The Burly Unknown!

Readers,

Mawnday part 1 was a smashing success!

Phil from Wisconson writes:

I was always using “that’s what she said” in the correct context.  You have opened my eyes to the nonsensical and changed my life and saved my marriage!  Thanks Burly Unknown!

Tricia from Hawaii writes:

Before Mawndays, I never had any ridiculous tasks to do.  Now, I get so excited that my hair falls out every Sunday night!  People keep telling me what a beautiful scalp I have.  Now I truly know the meaning of raw steel and sex appeal.

Given the success of our inaugural Mawnday, I’m here to propose another one.  This time, I’ll give you two weeks so I can have time to sift through the billions of emails that I receive each day telling of hilarity and awesomeness.

This is an easy one.  I fully expect all nine of you to complete this task.  This is easier if you live in a big city (I’m expecting big things from you, lil sis), but all you need is a crowded sidewalk.

YOUR TASK SIRRAHS!

Get a few friends together and start walking down a crowded sidewalk.  Walk normally, chatting about your banal lives.  Then, in unison, stop and just stare upward at a common spot.  See how many people stop and try to see what you’re looking at.

I’ve done this before.  It is fun and awesome.  Now, I know that about 90% of you all have a digital camera with a video capture feature.  Get one of your crew to stand a bit away and video the sting.  Send your vid’s my way and I’ll make an awesome Mawnday remix.

This message will self destruct.

… on Memorial Day weekend.  Because that’s how I roll yo.  Gangsta.

So I finally made it to my hostel in Medellin.  This is exciting.  Whenever I end up somewhere I’m supposed to be without shedding tears, I’m ecstatic.  I usually bleed somewhere along the way.

Safe in my gringo enclave, I decided to evaluate my situation.  I opened up my guidebook.  Turns out my guidebook was written for multi-millionaire geriatrics with nervous bladders.  I’m neither rich* nor particularly old.  My bladder is of the belligerent ilk.

The guidebook basically said that:

1. I wasn’t to travel by myself
2. I wasn’t to travel at night
3. I wasn’t to travel through the countryside
4. I wasn’t to pay less than $100 for a hotel room
5. I was to wear a hazmat suit at all times

Oh and also that drug dealers were going to kidnap me and make me carry drugs back to the U.S. in my bum.

So what did I do?  Did I hunker down in my airtight fallout shelter and cringe under a blanket?  You bet I did.  After I ran out of scented candles and Enya CD’s, I built up the courage to venture forth.  It was around dinner time, so I decided to have dinner (only after checking my messages at The Organization for Redundancy Organization’s message board for messages).  I tagged along with some other folks and had a traditional Colombian meal.  I believe, and check my Spanish on this, that they were called “Hot Wings with French Fries.”  After consuming this savory and exotic dish, we had a few drinks and retired for the evening.

Thus ends part 3 of my Colombian adventure.  I promise I won’t recount the rest of the trip in twenty minute increments.  I just really like the sound of my own (typed?) voice.

* Yes I am! BAAAHAHAHAAHHAHAAAAA!!**

** No I’m not.  Sad panda.

Hello friends!

As you have noticed (unless your my sister, and didn’t catch the whole “raw steel and sex appeal” thing until about 5 months after the website’s inception), I have changed the name of the site to “The Burly Unknown.”  This means you can go to www.burlyunknown.com and you will be sent to this site.  Don’t ask me how this works.  It’s internet magic.

I named it The Burly Unknown because I want this site to be about adventuring in everyday life.  I want it to be a tongue-in-cheek repository of fun stories and a place where you recognize the hilarity in everyday things that this world has somehow conspired to make mundane.  I want you to do silly things in everyday circumstances.  I want you to walk backwards to work one day.

I did this because I didn’t want the website to be just about me.  I wanted it to only be mainly about me and maybe a little about you but mostly about me.

Just playin.  Kinda.  I did it because I want the site to grow beyond me.  I want other people to contribute their stories about travel and random/funny/stupid/awesome/nerdy* things.  I want people to send me links they think are funny and get the awesome attention they deserve for being awesome (internet high five [5]).  I want this to be a forum for all things awesome.**

If you are tolerating my writing on this site, chances are you have a similar sense of humor and are ridiculously intelligent and good looking, so I have no problem sending out this electronic casting call.  I trust you, readers, don’t let me down.

I hope you are enjoying the updates.  I’m making a genuine effort to write at least three posts a week and grow the website.  So, if you’re digging the site, spread the word and let all of your (more intelligent and awesomely funny) friends know that there is someone out there that is providing a little bit of humor and a smidgen of escapism.

Please contribute something awesome.  Even if it’s in the comments section.  Don’t worry about sending me something and being nervous that other people might not like it.  If you think it’s worthy, then I think it’s worthy.  Plus I have complete control over everything on this site and will nix anything that will make you look like a douche.

Thanks again for your support, and spread the word!  If you have an idea, want to contribute something, or just tell me that I’m an asshole, please email me at david.garrett.byars@gmail.com.

David

*It’s funny, most of the things I like can be described by all of those adjectives.

** and awesome

I have an idea.  Each week, on Monday morning, I am going to give you a task.  You’re job is to complete this task and report back to me before the week is up.  I will feng shui all of your thoughts and stories into a post to be published the following Monday, along with your new task.

Be creative.  Make a video.  Write a poem.  Lie.  Or just tell me how it went.

Your task for this week (drum roll):

Get into it. 

Paper or plastic ma’am?

THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID!

Excuse me, you’re standing on my baby.

THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID!

I’m afraid it’s inoperable…

THAT’S WHAT SHE SAID!

You get the idea.  Also, hit me up with ideas about some random tasks.  Also, the name Mawnday blows.  Help me out with some ideas.  I can’t do all the work around here.

email me at: david.garrett.byars@gmail.com

The law of inverse ninjas has absolutely nothing to do with what comes next in the story.  It was merely a ploy to pique your interest and stimulate your glutes.  If you are reading this, you have fallen victim to my semi-evil scheme.  Muahahahahaaa!

When I last left you, constant reader, I was squelching my sweaty person over to my new friend’s car to catch a ride to Medellin.  I jumped in and tried to follow the rapid Spanish conversation that ensued.  Whenever it was my turn to talk, I would nod sagely and reply, “Que?!”  After the ensuing explanation, I would reply “Si!” enthusiastically, still having little idea of what was asked.

I’m fairly certain that, in my ignorance, I agreed  (a) to make love to some sort of livestock (b) to act as masters of ceremonies in a Colombia rap battle, or (c) to admitting that I have a not normal amount of testicles (insert some sort of joke about baseball and walking*)

My new friends took me to a restaurant on the way into Medellin and stuffed me to the gills with traditional Colombian food.  I had the chicharron.  Think of a mixture between pork jerky and bacon… now that you’re tastebuds have committed hari kari because it can only go downhill from there, read on.

I had no idea where I was going, so my companions dropped me in the general vicinity of where I kind of thought I was supposed to go (could I be any more vague?).  I hailed a cab and gave the cabbie the name of the hostel I was trying to get to (Casa Kiwi).  The hostel turned out to be about four blocks away, but the cabbie and I had a merry little jaunt through the streets of Medellin for about twenty minutes.  Periodically, he would stop and (purportedly) as for directions.  I’m think the exchanges went something like this:

Cabbie:  Hey Julio

Julio:  Oh hey cabbie

Cabbie:  Check out this gringo

Julio:  (peering into the cab) Yeah, he’s pretty white.  Why is he smiling at me like an idiot?

Cabbie:  I don’t know.  I think something may be wrong with him.  I’m going to wipe down the back seat with Clorox after I drop him off.

Julio: (taking a step back) Yeah, maybe you should just burn the cab.  So what’s up?

Cabbie:  Oh nothing, slow day.  He’s going to the Casa Kiwi where they keep the other gringoes.  I’m going to drive him around a bit until the fare is nice and high.  I’m fairly certain he doesn’t know any Spanish.  Could you just cock your head, say “Casa Kiwi?” and then slowly shake your head while grimacing regretfully.

Julio:  Casa Kiwi?  Nooooo. (shakes his head regretfully)

The great thing about Colombia is that, even if you’re getting ripped off, it’s only to the tune of a couple of dollars.  My cab fare was 4,000 pesos, which is less than $2.**

Well, readers, you have two big fat blog entries to digest, and I’ve only described the first few hours of my trip!  I suggest Metamucil.

Until next time, adieu, adieu, and gesundheit.

* Every year at my physical, the doctor would always say, “Turn your head and cough.  Now, take your base!”

** Side note:  I have a friend in Medellin from Oxford who teaches English.  His monthly salary is something like 1.3 million pesos.  The sign for the peso is the same as the sign for the dollar.  We would joke that when he tries to get his next job, he should write $1,300,000 in the space provided for “previous salary.”

Hello hungry readers.

As the majority of you know (there being 11 people who read this website, a good majority would be around 8), I left Telluride for the off-season to travel for a bit.  I poked around the states at first, visiting friends and family, then once more set forth into the burly unknown.  This particular brand of unknown being Colombia, South America.

I left on a Tuesday morning full of piss and vinegar, ready to conquer lands yet unknown.  As you all know, I am very meticulous in planning my travels*.

I hopped on a plane at 7 am in Atlanta, GA, connected in Ft. Lauderdale, and landed in Medellin, Colombia at around 3 pm.  For those of you who are using the “too expensive” excuse to not travel and sit on your atrophied buns, my round trip ticket cost me less than $200 on Spirit Airlines.

Upon arriving in Medellin, I learned to my dismay that I wasn’t actually in Medellin.  I was experiencing another wrinkle in the fabric of space/time. In spite of having booked a flight to Medellin, I was put down about an hour and a half outside of Medellin.  There were no parachutes involved, however, several animals were injured**.

Beginning to sweat through my shirt, I calmly and coolly reviewed my situation.  The pace of my breathing increased to provide my brain with more oxygen as it kicked into super analytical kick ass mode.  To your normal observer, this would look like I’m weeping hysterically.  This is wrong.  There is no small amount of magic going on in that dome of mine.

As I was picking up my bag to take it through customs (smuggling obscene amounts of orange tic tacs), a girl picked up a conversation with me:

Hot Colombian Gal: (seeing my ridiculous back pack) Hey so are you just “traveling” through Colombia?

Me: (pushing out my chest and adopting a faraway look) Yeah, just traveling around a bit.

HCG: Oh wow, you must be brave, I’ve never traveled through Colombia.

WTF?!?!  This is a person who is FROM Colombia who had never traveled through Colombia because she thought it was too dangerous.  A person who is familiar with the country and is a native Spanish speaker.  My Spanish was dismal to outright offensive at this point.  What the hell was I thinking?

She then informed me that Medellin was about an hour and a half away and there was no train.  She then offered to give me a ride to Medellin.  Her friends were going to pick her up at the airport.  It was at this point that I became convinced that I was to be kidnapped.  This girl was hot, like the-opposite-of-Janet-Reno-making-out-with-Margaret-Thatcher hot.  I knew for a certainty that her friends would have AK’s and grenades secreted in various orifices throughout their body.

I reviewed my extensive martial arts training (Kempo Karate - advanced yellow belt) and agreed to come along, my body tensed to disarm my would be captors with style and grace.

What happened next, you ask?  Alas, you shall have to stay tuned (what does that even mean?!) for my next installment.  Colombia: Part 2 - The Law of Inverse Ninjas.

*This is sarcasm.

** Not really, they just had their feelings hurt.  I thrive on the tears of puppies.

“The Pizza that Cuts Itself!”

Peep this homereaders. This is how it went down in my hood coming up.