ALL OF MIAMI POSTS
ADDED 10/22/12 4:42 EST
HEADED TO THE IMPROV
So yah, a quick post to let people know that I'm officially insane and taking this idea of "experience new things" and "put yourself out there" probably too far. I have signed up for an open mic night at the Miami Improv for tomorrow night (Tuesday). Yikes. Yes, I've pursued new things that I've been interested in since being in Miami, but I can take getting the crap kicked out me trying to learn BJJ much better than getting boo'd off a stage. A little background on why I am doing this: I did an open mic comedy night at JMU one time junior year. I've always loved stand up and think it is probably the coolest thing a person can do especially if they can get paid to do it. At the open mic I was really nervous, and did not invite or tell a single friend out of fear and embarrassment. I remember that I was lucky number 13 to go up and perform which is pretty terrible - I mean after sitting through 12 people (many of who absolutely bombed) I was convinced people were going to be so over it. By that time it had been over an hour and half of stand up virgins, some of who had 10+ min sets. Surprisingly though, pretty much everyone of my jokes got big laughs, and I was ecstatic. It was definitely in the top 3 experiences I had in college (clearly my college years were amazing) and I was convinced that I was going to pursue it actively. But such is life, it got pushed back, and pushed back, and pushed back and then it just became more of a far off fantasy than anything else. To be honest, I was being a pussy. I lived in one of biggest hot beds/opportunity filled places for comedy for four years and never even attempted to get on stage, what an idiot.
Then I was asked to be my brother's best man which was truly such an honor. I spent all my time planning and setting up the bachelor party, priorities, and didn't really think about the speech. I had a couple of ideas floating around, but didn't put pen to paper until two days before the wedding. I wrote my whole speech in about three hours and then put the finishing touches on it the following days. Brett's maid of honor had an awesome speech that people really enjoyed so the added pressure was on. For whatever reasons though, I was much more excited than nervous, and minus me tripping over my words a bit I thought it went great. People seemed to really dig it and I even got a standing O. A ton of people came up to me and told me how much they enjoyed it which was fucking awesome and some vindication that I could make people laugh. So after the positive reaction from the speech I am ready to get up in front of a crowd again and give my tasteless humor a go. I'm really embracing the idea of "Fuck it, if I bomb I never have to see these people again." Which is a great way to live your life I think, minus the personal shame that may ensue causing you to move to the mountains where you convince yourself that electricity is overrated. Big Bill is actually going to be in Miami so he is coming to the show and will record it, so I will post that on Wednesday. In the mean time, below is the best man speech, obviously there are some inside jokes, and I swear when I practiced it in the hotel room it was only 5 minutes, not 8 ugh. The screen starts off sideways and then rights itself a few seconds in. Big ups to Peck who recorded it
So yah, a quick post to let people know that I'm officially insane and taking this idea of "experience new things" and "put yourself out there" probably too far. I have signed up for an open mic night at the Miami Improv for tomorrow night (Tuesday). Yikes. Yes, I've pursued new things that I've been interested in since being in Miami, but I can take getting the crap kicked out me trying to learn BJJ much better than getting boo'd off a stage. A little background on why I am doing this: I did an open mic comedy night at JMU one time junior year. I've always loved stand up and think it is probably the coolest thing a person can do especially if they can get paid to do it. At the open mic I was really nervous, and did not invite or tell a single friend out of fear and embarrassment. I remember that I was lucky number 13 to go up and perform which is pretty terrible - I mean after sitting through 12 people (many of who absolutely bombed) I was convinced people were going to be so over it. By that time it had been over an hour and half of stand up virgins, some of who had 10+ min sets. Surprisingly though, pretty much everyone of my jokes got big laughs, and I was ecstatic. It was definitely in the top 3 experiences I had in college (clearly my college years were amazing) and I was convinced that I was going to pursue it actively. But such is life, it got pushed back, and pushed back, and pushed back and then it just became more of a far off fantasy than anything else. To be honest, I was being a pussy. I lived in one of biggest hot beds/opportunity filled places for comedy for four years and never even attempted to get on stage, what an idiot.
Then I was asked to be my brother's best man which was truly such an honor. I spent all my time planning and setting up the bachelor party, priorities, and didn't really think about the speech. I had a couple of ideas floating around, but didn't put pen to paper until two days before the wedding. I wrote my whole speech in about three hours and then put the finishing touches on it the following days. Brett's maid of honor had an awesome speech that people really enjoyed so the added pressure was on. For whatever reasons though, I was much more excited than nervous, and minus me tripping over my words a bit I thought it went great. People seemed to really dig it and I even got a standing O. A ton of people came up to me and told me how much they enjoyed it which was fucking awesome and some vindication that I could make people laugh. So after the positive reaction from the speech I am ready to get up in front of a crowd again and give my tasteless humor a go. I'm really embracing the idea of "Fuck it, if I bomb I never have to see these people again." Which is a great way to live your life I think, minus the personal shame that may ensue causing you to move to the mountains where you convince yourself that electricity is overrated. Big Bill is actually going to be in Miami so he is coming to the show and will record it, so I will post that on Wednesday. In the mean time, below is the best man speech, obviously there are some inside jokes, and I swear when I practiced it in the hotel room it was only 5 minutes, not 8 ugh. The screen starts off sideways and then rights itself a few seconds in. Big ups to Peck who recorded it
Added 10/18/12 12:28 pm EST
Krav Maga Mava Fuga
Just want to start by saying feel free to "Like" Follow Da Son on Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/followdason7?ref=ts&fref=ts) it will let you know every time there is a new post, that way you don't have to check back or wait for me text you or something.
Since people seem to enjoy a good “Matt gets the shit kicked out of him” story, and since it happened again last night, I will divulge.
So, as stated in the previous posts I’ve been practicing Brazilian Jiu Jitsu (supposedly you can spell it either way Ju or Jiu) for almost three weeks, and despite a terrible first week, ehem, my skills have slightly improved, and I at least can make it a few minutes now without getting tapped. What an animal. Unfortunately, 5th Street Gym only has BJJ three nights a week, and I’m really trying to stay dedicated to this live healthier/get in shape kick, so I’ve been going to classes six days a week, and going on a bunch of runs. So when BJJ is not available, I have to find three other classes to go to. I usually bounce around between boxing, kick boxing and Muay Thai. All three of these classes are great - ridiculous work outs, but in all three of these classes you have to practice for at least three months at the gym before they let you spar. This is definitely a good thing because when you spar you are actually throwing punches and kicks, and even though you are wearing head gear and gloves you can still get F’d up easily, especially with Muay Thai. So these classes are a lot of general strength and conditioning and hitting the bag or doing that thing where your partner is wearing those mitts and you are doing combinations. These classes are actually fun, and you relieve every ounce of stress in your body. So my first week here, I had heard of Krav Maga, but didn’t know a thing about it. Krav Maga is a eclectic fighting style developed in Israel that is based around real life self-defense with brutal counter attacks. Sounds awesome right? So I was all stoked for my first class and it turned out to be the lamest thing ever. It was essentially a glorified self-defense class for women, which is actually probably more up my alley. It was a lot of shadow boxing (where you punch air) a lot of “Now knee him in the groin” “Go for the testicles” etc. Very practical yes, but I’m trying to take down a bro with a round house kick to the FACE, not grab up on his balls. So, I didn’t go back and stuck to the other classes. Last night however, I was in a rush to go to Oktoberfest in North Miami Beach (we’ll get into that later) which is a 45 minute bus ride, so it was either Krav Maga, or nothing. So I reluctantly headed to the gym to learn a few more ways to attack a dudes nuts.
So before all these classes you wrap your hands and jump rope for five minutes to warm up. You do this typically before the instructor says anything and then after the 5 minutes the guy will start the class. So I wrap up and start jumping rope. While I’m doing this there is this guy in the front of the gym doing, what looks like a fast version of tai chi? He was doing it by himself in front of the mirror, and it wasn’t the slow graceful movements, it was rapid movements and he was accentuating every movement with a very loud grunt, or that loud “shh” sound that boxers make. So I make a mental note - found the crazy guy, make sure you don’t partner with him - and continued jumping. A couple minutes go by and I’m looking around for that skinny instructor to teach me more of the ancient martial art of ball tugging, and it was right around this time when the crazy dude in front of the gym screams “FALL IN!” What? Fall in? Everyone else jumping drops the ropes immediately and sprints to the front of the room. Ohhh so he means “fall in” like the Army, got it. I guess crazy here is our new instructor, so I drop my rope and do a half jog to the end of the line. This is not how I should of started the class.
Homeboy gives me a silent death stare for a good five seconds. Now from the back this guy didn’t look that big, but when you were up close you realize he was massive. Not tall, maybe 5’9’’-5’10’’, but built like a shit brick house. His chest had to of been 50+ inches and his arms were bigger than my thighs. He finally takes his death stare off of me, and starts to size up the class. He then yells, “Kyle! Front and center!” This young in shape kid runs to the front of the room and gets into a fighting stance. Dino, the instructor, gets into a fighting stance as well, does a neck roll, then screams “ATTACK!” I was blown away by what happened next.
This kid Kyle does not hold back at all, he goes full tilt at Dino. I mean he is trying to hurt him. Now I’ve seen UFC on tv and stuff, but I’ve never seen someone who knows how to handle themselves literally attack someone in person. This wasn’t some drunk brawl, this kid was throwing spinning back punches, kicks to the head, anything he could to hurt Dino. Honestly, for a solid 10 seconds Dino takes this punishment, blocking or absorbing everything he threw, then as if “play time was over” Dino catches his arm, hip tosses him where his back goes splat on the mat, then puts his foot in the back of Kyle’s shoulder and bends his arm back, until Kyle taps furiously. My jaw dropped to floor. WTF? Did that just happen? Kyle limps back in line, and Dino exclaims “NEVER BE THE VICTIM, REPEAT IT!” “NEVER BE THE VICTIM” “IF SOMEONE ATTACKS ME, I WILL MAKE THEM PAY!” “IF SOMEONE ATTACKS ME, I WILL MAKE THEM PAY!” He had a couple more of these lines, that were actually really cool - it was like a mix of Full Metal Jacket and the Karate Kid where the bad sensei is yelling at his pupils. Anyways, after he lifted his leg on the class and made sure we knew who was alpha dog, we paired up for drills. Now I don’t know what they put in the water here, but everyone that goes to this gym is short. 99% of the time I am the only person in the gym over 6 foot and over 200lbs, so pretty much every class I get partnered with the instructor, which effin’ sucks. You can’t half ass anything, and if you aren’t doing the drill perfect you get hassled. And every time they are like “I got big boy” or “I’ll take big guy” and each time I’m like “FUCK.” They think I have some chip on my shoulder or something because I’m the biggest guy there, and I’m thinking “Dude, I’m just trying to make it through this class without a dislocated shoulder or ruptured spleen.” So sure enough Dino takes “big boy” and this time I’m like “FUUCCKK!!!”. Homie beats me like I was a guy who slapped around his mom. I was just absolutely abused. Since it’s Krav Maga, there is a lot of grabbing and throwing. He did not hold back. Even though your getting thrown on a mat, the mat is maybe a inch thick with cement under it, so it is beyond painful. When I wasn’t getting thrown to the mat I was having my neck bent back so far it could touch my butthole. I was in so much agony I was contemplating faking a broken toe or something to get out of class. It was that bad.
So somehow I make it through the first 40 minutes class maintaining the ability to walk. Then we start the real life self-defense against, “Choking”. Now when I say choking, I’m not talking about being put into a head lock or something like that, I’m talking about both hands wrapped around your throat choking. So, Dino squares up against me and simply says “Choke Me”. Since I am normal human being my gut reaction is, “Uh no”. But I realize no is not an acceptable answer, so I wrap my hands around his throat, (which is so weird, like seriously how has anyone strangled anyone in the history of the world) and I apply some pressure. He smacks my arms away and gives me a “You’ve got to be kidding me” look. Man, I wish I could remember it word for word, but he gave me the greatest phrase ever - something along the lines of “That was a massage. My wife gives me massages and hand jobs, so unless you are going to give me a hand job, don’t give me a massage”. HYSTERICAL. He was like “Dig your thumbs into my Adams apple and CHOKE ME!” So I did exactly that, and the technique he teaches is freakin' awesome. Essentially you break the choke and the dudes thumbs at the same time, really cool. So after he shows me the technique a few times it’s my turn. And I didn’t have to give him some witty quip to get him in the mood, he just went ahead and choked me. Hard. It really freakin’ hurt, but I did the technique and sure enough it worked like a charm. It was kind of weird, you get this burst of adrenaline and exhilaration of “Oh shit someone is choking me better do something” and then the technique stops it immediately. So we do this exercise 10 or so more times and then finally the class is over. All in all the class was actually really cool, learned a whole lot, and came out feeling a lot tougher.
I limp home trying to move as fast as I can so I can catch the early bus to North Miami Beach for Oktoberfest. Shower, change, throw on clothes and head out the door to the bus stop. Hop on the bus, and 45 minutes later I arrive at Oktoberfest. First things first, any “Oktoberfest” celebration with palm trees is just strange, but it was a pretty cool event. There were tons of people, live music, 15 food trucks, beer, booze and it was all outside in this park and small community amphitheater. Then there were all the surrounding bars and restaurants that people would walk in and out of. This is where I went to Lou’s Beer Garden, where it is like your typical beer garden, but with a pool in the middle of it. I can only imagine what it’s like during the day with wasted people swimming in it. So as I’m walking around I am noticing that all these beautiful babies are checking out Matty C! I’m like “Alriiight, my fresh haircut and this whole working out thing is really starting to pay off.” Walk around some more, and sure enough the stares keep coming my way. Sweeet, I’m definitely going to get some lovin’ tonight! But I’ve had a couple beers and I clearly learned my lesson from last Saturday so I head to the bathroom. As I’m washing my hands, I do a quick check out in the mirror to make sure everything is in order.
WTF IS THAT? Yeep, I have a MASSIVE bruise that goes across my whole neck. Ugh. So no stud muffin, you weren’t getting stares because these biddys wanted a piece, they were staring because you look like a failed rapist. Nothing arouses a girl more than the look that says “Hey! I’m going to attack you, but don’t worry you’ll get away because I’m really bad at it”. Son of a. It’s at this point that I realize I should hop back on the bus and nurse my wounds. Enjoy the pictures below!
Just want to start by saying feel free to "Like" Follow Da Son on Facebook (http://www.facebook.com/followdason7?ref=ts&fref=ts) it will let you know every time there is a new post, that way you don't have to check back or wait for me text you or something.
Since people seem to enjoy a good “Matt gets the shit kicked out of him” story, and since it happened again last night, I will divulge.
So, as stated in the previous posts I’ve been practicing Brazilian Jiu Jitsu (supposedly you can spell it either way Ju or Jiu) for almost three weeks, and despite a terrible first week, ehem, my skills have slightly improved, and I at least can make it a few minutes now without getting tapped. What an animal. Unfortunately, 5th Street Gym only has BJJ three nights a week, and I’m really trying to stay dedicated to this live healthier/get in shape kick, so I’ve been going to classes six days a week, and going on a bunch of runs. So when BJJ is not available, I have to find three other classes to go to. I usually bounce around between boxing, kick boxing and Muay Thai. All three of these classes are great - ridiculous work outs, but in all three of these classes you have to practice for at least three months at the gym before they let you spar. This is definitely a good thing because when you spar you are actually throwing punches and kicks, and even though you are wearing head gear and gloves you can still get F’d up easily, especially with Muay Thai. So these classes are a lot of general strength and conditioning and hitting the bag or doing that thing where your partner is wearing those mitts and you are doing combinations. These classes are actually fun, and you relieve every ounce of stress in your body. So my first week here, I had heard of Krav Maga, but didn’t know a thing about it. Krav Maga is a eclectic fighting style developed in Israel that is based around real life self-defense with brutal counter attacks. Sounds awesome right? So I was all stoked for my first class and it turned out to be the lamest thing ever. It was essentially a glorified self-defense class for women, which is actually probably more up my alley. It was a lot of shadow boxing (where you punch air) a lot of “Now knee him in the groin” “Go for the testicles” etc. Very practical yes, but I’m trying to take down a bro with a round house kick to the FACE, not grab up on his balls. So, I didn’t go back and stuck to the other classes. Last night however, I was in a rush to go to Oktoberfest in North Miami Beach (we’ll get into that later) which is a 45 minute bus ride, so it was either Krav Maga, or nothing. So I reluctantly headed to the gym to learn a few more ways to attack a dudes nuts.
So before all these classes you wrap your hands and jump rope for five minutes to warm up. You do this typically before the instructor says anything and then after the 5 minutes the guy will start the class. So I wrap up and start jumping rope. While I’m doing this there is this guy in the front of the gym doing, what looks like a fast version of tai chi? He was doing it by himself in front of the mirror, and it wasn’t the slow graceful movements, it was rapid movements and he was accentuating every movement with a very loud grunt, or that loud “shh” sound that boxers make. So I make a mental note - found the crazy guy, make sure you don’t partner with him - and continued jumping. A couple minutes go by and I’m looking around for that skinny instructor to teach me more of the ancient martial art of ball tugging, and it was right around this time when the crazy dude in front of the gym screams “FALL IN!” What? Fall in? Everyone else jumping drops the ropes immediately and sprints to the front of the room. Ohhh so he means “fall in” like the Army, got it. I guess crazy here is our new instructor, so I drop my rope and do a half jog to the end of the line. This is not how I should of started the class.
Homeboy gives me a silent death stare for a good five seconds. Now from the back this guy didn’t look that big, but when you were up close you realize he was massive. Not tall, maybe 5’9’’-5’10’’, but built like a shit brick house. His chest had to of been 50+ inches and his arms were bigger than my thighs. He finally takes his death stare off of me, and starts to size up the class. He then yells, “Kyle! Front and center!” This young in shape kid runs to the front of the room and gets into a fighting stance. Dino, the instructor, gets into a fighting stance as well, does a neck roll, then screams “ATTACK!” I was blown away by what happened next.
This kid Kyle does not hold back at all, he goes full tilt at Dino. I mean he is trying to hurt him. Now I’ve seen UFC on tv and stuff, but I’ve never seen someone who knows how to handle themselves literally attack someone in person. This wasn’t some drunk brawl, this kid was throwing spinning back punches, kicks to the head, anything he could to hurt Dino. Honestly, for a solid 10 seconds Dino takes this punishment, blocking or absorbing everything he threw, then as if “play time was over” Dino catches his arm, hip tosses him where his back goes splat on the mat, then puts his foot in the back of Kyle’s shoulder and bends his arm back, until Kyle taps furiously. My jaw dropped to floor. WTF? Did that just happen? Kyle limps back in line, and Dino exclaims “NEVER BE THE VICTIM, REPEAT IT!” “NEVER BE THE VICTIM” “IF SOMEONE ATTACKS ME, I WILL MAKE THEM PAY!” “IF SOMEONE ATTACKS ME, I WILL MAKE THEM PAY!” He had a couple more of these lines, that were actually really cool - it was like a mix of Full Metal Jacket and the Karate Kid where the bad sensei is yelling at his pupils. Anyways, after he lifted his leg on the class and made sure we knew who was alpha dog, we paired up for drills. Now I don’t know what they put in the water here, but everyone that goes to this gym is short. 99% of the time I am the only person in the gym over 6 foot and over 200lbs, so pretty much every class I get partnered with the instructor, which effin’ sucks. You can’t half ass anything, and if you aren’t doing the drill perfect you get hassled. And every time they are like “I got big boy” or “I’ll take big guy” and each time I’m like “FUCK.” They think I have some chip on my shoulder or something because I’m the biggest guy there, and I’m thinking “Dude, I’m just trying to make it through this class without a dislocated shoulder or ruptured spleen.” So sure enough Dino takes “big boy” and this time I’m like “FUUCCKK!!!”. Homie beats me like I was a guy who slapped around his mom. I was just absolutely abused. Since it’s Krav Maga, there is a lot of grabbing and throwing. He did not hold back. Even though your getting thrown on a mat, the mat is maybe a inch thick with cement under it, so it is beyond painful. When I wasn’t getting thrown to the mat I was having my neck bent back so far it could touch my butthole. I was in so much agony I was contemplating faking a broken toe or something to get out of class. It was that bad.
So somehow I make it through the first 40 minutes class maintaining the ability to walk. Then we start the real life self-defense against, “Choking”. Now when I say choking, I’m not talking about being put into a head lock or something like that, I’m talking about both hands wrapped around your throat choking. So, Dino squares up against me and simply says “Choke Me”. Since I am normal human being my gut reaction is, “Uh no”. But I realize no is not an acceptable answer, so I wrap my hands around his throat, (which is so weird, like seriously how has anyone strangled anyone in the history of the world) and I apply some pressure. He smacks my arms away and gives me a “You’ve got to be kidding me” look. Man, I wish I could remember it word for word, but he gave me the greatest phrase ever - something along the lines of “That was a massage. My wife gives me massages and hand jobs, so unless you are going to give me a hand job, don’t give me a massage”. HYSTERICAL. He was like “Dig your thumbs into my Adams apple and CHOKE ME!” So I did exactly that, and the technique he teaches is freakin' awesome. Essentially you break the choke and the dudes thumbs at the same time, really cool. So after he shows me the technique a few times it’s my turn. And I didn’t have to give him some witty quip to get him in the mood, he just went ahead and choked me. Hard. It really freakin’ hurt, but I did the technique and sure enough it worked like a charm. It was kind of weird, you get this burst of adrenaline and exhilaration of “Oh shit someone is choking me better do something” and then the technique stops it immediately. So we do this exercise 10 or so more times and then finally the class is over. All in all the class was actually really cool, learned a whole lot, and came out feeling a lot tougher.
I limp home trying to move as fast as I can so I can catch the early bus to North Miami Beach for Oktoberfest. Shower, change, throw on clothes and head out the door to the bus stop. Hop on the bus, and 45 minutes later I arrive at Oktoberfest. First things first, any “Oktoberfest” celebration with palm trees is just strange, but it was a pretty cool event. There were tons of people, live music, 15 food trucks, beer, booze and it was all outside in this park and small community amphitheater. Then there were all the surrounding bars and restaurants that people would walk in and out of. This is where I went to Lou’s Beer Garden, where it is like your typical beer garden, but with a pool in the middle of it. I can only imagine what it’s like during the day with wasted people swimming in it. So as I’m walking around I am noticing that all these beautiful babies are checking out Matty C! I’m like “Alriiight, my fresh haircut and this whole working out thing is really starting to pay off.” Walk around some more, and sure enough the stares keep coming my way. Sweeet, I’m definitely going to get some lovin’ tonight! But I’ve had a couple beers and I clearly learned my lesson from last Saturday so I head to the bathroom. As I’m washing my hands, I do a quick check out in the mirror to make sure everything is in order.
WTF IS THAT? Yeep, I have a MASSIVE bruise that goes across my whole neck. Ugh. So no stud muffin, you weren’t getting stares because these biddys wanted a piece, they were staring because you look like a failed rapist. Nothing arouses a girl more than the look that says “Hey! I’m going to attack you, but don’t worry you’ll get away because I’m really bad at it”. Son of a. It’s at this point that I realize I should hop back on the bus and nurse my wounds. Enjoy the pictures below!
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Added 3:51 pm 10/14/12
“You in the yellow shirt! Stop!”
A few notes about the Grovetoberfest beer festival before getting into the story. First off it was awesome. There were just under 6,000 tickets sold and people were everywhere. One of my favorite things about beer festivals are the crowds that it brings - everyone is super friendly and everyone is there strictly to have a good time. They typically last three hours or so and people get absolutely hammered yet I have never seen a fight break out, which is pretty incredible when you think about it. Miami gave a new spin to an event that is typically held indoors at a huge convention center or something of the sort. You could not have asked for a prettier setting - Peacock Park is right on Biscayne Bay which gave incredible "palm tree in front of water" views and an awesome breeze. The humidity was mild and the temperature was mid 80’s. In the beginning of the festival (4pm) the sun was a little bright, but there was plenty of shaded areas, and when 5 o’ clock rolled around it was perfect. Other than the setting being absolutely ideal, the other cool thing about this beer fest is that it had a ton of Southern breweries that I have never even heard of before (www.grovetoberfest.com/the-event/beer-list). With any circumstance like that yes, some beers were pretty bad, but surprisingly most of them were delicious. There was even a brew called “A Gentleman and A Scholar IPA” which was pretty awesome because that was our moniker for DeMatha High School. The bands that played were really good, the beers were cold and very few ran out, all in all it was amazing. For me it was definitely in the top 2 festivals I’ve ever been to.
So I will preface with I suggest you read the post “Pretzel Madness” before reading this one so you can get an idea of the situation. Long story short, I wore two pretzel necklaces into the beer fest, and people were freaking out about it, acting like it was the greatest thing to ever happen to Miami. All this unprovoked attention was really strange and awkward at first, I mean I have never been in a situation where literally 100’s of people were complementing me about something, but as the beers went down more easily so did my inhibitions, and I started to embrace it a little.
Now one thing is for sure, Miami has some of the hottest women to ever walk the planet. I mean, my God, not only are they effin gorgeous but for the most part they are friendly and approachable. Every single beer fest I have ever been to has been dominated by dudes with a sprinkle of girlfriends that got dragged along for the ride. Grovetoberfest was the furthest from the case. According to their website women bought more tickets than men, 60/40 and it certainly felt that way. The beer fest looked like it was doubling as a convention for tight tank tops, mini skirts, and big sunglasses enthusiasts. I mean every biddy in there was 23, tanned, toned, and just simply hot. It was sweet.
Now this pretzel necklace was working like moths to a flame. I had more conversations within those three hours with girls completely out of my league than I probably have had in my whole life. Since there were just shy of 6,000 people you would have to wait in a two minute line for most of the beers. This wasn’t bad at all because you would just sip your beer that you had just gotten before and by the time it was your turn you had just finished, so you could fill up your next beer. So while in line everyone would make small talk and essentially every instance was on repeat and happened as such:
Babe: OH MY GOD I LOVE YOUR NECKLACE!!
Me: Thanks
Babe: Can I have one your pretzels?
Me: No, I only have a few left.
Babe: Pleasee.
Me: Fine, take one.
Babe: These are my friends, insert hot girls name, insert hot girls name, insert hot girls name.
Me: Nice to meet you guys, do you live around here?
Babe: Yah we go to the U. (which is the University of Miami)
Me: Oh cool, Sean Taylor.
Now I said this, one because I was a huge Sean Taylor fan and two I got a big kick out of the fact that these young ladies had absolutely no idea who he was, even though he was one of the best safeties to ever play at Miami.
Babe: Who?
Me: Nevermind.
Babe: What about you? Do you live around here?
Me: Yah, I just moved here from New York City, I live on the beach. (This is the phrase I was told to use since no local says South Beach)
Babe: Oh my god, I love the beach!
And then they would ramble on about their favorite clubs, which beach they go to, and how her best friend bartends at blah blah blah. The whole time I am just trying to not be too obvious that I am just blatantly staring at her friends body. Got to love reflective sunglasses! Yes, I know I am a total dude.
This carried on for the 2 minute line, you would then fill up your tasting glass again, say “Well it was nice meeting you” and head to the next brewery tent, and repeat. Very fun, very light.
Something to keep in mind, I was so busy trying to get the effing pretzel necklaces done I completely skipped out on eating breakfast or lunch, and just assumed I would buy food at the festival since I would be flushed with cash from all the awesome profits from the necklace selling. Riiight. I was now in the hole for the day and they were selling $14 dollar cheeseburgers. Hmm yah, I’ll wait till I get back and get an amazing burrito from Taco Cantina for $5. So needless to say when 6 o’ clock rolled around I was feeling no pain, and had a grand illusion of swagger working. It was right around this time that I met Gretchen, who, terrible name aside, was a stunner. Really nice, really friendly, laughed at all my terrible jokes, I was in love. She was third wheeling with her girl friend who we will call Weepy, because for the hour and a half I knew her she was crying for at least 50 of the minutes. Her boyfriend, we’ll refer to him as Sorry because he was pleading the entire time “I swear to God, she is just my friend, I barely talk to her.” Ah, gotta love relationships.
So it was now myself, Gretchen, Weepy, and Sorry walking around the festival and conversating. Turns out Gretchen and I had a lot in common, she was born and raised in Brooklyn and then moved to Miami for college and studied film. She now bounces around the few production assistant jobs available in Miami and serves at a restaurant in Coconut Grove. She is planning to move back to New York in a couple of years, but she can’t leave Miami because she is in love with the beach and the weather. Very cool chick. Oh yah and she has a tattoo sleeve. Now my mother, along with probably every other female in my family, is rolling her eyes right now - Yes, I am a complete sucker for a babe with a tattoo sleeve, and hers was actually really awesome - a lot of bright colors and really femine. Whatever, don’t judge me :)
Anyways, the festival shuts down promptly at 7pm, but Gretchen lives about 2 miles away and has invited all of us back to her place. Jackpot. Walking out of the festival I think to myself, hmm I have to go pee, but all the port-a-potties have a line four people deep and besides we are just hopping in a cab and we will be back at her apartment in no time. Sure enough, the outside is a mob scene with at least a hundred person line for a cab. So we decide to just walk back to her place. Shit.
So we are walking on the main drag of Coconut Grove and I realize this is the street that the shuttle took to us from the Metro Rail. We are walking on the side walk with hundreds of other people along the four lane road. I probably make it a mile before I really have to pee. Two problems, the sidewalk is very populated and very wide and there are no businesses around to duck into a bathroom. So after walking a little further, I opt to go behind a tree. Unfortunately this was not a wooded area and even though there were some trees, they were single plotted and very close to the road. But I really have to go so screw it, I don’t care if the people see me pee. I tell Gretchen to keep on walking and I will catch up. I walk behind a tree and start the process of relief. However, it is difficult to concentrate because the road is really close and drunks dudes are calling me out, and I over hear girls say “Oh my God, is that guy peeing?!”. Yes I am peeing, deal with it. So it takes about 45 seconds to get over the stage fright, and not to be gross, I’ve been drinking all day so I was peeing for a solid minute, right as I am about to finish, I am blinded. Yep, a cop out of nowhere has his spotlight on me and I hear on his loud speaker “YOU IN THE YELLOW SHIRT WALK TOWARDS THE CAR NOW!” Now what happened next I am still trying to dissect.
Panic started to set in. I am so drunk and I can’t believe I am about to get a ticket for public urination and probably drunk in public. This is really going to suck. I’m not sure what made me do it, but the genius thought of RUN came to the forefront of appropriate reactions to this situation. Sure enough, I flip off my loafers (which are my DC shoe loafers which are essentially slippers) pick them up and I bolt barefoot down the bicycle lane of the road. Now anyone who has ever ran from the cops in college or in high school, knows there are a couple things going through your head. First of which is: there is no effing way they can catch me. This sense was heightened tenfold by my extreme intoxication and the fact that I really do run 4-5 miles almost daily. Now I run these 4-5 miles sub 9 minute miles, which is absolutely terrible by any serious runner standards, but not utterly horrible for your average Joe. I drunkly deduced that I could sprint the two miles to the Metro Rail and be safe and sound. So as soon as I take off I hear the cop jump out of his car and see his flash light bouncing all over the road in front of me. The chase is on.
He keeps yelling “YOU IN THE YELLOW SHIRT STOP NOW!” Granted I do have on a obnoxiously yellow shirt that is really closer to a fluorescent and could be seen from a mile away. So using my amazing drunk logic again, I rip off my shirt and continue down the road topless. I mean a guy with no shirt is way harder to spot than a guy with a fluorescent shirt, right? It is about this point that I pass my new friends Gretchen, Weepy and Sorry running for my life. As I pass, I hear Sorry go “What the fuck?!” I would give anything to know what was going through their heads at the time. Now I have heard of the phenomenon drunk strength, but I had pure drunk speed. I ran faster than I ever had before. The only thing that was pumping through my veins was alcohol and adrenaline. My senses were numb, my feet felt no pain, and I was just in a drunken trance of speed and fear. The cop had no shot. He did run after me for at least a half mile, which is actually a really long time when you think about it - somewhere in the region of three and a half to four minutes. Even after the cop was long gone I did not slow down and continued my run to the Metro Rail station. Miraculously, I made it there not in hand cuffs, and without a piece of 3 inch glass in my foot. I fought the law and I won! Kerry Collins, I know you are super proud of your TWENTY EIGHT year old son.
Of course, I have no idea what Gretchen’s last name is or remember what restaurant she worked at, or have her number or anything of the sort. So I take solace in that the last time she ever laid her eyes on Matty C was me dead sprinting barefoot, shirtless, with my loafers in one hand and my tshirt in the other, with a cop in hot pursuit. It’s pretty romantic really.
A few notes about the Grovetoberfest beer festival before getting into the story. First off it was awesome. There were just under 6,000 tickets sold and people were everywhere. One of my favorite things about beer festivals are the crowds that it brings - everyone is super friendly and everyone is there strictly to have a good time. They typically last three hours or so and people get absolutely hammered yet I have never seen a fight break out, which is pretty incredible when you think about it. Miami gave a new spin to an event that is typically held indoors at a huge convention center or something of the sort. You could not have asked for a prettier setting - Peacock Park is right on Biscayne Bay which gave incredible "palm tree in front of water" views and an awesome breeze. The humidity was mild and the temperature was mid 80’s. In the beginning of the festival (4pm) the sun was a little bright, but there was plenty of shaded areas, and when 5 o’ clock rolled around it was perfect. Other than the setting being absolutely ideal, the other cool thing about this beer fest is that it had a ton of Southern breweries that I have never even heard of before (www.grovetoberfest.com/the-event/beer-list). With any circumstance like that yes, some beers were pretty bad, but surprisingly most of them were delicious. There was even a brew called “A Gentleman and A Scholar IPA” which was pretty awesome because that was our moniker for DeMatha High School. The bands that played were really good, the beers were cold and very few ran out, all in all it was amazing. For me it was definitely in the top 2 festivals I’ve ever been to.
So I will preface with I suggest you read the post “Pretzel Madness” before reading this one so you can get an idea of the situation. Long story short, I wore two pretzel necklaces into the beer fest, and people were freaking out about it, acting like it was the greatest thing to ever happen to Miami. All this unprovoked attention was really strange and awkward at first, I mean I have never been in a situation where literally 100’s of people were complementing me about something, but as the beers went down more easily so did my inhibitions, and I started to embrace it a little.
Now one thing is for sure, Miami has some of the hottest women to ever walk the planet. I mean, my God, not only are they effin gorgeous but for the most part they are friendly and approachable. Every single beer fest I have ever been to has been dominated by dudes with a sprinkle of girlfriends that got dragged along for the ride. Grovetoberfest was the furthest from the case. According to their website women bought more tickets than men, 60/40 and it certainly felt that way. The beer fest looked like it was doubling as a convention for tight tank tops, mini skirts, and big sunglasses enthusiasts. I mean every biddy in there was 23, tanned, toned, and just simply hot. It was sweet.
Now this pretzel necklace was working like moths to a flame. I had more conversations within those three hours with girls completely out of my league than I probably have had in my whole life. Since there were just shy of 6,000 people you would have to wait in a two minute line for most of the beers. This wasn’t bad at all because you would just sip your beer that you had just gotten before and by the time it was your turn you had just finished, so you could fill up your next beer. So while in line everyone would make small talk and essentially every instance was on repeat and happened as such:
Babe: OH MY GOD I LOVE YOUR NECKLACE!!
Me: Thanks
Babe: Can I have one your pretzels?
Me: No, I only have a few left.
Babe: Pleasee.
Me: Fine, take one.
Babe: These are my friends, insert hot girls name, insert hot girls name, insert hot girls name.
Me: Nice to meet you guys, do you live around here?
Babe: Yah we go to the U. (which is the University of Miami)
Me: Oh cool, Sean Taylor.
Now I said this, one because I was a huge Sean Taylor fan and two I got a big kick out of the fact that these young ladies had absolutely no idea who he was, even though he was one of the best safeties to ever play at Miami.
Babe: Who?
Me: Nevermind.
Babe: What about you? Do you live around here?
Me: Yah, I just moved here from New York City, I live on the beach. (This is the phrase I was told to use since no local says South Beach)
Babe: Oh my god, I love the beach!
And then they would ramble on about their favorite clubs, which beach they go to, and how her best friend bartends at blah blah blah. The whole time I am just trying to not be too obvious that I am just blatantly staring at her friends body. Got to love reflective sunglasses! Yes, I know I am a total dude.
This carried on for the 2 minute line, you would then fill up your tasting glass again, say “Well it was nice meeting you” and head to the next brewery tent, and repeat. Very fun, very light.
Something to keep in mind, I was so busy trying to get the effing pretzel necklaces done I completely skipped out on eating breakfast or lunch, and just assumed I would buy food at the festival since I would be flushed with cash from all the awesome profits from the necklace selling. Riiight. I was now in the hole for the day and they were selling $14 dollar cheeseburgers. Hmm yah, I’ll wait till I get back and get an amazing burrito from Taco Cantina for $5. So needless to say when 6 o’ clock rolled around I was feeling no pain, and had a grand illusion of swagger working. It was right around this time that I met Gretchen, who, terrible name aside, was a stunner. Really nice, really friendly, laughed at all my terrible jokes, I was in love. She was third wheeling with her girl friend who we will call Weepy, because for the hour and a half I knew her she was crying for at least 50 of the minutes. Her boyfriend, we’ll refer to him as Sorry because he was pleading the entire time “I swear to God, she is just my friend, I barely talk to her.” Ah, gotta love relationships.
So it was now myself, Gretchen, Weepy, and Sorry walking around the festival and conversating. Turns out Gretchen and I had a lot in common, she was born and raised in Brooklyn and then moved to Miami for college and studied film. She now bounces around the few production assistant jobs available in Miami and serves at a restaurant in Coconut Grove. She is planning to move back to New York in a couple of years, but she can’t leave Miami because she is in love with the beach and the weather. Very cool chick. Oh yah and she has a tattoo sleeve. Now my mother, along with probably every other female in my family, is rolling her eyes right now - Yes, I am a complete sucker for a babe with a tattoo sleeve, and hers was actually really awesome - a lot of bright colors and really femine. Whatever, don’t judge me :)
Anyways, the festival shuts down promptly at 7pm, but Gretchen lives about 2 miles away and has invited all of us back to her place. Jackpot. Walking out of the festival I think to myself, hmm I have to go pee, but all the port-a-potties have a line four people deep and besides we are just hopping in a cab and we will be back at her apartment in no time. Sure enough, the outside is a mob scene with at least a hundred person line for a cab. So we decide to just walk back to her place. Shit.
So we are walking on the main drag of Coconut Grove and I realize this is the street that the shuttle took to us from the Metro Rail. We are walking on the side walk with hundreds of other people along the four lane road. I probably make it a mile before I really have to pee. Two problems, the sidewalk is very populated and very wide and there are no businesses around to duck into a bathroom. So after walking a little further, I opt to go behind a tree. Unfortunately this was not a wooded area and even though there were some trees, they were single plotted and very close to the road. But I really have to go so screw it, I don’t care if the people see me pee. I tell Gretchen to keep on walking and I will catch up. I walk behind a tree and start the process of relief. However, it is difficult to concentrate because the road is really close and drunks dudes are calling me out, and I over hear girls say “Oh my God, is that guy peeing?!”. Yes I am peeing, deal with it. So it takes about 45 seconds to get over the stage fright, and not to be gross, I’ve been drinking all day so I was peeing for a solid minute, right as I am about to finish, I am blinded. Yep, a cop out of nowhere has his spotlight on me and I hear on his loud speaker “YOU IN THE YELLOW SHIRT WALK TOWARDS THE CAR NOW!” Now what happened next I am still trying to dissect.
Panic started to set in. I am so drunk and I can’t believe I am about to get a ticket for public urination and probably drunk in public. This is really going to suck. I’m not sure what made me do it, but the genius thought of RUN came to the forefront of appropriate reactions to this situation. Sure enough, I flip off my loafers (which are my DC shoe loafers which are essentially slippers) pick them up and I bolt barefoot down the bicycle lane of the road. Now anyone who has ever ran from the cops in college or in high school, knows there are a couple things going through your head. First of which is: there is no effing way they can catch me. This sense was heightened tenfold by my extreme intoxication and the fact that I really do run 4-5 miles almost daily. Now I run these 4-5 miles sub 9 minute miles, which is absolutely terrible by any serious runner standards, but not utterly horrible for your average Joe. I drunkly deduced that I could sprint the two miles to the Metro Rail and be safe and sound. So as soon as I take off I hear the cop jump out of his car and see his flash light bouncing all over the road in front of me. The chase is on.
He keeps yelling “YOU IN THE YELLOW SHIRT STOP NOW!” Granted I do have on a obnoxiously yellow shirt that is really closer to a fluorescent and could be seen from a mile away. So using my amazing drunk logic again, I rip off my shirt and continue down the road topless. I mean a guy with no shirt is way harder to spot than a guy with a fluorescent shirt, right? It is about this point that I pass my new friends Gretchen, Weepy and Sorry running for my life. As I pass, I hear Sorry go “What the fuck?!” I would give anything to know what was going through their heads at the time. Now I have heard of the phenomenon drunk strength, but I had pure drunk speed. I ran faster than I ever had before. The only thing that was pumping through my veins was alcohol and adrenaline. My senses were numb, my feet felt no pain, and I was just in a drunken trance of speed and fear. The cop had no shot. He did run after me for at least a half mile, which is actually a really long time when you think about it - somewhere in the region of three and a half to four minutes. Even after the cop was long gone I did not slow down and continued my run to the Metro Rail station. Miraculously, I made it there not in hand cuffs, and without a piece of 3 inch glass in my foot. I fought the law and I won! Kerry Collins, I know you are super proud of your TWENTY EIGHT year old son.
Of course, I have no idea what Gretchen’s last name is or remember what restaurant she worked at, or have her number or anything of the sort. So I take solace in that the last time she ever laid her eyes on Matty C was me dead sprinting barefoot, shirtless, with my loafers in one hand and my tshirt in the other, with a cop in hot pursuit. It’s pretty romantic really.
Added 10:40 am 10/14/12
Pretzel Madness
Yesterday was Grovetoberfest in Coconut Grove. I’ve been looking forward to this ever since I committed to Miami for October and it certainly did not disappoint. Anyone who knows me knows that I absolutely love craft beer festivals. It is probably my favorite social activity because it combines my love for outdoor day drinking (sounds a little alcoholic-y) and trying new craft beers. I was a bit skeptical before hand because there are a lot of great things about Miami, however it is seriously lacking in the craft beer scene. There is only one brewery in South Florida called the Abbey (I’ll post about that another time) and very few bars offer a decent selection of craft beer. For the most part, the few places that offer any type of craft beer stick to the big names like Dogfish Head, Magic Hat, Brooklyn Brewery, etc. So I wasn’t really expecting much.
On Friday night I got out of Brazilian Ju Jitsu (I can hear the snickering from Miami you a-holes. And yes I have gotten better, and yes the girl only taps me out half as much as she used to) around 10pm, and headed back to my apartment. On the walk home I was thinking about the beer festival and wondering if it was going to be awesome or going to be lame. Got back to the apartment and went on their website to check it out some more. Turns out they updated their homepage and were talking about how they sold more tickets than they did last year, and how it was going to be a much bigger turn out. Then I read that last year they had 5,000 people! Holy shit that is a lot of freaking people for a beer fest. I went to the Great American Beerfest in Boston a couple years ago and they dubbed themselves as one of the largest in America and that was only 4,000 people. So now I was really stoked for tomorrow. Then I got to thinking, how could I capitalize on 5,000 people. There has to be something that 5,000 beer enthusiasts would want that I could sell. And the first idea that came to my head was a seemingly doable one.
As stated previously I have been to a ton of craft beer festivals all over the North East (which I feel like has the most beer enthusiasts with maybe exception to parts of California and Portland, Oregon) and every time I go there are a handful of people that would have necklaces made out of ribbon with 20 or so small pretzels. And as we all know there is something amazing about the saltiness of a pretzel with a cold beer, especially when it is a craft beer. Every time I saw that I always thought “What a great idea, next beer festival I go to I am definitely going to do that.” And every time I forget to and kick myself when I show up and see a dude wearing one. So that’s it - I could make a shit load of pretzel necklaces and sell them outside of the beer fest when people are walking in. Perfect. It will be easy to do, it will be cheap and I will be able to pull it off in the next 18 hours.
At this time it’s probably 10:30 pm, I hop in the shower, throw on clothes, grab my big roller suitcase and head to the Publix (the Florida grocery chain) a few blocks from my apartment. I’m walking briskly because I know that it closes at 11. Get there with 5 minutes to spare and find the pretzel section. As luck would have it they have a deal going for buy 2 one pound bags for $5. Perfect, this is starting to feel like this is meant to be. I load up my cart with 14 one pound bags and ask an employee if they have anymore in the back.
Yesterday was Grovetoberfest in Coconut Grove. I’ve been looking forward to this ever since I committed to Miami for October and it certainly did not disappoint. Anyone who knows me knows that I absolutely love craft beer festivals. It is probably my favorite social activity because it combines my love for outdoor day drinking (sounds a little alcoholic-y) and trying new craft beers. I was a bit skeptical before hand because there are a lot of great things about Miami, however it is seriously lacking in the craft beer scene. There is only one brewery in South Florida called the Abbey (I’ll post about that another time) and very few bars offer a decent selection of craft beer. For the most part, the few places that offer any type of craft beer stick to the big names like Dogfish Head, Magic Hat, Brooklyn Brewery, etc. So I wasn’t really expecting much.
On Friday night I got out of Brazilian Ju Jitsu (I can hear the snickering from Miami you a-holes. And yes I have gotten better, and yes the girl only taps me out half as much as she used to) around 10pm, and headed back to my apartment. On the walk home I was thinking about the beer festival and wondering if it was going to be awesome or going to be lame. Got back to the apartment and went on their website to check it out some more. Turns out they updated their homepage and were talking about how they sold more tickets than they did last year, and how it was going to be a much bigger turn out. Then I read that last year they had 5,000 people! Holy shit that is a lot of freaking people for a beer fest. I went to the Great American Beerfest in Boston a couple years ago and they dubbed themselves as one of the largest in America and that was only 4,000 people. So now I was really stoked for tomorrow. Then I got to thinking, how could I capitalize on 5,000 people. There has to be something that 5,000 beer enthusiasts would want that I could sell. And the first idea that came to my head was a seemingly doable one.
As stated previously I have been to a ton of craft beer festivals all over the North East (which I feel like has the most beer enthusiasts with maybe exception to parts of California and Portland, Oregon) and every time I go there are a handful of people that would have necklaces made out of ribbon with 20 or so small pretzels. And as we all know there is something amazing about the saltiness of a pretzel with a cold beer, especially when it is a craft beer. Every time I saw that I always thought “What a great idea, next beer festival I go to I am definitely going to do that.” And every time I forget to and kick myself when I show up and see a dude wearing one. So that’s it - I could make a shit load of pretzel necklaces and sell them outside of the beer fest when people are walking in. Perfect. It will be easy to do, it will be cheap and I will be able to pull it off in the next 18 hours.
At this time it’s probably 10:30 pm, I hop in the shower, throw on clothes, grab my big roller suitcase and head to the Publix (the Florida grocery chain) a few blocks from my apartment. I’m walking briskly because I know that it closes at 11. Get there with 5 minutes to spare and find the pretzel section. As luck would have it they have a deal going for buy 2 one pound bags for $5. Perfect, this is starting to feel like this is meant to be. I load up my cart with 14 one pound bags and ask an employee if they have anymore in the back.
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She comes back and let’s me know that they don’t which I am pretty annoyed with. However, I know that there is another Publix about 2 miles north, so I will just wake up early and buy out all their pretzels as well. Now I’m looking for ribbon, find the ribbon, turns out to be $4 for 20 feet. F that, I’ll use string. They don’t have string. Crap. I check out, 14 bags comes out to be only $35, nice. Load up the bags into my roller suitcase and start walking towards the 24 hour Walgreens next to my apartment. They are sold out of string, ugh, walk 4 blocks to the 24 hour CVS, they don’t carry it, walk another 5 blocks to the other Walgreens. They have string, but they only have 3 - 100 foot spindles. Whatever I’m waking up early anyways, I’ll just find more tomorrow. Oh yah, I should probably buy a needle set, that will definitely make things easier. The string was $2.50 per spindle (rip off, but what choice did I have) and $2 for the sewing kit. So all in, everything was $45, not bad at all. I arrive back at the apartment around 11:45 pm. After experimenting with a bunch of quantities I come to the conclusion that putting on 30 mini pretzels per necklace makes the necklace look full, but keeps my profit margin real high. Each one pound bag yields 9 necklaces, 9 necklaces x 14 bags=126 necklaces, 126 necklaces x $3= $378, for a profit of $333. Awesome. Once again, I’m planning on waking up early and buying out the other Publix so it will actually be double. So 252 necklaces x $3 = a profit of $666. Hmm a little creepy…But I’m defiantly going to wear one, so it’s actually a profit of $663, I feel better. So I get to making pretzel necklaces.
Oh my God, the most tedious thing ever. The first bag was fine, every bag after that was such a pain in the ass. And it turned out to be A LOT more time consuming than I anticipated. First I had to count out 30 pretzels from each bag (now you’re probably thinking why didn’t you just estimate, or use a measuring cup, and the short answer is that it had to be pretty exact. Surprisingly, every bag had the same amount of pretzels minus one maybe two. And I wanted all the necklaces to be identical). Then I had to measure out and cut the string, and then had to “sew” the 30 pretzels. Four hours later, its 4 am and I have only done 7 bags. Damn, I’ll wake up tomorrow and do the rest. It sucks that that I will only have 126 necklaces, but still $333 is not bad.
Sleep for four hours, wake up at 8 am and start making them again. I finally finish at 11:45am, decide that since I am going to be drinking all day and kick boxing is pretty fun should grab a work out. Get back from the gym at 1, shower, get ready, put on one of my favorite/most “loud” shirts in order to get people’s attention for selling (Angola Prison Rodeo t shirt, thank you Sloan and Erin) load up all the effing pretzel necklaces and head to the bus. Get on the bus, get dropped off, jump on the Metro Rail, and I arrive in Coconut Grove at 2:45pm. Perfect. The VIP tickets get in at 3pm and general admission gets in at 4pm. (For anyone considering going to a beer fest buying a VIP ticket is such a rookie mistake - most last for 3 hours which is more than enough time to get obliterated on high alcohol percentage beer, not to mention 3 hours of drinking heavy craft beer is a feat in of itself. Regardless of your tolerance you get really full. So don’t waste the extra $20-$30)
On the Grovetoberfest website they said that they were going to provide a shuttle service from the station to the festival which was about 3 miles away. And by shuttle they mean ONE 10 person van for the thousands of people expected to come–- clearly someone dropped the ball. But luckily I was there early so there was a line of only 20 people. Time to get to selling. “Pretzel necklaces 3 dollars! Pretzel necklaces 3 dollars!” Everyone I approach gives a big smile, I over hear a few people saying “What a good idea!” and “That is awesome!” Yeah assholes it is a good idea, and it is awesome so buy a freakin’ necklace. Nada. Meh, these 20 people are just tight wads.
It’s finally our turn to hop in the van and we head to the festival. On the trip over I revaluate my pricing model - we are no longer in South Beach, and there are only 30 mini pretzels per necklaces, $3 is kind of a lot, so I’ll drop it to $2. I’ll still make a profit of over $200 which is fine for a Saturday afternoon.
The van arrives at Peacock Park, and I find a pretty prime location where everyone must walk by in order to enter the festival. So I’m assuming that either a lot of people drove or took cabs, or lived close because there was a TON of foot traffic. Hundreds and hundreds of people. “Pretzel necklaces $2! Pretzel necklaces $2!” Once again, everyone that passed gave a big smile, a laugh, an “Awesome!” “What a great idea!” “That is so cool!” “Oh my God those are necklaces made out of pretzels!” Yet none of these mother lovers were buying! Forty minutes passed of me standing out there, sun beaming, starting to go horse barking about pretzel necklaces. I started to get really frustrated. It would be one thing if people walked by, didn’t acknowledge me, didn’t say anything, and just went about their business. But I shit you not, 95% of the hundreds of people that walked by made a positive comment, yet NO ONE was willing to fork out 2 flippin dollars! At this point, I was dumbfounded, pissed, and getting crushed by the sun. Screw it, I’ll drop it to $1 make my money back maybe a little extra and just enjoy the festival. Still not a single sale, seriously unbelievable. My sales strategy became more aggressive if not flat out belligerent haha. Started calling out dudes that wouldn’t buy one for their girlfriends, accused people of not being able to afford $1, claimed that the necklace would cover up that ugly shirt, etc. NOT A SINGLE NECKLACE SOLD. F my life. On a sunnier note, I must of given a dozen “high fives”. Dagger, $45 loss, totally sucks, but not devastating. It’s now 4:10pm and they are letting in general admission - I’m not going to let this ruin my day, I’ve been looking forward to this festival for a while. I take out two necklaces, put them over my neck, throw my hard work in the trash can and head in.
Oh my God, the most tedious thing ever. The first bag was fine, every bag after that was such a pain in the ass. And it turned out to be A LOT more time consuming than I anticipated. First I had to count out 30 pretzels from each bag (now you’re probably thinking why didn’t you just estimate, or use a measuring cup, and the short answer is that it had to be pretty exact. Surprisingly, every bag had the same amount of pretzels minus one maybe two. And I wanted all the necklaces to be identical). Then I had to measure out and cut the string, and then had to “sew” the 30 pretzels. Four hours later, its 4 am and I have only done 7 bags. Damn, I’ll wake up tomorrow and do the rest. It sucks that that I will only have 126 necklaces, but still $333 is not bad.
Sleep for four hours, wake up at 8 am and start making them again. I finally finish at 11:45am, decide that since I am going to be drinking all day and kick boxing is pretty fun should grab a work out. Get back from the gym at 1, shower, get ready, put on one of my favorite/most “loud” shirts in order to get people’s attention for selling (Angola Prison Rodeo t shirt, thank you Sloan and Erin) load up all the effing pretzel necklaces and head to the bus. Get on the bus, get dropped off, jump on the Metro Rail, and I arrive in Coconut Grove at 2:45pm. Perfect. The VIP tickets get in at 3pm and general admission gets in at 4pm. (For anyone considering going to a beer fest buying a VIP ticket is such a rookie mistake - most last for 3 hours which is more than enough time to get obliterated on high alcohol percentage beer, not to mention 3 hours of drinking heavy craft beer is a feat in of itself. Regardless of your tolerance you get really full. So don’t waste the extra $20-$30)
On the Grovetoberfest website they said that they were going to provide a shuttle service from the station to the festival which was about 3 miles away. And by shuttle they mean ONE 10 person van for the thousands of people expected to come–- clearly someone dropped the ball. But luckily I was there early so there was a line of only 20 people. Time to get to selling. “Pretzel necklaces 3 dollars! Pretzel necklaces 3 dollars!” Everyone I approach gives a big smile, I over hear a few people saying “What a good idea!” and “That is awesome!” Yeah assholes it is a good idea, and it is awesome so buy a freakin’ necklace. Nada. Meh, these 20 people are just tight wads.
It’s finally our turn to hop in the van and we head to the festival. On the trip over I revaluate my pricing model - we are no longer in South Beach, and there are only 30 mini pretzels per necklaces, $3 is kind of a lot, so I’ll drop it to $2. I’ll still make a profit of over $200 which is fine for a Saturday afternoon.
The van arrives at Peacock Park, and I find a pretty prime location where everyone must walk by in order to enter the festival. So I’m assuming that either a lot of people drove or took cabs, or lived close because there was a TON of foot traffic. Hundreds and hundreds of people. “Pretzel necklaces $2! Pretzel necklaces $2!” Once again, everyone that passed gave a big smile, a laugh, an “Awesome!” “What a great idea!” “That is so cool!” “Oh my God those are necklaces made out of pretzels!” Yet none of these mother lovers were buying! Forty minutes passed of me standing out there, sun beaming, starting to go horse barking about pretzel necklaces. I started to get really frustrated. It would be one thing if people walked by, didn’t acknowledge me, didn’t say anything, and just went about their business. But I shit you not, 95% of the hundreds of people that walked by made a positive comment, yet NO ONE was willing to fork out 2 flippin dollars! At this point, I was dumbfounded, pissed, and getting crushed by the sun. Screw it, I’ll drop it to $1 make my money back maybe a little extra and just enjoy the festival. Still not a single sale, seriously unbelievable. My sales strategy became more aggressive if not flat out belligerent haha. Started calling out dudes that wouldn’t buy one for their girlfriends, accused people of not being able to afford $1, claimed that the necklace would cover up that ugly shirt, etc. NOT A SINGLE NECKLACE SOLD. F my life. On a sunnier note, I must of given a dozen “high fives”. Dagger, $45 loss, totally sucks, but not devastating. It’s now 4:10pm and they are letting in general admission - I’m not going to let this ruin my day, I’ve been looking forward to this festival for a while. I take out two necklaces, put them over my neck, throw my hard work in the trash can and head in.
Now here comes the GREAT part.…While reading this keep in mind that I swear I am not trying to come off as cool or “look at me”, or anything of the sort. The pretzel necklace idea is not original and I know that the only reason why I got these reactions was because I was in South Florida and no one had seen it before. I know for a fact that I would never have gotten these reactions if I was in a Boston, NYC, or DC setting - From the moment I walked into the festival you would have guessed that I cured cancer or something. Every freakin’ person at the festival acted like my pretzel necklace was the greatest thing ever conceived by man. No exaggeration what so ever, I must of posed in well over 150 pictures. I mean everyone, from smoking hot girls, to groups of 10 dudes, to elderly couples. Everyone. I had people motor boating my necklace, girls eating the pretzels off my chest, a woman pulled me aside and got very serious “I just wanted to let you know that your necklace is just the greatest.” I was told “I love your necklace!” “Awesome necklace!” or something of the sort at minimum 400 times. The band called me up on stage and took a picture with me. (I wish my stupid camera phone wasn't broken so I could of taken pictures of all the craziness. I only took one picture of the festival because the only camera I have is the one on my dopey HP smart pad that is massive and only has a camera lens facing towards you for Skyping and things like that.) I mean it was surreal. Let’s not forget, this is a piece of string with a salted snack - not some blood diamond the size of your fist. And let’s not also forget I WAS SELLING THEM 5 minutes ago outside and NOT ONE WAS PURCHASED. But of course, once inside the festival, I was constantly asked where I got it and where they could get one. Some dude offered me $20 for the one around my neck. It was like a parallel universe - if I brought the necklaces inside the festival I would have sold them in about 20 minutes. Ugh.
Hindsight is 20/20, so it is pretty clear to me now that a couple things were working against me outside. First people were excited to get to the festival, wanted to beat the line, and were walking by me fast. They were not going to take the time to buy one of these necklaces. Another major deterrent I think is that I put the necklaces back in the bags they came in, and then put those bags into two white trash bags (I put them in trash bags because I wanted something disposable so I didn’t have to walk around the festival for the next 3 hours with a suitcase) which probably came off as unsanitary and literally some guy selling pretzels out of a trash bag. A good idea is one thing, but execution is the only thing that matters. But oh well, it was quite an experience any way you look at it.
One thing is for sure though, if you are a person that craves attention, don’t bother going to the gym, driving expensive cars or wearing slutty outfits, just take a piece of string, put some pretzels on it and wear it to a beer festival.
Hindsight is 20/20, so it is pretty clear to me now that a couple things were working against me outside. First people were excited to get to the festival, wanted to beat the line, and were walking by me fast. They were not going to take the time to buy one of these necklaces. Another major deterrent I think is that I put the necklaces back in the bags they came in, and then put those bags into two white trash bags (I put them in trash bags because I wanted something disposable so I didn’t have to walk around the festival for the next 3 hours with a suitcase) which probably came off as unsanitary and literally some guy selling pretzels out of a trash bag. A good idea is one thing, but execution is the only thing that matters. But oh well, it was quite an experience any way you look at it.
One thing is for sure though, if you are a person that craves attention, don’t bother going to the gym, driving expensive cars or wearing slutty outfits, just take a piece of string, put some pretzels on it and wear it to a beer festival.
Added 12:21 pm 10/5/12
Getting “SWOL” in SoBe
As many people already know, people in Miami are very image conscious, but South Beach brings it to a whole other level. The whole “South Beach” diet thing is no bullshit, everyone here is in shape. I’m not talking just thin, but in shape. This is pretty funny because in NYC as long as a girl was thin, had a pretty face and a decent body she would be considered hot or whatever, but here this is not the case. In the words of Sebastian (one of the coolest bartenders I’ve met) “If her arms aren’t defined and there isn’t some semblance of a six pack working, she’s not considered girlfriend material.” This is fantastic, because I have no problems picking up the scraps of 130lb “fatties”. Shocker - I have been spending a good amount of time at bars, and bartenders here are on another level. In NYC of course you had to be good looking to bartend, or cocktail, but here you have to be effin gorgeous.
All that being said, fitness is clearly a top priority which makes sense since the beach is warm year round. So it was clear that I had to find a gym ASAP and put the finishing touches on my already chiseled physique. So Nelson (my roommate) told me that there is a row of gyms on Washington Ave which is only 3 blocks from our apartment. So I do a google search and I see 5th Street Gym. Turns out 5th St Gym is an actual gym, as in where boxers and fighters train. It’s steeped in history, and is actually where Muhammad Ali trained for the majority of his career. So awesome.
As many people already know, people in Miami are very image conscious, but South Beach brings it to a whole other level. The whole “South Beach” diet thing is no bullshit, everyone here is in shape. I’m not talking just thin, but in shape. This is pretty funny because in NYC as long as a girl was thin, had a pretty face and a decent body she would be considered hot or whatever, but here this is not the case. In the words of Sebastian (one of the coolest bartenders I’ve met) “If her arms aren’t defined and there isn’t some semblance of a six pack working, she’s not considered girlfriend material.” This is fantastic, because I have no problems picking up the scraps of 130lb “fatties”. Shocker - I have been spending a good amount of time at bars, and bartenders here are on another level. In NYC of course you had to be good looking to bartend, or cocktail, but here you have to be effin gorgeous.
All that being said, fitness is clearly a top priority which makes sense since the beach is warm year round. So it was clear that I had to find a gym ASAP and put the finishing touches on my already chiseled physique. So Nelson (my roommate) told me that there is a row of gyms on Washington Ave which is only 3 blocks from our apartment. So I do a google search and I see 5th Street Gym. Turns out 5th St Gym is an actual gym, as in where boxers and fighters train. It’s steeped in history, and is actually where Muhammad Ali trained for the majority of his career. So awesome.
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Matt Baiamonte
The gym has also has multiple classes of fight sports – muay thai, krav maga, kick boxing, MMA (Mixed Martial Arts), boxing, and my favorite, Brazilian Ju Jitsu. Now much to many peoples delight, I have expressed interest in wanting to learn Brazilian Ju Jitsu because I think it is bad ass. For those of you who have no idea what BJJ is - pretty much 70% of UFC fighting (which is Mixed Martial Arts) is in BJJ fashion. It is considered the most encompassing and relevant martial art. So this is perfect, I have always talked about wanting to learn and here is a gym super close to my apartment that has classes for it. On further investigation they have a Groupon for your first month at 55% off for $60. Even better I end up going up to the owner, Matt Baiamonte (awesome guy), and tell him that I know how Groupon works, and how about I just pay him $50 right there instead of Groupon taking 50% (so he would only end up get $30) which he was more than happy to accept. IM SOO COOL!
So Tuesday was my 1st class, whoa. (I am awkwardly laughing loudly to myself at a Starbucks right now, people are staring.) It was, we’ll say, intense. The one hour class consisted of a 15 minute “warm up” that I was ready to throw in the towel after. It essentially was where you would pair up with someone then do all these crazy drills while either you were holding them (a little crude way of explaining it, but accurate – imagine the way you would have to have sex with someone standing up. Where they are wrapping their arms around your neck and having their legs locked around your waist). You would do squats like this, run around the gym, or the worst - skip jump. Then there were other drills where they were hanging on your back and you had to do all these exercise. This was unbelievably tough for me, but I felt REALLY bad for my partner. I mean, I am a big dude. I’ve lost some weight, but I would never be described as “light” haha. It is pretty awkward to begin with having to wrap yourself around some bro, trying not to make eye contact - it is whole other experience when he is grunting with every step because he is struggling to carry your fat and sweaty ass. The whole time I was just like “Dude, I’m so sorry”, and the instructor is yelling in his ear “PAIN TODAY IS STRENGTH TOMORROW!!”
So after the awesome “warm up”, we get into drills. I’m no tough guy, but thought I had a decent threshold for pain, this was not the case. Each one of the drills hurt like hell. You would get thrown to the mat, have your body contorted every which way, and basically just get the shit kicked out of you for 30 minutes. So after that we would “roll” for 15 minutes. Now rolling is essentially sparring, but without kicking or punching, very closely related to wrestling. Pretty much you just try to get your opponent in a position where he has to tap out. So I should of mentioned this earlier, but throughout the whole class there is a guy in the back of the gym in full gi (the karate outfit martial artist wear) who is not participating in any of the drills, but doing his own thing. Turns out it was the instructors brother, and the biggest dude in the gym. Guess who gets matched up with him? Yeep, Matty C. Now when I say big, he was probably 6’1’’, 255lbs - but like pretty fat, equipped with a gut and everything. Turns out that extra weight served as super strength. I mean I got my ass handed to me. Brutalized. I don’t think there was a session where I lasted longer than 25 seconds before tapping. As soon as one part of my body was free - a leg, an arm, a foot – he would grab it, flip his body around, and apply crazy pressure where it felt like it was going to break. One of the times I got caught in a standing guillotine, which pretty much is a choke where they put you in a crazy headlock and then lift you off the ground by your neck. When he did that my conscious was literally closing on me, I’m surprised I didn’t pass out. (Fast forward below to 25 seconds to see what it looks like)
So Tuesday was my 1st class, whoa. (I am awkwardly laughing loudly to myself at a Starbucks right now, people are staring.) It was, we’ll say, intense. The one hour class consisted of a 15 minute “warm up” that I was ready to throw in the towel after. It essentially was where you would pair up with someone then do all these crazy drills while either you were holding them (a little crude way of explaining it, but accurate – imagine the way you would have to have sex with someone standing up. Where they are wrapping their arms around your neck and having their legs locked around your waist). You would do squats like this, run around the gym, or the worst - skip jump. Then there were other drills where they were hanging on your back and you had to do all these exercise. This was unbelievably tough for me, but I felt REALLY bad for my partner. I mean, I am a big dude. I’ve lost some weight, but I would never be described as “light” haha. It is pretty awkward to begin with having to wrap yourself around some bro, trying not to make eye contact - it is whole other experience when he is grunting with every step because he is struggling to carry your fat and sweaty ass. The whole time I was just like “Dude, I’m so sorry”, and the instructor is yelling in his ear “PAIN TODAY IS STRENGTH TOMORROW!!”
So after the awesome “warm up”, we get into drills. I’m no tough guy, but thought I had a decent threshold for pain, this was not the case. Each one of the drills hurt like hell. You would get thrown to the mat, have your body contorted every which way, and basically just get the shit kicked out of you for 30 minutes. So after that we would “roll” for 15 minutes. Now rolling is essentially sparring, but without kicking or punching, very closely related to wrestling. Pretty much you just try to get your opponent in a position where he has to tap out. So I should of mentioned this earlier, but throughout the whole class there is a guy in the back of the gym in full gi (the karate outfit martial artist wear) who is not participating in any of the drills, but doing his own thing. Turns out it was the instructors brother, and the biggest dude in the gym. Guess who gets matched up with him? Yeep, Matty C. Now when I say big, he was probably 6’1’’, 255lbs - but like pretty fat, equipped with a gut and everything. Turns out that extra weight served as super strength. I mean I got my ass handed to me. Brutalized. I don’t think there was a session where I lasted longer than 25 seconds before tapping. As soon as one part of my body was free - a leg, an arm, a foot – he would grab it, flip his body around, and apply crazy pressure where it felt like it was going to break. One of the times I got caught in a standing guillotine, which pretty much is a choke where they put you in a crazy headlock and then lift you off the ground by your neck. When he did that my conscious was literally closing on me, I’m surprised I didn’t pass out. (Fast forward below to 25 seconds to see what it looks like)
It was sweet. Turns out homeboy has been practicing BJJ for the past 8 years. Awesome. However, the instructor gave me a encouraging “Good first day!” I couldn’t help but laugh.
Since my first class was such a thriving success, I went again last night after popping enough Aleve to take down an elephant. The beginning was the same- ass kick, ass kick, hate my life, hate my life. Then it was once again time to roll. Now I’m not sure if I just put on such a clinic the first day that he didn’t want me to embarrass any of the guys, but I was paired up against the only female in the class. YES!! I am not going to get destroyed!!
So after she taps me out for the third time - I become ravenous. In retrospect, I might of let out a roar. This biddy was not going to get me for the fourth time in a row. I went primal.
God I wish they had video of this – I flail like a fish for the first 20 seconds awkwardly snorting and contemplating if I could get away with just pulling her hair or biting her until she tapped out. By some miracle somehow in the midst of the flailing, I got into a position that was optimal for me. I hear the instructor shout “PULL HER ELBOW TO YOUR CHEST!” Now I became very excited, and in all the excitement I may or may not have accidentally clocked her in the head with my hand while going for her elbow. And she may or may not have let out an “Oww!”. But like I said there is no way to be sure in the midst of all that excitement. Regardless F this broad, she was going down. I grab her elbow and with all my might pull it to my chest. I think the thought that was going through my head was “I’M GOING TO TEAR HER ARM OFF”. Sure enough, seconds later she succumbs to my brute strength and has no other resort than to tap. VICTORY! I roll off of her completely exhausted, spread out on the mat and muster the strength to raise my arm in triumph. Two of the guys that were in Tuesdays class start hysterically laughing and give me a few pity claps. The best part of all of this is that we still have 6 minutes of rolling left and she taps me 2 more times. Turns out she has been practicing since she was 7 and her dad is a blackbelt - or she just told me that because she saw I was on the brink of tears.
So ridiculous, I am so sore right now it is painful to type. Ugh.
Since my first class was such a thriving success, I went again last night after popping enough Aleve to take down an elephant. The beginning was the same- ass kick, ass kick, hate my life, hate my life. Then it was once again time to roll. Now I’m not sure if I just put on such a clinic the first day that he didn’t want me to embarrass any of the guys, but I was paired up against the only female in the class. YES!! I am not going to get destroyed!!
So after she taps me out for the third time - I become ravenous. In retrospect, I might of let out a roar. This biddy was not going to get me for the fourth time in a row. I went primal.
God I wish they had video of this – I flail like a fish for the first 20 seconds awkwardly snorting and contemplating if I could get away with just pulling her hair or biting her until she tapped out. By some miracle somehow in the midst of the flailing, I got into a position that was optimal for me. I hear the instructor shout “PULL HER ELBOW TO YOUR CHEST!” Now I became very excited, and in all the excitement I may or may not have accidentally clocked her in the head with my hand while going for her elbow. And she may or may not have let out an “Oww!”. But like I said there is no way to be sure in the midst of all that excitement. Regardless F this broad, she was going down. I grab her elbow and with all my might pull it to my chest. I think the thought that was going through my head was “I’M GOING TO TEAR HER ARM OFF”. Sure enough, seconds later she succumbs to my brute strength and has no other resort than to tap. VICTORY! I roll off of her completely exhausted, spread out on the mat and muster the strength to raise my arm in triumph. Two of the guys that were in Tuesdays class start hysterically laughing and give me a few pity claps. The best part of all of this is that we still have 6 minutes of rolling left and she taps me 2 more times. Turns out she has been practicing since she was 7 and her dad is a blackbelt - or she just told me that because she saw I was on the brink of tears.
So ridiculous, I am so sore right now it is painful to type. Ugh.
Added 2:20 am 10/2/12
So yes, this is my first time blogging - even just hearing/saying that phrase “blogging” makes me queasy. I’m convinced that 90% of blogs are stupid anecdotes from stupid people talking about stupid things that no one cares about. So I guess I should join them. People keep on telling me “You should really write about this” so to placate them and to have some documentation of this, I guess we will call it an adventure, I’m going to post some stuff that happens and hopefully it will be readable if not mildly entertaining.
The title of this blog is “Follow Da Son” this is part me trying to be funny/witty - but really because all the normal spellings for that phrase already have Tumblr addresses. I guess the idea of following the sun is a very, very unoriginal idea.
So I have had this thought for quite sometime - I thought it would be amazing to have 4 houses, apartments, what have you - in four awesome cities and never get crushed by the cold. So the original idea was, New York City in Spring, Chicago in Summer, Austin in Fall, & San Diego in Winter. It has always seemed weird to me that people put up with terrible cold, windy, shitty weather. New York City & Chicago are two of my most favorite places on Earth however, in my opinion, NYC sucks in Summer & Winter, and Chicago is almost unbearable in Winter & Fall. I spent a couple months in LA, San Diego, and a little bit in Hawaii and what people say is absolutely true. It is nice every fucking day - every day you can wear sunglasses and flip flops and be comfortable. Unbelievable.
There has come a point in my life where there was nothing really holding me anywhere or to anything. No company, no career, no girlfriend, no lease/mortgage, no real major belongings, etc. Now this might sound completely pathetic and pitiful, and for most people they would be on the brink of suicide or something - but for whatever reasons I am the most content with my life right now than I have been in a long long time. While me and the ex were going through the pains of a break up while living together we ended up selling everything we owned, and then split the cash down the middle. I ended up donating all of my clothes that were either old or weren’t even close to fitting anymore (except for the 9 button downs that Plato’s Closet accepted and I got $42 for…Score). And believe me when I say there is something VERY liberating about getting rid of all your shit. Not to get too Confucius on you, but when you get of rid of all your shit, you realize it is exactly that, shit. Stupid stuff that you truly don’t need, and should never worry about owning. Even my most beloved possession, scratch that, my two most beloved possessions, my PS3 and my projector, I got rid of. The PS3 was dropped while moving stuff, and I let my sister and her husband have the projector while I am away. Essentially everything I own now are in two suitcases and a carry on, and it feels freaking awesome. It’s like trimming all the fat in your life, and just being left the core. It’s weird to explain, and people are probably calling complete bullshit, but its true, you feel like you can go anywhere and do anything.
ANYWAYS - after I decided to leave NYC for at least a year, I wanted to give my 4 city idea a shot. But then when I gave it some more thought I came to the conclusion that it would be really awesome to live in 12 cities for a month. And after using the Google machine I found out two awesome things. 1) That with Airbnb (www.airbnb.com) it was possible to set up housing in all of these cities and 2) you could pretty much “follow the sun” and have a pleasant temperature all 12 months. So here is the tentative schedule/location that I’ve decided on and the corresponding average high for that month:
I’m tired of writing and this has turned into a bit of a novel for a first post - time for bed. I will leave with this, I will be posting about things that interest me (craft beer, bars, restaurants, the service industry, visiting different sports venues, trying to have my website succeed, etc) and funny stories/occurrences. Hopefully some people will get a kick out of it.
So yes, this is my first time blogging - even just hearing/saying that phrase “blogging” makes me queasy. I’m convinced that 90% of blogs are stupid anecdotes from stupid people talking about stupid things that no one cares about. So I guess I should join them. People keep on telling me “You should really write about this” so to placate them and to have some documentation of this, I guess we will call it an adventure, I’m going to post some stuff that happens and hopefully it will be readable if not mildly entertaining.
The title of this blog is “Follow Da Son” this is part me trying to be funny/witty - but really because all the normal spellings for that phrase already have Tumblr addresses. I guess the idea of following the sun is a very, very unoriginal idea.
So I have had this thought for quite sometime - I thought it would be amazing to have 4 houses, apartments, what have you - in four awesome cities and never get crushed by the cold. So the original idea was, New York City in Spring, Chicago in Summer, Austin in Fall, & San Diego in Winter. It has always seemed weird to me that people put up with terrible cold, windy, shitty weather. New York City & Chicago are two of my most favorite places on Earth however, in my opinion, NYC sucks in Summer & Winter, and Chicago is almost unbearable in Winter & Fall. I spent a couple months in LA, San Diego, and a little bit in Hawaii and what people say is absolutely true. It is nice every fucking day - every day you can wear sunglasses and flip flops and be comfortable. Unbelievable.
There has come a point in my life where there was nothing really holding me anywhere or to anything. No company, no career, no girlfriend, no lease/mortgage, no real major belongings, etc. Now this might sound completely pathetic and pitiful, and for most people they would be on the brink of suicide or something - but for whatever reasons I am the most content with my life right now than I have been in a long long time. While me and the ex were going through the pains of a break up while living together we ended up selling everything we owned, and then split the cash down the middle. I ended up donating all of my clothes that were either old or weren’t even close to fitting anymore (except for the 9 button downs that Plato’s Closet accepted and I got $42 for…Score). And believe me when I say there is something VERY liberating about getting rid of all your shit. Not to get too Confucius on you, but when you get of rid of all your shit, you realize it is exactly that, shit. Stupid stuff that you truly don’t need, and should never worry about owning. Even my most beloved possession, scratch that, my two most beloved possessions, my PS3 and my projector, I got rid of. The PS3 was dropped while moving stuff, and I let my sister and her husband have the projector while I am away. Essentially everything I own now are in two suitcases and a carry on, and it feels freaking awesome. It’s like trimming all the fat in your life, and just being left the core. It’s weird to explain, and people are probably calling complete bullshit, but its true, you feel like you can go anywhere and do anything.
ANYWAYS - after I decided to leave NYC for at least a year, I wanted to give my 4 city idea a shot. But then when I gave it some more thought I came to the conclusion that it would be really awesome to live in 12 cities for a month. And after using the Google machine I found out two awesome things. 1) That with Airbnb (www.airbnb.com) it was possible to set up housing in all of these cities and 2) you could pretty much “follow the sun” and have a pleasant temperature all 12 months. So here is the tentative schedule/location that I’ve decided on and the corresponding average high for that month:
- October - Miami Beach 80
- November - New Orleans 71
- December - Austin 63
- January - Scottsdale 65
- February - Las Vegas 63
- March - San Diego 66
- April - Honolulu 83
- May - San Francisco 65
- June - Seattle 70
- July - Denver 88
- August - Chicago 82
- September - Philadelphia 78
I’m tired of writing and this has turned into a bit of a novel for a first post - time for bed. I will leave with this, I will be posting about things that interest me (craft beer, bars, restaurants, the service industry, visiting different sports venues, trying to have my website succeed, etc) and funny stories/occurrences. Hopefully some people will get a kick out of it.
