Brew and View Review: The Passion of the Christ

OK, to be honest, I didn't see the movie at an actual brew and view. But I did have a few beers last night and less than 12 hours later, I did see the movie with the alcohol still somewhere circulating throughout my body, so does that count? Eh, I didn't think so either, so much for trying to make ends meet...

If Mel Gibson just read the above, he'd probably go William Wallace on me. Yes, the movie has a serious overtone to it. Moreover though, "The Passion" is a very in-your-face depiction of the last few hours of Jesus the Christ. Mr. Lethal Weapon wants you to not only be fully aware of the harsh reality of the situation, but also do some personal reflection from it as well. And that's the real reason why this movie would never appear in a brew-and-view; to view this movie with distractions all around defeats Mellie Mel's true intentions for creating the movie.

Did I like the movie? Yes...wait, no....wait. There really isn't an answer to that question. The more important question that should be asked is, "Did the movie appeal to human emotion?" And with that, I give a resounding "Yes-sir-ree Bob." To not feel anything during the movie is inhuman. It doesn't matter what your faith or beliefs are; moviegoers witnessed the beating and death of a man. If that isn't disturbing, then you have problems.

I admit, the reason why I wanted to see the movie was out of curiosity. The news media hyped the movie, taglining it as something not suitable for young viewers. The bloodlust in me wanted to see how violent this movie was. Actions, in this movie, truly speak louder than words. I found myself in the movie, wanting to throw in the towel for a man who was beaten and whipped, strips of flesh ripped out, blood spraying everywhere, until close to death. If this was any other movie, I would have thought the violence was fun to watch. But this is reality; seeing welts caused by whips eventually become chunks of flesh removed by spiked chains is not fun to look at. This is what it was really like.

Another thing in the back of my mind before watching the movie was the cry of potential anti-Semitism that this movie might create. I put myself in different viewpoints throughout the movie and failed to see how one group of people could be targeted. The movie does a great job of showing that we as mankind were and still are fully accountable for the death of Jesus. If there is one group of people that could be held at fault, "we" are that group. To those who were able to absorb the movie, however, it doesn't really matter. "We" are given forgiveness for that which we do not know we do.

So that's my take on the movie. I'm not going to rate it because it shouldn't be rated. And I'm not going to recommend it either, because it's really all subjective on each individual perspective (of course, if we all thought like that Roger Ebert wouldn't have a job and therefore die of malnourishment from lack of popcorn butter)...

For anyone closer to my age that's seen the movie: Did you notice how the devil kinda looked like Billy Corgan? I knew there was something evil about that metro-hippie

If They Only Knew

For the un-teenth time in the last few days, I got a call from Loyola (sucks) tonight. They've been calling pretty often recently for what I had suspected to be some kind of solicitation for donations. I don't quite understand the cry for help schools use to target their alumni. As an alumnus of a sucky school, why should I feel obliged to give them money? It's a private university, so how much in need could they possibly be? I'd rather give my money to a worthy cause, or at the very least to someone who actually needs the money...

Anyways, instead of screening my calls or picking up the phone and pretending I'm someone else, I actually took the call, hoping it would once and for all make them stop calling. It probably won't, but if word spreads about the call tonight, they won't be calling me for a long time. Here's a general condensed version of the phone dialogue:

Loyola Chick: We're calling to see how you've been doing since graduating a few years back. Do you have a few minutes?
Erwin: Umm, I'm watching WWE Smackdown and this huge fat wrassler guy is about to shove his ass in this other wrassler guy's face. I think I can spare a couple minutes.
Loyola Chick: Well, first of all I just wanted to give you an update on the school of business. We're excited about our new business dean. He went to Loyola and received both his degree in business and his MBA there. He comes to Loyola after spending 25 years at Abbott Laboratories.
Erwin: Really? I have a friend who graduated from Loyola who currently works at Abbott Labs.
Loyola Chick: Oh really? What does she do?
Erwin: Umm, I don't know. I think she bends over and takes it up the ass all day.
*Few seconds of stunned silence*
Loyola Chick: Ummmm....O.......K.....Erwin, can you tell me what you're doing nowadays? Are you working?
Erwin: Yep, I work at a futures and options clearinghouse in downtown Chicago.
Loyola Chick: What do you do there?
Erwin: I bend over AND grab my ankles, and proceed to take it up the ass all day.
*Long silence*
Loyola Chick: O...K...Let me tell you a little bit about myself. I'm a freshmen currently majoring in Communications...Can you tell me about your college experience while at Loyola?
Erwin: Do you like your questions being answered with questions?
Loyola Chick: What?
Erwin: Are you aware that a study was published when I attended Loyola that showed that Loyola students were ranked among the least happiest college students in the state of Illinois?
Loyola Chick: No
Erwin: That study was accurate
*Silence yet again*
Loyola Chick: Can you tell me why you chose Loyola's school of business?
Erwin: Business wasn't my first choice, but it was the quick and easy way out. Loyola made me realize that I was there for the degree, not the education.
*I had sensed the conversation was not going as well as she planned*
Loyola Chick: Can you tell me about any internship experiences you had while at Loyola?
Erwin: I interned at the place that evenutally became my first job out of school. It was quite a learning experience. That's where I began to take it up the ass.
*By this time, Loyola Chick had given up on me and went through the worst telemarketing sales spiel I think I have ever heard*
Loyola Chick: ...Would you like to agree to a small contribution of $150 to Loyola's School of Business Alumni Fund?...
Erwin: Are you also aware that another study was published that showed that Loyola students incurred the greatest amount of debt by the time they had graduated of all schools in the state of Illinois?
Loyola Chick: No
Erwin: That study was also accurate. Have a good night.

Yah, it's times like these that make me proud to be a Loyola alumnus

I'm Going to Hell

5:30 PM: Good time to close shop at work today so Erwin can make it to the Ash Wednesday service at his local church. Erwin notices that Karen is struggling through the end of day process so he asks if he can be of any assistance. Karen whines about how everytime she has plans, things at work never go smoothly. Erwin considers taking over and letting Karen leave work because she has plans. Frustrated Karen mentions that she was going to go to her church for Ash Wednesday...

Uh-oh. Sounds like we've got a WWJD dilemma. If Erwin leaves now, he makes it to church, but Karen doesn't and she burns eternally in hell until the next Ash Wednesday as a result. But if Erwin lets Karen go, she makes it to church and Erwin...makes it too, so the two earn church cookies *yummy*. So the answer is simple: "Karen, I gotta go, see you later."

Unfortunately for Karen, Erwin is not Jesus. Jesus always makes things look simple, I think it's those divine powers of His. Erwin is burning in hell for his actions as I speak, errr, type. And you thought he was just referring to himself in the third person.

While Erwin's burning eternally in hell, here's something to ponder about for just as long:

If cavemen and astronauts got into a fight, who would win?

Restaraunt Road Rules

Ahhh, a post that expands more on the Restaraunt Road Rules ("RRR"). Basically speaking, there are only two constants to RRR: a starting point (the place where everyone meets) and a destination point (a place that serves food). Other than those two, anything goes; in the car, RRR participants take turns making up rules (i.e. fast food or sit down? left or right side of the street? etc.). Just a few RRR observations:

1. When going towards O'Hare, you are almost guaranteed that Heavenly Bodies inadvertently becomes a realistic possibility.
2. When the rule, "Cannot eat at a restaraunt with a purple car in the parking lot" is in effect, finding a restaraunt without a purple car in the parking lot becomes difficult.
3. When the rule, "Must eat at the restaraunt closest to the sign that has 'tit'" is in effect, silence fills the car because everyone is looking for some tit.
4. Eating at a restaraunt that satisfies the above rule proves that the "perpetual rule" will be used one day. The Perpetual Rule - If you see a man wearing a yellow raincoat with his son, you must ask the man to have dinner at his home.

And after this past Saturday,

5. When Carl bitches about an area (Rush St.), expect to be in this area when RRR are is in effect that night.

Yah, after talking to Carl and hearing from him how last weekend on Rush St. sucked and that he didn't want to do that again, what are the chances that we end up in the same place again? With Carl's luck, pretty high. After deciding that Subway should not be considered a restaraunt through intelligent debate (rocks, paper, scissors), we decided on PJ Clarkes, which was a block down from where we were last week.

What normally would have taken 20 minutes to get to took almost 2 hours. I think we were pretty hungry. So it should come as no surprise that the question of the moment while taking a look at the menu was not what to eat, but rather, "When a bartender quits his/her job, does the restaraunt update the 'Bartender's Favorite Picks" section on their menu to reflect the new bartender's favorite picks?" Our server Caressa couldn't answer the question. And she turned into a ghost when she saw that we actually tried calling the bar on their work phone to get the answer:

Random Thoughts

Once upon a time, when the moon was still young, there was a blog site called Random Thoughts. Random Thoughts eventually evolved into the blog site you currently read today, Brain Droppings. And while the name has changed over time (and will undoubtedly change again eventually) the premise of the names remain the same: this web log is all about the many thoughts, ideas, and experiences that run through my head. What you read is but one of a trillion synapses that is most prevalent at the time of my post. The reason I mention this? While I know some of you are expecting a post of this weekend's activities, it's not going to happen...today. There's something more pressing I need to talk about...

Last Monday, I took my sister out for lunch. We don't talk to each other all that much, so I thought it was a good thing to grab a bite to eat and see how she was doing with life. She had recommended a Thai buffet, which was fine with me since I like love Thai food and was guaranteed to get a full stomach's worth of food. Getting there, I was a little apprehensive about the place since it seemed a bit hole-in-the-wall to me. But I wasn't worried, my sister had their food before. Then walking into the restaraunt I had questioned to myself why we were the only customers they had. But I wasn't worried, my sister had their food before. Then I wondered why there was a guy waiting for what seemed an eternity to get his Thai take-out. But I wasn't worried, their service couldn't be that bad; having eaten their meals before, my sister represents return business. Then I had sampled their Pad Thai noodles and basil chicken; good tasting all-you-can-eat Pad Thai, I was going to make this restaraunt sorry. My negative energies about the place disappeared...mostly...

The guy waiting for his take-out was still waiting and quite some time had passed (I had finished off two full plates of Pad Thai noodles). I could tell he was getting antsy. "How could service be this bad?" I thought. I asked this same question to my sister, whom I previously assumed had eaten at this establishment before, and her response: "I don't know, this is my first time here." All the worries I had of the place returned and some more worries popped up. I went over to our server, who seemed MIA for a long time and asked for more water. As she gave me the glasses, she pointed to the guy and whispered to me, "That guy, health inspector, surprise inspection."

By the way all the other workers were acting, I was under the impression that this surprise inspection wasn't going to go so well. I guzzled my glass of water hoping to dilute the food potentially made in unsanitary conditions. Our server saw this and came over to our table filling my glass with bad food dilutant again. She had told us that everything was fine and to get more food. I had never been so scared to get another plate of buffet food in my life. Even more intimidating was the health inspector testing the buffet area as I got my third plate of food.

Needless to say, my sister and I got out of there in a hurry. We might have even gotten out of there just in time. If my sister and I waited a few minutes later, we might have been trapped in the restaraunt forever, the doors locked by huge orange stickers that say "Restaraunt close due to unsanitary conditions by order of health inspector." I wonder if that place on Touhy and California is still open. Oh well, it's not like I'll be going there ever again.

The moral of the story - Don't eat food at restaraunts recommended by starving college students. They'll eat anything.

To make certain people happy, here's a prelude to a post about this weekend:



(Eric, Caressa, Me and Carl at PJ Clarkes - Restaraunt Road Rules Destination Point)

Homework

No time for a decent post today, working on my boss' performance review. I love the whole idea of 360 degree performance feedback. Doesn't HR know they're setting up a situation very similar to that one Simpsons episode where the Simpsons go for group shock therapy and end up beating the crap out of each other? Wait a minute, there is a method to their madness; by kicking the shiznitt out of everyone else we weed out the weak and hopeless (i.e. twit genocide). And since there's nothing more fun than brutalizing the fucktards of the world, we achieve a more fun and vibrant workplace, which is a companywide objective.

Still, this review is taking a lot longer to do than I thought. Since this is my boss' review and she will ultimately end up seeing what I write, I have to be really prim and proper with my words. Here are a few examples of what I have so far:

"Laura's ability to think “out of the box” gives those who are heavily involved with day-to-day operations alternative points of view when dealing with issues."

Translation: Like hel-lo? My name is Laura and I'm like, your arm chair quarterback and backseat driver rolled up into one or something. Cha, that was like so easy. Duh...


"There have been instances where there was lack of guidance because Laura was not as familiar with certain work processes."

Translation: Laura knows crap about what anyone else does. Take me for example:

Laura: Erwin, what are your primary responsibilities?
Erwin: FNX in the morning and open issues in the afternoon.
Laura: Just those two?
Erwin: Mmm Hmm
Laura: *pauses*That's it?
Erwin: Yup
Laura: O....K....

"Laura’s teamwork skills are good; Laura always looks to involve appropriate individuals when encountering issues she cannot resolve on her own."

Translation: Laura is really good at leaving her work for someone else to do. Especially on Fridays. Because she's doesn't work Fridays.


"Laura needs to be more proactive within the department . As head of operations, Laura needs to take more ownership and accountability."

Translation: Laura needs to actually do work during her 4-day work week instead of planning her next weekend vacation (she has every Friday, Saturday and Sunday off). And being proactive does not mean making more personal calls to "pookie," her latchkey child, and "noodle," her husband.


"Laura does let those within the department know that she is always approachable and makes an effort to let them feel open and comfortable when discussing issues."

Translation: Actually, same response as the first translation. Duh!


"It is OK to share my comments with Laura"

Translation: Yeeah, beeotch, you're going to take my comments and you're going to like it dammit. If you had even a single brain cell, you'd realize that I'm insulting you, but since you are the epitome of twitdom, you're just going to sit there, smile and giggle.

Oh well, gotta get back to work. All work and no play for me. Here, play with monkeys in my absence (Requires Macromedia Flash).

The Side Show Bob Show

Saw a Kill Hannah show tonight. To those who don't know, Kill Hannah is an up-and-coming local Chicago band that is starting to make a name for itself mainstream. They sound excellent live and their shows on the whole are really good. As an added bonus, their lead singer kinda looks like Side Show Bob. See?


Side Show Bob, serial killer and Bart Simpson stalker


Mat Devine, lead singer of Kill Hannah

This being the second Kill Hannah show I've seen, I've noticed Mat has a thing for rubbing his stomach when he sings. Not in a "I'm a sexy rock star" sort of way, but more like a "I'm a Starvin' Marvin from Ethiopia, please feed me some cheesy poofs and chicken pot pie" sort of way. Watching Mat subliminally beg for food made me feel guilty about having a burrito before the show, a pre-show tradition inspired by their song, "10 More Minutes With You"...

One day, this tradition will grow as their fan base increases worldwide. Yes, there will come a day when we will no longer have to go into hole-in-the-wall burrito establishments. Instead, little Mexican men will trade in their elotes carts and ice cream buggies for burrito carts to feed the legion of fans waiting in line to see their beloved Kill Hannah band perform, ending once and for all world hunger. And poor Mat will never rub his anorexic tummy again, because if he does, there will be more than enough Kill Hannah burritos to stuff his face with. Long live el burrito

My Friday Night Part II: Self-Destructive Behavior

This is the thrilling finale of Erwin's recount of his Friday night. To recap what has happened so far (Odd Todd would be so proud):

1. Multiple glasses of whis-kay
2. Beck-ay, Buff-ay, Stace-ay and Sush-ay
3. Plot to take over world discover-ay

At this time I still hadn't felt the effects of the above driving from Antarctica back up to the North Pole. But for some friggin reason, I couldn't form any words singing along with the radio in my car. Granted, I don't know the words to very many songs; I usually utter a sound that can be understood as the last word to each line of a song's lyrics. But if people saw my stellar singing performance in the car on Friday, they would think it was downright entertaining...in a comedic, not musical way.

In Carl's house one second and out with the ambiguously gay duo (Carl and Eric) another second. I'm still not feeling the nauseating effects of Becky's wrath. The three of us are having a good time in the car as Carl drives. Still not feeling anything. At this time, I was thinking "Hah, hah, Becky, I am much man for your evil wrath." And then it happened, Becky pushes her wrath button...

I like to think of myself as a patient person who lets things unfold before making a decision. But when you're in the middle of downtown Chicago looking for parking, it's every driver for themself, unless you want to waste all your overpriced gallons of gas driving around in circles. And if you're the drunk passenger in the backseat of a car getting even more car sick because the driver can't find parking, patience is thrown out the window. A split-second decision needs to be made whether to spew in the car or out of it. Luckily for Carl (mainly because the noose he has around his neck would be transferred to around his sac...after the world's strongest magnifying glass is created to find it) , I made the executive decision to calmly exit the car in the middle of an intersection and attempt to exorcise myself along the sidewalk of the whiskey demon that inhabited me.

I wouldn't have had a problem letting it out. But it's disturbing when someone is attempting to photograph you in the middle of the act. It's even more disturbing when you're hunched over a lamp post about to spew when you look across the street and see that it's your friend trying to capture the Kodak moments. Needless to say, I didn't vomit - sorry, Eric, I'm camera shy when it comes to things like that.

Carl eventually found parking and we were on our way to babysitting bar hopping on Rush Street. The cold Chicago weather sobered me up a little, I thought. I thought wrong. We walk into Dublin's and I was pretty gone. I do remember taking this picture though.



I also remember Carl and I talking to the table next to us when we were about to leave. We learned that women pretending to be school teachers aren't allowed to have pictures taken of them at bars for fear that the pics would wind up on some porn site like www.fatalysis.blogspot.com. Go figure.

I was pretty much Bernie from the movie, "Weekend at Bernies" after we left. We ended up going to Bar Chicago to watch Carl stripper dance and Alumni Club to inspect their washrooms. Even though Carl and Eric only had one beer apiece, I do question how sober they were that night. So I stalked a guy selling Valentine's Day balloons for half a city block. But I'm not the one who wanted to hump a taxi cab *cough, Carl* or stumble and fall on our way back to the car when the night finally ended *sneeze, Eric*...

And that concludes the "bad part" of my night, which really wasn't all too bad. Actually, hanging out with Carl and Eric, I would say this is pretty typical. Good times, good times....

(This is the first of a two-part saga known as my Friday Night)

My Friday Night Part I: Conspiracy Theory

For those wondering, this is what I look like when I'm der..deruh...drunk (Bare with me as I'm still learning that word. It's still pretty new to me since I'm not that word often...in a week):



Yah. that's me on Friday night holding a couple bottles of whiskey. In case you were wondering in amazement how I could still be standing and somewhat conscious after two whiskey bottles, no, I didn't guzzle down both bottles in the same night. And no, I didn't guzzle down each bottle by myself. A great majority of the liver homicide was me though. But I have a reason...You didn't know this, but I do freelance work for a newspaper magazine periodical thingy doing weekly reviews of irish whiskey. It all makes sense now right? I mean really, who would be more qualified to review Irish whiskey than a 24-year old Filipino who until last week has never had a single drop of the stuff that burns us *gollum*?

For some schizo reason, I don't think you believe me...Alright, time to fess up. I've been stricken with WOB (Wrath of Becky). Symptoms of WOB include severe paranoia and the need to say "Squee!" Short-term memory loss also occurs as I seem to have forgotten how or why I incurred Becky's wrath in the first place (this forgetfulness could also be attributed to Loyola Dimentia because Loyola sucks).

With Stacey acting as a median host, I was able to finally meet Human Becky (I've met Cyber Becky before, but at times questioned whether Human Becky really existed or if Stacey had the first ever case of cyber dissociative identity disorder). Apparently, however, those who come in contact with Human Becky face the consequence of having their short-term memory altered. This is why she conveniently provided the whiskey; unbeknownst to me, there are agents in the whiskey that cause you to act really stupid when drinking in large quantities *gasps*.

Along with the drinks, we had a fun night ordering take-out and watching a few episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. And then it hit me (not the alcohol, that's later): Becky's Wrath? Sushi? Buffy? OK Go? There seems to be a hidden agenda behind all this: Subjecting people to these things, Stacey and Becky are looking to take over the world. Ironically, the second I thought this, Stacey, sensing that I discovered their *evil* plans, abruptly ended the night, claiming that she might have had more of the *evil* poison that was in actuality probably meant for me...

Meeting Becky and hanging out with her and Stacey was good times overall. So ends the "good times" portion of my Friday night. Tomorrow - the "bad times" (stay tuned, the alcohol finally hits).

Before There Was Barney...

Had an interesting discussion at work today...wait a minute...(Begin eye-opening moment) I just realized that the only interesting discussions I have at work are with people I don't even work with. What's more, I think I even socialize more with these people than my fellow co-workers. Given that the preferred mode of communication between us is e-mail, I now see why my gradually increasing silence was a department concern. Don't worry, all's well again; complying with the request to remove the 4-foot high wall of storage boxes that enclosed my cube, thus making me virtually non-existant was my way of saying, "See? No weapons of mass destruction. No Osama Bin Laden either." (End eye-opening moment)

Back to today's interesting discussion...while coming to the conclusion that the MS-Paint Diet was healthier and more effective than the Atkins Diet even though there was a side effect that caused people to turn purple, we came upon the topic of Grimace, that loveable, purple, uhhhh, thing that was one of Ronald McDonald's friends during the "Food, Folks and Fun" McDonald's era.



Grimace was truly the prototype of Barney the Dinosaur. He She It was purple, big, slow and dumb. But something about Grimace quite didn't fit in with the rest of the Mc D friends. People could easily relate Birdie to Chicken McNuggets, Burglar to burgers and the Fry Kids to...French Fries. But what about Grimace? Nothing really. Of course, being a little kid watching these commercial, I really didn't care. Food, folks and fun, man...Rock on, Garth! (This is where you mentally respond a la Wayne's World, but we all know you'll end up saying the appropriate response out loud to yourself)...

Now years later and with a super-sized gut, I re-ask the question, "What about Grimace?" And thanks to Becky and Stacey, I now know the answer, though very dark: Grimace was Ronald's bitch; if Ronald was a priest, Grimace would be his favorite altar boy; if Ronald was Michael Jackson, Grimace would be Macauley Culkin and each and everyone of his brothers that came after him; etc. As Becky intelligently pointed out, that was the reason for Grimace's binge-eating which ultimately resulted in its obtuseness (as pictured). This also explains why Grimace waddled like it had something up its ass.

To add further insult to injury, I now theorize the following: To the innocent, Ronald McDonald was known for creating golden arches with his fingers. To the learned and more mature audiences, however, these "golden arches" could be symbolically construed as Ronald producing "golden showers" with an appendage other than his fingers. I therefore theorize that Ronald McDonald was a gay, flaming homosexual. To further support my claim, observe and focus on the shape of Grimace....You're not seeing things, Grimace fits the basic shape of an anal plug. That's why Ronald is so happy to give Grimace a hug. A few minutes after this snapshot was taken, Ronald scaled Mount Butt Plug and impaled himself in a manner similar to a snake engulfing a rat....

Isn't it ironic that we were subjected to this subliminally perverted idea in our youth, yet we all turned out mentally OK? All of us are a bit mental, right?

Cof-fay Talk

I’m feeling a bit verklempt today. I’ll give you a topic: Text messaging is not a convenience but instead an evil work of the devil that must be banished for the good of mankind

Now talk amongst yourselves (preferably in this post’s Comments area)

The Lost Super Bowl Commercial

Backtracking to last week, a majority of the country saw some pretty bad Super Bowl commercials. Companies paid $2.1 million for 30 second spots that wreaked of elephant gas. An anti-smoking commercial aimed at America's youth - sponsored by a tobacco company. An IBM commercial that made no sense except to show how the once lively Muhammad Ali has declined to practically a vegetable. Sorry, corporate America, not all of us are as dumb as you think, so please don't insult our intelligence.

Well, here's some anti-AOL propaganda that they should've aired during the Super Bowl. It's very staight to the point. And we would have done it for only $1 million.

AOL 9.0 With Topspeed Technology Makes Us Sick


(Photo courtesy of Nancy and Dean from Minnesota)

A Disgruntled Reader

Disclaimer: Please note that the views expressed by this editiorial do not reflect in no way, shape or form the views and ideas of the Brain Droppings author....

Dear Erwin:

Hey there asshole. You sanctimonious tyrannical son of a b*tch. For years now, I've been there right with you; I've been there during the highest of your highs. And when you've gone to hell, I've also (sometimes unwillingly) come along for the ride.

What the hell is your f*ckin' problem??? I can handle Mr. Miller G. Draft. Lately though, I feel like your bitch being pimped off to screaming Nazis and some Polish guy whose first name I didn't get; his last name is Zywiec (like you really care). Oh and Charles Shaw...he loves me like I'm some Asian prostitute. One night, I guzzled him down three friggin times. But last night, you drew the line, man. Those Irish go down hard; let's see how you like the burning sensation as Jameson goes down your throat.

I'm writing to let you know I'm through with you. We are over. And do you know what? You're going to be hurting more than me because you need me more than I need you. Remember your birthday a few years ago? Remember being passed out and being carried out of the restaraunt's washroom and then carried into Carl's home? Was I supposed to work that night? I thought that since it was your birthday, you were giving me the holiday off. Oops, my bad....

Let me tell ya, you're in trouble, dude. Take my threat seriously. You've known Homer Simpson for how long? Don't you
remember when you first met him he was able to communicate in complete sentences? Nowadays the most complete thought he can come up with is, "Mmmmmmm, (insert noun here)." Pity, all those brain cells mysteriously gone. Gee I wonder how...

Have a nice day, ass clown.

Sincerely,
Your Liver

Pet Peeve

24 hours ago, I sat in front of my laptop replaying the day's events in my head. I couldn't think of anything that I would deem blogworthy. WTF? An uneventful, quiet day? Huh? I was awake yesterday, right? Thinking about it, I don't think I was; I had this weird dream that I watched an episode of Angel (for some reason the number "100" stands out), something I would never do if I was really awake. Oh, and I watched the show with Stacey...and we were sober. Wait, watching TV with Stacey, sober. That must have really been a dream, because we all know THAT would never happen....

Waking up from this surreal dream, I go to work and I receive an e-mail about how annoying it is for someone to repeat in question form an answer to a question. This is known as Seinfeld rhetoric; the answer tends to be repeated in a whiny Seinfeld tone of voice that most simple twits take as comedic, but is really annoying. Why? Yo no se.

The e-mail triggered a moment yesterday that I seemed to have repressed, probably because the person I was dealing with was so stupid that I just wanted to smack the fuck out of him so that I could liberate whatever existing brain cells he had into a more intelligent medium, like air. Here's a brief, dumbed-down synopsis of the conversation. We'll call him Mark because he's really stupid...and that's what his name is.

Mark: Erwin, can you figure out what I did wrong?
Erwin: Yah, you took "x" into account on day 1, but you didn't take it into account on day 2
Mark: I know. (light bulb turns on) I didn't take "x" into account on day 2, just on day 1
Erwin: (stares at Mark, imagining one huge backhand across the face) Uhhhh, Mark? (grabbing armrest real tight so as to not act out what I'm imagining) That's what I said...

I agree that there is no such thing as a stupid question, just stupid people. If you already know the answer to the question, why even bother to ask? That is a major pet peeve of mine. Damn sycophants....

And following Seinfeld rhetoric, 98% of the population reading this will immediately respond, "Sycophants"???

The ESPN Zone Incident

Why can't things ever be so plain and simple when hanging out with Gay Carl and Eric? Gosh damn, since two of us are pretty busy with work and the other is making sure that the leash he's on isn't strangling him, we don't have the opportunity to hang out all too often. But when we do hang out, nothing is ever as simple as it seems. A few cases in point:

1. Going to the movies - At the last second we decide to go see the movie opening of Cradle 2 The Grave. A few words of advice: Do not let someone who has recently just moved in from another country (Texas) set plans to see a movie. He'll buy tickets in advance (a good thing), but take you to the wrong movie theater (a very bad thing).

2. Going out for dinner - The city of Chicago has tons of restaraunts. So when you have four very hungry people (including Greg) who are starving for food, how long does it take to find a place to eat? About 2 hours and at least 30 miles of driving. Why? It was all about the restaraunt road rules...Finding a restaraunt that was 1) sit-down, not fast-food, 2) on the left side of the street and 3) did not have a black car in the parking lot was not the easiest thing to do.

3. Going bar-hopping - The city of Chicago also has plenty of bars. So we're in the middle of the bar-filled Wicker Park area and who chooses which bar to hit first? The highest mo' fo' in the world, a really cool homeless guy that we met on the corner. Good times....

Which brings me to this past Sunday...Super Bowl Sunday...

So we're driving to ESPN Zone in downtown Chicago and Eric's testing out his Fuji digital



After we find parking, we're walking to ESPN Zone when Carl meets a guy who loves Carl's shoes so much he wanted to clean them...too bad Carl didn't know he had to pay for this stranger's generous service



And then we entered the ESPN Zone where they issued me a new guy card that Stacey mysteriously misplaced



We decided to play a drinking game during the Super Bowl. For every touchdown scored, we each had to take a shot. The shot of choice: the Screaming Nazi (Jagr, Rumple Minze, and Goldschlager). So when the Patriots scored



And when the Panthers scored



Along with the 7 touchdowns scored in the game, our waiter Todd hooked us up with 2 free shots. Add to this the all-you-can-eat buffet and the 2 free beers we were also given, it was a kick-ass night.

And after the shots settled in, we all lived craptacularly ever after....

Weekend Lethargy

Note to self: Erwin, you're not all there. It's 11:53 PM on the night before +1 and you're on many, many shots. Must talk about the Spaghetti Warehouse Incident at a later time, preferably when sober...

Why is it that all week long I look forward to the weekend like it's my savior but when the weekend actually comes along, there's really no need to celebrate? The weekend has come and gone, and I feel the same way I feel every other day of the week when I wake up as of late: blah.

Blah is the feeling I get when I haven't had my morning dose of caffeine during the work week. Blah dictates the length of time I wear my pajamas on the weekend. Blah tells my sub-conscience to be and stay antisocial, no matter how significant the event (i.e. Super Bowl Sunday).

Yes, there is something definitely wrong. The self-proclaimed man of perpetual motion has come to an abrupt and screeching halt. Mr. Spontanaeity seems to be pretty predicatable as of late. Composure right now means indifference and acceptance of the staus quo rather than withstanding the forces against you and waiting for the right moment to attack...

The troops are tired and are losing sight of what they're fighting for. Are they fighting for stability or for freedom? Whether you realize it or not, we are all part of the "rat race," a lifelong race that very few ever finish. Is it me or does it seem like most people are content with going through life just getting by (i.e. stability)? Those stuck in the rat race desire stability so much that they blindly trade their personal freedom to become followers. The so-called choices they make are dictated by reactions as a result of external entities rather than that of personal action.

Those that seek freedom from control, on the other hand, realize that stability is a farce. How can someone possibly claim to live a stable life knowing that at any given time something can drasctically change their life due to circumstances beyond their control? Freedom seekers are leaders rather than followers. And because of that, there is no place for them in the rat race. Instead, they are on a different yet higher plane of existance, one in which the only limits and boundaries that exist are the ones imposed in their head. The world offers us so much to experience. Sadly, very few of us have an open mind and heart to experience those things.

So to summarize:

1. I am not as lethargic as I make myself out to be
2. I become a total philosophical geek when I'm under the influence
3. Stick to being followers and know your role, each and everyone of you, so I can rule all your candy-asses