Simply Spellbinding

Mr. Madison: You remember that spelling bee you won in the 1st grade?

Billy: Oh no, you didn't!

Mr. Madison: Rock? "r-o-k"?

Billy: Yea, so what's your point?

Mr. Madison: r-o-C-k!

Billy: Ohh! The "C" is silent.

Last night in the national spelling bee Kavya Shivshankar was able to spell (Drama take note here) V-I-C-T-O-R-Y! I only caught the final round of the Spelling Bee, but once I laid down on the couch and J-Roll had switched from LeBron to Kavya during a commercial break, I knew that we weren't switching back. LeBron may be "The King," but he had nothing on Kavya last night. She sure as hell was the spelling "Princess" of my dreams. This girl could spell words like Laodicean and Gyascutus (as one newspaper stated: only slightly harder words to spell than her last name). I have no idea what these words mean nor do I believe they are truly English. Honestly have you ever gone down the street and said to a passerby, "Hello goodfellow! Have you read 'The Stranger?' That man is a laodicean, but I figure he is more real to our society than a gyascutus on capital hill! Har Har Har"? Hell no. You'd get put in the insane asylum or deported for saying shit like that. On top of that this goddess of gab spelling knew the root word (latin or not) and was able to do this magical thing with her hands. Every word she wrote out at least 4 times in her hands making it look like she was either Vince Vaughn in Wedding Crashers asking for more crabcakes and a shit or she was casting a spell (man, I'm clever) on the audience (mainly me ... man, that wickedly wild wordsmithy wench has got my number).

Besides Kavya, I feel like I should mention a little about the rest of the Bee. As each contestant got up they were allowed to ask a variety of questions about the word they were given to spell. These questions, if not phrased properly, were denied by the judges. They really reminded me of that dead guy in I, Robot when he would constantly reply, "My responses are limited. You must ask the right question." These judges were not dead though, but they sure acted like it with their monotone better than thou attitudes. The thing is I would totally act like that if I had all the answers in front of me on a computer screen. And don't even get me started on the fact that when any contestant got a question wrong ... the bell lady would come in. The bell lady, a lady who gets paid (I repeat GETS PAID!!!) to ring a bell at the Spelling Bee. She would pause for just the right amount of time to create that anxiety in the air. Maybe give the little guy a little hope ... then DING! So sorry ... how unfortunate. She would hit that thing like she was God closing the book of life on someone. There must be hundreds of these bell ladies across the U.S. at every state spelling bee ... how I envy their jobs.

Also I should mention that the Bee was sponsored by Scripps, which was going to give out more than my annual salary to the winner along with a trophy. I did NOT need to know this. I work all year long and every year some 8th grade 12 year old kid who hasn't even hit puberty yet makes more than I do AND gets a huge engraved trophy!!!! WTF!!! I am so pissed at my parents for not home schooling me and beating me when I misspelled words (you know that Asian kid who got fourth place was going to get it when he got home). And while I'm at it screw you Microsoft Word for making me so goddamn lazy! From now on I am going to ignore your red underlines just out of spyte (You see what I did there? Yeah! Take that society).

Teacher: Spell "couch".

Little girl: Couch. C-O-W...

Billy: No!!!! Ha, ha.

Teacher: [to little girl] No, I'm sorry, that's not right. [to Billy]

Teacher: Well, Billy, if you spell this correctly you pass second grade.

Billy: Couch. C-O-R, uh, ARE you going to the mall later today?

Teacher: No I'm not goin to the mall, keep spelling, mister!

Billy: C-O-U-C-H!

Teacher: Correct!

Billy: I AM THE SMARTEST MAN ALIVE!

The Train Track Story - Origins of Drama (Ep. 101)

Every Superhero has that defining moment whence they must finally choose to embrace and accept their special powers. Like any good film franchise, there will be a prequel to this story that shows the beginnings and rejection of my capabilities and the responsibilities required. But as you read the summer blockbuster below, I became Drama on that fateful April night.

The problem with public transportation, the fact that causes all of my various train track stories to exist is the interrupted service between night and morning. Struggling to make that last train home and the failure that sometimes ensues is the only impetus needed to turn me into Drama.

Heading home from a night of drinking in Hoboken, my friends and I realized that we had timed the trains wrong, and we were stuck between transfers. After tussling with my friend Wick over something unnecessary, I simply said, "F--- it," and started walking... on the train track.

He seemed perplexed as I jumped onto the train tracks and headed to the outside, Newark, and beyond. The walk was about 50 miles and I intended of doing every mile. It wasn't unique that year for me to run or walk 5-6 miles home from a party or bar, and it wasn't the first time I had been on train tracks that year. It hadn't registered that this time it wasn't different, because even though our train had never came these were still active tracks.

I was still fuming that first mile, when I got several phone calls from Wick, and immediately hung up on him everytime. He keeps trying, but I am angry at him. Finally I pick up, he says, "An officer wants to talk to you." He then hands the phone to a cop, "This if Officer So-and-So. We're aware that you're on the track. We've had to shut down the trains and sent out cops to find you. Where are you right now?" Although I hadn't been thinking clearly, I thank God, I had the right response, "I'm not on the tracks right now. I got off them and got a cab ride." The cop then asked where I was now. Thinking of the most dangerous place, and a place I was not, I responded, "East Orange." With that I hung up. Then I ran like hell off the tracks, scared that the police were after me.

After exiting the tracks, I came upon several obstacles trying to get to the interstate and away from the chasing police. The famous Jersey swamps on the sides of the highways became my first hurdle. In the fierceness of the moment, I waded up to my chest in the cold, dank water, only to later realize my cell phone and wallet were tucked securely in my pants pocket. On such a miserable night, my phone was now inoperable.

While I was fleeing the cops, my buddy back at the station was getting arrested for disorderly conduct. Unaware of this I kept plodding on. My pants were caked in mud and I started to shiver in the chilly northeast spring night. Despite the mistake, I was happy that I was one step closer to the headlights in the distance. Like a bad videogame or Harold and Kumar movie, I now came upon a forest of bamboo. Bamboo is tough. And you don't realize this until you try to make your way through them. After getting nowhere trying to push through them, I take a few steps back and run into it. It's a little painful, but I got past a few of the plants. Now I'm stuck in the forest. So I'd take half a step back and barrel through a few more plants. It took probably about ten minutes, but after dozens of burts, I made it through the forests. Again, I felt good at the progress.

I felt good at the progress, until I see the barbed wire fence strewn ahead of me. Although I'm scared of the cops, I think I'm more afraid of hopping the barbed wire fence. But I know I have to go over the fence, not because of the cops, but because I can't go back through the bamboo and swamp.

After climbing to the top of the fence, I decide to just get over the barb wire in one swoop. I was determined. I launched my body with one big jump, much like a high jumper avoiding the bar. Mysteriously, I only drew blood in four places and tore my shirt and pants.

I was now soaked, caked in mud, bloody, with torn clothes and freezing cold, hating life. I looked like a war victim, but now I was within walking distance of the road. I walked toward the light, until I reached the shoulder of the highway. A few cabs passed, but no one would stop to pick me up. I cursed and cursed, knowing they would never stop with the way I looked. I kept walking via the billboard light, until I got to an exit; it was the center of Newark.

Some people might be scared walking in the middle of the night in a bad city. I saw a few seedy characters, but knew I was safe. The humorous part was that I probably looked sketchier than anyone else in Newark that night. I felt awful, but would be relieved to duck the police for the night and finally get a hotel room.

Upon awaking, I couldn't call my friends to see if they were okay, since my phone was still broke. I had to put on my muddy, swamp smelling clothes back on. They smelled awful. I walked to the NJ Transit station and took home the train I should have been on 8 hours prior.

A few hours later, I pull into the train station, get in my car and go home. My instant messenger is littered with many messages, some inquiring if I'm alive and others with anger. My voicemail is similar, except I can't respond. I go to sleep knowing I'm Drama. It's who I am. But this time when I wake up, I know that it's all a part of the journey and will make for one hell of a story years from then.

"Oooh Baby I Love Your Way" IS THIS PETER FUCKING FRAMPTON?

I was originally skeptical about this blog because the past five months of my life have been a demanding routine. Law school does not provide a wellspring of newsworthy/blogworthy material. With summer's arrival, a bubbling creativity gives way to my first blog post: notes on a bike trip to southern utah.

My high school buddy, who a few of you are already acquainted with, and I drove from Reno, NV to Moab, UT to ride our mountain bikes and camp for a few days. A lot of the pictures are on facebook and the details of our trip are inconsequential. Instead, I will offer a few memorable vingettes from the trip.

I go to school in Seattle, WA. The amount of rain that the city gets is overstated; nonetheless, we do get a decent amount of rain. In my trip to a goddamn desert, our campsite got flooded out the first night and we had thunderstorms the next two nights. The irony is more than I can handle.

During these rainstorms, Funk and I would sit in the car drinking beer, waiting for the storms to pass. We had been trading Grandma's Boys quotes back and forth while drinking beer in the truck and Funk recalled a funny story.He and his roommates had a house party at their place at some point during the spring semester. Two days later, Funk opens to oven to cook a pizza. He opens the oven and finds a slice of pizza, a bowl of coleslaw, a kraft single of american cheese, and four muffins all burnt and sitting on a tray in the oven. He now knows not to let in too many of Dante's friends from the crazy beaver.

Funk told me about one guy he knows from Las Vegas who flys the majority of his flights on standby. This kid tries to convince everyone that it is the best way to fly, as the flights are significantly cheaper. I told Funk that my buddy Sim Simma has a girlfriend who lives in another state and that he occasionally flies standby to go see her. Funk asked me the name of Sim Simma's girlfriend. I couldn't remember off the top of my head so Funk just called her standby. when I finally did remember Jen's name, Funk didn't care. He had already made up his mind that her name is standby.

To get back to Reno from Moab, we drove through Salt Lake City. On interstate 80 in Salt Lake City I saw the most tasteless billboard that I have ever seen. The billboard has a picture of an 8 year old girl hugging her somewhat chunky mom. In the picture both the girl and the mom are all smiles. The top of the billboard read, "I Got My Mommy Back." Who paid for this advertisement? Utah's surgical weightloss center.

Notes on Japan: A Rambo Mini-series

As you all may or may not know I have recently returned from a nine day visit to the land of the rising sun. Some of you have expressed interest in hearing about it while others among you would prefer that I die slowly and painfully. All in good time friends. Since I mostly write on this blog (or plan to as this is my first post) at work when I should be working, I don't have time to write one long post about my journey. I have decided to just write one little jaunt about it each time I decide to post, probably about every two days, unless I'm really busy or horribly bored. In any event, this should work out well for all parties involved: I don't have time to write long posts and those of you that can read don't have the attention span to read them. I'll try to post some pictures for the illiterate members of the group (ffeJ). Think of these Japan posts as like a heterosexual version of Sim Simma's grind my gears sections.

Post # 1: Japan's obsession with not getting sick:

I always thought you guys were germaphobes because you thought it was gross when I ate that 3 day old DUC pizza slice that I left under the couch of Turman South. But the Japanese are PARANOID of germs and disease. As soon as my plane touched down at the Tokyo Narita airport, the captain informed us that we would have to remain on board the plane for an additional 1-2 hours while we waited for a biohazard crew to come scan everyone with an infrared camera to check for the now infamous swine flu (called "pig virus" by the Japanese). While in quarantine we had one of two options: filling out a health form survey or watching the thrilling conclusion of "The Curious Case of Benjamin Button." Between the prospect of catching a disease almost as deadly as SARS and being in a foreign country, I was in no shape to handle Benjamin Button so I opted for the former. The questionnaire was the Japanese language version because the English language one was out of stock; and therefore I needed a Japanese flight attendant to help me fill out the form. Not to bore you with every detail, but I did find this funny; one of the questions was: "Have you visited or had contact with someone who visited Canada, the US, or Mexico in the past 10 days?" The flight had come out of LA. I answered "No." After 45 minutes of waiting, we were visited by a crew that looked like extras from "28 days later." They filmed everyone with a camera and then we were allowed to leave.

During my stay in Japan I saw a lot of people wearing gauze surgical masks. Apparently a thin cotton mask is thought to be an effective barrier to germs; people who are sick wear them to prevent themselves from infecting others, and people who are healthy wear them as disease armor. You might ask yourself "why don't they just brush their teeth?" I don't know, but I think it has something to do with why they don't go to the orthodontist either. I also noticed a lot of people sniffing loudly and frequently, the kind of sniffing you would expect from a novice cocaine user who's just taken some real good shit. My friend told me later that, contrary to my hopes, there was not a big coke scene in Tokyo, but rather people were sniffing because they couldn't blow their noses. Apparently blowing ones nose in public is thought to spread germs. It is extremely offensive and is equivalent to eating Taco Bell and then shitting in public. I just wish I'd known sooner, maybe I would not have shot that snot-rocket… maybe. Gotta get back to work. More later. I hate you all.

Angle? Who needs an angle?

After discussing our exploration into blogging with Drama, he imparted us with his wisdom about the world of blogging. Apparently, he has been typing away behind our backs for the past two years we have known him and has this vast array of knowledge on the subject. Well, either that or he's just full of s*@!. I'll leave that up to you to decide.
Regardless, he was adamant that for our blog to be successful, we have to have an "angle." And while I do agree with him to some degree - it can't just be completely scattered with no connection from one post to another (cough* Sim Simma* cough), I think he was somewhat overestimating the objective with this blog. Let me reiterate what I said in an earlier post...this is meant to be fun, we're not trying to do this for a living and make money off it. Besides the posters and a few close friends, I really don't care if anybody reads this thing.
I think the "angle" that is going to rise up within this blog is simply going to be our personalities. Therefore, from here on out, I'm most likely going to solely focus on sports, women, and drinking because that's about all I do/ think about besides work; and I'm sure as hell not going to bore you talking about work.

This past weekend was Memorial Day weekend and it was a blast. I got to golf twice, boat with my pops in NY, and drink heavily when I got back Monday. Can't ask for a much better 3 day weekend. We decided to get people over to our house for a cookout and drinking fest. Some of our friends are still in college and so they have nothing to do right now. That causes a problem for us old folks because we very easily succumb to peer pressure and drink heavily with them and stay up way too late. I had to get up at 4 am for my flight yesterday and so I was already exhausted before we started drinking. After yesterday, I'm not only exhausted, but hung over as well, doing as little as humanly possible at work besides constantly checking the time. I need to also mention that Drama and I went about 20-0 in Cornhole yesterday, including a couple of skunks. We officially welcome all challengers. And Sim Simma, we will skunk you, it's going to happen sooner or later whether you like it or not.

How My Birthday Beat the Swine Flu

So despite the picture I made it to work today (barely). I am pretty sure if a cop had pulled me over this morning I would have gotten a DUI. Thankfully I avoided all the flashing lights and made it all the way to work, but lets be honest I am not doing anything today. In fact, I am seriously contemplating sleeping under my desk like George Costanza. But I digress ... How did I defeat the Swine flu? Well, the story starts a few weeks ago when Warhammer went to Texas for a job interview. He came back with a sore throat. Texas is totally chummy buddy buddy always there with a reacharound for Mexico. From this general geographical knowledge we knew that Warhammer had fallen ill with the dreaded swine flu. A short while later my throat began to get sore. I drank copious amounts of orange juice, but to no avail. Shit! The swine flu had spread to me. Now knowing that my general demise was near I decided to hell with the swine flu! I am going to celebrate my last birthday on Earth by going out with a bang (kicking up dust, tonight honey I’m all shook up).

So after a night of mayhem involving rum and coke, opening my birthday bottle of port, sweet tea vodka (because we are in the south), jumping the botanical garden’s fence, regular vodka, motor boating nude statues, long island ice tea, eating my weight in free cream cheese salmon pizza, vodka red bull, an attempted theft of a handle of Jose Cuervo, Jack and Coke, a Neighbor’s pretzel, Irish car bombs, and climbing/ slip n’ sliding over the tops of cars in the rain at 1:00 AM, I no longer had a sore throat!!! Eureka! The cure to Swine Flu!!!! The only side effect is that now I have a throbbing headache. But, the scientific discovery alone was well worth it. I have found the cure to the swine flu; just have one hell of a birthday night. I will be informing the CDC and WHO today.

Thanks everyone for the free drinks and coming out to celebrate in the shitty weather!

UUoUU! UUatch Out - Thanks for the Heads Up Drama ...

Sunny day, sweeping the clouds away! On my way to where the air is sweet. Can you tell me how to get, how to get to Sesame Street!! Why hello there boys and girls! Today's special number and letter of the day are the number "9" and the letter "U"!!!!! Lets see an example ...

A text message* from Drama this morning.

From: Drama

Haha u are not going to believe uuho I sauu out last nite - genevieve and
lauren, the girl in tears the other nite. She was complaining about Rob. Too
funnie.

*Drama's phone doesn't have a 9 key (I hope he posts soon to explain this along with his Birthday Debacles). As a result of not having this key in his phone he can not use the letters W, X, Y, or Z. He has to write two "U's" instead of a "W" (double u) and can not dial or store most people's numbers. He thinks the "UU = W" is extremely clever. Although humorous it is very confusing at times. I personally think he should get his phone fixed because lets be honest spelling "funnie" makes you look like a pre-pubescent girl that just got her brand spanking new sparkly pink Hello Kitty cell phone. Now imagine our pre-pubescent Hello Kitty teeny bopper. She giggles and immediately texts her BFF (Best Friend Forever (Ever, ever? Yes. Ever, ever)), "Tee Hee! I just got a new fone! LMAO I M 2 Funnie!!" Can you picture this? Do you see what I mean now? Please get a new "fone" Drama ... pleeeasssseee.

But the more pressing issue here is (me of course!) that I really don't want to get cried on again at my local bars. Hand & Hand, Neighbors, Dark Horse, Limerick Junction ... these watering holes are holy places for me! They are not to be de-sanctified with wet tears - only wet beers (and girls). Zing! With that cue the semi-relevant music.

Breaking the Seal

So after living with Sim Simma for a few years now and this being the first year I've lived with J Roll I thought I'd reflect on some of the new developments. I'd like to point out that of the group of 6 from HSquared, we are probably the most normal, which is a bit frightening. E Rock can join our group while BJ and Rambo are the outliers.

The most obvious change is that we actually get more than basic cable and even have an HD DVR, who would of thought Sim Simma would ever have such luxury! This has resulted in Sim Simma and I watching more sports in the last 9 months than I believe we watched both years in HSquared. We followed the pats (J Roll), the skins (Sim Simma), the eagles (Drama), and the bears (Me, ffe...err *sigh* Warhammer) this past season. We were up to date with college football and basketball, the NBA, and I've even watched some NHL and champions league this season. Now I know what you're thinking, that's a long ass time sitting on the couch watching the TV, but between Taco Mac and our DVR it hasn't felt too long.

The next most notable development in relation would be our lack of playing Super Smash Brothers. We no longer have 4 players and the graphics look rather shitty on our HDTV. Instead, we now have both an xbox from our Samoan friend and a wii from my girl. Guitar hero and bowling have become a staple when we are bored or pregaming to walk to the highlands, while we also have halo if the desire to kill each other arises. The N64 still sits near our TV, but we almost never have it plugged in since there are only 3 inputs. Don't think we won't take a challenge though, any of us would be willing to dominate anyone stupid enough to play against us.

Because I think I could go on for another 5 or 6 paragraphs and I don't want to droll on for too long, I will keep this last one fairly brief. House parties. We have less than one a month instead of twice a week. The beer pong table is now storage in my room. The hot tub hasn't been on since February. The backyard is huge but we have yet to host an outdoor summer party that has more than 10 people outside. This place is ideal for house parties, but we despise cleaning up afterwords and have been satisfied with just having a small group every now and again pregame and walk to the highlands or sometimes carpool to buckhead. I think this list sums up why we have slowed down the rate of parties:
1) our neighbor is a cuntmuscle with his house too close to our hot tub and calling the cops on us multiple times for whispering outside
2) we just feel like other people need to host parties because we have dropped too much money on beer/cups/food/deposits/broken stuff over the years
3) Sim Simma and J Roll have real jobs
4) Drama could lose his job if he came to one of our "Real" house parties
5) You're all lame

Alright, I need to stop procrastinating and get back to the series 63 material.
--War

Lisa, your aorta is in your chest ...

One word to describe this past weekend: Really?!?!

I was soaking wet Saturday night and it was not because I decided to walk to a house party two blocks away in a torrential downpour of rain. No, it was because a drunken girl cried on me.

How might this have happened you ask? A house party where the music is thumping, the beer is flowing, everyone is having a great time … how could you, Sim Simma, a good hearted fun loving guy get cried on? Well, as J Roll so eloquently put it, “You attract some crazy girls, dude.” It is a curse. I don’t know what it is about me (maybe a giant blinking light that only estrogen induced hallucinating psychos can see?) but it is there.

I was literally just sitting at a table with Drama and J-Roll playing a dice drinking game when a brunette and a blonde come over with a chair asking if they can play. Drama begins hitting on the brunette and things are looking up for him (Oh yeah! Double-entendre! Man, I’m clever). The blonde sits next to me and a conversation begins. She wants to stop Drama and her brunette buddy from talking any longer probably because in her blood shot squinted eyes she is not getting the attention her low cut dress and push up bra deserve. I de-rail her thought process here by proposing a bet that they will be fine – they will have a good time together – they will inevitably hook up. She bets against this stating that she won’t let it happen. I say the rules of said bet are that she can not interfere – I mean that just gives her an unfair advantage (Go get ‘em Drama!). She eventually agrees and now my buddy should have no more cock block (Hooray for people and their need to feed their egos through gambling). After this is done I talk to the blonde about God knows what trying to include J-Roll in the conversation. Then out of nowhere Drama and J-Roll decide to leave the party to meet up with some other friends. I decide to stay because I know a lot of people there and want to catch up with a few friends. I tell them I’ll catch up with them soon. Literally right after they get up this girl puts her leg over mine and continues to try and talk to me. DANGER! DANGER! DANGER! I retrieve my leg and nicely tell her I have a wonderful amazing girlfriend (which I do) and that I am sorry if I led her on. I am about to get up and talk to my friends at the party when I suddenly see her face contort. I think to myself, “WTF? Did she drink some skunked beer? Oh god, no. No, no, no, no, no!” But it is too late. The waterworks are on; it’s the ninth green at 9:00 PM. Eye makeup is streaming down her face making her look ready to go to either an Alice Cooper concert or a midnight showing of the Rocky Horror Picture Show. She begins telling me that all guys are crap, life sucks, and the world is going to end. I then have to (because my conscience is unfortunately good) restore her faith in humanity and men by talking to her and calming her down for the next 10-20 minutes. I'd like to point out that I did not know this girl and had really only been talking to her in a group setting for 5 minutes tops. That and her friend was of no help at all. So in short Drama bailed on a girl he could have hooked up with at a house party and I (although I should have never tried to help him in the first place) got stuck with black eyeliner tears on my shoulder. Cue the music and thank god its my birthday this week.

And with that, a new chapter begins...

I’ve never written any type of blog before so I’ve been antagonizing over the past few days, trying to figure out what to write, knowing you only get one chance at your first blog post. As you will see in the upcoming months, each of us has our own unique writing style, topics to discuss, and points of view. Sim Simma will undoubtedly continue his random ramblings that were so evident in his original post. I’m positive Warhammer will type like he does when playing WarCraft (although even I’m not sure what that entails so I guess we’re all in for a surprise), Drama’s posts will turn into Garden State: the blog, E-Rock will without question bring his new found knowledge of the law onto this site even if we don’t want to hear about it, and your guess is as good as mine when it comes to Rambo.

What about me, you ask? Well, you will quickly learn that my New England upbringing has greatly influenced all aspects of my life – from my overall stubbornness and how I talk, to my general dislike of people outside the Northeast. I’d rather carry a conversation with someone from Long Island (and we all know how aggravating that can be) then have to look at, and struggle with, the annoying accent/ appearance that comes with being a Southern fruitcake.

With all that being said, I truly believe that the diversity among this group is going to be what makes the blog so enjoyable. Being from different backgrounds prevents many of us from seeing eye to eye on a lot of subjects. We’re hoping that the banter and arguments that result from this will create a pleasurable blog for all to read. I’m sure there will be many inside jokes, rehashing of old memories, and “that’s what she said” posts, but bear with us. And, to be truly honest, if you don’t like the blog and never come back, we won’t really care because we’re doing this out of enjoyment and to stay connected with our close friends as we spread throughout the globe.

Think of us as an independent band, following through for the love of the music, and not caring whether we truly become mainstream or not. We are the Dispatch of blogs. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the moment because I know we will.

The Creation