Gone Down to Jers

This one time I took the bus up to New York to meet Tommy for his friend Jess's birthday. And then when I finally got there we immediately got onto her birthday party bus and set off for Atlantic City, because I was late and Jersey is always looking for a party. And of course by party bus, I mean a retrofitted Winnebago. With a non-functional mini-stereo cord. First stop: the Jersey City Best Buy.

By the time that was taken care of our 40s were gone, I'd already gone to the bathroom once, and Tommy had started demanding Ron-ron juice. Luckily somebody had brought the Four, and in the elusive lemonade coloring too. 

What was waiting for us in AC? Providence—"The premier nightlife spot in Atlantic City." In The Quarter. Little did I know that a bar in a mall in Atlantic City wouldn't let me in because I was wearing sneakers. It could have been worse, I could've been wearing an oversized shirt too. At some point there was a plan to sneak Tommy's shoes back out of the place for me. I don't think I was a big fan of that plan because I disappeared into the back hallways instead.

The good news is that I found a back door into Providence, past the bouncers. The bad news is the 2nd entrance desk, which I hadn't planned for. And the security guy who yelled out, "He's got sneakers on, get him outta here!" That sent me back into the nether regions, and eventually to the roof. Looking back on it, ending up on the roof of The Tropicana Resort & Casino isn't all that surprising. You always want to attain the high ground in these types of situations. Plus, I really like roofs. Look at all these terrible pictures I took while I was up there!

Don't think this is over yet though. Upon my descent I ran into Tommy again. Just sittin'. Not looking for me, just hanging out by the fountain. Then he gives me his phone and walks away. He may have been going to the bathroom, I'm not sure. I am sure that that was the last time I saw him or anyone else from our party. And that I had his phone, so I couldn't call him. 

Eventually I gave up waiting, and went looking. All I found was this on a men's room stall. The best case scenario is that someone had really muddy shoes. In the bathroom of an indoor mall. There are also other scenarios.

Here's what happened next. I spent 30-40 minutes walking around this place, Jersey on all sides, before realizing I was alone, it was 4:00 o'clock in the morning, and the party bus was long gone. You might not think it at first, but Atlantic City really isn't that bad of a place to get left behind by a party bus. I mean the emotions are hard to take, but at least there's a train station. And a $10 train to Philadelphia. So really, it's sort of right up my alley. Or at least inside my wheel well. 

At 8:00 this morning I walked from the train station to Newhall street, ate a sandwich, plugged in Tommy's phone, and went to bed. Look at that light.

Wanna know something funny? The Winnebago broke down on the way home. The heat stopped working, the state troopers were called, and the McDonald's Burger King's milkshake machine wasn't working. Also, it turns out I got home first. So, suck it Schwenn.

Mobile Gases

The old neighborhood has always had an interesting gas station culture. For a long time we had a 76 up at the top of the hill. Remember 76s‽ With those big orange balls? Weird. That went out of business circa 1991 though, right in the middle of our collective paisley phase. Since then it's tended to change hands every year or two—sometimes it's a name brand, sometimes not. Then a couple of years ago it turned into the first Valero I'd ever seen on the East Coast. That theoretically brought with it a Dunkin' Donuts, but it also only theoretically brought donuts and coffee, since it was rarely ever actually time to make the donuts.

It's not a Valero anymore though, even while the Dunkin' seems to be getting itself together. Now it just has a big black dot on the sign. It might be incorrect to think it's gone rogue again though, there's another Valero-turned-black-dot station nearby. Surprisingly it manages to be slightly more sketchy, supplying neither donuts nor credit card readers, but it may be part of a newly founded gas chain.

Then there's the Costal station up by work. Which still uses Mobile pumps. And stationary. 

Oh, hey.

Task: Tie Tuesday

Evan started Tie Tuesday at Fuji a couple years ago after the success of Thai Tuesday at the B2G2. Recently it's fallen on some hard times, or at least low participation rates. It's a cause I've gotten behind.

Pie of My Heart

First look at this Wisconsin-themed pie. It's no Letter Pie, but I did make it with all the mildly strong affection in my heart. And ginger, which I guess was the secret ingredient. Suck it Pierogi-town.

Then look at this grainy video of some celebratory Packers Dances. No, the 3rd and final dance has not been artificially sped up, we were just moving that fast.

Packers Polka from wbarnebey on Vimeo.

A Life I Would Not Want

That's a worm living in a jar of cayenne pepper. There's a whole colony in there you can't really see. It's like an ant farm, but in hot, burning sand. Can you imagine living your entire live completely encased in ground cayenne? It sounds like an essay topic we'd have to write in 8th grade, right after 5 pages on "Life Inside a Ping Pong Ball" and "Contemplations on The Yellow Wall...".

Sweater Thursday: The New Class

This Monday I went to work. It was weird because I haven't gone to work in a long time, and I haven't gone to a job not at a university since The Year 2000. Also, I went to work in Philadelphia. Because I live here now. What, you hadn't heard? That's because I didn't really tell anybody.

Anyway, I spend my days sitting at a medium-sized desk outside of Evan's office keeping track of intercontinental orders, shipments, and the numbers associated with them. It's not exactly exciting, but it has a salary, and I get to play with spreadsheets all the time. You know what I've always said about me and spreadsheets. 

More to the point, today was my 1st Thursday of employment. A whole new audience for my sweaters! I forgot to take my camera to work—or maybe I didn't want to be the guy taking pictures of himself so early in my career—so this is not me at my new medium-sized desk. Instead, it's me. At my dad's house. In a sweater. Holding a key fob. Which is the only thing I have to show for my hours of toil so far.