Week 22: Get A Tattoo

It's week 22, and summer is knocking on the door, selling magazine subscriptions, or distributing pamphlets or something; I don't know because I'm not answering.

Our guest haberdasher today is Thomas.

Yes I know that's not what a haberdasher does

And the result is the most dreaded of all.

Like Three Knocks on the Door of Unhappiness

Wear your heart on your skin in this life.
-Sylvia Plath



Monday Update

There is much to report today, my dear stranger who probably stumbled across this on the Googles.  An appointment has been made for Tomorrow at 5 o' clock.  A design has been chosen, with the location still TBD, but probably not the face.   Probably.

Let's take a few seconds to ponder the sage advice I have been given in my quest for self mutilation.

"Don't do it"
"Don't do it because of some stupid list"
"Don't put it somewhere obvious"
"Get a tramp stamp"

So, not a lot of help there.  So, like the great and mighty North American White Snake, I will go again, on my own.

Tuesday Tat Day.  Or Tattuesday 

Well the day came, and it would be rude to cancel my appointment so I set off with a vague idea and met my artist.  Tyler.

After much discussion and drawings we settled on an idea and had at it.

His job was harder than mine

How was it?

For the uninitiated like myself until a couple hours ago, the thought of a tattoo seems like an ominous mountain of pain.  The result though pretty tame, like what I imagine it must feel like to have a baby chew on your arm for an hour or so.

Of course there was blood

Unlike That Misleading Movie of Similar Name

What was it?

A Very Realistic Garbage Bag Tattoo

Pictured: A guy who really didn't want his picture taken

Seriously, quit being a dick, and show it.

Lock up your daughters

That's right, in honor of this year, 2014, the year of the hat. I commemorated it with an upside down hat.  What's written above it you ask?  Why that says "Nil Revelatur" which is Latin for none of your damn business.

To get serious for a second though.  Its a saying encoded in Latin, a tribute in honor of a dear friend of mine who was too good for this world.

This one's for you Dirk.  I miss you buddy.

Week 21: Do 500 Push Ups in One day

And were back, hot off a fresh steaming pile of failure from last week.  Ready for redemption.

This week marks a unique situation where the entry was drawn in absentia, as I was too busy partying it up in Broomfield.

I don't know who this is

So, a kind stranger, lets call him Julio did the drawing for me.  The result a very imposing and sad-making one.

Forecast calls for failure

Let me crunch some numbers and get back to you all.

Wednesday Update

I bet you thought I had given up.  That the failure of attempting to crash a wedding, and looming impossibility of push ups had finally crushed my hope. 

Well  if years of participation trophies, "let's just be friend talks", and "at least you tried" speeches couldn't do it, what chance do a few hundred push ups have?

The truth is, that 500 sure sounds like a big number, when spread across an entire day, its dissapointingly easy.

I started out bright and early around 8 Am, and in intervals of 10-20 push ups at a time, wrapped up around Midnight that night with number 500.

Times 500

 And this:

because, why not?

And what did we learn?

Well, we learned that the law of averages can give as well as take away.  We learned that even though you can spread 500 push ups across an entire day, you will still be sore the next day.  And we learned that doing push ups in the park, in the store and around town doesn't get you as many strange looks as you'd think.

Finally, we learned that if you ever want to have a fun thing to brag about you too can easily do a large number of push ups in a day, and the brag will be infinitely more impressive than the execution.  But isn't that true of all the stories we tell?

They can't all be winners folks.



 

Week 20: Crash a Convention or Wedding

So we've arrived at week XX, one X short of a good time.  Still recovering from last week, I find myself indulging in replacing the remaining entries in the hat with "Take a Nap".  But I must persevere.

Today's (or more accurately yesterday's) drawer is the stoic philosopher Brian.

He reached nirvana soon after

And the result is the confusingly listed "Crash a Convention or Something".  Because, apparently, in drafting the resolutions I became very apathetic.  Anyway, the "Something" should mean Wedding.  As it reads I could probably rent a car and crash it.  Which is easier?

So, like a middle aged middle distance runner, I must find inner strength, get back on that horse, and quit mixing so many metaphors.  I must seek out a place I am not invited, blend in, and leave on my own accord un-escorted by security personnel.

The plan as it stands now is:

1. Find a wedding, or event.
2. Create an appropriate persona
3. Get a name tag?
4. Infiltrate, and score some free food, or schwag.

Wish me luck, unless its your last wish from the genie.  In which case you should wish me a rock god.  Or world peace.  Either one.

Thursday Update

So it's Thursday, and I completely struck out.  Despite buying a tasteful card for the wedding I planned to crash.

Trespassing is no excuse for being impolite

To clarify.  With card in tow, I set out to a few wedding reception places I found on the googles.  Only to find no wedding taking place.  Likewise I could not find a suitable convention to crash.

As fate would have it however, I did attend a convention, one that coincidentally I was invited to.

It's a convention for retired horses

Or software, same difference

So it doesn't really count, and we'll chalk this one up to the failed pile for now, I'll keep my card and keep an eye open for weddings and conventions and hopefully we'll get to revisit this one with a passing grade in the future.

Week 19: Eat Poutine in Canada

There comes a day in a man's life, when he has to look himself in the mirror and say "just how committed am I to my own madness?"

Today was not that day, but it very well could be this week.

Today's guest Drawer, Luke, hit the scene with a splash, pulling out what's probably the 2nd most expensive thing in the hat.

At this point I think the hat needs calibration

The result of course.

Fuck

Here we are, the first of the travel challenges finally emerges and its on the busiest weekend of the month.  I have but one day available for this challenge  Sunday.  Mothers Day. 

It can be done, I can fly to Seattle, drive to Vancouver, eat Poutine, drive back to Seattle, and fly back.  All in time for work on Monday.

The question is, am I completely fiscally stupid enough to do it?

Only time will tell ...

Thursday Update:  Always Choose What Makes for the Better Story

If you listen closely you can hear the moaning of frugal people everywhere

So here we have it, on Sunday I will arrive in Seattle at 10 AM.  Depart at 7:30 PM.  In that 9.5 hours  I will need to rent a car, drive to the border, cross the border, find a place to eat, eat, cross the border again, and drive back to the airport, return the rental car, and fly back.

I'm sure it can be done, but if anything goes wrong, I could be stuck in Seattle, and forced to hear an unbearable amount of "I told you so's".

You could la la la la la
And you could lie to all your friends
But you can't take that stuff to Canada
You can't take it anywhere
-Low - Canada

Sunday Update:  And Here We Go


So, the adventure begins.  I have recruited a trusted navigator to be my eyes and ears from afar, to inform me about flight delays, weather, border crossing wait times.

The drinking gallons of coffee was his idea though

Phase 1 complete:

Add caption

After some may de-icing, which is completely ridiculous we were off, and a mere 3 hours later touched ground in Seattle.

Then it was a quick jog to the rental place where I picked out my mighty steed.  Now since I was going to be crossing the border twice probably within an hour, this might arouse some suspicion.   So, to avoid any undue conflict I should probably pick the most inconspicous vehicle possible.

Mission Accomplished

Phase 2 was completed and the race was on, I set off down the I5 across the beautiful pacific northwest, racing against the ever ticking clock.

Very green

Then Phase 3, I arrive at the Canadian border, the big question mark.   I figure I'll tell them I"m in town for a day and want to get some poutine, easy as pie right?

Funny it doesn't look foreboding

Turns out that was a big no.  I explain my purpose, perhaps not very well, and they don't buy it.  So I get to spend 20 minutes talking to two very nice, but very skeptical customs agent.  It felt like I was being interviewed for a job, senior executive in charge of not going to prison.

After answering many questions and showing them, this very blog, I was allowed into their great country.  Now 30 minutes behind the clock I set off across the also very green Canadian country side.

Coming soon on Fox:  the gameshow that's sweeping the nation. 

Canada or Iowa?

Then a short math filled drive of computing Kilometers from Miles, I arrived at the first place I could find that served poutine.  A fast food restaurant.

If you never had fries before, you'd probably go to McDonalds right?

And Bam, maybe the most difficult challenge left is done.

Pictured: the most expensive meal I've ever had

Verdict?  Salty, and it burned the shit out of my mouth.  Otherwise good.

So the story pretty much ends there, without much excitement, I returned to America crossing the border with no problems at all.  So pro-tip for all you smugglers, its the Canadian customs you have to worry about.

Birthplace of the morbidly obese

Made it back to the airport with an hour to spare, then turned out to be 2 hours as the flight was delayed.  Came back to snowy crappy Colorado, and dreamt of the days before I lost my mind.

Thanks for listening everyone.

Week 18: Fly in Something that's not an Airplane

You know I've never really liked the number 18.  I know its a milestone in people's lives, the beginning of being tried as an adult and whatnot, but, as a number, it's always been exceptionally mediocre.  Also, the phrase "exceptionally mediocre" is fantastic.

This deep thought was brought to you by the unrelenting boredom of a Thursday in April that is entirely too cold.

Yesterday a new drawing was held with former carnival barker Jon.

He's actually 10 feet tall

The question on everyone's mind was of course, would something be drawn to alleviate the cold spring duldrums"?

At least its more interesting than a kick in the crotch.

There we have it.  Some key words to focus on are "Fly" and "Not an Airplane".  Reaching out for help and general google searching yielded the following options.

Blimp
Helicopter
ParaGlider
HangGlider
Parachute
Hovercraft
Chair tied to balloons
Hot air balloon
One of those flying squirrel suits

All great options, though there is some debate as to whether floating, gliding or hovering count as flying, but whatever.

Of course, once again, the early year proves to be craptastic, and immediately hot air balloon is out because its too early in the season; paragliding and hang gliding all depend on the weather as well.

So the list grows narrower, as the days fall by the way side.  Will I find a non airplane?  Will I have the balls to ride in it?  Will that mysterious rash ever fade?  Will excessive body hair ever come back into fashion?

Some of these questions and more may be answered, so check back in.

Tuesday Update:  Success!

It totally counts

Tuesday Update: Success!  Again!

Okay, so big bird missile apparently doesn't really count.  So I set off for the next best feasible thing.

A helicopter.

If you're in the middle of the ocean with no flippers and no life preserver and you hear a helicopter, this is music. You have to adjust to your needs at the moment.
-Tom Waits

After some quick Googling, I realized I should stop wasting so much time, so I hit the internet and found the first helicopter place I could find.  Then after seeing their prices, I found another helicopter place.  Because, when it comes to flying for the first time in a potentially dangerous contraption, budget should always be your number one concern.

I found the company Front Range Helicopters located in beautiful-ish Loveland Colorado.   I scheduled an appointment to ride in, and actually fly my very own helicopter.  Then, after calling in to work with the best excuse yet, I set off for my early morning date with Bernoulli.

Turns out the folks at Front Range Helicopters are fantastic people, I met my pilot/teacher Casey right away.

This picture may be out of sequence

He taught me many things about the ways of flying and math and weather.

I think it means buy Ovaltine

 Then after posing for a quick photo shoot ...

You can tell its not real because we're indoors
... and the photo was taken from outside the chopper

We set off in chopper bubba (I forget its real name)

It seats two comfortably, with ample space for bricks that may be shat.

Interior:

Only slightly less complicated than my ex-girlfriend

The rest is history, a beautiful tour of the local landscape that only CEO's and God to get to see.

Followed by 10 minutes of pure fear as I was given the controls.

Pictured: premature relief at not killing us

Followed by 5 bonus minutes of fear as Casey demonstrated what happens when the engine fails in mid air.

The Verdict:

A fantastic experience, that a handful of pictures and some half baked wit can't do justice.  I heavily recommend you try it.  Just remember to bring extra strength antiperspirant to handle the terror sweat.