The Buck Stops Here

To quote the large book about a man I read in 7th grade, "The Buck Stops Here". Big Buck Hunter makes me want to buy a shotgun and go hunting for Big Buck Hunter consoles. In particular the Big Buck Hunter at TC's Lounge. Why? Because at no point in it's existence does that game not piss me off.

The one thing that really, really, really, really gets my gourd (old people say it why can't I?) is the noise that emanates from the machine when someone is not playing it. It makes this western wolf like noise every time the game starts it's loop. If you have been with me to TC's you would know that each time it does this I also make a noise, but one a game isn't allowed to make.

Now let's get one thing straight, if you live in Boston, you attend Berklee, you wear flip flops with pants and you frequent a drinking establishment called TC's Lounge then you are not a hunter and the closest you are going to get to a rifle and a large four legged animal is a paint ball gun and your friends Newfoundland (an exchange you would lose). So no, I'm not impressed by the "skillz" you have in respect to Big Buck Hunter, because if that gun was real and that Moose an actual 400 pound piece of meat and fur you would have no clue what to do.

Which brings me to my next point; it's just glorified target practice, that cheetah isn't going to maul you and that heard of Buffalo isn't going to trample you. There is no threat to your person what so ever, you are hitting clay ducks but instead of a gun with kickback its a glorified laser pointer for $1 - $2. That's fun?

That all being said, I had my moment of weakness with the game a few weeks ago when Katy and I went to NYC for her to sit in a meeting and for me to drink at random bars. At one of these said bars I was going to the bathroom and I noticed that there was a "Safari" edition of Buck Hunter. After scoffing at it I noticed that there was one credit already loaded on the game, and being a person who never turns down things that are free, and apparently a person who changes there opinion on things just because they are now free (so yes give me free things and then I will no longer sneer at you, strong convictions), I decided to give it the good old college try (I have no idea what that means but I wanted to say it). I picked my weapon (having never fired a weapon this was quite simple and random), I picked my prey (always wanted to hunt Elephant, just don't have the few extra grand laying around to pay off an African tribe to tie one up for me to shoot), and I was ready.

Then the machine prompted me for another credit. Like teachers making making 10 question quizzes worth 20 points, this machine made one play worth 2 credits. Why would they do that? Besides making me feel and look like a complete and utter moron I can think of no reasons.

So yes Big Buck Hunter does make me want to shoot things, but four legged animals have no need to be worried.

Notes From a Bar

Yesterday I decided to go to a bar and drink for a couple hours while studying and doing some reading. One problem, yesterday was Saint Patrick's Day and I did not factor that into my plan. So here are the notes I took while sitting there drinking delicious Ballantine from a tall can.

• Who goes to a bar on Saint Patrick's Day and drinks water? Yes I havea problem with how commercial Saint Patricks day is in general but if you are going to celebrate the day by dressing like a Shamrock and going to a bar the least you can do is drink something with alcohol in it.

• That's right, that ID reads Kevin Patrick Doyle and no I am not wearing any green (Though I think the funny look was for the passport I handed her in lieu of my missing Drivers Liscense).

• I am morally opposed to large packs of girls. They are loud, drunk, too well prepared, they cackle and have a weird sense of empowerment in group's larger than 4.

• Why is it that Americans need special days as an excuse to drink and act like children? IF you like to drink and act like an idio then do it, don't hijack an Irish holiday to suit your unfortunate problems. I mean look at me I'm alone, at a bar drinking and complaining about life and I didn't even realize it was a designated drinking day until I got here.

• Is there a more appropriate bar to sit at and drink cheap quality beer while reading a book and complaining about life than a bar modeled after Charles Bukowski?

• Isn't today a work day? How are all these people drinking at 3 in the afternoon? I makes you wonder how Americans espouse the 40 hour work week and how many actually work 40 hours a week? WIth all the cutting out early on fridays, "business lunches", holidays (state approved and not), office parties, sick days, "sick days", and vacation days I wouldn't be surprised if less than half the people who claim to work 40 hours a week actually do.

• It always surprises me how girls take days like Halloween, Saint Patrick's Day, etc. to dress inappropriately and then wonder why men treat them like nothing more than something to stare at.

• "Potato Day" I just heard a toast with those words, I think there is more to Ireland than Potatoes. I bet the Irish government would like you to think otherwise.
  

• I wish my life required me to wear a suit everyday, downside would be I would become a selfish prick.

• Bukowski isn't even fucking Irish, he's German you fools! Get the hell out!

• I should start introducing myself as a writer; simple, and hard to disprove. Again downside would be that I would become a selfish prick.

• Dear Ballantine Executive: The only reason I drink your beer is because my parents let me decipher the riddles you guys put on your bottle caps when I was a child. If your intent with those riddles was to hook children at a young age then you succeeded.

• I hope Saint Patrick realizes that he is one hell of an enabler.

• OMG! (Yes I just did that, digest it and move on) Indiana Jones is here! Background: As you know I work at Borders (no way!), anyway one of our all to frequent customers is a guy who dresses like Indie; every single day of his life. By dresses like I mean hat, jacket, beard, pants, shoes and the archaelogist bag. Well that man is sitting 10 feet away from me.

• One problem with the murals of Bukowski there are not enough Women on them.

• The difference between a pack of girs at a bar and a pack of guys at a bar is with guys all that was discussed was the time and place but with girls it was the time, place, back up place, who to invite, who not to invite, how many drinks to have, how many waters to have, how do we get there, what to wear and is it a girls night or can we try and incorporate a guy or two.

• We have moved from generic Irish musice to the album "London Calling" by The Clash. I knew I liked this bar.

• My waitress doesn't know how to deal with my sitting here drinking alone. I get the sense that she wants to ask me if I'm all right or if I have a drinking problem.

• Not eating all day and then going out for beer and greasy food was a poor choice (And I'm sorry for the all too well known Anchorman line that entered you brain just now, it wasn't my intention).

• Drinking before work was also a poor choice (again sorry), if I'm not slightly boozey by the time I get there then I will be incredibly tired.

• I need to join a drinking club.

• Why don't Women rul the world? Seriously they are better at everything that matters in life. How have they not developed cloning, turned into lesbians and eliminated the male race. Wait, I didn't say any of that.

• Nevermind I did say that because I see what the problem is all women are attracted to assholes and without men they would be lost in trying to find someone who they love that just continually breaks them down emotionally. That's what us men are here for.

• I am not the only person in here drinking while at the same time trying to study. There I feel better.
  

And We're Back with some Grumblings

Well after an action packed Christmas that made my Christmas post seem almost prophetic I am back to my blogging ways. The events of Christmas do need to be noted in some form but I do not know in what type of medium to bring it to you. All in good time though.

In other news Eric's birthday proved to be uneventful by Eric/Danny standards. Though I did have my first scorpion bowl which proved to be both tasty and dangerous. Because of work today I made an early exit to ensure I would not be hungover while serving the book loving populace.

Speaking of which today I get to work for 4 hours, that is down from 8. I kind of hope that is a mix up and not a permanent thing because if I am working 4 hour shifts once or twice a week that may prove to be a problem. Stay tuned.

I also attended the Nutcracker yesterday with Katy, which involved two bars and roughly 4 beers over a few hour span. Needless to say I enjoyed myself.

Lastly my Co-Op with the BRA will be ending this Wednesday (sad face) which means some awkward good byes and a shift in life priorities which means blogging will either skyrocket or cease because of a workload. I'm hoping for the former.

Normally this is where on most blogs people wish you a happy New Year and say that they have a whole bunch of fun things planned for their readers in 2009 (weird to think this decade is almost over already). Well I have nothing planned for you, I'm sorry. You will just have to trust that I will come up with things on the fly or make the old things that much more enjoyable to keep pace. Regardless I hope you continue to come back in 2009, I will still be here, I hope.

Top Five: Belgian Beers

The first top five was a great success. Well we hope it was because in actuality I have no idea how many of you liked it. Regardless because of it's possible success, my day off and the fact that Katy finally found a picture of my favorite Belgian beer we now have a new Top Five (I'm thinking this will become weekly, biweekly, or monthly)! Today's is Top Five Belgian Beers!

Because I am obviously the go to authority for everything Belgian I thought I would bring you my top five beers which are obviously the undisputed top five Belgian beers there are.

1. Maes also known as Campus (pictured above)

- Some may think it tastes like throw up but I disagree, and it is the beer of choice at De Girafe, my favorite Leuven bar!

2. Lambic Geuze

- I know what you are thinking, only a real man drinks Lambic, well you are absolutely correct in that assumption. Though this Lambic is like no other, it tastes like iced tea and not anything like an alcoholic beverage (no it wasn't actual iced tea, though I can not prove it). And it is brewed and served exclusively at Bécasse in Brussels.

3. Stella Artois

- The juggernaut and the only Belgian beer I knew before I went there. I love it. If not only for the fact that in the States its a fancy beer in a green bottle with a white paper top and in Belgium it is considered quite literally to be a "shit beer" or "Pintjes"

4. Jupiler

- I first came in to contact with Jupiler at about 10 AM on a train ride to Bruges. I was offered a seat by a few French Belgians who went on to preach of how "Jupiler" (A heavy accent on the end of the word I was told juPILER!) was in fact the best beer in the world. They offered me one out of their backpack and then another one when they disembarked from the train. It must be noted that Jupiler is cheaper than Stella and can be purchased in cans out of vending machines throughout Belgium. Delicious, yes. "Best beer in the world?" I think not.

5. Delirium Tremens

- This is a place holder until I can determine what other beer I enjoyed should go here. But it is a worthy place holder with a 9% alcohol tag and what my Taxi driver from the airport says were "Pink elephants on the glasses that when they start dancing you know you have had too many?"

As always you are encouraged to submit your own top 5.


Beers that will never appear on this list

-Hoegaarden (Who-garden)
-Vedette

From The Archives: The Algerian

Today we bring you an updated and footnoted version of "The Algerian" which was posted at my old blog last spring. This will not be like past posts were I give you an unedited, verbatim copy with my comments on it. This one I have updated and rewritten for quality and factual purposes. Enjoy.

The Algerian: Remix

Imagine a big black rapper shouting Remix right as you start reading this.

Ready....

Set......

REMIX!

In Leuven, there is this bar called De Giraffe (made my top slot for Leuven Bars in fact), which I frequented often for it's Balkan Beats and "interesting" clientele. On one specific night I think I became, or at least came into conversation with said clientele.

On the aforementioned evening; Daniel, Nick, Katy decided to head over to De Giraffe for the laid back atmosphere and of course they have Maes on tap.

We're on the second round when this little Algerian (it should be noted that I deemed him Algerian, he probably isn't Algerian but for this story it has to work) man comes over and starts talking to Daniel. At the time the man was speaking with such poor English and in such a hushed tone that I could not understand a word that was being said, but I could tell by Daniel's facial expressions that it wasn't positive. Afterwords Daniel would explain that the man impressed upon him that he should not "look at people like that, you don't look at people like that." Daniel not understanding what is going on gives an awkward laugh and apologizes, normal policy for fucked up foreigners who are looking for trouble. Instead of pushing the case further, or even just walking away the Algerian hands Daniel a clove of garlic, stares at him and then walks away. I mean what the fuck? Garlic?

The Algerian disappears to the back of the bar for a few minutes, then reappears and starts to make his way for the door, which in turn means passing us again, when he does about €200 falls out of his pocket. He takes two more steps and proceeds to drop €300 more

I'm a nice guy (at least I like to think I am). Being a nice guy means you help people, in this case I decided within seconds that I was going to let this man know that he just dropped a serious amount of money on the floor. In retrospect I probably should have done what the rest of the patrons at the bar did, stare at the guy and then the cash at the floor and decide he probably isn't a guy whose money you touch.

I tap the man on the shoulder and tell him that he just dropped half a grand in euro on the floor. He proceeds to clumsily bend over and "attempt" to pick it up. I say "attempt" because he was far to inebriated to organize his money into a stack and pick it up. So in my infinite wisdom, I decide to kneel down and help him pick up the money, which I do and I hand it to one of his friends who is leaning over me, big mistake. After about twenty seconds or so when we have both stood up and the money is back where it belongs the Algerian man looks at me and sticks his hand out and demands that I give him his money. I say in English that I gave his friend the money. He of course does not believe me and continues to stare at me with his hand out, while I proceed to say in every way possible that I do not have his money.

At this point his friends make themselves apparent and hustle him out of the bar while he continues to glare at me. Daniel now tells us of his encounter with the man earlier, which makes me feel so much better (not). We order another round to make sure the Algerian and his posse have cleared out of the area, and to calm my nerves a bit. I would say it took me 20 seconds to finish that beer.

Next think I know the Algerian man is in my face again, but this time his Arab friend in English says:

"Did you take his money"

I reply that I did not take his money, this includes me turning out all my pockets to show that I did not in fact pocket any of the money on the floor.

At which point the Algerian cuts me off and puts himself between me and the Arab and begins to wag a finger and stammer away in an unknown language. I say that because between the four of us we know Italian, Arabic, French and Spanish and none of us knew what he was saying, and there was no way it was Dutch. I am again turning out my pockets telling this man that I did not steal his money and that I would never steal his money. To which he replies in slow, broken, and drunken English.

"That I drug money, you don't want drug money."

Let's just say that made a lot of things including the clientele of the bar make a lot more sense.

Enter the Algerians white buddies who start talking about how they had to leave the bar and it was "either the money or the Marijuana," the whole time glaring at me.

I later learned that at this point Nick and Daniel were dead set on brawling, and were planning there means of attack in secret just in case the Algerian or the Arab laid a finger on me. As noble and as happy as that made me feel I have a feeling the police would not have been able to get there fast enough to save us from being knifed to death.

As the two of them are scheming over in the corner, I'm continuing to try to procure a large some of drug money from any orifice of my body. At which point I happen to glance over to the Arab man who i return gives me the international signal for "My friend is really fucked up right now so don't worry we don't want to rumble" which made me feel only a little better because this guy also had the Michael Corleone look of "Don't worry Fredo no matter what you do to me you are family" and we all know what happened to Fredo.

As I am turning back towards the Algerian to tell him for the 49,534,875 time that I did not take his money, he grabs for my hand and believe me when I say that that small moment held so much tension. I felt like the Commander of the Dallas in the Hunt for Red October just waiting for Sean Connery to open his torpedo tube doors (might have been a stretch on the analogy but let's just roll with that one), but it never happened. He told me that I shouldn't worry about it and that he had respect for me. He then proceeded to shake my hand, kiss Katy's hand and then took his leave.

It goes without saying that I needed a few more beers to stop shaking and looking over my shoulder for the rest of the evening.



----------
Well that night I did have some more beers and when I got back to my room I thought it would be a good idea to call my mother and tell her that I got into an altercation with a drug dealer. Word from the wise, when you think you might get stabbed by a Drug Dealer do not drunk dial your mom 3,500 miles away and tell her. Moms don't like that.

Top Five: Bars of Leuven

The Underling feels nostalgic for the days of yore, so today he gives you his first top five post (New Feature)! David Letterman does the top 10, The Underling likes to be more specific. If you have ever or will ever spend time in Leuven, Belgium, then heed the following top 5. If you do not plan on visiting Leuven, something The Underling considers to be a crime upon humanity, then just act like you know what I'm talking about.

For this top 5 I give no explanations as to why I like them (unless so posted), but of course the list is open for debate. And please feel free to make your own list and put it in the comments section (I am staring at you Daniel).

Top 5 Leuven Bars (In my humble opinion)

1. De Girafe (Balkan Beats and Drug Dealers)
2. Revue (Old Timers)
3. Cafe Alle (Meters)
4. De Blokhut (Pool Room)
5. Politika (€1 Stella)

Missed the Cut

Train Station Bar
Underground Bar below De Kauf (Forgot the name)

Note: If the Underling ever makes it back to Leuven he will take many pictures of the aforementioned bars and will post them along with many many words.

As always the above picture is provided by Ms. Katy Kobzeff