Monthly Archives: November 2015

Finding a Tennis Ball

I found a tennis ball over the summer while I was hanging out in the park. It had ZOE written on it in black marker. I don’t know who Zoe is, but she’s not getting her ball back. She should have put her phone number or email address on it if she was afraid of losing it. Finders keepers. I should explain that I might have been a dog in a past life because I get overly excited whenever I come across a tennis ball on the ground. I will stop to pick it up and I will bring it with me to wherever I’m going. I will toss it up in the air and catch it as I go along. I’ll bounce it. I’ll throw it against a wall. I might even pass it to a friend as long as he passes it back. I’ll throw it from behind my back and then chase it into the street when my throw inevitably goes awry. It’s all about the little things in life. Finding a tennis ball is one of them.

Critically Rated at 14/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

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Driving Next to a Bad Driver

I went on a mini road trip over the weekend to celebrate Thanksgiving with my family. I got a ride with my sister and her fiancé. We hit some light traffic on the freeway, and that’s when my sister pointed out a blue sedan that was driving erratically. He would speed up rapidly on the car in front of him, then slam on his brakes to avoid ramming into them, and then he would repeat the process. It was like he had one foot on the gas, the other on the brake, and he was trying to do a stair-climbing exercise. He would also take up his whole lane, slowly swerving from line to line and only adjusting when he started hitting the little bumpy divider thingies. He was a menace to all the cars around him. We couldn’t tell if he was drunk or just a bad driver, but we were stuck in his vicinity for the next four or five miles thanks to the slight traffic jam. We didn’t want to be near him so we would switch lanes and try to avoid him but he always managed to pop up out of nowhere. Driving next to a bad driver is a nerve-racking experience. You start to think about all the Final Destination-type ways that you can die. Most of the time you survive. Maybe one time you won’t be so lucky.

Critically Rated at 4/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

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Leaving Your Toothbrush in a Weird Spot

Last night was the night before Thanksgiving, and that’s the most popular night to go out to a bar of the entire year. Needless to say, I went to the bar last night. And even more needlessly to say, I got a little buzzed. And by getting buzzed, I mean I got pretty drunk. I know because I couldn’t find my toothbrush when I woke up. It’s normally next to my tube of toothpaste in a cup by the side of the bathroom sink. It wasn’t there. It wasn’t in the medicine cabinet. It wasn’t in a random drawer. I was about to accuse my roommate of using it, losing it, or doing something unusual with it, when I decided to look for it some where else other than in the bathroom. I found it in my room, next to my computer. I can only assume that my drunk ass brushed my teeth while watching Netflix and decided to pass out in bed instead of putting it away. Leaving your toothbrush in a weird spot the night before means a frantic search the next morning. It’s not an ideal start to the day.

Critically Rated at 6/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

  

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Washington Generals

The Washington Generals were an American basketball team with the longest losing streak in sports history. They lost 2,495 consecutive games. Don’t feel too bad for them though. It was by design. The Washington Generals were the stooge basketball team that competes against the Harlem Globetrotters in exhibition games. They were supposed to lose. They stood around and acted confused when the Globetrotters play their flashy brand of fake basketball. The Washington Generals have gone by many other names at different times to make it seems like the Globetrotters are playing more than one team, but it was the same players with different jerseys. I’m speaking in the past tense about them because the Globetrotters severed the contract between the two teams in August of 2015 and the Washington Generals no longer exist. I feel bad for them. Sure, their players got paid to play professional basketball, but they were always a sham team. Their only point of existence was to make the Globetrotters look better. The Globetrotters found a new fake opponent to pretend to compete against and the Generals are just a thing of the past now. The world didn’t even notice. Nobody cared. They still don’t.

Critically Rated at 4/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

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Can I Ask You a Question?

Can I ask you a question? is the worst way to ask somebody if you can ask them a question. For starters, you’re already asking a question by asking if you can ask a question, thereby defeating the whole point of asking if you can ask a question. What if they don’t want you to ask a question and you already asked them? You should really be asking if you can ask two questions, and if they give approval, then you can ask your follow-up question, which is your actual question. With me so far? Any questions? No? Good. My point is this: don’t ask if you can ask a question. Just ask your question or ask if you ask two questions, and then ask your question. It’s not that hard.

Critically Rated at 4/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

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My Black Eye

I had the day off yesterday and celebrated by going to the park with some friends. We played cards, listened to music, ate some chips and dip, and threw a baseball around. We played catch, getting farther and farther away from each other, and that eventually morphed into an impromptu game of Three Flies Up. I was jostling for position to catch a fly ball, slightly bumping into my friend, I raised my glove, missed the ball entirely, and had it land directly onto my eye with a sickening thud. THONK!! There was a blinding flash and my eye started swelling up immediately. My friends ran over in an instant, laughing and voicing concern simultaneously as good friends should do. One handed me an ice pack, another cracked open a beer for me, and another asked if I could see out of my eye, if I had a headache, or if my eye socket was broken.

It’s not a good feeling to catch a baseball with an eye. It sucks pretty hard. It’s like getting punched in the eye. I consider myself lucky though. As shitty as my reflexes are, I still managed to close my eye instead of having the baseball land directly on my eyeball. I didn’t get hit by the stitches and that would have caused even more damage. I didn’t break my eye socket, or my nose, or lose any of my teeth. If you’re going to catch a baseball with your face, that’s the way to do it.

I can still see out of my eye. It just feels better to let it be swollen shut. I called out of work today, and warned my managers of the dangers of playing catch in the park on your days off. I plan on icing my eye and trying various internet remedies to reduce the swelling. There’s one technique that involves putting cold tea bags on the eye, so I plan on tea bagging myself later. That should be fun. This is my first black eye. I managed to go thirty years without one. Let’s see if I can break that record this time around. I can only hope.

Critically Rated at 4/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

Photo on 11-20-15 at 12.58 PM

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1880 Penny

A few years ago I was bartending and was about to throw a handful of change into my tip jar when a weird penny caught my eye. It was the same size, shape, and color of a regular penny but the design was different. There was no Abraham Lincoln for starters. There was an Indian instead. The Lincoln Memorial wasn’t depicted on the back either. It just said One Cent in the middle of wreath. I thought it might have been Canadian, but it had United States of America written around the Indian’s head. I looked at it a little closer and noticed the year the coin was minted underneath the Indian. It was made in 1880. That blew my mind. I was holding a piece of history in my hand. 1880 was a long time ago. It was way before planes, cars, iPhones, and your shoes (and your shoes are old as fuck). Cowboys could have used this penny in their poker games. Your grandpa could have used it at the brothel the night he met your grandma. She was cheap but worth it. Without that penny, you might not exist. I kept that 1880 penny. I still have it to this day. I don’t plan on getting rid of it anytime soon. I looked up its value. It’s not in the best condition, but it’s still worth at least $4. That doesn’t seem like a lot until you consider that it’s increased over 400% in value. Kind of makes me wish I found an 1880 silver dollar instead.

Critically Rated at 15/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

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Picking Your Nose With Your Tongue

I was on the train today during rush hour. That means we were packed in there, jammed together like sardines. I was face to face with one guy, probably around twenty-eight years hold who was reading a book. Every now and then he would flick his tongue into a nostril, wiggle it around some, retract it, do a slight nibble, and then repeat the process on his other nostril. It took me a few lizard licks to realize that he was picking his nose with his tongue. It was as impressive as it was disgusting. I’ve seen a lot of shit in San Francisco. I’ve never experienced anything quite like that. My tongue can’t extend that far. Even if it could, I wouldn’t do that. Boogers are meant to be flicked, not eaten.

Critically Rated at 3/17

Written Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H Young

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Washing Your Car After It Rains

It rained earlier this morning. I didn’t have to work so I slept in and lied in bed listening to the raindrops patter against the window. After a while I rolled out of bed, and started my day by driving to the store to pick up some stuff. I drove past a guy who was washing his car in his driveway. I had to do a double take. I looked again and confirmed that he was indeed washing his car after a fresh rain. I wanted to stop and ask him why he was washing it. Washing your car after it rains seems a little redundant. You don’t need to wash your car, nature took care of that for you. Now you’re just wasting water in the middle of a drought. I thought he was a jerk and set out to write a blog post about how stupid it is to wash your car after it rains. I Googled “washing your car after it rains” to find pictures and to do a little research for an adequate rant and discovered that washing your car after it rains is what you’re supposed to do. It’s good for the paint because rainwater has salt and pollutants in it or something. I didn’t know that. Now I do. I learned my lesson. You’re not crazy if you’re washing your car after it rains. You’re responsible and I’m sorry I doubted you. I still think it weird though.

Critically Rated at 11/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

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Trapped on the Train with a Crazy Guy

I was taking the train to work this morning and there was a little bit of traffic in the underground. I got delayed in the tunnel for about ten minutes. That happens a few times a month and it’s not so bad as long as you’re not overly claustrophobic or scared of earthquakes. This morning was different because I was trapped on the train with a crazy guy. He was a white guy, probably in his late twenties, wearing a gray hoodie and he was banging on the doors and screaming for the train to move at the top of his voice. He wasn’t yelling for the driver to move the train. He was yelling at the actual train. The driver was in the first train car, and we were in the second. I don’t think the driver knew what was going on. The crazy guy would take occasional breaks from screaming to run up and down the length of the train. There were two other guys besides me in our car and we were all a few seats away from each other. We all made eye contact with each other, silently acknowledging that there was a crazy guy running amok and that we had each other’s backs in case the crazy guy got even crazier. Ten minutes stuck in a tunnel seems longer than ten minutes. It’s even longer with a crazy guy. I don’t recommend it. I waited it out and the train eventually moved, the doors opened, I went to work, and the crazy guy stormed off to presumably find another inanimate object to yell at. Just another day in the city.

Critically Rated at 4/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

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My Boss Has Nice Facial Hair

My boss has nice facial hair. No, seriously. His name is Jesus Treviño and he’s a finalist for the title of Best Facial Hair in the Country by Wahl Grooming. It might be a marketing gimmick, but it’s still pretty impressive to see his nicely manicured face fuzz getting some well-deserved recognition. I woke up this morning to a nice article about him in the local paper. I included the link to the article below. The article also has a link to the official Wahl Grooming voting page. I don’t vote for presidents, but I voted for Jesus. You should too. Jesus Treviño is an awesome manager and a better person and he deserves to win something. He was always picked last in gym class and now it’s his time to shine. Please take a minute out of you day and vote for him. Vote for Jesus and save your soul.

Critically Rated at 17/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

http://www.sfgate.com/living/article/Jesus-Trevino-SF-facial-hair-6625733.php

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Damn, That Was a Year Ago?!?

Tick tock goes the clock and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. I’ve learned that life has to be lived in the moment because that’s when it’s happening. If you do it right then good moments become good memories. Social media makes it easier to remember a lot of things because we document so much of our lives these days. I’ve noticed that Facebook has started showing me pictures of events and milestones on their anniversaries. I’ll see a picture of me and some friends sitting in a tree drinking beer and think to myself, “Damn, that was a year ago?!?” The memories will come flooding back, I’ll smile and reminisce for a minute, and then I’ll repost it and tag the people involved so we can all bask in the golden glow of the good old days. Memories aren’t memories unless you remember them from time to time.

Critically Rated at 17/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

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Spam

Spam is a precooked meat product in a can. It’s made from pork shoulders, ham, salt, water, potato starch, sugar, and sodium nitrate. It’s ready to eat hot or cold straight from the can. I had it for dinner last night. It was the first time that I’ve ever tried it. I opened the can and let it slowly plop down onto a plate. Then I cut a thin slice and popped it into my mouth. It wasn’t bad. It reminded me of a cold canned Vienna sausage, just a bit more salty.

It passed the cold taste test. It wasn’t great but it was certainly edible. I proceeded to cut up a few more pieces of Spam to fry on the stove. I cut some thin slices, a few cubes, and a few thick strips. I cooked them until they were browned and slightly crispy. The cooked Spam tasted more like ham and the thinner slices were reminiscent of bacon. Anything that reminds you of bacon can’t be bad.

I still had more than a half can of Spam left, so I threw some in with ramen and made a Spam noodle soup. I also made a bowlful of white rice, added some Spam, and topped it off with soy sauce. The soy sauce was a little overkill because the Spam is already super salty, but it was still a decent meal. I put the little bit of leftover Spam in the fridge until my roommate came home. He never tried Spam before either, so I nuked the rest in the microwave (a serving suggestion recommended by the can itself) and let him try it. The microwaved ham tasted like bland ham, the kind you would find in a Lunchable but heated up. It was better than cold Spam but not as good as fried Spam.

All in all Spam lives up to the hype. I can see why Hawaiians are so enamored by it. It’s good by itself, but it’s better as part of a dish. I went thirty years without eating Spam. I don’t think that will happen again. I won’t eat it everyday, but I wouldn’t be surprised if I had Spam once a month or so.

Critically Rated at 13/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

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Neighborhood Mechanic

My car broke down earlier this week. My roommate and I tried to jumpstart it. That didn’t work. My friend took me to an auto parts store to buy a new battery. We took it back, installed it, and my car still wouldn’t start. I accepted the inevitable and made an appointment with a nearby mechanic. I don’t know a lot about cars, but I knew that it was going to cost me a lot of money. I would have to pay to get it towed to the mechanic, I would have to pay for a stupid part, and I would have to pay a bullshit amount for the labor. Needless to say, I was stressing out.

The next day was street cleaning and my car was parked directly in the line of fire. My roommate helped me push my car across the street to avoid getting a ticket, and we spent the next hour and a half hunkered down in my car waiting for the street sweeper and the meter maids to go by so I could reclaim my parking spot. While we were waiting we noticed one of our neighbors working on a car and my roommate commented that he always sees that guy working on different cars all day long. My roommate went over to the guy and struck up a conversation. Before I knew it they were walking towards me and the guy told me to spark the ignition. I did and he instantly said that I have a faulty distributor. He told me to pop the hood and he took a look. He pointed out the problem, told me how much the part would be, and offered to order it off eBay and install it for me.

He gave me his number, I gave him a spare key, and he told me he would let me know when my car was fixed. He kept me updated all throughout the week. He told me when he ordered the part. He told me when it arrived. He told me when he was starting to work on it. And he told me when he was done. He even saved a parking spot for me to move back into. All told, I spent about $220 for parts and he charged me $70 for labor. I gave him a tip on top of it because how could I not?

It sucks that my car broke down, but it broke down in the best possible place at the best possible time because I got to meet the neighborhood mechanic. He saved me at least five hundred bucks. He’s now my official mechanic. It’s hard to find someone that you can trust and rely on, but good mechanics are out there. You just have to hope your car breaks down in front of them.

Critically Rated at 16/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

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Snakeskin Pants

Once upon a time, about eleven years ago or so, I was invited to an ’80s party. That’s when you dress up in attire from the wonderful decade known as the 1980s. I didn’t have anything that could pass off as ‘80s, so I went to the thrift store. I found a pair of snakeskin pants for forty bucks. I bought them. I wore them to the party and received plenty of compliments (as I should have). If there was a contest, I would have won that shit. I’m not trying to brag, I’m simply trying to stress how amazing my pants were. My pants are still amazing in fact. I still have them and I rock them every so often when the situation calls for them. I wore them for Halloween this year for instance. I was an ‘80s zombie rock star.

I live in San Francisco and there’s always an occasion for wacky clothing. We have Bay to Breakers, Hardly Strictly, and random street fairs. Every true San Franciscan has some absurd clothing in their wardrobe. I have a leather trench coat, a shiny green silk shirt, and a camouflage Snuggie for instance. But my snakeskin pants are still the reigning champ of my absurd wardrobe. I don’t see that changing anytime soon.

Critically Rated at 14/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

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Leftover Halloween Candy

Halloween has come and gone, but leftover Halloween candy is still around if you’re lucky. I went into the break room at work today and one of my coworkers brought in a bag of fun-sized candy for everybody to enjoy. It was a nice assortment of Smarties, Nerds, Swedish Fish, Laffy Taffy, Starburst, and Snickers bars. I grabbed a few pieces of candy and proceeded to stuff my face. I’m a fat kid at heart, I’m not ashamed to admit it. It’s always been like that. I was never good at saving my Halloween candy. I would eat it all within forty-eight hours. Surprisingly I never got cavities. I like to think it’s because of the milk in all the chocolate I ate. You have to be smart when you’re rationing out your leftover Halloween candy. You have to eat a good piece of candy and then a bad piece of candy. Or you can force yourself to eat a bad piece of candy and then reward yourself with a good piece of candy. You don’t want to end up with a bunch of Candy Corn.

Critically Rated at 13/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

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A New Song From Your Favorite Artist

Everybody has a favorite band or artist. You have all their albums. You know all their songs. You’ve even seen them in concert a few times. You love their music. You put it on and it’s like a blanket, it wraps around you all warm and comfy. And every couple of years they put out a new album or release a new single. And there’s nothing quite like hearing a new song from your favorite artist for the first time. You know that you’re going to like it before you even hear it. You hit play and the music hits you. It should sound familiar yet still be new and exciting. It’s like unwrapping an awesome birthday present for three and a half minutes. You’re hooked and you can’t put it down. And when the song ends you play it over again and again so you can learn all the words.

Critically Rated at 15/17

Written, Rated, and Reviewed by Brendan H. Young

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