If you are a Cheddar Ted reader who still clicks on my tab from time to time, all I can say is get a life you NUTCASE! Only joking--you're a true mate. Should you still be interested in finding nomad Gritz on the 'net, peep these two  new endeavors:

Gradspot

Nacho Hunters

It was fun while it lasted, CampusTap, but it was clear that this union would always be haunted by the Ghost of Cheddar's Decision-Making. Thanks for the bitchin' banner, the easy-to-use interface, and that one meeting we had with pizza. Please don't shut down my archives or syndicate them for the CW! If you need me, I'll be iiiiiinnnnnn the blog section of BallerStatus.com, where hopefully T.Wise can make some friends on the comment board.

Wok with me, people: Gritz 'N' Gravy.

Chuuuuuuch

VCU and Maryland, fall back. You're good for now. Duke, you had a lot of potential, but you just didn't prove to me that you were here to win. I didn't want to have to do this, but you got to give me your sneakers. It's time for you to STEP OFF!!!!!!!

So the tournament has finally begun. After patching up a few holes in our sails, Cheddar and I boarded the Ship of Fools and took stock of our rations: a triple-play appetizer platter and sundry buckets of Miller MGD (Mad Gangster Dancing!). Sailing was smooth until around the end of the Indiana game when I started to get a little tired from being on the ship for so many hours.

Anyways, it was essentially the same story as always. Everyone's bracket is "so sick!" Everyone's bracket is "totally fucked!" As a little visionary named Prince reminds us, "It doesn't matter!!!!"

But it's not just the tournament that gets people up in arms about for nothing. The other day I saw the film "300," mostly because I read some review where it was described as "a blow to the groin with an icepick...but the ice is frozen whiskey instead of water!" That seemed to satisfy Gritz's proclivity for "the hardcore." In reality, it ended up being a bit of a misleading description, sort of like when I called Baby Geniuses a "psychological thriller."

300 is based on a Frank Miller comic depicting the epic battle between Spartans and the Persians at Thermopylae in 480 BC. Like Sin City, it is all very stylized...and scary...and empowering. Everything is shot in a way that gives it a bronze-like sheen and makes the Spartans' abs seem even more defined. In a nutshell, King Leonidas and his band of 300 Spartans go and kill like 10,000 million Persians with some pretty basic strategies that mostly involve being stronger. The battles are pretty cool, I guess. Whatever!

Eventually, the giant king of the Persians and "ruler of the world" Xerxes offers the Spartans everything they ever wanted as long as Leonidas makes the small gesture of bowing down to him. Of course, he throws a spear at him instead, misses, and everybody dies. These fools need to watch the Wire. A man got to have a code! Leonidas' code is just that he loves to fight in all circumstances. He also looks like a mad jacked version of Mel Gibson.

Apparently the Iranians are all upset about the film's depiction of the Persians, who happen to be a band of hideous and grotesque freaks. Disfigured lesbians, mentally ill giants, hybrid creatures, and horrible fighters. To be fair, I'd rather be an Andre the Giant doppelganger than look like Fabio on 'roids. Also, it is based on a comic book, not a Rand McNally text, so settle down with the "revisionist" history claims. No one is suggesting that dudes actually looked like that!

But the real issue is that people need to stop getting angry about stuff that happened tiiiiiiiime ago. Before you start posting comments (that would be a first!), I'm not talking about slavery and the Holocaust, I'm talking about mad old stuff like when the Greeks were knocking about and Christ was dying. I would argue that anyone who actually knows that there is any historical connection between Persia and Iran is educated enough to know that the Iranians do not descend from monsters.

About 5 minutes after leaving the theater, I completely forgot that I ever saw 300. And don't worry, Iran, America will forget as well. And all will be back to normal, i.e. pretty bad.

Only joking. I'm not a professor, you'd have to be insane to let me speak in public! However, I share my opinions on higher education and post-college life over at www.educatednation.com. Sort of like CampusTap!?!? In a way, but a bit more G-rated, ya digggg? Here is my latest post:

America’s Hottest College Girl

The good folks at CollegeHumor.com have teamed up with the most freshest eau de toilet of them all, Tag Bodyspray, to create the “America’s Hottest Girl 2007” bracket.

The 64 girls are broken down into four divisions—North, South, East, West. With a little “research” I determined that there can be more than one girl from a given school. Outrageous! Each girl provides a little portfolio of pics, some of which appear to be professionally done (unfair advantage). They also answer a series of classic “college humor” questions like “What’s the grossest thing you’ve ever eaten?” and “What song do you like to sing in the shower?” Essentially, searching through the brackets, which suffer from horrible load times (harkening back to the old days of looking at “x-rated” content on dial-up connections), is like leafing through a second-rate Maxim, but without the articles about surviving a bear attack or gangsters in Rio de Janeiro who have killed loads of people.

Needless to say, there are a lot of psychology and communications majors, and answers to the question “What is your favorite John Candy movie?” are way off base. Most girls are either incredibly predictable (Cool Runnings) or absurdly “highbrow” (JFK). Armed and Dangerous, ladies? Who is Harry Crumb?!?!

Voters can set up fantasy brackets and potentially win $1000. There is a bit of a flaw in a system where you predict results that you also vote on. I am willing to overlook this, however, because it is also the case for the betting service I hope to start where people can place wagers on reality TV shows like American Idol.

This would be much better if it was on Facebook and started with school-wide contest that then moved on to conference tourneys. If Facebook founder Mark Zuckerberg should want to return to his days of “Hot or Not” contests, he could probably code those brackets like it’s nothing!

In the end, College Humor has created yet another way for students to be “so college,” helping to spawn a generation of kids who love viral videos of dudes throwing up, get all their sports opinions from Bill Simmons, and think it’s hilarious to quote Anchorman and say, “That’s what she said.”

If forced, I would probably put my money on Ashley from Hofstra, who seems to have really had some nice photo shoots in her day.

Yes you may, young bro. You are now under the tutelage of Coach Gritz and you may do as you please!

My new career as an assistant coach for middle school lacrosse encountered a "fly in the ointment" today when I decided to go round up some stragglers from the locker room and was interrogated about my laxing background. Even though I was "exposed" (though not in a hoodtalk.org type of way), it emerged that all the kids thought I "looked like an All-American," so that was nice. If I taught the kids one thing today, it is that Brazilians are good at soccer because they play in bare feet with coconuts. Equipment does not make the player...and vice versa.

In case I should ever need to save some lives during the course of duty, I attended an incredible 5-hour First Aid training class with Cheddar tonight. At the beginning we all had to go around the room and talk about the best and worst coaches we'd had growing up. Most people talked about a baseball coach who didn't really know the game or a basketball coach who flagrant fouled players during lay-up lines; a coach who made everyone feel involved or one who embodied the most enigmatic of all virtues, "integrity." When it got around to this Russian girl who coached tennis, she said, "I had a coach who didn't know what he was talking about so I asked him a lot of questions even though I knew the answers. He was the worst. And my best coach was probably Nick Bolleteri."

Later, this same girl pointed out a black dude who was shown falling off a roof in an instructional video and said, "That looks like Tupac." It looked nothing like Tupac. Another dude told stories of how bad heroin addicts smell and the time his brother bit off someone's finger in a barfight. Real Talk.

While I learned a little bit about making a sling and the nuts and bolts of diabetes, I also learned that no amount of emergency medical care can cure a broken heart and when you touch one child you have, in a way, touched all children. And THAT is why I coach.

If I were a huge chaunce I would end this post with, "What can I say. It's boring, but it's a part of my life." Instead, I will say BOOMTING!

Peep the interview my bro and I did with Interweb celebrity and all-around clown Rob Heppler!

Rob Heppler: Oh, Oh, Oh It's MAGIC!
Thursday - February 22, 2007

— by Arnold T. Pants and Gritz


When Jay-Z is talking to buyers in a glass Rocawear enclosure, Lupe Fiasco is checking out next year's LRG collection and Nick Cannon is rocking a DJ set for PNB a few booths down the line, you know you can only be at Magic, the country's biggest trade show for fashion and apparel. Filling the gigantic Las Vegas convention center twice a year, Magic brings out hordes of buyers, sellers, celebrities, and assorted power players from the industry to set the scene for the coming season.

After taking a quick lap of the women's clothing section to stare at models, Ballerstatus bee-lined for the "Streetwear" area to find out who will be doing it big on the urban scene in 2007. Given that this year's Magic show overlapped with NBA All-Star Weekend and Chinese New Year, the hip-hop world was out in full force to show love and show out.

To get an insider's view of the moves being made at Magic and the current state of the streetwear game, Ballerstatus caught up with sneaker aficionado, Internet celebrity, and host of the "Weekly Drop" podcast (www.weeklydrop.com), Mr. Rob Heppler. When he's not chopping it up with Bun B, partying with streetwear legends, or adding a little Massachusetts flavor to DUB magazine, you can find Heppler holding court at New England's illest sneaker spot -- CONCEPTS in Cambridge, Mass.

Ballerstatus.com: Let's pop things off with a little info about the "Weekly Drop." How did it start and what are the intentions of the podcast?

Rob Heppler: It started early November 2005, I had been writing for various sneaker magazines and blogging. I had met Jeff Carvalho at the Sneaker Pimps tour in 2004 and we kept in touch. One day he came to me and said, "Let's do a podcast!" I had no clue what that was, but he said he had all the equipment, all I had to do was talk. He showed up at my apartment in Pepperell, Mass. with some mics, a laptop, and a case of Corona and there you go. I think the initial intention was to record the conversations Jeff and I were having about sneakers, but it grew from there with the explosion of the streetwear scene.

Ballerstatus.com: What does Magic mean to streetwear?

Rob Heppler: Magic seems like a high school reunion of brands where all the coolness comes together. No money is wasted on luxurious booths; the clothes and personalities behind them speak for themselves. Magic also provides a forum for all the other "mainstream brands" to copy and bite from our small community.

Ballerstatus.com: Most people get into streetwear via skate or hip-hop culture, and it seems in current trends the lines are blurring into what some are labeling "skurban." How do you feel about the duality of the streetwear scene?

Rob Heppler: I love it. It really has no rules. Ten years ago, a dude with more than one pair of kicks could be called a fag. Streetwear is like everyday high fashion, and for now -- depending on where you live (and your internet connection) -- you may only see one other kid at the mall with an all-over print hoodie. I think as soon as it's fully mainstream, it will morph into something else. Hip-hop, skate, you see John Mayer up on Honyee... this scene is a melting pot of genres.

Ballerstatus.com: Obviously many kids live a blurred lifestyle, yet not one always captured by the clothing market. Sedgwick & Cedar had the all-over print hoody with the old school glasses, which is kind of funny because we all know Pharrell has been flipping the all-over print stuff for a while now, so it seems to have come full circle from a hip-hop/skate influenced world brand, to a company trying to rep for the roots of hip-hop. You have any thoughts on the growth of the market, your own version of streetwear history?

Rob Heppler: Yeah, it is nothing new. Louis Vuitton made the all-over print over a 100 years ago, and whenever someone bites that, it's an instant winner. Look at the pajamas you wore as a kid. All-over print. Kanye acts like he invented vintage polo, when all he did was not throw out the sweater that was gay 20 years back!

Ballerstatus.com: Bun B is a good friend of the "Weekly Drop," which is somewhat surprising to be honest. How did you guys get involved in interviewing Bun and supporting UGK, and vice versa? Is he attracted to the almost Dapper Dan stylings of the new breed of American streetwear?

Rob Heppler: Bun is awesome at life. He straight up called us one day and left a message on our listener line! We called him back and in one week, we were up in Brattle studio in NYC interviewing him while he finished recording the new UGK album. Bun has transcended generations being in the game for over 20 years. Why do you think Jay-z pays him homage?! He is the real deal and is on top of his fashion game, as well as being the most humble dude with a quarter mil on his neck.

Ballerstatus.com: Where do you think the future of streetwear is going?

Rob Heppler: I think its going to Macys. The people who say that they ain't in it for the money already have money, and it's easy to say you want to stay small when you're on a yacht in the Mediterranean. First time Mark Ecko offers to write a check, these dudes will take it and run to the next screen printing gig.

Ballerstatus.com: There is a lot of nostalgia-based design, especially in American streetwear. Do you see this continuing? Do you feel this is detrimental to contemporary culture, sort of suggesting that "we have had a golden era" and your sh-- just doesn't compare?

Rob Heppler: I think it's the "remember these" disease. Movies, clothes, video games... it's a contest to see who can pull off the most obscure reference (Jolt Cola).

Ballerstatus.com: But do you think there is a lack of creativity in the urban design game now with a lot of brands flipping classic commercial designs? Who impressed you at Magic in terms of bringing something new to the table?

Rob Heppler: Undercrown had quality...like their clothes, sneakers, and furniture. For once, it wasn't the same t-shirt, hoodie and New Era. Addict was sick, and of course, The Hundreds, Crooks, Mighty Healthy, King Stampede, and the cult classic Greedy Genius.

Ballerstatus.com: Who had the hottest models at Magic? We thought Avirex...

Rob Heppler: [laughs] Dude, I was sooo f---ing busy... and hung over. Kimora Simmons was pretty hot, and Hustler always throws together a decent booth.

Ballerstatus.com: What are your thoughts on "Hype?"

Rob Heppler: I love it. Hype got me, then I tried to get to the roots of it. Now I'm learning how to make hype.

Ballerstatus.com: In many ways, it's pretty basic, and almost brilliant, underground marketing. How did you get involved with HypeBeast.com? How does "Weekly Drop" play a role in helping brands build a following?

Rob Heppler: I was checking HB since day one, and I would email Kev things I thought were good enough to post. He would tell me to just post it in the forum and if it was sick enough, it would make the front page. So every day I would post and I made friends with the other kids in the forums. I also made a lot of enemies! Then Kev starting letting me post on the front page and gave me the blog.

Ballerstatus.com: What do you think the Internet has done for the streetwear game? Is it inauthentic that a lot of gear that grows up organically from a particular scene is being rocked by a bunch of dudes whose only real scene is in online blogs and message boards, or is it a good thing that a kid from Des Moines can see what's going on in Shibuya and want to be a part of it?

Rob Heppler: The Internet is so important to streetwear. We should be calling this sh-- Internet wear! Or Web gear! I think more kids are wearing this sh-- in their house and reselling, than are getting champagne poured on them in clubs!

Ballerstatus.com: Other than John Varvato's chucks, what kicks are popping of in 2007?

Rob Heppler: Loving the animal print AM95 and AM87. Jordans, Jordans, and more Jordans.

Ballerstatus.com: What's next for Weekly Drop and Rob Heppler?

Rob Heppler: We want to be on Sirius satellite radio, maybe get our own show. Everyone says that, but then I'd have to move. I'd like to start stacking chips, Drive an M6... So, whatever I have to do to get there, I hope I'm on the right path.

Don't worry, this won't be ridiculously long like Bill Simmons' article, which I guess was pretty on point. But on the real, this dude can't even get into Pure because he's "wearing some Pumas"? Simmons may chill with David Stern and have thousands and thousands more readers than me, but your boy gets it CRACKIN!!!!! (By the way, Pumas are exactly the types of kicks I would expect this fool to be rocking. He was probably a dingus back in the day but now that he pops off on the 'net he is like, "Yo, how can I be cool? I will wear trendy shoes like Pumas!" Do I wish I had it poppin' on the Inter-web? Yes. Do I? In a way. Would I rock Pumas that weren't old-school Cells, Clydes, or indoor soccer shoes? No. Do I want to start beef with someone online for no reason? Yes, and next I will go at Bol from XXL.)

Enough of that. Here are some of my thoughts on ASG in Vegas:

ASG HIGHLIGHTS

1) Gilbert's trampoline dunk: Apparently Shaq bet him $100,000 for his charity to drop that ridiculous between-the-legs jammy off the tramp. It looked almost as dangerous and potentially career-ending as LeBron's misguided off the backboard attempt, but he claims he used to jump on the tramp all the time at Golden State. Amazing. Someone should have rocked that during the dunk competition. One of the main problems with the dunk comp is that anything that would be cool and new is denied by the NBA, like Nate Robinson jumping over a Playboy bunny or Dwight Howard bringing out an actual 12-foot hoop. Why!?!?

2) Shaq's dancing: He may legitimately be the best dancer I have seen since Usher.

3) Sir Charles vs. Dick Bevetta footrace: That was just hilarious, particularly Dick's awkwardly intense style, but please Sahib, let's not beat around the pink elephant in the arena. What was up with that Cash Money smacker he laid on Barkley's lips!?!? Are they trying to become the new faces of the Snickers campaign? It is clear that when Sir Charles is hungry, he never waits. Would you like some chocolate with those nuts, Dick?

No John Amaechi. No Tim Hardaway.

Least favorite moment: Kobe visibly trying to put the nail in the coffin for MVP as the game wound down. Everytime I am on the verge of liking him he reminds me that he is a huge a-hole.

BEST CELEBRITY SIGHTINGS

Suge Knight: If I learned one thing at ASG, it is that Suge Knight gets it CRACKIN. Chilling in the Palms casino and registration area on Thursday night was like a NBA player safari but everyone was pretty unassuming until Suge walked in and made the spot pop. I am surprised that so many people know what he looks like or would be willing to stand close to him. I wonder if he had anything to do with shit popping off literally the next (k)night.

50 Cent: No one had a bigger entourage, no one had bigger earings, and no one walked as fast. I got caught up in a crowd passing him and we brushed shoulders. I had three thoughts: 1) Wow, I am much taller than this dude. 2) I should yell CURRRTTTTIIISSSSSS! 3) I wonder what you are really doing right now, 50.

Stuart Scott: Last year on the way home from Houston he was on our flight to Connecticut and had some words with our man Marc the Jeweler, who apparently made him some earings. This year he was outside of the Palms hiding insanely in a small crevice in the facade of the casino.

Adam Morrison: Diabetic legend was getting it crackin in the club after the rookie game.

Ray Allen: Dude had on the most outrageously wack golfing clothes of all time. I considered confronting him about the time he said he would give me an autograph at the premiere of He Got Game and then walked away with some broads, but I decided to let sleeping dog's lie.

Ben Baller: Needless to say, Ben Baller shines mad hard. His chain is about 10 inches high and depicts California with an "ocean" of blue diamonds and a huge rock representing LA. Ben Balliiiiiinnnn!

Pat Garrity: This man loves All-Star Weekend!

Biggest Disappointment: Not seeing any known sluts like Vida Guerra or Melyssa Ford. My man Adam said that at ASG in Atlanta he met hookers who had traveled from Baltimore just to hook for the weekend in the A. I assumed that in Vegas the stakes would be raised enough to bring out the nation's finest.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

GRITZ'S GUIDE TO VEGAS: BALLING ON A BUDGET

You can easily drop ridiculous guap in Vegas, particularly if you gamble like an idiot and insist on partying mad hard. However, it is possible to have a pretty nice time with limited funds. Here is Gritz's guide to a reasonable Vegas weekend:

Friday: Arrive in the evening and stay in a normal hotel off the Strip. Take the monorail to the Venetian and learn some interesting facts about Vegas en route (did you know the population has doubled every 10 years since 1940? Soon there will be a trillion people!?!?!?). Explore the Venetian, a truly spectacular casino! Take a cab to a strip club or Mexican restaurant somewhere else. Go to bed.

Saturday: Wake up and enjoy a really fresh coffee. You've earned it! Find a nice sports book, maybe Caesar's or MGM, and watch college basketball all day. For every 4 free Miller Lites you drink, allow yourself to bet $20 on a game, thus making it infinitely more exciting to watch. Try to sneak out to a hotel pool for a bit to combat the effects of weirdly oxygenated air and poor lighting, and also to hopefully see some tatas. Now is your time to splurge a bit. Enjoy a nice meal from one of Vegas' many celebrity chefs. Go outside of Harrah's and cop a half-yard glass of Sex on the Beach for $25. Go see the Beatles Love cirque du soleil show, a truly wonderful spectacle! Go to bed early.

Sunday: Fresh coffee. Walk through the Wynn. Go to a $20 buffet. Leave immediately.

 

I am in Vegas, city of huge stuff, broken dreams, and fake versions of real things (like the Eiffel Tower and boobs). Today my brother and I weaseled our way into the Magic trade show, where buyers preview next year's gear for sellers, celebrities, and an assortment of other power players. The show fills the convention center (i.e. it's absolutely massive), but needless to say the "Street Wear" section is where everything pops off. Every major label(Rocawear, LRG, Phat Farm, And1, etc.) has a big setup, as well as scores of smaller, more exlusive brands. Dudes are flossing in by far the most aggressive gear you have ever seen (as my brother noted, many people look like "the future.") Around every other corner is a chick straight out of a rap video handing you something free. Basically, it is awesome.

The highlight of the afternoon was hollering at none other than the world's most hilarious man, NICK CANNON! He was DJing in the PNB section while a gaggle of Wildin' Out girls danced in front of him. I gave him a pound and said, "Yo Nick, you're the funniest dude on TV," and he put his hand to his heart and said, "I appreciated that, man." Real talk. I also took a nice shot with Lupe Fiasco and saw Cee Lo, Big Boi, Murphy Lee, Gene Simmons (looking insane), Dame Dash, and various streetwear legends. Stay tuned for the photo blog, where you will see President Rufff with Mr. Cartoon and Alchemist. (He also insisted on taking a picture with the Avirex girl who he claimed was the "hottest girl I've seen in real life.") Basically, she had enormous tatas.

One of the best parts about the show is that you see how all of the most aggressive "hoodwear" clothing lines have conservative looking Japanese businessmen behind them. It seems that they are the new Jews.

Gritz cuts it up with Source founder Dave Mays...BAALLLLLIIIINNNNNN!

Had a pleasant evening enjoying a Smithwicks with Pa Gritz and watching Good Will Hunting in my pants. Just went to bed like that, didn't even bother taking them off. Yeahhh, Gritz ain't gotta answer to no one.

Tonight I'll be attending a cancer benefit at Mohegan Sun with David Cone, Yogi Berra, and Mike & the Mad Dog, to name a few. Gonna be a Mohegan Sun day, bloody Sun day. Might pop by Bono's house on the way up. I heard he lives in the area.* (Maybe that's why he's always got those bloody sunglasses on!?!?)

           - Boss Blog Barbiarian

* Is that a lie? Yes, I think it is.

There is nothing that says "unemployment" like taking a Greyhound to Hartford. I got on the bus about 30 seconds before it departed (obviously I don't count stopping for some Auntie Anne's cinnamon sticks and a fresh coffee as a contributing factor to this close call). I immediately spilled the piping hot brew all over myself because the bus was bouncing like it was on hydraulics, but not in a cool way like we were about to throw some Ds on it. More in a dangerous and uncomfortable way. This dude next to me was furiously Q-tipping his ears and laughing hysterically about all the bumps while looking at me. He was one of the few people I've ever seen who I would literally guess is from Mongolia. I've seen Cave of the Yellow Dog, so I think I'd know.

Eventually I bounced back to the rear of the bus where the effects of shoddy suspension were slightly less severe, but within a few minutes we were stopped on the side of the highway and the driver refused to go any further, citing "safety concerns" that he was obliged to harbor "as a human being." He treatened to drive us all the way back to New York, but a mutiny arose aboard the Good Ship Depression, led by an aggressive rabble rousing force of migrant workers and "band members." Of course, letting one forlorn looking girl use my phone to call her mom initiated a domino effect of every sick, unkempt mutherfucker on the bus using my cellphone. About an hour and a half later another bus came to pick us up, but this process involved a short trek down the side of the highway, which caused me to ponder running into on-coming traffic.

After waiting outside the Hartford bus depot in sub-zero temperatures for a while, my dad finally picked me up, took me to his office, and then bounced to a party. I went across the street to grab some food at a trendy Japanese spot, where I was quickly pinpointed as not trendy based on the fact that I was eating alone. When the young Chinese waitress brought me my chicken teryiaki she asked, "Why you eat alone?" At first I could barely even articulate a sentence, not quite certain how "logical" or "emotional" my answer should be. Eventually I just told her the whole story of the past few days, and in turn she explained to me how depressed she is living in Hartford with no friends and working limited hours at Bank of America. On the plus side, she claims that she specializes in money orders and can definitely get me my money back. We have a tentative meeting in Bishops Corner tomorrow.

I left her a fair tip and wished her luck. I fear, blog, that I have developed the appearance of a broken man.

I have now been at this computer kiosk for tiiiime and I don't think the Columbia community is too happy about it. In the past couple hours I have helped a young dude create a South Park character who was half-Jason Vorges, half-Osama Bin Laden, and talked a little girl out of breaking the computer screen.

Little girl: I'm gonna break this computer if I lose this game again!

Gritz (calmly): It's not the computer's fault that you lost.

Little girl: I know...it's my fault.

Gritz: Just keep trying.

Little girl: OK, I will.

Maybe I will follow in the path of Ma Gritz after all: Social Work.  

Current status: Writing an article about fashion schools for $100 at a computer kiosk in the Barnard student center. The power cord on my laptop broke transporting it from the office back to Cheddar's house after being fired. Listening to "Lost Ones" on repeat. Extra large coffee to my left, Cheddar scribing his novel to my right.

Dark days, blog. Dark days...     

Hey Gritz, how's 2007 going?

Oh pretty well thanks. I moved from my mom's house to Cheddar's trundle bed in New York, started a new job, dropped mad loot on a security deposit for a sublet in an apartment much smaller and less safe than my college dorm room, and then got fired just a few days after doing so. Immediately after getting axed I walked 10 blocks in 15 degree weather and got angrily cold. Then I lost a money order I had taken out for absolutely no reason and will never get the money back because money orders are allegedly secure methods for sending money, but in reality they are like a real bill that you decide the value of. It's like inventing the $200 bill...and then losing it immediately. Most likely some homeless dude will find it and take it to the bank where they will say, "Hey, it's not weird at all that you stumbled upon this special banknote invented by Gritz, here is some normal money in exchange!" Real talk.

So how am I doing? Mad well. Today I woke up late, saw Dreamgirls with Cheddar and the Greek, and went to the Knicks game. Now I am burning the midnight oil in Cheddar's room watching some TV (the literal midnight oil of 12am, not the really late oil that people are always banging on about). I felt a bit down yesterday when I got outrageously cold and realized that I was freeloading at my best friend's house with no employment in preparation to move into an apartment (with no employment). But then I was like, Fuck it, getting fired is the realest shit ever! I'm Gritz, I can take a winter off (and maybe part of a spring). My chilling potential has just soared and I have immediately made plans to spend a week in Las Vegas, where I will maybe do some pro bono work for BallerStatus.com.

At the beginning of 5th Grade, the faculty of Renbrook presented the class with a myserious anagram: B.A.R.T. For half of the year, it was our job to decipher its meaning. It had nothing to do with the transportation system in the Bay Area, and clues included saying "Bart" mad enigmatically after we went sledding. Can you guess what it stood for, buddies? "Be A Risk Taker." We immediately asked if that meant we should go skydiving and do other dangerous things, so Mr. C quickly changed it to "Be A Responsible Risk Taker."

But I'm sorry Mr. C. I live by the code of BART, not BARRT. That fucked up fall semester of being constantly pestered with a mysterious anagram changed me. That and reading Maniac McGee. Like Manic, I am a wayfarering lad with a penchant for long-distance running. Like Maniac, I do not agree with racism. Like Maniac, I am like an immature Odysseus heading towards a modern-day Ithaca where my girlfriend may or may not still want to live with me!?!?

I'm a maniac, maniac, that's for sure. And I'm living like I've never lived before.

Gritz is not the Chancellor of the Exchequer, I think that much is clear, and ain’t no one got change for my million dollar ideas. Instead, I find myself pumping funds into Manhattan like it’s downtown Baghdad, but the fruits of (adult) freedom seem stunted into their growth, perhaps waiting for genetically modified hormones to make them absolutely massive. But I shall persevere, for when life hands you an avocado, make guac, ya dig?

 

This Saturday night I really balled on a budget, so the scoreboard now reads “NEW YORK 56 – GRITZ 1” in the Bang for Your Buck Championships. First, we wok and rolled over to an all-you-can-eat sushi spot in Hell’s Kitchen (not a bad description, to be fair), and even though taking a leak required navigating a labyrinth of crumbling tunnels while sidestepping rusty bikes and bags of cement that have gone hard, the non-stop smorgasbord of chicken teriyaki, Dynamite rolls, and sake certainly hit the spot. And even though the quarters were tight and a gas leak in the radiator was going off like Old Faithful in the corner, we didn’t mind. We just copped some Silver Bullets from the bodega next door and *bang bang* killed any emotional werewolves that may have been roaming around in our minds. My man Herson came through and proceeded to exclusively order all of the grossest things on the menu, including “chicken sushi,” which consisted of some unseasoned grilled chicken in a roll. Strangest thing I’ve ever seen. Of course, he failed to note the fine print on the All-You-Can eat agreement—“Customers who do not finish their food will incur an additional 30% charge”—but managed to elude the thorny issue of the surcharge by dumping 20+ pieces of sushi in a plastic bag under the table. Pure class.

 

After that we stumbled upon a friend of a friend’s birthday party, a free open bar jumpoff in Soho. The vodka tonics did flow and a girl I went to middle school and high school with found me squatting on a low stool and shoveling cold calamari into my mouth. I then introduced her to some people as “my first kiss,” which came as a bit of a shock to everyone present, most notably myself. Her response: “You weren’t mine!” After that Cheddar and I found our intern having a nice time with some of her friends and so we decided to terrorize her until the calamari was kicked.

 

All in all, I had BARE seafood on Saturday night. The next day I smelled deeply of fish. My first deuce actually swam off down the pipe on it's own accord, looking not unlike an eel. True story.

YA DIGGGGGGGGG?!!??!

As I watch the State of the Union, my combined tiredness and lack of political acumen cause me to chalk the whole thing up to one sentiment: it's all worthless rhetoric, why even bother. That's not to say that Bush does have a capacity for rhetoric, but anyone who's anyone who's taken a core class called The Renaissance in Florence knows that the three main elements of rhetoric are delivery, delivery, and delivery. Right?

Wrong! It's not delivery, it's DiGiornio!

If only he had started off with a lighthearted remark like that, he would have had the American public by the jaffas rights off the bad. (Granted, there are technically more jaffa-less women in the country than men, but given all the ladyboys replacing their gashes with knobs these days I wouldn't be surprised if tide has shifted the other way.) Too bad Georgia Bush doesn't read Gritz&Cheddar, the Koran for the State of the Union speaker.

At least there was a ray of light in the room in the form of Dikembe Mutumbo, who got a shout-out from the Boss for wagging his enormous finger at poverty in his native Congo. No amount of super slow post moves can fill a child's empty belly or provide vaccines for easily avoidable disease, but The Dikembe Mutumbo Foundation can. If the Hall of Fame accepts members for heart, I think Dikembe's got his spot safely secured next to Legend.





Of course, this heartwarming moment was quickly spoiled by FOX's garish reminders to send a text message vote for whether the speech was "Excellent," "Good," or "Poor," as if it was an American Idol performance of "My Heart Will Go On." This country...





As I belieeeeve we've established before, politics are not Gritz's forte so I'll leave it at that. Now I will just tuck myself into the trundle bed and wait for Cheddar to come home from his underground poker game. Bring home the bacon for Gritz and Cheddar, my dogger! Bring home the bacon for this struggling young couple with no steady income! We rely on the illicit cashflows from scalped tickets and gambling to maintain luxuries like oatmeal for breakfast and 4 cups of a coffee per dium.

We just checked into the workplace, only to find a smorgasboard of breakfast foods staring us in the face. Cheddar looked at the generous member of our partner company who had furnished these delights and exclaimed, "Wow, this is a real office!" Then we wandered into the small, windowless room in the back corner, turned on our personal laptops, and began watching Clay Aiken footage and hilarious viral videos like the deuce bath. Then Cheddar said, "Gritz, I hope you have to deuce," so I ripped a few slugs of my vanilla coffee but I think the wolves will be at the gate for at least a few more minutes.

Today I will mostly watch dudes huck some hella fresh air at Teton Gravity and sign some mutherfuckers up to BE THE MASK! This is the most insane thing I have found to date on the internet and, to be honest, it makes me thing some pretty uncomfortable thoughts. This country...

Not only is he a sick gamer...he's also got a girlfriend!?!? Back of the net!

As work week two begins at Podge Productions, it's time to take a brief step back and take stock. It is becoming more and more clear that I am about to embark on a period of vast change, something that I like in theory but ultimately find tiring and irksome. Indeed, in the weeks leading up to my move to New York, all I could think to myself was, “Wow, that’s going to be tiring.” I find this is my approach to a lot of things. A weekend at the Rock Paper Scissors Tournament in Toronto? That sounds cool…I wonder how tired I will be? Going to a party and sleeping on a friend’s couch? I bet I’m going to feel pretty tired the next day! And my eczema will be much worse!

Still, I try to push past these feelings of inertia in order to create the semblance of a life for myself. And now, with bare concerns on my mind and longting work days, I feel more alive than ever, and only a little bit fatigued! Problem solved…for a bit. I look forward to the coming months and see that each day my emotions and mental stability will be like a Doberman and a Golden Retriever bounding across a high school football field, and the city will be like an Akita attack dog trying to rip out the throat of the Doberman and break the leg of the Golden before biting out its stomach (respectively).

 

The Akita, for those who are curious, is a Japanese breed renowned for its powerful "locking" jaw and noble lineage. In the Age of the Samurai, warriors would use the Akita to hunt bears across the mythical landscape of feudal Japan. If the Akita was not ordained by the Royal Family it was killed on the spot for its inadequacies. These days the Akita is recognized by the American Kennel Association as a fine house pet, but one must always respect its volatile temper. Interestingly, Helen Keller's only wish in life was to own a young Akita. Unlike some of her other wishes, this one came true, but it was short-lived (and, on the part of her carers, a bit short-sighted I’d say). Helen's Akita died almost immediately upon reaching the Keller homestead. Just one of many mournful tales associated with this remarkable creature…

So, as I was saying, it is a pretty hectic time. The turbulent nature of last week came to a climax on Friday at lunchtime when I was sent off to Chipotle to interview a potential Podge intern, only to find LaGritz staring me in the face! I had no idea that she would be in New York as she had cunningly told me that she was going skiing in northern Japan for a few days and would be out of touch. I yelled “What the FUCK!!” but then had to turn my attention back to a Mexican woman asking me if I wanted guacamole, because I was literally in the middle of ordering a burrito! It was all a bit confusing and overwhelming at first, but I eventually calmed down and took her ice-skating in Bryant Park. Basically, it was like Punk’d, but a pleasant Punk’d…Spunk’d! GET ME GET ME!

On a more practical note, Cheddar’s Hostel could not be more friendly and luxurious. Beautiful views, posturpedic mattresses, and a general atmosphere of warmth. And they say Jazz on the Park is good!?!? Seriously though, it’s a 10 on 10. I end most nights by watching a Tivo’d episode of Scrubs on Cheddar’s couch. He generally falls asleep in the first 1-2 minutes and then I watch the whole episode, turn off his lights, and whisper “Good night Cheddarrrrr” as I creep off down the hallway to his sister’s room. Super Bowl Sunday!

THE GUBIN!!!!!!!!!!

 

I’ll be in touch, blog. It feels good to be back.

Happy New Year, blog! If you interpreted my recent silence as a muffled cry for help, then you were right. You know me too well. The stresses of the holiday season and the anticipation of the first stage of "adulthood" have kept Gritz's carefree spirit at bay for a bit, but worry not, I believe a massive bounce back is on the horizon. With my new chachberry in hand, an open ended reservation at Cheddar's Hostel, and a desk waiting for me in the podge office, I'm confident that '07 will get off to cracking start.

Just to prove that the mythical 2kGritz is well and truly behind me, I present the "Lost Tapes," i.e. a couple of things that I wrote down in a small notepad with the intention of putting in my blog but never got around to it. Sometimes big events in my life and really bitchin' times never quite make it to the cyber velum of Gritz.com (you know what I mean) because I don't want to confuse you into thinking that I'm too happy. One such period in '06 was my week-long visit to LA in August, cordially hosted by T. Honka and Tone Loc:

As I packed my bags and cracked my last Carlsberg from the Embassy fridge, I felt sad to be saying goodbye to LaGritz and Asia but excited for my first trip to LA and determined to make the most of the land of palm trees and wannabes. The 19-hour trip started with two negatives as airport security callously threw away my prescription allergy medication and I almost soied another pair of underwear. As soon as I got on the plane I felt like someone had slipped me some LAXatives because I proceeded to drop an unorthodox pre-takeoff deuce.

About three hours before touching down in LA I realized that it was a day before the arrival date I had reported to T. Honka. My assumption that it would just keep getting "later" as I moved around the globe neglected a little thing called the "dateline," which I thought was just a queue of fictioal women waiting to hang out with T.Wise in his fictional nightclub...until 4AM!

I now had three negatives and was on the verge of just "going off somewhere" in LA, but fortunately I was able to link Tony, who swiftly scooped me at the 'port (+1). He immediately took me to get a burrito (+1), and then we went to someone's pool to swim (+1) and drink Budweisers (+1). I was back n the First Quadrant and relief washed over me in an awesome wave. Little did I know that for the rest of the week, the positives would keep piling up at a record clip. Pooooossssssiiittttiiiivvvveeeee Daaaaaddddddd!

After that entry there are some lyrics to "Bounce Back," the forthcoming followup to the much acclaimed "Worth of Boast Worlds," and a detailed description of some nachos I ate in Cambodia. Then there are the first two sentences of a short story I started called "The Law of Averages":

Despite being debilitated by paranoia and unoffically diagnosed with clinical depression, Mary wasn't completely humorless. She understood the irony--the insanity--of living in Manhattan given that the only thing she feared more than death was living people.

After I explained the plot to LaG she told me that it sounded like the film Along Came Polly, so I decided to give up. Other than all that, there is the beginning of a stand-up routine I'm working on called "Things that Annoy Gritz." That is still a work in progress...

Any minute now I will be driving up to New York to start my new life with Cheddar. I think we all know who the real winner will be...Campustap.