It is Thursday, July 28th, 2011. My first full day back from a 2 week trip across the Atlantic. As always, Europe never fails to impress or intimidate this shy, wide-eyed American (unless, of course, I'm in Belgium. Then I become very sleepy-eyed and opinionated. Beer reference...they're quite strong and delicious.) I traveled with some family and friends through 3 different countries. We drank, we played, we fought, we forgave (or at least I hope they have) and explored many towns and cities none of us have ever been in before. So much has happened within the past fortnight that it'll take me twenty more to tell the full story. And even then I'd probably would've left some shit out.
Here's an abridged beginning. We took off from JFK on an Indian plane, serving Indian food and showing Indian movies. We landed in Brussels, Belgium at around 7 in the morning local time (their local.) Stayed a night with some really great friends, traveled to Germany, made our way up to Denmark, then shot back down to Belgium. Itinerary at it's most basic. Details to come.
Chapter 1
Belgian Beer
Now, I haven't been to every beer-producing region in the world but after some online research and years of very in-depth, hands-on experimentation I have deduced and ultimately concluded that Belgium is by far the front runner in all that is glorious and wonderful in the universe in regards to God's beverage of choice. (It's beer, silly. Wine is for sissy's...or for after the beer has run out.) Every single one I tasted was like tasting beer for the first time. And believe you me I've tried as many as possible (like that was in doubt.) Each brand has it's own uniquely shaped glass designed to enhance the experience. It's almost surreal the first time you enter a bar in Belgium. You see all these different glasses lining the shelves, presumably for decorative purposes. Then you start ordering one drink after another and realize "Holy shit! They actually use all of them!"
I'd like to address one of my personal favorites. Some may say it's not the best that Belgium has to offer and that may be true. But the mere mention of it's name turns heads, some smiling, some shaking in a silent "No!"
Every Belgian smirks when the talk of Duvel enters conversation (yes, it means Devil.) A smooth yet deceptive 8.5% blond that will easily destroy all morals and turn nuns into whores (Or at least that was the plan...well, the destroying of morals part definitely, but the nuns, that's on them.) And yet Duvel is the first drink I am offered every single time I am introduced to a Belgian. Perhaps they can sense I enjoy beer, or trouble, could even be a test. That's the other thing about the Belgian culture that I've been exposed to. Whenever you meet someone new there are 2 Stages. Stage 1: Greetings and Salutations. Stage 2: Let's have a beer! It's all about breaking the ice and conversing, getting to know each other. Beer becomes the social lubricant it was meant to be. It's encouraged, embraced even!
I think there must be an unspoken rule, for lack of better phrasing. You can have a drink. You can get drunk. You can even get obliterated. As long as you're not starting fist-fights with anyone other than yourself, you're cool. And we'll find you a ride if you need one.
So when are we moving there?
Back to today. First full day back. Gotta go back to work tomorrow. Really not looking forward to that world of shit. Head to the store to pick up some provisions...milk, drano, beer. At 12 noon I'm sitting in the sun drinking a Budweiser, reading a Stargate Novel and unwinding from the whirlwind that is a European vacation. Before I know it the 12 pack is gone and I'm looking at an empty fridge scratching my head thinking "what the fuck?" I built my tolerance so high drinking Belgian beers I've completely fucked my American beer drinking standards. The Magical "8th" Beer just became The Magical Mother-Fucking "18th" Beer Mother Fucker!" Fuck. My country's beer sucks. And don't tell me I can buy better beer here than Bud. I know I can. I do. Weekly. The fact is you can get shit-faced on $50 at any random bar in Belgium. SHIT-FACED! Try that in America. I have. It don't happen. Belgium. A land where beer is crafted with care, made to savor, and enjoyed by all (at quite reasonable prices.) And is always accompanied by friendly smiling strangers open and eager to strike up a conversation. If you've never been you need to go. Especially if you're a beer drinker like myself. I'm ready when you are!
gII
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Sunday, July 10, 2011
No Sober, No Rover : Pet Shops Rebel Against Potted Patrons
I recently read an article in the paper pertaining to purveyors of puppy's politely pushing people of a plastered persuasion, predisposed to purchasing a poodle, pug, pug-a-doodle, or any other precious prospective pet back out the entrance with a stubborn refusal to sell them "Man's Best Friend."
Which is, as being a current purchaser of a puppy under the influence (Me, stupid. Not the puppy), a fantastic idea. Owning a dog is a huge responsibility right up there with raising a child or negotiating your job, child, and canine commitments around a steadfast refusal to abandon alcoholism. I bought my dog off an internet website in May of 2010. I always wanted a beagle. Loved their personality and, to me, beagles are the embodiment of Dog (I'm sure all dog owners feel the same way about their dog, at least I hope they do.) The site had pictures of her at 4 weeks of age and God was she adorable! So I did my research. For 2 weeks, every night, I would go online and read up on everything about beagles. Their behavior, their needs, their history, intelligence, compatibility tests, EVERYTHING! Everything I read brought me closer to the conclusion that a beagle was the perfect companion for me! All I had to do was click "PURCHASE."
Sober, I may never have done it. But alas, I drink most nights so chances were this puppy would be mine whether or not a good idea it was...
Sometime around May 30th I found myself sitting in front of the computer, beer cans encroaching upon my monitor, a bit before 9 o'clock in the evening. Hand on mouse, slanted arrow circling the "CONFIRM" button, I had to think this through. Is this what I really wanted? Can I do this? Do I have the time to feed, walk, play, love, this beautiful baby bitch? And what the fuck? Who buys a dog off the god damn internet? I click this button and there goes a decent sum of money I may never see again. But look, there's pictures of celebrity's and the dogs they've purchased on this very site! How happy are they?!? It has to be legit, right? I mean, come on! Look at these photos!
Crack another beer...fuck it. Click!
Not 5 minutes later my cell phone rings. Oh fuck.
"Good evening Mr. Deuce! Congratulations on the newest member of your family! What airport would you prefer to receive her at?" What? No home delivery? But everything I order on the internet just magically shows up at my front door! No dick, she's coming from Ohio and she is a living creature. What have I done?
Fuck. Looks like I'm in this for the long haul. I clicked "CONFIRM," my money's gone and I doubt I'll ever see it again. Hey, still might get a puppy out of it...
Information exchanged. I psych myself up the following 2 weeks. Friends and loved ones express mixed emotions regarding my decision to introduce a dog into the household. Ranging from "Please tell me you're lying" to "That's fucking awesome!" Both prefaced with "Are you fucking kidding me???" Keeping up the positive outlook to all, I suffered trying to suppress my own doubts and reservations. After all, here's a decision I made without conferring with anybody else for the fear they would reject my proposal without consideration and leave me dejected, resentful and angry. Better to act first and ask other's opinions later when it comes to questionable matters of the heart, no?... I thought so too!
Waiting for her arrival, everyone present was waiting giddily apprehensive. We all saw the pictures by now. It was time to see the newest addition to our family! After given the run-a-round by airport security of where the fuck you pick up dogs arriving on planes, we found the debarkation station. Standing, waiting, anticipation turning to impatience, a cage finally rolls down the conveyor belt. Inside, oh inside...
The most precious, adorable, beautiful 8 week old beagle I have ever seen! Boy, did I ever make the right decision!!! I picked up the cage and took her outside. Cage in hand, my dad opens the door, takes her out, hugs her, and never let's go. The little one and I name her Daisy Lu while we walk through the parking garage. We got in the car and she slept the entire ride home.
Nowadays, she won't stop digging holes in my fucking backyard!
Point of the story (bit long, apologies) is that sometimes people need that little bit of alcohol to push them towards making great decisions in their lives. Especially us shy, timid, reclusive introverts. While I applaud pet store owners making it a practice to turn away stumbling drunks from committing a life altering acquisition, there are those of us who require a sip of liquid courage to help cross that Bridge of Uncertainty.
I guess, in summation, GOD BLESS THE INTERNET!
...and beer...and puppies. beer first though...
Which is, as being a current purchaser of a puppy under the influence (Me, stupid. Not the puppy), a fantastic idea. Owning a dog is a huge responsibility right up there with raising a child or negotiating your job, child, and canine commitments around a steadfast refusal to abandon alcoholism. I bought my dog off an internet website in May of 2010. I always wanted a beagle. Loved their personality and, to me, beagles are the embodiment of Dog (I'm sure all dog owners feel the same way about their dog, at least I hope they do.) The site had pictures of her at 4 weeks of age and God was she adorable! So I did my research. For 2 weeks, every night, I would go online and read up on everything about beagles. Their behavior, their needs, their history, intelligence, compatibility tests, EVERYTHING! Everything I read brought me closer to the conclusion that a beagle was the perfect companion for me! All I had to do was click "PURCHASE."
Sober, I may never have done it. But alas, I drink most nights so chances were this puppy would be mine whether or not a good idea it was...
Sometime around May 30th I found myself sitting in front of the computer, beer cans encroaching upon my monitor, a bit before 9 o'clock in the evening. Hand on mouse, slanted arrow circling the "CONFIRM" button, I had to think this through. Is this what I really wanted? Can I do this? Do I have the time to feed, walk, play, love, this beautiful baby bitch? And what the fuck? Who buys a dog off the god damn internet? I click this button and there goes a decent sum of money I may never see again. But look, there's pictures of celebrity's and the dogs they've purchased on this very site! How happy are they?!? It has to be legit, right? I mean, come on! Look at these photos!
Crack another beer...fuck it. Click!
Not 5 minutes later my cell phone rings. Oh fuck.
"Good evening Mr. Deuce! Congratulations on the newest member of your family! What airport would you prefer to receive her at?" What? No home delivery? But everything I order on the internet just magically shows up at my front door! No dick, she's coming from Ohio and she is a living creature. What have I done?
Fuck. Looks like I'm in this for the long haul. I clicked "CONFIRM," my money's gone and I doubt I'll ever see it again. Hey, still might get a puppy out of it...
Information exchanged. I psych myself up the following 2 weeks. Friends and loved ones express mixed emotions regarding my decision to introduce a dog into the household. Ranging from "Please tell me you're lying" to "That's fucking awesome!" Both prefaced with "Are you fucking kidding me???" Keeping up the positive outlook to all, I suffered trying to suppress my own doubts and reservations. After all, here's a decision I made without conferring with anybody else for the fear they would reject my proposal without consideration and leave me dejected, resentful and angry. Better to act first and ask other's opinions later when it comes to questionable matters of the heart, no?... I thought so too!
Waiting for her arrival, everyone present was waiting giddily apprehensive. We all saw the pictures by now. It was time to see the newest addition to our family! After given the run-a-round by airport security of where the fuck you pick up dogs arriving on planes, we found the debarkation station. Standing, waiting, anticipation turning to impatience, a cage finally rolls down the conveyor belt. Inside, oh inside...
The most precious, adorable, beautiful 8 week old beagle I have ever seen! Boy, did I ever make the right decision!!! I picked up the cage and took her outside. Cage in hand, my dad opens the door, takes her out, hugs her, and never let's go. The little one and I name her Daisy Lu while we walk through the parking garage. We got in the car and she slept the entire ride home.
Nowadays, she won't stop digging holes in my fucking backyard!
Point of the story (bit long, apologies) is that sometimes people need that little bit of alcohol to push them towards making great decisions in their lives. Especially us shy, timid, reclusive introverts. While I applaud pet store owners making it a practice to turn away stumbling drunks from committing a life altering acquisition, there are those of us who require a sip of liquid courage to help cross that Bridge of Uncertainty.
I guess, in summation, GOD BLESS THE INTERNET!
...and beer...and puppies. beer first though...
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Parenting: 1st installment. Seriously.
I remember taking a job assessment test during Home Economics in 5th grade. The results of my questionnaire concluded that the most suitable workplace for a future worker of my requisites would be that of one residing within the vocation of "Interior Design." Go ahead. Make your jokes. Some of you may be whispering amongst yourselves "Oh I've known all along." Or something along the lines of "Isn't it obvious" or "The boy always seemed a bit off..." Well HAHA! The Capital of the World NEW YORK ruled that being "a bit off is fine by us" and that I can marry whomever I so choose! Go NEW YORK!
If only I were "a bit off." My chances of finding love would nearly double. Odds are I could marry, procure a child or two, spend lot's of money, buy a house, work hard, drink harder, fall out of love, get a divorce, spend alot more money, possibly repeat. But I digress.
I remember seeing "Stay At Home Mom" as an actual job title. I also remember thinking "what kind of shit is that?" When the fuck was this "test" drawn up? And then, being 12, I also thought Bullshit! I want that fucking job!* In a court of law they'll argue that you have to read the fine print. Dude, at fucking 12 years old there ain't no fucking fine print! (Although, there could very well be now, as I am no longer 12 I am a bit out of the loop, so to speak.) Job assessment test my ass. Another game for the kids to play 'cause ol' teach is too hungover to lift her snout out of her coffee mug.
Jump ahead 20 some-odd years. Met a girl. With a kid. The best ever in the entire fucking world...the kid, not so much the... relationship with mommy.
Long story...shortened.
So why the fuck didn't anyone tell me that "Parenting" would be the most difficult job in the world???
...to be continued,
gII
*yes, I cursed just as much at age 12 as I do now. Perhaps more. Ask my sister, she threatened to tell our parents! Ha, did you think I'd forget?
If only I were "a bit off." My chances of finding love would nearly double. Odds are I could marry, procure a child or two, spend lot's of money, buy a house, work hard, drink harder, fall out of love, get a divorce, spend alot more money, possibly repeat. But I digress.
I remember seeing "Stay At Home Mom" as an actual job title. I also remember thinking "what kind of shit is that?" When the fuck was this "test" drawn up? And then, being 12, I also thought Bullshit! I want that fucking job!* In a court of law they'll argue that you have to read the fine print. Dude, at fucking 12 years old there ain't no fucking fine print! (Although, there could very well be now, as I am no longer 12 I am a bit out of the loop, so to speak.) Job assessment test my ass. Another game for the kids to play 'cause ol' teach is too hungover to lift her snout out of her coffee mug.
Jump ahead 20 some-odd years. Met a girl. With a kid. The best ever in the entire fucking world...the kid, not so much the... relationship with mommy.
Long story...shortened.
So why the fuck didn't anyone tell me that "Parenting" would be the most difficult job in the world???
...to be continued,
gII
*yes, I cursed just as much at age 12 as I do now. Perhaps more. Ask my sister, she threatened to tell our parents! Ha, did you think I'd forget?
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
A Burnbath Classic... currently not airing.
Ok, so being this is the Burnbath blog it's about time we air some tunes that made the band so mildly famous! Let's start off with a remix of the Burnbath death metal song. Memory fails me at the moment the actual name of the original, though I do remember something about "Bricks and Bottles." So we shall call it thus. This rendition is entitled "Midnight Dragon." It's a slowed down, jazzed up version that speaks on one of my favorite drinks of yore. The 64 ounce Midnight Dragon. A mighty smooth beverage served up in a handled brown glass bottle. A case of 9 split betwixt 3 makes for quite the unfortunately memorable experience.
1 dragon. 2 dragons. 3 dragons? Why?
Upon awakening you thank God! you're in your own bed. At least, somehow, you made it home. What the fuck time is it? God, what did I do? What didn't I do? Feelings of guilt and self-resentment slam you right in the face and back down on the bed. Any chance I had a nightmare? Nope. The first thing you remember is falling backwards into your parents flower bed whilst your buddy Kev begs you to give him the code to your garage door. Lying on your back you see Mom and Dad. Feet first, midsections, then ultimately their worried faces as the door passes overhead and under the ceiling... man, that can't have turned out well. A glass of water and a smoke later, it's time to lay back down. Around hour 2 of consciousness the previous evenings events start slowly paying dividends out of a memory bank entirely fucked from a night of relentless, unadulturated deposits. The first and second memories surface. Then comes that third , offensive, soul destroying, highly regrettable, "man, I-don't-think-I-can-ever-talk-to-my-best-friend-again-ever" memory that hits you right in the gut and for the first time in your life you consider suicide as a viable option.*
But it's all good. Thankfully, Midnight Dragon has the same effect on everyone! Nobody truly knows what happened the night before. (All will be revealed, rest assured.) That's the beauty of drinking the Dragon. The next day we all wind up being "that guy" from the night before.
...ooh, what a mighty smooth beverage. How I miss you Midnight Dragon! And 64 ounce bottles of brew for that matter! Where have you gone? Why did you abandon me??? Why?!?
gII
*suicide is for pussies...pussy's? Either or, you're still a pussy dead or alive. Might as well live.
1 dragon. 2 dragons. 3 dragons? Why?
Upon awakening you thank God! you're in your own bed. At least, somehow, you made it home. What the fuck time is it? God, what did I do? What didn't I do? Feelings of guilt and self-resentment slam you right in the face and back down on the bed. Any chance I had a nightmare? Nope. The first thing you remember is falling backwards into your parents flower bed whilst your buddy Kev begs you to give him the code to your garage door. Lying on your back you see Mom and Dad. Feet first, midsections, then ultimately their worried faces as the door passes overhead and under the ceiling... man, that can't have turned out well. A glass of water and a smoke later, it's time to lay back down. Around hour 2 of consciousness the previous evenings events start slowly paying dividends out of a memory bank entirely fucked from a night of relentless, unadulturated deposits. The first and second memories surface. Then comes that third , offensive, soul destroying, highly regrettable, "man, I-don't-think-I-can-ever-talk-to-my-best-friend-again-ever" memory that hits you right in the gut and for the first time in your life you consider suicide as a viable option.*
But it's all good. Thankfully, Midnight Dragon has the same effect on everyone! Nobody truly knows what happened the night before. (All will be revealed, rest assured.) That's the beauty of drinking the Dragon. The next day we all wind up being "that guy" from the night before.
...ooh, what a mighty smooth beverage. How I miss you Midnight Dragon! And 64 ounce bottles of brew for that matter! Where have you gone? Why did you abandon me??? Why?!?
gII
*suicide is for pussies...pussy's? Either or, you're still a pussy dead or alive. Might as well live.
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