What Dan Learned...

Atlantic City: A Portrait of PWN3GE

2007-04-01T13:37:00.000-04:00

Once again, the ol' gang of myself, Mike, Rusty, and Chrissy ventured to El Ciudad de Atlantic for a day of pure f'dupitude. However, this time around, our friend Danielle came along for the trip as well. Because she is quite new to our collective insanity, we felt it was in her best interests to provide her with some warnings beforehand:

We will likely be discussing the sadomasochistic sexual exploits of nearly-deceased actors and/or cartoon characters whenever we come up to a toll booth.
We will not likely be acting like anything resembling an adult.

She seemed to take said warnings in stride. I can say this with relative certainty, because my prediction that she would dive out of the car onto the AC Expressway did not come true. So far, so good.

True to form, we did indeed engage in some toll booth funnery, both to and from Atlantic City. Once again, I'll spare the exact details of the particular "conversations," out of fear that my friends list will plummet from 119 to...like...2. However, I'll list the focal points of the conversations and allow you to fill in the blanks of debauchery on your own:

Alan Thicke
Mr. Belding
Toucan Sam
Rusty's dog
One other individual that is just too wrong to specifically mention. Oh well, "Life Goes On," as they say

Our first non-toll booth order of business was simple; read each billboard to find out which casino offered free parking. For the third consecutive trip, Trump Plaza was the oh-so-lucky recipient of our merry group of misfits. As we approached the casino, I mentioned that I always miss the entrance to the Trump Parking Garage. Of course, as we were laughing...I missed the entrance to the Trump Parking Garage. We quickly found another entrance, parked the car, and got into the elevator to the casino itself. Because we have the collective maturity of a daycare center, we made sure to press every button on the elevator before we exited. This was met with a rather insincere "THANK YOU" from the woman who proceeded to enter the same elevator. Pfft. Ingrate.

Our first stop was the Mall Formerly Known As Ocean One, which is now chock-full of high-end stores like Armani and a bunch of places with French names I can't pronounce. As we walked, Danielle seemed concerned that the shopping center was directly on top of the Atlantic Ocean. I quickly reassured her, "Well, if we die, at least we die in style." Her nervous laughter indicated that she was rethinking the whole "not jumping out of the car when she had the chance" thing.

Eventually, we made our way to the end of the mall where the fountains are. If you're ever wondering where your precious quarters go after you piss them away at the slots, look no further...

Picture stolen from some website

At any point, you will see a couple of dozen gawkers staring at this glorified light show (myself included). Now for some reason, the architects placed this little button o'fun in plainview of people like me...

Now, I seriously had no real intention of bringing this aquatic lightshow of fun to a screeching halt. I mean...yeah, I had my elbow right on top of the button. And yeah, I looked at my friends and said, "Wouldn't it be funny if I accidentally hit this and..."

"Shit."

I quickly turned around to see the product of my idiocy: no water, no lights...just a bunch of tourists staring in disbelief. Because I base all my scientific beliefs on The Price is Right, I nervously turned to Mike and asked, "Do you think this is like the Range Game where they can't start it up again for another 62 hours?" Well, we kept walking away and turning around; as of last glance, there was another 61 hours and 58 minutes to go.

Not ones to ever fully leave the scene of a crime, we went to the candy store at the other end of the mall. Yes, the same candy store featuring Leminem and the Poolar Bear (no typo there) from before. Yes, the same candy store that charges $2.50 for a quarter-pound of jelly beans. Well, inflation be damned...Rusty and I needed us some JB goodness. Though $3.43 worth of banana-flavored jelly beans hardly sounds like a prudent purchase, it was enough for my bank to call me sixty seconds later to verify that I had indeed made said purchase with my debit card. I guess I have misunderstood identity theft all along. Here, I thought criminals bought stereo systems and computers with stolen bank information. Instead, we apparently are dealing with underground Jujyfruit rings. Be on the lookout, people; they could be smuggling sugar into YOUR neighborhood.

But I digress.

We continued walking along the Boardwalk, a/k/a America's Debunker of Evolutionary Theory (tm). Eventually, we came across an offer that was too good for us (i.e., Mike) to pass up...

In fairness, Mike only went because Rusty agreed to pay for his "special reading." Though I don't remember exactly what the psychic told him, I'm sure Mike will add the specifics of his
clairvoyant experience...particularly since it lasted a grand total of four seconds.

We continued walking, occasionally going in and out of different stores in the sincerest hopes that we'd find more pictures for my blog. Fortunately, we didn't have to venture too long before we hit our jackpot. Now, before I show this picture, I will preface it by saying this...

I am fully aware of what the statue actually is.
I am fully aware of the statue's inherent innocence.
I am fully aware that I need to grow up.

Now that you are fully aware that I am fully aware...

"Dan," you say.
"Yes?"
"You're sick."
":)"

Now the intention of our trip was not for gambling or to take pictures of alleged prepubescent incest. We honestly came to AC for two reasons and two reasons only: Ripley's Believe It Or Not (again) and Go-Karts. We went to Ripley's first for the sole reason that it was closest to our lazy asses. Like I mentioned, this was our second go-through, though it was Danielle's first. Now when you enter the "museum," the first thing seen is a statue of the world's tallest man. Mike reminded me that I had my picture taken next to him last time. He was also quite curious as to whether or not I've grown in the last year. I'll let you decide...

Personally, I lean towards yes. Then again, my delusion has been well-documented.

I could continue to contextualize our insanity in Ripley's through more words. But I've already been typing for an hour-and-a-half (and have an entire section to go), so I'll just let the pictures do the talking here:

Ok, everything up until this point has been the undercard. The main event of the evening was a battle of two titans. David vs. Goliath? Ali vs. Frazier? They pale in comparison to...

Mike vs. Dan

This wasn't over some mythical biblical epic or some meaningless world championship. Oh no. This particular battle was over supremacy in the ultimate battle of wits, courage, and skill: Go-Karts. We have faced off twice before. The first time, I defeated Mike in an incredible come-from-behind victory. Spectators (and/or 5'2 people named Dan) have gone on-record to state that Mike's performance made him the "Michelangelo of Choke Artistry." Unfortunately for me, MvD II went to Mike on a night where we decided that 15-degree weather and go-karts were a great combination. As I slowly regained feeling in my fingers and toes, I begrudgingly admitted defeat, vowing that his victory would indeed be his last.

So the stage was set. Since we were in Atlantic City, it was only appropriate that a wager of incredible magnitude be made to commemorate Round III of our epic battle. Thus, the loser would have to do the following:

Wear a sign on their shirt that said "I Got PWN3D at Go-Karts."
Buy the winner the drink of his choice at any boardwalk location.
Verbally inform the cashier of said establishment, "I got PWN3D at Go-Karts."

Now for some reason, my memory of the match is foggy (psychologists apparently refer to this phenomenon as "selective memory"). All I know is...

*sigh* PWN3D.

Until next time...
Dan

Because Nothing Says I Love You Like...

2007-02-16T13:22:00.000-05:00

During my break today, I stopped in the "Closeouts R Us" store in the Granite Run Mall. Now I have found some twisted stuff in my day, but my newest find truly takes the cake. Rather than my typical uploaded picture (mainly because I didn't take one), I'll just paste my IM conversation with Mike from just a few minutes ago...

(Screen names have been changed to protect the twisted)

Dan (1:00:36 PM): you will never guess what kind of valentines cards they had
Mike (1:00:49 PM): arabian?
Dan (1:00:52 PM): even better
Mike (1:00:58 PM): yiddish?
Dan (1:01:10 PM): more specific than that
Mike (1:01:30 PM): I give up
Dan (1:02:18 PM): crocodile fuck hunter
Mike (1:02:30 PM): youre fuck kidding me
Dan (1:02:33 PM): i swear to God
Mike (1:03:08 PM): wow
Mike (1:03:17 PM): valentines day cards featuring steve irwin

Now, before I post the next part of our conversation, I want you to take special notice of our respective timestamps. If this doesn't prove that Mike and I are Satan's heir apparents, I don't know what will...

Dan (1:03:31 PM): "My love for you is like a stingray barb to the heart. Happy Valentines Day"
Mike (1:03:31 PM): "You strike my heart like a stingray"

I need not say more.

Until next time...
Dan

Classic Moments in Stoopidity: Dick Van Dyke

2007-02-16T09:46:00.000-05:00

I'm keeping this one short and sweet, as no analysis is truly needed.

Overheard at Hibachi's last night...
Man: Yeah, I used to watch The Dick Van Dyke Show.
Woman: Who was it that played Dick Van Dyke?

Until next time...
Dan

Just Another Day at the Farmer's Market

2007-02-13T13:13:00.001-05:00

Last week, I blogged about the now-infamous "Licking the Baggie" incident, noting how the witnessing of someone else's sheer patheticism can be a tremendous boost to one's own self-esteem. Well, if you combine said Ziploc-tonguing with my trip to Zern's on Saturday, you too can take solace in saying, "Wow...I'm not them."

Zern's is a Farmer's Market in Gilbertsville, PA (a/k/a Hickville, USA). Mike and I generally make a pilgrimage to the Big Z at least a few times a year. I can't directly pinpoint exactly why we go; maybe we just need good blog material. This time around, Mike's girlfriend Natalie came along for the ride, immediately filling Zern's daily quota of women with a full set of teeth.

Our first stop at Zern's always is at what has come to be known as "The Stuff Store"...

Don't let the word "Hardware" fool you; this store literally has everything. I don't mean literally in the "it has practically everything" sense. If you can dream it, it's there. Ever have a nightmare about Noid Finger Puppets?

You could put five pairs of latex gloves on my hands, spray them with a full can of Lysol, and sterilize the inside of the puppet with two matchbooks...I still wouldn't stick my hands in that thing.

The Stuff Store is also seemingly under the impression that Thanksgiving was founded by a group of Leprechauns...

Now before I continue, you may be asking yourself, "Why would you drive all the way to Gilbertsfreakingville to take pictures of crap in a Stuff Store?" Funny you (hypothetically) ask, considering I overheard the cashier ask her "colleague" the same exact question. Now most people overhearing such a thing may decide that continuing to snap photographs probably is not the smartest idea. I just turned my flash off.

Ensuring that we didn't leave El Store de Stuff with nothing but memories and used-up space on a memory stick, Mike actually purchased a (somewhat dented) Superman trash can. While he waited in line, the customer in front of him said seven words I never ever ever thought could possibly be even uttered in such a place...

"I want to put this on layaway."

Layaway...Here...Seriously...

I then watched in awe as the man began negotiating a payment plan for "this" item. Now, before I reveal what "this" is, please note the following:
1.) I'm not making this up.
2.) I couldn't make this up if I tried.
3.) Seriously, I'm not making this up.

With that all said, I hereby present "this"...

I then proceeded to put my hood over my head, leave the store, and laugh for about five minutes straight. And the saddest part of the whole thing? The day had just begun.

With Superman recepticle (and some shreds of dignity) in tow, the three of us finally exited the Stuff Store and made our way through the rest of the market. Along the way, Mike and Natalie came across some stuff to buy for their new townhouse. There were two "cashiers" working in this section: a really old dude and some chick with red hair that redefined the word "poofy." Apparently, the old dude was much more with it than his considerably younger counterpart:

Mike: Hi, I was just wondering if you took debit cards here.
Old Dude: Sorry, cash only. There is an ATM not too far from here.
Mike: Ok, cool. Thanks.
Seven seconds later...
Poofy Redhead: Sorry, cash only.

Now before we ventured off to find the ATM machine, I came across a coffee mug featuring everyone's favorite redheaded stepchild, Little Orphan Annie. This cup was a whole ten feet away from Ms. Delayed Reaction 2007 over there. Fortunately, the proverbial angel on my shoulder told me, "Dan, it would be incredibly wrong to take a picture of the mug and this woman for the sake of your own amusement." Unfortunately, the proverbial devil on the other shoulder reached over and kicked the angel's ass...

After firmly cementing our places in Hell, we searched far and wide for the elusive ATM machine. Eventually, we did find it...with absolutely no help at all from the directionally-challenged signage...

We returned to Oldie and Poofy's area so Mike could finally make his long-awaited purchase (and by long-awaited, I mean 20 minutes). A couple of Mike's items were glass, so Oldie was kind enough to wrap them up for him...in paper towels. We thought we had seen new levels of ghettocity until Oldie grabbed Mike's change out of his cash register...a Ziploc bag.

On a related note, I never want to see another plastic zip-up bag for as long as I live.

Finally, we made our way to the computer/book/old film reel/whatever-the-hell-else-you-can-think-of store. From the outset, we could clearly see that the owner of the store had quite the inferority complex...

In addition to the aforementioned computers and books, the store apparently was also in the business of selling security cameras...even their own...

Now maybe my previous crack about the owner's insecurity (no pun intended) was somewhat unfounded. After all, they seemingly had no problem advertising products for other stores...

Either there is a superfluous zero after the decimal point, or that is one expensive-ass typewriter.

And that concluded our fun-filled day of absolute redneckery. Before I sign off though, allow me to give you an idea of other fantabulous merchandise you can buy at Zern's:

A rusted election button...complete with bullethole!

A royally pissed off sun

A Park Ranger/Lumberjack/Explorer/Overgrown Boy Scout Action Figure

A Toy Truck From Everyone's Favorite Dollar Store

A Rare Precious Moments Figurine: The Special Bond Between a Boy and His Duck

A perfect way to make sure that beans don't ssain your precious cutlery.

A sign that truly transcends Tim

A haircut from a place that's not only a barbershop, but also a Boolean Expression

A sign remembering your generic loved one (you know...What's His Name)

And with that, I bid adieu.

Until next time...
Dan

Classic Moments in Stoopidity: "What's Your First Name?"

2007-02-09T11:47:00.000-05:00

Being a sucker for things that don't cost money, I took advantage of Netflix's 30-day free trial. Since today was Day 29 (and since I am a cheap procrastinating bastard), I called them up to cancel my account.

Now, when I created the email address that you'll see in the conversation below, it was partly a preemptive measure to prevent the question of what my name is. However, I had an ulterior motive: I knew that someday, someone would inevitably ask said question...and that would give me something to blog about. Well ladies and gents, that day has finally arrived...

Netflix: What can I do for you today?
Dan: Yes, I'd like to cancel my account.
Netflix: Ok, if I could just get the email address on your account please?
Dan: thenameisdan@****.com
Netflix: Great. And your first name please?

Until next time...
You know what my name is (hopefully)

What Dan Learned (Week Ending 1/13/07)

2007-01-15T08:35:00.000-05:00

Batten down the hatches, boys and girls. It's learnin' time...

* Creating Miis of Bob Ross is a perfectly acceptable pastime. Sharing said creations with others over Wii's network is a way to allow your friends into your happy little world. Bob would have wanted it that way...

* One's improv skills can come quite in handy when an individual (who we'll just call Stan) shows up to a surprise party the same exact time as the person for whom the party is thrown. Stan's inate ability to not panic, stutter, or piss himself should also be lauded...

* "Seeing the Press Your Luck slot machine" has replaced "getting married" as my top life goal..

* I'm going through major "Heroes" withdrawal...

* If you ever have a strange urge to fear for your life, I strongly encourage you to visit the McDonald's in front of Granite Run Mall...

That is all.

Until next time...
Dan

I Went to AC and All I Got Was This Lousy Fly Swatter

2006-12-31T17:02:00.000-05:00

Normally when I venture to Atlantic City with Mike and/or company, I blog about how the Price is Right Slot is/isn't my bitch or how we ingrained visions of a naked Wilfred Brimley into the heads of an unassuming toll booth collector. While Mike and I continued to cement our place in Hell by still partaking in such activities yesterday, we found what will assuredly be our newest twisted pastime: taking pictures of really funny shit in dollar stores. So in my last blog of 2006, please allow me to take you through Dan's Photo Album of Phun (tm).

Our adventure starts here (though I'm admittedly not sure what a gift nut is)...

Mike and I made our way to the back of the store, where we entered an area that apparently warrants its own section...

FYI -- There was not one single seashell for sale. Say those last words real fast five times.

Now I know that part of the "allure" of a dollar store is finding generic ripoffs of name-brand products. But when you have to rip off a board game that hit its peak popularity in 1987...well... that's just plain sad.

When I perused through the other faux games of board, I initially thought to myself, "Wow, I'm shocked there's no Hungry Hungry Hippos ripoff." A turn to the next endcap quelled that surprise rather quickly...

After thanking God that some Malaysian sweatshop worker didn't bother with a Dizzy Dizzy Dinosaur knockoff, we sauntered over to the next section which...well...doesn't really necessitate an explanation...

What really scares me is that the store bought these in bulk.

Next, we have plastic weaponry for upper management who have just had enough...

Unfortunately, they were sold out of the Middle Management Sniper Rifles

Now, I admittedly never had a sweet tooth, so I wouldn't quite consider myself a candy aficionado. However, Mike and I spent a good amount of time afterwards trying to wrap our heads around this one...

I can't even think of a witty caption. It's been 24 hours since I first saw this, and I'm still staring at this picture in disbelief.

From the "Completely Lame Gag" department...

I'm sure the Mrdheao Man would be proud

Now, if you ever decide to dust off your old Tandy and get stuck on how to get past that alien in the East Corridor, this strategy guide should be of great assistance...

Two points of interest: there were about 60 of these and the copyright date? 1994.

Someone thinks quite highly of the woman who birthed him...

It does raise the question: is there such a thing as a maternity test?

Ladies and gentlemen: the world's first bird swatter...

Also proven to be effective for swatting Jeff Goldblum (dated 1980s movie reference)

I am now about to present the crown jewel of my dollar store photo collection. This product is the absolute epitome the unbridled cheesiness of the All-American Indian-owned discount store...

The glared-out text reads, "Now you can watch your home movies and slides on your TV!"

Ok, the front of the box alone gave me a good chuckle. But it was the text on the back that turned said chuckle into absolute laughter...

And with that, I bid you (and 2006) adieu.

Until next time...
Dan

What Dan Learned in Florida (So Far)

2006-12-22T10:43:00.000-05:00

I'm fully aware that it has been well over two months since I last blogged. The reason behind lack of said bloggage is quite simple: I'm a lazy, lazy man.

So with half-assed pseudoapologies out of the way, it is time to once again discover What Dan Learned in Florida...

So Far.

* Before my sister and I boarded the plane, the woman at the front desk announced the whole criteria for sitting in the exit row, including the ability to "speak English fluently." Unfortunately for the potential non-English-speaking contingent on the plane, said instructions were not given in any other language.

* Parents who can't control their screaming babies on an aircraft need to have their parenting licenses revoked...particularly when said infant is sitting directly across from me.

* Without fail, I am always seated directly next to where the flight attendants set up the drink cart...which means I am always the last person to get a beverage.

* My bilingual highlight so far: seeing someone in a Miami Gamestop ask the question, "Tienes el Wii?"

* I informed my Mom and sister that they are the participants in "Dan's Dr. Frankenstein Project" (note: participation is not voluntary). DDFP is my attempt at taking different qualities from different females we encounter, in the hopes of figuring out what my "ideal woman" is. Well, the Project lasted a grand total of 24 hours before we found someone. So to the mysterious "Woman in Gold Dress," someday...someday.

Until next time...
Dan

Seinfeld, Superman, and Wilfred Brimley: Our Day in AC

2006-10-03T15:20:00.000-04:00

On Sunday, Mike, Rusty, and I made yet another journey to Atlantic City with hopes and dreams of monetary gain that would inevitably be crushed by game show-themed slot machines and overpriced rest stop food. Fortunately, we got our pricey "eatins" out of the way early, plopping down $6 apiece for an 8-piece Chicken Tenders and medium drink at the Burger King on the AC Expressway. To their credit, they at least had food this time; it wasn't that long ago when I watched them dump an entire vat of fries out right in front of me because they were no longer serving dinner. I won't lie...I shed a tear that late morning (and said a lot of words of the four-letter variety).

As we exited "el stop de resto", we began plotting what has become an AC tradition...completely f***ing with the toll booth collector. Generally, our "conversations" usually consist of putting two unlikely celebrities together in...shall we say...compromising situations. In the interest of not frightening my friends and readers away from ever associating with me again, I'll spare the exact details of the discussion. All I'll say is this; I'm willing to bet good money that the attendant will never look at Sherman Hemsley or Wilfred Brimley the same way again.

Finally, we arrived in AC, opting to park at Trump Plaza for the sole reason that it was free (thanks to the mystical powers of my Trump Card). Once we arrived in the parking lot, Mike again made a comment not fit for print (yet had Rusty and I laughing for a good five minutes); I know it was inappropriate because the people who parked next to us did not get of the car until we were fully in the elevator, which was roughly 200 feet away.

Once we got out of the elevator, I decided to unbutton my polo shirt to reveal my newly-purchased Superman shirt underneath. I can't deny the fact that I felt quite Clark Kent-like, especially when the passing-by janitor screamed, "Superman" as if I truly were the Man of Steel. That euphoric feeling lasted about five whole seconds before reality sunk in that I truly am a dork. Plus, I don't think Superman felt the same desires to throw a hard object at his admirers like I did.

Our first stop on our money-bleeding excursion was to check out the new two-freaking-story candy store inside the mall formerly known as Ocean One. We were downright giddy as we speedily walked (some would say galloped) our way to what would surely be a sugary Utopian paradise. However, giddiness turned to what-the-frigness when our eyes immediately came upon the following visual...

Ok, so we apparently stumbled into the bastard child of Chuck E. Cheese and Showbiz Pizza Place. "Surely", we thought, "It can't get much cheesier than 'The Candy Rappers'". Yeah, then we looked over at their lead singer...

Suddenly, I legitimately wanted to obtain the aforementioned superpowers so I could x-ray vision the lemony bastard into a puddle of pulp.

As we perused the rest of the store and its insanely overpriced merchandise (i.e. $2.50 for a pack of Bazooka Joe), we came across what can only be described as "seriously f***ed up." Apparently, some marketing genius decided that candy and fecal matter make for a great sugary snack. Thus, I present to you...

Seriously, I couldn't Photoshop that if I tried. Bear in mind also that there were also defecating cats and dogs, but I have a very strict "One pooping animal per memory stick" policy that I just simply will not violate. Sorry.

Having gotten our fill of sub-zero poopin' heroes for one day, we ventured down to Bally's for our true intended purpose of the trip...to piss away our money at the slots. I was off to a great start in the pissing-away process, as my arch-rival Price is Right Slot gobbled up twenty of my hard-earned dollars in relatively quick fashion. In return, I uttered completely inappropriate comments about Rod Roddy's status as a celestial being. Hey, hell hath no fury like a sore loser scorned.

After making little progress in the pursuit of not losing money, we exited Bally's and headed down to Tropicana.

"Hey Dan?"
"Yeah?"
"Why are you walking down to a casino that is...like...really, really, really far away?"
"To see the Tic-Tac-Toe-playing chicken. Duh."

About three years ago, Mike and I were walking through Tropicana when we came across a previously unimaginable sight: a gigantic line of people waiting to play Tic-Tac-Toe against a chicken. I don't remember the exact logistics of how the game was played...I just know that there was a freaking chicken playing Tic-Tac-Toe. So with a faint hope that the chicken wasn't digested by yours truly earlier in the day, we made the long trek to the Trop. However, an impassioned walk through the casino quickly drained our hopes that the little clucker was still kicking some major human ass in some TTT. Those hopes were dashed altogether once Mike asked a security guard a question I never thought I would hear asked in my lifetime: "Is the Tic-Tac-Toe chicken still here?" Frighteningly enough, the guard knew exactly what we were talking about. However, he broke the sad, depressing news that no chicken has been gainfully employed by the casino in a good three years. That was enough to convince me that the Trop would never see another quarter for me again...unless they get an Uno-playing pig. Then...and only then...will I reconsider.

We then made the long walk back to the rest of Atlantic City "civilization," lamenting the loss of our bird buddy. It was at that moment that our frigged-up day got even more frigged-upper. As we walked past the cavalcade of cart pushers begging us for business, one cart pusher in particular looked right at Mike and screamed, "Seinfeld! Seinfeld!" This was strange for two reasons:

Jerry Seinfeld wasn't anywhere near us.
Mike looks absolutely nothing like Seinfeld.

We pretty much blew it off, though we wondered what the hell that was all about. Fast forward to about two hours later, as we walked past another pleasant cart-pushing crew. Yet again, Mike was accused of being the comedian-in-question. And yet again, my faith in humanity dropped just a little more.

After losing some more money, we decided to blow off some steam with a little Go-Kart funnery. Although I held out hope that the cars would be decked out Mario Kart-style (complete with projectile turtle shells), one look at the "vehicles" told me that I'd be lucky if these bastards even ran period. Those fears were realized rather quickly, as a J'Lo lookalike stalled out about five seconds into the race, requiring a push from the ride operator. Meanwhile, Mike (who started out in front of me, mind you) maintained his lead for a good portion of the race, with me and Rusty trailing not-too-far behind him.

Eventually, J'Lo caught up with Mike, nearly running him off the track in the process. Being ever-the-opportunist, I eeked around the two of them. And by eeked, I mean, "came back from near-insurmountable odds to overcome my opponents' driving onslaught." From there, I never looked back until the very end, when I looked back at Mike and said, "You lost." There is a high likelihood Mike will post a comment below this blog with his explanation of why he feels my win was not valid. Just remember...I crossed the finish line first, which is all that matters.

Oh, and I neglected to mention that as we passed by some of the carnival games to get to the place where I eventually triumphed over all, I was once again "outed" as Superman, this time by a carny. At that very moment, I realized why the poor bastard became an alcoholic in Superman III.

Eventually, we decided to call it a night. Naturally, the ride home meant more toll booth collectors would have stories to tell their spouses when they got home. Again, the specifics of our twistedness don't really matter persay. I'll just leave it at this: those poor souls will never want to look at a $100 bill ever, ever, ever again.

We met up with Melanie and Krissy at Denny's afterwards, where we were quite amazed at our waitress' ability to memorize five people's ultra-picky orders without the benefit of pen and/or paper. Unfortunately for us, this meant that any threat we made after the words, "So help me God if she f**ks up my order..." was all for naught.

Mel and I also finalized the terms of Mel-Dan Bowl VI (our twice-a-year bet on the Eagles-Cowboys game):
1.) If the Cowboys win, I must walk around Cape May holding a cardboard cutout of Jack Sparrow all day.
2.) If the Eagles win, Melanie has to wear a Superman cape around the same location.

Suffice to say, this is, without hyperbole, the biggest football game in the history of the world. I sincerely hope that the Eagles follow my example in my stunning Go-Kart victory and drive themselves straight to victory.

If not, my arms are going to be really, really sore.

Until next time...
Dan

Classic Moments in Stoopidity, Volume 3: Gamestop

2006-09-22T10:59:00.000-04:00

I know, I know. It's been an insanely long time since I've blogged. I could chalk it up to one of the following reasons:

* Insane workload
* Lack of creative inspiration
* Bubonic plague

Instead, let's just be honest and attribute it to laziness (though in fairness, my schedule has been nuts, my creative juices have been nil, and I have a sneaking suspicion my recent bout of Bronchitis is somehow plague-related).

Also, I have to be completely frank here...nobody has really said or done anything incredibly stupid in the past month-and-a-half, which has concurrently rendered me joyed and disheartened. Joyed, because it gave me some hope for the world. Disheartened, because it left me with no blog fodder for almost two months...

Until yesterday.

See, I bought a refurbished XBox from Gamestop.com last week, which included a used copy of Halo. I subsquently learned a very powerful lesson: never buy a refurbished video game system with a used copy of Halo online. Under a delusional fantasy that "refurbished" means "it works now", I quickly discovered quite the opposite to be true. Seven games, three controllers, and 173 obscenities later, it was time to face the harsh reality that this was not one of my wiser purchasing decisions.

So I decided to call said sellers of faulty hardware and ask for a refund. After quickly discovering that Gamestop hires from the same employment pool as Dell and AOL (draw your own conclusions about what that means), I was given a relatively no-hassle solution; I could simply send the XBox back via prepaid FedEx and receive a full refund. But of course, the rep just had to ask me a question that would force me to use valuable work time to blog about it:

"Would you at least like to keep the game?"

Feel free to take a few seconds to process that question. I'll even help you along in your mental journey...

Dan buys XBox and game...
Dan attempts to play XBox with game. No workie...
Dan attempts to play XBox with six other games. Still no workie...
Dan attempts to return XBox, thus no longer necessitating ownership of any XBox games or accessories...
Man from certain Asian country asks Dan if he would like to return XBox, yet keep game that is incompatible with any other system...
Dan's head goes boom...
Dan shares with you...
Your head goes boom.

Now go clean up your cranial mess.

Until next time...
Dan

Why I Hate Taxi Drivers, Part 781

2006-08-04T18:17:00.000-04:00

I hate taxi drivers.

No, this isn't merely a simple restating of my blog title. I just loathe the satanic subcreatures so much that it warrants repeating ad nauseum.

I hate taxi drivers.

All told, I have probably been inside a taxi five or six times. Out of those five or six times, there has been a 100% rate of suck. Last Friday was no exception.

I traveled down to Florida to visit my mom in Miami for a few days. Because it's cheaper (which is often appealing for thrifty bastards like myself), I flew into Fort Lauderdale Airport instead of Miami International. Unfortunately, my Mom was unable to get off from work, so we agreed that I would simply take an airport taxi to her office. She found out that Tri-County Taxi offered a flat rate of $26; considering it was a 45-minute drive, the price was certainly right.

Once I reached Ground Transportation, I informed Tri-County's front desk of my intention to take them up on their namesake so they could take me to my out-of-whatever-Ft. Lauderdale's-county-is destination. Within five minutes, a taxi pulled up with two passengers already in the back. All I had to do was sit down, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

You know where this is going. Or...do you?

*cue ominous organ music*

Nah, you still do.

The taxi driver asked me where I was headed. I told him the exact location of my Mom's work, to which he responded...and I quote..."Are you freaking kidding me?" I responded to his inquiry with a profoundly simple, "Nope." He then posed the question, "Do you know how freaking far that is?" I kindly explained that I was fully aware of the distance from the proverbial "Point A to Point B", but my circumstances prevented me from having a whole helluva lot to do about it. Continuing his streak of asking questions with the word 'freaking', he asked, "Do you know it's freaking rush hour?"

It was 3:45. Oh, and I hate taxi drivers.

At this point, I truly didn't know what was sadder: the fact that I was even having this conversation or the fact that I immediately started to wonder how I was going to blog about it.

In the midst of our growingly heated discussion, my mom called to see if I got into the taxi yet. While I was talking to her, the driver interjects with a request that she meets us halfway. In turn, I interjected with the best "kiss my ass" look I could muster on such short notice. After I got off the phone with my mom, the driver turned to the couple in the backseat and informed them that he was going to have to "go out of their way" and drop me off before he got them to their final destination of South Beach.

For the sake of clarification, Fort Lauderdale is north of my mom's work...which is north of South Beach. Do the math, and you can see that El Driver was engaging in excess amounts of the bullshit...bullshit that the backseaters bought hook, line, and sinker. The male passenger then let us know that this was going to "make him late for the studio" where he needed to "lay down tracks at 8 o'clock."

It was 3:50.

So this is just great. I got Snoop in the back who is ten kinds of pissed at me, which was later exacerbated by the driver's comments that Snoop "looked like he wanted to beat me up". A quick glance in the side-view mirror confirmed that yes, he was ready to engage in some violence on my vertically-challenged frame. I quickly forgot about how I was going to blog on this whole ordeal, as I learned that it's hard to be witty when you're trying to envision how your life would be described after the words, "He was 26 years old."

The remaining 40 minutes of taxi driving funnery proved to be just as migraine-inducing, mainly because I continually had to wonder how the driver would manage to drive on I-95, swear at old people, and text message his friends at the same time without crashing into something made of cement or metal. Thankfully, I did make it to said destination with all my vital organs intact (keep that thought in mind for later in the story). I felt bad when my mom came out to meet me, as her "It's so good to see you" was immediately greeted with my "Wait til you hear this shit."

A couple of days later, I called Tri-County Taxi to complain. I was connected with the manager, Nay, who initially tried to dismiss said complaints because I apparently miswrote the car number. I gave her every other bit of information possible to try to prove that calling and bitching out taxi companies isn't really a pastime of mine. She finally allowed me the time to kvetch uninterrupted...for about ten whole seconds.

She asked mid-bitch, "But he got you there?"

"Yes, he did get me there, but you didn't let me finish. He then told me that the guy in the back looked like he wanted to beat m..."

"But he got you there?"

"Yes, but I'm still not done, because he then started swearing at..."

"But he got you there?"

I swear to God, I could have said, "Yes, but he also touched me in my no-no spot and called me Big Daddy," and she still would have asked if he got me to my final destination. Clearly, I was not winning this argument, so I begrudgingly conceded...

"He got me there."

Sadly, that's the end of my story. No comeuppance. No "but Dan wins in the end." My only hope is that someone Googles "Fort Lauderdale Airport Taxi" and comes across this posting. It's the only chance I have to procure even a fraction of smidgeon of an iota of a moral victory.

I hate taxi drivers.

And their bosses.

Until next time...
Dan

This Just In: Dan's Insanity to Reach a Wider Audience

2006-07-25T10:04:00.000-04:00

Starting this week, my observations of the inane and inaner will be featured on The Dude's Life (www.thedudeslife.com). I have been wanting to get my blogs out to a larger audience for awhile now, so I'm thrilled to have this opportunity. I will continue to blog here as well, though I will likely be writing completely different content for TDL.

My first blog was posted last night, which was basically an introduction (some may say warning) to who I am and what readers can expect from my complete and total randomocity. So check it out...or else*.

Until next time...
Dan

*It's just an empty threat. I'm too pacifist and stuff.

Why Hermits Have the Right Idea + More Tom Jones Funnery

2006-07-17T10:13:00.000-04:00

Why Hermits Have the Right Idea

Last night, I intended to conk out on the couch around 11:30. I say "intended", since I proceeded to toss and turn for the next two hours as my mind raced a thousand miles a minute. Such a sleepless night is actually quite routine for me, as my restless thought pattern typically goes something like this:

"I really don't want to go to work tomorrow...I wonder what I'll have for breakfast tomorrow...I hope this Mid-East crisis is resolved...maybe waffles...whatever happened to Mark Linn-Baker...nah, maybe I'll have a bagel instead...I REALLY don't want to go to work tomorrow...why didn't I fold that hand the other night...crap, I don't think I even have any more bagels...Voltron was a great cartoon..."

Yeah, it's 120 minutes of that.

So last night, I had started to reach the apex of the two hour threshold of suck when I finally started dozing off around 1:30-ish. Almost as if on cue, my quite alcoholic neighbors decided at that very moment to engage in some drunken shouting. Considering my walls have the thickness of a piece of toilet paper (not the la-dee-dah 2-ply stuff either), I immediately awoke from my slumber, which had lasted a grand total of two minutes. Quickly deciding that I wasn't in the mood to be kept awake by inebriated tomfoolery, I immediately trudged into my bedroom and plopped on the bed in the hopes of getting at least a few hours of uninterrupted sleep.

I did indeed get some uninterrupted sleep...a whole 20 minutes worth. I'm guessing my one neighbor came down with a case of the blues. I can safely make this assertion, especially since said jackass proceeded to drunkenly play the guitar in the parking lot, which just happens to be right outside my bedroom window. So once again, I immediately picked up my bedtime necessities and made my way back to the couch.

I know you're probably asking, "Why didn't you just tell him to stop?" The answer is quite simple: I'm a wuss.

I recurled myself up on the couch, hoping that Eric Clapton out there would strum himself to sleep in the middle of the sidewalk (though in my angered state, I thought that the middle of the street wouldn't have been such a bad idea either). Once again, I began to shut my eyes in the hopes of them not opening again until the alarm went off (though the snooze button would be on call). As soon as I started entering some bodily state closely resembling sleep, the next-door chicanery worked its way back inside. Only this time, I heard laughing. Very loud, obnoxious, drunken laughing. While the pacifist in me was just oh-so-happy to hear that they kissed and made up, the slightly delusional insomniac in me began envisioning some creative uses for a baseball bat.

I honestly can't tell you for sure if I woke up this morning in my bed or on my couch. Three hours of sleep has a tendency to distort memory like that.

More Tom Jones Funnery

A couple of weeks ago, I posted the now-infamous "Smart People Eat Hear" sign that I saw outside of Tom Jones Restaurant. When a few friends insisted that it must have been an intentional (albeit bad) joke, I scoffed...mainly since I hold onto the hope that some people are just that stupid. Why? Because that's 90% of my blog material right there.

However, after driving by this week's new sign, even I have the question the legitimacy of their idiocy. Because if this sign is not some horrible attempt at humor, I am so beyond frightened for the world's future that I may invest in some locust repellant.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have an apocalypse to prepare for.

Until next time...
Dan

Good Answer!

2006-07-14T14:08:00.000-04:00

This past week, I set a personal record of going to Atlantic City three times in one week. I'd rather not talk about last Monday's excursion, because my fragile ego doesn't want to draw attention to the whomping I got in a post-midnight poker tournament. I would talk about Saturday's uber-frigged-up trip, but Mike has that one pretty well-covered (http://soupnyc807.blogspot.com -- If you wish to distance yourself from me after reading Mike's recap, I'll understand). Instead, I'll focus on my third journey to AC this past Monday, mainly because it doesn't involve driving home a loser at 7:00 AM or inducing visuals of Bill Kirchenbauer and Bronson Pinchot engaging in acts of a sexual nature.

If you wish to distance yourself from me after reading that last sentence, I'll understand.

Back to the recap...

After spending the night in Wildwood with my buddy Randy and his girlfriend, Karen, we ventured to AC (again). My Dad, who was on vacation, met us up there as well. My Dad and I had talked all week about doing a fifty dollar poker tounament at Showboat, so we ultimately decided to go ahead and do it, despite the fact I was pretty pokered out. Before I get to the results of said tournament, let's do a little Tale of the Tape, shall we?

Dan
****
Age: 26
Poker Experience: A year-and-a-half
Number of Final Table Appearances: 10
Number of Tournament Wins: 2

Dad
****
Age: 50
Poker Experience: His son teaching him how to play two days before
Number of Final Table Appearances: n/a
Number of Tournament Wins: n/a

Tournament Results
********************
Number of Entrants: 69 (heh, heh, heh)
Place Dan Came In: 60th
Place Dad Came In: 8th

There's no typo. To put it mildly, the student schooled the teacher. He walked away with $140. I tried to subtly remind him of a deal we had made prior to the tournament, where all winnings would be split down the middle. I guess subtlety is not my strong suit, as my meek cry for unearned money yielded a quick change of subject. Though in all fairness, he did cover my dinner, so I have zero room to complain.

After said dinner in Showboat's buffet, we all gambled a bit more until it was time to play the Feud. You see, Showboat features a nightly "Family Feud Stage Show", which gives any audience member a chance to get up on stage and play the game.

Guess which audience member got up on stage and played the game?

That's right. Yours truly actually can say that he played on the Family Feud, "Stage Show" be damned. To qualify to go on stage, all audience members have to answer three questions. The questions are presented on a big screen. and you essentially have to pick the number one answer for each question via a keypad at your seat. I answered all three questions correctly (and quickly), yet I was still shocked as all hell to see my name on the big screen (shocked enough that I didn't even hear them announce my name as well). I was taken backstage, where I was introduced to my "family" (namely four people I have never met in my life).

The production assistants lined us up behind the giant family placard that you always see families posing in before they run onstage. We were told, "Come up with a good pose; be as silly as you want." Apparently, I was the only family member to hear said instructions; while the rest of the team emoted total nothingness, I put my face in my hands like I was a five-year-old in a Welch's Grape Juice commercial. Allow me to summarize my feelings in the form of a faux Family Feud question:

"Name an emotion you feel when you're the only one on stage looking like an idiot."
"Mortified."
"Number one answer!"

After shaking off the overwhelming feeling of dumbassedness, I prepared for the task ahead...winning 100 bucks. For this version of the game, the first team to 200 points would win. The winning team got 100 bucks for each member, whereas the losing team got fitty (I sincerely hope you've figured out by now that's not a typo). I was in the middle position on my team, so in the hopes of avoiding the toss-up question, I turned to the first two teammates and said, "I really don't want to go up there, so if you two could wrap this game up in two questions, I'd greatly appreciate it. No pressure." Though they did laugh at my request, I couldn't help but think that the word "asshole" had crossed their mind at some point in that five-second span.

Our team was off to a good start, as we stole the first question away from our opponents. So far, so good. The second question was, "Name something you need if you break your leg." My teammate answered, "Cast," which was the number two answer. I can't remember what the opposing player answered; all I know is that our team gained control.

So for the first time in the game, I actually would have to answer a question. Before that, however, I had to introduce myself to the audience, which led to my heart beating at roughly 4778971 beats per minutes. However, the tension was eased when I had the following exchange with the host who, despite the fact I have no earthly clue who he is, gained my infinite respect:

"So, tell us about yourself."
"I'm Dan. I'm from Chadds Ford, PA, and I am a Foreign Student Advisor."
"Oh wow, what exactly do you advise them on?"
"Immigration policy, university policy, etc."
"Very nice. Maybe you can advise our current President on immigration policy as well."

He tried to backstep and say that he wasn't trying to imply anything about our current Commander-in-Chief, but it was too late; he simply couldn't avoid the thunderous ovation that erupted from the seemingly-liberal audience. Unfortunately, the other nine players must have been Republicans, because I was the only one onstage joining the audience in their applause. Political skewering aside, I finally answered the broken leg question with "crutches," which was the number one answer. So from here on in, I can always say I gave a number one answer on Family Feud.

Unfortunately for our team, we did not keep the momentum going and ended up losing the points to our opponents. Unfortunately for me, this meant I had no choice but to answer the toss-up question.

Um, dammit?

I guess I was a wee bit too anxious, as I started running to the podium well before the host had instructed us to come up. Oops. I think the host made some crack, but my mind was too busy screaming "Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!" for me to really hear him.

Our question: "Name a famous Jack from a children's story or fairy tale."

I actually delayed on buzzing in, mainly because my mind drew an absolute blank. Once the answer finally came to me, my opponent buzzed in. I'm assuming he used mental telepathy to steal my idea of "Jack and the Beanstalk", which of course ended up being the number one answer. Naturally, he could have come up with the answer without resorting to shameless abuse of psychic powers, but I'm all about making myself feel better (even if at the risk of making absolutely no sense).

So the other team had control, which led to the far-and-away best answer of the night. Again, keep in mind the question: "Name a famous Jack from a children's story or fairy tale." You can then just imagine the uncontrollable laughter when a player answered, "Jack the Ripper." I won't lie; despite the fact he was on the other team, part of me was hoping his answer would actually be up there. But alas, it wasn't. And alas alas, their team swept the question, which gave them the victory and the $100. Hey, I was still happy no matter what; I got to play on Family Feud, and I won my fitty buy-in back that I had lost in the poker tournament several hours earlier.

Thankfully, I was able to end my superflously-hyphenated-going-to-AC-three-times-in-one-week-excursion-of-fun on a great note. So to keep the theme, I end this blog with a superflous picture of Richard Karn.

Until next time...
Dan

Classic Moments in Stoopidity: Tom Jones

2006-07-03T14:47:00.000-04:00

I was driving down Edgmont Ave. on my lunch break and I drove by Tom Jones, a local 24-hour eatery known for their ubercheap food and universally big-breasted staff. They're also infamous for putting cheesy phrases on their signs, which they generally change once a week.

So I'm sincerely hoping they were going for irony with the sign I saw today. If not, then...wow. That's seriously all I can say. Wow.

Because I'm not a big fan of getting into accidents, I didn't snap a picture of the sign as I drove by it. Instead, using the magic of an online sign generator, I present a reenactment-of-sorts of the stupidity that I bore witness to today...

That is all.

Until next time...
Dan

We're Still Here + What Dan Learned in Atlantic City...in Pictures!

2006-06-07T08:44:00.000-04:00

Armageddon My Ass

Well, 06/06/06 has officially come and gone. I turned 26, Serbia and Montenegro dissolved, and the world didn't go boom. All I have to say is...

BOO!

And not the "I scared you" BOO...I'm talking the "life of a Philadelphia sports fan" BOO. No antichrist, no raining frogs, not even a single solitary locust?! Media, you have once again failed to deliver. You practically promised hell, fire, and brimstone. You're lucky that I'm no longer a COMMS major forced to analyze your scare tactics and utter lack of ethics, or you'd be mighty sorry!

Well, there's always room for armageddon on my 86th birthday, which is 6/6/66. All I gotta say is that there better be a plague next time, or I'll...like...blog about it.

Again.

What Dan Learned in Atlantic City

Over the weekend, I (shocker of shockers) ventured to Atlantic City with Mike, Rusty, and Chrissy. I know I've been giving my typically novel-like recaps of trips as of late, but my AC tradition has always been to share my day in my trademark "What Dan Learned" format. However, in the interest of changing things up ever-so-slightly, I'm sharing "What Dan Learned"...but in pictures!

You: Oooooooooooooooh

And they're in .jpeg format!

You: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaah

So let's begin!

You: Ok.

If you're wondering if I've matured at my ripe old age of 26, please note that I laughed for a good five minutes straight upon seeing this sign.

From the state that brought you mandatory full-service gas and Jackoff the Clown, New Jersey proudly presents Lucy the Elephant.

From the state that brought you the country's independence and Bob Saget, Pennsylvania proudly presents its residents.

Standing next to a statue of the World's Tallest Man, it's somewhat disconcerting that my 5'2 frame is roughly the same height as the location of his groin.

Standing next to a statue of a naked woman, it's somewhat disconcerting that this is the closest I've gotten to...*sigh*. Never mind.

Some would call this sign an obvious request. I call it an open invitation.

Believe it or not, the Ripley's janitorial staff cleans its bathrooms.

Once again, the Price is Right Nickel Slot has become Dan's bitch.

That is all.

Until next time...
Dan

Note: Blogspot won't let me un-italicize for some reason.

Note 2: For a more detailed recap of the day, visit Mike's blog at http://soupnyc807.blogspot.com. There, you can get answers to burning questions like...

What the hell is Lucy the Elephant?

What novelty item did the gang absolutely go out of its way to find?

What the hell is wrong with these people?

Conclusion to Le Blog de Montreal

2006-05-31T12:19:00.000-04:00

I know I'm quite late in finishing my Montreal recap. I could chalk it up to being busy, but that would just be a downright lie. So let's attribute it to total laziness and put it all behind us, shall we?

Now when we last left off, I was becoming quite acquainted with "Le Restroom" on "Le Cruise", since I felt like "Le Crap."

"I have a question, Dan," you state in an inquisitively perturbed fashion.
"Yes?"
"Did you beat the lame French puns into the ground all week?"
"Oui."

The next night, we went to a French-ish restaurant with my Mom and her two colleagues. Her one co-worker, Cristina, swore up and down that I needed to try Poutine, which consists of French Fries smothered in gravy. Since I had eaten pretty healthy throughout the week (and likely burned off three days worth of calories with the amount of walking I had done), I was game for some French artery-clogging goodness.

I had hardly eaten at all that day, so gravy fries (tm) didn't sound appetizing as a strictly stand-alone mealsnackfood(tm). As I perused the menu, however, I noticed that standard American fare (grilled cheese, hot dogs, burgers, etc) were more than $20 apiece. I also noticed that each said item had the words "foie gras" in front of it. Initially, I had hoped "foie gras" was French for "freaking good", because the thought of eating "Freaking Good Grilled Cheese" not only sounded appetizing, but like a genius Franco-American marketing slogan.

But no.

For those not up on their French or bird innards, allow me to share the Dictionary.com definition of "foie gras:"

foie gras

n : a pate made from goose liver (marinated in cognac) and truffles [syn: pate de foie gras]

If you just felt a little bit of vomit in the back of your throat, you are officially feeling my pain. Now apparently, goose liver is quite a delicacy, to which I asked my dinnermates..."If it's such a delicacy, why is it on every menu item?" So I ended up sticking with the aforementioned gravy fries. Plus, $5.25 for Poutine was a wee tad more reasonable than paying $25 for eating food topped with Donald Duck's internal organs.

So of course, this meant that my Poutine was covered with Donald Duck's internal organs.

Apparently, you must specify that you don't want your fries topped with food that visually resembles Alpo. Luckily, I was able to scrape the alleged delicacy off my gravy fries, which were quite delicious as a standalone dish. However, imagine my shock when, despite the fact the foie gras never came within a three-foot radius of my mouth, the bill jumped from $5.25 to $24.00. Fortunately for me, I didn't pay the bill. Unfortunately for my Mom, she committed to this being my "birthday dinner." And just so you don't think I'm heartless, I did offer to reimburse her, but she politely declined.

The next day, it was time for my return to the good ol' U.S. of A Place With No Foie Gras (I'm sure it's served somewhere, but the cheap joke only works if I assume it's only a French-only thing). Unfortunately, my return wouldn't be a smooth one, as I was the lucky recipient of the "random check" at the Security Checkpoint in Montreal. And oh boy, was that fun. If you're ever in the mood to be publicly violated in front of several people, I highly recommend it (though since it's "random", I guess you wouldn't get much say in the matter). In all fairness, the officer was very friendly throughout the process. However, my main problem was that the officer was very "friendly" throughout the process. I'm just going to end it there, because the flashbacks of a gloved hand getting ever-so-close to my guys is just a bit much to bear. Though I guess I can say I now know what it's like to be a guest at the Neverland Ra...

Alright seriously. I'll stop now.

Before I sign off (and crumble to the floor in a fetal position), here are a few pictures from the trip...

I should have known it was a mistake to wear a Flyers sweatshirt in Canadien Country, as I ended up getting mocked by a 70-year-old man over it.

I'm not sure what had me more sadly excited...the fact that a stop sign was in both French and English or the fact that I was almost as tall as it.

I need to start buying more cereal.

Until next time...
Dan

We Interrupt Dan's Montreal Recap For This News of Doom and Gloom

2006-05-27T09:27:00.000-04:00

See???

http://news.yahoo.com/s/space/20060526/sc_space/060606anotherdatewithparascience

Note: Conclusion of Montreal Recap still forthcoming

Update from the Great White North

2006-05-25T12:39:00.000-04:00

Yesterday was the first full day of actual sessions. Yes, believe it or not, I actually attended most of them. I'm not going to sit here and say I got anything out of them, but going is 9/10 of the law (Source: Dan's Law).

After a long day of learning nothing, we went to a light show at the Notre Dame Basilica, followed by a dinner cruise. Now anyone who knows me knows that while I'm a strong believer in God, I'm not big on the whole "going to Church" thing. However, the Basilica was absolutely, breathtakingly amazing. I don't think I've ever seen anything like it in my entire life. The "light show" inside the church to demonstrate its history was a tad on the cheesy side, but the building itself was just beyond words.

Unfortunately, the subsequent dinner cruise didn't invoke the same feelings of awe and amazement as much as it invoked feelings of nausea and, well, more nausea. I estimate that I ate roughly $8 worth of the paid-in-advance $75 meal, a price which, once again, did not include sodas. I don't know what evil demonic illness possessed me, but I do feel better today. My only guess is that it was divine punishment for saying "damn" in church when I tried to take a picture of the crucifix and the flash didn't go off.

I have two sessions left for the day (or one, depending on my level of apathy). We may be going to Casino de Montreal tonight, which should be a shock to absolutely no one who has known me longer than four minutes. I'll be home early tomorrow night, after which I hope to post some pictureage of the trip.

Until next time...
Dan

Montreal So Far: The (Somewhat) Quick and Dirty

2006-05-23T23:06:00.000-04:00

Shocker of shockers, my laptop isn't working properly. Don't worry...this isn't like my last trip to Canada where my motherboard went to the big Best Buy in the sky. I'm just not picking up a wired or wireless connection in my hotel room. However, my mom (who is also at the conference) does have a signal with hers. Go fig.

So since it's rather late and my brain isn't functioning at full capacity right now, I'll just give a bulleted recap of the events thus far:

You always hear that, for an international flight, you should arrive at the airport at least two hours early. I did just that, and I still had an hour-and-55 minutes to kill after the security checkpoint. Thank God for my Nintendo DS.
It was quite the opposite when I arrived in Canada and went through Customs, which had a Disney-like queue line (albeit one that moved relatively quickly). All this to prove that I wasn't smuggling M-80s or bananas.
Once I arrived in Canada, I bore witness to one of the most confounding acts of wasted productivity I've ever seen. I paid for a round-trip shuttle to and from my hotel, Le Saint Sulpice (a name I have butchered at least five times already). Now follow me on this one. First, the bus driver (who we'll call FiFi) spoke absolutely zero English, so I had absolutely zero clue if I was approaching my stop or not. As it turns out, it was all a moot point, as the "shuttle" only took as to a bus terminal, where we had to get ANOTHER bus to the actual hotel. This is where we reach high levels of screwed-uptitude. FiFi pulled into parking spot #19. She told us (through a translator) that we needed to wait by spot #17 for our new bus. The Feefster then proceeded to pull out of spot 19, pull INTO spot 17, and pick up passengers who were GOING to the airport. Bear in mind that spot 19 and spot 17 were roughly 50 feet from one another. Finally, our new driver (who we won't call FiFi) pulls into spot 19 to take us to our destination. If you have a headache after reading that, all I can say...feel my pain.
As I alluded to earlier, I seemingly overestimated the amount of English spoken in Montreal (i.e., there hardly is any). That may be a slight exaggeration, though I quickly learned that everyone automatically assumes you speak French (especially considering I'm much more frequently greeted with "bon jour" than "what up.")
In case you were wondering (and I know you weren't), there are no such things as free refills in Canada. I keep forgetting about this fact until I get my restaurant bill and utter the words "Monsseur Fuck-air" under my breath. Oh, and there's no such thing as "complimentary bread" either...it's a damn appetizer.
About 60% of the television channels in my hotel room are in French. You have not lived until you've seen South Park dubbed in another language. Not even Telemundo provided such quality entertainment.
Despite the fact I've been to Canada once before, I'm still not used to the fact that my room's thermostat only goes up to 30. Seriously Canada...Celsius? C'mon now.
Number of people I've seen that look like Gerard Depardieu: 3.
Two days in Canada, and I have yet to hear one single person say "aboot." I guess it goes back to the whole "hardly anyone here speaks English" thing.

Well, that's it for now. Despite my usual pessmistic-sounding ranting, I'm actually having a fantastic time and, truth be told, it is an absolutely beautiful city. I'll hopefully be able to provide another update before I return to the States on Friday.

And, more importantly, hopefully I'll hear at least ONE person say "aboot."

Until next time...
Dan

I'm (Legally) Crossing the Border

2006-05-21T14:26:00.000-04:00

Tomorrow, I'm headed to Montreal for a week-long Conference of Unfunnery (tm). Since I'll have my laptop with me this time, I hope to provide semi-regular updates of a blogged nature while I'm there (mainly to avoid my Britannica-like length of last year's recap from the Seattle conference).

So until my first update, I bid adieu.

Until next time...
Dan

I Really Tried to Avoid "Oops, I Did It Again" For My Title, But It's Friday and My Brain is Fried

2006-05-19T14:30:00.000-04:00

Is it wrong that I have now officially put Britney's baby on my Dead Pool?
http://www.cnn.com/2006/SHOWBIZ/Music/05/19/spears.ap/index.html

What Dan Learned Last Week

2006-05-16T10:54:00.000-04:00

Time for the tried-and-true reflection of Dan's cerebral consumption of the ridiculous and inane...

The vision of a 200-pound drunk woman dancing quite whitely at a concert will haunt my dreams forever...
I cannot wrap presents to save my life. Unfortunately, it took me an entire roll of wrapping paper to figure that out...
If Wikipedia is correct (and there's no reason to believe it isn't *cough*), Jackoff the Clown will make his feature film debut in the summer (Credit to Mike: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Evil_Clown_of_Middletown)...
I still cannot get used to Chick-Fil-A being on the bottom floor of Granite Run Mall. It's just unnatural...
Though I'm about 18 years too late to come to this conclusion, The Adventures of Link is the HARDEST VIDEO GAME EVER...
I'm relatively sure that the Bloomin' Onion I ate eight days ago is still swimming around in my system somewhere...
As I mentioned in a previous post, today is the day I was supposed to be born, so Happy Supposed-To-Be-My-Birthday to me. Presents are welcome, encouraged, and dare I say, expected...

That is all.

Until next time...
Dan

Seriously, WTF?

2006-05-08T23:51:00.000-04:00

Ok...

After bragging that a Google search of "Jackoff the Clown" yielded only one result (leading to my blog), there magically is now a SECOND result that pops up...that isn't mine!

My spirit is crushed.

Getting Medieval on Saturday Knight

2006-05-08T13:58:00.000-04:00

On Saturday, Mike, Shana, and Mike's friend Tara ventured to Lyndhurst, NJ to check out Medieval Times, a family-themed dinner-theatreesque show full of violence and bad acting. The show ended up becoming the meat of our travel sandwich, as we used Lyndhurst's central location to (re)visit Red Bank and (rerere)visit New York City.

So I wisheth thou art ready for a recapeth of our day...

eth.

Red Bank

The first stop on our mystical journey was Red Bank, NJ. As you probably do not recall, we visited Red Bank back in February. If you need a refresher, feel free to check out http://whatdanlearned.blogspot.com/2006/02/money-in-red-bank.html first. Just skip the part about White Castle, since I don't wish sympathy pains upon you for reading about my lower intestine's battle with the Sliders.

Ok, done? Sweet, onward we move.

Now we returned to the town to show Shana and Tara the Secret Stash and the Quik-Stop. Yes, we once again traveled an hour-and-a-half to show off a comic book shop and a convenience store, both because of their relationship to Kevin Smith. But this time, Mike and I had an ulterior motive. We wanted to introduce our guests to New Jersey's favorite son...

That's right. Jackoff the Clown, in all his masturbatory glory.

Since last time's visit with Jack came out of nowhere...

Ok, really poor choice of words.

Since last time's visit with Jack was our first encounter with said clown, we were only able to get a drive-by picture. This time, we designated this as an official stop on our trip. So being the only human beings alive wanting to get our picture taken with a 20-foot self-gratifying clown, we...well...got our picture taken with a 20-foot self-gratifying clown.

The "God Shot" (a/k/a, my COMMS degree finally getting put to use after four years)

Mike, doing his best impersonation of JTC

My Photoshopped prototype of a JTC action figure.

On a side note, complete boredom not only led me to Photoshopping fake toys. I also Googled "Jackoff the Clown" to discover that yes, I am the only documented person to have come up with the name "Jackoff the Clown." However, that wasn't the funny (sad) part. I urge you to also Google our circus freak friend, if only to see the site's "Did you mean..." suggestion. I laughed for a good five minutes straight, but that's likely tied into my complete and total lack of maturity.

Alright, let's move forward before the last remaining shreds of my dignity are shattered. That's for later in the blog.

Medieval Times

After our quite-brief Red Bank excursion, we made our way to our "official" destination, Medieval Times. Now despite the fact the show starts at 4:00 PM, the tickets curiously told us to arrive by 2:30. Well, because we spent an inordinate amount of time with a cardboard clown and buying expired fried rice at the Quik-Stop, we were running a bit late. Fortunately, a quick phone call to the restaurant let us know that our impending tardy arrival was "no problem." We only ended up arriving about 15 minutes late, as we officially arrived at...

*Trumpets Blaring*

Glorious, isn't it?

Once we arrived, we went to the front entrance to turn in our medieval tickets (that were printed off the internet). A buxom wench greeted us at the front door, who was obviously very much into her character:

"Welcome my lords and ladies to Medieval Times, where..."
*Another employee mentions something to her*
"Put her wherever, I don't give a shit! (turns attention to us) Now if you..."
*Blank stares from us*
"Uh, sorry. Now if my lords and ladies would go to the front desk, they will take your tickets."

You're probably wondering how we responded. Believe it or not, we were actually very well-composed...

Until we entered the next room. Then we laughed our asses off.

Before the show started, we discovered why the tickets recommended that we arrive an hour-and-a-half early...that gives you 90 full minutes to waste your money on medieval merchandise, including medieval cups with medieval spinny lights that cost 10 medieval dollars. Unfortunately, they did not have the life-sized catapult I wanted. Maybe it was on backorder.

I would also be remiss if I didn't mention ye olde restroom, which featured the most awkwardly placed urinal in modern (or medieval) history. So of course, I had to get my picture taken with it...

I don't know about you, but I tend to get "stage fright" when I'm peeing right next to someone washing his hands.

I guess I forgot to mention that we were each given Burger King-like crowns when we entered the place. Now each crown corresponded to the "knight" we were Pavlovianly (it's a word now, ok) supposed to cheer. Apparently, the coordinators never saw a Crayola box with more than four crayons, as the colors of the six knights were: red, yellow, blue, black, red-yellow, and black-white. Cute. Color ambiguity aside, we proudly wore the crowns throughout the day, mainly so we could capture more stupid pictures like this...

Tall guy in short throne + Short guy in tall throne = comedy

What can I say? We're tourons (tourist + moron) at heart.

Once we finally entered the "arena", we sat at our dinner table to discover that the rumors we heard were quite true...there were no medieval utensils in sight. Ever try to drink vegetable soup out of a bowl without a spoon? Ok, me too, but that was in the privacy of my home. Anyway, that was the first course. The waiters/servants/buxom wenches then brought out our main course, which consisted of a spare rib, a potato, and a chicken that could be best described as "freaking huge." Seriously, I want to know what growth hormone this clucker was on. Hmmm, maybe ingesting some HGH-riddled chicken gave me a sudden growth spurt.

*Runs to the mirror*

Nope.

The show itself was pretty damned entertaining, especially because of the King who randomly slipped between a British and an American accent. And our ambiguously colored knight pretended to do well for awhile, but got his ass fake kicked by the black-white knight. I can say the word "fake" with 100% certainty, considering half the knights went straight for the bar after the show (still in costume, mind you). It was at the bar where Shana tried to politely make small talk with the Red Knight, who let us know that he's doing this to work through college. He also let us know in no uncertain terms that he gets paid jack to pretend to get stabbed by a sword. I didn't want to ask, but I think it's a safe bet that he's a COMMS major. I just didn't want to be the one to tell him that he's reached his career peak.

After the Medievalness, we hopped into our chariot (a/k/a, Mike's Neon) and made our way to New York City. Fortunately, we had plenty of time for our nuclear chickens to settle, as we went smack dab into Lincoln Tunnel traffic. Of course, anyone who knows anything about NYC traffic knows that assholes are going to cut you off left and right. And of course, anyone who knows anything about me knows that I have no qualms about flipping off the culprit and taking a picture of it...

I'm a classy gent, I tell ya.

After making it through the endless tunnel of suck, we eventually found a parking lot where we were told in no uncertain terms that we better be back by midnight, or else. Well, the attendant didn't say, "Or else." His English wasn't THAT good.

Shana suggested that we go see the David Blaine "exhibit" at Lincoln Center. Considering I'm always eager to see grown human beings drown themselves for seven days, I was game. Now with my psychology background (i.e., I took a Psychology class in college), I'm guessing Blaine didn't get a lot of attention as a kid, so he consistently feels the need to "act out." Normally, I'm guessing the right course of action would be to ignore the child (or, in this case, grown man) and hope that he learns to find more rational ways to garner attention. Or you can do what we did and stand in line for 20 minutes for the opportunity to take pictures for five whole seconds...

Now as I type this, Blaine is about 60 minutes away from attempting to hold his breath for nine minutes while escaping the bubble, wrapped in chains. If he survives, here's to hoping that he can find himself a hobby...like not immersing yourself in a water-filled bubble for a week. Or Chess.

After that little excursion, we walked around Times Square, which of course means an automatic visit to the Toys R Us. Right outside the store, Mike and I became uberexcited when we saw Spiderman on the sidewalk, so much so that Mike practically bowled down half of Manhattan to get a picture with him. Granted, this Spiderman was about 5'6 and had a gut, but hey...it's still freaking Spiderman. Unfortunately, our uberexcitedness turned to uberdisappointment when he informed us that a picture with him would cost 2 bucks. If his Spideysenses were tingling at this point, it was probably because I was sending telepathic messages that he could go screw himself.

After hitting Toys R Us (and wishing bad things upon shriveled-up magicians and homeless superheroes), we continued our walk through NYC, bouncing from subway to subway to justify our $7 all-day pass. Of course, Mike + Dan + Subway = Mike and Dan balancing bottle caps on their heads (much to the chagrin of Shana, who witnessed our patheticism on our last NYC trip). Now rather than give you a blow-by-blow recap of "Capsize", I'll just give the Cliff Notes version:

Winner

Not the winner

Tara eventually joined the fray as well, though I'm not sure if she'd want that picture plastered on the internet (and I sure as hell wouldn't blame her). As for me and Mike...well...do we look like two guys who give a shit?

Didn't think so.

Until next time...
Dan

Postscript:Though it's not up yet, be sure to check out Mike's inevitable recap at http://soupnyc807.blogspot.com. He'll likely fill in the details that I'm less likely to admit.

Is Dan the Catalyst For the Apocalypse?

2006-05-02T14:41:00.000-04:00

Every year, on June 6, yours truly celebrates the anniversary of my birthday (because when you think about it, you only really get one "birthday"). Obviously, as one gets older, birthday anniversaries become less of, "Woohoo! It's my (anniversary of my) birthday!" and more like "Sigh. It's my (anniversary of my) birthday."

This year's anniversary doesn't quite instill the same sense of apathy as previous years. The more operative word for the big 2-6 would be "fear." You see, since I was about 15, I figured out that this day was coming. And ever since, I have developed an overarching sense of deep concern for not only myself, but for the rest of humankind.

"Dan?", you ask.
"Yeah?", I reply.
"What has you so concerned?", you follow-up.

Well besides my gramatically deplorable use of commas, I have one TINY little bigass worry. The date of my (anniversary of my) birthday this year?

06.06.06

Um, dammit?

Truth be told, I started becoming slightly less insanely concerned as the date rapidly approaches. I mean, it's just a date, right? Well, that's what I thought until I was driving on Conchester Highway yesterday and saw a billboard that simply said:

"06.06.06: The Signs Are All Around You."

For the brief few seconds that I was still in traffic, I quickly began to analyze the sign, looking for the tiny fine print or the clear indication that this was some movie advertisement. Not only was there no other text to be found, but I quickly come to another conclusion...this is the same billboard that always has some Christian "Jesus is coming" propaganda plastered on it.

Dammit.

Dammit dammit dammit dammit dammit.

So before you begin peltering me with comments, blaming me for the world's imminent demise, please remember...I was supposed to be born on May 16. Blame my mom instead.

Until next time *gulp*...
Dan

Say It Ain't So...

2006-05-01T19:56:00.000-04:00

On Friday, Randy and I went to Atlantic City. Please, hold your exasperation until the end.

We both made decent accountings of ourselves at the poker tables, pocketing a little bit of extra cash. But my poker victory didn't taste quite as sweet as it should have, as I discovered that I lost a dear friend of mine. For years, I've written about this friend. We had our ups and downs, sure. But deep down, I really would like to think that this friend gave just as much to me as I did to said amigo.

So imagine my shock as I ventured to the nickel slot area of Bally's to meet up with a friend I had not connected with in several months, only to find that he wasn't there. I thought maybe he decided to play a trick on me by hiding in a different location than our normal meeting place.

But as I continued to look in every nook and cranny of this smoke-filled den of sin, reality sank in more and more. My friend wasn't hiding...he was gone for good. I didn't want to believe it. I truly, deeply did not want to believe it.

Unfortunately, it's all too real.

Unfortunately, it's all too true.

Unfortunately, it's all too soon.

So with a heavy heart, I say goodbye. Goodbye to a friend. Goodbye...to my bitch.

WHY GOD WHY?!?

I would blog more, but I'm just too upset. It's just a cold hard lesson that sometimes, in the Big Wheel of Life, you only get one chance to spin it all the way around...

Because if you don't, you just may not get to spin again.

Until next time...
Dan

Yes, It's One Them Damnfangled "New Post" Things

2006-04-26T15:04:00.000-04:00

I didn't quite realize how much I'd faltered on providing some concrete blogitude over the past several weeks.

Um, oops?

So for the last remnants of whatever reading audience I have remaining, I think it's time to dust off the tried-and-true...

What Dan Learned (Since He Last Blogged)

There is nothing wrong with inventing new and crazy wrestling gimmick matches that involve the Golden Girls. "Bea Arthur on a Pole" is money...money I tell ya!
If you ever bring your PS2 to your friend's house and forget to bring your multitap, there is only one solution...go to KMart, buy a new one, and return it the next day in hardly-returnable condition.
If you're ever wondering whether or not it's customary to tip furniture delivery drivers, have Ikea deliver your furniture. They'll make that decision REAL easy for you.
I am having very violent fantasies of the things I wish to do to my nonfunctioning office printer right now. My current one involves a sledgehammer, a sabre-toothed tigre, and a mushroom cloud.
When you're cooking fries and they are repeatedly setting off your ubersensitive fire alarm, there is a very simple solution...take the batteries out of the fire alarm.
Rest assured, I can out-DAH anyone in the world.
Rest assured, only three people know what the hell I'm talking about...and I don't think any of them read this blog.

That is all.

Until next time...
Dan

Como Se Dice "Pure Genius" en Espanol?

2006-04-04T14:17:00.000-04:00

On an almost-daily basis, I use FedEx.com to ship all of our immigration documents to incoming students. I went to the homepage today and came across this gem of corporate genius...

Hey, it's great that they've finally decided to join the 21st century and offer customer service in Spanish. It's just a shame that to find out how exactly you can talk to a rep en espanol...you need to understand the statement in English.

Now back to my regularly scheduled drudgery...

Until next time...
Dan

A Friday of Total Unfunnery

2006-03-28T10:34:00.000-05:00

I apologize for the total lack of bloggy goodness over the past two weeks. Not one to take ownership of my own faults/laziness, I'll just blame someone totally random.

So Mrs. Gambino (my first grade teacher), I'm looking straight at you.

Deflection of culpability aside, I thought I'd share my Unfun Friday (tm) with you, my loyal reading audience of non-unfun. I traveled to a certain unnamed institution of higher education that fateful day for a day conference on Immigration. For the sake of people who may Google this school's name and link my vitriol with...well, me...we'll just say this school's name rhymes with Rons Topkins Zuniversity, (located in Faltimore, Scaryland).

I made pretty good time driving to Topkins, probably because I drove at speeds normally reserved for travelling back to 1985 in a Delorean. Getting there early enough, I foolishly figured that the complimentary coffee would be...you know...hot. Fortunately, they also ran out of milk, so at least my cup of joe couldn't turn into a Javacicle.

The morning session was scheduled to run roughly two hours, which was scheduled to consist of five government officials giving us updates on Immigration matters. Unfortunately (or fortunately, depending on your perspective), each official's update sounded something like, "Well, I don't really have any updates."

Special update: The government is clueless. Now back to our regularly scheduled bloggery.

The afternoon session didn't yield much new information either. If you ever need proof, be sure to ask for my grand total of one page of notes, all surrounded by drawings of the 7-Up Cool Spot.

"Dan?" you ask.
"Yes?"
"Why are you drawing an outdated 90s mascot?"
"Because my stick figure looked like shit. Now stop asking questions."

Since my brain could not possibly take in any more information (tongue firmly planted in cheek), I left a couple of minutes early, figuring that I could perhaps beat rush hour traffic.

Yeah, you know where this one is going.

After discovering that Baltimore doesn't feel the need to adequately inform its driving public of the exact whereabouts of I-95, I eventually made it to said highway, cruising along at only subDelorean speeds. All of the sudden, I went from subDelorean to subcorpse, as traffic came to a complete standstill for 10 miles for alleged "emergency road construction."(I say alleged because I never saw one worker or road cone.)

Once I escaped this ten mile stretch of me coming up with very new and creative combinations of cuss words, it was smooth sailing...for about 10 minutes. Suddenly, I hit another patch of standstill suckery. Imagine my shock (and my even more creative usage of said swear words) when I discovered it was an old-fashioned gaper delay, as my entire stretch of 95-North decided to gawk at an accident on 95-South. All told, my anticipated 90-minute trip home turned into three-and-a-half hours of suck. As I finally approached a home I now love more than ever, I thought about all of the better uses of time I could have made during that 195-minute stretch. I could have...

Watched 13 episodes of Robot Chicken
Sat through one full sitting of Fellowship of the Ring, gotten up to go to the bathroom, and start watching The Two Towers
Taken 6.5 thirty-minute naps
Lost all my money on online poker, only to subsequently figure out what I'm going to do with the next 185 minutes of my time
Taken 3.25 sixty-minute naps
Not sat in traffic

Fortunately, I made up for doing nothing sitting in my car by doing nothing sitting on my couch all weekend. Go me.

Until next time...
Dan

Dan and the Amazing Multisubject Dreamblog

2006-03-13T10:51:00.000-05:00

A lot of ground to cover, so let's blog...

I Have the Power!

Last week, a group of us went to Hibachi's to celebrate Mike's impending journey to Hawaii, where he will be living for the forseeable future. Before dinner (and before the hostess uttered the dumbass comment I referenced in my last blog), Mike bestowed a gift upon me that can't be wrapped or placed in some ubergirly Hallmark Gift Bag...

Mike gave me his powers.

To provide a backstory, Mike received his powers last year from Bill, who was the first in our inner circle to move to the land of leis and publicly roasted pigs. Ever since Mike made his decision to also make the Hawaiian journey, he promised that he would pass those same powers down to me. True to his word, Mike waved his hands at me in a spastic motion, which ultimately granted me the same mystical functions that were given to him.

"Ooh, but Dan?"

Yes, hypothetical creation of my own warped mind?

"What do those powers entail?"

Glad you asked!

The powers include (but are not limited to):

The ability to eat with chopsticks
A heightened sense of laziness
A more keen awareness of random websites that almost no one else knows about
And much more!

In terms of my chopstick prowess, I have been able to use them as a suitable fork replacement for a good year or two. Yet, I won't lie...I felt a heightened sense of chopstick-grabbing ability almost immediately, as I ended up eating with said wooden utensils twice in one week. As for my laziness? Well, it has taken me five days to write about my new abilities, so I think that pretty much speaks volumes about the validity of my newfound powers.

Oh, and visit www.bash.org. Good stuff.

We also took one last group journey to Echelon Mall's cookie stand on Friday, where Mike ordered 30 cookies to bring a taste of New Jersey to Hawaii. I normally would apologize to all Hawaiians for even insinuating any impending relationship with Jersey, but the cookie supercedes all. It's that simple.

On a semi-serious note, I do sincerely want to wish Mike all the best of luck in his new life in Hawaii. We've had a ton of laughs and good times in the four years that we've known each other (mostly at the expense of other people/lifeforms). So to quote famed Hawaiian philosopher Don Hoe...

Ummmm...

"Welcome to Hawaii."

What Are You Doing?

Last night, I had my final performance for my Advanced Improv Class with Comedysportz. I don't know if I can speak for the rest of the team, but I felt everyone did an absolutely fantastic job. On a personal level, last night was the culmination of a year-and-a-half of working towards a dream of mine, which was to perform on a ComedySportz stage. I mean, only in improv could I get away with the following without people completely questioning my sanity:

Make up words like "tantamountly"
Imitate the Crocodile Hunter in the middle of WaWa
Profess my desire to figure skate in Torino to the melodic stylings of "Endless Love"...followed by a romantic dinner consisting of snow cones
Challenge someone to tackle an antelope

On second thought, people probably thought I was nuts. And they would be right.

Until next time...
Dan

Early Frontrunner for Moronic Quote of the Year

2006-03-09T09:10:00.000-05:00

Every year, I compile the most inane and idiotic quotes uttered by this allegedly human race, with the intention of posting the dumbest quote at year's end. Unfortunately, 2006 had so far been slow on the idiot quotient, leading me to wonder if the world had suddenly gone smart.

Wonder no more, as here is the first of what I sincerely hope will be many dumbass quotes for 2006...

(Dan approaches the hostess at Hibachi's)
Dan: Hi, my party isn't here yet, but I would like to reserve a table.
Hostess: Sure, how many people will be in your party?
Dan: I believe five.
Hostess: And would you like to be seated together or separately?

No wiseass remark from me could possibly justify what she said, so I'll just end it here.

Until next time...
Dan

Dear Jack Clown...

2006-03-02T14:22:00.000-05:00

Remember this guy from my Red Bank posting?

I had neglected to mention that our crazy clan dubbed the freaky-looking bastard, "Jackoff the Clown" (for obvious reasons).

Now remember this place?

Yeah, so do my bowels, which I suspect will have remnants of those pint-sized atrocities called Sliders swimming around in them for years to come.

So half-jokingly/half-because-I-have-no-life, I used WhiteCastle.com's feedback section to complain about the alleged food their establishment served to me on that fateful Saturday afternoon. I don't remember the exact verbiage I used, but I'm sure I used some combination of the phrases "Harold and Kumar," "poison," and "hours on the toilet." I signed the email as "Jack Clown", in tribute to New Jersey's favorite son. Considering my diatribe was blatantly sarcastic and signed by a guy named Jack Clown, I expected that this would be the last correspondence I would ever have with said evil institution.

Until yesterday...

When I looked at the front of the envelope, I truly didn't want to believe it. Yes, the name on the mailing address was "Jack Clown." Yes, the sender had a logo strangely resembling White Castle's, right down to the exact spelling of the words "White Castle." It wasn't until I opened the letter that my eyes focused on a letter truly made me question both my sanity and theirs....

Note: I don't have the letter in front of me, so I am paraphrasing it to the best of my recollection. Considering I read the letter about 35 times, I'm sure this is pretty close to what was actually written...

"Dear Jack Clown:

We recently received your feedback about your recent dining experience in White Castle. We are deeply concerned that you did not have a positive experience in our restaurant. Please contact us immediately at (some 1-800 number) so that we can rectify the situation."

Best Regards,
White Castle Customer Service"

Deep down, I know I should just let this charade end now. This is obviously a joke that's just been taken too far, and I should cut it off now while I'm ahead.

So I'll let you know how the phone call goes in a few days...

Until next time...
Dan

New Yawk, New Yawk...

2006-03-01T09:02:00.000-05:00

On Saturday, I went to New York City with Mike, Rusty, Chrissy, and Shana (eventually meeting up with our friend Nikki and her dad). In true form, it was a memorable trip, mainly because of our complete and total ability to take the stupid and make it even stupider (for our own twisted enjoyment and to the chagrin of the rest of civilized society).

Of course, getting to New York required a return to America's Urinal (tm), New Jersey so that we could take the train from Trenton (America's Urinal Cake (tm)) to NYC. After an hour-and-a-half of passing by roughly 48 trillion townhouse developments (give or take), we finally arrived in Penn Station. Now there's no delicate way to really say this, so I'll just come out and say it...I had to pee. REALLY badly. Apparently, two cups of coffee and a 1-liter bottle of Diet Cherry Coke aren't conducive to a stable bladder. Who knew?

We followed every damn restroom sign in Penn Station to a tee. Normally, I'd try to follow the urine scent, but I quickly remembered that every inch of train station floor was somebody's bathroom at one point or another. I began to realize why; they too tried to follow the signs that would allegedly lead you to the nearest restroom.

Eventually, we made our way to the ass-opposite end of the train station...only to find a line outside the door. Though the floor was starting to look like a viable option, I also knew that I really wasn't in the mood to get arrested for public urination. I already had a long week. So we backtracked to the KMart, figuring that they must have a bathroom. Yes, there is a two-story KMart in Penn Station. It could have been a two-story S&M Parlor for all I cared, as long as they had a damn bathroom. We walked a good distance through the store, looking for anyone who could possibly lead me to the Holy Grail. I finally approached an employee, who responded to my desperate query with one simple word...

"Closed."

I wanted to cry, but I'm pretty sure my bladder somehow held my tears for hostage. We walked all the way back to the original restroom, where the line was now gone. I did my thing and marveled at my rediscovered ability to walk straight again. So off to NYC we go...

By request (i.e., mine), our first stop was Toys R Us. Hey, when I said, "I don't want to grow up, I want to be a Toys R Us kid," I meant it, dammit. After all, there are a million toys in Toys...I'll stop now.

If you've never been to this particular TRU, it is, in the words of modern philosopher Will Ferrell, "Ginormous." Three stories of tear-inducing glee, it is the mecca of awesomeness. Where else can you see such structural beauties as an Incredible Hulk made out of Legos?

You're probably thinking the same thing I am...it's a much more realistic-looking Hulk than the one from the recent movie.

Before I could completely regress to my childhood, we exited the holy land and went to meet up with our friend Nikki, who was in town with her Dad to take an acting seminar. While we waited, we stopped in an adjacent arcade, which was only memorable because it was the first (and last) time I paid a buck to play one game of Ms. Pac-Man. Mike rightfully pointed out that I did have two extra lives off the bat, but that was quickly negated by the fact that eact power pellet lasted roughly 5 nanoseconds. Of course, in typical Dan style, I didn't hesitate to tell the Miss how I felt about her money-grubbing evilness...

We finally met up with Nikki and her Dad and decided to go to Little Italy for lunch. We ultimately decided on a tiny Italian joint, called Il Something or Other. Right from the get-go, it was a creepy-ass experience, as the waiter stood next to our table and stared at us for fifteen minutes while we all decided what we wanted to order. I don't remember his name, so we'll just call him Mario, mainly because Mike and I wanted to request that a staff member play the Super Mario Bros. theme on an accordian.

After we placed our order, Mario brought out drinks...for half of our table. After another ten minutes of eating bread without any liquid to wash it down, one of us requested that the other half of the table be blessed with the drinks they've already committed themselves to pay for. Mario didn't seem too happy with our request. Perhaps his mind was preoccupied because he found out that his princess was in another castle, but that didn't stop us from ultimately giving him a $4 tip for a $75 meal. To add insult to insult, we left said tip in $1 tokens that we all received on the subway. It probably shouldn't have shocked us that I later spotted him bursting out the front door, either looking for us or to signal the nearest mobster to cap our cheap asses.

So if you ever travel with me to New York City, I think we can cross Little Italy off of our list of "Places to Go."

After dropping Nikki and her Dad off at Penn Station, the rest of us took the subway around various parts of New York. It was on said subway that the creation of the nation's next big craze was born...

Warning: The next section contains excess amounts of stupidity. If you no longer want to be associated with me in any fashion after reading this, I completely understand.

If you've never been on a New York subway, there honestly isn't much to do outside of listening to homeless guys sing love songs for money. Mike decided he was going to entertain himself by balancing a soda bottlecap on his head. I'm guessing sad minds think alike, because all Mike had to say were the words, "Who else," before I instinctively put a bottlecap on my head as well. At this point, it was a battle to see who was pathetic enough to balance the bottlecap long enough on a moving train in front of other human beings. I answered that question with a resounding victory, as the cap fell off Mike's head as we exited the train.

Yes, we had planned to keep the caps on our head as we walked amongst the citizens and tourists of New York City. Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed and we didn't play the game while walking. Oh no. We waited until we got on another subway train before we had our rematch. Mike won the next three one-on-one matches, though his third victory remains disputed in my eyes; he had something to rest his head upon, while I quickly discovered that air is no cushion for a strained neck.

One would think that four matches of the most pathetic game in civilized history would suffice and that we'd quickly grow tired of our own sad states of being. Well, Mr. One has obviously never met us. Not only did Mike and I want a rematch on the train ride back to Trenton, but Rusty decided he wanted in on the action as well.

You're probably saying to yourself, "No one can be that sad. I want photographic proof." Ok, you asked for it...

Rusty

Mike and Me

My attempt to flash the camera in Mike's eyes so that he would lose

Unfortunately for my ubercompetitive self, I was the first one eliminated, losing my bottlecap about 45 minutes into the contest. Of course, my loss freed me up to take yet one more picture of this sad, sad endeavor...

The girls' faces just about say it all

We weren't without our admirers. As one kid exited the train with his mom at an earlier stop, he looked at us and said, "Good luck with your game, man." Clearly, from the look on his face, we touched this kid's life. And clearly, from the look on his mom's face, she wished she had a girl.

After one hour and 11 minutes, Rusty's cap fell off almost immediately after we departed the train, making Mike the Ultimate Grand Champion Guy of Capsize (the now-official name of the game). However, Mike wouldn't leave with a memento of his victory, as Rusty kicked Mike's bottlecap underneath the train tracks. I normally wouldn't condone unsportsmanship, but I lost, so I had zero problem with it. You're probably saying, "Ok, sore loser," to which I stick my tongue out at you.

Poor sportsmanship aside, we all had a fantastic day. As usual, I'm sure there are details of the day that I've forgotten, but I'll stop now, as this blog is getting Moby Dick-like in length.

I know I could have chosen a better choice of words there. But you're talking to a guy who spent a good portion of his day in New York balancing a bottlecap on his head. It's just easier to keep your expectations low.

Until next time...
Dan

Money in the (Red) Bank

2006-02-20T10:56:00.000-05:00

On Saturday, I traversed to Red Bank, NJ with Mike, Rusty, Chrissy, Melanie, and her friend Melissa. Already you must be asking, "Golly gee Dan, Red Bank is two hours away. So what's there? Family? An amusement park? An historical landmark?"

Try a comic book store, a convenience store, and White Castle. But my friends, this trip wasn't just for any comic book or convenience store (especially considering my comic knowledge begins and ends with Garfield). Being the pop culture whores that we are, we made the trek to visit the Secret Stash and Quick Stop Groceries, respectively Kevin Smith's comic store and location where Clerks was filmed. And as for White Castle? Well, we figured Harold and Kumar went to hell and back to get some Sliders (albeit in a perpetually stoned state), so we should follow suit.

See? I told you that we were pop culture whores.

Now as someone who has made a non-paying career out of endlessly bashing New Jersey, I drove into Red Bank expecting to find plenty of fodder for my blog. Fortunately, my expectations were surpassed, which shouldn't surprise anyone given the fact that this is a state that does not trust its citizens to pump their own gas.

Now before I continue, I'm sure that I have a reader or two from Jersey reading this right now. If I have offended you in any way, I want to sincerely urge you to move to another state. You'll thank me later.

But I digress.

Driving through Jersey, we came across so many landmarks that I kept my camera readily available for Mike to take pictures from the passenger's seat (and by landmark, I mean "crap that we found funny"). Unfortunately, we couldn't get out the camera in time to snap a picture of a sign for "Leonard Public School", in which the "l" in "public" was conspicuously absent. However, thanks to the magic of red lights, we were able to take a photograph of...well...I'll let you judge for yourself at first:

Still confused as to what our perverted, subadolescent minds found so hysterical? Look closely at the clown's right hand. Let's just say that he certainly seems to be enjoying himself quite a bit.

Now, thanks to the fact that I could design a more-navigable road in SimCity than Jersey's supposed "highway engineers" , we were able to come across a few more "I Couldn't Photoshop This If I Tried" gems:

God willing, I never have to go to their subsidiary, "Brain Surgery for P*ssies."

After hitting all of the landmarks that we intentionally and unintentionally wanted to see, the six of us made our pilgrimage to the Pothead Mecca itself...

For the sake of clarification, we are not potheads. We just eat like we are.

Most of us had never eaten at said establishment, myself included. Therefore, it did not initially dawn on me that their sandwiches were roughly the size of a Cheez-It. So after ordering four burgers from a cashier that had the English skills of a mute chimpanzee, I finally sat down, ready to find out what the big deal was. So now, I must ask...

What the $#!& are you potheads smoking?

Don't answer that.

I have eaten some pretty lousy food in my day. You don't become a semi-regular at Denny's without some residual side effects. But these "burgers" looked (and tasted) like the underbelly of roadkill. Some of you may be asking how I know what roadkill underbelly tastes like. Remember...I eat at Denny's.

After pondering the benefits of vomiting, we called it a night and headed home to civilization. But a good time was had by all, mostly at Jersey's expense. Then again, they did have a standalone Chick-Fil-A, so maybe I've misjudged the Garden State all along.

Wow, I couldn't even type that with a straight face.

Until next time...
Dan

Update: Be sure to read Mike's account of our trip at http://soupnyc807.blogspot.com/2006/02/february-18.html

ByeSpace

2006-02-16T15:58:00.000-05:00

Several people have asked me why I've suddenly decided to delete my MySpace account. To be honest, I've been mulling over it for a few weeks, ultimately choosing today to end my "time" there once and for all. But I certainly have several reasons why:

In my field, MySpace is not looked at in the most favorable light. I'd rather distance myself from any potential backlash than be dragged right into it.
Fewer people will find me here. Now as an aspiring humor writer, it would seem that it would behoove me to write for as large an audience as possible. But when you're also a "bad guy" professional wrestling manager and several fans find you, the frequent comments of "u suck hightower lolololol" tend to grate on the nerves a tad...especially since I know that said fans aren't laughing out loud out loud out loud out loud like they profess they are.
Simply put, the novelty of MySpace has completely worn off. At first, it was like, "Wow, people from my past can find me on here!" It eventually turned into, "Shit, people from my past can find me on here." It's amazing what one expletive and changed mark of punctuation can do to shift someone's perspective.
And finally, as if I needed further justification for distancing myself from Tom's Cyberhouse of Suck, the last bulletin I received was the following:

How Gay are you?
Go to link. Take Test. Copy and paste this to a "Bulletin" and add your name and score with your score also in the subject line..and post it.

Please snip me now so that I do not even risk the temptation of bringing children into such an idiotic world.

If you're reading this and my MySpace account is still active, it's simply because I want to archive my old blogs before I delete it for good. In the meantime, I can promise more "What Dan Learned" and "Sensai Dan" goodness. I'll even go far as to pinky swear.

Yeah, now you know I'm serious.

But I do highly encourage anyone reading to comment on my blogs like you guys did on MySpace (you don't need to be a member of Blogspot to comment). It certainly makes it more fun for me. And there MAY just be a little something in it for you as well.*

Until next time...
Dan

*I lied.

"What Dan Learned" Is Back!

2006-02-16T10:39:00.000-05:00

Like a Prodigal Son (without all the residual guilt), my indecisive-self has decided to return to Blogspot and abandon the cyber-cesspool known as MySpace. Admittedly, I was a certified MySpace addict for a good while. But as I detox from bulletins promising imminent death and computer-crashing page layouts, I look forward to blogging in my own personal Tom-free zone.

Until next time...
Dan

"What Dan Learned" Is Moving!

2005-07-24T12:09:00.000-04:00

Yup, I've decided to retire the old Blogspot account and jump ship to MySpace. I feel like the Benedict Arnold of blogging right now.

Ok, no I don't. I just felt like being overdramatic.

Oh right, the new blog. It's at http://blog.myspace.com/thenameisdan.

See you on the other side...
Dan

Phucking Around With Photoshop + My Blog's Namesake Comes to Fruition...Just Like It Does Every Other Week

2005-07-11T09:57:00.000-04:00

Phun With Photoshop

For anyone who has never been to Fark.com, it is a constantly updated site with news, pictures, boobies, etc. Every day, they have two or three Photoshop contests, each with a different theme. I used to be moderately proficient with Photoshop, with no help at all from the COMMS department of course. But I finally decided to throw my artistic *ahem* talent into the cyber-mix with my own Photoshopped goodness.

The theme for this particular Photoshop contest was, "How life would change if your favorite movie prop really existed." Well, since I've always dreamed of having my own Mogwai slave, I present my gift to the Fark world...

Like I said on Fark, if I "accidentally" spilled iced tea on little Gizmo, I can get myself a whole gang of Mogwai servants. Hey, a man can dream, can't he?

What Dan Learned This Week

My bimonthly near- hour-long trip to the cookie stand is still damn well worth it...
Update: There are still no cookie stands in Hawaii...
Average return time for any DVD you may let me borrow: four months...
Everyone involved with the following television programs owe me back the hours of my life wasted viewing their mindless drivel: Mind of Mencia, Stella, Real World, and Celebrity Fit Club 2...
"No Turn on Red" signs need to be in neon lights for the visually-impaired like myself...
Crash Test Dummies just came on my Launchcast Radio, and that makes Dan happy...
Having been relatively clean shaven for five years, I forgot how damn itchy goatees can get...
A book actually exists on the history of Marple-Newtown Square, and I, for the life of me, cannot possibly figure out why...
Because of people like me, Wikipedia really should reconsider their "anyone can edit our material" policy. That's just too much power...
I have this strange yearning to watch Gremlins...

That is all.

Until next time...
Dan

What Dan Learned in Pittsburgh

2005-07-06T15:52:00.000-04:00

On Monday and Tuesday, I traversed the mecca of steel known as Pittsburgh with my buddies Randy and Tom. Rather than give you a 179-page Seattle-like recap (for which I've averaged about an apology per page), we'll just skip right to the bulleted goodness...

What Dan Learned in Pittsburgh

Ponderosa restaurants still exist in this crazy world. And they are still good, in a "my arteries have clogged beyond the point of recognition" type of way...
I will never listen to Collective Soul again...
I have been in cornfield mazes less confusing than the route to State College...
If free parking at a hotel seems too good to be true, then just save yourself the headache and just pony up the 12 bucks upfront...
The average shelf life of dollar store-bought batteries in a digital camera is roughly 47 seconds...
Only I could manage to drive 300 miles to randomly see someone that A.) I haven't seen in eleven years and B.) highly despised...
Having traveled said mileage to see the Phillies play the Pirates, I was so glad to see that the Phillies didn't phuck it up...
There are few greater joys in life than selling out your Phillies cap-wearing friend to the opposing team's mascot. Those joys are escalated when said mascot squirts said friend with an entire can's worth of silly string...
Having now met Phillies broadcaster Chris "Wheels" Wheeler, I officially dub thee, "The Man"...
If you're looking for a place to eat in Pittsburgh, go to Philadelphia...
Nothing defies Darwinian logic like watching idiots stopping their cars in the middle of major highways to look at fireworks...
Ordering a sausage parmesan sandwich at midnight was not one of my smarter culinary choices...
The mystique of scratchie lottery tickets has been debunked for me forever...
There is no bigger indignation than being falsely accused of breaking a water noodle in a hotel swimming pool...
Nothing inspires deference to God as having lightning strike roughly 100 feet from you...
In case you were ever wondering, driving in torrential downpours with zero visibility on a major highway SUCKS...
Whichever rest stop supervisor decided it was a good idea to place a tin foil-wrapped burger under a hot lamp needs to be seriously harmed in some fashion...
Pepe (my car) kicked ass...

That is all.

Until next time...
Dan

The Best Part of Waking Up Is A Six-Legged Creature in My Cup

2005-06-30T08:43:00.000-04:00

In further proof that Mother Nature hates me, a bug just crawled on my ceiling, perfectly positioned itself over my coffee cup, and suicide plunged his way into my cup of joe. I guess that's retribution for me flushing three of his family members down the toilet this week...

Lo Siento...

2005-06-29T16:41:00.000-04:00

I honestly don't know why Blogspot creates such funky spacing whenever I paste text from another site.

Bad Blogspot. Bad bad Blogspot...

Stedman's Gonna Open a Can of Whoopass on Some Frenchmen...

2005-06-29T16:38:00.000-04:00

From the AP...

Whether Oprah Winfrey was turned away from a bit of after-hours shopping in Paris because of a racist employee or a special event, news of the confrontation outside a luxury store has evoked empathy and anger from many American minorities who say they are routinely treated poorly — and sometimes with outright suspicion — by sales staffs in this country.

The incident occurred when Winfrey stopped by Hermes on June 14 to buy a watch minutes after the boutique closed. Though she and three friends said they saw shoppers inside, neither a sales clerk nor manager would let them in.

Winfrey believes the store’s staff had identified her, according to a spokeswoman from Harpo Production Inc., her company. Winfrey’s friend, Gayle King, who was there, told Entertainment Tonight, “Oprah describes it as ’one of the most humiliating moments of her life.”’ Harpo says Winfrey plans to discuss the incident in the context of race relations on her show this fall.

Hermes said in a statement it “regrets not having been able to welcome” Winfrey to the store, but that “a private public relations event was being prepared inside.”

Winfrey has often plugged Hermes products — a $135 tea cup and saucer was featured in her magazine in 2001 and was still on her Web site Tuesday, along with the company’s phone number. But she has said she will no longer be shopping in its stores.

So let me get this straight...Oprah tries to go into a store a few minutes after it has closed. There are customers already inside. (Have you ever tried to kick customers out right at closing? Yeah, not fun.) But because the store didn't let her in after the store closed, it is automatically a racist act?

Now I am not saying she's right or wrong, because, well, I wasn't there. But if you go strictly by what the article says, it is somewhat of a stretch to throw the race card around so loosely. So this is either really shoddy journalism, or Oprah's making quite the judgmental quantum leap here.

Besides, the sympathy factor is rather nil for someone who is making ten blagillion dollars more than me. Yes, blagillion is really a number*.

Until next time...
Dan

*Blagillion is not really a number.

Not a Good Week in Pooh-Land

2005-06-27T14:36:00.000-04:00

So the voices of Piglet and Tigger die within days of each other. Considering his "woe-is-me" manic depressive demeanor, I'm guessing Eeyore is on suicide watch right now. Get that donkey some Paxil post-haste.

Dan

Double the Learning, Double the Fun

2005-06-26T14:31:00.000-04:00

Well, this was quite the eventful week. For those who I didn't tell (and for the one guy in India who reads this...I know you're out there), we moved into a new office this week. Well, "new" is a figurative term, since the maintenance crew apparently decided that:

Dan doesn't need something silly like a doorknob on his door.
Dan doesn't need something silly like both ends of the toilet paper holder in his bathroom.
Dan doesn't need something silly like having his printer in his actual office. We'll just put his printer in a more inconvenient location...like the kitchen.

Yeah, I have a feeling I'll be scheduling my trips to the printer around my coffee breaks.

Student: Sir, can I please have my Immigration documents that you just printed?
Dan: Sorry Generic Unnamed Student, I still half a cup left.

I also learned a valuable lesson this week (in addition to the bulleted learning points coming up in a paragraph or two): being without a computer sucks. I don't know how office employees kept themselves amused pre-Bill Gates, but I'm assuming they didn't entertain themselves with office supplies like I did:

I'm not normally this pathetic. Honest.

Well, we've already learned than I am a Pushpin Artiste. So what other nuggets of wisdom do I wish to impart upon you?

What Dan Learned

As I said in my comments earlier this week, there actually is a worse name in the world than an unhyphenated (I Am) Fuching. So if you ever run into an Indian male with the last name of Dikshit, you have my permission to tell him that looking through his file amused me for hours the other day.
There are fewer pleasures in life than seeing the phrases "Organized Living" and "Out of Business" used in the same sentence.
When you clean off your bedroom desk and find statements with dates that end in "04", you know you're a lazy bastard.
He-Man. DVD. August. I just might cry.
Whoever said, "There is no such thing as a free lunch" never worked in my office.
Never underestimate the tear-inducing hotness of a sandwich called "The Firehouse."
I have a strange craving for a Scrumdiddlyumptious bar.

That is all...or is it?

I'll answer my own rhetorical question. No, that is not quite all. As a special bonus, I now divulge...

What Dan Learned in Atlantic City (Part 4,197,381.333 repeating)

Game show-based nickel slots have officially lost "my bitch" status.
Only one person in the world will know what I mean by this, but The Algorithm (tm) did not work. :(
There is no larger group of butters-in-line than old people.
I thought that leaving my backup comp card in a machine while someone else plays on it was an ingenious way to earn more comp credits. AC must have some uber-scientific way of determining who is at a machine, because my plan failed miserably. And I forgot to pick the card back up...
Foreign chicks at boardwalk pizza places have the looks of a supermodel and the disposition of the Soup Nazi.
The vision of this woman dancing will haunt me for the rest of my natural-born life...

(If you're thinking, "C'mon, it's not THAT bad", I dare you to click the picture for a "better" view)

That is all. And good luck trying to get that visual out of your head...

Until next time...
Dan

¡Que Docto Dan Esta Semana!

2005-06-19T12:59:00.000-04:00

I have no idea if the above translation for "What Dan Learned This Week" is right. If not, blame Babelfish...

What Dan Learned This Week

I was the victim of Last Name Discrimination at an improv show. You know...I've heard every horrible pun in the world regarding my last name. But until last night, I never had anyone jump out of their seat when I told them what my surname was. It was a tad surreal...
Friendly's waitresses never live up to their employer's namesake...
Nothing stirs up debate like the phrase, "Coldplay is a poor man's Radiohead..."
My bowling skills have greatly deteriorated over time...
My PartyPoker retirement match is looming...
I'm going to need mace and a bodyguard if i leave my new office location after hours...
Everything in life can somehow be traced back to Rocky IV...
Asking Arby's employees for "no mayo" on a sandwich is apparently too mind-numbing of a request to make...
Many Asian students alternately choose to either hyphenate or not hyphenate their first name. So imagine my initial gasped reaction when I got an email from a student named "Fu-Ching" with the subject line "i am fuching..."
Now, I finally found the Airport Economy Parking. Could have helped me (and my company) two weeks ago...

Until next time...
Dan

My Name Is Dan, And Blogging Is My Anti-drug

2005-06-18T10:46:00.000-04:00

I know, it's been a few days since I last ventured into the dark, cold world known as "blogging." It's too early for "What Dan Learned This Week" since the possibility of capturing stupidity on a Saturday is still highly probable. So instead, I'll just share my scatterbrained randomness with my loyal reading audience. You know, all four of you...

If He's Dead, L. Ron Hubbard Is Turning In His Grave

I'm not usually one to give two shits about celebrity gossip, break-ups, barmitzvahs, etc. But let's be honest; this Tom Cruise-Katie Holmes fiasco is gripping stuff, if for no other reason than it being the official beginning of Cruise's downward spiral. The media has even gone as far to bestow an ingenious nickname upon them, TomKat. (Before I get comments questioning my sanity, remember folks...italics = sarcasm) Seriously, why is every celebrity couple getting a nickname these days? You have TomKat, Bennifer, Bennifer II...yet no one could come up with a good name for David Arquette and Courtney Cox?

But I digress...

I will say that in all honesty, I really don't think this is a publicity stunt. Because seriously, who out there is saying, "I want to see that movie starring Katie Holmes about that guy who dresses like a bat." And seriously, who out there is saying, "I want to see War of the Worlds."

Ok, I'm sure many people want to see the movie. But for the sake of my joke, we'll just stay in my sheltered little world.

As a final thought on a subject I've already devoted way too much webspace to, I sincerely hope that someone (whose name rhymes with Crook Fields) slips a Prozac in Tom's apple sauce. It's not that I'm a big fan of Crook Fields or antidepressants; I'm just a big sucker for karmic irony.

Say It Ain't So, Bo

From the Associated Press:

NEW YORK (AP) - Three weeks after being defeated by Carrie Underwood in the finals of American Idol, Bo Bice says he's happy he lost.
"People ask me, 'What were you thinking while you stood there waiting for them to announce the winner?"' Bice says in the issue of Rolling Stone magazine on newsstands Friday.

The answer?

"Please, God, don't let me win this thing."

Bice claims he never wanted the Idol crown to tarnish his southern rock rep.

If it makes you feel any better Bo, I didn't want you to win either. It's nothing personal; it was just an "I would want Carrie Underwood to be the mother of my children and/or a one night stand" type thing, that's all.

*Gulp*

My one good neighbor moved out this week, which means that it's just me and Mimi the Wonderbitch next door for right now. So if you hear a story of a diminuitive 25-year-old getting eaten by a 400-pound pot smoker in Chadds Ford, I kindly ask that you make sure my fish is taken care of...

Well, if she hasn't eaten him too...

Until next time...
Dan

The (Jesus) Juice is Loose

2005-06-13T18:01:00.000-04:00

I can't say I'm shocked by the Michael Jackson verdict. Now that he'll have this extra free time on his hands, hopefully he'll use his resources to find the REAL molester.

Until next time...
Dan

What Dan Learned This Hot-As-All-Hell Week

2005-06-12T00:06:00.000-04:00

As I listen to Coldplay's beyond uber-kickass new album, I ponder the past week and what newly discovered information entered my cranium. Why?

Because that's the title of my blog. And "What Dan Forgot" would look something like this...

What Dan Forgot This Week...

Um...
Uh...
It'll come to me...

Yeah, it doesn't quite have the same enlightenment value. So I'll just stick with what works...

What Dan Learned This Week

Waiters with barcode tattoos will forever come back to haunt you...
If you continually leave crappy tips in the same restaurant, they might start to catch on...
I have fed my fish more than what I got in Bertucci's "salad"...
Apparently, Japanese restaurants that cook in 5-foot flames in your direct presence don't want something like air conditioning to ruin the ambience...
Cookie stand cashiers suck at math...
My students still get this funny impression that I am willing to break the law for them...
I actually went into Best Buy and left without a story of some employee's stupidity. I won't lie; I felt cheated...
PartyPoker can kiss my ass...
I expect the Christmas music to start any day now...
Moving your lawn chairs to a shaded area can do absolute wonders for your comfort level...
Hopefully, it won't take you two years at the same barbeque to figure out the above fact like it did for some of us...
Epiphanies rule...
Holy mother of crap, I'm actually 25 years old...

*sigh* That is all.

Until next time...
Dan

Going All-In on the Poker Game of Life

2005-06-09T11:08:00.000-04:00

The title of today's blog sums up the metaphorical and literal happenings of my life in recent days. It is also sponsored by the letter R, the number 3, and by viewers like you...

My Biggest Accomplishment Since I Won Back-to-Back Participation Trophies in Little League

As I've talked about several times lately, I've been playing online poker. A lot. I play in tournaments on PartyPoker.com, usually only with a dollar or two buy-in. These tournaments generally cap out at 2000 people, most of whom love hurling the "stupid noob" insults around.

As a side note, to anyone who has ever used the word "newb", "noob", or "newbie," just remember...you once fell under that category as well. So for the love of God, get out of your mother's basement, earn a decent living, and stop justifying your inferiority complex in an online poker game.

Wow, I feel a lot better.

So anyway, I played in one of those tournaments last night and actually managed to place 45th out of 2000. I'm a happy addic...uh...gambling afficionado, as the higher ranking pocketed me $7.fitty (the word "fifty" has forever been eradicated from my vocabulary).

I can't think of a witty transition, so let's just go to the next topic, shall we?

Decisions, Decisions

I have been in a very introspective state lately. Simply put, I've had no idea what the hell I want to do with my life. Well, in a very sudden and strange string of epiphanies, I came to two conclusions last night:

1.) Outside of wrestling and improv, I'm putting acting on-hold right now.
and
2.) I'm definitely going for my Masters, hopefully in the Fall.

I really can't pinpoint one specific event yesterday that drove me to these conclusions. Within a two-hour span, everything just became very clear in my head, for the first time in awhile.

The acting epiphany was very strange. I was going to audition for a play in Wilmington this Friday, only to find out yesterday afternoon that the audition was actually last night. All of the sudden, my mind started going 733.78 miles per minutes (yup, I counted). It hit me that the greatest personal satisfaction as a performer has stemmed from wrestling and improv; in both of those worlds, I essentially have the control over my character(s). With the number of auditions I've been to in the past few years for films and what not, I'm just not hitting as strong a chord with other people's visions as I would like. Being someone who values personal creativity and who totally respects the creativity of others, I feel that right now, my direction in performing is better suited for avenues in which I have more creative freedom for myself.

I am not all saying I am quitting pursuing film or stage acting. I just feel that I'm going to gain the most growth as a performer by going down the path that has garnered the most personal satisfaction for me.

Oh, and I decided to can the play audition. So there's Epiphany #1.

In terms of the Masters, I know I've been saying for a while that I want to do it, but I just never fully committed myself to going for it. Now, I really have no doubt in mind that this is the direction where I need to head. My top choice is to pursue a Master in Liberal Studies. I love the course selection and I'm a liberal...a perfect match. I emailed the Dean yesterday to see if it is too late to apply for the Fall. If it is, I'm going to go full-speed ahead with it in the Spring.

So we'll see how it all goes. I definitely have a renewed excitement for what lies ahead...probably because I'm no longer so freaking confused about the direction of my life. ;)

Until next time...
Dan

What Dan Learned Over the Past 25 Years

2005-06-07T10:21:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, I celebrated the 25th anniversary of my birthday (if you want to get technical about it). It's a milestone, but only because my age ends in either a 0 or a 5. It's not like when you turn 18 or 21 and your birthday becomes a rite of passage. Let's put it this way...I don't expect blow-out celebrations for my 28th or 31st birthdays.

So with 25 years and one day under my belt, I thought I would do a life-retrospective edition of What Dan Learned.

Why?

Because it's a slow day at work...

What Dan Learned Over the Past 25 Years

Strained carrots are SO much better than strained string beans...
My lifelong dream of playing Plinko on The Price is Right has yet to come to fruition...
Hong Kong Phooey could kick Spongebob's ass any day of the week...
Some of the truly great inventions/innovations of my time: Castle Grayskull, snap bracelets, the Game Genie (from Galoob), TiVo, the Hulkamania Workout Set...
Some of the truly horrible inventions/innovations of my time: the Over the Top arm wrestling ring, Trapper Keepers, kelly green school uniforms...
My defining moment in life: the first time I ever dropped an f-bomb. It's been all downhill in the 13 years since that moment (do the math)...
My most embarassing moment: saying hi to a girl I liked in the mall with a Kit-Kat vertically bridged in my mouth. Unfortunately, that story has become legend in my small inner circle...
Catholic schools - The antidote to practicing Catholicism...
There is advantage to being short; I get my own politically correct classification ("I'm not short; I'm vertically challenged.")...
I have yet to fulfill my other lifelong dream of having a Million Short Person's March with the tagline, "A Million of Us Are Taller Than One of You..."
The next generation will never know the "joy" of having a dot-matrix printer...
Take out the zeroes, and you'll see why I'm fearful of the biblical ramifications of my birthday next year (06/06/06)...
Most people are fearful of the leaking of home videos of them in compromising positions. I'm fearful of the leaking of the home video where I got a Super Nintendo for Christmas...
To finally clear up the confusion: no, I did not audition for Child's Play...I was asked to audition for Child's Play, but never did. To clear up further confusion: no, I would not have auditioned for Chucky. Chucky is made of wood; last I checked, I got this fleshy stuff on me called skin...
With the proper marketing vehicle behind it, the game of Foil Ball (tm) could have become America's new favorite pastime...
How the hell am I going to explain Vanilla Ice to my kids?
Greatest movie quote of all time: "Hello, my name is Inigo Montoya. You killed my father...prepare to die."
You know you're a bad artist when your former 8th grade teacher continues to show her students your "artwork" as an example of what not to do. Last I heard, my piece was shown as recently as two years ago. I was a straight A student, never had a disciplinary problem, and was involved in all kinds of extracurricular activities. Yet my grade school legacy is defined by one poorly-drawn scarecrow...
That goddamn picture of me in a toga still haunts me to this day...
I've grown rather fond of ellipses...

That is all.

Until the next 25 years...
Dan

A Super Double Mocha Espresso Blog of Ultra-Caffeinated Fun (ie, My Week in Seattle)

2005-06-04T01:24:00.000-04:00

Warning: This blog contains excess amounts of paragraphs. In other words, it's freaking long. Viewer discretion is advised.

Last Sunday, I embarked on my journey to Seattle, Washington.

"But why," you may ask.

Well my inquisitive invisible friend, I attended the NAFSA Conference, which is for administrators, advisors, etc. in my field of working for and with international education. So as I sip on my non-Starbucks coffee, let's delve into the week that was easily the best week I ever spent in Seattle*.

Sunday

Look Kids! Big Ben...Parliament

For some inane reason, despite the fact that work was footing the bill for the whole trip, I thought I'd save them some money by looking for the Economy Parking Lot at Philadelphia International Airport (airport code PHL to be used from here on in so I can delay the onset of Carpel Tunnel by a week or two). I'm not a big fan of the non-Airport lots, because:

A.) I'm always afraid the shuttle will take too long to get to the airport
and
B.) I don't care if said parking lot uses country names for parking lot sections; being told I'm parking in Zimbabwe is a little unsettling.

So according to PHL's website, the lot was "slightly" past gate F, which is the last gate of the airport. I really should have known from the outset that my definition of slightly was going to differ from theirs. First off, the "sign" for economy parking was so barely noticeable that, well, I didn't notice it at first. When I finally did take note of the sign, I found I had to make a left almost immediately. I thought the next left was the parking lot, until I saw Enterprise Rent-a-Car's giant ass "This Is Not a Parking Lot" sign. Since this is the end of the airport, I hopped back onto I-95 to play this game all over again. But of course, I hopped back onto I-95 to play this game all over again in the "Bus Only" lane. At this point, the same word kept coming out of my mouth over and over again. Hint: it rhymes with duck.

I made it back to the airport, probably to the dismay of every bus driver in the lane that I invaded. I look very closely for the signs this time; upon closer inspection, it seemed that I had to get back onto 95 anyway to find the damn place. So I go back onto I-95 a second time, this time driving in lanes specifically designed for vehicles without a tip jar. I still couldn't find the damn place. I said to myself, "I'm doing this one more time. If I don't find it, work is just paying the extra."

Somehow, I don't think my company will be happy with the $110 parking fee...

Off We Go...

Nothing of note really happened on the flight to Seattle, except for the fact I broke my vow of never peeing in an airplane restroom. Hey, when you gotta go, you gotta go.

I finally arrived in Seattle (Airport Code: WTF). Now I have always heard that Seattle is a very laid-back place. This must be true, because I'm sure Seattle residents wouldn't want something like signage to rattle their nature. Seriously, Seattle has the most confusing airport I have ever been to, bar none. There was not one sign telling you where transportation was. Luckily, I ran into a colleague from the Philadelphia area who is much more talented at asking people for directions than I am. Once we solved the mystery of the Labyrinth, we shared a taxi and went on our merry way.

Now anyone who knows me well knows my hatred of taxis (if you ever want to hear my harrowing Portsmouth experience, just ask). Well, this taxi ride was no better, extending my Streak of Lifetime Bad Taxi Experiences (tm) to four. Let me put it this way; either this guy's turn signal was in desperate need of repair, or he just sucked. I lean towards the latter.

I Arrive

To preface everything else, my Mom was actually at the conference at well with her school, as was my friend Candice (who also now works with another University). So I met up with them as soon as Jose the Wonder Driver dropped me off at the hotel. I dropped my bags off in my hotel room, and off we went to the city.

"I Paint in Broad Strokes"

- Anonymous

Within a half hour of walking through Seattle, every stereotype about this place was proven true. On every block was a Starbucks or three (total Starbucks count to be divulged later). Walking the streets was what I imagine walking through Woodstock must have been like without the car fires and gratuitous nudity. Oh, it also rained. If there any other stereotypes of Seattle I'm missing, let me know, because I'm pretty sure I was witness to them in some fashion.

Culinary Caste Systems

For dinner, we went to Ipanema's (as in "The Girl Of") for dinner. The Brazilian hostess sat us down in one section of the restaurant. After she indirectly divulged that she was likely working illegally, we noticed the menu had a limited selection; there was one section for Appetizers, while another section simply said, "Buffet - $35.95." Not wanting to pay that much for a buffet, we asked if we could simply order appetizers. We were told we could...but only if we sat in a different part of the restaurant. I'm not making any of this up.

Now bear in mind...this restaurant is roughly the size of a Burger King, so this "other section" was in clear view from where we were already sitting. We sat at this new section, looking longingly at the "privileged" section about 20 feet away. To rub our lower status in our faces, they took away our large glasses of water and gave us new glasses that were roughly the size of a small Sippie Cup. In retrospect, I should have used my knowledge of Immigration regulations to blackmail their illegal employing asses into giving us a free buffet and a larger glass of water. I should have told them Pele sucked too. But that's hindsight for you.

My body was still on Eastern Standard Time, so I was whooped by this point. We called it a night and prepared for...

Monday (nice segway, huh?)

As An Aside...

For breakfast, my mom and I went to an English pub called Elephant & Castle. The only real thing of note is that our waitress spoke in a foreign accent that, even five days later, I still can't figure out where the hell it was from. We'll just err on the side of caution and say it's Jersey.

A Festival of Peace, Love, and Shitloads of Foreign Food

We later went to some festival right by the Space Needle. Remember what I said earlier about Seattle being like Woodstock? This festival wasn't like Woodstock...it was freaking Woodstock.

Ok, again without the aforementioned burning cars and naked people.

To top it off, I think this place was the United Nations of food. I don't quite know what Estonian food tastes like, but I wasn't feeling daring enough to find out either. So with such a multitude of culinary options to choose from, I opted to go to the indoor mall to get a caesar salad at a pub.

And I just realized I've probably said the word "pub" more in this blog than I collectively have in my entire life. If I start longing for fish and chips and asking if I can borrow your "tele", you have full permission to slap me.

Fit to be Thai'd

We went to a Thai restaurant for dinner. I'm guessing they mistook my short stature for someone with a Kid's Meal appetite (or age), as the "portion" they served of beef wouldn't have satisfied my fish. I'm also guessing they don't see the necessity for beverages with a spicy meal, as they didn't serve my Mom's or Candice's drink until well after they got their dinner. For their sake, I hope the low tip translates well in Thai currency.

Tuesday

This was scheduled to be my first day of work. I had a choice:

A.) Go to the day's sole scheduled conference session.
or
B.) Eat an expensive meal at the Space Needle on work's tab.

Ultimately, I had to think about what was the most responsible thing to do, as my company was paying me to work, not just eat at their expense. I was at this conference to network and learn new information that could benefit myself, my colleagues, and the greater community.

So if you're ever in the Space Needle, I highly recommend the salmon. It's divine.

I Hate Clowns

That night, we went to NAFSA's opening Street Reception. We were on the fence on whether or not to go...one clown in stilts was all it took for me to know that I needed to be elsewhere. ANYWHERE. I have always lived by a credo that I will avoid clowns at all costs. And dammit, I plan on sticking to it.

Wednesday

I Guess I Should Actually *sigh* Work

I finally went to sessions on Wednesday. All I really got out of it was that our government was inept, but then again, it usually only takes one Bush Press Conference to confirm that fact.

I did, however, go to one session that was run by Immigration attorneys. It was very well done, though if I heard the phrase, "But my interpretation..." one more time, I was going to hold them in contempt of court. I don't know if I really have the power to do that, since we weren't in a court room and I have no legal degree, but this is my story/fantasy.

So there.

As the Stomach Turns

Candice invited us to go out to lunch with some colleagues of hers. We went to this sushi place. One problem...I hate sushi. Luckily, it was an open buffet, so there was plenty of other greasy food for me to dig my fork into.

Now I'm the first to admit...when it comes to meeting new people, I tend to be on the introverted side. So while I try my best not to be aloof, I wasn't saying much to the new people I met. Well, one guy at the table was talking briefly to me, and mentioned that a similar position to mine was opening up in his University. He asked, "How long have you been working in your position?" Before I finished the words, "Two-and-a-half years," he was on the phone to his boss at his University. Despite knowing nothing about me other than I'm short and don't use chopsticks to eat, he started recommending me to his boss for this new job. At this point, my stomach started doing things normally reserved for the flu or food poisoning. It was just such a whirlwind moment; I didn't know what the hell was going on. He told me was going to email me the job description; true to his word, I got the description a few hours later.

I mulled (some would say obsessed) over the decision for the next few days. Ultimately, I decided that, for the time being, I'm going to stay put. I know some people reading this may be saying, "You have to jump on this opportunity," and I totally see that viewpoint as valid. But from my perspective, I've just started to gain momentum in getting respect on-campus. I got into the position very young, so it's been an uphill climb to get to the point I'm at. I just see a lot of exciting possibilities with where I'm at right now. I'm not saying I'm never going to move on or move outside of the area; I can pretty much guarantee I will. But after weighing all of the options (including salary, which is another consideration), I feel pretty comfortable with staying where I'm at right now.

I feel like the past few paragraphs have been too devoid of humor, so purple monkey dishwasher.

ICHIROOOOOO

My mom and I went to the Mariners game that night. First, came number five in my Streak of Lifetime Bad Taxi Experiences (tm). As we entered the car, the driver was playing a rap song that, for the sake of political correctness, we'll call "Female Dog N-Word." It took him about 2 miles to realize that maybe this wasn't the most appropriate song to be playing with customers in the car, so he goes the polar opposite and turns on NPR...where they go into graphic detail about some Shingles epidemic.

I was better off with Gangsta Rap.

So with our newfound medical knowledge, we got to the game and we had absolutely kickass seats. We were 8th row on the field, right alongside the first baseline. This also meant we got to see the famed Ichiro up-close in right field. I think half of Tokyo sat behind me, as they went absolutely nuts every time Ichiro did as much as scratch his nose (which my Mom actually got a picture of).

Because of the *shocker* rain, I also bore witness to the magic of the retractable roof. Like I said earlier, it takes little to amaze me. What can I say...I'm an impressionable lad.

Now for those unfamiliar to having work pay for everything on a business trip, you need receipts for everything. It becomes a labor of organization after awhile, but you do what you have to do. Well, after paying 12 bucks for a foot-long and a Fosters, I asked the vendor for a receipt. Not having a cash register, he tore out a piece of loose-leaf from a notebook and handwrote my "receipt." Somehow, I don't think work would accept this; if they did, I'd be buying stock in Mead right now.

Oh, and the Mariners won. They're not my home team or even my home league, so the "I care" factor is pretty low. It was a very cool experience, nonetheless.

Of course, we had to take a taxi back to the hotel, leading to numero sixo of Streak of Lifetime Bad Taxi Experiences (tm). I ignorantly assumed there was a "Taxi Code of Driving Ethics", including such minute by-laws as "Don't run red lights" and "Don't swerve." But alas, I assumed wrong.

Thursday

Food Glorious Food

Thursday revolved around one word and one word only...food. I met a colleague for lunch at Nordstrom's. Now you're probably saying what I did, "Nordstrom's has a restaurant?" You're also probably saying what I did, "I bet it's freaking expensive." The answers to our communal questions are "Yes" and "Uh-huh." But he paid, so it didn't make a lick of difference to me.

For dinner, my Mom and I ate at Benihana's to celebrate my birthday early *cough June 6*. Benihana's is very similar to Hibachi, though there was no Onion Volcano. However, unlike Hibachi's as of late, this cook actually showed discernable signs of a personality, so it was a fair trade-off.

After dinner, we went reception hopping to mooch free food at other's expense. Suffice to say, I felt very fat after the day was done.

Oh, and I skipped all the day's sessions. Some might say, "You really didn't go for the intended purpose," to which I'd bow.

Friday

Back to the Maze...err...Airport

Yup, the conference was all done at this point. I took a shuttle back to WTF; the shuttle was uber-late, so I really started worrying that I wouldn't catch my flight. Luckily, I still made it to the airport with a little bit of time to spare.

As I was using the electronic check-in, I started digging through my bag to figure out what the hell my flight number was. Before I could even pull out my itinerary, the US Airways worker said, "You are Flight 76, sir." Now either US Airways only had one flight going out for the rest of the day, or this guy had some clairvoyant abilities that would probably be better served in another capacity...like telling me the correct Powerball numbers.

Wrap-Up

So I'm home now (obviously). Overall, it was a fabulous trip. I would do a "What Dan Learned," but I think the near-novel you just read covers my cranial intake pretty well. So with that, I bid adieu.

Oh, and the final Starbucks count: 12.

Until next time...
Dan

* This was the only week I've ever spent in Seattle. If you actually saw the asterik and came to this point, more power to you, because I damn near forgot I even put it there to begin with.

Seattle Recap Coming Soon

2005-06-04T00:35:00.000-04:00

I just got home from Seattle a few hours ago. I'll have the bloggy goodness (possibly) this weekend. Until then, dream of Starbucks, because I sure as hell can't get the vision of that damn logo out of my head...

Until next time...
Dan

Bloggus Maximus

2005-05-28T11:00:00.000-04:00

I have a lot of ground to cover, including Working for the Man, Part IV and this week's installment of What Dan Learned . But first, the touching tale of a car dealership's utter stupidity...

Upon Closer Inspection...

I took my car (Pepe) to Hyundai yesterday for my annual state inspection. Now although I bought Pepe this past October, my inspection and emission stickers expire in, well, 3 days. I told you I was the Current and Reigning King of Procrastination (tm)...

Anyway, I always found it a little funny that I had to get my car inspected so soon, but I chalked it up to buying my car so late in the year. So I brought it in, and the Hyundai Desk Dude (HDD) started chuckling to himself. When I asked what was up, he said that I should not be getting my inspection now, but rather in October. I shouldn't have been shocked, considering this was the same conglomeration of geniuses that had my temporary registration expire two days after I bought the car.

I thought I was scot-free at this point, but oh no...he said he would have to inspect the car anyway, but he would charge it to the Hyundai Sales Department. "That's more than fair," I thought...until he said, "Then you'll have to bring it back to get inspected again in October." Looking for clarity yet knowing what the answer would be, I asked, "This October?" A simple nod confirmed my suspicions that yes, my new car would have to be inspected twice within a 6 month span and yes, Hyundai has low hiring standards.

Working for the Man, Part IV

The next chapter in the sordid employment history of yours truly...

Babbage's/Gamestop/Software Etc./Whatever They're Called This Week

Duration of Stay
6 months

Job Duties

Cashier
Professional video game tester (when the boss wasn't around)

What Dan Remembers...

Wael (pronounced "Will" or "Jackass", depending on who you talked to). I could probably write a dissertation on Wael, who was my manager for the first three months of my tenure there. On any given day, he would tell you a story illustrating his mad ninja skill, fighting evildoers who dared attempt to steal precious merchandise from the jewelry store where he previously worked. I'm going to attempt to recreate a typical Wael story, as he would tell it. Keep in mind, he would interject his stories in the middle of conversations that had absolutely nothing to do with stealing, apprehending criminals, or ninja backflips. *ahem* "Yo Daniel, get this. One time at the jewelry store, this guy tried to steal jewelry. So he gets out in the street. I do a flip over the counter. I chase him down and POW POW POW I took him to the ground and said, 'How do you like that, mother fucker?' As he was bleedin', he said, 'I respect you, Wael.' I said, 'That's right, mother fucker.'" I heard variations on this story at least twice a day.
One day, I was working up front with Wael as he was filing games away. He said, "Daniel, where does Battle Arena Toshinden get filed?" You wouldn't think that question would indicate stupidity...until I told you that the games were filed in alphabetical order.
I also worked with a guy named Zion. No, that wasn't a nickname. Yes, he was as out there as the name would indicate. Chances were that if he wasn't working, he was at the arcade. Perfect example: he didn't show up to work one day. The Assistant Manager was ready to call him and blast him; I told him to hang on one sec. I walked down to the arcade, and lo and behold...there was Zion.
Wael was also quite possibly the most chauvinistic lifeform to ever walk the earth. He frequently told stories about how his wife "would not dare leave the house" if he wasn't there because, and I quote, "All she's good for is cooking and fucking." So one day, Wael comes back from his break with a Victoria's Secret bag. He holds up the bag, looks at Zion and says, "Zion look...lunch." True to form, Zion asks, "So what did you get to eat?"And people wonder why I question the value of human beings to the world...
Two kids came in one day, trading in...I shit you not...95 video games. Actually, let me correct myself: there were 5 actual games...just 95 total copies of said games. I attempted to tell my Assistant Manager that this was what we in the retail business would call a "red flag." He said we had to allow the trade-ins anyway. As it turned out, they were two disgruntled Blockbuster employees. Do the math.
Parents were so oblivious to the ESRB ratings on the box. For those not into video gameage, ESRB ratings are the gaming equivalent to MPAA ratings for movies. One day, this 12-year-old kid came in with his Mom, acting like such a prick to me and my co-worker. So the Mom brings Resident Evil up to purchase. Again, for the uninitiated, Resident Evil (especially in 2000) was one of the most violent video games out there, though it's probably considered tame by today's standards. But anyway, I felt that it was my obligation as a concerned citizen/spiteful dickhead to inform the Mom that Resident Evil was rated M for Mature, containing excess amounts of violence, blood, and gore...and thus may unsuitable for children under the age of 17. She slammed the game down, increduous that her son would "trick her" into buying this game. She grabbed the kid's hand and stormed out. The kid looked back at me, certainly wishing a painful death upon me...and I just folded my arms and smiled.

My Moment of Clarity (a/k/a when I got the hell out)
I saw American Beauty in the movie theatre. Remember the scene where Kevin Spacey essentially tells his boss to go fuck himself? Some saw it as quality scriptwriting; I saw it as inspiration to quit the next day.

What Dan Learned...
Although it wasn't the best place to work, DAMN I miss that discount...

Next time: Working for the Man becomes Working for the Mouse...

What Dan Learned This Week

You are looking at the king of Scene It and Scattergories. Try to dethrone me...
It's so hard to decide on one defining nickname for Pocket Kings in Texas Hold 'Em Poker...
Pop Tarts = God's food...
Seeing my neighbor bend over in her garden may have been the most vomit-inducing thing I have ever seen...
It just never gets old hearing people remind me that my last name is the name of a violent action...
Wal-Mart always tries to deflect the notion that they're a Redneck's Emporium. Then someone explain to me why my local Wal-Mart has a live bait vending machine outside their store. I shit you not...
Answers to all moral and ethical dilemmas can be found by referencing shows from ABC's original TGIF lineup. Yes, that includes Just the Ten of Us. Bill Kirchenbauer knows all...

That is all.

Dan Will Be Learning in a Different Time Zone

I'm going to be in Seattle for a conference through next Friday. Because the ability to blog through mental telepathy has not yet been fully materialized, I seriously doubt there will be an update for a week or so. But you know me...stupidity follows me wherever I go, so I'm sure there will be bulletpoints galore when I return.

Until next time...
Dan

Early Frontrunners for Dumbasses of the Year

2005-05-26T13:53:00.000-04:00

Absolute genius...
http://news.yahoo.com/s/eo/20050526/en_movies_eo/16633

Working for the Man, Part III

2005-05-24T10:11:00.000-04:00

Chi-Chi's

Duration of Stay
3 weeks

Job Duties

Waiter

What Dan Remembers...

On my first day on the job, we had a power outage, which knocked out the computerized system to enter food orders. The system didn't work again until the day I quit. Coincidence? Methinks not...
Only I could manage to spill two margaritas on the same woman within a five-minute span.
I grossly underestimated how quickly chocolate would pour out of a bottle, as I managed to land half a bottle of chocolate onto a customer's sundae. Most waiters would probably trash it and start over again; I put a cherry on top and served it.
Tuesday night was karaoke night. "Livin La Vida Loca" was the big single at the time. Put the two together, and you have a recipe for several words than end in -icide.
The most dreaded words in the English language for a waiter: "Excuse me sir, today is my friend's birthday..."
During one instance that I had to *sigh* sing for someone's birthday, I had the "privilege" of putting the sombrero on the birthday boy's head...only to be told I put the sombrero on backwards. Think about that...

My Moment of Clarity (a/k/a when I got the hell out)
Realizing that I really sucked as a waiter.

What Dan Learned...
I really sucked as a waiter.

Next time: Dan enters the world of video game retailing with no continues. Will he able to Up Up Down Down Left Right Left Right B A Select Start his way out of this one? Stay tuned...

Until next time...
Dan

Episode III, Dan Saw; Dan Learn, What Did?

2005-05-22T12:05:00.000-04:00

It's early Sunday morning, so let's forgo the introductory jibber-jabber and get right to it...

Spoiler Alert: Darth Vader Is Luke Skywalker's Father

I ventured to Regal Cinema to catch Star Wars Episode III on Friday night. Admittedly, I'm not the biggest Star Wars fan in the world. Hell, I didn't even see Episode II, continuing my tradition of seeing sequels without seeing the previous movie (see Matrix, The). So with low expectations, I entered the theatre, hoping to be at least semi-entertained.

Fortunately, the pre-show entertainment was great. Oh, I don't mean previews or commercials for Coca-Cola. You see, part of me really wanted to think that fanboys dressing up like their favorite Sith Lord was a media-created myth. I try to be optimistic like that. I also thought that if anyone needed to get such dorkdom out of their system, they would have done it at Wednesday's midnight opening. But alas, there was a small group of fanatics, each dressed in a different Star Wars attire. I tried to snap a picture of them with my camera phone, but they looked over in my direction before I could snap a pic. Fearing they would throw their plastic light sabers at me (which could hurt if hurled from a distance), I put the phone away and went my merry way to the box office, snickering the whole time.

My buddy Mike was running a little late, so I decided to get tickets for the 7:45 show as opposed to the 7:20 show we initially planned for. The following is an honest-to-Yoda conversation I had with one of Regal's finest:

Me: I'd like two tickets for the 7:45 showing of Episode III.
Cashier: I'm sorry sir, we're all sold out for the 7:45 showing.
Me: Oh ok...
Cashier: Would you like tickets for the 7:46 showing?

There were so many things I wanted to say at that moment, such as...

This is an outrage. Let me talk to your manager...
I'd rather hold out for the 7:47 showing...
This will make me late for my dinner date at 10:23...

Instead, I said...

Sure.

So I picked up my tickets for 14-to-8:00 and went back to the lobby to wait for Mike. It was there that, from a distance, I noticed a throwrug that was slightly folded over. Within a 15-second span, I watched not one, not two, but seven people trip over this rug before someone finally decided to put the rug back to its original non-hazardous state. Within 10 minutes of my arrival at the theatre, I seriously began to question if God knew what he was getting into when he said, "Let there be light."

Oh yeah, the movie itself. Honestly, it wasn't bad at all. On the plus side, Jar-Jar was only in the movie briefly and never spoke. On the negative side, he didn't die. Overall, I thought did a nice job of wrapping the sexilogy (it's a new word, ok?) I do sincerely hope George Lucas calls it quits and doesn't go through with the rumored Episodes VII through IX. I don't think I could take Yoda speaking in passive voice for another three films.

What Dan Learned This Week

College graduations seriously need a halftime show. With cheerleaders.
It's really sad when your Commencement speaker is former Surgeon General David Satcher and your first thought is, "Dude, the guy from Super Size Me!"
PartyPoker.com should be banned in all 50 states. Well, now that I lost the money I put into it...
I'm the biggest Muppets fan in the world. But The Muppets Wizard of Oz SUCKED.
It's of the utmost importance for me to educate people of the impact Waldo Faldo made on modern pop culture.
I could have bought ten Burger King hamburgers for the price of one Pretzel Bites combo at Regal.
To answer "Joe's" question earlier this week...I don't quite know what KR would do.

That is all.

Until next time...
Dan

Finales, Typos, and Lunch...Oh My

2005-05-20T13:27:00.000-04:00

Happy Friday! May this Friday bring you peace, harmony, and an early dismissal from work.

Ok, enough of the mushies...let's blog.

The Apprentice

Last night's Apprentice finale had to be the most anti-climactic finish in reality show history. It was 56 minutes of "Tana, you suck" and "Kendra, you rock." So Trump telling Kendra that she was hired had the dramatic impact of a test pattern.

American Idol

I have to admit...I'm a big fan of American Idol, but next week's finale can't come soon enough. I am just all idoled out. Watching the show has become an exercise in repetition. So if anybody who works on the show is reading this for some freakish reason, I'd like to offer some advice for Season 5:

To the producers: Take a time management seminar. When you end at 9:33, you're cutting into other shows. On second thought, Stacked came after Idol this week. Stall away...
To the producers (again): I have boycotted Ford. I drink Pepsi. Thus, your horribly lame music videos are futile.
To Ryan: We know they're 866 numbers, not 800 numbers. They've been the same numbers for four years...we got it.
To Randy: Go to anyone on the street, tell them, "You can blow," and try to pass it off as a compliment. Let me know how that goes.
To Paula: Whore.
To Simon: We know you're "being completely honest." No need to preface every metaphor about Indonesian karaoke clubs by telling us that.

Typo of the Year

Every year, my boss' job at graduation is to assist faculty members with their robes. I find it infinitely amusing that University professors can have an encyclopedic knowledge of every war ever fought in the history of mankind...but they can't dress themselves. But I digresss...

Keeping the "robe" theme in your mind, read the instructions my boss was given for this year's graduation ceremony:

Once you have robbed the faculty, please assist the graduation staff in other capacities.

Good thing my boss is an administrator and not an academic. Because if a University professor read that, mark my words...there would be a public hanging in front of Old Main, followed by a French poetry reading.

Dan's "Brown Bag It" Challenge

The other day, I calculated how much I spend a month buying breakfast and lunch every day. Suffice to say, store-bought bagels and Sweet Chicken Teriyaki combos add up A LOT. So I'm challenging myself to bring lunch to work every day for at least the next month. And think, with all the money I'm saving, I could give more money to online casin...

Uh...

Starving children. Yeah. Starving children.

Until next time...
Dan

PS, I'll do my next "Working for the Man" installment soon. Pinky swear.

Working For the Man, Part II

2005-05-18T18:37:00.000-04:00

Let's waste no time and get right to it...

CVS

Duration of Stay
1 1/2 years (worked at separate points from 1997-1999)

Job Duties

Cashier
Customer service
Preventing the sale of cigarettes to minors

What Dan Remembers...

During my interview, Jim (the manager) and I got into a discussion about the internet, for whatever reason. He then asks me if I had ever been to Jennicam. Without explicitly knowing what it was, I assumed it had to do with boobs. And I was right. Again, this is during the interview.
On my first day on the job, a mallrat got caught stealing candy. The manager brought him to the breakroom to interrogate him, and for whatever reason, asked me to watch him "at work." To this day, I have absolutely no idea why.
Jim later asked one of his employees to pose for a nude website that he was supposedly starting up. Suffice to say, he got the axe.
Sunday mornings were hell on earth. Why? It was always the first day of the new weekly sale. You wouldn't think people would threaten bodily harm over the lack of Creme Savers, but you only wouldn't think that if you never worked in retail.
Working next to the photo lab occasionally led to some...shall we say...revealing photographic experiences.
For whatever reason, I got a kick out of being the killjoy to kids wanting to buy cigarettes. No one else ever carded but me. It wasn't that I was a goody-goody; I just found perverse pleasure in pissing off my "peers."
Speaking of said peers, I also did not let them buy condoms without a fight. Now obviously, there is no age limit on the sale of condoms. So I just took forever to deactivate the magnetic theft strip. Then I would drop them on the floor. Then I would "struggle" to get that pesky package of rubbers into the bag. There was no rhyme or reason to me doing this; I was just bitter because they were getting some and I wasn't.
You know those mirrors at the top of every CVS? Let's put it this way; for those of you who always felt the need to check out your ass in those things, thanks for the peep show.
Customers never quite comprehended the fact that I was a minimum-wage worker...thus I did not order merchandise...and thus I was not responsible if we ran out of Cadbury Eggs.

My Moment of Clarity (a/k/a when I got the hell out)
Eh, got tired of it.

What Dan Learned...
Don't ever say the words, "I will never do retail again."

That's all the energy I have to do today. Join us next time for "A Celebration of Food" (before a couple of green onions and a Hepatitis outbreak quelled that fiesta forever.)

Until next time...
Dan

How Could They??

2005-05-17T17:04:00.000-04:00

I was craving Burger King chili for lunch. The craving went unmet, as the cashier was so kind as to inform me, "We don't sell chili here anymore."

A moment of silence for Burger King Chili...it went before its time...

Working for the Man, Part I

2005-05-17T14:06:00.000-04:00

Every time I talk to my buddy Tom, we inevitably reminisce about all of the shitty jobs we've ever held. After talking to him this weekend, I thought it might be an interesting blogging adventure through the Wayback Machine of Menial Labor . So without further ado, let's take a look back at the last 12 years of me...

Working For the Man (part I)

Our Lady of Charity Rectory

Duration of Stay
3 years (1992-1994)

Job Duties

Answering phones for the priests
Serving them dinner
Sitting on a couch and watching TV

What Dan Remembers...

Anytime I would page the Pastor to tell him he had a phone call, he inevitably would ask, "Did they ask for me?" Even if they didn't ask for him, I would always tell him they did, just so I could go back and watch Tiny Toons.
Opening the priests' refrigerator and finding several cases of beer was like seeing a picture of a naked woman for the first time; for a 12-year-old, it changes your perspective on everything.
The couch where we sat in the lounge was roughly 50 years old. It smelled like a yard sale and had springs sticking out everywhere.
Anytime I was asked to fill out a Mass Card, I would say, "The woman who does the Mass Cards isn't here, so please call back tomorrow." I technically told the truth; I just left out the part that I didn't pay attention when said woman told me how to do them.
Going upstairs to the priests' "quarters" was one of those unwritten taboos; you just didn't do it. So of course, I did it...to discover they had big-screen TVs and gigantic stereo systems. Vow of poverty my ass...
Priests are served hand and foot. Professional cleaners come in frequently to vacuum the place, and cooks prepared meals for them every night. One cook in particular, Faye, would always prepare a seven-course meal; they would eat about one course of it. I'm pretty sure it was out of spite because she was so damned annoying.

My Moment of Clarity (a/k/a when I got the hell out)
Ok, picture this scenario: you (meaning me) attempt to transfer a phone call to a priest, who we'll call Father Bob. You accidentally lose the call. Twenty minutes later, you're on the phone with a friend, when Father Bob storms down the steps. He approaches you in a tight tank top and neon orange biker shorts, showing the most body hair this side of Chewbacca. Yes, this is still a priest we're talking about.

Father Bob then commands you to get off the phone (though you were actually encouraged to talk freely on the phone as long as you weren't busy). Father Bob not only calls you a sneak and a liar, but tells you that you must be a disappointment to your parents...all because you lost his phone call. You simultaneously tremble and stifle your laughter, because you're being yelled at, but you're being yelled at by Sasquatch in biker shorts. Father Sasq...uh...Father Bob notices your attempt to suppress laughter and becomes more incensed. You realize that going to him for Confession is no longer an option. You can't get the vision of a gay-looking Wooly Mammoth out of your head. You decide to get the hell out of there.

What Dan Learned...
I have a fear of body hair.

Toys R Us

Duration of Stay
2 months (1996)

Job Duties

My sole duty was to put returns back. That tells you a lot about the quality of merchandise sold at Toys R Us.

What Dan Remembers...

The comprehensive application included questions like, "If your friend steals from the store, would you tell us?" and "Can you count to 50?" I shit you not.
My friend Brian decided it would be a good idea to show me how to play Super Mario 64 in the store, as the Nintendo 64 had just arrived that year. The manager came up to Brian and said, "This is your last warning...no more playing video games", implying that Brian was already reprimanded about this before.
On a whim, aforementioned friend Tom and Brian built a Lego Fortress as tall as the highest endcap in the store. Suffice to say, they were asked (threatened) to take it down.
At the same time I was working at Toys R Us, I was president of Our Lady of Charity's CYO. Deciding that I no longer wanted to do it (especially after the Chewbacca Incident), I "resigned" from a Toys R Us pay phone on my break. In the biggest slap in the face in modern Catholic Youth Organization history, the next CYO newsletter said, and I quote, "Dan has resigned as President of our CYO. We wish him luck in his future endeavors at Toys R Us." Nine years later, the priest who wrote that remark is enjoying the fruits of fatherhood...and I'm not talking about his life in the ministry.
I competed with this guy Ken for the affection of a co-worker Danielle. After thwarting each other's attempts for romance for weeks, we found out she was taken anyway.
Every single time that I was called up for my break, the manager would say, "Ok Dan time for your 15...I mean 10-minute break." Too bad my selective hearing prevented me from picking up any words after the syllable "-teen."
I worked there the year that Tickle-Me-Elmos took off. Imagine 50 of those goddamn things going off at once when they all came in on backorder. Yet I live to tell about it...

My Moment of Clarity
I walked into work the week after Christmas and looked at the following week's schedule...noticing that I wasn't on it. I had this subsequent conversation with my manager, the paragon of sympathy:

Me: Am I still working here?
Manager: Are you on next week's schedule?
Me: No.
Manager: Guess not.

What Dan Learned
Despite the million toys at Toys R Us that I could play with, I no longer wanted to be a Toys R Us kid.

Pathmark

Duration of Stay
3 weeks

Job Duties

Cashier

What Dan Remembers...

I had no idea there were so many different kinds of lettuce.
This was my first foray into the world of cash registers. While I certainly struggled to get the hang of things, I sure as hell wasn't losing 40 bucks out of my register every single night. They put me on probation 3 weeks in; sensing something was up, I bolted.As it turns out, my manager was caught on camera stealing from my till and the till of the other new guy there.

Dan's Moment of Clarity
Yeah, that was it.

What Dan Learned
Unions suck. When I picked up my final paycheck, they told me that my last week was coincidentally the first week union dues were taken out. So they literally handed me a paycheck for $0.00. Up until the Patriot Act, this had to be have been the biggest waste of paper ever.

Well, that concludes it for Part I. I have MANY more jobs to go, just not enough mental capacity to do them all at once.

So until next time...
Dan

What Exactly Did Dan Learn Last Week?

2005-05-16T12:42:00.000-04:00

It's Monday, the boss isn't here, and a J'Lo movie is number one at the Box Office. It's either time for a good ol'fashioned apocalypse, or it's time to find out...

What Dan Learned

When you're at a poker table with guys named Diesel, Juice, and Dum-Dum, you know you're in for a long night...
Ricky Ricardo's club was not "El Clubbo..."
You can't expect good service from an 80-year-old waitress...
There needs to be a version of Family Feud released for PS2...
A 9, 10, J, Q, A poker hand is not a straight (kinda missing a card in there)...
After swearing I would not watch one episode this season, I am officially hooked to The Inferno 2. I am not proud...
I still have yet to meet a person who has finished a meal at Denny's and said, "Mmm, now that's good eatin'..."
Only I could find a way to reference Waldo Faldo in an AIM conversation...
There are some really dumb shits on PartyPoker.com...
Crossing guards who wave at you every day are just using you for coffee money...
Today was supposed to be my birthday, but nooooooo...

That is all.

Until next time...
Dan

Know When To Hold 'Em

2005-05-13T02:15:00.000-04:00

I just finished my first Texas Hold 'Em "tournament." (I use the term loosely, as there were 7 total people including me). I placed 5th out of 7th; I said my goal wasn't to place dead last, so chalk up a moral victory for me. I got every shitty hand known to man, and the only hand I did win was a pair of tens. My "cousin" George, on the other hand, must have been sitting on a secret deck, because he pulled so many hands out of his ass it wasn't even funny. I use the term "cousin" loosely, as we're as distant blood-wise as family can get. I did inform him, however, that he has been demoted from Third Cousin to Fifth Cousin. I'm just bitter like that.

But it was a very good time overall. It's always fun to play any game with people who are sloshed ahead of time, as it ups my advantage. Yeah, too bad that didn't work either...

Until next time...
Dan

The Pop Culture King Dethroned + Another Philly Phailure

2005-05-12T13:06:00.000-04:00

Not Even a Moral Victory...

Figuring that I'd use my mad trivia skills to score some loot and/or prizes, a bunch of us tried out Quizzo for the first time last night at Riddle Ale House. For the uninitiated, Quizzo is a trivia game (typically played in bars) where teams answer several rounds of pop culture questions. We probably had a decent chance to win...if we were told the right freaking time that the game was going to start.

When I first called Riddle yesterday and asked what time it started, the guy was like, "Uh, 9:30...9:00...between 9:00 and 9:30." Having no confidence that this guy knew what the hell he was talking about, I told my sister to call back a little bit later to see if she could get someone with a clue. Nope, same guy, except this time, he just said, "Around 9:00." Still feeling that I was being fed wrong info, I called several hours later, this time getting a lady who must have been no younger than 97. She says it's 10:00. My instincts told me she was right, so we all met at 10:00...to discover that we were entering Round 3.

Yeah, my instincts suck.

But we stayed around and played anyway. Round 3 consisted of nothing but city nicknames; we breezed through that one by answering 9 out of 10 right. Round 4 rolls around, and after the first two questions, we thought this was going to a cinch:

Question 1: Who is Dr. Evil's cat?
Mr. Bigglesworth. Cake.

Question 2: Where does The Drew Carey Show take place?
Cleveland. C'mon, challenge us!

Question 3: In which part of the body is the tympanic membrane located?
Uhhhh...

Yeah, it was all downhill from there. We grew to discover that the tympanic membrane is in the ear, Colorado is the Indian name for "Red River", and apparently, Ricky Ricardo's club's name was not "El Clubbo."

The final round was "Name That Tune." I believe we got two right, but we didn't stick around to find out, adhering to my life theory of, "If you're going to lose, leave before you find out the results."

So yeah, we sucked. But it taught me a valuable lesson, one that I hope you all take with you...

Never judge the intelligence of other teams by the number of teeth they collectively have.

I May Have Sucked, But At Least I Didn't Lose on National Television...

Anthony Federov was finally eliminated on American Idol last night. All I have to say is...Philly chokes again. Way to McNabb it, Anthony. Way to McNabb it.

Saying that, I realize I often throw my Dan-isms into these blogs, not realizing that some people may not know what the hell I'm talking about. So let's define "McNabbing", shall we?

mcnabb
tr.v. mcnabbs, mcnabbed, mcnabbing
To choke under pressure in a big game situation, named after Philadelphia Eagles quarterback Donovan McNabb

Dan McNabbed Quizzo last night.

On that note, I should probably...you know...work.

Until next time...
Dan

Survey SAYS...

2005-05-10T12:07:00.000-04:00

I borrowed (stole) this from Bill's site. I haven't done one of these things in forever, and I have zero ideas for new blog material. So away we go...

First best friend: I'm sure it was some kid in the sandbox at the playground

First car: "Paco", my '99 blue Suzuki. You always knew I was coming, because as long as you lived within a 5-mile radius, you heard my brakes squealing.

First kiss: 12 or 13-ish, maybe?

First screen name: VCDan. That was a LONG time ago.

First self purchased album: Weird Al Yankovic, "Smells Like Nirvana." I still even have The Wall sticker on there.

First
Funeral: Some random guy back when I was an altar boy. Yes, I was an altar boy. Seriously, I was...

First pets: Two fish. Yeah, they lasted about a week.

First piercing/tattoo: Hells no.

First musician you remember hearing in your house: ? It was the 80s, so chances are it was Culture Club or Tears For Fears.

Last car ride: To work this morning...the same work where I am doing this survey.

Last kiss: I'm stealing Bill's answer: "Hahahhaha nope"

Last good cry: When my Pop Pop died.

Last library book checked out: Probably some book back in college that I didn't want to pay $85 for in the bookstore.

Last movie seen: Sin City

Last beverage drank: The coffee that is keeping me awake to do this thing.

Last food consumed: Bagel with cream cheese

Last phone call: My sister, about 4 minutes ago

Last time showered: An hour and a half ago

Last shoes worn: Considering our University's strict, "No shoes, no shirt, no education" policy, I'm wearing my loafers right now.

Last cd played: Dan's Mix #38

Last item bought: Aforementioned coffee and bagel

Last annoyance: Stupid truck driving in the left-hand lane this morning

Last disappointment: Finding out that House was a repeat two weeks ago

Last time wanting to die: Never really had the urge, thanks.

Last time
scolded: By my boss, last week. Oops.

Last shirt worn: I'm starting to think the writer of this survey assumes people do these things naked.

Last website visited: Does this one count?

Last song you sang: Whatever the last song was in my car this morning...I think it was "Got My Mind Set on You" by George Harrison

Last color socks are you wearing? It's one of those "Can't tell if it's Navy or Black" type deals.

What color of underwear are you wearing? Getting a tad personal, aren't we?

What time did you wake up today? 7:00 AM. My alarm is lucky to live another day.

FUTURE

Where do you want to go? Spain, Italy, Australia...it would probably be easier to ask me where I don't want to go (Chester).

What is your career going to be? I have no bloody clue.

Where are you going to live? Good question!

How many kids do you want? Ask me after the first one.

What kind of car(s): I'm holding out for one of those flying ones from the Jetsons.

CURRENT

Current mood: A lot better after that cup of coffee

Current music: Just the sounds of silence right now

Current taste: Coffee aftertaste

Current hair: What little is left...

Current clothes: Shirt, tie, etc.

UNIQUE --

1. Nervous Habits? Clicking my teeth. And I wonder why I get headaches...

2. Are you double jointed? Not remotely

3. Can you roll your tongue? Nope

4. Can you raise one eyebrow at a time? I raised my eyebrows before The Rock ever stepped foot in a wrestling ring.

5. Can you blow spit bubbles? Nah, I'd just drool all over myself

6. Can you cross your eyes? No, but I can roll them in the back of my head. It's pretty sweet...

7. Do you make your bed daily? I don't make my bed yearly.

-- CLOTHES --

10. Which shoe goes on first? Right

11. Speaking of shoes, have you ever thrown one at anyone? Nah, just a bee.

12. On the average, how much money do you carry in your wallet? I live off my debit card.

13. What jewelry do you wear 24/7? Yeah, that gets a big n/a

14. Favorite piece of clothing? My totally beaten up Eddie Bauer cap

-- FOOD --

15. Do you twirl your spaghetti or cut it? Now what fun is there in cutting spaghetti?

16. Have you ever eaten Spam? Can't say I have.

17. Favorite ice cream flavor? Chocolate

18. How many cereals in your cabinet? 2...both Reese's Puffs, AKA God's Gift to Cereal

19. What's your favorite beverage? Root beer

20. What's your favorite restaurant? Olive Garden. F you, Atkins.

21. Do you cook? Does toast count?

-- WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE --

27. Animal? Steak

28. Food? Steak

29. Month? June

30. Day? Any day that doesn't begin with Mon, Tues, Wednes, Thurs, or Fri (only til 4:00)

31. Favorite Cartoon Character? Bugs Bunny

32. Shoe Brand? I shop at Payless. Do you think I pay attention?

33. Subject in school? Lunch

34. Color? Blue

35. Sport? Probably football

36. TV show? Tie between House and Family Guy

Until next time...
Dan

Oh, By the Way...

2005-05-09T01:31:00.000-04:00

Leaving comments is no longer limited to Blogspot members since, well, no one I know uses Blogspot.

A Calorie-Rich Blog Entry

2005-05-09T01:23:00.000-04:00

I sit here on Sunday night, free Diet Coke in hand (thank you, Showboat) , ready to muse on the events of this past week.

Let the musing begin...

Then How Does Ronald McDonald Keep His Svelte Figure?

I finally saw Super Size Me this past weekend. Obviously, the deterring effects were minimal when my buddy Mike and I looked at each other and said, "Ready for Hibachi's?" It was still a very interesting study in American excess, particularly when it comes to food consumption. The film showed far too much cellulite for my liking, and I could have lived without the visual of him lurching up his fries. But it was very good nonetheless. It didn't really change my viewpoint a whole lot since I gave up excessive fast food eating several years ago. Then again, I never said to myself, "I'm going to eat nothing but McDonald's for an entire month and make a movie about it." But with the money that bastard made off the film, I'm sure he has enough Slim-Fast and Stacker 2 to last him a lifetime.

A Public Service Announcement

Each day, nationwide, an average of three mall cookie stands shut down (Stabb 498). Replacing these American institutions are Cingular stands, gumball machines, and, in many cases, absolutely nothing. The average American currently drives 45 minutes or more to find the nearest cookie stand. As Americans and as human beings, we can not allow this to happen.

Support your local cookie stand. Take advantage of every "Buy five, get one free" deal they offer. If you don't, the cookie stand may go the way of the arcade or Boston Market. While the world is a better place without Boston Markets, there would be a dark unfulfilled void in Mother Earth if cookie stands cease to exist.

Thank you.

Works Cited

Stabb, D. What The $!&* Happened To My Cookie Stand?
Pennsylvania. What Dan Learned Publications. 2005

What Dan Learned This Week

Hawaii does not have cookie stands...
Bartering cookies for hot Hawaiian girls is a fair trade-off...
This has been a very cookie-intensive blog entry...
Swami is a fighter...
Two guys drinking Cokes and playing Photo Hunt at a bar probably gives off the wrong impression...
The word "beard", when used in the proper context, is the best word in the English language...
There is no greater form of artistic expression than the Onion Volcano at Hibachi...
I'm still going to eat McDonald's...
You know a mall is desolate when they have a prominent advertisement for Freaky Friday that says, "Coming Soon to DVD"...
All of Atlantic City's past transgressions on my wallet have been forgiven...
Wendy's greatly underestimates how many people are willing to show up at the drive-thru 12:30 on a Friday night...
Organized Living and the sole black space on the Wheel of Fortune wheel have something in common...

That is all.

Until next time...
Dan

Creepy Old Women, My New Slot Bitch, and More From El City de Atlantic

2005-05-05T14:08:00.000-04:00

Well, for the first time in the last six gambling excursions (including my checking account-bleeding trip to Vegas), I actually came back a winner, this time from my home away from home away from home, Atlantic City. (The other homes being Chick-Fil-A and...well...home) I went with my Dad, my sister, and my Mom-Mom. My Dad's initial plan was for us to meet at his house at 7:30 in the morning, which was greeted with a hearty "Um, no" by me and Rachel. So we met up around 9:00-ish (ish = we were late), grabbed breakfast at Java Joe's, and went on our merry way.

Some of the highlights, in BULLET FORM (oooooh, aaaaaah):

Upon signing up for a Showboat Rewards card, I earned a free 12-pack of Diet Coke, as did my sister. My reaction was roughly the equivalent of finding out that I hit the jackpot at a slot machine. What can I say...we're thirsty freeloaders.
As I stood at a quarter slot machine for a few minutes, I has the "pleasure" of having a 95-year-old woman staring at me playing the entire time. When I won $75, she said, "You did well, young man." Thanks Yoda...now stop creeping me out.
The Wheel of Fortune nickel slot has supplanted The Price is Right nickel slot as "my official bitch."
An elderly Showboat security guard gave my sister beads as she was trying to ask where the bathroom was. When I later explained to her what receiving beads meant in a Mardi Gras Themed Casino, her face turned four shades of red.
The Price is Right Stage Show was fun, though none of us got called up. I swear though...every other person called up on stage was named Lorraine.
Mark Walberg was the host of the show (Russian Roulette/Temptation Island Mark, not Marky Mark Mark). I always thought he came off like a douchebag; seeing him in person did nothing to erase that notion.
For anyone who goes to Atlantic City with me from here on in, parking is on me*.
If you ever want a good laugh, watch my Dad get yelled at for making every illegal bet known to man on Roulette. None of it was intentional...it's just hysterical seeing the dealer (who can barely speak English) scream, "You can't do that!" every other spin.
No one carded my sister, thus taking the fun out of flashing your ID legally for the first time in a casino.

I end this blog with words of wisdom dispersed by the curators of the Atlantic City Expressway...

Stay Alert...

Stay Awake...

Stay Alive.

Truer words have never been spoken.

Until next time...
Dan

* With my Showboat Rewards Card, parking is always free.

Wifebeater Observation

2005-05-04T00:06:00.000-04:00

After watching Scott Savol tonight with his hair grown out, I've come to the conclusion that he looks like the bastard child of Kathy Bates and the lead singer from Smashmouth.

Until next time...
Dan

Assorted Bloggage

2005-05-03T15:41:00.000-04:00

Lowes Update

The Neverending Saga of Lowes (tm) continues...

When they rescheduled the delivery yesterday, I asked them to please call me so that I could make sure someone was there to sign for it. They said they would call me around 8:30 or so.

At 12:25, I got a call, but it wasn't from Lowes. It was from my Mom.

"Jay (the tenant) called...they dropped the wood off in the front yard and left."

On one hand, I should be pissed because...well...they defy Darwinian Theory. On the other hand, they've become great blog fodder, so I'll chalk it up as "one of those classic moments."

But the fun's not ending yet, oh no...we have to order an extra part for delivery. The fun is just beginning.

Idol Tonight

Considering their penchant for really bizarre-ass themes, I'm betting tonight's American Idol theme is Any Song With the Words "Gadda Da Vida" In Its Title.

Coming Attractions

Tomorrow, my Dad is taking my sister and I to Atlantic City to celebrate her 21st birthday (which was a few weeks ago). You know I'll have stories from there, as I always do. We're also likely going to the Price Is Right Stage Show, which I also went to last year with my friend Paula. It's actually pretty damn close to the real thing, save the presence of Bob Barker and/or 22-year-old supermodels that he's probably still boinking.

Random thought (ok, it's been on my mind for years, but it fits here): If every pet owner followed Bob Barker's advice to "help control the pet population" by having them spayed or neutered, wouldn't that effectively end the pet population? Look at the looking glass here, people...

I Am The Norm Pedersen of Subway

You know you're a regular when you get to the end of the condiment line at Subway and the Sandwich Maker says, "Oregano and a little bit of mustard, right?"

Let's face facts; Subway is my sandwich soulmate.

Words of Wisdom From My Sister

From a conversation at Subway today...

Me: There's a diner upstate that's selling a 15-pound burger.
Rach: No freaking way.
(Pause)
Rach: I could take it.
Me: Rachel, that is the equivalent of 60 quarter-pounders.
Rach: Wow...I'd feel really guilty.

And with that, I bid adieu.

Until next time...
Dan

I Sold Out

2005-05-02T16:46:00.000-04:00

Yes, I now have a Google Ad Bar at the top of my screen. No, I do not know what meta words I have used so that "Homocon" is an ad. (not that there's anything wrong with that)

The reason for including the bar is real simple: I get paid for each click *hint hint*. So I hope you find it in your heart to donate to the Dan Needs To Pay Down His Credit Card Fund.

Until next time...
Dan

My Weekend, Plus The Return of dum dum dum WHAT DAN LEARNED

2005-05-02T14:30:00.000-04:00

It's Monday. I'm blogging. There's your riveting intro.

Bridging the (Wind) Gap

I performed in the Quadriannual (it's a word now) Wind Gap wrestling show this past Saturday. Shocker of shockers, I wasn't physically attacked by a 5-year-old this time. You know it's bad when an actual fan comes up to you and says, "Wow, you weren't physically attacked by a 5-year-old this time."

I got to meet Brutus "The Barber" Beefcake, which was definitely cool. But being in a locker room environment, I also saw way more of Brutus than I ever wanted to see.

After the show, our crew went to Applebee's, where I was told the funniest thing I have heard in a long time. There is a very nice family that goes to our shows in Delaware, and they actually made the trip to see us in Wind Gap. While we're waiting at Applebee's, the father tells me that he recently had a Parent-Teacher Conference for his 6-year-old daughter. The teacher said, "Your daughter is a good student, a bit talkative. But I do have to ask...who is Hightower?" (For those that don't know, Hightower is my "gimmick name" in wrestling). Apparently, her hatred for my character (a bad guy) runs deep enough that she talks about it in class.

Getting boos is all well and good...but when you have indirectly infiltrated the educational system, that's when you can say, "I have done my job."

And Knowing Is Half the Battle

Family Guy FINALLY returned last night, and holy mother of crap...I have not laughed so hard in such a long time. Between Peter rambling off the 20 or so cancelled Fox shows to Gepetto bending over and trying to get Pinocchio to lie, I was literally rolling at some points. Even the Evil Monkey Living in Chris' Closet (tm) made a cameo appearance.

Welcome back, Seth MacFarlane. Welcome back.

More Lowes Fun

My war of attrition with Lowes continues to rage on. They were supposed to call me at 8:30 this morning to tell me the estimated time of delivery. Around 10:30, I still heard nothing, so I gave them a call. The call went something like this:

Lowes: How may I direct your call?
Me: Deliveries.
Lowes: Just a moment.
*20 rings*
Lowes: Who are you holding for?
Me: Deliveries.
Lowes: Just a moment.
*20 rings*
Lowes: Who are you holding for?
Me: Deliveries.
Lowes: Just a moment.
*20 rings*

Yeah, it was about 10 minutes of that. When I finally got a hold of someone (likely Tweedle Dipshit), he told me the manager was on a delivery (note, not my delivery), but he had all of the day's delivery information with him, so he couldn't tell me anything. He said I would get a call back "within a half hour."

As I typed that last sentence, they called me back.

"Can we schedule it for tomorrow?"

Oh my holy God. I initially told him no, because Ned was already there taking down the porch. When I called Ned about it though, he said it would work better for him since he didn't have to wait forever for the delivery, which makes sense. So I called Lowes back...

Lowes: How may I direct your call?
Me: Deliveries.
Lowes: Just a moment.
*20 rings*
Lowes: Who are you holding for?
Me: Deliveries.
Lowes: Just a moment.

I shit you not. But luckily, they picked up before ring #19 the next time. So everything is apparently squared away for tomorrow...

Which means the delivery is likely to be Thursday.

What Dan Learned This Past Week...

F Lowes...
I have the ability to make a life metaphor out of any scene or character from Willy Wonka & The Chocolate Factory...
Family Guy is BACK...
If you're talking about someone and that person ends up walking into the room, it is not a good idea to pretend you're talking about someone else by saying, "God rest his soul..."
Roy Rogers rest stop hamburgers kick ass...
Wrestling fans really know how to beat a joke into the ground...
Companies who ban the use of AIM should be shut down...
Giving a two-week notice is only effective when the company actually schedules you to work during the second week...
People outside of my circle of friends actually read this crap...

That is all.

Until next time...
Dan

Idolness is a Constant Sin...

2005-04-29T21:11:00.000-04:00

First, it's revealed that Scott Savol roughed up his ex-girlfriend...

Now, Bo Bice is revealed to be a druggie...

If it's revealed that Carrie is a prostitute, I will cry a cry that no man has ever cried...

Until next time...
Dan

Sinking to New Lowes

2005-04-28T13:57:00.000-04:00

People often comment on my inate ability to point out the stupidity of mankind. I think I'm given too much credit, because sometimes, the stupidity is right there to smack you in the face.

I went to Lowes yesterday with my buddy Ned to pick up some lumber. My mom rents out my old old old house in Upland, and the back porch currently has the capacity to MAYBE withstand the weight of a soda can. Ned is doing us a big favor by fixing the porch, so off we went to get the wood.

Keep your mind out of the gutter.

I don't have the first earthly clue about anything involving home repair, so Ned got the exact quantity of lumber needed to fix the porch. We went up to the front desk to schedule the delivery, and were greeted with the following conversation:

"You ring them up."
"No, you ring them up."
"I'm going on my break."
"Like hell you are, you've been here three hours. Ring them up."

Gee, don't fight over us, guys.

This went on for another minute-and-a-half between Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dumbass. Tweedle Dumbass "got stuck" processing the delivery. Now, keep in mind, Ned could not have possibly made any easier for him, as he even wrote down the SKUs for the guy. So it looks like it's going to be a smooth transaction, right?

C'mon guys, you know me by now...my life doesn't work that way.

Because apparently, a multi-billion dollar company like Lowes doesn't have access to Mapquest, as I had to handwrite the directions to the house. Keep in mind that I have not lived in this house since I was about 10, so remembering exactly how to get there from Delaware took a little bit of thinking on my part. But (I think), I gave him the right directions. He then proceeded to input the directions in the computer. Ned was going to do a little more shopping, so he asked me to let him know when the delivery date was. I told him I was going to set it up for Thursday or Friday...and Tweedle Dumbass saw the whole conversation. Keep ALL of this in mind.

Before I even get the chance to say half a syllable, T.D. (as he is now affectionately called) tells me, "I'm going on my break, so you can go to the next cashier to pay." And just like that, T.D. disappeared.

So I go to the cashier, and ask her a simple question, "When is the delivery date?" She stared at me for about 10 seconds and uttered the most intelligent response she could put together, "Huh?" So I spoke reallll slowwww so she could understannnnnd. Once she comprehended that yes, I was speaking English, she said, "When do you want to pick it up?"

Now last I checked, deliveries usually allow the customer to wait at home for the materials, avoiding the whole "picking up thing." So I clarified for her that I asked for delivery. She clarified for me that it said "pickup" in the system. Clearly, we're at an impasse. She then tried to tell me that I must have scheduled a pickup.

Yes, because I always make sure to give directions to my house when I pick something up...just for collateral.

So Tweedle Dee reenters the picture. (the guy who didn't want to help me to begin with) He tells me I have to call back tomorrow to set up a delivery time. I asked if I could just set up a delivery time now. He replied increduously, "No," as if I asked him if I could sacrifice his first-born son. Just the thought that any of these people could reproduce to begin with makes me fearful for the fate of Mother Earth.

I did as they asked, and I called back today. I explained the situation to three different people before I got directed to the "proper channels", whatever the hell that means. His first response was, "Ah yes, I heard about your situation." Great, I'm famous. He then tells me that he could reschedule the delivery, which would imply that the delivery was actually scheduled to begin with. He proceeds to tell me, "I could schedule it for Friday or Saturday, though Saturday is more convenient for us." When I asked why, he said...and I quote..."Because if we don't leave that area by 2:00 in the afternoon on Friday, we're going to hit bad traffic on I-95."

Friday it is.

Until next time...
Dan

Update: Lowes just left a message on my voicemail, "Mr. Tabb (that's how they said it), we need directions to the house."

AHHHHHHHHHHH!

Old Skool

2005-04-27T16:51:00.000-04:00

Growing up, I used to hate when my grandparents, aunts/uncles, random strangers would begin conversations with the dreaded words, "Back in my day..." I knew I was in for a diatribe of praise for Frank Sinatra, Cary Grant, and any movie that only featured two colors in it. I always swore to myself that I would never ever ever EVER allow myself to become a crotchety old man, longing for the "glory days."

Well, the other day, I had a conversation with someone at OL about video games. It was one of those moments where I didn't realize what I saying until I finished saying it. I actually muttered the words, "These kids today don't know what a good game is."

In that instant, at the ripe old age of 24.9, I became "one of them."

So to celebrate my newfound "old fogey" status, I whip out a feature geriatrically known as...

Back in the Day...

You could only go one way in video games...to the right. If you forgot that "extra life" two screens back, you were shit out of luck.
There were no memory cards or hard drives. You had to beat games in one sitting. ONE SITTING. Oh, and might I add you only had 3 lives and 3 continues to beat said games?
Games were freaking hard. For anyone who complains the difficulty of today's games, I dare you to play any one Mega Man game for the NES and still have your controller in one piece. I also challenge you to play any one Mega Man game and NOT scream, "Mother Fucker" less than 10 times in one sititng.
We didn't have scratched CDs; we just had to use all of our oxygen to blow every last dust particle out of a cartridge. And don't get me started on the "Press the Nintendo game up and down ten times to get it to work" trick.
We plopped down $75 PER GAME. Ok, our parents plopped down $75 per game. Ok, my parents never would plop down $75 per game, because it cost $75 PER GAME.
Publishers weren't afraid to have a game endorsed by Mike Tyson. He bites one ear, and everyone is up in arms. Patsies.
Controllers did not have 761 buttons.
Up Up Down Down Left Right Left Right B A Select Start...need I say more?

I'm sure I'll think of more, but until next time, I'm going to go walk 50 miles to school barefoot in 10 feet of snow...
Dan

Classic Moments in Organized History

2005-04-26T18:58:00.000-04:00

As some of you may know, I officially put in my two weeks at Organized Living again. I think I have set some kind of world record: three different jobs that I quit, returned back to, and quit again. Granted, I'm counting my times working for the church rectory at the ripe ol' age of 12, but it still counts!

Wow, it just hit me that I've been working for 13 years now. 13 years, 11 jobs...I'm an employment whore.

Anyway, to mark this less-than-momentous occasion, I thought I'd take a trip down memory lane as I give Organized Living one more proverbial middle finger...

My manager Bryan...who frequently pointed out my lack of name tag by squeezing my nipple. You think I'm joking...
The sheer number of customers who thought they were original by pointing out the irony of a store named Organized Living having no discernable traces of organizational skills...
The "Organized Pun" contest, where Melanie and Chrissie vowed to mock me 167 times over the course of one summer by making said "Organized Puns." God bless 'em...they actually pulled it off. ;)
My buddy Ned figuring there was no better way to break a block of ice than with an aluminum soda can. Apparently, the look on my face was priceless as the soda sprayed directly into my eye.
My buddy Mike and I sitting down and figuring out how many people had left in the (at that time) 6 months we had been there. I believe the body count was 18. Do the math.
My district manager Julia. Imagine a 5-foot-nothing woman with the hair of Frau Farbissna, the voice equivalent of a banshee on crack, and the demeanor of Satan. That was Julia.
Gordon...the only man in the history of modern employment to steal furniture, crash the company delivery truck into a bank, threaten other employees...and get a promotion.
On my first day back at my second go-around at OL, a customer took it upon himself to projectile shat ON THE WALLS of the bathroom.

Last, but certainly not least...Sue Ann Lynch. Ahhh, Sue. The bane of my existance, yet the source of about 60% of my comedic material over the past two years. Out of all of the stories that I could tell about Sue, I think this one sums her up the best:

Generally, the night shift is scheduled until 10:00 PM; generally, I closed up and got the hell out of there by 9:20-ish. This greatly upset Sue, who felt that she was being ripped off from the hours we "promised her." I could see her point; I just could have given two shits. Talk to Sue for ten minutes, and I promise that you would be that callous too.

So whenever Sue was on the day shift, she would frequently hide in the bathroom for twenty minutes AFTER her scheduled clock-out time so that she could make up the money she felt she lost on the night shift. I knew fully well what she was doing; I just like picking my moments. Such a moment arrived on a snowy night in December. Ned and I got the word from the rest of the stores in the shopping center that they were all closing about four hours early. We broke the horrible news to our employees, all of whom were broken up and destroyed*. The last person I told was Sue, which resulted in the following conversation:

Me: Ok Sue, clock out.
Sue: Right after I go to the bathroom.
Me: Nope, clock out...then you can go to the bathroom.
Sue: Right after I go to the bathroom. (I didn't say the conversation made sense)
Me: Sue, you clock out now or I clock you out anyway. Your choice.
(Sue stares blankly and gives me the puppy lip, which has only worked on me once in my life. This wasn't that once.)
Me: We do not pay you to go to the bathroom. Now go.

Sue reluctantly clocked out, giving me the evil eye the whole way. I continued to close down the store for about five minutes or so before Ned told me the funniest thing I had ever heard in my life. She complained to him and said...and I quote..."Dan will not let me get paid while I pee."

First off, I didn't think 55-year-old women could say the word "pee" with a straight face in the midst of angrily complaining to a higher-up. Second...I don't really have a second. I just wouldn't pay the old whackjob to pee. It's really that simple.

But the second go-around at OL was not nearly as fun. No titty twisters or backed-up old women. BUT, it did help me buy my new car, so it certainly served it's purpose. So for the last time, I say...

"Have an organized day."

*shudders* I feel so dirty.

Until next time...
Dan

* "all" meaning Sue

Monday + Boredom at Work = New Blog Time...

2005-04-25T13:23:00.000-04:00

Alas, My Hopes For Pope Bob I Are Dashed...

Well, we got a new Pope. The liberal in me says, "Ugh", the recovering Catholic in me says, "Eh", yet the sucker for landmark events in me says, "Sweet." It truly was something to witness the first new Papal election in my lifetime. Unfortunately, it had to be witnessed via television news which, as anyone who saw my Senior Research presentation will attest to, is my personal antichrist of Mass Media. Only on American news can you get nuggets of journalistic integrity like, "I understand we have to be patient, but being an American journalist, I want to know now." Yes, that was said (though not verbatim) on NBC's "coverage" of the big event. Then you have Chris Matthews "speculating" on whether or not the smoke was white or black.

And you wonder why I did nothing with my Communications degree...

But the election process itself was pretty interesting; part of me thinks we should adopt something similar for our Presidential elections here in the states. If a Republican is elected President, it is signified by red smoke emitting out of a chimney; if it's a Democrat, then blue smoke arises. If it's a third party candidate, I'm just going to go out and buy locust repellant, because I'm pretty sure that's a surefire sign of the apocalypse.

The Unexplainable Explained...

I can only think of one reason Scott Savol remains a contestant on American Idol...Fox grossly underestimated the wifebeater demographic of its viewing audience. They could make a killing off white tanktops with Paula Abdul's drugged-up kisser on it...

Not Lenny...NOT LENNY

It was reported last night that Lenny Dykstra took steroids during his 1993 World Series season. This story was confirmed by anyone who had functioning eyes and half a brain.

Then came the bombshell that Dykstra actually encouraged his former business partner to bet thousands of dollars on the Phillies for certain games that season. I wonder what the over/under was on Game 6 of the World Series that year...

On a related note...screw you, Joe Carter. Screw you.

Until next time...
Dan

Great Perdue's Ghost...Dan Has Updated!

2005-04-06T17:03:00.000-04:00

So it's been awhile.

Sorry.

How do I best summarize the past five or six months since I've updated? We'll try it this way...

I went to Vegas over Christmas. I've been home ever since.

This summary has been brought to you by the game of Craps. When you want to put the fate of your earnings in other people's hands, play Craps! By Mattel.

Hello Dali (with the accent over the "i" that I never know how to do)

Never one to celebrate Christian holidays in a conventional fashion, I went to the Salvador Dali exhibit on Easter Sunday. Wow...was this guy obsessed with, well, everything. Don't get me wrong...his work was absolutely brilliant. But if you're not one to let your kids stay up on Saturday night and watch Cinemax, then I probably wouldn't recommend taking any youngins to this one. If you do, be prepared for a lot of, "Mommy, what is that man doing behind that woman?" Don't say I didn't warn you.

But suffice to say, the man was a genius. He was a fucked-up genius, but a genius nonetheless. The exhibit is going on until mid-May, so if you have a chance to see it, I highly recommend going.

Buying the (Chicken) Farm

All I'll say about Frank Perdue's death is this...I know I'm not the only one who thought he died like five years ago.

This Week's American Idol Prediction

Wifebeater gets the boot.

Until next time...
Dan

The Current and Reigning King of Procrastination

2004-11-22T12:55:00.000-05:00

I know, I know. It's been awhile since I updated. But hey, Dan's been busy (so busy that Dan has lost sense of reality and is inexplicably speaking in the third person).

On Friday, I presented in front of about 15 or so University administrators in Philadelphia for a regional conference. Overall, for displaying no discernable preparation skills whatsoever, I thought I (along with my co-presenter and session chair) did a pretty decent job. It is always scary when you deal with creatures of academia, because you utter one split infinitive and you're doomed to Scholarly Hell. But fortunately, no infinitives were split and no sentence ended in a preposition, so I live another day to tell about it.

On Saturday, I worked one of the vaunted Wind Gap wrestling shows, and yes, my Away Message premonition came true; once again, I got attacked by a kid. Apparently, they don't respond too favorably when you try to take off their shoe. And when I say "don't respond too favorably," I mean, "they will start pounding the shit out of you." One wouldn't think a 6-year-old's punches would hurt very much, but then again...one wouldn't also think that taking off a kid's shoe is the brightest idea in the world.

Finally, to end my weekend, I had my final improv class, at least for the next month or so. I say this with all sincerity...this group rocks. Our teacher said it, and I think it's so true...we have the makings of a true ensamble if we all stick with the more advanced classes over the next year or so. I will say that I really underestimated how difficult improvisation can be. But by the same token, everyone in this group brings unique strengths and characteristics to the table that, once melded together, gives that ensamble feel to the games and performances.

I'll TRY to write up a "What I Learned" sometime this week...which validates my blog (and personal) title as DUM DUM DUM...

THE CURRENT AND REIGNING KING OF PROCRASTINATION (tm)

Until next time...
Dan

Blogged Topics of a Random Nature (BTRN)

2004-11-13T13:39:00.000-05:00

I have a lot of thoughts in this ol' noggin of mine, so let's begin, shall we?

Trial of the Century of the Decade of the Year of the Month of the Week of the Day of the Hour of the Minute of the Second

Ok, so the Scott Peterson case never quite got elevated to such status, but the media circus was extremely reminiscent of the OJ trial we all know and love to hate. But the difference between OJ and Peterson was that Simpson was actually a well-known celebrity, whereas Peterson...well...wasn't. And this is where I take issue with the insane coverage this trial has been given...

Now let me preface this by saying that I am in no way belittling the murder of Laci Peterson and her son; the media has done a good enough job in that regard. But let's be very honest here...what makes this murder different from any of the thousands of other murders that occur on a daily basis? Was it brutal, sick, and twisted? Absolutely. But have there been more twisted murders out there? Um, yeah, there have.

I'm not trying to really play a game of compare-and-contrast here; murder is murder and should be punished to the nth degree. But that's my whole point...nothing truly sets this case apart from many of the other cases out there, yet the attention this case got was just beyond comprehension. Let's face facts: Scott and Laci Peterson were a well-to-do, attractive, and yes let's say it...white couple. If this were to happen in an urban setting, would this have garnered this level of media attention? No. If they were two poor rednecks with missing teeth and mullets the size of Arkansas, would there be talks of TV-movies? No, because COPS would have already gotten first crack on the story.

Now that Scott's been convicted, it is just a matter of the sentencing being handed down. After that, I hope I never have to hear anything about this case ever again.

EVER EVER EVER EVER AGAIN!

Because There Is No Better Way to Honor Our Fallen Soldiers Than By Selling Discounted Gucci Purses

Ok, I guess that's all I really have to say about Veteran's Day Sales, other than that I just find them incredibly distasteful and tacky.

MY Turn to Make an "Organized" Pun

I just wanted to share the irony of the fact that, last night, I dealt with a Professional Organizer who couldn't get a full refund because she lost her receipt.

Just think about that one...

Retail (Leads to) Therapy

I don't know if I've ever mentioned how much I truly hate Radio Shack. Everything there is an upsell.

"Sir, because you are spending more than $5, you are entitled to DirectTV service, with 500 channels, parental controls, 200 Argentinian Soccer games, and access to the 24-hour Judge Judy channel, all for the great monthly price of $29.99."
"Can I just have my batteries please?"

Well, last week, I made the mistake of saying, "I need a Digital Camera cord and I'm in the mall...might as well stop in Radio Shack."

*ala Chris Farley* Stupid stupid stupid!

Actually, that visit itself wasn't bad. But, because I have a knack for being the wrong shit, I bought the wrong shit. I needed a different kind of cord. So yesterday, I went back to return it and found myself behind two Hispanic men who really didn't seem to have a good grasp on English. And by saying, "didn't seem to have a good grasp," I'm being extremely generous. Now let me stop and say I am not mocking the guy for not knowing the English...I'm mocking the moron behind the counter who can't take a hint.

So the cashier first spends 2 or 3 minutes trying to sell the one guy on a "Buy Four Batteries For $10" deal. No comprende. After a lengthy game of Charades, the cashier finally gives up on that endeavor.

Then the cashier tries to get the customer's zip code. Shock of shocks, the customer doesn't know what he means by "zip code." So the cashier condescendingly says, "Ok...one...nine...oooooh..." and motions for the customer to fill in the blank, which he (barely) does. Meanwhile, I'm still standing there while the other available cashier is sipping on an Icee.

So I'm thinking to myself, "Ok, he got the guy's zip code...he's just going to make the transaction and get on with it."

Just by me saying that, you know where this story is going.

The cashier then tries to sell him a WARRANTY. Now if the guy doesn't understand the words "zip code", what in the blue hell made him think that he's going to know what the word "warranty" means? Not taking "No comprendo" for an answer, the cashier proceeds to EXPLAIN THE WARRANTY TO THE GUY WHO CAN'T UNDERSTAND ENGLISH.

And the other cashier is still sipping on her Icee...

Now I'm not one to visually show my frustration when I get impatient, especially because I know how crazy retail can get. But when you have a guy who doesn't even let a blatant language barrier impede him from an upsell...add a woman and her Icee...and you have a frustrated Dan. Now I'm not saying I threw a fit or started yelling, but the eye rollage was starting to become frequent, which I almost never do (well, to someone's face at least).

In conclusion, the customer (probably unknowingly) bought the warranty, a new cashier processed my return, and the other cashier was still sipping on her Icee.

And I'm sipping on my last drop of coffee, so I'll go get some more and end my diatribe here.

Until next time...
Dan

Kevin Costner He Ain't...

2004-11-11T13:36:00.000-05:00

So Liza Minelli's bodyguard is suing her for sexual harassment. That's funny enough. But he's also suing her for "assault and battery."

Let me break this down again. A bodyguard is suing his 5'4, 58-year-old client for assault and battery, who then allegedly forced him to have sex.

If this isn't the greatest story in the history of Hollywood, I don't know what is.

http://story.news.yahoo.com/news?tmpl=story&cid=529&ncid=529&e=2&u=/ap/20041111/ap_en_ot/people_minnelli

Until next time...
Dan

Arafat "Dies"

2004-11-11T12:54:00.000-05:00

ArafatSeesDoom
Originally uploaded by thenameisdan.

Well, it looks like Yasser Arafat has finally died.

I'm still waiting for the retraction.

But Yahoo picked a really bad choice of pictures to put with the news item. It looks like Arafat is reading his own headline and is saddened to learn that he's dead.

Nothing else new or exciting to talk about, so I'll sign off here.

Until next time...
Dan

Threatening Robots

2004-11-08T18:22:00.000-05:00

I really have to stop chatting with AOL robots. Again, to clarify before anyone thinks I'm clinically insane...this was a robot, not a human being. But what the robot said in response may just be the funniest thing I have ever read in cyberspace. Why?

Because the programmers actually prepared for someone like me...

ElNombreEsDan680 (3:11:44 PM): DIE
ZolaOnAOL (3:11:44 PM): Your crude attempt to terminate me will not succeed puny human.

Until next time...
Dan

What I Learned Last Week...

2004-11-08T13:19:00.000-05:00

It's time to resurrect my profile staple, where I share with the world (a/k/a, the people on my buddy list) what I learned within the last 7 days...without the lame 1076-character confines of AIM. Well, technically 9 days, since I'm doing this on Monday out of sheer weekend laziness. So without any further adieu, I present...

DUM DUM DUM....

What I Learned Last Week...(en espanol sea disponible)

59 million people can't be wrong...unless those 59 million people happened to vote for George W. Bush (I'm sorry...I couldn't resist)...
Singing the "Full House" theme on AIM with your cousin = instant comedy...
Playing Grand Theft Auto: San Andreas automatically cements your (my) place in hell...
Giving your (my) Grand Theft Auto character a blonde afro, joke glasses, and boxer shorts with hearts on them automatically cements your (my) place in a mental institution...
I have been through Houses of Mirrors less convoluted than the new Super WaWa parking lot...
Seeing Santa Claus in the mall during the first week of November is just wrong...
My boss still thinks she's the only person on earth who gets spam...
The best way to win a $50 gift card at a store meeting is to cheat your ass off...
Having a 2-9-1-1 record in NHL 2005 online is just beyond unacceptable...
Having a 60-hits-per-game average in NHL 2005 online makes one feel better about having said 2-9-1-1 record...
Always wipe off the exercise equipment when you're done with it lol...

That is all.

Until next time...
Dan

Arafat, Death to Radio, And Other Random Bloggy Goodness

2004-11-05T13:24:00.000-05:00

The Media? Jump The Gun?!? Surely You Jest...

Yesterday, conflicting reports surfaced on the health of Palestinian Prime Minister Yasser Arafat. First, he was in a coma. Then, he was "clinically dead," which channeled memories of Miracle Max in the Princess Bride.

Miracle Max: It just so happens that your friend here is only MOSTLY dead. There's a big difference between mostly dead and all dead. Mostly dead is slightly alive. With all dead, well, with all dead there's usually only one thing you can do.
Inigo Montoya: What's that?
Miracle Max: Go through his clothes and look for loose change.

*Ahem* Sorry.

But fortunately, a French spokesman held a riveting press conference, for which they set up a podium, stage, and a microphone for the following statement:

"Yasser Arafat is not dead. Thank you."

I would think a simple shout through a megaphone could have saved them a lot of setup work, but c'est la vie.

But in all seriousness, it looks like Arafat's final days are ahead. I sincerely hope that his seemingly-imminent death doesn't lead to further instability in the region, though it's sadly hard to imagine otherwise. We'll see, I guess...

Thank God For CD Players

Yesterday, I griped about the hellish Christmas rotation at The Land of the $10 Pill Box. Well, my musical disdain isn't just limited to Aaron Neville expressing how lonesome he is on Christmas Day.

Simply put, radio is evil.

Seriously, how many times does one have to subject to Pieces of Me by Ashlee Simpson before he/she is declared clinically insane? (Though I will say this...hearing the opening guitar strums of that song makes me laugh every time as I think of her dancing like a doped-up New Kid on the Block on SNL.)

In a desperate attempt to get away from my musical doldrums, I actually listened to *GASP* AM Radio the other day. Unfortunately, I happened to turn it on to Rush Limbaugh.

Once again, radio is evil.

Final Thoughts

N/a

Until next time...
Dan

Election Musings, Christmas Music, etc. etc. And So Forth

2004-11-04T13:41:00.000-05:00

Intro

Well, I've finally decided to jump into the world of blogging. I figure that everyone else has an ultra-biased opinion that they can post on the 'net, so hey...I'll join the party.

Let me just say first that this is not going to be a journal of my personal life. I'm not saying I won't talk about things that happen in my life, but I generally like to keep private matters private. I'm not at all knocking those who do have online journals...just different strokes for different folks. Mainly, I'll just be discussing my (really) random observations about this crazy world around us.

Most importantly, it kills time at work.

And just remember folks, it's just my opinion, so please...be gentle. ;)

Ok, with introductory yammer out of the way, let's get to the good stuff, shall we?

Vote or Die(t) (5 Bucks to Anyone Who Gets This Extremely Vague Pop Culture Reference)

Well, we're two days removed from Election Day and one day removed from Bush's official reelection as President of the United States. Now anyone who knows me knows that...well...I'm not particularly happy with the outcome. But democracy spoke, and there isn't a whole lot that those of us in the liberal persuasion can do about it.

What shocked me is that only 1 out of every 10 eligible voters, aged 18-to-24, actually voted. The extremely surprising apathy of my generation is what, in my opinion, hammered the nail into the coffin for Kerry. I think all of Kerry's supporters (myself included) really counted on the youth vote to push him to victory, but alas, it didn't happen that way. But if you go by P. Diddy's ingenious *cough* voting drive, it looks like 90% of Generation Whatever-Letter-At-The-End-Of-The-Alphabet-We-Are is going to kick the bucket.

Hey, you can't say Puffy didn't warn you.

Though I'm trying to be as gracious as I can about Kerry's loss, there is one stat Republicans are throwing out that is just irking the hell out of me.

"This is the first time since 1988 that the winning candidate has won more than 50% of the popular vote."

I don't take issue with this to take away from Bush's accomplishment. He won, plain and simple. But man, people are all over this "majority of the popular vote" stat like white on rice as if it's some unbelievable feat. When you don't have a viable third-party candidate, someone is going to win the majority vote. That's just simple mathematics. In 1992 and 1996, Ross Perot took a sizeable chunk of the popular vote. In 2000, Nader took a little less than 3%, which doesn't sound like much...but that election was insanely close. To me, it's just like those inane sports stats that drive me up a wall.

"No team with the letter "q" in their name has ever come back from a 17-3 deficit on an odd-numbered day in December with the temperature between 37 and 43 degrees fahreinheit."

With Bush remaining in office, my sincere hope is that we works on mending the deep rift we have in this country right now. Since it seems that he MAY be bringing in a more moderate cabinet this time around, I will say that gives me some hope.

Ok, I'm off my election soapbox now...

At This Rate, We're Going To Be Putting Up Easter Decorations Before New Year's...

As I was working in the Land of the $300 Trash Can last night, my ears beheld a song (a song) that sounded strangely like a Christmas Carol. "Eh, one Christmas song, I'll deal with it," I thought. But oh no...it wasn't just one.

That's right, on November freaking Third, the dreaded "Christmas Rotation" officially began.

I just got done saying yesterday, "Well, at least we don't have to deal with 527's for another year." So of course, we now have to segue right into the Christmas music. Now please don't get me wrong...I love the holidays just as much as anyone else. But when you hear four different versions of Little Drummer Boy in a 4 1/2 hour span and we're still over two weeks away to Thanksgiving...it's a tad grating.

Reverse Darwinism (a/k/a, Someone Said Something Really Stupid)

It's pretty common to hear really stupid things when you deal in retail. Last night, I heard one of those gems that just make you question the whole theory of evolution.

Customer 1: Ooh, what's this?
Customer 2: It's a shoe bag.
Customer 1: Wow! What do you put inside of it?

On that note, I bid adieu.

Until next time...
Dan

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Atlantic City: A Portrait of PWN3GE

Because Nothing Says I Love You Like...

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Classic Moments in Stoopidity: "What's Your First Name?"

What Dan Learned (Week Ending 1/13/07)

I Went to AC and All I Got Was This Lousy Fly Swatter

What Dan Learned in Florida (So Far)

Seinfeld, Superman, and Wilfred Brimley: Our Day in AC

Classic Moments in Stoopidity, Volume 3: Gamestop

Why I Hate Taxi Drivers, Part 781

This Just In: Dan's Insanity to Reach a Wider Audience

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Classic Moments in Stoopidity: Tom Jones

We're Still Here + What Dan Learned in Atlantic City...in Pictures!

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We Interrupt Dan's Montreal Recap For This News of Doom and Gloom

Update from the Great White North

Montreal So Far: The (Somewhat) Quick and Dirty

I'm (Legally) Crossing the Border

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What Dan Learned Last Week

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Getting Medieval on Saturday Knight

Is Dan the Catalyst For the Apocalypse?

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Yes, It's One Them Damnfangled "New Post" Things

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Dan and the Amazing Multisubject Dreamblog

Early Frontrunner for Moronic Quote of the Year

Dear Jack Clown...

New Yawk, New Yawk...

Money in the (Red) Bank

ByeSpace

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"What Dan Learned" Is Moving!

Phucking Around With Photoshop + My Blog's Namesake Comes to Fruition...Just Like It Does Every Other Week

What Dan Learned in Pittsburgh

The Best Part of Waking Up Is A Six-Legged Creature in My Cup

Lo Siento...

Stedman's Gonna Open a Can of Whoopass on Some Frenchmen...

Not a Good Week in Pooh-Land

Double the Learning, Double the Fun

¡Que Docto Dan Esta Semana!

My Name Is Dan, And Blogging Is My Anti-drug

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Going All-In on the Poker Game of Life

What Dan Learned Over the Past 25 Years

A Super Double Mocha Espresso Blog of Ultra-Caffeinated Fun (ie, My Week in Seattle)

Seattle Recap Coming Soon

Bloggus Maximus

Early Frontrunners for Dumbasses of the Year

Working for the Man, Part III

Episode III, Dan Saw; Dan Learn, What Did?

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How Could They??

Working for the Man, Part I

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Know When To Hold 'Em

The Pop Culture King Dethroned + Another Philly Phailure

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Oh, By the Way...

A Calorie-Rich Blog Entry

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Assorted Bloggage

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My Weekend, Plus The Return of *dum dum dum* WHAT DAN LEARNED

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Sinking to New Lowes

Old Skool

Classic Moments in Organized History

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The Current and Reigning King of Procrastination

My Weekend, Plus The Return of dum dum dum WHAT DAN LEARNED