So I finally got to see Choad Machine Experience on Saturday. If you don't know who they are, well you should probably fucking kill yourself because they're the best rock band ever. After their drummer, Corey Stein, left and started his own band (named Corpse Machine experience, how original) they just didn’t sound the same. Luckily Stein’s band fucking sucked and they reunited. This was the first concert I’ve been able to get to since they’re back together, and I have to say that they sound as good, if not better than three years ago.
The first set fucking rocked. They played a lot of their old tunes like Mommy Make Me Holler, but jammed out on them. Tanner is a fucking badass on the organ. He has this one lick in every song that he plays with his knuckles. I’ve been trying to figure it out, but it’s insane. I think most of the notes are on the black keys.
The second set was even better, though. They mixed it up with some of their newer stuff (the stuff they played just before they broke up), a few brand new songs that I hadn’t heard before, and some pretty sweet covers. Let me tell ya’, if you thought Mmm Bop was good when Hanson played it, this version would fucking blow your mind. There is absolutely nothing as awesome as extremely talented musicians playing splendid music.
Wednesday, June 1, 2005
Tuesday, May 24, 2005
McGriddle Yub Yub
Thursday I had a McGriddle. Allow me to recount the experience.
Pre 9:30 - Because of my unpredictable and infinitely strange sleep schedule, I have not slept for about 20 hours. This has happened before, and the last few hours before class can become quite difficult. I decided that I can use the last hour before class to get a bite to eat. Hopefully it'll keep me awake, but it will surely give me something to do. I decide on: McGriddle.
9:30 - I arrive at McDonald's, quite hessitant. McDonald's generally tastes like crap in addition to being bad for you, but as I have always thought, "If there is hope, it lies in breakfast." So I push through the doors and approach the counter.
A quick review of the combos on the menu shows me exactly what I want: a McGriddle with sausage, egg, and cheese. It's a number 10, and it comes with an orange juice and hash brown.
9:35 - Time to order. I casually ask for a number 10 with a small orange juice, swipe my credit card, and move to the pick up line. There's some black guy whose job seems to be to stand around and put hash browns in the paper hash brown bag things. He keeps saying things to one of the cashiers who seems to be latin american, "Yo, you want dat pussy raped?" Or, "How about if I get up inside ya," along with countless other things. Constantly. The cashier just cusses back at him in Spanish with an occassional, "Shut up, Tyrone."
9:40 - I get my meal and sit down at a table. I unwrap it and examine this thing that I've never seen before. It smells pretty good. Looks like instead of a biscuit they have pancakes, and-- Oh my! Maple syrup, too. I bite into it and it is delicious. The sweetness of the syrup really contrasts and compliments the savory flavors of the other ingredients. This is by far the tastiest McDonald's treat I've ever had, and perhaps one of the best fast food confections in general. C'est magnifique!
9:50 - Hash brown and McGriddle are about 3/4 done, each, but the 450 calories of the McGriddle are beginning to take its toll. Each bite is agony. My stomach says no, but my taste buds are saying oh God, yes. The only way I can keep going is by drinking orange juice between each bite and alternate between McGriddle and hash brown, but my orange juice is running dangerously low.
10:00 - Hash brown is finished. Two bites of McGriddle left, but my orange juice is completely out. In fact, it had been out for the past few bites. I take a deep breath and take in the next to last bite.
10:05 - I finally down that bite and only one small, bite-sized piece remains. It's so silly that I don't eat it right away, but I really, really think it's a bad idea. I stare it down. I go over the consequences. Finally I pick it up and shove it in my mouth. Hastily I chew, and quickly I swallow. I've done it! I've eaten my first McGriddle. Not including the sides, that's 410 calories, 36% of my DR fat, 80% of my cholesterol, and 54% of my sodium. I lean back in my chair and bask in the glory that is the McGriddle.
10:10 - Glucose levels in my blood are soaring and my body is pumping out insulin like nobody's business. From one sandwich I'm probably on the verge of becoming a type II diabetic. I have 20 minutes to blow before class, and my mind feels rather sluggish. I'm getting burnt out.
10:25 - I wake up suddenly and take off to class. It's nice to get moving. I think it helps circulate my blood. At least it feels like it. I take a seat in class and after a few minutes fall asleep.
11:18 - Class ends and my stomach isn't feeling so hot. I really want to go home and take a nap, but I have another class to attend. Oh snap, I have to use the bathroom.
12:18 - Next class ends and I feel better. It seems that my McGriddle experience is finally over... or is it?
Pre 9:30 - Because of my unpredictable and infinitely strange sleep schedule, I have not slept for about 20 hours. This has happened before, and the last few hours before class can become quite difficult. I decided that I can use the last hour before class to get a bite to eat. Hopefully it'll keep me awake, but it will surely give me something to do. I decide on: McGriddle.
9:30 - I arrive at McDonald's, quite hessitant. McDonald's generally tastes like crap in addition to being bad for you, but as I have always thought, "If there is hope, it lies in breakfast." So I push through the doors and approach the counter.
A quick review of the combos on the menu shows me exactly what I want: a McGriddle with sausage, egg, and cheese. It's a number 10, and it comes with an orange juice and hash brown.
9:35 - Time to order. I casually ask for a number 10 with a small orange juice, swipe my credit card, and move to the pick up line. There's some black guy whose job seems to be to stand around and put hash browns in the paper hash brown bag things. He keeps saying things to one of the cashiers who seems to be latin american, "Yo, you want dat pussy raped?" Or, "How about if I get up inside ya," along with countless other things. Constantly. The cashier just cusses back at him in Spanish with an occassional, "Shut up, Tyrone."
9:40 - I get my meal and sit down at a table. I unwrap it and examine this thing that I've never seen before. It smells pretty good. Looks like instead of a biscuit they have pancakes, and-- Oh my! Maple syrup, too. I bite into it and it is delicious. The sweetness of the syrup really contrasts and compliments the savory flavors of the other ingredients. This is by far the tastiest McDonald's treat I've ever had, and perhaps one of the best fast food confections in general. C'est magnifique!
9:50 - Hash brown and McGriddle are about 3/4 done, each, but the 450 calories of the McGriddle are beginning to take its toll. Each bite is agony. My stomach says no, but my taste buds are saying oh God, yes. The only way I can keep going is by drinking orange juice between each bite and alternate between McGriddle and hash brown, but my orange juice is running dangerously low.
10:00 - Hash brown is finished. Two bites of McGriddle left, but my orange juice is completely out. In fact, it had been out for the past few bites. I take a deep breath and take in the next to last bite.
10:05 - I finally down that bite and only one small, bite-sized piece remains. It's so silly that I don't eat it right away, but I really, really think it's a bad idea. I stare it down. I go over the consequences. Finally I pick it up and shove it in my mouth. Hastily I chew, and quickly I swallow. I've done it! I've eaten my first McGriddle. Not including the sides, that's 410 calories, 36% of my DR fat, 80% of my cholesterol, and 54% of my sodium. I lean back in my chair and bask in the glory that is the McGriddle.
10:10 - Glucose levels in my blood are soaring and my body is pumping out insulin like nobody's business. From one sandwich I'm probably on the verge of becoming a type II diabetic. I have 20 minutes to blow before class, and my mind feels rather sluggish. I'm getting burnt out.
10:25 - I wake up suddenly and take off to class. It's nice to get moving. I think it helps circulate my blood. At least it feels like it. I take a seat in class and after a few minutes fall asleep.
11:18 - Class ends and my stomach isn't feeling so hot. I really want to go home and take a nap, but I have another class to attend. Oh snap, I have to use the bathroom.
12:18 - Next class ends and I feel better. It seems that my McGriddle experience is finally over... or is it?
Tuesday, May 10, 2005
Shit
So I had a fight with my ex-girlfriend today. I mean, don't you break up with them so you don't have to fight anymore?
I was at some bar throwing down some beers. Yes, it's tuesday and I don't normally drink on Tuesday, but I have lots of work to do and am getting quite stressed. Anyway, I see an old friend from high school, and what do you do when you see old friends? Well, sometimes you avoid them, but in this case I wanted to talk to him.
So I went over to him and we started shooting the shit and getting caught up on the past few years. It was actually pretty cool. Then the girl in question returned and it became quickly apparent that they were dating. Unfortunately for her, he was quite engaged with me and had to tell her on several occassions that he'd get back with her in a minute.
She wasn't satisfied. So finally he said, "Sorry, man, this bitch is high maintenance." I laughed and in that comrade sort of way and told him, "Oh yeah, I know exactly how she can be," and winked. We both laughed.
"Bitch!" she stomped on my foot. So I punched her in the face, knocking her to the ground, "Who's the bitch now?"
She got up, and one thing that I knew from when we had dated was that she was tougher than nails. Maybe I should've thought it out further, but I figured my tae kwon do would be enough to take her.
I easily sidestepped her first downward slash, then side stepped her second. She went to kick me in the balls but I use a two fist, arms crossed low black. This, however, left my head unprotected. A back hand came quickly to my right cheek, then a slap to my left. Her left hand came at me with a punch but I was able to deflect with an inside to out block with my fore arm.
Wow, I hadn't used these skills for a long time, but they were starting to come back.
I follow the block and grab her arm with my left hand. Stepping to the outside I quickly locked the arm in place and rotated my entire body using its force to snap her arm at the elbow. She gave out a cry, but clocked me in the face with her still-functioning right fist. I could see that her fighting skills were coming back, too. She came with a quick side kick to my midsection nearly knocking the wind out of me. Next was a lightning fast round house kick that I was able to block with both my arms, even though it hurt like hell and knocked me a little off balance. Her flurry of attacks continued with side kicks, front kicks, round house kicks, punchs, knife hands, palm attacks. Some were connecting and others I was able to dodge or block, but too many were connecting and moving me back.
I found myself back against the wall and in incredible pain. The fighting had stopped for some reason, but the world was still spinning around me. I punched in her direction, but my hands just seemed to pass through her. Then I saw her arm cocked back and suddenly I end up on the floor, face throbbing. She grabbed my shirt and pulled me up to my knees.
"You're the fucking bitch," she said just before her side kick wiped me out of consiousness.
I guess I need to brush up on my techniques. I really should have done more to use her own motion against her. Oh well, maybe next year.
I was at some bar throwing down some beers. Yes, it's tuesday and I don't normally drink on Tuesday, but I have lots of work to do and am getting quite stressed. Anyway, I see an old friend from high school, and what do you do when you see old friends? Well, sometimes you avoid them, but in this case I wanted to talk to him.
So I went over to him and we started shooting the shit and getting caught up on the past few years. It was actually pretty cool. Then the girl in question returned and it became quickly apparent that they were dating. Unfortunately for her, he was quite engaged with me and had to tell her on several occassions that he'd get back with her in a minute.
She wasn't satisfied. So finally he said, "Sorry, man, this bitch is high maintenance." I laughed and in that comrade sort of way and told him, "Oh yeah, I know exactly how she can be," and winked. We both laughed.
"Bitch!" she stomped on my foot. So I punched her in the face, knocking her to the ground, "Who's the bitch now?"
She got up, and one thing that I knew from when we had dated was that she was tougher than nails. Maybe I should've thought it out further, but I figured my tae kwon do would be enough to take her.
I easily sidestepped her first downward slash, then side stepped her second. She went to kick me in the balls but I use a two fist, arms crossed low black. This, however, left my head unprotected. A back hand came quickly to my right cheek, then a slap to my left. Her left hand came at me with a punch but I was able to deflect with an inside to out block with my fore arm.
Wow, I hadn't used these skills for a long time, but they were starting to come back.
I follow the block and grab her arm with my left hand. Stepping to the outside I quickly locked the arm in place and rotated my entire body using its force to snap her arm at the elbow. She gave out a cry, but clocked me in the face with her still-functioning right fist. I could see that her fighting skills were coming back, too. She came with a quick side kick to my midsection nearly knocking the wind out of me. Next was a lightning fast round house kick that I was able to block with both my arms, even though it hurt like hell and knocked me a little off balance. Her flurry of attacks continued with side kicks, front kicks, round house kicks, punchs, knife hands, palm attacks. Some were connecting and others I was able to dodge or block, but too many were connecting and moving me back.
I found myself back against the wall and in incredible pain. The fighting had stopped for some reason, but the world was still spinning around me. I punched in her direction, but my hands just seemed to pass through her. Then I saw her arm cocked back and suddenly I end up on the floor, face throbbing. She grabbed my shirt and pulled me up to my knees.
"You're the fucking bitch," she said just before her side kick wiped me out of consiousness.
I guess I need to brush up on my techniques. I really should have done more to use her own motion against her. Oh well, maybe next year.
Monday, April 11, 2005
Pet Stop
Oh fucking snap. So out on the oval, or south oval, rather, there was this huge commotion. I was walking across, back to my dorm, when this hot chick suddenly started screaming from the other side and running in my direction. I followed her eyes to see a small, ugly, poodle running away from her.
As you know, I'm normally pretty lazy, but I could tell from the other side of the oval that this chick was hot. So hey, hot chick! I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, and once I had cleared my thoughts I popped my arms back to let my backpack fall to the ground. The dog was running almost right towards me. Breathing calmly, I spread my legs and extended my arms into a defensive stance. 60 meters and closing... 30... 20... the dog sees me and cuts to the right. I felt like a soccer player as I dove off to my left.
The dog smashed into my body and fell backward. I scrambled toward the thing, picked it up, and started walking toward the girl who appeared very relieved. But as she closed in and I picked up more details I began to realize this wasn't the idealized hot chick that I had deduced from afar. Instead it was an ugly man. So to make the best of the situation I threw the tiny dog down with one hand and declared, "touchdown!"
As you know, I'm normally pretty lazy, but I could tell from the other side of the oval that this chick was hot. So hey, hot chick! I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, and once I had cleared my thoughts I popped my arms back to let my backpack fall to the ground. The dog was running almost right towards me. Breathing calmly, I spread my legs and extended my arms into a defensive stance. 60 meters and closing... 30... 20... the dog sees me and cuts to the right. I felt like a soccer player as I dove off to my left.
The dog smashed into my body and fell backward. I scrambled toward the thing, picked it up, and started walking toward the girl who appeared very relieved. But as she closed in and I picked up more details I began to realize this wasn't the idealized hot chick that I had deduced from afar. Instead it was an ugly man. So to make the best of the situation I threw the tiny dog down with one hand and declared, "touchdown!"
Sunday, April 3, 2005
Scary People
Man, if there's one thing I hate it's people walking awkwardly close to my car. Usually I roll down my window and yell, "Back off!" if someone's walking too close. Sometimes, though, the people are really, really scary. Like just today (this is what prompted this entry) some black guy came up to my car and knocked on the window. This was no ordinary black dude, though. This guy was fucking ripped. He was wearing a shirt, and LeBron James sneakers, and that was it. No socks, and I'm pretty sure no underwear since his penis was partially exposed. And the fucker had a mohawk.
So like I said, the dude knocks on the window. I didn't even see him there at first, so when he knocked and I looked over and saw him you can imagine how my heart jumped. I screamed fuck pretty loud and slammed on the gas pedal. A car nearly hit me, but I'd rather be dead than have to submit to whatever crazy antics he happened to be up to.
So like I said, the dude knocks on the window. I didn't even see him there at first, so when he knocked and I looked over and saw him you can imagine how my heart jumped. I screamed fuck pretty loud and slammed on the gas pedal. A car nearly hit me, but I'd rather be dead than have to submit to whatever crazy antics he happened to be up to.
Fist Fight
So I was running to High Street last night, somewhat drunk, to grab a bite to eat when this dude yelled something stupid at me. It probably had to do with the fact that I was running. So naturally I stopped and yelled, "What was that?" at him. He glanced back at me, over his shoulder, then continued walking with his group of four. So I run and catch up with him and ask him again, "I'm sorry, did you say say something to me?"
So the guy looks at me and smiles, so what do I do? I give him a playful shove, "You respect me, bitch." So finally the dude turns around, white as shit, and appologizes. I would've accepted it if it wasn't clear that he was trying very hard not to laugh at me. "Fuck you," I spit in his face and with all my might, and perhaps even more might than I normally possess, I kicked him in the balls. Yeah, he dropped to his knees pretty quick.
Kneeling down to his level, I grabbed his chin and pulled it towards my face so I knew he was listening. "I hope you learned something." But just as I finished I was knocked of balance by probably the most pussy kick ever dealt by a man. I looked up at his heroic friend and proclaimed, "You just earned your friend more pain." Still holding his chin in my hand, I gave his face a quick, soft punch followed by a hard punch laying him flat out on the ground.
I stood up, rubbing my hurting fist a bit, and ran the rest of the way to Chipotle.
So the guy looks at me and smiles, so what do I do? I give him a playful shove, "You respect me, bitch." So finally the dude turns around, white as shit, and appologizes. I would've accepted it if it wasn't clear that he was trying very hard not to laugh at me. "Fuck you," I spit in his face and with all my might, and perhaps even more might than I normally possess, I kicked him in the balls. Yeah, he dropped to his knees pretty quick.
Kneeling down to his level, I grabbed his chin and pulled it towards my face so I knew he was listening. "I hope you learned something." But just as I finished I was knocked of balance by probably the most pussy kick ever dealt by a man. I looked up at his heroic friend and proclaimed, "You just earned your friend more pain." Still holding his chin in my hand, I gave his face a quick, soft punch followed by a hard punch laying him flat out on the ground.
I stood up, rubbing my hurting fist a bit, and ran the rest of the way to Chipotle.
Thursday, March 31, 2005
Transportation
As of Monday I've decided to run everywhere I go instead of walk. Running, first of all, is much much faster than walking. Secondly, running everywhere will keep me in shape. I've been getting a lot of odd looks, but I see no other downside to this strategy.
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