Potpourri IV

Swifty

As usual, I had to rent a car while hangin’ out in DC, so I went on Priceline to get a great price: $19 a day. Of course, for that price, you know what I got? A Suzuki Swift, which Gordon and I nicknamed Swifty during the week to add some more flava to the mix.

Swifty is your classic economy car—so small you can literally get two of them in the same parking spot. Usually, they come in three or four colors; mine was white, which led my friend Kristin to call Swifty “an egg.” Power nothing—no power locks, windows, or steering, which made parallel parking downtown a straight fucking nightmare. AM/FM radio with tape player...naturally, I brought CDs with me, rendering my music selection useless. 8-gallon gas tank. V-1 engine; at 70 MPH, Swifty started to rattle so badly that taking a nap on the passenger side was almost like Rocky in those early rounds against Clubber Lang, the way my head was getting banged around.

But as we made a DC-to-Charlotte roundtrip to the Continental Tire Bowl for a win over the hapless West Virginia Mountaineers, Gordon noted that “like a tough old quarterback, Swifty is the three G’s:

“Gritty. Gutty. Gets the job done.”

Damn. I miss Swifty already.

“Halo”

My friend Ross lives in a house with three other guys, and they spend an inordinate amount of time (i.e., almost every waking minute not in their offices) playing “Halo” for XBOX. “Halo” was and still is the best game available on the Microsoft video game console, featuring first-person combat for single- and multiplayer action. I’ve played the game before, but never have I seen a setup like the one in this house.

Four TVs, two XBOXes. A jimmied copy of some software that allows you to connect to other consoles over the ‘Net and play “Halo” versus up to 12 other players (no, this is different than XBOX Live). Loud, cool, bloody videogame combat at its finest, without too much lagtime. Lots of me picking up assault shotguns and rocket launchers, yelling and screaming and generally acting like the 27-year-old fool that I am. Lots of man sounds—“Yeah, take that, bitch!”, “AAAHHHH!”, “You like that stinger in dat ass??”, “Who’s got the flag?”, “Reload, asshole, RELOAD!!”—filled the basement room with a splendor not heard since the “Goldeneye” days at college...or, worse, anytime that my roommates and I started up a “Super Tecmo Bowl” tournament in our dorm first year. Is there a heaven like this somewhere in San Francisco?

I’m so glad that I don’t live there. If I did, this column would be dead in the water!

Wedding Fever

I was invited to eight weddings in 2001, and I only made it to five of them because of my move to San Francisco. I might actually get invites to MORE weddings in 2003. How sick is that? It seems like half of the couples that I know got engaged over the Thanksgiving-to-New Year’s holiday season in 2002, and I am a lock (per initial “save the date” conversations) for at least four this year, while the rest will depend on my level of acquaintance when people make up their guest list.

I guess this is some byproduct of knowing a lot of people and having a lot of friends near that wedding age, some vague number in your late 20s. After having a friend ask me why I am not married over the holidays, and the usual “So, are you dating anyone?” conversations with the parents—Ken Bell even going so far as to openly wonder about the Bell family line, since both of his sons are single and unattached—even I hate to admit that I am feeling a little more heat than normal from external sources.

I told Dad that if I was dating somebody, my dating essays would probably end, and he had to admit, he loves the (few) essays that he reads so he could stand my singledom for a bit longer. Love that guy...thanks to him, I am a reasonably funny writer.

The Black Angus Beef Bowl

For the 12 of you that watched the Crucial.com Humanitarian Bowl, between Iowa State and Boise State, you may have noted the most exciting bowl moment of the year—the Black Angus Beef Bowl. This event, held a couple of days before the December 31st game, pitted select players from each team in Boise, Idaho in a meat-eating contest. These guys ate only steak for two hours, and total ounces would win. ISU won, and its leading player ate 113 OUNCES of beef in two hours. Wow...

Snow

Since I didn’t go back for the holidays in 2001, I haven’t done a real winter in 24 months. Don’t get me wrong—that isn’t such a bad thing, but there is one thing that I love for the holidays—snow.

Winter is still my favorite season, since I loved growing up in Rochester (aka “Snowchester”) with sledding, snow forts and snowball fights. Loved it! During my first year at UVA, we had some great snow memories. Two days of classes were cancelled because of snow; that was the third and fourth time, respectively, that that had happened in the entire history of the school (over 170 years, at that point!). Some friends of mine and I got jumped by some guys on our way to a dining hall during that year...I yelled out “Take cover!” as four upperclassmen launched packed precipitation at us from an embankment across the street. We had a huge dormwide snowball fight that lasted for an hour before the RAs broke it up.

But, now that I am “older”, I have to be content to watch it fall from the sky and nestle into the grass. It is pretty cool-looking and I had plenty of time to gander at it while in Rochester and DC for our white Christmas recently. I feel bad for folks that have never seen the white stuff in person.

Aaaaahhhhhh

There’s something special about walking out of a bar, smelling your clothes and saying, “Shit, this nicotine smells good on me!”

I always forget how much I love going to bars in California until I go back east and come out of a bar smelling like the teachers’ lounge during finals week. How much does it suck to always come home with clothes that can literally stink up your apartment all by themselves? Please remind me, because I have forgotten.

New Year’s

So, if you were in DC for New Year’s, how was your night? I’m curious to know if you ended up finding better deals than the one I had first pitched to you in October, which 15 happy souls plunked down on but nobody else came close. Judging from the number of folks that said some version of the phrase “Man, I wish I was going to YOUR party” to me last week before the big night, my guess is that you didn’t find something cheap, cool or (ideally) both...but, I would love to know. Part of me thinks that I could get it together again for this fall instead. I went to a house party in Glover Park, and it was (almost) all good in the hood.

More East Coast / West Coast

I was telling my friend Marci while we were hangin’ out in New York that I am continuously startled by how many times people on the East Coast ask me what I do for a living. In the two weeks that I was in the Eastern Time zone, more people that I met for the first time asked me where I work than I have been asked in the previous 14 months in San Francisco.

This is not to say that it doesn’t happen in San Francisco; I take home a business card from somebody new periodically. But, it was alarming how many conversations I had that were just like this while I was hangin’ out back east:

T: What’s your name?
J: Justin. And you?
T: Trixie. Trixie Johnson.
J: Nice to meet you.
T: [brief pause] So, what do you do?

Like clockwork! I sure don’t miss these kinds of creative exchanges. Ugh.

Super Props

I feel pretty good that I caught as many of you high rollers as I could during the swing. So, thanks to Gordon, Schmoove, Kevin, Kristin, Laikisha, Tchaka, Brandon, Anne (sorry I blew the pedicure), Kenny, Sonja, Ross, J-Mann, the Chuckwagon (mesh for life), T-Love, C-Lo, Melinda, Jeanne, Meg, Charles, John Liebenthal, Tena, Wendy, Mandy, Wim, White Justin, Alexandra, Lex, Anna (happy birthday), Marci, Stefdog (you’re a monster), AV, Tien-Tsin, Bobby (if only for four minutes), Steve & Pam (ship the beef jerky), Sue-Anne, J-Alberts, Anne, Charles Yancey, Breezy, Rodney, Muller, Mandy (from afar!), Beth P., Gabe, Greg, Katy (you comin’ back?), Tricia, Katja and my man, Dave Lee for making some time or space on the couch for my sorry ass.

The Tire Bowl

Gordon and I went down to Charlotte to see our Virginia Cavaliers slaughter the overmatched West Virginia Mountaineers in the inaugural Continental Tire Bowl. Highlights:

-->Dave Lee—once & future king—once again showed off his excellent taste in restaurants by taking us to a place that had great pizza & wings called Fuel. Oh yeah.

-->Actual trivia question posted on the Jumbotron at Ericsson Stadium after the first quarter:

In what line of business does the title sponsor participate?

Insurance
Tire manufacturer
Sporting goods

(Remember, the game was called “The Continental Tire Bowl.”)

UVA fans, realizing the stupidity of this question, immediately start talking about how dumb WVU fans must be since we naturally think they are all rednecks. Of course, the real stupidity is our lack of creativity in coming up with a better joke, but I digress.

-->Actual conversation between myself and a WVU fan who had literally four teeth, which Gordon and Tchaka witnessed:

WVU: So, where y’all from?
J: San Francisco. You?
WVU: Virginia.
J: Oh yeah? What part?
WVU: West. [punches me on the arm] He he he!!

(I love when people laugh at their own jokes.)

Bail Out

Gordon and I set up a club night for the night after the football game. We made the calls, picked a spot, and by 4 PM on Saturday we had 15 people.

Over the course of the next six hours, it became comedy as 9 of them bailed out, broken record-style. When you bail out on something, it is important to be succinct—“Hey man, sorry but I’m out” is what I usually go with. Imagine that De Niro’s character in “Heat” is asking you what’s up for Friday night, and he wants one answer, yes or no, in 30 seconds, and that’s me in a nutshell. But, I try and tell people that no explanation is needed and that seems to make it worse.

"Yeah, Justin, listen,..."
"VIP Club? Is that where you’re going? Hmm, yeah, listen,..."
"Hey man, when do you leave town? Cause, I just wanna make sure that if I DON’T see you tonight, that, you know,"
"Are you gonna have your cell phone with you? Yeah, well, I might call you later to meet up and—"

My friend Kristin even went one step better, to avoid my wrath—she called Gordon to tell me she wasn’t in, rather than calling me directly. Wow. All of this made me think back to what has to be my most successful “hangin’ out” set of calls ever—two and a half years ago, my friend Brian and I were hangin’ out at my place, and it was about 10:15 on a Friday night and we were looking to go out. Brian suggested calling a few people, so I made four phone calls.

Called Gordon...”Yeah, man, I’m in.” Called Amanda...”Sure man, what time?” Called Kristine from our softball team...”I need a ride, but I’m there.” Called Sue-Anne...”I’m in Baltimore at a baseball game, but I’ll meet up with you guys when I get back to town.” Got the first three in the car with Brian and I, and we went to Georgetown; Sue-Anne and I missed each other because I accidentally gave her the wrong bar location. Wow! Ahh, the good ol’ days...hey, you get older and you lose some of the touch, right?

Astoria

Do you know where Astoria is? It is near Long Island City, which is in Queens. Not Queens, Montana, mind you, but Queens, the borough in New York City. Of course, whenever I told folks during my recent trip that I was staying in Astoria, they all reacted like Astoria really WAS in Montana.

These exchanges reminded me of how many New York City folks I know that are not convincing in their knowledge about their own city. Of course, for the savings that my friends in Queens & Brooklyn are getting in rent, the knowledge is worth acquiring, but for others, I won’t argue with the fact that it is pretty cool (and, sometimes, a quicker, safer option) to be living in Manhattan.

I guess for me, the bottom line is pretty simple: I’d rather pay $1100 for a one-bedroom in Astoria than $2000 for a studio in Manhattan, end of story.

Or maybe, end of essay.

Random Bellviews, courtesy of Bell & Longer Community Trust:

Spending the holidays with the family after spending most of 2001’s holidays in front of the Playstation2: Opening Weekend
Anne Pugh’s homemade BBQ: $9.50 Show
Getting free housing from Dave Lee in Charlotte—that was just short of suburbia’s version of a crackhouse: Matinee
You guessed it—the nation’s two loudest children on the bus ride from DC to the Port Authority in New York City: Rental
The end of a two-week vacation: Hard Vice

bellview--i love to nibble

Potpourri IV