New My Humps

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Spitfire Grill: OSU 67, Georgetown 60

I watched the OSU/G'Town game here, a Cuban-flavored sports bar.



Final score: OSU 67 G'Town 60. I was one of three people in the whole bar who were for OSU. The place was mobbed with a bunch of Georgetown people and UCLA folks. There was a smaller hardcore pack of Gator fans.

They were easily the most obnoxious. Boy, I hate them.

I started off with Spitfire potatoes, which were boiled, then fried, with scallions, Cuban-style. They were served with SPICY ketchup. Heaven. Oh, and that's a Red Hook draft beer beside it.



Then, the place started filling up. I knew, since I was a lone guy, my table would be scarfed up if I moved. Already, people were taking my chairs and my extra silverware. So I ordered homemade tortilla chips and guacomole dip for round two.



Then, once my chips arrived, I could zing to the bathroom and keep my table place! Brilliant!

Then, who could resist Cuban Sliders? I couldn't. Two little burgers with jalapeno bits in the meat and on the side. Talk about fiery! With more spicy ketchup. Yeah, I'm sort of feeling it right now actually.



I left after the OSU/Georgetown game. The other OSU guys that had been cheering with me asked me if I would stay for the FLA/UCLA game but I was already Red Hooked and knew my evening wouldn't end well if I stayed for another game.

After I left, I decided to walk around some more because the sidewalks were bustling and it was only about 6:00 pm. This is one of the first things I saw heading down toward Pike's Place Market. A guy with a pet dog and a pet opossum. I don't have words.



Right before I got down to the water where Pike's Place Market is, I saw a drag queen looking guy--long leopard skin coat, thick eye-liner, hot pants, high heels, tight belly shirt, just weeping into his cell phone. He got into a taxi before I could get my camera out and get his picture. But it was right in front of Post Alley--which is the continuation of a picture from earlier when I said I wasn't going down the hill because I didn't think I could get back up. Well, I was looking at the ass-end of the Alley. Here is what the Alley looks like from the other end. It's a really cool, hidden, shopping area.



Before heading back to the hotel, I stopped by Freakazoid Square again. There was a guy playing bongos on the corner and I took his pic because he was really, really good. For a white guy, I guess.



I couldn't even stay awake for the FLA/UCLA game, I ate a Subway sandwhich, some cookies, and a Fresca, and fell asleep on the sofa with a bag of All Natural Dirty Salt & Vinegar Flavored Chips on my chest.

Good times!

GA Tech Grads In Seattle

If you look closely, you can see one guy holding a WiFi access point up in the air while the other guy is working on his laptop.

They were either trying to rob a bank or synchronize the traffic signals.

The Whisky Bar

This picture is of a PBR I had at a trashy place called the Whisky Bar. Most of the bars here have a little patio out front where you can sit. It was cold to me, so I guess they get about 6 days use out of these patios.

Inside the decor was mostly red and black and it was pretty hardcore death-metal. I didn't fit in much, but after walking around all day and seeing bars with napkins tucked in the glasses, I just wanted a simple beer and a place to sit and sort it all out.

I started out inside, then decided it really sucked, so I sat outside and watched working class and lower- than -working -class Seattle go by.

Most of that wasn't pretty.

Seattle Parking Cop

Just like in Savannah, a parking cop writing a ticket.

Pike Place Fish Company

Here are some pics of the Pike Place Fish Company.

Why is this place world-famous? As far as it goes, here's what happens: Someone picks out what they want and tells one of the guys out front. He grabs it up and hurls it over the counter to the guys who weigh it and package it.

Not that big a deal if it's something like pre-packaged squid. But when they start hurling 50 pound halibut around, it's pretty cool.

Plus they inspired this stupid book that anyone that's ever had to supervise more than 3 people has been forced to read in their various training classes.

Pike Street Market Flowers

There were probably 800 yards of flowers in the market. None of them over $10 a dozen unless you were getting a huge amount.

If you lived here there would be no reason whatsoever not to have fresh flowers in your house--every day.

Seattle Skyline

This is the view from the pier looking back at Seattle.

Directly behind me were about five homeless guys laying on the boardwalk in various stages of decomposure.

It might be just all downtowns, but downtown Seattle is sort of rough.

Mountains

You can see in about the middle of the picture what looks like clouds.

It isn't clouds. It's the snowcaps of a row of mountains.

Unbelievable to me that there are mountains out here that are that tall!

I have so much to do.

Seattle Aquarium

There were about 9,000 school buses parked out in the street out front.

I thought about going inside for a tour--but then thought that would be way too much like school.

So I just took a pic of the outside instead!

Post Alley

I started to go down this alleyway, but it was a straight drop down.

I didn't think I would be able to make it back up.

I might go back later, because I sort of want to know what's at the bottom of this insanely steep hill.

Stairwell to Pike's Market

I like my touring to be a little off of center.

This is the stairwell you would go up to get to Pike's Market which has the famous Pike's Fish Market.

I wanted to buy pretty much everything there. I didn't though.

Seattle City Buses

The city buses are all electric. They have these antennae things sticking up that connect to wires strung over the street.

They couldn't move to avoid you if they tried. I wouldn't fool up with them.

Seattle Convention Center

Here is where I'm attending the National Association for Elementray School Principals Conference.

The Seattle Convention Center. I'm not sure what the big glass thing is that crosses the street but it looks pretty neat.

Seattle: March 30, 2007

Hey guys, here's the view from my hotel room! That's the Space Needle. I'm working up the nerve to go up in that thing either tomorrow, or on Sunday.

I just looked it up. It's $15.00. Should I go?

In the Zone

There are only a few things that can draw men of all ages together. War stories do it. Stories of lost loves work too--men huddling together trying to understand the Sanskrit of womanhood. Hunting, fishing, and sports are safe places most men can go and find a like mind. Never politics though and never religion.

I submit to you that a good vomit story should fit right in there with crazy ex-girlfriends and your team that sucks.

There are a few things that a good vomit story should have to make it a classic--a story worthy to be told around the campfire or to toddlers at bedtime as warnings. First, it should come out of nowhere. We met my son's friend and his mom at the ESPNZone in Atlanta on a Saturday night to catch the first game of the World Series and to see what Georgia Tech could do with Clemson. The next day we would drop the two seniors off at Georgia Tech for the TechConnect orientation. Sounds pretty innocuous doesn't it? Second, there should be rank public humiliation. Yes, after reviewing this several times, there was plenty of that. Finally, there should be horrified women around. This should work in tandem with point number two.

So, yeah, this vomit story had all the ingredients, the chunks, so to speak.

We ordered the cheese fries and the nachos. For six people. Two grown women, a grown man, two teenaged boys and a teenaged girl. When the appetizers came, my wife put her purse on the ground and put her car keys in the purse. When she looked up, the fries were gone. Gone. My son and his friend were two of those $800 model Orecks let loose on a table. I think they ate the candle and probably the dessert menu.

It was fun being in the Atlanta sports atmosphere. Georgia had won a close one with MSU and here were the Yellowjackets playing for some serious acclaim. Except Clemson wasn't cooperating. I was happy though, throwing back NewCastles for $7.61 a draft. Beaming actually, because I had my family and there were approximately 323 televisions around me.

And there it was. The precursor to doom right there on the menu. The Ultimate Tailgater. Heh. For about $10 a person, me, my boy, and his friend could order the Ultimate Tailgater and ride the Yellowjackets and the Tigers on into the night. The UT was a massive plate of onion rings, barbecue ribs, chicken fingers, chips and salsa with a massive bowl of nachos dip, three different kinds of chicken wings (glazed, buffalo, and teriyaki, I think), sliders (that's those little burgers--not those turtles that my uncle fishes out of the canal all summer), and a smattering of celery, pickles, carrots, and tomatoes.

We made mild fun of the ET- looking trainee waitperson, but he was so nice that it was hard to get much traction. He brought the food--the women got pasta stuff and the guys had the UT.

It was a massive amount of food. This stuff was for offensive linemen. Not for incoming potential freshmen. We watched that mean, petulant looking Albert Pujols jack an opposite field homerun off of Scott Verlander. Verlander throws about 600 miles per hour and he had a little grin for his catcher when Albert the Big-I'm-Not-Running-Anything-Out Pujols slapped one of his comets out of the park. I hope, just for the sake of karma, that the Cardinals lose the series by Albert Pujols being thrown out at first by a step. Anyway, Clemson was running the Jackets around and putting points up and just making GT look silly.

It was starting to be grim work. For the Yellowjackets. For the Tigers. But especially for the guys trying to down the Ultimate Tailgater. You can eat wings. You can eat chicken fingers. You can eat ribs. But to slog through all of it? Over and over? Then the girls ordered two desserts--one a brownie as big as a cinder-block with at least 6 scoops of ice cream on it and the other a chocolote chip cookie in a frying pan with more ice cream and whipped cream on top of all of that. And the guys, with the cheerful insouciance of the young, plowed through the new cuisine, spoons paddling through the chocolate sauce like two Iriquois Indians going upstream.

They showed a close up of the Georgia Tech quarterback, Reggie Ball and he looked stricken. My wife looked at my son's friend, his face slack, the color draining away, his eyes fearful. She asked him if was okay.

He nodded slowly. But he had the look, the Reggie Ball stricken on national TV look. He was in the ESPNZone in Atlanta, one of the hottest bar/restaurants in the whole city, he was surrounded by fans, by people, by televisions, clapping, shouting, and nachos. Lots and lots of nachos. It was the look of that terrible knowing, that look of there is no way this will end peacefully, there is no way this will go away. That last piece of chocolate chip cookie hurtling down his gullet, providing the smallest, thinnest wafer of the final straw that broke the camel's back. (For the absolute best, and I mean best movie vomit scene of all time go here--and you will understand the thin wafer reference. I think you might have to sign-in to YouTube to get it though. The other two best movie vomit scenes are from Stand By Me--during the blueberry pie eating contest and The Sandlot after they all try chewing tobacco and get on the Tilt-A-Whirl at the fair).

He stood up, unsteadily and said he would be back. He was listing terribly to one side and headed off to the bathroom, walking slowly, being overly solicitous and careful not to bump into people. The walk turned into an ungainly half walk/half run that's instantly familiar to anyone who has ever had the trots. Then with about 50 feet left to the bathrooms, it turned into an all-out sprint--an OJ Hertz commercial. He disappeared around the corner.

We paid the bill and settled up with ET. I think he probably has a future as a waitperson. He kept me in liquid and there were enough sauces and napkins and doo-dad bowls and spoons and other accoutrements of gluttony that all we had to do was get the fried stuff into our yobs.

My son and I went to the bathroom. We opened the door and the first thing that hit us was the smell. It wafted around us, cruelly, assaulting us. Hitting us in our temples with ball peen hammers, stunning us with the utter thickness of it. It was a hot, humid, equatorial stench, like rotting capybara and spider monkey carcasses. One man stumbled out, between us, saying, "Somebody just lost a lot of weight in there." There were four gorgeous marbled sinks that greeted every user to the men's room, each one as deep and voluminous as an Igloo ice chest. One was filled. To the brim. And not with fun, soapy water either.

Neither my son or I could walk or talk. We just couldn't. We were weak with laughter. His friend stood sheepishly by his mother (who was laughing too), knowing he had just provided a legendary touchstone for at least 150 Atlanta sports bar goers. Over a $120 dollars dropped at the restaurant. At least $50 dollars of it was in the sink.

Somebody was going to have to clean it. It wasn't us, that's all we knew.

So the Tigers lost. The Yellowjackets were destroyed. The Ultimate Tailgater--One. Silly senior boy? Zero.

The Descent Review

I couldn't get my wife to go. My buddy couldn't get his wife to go either. So we went to see The Descent on our own.

My wife won't see movies with snakes. Or death by water. Or death by fire. So really we've only watched like two movies together in 10 years. I think the last one was Pride and Prejudice. And I think we saw something about Reese Witherspoon being hit by a car and trying to live in her old apartment.

So she's definitely not going to see a movie about a bunch of women exploring a cave and running into some difficulty. But, I'm telling you, EVERY woman should see this movie. Not because of the gruesome gore, or the broken bones, or the claustrophobia, or the creatures.

But for the metaphors! What is the cave but the male mind? It's one of the last unexplored places that these women haven't conquered yet. Oh, they've got their gear, their Edelweiss climbing ropes, their Black Diamond halogen headlights. Have you ever seen your wife or your significant other, strap on their gear, pour a cup of coffee and come at you with that serious look? It's scary, isn't it? You start apologizing reflexively, instinctively.

The six women meet up, one in a depression because of a car accident that took her child and her husband, and they get ready to plumb the depths of a cave in the Appalachian mountains. Heh. Every guy knows though, that the automatic apologizing to a signifcant other in full cave exploring gear is just an ink-cloud distraction to slow down the relentless onslaught of the woman trying to get at your mind. Trying to figure you out. Trying to understand you better so you can understand THEM better. We escape into our cave and not many women can navigate down there--in the darkness, with the squirmy stuff, and come out whole and unscarred to tell about it.

So the women descend into the cave mouth. To claim it for themselves. My buddy and I looked at each other in the darkness over our $12.00 popcorn and sodas and we knew, deep down, that our wives could be one of them. Whooping it up, scrabbling into our secret caverns, dropping apple cores everywhere, trying to get at our essence and claiming it.

Silly, silly women.

Once in the cave, different things happen that you just know will happen. They get stuck. They lose stuff. There's a cave-in (imagine that) that creates a do-or-die situation. Any guy will tell you, that once a woman enters the cave of his mind, it is an endless maze of regret, a haze of longing hanging over everything obscuring and distorting the terrain, the primal howls of his being echoing down long, deep dangerous passages that lead nowhere good. It's home turf, baby, and you better watch out.

As the women scrabble around trying to find their way out, all hell breaks loose. And its not about claiming new ground anymore. It's about surviving. It's about getting out whole and alive. These women give as good as they get and there are some magnificent scenes of men's pride getting gored, their arrogance being skewered by pick-axes. The women discover hidden wells of courage and strength but are undone by their own treachery. It's like as evil as men can be, women can be just as evil.

It's a draw. A woman emerges, bloodied, having hacked her way back out, through sinew and bone, a survivor. She'll think twice, before she ever descends into another cave again, I bet. The creatures left within howl with outrage at the transgression, lapping at the blood spilled on the cave floor.

I went home and did a crossword puzzle with my wife, every once in awhile looking over to make sure she didn't have a pack on and a headlamp.

Metaphorically speaking, of course.

Mooning Emoticons

I like this for ease of communication for some stuff I get. Enjoy!