Archive for the ‘travel’ Category

lessons from vegas

October 27, 2008

photos temporarily crappy. i will fix them later, until them check out my flickr.

  • If you get a girl hooked on gambling enough, she will forget about wanting to go to clubs, and instead find herself plopping down $25 hard way bets routinely.
  • Northwestern is not a “mortal lock” to cover an 8-point spread over Indiana, and the $50 bet I put on them to do so was not, as it turned out, “easy money.”
  • You can hit two 4-of-a-kinds and still not make money playing holdem.

  • As my companion and I leave a hold em game, we are stopped by those still at the table to settle a side bet which is how do we know each other? Loser postulates that we “just met.” Girl believes this means that he thinks she is a hooker; I believe this means he thinks I managed to get a girl to leave with me by cracking jokes at a poker table.
  • Knockoff casino names for my Las Vegas-themed Las Vegas casino: Smellagio, Skeezer’s Palace, Mandalay Gay, Suxor, Lamingo, Slopicana, MGM Crappy.


the maturity post (or, tote a shitty rump)

March 24, 2008

So this is a little late, as it relates to events from my trip to Park City last December, but it kept slipping my mind until I totally forgot about it. Then some of the parties that were present on the night in question brought it up Saturday night, so here we go.

There’s this bar in Park City. It’s called O’Shucks and it’s the smelliest bar ever.

Here is a list of the top 5 smelliest non-bathroom places I’ve ever been to, for reference:

1. Gary, IN (all)
2. O’Schucks, Park City, UT
3. “The Pallarino,” Chi Phi Fraternity house, Evanston IL.
4. Delmar Lounge, St. Louis, MO
5. Streeter’s Tavern, Chicago, IL, pre- smoking ban.

To be honest I’m not sure that O’Schucks even fits the “non-bathroom” criterion. But that is neither here nor there.

Anyway, I enjoyed this bar immensely due to the free peanuts, enthusiastically pro-Motorhead bartenders, and beer served by the goblet. The real topper though was the two Stella Artois signs with letters you could rearrange.

The thing about loud bars is I often like being in them, but I don’t like talking to people in them, because my hearing is not particularly good and I usually tend to miss most of what somebody is saying even if my ear is right next to their mouth. Also I dislike most people I meet. The result is that I often engage in activities at bars that don’t require me to carry on a conversation. Most of the time this means watching whatever is on TV, be it football, clips of snowmobiling crashes, movies I can’t hear, or infomercials. Other times it means beer pong, or jukeboxes, or pinball machines.

This time, all I had was the Stella signs. I went to work.


It started with a simple phrase like “WE EAT MALE GOO.” I think this picture was taken by one of my compatriots before I finished the phrase.


Later there were declarations of flatulent intent. Ignore the L, T, M, and O from a recently dismembered phrase.


There were some people from Minnesota, or Ohio, or Georgia, can’t remember which, next to me, and they got pretty into it. A middle-aged woman shrewdly spotted the ability to spell out SMEGMA which lead to some good ones we failed to photograph. However, the guy standing next to me in the below picture was a total idiot. He would tell me things to write, and then laugh because he thought he had come up with something incredibly clever. I can’t remember any of the specifics, they were so dumb. But I mean, just think, how dumb does it have to be if the guy who just wrote ME SO GASEE doesn’t even think it qualifies as the lowest level of humor?


I started to hit my stride.


I just noticed that my hair looks bad even in pitch dark. I’d like to emphasize that the above is strictly an artistic statement and does not necessarily reflect the predilections of the author. I won’t disavow the next one though:


There were a few others we missed and I can no longer remember. These were all at one sign, but there was another one at the other end of the bar. I think it said something like WE NEED POW POW NOW, pow pow referring to fresh snow. I had been looking at that sign all night and could not think of anything to do with it.

But after ?? beers I grabbed the S from the sign by me and walked to the other sign. The whole night had been building to this moment. I had something to say. It was going to be powerful. It was going to be eloquent and transcendentally revelatory. It was, quite simply, going to blow some Park City minds.


There was no topping this. We stumbled home, having left the other bar patrons to contemplate this most fundamental truth. We woke up smelling like ass.

Oh by the way this post wasn’t really safe for work, but you know, live a little.

Take 2

March 13, 2006

I’ve decided that my spring break was insufficient, due to the specter of the MPRE hanging over my head the whole time, so I have decided to take a second spring break this week. I will be reuniting with the illustrious Bubbles, who defies categorization or explanation, and whom I can only describe to my readers with the following photograph. Bubbles is on the right.

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On his left is Mark “The Phantom” Wurtzler. I think this photograph was truly a fantastic character study.

We are going to the Outer Banks. I don’t really know what that means, but I’m kind of apprehensive because the Outer Banks are featured prominently on many local SVUs by way of those oval stickers appropriated from European nations. You know. You see a JH, and you know that the driver of the SUV in front of you has been to Jackson Hole and done something gnarly, possibly while drinking Mountain Dew. Around here you get a lot of OBX. O stands for Outer. B stands for Bank. X stands for both the s at the end of Banks and for the notion that the Outer Banks are hip and eXtreme to the maX.

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It occurs to me that there’s another demographic I could target with this particular style of look-at-me-ism. Behold, my next business venture:

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Patent pending, fuckers.