A special message from WDR

It comes a time in a man's life when a post like this is necessary. Some things just have to be recognized. So, it is my duty to make a little nod to one of the best dressed most ethnic most agreeable members of our illustrious WDR crew...

Happy Birthday, Nic Ouzo!
...and many more

We hope that your birthday goes well and we get to see more posts out of ya. I must admit, you have been slacking a little.

(Holding a shot of Jäger in the air) Cheers, good sir!

Here I am...

...Rock you like a hurricane!

Now I know a lot of people have already commented on it, but I have to say something. This new game "Rock Band" does not make any sense to me at all. People can get together and "start a band" with the help of fake instruments and a game console. They can pretend to play a real concert in the comfort of their own home without actually learning how to play an instrument and waste more time in their parents' basement after they've gotten stoned.

I'm not the kind of person that complains about said wasting time or getting stoned. But what bothers me is this game. Why can't people just get together and play crappy rock in their basements? Hasn't this been done for years? It's not that hard to make shitty music in your parents' basement. Shit, I was doing it earlier today. And I was on MySpace. Seriously, it's not that hard to do.

OK, so musical instruments are "expensive" and "take up a lot of space" and "piss of the neighbors." So what? I'm in college, completely broke and I have AT LEAST 4 musical instruments in my room. I have a working knowledge of AT LEAST 2 of them. I play through an amp made by Marlboro. I shit you not. I got this amp for free. Trust me.

But perhaps I'm looking at this the wrong way. I mean, most good bands started playing in some body's garage/basement (save bands like Cream or A Perfect Circle), but so did a lot of horrible bands. Perhaps there wouldn't be nearly as many Linkin Parks or Nickelbacks or Plain White T's if these kids spent their time getting high and playing video games instead of trying to be "musical." But I'd also hate to see someone with real potential fall through the cracks just because of a video game. I mean, what if Trent Reznor was obsessed with video games so much that it drove him AWAY from music?

Oh wait, Trent Reznor did do that playing Doom. (And you thought he was battling his "personal" demons between The Downward Spiral and The Fragile. How wrong you were...) And come to think of it, those kids that aren't serious about playing music probably should play this game, because they probably aren't going to contribute anything worthwhile to the world of music anyway. Perhaps "Rock Band" is doing us a service.

No, fuck that. They're out there to make money. So drop you dirty dollar on it if you like. I'm going to rock on with my little buddy from Marlboro country...

The Most Splendiferous, Moumental Event in the History of the World

Two Words: Open Bar

I don't have many "near death" experiences. That is, I don't recognize most events as being such. But last weekend, I had one. And unlike other brushes with death, this one was fun.

So here's what happened: A friend of mine was turning 25, and as a celebration, he was renting out a bar for the night. That mean free drinks, food and limo service. Yes, I'd like caviar with that.

Without a doubt, this could only be an epic journey. OPEN BAR? Dios mio, man. So on the day of the party, I meet at my buddy's apartment and wait for the limo to pick us up. When it gets there, we have bottles of champagne and glasses in the thing along with our own sound system. It may have only taken us about 15 minutes to get to the bar, but in that time we killed 3 bottles of champagne and a bottle of Seagrams (I did not partake in the Seagrams). When we got to the bar, the driver rolled out the red carpet (THE red carpet) and we proceeded to the door.

The party was well underway when we came in, and the booze was flowing. I ordered myself a Johnny Walker on the rocks, and much to my dismay the bartender said they were out of it. Already? How could this be? He assured me that there were several other top shelf single malt scotches at my disposal. While I cannot remember what he brought me, I do recall that it was smooth and delicious.

I moved on to the food of the night. There were more things available than I could eat, but I satisfied myself with quesadillas and BBQ chicken wings. Soon enough, I realized that my scotch was gone and I needed something else to drink. This, and I was also covered in BBQ sauce from those wings. When I returned from the washroom, I went to the bar and ordered what any man in my position should order:

"Get me 4 Irish Carbombs."

I wasn't going to drink all of these. No man can just go in and drink 4 Irish Carbombs by himself. This isn't a question of whether or not this is possible (it is) but rather that Carbombs are a group activity. So I took my Carbomb (delicious) and ordered a specialty of the house: The Shanghai.

The name should have stopped me, but it didn't. The drink is a mix of hazelnut rum, orange juice and, I think, something else. It sounds a bit odd and, well, it is, but it also tastes pretty good.

But the Shanghai was a small drink, and it didn't last long. Something else was needed. The bar was crowded as hell now, like a grocery store in some apocalyptic scenario. It was every man for himself. Or woman.

"Who do I have to blow to get a drink around here?" I heard one girl say. In a mostly joking manner I said, "You know, if you flash the bartender it will probably get his attention." She looked at me. "Do you think that would really work?" "Well, it can't hurt." Sadly, this didn't actually come to be. Everyone agreed that this girl was the best candidate to make this plan work, but we eventually got served despite this. "Get me 3 berry mojitos."

Berry Mojitos? I was intrigued. Sure, it sounds like a sissy drink, but as a guy who is comfortable with who he is, I ordered the fucker. And I can tell you that it was delicious. It didn't even taste alcoholic, but the kick it gave after drinking it said otherwise. When I was done, I finished with a glass of Maker's Mark on the rocks.

It was around this time that things start to get blurry. I remember ordering 7 Jager bombs and getting a shot of Jager to go, but that's as far as pure recollection goes for this night. I do remember that following the Jager bomb I had the following: 2 shots Jager, 1 Maker's Mark on the rocks, 2 Hennesey on the rocks, 1 hazelnut rum and coke, 1 cucumber vodka tonic (I don't know how I ended up with this, but I drank it anyway) and 1 Jack on the rocks. Everything I consumed was between 8PM and 11:30PM.

So it's no wonder the world was blurry. I remember leaving that bar to go to another one. Then I remember my roommate walking me back home (and I was slapping a tree for some reason). Then I remember sitting in my kitchen as my roommate was eating some tomato soup, and I felt sick. Then I remember being helped to bed. Then I woke up, confused.

When I awoke the next morning, I went to the bathroom to find that I had vomit on my arm. This confused me, because I had not vomited in bed, nor did any vomit from my arm get on my bed. The day, from then on, was based on figuring out what I had done since I left the bar. As it is, I'll put it simply: I spent more money on drinks and puked outside a nightclub. Then I went home and made tomato soup and puked some more. Then I passed out, woke up, and puked again.



So...is there a lesson here? Yes; watch yourself, especially if it's open bar. It may be a good time, but you don't want to end up polishing your shoes (If you've ever seen/read "Fear and Loathing In Las Vegas," you should know what I mean).

Masculine Manly Manliness: Drink Like A Champion

Today's post is inspired by this recent Deadspin article talking about Arizona QB (and USC alum) Matt Leinart's inability to maintain control under the influence of the fickle Sauvignon Blanc mistress. So we've decided to make the celebration of the upcoming weekend about our own drinking exploits, and cautiously reveal what beverage is the unfortunate weakness for each member of the WDR crew.

Now I want to first establish my bona fides. I am known to sling down whiskey, rum, gin, tequila, etc. with the best of them. I have watched Altered States in an Altered State. I have been known to play a round of Pong or five, sometimes with shots instead of the traditional beer. I am also the man who created the Devil's Balls. What's that? Here's the recipe

The Devil's Balls:
2 parts vodka
2 parts tequila
3 parts Jaeger (so it goes down smooth)
Serve in coffee cup. Because that's the Breakfast of a Goddamn Champion

And as I have proven from coast-to-coast, I am the fastest drinker of Jaeger and Irish Car Bombs that you will see, despite my only mediocre ability to chug any other beverage. I also hold my own with beer (the strong German type, not American pisswater), but don't know the full extent of my abilities--I don't overindulge, because I'm trying to watch my figure. In other words, if your Drinking Team is about to go into battle, you want me on your side. But there is one drink that is my kryptonite.



That's right, fucking Peppermint Schnapps. I do well with all other varieties of Schnapps, but there's something about the Ice 101 that makes me overindulge, and I'm left a loud (and often dancing) mess. It might be that I'm always looking for that old Christmas Spirit, so I seek out alcohol that tastes like Candy Canes on Crack. Who knows, but that's my shame right there.

Mr. Zhuang: He's been known to partake in a variety of beverages, including the WDR favorite, rum (because we are a seafaring people). However, when Zhuang took a trip down to Montego Bay, disastrous results occurred.

Joe Reefer: Joe is classy. He will drink that Brandy out of a snifter, like a proper gentleman. But he also rocks the Southern Comfort, a drink reserved for the White Trash and for Southern Sorority Girls. And when he imbibes, that is when he reveals how he and his cousin touched weiners*. This is clearly the combination to the vault, as Seinfeld would say.
*Did not actually happen. But other crazy shit is often revealed.

Von Bookman: The one known weakness of this inter-dimensional being is a drink called Khoma. Lethal to mere mortals due to its heavy concentration of Clorox Bleach (heavy concentration being "anything higher than 0%"), this merely slows down this strange creature.

Dr. Kwabert: Does not do well with sake. I don't have a joke here, other than it's after drinking this that the Doctor starts shouting "Let's chop cats!".

Hal, the Holiday Armadillo: Coffee. Hal seems to do alright with alcohol, but I'm pretty sure it's his constant intake of the Java that keeps him in often ill health.

Sea Cow: Bartles & James.

There you go. Feel free to leave comments, all who read this, and reveal what your secret shame is. And I need to go get some absinthe, because goddammit, I need to visit the Green Fairy. Enjoy The Doors, and grab yourself a beer.

Watching Altered States In An Altered State

But have you watched the stars...on weed?

As has been mentioned numerous times in this space, I am unemployed, and as such, I currently have a lot of time on my hands. In between time spent "not doing anything" and "doing nothing", I've been watching movies a lot lately. And doing a lot of drinking. Often at the same time.

See, my grand plan was to split my time in a variety of noble pursuits. Afternoons were for catching up on my reading and nights were to be reserved for films, with writing filling up the spaces between. Well, I've done no reading, and you've seen my writing (eww), but hey, I've seen about 10 movies this week! Give me a goddamn gold star!



As for my alcoholic consumption, I stand by all this drinking if it helps me through these days, and hell, it helps with a lot of movies. And it makes watching "Next" reruns on MTV a helluva lot more enjoyable as well. Seriously, my gaydar ratchets into overdrive watching that show when I'm buzzed, and perfecting my theory that 3 out of every 5 guys on that show clearly buzzes with the fruit flies, and that when they do the gay-themed show, at least 1-2 are clearly just putting on appearances to piss off the family.

Drinking and film came together in a magical way on Sunday night, where Zhuang and I pre-gamed for No Pants Day by doing shots while watching Altered States. Of course, it would have been best to trip balls to this with some psychedelics, but that crackhead in San Francisco stiffed us on the shrooms. So, we made do with Jaeger, Crown Royal, tequila, and lots of beer. A good time was had by all, and we learned many things, like that William Hurt will forever be badass (unlike Joe Reefer). Hell, I might even catch that awful Dane Cook/Kevin Costner suckfest on cable just to see William Hurt go insane as the evil conscience. But there are two things that I'd like to discuss in further detail, beyond the awesomeness of The Hurt, as they were revealed after downing 2/3 of a fifth of tequilla.

1. Fiscal anthropology would be crazy.
2. I'd love to be paid to trip balls.

The first statement comes from Zhuang and me mishearing the statement of profession by the requisite love interest. I insist that this field should indeed exist, as we must explore such concepts as the spending habits of the 1915 streetwalker (was the buffalo nickel the currency of choice for a ZJ?) and what the color of our paper currency says about our sexual preferences. This is the kind of shit that we NEED to spend money on researching!



As for the second statement, this seemed to be an accurate description of William Hurt's job in the movie. The man was paid by Harvard University and its medical school to just do crazy shit, like having fun in isolation chambers and drinking magic jambalaya with Mexican aborigines. I believe that Hurt's position at the school is now unfulfilled, and I would like to submit myself to take over. I have no qualms about hanging out with Native Americans and their various hallucinogens and chilling in glorified swimming tanks. This sounds like my idea of a good time. And oh yeah, I'm sure I could write a paper or two on that crazy shit.

And as long as I get to drink and watch movies.

Since "Great Oden's Raven!" was taken...

"This is a story all about how my life got flipped - turned upside-down, and I'd like to take a minute just you sit right there, I'll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Portland..."

This is what I picture Greg Oden singing as he waves to people driving up and down the Symeo-5 in Portland. Sure, it doesn't rhyme as well, but he is a huge Fresh Prince fan. As Mike Bellotti would say, "You fucking pussies! Take my shoe and get me a helmet...I'm kicking this field goal." I think the world would be a lot more interesting if these things I imagine happening actually did happen.

So I found this picture of Oden "dancing" with some chick at a party. Pretty good stuff if you ask me. I tried to find a good picture of of Oden with his oldman beard, but no such luck. However, when searching for "Greg Oden beard" I came up with the following picture:




Jager? Wow. I didn't know that Greg Oden and Jager were such a pair. Maybe I'll have to take Jager bombs when I watch Blazers games next year... if I watch them.