Happy Dan Goldin Day 2009, everyone! I hope you're all reading this post from home with a drink in front of you, or over a pint at your local watering hole, having skipped out on work to honor the decision by the Boston University Trustees to grant a day off to the students of Boston Uniersity after awarding, and then rescinding, a contract to ex-NASA Mr. Dan Goldin, and obligating themselves to payout $1.8 million for breach of that contract. (full career summation here)
For those readers interested, here is a partial list of cities celebrating DGD '09: (east to west)
Boston, MA
Stoneham, MA
Manchester, NH
New York, NY
Philadelphia, PA
Baltimore, MD
Birmingham, AL
Milwaukee, WI (observed 11/20/09)
Arlington, TX
Lawton, OK
Seattle, WA
Te Anua, NZ
Mackay, AU
London, GB
Dublin, IE
Celebrating in a city not on the list? Let me know in the comments! We're still missing Eastern Europe, South America, all of Africa, Asia, and I'm still waiting to hear from you Antarticans!
Too ditching work, and getting paid!
-Tom
Showing posts with label booze. Show all posts
Showing posts with label booze. Show all posts
Monday, November 16, 2009
Tuesday, October 06, 2009
Drunk Physics Work!
I love science (via xckd) because ideas as drunk-sounding-crazy as the space fountain have a realistic grounding in physics. Screw the moon base. I'm building a space fountain over Disneyworld.
-t
-t
Monday, July 27, 2009
Ageism
Last Friday was my birthday. I am 27 years old.
I was not served beer last night at the sushi restaurant, because when they carded me, because I ALWAYS get carded, the waitress noticed that my license had expired.
Actually, it had expired two days previous, on my birthday.
Invalid ID? No drinks for you!
Now, I ask you, what, exactly, is the problem with an ID that two days ago proved I was 27? Hmm?
Now that the license has expired I've magically reverse-aged seven years? Who am I, Brad Pitt? (That question is only semi-rhetorical, because I really am mistaken for Brad Pitt almost twice a week.)
To her credit the waitress did feel awfully bad about the policy and comped the table some iced green tea, which was very nice.
On the other hand, the bartender at the Mircale of Science did serve me beer after looking at my ID and saying "Looks like this just expired." Which is exactly how you're supposed to react.
Because an expired license isn't a magical fountain of youth. That's just not how time travel works.
-t
I was not served beer last night at the sushi restaurant, because when they carded me, because I ALWAYS get carded, the waitress noticed that my license had expired.
Actually, it had expired two days previous, on my birthday.
Invalid ID? No drinks for you!
Now, I ask you, what, exactly, is the problem with an ID that two days ago proved I was 27? Hmm?
Now that the license has expired I've magically reverse-aged seven years? Who am I, Brad Pitt? (That question is only semi-rhetorical, because I really am mistaken for Brad Pitt almost twice a week.)
To her credit the waitress did feel awfully bad about the policy and comped the table some iced green tea, which was very nice.
On the other hand, the bartender at the Mircale of Science did serve me beer after looking at my ID and saying "Looks like this just expired." Which is exactly how you're supposed to react.
Because an expired license isn't a magical fountain of youth. That's just not how time travel works.
-t
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Reading
John's response to an entirely ordinary email:
Sent via BlackBerry fromT-Mobile A BAR.
-t
Driuuuuuuuunbk can't readf thid omg
Sent via BlackBerry from
-t
Monday, March 24, 2008
Very Important Information concerning March 25, 2008
A list of Boston Bars open for the Red Sox season opener in Japan, tomorrow, Tuesday March 25, 2008, at 6 AM Eastern (from Boston You're My Home via U-hub):
Game On at 82 Lansdowne St at 5:30 AM
Daisy Buchanan’s at 240 Newbury at 6 AM
Anchovies at 433 Columbus Avenue at 6 AM
Pour House at 907 Boylston St at 5:30 AM
The Avenue at 1249 Commonwealth, Allston at 6 AM
(check the link above for updates in the comments section)
By law alcohol service cannot begin before 8AM which should leave all you Sox fans plenty of time to get wasted before heading to work at the usual hour.
That's all for now.
-Tom
Game On at 82 Lansdowne St at 5:30 AM
Daisy Buchanan’s at 240 Newbury at 6 AM
Anchovies at 433 Columbus Avenue at 6 AM
Pour House at 907 Boylston St at 5:30 AM
The Avenue at 1249 Commonwealth, Allston at 6 AM
(check the link above for updates in the comments section)
By law alcohol service cannot begin before 8AM which should leave all you Sox fans plenty of time to get wasted before heading to work at the usual hour.
That's all for now.
-Tom
Thursday, December 20, 2007
Overheard
My girlfriend spent last weekend with me at my apartment. We went out and got wasted Friday night at a bar downtown, then came home went to bed, and crashed.
So, the next morning, when I wake up she's already in the living room watching television, so I go right over to the kitchen and start cooking some eggs for breakfast. She turns around and puts her finger to her lips "shh" mouths "Mike" and points at the couch. So I lean over, and there's my old roommate passed out on the couch in his boxers.
I guess he couldn't make it back to his apartment so he used his old key and let himself into my place. And, you know, no big deal, right? We hadn't heard him come in last night, and better he crash here than try and drive home.
Anyway, I start to cook breakfast and she's watching tv, and then Mike wakes up, pokes his head over back of the couch, looks right at me over the stove, and - it's not Mike.
-What?
It's not Mike. It's some guy I've never seen before. He's looking right at me, completely confused, a little unnerved, and, eyes wide, he says "Where...the hell...am I?"
And Amy's sitting right there next to him on the couch and she's like "Who the hell are you!?"
Turns out it's some guy that's in town staying with my next door neighbors. He'd been out drinking late, and come in to my apartment instead of theirs - I guess Amy didn't shut the door completely behind her when we came in the night before, and he'd just come in, stripped down, and passed out on the couch.
-Whoa. Really?
Yeah, so I made him some eggs and he left.
Tuesday, April 25, 2006
It'll be a long time
Friday night: Drinking festivities.
Notable appearances: the stupid kid, not so pretty girl, lurch, the kid that I hate
Notable non-appearances: hypermanager, pony boy, cancerface, johnny bombay, adina, crazy blog stalker people.
We got there at about seven. The Red Sox were on. I remember very little past the fourth inning (and I'm told the game went to thirteen innings).
Stupid kid said not one word to me. Showed up, ate some buffalo wings, and left. Not a "hello" not a "goodbye." Nothing. I was surprised, but really, I don't care.
I do know that I had at least one shot (some very good kind of tequila), that I turned down at least one shot, and that there was no point in the evening I did not have a glass of Guiness in (at least one of) my hand(s).
----we interrupt this hazy recollection (if you can call it that) of a drunken night at a pub to bring you late breaking details----
Upon further reflection I have realized that the shot I turned down was bought by the kid that I hate.
This is bad for a number of reasons. First: I hate him. This is the kid I saw walking around the office my very first day and thought "I hate him." The kid who was later transferred into my group, at which point I thought "I'll give him another chance," and did, and turns out, yes, I was right. I hate him.
Second: The kid that I hate always buys shots. He spends at least half his monthly earnings getting wasted at bars on weekday nights. He buys shots. It's all he does. No, that's wrong. He buys shots, takes them, and then gets wildly inappropriate, beligerant, and obnoxious.
Third: I mentioned I was at no point without a Guiness, right? Because that's important.
The kid I hate bought shots of something stupid. Possibly (probably) something with Jagermeister. He insisted everyone do a shot. I refused.
I said "No. I don't want it." I said "No. I have a beer." I said "No."
You remember those Nancy Reagan commercials from the eighties that ran in between episodes of Gem and the Gummi Bears? You remember.
Dear Nancy Reagan, I have a message for you:
"Just Say No." DOESNT WORK.
The kid that I hate did not take "no" for an answer. He kept handing me the shot, I kept sliding it down the table away from me. He would pick it up and give it back to me. This happened (not kidding) twelve times.
I'm just sitting there, right? Enjoying my last beer with a coworker (who I DON'T hate), and trying (hazily) to enjoy the Red Sox game. Stop handing me that shot. Stop talking to me. While you're at it, why not just go home so I never have to see you again?
Did the kid I hate leave me alone? No.
I thought I had won. I slid that shot away from me the last time and I honestly thought he would take no for an answer. He picked it up, and turned away from me, toward the bar, then turned back and...
DUMPED THE SHOT INTO MY BEER
WTF?!
Do NOT pour shots into my beer! Do NOT mess with my Guiness! YOU JUST RUINED A DRINK I HAD BEEN ENJOYING YOU ASSHOLE.
Can you believe it? I absolutely hate that kid. Punch-him-in-the-face-if-I-hadn't-been-that-drunk hate. Kick-his-ass-on-the-spot-if-I-weren't-so-disoriented hate. I couldn't believe it.
Um, but, well. Just to illustrate how drunk I was... I, finished the beer.
What is wrong with me?
Was it the two other people at the table who looked at me, shrugged as if to say "Yes, he ruined your beer, but you're here to get wasted, aren't you? We're here to get wasted, and at the very least hoped to see you get tanked too, otherwise why are you sucking down the free Guinesses we keep spotting you?" and actually said "You do have to finish it." As if their opinion somehow mad the beer less-ruined.
Was it that I was already so drunk that I forgot that three seconds ago someone had poured a shot of who-knows-what into my drink?
Did I just not care?
(It was option B. I'd forgotten what had happened three seconds prior after being distracted by the Sox game, or someone tapping me on the shoulder, or blinking.)
So, when I say I turned down at least one shot, that's true. But I still ended up drinking it.
Gross.
Most of the night is a blur. I'm sure I called some people on the phone, I am not sure that I spoke to anyone, or that I spoke coherently. I think I left right after the game, without saying goodbye to anyone. I slept until one the next day.
I came into work Monday and not so pretty girl asked if I had a good time. I said "I honestly can't remember anything after the fourth inning."
She said, "You had a good time."
-t
Notable appearances: the stupid kid, not so pretty girl, lurch, the kid that I hate
Notable non-appearances: hypermanager, pony boy, cancerface, johnny bombay, adina, crazy blog stalker people.
We got there at about seven. The Red Sox were on. I remember very little past the fourth inning (and I'm told the game went to thirteen innings).
Stupid kid said not one word to me. Showed up, ate some buffalo wings, and left. Not a "hello" not a "goodbye." Nothing. I was surprised, but really, I don't care.
I do know that I had at least one shot (some very good kind of tequila), that I turned down at least one shot, and that there was no point in the evening I did not have a glass of Guiness in (at least one of) my hand(s).
----we interrupt this hazy recollection (if you can call it that) of a drunken night at a pub to bring you late breaking details----
Upon further reflection I have realized that the shot I turned down was bought by the kid that I hate.
This is bad for a number of reasons. First: I hate him. This is the kid I saw walking around the office my very first day and thought "I hate him." The kid who was later transferred into my group, at which point I thought "I'll give him another chance," and did, and turns out, yes, I was right. I hate him.
Second: The kid that I hate always buys shots. He spends at least half his monthly earnings getting wasted at bars on weekday nights. He buys shots. It's all he does. No, that's wrong. He buys shots, takes them, and then gets wildly inappropriate, beligerant, and obnoxious.
Third: I mentioned I was at no point without a Guiness, right? Because that's important.
The kid I hate bought shots of something stupid. Possibly (probably) something with Jagermeister. He insisted everyone do a shot. I refused.
I said "No. I don't want it." I said "No. I have a beer." I said "No."
You remember those Nancy Reagan commercials from the eighties that ran in between episodes of Gem and the Gummi Bears? You remember.
Dear Nancy Reagan, I have a message for you:
"Just Say No." DOESNT WORK.
The kid that I hate did not take "no" for an answer. He kept handing me the shot, I kept sliding it down the table away from me. He would pick it up and give it back to me. This happened (not kidding) twelve times.
I'm just sitting there, right? Enjoying my last beer with a coworker (who I DON'T hate), and trying (hazily) to enjoy the Red Sox game. Stop handing me that shot. Stop talking to me. While you're at it, why not just go home so I never have to see you again?
Did the kid I hate leave me alone? No.
I thought I had won. I slid that shot away from me the last time and I honestly thought he would take no for an answer. He picked it up, and turned away from me, toward the bar, then turned back and...
DUMPED THE SHOT INTO MY BEER
WTF?!
Do NOT pour shots into my beer! Do NOT mess with my Guiness! YOU JUST RUINED A DRINK I HAD BEEN ENJOYING YOU ASSHOLE.
Can you believe it? I absolutely hate that kid. Punch-him-in-the-face-if-I-hadn't-been-that-drunk hate. Kick-his-ass-on-the-spot-if-I-weren't-so-disoriented hate. I couldn't believe it.
Um, but, well. Just to illustrate how drunk I was... I, finished the beer.
What is wrong with me?
Was it the two other people at the table who looked at me, shrugged as if to say "Yes, he ruined your beer, but you're here to get wasted, aren't you? We're here to get wasted, and at the very least hoped to see you get tanked too, otherwise why are you sucking down the free Guinesses we keep spotting you?" and actually said "You do have to finish it." As if their opinion somehow mad the beer less-ruined.
Was it that I was already so drunk that I forgot that three seconds ago someone had poured a shot of who-knows-what into my drink?
Did I just not care?
(It was option B. I'd forgotten what had happened three seconds prior after being distracted by the Sox game, or someone tapping me on the shoulder, or blinking.)
So, when I say I turned down at least one shot, that's true. But I still ended up drinking it.
Gross.
Most of the night is a blur. I'm sure I called some people on the phone, I am not sure that I spoke to anyone, or that I spoke coherently. I think I left right after the game, without saying goodbye to anyone. I slept until one the next day.
I came into work Monday and not so pretty girl asked if I had a good time. I said "I honestly can't remember anything after the fourth inning."
She said, "You had a good time."
-t
Monday, April 24, 2006
No more mondays either.
Friday was like "be nice to the new guy day." I was invited out to lunch by a guy in the other group, then invited out for a cigarette by not-so-pretty-girl, and the-guy-who-loves-cars-just-a-little-too-much.
I accepted both invitations because none of those people are in my group, and I generally don't hate people who aren't in my group.
I'm convinced the invitations were sparked by equal parts (a) they don't think I'm a bad guy, and (b) I'm leaving, so they want to know if I've got any dirt on my coworkers.
So we had fun bashing the stupid kids in my group. It was like, the most fun I've had at work since... Probably ever.
The stupid kid stories were enough to convince car-guy not to apply for the senior position I'm vacating. He was all "I'm thinking about a change, but after those stories...maybe I should look someplace else." It was a validating moment. Sort of. It also highlights how awful it really must be, and how stupid I am to have stayed this long.
Friday night we went out to a bar, only a handful of people came, and I got pre-tty drunk. I remember very little past the fourth inning of the Red Sox game except that (1) there were shots (2) I drank at least one shot (3) I turned down at least one shot (4) I was never without a guiness in my hand and (5) the sox game went to something like the thirteenth inning.
Notable personalities at the send-off were:
The stupid kid - who showed up, didn't say one word to me, ate buffalo wings, and left
Lurch - who showed up, said two words to me, had a beer, and left
The kid that I hate - who ordered shots for everyone, three times, ordered bud lights for everyone twice, and almost got kicked out of the bar once for being drunk, disorderly, and inappropriate
Notable abscences were:
hypermanager, Cancerface, Johnny Bombay, Adina, all of my crazy blog stalkers, and maybe some other people I wasn't sober enough to remember.
Anyway. Few people, lots of beer, next to zero recollection. So I guess it was a good night.
-t
I accepted both invitations because none of those people are in my group, and I generally don't hate people who aren't in my group.
I'm convinced the invitations were sparked by equal parts (a) they don't think I'm a bad guy, and (b) I'm leaving, so they want to know if I've got any dirt on my coworkers.
So we had fun bashing the stupid kids in my group. It was like, the most fun I've had at work since... Probably ever.
The stupid kid stories were enough to convince car-guy not to apply for the senior position I'm vacating. He was all "I'm thinking about a change, but after those stories...maybe I should look someplace else." It was a validating moment. Sort of. It also highlights how awful it really must be, and how stupid I am to have stayed this long.
Friday night we went out to a bar, only a handful of people came, and I got pre-tty drunk. I remember very little past the fourth inning of the Red Sox game except that (1) there were shots (2) I drank at least one shot (3) I turned down at least one shot (4) I was never without a guiness in my hand and (5) the sox game went to something like the thirteenth inning.
Notable personalities at the send-off were:
The stupid kid - who showed up, didn't say one word to me, ate buffalo wings, and left
Lurch - who showed up, said two words to me, had a beer, and left
The kid that I hate - who ordered shots for everyone, three times, ordered bud lights for everyone twice, and almost got kicked out of the bar once for being drunk, disorderly, and inappropriate
Notable abscences were:
hypermanager, Cancerface, Johnny Bombay, Adina, all of my crazy blog stalkers, and maybe some other people I wasn't sober enough to remember.
Anyway. Few people, lots of beer, next to zero recollection. So I guess it was a good night.
-t
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