Leinenkugel's Fireside Nut Brown

So I'm sitting here drinking the title of this post and listening to Accept. I also have a cat climbing up towards my balls from underneath the desk. Now she's moved on to attempting to climb up from the side. Unfortunately for her, she's not going to be successful. I spoke too soon, she was successful. Damn cats. I'm trying to type and she's licking my right hand. Just sit and relax. What's so difficult about that? Why do you constantly have to lick with your 15 grit sandpaper tongue?

I don't really know if this post is going to have an actual theme, but I've been drinking for the past few hours with some friends and I thought it would be a good idea to write a blog post. Not all of my decisions are good ones.

So I've got 17 more days at this residence. I've forwarded my mail/subscriptions elsewhere. I've started packing up my belongings, most of which will go into storage. I'm condensing the existence I've known into what should be a much simpler form of being, and I'm looking forward to it. It's all too easy to get caught up in your personal property. Who needs this many books? Who needs this many pens? Who needs this many tickets to Cubs games that are not easily sold? Seriously...I have Cubs tickets if you need them...nights and weekends. Let me know. :)

First smiley emoticon I've used on this website. Also the first website blog I've written while a cat was sitting on my lap. Said cat just got a little drum solo on her back. Probably thought it felt good, even if she didn't know it was the 437th coming of Stefan Kaufmann. Oh well, to each their own. All I can do is proudly wear my Accept t-shirt for others to admire and hope they'll someday understand just how damn good that band was/is. I can't hear the purring due to my headphones, but I can feel it. This cat likes to sit on laps while Accept is playing, and I can't say I'm surprised.

What was I saying earlier about themes and not having one? Oh yeah...that was what I was saying. So it's time to move on. Time to get out of Dodge and into, oh I don't know...perhaps an Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme? I don't even own a car, but I'm guessing this is what they drive over in Bridgeport. And don't assume that's a negative statement, as I love that car. Used to drive it myself. But I don't anymore and I think that's how you get laid in Bridgeport. I'm going to need a sweet car. The Cutlass or a Trans Am or something like that. Perhaps a motorcycle? I don't really know, these are just guesses. If any of you know please send me information so I'll know how to survive. I wonder if it'll be easier to sell my tickets for Cubs games when I'm blocks away from Comiskey Park? I think it will be. There's probably a ton of pretend White Sox fans over that way who actually root for the Cubs and are praying and hoping that a true Cubs fan with season tickets will move into the neighborhood. Yeah, I'm pretty sure that's how it will be. Mobile Phone Park be damned! That's a great commercial.

Okay, the cat decided to sit up, so I booted him off my lap. It's too difficult to type when there's a cat head in your way. Even more so when there's a cat giving you head, but that's only happened once in my life, and it was during college, so I'm not even sure it counts. Mr. Kitty was surely just experimenting, you know? My girlfriend was away for Thanksgiving visiting her family. I was staying at school, she dropped off her cat, I was in bed...the cat was in bed under the covers, one thing led to another and, well, there's really nothing else that needs to be said.

Thank God that cat didn't have a 15 grit tongue.

What else do I have? I'm thinking that last cat story is a good way to end this post, but the Nut Brown in me thinks otherwise. Unfortunately, that Nut Brown isn't really coming up with any good ideas, so I may have to ask the Schlitz, or the Captain, or the Sierra Nevada for help with this one. I wish I had something important to tell all of you, but I'm not sure that I do. Let me think for a minute. Maybe longer actually. No, longer. I said longer. Jesus Christ! Patience is a virtue, you know? Perhaps you don't. I'm sorry for using the Lord's name in vain there.

No, I'm not.

Don't get me started on religion. That will only offend, and this blog is about peace and love, not offending people...unlike religion. :)

Smiley face makes it all better, no matter what was said or written. Jesus fucking loves cute emoticons!*

At this point, I'm hoping (but certainly not praying) for Purgatory.

Weird. Just went into the mini fridge upstairs at the bar for a beer and there was one solitary beer and...guess....a bottle of A1 steak sauce. What the hell is that doing in there? All the food is located downstairs. The grill is downstairs. There really is no food upstairs, so why is there A1 steak sauce in the mini fridge? I really don't remember that being in there. The only thing I can think of is maybe the steak sauce belonged to that moth that I savagely killed in the shower this afternoon. He sort of freaked me out when I pulled the shower curtain open, and I know for certain he was harboring weapons of moth destruction, so I knew I was justified in crushing him with the Systems Clean Whirlpool Bath Cleaning box. I did not know moths were big steak fans, but I suppose you can put that stuff on just about anything in order to enjoy a healthy, delicious meal. Something tells me I'll be having a few more unplanned encounters with A1 steak sauce once I move to Bridgeport. Anyway I crushed the moth, his insides blew out and stuck to the wall, while his body rested on the window sill. I didn't feel good about it, and karma let me know it, as I stubbed all of my toes on the side of the bathtub trying to get some toilet paper to wipe up it's dead carcass.

There's an awfully suspicious large white van parked outside my apartment. The cat is sleeping peacefully atop a cardboard box. My beer is, unfortunately, only about half empty. Red scissors sit atop my desk. The Last In Line has ended and I'm back to the Balls To The Wall album. Probably time to brush my teeth and call it a night.

Good night.



* This isn't an asterisk, it's stigmata.

Sydney's Seven!

I had the honor of being invited to my niece's 7th birthday party this past Saturday and, as usual, I had myself quite a good time. Actually, I'd estimate that I had about seven times a good time. I knew one of these days I'd have to use my math skills in a real life situation...just didn't realize it would be due to this blog. Sydney could probably run circles around my math skills, assuming they're even large enough to go around. Anyway, the party was a great success! Below I've uploaded a few of the photos that turned out well enough to post. Actually, this is all of the decent ones, the others are blurry or extra blurry. If you're saddened that your child's picture did not make the cut, well that's too bad, and perhaps I'll try harder next time. Seriously it's difficult to get a good snapshot of kids that just don't seem to keep still. You know, back in my day, we had to sit very still at birthday parties and were not allowed to run around making all sorts of mayhem. The kids these days with their liberal freedoms! Anyway, today I give thanks for Apple Aperture and it's sharpening capabilities.

Sydney and Janet

Sydney and Janet

Avery

Avery

Sydney

Avery, Janet, Sydney, and Will

Sydney

Connor

Avery

Sydney

So thanks for throwing another great party Janet and Will! Everything was just perfect. Well, almost everything. When I finally got around to eating some of the leftover bbq I brought home, I noticed there was no chicken in the container. Now I'm not going to complain about this, and certainly wouldn't do so in a public forum, but just an FYI for next time. Of course I kid, I kid. 

And yes, as that last picture indicates, the party deteriorated into a crazy dance party after most of the "sorry, gotta leave early" partygoers exited. That's just how my family rolls. 

Fortunate Son.

Your heavy desire, only allow you to see what you are looking for.
If I could accurately, and with complete understanding, interpret what this fortune means, and also show, how it very well could change the future as we know it, I'd be writing some sort of self-help book on the subject. I don't know what it means. Also, that is not my grammatical error in bold. Do you think that when fortune cookie fortunes (as if there were any other cookies offering up advice) contain errors like that, they help perpetuate Asian stereotypes? As a pasty white caucasian, do I find myself mimicking the voice of who I believe to be the person responsible for creating that fortune? I guess I sort of did that time. Not with any negative bent, but I thought it in a slightly different voice. Does that make me a racist? Perhaps. Or perhaps I just decided to step into another dimension in order to comprehend the situation? If I try hard enough, I'll answer the question, or at least I'll amass enough bullshit to create whatever reality I want.

The luck that is ordained for you will be coveted by others. 
This could be bad. This could be really bad. If others covet my luck, that means they desire it, and if it's bad luck for me that they covet, I'm not going to be for long. Of course, that's the half-empty approach to that fortune. I imagine the author meant that the amount of luck individuals possess is more than enough to be successful in life, and if you take advantage and use that luck, others who don't make that choice, will be envious of your luck. I suppose this fortune is advising me to start using my luck. 

The shortest distance between two people is a smile. 

I suppose that could be true, unless ones penis finds itself inside another's vagina. That seems like it would be a bit closer than a smile, but I could be wrong. 

Haste does not bring success. 
You cannot force creativity with drink, but at times, it helps me give you mediocrity, the likes of which are not commonly found in nature. Listening to the Pretenders first album also helps. Great stuff. This fortune is only half true. Haste running down the baseline, more often than not, results in more success. Breaking a tackle, getting free in open space, and running as fast as you can usually gives you more success. I also thought of another more vulgar example, but I've decided to keep that one to myself for the time being. Whether or not, I choose to write it down and use it at a later date will be kept secret. Okay, back to the fortune. It seems true that if you succeed, it probably wasn't done through haste, but hard work and perseverance. Those unique virtues, which are pretty much universal, always seem to be the answer, except for a very small percentage of folk, but this is not a political blog, it's a plasticine love affair with this tape measure. Now that I picked it up, I see that the manufacturer is named Servess. That's what the love affair was all about.

I'm not sure what happened in that last paragraph, and I have absolutely no idea what that love affair sentence means. Actually I do, it's complete nonsense.  Let's put that behind and move on. 

A smile is nearly always inspired by another smile. 
No doubt referring to a vertical smile, or in my thought, smiles. Both of which would be occurring simultaneously during a bit of scissoring. I'm not here to promote other websites, but I decided to find the online definition of scissoring, and Urban Dictionary really came through with not only the definition, but a very entertaining example as well.

http://www.urbandictionary.com/define.php?term=scissoring

I'm not sure if that's all I have to do when referencing another website, but I would imagine that's good enough. The source is right there in the link and I mentioned the name of the website. What else could they possibly need? A banner ad? A picture of the founder?

Alright, yes a smile is often inspired by another smile. That's a nice fortune. Smile and the world smiles back at you, right? Well, not dirt and water and other inanimate combinations of matter, but you know what I mean. I've often been told that I don't smile enough, and that may be true, but sometimes when I'm not smiling, I allow for the Universe to provide others, who need to smile a lot , unfettered access to my inner bank of smiles. I do not charge interest on these smiles, and that's because I love you. You are very dear to me, my readers. That is why I've decided to start putting up ads on my website. I know, I know, I'm selling out, but from what I understand, I'll be able to make almost enough, in the next month, to provide a small amount of help to Judy, who stands outside the Chicago/Western CVS, always asking politely for a bit of spare change. She's a nice lady, that Judy. I decided many months ago to give her change or cash every time I crossed her path. I had decided I'd do it for a month, but habits are difficult to break, so I'd guess 95% of the time I've given her something. She's always very grateful, as she probably should be if she wants contributors, but it's nice to stop and chat for a few moments. I enjoy old people. They usually have something good to say.

That one got away from me as well. It's not worth my while to put up ads on this site. I hope that inspires you to not put up ads on your site, because if a certain thing always inspires that same thing, much like a smile...I digress, because that question was about to become so far out that I conjured up John Denver in my mind when I read it once more. Onward and upward.

When you can't naturally feel upbeat, it can sometimes help to act as if you did. 
Some would suggest being upbeat is always a choice, but I believe, science says otherwise. There's probably a nice bell shaped curve somewhere describing the spectrum of human thought on that topic, but I'm not presently interested in that. I'm much more interested in this Simon and Garfunkel album playing in the background. Though, with a band of that caliber, it's so much more enjoyable to have them in the foreground, so I've just now made the decision to play this song on the bedroom speakers instead of in the living room. That way I can physically have the music in the foreground. Sorry, gotta run...I'm building a metaphorical happiness bridge, which has the possibility of spanning large quantities of troubled water. Damn, that's a fine song. Certainly one of the best all-time, but listen to the last minute and fifty seconds of the song. Simply fantastic. Quite possibly the greatest two minutes of music in recorded history. And now that we're measuring that way, M.O.D.'s Short But Sweet is probably the greatest seven seconds in recorded music history. Dang. Just checked that and there's a bit of a battle on my hand. Sufjan Stevens One Last "Whoo-hoo!" For The Pullman, is also seven seconds. I can already split all of my friends up into groups of who likes which song better. One group seems a bit larger, which only means that they are more mainstream.

Lame.

Well that's all for this here post. Now that I'm finished, I'm pretty sure I forgot to interpret any of these fortunes. Perhaps some other time.

Melon(choly)?

One of the first indications that summer has arrived here in Chicago is when old, beat-up pickup trucks, filled with watermelons, are spotted parked along the side of the street. Perhaps they aren't all old and beat-up, but who really pays that much attention, when you know that they're filled with so many pounds of deliciousness? In my opinion, there is no better summer fruit than a plump, succulent watermelon. In fact, I can't think of any other fruit that even comes close to signifying the oncoming warmth of summertime. Perhaps there is, but for these purposes, let's just ignore the others.

There's a certain satisfaction when you carry home some fifteen pound behemoth watermelon. It's a feat of strength that not everyone can accomplish. The physically weak will easily wilt under that much weight, and the mentally weak will head home with a cantaloupe. Pussies. 

Now I suppose you could purchase one of those smaller, less impressive baby watermelons, but let's be honest, what you're really doing is purchasing a late term abortion watermelon. That watermelon was not given the chance to reach maturity, but you'll be more than happy to take it home (in a bag), chop it up, and serve it to your kids for a snack. Shame on you! That's disgusting. 

On the other hand, perhaps you'd just like to buy pre-sliced watermelon from the refrigerated section in the produce department. If you're this person, please stop reading my blog. 

So perhaps you're wondering what the hell is the point, Dave? I'm also wondering that right about now, but there is one. My roommate, Andrew, brought home a watermelon to share and I finally got around to taking a knife to it so I could enjoy it's sweet, delicious red flesh. Not really enjoy in the eating sense of the word, but more in the curious with a camera type of enjoyment. You see, he brought this watermelon home at least 8 or 9 months ago. Now having previous experience chopping up old watermelons, I knew what to expect, and I was not disappointed. 

Here's the first, not yet chopped up picture. Note the facial features on this watermelon. It's rather eerie and ghostlike, but that's what you'd expect from a watermelon, which was not allowed to advance to the birth stage. Yes, he brought home one of those small, baby, late-term abortion melons. 

And here's what it looks like after chopping it down the middle and exposing it's inner melon. Not exactly the usual crisp, sweet flesh you'd normally find, is it? 

And finally, here's another picture of the face, this time mangled a bit from having sliced it open. 

So what have we learned? I have absolutely no idea, what you've learned, but I've learned, once again, that old, rotting watermelons are kinda gross, yet fascinating at the same time.