This is Salsa and Beer, a rad place for cool dudes to eat.
Consuming the food here is a kind of legendary experience. The sort of thing you might tell your grandchildren about if you never fought in
a war or didn't get laid very often.
After downing a chipotle chicken quesadilla, you could probably tell your friends that you lost your virginity and no one would argue.
See this burrito? This bad boy will put hair on your chest and on several other places nobody ever wanted to have hair.
Don't like it? Too bad, the burritos are mandatory.
Trials and Tribulations in Trinidad (Part 2)
Posted on: July 11, 2014
Have you ever tried to pee over the side of a moving sailboat tilted at a roughly 30° angle in the middle of the ocean? If not, Saul will gladly tell you how its done:
"Put one hand on the boat, and one hand on your pee-pee! One hand on the boat, and one hand on your pee-pee!" Easier said than done, my friend. (Especially if your pee-pee
requires two hands! *studio audience laughs*)
Trying to release your bladder while holding on for dear life with the boat violently rocking up and down is a complicated process. Your mind is saying "Pee!" while your body
is saying "NOPE. WE ARE GONNA DIE. WE AIN'T GOT TIME FOR THAT!" The most exciting part is looking out at the vast, unforgiving ocean and knowing that if you lose your grip for
even one second you are definitely going to fall in and never be seen again. Is it better to die of dehydration or be eaten by a shark? Tough call.
Going number two was the real star of the show, though. With the toilet clogged, our only option was to poop in plastic bags, then tie them up and put them in a small bucket with
the rest of the poops. Every time you lifted the lid of that bucket you took your life in your hands. The whole process was surreal. We've all had to clean up after a dog at
some point in our lives. Do you have any idea what it does to the psyche of a man when there's a human sized shit in that baggie? Irreparable damage.
Luckily, pooping wasn't a frequent concern as I spent the duration of our time at sea on the verge of starvation. We
had gone to what passes for a grocery store in the Carribean prior to our trip and somehow managed to fill up two whole
shopping carts with almost no actual food. The culinary offerings on the boat included leftover rice and beans from two weeks before we'd arrived, tiny moldy
apples, lukewarm water out of a milk jug, and oatmeal made with soy milk. At times I've wondered what rhinoceros
semen tastes like and now I know. It tastes like oatmeal made with soy milk.
Once every couple of days I was treated to the delicacy that was peanut butter and jelly on pita bread. I savored those
moments. They briefly made me forget that I was sunburnt, starving, filthy, and cranky. Granted, they were usually
only given to me during times when John was forcing me to steer the boat for 6 or 8 hours at a time. Don't know how to
steer a sailboat? Ehh I wouldn't worry about it, it's not that hard. Hope we don't end up way off course and totally screwed!
Sleeping was another fun adventure. Because of the tilt of the boat, it was impossible to sleep on any of the bunks. In fact, it was basically impossible to sleep period. The only
location on the boat where it was theoretically possible was on a hard, flat bench in the galley. You could wedge yourself in between the bench and the wall and pray for slumber.
Unfortunately, roughly every 15 minutes the boat would run into a huge wave. This would cause it to raise up high, then drop suddenly - leaving you dangling in the air Wile E. Coyote
style. While making your descent back to earth, the boat was already on its way back up to meet you in the middle and smash you right in your Stupid. Fucking. Face. And each time you
were confronted with all of the decisions you had made in your life leading up to that point.
As an added bonus, there was a glowing LED control panel for a stereo directly above that one bench. You see, we had to sleep in shifts so that we could watch out for other boats
during the night. My crusty compatriots would play music to help keep themselves awake, so that stereo was rocking all night long. The control panel was so bright you could see it with your eyes
closed. In fact, I firmly believe that closing your eyes actually made it even brighter. Forget waterboarding, put some terrorists on that boat for a few nights and see how
fast they talk. Actually, don't. Because torture morally reprehensible.
Tune in next week for the thrilling conclusion of this trying tale!
Trials and Tribulations in Trinidad (Part 1)
Posted on: June 26, 2014
The year was 2009. The world economy lay at the bottom of a ravine splattered against the sand. After having been laid off from my stockroom
gig at Old Navy (due to political differences), I was spending an awful lot of time staring at the walls of my chilhood bedroom. The degree in
photogrpahy that I had so proudly earned just six months prior was starting to lose a little bit of its luster.
"Well, I'm fucked."
I found myself saying that a lot. I was kind of kidding, but only kind of. Things were looking pretty grim. Living at home with your parents during a Long Island winter
should be part of the NAVY seal training program. That'll harden a man. I had no money in the bank and big bills looming on the horizon.
I was in desparate need of a job or a deeply catharthic experience, but mainly a job. One that paid its employees in real, human money. Unfortunately, the fates decided I was going
to have to settle for catharsis.
The phone rang one evening and my older sister was on the line. "Hey, how'd you like to go on an all-expense-paid sailing trip from the Virgin Islands to Trinidad and Tobago?!" All I could
muster in response was "You'd better not be fucking with me." And I meant it. The 'how' and the 'why' of this situation have a long a story of their own - the scope of which unfortunately
exceeds the attention span of the average millenial. All you need to know is that I was in fact invited to go on what was presented as a Carribean tropical sailboat dream vacation.
The catch was that on this trip I would be accompanied by three 60 year-old men. And only three 60 year-old men. If you've never been in that type of situation, it's kind of like
being told you get to have sex with Scarlett Johansson. Accompanied by three 60 year-old men. For my money, that's a one-to-one comparison. Sure it'll probably still be fun, but it would
be a lot more enjoyable with a small group of well-hung friends.
Had I not been so desperate to escape my current surroundings, I might have paused for a moment to consider why three weird old guys whom I barely knew were so interested in having
a young, presumably shirtless, tropical cabana boy along for the ride. One, I might add, who knew absolutely nothing about sailing. Intead, I said yes without hesitation and before
I knew it the day had arrived.
I took the train into Manhattan to stay with Saul for the evening. Saul - a roughly 5' 3" Jewish man from the upper west side - was the first member of our crusty crew. Fair to say,
Saul was a little eccentric. Good guy though. Loved him some bargains. And abnormally tall women.
The next morning we went to pick up our second crew member, Marty. Marty is what I would describe as a 'total fucker'. You see, in his hayday, Marty had allegedly been quite the
alpha male. A real man's man. A former marine who drove sports cars and I guess body slammed women for recreation (right before having sex with all of them, of course). Now,
Marty was obese, balding, could barely walk, and his skin resembled what I imagine an empty hotdog casing would look like.
However, none of these reality-inducing conditions prevented Marty from believing he was still the omega alpha. The only things Marty talked about were himself and all
of the women who definitely wanted to have sex with him, but then didn't because: [this space intentionally left blank]
We headed to JFK international to board our flight. Already the reality of going on a tropical vacation with three geriatrics was starting to slowly seep in, like Bengay on an
arthritic knee. We were a sad little caravan of travellers, shambling through the airport like the walking wounded. The weird looks from innocent bystanders were beginning to
roll in. They would become a familiar theme for the remainder of trip.
Upon landing in the Virgin Islands and bearing witness to their tropical wonder, a faint glimmer of hope was ignited within. "Maybe this will actually be a lot of fun", I lied
to myself. That faint glimmer was quickly extinguished the moment we met up with John, the third and final member of our motley crew. John was the captain and owner of our vessel and home
for the next two weeks. The very first words out of his mouth when we set foot on that boat were "Oh yah, forgot to tell ya before ya left *chewing an apple* the forward heads'er clogged,
so *more chewing* ya'll'er gonna have t'use the buckets and piss oe'r the side."
For those of you who don't understand old man boatspeak, allow me to translate: "The toilet in your bathroom isn't working, so you'll be pooping in plastic bags and buckets and peeing
over the side of the boat (while it is moving) for the duration of this trip. Hope you don't mind that I didn't tell you until now!"
Some readers may have noticed that I used the phrase "your bathroom" in the previous paragraph. That is because John had his own bathroom that us lowly swabbies were not
allowed to use. No peasant poops in the King's throne! John was a sadistic motherfucker. This was going to be a great trip.
New Headshots ;-*
Posted on: December 2, 2013
i call this one "wizard by surprise"
trying 2 show my rugged side "viking nonplussed"
"jus 2 ganstaz"
The Products You Never Knew You Didn't Want
Posted on: September 9, 2013
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