Mr. Patten's Chair- finals version

This is CT's favorite story probably of all time. In the span of 30 seconds, we ruined a relationship with a teacher, who, until that point was probably the most laid back teacher ever. 

Throughout the whole year, Tim and CT came together to try and ruin the yearbook, my co-editors in chief didn't let that happen, but they tried. They deleted pictures off of spreads, they drew penises on Paint and put them everywhere (actually, they drew a bit of everything– frozen jizzy shake machines, cocktopusses and other miscellany. the paint obsession started when tim drew a picture of himself hanging CT). They called themselves Bacardi and Cola and they did everything but get the job done. 

But we got the book out, so fuck them and we can laugh about it now. So this is spring of senior year, we are sitting in the Patten's classroom (the yearbook room) shooting shit as usual.  

Tim is sitting in Patten's very nice rolly leather chair, but this is not just any chair, this is the only nice thing that Patten has in his whole room. He paid for it himself and when a teacher is working at Damien High school making peanuts, this chair means a lot. 

We were left alone in the classroom, which is a fairly usual occurrence for Damien (read: happens in just about every class).

So tim is sitting there, rolling around. Some newspaper guys were in and out of the room and somehow a football player got Tim out of the chair and threw himself down into the nice chair trying to slide across the room– CRACK! 

Uh-oh. The newspaper guys slowly slink out like nothing happened. The chair looked fine, but when Tim got back into his chair, it was clear that one of the wheels was no longer rolling. 

Tim, for one reason or another, becomes infuriated that the chair doesn't roll. Rather than trying to fix it, Tim props the chair up so that the broken wheel is exposed and slams his foot down onto the plastic– CRACK! The wheel falls right off. 

Ct and I are sitting next to each other in desks a few feet away and we were shocked. What the fuck was he doing? We are laughing, dying, rolling on the floor. What are we going to do? It wasn't us. 

We can hear Patten coming down the hall from getting coffee. Tim puts the wheel in place and runs over to a desk.

Dead silence. Patten had to be thinking, what the fuck did they do now? He smiles his goofy smile and sits down in the chair– the wheel  pops off. 

"YOU MOTHERFUCKERS. WHO DID THIS? WHO?"

Dead silence, we are holding our breath and biting our lips to keep from laughing.

Patten gets more pissed. We still don't answer. We couldn't hold it in any longer. Everyone busts up in unison. 

 It only gets worse, when he says,

"YOU PEOPLE SHOW ME SUCH A LACK OF DISRESPECT." He picks up the wheel of the chair and hurls it across the room at my brother, coming within an inch of his face. 

Patten kicks us all out, telling us he never wants to see us again until one of us disrespecters comes out and says who did it. "YOU FUCKERS OWE ME A CHAIR. (TIM) GRACZA YOU OWE ME A CHAIR."

We came back the next day after Tim said that he broke it off only because Teddy broke it. Patten could have hit him. He wanted to as Tim smiled in his face, finishing every sentence with "Sir." 

"YOU STILL OWE ME A CHAIR."

He still hates Tim to this day. They had a chance meeting at Jake's grad party last summer, and Patten smiles about it now, but you can tell he's still not over the chair. And Tim never bought him a new one. 

 

The Confirmation Pizza

I shouldn't be doing this, really I shouldn't. But I owe you and I'm procrastinating with another installment of The Jacuzzi Dude Chronicles.

Frame: This is the Spring of '04 or even '03 but that's not important, when Tim and I were being the two worst people on Earth to one gentle soul named Steve. 80% of the shit we did was aimed to just fuck with him. We wanted a bitch. We chose him. He declined. We tried anyway. We probably owe Steve an apology for all the bad shit we have done to him over the years, but the shit we did to him was just too funny to be sorry about. Anyway, here goes.

One weekend, Steve had a confirmation retreat out in Palm Springs, where they stayed at some hotel/resort. Being that Tim and I had trouble, at the time and still do, with Lutheranism as a religion (and just about anything that wasn't Catholicism or our personal favorite "The Drum Religion"), we planned to do something awful to him. But we had no idea what to do. 

We told him that we were going to come visit him at the retreat and perform emergency baptisms on all the pagans. We would save them, we told him. He kept his phone on so we could call him and keep him entertained. 

Tim and I spent a long evening on Friday spent pondering in the jacuzzi. Saturday was free, but there was no way we were going to drive 50 miles just to yell obscenities at Lutherans, especially because a Mormon Temple is just down the street from Tim.

After our sleepover, Tim and I moved our plotting over to his house. We were sitting in his living room when it hit me. 

"Call Steve," I said.

"Alright. Why?" Tim asked, knowing that he wasn't going to get an answer–it's more fun that way. "Well, what do you want me to tell him?"

Phone ringing.

"Ask him where they are staying."

Tim asks. "The (name I forgot) hotel."

"Ask what room number."

Steve wants to know why.

"We want to visit you," Tim lies.

Steve bites and gives up his room number. He's excited to see us–Dumbass.

"What city is that?" 

Palm Springs. Perfect. 

"Thanks Steve, we will be there in an hour, we just mapquested it," Tim hangs up. 

"He said that  they are about to eat lunch."

While this conversation is going on, I have been busy at the computer. 

"I wonder if Steve is hungry?" I ask. 

"Pizza?" Tim knows.

"Oh, yeah."

So we order one medium pepperoni pizza to Steve's room from Domino's. Thank you that will be $12.88 in cash and your pizza will be there in a half hour, Mr. Bridge. 

We wait.  We high five each other. We are laughing hysterically thinking of how fucked up we are. 

Then 10 minutes later, one of us gets the brilliant idea that one pizza isn't enough. How rude of us to forget about all of the other confirmation campers, they probably like pizza too. So this time we hit up Nick's pizza or some mom and pop shop like that for one more pep pizza. It'll get there in 45 minutes.

Time passes and Tim and I can barely hold it together waiting for the call back. 

It comes. 

"YOU MOTHERFUCKERS! YOU ARE GOING TO PAY FOR THIS PIZZA! WE JUST ATE PIZZA AT LUNCH! GOD DAMMIT. FUCK YOU GUYS. YOU ASSHOLES! I DON'T HAVE ANY MONEY WITH ME! MY LEADERS HAD TO PAY FOR THE PIZZA!" As you can imagine Steve is rather upset. 

But I hold it together. It wasn't us, I tell him. We swear. I am dying inside. I am trying to hold down the fort knowing that he is going to get another delivery in 15 minutes. He keeps screaming, tells us to fuck ourselves and hangs up. 

Tim and I just Prank-gasmed. How can this get any better? Oh, wait. It is going to get better, he has another pizza coming. 

Call number two featured an utterly defeated Steve at the point of tears. Literally, he was so pissed he cried. Then his confirmation leaders get on the phone and cuss us out. THIS IS GREAT. They lecture us and berate us, question how we were raised and if we are christians.  

Tim and I go and tell everyone, including our parents. They applaud our creativity but decide that it may be best to pay back steve for the pizzas, that is when he starts to talk to us again. 

We paid him back after about two weeks of silence but only because it was worth it, not because we were sorry for it.

NO.10

I am applying for a creative nonfiction class and this is due tomorrow, so if you see anything wrong or something  should add, tell me asap. Other than that, enjoy.

I don’t know all of the nine names that are ahead of me on the list.

            Jesus is first, not for any particular religious reason, he just is.

            Bear Grylls is seventh. There is no denying him seven. Anyone who can kill a woodpecker in the dark with a stick from 20 feet away is in the top ten.

            I’m tenth, which isn’t bad considering that this list ranks the most important/ influential people who have ever lived.

To be honest, I am tied for tenth with Tim Gracza– Google him and nothing comes up. “Why is that?” you may ask, which is a legitimate question assuming that anyone as high as ten on this list would at least have their own Wikipedia page. Now remember what your mother always told you about what happens when you go around assuming things. “Assuming makes an ass out of you and…” the quote would usually finish with “me,” but in this case “me” happens to be Number Ten, and an ass could never be made out of this “me.”

            There isn’t movement on the list, well, not in any of the numbers that can be displayed on a calculator screen. I’m stuck at 10 and it’s something I have come to accept. It’s God’s will. Ten is a good number, not too high but still in the category that my name comes up in conversations, like “ Man, that’s a tough one. The ten most important slash influential people who have ever lived? Well, you gotta have Jesus and Gandhi (Oh, yeah, he’s five) then … and don’t forget Joe Cannon.” Followed by a series of head nods, verbal affirmations and or thumbs up.

            Another possible question, which has arisen several times after it comes up that I am tenth, is “How did you find out what number you were?” It was 2005. The Discovery Channel had just aired their “100 Greatest Americans of All Time Show” as voted by scholars, historians and idiots alike. The results derived from no particular rubric other than old-fashioned touch-tone voting, put then recently deceased Ronald Reagan as No. 1. Something was wrong in the world. Bedtime for Bonzo over George Washington? Jelly Belly’s over The Emancipation Proclamation? Reaganomics (Read: Rich get richer, poor get poorer) over The New Deal? Was there a rubric for this ranking? Was the polling sample Reagan’s immediate family?

This was an injustice.

            If Reagan could be “The Greatest American” in a meaningless poll that has no grounding in evidence, history or reality, and Jerry Bruckheimer is still allowed to produce movies, then I too could abandon my social responsibility and decency.

Thus the night after the show, “The List of the Most Important/Influential People Who Have Ever Lived” was constructed in my spa. Tim and myself (the high schoolers, who would soon to be tied at No. 10) were discussing the necessary and sufficient circumstances that one would need to have the power to name someone “The Greatest American” and have people buy into it.

 ESPN.com’s Page 2 columnist Jeff MacGregor writes, “Americans love a clear result, even if it's meaningless, and thus are suckers for top-10 lists and rankings and charticles of any kind.” Even a result as historically inaccurate as Reagan’s passes because people naturally want things to be sorted out for them.

So after a careful investigation within the confines of the hot tub, we were able to draw out the stipulations that lead to the The Discovery Channel’s results. (Note: These stipulations, if followed correctly, can yield the results you want in any type of ranking system)

            We decided that the instant believability of a poll comes down to one aspect–

1.     CREDIBILITY

a. The Source- You may have scoffed at the quote from MacGregor arguing that the source– a sportswriter– has no authority to account for the entirety of America in one sweeping generalization. But if we substituted his title of “ESPN.com’s Page 2 columnist” to “The American Insititute of Pollology and Rankings’ lead analyst,” MacGregor becomes instantly credible. “People are gullible,” The TAIP&R said in a statement that may or may not exist.

Therefore, The Discovery Channel’s poll works because the frame of their whole cable channel is education and knowledge. The Discovery Channel separates itself from “biased” television, like CNN or Fox, under the guise of their programming, claiming that it is a tool to promote knowledge and objective “discovery.” People quote the TDC all the time as if it were The Bible, like this conversation for example, which we have all heard before:

Guy 1- “Hey man, did you know that Manta Rays never sleep?”

Guy 2- “They have to sleep sometime.”

Guy 1- “No, they don’t. I saw it on The Discovery Channel.”

Guy 2- “Damn, that’s crazy. Well, you learn something new every day.”

            Regardless of whether Manta Rays really do sleep or not, Guy 2 now believes it because it was on The Discovery Channel. If Guy 1 was just basing his claim off of his own personal belief, then Guy 2 would have told Guy 1 that Guy 1’s drug intake was starting to affect his daily life.

            We needed a name to sponsor our ranking. No, “The Jacuzzi Dudes” wouldn’t work. Yeah, adding “Insitute” to the end helped, but it still wasn’t respectable. When people saw our “Organization’s” name, their instantaneous reaction needed to be, “Damn, I have never heard of The (Insert our all encompassing and credible name here), but they must know what they’re talking about. I mean, I would trust anything with a name like that.”

            The List of the Most Important/Influential People Who Have Ever Lived is brought to you by The International Center for Historical Accuracy and Personomics working in conjunction with The Global Initiative for the Objective Pursuit of Knowledge. When I originally claimed that I was ranked tenth on this list, you undoubtedly stopped reading and said aloud, “Wow, this guy is an asshole,” which is true, but now that you know that I am not making this stuff up (The ICHAP and The TGIOPK are making this up), I think you owe me an apology.

b. The Results- In certain extreme cases, the results need to be as credible as the source. However, when we take a good look at The Discovery Channel’s poll, we realize that it cannot be just the source that is able to sell the choice of Reagan at No. 1, it must be the construction of the results as well. By splashing the top five with names like George Washington, Abraham Lincoln, and Benjamin Franklin, the poll appears to have engaged certain aspects of each character in order to carefully place them in order of who is the “The Greatest American.”

It is obvious that TDC had some sort of political agenda in placing Reagan at one, but even that atrocity is overshadowed by the abortion of a choice to put George W. Bush (Yes, that guy who just finished ruining America) at 6. Yet TDC hides the absurdity of these placements by mixing them in with actual legitimate selections like Oprah, Walt Disney and FDR. TDC is operating on the notion that the general public will not discount the validity of the results based on a few more than questionable picks. And it’s true. Two bad apples can’t ruin it for everyone and The ICHAP’s poll operates on this principle as well.

Some people may question the ICHAP’s placement of Tim Gracza and myself in a tie for number 10. Let us excuse the issue of the tie for now and focus on the selection of two people, who have yet to do anything constructive with their lives, so high on a list that encompasses everyone that has ever lived and will live. The believability aspect of the poll, as TDC’s “The Greatest American” has shown, can be easily reconciled by putting people who actually belong there all around the suspect choices. The names of Tim Gracza and Joe Cannon seem to blend right into Martin Luther King Jr., Muhammad Ali, and Gandhi. If our names were surrounded by the likes of Bernie Madoff, Howard Stern and the creators of “Friends,” then the list would fail, it’s that simple.

The list would also not pass go if the ICHAP had pushed its’ agenda too far, which was almost a fatal flaw in TDC’s poll. How could the ICHAP rationalize putting me all the way up at Number 1? They couldn’t, a has-yet-to-be over a proven talent like Jesus? Their bias would have shown through and their plan foiled. But a ten spot is just right. It is not inflating numbers. It stands as prediction of greatness to come, greatness that will come according to ICHAP.

 

            Remember, credibility is the key to success of your poll.

 

            So now that you know my ranking as the tenth most important/influential person who has ever lived is legitimate, you really should apologize.

A Story from Lil Pao Wow

I will be uploading a personal essay that I have spent the weekend writing as an application for a class (Probably tomorrow). It'll be worth the wait, I promise.

So Pao couldn't wait and decided that in the meantime he would tell a story that I told in a paragraph in my top ten drunk moments post, but this time it's from him.

Let this be a lesson to Krause– this is how you tell a story.

Why I'm no Longer Friends with Vodka

About 3 years ago my cousin, Ryan, threw a house warming party for his new apartment. The party mostly consisted of his co-workers (read: dudes).

I was probably about 3 drinks in and I went to make myself another drink. I poured a shot of vodka in a cup and made a screwdriver. One of Ryan's co-workers comes over to pour a drink and decides that my drink is entirely too weak. He also makes me a screwdriver but with a shot of OJ and the rest vodka.

Me: No, I'm too fucked up to drink that.

Him: Just drink this first and then you can drink your drink.

One of my weaknesses in the realm of drinking is being challenged to such a feat. If you bet me I can't drink something...I'll drink it. If you challenge me to some sort of drinking competition...I'll accept it. I may not be the best at it but I'll sure as hell get fucked up trying.

I proceed to chug the drink he made (whoa...I was just about to type "chug his screwdriver"...that could have ended poorly) and then continue on to my drink.

In hindsight, there were only 2 motives for him to concoct such a drink.
1. He was trying to bro-rape me.
2. He was trying to get me fucked up enough to entertain the party.

*Fast forward about 3 minutes*

I'm fucked up and entertaining the party. I was eating chips...check that...people were putting trails of chips on the floor and I was eating them.

After a while it really hits me and I'm beyond fucked up...I'm in "where's the nearest trash can mode". However instead of playing "where's the nearest trash can" I decide to play "fuck this I'm puking all over the carpet in Ryan's new apartment".

My brother takes me and quarantines me in the bathroom. He's on the phone with an on-call nurse trying to figure out the symptoms of alcohol poisoning while I'm stripped down to my boxers in the shower with water running on me.

After talking to the nurse for a bit my brother says "Andrew, on a scale of one to ten, how do you feel?"

Me: "Two...no...three"

My bro: "Andrew, two or three"

Me: "Two point three"

In the Interest of Friendship

Alright, this story comes from the jacuzzi dude archives. If you are unfamiliar with the label "Jacuzzi Dudes" then here is a quick definition. It is a group of my high school friends, who get together nearly every night during breaks from school and shoot shit for hours in my jacuzzi. Yes, very homo-erotic, I agree, but the stories that have been told in my spa over the years are so epic that translating them to page might ruin the tale, but it is worth the risk. 

            Note: To protect the names of the innocent (or in this case the guilty), I have decided to make up names for the people who were originally involved.

            With that frame, let us begin the first installment of The Jacuzzi Dude Chronicles.           

            This past summer, while I was slaving away at summer school in Berkeley, my best friend Jim got lonely, really lonely. Yet not as lonely as the girl, who he had taken to a few dances in high school.

            Let me not short their history. They went to some dances and they hooked up a lot. The issue between the two stemmed from Jim’s inability to commit to a relationship– this is the excuse we told people. It really was more along the lines of she wanted to have sex with him, and he wanted head. Now, to most logical thinkers, this would seem like an easy compromise, a nut is a nut, have sex.

            But you are not Jim and he would like it if you didn’t project your morals on his decisions. Jim is famous for saying, “I will have sex when I find someone that is as entertaining as I am.” He then usually follows the line up with, “and Joe has a girlfriend.” So this principle, which Jim so firmly holds to, makes him more of a head guy.

            Jill, as we will call her, didn’t do dome. Jim tried the head push, everything. No go.  So this caused the break in high school. But the hookup always came back around. Jill would always randomly call Jim and Jim being the caring guy would oblige her request. Yet it would always come to the same deal breaker– the sex. This went on an off for about 2 years, moving our story from high school into freshman year of college.

            One night, Jim just told her, “Look I’m just not going to have sex with you.” She stopped calling after that night.

            Fast forward to this past summer, she calls again. Jim is past surprised and horny (read: I’m in Berkeley). She wants to “hang out.” It was always her code word and probably due to a lack of creativity she hadn’t changed it. Within the hour, he was in her car making out, literally a block from his house (She must have been in some kind of rush).

            Anyway, this happens a few times. They hardly talk in between, she just calls every third night or so, and they make out until she suggests sex and then she goes home. About the fourth time, she calls him in the middle of the night, crying. Jim was pissed, it was Shark Week.

            She tells him that they can no longer do this. They are ruining their friendship, she says. Jim worked hard to subtlety convince her that it is okay that they continue to hook up because there is no friendship and there has never been one. But Jill insists, so after three hours Jim submits. They are just friends.

            The next night, she calls. “Hey, we need to talk.” By now, Jim is seriously aggravated, hadn’t they just spent three hours on the phone last night during Shark Week? “Okay, fine. Come over.”

            She picks him up and they drive around the corner, like a usual hookup. She gets out of her seat to straddle him. She whispers in his ear that she is not wearing panties. They start making out. Maybe two minutes in, Jim pushes away and says (Word for Word) “No, we are too good of friends for this. Take me home.”

            She took him home.

There has been no communication between the friends since.