a page where I haven't gone "Oh, thats me..." or "That's my brother..." or "thats this friend" or "that's this girl"....there is a quote on the back of the book from Absolutepunk.net's CEO Jason Tate that pretty much sums up why this is book is hysterical: "It's all true, we know it's all true, and that's why this book is not only hilarious but absolutely genius." Whether its ripping girls for following Pete Wentz with a messiah-like craze, or blogging about some sappy relationship, this books takes no prisoners.

Other ramblings:

The new Maroon 5 album is phenomenal. There is really no more that needs to be said. I can't wait until there are girls dancing naked to this album in my hotel room in Chicago.....

....and the reason I say that is because I bought my Lollapalooza tickets earlier this week. Bands I am stoked to see: PJ, Ben Harper, Muse, Modest Mouse, Interpol, Snow Patrol, The Roots, Lupe Fiasco, TV on the Radio, G Love, Amy Winehouse, Jack's Mannequin, !!!, Motion City Soundtrack, Cold War Kids. Hell yeah.

Speaking of stoked, I will be crossing another "events I want to do before I die" off my list this weekend when I attend the Preakness. 7:15 am, leaving on a stagecoach bus, with 30 of my friends, and a case for everyone BEFORE WE EVEN GET TO PIMILCO. Where 120,000 college kids will be waiting. Asked a friend about what I should expect, he rattled off this story.....

"Oh, you're going to the Preakness, sweet. I've never been there, but I had frat brothers that went down there. They said it's absolutely primal behavior. I had two friends get so drunk they just walked around yelling at people about nothing. I don't suggest you do that. Because apparantly, their yelling incited a 30-man riot. They were screaming at people they didn't know, and then other people started screaming at people they didn't know, and then people just started fighting. No one knows who started it, and my friends just walked away as people beat the tar out of each other. But yeah man, have fun."

Pray for Giggs.

9:59 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment

Up with Skin Radio, Down with the Phils
Current mood: annoyed

While I work for the same company that owns the leading rock radio station in Philadelphia, and this would probably piss them off to read, but THANK GOD Philadelphia now has a MODERN ROCK/ALTERNATIVE station.  Skin Radio, 1340 am, actually plays modern rock on the radio. And no, its not "oh lets throw people a bone with a Incubus track sandwiched between 400 Metallica songs that we have played 40,000 times"....In 15 minutes, I heard the Silversun Pickups, Modest Mouse, and Pepper on the radio. Between YSP, MMR, and XPN, the amount of times I have heard any of those artists on Philly airwaves are a whopping.....ZERO. There are no DJ's or actual talk yet (not necesarily a bad thing for this guy), and it is fuzzy (buy a HD radio), its fantastic to hear music I am actually interested in. With Philadelphia having a ton of indie bands with ties here, and great venues where they consistently sell out, this is a much needed dose of fresh air in Philadelphia. I implore you all to check them out.

I also implore you all to boo the shit out of the Phils. I'm serious. I've never done a 180 this fast on a team in my life. I don't care if it's early. I don't care if the season is a marathon. This is the same shit, year in, year out. They'll catch fire, and fall short. Again. And it is because of their lousy play in April. I can't fault Jimmy Rollins for saying they are "the team to beat" because J Roll has backed up his words by coming out of the gates as one of the best players in the National League. The rest of the team, as a writer on Deadspin.com categorized them as, is a "reshined turd." And honestly, I feel almost bad for Charlie Manuel. He isn't out on the mound blowing saves. He isn't choking at the plate with RISP.  While I think he had no reason to go after Eskin, (side note: that was super awesome for MY station. I'm really sure people are listening now. Really. Thanks, Cholly.) he is probably going to be the goat for all of this, and I really don't think he should. The Phils had a piss-poor off season, (should have spent the extra money wasted on Eaton and gone after Soriano, then when that didn't happen, dumped Lieber before the spring), and their top players (the season started Ryan! I don't care was you did in 2006! It's over! Pick it up!) just aren't performing. This team was supposed to be the new wave, and not have that same feel as teams with Abreu, Lieberthal, Millwood, etc. And it has become very apparant very quickly that this team fits right into mold of recent years past.

All that said and done...Monday...dollar dog day....70 degrees and sunny....see ya the Cit.

And as I type this, the Sixers lost a tiebreaker and will receive one less ping-pong ball in the Oden/Durant sweepstakes. I will now go lick a light socket.

1:31 PM - 0 Comments - 0 Kudos - Add Comment