Thoughts on my first Yelp Elite event

Not a lot of people are aware of this, but I’ve been writing reviews of things on Yelp.com for like five years now.  Primarily restaurants and the occasional business, but for the most part, it’s something I’ve done that conveniently acts as something of a chronicling of my dining experiences in my travels or general living, while indulging in my general enjoyment of writing.

Obviously, there’s often discussion about the ethics of review sites like Yelp and how there are always conspiracies of sites holding small businesses hostage with bad reviews, small businesses altering their behavior at the knowledge of known reviewers, etc, etc., but all that stuff doesn’t concern me, nor do I really care about any of it.  For the longest time, I’ve been content to keep my Yelp identity hidden, behind a faceless avatar, that wrote reviews of places completely anonymously, save for the customary first name and last initial.  Something about doing it like that made me self-righteously believe that there was more integrity in doing it that way, as I thought those people who revealed themselves and under the banner of “Elite status” felt subliminal pressure to pander from time to time.

I also thought Yelp was kind of cliquey in some regards, no more apparent than when someone writes a review of a place that’s literally no more than the phrase “omg I really luv this place <3 <3 <3 !!!!”  and it’s nominated as a city-wide “review of the day,” as voted for by local peers.  Doesn’t seem like there’s much integrity in “reviews” like such.

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Photos: Minor League Baseball in Asheville, North Carolina

So, Asheville.  I was looking forward to visiting this place more than about any other place I had thought about visiting throughout the 2014 baseball season, because to my understanding Asheville was a town known for interesting dining, lots of local breweries, and it happened to be a place within reasonable driving distance that had a minor league ballpark I’ve never visited, AND they just so happened to be giving out a bobblehead, AND they were also playing against an Atlanta Braves affiliate.  Needless to say, it was the no-brainer of no-brainers that I would be looking forward to this particular trip.

Much to my expectations, Asheville was a lovely place that I enjoyed a great deal.  The drive to get there wasn’t the least bit difficult, and it frankly just felt good to get in my own car and drive somewhere I’d never really been to before.

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Man, What A Stupid Commercial #013

Synopsis: Somewhere in a foreign country, there is car accident that is by no means a massive one by American standards, but in whatever foreign country this is in, it’s being treated as if it were a Kobayashi-maru; completely unsolvable and debilitating the entire road system. Not lost on the irony is the fact that the incident appears to be the fault of a woman, subtly driving in that knife a little bit more about the stereotype that women can’t drive.

Regardless, Ray Liotta happens to be in a taxi that’s entangled in this web of traffic, and seemingly exasperated by the notion that he’s not going anywhere, simply gets out of the cab and walks off. Also note, he doesn’t pay for his cab fare.

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Ramblings of a now 32-year old child

So over the weekend, my birthday came and went, and now I’m 32 years old, and really don’t feel that much different.  There’s still the same general concerns about life, and how it occasionally feels like I have no general direction, which admittedly makes me feel a little blue, but when the day is over, I’ve still got it going fairly adequate as far as life’s necessities go.

In regards to my birthday party itself, I actually celebrated it a day earlier, due to the fact that something else came up on my actual birthday itself, and as far as I was concerned, it kind of took a little bit of a load off my back in trying to figure out something to do on my actual birthday.  However, I ended up getting stupid sloppy drunk because I’m clearly very dumb, and when people kept buying me shots, I kept drinking them, but worse off, continuing to drink beer after beer on my own tab.

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Photos: Port St. Lucie, Florida – Tradition Field

The second leg of my Spring Training baseball travels took me from busy touristy Orlando, down to the sleepy, seemingly retirement community of Port St. Lucie, Florida.  It was a pleasant reprieve from the traffic and endless gauntlet of toll roads in Orlando.

Despite the fact that Tradition Field is the home to the stinking Mets, I actually really liked the place, even over the Braves’ Champion Stadium.  This really isn’t that big of a surprise, considering the exorbitant extravagance that was a ballpark in Orlando, compared to a smallish baseball venue out in Port St. Lucie.

The funniest thing about Tradition Field is that being home to the Mets, the general area around Port St. Lucie appears to be crawling with northern transplants, and lots of tourists from New Jersey and New York.  And despite being in a sleepy old Florida coastal town, we were subjected to some very New York-like mannerisms, like having to actually pay to park in a deserted grass field, and being accosted by ticket scalpers, at a Spring Training exhibition game that doesn’t actually count.  You can take the scumbags out of New York but you can’t take the New York out of the scumbags.

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Photos: Dom’s Birthday Game Night

My ongoing quest to figure out and capably shoot with a CHDK-hacked Canon point-and-shoot continued, and what better setting to try working shots than with a live gathering where people would be getting drunk and doing drunk things?

Needless to say, I’m pretty sure that if I were a person with a better grasp of photographic terminology to begin with, this might be easier, but I also think that the camera I’m using itself is pretty limiting. Even before I hacked it and added the CHDK firmware, I wasn’t happy with the quality of the pictures in even the most basic optimal settings to shoot.

It’s nice to have some photographic evidence of some of the shenanigans that went down with board games, impromptu pull-up contests, and Dom busting out some drunk-retard strength, but I can’t say that I’m thrilled with the quality of the pictures outright.  For some reason, the camera randomly went into fisheye perspectives or added toy-camera corner filters without my needing to set them in the first place.

I’m this close to scrapping the hope for a good point-and-shoot, and might just make my iPhone my “night camera” at Dragon*Con this year.

But until then, at least there are some photos to remember the night by.

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The time I felt like Rain Man

It’s been a little while since I’ve been back from Vegas, but a combination of getting sick, prioritizing getting photos processed and out the door, and simply catching up with post-holiday/vacation life, I simply neglected to write about it. But aside from the Pedro Griffin trolling story, there was another time at the blackjack tables, where I felt awesome, and remembered a story that I wanted to write about but forgot to, so better late than never.

As is often the case with a Vegas trip, this past one was just the same in the fact that I could have actually made it home having made money – if it weren’t for that last day. It’s pretty typical for me that it’s the last day in which Vegas not only catches up with me, but manages to make sure that I don’t leave with all of the money I brought in which to play with, and this last trip was no exception to that rule. I had been gambling shrewdly up until the last day, and it was naturally on the last night, in which I watched the house money diminish, and then some of my own money subsequently. Regardless, it’s not a big deal, because it’s money that’s accumulated for such frivolous purposes, and it doesn’t affect my bottom line or any financial responsibilities otherwise.

Anyway, aside from Pedro night, it was the night prior in which I was having a particularly good time at a table, and managed to walk away with a little bit of a cherry on top. I was gambling at Paris, where I was pleased to have found a single-deck table that also was being dealt by one of the sexy lingerie-clad dealers that seems to be the fortuitous norm for the Planet Hollywood/Paris/Bally’s troika of casinos these days.

Regardless, as aesthetically pleasing as the view is, being the gentleman I always pretend to be, I’m not one to creep on or unabashedly flirt with and hit on the sexy-clad dealers, because I’m sure they get it enough, and I have no game anyway. To no surprise, such a mentality typically warms most of them up to me, because I’m not such an obvious sleaze, and ultimately my goal is play blackjack, not get reamed, and get as many free drinks as I can in the process; the view is just a bonus.

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