Shitty dentists and an awesome cat.

It's been tough for me to think of something interesting to write about as I'm mentally preparing myself for reconstructive shoulder surgery on Tuesday. I've never undergone any sort of surgery and I've only been put under twice in my life (both times for dental procedures), that I can remember. I don't like being put under, probably for the same reasons that I've never really bothered with drugs -- I'm not all that fond of losing control of my body and becoming a drooling, incoherent (even moreso than usual) mess.

The very first time I remember being put under, it was at the dentist's office, and I couldn't have been more than eleven years old. The dentist strapped the mask to my face, turned on the gas, and then stepped away to join a couple of nurses on the other side of the room. As the gas started to take effect, I felt a sneeze coming on. I didn't want to cover the inside of the mask with my snot and spit, so I tried to get the dentist's attention by pointing at my face and shouting, but my voice was muffled. As the dentist turned to address me, I noticed that he was holding a mirror covered in some sort of powder. "Now's not a good time, Justin," was the last thing he said to me before I finally went to sleep. I didn't really think much of it when I later came to, and it wasn't until years later that I realized that the dentist and his nurses were doing coke right there in the room while I was off in the corner, inhaling sleeping gas. Even worse, the implication is that they were just as high as I was while they were working on me.

Unfortunately my poor luck with dentists has continued to this day, though he was the only one ballsy enough to openly do drugs in front of me.

And here's an awesome cat:

Zombie attacks Japanese children.

It's like "Home Alone" meets "Night of the Living Dead." And is Japanese.

Lost in translation.

I'm sorry that subject is so gay, but it was the first thing that popped into my head, and I figured I should punish myself for thinking up something so stupid by committing to it and facing the consequences.

On my second to last trip to Thailand, back in March of 2008, I fell in with a small group of hookers. They worked at a bar just down the road from the gym I was training at. It was the bar that I went to when I wanted a Chang, and I became friendly with the working girls. We hung out quite a bit while I was there and kept in touch via text messaging and the occasional phone call after I left. On my most recent visit this past October, about half of the girls were still there (the other half had moved on to Krabi and some other areas of Thailand), and we hung out again. When I left in November, they again continued to keep in touch via text messaging.

Most of these girls can speak very rudimentary English. They can usually recite a series of questions and phrases -- "Hello, how are you?" "What's your name?" "Where you from?" "How long you stay in Thailand?" "You buy me drink?" -- and not much else. So as you can imagine, their written English leaves much to be desired. But that never stopped my friends May, Bee, and Lohm, from dropping me a line to say hello.

Here are some of my all-time favorite text messages from my good hooker friends, transcribed exactly as received, in chronological order (from oldest to newest):

"Went you come bake. I want to see you."

"Hi! How are you? I miss you. Tack care."

"See you tack care."

"I happy."

"Hi! Dick how are you?" (I tought them some English -- important stuff like "dick" and "ass")

"Hi i miss you. Miss you every time."

"Hello. how are you? i miss you. daring"

"Happy birthday for you. so far for you and me but i send myheart for you everytime. just missing you and happy_ enjoy in your day : ) kiss for you."

"Happy new year. daring."

Followed very shortly by...

"fucking drunk."

"i miss you. when you come back too thailand i can go to phuket for wait you."

"hi man how are you? i miss you to much . when you come bake to thailan i miss you ...:)"

"Hello. how are you? i miss you. now in bankkok to hot no good for me.:("

"Hello. justin how are you? i miss you so much and love you long time:)"

Burger Appreciation "Month": Pub and Kitchen, Philadelphia, PA

If there's one thing that I want people to take away from this website (though most of my posts on the matter disappeared with the host move), it's that I love food. I love fast food, fancy food, healthy food, fried foods, snack foods, etc; if I think it tastes good, I will eat it and I will do so with a big dumb grin on my shitty face.

Of particular interest to me are buffalo wings and burgers. A couple of years ago, I designated December of that particular year Wing Appreciation Month. I celebrated by eating wings at as many new and different bars and restaurants as I could squeeze into my regular routine, and this resulted in eating wings two or three times a week for an entire month. I discovered some clear winners that month (Tangier in Philadelphia, in particular) as well as some real losers.

This year I was thinking of doing the same sort of thing with either burgers or pizza, but it's been almost impossible for me to put the same level of effort into it this time around. So I've decided to stretch Burger Appreciation Month out a bit, trying out one new burger every two or three weeks. Last night was my first night, and it's going to be hard to top the burger I had a the Pub and Kitchen in Philadelphia.

The best part about the Windsor Burger at the Pub and Kitchen (~ $9) is that it's simple; meat, cheese, bacon, lettuce, onion, and bread is all there is to it. And unlike a lot of the more well-known "best burgers" in the area (and I'll get to them later), there isn't a bunch of crazy shit stacked on top of the patty and it's not sandwiched between some fancy, rock hard roll that's twice as thick as the meat.

Though it has absolutely no bearing on the burger, the Pub and Kitchen also has some other shit going for it. Their cocktail menu appeared to have a heavy emphasis on what I like to call "old man drinks" which is something that I found refreshing, for lack of a less gay description. The generous helping of fries that came with the burger were also pretty great.

Strongly recommended.

Pub and Kitchen: 1946 Lombard Street, Philadelphia, PA.

Pray... for... Mojo.

Adventures In Writing: The Web Series.

In the years preceding my first PC -- a then top of the line 386SX from CompUSA -- I spent the bulk of my time writing and drawing with the hopes of one day becoming a successful writer, comic book artist, or animator. I also wanted to be veterinarian, but that's unsurprisingly a much more difficult task to hone when you're ten years old. After I got hooked on computers and later what would become the Internet, most of my hobbies and ultimately my childhood dreams took a backseat. I stopped drawing almost entirely and the endless short stories I was writing years earlier turned into sporadic and regrettable contributions to the burgeoning e-zine scene. Seriously, a lot of that stuff was pretty terrible, something anyone that picked up a copy of the Rebel Alliance Special Edition CD can attest to. And while I briefly came to my senses and attempted to do service to my former self by eventually enrolling in college as a journalism major, it was not to be; a half a semester later, I grudgingly returned to the cold and steely embrace of computers. For years I didn't write anything I wasn't forced to write.

It wasn't until I was laid off from my help desk position at a publishing company that I decided to take another look at writing. Apparently all I needed was some free time, and now I had an abundance of it. My unemployment lasted a staggering eight months, and it was during that time that I discovered E/N sites (or blogs back before they were called blogs -- I'm still not sure which term is worse) and eventually started my own as a way to not only pass the time, but share my oft drunken and occasionally funny bullshit with a rapidly expanding audience. But by now, even while unemployed, I had resigned myself to a unfulfilling yet potentially lucrative life of technology. The time I had set aside for writing once again waned as the IT industry exploded and I did what I needed to do to keep myself at the forefront so that I could continue to afford alcohol. The computers won again.

Flash forward to the present. At this point, I've been in the industry for just over ten years, and while it's steady, relatively easy work, I hate it. If I had a soul, it would be taking a beating for forty hours a week. So it was recently that I decided enough was enough; I need to stop fucking around and make time to write, good or bad, because that's what I enjoy doing. Even if it's too late to turn it into a career -- and it certainly looks that way these days -- I would take the time that I spend watching trashy reality television or playing Xbox and instead write. I re-registered for school in order to eventually get a degree in English, got myself a library card for the first time in over twenty years, and started carrying around the digital voice recorder I received for Christmas years ago so that I could note the ideas that I get throughout the day before my stupid brain forgets them forever. I even started replying to ads on Craigslist, submitting writing samples to people looking for content writers, product reviewers, screenwriters, etc. And it was there that I stumbled the characters behind this story.

One of the ads I replied to called for a comedy writer; someone who could write very short scripts for very little money. The scripts were for a web based comedy that had already "aired" two episodes, both of which I watched before submitting anything. And while I wasn't all that impressed by what I saw, I thought there was definitely potential for some laughs. That and the show took place in an office, and it just so happened that I had written a script for a half hour comedy based in an office years before that (and years before "The Office," so LAY OFF) and figured I could just recycle all of my old jokes and rack up some writing credits in the process.

I sent the series producer my short story "Shit Luck" as a writing sample and quickly received a note back that he loved it, so much so that he had already shared it with his girlfriend. He asked me to meet him at a Dunkin' Donuts in Kensington that Sunday afternoon so that we could exchange ideas and donuts.

Once I got to the Dunkin' Donuts, I spotted a very obvious (given the usual clientele a Dunkin' Donuts in Kensington, Philadelphia caters to) chubby younger guy sitting down at a table alone with a stack of notepads. I ordered a couple of donuts -- an apple crumb and a boston kreme are essential -- and a coffee before making sure I had the right guy and joining him. Much to my surprise, he told me that we were waiting on the arrival of another writer. And then I was told that there was originally supposed to be yet another writer joining us, but something popped up and she wouldn't be able to make it. This was all news to me at this point.

So, including the series producer, that meant there were now four people to contribute to these three minute scripts. That's less than one joke per minute for each person! On one hand, that's kind of really ridiculous. But on the other hand, with my unseen half-hour pilot, I had enough jokes to ensure I would never have to write another one for this web series, even if it somehow managed to soldier on for years -- an eternity in Internet time.

Ten minutes or so later, the other writer that we were expecting finally joined us. He looked a bit older and balder than me, and was wearing some sort of obnoxious pro-marijuana legalization t-shirt on under a ratty flannel. The guy seemed inoffensive enough despite his appearance, but once he started talking -- and he didn't stop for an hour and a half -- he became the most abrasive person in Kensington, an area known for its accomplishments in abrasiveness. While not gushing about the lead character in this completely fictional web series, or trying to borrow the production space, he was promoting his bargain bin marijuana board game; a "Trivial Pursuit for stoners," he explained. He even handed us his business card -- the only business card I've ever received with a giant marijuana leaf on it -- and told us where we could pick up a copy of the game in case our "stoner friends" were interested. We were also treated to an absolutely enchanting twenty minute story about how he was at a party last night in which some square had the audacity to ask our hero to cover up his shirt -- the very same t-shirt he was wearing now, unless he owned a Pee-Wee Herman-esque closet full of them -- so that the man's adolescent son couldn't see it and rush home in order to Google Ron Paul. Or something. All I know is that I was out of donuts and coffee and this conversation had gone off-track what seemed like hours ago, so I made up some bullshit about a family gathering and left.

While I had given up hope for ever contributing anything worthwhile to the series the second I was introduced to one of the other three writers, I completely checked out when the producer e-mailed me and had asked me to share my ideas on a message board that he had set up so that the four of us could collaborate on each two or three minute episode.

That was a couple of months ago and it doesn't appear as if they've filmed any new episodes since then. On top of that, judging by a recent Craigslist posting, they've been thrown out of their production space, leaving them with nowhere to film and possibly nowhere to edit. I'm certainly not celebrating anyone's failures, but trying to make myself feel better for being so lazy and irritable by telling myself that I didn't miss out on anything other than a possible five to ten percent discount on a marijuana trivia game.

The Batmans.

For all of my wacky, morning DJ-ready news, I've always preferred Obscure Store over Fark. While the former only offers a fraction of the daily updates, the stories are generally funnier, nobody tries (and ultimately fails) to get cute with the headlines, and there is no political bickering. The same stories often get posted on both sites, but every once in a while Obscure Store will come through with a great story that's new to me. Case in point: Offbeat Name? Then Facebook's No Friend

While I couldn't possibly care less about some nerdario's neverending quest to sign on to Facebook (first world problems), I am very interested in awesome last names like Batman, Yoda, Christmas, Beer, etc. Where do these people come from and how can I sucker them into adopting me? Why I am stuck with such a stupid, non-hilarious, ethnic last name? And if you've been blessed with the last name of Batman, why in the fuck would you give that up once you got married? And for Shaw. You were a Batman, and now you're a fucking Shaw. It's 2009; it's totally acceptable these days not to take your husband's name, especially when his sounds like a tool and yours is shared with Gotham's premier billionaire crimefighter.

Even better is Bess Pancake, who I am determined to marry, sight unseen. I will then take her name, shattering gender roles and hopefully filling my stomach endless flapjacks in the process.

Repost: An Expert's Guide to Sleeping.

After accidentally ordering an extra donut at Dunkin' Donuts this morning, I proceeded to spill half of my coffee on both myself and the interior of my six month old car. And then the bag ripped open and my donuts fell onto the floor of my car. So many horrible things happened to me in such a short amount of time, I didn't know whether I was supposed to be pissed or amazed.

Anyway, here is the last thing that I wrote for the "old" Waxeater before it went offline a couple of days later. I'm reposting it because a) it's totally useful information and b) Darrin was asking about the model of sound conditioner I use. So rather than just tell him, I'm making him wade through like six paragraphs of bullshit about sleep masks and facerape. Enjoy!

An Expert's Guide to Sleeping

Of the handful of things that I would dare consider myself any good at, most of them wouldn't even qualify as skills. For example; I don't set out to choose the slowest toll lane, it just happens. But I am an excellent sleeper, and that is something that I consider a fine art -- one that I have actively pursued and I believe perfected during my thirty-one years on this miserable planet. So it is with absolute confidence that I share with you my tips and tricks for sleeping (including napping) in a number of different situations.

Napping

One constant in my life has been an undying love of napping. Even in high school and during my early twenties, back when my youthful energy was at its most unstoppable, I embraced and looked forward to a good nap. Whether it be on the couch in front of the television, in my bed, or in Spanish class, I could -- and often did -- nap anywhere. But as I've gotten older, that ability -- much like my hair and also unexplainable boners -- has become much more elusive.

Most of my naps occur either on weekends, during the afternoon, or that brief period that I have during the week between work and the gym. With the latter, I only have about an hour from the time that I pull into my driveway until the time that I absolutely, positively need to be ready to leave my house and go train. This is no big deal since most experts seem to agree that you only need about twenty minutes in order to properly nap -- any less and you're still tired, any more and you're groggy. I've found, through relentless experimentation, that my ideal nap time is closer to twenty-five or thirty minutes though that's not really all that far off from their estimates. But what those fatcat sleep experts won't tell you is that the duration of your nap is only half the battle; your surroundings play an enormous role in how you feel after you awake from your nap, and this was noticeable to me during my evening naps, between work and before practice. Whether I slept for fifteen minutes or forty-five minutes, I always woke up far too out of it to train, or really do anything other than eat and go right back to sleep, effectively pissing away an entire night. After a few months of this, I tried leaving the television on in my living room, as well as a couple of lights around the house and found that it was much easier to "come to" this way. My guess is that waking up in the dark and in complete silence too closely recreates "real" sleep and therefore totally fucks my shit all up, to put it into technical terms. So don't take your surroundings for granted while napping, especially during the evening (which is normally a terrible idea anyway considering the fact that you just spent eight hours working). If you have any intention whatsoever on waking up and rejoining the real world, make sure that there are lights or noise (outside of white noise, which I'll cover later) in order to make your transition a bit easier.

Sleeping

For arguments sake, let's start out by defining sleeping (as opposed to napping) as any sleep that lasts for more than two consecutive hours.

Now, just like a good nap requires some form of stimuli in order to keep you somewhat grounded in consciousness, a good sleep requires you to completely turn off the outside world. It's not enough to just turn off the lights and lie down, especially if you're just some jerk sitting in coach's torturous semi-reclining seats. Unfortunately, this is something that I only recently picked up, on my third twenty-plus hour plane ride to Thailand.

One of the things you'll need is a pair of reusable foam ear plugs. Harder ear plugs may block more sound, but they're not advisable for cramming into your ears for hours at a time. Soft ear plugs are far more comfortable and will block out most of the noise around you, even on an airplane. In addition to long plane rides, I've also worn these to bed at home in certain situations, and never had a problem with them falling out or becoming uncomfortable. I think I picked mine up in a CVS for a buck or two.

This next item will be a bit more difficult for most of you to accept, but I want you to trust me; once you get over the initial shame of wearing one, you'll wonder why it took you so damned long.

Go out and buy yourself a sleep mask. I know that you dudes are most likely going to have a problem with this, but if you love sleep like I love sleep, I promise you that this is the best move you will ever make. After I started using a sleep mask, and before I mistakenly left it behind on a plane, I racked up countless hours of top quality, snoring and drooling, "is that guy okay?" slumber, even in the most sinister conditions. It didn't matter how many babies cried or how many jerkoffs with window seats left their blinds open despite having absolutely nothing of interest to look at; I was, for all intents and purposes, comatose. For those of you worried that sleep masks are kind of "gay"; yes, you do run the risk of strangers casually drop their dick into your mouth and make subtle movements until they finish, but you are guaranteed to remain asleep throughout the entire ordeal. And are you going to let a little mouth rape stand in between you and the most peaceful slumber you've ever had?

Much like the ear plugs, I've also worn a sleep mask at home, where I'm free from a judgemental and presumptuous public. A very poorly placed street light just outside of my bedroom window was something I didn't consider while house shopping, and it wasn't until my first night in my new home that I realized my room would remain lit up like a disco throughout the night. In addition to making it difficult to sleep at times, it also made things kind of awkward when I had girls over. Seriously, I had girls over. So instead of buying blinds that worked or shooting out the street light, I accepted my sleepless fate. That was until I realized that I had purchased a sleep mask for the plane, and even though it smelled a little weird (I never understood whether or not I was able to wash that thing), there was nothing stopping me from using it at home. And suddenly my room was as pitch black as Glenn Beck's soul, and not only was I sleeping without interruption, but I was waking up each morning refreshed and slightly less miserable than I had ever anticipated.

My final secret to sleep success is white noise, though I must warn you that your mileage may vary. Though I'm "retired" now, I previously played in bands for about thirteen years. The venues were usually small, and the music was always loud, so my hearing took a bit of a beating. Silence no longer exists for me as tinnitus has made my life a never-ending test of the Emergency Broadcast System. Imagine lying down, closing your eyes, and trying to sleep while a perpetual fire alarm goes off between your ears. It is really, really fucking annoying. While I started using white noise in order to get to sleep a while ago, I have to assume that it originally started as a way for me to drown out the ringing in my head. For many years a small window fan on its lowest setting and propped up in the corner of my room did the job, but then I realized it was a little on the counterproductive side to have a fan (even a fan set on its lowest setting) running even during Pennsylvania's frigid winters. So for Christmas last year I finally asked for an actual white noise maker: the Marpac 980A, the Cadillac of "sound conditioners." But a funny thing happened to me for the first two weeks I used my new sound conditioner; I couldn't stop having the strangest dreams. Every night seemed to get weirder and weirder, and I was remembering each one pretty clearly, unlike most of my dreams. I even wrote some of them down, and while I won't bore you with the details of my nonsensical dreams, but I will say that they included walking around South Philadelphia barefoot and soliciting auto garages, and living in a house made of old books. The dreams came to a sudden halt a couple of weeks later, but they were so consistent and consistently weird that I was beginning to worry. It's been extremely smooth sailing ever since, though.

So there it is; my expert guide to sleeping. Run out and buy yourself some ear plugs, a sleep mask, and maybe a sound conditioner, and then come back and thank me after you have the best sleep of your fucking life.