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:

la face de pulpo

Pirates are cool, especially ones with their faces covered with calamari. that davey jones is a real character.

Memorial Nonsense
• American flags
• Jim Lubin Jr.
• Jeeps
• Burgers
• Busch-Light
• Bonfires
• Boats
• Dogs
• Corn muffins
• Raw clams
• Mussels
• Dipping bread in sauce
• Lacrosse playoffs
• Little league baseball

All those words/phrases describe my Memorial Day Weekend.

That guy Pete is a son of a bitch!

We also went to Fire Island to hit up the bars in Ocean Bay Park. Whoever passed on this particular outing or didn't use it to its full potential is a real sucker. I feel that most people around these parts aren't familiar with Fire Island and Ocean Bay Park in particular. Well you better listen up and get with the times. Picture a beach, picture a half dozen bars and restaurants on the beach, picture a bunch of fun loving individuals, picture $1 beers. That is Fire Island.

So in OBP all you do is drink on the beach while catching some rays, walk a few steps to the bar, get ruthlessly drunk, steal leftover calamari and coronas off someone's table after they left, walk a few steps to another bar, get some sand between your toes (cause you're a true loser if you wear sneaks on Fire Island), yell at a kid named Pete, order chicken fingers and don't pay for them, be obnoxious to the bartenders, buy a few of these:

(note: the table taps we actually got were a lot larger and cost $10 each)

The best part of Fire Island is that what happens on Fire Island stays on Fire Island. So you will never know how much fun we actually had that night unless you were there with us drinking a couple of six-packs on the beach watching the heat lightning over the ocean.

And Seany still doesn't know why he woke up on the ferry home at 1am with his shirt completely soaked. We'll try to figure that out next time.

You know what I hate?
When people wear those gay blue-tooth headsets around town like they're an air traffic controller. Look those things are fine in the car, but you can take it off when you're buying your little latte bullshits or when you're watching your kid blow his little league game. Jerks.

Jimmy petted a pug one time in 2003

How do you spell couscous?

You know, that north African dish that sort of looks like pastina. It's delicious, but I'm not sure of the spelling. In any case, I highly suggest trying it.

The 2000's have been an interesting decade thus far
I have met some interesting people, seen some interesting places, had some interesting experiences therefore I claim this an interesting decade. I would like to elaborate on this using this blog as a medium to do so. There are many interesting anecdotes, both past and present, that I would like to share to prove my hypothesis a valid one. I will most likely do this in a near schizophrenic way (ie: not in order or in any form of sense)

Shopping makes me feel weird
I never realized how good of a writer Walt Whitman was until I read the outside facade of the shopping mall named after the famed Huntington native and legendary bi-curious poet. With his words of encouragement I delved into a world I have become to dread: the shopping mall.

I don't know if it has anything to do with the words of a bi-sexual that wrap the building, but I hate shopping. I say this in reference to clothes mainly, especially when I'm resorted to buying some article of clothing for a female for a gift. I would say that 1 in 3 people are perverts so when I'm in a women's clothing store innocently browsing for something my girlfriend would like, I feel like the store clerks think that I am that 1 in 3 person and I am buying women's clothing for myself. All I wanted was to get a pair of sandals for her, but a simple process turned into complete awkwardness.

For the record I would never enter Victoria's Secret or Claire's or go to that fake hair kiosk.

As soon as I walk into J.Crew I am surrounded by women's clothing and women shoppers. Awkwardness is immediately setting in. Not 3 minutes of innocent browsing passes by and a female store clerks asks if I need any help. "I'm not buying women underwear for myself I swear," I say in my head. What I really say is, "I'm looking for something for my girlfriend, but I'm not really sure what to get." As soon as I say this I know what the clerk is saying in her head, "Yeah and by 'girlfriend' you mean yourself and by 'not really sure' you mean a bra." "Flip-flops might be cool," I quickly tell her. She bought it and showed me the flip flops, but the whole time I kept thinking that she and all her other female clerk buddies were eyeing me as the 1 in 3 pervert who likes to wear bras and women's thongs.

She then went on to say, "We also have some nice swimwear," and something else but I lost her once she said swimwear because she pointed to the bikinis I completely thought that she was onto my game, when I had no game going on to begin with. "No, I don't go there, flip-flops will do" I said to her.

Long story short, I got a pair of sandals and a small purse with a lobster on it for her. I highly doubt that I will ever be able to step foot into a women's clothing section of any store and not feel like a complete pervert. I'm totally not though, Walt Whitman was.

Stores that I like to browse in
• Music stores
• Book stores
• Electronic stores
• Liquor stores
• Convenient stores

I used to have another blog
It was from sophmore year and it was pretty humorous, at least to me. Here is an entry:

International House of Pancakes

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.

I think I may re-post verious entries from that blog. Blog is a funny word. It sounds like blob, which was a creepy movie and a fun school yard game.

Well,
I guess this is a good place to start. Memorial Day weekend starts tomorrow, so there shall be anecdotes galore to start off summer 2007. There's also seven years of complete nonsense to write about as well.

Enjoy the sun and fuck sharks