"We Did Everything Together"

Groupie Appreciation Day here at Hair Band Friday. In honor of the women who make working in a law firm so glamorous, I've been playing songs that celebrate them. For instance, the last three songs coming from my speakers at obscene levels were "Everybody Loves Eileen" by Steelheart, "Fly High Michelle" by Enuff Z'Nuff, and "Kissin' Kitty" by The Bullet Boys. Because we don't put up with irony here at the office during Hair Band Friday, Michelle is flyin' high on mescaline. She was completely transfixed with the Lexis-Nexis research I was doing, and she kept telling me how hot she was for me. However, on account of the mescaline, she thought I was a talking Shetland Pony named Carmine who was eating reams of paper off the floor. The fucked up thing is that that only made her want me more. That girl knows how to party. Interestingly, it's not the first time I've been asked to neigh while banging a chick doggy style (or I guess it would be horsey style in this case). As if couldn't get any better, Eileen has been giving everyone BJs, and it wasn't even because we rocked some letters to clients or deposition outlines. Well, I have to go make out with Kitty now, and if things go well I'll be kissin' Kitty's kitty, if you know what I mean. If not, Kitty always brings her cat. If she asks you to kiss her cat, then it means she wants you to cunniling her. Pretty standard.

Speaking of cats, check out this animated video set to Motorhead's "Ace of Spades," sent to me by Dan "Lemmy" Edelstein, who you might know as Dan from the dog park or the guy who sand "Ace of Spades" last Saturday at live band karaoke.

Well, my 10-year high school reunion is one day away, and I'm not sure how I feel about it. None of the guys I hang out with are going (thanks guys), which means that it has the distinct possibility of being very awkward. So far there is no one from my class who has become famous. By the 15-year reunion, I hope to change that, whether my claim to fame is blogging, logging, being a contestant on Deal or No Deal, hip hop dancing, singing karaoke, or strangling K-Fed to death on the red carpet. In all honesty, I think the last one might be best for society because the world would be a better place without Kevin Federline. There is not one person -- not one -- who benefits from having K-Fed alive. I know what you're thinking: "GMYH, surely there is one person who benefits from having that talentless asshole alive." I appreciate your kindheartedness, but you're wrong. Let's analyze the possible people who could theoretically benefit from K-Fed's continued ability to breathe:

• Britney - Right off the bat, I think it's pretty obvious that K-Fed is simply mooching off of Britney. For shit's sake, she had to take away his car on at least one occasion (probably to prevent him from driving to the recording studio). Britney would be better off with someone more responsible, self-supporting, and respectable, like a Carson Daly, John Mayer, Jude Law, Pete Doherty, or William Kennedy Smith.
• Sean Preston - Sure, K-Fed is Sean Preston's father, but maybe this image will convince you: K-Fed, with a Newport hanging out of his mouth and a Busch Light in his hand, head bobbing to the unintelligible music and beats running through his head, trying unsuccessfully to change Sean Preston's diaper, but just getting shit all over the place. Then he yells out in desperation, "Britney, yo! SP just popozao'd, and I'm straight-up drizunk. Look at my stubble. I look like a modern-day Barney Rubble. Awww shit, that's a wack lyric! Baby, write that shit down. That's fire, right there. And while you're at it, bring be another brew-haha. What the fuck?! Whose baby is this? He looks like a little penguin or a ninja. I'm gonna stand on your feet and put my nunchucks all up in ya. And when I pull it out, you'll wish you had gout, 'cause K-Fed's moves gonna make you shout. Damn! Britney, are you writing this down?" Meanwhile, Britney is quietly overdosing in the next room, thus leaving Sean Preston motherless. Is that what you want?
• Any of K-Fed's other 12-30 kids - It's probably better that they never knew he existed than grow up knowing that they share DNA with him.

So there it is. Next reunion, people are going to be coming up to me and saying, "Hey, aren't you the dude who killed K-Fed?" And I'll be all, "Yeah." And then he/she would be all, "That was pretty fucking sweet. You're a hero, you know that, right?" And I'll be all, "No I'm not. A hero is someone who does something extraordinary. What I did was exactly what anyone else would have done in that situation. I simply saw a talentless leech walking down the red carpet, and I ran up behind him and choked the life out of him with a telephone cord. I'm no more a hero than the man who swats a fly that has landed on his kitchen table or the woman who kills a mosquito that landed on her arm." And then, if it's a dude, he'll be all, "Can I buy you a drink?" And I'll be all, "No no, let me buy you a drink." And then I actually will be a hero. But if it's a chick, she'll be all, "I've never been more attracted to a man in my life. Let's get out of here so that we might engage in sexual intercourse." And I'll be all, "Uh, your husband is standing right next to you." And then I'd rip my shirt off, Superman style, give it to her, and then turn around and walk out of the room to a standing ovation. If you're curious -- and I know you are -- by that time I will be totally ripped and across my back will be a very detailed tattoo of me strangling K-Fed. And I'll probably have a tan.

Midwestern Eavesdropping - 9/28/06

Here you go, kids:

Preppie: "I'll be over in 20, drinking shoes on."
Hipster: "Are you bringing me any halfway decent beer?"
Preppie: "Halfway decent? Define."
Hipster: "If you have to ask, nevermind."
Preppie: "I have 6 Nattys and half a bottle of Boone's Farm."
Hipster: "Before the night is over, I will kill you."
--Bloomington, IN, Qdoba, 4th and Indiana
Eavesdropper: RobD

A young couple walking down Fullerton at about 2AM. The couple is obviously arguing and the girlfriend must have said something that annoyed the boyfriend as he was making a mouthing symbol with his hand in the girlfriend's general direction:
Boyfriend: "Blah Blah Blah . . ."
Girlfriend: "Blah blah blah your fucking face!"
--Chicago, somewhere on Fullerton Ave.
Eavesdropper: Klank

Hipster: "So how was Europe ?"
Twin 1: "After we got done racing, Robert Gary, the Ohio State coach, wouldn't stop talking about this brewery in Liege."
Twin 2: "I guess it's the best beer in the world, but you can't order it, you have to go there."
Twin 1: "He wouldn't stop talking about it. He was obsessed."
Twin 2: "Yeah it was weird, but it's good stuff, and it was like two miles from our hotel."
Hipster: "So was it worth it? Good shit?"
Twin 1: "We didn't go."
--Bloomington, IN, Nick's English Hut, Kirkwood & Dunn
Eavesdropper: RobD

Twentysomething female: "How was the wedding?"
Twentysomething male: "Good. We took the ice sculpture from the reception up to our hotel room. Then we made an ice luge and did shots off of it."
--Chicago, Washington & Wells L platform
Eavesdropper: GMYH

Well-endowed slut: "I hear you broke up with your girlfriend recently. That sucks. I'm sorry."
Drunk guy: "Yeah, what can I say, shit happens."
Well-endowed slut: "It's too bad I have a boyfriend and can't do you."
Drunk guy: "Yeah, that is too bad. What the fuck?"
--Bloomington, IN, DP Dough, Kirkwood & Dunn
Eavesdropper: RobD

Twentysomething female asking twentysomething male apparently about his friend's ex-girlfriend: "Is he still fraternizing about with 'Meat Hooks'?"
--Chicago, crowded rush hour Purple Line train
Eavesdropper: GMYH

Thanks to those who contributed. Remember, when you overhear something hilarious, email it to gmyhblog@yahoo.com for inclusion in Midwestern Eavesdropping. If you don't, then I shall kill you.

In case you haven't heard, Dustin "Screech" Diamond is back in the news. Not for trying to sell t-shirts to save his house. And not for getting accosted at a hotel. This is much worse. Apparently there is a sex tape floating around out there, in which Screech and TWO women engage in sexual activities, including -- not even kidding -- a Dirty Sanchez. The working title of this hopefully-never-released tape is Saved By The Smell. How the hell am I supposed to eat my Frosted Mini Wheats without throwing up while watching Screech hopelessly pursue Lisa Turtle every morning? Special thanks go out to Greg Weeser*, Jaleh, and Tron for each sending me a different article on the subject, thus ruining my life.

Now He's Got Business Cards

Edgar Bellefontaine must really want the wife rapings to stop, especially now that there are THREE people involved. So what's a man to do when three people are allegedly raping his wife? That's right, make a business card. Our good friend who stands on the outskirts of the Daley Center plaza is now handing out business cards. Jessie decided to take one, since she would also like these rapings to cease.

In case the picture is blurry, the cards list the "Outlaw(s)." (I'm not sure why there is the (s), since there is obviously more than one outlaw.) The Outlaw(s) themselves are listed at the top of the business card as "ACLU-il.Org: Board President, Jill M. Metz," "Cook County Judge: Carole K. Bellows" (Bellows is the newest of the rapists), and "FBI Rapist Agent: Chris Saviano." Below those three pesky Outlaw(s) is, of course, the message that none of them apparently seems to be understanding: "Stop Raping My Wife!" (which, as you can tell, is the most legible phrase on the card). A dashed line separates the message from the messenger: "victim's husband: farhad khoiee-abbasi (Refugee)." Just in case you were confused about when this business card was printed, next to Farhad's name is "[Sep. 22, 2006]." I hate to question Farhad's effectiveness, but, just as with the sign, I fail to see how taking the time to make business cards will actually stop the supposed raping more effectively than grabbing Metz, Bellows, or Saviano and pulling them off of his wife. And are all three of them raping his wife at the same time? If so, how can he be sure that it is rape, as opposed to a really slutty wife trying to break free from the restraints of a sexually disappointing marriage? And since when does the FBI have a position called Rapist Agent? Technically, wouldn't that mean that, by raping Farhad's wife, Saviano was just doing his job? Worst of all, without leaving any contact information on his business card, how does Farhad expect anyone to get a hold of him once the raping(s) stop(s)? Again, a piss-poor, misguided effort by a man who seems so concerned about the ongoing raping of his wife by a variety of public and civil liberties officials.

Piece Out, Part 2

Finally Blogger is cooperating. Here are the remainder of the pictures.

This one was relatively early in the night, when the shots first started to rear their sweet, delicious, ugly heads. Jessie's already so drunk she can barely keep her eyes open. Tana seems quite excited about the whole situation.
As you can see, the shots took their toll on Tana and Ari, so they switched back to beer. I assume they are trying to sing along to the guy who butchered Def Leppard's "Photograph." Brian can do nothing but laugh.

Here are a couple more shots of my earth-shattering performance of "I Believe In a Thing Called Love." The first merely shows me mesmerizing the crowd with a shrill wail. The second seems to be circumstantial proof that Jessie approved of my antics. Hoop earrings on the left there, however, seemed not to even notice me. That hurts.

After Ari, Alex, and Brian's roommate finished their version of Folsom Prison Blues, Reed did his best Johnny Cash impression. Frankly, I thought it was a little too alive to be realistic.
This picture is an accurate summary of later in the night. An undoubtedly fast-warming giant glass of dunkel-weizen was resting precariously in my hand, while the anonymous wife of Alex attempted to take a bite out of my shoulder. Christoff looks like he just got smacked in the nuts with a lead sap, while Katie B. honestly thought she was changing the channel on a giant TV. Jessie was simply smiling through the whole situation, too drunk on life and alcohol to care what anyone else was doing.
Here's the best picture of the evening: the anonymous wife of Alex and Katie W. with the captain of the Black Pearl himself, Jack Sparrow. I know what you're thinking: "You gotta be fistfucking me, GMYH?" No, no I'm not. Frankly, I don't think it would fit, and neither of us would really enjoy it. Notice Sparrow's gangly (and no doubt urine-soaked) pirate fingers ever-so-subtly creeping up to cop a cheap pirate feel. The anonymous wife of Alex is visibly upset that it was not her boob being groped by this Bucktonian swashbuckler. Katie, however, appears to be enjoying herself, as evident by the head lean, touching Sparrow's Vitamin-C-deficient pirate hair without regard for the hundreds of little crabs that were undoubtedly jumping onto her head. It's nice to know that Sparrow is the captain of his own boat, but when it comes down to it, he'll swab Jesus's deck any day of the week, as evident by the bling around his neck that he probably swiped from some lilly-livered land lover. Not this evening, though, because this evening was about stealing hearts. With the Black Pearl apparently anchored safely in Lake Michigan, Sparrow and his garish band of scallywags and rogues took to the streets of Chicago in search of any young wench who would be willing to fall for a guy that was for some reason purposely (and unabashedly) dressed up like a famous movie pirate on a September Saturday.

Piece Out

[Note: Blogger would not let me upload all of the pictures from the weekend, so there will likely be a follow-up post with several more pictures, including a totally awesome one of the anonymous wife of Alex, Katie W., and Captain Jack Sparrow.]

The weekend was a whirlwind of emotion. It started off rather morosely, as Joe "The Original Goni" Malangoni infomed me via electronic mail that Danny Flores, writer, saxophonist, and singer on The Champs' classic '50s roadhouse anthem "Tequila!", died, apparently from complications with pneumonia and surprisingly not from alcohol-related conditions. Somewhere Paul Reubens was either weeping or masturbating, or both.

Given the news, Jessie and I decided to stay in on Friday night and reflect on what tequila meant to us. Deciding that both the drink and song meant very little to us on an existential level, we retired early to catch up on some much-needed sleep.

After 9-10 hours of sleep, we awoke on Saturday with a renewed lease on life, having already forgotten about Flores's passing. Aside from a rain-soaked dog walking, we watched IU score 7 fewer points than UConn in a horrible football game. I think I've figured out IU's problem: a lack of talented athletes.

After the game is when things started to get crazy. First, out of nowhere, Chris "The Red Cobra" Ball calls me and says he's in town. He then headed over to our place, and then the three of us headed to Piece Brewery & Pizzeria in Bucktown, which is where Jessie and Ari's birthday gala was to be held.

Piece is owned by Rick Nielsen (guitarist for Cheap Trick) and our friend Bill from the dog park (Bill and Rick are shown to the right at Piece with none other than Rachel Ray, who was unable to make it Saturday due to previous commitments, or so I assume). Bill and his staff hooked us up, whether it was a discounted bill, Piece t-shirts for the birthday girls, or birthday cake. When Bill arrived, he explained to me that his purpose for coming to the bar that night was to buy us beers and get us drunk. I thought that was good.

The night started off innocently enough with some pizza, beer, and MSU drubbing Notre Dame. Piece brews their own beer, and I quickly became addicted to their dunkel-weizen, as it reminded me of my childhood in Munich. Plus it was served in really big glasses, so that was neat. Here's a picture of Jester and me, taken at the beginning of the night. Normal.

Then everyone started showing up, and the night devolved quickly. Among the well-wishers were: the aforementioned Ball, Klint, the anonymous wife of Alex, Alex, Tom, Courtenay, Morgan, Melissa, Eric, Bohmann, Adam, Katie W., Sean, Bridget, Katie B., Julie J., Tana, a couple of Tana's friends, Brian, Brian's roommate, Dan (another friend from the dog park), a couple of Dan's friends, Christoff, Reed, Sarah, one of Ari's former co-workers and her boyfriend, and probably some others. Drinks were consumed. Pizza was devoured.

By the time dinner was done with, I was feeling pretty good. We made our way from our reserved area (which would later be the live band karaoke stage) to the bar area where more drinks were consumed, including smaller, more powerful drinks that the bar referred to as "shots." At some point, MSU conveniently gave up a 16-point lead to Notre Dame. I think I figured out MSU's problem: the Catholic Church pays refs quite handsomely.

By the time the Karaoke Dokies started, everyone was good and lubed and ready to sing. As soon as I got the list of songs, I went straight to "D." Staring me in the face were the words "The Darkness - I Believe In A Thing Called Love." That's all I needed, so I signed myself up.

I had some time between my sign-up and performance. During that time I was fed shots and beer by my so-called friends and Bill, respectively. Also during that time, several other things happened.

The Birthday Girls pretended to like each other for at least 2 seconds:

Jessie auditioned her new character, The Boob Monster, to rave reviews. The beauty about this is that Katie B. and the anonymous wife of Alex had no idea that The Boob Monster was lurking. And that's kind of The Boob Monster's thing: lurking in the shadows and then pouncing on boobs.

Jessie kept accusing me of having gum in my mouth. As you can see, I did not. Jessie could barely contain herself when she found out I had been telling her the truth the whole night.

Dan performed a spoken-word version of Motorhead's "Ace of Spades."

Then it was my turn. As I walked up to the stage, the crowd came to an anxious hush. "Who is this jackass in the polo shirt?" they thought. "Go back to Lincoln Park, yuppie," was yelled at only a level that I could hear. I refused to be dissuaded. Once the mic was in my hand, I was electric. I explained to the crowd, "I'd like to dedicate this song to my beautiful wife Jessie. It's her birthday. Honey, I just found out I lost my job, so this is your only present." Jessie, of course, didn't hear a word I said, but I did get some "awws" from the otherwise rabid crowd, most of whom could see me about this well:

Then the opening riff kicked in, and it was on. Aside from my footspeed, random trivia knowledge, the only thing about myself that I am proud of is my falsetto. Give me a Four Seasons or Darkness song, and I will go Scott Peterson all over it. You won't even know what hit you. I hesitate to call myself a golden god, mostly because I was wearing red. But for those three minutes I felt alive for the first time in my life. Later on, as I was settling my $4.50 bar tab (yes, $4.50), an attractive girl tapped me on the shoulder and asked, "Were you the guy that sang that Queen song?" I replied, "You mean The Darkness?" Probably believing that "The Darkness" was the title of the Queen song that she thought I sang, she said, "Yeah. You were great. With what you're wearing, you're completely unassuming, and then you got up on stage and totally rocked." Having never been complimented on my singing ability, I didn't exactly know how to take it. Despite my repeated requests, Jessie did not think a threesome would be a "great birthday present."

In other news, Alex, Ari, and Brian's roommate busted out "Folsom Prison Blues," or at least that's how I remember it. As you can tell, the drummer decided at some point in the night that his shirt was no longer a necessity. Meanwhile, some guy in the front was wearing a stupid hat.

Katie B. was impressed with the effort. Ryan and I were not.

Reed and I posed for a picture with our special lady friends, which turned out about how you would expect for 1:30am, after drinking for 7 hours. I look like I just ate a couple children. At least Sarah tried to grab my wife's boob.

Soon thereafter, Jester and I headed home, and for the third night in a row I got more than 8 hours of sleep. I don't think I've had a run this good since the legendary "Last Winter Break" run of December 2002 to January 2003.

Meanwhile, Greg was nice enough to drive Adam, Katie W., Sean, and Bridget back to Lisle (since he now lives in the DG). Apparently after dropping them off, the four of them had a bit of an adventure. Here is an email I received from Bridget:

"Yea, that dude, Greg, I think, drove us to the Lisle train station where Katie's car was so she and Adam drove Sean and I to Naperville. On the way, she got pulled over for what the cop said was speeding although I don't think she was or actually I was drunk so I wasn't really paying attention. So anyway she pulls over into a parking lot and another cop comes, which I am assuming is the DUI unit. The cop comes to talk to Katie and says it reeks of alcohol. Well duh, we were all drunk. So Katie totally kept her cool and had to get out of the car and do an eye test which she amazingly passed. The cop let her go and suggested she stop and get some coffee. So when we got to Sean's she had a few glasses of water and they hung out for a little bit. It was scary and close, but Katie did a good job."

I'm glad my friends are DUI dodgers. Overall, the night can be summed up with two fingers:

Blogger is Sucking

Currently, I have uploaded some of the totally awesome pictures from the weekend, but not all of them because Blogger for some reason decided that it is going to freeze up whenever I want to upload photos. Since I am unable to give you a completely accurate and comprehensive recap of the weekend's events without said photos, the weekend recap will be coming at a later date.

In the meantime, feel free to check out the newest offering from GMYH's Cafe Press Store. This nifty baseball jersey made of 100% cotton will let everyone know where you stand with regard to Notre Dame. Just click on the image to check it out.

Weekend Recap Soon Enough

I will hold off on a full recap of the weekend's events until I receive all of the necessary photographs from those who were at Piece on Saturday. Just to keep you intrigued and itching for more, I will leave you with this picture.

The circumstances that gave rise to this picture have to be good, right? Tune in later tonight or tomorrow to find out. Assume nothing.* Assume everything. Expect the expected. Expect the unexpected.

*It is safe to assume that "I Believe In a Thing Called Love" was on the karaoke band's list.

"No I Won't Let Go"

It's business as usual here in my office for Hair Band Friday. The stripper pole has been getting a lot of use. In honor of Talk Like a Pirate Day (which was a few days ago, for the few of you who didn't celebrate it), Cristal is wearing an eye patch while she dances. Of course that is the only thing about her that resembles a pirate, unless there is a largely undiscovered sector of pirates who wore clear plastic heels and edible, glow-in-the-dark thongs. Anyway, she's been dancing her heart out to "Best I Can" by Queensryche, "Fool For Your Loving" by Whitesnake, and "If You Don't Like It" by Cinderella. Later, she plans to give me a private dance, if you know what I mean. Essentially, I mean that no one else will be in the room, thus ensuring privacy. While in each other's company, we might neck. Or fuck. The Jacstocy (my killer punch that combines Jack, Ecto Cooler, and X) is flowing like you wouldn't even believe. Trudi chugged a cup full and is now proclaiming to me that I'm the best document reviewer she's ever seen and that she is in love with me as a result. Fish in a barrel, my friends. Fish in a fucking barrel. Speaking of which, I just order a Fucking Barrel. It's set to arrive next week sometime. Meanwhile, some chick named Chastity practically raped me this morning after watching me write part of a deposition outline. The irony of the situation was literally oozing from my body.

I don't have much to say today. Last night I got approximately 9 hours of sleep. My body is still unsure of what to do with this newfound "energy" that it has found. Will I sing? Will I do jumping jacks? Will I just up and quit my job? Will I run around the office wailing like a banshee, smacking myself in the head like Oliver from the first season of The OC? Or will I sit the hell out of this chair and review documents in preparation for yet another deposition while quietly weeping about my station in life? Only time will tell.

Tomorrow is Jester's (and Ari's) birthday. The plan is to go to Piece in Bucktown for some dinner and live band karaoke. I have yet to experience live band karaoke, but my preliminary thoughts are that it might rival Wikipedia, the morning after pill, and the Chia Pet as the greatest innovations of the last 600 years. My only concern is what I am going to sing, or, more appropriately, whether "I Believe In a Thing Called Love" by The Darkness will be an option. If so, I may score myself a record deal. Happy Birthday wife and sister-in-law!!

Midwestern Eavesdropping - 9/21/06

Sorry this is out so late in the day. I had a deposition that went 2 hours too long, with no break for lunch, meaning that I just ate for the first time since 5:30am and that I'm very close to killing someone. Anyone. Or maybe everyone. But I digress. Here is this week's MWE:

Twentysomething wife in pain, at 2:30 in the morning, after having let her husband and his freinds play drinking games at their apartment and then after having accidentally rubbed her eyes after having put a liquid solution onto her dog's nether regions: "I put up with this shit all night, and this is what I end up with: poon drops in the eye."
--Chicago, Kenmore & Diversey
Eavesropper: GMYH

Drunk: "Dude, I still remember coming home in first grade, and my mom asking me how the first day of school was, and I said, 'I met this girl with red hair. I like her.' And ever since then I've been bangin' chicks."
--Chicago, Congress Theater, Bucktown
Eavesdropper: RobD

University of Michigan Telefund:
Girl 1 (after overhearing UM students talking about the UM/ND nailbiter): "My roommate lost her virginity to Mario Manningham!!!"
Girl 2 (after overhearing Girl 1, but not having been part of the original conversation, and way too proud about it): "I DID TOO!!!"
--Ann Arbor, MI
Eavesdropper: Slange

Sorority girl 1: "Hey, give me your number . . . okay, spell your name . . . okay, I'm going to call you. No, my last name starts with a K not a C."
Drunk guy: "Okay, got it. Do you want to get the hell out of here?"
Sorority girl 1: 'Yeah, let's go."
Drunk guy (closing in for the kill): "Where to?"
Sorority girl 1: "Your place. Boys aren't allowed at the house."
Drunk guy: "No shit? Okay, let's go."
Sorority girl 2: "Wait, where are you going?"
Sorority girl 1: "His place."
Drunk guy: (shrugs, arches eyebrows)
Sorority girl 2: "You have a boyfriend!"
Drunk guy: "Whaddaya, kiddin' me?"
Sorority girl 1: "I do? Oh shit . . . I have a boyfriend!"
--Bloomington, IN, Kilroy's Sports Bar, 8th & Walnut
Eavesdropper: RobD

Mid-30s gay male flight attendant trainer, talking on his cellphone to a potential mate about upcoming weekend plans: "My friend Karen is coming too. She's really fat, but we love her anyways."
--Phoenix, Sky Harbor Airport, bar at Chili's
Eavesdropper: The Ulltimate Lactose Hater

Drunk fortysomething man walking out of concert, to friends: "Hey, you just missed Kathy spread eagle on the floor."
--Chicago, United Center
Eavesdropper: GMYH and Ari

Anorexic freshman girl wearing next to nothing on a 55 degree day, leaping into the sun while waiting for the bus, screaming at the top of her lungs: "I'm sooooo cold! Bake me!"
--Bloomington, IN, 10th and Jordan
Eavesdropper: RobD

As always, thanks to everyone who sent in submissions. Keep 'em comin'. Whenever any of you hear something so stupid that it must be shared with a very small slice of the world, send it to gmyhblog@yahoo.com for inclusion in Midwestern Eavesdropping.

Thai'ing It All Together

I know I said I wasn't going to post anything until tomorrow's Midwestern Eavesdropping (sumbit your hilarious eavesdroppings to gmyhblog@yahoo.com), but I couldn't resist making one small and meaningless comment on the whole situation in Thailand. In case you haven't heard, on Tuesday night, the commander of the Thai army led a coup, dismissing the Prime Minister, Thaksin Shinawatra, who was out of the country (well played, by the way).

My only concern is that I haven't seen any headlines that take advantage of the situation by using hilariously crafted puns and the like. For instance, I expected to see any of the following (but have not):

• Tensions are Thaight Following Coup
• Bang-cocked and Loaded, Army Commander Spearheads Coup
• Thaime is Up for PM Thaksin
• "(Shina)Watra Fuck?" Asks Thai Leader
• Ousted PM is Thaksing His Time Getting Back to Homeland
• Coup is Thaksing On Ousted PM's Spirits
• "No Thaks" Says Thai Army Commander to Prime Minister
• One Night In Bangkok and The World's Your Ouster

These headlines serve to illustrate one of the many reasons why a career in journalism will elude me.

Hail to the Victors

I won't have time to write much of anything this week, since I have to prepare for and take depositions tomorrow, Wednesday, and Thursday in a case about which I know very little. I hope my firm has good legal malpractice insurance.

But I must discuss four things that happened this past weekend:

1. Tony "T-Diddy" Green came to town for Saturday's annual hockey (drinking, not skates) game. The teams were Up 'N Ya (T-Diddy, Me, Reed, Weed) against Rebble Ribble (Goni, Noble, Gsell, and Chambers). T-Diddy was the only person on our team who played (and lost) last year. Nonetheless, our team chemistry was nothing short of remarkable. The 15-10 lead we built after the first period proved to be insurmountable, although it was one of the closest, evenly matched hockey games that I have been a part of, despite the extremely "ginny" third batch of punch that Noble made in an apparent effort to kill everyone. Final score: Up 'N Ya 36 Rebble Ribble 33
2. The Bears squeaked out a victory over Roy Williams and the Lions. Rex Grossman did his best Sid Luckman impression, throwing 4 TDs (coming up 3 short of Luckman's NFL record). For the 2nd week in a row, it was stupid how close the Lions were to scoring 40 points. At their current pace, they should have 40 sometime in the first quarter of the 7th game. Final score: Bears 34 Lions 7
3. On Saturday, Michigan walked into Notre Dame Stadium (or whatever it might be called) and crucified Touchdown Jesus. Don't get me wrong, I hate both teams, but this is one of the very rare instances in which I will root for Michigan. It was almost as if Notre Dame had no business whatsoever being ranked #2, which is weird because Notre Dame is almost never ranked between 10 and 20 spots too high in the polls. Final score: Michigan 47 Notre Dame 21
4. Also on Saturday, the storied Indiana Hoosiers football team fell victim to this year's NCAA's D 1-AA conspiracy, falling to Southern Illinois and joining the ranks of Colorado, Northwestern, New Mexico, and probably others, as D 1-A schools who have lost to 1-AA teams at home this year. It's clear to me that there is a concerted, communistic effort on the part of Myles Brand and the NCAA to "even the playing field" between the classes. Had I been at the game, I probably would have thrown things. Final score: SIU 35 IU 28

That's all I got, probably until Thursday. Please email me Midwestern Eavesdropping submissions at gmyhblog@yahoo.com. Also, feel free to give me another job. I love you all.

"These Five Words I Swear To You"

Hair Band Friday has been a shitstorm today. Literally. It was not for the faint of stomach. You see, last night, Kitty and Misti were all doped up on some killer hash, and they started arguing about which one of them would get the pleasure of, well, pleasuring me first after I finished dictating a letter to a client this morning. Since they were both starving, they decided to settle their contest by seeing who could eat a bag of spinach the fastest. Kitty won, but I soon found out that everyone lost. I dictated the shit out of that letter this morning. In fact, I would go so far as to say that I dictated like no one has ever dictated before. Subtle pauses, breathtaking pronunciation, and not an unfamiliar spelling left unexplained. Frankly, it left me a little woozy, which is why I started mixing coke into my Red Bull and vodkas. Anyway, no sooner than I finish blaring "Coma" by G N' f'n R, "Rock Me" by Great White, and "I'll Be There For You" by Bon Jovi, in preparation for what I assumed would probably be a string of between like 10 and 30 orgasms, does Kitty (who was under my desk at the time) start to complain that she's feeling nauseous. "Get off my wang now!" I yelled. Then shit really started to get crazy, and by "crazy" I mean "all over the leopard skin rug that I for some reason have under my desk." I recoiled, as you might guess, and I look over at Misti, thinking that I'd at least get some from her, but she's puking in the trash can. Next thing I know there are two naked chicks lying on the floor moaning not in ecstacy, but in gastrointestinal horror. It's bad enough that I have to compete with some of the other dudes here at the firm, but now I have to compete with E. fucking Coli. Luckily I had some morphine, latex gloves, Febreze, and a couple huge black garbage bags. Needless to say, Misti, Kitty, and that rug ain't here anymore, but my office does smell "mountain fresh," whatever the fuck that means.

I have nothing much to say today, although I think I might be going to hell, if there is such a thing. I will give a GMYH shout-out to Kevin "Scorpioooooooo" Yeh for being Mr. 28,000, even though it means nothing more than an internet shout-out from a fellow Scorpio who used to be his roommate. But the lucky person who happens to be Mr. or Mrs. 30,000 will of course get a free GMYH Biography. And yes, I know Mr. 15,000 is absurdly long overdue (like about 4 1/2 months). It is mostly done.

Have a great weekend, and stay away from spinach.

Midwestern Eavesdropping - 9/14/06

Nice job this week:

Meathead law student watching a nature program: "Dude, get in here and, like, check out this fucking aardvark."
--Bloomington, IN, law school lounge
Eavesdropper: RobD

The following several eavesdroppings occurred at a bachelorette party, at the groom's house, and the bride is pregnant:
Drunk girl talking to a group of college grads, some married, some not:
Drunk girl: "Yeah, sex sucks when you're married."
Girls: "Really?"
Drunk girl: "Sometimes I'm just like, 'Are you finished? I want to watch the end of Jurassic Park!'"

Stripper in a neon green g-string, now has the bride upside down in some sort of weird, backwards thrusting position:
SWAT team member: "Oh, sorry, I forgot you were pregnant!"
(SWAT team member then dropped her like she was on fire)
Drunk girl: "Tea bag her!"
Girls and SWAT team member: "Um, what?!"
Drunk girl: "It's not like its the first time that's ever happened to Jess!"
--Dayton, OH, forever tainted house
Eavesdroppers: NaviKate and Rookie

Door guy to hostess: "So I was thinking this morning that I want to have kids. But I need to make an arrangement with the woman because I'm still young."
Hostess: "What do you mean?"
DG: "Well, I don't want to have responsibility, but I want to have a kid."
H: "I'll make a deal with you. I'll have your kid. If you can insure that it will be a boy, then you have to let it carry my family name."
DG: "We're going to have to work on those provisions."
(Later on in the night, the manager, who has a slight thing for the hostess, comes to the front and the door guy tells him the deal.)
Manager: "I'll do it. Let's go."
H: "That's okay."
(Manager spends the next hour trying to seduce the hostess, while the hostess rolls her eyes and shrugs him off.)
--Chicago, Funky Buddha Lounge, 728 W. Grand
Eavesdropper: ½ Pint

Twentysomething lactose-intolerant special-ed teacher, who once asked whether there was cheese in a quesadilla, holding a latte: "Is there milk in a latte?"
--Chicago, in a car
Eavesdropper: Loose-Lipped Lithuanian

Rod Stewart look-alike DJ at wedding: "Welcome to the swinger's, I mean, swinging party."
--Kettering, OH, well-respected private golf club
Eavesdroppers: NaviKate, The Ulltimate Lactose Hater, Rookie, and Altered Beast

Joker: "Man, I could go for some meatloaf."
Meathead: "Dude, they used to serve meatloaf here. Maybe they still do."
Joker: "Man, I'll kill somebody with kindness for some fucking meatloaf."
--Bloomington, IN, Nick's English Hut
Eavesdropper: RobD

Rod Stewart look-alike DJ, after the bride's little sister's (22, maybe) speech: "Isn't that a beautiful maid of honor everyone? If I had only met you a few years ago . . ."
--Kettering, OH, well-respected private golf club
Eavesdroppers: NaviKate, The Ulltimate Lactose Hater, Rookie, and Altered Beast

Twentysomething female walking to raise money for cancer research in the rain: "I am 80% miserable."
--Chicago, Lincoln Park
Eavesdropper: ½ Pint

Guy talking loudly on cell phone in grocery store: "That sucks. I don't know what to tell you. Maybe you should go back to college or something. [pauses for 2 seconds] And drop that whore."
--Chicago, Jewel, Ashland & Wellington
Eavesdropper: GMYH

Condensed conversation from about a 15 min ride, which was about 15 minutes too long:
Chatty Cabbie: "You guys been drinking? I smell gin."
Drunk Passenger: "Um, yeah, that's why we called the cab." (and he can smell gin?!)
Chatty Cabbie: "You ever been in an accident? I just totaled my last cab two days ago . . . right over there."
Chatty Cabbie: "Just glad I kept my job, I mean the insurance is great. I have this nervous condition. I don't have to buy Zanax on the street anymore- its like $200.00 if you do that. Now its only $7."
Drunk Passengers: "Really?" (apparently looking concerned and hoping to get out sooner than later)
Chatty Cabbie: "Yeah, don't worry, its time release. I haven't taken one since this morning."
Drunk Passengers: "Thanks for the ride. Get our friends home safely." (sending the cab on with 2 friends still inside.)
--Dayton, OH
Eavesdropper: NaviKate

One friend to another at a bar: "I did not say you had 'happy fat.' I'm going to fucking kick your ass!"
--Chicago, O'Donovan's bar, 2100 W. Irving Park Rd.
Eavesdropper: ½ Pint

As always, thanks to everyone who submitted. Keep 'em comin'. Happy fucking Thursday.

Wikimeyourhandrew

Aside from the morning after pill, Wikipedia is the greatest resource invented in the last 20 years. Apparently there is something called a "Wikipedia meme." I have no idea exactly what it means, but Beth and Jaleh each did one, so I figured I would too.

I decided to go with 5 events for each category because I discovered that my birthday has a lot to offer, much of which is rather dubious, but some of which is totally rad.

Birthday: October 29

Events:
1863 - Sixteen countries meeting in Geneva agree to form the International Red Cross.
1886 - The ticker-tape parade is invented in New York City when office workers spontaneously throw ticker tape into the streets as the Statue of Liberty is dedicated.
1923 - Turkey becomes a republic following the dissolution of the Ottoman Empire.
1929 - The New York Stock Exchange crashes in what will be called the Crash of '29 or Black Tuesday, ending the Great Bull Market of the 1920s and beginning the Great Depression.
1960 - In Louisville, Kentucky, Cassius Clay (who later takes the name Muhammad Ali) wins his first professional fight.

Births:
1017 - Henry III, Holy Roman Emperor (d. 1056)
1947 - Richard Dreyfuss, American actor
1968 - Johann Olav Koss, Norwegian speed skater
1971 - Winona Ryder, American actress
1983 - Maurice Clarett, American football player

Deaths:
1618 - Sir Walter Raleigh, English explorer (executed) (b. 1554)
1877 - Nathan Bedford Forrest, American Confederate general (b. 1821)
1911 - Joseph Pulitzer, Hungarian-born newspaper publisher (b. 1847)
1971 - Duane Allman, American musician (b. 1946)
1997 - Anton LaVey, American founder of the Church of Satan (b. 1930)

Feel free to post your own. You will undoubtedly gain a deeper understanding of yourself.

Get Well Soon Coach Hep

In case you haven't heard, IU football coach Terry Hoeppner is going into brain surgery today to remove what may or may not be a cancerous growth. This is the second time in 9 months that he will have had brain surgery. Keep him in your thoughts and prayers. I would rather not have a situation where the only coach who has ever called the IU football job his "dream job" is unable to coach the team for more than a season and two games.

Sometimes It Must Hurt to Be a Lions Fan

I'm not usually a smack talker when it comes to sports teams, aside from the Cubs (1908), Notre Dame football (always overrated), Illinois basketball (wannabes), Ohio State football (paid professionals), and all things Purdue (emit a foul stench). Usually any smack talking with regard to those teams is brought upon by their fans talking smack to me. Hence, it's legit.

Nonetheless, various recent events have prompted me, not so much to talk smack about, but more to make fun of, the Chicago Cubs of football, the Detroit Lions. It's bad enough that the Lions haven't won an NFL championship since the Eisenhower Administration. Now they have to deal with an assistant coach who is the inspiration behind such headlines as "Nude Stop at Drive-Thru Earns Coach Suspension" (thanks to RobD for the link).

Apparently former IU defensive coordinator Joe Cullen (who I thoroughly enjoyed watching/hearing when he was an assistant at IU -- go Hoosiers), who is now the Lions' defensive line coach is having a bad couple weeks. Aside from a 9/1 DUI arrest, it seems that on 8/24, Cullen got a hankerin' for a Junior Bacon Cheeseburger while he was mid-coitus (that's the only reasonable explanation I can come up with), and then decided to hop in the car and head to a Dearborn, MI Wendy's without putting his clothes on because he was in such a hunger-induced frenzy that he just plum forgot. Interestingly, when the cops pulled him over, he had clothes in the car.

According to another article, Cullen released an apology last week:
"I would like to apologize to the Detroit Lions organization, our fans, my family and friends for any embarrassment these incidents have caused. These incidents represent a mistake in judgment on my part. I deeply regret them and have learned a valuable lesson. It won't happen again."

Mistake in judgment? You sure Joe? What "valuable lesson" could he have possibly learned from all this? When a hooker says she wants a Frosty, make sure you put some pants on first? And just in case you haven't drawn enough attention to yourself by hitting the drive-thru completely naked, you shouldn't go drinkin' and drivin' a week later? It's these kinds of personnel decisions that have given Matt Millen the reputation as the best team president in the NFL.

So, it gets better for the Lions. They lost a heartbreaker at home to Seattle on Sunday, 9-6, thanks to a last-second field goal by the Seahawks. Next up for the Lions is a trip to Soldier Field this Sunday to battle the Bears. It should be noted that the Bears beat the Lions 38-6 last year at Soldier Field, that the Bears shut out Green Bay (shitty as they are) at Lambeau this past Sunday, and that the Bears are 8.5 point favorites as the spread currently stands.

Lions wide receiver and University of North Carolina head basketball coach Roy Williams guaranteed that the Lions will beat the Bears this Sunday in Chicago. Guarantees in sports are nothing new, but some of things Williams said can be classified only as ridiculous.

Let's take a look at some of his quotes:
"When we play the way we're supposed to play, like our defense played the way they played Sunday . . . I don't think there's no team in this league that can beat us." First of all, history tells us that the way the Lions are "supposed to play" is horribly and that they are more likely to lose than not (like on Sunday). Second, you'll notice Roy's clever use of a double negative, actually saying that he thinks every team in the league can beat the Lions.

"We will win this game." I think Roy's use of irony is superb here.

"Guys know that we're not the old Detroit Lions." No, no they don't. Unless by "Guys know" you mean "No one will be able to tell."

"I can guarantee that I'm going to show up Sunday." I should hope so, given that it is your job to play professional football, a sport whose games are on Sundays.

"No defense can stop us, in my opinion. That's only in my opinion. We are our only defense." This seems to be a backhanded compliment to Seattle's defense, which Roy is for some reason calling "No defense." Also, he is paying his own offense a hell of a compliment by referring to them as "our only defense," because that means that the Lions offense is one of the best defenses in the league. They held themselves to only 38 yards rushing on Sunday, on 17 attempts, for a stingy 2.2-yard average. Additionally, the Lions forced themselves to fumble the ball three times, recovering two. They will need to do some work to get those 213 passing yards down a little bit, but I have all the confidence in the world that they can do it, probably even this week against the Bears, who have the second-best defense in the NFL behind the Lions offense.

"It was stupid how close we were to putting 40 points on the board." Here, despite what his statement implies, Roy is in fact referring to Sunday's game in which the Lions scored 6 points. Those 6 points came as a result of 2 field goals and, for those counting at home, zero touchdowns. Had the Lions only scored 4 more touchdowns and kicked 2 more field goals (or had 17 safeties), they would have been right there. It is stupid how close the Lions were to putting 40 points on the board. About as stupid as how close Corky was to getting into Harvard.

Should be a hell of a game on Sunday, and an even better postgame interview with Roy if the Bears can pull it out.

Weddings and Football

Nothing like two long weekends in a row to make a man realize how much working for the man sucks.

Friday morning, I awoke with the kind of vigor normally reserved for threatened stingrays (too soon?). I got a haircut (yes, Kevin, I got them all cut), and then hopped in Rhonda for the 300+ mile journey down I-65 to Louisville for the wedding of Ray "RP Tre" Pryor, which was set to occur Friday evening.

I arrived at the home of Tony "T-Diddy" Green with hours to spare. Also staying with T-Diddy was none other than Brian "Bird On A" Wire, who had biked in from Boston. Both of them were groomsmen, so I got to go to the church early with them.

Bored, famished, and prompted by T-Diddy's lack of film, I went to CVS to pick up some soft drinks, an energy bar, and some film. I haven't been to Kentucky in a while, so I had forgotten that, for the most part, Kentuckians' clothes and hair styles are anywhere between 5 and 30 years behind. While I didn't see nearly as many mullets as I would have hoped, I did encounter several locals who could very well have been sent to the future from 1977 to destroy me.

Anyway, the wedding was nice. It was a full Catholic mass, which meant that it clocked in at 71 minutes. Since I haven't been to church yet this year, I am refusing to complain.

The reception was at the Louisville Glass Works, and in addition to the floor they rented out, they also had the rooftop deck, which provided some nice views of the city, including a giant Louisville Slugger bat a few blocks away.

Brad "Grandpa" Andrews and his wife Lisa were at the wedding and reception. Brad and I tried our damnedest to kill a handle of Dewar's at the reception. I am unsure of whether we succeeded, but the look on my face in this picture leads me to believe that we came pretty close (or that I had just eaten some sort of fecal matter):

After the reception, a bunch of us went out in downtown Louisville to 4th Street Live, which is a block of bars and clubs enveloped under an old-Vegas-style canopy. We went to a place called Felt, which is actually an upscale pool hall/bar and not a really lax strip club.

While there, we saw some guy who was just trying so damn hard that we had to openly mock him. I wish I had a picture of him because my description won't do him justice. He had frosted-tipped hair that was carefully half-spiked so as to give the impression that he just got out of his bed that no doubt has silk sheets. He was wearing a hideous black and white button-down shirt that had some graffiti-style writing on it, so as to give the impression that, in addition to N'Sync, he listens to at least one rap and/or hip hop group. The look on his face proclaimed, "I might be the coolest guy you've ever met -- if there was a chance in hell that I were to actually talk to you, that is." But the best (read: BEST) part about this guy was that he danced in a manner so as to suggest that he had studied (read: STUDIED) every move that N'Sync (especially Lance Bass), The Backstreet Boys, and Kevin Federline had ever made. No one else in the bar was really dancing all that much, but that didn't stop this guy. It was almost as if he wanted to dance with a girl for the sole purpose of proving to her (and everyone watching) that he was a better dancer than her. This shit was hilarious. All 10 of us were staring at him, often pointing and laughing boisterously. One girl with us was given $5 to go up and ask him to dance with her. He obliged. She gained little insight about him, however, because he was just so far in the fucking zone, all he could think about was dancing. While he was dancing with another girl about 15 feet from our table, I positioned myself about 10 feet from him and started dancing in a manner so as to suggest that I thought his manner of dancing was comical. He noticed me. I gave him a thumbs up. He kept dancing.

Anywho, we went to another bar afterward, and then Wire, T-Diddy, and I caught a cab back to T-Diddy's house, which is a long way from downtown Louisville. About 4 minutes too long for Wire. The cab had to pull over so that he could puke. He got a little on the seat, but it was mostly liquid. Nonetheless, the cabbie tried to charge us double ($80). We were not willing to do that. Tony even brought out some carpet cleaning spray and scrubbed the seat. The cabbie was not impressed, and would not back away from his $80 demand. Somehow, Tony managed to get the cabbie to give him his wad of cash so that Tony could give him change. I don't know exactly how it happened, but Tony gave him $50 and the cabbie thought he got a lot more, so it was all good.

Saturday came, and I drove back to Chicago, arriving in 4 hours and 30 minutes, shattering my previous record of 4 hours and 51 minutes set the day before.

Saturday night turned out to be a disaster (in the good sense). Jester, Ari, and I met Kyla and Alex at the bar where Kyla works. She hooked us up with some Sloppy Hookers (Absolut Ruby Red, cranberry juice, tonic, and lemon juice), which taste exactly like a fresh grapefruit and pack one hell of a punch.

After she got done with her shift at 7, we headed up to Lincoln Square for the German-American Festival. I was a bit disappointed, given the total awesomeness of May Fest (which is at the same location in June). They had 2 beer options: domestic and imported. The "domestic" beer was Labatt Blue, which you may know is Canadian. The imported option was Beck's, which you may know is probably the worst German beer in the world.

Additionally, the port-a-potties were less than desirable. After my unexpectedly pleasant port-a-potty experience at Lollapalooza, I have come to expect more out of portable toilets. The one I went into had a urinal that was chock full of puke, cigarette butts, beer cans, toilet paper, and I think I saw a pig fetus. This picture isn't really clear, but that's probably a good thing.

Thanks to scoring update text messages from Tradd "Helluva Model American" Fromme (who was at the game), I learned that the Hoosiers rallied from a 17-0 deficit to pull out a 24-23 victory over the mighty Cardinals of Ball State. I hate to call it a program-defining win, but it is. IU is now 2-0 for the 3rd straight year. Let's hope they don't fall prey to this year's 1-AA jinx next weekend when the Southern Illinois Salukis come to Bloomington. Don't worry, College Gameday will be there.

Number of remaining victories until IU clinches Motor City Bowl berth: 4

After the fest, we went back to Kyla's bar for some karaoke. My memory of the next couple hours is fuzzy. It's not a question of whether I sang, it's a question of what I sang and how many times I sang. I do remember Kyla, Ari, and I belted out a thought-provoking version of "Brandy" by The Looking Glass. I think there was a group collaboration for Johnny Cash's "Folsom Prison Blues," and I think Alex sang "The Gambler" by Kenny Rogers. Other than that, I think we sang more, but I will need to be reminded.

Yesterday I watched some (read: a lot of) football. My fantasy teams (I only have 3 this year) did pretty well, although my pick 'em ability seems to have diminished substantially.

Oh, and in case you haven't heard, today is the five-year anniversary of 9/11. I'm kind of surprised there hasn't been more about it on TV, the internet, radio, newspapers, magazines, sidewalk chalk art, town criers' yelling agendas, and the like. I barely had any idea that it was today.

Midwestern Eavesdropping - 9/7/06

Nice job this week. Here you go:

Drunk guy looking to pick up hostess: "I really like your lips. They look fantastic in that color."
Hostess: "Um, thanks."
(Drunk guy proceeds to get drunker)
DG to Hostess: "Hey girl."
DG's friend who wants to leave: "She is not interested."
DG: "Let me try this one on you. If you were a booger, I'd pick you first."
Hostess: "Time for you to leave."
--Chicago, John Barleycorn, 2142 N. Clybourn
Eavesdropper: ½ Pint

Two retarded southern Illinois boys/farmers (both wearing Kenny Chesney t-shirts) having a yo' momma competition:
Retard 1: "Your momma wears tampons so that the crabs can bungie jump"
Retard 2: "Your momma's pussy is so nasty they make people eat it on fear factor."
--Charleston, Illinois, a supposedly classy winery
Eavesdropper: Slange

Twentysomething female special-ed teacher to a group of friends at a BBQ: "I barfed up a gyro once 'cause it touched my hanging ball."
--Chicago, BBQ, Damen & Cornelia
Eavesdropper: GMYH

A guy meeting a friend of a friend for the first time:
Guy: "How do you know Darin?"
Girl: "He's been fucking my roommate for months."
--Chicago, SportsCorner, Sheffield & Addison
Eavesdropper: Gregerson

Older lady (to young lady washing hands in movie theater ladies room): "Are you preparing for surgery?"
Young lady: "Um, no."
Older lady: "I do the same thing when I wash my hands." (then older lady walks away without washing her hands)
--Schaumburg, Illinois, Loews Theater
Eavesdropper: ½ Pint

Twentysomething male referring to the "picanha" cut of beef at Fogo de Chao: "Of course it's their most popular cut. It's probably made from Jesus's cum."
--Chicago, Fogo de Chao
Eavesdropper: RDC

Nightclub manager to hostess (in a feeble attempt to hit on her): "My penis has a story to tell you. It all began in 1977 . . ."
(time passes - same nightclub manager to hostess)
"I was so busy hitting on you that I forgot to ask you out."
--Chicago, Funky Buddha Lounge, 728 W. Grand
Eavesdropper: ½ Pint

Twentysomething male: "I was making fun of a guy because he was wearing a Joe Theismann Notre Dame jersey."
Twentysomething female special-ed teacher: "Who's Joe Theismann?"
Male: "He only suffered one of the sweetest career-ending injuries in NFL history."
Thirtysomething female (with an air of confidence): "And he has that award named after him, the Theismann Trophy."
Male: "No, that's the Heisman Trophy."
--Chicago, BBQ, Damen & Cornelia
Eavesdropper: GMYH

Twentysomething girl who talked like a Valley girl (Valley sucks, by the way) even though she was from the suburbs, talking loudly on her cell phone: "What are you eating? . . . So, I'm confuuused. You made mashed potatoes? . . . Wow. You guys are, like, chefs."
--Chicago, Brown Line train
Eavesdropper: Jesterio

Cab pulls up in front of bar. An older man steps out of the cab with a gash on his forehead where blood has been oozing out. The man looks and stares at the two people working the door at the bar.
Bouncer: "Are you all right?"
Older man just stares. As the cab pulls away, he kicks the back of it. He walks across the street and almost gets run over by oncoming traffic. When he finally reaches the other side of the street, he kicks the fire hydrant on the corner. He then stands upright and continues to walk home.
Hostess: "Um, was that guy bleeding?"
Bouncer: "Yes, he's one of our regulars."
--Chicago, John Barleycorn, 2142 N. Clybourn
Eavesdropper: ½ Pint

Twentysomething male mentions that he worked in southern Illinois for a summer
Twentysomething female special-ed teacher who is from central Illinois: "Where in southern Illinois did you work?"
Male: "Mt. Vernon."
Special-ed teacher (dead serious, not being ironic whatsover): "Mt. Vernon? Isn't that where George Washington lived?"
--Chicago, BBQ, Damen & Cornelia
Eavesdropper: GMYH

Shitcanned 36 year-old bridesmaid (in terribly slurred speech) to the female bartender at a wedding reception:
Bridesmaid: "Why are you cutting me off?"
Bartender: "I don't know. Maybe the two martini glasses you dropped on the dance floor. Or the fact that you can't walk straight."
Bridesmaid: "Why do you have to be such a fucking whore?"
--Minneapolis, very nice reception hall
Eavesdropper: Gregerson

Ambiguously gay man: "She told me she doesn't do drugs, she only does ecstasy. Hello, does that not count?"
--Chicago, BBQ
Eavesdropper: ½ Pint

Young Asian boy (excited): "So I can buy a movie now?!"
Mother: "No"
Boy (almost relieved): "Oh good, 'cause I didn't want to buy a movie."
--Chicago, Marshall's, Halsted & Clark
Eavesdropper: GMYH

Thanks for all the submissions. I asked for you to keep those ears open over the long weekend, and you sure as hell did. Keep up the good work, and email those submissions to gmyhblog@yahoo.com when you hear them.

On another note, there will be no Hair Band Friday tomorrow, as I will be out of the office, driving to Louisville for a wedding.

AL Central
1. Detroit 85-55 -- (22)
2. Minnesota 80-58 4.0 (24)
3. White Sox 80-59 4.5 (23)

AL Wild Card
1. Minnesota 80-58 -- (24)
2. White Sox 80-59 0.5 (23)

NL Wild Card
1. San Diego 73-66 -- (23)
2. Philly 70-69 3.0 (23)
2. Florida 70-69 3.0 (23)
4. San Fran 70-70 3.5 (22)
5. Cincinnati 69-71 4.5 (22)
6. Astros 68-71 5.0 (23)

Another Great SBTB Set

What great Saved By The Bells this morning, and I had to fight to watch some of them. I got to the gym a little after 6, and there are a fair amount of treadmills, ellipticals, and bikes that have their own TVs attached (but not all of them do). Hence, when I am doing cardio, I bring my headphones to plug into SBTB. The first treadmill I happened upon had a working TV, but the audio didn't work. Unacceptable. So I spotted 2 open treadmills with TVs. I get to the first one and the TV won't turn on. Bullshit. So I head to the 2nd one, and the TV works. But the treadmill doesn't. God hates me. Finally I found a bike where the TV worked, although the picture was a bit fuzzy.

Despite the fuzzy picture, it was an enjoyable ride. The 6am SBTB episode was from the Miss Bliss years, and it featured mall-pop star Stevie, who was an alum of JFK Jr. High. Stevie was making a stop back in her hometown and was for some reason staying with Miss Bliss.

It is announced that Stevie will be playing a concert at JFK, and she's going to invite one lucky JFK student on stage with her. Zack and Nikki (the puffy cheeked annoying chick that went to JFK with Zack, not the bassist for the Crue) make a ridiculous bet that Stevie will kiss Zack.

To win said bet, Zack pretends he has "deskarosis," a disease with only symptom: it results in death. So Zack fools the world and Stevie chooses him to come on stage. Ever the cunning runt, Miss Bliss is hip to Zack's BS, and figures out his ruse the day before the show.

Meanwhile, Stevie (real name Colleen) is coming to grips with life on the road. She finds out that she got into Notre Dame. I found this completely implausible, as she was far too attractive to attend Notre Dame.

Zack heads to Miss Bliss's house to apologize to her for the deskarosis incident (I know I would always go to my teachers' houses when I had something to say to them). Miss Bliss isn't home, but Colleen is (and is not wearing the wig she wears as Stevie). After some back and forth between Zack and Colleen, Colleen gives Zack a peck on the cheek. Zack's all, "What the fuck is your name?" and Colleen/Stevie's all "My friends call me 'Colleen'" (by "My friends call me" she actually meant "If you weren't such a junior high fag, later tonight I would have you screaming in ecstacy")

The next day at school is Stevie's last concert ever. She has Screech up on stage while she sings 20 seconds of her hit song "Hotline to Your Heart (Emergency)," a song that rivals any of the fake SBTB bands' songs. After the concert (which lasted only for that 20 seconds), Stevie comes down off the stage, and Zack says something stupid like "Great show Stevie," even though it wasn't, since she only played for 20 seconds. Then Stevie's all "My friends call me Colleen." Zack tries to convince Nikki that he won the bet, but she's not buying it. Zack is visibly frustrated, not only because he lost the bet, but also because he realizes he could have nailed Stevie (probably some freaky Kama Sutra shit too), in Miss Bliss's house no less. This may have been the most important event that prompted Zack to move to California before the next season.

The next episode, also from the Miss Bliss years, was the one where Zack is trying to join the Rigmas, which, based on what I could tell from the 2 Rigmas on the show, was some sort of club for future metrosexuals named Trevor. It's a great episode (but then again, aren't they all?) because it teaches that the value of friendship is more important than some stupid red jacket. Man, I fucking hate Rigmas.

I didn't see the 7am episode because I was getting ready for work, but I'm sure it was better than nearly everything else that will be shown on TV today.

The 7:30am episode was the first episode of the Bayside years. With no explanation whatsoever, Zack, Screech, Lisa, and Mr. Belding have moved from Indianapolis to California and have been brainwashed into believing that they had always lived in Cali. Whatevs -- it still kicked ass. This was the episode where we are introduced to Kelly, Jessie, Slater, and Mr. Dewey. In fact, it was Slater's first day of school at Bayside. He said that he had been to 14 different schools in the past 3 years. I found that hard to believe, until I realized what a total badass heartbreaker he must have been, and to stay at those other schools only would have resulted in more broken hearts, lost lives, and pinned opposing wrestlers. Plus his jeri curl mullet was probably more than most people outside of Bayside could take.

Since I had to leave for work, I hit the record button on the DVR. I have to believe that this exact situation is the one for which Buddha invented DVR.

Calmer Than You Are

Here's the recap of my long weekend. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

Friday
After rejoicing with tears of joy upon leaving the office Friday (being a lawyer sucks, by the way), I got home in time for Jester and I to do some phatty laundry. We took our washboard, tub, bar of Fels-Naptha soap, and pumice to the local creek and made an evening of it.

Once our clothes had hung dry, we returned to the homestead, dropped the clothes off, then went bowling with Ari, Klint, and Christoff. It took me one frame to get used to the Diversey Rock 'N' Bowl's strange lighting and secular music. After that, I pretty much dominated. In the second game, I even let Christoff get a 25-pin lead before crushing his ego with a blinding comeback.

Feeling saucy and morally vindicated after my victorious stint at the lanes, it was time to go to a local speakeasy. After turning down one dive bar (Lawry's) because it was too full, Christoff, Jester, and I went to Rose's Lounge, the diviest of all dive bars, which is about a block from my apartment. This place was unbelievable. It looked like someone's grandma's basement from the 1970s. Rose, the owner and bartender, looks to be somewhere between 70 and 100, and she has some sort of Eastern European accent. Behind the bar are hundreds of trinkets. The tables are not the kind you might expect to find in a bar, but rather "vintage" kitchen tables from the '70s and '80s. The chairs are the same. Some are actually leather kitchen chairs that you would have found in your parents' house before you were born. Naturally, there are couches there too, with sheets draped over them to hide what I assume are blood stains. This bar fits into Lincoln Park about as well as David Duke in Harlem. Nonetheless, it didn't stop Rose from charging $3.50 for a Bud Light.

All three of us were pretty tired, and Jester and I both had to get up early on Saturday, so we called it an early night.

Saturday
Saturday morning, Jester headed off to a dentist appointment at 9, and my dad picked me up at 9:30 to head down to Bloomington for the IU home opener against the mighty Broncos of Western Michigan.

Upon our arrival in B-town at approximately 2:30, my dad dropped me off at the tailgating fields, while he went galavanting around town doing God knows what. I made my way to a tailgate of fellow Pi Kapp alums, most of whom were several years younger than me. It was immediately apparent that I was several hours behind. Davidson had "run the gauntlet" twice (shots of Absolut, Captain Morgan, Beam, Jager, and tequila in a row) and was berating passers-by with a bullhorn. This picture of Mark "Tail Pipe" Hess, wearing an "Indiana Grandma" t-shirt and holding a turkey baster with which he passed out drinks from the "gin bucket" pretty much sums up the IU tailgating experience.



Eventually Holt and his buddy Clint found their way to our tailgating spot, right around the time we ran out of beer. This fact is not very remarkable.

The game itself was pretty good. Before kickoff, a giant football-shaped hot air balloon took off from Memorial Stadium. As you can see, there was the expected capacity crowd on hand to watch the Hoosiers dismantle Western Michigan 39-20.

After the game, Holt and I went up to Indy, first to Clint's house, where we changed out of our gameday clothes into totally pimpin' going out clothes. It was at this juncture that Holt game me the following totally sweet t-shirt:

Pretty nice, eh? You see folks, in case you didn't know, David Hasselhoff went to the same high school as I did, and his old house is merely 2 blocks from me mither's house in LaGrange. You can make as much fun of him as you want, but let's be honest, Knight Rider didn't go to your high school and you're kind of pissed off about it.

Anyway, from Clint's house, we all went to the lovely home of Kyle "Kysmille" (that's pronounced "kice-millay") Miller and his wife Laura. They live in the Broad Ripple neighborhood of Indy, which is pretty much the coolest part of town. As soon as I arrived, Laura informed me that she and Kyle were excited at the prospect of being on GMYH, and that Kyle had returned from the bars Thursday night in a tizzy because the house was not nearly clean enough for my stay. Apparently they got their acts together by Saturday night because I was unable to detect any traces of dirt, dust, carbon monoxide, or semen on any tables, couches, or floors.

After a couple "pre-game" beers at the Millers' house (incidentally, they do drink Miller Lite), we headed out to Broad Ripple, to OPTs, where we drank some more. We had a pretty decent-sized crowd: the Millers, Clint and his wife and a couple of her friends, Laura's sister, Kyle's friend Nate and his wife, Calvin and his girlfriend Abby, Holt, and me. While there, I reached a point where I was utterly disgusted with the music being played. My solution? Put $10 in the jukebox for 30 songs. There are several reasons I suggest that you not try to imitate this: (1) it's always against your best interests to do what I do, (2) it is impossible to play 30 songs in 84 minutes, as I tried to do, and (3) the damn jukebox shuffles songs as more people put money in, meaning that I heard about 8 or 9 of my songs before the bar closed. Sweet. As you can see, Laura was fine with it, but Kyle was just as pissed as I was.

The melancholy I experienced could only be cured by a trip to LaBamba. While Holt and I were standing in line, there was some jackass a few spots in front of us wearing a Notre Dame Joe Theismann jersey. It is my wholehearted belief that Notre Dame fans are the most expendable demographic on the face of the earth. My belief was only solidified when I saw that this guy (who looked to be in his mid 30s) had a Jeff Samardzija (that's pronounced "over-rated") autograph across the upper part of the "7" on the jersey. For those of you unfamiliar with Jeff Samardzija, he is not the same person as Joe Theismann. Also, for those of you unfamiliar with social norms (read: Notre Dame fans), it is never acceptable for someone over 12 to wear an autographed jersey anywhere, much less to a bar and then to a late-night burrito joint. All of this was too much for me to handle.

Holt and I began cracking wise about limping to the counter, referring to Theismann's most spectacular exit from the NFL thanks to Lawrence Taylor. The Golden Boy began talking smack back about IU, which is kind of like a bully trying to pick a fight with a blind kid. By this point, we were right behind him and his hulking wife in line. I said something along the lines of "Oh, I see you got the Samardzija autograph -- nice," as I mockingly slid my index finger across the autographed portion of his jersey. The tone of my voice suggested that I thought his choice of jersey and autograph and wearing of the autographed jersey in public was questionable. He took it well, although I think his wife was less convinced that I should live. He made some comment about how she could probably kick my ass. I had no doubt in my mind that she could, but I guarantee that I could outrun that bitch.

Tempers subsided when she was able to order her burrito. I went with the Super Steak Nachos, which were not as good as they are at the LaBamba at Halsted & Wrightwood because at the one in Indy, they gave the cheese on the side, instead of spreading its luscious goodness all over the nachos. Bush league.

Speaking of bush league, check out the door to LaBamba, inviting you to "PUHS" in order to exit the restaurant.

Sunday
My dad picked me up at the Miller house around noon on Sunday, and dropped me off back in Chicago around 2:30 or 3.

Two significant events happened Sunday. The first was a BBQ at Kyla and Alex's and the second was Hillbilly Sunday. The BBQ is significant because what was said there will ensure that Midwestern Eavesdropping will not have to wait until next week. Plus, this nice family portrait was taken of me, Jester, and our autistic dog Harley (note: I did not wear the Hasselhoff shirt 2 days in a row. The previous picture of the shirt was taken on Sunday.).

I left the BBQ a little early to take the dog home and secure a spot at the Burwood for Hillbilly Sunday. When I arrived at the Burwood, it was the strangest thing. I heard no country music and I saw no sign of John the bartender. Since I hate country music, I let it slide. Morgan and a couple of his friends soon arrived. They had been drinking since 11am and were hell-bent on me catching up to them. Thus, Morgan fed me shots of Beam and Jack, RBVs, and beers for the next hour or so until I was sufficiently sauced.

Also making appearances were Christoff, Gregerson, Chambers, Wood, Gsell, and a whols host of other people. We found out that John was let go by the Burwood, despite his 15 years working there, and that he was doing Hillbilly Sunday at Chi-Town Tap. I tried to turn it into Hair Band Sunday at the Burwood by putting $5 (15 songs) into the jukebox, assuming that all of my songs would be played in a row. It seems I don't learn lessons.

Eventually we all went to Chi-Town tap, but not until sending the anonymous wife of Magellan and Jessie ahead to scope it out. Legend has it that they were about a block away from the Chi-Town Tap when the door of the bar swung open and the sound of country music escaped onto Lincoln Avenue (where it doesn't belong). At that point, Kyla and Jessie sprinted to the Chi-Town Tap.

John was indeed there, as you can see from this picture (he's the one in the sweet Texas polo shirt). We like to drink beer.

At one point, Jessie and Ari started doing the polka, and I'm still not sure why.

Then Jessie explained to Wood, "And then I stuck my entire hand, flat as a pancake, right into that freezer, and I took out that frozen dead bird and played with it until it got mushy." Wood seemed to enjoy it.

While my back was turned, Ari and Gregerson apparently engaged in some sort of blunt smoking contest. Looks like Ari won, dude.

Since Chi-Town Tap is only a block from our apartment, Jester and I did not make the trek to LaBamba. Thus, I will have to wait until another time to attempt the "2 Bamba's in 2 Different States on 2 Nights in a Row" feat.

Instead, we just went back to out place, and she at some leftover spaghetti, while I was baffled at how little Tostito's nacho cheese dip was left. I was so distraught by this development that I accused Jessie of infidelity. It was the only explanation: some philanderous bastard was eating all my queso. Unamused, she went to bed. I then finished off the remaining queso while watching Fresh Prince reruns.

Monday
Jester and I woke up around 1. That's awesome. After that, we did some shopping and played some tennis. Then I cried myself to sleep when I realized that I had to work on Tuesday.

Good weekend.

OK Go Videos

In case you haven't seen the treadmill-choreographed OK Go video for "Here It Goes Again" and the video of their performance on the VMAs, both videos are available on Beth's blog, Compensatory Factor, for your viewing pleasure. Good stuff.

Stuff You Don't Need, Nor Should You Want

I have updated the GMYH Cafe Press store. It's essentially full of crap. I don't expect anyone to buy anything, but there are some mildly entertaining t-shirts and such that would make perfect gag gifts for someone you dislike. Currently, the "I Make Bad Decisions" t-shirt is our #1 seller.

Weekend Recap On Its Way

Blogger is being a dirty strumpet as far as letting me upload any pictures (the damn picture-uploading window won't even load), all of which are essential to the recap of a most excellent long weekend. Rest assured, the recap will involve at least 4 out of the following 5 things:

1. Tailgating
2. Bowling
3. Hillbilly Sunday
4. Sloppy Hookers
5. Paranormal Investigation

Thus, the recap of the weekend will be up later in the day (read: tonight or tomorrow). In the meantime, enjoy this video of a dude sitting the back of an F-18 (scroll down once you click on the link). Thanks to RobD for the link.

AL Wild Card
1. Minnesota 79-57 -- (26)
2. White Sox 79-58 0.5 (25)

NL Wild Card
1. San Diego 71-66 -- (25)
2. Philadelphia 70-68 1.5 (24)
3. Florida 69-68 2.0 (25)
4. San Francisco 69-69 2.5 (24)
5. Cincinnati 68-70 3.5 (24)
6. Astros 67-71 4.5 (24)
7. Atlanta 66-71 5.0 (25)

Note: One week ago the Reds had a half-game lead in the NL Wild Card. Ouch.

Crikey!

Well, the day we all knew was eventually going to come has indeed come. With the vengeance of a angry stingray. In case you haven't heard, the Crocodile Hunter himself, Steve Irwin, was ruthlessly murdered by a scared and defensive stingray, who punctured Irwin's heart with its barb. Irwin's producer was quoted as saying that Irwin "died doing what he loved best." That's funny because I don't think having a serrated, venemous stingray tail plunged into his chest was what he loved best. In fact, I'd venture to say that if he had lived for even a few seconds after getting his heart exploded, he probably would have said that he did not love best what had just happened, despite the beautiful markings on the stingray's back.

This Is Still Going On?

You may recall my May 18, 2006 post regarding a man standing in the Daley Center Plaza with a sign pleading for an FBI agent to "stop raping [his] wife." It seems that Edgar Bellefontaine (as I named him) is back, and one thing is very clear: The rapings have not ceased, and his previous attempts to stop the rapings have proved to be fruitless. The cause? An ineffective sign. But all that has changed, and the future is now for fair Edgar.

I unabashedly took this photo of Edgar as he stood brazenly on the outskirts of the Daley Center Plaza near the corner of Clark and Washington:
As you can see, instead of trying to physically stop the rapings, he has wasted even more time making an even more elaborate and colorful sign to attract the attention of the FBI agent so that maybe -- just maybe -- these transgressions will finally come to an end. More important than the fact that he failed to stop said rapings in order to make a totally sweet sign is the fact that I have now figured out "Horace Mayweather's" real name: Chris Saviano. Rest assured, I have my sources looking into whether he is in any way related to Josh Saviano, who played Paul Pfieffer on The Wonder Years, perhaps the most annoying character in TV history aside from the hobgoblin who portrayed Janice Dickinson on The Surreal Life.

Additionally, there is a second name on Edgar's hit list, who he lists as "Out Law No. 2": Jane (I think) M. Metz, who Edgar claims is the President of the ACLU. It's unclear from the sign whether the addition of Metz is a result of Edgar's affiliation with the Alliance Defense Fund or simply because the ACLU refused to take a case in which a paranoid schizophrenic who likes to wear wool overcoats in the middle of summer accused a non-existent FBI agent of raping the wife he never had.

All of these questions could have been answered had I asked Edgar, but I have no intentions of getting stabbed with a pen knife (as I'm sure he had on his person) or, worse yet, being Out Law No. 3 on Edgar's next sign.

"The Time Has Passed for Choices"

It's a somber fucking day here on Hair Band Friday. My partner in crime (and law), Steev OD'd after mixing several speedballs with several hits of acid right after pulling an all-nighter writing a monster lien waiver, trying, in his words to "see my soul and then fuck it." He must have been a good lay because he was dead by the time the paramedics got here. Even though I know he would have wanted me to totally rock out today in his absence, I have kept it a little bit more mellow than usual. Granted, my speakers are still on full-blast, but the songs are a bit more morose, such as the last three: "See You On the Other Side" by Ozzy, "Don't Close Your Eyes" by Kix, and "I Remember You" by Skid Row. The ladies are kind of down as well. Kat was particularly in need of consoling because Steev introduced Kat to her first gangbang at this firm, so he's kinda got a special place in her heart. I think that's what made it extra special for her when I fucked her to sleep to stop her from crying. Ain't no better consolation than a raging orgasm, or so the saying goes. And just to be safe, I downed a bottle of Jack, wrote a killer research memo, penetrated some very willing chick named Michele with a rather large roll of architectural drawings (her suggestion, not mine), and sent a letter to Scott Stapp threatening castration and a slow, painful death, because I know that's what Steev would have wanted me to do. Rest In Peace man.

Speaking of hair bands, I am currently reading Fargo Rock City by Chuck Klosterman. It is not about some sort of burgeoning rock scene in Fargo, as the title might lead you to believe. Rather, it's all about hair bands, metal bands, glam metal bands, etc., and their cultural and musical impact. I like it, and I think anyone who likes hair bands will especially like it. Anyway, there was one quote that I felt I had to share. He was discussing the use of dolphins in the Guns N' Roses "Estranged" video. Here is the quote (pp. 224-25):

"I find it necessary to admit that long before this video was ever conceived I had a substantial prejudice against dolphins. They are my least favorite member of the animal kingdom. Everyone seems to think dolphins are cute and "intelligent," but they're best described as ugly and impractical. I don't want to come across as insensitive, but show me a person whose intelligence equates to that of a dolphin and I will show you a fucking retard. In my opinion, they are the most overrated mammals on the planet."

In unrelated news, college football started last night, and I'm pumped. I'm going down to B-town tomorrow for what will hopefully be a convincing Hoosier victory over the Broncos of Western Michigan.

The number of victories left until IU secures a Motor City Bowl berth: 6 (I hope this changes from week to week, eventually reaching zero, however unlikely that may be)

Happy September and Labor Day.

AL Central
1. Detroit 83-51 -- (28)
2. White Sox 78-55 4.5 (29) (holdin', but still creepin')

AL Wild Card
1. White Sox 78-55 -- (29)
2. Minnesota 77-55 0.5 (30)

NL Wild Card
1. San Diego 68-65 -- (29)
2. Philadelphia 67-66 1.0 (29)
3. Cincinnati 67-67 1.5 (28)
4. San Francisco 66-68 2.5 (28)
4. Astros 66-68 2.5 (28) (creepin' like you don't even know)
6. Florida 65-68 3.0 (29)
7. Arizona 64-69 4.0 (29)
8. Atlanta 63-69 4.5 (30)