Wednesday, December 30, 2009

Bringing in the New Year, 2010


Well, 2009 kind of sucked.

I don't mean to be dramatic. I am not going to sit here and say that every aspect of my year was terrible, because that would be a disgusting hyperbole. I had many, many great times throughout the past 365 days. I look back and remember fondly such times as parties down the shore, fun weddings, great times with my girls at C2, et cetera, et cetera.

I will, however, concede to the fact that overall, considering the year as a collective whole, 2009 fucking sucked.

Why is this so? Honestly, I don't feel like I am up to nit-picking any specific incident that added to the downer that was 2009. Instead, I will sum up the entire experience as follows: 2009 sucked because I did not follow through on my New Year's Resolutions.

Let's look them. This is copied from the December 2008 post, "Bringing in the New Year":
1) It would be foolish of me to say that I want to cut down on the drinking; it's just not going to happen. However, I do want to keep it from escalating any further than it has. Let's stick to drinking about four nights a week, eh?

2) I want to refrain from getting written up again. I'm on a roll with this, as I lasted all semester. It would be nice to keep this going and last until I get to the townhouses without getting written up again.

3) I resolve to NOT get naked at a party this year. Not because I don't like being naked, but because having a mostly-nude picture of yourself on Facebook is bad news.

4) I have to stop letting girls affect me as much as they do. This one I'll most likely fail at.
I shake my head in dismay when surveying these four resolutions I set for myself. (1) Did I cut down on drinking? Well, actually, a little bit, and I was proud of it, but no one seems to notice regardless of what I do, so what does it matter? People ignore my progress and focus on those slight temporary transgressions. These people can go fuck themselves. (2) Did I refrain from getting written up again? I'm not at liberty to say (What's up, my homies in Community Development?). But let's just say that the very notion of living in the townhouses, though logical then, is little more than laughable now. (3) Did I get naked at a party? Sigh... at least no one took a picture this time. (4) Did I let girls affect me? Well, I spent probably the majority of my year playing a watered-down version of the male lead from 500 Days of Summer, and the rest of it wondering why there was no happy ending like there was in 500 Days of Summer, so... yes, I let girls affect me.

I guess all I can do is repeat what I said last year at this time, and realize that it still holds infinitely true:

"I think one thing that still stands true after this whole goddamn year, after the many years past, is this: No matter what happens, no matter what shitty nonsense befalls on us, no matter what life can throw at us, at least we have our friends. Whether we're laughing with them, drinking with them, or just blogging with them, we can always count on our friends to get us through just one more year."

So, take whatever irony you can extract from that quote (i.e., the fact that I have recently lost some good friends), and join me in saying "Fuck you!" to 2009. Because 2010 is here, it's a new decade, and all we can do is try to make this year somewhat better than last.

Happy New Year from all three or four of us here at Puke on Your Birthday!!!

Thursday, December 24, 2009

Reflections on a Christmas Myth


Among pretty much everyone my age, there seems to be a general consensus: Christmas was a hell of a lot better when we were younger.

As we grow older, we start to see the holidays as a commercialized endeavor, an uncomfortable family ordeal, or simply a pain in the ass. When we were toddlers, it was a magical time of year. We became good boys and girls in hopes of avoiding that coal in our stockings. We decorated the tree with a certain panache. We laid out milk and cookies in order to impress Jolly Ol' Saint Nick, so that he would give us the toys we desire.

But as Nietzsche once said, "Santa is dead," and I argue that our gradual demythologizing of this once great holiday rests solely on this fact.

It used to be I got really excited for Christmas. I strived with all my might to be on the "Nice" list so that Santa would put the new Banjo-Kazooie N64 game under the tree. I knew that he was always watching, and I'm sure that it gave my parents a much-needed month-long rest from the constant fighting and bickering they regularly endured from my sisters and me. I looked forward to the phone call I'd get from the jolly fat man himself, personally checking up on me to see if I had been good. I got a little nervous to sit on his lap when he just so happened to be spending the entirety of the Christmas season at my local shopping mall. When I woke up Christmas morning, the question was: Did he come? And, oh my fucking God, I think I heard the pitter-patter of eight or nine reindeer on the roof last night!

Unfortunately, as I grew up, I wasn't a moron. The legend of Santa Claus slowly but surely crumbled around me.

It started with the schoolyard discussion: "I heard Santa wasn't real." I couldn't believe my ears. This was preposterous! Why would my parents, nay, society as a whole lie to me? Why would such an elaborate charade be constructed in the first place?

Yet, certain clues started to pop up that pointed to Santa's phoniness. There was the fact that my parents always seemed extraordinarily tired Christmas morning, even though they went to bed roughly the same time as me. There was the fact that they were doing an awful lot of shopping, even though they shouldn't have to have anyone to buy for—weren't Santa's elves shouldering that burden? Then there was the fact that, when my grandmom remarried, Santa suddenly stopped calling, and instead, "Ebenezer" was giving me a call. Ebenezer was Santa's self-proclaimed head elf, and he sounded an awful lot like my new grandpop.

This is all became too much. I needed to know. Was he real or not? So one day, while my parents were at work, I tip-toed into their bedroom, and sneakily searched under their bed for proof. And there it was. A Stone Cold Steve Austin action figure. It was on my Christmas list, and supposedly the elves were busy making it at the moment, but here it was, under my parents' bed. Christmas as I had always known it was shattered.

That Christmas I felt dirty. Here I was, greedily unwrapping gifts I probably didn't deserve, and all this time I had been thanking some old man that didn't even exist. My parents sloshed through the snow and spent hundreds of dollars, and they had never received the thanks they truly deserved. And Christ! If I had known it was them getting my presents every year, I would have spent a lot more on them then the $5 I was spending at the B.V.M. Christmas Bazaar! I felt like an ass.

So here we are. Older, wiser, and experiencing Christmas in a whole different way. Sure, I still appreciate it for all the good things it bears—a deserved break from school, a chance to spend some quality time with family and friends, maybe a neat gift or two.

But the magic is gone. And I miss it.

Monday, December 21, 2009

One Final Post About Stupid Shit on Facebook

In May of 2008, I was pissed off at Facebook. I have always been pissed off at Facebook, despite the fact that I go on the damn website umpteen times every day. So, in my bitterness and rage, I created a Facebook group (that, frankly, I was eventually proud of):

click to enlarge

I promptly invited all my Facebook friends (maybe around 500 at the time) to join the group. A bunch of them actually accepted the invitation to the group, and people got a kick out of it, but then everyone forgot about it.

Then a weird thing happened. I checked it out the other day, almost by accident, and, I fucking kidding you not, there are 977 people in this group, most of whom I don't know and don't even share any mutual friends with. This is ridiculous!

It's ridiculous for a few reasons. First of all, now instead of good friends posting on the wall, there are morons from the dark corners of the internet writing all kinds of stupid shit. And I love it:

click to enlarge

Secondly, it is ridiculous because it's sad to think how aimless people had to be in their Facebook trolling to happen upon some inane group page. What, did they search for groups with the word "hate"? Did they search for groups with illiterate Australians clogging up the wall? Or did they just search for "Facebook" and this was so popular that it was the first hit? I don't know, and frankly, I don't want to know.

Finally, I find it ridiculous that people care that much about groups anymore, because, as I've come to realize, no one makes or maintains Facebook groups anymore. The general trend has shifted to being "fans" of something. So, instead of joining a group called "Puke on Your Birthday Glorifies Underage Drinking and My School Expelled Me for It," you can just simply say you are a "fan" of Puke on Your Birthday (despite the fact that you would probably be a liar if you did so).

So, when I happened upon this little group, it felt weird. It felt sullied now that people shit all over the wall with idiotic statements such as "This group is a contradiction FTW!" (No one can appreciate intentional irony used for comical purpose anymore.)

But it also felt quaint, because Facebook has moved away from the idea of "groups." So I no longer get mad at groups telling me to "Join because if 1Million do, my grandmom won't die" or "If 3 million join, I won't drop my phone in the toilet bowl while taking a shit anymore." I don't get mad because it doesn't happen. Those groups are toast.

But goddamn it, there's still a lot of little things that piss me off. I know I tend to harp on this crap to the point of nausea sometimes, but it must be said!

—Why must people continuously quote from Texts from Last Night? Yes, we get it, you get drunk, and get into situations that other kids who get drunk also get into. You can relate to kids your age in the things they say. A novel concept!



—What the fuck are these stupid "question and answers" that everyone keeps posting on my wall? Why do the questions insist on being so picayune? And why do people answer them in such an uninspired fashion? I.e. "What is Joe's favorite thing to do?" Answer: "umm, idk."



In addition: Congratulations for being so clever, kids! About 4376 of you felt the need to reference my drinking habits in answering the question. "What would Joe do to increase his study habits?" Answer: "Well, uhh, he'd, uhhh, I dunno, finish a whole case of Natty and then like ten Hurricanes and he, like, wouldn't give a fuck!" So clever. Bravo! Bravo!

—When Facebook came up with the "Notes" application, I bet they were hoping that Facebook could eventually become something of a blogging tool as well. Unfortunately, it's turned into a wasteland of unintelligent surveys. Myspace lives vicariously through Facebook notes. Hell, I wouldn't even mind it if people actually wrote out funny or well-written survey answers, but most of the time it comes out like this:

click to enlarge

I could continue, humble reader. There are countless other things that annoy me on Facebook (how people who you don't even know wish you a happy birthday every fucking year; how increasingly stupid these unnecessary applications can be; how only 23 people are "fans" of PoYB), but I'll stop there.

I'm throwing in the towel because, in the midst of my compiling pictures for this blog post, I was invited to join a group called "See If Someone Is Stalking You" and I just about can't take it anymore.

Questions that you, the humble reader, may answer in the comments section of this blog post:

1) What annoys the fuck out of you on Facebook? Because I'm exhausted just thinking about all the possible answers.
2) Why do we continuously go on Facebook, even though it rots our brains and gives us cancer?
3) WHY THE FUCK IS EVERYONE RESPONDING "MAYBE" FOR MY FACEBOOK EVENT? WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?
4) Hey, remember when Mike had all the PoYB posts published as notes under his profile on Facebook, and at least three people told me how wonderful "Mike's post" about Michael Jackson was? The fuck? I guess his egregious actions could retroactively explain this:

Monday, December 14, 2009

Eureeka's Fucking Castle!!


A few days ago I posted a plea for a copy of Eureeka's Castle Christmas Special, because for the first time I can remember, the internet had failed me.

Well, some kind anonymous soul gave me a link, and it is everything I hoped for and more. Mr. or Ms. Anonymous, usually I'd call you a coward for staying anonymous, but today I want to kiss you. Thank you!!

So, with out further ado... enjoy!

Eureeka's Fucking Castle!

[Obviously there was a long-dead link left here, but you can now watch it on YouTube.]

Sunday, December 13, 2009

2009 in Music

2009 was a weird year for music for me. I feel like a lot of the music I discovered this year didn't actually come out this year, so in telling you "the best music of 2009," I'm only giving you a fraction of the music I came to enjoy. In trying to come up with my Top Ten Albums for my school entertainment publication, I had a really tough time, simply because I listened to less than ten albums from 2009.

So, in that regard, I'm skipping writing my top albums here, and am instead presenting two separate Top Five Songs lists. The first is the top five songs of 2009, the second, the top five songs I loved this year that didn't actually come out this year.

Top Five Songs of 2009

5. "Rain On" by Woods




4. "Lust for Life" by Girls




3. "Lizstomania" by Phoenix




2. "You Go On Ahead (Trumpet Trumpet II)" by Sunset Rubdown




1. "Party in the U.S.A." by Miley Cyrus




Top Five Songs of Not 2009

5. "Dance Music" by the Mountain Goats




4. "Creator" by Santogold




3. "Make Your Own Kind of Music" by Mama Cass




2. "Letter from an Occupant" by the New Pornographers




1. "She Bangs the Drums" by the Stone Roses

Tuesday, December 8, 2009

Remember This?



The cover of a school newspaper, September 18, 2008.

Saturday, December 5, 2009

Eureeka's Castle and the Limits of the Internet

I was all set to bring back the Top Five, humble reader. I had the vision of doing something in the Christmas spirit. Then it hit me. "Top Five Songs from a Christmas TV Special." And then I found out that there is, in fact, a limit to what you find on the internet.


Above is a forgotten Nick Jr. show called Eureeka's Castle. I'm not quite sure I remember the premise of the show. I only remember that they had a kick-ass Christmas special. In said special were a few songs, one beautifully sung by those furry purple and orange puppets in the picture there (Wikipedia says they are named "Bogge" and "Quagmire"). It was called "Put It on the List," maybe. But it was a spectacular song, and even though I can't for the life of me remember anything else about this show, I can still hear the song in my head.

But I can't find it on the internet.

So there is a limit to the world wide web. I mean, this is literally the first time I could not find something out there through a few well-placed google searches. Unbelievable.

This is a challenge, reader. Do me one better. Find this video on the web. Remember, the song is called "Put It on the List" sung by Bogge and Quagmire on Eureeka's Castle.

If no one is able to find it in a few days, I'll be forced to root through old boxes in the basement for a VHS copy of the special, but don't make me do that—my aunt's vicious cat lives down there.

Friday, December 4, 2009

Are You a Good Writer?

Here at Puke on Your Birthday, we try to be modest. We do not claim we are writing the next great American novel. No one is saying that we have perfected the English language. Hand in a copy of a post from PoYB to your Lit professor, and you might just fail the course.

On the other hand, we are for the most part not terrible writers either. I guess we are somewhere in the gray area between amazing wordsmiths and community college English writers.

So where does any particular piece of writing fall in the general scope of things? Use this easy ten-point scale to figure it out. A "10" is really fucking good writing, and a "1" is complete dog shit. Where would your blog fall?

THE "GOOD WRITING" SCALE

10 — The Great Gatsby by F. Scott Fitzgerald

9 — Phil Sheridan's article on the Phillies' World Series win

8 — Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, Chapter 36

7 — Highway 61 Revisited's liner notes

6 — Puke On Your Birthday

5 — The transcript of any given Degrassi episode

4 — My third grade social studies textbook

3 — The kid's menu

2 — My sister's xanga [a tragically broken link, forever lost]

1 — The Metro

Spare Change?

The following blog post was written by Joe K***, and reflects his thoughts and opinions during the time it was written. Looking back, he doesn’t stand by what he wrote anymore, for various reasons. Please read an explanation HERE. This blog post will remain published as more of a time capsule of how immature or wrongheaded I was. I do not agree with certain things that are written below. People change. I’ve changed. I am sorry.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the object of desire

They say that beggars can't be choosers. But what about those being begged?

I live in Philadelphia, which has the nation's highest homelessness rate among the top ten populated cities. I go to school in North Philadelphia, which offers a fair amount of beggars. I frequent the corner store to buy forties, which is pretty much guaranteed to feature at least three people, maybe more, asking for spare change.

This is not an assessment of the homeless situation in my great city. This is not Puke's editorial to "clean up the streets" or "build more soup kitchens." Though I am all about helping out the homeless (remember this?), I write this post about my experiences as one who has been constantly begged.

I'm not going to lie, I have given out my fair amount of change, for better or worse. But over the years, I've come to be picky about who gets my spare nickels and dimes. Consider the following examples, just in case you yourself one day are asking me for the contents of my pockets.

1) The beggar who asks for bus fare money.

Do I give him my change? Maybe.

I know what's it like to be short for token money, so I can empathize. However, am I being asked on a bus route? Can I see the bus coming? How desperate does the beggar look for money? All these things are considered in the "bus fare" situation.

2) The beggar who has a dog.

Do I give him my change? Yes!

Goddamn, it breaks my heart to see a homeless dog. Screw the owner, he better use that change to buy the dog some Puppy Chow.

3) The rude beggar.

Do I give him my change? No.

One day, I was walking in a Dunkin Donuts. Me and another lady approached the door at the same time. I opened the door for her. She did not say thank you. When I walked out of the store, she asked me for spare change. I have no spare change for those without manners.

4) The musical beggar.

Do I give him my change? Yes.

I always have respect for musicians, regardless of their economic status. Whether it be a guy with a trumpet outside the Linc playing the theme song to Rocky, or a guy with a guitar strumming away on Broad Street, or some random kook banging away on a bucket he pretends is a drum, the musician always gets my change, and all of it.

5) The hungry beggar.

Do I give him my change? No, I give them food.

I was always told that some people ask for money for food and just use it for drugs. Well, they can't all be like that, right? One time I was asked for change because "I am so hungry." So in addition to eight Hurricanes for a party, I bought a pack of crackers for the poor gent. He looked at the crackers and said "Man, fuck that." So much for hungry.

6) The thirsty beggar.

Do I give him my change? Probably.

I'll be going to get my forties, and a guy will stop me: "Man, I just really need a Bud Ice tall boy." I'll be damned if I didn't know that feeling! Here's a quarter, sir!

7) The carjacking beggar.

Do I give him my change? "Oh Jesus! Lock the doors!"

I was at a red light on 7th and Olney the other day, and I kid you not, some lady ran up to my car and literally tried opening the door to get in. I'll give you change, just don't kill me!

8) The con-artist beggar.

Do I give him my change? Fuck yes!

I was at a Phillies game, tailgating at Jetro, when some guy came up to my group with a "little wager." He was carrying around a little plank of wood, three cups, and a marble, challenging us to guess which cup the marble was under. The guy was obviously hammered and kept dropping the cups, which ruined his ruse. Then the cops came and shooed him away. Hey, at least the dude was creative. He earned his money.

9) The con-artist beggar, part II

Do I give him my change? Shit, I guess I did

I was waiting for the R8 downtown when a guy asked me if I had change for a dollar. I did, and being the good Samaritan I am, I gave him four quarters... and then he ran away. Without give me the dollar. He made me look like an ass, I guess that's worth some change.

Regardless of whether the giving change helps alleviate poverty or just perpetuates the problems, homelessness is a real issue in Philadelphia.

I might regret this post later if it comes to seem like I am putting myself above these people. I am not. Like I've stated above, I can empathize with many of their plights—the need to get on a bus, the need of a beer, the use of music to make life better.

I just wanted to highlight some of my experiences with beggars, and the myriad of creative ways they try to shake me down for those coins. Man, Philadelphia is awesome.

Thursday, December 3, 2009

Inspiration from Essays Past


Man, fuck this. An essay is due tomorrow. I should really finish it now. I stare at the topic, and it looks like nonsense:

"Thomas Beaudoin’s book Consuming Faith has the intriguing subtitle: 'integrating who we are with what we buy.' What does the subtitle mean to Beaudoin, and what does this integration have to do with faith? 4-5 pages."

Goddamn it. I can't make heads or tails of the topic. Not that I really can do much with essays nowadays anyway. I can never bring myself to start a paper until, oh, two hours before it is due. When I do finally start it, I bullshit and crank out the minimum amount of words and never think about the subject again. You could say that I'm in an essay slump.

It's especially disheartening because I used to be so damn good at writing essays. Things were never this hard. Why have I changed? What went wrong?

I need to delve into my past to try to figure it out.

As a consequence of procrastinating, I came across a packet of old essays and projects from grade school that my mother had saved. Seeking inspiration, I looked through them and tried to pick up from where I left off, tried to recapture some of that old magic. Here are some examples of what I found:

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Seventh Grade

"The Wizard of Oz: Dorothy Goes Back"

This is the story of what happened to Dorothy after she returned to the Land of Oz.

It all started when Auntie Em and Uncle Henry got in a fight. They eventually divorced, and Uncle Henry moved to Las Vegas. Auntie Em sold the farm and started her own fast-food chain called "Auntie Em's Famous Toto Burgers." Dorothy, getting sick of recent events, moved to Oz permanently.

When she arrived though, it was not the beautiful paradise she once knew. The munchkins were at the peak of a civil war, and the poppy field was ruined in a fire. The fire spread to the Emerald City, and the Scarecrow, forgetting about his flammable body, tried to put out the flames. He died on August 23rd. The Cowardly Lion was nowhere to be found, and the Tin Man has retired and started his own collection of flying monkey skins.

After the Wicked With of the West was melted in Dorothy's previous visit, her castle was turned into a Motel 6. That is where Dorothy and Toto slept.

In the morning, Dorothy decided to go for a walk. She walked toward the Yellow Brick Road, but to her surprise, someone had painted it purple! As she pondered over who would commit this hideous crime, the Cowardly Lion appeared. He greeted Dorothy and asked if she wanted to accompany him to the royal palace of Zo. That's Zo, not Oz. It was located about five miles away from the Emerald City. Dorothy agreed and joined the lion on his journey to the palace.

On the way, Dorothy noticed something strange about the lion. He was moving a bit stiff and his joints, especially his knees, were making weird clunking noises. "Is something wrong, Lion?" questioned Dorothy. "You are coming with me!" he exclaimed. He then took off his mask and revealed his true identity—The Wicked Witch of the Northwest!

The witch took Dorothy to her castle and enslaved her for the rest of her life. If you take a trip to the magical land of Oz today, you'll see Dorothy at the castle doing chores for the Wicked Witch. Unfortunately for Dorothy, she never lived happily ever after.

Does this help me with my essay-writing today?

Despite the awfully pessimistic ending, the obvious rip off of Return to Oz, with a brutally simple plot, I managed to get a 98 on the paper. Maybe that is the trick—just write simple stories about magical lands. I'm sure my religion teacher would love it.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sixth Grade

"My 'I Am' Poem"

I am an exciting, intelligent guy with a creative mind.
I hear the rain singing a beautiful hymn of joy.
I wonder when the final judgment will come. I see the sun dancing on the rooftop.
I want to watch the sun set below the mountains.

I pretend I am hiking on the trails of Kilimanjaro.
I feel the icy cold wind blowing the hair off my head.
I worry that I will trip and fall off the cliff to a horrible death.
I cry when I reach the bottom but then remember I left my car at the top.

I understand I might not be able to achieve all my goals.
I try to reach out and touch other people's lives.
I hope to one day establish a world of peace.
I am an exciting, intelligent guy with a creative mind.

Does this help me with my essay-writing today?

What the hell kind of magical mushroom was I tripping on when I wrote this crap? Good lord. If I handed in something like this for a religion essay, I'd at best get a chuckle out of my teacher, then a sigh, then a tear, then a big fat F.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Fifth Grade

"Andy the Ape"
A Fable by Joe K***

One day, deep in the jungle, a monkey was born. His parents named him Andy, Andy the Ape. He was skinny and frail. As Andy grew older, his friends started to tease him about his skeleton-like body. Poor Andy. One day he decided he would do whatever it takes to become strong. He exercised and worked out for ten years. Today, Andy is the strongest ape in the jungle.

Moral—Work towards your dreams, and they will come true.

Does this help me with my essay-writing today?

I think perhaps I could end this essay on a more appropriate note if I added the following: "And then Andy realized that looks weren't everything. After trying to work out for one day and then giving up because he couldn't even do a push-up, he grew old, lazy, and developed a beer belly. Not many girl apes liked him."

I'm starting to think that maybe I was never good at writing essays in the first place.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Third Grade

"It Was Wonderful!"

I went camping. I was at the campground with my friends Matt and Tom. We have a greart [sic] time. We went fishing, had a [sic] canpfire and went in the pool (there was a pool across the street). That night we went on a hayride. After that we went to the dairy barn and got some ice cream. Then we packed up and went home. The end.

Does this help me with my essay-writing today?

Well, that was truly wonderful, wasn't it? So inspired! So original! I actual don't remember this camping trip ever happening, so it's possible I made it all up. Maybe that's the way to write an essay—just make a bunch of shit up and hope that I spell "great" right instead of spelling it "greart."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Second Grade

My favorite hobby is to collect trading cards. I have about 200 of them. It is fun to collect them.

Does this help with my essay-writing today?

God, this sounds like a story you could find in the Metro newspaper. So no, this doesn't help.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

First Grade

I like to play basketball. It is fun.

Does this help with my essay-writing today?

Yes, I swear to God that was my entire essay. If my teacher was asking for a twitter update instead of an essay, then this might pass. But unfortunately, college papers require more than eight words.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kindergarten

This is fucking absurd. I swear to God, this is a picture of an essay I wrote in Kindergarten:



Does this help me with my essay-writing today?

Oh man, I wish it did! Look, all we had to do in Grade K was scribble lines and pretend they were actually words. Adorable. I am really curious as to what this story was about. Based on the bright blue X, apparently it tells the fictitious tale of the time my father and I murdered a turtle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So I've gone back to the basics, and tried to figure out how I lost that essay-writing magic that I once held so dear. Unfortunately, no sequels to The Wizard of Oz or shaggy dog stories about turtle murder will help me with my essay about Faith in an Economic World.

FUCK.

Tuesday, December 1, 2009

Turning 21: Part III

Part III: The Future
Or, a Noble Attempt to Follow Up on Mike's Heartfelt Post Yesterday


Well, it's finally arrived. Today, I have turned 21. I will finally be able to have my first beer.

Thus far, in my multi-part celebrations here on our beloved PoYB, we have discussed my drinking in the past, and my distaste for the law presently. In our final installment, I'd like to discuss my future, as a legal drinker.

In many regards, my 21st birthday will have made the biggest impact in my life, out of any birthday I have ever experienced, or ever will. I could get my driving permit at age sixteen, I could stay out past curfew and buy porn at age eighteen, and I could, um... buy cigarettes in New Jersey at age nineteen. But goddamn it, now I can drink!

So, all in all, huge changes are in store.

And yet, nothing will really change at all.

Okay, so, changes. One big change will be that a burden I've carried for years will finally be lifted. No longer will I have to constantly be on alert for cops at a tailgate gathering. No longer will I have to figure out how to get alcohol when even the shadiest Olney beer distributor starts carding. No longer will I be at a party and figure out my escape route when the cops inevitably bust it. I will be free from the law that has oppressed me and my peers for far too long.

Another change is the added responsibility. To quote Spiderman in what has become a terrible cliché: "With great power comes great responsibility." Just because I can go to the bar legally doesn't excuse me from the chance that I could still take a trip to the hospital. There's still a wide margin of error, and I need to continue to control myself.

In the last few months, I've done a lot to change myself for the better. With being a half-step away from being expelled from my ever-so-strict university, change was needed. I think thus far, I've done a great job. No use letting my age hinder further progress.

So all this shit is changing just because the calendar has turned from November to December and I find myself a single year older. Yet, I look around and see that nothing has really changed at all.

Tonight, I will be going to McNally's and drinking my first legal beers. I will be attending this bar with friends that I've always shared beers with. The place will be different, but the experience will be the same.

My friends and I have been through innumerable experiences together while drinking. We've hung out in backyards, in subways, next to fire pits, in pools, on beaches, and inexplicably, on a polo field. We've shared many inside jokes, laughed hard, left many a meal unfinished. From that first Yueungling snuck out of the cooler at the '01 block party to that glorious day we will road trip to the Miami bars and beyond, my friends are what made the 21-year wait worth it.

I don't care what kind of laws Congress passes, my reasons for drinking have always been the same. It's there to have a great time with your friends.

Nothing has changed.

Happy Birthday, kid. You made it.

Monday, November 30, 2009

Turning 21: Part II

Part II: The Law

above: hot and sober

Well, it's finally arrived. In exactly 24 hours, I will turn 21 years old. I will finally be able to have my first beer.

Okay, you caught me. It won't be my first beer. I've had a few in my day, in clear and blatant disregard for the law.

The national drinking age, set at 21 years old for over two decades now, is a law that I'd like to call into question. This is the purpose of today's post, to inspect why the drinking age came about, how it is enforced, and why it doesn't fucking work. Yes, it's time to get serious here on PoYB.

Now, before we start this potentially lengthy diatribe, I want to first say that I'm not going to burden my argument with facts and figures, and I'm not going to quote any sources. This is not a bullshit essay for an Alcohol Awareness class. If that weakens my argument, so be it. I don't have the energy to care THAT much. Take my anecdotal arguments or leave them.

Furthermore, I'm pretty biased in that I am an avid drinker, a drinker who really hasn't encountered any harsh realities of the very real dangers of drinking. I've gotten in trouble, occasionally been slapped on the wrist for my actions, but I have never lost a loved one to a drunk driver or taken any trips to the hospital or been negatively affected by an alcoholic, thank the good lord. So all you straightedge kids of the world, I implore you to just skip this blog post. I don't feel like getting in a fight over this shit. I'm going to be of legal age tomorrow and none of this will matter to me personally anymore.

SO ANYWAY, let's begin with how the drinking age was established, as I see it. In the late '70s, the United States faced a problem in rising counts of deaths on the road caused by driving while intoxicated. Lead by the Mothers Against Drunk Driving, or MADD, supporters of the 21-year-old age limit lobbied Congress to pass the National Minimum Drinking Age Act in 1984. It didn't set the drinking age at 21, but it threatened states with cutting their highway funding if they didn't. So, in effect, all 50 states were blackmailed into submission anyway.

MADD generally sees this law as a success. It's true, the number of highway deaths caused by alcohol has dropped significantly since prior to their lobbying.

The true success of MADD was their effect on the general outlook on the idea of "drunk driving." Drunk driving is considered by most to be, like, really bad. Even the worst of the teenage drunks will say that he isn't stupid enough to get behind the wheel. When someone does, he is generally berated by his friends for his social crime. They shake their heads and say, "dude, that's really fucked up." When I watch Dazed and Confused, it fucking blows my mind that their culture didn't really care if people drank and drove, because my culture here in 2009 frowns upon it so heavily.

This was the success, in my mind, and it is due to this success that the drinking age now no longer makes sense.

Drinking and driving is still a problem, I'll admit, but we're no longer acting like Randall "Pink" Floyd and Wooderson, "catch ya later at the water tower, we'll get hammered and drive home" bullshit. Goddamn, teenagers are responsible behind the wheel!

The drinking age now really has nothing to do with drunk driving. People who are going to drive will drive, people who won't simply won't, and it doesn't matter if you are 21 or eighteen or 82. To prevent drunk driving, make stricter drunk driving laws, NOT general drinking laws.

You know what the drinking age has done? It's made alcohol abuse among teenagers worse.

I'm not saying that lowering the age to eighteen would eliminate people getting obliterated beyond control. People would still do that. But it would cut out a lot of the shit that teens do behind locked doors.

Consider the sorority sister who wants to drink a little bit for the big football game on a Friday night. It is against the law for her to drink at the game, so that is out of the question. So she takes the pregame into her dorm room, where she and a few friends pound six or seven shots right before they leave.

What if she had been allowed to legally drink at the game? She would be drinking in a supervised environment then. She wouldn't be drinking six shots because it's in plain view of school authorities who, while not being able to punish the person drinking directly, would definitely frown upon the excessive drinking, and in the mean time keep a watchful eye over the situation. So she has a few beers at the game. She is safer.

Consider the freshman who is at his first frat party. After about an hour, and three beers, the cops surround the house, issue 200 underage drinking tickets, and steal all the kegs. What is the intended outcome? Is the freshman supposed to think, "Gee, those cops were right, I'll never drink again"? What are the actual consequences? The cops breed a contempt for authority, the freshman just finds a different way to drink, and nothing changes, except that maybe the frat throws its parties at a different house.

There are other ways that the law is enforced that are fucking senseless. Consider the guy who is twenty, knows how to drink responsibly, and has a few with his buddy in the next neighborhood over. It's time to go home, so he calls another friend, the designated driver, who is stone-cold sober and who comes to give the tipsy kid a ride home. He has done the responsible thing. Except, the designated driver gets pulled over because his taillight is busted. The cop smells booze in the car, breathalyzes the passenger, and gives him an underage citation. The kids was responsible in controlling his liquor intake, and calling a designated driver, and is still punished! This happens!!

Now consider briefly the people some people who are in charge of enforcing this law (I say briefly because I could easily write books instead of this one paragraph). I focus my attention not on our cops and judges, but on those individuals we know as "RAs." These authority figures are kids themselves—who break drinking laws themselves!—and who are writing students up at alarmingly speeds on college campuses, sometimes for the wrong reasons. I know someone (cough) who was busted in his room one day while he played water pong. Water pong. The beer was in the fridge, but the RA went along and opened the fridge, lied and told his boss that he had saw beer in cups on the pong table (it was fucking water!). All this because the poor kid had broken up with his girlfriend who happened to be friends with said RA, and said RA sought revenge for the individual by abusing his powers.

All because a few cans of beer were in the fridge, and the drinking age prohibited it.

Fucking abuse of power by a kid that breaks the same goddamn rules he used to abuse his power.

Okay, let's calm down. Let's get back to being logical, and not emotional. Fuck that RA. Fuck him. It's over, and there are other issues regarding this bullshit law that need to be discussed. Onward...

UPenn does something that's really great. It's called the "amnesty law." If someone, be it a friend or otherwise, has had a bit too much to drink, you can go up to a school official or RA or whoever and claim the amnesty law, which prevents you from getting in trouble for being drunk for the sake of the safety of another student. This makes sense because sometimes when a kid is in trouble of getting really fucking sick, or even dying, from alcohol intake, no one wants to get help because they are afraid of the law.

Guess what happens when I find a person turning blue in the face and report it to someone here at university? Not only do I get a pat on the back for doing the right thing, but I also get slapped with an underage drinking charge for drinking with the other student.

Did I mention my school is ridiculous about how it handles underage drinking? I feel it to be an honor and a privilege that I have been used and abused as an example of what happens to underage drinkers here at school. Ah! But I'm getting to emotional again. Back to the point!

My point in all this is that teens need to be responsible in their drinking. If someone is stupid enough to do eighteen shots on their eighteenth birthday, then they are fucking asking for a free trip to the G-Town Hospital.

But at the same time, teens need to be provided with a little trust. The trust that teens hold behind the wheel, in the voting booth, and on the battlefields needs to be given to them at the bar. Teenagers, when not trusted to handle drinking responsible, WILL NOT handle drinking responsibly.

All those cops and MADD members and goddamn RAs are not doing anything to prevent underage drinking. They are just pushing it more and more underground, to depths that it becomes more and more dangerous. Did we learn nothing from the Prohibition?

The only way to develop good drinking habits is to bring it out in the open. This age limit is fucking nonsense. Why not drop the age limit, and do everything we can to educate youngsters and try to develop great drinking habits within view of responsible elders? One can learn how to drink responsibly with their parents at a family dinner, not in the woods with a handle of Vlad.

When states lowered the drinking age to eighteen way back in the '60s and '70s, there was a huge spike in the number of deaths caused by drinking. But the problem was, the only thing they did was lower the age. No other preventative measures were instilled. It was like the states just said, "hey kids, it's fine now, go get fucked up." And people went crazy and died.

Lower the age, I say. Not only lower it, but try to instill responsible habits at the age when boys and girls become men and women. We can handle it, I know we can.

This drinking age just doesn't work. It just fucking doesn't. I shouldn't have to be this excited for a goddamn birthday.

As a way to end this post on a positive note: I realize that the law has affected my life greatly. It has caused me great pain, and great pleasure. I wouldn't be where I am today without the law being what it was, so in that regard, I've made my peace. Nevertheless, I feel bad for those who still need to wait a few years to have their day of legality. Because the law fucking sucks.

Sunday, November 29, 2009

Turning 21: Part I

Part I: Sobriety

above: sober for 7663 days!!!!

Well, it's finally arrived. In exactly two days, I will turn 21 years old. I will finally be able to have my first beer.

"First beer?!" I hear you exclaim. "Surely this cannot be your first beer! There have been countless references to underage drinking here on the wonderful Puke on Your Birthday! There's no way you haven't frank alcohol before!"

Believe it or not, I have never had an alcoholic drink in my entire life, and every so-called drinking references on this blog was all a misunderstanding. Let me explain:

June 23, 2008 — "Rest in Peace"
While it may seem that the whole story about our old runner Andy is about our underage drinking escapades, it actually never specifically says that I drank. "The sweet smell of malt liquor" refers to my new cologne. "My head is next to the toilet bowl" was because of vertigo. When Andy bought us liquor from Wine and Spirits, the liquor was used to clean the scrape I got on my knee from a riveting games of Capture the Flag. When I say that he "got us drunk," it's the equivalent to the Beatles claiming they "got high." Drunk on a great friendship!

June 28, 2008 — "Fightin' Will Not Be Tolerated"
Yes, there is mention of the group of us bringing rum to a party, but notice how I specifically state that I was completely sober that night. I was "condemned to being sober," because drinking is against the law, obviously!

July 4, 2008 — "And I'm (or Thought I Was) Proud to Be an American"
In referencing Halloween: "what once was an innocent night of walking around the neighborhood collecting candy has turned into a blur of a night that usually involves me dressing up in women's clothing and waking up the next morning only to discover I have pissed myself and all over my bed." A blur because I am just having so much sober fun! I dress up in women's clothing because I am gay! And I pissed myself because I have nocturnal polyuria!

July 13, 2008 — "Bound for Glory"
"I kick ass at beer pong" sure sounds like I was drinking underage. However, we play beer pong with water here in the Northeast. Now, if only my RA would have realized that, he wouldn't have had to write me up!

July 15, 2008 — "Bound for Obloquy"
This is a very misconceiving post. In it, I claim I suck at drinking. One might assume I meant drinking alcohol. Simply not true! I was born with a small esophagus, so it's really hard for me to drink anything. When I say "I'm not stranger to the phenomenon of getting shitfaced," I was referring to the fact that for some reason, my dog shits on my face sometimes when I'm sleeping. When I say that I've "taken beer bongs," I mean I literally steal beer bongs from Spencer's at the mall and give them to my friends for Christmas. "I used to be able to take big swigs of vodka." Hypothetically! I guess making assumptions makes an ass of you and me. And I even say "don't make me chug a beer," because it's against the law!

July 31, 2008 — "Might Drink Too Much" [DELETED]
Ex-PoYB writer Mandy wrote extensively about escapades drinking in the woods with her neighborhood friends. Whoops! I live in one neighborhood, she in another. Different neighborhoods! I'm off the hook!

August 13, 2008 — "Contrary to Popular Belief, I Do Have Friends"
Woah, just because I claim that all my friends drink doesn't mean I do. I don't give into peer pressure. The only specific thing I say about myself is that I "act like my dad." This is true—he didn't drink until he was 21 either.

August 20, 2008 "PoYB Recaps Summer 2008"
There is a picture of me holding a keg over my head. An obvious feat of sober strength. There's also another picture of me with forties taped to my hands. My hands were swollen from lifting the keg over my head, and I needed the icy cold forties to stop the swelling. I obviously didn't drink them.

September 17, 2008 "Thirsty Thursday" [DELETED]
Be sure to note that Mike writes these Thirsty Thursday articles, and I only approve of them now that he is 21 himself.

November 12, 2008 "Yes, This Is the 'Obligatory Emo Post'"
"Get those bottles of Natty ready, boys." I meant get them ready for the Christmas food drive. We were going to donate beer that year, because we obviously couldn't drink it ourselves. That would be illegal.

November 14, 2008 "Five Top Fives Friday!"
There is a list of the "Top Five Places I've Purchased Beer." However, I even state specifically in the list that it is all hypothetical, "since I'm not 21 and wouldn't dare try to buy beer if I were underage." You couldn't possible think that was sarcasm, could you?

November 30, 2008 "Sometimes I'm Pathetic In Rockledge"
This entire post is a lie (mostly because I don't have the time or the energy to explain the 432789 supposed references to underage drinking). I don't drink goddam it!!!

December 25, 2008 "Nothing Like Sacrilege on Christmas Day"
Just because I go to frat parties and am familiar with them doesn't mean I go to frat parties to drink. Who doesn't like being in a sweaty cramped basement that smells like piss just for the hell of it?

December 31, 2008 "Bringing in the New Year"
My resolution for 2009 is to "cut down on my drinking" but it would be "foolish for me to say that" because it's not going to happen. Well, I for the past 20 years and eleven months I have cut down on my drinking—by not drinking at all—but I would be foolish to think I could keep it up, because I turn 21 in 2009, and I might have a beer on my birthday.

January 9, 2009 "Extreme Top Five Home Edition!"
One of the reasons I listed for why I hated living at home was that "there's no fridge to stock with beer." I meant non-alcoholic beer. Since I was in a play that winter that required me to drink non-alcoholic beer, I wanted to get used to the taste.

February 3, 2009 "Fucking Snow Day"
In describing what I'd do on a perfect snow day, I claimed I would "maybe [do] a little day drinking." You are mixing up syntax. I didn't mean I'd be drinking during the day. I meant I'd be drinking the actual day, in a metaphoric sense. Drinking the day for all it's worth, i.e., enjoying it to its full potential.

February 23, 2009 "'Restoring the Roar'?!"
Yes, I did claim in this post that I drink Lionshead. But Lionshead is not beer—didn't you know that? It's really just piss in a bottle. You don't need to be a certain age to drink piss! I just loves me some piss!

March 1, 2009 "Living in Filth"
It is described in a myriad of ways the amount of filth that had accumulated in Basil 249, especially from beer cans and boxes. But we weren't drinking the beer! We were simply being green and recycling our peers' cans!

March 7-8, 2009 "An Hour of Power" and "An Hour of Power: the Aftermath"
What, you thought we were drinking that whole time? Yo, chill out. My friends and I can have fun and say stupid shit without boozin', thank you very much.

April 1, 2009 "The End of an Era"
You're right, I do actually drink in the woods, and I have for years, and... aha! Gotchya! April Fool's!

May 3, 2009 "Leaving Home"
"when you sneak in 100 cases of beer" ...The boys of Room 249 did a lot of charity work, and one aspect was helping elderly gentlemen at the local underprivileged beer distributor. In an act of great charity, we snuck in an extra 100 cases of beer into the store from off the truck, without being asked. The owner was so pleased!
—"getting hammered and watching Spongebob" ...There's a scene where SpongeBob hits himself with a hammer. Art imitates life, life imitates art.
—"the one and only afternoon that we all were there, sober and single, and decided that all needed to change" ...We decided that needed to change. On our 21st birthdays. And not a day before.

August 20, 2009 "Facebook Profile Pic Etiquette"
There's a picture of me in front of a big pyramid of beer cans. Look at how much I was smiling! That bum gave me all those empty cans, which I traded in for 85 cents!

August 27 "PoYB From the Vault: Team Green"
This post is a huge story about my and Kev's escapades in beer bong. Little did you know it was my summer assignment for my Fiction Writing class in the fall.

Yikes!

I can see where you would get confused. There are a lot of posts on PoYB that could easily have been misinterpreted. BUT!

LET THE RECORD SHOW:

I have never consumed any kind of alcohol in my life, excluding the sip of the Blood of Christ I share every Sunday during the Sabbath. My first beer will be in two days, and I cannot wait.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

PoYB from the Vault: Soccer?!

In honor of our boy Kev trying out for the Philadelphia Union in a few weeks, I have this gift:

click to enlarge

Yes, I did, in fact, once play soccer. Regardless of how much I hate it now, there was a dark time in my life that I allowed myself to participate in such filth. And holy shit, look, there's Ed too! And my Dad without gray hair! I cannot believe that this was the in the Northeast Times. They must have really been short on stories that week.

This must have been the year I made the All-Star Team. If I can do that, Kev, then you can definitely make the Union! Good luck from all of us here at Puke on Your Birthday!

Thursday, November 26, 2009

Wonders


As I was reading through old posts on PoYB I came across an initiative to name the "wonders" of OUR world. I really like this, but I think Joe's suggestions in the comments never really embodied the WONDER part of the project.

I feel like "wonders" need to be just that—something unattainable, or something intangible, and not necessarily just a landmark. For example, I don't think Wawa makes the cut. I love Wawa as much as any of us, but it's too big a part of our daily lives. I think the Burholme water tower. It's the symbol of PoYB for a reason. It's been in the background of many of our best and worst nights, yet we've never gotten that close to it. Sure we may have ran around its base, but the water tower itself is unattainable. We can't reach it. It's symbolic of the fact that there's always something bigger than us, and I'm not talking about god. We are all individuals that are part of progressively larger groups. Friends, acquaintances, NEasters, Philadelphians, and young adults. The fact that so many people see the Water Tower in the memories of their nights spent around here brings a certain comfort to me. A certain knowledge that, despite all my fuck-ups, I'm growing up just like a lot of people.

Think the real Wonders. The Hanging Gardens of Babylon weren't just a place people hung out. They were a tribute to the beauty and capabilities of a culture. So I say in the spirit of PoYB's original purpose, the documentation of what life is like for some young Northeasters, we really go and compile a list of seven to ten Wonders of Our World; things that really stand for something. I hereby, officially submit the Burholme Water Tower as a Wonder of Our World. So let's see who agrees, and what else we think matter to us. Let's think of a way to formally announce what our wonders are, in a fashion that everybody can agree upon. Over drinks one night, as a team, maybe we can bang out a good list.

Along with the Water Tower: I submit the Philadelphia Phillies as an official PoYB Wonder of the World.

Giving Thanks, from the PoYB Family

We here at Puke on Your Birthday, contributors and readers alike, all have a lot to be thankful for.

Joe:
I'm thankful for...
  • 21st birthdays
  • people who let me crash on their couch (God bless LAC2)
  • the fact that Rose still knows who I am
  • a cell phone that has lasted for a year (a new record!)
  • my shitty car, recently nicknamed "Baby Beluga"
  • Hurricanes. Lots of Hurricanes.
  • my new ability to not vomit while drinking
  • the C***** Slur
  • The Sunset Tree
  • that I am still passing all my classes, against all odds
  • making it past my bearded life stage
  • my incredible football abilities, as will be showcased at Turkey Bowl tomorrow
  • those wonderful kids I'll be playing football with (I call them "friends")

Cindy:
I'm thankful for...
  • Power Hours
  • The European drinking age of eighteen
  • The Joe three-dollar discount—for me only ;)
  • Blueberry bagels toasted w/ D&D cream cheese
  • Late night diner runs
  • Keystone
  • Home cooked meals (food is general theme mainly because I haven't eaten my favorites in about four months lol)
  • Burholme—that's where it all started
  • of course, my family
  • and... my friends—it's kinda sweet, not too many people can say they've known their best friends since the 1st grade :)



Marielle:
I'm thankful for...
  • grape jelly (non-existent in england)
  • the ability to wear sweats to class
  • patrick swayze
  • skype
  • the philly skyline
  • french onion dip & ruffles
  • movie nights (whether it's going out or staying in)
  • memory foam mattress pads & pillows
  • digital photography
  • ridiculous parties that always happen when we all go down the shore
  • mi famiglia



Dave:
I'm thankful for...
  • Friends who really do love me
  • Family who really loves me
  • Competitive Philly Sports Teams
  • Nick G******
  • Birth Control
  • Living in a house where I don't have to pay rent
  • Music
  • The Philadelphia Skyline
  • Memories like Warped Shore and Brianna's parties
  • All four of my grandparents being alive
  • The Laf, which still kept me as an employee after all the shit I've done



Bri:
I'm thankful for...

click to enlarge


Jim:
I'm thankful for...
  • family
  • friends
  • a roof over my head
  • a car
  • friends
  • being financially sound in this tough economic time
  • school
  • internship
  • memories with my friends and family
  • my health
  • that fact that i'm still good friends with all my friends that i've grown up with


Mike:
  • i'm thankful for ingrates, because they make me feel better about my own imperfect sense of gratitude
  • i'm thankful that people back home keep writing to me and want to know whats going on in my life
  • i'm thankful that i do not live full-time in europe... which leads me into saying, thank god i'm from philadelphia
  • i'm thankful for internet, without which many things i enjoy would be lost. for example, surfing APnet and finding new music, trolling forums, all things from digg.com, keeping up with philly news, watching the phils, EMAIL, etc.
  • lastly, and most importantly, i know that i love my girlfriend, friends, and family... and i'm pretty sure the feeling is reciprocated!



Mary:
I'm thankful for...
  • friends—old and new, near and far
  • shadow boxer baby, had some great times with that car
  • cute boots
  • beer
  • fire pits
  • concerts of all kinds and tailgating
  • puke on your birthday for keeping me amused


Katie:
I'm thankful for...
  • My family
  • My friends
  • My dogs
  • Shane
  • Shane’s family
  • My roommates
  • West Chester University
  • Residence Hall Association
  • University Ambassadors
  • Student Government Association
  • Musical theatre
  • Michael Bublé
  • Wii golf and bowling
  • Omelets at Lawrence after a night of drinking
  • Liquor
  • Einstein Bagel’s Santa Fe wrap
  • Card games
  • Makeup
  • Cheese
  • Skype
  • Jeans
  • Texting
  • Random dance parties in 505 University Hall
  • Cleo, Boomer and Barney (our fish who are dead)
  • 24


Nick:
I'm thankful for...
  • These friends I have
  • Yuengling Draft
  • Contraceptives
  • The Phillies
  • The Flyers
  • Being Philadelphian
  • Every new album I listened to this year
  • Every old album I listened to this year
  • I think my penis (aka "The Prestige") grew a little, not that it needed to, but I'm thankful anyway.
  • My charm
  • My jaw line
  • My charm
  • My cleverness
  • Edward Norton
  • It's Always Sunny
  • Puke on Your Birthday



Many, many thanks to the entire Puke on Your Birthday fan base from us here in NE Philly! Have a great holiday!

Thought of the Day

"As a preamble to this rant, let's assume that everyone agrees on what the bases are for a sexual accounter for a woman onto a man. First base is kissing on the lips. Second is touching the penis. Third base is kissing the penis. Home is going all the way. If we assume these conditions, then consider the following hypothetical situation: there's one man in the room—you—and two other women. You are having a threesome in which one girl is hooking up with you and one girl is stroking your dick. One girl is on first and another is on second. All is going well until a third girl enters the room. The third girl attempts to kiss you. At the same time, the girl that was previously kissing you, goes to touch your dick; meanwhile, the girl that was jerking you off goes to put her mouth on your dick. Simultaneously, you throw all three girls out of the room.

"An unassisted triple play."

Wednesday, November 25, 2009

Lowlight


As the rest of the civilized world was gripped by last weekend's historic release of Twilight, I was making myself a buffalo chicken sandwich. Surely you're saying to yourself, "Nick, how in the world were you able to shake the image of Robert Pattinson's puffy hair out of your mind long enough to focus on an unimportant task such as nourishing yourself?" Easy, I say. Twilight is the biggest bullshit to hit the all-important trend battleground we call "Hot Topic."

These vampires fucking suck, pun intended. I intended the pun because it's far more clever than anything coming out of their mouths. The first problem lies at the very beginning of the series. Stephanie Meyer is a ridiculously terrible author. My mom has a copy of Twilight sitting right next to me and I read a passage. I want those few seconds of my life back. No one talks the way she writes. Her writing is the equivalent of the great Arrested Development character Tobias Funke's acting. Over the top, but with no substance. Secondly, the characters are completely devoid of any personality. Now, this may just be Meyer playing to her emotionally vapid audience, but I doubt it. Either way, it makes for the least enjoyable movie experience. It's like eating a cracker. You ate it, but you didn't really taste it.

My biggest problem with the series is its portrayal of vampires. It was my understanding that vampires were scary, terrible, blood-sucking monsters. Apparently not. Instead of being badass and wanting to kill people, Edward Cullen just wants to play piano and be sensitive. That's not fucking fun at all. If I was walking down a dark alley and I saw Edward Cullen I'd probably just make fun of him. He makes Count Chocula seem like Freddie fucking Krueger.

Fuck Twilight.