A little shameless bragging and ruthless plugging:
It’s time to get resaturated, Pratt and I worked on his blog, Saturatedpratt and updated it to run WordPress. Hopefully he’ll find it easier to post, making more frequent musing more available. He’s already went through and entered all of his posts dating back to the year 2000… an innocent and darling time for the interweb. Take a gander, harass him to post semi-frequently, rather than semi-annually.
Like witnessing a double solar eclipse, both long-time friend Greg Miller and long-time cousin, Jaeger are visiting. Greg drove out from New York, via Pittsburg, Las Vegas, and Sacramento. Jaeger came via Philly. We’ve made a couple of coast runs (speaking of which, Miller testifies to the chowder supremacy of Mo’s) and witnessed a couple of Portland Beaver loses to the Albuquerque Isotopes.
By far, the best was the run to Astoria today, take a peak:
Boy howdy, I’m tired. Saturday, Pratt called and said he was going to be down in the area and wanted to know if I wanted to hang out. I said, “sure” and made the off-hand comment about bringing his Playstation 3 down to the Grove. Once he arrived around ten at night, we hooked up the PS3 and started to play his newly purchased Grand Theft Auto 4. Actually, the PS3 had to download a bunch of things before we played, so we a sat and groused for twenty minutes while the machine downloaded and reset itself repeatedly. Then we played.
It started out with us driving around, or shooting at random victims, the usual GTA past times. Then, Pratt started picking on the hotdog vendor, blowing up his stand, hunting him down. I started driving off of the tallest building. And then we were suiciding. We would take turns finding the best way to end of virtual life. Pratt had fun running in to crowds with a unpinned grenade, I would blow myself off of the side of a building. And all of these were enhanced by the slo-mo that takes place once you’ve passed on to the afterlife.
At one point, I remember looking at the clock and seeing that it was three in the morning and thinking, “ok, I’ve got to get to bed after this last time.” And then eventually at four I did make it to bed, which killed me for the rest of the weekend. I was a essentially a zombie without the hunger pains for brains. Four cups of coffee and a round of psuedophed, I was half-awake on the couch which led to me being non-verbal. I feel bad for Jess ebcause she needed me to proof her final project for her class, hopefully I was coherent enough to read.
This is just a continuation of my aging, I can’t do all-nighters and the rebound like I used to. I just become mentally crippled and socially lobotomized… or at least more so than I usually am.
Apparently, in admist the huddled (and sweaty) masses of Sunday’s speech by Barack Obama in Portland, the Oregonian snapped a picture and placed it on the front page and in that picture are the pixelated faces of our group:
Having a hard time finding my money-maker in the crowd, here’s a close-up:
Pratt is obviously the easiest to make out, then there’s me, I look weird, kind of like a half-mastiff, half-ape, half-three-toed sloth. Jess is very hard to see, we determined that is her hair standing next to me. My mom is also hard to make out, not only was she obscured by the hordes of people, but she had her sweater (a sweater in 85 degree weather?!?) draped over her head the entire time. I’m sure the sweater also made her look unusual, but rest assured, I’m sure the Secret Service had their binoculars on her the whole time.
Well, the computer has been moved into the living room, so you know what means… Jessica has gone home to Bend and school is over. The typical “adult” facade I’ve been sustaining has been relaxed. Now my life is centered around the coffee table. Dinner: coffee table. TV and computer games: coffee table. Sleeping: coffee table (if I’m really unmotivated.)House news: Everything is going through, it looks like the closing date could be bumped up–which means we can move all of Jess’ and my stuff out of my apartment. I’m keeping my fingers crossed.
Wedding news: the webpage (July232005.com) has been updated completely. Take a look.
Future plans: Mariners game on Saturday with Pratt, then hanging out in Woodburn with Meagan and Tolley-Dog, because the parents are currently incommunicado in Newfoundland.
Another twenty hours in the car and I am back in Eugene.
A rather recent plan was hatched by Pratt and Derek Bell to go catch the Cal/Oregon game down in Berkely. Thankfully, the plan for them to leave Portland after 4:30 in the afternoon was scrapped for a much more reasonable 11:00 am. We had a pretty good 10 hour drive, with a stop outside of Roseburg and a gas break in Weed. I’d like to mention that none of us wanted to stop there because it’s reputation as an obligatory college trip stop. I promise, no picture of “weed” bearing road signs were taken. Not a single marijuana joke was had.
We rolled into San Fransico about 10:30 at night. We stayed at the luxurious South San Fransico Motel Six off of South Airport Blvd. and Mitchell. Quickly, we renamed it to the “Motel Sketch.” It wasn’t neccesarily the duct tape holding down the carpet, nor the two cops I saw either leaving or parked in the parking lot, or even the guy leaning out of a window just so he could smoke from the third floor…. really, it wasn’t horribly generic white cardboard packaged condom in the snack vending machine, bearing an aptly named black ink “CONDOM” label. Our room was small, and without the roll out bed that we were promise (my back is still protesting two nights on the floor), it was even without shampoo or more than one bar of soap. There wasn’t even a clock in the room, but I assure you, if there had been an alarm clock–it would have been adorned with a mysterious (yet impresively large) crusty stain to match the blankets on the beds, the floor, and the brown/black stain on the pillows. I think “Motel Sketch” is apt.
We hit up the local SFO Lyon’s for breakfast an beer, of which I had two. Two beers, not two breakfasts. Eventually Giovanni showed up, we all hung around eating our respective meals, drinking our respective beers. We ventured into the local Food Mart at a gas station or buy all of the things that were lacking from our hotel room.
On Saturday, we hopped on the BART (the bay area’s response to the MAX) and road into Berekly to meet up with Gio. It was remarkable how many Duck fans were on the train and at the football game. The Oregon fans could easily compete with the noise of the home team’s crowd. The people around us were really nice and very funny. They even liked my Greg Miller inspired sign of “You can duck a bear but you can’t bear a duck“, which was held up on every good Oregon play. With the true conviction and follow through of every Oregon football team, we lost. But we had fun doing it. Memorial stadium was a nice venue, first opened in 1921, it really hasn’t been touched after that date. The seats are a warped version of planks which offered the least amount leg room possible. But a good time none the less.
We stopped by Gio’s house to meet his parents, then they lumped on the hospitality–no offense to my other friends, but Gio’s parents are the coolest, no other parent has given me beer and smoked salmon within 5 minutes of walking in the door and then offered me San Fransico 49er tickets. Later that night we hit up an adult answer to Chuck E. Cheese’s, “Dave and Barry’s”. We played video games, we drank beer, we had good food… it just doesn’t get better than that.
Sunday morning we hit the road back to Oregon. All in all, a great trip–not long enough, I would have like to have seen some more of the bay area, but there is always next time. And by next time, I mean no more 10 hours in the car, I’ll cough up some money to fly, anything to avoid the car.
Over this past week I’ve had a sprinkling of social life–it’s nice for a change. I had the pleasure of having a very nice lunch with Shelby at the Glennwood. Through a couple of reschedules we finally got to hang out. Definitely a good time. Talked mostly about wedding stuff which makes everything seem so close but not close enough. It’s nice to know that not all of my Eugene friends have fled, although I know that I am the next one to fly.
On Saturday, Derek Bell helped me out by using my dad’s ticket at the U of O football game. He drove down extra early so we could enjoy various pitchers of libations. A couple of pitchers from Rennie’s we were ready for the game. The weirdest thing about Rennie’s was that we were the youngest people in there. Most of the people looked like the sad remains of a by gone greek community (not of the Greece origin). The game was excellent, my favorite part was when the Arizona coach threw a ten minute tantrum in the middle of field drawing a unsportsman-like penalty. I was hoping for him to get tossed but to no avail. We can all have dreams, can’t we? We ended up spending halftime with a combination of Amy and Chad (Chron-Chron). Third quarter was consumed with conversation with Andrew and Nicole in the Muschavsky center. All around a good time.
I then drove to the ‘Burn to hang out with his Prattness. My parents’ dog was beyond needy. Since Pratt was using my room (he was watching the house) to sleep, *shudder*, I slept in my parents’ room which was the weirdest feeling I’ve ever had. I think the awkwardness of being in that room alone kept me up for a couple of hours.
As well, I have now “ripped” all of my cds, thanks to Itunes, and are now on my computer. One goal for this term completed.
What a night! Jessica and I had a whirl-wind evening. We went to the most expensive resturant in Eugene and we didn’t hold back. Nothing feels better at the end of the night than knowing you just ate a $30 plate of food. Mixed with a beer, coffee, and cheesecake. Not neccearily together. The only reason we were able to experience such splendor sans parents was thanks to my aunt Beth who gave a massive gift certificate to Jess for all of her help catering Beth’s wedding. It was nice to get only a $19.90 check at the end of the night.
Other news: First game of the U of O football season kicks off on Saturday. I cannot wait… section 24, row 11 here I come. I can’t wait to see Indiana go down.
Still waiting on the certification of my teacher’s lisence… I’m slightly jealous because most of my friends are just not ending their first week as real teachers. Another year of waiting for me. Oh Well.
By the way, the people have spoken and Chris Pratt has won the lead position in the Wells Fan Club with a landslide of one vote over me. Please see him for further details. In his honor, this picture has been erected.
…and thus ends another day at the ballpark with Pratt. Got up mighty early for a day game and headed off for the emerald city. We ended up meeting Miller and his two pals from back east. I think that it was a bad omen when you walk into a stadium with thousands of people you can quickly find Greg at the very top of very highest seats, prancing around with his shirt off having his buds draw a smiley face on his bare torso. This was in addition to the permanent marker scrawling of “I [heart] the M’s.” Miller was given an additional slogan about loving various other things, but he decided that it was too much and adorned his Arizona State University t-shirt (which makes him a traitor). Miller was also the champion of the slow clap–for those of you not in the know, the slow clap is a loud clap that starts off slow and increases in speed until you’re… well… clapping. Greg tried to initiate the slow clap at least 15 times, with the greatest number of participants peaked at 7, at best. Greg will have to live with starting the slow clap at PGE park… his crowning glory, I’m sure. Pratt and I drove back south after the game hitting traffic that would be dreadfully bad traffic by Portland standards, but light traffic by Seattle standards. You couldn’t pay me to deal with that on a daily basis. The Eugene/Springfield traffic was enough to ruin me on commuting.Anyways, tomorrow John Kerry will be in Portland, I wish I could attend the rally to protest. I wouldn’t be there to protest about Kerry or any of the Dems, rather, I would be protesting the flagrant and detrimental use of Jon Bon Jovi–who I loath. Plus, tomorrow, I will (hopefully) getting my new computer which is a gift to myself for being so me. Either way, my current computer is topping 7 years in age and makes a combination of go-cart, shaving metal, and dripping water noises.
It’s time for me and my seriously sun-burned right arm, slightly burned right knee and sun-kissed (not Sunkist) left cheek to go to bed after a health dose of lotion that makes the burning stop. I am definitely anti-sunburn.
Welcome to the new year. The beginning of my year was initiated through ice, snow, and general slush. Speaking of which, I found out how emasculating it is to have your car get stuck in the snow and slush. The testosterone leaves your body even quicker when a group of neighbors come out to help you get your car back into your drive which was never more than six feet away. After the flying slush, unwanted down-hill movement, and a pair of extremely wet shoes, I was still stuck at my house in Eugene. Luckily, it was Pratt’s car that got stuck, so my masculinity is still in working order. Thanks to our New Year’s experience, we finally found a downside to living in the hills. Of course, that was the weaker of winter storms I had to endure. Since the start of the new term was coupled with three days of ice, I was trapped in my house for each of those days. Thankfully, I am an experienced in-doorman (as Garrison Keillor would say) and boredom was dealt with on am around-the-clock basis.
Which brings me to my next point. The University is stupid. Out of the three Universities south of Salem, Oregon was the only one open–and I think it was open for ego’s sake. They had the mantra of “we have students who live on campus, therefore, we are not responsible for those students who live off campus.” This just seems like they are actively putting students, staff, and faculty as risk… not the smartest move, if you ask me. But you didn’t. I have only been to my Agnes Stewart Middle School only once, so far. As of right now I am completely unsure of what this term will bring, as far as teaching goes. I’ll just mask my fear… I hear pre-adolescents can sense your fear. What happens if they approach me, and I supposed make myself look big and not run away? Is that middle school students or bears? Totally random: I just had a flashback of Mr. Bowen’s health class my sixth grade year, where we had to read through a book about adolescence… and it was narrated by Bill Cosby. weird.