I understand smoke-free bars

But this is crazy.

More Fish Stories

Here's a follow up to my fish tale.

Two Down . . .

So I received a call from Kourtney yesterday . . . and I'm in at Chicago GSB! (Funny, an email just popped up from her as I was typing this.)

Even though I've pretty much decided on New York (either Columbia or NYU), it is nice to get accepted, especially after my weird experience with the interview. Also, after thinking about it, I'm not sure it's such a good idea to send a letter to Chicago, declining the offer and explaining that the interview was a large part of the reason.

I met the dean of admissions from Columbia on Monday night when she was here for an information session and reception. She gave me some slightly positive news: since she is traveling this week, I shouldn't expect any offers to be extended. That gives me a few days of peace; I don't have to jump each time I see an email pop up in my Gmail notifier.

At least not all the fishing in San Diego was bad this weekend

I went fishing and caught bait. These guys went fishing and caught this.

Stay off the Grass

As discussed below, I wasn't allowed to walk on the grass when I was growing up. I still don't walk on the grass. My dad would even scare away dogs that meandered over by shooting a BB gun into the air. However, he never went this far.

I have 4 friends

I think I'm stuck in some sort of generational gap. I admit I'm not very hip with IM (mainly because I refuse to use AIM), but this myspace shit is blowing me away. I went to a party last weekend, where people were drinking, having a good time and checking their damn myspace pages! Every 15 minutes or so, someone would disappear for a little while. Seriously, is it more fun to leave inane comments for friends and minor acquaintances than to interact with actual people?

I asked one guy, Shannon, about it, and he says he uses it to stay in contact with people. With all that technology has to offer, is this the best we have? Seriously? A cheap, reliable postal service. Free email. Multiple phone lines. Cell phones with freakin' free long distance and a gazillion minutes for $50. And people choose myspace to stay in touch?

And what's the deal with some of these comments? "Yo brozza, haven't seen you in a while, let's get wasted this weekend!!!!" "LOL, you are so cute! Call me next time you are in town." I looked around at some profiles today, and it appears that the new trend is leaving pictures of David Hasselhoff in the comments section. David Freakin' Hasselhoff? Other than the Germans, who cares? Also, the only reason he is in the news right now is because he was just arrested for domestic violence.

And now I hear that myspace is on its way out . . . Facebook is now the shit. At least by going back to school I will get another .edu email address. You better look out--I'll be leaving inane comments and posting stupid pictures on other people's profiles in no time.


Update 3/20 1:30 PM: I now have 5 friends. And someone sent me my first real message. Things are snowballing out of control!

Time for the Claws to Come Out

According to the Orlando Sun-Sentinel, cat owners have another reason to feel inferior. I am intrigued by Cari Wiggins, though:

Cari Wiggins, 47, of Hollywood, totes Minuska, her 6-year-old tabby, to her office, church meetings and even the gym. She wants the cat to be able to dine with her as well.

"She's clean. She's well-behaved. Why not? Why just dogs?" asked Wiggins, who has been denied service at outdoor restaurants.

I'm sure my dad would be into this. After losing two cats to foxes/coyotes, he now takes his cats for walks in the woods on 30-foot strings. He even has nails strategically placed around the property to tie the cats up to while he gardens.

My Dad is a Cat Person

I have a bunch of rules by which I irrationally judge or classify people. Never buy anything from someone who can't tie a decent knot for his tie, or who ties his tie too long. Don't trust a guy who orders his steak cooked to anything past medium. Beware of the one person not drinking at the poker table or blackjack table. Dog people are easier to get along with than cat people are. Don't bake your bread where you make your dough. And, in the words of Coach Finstock from Teen Wolf, "never play cards with a guy who has the same first name as a city, and never get involved with a woman with a tattoo of a dagger on her body."

Well, let's just say that my dad is a cat person. He sent me 6 photos today of his Easter present: a misting humidifier that "releases 2 cups of water an hour!" (Update 03/14/06: This morning I received two more photos, this time taken at night. It lights up purple.) The cats were thoroughly amused and proceeded to knock it over, getting the carpet wet. My dad then devised a system to attach it to the wall, using fishing line "that you can hardly see!" In my experience, if my dad says it's hardly visible, it means it sticks out like a sore thumb.

He scans his golf scorecards and sends them to me occasionally, even though he is the master of mulligans and likes to "improve his lie." He claims that he invented "golfing sandals." My dad's 37 is a lot like a one-person scramble: he plays multiple balls but only counts the ones that end up where he wants. Once, when he broke 80, he called me and told me about every single shot--on my answering machine.


The Ricker is an interesting character. I've had hour-long conversations where I've never said a word (sometimes, I even set the phone down for extended periods). He also claims to have invented the skateboard and wrote the second verse to "Louie, Louie." Even though he now denies both, he once said, "I have kids because I can't have slaves" and was the originator of the Rick Shannon: vodka, cranberry juice and Zima. He is often shirtless, and his shorts are so short he occasionally leaves the cake out in the rain. He gave my friends the sex talk and once showed my wife and me his cock ring. I'm pretty sure he used to be a swinger. He has dabbled in art and sculpting, and then invites serious artists over to look at his "work" (he also sends me at least six pictures of these, too). Yet somehow, he was duped by an alcoholic New Mexican into buying counterfeit Santos carvings. When I go home for holidays, he invents projects (this time, it was installing some crap in the gutters) to avoid spending time with the family, but then he makes me come out so I don't see anyone either. I've been driving for 10 years (that he knows about), but he still watches me drive up and down the driveway each time I go home. He makes sure that I don't hit any of his precious pots or trees when I turn around. I've never had a problem, whereas he's slid off quite a few times (and one time actually slid up the hill sideways). My friends: not allowed to go up the driveway. In fact, he'd rather they not even walk on it. And don't even get me started on the grass--he even trained the dog not to walk on the grass. The funny thing is, for all the time he spends on his lawn, we have some of the worst grass I've ever seen. He is obsessed with his yard and his flowers and sumacs. As Ryan says, "aren't sumacs weeds?" Yes. And they can be poisonous. Actually, I'm certain that I've been poisoned at dinner with him, or at least had my food spit in. He's a horrible tipper and horrible guest; the goal of every service encounter is to get the next one for free. He's even had a free weekend at a nice resort (because he complained during his last stay) but managed to find something else wrong--and get another free stay. I think that was his proudest moment. He drives two of the same car: a Cadillac STS. One is a 1992 and the other is a '99. He is convinced that the '92 is better in the snow. On Friday nights, there's nothing he likes better than going to a local restaurant and pretending that the servers are his best friends (he has invited the Filipino guy from the Chinese restaurant over for Christmas and Thanksgiving). After dinner, he returns home, mixes a drink, puts on his boxers (which for some reason he only wears when he's wearing nothing else), lights candles, turns on music and lifts weights. And by weights, I don't mean heavy lifting, but instead moving around a pair of eight-pound dumbbells. I guess he has to keep in shape for pictures like this.



This was taken while my parents were in Spain. Besides scaring me for life, I'm trying to figure out why the bidet is running. Also, I love the fact that there is a can of "The Dry Look" hairspray in the background. When my dad found out that he wasn't able to buy this hairspray in Colorado anymore, he called up the company and ordered cases. He still has enough cans for the apocalypse sitting in our basement.

Finally, beware of this trend.

Too much free time

New York Bound

I was accepted to NYU Stern this week, so one thing is official: the wife and I are moving to New York. She loved the city and has great job opportunities there; I loved the city and now know that I will attend either NYU or Columbia. At this point, I've ruled out the University of Chicago GSB--which at one time was the only school to which I planned to apply--for a variety of reasons. Rumors of a hyper-competitive atmosphere was one reason. A very negative impression created by my alumni interview was another. But seeing NYU and Columbia and the opportunities that will be available for me in New York was probably the main reason.

I was scared of the concept of moving to New York; Chicago seemed like a "safer" option. However, after "living" in the city for a week (admittedly in a very nice hotel), I think I can actually live there. I saw apartments, I saw the rats and I experienced some cold weather (here's another reason why I like New York better right now: when we got in, it was cold, probably 28 degrees by with 40 mph winds. But it warmed up. Did Chicago? No.). We are selling both cars, and I am okay with letting the Albino Rhino go. Plus, the people in New York were in general much thinner and much better looking than those in Chicago (not that I look at anyone but my wife).