Quantitatively Nik...and other thoughts...

Suggested soundtrack: "I woke up in a car" by Something Corporate


It's time for a new Quantitatively Nik. This collection of data was inspired by the fact that I'm spending more time in my car than ever before. So I logged the time spent in my car on a daily basis. Here you are:
Monday: 2 hours, 2 minutes (commute to/from work and a lunch trip)

Tuesday: 2 hours, 2 minutes (commute to/from work and a stop off at a friend's)

Wednesday: 2 hours (commute to/from work in slightly bad traffic)

Thursday: 16 minutes, 20 seconds (Thanksgiving day beer run)

Friday: 1 hour, 59 minutes (commute to work, then to bars, then to female's house)

Saturday: 52 minutes, 58 seconds (drive home with stops at store)

Sunday: 1 hour, 3 minutes (drive to friend's house to watch Charger game, drive home, drive to/from movie theatre)

Looking this over, I realize to my horror that I spend, on an average work day, two full hours in my car. Holy shit! That a major slice of my day!! That means that for every 12 days of work I spend a WHOLE DAY in my car! 24 hours! This is beyond me. Is this normal? That's a lot of fucking time to spend in a car. This list makes me long for San Diego, where I spent maybe two hours a week in my car. Holy shit. I'm picking a more uplifting list next time.

In other news...

My foster mom's out of the country again, picking up the new kid from the Ukraine, so the duty of doody collector falls again upon my thin shoulders.
Since I am going to talk about dog shit, again, I think I'll introduce the dogs this time.

BELLE

Belle the retriever, is a good girl. She listens, doesn't beg, and tolerates the stupidity of the other dog, who is younger yet larger then herself. Belle is not just a good girl, she is a considerate crapper who shits dainty, hard little tootsie-roll-type shits that rattle around on the shovel and don't smell bad.


MIA

Mia the mastiff (aka the "couch cuddler" since she always climbs up on the couch with me when I'm watching TV), who weighs as much as I do, is as dumb as a bag of hammers and produces extraordinarily large turds. Lots of them.
Mia's turds are the size of baguettes (but not the color).

They frequently have foreign objects sticking comically out of them. This is because Mia is the dog that will eat anything she can wrap her jaws around. She especially wants whatever it is that you're eating. For example, I was carrying a dirty plate out of the TV room that had bits of trash on it (I was tidying up, you see) and Mia was plodding along behind me, jamming her snout into my ass like she always does. A candy wrapper fell off of the plate and Mia, without a moment's hesitation, ate the wrapper. Just because it came off the plate and she figured it was probably people food and knew that she wasn't allowed to eat it, so she did so quickly.

Which brings us back to this morning, where I'm scooping up a giant turd partially covered in a bright orange Kit-Kat wrapper. I'm trying not to laugh, first because the I'm imagining what the neighbors would think when they see a grown man in a zebra-pattern robe with a shovelful of dog shit laughing like a maniac, second because laughing means breathing more and faster and the smell is already threatening to make me barf. Changes in wind direction can turn a foul odor upon me and make me gag fit to drop the shovel. I'm out here in the cold because I thought cold air reduced bad smells (the Vegas theory) but the rain of yesterday has softened everything up and recharged the stench. Another challenge this morning is the dead leaves that litter the backyard, some of which look like piles of shit (they're the "decoys") and some of which are covering piles of shit (aka the "disguise-a-dropping"). Because the "shit zones" are confined to certain compact areas of the yard, I start to wonder if the dogs ever step in their own shit. I mean, I walk gingerly here and there, seeking piles, while at the same time the dogs bounce around, never looking down. Then I see a large, tight pile of dog logs with a great big paw print in the middle of it. Ah-ha! Mia is never coming up on the couch with me ever again.

Until next time...

Dall-Ass

Suggested Soundtrack: "Use Me" by Bill Withers



Well, the wait is over. For me at least.

After nearly four months in Dallas - a record-breaking span of time in which I have been as celibate as a nun - I finally got some. This may not seem like a huge deal to many of you, so let me take a few moments of your time to point out the hurdles involved. Following the hurdles part, I'll share some details about the lovely (and lucky!) lady. Welcome aboard!!

Part 1: The Dallas scene.



As any regular reader knows, Dallas is very different from San Diego. The same goes for Dallas girls. While both cities have the same proportion of drop-dead gorgeous girls, the Dallas lifestyle (as exemplified by the term "The Beverly Hills of Texas") means more pretentiousness than this SD boy is used to. The guys are trying REALLY hard to appear wealthy (They're called "Thirty-thousand-dollar millionaires"), and the girls are used to the dividends that this kind of macho one-upsmanship pays. Well, I don't play that game. Just because a girl grabs my butt and smiles at me doesn't mean I'm buying her next round, especially because it is expected. Take for example, the folllowing exchange that happened two weeks ago, at an uptown club. The girl in question had been smiling flirtatiously at me me from across the room for a couple of minutes. I had turned my back to her to order another round for myself and a friend. Here we go:

GIRL: (Tapping NIK'S shoulder) Hey!
NIK: (Turning, surprised to see that GIRL had crossed the room so quickly) Hi!
GIRL: (Holds empty glass up) You got my next round?
NIK: (Smiling, nodding) Not at all.

See? This is the kinda thing that makes me want to drink at home (if, of course, I didn't live in a dry county and I could get booze in my area). There's this bizarre kind of qualification process that the girls have which involves What You Do, Where Else You Hang Out, and Whether Or Not You Got The Next Round. So I lie. But in a bad way. I'm: a postal carrier, a busboy, a maintenence man, an out-of-work writer, a boy scout troop leader, a forklift operator. She's: just on the way out of here, looking for the girl's room, not interested, glad to meet me and sure she'll see me around. It's my only form of entertainment some nights. I finally found some cooler places to hang out, so those kind of evenings are coming to an end.

Part 2: My personal struggle

First and foremost, I am not established here in Dallas. I came here with a carload of shit, and that's all I got. No apartment, no furniture, just a bunch of books and a bike. While to me this is the most free I've ever felt, others see this as "he doesn't have any stuff."

Also, my living situation is hard to explain: "Where do you live?" Up in Allen. "Why so far away?" Because the rent is free. "Why is the rent free?" I live with a family. "Your family?" No, A family. "Oh."

Another big deal for the Dallas girls is that I am poor right now and will not pretend otherwise. The whole point of coming here was to pay off debt, not live an extravagant lifestyle buying drinks for any girl who cares to wink at me. When I go out drinking here, it is a treat, as opposed to San Diego, where it was a habit.

Plus, I don't know where shit is. I have not heard of all the hip lounges and swanky bars where cool people go to see the Mavericks getting drunk. I know of maybe five places to get a drink, and I don't really like three of them. My ignorance is apparent to any Dallas local.

So any girl that I hook up with has to accept the fact that I own nothing more than books and DVDs and clothes and a beat-up car, that I live far away and with a family that is not mine, that I don't have any money in the bank, and that I have no idea about what is and isn't cool in this crazy city. I bring exactly me to the table. That always seemed to do me fine in San Diego.

It finally worked out for me in Dallas.

There's a bar called Vickery Park, which is as close to my kind of bar as is possible. Pubby, not Clubby, and the music is always great because the bartenders take turns playing their iPods. The girl in question is a friend of a friend. She reads the same books I do, likes the same movies, rides bikes, can hold a conversation and her liquor, and has an artsy streak (fashion design major). She also has her own place. Hooray!! Oh yeah, she's hot, too! Plus, it wasn't a one-time deal. So I'm pretty stoked. Now that I know there's cool girls out there, and I know where to find them, Dallas is looking a lot better.



San Diego still makes Dallas look like shit, though.

A new development...

Suggested soundtrack: "Weapon of Choice" by Fatboy Slim




I sat down in front of the computer tonight, after a long day at the office, wondering what the hell, if anything, I should do. I had farted around on the internet all day, so more web surfing wasn't the direction I wanted to go. I felt like writing, but writing what I did not know.

Then, out of the blue, I noticed something that had been right in front of my face since I moved here. Something that, despite being in my direct line of sight, had failed to register with me. Well, here it is:


That's right!! A little web-cam!!!
Now every blog can have a picture of me and, if I can figure some shit out, I can start making movies!! I think I'm getting inspired...
But, first!! Look what I did! As mentioned in an earlier post, I am helping with childcare while my surrogate mother and father are away in the Eastern Bloc. One of the joys of this was helping the middle child with building a castle for extra credit. I tried to do as little as possible, and let little Hunter do the bulk of the work. Here's one shot of the castle:


...and here is a little detail of mine, the pipe-cleaner Dragon:


If she doesn't get an "A" the teacher and I are gonna have some words.

At any rate, it's getting kinda late, so I'll shove off.
Before I go, I present to you a short film I just made. If you have some pipe cleaners laying around, grab a couple. And find a cool song in your computer to accompany the show(I haven't figured out sound yet, sorry!).



...as you can see, I've got a ways to go.
Until next time...

Man of the house...and a trip in pictures...

Suggested soundtrack: "1963" by Rachael Yamagata (no real reason for this, I just discovered this artist and she's pretty chill)


Sorry for the long delay. I wanted to do an update regarding my California trip, but I've been super busy. For starters, it was the end of the month, and therefore "crunch time" for loans. I had to actually work for all eight hours at work, for almost a week and a half. Bad news was that I didn't get to write much, good news is that I bonused, meaning I'm gonna make a good amount of money. The other issue that is limiting my free time is this:

My "parents" have left town.

John and Kim, the wonderful couple who have taken me in and provided me with employment, have left the country for three weeks on a mission to get even more people into their home. That's right, they've decided to adopt an orphan from the Ukraine. This couple is kind and caring beyond belief. Besides my homeless ass and the three children they already have, John and Kim also have two dogs, one of which is a gigantic mastiff. That is six mouths to feed. But they want to help this young boy named Victor who they met a year ago when he and a group of other orphans were flown to the US as a kind of test run. Since they decided to pull the trigger on this thing the whole process has taken more than a year, cost who-knows-what, and required reams of paperwork, hours of interviews, and more than one inspection of the house. Tiresome, to say the least. There is so much that can go wrong with everything, and they have to fly halfway around the world and take a train still further in order to find out if they can bring Victor home...in another month. Yep, this is the first of two trips. Looking at the fact that any two idiots can bump uglies and produce a child that neither of them actually wants, the process to adopt that same child into a loving home almost seems too difficult. The kid wants help, the family wants the kid, only there is two massive bureaucracies and one annoying language barrier to muddy the proceedings. Not that they should just give orphans to whoever wants one. Not at all. It's just that the process could be off-putting for those without the tenacity of a cockroach(then again, maybe that is the point). So, moving on.The resolve shown by John and Kim is amazing to me, and I just wanted to tip my hat to them while bringing us to the point of the post, which is this: I now am the "man" of the house.
Not in a breadwinner sense. Oh, no. But I now share house-running duties with Kim's mom, Janet. Before we go on, let me just state that the life of the housewife is by no means easy. Kim is the queen, and her home is under control, despite the fact that three kids plus two dogs frequently adds up to pure chaos. I've asked for chores to do around the house, so I can help out, but I have been flat-out denied...until now. In her stead, Janet and I are doing our best. Admittedly, Janet does the lion's share of the work, and is pretty much directly responsible for the lives of the two youngest children (the oldest is currently living with friends, aka "on vacation"). My duties are paltry compared to hers,BUT DUTIES NONETHELESS!!! Janet has an item-by-item itenerary that tells her exactly what needs to be done, and exactly when. The packet sits on the counter when Janet is home, and browsing through it I see that Janet, bless her heart, has gone through and put little notes all over it with additional information. She is very serious about her task, and judging by the fact that the kids are eating regularly, and don't smell too bad, and no one has showed up to take them away, she is doing it well.

I, on the other hand, have a smaller list:

-Tuesday night: roll trash cans out
-Wednesday night: bring trash cans in
-Empty pool traps of leaves
-Dog mounds

...it's only the last one I'm not too stoked about. Basically, it amounts to me, in my robe, with a shovel, picking up shit.



Not that bad, really. Two rules for doing this, though:
1. Don't just scoop up the first turd you see, working your way to the back. Pass up all the poop, and work your way out . Shoveled crap still leaves a crap-stain, and crap-stains are harder to see than a full-on turd but still smell as bad when they're all over your slippers.
2. When toting 20 pounds of dog shit on a shovel, hold the shovel to one side.



I really am not complaining. Poop is never fun, but I've never felt quite so...domesticated. I wish I had chores when John and Kim are in town.



And now, a photo essay detailing some of the high points of my trip...

Soundtrack change: "Click click click click" by Bishop Allen

...I just saw these guys live at the Granada, where I saw Cat Power a while back. It was great.

Okay, the trip.

Right off the plane, I went to the Prado, for good times and good eats.



Following that, we went to see (the fantastic) Wrong Trousers at the Ken Club, where we remained for the rest of the evening, getting shit-housed.



The next day, after a delicious breakfast with some old-school Outbackers and other assorted friends, I headed up to LA with Monica. There we met RC and Stephanie, with plans to go to Knott's Scary Farm.
But first, we drank.


Once inside the park, we found that it was very scary.



The rides were running, and also quite scary.


After stopping to ask for directions...

...we were on our way to see the freakiest, yet sexiest monster in the park.


Later, we had the midnight buffet.


Sunday meant a trip to Palm Springs to see Papa and Martha. While there, we adopted a new kitten into Papa's house.

Monica and I were fed a great dinner, and the we played dominoes. It was an old-school kinda party, and we all we pretty giggly. It's always a blast at Papa's house.


Back to San Diego on Monday, where a couple of people came and had beers with me while I waited to see if the plane was gonna be able to fly out with the fires blazing and all.


And then, I flew away, in what was the freakiest takeoff ever. Massive turbulence, and the horrifying sight of San Diego county on fire. It looked like hell on earth.

...and now I'm back in fuckin' Dallas.
Got a speeding ticket to the tune of $225 last week. The policeman was trying to talk to me about the difference in cost of living between SD and DFW. Needless to say, I wasn't in the mood for a friendly chat. Seven years in San Diego without a single traffic offense, and I'm not in Dallas three months and I'm already running afoul of the law.

On the up side, the weather here has been gorgeous. Very San Diego-ish. I've actually been able to go on bike rides again.

Quantitatively Nik...

Suggested soundtrack: "1 2 3 4" by Feist


In the interest of posting more entries, I've come up with a new concept which is going to keep new material coming on a steady basis while at the same time not requiring too much extra writing. The concept is this: random lists. Doesn't sound like much, but I think it has potential. I can make these lists as I go about my day, and then when they are completed, I can throw them online. I already have 10 or so ideas, and as I fill those, I'll rely on you all to help me with new ones.So, without further ado, the first ever "Quantitatively Nik" list:

Food & Drink I Consumed During the Third Week of October

MONDAY:Apple-cinnamon Nutra-Grain bar; two unfrosted blueberry Pop Tarts; Faux-mocha (my own recipe which consists of 1 cup coffee, 2 tbsp non-dairy creamer, 1 packet Swiss Miss Hot Cocoa Mix); two cups water; Wendy's Chicken Filet Sandwich, medium fries, medium Dr. Pepper ("The number five"); two cups water; four Crown-and-waters ($2 each, happy hour); Sausage egg and cheese biscuit, hash brown sticks, medium Coke ("the number twenty-five") and a Big Texas Cheeseburger with mayo and tomato only, all from Jack in the Box (it was a late night snack. The next morning, in the shower, I burped and re-tasted it, which almost made me puke).


TUESDAY:Faux mocha; two apple strudel Pop Tarts; two cups water; six-inch Spicy Italian sub on parmesan oregano with pepper jack cheese, toasted, with tomato, green pepper, red onion, salt, pepper and creamy Italian dressing, a bag of Mrs. Vickle's jalapeno potato chips, medium Dr. Pepper, from Subway (I always get this sandwich and those side items); two cups water; faux mocha; one order of six cheesy breadsticks with marinara dipping sauce, six (of 10) traditional "bone-in" chicken wings flavored "medium buffalo" with ranch dipping sauce, from Pizza Hut; two cups water.


WEDNESDAY:Bowl of Quaker instant grits; glass of milk; cup of green tea (my preferred method of morning caffeine injection, I had just picked up a box of teabags that morning); cup of water; eggplant marinara sub and a medium Dr. Pepper from Joe's; cup of water; cup of green tea; three Amstel Lights; slice of pepperoni pizza, can of Dr. Pepper, chocolate fortune cookie ( "You will attend an unusual party").


THURSDAY:Cup of water; cup of green tea; cup of water; Big Texas Cinnamon Roll ( "2005, 2006 & 2007 Automatic Merchandiser Readers Choice Pastry of the Year!" the package said. I say, Sold!); meatloaf with tomato sauce, mashed potatoes with gravy, stuffing with gravy, and a medium lemonade, all from Boston Market; cup of water; faux mocha; some sort of sandwich from Sonic Burger consisting of pita meat, bacon and melted cheese on an 8-inch hot dog bun (it was a gift); a handful of Wheat Thins Whole Grain Toasted Chips; Twix.


FRIDAY:Carnation Instant Breakfast, rich chocolate flavor, in skim milk; cup of water; cup of green tea; Apple-cinnamon Nutra-Grain bar; cup of green tea; cup of water; 20oz Dr. Pepper and a 1.75oz bag of Chex Mix traditional flavor; chocolate chip cookie and chocolate-chocolate chip cookie, both from Subway; Corona w/ lime; cup of Coke; one packet of honey roasted peanuts containing 10 whole nuts and 13 halves (making 16.5 nuts total, plus some salty dust); small bag of Ritz chips; two 50ml bottles of Jack Daniels whiskey, can of DejaBlue water; pint of Karl Strauss Red Trolley, some Crispy Calamari Fries, one piece of Kobe Beef Sushi Roll with garlic-ponzu dipping sauce, small chop of Pork Prime Rib(stolen from the kitchen), Braised Beef Short Rib with chocolate-espresso demi, mashed potatoes and grilled asparagus, a bite of Prime Cap Steak cooked medium, two more pints of Karl Strauss Red Trolley, glass of Charles Krug Cabernet (vintage? I forgot), bite of Vanilla Bean Cream Cheese Flan with bits of crushed lattice tuille globe, all from The Prado at Balboa Park; five Jack-and-Cokes; Black Velvet and water.



SATURDAY:Two mouthfuls of shower water; mimosa, bloody mary, three pancakes, three eggs over medium, potatoes, and two sausage patties from World Famous; raspberry Arizona iced tea (99 cents!); string cheese; two bottles of Miller High Life; bottle of Budweiser, chicken fried steak sandwich with tomato, lettuce, mayo and sides of French fries and cole slaw, all from Po' Folks; Orange Gatorade ($3.25 from the Knott's concession stand); bottle of water ($3.25 from the Knott's concession stand); breakfast buffet consisting of un-measurable amounts of scrambled "eggs," bacon, French toast, sausage, biscuits, various fried chicken pieces, and a coke, all from the Knott's after-haunt buffet; chocolate Nesquik.




SUNDAY:Half of a chocolate donut, sip of orange juice, chocolate Nesquik; two glasses of orange juice and the "Farm House Scramble" from Coco's, or maybe it was Carrow's; large Dr. Pepper from Jack in the Box; six Miller Lites, chicken salad with melba toast, New York strip steak, veggies, potato, burgundy sauce, bread and butter, one glass of merlot, neapolitan ice cream and a cookie at my parent's house; can of Coke; cup of water.


MONDAY:Maple oat nut scone and a grande chai latte from Starbucks; three pints of Blue Moon w/ orange slice, chicken finger dipped in ranch dressing, cheese stick dipped in marinara, slider dipped in au jus, two more pints of Blue Moon w/ orange slice, all from Maloney ,s; cup of Coke, cup of water, small bag of Ritz chips, one packet of honey roasted peanuts (I did not count them this time, the stewardess was cute and I didn't want to seem like a freak); cup of water.