Quick Stop: 18 to party, 21 to drink.

What's up world? Is everyone having a good Monday? I sure hope so. I've been studying a decent portion of the day, calculus and physics and circuits, and decided to crank out a cool blog post before riding off to my Air Force meeting.

I forgot how much I love finals week. Last semester it was a little rough since I had such a hard time with Calculus II, but now that I've been fairly able to stay on top of all my classes for the past three months my finals week should be nice. All that needs to be done is some studying here and there to ensure you're prepared, and then you take the test which takes like two hours, and then you're done! You just get to chill for the rest of finals week! How clutch is that? No work, no class, no PT, no nothing! You just take the exams and spend the rest of the time chilling. I love it.

I wanted to tell you today about the Common's Quick Stop. It's a shitty little whole in the wall underneath the stairwell that leads to South Campus. It's a simple little grocery store that doesn't have anything but the absolute bare essentials, and then it overprices the hell out of the few necessities it does have. Last year, living at Kirwan Tower, I shopped at the Quick Stop quite a bit. I'd spend up my flex and although the prices were enough to cringe over, the convenience and fact that my flex is useless unless I spend it made it worth shopping there.

But goddamn was it shitty. It had this 60-something-year-old pothead working the counter, the counter itself looked like it was about to fall apart if you nudged it too hard, everything was usually almost expired or on the verge of being stale; it was kind of like a 100 square foot Walmart without there being "always low prices, always". The Common's Quick Stop was a get in, get out type of place with a similar depressing atmosphere to a gas station.

But I guess UK dining pushed a little bit more money towards the Quick Stop in the past few months because it has improved to a remarkable extent. The initial changes came in the layout of the store, making the best use possible of the space to provide more room for a wider variety of goodies. Next came a sound system, like, an actually decent area-system. They started having sales and daily specials and a whole big plethora of marketing ploys which, when comparing to last years Quick Stop, seemed like a bit of overkill. Their latest addition is a smoothie maker. A FUCKING SMOOTHIE MAKER. It's a nice one too; it has shaved ice and multiple compartments and it lights up and talks and shit. Quick Stop really went all out.

As I watched Quick Stop evolve into this vibrant venue blasting rap music and pouring drinks, I noticed something precarious. If you look closely at the sales Quick Stop makes, it initially seems harmless. However the weekend sales are deals like half off on orange juice, Hawaiian punch, Coke, condoms, and (get this) Ibuprofen. Are you noticing a trend with the weekend sales? Perhaps that everything on sale is a product directly related to drinking?

Let's just put ourselves in the shoes of a freshman living on South Campus on a Friday night. Let's say we're going to do some drinking tonight. What are we going to need for a successful night of drinking? First we'll need mixers, orange juice, fruit punch, and coke would be perfect! Then, let's see, we'll need some condoms in case we get lucky; and when Sunday morning rolls around Ibuprofen will be a lifesaver.

We'll shit, when it's laid out like that it almost seems like Quick Stop is marketing off college freshman drinking in the dorms. But let's continue out hypothetical story.

So as we're in Quick Stop stocking up on mixers and condoms for our K-Tower party, we can't help but notice the big-ass smoothie machine. Boy, a smoothie sounds nice right now. A big colorful sign above the counter proudly displays the 15-or-so types of smoothies offered. Included is"Toro Loco" (redbull frosty), Strawberry Paradise (virgin daiquiri), Margaritaville (virgin margarita), among several others.

I have honestly seen Miami nightclubs with smaller drink menus than the Quick Stop. Honestly if you go through the list of smoothies Quick Stop sells flavor by flavor, each can be made into a popular and tasty cocktail with the simple addition of alcohol.

So rebellious freshman, ready to bang the rules and drink on campus, have it made at Quick Stop. They get discounts on mixers, a fucking cocktail bar, they're bumping rap music, and it's open until 11pm. They sell everything you need to party except the actual alcohol. And I think that's funny as shit.

My question is, when are they planning on stopping? If they continue improving and fostering dumbass college freshman they're gonna turn into a speakeasy! I can imagine in a few years walking to Quick Stop on a Friday night and seeing a red velvet rope herding a mass of sorostitutes dressed in their tightest skirt and guys rocking polo's with the collars popped who are all desperate to get into Club Quick Stop. The pounding house music can be heard from the Johnson Center, the line is a block long, the 60 year old pothead has turned into a bouncer, and that shitty little counter has turned into a full bar.

"What're you guys doing tonight?"
"Oh we're gonna try to get into Club Quick Stop, we're tryna party."
"Better leave early, that place fills up."
"Word."

Ok well that's a stretch, but they are getting a little ridiculous with their catering to drinking. With the campus-wide alcohol ban, it's a distant but present possibility for Quick Stop to start selling Mike's Hard. That's the world I would someday like to live in.

K I'm out. Air Force meeting. Until next time...

Decker-OUT

What's up world? I don't have much time to blog this afternoon but I thought I might as well. I had a calculus exam this morning. I don't think I did too hot. This means I'll have to really bang the final to pull off a B. Hopefully it won't be a problem.

Remember the show How I Met Your Mother? It's a good show. Well over the short course of my life so far I've always kind of realized something interesting about the show. It's my favorite show of course, offering the perfect balance of dramatic romance, off-the-wall comedy, and thought-provoking ideas. The show often brings about little theories of life. Some are true, some aren't. It makes me realize things about my life that parallel to the show, and in many ways blessed. 

But one theme of the series I've noticed seems to downplay the rest. It seems to be the ultimate irony of the show, and perhaps a thought intentionally embedded into the show by the writers. Let me explain...

The show has five main characters along with several others that come and go. I've noticed that each character, especially in the beginning, is an archetype. Barney is the epitome of the womanizer, Marshall and Lily are the epitome of the lasting relationship, and Ted is the epitome of the desperate bachelor. Like all fans of the show, I spent much of my high school comparing myself to one character. "Ted is so much like me! We both do crazy things and are just trying to find a girlfriend!" 

Then some things happened and my ego evolved and I stopped seeing similarities between Ted and I. I soon grew into Barney. No girl was worth my time, and it's because I was AWESOME! Just like Barney! Decker-OUT. The things I did, the stories I told, really my entire personality was dictated off of Decker Loyd being awesome, in a way living up to my suit and scotch wielding role model. 

Things all changed once more when my "no girl is worth is" mentality was immediately discontinued by a girl who finally was worth it. As time went on, I realized I'm not actually like Ted or Barney or any other character on HIMYM. They're just characters on a show for entertainment value. But after a couple of years my life began to parallel the show again, this time assuming the role of Marshall. My attempts at being awesome like Barney faded into realizing that my awesomeness has doubled with the addition of a companion to go on adventures with. Secret handshakes, stories of Miami and Morocco, and Saturday nights spent staying in are all shared with a girl; and that's what now makes me happy instead of going to Bardstown Road to pick up girls and make every effort to be awesome in the eyes of strangers.

But that then makes me realize something about HIMYM. The characters are such archetypes for a reason. They're the several sides of a person in their youth as the find out what they want from life. It seems almost everyone goes through a womanizer phase, a desperate bachelor phase, and hopefully at least a few years of happiness shared with a partner in crime. If you took all the main characters from the show, all of their goofy traits that distinguish them so well on television, and combined them into one individual, you'd have a genuine person going through life.

Albeit, this is just my theory behind the show and how it parallels real life. It's all just more information that goes into the massive equation that describes "life". I'm getting close to figuring it all out, and once I do I'll be sure to make a blog post about it. But until then all I have is a bunch of little isolated pieces that keep me preoccupied. Until next time...

Bro-stown Road

What's up world? It's a beautiful day outside but I'm stuck inside doing a little bit of homework. I decided to take a little break to blog. Today's topic: Bardstown Road.

Bardstown Road (abbreviated to B-town or BTR)  is an interesting destination. Located in the "Highlands" of Louisville, it had a peculiar involvement in my teenage years. It all started at Doug's house one night, early in the summer, shortly after I had returned from my Honduras 'mission' trip.

That summer, Doug's house was quite the bro-hub. It was the summer between junior and senior year, perhaps one of the best summers of my life for various reasons. Everyone started driving late sophomore year, but it wasn't really until the late junior year into that summer when everyone had a car and a license and the American teenager truly became free. With a car came the need of a destination, and in the beginning that destination was Doug's house. Some guys and I would head over to the Harville residence. We'd play Super Smash Brothers and laugh and joke about girls and dream cars and parents whose curfew rules began to be a bother.

A few nights a week we'd make the drive over to Doug's house and enjoy the company of several bros; Cameron and Troy were the most notable. I remember those nights fondly, but it was really the last time playing videogames in the basement with a group of friends would really suffice as a fun night. One night, Cameron threw a curve ball into the mix by mentioning Bardstown Road. Cameron and Troy had been a few times, and was looking for more company.

The way it was described made so much sense to my tender 17 year old persona. When going out at night, the 21 and ups go to bars and clubs. The 18 and ups were typically in college and masterminds of the party industry and had a house party to be at every night. Lastly the cool high school seniors, who weren't quite in college but still mature enough to want to do something at night, had Bardstown Road.

It was the high school party district of Louisville. With Atherton right around the corner, tons of mansions housing high school seniors whose rich parents were never home, and a lively environment to meet the opposite sex, BTR was the place to be on a summer night. Cameron talked it up quite a bit to Doug and I, saying it's single guy heaven. It's where the single guys dress up to meet the single girls who are dressed up to meet the single guys. And if you're looking for a solid high school house party to attend, the invitations come by the plentiful.

So I decided to try it out. On July 4th I believe it was, I drove down to BTR to meet Troy and Cameron and in the process made countless new friends. I was inducted into the culture of summer vacation on Bardstown Road. As promised, the party invitations came almost nightly and the girls came ready to mingle. I ended up making good friends with a guy named Nathan. He and I soon were partners in crime. We'd carpool to Eastern Parkway, wingman for each other all night, and when one of us received a party invite, we both did.

The routine became an every-night thing. I'd get off work at the waterpark at about 8:30, I'd drive home and change and throw on cologne and get ready for the night. By 9:00 to 9:15 I was driving to Nathan's house to pick him up. The whole drive would be spent blasting music from my sound system, cruising BTR from Hurstbourne to Eastern. Once parked and arrived, the night would be spent flirting with girls, stopping by parties, and listening to music one of the thirty patios scattered about.

By August, Nathan and I were such regulars that our names were quite known across the BTR wilderness. It was great. A guy like me on Bardstown with a sound system in his car felt like the high school equivalent of a high roller popping bottles on South Beach with his Ferarri parked out front. It accumulated many stories for me to tell. Every night when I'd get back by my 12:30am curfew, I popped online to chat with Alex about my adventures for the night. Conversations often began with "YOU WILL NEVER FUCKING BELIEVE WHAT HAPPENED AT BTR TONIGHT". Some of those chat conversations are saved on my computer for my future enjoyment. BTR was a good time to be had by a 17 year old cocky son of a bitch going into his senior year of high school.

But sooner or later, the charm wore off. As the season ended and the weather changed along with my responsibilities, I grew out of Bardstown Road. It was heaven on Earth (or at least in Louisville) for a senior in high school, but once I saw what the rest of the world had to offer, BTR couldn't keep hold of my attention. After several months of spending every opportunity at BTR, I simply stopped going. In the past three years I may have gone two or three times.

Just the other day Geoff, a fellow RA, and I were talking about us having to hang out over the summer at some point. We both somehow landed on spending a night indulging in the Bardstown Road. So I guess we'll see how that goes in a few weeks. Anyway, enjoy your Tuesday. Until next time...

Enjoy Your Juice THE SEQUEL

What's up world? I'm sitting here at the front desk of Haggin, at work of course. I just put the finishing touches on my 7 page research paper for anthropology. Anthropology is stupid by the way, in case you were wondering what my thoughts were on that. But I'm enrolled in the course, so I gotta fucking do the work no matter how stupid and made up it really is.

I'm really hungry. I'm gonna run up to my room and grab a sandwich and apple juice for me to enjoy down here whilst I write. Be right back. I'm back, with a sandwich and apple juice.

It's an interesting story about this apple juice. Do you remember a few months back when I blogged about eating breakfast at the Wildcat Lodge? Well it's linked up there if you don't. Anyway, that was written almost three months ago. I've eaten breakfast there at least twice a week since then. It's become so habitual for me, that I'm start to forget to realize how awesome it is every morning. I just walk in, nod at the basketball team, get my breakfast, watch some Sportscenter, grab five or six bottles of apple juice, and ride the Ninja back to Haggin.

So this neatly leads into the story about the apple juice. All over campus, they sell these little 10 ounce bottles of apple or orange juice. I'm a huge fan; it's the perfect amount of juice for a little snack in the afternoon. The only problem, however, is that they charge a whole fucking two dollars a pop! That's like a quarter per sip! Apple juice at this university literally goes for 26$/gallon. Is apple juice really eight times more valuable than gasoline? I can't be the only person who thinks the price of juice is a bit steep.

Fortunately though I have found a loophole. I have found a way out of the vice-grip this university has on the enthusiastic juice-drinkers' balls. I feel as if I have escaped the oppression the university has created with its unruly price gouging. Let me explain...

At the Wildcat Lodge restaurant, is an unlimited supply of apple juice, orange juice, and milk. As long as you're able to gain access to the secret world of the Wildcat Lodge, you're granted permission to withdraw from the endless beverage surplus. So naturally, at the end of my breakfast, the rebel churning inside me would act out and take an apple juice for later consumption in the privacy of my castle dorm room.

But you see, the badass-outlaw life is an addicting one. Sooner or later, stealing just one 10-oz apple juice from the basketball players wasn't enough to sustain the high I got off acting out to the university. In order to feel the same numbing sensational rush of adrenaline and excitement as previous Wednesday and Monday mornings, I needed more and more! One apple juice lead to two, two lead to three apple juices and a milk. This escalation continued until I got to the low point I'm at now.

Breakfast at Wildcat Lodge isn't about the food anymore. It isn't about the sweet catering ladies who come running to nurture your every need and want. It isn't even about the NBA players or media vans that are sometimes parked outside, wondering who you are to be awesome enough to eat with the UK basketball team. All of those treats just whet my appetite for the true obsession and addiction that consumes me during breakfast: apple juice.

Before I even put my backpack on the back of my seat and hanging up my jacket, I've already been to the apple juice cooler. Before any food has hit my plate, there are at least 20 ounces of sweet apple nectar resting on the bottom of my bag. After one round of food, I'm off to the juice cooler for my second heist in ten minutes. While Jill, the waitress, is off looking somewhere else distracted, I fit as many bottles of my medicine into my fists. One or two in each hand is typically all I can handle at one time.

Finally with nearly half a gallon of apple juice in my bag, dampening my notebooks with fresh, cool condensation; I am nearly satisfied. I eat my Greek pineapple cocktail yogurt while I plan out how I will acquire even more apple juice. On my way out, I make one last juice run, taking as much as I can without raising suspicion.

Just then, as I reach my arm deep into the ice digging through orange juice after orange juice trying to find at least one more apple juice to calm my craving, I hear Jill call out my name in a hushed tone. Shit. I've been caught. My reign of apple juice theft ends here. It's all over. What's my life come to? What does my future hold? Rehab? The dangerous streets and increasing involvement in a deadly apple juice trade? I put my head down and withdraw my hand from the juice cooler, before turning around to face my captor.

Jill's disappointed face calmly utters a phrase I wasn't expecting or prepared for. "Do you want one of the big things of apple juice to take home with you? I'm only supposed to give it to players but you're welcome to some if you want." I smile and nod, accepting two 25-oz bottles of juice. "Holy shit" I think,"Jill's in on it." Walking out of the lodge, I look into my bag weighed down with eight pounds of apple juice in shame. I ride back to my castle and pack as much of the apple juice into my fridge as I'm able.

Before packing up for my Monday morning classes I think to myself, "That'll last me 'til Wednesday....

...I hope."

Until next time.

Pocket kit

What's up world? It's been a little while since I've last blogged. I apologize for that. Anyway it's finally Spring, it took it's damn time but now it's like 75 and sunny out all week which is fantastic. This morning I checked the weather and happily saw that it was mid-70's at 10 in the morning for my walk to class. Like all other mornings, as I left my room I squeezed my left pocket to ensure every piece critical to my existence was on me.

Obviously I always keep my phone and wallet on me, but there's always a few random items that end up getting to tag along with me. My phone always falls into my right pocket, wallet in my back pocket, and in my front left is my little essentials kit. The contents of my left pocket change and evolve little by little over the years, but I've come to think it's a bit of a part of me.

The first and probably most important is a tube of chapstick. Chapstick is like my pitfall. I'm like aquaman; a superhero, but only where there's water. I just don't function without chapstick. It's a fact of life. Next is my student ID, I can't buy stuff without my ID. Finally, a pen. Whether I need to sign some autographs, jot down a few notes, or have a utensil to briefly lend out; the pen comes in handy throughout the day.

In the past, I've had all sorts of weird little trinkets in my pocket, which I would never leave home without. When I had luscious long locks of beautiful hair, a comb was a necessity. Once upon a time, a compass never left my side. My imaginative thirteen year old persona with dreams of flight fogging his mind couldn't help but know which way was north at every moment of the day. The list goes on, but unfortunately I really can't remember much of the random accessories I've considered a necessity over the years.

It's become a habit for me, wherever I am or whatever situation I find myself in, to form an 'essentials kit' of sorts. I then memorize the contents, and never leave home without them. My system works pretty well; I rarely forget anything important. But there's a fun and nostalgic aspect to it I've come to discover.

The trinkets I keep in my pocket at a given time become a token for my memories. I've blogged about it before. Every single day of my college life, I will check to ensure that I have my student ID on me as I leave the dorm. The second I get out of college, that will never happen again. But I'll save all my student ID's I end up acquiring and one day decades from now find them in a box of all my old belongings. The ID's will be a touching reminder of the good times I had in college, and quietly point out how far I've come since college.

On all the week long vacations I've taken, I've had a modified pocket kit. On my past cruises, a phone and wallet is never necessary. Instead I'd remember my sail-and-sign card and a deck of cards. In Miami, a pen wasn't always needed, but sunglasses were. Whether cloudy, nighttime, inside, outside, etc. I would never venture out into Miami without sunglasses.

The modified responsibilities involved with travel makes it so much more enjoyable. Instead of keeping track of a student ID and a pen to take notes with, all you need is your sunglasses to get by. But perhaps my favorite, is the room key. Feeling a room key in my left pocket as I walk down the hall towards the elevator of any hotel, I can't help but destress. No matter where you travel, you typically end up with a room key. A room key is the most consistent tangible proof that I'm away from home having a good time. It's almost always a shiny little card that is so light I barely feel it in my pocket; but when I do reach in and feel its' blissful smoothness, it can't be denied that I'm on the road where I belong.

So moving on, I'm ready for summer. I feel like I'm always ready for summer, even during the summer. I rode a lot last weekend. I took my bike over to Louisville, then rode around Louisville, then rode back to Lexington on Sunday. I'm getting pretty good at riding that thing. Anyway I think I'm running out of things to blog about for today. I hope you enjoyed it. Text me if you didn't. Until next time...