Monday, September 12, 2016

The End of the Beginning?

Exciting changes are coming soon!  Not to give away any spoilers, but there are big (read: small, and insignificant in the grand scheme) things happening with my blogging.  Stay Tuned!

Wednesday, August 24, 2016

The Milking of New York's Nipples

Well we are now entering hour 7 of a Windows Update rendering my computer completely ineffective at work.  I can't get on the internet except for the most basic life functions (like blogging!) and pretty much any of the products from Microsoft are inaccessible.  Really great when I'm on an assignment up in New York where time is a huge factor.  But when all else fails, blog about it, right?

At least I'm in New York!  For being just an hour flight away, you'd think I'd be up here all the time, but really this is only my 4th time up here.  Too few times to really know my way around the city, but enough times that I already have a favorite neighborhood that I like walking around for dinner every night.  Tribeca, or TriBeCa, or Try, Becca! as they have never emphasized it, is a posh little area just north of the Financial District and just south of Greenwich Village and the West Village, which, to me, are just different names for the same neighborhood.  In fact, if google maps didn't tell me where i was, I'd just call it all Greenwich Village.  Much like how I used to call pretty much every neighborhood in Denver Cap Hill.  It just sounds better, OK?!  Anyways, if you could squash down your judgment for just a bit, I'll give you a lot more to judge me for later.  Try, Becca! is basically owned by Robert DeNiro (as opposed to the other DeNiro anybody knows.  Seriously, just take a beat and think about it, do you know any other DeNiro?  Why doesn't he just drop the name Robert at this point and be a one name powerhouse?)  DeNiro (meaning, "Of Niro") owns the Try, Becca! Grill, a restaurant where I once ate some kind of noodle with pork.  It was awesome.  Next door is the Try, Becca! film center or such whatever, which DeNiro started because who's going to say no to DeNiro?  The area is a mixture of cobblestone alleys and main thoroughfares, with several sidewalk restaurants.  While mostly upscale Italian restaurants, there are a few other interesting options as well, such as high end Indian food (trust me it's more than just a pot of orange colored chicken....although the one time I went there I ordered....orange colored chicken), a famous brunch spot called Bubby's, and even a two-Michelin starred Korean restaurant that I'm trying to decide if I have enough money to go to or not.  I should start with a one Michelin star restaurant first right?  Don't you have to go in order?  Am I arrogant enough to go straight to Medium when I haven't even beat Easy?

So there's probably other places in NY worth visiting, like buildings and what not, and like central park, but I only stay at hotels in Lower Manhattan so who's going to walk that far?  I'm already killing it on fitbit with the walking I'm doing to the closer neighborhoods already.  I come back for two other weeks this year.  Perhaps I'll explore another neighborhood one of those weeks, like Chelsea, or the Meatpacking District, or the Garment District, or the Cups District.  Wouldn't that be something?  A Cups District.....where you go to get all your cups.  Or probably, where people of yore used to go get their (thore?) cups.

"Oh Alfred, please stop by the Cups District on your way back from the bustier factory and bring me back 3 cups of variable worth."  - 19th century lady who was way ahead of Anna Kendrick's time.  You know, because of that cups song.  C'mon, you KNEW that.  Ok, I clearly have nothing else to say.

Friday, June 17, 2016

Denver Omlette - The Reboot!

June 17th, 2016.  Hello my name is Denver Omlette.  It's been 262 days since my last post.  So much has happened since then.  I don't live in Denver anymore, and I even learned how to spell omelet.  I prefer what I call the "French" spelling, but that's because, as you know, I'm QUITE fancy.
 
A quick rundown of what you've missed since September 30, 2015.
  • I did not in fact, die, that day.
  • I threw an epic birthday party in the karaoke room in the back of a sushi restaurant for a friend.
  • Same friend threw an epic going away part for me in my own house without me knowing it....the next day.
  • I thanked her by moving away to Washington DC.  Well, Alexandria, which is Washington DC Lite.
  • I went to India for 4 days, further cementing to many that my job is a Secret Agent.
  • I went to England and delivered a speech at a wedding that was well received.  Later a hurricane passed through the wedding and a cow gave birth.
  • I went to Spain and saw a bunch of stuff I'm sure I don't remember the names of. 
  • I ate tapas, because...Spain.
  • I went to Switzerland because of the aforementioned Secret Agent stuff.
  • I went to Niagara Falls to make sure it was still there.
  • I turned my 1980s kitchen into a 2016 kitchen with money and other people's ideas.
  • I ate all the food in NYC.
  • A man from Turkey kissed me, immediately followed by a hug from a man from Pakistan; and
  • I ate....a salad.  (I'VE CHANGED SO MUCH)
 That pretty much sums up everything I've done since I last spoke at you, and I don't think any of really requires any follow up.
 
Now that we have my history out of the way, I'd like to focus the rest of this once in a lifetime, limited edition, special release, don't-expect-this-to-be-a-regular-thing #notaregularthing post on what it's best known for.  Abject ranting about nonsensical shit by a yet to be certified lunatic.
 
Since January, I've been working in an office.  Unlike my Denver office, this one has more than 4 other people working there, so as you can imagine, I've grown a hatred hotter than a thousand suns for little petty things that people do in my building that really just annoy the bejesus out of me.  Rather than list off each one, I'd like to just put this out there to world that there are certain rules of office etiquette that should not be breached.  If you happen to be one of my readers who actually visits this building from time to time, I hope that you can employ some of these rules during your time here.
 
The Denver Omlette Rules of Office Building Etiquette
 
Rule #1 - Elevator Etiquette:
 
The goal, at seven in the morning, before I've had my coffee, is to have zero human interaction whatsoever, before I am comfortably slumped into my chair staring at my computer screen wishing a coffee IV was an acceptable societal norm.  Which is why then, the goal in the morning, is to avoid getting on the elevator with anybody.  Even having to do the half committed head nod is unreasonable to me at that time of day.  I am so people avoidance at that time of the day that I will slow down if somebody is getting on the elevator just before me, just to avoid getting on there with them.  And I will run to an elevator and press the door close button and hide if I hear anybody coming on after me.  So, you can imagine, the thing I hate the most are door holders.  You don't need to hold the damn door for somebody else.  There are EIGHT elevators in that elevator bank.  EIGHT.  I promise mine isn't the last one of the day.  It's not like catching the train when the next one is 20 minutes away.  Another elevator is literally right there.  Just get that one and don't slow me down because you need to sneeze into my airspace with your stupid morning happiness.  Think of it like this.  The only difference between Morning and Mourning......is U.
 
Rule #2 - Discussions about Lunch:
 
There is nothing worse than somebody who brings up lunch discussions early in the morning.  Why you ask?  I think the best way to illustrate why this is so awful is with an example.  Here is a normal thought process in the morning.  In this example, I've had coffee so I'm not longer angry at the entire world.
 
"Oh hum de dum, here I am at work.....checkin' some emails....sippin' that coffee, writin' a memo, oh hey there boss! how's it going, sure I can take care of that!  Oh hello other co-worker, you need help with that report? absolutely!  clicking send on that email, reading that memo, la dee dah, life is A-OK!"
 
ok now here's what that same thought process is like when somebody brings up lunch that early.
 
"Oh hum de dum, here I am work....checkin' some emails....oh wait what's this, somebody just asked where we are going for lunch today......i'll just tell them we can talk about it later because lunch isn't for 4 hours still.  Ok back to work....sippin' that coffee, writin' a m....you know, I would probably like to eat at the food trucks today......wait, back to the memo.....re-writing that sentence since all I wrote was food over and over again....oh hey boss, sorry I can't help frowning, I've been thinking about lunch for hours now......sorry I'll get that memo to you soon I promise....ok back to it.  CONCENTRATE.  GET OUT OF HERE COWORKERS THIS IS A NO FLY ZONE!!!!  I'M SO HUNGRY!!!!
 
.....2 hours later......
 
 
 So just do us all a favor and don't bring up lunch before 10 AM.  Otherwise you need to be the one mopping my face off the floor.


Rule #3 - Clothes:


People in this office building seem to fall into two camps....the very small camp that dress to impress, or, as somebody else put it to me, dress for the job they want, not the job they have.  Which sounds good but if I saw a janitor walking around wearing a Jos. A Bank suit I'd assume he was on some white collar criminal prisoner work detail, not trying to get a promotion.


The other camp of people, which I would say includes 95% of the guys in this building and at least 60% of the women, are dressed like they rolled out of bed, looked at themselves in the mirror, shrugged defeatedly and came in to work.  I would characterize the look of these people as K-Mart Chic....if chic means despondent and brow beaten.  I feel like there is a sign above the front door of the building that must read "ABANDON ALL HOPE YE WHO ENTER HERE" for them to dress that way.  I mean I think I see that sign at 7 AM too, pre-coffee, but I still take the 5 minutes to tuck in my shirt.  Which brings me to the very specific guy that is making me write any of this. 


Listen guy, yesterday I saw you wearing a coaches sweat-wickin' polo (like) shirt to work.  Today you were basically wearing a jersey, un tucked.  I fully expect that you are going to come in Monday wearing a t-shirt, gym shorts and a whistle.  I don't care if you love this job or hate this job, tuck in your damn shirt, and play with your (all-purpose) balls on your own time!


Well that's it for me.  I've exhausted myself trying to write a blog entry after so long.  It's easy to hate.  I do it all day long.  It's so much harder to record that hate on paper....as it were. 



Wednesday, September 30, 2015

"I Hope You Die Today"

These were the words spoken by a homeless woman, wrapped in a scratchy woolen blanket, carrying a large purse underneath, as she passed me on my way back to work from my haircut.

It felt....unwarranted, to say the least.

I mean, did she really hope I will die?  Does she know something I don't know?!  Was she even talking to me, or to one of the many voices in her head that I assume everybody of that socioeconomic status confer with on a daily basis.  Which, tangentially, makes me think that money really doesn't buy happiness.  If I could be homeless and always surrounded by that much company, who's really winning?!?

 Anyways, back to the matter at hand.  This lady.  Of course now, sitting here in my office, probably protected from her death wish, I am thinking about who she was before life hit her so hard.  Here's what I came up with.  And since that bizzo wished me ill, I am writing this story in Obituary format.  Take that, lady!

Denver Post - Bitchin' Obituaries (or whatever they call that section)
November 14, 2017

Mary Ann Walters, age 57, died today.  Mary Ann Walters, or Mare to her friends, of which she had few, lived a harder life than most.  At the young age of 19, Mare left her hometown of Wyatt, South Dakota, a small ranch town in the middle of nowhere, escaping a failed marriage.  With no help from family, Mary Ann left her abusive husband and made her way south to Colorado.  With little money in her pocket and no people in Colorado, Mary Ann had set herself up for failure.  It was after two years of burning through what little savings she had left, and a heartbeat away from turning around and going back home, did she meet the great oil tycoon William Grant Jr., or Billy Bob as she loved teasing him with.  Mary Ann and Billy Bob became fast friends, and inevitably married just 6 months later.  Those who remember Mary Ann from that time recall that it was probably the happiest she'd ever been.  But even then, a storm loomed on the horizon.  Mary Ann's former husband, whom she never legally divorced, read about the marriage from a local news source, and found his way down to his estranged wife.  One night, in June of 1983, Mary Ann's first husband found her and Billy Bob at their estate in Byers, Colorado where she was giving her husband a haircut, and shot Billy Bob dead, before shooting himself.  Adding to the tremendous grief Mary Ann felt over the loss of her husband was the growing suspicion from Billy Bob's remaining family that Mary Ann herself had actually killed him and her first husband in order to inherit Billy Bob's fortune.  After a very drawn out, lengthy legal struggle, Mary Ann exhausted what personal finances she had, and was forced to leave the ranch.  It was around that time, late in 1990, that Mary Ann was seen again, in the streets of Denver, Colorado.  Having been broken by the loss of both husbands in one night, and poor and destitute, she had turned to drugs and alcohol as her only respite from the evils that had befallen her.  Alas, the devil's bite of heroin had taken over her life, and she slowly lost her mind, ever to roam the streets alone.  Not much was heard of Mary Ann again before her death, but rumors persisted that a woman matching her description would be seen walking around town, carrying the only two possessions she had taken with her from the ranch.  A woolen blanket from the bed she shared with Billy Bob, and a large purse, which contained all her worldly possessions when she first ran away from South Dakota.  Of this person matching her description, it was said that she would mostly keep to herself, her mind addled with drugs, but certain triggers would bring her back to a state of lucidity and the self-realization of her situation would come crashing down.  Even then, it was all she could muster to wish people, often those coming out of a hair salon, terrible curses, and hopes for death.  In the end, it was a sudden myocardial infarction that killed Mary Ann, though anyone who still remembered her would say it was actually just a broken heart.

Mary Ann Walters - may she find the peace in death, she never had in life.
1960 - 2017

Right, so that's what happens when you randomly say "I hope you die today" to me on the street.

Monday, August 31, 2015

Summertime and the Livin's Easy

Possibly the biggest difference between living in Florida and living in Colorado, besides attitudes, driving, political landscape, religious freedoms, education, and....mosquitoes....is my attitude towards the weekend.

In Florida, a typical weekend morning goes one of two ways.  Either, you get out of the house as early as possible before it gets hot as balls (read: 9 AM) in a mad dash to get any errands complete before the sun or traffic catches up with you, or you just eschew any plans you have and spend the day at the beach drinking coronas (another big difference here!) baking in the sun.  I mean if you're going have sweat drip down your balls like the Ying Yang Twins always seemed to have an issue with, then it may as well be in a place where you can wash it off with saltwater right?  I guess that's the logic.

In Colorado, winter sadness precedes winter by a couple months (people hide their depression in the heady foam of Pumpkin Spice Lattes, which I hear may even have pumpkin in them soon!) Winter, which seems to break sometime around March, and then goes through a bi-polar attitude of sun and snow every other day until some time in May, which then makes way for "Hail Season", the few months of true sunny Summer are celebrated.  Then the challenge seems to be, how much of my duties today can be set aside so I can spend every sunny minute outside.  And when the heat factor can be mitigated by a trip up to the mountains, there really is no excuse to lay on the couch all day.  In fact if you live in Colorado and are having a lazy summer day, I implore you to find a picture from your last snowed in day at home, when two inches of ice lay hidden away under 6 inches of snow, and the temperature ranged from frigid to holy crap why'd I leave Florida!?  Its with that attitude, I push myself every weekend of the summer to just.....do something....Whether it's pulling weeds, to simulating that Miami Beach day at the pool, I work my way towards skin cancer more and more....which at least you can, of all the cancers, I'm proud of how I got this.  I mean...pancreatic cancer?  Not much you can really applaud there.

And so I spent last weekend, in all its melanomic magnificence, in the great outdoors.  (Let's be honest, I still didn't leave Stapleton.  I'm institutionalized now.)

After work Friday, I had drinks and dinner at Station 26 Brewing Company.  The brewery, which is tucked away in the near by neighborhood of Not-Stapleton, is a popular place for the Stapleton crowd looking to really get away from the neighborhood vibe.  They do that by going less than 1 mile from their house, and are surrounded by pretty much their neighbors.  In fact, it's rare to go there and NOT see somebody from my neighborhood.  It's the only brewery that has more stroller parking than bicycle parking, which is saying something for Denver.  Most nights, I go to this brewery for the steady and consistent rotation of food trucks, which has always been the highlight for me.  But Friday proved a great surprise as their beer game has also improved, as has their increased patio space, which seems dumb that they only just now did since it's basically winter tomorrow.  I also appreciate that they've started coming up with beer names that provide you absolutely no information on the beer you're drinking.  How am I supposed to know that Intergalactic Dingo is an American Pale Ale?!  To be fair though, I won't ever forget that name!

On Saturday, in a desparate effort to be outside even by a few inches of my garage, I washed and vacuumed my car.  Mostly, this was an excuse to sweat enough that I could justify drinking beer at the pool pretty much the rest of the day.  And so I did.  But as I alluded to before, it wasn't coronoa.  It was a selection of IPAs, which if you don't drink IPAs, you're basically not a Coloradan.  It was only after sitting in CU Stadium, after having run the Bolder Boulder that I developed a taste for this beer.  Or as I usually say, I became indoctrinated into what being a Coloradan means, and my genetics changed accordingly.  Don't be surprised to hear me talking about shredding back bowls and fresh pow pow this winter.  I still don't know what that means, but I assume it has something to do with diarrhea.

After the pool, I came home, exhausted, with only one desire.  To watch the movie Instinct.  This is an older movie with Anthony Hopkins and Cuba Gooding Jr.  It's a great movie despite how horrible Cuba Gooding Jr. is in everything (much less controversial than my hatred for Don Cheadle).  Also, the only place you can watch it apparently is on YouTube, which has the whole movie uninterrupted.  Well, except for a few Matrix like skips that make you question everything....

Also thank god I ate here earlier in the day, so dinner could just be a shmorgasbord of leftovers from there.






I don't want to oversell it, but this might be the great dim sum ever to dim in any sum.

I don't remember much else about Saturday because of the food coma I was in.  But I do recall waking up to see this werewolf inducing monster lurking outside the night sky.  



I hoped against hope that one of the great horned owls that are nesting in my neighborhood might have flown by the moon in it's Super Moon state, and then I would have known for sure that I was going to Hogwarts.  Speaking of that, I wonder why Hogwarts didn't have some sort of Adult GED program?

Sunday I decided to go for my first real bike ride after buying this bad boy:

Bought purely for its looks and having done no research what so ever, I was surprised by how much I like this bike.  Yesterday, I took down to the gym, and after realizing I didn't bring my key for the bike lock, over to the farmer's market.  Immediately upon taking this bicycle into "real" traffic, I became this guy:

Every Person with a Bicycle

I mean seriously....I never realized how much people just completely ignore cyclists at intersections where they clearly have the right of way.  I almost got hit twice.  Although that might because the brakes on this bike aren't the greatest so if they hadn't stopped, I suppose I'd be dead right now.  Which reminds me, I need to buy a better helmet....  (Like I said....I did very little research.)

Part of the problem of taking your cycle to the farmer's market is that you're restricted by whatever bag you bring for hte amount of produce you can buy.  Apparently 5 lbs of potatoes was my limit, which resulted in an overstuffed shoulder bag and no room for my bike lock.  As I sat along the benches in the shade contemplating my situation, some friends who live in my neighborhood walked by and offered to take as much as I wanted home with them, so I could ride my bike back without trying to balance things on the handle bars on my way to an inevitable death.  I guess on the tombstone they could write, "He avoided several cars, only to die by loose potato."

At the Farmer's Market, contemplating if potatoes are worth dying for.
Seriously though, in what other neighborhood could a neighbor randomly appear at the farmer's market to help me out like that?  That's one for you Stapleton!

The rest of the day was a blur.  I ate smoked ribs and mashed some potatoes.   I made jokes that my friend's Malaysian mother appreciated.  Mothers love me.  That's just a fact.  I see no point in continuing this post after that sentence.  BOOM.

 

Friday, August 14, 2015

Happy FPF from the Folks Who Brought You Turducken

The scientific community supporting "Animal Hybridization" is pretty small, or at least it would seem.  But they are a force that can no longer be ignored.  The very act of hybridizing two seemingly unique and different animals to make something better is not itself a new concept.  We've been doing it for years with food (i.e. the grapple - the texture of an apple with all the not part of nature grape flavoring goodness).  We have done it with geographies....I mean there's an Eiffel Tower in Las Vegas!  Heck, we've even done it with people.  Everyone knows a half-sy baby will be amazingly good looking its whole life (except for that first 6 months when the two halves are still trying to meld....)

So why not animals?  What are we so afraid of?  Why must I decide between chicken and pork, when I could just have chork?  I assume that's basically what spam is anyways.  What's the big argument against Science meat?  It's TOO easy to mass produce and feed starving folks?  It's TOO easy to control what goes in it so that you are getting the best possible outcome?  You'll MISS mad cow disease?

And even with live animals, I see many many benefits.  I mean, right now we don't use many animals in military positions what with their penchant to poop everywhere, but it's hard to argue with their natural prowess and agility.  And while I don't think a shark would fare well against a submarine in the ocean, what if we had a batallion riding these amazing creatures in the fight against terror?






The possibilities are endless!  Of course, this would have to be highly regulated....we can't just let anybody go start experimenting.  Otherwise we'll end up with this kind of terrifying monstrosity.

Good luck sleeping tonight with that image in your head.  But seriously, just think about it.  The AH movement is small but strong, and we will soon see the fruits of our labor. 

But let's change gears here, because AH is not what today is all about.  Today is about recognizing that it's the end of the week, and with that, comes a time honored tradition, of taking one's fists, and furiously pumping them into the air.  Some might say, like you just don't care.  So with dreams of monsters in your head, and the taste of chork in your mouths, let us all take a minute to celebrate this most glorious of Fist Pump Fridays!  Happy FPF!




Tuesday, July 28, 2015

Beware the Were: A Tale of Lycanthropic Lunacy

My friends.  My dear, dear friends.  I write this blog to you today, on the cusp of what may be my last few days on this earth, as a member of your human race.  Oh what a joy these last 34 years have been.  The friends I've made....the women I've loved....the laughter...and dare I say, even the tears.  It's all been worth it.  The aggregation of memories I cherish more than the most precious diamond.

Alas, on this Saturday past, at approximately 5:46 PM, I was bitten by a dog.  A mere puncture on the right hand, just below the thumb by a rabid beast, and now my life is a ticking time bomb.  It's only a matter of time until the next full moon, and my body changes to it's next level of evolution, as a werewolf.  On that first evening, when my body writhes and contorts as the beast within finds its way to the surface, and my mind is ravaged by a wild, feral lunacy that will only be calmed by feasting on innocent lives, then I will lose that ounce of humanity that separates us, the sophisticated few on this earth, from our feral ancestry.  How did this happen?  How did an unsuspecting man, just slightly passed his prime, drunk on IPA, find himself in this situation.  Well...it all started with a block party.

The day started like any other.  Hot as balls by 8 AM, without a cloud in the sky (typical for Denver.)  I awoke with anticipation of the afternoon's events.  The first ever tri-block party hosted in Conservatory Green.  My grocery list in mind, I went on a morning run through the neighborhood, followed by a trip to the grocery store.  All prepared for the party, and guava pastries baking in the oven, I took a few hours of respite in preparation for the party.  And it was quite the party.  Our courtyard was filled with the screams and laughter of innocent children, probably because there was a giant child in the bounce house...


The crisp late evening air was perfect for outdoor games and building camaraderie amongst old and new friends....


But there, in the shadows of our joy, lurked an indescribable evil.  This spawn of children's nightmares stared at our unbashed happiness with the hot rage of a thousand suns.  She stood on her perch, perfectly still, as if inviting someone to come dethrone her.  And while my intentions were only pure and good, I fell into her trap.  You see, I approached this monster, not to vanquish her, but to draw her out, and let her know that even she must have good in her heart.  And so, ever so timid, I approached and let the beast sniff me.  I stood bravely in front of her.  And while I don't have a real picture of her (because can one really capture pure terror in a photo?), this is about as accurate of an approximation I could find.


This fiend, having lured me with her siren's song, allowed me to come within the width of a fairy's wing between us, before she lunged and bit into my hand.  That quick, crushing gesture was all it took.  Of course, most of my blood replaced by alcohol at that moment, I didn't even know i was leaking bloodcohol from my hand as I continued to enjoy myself.  It wasn't until a friend warned me that my hand was bleeding did I know the true extent of what was to come.  This beast had changed my life forever.  Already, I can feel the effects of this lycanthropy.  The itching....the hunger for meat....the desire to lick things....

I only ask that you remember how I was, and not the brute I am becoming.  But also, use this as a warning.  Keep your distance friends.  Or else, this may be the last thing you see before your bones are buried under the rose bushes.