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Looking Back: Spring Break 1993 (Part I)
I'm fatter now, but have better taste in pastels
1993 was a good year for the Chillster. It started off with a smart, solitary New Year’s resolution: listen to more Billy Idol. I acquired a Vital Idol cassette and my quality of life immediately improved. I guess I should probably set the stage for you a little bit – as a junior at a military academy, we were just starting to get a little taste of freedom. Finally, all the (turns out, largely apocryphal) hot locals on the prowl for clean-cut squares midshipmen were at our disposal, since we could more frequently go drinking at the multitude of local bars less-encumbered by Draconian curfews. Beyond just freedom, I had another weapon at my disposal, something that looked like….this…
Actual vehicle not pictured, but throw a faux-personalized license plate on the front and you get the picture. Not exactly what the kids today would call a "P*ssy Wagon" but it could almost always get you from Point A to Point B
It’s difficult to explain military academy dynamics to folks who didn’t struggle through a similar environment. Having a sh*tty Ford Ranger to driver, pretty much just on Saturday and Sunday – and only then thanks to the largesse of my (former – I will explain when I get to the Why Chilly Is A Huge Piece of Sh*t category of the site) friend R’s dad who let me park in his Annapolis driveway since non-Seniors couldn’t have cares on campus – was probably the equivalent of having a brand new Corvette at a university that played in meaningful basketball games. Now Baltimore’s Inner Harbor (before Chris and Snoop got there), DC – hell even University of Delaware were all in play for us.
The first thing my group of friends decided to do in 1993 was have a competition to see who could bang the most chicks in January. (Ladies in the audience, of which there are at least two, I apologize for my candor, but it is important for the narrative. Well, not really important, but I’ve already typed a bunch of sh*t, so it’s important to me.) At the time, I was unencumbered. (Full disclosure: due to my journalistic integrity and fervor for accuracy, I was forced to fact-check my own memory. And my own internal timeline must be f*cking wrong, because I know for sure I broke up with a girl named *Tanya after watching the 1993 NFC Championship Game at her f*cking apartment caused the 49ers to lose. That had to be January of 1993 (and you can still f*ck off, Alvin Harper!). But this whole story is less tidy then, because Billy Idol almost certainly gets less credit. Although maybe “White Wedding” somehow caused Steve Young to suck? Anyway, that Tanya chick had a snake and a bird, too. That was f*cking weird. I remember going to her apartment for the first time, hearing some rustling in the other room and thinking “A KID! SHE’S GOT A FUCKING KID!” – but it turns out that it was just a ten foot python eating a mouse – no worries. Based on my hard-hitting research I apparently dumped pseudnymous *Tanya on the 17th and then met the chick I will later discuss in a couple of weeks, but I like my cleaner, unresearched timeline more. Also, *Tanya bought me a watch – which for some reason my friends gave me endless amounts of sh*t for.)
The competition to see who could have relations with the most consenting females had the potential to be lopsided. See, despite the fact that this is my forum, I’m not going to sit here and overstate my abilities in this area. I was more like the scrappy white guy who makes it to the majors more with grit and intangibles than estimable tools; scratching out a giggle here, a chuckle there the way David Eckstein worked the count down a run in the late innings. My roommate – to protect his identity, I will call him *Brad – was apparently quite the handsome fellow, so all the lady-meeting stuff came easy to him. I found him to be somewhat disgusting, but maybe because I saw him in his indigenous state, which somehow included bloody underwear after running five miles (relax – it was (allegedly) from chafing, nothing more sinister).
Since this is supposed to be about Spring Break, not some stupid contest that wasn’t really a contest since only about two of that crew ever really hooked up in bars anyway, I will cut to the chase. My roommate, as expected, won in a walkover – sure he could land some pretty hot women when the opportunity was there, but his huge advantage was an uncanny ability to completely disregard his standards in certain situations – he would f*ck a 57 year-old Day’s Inn maid given the right “anything else you need?” glance. How did Chilly fare? As “Serial Relationship Guy”, I did what I normally did, stumbled upon a girlfriend. Well, a kind of girlfriend. A sort-of girlfriend. Through the magic of Billy Idol, most likely, I met a very nice girl in one of the previously discussed local bars (RIP, Griffins). As I believe Jerry Seinfeld once said, she had many attributes desirable to men, including tallness, blondeness, curviness and prettiness. And she was (unfortunately) well-aware of her impact on her surroundings. She once caused an accident on campus (no joke) from wearing her ridiculously tight jean shorts around. (I know, jean shorts don’t rule, but these leaned more toward Daisy Dukes than midwestern jorts.) It was just a small fender bender, but still impressive. (Last humblebag on this topic (well, it’s probably mostly a brag) – she somehow sent me the same risque Valentine’s card that my Don juan roommate sent to his lady of the moment, now THAT was funny.)
Despite the fact that we were essentially in a relationship, she – let’s call her *Kandi -could not commit to calling it that (if I recall correctly, due to having fairly recently ended a BIG RELATIONSHIP). With Spring Break fast approaching, I had some decisions to make. My buddy, *Position (I know that name makes no sense to you, the reader – let’s just go with Pos for the sake of this post – no, not short for HIV+ or Piece of Sh*t) had just quit the *tennis (name of sport changed to protect identity) team and was ready to f*cking blow it out spring-break style. Or at least to drink some Colt Ice and try to pick up girls from other academic institutions. (Editor’s Note: F*ck, this might have to be a two-parter, we aren’t really even to Spring Break yet and we are at a thousand words almost). I considered the merits of going on spring break with Pos vs. just staying around Maryland and having a lot of “friendly time” with my really-hot girlfriend-in-everything-but-title:
CONS:
- No guaranteed nakedity with hot ladies
- 1,000 mile drive to warmth
- Only had $150 and Texaco card
- Would not bitch out on my homeboy
- Presumably would be poolside with scantily-clad coeds in worst case scenario
- Had $150 and a Texaco card
Turns out since I didn’t have military stickers, we couldn’t crash at the Navy base in Georgia, so we powered on down to Daytona, stayed at the Copacabana (I kid you not) and wandered down to the MTV beach party thing, where the only thing I can remember is “Gangsta Bitch” being played at roughly the same volume as a Blue Angels flyby. (RIP, Apache. Also, RIP Patrice O’Neal – NSFW language but hilarious and highly recommended, while I’m thinking about it.)
More later,
Chilly17
* means names were changed because I wanted to.
Why Is There No The Bachelor: Home Edition?
Posted by: chilly17 in Pop Culture, TV Review on March 15th, 2012
Nice hair, wine guy
I had the misfortune of watching a bit of The Bachelor recently. My initial thought – as per every time I’ve ever seen even ten seconds of the show, was, “Why the f*ck is this even on tv?” My secondary thoughts were along the lines of “Why does Rafael Nadal’s retarded brother get a TV show?” And I think among my tertiary thoughts was “Why are people so shocked that there was some banging going on in this show – isn’t that really what it’s for, for some dude to have sample sex with a bunch of chicks that want to be on tv under the guise of seeking true love?”
I really can’t fathom why anyone would want to subject themselves to this type sh*t except for the opportunity to be on television. Thus, the genesis of this post appearing on here. The proposed (no pun intended, I think) subject matter prompted some internal debate as to whether anyone would participate in this type thing if it were not televised. I mean, couldn’t some rich dude in LA just offer up his house for 25 random hos to hang out in while he decides which one is The One over the course of a month? I bet that’s basically how this show even came to be, just a couple of guys spitballing ways to get some ass easily, then they had the genius idea to have it televised so that a network could foot the bill for the mansion AND they could become famous enough to get appearance fees at nightclubs and casinos for the next five years. Even more f*cking genius than Dorito Tacos (YUM: call me re: Fiery Habanero Doritos Tacos) – I have to hand it to whatever genius it was that came up with the pitch for The Bachelor, you are a credit to the male species.
Being the hard-hitting journalist that I am, I tried to decide whether other reality shows would exist without the cameras:
- Survivor? Sure, people pay for the privilege of participating in Tough Mudder runs, I’m sure if there was a contest where cash was pooled to see who could hang out in the woods deprived of luxuries the longest/best there would be no shortage of numbnut participants
- Jersey Shore? Hell, that train wreck started as, and still is, a home game. The money and fame was just a byproduct of the (unlikely) popularity of the show. (Note: I have seen a bit of this season, and, as difficult it may be to imagine, the crew seems to have devolved even further from anything recognizable as a human being. Now it’s almost entirely Neanderthal grunts of “me horny, me hungry” – and that’s just from the girls. Although calling Snooki and Deena “girls” is kind of an insult to everybody else with a pair of X chromosomes.)
- American Idol/So You Think You Can Dance? Absolutely, struggling artists will do anything so people can see hear/them. My mom and dad saw Carrie Underwood singing at the opening of a furniture store in Oklahoma like eight years ago.
- All those other crappy shows that are just rich “ladies” going about their day that somehow half of the country watches are allegedly what they would be doing without cameras around. And I think we can all agree that no reality show is scripted or even nudged in a narrative direction, it’s all just raw realness.
Since I was too lazy to do this myself: thanks rumorfix.com!
But with no cameras, does anyone play The Bachelor? (Part of the struggle with writing this is that I couldn’t decide if dudes would go for a home version of The Bachelorette. They might, because, the odds are usually pretty long trying to get some tail at the average bar (although if you drink enough those odds get much more promising, I’ve heard). So for the prospect of a free place to crash and a 1:25 shot at presumably a hot chick, that might happen. Also furrowing my brow is the fact that there is apparently a The Bachelor Wii game – who’s that for? How many copies of that did they sell? 8-9? I weep for future generations if there are legions of little girls creating avatars of themselves to be dissed by some polgyonal d-bag.) For so subjective a topic as “love” why put yourself on tv to reveal your insecurities and other emotional baggage/personality shortcomings for the world to see? I guess I just don’t understand how emotions are supposed to translate to a f*cking game show. Maybe I’ll pitch an idea for a show called The Funeral, where we put twenty people in a mansion where they all have to plan and attend the funeral of one of their recently-deceased parents. At the end of each day, the people that have shown enough poise and sadness will be given a carnation, while the eliminated will have to go back home and mourn in their sh*tty apartments. The winner gets a free mausoleum. Hmmm…this might have legs.
In summary, The Bachelor is stupid, I don’t understand why people either watch or participate in it, unless there is an underlying desire to be on television, or they are suffering from some kind of narcissistic mental illness (although that would likely tie back to the need to be on tv. F*ck, I don’t know).
CHILLY MULTIMEDIA EXPLOSION UPDATE: Given that I’m in Arkansas and rarely speak to humans in my age/IQ range (both mid-40s), I’ve been inspired to write more stuff down on my computer. ”Multimedia” is actually a poor choice of words, but since it’s already typed in bold, I can’t really erase it. But what I was trying to convey is that I’ll be posting stuff to both the Wasted Potentialz Facebook Page (shorter stuff that I don’t want to proofread/agonize over and links and stuff) and random thoughts and sh*t on Twitter (@chilly_17). I know most people read this site at work but don’t be shy about cruising over to the Facebook page or hollering at me on Twitter – it’s your big chance to get a response to a real live member of the 1% (according to Whoopi).
Later,
Chilly17
Taco Takedown: Taco Bell Dorito Locos Tacos vs. El Super Taco Deliciousness
Posted by: chilly17 in Mexican Food, Things That Are Awesome on March 12th, 2012
One place certainly has an edge in the "risk of homicide" category
Presumably everybody who’s read this site knows of my long-time love affair with Taco Bell. In fact, lore (ie the historically inaccurate recollections of my mom) has it that I never ate any real food until I had my first taco. (This probably means I was actually already enjoying hearty servings of osso buco and sweetbreads, but whatever.) Anyway, despite working at Taco Bell (including starting up a store from scratch, including picking styrofoam out of a ditch for about six straight hours – turns out there are a lot of packing peanuts in industrial kitchenware) for about three years, I still love the food, the atmosphere, the experience. So what kind of unfair fight would it be for me to pit The Bell against a relative newcomer, the local chain El Super Taco? Allow me to level the playing field by saying that El Super Taco is awesome, too. Now it’s completely fair. And, with the hype surrounding the launch of Taco Bell’s Doritos Locos tacos (the shell is made of nacho cheese Doritos – yes, it’s a f*cking great idea, wish I’d though of it) it seemed like writing a comparison would be a great way to justify eating a bunch of tacos in a short period of time.
Just to give you some contextual flavor, El Super Taco has been my happy place throughout a lot of my recent family medical drama (sounds like something you’d find on ABC Thursdays); it’s ostensibly a sit-down restaurant because they hook you up with chips and salsa, but it does more to-go business than anything. No alcohol, thus no margaritas, thus to-go looks like a pretty good option. I also just learned that the original El Super Taco is in the town where I currently reside, approximately one mile from where I sit with my dad almost every day. That one is just a Southern California-esque take-out window. I just tried it, and it sucks compared to the one (seedy-looking parking lot shown above) that I frequent. So I will continue to burn extra time/gas to enjoy the iPad-friendly, semi-air conditioned ambience of the sit-down El Super Taco.
So how do the offerings of both joyous places match up? Let’s consider a few categories:
Visual Appeal
Would you rather have three of these (four if you want to be completely comparable given the tip at EST):
That little sleeve can't really fend off the orange residue monster
or
To give you a better sense of scale, these tacos are roughly the size of a jumbo pack of Magic: The Gathering cards
Verdict: Despite the tastiness of the DL tacos that we will get to in a minute, the visual appeal of the grilled steak and pork at El Super Taco dominates the from-another-world orangeness of the Doritos Locos. El Super Taco wins the swimsuit category with conviction.
Taste
Verdict: Okay, there should probably be some more pictures, but this isn’t a food blog and people look at you weird around here for taking photos of your food. In fact, people look at you weird here whenever you aren’t eating at an all-you-can-eat buffet. But this is a very tough call; I am a huge fan of just plain crunchy tacos at TB, I could probably knock back 22 or so before starting to feel kind of full. And the Dorito Loco version is arguably an improvement on an already-strong product. That artificial cheese powder/sodium bomb experience at the end of each bite is an unexpected taste sensation. (Note: I avoided the word “salty” in the previous extremely descriptive sentence to avoid any “yeah, you like that salty stuff don’t you – so does your mom” commentary from TDiddy. I see the chessboard three moves in advance.) I will definitely eat them periodically. But – if my sh*tty photography permits it – take a look at those tacos from EST – they are f*cking delicious. And you get chips and two kinds of salsa (the red one of which changes consistency daily – sometimes watery, sometimes dense enough to stand a chip up in – but is excellent regardless) plus a quiet place to sit and read the NFL chats on ESPN.com (I read every division, not just the NFC West, perhaps I have a problem?) El Super Taco wins again.
Fire Sauce
This is about how much I need for four tacos
Verdict: Okay, that was kind of unfair, because you can only get Fire Sauce at Taco Bell. But I didn’t want you to think that you knew how this was gonna end up. Taco Bell by a mile in this category.
Value
Handwritten signs and non-functional gas pump islands correlate highly to value
Verdict: They cost the same. So for $6 you can leave a 30% tip and get two phenomenal grilled meat tacos with guacamole and a basket of chips and salsa. At Taco Bell, $6.06 gets you 4 Doritos Locos tacos, plus as much Fire Sauce as you can reasonably/responsibly grab. I could probably eat about 19 Doritos Locos tacos without feeling too full, but after eating the aforepictured meal at EST, I’m mostly full. Therefore, El Super Taco must be the better value.
Final Verdict: In what at a glance appears to be a shocking upset, El Super Taco is the clear winner. But the real winner here is me: I’ve finally found one cultural (food is in culture, right? or is that a bad word choice?) advantage to being in northwest Arkansas. So to all you people reading this in your cool cities, with your ivory towers and your delicious Indian food – take a good long look at that adovado taco up there. It’s pretty f*cking good. (And, to be clear, this ain’t no dis of the DL tacos – they are legit. Try them, you will enjoy them. Warning: your fingers will be orange when finished, despite that cardboard sleeve thing – nobody uses that. Also – if they ever launched a Doritos Locos Fiery Habanero taco, good god. Now THAT would be redonk.)
Later,
Chill17
