tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9968385576491680252024-03-08T01:46:27.009-08:00In the Loving Arms of ArnoldJeff Bazarkohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06198013437629568966noreply@blogger.comBlogger41125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-996838557649168025.post-8001102929433219142008-09-04T22:24:00.000-07:002008-09-05T03:09:19.351-07:00Watch...Copy Watch?So far, my impression of Hong Kong is a positive one. It makes me miss living in a big city (no, I do not consider Hermosa Beach a big city) as I walk down the street. Everywhere you look there is a bar, or a restaurant, or a massage parlor, or a strip club (like I said, my impression is a positive one).<br />The one thing that is a bit different here than from any US city I've been to (save for Vegas) is the slew of sleazy dudes trying to sell you stuff by getting in your face and mentioning their product.<br />For instance, I'll be walking down the street, minding my own business, getting dripped on by high rise air conditioners and a gentleman walks up to me and says "Watch? Copy Watch? Rolex? Very nice?"<br />Now, I don't mind someone scraping a living, everyone has got to get by. The thing I found interesting, though, was that he was promoting a "Copy Watch." He wasn't even trying to sell it as a real watch. I suppose that is more noble approach and I should, therefore, trust this guy more, but something about him told me that I shouldn't start throwing money around.<br />Another common thing that gets promoted on the street here is a custom tailored suit. That sounds nice doesn't it? Perhaps I would have considered buying a custom tailored suit from a dude on the street had that dude not approached me by saying, "I think you need a tailor my friend." "Thank you," I sarcastically responded. Pffft...I need a tailor. Who does he think he is to judge my t-shirt and jeans fashion sense. I mean...come on, give me a break.<br />Aside from "The Copy Watch Man" and "The You Need a Tailor Dude," there is also the "Massage-ie Lady" and "The Hashish, Hashish, I Have Hashish Players."<br />This town is full of characters.<br /><br />Til Next Time<br /><br />P.S. If you know me then it's no surprise that I have a beard. I hadn't trimmed my beard for 2 weeks leading up to my trip and made the decision that I wouldn't trim it until I returned to the states. It has become unruly.<br /><br />States: 30<br />Countries: 15<br /><br /><em>This Post For Those With Limited Attention Spans:</em><br />I like Hong Kong so far.<br />"Watch? Copy Watch?" he said.<br />"You need a tailor, my friend," he judged.<br />"Hashish, hashish, I have hasish," they sang.<br />I have an unruly beard.Jeff Bazarkohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06198013437629568966noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-996838557649168025.post-17269418514214300302008-08-30T14:14:00.000-07:002008-08-30T14:29:06.646-07:00I'm Leaving the Country...But You're Coming With MeWell, Barbie duty calls and I'm off to Hong Kong. Technically it is not my first time in the city, but previously I had only driven through it on my way to mainland China. It looked awesome and I'm totally stoked about spending some time there.<br />How much time will I be spending there? About 3 weeks.<br />What sort of activities will I participate in? I don't know (perhaps I don't want to know).<br />Will I blog while I'm there and keep everyone posted? Totally.<br />So, stay tuned as I cross the Pacific once again and venture on another wild adventure (as wild as a Barbie adventure can be anyways).<br /><br />Til Next Time<br /><br />P.S. Last time I was in China I saw a couple of "professional" dancers entertaining the masses during a car show. I took a video. I call it "Bad China Dance." <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=obsuBH-yoN4">Enjoy.</a><br /><br />States: 30<br />Countries: 15<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This Post For Those With Limited Attention Spans:<br /></span>I'm going to Hong Kong.<br />I'm be there for 3 weeks.<br />Not sure what I'm going to be doing.<br />I'll make sure I keep you posted.Jeff Bazarkohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06198013437629568966noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-996838557649168025.post-37745328225053611702008-08-10T19:33:00.000-07:002008-08-10T20:35:47.531-07:00He Was There...But I Didn't Blow Up!This past week at work, we had some of our Chinese counterparts visiting. This is good for everyone. Not only for the productivity of the collaboration, but also for all of the entertaining.<br />So, Thursday night we were all invited to a happy hour to celebrate on Mattel's dime. It was a nice place, but I wouldn't say "overly nice." I didn't feel out of place drinking my martini (it was Martini Madness) in my bright yellow t-shirt (it's one of my favorite).<br />A little while into the evening, a coworker who had come back onto the patio from using the restroom came up to me and said, "Micheal Bay is in there." "WHAT?!" I exclaimed, "SHOW ME!"<br />For those of you who are not familiar with Micheal Bay, he is the man responsible for such high octane blockbusters as The Rock, Armageddon, and Pearl Harbor and he is best satirized in the following clip : <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TQvAapzuWUc">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TQvAapzuWUc</a><br />So, you can understand my excitement.<br />So, there I was on the cusp of my first celebrity sighting. A man who has tainted the summer cinemas so many times in the past 15 years. A man who is sitting in the corner of the restaurant on a date with a lovely Asian lady. A man who... ... ... isn't Micheal Bay.<br />Nope, it wasn't Micheal Bay. It wasn't him at all. Instead, it was Jerry Bruckheimer! Can you believe it! Freaking Jerry Bruckheimer! For those of you who don't know him, Jerry Bruckheimer is the producer of all of Micheal Bays films and then some (including the amazingly popular CSI series'). <a href="http://news.filefront.com/wp-content/uploads/2007/12/jerrybruckheimer1.jpg">Jerry Bruckheimer</a> is also the only Hollywood producer that kind of resembles <a href="http://maxtoons.com/skeletor08.jpg">Skeletor.</a><br />So, there you have it. I've finally seen a famous person. I am excited. You can touch me if you want.<br /><br />Til Next Time<br /><br />P.S. My sister had a baby girl last weekend. So, now I'm an uncle that works at a toy company. Which, in turn, will make me the best uncle ever. You can touch me again.<br /><br />States: 29<br />Countries: 12<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This Post For Those With Limited Attention Spans:<br /></span>Our Chinese counterparts were in town this past week.<br />We drank on Mattel's dime.<br />I saw Micheal Bay.<br />No I didn't, it was Jerry Bruckheimer.<br />You can touch me.Jeff Bazarkohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06198013437629568966noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-996838557649168025.post-61438678098293698212008-07-31T20:18:00.000-07:002008-07-31T21:24:00.960-07:00Earthquakes...They're Real!This past Tuesday I was invited to a luncheon to celebrate a fellow engineer's 30th anniversary at Mattel. I felt honored, for I was going to get a free lunch. But, as they say, "There is no such thing as a free lunch," and "they" couldn't have been more right. My life was in danger.<br />Just after we all finally sat down and started to settle in, anticipating a delicious Mexican meal, the Earth started to shake.<br />Let me repeat that, "The Earth started to shake."<br />I understand that the world is a little desensitized to the concept, but if you think of it in the terms that I just mentioned, it is a pretty unsettling notion.<br />Yes, it was my first earthquake. No, I didn't freak out. Yes, I ate a lot of Mexican food after it calmed down, but in the days afterwards I started to realize the grander scope of what happened: "The Earth started to shake!"<br />It's a strange thing when you can't even trust the ground you walk on. It feels like Mother Nature is pissed and wants you off the planet. "Fine," I say, "I'll go to Mars. She'll appreciate me. She'll love me more!" Sigh.<br />Anywho, it was a magnitude of 5.4 and the important thing is that nobody got hurt, and that I ate a lot of Mexican food (but mostly that nobody got hurt)...did I mention the Mexican food?<br /> I like eating.<br /><br />Til Next Time<br /><br />P.S. People at work were really surprised that it was my first earthquake. Turns out, though, that the Midwest had an earthquake a month after I moved away. I was jealous. Now I'm in the club.<br /><br />States: 29<br />Countries: 12<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This Post For Those With Limited Attention Spans:<br /></span>Some people work in one place for a long time.<br />I experienced my first earthquake<br />It was a 5.4<br />I like Mexican food.Jeff Bazarkohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06198013437629568966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-996838557649168025.post-77411112175381026932008-07-28T19:39:00.000-07:002008-07-28T20:25:49.188-07:002 Girls...No Self RespectFor those of you who know me, you know that I am a fan of the cinema (to sound as snobbish as possible). For those of you who know me best, you know that one of the most common phrases that I may utter is, "No, I haven't seen that yet. I keep meaning to."<br />This isn't to say that I don't watch movies, because I do (at least 2 a week). What it does say is that I evidently don't watch any movies that other people have interest in (to continue to sound as snobbish as possible).<br />This isn't because I don't have interest in the blockbusters (I've seen The Dark Knight) or the Oscar contenders (I've seen The Lord of the Rings...a lot...it's awesome), I just enjoy sifting through weird, extreme, violent, gorey, disturbing, and generally bad movies in hopes of finding that hidden gem. The vast majority of these movies are absolutely terrible (Snowbeast) with the occasional film being completely unwatchable (Malibu Beach Vampires), but the draw here is their pop culture significance (or lack there of). Where would The Blair Witch Project be if there was no Cannibal Holocaust? Where would the aforementioned Lord of the Rings be without Meet the Feebles or Dead Alive? Where would Oldboy (or Sympathy for Mr. Vengeance or Lady Vengeance) be without the numerous revenge movies of the 1970's (Last House on the Left, I Spit on Your Grave)?<br />So, when I heard some time ago that there was a video circulating the internet that was both a pop culture phenomenon PLUS it was "the most disgusting video ever seen," I admit that my curiosity got the best of me.<br />Yes, I have seen "2 Girls 1 Cup," and no I didn't enjoy it, but that's OK. I'm used to the notion that the movies (Note: I understand that a video clip on the internet does not count as a movie) I watch are generally not enjoyable. I accept that. Like I mentioned before, it's the pop culture relevance that I am interested in (plus I don't like being left out).<br />A strange thing happened with this particular video though. Its relevance was solidified with the invention of "The Reaction Video." These are videos of people who set up their webcam to record themselves as they watch a disgusting and ultimately vile video. For those that cannot or will not watch the actual disturbing video, these reaction videos give you an idea of how other people deal with it (plus it lets your imagination run absolutely wild with the most disgusting things you can ever conceive). These reaction videos are wildly popular as they range from teenagers, to grandmas, to sorority girls, to celebrities, etc.<br />It was only a natural step then that a couple friends of mine would record <a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=w4nLhR88IZ8">their own reaction video to "2 Girls 1 Cup</a>." <br />Then they felt (against better judgment) that they should record numerous other reactions to videos including:<br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=WnxS1syz1A4">4 Girls Finger Paint</a><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=SK77-Xgi_lg">2 Girls 1 Finger</a><br /><a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=_9FU4NFmSjE">8 Girls No Cup</a><br />and finally, <a href="http://youtube.com/watch?v=WY1iJKsrisA">Mousetrap</a>.<br />So, in the name of pop culture relevance, I hope you appreciate the attempt to be part of a vile, disgusting, downright disturbing, internet phenomena.<br /><br />Til Next Time<br /><br />P.S. Yes, I have a puppet. His name is Geoffrey Bananza. He is a compulsive liar and at times very difficult to deal with.<br /><br />States: 29<br />Countries: 12<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This Post For Those With Limited Attention Spans:<br /></span>I like disgusting movies simple because they exist.<br />2 Girls 1 Cup is a pop culture phenomena.<br />So are the reaction videos that resulted.<br />My friends made some videos.Jeff Bazarkohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06198013437629568966noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-996838557649168025.post-42301844421392905262008-06-15T19:12:00.000-07:002008-06-15T19:49:52.720-07:00Why Does the Fire Station Have Two Poles...and Why Do They Not Have Appropriate Fire Fighting Gear On<b>sas·sy</b><br />adj. <b>sas·si·er</b>, <b>sas·si·es</b><ol type="1"><li>Rude and disrespectful; impudent.</li><li>Lively and spirited; jaunty.</li><li>Stylish; chic: <i>a sassy little hat<span style="font-weight: bold;"></span></i><script type="text/javascript">CDATA[ var interfaceflash = new LEXICOFlashObject ( "http://cache.lexico.com/d/g/speaker.swf", "speaker", "17", "18", "<a href="\" target="\"><img src="\" border="\" /></a>", "6"); interfaceflash.addParam("loop", "false"); interfaceflash.addParam("quality", "high"); interfaceflash.addParam("menu", "false"); interfaceflash.addParam("salign", "t"); interfaceflash.addParam("FlashVars", "soundUrl=http%3A%2F%2Fcache.lexico.com%2Fdictionary%2Faudio%2Fahd4%2FM%2FM0324000.mp3"); interfaceflash.write(); // ]]</script><!--EOF_HEAD--><!--BOF_DEF--><br /></li></ol><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br />minx</span><br />n.<br /><ol type="1"><li>A girl or young woman who is considered pert, flirtatious, or impudent.</li><li><i>Obsolete</i> A promiscuous woman.</li></ol><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">The Sassy Minxx<br /></span><span>n</span><span>.</span><span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /></span><ol><li>Burlesque group the I saw last night.</li></ol><br />Yes, I enjoyed a burlesque show last night. A girl at work performed a guest slot with The Sassy Minxx and invited a bunch of coworkers to witness her performance. I figured I'd lend her my support (although it turns out that the show had more than enough...<span style="font-style: italic;">wink</span>) and it was quite an enjoyable evening to say the least. The scantily clad girls aside, it was nice to hob knob with everyone outside the office walls...but the scantily clad girls were nice too.<br />The highlight of the night, though, was watching the human mating rituals that unfolded before our very eyes. I don't generally attend venues that have the "club" feel to them, but in between acts and after the show, that's exactly what this place turned into. Yes, people were having a great time on the dance floor. No, they were not good dancers, but that's not what interested me the most. Instead, we were witness to a soap opera of she danced with him and then he danced with the next girl and the first girl got mad so tried to win him back and the guy was trying to play both girls and ended up not giving either enough attention and wound up dancing by himself...and he was a bad dancer...but so was everyone else.<br />Yes, a few coworkers and I thoroughly enjoyed this display and to make things more interesting it seemed to have been some sort of "singles night." I haven't confirmed it, but that is my explanation to the droves of people wearing glow in the dark bracelets that were too eager to talk to everyone...yes, everyone. Needless to say, 75% of those on the dance floor were brandishing the bracelets.<br />It seemed like everyone had a great time. Well, except for that guy that messed it up with the two girls and had to resort to dancing alone, he probably could have had a better night.<br /><br />Til Next Time<br /><br />P.S. Apparently there is a thing here called "June Gloom." That explains why it has been so gloomy this month...it also makes my think of popular children's author Judy Blume...it kind of rhymes...kind of.<br /><br />States: 28<br />Countries: 8<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This Post For Those With Limited Attention Spans:<br /></span>The Sassy Minxx is a burlesque group.<br />A friend performed with them.<br />I like watching people dance.<br />People are funny when they dance.Jeff Bazarkohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06198013437629568966noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-996838557649168025.post-27524239463637856942008-06-09T20:41:00.000-07:002008-06-09T21:38:08.793-07:00Take Me Out to the Ball Game...But Keep Me Away From the CrowdI had a couple of friends visit me this weekend. The main motivation for this particular weekend? The Cubs were in town playing The Dodgers...so we went to two games.<br />First, we attended the Friday night game. We sat in left field (the cheapest seats at field level) and settled in for a lovely evening at the ballpark. It wasn't long, however, before it became evident that Dodgers fans mean business...nasty, surly, drunken business. Me and my friends are rather soft spoken in public and we don't like to attract much attention to ourselves, but the same can't be said for a select few Cubs fans that were in the crowd. These individuals were not only the subject of much jeering, but also the embarrassing example of how not to act as a respectful fan of the game. The home crowd recognized this, but instead of playing nice the Dodgers fans decided to fight everyone...yes, EVERYONE. By the 5th inning the stadium security had a strong presence in left field. There were lots of "KICK THEM OUT, KICK THEM OUT," cheers and a lot of "CUBS SUCK, BOOOO!" cheers, but nothing that I would classify as "clever." Instead they taunts could most accurately be described as loud.<br />Like I said, though, me and my friends are soft spoken so we weren't the subject of any retaliation. There was a time when a large Cubs fan (notice I didn't say "huge Cubs fan" because that might be misconstrued to mean that he just really liked the Cubs, when in fact he was a large individual) decided it would be a good idea to stand up right behind us and start yelling at everybody...yes, EVERYBODY. He was calling all Cubs fans to join him and "show their support." It would have been a sweet call to arms if the man was actually a young girl, but nobody wanted anything to do with this guy. The women behind me tapped me on the shoulder and asked, "Well, are you not a Cubs fan?" "Yes, I am," I responded, "but that guy is a gigantic idiot." (Note: "gigantic" here is describing both his stature and the size of his idiocy). She laughed, and then that guy got punched in the face (Note: I couldn't really see if he got punched there were too many big people shoving other really big people for me to get a good look). So, that was Friday night.<br />Oh, and The Cubs were shut out so it was an absolutely dismal game to boot.<br />Sunday was a different story. For starters we were sitting in right field. Big deal right? Why not just sit in left field again right? They're the same stupid seats just on the other side of the field right? WRONG! The right field seats are located in a section known as "The All You Can Eat Pavilion," which is aptly named for the amount of food that is included with the ticket price...all one can eat. A patron in this section simply walks up to the counter and orders (for instance), "3 hot dogs, a nacho, and a bottle of water,"...for starters. Then may return a little later for, "2 nachos, a bag of peanuts, and a couple of soft drinks," all without laying an extra dollar on the counter. Of course beer was not included, but given Fridays experience, I was a bit grateful.<br />Aside from the copious amount of junk food that was consumed, there were more low key Cubs fans that were enjoying the game, there were fewer obnoxious Dodgers fans trying to fight them, and the Cubs pulled out a victory. All in all a successful day, even with the drunk dude right in front of us from North Carolina that knew nothing about baseball and only talked about stupid drunk dude stuff the whole game. Yes, even he was tolerable.<br /><br />Til Next Time<br /><br />P.S. There were a lot of beach balls that were being tossed around. A highlight of Sunday's game was when a rather confident Cubs fan was bonked in the head with one and proceeded to grab and deflate it. His response to the many boos that came his way was a simple, "Watch the game!" It was awesome.<br /><br />States: 27<br />Countries: 8<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This Post For Those With Limited Attention Spans:<br /></span>Dodgers fans can be surly.<br />Cubs fans can be idiots.<br />All you can eat is awesome...especially with nachos.<br />Cubs win...on Sunday.Jeff Bazarkohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06198013437629568966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-996838557649168025.post-58563749565377636212008-06-03T23:55:00.000-07:002008-06-04T00:00:47.759-07:00Where in the World...Is Jeff BazarkoI just want to say that I am still a blogger. I have not given it up quite that easily. It's been difficult lately, however, because I have been busy at work and my social life is booming. (Only one of those statements is sarcastic...I won't say which one)<br />The point is I have lots to talk about and I'll get to it. You just need to be a little more patient and stop it with the attitude. I'll get to writing and sharing when I darn please and I'm tired right now.<br />So, stayed tuned.<br /><br />Til Next Time<br /><br />P.S. I'm now 27.<br /><br />States: 27<br />Countries: 8<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This Post For Those With Limited Attention Spans:<br /></span>Hold your horses.<br />I'm tired.Jeff Bazarkohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06198013437629568966noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-996838557649168025.post-59736515373958177592008-05-22T22:20:00.000-07:002008-05-22T22:21:24.932-07:00We All Scream For Ice...Pan?A coworker was having a bad day yesterday (actually she was having a bad past couple of weeks), so I did what any normal person would do and offered to take her out for ice cream. She hesitantly accepted (I'm not sure the cause of hesitation but rest assured, it didn't bother me).<br />So, after work she got in her car and me in mine and I followed her to the designated gelato shop (she's too good for the run of the mill ice cream (read "high maintenance")). When we arrived in the parking lot and got out of our cars she was on her cell phone which proved confusing when we realized the gelato shop was closed and we needed to discuss where to go next.<br />Undeterred, she motioned for me to follow her as we both got into our respective rides. We traveled up the street a couple of blocks until she starting waving and pointing hysterically as she drifted into the left turn lane. It was then that I saw the reason for her excitement. A small sign at the entrance of the parking lot read, "Custom Made Ice-Cream" and if that doesn't get you excited then you better check your pulse.<br />So, into Ice-Pan we go wondering exactly what qualifies their ice-cream as "custom." I casually stroll up to the counter and politely ask the high school girls, "What exactly makes your ice-cream custom?" Their answer was practically incomprehensible. It was a jumbled mess of pauses, giggles, incorrect inflections, and blank stares (read "they seemed to be on drugs"). Surprisingly, however, I was able to gather the vital information about this amazing establishment:<br /><br />Step 1: Pick a flavor of ice cream (they have many...but not 31).<br />Step 2: Pick your milk (whole, low fat, skim, soy)<br />Step 3: Pick your mix-ins (stuff they crush and mix into your ice cream...hence the name)<br />Step 4: Pick your toppings (stuff they put on top of your ice cream...hence the name)<br />Step 5: Pick your size (they have 2...shouldn't be too difficult to decide)<br /><br />Once the order has been placed, the magic happens. The stoned workers mix up your custom ice cream mix and turn on the magically ice pans. Once the mix is properly blended the master steps in to turn your dream into a reality. He is a quiet, polite man who graciously takes the mixtures of cream and sugar and spreads them evenly over the ice pans. Almost instantly ice cream starts to form. He starts to scrap and fold the thin layer into a thicker layer and eventually into a soft scoop. The scoop then gets flattened and your mix-ins are crushed and ... mixed in. The glorious hunk of creamy flavor is then gathered into a modestly sized cup and topped with your ... toppings. The entire process is then finished with a warm smile from the master himself as he hands over his creation. That's when you are granted permission to eat your new found ice cream.<br />We were both thoroughly enjoying our ice cream. I think I finished mine in record time and sat there waiting for my friend to finish hers. Good company, good conversation, and great ice cream were quickly interrupted when she discovered a long blond hair as a bonus mix in. She sat there disgusted and dumbfounded and I probably mirrored that same expression. Eventually, of course, she presented the "hairy" evidence to the high schoolers on drugs and they, of course, made her a new one. When she held the second sundae in her hand I couldn't help but feel amazingly jealous. She went home that night half disgusted and half excited about the bonus ice cream. I went home that night trying to figure out how I might score a bonus scoop next time I go to Ice Pan.<br /><br />Til Next Time<br /><br />P.S. I returned to Ice Pan the next night...I did not figure out a way to get a free scoop.<br /><br />States: 27<br />Countries: 8<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This Post For Those With Limited Attention Spans:<br /></span>I went to get gelato.<br />It was closed.<br />I went to Ice Pan<br />They make frozen magic there.Jeff Bazarkohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06198013437629568966noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-996838557649168025.post-82774550267888708562008-05-17T19:11:00.000-07:002008-05-17T19:59:02.266-07:00Abbreviations ...Or Abbr.If you enjoy pop culture then you probably have an impression of what Southern California (So. Cal to the locals) is like. There is the glitz and the glamor of Hollywood, the beautiful beaches with beautiful people, and the super violent crime of South Central. While some of this may be true, the one thing that I've noticed more than anything about So. Cal is that people here love to abbreviate.<br />Some of these abbreviations are warranted. For example, Pacific Coast Highway is a mouthful and I could see how saying "PCH" could streamline a conversation. Plus, PCH has a nice ring to it. It almost begs to be said. The same can not be said about "BH," which is the common abbreviation of Beverly Hills. To me it just seems ridiculous. Beverly Hills itself has a better more inviting sound than the sluggish "BH." In this "LOL, OMG" world in which we now live, I'd put money that those shortcuts originated here in Los Angeles county.<br />I didn't surprise me then when I took a field trip to the Los Angeles County Museum of Art and I saw that it was shortened to LACMA. What did surprise me was the common practice of not only using the acronym of the museum but that the acronym was then pronounced as a word (i.e. Lack-Ma). Furthermore, the new Broad Comtempory Art Museum on the LACMA campus is shortened to BCAM and then pronounced "Bee-Cam." Why not "The Broad?" That's got a good ring to it.<br /><br />All I'm saying is, "PICK A SIDE PEOPLE!"<br /><br />If you make an acronym try to stick to it as an acronym (unless it actually makes a word that has relevance to its subject (i.e. D.A.R.E. or M.A.D.D). If you can't stick to the acronym, try shortening it to a word or two that gets the idea across. I'm all about efficiency, but I also enjoy crisp clear communication...call me old fashioned.<br />Perhaps I'm making too much of this but its my refusal to use such shortcuts that make it quite obvious that I am not in "the know."<br /><br />TNT<br /><br />Post Script: In honor of this entries subject matter, I took the opportunity to keep it short.<br /><br />States: 26<br />Countries: 8<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This Post For Those With Limited Attention Spans:<br /></span>So. Cal. people like to abbreviate.<br />I don't really like to abbreviate.<br />Sometimes they pronounce the abbreviations as words.<br />Pick a side people!Jeff Bazarkohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06198013437629568966noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-996838557649168025.post-80370125529465816402008-05-12T21:55:00.001-07:002008-05-12T22:36:42.102-07:00Surprise!...Someone Gave Me Something!First, let me say this: I told myself when I started this blog that I would never blog about blogging. As you can tell for the previous sentence, I am breaking that rule. No, I'm not going to rant about blogs, bloggers, or blog readers. No, I'm not going to say I've run out of things to write about. No, I'm not going to do either of those things. All I'm going to do is acknowledge that I've fallen a bit behind on the blog this past week. I have no excuses. I have let you down, dear reader. I am sorry. Please forgive me and continue to read in the future. I like when you read my blog. I makes me feel interesting and sometimes cool (only sometimes). I will do my darnedest to never let this web log fall behind again. That being said, I have a quick story to share:<br /><br />Not too long ago I returned home from work, took my shoes and pants off, turned on the TV, and plopped on the couch. Almost immediately I realized I had to run to the store (for what, I can not remember). So, I slowly rose from the cushions, put my shoes and pants back on (not necessarily in that order) and drove out into the Californian unknown.<br />My experience at the store was uneventful so I won't bore you with those details. Something interesting <span style="font-style: italic;">did</span> happen upon my return home, so I <span style="font-style: italic;">will</span> bore you with <span style="font-style: italic;">those</span> details.<br />By this time in the evening the sun was well on its way to setting. I believe the correct term for such times is "dusk." The streets were dark and full of shadows but as I pulled into my parking lot I noticed a beaming white object hanging on my door.<br />As I parked my car I realized that it was a plastic grocery bag not unlike the ones sitting in my trunk. I put my car in park and removed the keys. I sat there wondering who could have placed this mystery bag on my door in the 20 minutes I had been gone and further more, what was in it? A mystery indeed.<br />I popped my trunk, slowly exited my vehicle, and cautiously grabbed the 4 plastic grocery bags containing my recent purchases. As I drew closer to the mystery bag my heart raced. The white plastic mocked my every step begging me to come closer. As I reached my door I didn't blow up. I consider that a small victory, but my palms began to sweat as I inched my right hand towards it. I grabbed one of its two handles and slid it off of my door handle. I pulled the bag wide open and hesitantly peered inside. To my amazement I found 4 items all belonging to a recognizable set. This bag, that someone felt compelled to leave on my doorstep held 3 dry erase markers and a corresponding dry erase eraser. I considered this a <span style="font-style: italic;">major</span> victory. Now I need to by a dry erase board and I'll be set.<br /><br />Til Next Time<br /><br />P.S. I went to another Hollywood party this past weekend. I scared plenty with my dancing.<br /><br />States: 26<br />Countries: 8<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This Post For Those With Limited Attention Spans:<br /></span>I'm sorry for not writing.<br />I took off my shoes and pants.<br />I ran errands.<br />Someone left a mystery package on my door.<br />I didn't blow up.Jeff Bazarkohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06198013437629568966noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-996838557649168025.post-40056635504324134472008-05-05T20:31:00.000-07:002008-05-05T21:00:23.426-07:00Don't Believe Everything You Read...Unless it is a Clearly Posted WarningThis past weekend a couple of friends came to visit from Chicago. They flew in on Thursday night and left on Sunday afternoon which gave us practically 3 days for activities. It might be interesting to you then that my favorite part of the weekend involved a shady novelty store along the "Walk of Fame" and a certain loose rodent.<br />I'm not sure exactly what this store sold but it is a safe bet that it was 1 of 3 things: electronics, vintage clothing, or drag queen attire (at least that's what I took it to be). I do know, however, that there was a squirrel inside this particular store. Why? Because on the door there was a sign held on by a solitary piece of scotch tape with the following written in black marker:<br /><br />"Squirrel in store!"<br /><br />Notice the exclamation point. This store owner was not only telling/warning you about the loose squirrel in their store, they were screaming it from the mountain tops!<br />This sign on the door is where my knowledge of the subject stops, but it raises a few questions for me. First, was this a prank? If so, was it the owner of this store that put up the sign or was it the owner of the store across the street that tried to dissuade patrons from that store into their own? Secondly, if it wasn't a prank, why not call animal control or make some other attempt to let the animal free (i.e. trail of popcorn)? Lastly, at what point do you give up trying to get the squirrel out of your store and say, "Eh, just put a sign up," as to try and limit liability when somebody contracts rabies while searching for that perfect vintage jacket? These questions and countless others go unanswered.<br />Regardless, we didn't enter the store, but one of my friends did mention the possibility that it could be a caged squirrel on exhibit and the sign was to <span style="font-style: italic;">attract</span> costumers not <span style="font-style: italic;">detract</span> costumers. Yes, that is certainly a possibility but I have to imagine that if you can afford a squirrel exhibit, you can afford a better sign to advertise such things.<br /><br />Til Next Time<br /><br />P.S. Happy Cinco De Mayo! I had taquitos for lunch.<br /><br />States: 26<br />Countries: 8<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This Post For Those With Limited Attention Spans:<br /></span>I had visitors from Chicago.<br />There was a squirrel in a store.<br />A sign told me so.<br />I don't know why.Jeff Bazarkohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06198013437629568966noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-996838557649168025.post-79282716573112963712008-04-28T19:37:00.000-07:002008-04-28T20:19:39.130-07:00K-Clubbin'...It's the Hip Thing to do in K-Town!I have a friend at work, a fellow engineer, who happens to be Korean. He was the guy who braved the elements of mild weather to help find me a suitable surf board. This past Saturday, he drove down to my place and we went surfing.<br />After an exhausting afternoon he made the following offer:<br /><br />"Do you want to go to Korea Town for some Korean Bar-B-Q?"<br /><br />It goes without saying that I accepted the offer and soon we were grilling "all you can eat meat" at our table. After an hour of constant eating in Korea Town (K-Town to the locals) we paid the tab and were on our way.<br />As we were driving my friend pointed at a club looking place and said, "That's a Korean club." So I asked a seemingly ignorant question, "What's so Korean about it?" Little did I know that Korean Clubbing (K-Clubbin' to the locals) is actually a very different club scene.<br />Now, I'm no clubbing expert (I don't know if I've officially ever been to one actually) but here's what I would do in a normal situation: I would go to the club, I would get drunk, I would make a fool of myself, maybe talk to a couple of girls and therefore scare them away, I would go home (not necessarily in that order). Seems like a pleasant evening.<br />Here's what would happen if I went K-Clubbin': I would first make reservations for the appropriate number in my party, I would then go to the club with a group of dudes (most likely Korean), we would order a couple of bottles of liquor (probably whiskey), and if we felt so inclined we would ask to be "booked."<br />Booked? Yes, "booked." Let me elaborate, in a K-Club, there are normally tables of dudes and tables of girls and these tables are mixed amongst each other. The wait staff at these establishments are assigned to a number of dude tables as well as some girl tables. So, if I were to say, "Excuse me fine sir, I would like to get booked," the waiter would then consult his log of tables of girls who have also agreed to get booked. The waiter would then talk to one of these girls, bring her over to me, and introduce her. She would then sit down for some friendly conversation and I am then obligated to give her some of the alcohol that me and my dude friends bought earlier. Let me take this opportunity to clarify something: these girls are just girls that are also attending the club that night. They are not in anyway hired, like some of you may be thinking.<br />Anyway, it's at this point that the K-Club experience and the normal club experience would probably converge for me. I'm sure I would say something that would scare her off and I'd probably have a good laugh at it, and that's all good. It's ok though because I'm K-Clubbin'. All I need to do if just flag down the waiter again and inform him politely, "I'd like to get booked...again."<br />Now, I haven't been K-Clubbin' yet, so this is all word of mouth but I need to see for myself how this system works. Who knew social situations could be so structured.<br />So, I ask you dear readers, "Who wants to get booked?"<br /><br />Til Next Time<br /><br />P.S. Do you watch the television series "Weeds?" Me neither, but I've heard of it and I've heard it's funny. Regardless, they were filming an episode on my jogging route this evening. Again, however, I regretfully report that I didn't not see any celebrities.<br /><br />States: 26<br />Countries: 7<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This Post For Those With Limited Attention Spans:<br /></span>I like Korean barbecue.<br />Clubbing in Korea town is called K-Clubbin'.<br />If you go K-Clubbin' you can elect to get booked.<br />Who wants to get booked?Jeff Bazarkohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06198013437629568966noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-996838557649168025.post-74090258234140503652008-04-25T17:39:00.000-07:002008-04-25T20:26:38.068-07:00What Makes a Strong House? ... A Healthy Foundation of CourseSo, it's been four weeks and you may be wondering, "Are you getting better at volleyball?" The answer, regrettably is a resounding, "No."<br />Remember how I told you that the intermediate class seemed less intermediate and more, how do you say...athletically incompetent? Well, since then the intermediate class has been split into two smaller classes: Intermediate and Intermediate Beginner. Being the modest and humble person that I am, I choose to group myself with the intermediate beginners where I was promised, "more instruction on the fundamentals."<br />Let me paint a picture of what the intermediate beginner class looks like: Picture 15-20 people standing on the beach with volleyballs in their hands. The instructor explains the next activity in a moderately to crystal clear manner. The majority of the students respond with blank looks and annoying questions. The instructor, growing increasingly frustrated, says, "Alright, let's just give it a shot."<br />What happens next can best be described by visualizing a handful of bouncy balls being dropped on the pavement. Can you see it? The bouncy balls are bouncing every which way...they have scattered in every direction. That's exactly what happens every Thursday night in the intermediate beginner class. The instructor says, "Go!" and volleyballs scatter in every direction. It's rather unproductive.<br />It's ok though, they're nice people. They just need a little more instruction on the fundamentals...me included.<br /><br />Til Next Time<br /><br />P.S. I found a place down the street from me that claims to sell Chicago Style Hot Dogs. I haven't tried it yet, but by the looks of it they are missing half of the ingredients. They do, however, claim to use Vienna Beef Hot Dogs and that goes a very very long way.<br /><br />States: 26<br />Countries: 7<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This Post For Those With Limited Attention Spans:<br /></span>It's been 4 weeks of volleyball.<br />I'm not getting any better.<br />Picture a handful of bouncy balls.<br />We need more instruction on fundamentals.Jeff Bazarkohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06198013437629568966noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-996838557649168025.post-22733416243431053762008-04-21T22:11:00.000-07:002008-04-21T22:47:02.736-07:00Stop Bugging Me...Said the Annoyed CockroachAs I may have mentioned before, my apartment is owned and operated by a church. My apartment building resides quite obediently in the dunce's corner of said church's parking lot. There is at least one pro to this situation: lots of parking, but there are certainly cons as well: lots of local parking on drunken nights (Thurs.-Sat.).<br />One con that may not coming instantly to mind is this: there are always people around my apartment in the mornings. These people aren't residents of the apartment building like some of you might be thinking, they are just people who for one reason or another decided to park in the church's parking lot. Take the construction workers across the street for instance, they all gather 'round their trucks and drink their morning coffee and love to make a lot of noise (mostly in Spanish). Take the little old lady cleaning up the parking lot, she is doing a good deed (surely as a volunteer since she wasn't wearing a bright orange jumpsuit) yet she seems very upset and quite surly. Perhaps that's because of the young punks that are skating on the other end of the parking lot, shouldn't they be in school by now? Stupid punks.<br />So you get the idea: there is a wide variety of people that I see in the mornings. This morning, though, I was a bit taken aback by what I emerged to see. Just as I opened my door to leave for the morning I came face to face with an exterminator. Yep, a real honest to goodness exterminator. I said a "Good Morning," he reciprocated and as I got into my car I thought to myself, "Ah, the good church is taking precautions." You see, the exterminator was hard at work spraying the exterior of the building and that made me feel good...a landlord that cares. But that thought quickly faded and was replaced with, "What could have happened here to make an exterminator necessary?"<br />So my ride to work this morning (which was longer than usual, mind you) was filled with thoughts of gigantic ants and intergalactic roaches. I pictured huge space slugs sliming over all of my things and eating all that is made of paper. The spiders that scurried about in my head weren't really spiders. You see, normal spiders have eight legs, mine had 15 and were the size of small eco-friendly hybrid automobiles. The kind of nightmarish visuals that I conjured up this morning only belong in movies and the amazon (especially movies about the amazon). It was a hellish morning commute indeed.<br />Then, as I got a grip on reality, I flipped to the other side again thinking, "Regardless of what the infestation is or was, the good church has hired a helping hand. That's a positive thing." But, I couldn't help but think, "Good thing I live by a church because only god's exterminator would have a chance against the devil bugs that live under my apartment. Those horned creeps are tough and in a battle between holy bug spray and evil bugs, evil is bound to win. Evil just has too many legs."<br />But, at least they're fighting the good fight. <br /><br />Til Next Time<br /><br />P.S. Yes, I went surfing again this weekend. I'm not bleeding (at least not any more than I already was) and I did stand up on my board. Staying up, however, is a different thing.<br /><br />States: 26<br />Countries: 6<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This Post For Those With Limited Attention Spans:<br /></span>I live in a church parking lot.<span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br />The devil has sent his bug army.<br />Evil has too many legs<br />The church is fighting a good fight.Jeff Bazarkohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06198013437629568966noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-996838557649168025.post-26834414420808430162008-04-16T22:42:00.001-07:002008-04-16T23:34:16.831-07:00Cow and Pig Parts...An Ode to the HotdogThere is a hot dog joint in Chicago that calls itself "Hot Doug's" and on it's wall it proudly displays the following phrase:<br /><br />"There are no two finer words in the English language than 'encased meat,' my friend."<br /><br />Amen Doug. That is, as long as the encased meat doesn't come from one of California's biggest fast food chains, "Wienerschnitzel."<br />Over the weekend I had a taste for a hot dog and figured it was time to see how the Californian's do it. The aforementioned establishment seems to be the only operation in town specializing in dogs so my choices were limited. I checked online for the closest locations even though I already know where one was. I figured I could check out a new area in the process and broaden my horizons a bit. So, that's exactly what I did. I got in my car. I drove to unfamiliar territory. I questioned my orientation (spacially speaking). I made numerous wrong turns. I found my destination. I pulled into the parking lot. I parked my car. I walked up to the window...and they're closed. "Will Open Again Tomorrow," says the crudely written sign. I was certainly way too hungry to wait until tomorrow to eat, so I had to make a decision.<br />I had two choices: first, cut my loses and find something else to eat on my way back home or alternatively, backtrack and drive to the other local Wienerschnitzel location in an endless pursuit of a hot dog. You can probably already guess that I opted with option number two. I wanted to try those hot dogs so badly that it was going to take much more than a sign (albeit a crudely written one) from a higher power to sway my determination.<br />So, I drove back into familiar territory. I found my way quite easily. I parked my car...again. They were open. I was happy. I ordered my food. I took it home.<br />It's at this point in the story where I actually ingest a chili dog, an Italian sausage, and some fries, but I will spare you the details. Not because it is a long winded story. Not because it is a boring story. I spare you because I don't want to make you ill. I spare you because it was an agonizingly unpleasant experience. Every successive bite solidified the scowl of disgust on my face. I'm not sure what I was eating, but it was no hot dog and certainly no Italian sausage. I felt so ashamed to have taken part in this travesty. I still have nightmares.<br />Now, you're probably asking yourself, "Why did you continue to eat it if you weren't enjoying it?" The quick answer is spite. I didn't want those Wienerschnitzel people thinking they got the best of me. I'm too proud of an eater. Plus, I'm just too darn lazy to make/buy something else.<br />Needless to say, I won't be going back anytime soon, but I do have a suggestion for a phrase they can put on their wall:<br /><br />"Nobody actually knows what a hot dog is made of, but our dogs redefine the term 'Mystery Meat.'"<br /><br />Til Next Time<br /><br />P.S. In case you're wondering, I canceled my return trip to India and decided to buy a new pair of shoes instead. Turns out it was cheaper that way.<br /><br />States: 26<br />Countries: 6<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This Post For Those With Limited Attention Spans:<br /></span>Don't eat Wienerschnitzel.<span style="font-style: italic;"></span><br />I have the ability to eat for spite.<br />Nobody knows what is in a hot dog.Jeff Bazarkohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06198013437629568966noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-996838557649168025.post-32296662907356589172008-04-12T20:04:00.000-07:002008-04-12T20:49:46.446-07:00Today I Surfed...And Now I'm BleedingSince I've moved here I have inquired to everyone I meet about surfing. If surfing comes up in the conversation, I pick their brain a bit about how to get started. Take a conversation I had with a guy in my volleyball class:<br /><br />Me: "Oh, you surf huh?<br />Guy: "Like every day."<br />Me: "How would I get started?"<br />Guy: "Buy a board and walk into the ocean."<br /><br />Sounds simple enough. It's a heads-on approach. I like it. He then follows up with the following:<br /><br />Guy: "Don't be a toolbox."<br />Me: "Look at me, do I look like a toolbox?"<br /><br />He didn't answer the question, he just continued with his point and warning:<br /><br />Guy: "There are a lot of toolboxes that think they want to surf because it's cool and then they find out it's too hard."<br />Me: "I assure you...I am no such toolbox."<br /><br />While I wondered deep down if I was indeed an aforementioned "toolbox," I still followed his advice and with the help of a coworker found and bought a used board. I later went to a different surf shop to find a wetsuit and since it is the spring, these places are having plenty of sales on the older stock. Lucky me.<br />I found a sales associate to ask for some advice. When I found him I looked him straight in the eye and asked, "What size would you suggest for me." He looked me over, asked my height and weight, and said with a straight face, "Definitely a medium." I'm not one to ignore advice so a medium is what I picked from the rack and I headed to the fitting room.<br />In the fitting room I disrobed and stepped into the wetsuit. Sure, it was tight around the legs, but they're supposed to be tight...so I continued. Sure, getting my arms in was a bit of a struggle but the material stretches...so I continued. Yeah, I felt a bit snug across the chest, but it'll loosen up...so I continued. But when I started to zip up the back I felt a pinch. That is when I thought to myself, "Perhaps a medium is a bit too small." I promptly started to peel off the wetsuit and as I looked in the mirror I notice my back was bleeding. It seems my skin had gotten caught in the zipper and gave me a bit of a cut. I had sustained a surfing injury without even setting foot in the ocean...quite an astonishing feat.<br />I continued to peel the wetsuit off of my body and cleaned the blood off of my back. I resorted to using the inside of my favorite sweatshirt and as we all know blood is quite a stain, so I was not happy. And, regardless of how much I cleaned it up, my t-shirt was sure to get a stain as well when I put it back on...it did and I was even unhappier still. With two articles of clothing down, I refused to leave the store without making purchase. I had to make it worth it. So I tried the next size up...a large short. Needless to say, I approached this fitting with a bit more caution and when it was all said and done...it fit like a glove...absolutely perfectly. So, I bought it and was able to go surfing this morning (if what I did qualifies as surfing...but that's a different tale).<br />Moral of the story: A surfer dude's advice always runs small.<br /><br />Til Next Time<br /><br />States: 24<br />Countries: 6<br /><br />P.S. I think my sweatshirt can be salvaged as long as I'm OK with blood stains on the inside, but I'm afraid that I had to say goodbye to that loyal and loving t-shirt. Morale in my closet is at an all time low.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This Post For Those With Limited Attention Spans:<br /></span>"Buy a board and walk into the ocean."<br />I did.<br />"You're definitely a medium."<br />No I'm not.Jeff Bazarkohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06198013437629568966noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-996838557649168025.post-85027064695144018292008-04-08T21:34:00.000-07:002008-04-08T22:56:06.269-07:00Yep, I'm New...I'm Still NewI'm still new enough at work (and the company is big enough) that it isn't uncommon for me to meet someone new on any given day. Today was one of those days. We did the whole introductory thing like normal people do (I have my half of the conversation down to a routine) but then she asked, "So, are you settled in?" My answer to that question (on which I had no rehearsed response) was as follows: "Well, when I'm out in public, I don't feel like people are staring, pointing, and snickering at me thinking, 'That guy is from out of town.' So that is a good feeling."<br />Reflecting upon that conversation I wondered if it is a common thing to walk the streets of a new place in constant paranoia. I'd like to think it's not that common, but I also like to make excuses as to why I'm special (Did I ever mention that I'm left handed?).<br />Regardless, actually settling into a place is a blessing and a curse. Sure, I may be able to tell you where the closest gas station is, or where you can find some decent food, but I can no longer say, "Sorry, I can't help you. I just moved here." And let's be honest, pleading ignorance is just easier.<br /><br />Til Next Time<br /><br />States: 24<br />Countries: 5<br /><br />P.S. For those of you who were concerned, I have good news. British Airways finally located my bag and delivered it to my door. The bad news is that I evidently forgot a pair of shoes in India. So now I have two choices: go back and get them (they could be any number of places) or buy a new pair. I'll get to packing.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This Post For Those With Limited Attention Spans:<br /></span>I'm not that new, but still new enough.<br />I meet new people from time to time.<br />I was paranoid for a while.<br />Ignorance is bliss.Jeff Bazarkohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06198013437629568966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-996838557649168025.post-34957414293133121022008-04-05T14:58:00.000-07:002008-04-05T16:30:35.762-07:00Volleyball...AKA "How I Plan to Look Awesome on the Beach"When I moved to Southern California (So-Cal to the locals) in January there were two activities I told myself I would try. One was surfing, which still seems quite intimidating, and the other was beach volleyball. The entire time I've lived here I've told myself I would take steps towards these goals "as soon as I get back from India." Well, here I am, back from India.<br />You can imagine my excitement then when I had the following conversation with a friend at work:<br /><br />Me: "I'm bored and I'm procrastinating."<br />Friend: "My friends and I are signing up for a volleyball class, wanna join us?"<br />Me: "Like, totally."<br /><br />So, I did. For this particular class there are three levels of beach volleyball competence: beginner, intermediate, and advanced. My friend and her friends took it upon themselves to sign up for the intermediate level which made me a bit uneasy. Sure I've played a little ball in my day, some of which even took place on a beach, but people here take volleyball to a different level. I'm pretty sure (but don't quote me on this) that if a child can't serve a volleyball effectively by the age of three, the parents ship the kid to a colder climate (i.e. Montana or Canada) as to not embarrass the family. So the pressure was on.<br />This past Thursday was my first class and here's what I saw: a beginners class that looked surprised when someone held up a volleyball and told them quite accurately, "This is a volleyball," there was an advanced class that seemed quite comfortable on the court (read: they look awesome), and then there was the intermediate class. The intermediate class seemed split 30/70. Only about 30% could probably be described as intermediate volleyball players while the remaining 70% were only slightly less surprised when someone showed them what a volleyball looks like.<br />My point is, I think I made the right choice in choosing intermediate...being the natural athlete and all. And maybe I jumped to conclusions about how seriously volleyball is taken around here.<br /><br />Til Next Time<br /><br />States: 24<br />Countries: 5<br /><br />P.S. I saw a license plate frame this morning that read, "My Other Car is an Enterprise Rental." To me, that doesn't make much financial sense.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This Post For Those With Limited Attention Spans:<br /></span>I moved here in January.<br />I want to surf and play volleyball.<br />People here disown their children who are horrible at volleyball.<br />I am a natural athlete.Jeff Bazarkohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06198013437629568966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-996838557649168025.post-82657169318183962792008-03-31T21:13:00.000-07:002008-03-31T22:01:18.360-07:00Welcome to India...AKA The Land Where I Sweat AlwaysI may have mentioned in the past that I'm sick of talking about the weather. Living in Southern California (So-Cal to the locals) and having moved from Chicago, everyone here wants to talk about how cold it is back home and how I must be loving this mild weather. Meanwhile, back home in the windy city, all my friends and family talk about how they are sick of the cold and how jealous they are of my new, more mild climate. Therefore, I'm sick of talking about the weather. It may come as a surprise to you then that this blog entry is about just that.<br />Two weeks ago, it was sunny and 70 in Los Angeles, just like it is most days it seems, and I was on my way to the airport (LAX to be exact). It was from this international hub that I departed on my journey to the far off land of India. Turns out, however, that I needed to stop off in London for a bit (7 hours to be exact) and wait for a different plane to complete my journey. No worries, I have a friend in London and perhaps he'd like to grab a bite to eat and have a couple pints. He agreed. So I left London Heathrow airport to meet my friend and was greeting by a dreary overcast day with temperatures hovering around the mid-40's. I hadn't considered that I was going to be in cold weather and I was hardly dressed for the occasion. It was quite uncomfortable.<br />A couple of pints and a lot of chicken later, I was back on a plane towards the mystical land of tigers, elephants, and cobras. A couple of movies and a few naps after that the plane was in its final descent into Bombay (now called its original name of Mumbai) where we landed and exited the aircraft.<br />Now, having boarded the plane from a quite chilly 45 degrees, my mind wasn't ready for what happened next. I took one step out of the plane and the hot stale air of India hit me like a sock full of quarters to the face. From there it only took 10 steps for me to start pouring sweat (for those of you that know me well enough, you understand that the use of the word "pouring" in this context is quite an understatement). 10 minutes later, I was still walking through the terminal trying to reach the baggage claim while fighting off dehydration. This was not a good first impression of India. Don't these people know of the 8th wonder of the world called "air conditioning?"<br />My point is this: I hate talking about the weather, but it's a pretty hard topic to avoid when you are quite visibly the sweatiest man on the continent.<br />Now, given this experience, when someone wants to chat about the weather, I can always say, "Sure is hot, but at least it's not 'India hot'. Have you ever been to India?" The weather can now be my segue into bragging about world traveling. Perhaps there are worse things to talk about.<br /><br />Til Next Time.<br /><br />States: 24<br />Countries: 5<br /><br />P.S. If jet lag is the term used to describe the difficulty your body has adjusting your sleep schedule to a new time zone, is there a term for the difficulty of adjusting to a new meal schedule? I seem to be hungry at the most peculiar times. I wish I knew how to describe what I'm going through accurately and with the utmost brevity, but I know of no such word or phrase. Sigh. I'm hungry.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This Post For Those With Limited Attention Spans:<br /></span>Chicago is cold.<br />London is dreary.<br />India makes me sweat.<br />Let's stop talking about the weather.<span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></span></span>Jeff Bazarkohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06198013437629568966noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-996838557649168025.post-54428859051909184542008-03-28T17:00:00.000-07:002008-03-28T17:55:37.524-07:00And I'm Back...But What About My Luggage?I am now back in Sunny Southern California (Sunny So Cal to the locals) and it feels great. I've already eaten a big fat greasy hamburger for dinner last night and an even greasier burrito for lunch this afternoon.<br />You see, it seems the only food you can get in India (or perhaps just the only food I was given) is Indian food. I enjoyed the local cuisine just fine and I even occasionally venture out to an Indian restaurant at home (if for nothing else to act more cultured at dinner parties...which reminds me, I need to attend more dinner parties), but I can only take so much.<br />It was because of this that it dawned on me that we, as Americans, are amazingly spoiled with the immense variety of food available due to our "melting pot" culture. It's a luxury few realize.<br />But let's get to the really exciting part of my trip.<br />Some of you may have heard that wonderful Heathrow Airport in beautiful London, England opened its long anticipated Terminal 5 (T5 to the locals). Some of you may have heard this because of the mass chaos, delays, and baggage problems that were inevitable on T5's first day. <span style="font-style: italic;">I</span> heard about it because I was part of the mass chaos, delays, and baggage problems.<br />When I first checked in at the Bombay airport for my long venture home, the British Airways representative was very excited to inform me that I would be one of the lucky passengers to pass through the new terminal on its inaugural day. His excitement rubbed off on me and I was ready to brag to all my friends about this historic event.<br />Turns out, though, it wasn't such a good thing. Sure, we boarded our plane on time (actually 5 minutes late, but who's counting) and yes, I was sitting in an empty row, so I was happy so far. 25 minutes later, however, the captain announces that there has been a mix up with the luggage and they are re-consolidating on the tarmac and we'll be moving shortly. 20 minutes after that, he again announced a mix up with the baggage (apparently the computers thought our plane had already left and it sent the baggage back to the airport...stupid computers) and we'll be moving shortly. 15 minutes later, we're finally on our way, but you can feel the tension on the plane. There wasn't a single passenger on the plane that felt their luggage would make it safely (except maybe the crying baby, but he/she openly admitted to being an uncompromising optimist).<br />Sure enough, when we land at LAX, our friendly captain announces that only half of the baggage has made the journey with us and to find a British Airways representative to see if your name is on the list of missing bags. So I did. I was lucky enough to have one of my bags arrive and also unlucky enough to have one of my bags missing. This is a first for me. I've never had baggage problems before (except in my personal life but that's neither here nor there) so I'm not exactly sure how it all works. Apparently I'm going to be contacted shortly, so that's nice. They seem to have it under control, I trust them. T5 is exciting.<br /><br />Til Next Time.<br /><br />States: 24<br />Countries: 5<br /><br />P.S. Someone (they didn't leave their name) posted a comment on my last post complaining that my writings are too wordy and to add more pictures. While I have no intention to add pictures, I will humor their request from now on. Please see below for the most recent feature or my blog.<br /><br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">This Post For Those With Limited Attention Spans:</span><br />I like Indian food, but come on.<br />I flew out of the new Terminal 5 at London Heathrow and they lost one of my bags. I also met the youngest optimist in the world.<br />T5 is exciting.Jeff Bazarkohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06198013437629568966noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-996838557649168025.post-5191905986245013722008-03-18T00:01:00.001-07:002008-03-18T00:07:38.856-07:00If Jet Lag is Wrong...I don't Want to Be RightThe time has come for me to say goodbye, but not for long. I have a long journey ahead of me to the distant land of India. My old college roommate is getting hitched and I'll be there to make sure it goes off without a...hitch. So, check back in 11 days for I will surely have lots of tales to tell and lots of pictures to share.<br /><br />Til Next Time<br /><br />States: 19<br />Countries: 5<br /><br />P.S. I know the burning question on everyones mind is, "Did you get drunk this past weekend therefore fulfilling your half plans?" The burning answer is, "Yes. Yes I did."Jeff Bazarkohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06198013437629568966noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-996838557649168025.post-44405573294508518402008-03-13T22:25:00.000-07:002008-03-13T22:46:13.049-07:00"What are you doing this weekend?"...And I Don't Want You to Recipricate That Question.It's Thursday night. The weekend is upon us and it's that point in the week when I consider possible activities for the days ahead. Normally I promise myself to do something outdoors...hiking perhaps. I may consider hitting up a tourist attraction (I am, for all intents and purposes, a tourist) or I always have my backup plan to attend a screening of a classic film at The Old Music Hall in nearby El Segundo. This weekend, however, feels different. For some reason I don't feel like doing anything. That puzzles me since every weekend I plan on doing something and then don't end up doing anything anyways. Maybe, if I don't plan on doing anything it'll work out so I actually end up doing something. However, this is an interesting weekend to choose not to do anything, for it is the celebration weekend of St. Patrick's day. This weekend is normally reserved for green beer and drunken shenanigans (a weekend I always look forward to).<br />So, I'll tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to half plan my weekend (as opposed to fully plan half of my weekend): I plan on getting drunk. That's all I plan on doing. Then we'll see where that takes me. I've got $10 that says it doesn't take me very far and I've got another $25 that says I don't follow through with my half plan and end up doing nothing again. Although there is that parade down the street and they do throw candy out into the street. I do like candy, so we'll see.<br /><br /><br />Til Next Time<br /><br />States 18<br />Countries 5<br /><br />P.S. You know that bulldog I had previously mentioned? The one in the stroller? I saw him again. I swear that guy is pushing 75 lbs. He is a massive bulldog.Jeff Bazarkohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06198013437629568966noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-996838557649168025.post-56733285876050000452008-03-10T23:19:00.001-07:002008-03-11T00:17:46.304-07:00Give Money to the Old Music Hall...and Become an Organ DonorLast week I went about my usual business doing my usual routine. Come Friday afternoon, the usual laundry had piled up into the usual pile. So, I gathered my supplies and headed over to the friendly neighborhood laundry matte. I stepped through the usual steps and paid the usual amount to get the machines running. I then walked over to the community benches and picked up a community magazine. This particular magazine highlights events in the beach communities (3 others besides my town of Hermosa Beach) and is some pretty awful reading if you're new to the area or if you happen to be under the age of 45. Regardless, I pressed on through the nonsensical headlines as I had nothing else to occupy my time. Then, as I was flipping the pages, I happened upon an advertisement that would forever change my life. It was an advertisement for The Old Music Hall in neighboring El Segundo and it was glorious.<br />This old theater, as the magazine informed me, had regular screenings of classic films from the silent era with live organ accompaniment. Now, I like to watch movies. I particularly like watching old movies just so I can sound more cultured and intelligent at dinner parties (which reminds me, I need to go to some dinner parties), and I especially wanted to watch an old movie that had live music accompaniment. So, my Saturday night was planned.<br />Come 8:00pm on Saturday I was walking to the ATM around the corner from the theater. Turns out this theater wants to remain as historically accurate as possible by limiting the admission currency to cash. When I returned I purchased a ticket and a historically accurate Snickers bar (which tasted more like the 1970's but I didn't want to say anything). I then took my seat towards the back of the 200 seat theater. Up front, on the slightly elevated stage, I saw the beast, The Mighty Wurlitzer.<br />Up until show time, I thought I new enough about organs. I thought, yes they are big, yes some can be bigger, yes they have a lot of knobs, and yes some can have more, but I guess I didn't have a grasp of the versatility of a theater organ.<br />So, they old man that took my money in the beginning of the evening strutted up the aisle and sat down on the console. He turned to the audience, rattled off a bunch of titles of things, and then began playing. As he started, the curtains opened and unveiled a magnificent sight. Only now could I understand what a big deal The Mighty Wurlitzer actually was. Sure, the normal pipe organ sounds emanated from the normal pipes, but did you know that this thing has a xylophone? Did you know it plays wooden blocks? What about a series of drums? And how about all those things that I saw moving and couldn't distinguish what they were(neither by sight nor by sound)? Did you know about all of this? Car horn? Yep, it had one. Lightning and thunder effects? You bet! This thing was incredible. Why did I not know this about organs?<br />So, the old man finished the overture as the movie screen came down. A few slides showed what was to be expected at The Old Music Hall in the upcoming weeks. I was also informed that the theater is a non-profit organization which is in need of financial assistance (totally tax deductible). Then something extraordinary happened. We had a sing-a-long. There were about 5 songs that were played with accompanied vintage slides displaying the words so everyone could sing. I figured that everyone would be ho-hum about the singing thing, but to my surprise everyone was really singing. The audience was really into it. The only song I recognized was "You're a Grand Old Flag," but the others were easy to pick up. It's also pretty easy to sing when you're the youngest in the room by about 25 years.<br />After the sing-a-long we were shown a Laurel and Hardy comedy short entitled "Another Fine Mess," which was a talkie so the old man got to take a break. Then we took a break with an intermission.<br />The movie that followed was Buster Keaton's "7 Chances," which was remade in the 90's as "The Bachelor" starring Chris O'Donnell. I've never seen "The Bachelor," but I'll tell you that it has a lot to live up to. "7 Chances" was awesome. Dare I say it was hilarious? I think I dare.<br />As you can probably tell I was really excited about this experience. I already plan on taking anybody who visits to The Old Music Hall. So, if you visit and I say, "I've got a great idea for an activity on Saturday night," be prepared to battle The Mighty Wurlitzer.<br /><br />Til Next Time<br /><br />States: 18<br />Countries: 5<br /><br />P.S. The Old Music Hall will be closed March 21, 22, and 23 in observance of Easter. FYIJeff Bazarkohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06198013437629568966noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-996838557649168025.post-13305027416858347422008-03-07T23:55:00.000-08:002008-03-08T00:50:32.807-08:00I Haven't Been Sleeping Well...I Think It's the SparksI have been having a little trouble falling asleep as of late. I don't know why. Nothing has changed in my life. I still work my job. I still watch movies. I still have my hobbies. I still think my bed is really comfortable (it is after all a bed). What then could it be? Oh, it must be the Sparks.<br />Let me take you back to the not so distant past, a simpler time when I had roommates and friends. A time when these friends would ask, "Hey, you want to go get drunk?" And I'd say, "Yep," and we'd go to the neighborhood bar and drink Old Style or Pabst until we ran out of singles. Ah yes, those were some simple times.<br />One night, a night just like the one mentioned above, started a bit differently, however. My friend asked, "Hey, you want to have a Sparks party?" I responded with a curious tone, "I don't know what that is." He then explained, "Sparks is an alcoholic energy drink that supposedly tastes like smarties." I excitedly replied, "I like smarties." So the Sparks party was on. Three of us agreed to partake...and partake we did.<br />A few Sparks (and beers) later, our bodies didn't know whether to pass out or to run a marathon. Every time I closed my eyes to relax, the rapid, seemingly unnatural beating of my heart would keep me awake. So, we had no choice be to play video games until 4:30am. Even then, after I choose to hit the proverbial hay, I ended up staring at the ceiling until I could see the sun starting to color the sky. That night, I did not sleep well, but I think the Sparks party itself could still be considered a success. We did, after all, drink Sparks.<br />Now, flash forward to last night (a Thursday night). I live in an apartment that is basically in the parking lot of a church. I also happen to live in close proximity of the local nightlife. So, when the bars get crowded and parking becomes more difficult, it is only natural for the traffic to spill into the parking lot right outside my bedroom window. It happens every weekend. Last night, I was laying in bed, drifting in and out of sleep. I was in that sort of half dreaming and half awake mode (one of my favorites). I was laying there in the wonderful silence anticipating the next morning. Then, there were faint female voices. Laughing was the first thing I heard (could also be classified as cackling). Then I heard someone talking really loudly (borderline yelling, but not in an angry tone) followed by more outrageous laughter. It was then I knew they were coming into my parking lot for this behavior is typical of someone coming from the bars. The talking and laughter got louder until it sounded like it was right outside my window (which is a very accurate description because they actually <span style="font-style: italic;">were</span> right outside my window). The talking/yelling/laughing/cackling continued as one of them (I think there were 4 in total) tried to wrangle them into the car. This was followed by the sound of someone dumping a bucket of water onto the sidewalk. I too, thought that was strange and wondered what they were doing. Surely they didn't actually have a bucket that they just dumped into the parking lot. An answer was quickly provided to me as I heard one of them say, "Oh my god. I totally just yakked everywhere." Everyone then laughed (including yours truly) outrageously hard and when they finally caught their breath, one of them said, "It was probably all that damn Sparks you drank." Then they drove away and I was left with two empty Sparks cans and a buckets worth of yak on my sidewalk. A charming way for Sparks to sneak back into my life and keep my heart racing.<br /><br />Til next time.<br /><br />States: 18<br />Countries: 5<br /><br />P.S. Barbie turns 49 this weekend. I know this because today was "Wear Pink to Work Day." I was complimented on my subtle use of the color. Nobody has ever complimented me for my fashion sense before. Leave it to Barbie.Jeff Bazarkohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06198013437629568966noreply@blogger.com0