Friday, May 11, 2007

Motherfucker!, Wait a second…!

So I’m in the booty Saturn Vue, trying to smash my way back to my hotel (Smash, Verb : To aggressively negotiate to your destination with little regard for other traffic) when I was like “Motherfucker!, Wait a second!”… I got a rental car, and money in my pocket, and a room….oh, I think it’s time to do some drinking – I mean, fuck! It’s festival…I have to at least get a pint.

After circling the block about 90 times because the one-way streets don’t jive together, I found a park. I bounded into this storefront that is a bar. I mean the front of the bar is a plate glass window and you can see people drinking inside. See you could have that shit in LA. Motherfuckers would be crashin’ from starin’ at people get hand jobs in booths and doing body shots. It would be like a peep show billboard…and that would make traffic kind of awesome….ok, we need to give this more thought.

So I break up in the spot and it’s kinda crowded but not like packed. I’ve got maybe an hour’s worth of drinking before the call last call. So I start pounding the Guinness. I mean this guy can’t pour a pint to save his life…but I’m still licking my lips. Anyway I look over and there’s a golden tee machine. I weight the options of getting hammered while playing golden Tee or taking a swing (“to take a swing” – To hit-on. To make advances towards) at the next woman sitting next to me.. Let’s see…I’ll be yelling and screaming at the machine while drinking obsessively and cursing the non-existent wind in the canyon. Or I can sit here and see how long it takes me to get the pants of this wrinkled and geriatric women that has just taken up the next stool and barked that she needs a shot of Jack (…and I quote: “and don’t be puttin’ no ice in my shit, neither!”) - have I mentioned that the bars in Baltimore aren’t exactly happenin’? Anyway I decide that I should make my stand at the Golden Tee machine.

Now I should point out that I am a professional golden Tee player. I’ve ended relationships because of Golden Tee, met people who have broken fingers playing Golden Tee and I’ve won money playing Golden Tee. Let’s just say I am in the league.

I realize that there are a lot of women who don’t understand golden Tee or just plain don’t like it….and I’d just like to point out that that is reason #75 of why you are still single (yes, I just broke up with somebody – get used to those types of jokes)

So for those who don’t know, it’s $2 for 9 holes. And you can drink a pint of Guinness in 2.7 holes. Therefore I should be nice and toasty by the time I have a chance to talk to anyone. Ok so… it’s like 320 yards to the first hole and there is wind and all other kinds of shit, but don’t let the machine fuck with you. Sip your pint, roll your track ball back.. and let that motherfucker rip!

Booya! And I ripped that bitch a good 230 yards. That’s a good start to what is going to be a record setting game.

This is a par 3 and I’m about to go one under motherfucker. I line up my chip shot and nail that motherfucker. (you don’t want none of this!). Ok this is like a 12 foot put. I’m not really trippin’. I sip my Guinness and take a step back and assess this no-brainer. As I pull the track ball back and get ready to putt…some chick bumps into me (hey, I’m on the fucking PGA tour – do you mind?)… the putt breaks badly to the right and I’m like – “fuck!”

HOT CHICK IN BAR
Did you miss? Well you suck anyway so, does it really matter?

I’m quite sure that this is my next girlfriend and if I’m lucky her and her drug addiction will be living in my apt in a matter of weeks (Yes Melissa, I still hate you). She gives me a look as she returns to the bar.

Now as you know, there’s no room for socializing on the Golden Tee tour, you got to be focused.

So I’m pretty sure she’s lookin’ at me, but I have to act like I don’t need this shit (…and then they’ll give us this shit for free).. It’s like the third hole… 500 yards…my pint is lookin’ a little low...and there is a water hazard. Now, I’m not one to play conservative…esp. when I’ve been drinking. So I get out the big wood and proclaim that I’m making the green in two strokes. WHACK!!! I smack the shit out of the track ball and that motherfucker is carryin’ like an East coast MC on tour in Los Angeles. Then it starts to hang, then it starts to drift “Baby, don’t do this to me”… and it drops right in the middle of the pond.

“Fuck!”… I say loudly as I crush the rest of my pint. Now I know that seems strange to anyone who doesn’t play golden tee but things like “fuck”.. and “you dirty whore”… and “get there!” and “sit Ubu sit”.. are often uttered in a game of golden Tee; it’s just not physically possible to play the game and not blurt out a “you got to be fuckin’ kidding me”…or my personal favorite “motherfucker, please!”. Anyway, my pint is empty and I still have mad holes to play. So what do I do? I hit the pause button…that’s right the pause button (they game was made for drinking, get over it!). Well to be honest it only works for about 15 seconds, but that gives you enough time to go to the bar and signal and leave your pint glass, before you might have to putt. It also gives a real freestyle element to the game. You can order a pint, get a woman’s phone number, pay a tab and not lose your turn. If that’s not a technical definition of the word “money”, then I don’t know what the fuck is.

So I’m doing my freestyle-pause button thing. Floating back and forth to the bar trying to get the bartenders attention. And Low and behold who do I see looking at me: The cute snarky chick that was bustin’ on me earlier (Bust, V – to crack on, to make fun off, to ridicule). So she looks right at me and says “what is that some kind of line dance? What are you from fucking Jersey or some shit?”

Ok, who the fuck is this chick? And yeah, I did go to high school in New Jersey, you wanna say somethin’? huh? I’ll bus’ you in ya fuckin’ mawth you keep talkin’ that fuckin’ shit!

So I can’t believe that this hottie chick is crackin’ on me like this, I’ve got to take a swing at her.

COOPRDOG
It’s a ritual. I’m 6 under

HOT CHICK IN BAR
You are not six under so stop lying! I don’t think there’s a sand trap that you haven’t stop to play in.

COOPRDOG
What are you honing your stand up routine?

HOT CHICK IN BAR
Yeah your material is fucking priceless. Like, look at this hole you’re on. Are you content to take the three stokes to get around the island? Noooo, you grab the wood and start talkin’ about “if I get her high she’ll carry…if it get it high enough she’ll carry”

COOPRDOG
I saw a guy do it Philly

She gets up from her stool and walks towards me as I return to the machine with my pint.

HOT CHICK IN BAR
“I saw a guy do it in Philly?”…that’s your motivation?

COOPRDOG
Drastic times call for drastic measures

HOT CHICK IN BAR
What are you Jean-Luc Picard or some shit? (Yeah dude, she killed me with the Star Trek reference…I totally have to fuck this chick)

Ok so you must realize that I’m not even really playing at this point. I mean I’m lookin’ at the machine and hittin’ the ball, but I’m playing like a one armed-drunk man style…with a bad knee.

We’re making small talk, bumping into each other…I’m mean I’m thinking I’m in there. I turn around to get another pint and when I look back, she’s gone. Just like that. What’s the deal with chicks anyway?

The bar has become considerably more crowded. And I am pounding yet another pint. And then I meet this other chick…well actor actually. We make a little small talk and of course I’m talking up the film. And then get this, the local yokels don’t’ take to kindly to me hitting yet another single as the visiting team…and they start to playa hate…and to cock block. You know I getting’ the looks and the “oh really” when I mention something about filmmaking. So what do I do? I break out the PSP.

Talk about shuttin’ people the fuck up (I mean I could have shown them virtually anything on my PSP in it’s case that opens up into external speakers and a sub woofer, and they would have eaten it up.) Then suddenly these brothers in the corner (I say that because there are like 3 black people in this bar and I’m one of them) start to wave me over.

I approach them to see what the deal is. The first one says “nice shirt” - cause’ you know I was in the Cooprdog Standard Issue pro-marijuana T-shirt, and the other cat is like “did you shoot that stuff you were showing on your PSP?

25 min’s later I’m sittin’ down with these dudes, eatin’ wings, talkin’ shit….one says he’ll sell me some weed. The other wants me to produce his anime piece.

Initially it’s a painful conversation because I have to explain to the guy that I didn’t get into this industry to work for other people. He respects my point of view and we just generally start to talk about the industry. I’m distracted because he hasn’t called last call and I’m starting to think I can’t get another drink.

BROTHER #1
Why you trippin’ B?

COOPRDOG
I got to get another pint before last call.

BROTHER #2
Last call is at three, yo!

COOPRDOG
Motherfucker, wait a minute! For real? For real?

BROTHER #1
Believe dat.

…Man, Baltimore ain’t that bad after all…I have to learn to be more tolerant.

So the bar is starting to fill up. And there are real women in the bar now. It was seriously a sword fight to the death when I walked in this motherfucker and now it’s a regular party (albeit uptight private school chicks, 80’s satellite radio and the random old/homeless looking person sippin’ on a soda).

So things are beginning to look pretty chill, I’m surveying the crowd and wondering if I’ll get yet another opportunity to initially hit on a woman and then become frustrated (no, really, I’m over my break-up). I decide that I’m doing entirely too much “math” about my dating/fucking situation and I decide to take a piss.

It’s on my way to the pisser that I see the cute/rude chick from Golden Tee, chain smoking in a booth flanked by several women who aren’t exactly taking a break from the beauty pageant circuit. I act like I don’t see them as I continue to the pisser (that’s how real men do it kid).

The bathroom is kind of scary…I mean it’s got that permanent urine odor and the urinal doesn’t really drain; so every time someone takes a piss and throws the lever the mixture of water, stale urine and the fumes/particles from the puck that is submerged under this sickening mixture (maybe it works better when it’s totally drenched with piss?) rises just a little higher…threatening every passing customer with its “community” jackpot.

I negotiate that ridiculousness and now I’m over at the sink. I must confess that as I’ve gotten older I’ve become sort of a fanatic about washing my hands. I mean I’m not one of these people freaking out in a pizza joint because there is enough soap and hot water for the CDC recommended 35 seconds of lathering @ 2 billion degrees…but I at least try to soap up and at least fake it if there is no soap present (am I the only one who will still runs water on his hands and rub then together when there is little or no soap in the bathroom - knowing damn well that that ain’t doing shit?) Anyway so I do my civic duty and as I negotiate my way to the towel dispenser I realize that I am facing yet another electronic/laser driven device. Now I’m not going to come right out and say that the laser beam technology is a waste of resources, but let’s be honest…do you really need to stand in front of the sink of the towel dispenser waving your hands like some tweaking orchestra conductor attempting to manifest the perfect combination of arm moves at the correct speed to trick the machine into dispensing a towel. Is this really necessary? And how the fuck is it more productive?

So, I’m making my way back to the soul council when I get flagged down by two chicks in a booth. I have no idea what they want but they are female and I have been drinking so I wasn’t really going to ask a lot of question.

One of the chicks is smoking hot, the other one is a bit ….robust. I’m still baffled by why women do this; I mean it’s hard enough as a guy walking around on a day to day basis…not blurting out completely dumb and inappropriate shit as it is. Do really hot chicks and really not hot chicks really need to pair up to see if we can negotiate it?

Anyway… I’m on like my 4 or 5th pint by the time I’m deep into this debate with Queen hottie and her friend who looks like she plays defensive line for The Ravens. So, next thing I know I’m involved in a heated debate about why the stage is better than the cinema. Yeah, I chuckled too when I realized what they were arguing…really, you don’t have any idea who I am, do you?

I try to be polite for about 10 minutes and then I can’t take it. I mean what is it with stage people? I swear they all hate film and filmmakers. They have amazingly short memories when it comes to film and don’t really see anything, because nothing in film is exciting to them. This was kind of dicey because I have to argue in favor of the Hollywood spectacle (that I loathe) in order to defend the cinema. I suddenly realize why I’m not a politician – I can’t just argue the negative or the false positive merely to have a political viewpoint (and the dead secretary from my corporate days also had a little to do with my aversion to background checks).

I’m hearing about “culture” and “respect” and “the craft”…blah…blah…blah. It’s the same fucking argument every time you come around these stage people. I point out that nothing is as engrossing as the cinema and they laugh at me.

THEATER CHICK #1
The theater is more engrossing, we deal with heavier topics.

COOPRDOG
Oh please, there’s plenty of non-critical eye candy going on on stages all over the US.

THEATER CHICK #2
Ok.. but the theater can wake people up?

COOPRDOG
And the cinema can’t?

THEATER CHICK #1
It’s all special effects and soundtrack – that’s all you got

COOPRDOG
You know there are some of us that don’t use special effects

THEATER CHICK #2
What are you talking about? You were just bragging about your stunts and your “slo-mo”

COOPRDOG
Yeah, I was. And neither of which is a special effect.

THEATER CHICK #1
How is it not a special effect? You are altering what the camera is seeing

COOPRDOG
Ok first of all, all of it is a fantasy and an illusion so what the fuck are you talking about? And a special effect is a visual effect not a car stunt or a fight sequence.

THEATER CHICK #2
It’s all one in the same. That’s all the cinema is, cheap parlor tricks

COOPRDOG
Parlor tricks? What am I a fucking snake oil salesman

THEATER CHICK #1
Yes, yes you are.

COOPRDOG
And what makes the theater so high and mighty?

THEATER CHICK #1
We care about the big issues.

COOPRDOG
Look you wanna masquerade around like you’re a roving band of mother Teresa’s go right ahead. But none of that off-Broadway.. “hey look mom, I’m naked!” shit is tipping the “hard issue” scales

THEATER CHICK #2
Well, off Broadway is different.

COOPRDOG
Look, if I have to defend slasher flicks and bullshit romantic comedies then you have to defend naked people and abstract themes with no props what so ever.

THEATER CHICK #1
Don’t try and change the subject. Special effects are cheap stunts and you use them!

COOPRDOG
Ok, first of all…if I can’t have a fight sequence without it being a “special effect” then what the fuck is stage combat? And I’d like to point out that the last three times I went to see a play there was an extreme use of music during set changes and to segue us into the next scene…if felt like I was watching a movie you fuckin’ biters

THEATER CHICK #1
Please I have thousands of years of theater history to rob from if I feel like being a thief. Why should I even bother with …the cinema. There hasn’t been a good movie made in the last 10 years.

COOPRDOG
Oh, ok… so you’ll drive to the ends of the earth to see some fucking rendition of some bullshit play with a gay guy and a sock…and you’ll call that art. But film must be inferior because the theaters are strategically placed?...is that what you are saying?

THEATER CHICK #2
Listen you have to act in the theater, the shit is live.

COOPRDOG
Look let’s get technical shall we? There is one reason why the cinema is superior

THEATER CHICK #1
…and what is that?

I took a really dramatic pregnant pause before I dropped it on them….

COOPRDOG
When you have a play, the actors and the stage hands and the audience and every single motherfucker involved in the bitch have to be on the same page and having an “amazing” night/performance for the performance itself to be “amazing” in its entirety. There is a conscious effort that all participants must make every time the piece if performed.

THEATER CHICK #2
Yes, and that’s what makes it magical…and you do the same shit with film.

COOPRDOG
Well, you are correct to insinuate that we too have to take just as many precautions, but, we only have to be perfect once….you know, because I’m filming the fucking thing! And then it’s perfect for the rest of time. Whereas the performances in a play can swing wildly from night to night. That’s why it’s inferior. There is only one film that people are talking about when they mention “Gone With The Wind” or “Stripes”. Even though we have rampant remakes…they are visibly marked as a remake due to the updated cast and scoring music…though many may not know that there was an original film before this remake…once they learn this information…it is never forgotten.

The theater twins are silent as I sip my pint. They return fire and try to argue smaller portions of their argument…but it’s a fleeting attempt to win an already lost argument. We’ll chalk one up for the Westside.

Next thing I know I’m getting’ the cold shoulder from the hot chick because I ripped her chubby friend (hey, don’t get mad, I like chubby girls…they can really suck cock) a new one. I decide to roam a little since getting’ the gas face at point blank range is not the best way to attract more females (and not arguing with them is probably a good way to do it as well).

I hook up again with the brothers in the corner and the next thing I know it’s closing time. I’m kind of fucked up. Actually, I’m really fucked up. I’m staggering, drooling…sayin’ dumb shit. Man, that’s why I like to smoke and not drink…because your high is almost instant when you puff and predictable….when I drink I spin the wheel every time…never knowing how drunk I’ll get or how stupid I’ll sound.

And, to top it off I have no idea where I am in relation to my hotel. I consult the soul brothers who tell me not to worry.. that they’ll walk me to my hotel…and then we can blaze.

Man, it’s amazing how the mention of weed can get you motivated to do shit. I gather up all my shit and follow these guys out of the door. And wouldn’t you know it. It’s fucking raining…that’s just awesome. I live in So Cal.. I don’t get wet.

So now it’s a mad drunken dash across several blocks as I try to avoid the rain. I guess I wasn’t as drunk as I thought cause I started to recognize where I was. My hotel is in the next block. We stop at the 24 hr Subway shop and get a really disgusting turkey hoagie (how do you fuck up a turkey hoagie?)...before continuing to the hotel.

So.. it’s me and 3 random cats I don’t know…tokin’ bowls and arguing about the cinema. It was a nice ending to what has been a long and uneventful day. Three bowls later I told them that they didn’t have to go home, but they had to get the fuck out of here… they left, I passed out.

Not bad after all…but damn.. I still have to get that chicks number...I just gotta know what my chances are.

COOPRDOG

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