Otovala and the Best Place in the Universe

After Quito, Scott and I went to the equator, which was awesome, then we went to Otavalo (spelling?) where they hold, on Saturdays, the biggest market in Ecuador. Here is where I learned to bargain. I knocked a mere 20 percent off of my first price (bargaining from ten to eight dollars), but by the end of the day I was a seasoned master of bargaining, buying an awesome Ecuadorian flag for 9 bucks when it initially cost 25. That´s right... 64 percent off! Scott and I loved to get the slimy market dealers to lie (I don´t mean anything bad when I say slimy, they will just tell you anything to get you to buy their products). Scott went up to a jewelry salesman and asked, in Spanish, ¨Is this pure silver?¨ The guy holding the rusty aluminum chain said ¨Si, pura! Para solo 95 dollars!¨ Scott took a few minutes to gaze, pretending, it was the most beautiful thing he ever saw, then said ¨No gracias¨. ¨Porque?¨ ¨Me gusta solo falsa plata¨. (I only like the fake stuff). The market vendor laughed that he had been caught in such an obvious lie. Most of the stuff they were selling was absolute shit. I saw a bunch of plastic axes on one side and on the other side a pipe for smoking (a real mix of a child and adult toys)... I asked in my dyslkexik Spanish ¨Es iste originale armas de Incas?¨ (is this an original weapon of the Incas) ¨Claro¨ (Of course). ¨Como Incas usar?¨ (How do Incas to use it?¨ The vendor then demonstrated how the Incas would smoke from the pipe, then use the axe side to kill their enemies with the blunt plastic of destruction. I responded with ¨No thanks, iste mirar muy peligrisso para mi¨ (No thanks, this looks too dangerous for me.)We then went on this thing that took us two miles above Quito, and I felt really objective, looking over the whole city, trying to imagine the point of view of each person down there. It was interesting to see the way the mountains shaped the town and how the human dwellings filled the valleys as far as I could see. Afterwards, we grabbed a bus from Quito to the border, and while we were waiting at the bus station, I bought one of those neck pillows. After sitting around for ten minutes, I decided that the neck pillow looked just like a horseshoe, so I gave Scott the opportunity to settle an old score with me (since I had just beaten him in air hockey, two out of three, with scores of 6-7, 7-6, 7-6... the game of our lives). We played horseshoes with a stopsign and a neck pillow. Very soon, all the little boys selling candy were watching and cheering on our game around the station. While a worthy opponent in air hockey, Scott was the worst horseshoe player in the whole world. I mopped the disgusting, bus station floor with him. We then let the little kids play horseshoes with eachother, and Scott bought a Gatorade for the one who actually managed to land it around the ring. He was really happy. In retrospect, I wish we had given him a neck pillow, to see if pillow horseshoes could catch on among the bus station kids.Anyway we took the bus to Quito, and it was awful, then we got to the border, and got screwed over by a couple of guys on the price to cross, since we had entered the car without bargaining for the fare. He charged us 12 bucks for only a few kilometers (which is absolutely insane!). Although we were each at fault, Scott, being an obsessed market maven, constantly searching for a deal, said he strongly wanted to pay for it all himself as a sort of penance. I allowed him to absolve himself from his sins (since he had snuck 15 dollars from me the night before on a poker hand). I had never seen Scott so mad with himself... haha... it was funny.Back in Tumbes, Peru, we hopped a combie to Mancora, the best place in the universe. After the two hour van ride with 20 other people, I couldn´t feel my legs, and, for the first time since puberty, my balls were asleep... a weird feeling that I would gladly buy an extra seat to never feel again. Finally, we got into Mancora and checked into Sol y Mar. Scott redeemed himself for his perceived failure in negotiations at the border by flirting with the overweight, desperate, attendant (the daughter that the parents would never marry off). She gave us 5 soles off per night for our room... 15 soles instead of 20. That is ten dollar savings over three nights. Go Scott!I can´t even tell you how great Mancora is. We made friends with literally everybody we saw, and I had some of the best days of my life there. On the last day, I literally didn´t sleep for 40 hours because I didn´t want to miss a single second there. All of the locals called me ¨Tranquillo¨ and they called Scott ¨Atreve¨... which mean ¨Chilled out¨ and ¨DARE¨. I will never forget the nights of freestyling with Peruvians about breakfast food (Cafe con leche y insalada de fruta, me gusta comidas). We met some great people. I really liked this 31 year old fashion designer from London who we called cogney and always made her say ¨Chim chimminy chim chimminy chim chim charoo!¨ We also loved talking to Alexis who was by far the most genuine person in the world whose job is to write poetry for local radio stations. We bought a shirt in Otavalo for Jhonny (the town slag and self proclaimed, most famous man in Mancora, whose catch phrase was con toto os huegetes... which means, with all the toys), and the shirt said ¨I LOVE BOOBIES¨ He wore it for 3 straight days. Staying up all night talking to Israeli army veterans. Riding horses every morning. Learning impromtu salsa from the local girls. Trash talking on the volleyball court. Seriously, though, nothing I say can even convey how great I felt in Mancora... it is the happiest place I have ever been. Here is one funny story that might work on paper: I was trying to tell my a pudgy, overweight, sandwich saleswoman on the beach (whose father makes sandwiches at night, and she spends the day selling them) to stay because I needed to go to my room and get money. I tried to say ¨I have money. I will go to my room and get it.¨ What I ended up saying was ¨I have money. Let´s go to my bed. Come on¨. The whole beach erupted in laughter, and I felt very embarassed. Luckily, I was able to explain it to Alexis who translated for me.After a few awesome days in Mancora, Scott and I took a buscama back to Lima with our new French friend, Silvain. I slept all night, since I hadn´t slept the night before, and then the three of us ate at a Chifa in Lima. We then said bye to Silvain and wished him luck in his new job in September at Shanghai. Scott and I slept for four hours, then headed out to the casino. I almost immediately lost almost all of my money due to feeling so awesome (after Mancora) and thus overconfident. I had the high pair, but I bet the river even though there was a flush draw on the board, not expecting the check raise. He took me all in, except for 12 dollars, and I lost. I had 140 dollars left in my poker fund, and in just a couple hands, I had lost 128 of it. I stuck it out with my 12 dollars, and made a big production of betting ¨All in¨with the four remaining dollars I had when 8 were already committed to the pot. They all laughed at the pathetic bet... saying ¨Wow!¨... I responded with one of my first Spanish jokes... ¨Si! Yo soy LOCO¨ YES! I am crazy! I was lucky enough to turn my 12 buck into 55 that hand. Then I flopped a straight, and I dominated that hand to have 150 dollars. I doubled that soonafter, but in a very sad manner. I was playing Scott, who had a great hand, pocket tens with one ten on the board. A great hand. I, however, had pocket aces with one Ace on the board... it was like the end of Casino Royale. We each put all our money behind hands that would win 9 out of 10 times... mine was just luckier. Scott looked deflated and so did I, but Scott´s spirits lifted when he won a drawing of 100 dollars, total randomness, but he deserved the luck as he had previously lost the river (and 150 bucks) when the guy he had put all in had a one in 23 chance of drawing the card he needed. Scott´s luck turned up, and mine turned down as I got tired... having learned the hard way not to play while tired, I cashed out my chips and went to bed around 1:30. Scott stayed, and I still haven´t found out how he did. I am just happy to have cashed out $220 dollars after being at $12 a few hours previously. I am now ready to be awesome again at poker. I have learned a lot of expensive lessons, and I am sure I will learn more, but I think I am now able to win more as well. I can´t wait to hit the casino tonight. The poker fund will will always have an uncomromised wall, but my fund is bigger than it was last night, and I can´t wait to see if I am given an opportunity to turn it into some profits for the trip.Scott is the smartest and best friend a guy can ever have, and I feel so lucky to be travelling with him... Just being around him is making me more logical. Even if I lose ever hand until I leave, I feel really lucky to know him.

QUITO

Quito is off the chain, neigh, off the richter! After a slow start (and some gigantic casino losses, which I keep in one of the forbidden rooms of my mind), Quito took a sharp turn in the direction of awesomeness. We spent all morning walking through Old Town, which is the historical district preserved from colonial times. Aside from a few amazing sites, namely a beautiful statue of Mary on a hill overlooking a stone place between three churches, the experience paralleled one that you could get by walking through Old Town, Alexandria. As we walked passed the President´s house; however, something totally sweet happened. The President came out to speak to a group of people in front of his house who were praising him with signs that say ¨Gracias Sr. President¨. He talked about adding a new province, which he did for the people even though he was against it. It was amazing; Scott and I were 40 feet from him.
Scott and I ate at a terrible resaurant, where we came up with a term that we call ¨Peru Scraps¨. This term refers to the pieces of food in every plate you get that you refuse to eat. After half of the meals here, we have a tiny bile of bony chicken, weird colored fish, and... lets just not talk about it (this is a continent where they put chicken feet and fish heads in the soup for flavoring). Anyway, after this particular lunch, our ¨Peru Scraps¨ were bigger than our original plates. There were only five bites between our appetizer, entree, and dessert, and our lemonade tasted so bland that I wanted to throw a chicken foot into it.
We then went to Equador´s museum, which was pretty awesome, but nowhere near as cool as the CHAPEL OF MAN, which was a chapel filled with Guayasamin´s art after he took a trip to Europe, America, and Asia. He captures human suffering in all his paintings, and it was very powerful to experience them. Our guide was very informative, and he spoke decent English. I ended up buying a copy of one of his paintings which is an adaptation a previous painting of Jesus´ body with Mary and two other women praying over it. He adapted this painting in a very interesting way by taking away all religious symbols from the first painting and making Jesus naked, without a halo, and the women aren´t praying; they are crying. This painting really expressed a Jesus who I wish the world tried to know better, without religion cluttering up his actual holiness. All the religious relics of the first painting look cheap and stupid next to the power of the simple human form of Jesus, laying there, cut up and suffering.
Scott´s roommate for law school happened to be in Quito, so they met there for the first time (I know... ridiculously small world). His name was Chris, and we met up with him and his friend, Eric, for drinks and dinner at this awesome, dollar cocktail, Mongolian restaurant, which was full of HBs. (Hot babes or head bands depending on context). What started as dinner quickly became a pregame for what ended up being the greatest party ever. We went around the bars meeting some very interesting people, and we ended the night at a dance club called NO BAR (even though it did have a bar... an awesome bar). Eric and Chris stayed back at the bar for an hour hitting on some girls (who both had boyfriends), so Scott and I spent our first hour there as the dynamic duo. We didn´t know how to approach the girls there, so we decided to just get up on an elevated, stage-like portion of the dance floor and start dancing, hoping to Tom Sawyer everyone into joining in. We busted out some of our greatest moves, the Sprinkler, the Charleston, the Surfer, the Shark, even my patented hands in the air spin move which I adapted from nSync´s video for Bye Bye Bye... we gave it everything we had. The minutes rolled by and all hope seemed to fade. Nobody was joining. During our greatest hour of despair; however, a volcano of hope erupted as about 20 people suddenly jumped up onto the floor, making fun of us for being such goofy gringoes. Soonafter, Chris and Eric arrived to join in with the dancing. Scott left a little bit after that, but the three of us danced until 3 AM, and I made out with a super hot 28 year old Equadorian girl. (My mom reads this blog but I can´t let that compromise my honesty). It was a great night, and I even learned a bunch of salsa moves. Seriously... it was a ton of fun. I was always apprehensive about going out to a club in a big foreign city, but, to be honest, it was way better than any club in America. I am also glad that Chris is so cool. I can tell that he and Scott are going to get along very well next year in law school. That is about it. PEACE

Mancora and Ecuador

Quite a lot has happened since our 16 hour set of busrides from Cajamarca to Mancora. Our stay in Mancora was so great that we extended it an extra day. Everybody who could speak English told me that I should go there, and now I truly understand why. The waves were perfect for learning to surf; horses were constantly available for riding; the food was excellent; the hostal we stayed in was perfect for meeting people; in fact, I cant imagine a more awesome place. I seriously have never had so much fun. It was a total paradise, and we met a great group of British people who are, by far, the most fun loving people we have met all trip. We left, however, and it turned out to be a huge mistake. Upon crossing the border to Equador a couple teenagers tried to steal my passport, our bus tried to leave without us, and we had to stop at a ton a checkpoints. Once we arrived in Guayquil, Scott and I decided to be as American as possible in the nice part of town by eating at their state-of-the-art Pizza Hut, where I drank 2 Pepsis with ICE (big mistake). Then we saw the worst movie of our lives... EPIC MOVIE. If you ever see this movie, dont. It is terrible. The next morning I woke up VERY sick. I puked four times in the shower because the ice in my Pepsi was made from Equadorian water. I had just finished my book, Gates of Fire, by Steven Pressfield, and in the book the Spartans would put all their negative thoughts into a room of their mind and lock the door, never to enter the room again. I tried that tactic with my sickness, and it worked. Scott and I spent the day touring the city, checking out the monuments in Guayaquil, and they were pretty awesome. We then went to this park that is full of Iguanas and turtles. HUGE IGUANAS... they dont even have cages. They just walk right next to you. I didnt eat all day, and we caught a bus to Montanita (BIG MISTAKE). If you ever go to Montanita, DONT! Watch epic movie instead. Montanita is a shitty town full of jackass, fuckups who cant get on with their real lives. Most of the town is run by travelers who quit traveling to braid hair and sell useless trinkets. The place house no spirit, and it has a very out to screw you vibe. The waves were smaller than the amount of fun we had. We tried going into the water, but we saw thousand (yes, thousands) of Portugese Man-o-Wars being washed up on the shore. Our hostal was relatively expensive (9 bucks each) and it was terrible... I woke up in the morning completely covered, head to toe (even under the covers) in mosquito bites. I got revenge on about 20 mosquitoes the next morning, who all were so fat with my blood when I popped them that I felt like I had just donated a pint. SCREW MONTANITA... it is a crappy tourist trap run by tourists. Scott and I left Montanita a day early, even though we had payed for 2 days in the hostal. We caught a 1 hour bus from Montanita to Puerto Lopez. On the 15 hour busride from Puerto Lopez to Quito, not only did they play 4 of the most terrible movies imaginable until 1 AM (including Epic Movie!), Scott also caught whatever terrible sickness I had, on a full stomach. He puked in the bus bathroom a billion times, and since the bus didnt let us bring our effects onto the bus, SCOTT SMELLED AWFUL! FOR 8 HOURS! I think he is better now... he showered and cleaned himself and is now fast asleep in our new hostal in Quito, which is pretty nice. Things are about to turn around and become more like Mancora again... I know it. Perhaps it is good that we have expended all our bad luck before we hit the casino in Quito tonight. Anyway, I am glad that in the past week my trip has definitely developed a high and low. If all of Equador continues to suck, we can always go back to Mancora. BUT IT WONT! Quito looks pretty awesome so far.

Cajamarca

This morning Scott and I got off of a 15 hour busride from Lima to Cajamarca, an ancient Incan city that has been sacked by everybody with an army because of its gold production. There are less Spanish genes in this city, and for this reason, the girls are much less hot; however, the landscape is beautiful. The land is much greener, and the mountains are all covered with beautiful trees. The Peruvian houses have a way of seeming very innocent in their desruction of nature, as if their beige coloring makes them seem like parts ofnature themselves. We took a bath in the Banos del Inca, for 5 soles, then I got a 30 minute massage for 20 soles. She told me I was muy tenso... but I thnk that mesuses justsay you were tense so you feel the need to come back to them, thus giving them more money.
After ourbaths we metwith a guia (guide) who is going to take us on a 19 kilometer hike across the Incan highway, where we are going to see the ruins of many Incan temples. He told us that he would come over with his fresh blend of coca leavs (which all the locals chew the same way Americans drink Starbucks). Yes... cocaine is made out of these leaves, but the leaves, when chewed, are barely different than a cup of coffee, except for the fact that they relieve the headache brought about by the high altitude.
Since this city has so much history, having been conquered by the Incans, Spanish, Chileans, and various tribes, Scott and I visited an ancient ruin of a room that was once filled with gold. After Pizarro took the Incan king, Atahualpa, hostage, the king offered to fill a room with goal up to the line made by how high Pizaro´s tallest man could reach, in exchange for his life. It took the Spanish months to take out all the gold, and once it was in Spanish possession, Atahualpa was hung.
FInally, Scott and I went to the highest point in Cajamarca to look at the city. Once there, I decided (since fortune tellers are so cheap) to get my fortune told by everyone I see to find out if there is any continuity throughout all their readings or if fortune telling is just a bunch of crock. For 10 soles, he read my palm with some degree of accuracy (although much of the information he told me could have come from logical conclusions based on how I was travelling in Peru at the age of 20). Anyway- when he got to the card portion, everything he said seemed like total bullshit. He just kept repeatign the same generic answers over and over again. Basically, I haven´t lost faith in palm reading, because I see how genes that regulate determination, success, and intelligence, could also regulate lines on the hand. Plus, my palm readig was AWESOME. He told me that I take after my father, both of my parents have great hearts (and so do I), I will hook up with tons of caliente senoritas until I get marriedafter visiting tons of countries, I will be very rich, I have no fear of danger, I will be very wealthy, and I will be very successful in mycareer. Oh yeah- very long life. That too. He said there is a sadnes at my house, but overall we are happy. He also, surprising, told me about a neck soreness that I have had for many weeks. I´m not sure if palm reading is fake or not... time will tell.
OK TIMES UP BYE

The Desert of ICA

I spent about 50 dollars (cost of souveneirs included) all last weekend, eating, drinking, sandboarding, riding dune buggies, swimming, and laying in hammocks next to a desert oasis called Laga Huacachina. It was incredible. In USA, any comparable weekend would have cost at least 800 dollars. The beauty of the desert was mind-blowing, and it is great to lay in the middle of it at night as it slowly gets freezing cold. During our dune buggy tour, the company was shooting a promotional video, so Scott and I are on it, close up, yelling ¨DESERT ADVENTURES: 101% ADRENALINE EXPERIENCE!¨ Hilarious. The place we stayed at, which cost 15 soles per night, ( 3.23 soles equals 1 dollar) was covered in hammocks, trees, flowers, a pool, and a restaurant that seemed both inside and outside, where all the food was priced fairly high (10-20 soles per plate) because they gave away free weed. That is right... the place payed the police so that it could always serve free weed, and the waitresses brought it right to the table without anyone asking and laid down a very large amount on a napkin. We had no idea! The place is very popular among Israeli travelers, which comprised about three fourths of th visitors there. All Israelis are required to serve 3 years in the army (because all their neighbors are attacking them) and after their term 30000 of the 50000 ¨graduates¨ travel the world. South America is very popular because of its low costs. The little town we stayed in, which had a star of David, made from stained glass, on the top windows of its main building, was obviously a haven for Israelis, who after years of shooting people, just want to sit in a beanbag chair, play Playstation, smoke weed, and look at the desert´s stars. Given that they have risked their lives to protect US interests, I would say that they deserve it more than anyone.
After the weekend, Scott and I went to a U soccer game. It was crazy to see all the Peruvian fans jumping and cheering at the top of their lungs for literally 2 hours. (20 minutes before the game started until the end of the game). I tried to join in with what little Spanish I knew, but the Peruvians just laughed it me and called me a GRINGO. (Humorous term for white guy... slightly derrogative).
One more thing, while I was laying under the stars, after dinner, on top of a gigantic sand dune in the desert, I decided that I want to major in International Affairs. My life seems to have a lot more meaning now that college makes more sense because it is now a step on the path towards something I want to do... see more things I could never conceive of. That´s about it.
SEE YA...
CONGRATULATIONS TO GRADY ON GRADUATING...

PERU

Peru has been an experience like none other. Everyone is trying to sell you something. There are absolutely no driving laws, just roads with tons of crazy, uninsured people on them. Left turns commonly come from the right lane, sometimes during a red light. Driving is like playing a lethal version of bumper cars.I have spent the days exploring the city, riding combes, eating empinadas, and trying to learn Spanish. Being an American makes everything easy, because it is so cheap to be completely comfortable in this city; however, you are always on your toes for fear of being robbed or mugged. There are two rectangular imprints on my back from sleeping on my wallet and passport.Scott and I have spent all our nights in the casino, and I soon realized that I was not good at poker. I had allotted 500 dollars for five nights of poker. Unfortunately, I lost 100 dollars the first four nights, and I went to the ATM to take out my final bit of money, if I lost this, the trip would be ruined. On my back, I pushed myself all in to call the Peruvian across from me. My heart was pounding, the last drop of money I had to my name... on the line... all resting on my pair of 7s. I called... and he had jack shit! After that double up I played like a demon, reading the odds with impecible accuracy and foresight. I folded three of a kind twice (when it would have lost) then agressively played a pair of 10s for the win. Quickly, I was up to 700 dollars. I cashed out 600 of it, converted 40 into soles, and went back in with 60 dollars. Through a couple wins I grew the 60 dollars into 140 dollars. Then I went all in with a paired jack and an ace kicker after the turn. The guy I went against, who was from Israel, had only a flush draw with the ace high. My his only outs were the 9 hearts in the deck of 45 remaining cards. I had an 80 percent chance of winning a pot of about 300 dollars. Here´s the reason idiots play poker... because sometimes they get lucky. On the river he got the heart. I lost. I didn´t feel at all bad about my loss because I made the right call, and the guy from Israel looked guilty as the dealer counted his money. I´m not mad, though. I have funded the entire trip off of poker, with profits, and I´m glad a guy who spent three years protecting US interests with his life in Israel is the one who got my money. Anyone who has put his life on the line deserves to get lucky, if there is any justice in the world. Scott has taught me that poker is an EXACT science, and there is no way to lose consistently, if you play the hand odds, implied odds, and the pot odds with accuracy. We are now working into reading the players better to predict what they have.Random fact: I saw the Pacific Ocean for the first time a few days ago.Today we are going to a place called ICA to ride dune buggies for the weekend. YEAH!

EL COMEDIAN

Here is an update on what has happened with comedy in the weeks before leaving for Peru. The day I finished my final exam, I was offered the opening spot for Ralphie May and Lahna Turner for a week at the Richmond Funnybone. It was a real treat to work with such kind people. Ralphie gave me some great advice... he told me to give myself five points for every new joke, two points for every new tag line, and one point for rearranging my material. Then he said to never get onstage without achieving at least ten points. I spent the next for shows getting between twelve and fifteen points each time. This tactic served me very well, and by the end of the week I had worked out about 3 new bits, and resurrected two old ones until they were funny. I had written ten funny minutes in just a few shows. Not only was Ralphie a great guy, who got me to perform my best, his audience was also amazing. They were all smart and willing to laugh at unique ideas. Ralphie would then stay on stage and riff for two and a half hours! It was crazy! That week was the best week of comedy I have ever experienced!
The next weekend I worked at Cozzy´s Comedy Club in Newport News, Virginia. It went very well, but the audience really fell hard for my old material and less so for my new ideas; however, during my first show on Saturday, I scored a killer 24 points! New record! I worked with Ray Penetti and Davin who are both comics from New York. They were very nice, friendly, and funny.
Finally, I spent the following five days at W&L, being sketchy. It was fun, but being there just made me more eager to get my head on straight while I´m in Peru.
That´s what has been going on for the past month.
PEACE OUT

DC IMPROV

Two days ago I performed at the finals for the District's Funniest comedian, and I came in second place. It really broke my heart because I had completely gotten my hopes up that I would win, but I understand the reason that I didn't get what I wanted. The reason I didn't win was because I wanted to win so badly. I wanted it so much that it stifled me, and I came to the stage nervous and feeble, compared to my usual attitude. I did exactly what the Improv's manager advised us not to do: I treated it like a competition, and (as she predicted) it hurt my set. I still did well, but I wasn't being ME. I was being my act. Anyway- I know I am funny... so next time I hit the stage, I will take it easy. Plus, after the show Ryan Conner told me that there were about 160 contestants in the entire contest. Given those numbers, second doesn't seem all that bad.
Funny side-note... I am in my friend's room at my birthday celebration which just got busted by the police. 300 Mary Washington students just evacuated the house, and I am up here trying to be as quiet as I can, while 3 police officers are searching downstairs for drugs. I hope they don't search up here because I am completely HAMMERED!
PEACE

My Life of Crime

Here is a funny story:
I just finished reading The Art of War, by Sun-Tzu, and I brought the book in my backpack to the Colonial Tavern, a comedy spot just over a mile away from Mary Washington's campus. Henry Brown saw the book and seemed interested, so I gave it to him because I don't like to keep books after I finish them. Anyway, I tried out about ten minutes of new material, and it worked out well. Happy with my new jokes, I packed my books into my backpack, and my friend drove me home (since my license is restricted). As I walked back to my dorm room, I realized something terrible... I had put The Art of War into my backpack after the show. It was 12:53, and the show would end in seven minutes. Something had to be done fast, or I would be forever branded by fellow comedians as an Indian Giver.
In International Affairs, we have been learning Bismark's philosophy of realpolitik... the idea that the ends justify the means. It was time to adopt this strategy. I grabbed the only unlocked bike from in front of Jefferson, and pedalled as fast as I could to the Colonial Tavern, resorting to thievery to prove I wasn't a thief. I got there as Henry was walking out the door and gave him the book- just in time. As I walked back to the bike, ready to return it, I noticed it looked a little too official to be a normal bike. It had a mirror on the side, a light on the front, a pack of tools in the back... it was colored blue and silver... a license plate... then it hit me... I had copped a cop's bike.
Scared out of my mind, I had to face the moral dillemna of whether I should leave the bike at the Tavern and get off scott free or return the bike and risk being arrested. I decided to return the bike because I remember my DARE officer collecting my fingerprints in second grade, and I was afraid a forensics team would trace the crime back to Jefferson 103.
I sped off towards campus, using the darkest areas as my path of travel. At one point, I saw a police car and literally pedalled into a bush to hide. Finally, I returned to Jefferson, parked the bike where I had found it, ran into my room, and locked the door. SAFE!
Here's the best part. The bike cop on our campus is a total jackass. He has written everyone I know up for countless noise violations and parking tickets. He obviously saw his bike was gone, and reported it stolen from in front of Jefferson. Ten minutes after I got back to my dorm, a police car showed up with its sirens on, two cops got out, looked at the bikerack, and saw his bike. Case closed. I can just imagine what they said into their radio...
"Hey, dumbass. Thanks for calling in the search party, but your bike is right here... where you left it, in front of Jefferson."
I bet that bike cop felt like an idiot. Serves him right... I felt like an idiot when I had to explain to my dad the $150 dollars of parking tickets he had given me.
Revenge is a dish best served cold... or by accident.
Justice is served.

MC WEEK

As I was leaving my friend's birthday party, to drive to New York and audition for Last Comic Standing, my friend Sarah Elizabeth yelled out to me "Remember Tobias Wolff." This comment was an inside joke that I have with a couple of my friends, but it means something deeper to me. I was lucky enough to meet Tobias Wolff during my senior year of high school after he gave a lecture on how life's experiences add up to something greater. I asked him if our experiences are a collection of random events from which we find patterns of order (as one could with any random set of data) or is the experience of our lives there for a reason? Basically, is there a such thing as destiny? Are our actions divinely ordained? Tobias' response was "That is the question I have spent my entire life trying to figure out."When I heard Sarah Elizabeth yell "Remember Tobias Wolff", I interpretted her comment as a sign that I was destined to do well in Last Comic Standing. You can imagine my distress, when, due to car trouble, I was unable to make it more than a mile away from Mary Washington. I had felt betrayed by what I thought was my destiny. I sat down in my car and cried. It was terrible. Then, a few hours later, Kevin, the manager of the Funnybone, called me, saying that he desperately needed an MC for the week at the Funnybone. Had I been in New York, I never would have been able to take this opportunity. The whole week went very well, and it became the foot in the door that I had been waiting for in order to get work at the Funnybone. I know I will work there again soon, and I can now see a concrete path forming for the achievement of my goal: acquiring the ability to live completely off of comedy by the time I graduate college.Here's the trippy part: after I stopped trying to go to New York, my car started working fine. Part of me wants to believe that there is a higher force that was keeping me away from New York because I was meant to capitalize on my opportunity in Richmond. 2 points for destiny.Anyway- the week went very well. I went to UVA last weekend and a couple random people approached me and complimented me on my act. It felt good to be recognized by strangers. After one of the shows, Guy Torry (who was completely hammered) started passing the microphone back and forth with me onstage. He made fun of me for being the whitest white guy in the world, and I responded by doing my best thugged out ghetto impression. The audience erupted in laughter, and Guy Torry laughed so hard that he punched me in the face. Pretty hard. My head hurt for the whole next day. The funny part is: I felt really proud of myself for being so funny that I got punched in the face. It really says something about how desperate the average comic is for approval that a punch to the face was the highlight of my week. I felt like a real part of the comic team. Punched in the face by Guy Torry... what an honor. It is the equivalent of Heidi Klum kneeing me in the crotch and me spending the rest of my life bragging about how a super model once touched my balls.Bad analogy.Long blog.Here's the moral of the story:Guy Torry taught me that in order to be completely funny you need to temper red hot arrogance with ice cold humility. Come to the stage knowing that you are the funniest mothafucka on the planet, but be humble enough to relate to the audience. I was only able to learn this lesson because my car was mysteriously out of commission. It almost seems like the "universe" wanted me to learn this lesson... unbridled confidence with humility. As my religion professor would say: humble dogmatic.Remember Tobias Wolff.