Officially Checked Out

I think the most difficult thing for me right now is to be in classes. I know that I’m moving in 4 weeks, and I have tons of other things to think about. I have to sell off all my stuff, ensure my moving plans are in tact and still drive my ass 3,000 miles to Boston.

I sound like an asshole every time I tell someone I conferred my degree last Spring. I’m just taking these classes because they are interesting, and they keep my mind fresh. The difficulty comes into play with grades: I’ve always been an “A” student. I tell myself I can settle for a “B,” but even when I get an “A-” I am extremely hard on myself.

Now, I’m in a position where I will be moving soon and cutting my classes short. Thusly, the grades don’t matter. I put this hypothesis to the test and only studied a good 5 minutes for my accounting quiz, and I’m pretty sure I still aced it. Maybe this checked out approach will tell me something about myself.

I’ll justify my scholastic apathy in the name of science. Move over Edison…

1996 Jeep Grand Cherokee Laredo for sale

1996 Grand Cherokee Laredo drives great, looks good and filled with lots of options: Ice Cold A/C, Power Windows, Power Door Locks, Power Steering, Cruise Control, Keyless Entry, Alloy Wheels, Anti-Lock Braking System.

Low mileage (under 120K) with mostly highway miles. Only second owner (belonged to family member beforehand.)

Must sell quickly due to job relocation to Boston, MA. Has all scheduled maintenance - oil & filter changed every 3 months, tires aligned and balanced every 6 months, recent engine work as well.

Very clean, non-smoker interior with no odors or smells. Very few interior blemishes on arm rests. Well maintained upholstery and floor mats.

Protect yourself and your family with features including dependable Jeep frame construction, Keyless Entry and Panic Button.

Looking for $4499 or best offer. A great deal for a great Jeep, please contact if you’re interested.

Accepting Cash, Personal Checks and Certified Money Orders/Cashier’s Checks. Will not accept Foreign Money Orders.

Please Contact El Cappytan if interested.

Tow Truck Car-ma

It’s funny because I always laugh. I climb up on my bed, peep out the blinds and laugh as some putz gets his car towed from one of the paid parking spots in front of my apartments

Karma is one huge bitch, though, but not in the way you’d think. Instead, of having my car towed away (I actually own a parking pass for one of the spots), the tow company refused to come pick up someone in my space.

Yeah, the asshole that enjoys watching everyone else getting redemption, gets none of his own. First, let me point out that I’m working with a company called Froggy’s Towing; from what I’ve seen and my conversations tonight, the company is owned by an inbred duo of sister/brother/cousins. So I call good ol’ Froggy, expecting to get my spot back in a minute.

Froggy’s Employee of the Month

Instead, the woman on the other line (who sounds like she smokes 4 packs a day and probably saves her Marlboro points for a new Dale Earnhardt toilet seat cover) tells me that I need to be a manager with the secret password. The dialogue went a little something like this:

Marlboro Man: “You need to be a manager of your complex with our secret password.
Me: “I’m sorry, I didn’t call for video game tips. I thought I was calling to have a car towed from my spot.”
Marlboro Man: “Y’all need the password. There’s nothing I can do for you.”
Me: “Can’t you just prompt the driver to swing by my complex and check the tags. There’s revenue in it for you and a nice, fat space open for me. It’ll be our little secret.”
Marlboro Man: “You don’t have the password. Can’t do nothing.”
Me: “Then what the hell do I pay your company for? Why do I rent a spot here if you can’t enforce the agreement?”
Marlboro Man: “Honey, you don’t pay me shit! CLICK!

I stood there, reeling with anger, staring at this car blocking me from my amazing slumber on my comfy memory foam. What an asshole! I’m mad, but I decide to take care of it responsibly, so I call my landlord.

Me: “Hi, there’s someone in my spot at Canterbury Court, and I need them towed. Can you please call the towing company with the magic password so I can park?”
Landlord: “Oh, wow. I’m so sorry, I’m not the property manager. I’ve only been working here a week. Helen is the only one with the password. (Is it that fucking secret?) She doesn’t deal with towing situations on weekends because it’s the Lord’s Days, (yes, she said dayS) so you can like leave her a message tomorrow.”

My New Leasing Agent

I hang up the phone and angrily scribble a note: “Dear Assclown, Never park in this spot again, you stupid asshole!” I sign it with a little “<3,” you know that heart that everyone used to draw in 3rd grade.

I’m putting it on his car when I get a WOW moment. I pull on his door handle, just hoping he has a car alarm. Voila, it sounds, but there’s no reaction. I’m sitting there in my sweats and beanie, probably looking like I’m trying to rob this piece of shit car. I figure what the hell, so I pull it again.

Out walks this assclown, complete with his skater sweatshirt, way too baggy JNCO jeans and a 15 year-old McDonald’s employee mustache (and you know the one I’m talking about because we’ve all seen it.) “Why’s that fucking alarm going off,” he demands.

“Because you’re car is parked in my spot. Now kindly move it the fuck out,” I say with just the slightest hint of anger in my voice.

“What is this dent? What the hell dude? You punched my car? What the fuck is wrong with you?,” followed by 5 minutes of his ridiculous banter about the dent in his “baby.”

He finally pulls out. I start entering into my spot, feeling like I was being pulled on a chariot. This moron had just lost to my parking dominance. I reigned supreme in the parking world. That’s when he stole everything away from me: “Dude, you better watch out for your fucking car.”

Now Ladies and Gentlemen, El Cappytan is usually a pretty smart individual, but I was a complete idiot this night. After arguing with this street rat, I got right into my car and parked right in my spot, right in front of him. Needless to say, I’ve parked in another spot a block away for the past 3 days… because I’m just a plain, old schmuck.

Israel Memories

With all of the news coverage of the Israeli/Palestinian conflict, many people have the idea that Israel is an extremely dangerous place. I was fortunate enough to visit a couple of years ago on the Birthright program, and I managed to take a couple of videos:

Believe it or not, this was the only fighting I actually saw in Israel. Before the candid video was shot, the kid on the left farted on the kid on the right when the mother wasn’t watching. Listen for the sound effect at the end (I’m pretty talented.)

Israel was the first place I learned about DonkeyPower as opposed to horsepower. Here is an example of a Palestinian motorcade we came across in our travels. Traffic was backed up for a few hours, but I think you can guess why.

This giant sack of shit is Nir. Nir was the medic/guard assigned to our group of 40 university students. Nir always told us about how he wanted to come to America and be on television, so we gave him his big chance on our way to the Dead Sea. If they ever have an Israeli Idol, we’ve found our next William Hung.

Besides all the awe-inspiring spirituality, beautiful sights, amazing people we met and delicious food, that about sums up my trip to Israel (more to come…)

Lost Chicken

People have dogs, cats, lizards, even rats for pets. My friend, Sloby, decided he wanted chickens. The coop was built, the chickens were picked out, and for almost 2 years, we’ve watched those chickens guard their eggs and peck at their own shit for fun. The backyard smells like the dirtiest porta-potty I’ve ever had experienced. Imagine a mixture of cow shit, horse shit, mud and rice cakes… yeah, rice cakes.

These chickens were spoiled with food and, as a result, they were some of the fattest chickens you’ve ever seen. Well, recently one of the chickens fought the good fight and lost… to a raccoon of enormous proportions. She was abducted 2 nights ago and hasn’t been seen since.

Chicken Kidnapping flyers have been hung around the neighborhood of Agate and E 19th, but noone has come forward yet.

Any and all leads to a raccoon shitting out bird feathers will be rewarded with a high five and 2 fresh eggs. Pray for her soul.

A Lesson in Tipping

Today I had the most awkward tipping experience of my life. Instead of following in my footsteps (since I’m an archetypical role model), learn from my mistakes as a dumbass and avoid these moves.

Out at Breakfast with my friend Bagel, I wanted to pay for our breakfast to thank him for putting me up in his house.

Mistake #1: Failure to look at the bill
* In my haste to be such a thankful friend, I totally didn’t look at the bill, instead pulling out my wallet and pushing his hand away like the total assclown I am.

Mistake #2: Forgetting Credit Card
*It was about this time I realized I didn’t have my credit card or license on me. So I now have my wallet out, insisting I pay for the meal, but I have no frigging idea how I’m going to actually pay for it. Meanwhile, the waitress is standing there awaiting payment since I told her I had it covered.

Mistake #3: Grabbing any dollar bill available
* The meal was only $9.50, and because I have the luck of a protester in Tiananmen Square, I pulled out a $10 bill. Think about the repercussions of that one…

After I awkwardly place the money in the waitresses hand, I look at Bagel and smile (the whole time cycling through contingency plans for how I’ll tip this girl.) When she returns, she has this really odd look on her face. She holds out her hand and asks, “Uh… did you want… the $0.50 back?”

Now, I feel like a total asshole. Fortunately, while she was busy figuring out the change, I managed to scrape up $1, a quarter and 4 pennies. What’s that? I sound like a cheapass? Well, do your math, putzy. $1.79 is over a 15% tip. So maybe I was a little too trigger happy in pulling out my wallet, but consider me the Norman Frigging Rockefeller of breakfast tipping.

If Assholes Could Fly…

It really chaps my ass when people don’t follow through on certain things. For instance, I’ve been planning to have an advertisement for my art gallery (Studio AMH Fine Art Gallery) showcased in the University’s alumni e-newsletter. It has been in the works for months, supposedly headed toward the mailbox of over 56,000 alumni. Instead, they send out the April newsletter with blurbs about beach trips, basketball players and fondue.

It’s extremely unprofessional, and I have to say the Alumni Association just lost at least 1 future member. If assholes could fly, this place would be an airport.

The Legend of Bobby Kielty

Bobby Kielty is not your normal Ginger Nut. Not just a man, but he is a myth, a legend if you will. Bobby Kielty derives his slugging power and quick fielding from his personal mana source, mustard. He loves Heinz Yellow Mustard, but he has a special place in his heart for Grey Poupon. Although Bobby is a ginger kid, he is one of the few that made it away with a soul, despite recent rumors stating otherwise.

Red Sox players claim their success in the 2007 World Series is due, in large part, to the team firecrotch. One player was quoted as saying, “Mang, I don’t know what we would have done without his ginger ass. We’d all lick his freckled back, like one of those toads, to enhance our performance on the field. Baseball is full of tradition, and the Red Sox have Bobby Kielty as our good luck charm.”

The next time you go to a Red Sox game, whether visiting a stadium or taking in a ball game at Fenway, try out these creative cheers to support Bobby Kielty:

“HEEEEEEEEEEEEEY BOBBBBBBB-BBBBBBBBBEEEEEHHHHHHHH”
“Look alive Bobby. Quick Hands! Quick Hands!”
“OH Ma-maaaah”
(Pointing to your hat, and looking around the stands) “B for Bobby!”
(Wearing a rally cap if the Red Sox are down) “BOBBY CAPS!”
“Bobbalicious! Bobberino!”
“Ready Stance, Bobby! This one’s coming to you!”
“Hollahollahollahollaholla BOB-BEH!”

(We did it, and it seemed to work great)

LA Quotes, Pt. 2: Adventures in Dodger Stadium

We sat out in Right Field for the Red Sox/ Dodgers game, surrounded by thousands of Dodgers fans (most looking to beat the shit out of us). Fortunately, we met a diehard Sox fan in the row in front of us. Here are a few gems from a true Red Sox Fan.

Dodgers Fan: I’ve never seen so many fake Red Sox Fans.
True Boston Fan: I’ve never seen that much pubic hair on one face!

True Boston Fan: (After Jason Varitek hit a foul ball behind home plate) CHINESE HOME RUN!

Dodgers Fan: Man, free food at Dodgers Stadium. This shit is good.
True Boston Fan: Food’s alright, team still sucks!

Dumb Dodger Puta: The Red Sox suck!
True Boston Fan: Yeah, they sucked all the way to the World Series, honey!

Dodgers Fan: What the hell do Red Sox Fans do in the offseason?
True Boston Fan: Listen to a lot of Neil Diamond and watch the ‘86 World Series while we circle jerk with our own tears. What the fuck do you think?

A Mohel and his Meat

While visiting Massachusetts, I went with my friend, Bagel, to his weekly meeting with a local Rabbi. Bagel meets with the Rabbi to learn about the laws of Judaism, and I was fortunate enough to come in on a discussion of Kosher Laws.

A recent photo of the Rabbi

Everyone always asks me why Jews keep Kosher and if I’ve ever eaten bacon.
1. Jews keep Kosher because of laws set in place centuries ago to prevent illness due to the consumption of certain types of food, such as pork, shellfish, etc. (Plus, pigs are like superheroes to us…)
2. Yes, believe it or not, I’ve eaten bacon, ham, cheeseburgers, shrimp, lobster and anything else that blatantly breaks the Kosher laws. (You don’t have to keep Kosher to be considered a good Jew. Besides, we have the FDA now.)

So the Rabbi is teaching us about the Kosher laws, enlightening us on laws regarding the preparation of meat and reasoning for not being able to eat pork, shellfish and, yes, even human flesh. (That’s right, despite his delicious Plasma Noodle Soup with Matzah Ball recipe, Jeffrey Dahmer would not be considered Kosher.)

As I’m learning about these laws, I feel compelled to ask the Rabbi a question. I interrupt his explanation to say, “Excuse me, Rabbi. This is a random question, but I’ve been meaning to ask someone in your profession for a long time.”

Rabbi: “What is it you want to know?”
Me: “Well, here’s what I don’t understand. When I was younger, my cousin had his circumcision. My brother was his godfather and had to hold him while the Mohel did his things with the scissors.”
Rabbi: “Yes?”
Me: “Well, my brother’s holding my cousin, the mohel snips his tip and five minutes later, the entire family is eating a fresh tray of cold cuts. What’s the deal with this “snip-tip, eat-meat” tradition or can you at least tell me what goes best on a Kaiser roll with onion and tomato?”