Furious Brick

FUCK THE DETROIT FREE PRESS, YOU PIECE OF SHIT JOURNALIST GARBAGE. THAT IS ALL.


What was once going to be a very productive Sunday for me has now turned into Al and I drinking gin and tonics at 9:30 a.m.

Collect 'Em All

For the last two seasons, each of which I tried unsuccesfully to drink away all memory of Michigan football, I have been hearing phrases like, "Well the football team sucks, but at least we still have tailgating". And for the last two seasons, unfortunately, this has been true. A lot of focus has been taken away from the actual game experience and has been redirected towards the tailgate portion of the gameday, mostly in an attempt to blackout before the game so it would not be remembered.

One could say that the tailgater has been more heroic than the athlete these past two gruesome years. But when does the tailgater get any credit? Never. Until now.

To make up for this I give you the Tailgating trading card, starting with some of the finest tailgaters around: (in actuality, I created this out of sheer boredom in the day prior to the glorious day when I return to BOX for the year and the excitement leading up to the first tailgate, but you get the idea)

Card #1:
Name: "The Wetness"


Home: BOX
Drinking hand: Pulls right; Chases left
Gameday attire: More often than not, you will find The Wetness sporting the bear suit, with Obi Ezeh # 45 jersey over it. On hotter days, he might elect the Captain America costume, or just a good old pair of jorts.
Drink of choice: (see above) As he is allergic to most types of beer, this bear-suited tailgater has become a liquor-savvy drinker. He usually can be seen drinking extremely cheap handles of vodka, or on a good occasion, he will choose to drink the Blue Wave vodka.
Most likely to be heard saying: "[insert opposing team here] has AIDS!!"; "Would you like to come inside for a roofie-colada?"; or singing Enrique Eglasias tunes; "I would just like to tell Mike Hart that he's about as cool as Jesus"
Most likely to be seen doing: Running around in the nude; Giving vodka pulls to old men walking by on their way to the game; kicking field goals above the traffic lights upon waking up
Inside the Big House: Making offensive but hilarious cheers; cheering unwaveringly for his beloved Obi Ezeh

Card #2:
Name: Dave a.k.a. Buzz Light Year

Home: BOX Greenwood affiliate house

Drinking hand: Right

Gameday attire: Rain, shine, wind, snow, or tidal wave, he shows up, usually already hammered at 8 a.m., in the Buzz Light Year costume complete with Michigan football helmet.
Drink of choice: If I had to make an educated guess, I'm sure he does shots of vodka before showing up to the tailgate, then drinks beer while at the tailgate.
Most likely to be heard saying: "To infinity, and beyond!"
Most likely to be seen doing: Arriving on a motorcycle; jumping up and down on mattresses in the yard; flying off of the porch; Wandering aimlessly in the middle of State Street, attempting to direct traffic

Card #3:

Name: Chris aka "The Friendly Neighborhood Drunk"

Home: Once lived next door to BOX, what is now BOX Senior house. Currently, whereabouts unknown (somewhere on Packard, too far away)
Drinking hand: double-fists
Gameday attire: (see above) The gold sequined vest makes up the core of this tailgater's attire, but his fantasically crafted facial hair usually seals the deal (preferably mutton chops)
Drink of choice: Maker's mark. Last fall I remember he dropped a fifth, and after it smashed to the ground, he had a 10 minute long ceremony to mourn its loss - that's how much he revers alcohol.
Most likely to be heard saying: "Fuck it, let's go bowling!"; "FUCK MIZZOU!"'; "I'm DRUNKKKKKK!!!!" ; "BAYONETS!" (the capital letters indicate his loudness)
Most likely to be seen doing: Arriving before anyone else at 5 a.m. with a cocktail in hand; Screaming songs from the balcony of the front porch; chugging a fifth; dancing to Miley Cyrus; throwing utilities off of the roof; dumping a beer on himself
At the Big House: I'm pretty sure he doesn't make it to games

The Phoenix

The Phoenix rises from the ashes and as I think about how 6 days from today the entire house will be moved in, I cannot help but draw the connection. Our letters will be put back up in the next few days, we will have a new computer for the kitchen and best of all we will be graced with many friends' return. Hopefully, the shirts will be here in a few days and our new and dearest neighbors will make their return as soon as possible. I also look forward to reeking havoc on our neighbors to the right considering they are from Sig Ep (that house's old tenants will be missed). I feel as though the house crew has alot of promise for next year and I hold a great deal of excitement for the prospects of tomfoolery. With returning veterans and the introduction of a couple greenhorns, I believe this year has the right chemistry to fulfill all that BOX stands for and truly represents. Farewell reader, a blackout beckons...

Counting Down to the Hallowed Tailgate Season

Tomorrow morning at 5 a.m. marks the two week mark until the first tailgate of the year, when all morals and judgment are tossed to the curb and all hell breaks loose. As the days leading up to welcome week and football season continue to letargically drag on, there's not really much material worth posting. But I thought I'd share a tidbit or two that might make you happy in the trousers in anticipation of that first tailgate.

Last evening I attended a party at one of my high school friend's house. Amidst all the ingorant babbling about "Dick-Rod," Sparty's "dominance" in-state (haha), and Michigan's complete lack of values, two random girls informed me that they had been to a BOX tailgate last fall. In particular, they were very impressed by the "guy in the Buzz Light Year costume" and "the guy who was in a suit directing traffic all morning" and that they hoped to see them again.

To sum up the point of my post: Only 15 days until we get to see Buzz Light Year again! As for the man directing traffic, I can only hope someone can resume his duty in his absence. Cannot wait to see everyone again, cannot wait for Asians in banana suits, cannot wait for that first keg lap of the year... GO BLUE.

Where your tax dollars go

So, as most of you may know, I am recently employed at a government agency in the west coast, and my life is undergoing drastic changes: Being sober on thursday night, getting up at 5:20, having less than 10 drinks at a bar, etc. Anyways, after being employed at said agency for a month now, I've come to realize that it is indeed hell. Now you might say, "Oh wow Bob, great choice with engineering yet again, you must be out of your gourd with all the work you have asshole." Well, I've come to find it's quite the opposite. The first two weeks here were just orientation which consisted of getting us set up with healthcare, internet accounts, retirement accounts and the like, while also teaching us of the history of the agency. I found this all well and good, very boring, but a necessary evil, I was sure it would pick up after, Jesus was I wrong. For the first week my workday consisted of four things: walking by my mentor while he looks at projects at the site, surfing the internet, reading reference manuals, and lunch. You will realize that none of these options is actual work. The only two that resemble work are walking by my mentor, which is just observing him work, and reading reference manuals, which is just busy work because they have NOTHING for me to do. Reference manuals suck...DONG. They describe processes that I have never seen before, so I am forced to imagine these machines doing god knows what, and I end up just dreaming of unicorns and figi. It's essentially reading in Italian: you kind of get a few of the words, but at the end of the day it's an entirely different language. So every day I ask my boss if he has any work for me, and every day he comes back with, "well...no, but you could read this manual!" Fuck. That. Shit.
Now at this point you might say "well Bob, you've always been lazy and shied away from responsibility, this should be great for you!" Sure, it would be great, but it goes on for 8 HOURS EVERY DAY. A man can only read so many reference manuals, and after checking mgoblog 10 times from 730 to 1130 I decided it was enough and devised a plan to add a key 5th element to my days...sleep. My cubicle is back in a little corner of the office, one opening, very little foot traffic due to the wall it is adjacent to. I found that with my back to my opening, there is no way anyone could see what I was doing, so I started putting my manual in my lap, resting my legs on the filing cabinet and doing whatever the hell I pleased, most notably napping.

Now as you can see from this picture I enclosed, asshat across from me probably thinks im just reading this manual in comfort, trying to make the best out of this situation, but what he doesn't realize is that the pages don't move. I probably sleep for 3 hours a workday now. Even when my mentor comes to get me when he wants me to tour the site, I just wake up and turn around, fresh as a krispy kreme, and no one's the wiser. When most people tell you about their job they're like "yeah, i just got this job, it's great, i don't do shit, i just microwave hot pockets," or some shit like that. I can tell you the government does not want hot pockets. I literally dont do SHIT. I have not done any work yet after working in my department for 2 weeks. I have done nothing that helps the government at all, no paperwork, no designs, NOTHING. I read, i follow, that is all that is required of me, so let's do the math! I have been working here for 4 weeks, and on friday I will receive my 2nd paycheck, together totaling just under 9 grand after taxes. Half of those paychecks paid me for my training for two weeks, if you can call it that. As i mentioned, all this thing did was set me up with all my accounts. So there's half gone, im left with 4500 for the last 2 weeks. Now with these I would say 2 hours of my day is spent touring the site with my mentor, blankly staring at people doing shit. So if i have about 4500 left, and I have an 8 hour work day, about 1125 is gone for blank staring. Then I have about 2 hours spent surfing, mgoblog, bbcnews, and espn. Same fraction, same deal, another 1125 goes to me keeping up on the news. 1 hour a day goes to actually reading these manuals, because I get bored of reading the same articles online, so I do end up reading these things. 1/8 of 4500 nets me getting paid 562.50 for reading manuals...great, productive. Let's get into the nitty gritty; As I said I spend 3 hours a day sleeping, so this comes out to 1687.50 for sleeping. If I spent 30 hours sleeping for the past two weeks, it comes out to me getting paid 56.25 per hour of sleep...AFTER TAXES. I find this to be astonishing. I literally stay up late at night just so I can sleep at work and have something to do. I hate my job. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it.

Challenge Journal

Last August, we kept a golfer's journal (Old Crow Challenge Beer Can Golf Open) to recollect drunken events of the challenge and laugh at them later. This year, we shall keep and update a journal on the blog for your entertainment and so we can recall things that we surely won't remember.

As of right now, I don't know who will be participating fully or who will be updating this journal, but I assure you me (Brick) and PLC will chime in with regular updates now and then.

Thursday, August 9, the year of our Lord MMIX (3:55 p.m. EST): As this is my first update, I would like to share with you the events that have occurred thusfar in the challenge. Last evening (while in my hometown), I drove up to the liquor store to purchase some Old Crow before I made the drive up to Ann Arbor. Sitting at my house, antsy for the Challenge, I decided to concoct myself a cocktail - citing that one beverage would quell my anxiousness. Hours later, I was quite drunk by myself -I simply couldn't resist the wait for the Challenge (this drunkenness is why the previous post was created, so you can thank Old Crow for that sentimental gem). I woke up hungover, but determined to get to BOX. Upon arrival, I found Dan -the newest member of BOX - already consuming an Old Crow cocktail. I knew at this moment that Dan would fit in perfectly at BOX.

4:50 p.m. The first casualty of the Challenge: Dan. He is asleep on the porch.

9:22 p.m. Paul is blackout, smoking cigarettes one after another in his room. He just asked me, "how you more drank than me?" For his case, he has indeed drank more than half a half gallon.

Friday

1;01 p.m. People have awaken, and people don't have recollection of the previous night. Although I know old BOX was here to rage.

7l05 p.m. Dan's testacles were just succombed to a vacuum cleaner; he did not awake from his pass out position.

Concluding Statements

If you were following this at all, you probably noticed that the journal came to an abrupt halt about halfway through the challenge. This is because we lost our cable and internet sometime late in the night Friday, which was almost certainly caused by something one of us did, although god knows who or what the hell caused it.

A quick recap will have to suffice. In total we consumed 7 half gallons in four nights (even though the fourth night no one drank a lot because I think we all felt as if we were on our death beds). A success in my book. The Old Crow Challenge Beer Can Golf tournament came to an abrupt halt when Paul quit after going 30 over par on the first 12 holes, then decided to chain smoke in his room. Old BOX members came over and graciously decided to throw all the Club Keno cards I had bagged up in trash bags (you might remember this from an earlier post which depicted my room filled entirely with Keno cards) and threw them all over the house. I'm pretty sure Al went to a party in nothing but his boxers, I was informed I was laying in an alleyway on the way to a bar, general debauchery, etc.

When I look back at last year's count of 8 half gallons in 5 days, I really wonder how we did it. They say the first time is always the best, and perhaps it was. I was feeling horrible after the second night, but at least could manage to drink, but I could barely get one drink of Old Crow down on the fourth day. I couldn't even ponder going a fifth day - as we did last year. Still, the challenge was a success, and as Paul and I concluded, I plan to continue this tradition every August for the rest of my life.

With the challenge over, we have a gruelling week-to-week 1/2 period where there won't be much going on. . . but everyday we inch closer and closer to the hallowed welcome week.

A Weekend for BOX Ages

The times that one feels truly in connection with BOX history are few and far between, but when those moments come, they are humbling. Most (maybe all with the absence of Brian?) current members have never met the founders of our proud establishment (hell, I barely knew the generation that preceded me), and there is relatively little personal connection remaining between the class of 2009 and those who first erected the infamous Beta Omega Chi letters on State Street. Regardless of the fact that many of us have never met eachother, some things do connect everyone that ever has lived in BOX or has been an associate of the place. Certain passed down rituals, excessive Thanksgiving party's, end of 1st semester Christmas celebrations, the bond of living in a shithole, and of course, tailgates. These are just a few of the phenomenons that connect all BOX generations. But I think what bonds all of us most is two things: drinking and friendship. I don't think you'd meet any two BOX members, whether they be from 2001 or from 2009, that couldn't sit down at a bar, have a beer, and instantly relate to one another. I know I, for one, love when an old BOX member comes back to the house, whether I know them or not, to get silly drunk (and most likely cause destruction to the place for old time's sake).

Drinking and frienship. Well, in my quest to do my best to uphold whatever tradition BOX has at the University of Michigan, I can lay down at night confident that we have upheld the drinking aspect of BOX lore. I don't doubt that several of us are some of the hardest drinkers on the entire campus. BOX's reputation at U of M: many hate us, girls find our house despicable, many admire us, many love us, and a select few join us as participants of this great house; but no one will deny that we are some of the finest drinkers the university has to offer. And I take the utmost pride in upholding this tradition.

Which brings me to my subject. The Second Annual Old Crow Challenge. While it is a new tradition in BOX, I rever it like it is one of the oldest. Why? Because it combines the two components that glue BOX generations together: drinking heavily and friendship. There's no two ways about it. . . what the Old Crow participants will endure this weekend could be matched by realtively few respectable human beings: a true bender that would put most people to shame. And while this is a tradition of the newest BOX generation (circa 2008), I would like to think that most historical BOX members would not only participate and succeed in, but rever as a legendary BOX tradition. At any rate, my endeavors this weekend to consume as much Old Crow Bourbon as possible will be in an attempt to solidify what I think BOX stands for: frienship and heavy alcohol consumption. It may not be a storied tradition, but in my book it's a quest that stands for everything BOX is. No matter our reputation, no one will doubt us as one of the heaviest drinking houses around.

As for the Old Crow Challenge, this blog will certainly be utilized to convey the events of the challenge as the four day bender commences. I shall drink for what BOX stands for this weekend. If you are in the area, you should clear your schedule to drink bourbon at BOX, and if you are far away being a real person, you should take a shot of bourbon in memorium.

This weekend, BOX will be exactly what the Beta Omega Chi letters stand for.

America

I love America. If you do also, please comment. It is my favorite country.

End of an Era (Beginning of Another)

As one thing comes to an end, another must begin. With the final exodus of a great deal of my good friends from last year, I was accompanied by much sadness. Brian left on Wednesday to become a professional, Bob Loblaw's Law Blog has been gone for nearly a month, our dear neighbors on both sides have also made their final exodus and of course there are countless others that have graduated and moved onto greener pastures. However, as I woke up today I was met with a friendly sight. Our good friends Craig, Jello, Justin and Ryan were in my living room. They were moving many of their valuables into our house for storage for a couple weeks before they can move into their new house (conveniently right next to us). Now our living room and porch are almost uninhabitable because they are encumbered by couches, desks, and other furniture. However, this is a small price to pay for such characters. I am truly giddy with excitement as to see how this upcoming tailgate season and the entire year unfold with such folk living next door.

Old Crow Challenge II

A week from today at this very hour, the bourbon will be flowing as the Second Annual Old Crow Challenge commences. Brace your livers.

A narrowly escaped buttrape

Ahhh, my first post from Seattle, and certainly not the last... but hopefully the last of this nature. As the title should suggest, I had an interesting night last night, and ended up victorious, barely escaping what would have been an almost surely tattered colon.

It all begins after the bars had closed in Seattle and I was making the long trek to my apartment from a friends apartment after I had walked her home (altogether now: "AWWWW HOW SWEET"). So I picked up a burrito on the way, all the while observing the vagrants and crazies babbling about meth and whatever else they do. I finally get to my apartment building and I scan myself in, fairly sure that no one was even near me at the time to get in behind me. I go over to check my mail, but something moves across the lobby out of the corner of my eye. I turn around and see nothing, and so begins just the tip of the next freaky 30 minutes. Keep in mind there is no concierge in this tower, the 24 hour concierge is in the tower adjacent to mine. So I have my mail, and I walk over to the elevator, and peer behind me around a corner as I do so, finding none other than a creepy old fat guy blatantly hiding against the wall with a phone to his ear, obviously not talking on the phone. This slightly perturbs me, so I keep on my b-line for the elevator, hoping that this guy wasn't going to join me. The doors open, and of course he hastily scuttles over to the elevator, almost ensuring my anal rape fate. This guy doesn't press a floor, just rides with me up to my floor, not saying a word as I am as far as possible from him, gearing up for a weird gay-hetero struggle. When I get to my floor I power walk it to my door, get in, and slam the door behind me, sure that my butt would live another day without penis near it. I do as anyone would do in this situation and break out the cold cuts, celebrating my victory, but just then I hear a faint knock on the door. It's 2:30 in the freaking morning.
"Who is it?"... I hear nothing, so I figure I just imagined it, and I dive into my black forest ham and mayo. Then maybe a minute later, another very faint knock. Now I'm freaked.
"WHO IS IT?!"
"Someone sent me here to see you" Says the person, extremely softly. Okay, now I go over to the door with a kitchen knife, preparing for some psycho to bust through the door and shit on my night. I go up to the peephole, and the dude has BLOCKED THE PEEPHOLE WITH HIS FINGER.
"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!" As I deadbolt the door, not excited about this turn of events and fearing the worst... a homosexual man on PCP.
"Someone sent me here to see you" He says again, and this makes me back away from the door, grab my phone, and respond with
"GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE, I DONT KNOW YOU"
After this, he decides to run down the hallway, and I immediately lock my windows and porch door, followed by a call to the concierge, letting him know that there is in fact a man on the loose in my tower with what are most likely gay intentions. Who knows what happened to the guy, but my night ends huddled in a corner of my bed, glad that my butt was safe and schlong-less.