Wednesday, September 27, 2006

Deep Thoughts by HGOC

After a 14 month hiatus, Northwestern University's inaugural Hottest Guy on Campus has returned to share his thoughts with the readers of The Dirty Burrito. Below is the full, unedited prose of the literary mastermind.


After having a discussion with the Dirty Burrito tonight I came to a weird realization…despite sex supposedly selling in the music industry, the majority of music that men and woman listen to are by male performers. And despite the deep seeded thought in the back of my mind that all girls have lesbian tendencies, girls aren’t purchasing other girls music for their sexiness. They buy it because the girl’s music has a good beat (usually produced by a male) and the lyrics talk about either: wanting a man/men or a relationship ending with a man/men. It’s very rare to find a female artist with several likeable songs; most are one or two hit wonders.

I am personally a fan of four female musicians: Mariah Carey, Avril Lavigne, Kelly Clarkston, and Enya, in that order. And by “fan”, I mean being able to publicly express my liking for them and attend their concert without feeling really gay for my age (Even though an Avril concert would probably be full of emo boys). How can Mariah be number one you may ask? My answer is how can she not? She has songs for all occasions, collaborated with Boys 2 Men, Bone Thugs, and Joe, to name a few, and was the first woman to sexually arouse me through a music video (Honey- 1997). While you could perhaps make many arguments for Madonna (voice isn’t as good) or Brittany Spears (manages to be fake in a fake industry), much like Chapelle’s Michael Jackson clause (he can whatever he want, he made Thriller), Mariah can scream, rehab, and fluctuate in weight as much as she wants because we all know there is no song you’d rather want to here around Christmas time, or anytime, than “All I Want for Christmas Is You.” Just hearing that song puts you in a good mood. In fact, I am listening to it while typing this up…After all, Christmas is only a few months away and the displays in department stores only a few days away.

A few random thoughts and life lessons:

1- How is it that Adult Bookstores stay in business? Book stores suffered tremendous blows from both the television and internet, forcing mom and pop shops to succumb to the huge conglomerates of Barnes & Noble and Borders, yet little porn book stores keep chugging along. In fact, there is a freeway somewhere in Illinois on the way to Western Illinois from Chicago that has two Adult Bookstores on opposite sides of the highway. This blows my mind (no pun intended). I wondered for several hours, not kidding, whether they were owned by a single person or were rival bookstores. I came to the conclusion they had to be rivals. No human being in their right mind would use convenience as a selling point for adult books. Picture that thought process... “Oh look an adult book store! Damn, I’d stop if it wasn’t on the other side of the highway.” People don’t buy porn books like they buy lemonade from a little kid… “Oh look there it is, I think I’ll pull over and get some.” You leave your house looking for porn, unless you’re my dearest friend Zdenek. Regardless, an interesting Sociology experiment should be done on the two bookstores and the people who frequent them.

2- Find a girl who can bring about your creative side. There’s nothing worse than forced conversation.

3- Despite what they say, ugly people do have something to lose in a fight. Ironically, they have everything to lose. I couldn’t imagine a fate worse than being ugly and a pussy.

4- Next time someone calls and asks what you’re doing; tell them “just sitting around, listening to Mike Jones.” I don’t know why it’s funny but it is.

5- Why do I never tire of watching a Zamboni clean the ice in between hockey periods? Every hockey game I go to (I’ve been a ton), I just stare silently in amazement as these ice cleaning gods maneuver these huge machines and NEVER MISS A SPOT. It’s incredible; it’s probably in my top 20 favorite things to do between watching people fall off treadmills and spitting off high establishments.

6- You can never look cool while running with a backpack on.

That’s all for now. I hope loyal Dirty Burrito readers enjoy my guest blogs and will make comments or start discussions. But even if you don’t enjoy my writing you’re s.o.l because Carlos Delgados does.

Sunday, September 24, 2006

Flab-ergasted

This weekend, I went to Quicksilver in Times Square because The GF had to find some stuff for her sister. I ended up getting a pair of sunglasses. However, this is not the point of my story.

There was some sort of theme day for the employees of Quicksilver. I think I heard someone mention Surf Day. I’m not sure, but the official name does not matter. What matters is how the people were dressed. They were dressed in beach attire. This meant guys in board shorts or a wet suit, and girls in bikini tops. I bet you’re thinking this sounds sweet. Think again.

After seeing the bodies of the Quicksilver employees, I was finally able to fully appreciate the elitist hiring practices of Abercrombie & Fitch and Hollister Co. As you may or may not know, the two latter companies have certain standards for their employees and have been known to ask customers to work there. I used to think this was a myth until this actually happened to me. (OK, so I was with HGOC and this really hot girl that liked him. Who knows why he invited me to go on this date with him? Who knows why I agreed?) In any case, we were asked by some sort of manager from Abercrombie & Fitch, and we politely declined. (Disclaimer: I’m still not sure if this is how they hire people. My statements are just based on rumors. Don’t take my word for it.)

Personally, I hate Abercrombie & Fitch. I do not like having “Abercrombie” plastered across my clothing. I also think it’s a travesty that Fitch gets the shaft. I’ve only purchased one thing from there in my entire life, and that was only because The GF had a gift card that she did not want to use, so I decided to use it on a pink T-shirt.

I used to buy select things at Hollister Co. I bought a polo shirt from there and a T-shirt that said, “I heart SOCCER MOMS.” I somewhat liked the store because it is rather cheap ($15 for a T-shirt or polo) and when it first started, it didn’t plaster “Hollister” all over its apparel. Now, they’ve followed the sister company and plaster “Hollister” all over the place. I also think I’ve outgrown the store. I walked in there, and I immediately walked out because I felt really old.

Putting aside my disdain for the apparel at Abercrombie & Fitch and Hollister Co., I did enjoy the scenery. It was always a pleasant experience to walk through those stores and admire the prime female employees on staff. I did think it was weird that they’d make the male greeters take off their shirts and have the girls wear tiny skirts and a tank top in the middle of winter when the store opened up to the street. That must’ve been brutal. Are there not labor laws against this? Whatever the case, the females were hot.

Going back to Quicksilver, it was a nasty site. The girls had fat hanging all over the place, and the dudes were not ripped. That’s not to say I was admiring the dudes, but I’m sure the ladies were disgusted by them. I know the GF voiced her discomfort. The scene at Quicksilver was not to be admired.

Sunday, September 17, 2006

Wedding in the Hamptons

I went to a wedding in Easthampton this weekend. It was a beautiful wedding and the reception was held at the property of the bride's uncle. It was a very classy ceremony...to start. When we got to the reception, I felt like I was at a Ralph Lauren photo shoot. The food was delicious, the speeches were great, and the booze was flowing. The DJ also added to the greatness because he was a real DJ, not a cheesy wedding DJ, so he played superb music. The reception started at 4 PM and went until 4 AM. Yes, it was a 12 hour reception. I'm extremely tired. This is why there is no effort or structure in this post. Drinks were flowing the whole time and everyone was dancing the night away. We thought we hit a wall at 2 AM, but then my friend and I found bottles of champagne and started passing them around. Even though there was still an abundance of hard liquor and beer, nothing lifts people's spirits like the communal passing of alcohol. It brings people together like I've never seen. The champagne treasure gave us all the extra lift to make it for a couple more hours. At about 3:15 AM, someone briefly stopped the DJ and gave a speech about how we've been partying for 11 hours and 15 minutes and how the bride and groom would remember this night forever. Unfortunately, the groom didn't actually remember. He and the bride participated in the champagne chain and also partied until 4 AM. What was their reward for hanging with their faithful wedding supporters? They got to pack in a van cab with 7 other people--1 in front, 2 in the captains chairs, 3 in the back row, and 3 in the trunk. However, being the bride and groom, we volunteered to let them have the captains chairs. I don't think the groom cared so much because I heard he doesn't even remember if he paid the DJ. In any case, everyone had a grand old time. You can check out the pictures here:

http://www.dotphoto.com/go.asp?l=casm83

Tuesday, September 12, 2006

Futbol Over Football

When I was a young lad growing up in the Third World streets of The Island, I played a lot of basketball. In fact, it was the only sport I could remember playing until I was 6 and my dad introduced me to what you Americans refer to as soccer.

I remember playing with my brother in the backyard of our old house in Sterling Heights on the mean streets of 15 Mile Road, a mere 7 miles from 8 Mile. My parents must’ve gone through my backpack and found the flyer they gave out at school to sign up for AYSO. My parents came out and asked me if I wanted to play soccer. I said something along the lines of, “What’s soccer?”

My dad said something about taking a ball and kicking and dribbling it. This confused the hell out of me because that sounded a lot like basketball—you dribble a basketball, but you don’t kick it. My dad, assuming I knew what dribbling meant, handed me a ball and told me to dribble it. I picked it up with my hands and started bouncing that ball around because it was the only “dribbling” that I knew. I remember he and my mom just started laughing at my confusion (another traumatic moment caused by soccer—remember the story about how my dad told me I sucked after a game?). Eventually, he cleared it up for me, and I embarked on my journey with the beautiful game.

In addition to futbol, I played tennis in my youth. In fact, I would hit the ball with my friend (notice the singular) or my brother, and I’d pretend I was Pete Sampras, Andre Agassi, or Michael Chang. I preferred watching Wimbledon and the French Open to the Feyenoord and Ajax games they’d show on ESPN on the weekends. I thought I’d eventually keep going with tennis and toss futbol aside.

One fateful day in 1993, that all changed. I was going to sign up to play American football for my elementary school in the fall. I was going to leave the AYSO rec leagues and go to the big time in another sport. I was a football superstar at recess, and my friends (notice the plural) recommended I play. The St. Anne Elementary varsity football squadron were the Atlanta Braves of Catholic Youth Organization football—division champions every year with a long-long time coach, but unable to fulfill their potential and win the big one—the CYO Championship.

In any case I thought I’d join the team because a few of my friends were on it, and they seemed to talk to the girls in our class. So my dad and I went to the Junior High building after church for Fall Sports sign-up. That is when you could sign up for football, soccer, and cheerleading. My dad got the sign up sheet and asked me if I’m sure that I wanted to play football. I’m not sure why he asked if I was sure. Maybe it was because I had played soccer for the last 4 years, and he wanted me to be absolutely sure. Whatever the case, I freaked out internally. When he asked me if I really wanted to play football, I finally realized that I wouldn’t be playing playground football that was two-hand touch. I’d be getting tackled by kids way bigger than me. I was just a chubby little Asian boy.

At that moment, I picked futbol over football because I was too big of a wuss to get tackled by big fat white kids.

In the end, it all worked out. I ended up playing for the Rochester Knights, a rowdy group of idiots who showed respect for my love of doughnuts by affectionately nicknaming me, Homer. I became friends with Northwestern’s Hottest Guy on Campus, with whom I hosted the greatest bashes ever—The 33rd Anniversary of Neil Armstrong Landing on the Moon Party and The Alaskan Pipeline Party—and who introduced me to many smoking hot females, but more importantly, provided me with my first taste of a Chipotle burrito.

Sunday, September 10, 2006

Signs of Aging

Dominique Wilkins, Joe Dumars, and the great Charles Barkley were inducted into the basketball Hall of Fame this past weekend. I know all three of those guys and even remember watching them play on TV. I’m sure most of you also remember watching these guys, and do you know what that means? It means we’re getting old.

When I was younger, all these “old school” players would be inducted into the Hall of Fames for basketball, football, and baseball, but I’d never know who they were. Now they’re inducting the Human Highlight Reel, the guy who Michael Jordan called the toughest defender he’s ever faced, and the Round Mound of Rebound.

My sister is 10 years younger than me, and I bet she and her friends don’t have any recollection of these guys when they had uniforms. That age group probably doesn’t remember ‘Nique, only know Joe Dumars as the President of Basketball Operations for the Detroit Pistons (and for you Detroiters—Joe Dumars’ Field House), and Charles Barkley as the enormous, hilarious commentator on TNT with a "gambling problem."

Speaking of my sister, another sign that I’m old is that she did not know about Dr. Martens. Back on The Island for Christmas Eve, I wore this hot magenta button down, jeans, and brown Sergio Tomani shoes. She looked down at the shoes and said, “Those shoes make you look gay.”

I replied in a sarcastic tone, “Oh what do you want me to wear? Should I be wearing super cool Dr. Martens like all the guys in your school?”

With a puzzled look on her face, “What are those?”

“You don’t know Dr. Martens?” They have the yellow stitching on the soles. The soles are really thick and made of that special material.”

“No.”

“What do the guys at your school wear?”

“Skechers.”

Apparently, Dr. Martens are no longer popular among the middle school crowd. Skechers have usurped them in coolness. Skechers used to be the crappy brand people would buy if they couldn’t afford Dr. Martens. What a change of events. And remember how the soles used to have those crosses as part of the pattern? They’re gone now.

One last sign that we’re all getting older—Jenny McCarthy is no longer hot. I was watching Andy Roddick’s semifinal match in the US Open, and they showed Jim Carrey in the crowd. The announcer gave the obligatory Jim Carrey shout out, but what didn’t happen was somewhat funny. Jim was sitting next to his latest love interest, Jenny McCarthy. She has become so insignificant to pop culture that CBS barely showed her and didn’t even mention she was there with Jim Carrey. I didn’t even like her FHM spread. Jim Carrey made a mistake. He should’ve gone after the other, hotter Singled Out host—Carmen Electra.

I will leave you all with a quote from one of my all-time favorites—Sir Charles:

"I'm rich, man. I can't be hitting people. It's a liability issue. Especially with all these white people in the crowd at golf tournaments. I can see the headlines: 'Charles Barkley kills white dude with a golf ball.' I don't need to be looking for my Al Cowlings." [Source]

Thursday, September 07, 2006

2 of Amerikaz Most Wanted

Last night, I saw the Broadway show Jersey Boys because The GF got free tickets—normally $111.25 each. To be honest, the only reason I went was because it was free. There is no way in hell I would pay $111.25 to see a 2-hour Broadway musical. (I did, however, pay about $80 to see Avenue Q. It was very funny. You should go see it.)

Having said all that, Jersey Boys was actually a very enjoyable show. Using their arsenal of hits, the show chronicles the rise of Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons. I was surprised at all the classics they put out. I didn’t realize a lot of the old school hits you hear everywhere, from movies, to TV, to commercials, came from these guys.

The crowd was great as well. It was most definitely a geriatric convention, but they were really into it. Many of the people there were probably in their teens and twenties when Frankie Valli and The Four Seasons were hitting it big. They absolutely loved it. I’ve never seen anything like it. One moment, they’re standing, clapping and wanting to dance. The next moment, they’re barely able to shuffle out of the theatre.

Seeing the crowd got me thinking about whom I’d want a musical made when I’m in my 70s and 80s. If I were to pick a group from the 1980s, I’d pick Journey, Hall & Oates, or Duran Duran for their breadth of hits. If I were to choose something from the 1990s, I’d pick Biggie and Tupac and have the story center around their feud. I can just picture some West Side Story-style confrontations between the entourages of Biggie and Tupac, except they’d be rapping instead of singing as they snapped their fingers and did their Broadway moves.

Sunday, September 03, 2006

The Big 2-3

Thanks to everyone that wished me a Happy Birthday! From the messages and wall posts on the 3 stalker directories to the texts and phone calls, it was all very much appreciated.

Just in case you didn't know my age, I hit the big 2-3 on Thursday. I don't think there are any big milestones at 23. HGOC did mention on my Facebook wall that I could rent a car, but I thought that was at 25, the same age that car insurance goes down. Plus, I was able to rent a car when I moved to Minneapolis when I was only 21. Although, they did charge me an extra $50 per day for being under 25. Good thing I was able to expense it to The Corporation.

Speaking of age milestones, here is the list I came up with sometime in high school:
  • 15 - Start driver's ed
  • 16 - Get driver's license.
  • 17 - Watch movies rated R and NC-17.
  • 18 - Buy ciagrettes and porn.
  • 19 - Go to Canada and drink. (This is a popular thing to do in Southeast Michigan as we are a mere 45 minute drive to the Canadian border.)
  • 20 - You're out of your teens.
  • 21 - Pound 21 shots and hope for the best. (In my case, got obscenely wasted, woke up to vomit on my floor, and couldn't drink the rest of welcome week because my throat hurt so badly from the violent regurgitation.)
  • 22-24 - Get used to being a corporate slave or delay the inevitable and go to law school.
  • 25 - Lower your car insurace. Switch to All State. Or call Geico and save. (Personally, I'd go with All State because you can't go wrong with Dennis Haysbert, aka Cerrano, aka President Palmer.)
  • 26-29 - Watch all your friends get engaged/married and start feeling the pressure.
  • 30 & up - If I'm 30, married, have a kid, and still refer to myself as The Dirty Burrito, then I'll address the 30's as I wonder why my wife doesn't divorce a 30-year-old who still refers to himself as The Dirty Burrito. Hopefully, the answer will be that I'm obscenely wealthy, and I made her sign a prenup.
If you were wondering how I celebrated my birthday...
  • Thursday
    • Work peeps took me to Outback for lunch. Always an enjoyable group. Lots of laughs.
    • Met up with The GF around Rockefeller Center because she wanted to stalk celebrities at the MTV VMA's. Just for the record, I did not want to stalk celebrities. Anyway, I had never seen this side of her. It scared me to a certain degree. She was there for a good 2.5 hours. It made me question the relationship a bit.
    • Went for a drinks after stalking.
    • Girlfriend gave me birthday presents and a special surprise: she made me an ice cream cake! She made the cake (yellow cake-my favorite) herself and used one of my favorite ice cream flavors, Breyer's Banana Bonanza. To sum it up, she combined 2 of my favorite things in the world, baked goods and ice cream, into a delicious concoction. She can stalk celebrities at the VMA's as much she wants.
  • Friday
    • The GF took me out to dinner at Dip, a fondue restaurant at 30th & 3rd. This dinner really solidified our relationship. Thursday night, she gave me a homemade ice cream cake using my favorite cake and one of my top 10 ice cream flavors. And Friday night, she takes me to Dip, where you get bread and cheese, which I love. I was going crazy dipping the French baguette in that warm, delicious Gruyere Swiss. Then, we got the chocolate fondue. If you don't know how much I love chocolate, then we are not friends. Chocolate is high on my list of things I need to survive along with cheese & bread, doughnuts, cake, ice cream, and rice.
  • Saturday
    • I reunited with my old college roommates to play beer pong. I was very successful, going 3-0 for the night and winning 2 of the games in OT. We then proceed to go to some bars around the NYU law campus. I ended up playing Guitar Hero at the dorm of my friend, Michele. The GF wasn't with me that night, so I went to McDonald's at 3:30 AM without getting harassed about the health hazards of getting McDonald's at 3:30 AM. I ended up getting a McChicken sandwich, Snack Wrap, 4-piece Chicken McNuggets, and medium fries. It was so delicious. For some idiotic reason, I decided not to go back to my East Village slum and instead took the subway back to Queens all by myself. Amazingly, I did not get lost. It was quite an accomplishment.