Sittin' On A Dock On The Bay. . .

I have a friend named Ricardo. Everyone calls him Ricker. We have been friends for about fifteen years. Ricker and I have had a lot of really great times together. Over the years we have gone to a number of sporting events. I wouldn't say it's a regular thing, but we've been to enough that I have lost count.

Sunday morning Ricker called me and left me a voice mail. It went something like this...

"Hey Ja-***** ****** ******- ome tickets to th-** ***** ** *** *****-me tomorrow. It's Irish nigh-*** *** ***** *-, call me!"

"WTF?" was my response.

Now I called him back right away (I mean like 8.5 seconds later) but got his voice mail.

"Hey Ricker, I don't have a clue what the fuck you just said. I assume you want to go to the Giants game. Call me back dude!"

FASTFORWARD to Monday at about 2:30 in the afternoon. Ricker called me back.

"Dude the ferry leaves at 4:45, I'll pick you up at 4:00."

"Pick me up? What the fuck are you talking about?"

"What do you mean? Aren't we going to the Giants game? It's Irish night."

"Umm, aren't you Mexican?" I ask.

"Hey, I got a new green Dodgers jearsy. I gotta represent!" (he's a die hard Dodgers fan and hates SF)

"Ricker, the Mets are in town."

"?????. . . and. . . ?" Came Rickers response.

"How many times have I said to call me ahead of time so I can plan....."

"Yeah yeah yeah, I did, and you didn't answer!"

At this point I realize it's pointless to debate with him. So semi-reluctantly, I agreed. "Sure man, pick me up at 4:00."

Now if any of you have had the pleasure of going to a Giants home game you'll know that it's a pretty great time. They have a beautiful ballpark that sits right on the bay.


You can hop on the ferry, walk about a mile and a half, and you are there. After the game the ferry picks you up right at the park for the return trip. I've made this journey countless times and swear it's the only way to go to a game now. Fuck driving. Fuck traffic. Fuck parking in the city. They take you there, serve beer on the trip, and take you home afterwards. It's fucking great!

Ricker arrives about ten minutes late (very predictable). In short order he makes some wise crack to Mrs. T that sends her into a tailspin. With half a dozen expletives and a pointed finger, she orders us out. She cracks a smile at me and says "have fun, see you later."

The ferry trip takes about 45 minutes. The walk to the park takes a bit longer due to the number of bars flanking the route. The first regular stop in Gordon Biersch. They have great beer and great food.

Mmmmmmm!

This, is the view. . . .

The second stop is MoMos which is right across the street from the park. A few more caack-tails there and it's game time.

We had yet to buy tickets and the doorman at MoMos didnt' have any for that nights game. As we waited to cross the street I reminded Ricker that I only sit field level. I like to consider myself a baseball snob. Fuck the cheap seats! A scalper overheard us and offered us two tickets behind the dugout for $6 over face value. "Yeah right, fuck that! I'll give you $25 each." he babbled on about making a profit as I walked away. Another scalper overheard our exchange and told Ricker he'd sell us two "Club Level" seats behind home plate for $25 each. Ricker agreed and made the exchange. "Hey Jake check it out $67 dollar tickets for $25 each!" I'm pissed now. "Fucktard what did I say? ONLY FIELD LEVEL!" Well now, stuck with the mystery zone tickets, we headed into the venue. Up and up we went. Higher and higher into the wild blue yonder.

Now let me explain something. Ricker has completely ruined my concept of baseball. You would not believe where we ended up. A-Fucking-Mazing!!! Air conditioned concourse with some of the greatest food I have ever had. No steamed weenies or Budweiser here. Check this out!!!!!



Corned beef sandwiches and Guinness Draught made Irish night well worth it. I'll never be able to sit with the common folk ever again!!!! Ricker my friend, you are a bastard!!!

Be patient with me while a take a little side trip at this point. . .

To the 20ish dick in line at the Irish Pub line. "You are an asshole."

1. The backwards Celtics ball cap doesn't make you Irish.
   
2. The bad lucky charms accent you were attempting doesn't make you Irish.
3. Ordering a Black-n-Tan makes you look like a chick; (and no, not an Irish chick!)
4. Get off your cell phone and order your shit before I have to punch you in the back of the head.
5. FYI the girl you were trying to hook up with on the phone wouldn't meet you for a reason. . . , she's banging your older brother!

Sorry, where was I? Oh yeah, game ruined. I was enjoying the concourse so much that I only sat in my seat for about 20 minutes. I ate and drank like I had just been paroled from prison. I pretty much forgot that a game was even being played.

Now, In the seventh inning we remember that some guys from the firehouse have season tickets in the bleachers. Off we went, in search of our drunken comrades. It was futile. We never found em' and it was friggen cold in the outfield. So Ricker made a suggestion that we leave early and go back to MoMos for a few more drinks. "Trust me" he said. "The ferry doesn't leave until one hour after the game is over. We have pleanty of time!!!" Not so semi-reluctantly, I agreed.

After about forty minutes at MoMos I peel Ricker off the bar and head to the ferry. Can you predict where this is going? Yup, you guessed it. . . Ferry is gone and I'm looking down the barrel of a California Divorce. "HOLY FUCK RICKER, WHAT HAVE YOU GOTTEN ME INTO?"

"Don't worry dude, we'll catch a cab"

"Ricker, do you know how much a cab is going to cost?"

"Who cares Jake? It's on me!"

Yes, I let him pay! . . . . . One Hundred and Twenty Dollars!!!

But this story ends on a good note. We beat the ferry by five minutes and Mrs. T was peacefully asleep when I got home.

Enjoy your weekend everyone, I'm working.

Jake

Cracka Please!!!

Woo Hoo!!!! Mrs. Titus suprised me. Heading into San Francisco tonight for...

• Dinner at the Stinking Rose... MMMMmmmmmm, Garlic!!!
• Drinks, lots and lots of drinks!!! "Bartender, I'll have the Irish Coffee"
• And the highlight of the evening. . . . . Mike Birbiglia at Cobb's!!!

"See ya Sunday. . .Suckers. . . Woo Hoooooooo!!!

Running around like a chicken with my. . .

Wow, what a week. So this teaching thing has me running around crazy. It seems that my twenty-ish years of experience are in demand. I have an interview with one of the local community colleges next week. The primary instructors heard of my interest and are prodding the head of the department to pick me up asap. So, I have spent the week tracking down past certificates, transcripts, and licenses. Today I spent a good three hours putting together a new resume'. I forgot what a bitch it can be to format a Word Document. So it appears that while in my current state of chaos, the world has continued to move along without me.

Here are some of the things that I did not have the time to comment on.

Olympic Protesters:
I get it. I agree. It's not going to work. China; like most first world economy's, is fueled by money. Stop the shouting and just quit buying crap from them. No more Yo-Yos, disposable bamboo chop sticks, or glow in the dark titty lighters. Better yet, boycott WalMart.

Obama and the comment:
Face it "those people" also don't have a sense of humor.

Gas prices: I have a hybrid and I'm still spending 40+ bucks a week. WTF!!!!

Car Horns: People!!!! Your car horn was not designed to tell your friends that your out in front of their house. Get your lazy fucking ass out of the car and knock on the door.

Food prices: Again, WTF!!!! When I was a kid the average full shopping cart was about $50. The last three trips I took to the grocery store a full cart is averaging $225. AAGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

Chad Johnson: Cincinnati doesn't deserve you. Come to Chicago. We'll take good care of you.

Taxes: First of all let me point out that the Alternative Minimum Tax fucked me AGAIN!!! Tax day just passed. That evening I had a chance to watch a bit of the nightly news. Why the fuck do people wait until the very last possible minute to drop their shit in the mail? I guarantee those same slow fuckers are probably pacing like a caged lion waiting for their economic stimulus check! I hope Uncle Sam waits until the last god damn minute to send there shit back to them!!!

The Popes Red Shoes: Lets put it this way. He knows a lot of Broadway show tunes as well.

Yes, I'll have the shlongworst well done please.

At work we made sausage and kraut for dinner. Is it just me, or does it look like Lorena Bobbitt did the cooking? This is the one that found it's way to my plate. "Holy shit Dickman" I can't eat that! What the fuck was I supposed to do? I covered it with kraut and choked the bastard down. Wait, that didn't sound right...

My bad!

So it started about eighteen or so years ago when I was in college down in L.A. I lived just off of the USC campus which if you don't know, is a complete shit hole. (Frequently) At least ten times a day homeless people would ask me for money. First of all I was a student, and money was something I had little of. Second, I knew that they would probably go and use the money for anything but food. So, I got in the habit of asking them if I could buy them something to eat rather than hand out cash. Many of them declined the offer (I was right about there intentions). Surprisingly, some of them would happily take me up on my offer. In the 80’s, two to three bucks could go along away at a road side taco stand. As the years have gone buy, I have made attempts to continue this practice. Over the last year or so, a homeless woman regularly sits outside of the grocery store where I shop. I have made it a habit to buy a sandwich, fruit, etc . . . when I would see her. A co-worker of mine liked the idea so much that he started feeding her as well. Then, a couple of weeks ago I was in line at a different store in the area. Well, this woman was in front of me in line with a fifth of cheap rock gut gin. Just prior to getting to the checker, she noticed me behind her. She was obviously mortified. She made her purchase and scurried off. Now I have to be honest. I have been pretty pissed about this for the last week or so. Not like punching the wall kicking the dog pissed, but rather just annoyed at the circumstances. But then on Superbowl Sunday I had a little epiphany about this whole thing. I was in my big warm house, watching the game on my big screen TV, gorging myself on a feast that would make a roman emperor jealous. Remarkably, the whole time I was lounging in paradise, happy as a clam, nursing my sore jaw, I was tying on an award winning drunk. I’m happy and I get drunk. I really can’t imagine being in the shoes of someone who is homeless, addicted, and/or down on their luck. So now, I feel like a complete shmuck for getting pissed about this. Because I’m sure that if it was me out there, I want whatever cheap high I could get, to numb me up a little. She no longer hangs out in front of my store. That makes me feel even worse.

I broke myself!

Yes, you fucking heard what I said. I think I broke myself. No, it wasn't below the waist. I was eating dinner last night and dislocated my friggen' jaw! I know, weird isn't it! No warning, no fall, no blindsided punch to the face, I just bit it to a baby red potato and WAMMO! You would not believe how much it fucking hurt. For about 15 seconds I couldn't close my mouth. I just sat there in shock with mashed up potato falling out of my mouth onto my lap. Eventually I was able to get my jaw closed. Ice and Tylenol helped but I've been pretty sore all day. Two drunken' bar fights in my life, countless snowboard / skiing crashes, and a rollover on the freeway, NOTHING. Now I'm brought down by a piping hot side dish. I just don't get it, what the fuck?