I slept for the first 11 hours of Saturday. It was glorious. I have to send out special thanks to my dog, Harley, for not getting up before 11 either. Every now and then that bitch does something nice for me.
The highlight of Saturday was that a guy I work with (Andy "The Reitz Stuff" Reitz) had his 28th birthday party at Skateworld, one of -- cough -- several Dayton-area roller rinks. Nevermind the fact that a 28-year-old lawyer has his birthday party
every year at a roller rink--it was a great time that harkened back to my skating days as a mop-haired youngster in H-town. I was able to use muscles in my legs that had not been used in years. Jester also enjoyed it, as evidenced by this live-action photo showing her tearing around the rink, pausing only slightly to look at my well-positioned camera phone.At some point, the staff cleared the rink to set up some sweet races, based on age group. After a disappointing defeat in last year's 13-and-up race,
Andy was seemingly primed to avenge his loss. Contradicting your rational inclinations, Andy (shown in this picture in the yellow shirt to the far right) was in fact not the oldest competitor. A balding man with a handlebar mustache, who likely competed for the possibility of "accidentally" rubbing elbows with prepubescent boys and girls, was in my estimation the odds-on favorite, given the speed with which I had seen him skate earlier and given the general creepiness factor that would prevent others from coming within 10 feet of his well-groomed mustache and cut-off Harley-Davidson shirt (you can see him at the far left in this picture). Anyway, Andy ended up coming in about 5th, as shown by the picture below, in which Andy is rounding Turn 3 with no visible will to pass anyone in front of him, including the man with the cut-off shirt.
By nightfall, the excitement of roller skating had passed. Jessie and I went out with Holt and his brother and sister-in-law, who deftly passed their daughter off to the grandparents (who were also in town) for a night out. After an average time at Fox & Hound (I guarantee the one in Dayton looks just like the one in your town), we went to a new bar in downtown Dayton called J. Alan's, conveniently located about 2 blocks from my apartment.Despite the fact that it's the closest bar to our apartments, neither Holt nor Jessie nor I had been to J. Alan's. It was a genuinely positive experience, highlighted by several hours of the 5 of us playing Erotic Photo Hunt. Not even the best efforts of the 5 of us combined could crack the Top 10 scores. All 10 places were owned by a man named "LL," who made a Keyser Soze-esque appearance, fed a dollar into the machine (good for 4 plays), helped us out for a couple minutes, and then drifted away into the shadows never to be seen again. Even with his pointers, we were nowhere close to his scores. Godspeed LL, wherever you are.
On Sunday, I basically sat on my couch and watched football. Rather than talk about the Bears game, which will only make me want to punch my computer screen until its dead, I will discuss my favorite parts of both games. In the Indy/Pittsburgh game, my favorite part was when, after that liquored-up, idiot kicker Vanderjagt missed what would have been the game tying field goal, CBS showed the reactions of Tony Dungy, Bill Cowher, Peyton Manning, and Jerome Bettis in a row, and each one of them said "he missed it" with differing degrees of excitement or disappointment. There's a Broadway musical in there somewhere. "He missed it. He missed it! He missed it. HE MISSED IT!" Then Cowher and Bettis dance around while Dungy and Manning console each other. It practically writes itself.
Now turning to the Bears game, my favorite line from the announcers was one in the third or fourth quarter by sideline reporter Pam Oliver, who was discussing one of the Bears defensive backs (Peanut Tillman I think) having cramps, when she so unabashedly told the audience that "Bears trainers were shoving bananas down his throat." A simple "the trainers are giving him bananas to help battle leg cramps" would have done. Instead, Pam Oliver makes Tillman sound like Chicago's answer to Linda Lovelace.
Speaking of Linda Lovelace, I came (no pun intended) across something disturbingly fascinating when I got the link for her imdb.com bio. It seems that in addition to inhaling many a cock in the groundbreaking 1972 porn Deep Throat, Ms. Lovelace "starred" in a 1969 movie called Dog Fucker. "Starred" is in quotations because apparently a German Shepherd was the real star. I couldn't make that shit up. The movie was called Dog Fucker. How do you pitch that one? "Boy do we have a great script for you. It's called Dog Fucker. Now, I don't want to give too much away, but it's a beastiality pic."
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