Saturday, August 21, 2010

Switching Blogs:

http://reallycoolwebaddress.tumblr.com/

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

what up aytus

Who is aytus? I'm not really sure. but when people take breaks, they say hi to him. Hi aytus. Hiatus.

Geez that wasn't funny at all.

Ok, so i haven't posted in awhile. i'm not sure if anyone has noticed, but who cares. truth of the matter is that i've been mad busy. like sean paul. though he gets busy. and then he talks in some made up sean paul langauge that no one understands but himself. i hear they teach it at prestigious universities though.

Winston Weatherford, a 2010 Harvard graduate writes, "I am fluent in Sean Paulanese, which had complimented my degree in economic political trade foreign philosophy studies"

good for you man. now have fun hitting on a girl at a bar.

Ok, enough dawdling. I wrote this because I am sad to inform you that I will be leaving this blog blog. Yes, quite the sad day. However, I must make it a point that I will NOT, i repeat NOT go all brett favre on you. Like miley cyrus, my writing prowess can't be tamed. So instead of claiming i am donezo, only to make a triumphant self absorbed return would be no better than holding an hour long special about taking my talents to copenhagen or some shiiite.

By the way, why are there no shiite muslims that are phillies fans?

answer: Its always sunni in philadelphia

take that popsicle stick fools.

ok, so i'm leaving. not like jesse mccartney. but before i go, I would like to make peace with you, the awesome sauce reader.

1. I am leaving because I simply cannot keep up with the demands of a blog blog worthy of your readership. I am currently working as many jobs as steve, and the Jacket is inadvertently getting shunted to the side. if i continued for now, the product you would be getting would be worse quality than a firestone tire back in the 1980s when they blew up. and no, not in the way ke$ha uses it. blowin up.

I love writing, and as you may be aware of, I want to make my words worth something. kind of like william. In addition to my sportswriting (http://bleacherreport.com/users/267460-lance-pauker) I am in the process of writing a book, and I am strongly considering starting to write a movie. I have a sick nasty idea, and I really want to see it through.

Top this off with having two jobs, managing a softball team (though I don't really do anything, its all giffoon dawg), liking to party, and attempting to have a social life (overrated), free time is harder to find than Lindsey Lohan's diginity.

sorry lindsey. the joke was just too good to pass up.


2. Failure vs. Success

This blog has taught me many things, one being the difference between failure and success. Fact is, neither of these things actually exist. You cannot technically be successful (or a failure) at anything in life, because there is no alternative reality to compare it to. Yea, maybe you could say that Al Smith was a failure because he lost the 1932 presidential election to Franklin Delano Roosevelt. But how do you know that? because there is no alternative universe where al smith was actually president, you have no IDEA whether or not he failed, succeeded, or anything in between. what if he lost the war? what if we all spoke japanese?

i can't really answer these rhetorical questions, although we'd probably get to have spicy tuna rolls more often. major plus.

People live their lives, and anything that happens can be interpreted as success or failure. the true beauty of these concepts however, is that they are completely and fully subjective. the only judge of success and failure is yourself. and because the concepts are subjective to begin with, they have no concrete meaning. thus, your own evaluations of the two concepts don't actually mean ANYTHING, because there is no control to judge them by. the ideas are simply variables in a vacuum. wow, i'm going all science on you. even i'm shocked.

what i'm trying to say is that you shouldn't worry about too much in life. at the end of the day, both success and failures end up in the same heap of dung known as "your memory." do what you want, because at the end of the day, life is just a big pile of memories.

always be true to yourself. be true to your pile, always. because if you're too caught up in trying to impress others, you might forget to store the magical moments in your pensieve.



songs of the day:





Friday, July 16, 2010

Guest post from the mafia...in china

The mafia has taken his many talents to china, where he will be living his life for the next six months. apparently, they aren't a fan of my blog over yonder


_________________________________________________________


Words of Wisdom from The Mafia

So when I woke up this morning in a room in a youth hostel in the Xuhui district of Shanghai, seeing as I had absolutely nothing else to do (it was 5 am) I decided to check me email. After wasting ten minutes or so reading all that was in my inbox and responding the the messages that didn't come from facebook, a website considered to dangerous for use by the mighty Chinese Communist Party, I decided to try to read the blog to see if I had missed any spectacular posts by The Revolution. What I found shocked me. The most valuable blogspot address known to man is blocked in China, and I am no longer able to read the blog I love so dearly. So i'm writing this for 2 reasons. First, so the unlucky chinese man who has to read my emails can know how pissed off I am at this fucking absurdity, and second, so that you the valued readers of the blog can begin to understand how powerful the blog is, as its considered too dangerous and seditious for people in China. Now thats something to think about

Peace, Love and a Favorable Exchange Rate,

-The Mafia


__________________________________________


song of the day: The first minute of this mashup may very well be the greatest thing I have ever heard. the rest isn't too bad either, but the first minute is just jack black craaazy good




Wednesday, July 14, 2010

Thoughts on a page

Swimming. faster than michael phelps in that subway commercial. what does it mean? nobody really knows, as it is a fantasy-based social construction moderately applicable to the current societal pop landscape.

that sentence that i just wrote was a bunch of bullshit. it made me try and sound smarter than i actually am. though smartness is not a quantitative quality. wait no, i lied. it is. numbers are the only thing in the world that have concrete solutions. i guess thats why i hate them so much.

solutions, other than those chemical concoctions from your 5th grade science class (lugol's iodine yo), are unequivocally boring. a solution effectively provides a dead end. you can't go past its finity. thats that, and we cant change its outcome. what happened happened. the intense critical thinking used to solve the problem that this so-called solution has generated is now moot. its irrelevant. its donezo. we have the answer, and thats all that matters.

boo that.

I think the thing that makes life beautiful is lack of solutions. answers that cannot be fully explained are the answers worth exploring. this profound thesisishy thing may sound more counterproductive than T pain singing without autotune ( a question without an answer? how do I get an A?), but thats not the point. its never the point. not having a point is what makes us tick. it allows us to explore the ridiculousness around us. it allows us to clog our head with thoughts that are both exceedingly trivial and immaculately deep. it allows us to find, to procreate, and to, oddly enough, form conclusions. even if its the wrong conclusion, its still ours. its not given to us by someone.

Humans thrive on the ability to mentally construct. nearly every tangible thing in this world is a result of human thought. this couch, the chess pieces next to me and its inherent value, the concept of money, the fall fashion preview magazine with this girl who is not attractive enough for the cover, your i-pod, that disgusting new KFC sandwhich, and even those retarted silly bands.

some great, some not so great. either way, they all came to be because someone decided they wanted to create their own equation.

by not having a solution, you are removing rigidity. this may sound overly liberal and non-conformist, but i dont care. the human mind, when its not dumbing itself down with the bullshit of other human beings, craves this kind of stimulation. it doesn't matter if you even apply these thoughts into your cute little life scheme. the very fact that it allows you to ponder is just downright awesome.


maybe its better to make the math problem of your life unanswerable. this way, you won't spend 30 minutes checking over, making sure everything fell into place perfectly.

What if?

If we found out, we'd probably be disappointed with the answer. But what if we weren't?



song of the day: Faithfully, Journey



i'm don't usually like older rock, but i'm a big fan of this one. i'm also a big fan of the phrase big fan.
Frookies. if you don't know what they are, look them up.

that is all

Monday, July 12, 2010

Four Boss Things:

1. http://bleacherreport.com/articles/419456-10-decisions-espn-should-show-next

If you stalk me, you may have noticed my writing is moving towards this website known as the bleacherreport. I am now a featured columnist there (sounds prestigiously awesome, right?), so if you wanna read up on sportzz i'll be there. I'm focusing on pop-culture and sports, which is pretty much sick nasty

2. Caleb McConachie

Sorry for all of you dedicated readers, but this kid is by far the biggest boss who reads this blog. Mr. Caleb, all the way from Oregon trail land, is the first individual to ever send fan mail regarding this blog. Obviously, I was flattered. I sat there on my friends floor, definitely not hungover at all from the july 4th gtown festivities, reading this e-mail that was the pure essence of awesome sauce. I sat there for about 10 minutes thinking of what I should say because I was so honored, and then I wrote something stupid about how I did not know how to react to receiving fanmail. I didn't mention TLC, although I probably should have. For the 92% of you who don't get that joke, fanmail was an awesome album made by TLC

Caleb has set the bar, folks. And I assure you that I wouldn't be able to high jump it.

3. Another sauceome follower and pretty dominant mashup artist, DJ Bahler, released a new mashup album this past week. Its called "mashin pit," and every single track features at least one song from the (i don't even know what to categorize them as) coolio band Passion Pit.


I especially liked this track that I just amatuerishly linked right here:  file:///Users/Lpauker/Desktop/05%20Open%20Secret.mp3  

Hopefully the link works, it is baller in every sense of the word, as it features the instrumental to Taylor swifts fearless throughout most of the song. 


4. Slightly hipsterly emo, but these guys are just too good:

Saturday, July 10, 2010

Do me a favor and step outside your comfort zone. You never know, there may be a chipotle on the other side. shotty chips and guac. 


Thursday, July 8, 2010

Queen James

Nevermind, I have too much to say about this subject to let it go. Not speaking my mind about the abomination would be equivalent to that Tienamen Square dude not going out in front of all those tanks.

Ok, not that much. but close.

Tonight's events confirmed that LeBron James is the most narcissitic, egomaniacal individual on the planet.

Why everything about "The Decision" was decidedly a disgrace:

1. Cleveland, Ohio

It's one thing to leave your friends, family, hometown, struggling economy, and devoted fans in the dust. Its another thing to humiliate them on national television. By demanding an hour long special dictated entirely by himself, LeBron confirmed that he is not in fact the king--he is the drama queen.

By drawing all of this attention to himself, LeBron confirmed that his womanly essence of being manifests itself in a way of a shitty girlfriend. I totally understand why he broke up with Cleveland. It wasn't working out. If the relationship continued, it would have been toxic. However, he could have ended everything privately and respectfully, behind closed doors. It would have been painful, but it would have been heartfelt. It would have showed that he truly cared, and that he felt truly sorry about everything. Instead, he made sure everyone heard about how much Cleveland sucked. It was kind of like she broke up with the Cavs at a really crowded bar, slapped him in the face, and threw a drink all over his really nice shirt. Check, please?

Imagine Larry Bird doing this. Imagine Kobe doing this. Imagine anyone other than Chad Ochocinco doing this. It's impossible. Good thing this fool isn't sponsored by addidas; impossible is something.

2. LeBron has no LeBrand

LeBron prided himself on his image. On being a global superstar. On aspiring to be the best ever.

By joining Dwanye Wade, LeBron is joining someone else's team. This fact arguably makes him more of a Robin than a Batman. Even if LeBron wins a 10 championships in a row, his legacy will be a shared one.

He has compromised himself, and will not even be "the man" in his new city.

If he really wanted to promote his global LeBrand, something that his hour long publicity and advertising circus seemed to underscore, he should have stayed in Cleveland or went to New York. The aura of New York could have created a LeBrand unparalleled by anywhere else, and Cleveland would have helped him promote the "hometown hero" angle.

LeBron has a tattoo on his arm that says "Loyalty." Might want to get that one erased, big guy.

3. The NBA is once again a joke

Lets be real here. If LeBron had joined any other team not named Miami, he could have elevated the NBA into glory days. Since I am a biased knick fan, lets just hypothetically assume that he joined the Knicks.

LeBron and Amar'e vs. Wade and Bosh vs. Kobe and Gasol vs. Dwight Howard and Co. vs. Durant and Westbrook? The NBA would be even more exciting to watch than the new Twilight.

In the words of Miley Cyrus, this team can't be tamed. The season is over before it started. That's why we play the game? Pshh. Please.

4. Its the Climb

Its not always about getting there; its about HOW you get there. Any championship LeBron wins will have been done the easy way. He won't have to beat the best to be the best. Thus, his rings will be much less meaningful.

A perfect example of "if you can't beat them, join them." If that's not a cop out, then I'll wear a scarf in this heat.

5. The Media Circus

LeBron single-handedly destroyed ESPN's credibility and their ability to balance good old fashioned journalism and raw entertainment. The nerve of this guy. He has no respect for anyone but himself, and by providing a construct to make a simple decision more important than a presidential address. Shame on him.

And as for the Boys and Girls Club? Charity is nice, but he just as easily could have tweeted his decision and written them a check. It would have  saved himself a lot of embarrassment.

_________________

This entire thing was a complete disgrace to the sport of basketball, as it effectively turned the sport into an MTV reality TV show.

John Wooden is rolling in his grave.

Too bad Queen James won't be able to appreciate this song ever. It's quite good. And i'm definitely not embarassed to like it:

LeBron

I could go all out here, but I'm not going to. All i'm going to say is that I can't wait for South Park to do an episode making fun of this whole thing.

Maybe I'll have to buy a kobe jersey. now that's amar'e

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Weekend in Georgetown Part 2: The usual unusualness

If you didn't catch the beginning to this thrilling tale and are too lazy to scroll two posts down, read this

Otherwise, lets rock and roll part 2


_______________________

4:00 pm: I decided that despite bro-ing out with my obnoxiously frat star UCLA jersey (which easily could have been mistaken from a lax pinnie from afar) I needed to build upon my toolbag profile so that I could look Bradley Cooper's character from the hangover except 10 years younger. Thus, I decided to hit up Urban Outfitters with the factorial, whose texas blood was oozing for a USA bandana.

Urban outfitters, the prime shopping place for michael cera's character in Nick and Norah's infinite playlist, was bumping with people wearing checkered shirts, strange earrings, and shoes with different colored laces. Starting to exceed the google buzz, I may have let a comment or two slip about how those people were going to have to leave brooklyn because the Nets were moving there and hipsters don't support sports teams.

Although their sunglass collection was decidedly "deck", i found a nice pair of $14 knockoff aviators. I was going to the plastic pink look, which has been my go to for the past year, but the pair they had were much too artsy and poetic.

Oh, as we were walking, I found out that since the factorial couldn't move into his apt until later that day, he had been staying with a friend the past few days. That friend happened to live in the apartment that has more links to my past than StumbleUpon.com. I would elaborate more here, but that would probably get awkward and mean. So if you don't know, now you still don't know, my african-american compatriot.

5:37: Factorial starts moving into his apartment. I check out the crib because theres a decent chance I might live there when I come back from copenhagen. Being that the house was owned by the Knights of Columbus, a christian group, I was fully aware that the place wasn't going to fully stocked with Torah's, yarmulke's, and really dry kosher food that even jewish people don't like. However, I was pretty shocked to find that the place looked like a garage that Jesus used to chuck his extra stuff. Now, i'm not a religious person at all. The time I last went to temple, I had never even heard of Lady Gaga, Justin Bieber, Twitter, Ke$ha, Super Mash Bros, and even g-mail. However, this place was just too much. I was surprised they didn't give that bread wafer stuff when I walked in.

6:00: Meet up with Longoria and we head to do our radio show, where we meet our exuberant co-host Erin, who "runs shit" in womens crew. This reunion edition of forevan on the lance floor was probably the best show we have ever done, probably because we spent the whole time drinking from water bottles that didn't have water in them. There's a decent chance that we danced around in the booth the whole time, shouting lyrics to songs that are embarassing to know the lyrics to.

Highlight of the radio show:

Me (excitedly, to erin and evan): "Yooo...you know that song One in a Million By Miley Cyrus?"

Evan: (looking at me like i'm on crack while laughing): "no...."

I look at Erin. She's a girl, so if I know a miley song, she's got to

"Nope. Never heard of it."

Me (disbeleiving) "wow. you guys are totally lame"

Erin "this is coming from the person who just asked us if we knew a non-popular miley cyrus song."


7:34: Continue to consume certain things that rhyme with schmeer, this time at the house of looooooooowell karr, which I spent a good deal of the weekend at. It turns out that his house is pink. Although different people will be living in this certain pink house during the school year, one of my friends guaranteed that I will be back. Another friend, who wished to be unnamed because thats what journalists say, said there was absolutely no chance I would step foot in it again, and that he'd beat me with a mace if i did.* Thus, a bet was made regarding whether or not I will be back there. I didn't want to take either side, so I let the other party pick before I accepted the bet. I actually don't know which side I chose, but I guess we'll find out next february when I do/don't go back there.

*he didn't actually say that mace thing, but he kind of did. this last excerpt wasn't vague at all.

7:34-11:37- Nothing that important happened during this time, other than the fact that I kept imbibing inhibitors. I also ate some pretty american food, grilled by the rob the jewelry store gonna make me a grill himself, Mr. Evan Longoria... I met a kid who was going to denmark with me, to whom I replied, "what a dansk dansk revolution."He probably thought I was strange, but I don't really care...I also decided to tell everyone at this BBQ dinner/pregame that I was writing a book, and everyone immediately seemed to be more impressed with me. Its funny how that works. If I told them something equally interesting about myself, such as "I once walked home from my high school- it took two hours," they would have ran away faster than that girl at the bar in the very beginning of top gun. But since i'm writing a book, i'm suddenly impressive. Ambition. What a joke.

11:37: After spending even more time popping bottles in the ice like a blizzard, we head over to a party......

hanging on the cliff. I'd finish this now but I actually have to go dress up like Phill from the hangover. And no, i'm not joking.


song of the right now:

Tuesday, July 6, 2010

If you are going to run, run faster. If you are going to dig, dig deeper. If you are going to love, love more than you did yesterday. If you are going to fail, fail completely. 


Monday, July 5, 2010

July 4th Weekend in Gtown: The usual unusualness part 1

This weekend I went on down to the heart of Amurrca to celebrate the rowdy sauce holiday that is the fourth of july. Although I was away the perpetual life of the party, mr. droad pauker, I ended up having a rather swell time. 

I went to the big georgetown to live it up collegiate style for one last smoldering time before I go off to copenhagen, disown everything, and drop out of school to "change the world, man." I could tell you the story in vague, esoterically referenced banter, but that wouldn't be fun for anyone involved. heres the story straight up (on that kryptonite)

***out of decency and respect for the common human being, the story will be somewhat censored. though i really wish it wasn't. if you want the full story, i'll be accepting bribes starting....NOW

Saturday, July 3rd

6:00 am: My alarm rings the awesome sauce alarm that is the "Doug" Theme song. I slept on my brothers pull out bed because my aunt and baby cousins (well, they're almost 7 now) were visiting and sleeping in my 5 star luxury suite. 

6:07: After a brief "sleep while awake" period, I hop in the shower, turn the water on, took a look at the shampoo said whats up. Yea. Get lotion. oh. I gotta question why they get Pantene? I aint did nothing to it. but gel up my faux hawk say wats up. yea. get old spice. oh. 

6:30: Being that I was going on a trip, I had tu pac. I made sure to bring all my frat star apparel. 

6:43: I spent about an hour the night before looking for my phone charger. obviously, I couldn't find it. in sudden epiphany, I realized that there was a spare charger at my place of employment. Logically, I decided to drive all the way to my professional setting, the beach, to get that phone charger fo sho at 6 43 in the morning. pretty normal occurence. 

7:10: I arrive at the residence of the big alli, my partner in crime for the driving trip. alli, a wahoo fo lyfe, is visiting a cluster of fellow Wahoowians in Vienna, which is in NoVa scotia. Apparently when you combine austria and canada, you get northern virginia. who knew? 

p!nk did. i guess thats when she was learning about when she was supposed to be studying proper grammatical order of punctuation. 

7:40: before alli and I embark on our glorious journey, we stop at the smithtown bagel store. we tell the owner dude--who is secretly richard alpert because he hasn't aged in 15 years--that we are going to DC. Richard alpert was a big jokester, and told us that he catered bermuda, obama, come on pretty mama's inauguration. he wanted us to say hi.

We drive down to DC. The trip was rather glorious, and everyone was really scared of our ballerness so they evacuated the highway and let us charge on. 

some major highlights:

-new jersey is officially the worst state ever, as confirmed by and ice breaker game that alli once participated in.
-people at rest stops are "bleggh"
-alli also has a blog, which you should probably read, and we decided that blogging is the third best thing ever behind guacamole and that charlie bit me video.
-i discovered that i do not know how to lock my car without setting off the car alarm. good thing i don't really believe in security, otherwise i'd probably be better off buying a vuvuzela*

that didn't make much sense, but i really like vuvuzelas and thought they should probably be mentioned

2:00 pm: Arrive at gtown. I chan ho parked in a parking lot that i later found out was illegal and probably should have got towed in, but i'm a pretty sneaky person so i didn't get caught. My roommate, current georgetown legend, and gratious host for the weekend, evan longoria, meets us and starts ranting incoherently in german because he is pumped up that germany destroyed argentina in the messi-est of fashions. Too bad they are going to lose to la furious cookie rojas in the semis.... Alli gets picked up by her friend after she mistakenly drove to 37th and O Southeast, which in the words of DMX, is where the hood at.


2:12 pm: Hit up the lawn to engage in frat star like activities. I meet up with old time friends jared center-dawg and issei don't you nino and one of their mutual friends. we drink some beverages that aren't water, soda, or juice.

3:00: The ace factor enters the picture. casual beverages continue to hustle and flow, and I become google buzzed rather quickly.

End of chapter one. The story picks up pace from here, so i'll throw some suspense at ya.













Thursday, July 1, 2010

An angry letter to the popsicle stick people

I'm sitting here in my den typing away on my mac. I am pretty sure I am addicted to my computer, being that it has been on my lap for the past seven hours. Other things could be on my lap, but I won't go into details any further here because I am slightly weirded out by what I am saying.

As many of you know, I hate popsicle stick jokes with a passion. I really want to write a letter to the popsicle stick people to tell them how god-awful they are, and that they effectively ruin my day every time I eat a popsicle stick. It would go a little something like this (like this):

Dear Popsicle Stick People,

I am writing not as a overzealous fanatic, but as a dissatisfied customer. I understand the hard labor that goes into making frozen chemicals on bits of wood, and I am not here to disparage the work you do, as it makes a tremendous difference in the lives of thousands of jewish sleepaway campers per year. Without you, my childhood would have been more emptier than apartment yellowcard sings about in a song they do. You probably don't get that reference, and I don't blame you. Judging by the fact that your company took away the baseball glove ice pop with the bubble gum ball in the middle, you clearly are not in touch with what the kids want these days.

By the way, how dense are you? That ice pop was the greatest thing since Mike the Situation. Come on now.

Today, I babysitted my longtime royal pain in the arse, an eight year old named Bryce Ickle. Bryce, or "Ice," as his friends call him, is a big fan of the frozen treat. His father, Pops Ickle, used to drive around an ice cream truck, but retired after he saw Borat and realized he could no longer have a bear in his truck.

That sounded kind of ridiculous and didn't have anything to do with the story, but it was all supposed to be in good humor. You should know what good humor is being that its an ice cream brand, but the jokes on your popsicle sticks suggest that you clearly have no sense of the concept whatsoever.

As per tradition, every time Bryce and I get ice cream after he beats me up if I don't buy him any, we read each other the popsicle stick jokes. He's never really found any of them funny, but it was never a reason to complain. Maybe Bryce and I have an awful comedic IQ, I don't know. After todays joke however, I felt like I had to put my foot down. This monkey business can go on no longer.

The joke was as follows:

"Why didn't the car start?"

____

_____

Wait for it

dramatic effect

ANSWER: because it was tired

After I delivered the punch line, Bryce stood frozen about for about five seconds, completely dumbfounded. Then, all of a sudden, he burst into tears.

He would not stop crying for about 30 minutes. The entire time, he was sobbing about how he couldn't have a popsicle ever again because the jokes made him really really sad.

I hope you know that every time you publish one of those horrific jokes, an angel loses its wings.

Your one job is to make funny jokes. I don't understand why you do the complete opposite. This isn't Australia. The toilet doesn't flush counter clockwise. And neither do your popsicle sticks after I flush them in my shit where they deserve to be. Geez.

Please fire every employee you have and get bought out by ANYONE else. Even George Lopez would be better than you guys.

Respectfully yours,

Lance




song of the day:

Eminem ft. Lil Wayne: No Love

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Random book excerpts


One of my favorite things in the world is watching how people react when you know they are about to receive a text. Some people get really excited, and immediately dive for their phone like its the last ticket to a Billy Joel concert. Others try and play it off real cool. They’ll feel the phone vibrating in their pocket, do a little head nod to themselves in acknowledgement of the text, and go about their business. Five minutes later, they’ll  casually reach into their pocket, glance at the message, then put the phone back in their pocket for another five minutes before responding. The last set of people are the completely oblivious ones who either don’t realize their phone is vibrating, or simply forget to respond.
Juliet, being a member of the female race, fell into the first category. 

__________________________________________

For introductions, the leaders are supposed to facilitate awkward “get to know you” games called icebreakers. These games have the uncanny ability to make its participants feel more uncomfortable than a 16 year old girl watching Superbad with her parents. One of the games, called “Bunny Bunny,” requires players to prance around the room yelling nonsensical phrases such as “Dunga Dunga.” Yep, thats right. DUNGA DUNGA. Being that everyone in my group was above the age of five, I refused to play any such games. 
Lastly, we were supposed to eat, sleep, and breathe the Georgetown Fight Song. Since that cacophonous abomination is undoubtedly the worst fight song I have ever heard, I refused to learn the lyrics. Supposedly a gleaming bastion of school spirit, I was unable to teach my new students the fight song. What a shame. Not really. 
Why did I rebel against the rules of orientation advising? Was it because I hated Georgetown or something?
Nope. Not at all. Actually, I was a big fan of Georgetown. If it were a sport, I would root for it. But if you thought I was going to sacrifice my personal values for a falsified and overall less awesome presentation college life, you’ve got another thing coming. There was absolutely no way I was going to mask my true self. Putting on mask would have made me fake. A fake me would have given off a fake impression of the school. A fake impression of the school creates a fake school. And a fake school just sucks. I don't know about you, but I'm done with that "playing pretend" thing. It was soooo 1993.   


_____________________
My voice came out rather confident, but I was anything but. She made me much more nervous than anyone should be talking to a girl. In fact, I was so nervous that I resorted to my “I’m uncomfortable in this situation” twitch. Everyone has one. Some people bite their nails, some people scratch their arm. As for me? I rub the area underneath my eye with my index finger. For whatever reason, that stuff from your eye (I think its called eye mucus) likes to chill there. 
As I rubbed away, I realized that I hadn’t shaven for the past few days. God, I must have looked like an overly scruffy idiot. In a move of pure genius, I thought it’d be a good idea to grow out a finals beard. Geez Blake, what were you thinking?
At least my appearance wasn’t totally shot. I was wearing my best sweatshirt. The green American eagle brought out my eyes pretty nicely, and it was one of those cuts that were perfectly shaped for my body. If it wasn’t for my idiotic aspiration to look like Zach Galifanakis, I would have easily been Abercrombie model material. Though I’d keep my shirt on. Those shirtless models are giant tools. 
____________________

The inevitable slowly but surely began to creep in. I was running into dead ends. I was trapped. I had no idea what time it was, and I was beginning to panic. I was scared. I was confused. I had a headache. I wanted mommy. 
Dejected, I decided to trudge back to my apartment. My stairwell was indoors, somewhat shielded from the unfriendly and formidable outside world that had just chewed me up and spit me out like a shitty piece of gum that loses flavor after about 30 seconds. The stairwell would give me a little shelter, at least for a little bit. I knew I couldn’t fall asleep, because I would risk missing NSO training. Thus, I knew I was going to have to bite the bullet and pull my first all-nighter of the year. Second day in, and classes hadn’t even started yet. Not too shabby. 
After a brief walk of utter shame, I rounded the corner and mounted the stoops leading to the door of my apartment building. Immensely relieved that the stack of flyers I found at the foot of the stairs remained wedged in between the doorway, keeping it unlocked, I opened the door, fully prepared to wait it out until the sun rose. About to go in, I decided to take one last feeble look at the lifeless street in a last ditch effort to save myself. 
And just like that, my world was turned upside down.  



song of the day:

Use ur love: B.O.B

B.o.B rapping over the outfield's 80's classic. solid stuff. 





Monday, June 28, 2010

Cleaning Ladies Are Counter Productive

Theres not many things I intensely dislike in this world. Other than doritos, the jokes on popsicle sticks, and male scarf wearers, all of which are tremendous embarrassments to the progress of humankind, I cannot not think of a single thing that I could verbally clean house on.

I use the words "clean house" for a reason. Being that this post is about cleaning ladies, you would think that "cleaning house" is their bread and butter. Or in most cases, their nacho's and sour cream*

sorry if that's racist. though it kind of has to be, otherwise it takes away from the "this is real life" aspect of everything. If I didn't make that slightly racist comment, the shiny-ness effect wouldn't be there anymore. and then there wouldn't be all shiny coins on the floor. and then i wouldn't be able to pick them up and horde them in my cave of jew gold.

see? what goes around comes around. now all we need is timbaland and his really low voice.

thats enough sidetracking for now. to begin this epically awful misuse of windex and dust pans, I will give you a brief history of my experience with the species known as "the cleaning people." At first it was terrific. Then it was decent. Then it was just a nightmare on Thatch Pond

Billy B  (1993-2003ish)

Billy B was the man. When I was like 3-5 years old, he would play this sweet game where he would trap us in the corner and we would have to escape his monstrous wrath. According to my mother j woww, Billy B was the best cleaning person of all time ever. What a legend.

Billy B was rather old (by the time he left he was at least in his 70s), but you would never be able to tell. In addition to noting the superior athletic abilities of his race, he loved to brag about how "black don't crack," meaning that african-americans age in a much less noticeable manner.

Billy B was also the VERY first guest at my barmitzvah. Mad props. He used to do this roller skating dance thing at the Roxy back in the day, and he was quite adroit at busting a move. Needless to say, he showed up all us less talented dancers.*

*Not really fair. He's black and we're jewish. You ever see anyone named Alan Bergenstein on so you think you can dance?

**They should have a new show called "So you think you can be an accountant?" We'd clean up on that shi'ite

Anyways, Billy B retired somewhere around the time when Blink 182 broke up, and moved to Georgia. We have not heard from him for awhile, so if he is in a better place, may he rest in peace. Though Billy B wouldn't want to rest in peace. He'd want to party.

Maria (2003-2005ish)

I don't remember much about Maria, but apparently she was pretty good. I don't think her cleaning was as spot on as Billy B's, but she was never a nuisance. For instance, if I was on the computer, she would never obnoxiously clean the monitor while I was playing snood (yes, some people actually have the nerve to interrupt snood. Or worse, the helicopter game.) Though she definitely didn't enhance the household atmosphere, she was no buzz killington either. Overall, I'd rank her at a solid B+

Maria left for reasons I don't really remember, but apparently it was a really emotional goodbye and she and my mom starting crying. Oh, the things women do.

I'm not really sure where she is now, though she definitely is a big fan of christiano ronaldo and will be really pissed if david villa's triangle goatee advances to the next round.

2005-2006 was kind of like that period in Russian history after Krushchev died, and they didn't really have a solid leader for a few years. Nothing important really happened, so theres really no point in talking about it

The Reign of Terror (2007-Present)

I never really understood how truly lucky I was before my fateful junior year, when the Dolores Umbridge Inquistorial squad of cleaners invaded my house and ransacked sense of belonging in the world. There's just too much to say here, so i'm just going to revert to one story, which I think sums up their entire essence quite well.

Last summer, I returned from work one August afternoon, ready to relax by the pool, take a nap, or engage in some activity that allowed me to clear my mind and potentially practice occlumency against the black eyed peas, because the song "I got a feeling" was being more overplayed than Tyler Perry's House of Pain.

Little did I know, I was about to walk into a house of pain. As I drove up the driveway, my heart sank faster than the speed of love. The van of doom was parked in the driveway. Needless to say, it was also parked in my spot.

As I jammed my car into this little alcove thingy on the side of my driveway, I couldn't help thinking how stupid I was. Of course the cleaning ladies were coming today. I spent about a half hour before work cleaning my room so that the cleaning ladies could clean it.

Yep, I just said that. I clean my room so we could pay money for a service to do the exact same thing to my room that I just did. Wise use of money. Might as well take that money and light it on fire.

I walked into the house, only to find one of the members of the sweeping squad in the entrance hallway thingy whose official house name I am not actually sure of. Dancing around her vaccuuming (which was louder than the WOW! THATS A LOW PRICE! guy), I slipped off  my shoes. Because she pretended not to notice me, I had to do a really tricky dodge move to avoid bumping into her. At the very last moment however, she unexplicably decided to pull on the vaccuum wire, causing me to trip and roll my ankle.

This was clearly a red card, but they obviously payed off the ref to that they could have their full squad.

Boy, did they have their full squad. There was someone in EVERY ROOM. I couldn't even go to the bathroom. In my own house.

Immensely frustrated, the only option was to leave. I walked onto my deck to find j woww, her college roommate, and her college roommates son, who were both staying with us. They recently moved from Syracuse to Taiwaan (yep, Taiwaan), and were coming back to the states to check out some schools for the son, Anthony.

Anthony was also clearly upset with the invasion. Judging from the look on his face, it seemed as if we were native americans being forcibly removed from our land for no reason other than to completely ruin it.

Even though the reign of terror swarms every room in the house, they somehow manage to take about 90 minutes to "clean." I am putting clean in quotes to imply that they actually don't clean. Instead, they usually break the air-conditioning, somehow mess up our wireless internet connection, and misplace nearly every personal belonging not safely tucked away in a secret closet.

Being that we were in exile, I decided to take Anthony to the driving range. I was in a pretty bad mood, and let him know about how much I despised that group of fantastik-wielding who constantly infringed upon my pursuit of happiness. I was so out of sorts that when we got to the driving range (about 15 mintues away), I had realized that I had forgotten both sets of clubs. I briefly considered attempting to play golf with the invisible set of clubs I had, but then I figured that would probably raise some eyebrows from the wrong kinds of people. I then hastily backed out of the parking lot to return home and get the clubs.

CRASH


Knowing that the word "crash" all capitalized and in large font was definitely not a good thing, I hopped out of my car to figure out what the mcfreak just happened.

In the middle of the gravely, uneven parking lot that is in more need of repair than the script to "Land of the Lost," there happened to be a big old pole without padding.

I thought I had trained up my subaru forrester well, but it was clear that it could not take a punch. One of the back taillights were completely shattered, and the back bumperish part of the car was more bruised than that Jacks Mannequin song.

Pole 1, Car 0.

Anthony thought I was the worst driver on in north america, and it cost mad money to fix. The worst part of the whole thing was due to the fallout from the incident, I was not able to attend a party that night. Normally it wouldn't be a big deal, but this party was hosted by none other than the Tsunami Blocker, an individual whose name I will not reveal because I feel like he probably wouldn't want it out there that he had a rager. Though he does block Tsunamis. Anyway, the Tsunami blocker is one of my best friends, and to this day, I have still never dranken with him. That was our one shot, our one opportunity. And through the overdone soap suds, I let it slip. Truly a crime.

I never would have went to the driving range if it wasn't for the cleaning ladies. Fate fell short this time.

The terror squad comes once a week. Since I have returned home from school, I have made it my mission to avoid my house at all costs during those fateful 90 minutes.

Lance 1, Cleaning Ladies 0. Bring it on: Mopped and Loaded


Song of the day:

This song came onto my i-pod today and put me in one of those really good moods where you are just really happy, and aren't sure why, but all you know is that this song always makes you happy. That didn't make sense, but its not supposed to.

If Work Permits, the format

























My Day Job




Theres going to be a lot more where this came from. In fact, the shenanigans that go on at the smithtown beaches deserve a blog in itself. They also deserve state of the art brooms (which we have). boo yah.

Wednesday, June 23, 2010

Rage

Dude, i drank so much last night. i'm so cool man. dude, i had like 12 shots and 9 beers. i'm the shit, dude. people that exhaggerate how much they drink are lame, man. they can't keep up with me. I'm a TANK. 


We all know someone like this. For the rest of us, here's a nice little compilation of songs that could help us "get on their level."


if only we were that cool







]]

























Monday, June 21, 2010

Get A Twitter

Its a waste of time. Its pointless. I'd never use it. Its for nerds.

No. No. No. Yes.

I may not know who you are, where you're from, or what you did. But as long as you have a twitter, i'll love you.

wow, that was just an awful joke.


Reasons why you should get a twitter (in under 140 characters)






imgres.jpg



-The gems people come up with are just priceless


@RustyRockets (Russell Brand), on the England's goal allowed against USA:

Steve Gerrard "The whole team is behind Rob Green". In retrospect, that's a good place to stand.


@AzizAnsari:


No idea why carne asada is trending on Twitter in LA, but if BP fucked up carne asada some how, I'm gonna be fucking PISSED.


@Paul Conna:


Adam Morrison has two NBA championships. I need his jersey now.


@funnyhumour 


Can't wait for Vuvuzela hero to come out on the xbox.


@StephenAtHome (Stephen Colbert)


george w. bush has a facebook page. i bet he's clearing a lot of brush in farmville






-Even if people hate you more than the French soccer coach, someones bound to follow you


-Follow the people/things/events you want, and twitter becomes a personalized news source. about things you actually care about. 


-If you ever want to show the world how awesome you are, link your shit on twitter and the twaddicts will be straight up on that kryptonite


-You get say idiotic things, and get away with it.


-You probably feel like a fat, washed up loser after spending 6 hours a day on facebook. Twitter is facebook on anorexia, so it'll help you lose weight


-You could follow Enrique Inglesias


-It is USEFUL. I set up an interview with DJ Jewboy (he makes it rain on the shiksa's) through the twitski


-I want to adopt that twitter bird as a pet. Its just the coolest. and its so blue


-Twitter just told me that Amanda Bynes retired


-People will automatically think you are much more interesting than you actually are


-The twitter accounts of Georgetown basketball players are just a wonder to behold. I especially recommend Henry Sims


-Like I said... third best*




Cool. Now go sign up. It'll be happiest day of mah lifes


oh, and follow me: @LanceSauce






song of the day:


Infant Sorrow: Bangers, Beans, And Mash







Awesome Sauce clip of the day


























Sunday, June 20, 2010

http://what-rocks.com/2010/06/20/get-used-to-us-georgetown-well-be-here-for-quite-awhile/


ALSO, Wishing all you fawtha's and yo fawtha's fawtha's a happy fawtha's day.

song of the day:

Geeks get the girls, American Hi-Fi

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pDcz43pt6r4

This post was boring, so here's a cool picture:



imgres.jpeg

Friday, June 18, 2010

Parking Lots

I had a revelation today.  Just now actually.

I have spent a lot of time in parking lots. Normally, these automobile oceans act as a blip on the radar of everyday life. If your life were a movie, the parking lot would be one of those transition things. Parking lots aren't important enough to merit their own scene, so all they could really handle is a "fade in" or "fade out' effect.

Wrong.

I realized today that the most important thing about life are our parking lots. It probably sounds slightly stoopider than a lame cover band of sublime, but its the truth. Our parking lots not only define us---they healthily consume us. A dementor's kiss would not take away our heart, mind, body, or even soul. It would away our parking lot.

What is a parking lot, you may ask?

A parking lot is much much much ever so muchly more than a great plain of pavement, brightly colored lines, and a random assortment of litter.

Like I said, parking lots are transitions. They are the small nuances in life that you don't even notice unless you take a second look at everything. Parking lots are only discovered in the moments where you sit out on your porch at 12 39 in the morning when everyone else is sleeping. You have just watched an inspiring movie that got you in one of those "thinking" modes, so you are reflecting.

Little by little, it all comes back to you.

When you think of something, someone, someplace, the things you are "supposed" to remember-birthdays, your first kiss,your high school graduation-- often are not the most important. Sometimes, the things worth remembering are the things you don't even notice are there. In the words of cliche proverbs, unrefined ignorance is bliss.

That is actually bullshit. When you realize something is gone, it pains you. Channel that pain into positive nuances. They make you smile. Its the little things that are important in life. Yea, maybe you'll remember every single detail of the first date you had with your girlfriend who you are currently happily in love with. But in the grand scheme of things, that isn't that important. What is important is the way she absentmindedly brushes those innocent strands of hair out of her eyes on a windy day. The kind of things that you don't pick up on unless you really know someone.


Instead of remembering what you did for your birthday, remember your friends reaction after his favorite song came on in the car on the way to the party. Instead of remembering your first kiss, remember the park bench that was lucky enough to play host to a pair of lustful lovebirds. Instead of remembering high school graduation, remember how unbearably hot it was that day, or how you probably looked like an idiot because your hair was still wet from taking a shower right before you left because prom was the night before and you just woke up.

By simply remembering moments, you are actually not remembering anything. By remembering the props of the moment, you create a tangible scene. A tangible memory.

Tangible=Feeling. Feeling=

I've never been good at math, so i'll just let you solve that one.

I grew up in a parking lot. In high school, many a night was spent in a random parking spaces outside a now hipstered out starbucks. music would be bumping, the five people in the car would switch in and out between joking around, flirting, complaining about how theres nothing to do in this town, and talking about how college would be so much better because we could actually do stuff more exciting that sitting in a car listening to Chumbawamba.

I've told people in college about our parking lot ventures. Truth be told, its very difficult telling people you hung out in parking lots for fun. Just writing right now sounds like the most uncool thing since Shia LeBouf's goatee.

I really don't care. You could take the man away from the parking lot, but you could never take away the parking lot from the man.

As I went on to bigger and better things in the big old gtown, I kind of forgot about the parking lots of my life. No, I didn't completely lose myself and start tripping on heroine. I just moved on, is all. It was a clean breakup, and I didn't look back.

Until now. Its all flooding back to me.

The memories I have from the parking lots Smithtown are countless. I choose not to remember each as a distinct event. Instead, I view them as all interconnected, arched together by two parallel bright yellow lines.

My life, who I have been, what I have done, who I have become, and who I will become, was more or less inspired by a bunch of asphalt outside the pavement of American Burger.

To you, that may sound like a shitty life. But as far as i'm concerned, i'm living the dream.

I challenge you to find your parking lot. And fast. Because before you know it, you'll have to start honking for a space.


Song of the Day:

Home: Shi 360

Tuesday, June 15, 2010

Gettin that faux sho hawk

For those of you up in arms about this mckricken (http://reallycoolwebaddress.blogspot.com/2010/06/vote-on-my-new-hairstyle.html), the big day was today.

Rather than tell you how the snippety snip went, I thought I'd show you. Tom Riddle said that to Harry once*, and it worked wonders for good old Voldy.

*Chamber of secrets, pensieve. I know your out of practice, but its summertime. Get some HP in. We all know its the only book you've ever liked reading

Anyways, here's some background info for the day to help make things more cleary than Beverly.

12:00 pm : Myself and friend/co-manager Giffun-dawg are driving around Smithtown, collecting money so that we can go register our summer softball team (i'm not sure why they are even bothering to play the season considering our ridiculously talented and roided out roster, but I digress). After mentioning to her that I am getting my haircut today, she proclaims that it is Christmas and that she absolutely, postively, otherexcitingadjectivethatendsin-ely, is coming to watch me get my haircut.

I must admit that I was quite nervous. I've never had a fan watch my haircut live. Usually, they just DVR it. What if I folded under pressure? Would my haircut career be forever tarnished? Rob Greene?

Anyways, she decides that the event must be filmed. Here's what went down:

video




Props to: Giffun-dawg, the radio station at the haircut place, Barbara the hair-cutter

Sunday, June 13, 2010

iDig This Shiznat. So Does Jack Black


As I am writing this post to the blog blog audience of the world, iAm proud to say iAm a proud owner of an apple computer. This is huge, people. What this means

-I'm instantly tremendously more hipster
-iShould start wearing beanies even when its not cold
-I have to start giving into branding strategies that emphasize an "on the go" lifestyle
-iHave to be in good shape, but not enter a gym
-iHave to do every day tasks like checking my e-mail in public places to flaunt how trendy I am
-I have to start drinking Odwalla
-My job can't be monotonous or boring
-My clothes must vibrant colors
-I have to wear shoes with two different color laces
-I have to tweet a lot more
-I have to listen to bands such as vampire weekend
-From now on, I have to prefer organic food
-I have to like soccer much more than the average american
-Coffee shops
-I am obligated to "express myself" as much as possible to give off the impression that I am a fun, exciting person that you would like to grab lunch with. ------Lunch would be a chicken caesar salad and frozen yogurt.

Being that I have pretended do half these things for the past few months, I am rather excited to embark on this journey. Basically, this means that the blogosaurus rex will spread tremendously more awesome sauce. Spicy.

More to come in the next few days. The blog is back and its better than ever. (For christmas, this year.)

Being that I can do really cool shit now, enjoy this movie, the first of many. I plan on making this thinger much much more media-ish:


Why Don't You Party Hard (School Of Rock):








Song of the day:




i just gave you two in the video, you fool. jeez (and crackers)