The City?

I always get excited to see these Vimeos pop up, but was a little depressed at the lack of neighborhoods shown in the one below. Most of the clip is focused on The Embarcadero, Pier 39, the FiDi, and Fisherman's Wharf - places most people living in SF never go outside of work obligations and the occasional out-of town guest.

At the 3 minute mark there are a couple of shots from the Western Addition (Painted Ladies, duh), Dolores Park, and Duboce Park that brought a slight smile to my face. Aside from those 30 seconds though, there were considerable absences of Golden Gate Park, The Mission, The Haight, The Castro, Inner/Outer Sunset/Richmond (minus the obligatory Cliff House shot), etc...

Anyway, I'm still a sucker for stop motion, so check it out below.

The City from WTK Photography on Vimeo.

Deal with the Devil.

Well this is just ridiculous.



I mean, with all the discussion surrounding the MLB trade deadline, and the Giants' "anemic" offense, you'd be hard pressed to find a Giants fan (long-term or otherwise) who wasn’t calling for an upgraded bat. But what we saw was a deviation from the norm for Sabean, and an even further deviation from the formula that helped the Giants become World Champions. Rather than picking (young/underrated/talented) players off the scrap heap, Sabean went out of his way to trade for THREE aging players to fill spots in the lineup that were in need of some ‘oomph’ (all while other, potentially dynamic players were on the block – *cough* Hunter Pence *cough* Michael Bourn). While I’m not particularly worried about what we gave up (trading chip wise), I’m definitely concerned with the fact that this massive shake-up may have sacrificed the synergy (BUZZWORD!) that brought this team together last year, through the off-season and well into the early half of this season.

Not to say these guys aren’t professionals. Obviously, their careers averages and track records speak for themselves. However, when we look at the drastic change in quality of ball being played since the trade-deadline, it’s overtly obvious that we essentially dug our own grave. If the old adage, “when it rains, it pours” ever showed its profound meaning, this would be Case 101. You deal with the Devil and he eventually comes back to collect. If the injuries piling up are any form of currency, it appears Sabean went deep into debt since what we’re seeing now is nothing short of unbelievable.

In the last two weeks: Carlos Beltran (trade deadline acquisition) tweaked his wrist (on a swing!) – to the DL; Jeff Keppinger (trade deadline acquisition) messed his wrist up on a collision with first basemen Freddy Freeman – MRI not looking good; Sergio Romo (one of (if not) THE most dominant bullpen guys in the game) has an elbow that’s been acting up – to the DL; Nate Schierholtz messed up his hip on a slide and missed a couple of games, only to come back and smash a ball off his foot that may or may not have broken it - ‘hooray’; to top it off, Jonathan Sanchez - who had juuuust started to show a glimmer of his late-run 2010 self in last night’s game - goes and sprains his ankle on a botched play on an easy bunt (eerily familiar to Zito, I might add…).

This is downright frustrating. The Giants don't have a lineup that can lose guys and still have steam in the tank like, say, the Phillies (and to be perfectly honest - a pitching staff like their's either) But that’s baseball, right? That’s what makes this game so great, and why the season is 162 games - not 16, like some "other" sports.

------------------------------------------------

The only thing I’ve been picturing (praying for, really) is Aubrey Huff standing up like Jake Taylor in Major League and pronouncing that, “There’s only one thing left to do. Win the WHOLE. FUCKIN’. THING.”

But that’s a little ridiculous in itself, right? I mean for one, Jake Taylor was the only one in the movie who had to deal with any injuries, while the Giants are down several key components from last year’s squad (read: all those above not to mention those out for the season like Buster Posey and Freddy Sanchez). Also, the Giants don’t really have a hitter like Pedro Cerrano, and nobody even close to having the speed of Willie Mays Hayes – both of which are dynamic game changers.

What the Giants do have is a manager like Lou Brown, in both appearance and demeanor, see:


Plus a closer who’s more of a celebrity than a pitcher (though this doesn’t come about until Major League II ). I just wish we had a Dorn who would walk over to Wilson and tell him straight to his face to stop playing around and STRIKE MOTHER FUCKERS OUT!



But I digress. From the looks of things, this might not be the Giants' year. But it's exactly those types of sentences that pushed last year's team to prove everyone wrong. With the September callups the Giants just might get their Roger Dorns (Gillespie), Willie Mays Hayes' (Darren Ford), and Jake Taylors (2010 Aubrey Huff?). Hell, the may even get a Pedro Cerrano (Pill). Only time and a few dozen heart attacks will tell.

One Man. Two Hands. One Dream.

Yup. I imagine this is like a wet-dream for a real Mexican right here. Something waited to be molded to perfection:

But, since I'm only half-Mexican, this is what my backyard has looked like since I moved into my place - back in late February 2011. Pretty gross, but a ton of potential. And as most of those who remember my last place, I've had an outdoor firepit I've been dying to use, but since purchased has been either sitting in the wind and rain at the top of Ashbury Heights, or in my new dining room, covered up... just waiting for late the SF "Summer" to show up so it can warm an outdoor gathering of friends and beer (can you say, House "Warming" Party...get it...)

Anyway. The point is, it's been a ridiculously long time since I've moved in and the fact still stands I haven't done shit with this decently sized backyard. I'm sure my Dad is ever-so-disappointed in his son, so today I did something about it. After getting my afternoon workout in (a doozy really: 5 pullups, 10 pushups, 15 body weight squats; every minute for a half hour - sounds easy, but it really only gives you about 20-30 seconds of rest each minute depedning on your fitness level...but I digress, try it sometime. You'll see.) I took the momentum from said workout, and decided it had been long enough. I put some music on, grabbed the green waste container, and got down in a squat and started pulling weeds like I did every weeekend for the majority of my childhood.

Within about 15 minutes, my muscles were starting to ache as the lactic acid from my workout began to take over my body. This was also the time at which I realized the green waste bin was going to be full before 1/10 of the yard was even weeded. Not to be discouraged, and taking most of the momentum with which I began this endeavor, I decided to knock out the whole yard. Because, why not?

Two hours and two giants garbage cans later: BAM! Wiped out. Here's a shot from the stairs leading down to the yard:
And here's a shot of what my feet looked like after I took my shoes off.
No, I wasn't weeding the back yard barefooted. There was just so much loose dirt in the backyard, it stained my legs (just a bit, since my feet are whiter than Tony Montana's nostrils) and coated the inside of my socks somethin' tough.

Speaking of nostrils, mine were jam packed with at least a pound of dirt - making for an interesting shower, to say the least. No pictures of that, no worries. But it has been sometime since I've really been able to put in some good work in the yard, and actually see some immediate results. Makes me think what else I may have been putting off that I'd be able to get done if I just got down to it and stopped making excuses.

Next step? Actually laying out a decent place to kick it, and getting that damn firepit some use. I'll let you know when the House "Warming" Party is scheduled.

One More Chance. Biggie Gimme One More Chance.

How awesome was this song to someone growing up in Gen Y? I mean, just look at the video. Those cameos? I love all the cameos.....Tyson Beckford, Luke from 2 live Crew, Zhane, Mary J. Blige, Aailyah, Da Brat, Craig Mack, Changing Faces, Jermaine Dupri, Heavy D and Queen Latifah pretty sweet. But that isn't what I'm writing about. The reason this song is even in my head is because I undertook mission "Shuffle Songs" on the iPod today. Thus, I'm writing about the strangely perfect mix of music that turned up in succession during my commutes to, and from, work today.

When I drove in to the parking lot at the office this morning, I was pleasantly surprised with a visit from my boy LL:



Which, at 6:25am is quite the entrance song to the parking lot of your job at "Investments R' Us" - (name withheld to protect the innocent). Luckily, the windows were rolled up - since it was still pretty cold, and the sun was just breaking the horizon.

Fast forward to leaving the office and it's a lovely 70 degrees (a far cry from City weather, mind you) and I've got the windows down eager to make the 30 mile commute home and get the weekend started (read: update this shitty blog for the first time in over a month). What song pops up?



For real. I mean, back at HHS I used to rock this. Needless to say, it's been a while since I've heard it so I may or may not have been a bit eager to turn up the volume and get my Master P on'.

So there I am, sitting at a light ready to get on the freeway. I crank the volume loud enough that were someone in the car trying to tell me a story, it would have looked like a mime was trying to do a performance in the seat next to me. In fact, as I was picturing this unlikely scenario taking place, I looked over to the passenger's seat to see a scrapered out purple Lexus with the window rolled down and the driver looking at me over the top of his lowered aviator sunglasses and under his straight brimmed Cincinnati Reds hat with the tags still on it. It was epic. I really don't know how to describe it. This guy was in shock. And understandably. From his view he sees: a 'white-boy'. with glasses. in a suit. driving a VW Golf. with bike racks on top. And BLASTING Master P.

I notice him. Tilt my chin back in the 'what's-up' motion. And get back to enjoying my music. It was amazing. I only wish I was still driving the Karmann Ghia I used to roll around in during my high school days when I would blast the same song. I'm pretty sure that dude's head would have exploded.

Hater.

Is this what it's come to?

Seriously? It's been over a month since I've posted anything on here, and the best I could do then was post a KOFY TV20 dance party? Holy shit. This is bad. I mean, the entry before that I still consider worthwhile, but it was nearly two months since the last 'real' post about my GoRuck training, and I didn't even have the energy or time to really post a decent rundown of how that went...Well, no. That is totally a lie. I could have easily used one of the 5-6 days a week I spend in front of the TV watching the Giants play a diluted form of Little League Baseball to write up some decent entries, but the truth is I've been pretty okay being away from the blog in the SF "Summer". In all honesty though, I'm tired of being streakier than Cody Ross and Nate Schierholtz (squared), so I'm gonna bust out some stuff I've been meaning to write up for awhile. Hopefully I can keep it up. If not, it's not like any one misses the crap I put on here anyway.

Sometimes, however - just sometimes...something comes along that makes you realize they that just need to be shared. And as has been tradition with this blog, it was the Gross-Eater-Guy at the office who was able to shake to my core and convince me to get back on here.

----------------------

Yesterday, after my customary lunch-time nap I walked back into the office to quite a sight. This mutherfucker had the 7-11 website pulled up and he was checking out the new additions! I kid you not. This was what I saw plastered across his monitor when I walked in:

Disgusting, yes?

Now, anyone who has followed long enough knows that the G.E.G. loves him some fast food, Double Gulps, and pretty much anything unhealthy, but I swear to Jebus, I had no idea it was this intense. Look at those things! Two look like straight shit, one looks like barf, and the other appears to be suffering from some sort of venereal disease. What about this is appetizing? Honestly. I'm beginning to wonder if he's doing this on purpose because he knows how grossed out I am. Wouldn't that be something...

EPIC.

Why don't they still do this? After watching this video it's no wonder my parents got it on in '82!

And 28 years later, everyone is wearing the same shit.

Worth noting:

The hair at 0:48. The cheery ass, chubby Asian at 1:13 (he comes back hard 2:03). The seizures at 1:22.

Anything particularly ridiculous I left out?

San Francisco Totally Live

San Francisco Totally Live from MACAFRAMA on Vimeo.

Man, this really makes me happy.

I didn't know you liked to get wet?

No, not like Wayne Brady and Dave Chappelle. Though, I wouldn't judge you if you were down with that.

Today I took off on a "walk/run" out to the good ol' Golden Gate, truckin' along with 4 bricks, and about 70oz of water sloshing around in the backpack. Most of today was focused on time/not speed, since last Saturday I did a 14 mile RUN with a full backpack of bricks that was weighing around 30-35lbs with everything in it. Of course, if you know me, you know I don't take much of anything "easy". Fortunately I was able to keep the pace to a fast walk - with one minor exception.

Once I had descended the Lyon Street steps (my old friends) and passed the Palace of Fine Arts, I decided to get a little beach running in - except today I decided to actually run through the water. After the initial cold and accepting the fact that my shoes were now FULL of sand, the experience was rather "nice" - mainly because the 50 degree water was cold enough to numb most of the pain in my joints from last weekend's workout. I mainly wanted to break in the trail running shoes that I picked up today - and this was definitely a great test to see if they'd hold up to the GORUCK. Overall I was pretty pleased.


*Ignore the fact that it looks like I have munchkin feet. I have only slightly smaller than average feet for a male, thank you.

Anyway, the length of beach along Crissy Field is about a mile, and as I trudged through the sand and water (and sandy water), I got more than my fair share of strange looks from other beach goers. This is actually something I've been training for, as I know come May 21st our cadre will get more weird looks and photos taken of us than the crackheads at 6th and Market. No matter how many times I drop down at a red light and start doing pushups with a weighted backpack on - people are still going to stare at me like I'm doing the pushups completely naked.

Once I reached the point at which I could go no further, I snapped a photo and turned back. The picture actually turned out rather well - at least I think so:


I also ran through the ramnants of what looked to be an old fishing pier - but I actually think is a "wave wall" of sorts meant to break up the incoming waves from the Pacific. Being that the Hipstamatic was in full force, I figured snapping a shot couldn't hurt. Another one I think came out pretty well.

All in all, the shoes held up, though they let in a ton of sand. Two miles in the sand and waves, and fact I was running in the part of the water that was carrying the most sand were mostly responsible for this, I'm sure, as opposed to the actual design of the shoe. All told I did 7 miles (including the 2 in the water) with about a quarter mile of uphill lunges, and about a hundred pushups thrown in there as well. Not bad for a "light" day, I suppose.

The coolest part, is the fact that I was able to take in one of the most highly sought after views in the world, and it only took me less than an hour to get there - walking. It's pretty awesome to think sometimes that people travel from all over the world to see something I get to see anytime I want. Amazing.

How to know when you have too much money...

First, you probably live in a house like this:


And it's a given you don't do your own yard work. But, really?


When you can afford a few dozen goats to come in and eat the weeds you've neglected all year, yeah...fair to say you've earned your spot up there around the corner from Billionaires Row.

You will never get today back.

A friend tipped me to this a couple weeks back. Highly inspirational. I suggest everyone watch it and forward it on to friends as well.



What's your excuse for not being amazing?

Yet another reason why I love San Francisco

From the crew over at Haighteration

Wait...WHAT?

I suppose I should weigh in on this whole ‘Osama is Dead’ thing too, because, why the hell not?

September 11th 2001 was exactly 8 days before I started my freshman year of college. I woke up to a phone call from a friend telling me to turn on the television. “What channel?” I asked. “Any channel.”Uh oh. I knew from the tone of his voice that this couldn’t be good. “I’ll be over in a few,” he said.

Begrudgingly, I got out of bed and headed downstairs in my boxers, grabbed a bowl of cereal and plopped down in front of the television. The flurry of news and anchors and panic that came spewing out of the television for the next several days was a literal blur. So, I’ll try to describe what I felt and what I can remember.

A lot of people will say they’ll always remember when they first saw the planes crash into the World Trade Center – but I honestly can’t remember the feelings I initially had. I think I was mostly confused since my Hayward Public Education failed to teach me what the “World Trade Center” even was (let alone, nouns, verbs, pronouns, and adverbs - thanks to MadLibs for that). Or perhaps I wasn’t paying attention that day in class. Either way. When I asked my friend (the one who initially alerted me to the news), he summed it up simply by saying, “It’s the WORLD Trade Center.” OH. Got it.

I remember people thinking it was initially an accident...and then the second plane crashing into the towers. I remember talk of someone named Osama Bin Laden. I remember people vowing revenge and retaliation. What I don’t remember is when I stopped remembering. I suppose it happened in college.

I was fortunate enough to go to school in sunny Santa Barbara, CA – a wealthy beach town that almost seemed insulated from the entire thing. Granted, I was a declared Sociology major entering school, and one of my professors (Mark Juergensmeyer) had just finished writing “Terror in the Mind of God” (making him an instant celebrity for practically predicting what happened), so I was inundated with theories on the rise of religious activism/terrorism and even presented with the “logic” behind terrorist acts and organizations. Unfortunately, like most college classes, after my final I proceeded to destroy any insight or knowledge gleaned through the course with a healthy (read: unhealthy) amount of booze.

Though I briefly entertained pursuing a military career after college, I certainly wasn’t thinking about Osama Bin Laden when I graduated a quarter early in 2005 - less than 4 years after the attack on the World Trade Center. I don’t think it was even mentioned at my commencement ceremony – or any of the other dozen or so I attended while working at the Campus Police Department. Somewhere in there, it wasn’t being remembered.

This of course isn’t to say that the attacks of September 11th, 2001 didn’t have lasting residual effects on thousands and thousands of Americans (and non-Americans) who lost family and loved ones on that day - as I’m sure they still do. Personally, I didn’t know anyone who perished in the attacks. Hell, as an 18 year old I barely knew anyone outside of my high school graduating class…Which is why I was confused to see college students celebrating like they had each just won the Showcase Showdown on The Price is Right (back when it was Barker, not Carey). I mean, these kids were 8-12 when the attacks happened. Aside from those who had immediate familial loss, how many of these kids even remember it happening? I mean, if I was there I suppose I would have gotten my celebration on, too. Kind of rhetorical, kind of not, I guess. Again, I was 18 at the time and didn’t even know what the World Trade Center was, so perhaps my view is invalid anyway.

Did I celebrate? Nah.

In fact, when I first heard the news, I actually thought my roommate told me that they killed OBAMA. Yup. Smack dab in the middle of a Ninja Warrior Marathon on G4, I paused the TV looked at him and said, “What!?”. “Yeah, Obama’s gonna make a statement in a minute.” Again, “What!?” “Yeah, they killed Osama Bin Laden somewhere in Pakistan.” “OH!!! OSAMA.”

For what seemed like 5 minutes, but was really only seconds - time slowed down and I began to tell myself that this was our JFK. Growing up, kids in my high school complained that we never had anything significant happen in our lives (until 9/11). No President assassinations, no MLKs. But now??? Here, it was. Obama was killed. And all I could think was, "Great. When my nephew asks me where I was when Obama was killed, I'm not gonna have anything cool to say. Instead I'm gonna be like, 'Well, I was eating gummy bears on my couch watching Ninja Warrior.' Then he's gonna be all like, 'What's ninja Warrior'? Then I'm gonna be like, "OH MAN, you don't know what NINJA WARRIOR IS!??!" And then he's gonna ask me something ridiculous like whether it was like Power Rangers, and it's all gonna go down from there..."

Oh wait, Obama wasn’t killed. OSAMA was killed.

So what did I do? Set my TiVo to record the Daily Show the following night, knowing I would get only the finest news. And then put the Ninja Warrior Marathon back on.

What a world.

This is what 20 lbs looks like

REI 60 Pak, full 100oz Camelbak, bike chain and lock, two 2lb ankle weights, towel, bike pump, 30 ft extension cord, jump rope, spare bike tubes, two golf balls, wallet, phone, keys, masterlock, body glide, and spare gloves.

And if you're looking for a nice little workout, try a "brick". It's essentially a bike workout followed immediately by a running workout. Most people will do 3-5 miles on a bike and 1-2 miles on a run for starters (repeating as able). Though no real bricks are involved [yet], I decided to head out Easter Sunday carrying all this shit on my back. Did about 17 miles on the bike, hopped off and ran 8 miles.

Total time was about 2hrs and 30mins, but the workout felt much longer. While it didn't quite match up to the 50 mile race I completed a month ago, it was a much faster pace, and a much harder (read: concrete) path to travel. With the weight, my knees were really feeling it. Fortunately, I was able to get right into a cold bath immediately following my workout to try and eliminate most of the aches I'd feel today.

Why am I running around with 20 pounds of unnecessary crap on my back? Good question. With all the training for the 50 mile Moab race I was actually preparing for a much shorter, but much more ridiculous endurance event. [*Note: Scott and I finished the AXS Race in just under 8 hours: (Team Bangorang! in the 2 Open division), despite some initial mechanical troubles on the first mountain bike section and some nasty cramping from Scott on the run].

The event I've signed up for is less than a month away and things are really taking a turn for the ridiculous. So far in preparation for this, I've done a number of workouts that have sidelined me for a day if not more with lactic acid buildup that would put a donkey on it's ass. I've done a 5 mile run that included a section of lunges for 2/3 mile straight. I've run repeats of all 288 of the Lyon Street steps more times than I'd like to recall (yeah, I counted). I've run with 20 lbs on my back for 4 miles, stopped at home to drench myself with a hose and run another 4 miles cold and soaked. I've run a 13.5 mile loop with a lightened load of about 12lbs on my back. And most recently, the "brick" described above. And things are only going to get crazier.

The event I've signed up for (with Scott again) is The GORUCK Challenge. Something I found through the Tough Mudder site (though they are no longer affiliated), and something I've been pretty pumped about doing since I signed up back in February. A better understanding can come from the description of the inaugural class which took place in San Francisco back in September of last year - though it looks like the Challenge has only taken on more insane parameters since its inception as the captions indicate it was 11 miles, not the 18-20 referenced in the flyer previously linked. Oh yeah, also, our challenge STARTS at 6pm and is listed as being anywhere from 8-10 HOURS. Quick math indicates, we'll be finishing at 2am at the earliest. It also means we'll be drenched and exhausted through the worst temperature/wind times in San Francisco - good livin', right?

Anyhow, keep an eye out for updates on what stupid things I'm doing to punish myself in order to get into the best shape possible for this event. I can only imagine what our instructor will get us into, so I'll be trying my best to match wits on some rather dumb things to do to myself. Run down to/full immersion at Ocean Beach at 1am in the morning? Count on it.

"Only in SF"

It's been a bit since I shot out a post on things that piss me off. I mean, only like 4 out of my last 5 posts have been PSAs, and even then, it's been 2 weeks.

Anyway, I was trolling SFist a couple days ago and they had a great article about people not truly understanding how to dispense the overly-used phrase: "Only in SF".

Read the article. Understand it. Just because you haven't been to another large metropolitan city, doesn't mean that everything you see "out of the ordinary" of your suburban bubble happens "Only in SF".

Maybe this (be warned) is something that only truly happens in SF.

I warned you.

Summer Anthem

99 Problems

And you're a bitch if one of your's sounds like anything from whitewhine.com.

Quoted as a site for a "Collection of First World Problems," I'm hoping people are able to see that it's a little insensitive to "feel" for the people of Haiti/Japan, and then complain about how "people who can't roll crescent rolls correctly, shouldn't be allowed in kitchens" or how too many people have offered to clean your hotel room while on vacation. Must be tough...

Though this one simply takes the cake:

Wah.

Before you hit "share" on your Facebook, think about what you're really saying. For all of us.

Stay tuned.

A few days ago while out with an old friend, we got into a conversation about my blog and I mentioned the fact that I didn't really know where it was going, what it was really trying to be, or why I was even doing it. Do people really care about poop references and pictures/links from other sites? The answer is: I don't know.

As a result I've decided to take a foray into a 'side project" which will more than likely become the main gig for me. I've decided to branch out to another, much more focused blog with an actual theme. You can find it here. It's definitely just getting started, but if you like it, "follow it". Feel free to share with others who might like it as well.

I'll still post bits of "wisdom" here, but I'm thinking I need something a little more original, rather than simple regurgitation of shit I find on the internet. Besides, I somewhat pigeon-holed myself into a finite time period for this blog anyway - seeing as how I'm technically in my (gasp) late 20s.

Awe, hell.

Don't forget...

Pic from here.

"Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be." - Abraham Lincoln

Wear Your Sunscreen

I was thinking, "Wouldn't he just go horn first"?

As "found" in Santa Barbara back in February.

What do you think? Couldn't he at least share a little bit of his magic power? Do male unicorns even exist? Help me solve this conundrum.

One of these things does not belong here...

Acid controller? Lactaid? If you've got heartburn, I don't think Top Ramen is doing you any good.

Friday's Best - Spring Weather Edition

Found this video on the Vimeo homepage yesterday. Anything look familiar?

Rad, right? The "ruins" of the Sutro Baths! Muni! BART Escalators and turnstiles! Those always recognizable SF trashcans!

So yeah, I'm kind of a nut when it comes to any kind of movie or video or picture showing any part of San Francisco. I'll probably spend a good portion of the next few years trying to figure out the location of every minute detail of the video, kinda like I did after watching Sweet November (don't judge. The movie made the cut of The 100 Most Enjoyably Bad Movies Ever Made. So, HA!)

Luckily, the creator of the video divulged that the beach with the large bluff isn't actually in San Francisco, but rather is Gray Whale Cove down in Pacifica.

They even feature my favorite (read: most pissed in) bathroom in Golden Gate Park at the 3:06 mark. Check it out!

Baseball Season is here!

I hope you understand. 3 hour games 5-6 nights a week will be taking up most of my free time. I've got some stuff I've been meaning to post, so hopefully I'll get around to it soon. In the meantime, share the love: *Look at the disgust on J. Sanchez' face. Priceless. And then of course, there's Zito in the background daydreaming about how he's going to spend his $126 million. Sigh.

Spring?

I know, it sure doesn't look like it, right?

Well, for those of you that want a little something to look at until we get some Spring weather of our own, check out a new tumblr dedicated solely to sunsets.

One Million Sunsets, to be exact. The site allows you to upload your own sunset photos, too. So if you think you've got some good ones, go ahead and post 'em to the site.

As of this posting they only need 999,911 more sunsets to hit the 1 million mark!

Get crackin! Here's some inspiration:


Virginia


Rio


Unknown

Friday's "Best" - Rebecca Black Edition

Simply awful.

If you wanna drive in The City, learn to park in The City.

This is fantastic.

Click to expand - and read the most ridiculous, passive-aggressive parking note. Ever.

Looks like Kevin over at Uptown Almanac found this over at The Tenderloin Geographic Society. Naturally, it's created quite the debate. Do these thing actually change parking behavior in the future? Do they just piss people off? Does whoever wrote this live in their parents' basement with 12 cats and knit all day in between making ridiculous capitalization and punctuational errors on insanely long notes to leave on cars?

Yes, yes, and most likely, yes.

However, I have to give some credit on this. Having not seen the way in which the car in question was actually parked, it's hard to pass judgement. What I can do is empathize with the author about the all to frequent use of two parking spots for one car. This happens far too often and I myself I have been tempted to leave a note so polite little note on a couple of cars over the years.

The funny thing is, I was victim to one of these notes not too long ago. It's below for your viewing pleasure:

Now, let's break this one down. Fortunately, I know EXACTLY how the car was parked - since it was my car. And it was not "in" a red zone. My front bumper may have been butting up against the edge of the foot of red paint near the driveway of this person's apartment, but in no way was it blocking free exit or entry to the driveway/garage. Furthermore, I know a tenant of the landlord who left this, and he confirmed the guy is a lunatic - as if the note in and of itself doesn't give off a red flag from the outset.

At least the thinly veiled sarcasm was rife with minor threats, right? Was he going to call the SFMTA to come ticket me if this were to happen again? Perhaps this was his attempt at drawing attention to the Parking Ticket Folks in the first place, since the note was BRIGHT yellow...

Who knows? More importantly, who cares?

Oh yeah. The reason why I was so close to the red in the first place? Observing the first and second rules of parking in a three car spot: 1) not taking more than my fair share of space, and 2) moving all the way forward to ensure common courtesy that two other cars would be able to fit in behind me. Trick.

Check it out...

Unsolicited Advice LADY at the gym (#2 does refer to a guy, but only because it's more common).

I don't care if you think you know something about working out. I'm sure you played college basketball or something and those 15 wind sprints you got as punishment that one time for talking during the video playback of last night's loss made you think you were super tough, but I know a thing or two myself. And I know that I was using proper form - because I always do. Dipshit.

So, while I know I was on the one machine you use at the gym, don't think that you are somehow going to scare me off it by telling me I'm "doing it wrong" and that, "everyone always does it wrong." You ever think that you're the dumb ass who is doing it wrong? Hmm, I know you read one article in SHAPE Magazine 10 years ago, and still hold it to be the workout gospel, but come on...

If anything, I should have been giving you advice. Your cankles were sloppily smushed into your one size too small 'workout' pants, your baggy shirt was hiding your spare tire, and that microfiber, fast wicking hat wasn't doing much since you weren't breaking a fucking sweat. I mean, if you looked like this I might be more apt to listen to your advice. But when you're shaped like Jennifer Hudson (even after the weight loss), I really don't care what you have to say.

Just a friendly PSA. I'm by no means an "I Know Everything Fitness Guru," but this is an area I consider to be one of my strongest knowledge bases. I guess I'm just annoyed that she thought it was pertinent enough to interrupt my workout. I get mad when people interrupt my workout to ASK me something. You can only imagine the look of disgust, and the ridiculous eye roll she received when she dared to interrupt my workout to try and TELL me something.

With the stamina I've built up doing my weekend workouts, next time I'm not getting off the machine until I see her leave. I'm thinking 6 hours should cover it.

Friday's "Best" - 3/11 Edition

In the wake of the earthquake that hit Japan last night, I'm sure people out there are looking for a little something less depressing. Perhaps I have just what you're looking for in this week's edition of Friday's "Best".

Good shit from the internet this week, folks. A creepy new dating website, a man on a McMission, Mello Yello!, and a newish tumblr that's guaranteed to give you something to post up as your desktop wallpaper.

First up, Time NewsFeed brings us word of a new dating site set to come out this month that's sure to appeal to the Narcissist in all of us - or, maybe not. It appears http://www.findyourfacemate.com/ is a new dating website that actually uses "facial-recognition technology that zeros in on nine points on the face to find similarities." So what's so weird about that? Well, this isn't something where you just go in and select a bunch of good looking individuals and they come up with some super human ala "Weird Science."

Nope. The research is done on YOUR face and then tries to find people that look EXACTLY like you. Yeah. Not sure I'd like to date a chick that looked like me...just sayin'.

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Most of the people reading this blog (all 5 of you, including my Mom) know that I'm training for a pretty epic race at the end of the month. Between the workouts, the rest, and the nutrition, it's shaping up to be the most physically demanding thing I've ever done.

It would be even more ridiculous if I tried to do it by eating only McDonald's food, right? Well, apparently, there is a guy from Chicago who is doing just that in preparation for the LA Marathon. The guy IS running 100 miles a week though, so please, don't try this...um, ever.

I do have quite the soft spot in my heart (read: tummy) for the McDonald's Breakfast - specifically the Sausage McMuffin w/Egg, however. So I'll let that one slide.

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Speaking of things that are awful for you...MELLO YELLO is back! That's right. Coca-Cola's attempt to rival Pepsi's Mountain Dew is back in California after what must have been a good 15-20 year hiatus. During my Sunday workout I was stopped dead in my tracks as I noticed what had to be a 5 hour workout induced hallucination:

I mean, we're talking Days of Thunder, Cole Trickle, Daytona 500 Winning MELLO YELLO! Legend always had it that this stuff was the most caffeinated soda in the world. Not sure that that is still the case, but 20 years ago, I wouldn't doubt it was in the running (NOTE: Mountain Dew (sadly) has 1.5 milligrams more caffeine per can, just FYI).

Anyway, the soda became too awesome for California years ago and languished in Florida and most of the Midwest for a couple decades. Either way, it's back and though I don't have more than a soda every couple of months...well, let's just say I had to celebrate the Yello coming out of retirement.

Yup. Found it right down the road at the local supermarket. And, yup. It tastes terrible. Just like I remember.

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Finally, I was hipped to this tumblr over at GQ Recommends. The name says it all http://pleasingaesthetics.tumblr.com/. I like awesome looking shit, and I think you just might too. Being mildly obsessed with architecture and landscapes might also help you to enjoy wasting time scrolling through the pages of the site. Here are a few of my favorites thus far:

That's it for this week. Enjoy your weekend. Tomorrow's the St. Patty's Day Parade in The City. So, yeah...

Yes. Yes, yes, yes.

If you were fortunate enough to be living in The City last year during October/November, you won't want to miss this:

Looking for work?

Got tiger blood? I may have a job for you. Well, Charlie Sheen might have a job for you. Seriously.

From the job posting:

• Description: Do you have #TigerBlood? Are you all about #Winning? Can you #PlanBetter than anyone else? If so, we want you on #TeamSheen as our social media #TigerBloodIntern!
  
  This unique internship opportunity will allow a hard-working, self-motivated, creative, resourceful and social media savvy individual to work closely with Charlie Sheen in leveraging his social network. The internship will focus on executing a social media strategy that will build on the success Charlie Sheen has attained in setting the Guinness World Record for the fastest time to reach one million followers on Twitter. The #TigerBloodIntern is expected to be proactive, monitor the day-to-day activities on the major social media platforms, prepare for exciting online projects and increase Charlie’s base of followers.
  
  You will learn how to promote and develop the social media network of Hollywood’s most trending celebrity.

Hurry though. The deadline to apply is March 11th - yes, this Friday.

I mean, who wouldn't want to work for the most ridiculous man in Hollywood since Gary Busey?

The Anatomy of a 6 Hour Workout

Training took a gnarly turn for the ridiculous Sunday - to the tune of 44.2 total miles and 6 hours of training. In the rain.

After an 80s themed pub-crawl turned dance/pizza party in Oakland that ran well 'til 4:30am Saturday night/Sunday morning, I was more than a bit skeptical about undertaking what would end up being 6 hours of hell (with some awesome thrown in there). Regardless, I was up and on my way back to SF before 9:00am and by 10:15am I was out the door ready to take on the rain for the rest of the morning and the better half of the afternoon.

Here's what I headed out the door with today and carried on my back (or in my belly) for the duration:

- REI Backpack
- 100 oz. Camelbak full of water
- Pack of Strawberry GU Chomps (w/caffeine)
- Chocolate Brownie Clif Bar
- One pita bread
- A bag of dried cranberries
- One Tecate (seriously)

After three and a half of hours of bike loops in Golden Gate Park, I came back to my house to "quickly" transition to the hour and a half run. I'm planning on these transitions being a bit easier during the race since I (hopefully) won't be completely soaked and covered in road grime. In all, the transition only took about 8 minutes - mostly due to the soaked clothing and changing time. I had to change shoes as well, which always messes you up.

Out the door, I was ready for lunch on the run - literally. I cooked some pasta as soon as I got home in the morning, and it was waiting for me when I got back to the house to transition. Nothing fancy - just a sandwich bag full of pasta, olive oil, a little salt and a little pepper. I washed this down with the Tecate I had in my bag. A good move, since the alcohol helped to numb a little bit of the pain, and the additional carbs sure didn't hurt either. Most of the details of the run were pretty boring, although I did head up through Pac Heights and down (and back up) the Lyon Street steps. Planning my mileage accordingly (about 8 miles), I was at the Market Street 24 Hour Fitness just as the run/trek portion was up - luckily too, as my Camelbak had run dry about 20 minutes before.

Once checked in, I moved to the rowing machine and did a 30 minute moderate paced workout which left me feeling reenergized though I was feeling a bit of stiffness in my right lateral collateral ligament. Completed and exhausted - but being only a mile and a half from home, a warm shower and the rest of the day on the couch, I headed out and interspersed slow jogging and walking the rest of the way home. I ended up eating again as soon as I got home and passed out for about an hour on the couch. Before waking up and eating again. Here's why:

Six Hour Workout Totals:

- Miles: 44.20
- Average Pace: 8:15/mile
- Total Ascent/Descent: 7,557 ft
- Hydration: 133 oz water/12 oz Tecate
- Piss Stops: 9
- MP3s Played: 92
- Calories Burned: 5,048

Race is in two and a half weeks. No turning back now.

Note: As much as it completely sucked being out there in the rain, for the better part of what most people my age refer to as either a "lazy Sunday" or "Sunday Funday," I definitely had multiple points during the workout where I completely forgot I was working out and actually enjoyed myself. Most of this came during the run/trek portion, but it was a very surreal experience - one most people will never understand since it takes a certain level of idiocy and slight retardation* to do things like this.

*I know. We're not supposed to use this word. Though, I'm using it to refer to myself in relation to definition 4b. from dictionary.com: i.e. a person who is stupid, obtuse, or ineffective in some way.

Shame on me.

Friday's "Best"

Whoa. Maybe March is more than just another excuse to grow a mustache. I'm going strong on the blogs, and by popular demand, I'm bringing you another edition of Friday's "Best".

Our pals over at SFist, always keep us San Franciscans up to speed on the happenings in our great City, and with the 100th anniversary of the Bay to Breakers fast approaching, it looks like they've caught wind that registration is already over 80% full.

Since I know all of you plan on purchasing your bibs so you'll be allowed in the 2011, non-ING sponsored "dry" race, I thought this was fairly important for you to know. I know I've harped on this before, but do the race organizers really think they are going to stop a 100,000+ person annual event from going on the way it has for decades? I guess we'll have to wait and see. At least this year the drunken stumble home from the Panhandle will only be a few blocks And, just far enough to keep the pissers away.

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In other news, it looks like Nickelodeon game show "Legends of the Hidden Temple" has made a recent resurgence. So big in fact, that they have been allowed to bring objects from their set to show off at the DeYoung Museum. That's right. Olmec. The giant talking statue that spouted off wisdom and had glowing red eyes. One thing I guarantee won't be there is the Shrine of the Silver Monkey- since no one could ever figure out how that thing was put together on their own.
Anyway, I was able to come across an ad outside the museum itself while I was on a training ride yesterday, and all my suspicions were confirmed:

Yup. Production was outsourced to MEXICO! It makes total sense. Think about it...The original show had 6 teams: The Red Jaguars, Blue Barracudas, Green Monkeys, Orange Iguanas, Purple Parrots and Silver Snakes. Have you ever seen any of these in the United States? Hell nah. This is some shit you could obviously only find in Mexico.

Speaking of the Silver Snakes...this team was ALWAYS heavily favored to win. I don't know why, but the producers always loaded this team with the biggest/strongest/smartest/whatnot, that was needed to succeed in the shows numerous levels. I can't remember an episode where the Purple Parrots even got to the second level. They were like the token girl contestant on GUTS getting whooped in every damn event.

If anybody else is into it, I say we gather a crew and get paired up with some shirts, some gold helmets and elbow pads, and go apeshit inside the DeYoung. Just a thought. Let me know if you're down. That also isn't such a bad B2B costume idea either...

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Finally, MissionMission brings us a ridiculous video of some nut on a mountain bike riding through some Spanish speaking village. Check it out for yourself. Nothing I can say will prepare you for this. Pretty sweet helmet cam though. This is pretty much the equivalent of Devil's Backbone in Airborne (NOTE: Not sure who made this video, but it does an awesome job of getting the ridiculousness of the movie across in .

Ain't nuthin' but a gangster party...

But seriously...

Today brings some rather upsetting news about my pre-former home. It looks like gang violence is surging again in the Mission, and that's no good for anyone. Back when I was on Shotwell, there were three murders in a matter of weeks back in 2009, which really put the neighborhood on edge.

For those of you still in the Mission, be careful out there. Not that any of you are bangin', but it'd really suck to hear that one of my friends was an innocent bystander caught by a stray bullet.

Proof girls lie.

You ever notice how girls are ALWAYS complimenting one another on their outfits, and you are sitting there playing boggle in your mind trying to get the letters right to understand what the hell they are thinking stepping out of the house like that? Well, I do.

In particular, there is a girl at work who constantly wears the most ridiculous outfits. Sometimes she looks like a french butler, other times it seems as though she watched an episode of Sex and the City and picked the worst piece of clothing from each episode and threw it all together. You really think you can pull off the shit Carrie Bradshaw does? Guess what, patna? You can't.

Anyway, since my best friend at the office recently left the firm to join the competition - lame -I've been trying to find ways in which to keep myself entertained. This week I decided to wear a hideous thrift store coat that was handed down to me from a friend who bought it to look like a high school principal. Anyway, here's a snap of me in the jacket (and my weekly scruff):


The funny thing? I received more compliments from the girls/ladies at the office wearing this outfit than in the nearly three years I've been there COMBINED. Now, I knew I looked ridiculous. I did. The funny thing is just how over-complimentary all these people felt they needed to be. And it wasn't sarcasm. Anyone that knows me, knows that I lay it on thick, so I'd have been pretty excited to catch a little sarcasm, but I got none! Don't get me wrong here, there were still quite a few people who looked at me like I was crazy, and I even got a couple of really hard double-takes, but the entire day I never let anybody know that the reason for me wearing the jacket was in the name of science. I calmly accepted every compliment, and made mental notes of the sideways glances.

My interpretation: Girls tell you that you look 'good' in the most ridiculous shit in the hopes that you will continue to look like a Project Runway reject and they, by default, will automatically have one less person to outdo. Ladies, especially. Some of the shit you wear is completely sloppy. Seriously. Really think hard about how you look the next time your 'friend' tells you that you look "amazing" in that outfit. It's not fashion forward to look like crap. It's actually crap.

What the hell?

Good question. In more ways than one. A question that is sure to lead me on a different path than most of my blogs to date, but might actually prove to be a little more interesting for some of you. Strap on your reading glasses as this is gonna be a long one. Let's get started.

Last month we received an eviction notice from my landlord. Nothing we did wrong, except for living in a house that he built and decided he wanted to sell. Upon hearing the news we were certain we would receive some compensation under the Ellis Act. Not a bad deal to get paid to move. If that was in fact the case. Turns out that "awesome modern place" I moved into, was a little too modern - only buildings built pre-1979 qualify. So, we were about 30 years off. Shit. This meant we had, as the landlord mandated, 30 days to vacate the unit AND would not be getting paid to do it. Hooray. Having just moved my stuff in back in December, it was fair to say I was less than pumped about having to do it all over again.


After a couple of weeks of looking for places that would work with the current roommates, I realized it was too difficult to find a place that would be comparable with the same guys and ventured off on my own. As it turned out, a friend of mine (heretofore known as Bob) was desperately trying to get out of the Inner Richmond. Can't fault him on that one. In a matter of days we found a solid two bedroom, two bath, duplex with backyard and laundry on site North of the Panhandle at Golden Gate and Lyon. Before President's Day weekend we had solidified a year lease and had our move in date set for the 21st - in honor of FDR, naturally.

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This timing actually worked out well. For one thing, it gave me a week to move all of my stuff before the technical eviction date. Anyone who knows what it's like to move their life in one day understands the huge sigh of relief this provides. The second, and clearly more important benefit, was that I wouldn't have to cancel my planned trip to Santa Barbara for the long weekend. Having had a slightly difficult Sunday from the booze (read: 11th Annual Double IPA Fest/house party with 4Loko ans shots and...), I was definitely looking forward to a nice relaxing weekend of soaking up the sun on the beach and slowly but surely raising my BAC. Ha.

Turns out the deluge from Karate Kid II (do yourself a favor and click that link, you won't be disappointed. The beat down at the 6 minute mark is the most ridiculous fight scene ever filmed) followed me down there from the Bay. When this happens in Santa Barbara, there really isn't much you can do. Oh. Except drink. So we did. Since I had just driven 5 hours straight from work, Thursday night was pretty easy. Al and I had a few pints at the James Joyce (a place that would be visited numerous times that weekend) and pretty much called it a night. Friday was awaiting and would be one for the ages.

Friday was a pretty shitty day, weather wise, which meant we would be back at it - only this time, we had the whole day ahead of us Luckily Al and I were able to get a decent hour long run in before the rain really started coming down. After grabbing some "breakfast" at a Vietnamese place, we ended up heading to the local bowling alley in hopes that there would be some refuge from the storm awaiting us. In fact, all we found was a bowling alley full of elementary aged children and a bar. Guess which one we chose?

After spending a good 4 hours playing pool and drinking 23 oz. glasses of Pabst, we decided we had had enough and figured we'd change the venue, head around the corner and grab a drink at Break Time - an old dive that has way too many reminiscent qualities to mention. Another pitcher of Pabst and we got back to the pool table. To my surprise (read: uncontrollable glee) I saw one of my UCSB Professors walk right by me and sit at the bar. Neither of the people I was with had any clue who he was, but it was none other than the legendary Econ Professor, Robert Crouch.Yes, he really is as crazy as he looks. After my mind (and body) stopped uncontrollably orgasming, I turned around to see someone walk in with what looked like a foil wrapped Thanksgiving Day turkey. Looked like one of the regulars was in a giving mood, but there was no way I was going to risk eating a turkey in a dive bar. As the patron unwrapped the foil, we were greeted with the fresh smell of grease and some sort of meat product. Yep. They had brought in a good 100 homemade Jack-in-the-Box style deep fried TACOS. This day couldn't get any better. Could it? Oh yeah.

After slamming down a few tacos, we head to IV to pick up another friend and head downtown. After grabbing some food at one of the breweries, we decide to venture to The Neighborhood - by far the best bar in Santa Barbara that I have ever been to. it truly reminded me of The Mission, Isla Vista, and Butter all in one (please watch the low bit video the owner put up...please). This place had ping pong, pool, cheap pitchers, buck hunter, and an outdoor patio where pretty much anything went. Needless to say, near the time we left The Neighborhood things were starting to get a bit spotty. Over the course of the next 8 hours, we raided Raley's for all the Caguama we could find, played some absolutely unnecessary drinking games, was attacked by a chupacabra, and passed out on the floor waking up trying to use the couch cover as a blanket. Pretty decent little Friday.

Saturday was a horse of a different color. I spent most of the day napping, taking a slight break to attempt some more Vietnamese food but realizing it wasn't going to work, I rushed to the bathroom to handle business. I'm pretty sure I described it as forcing me to "scorpion kick" it was so powerful. Not bad. Finally, 5pm rolled around and there were no more excuses - I took a shower, changed up and we were back downtown for another night at The Joyce. Knowing how I felt that morning I was convinced to take it easy(er) than Friday. Which I did. Still had a blast, ran into some old friends and made some new ones. The camera even made it out, so you know I was keeping it (fairly) under control.

See. Carbombs are the BEST way to maintain for the evening. Right?

Well...this was much later and we look pretty alright, so I guess we can say it worked out well for both of us.

Waking up Sunday had me feeling fantastic. I was certainly out of the doldrums from the morning before. No hangover, and I was pumped to get out and get another run in. The rain had finally let up, and though I initially planned on heading back to SF in the morning, I knew there was no way I was going to leave Santa Barbara on a day like that. I headed up Mission Canyon and even caught a few glimpses of the snow on the mountains.

On the way back down the road, I was intrigued by the idea of cutting through the Botanical Gardens. Running with a backpack on, full trail gear, and having my headphones in, I ran straight past the ticket booth and began my exploration. Despite there not being an official "other way out" that sure wasn't going to stop me. I was able to cut a little path out to the other side and continue my way back to Allison's place. The sunny, yet crisp day had me feeling awesome by the time I finished and I was ready to finally enjoy the sun - beer in hand.

Knowing there was only one place to completely capture the essence of Santa Barbara on a day like this, Al and I headed over to Isla Vista. With sandwiches and beer on the brain, we rolled over to Sam's To Go. A couple of pitchers, a walk around IV and a couple more pitchers set the tone for the remainder of the night. This sunset didn't hurt either:

For the evening, we ended up going back to the James Joyce. Again. But this time it was for a VERY good reason. Sunday is karaoke night. Needless to say, it was as sloppy and amazing as one would imagine me and my very amateur group of friends attempting to sing. The highlight (read: lowlight) is when my buddy Bobby signed up for "Just A Friend," by Biz Markie and about 30 seconds in he realized he didn't know anything beyond the chorus. In a drunken attempt to save him, I hooped on stage and told him to just repeat the chorus over and over. Whether the crowd knew it, or decided to even pay attention to us, I'm not sure, but I felt it went over fairly well. Our friendly host Emmet, felt a bit differently, quote: "No. That's a great song. You guys just ruined it."

Aww, Santa Barbara. 'Til we meet again.

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What else...? As one of my last "real" posts talked about, I've been training since the beginning of the year for the 50 mile AXS race in Moab, UT at the end of March. Training has been pretty solid and for the most part I've stuck to the prescribed schedule verbatim - every other day is either biking or running, with a few rowing workouts or gym circuit training days thrown in there. Most workouts only last an hour, but as we've approached the actual race date, I've seen a steady uptick in the duration of the weekend workouts - this past weekend for example, was a 3 hour 3o minute mountain bike ride on Saturday, followed by 1 hour 35 minute run on Sunday. Not too crazy, except that last Thursday I noticed a strange rash on my inner thigh.

Not being one to bitch or complain, I put some hydrocortisone cream on it and thought nothing of it. I sure as hell wasn't going to see a doctor over a heat rash. Next day...

Fresh 'friends' on my other thigh. This was suspicious to say the least, but the striations simply made me believe that I must have irritated my leg while running. No biggie. The workouts go on...Yet, the next day...

Alright! What the fuck!? Now I'm thinking something has got to be up. My right ankle is covered in what look like little mosquito bites. When I was little my mom told me I was allergic to some detergents, but I hadn't changed the detergent I was using. Hmm...Could it be? Noooo...yes? DO I HAVE BED BUGS? Freaking out now, having awoken in the middle of the night scratching at my legs like a dog scratching away when getting a good petting, I'm truly scared/confused/pissed. I throw off my sheets and begin feeling around my mattress with one hand (mind you it's 2:30am) and scratching my crotch area like a bonobo chimp. I don't see anything, but I don't want to get back in my sheets since there may be critters hanging out in there. Instead I throw on a pair of sweats and a hoodie and sleep on top of the covers. Waking up pouring sweat was better than the thought that I was being chomped on all night by some fucked up parasite.

Needless to say, I called the doctor and set an appointment to be seen the next day (yesterday). Anyone who knows me knows that this is rare. I've always fought through most illnesses and ignored the doctor's office like the plague - especially since that's where everybody goes when they are coughing and sneezing germs all over the place. Makes sense right? ANYway, I get to my appointment and I'm greeting by a nurse that looks dead on Blake Griffin. Size, stature, everything. Seriously, THAT Blake Griffin. It was daunting to say the least. We go through the standard weighing, height measurement, temperature, etc. We get to the blood pressure test, and I rank in at 110/70. Considered a perfect score - highly physical athletes, very healthy folks typically score here. (BOOM! Score one for Rick!) He then asks me a few 'lifestyle questions' - uh oh. While most are fairly innocent, he rattles my brain with this one:

Nurse: "In the past year, how many times have you had 5 or more drinks...in a day?"

Me: "In a day?!?" (sideways smirk, big exhale) "psssshhh, man...I don't know..."

Nurse: "...........Well, there are 52 weeks in a year. So, once a week...? Twice a week?"

Me: (Motorboat sound with my mouth) "Uhhhh, sure."

Nurse: "So, twice a week?"

Me: "Not always."

Nurse: "So, 100?"

Me: "Whoa. (Quick calculation in my head...Fridays+Saturdays+ some Sundays and not really wanting to drag this on further than was absolutely necessary) Sure. Let's go with 100."

NOTE: Looking back, this number is completely false, but I figured since I didn't try and overshoot my height when asked (5' 8" not 5' 9") I wouldn't try and undershoot my drinking, neither.

Needless to say, he gave me something to think about - did he really just round 104 down to 100 when I said "not always"? Man, what a jerk. Anyway, he takes off and about 3-4 minutes later the door cracks and I hear a voice greet me. It's my NP who was assigned to me. And, of course, she is bangin'. Awesome. I get to show my rashed up crotchal to perhaps the best looking doc I've ever seen. Oh yeah, she's also got a skirt on. And when she sits down dead in front of me neglects to cross her legs - or even put them together for that matter. I'm thinking, "Am I being punk'd right now?" Sadly, Ashton was nowhere to be found. Instead she cut right to the chase and asked what I was doing there. I pulled up the left pantleg of my shorts and showed her the damage.

"Oh, that looks like it itches." Really? You fuckin' think!? "Umm, yup." Dipshit. "That's definitely poison oak." What? "I've never had it." Bitchily, "And there's some more on your leg. It got you good. Where were you that you might have come in contact with this?"

Santa Barbara Botanical Gardens. You win this round. Karma for not paying, I suppose.

As we wrapped up she gave me some topical ointment and oral medication that I need to take for the next two weeks. Shitty.

I'll let you know how it goes. Or not.