Showing posts with label Doug. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Doug. Show all posts

The Container and The Contents

We took a Spring Break trip to Myrtle Beach two years before we turned 21. That was the awkward time of wanting to acquire alcohol right before being legally able to buy it. I had tasted the devil’s sweat and couldn’t wait to do it again without worrying about getting busted. When on home turf, there were always older friends to buy or bars that friend’s dad owned. On the road, it was a little tougher. That’s why we decided to take our own. Not in bottles, cans or in wine skins. But in a 5 gallon, insulated coffee dispenser in the form of Hairy Buffalo.

There are two parts of this story: The Container and The Contents.

The Container

Eric went to school at Miami of Ohio’s Western campus. Or as it’s know to those who really care, The School of Interdisciplinary Studies/Western College Program at Miami University in Oxford, Ohio. We knew it as the hippy side of Miami U. It’s a very liberal college where everyone seemed to have long hair (back when it wasn’t fashionable) and hairy armpits (which is never fashionable.) Notwithstanding my mocking, it was a wonderful school and Eric loved it.

During Eric’s tenure at Western, Folgers Coffee had a marketing campaign aimed at getting college kids addicted to coffee again. (This was back when Starbucks only had 125 stores. They were all within three blocks of each other, but you get my drift.) To get the kids addiction rolling, they strategically placed 5 gallon, insulated, coffee dispensers all around the Miami and Western campuses. In the mornings, a truck would drive around with full containers. A dude would climb out of the truck, unchain the hopefully empty 5 gallon container, replace it with a full container, refill the cups and toss the empty container back in the truck. It would take the guy about ninety seconds to complete the transaction.

You may not know this, but Eric has the unique ability to borrow a 5 gallon, insulated, coffee dispenser off the back of a truck in about thirty seconds. Though it was not in his plans, the one he borrowed was full of hot coffee. For you that are unfamiliar, five gallons of hot coffee weighs about 41.8 lbs. With the container at a slim 16 pounds, he was lugging a total hot load of 57.8 lbs. If you did not check out the link above, you will not know that the container was tall and thin with handles at the top. One would have to lug the container with arms hanging down and legs spread apart in a sort of half crab walk.

Eighty seconds into his delivery, the coffee dude turned around to see a long haired asshole, half crab walking across the green carrying off one of his containers of coffee. Eric had a fifty second lead and all the guy could do was yell and take a few worthless steps in Eric’s direction.

I’m sure this container, God knows where it is today, could tell a number of stories of the original coffee that was drank from it and the dozens of other liquids that filled it during it’s time in Eric’s dorm room, then law school and perhaps all the way to Chicago. Since the container is not here, I will tell the one story that I know.

The Contents

I think the whole reason we decided to take Hairy Buffalo was based on the fear of getting busted for speeding on the way down to Myrtle Beach and having the cops search our car and take away any bottles of liquor. Somehow, a huge five gallon container of red liquor fortified punch would slip by the eye of Deputy Dawg in his search for contraband.

Somehow, Eric had acquired an insulated, five gallon container that would be perfect for transporting hairy buffalo. It had a locking lid and a spigot at the bottom for easy dispensing. We were divided up into two groups: those finding the required alcohol and those buying the fruit and mixers. I can’t remember what group I was in. What I do remember is that Russ was in the latter group and arrived at Eric’s house with rhubarb. Rhubarb? What the fuck is rhubarb? Rhubarb is basically a weed that you find next to okra in the Natural Foods section of the supermarket. See, Russ had been eating Rhubarb for years in his mom’s cherry-rhubarb pie. As a pie, it was like tasty celery swimming with cherries in a crust. Why wouldn’t it taste good in a hairy buff? For one thing, you have to drown rhubarb in sugar to make it palatable. It’s also a good idea to bake it as well. Russ wouldn’t have any of that and chopped it up along with the watermelon and strawberries.

The dudes who were in charge of alcohol did well and came back with various bottles of alcohol as well as sugary liquors like DeKuypers. A fine mix of alcohol to mix with the juices and the other fruit and the fucking rhubarb which I’m sure is a vegetable.

So we placed the 5 gallon container in the middle of Eric’s mom’s priceless, hand-woven Turkish carpet and began to pour the bottle of liquor in it. We had dumped about four bottles in when someone noticed that the container was not filling up. That statement made everyone shut up just long enough for us to hear the noise of liquid pouring out on to a priceless, hand-woven Turkish carpet. We had cleaned and rinsed the container out and in doing so the convenient spigot at the bottom of the container was open and the liquor was pouring out and on to the thirsty carpet.

This was a problem for two reasons: First, almost a third of the alcohol was not going to be leaving Ohio. Second, we just figured out how to turn priceless rug into a less-price rug. Eric was a little pissed off, but shit, it was his container. He should have checked the integrity of the tap before handing it over.

We closed the tap and pulled the container away from the spillage area. There was a growing two foot diameter stain. Towels were brought in and we scrubbed and cleaned as best we could. I’m unsure if Zud is the best stain remover for Turkish carpets, but that’s what we found under the kitchen sink.

We cleaned the top as best we could and then rolled back the carpet to see what had happened to the underside. The padding under the carpet was unlike anything I had ever seen. It was like a natural mesh of unwoven reeds or weeds or jute. Whatever it was, it was soaked in liquor. The natural material had taken a liking to the liquor and wasn’t about to let go of the red coloration. We soaked up what we could and laid the carpet back down.

There was still a red stain on the carpet at the point of impact. It was about the size of the bottom of a vacuum cleaner. As luck would have it, Eric had a vacuum cleaner and we placed it directly over the stain. No one would ever suspect a thing. At least until we were out of state. Three hours later we were out of state with a 5 gallon, insulated coffee container that was not full enough of hairy buffalo.

There is much more to tell about this Myrtle Beach Trip: Tony’s sunburn, the MMS, the pummeling on the beach, Shag, Vertical Smile, Papa’s Pasta Palace, and the Oil Leak. But let me leave you with this: After two days the slices of rhubarb grew fuzzy and with the addition of alcohol still tasted like shit. Who the f puts rhubarb in a f’ing hairy buffalo?

**** *******
Editor's Update

I found a photo of the dudes from the Spring Break trip.

From left to right: Eric, Brett, Russ, Greg and Tony. Kit is smack dab in the middle. (I'm taking the photo. I might have been wearing a t-shirt that said "Nothing phases a ceramic engineer.")

Brett reminded me that it was the bananas in the Hairy Buff that went fuzzy. The rhubarb just absorbed the alcohol and converted it to starch.

Weed Tea

Many years ago, when I was about 10, my brother and I decided to smoke the dried, tubular, hollowed out weeds that grew near the creek in our back yard. We’d pluck a nice fat one and break it down to a cigar sized length. Then we would light blue tip matches off of the dry rocks and attempt to fire up the hollow weeds. The weed really didn’t light and we would end up inhaling more blue tip match sulfur than smoke.

My brother got the completely logical idea that we should use the hollow weeds as a medium to smoke something else out of. Sort of a hard cased cigarette. Since we did not have any tobacco in the house or in the seven miles radius of desolation and country farms that we called home, we opted for the next best thing: tea.

We went in the house, opened up four Lipton tea bags and dumped the contents into a plastic sandwich bag. We disposed of the external tea bag material, string and paper by stuffing it way in the bottom of the trash can because we were sure mom or dad would figure out what we were up to if they found the remnants.

In the back yard we stuffed the hollow reeds with some of the tea. We used smaller weeds to pack the tea in cannon ball style. We fired them up. He coughed. I choked. He wheezed. My eyes dripped tears. It was smooth.

When we finished (fifteen seconds after we started) we went back inside and most likely played Atari. He probably won and punched me in the arm because that's how it always was.

Three years later I was in the living room (probably playing Atari) when my mother called to me from the kitchen. I entered. Dad was sitting at the kitchen table. Mom was standing. Between them at the table was a plastic sandwich bag filled with three year old tea.

Mom did the talking. “Is this yours?”

My mind raced back. I ended up tossing that plastic bag of tea in my underwear drawer, way in the back. I’d see it every so often, but didn’t think much of it as it was only tea. I never threw it away. Mom had been going through my drawers, diligently looking for weed, and low and behold she hit the mother lode.

I answered her question, “Yes. It’s tea.”

“Is this marijuana?”

“No! It’s tea!”

My parents wouldn’t know tea from weed so I was in for a bit of trouble.

“You have one more chance… is this marijuana?”

“No! It’s tea! Steve and I tried to smoke it years ago!”

Dad finally spoke up, “You smoked tea?”

“Yes. Out of the weeds by the creek.”

“The hollow ones?” Dad didn’t drop his apples very far from the tree.

Mom couldn’t believe that her snooping was proving fruitless. “There’s only one way we can tell that this is tea.”

Dad put a pan of water on the stove. I was made to sit at the table and wait forever watching for the water to boil. He dumped in the contents of the bag. We all waited more. I distinctly remember Dad wafting the steam to his face and saying, “Well, it smells like tea.”

That was all the proof they needed. The weed tea was disposed of. I was given some sort of punishment that involved not being allowed to play Atari.

My recollection of this story sounds brave, but I’m sure I was whimpering and high pitched stammering and I bet I ratted out my brother in the first ten seconds of the interrogation. When he came home that night, he got three years of backlogged reprimands. His punishment was probably worse because it always was.

The First and Probably Last HolyJuan Caption Contest

Please caption the following photo. Leave your caption in the comments The winner gets an official HolyJuan refrigerator magnet. (Not sold in stores.)


Sometimes you accidentally end up dressing similarly to someone at work.

Sometimes it gets downright creepy.

Right down to the shoes.

Fresh Doug

Years ago, I lived in Boston for the summer. I worked at the Boston Museum of Science and was quickly absorbed into the Marketing department as one of their own. I was always very good at quickly locating the people that like to drink.

Their department and associated friends in the museum would go out for drinks after work on "Thirstdays" to one of several nearby bars. I was invited and was excited to attend.

Within the marketing department was another Doug. There was a very obvious way to tell us apart, but I think it would have been awkward to always call me "White Doug." In the mean time they just called me the other Doug or similar.

On my way into work one morning, I was driving through the outskirts of the city and in the distance I could see a billboard that was partially blocked by a building in front of it. As I drove forward, more of the sign was revealed. The very obvious part of the sign said "FRESH." As I drove the letters "D" "O" and "U" were revealed. Then "G."


For that instant I thought I was awesome.

Then my euphoria was ruined as the last letter appeared. "H"


The sign was for a bakery. They have fresh dough and like to share that information with possible customers.

At the next Thirsday event, I shared this story with my new friends. As with most my stories, I told it with such excitement that they almost expected to hear that instead of the "H," it was my photo that appeared on the end of FRESH DOUG. Then I got to the end and that was it. They laughed at the story and they laughed at me.

And then from that day on my nickname was Dough and that took care of the Dougs issue.

Erik and Doug go to Stu's 2009

The last time Erik and Doug went to Stu's it was 2006. We had unbelievable amounts of fun. There is something about going to Stu's that is almost magical. I cannot believe that it has taken us three years to go back. I'll illustrate with words and photos.

About six months ago, I asked Erik to go to Stu's with me. He said he was busy. I asked him to check his calendar. He said he would be free in August. So we set a date in September. We left work at 2:17pm on Thursday. Suggested arrival time was 5:17pm. We stopped once for gas and Swedish Fish. After exactly three hours, we arrived at Stu's place at 5:17pm. He met us at the end of his drive with his son, Oscar. Oscar is about 16 months old and a bundle of fun. We grabbed our bags, headed inside and sat down for a few beers.

Ann-Marie on the stairs with Erik and Stu below.

We had just searched the toy chest for Ann-Marie's missing wallet.

Ann-Marie with Oscar. Stu and Annmarie are expecting again in a few months.

In Indianapolis, you cannot buy beer cold. You have to buy it warm and either drink it warm or wait 45 minutes for it to cool down. Stu mentioned that in high school, his buddies would "roll beers" in a pan over a hot stove to cool them down quicker. It sounded just plausible enough to be bullshit, so we tried it out.

Test materials.

The rolling technique.

Scientific equipment.

We realized that unless we had a control, this experiment would be for naught, so we ended up drinking half cold beers (or half warm beers if you are British).

As we drank, we discussed what opportunities we had for the evening. Basically we were going to head to the Broad Ripple area and drink. That sounded like a plan. Stu mentioned that we would be taking bikes as to avoid drinking and driving. So we went down to his garage, selected three bikes (mine was called "The Mule") and we headed out.

Stu's bike for the evening. Made up of parts from four other bikes.

Three men and three bikes. It's hard to tell from this photo, but Erik's pedals were so close to the ground that they scraped when he turned.

Heading to town.

A photo for the insurance company to prove the bikes were actually there.

We started things off at the Broad Ripple Tavern. We initially pissed off the bartender when I offhandedly said "son of a bitch" until we realized he was fucking with us. We sat at the bar and ate wings and drank cheap beer. We called Shorty to apologize that we forgot to stop by and pick him up.

Stu talks with Shorty.

Doug and Stu. Stu's hat was obtained by trading hats with a prison sanitation worker.

In the back of the bar they had a Golden Tee 2009 on a huge screen. We waited for the two pros to finish up and I solidly beat Stu (who claimed he hadn't played in a while) and Erik (who claimed he had masturbator's wrist).

Cute waitress.

We were now completely loaded with beer and should have walked around the strip, but instead we got on our bikes and circled around for five minutes before Stu had us pull up to the back of some building. He said, "The Bikes are here!" and walked right in the back door. Erik followed. I followed.

That back door belonged (I found out later) to the Vogue Nightclub. A well known concert venue in Indianapolis. As I pulled in, Stu was putting his bike against the wall. Erik and I followed suit. There was a huge crowd of people in the place. It felt like they were in between acts. The guy at the back door politely asked us what the fuck we were doing. Stu said that we were told we could put our bikes back there and that they would be kept safe. The guy asked where our wristbands were. Stu said that we didn't need wristbands because we were with the band. The guy asked us who told us this. Stu turned to Erik and said, "What was the guy's name." Erik replied, "George." We were told that we would have to leave. And we did.

Our bikes in the back door of the Vogue Nightclub.

The bouncer wasn't having any of our bullshit story.

We grabbed our bikes and headed out, realizing that maybe we should have had a better story. Stu suggested that he could have used my HolyJuan business card to say he was a reporter. Because we didn't think we were ever going back, we told Stu that that sounded like a great idea.

Stu took us down some back alleys and we parked our bikes outside a, literally, back alley bar.

Back alley bar insurance photo.

There were a few very nice ladies coming out who took our photo.

Erik, Doug and Stu. I'm bending down so that Erik and Stu don't feel so short.

Inside this bar, we were greeted with an angry mob of people watching the IU game as they barely scraped by Eastern Kentucky. We were also greeted with a girl wearing a bra, so we sat down. There was some promotion going on that night and for some reason this chick had her shirt off to win a shirt. She did win the shirt and put it on, only to remove her pants. We hoped it was going to get very interesting, but that's about where it stopped. Stu bought $20 worth of pull tabs and we won $2.

Note that the girl on the far left barstool is not wearing pants. It was uncomfortable more than it was hot.

Douglas brand addiction.

We left the back alley bar and Stu took us back west again, this time to the front door of the Vogue Nightclub. Stu wanted to try the business card idea. Before he did that, we stopped and got photos of the bratwurst girl on Erik's bike.

Wait... is that a girl's bike?

Stu, once again, rode his bike in the door, this time in front. Erik stood by the door while I rode off in circles waiting for him to get kicked out. For a minute, it seemed like he might have succeeded, but soon he appeared, rejected, but not dejected.

Stu then took us off on a tour of the neighborhood he grew up in. We stopped at some tennis courts and rode around in circles for a few minutes. At one point, Erik and Stu dismounted to pee. A group of people walked by in the distance on one girl yelled, "Go suck dick in some other park!"

We left this park and during the next part of the ride, Stu's pant leg got caught in his chain. In trying to pull it out, he managed to tear the pants all the way up the seam.


Underwear or nutsack?

The bike that I was riding, The Mule, had 15 gears but only one of them worked. I'm assuming it was 11th, because I had to pedal 170 times to Erik's 1. This meant that I was great on hills, but slow on the straight away. After the pant rippage, Stu and Erik took off and I was left in the dust. I actually lost them for a few minutes and caught up with them only after hearing their laughing in the distance. I followed their voices and suddenly I was entering a stadium with a track which was currently being raced around by Stu and Erik. Erik won.

Stu showed us some places he had graffiti-ed as a kid and then took us back to the bars. We stopped in a very popular place called the Mine Shaft, but there were way too many hipsters, so we went to Average Joe's, the bar next door.

Whole lot of hipsters with a whole lot of keys that don't open shit.

Average Joe's had an open front so we parked out bikes in front of the open front and ended up sitting in the open air portion right on the street. We planned on watching the bikes get stolen.

The next two hours were spent with Stu greeting and saying hello to everyone walking by us.


How are you doing?

Looking good!

Hey pal!


And oddly enough, everyone either ignored us or were very pleasant in their response back.

Also in the bar were two ladies who did not run off as soon as we entered. We chatted them up a bit and we actually able to get them on Erik's bike for a photo op.

Lady friends.

Ladies with Erik on the bike. They feel special!

At some point, two of the people Stu said hello two walked by again and were very chatty. They were your run of the mill homeless punk teenagers who were having the time of their lives. Earlier when we saw them, they were carrying a stack of pizza boxes and said they had got them for free out of the dumpster. When they stopped by again, they were pizza-less, but Stu inquired about the pizzas. The homeless guys were a bit put off by the current status of the pizza as they left them lying in the street. Stu said he would give them $5 if they would get a box. They reiterated that the pizza was on the street. Stu reiterated that he didn't care and would give them $5 for pizza that even homeless people wouldn't eat.

They ran off.

They returned a few minutes later with a box, filled with a lot of pizza.

Homeless Pizza Delivery Service

Before the homeless guys took off with thier cash, we made sure to get a photo of them on the bike with Erik. While the homeless guys thought this was awesome, the chicks sitting behind us were put off that they were about as special as the two homeless dudes.

Oh my f'ing god that's disgusting!


Lucky for all of us, the bouncer told Erik that outside food was not allowed and Erik took the box away.


Happiest dudes in the world.

We ended up pawning our girls off to two other guys who had been standing in line for the Mine Shaft. I said, "Why stand in line when there are two ladies right here?" And the two dudes checked them out, shrugged, came in our bar and swept these girls off their feet.

Our job done, we headed home back to Stu's. By now the beers were actually cold and we sat on his porch and re-lived the the nights events and past nights long gone.

In the end, this trip matched all the others. Drunkenness. Spontaneity. Laughs. Random shit. I'm not sure if you have a Stu in your life, but I highly suggest you get one.

I hope that we do not wait three years to do this again.

Thanks, Stu.

We miss Meshell

Meshell was in town a few weeks ago. We miss her a bunch, but a girl has to do what a girl has to do.
A great photo of Meshell and Doug

Check her out at:


Sometimes you plan the day ahead what you two should wear.

Sometimes, you call each other that morning and coordinate clothes.

And sometimes you just roll over and say, "Keegan, let's have a twins day."

Doug Eats: Deluxe Grass Jelly Dessert - What is that which is not solid and not liquid but gives gas?

Last week, the team planned a fun lunch at the local Chinese all you can eat. Sadly, Ann got a fever and I could not join in the fun. Lucky for me, Jenn and Stephanie stopped next door at the Chinese grocery and picked me up some food for me to try out. Seeing as Erik is still dead from the Erik Eats a few months ago, it was my turn to step up.
Stephanie and Jenn with gifts of food.

Today on Erik Eats Doug Eats... Deluxe Grass Jelly Dessert

I'm not sure what it says on the can, but I assume that it explains how physics and gravity are both suspended within the confines of the can.

The top of the can has a lid with a folded up spoon on the inside. F'ing cool!
Transformers! More than meets the eye!
Bourarachutchchingcunchingchun!! (That is the transforming noise.)

Jen tests the spoon to see if it works and to remove any germs with her anti-bacterial saliva.

The top of the can has instructions on how to open it.

I follow them very carefully and mind my hand in the process.

Wait... my teeth are pretty grimy. I'm going to head to my dentist's office and get them cleaned and whitened. I'll be right back.
Much better!

Here is what opening the can reveals:

Holy shit! This looks like a collection of every gall stone removed in June of 1972.

We dump some of this on a plate to get a better look at the components.

We separate into the four food groups: ass, gunk, brown gel and goo

Instead of throwing this into the trash and running like a little girl down the hall and into the bathroom, I try it.
I love Stephanie's reaction in this one.


Wow. It is very hard to pallet the combination of solids and gels. There is a slight sweet taste, but only a man who eats sand for lunch could call this dessert.

Doug says...

I have to call this stuff a choking hazard.


Upon hearing my statement that the Deluxe Grass Jelly Dessert is a choking hazard, Erik wants to do a scientific study. He uses a tool of the trade, a choking detector.
This Safety 1st device lets the user know if something is a choking hazard. If the item fits in the device, it is a choking hazard. Erik fills it with this faux Newtonian Fluid.

Down the hatch!

Well. Not a choking hazard, but it does work as a great substitute for syrup of ipecac.

Next Week: Seven Days of Erik Eats!!