Beach Weekend II

This year's beach weekend was awesome. I had been looking forward to it for months, and it didn't let me down.

As to be expected, there was plenty of laughs, plenty of beer, cards, several vomits, and a few cheese slams, to name a few.

Let's start with this year's roster.

Making up for missing last year, is Dooley.



Also goes by Dool show, and to very few people, Ian. Dooley is our resident mixologist and hails from the rock (chief). When talking to Dooley, if you say anything that has to do with Boston, Nantucket, or any kind of rum, you have to yell "chief" afterwards. Dool show set out to explore New Zealand for a few months, and ended up staying for two years. When he got back, we learned he was now married. Sick wedding Dooley.


Disregard me in the foreground with that stupid long-brimmed hat that Owen finds every time he's there.


Next we have Robert.



Goes by RED, Rdoug, Dougbert. He was the first recipient of this year's cheese slam award. This picture was after he thought he caught the slam for the second night in a row, when really it was just a fake. If it weren't for Rob, Darren would likely be dead by now. Rob once hurled right on the side of Buckingham Palace. It could have been some leftover bitterness from the Revolutionary War, but it was more likely because of the gentleman below.

Cawley.



Goes by Cal. Cal was on the London trip with Robert during a study abroad for school, and after Rob was having the worst hangover of his life at the time (until beach weekend last year), Cawley was asking Rob if he wanted to gnaw on a stick of butter, or take mayonnaise shots with budweiser chasers. This led to the immediate booting on the Queen's primary residence. The double bird in the picture is likely going out to anything related to Pittsburgh or liberalism.


Scott ("Scawt!")




See back right of picture.
Goes by Owens or Y'Owens. His specialty is the cheese slam. If you don't know what that is, you don't want to. If you do know what that is, you probably wish you didn't. Owen desperately needs to get out of New York City. His former specialty is starting trouble, and claims that he didn't do anything to start it, when in actuality, it was probably about 75% him, 25% some guy who said something he immediately regretted. In Chapel Hill on Cal's birthday during school, apparently a car full of guys jumped Owen, kicked him a bunch of times, and stole his prized Mets hat. Owen didn't remember the ordeal until an hour later.

Jack.

Goes by Jack man, Biggs, Big, Large, Large guy, large man, or one of several hundred other names. He spent most of the time snoring next to the table or barking at people several houses down.





Here in spirit:

Corey.

Goes by Blake, Babe #1, Babe #2, Grilled Cheeses, or Babe Will You Make Me a Grilled Cheese. Corey couldn't make it this year because he's West Coasting at Gonzaga and couldn't fork out the cash for a plane ticket.

Darren

Goes by Salty, Salty Donkey, The Gow, or his Saltiness. Couldn't make this year because the man has a tight grip on him, pretty much to the point where breathing is difficult. This weekend was the end of quarter, so Darren was lucky if the man even let him eat lunch. I was half expecting him to show up Friday night at 2AM, like he did last year. His specialty is nearly burning down apartments with chicken nuggets two times in one night, and getting lost in Mexico after a binge, only to turn up two days later with no wallet and no shoes (he did some old world bartering and paid the cabby with his sandals).

The Pat Monster.

I'm shocked that Pat's still alive. Everything that has gone wrong throughout college he equates to bad luck, but upon deeper analysis, it's 100% his fault; he just hasn't accepted that yet. He came back from Thanksgiving one year with a shiner because he got knocked out by Ricco Rodriguez in a Vegas Casino. It's probably a good thing Pat didn't come down, especially if he was driving. While in school, he got pulled for DUI without having a sip of alcohol; in fact, he was the DD that night. I'm not saying he's a bad driver. I'm saying he's a terrible driver.



Since the water was cold and the waves decent, Dooley and I decided to dress up like penguins and go surfing. Dooley has been pretty much all over the world surfing, and on days like this, when some of the sets were 5-6 feet, he doesn't say anything, but I know he's thinking "man, this is average, I wish it was double overhead."



















The weather forecast looked like shit all week coming up to the weekend, especially after Rob jinxed it by sending everyone the link. Turned out that there was nothing to complain about at all. It was supposed to rain one day, and missed us by only a few miles or so, leaving a big gay rainbow over the ocean in front of the house.


And we all know there's only one way to pose in front of a rainbow: Like you've got one on the bumper of your car.














Pretty cool pictures taken by Dooley though. He did some enhancing effect on this one and I can't figure out if it's out of a really good dream or a really bad one.










Already looking forward to next year's trip. In the mean time, Owen has gotten engaged; congrats buddy.


It's been about a year since I started the ole blog and I feel like my reasons for doing so have shifted. At first, I thought it would be a good idea because in general I've got a lot to say about a lot of things. But what I've realized after typing out these posts is that just the act of writing them out has made me realize what great times I'm having. If anything I won't have to look back one day and say "wow I really had it great"--instead, I can appreciate it for all it's worth right now.

Spring Beach Trip and Mini Hiatus

Last night I got back from about two weeks in Nags Head. It was an all around awesome trip. For the first part of it, my dad had come down for a few days to fix some stuff at the house. He's always good company, and considering he's a pretty damn good cook, I ate well.

Over the weekend we had a crew of about 10. Pretty much a perfect crew, actually. Despite the fact that not everyone knew each other prior, everyone got along famously. I have trouble sitting still even on vacation; the thought of laying on a chair on the beach or by a pool all day makes me cringe. Fortunately, this was the type of group that is always down for going somewhere or doing something.

I forgot to take pictures, and I think Jensen forgot her camera, and she's usually the one who leads that charge.






Photo courtesy of Randy Childs.




A friend Randy, has a dog, Silas, that's a Carolina Dog, which is an American Dingo. Mattafack, Silas' parents were actually wild. And I'm not talking about strays; these wild dogs have been living in the backwoods and swamps for thousands of years. Pretty cool dog, too. It's amazing how well they seem to adapt to being first generation pets. In the background I'm heading out to catch a few rides and a few faceplants as well.

Later on in the week, it was just the Jack Dog and me. Once in a while when I'm down there and have a little spare time, I like to drive south to check out the goings on, or better yet, lack thereof. About 10 miles down the road is the Oregon Inlet, which connects the Pamlico Sound to the Atlantic. Here you can literally find some of the best fishing in the world.

Here's an awesome pic of the bridge and inlet from National Geographic:



I was talking with the Bob, the owner of Bob's Grill (eat and get the hell out), one morning and he said the Oregon Inlet is closing up. The currents are taking sand out of some areas and putting the sand into others. Recently a guy at the wheel of a 56 foot fishing boat ran into a piling, and the currents were so strong that water came onto his boat and sank the whole thing in 3 minutes. A 56 foot boat went down in 3 minutes--hard to imagine, until I saw that the entire Pamlico Sound, which spands about 1/4 of the coast of NC, only has two points where water comes in and out of the Atlantic, and this is one of them. I've said it before and I'll say it again, one of the things I like most about the Outer Banks is how mother nature always has the upper hand.

It's pretty well known that the condition of the Oregon Inlet Bridge is absolutely terrible. It was analyzed by an engineering company back in '06, which gave it a rating of 'poor,' and concluded that in it's current state, without repairs, the bridge would only be considered safe for roughly another 6 years or so.

Anyway, my destination on these short treks is usually Pea Island, a few miles past the bridge. The road narrows, and to the left is one dune and the ocean, and to the right you'll find marshes as far as you can see. If you show up after a big storm, sometimes the roads are so flooded that you can't even cross, at least I can't in the Sube without getting all kinds of salt water in the engine. As far as I know, salt water and engines have yet to get along. No houses will ever be built here, as it's a protected zone. Matt and I used to come down this way in the summers looking for waves. There are a few areas where you can pull to the side of the road and walk up the dune to check the surf. One of these places is known locally as Boilers.


It's called Boilers because you can see the boiler stack of a shipwreck sticking out of the water. It's the wreck of the Oriental, and this beast went down in 1862. We had been surfing here for years without even noticing it. Word on the street is that some pretty big fish like to hang out in the area, including the kind that you don't want to piss off.

On the right day, you can be the only person on the beach for miles, and Jack took full advantage, running full loops, jumping in the ocean, peeing on every piece of driftwood and every clump of seaweed and of course making my car stink like wet dog afterward.

I was just getting into a good routine by mid week the second week- work all day with a few breaks to head to the water for a few, drop by the store early evening and get what I need to make a bad ass dinner for myself, get some work done at night with the door cracked so I could hear the ocean. But of course, when it was time to go, the weather jumped to about 65, the sun was steady, and the wind died down, as if to taunt me.

I shouldn't complain though, in two weeks or so it'll be annual beach weekend, which will be sicckkkk. I should start hydrating now.

February Trip and Round 2 of Beach Weekend

We headed down to Carolina Beach for the polar plunge 2 weeks back. Jensen's family owns a cottage about 5 blocks from the water- just far enough away that you can walk to the ocean in a few minutes, but don't get all of the traffic. It's not just any place though; her grandfather built it with his bare hands back in the 60s. Homes built with the original owners' bare hands carry just a little more love within the walls.

I love some Carolina Beach. The place had a reputation for being a little rough for many years, but has cleaned up nicely. It's perfect actually; you still get to see some pretty special people if you catch my drift.

My routine when I get down there is usually about the same for Saturday mornings; roll out of bed with a headache, walk out to the screened-in porch, ask jack if he wants to go for a car ride (and he's already shot up and raced to the door after "you wanna go---") and head down to the bean to grab some coffees. On the way back I'll check the water for waves, which there usually aren't any in front of the house.

We then head down to Fort Fisher, a nearby state park. That's usually where we find a wave or two, like we did this time, as evidenced by the photo below, taken by government satellites. I love the kinds of days where we half-reluctantly get wet suited up (just doing that can be a real pain in the balls) and paddle out to end up finding 2-3 foot, fun little waves.





Jensen got a new board from a friend and was taking them down the line with Corbin. For one reason or another, I got a good several months' worth of face plants in along with a few good rides.


Graaaaant, will you wax my board?



Slaving away. I even caught some sunburn in February. Of course, I'm an easier target than most with the amount of coverage on my dome. The sun was probably saying, "man it's too early in the year to fry all those beach patrons....wait, check out that dude with the five head- I got this"




Considering the amount of pain I go through when having to leave CB on Sundays, I really should be living closer to the beach. Two hours isn't far, but still. I'm even more thankful to be able to have the freedom to go there, or OBX when I want, without some a-hole manager scratching his chin while deciding whether or not I can take some of my vacation time. Besides, now I just work from wherever I am at the moment.

This leads me to thinking....2 more beach trips coming up, the second being the 2nd annual beach weekend with my college friends. I say annual because I'm really hoping we can do this every year.

I don't have much in the archive in terms of leftover pictures, but regardless, let's take a stroll down memory lane.

Last year involved whistling pigs, several thousand busch lights, 80 degree beach days, face plants, admittedly a cheese slam, typical Darrenisms, and all sorts of good times.

Here's how I ended up one night.



Btw Jack thanks for the pillow effect; you've earned your spot on this year's trip.








As I got up and looked around, everyone was in this general condition...








Solid, Owen, solid.

And this wasn't just him, it was the entire room. Amazing how everyone falls asleep sitting up, beer still in hand with no spills or drops. This takes some serious balance, and plain old talent in general, but what can I say, we are a group of talented guys.


Unfortunately Cooper (see below) won't be able to make it, but I'm hoping him reading this will convince him to sell some valued personal belongings or family heirlooms on craigs list and fork out the 7 hundo for a plane ticket from Washington state.








"Man, sitting here with the dog playing poker with everyone is like heaven. I can't wait to do this next year.....oh wait"


On a brighter note, Dool show and Cal have confirmed for this year. Instead of imitating Dooley the entire time, we get the real thing this year. Shaping up to be another classic.

btw Corey you are in, whether you like it or not.

Good Songwriters

I've got a lot of places to go and a lot of living to do in the mean time, but when I'm old, gray and tired, I'm gonna sit on my sailboat or porch, depending on the day, and listen to John Prine....







Even if you've never heard of him, which most people I'm sure haven't, how could you watch something like this and not want to have a chair across from him and learn some things?

Though the guy never truly made it big on a commercial level, a few decades ago many people were predicting he'd be the next Dylan.

Are you OK?

Yes. The answer is always yes. Even if it's "yeah, but..."

This is a rule that should be followed by all guys. If someone asks you if you are ok, no matter what the circumstances, your answer is always "yes." I don't care if your leg is broken the opposite direction and you are bleeding profusely, your answer needs to be yes. Otherwise, you're acting like a you know what (I'll keep it clean).

A reasonable example for this situation would be the following:

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah I'm ok, but my leg is shattered and I'm bleeding. I need some help right away."

If you say no in this situation, the only thing left for you to do is scream cry.

Looking back on it, Matt and I were ahead of our time at the ripe age of 6. I remember even back in kindergarten, we'd always make a big deal out if it if someone said they weren't ok. As terrible and soulless as it sounds, we'd even imitate them and pretend we were crying.

What I'm talking about is not a matter of being 'tough' or anything. I'm not sure what it's a matter of, actually. Maybe just my [sometimes humble] opinion.

This was just inspired by a situation I was in the other day. I won't go into specifics because the person might be reading this, but let's just say that yeah he was OK and it really wasn't a big deal. I gave Jensen this rant and she just listened with a half smirk, as if she was thinking "well I kind of agree with you, but you're sort of an asshole at the same time."

Cracked My First Homebrew

(if you don't like tasty brews don't bother reading)

The first carbonated one at least. For the last two months I've had roughly 9 gallons of beer fermenting and getting all happy in one of my closets, and about 2-3 weeks ago Britton and I bottled it up.

My first batch was an IPA and the second a brown ale. Now the IPA was based off of someone else' recipe, but the brown ale was my own from scratch. I wanted to dive right into making my own. The way I see it, if you only brew off of others' recipes, it's like being in a band and only playing cover songs; it might sound good and have stage presence, but you ain't too original now is you?

Flavor wise, the brown ale is exactly what I was going for. The only change I'll make is to add a little more body and up the alcohol a little - it clocked in around 4.3%, just under what I wanted.

I've got another few gallons of a new pale ale in the closet, another recipe I came up with. I figure that within a few more batches, I'll be making world class tasty beverages.

The homebrewing community is a collection of many interesting people. Despite my limited experience, I've tried my best to narrow it down into three main categories:

1. The kind of guy who brews beer (and does whatever else he does) between rounds of world of warcraft.

2. 42-48 year old males who refer to their wives as 'the old lady.' They wear tshirts tucked into very light colored jeans, big sneakers, and are often named Larry or Barry.

3. 25-29 year old males who answer "right on" to just about anything you say to them.

Good people regardless of demographics and what they choose to do in their spare time. Not sure where I fall into the mix, but I don't really care. I just like learning how to do stuff. Right on.

On a side note, had an awesome Christmas--spent about a week and a half up in PA with the fam and Jensen came up for a few days as well. Heading to Carolina beach in the AM---supposed to be 67 on New Years day, and hopefully we'll get some waves..

Hiatus '10

This November's beach trip was a good one. Like last year, it lasted about a week and a half- I wanted to stay but had to make it back to Raleigh before driving up to PA for Thanksgiving.

When I first got to the Outer Banks, there had been another Nor'easter that decided to set up shop off the coast. Fortunately there wasn't any rain, but there was a lot of wind, and at one point the ocean was hurling 15-20 footers, and it wasn't clean at all. Even if it was clean, hauling my 9'2 out there would be the equivalent of making out with a revolver.

The wind was blowing 25-35 and it was a little chilly because of that, but it almost felt good for some reason. Maybe because the air smelled clean, like salt, instead of exhaust.

And just as I like it, an empty beach. The color in this picture is a perfect depiction of stormy, fall obx weather:





I wasn't complaining about the windy, overcast weather because I pretty much had to work the entire time - we're busier than hell, which is also awesome.





Britton came down for part of the time to do work from here, too, so it was oyster time. The shack down the road has the best oysters I've ever had. They're referred to as crab slough oysters, which are picked about 10 miles down the road near the Oregon Inlet. Because they come from brackish water, they're really salty, and sweet. Also, about half them have tiny little pea crabs in them. You can pick them out or eat them- apparently they're considered a delicacy. I bit into one accidentally but threw him out instead of eating him; I don't know if I can get down with that. Since I'm interested in about everything in the world, I looked them up and learned that they are the smallest species of crabs known on the planet. On top of that, it turns out that they are also a pain in the ass to the oysters, since they eat the same food the oyster does.

Since I'm a nice guy, when I find these little turds who make life harder for my delicious oysters, I don't kill them- I'm all about second chances (Mike Vick is my quarterback). I place them on the counter top and play a game called "whoever makes it to the ocean lives." None of them have made it yet, but at least they get a shot. This year, we lined a few of them up on the counter in front of one another to see if they'd fight. Sure enough, a scuffle followed.




It's funny watching them fight, since they pretty much move in slow motion. I had my money on the guy on the far left, but the guy he was fighting scored a take down early on, so that was reason enough to feed all of them to the dogs.

This was the kind of thing we had to resort to, since fishing was out of the question due to water and weather. I was a little bummed out about that. Britton and I had a few bottles of scotch ready. Considering our natural fishing prowess, experience, and ability, combined, I figure we really only had about a 3% chance of actually catching something. Everyone knows that drinking scotch while fishing would take it to somewhere between 6 and 7%. Oh well.

Jack was happier than a pig in shit, since the beaches were wide open to run.
















Jensen came down late in the week, and over the weekend some friends, Brittany and Jeremy came down as well. For the last stretch of the trip, it was just me there. The weather shaped up a bit, and every evening around 4:30, like last year, you could catch a pretty mean view from the back porch. Since there aren't many tall trees, you get a clear view of the sky, which is painted all sorts of colors by the sunset.





Since I had only a few days left and was bombarded with conference calls all day, the weather cleared up and the ocean calmed down. I spent a few days alone with the dog, and really didn't want to leave. There's something that fascinates me about the solitude of being out there alone and I can't quite figure it out.

When I was on my last few conference calls before hitting the road, everything being packed up, I had to stare helplessly at the ocean doing what it does best in the fall: 3-4 foot, clean, peeling waves. It was as if the ocean was taunting me, and I had no time to suit up and paddle out. I would've done anything to have had another few hours to catch a few of them, sit out there, maybe sing to myself. I literally left with a lump in my throat. To make matters worse, my friend Dooley called and said he was down in Rodanthe to surf for a few days. I haven't seen him in about 4 years now, but couldn't meet up because I had to hit the road.

I kept complaining to Jack that I didn't want to leave. He doesn't speak English, and I don't speak dog, but I'm pretty sure we were on the same page.

Bummer.



It's little trips like these that I live for. Leaving is always a little bittersweet, but it's almost Thanksgiving and I can't wait to get back home for a little to see the friends and fam.