Why Would Anyone Want Health Insurance?
Anyone know what antibiotics are made out of? I’m not claiming to be any sort of doctor or medical associate but the stuff that is manufactured in the pills can’t be anything too incredibly costly. Sure, someone sits in a lab coat and uses microscopes to identify what happens when pills meet the opponent, but after that step those pills are manufactured like hot cakes at nearly no expense to anyone. With this mentality, I was surprised that the nice pharmacy lady told me 1) My insurance is not valid until Janurary and 2) the antibiotics would cost me $250. Yikes.
I could buy a bunch of Blu-Rays, put a payment on a HD TV, buy a decent digital camera, buy a new 360, or eat food for a few weeks with that sort of money. Obviously, being only slightly employed I turned down the offer to spend my savings on a cure and opted for more homeopathic methods. Let me tell you how refreshing it is to squirt 8 oz of salt water into your nostrils at a rocket ship velocity in an effort to clean out the infected area. Super refreshing.
I’ve dealt with sinus infections my entire life. It seems like there is a large assault on my sinuses at least once every two month. To the infection’s credit, I do keep defeating its hordes and yet it always manages to crawl up that mountain and infest my nostrils. Isn’t there a Greek dude like that? Oh yes, Sisyphus. My sinus ducts are a Greek tale.
If anyone has some spare antibiotics, I’d be willing to meet you in a dimly lit (or dark) alley way. I need the big guns though, like Levaquin, or Z-Pack.
Nice Job Kerry: Going Out To Eat Again
Hey I’m Dan and this is the first of my (probably) weekly series of “Nice Job, Kerry”. This is where I blame Kerry for something regardless of who’s fault it may or may not be. To those of you new to this, Kerry is my sister of 20.5 years. She has brown hair and (in this instance at least) owns a hat that makes her look like an eight year old. Currently she is enrolled as Pitt and probably learning something dumb. You think I take the time to know this stuff?
Every so often Kerry gets hungry and demands that we go eat. Often times my Grandma gives me ten dollars to go out to eat but laments that she, “does not have enough for Jen, Leah, Lindsay, Tommy, Kerry. I mean Kerry.” Sometimes these two events coincide and I take Kerry out to eat with me. We can never decide but for some reason this evening we went to the SouthSide where Kerry estimated we would have an 80% of being dissapointed. I was feeling lucky so we found a parking spot and somehow found ourselves in a place called Papparazzi. I’m sure I’m spelling that wrong but you’ll see why I don’t care in a moment.
It’s a quiet place with a few tables and Kerry and I are seated against a wall and given some menus. About 15 minutes later a man (our waiter?) slams some wine glasses full of water on our table, yells that he’ll be back and walks away. 15 more minutes later he comes back and Kerry tells him she wants a Coke. For some unknown reason the man looks at me and says, “You want a Coke too.” What. Why would he ask that? I said no and kind of expected him to ask me every other drink on the menu until he struck gold. Instead he just starred at me like his brain was gathering energy for the next genius idea and I said “water”.
He returned in about 5 minutes with a glass of water and a Coke. Also, he saw fit that there was a dead fly in my water and all of the carbonation of Kerry’s Coke was eradicated. Good man. I complained, as well as ordered some appetizers. Later, the man brought us a block of deep fried cheese sitting on a throne of marina sauce. It looked alright but tasted like funnel cake filled with cheese. We were starving so we ate it all. In the middle of our conversations, the man would scream from across the restauraunt at us that, “YOUR FOOD WILL COME OUT SHORTLY.” THANKS MAN.
Meanwhile, we were treated to watching a lady set up shop INSIDE the restaurant. A shop inside of a restaurant? Can you imagine? You’re waiting for your food and a bazaar appears right next to your dining table. Except this bazaar was full of tacky jewlery, and shitty assorted items. It would only fuel the burning fire of hatred, trust me.
Finally, the man brought us some food. It was not out main course, but a soup I ordered and a salad Kerry ordered. The man warned me that my soup MAY be cold. Hey guy, why would you serve me a soup you think is probably cold? Why not take the effort and time to heat this up for me instead of me making you run it back after I get hella pissed? It was cold, but I begrudgingly said it was fine because the less interaction with this idiot the better.
Our meal came and my spaghetti and meatballs I ordered tasted like rolled up hamburgers. The pasta sucked and I was pissed. I requested to speak to the manager and some lady came out and I told her how appalled I was. She told me that the “Jerry” (our waiter) was new and was trying his hardest. I told her that what I was eating was banal and I was extremely offended they’d serve this to me then I went on to say, “and there is some lady setting up shop to my left and I’m not even sure what kind of environment this is to eat food in.” She apologized and took 50% off the bill. The bill still came to $18.00. I was real mad, so I told Kerry to put on her eight year old hat, get her jacket on cause we were leaving in a rush. I left $10 dollars on the table and left that hell hole behind.
What a miserable time it was. Kerry and I have learned our lesson. And that lessons is two folds. 1) Don’t go to a dining place that is not full of people and 2) you can pay whatever you want for a meal as long as you leave before they find out.
Side Note: Cashier at the Rite-Aid post-Papparazzis said to us, “Still cold out?” to which we responded, “yes,” and then she said, “Crazy weather we’re having.” And I thought it might be crazy if we were in Ft. Worth, Texas but we’re in Pittsburgh in the midst of December. Nothing out of the ordinary here.
It’s Like ADD
Man. I have been meaning to post about a hundo different things but you know what I do instead? I refresh stale web pages, check my mail, or go play video games. I am constantly under the impression that there is not nearly enough time for me to do everything I want to do, but little do I know how simple it is to prioritize!
Pat and I have started millions of projects and left them half finished, or even 1/12th finished. It’s a pretty bad state of affairs. But no longer! We have put our brains together (with the help of that thatnight chick) to begin a new project. Ultimately it will fail, just like our plan to learn to write left handed.
For an example of something I’ve done but then did not keep doing: Future Dog. It’s my brother’s character but I stole him and wrote a story for him. I completely forgot about it until now BUT now I feel like I might start that up again. We’ll see how long that last for. But boy does it feel good to get a post out.
Perhaps, like the great Ben Franklin suggested, I should wake up every morning and make a to-do list. Maybe I’ll do that here. Maybe Pat will post something again? MAYBE.
A Hobo Thanksgiving
Maxwell burped and declared the dinner done
While stuffing his stomach with stuffing was fun,
He felt that he might burst at the sound of a gun
Looking to his left, and then to his right,
His comrades were all out like a light
Filled to the brim with turkey and moonshine,
Betty, Mac and Jim were done being a swine
But no one was close to reaching the door
All they could do was sleep on the floor
Before they could leave they had to devour some pie
Pie that was sent to them from Eric the Spy
Eric was a spy living in the world of sweets
He learned how to make pies, and even how to make quiche
The pie sat on the table with a menacing grin
Maxwell would have to eat the pie himself, for the win.
The pie in front of him was filled with cherries, pumpkin and spices
It was so large it could be cut into 15 slices
Yet, Maxwell was alone on his quest
Luckily, he was wearing his pie eating vest
Maxwell grabbed the fork of his father
Or was it something he stole from his brother?
Regardless, Maxwell took a few bites of the pie concoction
For a moment he thought about putting this pie up for auction
But he could not forsake his turkey day tradition
Though, eating with a full stomach was not optimal conditions.
He chewed slowly, lacking conviction
Boy did he wish this was all just fiction
He felt sleep creep upon him
Him finishing the feast was looking quite grim.
Forkful upon forkful he put down his throat
He was trying so hard he almost did choke
Finally, his fork fell out of his hand
This was not part of his Thanksgiving day plan
He reached his limit and was about to burst
Soon he would be heading to the toilet headfirst
The fork fell to the table with a bang
And Maxwell, with shame, his head did hang
For the first Thanksgiving in his lifetime
He failed to finish his pie and to him, this was a crime
Tears ran down Maxwell’s face
As he knew he would be a disgrace
But as he turned to go to the bathroom
His thanksgiving legacy was doomed
But then, Mac began to awake
Maxwell thought it was fake, and thus, did a double take
Mac had a second wind inside of his soul
He was kind of hungry, and could probably eat a troll
He grabbed Maxwell by his scarf and said to his face
“You better get eating. Or you’ll be a disgrace”
And thus, Mac, collapsed like a stump
And Maxwell took a deep breath and decided to prove he was not a schmup
He grabbed his fork with renewed vigor
And took a bite out of the pie equivalent of a tiger
The pumpkin, cherry and spices mixed in his belly
Soon, his arms felt like jelly
Maxwell’s hobo heart skipped some beats
And then his stomach accepted defeat
His body reached a limit it did not know
And for that, he began to stare at the ground below
His world grew as dark as an alley
And he collapsed to the table as a finale
Along the table the four hobos slept
Content and happy no one wept
They tried their best to eat all the food
But seriously, they’re only dudes
Let this be a lesson to you thanksgiving feasters
If you try to eat too much you’ll collapse on your keaster
There’s no shame in having leftovers
You can pass them out to all the people that ride land rovers
Cheerleaders and their Hypnotic Demon powers
Recently, I attended a pretty cool Pitt Basketball game. The only downside to going to a live game is that there are “Media Timeouts” which take place every four minutes of game time. It’s kind of frustrating that the media has their hand in so many pockets just sucking the life out of things but that’s not today’s topic. During these time outs the crowd is treated to the cheerleaders doing what they do best; holding up colorful signs giving a crash course in cheering to, what must be, a nearly autistic crowd. They try their best to hold their attention but after the second stirring rendition of “P-I-T-T Let’s Go Pitt!” no one seems to be paying attention. To gain back the audience’s attention they flip high into the air and scream at us like we were a puppy who was running away with a pair of their prized underwear.
I feel bad for them. It’s not their fault the audience is not into screaming as much as they are. Perhaps we lack the cheer leader’s belief in free will and the idea that we can shape the future with our actions. After a game I picture the cheer leaders in their locker room (maybe showering and snapping towels at each other?) discussing what went wrong. “I knew we should have flung Katy up higher in the first half” “Our pom-poms are shiny enough. And can we cut our skirts shorter? No one is drooling over me like they use to. I fear they have become desensitized…” At this realiztion that they must continue to top their perfomances week after week that an over worked over stressed Melissa falls to the ground in tears. “Why won’t they just follow along with the signs. It’s one word. They aren’t doing anything else except maybe eating popcorn. I just want them to cheer with us. Don’t they want us to win?” Melissa would sob uncontrollably and then handed a warm cup of tea and carried out of the room. She was bad for morale.
Was there a time when sporting events were complete chaos? Anarchy must have run through the stands as people stood up at inappropriate parts of the wave, contributed random lyrics to cheers, and clapped without rhythm or real motives. Finally, one day a young lady stood up and said “Hey guys! Let’s go team! Let’s go team!” in a hypnotic fashion and soon people were following her like zombies. That, or the Pied Piper transferred his crazy magic music powers to the dress of a girl and whatever she did everyone had to follow.
A Note from Gramsters
My grandma has an infiniety for writing me notes. These notes are often mundane and consist of things like “Hey. I’m doing laundry.” or “I went out with Aunt Joan” or sometimes it’s just scrawl that is in some sort of old people language. These notes are her way of trying to always let me know where she is which is like one of two places (up stairs, down stairs). Since she likes to avalanche me with all of her position updates (if she knew what Twitter was it would be so much easier) she always wants to know where I am.
Every morning it’s the same ol’ stuff. “Where are you going?” “When do you work?” “Where do you work?” “Can you take me to the Doctor’s?” and I’m like “Hey, I’m doing the same thing I do everyday. Smell yas.” And she’s like “Don’t work too hard.”
It’s maddening but she is just worrisome like that. Anyways, the other day I just left while she was still asleep and came home at 6 pm to find a crazy note. Let me transcribe it for you:
Dan,
Meat Loaf.
In the Ref. It bakes 1 1/4 hr at 350 degrees.
If I am not up.
-Grama
You can have rice with it.
-Gram
P.S. I don’t know where you went. You went to work?
(over)
Please put the ironing board away.
Excuse the writing.
Breakfast of Monte Cristo
Who’s god damn idea was it to create the Monte Cristo sandwich? It’s a vile creation that even the most obese would think twice about eating. Basically, some mad man read “The Count of Monte Cristo” then probably beat his wife then screamed at until he a) was coughing up blood or b) she made him a sandwich that would satisfy his urge to die.
So the lady, fearing for her life, started cooking like a lady who’s life depended on it. She got some ham, some eggs, some turkey, some bacon, and made some French toast for good measure. Oh wait, she then decided to deep fry the French toast then sandwich the other materials in the middle. Holy. Hell.
I’m not sure if you’ve ever had one before. I’ve made it 22 years of my life and have only seen it eaten once (by Pat no less). But to be honest, part of the allure is that this sandwich sounds reasonable on paper. Like a door to door salesman who is selling covers for your steps. It sounds genius, but let’s be honest with ourselves, no one is going to enjoy that.
This sandwich was brought to me covered in powdered sugar and fried stuff. I was kind of excited at first since it seemed like the king of breakfast sandwiches but then I took I bite and was very confused. My taste buds thought they were at some trashy carnival. It was like eating funnel cake covered in eggs, syrup, and ham. Like, why.
It’s safe to say I’m going to continue hating on this sandwich for a while. Breakfast is suppose to be a delicate meal, not something unrefined carnival folk would make for their illegitimate elephant calves.
I’m Like Hungover
But I had nothing to drink. I mean, I had four bottles of water yesterday but I feel absolutely HORRIBLE as I type. So horrible that I’m posing two updates in one day. What the fuck is going on.
I did take some sleeping pills. You can follow my rise and fall on twitter (www.twitter.com/woozle). I suspect that those are reason for my sloppiness this morning. Not only am I irritable but there is, what feels like, a handful of fog floating around in my brain. It’s maddening but what should I have expected from a pair of pills that is made to bring you temporary death. They are designed to shut the body down, like brakes on a freight train so of course there is going to be some back lash.
I got eight hours of sleep but what the hell. I was hoping to get addicted to these despite the box’s warning of “non-habit forming”. You can’t tell me what I can and cannot get addicted to, but with this hangover feeling every day I’m not sure I could handle it. Perhaps if I take more I’ll feel better…
Also: I was told to post these videos. LOVE THEM.
Well, I Forgot
I had something to talk about. But I forgot.
If anyone lives in the South Side of Pittsburgh I’d suggest going down the Big Dog. It’s a coffee place on Sarah street and it’s been open for two weeks. I was there today getting the scoop as well as interviewing the owner, Nikola. I’m not sure if that’s how you spell it but he’s from Bolgaria.
I love these small businesses and I feel so much better spending all my money their instead of a place I know is going to invest their money in tire fires or something. So go and drink coffee. It’s pretty awesome and it’s a neat place with a kind of history. You can all read it when I write my article on that guy.
Fallout
Do you think you could survive a nuclear fallout? Let’s say hypothetically you did have a shelter and that when the bomb fell not EVERYTHING was destroyed, but a decent amount of shit. Like, you wouldn’t want a friend you met on the Internet to visit you afterwards because you’d be so ashamed. “This isn’t like the pictures you sent me” they would say with a scowl. And in what was suppose to be the finest moment of your life vanishes like a banana thrown into the deepest and darkest cave full of monkeys.
But walking around your old town kicking around trash, moving around debris, trading fancy rocks for supplies? How amazing does that sound. Just grab like a roll of toilet paper from your vault, wander out into the fallout and use your amazing wit and charm to convince people that toilet paper is actually “future money” and is worth it’s weight in nuclear gold or whatever.
If that doesn’t convince you maybe this will: