Sushi, Kid Koala, Franklin Street and Cook Out = Crazy Delicious

Sushi, Kid Koala, Franklin Street and Cook Out = Crazy Delicious



I haven't had a cigarette in 18 hours!!! I'm about to lose my mind, Margot Kidder style. I've tried to quit a couple of times in my life. From experience the first few days are always the worst. If I can get past Friday I'll be golden.

This weekend was a blast. Friday night I went out with Amanda and had an excellent Mexican dinner. Our food was seriously on our table in a minute and thirty seconds after we ordered. We then went to the ten o'clock showing of Russell Crowe's new flick State of Play. SOP was an excellent film and I highly recommend it. About halfway through the show an actor in the movie mentions a small North Carolina town by the name of Conway, NC. That blew my mind. It was nice to see that Conway, NC got a shout-out. Other than that it was a very smart, suspenseful, thriller with one of the most beautiful women in the world, Silver Fox, aka Helen Mirren, playing a ruthless, ball-busting, Limey newspaper editor. It's the best journalistic thrill ride I've seen since Zodiac. (I would french kiss a Black Mamba right now for a cigarette.)

Our journey began at 4 pm Saturday afternoon. Amanda dropped me off at my friend John Paul's house. Japes drove to pick up another friend of ours Ryan. He was having a real shit week, so JP and I talked him into coming with us to get his mind off of things. We stopped at Sheetz and Picked up a sixer or two. The drive consisted of dialogue that most males talk about on long car rides. Sports, movies, who would you do, etc...

We arrived in the wonderful city of Durham around seven o'clock. It was lovely to be in Blue Devil country. However, JP being a Tar Heel fan and Ryan being a Wake fan didn't bask in my excitement. The two Stooges never passed on the opportunity to point out the swarms of gay men that attend Duke. Innocent heterosexual med students riding their bicycles to and from class were getting heckled by my two comrades. I got to see the campus on the right as we made our way to George's Garage for dinner.

There I had four Sierra Nevada's on draft and some AMAZING sushi. The menu was pricey but well worth it. I ordered the Blue Devil rolls which was the best sushi I had ever eaten in my life. Our waitress was GORGEOUS but had the personality of an SS guard and probably moonlighted as Hitler's concubine. She goose-stepped passed us five times ignoring our requests for more beverages. (I would exchange needles with Amy Winehouse right now for a cigarette). Ryan made his way from the restroom and jovially said two Duke fags tried to look at his dick at the urinals. It was time to pay our bill to Eva Braun and head out on the road.

We then made our way (behind enemy lines) to downtown Chapel Hill. As we passed Franklin street I almost regurgitated in my mouth. Just seeing all of the UNC shops and students on the street made me feel a discomforting knot begin to form in my bowels.

We pulled into the Cat's Cradle parking lot and killed a couple of beers before going in. We sat and waited for what seemed like five hours for Kid Koala to come on. Miller Lite cans were 3 dollars at the bar. I sat outside and smoked (OMG!!!) throwing back Miller Lite waiting patiently. I met a guy from Red Bull and he talked to me about how sick Kid Koala is on the tables. He informed me that Red Bull was sponsoring his tours and that the Koala Bear gets mad pussy. He then said that the girls in NC remind him of the tail in Long Beach.

I have been to allot of concerts / shows before but I've never seen a live DJ like this. I didn't know what to expect. I saw a swarm of people run inside so I followed and met up with JP and Ryan. Two guys were on stage with an electronic turntable hacking away. Their set list was shitty and generic. People looked around and wondered if this was the Kid Koala show they had paid to see. I asked Japes and he told me, NO! Ryan and I watched and laughed as this kid who looked like a reject from an eighties John Hughes film danced offbeat to the sounds like Elaine from Seinfeld having a seizure. I nicknamed him "Drugs" for the night. Thirty minutes passed and this horrible DJ was still on stage and "Drugs" didn't miss a beat. I went outside to smoke and grab another beer.

"Drugs" walked outside covered with sweat from chin-to-Fedora. He asked me for a light and I overheard one of his pals telling him to drink more water. He doesn't need to go to the ER, again. "Drugs" the struggling artist formerly known as the X-Man Taketh, didn't look like he knew what planet he was on. "Drugs" could hardly keeps his eyes open. I tried to make simple conversation with him and had to take his pic.

I made my way back to the stage and met up with JP and Ryan. Ryan had just informed me there were some faggy ass UNC guys that followed him into the bathroom. LOL. The lights dimmed and Kid Koala came on stage. If I were the other DJs that played before him I would have exited the building right then and there. This guy was SICK!!! All you see is a short little Asian guy with great speed and accuracy as he goes back-and-forth to his three turntables. His fingers are incredibly fast as he mixes and smashes immaculate and eclectic sounds. This was truly amazing. Two HD cameras sat on both ends of him filming for everyone to see his craft.


When he moved on to his originals I was floored. He reminded me of an old blues man with three turntables and a microphone. Check this out. This is his trumpet solo I found on YouTube.

After the show Japes and I talked to Koala for a brief minute. He was a very nice and humble guy. We found out from Red Bull guy where Koala and his crew were going after the show and decided against not going. Neither of us felt like paying a cover to get in anywhere. Extremely shit-faced we made our way to Franklin Street. I couldn't believe I was having an amazing time on Franklin Street. This was the first time I had ever remembered going anywhere on Franklin Street. What a beautiful and clean city. Don't get me wrong, I hate everything UNC, but Chapel Hill is very nice. We talked to one of the nicest cops I had ever met outside of one of the bars. He told us anecdotes about loose UNC girls and the nightlife of a few UNC players. We left there and ended up at a bar with a young band covering "Santeria". It was a blast! (I would have let Michael Jackson adopt me when I was seven for a cigarette right now.) We walked back to the car and listened to Ryan scream out "FUCK UNC. GO WAKE FOREST"! No gay men attacked him.

I think it was around Burlington we stopped and got some delicious Cookout!!! I ordered the "Drunk Bastard Special". One BBQ sandwich, hush puppies and seasoned fries. In my old age I have learned that no wild night of drinks and debauchery is complete without Cookout. We got home around four in the morning. It was a great night. JP and I had to get up the next morning to play in a Captain's Choice golf game at Tanglewood. I can tell you I felt like shit warmed over all day Sunday. On the other hand I wouldn't of changed a thing about Saturday night. It was definitely well worth it! (No Duke or UNC students were harmed by Ryan during his visit)

Dahmer Needs To Cut His Grass!

Dahmer Needs To Cut His Grass!

Anyone that knows me very well, and has visited my house has probably heard me talk about the serial killer that lives next door to me. My neighbor's behavior has puzzled me since we first moved into the neighborhood. Granted this is coming from a guy that thought a vampire lived eight houses down from his Aunt and Uncle in high school... and I was seventeen when I believed this... With that said, here are all of the tell-tale signs that I am in fact living next to the future Ramirez / Dahmer / Gacy.

1. Single White Male. Lives alone. Age, 45-58

2. He is a quiet man that keeps to himself. He never has any company (of the living kind).

3. He has never spoken to us. He doesn't wave to or associate with anyone in the neighborhood.

4. On the rare chance that I see him leave his house, he is always carrying a small tackle box. Great for butcher knives, surgical equipment, Chloroform, Quaaludes.

5. If I go outside and smoke, I'll see him peeping through his window staring at me. This is extremely unnerving.

6. His house is always pitch dark, except for late night activity in the basement.

7. One afternoon I saw him carrying a big bucket of liquid into the woods. He then looked around to make sure no one was watching and poured it out. (probably liquefied human remains)

8. I've heard him digging in his backyard at night.

9. On some days I'll catch a weird stench coming from his house.

10. He's just fuckin' creepy. He looks like a redneck version of Max Schreck from Nosferatu. He doesn't look like the kind that would eat your liver with fava beans and a nice Chianti. He would eat your kidneys with Bush's Baked Beans and a six pack of Miller Lite.

So there you have it. When other evidence comes to light I will be sure and keep you guys updated. I'm not that worried. Serial killers usually don't shit where they eat. So, I'm probably the safest person right now. When I hear "Goodbye Horses" blaring from his house then I'll start to worry. I definitely don't want to get the hose, again. I've got to cut this short. I hear someone downstairs.

A "Strange" Day In The Life

A "Strange" Day In The Life



I had a strange dream last night. And, don't worry I'm not going to start writing all of my dreams down. This one just freaked me out. I dreamt the Beatles were performing to children on Showtime's The Tudors.

Jonathan Rhys Myers was sitting in his King's chair. There were twenty children sitting on the floor around him. Their eyes were glued to John, Paul, George and Ringo performing in a tall Hollywood Square type of stage / scaffolding . It was very bizarre. I remember the song they played. It was "A Day In The Life", my favorite Beatles' song. But this song was different. It was altered in a way for the small children. This is how it went.

Woke up, got out of bed
Dragged a lice comb across my head
Found my way downstairs and drank some juice
And looking up, i noticed i was late for school
Found my OshKosh B'gosh's and grabbed my Garfield hat
Made the school bus in seconds flat
Found my way upstairs and heard a knock-knock joke
Somebody spoke and i went into Fraggle Rock
Ah ha ha ah ah ha ah ha ha ah

After they were finished playing Henry the Eighth pointed at the band and looked to his guards and said "off with their heads". George slammed his guitar down and John began to whine. The children all started to cry. Ringo threw his drum sticks at the king and then I woke up. Very, very, strange.

SuperTrump

SuperTrump



I have never been a fan of reality television. I have fussed and complained for the past nine years about how reality TV is ruining television and dumbing the masses. I have bitched to my Wife about watching hours upon hours of America's Next Top Model, American Idol, Road Rules, Big Brother etc, etc..., when she should occupy her time by reading a great novel or watching a killer flick. She tells me that "when she gets home from work she likes to relax and watch mind numbing television to unwind. To each its own. I have now become a sellout, hypocrite. Again, in my old age I find myself eating my own words. IHB=HYPOCRISY. I now would like to say the past three months I have been glued to wonderful thirty and sixty minute train wrecks on the tube.

The first show that really hooked me was Bad Girl's Club. Those outrageous, promiscuous, inebriated sirens are a real treat to watch. In an hour there is more hair pulling and fighting on one episode than a whole season of Jerry Springer. I found myself having sympathy for the bullied "Ambers" (on Cookie's defense, she never did step down from a fight) while the devil in me pulled for the crafty and conniving bitch troupe that is the "Fab Five or Fake Fab". My ears bled and my hate bred for a northern state every time I heard one girl mention "that's how we do it in Boston". My favorite quote from the show was "it's not cheating if you wear a condom". Bad Girls, your parents are so proud. Brilliant, television!

I really enjoyed watching Tool Academy. I'm a real fan of Matsuflex and I stand as a firm believer in the Matsuflex revolution. I find myself trying to perfect Clarence "Celebrity's" booty bounce in the mirror at least twice a week. I felt sorry for Tommy because no one bothered to tell him he wasn't on "Mr Awesome" anymore. I do believe I would lay Sean's ass out if I ever saw him out on the town, BRO. The grandiose, white-trash, Jersey wedding at the end brought artificial tears to my eyes. This show dares you to look at yourself in the mirror and examine your own ego or alter ego. If Harvey Dent / Two Face wasn't so disfigured, I could see him being the poster boy for Tool Academy. These young men are all narcissists with personality disorders. Read this from Wikipedia -

Personality disorders are defined by the American Psychiatric Association (APA) as "an enduring pattern of inner experience and behavior that deviates markedly from the expectations of the culture of the individual who exhibits it". [1] These patterns, as noted, are inflexible and pervasive across many situations, due in large part to the fact that such behavior is ego-syntonic (i.e., the patterns are consistent with the ego integrity of the individual), and therefore, perceived to be appropriate by that individual. The onset of these patterns of behavior can typically be traced back to late adolescence and the beginning of adulthood, and, in rare instances, childhood.[1]

"The patterns are consistent with the ego integrity of the individual". MEGA, Celebrity, Matsuflex, if you're not going into the crime fighting game, you shouldn't give yourself a name. From now on when I fuck up with my wife I'm gonna tell her, baby, it wasn't Ian that did that, it was Tremendous that did that. I ain't gonna be Tremendous no more. That's my word, sweetness. That's my word.


The one television show that has hooked me the most is this season of Celebrity Apprentice. What a hell of a show. That is the shortest two hours of television I have ever watched. Besides the fact that I loved Dennis Rodman and Tom Green when I was younger and I am a BIG fan of Khloe Kardashian's ass, this show is so entertaining. The bickering and egos clashing. Watching the beautiful Ivanka Trump light up the tube with her glowing, ethnic features. Staring at the dead vermin sitting on top of Trump's head and waiting for it to move. I love the mother daughter dynamic that Joan and Melissa Rivers share. Behind all of those tattoos lies a very hard working, extremely talented man by the name of Jesse James. This is by far my favorite reality show.

Tremendous, signing off.

IHB=Hypocrisy, Arivederci Handsboro

IHB=HYPOCRISY



First off, I would like to start out by saying, a year ago I would have rather watched Nascar with sand spurs and Cholula hot sauce in my urethra, all while getting a colonoscopy from Rip Taylor, than start my own blog. I used to fuckin' despise bloggers! Who the hell gives a fuck what you are doing twenty-two hours out of the day? Here is a link to a little ditty I wrote about bloggers a few years ago. http://blogs.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.ListAll&friendId=75071042. Nuff said.

So, I have joined the dark side, my friends. I have decided to do this because I have read this is a good writing exercise. I am a writer and filmmaker. I can go months without writing anything, sometimes years. So, this will be an experiment for me and hopefully some type of entertainment for you all. I promise not to write about stupid everyday things that I know I wouldn't want to read about. I will be candid about everything. If there is nothing to write about, I'm not going to add filler just to stroke my already super sized ego. I'm very excited about this. Fair warning, I'm not the best at punctuations, so like Faulkner used to do to for his editors... Place these where you see fit. ,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,


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Arivederci, Hansboro



The Tarheels won the NCAA championship. Woohoo! Fuck that! Being a Duke fan in this baby blue, tarheel state is HELL!!!! I was talking to my friend Matt last night and he hit the nail on the head. If Duke had won this year we wouldn't have gloated this fuckin' much to Tarheel fans. Of course the first couple days you should talk smack to your friends and give them shit. But, seriously, enough is a enough. If we were the National Champions. You guys wouldn't be mentioned in the same fuckin' sentence. While it is quiet annoying, it's also kinda flattering. So, I ask this question to the Tarheel nation... Why mention Duke at all after you celebrate your championship? You're bigger than Duke right now. Break away from the ACC and your fucking hatred for the Blue Devils and be something bigger. You can't live and enjoy your games without Duke. You wouldn't be able to survive without us. There is no UNC without Duke. Deep down in your subconscious every time you see that UNC logo Duke pops in your minds. You don't loathe Duke, you love Duke. You're sick of all that putrid baby blue. You're sick of Roy Williams' fake humble southern boy dialect. You're sick of having players like the mouth breathing idiot savant that is Tyler Hansboro. You're sick of crackheads coming up to you on the street begging for dollars donning your school's colors. And we all know Danny Green missed his calling. If he was a little younger he would of been a hell of a back-up dancer to Bell Biv DeVoe. Join us. Taste that forbidden fruit, Tarheels. It tastes like class, heritage, tradition, excellence. Join us. And if you don't... we don't care. We wouldn't have your baby blue asses anyway. GO DUKE!!!

Last but not least, BIG UPs to Greg Paulus on pursuing his football career. Can Paulus be the next BO?