Wednesday, May 31, 2006

Jon is a man

Hello future employers of this young man. First, congratulations for utilizing the strength of the interwebs to supplement your HR efforts. At Jon's request, I have removed his last name from this post, but alas, I expect the spiders for the search engines to take some time to pick up on the change. If you are reading this, I am correct.
While, I fully expect you to skim this blogging, please take note that Jon's name doesn't produce many links in a google search, that's because the post commemorates one of the few times Jon actually stopped studying/working/riding to do something young and foolish. Please hire him, because as you will see below... he has no future in creative dance! -added 8/21/2008

Happy 21st Jon!

For those of you who weren't there...

Jon actually pulled off 21 shots in 4 hours, something tells me this wasn't his first time imbibing spirits. I guess all the beer pong with everclear in the dorms paid off (I guess). Now that he isn't a minor he can stop binge drinking the day before 90 mile rides.

That is number 19, a jello shot at Snapper's.

Jon wanted to do a pub crawl for his 21st. Within 2 hours we found ourselves at Quinton's, The Blue Fugue, Sake, Eastside, Teller's, Snappers, Trattoria Strada Nova, and Willie's/Fieldhouse.

Number 21, a Jaegerblaster at Willie's, courtesy of Luke Musselman.

Pretty soon, Jon looked like this.

Then he did this for awhile.

What I remember from the night (I was sober).

-Pre-partying at 431 Foxfire

-Shot of something clear and 80 proof at Charlie Cooper's house. Someone said it tasted like peppermint, another person said it tasted like cheese.

-Quinton's: Kamikaze, Jaegerblaster

-The Blue Fugue: Chartreuse

-Sake: SoCo and Lime... probably some other stuff

-Eastside Tavern: White Trash from around the world (BigPants's b-day shot), Flaming Screaming Nazi (both 2oz shots).

-Teller's: Lemon Drop

-Sanpper's: Double shot of Rumplemintze, Jelloshot of something jello-y.

Trattoria Strada Nova: Done for night, no dice. Jon you must go try the espresso martini. It's $7 but you won't regret it, unless you have 4 or 5 of them.

Willie's/Fieldhouse: 3 Wise men (Jim, Jack, Johnny), Jaegerblaster... then I stopped keeping track and he did more.

Well done Jon, I guess you can still be on the cycling team.

When bars closed I went home, but I'm sure hilartiy ensued at 431 Foxfire. Jon, call me if you're still alive. You have a messenger race in 2 hours.

Tuesday, May 30, 2006

Messenger Race Wed. May 31st

Come one come all, Wednesday at 5:30 PM. Starting line is on the Francis Quadrangle by the Columns. Entry fee is $5, there will be a payout (I think to the top 3). The race will be a checkpoint style race. Expect between 1 and 2 hours of balls out, traffic dodging messenger craziness. If you don't want to race, but want to be a part of the ordeal. please contact greggles about manning a checkpoint. One more thing, I'm going to win, you can't stop me. If you think you can, come try.

Yeah, I haven't been keeping up with the blog lately. Here's the deal, I have been drinking a lot, and sleeping late as well. Well that's all relative, I'm not drinking as much as I was last summer. Last summer was the first time I have ever been without responsibility and with a nearly limitless supply of cheap alcohol. Last summer the basic itinerary was as follows:
-Sleep until noonish
-Maybe ride bikes (since you woke up at noon that means fighting the afternoon sun, this lead to many days indoors thinking about biking)
-After sunset, ride bikes to Mojo's
- Try like hell to finish off an old keg with Greg (we rarely succeeded, usually just got wasted)
- Race bikes home around 2 AM

Piloting a bicycle late at night is much less threatening to others than driving a car.
Legally you can get a DWI on a bike, but cops really don't give them out (in CoMO). I guess they figure if you will just hurt yourself and not kill anyone else. I know people in CoMO have gotten them, but it usually involved something else. Drunk Brady racing home against drunk Greg is a good match. We both go for blood, I often go for blood and finesse. I take "shortcuts" that often get me lost in the woods on a fixed gear with only the light of the moon to guide me. It's about 1.5 miles from Mojo's to our house. Greg often beat me my 5 or 10 minutes due to the efficiency of my "shortcuts." I think the moral of the story is, if you are ever riding bikes with me drunk, follow someone else if at all possible. Oh, and I think the other moral of the story is: it's probably not good to have a BAC over . 2 and push your heart rate past 180 (Pam, any studies?).

This summer Greg and I have moved one step up in the caste system. We have graduated from old draft beers to fru-fru pansy drinks that taste like an orgasm in your mouth (without the messiness that accompanies most orgasms). On the left is Greg drinking a Pina Colada from a hurricane glass rimmed with mango sugar (no plastic cups in this house!). It's about 1 in the afternoon. What's that? Why, yes... yes that is a tiny umbrella in his drink. I keep a couple hundred stockpiled behind our bar (our bar deserves it's own post, it is a tropy for our college lives). I bought a Sangria set at Kohl's ( yes, I went to Kohl's for a Sangria set, but I also shopped for big knives so can it) so I have added Sangria to my list of fru-fru pansy drinks. The list now includes, but is not limited to:
- Strawberry daiquiris
- Pina Coladas
- Red or white wine sangrias
- Keystone ICE*

* does not come with umbrella
Last week Greg and I went down to a friend's friend's condo at Lake of the Ozarks. We drank lots of fru-fru drinks and got burnt swimming drunk. I think I am finally settling into summer. Someone made a comment about how much it sucks being almost old enough to have real money and own our own lake houses and such. Greg and I rebutted that quite well. I believe Greg in blurted in typical zen master style, "whatever, it's Wednesday afternoon, I'm drinking pina coladas at somebody's condo who I don't even know." (the owner's daughter was at the table) I had some monologue shortly after about how we are all 21-23 years old and this is the age many people wish they were forever.
My closing thoughts: It's real good being 22. It's real good that it's summer. It's 3:52 in the AM and I need to get my ass to bed.

Tuesday, May 16, 2006

Cover your eyes, then read this.

Nolan, you're too young, cover your eyes. Mom, Happy mother's day, I doubt you'll approve, cover your eyes too. Future employers, if you don't hire me because of this post, I don't want to work for you anyway.
On the left is Travis. Travis got back.

Summer has officially begun in Columbia. A couple of days ago, I drove down Broadway and didn't have to stop twice every block. The past few years I have usually done something big to detox from finals and bring the summer in right. Last year I had a final at 8AM on the last day of tests. I needed to get out and relax (for me that means intense physical activity) so I promptly put on my running shoes and ran from my house to Le Bourgeois Winery in Rocheport. It's a good little jog, about 17 miles. It took me around 3 hours and when I got there I called Greg to come and pick me up. He brought $20 we drank a bottle of wine. Then I went to big 12 with a couple of girls from class and some of their friends. Side note: I'm convinced that Kristin Willet, who was at big 12 with us, was the most beautiful girl on campus during her stay here. Some of you may remember the controversial bikini picture on the columns for the Girls of MU calendar about 3 years ago... That was her. Side side note: she also happens to be quite intelligent. While at Big 12 the girls decided they wanted to go back to the winery so I went back out and had a good time. That's how last summer started.

This summer's kick was a little late in coming, but it got here. Friday I went to a cousin's wedding it was enjoyable, but nothing too exciting (I am now the only Beckham over the age of 10 that isn't married or engaged). Saturday night is where it got going. Greg and I met at Shakespeare's with some guys I lived in the dorms with. Just a few guys out for some pizza and drinks, just chillin'. A few guys there are graduated and moved, one particular friend was back in town visiting before he is shipped off to Japan with the Marines. Point being, a select group of intelligent guys, each with their own schtick gathers and hilarity and exhibition ensues. Pretty soon we have rehashed the letter writing tale ( if you missed it, and we had discovered that members of the group have done quite a few crazy things including drug usage, hired prostitutes, and even had sex with four women at once. Not to shabby for 6 twenty somethings. Eventually the conversation collapsed under it's weight and we went to the blue note, met up with some others, all got drunk and danced the night away. Sunday, Mother's Day, I worked for about 3 hours, rode my bike for an hour or so, and then spent the rest of the day tripping on mushrooms. Three of us ate them, myself and another were rookies. I ate too much, I didn't freak out, but I spent a few hours in a cyclic mind trap where I really had very little grasp over what was real. It was fun. We went and played in the woods as the drugs kicked in and that was fun. Mushrooms make all distances look exaggerated. The trees were all 200 ft. tall. It was like being in the Sequoias right across the street. Bark dances in a way that mesmerizes, some (including me) become hyper sensitive to temperature. Without a doubt, interaction with a normal person is not possible. Productive thought or action is out of reach. Shrooms aren't like pot, you can't be high and at work. Shrooms are more like a Puritan mass, you have to commit the entire day, once you're in you can't get out until it let's you. Unlike weed, and booze, shrooms don't mess your next day up. I recovered quickly and had no hangover type effects. It was fun, I don't know if I'll do it again, but if I do it will be quite some time, and I won't eat as much. I really can't imagine doing them in Amsterdam would be any fun. Like I said, interaction with others is impossible, I wouldn't want to be on shrooms in public, even if it was legal. Summer is officially kicked off.

Today I downshifted, I planted a garden. If all goes well (it won't) I should have cucumbers, carrots, green peppers, zucchini, mint (for mojitos) and pumpkins. Just my summer project. I guess my first goal is to try and keep these plants alive longer than my fish.

BTW. Travis was in no way involved with these events. That picture was taken on spring break by your truly and a girl Travis doesn't know (but Greg should date) edited it. It's just funny. Look at it again.

Tuesday, May 09, 2006

Coming up for a breath of fresh air.

I have been slammed the past few weeks.

I've been working about 45 hours a week (3 jobs) while also trying to keep up with the worst finals week of my academic career. Last week I turned in: a 25 page report, a 40 page report, and had two tests. This week 3 tests, then I'm out. So far this has been the only semester that has given me enough difficult workload to think that my degree might mean something. For the first time the assignments weren't just jumping through hoops. Then again, the time line was so short we had to satisfice for large parts of the projects. So we were really just jumping through hoops, we just stopped before each hoop and said, "if we were getting paid we would put a lot more time into this." I know, "bitch and moan, bitch and moan."

I turned in an application to study in Brazil next year. I would head out around Christmas and be there for one semester. I really hope this can works out. I had some doubts about the program initially because it would cost a lot of money and delay my graduation by at least one semester. As I typed the application I started getting really excited about it and realized just how much I want to go. In my application was included a letter explaining why I wanted to go, my opening paragraph was this:

In high school I once heard a joke that went something like: If you know two languages you're bilingual... If you know three languages or more you're multilingual. So what are you if you only know one language? A: An American. Since, I heard that I have had a strong desire to not be an average American. I want to be a citizen of the world, not just of the US. I am disturbed by the lack of respect we as Americans so often display for other cultures. I feel this lack of respect stems from two major factors: cultural chauvinism and ignorance. Ignorance is unacceptable if you plan on dealing with any sort of multicultural issues in your life (career or otherwise). I'm all for patriotism, but just because I like doing things the way I was brought up does not mean that they are the best way. Multiculturalism is one of the many spices of life, and I want to immerse myself in it. I want to be the minority, the person struggling to communicate their ideas in a 2nd language. I feel these experiences will be invaluable to my growth as a person. Reading about culture out of a book does not take you very far, you have to live it to believe it completely or begin to adequately understand it.

I should find out this week. If luck is with me: Brazil here I come. I look forward to any experience that will diminish my ignorance, even if this particular source of ignorance is met with apathy by the masses.

The day after I finish my test I am headed to my younger cousin's wedding. Later in the summer I will be my little brother's best man. Of the 4 Beckham cousins (one older than me, 2 younger) I will soon be the only one not married. That seems kinda bad, but I will also be the only one without a mortgage payment, massive ammounts of debt, and the rigidity the real world seems to give most people. I can still up and do what I want just about whenever I want to. Even after the umbilical cord is fully severed (when I am financially independent of my parents, which isn't too far away), I will still have the means and flexibility to live for me. Sounds a lot like retirement, doesn't it.

BTW, I don't have the patience to keep fish throughout their lifespan (I dumped the aquarium over my balcony a few months ago). I'm definately not ready for a marriage, kids, or even a dog (but I will have a weimaraner in the next few years). I feel it is best to end this post with some sage widsom from a well known philosoph.

So until then I'm just going to keep on keepin on. Life's a garden. Dig it.
-Joe Dirt

Monday, May 01, 2006

The worst day of my life! GOSH!

Here is my favorite pair of shorts :
For the length of one indentured servitude (7 years in Greek Mythology) these have been my favorite shorts. Over the last two years they have really gone downhill and developed holes in obscene places, notice the giant crotch hole... not exactly what most people refer to as "decent" exposure.

Yesterday, had one of the worst exercise experiences in a quite some time. I was in a compute lab on campus to work on a final project, that is due Tuesday. The only program we can use to complete the project was out of service, and cannot be accessed anywhere else. A friend from class was dealing with the same frustrations, and after a few minutes we both concluded that further effort was futile.

So I says to her:
B: Hey Meggie, do you want to go for a run? [She is a soccer player and therefore might be down for this sort of thing, I have been off the bike for 4 days due to work and am jumping out of my pants (see previous post for pants jumping reference) with hyperactivity]
So she says to me:
M: You know I was actually thinking about running today. OK let's do it.
So I says to her:
B: Sweet

Sure that's paraphrased, but also not important, we worked out the logistics and went to Grindstone Park. Approximately 5 minutes and 32 seconds into our run Meggie made some weird sound and started cursing. I look to see Meggie limping down the trail like some stray buckshot had caught her in the calf. Using words that would make a sailor blush with shame. Meggie explains to me that she twisted her ankle, and from the looks of things I'm thinking, "you didn't twist it, you broke that shit in two." So we are walking slowly back to the car, her ankle is feeling better, and I realize I've lost my car key. I know it's lost so I'm not too worried about going to look for it immediately. I promptly say "I think I have some ibuprofen in my car, you can take some as soon as we get back." For some reason the "no keys = no ibuprofen" light bulb doesn't hit either of us until the parking lot. Anyway, Meggie drives off angry, bruised, and still cursing. I go look for my keys, and don't find them.

Later that day the zipper on my favorite shorts broke irreparably.

Summary of day: Bartend at jewish funeral in 1920s era concert hall, fail at making any progress on large project due in two days, end up all decked out in serious running gear just walking around real slow for an hour, half of the time with some girl who is walking like Quasimodo and cursing like a European soccer hooligan, lose car key, favorite shorts explode.

Meggie curses like a sailor.