Archive | February, 2013

Dress for Duress

27 Feb

“Tip No. 781: There is no such thing as being overdressed. In 2003, maybe, in the Bad Old Casual Friday days, it   was possible. But in 2013? Today? Impossible. The three-piece knows no boundaries.” – Esquire, 3/13

SCENE: A dinner party. A large crowd is milling about in nice, but casual, dress. One man is in a sharp three-piece suit. The host is making his way toward the man in the suit.

HOST: Hey, glad you could make it.
SUIT: Hey, happy to be here. This is a heck of party!
HOST: Well, what’s up? I’m assuming you got the invitation…
SUIT (unaware): Yeah, I got it. How would I have known about the party if I didn’t get an invitation? (laughs)
HOST (nervous but indignant) Did you happen to see the dress code on it?
SUIT (confused): Hmm, I don’t think I noticed it. Did I dress wrong or something? I mean, I put on a suit and everything to look nice. It’s a party at my best friend’s house for Pete’s sake.
HOST: Oh, come on. Don’t play me like a fool.
SUIT: What? I came to your party. I wore my best suit! What gives?
HOST: It’s just- It’s just that you didn’t really follow the dress code. The invitation said upscale yet down-played. You’re here in a three-piece suit and it’s killing the whole vibe! You’re overdressed!
SUIT: What do you mean, overdressed? Sorry to insult you with my choice of clothing, Calvin Klein.
HOST: Hey- read a magazine once in a while, would you? This is 2003 for God’s sake. You can’t just wear a three-piece suit willy nilly. There’s a time and a place for a suit like that and this isn’t yet.
SUIT: Look, I’ll just leave. I don’t want to take you away from your party any longer. I’m sorry.
HOST: No, no. Just go home, change, and come back. I actually do want you here, after all.
SUIT: Well, what should I put on? I don’t know what upscale yet down-played looks like.
HOST: I don’t know… Like what everyone else here is wearing. Whatever you’d wear on a casual Friday.
SUIT (exasperated): But I don’t even know what to wear on a casual Friday!
HOST: Hey, I’m your friend, not your stylist. A man your age should be able to dress himself.

Yelp Review: Sun ‘n’ Sand Tiki Bar

20 Feb

1/5 Stars

When Sun ‘n’ Sand opened last year, I was excited about having a bar right on the beach in West Palm. I went on my day off on Saturday and this was my experience:

I showed up around 6, and found a seat at the bar. The place had a stale odor, like a combo of low tide and spray tanner. I waited patiently for a waitress, but none came to take my order. I decided to pass the time by making small talk with the other customers; this proved one of the gravest decisions I’ve ever made. I tried to start a conversation with the woman to my left. She proceeded to explain to me how she had purchased a swimsuit that was three sizes too small, but kept it anyway because it showcased her “lovely lady lumps”. I immediately turned away, but she rambled on, explaining how one lump was suspicious and required medical attention. I moved to a different seat when she asked if I had any odd lumps or bumps that she could see.

I stood up to find the manager so I could ask for a beverage, but he was nowhere to be found. I saw what appeared to be the owner singing a Celine Dion medley into a beer can, intermittently shouting that he was the “Karaoke King”. His inebriation became obvious when he attempted to moonwalk and tumbled backwards, smashing his head into a stormdrain. He did not get up immediately, but I did not go to his rescue because I figured his loss might be better for the human race as a whole in the long run. The owner’s drinking buddy, an elderly man in an ill-fitting leprechaun costume (I went to the bar in early February) laughed so hard at his friend’s fall that he spilled his piña colada in his beard. Instead of cleaning himself up, the man climbed on the bar and urged all other patrons to lick the beverage from his facial hair. The only person to take him up on the offer was the owner, who at this point inexplicably rose from his drunken stupor to drink a watery piña colada from his friend’s whiskers. Between the noisy slurps, the owner announced his official change in title from “Karaoke King” to “The Human Beard Vacuum”. At that point, the owner slipped again, marking his second spectacular tumble in under an hour, and resumed his position slumped against the wall.

As I made my way towards the exit, a man who I presumed to be the manager grabbed me by the arm and urged me to have a bite to eat on the house. I imagine the manager was hoping to avoid receiving negative feedback on the internet. Thinking that the bar couldn’t possibly make a worse impression, I reluctantly agreed to try some grub. After a cursory glance at the menu, I settled on the Zesty Tropical Chili. The food arrived thirty-five minutes later, although the time passed quickly to the tune of a surprisingly accurate version of Cats, with lump lady and the leprechaun guy assuming the lead roles. The chili came tepid, and its odorous nature literally made my eyes water. I stirred the contents, where upon I discovered a large mass floating in my soup. I scooped it out, and found it out to be a black du-rag, with the word “spicy” bedazzled on. With so much time already invested in the Sun ‘n’ Sand Tiki Bar, I almost felt it would have all been for nothing had I not even tried the food. Needless to say, I couldn’t actually bring myself to taste an iota of the stuff.

Lacking the heart to tell the manager about the du-rag or any other facet of my experience, so I simply left, never looking back. I immediately set a course for the local clinic, where I had a smattering of medical tests performed to isolate any diseases I may have picked up during my stay, and I encourage all prior customers of the Sun ‘n’ Sand to do the same. In summation, the worst bar I’ve ever seen. It is an embarrassment to the management, the West Palm Beach health department, and the entire state of Florida.

In Light of Recent Weather, School District to Close Permanently

11 Feb

ALBANY (Lighter Side of the Moon) – In response to the extreme weather impacting our area recently, the Gloversville, NY school district will be canceling school indefinitely. The decision came early this morning after snow-related closings on Friday and Monday.

“It was the logical choice for the safety of our students,” Superintendent Jocelyn Kent wrote in an e-mail to parents. “With so many storms, it didn’t make sense for us to keep kidding ourselves and pretending school was a possibility anymore.”

The ability of faculty members to get to work was a factor in the decision. “Our bus drivers live farther east and we’ve received word that most of them are buried in their homes,” Kent wrote. “According to my sources, it is unlikely they’ll ever get out of their driveways again.”

High school principal Jim Pecora said they’ve made preparations for Gloversville students once the schools shut down. When asked by a member of the press how former students would earn a living without schooling, he said, “We anticipate employing all of our students as shovelers in the emergency response to future storms.”

Parents and students alike are up in arms about this decision. Matilda Patterson, mother of students in eighth and fifth grades, worried about the emotional implications this will have on our children. “My kids get so excited every time they cancel school,” she said. “Even though they close schools every time it rains these days, they still get a kick out of it. I think the monotony of a permanent closing will bore them.”

Mike Rosco, a high school junior, thinks the school’s administrators may have had ulterior motives in making this decision. “I think they just got sick and tired of waking up early to check the weather,” he said. “We haven’t had a full day of school since Hurricane Irene, so it probably just wasn’t worth it for them to keep going through the motions.”

Iditarod Diary

6 Feb

Every winter, dog-lovers and sled-enthusiasts the world over unite in collective excitement for the world’s longest dog race. Every year, the musher’s roster is an interesting collection of foreign adrenaline junkies, dog lovers who severely overestimate the companionship canines can provide, and Alaskans who think the thousand mile journey is nothing compared to their usual sled trip to the nearest cell tower. Should the unending hours of sunlight not give the musher’s snow blindness, they often keep a journal of their experience. This is the diary of Austrian racer Klaüsus “Klaus” Von Klaüsenberg from his 2012 trek.

DAY 2:

I never saw so much snow. Every direction, as far as the eye can see, there’s more snow. It’s kind of humbling, really. You truly are alone out here. There’s no way to know if you’re going in the right direction. Everything else is just so far away.  I haven’t seen color in two days. It’s just a never-ending sea of white. It’s like that Kenny G concert I went to in Vienna. Anyway, the dogs are barking. I’ll write the next time something eventful happens.


Well, I guess I vastly overestimated how often things happen around here. Today was a blizzard. That’s eventful, I guess. I don’t think I’ve ever been colder. I try to breathe on my hands to warm them up but I think my lungs are frozen. I’d huddle with the dogs, but they’re cold also and feeling bitey. Hold on, my GPS is beeping. I don’t know why it’s beeping. It’s not supposed to beep like that.


It’s been thirteen hours since the GPS stopped working. I have absolutely no way of knowing which to go now, and I have not seen humans in five days. I am unhappy. I fear I may run out of food, so I’ve started rationing. I mark the time between meals in blizzards. I ate a can of peas two blizzards ago. I think one of the dogs smelled it. He’s giving me a scary look. I am very unhappy.


Twelve blizzards since I last saw any kind of a landmark (it was an unusually-shaped mound of snow). I think the mean-looking dog has attracted several others from the pack to his cause. I’m starting to hear words in their barks. Last night, they talked of mutiny. I distinctively heard the phrase, “Let’s drink human’s blood.” I’d kill the dogs preemptively, but then I’d be disqualified from the race. I am scared and very, very unhappy.

DAY 12

I want to go home. The two preceding pages of illegible scribbles are fault of my constant shivering. I couldn’t stay warm long enough to write. All of the dogs are now firmly rooted in confederacy against me. They are stockpiling food and crafting crude weapons out of their leather harnesses. I’d stop feeding them if there were another way for me to travel around this icy hellhole. The boredom is going to kill me before anything else. Just kidding. It will be the cold. I’m very cold.

A rescue party was sent out when Klaus did not arrive at the finish line. He was found ten days later, alone, attempting to eat his backpack. His dogs had run off and abandoned him. After a short recovery period, Klaus changed paths and became an impassioned spokesperson for the benefits and taste of dogmeat. He did not participate in another Iditarod.

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