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.