I recently bought a copy of Guitar Hero III for my Wii, the first GH game to be published for the system and the first GH game I have owned. Let me say that this franchise will continue to go nowhere but up because, like the Rock Band property more recently, it gives the musically inept or, at the very least, that large percentage of people who are not international rock stars, a chance to feel like they're actually making competent and oftentimes sublime music.
The Dow plummeted 277 points today, the Euro is worth roughly 150% more than the U.S. dollar, and it looks like by the end of tomorrow, the market will be down about another 200 points. In related news, this week's thoughts are brought to you by the number -2.49% and the word “recession”.
Just booked airfare and hotel accommodations for my 21st birthday Vegas trip. Here are 4 things I want to happen in Vegas.
1] Win over $100 in one hand at poker, blackjack, or pick-pocketing.
2] Get a lap dance from a stripper with all her teeth. Nate could probably point me in the right direction here.
3] Have a cocktail waitress tell me that I've had quite enough, at which time I will immediately ask her to dinner. I'll let y'all know how that goes.
4] Have a stewardess tell me that I've had quite enough, at which time I will immediately ask her to the terminal for a drink. See above, second sentence.
I don't give a fuck what you all say, I have a pair of Crocs, and they're fucking useful. I bought them this summer for my job, I wear them in the shower, and when it rains. I don't think they're a fashion statement, and neither does anyone else but those who hate them. They're useful. They're comfortable. Get the fuck over it. I don't like the way that galoshes look, either, but they serve a purpose.
I went to the gym the other day and lifted weights for the first time since sophomore year of high school. As a result, I could not move my arms fast enough to clap my hands together if I witnessed something I approve of. I need about 4 ibuprofen in order to roll out of bed in the morning. Even then, the rolling hurts. My point? If you're working out for the first time in for-damn-ever, ease into it.
First it was The Flying Dutchman, then The Artist Formerly Known As Longfellow, and now me. I'm on one of those “health kick” things. I don't know how these things work; I've never been a regular gym member (thank God that, though NCSU does spend mad bank on this university doesn't need, we do have a fucking awesome gym), and I've never actually counted calories. I've been at this about a week, and it's still a bitch. Did you know that a shot of bourbon has, like, 100 calories in it? If I had 18 shots of bourbon, which would not be uncommon on a good Saturday evening, spaced out over a few hours, I would meet my daily caloric requirement. And that's not even mentioning beer. This is gonna be tough.
Also, haven't had one sober-ette for a week.
Here's this week's booze safari, back from its exclusive three-year tour of Europe, Scandanavia, and the Subcontinent:
1. Link to “gentlemen's club”.
2. Link to “strip club”.
3. Link to “BYOB”.
See ya in a bit.