February 22nd, 2010 ryan
10:53:20 AM SCUDgoBoom: WATCH YOUR MOUTH
10:53:25 AM Ryan: but the dinosaur has a lava powered pack on its back
10:53:28 AM Ryan: since its so cold
10:53:40 AM SCUDgoBoom: what the fuck is your new lava obsession?
10:53:41 AM Ryan: think of it as like a lava dialysis machine
10:53:44 AM Ryan: oh god
10:53:46 AM Ryan: that’s so awesome
10:53:50 AM Ryan: the billowing steam
10:53:54 AM SCUDgoBoom: it’s like you awakened some part of you from 2nd grade
10:53:56 AM Ryan: what do you mean?
10:54:02 AM Ryan: I’ve always liked lava
10:54:10 AM SCUDgoBoom: that may be true
10:54:15 AM SCUDgoBoom: but it surfaced more recently
10:54:31 AM SCUDgoBoom: so like much hot magma pushing through the crust that is your rainstuffs
10:54:34 AM SCUDgoBoom: *brainstuffs*
10:54:38 AM SCUDgoBoom: see what i did there?
10:54:42 AM SCUDgoBoom: i tied it all together
10:54:46 AM SCUDgoBoom: full circle, motherfcuker
10:54:49 AM SCUDgoBoom: full.
10:54:50 AM SCUDgoBoom: circle.
10:54:57 AM Ryan: it’s more of a line graph
10:55:05 AM Ryan: where the whole axis is “lava”
10:55:08 AM SCUDgoBoom: YOUR more of a line graph!
10:55:10 AM SCUDgoBoom: *slap*
10:55:12 AM SCUDgoBoom: WATCHYOURMOUTH
10:55:14 AM Ryan: and the other part is “what ryan is talking about”
10:56:34 AM SCUDgoBoom: i’m tired of all your line-chart talk and ass-grabbery
10:56:43 AM SCUDgoBoom: make with the hamsteaks!
10:56:47 AM Ryan: really?
10:56:49 AM Ryan: because
10:56:54 AM Ryan: I have something that says different
10:57:01 AM SCUDgoBoom: Is it your hand
10:57:02 AM SCUDgoBoom: on my ass
10:57:04 AM SCUDgoBoom: and a smile
10:57:06 AM SCUDgoBoom: on my face
10:57:07 AM SCUDgoBoom: ?
Posted in So one time... | 1 Comment »
February 24th, 2009 ryan
Behold the bloggiest of blog posts this psuedoblog has ever witnessed.
Car Ride
Mini Golf
Traditional Pac-Man Non-Cake
Posted in Culinary Fratricide, POTD, So one time... | No Comments »
June 19th, 2008 ryan
Though its lilting commentary is currently offline and in brooding stasis via archive, I previously expounded on the frustration of discovering I was thoroughly blacklisted from donating blood in late 2006. Lifesource, the eerily efficient and all encompassing blood merchant of choice, thought nothing of my three year sentence, casually discarding another donor Unfit for Service – not unlike those who have paid for “things” prior to 1977. Or spent time in prison exceeding 72 hours.
I had worked out the amount of not-to-be-donated blood as roughly 2 gallons, 16 pounds of virile bodily fluid going to waste due to some country’s ongoing classification as a Malaria Threat. While helping to attack the shaky foundations of my “modern-day vampires” theory, Lifesource took the higher road and rejected my potential donations on, to my surprise, a disease they don’t even test for.
I was bummed. There aren’t a ton of ways that I contribute to this race we call Man that I felt were as simple, primal even, as spilling blood in at a controlled fluorescent altar. I’ve never been too keen on the idea of progeny (or any of the effects of long-term fluid swapping really) but giving blood was something I not only found appealing but was pretty good at. Like knitting tiny bandages for use in case of emergency, I was maybe possibly perhaps lending a helping hand.
As I’ve hinted, the force that is Lifesource is in it for the long haul, determination palpable on every one of the weekly messages they place lovingly in my voicemail, inbox, and subconscious mind. I finally caught one of these persistent do-gooders and mentioned my quarantine was not yet complete only to be corrected with a change in previous policy. Apparently Iraq is less malaria-riffic now than it was two years ago. I nearly opened a vein then and there I was so pleased. As if sensing my tingling anticipation the caller quickly scheduled an appointment and likely saved an uncomfortable conversation with whoever found my phone in the rapidly spreading pool, stupid grin on my quickly paling face.
This afternoon I walked in to the donation center, caffeine free (a rarity by mid afternoon) and rolled up my sleeves with great abandon, showing off my thick and supple veins. Nurses fainted, men and women alike, and I was carried on sedan chair to where these crimson crusaders could pick up what I was laying down.
At some point in the process, prior to penetration, the topic of “just whole blood?” was raised. Not to be belittled by this double dog dare I signed any and all papers thrust forth and agreed to the “double red blood cells” special of the day. If you can tear your gaze from this potent narrative for but a moment and take in the splendor my coarsely haired, iodine and tattoo marked arm above you’ll notice that it is not blood coursing but some clear, murky substance.
“My stars!” you may utter, and rightly so, for it is a precious fluid not departing but ENTERING my throbbing circulatory. Plasma, in fact, separated by the trusty ALYX machine. What times we live in.
Posted in So one time..., Trauma | No Comments »
December 27th, 2007 ryan
Was there ever a more perfect match? Surely a triumvirate of the modern age unequaled in it’s class, stone oven, and use of small to large mammals.
Thursday night was all threes as we descended on the dark ruin of Bill’s Pub, this being my first time in the establishment despite it’s stone’s-throw proximity to my former educationalatory dungeon.
Why taxidermy? Why not.
Yes, the deer bust was of the robot declination, hence it’s movement. Naturally the below-pictured was all I could think of while entombed within the pub’s stout wooden walls.
P.S. The pizza was great.
Posted in POTD, So one time..., Sustenance, Taxidermy | No Comments »
November 26th, 2007 ryan
If only.
(from bearskinrug.co.uk)
It was with mental floaties tightly fastened that I boarded my Thursday morning flight, for it was Thanksgiving and I was about to plunge deeply completely* into the waters of the kiddie pool that was my father’s side of the family. Not that this can at all be considered a bad thing. As a self-proclaimed uber introvert whose extended family was seen on average .5 times a year growing up I’ve never really been used to all that said madness entails. There are times, though confusing, that I outright enjoy it.
In years past we’d done a Christmas here, a Thanksgiving there. Heck, last year I finally attended the legendary Christmas Eve get-together with the in laws which I may have mentioned in an electronic utterance somewhere and followed up within 24 hours donning what are decidedly easy to refer to as “moose pants.” While not overcome in the sweep of voluntary hysteria that is The Holidays I can get behind an event that involves gallons of boiling oil, propane, and an ill fated bird.
Also of note, my aunt who is gracious enough to host “Disfunction Junction” from time to time is an excellent cook. I consumed no less than the meat of three different animals, 5 vegetables, and as many cakes and pies. Her soups are the standard by which all other soups are set to and woe unto He Who Complains, for He Shall Be Doomed with suffering not just Wrath, but Wrath served hot and cold over several aggressive courses. Of goodness.
Also… the mushrooms. My lord the mushrooms.
I’d wax critical of how… American the celebration of this holiday is as it’s mainly, you know, eating – and in America, but any excuse to realize how spoiled most of us are while tolerating our collective flesh and blood is a noble one in my book. Perhaps I’m just easy to please.
Besides, I like New England. I had fun, and there’s always Christmas around the corner to facilitate my calamitous oratory. I hope that most of us in this quadrant of the globe were able to realize that we are among the most fortunate wankers anywhere lucky to have even a burned bit of poultry to call our own.
—
I even managed a bit of sight-seeing, of which there is plenty to do out in Hahvahd Yahd.
I’ll comment later on the glory that is the fine cuisine of the sea, our friendly bi-valve neighbor the clam.
*yeah, deeply and kiddie pool really don’t jive do they
Posted in Boston, So one time..., Sustenance, Travel | 1 Comment »
November 12th, 2007 ryan
Buddy of mine, we will call him Mr. B, called and suggested a photo outing this weekend. We usually walk over to the lake but given the overcast day and cadaverous weather (not cold, but certainly below room temperature) we instead opted for Chicago’s Chinatown.
It was really blah out so I didn’t come away with much other than your standard placenta and dried squid. Something usually has to reach out and punch my eyeballs a bit for me to get excited photo-wise and it just wasn’t happening other than this killer tea shop that had rows of brass(?) jars containing teas that sold for upwards of $150/lb and another store that had dried shark fins for about the same price. I’m not yet pushy enough to be the jerk with the SLR shooting on private property so I politely abstained.
I’ve only been to a Chinatown once, in San Francisco, so it was worth the trip if only to gawk at the turtles, geoducks, and other various indicators that we were in a cultural island all of itself.
Next time I’m getting the little wooden boat-thing filled with food which I saw countless families gorging upon.
EDIT:
Couldn’t pass up the following quote:
Is that a geoduck in your pocket, or are you just happy sashimi?
-Mike Rowe
Being extremely busy at work I also came across this site which has a pretty decent breakdown of geoducks, should you find them as interesting as I do.
Posted in Animalia, Chicago, Muscular Hydrostats, POTD, So one time... | No Comments »
October 29th, 2007 ryan
After a few hours at work the constant thrum of servers and needling fluorescent lights take their toll and I can typically be found escaping the premise for some fresh air, whether I have a reason or not.
I’ll often lurk around a few block radius, listening to music or sometimes shooting photos, but mostly I hoof it to the public library to either hear the echoing clack of my dress shoes as others are reading, always thrilling, or perhaps to return what bound and battered pages I can derive no further satisfaction from.
Today’s brief journey yielded a few sparse notes of interest:
- Older Lady (70?) emerges from office building wearing garments that scream a fashion sense decades old; hair secure in a scarf, gloves that match a handbag, and a no-kidding cigarette holder doubled in her equally fashionable sunglasses. Oh yes, and a clearly visible tongue piercing, the visage of which now haunts me nearly an hour later. How did I see her tongue as she lit a cigarette? Just use your imagination and shiver as I did. It was like watching a giraffe strip the leaves from a tree. Terrifying.
- Youngish girl, noticeable only because I thought folks of the younger persuasion should be in school mid-day, was checking out ahead of me burdened with no less than four towering tomes of HTML/CSS, JAVA, and the like. I’m a horrible judge of age but it was like the part in the first Men in Black with the little girl carrying the book on quantum physics. I did not shoot her in the forehead.
- Exiting the literature section brought me face to face with no other than one Neal Gaiman!
His face at least, on a poster, recommending various tribles of things he finds of personal interest (see: Dave McKean and Tori Amos). He had a beard. I’ve only been an active fan of his work for the last 11 years or so but it’s still weird, and cool mind you, to see a bookstore end-cap bear his name or something comparable to the poster in the library. You know, out there and commercially popular.
Posted in Mundane, POTD, So one time... | No Comments »
October 22nd, 2007 ryan
It is with an enjoyable auditory hangover ( 17 hours later, ears still ringing) that I put to paper, sort of, my observations of last night’s Type O show. As mentioned in an earlier posting I was surprised when the listing came up for them to make a visit to Chitown, having just been here in April. Despite my surprise I acted quickly and acquired the required paper stubbery.
The venue changed from the Metro to the Vic Theatre, a move I welcomed since seeing Gogol Bordello there a while back. Wasn’t able to shoot any photos this time around, which was a bummer but to be expected.
The opening act was a death metal band from Finland which was a lot better than I thought they’d be. The best part of their performance is a toss up between the lead singer’s robotic wings, LED-studded battle ax microphone stand, and the chainsaw that sprayed fake blood.
After a brief interlude the familiar silhouette of type o’s front man, clad in canonical collar, crossed the stage casting his hefty shadow across the backdrop of the modified Casper David Friedrich painting After Dark (or German Romantic Painting) fans found familiar. The band’s other three joined and the recital began.
As usual all four of the band’s members radiated pure energy, uniquely, which is was struck me so sharply the first time I saw them live. Highlights of the show included the entire crowd screaming the final words to Kill All the White People, expected vocalization of “Jesus Christ looks like me” by Pete, and fake snow sprayed about for Too Late: Frozen.
They played a bit from each album and while I sincerely enjoyed their last two it remains the style of their first that I always go back to as my favorite.
Pete wished us all a very happy Halloween following the encore and those present withdrew satisfied until next the four dicks from Brooklyn visit again.
Posted in Music, So one time... | No Comments »
October 16th, 2007 ryan
A glance at the Monday That Should Not Be and a few of the more noteworthy events that could be discerned from its gore-encrusted, twenty-four hour wing span.
- Once in a great while my skull will regretfully act on its reproductive nature and attempt to give violent birth to deity. This leaves me in the fetal position clutching vainly at my dignity, consuming any and all drugs I can lay my hands on, and wearing sunglasses in an attempt to lessen the jackhammer that is fluorescent lighting.
At least this time I didn’t puke.
- I successfully launched (so I thought) a clever self-deprecating joke to break the ice with a new coworker at the office and it, how do you say, bombed horribly. Don’t worry, I quickly adjusted, pretending to get a message on my blackberry and made a hasty exit. It sounds pretty bad but …who am I kidding, it was bad.
- The 70 year old secretary everyone wants to retire drank about 6 glasses of wine at our office get together and was epicly thrashing any that would cross her path. Hilarity ensued as I ate bleu cheese and drank Heineken outside of caning range.
- Due to faulty signage and a problematic gate access system I found myself locked in the compound which houses my storage unit. As I write this on the train the next bloody morning my truck is sitting parked in a corner having been abandoned by my fence-hopping antics.
- The irony of the above situation is made all the more potent when one considers I went to the unit to get computer parts which would enable me to play Team Fortress 2 a la Orange box this evening. The whole infernal compound is lined with similarly orange gates, doors, and the like. Perhaps its only amusing when walking down these endless cinder block avenues in the rain, searching grumblingly for exit.
VS 
- I received the dessicated carapace of one Tarantula Hawk in the mail, carefully encased in a Warhammer blister pack complete with a mounting kit. This is the second dead animal I’ve received from the same generously disturbed soul.
- Then I saw this sweet bug. (Orthoptera: Tettigoniidae ?)
(Edit: looked around a bit, appears to be your standard Katydid. Found some impressive shots out and about as well. I grew up in the area I found this guy and can’t recall ever seeing one. Much less in October.)
- The night found its end in the auditory antics of KMFDM’s Angst, in its entirety, as I finally got around to working out. Picture Flashdance but with a geeked out exMarine wielding rusty free-weights.
It was easily twice as awesome as it sounds.
Posted in So one time..., Stuff I Hate | No Comments »
October 9th, 2007 ryan
< Oktoberfest > Festival < / Munich >
Two days ago I returned to the United States, my trip to Oktoberfest in Munich completed sans deforming maladies or sustained unpleasantness. The trip itself was the brain child of a Marine buddy who opted for the 4 year re-up out in Stuttgart and easily convinced me to partake in satiating my wanderlust with a few liters of beer and brief visit to his neck of the Bavarian woods.
With only four days in Deutschland bodily functions were mostly ignored in favor of adopting the more alluring sense of actively chilling in as many locations as possible. Many a beer garden was supported while still allowing maximum absorption of local flair, if not full out charm.
Day one involved a day trip to a few of the smaller towns not far from the southern area of Stuttgart. Among these was a monastery in Maulbronn.
My buddy’s wife had been here recently with her German class and while she had prefaced the suggestion with claims that it might be boring we all enjoyed the trip to this slightly-touristy but classically
aged monastery. The concept of “old” doesn’t really exist for most of the US beyond the 18th century so churches and areas founded three to four hundred years prior to that still happily appeases my need for the properly antiquated. The three of us rambled around the grounds and then the church, finalizing the small visit at a local eatery where we boldly ordered without really knowing the full contents of what we were to consume aside from the half-liter pilsners.
Due to unknown road closures my generous hosts were able to improvise the journey back and another trip to a beer garden closed out the night.
Day two brought a larger scope of the base, which while mostly hosting folks of the Army persuasion was still awesome, and a chartered bus to bear us safely into the bosom of Munich’s Oktoberfest. I had heard about this 6 million person a year festival and read up on it’s rich history and traditions, as well as listened intently to my buddy’s accounting of Bavarian garbed patrons and their table standing antics, swinging heavy beer-filled glass steins all the while. While impressed with the sheer size of the grounds as we trekked across the puddle-filled parking lot, nothing could have prepared me as we hit our first tent.
Now, “tent” is entirely the wrong word. These several story high structures are constructed and decorated months in advance by each of their corresponding brewery sponsors. Each holds thousands, is distinctly unique and functional while hosting a live
band and the means to dispense thousands of liters of fine beer alongside roast chicken and a myriad of other items. Our first, Hippodrom, slapped me in the face much as a wronged female would, only instead of the angsty stare and silent fuming I was left with the stinging imprint of sound, people, and intense hospitality. Age didn’t matter, neither did your language or garb. I saw guys with their daughters, both traditionally dressed, alongside others that were clearly American – scourge of all Europe. I was instructed on the proper toasting etiquette and greeted with warm smiles and clinking steins for the duration of our time there.We progressed on to other tents and were met with equally sincere welcomes and even more beer. I mostly observed those around me as they enjoyed the simpler aspects of the fest (see: BEER) but not ignoring a genuinely global appreciation of what was transpiring. I remained self-conscious of my lack of ability to say much outside of my native language, at least until I had a few liters in me, but it didn’t seem to bother anyone. We drank with people from Germany, France, America, and beyond. A good time was had.
I won’t go in to the details of the voids in my memory of the return trip to the bus or relate my puzzled looks when I saw quite of a few decidedly blurry pictures I seem to have taken, but I will remark on the sheer inability to describe how utterly universal the festival was. Yes, alcohol is a social lubricant and grows only more potent as it’s volume increases, but the vibe was one of celebration without worry. Joy in the simple act of a toast, oft repeated, and in watching those around you have a good time often not realizing that you are in the thick of the same feeling they are.
Suffice to say, if you have the means I cannot endorse your attendance enough.
The following day hangovers were nursed and we went back to Munich to enjoy some of the sites other than the fairgrounds. We visited the city’s Marienplatz, Residens, Frauenkirche, and walked the majority of the downtown area. The US needs to add public squares to remedy it’s increasingly long list of detriments. Yes, these are tourist magnets but I’m sure their historic credence with the locals accounts for much. On second thought, stay how you are U.S. for all I can imagine is Las Vegas and it’s butchingly butcheristic butchery of actual sites.
There were naturally a myriad of occurrences, both in transit and with the people I was fortunate to enough interact, that will pass without comment. The combined sum of experiences associated with this trip are as rich as they are many and will not be soon forgotten. To my hosts: I cannot say how much I appreciate your friendship and generosity.
Things of late being what they are, this trip was a much needed dosage of what I feel life should be about.
Posted in Germany, So one time..., Travel | No Comments »
