TFP's Best of...Some Blog I had Sophmore Year in College

I think I'm going to start a frequent series of posts called "TFP's Best of..." This will be the best of any random list I feel like compiling. Sort of like John Cusack's Top 5 lists in Hi-Fidelity, only sometimes I will use numbers of hierarchy and sometimes I will not.

For example here is "TFP's Best of Some Blog I had Sophmore Year in College"

Towards the end of Italian class today another Italian teacher came into the class room and took an empty seat. He read a sentence on the board which, in English, said "Linda answered the telephone." He began to laugh and said in his Italian accent, "No one cares who Linda calls, this guy [pointing to a 'shaggy' student] only wants to know how to say, 'How much is a joint?'" He went on to make fun of my teacher about him being bald and short. My teacher responded with, "I had more hair and I was taller before I started teaching and before I was married". The other teacher then said, "The only dates you had before you were married were the ones you had to pay for." He then continued to tell the class that our teacher married his first cousin and is an inbreeder. Good times.

This was the 2nd of 4 semesters of Italian I had with Delli'Carpini, a short bald angry Italian who emigrated to the Bronx. That other Italian teacher came in again in another semester and really started ripping Carpini about the whole "married his 1st cousin" thing. I guess it was true.

We had an early family breakfast this morning at the IHOP of Poughkeepsie. Eating pancakes is more important than going to economics class. So as we were walking up to the glass doors of this pancake palace, we noticed a party of Poughkeepsie natives (of about our age) on the other side. They were all sporting their Tims, baggy jeans, and straight-brim baseball hats. There's no problem here except one is leaning with his back against the door. No one really wanted to open the door, fearing the consequences of this kid falling on his back. We didn't want to start any violent conflict with this kid and his friends. Violence has no place in IHOP. So Perry took the initiative to open the door. We all held our collective breath as Perry pulled the handle. The kid fell back a little, Perry said a quick sorry. There was no beef. I had the banana nut pancakes.

Ah the days when you could wake up and just not feel like going to class and so you wouldn't. You'd go to IHOP at 8am instead. I wish that was the case these days, because there are plenty more days that don't feel like going to work than there were days not feeling like going to class back in college.

At the {Hofstra lacrosse} game a kid with a hotdog walks by where we're sitting:
My dad: "Hey, you got my hotdog!"
Kid: "No I don't."
My dad: "Well, it looks like my hotdog."

This was also the game where Matthew asked my dad how he got mustard on his shoulder. Upon investigation my dad said, "Oh shit, bird poop."

The Mario 3 Ordeal

On Thursday night at about 12 AM after finishing off a few PBR's, Tristan and I decided that it was a proper time to beat the hell out of Mario 3. The last time I did this was back in the day with John Olivario, but that was with Game Genie. So anyway, if you know Mario 3 you know how to get to the 8th level in two blows of the whistle, but that freggin 8th level is damn hard. Crazy cannons shooting all over the place and shits. So Tristan as Mario and me as Luigi spend about 3 hours getting to the final castle. After numerous tries, we know how to get to Bowser by heart. It's pretty easy to kill him, but it's still hard (especially after staring at the screen for 3+ hours). So we're trying to beat this over-sized lizard for about an hour. I'm kicking ass and im one jump away from ending the game (and the night) when all of a sudden just as Bowser was falling down the hole to hit ultimate death, a freggin stray fireball nails Luigi in the head. Being the angry guy that I am, I chucked the little contoller at the TV (everyone was unaware that the cord happend to wrap around the whole Nintendo). I ran around the house in a rage as Tristan gave it yet another go. As I heard the familiar jingle of death a few mintues later, I walked into the common room and picked up the controller. As I lifted my controller off the ground the wire, caught on the Nintendo, lifted the whole machine off the floor at the same time Evan was yelling, "It's going to reset!!" Being in the Nintedo daze I ignored him and the machine dropped to the floor. There was silence and then the worst thing in the universe: the flashing grey screen. Now after staring at the screen in silence for about a full minute,
the house exploded. It included me stabbing random inaminate objects with a knife and Tristan drooling on the couch. Tears of all kind were shed. Many people went to sleep crying. Tristan and I stayed up watching the flashing grey screen. Then 10 minutes later, I went to the fridge opened two PBRs, went back the common room and I hit RESET. "Yes, we're doing it Tristan." Not a word was said and an hour and a half later Bowser fell down that freggin hole, and we saved that damn stupid princess.

Wow being 19 was awesome. Drinking and playing Nintendo to all hours of the morning? You really can't beat that these days. I remember Tristan and I were playing and there was a crowd of about 4-5 spectators until the reset. It was like something out of the Fred Savage classic, The Wizard.

Work is fun

So it's a sunny Friday and most of the hot shots in the office are golfing or sailing. But I am here totally avoiding any work that I have to do.

I am one of the only people here with access to everyone's headshot. Usually on Fridays I spend most of my time to honing my photoshop skillz. Here is my Friday photoshop portfolio complied over the past 6 months or so:

baby it's cold outside

There's nothing quite like waking up on the floor of a hotel in Soho to the season's first snow storm, a view of midtown Manhattan while Matt Bender is blasting the hit winter classic "Baby It's Cold Outside" on the computer speakers.

A few hours earlier we were sitting by the same window watching the night lights of midtown and the Empire State Building sipping on various cocktails. Twist was in town from Portland, OR for work, staying at the Soho Grand. Last time he was in town we ate and drank $200 worth of Mexican, and I was left on a roof in alphabet city.

After Bender finished up his tuna tar-tar at the hotel bar, we went to watch the lights and booze ourselves silly from Twist's 14th floor hotel room. Bender began telling us about his escapades gallivanting around manhattan, clubbing until 11 am, his new liking for house music and life as FDNY.

In fact he was at the hotel the night before to see Twist. I guess Twist wasn't ready for a night with Bender, so Bender went down to the hotel bar with a buddy of his. They sat down next to a wealthy-looking Russian dude and two Russian chicks. Bender joined their conversation and had a few jack and gingers. He said they were all joking and laughing together when all of a sudden the two chicks started making out with each other, unbuttoning their pants, etc. right in the middle of the bar. Bender and his buddy just looked at each other in disbelief. After a while the chicks left with the wealthy Russian dude. Bender and his buddy just sat there with their drinks wondering if what they saw was real. He actually had to ask the bartender if this event actually occurred, to which the bartender concurred.

Bender was serving up cocktails in the room with all his might, or with a heavy hand as he might say. Raspberry vodka, red bull and cranberry. I had a few tall-boys for myself and Martine. He was playing house music and the Jerky Boys. We started to do flips onto the bed. We laughed about old times at Marist and sang the "Suck-N-Fuck-N-Joik" song, or anthem rather. We also brought up our old pals McGoorty, Cannefax, and the boy wonder Willie Hoppe, real first class champs.


Click for an enlarged view and read. You will not be dissapointed.

By 2 am the booze went dry and we hit the streets looking for a real Soho dive. We encountered an empty water bottle on the way and played a full soccer game with it on the streets of Soho. We climbed trees and slid down railings. We finally found the Soho Tavern (or something) a few blocks away. 8 sheets to the wind, we immediately get a few drinks. Bender put about $60 in the juke box, but I can't remember a single song except Bowie - Fame.

There was a lounge area in the back and there was a group of fellow twentysomethings enjoying themselves a good Soho evening (or early morning). The floors were hardwood and the big cushion chairs in the lounge had wheels. Chair races immediately ensued. I spilt half my Yuengling on myself. The fellow group of twentysomethings were loving our antics. We also did that trick where you go behind a couch and make it look like you're walking down stairs. I think we got a round of applause for that one.

The bar closed and Bender was talking to a woman named Tanya. Martine, Twist and I jogged home in the cold, climbing and sliding down trees. Twist bought a Gatorade and a bag of Cape Cod potato chips (which are damned good) from the store across the street from the hotel. The small, sort of Asian guy behind the counter yelled at us when we inquired about his sandwich menu. "No fuckeen samitch!"

Martine and I passed out on the floor. Bender came home, barfed up some tuna tar-tar in the sink, opened both Fiji waters from the mini bar ($10 for the big one, and $8 for the smaller one) also a bag of peanut M&Ms ($6) and brought an unopened bottle Amstel and Gray Goose to the desk and played a game of poker online.

While we watched the snow that morning, Bender threw two glasses out of the 14th story window. Another night in the books, and a great way to start the holiday season.

Some select images of the evening:

Into the Wild

Great, tragic story.

What happened to you June?

Is it just me or is June a strange month? Strange in the way that nothing ever seems to happen, but you know something did. The summer solstice is in June, but you're not quite sure if that means it's "officially" summer. I like to say summer starts on Memorial Day weekend, so I'm going to stick with that phiosophy, but I'm still going to say that June is weird.

What's a June without a World Cup of Futbol anyway?

So I have small calender with kittens on it. Martine got it for me as a joke, but I use it. I write what I did on the weekends on it. It does come in handy, especially when trying to remember a weird month like June. So here it goes:

Weekend of June #1:
Friday we all went to the Nautical Mile in Freeport. Sean had a interview out there earlier in the evening so while he waited for us to make our way down there he found a bar that was selling 32oz. $5 beers in styrofoam cups. Sean has a sixth sense for things like that.

Sean and I played a few games of beer pong out on the deck while all the girls chatted about shoes and pocketbooks, or whatever girls chat about. I called Chuck and invited him down. No answer. I called Garger and told him to come down. He did show up an hour or so later with a bunch of girls. Fucking Garger. Chuck left me a voice message saying he was too busy hanging out on D-Funk's new lawn furniture. The night ended with Sean being told first hand from the owner of the Ale House that he shouldn't bother coming into work anymore. The Ale House was "un-officially" closed. Garger closed the Mile that night.

Saturday morning brought me back to the Nautical Mile for the annual Dock Dogs competition. Since Brandy jumps off the dock out east like it's her job we entered her into the competition. There was a professional dog there with sponsors all over it's little shirt it was wearing. That dog probably makes more money than me. The winning dog jumped 24ft. Brandy jumped 21ft. We ate raw clams while we watched the Dock Dogs.

Sunday Marty and I were bored. We have been talking about making sushi from scratch for quite a while, so we decided this Sunday was a perfect time to do it. Marty has a sushi recipe book with directions and a bamboo rolling mat, so it was pretty easy. We used avocato, cucumber, and salmon. After a few practice rolls we got the hang of it. Damn was that sushi delicious.

Weekend of June #2
I think it was raining like a jerk, so Marty and I headed out east and just chilled with some scrabble and crazy 8's.

Weekend of June #3
Friday I took the train with Chuck, D, Mike P, and Ali to the Mets/Yanks game in the Bronx. I had like 2 beers on the way into Penn and as soon as we got on the subway to the stadium I had to urinate extremely bad. So bad that I was thinking about doing it between the cars while the train was moving. We had to go from 34th Street to something like 169th Street. I was not feeling too hot. I had to unbutton my pants to make room for my bladder. It was bad, but I made it. I also got to finish all my beers before entering the stadium. We ate a very large bag of ranch-flavored sunflower seeds. Nick Santini met us there, but was intimidated by the seeds and our rate of compsumption. I yelled things at Bobby Abreu in right field.

Saturday I hung out in Sayville with Marty and bought my Dad some cigars for father's day. I drove out east that night so I'd be there in the morning for father's day. I smoked one of the cigars I bought for myself on the way out there. I immediately began getting extremely queezy. I had to pull over and I yaked by the bunker on the 16th hole of Indian Island golf course.

Sunday, I played some golf with my Dad. I did not throw up on that course.

Weekend of June #4
Newport, Rhode Island. Enough said.

Weekend of June #5
Coincidentally on the last Friday in June we ended up at Jeremy's Ale House on the Nautical Mile drinking 32oz. beers out of styrofoam cups again. And it was even more of a blast this time around. Chuck and D left their lawn furniture behind and joined us.

Some pictures will sum up the night:






So there you have it
What a weird month huh? A lot did happen and it was a hell of a time, but it all happened so fast that it doesn't seem like it happen at all!

I think the Newport, RI weekend deserves it's own entry. What do you think? Like you care, jerk. I think I might write a whole entry dedicated to all my escapades in Newport, RI. But for now, July is rolling right along. Damn.

I want to buy a DeLorean.

Why no one should ever go to Montreal

In 2004 Nick Pirolo, Garger, and myself embarked on a journey to the Northern Adirondack Mountains. What was to be a simple camping trip consisting of fishing, bonfires, and beers turned into a more complex and disturbing trip consisting of rain, the Montreal Expos, prostitutes, hobos, and beers.

For some reason we didn't check the weather
So we were a little unprepared for the downpour mother nature gave us for the entire first night of our camping excursion. We set up the tarp in the rain, we started the fire in the rain, we cooked bratwursts in the rain, we set up the tents and for some reason left them in the rain and not underneath the tarp.

After about 10 beers and 4 bratwursts I was feeling the need to lay down. I unzipped the tent and to my naive surprise it was filled with about two inches of rain water.

Luckily we had some family friends staying in a cabin nearby so we left our campsite and immediately headed there. As I was driving in the pouring rain I kept thinking that when we got to our friend's cabin there would be a roaring fire in the fireplace, a bear skin rug, warm cornbread, and fluffy pillows to rest our heads. None of that ended up being true, in fact no one was home and we waited in the hot car until someone arrived. Eventually we went to sleep in the stuffy attic of the cabin listening to the rain fall on the tin roof. That was night one.

Nothing is better than cooking bratwursts on the side of the road
Day two ended up being a nice day. We took a scenic drive up to Lake Placid, really taking in the pureness of the Adirondacks. On the way up we pulled over to the side of the road next to huge rocky cliffs that reflected into a small lake and cooked some bratwursts on the portable gas stove. It was pretty beautiful.

On the way back less than a mile from the campsite we saw our good friend John Christian Hageny driving down the street. We stopped and he said, "Who wants to go to Montreal?!?!" We should have seriously discussed this proposition before we gave him answer. Instead I replied with, "I have 30 beers in a cooler."

Modest Mouse, Montreal, Mets, Mayhem
Next thing I knew we were heading up to the North Country, drinking Busch-Light out of plastic Buffalo Bison cups listening to Modest Mouse's 'Float On' on repeat. We cut the huge line at the toll booths at the border by following a log truck around the traffic. You have to stop at the border and answer random questions from the border patrol (ie: why are you crossing the border, how many of you, etc). The patrolman asked, "Do you have any alcohol you are bringing over the border?" Silly man, what else would be drinking out of Buffalo Bison cups? We replied with a polite, "No sir."

I've been to Montreal a few times over the years, mainly as day trips from the lake to see an Expos game, so I thought this was no different. I had no idea what we were in for when we entered the unusually quiet dome to see the Mets take on the Expos. (It was unusually quiet for a NY baseball game, but we were in Canada and no one cheers for anything. I've seen people at Expos games catch foul balls and quietly sit back down in their seat like nothing happened. Oh and by the way this was the last season the Expos were in Montreal).

As soon as the game started we immediately began being belligerent. Tony, the Schroon Lake local that John Christian befriended at the local bar a couple of days ago, was the most belligerent. He was banging seat, screaming at French people, throwing anythng he could get his hands on. He kept pointing and yelling at the French dude across the asile from him. This guy had the goatee and everything, he was so French. And Tony is just yelling at him literally after anything positive happens for the Mets (strikes, hits, etc).

Then we started with the "Puerto-Rico" chants (the Expos were rumored to be moving to Puerto Rico before they became the Washington Nationals). I don't think any of those Canadians had any idea what we were talking about. The Mets ended up losing and that French dude walked up to Tony sitted defeated in his seat and just started doing that dance where you move your extended arms in front of you in a circular motion (forget what that's called) just laughing at him in French.

Downtown Montreal
So we headed down town to get a bite and find something to do for the night. We hit up Subway and afterwards we were just chilling outside the Subway watching all the crazy characters running around. There were a lot of biker dudes and a lot of 70's punk types with ripped leather jackets, mohwaks, etc. It quite the demographic.

Then the prostitutes started working the streets. Two younger, and somewhat (minus the whole prostitute thing) attractive prostitutes came up to us trying to turn a trick. We were talking to them outside Subway for a while, just asking them about random things like what sports they play, if they speak French and English, etc. They started to get a little impatient with us being that were were asking them idiotic questions that had nothing to do with their profession. Then Garger says to one, "You know, you're a smart attractive girl. You can be doing so much more than working the streets." He seriously wanted to bring her home and just show her a better life. Is that too much to ask. They just ended up walking away after that.

Later that night John Christian got lost in some strip club and left us out on the street to fend for ourselves, with Tony. We walked around for a while, but ended up sitting in the car waiting for John. Between the prostitutes and the punks we were literally scared for our lives. Tony didn't give a shit, he was still yelling at people about the Expos.

Don't mess with hobos
So Nick, Garger and I were passed out in John's car parked in the middle of downtown Montreal. John was in a strip club and Tony was running around the streets.

We were parked next to a pizza place and there was a young 70's punk hobo sitting in front of entrance. Every time someone walked into the pizza place the punk hobo would grab on to their legs and scream at them to give him money. If they pushed him off or kept walking he would yell even louder and throw garbage at them. He was doing this to literally everyone would walk into this busy pizza place. It was a scene man.

After a while Tony came back to the car and started shaking it. I thought some punks were stealing the car at first. Then I saw Tony's face, "Open the door, I have to piss." I didn't understand why he needed us to unlock the car door so he could piss. "Go in that pizza place you nut," I said from inside the car.

As he was walking into the pizza place the young punk hobo started grabbing him begging for change. Tony kicked him off and then the kid came back and grabbed his legs. Tony kicked him off again and then kicked the kid's entire pile of change he gathered there on the sidewalk. Loonies (Canadian coins) went flying all over the sidewalk and into the street and the kid went nuts. He started screaming in French and ran at Tony. Tony just lifted his fist as to punch this kid's lights out and the kid screamed and ran down the street.

After a few minutes the kid came back and gathered some of the change he could find and sat in the very same spot in front of the pizza place. He was still begging people as walked in or out. So I see Tony come towards the exit. "Oh shit, here comes Tony," I said to Garger and Nick. Tony opened the door, saw the kid sitting there with his small pile of change and kicked his change all over the street again. The punk hobo flipped out even more extreme than before by pulling his own pants down and running towards John's car as Tony tried to get in. Tony then began to chance the hobo kid and the kid just took off. Tony got in the car and we were just cracking up at what just occurred. We saw a punk hobo's French Canadian ass.

A few minutes pass and the kid comes back to the car with his entire junk in his hand just waving it at Tony through the window. Tony quickly got out and chased the kid away for good. Make that a punk hobo's French Canadian ass and junk.

John Christian came back 50 bucks poorer and we headed back to America. Never will I go to Montreal ever again. We should have known things were going to be out of hand when we followed a log truck across the border.

"Screw you hobo!"

(picture not taken in Montreal)

If I was a muppet

I'd be the swedish chef: