it's over

Bros Win Forever, Superbowl XLII Edition

It was one of those things. Does lightning strikes twice? Is Colin eating two pieces of pizza at once?
They were older, wiser.
Dan Buckelieter says: “Jonah, you went from know-nothing to being the guru.”
It is chaos but we grow. Bros Win Forever: one year later, what does it mean?
It’s complicated, you know. That chick kissed that guy, but such is life in the 21st century.
Aluminum, cylindrical, contains that sensual brew. Tom sips it down, wantonly. Gently clasped between his fingers, at the end of his limped wrist, the can alternates red and white. He hasn’t taken a sip for over a minute.
Somewhere in the kitchen a cell phone rings. Erika answers it as she leaves the room. One woman fewer. The bros are winning.
They were buffer, hotter.
Only Eric is smiling. The curls on the corners of everyone else’s lips fall flat, or worse.
It was a different mood from last year. But a superbowl story is a superbowl story. Tom Petty--I mean, what’s there to say? He’s good at what he does. I hope they play “Refugee”.
New Amsterdam?
The lights from the camera begin to flash. A heart appears in the middle of the stage, and the first guitar chords are struck. Suddenly a phallic-appearing guitar explodes into a heart, and some people begin to rush the field. Tom Petty looks cool, composed, like he’s done this a million times before. Only half the eyes in the house are actually paying attention, however. Jonah looks absentmindedly into his computer, Masha is picking some lint off her sweater, and Erinrose and Andrew are heavy into a make out session in the back of the room, taking breaks here and there to munch on veggie chix.
Tom says “Oh yeah,” as he grabs a bottle of Johnnie Walker. Jonah and Tom begin to discuss the situation of a Carleton alum currently teaching at Philips-Exeter. Turns out Andrew went to P-E, Erinrose lets us know as she takes a break from making out. The first song ends. (note to Colin: fuck you, Colin)
I won’t back down. I’m taking this computer out for a joy ride, no matter what Greg says. This stage is collapsible. What times we live in. Hey-ya. You know.
Then a knock came on the door.
“Heron police”
Heron police?
“Underwater crimes? You called the right people. We’re herons. And police. Waterfowl gonna bring you down.”
“Man, I don’t know what you’re even talking about. I’m clean. Been clean since ‘86”
“Oh shit, game over!” Dan Buckleitner yelps, as he makes for the door. Turns out he got in a little trouble at the bottom of the Cannon back in the late 90s, and the heron police had finally caught up with him. He broke for the window, but those herons, man, those fuckers can fly. They had him cornered.
“Alright, Dirty Dan,” the chief of Heron Police bellowed in a deep, sexy baritone, “The jig is up. No more dancing for you, brother. I mean, I can’t take this dance metaphor much further, but I just turned off the fucking music. No more jigging. Confess, or you are smoked salmon, you fuck!”
“I don’t give respect to no fucking birds, man (bird),” Dirty Dan retorted. “Your legs are skinny as fuck. If I just touch your knee, you’re going down!” He proceeded to bust some rhymes:

Danny Buckleitner, hella Mich-y
I’m about to bust some rhymes and feel silly
Born in the burbs, so I came here to rock
Heron Police, you can suck Dirty Dan’s @#$%

You punk ass, you look like a little lady
I’m about to hold it down like Tom Brady
I tip ya ass like I tip the pass
Behind the back, dawg, yo’ ass is straight-up grass

Burn bridges like I’m sick, but my rhymes make me sicka
Check out my photo albums, post ‘em all on Flickr

Dirty Dan then took out a cigarette and smoked it in an act of rebellion.

All of the sudden:
“BROS!”
Randy Moss slammed on the door.
“Randy?” Kevin said.
“You guys,” said Randy, “Have you been wondering why I’m not doing so hot in this super bowl? It’s because I’m not me. That’s a robo in there. Remember the robos?”
“Shiiit!” said Detective Heron. “We musta got a bad tip. You get off easy, Dirty Dan Buck--THIS TIME.”
“Randy, what about the robo? We gotta shut it down. But can we? Can we really stop the course of the superbowl. Life water?”
“I know what you mean my friend,” said Randy, online. “But do we have a choice?”
“I don’t think so,” said Scarlett Johansson, who took a moment off of chomping on Colin’s meaty package to contribute to the conversation.
“Looks like the bros are going to Arizona!” said Greg. There were high fives all around.

Act II, Arizona, the stadium where the super bowl is being played.

A taxi pulls up in front of the stadium. The bros file out.
“I don’t have any cash on my person, you guys got this,” said Greg
“No, you bros have done so much already, Randy Moss has got this,” said Randy Moss. Randy fucking Moss.
“Thanks Randy!” said Dan. But which Dan?
No time to ponder such question, the bros are already on the move, in the underbelly of Arizona University’s labyrinthine stadium.
“Where the fuck did Scarlett go?” Colin asked.
“It doesn’t matter now,” Greg observed, “We’re lost in the labyrinthine underbelly of the University of Arizona’s stadium!”
“Just because you mixed up your word order the second time doesn’t mean that you didn’t just repeat yourself,” said the reader.
“I was repeating myself before you were self-aware, bitch,” Greg retorted postmodernly.
If you hadn’t already figured this out, this isn’t just any labyrinth under the University of Arizona’s stadium. It’s the labyrinth, and the Centaur is fucking pissed. He comes roaring around the corner like a rabid demon from the ninth circle of hell, swinging a monstrous battleaxe.
Luckily, Randy has his game-time wits about him, and proceeds to juke out of the Centaur’s path. “Randy Moss,” says Randy Moss.
Now it’s all in Moss’ head. He’s got a clear path straight to the goal line, which is what Randy Moss calls the exit of the labyrinth. Certain football experts call it the end zone. We disagree. But it’s not up to us. Randy Moss takes it in to the exit (end zone) and tastes freedom.
Suddenly, Ride of the Valkyries started blasting over the speakers. Sarah King started flapping her arms, only to be reminded that Valkyries can’t fly. It’s a weakness of their kind.
The writers tacitly vow to never mention a woman again on any terms that aren’t derogatory and sexual. Here here!
Randy Moss finds himself in the end zone and begins to lift his hands towards God in celebration. But the crowd remains silent. Cruel fate. The ball had not found its way into his hands. Instead, it bounces lopsidedly ten yards behind him and rolls out of bounds. No points here.
Randy moss undoes his chin strap and returns to the sideline, dejected.
“Aw man Randy, we’re sorry,” said Greg.
“Want me to suck on your penis and make you feel better?” said Kevin.
“Thanks, but no thanks,” said Randy.
Eye contact is made between the bros. Who turns down a BJ from Kevz?
“A robo?”
Well done reader.
“I’m really not sure where I come into this scenario,” said the reader, “and what’s more, I’m alienated by Colin’s blowjob fetish. I recommend he get a blowjob for real and stop suppressing his sexual energy.” (Colin’s note: fuck you Tom)
“Nice diagnosis, reader. Maybe I was wrong about you,” Greg complimented, “but we’ve got bigger fish to fry. The Giants just scored a TD, and the Beergurat is only two stories tall. REALITY CHECK (Greg ALWAYS yells in caps)!”
Jeff Gordon was upset. He had been watching the liveblogging from the sidelines, ready to bounce at 180 mph, powering through with more horsepower than you knew existed. NASCAR was a dying sport and he knew it. He was desperate. Something had to be done in order to bring the sport back into prominence. Gordon knew exactly what that was.
“Aha!” cried Jeff Gordon. “I know how to save my “sport”. I’ll have Kurt Warner quarterback my car. He’ll toss my car from here to yaya and victory we‘ll surely be mine. I‘ll be the prettiest car at the race.”
Thus NASCAR was saved from certain doom, except that it isn’t 1999 and Kurt Warner isn’t particularly good anymore. But that isn’ t that important in the context of this epic tale. Unfortunately the world outside Alabama didn’t care that NASCAR was saved. Oh, and Erik Ulberg did, too. You know, Swedish heritage and all. Damn Swedes.
Leah Karels declared a vendetta against all things Swedish.
Except Swedish fish. And ABBA.
Meanwhile, the Giants declared a vendetta against all things badass by not going for it on 4th and 1. Eli Manning proceeded to get fucked by the biggest assholes I know because he is a pussy, and every pussy I know gets fucked by assholes. But maybe that’s just the beer talking.
“Are you pooping on me?” Sarah interrupted.
The rat simply stared at her, beady eyed.
The two stared at each other until Lindsey gripped it, lifted it, and set it on her shoulder. It being the rat.
Meanwhile, it was getting down to the nitty gritty. Whatever that means. We are all Patriots, excluding those who don’t really fall under that category.
Oh my God!!! The 2000 Baltimore Ravens are storming the field demanding the Vince Lombardi trophy. Never mind, Roger Goodell brought to their attention that you have to win your conference to play in the Super Bowl and they went away. Crisis averted, although it looks like Ray Lewis stabbed a couple more people. He also got Leah pregnant. Lucky her.
Imagining Leah pregnant makes me uncomfortable, let’s change the mental image.
The Giants hoist their Super Bowl trophy in the air. Victory.
Wait, scratch that. With 2:42 remaining, the Patriots score. The room groans. The people in the room groan too.
“What an arrogant asshole,” Tom says. I’m not sure to whom he is referring. Probably to Greg, who has been suspiciously absent the second half..
Storm clouds collect, and frogs start raining down on the proceedings. Daniel Day Lewis clobbers some priest with a bowling pin. Mark Wahlberg’s huge prosthetic penis makes an appearance. Yes, folks, the end is approaching, but we still have a few moments of emotional climax, when the outro music plays, and everyone wonders “Did that Paul Thomas Anderson masterpiece really just end?” That is this game. The Patriots have scored. The Giants need a first down, and if they don’t get it, they WILL lose. 4th and 1. Well, Eli Manning, are you Daniel Day Lewis, or that priest guy whose name no one knows?


I’m so, so sorry, Bridget.

One unforeseen consequence of John Edwards' campaign drop-out is that today two paragraphs of a front page article on Slate were partially about my mother's experience with breast cancer. At the time it happened, I wasn't interested in talking about this even with my high school friends, and to see it mentioned three years after the fact on one of the nation's most popular online magazines is surreal, to say the least.

new years

Well, it's 9:31 pm on New Years Eve, you are probably together having fun, I am having fun at my house. That's right folks, New Years at home. We had lobster and champagne and are getting ready for a movie on demand. I love New Years at home -- we get drunk and Jake and I inevitably end up spilling the secrets we hit from our parents in high school, e.g. "Hey, remember that time that we drank from the liquor cabinet and stomped around the house?" x a billion.

San Francisco was a nice trip, albeit not as warm as expected.

For me to explain my favorite moment of the trip, I have to delve a little into my youngest brother, Jonah. Most of you probably know that he is disabled -- but as he gets bigger (he's 12 now, starting to get man hands), it becomes more and more evident to other people, especially in public. Since he could make noise, he cannot help but make an "EEEE" sound but with his mouth closed, while having full body spasms and flapping his hands whenever he is excited. And a bus driving by excites him. He also has the tendency to need to just talk -- even if it's just repeating the same phrase over and over, maybe with one word changed, usually to different kinds of food.

Anyway, so we had been waiting on line to ride the mothaflippin cable car for the second time for an hour and a half, everyone just whining and being passive about leaving because Jonah was SO EXCITED and would throw himself on the ground whenever we suggested leaving. FINALLY my mother took charge and dragged him out to the street to hail a cab.

We got one quickly, and he agreed to take all 6 of us, so my dad sat in the front and the rest of us shoved into the back, with Emily sitting on my mom's lap and Jonah pressed up against the window. Jonah was very upset about not riding the cable car, but was trying to convince himself that this cab was okay. He was just saying "this is a cool cab, huh? it's a PASTA cab! It's a christmas cab! it's a BANANA cab! Yeah? haha? It's a tortellini cab! It's a MEAT cab!" And this goes on for, oh, 10 minutes or so, stuck in traffic, none of us really reacting, we're used to this.

Suddenly I realize: what is the cab driver thinking right now? I start laughing and whisper this to Jake, and he starts laughing. Jonah thinks we're laughing because he's funny so he gets even crazier "this is a SPACE CAB! hahaha! ha? Ha!" No one in the back seat can breathe, and then Jake says: "When we asked the driver if he could fit 6 in his cab, we probably should have added 'including a belligerent multiply disabled 12-year old who just had the highlight of his trip taken away from him"

When the driver kicked us out 2 blocks before we asked, he turned to my father and said "you all are sick."

So, that was a long description of a moment in time. Now I'm going to go watch Knocked Up! (Never seen it!)

Happy New Year! See you in 36 hours or so

Bros Ain't Stingy

This looks like me on Xmas morn.

JK!

I recently had to move all of my digi photos around and looking at the 2000-some moments we've had together made me miss you all madly.

Xoxo,
Colin "I'll make a real post soon" the Iron Giant

Xmas Week Movie Watching

No Country for Old Men: A
Juno: B
Charlie Wilson's War: B

xmas in lawrenceville

Every single time I go home, I have to go through my room. Each desk drawer, opening various folders, excavating piles of paper. And always it's amazing. "Wow, when was the last time I saw this?" 4 months ago, dumbass. The last time you dug through your shit.

I've begun to think like Dexter for at least an hour after I watch an episode. I narrate in my head; everything feels exacting, precise and deliberate. And really creepy. I watched two episodes tonight with my family -- we're all hooked. We only have 3 episodes left before we run out! What are we going to do? It's just enough for me to see them all before I get to school and not be too anxious.

Tomorrow morning at 1130 am I am leaving for San Francisco with the fam. Jews flying on Christmas, what else is new? Then we'll probably get chinese food and see Juno. (I'm not even kidding. this plan has already been discussed.) We get back the 31st, I leave for Carleton on the 2nd.. it's like I'm already there.

Every Christmas we drive around making fun of all the light displays. Our favorite is in our old neighborhood. This year, we showed up and there was a line of cars around the block.

I just found it on Youtube:



We sat there for 15 minutes watching all the songs. I'm surprised I didn't seize.

Have a merry christmas y'all!

E.P.A. Says 17 States Can’t Set Emission Rules for Cars

Disgusting.

Sweet Lou's: Greg's Review

The success of Sweet Lou's will depend in equal parts on its ability to accomodate drunken college students Saturday at 1 AM and the ability of these students' stomachs to accomodate Sweet Lou's waffles. I had a waffle with caramel, and the first two or three bites were delicious. If I had stopped before eating the second half, I would've even left the restaurant feeling good. But the food is so rich I felt overwhelmed by the time I finished and overstuffed thereafter. Here's what I predict:
- From now on, I'll go to Sweet Lou's approximately once a term
- I'll enjoy the beginning of my waffle immensely and loathe both it and myself once before I've eaten all of it
- I will want to avoid Sweet Lou's for the following 1-2 months before forgetting how gross I felt. Once this passes, I will not only be willing to visit again but will be actually eager to
- This cycle will repeat itself until (1) Sweet Lou's closes, (2) I graduate, or (3) PEAK OIL. We're FUCKED.

On another note: I liked "All My Friends", "Paper Planes" and stuff off Weirdo Rippers as much as the next person, that is to say, a lot. But as far as songs of 2007 that haven't been blogged about ad nauseum go, this might be my favorite. Everything I want in a hard rock song:

http://www.yousendit.com/transfer.php?action=download&ufid=A415BF4D21C5FDF2

[EDIT: I guess you have to copy and paste the link]

Also,

Yeah dude!

10k

Look at the counter. This blog will soon have 10,000 views.

Sweet Lou's: Leah's Review

Yesterday, without warning and sans Grand Opening hooplah or discount, Sweet Lou's Waffle Bar finally opened. Evan Rowe was the fourth customer and gave it a glowing review. Later, Sherod Haynes, who stopped in but didn't eat anything, told us how swanky the restaurant was and how delicious the waffles were. We toyed with the idea of going for lunch, but decided instead to make it a nighttime event (since, after concluding season one of Project Runway [Wendy Pepper, what a bitch!], there's even less to do between 7 and 11pm) and go a few hours after dinner.

Thus it happened that at 9:30pm on Tuesday, December 18, Greg, Alex, Jose (who had stopped by on his way to the grocery store), and I got in the car (because I mean come on it's cold out) and drove for the very first time to Sweet Lou's Waffles, located on 3rd and Division. (Contrary to popular belief, there's no "Emporium" in the name of the establishment.) The tattoo-parlor-turned-cutesy-specialty-breakfast restaurant is very brightly lit, with a long seating area littered with square shapes: square tile floors, square pictures of toppings on the wall, square polished tables, and square cutouts on every wooden chair. Upbeat jazz blasted from the speakers as primarily Carleton students milled about the main large area and the small side-room with leather couches. Also, it was wonderfully warm. Like, 80 degrees. I even took my coat off.

If you know me at all, you know that I'm nearly always a fan of new culinary experiences. /Any culinary experiences. I was, needless to say, probably the most excited, as Alex had already decided he hated the idea of the place and Greg was really more excited about the food than the adventure. But the boys pretended for my sake.


To order, one approaches the cash register/bar, decides from the enormous chalkboard menu what cleverly-named type of waffle she wants, and tells the cashier.
The menu is also online, in order to contemplate beforehand at http://sweetlouswaffles.com/menu.html
The place sells "breakfast" waffles (mostly berry variations), "meal" waffles (with things like hummus, sour cream, and salmon), and "dessert waffles" with chocolate, caramel, chips, etc. OR to reject conformity, one can choose their own toppings from a huge-ass list. It's like Coldstone, right!

For a regular size, the total comes to $5.06 with tax (our first complaint as COME ON who ever has .06 cents with them?). I think they also have coffeedrinks with sugar and a freezer with sandwiches/packaged cookies; but we were there for the WAFFLES. After paying, the customer's given a receipt and told to sit down. This became flaw number two -- my guess is that Sweet Lou's will likely institute a Hogan Brothers-like identification card system because those waitresses had no fucking clue how to find anyone.

We finally got our waffles: Alex ordered a Bob Dylan (salmon and sour cream), I got a Garrison Keillor (hot fudge and toffee chips), and Greg (and later Egohsa, who came late) requested a Specialty waffle with caramel.



As far as taste goes, the waffles are pretty delicious. Alex thinks he prefers "meal" waffles (the chocolate was far too sweet) and Greg and Egohsa didn't use all of their whipped cream. Problematic, though, is how filling the waffles are. I'm pretty sure if I had one at 1:25 am on a stomach full of Bacardi, I'd vomit on the walk back to Hill. Therefore, the success of Sweet Lou's, which I'm sure depends to a large extent on the irrational cravings of inebriated college students, remains to be seen.

Sweet Lou's: Alex's Review

When I stepped inside Sweet Lou's, for all I knew I could have left Northfield entirely and been in a New York restaurant... or a Denver one... or an LA breakfast place. And that is the largest problem of Sweet Lou's. With one very lame exception, Sweet Lou's is completely generic and even less inspiring a place than Blue Monday's.

But first the waffles. They're pretty tasty, and the regular size filled me up without making me feel like I stuffed myself. Being the only one who chose not to have a sweet topping (I had smoked salmon with sour cream), I'm happy that I didn't go the dessert route. Balancing the sweet of the waffle with the salmon and sour cream, I thought the waffle wasn't too bad. I tried a bite or two of Leah's "Garrison Keilor" waffle (my waffle was named after Bob Dylan... You know he's Jewish so he must have loved a knockoff of a Lox and cream cheese bagel?), and I also wasn't dissapointed, but I don't think my stomach would have been happy eating the whole plate because it would have been too sweet. So overall, the food wasn't bad. Considering that any student can make a waffle with random toppings in either dining hall, how much can you screw up a waffle, though?

So if the food isn't going to be the main draw beyond the occasional novelty dessert or dinner, why go to Sweet Lou's? Besides its proximity to campus and the likelihood that it'll be probably less crowded than Blue Mondays, I can't really see a good reason. There is nothing there that begs you to come in. As I said, except for the names of the waffles, Sweet Lou's could be just a single franchise of some national chain. And the bright lights and oddly placed leather chairs may be nice if you need to stay up to study, they certainly don't look very inviting or personal.

And having had waffles at 9:30pm sober, I seriously doubt if I would want to be drunk there at 1:30am eating the Bob Dylan special. I'll take Basil's greasy pizza, low light, and odd musical choice any drunk late night.

So that's what I've got to say about Sweet Lou's.

Rating:





2.5/5 Alexes

N.B.: For more pictures of Sweet Lou's, here's a blog post from Northfield's local blog... yeah they've got one.

At Home, With Alex

Sweet Lou's officially opened this morning at 7am. Or maybe 9am, we're still getting conflicting information about whether or not Sweet Lou was able to open onf time. But Leah, Greg, and I are soon going to try out the lux-waffles and other over-priced non-breakfast breakfast food.

They serve stuff besides waffles, right?

(I LOVE PITCHFORK! Why? They gave Rihanna and Jay-Z spot No. 5 for best song. I mean that's pretty good, even though it's No. 1 in my heart)

back in the jerz

Almost everything is the same.

New things:

1. My parents have invested in environmentally-friendly lightbulbs for the entire house. This means that it takes ~15 minutes for the lights to turn on. In another attempt to be more environmentally friendly, they have also decided to not really heat the house. So we all walk around in sweatshirts and hats, but, hey, anything for the environment, right?

2. My father has invested in a HUGE hi-def television. We used to have a small junky TV and now it's this streamlined samsung monster. The problem with a big hi-def television: any channel that isn't hi-def looks pixelated. But at least we have 4 Dexter episodes in hi-def, as well as "Step Up" and "The Nightmare Before Christmas."

3. Quakerbridge Mall in Lawrenceville, NJ has been taken over by stores selling Nikes and colorful zip-up hoodies. Also, the security guards now ride on Segways.

That's about it.

I'm almost over jet-lag and am meeting my brother at Haverford tonight to go out to dinner. Tomorrow I'm going into manhattan to see Masha in the morning, my friends Biz and Flashdrive from Rome in the afternoon (we can't go 3 days...), and Rachel, my best friend from Jewish socialist camp, in the evening. A full-packed day, that's for sure.

And then... I'll read for a week? I'm simultaneously reading Plato's "Symposium," "A Short History of Everything" by Bill Bryson and "A History of God" by Karen Armstrong. I've got my head full.

Carlmail

Hey, I keep trying to log into Carlmail, but every time it says my password is incorrect. It's been doing this for two days. Anyone else have this problem of late?