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Month: June 2009

Scars and Markings Part 1

Over the years I have collected a good number of scars and markings on my body that all have a story to tell. I was reminded of these as someone was smacking my hand as I was picking the scab off of a recent futbol injury received from playing on artificial turf. That one will definitely change the color of my upper outside left shin. Who doesn’t love picking scabs. I especially love getting a really thick one and leaving it on my friends desks or inside their shoes to find later. So I wanted to highlight some of the war wounds I have received and due to the quantity, I am going ahead and calling this part 1 since I know I could not get all of them into one post.

10 Things I Hate About Fast Food Restaurants

1. The Personal Touch.
I think the name FAST food is self explanatory. I’m not looking to make a new friend with the person taking my order. Why is it when I walk into a Baja Fresh and order the nachos grande, the guy at the front prints out a little receipt that says order number #34, and then asks for my name? Confused, I tell him Brian and he gets out a little pen and takes the time to write out my name on the store copy receipt. Then instead of using the efficient, mistake free number system, they call out my name in the middle of a crowded restaurant over a muffled pa system, and the name Brian starts to be mistaken for Ryan, Byron, Myran, Jennifer O’Brien, etc. Not to mention any other Brian’s. You don’t need to know my name and I don’t need to know yours. I’m Mr. Large nachos and a medium soda, and as far as I’m concerned the name on your tag can just say “dude” or “man”.
” Hey dude have they called 134 yet?”
” Not yet they’re on 131″
“Thanks man”

Turkish Football Experience

I left Charles in Izmir for a three day galabant through two Greek islands called Chios and Samos. These islands were filled with extremely dangerous moped driving, investigative journalism sneaking around the coast guard finding wet back packs with Somalian photographs in it, drinking really cheap wine and eating pork which does not exist in Turkey, and generally good times. I landed back on Turkish soil and boarded an eleven hour night bus that would drop me off in Istanbul at 7am. The over night was not so bad minus the guy next to me who had no problem leaning his head on the crook of my shoulder. My first day in Istanbul was not as bad as it could have been thanks to Charles’ amazing friend Gizem who saved me from carrying my heavy backpack and also got us tickets to the final Galatasaray game that night.

Ping Pong Show in Bangkok Thailand

In a previous blog about the worst night I have ever had, I briefly mentioned something about the ping pong show that I went to and I realize that might have sounded extremely sleazy to some of you. I think I have only been to 4 strip clubs in my time, and received only one lap dance which pretty much put me off paying for lap dances for the rest of time. But if the ping pong shows came to this part of the world, I would be gathering up my friends and telling them to dress up, put their goggles on, and get ready for a rager of a night. The sheer talent possessed by these girls is enough to make any one weep with joy. Here is how I wept…

The Worst Night I have Ever Had

As I exited the plane doors in Bangkok Thailand, I realized I was probably the most unprepared I had ever been for any of my travels. I was armed with a small backpack that would last me two months, several stories from a few friends about places to go and how to get mugged and lose all my cash, and a Lonely Planet book ‘Southeast Asia on a Shoestring’ which is intended to get you around to all the countries in the region and thus only provides few details of each country and adds a few kilograms to any backpack. While in the customs line getting hassled for my passport and being sent to the back of the line for some reason I will never know, I befriended an English guy named Johnny who had reservations at a hostel somewhere so I followed him with his permission. My first few days in Thailand were in Bangkok and I thought I would be lazy and quote from my journal from the time of these days as it is not the intended story of this entry and then I will get to the point.

From a Nail Biting Reader…

This email has been sitting in my inbox for ages and I thought it was very kind of this reader to share his story. Sorry Steve for taking so long on this.

A brief update on my nails is that they are waxing and waning like the tide but not from my biting, only the clippers. My intentions to grow them back towards the knuckle seem to not be working or taking a real long time but we shall see. I will admit, I have given up on my right pointer finger and bite the hell out of that one to make sure I do not abuse the other ones. My right thumb nail is incredibly sharp and picking my nose with my pinkys sometimes gives me a bloody nose.

Some Questions we Need to Make Socially Acceptable

I find that being extremely inquisitive is one of the most rewarding things about being a person. By taking on this attribute, you can learn until your brain explodes. You are only limited by the vastness of your creativity which is the key to extract the information you are thirsting for. Sometimes, I have found, inquis-i-tivity can be very disconcerting for certain people around you as you dive deeper and deeper into subjects that might make someone uncomfortable. For myself, however, I am just enjoying the lesson I am receiving by watching that person squirm. Some times people will think I am challenging them and ‘taking the piss’ but almost always I am very genuine. I will say that I am observant of someone who is bothered by my questions and I do enjoy testing the limits. So moving on to the point… for various reasons, I do not have too many fat friends and I would like to play out half of one of these conversations that might make someone squirm. I think many of these questions are for the extremely large people that need to live life a little differantly than the rest due to their condition.

You can deep fry anything and it will be good…

After reading Charlie’s ‘Like Oil and Coconut‘ entry and laughing hysterically, I was reminded of a hilarious encounter I have had with oil. I love the stuff and regularly use far too much of it when I cook, or at least too much according to you fat Americans… those last two words remind me of something i was told by a post office clerk yesterday here in England when I tried to pay with my debit card that does not have this integrated chip that all English people have in theirs.

Luke – “My debit card does not have a chip like all you English have.”

Mail guy – “It’s because all you Americans have eaten all the chips.”

I laughed and reminded him that the English are just as fat now-a-days and then we stared at each other. I recommend talking to my fattist friend Xavier if you want to continue this discussion but let me get back to the point of this entry. This is the story of how I enjoyed the benefits of a deep fryer I had found deep in the cupboards of my parents house. I wonder why they hid it so far back in the cupboards and never told me about it?