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Most of my good friends have kept in touch so they already know what happened; as for the others, who cares? I'm not being rude. You're just insignificant so I will not apologize for my lack of blog. If this insult makes you feel down consider that the sun sinks every night - but rises again in the morning. Also look on the bright side. It is fall so you probably have more time to enjoy my blog.
During my hiatus I'd like to say I was busy pursuing some altruistic goal for the benefit of others. Truthfully, I did find out the answer to the second most important question ever asked. The answer to the first is obviously 42. The second answer is Art. "Art" is why the chicken crossed the road. It's art! -a chicken crossing the road is 'poultry in motion'. Personally, I think I deserve a prize for researching that question and finding the answer on the Internet. I'd kill for a Nobel Peace Prize, but I don't think you can get one of those in prison. Instead I turned my time to more intrinsic goals, rediscovering what I enjoy in life. Do you want to know what I came up with? Yup, triangle sandwiches taste better than square ones.
ANYwho, I'm told by an email tagline that a mouse trap placed gingerly on top of your alarm clock will prevent you from rolling over back to sleep when you hit the snooze button. Though I lack a trap, I do possess the mental fortitude to imagine it there, so instead of napping, I've gone back to blogging. Since it's been so long since I have blogged, now begins the arduous process of back journaling. Together, we'll see if my hindsight is 20-20 or if I need to spend $20 on gas plus $20 on tolls to drive to the happy ophthalmologist house of my cousins in New Jersey to get fitted for glasses.
Okay back to the events that go with the pics. This trip to Pittsburgh was a doozy.
After about 15 minutes getting lost and trying to find parking to my passenger's rage, we hit up our favorite bars in Shady Side, Kellies. Inside we met Matt Casebeer's kewl motorcycle buddy Sunny who told us his woeful tale of losing his wife after having three kids to her cousin (the cousin was adopted, but still they grew up like siblings--sick!!). We didn't drink much; instead Nicole Myers turned Dracula-ena on me, making faux wax blood wounds from the candles in our booth. Good ole Nicole Myers, all wax and no wick--hehe. Before we left I played that game in Europe. You know Europe right, when you're here you're in America, when you're there, your-a-peeing (European). Well in the bathroom I did what every red-blooded bloke has done when I flushed half way through the pee and then raced against the flush. I'm now told that there is a paper coned funnel designed for pregnant ladies that women allowed the ladies to pee standing up, so if you're a girl reading this don't judge until you try it yourself.
Late night in the burgh' that don't result in movie marathons often lead to reunions at dinners. Dinners are like wet cats, it is impossible to describe the smell, but there's something satisfying about it. This time Nicole Myers expressed her inner Da Vince child through half n half modern sculpture art. The waitress was so impressed that she gave her a whole handful of extra containers to enhance her masterpiece. Of course Matt Casebeer and I had more fun trying to knock it down.
Eventually, we ended up passing out at Sunny's pimping palace with the tennis court backyard. In the morning his 3 boys came over. Playing video games with kids is like trying to shoot pool with a rope. Yes I lost in Mortal Combat to a five year old and no I don't think any less of myself. It's just the progression of life I suppose. When I was five, I was the quarter boy at the arcade my dad half owned. Back then, I beat kids, teenagers, and adults alike on the air hockey table or the Frogger machine even though I need a stool to play. Thus is just the way of the world. If you grow up with machines, you'll do better than those who didn't. I laughter best though when that the same kid of Sunny's tried to claim his prize, hanging on Nicole Myers's leg not wanting to let it go.
But go we must. As with late night, the morning after breakfast often calls for dinners. This time we got to meet up with KT Shelak and crew at my old high school stomping grounds of McKnight Road. We ate and chatted and laugh at the nasty steak KT Shelak ordered. HA-ha, my veteran choice of French toast was yummy. I guess age does have its perks in some arenas.
After breakfast we actually went to the Wymans for eggs and I mused. Isn't it always the Matt Casebeer? I finally check out Dave Wyman and his wife Marielle Wyman's apartment for some tasty after breakfast eggs. Now they've gone off and bought a house. Where did I find responsible people like that? I thought my friends were mavericks who'd rather get speedy vehicles than a responsible house. Luckily for every Dave Wyman and slum lord Dicke, I have friends like Matt Casebeer. The main mission of this weekend was to get Matt Casebeer a motorcycle. Check out the pics and you can see my sweet ride.
Yup, I said MY new ride. Matt Casebeer that makes much more money than me in the hick town West Virginia, doesn't have the credit to get a motorcycle so I bought one for him with his money. Technically, I now have a bike and insurance but no license, neat huh? Of course, I had to walk into my house announcing I owned a motorcycle and make my brat little sister wear my helmet afterwards. My weary dad wasn't suckered in too much and quickly found out that I was just the middle man for Matt Casebeer's big boy bike.
At my place, my sister's boyfriend Steve came over. As a big brother you don't really want to over protect your sister from boys, but you want to send subtle messages. Therefore, I let Steve Warfield and Matt Casebeer play with my shocking tanks. (If you're unaware because you live in a non-technology bubble, these tanks are radio controlled which infrared guns and light detectors. If your tank gets hit, the control electrocutes you. Fun, right!!) Matt Casebeer got back at my shocking fun by trying to curl my eye lashes. It won't be a novel quote to say those devices echo back to our medieval past. Any sexist bastard who thinks women don't have guts, do not have to look at childbirth, they can just look at that contraption and gain some much deserve respect.
For dinner we went downtown, and yes they let my seventeen year old sister in a bar while we waited for a table. She's a goody-goody so she didn't order anything. Wait until she feels the abuse of PSU bars that won't look at her twice before denying her entrance, though I'm sure she won't have too hard of a time procuring liquids if that's her desire. You got to love the bars in non-state college. In state college my CEO gets carted at the bars, in downtown Pittsburgh my 17 year little sister eases in with no problem.
We chilled at the bar for a while until our table was called. They had one of those fancy devices that lights up and buzzes when you get called. When I approached my phone ran so I answered it, it was the hostess saying she was sorry she accidentally buzzed me. It was quite humorous because I was watching her talk to me on the phone and waving at her to just talk to me in person. It took her a while to figure out I was standing right there. Back to the bar for a bit went we before we finally got our real seats. The food was splendid mostly because their descriptions were amusing. Dave Wyman got a tower of frittered goodness.
Soon the weekend was over and we head back to Happy Valley. Now you know how I'm always up for trying new restaurants and take pleasure in choosing whatever I can't pronounce as my entree. Other than grapenuts, I pretty much eat anything readily served in a restaurant. Given this as my M.O., you'd probably be surprised I never went to a Crackle Barrel, but it just never happened. After seeing millions on my way to Florida I was happy to finally go. This monumental moment came as a break in Altoona on the way to State College from the burgh.
Now the only way to describe the people at the Crackle Barrel properly is to entered the digits 55378008 into a calculator and turn it upside-down. Count of non-white people->me. It was eerie like when I find a metal coat hanger in my closet. I'm not sure how it got there and I know it doesn't belong. Now to be fair, you won't hear me say that the "Crackle" barrel is a racial establishment but later when I went to Crackle Barrel for the second time, the only non-white group of people was exiled in the corner at the worst table by the kitchen. I pointed it out to Nicole Myers who laughter. Luckily I was in the bathroom when Nicole Myers got a table for two or we might have served a similar fate. We were defiantly the only interracial couple which is something that usually never occurs to me, but since its Nicole Myers's favorite whitey restaurants the jokes had to continue. As a disclaimer of course, I had no ill service due to my race except that they happened to be out of "pork rind" this time, at least that's what they told me.
To kill some time and celebrate that my car hit 44,444 miles (my lucky number being 4), we delayed getting home for a bit more to goof around at toys r us. Whatever your age the desire to make plastic dolls shag is almost impossible to resist. Nicole Myers took a liking to a scooter which I got a fun pick of. This of course flashed me back to my favorite Christmas with the Matt Casebeerbeer's where I got my friend Thang Dounge a pink scooter as a present. It was a bonus gift because the day before he got it, we went to the mall and Thang Dounge went into a tirade about his dad wanting to scoot-scoot around in the then ultra popular scooters. I ended up getting my sis one too that year. Maybe Nicole Myers might get hers next xmas--hehe. For now she just got some auntie Anne pretzels….(Homeric mmmmm) and then we went down the country road to Happy Valley.
May your life be like toilet paper--long and useful.
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Anshu Gupta
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