1. I hate people that listen to their voice mail over speakerphone in cubicles or closely placed offices. There is something about the sound of someone's voice coming over those shitty phone speakers that I can't tune out, and rate just below chalkboard scratching and cats fighting outside my bedroom window on my list of sounds I can do without.
You are too lazy to place the phone on your shoulder, even though the phone has the special ergonomic design that allows you place it on your shoulder with little discomofort. FUCK YOU.
You are too old and inconsiderate to realize that full volume is louder than you need the message to be, and that everyone within 20 feet is not also taking down this message. FUCK YOU.
You want to be able to drink coffee and take notes and numbers like listening to your messages is 3rd year world history. FUCK YOU.
You and people that talk loudly on their cell phones in quite areas like my bank or in restaurants can kiss my ass. Right in the middle.
2. This rant prompted my decision to waste 2 more minutes. So I read Mulgrew's post today. This prompted me to waste 20 more in glorious rememberence of my best "glorious day."
He describes a "glorious day" as one where you drink with no plans except for the plan to drink. Some may think this could be a little bad, but I agree with him totally that it is not, and have done this multiple times also. It's not about anything except the fact that I like to be able to say I can drink that much, and then back it up. It's a talent that most people don't posess, and while it's not a resume quality trait, it is one that I am also proud of none-the-less.
We had established yearly rituals for this at Wazzu, and we called them Open-to-Close. I have drank like this other days since college, usually not in bars as I have responsibilities now, but there is something special that first time back in 99. It was about waiting for the doors to open at 11:00AM, pushing past your friends to say you were the first person in (like Dicko and I did), and not leaving the bar until 2:15AM. The occasional water, the occasional burger or fries or both, the massive steady stream of inexpensive beer and well drinks, and the fact that I remember the majority of it, were priceless beyond imagination. We actually had the sense of mind to walk away from the bartenders as they were closing, so that we could be the last person out (again, Dick and I). That is 15 hours of drinking. No sleeping, no naps, only darts, pool, shuffleboard, golden tee, and drinking. But mostly drinking.The first time we stepped up to the plate, Shakers (best bar ever, on Playboys top 50 college bars the year before we did this) decided to start a plaque and keep track of number of pitchers consumed on Open To Close. The main reason probably being so that they could stop people from potentially killing themselves and/or suing them, the second reason so that they could use us to promote other groups' attempts to best our record. Fools. They stopped counting after 192 pitchers and started giving some of them to us for free to make up for it. They said if we set the record too high, no one else would try to get on their new plaque. Fuck them. Last I heard from Dicko (correct me if I'm wrong) we went well over the 225 mark and lost count after that, and this was before midnight. Without specifics on number of people (between 20-30 I think), this may be lost on you readers that weren't there, but that is a lot. More than a lot. I don't think we even came close on later attempts. And while there may be other names on the plaque, they all have an asterix next to them in my book.
Here's to beer. And wine. And liquor. Cheers. Let's hear your comments if you were there, or stories of your own if you weren't.
