Wait for it....wait for it...there's a painful lesson to be learned here somewhere.
Selasa, 26 Agustus 2008
Street Inner Tubing From Hurricane Fay
It seems like a fun thing to do on a flooded road...until...ouchy time!
Wait for it....wait for it...there's a painful lesson to be learned here somewhere.
Wait for it....wait for it...there's a painful lesson to be learned here somewhere.
Rabu, 20 Agustus 2008
Another Great Athletic Achievement
Following my athletic achievement at Detroit's Metro Airport, comes another man's impressive, and then disgusting showing. He catches a baseball in his cup of beer, only to then ruin the moment by drinking the beer with the ball in it. Evidence once again that you don't need your glove to catch a ball in the stands, and some people enjoy the taste of baseball-flavored beer.
Minggu, 10 Agustus 2008
Ocean City Enjoyment Changes With Age
Growing up in northern New Jersey meant most of my family's beach trips were to The Jersey Shore...Pt. Pleasant for single day visits and Stone Harbor/Avalon for weeklong stays. Wildwood and Seaside Heights were saved for high school debauchery and MTV Spring Breaks. A nice 2.5-hour drive by my dad was nothing for me and my naps in the backseat. The Maryland equivalent to New Jersey's Ocean City is its own Ocean City. Both cities enjoy white trash cheesiness, boardwalk fries, and a true Americana experience for the middle class.
Having lived in Maryland almost 10 years to the day, I've experienced quite the gamut of Ocean City offerings between 18 and 28 years of age. I also took a few family vacations to Ocean City (hereafter known as the Maryland one (hereafter known as the OC (hereafter done to dismay any California valley readers (hereafter I will use less parentheses)))).
The OC Boardwalk...so classic, so Maryland, so necessary.
Submitted for your approval, a list of what the OC offers a male by age:
Newborn To Five Years Old
You have no idea where you are, who you are, and how to say much of anything. knowing when to use a toilet and writing your name is all you have to show for yourself. Playing in the big sandbox is fun, but you don't have the dexterity to build anything more than a 3-inch hole with your hand. Be careful not to eat the sand! The boardwalk is a blur, but you like those flashing lights and the cotton candy sugar high your parents are kind enough to give you.
Six to Ten Years Old
You proudly bring your arsenal of sandcastle equipment: plastic bucket with handle that breaks the moment you fill it with wet sand - check, plastic shovel with scoop that breaks after you dig too deep - check, castle tower-shaped bucket to fake your building skill - check, and imagination that keeps you quiet so your parents won't lose you on the beach - check. Your quickly growing vocabulary is only used to express your desire for more cotton candy, that you don't wanna walk four blocks to get taffy, and you really need the potty...soon.
On my way to sand castle supremacy!
Ten to Thirteen Years Old
Playing in the sand seemed like a good idea until you built the Detroit skyline, highways, and tunnels, only to have the high tide wipe out everything. Suddenly the sand is boring and unfair so you stomp your feet. You pass time on the beach with the folks by reading Cracked and Mad Magazines. You don't get most of the jokes, but read ahead anyway. The boardwalk is where you shine. You constantly want more quarters for the arcade and think you can outsmart the carnival games that are hopelessly rigged. You don't care that the stuffed penguin costs five cents for the Carney to buy; you'd rather be stubborn and win it after 7 dollars of softball tosses into a rigged milk jug.
Hey Carney! Bring it!
Fourteen to Sixteen Years Old
Playing in the sand is for little kids and you'd never be caught doing that again. You try to read your required summer book, but your ever increasing hormones distract you into noticing every bikini-clad woman within 50 feet. You have not learned how not to stare. You ride waves with your boogeyboard from Sunsations. You're not as cool as you think because everyone else is from out of town and bought their boogeyboards from Sunsations too. Purchasing a Big Johnson t-shirt instantly makes you funnier than you think back at home. You rock the boardwalk arcade, again thinking you're cool, for beating Street Fighter II Turbo on one credit, until you're not cool because you used Chun Li.
There's no shame in using Chun Li, just the loss of coolness.
Seventeen to Eighteen Years Old
It seems everything your parents do is done to embarrass you. The tan bodies walking by know you're not from the shore and your skin isn't made to tan, so don't try to act "cool." You finally have a license and may drive all you want, but your car is also the family car used to get up the Coastal Highway. Always needing more calories for your growing body, you agree to go on a family bike ride as long as it ends in copious amounts of pancakes. You realize you'll never beat your father in mini-golf no matter how many Old Pro courses you play. Hanging out on the boardwalk at night, around the henna tattoo and funnel cake shops is the only thing to do, yet it offers nothing to do.
Nineteen to Twenty Years Old
Those 18 and older clubs advertised on OC TV sure look like a great time...they have strobe lights! Maybe a fake ID will get you into one of those sad boardwalk tiki bars.
Twenty-One to Twenty-Four Years Old
Daytime is spent eating subs and getting sunburned. Nighttime is spent at Seacrets, the only choice in the OC. It's offering of a nightclub, beachclub, live music, bars, and food on the Bay is everything a college kid needs in life. Sure it's trashy and has an unexplained line to get in, but who cares. It's a rite of passage, like a Bar Mitzvah.
Twenty-Four to Twenty-Seven Years Old
You can't substantiate a visit to the OC for more than a weekend. The boardwalk is suddenly just okay. You can't understand "those kids" who just hangout near the henna tattoo/funnel cake shop at night. You visit Seacrets for old times sake and quickly realize: a) you're not in college; b) you're not a lifelong OC person; c) you don't want to be that sketchy, pervy guy with the wrinkled skin whose tan is way to dark; and d) money spent buying drinks is better spent on your mortgage as you don't have any disposable income and actually are aware of such a concept.
Twenty-Eight Years Old
You take your parents' offer to stay with them on Saturday night.
Twenty-Nine Years Old to Empty Nesters
Let's call this part two that I hope to write in 20 or so years.
Having lived in Maryland almost 10 years to the day, I've experienced quite the gamut of Ocean City offerings between 18 and 28 years of age. I also took a few family vacations to Ocean City (hereafter known as the Maryland one (hereafter known as the OC (hereafter done to dismay any California valley readers (hereafter I will use less parentheses)))).
The OC Boardwalk...so classic, so Maryland, so necessary.Submitted for your approval, a list of what the OC offers a male by age:
Newborn To Five Years Old
You have no idea where you are, who you are, and how to say much of anything. knowing when to use a toilet and writing your name is all you have to show for yourself. Playing in the big sandbox is fun, but you don't have the dexterity to build anything more than a 3-inch hole with your hand. Be careful not to eat the sand! The boardwalk is a blur, but you like those flashing lights and the cotton candy sugar high your parents are kind enough to give you.
Six to Ten Years Old
You proudly bring your arsenal of sandcastle equipment: plastic bucket with handle that breaks the moment you fill it with wet sand - check, plastic shovel with scoop that breaks after you dig too deep - check, castle tower-shaped bucket to fake your building skill - check, and imagination that keeps you quiet so your parents won't lose you on the beach - check. Your quickly growing vocabulary is only used to express your desire for more cotton candy, that you don't wanna walk four blocks to get taffy, and you really need the potty...soon.
On my way to sand castle supremacy!Ten to Thirteen Years Old
Playing in the sand seemed like a good idea until you built the Detroit skyline, highways, and tunnels, only to have the high tide wipe out everything. Suddenly the sand is boring and unfair so you stomp your feet. You pass time on the beach with the folks by reading Cracked and Mad Magazines. You don't get most of the jokes, but read ahead anyway. The boardwalk is where you shine. You constantly want more quarters for the arcade and think you can outsmart the carnival games that are hopelessly rigged. You don't care that the stuffed penguin costs five cents for the Carney to buy; you'd rather be stubborn and win it after 7 dollars of softball tosses into a rigged milk jug.
Hey Carney! Bring it!Fourteen to Sixteen Years Old
Playing in the sand is for little kids and you'd never be caught doing that again. You try to read your required summer book, but your ever increasing hormones distract you into noticing every bikini-clad woman within 50 feet. You have not learned how not to stare. You ride waves with your boogeyboard from Sunsations. You're not as cool as you think because everyone else is from out of town and bought their boogeyboards from Sunsations too. Purchasing a Big Johnson t-shirt instantly makes you funnier than you think back at home. You rock the boardwalk arcade, again thinking you're cool, for beating Street Fighter II Turbo on one credit, until you're not cool because you used Chun Li.
There's no shame in using Chun Li, just the loss of coolness.Seventeen to Eighteen Years Old
It seems everything your parents do is done to embarrass you. The tan bodies walking by know you're not from the shore and your skin isn't made to tan, so don't try to act "cool." You finally have a license and may drive all you want, but your car is also the family car used to get up the Coastal Highway. Always needing more calories for your growing body, you agree to go on a family bike ride as long as it ends in copious amounts of pancakes. You realize you'll never beat your father in mini-golf no matter how many Old Pro courses you play. Hanging out on the boardwalk at night, around the henna tattoo and funnel cake shops is the only thing to do, yet it offers nothing to do.
Nineteen to Twenty Years Old
Those 18 and older clubs advertised on OC TV sure look like a great time...they have strobe lights! Maybe a fake ID will get you into one of those sad boardwalk tiki bars.
Twenty-One to Twenty-Four Years Old
Daytime is spent eating subs and getting sunburned. Nighttime is spent at Seacrets, the only choice in the OC. It's offering of a nightclub, beachclub, live music, bars, and food on the Bay is everything a college kid needs in life. Sure it's trashy and has an unexplained line to get in, but who cares. It's a rite of passage, like a Bar Mitzvah.
Twenty-Four to Twenty-Seven Years Old
You can't substantiate a visit to the OC for more than a weekend. The boardwalk is suddenly just okay. You can't understand "those kids" who just hangout near the henna tattoo/funnel cake shop at night. You visit Seacrets for old times sake and quickly realize: a) you're not in college; b) you're not a lifelong OC person; c) you don't want to be that sketchy, pervy guy with the wrinkled skin whose tan is way to dark; and d) money spent buying drinks is better spent on your mortgage as you don't have any disposable income and actually are aware of such a concept.
Twenty-Eight Years Old
You take your parents' offer to stay with them on Saturday night.
Twenty-Nine Years Old to Empty Nesters
Let's call this part two that I hope to write in 20 or so years.
Jumat, 08 Agustus 2008
Guitar Hero World Tour Update 3
Checkout Update 4!
I just can't help myself looking for leaked songs for this game. Seven new tracks confirmed:
I just can't help myself looking for leaked songs for this game. Seven new tracks confirmed:
- Airbourne – "Too Much Too young..."
- At the Drive-in – "One Armed Scissor"
- Black Rebel Motorcycle Club – "Weapon of Choice"
- Bob Seger - "Hollywood Nights"
- Dinosaur Jr. – "Feel the pain"
- Silversun Pickups – "Lazy Eye"
- Survivor – "Eye of the Tiger"
CJ's Crabhouse
The other day I visited one of the more reliable crabhouses in the Baltimore area, CJ's Crabhouse. When my parents are in town, it's often my father's first suggestion and it's typically a good meal. The crab soup wasn't as good as their wall of hype would have you believe, but the crabs were meaty and fairly price for a dozen medium. I wouldn't go out of my way to visit CJ's for crabs, but you could do worse for your crab fix. What follows are pictures I feel obligated to use because I took them.
It's easy to miss CJ's with its poor signage on Reisterstown Road.
You can never have enough seasoning.
Plenty of meat, mustard, and innards. Yum!
Your typical crabhouse furnishings.
It's easy to miss CJ's with its poor signage on Reisterstown Road.
You can never have enough seasoning.
Plenty of meat, mustard, and innards. Yum!
Your typical crabhouse furnishings.Rabu, 06 Agustus 2008
Updated Guitar Hero World Tour Songs and Bands
The latest legit listing is now in Update 4.
- "Are You Gonna Go My Way" -- Lenny Kravitz
- "Everlong" -- Foo Fighters
- "Hot for Teacher" -- Van Halen
- "Beat It" -- Michael Jackson
- "Bullet With Butterfly Wings" -- Smashing Pumpkins
- "Everlong" -- Foo Fighters
- "Hot for Teacher" -- Van Halen
- "In The End" -- Linkin Park
- "Light My Fire" -- The Doors
- "Never Too Late" -- The Answer
- "Obsatcle 1" -- Interpol
- "One Armed Scissor" -- At the Drive-In
- "Purple Haze" (Live) -- Jimi Hendrix
- "Rebel Yell" -- Billy Idol
- "Santeria" -- Sublime
- "The Wind Cries Mary" -- Jimi Hendrix
Selasa, 05 Agustus 2008
A Great Athletic Achievement in Detroit Metro Airport
There have been many great athletic feats in our time. Roger Bannister's 4-minute mile, Secretariat's win by 31 lengths at the 1973 Belmont, and 5'11" Mike Conley Sr.'s Celebrity Foot Locker Slam Dunk Contest titles in 88', 89', and 92'. They all have their places in history, but I may have topped them. I made a flight on Sunday night out of Detroit Metro Airport (travel code: DTW) after arriving 16 minutes before takeoff.
I've made the drive to DTW plenty of times and often was sitting at the gate with an hour to waste taking Dramamine and sizing up other passengers for any shadiness. This time I had made 1/3 of the drive, cruising along I-94 when we saw a few brakelights ahead. Those few became many brakelights as we went 65-to-0 in matter of seconds. Maybe there was just an accident ahead, we thought. Seven minutes later we passed a sign estimating the time to reach the airport...79 minutes! That's probably some malfunctioning sign, I thought. It was 1:45 and our flight left at 3:30. The backup won't be so bad, we have plenty of time, I thought.
After 30 minutes and a few miles of inch-by-inch movement we learn the 3-lane I-94 has its left and middle lanes merging into the right lane. That's quite a merger, but surely it'll open up after the merger, I thought. After a few miles of one-lane traffic at an average speed of 2 MPH, we learned the now single-lane road did not "open up," in fact we seemed to have slowed down. Traveling this slowly allowed me to view every piece of litter and debris on I-94's shoulder. It offered enough car parts to build one, and I'm suddenly thankful that the Beltway is swept on a regular basis giving us room to actually pull off to the side.
I called Southwest and found out that if we didn't make the flight, we could try standby for the 7:30p flight or book one of the open seats for the first flight Monday morning. Just great. Around 2:50 the single lane that hadn't opened up, finally became three lanes and we were off. In addition to being in traffic for over an hour, there was little payoff for our wait. I saw no big accident nor tons of construction equipment. It wasn't until the final half-mile that we saw all of 3 work trucks and 7 workers driving in the coned off lanes at 10 MPH. Was it some elaborate joke on drivers that we were the butt of? I should have driven in the coned-off lanes.
You expect to see a legit reason why you were in traffic...I didn't.
With the flight still scheduled to leave at 3:30, I pulled up to the terminal at 3:12, stopping at the American Airlines set of doors instead of waiting to drive to the Southwest doors 30 yards away. Had I live-blogged this, here's how it would read:
3:12 - Whoa! Am I that dumb to type out what's happening while I run to my plane's gate? Looks that way!
3:13 - I'm running to the small Southwest boarding pass area, with its all of 2 representatives, unlike BWI's hub. As a newly-minted flip-flop wearer, I immediately learn why shoes are the preferred footwear for any and all sports. Flip-flops are not meant for running, they're meant for the beaches of St. Lucia.
I ran from here to the Southwest area at the end of the lights.
3:14 - I arrive at the boarding pass area as I tell those waiting in line, "sorry, my flight leaves in 15 minutes, sorry." I don't wait to see head's nodding in approval as we move in front of the ropes and wait for two sets of people work out their issues.
3:15 - Come on people...why did you choose this time to have to change your flights! Is that a callous forming because of my footwear? Yep, it sure is.
3:16 - Finally! "We're here for our 3 o'clock flight to Baltimore," I said. "Sir, there are no 3 o'clock flights..." the customer service rep tells me. The rep asks for an ID, types away, and lets me know the bag probably won't make the flight. I decide to take my chances. Now it's off to Gate A8.
I'd rather be a barefoot Flash than wear yellow boots.
3:18 - Boarding passes in hand, I run to security as I nearly bowl over a woman holding her 3-year-old. I get to security and ask those in front if I may cut in line to catch our flight that's leaving in 10 minutes...all the while moving ahead of them anyway. Always the good passenger, I've placed my metal objects in my backpack for faster pickup after the x-rays.
3:21 - I pickup my things and I decide I'm better off not putting my flip-flops back on; I would run through DTW barefoot; germs, shards of glass, and common sense be damned. It's nothing a few passes with a loofah couldn't clean, right?
3:22 - I reach Concourse A. I continue yelling, "late for flight!" to part the red sea of bystanders in my way.
Running with your bags on wheels is for wimps...I carried our luggage!
3:23 - I make like a barefooted Flash and catch the Southwest gatekeepers, yelling, "I'm here, I'm here, hold the plane!" Fortunately a standby who had just accepted one of our seats had no issue letting me board.
3:24 - I find a seat toward the back of the plane, turn up the air vent, and take some deep breaths.
The Foot Locker Celebrity Slam Dunk contest was a staple of ABC's college basketball halftime shows when I was a younger lad.
I've made the drive to DTW plenty of times and often was sitting at the gate with an hour to waste taking Dramamine and sizing up other passengers for any shadiness. This time I had made 1/3 of the drive, cruising along I-94 when we saw a few brakelights ahead. Those few became many brakelights as we went 65-to-0 in matter of seconds. Maybe there was just an accident ahead, we thought. Seven minutes later we passed a sign estimating the time to reach the airport...79 minutes! That's probably some malfunctioning sign, I thought. It was 1:45 and our flight left at 3:30. The backup won't be so bad, we have plenty of time, I thought.
After 30 minutes and a few miles of inch-by-inch movement we learn the 3-lane I-94 has its left and middle lanes merging into the right lane. That's quite a merger, but surely it'll open up after the merger, I thought. After a few miles of one-lane traffic at an average speed of 2 MPH, we learned the now single-lane road did not "open up," in fact we seemed to have slowed down. Traveling this slowly allowed me to view every piece of litter and debris on I-94's shoulder. It offered enough car parts to build one, and I'm suddenly thankful that the Beltway is swept on a regular basis giving us room to actually pull off to the side.
I called Southwest and found out that if we didn't make the flight, we could try standby for the 7:30p flight or book one of the open seats for the first flight Monday morning. Just great. Around 2:50 the single lane that hadn't opened up, finally became three lanes and we were off. In addition to being in traffic for over an hour, there was little payoff for our wait. I saw no big accident nor tons of construction equipment. It wasn't until the final half-mile that we saw all of 3 work trucks and 7 workers driving in the coned off lanes at 10 MPH. Was it some elaborate joke on drivers that we were the butt of? I should have driven in the coned-off lanes.
You expect to see a legit reason why you were in traffic...I didn't.With the flight still scheduled to leave at 3:30, I pulled up to the terminal at 3:12, stopping at the American Airlines set of doors instead of waiting to drive to the Southwest doors 30 yards away. Had I live-blogged this, here's how it would read:
3:12 - Whoa! Am I that dumb to type out what's happening while I run to my plane's gate? Looks that way!
3:13 - I'm running to the small Southwest boarding pass area, with its all of 2 representatives, unlike BWI's hub. As a newly-minted flip-flop wearer, I immediately learn why shoes are the preferred footwear for any and all sports. Flip-flops are not meant for running, they're meant for the beaches of St. Lucia.
I ran from here to the Southwest area at the end of the lights.3:14 - I arrive at the boarding pass area as I tell those waiting in line, "sorry, my flight leaves in 15 minutes, sorry." I don't wait to see head's nodding in approval as we move in front of the ropes and wait for two sets of people work out their issues.
3:15 - Come on people...why did you choose this time to have to change your flights! Is that a callous forming because of my footwear? Yep, it sure is.
3:16 - Finally! "We're here for our 3 o'clock flight to Baltimore," I said. "Sir, there are no 3 o'clock flights..." the customer service rep tells me. The rep asks for an ID, types away, and lets me know the bag probably won't make the flight. I decide to take my chances. Now it's off to Gate A8.
I'd rather be a barefoot Flash than wear yellow boots.3:18 - Boarding passes in hand, I run to security as I nearly bowl over a woman holding her 3-year-old. I get to security and ask those in front if I may cut in line to catch our flight that's leaving in 10 minutes...all the while moving ahead of them anyway. Always the good passenger, I've placed my metal objects in my backpack for faster pickup after the x-rays.
3:21 - I pickup my things and I decide I'm better off not putting my flip-flops back on; I would run through DTW barefoot; germs, shards of glass, and common sense be damned. It's nothing a few passes with a loofah couldn't clean, right?
3:22 - I reach Concourse A. I continue yelling, "late for flight!" to part the red sea of bystanders in my way.
Running with your bags on wheels is for wimps...I carried our luggage!3:23 - I make like a barefooted Flash and catch the Southwest gatekeepers, yelling, "I'm here, I'm here, hold the plane!" Fortunately a standby who had just accepted one of our seats had no issue letting me board.
3:24 - I find a seat toward the back of the plane, turn up the air vent, and take some deep breaths.
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