How NOT to host your bros

Do as I say, not as I do.

"Do you have a phone and a passport?"

That may be the most dangerous phrase in the world.

Because you know what it means right? It means you lost your entire wallet last night, or at the very minimum your ID and all of your credit cards. But because of technology you no longer have to deal with that right away.

Saturday morning I woke up in my bed, which is always a small win. My phone was on its charger. How responsible!

Things went quickly downhill from there. My fitbit, my precious purple fitbit that I got on Wednesday, gone. My wallet that contained a couple hundred in cash (for obvious reasons) my credit card, my WORK credit card, like 4 various work related key cards, my goddamn driver's license. GONE!

Also I was naked and wrapped in a damp towel.

Why? Why did any of this happen?

Well I'll tell you why. I fucked up. I am a fraud. I am the worst. THE WORST! Remember when I wrote a post last week outlining what I perceive to be as very simple steps to hosting your homies for the weekend? Remember that? It was Friday. In fact, I posted it just a couple hours before my friends got here. It was fresh in my mind.

I didn't follow my own rules. I blacked out Friday, hard.

Let me explain:
1. Wanting to look cool and successful in front of my visiting friends I showed up to Nikki's Friday night and ordered 5 pitchers. I drank a portion. This was fine.

2. Wanting to do a fun dinner, I suggested Mao's. We each got a personal bottle of wine and even some champagne, because why not? This was also fine.

3. Then we decided that after going to happy hour AND a BYOB dinner we needed to pregame, so we came back to my apartment and pregamed. This was starting to get grey area on the rules I had outlined.

4. After facing a bottle of Fireball, Tito's, Grey Goose, 4 cases of beer, 100 mg of Aderall, and aforementioned champagne we went to Townhouse. This is in clear violation of the "medium rage
 I advocated Friday.

5. After dancing my face off at Townhouse until close I DEMANDED that we have an afterparty at a friend's house. Now this is just blatant disregard for the established rules.

6. After we got kicked out of said after party I decided we will go back to my house and have an after-after party. Jesus.

I must have been up until 6am and felt compelled to take a shower at some point, not an uncommon move for me since I routinely lose 10 pounds in water weight at Townhouse.

That brings me back to the beginning of the post. "Do you have a phone and a passport?"

It was Saturday morning, my friends were already at the bar watching hockey, two people had come by to wake me up and drag me to the bar. I was missing a lot of shit, I was in shambles, a rational person would have taken the day off, maybe picked up the pieces and made it out for Saturday night.

But I am an irrational person, willing to use Venmo to turn his friends into ATMs. And hell, I've got some pretty cool passport stamps that I like to brag about.

"Yes, I have my phone and a passport."

"Then what are we still doing here, let's go."

Saturday:
Of course I enjoy that Pacific time means that games start early, sometimes absurdly so. However, it also means that sometimes you are at a bar at 10AM. As was the case this past Saturday.

Now I'm not saying it's impossible to get a group of guys to rent bikes and go on a ride after 4 Bloody Mary's, I'm just saying that it's easier to convince them to go to another bar. So began our Saturday bar crawl. Where didn't we go? I think from Nikki's we went to Waterfront Cafe, from Waterfront Cafe we bought a bunch of beer and played volleyball. From Volleyball we went to another BYOB dinner (because that worked out so well for me the night before!)

By 6pm I was destroyed. What I just described to you may only sound like 2 bars, a restaurant and some fun in the sun, but I assure you, nothing good happens when you start drinking before noon. But as one is wont to do, I pounded at minimum two bottles of wine at dinner and booked the SHIT out of an Uber SUV to take us to Bungalow. (All weekend I was aggressively grabbing Ubers and over paying for things with Venmo, because when you don't have a wallet this is all you're really good for.)

We go to Bungalow, the line was maybe two miles long. We walked right in and I immediately started wondering if all the girls in line thought I was famous. I'm tall, athletic-ish...I could be a Los Angeles Dodger, maybe like a reserve Right Fielder. But by the time we got in and situated, I was so blasted that I couldn't speak to people. This is fine at some bars. At Townhouse I crush when I can't talk, but there is no dance floor at Bungalow, it requires that you be lucid enough to communicate.

At one point, I saw a group of girls and decided I would go hit on them. Out of all the possible opening lines in the world, I panicked and said "Would you girls like shots of Fireball?"

"Um sure."

Would you like shots of fireball, what a clown. I didn't even have a fucking wallet, how did I expect to buy these chicks a $200 round of flavored whiskey. I decided it was time to pivot and take the group in a new direction.

We must go to the Victorian. It's got a dance floor! I won't have to speak, it will be great.

"We have to go."

"Why? My friends just got in line."

"I just promised those girls shots and I'm too drunk to be here...besides your friends are black they're never getting in. Send them to Victorian. I'll get us in."

Begrudgingly my friends agree to follow me to another Santa Monica bar.
Now if you're unfamiliar with The Victorian, it's a very cool bar. It resembles an old Victorian style house and boasts 3 floors with very distinct vibes. Upstairs is 'The Attic' they play mellow, hip music.
The main floor is a sprawling outdoor patio to sip cocktails with friends. Either of these two would have been good choices for me. But I chose the nuclear option...go down to The Basement and ask random strangers on the dance floor for amphetamines.

Now I wouldn't usually recommend going to dark rock clubs and asking people for drugs, but sometimes it works and I think Saturday was one of those nights, because once the band took its intermission break I decided that the only option was to go back to Townhouse and just triple down on the debauchery. At this point I'm certain I was leading with the tongue on any girl with a pulse.

I would like to say that was it, the last stop on our bender, but I'm fairly certain we were intent on making sure my apartment was in fact never livable again because we threw ANOTHER after party and nearly burned it to the ground. Almost 24 hours of straight drinking. Disgusting. Oh and we never got the hotel! Ha!

Sunday:
Sunday morning I wake up not caring if my friends felt as shitty as I did today, I was going to drive down to Anaheim and go to a Blackhawks game. I walk out to the mailbox to grab my tickets that had been overnighted to me and am instead greeted by a note from UPS.

"Your package was undeliverable because no one was there to sign."

Whoever decided to make this a standard shipping practice is a cunt and should be killed. Cue a 45 minute call to Uber Seat and Seat Geek in which I drunkenly threatened to murder this guy's entire family at least once. I called my brother who works at a UPS shipping facility in Indiana like he was going to be able to pull some fucking strings.

Around 10am it sank in. No one at UPS, Uber Seat or Seat Geek gave a fuck that my tickets didn't come, no one was going to do anything about it. I wasn't going to the game.

No wallet, no Fitbit, no Hawks tickets. I did what I do best and took a pout nap.

***

I woke up and everyone was gone. I look at my phone, 2pm. The game is almost over. I have a text "Do you have your phone and a passport?"

I could've told them to fuck off.

I had fulfilled my duties as host. I gave them a place to stay, I showed them 2 incredible nights. I should get a good Yelp review.

But I have a sickness. I can't protect myself from myself.

So I go down to Nikki's for a third time in 3 days, watch the Hawks get blown out and the Clippers complete one of the most epic collapses in NBA history.

Mercifully two of the three have their flights and it's time for them to go home. (I say that like I'm glad they left but I wish they lived here)

I should go home too and find my wallet!

But then a chick hits me up and we decide to go to Hinano for a pitcher or 12.

Ok, I'll look during Game of Thrones.

But then all the chicks come back and we keep drinking. I fall asleep on the couch watching Paddington (yes, the talking bear movie) I wake up at 2 o clock in the morning. Ugh.

I'll wake up early tomorrow and find my wallet.

I'm too hungover.

I can't get out of bed.

It's 7:15am. I'm just not going to have a wallet today. I'll ask my someone for a $20 and get a new debit card at lunch. I've got maybe 5 minutes for a hot shower. Today is going to be the worst day of my life,

7:20am. Oh, I found my Fitbit, must have taken it off the shower during my blacked out 6am shower. Cool.

7:25am. Might as well lift up my mattress in case the wallet fell under the bed.

And there it fucking is, with all my shit, it was just down there the whole time.

By noon I had an apology and a full refund from my ticket broker, by 7pm I was home and in bed.

So what did we learn from all of this?

Nothing. I learned fucking nothing.

I got away with it. In fact I saved money, I didn't have a wallet all weekend so anything I wanted I had to ask someone to buy for me, and at 9am on Sunday I'm not sure I really wanted to drive to Orange County, park my car and sit in the last row of the Honda Center.

But nope, it all just sort of worked out. I deserve to be punished for living this way, but all I have are just some great memories with a great group, some stellar photos and some stories for next time.

Your friends can move away to Austin, Chicago, Milwaukee, New York, London, India, anywhere...nothing ever changes. My dad of all people hit me up in the middle of the weekend and said to me 'You will never have more fun than hanging out with old friends."

I couldn't agree more. I want you all to come back right now (actually give me a couple weeks to recover) or move here. And you know what the greatest part of our weekend was? We never went east of Lincoln fucking ONCE. Hope the tourist in you isn't disappointed.

To those of you on the fence, feel free to come visit because clearly I didn't learn my lesson; unless the lesson is this...hosting your buddies for the weekend is fucking awesome.

How to host your bros: A step by step guide

I apologize for my lack of blogging recently, I'm writing a new pilot with some homies and it has taken precedent. (Spoiler alert, it's about 3 bros that live in Venice!) That said, I had lots of drunken thoughts over the past 10 days, let's consult my iPhone notes from the weekend:

1. Finish Coachella post.
Fair, it's been almost a month. The world needs to know about the college student I hooked up with.

2. Post about the Townhouse murder.
The fact that there was a person killed by a cop in Venice and the neighborhood didn't burn to the ground is a miracle, I do not want to do anything to spread backlash.

3. The Systematic Racism of Bungalow.
They play Beatles music, don't have a dance floor, have wildly expensive drinks and keep a long line. All of this is done for a reason.

4. Nikki Minaj's ass is gross.
This is the third topic in a row that would be wildly offensive to minorities.

5. Shoulda brought that chick home last night.
You miss 100% of the shots you don't take.

Ok so none of those are jumping off the page at me, so I could work on my pilot I guess. The next scene is about consulting a homeless man on where to find cocaine (shocking) but even that seems too grating right now.

So instead of any of that bullshit, how about a post on the weekend visitor? It's timely, as I have 4 frat buds visiting this weekend. Have we done a post on hosting the perfect 48 hour weekend? I don't think so, either that or I did it years ago and no one remembers, now is as good a time as any. Let's go!

***

One of the sad inevitabilities of getting older is people move away. Social media helps, I'll get a snap chat now and then, catch a Facebook update, see some vacation pics on Instagram. But really, outside of a few e-mail chains and the occasional call I rarely see a lot of my good friends. I live in LA now, I go back to the midwest maybe once a year and I spend half of that time with my family. Try as I might, it can be hard to stay in touch.

But then it happens...

Your phone rings.

It's a number you haven't seen in a while.

This means one of two things, there is big news of a positive nature or someone died. I've had both calls. It's thrilling in the same way roulette is thrilling when you've put far too much money on black. On this occasion it was my childhood best friend, I was rolling my face off at a festival in San Diego...if the news on the end of the line was shitty, things could get very bad for me very quick.

"May 15th."

"What?"

"I'm coming to LA, May 15th. Put that shit on the books."

A few weeks go by and the word spreads,

'yo did you hear who's coming to LA?'
'ya and I hear Friend B just booked a flight, and Friend C is on the fence'

It snowballs until at the 11th hour Friend D comes out of left field and all of a sudden you have amassed a team of all-stars for the ages. Weekend visit to LA becomes Bachelor Party Lite. But how does one go about planning the ultimate bro weekend with a limited amount of time, effort and resources.

It all starts with what are you trying to accomplish?

Obviously the easy answer is "I want my guests to have fun." But I take that a few steps further. Every time someone visits I want them to say "Holy fuck, I can't believe the life you have out here, I am going to re-evaluate everything and consider moving." I agree, that is a high bar to set, but I objectively think it is irrational to live outside of a coastal community in Southern California and I am making it my life's mission to spread the gospel.

Chapter 1: The Lodging
Up until about 27 I had no problem living out of a suit case and sleeping on hardwood floors. It's very easy to go places from Chicago. There are a lot of places that are road trippable, New York is a fairly cheap and easy flight, everyone in their early to mid 20's is drinking heavily every night and is no stranger to having numerous bodies strewn everywhere on a given Saturday night. When I lived in oldtown we routinely had 10 people crash with us and it was no big deal.

But...about a year ago I hit a wall. Sleeping on the floor is uncomfortable. When everyone has their shit everywhere it smells. It's tough to have a pregame if you're tripping over suitcases. Might I recommend option B.

At least for one night, get an Air Bnb or a hotel.
Reasons:
1. If you split a room 4 ways it will never be expensive. (You could get the dopest room in LA and it would be no more than $150 a person)
2. Hotels are baller as fuck
3. Hangover at the pool
4. Hotel room after party
5. You can destroy them and just leave.

Arguably the worst part about having a raging pregame/afterparty at your apartment when your boys are in town is that you then have to sit in the filth all day, too hungover to clean. Imagine waking up to that filth and just going back to a pristine apartment to be hungover. Sure, 4 people on the couch is a little bit cramped, but you throw on some Shark Tank, hit a bowl and activate the 'day naps' the situation will become much improved.

Chapter 2: Friday Night
One of the downfalls of a weekend getaway is the length. People come here all the time and give me a laundry list of all the shit they want to do. It is impossible. You can't just go to Malibu and then check out the Hollywood sign after. They're about 2 hours apart. This is especially crucial on Friday night. Because of the way in which Los Angeles is set up, we cannot go to dinner at some place you saw on Reality Television. Well unless that's what you want the whole night to be. If you want me to scoop you at the airport at 6, we can go home, shower, change, get in an uber, go to Beverly Hills, eat dinner, Uber home and it will be 1 in the morning. That is how a night gets away.

Getting around fucking sucks. I will always abdicate an itinerary that keeps Friday hyperlocal. We are going to this restaurant, this party and this bar, they are all within a mile of eachother. It will be awesome. Note: It is important not to get too turnt on Friday night. You don't want your friends to be down for the count within the first few hours of their arrival.

'How was LA?'
'Well I blacked out and spent Saturday vomiting. Saturday night we ordered Thai food and watched the Avengers, Sunday I went home.'

NOT A GLOWING YELP REVIEW.

No Friday should be about the food, but then showing off an area close by. Maybe take them to a super dope restaurant and just act like it's a casual affair. Oh ya, I mean I go to Gjelina like 3 times a week, then you rig it with your bartender roommate to cut the line at some exclusive bar like Bungalow. 'Oh, they know me there.'

Remember, this weekend is not about showcasing your real life, it's like Facebook, it's the life you want to portray.

(Or you can just go to some BYOB joint like Mao's drink 7 bottles of wine, stumble across the street to Townhouse.)

Chapter 3: Saturday (Day)
Saturday is probably your one real chance to do something touristy. Stuff I have done in LA Saturday day: Malibu Wines, USC Tailgate, Runyon Canyon, Griffith Park, Paradise Cove, Temescal. All of those are cool, beautiful and/or unique to LA in some way. (Never do Hollywood Blvd, it's stupid) Get a little outdoorsy, rent bikes, we do more than party bro. I've got 2 surfboards wanna learn? I've got a Groupon for Skydiving in Santa Barbara, you in?

Definitely hit up a late lunch spot that you can do some light to moderate drinking though, then get back to home base and maybe escalate that drinking a bit because let's be honest...any weekend getaway ALWAYS comes down to Saturday night.

Chapter 4: Saturday (Night)
Pull out all stops, call in all favors. Saturday night is the last impression your friends will have of visiting you, visiting your home. It's what they will remember. It's what they will go home and tell your other friends. "You HAVE to visit LA, we had the craziest weekend of our lives." or "It was cool." (No one will go back and say the weekend sucked and 'Dave has changed man'...well maybe they will, but unlikely because I'm awesome)

I try to have some sort of event planned for Saturday. Something that transcends, dinner, pregame, bar. This is the night to get the hotel room. This is the night to shell out some cash for tickets to something dope. Order the drugs, order a lot of them, even if you don't do drugs. People that just have drugs are cool. It's like stocking your bar. Even if you are a recovering alcoholic, you should just have booze for visitors. Hit up all the slutty girls you used to bang, get a bottle. WEAR A SPORT COAT. Spring for the Uber SUV. Because FUCK IT. Saving money is for bitches. Make it rain so you can make all of your coworkers feel inadequate on Monday when you recount how much better your weekend was.

Turn the intensity up to 11. At some point you should all be sweating profusely, on a dance floor, making out with some chick whose name you do not know. Stay up obscenely late.

You're only young once.

Sunday: The Day of Rest
Another one of the perks of getting a hotel room, you can leave any potential gutter monkeys you brought back from the Bungalow laying there whilst you rock an express check-out. On the off chance there is a miracle at play and you wake up with anything other than the world's worst hangover; go to a bottomless mimosa somewhere on the beach. But you will likely feel like you just got hit by a freight train, if that is the case...Couch.

Here it is in nested if format. =IF(B1:B5="hangover","couch","brunch") or something like that K201 was a long time ago.

Hopefully you were forward thinking enough to book a late afternoon flight. Or even better, early Monday. Your buddies should always allow themselves a recovery day. (So should you, after 25 you need a recovery day, none of this straight to work shit) That way you can even watch Game of Thrones together.

That's when the lasting memories will be made. You can hang out and just shoot the shit, that's probably the reason you guys became friends in the first place. Partying is all good and well, but sitting around and telling stories, that's the gravy. Most of the time when you haven't seen a friend in a while you would be amazed at how quickly things click back into place.

Maybe this isn't how your weekend getaways transpire. Mother's Day was Sunday and I was shocked at how many people my age have children. I cannot even fucking imagine it. There are people out there that are 28 and when they get home from work they have responsibility beyond grabbing McDonald's and watching Netflix. Some day this could be you so enjoy this version of your life while you can.  Party with you old friends, rent that Palm Springs house for the weekend (This is the LA version of go to a lake house) and celebrate life. Some day you may have to grow up (Actually you never have to grow up) but these are the weekends that you never forget, and really 3 day hangovers aren't that bad when memories last a life time.

To those of you visiting this weekend? Buckle up and pace yourself, this might get rough. Here's to hoping no one dies and we all get laid.

The Strange and Glorious World of Matt and Kim

It's been almost 2 weeks since Coachella and I am yet to post my recap column. The Cliff's notes version is this, I violated half your age plus seven, I mistook a bag of dirt for Molly and my phone ended up in Bell Gardens, CA. It was awesome. That said, the full version is coming...I've been a little busy.

After the phone adventure, I had an unexpected aggressive bender last weekend and I just haven't had a lot of time to write. Today I'll change that, but it's probably not the story you are expecting.

I first heard of Matt and Kim the way most people probably did. I was driving to the beach and this poppy post-grunge song comes onto the radio almost sounding like early Third Eye Blind, or really any band of the late 90's.

"Who is this?" I asked, surprised that this song could have gone under my radar for so many years.

"Matt and Kim, Daylight, it came out last year."

It was unique insomuch as that genre had seemed to fade from recent memory. It was the early 2010s, Rock n Roll was dead, EDM was going mainstream and popular music was a hodgepodge of Hip Hop and electro bands such as MGMT and Passion Pit. Matt and Kim felt like a throwback act.

I didn't think of them until years later. After a long morning of pounding Fireball at a USC tailgate, I boarded a city bus to LA Center Studios. Diplo was hosting his first ever Mad Decent Block Party and my roommate had secured us VIP backstage passes. I was working on that lot at the time, Mad Men was filming it's fourth season. Interstellar was prepping in the offices next to mine. When we walked through the main gate I saw a young woman, late 20's crowd surfing to a feel good electro-punk anthem. The crowd was fairly small but electric, an energy that was absent from the main stage. How could a 2 piece band with only a drum set and keyboard drive such a powerful sound that was more overwhelming than 100,000 watts of bass?

Who is that?

"Matt and Kim."

Who the fuck are Matt and Kim?

The short answer is, I don't know. They are billed as an indie-rock band from Brooklyn, but I would be more inclined to call them and Electro/Post-Punk/Dubstep/Pop act...whatever the fuck they are, they're awesome.

It will then come as no surprise that after a classic Moony fueled debacle at Townhouse a few weeks ago, a group of us decided to purchase tickets at 2 o clock in the morning...something I forgot, until yesterday.

"Hey man, don't forget about tonight."

"What about it?"

"Remember when we bought those Matt and Kim tickets?"

Oh ya...

I downloaded their newest album instantly. It's excellent, but like one of my other favorite bands, OAR, nothing could prepare me for the live show.

Last night I drank three beers, took one hit off a joint and it was probably the best concert I have ever been to in my life. I didn't dance with a gorgeous girl, drunkenly suck face. I didn't do secret dips into my pocket, no one was there to offer any key bumps. I just watched the band. I jumped up and down. I sang the words, it was amazing.

Matt and Kim have a science to their live show. It is fast and furious, in their 75 minute set I would imagine they played 12 songs along with various famous hip hop teases, (Ante Up, X Gon' Give it to ya, to name a few) and extensive crowd work. Kim routinely stands on top of her drum kit and demands that people in the audience have sex, get hammered or at the very least kiss a stranger. Matt jumps around the set like the front man from Wolfmother looping his keyboard with everything from classic synths to thumping bass.

The set starts off poppy and energetic building to a crescendo that includes jammy, dubbed out versions of some of their newer hits. As popular taste in music has shifted as to has Matt and Kim's style while still managing to maintain the same positive energy that makes you say to a neighbor "Isn't this just fucking lovely?"

Really all genres of music were covered, between Matt shredding punky power chords on a Fender, to Kim walking out into the crowd to offer up a lap dance, you never know what the next moment will bring. I feel comfortable saying that even if you're not into their particular brand of music, it is indisputable that they put on a hell of a show.

After they closed out with the first song of theirs I ever heard, I distinctly remember being in a daze; watching Kim toss dozens of balloons into the crowd I wondered if I would be ok to drive home.

But wait, I had 3 beers over 4 hours...and one hit of a joint an hour ago. The show just lulled me into a sort of spell that I had to decompress a bit before I walked back to my car. I remember strolling down Hollywood Boulevard and thinking to myself, "Man, if there was some girl that I wanted to just fall in love with me, I would take her to that show." Or maybe I'm just a little crazy because when I was saying all this shit to my friends they were kinda looking at me sideways...ya man, it was really good. But relax.

Maybe they already knew. I'm just late to the party.

I hear people talk about music sometimes and how it affects them and I always kinda give the 'ya cool whatever' response, but I think I get it now. Matt and Kim are a lot of fun. I want to go to more of their shows. I want to play their albums during pregames. I want to sing the words to "Hoodie On" when I drive through the desert alone.

I will admit that some of my high praise may have drifted into hyperbole, but I cannot recommend the show enough, if you're into positive vibes and having a good time you'll thank me. Check it out. They're performing again tonight (at the Fonda in Hollywood, $34 for balcony [props to the Fonda too for having a NICE little brewpub attached with over 40 beers on tap]) for those of you with an ambitious streak, you won't regret it.

#SingleDudeMusic

Dave's First Seder

Fuck.

I looked at my phone that had been tossed to the corner of the room in the midst of my drunken slumber. The buzzing of the alarm sent the phone in muted circles like an Autistic dog trying to catch its tail. I scrambled over to see the time, 4:48am and a text from a girl that I met the night before, "So glad we decided to see that Guster show last night, let's do it again soon!"

Ah yes, there was a Guster concert last night, and maybe even some making out in the back seat. Ke$ha came on during the encore, still trying to make some sense of that but....FUCK. My flight was scheduled to leave in 80 minutes. I didn't have a bag packed. I didn't even have a bag, I had left it at a buddy's house a week before. So my two options were to go to the airport with nothing or blindly take the bag I took to Park City 4 weeks ago (that I never unpacked) Grab and go...surely there will be something usable in there.

I ordered an Uber (with a 3x surge at 4:55 in the morning...wtf?) swooped a buddy down the street and we were off to LAX. The trip wasn't off to an ideal start but the plane was delayed a couple minutes and we were the last two on board. I popped a valium, ordered a scotch, next stop SMF.

A few years after I moved to LA, I started coming up to Sacramento for minor holidays, Thanksgiving mostly. It's too hard to fly all the way back to the Eastern time zone for less than a week so instead I hang out with my adopted California family in Granite Bay. The attendants are a motley crew of old frat brothers, the Vegas gang the siblings of my friend Paul. Every time we get together it is bad news for whatever local municipality we stay in. This however was not a Thanksgiving trip. It was a Seder. Seder is special.

Growing up in the Waspy suburbs of Indianapolis, I didn't know any Jews. I've never been to a Bar Mitzvah, I don't know what a Snowball is (if it isn't a frozen projectile or two girls passing cum between their mouths) I've definitely never been to Temple or participated in the holy events surrounding Pasover. I had never been up to Paul's Seder because it typically overlaps with Coachella and well...Eat, Sleep, Rape, Repeat.

I wasn't on the original planning email of the trip, so all of the information I received was second hand. "Bring a Hawaiian shirt," was the only semblance of instructions I was given. Not that anything mattered since I had an old ski bag full of smelly socks with me and maybe a pair of goggles. Regardless, I did not get the memo about a linen suit, or about the duck costume, or that I would be wearing said duck costume, riding the back of a motorcycle...but I'm getting ahead of myself.

Friday started off innocently enough. We went to a sushi lunch and began drinking heavily because of course we did. Next order of business was a run to Party City for decorations and a thrift store to get me outfitted.

Want to guess what happens when you drink a bunch of sake at lunch and then take the family (not my family) AMEX to Party City? Spoiler alert, you buy hundreds of dollars of stupid shit. Furthermore, when you take the same buzz to a Goodwill you might walk out with a golden linen suit and a Hawaiian shirt that would make Jimmy Buffett blush.

Next was a thousand dollar beer run and finally around 5pm we were ready to party.

Our group arrived in waves. It seemed like every 45 minutes another car would run to the airport and bring more people. A few of our crew were stranded in random airports across the country. Weather, equipment malfunction, but for the ten of us or so that made it successfully to Granite Bay, it was go time.

Every family has its own traditions. Some do the movie thing, others are really into food. My California family parties...a lot. So when plans for Friday night came and we were tasked with the option of storming the local Granite Bay Bars or getting a hotel downtown, there was never a doubt that we would snag a block of rooms at the Hyatt Regency.

The $100 a night Hyatt Regency, sometimes I miss the mid-sized city.

We trashed our rooms quite thoroughly, though not quite Mardi Gras bad. Our damage bill didn't reach the thousands and no one was threatened with litigation. When I Googled "broey bar Sacramento" the name Lowenbrau kept coming up. I clicked for a Yelp review.

"OMG I fucking hate this place, nothing but entitled bros, throwing money around and trying to take home sluts."

Need I say more?

I don't remember much more about the night other than the fact that a shot of Jameson was something like 2 dollars. College shot prices are hazardous to your health. I think about half the group booted, others stayed up til like 5am at a strip club, I attempted to catch up on some sleep but managed to wake up with an all time hangover Saturday morning. The Seder was yet to even begin, but I was already down for the count.

The first miracle of the trip happened at a Taco Bell in Roseville. A steak and egg breakfast burrito from the Bell can cure you of the gravest ills. I strongly recommend it.

So we get back at 12, just in time for the old guys/young guys basketball game. This isn't a normal basketball game. We played 2 rounds of 'You Got Served' and shotgunned a beer before the tip. Also the hoops are at 9.5 feet so people like me can dunk.

I was able to get a few baskets before I was mercifully subbed out. I started stretching on the sidelines to infer that I had tweaked a hamstring. In all actuality I was on the verge of booting and needed my squad to win before I re-entered the rotation. By some miracle the old guys (me) won, we all signed the ball, I think we cut the fucking net down. It was so obnoxious, but I loved every second of it. 10 beers later, a few lines of adderall and it was time for the Seder production meeting.

Yes. This dinner had a fucking production meeting.

At 4:30 Dave will put on the duck costume. McIvor will check ID's at the front door and stamp guests as they arrive. When all guests have arrived Dave in duck costume will ride on the back of a motorcycle waving an American flag and pump up the dinner guests. Other Dave will then play a heavily distorted version of the National Anthem on electric guitar.

I'm sure this is exactly what the ancient Jews in Israel envisioned when passing down the story of Passover.

Matt is in charge of the pinata. Gil, download a One Direction album. Ben, where is that fucking strobe light. Ari, go run a sound check on the amp. I've seen angry Assistant Directors run a meeting. Seder Paul puts them all to shame. See this may sound like an absurd family tradition, this zany Passover meal. But it's HIS tradition and he takes it very seriously.

"Why did we get a strobe light this year?"

"Because we didn't have one last year and each year we need to elevate to keep it fresh."

Ah yes, the comedy principle of "yes, and..." now he's speaking my language.

***

I've ridden mopeds both domestically and internationally. I've taken a dirt bike off a jump. I have never ridden on the back of a motorcycle. It is terrifying. Blind in a duck suit, it is pants shitting scary. And as I was waving that American flag for the arriving guests our speed never eclipsed maybe 12 miles per hour.

Yet I've never clutched harder to anything in my life than the other Dave aka war hero (for real) Dave's chest.

When he dropped me off I jumped and I cheered. I high fived the dinner guests, but mostly I sprinted to the bathroom to take off my duck costume and take a stiff pull of whiskey as I promised myself never again to get onto the back of a motorcycle.

After war hero Dave's riveting performance of our National Anthem (see above) it was time for dinner. Well, no. It was time for a lot of wine and some readings. Some Hebrew, some English. I was far too gone to follow, but there was lots of singing and clapping involved. In my heightened euphoric state I remember enjoying that quite a bit.

The whole dinner goes in waves, there is the wine wave, then some flat bread, then salad and a matzah ball I think? I remember finally when it was my turn to read I had become very nervous. I thought that the moment would crush me and I would embarrass myself in front of all these fine Jewish folk. But alas, when I finished they cheered because we had made it to the end of the Seder story and the meat could be served. More specifically the duck!

Someone else put on the duck costume and a duck pinata full of peeps was presented to the table, I think there was some brisket and I'm fairly certain one of the adults (like actual adult over 50, not a twentysomething "adult") crowed, "we're gonna need some more wine."

Yes, yes we are.

Around the 17th bottle of wine, someone announced "Kentucky is going to lose!" and now the Indiana crowd had something more to celebrate. It was quite the night. You ever talk to someone you know you're never going to see again and just make shit up for the purpose of driving a fascinating conversation? I do this sometimes when I'm drunk and talking to adults. I hope that one older woman doesn't honestly try to follow my Senatorial career.

We went back to the garage for an all night marathon of Civil War, I made buffalo chicken dip at like 3 o clock in the morning and then my trip ended just as it began...blacked out waking up late to my phone alarm.

Fuck.

Ben we're going to be late, our flight leaves in an hour.

The rush to SMF begins...unshowered, wearing whatever I finally fell asleep in and sans any of my new Goodwill acquisitions. (RIP gold linen suit.)

I look back at the car for a moment before I run to my gate. Paul's mom rolls down the window. "Dave, you're such a delight. You're part of the family now, come back whenever you want." I smiled for a minute and let this process. There are only two things that really matter in this world, your health and people that care about you...and on this particular day, at least I had one.

We rush to the Southwest counter only to find out their server had crashed and we would need to wait in line for a paper ticket.

Dreading the idea of an afternoon in Sacramento airport lamenting a missed flight I did something far outside my character and caused a scene.

Sweaty and strung out I approach the counter.

"Sir did you wait in line?"

"No, I need to speak to the person in charge. If my ability to use a mobile boarding pass hadn't been taken away by YOUR issue, I would not be in danger of missing my flight right now."

Maybe my breath was too bad, maybe my quasi-drunken demeanor made the check-in lady nervous. But she frowned and handed me two boarding passes. Home free right, because who the fuck lives in Sacramento, there can't be a security line right?

Wrong.

Easily a 45 minute line.

Did I care? I dragged Ben to the TSA pre check line and shoved my documents in some woman's face. She didn't give a shit, she hated her job and wanted to be at an Easter brunch. She lets me through and all is looking good until some hero approaches me at the conveyor.

"Let me see your boarding pass."

"Sorry sir, I'm running a bit late."

"Do you have a first class ticket? Global entry? Pre-check?"

"No but I've already been cleared by her, go talk to her."

"I'll talk to YOU."

And then I stared at him and said in a very pointed tone.

"I'm going to walk through the metal detector now, are you going to stop me or not?"

It easily could have gotten me arrested or on some no fly list, I NEVER fuck with the TSA. But he walked away like the bitch that he is and we made it through security.

We were now sprinting to our gate, no shoes, no belt, shit raining out of my bag. Drenched in sweat I triumphantly arrived at my gate only to see that we were delayed for 2 hours.

Fuck.

When we finally got on the plane I felt something bumpy in my pocket. I pulled out a small trophy.

"What's this?"

"Oh, you don't remember man? We had an awards ceremony last night, you won Seder MVP. First time a rookie ever snagged it, pretty legendary."

"Why is it so sticky?"

"Oh, well you named us all Co-MVPs and made us all take a shot out of it...you even made a toast."

"What did I say?"

"To my California family, some people may not understand, but this is what we do. See you next year."

Maybe I was watching too many Fast/Furious movie but I have to say, for a toast I don't remember giving, that's pretty damn touching.

***

My bag takes forever at baggage claim, we can't get an Uber at the airport, so nearly 6 hours after we left Granite Bay I got back to Venice and was abruptly kidnapped by my roommate for an Easter Egg hunt by the beach. I finally laid down in my bed around 8pm dead to the world. I knew the following day would be terrible. I was hungover, riddled with anxiety and mysterious bruises were beginning to appear on my body.

But it was all worth it. It's not about the boozing, the debauchery, the food. It's about friendship, community. It's about family.

I'll be honest, last week was shitty. Monday I felt like hell, Tuesday wasn't much better. I think Wednesday night I was finally back to zero. And then well...it's Thursday which is basically Friday. Some things are worth the pain. Tradition, family, among others.

You get through it.

Our chat the next week...

"It truly is the most wonderful time of the year. Always a pleasure, never a chore."

"From Anat: 4/23/16 Seder next year, mark it down."

"#davesfirstseder is trending right now guys, 1 million see yas are talking about this"

"Great performance guys. Mom is still talking about how it was the best seder yet, BUT THAT BASKETBALL GAME WAS BULLSHIT!"

"I'm so hungover, I think I'm gonna get fired."

None of us got fired and I've already booked my flight back for next year where somehow, some way, we will find a way to one up the insanity from this year's Seder. And to my friends (and now family) that made it possible, thank you for making #davesfirstseder the greatest weekend of my fucking life.

The Venmo Game

It's Coachella weekend guys! You know what that means, a bunch of privileged white kids (actually the line-up blows this year so the Mexicans can afford to go too!) will be going to the desert to do drugs. It's also a great time of year to play "The Venmo Game" aka Is this payment for drugs?

Unfortunately, most people don't have the balls to write "This payment is for drugs" so the fun in the Venmo game is to decipher the amateur coding by your friends. It can be tricky, but let's be honest, I know all their tricks.

What follows is a guide on how to tell if a Venmo payment is for drugs.

1. Vagueness

Let's take a look at Venmo now shall we, nothing better than a little trial by fire. Here is a payment that simply says "Friday."

Sure Friday could mean anything right? Maybe it was for dinner, or the two parties split a case of beer en route to a pregame. Maybe it was something as innocent as musical theatre!

But here is the thing...One does not simply write a vague proper noun to describe dinner. You put 100 sushi emotes to make the motherfuckers cruising your Venmo jealous. I GOT SUSHI BITCH YOU JERKED OFF AND WATCHED THE JINX. THAT'S WEIRD!

"Friday" clearly entails you stayed up until 6 in the morning ripping cocaine and debating about whether police brutality is justified. (It's not!)

2. The Timestamp

This one is best used with context. If you wake up Sunday morning and see a Venmo payment for "Brunch" posted 4 hours ago, it is more likely that instead of pancakes it was for a brunch buffet of MDMA. People do not prepay for brunch. People do not remember at 3 o clock in the morning that they owe someone from an old brunch. No, this is someone attempting to be clever but not taking into consideration all factors.

That said, a lot of people do make rash decision at 3am that have nothing to do with drugs. For example if you see "Matt and Kim tickets" it probably means two guys heard the song daylight and saw they were coming to town at the end of April. They may have been on drugs...they may do drugs at the show, but that SPECIFIC payment is likely not for drugs. Timestamp is also used well as a disqualifying factor. Most people aren't thinking of candy flipping as soon as they wake up in the morning. For this reason, anything 8a-Noon is usually a non-drug transaction or a NDT.

3. The Lay-up

Any time the emotes for beer, wine, liquor, red pill, cigarette, needle or eight ball are used.

OMG it's like a magic eight ball but it's for blow. SOOOOO fucking clever.

4. The Red Herring

Conversely, some people think it is funny to pay for rent under headings like "shrooms" to embarrass the other person. Also "pure heroine" could be for tickets to a Lorde concert.

5. An Event

This one is pretty easy. When does the transaction take place? Things you pre-pay for...a ticket, your share of the house, maybe even some alcohol and food.

Things you invoice people for after the effect...
1/2 of an 8ball, 1 gram of molly, 4 hits of acid.

Usually there is even a fun email attached. "Wow, what a weekend guys, totes hungover, can't wait to do it again. The breakdown for goodies was X per person, my Venmo name is blah-blah. Love ya! Laaaaate."

6. Vegas/Bachelor Party

It's for drugs.

7. Buzz Words

stuff, liver, choices, decisions, hangover, rage, rave, ouch, regrets, Kale Salad

These are all words associated with partying. There is literally an app called Vicemo that will curate results like this for you, but it's kinda cheating. I dunno, I'll still give you half credit. Evaluate the users and decide for yourself.

8. A Place

In general follow the same rules as 'an event.' Though the name of a place usually indicates that people were on vacation and in search of a good time. Unless someone instead just writes Texas Forever. This indicates that this person is a homey.

So there you go...8 simple rules to get you started. I, myself will not be going to Coachella this year. I've been to three festivals in the past 6 months and I'm a little partied out at the moment. On top of that, last weekend I celebrated the resurrection of Christ by raging my balls off in Sacramento while wearing a duck suit with my adopted California family. It was crazy, to protect the innocent (and guilty) I may be unable to provide a proper Seder wrap-up post.

Furthermore, I have my own plans for the desert this weekend. I'm going to Joshua Tree to chill out and get in touch with nature.

Haha, just kidding we're going to get super fucked up for a birthday party and I'll probably make everyone Venmo me for the shrooms I bring. Can you say MUSHROOM EMOTE?!?

Lol just kidding...

The shrooms are on me.

Enjoy your weekend everyone, be safe and responsible wherever you go. It's going to be a long weekend of Instagram envy for the losers without plans and I imagine there will be a fair share of hangover solidarity Monday. Come on over and sit in the dark with me. We have lots of water. We can watch The Jinx. (No jerking off though)

Greek Life

A lot has been made in the media as of late about fraternities and the negative lifestyles they perpetuate. There have always been stereotypes associated with rampant alcohol abuse, but a couple years ago hazing came to the forefront and when people got sick of that story “The Greek system has a rape problem.”

In the past my response to this would have been something along the lines of “fucking loser geeds are probably just jealous blah blah blah” but as this is a topic that is important to me I decided I would attempt to pen a thoughtful response with some positive counterpoints.

I grew up in Indiana. It’s a pretty cool place. $500,000 can buy you a house on the nicest lake in the state, people are nice and it’s safe. It’s about as American as it gets. That said, in my community everyone was white, Christian and upper middle class. Most people grow up to do whatever their dad does. My dad is an investment broker, he moves money around for people for a living. It’s a good job, but I never got on board with the idea with asking people to give me their money, so it was never going to work out. For a while, I kicked around the idea of being a lawyer, but upon arrival at Indiana University I had largely no idea what I wanted to do with my life.

I rushed an IU Fraternity the fall of 2005. There were 20 guys in my pledge class, 100 guys in my house. Judging from the previous paragraph one could say I grew up in a bit of a bubble, the day I joined a house that all changed. I met people from all over the country, interested in all sorts of different shit and I had to learn how to get along with all of them.

But that was just my house…next door there were a different 20 guys and they were in a different pledge class in a different house of 100 people that they had to get along with. But they also had to get along with us because over the next four years we would be literally growing up together. The same was true up the street with the sororities. Many of us had the same classes, went to the same bars, dates the same people, went on the same spring break trips. In fact by Sophomore year all that ‘my frat is better than your frat shit is over’ and what remained (at least in Bloomington) was one large Greek family.

Frat culture is not a culture of rape, it’s a culture of family.

And that was a large contributing factor in what drove the decisions I would make in college. Not only did I have a pledge class and fraternity house to keep me accountable; I had my buddies in Delt, Sigma Chi, Phi Sig, Acacia to tell me when I was being a fuckstick. But also I knew I had three layers of support any time I was remotely in trouble. If a local Bloomington resident were to get a little out of hand and hit me with a bottle out at a bar, he was dead. Every person in that bar had my back.

Similarly, everyone knew that if ANY girl was touched against her will that guy was done for.  These Sorority girls were who we had been drinking with, going to dances with, laughing and crying with for four years. They were like little sisters that you occasionally got incesty with.

As for secrets, I simply don’t see it. There is a famous phrase that goes, two may keep a secret if one is dead. In plain English that means, it is hard as fuck to keep a secret between two people, let alone something like 4,000.

If you cheated on a girlfriend/boyfriend you would be found out in about 22 minutes. If you blacked out and shit yourself everyone would know, and then it would blow over and everything would be cool. The one constant, if you were ever in serious trouble, someone would be there to pick you up, because that’s what family is for.

Sure, there were moderate squabbles over the years. A drunken brawl, the classic ATO/Acacia race day fight, the constant picking on Fiji, but isn’t that what siblings do? They fight and then grab a beer.

I remember the morning after my Senior bar crawl, myself and one of our coaches woke up on the couch together; a bootlegged copy of movie Taken was still looping in the background. We were informed that the rest of our team had been thrown in jail during said bar crawl. So we went and bailed them out and then had breakfast at the Village Deli, because that’s what you do.

There was never a question about whether or not to help a fellow Greek in trouble it was ‘what can I do?’

The college experience may inherently be flawed, but what I remember was having a lot of fun with my friends, both men and women. The narrative in the media seems to be that of frats as a he-man woman hating club that waits for unsuspecting women to come drink their booze and then they pounce like monsters.

That’s not what I remember at all. I remember eating brunch at Tri Delt on Fridays and smoking cigs in the Chi O courtyard. I remember skipping class to rent boats with Alpha Phi. I don’t remember these coordinated attacks on women. But perhaps that was just my experience.

A teacher of mine once told me that a drunk person will never do something that they “won’t” do. They will do something they wouldn’t ordinarily do, but not something they won’t do.

If you black out and hook up with a guy. Congratulations, deep down, you’re a little bi-curious and that’s ok. College is about finding yourself. But if you think you can get drunk and take advantage of a woman, you are a monster.

I’ve had bad nights. A bad night is waking up in the tank. A bad night is calling an ex-girlfriend a slut. A bad night is losing your phone. A really bad night is getting a DUI.

But all of those you can come back from, it is ok to fuck up in college.

Hitting a woman? That is not a bad night. But unless 4,000 people were able to keep this dark secret this BIG secret from me, I don’t think it was happening. I mean not to toot my own horn, but I was on the inner circle. If IU had The Skulls I would have been Paul Walker.

Again, shooting out a rival frat's window with a potato canon is a fuck-up (an awesome fuck up) you pay for the window and buy the guy a beer. You abuse a woman? You're out. Simply put. Fraternities and sororities know they live under a microscope and almost any amount of hijinks can be forgiven, not this. Zero tolerance.

By the time Spring Break came around Senior year I went on to Mexico with a group of my closest friends. Men, women, pledge brothers, peeps from B school, they just all happened to be Greek and even though we were in a sketchy part of the world, I had never felt more safe because everyone was looking out for each other.

This is not to say that there aren’t problems. It seems that when you read about alcohol abuse and possible sexual assault relating to fraternities a Freshman is involved. Maybe ban all first semester Freshman from being in any Greek house during a social function. This is not victim blaming, it is just saying maybe first semester young men and women could do well to get their college legs under them. At 18 you are immature, small, have low alcohol tolerance. Automatic one year ban for any house that violates this policy. Will it stop alcohol abuse and sexual assault?

No. I don’t know how to fix those issues.

I just know that joining a house I learned how to be the person I wanted to be. I found out there was more to the world, I could leave, I could pursue something creative…and I did. I’m still friends with a lot of the men and women I met in college, specifically through the Greek system and I’m not sure I’ve had a single conversation with anyone that wishes they could take it all back.

I suppose in closing, I would just urge people to offer real insight into any issue they address. I know it’s very easy to pile on the Greek system right now, or even my home state of Indiana. Lots of hot takes left and right. I long for a time that in order to affect change you have to do more than fire off 140 characters while taking a shit. If half as many people focused on themselves as opposed to directing faux outrage at something they know largely nothing about, the world would be a better place. To the people going through this now, there will be people rooting for you to fail, but I will always be cheering for you, the Greek system. It was one of the most positive experiences of my life.

Perhaps there are non-Greeks out there that actually believe fraternities need to go away forever…but those fucking loser geeds are probably just jealous.

AWOL Podcast Promo

I made a short...it's terrible, but it's a thing! That I made!

This is not good. It is too long. It is grainy. The sound is bad. It is poorly edited.

But...

There are maybe one or two laughs, I shot it for nothing and it took me an hour.

Behold the failed promo video for my new podcast coming summer 2015.