Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Friday, September 3, 2010
Saturday, August 7, 2010
I've been told by old people (and that's anyone over the age of 37) that it used to be a form of torture to have to look at someone else's vacation pictures. Out comes the slide projector. Out go the lights and here comes the "look how much better my life is than yours" speech. So if you are here, willingly reading a blog entitled "Do Not Read This!", keep in mind that you brought this on yourself and you probably deserve it.
My end of the deal would be to at least make this entertaining, unless of course I want you to be tortured. My recommendation to avoid seeing this as a form of torture would be to just imagine yourself on the beach. Unless of course seeing beach photos of someone else having the time of their life is your idea of bliss, in which case (and remember, these photos include me), please feel free to bliss out.
Here's the premise:
Rob and I seek "adventure" road tripping to the coast and "catching some waves" (this is, and I now feel quite qualified to say so, surfer lingo for successful surfing. This lingo must be spoken at a very moderate pace, preferably uttered while under the influence of inhaleable herbs while wearing a woven poncho, hood up or down is fine).
Public service announcement: Please don't stereo type surfers, they are all individuals.
Stocked with trail mix, beef jerky, chex mix, gatorade and water (yes mom, lots and lots of water unless we became stranded in the desert and were forced to survive by eating people that had crossed the border illegally -- you know, the ones sneaking right past John McCain who stands on a tower peering through a sniper scope saying "My friends I see no aliens, just a bunch of thirsty Mexican people. The fence is working. Oh look, an endangered jaguar." BANG) Rob and I made the trek to San Diego, which is a word of German origin, with a definition made famous by Ron Burgandy and Pinocchio, okay maybe not exactly Pinocchio. I also want to point out that I did not take the "wrong" freeway, just a "different" freeway. Roben is a VERY GOOD navigator.
We traveled to Encinitas, actually north of San Diego, and got a room at the Portofino Inn. Here is a picture along with a picture of Rob coming out of the hotel room.
It was quaint, cheep, and less than a mile from the beach. I highly recommend you do not stay there because then it will become popular and not cheap. Find your own bargain.
Here is a picture of the trailer park right next to our hotel where I do not currently live. Feel free to buy me a trailer in this trailer park and stay at the Portofino Inn all you want.Austin drove down from LA (THANKS AUSTIN!), and we walked across the whole town in search of Swami's - a semi hipster, mostly republican vegetarian joint. Then we walked to the "No dogs allowed beach" with Austin's dog Dexter, who likes to bark at skaters almost as much as Roben. With the soothing sounds of waves cresting below, we considered disguising Dexter with a hat, but without a hooded skater poncho, he might have stood out a bit much. After some "fro-yo" (*punches own face*), Austin took Dexter home to LA where he is more appreciated by Leif Garrett, who does not wear skater ponchos but does do drugs.
Rob and I biked to the beach that night. There were bonfires.
The next morning, Roben slept in and I went to the beach again. Here is a picture I took.
I, unlike most people, really like the beach.
So I have this weird fear of sharks. Especially like the one looking at you in this picture, because to them a surfer looks like a seal when you are a shark looking up from below.
I know this is completely unreasonable, so please feel free to shut up about it. As luck would have it, the hotel had cable and it was shark week. My compliments to the Discovery Channel. Nevertheless, assured by statistics and reason, Rob and I rented surfboards and wetsuits and headed out to the water. Now I had this top notch reality TV show crew following us around, expecting that they would take all the video of us surfing, but while we were out "catching waves", the TV crew heard that the Situation and Snooki were on a west coast tour where they were both flashing people out on the pier. I know what a Situation is, but I am still a little baffled considering I am pretty sure that a Snooki is either a robe you wear backwards or it's what you call it when you are dumpster diving behind a restaurant and find someone has dumped ice cream and a pie-sized chocolate chip cookie in the garbage. When I tried to give the film crew a hard time about this, they said, "Cuz (and the guy was not my cousin), even if that's what a Snooki was, it would still be more interesting to film than you surfing." This is what surfers call "Trash talking".
Public service announcement: Even my s*#&&@ puns are better than Jersey Shore. This is also what the surfers call "trash talking".
So here are some pictures Rob and I took when we dropped off our boards and wet suits.
Surfing is really hard, no matter how easy Patrick Swayze and Keanu Reeves make it look. "Nobody puts Ted in a corner." You have to paddle a lot, wait for a wave, turn your fat a%& around and pull your doughy white suburban body up onto a teetering, floating piece of fiberglass. I managed to achieve this about four times for sure. Two times I was still on my left knee and the other two times I fell off right away. Mostly I just paddled around. Roben said that's his favorite part. He would have enjoyed himself way more if he were me. If you still think you can do better, remember that the surfing you are doing right now consists of moving your mouse and clicking.
We pool hopped at a coast hotel, lunched at Ralph's grocery and stopped at a store called Pangea, where they had these. Lot's and lot's of these. We bought a monkey one for Heather.
Then we headed to Harbor Village for fresh fish tacos. You don't know it, but you are very jealous. We considered renting a boat because, as Roben said, we could say "I'm on a boat." There was also an unfortunately ugly lady there that Roben couldn't stand to look at. There was also a scrawny little gal that could easily lift a bucket full of ice over her head. We ordered deep fried OREOs. My arteries swelled up like Snooki after botox.
Next morning was the beach again. It is habit forming. We took pictures. I tried to get pictures of Sand Pipers, but they kept flying away. Here are some that stayed.
I found a pair of sunglasses that likely belonged to someone who was carried off by the tide. It seemed to me that whoever it was lived their life like a candle in the wind. I put them on and was not carried out to sea.
We also took pictures of each other looking contemplative as the waves went about their business of never stopping.
Waves make a soothing noise. They actually sell machines that attempt to replicate it but these will ultimately pale in comparison to the real thing. I believe the surfer term for this noise is "Whoah."
We toured the town on our bikes and found the oddly random little girl statue right below the rail station and the boss mural of whales and other sea life. This would be a terrible time to call to mind the German definition of San Diego.
You can easily see how much fun Roben was having in these pictures. What could be more fun than taking pictures by sea murals and a statue of a little girl?
We headed down to Swami beach to check out the tidepools. There were crabs, anemones, sea slugs and Roben's shoes got soaked. I took pictures but they all sucked. Trust me, it was cool.
I swam and took one last picture. We went to Juanita's tacos, got hunormous sodas and basically peed the whole way home. El Centro. Yuma. A rest stop. A special thanks to Manchester Orchestra, Muse, Tom Petty and R.E.M. for the soundtrack of our trip. If you would like to hear a sample or own the soundtrack, buy the songs off of iTunes yourself or something. Feel free to create a playlist called Roben and Joel's West Coast Adventure.
Please note no actual Snooki's were injured in the making of this blog. All the damage done to Snooki she did on her own. Also, here is a picture of a Snooki in the wild. A surfer word for Snooki would be "Skank".
Monday, July 26, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Monday, July 19, 2010
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Thursday, April 22, 2010
Monday, April 19, 2010
Thursday, April 8, 2010
Monday, April 5, 2010
Uninvited, random thought.
Did I leave the window open?
You would be.
You cannot stay.
You burred and barbed,
Hooked and crooked,
Twisted and tempting
I will take no action.
And you can grow,
If you like.
And make more yellow.
Take over sky blue.
I will take no action.
I can sleep and drift,
But you will swell,
Lift the skin. Infect.
You are the canary.
You are the signal.
You are peripheral,
Shifting to center.
Bore into the burrow of my brain.
Take up the chair.
Take up the bed.
Take up the room.
I will roll over and close my eyes.
Take up my eyelids.
I can exhale you.
I can busy myself.
I will crowd you out.
And you will drop to the bottom of your cage,
I will take no action.
Not closing the window.
Doors ajarred. Unbarred.
But I never invited you.
When to use lol? I'd say pretty much never. Unless you mean it literally. Otherwise it sounds foolish. It's original purpose, to reward people who couldn't hear you laugh (a terrible surrogate anyway), has long since passed into folklore.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Gregor's father had named him such on account of his own love for the old chants, but Gregor, a shy and meticulous fellow, was largely tone deaf due to a childhood accident in a bell tower. But if you put enough of the grog in Gregor, he could be known to bark a few quatres.
So here is Gregor, squinting at the scroll, mumbling his way through "Alma Redemptoris Mater"(which was the Justin Bieber hit of its time) and sporting pollen all over his tunic. He is almost all the way through when he catches the eye of a lady in the back corner of the establishment. He finishes and, encouraged by the eye contact and the potency of the grog, makes his way over to her, desperately brushing to get the pollen off his chest. He has a mission. He knows that he is conducting all kinds of precise heredity experiments back at the monastery, but with the grog, being locked up all day long with a bunch of dudes and seeing flowers and pea pods get all the action, he wants to make memory out of this night by performing a little heredity experiment of his own.
"Hey baby, I saw you scoping me out while I was chanting. I had to come over because you are looking fine beyond all this age."
"You know, the age of reason."
"I know you probably have a name, and that your mother and father gave it to you, but it's nothing compared to what they gave you that you've got going on all up in here."
"Thank you. My name's Lilly."
"It would have to be. I'm . . . my name is Stamen. Stamen Mendel."
"And what do you do, Stamen?"
"I make flowers do it while I watch."
"Wow. I just clean houses. I'm kind of a neat freak. You have a little pollen on your shirt."
"Why don't we get out of here and I show you what I can do."
And that worked. Mendel was a lot smoother than he looked. Most people don't know this, but the great great grandfather of Howie Mendel was created that night. You go, Gregor.
A little known fact about Ben Franklin, when Ben performed that well known experiment, tying a key to a kite string, a bolt of tremendous energy surged through the apparatus and electrocuted him, but not killing him. Rather, it endowed him with the super power to control electric currents. He swore to keep this secret and to only use his power to defend the American way of life and her precious Constitution’s ideals. With his power, Ben invented a time machine and travels through time to correct America whenever she steers away from her ideal beginnings. He has seen our current state and is not pleased. Forming a band with some famous, some infamous American characters, all having their own super powers, Benjamin Franklin has come now, conjured by the invocation of John Stossel, to clean up America and restore her to a pure, constitutionally sound republic. They are the Fantastic Forefathers. “This time, it’s Constitutional!”
George Washington: wields his Ax of Truth to cleft in twain the powers of deception in politics.
Thomas Jefferson: better known by his chosen superhero name, TJ Max, a shape shifter who has infiltrated American society on any number of occasions. His weapon, a radioactive quill known as the Hancock, is mightier than any sword.
Patrick Henry: with an indestructible exoskeleton, he is always willing to make a seemingly ultimate sacrifice . . . and then get right back up and “finish the job for liberty.”
Fredrick Douglas: the alien symbiote that takes the form of his beard is the source of his power, the Filibuster. The Filibuster is a shockwave, created by Douglas’ voice and enhanced by the alien symbiote beard.
Bionic Betsy Ross: upon one visit to modern times, when George Washington was trying to knock Al Franken and Rush Limbaugh’s heads together to “make a funny coconut sound”, Betsy was standing too close, she received multiple mortal injuries. Using the invention genius of Franklin and his electrical powers, Betsy was reconstructed to be stronger, faster and more just than ever. And she can shoot sewing needles out of her eyes.
Together, with their wisdom, insight and super powers, they will save America and return her to her precious Constitutional purity: a time when health care did not exist, slavery was legal and women couldn’t vote, except of course now we have health care, slavery is illegal and women can vote, but pretty much everything else will be just like it was.