Dorm Room Cookbook

While enrolled in a Tommy Boy-esque amount of college, I refined my culinary skills to fit within my budget to an impressive degree. I believe my inspiration laid somewhere in between a nametag income and being too lazy to walk to Burger King. I've always considered writing a Dorm Room Cookbook that would feature such dishes as Cajun Chili Mac Soufflé and my campus-renowned Ghettoccine Alfredo. A friend posted this pic on facebook that got me nostalgic...

Port-A-Potty Scud Missile

A friend reminded me of a funny story today. It's probably worth telling.

I grew up next to a really big hill. It was paved and had houses on it, but it was a crazy-steep grade with a sharp 90° right turn at the bottom. We used to try to slalom down it on our skateboards. It always ended in disaster and occasionally a trip to the friendly neighborhood emergency room.

They had only built houses on it about halfway up when we moved in, but by the time I was about 13 or 14, they had built all the way to the top. They had just finished up construction for the day around dusk when me and my knuckleheaded friends climbed up it to do whatever incredibly stupid and destructive thing we could think of. Construction sites were a hot bed of opportunities to hurt each other. When we got to the top we discovered the port-a-potty that the construction crew had been using. It was right in the middle of the street at the highest point it could be. It was pretty clear right away what we needed to do. We needed to push it over and jump around like dumbasses while the contents streamed down the hill. I mean, obviously, right?

We got it tipped over on it's side but there was a surprise added bonus; it began to slide down the hill. Slowly at first, which stopped the cheering and a slight feeling of concern came over us. Then it really started sliding to the point that we weren't going to be able to stop it even if we wanted to. We all stood with our mouths open when it started to rotate sideways and rolled over. And over. And over. At this point the door flies open and this thing is bouncing and flipping through the air. Shit was flying everywhere as it rocketed toward the house at the bottom of the hill. The result was inevitable and we should have been running by then, but we just stood there like stoned chimps and waited for impact. When the portable toilet made contact with the front door of this nicely manicured suburban home, it exploded in a spectacular fireworks display of blue liquid and shit. It was more than any 13 year old boy could ever hope to see. I don't remember who started running down the backside of this mountain first but we all snapped out of it that moment and quickly followed. 

By the time we all got to the bottom, the superbowl victory celebration had begun. God, we were idiots.

My 9/11 Morning

I told my sister this little story about my morning of 9/11 2001 yesterday that I figured might be worth writing down. This is where I write stuff down.

I never turn the TV on before work, but for some reason, I did that morning. It was just after the 2nd tower fell. As i'm sure it was with everyone in the country, it took a little while for the gravity of it all to set in. I remember robotically getting ready for work and walking out my apartment door. A girl that lived down the hall walked out her door and we walked towards each other to the stairs. I had walked past this girl 40,000 times without a smile or even a glance from either one of us. We had tacitly agreed that we didn't need pleasantries. There would be no "Good mornings" or "Happy Holidays". We didn't dislike each other as far as I know. We just had no interest in interacting. You go your way and i'll go mine. 

This morning was different. When we got to the stairs, we both slowed down and stopped. This girl with whom i've never spoken a word to meekly said, "Are... are you ok?". I said "Yeah, are you?". She said, "Yeah." and we walked silently down the stairs to the parking lot. When we got to the bottom she stopped again, turned and said, "Be safe."

I know that is a pretty lame 9/11 story, but it's mine and i'll never forget it. Our relationship got upgraded to smile status from that day on.

You Looking to Score?

Scene: Standing on the corner, yawning with my hands in my pockets. Sketchy looking dude slides up next to me.

Dude: Yo, man. You looking to score?

Me: Huh?

Dude:  You looking to score?

Me: What score?

Dude:  Are you looking to score, man?

Me: Score, like- drugs?

Dude: What, are you a cop?

Me: Yes. I'm a cop that stands on the corner waiting for drug dealers to approach me. I'm the laziest narcotics agent on the force.

Dude: Do you want anything or not?

Me: I hadn't considered it, what do ya got?

Dude: Gack, weed, anything, what do you need?

Me: I don't really need anything, I was just wondering what was on the menu. By the way- do I look  like a junkie? Because if i'm not, this is kind of insulting.

Dude: You're wasting my time.

Me: Did I flag down your shopping cart? Did I call your 1-800 number? It could be argued that you are wasting my time.

Dude: Fucking pig, I knew it.

Me: (speaking into wrist) Tango Yankee Whiskey Niner, we've been made! Abort sting operation! I repeat, abort operation "Stand on the Corner and Don't Look Like a Cop!"

Dude: Dick.

Earnest Goes to the Combat Academy

"Fine. Whatever. I'll go to whatever you sign me up for.". That is how I ended the gym class argument. She wanted to take boxing classes. I wanted to do something outside. Get ready for the shocking conclusion- we took a boxing class. She said it would just be an introduction class; pointing out the equipment, showing the locker rooms, etc. No big deal.


When we got there, we learned that it was previously an open-air garage that was converted into a combat training facility. Literally. Combat training. Like- dudes kicking the shit out of each other and screaming like goddamn chimpanzees. I wasn't worried because I was just there for the tour. Right? I started to suspect something was amiss when the heavily tattooed guy behind the counter started taping up my hands and smiling at me. This was no tour. We were in with the general population. 


The first thing I learned is that I can no longer skillfully jump rope. Never thought that would come up as an adult. But it did. During the sparring session, the satisfaction of throwing punches at my wife for taking me to this hellhole was quickly replaced by an overwhelming desire to stop moving. I made it through the jumping jacks and a few other drills, but by the time the instructor yelled out "BURPIES!!" I knew I had the following options:


1. Throw up in front of everyone
2. Pass out in front of everyone
3. Both in no particular order 


I made it out the back without doing either and collapsed onto the pavement. I listened to the last 10 minutes of the workout laying on my back in the parking lot, hoping to get run over or struck by lightning. In the end, all was not a complete fail. She signed up for the class. I bought a jump rope.

This f@#king squirrel

We have two dogs. They aren't particularly well behaved, which is confusing considering my wife is an animal trainer. Never the less, they seize every opportunity to completely spaz out over seeing another living creature. For some reason, those rules do not apply at dog beach- that seems to be their Fortress of Solitude. But anyone that has the moxie to walk by our house is unfortunately subject to a full-scale freak out. I don't really know if they're trying to protect us or just being douchebags, but it's very loud and unpleasant for everyone. We can usually calm them down and the people move on, but there is another... An asshole squirrel.

This f@#king squirrel runs up and down the palm tree on our patio and taunts them. He perches safely out of reach and defiantly chatters at them until they are whipped up into an unrecoverable frenzy, then hops over the fence and moves along to the next yard. I know that he's a serial antagonist because I can hear my neighbors dogs barking shorty there after. This squirrel... he knows what he's doing and intentionally seeks to disrupt the serenity of our otherwise peaceful neighborhood.

I want to buy a gun and shoot his vermin-ass off my tree the next time he does this. Wife says i'm overreacting. I don't think the world would miss this disruptive little shit.

Should I whack the squirrel?

Kiara the Big Fat Liar

On June 19th, Phase 4 Films released a low budget animated movie called 'Kiara the BRAVE' right as Disney / Pixar's 'Brave' hit the theaters. I'm sure it was just a coincidence that both movies featured a red-headed warrior princess fighting to free her mystical kingdom and rescue her family came out the same month, featuring the title "BRAVE" on the cover. I'm sure no one's wife will rent it from Redbox thinking the shitty one is the Pixar one and then keep it for a week.


This is not over, Redbox and Phase 4 Films. I will have my pound of flesh. Get em, the Innernet...