…And what better to do then to drink a little bit of Smirnoff and listen to All Along the Watchtower?

In case you guys are wondering… Smirnoff Ice is awesome and it’s actually a MUST try… It wasn’t really the cheapest thing, I mean it’s only 275ml with 4% alcohool and it costs as much as 3 or 4 beers. But it trully is amazing, I love it’s taste.

And All Along the Watchtower..a great one, that song is, I mean seriously..I’ve always had a thing like: why do people say that I don’t know what song, really spoke to them? WTF? How can a song speak to you? Well… Bob Dylan and the guys from Battle Star Galactica made me find out. Dylan was a lyrics genius, his writting was amazing and he also does some great songs these days as well, yeah, you’d better check out his 2009 album Together Through Life.

SO go ahead and check out this song, for it is the best song in the world and mix it with a little bit of Smirnoff!

See ya next time;)

Meus queridos, quero inaugurar aqui uma seção! a SEXTA SHOW! É o seguinte, todas as sextas-feiras eu vou postar uma dica pro findi, coisas assim do meu lifestyle hahaha, assim vocês conhecem um pouco mais do meu gosto e das coisasque faço, serão dicas de filmes, livros, eventos, comidinhas, só coisa que eu realmente gosto, e que eu acho que vocês podem gostar também, que tal?

Bom, a dica de hoje é um drink que eu inventei (e gente eu amo maçã verde, amo cheiro de maçã verde, mesmo que artificial, amo cor de maçã verde hahahaha).

Conheçam o:

Green Apple’s Poison

é um long drink, suave e delicioso!

1 dose de vodka

1 dose de suco de maçã

1 maçã verde picada

gelo picado

Complete com Smirnoff Ice

Gente… depois de terminar o drink, não descartem os pedacinho de maçã verde… como eles ficam no copo, eles absorvem a vodka (então sirvam o drink com um daqueles palitinhos de churrasco pra espetar os pedacinhos de maçã) e ficam uma delícia!

Espero que gostem e que tenham uma ótima sexta

Beijocas

Beta.

O Brasil é um dos primeiros países a conhecer o novo conceito global da vodca Smirnoff, da Diageo, sintetizado na assinatura “Be There”. A campanha prevê três comerciais para TV (todos rodados no Brasil), ações no ambiente digital (a cargo da Wunderman) e uma série de eventos.

O objetivo da empresa é manter a liderança no segmento de vodcas. Smirnoff possui participação de 28% em volume e de 49% em valor segundo dados da Nielsen.

De acordo com Eduardo Bendzius, diretor de marketing da Diageo, “o conceito do “Be There” é um novo direcionamento para a marca Smirnoff, é uma ruptura porque até então trabalhávamos a parte funcional. Evoluímos com os consumidores e o conceito os convida a transformarem situações aparentemente normais em extraordinárias sem precisar de nada especial.”

Dois filmes já estão no ar: “Gas Station” (entra hoje no ar) e “Foam Pool”… imagino que são estes abaixo.

Nunca achei o posicionamento da Smirnoff funcional (algumas execuções funcionais apenas). A maioria parecia ter um elemento de fuga da realidade e alucinação para um público ligeiramente mais velho e ligeiramente mais sofisticado que destes comerciais (com exceção da Smirnoff Ice claro, que sempre foi focada no público mais jovem).

Pra mim, a grande mudança de posicionamento é de público alvo para Smirnoff tradicional. Parece que estão querendo atacar o público mais jovem e descolado também.

i knew it was gonna happen, just not so soon.

i’d really hoped the only thing slung in this election would be drinks and not mud, but that’s what i get for looking at life through beer colored glasses.

My opponents picked up my Twitter post of Wednesday, July 29 where i posted, “Currently Drinking: Water. i actually had a dry day today.” Now they’re using it to say i have no right to run for Functioning Alcoholics Slurperson (FASe).

My Qualifications

As An Alcoholic

• While i may not be alcohol dependent (the guys you see sleeping on the sidewalk sucking on bottles like they were funny shaped green tits), i am a binge drinker. i don’t need to drink every day but once i start i’m unable to stop until i either pass out or am hosed down.
  
• My drinking has caused me a unique problem set in the office (when i reach the point i can no longer pass off ‘buzzed’ as ‘naturally jolly’), my romantic relationships (‘My boyfriend? He’s the one peeing in / hitting on / sleeping with the potted fern’ only floats for so long), my family relationships (‘Oh great dad! Hangover Day again! You know we never get tired of celebrating these with you…’) and friendships (i’ve used up my current batch and am on the look out for more–any takers?).
• i plan days when i can binge and look forward to them like Christmas, pay day, or Spring Break in Cancun.
• Just ask anyone who’s known me for more than three weeks (the approximate expiration date of liking me).

As Functional

• i’ve held the same job for more than 17 years.
• i was married for 10 years and drinking wasn’t even the reason for the divorce!
• i’ve been living with Miss Demeanor for over a year (even if she hasn’t always been ‘living’ with me).
• i may be blacklisted from ever receiving any Father of the Year award, but despite my problems i’ve helped raise a beautiful daughter with a passion for all things creative (drawing, fiction, poetry, sewing…) and a gut wrenching joie de vivre, as well as a son with such natural sincerity he can’t keep track of all the girls who love him and such intellectual diligence he was accepted at one of Yeaman’s most elite high schools.

(Paid for by Partakers of Al K Hall For Functional Alcoholic Slurperson)

My Fellow Alcoholics, for all these reasons and more, i humbly weave before you and submit my can-idacy for your International Slurperson. Let me serve you (in both senses of the word) to the best of my capacities.

Currently Drinking: Smirnoff Ice. (Weaning myself off the –surprisingly mild– hangover.)

Hangover Forecast: Mostly Sunny. i’ll quit after this fifth (it’s only 5% people) and so tomorrow morning will be easier than this one was…

Drowning in Alcohol

Great people reside inside me. Too many of them.

i’m trying to drown them all.

There’s the nobel prize winning author who’s sold more books than the bible and has been translated into languages that don’t even exist yet.

There’s the romantic in gleaming armor who makes the Angels swoon and leaves broken hearted damsels weeping on their knees along the path he has passed.

There’s the grinning little buck toothed boy with apple pie-in-the-sky eyes who’s so sincere terrorists drop their weapons before him and immediately commence loving their neighbors.

Then there is the creative dad, the carefree lad, the helpful soul, the joyous fool, the intellectual who knows too much and the rebel, sensitive yet tough. The world’s best lover, your favorite brother, the pony prancer and prayer answerer, the happy one and the good son all rolled into one.

So many people so very different with only one thing in common: they are not me.

They are who i could be, my possibilities–me, potentially.

The problem is, i could never live up to them, let alone their potential. Trying would be a fool’s quest that would finish with me worse off than i’d been before.

The happy news is i’ve found a way to quench their constant cries for freedom, to quell their endless up-risings, to appease their petty pleas for release. i drown them, drown them in alcohol.

They never really die, of course, but at least their ceaseless efforts to claw their ways out subside in the tide of the liquor.

That’s why i drink. Respite from the distraction of the better me i could be and the failure awaiting me should i try.

Currently Drinking: Smirnoff Ice. It’s cold, only 5% alcohol and helps take the edge off the hangover.

Hangover Forecast: Light showers. Today’s physical hangover will have passed by tomorrow but i’ll have to deal with the residual blues i always get after a binge.

The calm before the storm.

It’s your body’s smoke detector. Yes, there may not be a raging inferno, but if you don’t get your ass out soon you’re gonna get burned.

I can’t imagine anyone who has tasted an alcoholic beverage that has not gotten this bodily function. It’s not like you need to drink the heavy stuff to get it. I’ll admit, a night of binging Smirnoff Ice has triggered this natural response. But for those who haven’t, I will explain.

When you’ve had a lot to drink, but not completely obliterated, your saliva glands go bat shit crazy. They start tweaking out. It’s like Niagra Falls, but not as refreshing. Your mouth cavity fills of liquid faster than a Jonas Brother Groupie’s. What are you to do?

This is the only case where spitting is acceptable.

Get that shit out! If you try to swallow it, you will choke. (Side note, this is actually how Bon Scott died)

It will look like nothing you have ever seen leave your body. Scientists have classified it as having 10W-30 viscosity. It will not, however, lubricate your engine. No innuendo there.

At the time of this writing, the author has not tried to use it as “lady-lube.

After a good seven or eight flushes, you’ll feel one of two things. You will either be able to drink again, or you are about to dump your stomach contents off of a balcony–then continue drinking. Be prepared for both scenarios. With self determination, the former will happen.

Why do I tell you this? Is it a PSA for my young readers? No.

I have mastered the art of the watery spits and like Jesus Christ, I must preach to my lambs.

So next time you experience this phenomenon, remember my lecture.

Stop, Spit, Drink. That’s what (s)he said.

Vi är ute. Fulla. Öl. Smirnoff. Öl. Smirnoff… Fulla.

Hon: Tur det, alkohol bedövar. Man vill ju ha blodet på rätt ställe. Eller… Fel. Fast rätt. Bedövad.

Han: Kort kjol! Fotboll! Kort kjol! Fotboll! Kort kjol! Fotboll!

Since most of us are home from the summer from college (at least for a little while, anyway), we’re likely going to hear the following 3 questions a lot.

• So, how was school this year?
• Get into any trouble this year?
• So. Exactly how many drugs did you experiment with this year?

Photo by Will Humes.

Obviously, telling Mom, Dad and Grandma about some stuff is OK. But the following items are things you might want to avoid when it’s your turn to talk at the dinner table. (I’m not condoning or encouraging any of the following acts. That’s for your peer-pressuring friends to do.) (I’m also not condoning or encouraging lying to your parents about everything. Just the things they don’t need to know.)

(Also, you may want to edit this list if your parents are any or all of the following: unbelievably understanding, hippies or convicted felons who continue to sell crack to support their heroin addiction.)

OK then. Here are some things you shouldn’t tell your parents when it comes to describing your year at college.

1. Drug experimentation. Yes, maybe you found out your parents tried pot back in high school. It was, most likely, the ’70s. Not that pot is any more/less harmful than it was back in the day, but they’re still not going to be stoked that their baby angel got high once or twice (or, like, every Friday night for the past 4 months).
2. Weekend dorm life. Living in a dorm can be fun. On weekends, there’s always a party going on somewhere and crazy stuff usually happens. But if Pops knew his little girl was surrounded by such tomfoolery (I love that word.), he would not be pleased. He’d likely get you out of there and put you in your own apartment… Wait. On second thought. If he’s willing to pay your rent, better start tellin’ tales.
3. Your diet. If Mom knew how many times you ate Wendy’s per week, she’d throw a fit. And then your Grandma would look at your epic ass, wince and shake her head in disappointment. (What? That’s only me. Oh. Well then.)
4. How much you drink. What would college be without drinking? A purely educational environment… with rainbows and unicorns and chocolate-covered leprechauns ‘n junk. But if they knew how much vodka made its way into your system over the past academic year (“I swear to God, I have no idea how it got there!!”), they’d be shocked and dismayed. Plus, they might stop sending you money if they know it’s not going towards groceries, but actually to Smirnoff Ice.
5. Hook-ups. No matter how far the hook-up itself went (or which gender it was with), your parents don’t need to know that stuff. And Grandma doesn’t either (unless she’s a weird kinky old lady… ew).

And, just so nobody pees themselves or anything, here are some things (in no particular order) you might want to fess up to:

• addictions (drugs, alcohol, porn, etc.)
• pregnancies (yours or one you caused)
• academic expulsion
• hit-and-runs
• murders
• manslaughter charges
• lawsuits (against you- they don’t need to know you’re suing your roommate for puking in your underwear drawer)
• getting sued for puking in your roommate’s underwear drawer

Any other things you might want to lie about not share with your family? Let me know!

Beach bar “Cherry”, Sidari

On Saturday night I went out drinking with my female roommates and some other friends near 14th street.  I had dibs on the first round, so I asked what everyone wanted.  “Shots,” was all I heard cutting through the indistinct homogeny of idle bar chatter (and one really drunk gal who had no volume knob.  It was the IRL equivalent of typing IN ALL CAPS).

After I nudged my way through the crowd of wayy too exhuberant 30-something-year-old dudes (Yeah, bro!), I ordered what I considered to be standard issue– a round of vodka shots (Ketel One!) and a Stella.

I came back to my friends sitting down who aghasted with, “Really Chris? Really?”

Apparently, what I considered to be “shots” couldn’t be farther from what was actually expected– Kamikazes, Soco and Limes, Red-Headed Sluts, etc., and ordering a round of vodka for a group of female friends who were genuinely platonic just wasn’t, um, correct.   

Now, let me preface my train of thought by saying that I’m the eldest of three boys who has lived with the same group of guy friends throughout all of college– we drank beer, watched sports, and ate tons and tons of Taco Bell and Philly cheesesteaks, all day everyday.

Similarly, the girls I’ve dated have for the most part have been extremely low maintenance and “guys’ girls.”  They drank beer, were into obscure music, and didn’t really like shopping as much as other girls. I’ve been kind of lucky in that regard.

Moving to New York and living with platonic girlfriends has been eye opening in a lot of ways (ie they’re just as messy as guy roommates), so I’m learning alot of things most other guys learn from their sisters.

In this case, while I didn’t see ordering shots of liquor to be anything out of the ordinary, the fact of the matter was I was wrong in that instance, and they explained this to me understandingly and with the affection shown to a 2nd grader who still wets himself.

This blog is usually interested in exploring the distortion of gender norms in various circumstances,  so this was particularly interesting to me for a number of reasons. Bars are microcosmic in the sense that male and female gender roles are very clearly defined, if only because the notion of sex is very clearly iterated from the get go.

Usually, groups of friends go to bars under the pretense of ”hanging out.” In actuality, however, most people are there are looking for action, or at the very least, to plant the seeds for future action.  This knowledge is so common it’s almost always forgotten, and bars are the only place such behaviour is even remotely acceptable (you don’t use bad pickup lines in line at the bank… or in the cereal aisle at Ralphs.  Or do you?) 

I can, however, say for certain that no one goes to the bars with the intention of losing their phone. Or curling over a toilet at 2am.  No one goes to a bar because they WANT to feel shitty for work the next day, but we do it anyway. All that stuff we relegate to our Facebook Aways are usually just the byproduct our alcohol consumption. In order to “let go”, we endorse a social contract with the alcohol gods, signing over our usual cares and worries for a few hours of inebriated free wheelin’ and good times.

Women, much like NBA players after getting drafted, learn to play defense as their bar career progresses– if the average girl gets hit on 2 to 3 times over the course of a day, at the bar that number is exponentially higher (at least 7-10 times a night. At least.)  By the time a girl is 24, she’s at the minimum been hit on a couple of thousand times, so every female has a pretty good idea of what works on her and what doesn’t.  It takes a special combination of external factors for a girl to even talk to a guy at a bar, let alone take him home.  I have about a 5% idea of what these external factors are (ie I HAVE NO GAME), so I’ll leave my thoughts on the female bar mentality at that.

On the other hand, guys operate under the pretense of appearing as non-threatening as possible.  After thinking about it, ordering a girl strong drinks is a sign of intention, which can raise red flags to a girl who knows her shit.  On the other hand, “strong drinks” are a barometer guys use to gauge whether or not a girl actually likes us.  My buddy (who shall remain nameless) told me, “If a girl is down for Jager bombs, you’re at least getting dome that night.” I don’t necessarily agree, but Jager bombs are a) strong and b) delicious, and I’m positive that on the few occassions I HAVE gotten dome, Jager bombs were more or less involved.

The point is, bars are places where peoples’ personas are separated from the everyday.  Every action is magnified to a much higher degree of scrutiny when inside the steel cage of the bar realm because of what’s at stake (your genitals). That’s not a knock on bars themselves, it’s just that we don’t really actively think about our bar behaviour as being anything really exceptional until the next morning.  Me ordering my female friends strong drinks didn’t really register at that moment because I wasn’t expecting my actions to be put under a microscope (or perhaps, as sometimes happens with these girls, I overlook the fact that they are female and are entitled to female things… like Kamikazes and Red-Headed Sluts <3).

I’m interested in hearing feedback,  especially from the female readership.  For instance, what do you consider a “standard” or “safe” drink to have ordered for you without having to be asked what you want? (this seems to happen when ordering drinks reaches this weird sense of urgency and someone’s still undecided, so they blurt out, “I don’t care, get me whatever”).

Lastly, in the spirit of distorting gender barriers, I’m ditching beer and switching to Smirnoff Ice.  They taste delicious and they get you buzzed.  That’s already two positives for the price of one! Saying you don’t like Smirnoff Ice is like saying you don’t like 7-Up that gets you buzzed, which is the most nonsensical thing I’ve ever heard.

So cheers everyone, and I look forward to hearing more female perspective in the comments!

//C

SMIRNOFF ICE GENÉRICO

- 2 litros de Sprite (gelada)
- 1 litro de vodka
- 1 envelope de Clight (suco em pó) de limão (Se colocar limão, a fruta, azeda depois de alguns minutos)
- 1 litro de água mineral com gás

Misture bem todos os ingredientes (de preferência bem gelados) e basta servir.

Rende aproximadamente 20 garrafinhas.

hoho.

It is dangerous to let the public behind the scenes. They are easily disillusioned and then they are angry with you, for it was the illusion they loved.

~ W. Somerset Maugham

Back in late February, A Free Man started a little Q&A meme among his readers, a hot seat forum meant to get us reading other blogs and “meeting” new faces. I signed up to take part, albeit a little later than most, and found out my questions were to come from Rassles, list maker extraordinaire and possessor of more than enough wit to commandeer any conversation. She’s a firecracker – a smart-as-hell firecracker – and I started getting nervous. She is cool. I am so NOT. There is no way I will be able to keep up with her, I feared.

But, as I said, she’s smart. The total package, that Rassles . . .

Just so you know, this was hard. You’re so open on your blog, and you cover everything, so it was like, seriously? How do I find questions he has not yet answered? I’ve only got eight of these, but I have a feeling you can make it work.

I’ll give it a shot, my dear.

You’re a big fan of Life of Pi. Which truth is correct? (Sub-question: in your mind, is correctness interpretable?)

(SPOILER ALERT!  If you haven’t yet read Life of Pi and intend to do so, you may want to skip to the next question . . .)

There are several levels to this question.

If you’re referring to the final chapters, where the tale presented earlier in the book is called into question, it seems obvious that the version of the story sans Richard Parker is the accurate retelling of the events. But in this case, the truth, if you will, is much less interesting than the story. As Pi says, “So it goes with God.” For some, God resides in the punctuation marks they liberally sprinkled throughout most any sentence, be it joyous, horrific, or mundane. When seen as what German-American theologian and Christian existentialist philosopher Paul Tillich termed our “ultimate concern,” faith is the yeast that makes the bread rise. Not dogma.

Which leads to another level: Of all the religious traditions Pi simultaneously embraces in the beginning of the novel, is there one that is truer than the others? For Pi, absolutely not. Each spiritual leader meets Pi at his level and extends to him what their brand of religion has to offer. But Pi isn’t looking for belief, he’s looking for faith. And in the context of the novel, it is his exploration of the many facets of faith that helps him endure his time lost at sea. These facets blend together and become the Grand Storyteller of his adventure, providing him with, as author Yann Martel said in an interview once, “a way of viewing the universe in which things make sense.”

In Life of Pi, correctness is interpretable only if you choose a side: Is truth found in the facts, or in the telling of the tale? Being fiction, our choice matters very little. But in life? Oh my . . . don’t get me started. I’ve wrestled with this for years, and there’s no three-count in sight . . .

Assuming you have a favorite bar, let’s say you just pulled up a chair. Several minutes later after you’re properly situated, the door opens, and six strangers enter: a priest, a rabbi, an imam, a Brahmin, a politician, and me. Eventually, the seven of us are all enjoying the refreshing beverages of our choice. What are we drinking?

Let’s do Henry’s. It’s just west of downtown along a relatively quiet street, and its interior is lined with high back, wooden booths and moody chandeliers. There is no karaoke, no jukebox, and no pool tables. The food is off the hook, and it doesn’t get too crazy. Henry’s is the ideal spot for some engaging dialogue. A friend of mine, however, swears it’s a “gay” bar. Honestly, I’ve never noticed, and he’s a bit hypersensitive about that sort of thing. Also, I don’t generally go there just to hang out; we would have arranged in advance to meet up, so I arrive early and get us a good table. I take the liberty of ordering the first round . . . Sex on the Beach for everyone! If you don’t like fruity drinks, then I’ll be happy to finish yours. After that, I’ll sip a Foster’s or Blue Moon, or maybe a Smirnoff Ice, and let everyone order on their own from there . . .

Sex on the Beach

1 1/2 oz vodka
1/2 oz peach schnapps
2 oz cranberry juice
2 oz orange juice

Eighties Metal: Hair Versus Heavy, or: Which of the preceding attributes would you choose to epitomize the rock of your youth?

Hair, hands down. And while I like to think I’ve matured beyond all that, there’s just something very comforting about listening to my local station’s Mandatory Mullet . . .

Dude, you’re totally metal. Right?

I like it loud, but I’m not necessarily into all the growling that seems to be a dominate feature of “metal” these days. A while ago, on a whim, I picked up a copy of a Headbangers Ball CD, just to see what I’d been missing lately, and came to the sad realization that I just can’t get into quite a few of those bands for any significant length of time. I prefer a singer who can hold his own melodically without resorting to screaming, and guys like James LaBrie of Dream Theater still do it for me. But there is a time for screaming; Corey Taylor of Slipknot/Stone Sour does it well and can say something relevant at the same time. Another favorite growler/singer is Mikael Åkerfeldt of Opeth; before I saw them live, I never would have guessed they had only one lead singer. If you’re familiar with any of these bands, then you can tell I tend to lean toward the progressive rock side of things, and there are few bands that turn my crank harder than . . .

Tool – “Vicarious” From the album 10,000 Days.

“Credulous at best, your desire to believe in angels in the hearts of men.” Indeed . . .

You are in a room with four blank walls, no windows, no doors. If a train traveling to St. Ives really really fast and is scheduled to arrive before the egg but after the chicken, what number am I thinking of?

42.

Arkham Horror or Dungeons & Dragons?

If you’re willing to revert back to 3.5, then we can do D&D. But if you insist on 4.0? Then you can stay at home with all your creepy little n00b friends and get your unimaginative freak on with them. At my pad, we’re dishin’ out some hardcore Lovecraftian mayhem . . .

I think, for the record, we all know that you are an incredible writer. Seriously. Incredible. You used to be on the radio (me too, but in college, and the majority of my speaking time was devoted to using “dude” and “like” and “you know.” I had one person who always listened, and that person was me.) Do you speak like you write? If so, I’d be a riveted listener. For the record. But yeah…are you as authentic and attentive?

Like my grandfather before me, I am a notorious eavesdropper. I love to hear people talk. And, while I do love to engage in a good conversation, I often remain quieter than most people prefer. I enjoy picking up on nuances and subtle undertones in what people say, as expressed in how they say it. This, of course, can lead to trouble, for I tend to read too much into words. So, when I do chime in, it is often an attempt to seek clarification. My big mouth knows the taste of foot, so I’m learning to be still and listen more. And, believe it or not, writing is difficult for me. I like to express myself clearly, cover all the angles that interest me about a particular topic, and anticipate and address objections before they can get blown out of proportion. To do this, I use more words than many find necessary. See? Like that . . .

As far as radio goes, I was never a puker. You know, the one who gets on the mic and sounds all better than you? With the perfect arena announcer voice? While I articulated well, I tended to talk too fast, which more than once brought on a situation where my body had to force me to stop talking and take a breath, creating an awkward, mid-word silence. Like a hiccup, but not as painful. And over a weather bed? Ugh! But at least I sounded like the guy next door, someone you could relate to. That’s how I try to communicate when I speak. Riveting? Nah. And the older I get, the quieter I talk. I used to be able to talk over anyone. Now, I’m much calmer. I try to say something whereby meaning and weight is granted based on content and not on volume level. Maybe that’s why I enjoy Henry’s so much . . .

The best blogs to read are the ones written by fascinating individuals, regardless of how mundane they may feel. You’re up near the top of the hierarchy, I think. I want to turn this into a question, and I can’t figure out how. Will you please do that for me?

Do I consider myself a fascinating individual? Not really. I wear Guitar Hero pajamas, cook pancakes for breakfast on weekends, and can read Rolling Stone and The Philosopher’s Magazine in one sitting. I spend way too much time sweating over the details and not enough time searching deeply for the broader horizon; I possess a plethora of dots, but make no sincere, intellectual effort to connect them. My shoes are Vans and my car is a 1986 Honda Prelude. I have very few real friends, people with whom I can just hang out and be myself, warts and all. In life, I am the guy standing next to Drew Carey, overwhelmed by the game, searching for an answer somewhere in the crowd, incapable of picking a damn number.

So I blog. I hash stuff out in this forum. It’s generally quiet where I write, and I like that. As I’ve skimmed the surface of Blogland for the past year or so, I find that the people I enjoy reading don’t have an answer. But they are looking . . .

As for you, dear Rassles, I’m still waiting for you to come and escort me to the Creation Museum. I’m free most Fridays . . .

[photo credit]

Ski, ski, ski, ski, skiiiiiiiiii! Hehe, was up at 6am today to get ready for a fun-filled snow packed day at Calabogie Peaks in Ontario. I had trouble sleeping again last night as everyone was going out clubbing … Thursday night is an impossible night to sleep when you need it, so I put my MP3 on with some soothing Mike Oldfileld to drown out the noise. Think I finally got to sleep about midnight, so that’s not too bad.

Heather got in at 6.30 this morning … I was sat there facebooking/general pondering and she walked in … must have been a fun night, lol. We had to meet in Residence Commons at 7.15 so Katie had asked me to wake her at 6.50 (she’d gone out last night too). It was an early start, but we got there in the end.

The journey was about an hour long and I think I slept most of the way there … until the driver started singing “whose looking forward to skiing clap your hands?” to the tune of if you’re happy and you know it … he had several verses and it was quite fun too.

We finally arrived at about a quarter to 9 … so those with a lesson (ie. me) were rushed through to get their equipment. That was fun … ski boots are so uncomfortable! They’re like inline skates with the buckles, but on an angle forcing you to bend your knees. It’s so weird walking in them … I felt like I was going to fall over at first.

Then it was off to get my skis. These were also weird … who ever had the idea to strap two long sticks to their feet?! Putting them on was ok, you just hook your toe under the part at the front and then push down on your heal until it clicks. But then walking in them … weird! I felt like a clown.

Learning to ski was also difficult … They say do one thing a day that scares you and that you learn something new everyday … well I learnt that skiing is scary! I fell over on the little slops and hurt my shoulder (the instructor said he was glad I didn’t pop it out as I landed really awkwardly), there is just no easy way to fall on skis.

Anyways … that fall kinda scared me and when we moved onto training base 4 of 5 we moved onto a slightly steeper hill … I psyched myself out, I was so scared. Bev and Karl, two instructors, worked with me all morning (well worth the lesson price … it was only supposed to be an hour and a group session … I had one on one with an instructor all morning yay). Finally by lunch I was moving down the hill on my own. I was clenching my butt way too much though … gonna feel that tomorrow.

After lunch I was determined to do the hill perfectly and I did! I glided down there, swerving in and out of the brushes with such precision that I got a high five from Karl. He was pleased as he said all along, I knew the stuff and knew what I had to do, my brain however just wouldn’t let me. Then I moved onto base 5, the finale, where you get a blue cross on your ski pass if you complete it perfectly … which I did first time! Karl was so proud he asked to mark my pass off personally.

I then waited for a while as he gathered other newbies together to go up the mountain (eeep!) on trail number one. The ski lift was amazing, beautiful views and we were so high up too! I was on a chair lift with 2 younger girls and Karl, who showed us all how to get on and then exit, without falling over … it was quite easy to be honest.

The beginning of the slop was ok, however, it wasn’t all plain sailing (or skiing). About halfway through there was, what seemed to me, a huge steep slope … and of course I started freaking out. I had visions of me losing control and flying down theslope and off the side of the mountain! There were these flimsy fences at sharp bends and I even asked if they could catch a person … apparently they can, but I wasn’t convinced. So, like my first driving lesson, I went at snails pace.

And I did it! I completed the mountain! After all that work I was shattered, we had an hour and a half before the bus was due to leave and I ached so much, so really didn’t wanna go back up. I would have if I could have gone up the chair lift and back down the dhair lift, just for the views. But instead I met up with Katie (Watkins) and two other exchange students and we went to the bar.

I had the best Smirnoff Ice ever!

At 4.15pm the bus left and we headed back to Carleton. I don’t even remember the bus leaving … as soon as I sat in that seat I was asleep. Once back, I had a quick chat to Alex before he went to bed and then went off to dinner.

At dinner I got two of the funniest texts in the world! Firstly one from my sister saying that they’re thinking of me, even though they are tipsy (they were all out celebrating nana and granddads 50th wedding anniversary) and then a text from mum saying she was thinking of me and had my share of the drink as well … o dear hehe, finally another from mum telling me that Uncle Kevin was dancing and that a toast was made to me at dinner, awww.

I’m now off to Leeds House for a little bit as I feel in a really great mood, but then going to come back when everyone goes out clubbing … so that I can get some peaceful sleep. Night!

Happy New Year! (Click for full size, girl comes from ChuxChu btw)

Last night, for the first time I think, I spent New Years with someone other than my family. We’ve never celebrated New Years ever. It’s just never been something we make a fuss of. So! I spent it with 5 of my friends. Would have been 8, but 3 had prior commitments to other party-type-affairs. Ours didn’t really end up being a party so much, just the usual gathering of friends, games, fun. We didn’t even drink much. We had this much……

There was a mix up with who was buying what, so we ended up with way too much lol

Too many Breezers by far… WKD’s are much yummier… In the end we drank not even 2 bottles of Carribean Twist(weird stuff… one was Pina Colada and one was pinaple, tasted like Lilt lol. Quite nice.) We had some bubbly-stuff at midnight, as ya do. But hardly any of us liked it. I don’t like wine, tastes icky. Much like beer.  Anyways…. less booze more fun. We played Monopoly!! The world edition!!! And one of my bastard friends bought Tokyo before I could…. it turned into a game of buying the places our opponant wanted… I was the first to get houses on a set of capitals though. So I gets da technical victory!! lol. We got bored of that after a while, and put on the New Years tv celebration thing on BBC1. We did go out at midnight to watch the fireworks next door though.

I was having fun seeing if the fireworks setting on my new camera worked. Some came out nicely, some came out less nicely. But it worked!

After we went in we played ‘Lips’ the new singstar-esque game for the Xbox 360. We played Castle Crashers too. That was cool. Went to sleep after 3 sometime I think… not actually sure… but we didn’t all wake up till like 11-something.

Bem, fomos Eu e elton para a praia comer um unspeitinhos espetinhos e como vocês sabem depois de uma ICE nosso Joker oficial soltou o verbo mas,  deixe-me explicar o contexto. Estamos falando sobre viajar pra outros países e ele disse a seguinte frase: Mermão o negócio é viajar pra algum país do Estados Unidos

Lean, tan temprano pk toi levantando un Domingo….

Mis lectores, hoy vamos a practicar ECOTURIMOS, ya saben. el gotdito se va para COMATILLO, un sitio por ahi dike con 3 cascadas para uno bañarse.. tambien, dike es muy bonito la zona, bueno espero que los mosquito o vainas raras no se aparezcan…

Mis patrocinadores para este viaje son:

Last night Catnip Rabbit and the guys had a ROCK BAND PARTY!

Theme parties. Only the best thing to happen to college since the Solo cup.

Think about it: the best pictures of your collegiate years are all from nights where you’re wearing the most ridiculous clothing, are covered in highlighter, or are standing ankle-deep in a foam/beer mix. These are what we live for, and mistakenly document weekend after weekend. (I mean, who thinks it’s a good idea to bring the camera to the foam party?)

We’ve all been to an 80’s bash, been CEOs (or rather, CE-Hos), done anything for an A, and dabbled in the Heaven and Hell parties, sure. But, why keep the themes to the actual event? What if you started the fun a little earlier? Why not take your pre-gaming life to the next level?

I bring you, the Themed Pre-Party:

The Little Kids’ Birthday Party. Birthdays are fun for everyone… so we threw a party for all of us. We went all out: hats, pinatas full of the shot-sized liquor bottles, liquor to make birthday cake flavored mixies, and of course, an actual birthday cake. We had one mostly-sober person in charge of pinata breaking, and (surprisingly!) only one injury occurred (bruising, nothing serious). Best part of the evening? The doorman at our favorite dirtball basement bar let half the girls in without paying cover because we were wearing party hats and said it was our birthday (even though all of our ID’s said otherwise). So much fun!

The Ghetto Fabulous Party. All you need is a $10 pack of Hanes mens’ white tank tops (affectionately referred to as beaters), a dark or colored bra, and a baseball cap, cocked to one side. If you’re feeling adventurous, invest in fake bling, and make your playlist all hard-core rap. Everyone starts the night with a 40 of their choice, and if you’re feeling extra classy, you can even go with malt liquor.

The Classy (ish) Holiday Party. As my roommates and I were of varying backgrounds, we threw a sick Chrismakkuh party (I still have a crush on Seth Cohen) around the holidays, even getting a photographer for the event. We specified in our Facebook invite that cocktail attire was suggested, and we made a fancy, colorful jungle juice. There was boxed wine passed around downstairs, and I think overall we were successful. We even had one of our roommate’s dogs staying with us at the time, and he ran around with antlers on. (We had a sober monitor take care of him—no puppy was harmed in the making of that pregame.)

The Tea Partay. Hello, Yuppie. I’m sure you remember this YouTube segment from almost two years ago (click here if you missed this Smirnoff Raw Tea ad). I own my preppiness, and I think it’s fairly safe to say many a college student has those chach-y guy friends with pastel polo shirts, chino shorts with some sort of critter, and, dear God, let’s not forget the madras pants. (My item of choice? Seersucker.) Almost no one escapes life without buying some form of polo shirt or short skirt, so you’re pretty well set even if you’re not sponsored by J. Crew. Think country club, only drunk. This best coincides with Bar Golf, but can stand on its own fairly well, and you may consider playing Caddyshack in the background. And remember, “no one’s hotter than a New England gangster.”

Got any other ideas?

[Photo courtesy of collegeubiquity.wordpress.com]

Wir haben uns heute auf der Arbeit kurz über alte Werbespots unterhalten. Auslöser des ganzen war eigentlich die EM. Immer wenn der Ball versehentlich auf die Tribüne gedroschen wird, referiere ich eine BP-Werbung aus den 90ern. Vielleicht kennt sie noch jemand außer mir? Ein Pizzabote soll in die Konzernzentrale von BP eine Pizza ausliefern. Er möchte eine Pizza ausliefern: “Pizza für Jonas Wagner?” – bis ihn ein Mechaniker zum Fahrstuhl schickt: “10. Stock – Weltraumforschung”.

Wer die Werbung noch kennt, weiß sofort, was ich meine, wenn ich eines der beiden Zitate beim Fussballspiel erwähne – erschreckenderweise scheint jedoch niemand mehr den Spot zu kennen. Daher ernte ich des öfteren ratlose Blicke – einfach mal selbst versuchen

Ich habe mich daher mal auf die Suche begeben. Dabei habe ich festgestellt, dass ich nicht der einzige bin, der sich mit solchen absurden Gedanken den Tag vertreibt. Allerdings habe ich zunächst auch nur den englischen Originalspot finden können – hier ist natürlich nicht von Jonas Wagner die Rede

Offensichtlich geistert auch die deutsche Version im Netz herum. Komischerweise ist dort jedoch von “Martin Wagner” die Rede – sollte ich mich so getäuscht haben? Offensichtlich scheinen hier mehrere Versionen des Spots zu existieren. Denn eine Google-Suche förderte wesentlich mehr “Jonas“-Anhänger als “Martin“-Anhänger zu Tage. Vielleicht kann das ja jemand aufklären?

In diesem Zusammenhang ist mir dann auch wieder Sergio eingefallen. Was, ihr kennt Sergio nicht? Dann wird auch nicht gefeiert… IMO einer der genialsten Spots der vergangenen Jahre und (für mich) längst ein Klassiker. Meine Kollegen kannten ihn allerdings auch nicht mehr. Ich könnte mich immer noch wegschmeißen, wenn ich den sehe…

sip on a cold Smirnoff Ice…

Yesterday was one of those days where you just get irritated by everything and everyone.  And if someone said the wrong thing the possibility of you blowing up in their faces was high.  There was no outlying reason for my extremely short fuse except maybe the fact that lately I have had trouble falling asleep.  And the reason I have had trouble falling asleep is frustration.

I am frustrated.  How horrible would it be for a child if you held and loved it and then you didn’t touch it or give it any physical contact for weeks.  It would be neglect.  You would be charged with neglect.  Now I am not a child and I can understand why there is no physical contact where as a child would not understand and therefore would have psychological trauma that came with the neglect, but I am still being neglected.  And I am neglecting myself. 

After work yesterday all I really wanted to do was call up this guy that likes me and use him just to get some physical contact… But I couldn’t.  I don’t want to use someone just so that I don’t feel like a freaking combustible agent that is becoming unstable as every day goes by.  I almost wish I had never had sex just so I could go back to being unaware of that type of physical connection.  So instead of calling up this guy I decided to go to my local grocery store get something for dinner and some Smirnoff Ice Green Apple and just relax for the evening.  I am not usually the type of person who buys alcohol if there are no friends coming over but tonight I needed to relax and not have to worry about offending people.  So I invited no one over, due to my short fuse, drank a cold one with my brother and bummed a cig. off of him (I quite smoking but occasionally I bum one for the hell of it).  I think I accomplished my task of having a calming and not so frustrating evening because I fell asleep fine and today I feel not so irritable.