Remove the Lens Cap

Last weekend I drove up to Tacoma for a wedding, and to Seattle to help my sister move back from college for the summer. Over the next few days, I’ll post some quick hits/random thoughts from the weekend:


What qualifies you to be a wedding photographer? From what I can discern, it doesn’t take much. You must wear your hair in a long ponytail. You must wear your sunglasses on top of your head while inside the church. You must wear sandals. You must hire your semi-hot girlfriend/wife as your assistant (who knows if she’s getting paid for this?).

(Sidenote: I thought she was pretty good looking. Dark hair, black shirt, tight black pants. One of those really tiny, but extremely sparkly nose ring stud-things. That lets you know she gets down.) Back to photographer requirements...

You must wear a very large hip bag/fanny pack with what I assume is extra film, batteries, and business cards (that’s called networking, bitches). You must squat/lay/kneel in the church aisle while taking pictures from every angle imaginable. No standing and snapping photos allowed.

So I think that’s it. Let’s review:
ponytail
sunglasses in hair
sandals
girlfriend assistant who is a “7” or an “8,” nosering recommended
fanny pack
squat and shoot
Now you are a professional wedding photographer.

If you follow these guidelines, I am pretty sure that you will get tons of work. Don't worry; people won’t request to see your previous work, because look at you, you are clearly an experienced wedding photographer.

Oh, Mitch

Ninja News

First, let me state that I have been hot on ninjas for a long time now. Years even. Like middle school when my friend Michael Yasumoto brought me back a throwing star from Japan. Yeah Japan! Can't get much more authentic with a last name than Yasumoto. And he even owned authentic swords, granted they weren't Hatori Hanso swords, but still. And I can sing you the Sifl and Olly "Ninja of the Night" song from 1998. That stated, I'm not following the "Ninja Trend" which is booming since the recent decline of the "Pirate Trend." Remember 2007--MotorTricycles! They're going to hit on the radar right as "Ninja Trend" falls.

Anyways, that stated, I want to share these funny videos. I feel like Nate Jolly posting these YouTube links. I'll post in order, but they get progressively funnier. Enjoy:







Ask A Ninja
DoogToons

Dust in the Wind

I have a serious announcement to make. Um, I don’t know how to put this, so I’m just going to say it.

I sold Blue. You know, the giant 60” Mitsubishi tv I bought from Nate and Peter. I have no clue how old it was. Ten years maybe? I think I might have been the fifth owner. All I know is that he was named after the old guy in Old School. “You’re my boy, Blue!”

I know, I know. How could I have sold a family member? I mean, it even had a name. Let me explain myself. I felt I needed to play moneyball. You know, sell while the stock is still good, and then rebuild with new players.

I felt that Blue was going to die in the next year. There were signs. Little signs. Little tint quirks every now and then between reddish and blueish. Yellow banding on the right side of the screen on the s-video input. It was small, but I could see it. The remote that requires tape to hold the batteries in.

And not to mention how huge it was! I moved it from Eugene to Beaverton to North Portland to Northwest Portland to the NW Hills in Portland. That’s four moves in two years. I was not moving it again. It took four guys, and stairs were a bitch.

(( Oh, also I’m moving back to NW Portland this weekend. That’s the reason I decided to sell Blue. I’m moving into a one bedroom near NW 23^rd. I will be able to walk or ride a bike to work. Cut down on the commute. Save some gas. I'm excited! ))

Back to the story. So two years ago, I bought Blue from Nate and Peter for $500, and this week, I sold it on craigslist for $400. Within an hour. And by noon, I had 13 offers of varying degrees (anywhere from $400 cash that night to $350 but I had to deliver it to $200 and a used blue ipod mini). I think I could have sold it for $500 if I had reposted it, but I was fine with $400. That means I payed $100 to use it for two years. And the guy who picked it up had a pickup truck and was like an NFL linebacker, which made it easier when carrying it up the stairs.

Now here’s the shocking news. I already bought a new tv. Yeah, I know it was soon, but this particular tv and I had a connection. And it was on sale. Don’t judge me. And, oh yes, it’s hi-def. (I feel like I broke up with a long-term relationship and eloped with a stripper.) Well just in case you were wondering, it’s name is Sammy, the 46” Samsung DLP widescreen tv. And we’re happy together.

Do the Dew

I'm not sure if the Easter Bunny reads my blog, but he (or she) heard my calls. I am happy to report that I did not receive Peeps! Or for that matter, one Peep! I got the standard Easter basket contents: Cadbury egg, egg-shaped gum, a giant hollow chocolate bunny, robin's eggs... But one odd thing I also received in my easter basket was this:



Axe "Recovery" Shower Gel. Not sure if the Easter Bunny thinks I need to control my B.O., but it was a nice gesture whatever the intention. What I found interesting was the particular scent of "Recovery" Axe Gel.

It smells exactly like Mountain Dew! Seriously, it does. It actually even LOOKS like a gel Mountain Dew hybrid. I checked the back to look to see if Dew was a direct ingredient, but no luck. The coloring chemicals in Axe are Green 3 and Yellow 5... was that the "Yellow" all of us middle school boys feared? Maybe it was Yellow 4? Anyways...

Axe's advertising has always been the "sex sells" strategy. You remember, "THE AXE EFFECT"--the whole "Call me Bonnie--Axe isn't responsible for your girlfriend's friends, girlfriend's mom, girlfriend's mom's friends, or any other combination of the words girl, mom, and/or friend..." thing. Axe is the spray-on hot chick magnet, blah blah blah. So this gets me thinking--
What is up with this Mountain Dew Smell?


Look at this image. Step 1: Shower. Step 2: Hot chicks. Plural. Two. Two hot chicks. It's that simple fellas.

Have hot chicks liked this Mountain Dew smell all these years, and nobody knew? Maybe a select few dudes did know, but they held onto this insider info for as long as possible? Should I stop ordering Jack and Cokes at the bars? Should I switch to Jack and Dew? Maybe the female readers of this blog (if there are any?) can help us out? Please explain this primal scent attraction to The Dew? And is it ALL women, or just HOT CHICKS?

Radioactive Bunnies

Easter is coming up, and I have a statement to make. Ah hem. Ah hem.

I hate Peeps. Neon marshmallow animals are nasty.

Crystal Ball

I don't know if anyone else is interested in futures bets, but the Oregon Ducks are blowing up at 80-1 odds to win the 2007 BCS Championship. That means that my $6 online sportsbook bet could net me a cool $480 come January.

I also have 15-1 odds on Elliott Yamin to win American Idol, although I hedged it with a 5-2 bet on Katharine McPhee.

Just FYI.

True Giraffe Stories: Fish Punching

(No fish were harmed in the typing of this blog story.)

I remembered another story from BITD and thought I should write about it before it too is lost forever. This story involves two sports/activities in which I have very little experience. Snorkeling and Boxing. But my lack of experience did not prevent me from entertaining myself by combining the two into an obscure and seldom-performed sport: Fish Punching.

It’s a pretty simple story, actually. During the summer of senior year in high school, my family vacationed in Hawaii for two weeks. We went with our old neighbors, who have a son my age. He and I did typical Hawaii vacation things--hike, kayak, bike ride, beach, pool, and snorkel.

Now snorkeling is kinda cool. It’s not that cool. I mean, it doesn’t suck, but it gets old after a while. Especially when you have a crappy rental mask that leaks or fogs up and a snorkel that likes to force you to swallow saltwater. A week later I went SCUBA diving, which is way better. Anyways, back to fish punching.

The coolest thing I learned about snorkeling was that fish like bread. They love the stuff. It’s like underwater crack or something. We took a loaf of bread from the kitchen, ditched the twist-tie, and took the bag into the ocean with us. We were in eight feet of semi calm water, twenty feet from the shore, and no fish were around. It was kind of a bummer, until we got out the bread. We kept it in the bag and took out one slice at a time to prevent the fish from stealing the whole loaf at once. (And be warned, they will, the bastards.)

While underwater, we crumbled the slice into little flecks and within ten seconds, fifty fish were swimming all over us to get the flecks. The fish came from nowhere. (I think this is why fish tank food is in flecks as well, rather than balls or donut-shaped. Something about the flecks.) Now understand that here I am, feeding the fish. Breaking bread with the fish, if you will. And three or four fish start pecking at my hand/the bag of bread. And they wouldn’t go away. I compare this situation to the velociraptor scenes in Jurassic Park. They look prehistoric, but they’re smart and they work in teams. The fish knew where the bread was stored and were determined to get it.

So maybe I panicked, maybe I got a little water down my snorkel. Whatever the reason, I punched a medium-sized fish that was trying to get the bag. He kinda flinched, shook it off, and went back at the bag. And that’s where fish punching began--that brave, determined fish. I then tried punching the fish that were going after the bread flecks. It wasn’t necessarily hard to hit a fish, because it was like a school of fifty was swimming in my face when the flecks were flying, but one-on-one, mono-a-mono, the fish can dodge a jab. Maybe they can sense it coming, or feel it in the water, but the buggers are quick.

Now I haven’t mentioned my friend/old neighbor’s name in this story because I don’t want to unrightfully incriminate him for something he did not do. I honestly cannot remember if he did or did not punch a fish. I did. I punched a couple of them. I don’t even know if it’s illegal, but I did it. And it was a long time ago. I feel I’ve matured since then. I haven’t done it since. And you might argue that I haven’t had the opportunity, but I have. I was on vacation in Mexico two years later with the same families, and did not punch one fish.

I now wonder what would have happened if we ventured into deeper water and used larger foods, like a sheet cake or pizza. Like would dolphins come out of nowhere and swim with us? I’m not saying I want to punch a dolphin. I’m just saying it’d be cool to swim with dolphins. But be warned dolphins--Do not try to steal the pizza out of the bag!

Microwave vs Oven: Round One

A couple nights back, I was preparing to cook dinner, and before cooking, I double checked the directions. I then noticed that the recipe had two available options for cooking: Microwave AND Conventional Oven, and I thought this was weird because who in their right mind WOULDN'T microwave a Hot Pocket???



And then I studied these alternate cooking instructions even deeper. Not only would I have to wait for the oven to preheat, but the cooking time was thirty minutes! 30!!!

Everyone has a microwave. Who wouldn't just zap it for two minutes? Why would someone spend an extra forty minutes to cook a Hot Pocket. That's almost like really cooking. There must be some superior result in using an oven. So I set out to find the answer. A taste test. A comparison like no other:

MICROWAVE:


versus

OVEN:



Actually, it turns out that the Oven Hot Pocket tastes much better.
Oven positives: Evenly heated. Crisp exterior. Completely melted cheese.

But was the taste worth all the extra time???

No. The winner is Microwave Hot Pocket.
Microwave positives: Two minutes. Can't burn it, because the microwave turns off and beeps when it's done. Easier clean-up. Just throw away that little pouch thing.

Just after Joey and a little bit before Kellen

He lives. And he plays. And he starts. Check out NBC and OLN this Spring to see the quarterback for the AFL's Las Vegas Gladiators.

Fife-Dogg

Shots and Tots

Last weekend was Drew’s birthday. Zorgo turned 24! So us guys met up at The Blue Moon, a McMenamin’s establishment on NW 21st to celebrate. The night consisted of our standard joking, BSing, trying to get ladies phone numbers, and eating some fabulous food.

I got there a little late, so while I was eating my food, Lighthouse was ordering some drinks for he and Drew. I had my “usual” at McMenamin’s— cheeseburger with a side of tator tots. As I was eating my “tots,” John ordered some “shots.” And my mind went to work: "Hey, these words rhyme. Both are being consumed here at this table. Maybe these two items should be introduced to each other." And that is how I invented the newest and coolest bar drink:

SHOTS & TOTS!!!

Left hand: Shot of your favorite liquor.
Right hand: Shot glass with a single tator tot, dipped in a small amount of a condiment.

Step One: Pound the shot.
Step Two: Pound the tot.
(Step Three: Chew. Do not attempt to swallow the tot whole.)

Advantages:
1. The tot makes an awesome chaser. It’s a potato, a starch, which absorbs the bad taste.
2. It a fun group event at the bar.
3. It fun to order. Try explaining it to the waiter.
4. It attracts attention. You can talk to all the people at the tables around you about this awesome drink that your friend, Giraffe, invented.

The combinations are endless. We started with a Nate Jolly Special: Jagermeister and a tot in ketchup. Then we moved to a Tim Messa Surprise: Whiskey and a tot in ranch. Y’all need to try this at your local pub and start naming some new combinations.

This is gonna be big.

0 in 4 is a Winner!!!

While strolling down the refridgerator (beer) isle at Fred Meyer, I viewed a rookie item hanging with the big boys. New Black Cherry Vanilla Coke. You might remember my post from last year commenting on the discontinuation of Vanilla Coke.



Well New Black Cherry Vanilla Coke has arrived, and I was forced to try it. I have to say, it's not that bad. It's actually kinda good. You have to understand that I have always liked Cherry Coke. It is Coke with a sugary-sweet, syrupy cherry aftertaste that is amazing. And I liked Vanilla Coke for it's smooth entrytaste and its slight "bite." So I didn't know what to expect when these two tastes combine.

My initial reaction was that this new Coke tasted okay, but not great. The flavor was a consistant solid flavor from beginning to end. It lacked the great aftertastes that I liked from the others--the sweet cherry taste that lasted and the smooth bite of vanilla. Unlike Captain Planet, their individual powers did not combine to make a greater flavor.

Now understand that I've only had one bottle. Maybe I'll be converted, and I'll later sing the praises of this drink from the highest hills in Oregon. Maybe not.

Three observations:

1. I think that "Black Cherry Vanilla Coke" is too long of a title. Especially when you throw in a "Diet Black Cherry Vanilla Coke" in the mix. Or what about "Black Cherry Vanilla Coke Zero." Or "Diet Black Cherry Vanilla Coke with Lemon." Even "Coca-Cola" got shortened to "Coke." Maybe they'll shorten it to BCV Coke. Or BCVC. Or DBVCw/L. Who knows.

2. Where is the contest? This is bullshit. When they introduce a new flavor, there should be one of those "1 in 4 wins a 1-Liter" contests. Even though I don't want a 1-Liter, I still want the satisfaction of winning every now and then. And the contest gives me slight justification for buying a pop that I don't need.

3. Lastly, I don't understand Coke's math. Cherry Coke + Vanilla Coke = Black Cherry Vanilla Coke? WTF is the "Black" cherry? Where did that come from? Why do they have to get all racial over a drink? It's just a f-ing drink. All I can guess is that they're trying to increase Coke's street cred.

True Giraffe Stories: Snoop-a-Loop

My life is so colorful, so full of exciting tales and adventurous stories, that I often forget some of these events. Today, I had a flashback. I remembered a crazy night from college. I thought I'd share it with you and also forever document it into the internet.

This crazy night took place near the end of my freshman year of college. Be warned—this story does not involve nudity or promiscuousness, but it does involve underage drinking, Mini Snoop Doggy Dog, getting kicked out of three house parties, and two handguns.

This story begins at the U of O Delta Tau Delta (DTD) fraternity house on a Friday night, February 2001. My friend and dorm neighbor, Tyler, belongs to this frat. Think of Tyler as Fred Durst’s beefy twin brother, except with way too many visible tattoos—arms, shoulders, flaming monk on one calf muscle, giant spider on the other. So I’m with Tyler and a couple of his DTD brothers shooting pool, drinking, talking about chicks—what every college freshman does.

Tyler’s DTD brothers are a seedy bunch. Now, I partially associate this with the fact that they occasionally do drugs. And I don’t, never have. Maybe they just smoked pot, maybe more, I don’t know. But the reason I tell you that they did drugs is because I need to explain how we met this next group of fellas.

El (short for Elliot) was a middle school advisor. He helped 6th to 8th graders not only with school problems, but with family and social problems, too. He seemed like a cool guy. Relaxed clothing, dreadlocks. He was in his thirties, but that’s okay. He was a smooth speaker. Got along with everyone. Told stories. Told jokes. He was the social leader of his group of friends. Seemed like a good guy.

He brought two friends with him. One was a tall guy, Ben Wallace-ish, but no ‘fro. I don’t remember much about him. Maybe because I drank too much that night, and he didn’t do anything memorable enough to stick out. The second friend looked EXACTLY like Snoop Dogg, if Snoop Dogg was four-foot-eleven and resided in Eugene. Both were pretty much quiet, but chimed in during laughing and giving someone shit.

Let me just say that these three guys were black and looked borderline normal-borderline thuggish, like they could “turn it on” if they wanted too. I am not racist. I am just explaining a visual observation. We were judged multiple times that night. We crashed a lot of predominantly white, preppy, Eugene parties.

So now you ask, “How did these DTD guys know El and his crew?” Oh, I didn’t mention? El was a drug dealer, and sold pot to these guys. That’s right, advisor to your youngest child by day, selling pot to your oldest child at night. This guy was one heck of a role model.

So we decide to go to some house party up in the hills. We don’t know anyone there, but heard of it though a friend of a friend… We a rolling in one of the DTD’s black BMW sedan, and El’s old school VW van. Cause that’s how WE roll. We finally find this place. Looks small from the street. Looks too quiet to be the bumping party it was hyped to be.

The note on the door reads “Party is downstairs. Come on in, unless you’re the cops.” Alright. Nice. This is the place. Now this house was built on some kind of a vortex on a hill, because it looked like a peaceful 500 sq ft house on the street level, but led into a 1500 sq ft party basement, with a full bar. I mean 360 degree bar. There were more than 100 people. Music turned up loud. Good times. I ran into an architecture friend, Andres, and also Jones. I don’t know what I said, but I remember thinking that I made a fool of myself. I remember Andres motioning the “he’s been drinking” hand signal to Jones.

(Sidenote—earlier on this Friday, I went off on a verbal tirade to these student representatives of this summer “internship” company that had set up shop in the atrium in the EMU. Their “internship” was a semi-pyramid scheme/cult involving selling educational teaching books door-to-door in a city across the country. Also, it’s paid on commission. They wind you in their web, and I’m glad I didn’t get sucked in. Long story short, guess who was hosting this party? One of the two people at the cult that I bitched out, of course.)

So the party is going along fine. People are dancing, drinking, socializing. So Mini-Snoop starts impressing the ladies with his dancing skills. So he’s doing the “Crip Walk” (A dance that you shouldn’t try, Nate. I know you saw them doing it on BET, but seriously, don’t.) And while he’s crip walking, not one, but BOTH of Mini-Snoop’s handguns fall out of his track-jacket pockets!!! (Note—I do not, nor did I at the time, believe these concealed weapons to be registered. They were most likely being carried illegally.)

We left the party. (Got kicked out.)

So where to next? Another friend of a friend’s party. Let’s roll. We hopped in the pimpmobiles and we were off.

Of the next two parties we got kicked out of, I really only remember one of them. It was a snazzy appletini cocktail party, maybe 20 people. Maybe. And we roll in. Fred Durst. Mini-Snoop. Dreadlocks. Ben Wallace. And three or four white guys (me and the other DTDs). One of the DTDs knows ONE of the preppy people.

Now some of these people looked scared of us. We did not fit in. We left the party shortly. (Got kicked out.)

So now it’s been three parties we’ve gotten kicked out, only one for gun possession, although he still concealed the guns the whole night. Three and out, what are we to do at 1am on a Friday night? Beer run at Safeway!!! How logical. We roll. Now the only people of legal age are El, Snoop, and Ben Wallace, so they’ll have to buy.

Progressively through the night, my judgment returned slowly:

“Where are we going with these sketchy white guys AND sketchy black guys?...”
“Oh shit, that’s a gun! What should I do? If I leave, how will I get home? Well, at least it didn’t go off when he dropped the gun, or the other gun…”
“Hmm, we keep getting kicked out of parties. And I NEVER get kicked out of parties. I wonder why tonight is so different…”
“How sober is the guy driving this old VW van? And when the buckle doesn’t work, does wrapping around and sitting on the belt really work…”
“I need to get out of this car and away from these sketchy guys before we all get arrested! NOW!”

So when we stopped at Safeway, I waited for El’s crew to go inside, and then I made up some “tired” or “too drunk” excuse. They offered to drop me off, but I didn’t even respond. I just walked out of the parking lot, at least a mile, to get home. What a sobering walk…

So… Lessons learned?
1. Stop hanging out with Delta Tau Delta brothers, even if they are Tyler’s friends.
2. Stop hanging out with dreadlocked drug dealers, even if they are nice and their friends are miniaturized versions of famous rappers and basketball players.
3. Don’t drink and drive or be a passenger in a similar situation.
4. Don’t drop your gun while crip walking, or any other dance for that matter.
5. When your child is in school, pay for private therapy; do not use the school’s counselor.

Componé Mi Coche

So I'm sitting here, getting ready to go out for a drink, and I'm flipping channels. I come to a show on CMT, called "Trick My Truck." It's literally Pimp My Ride for Semis...or in the auto fabrication world "4 Semiz." The first show's truck had a propane bbq, a queen pillowtop bed (for the guy and his wife), and fireplace. This second truck (for a retired marine) has an eagles and ripped waving flag paint job, neon underneath, a boot knife stick shift, and a webcam. I don't know how I feel about shows stealing another shows premise (ie Meet Your New Mommy on Fox). But if this trend continues, soon we'll se on the Spike Channel: "Bling My Bus," on the Lifetime Network: "Makeover My Minivan," and on Univision: "Componé Mi Coche."

Did I mention that while I wait to go out and get a drink, that I'm drinking a beer. It's been a long week. I couldn't wait.

Coming soon to the Giraffe blog... True Giraffe Stories. I was watching the special episode of Chappelle dedicated to Charlie Murphy True Hollywood Stories and thought I need to document what happens to me before I lose my memory. My stories don't involve Rick James or Prince, but I will try to make them entertaining, at the least. First up will be the time I hung with gun-toting, drug-dealing Snoop look-alike.

A Declaration

Today is a holiday, and I want to make a declaration. Just get something off my chest. I’m just going to put it out there.

There is only one good type of peanut butter and it is CHUNKY.
If you like creamy, then you suck. There is no good reason for creamy to exist.

Here are some excuses that Creamy supports might try to argue with, but don’t be fooled. These are not valid reasons for Creamy.

* I’m using it for baking
* I recently had my wisdom teeth removed
* I’m an old person, with dentures, and I can’t chew those crunchy little peanuts

Note that these aren't reasons, these are excuses. And it sounds like a bunch of bull to me.

For those of you believers out there, I want to not only show support for the Chunky community, but also lead you down another path. Yes, some say it’s a little too radical, too extremist, too controversial, but I’ve been doing it for years, and I’m doing just fine.

There's a whole world out there you have yet to experience, but don't worry. I'm here to open the door. These four words will probably change your life:

EXTRA CRUNCHY SUPER CHUNK

Resume Attached

Most of you know that I am currently unemployed and looking for work. After spending hundreds of hours of the past few months watching DVDs, I’ve found a new calling. I recently sent out a resume. Here is a copy of the cover letter.

Dear Dan Glickman,
President and CEO of the Motion Picture Association of America (MPAA):

We have never met, but I am writing you today to express my great interest in working for your organization. In this cover letter I want to call attention to some unique characteristics that I believe immediately qualify me for hire at the MPAA.

I have included two lists of references on my resume. The first list is of the standard style, including former teachers, coworkers and employers who will say nothing but praise about my work ethic. The second list contains friends and internet forum buddies with similar tastes in movies. I have included this second list because people say that I can rate movies with extreme accuracy—G, PG, PG-13, parents strongly cautioned, everything. No joke! Just yesterday I was commenting to my brother that the movie Kill Bill Volume 1 should probably be rated R. He checked the box, and it WAS rated R. Incidents like this have led me to apply for a position on the Ratings Board of the MPAA.

I believe that I am very qualified for the job of sitting in a private air-conditioned theater, watching a movie, and then discussing what rating it deserves with colleagues possessing similar skills. I don’t mean to toot my own horn, but I am very good at identifying the reasons for a movie’s particular rating. I am skilled in identifying swear words, violence, drug use, and nudity to name a few. Especially nudity. I was just joking about that last one. But seriously, I can identify nudity. And WILL identify nudity, when rating movies for your organization.

When you scan my resume, you might notice my lack of work experience in the movie industry. While most of my previous work experience is in the advertising and electronic production fields, I do have experience relevant to the MPAA. You might also notice the gap in employment during the second half of 2005. To the naked eye, this might seem like a hindrance in hiring me, but I assure you I have used this time to practice my rating skills. For the past couple of months, I haven't considered myself unimployed. I have considered myself Movie-Watching Enabled.

Attached to this cover letter, I have included the lists of movies I’ve rented using my Three-At-A-Time Blockbuster Online subscription. As you see this includes the 103 movies I’ve rented online and the 29 I’ve rented at actual Blockbuster stores. I want to clarify that these are only the movies I’ve rented THIS YEAR, and those figures do not account for movies seen at the theater or DVDs borrowed from family and friends. This intensive movie-watching regiment has helped sharpen and polish my rating assigning skills ten-fold.

Lastly, let me say, that I personally think that your 1994 decision to split the Parental Guidance category into PG and PG-13 subcategories was a great move. I believe that this amplified revision of the ratings system has helped parents and legal guardians make better decisions in choosing acceptable movies for their children. Many friends and acquaintances of mine doubted the decision at the time, but I strongly lobbied for the PG split. When hired to serve on your Ratings Board, I want to speak with you about another PG split. I believe that here in 2006 we need to subcategorize again to PG, PG-11, and PG-14, but that’s a discussion for another time.

In conclusion, thank you for reading my resume, and I hope to speak with you soon. You can always find my contact information at my newly revised website MattGiraffe.com (a mirror of MattGraff.com).

"You know what this is?...

It’s a celebration BITCHES!!!!”
(“Celebration” is a seasonal beer we all drank a lot of, plus it’s a Kayne lyric, and we all know how much I love Kanye. He’s my boy.)

Okay so, Pedro blogged about International Get Jolly Kicked Off His Flight Day, but I thought I’d put in my two cents and a few key memories. First of all, to explain, this was a reunion of sorts--five college friends who haven’t all seen each other in a year and a half. Well that’s only half-true. Some have seen others since graduation, but the gist of it is that we were all meeting up for a late lunch and tons of drinking--enough to try to get the airline to ban Nate from getting on his flight. And I should mention that this was on Tuesday Dec. 27th, starting at 2pm. I think it officially ended at midnight. But on a Tuesday, in the afternoon? Yep, that's just how we roll.

First of all here’s a picture of us all drinking at two in the afternoon.
From left to right:
Jeff aka Smitty aka Hakuna Matata.
Andy aka Holland aka A-Hole.
Matt aka M Grizzle aka Giraffe.
Nate aka Jollymon aka The Rancher.
Peter aka Pedro aka SanFran Sports Man.



Jeff Smith Shining Moment of the Night #1:
After a failed attempt to get our waiter’s attention, we decided to try to yell out his name. Not knowing his name, we all put in our guesses. I think Nate said his name would be Brian, I voted for Ken, but it was Jeff who correctly guessed Steve. His was so confident in his guess that he just yelled out “Hey Steve” and the waiter turned and gave us a surprising look, for his name WAS Steve. Bravo Jeff. (Steve in the orange shirt.)



Jeff Smith Shining Moment of the Night #2:
After hearing the Andy Holland “Tiff(any Amber) Theisen Story” Jeff decided why not try to look up her number by calling 411, or information, or whatever in Los Angeles. Andy had Miss Kelly Kapowski’s old cell number, but I guess she changed it recently (without calling Andy). Jeff could only get a listing for “S. Theisen,” decided that was close enough to T.A. Theisen, and left a message telling “Sarah” to tell “Tiff” to call Andy on his new Seattle cell phone number. Bravo, again, Jeff. Bravo.




Gotta love the random people you meet at a bar.
This is Frank aka Frank the Tank. A random old dude who hopped into a picture, chatted with us for an hour or two, played some competitive darts, and had a grand old time. Jolly gave him his business card from D.C. Frank and his wife are going to be visiting the nation's capital soon and might spend a night or two on Nate's couch. Or at least go out for a beer. Nate, let us know how that turns out.




Random people, part two.
This is Susan aka Suze. She is also a UO Alum, just like the five of us. She fancied Peter, although she thought he was a little young. Peter fancied her although he thought she was a little too much like his Aunt. Despite their differences, Peter got a hickey. (First Suze with Nate, then with Pedro.)





Theivery.
Later in the night, we ran into Kristin, a friend of Peter's, who was with a bachelorette party. Well of course we went with them when they left Kells to go to Ringlers. But I was unaware that Peter was holding a pint glass as we left. I’m not sure he remembered stealing it either; he was a little bit intoxicated. Long story short, I now own a Kell’s pint glass.



More pics of the night:

Saturday Night Lame

So, Jolly posted a clip from SNL on his blog, and I was going to make a quick reply, but it got too long. So I am making in a blog post here.

Is anybody else a little disappointed with newer SNL cast members? I loved watching the show in recent years, but a couple things make me not that worried when I miss an episode.

I hate the guest hosts reading from the cue card. Especially the famous actors. You demand $10 million per film, but you can remember your lines for a four minute sketch?

The show gets less and less funny every year. The funny male cast members have left the show, and the male cast has always dominated the comedy of the show. Since Sandler, Spade, Ferrell, Fallon, Meadows, Morgan and Kattan have left, there isn't a strong cast to hold it up. Fred Armisen, Will Forte, Chris Parnell and Seth Myers are the main cast in my opinion, but none of them has that demanding feature about them. I think Maya Rudolph and Amy Poehler are good, but not great. Horatio Sanz is lost without Jimmy Fallon (Gobi without Jarret). And if Darrell Hammond leaves, then they lose they're only veteran with real talent (record-setting 11 SNL seasons).

I feel that this Andy Samberg guy was brought in to be the next Sandler--being kookie, a little aloof, singing songs. Bill Hader is brought on to do impressions and be the next Fallon. Hader nailed an Al Pacino voice in an early episode this season, but looked nothing, NOTHING like him. (Speaking of Fallon, on his "Best of Fallon" SNL dvd, there is a 5 minute montage of his best impressions. Truly amazing how many voices/personalities he can do. Robin Williams, Chris Rock, Seinfeld, Sandler, Gilbert Gottfried, many others, not to mention singing like other people.)

I think they only keep around Finese Michell to do impressions of Denzel and Donovon McNabb. And only keep around Keenan Michell to do impressions of Donovon McNabb's Mom and Bill Cosby (wait, he can't do Cosby anymore since he did that Fat Albert movie). Ratchel Dratch just plain isn't funny.

Back with a Vengeance

Three topics for you today.

Rhymefest
First is an advance warning on a cd that doesn’t come out until March. The rappers name is Rhymefest. He’s friends with Kanye. I downloaded his single off of iTunes called “Brand New.” Listen to it. It’s similar to Kanye’s style. Sampled, light (not aggressive rap), clever rhymes:

Now some women hit the mall and some shop at the thrift store
Some of 'em mix and match and make it look like they get more
Some of y'all know you wear a sixteen - squeezin' into a six
Damn - what you make them jeans rip for?

He actually wrote part (most?) of Kanye’s “Jesus Walks,” which was arguably the hit off the first cd that sent ‘Ye into every white boy and girl’s mp3 collection. (Yes there were a few white boys like me who had him back in 2003. Jolly, too.) But I just find it odd for a rapper to have a ghostwriter. I mean, I know that Whitney, Mariah, Britney, heck even The Spice Girls didn’t write all they’re lyrics (Ashlee Simpson does, which is why her lyrics are trite, but that’s another blog). But most rappers have the whole “feat. Jay-Z” thing where they let the other guy have a verse on the song. But Rhymefest hid in the shadow on a huge song and let Kanye sing and take credit for the rhymes. I mean Ryhme got a Grammy and didn’t sing or even have a recording contract! Ah well, now Kanye’s hooking him up. S’all good as long as everyone gets paid.


#64
Hey guys I don’t mean to brag, but I’m the 64th best blog in Portland. Or maybe I do mean to brag. Ha, anyways, I have no idea what this site really is, but JJ found it searching for me on google. Maybe a better question is why my roommate is internet-stalking me…


Drink it Down
Okay so I have a business proposition. Although I have no market knowledge, no funding, and no bottling/distribution/promotion connections, I want to create, bottle, and sell a new specialty liquor. I’m thinking a very high end, smooth whiskey. What’s the name of my whiskey you ask?… Confidence. Confidence in a bottle.



So next time you’re at a bar, and you’re eyeing an attractive lady but you're a little too timid, walk up to the bartender and say, “I’ll have a shot of Confidence!” Pour it. Pound it. And go talk to her, Andy.

What's new pussy cat?

Woah woah woah woooahhhooooahh.

I'm still alive. I've just been busy/lazy/haven't found something to blog about.





Soon. Soon.