I''m a pretty horrible blogger, as evidenced by the fact that I haven't made an entry in months, but instead of diving straight into an analysis essay, or debating the playcalling abilities of andy ludwig, I wanted to write a little about my life lately. Two weeks ago I got home from what was probably the greatest trip I will ever take in my life. 12 of us including myself took off Sunday Dec 7th from Salt Lake International with destination fun in mind. About two hours after boarding the plane at 6:55 am (Yes, Virginia, this IS the most ridiculous time to fly on an airplane!!! Thankfully I was saved by Jetblue and their directv for everyone) we were on the ground in Long Beach, CA, checking in and getting ready to set sail to the Mexican Riviera aboard the Carnival Pride. There is no way I can really describe or convey in words the amount of fun we had. Great group of guys, good times, and so many memories. It was the best, but it was horrible because we had to come home. i was tempted to just cash in on the amex card and see how long I could stay, but thought better of it. Hopefully in march we'll be making a pilgramage back to Cabo, seeing as how I didn't get to spend nearly enough time there, but we'll see...


In other life developments, I'm quitting my job at the car wash. Its definitely time, I realized. Despite the job paying decent money, it lacks benefits and at the end of the day, the biggest decider was that I'm not going anywhere with it, and I want to get school done already. Also, I just didn't enjoy it anymore. My bosses are great guys, and they have been really good to me, and I just wanted to say that in all honesty, Auto Spa Express is a great car wash, because the owners really are concerned with giving people the best wash they can for the money. I will miss it someday, just not right now when it is freezing cold and I spent half an hour trying to get the damn tarps to sit down in gale force wind. Obviously I'm not bitter....

Texas Fan Diary

This isnt exactly New, so I'm sure most of you have read it but none the less to this very day it continues to win the internet , and by a pretty wide margin. Given the spirit of the start of the new season, I figured this would be a good motivational piece as we prepare to get on our (tailgating) game faces.

And for those who haven't read it, you're welcome. 
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A chronology of events for Saturday, December 4, 1999, and the early morning hours of Sunday, December 5, 1999:

6:00 Arise, play the Eyes of Texas and Texas Fight at full-freaking blast

6:20 Get in car, drive to New Braunfels

7:30 Tee off (me and a buddy were the FIRST tee-time of the morning)

8:50 Turn 9 (crack open first beer)

8:53 Crack open second beer

8:58 Crack open...(you get the idea)

10:30 Finish 18 (holes, as well as beers), sign scorecard for smoooooth 95

10:35 Headed for San Antonio (Alamodome - Nebraska vs Texas)

10:50 Buy three 18-packs for pre- and post-game festivities

11:10 We decide we don't have enough booze, so we double-back to a liquor store and buy the good ol' 750 ml plastic bottle "Traveler" Jim Beam

11:50 Arrive at the tailgate spot. Awesome day. Not a single cloud in the sky. About 70 degrees.

11:55 I decide that we're going to kick the ********** out of Nebraska.

11:56 I tell my first Nebraska fan to go f!!k himself.

12:15 The UT band walks by on the way to the Alamodome. We're on the second floor of a two-story parking garage on the corner (a couple hundred of us). We're hooting and hollering like wildmen. The band doubles back to the street right below us and serenades us with Texas Fight and The Eyes of Texas. AWESOME MOMENT.

12:25 In the post-serenade serendipity, 50-100 grown men are bumping chests with one another, each and every one of them now secure and certain of the fact that we are going to kick the ********** out of Nebraska.

11:00 The Nebraska band walks by on the way to the Alamodome. Again, we hoot and holler like wildmen. Again, the band doubles back and stops right below us to serenade us, this time, however, with the Nebraska fight songs. Although somewhat impressed by their spirit and verve, we remain convinced that we are going to kick the ********** out of Nebraska.

1:30 I begin the walk to the Alamodome, somehow managing to stuff the "Traveler" and 11 cans of beer into my pants.

1:47 I am in line surrounded by Nebraska fans. They are taunting me. I am taunting back, still certain that we are going to kick the ********** out of Nebraska. I decide to challenge a particularly vocal Nebraska fan to play what I now call and will forever be remembered as "Cell-Phone Flop Out." Remember flop out for a dollar? The rules are similar. I tell this Nebraska jackass that if he's so confident in his team, he should "flop out" his cell phone RIGHT NOW and make plane reservations to Phoenix for the Fiesta Bowl. And then I spoke these memorable words: "And not those damn refundable tickets, either! You request those non-refundable, non-transferrable sons-of-b!tches!" He backs down. He is unworthy. I call Southwest Airlines and buy two tickets to Phoenix, non-refundable and non-transferrable. Price: $712. He is humbled. He lowers his head in shame. I raise my cell phone in triumph to the cheers of hundreds of Texas fans. I am KING and these are my subjects. I distribute the 11 beers in my pants to the cheering masses. I RULE the pre-game kingdom.

2:34 Kickoff. Brimming with confidence, I open the Traveler and pour my first stiffy.

2:45 I notice something troubling: Nebraska is big. Nebraska is fast. Nebraska is very pissed off at Texas.

3:01 The first quarter mercifully ends. 9 yards total offense for Texas. Zero first downs for Texas. I'm still talking **********. I pour another stiffy from the Traveler.

3:36 Four minutes to go in the first half: the Traveler is a dead soldier. I buy my first $5 beer from the Alamodome merchants. While I am standing in line, a center snap nearly decapitates Major Applewhite and rolls out of the end zone. Safety.

3:56 Halftime score: Nebraska 15, Texas 0. I wish I had another Traveler.

4:11 While urinating next to a Nebraska fan in the bathroom at halftime, I attempt to revive the classic Brice- ism from the South Bend bathroom: "Hey, buddy, niiiiiiiiice c**k." He is unamused.

4:21 I buy my 2nd and 3rd $5 beer from the Alamodome merchants. I share my beer with two high school girls sitting behind me. Surprisingly, they are equipped with a flask full of vodka. I send them off to purchase Sprites, so that we may consume their vodka. I have not lost faith. Nebraska is a bunch of pu$$ies.

4:51 No more vodka. The girls sitting behind me have fled for their lives. I purchase two more $5 beers from the Alamodome merchants.

5:18 Score is Nebraska 22, Texas 0. I am beginning to lose faith. This normally would trouble me, but I am too drunk to see the football field.

5:27 I call Southwest Airlines: "I'm sorry, sir. Those tickets have been confirmed and are non-refundable and non-transferrable."

5:37 I try to start a fight with every person behind the concession counter. As it turns out, the Alamodome has a policy that no beer can be sold when there is less than 10 minutes on the game clock. I am enraged by this policy. I ask loudly: "Why the ************ didn't you announce last call over the f**king PA system??!!"

5:49 Back in my seats, I am slumped in my chair in defeat. All of a sudden, the Texas crowd goes absolutely nuts. "Whazzis?," I mutter, awaking from my coma, "Iz we winnig? Did wez scort?" Alas, the answer is > > >>no, we were not winning and we did not score. The largest (by far) cheer of the day from the Texas faithful occurred when the handlers were walking back to the tunnel and Bevo (the Texas mascot) stopped to take a gargantuan ********** all over the letters "S", "K",and "A" in the "Nebraska" spelled out in their end zone. I cheer wildly. I pick up the empty Traveler bottle and stick my tongue in it. I am thirsty.

6:16 Nebraska fans are going berserk as I walk back to the truck. I would taunt them with some off-color remarks about their parentage, but I am too drunk to form complete sentences. With my last cognitive thought of the evening, I take solace in the fact that if we had not beaten them in October, they would be playing Florida State for the national championship.

6:30 Back in the car. On the way back to Austin for the basketball game.

8:00 Texas-Arizona tip off. We can still salvage the day! I crack open a beer. It is warm. I don't care.

7:12 We have stopped for gas. I am hungry. I go inside the store. I walk past the beer frig. I notice a Zima. I've never had a Zima. I wonder if it's any good. I pull a Zima from the frig. I twist the top off and drink the Zima in three swallows. Zima sucks. I replace the empty bottle in the frig.

7:17 There is a Blimpie Subs in the store. I walk to where the ingredients are, where the person usually makes the sub. There is no one there. I lean over the counter and scoop out half a bucket of black olives. I eat them. I am still hungry. I lean further over the counter and grab approximately two pounds of Pastrami. I walk out of the store grunting and eating Pastrami. The patrons in the store fear me. I don't care.

8:01 We are in South Austin. I have been drinking warm beer and singing Brooks and Dunn tunes for over an hour. My truck-mate is tired of my singing. He suggests that perhaps Brooks and Dunn have written other good songs besides "You're Going to Miss Me When I'm Gone" and "Neon Moon" and that maybe listening to only those two songs, ten times each was a bit excessive. Perhaps, he suggests, Icould just let the CD play on its own. I tell him to ************ off and restart "Neon Moon."

8:30 We arrive at the Erwin Center. My truckmate, against my loud and profane protestations, parks on the top floor of a nearby parking garage. I tell him he's an idiot. I tell him we will never get out. I tell him we may as well pitch a f**king tent here. He ignores me. I think he's still pissed about the Brooks and Dunn tunes. I whistle "Neon Moon" loudly.

8:47 I am rallying. I have 4 warm beers stuffed in my pants. We're going to kick the ********** out of Arizona.

9:11 Halftime score: Texas 31, Arizona 29. I am pleased. I go to the bathroom to pee for the 67th time today. I giggle to myself because of the new opportunity to do "the bathroom Brice." There are no Arizona fans in the bathroom. I am disappointed. I tell myself (out loud) that I have a "Niiiiiice c*ck." No one is amused but me.

9:41 I walk to the bathroom while drinking Bud Light out of a can. Needless to say, they do not sell beer at the Erwin Center,much less Bud Light out of a can. I am stopped by an usher: "Where did you get that, sir?" I tell him (no **********): "Oh, the cheerleaders were throwing them up with those little plastic footballs. Would you mind throwing this away for me?" I take the last swig and hand it to him. He is confused. I pretend I'm going to the bathroom, but I run away giggling instead. I duck into some entrance to avoid the usher, who is now pursuing me. I sneak into a large group of people and sit down. The usher walks by harmlessly. I am giggling like a little girl. I crack open another can of Bud Light.

9:52 I am lost. In my haste to avoid the usher, I have lost my bearings. I have no ticket stub. I cannot find my seats. Texas is losing.

10:09 Texas is being screwed by the refs. I am enraged. I have cleared out the seats around me because I keep removing my hat and beating the surrounding chairs with it. A concerned fan asks if I'm OK and perhaps I shouldn't take it so seriously. I tell him to ************ off.

10:15 After the fourth consecutive "worst f**king call I have EVER seen, " I attempt to remove my hat again to begin beating inanimate objects. However, on this occasion I miscalculate and I thumbnail myself in my left eyelid, leaving a one-quarter inch gash over my eye. I am now bleeding into my left eye and all over my shirt. "Perhaps," I think to myself, I'm taking this a bit seriously."

10:22 I am standing in the bathroom peeing. I'm so drunk I am swaying and grunting. I have a bloody napkin pressed on my left eye. My pants are bloody. I have my (formerly) white shirt wrapped around my waist. I look like I should be in an episode of Cops.

10:43 Texas has lost. I put my bloody white shirt back on my body and make my way for the exits. I am stopped every 20 seconds by a good samaritan/cop/security guard to ask me why I am covered in blood, but I merely grunt incoherently and keep moving.

10:59 With my one good eye, I have located the parking garage. I walk up six flights of stairs, promise that when I see my friend I will punch him in the face for making me walk up six flights of stairs, find the truck, and collapse in a heap in the bed of the truck. I look around and notice that traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and no one is moving. I take a nap.

11:17 I awake from my nap. I see my friend in the driver's seat. I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and no one is moving. I am too tired to punch my friend. I call my friend a "Stupid c**ksucker."

11:31 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and no one is moving. I call my friend a "Stupid c**ksucker."

11:38 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and no one is moving. I call my friend a "Stupid c**ksucker."

11:47 I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that traffic is lined up all the way around the garage, six whole flights, and no one is moving. I call my friend a "Stupid c**ksucker."

11:58 I am jostled. The truck is moving. I lift my head to look out the bed of the truck and notice that traffic is beginning to move on the second floor. I jump out of the truck, walk to the edge of the parking facility, and pee off the sixth floor onto the street below. My friend looks at me like I just anally violated his minor sister. I turn around pee on the front of his truck while singing the lyrics to "Neon Moon."

12:11 We are moving. We are out of beer. I jump from the truck and go from vehicle to vehicle until someone gives me two beers. I am happy. I return to my vehicle

12:26 We have emerged from the parking facility. We make our way to my apartment and find Ed sitting on the couch with a freshly opened bottle of Glenlivet on the coffee table in front of him. We are all going to die tonight.

12:59 We have finished three-quarters of the bottle of Glenlivet. We decide it would be a wonderful idea to go dancing at PollyEsther's. Ed has to pee. He walks down the hall to our apartment and directly into the full length mirror at the end of the hall, smashing it into hundreds of pieces. We giggle uncontrollably and leave for PollyEsther's.

1:17 The PollyEsther's doorman laughs uncontrollably at our efforts to enter his club. "Fellas," he says in between his fits of spastic laughter, "I've been working this door for almost a year. I've been working doors in this town for almost 5 years. And I can honestly say that I ain't never seen three drunker mother f**kers than you three. Sorry, can't let you in." We attempt to reason with him. He laughs harder.

1:44 We find a bar that lets us in. We take two steps in the door and hear "Last call for alcohol!" I turn to the group and mutter: "See, dat wasn't that f**kin' hard. Day don't f**kin' do that at the Awamo...the awaom...the alab...************ it, that stadium we was at today..." We order 6shots of tequila and three beers.

2:15 Back on the street. We need food. We hail cab to take us the two and one half blocks to Denny's. The cab fare is $1.60. We give him $10 and tell him to keep it.

2:17 There is a 20 minute wait. We give the hostess $50. We are seated immediately.

2:25 We order two orders of fried pickles, a Cobb salad, a bowl of soup, two orders of Blueberry blintzes, two Reuben sandwiches, a hamburger, two cheese stuffed potatoes, an order of fries, and an order of onion rings.

2:39 The food arrives. We are all asleep with our heads on the table. The waiter wakes us up. We eat every f**king bit of our food. Most of the restaurant patrons around us are disgusted. We don't give a ************. The tab is $112 with tip.

2:46 I'm sleepy.

9:12 I wake up next to a strange woman. She is a waitress at Denny's. She is not pretty.

A Few Words About Dee

Dee Sucks.

Reading Seth Godin's blog tonight, I came across a piece he wrote regarding the change in the economy. His reading is always entertaining and extremely insightful, and tonight was no different. He said that the way of the factory and being able to produce things locally is gone, and that business has refined the process to the point where it is near perfect, and therefore instead of looking to make it more obedient, that we should look into the direction that the new networked economy is heading. I think what he means is that we have gone from an age where being local was a strong enough reason to buy something, to where we can get it to here from anywhere, so the new trick has become how do we get customer x to us? It's an interesting thought, and makes me wonder why I never thought about it from that perspective. I had always assumed that it would mean that people would go back to more local, intimate products, but he is right. The new horizon is more connecting the dots, and finding ways to do that, as opposed to refining the manufacturing process. The question is this, what will be the process? What jobs will be created in order to "grow" the process? I don't have the foresight to answer but it is an interesting concept. Applying it to my particular field, social media is making it more difficult on both organizations and on reporters to get jobs done. So where is the field heading then? I'll be waiting for the answer, but, I think like Seth says, it is the start of the networking revolution.

Ready or Not, Here I Come

I figured it was time to write again. Had a few light thoughts to write down, hopefully later in the week I will get to do some real writing. Hard to find things to write about right now though.

-Of course I would start this off with a Jazz blast. The team has been as fun to watch as I can ever remember, eerily similar to the year they snuck into the Western Conference finals in 2006. The last two games were tough to handle though. When good, the Jazz are amazing to watch. When bad, I feel like every heartbreaking loss they have had over the last 20 years that I have seen is replayed underneath what I am actually seeing, like a terrible flashback montage. I question why I even care about them, think of how even keel my life would be without them. It just doesn't work that way though. You are who you are, and I'm a sports addict. Hope they win tomorrow.

-I've been reading the Tribune Jazz blog for some time now, but the last week has been absolutely phenomenal. Ross Siler is a super-talent of a writer, with "freakish" insight and huge upside. I am sure he doesn't get enough credit for having terrific writing, and if you want to question my judgement, I encourage you to read his stuff. You won't regret it.

-I've discovered a new addiction to add to NPR and sports in my life, and it just so happens to be talk radio. My favorite is Dave Ramsey. I like his financial advice. I love the callers even more. My favorites are the people who call the show that really don't have a question, so they make one up and halfway through admit that it was a dumb idea and just gush about how much they love the show. I'm not mocking, because Ramsey really is pretty cool, and he knows SO EFFING MUCH about finances and taxes and such.

-When I was living in Rebel Creek Apts last year, my roommate Sam and I came up with AABA, (All-American Bad Asses). The list was pretty short in the beginning, basically just John Runyan and on occasion Heath Miller, but I want to add Warren Buffet to the club. The more I read about Buffet, the more I realize that this guy is just a baller. Bought tons of shares of Goldmans when everyone was saying it was stupid, and turned it into a hugely lucrative investment. Plus he rocks the combover. You would think $40 billion US might influence a guy to change his looks. Not Warren. What a BAMF. He's my hero.


-Last week I put my tastebuds to the test and tried to tell the difference between Sprite and Sierra Mist. I lost, but it gave me the idea to try out a bunch of different stuff and see if I can tell the difference. This week I'm going to test Orange Juice. If you can think of something you want me to test, leave me a comment. I want to try and do at least one a week.

Life in a Nutshell

I am a storyteller. I love to hear a good story, and even more, I love to tell a good story. Looking back on the last few years, it feels like more and more the good stories have stopped flowing. I'm not sure if this is a part of growing older, and possibly being more responsible, or if I have simply run out of good stories, but I'm in a dry spell. So lately, I have taken to making up stories as my life is going on. Take tonight. I work at a chain restaurant that just so happens to deliver pizza. Currently you can see an ad for our $10 dollar deal on just about every channel or website you can find. This has led to what I can only describe as a frenzy for what I will deem "Crappy, oily, cheap" pizza. It has led to many a stressful night dealing with customer complaints, lack of tips, and general negativity in my workplace, and has led many of my coworkers to seek other employment. I had at least four tell me tonight how they had leads on other jobs. I couldn't help but imagine myself as an undercover consultant hired by the company to improve performance. I would go home tonight, change my clothes, shower, and in the morning wake up to a freshly pressed linen collared shirt, preferably with french cuffs, and maybe a stripe pattern, and grab my morning smoothie and jump into my midsize midclass luxury sedan. (Think Nissan Maxima or similar...) I would fire up the beast, as the latest mix between jock rock and nontrendy pop music blared from my satellite radio, and cruise on down to the Las Vegas company headquarters. Armed with cell phone pics and notes taken while navigating the mean streets of St. George, I would dissect live in front of a conference table of executive looking men and women exactly where things were failing. Calling my coworkers by codes like "Subject A" and "Manager X", I would lay out entirely the plan that I had pieced together over the last few months, adding the dramatic pauses and vocal inflections to prove my points. "THESE AREN"T JUST PIZZAS WE ARE SELLING HERE!!! dot dot dot.....then in a hushed tone...these are happier lives." The room would burst to applause and then I would get the dubious wink and handshake from the company head, as if to say, Atta Boy, Bryan, this is gold! Everyone would leave, and I would stare across the empty room much like Alexander probably did a battlefield, victorious and briefly satisfied by today's accomplishment. But, in reality, I delivered nine orders, had a rich old man ask for a free pizza, and tried to pull one of the waiters through the drive thru window in a fake wrestling match/fight while Creedence was blaring from my car radio. And I made a few bucks tonight in tips. I mean, it's not the good life by any means, but hey, it has its' perks.