Veggie Pizza is Hard to Beat

It's confession time: I love the internet, but goddamn do I ever hate it. File that one under obvious. When I'm editing, or even when I'm not, I tend to piss away gargantuan amounts of time on the net. Now this isn't exactly anything unique to me, but remember in my description I said I'll be griping. And so, when I hopped onto a Boston-bound bus this weekend, I opted not to bring my laptop, even though I was riding in style on the Bolt which offers free wifi and a lower death and explosion rate than either Fungwah or Lucky Star. I feel like the laptop makes you that much more antisocial as well, even if I was rolling with my iPod.

It's also nice to come back and have a few more emails than usual awaiting you and getting to sift through them over a bowl of tasty breakfast cereal. And in the interest of making the mundane a little more exciting, I really dig this video, which I believe is of German origin where two blokes go about their normal day and execute a bunch of slick tossing and timing moves. I guess it could be doctored and whatnot, but sometimes it's nice not to be the cynic and just enjoy the magic.

Speaking of magic, it's hard to beat a weekend filled with friends and sunshine in a city like Boston. My frequent travel companion, booze, was on hand as well, this time incarnated as freshly brewed iced tea and Jim Beam. I hadn't had this in years and either my palate changed (likely) or I just forgot how delicious it was. Regardless, I recommend it highly.

Speaking of booze, here's a little snippet about teenage alcohol problems in Italy courtesy of my buddy Bryan. Yes. Though unrelated, I feel compelled to also link to this excerpt about cops busting other cops in a drug bust down in North Carolina. Classic shit right there. Credit once again to the Boneyard, my number one news source.

And last but certainly not least, PDA. I'm not talking "public displays of affection" or even "personal digital assistant" (yes, I had to look that one up, I couldn't for the life of me remember what that shit stood for), no, this is my brand new terminology "public displays of athleticism" (©Jebbo, July 2009). While in Brazil I found myself periodically dropping to the ground to partake in some push-ups with my local buddy Marcos. Stateside I've long been a fan of pull-ups on any sort of available area. This can include trees, awnings, New York City scaffolding, and bars in subway cars. It can even include the bars at a local playground as I observed several monsters pounding out sets when I finished up a run in McCarren Park a couple of weeks ago. Of course, I was thinking to throw in some pull-ups myself, so it was nice to have the camaraderie of this outdoor gym to balance out looking the fool doing pull-ups on scaffolding at three in the morning. I can't tell you precisely why, but I've long found pull-ups intensely satisfying, and I will admit that inebriation can add to this, and I will close by saying I highly recommend you give it a try; it will spice up your life.

Next step is to needlessly hurdle garbage cans, potted plants, and other street obstacles which I periodically attempt whilst running. I close with a photo of professional runner Martin Fagan and his sweet-ass tats (I dig the bats, and the brick backdrop). Rock over London, rock on Chicago...

Indian Takeaway

Not sure whether the recently arrived humidity is to blame for my bizarre nightmares and restless sleep last night, but it's certainly to blame for my appearance of having gone swimming after my run yesterday afternoon. This is the Jersey summer we all know and...loathe. But as much as it saps energy both physical and mental, there is a familiarity to it from which I can still derive some comfort, at least more comfort than dreaming I am a failed waiter who cannot remember his customers orders or how to write them down even. There needs to be a some form of moderate version of a nightmare to define dreams such as this where one really has no call to be frightened and yet finding yourself oddly gripped by panic. For now let's call them slightmares (©Jeb, 7/17/09 12:01pm).

I want to take a moment to finally link to this photo of Jenny Barringer and Gelete Burka at the Prefontaine Classic 1500m. I'd have just uploaded it but the pros who took the photo seemed to not want me to download or hotlink it, so rather than dinking around, I put up that link, which I promise is worth a quick view even if you don't give a shit about running.

In silly sports news from a week or two ago (I'm really on top of my blogging game), Lebron James was dunked on by a high schooler at some camp he hosted. Apparently Lebron did not want anyone to have footage of this and all video evidence has been confiscated. Sports bloggers are pronouncing the sauce weak, citing as well Lebron's reaction to losing to the Orlando Magic, but all I'm saying is "slow news week." As much as this scrutiny and analysis is known to come with the territory of being a well-compensated celebrity, it still sucks a bit of ass in my estimation. But then, I don't have to read about it...

I'd much rather stumble upon goofy paparazzi (paparazzo?) photos of what you might call interesting celebrity fashion choices. Somehow I don't think I'd live it down if my friends saw me wearing either of the following get-ups...

Cristiano Ronaldo


Ed "Chuck Bass" Westwick

Doesn't mean I still might not show up somewhere looking like that. And even though this isn't really that long, for the sake of short attention spans I will wait until my next entry to cover one of my new favorite things: PDA.

Frosted Lucky Charms

Recently returned from Brazil aka Brasil, it's time to get back on track. Dear diary, I've been meaning to write in you I just haven't had the proper motivation or, in some instances, internet connection.

As my first trip out of the country (unless you count Canada, but that is contiguous with the US), Brasil was a big deal for me. Seeing how I did and do not speak Portuguese and I traveled in the northeastern part of the country (where far fewer people speak English than in the South), it's pretty amazing what you can get by on. It also helps that our host had a host of connections by which we were able to travel safely and comfortably. The two things (well one, but with two meanings) people told me when I told them I was going to Brasil were: a) be careful, as it is rather dangerous in Brasil, with muggings, murders, and kidnappings; and b) be careful, as the women in Brasil are often very beautiful, sexually free, and like gringos.

I admit, I'm tempted to write a bit of a travel log, but as I already have a 34+ page paper one, I don't think I'm really going to do the country justice. Still, I will drop a few highlights: a) the exchange rate; b) the women; c) the booze; d) the food; and e) the partying.

Each American dollar will get you two Brasilian reals. This is good.

The women are frequently gorgeous but just like America, there are plenty of creatures. The women, though, are, in general, much friendlier than women here.

Booze is cheap cheap cheap in Brasil, and I liked this. Normally not a fan of pilsners, that's all they really drink in warm Brasil. But they serve it colder than cold and it is crisp, refreshing, and delicious. I have a soft-spot now for Skol. The other thing frequently consumed in Brasil is cachaca which, to me tastes like a combination of whiskey and tequila. Not really my thing, but I slowly grew accustomed, and it was astonishingly cheap at ~$1.75/liter bottle converted. This is often the main constituent to a caipirinha, accompanied by lime and cane sugar for some equivalency to a margherita. Apparently these have been trendy in places like NYC for some time, but I am not trendy, so I did not know.

You can get meat on a stick all over the place, macaxeira (yuca), salty queso, churros [that don't suck and are cooked fresh and are infused with dolce de leite or leite condescendo...shitdamn those are good], etc. I'm trying to keep this short, you know? Their ketchup sucks. Someone should import American ketchup. Maybe they wouldn't like it there, but man, I would.

This country can truly party. Lots of people have heard of Carnivale and how it stretches two-plus months, but even during all of July there is another festival held pretty much all day every day where people perform the traditional forró. With cheap booze, friendly people, and periodically ridiculously attractive women, you can see why you might be encouraged to party here.

Anyway, I don't think I remotely did this country justice but, bottom line: you should take a trip there if you have the chance. And a happy belated Independence Day to everyone...I know my liver might still be recovering.