Rocktoberfest

Well, the weekend is done and done, and I'm back at work trying to figure out ways to waste my time, as well as yours. Friday night was spent anxiously awaiting the arrival of Ari "Sister-in-Law" Pope and Ryan "Pissed Off" Christoff from the fair Windy City. I bided my time by watching the movie that catapulted Nancy Travis and Anthony LaPaglia into superstardom, "So I Married an Axe Murderer," "Breaking Bonaduce" (which I highly suggest watching, or TiVo'ing, since it's on at the same time as "Family Guy" and "Desperate Housewives"), as well as HBO's delightful little dish, "Cathouse," which is a reality show about the Bunny Ranch in Nevada. The episode was about how the owner basically does whoever he wants at the ranch and the "ladies" love it. The girl who's dumb enough to think that she's his girlfriend is a porn star who also works at the Ranch. My theory is that she must need some extra income because she is a shitty porn star on account of the fact that she has the biggest nose bridge I've ever seen. Her eyes have to be 4 or 5 inches apart. Great peripheral vision, though.

Anywho, so Ari and Christoff arrive round about 1am, and Christoff and I forced ourselves to stay up and drink a couple beers and watch some "Family Guy" reruns on TBS. After about 7.62 hours of slumber, everyone awoke to greet the day with zeal. We went to this dive bar called Kramer's to watch the IU/Wisconsin game (IU lost, but hey, I'll take 3-1). Kramer's has the best pizza in Dayton, and the beer comes not in draft form, but in 32oz and 40oz bottles, which I respect immensely. It's always an odd smattering of college-age or near-college-age kids, families (at least around normal meal times), and 80-year-old winos drinking their 40s of Old Milwaukee while smoking a pack of Dorals. On this particular day, there was an 8-year-old sitting at the bar with his dad. Not sitting at a table in the bar, but actually sitting at the bar. Don't worry, though, because his mother (or at least his dad's girlfriend) came in to the bar soon after. She apparently didn't get the memo that there is an "and purge" after "binge" because her spectacular spare tire was showing through her t-shirt, which was about 7 sizes too small for her and said something along the lines of "I'm good. Just ask your boyfriend." The eyebrows had been plucked in such a fashion that she looked like some sort of a fat, angry clown slut. I didn't know whether to laugh or puke, but it angered me that she might not be sterile.

The Oktoberfest party Saturday night went mostly swimmingly. For reasons unknown, kegs are only available from distributors in Ohio, so I had to get the keg before the distributor closed at 1pm. Upon my arrival back at my haus, I did what any decent human being would do with a keg: put it in a tub and covered it with ice. When I went to tap it at approximately 7pm, I came to the horrifying realization that the woman at the distributor, who I will refer to as Georgia O'Queef, gave me the wrong fucking tap. So there I was with a worthless quarter barrel of Spaten. Luckily I had a bunch of other German beer in bottles, and my lovely wife and Ari went out to get some more. The rest of the night was an orgy of hefeweizen, dunkel, cheddar wurst, potato salad, German beer hall songs, pretzels, and apple streusel. On a random note, I just thought of a great name for a Munich-themed orgy porn: Fucktoberfest.

The list of out-of-town guests read like a who's who of my Yahoo address book. I've already mentioned Pissed Off and Sister-in-Law. Additionally, Tony "The Artist Formerly Known as T-Diddy" Green came up from Louisville and made the announcement that his nickname was officially changing to T-Money. He also ordered the Jones-Tarver fight and forced others to give him $5 to give to me to cover the cost. That $35 will come in handy when I get the $50 charge on my next bill. John Ashcraft hesitantly returned to the spot of "The Hamburger Helper Incident" to make amends (see "Ashcraft Puking" post below) and to show his girlfriend, Erin "OC" Campbell, the site of his life's most dastardly vomit. Marc "Tron" Wiescinski entertained everyone with his shadow puppets and balloon animals. A noticeable absence was that of Adam "Matthew Spring" McClure, who was supposed to make the trip down from Chi Town, but was too busy popping Vicodin after he threw out his back carrying his fiancé over a couch in some sort of semi-erotic fiancé-tossing competition.

All in all, I think the party will go down as one of, if not the, greatest Oktoberfest party I hosted this month.

Yesterday I did a good deal of sitting. Sundays in the fall seem to lend themselves to that. My prediction about my fantasy football conundrum came painfully to fruition yesterday. I benched Peyton Manning in favor of Michael Vick. Manning had 264 yards, 4 TDs, and 0 INTs. Vick left the game in the 2nd quarter with a sprained knee after throwing for 47 yards and a TD. Thanks God.

Congrats are once again in order for the Chicago White Sox. With nothing to really play for this weekend (since they had clinched the best record in the AL), they stomped on the necks of the Cleveland Indians, sweeping them and thus preventing the Indians from going to the playoffs. More importantly, all of the douche bag Indians fans, both in and out of my office, have become deathly silent, perhaps having choked on their own self-righteousness.

Congrats are also in order for the Houston Astros, who clinched the NL Wild Card yesterday, thus becoming the first team since the 1914 Boston Braves to make the playoffs after being 15 games below .500 (the Astros were 15-30 after their first 45 games this year). This will mark the first time ever that the Astros and White Sox are in the playoffs at the same time. I've been asked several times who I would root for if they both make it to the World Series. If this highly unlikely series were to play out, I would root for whoever was at bat. I would also have one of those hideous half-and-half jerseys made (which I can only assume would be the first time a White Sox and Astros jersey would have been melded together). For the Astros side, I would go with the classic popsicle uniforms of the late '70s and early '80s. For the White Sox Side, I would go with the collared uniform that Bill Veeck made the team wear in the mid '70s (with shorts sometimes--ouch). My only concern would be what I would call the jersey: the Chicagston Astrox or the Houstago White Stros?