Turn the Page

On the train this morning I nearly threw up, and for once it wasn’t because of the angel dust. I was standing next to a couple, who were standing a little too close to each other. At first I figured that they were just so fucking in love that they couldn’t stand to be more than ten inches from each other, even during the morning rush hour. However, I was horrified to find out that they were standing so close to each other because they were both reading the same book at the same time. When he turned the page, she actually said, “Hold on. I’m not finished yet.” I found this whole scene to be quite disgusting.

So last night, the Reign of Trivia Terror ended at Rock’s. Due to have 9 people, we had to split into two teams. On The Bears: Putting the Colts Down Like Barbaro were Gregerson, Chandler, Gregerson’s friend (Andy?), and Remus. On Get Over It, It Was a Fucking Horse were Christoff, the Brothers Weeser* (minus Greg, of course), Jessie, and me. GOIIWAFH got off to a very rough start in the first two rounds. Dick Van Dyke Show trivia questions are not cool. Despite the fact that we won the shot round (the shot this time actually featured the recognizable taste of alcohol) and pretty much kicked ass the rest of the way, it was not enough to overcome our blunders in the first two rounds. TBPTCDLB finished in second place, which now carries with it a prize of sorts. In Rock’s trivia past, only the first place team won something (25% off their bill). Now, the second place team gets to choose a category for a round of trivia for the next Tuesday in lieu of a general trivia round (it can’t be too specific of a category). Thus, next week one of the rounds will be Division 1-A college football nicknames. As it currently stands, there may be three to four of the 119 D-1A mascots that I do not know, and those teams all reside in the Sun Belt Conference. Die slow motherfuckers.

In other news, the Hoosiers just pulled off a big win beating #2 Wisconsin 71-66 in B-town. It's a great win, but I can't tell you how disappointed I am that the students rushed the court after the game. Act like you've been there. Apparently they did not read my opus on the proper rules of court rushing in college basketball.

Not By The Bruise on Her Chinny Chin Chin

Sadly Jester is withholding the publishing rights to much of what happened this weekend. However, she is allowing me to recount a brief encounter she had with an intransigent dumpster. A mixture of snow, ice, and sambuca black had given Jessie a false sense of immortality. But the wily dumpster countered with a left wheel straight to Jessie's chin. Here is said chin yesterday:

Meanwhile, the bruise seems to be hitting its stride today:

The best part of what I am now deeming "The Chincident" is that rumors of spousal abuse are no doubt spreading like laminitis through Barbaro (too soon?).

In other news, semi-famous '80s rocker and Indianapolis resident Henry Lee Summer plead guilty today to drunk driving charges stemming from a September incident in which Summer -- who may or may not have been singing his non-hit "I Wish I Had a Girl" -- drove his SUV "into cars, trucks and at least one mobile home. A Marion County Sheriff's deputy used a Taser shock device to subdue him." That must have been quite a scene Thanks to AC Judson for the link and for making sure to mention that Summer's attorney is AC's mom's best friend.

In other news, an ACNielsen survey showed that 13% of Americans have never heard of global warming. Am I crazy on this one, but haven't we been hearing about global warming for the past 20+ years? So more than one out of every ten people have "never heard or read anything about global warming." I don't find this pathetic from some sort of political standpoint. I find this pathetic from a simple knowledge standpoint. Did ACNielsen only poll toddlers and people with alzheimer's or Down Syndrome? Then again 13% probably accounts for Mississippi, Alabama, Arkansas, and most non-urban areas of Tennessee, Kentucky, and Georgia, so I guess it makes sense. But don't those people hate Al Gore enough to know what he stands for? It just doesn't make any sense, people.

This Is What I'm Dealing With

[Post removed at wife's request. Weak, I know.]

Commercials I Hate

While watching the NFL playoffs and a variety other television programming over the past several weeks, I have grown to despise more than one commercial. I pray that I will not see the following commercials during the Super Bowl:

• That smug UPS Whiteboard motherfucker with shoulder-length dark hair. What idiot at UPS thought, "You know what we need to make people hate us? Oh, a completely unlikeable asshole with a widow's peak and long hair who draws on a dry erase and comes across as the kind of guy who lets you know just how much he knows about wine, even (read: especially) when you don't ask." Someone apparently forgot that people with long hair are generally thought of as untrustworthy. Think about all the untrustworthy long-haired assholes throughout history: Andrew Johnson (right), Kurt Cobain, Yanni, women, Fabio, Kevin Federline, Jay (of Jay and Silent Bob fame), American Indians, Mitch Kramer, Emo Phillips, Johnny from The OC. You get the point.
• The McDonald's "Dollar Menunaires" commercial. First of all, I should mention that McDonald's commercials have been unbearable since the "I'm lovin' it" campaign started. The advertising geniuses behind that should be drawn and quartered in the town square. Second, out of all the Seaver kids, Ben? Seriously? Sorry, but he was the least likeable of Maggie and Jason's offspring. He pissed everyone off as a child and teen. Why would that change as an adult? Just because he now has dyed black hair and a goatee? If McDonald's really wanted to make a statement, they would have gone with Tracey Gold.
• That godawful Wendy's commercial with the two wannabe hipsters sitting in a library bragging (in the exact same voice, mind you) that they each spent $2.99 on their respective meals. This commercial is completely unrealistic for several reasons. First, no restaurant sells food as small as what the first guy was eating. Thanks for insulting our intelligence, Wendy's. Second, guys who are clearly in their late 30s or early 40s do not go to academic libraries and talk to other dudes. Third, I'm married to a librarian, and she explained not only that food would not be allowed, but also that these two guys would not be sitting at a table, but rather computers in the corner facing away from everyone else where they would be masturbating to pictures of 13-year-old Ukrainian girls. And boys.
• State Farm Agent Mark DeCarlo. His mannerisms suggest that he's either computer-generated, not really a State Farm agent, a six-foot tall penis, or all three. One thing is clear: he needs to be slaughtered like a cow. Seriously, sledgehammer to the skull, killing floor, the whole nine yards.
• Those Toyota truck commercials where they compare various obscure parts on a regular pickup to various obscure parts on a Toyota pickup. I can guarantee no one wrote Toyota and asked for them to make a motor that is 1.5 inches longer than other motors.
• Commercials for that undoubtedly terrible new movie Music & Lyrics, with Hugh Grant and Drew Barrymore. I like Drew, seriously. But when is Hugh Grant going to stop acting? I use the term "acting" loosely because he pretty much plays the same character in every movie: himself. But women seem to like him because he's just oh so delightfully British.

I'm sure there are others I'm forgetting, but those are the ones that come to mind at the present time. Feel free to share your own thoughts and hates.

I'm So . . . Scared

For anyone up in the Chicagoland area, WCIU (ch. 26) is currently showing the Hot Sundae episode of Saved By The Bell. Fucking awesome.

Because They're Whores

In case there are any female Colts or Bears fans out there itching for a trip to Miami to watch the big game, apparently all you have to do is one of the two following things:

1. If you're hot, you put a picture of yourself on eBay wearing a fantastically revealing Walter Payton jersey, and you allow men to bid on taking you on a "date" to the Super Bowl, explaining that you already bought a plane ticket to Miami and you actually just want to go to the game, and you provide explicit language explaining that you are not an escort. Unfortunately, the post has been taken off of eBay. The winning bid at the time was $99,999,999.00. Unfortunately that's the highest I could go.
2. If you're trashy, you put up a post on Craigslist entitled "Indecent Proposal: a night with ME for SuperBowl Tickets! Not kidding! - $1" (along with a picture of you in lingerie), proclaiming that you are willing to do anything for a pair of Super Bowl tickets for you and your fiance. Of course, by "anything," she means "anyone with a pair of Super Bowl tickets and possibly his retarded brother if that's what I have to do." And of course, she wants to be discrete, so she wants to make sure her fiance never finds out, which is probably why she posted a picture of herself on the internet. ("Hell, if I am drunk enough (greygoose & red bull)and you are cute enough,(or nice enough) maybe we will hit it off and be romantic for the night but I promise, I will stay at your place or hotel if you can keep a secret and if you really have a pair of tickets for him!") Despite the fact that she is most certainly and extremely overtly selling sex for a pair of Super Bowl tickets, she exclaims, "I am not selling sex!" and that she is "not a slut or a hooker." It's unclear as to whether she has actually looked up the definition of "hooker" or "selling." My favorite part is when she says, "this is a romantic way to show [my fiance] I love him." I know that when Jessie and I were engaged, one of the things I would do to make sure she knew that I loved her was to fuck a stranger in exchange for tickets Van Gogh/Gauguin exhibit at the Art Institute. She's just smart enough that a pair of fake tickets would provide a fitting end to her means. Oh, also, she's a Colts fan.

One Out of 6,124 Ain't Bad

Last night, in a dominant performance not unlike that of The Bears: Finishing What Katrina Started just a week before, Glue Factory (which contained several members of The Bears: Finishing What Katrina Started) won the trivia contest at Rocks, ensuring that our team's bill was 25% less than it could have been. We won by 7 points, which is a very solid margin in the Rocks trivia realm. I am confident that Glue Factory was the only team at Rocks comprised solely of male even-year graduates of Lyons Township High School, and I am confident that is why we won. Take that Hinsdale Central, you uppity pricks. You may have Range Rovers, but we got a slightly cheaper bill. Next week, it's three-peat time.

Other than that two-to-three hour period, it's been a real shit of a past two days. It all began yesterday morning. While walking to the Diversey stop in full suit and overcoat, I hit a solid ice patch in the alley behind my house. Were it not for my meerkat-like reflexes, I would have totally bit it. Instead, I just sliced by right ring finger open on some ice, a fact I did not discover until on the train, when I noticed bloodstains on page 148 of Chuck Klosterman IV, the book I'm currently reading.

Work was nothing spectacular and actually provided a nice respite from the rest of the world, aside from the fecal phantom, of course. My plan was to leave work right around 5 so that I could be at Rocks by 6 for the start of the IU/Illinois game (I'll get to that later). Giddy as a schoolgirl, I left work at 5:10, believing that I had afforded myself ample time to ride an elevated railcar 2 1/2 miles north, especially given that my door-to-door travel time Monday night after work was an ominously easy 24 minutes. I should have know things would go awry when I was a block away from Washington & Wells and I saw Purple Line train pass, prompting me to think to myself, "That's alright. There will be another one in 5 or 6 minutes. You look great, by the way." CTA, I'd like to express my sincere dislike of your irony.

After waiting for at least 20 minutes with nary a Purple Line in sight, a polite man or woman came on the loud speaker and explained that the Purple Line was delayed on its way into the Loop and, thus, it was running about 20 minutes behind. This announcement prompted every man, woman, and child on the platform to get onto the next Orange Line to Clark & Lake, and then walk over to the Brown Line side. Several Brown Line trains came by before there was room enough for Keira Knightly.

By the time I got home, it was about 6:20. IU was up on Illinois 15-11 about halfway through the first half. They would go on to score 28 more points. Total. Usually when you allow an opponent to score only 51 points, it's a pretty safe bet. Unless you only score 43. Good Lord, that was an ugly game, and by far the worst game IU has played this year. At least we'll be getting Eric Gordon next year.

The sheer anger flowing through Christoff's and my veins fueled our historic trivia performance. I wasn't going to lose everything that day. How many Bears are in the NFL Hall of Fame? Please. The President of the Confederacy? Are you serious? Oh, you want me to name the title and artist of that five-second song clip? Play something more obscure than "Battle Flag" by Low Fidelity All Stars. In what year did Clay Aiken win American Idol? Nice try.

The glories of victory were fleeting, as my night terrors roared back. Damn you Peter Tomarken. Why were you taken so young?

I woke up this morning both weary and wary. I left for work a little later than I usually do, but shit happens, right? Indeed, shit happens. As I strolled confidently through the turnstile at the Diversey stop, I felt like my troubles might be over. Karma, being the vengeful, ruthless bitch that she is, felt otherwise. When I placed my monthly CTA pass in my pocket, I noticed that my pocket felt a little different. On the stairs up to the platform, I realized that I had left my building and floor swipe cards at home. Feeling like I needed to gain entry to the elevator bank that takes me to my floor, as well as the door that allows me to enter my general workspace, I turned around and walked back home. It was not until I was in my apartment, staring at where the cards should have been on my dresser, that I put my left hand in my left pocket, where the cards had been the whole time -- naturally, since neither card had ever set foot in a left pocket before. I'm convinced that some sort of nymph may have been responsible, or possibly a nympho.

Instead of dwelling on whether Ariel or Chasey Lain was responsible for the teletransportation of two plastic swipe cards, I just went back to the Diversey stop to continue getting fisted by the world. Not thinking twice about it, I put my monthly pass (which is not a Chicago Card or Chicago Plus Card) into the little card intake in the turnstile. It didn't come out. Apparently you can't use a monthly pass twice within too short of a period of time or the CTA eats your card as punishment. The nice man in the booth informed me that he didn't have any extra $20 cards -- which they apparently usually give to half-Italian males upon whom shit is being rained on by God -- but he will have one for me tomorrow.

Work, again, provided a diversion from everything. I paid $2 for the pleasure of riding the Purple Line home this evening. One stop before Diversey, the train stopped for 15 minutes while the conductor tried to fix a door malfunction. During these 15 minutes, the entire train was serenaded by the sound of train doors rapidly slightly opening and closing. I love you, CTA.

To top it off, Jessie just explained to me that Pierce Brosnan is "so handsome."

For some reason I have planned to leave the house to go to dinner in about a half hour with Christoff, his special (?) ladyfriend, and the Jester. If I don't return, it's been a good run. I love you all.

Back In the Saddle Again (At Least For a Few Seconds)

Sweet Jesus, I never thought it would come to this. I moved two states away. After moving I switched law firms. Hell, I even shaved my fingerprints off with a file. Today I learned it wasn't enough.

At approximately 2:04pm, I made my way to the fairly large little boys room, securing a spot in the third stall (of four). Several minutes later a man – or so I assume – entered the lavatory. Following the Rules of Bathroom Etiquette ("RBE"), he chose the first stall, so as provide a one stall buffer between us. This would be the last RBE he would follow.

As he huffed and puffed (in joy or agony, it is not known), I thought to myself, "Man, this guy must be giving birth to a baby hippo." My hilarious image was soon dashed, as the man quickly wiped, exited the stall, continued to huff and puff (possibly even more), briefly turned on the water at the sink, and got the hell out of the bathroom. His total time from entering the bathroom to exiting the bathroom was less than 90 seconds. That's right, my friends, there is a fecal phantom on my floor.

Da Bears

I don't know about you guys, but this weekend was one of the better sports weekends for me in recent memory.

Friday night Jester and I went to Hidden Shamrock for Reed's birthday, where we listened to rock and or roll and drink some flavored cola. I was wearing a new pair of dungarees that really creased my parents. They're such squares. Rather than get busted under the Mann Act, Jessie and I headed to Kirkwood where we met up with Pissed Off, Gregerson, and Hess. Much to our surprise, we also ran into the likes of Popper, Huffman, and Emkes. We couldn't handle that many Pi Kapps in one room, so several of us headed to Deja Vu. Little did I know that this would not be the last time I crossed that horrid threshold this weekend. Since it wasn't Shabbos, Gregerson and I rolled some Silver Strike, I believe each winning one game before succumbing to the lure of erotic Photo Hunt and music trivia. And yes, the number one score in the music category belongs to JAG (Jessie Andrew Greg). As the clock struck 5, my head hit the pillow.

Saturday greeted me with a punch in the face and a couple Excedrine Migraine. Luckily we were meeting my mom, aunt, and Reed at Cafe Ba Ba Ree Ba where a fantastic bloody mary bar allowed me to conquer tapas in a fashion not unlike the Moors conquered the Iberian peninsula (too soon?).

After waxing some Spaniards, we headed to Rocks for the IU/UConn game. It was here where my decidely self-destructive tendencies teamed brilliantly with the $8 pitchers of Leinie's Red and freshly directly deposited paycheck to carry me into a wonderful state of oblivion. Interestingly, there were even more Pi Kapps at Rocks than at Kirkwood the night before, including the likes of Crazy Legs Hirst, Wood, Chambers, Little Reising, Shemmer, and Gsell (and of course, Rocks co-owner Manta). I didn't flip out and go to the Vu, however. Not yet at least. Also joining us were Kyla, Alex, and Ari. IU won. Good win.

Morgan and I stuck around after everyone else left (except Manta), as we had tickets good for admission at the Chicago Bulls basketball game. We rolled some Silver Strike, although no wagering took place. Unfortunately we left before the 15 jukebox songs I paid for had played, meaning that I would have to wait until today to hear "Cowboy Song" by Thin Lizzy.

The Bulls game was low point, sportswise, of the weekend. They lost to the Jazz, and the crowd was full of idiots wearing Illini sweatshirts because former non-NCAA-championship-winning players Deron Williams and Dee Brown play for the Jazz. Actually, only Deron Williams plays, which prompted the Illini faithful to chant "we want Dee" during the game. Luckily I was in the club section, so I didn't personally come into contact with any of these people. By that time the amount of beer in my system was nearly enough to elicit sarcastic comments about Illini fans holding on for dear life to the greatest team they've had, even though they didn't win a banner.

After the game, we stopped back at my apartment so that I could use the facilities and try to convince Jester to go to Alive One with us. She was baked out of her mind and painting a mural on the living room wall, so I let her stay in.

At Alive One we were greeted with the likes of Adam "Matthew Spring" McClure and his special ladyfriend Katie, Sean, Slange, Johnson, and nearly every other Eastern Illinois alum in the city. At one point, I sent Morgan to the bar to buy a beer for himself, and he pulled the standard Morgan ghosting, never to be seen again. I didn't actually notice until I just wrote that.

Meanwhile Katie asked the DJ to play some fucking Bon Jovi or Journey, but apparently they were too obscure for him. In related news, Katie stabbed a DJ to death while singing a very eerie, yet heartfelt version of "Faithfully."

The night deteriorated quickly, as we headed toward the Vu to avoid the fuzz. If you could guess one type of video leisure activity that I played, what would it be? Yes indeed, it turns out that Slange is willing to bowl for cash. The challenge was formidable, although the records may show that I came out between zero and ten dollars ahead.

High on my own sense of self-righteousness, I declared myself the King of the Vu, and danced a jig on top of the bar before being tackled by a very nice bouncer named Bubba. Apparently he didn't get hear my proclamation, so I brought him outside to explain. Instead of press the issue, Katie, Adam, and I hit Los Tres Panchos for some Spanish-derivative food, which we took back to my apartment to eat while watching Metal Mania and keeping Jessie awake with our witty banter. At 5:30am, my head hit the pillow. I hate myself sometimes. Well, all the time, but sometimes more than others, since I knew Jessie would not let me sleep until 1:30 to get 8 hours of sleep.

On Sunday, THE BEARS WON THE NFC FUCKING CHAMPIONSHIP.

Tomorrow night the Hoosiers travel to Champaign for a heated battle with the Illini. Much of the game's focus will be on the whole Eric Gordon situation, and the U of I student section will no doubt be giving Kelvin Sampson a lot of guff because of the fact that Gordon wanted to go to a school where he has a chance of winning a national title. What I find interesting about the outright hatred that Illini fans have developed toward IU, Eric Gordon, and Kelvin Sampson is how short their memory is. First of all, a verbal commitment is not a signed letter of intent. Thus, a verbal commitment means nothing more than me saying, "Yeah, I'll totally meet you at Durkin's tomorrow night." Second, back in 1997, Sergio McClain and Marcus Griffin of Peoria Manual -- probably the two top players in Illinois that year -- were all set to go to IU (not sure if they gave verbal commitments or not). They had both said that IU was their first choice, and it was. Until Signing Day when they magically switched to Illinois. Bob Knight didn't bitch about how they screwed him over because IU didn't recruit other players because he thought they were coming, although junior college transfer forward William Gladness had been shot more times than Griffin and McClain combined, and I don't even know if he had ever even been to Peoria.

And of course, Bruce Weber (the alleged "victim" in all of this) has his own shady recruiting skeletons (thanks to Holt for the link). Back in 2004, Carbondale's Justin Dentmon had signed a letter of intent to play at Illinois State. Dentmon's stock rose considerably during his senior season, and Weber convinced Dentmon to go to prep school for a year in hopes so that Weber could woo Dentmon to Illinois. Of course we all know Bruce Weber is a horrible recruiter, so Dentmon ended up going to Washington after prep school. Nonetheless, Weber kind of lives in a glass house on this issue. I wonder if he did the ISU coach the courtesy of calling him before talking to Dentmon. Die slow, you hoarse-voiced, frog-faced, Sioux-insulting, ugly-sportcoat-wearing, terrible-recruiting, dead-mother-having, whiny bastard. I hope IU wins by 90 because if they do, fuck it, I might just buy a bottle of Cris for everyone at Rocks and we're gonna do it up COAS style: NO RULES. This assumes, of course, that Rocks carries between 50 and 100 bottles of Cris. If not, I'll probably just go home. After my team wins trivia.

SWEET GHOST OF SWEETNESS, THE BEARS ARE IN THE SUPER BOWL!

Page 47

In the past two nights I've caught up on the last 5 episodes of The OC (which didn't feature nearly enough Bullitt). The most important development in the show is that Taylor Townsend's ex-husband Henri-Michel (who bears a strong resemblance to former Northwestern guard Mohamed Hachad) wrote a steamy novel entitled "A Season for Peaches," loosely based on his sex-filled courtship of, and marriage to, Taylor. You may recall that "peaches" was Henri-Michel's pet name for Taylor's tah-tahs. "A Season for Peaches" gets translated into English and is a huge hit in the US.

Apparently page 47 involves an act of sexual deviance that is particularly scandalous and notorious amongst the readers, although its contents are never revealed. Here's what we do know: it happened in public, possibly in the Chunnel, it may be illegal, and it involved some limberness on Taylor's part.

Of course, this begs the question: what tawdry act of ribaldry did Taylor and Henri-Michel engage in? Here are my guesses:

• Upsidedown felching
• Some sort of reverse spoon position with a very thick cucumber
• A Viennese oyster on the top of a white 1983 Cadillac limo
• Wobbly H with Henri-Michel and Henry Rollins on a flatbed truck with "Liar" by The Rollins Band blaring
• Taylor shaved Henri-Michel completely bald, holding a Gillette Fusion solely with her hoo-ha
• Anal
• The congress of the cow in the backseat of a Smart Car
• A walking 69 on the top of a double-decker sightseeing bus during a tour of Paris
• A lotus while strapped to one of those rotating carvinal knife-throwing circles, topped off by a Cincinnati bowtie
• A T-square while suspended from the middle of the Arc de Triomphe with bungie cords
• I don't know what you would call it -- perhaps "footing" -- but they're both doing it to each other at the same time (up to the ankle)

Feel free to chime in with your own guesses.

New Bluff The Donkey Articles Are Up

Midwestern Eavesdropping - 1/18/07

Midwestern Eavesdropping is back with a vengeance. Here you go:

Twentysomething male: "So I'm drunk and I buy a shovel."
--Chicago, Easy Bar, Division & Damen
Eavesdropper: GMYH

Twentysomething male, after seeing female bartender wearing extremely low-cut jeans: "She's kind of a butterface, but I can't stop focusing on how much I want to eat her pussy."
--Chicago, Leopard Lounge, Bucktown
Eavesdropper: RDC

Twentysomething special ed teacher: "I love goats soooo much. I'm a goat lover."
--Chicago, Vaughan's, Sheffield & Oakdale
Eavesdropper: GMYH

Twentysomething USC grad: "You know what my man's nightmare is? My man's nightmare is there's a clown holding him down and signing a Phil Collins song and forcing him to eat mayonnaise."
--Chicago, some hotdog stand
Eavesdropper: AlyK

Thirtysomething female: "If the penis is that cold, I don't want any part of it."
--Chicago, Vaughan's, Sheffield & Oakdale
Eavesdropper: GMYH


Twentysomething special ed teacher: "I don't know if it's my feet or the dog's breath I smell."
--Chicago, Cornelia & Damen
Eavesdropper: The Loose-Lipped Lithuanian

Woman 1: "How was Galena?"
Woman 2, nonchalantly: "My husband collapsed in the shower."
--Chicago, Wacker & Madison
Eavesdropper: GMYH

At a Mexican restaurant:
Old guy, to waitress: "Can I have some authentic Mexican coffee?"
Waitress returns with a cup of coffee and says: "Well, we didn't have any Mexican coffee, but we had a Mexican make the coffee."
--Cleveland, a Mexican restaurant
Eavesdropper: The Cleveland Steamers

2 Ohio State alums meet in a bar:
Guy: "I graduated in '03, but I went to law school."
Girl: "They have a law school there?
--Chicago, Kirkwood Bar & Grill, Sheffield & Oakdale
Eaveadropper: GMYH

This really isn't an eavesdropping, but it was a pretty good story recently told to me by the guy who it's about:
Thirtysomething male, completely hammered and wearing only his boxers, gets out of bed at his girlfriend's place to go to the bathroom and accidentally walks into his girlfriend's roommate's room thinking it's the bathroom. Roommate wakes up, but is virtually blind without her glasses on, and it's dark. Thus, she thinks someone is breaking in and/or about to attack her. Guy goes into roommate's private bathroom, then comes out. Roommate still can't see who it is:
Girl: "Who are you?"
Guy: "Don't be scared."
Guy, apparently thinking it's his girlfriend's room, proceeds to get into bed with her and tries to spoon her, prompting her to get up and turn on the light, at which point she realizes it's him.
--Chicago
Storyteller: Naheehs

This also really isn't an eavesdropping, but it's another one of those things that deserves mention. It's an email to me from Tron, and it's a keeper:
"I want a toilet that can detect how much is in it, and then calculate a custom flush so that a piss does not get as much water used as a giant deuce. while you're at it, can you put in an alarm that lets you know when you are close to plugging the toilet."

Thanks again to everyone who submitted, and as always, if you overhear anything worthy of internet publication, email it to gmyhblog@yahoo.com for inclusion in the next installment of Midwestern Eavesdropping.

And I have a new winner for the category of "Best Picture from New Years That I Was In" (thanks to Katie B. for the pic):

Golden Globes

For some reason, watching awards shows doesn't interest me unless they are entitled "The Academy Awards" or "The 1990 American Music Awards" (which I think I may have on tape somewhere at my mom's house). Ergo, I did not watch but fourteen seconds of the Golden Globes last night, all fourteen of which involved Salma Hayek. Nonetheless, I am always happy to read a list of winners the next day. Everything seemed to be in order, for the most part.

Dreamgirls came away as the big winner, taking several major awards. I haven't seen it, but if Eddie Murphy is anything like he was in Raw, then I'm sure I'm in for a treat.

I was glad to see that Alec Baldwin won for Best Actor in a Musical or Comedy in a TV show for 30 Rock, which is probably the funniest new show on TV. If you haven't seen it, do it.

I was glad to see that Borat won for Best Actor in a Musical or Comedy in a film for his portrayal of himself in Borat: Cultural Learnings of America for Make Benefit Glorious Nation of Kazakhstan. It's amazing how different and Westernized he looks now that he's become a star. Apparently he's banging that crazy chick from Wedding Crashers. As he would say, "That's goooood!"

Warren Beatty received the Cecil B. DeMille Award for lifetime achievement in motion picture. Apparently the Hollywood Foreign Press Association forgot about Ishtar. Beatty is so vain. He probably thinks this post is about him. Doesn't he? Doesn't he?

The chick from Ugly Betty won Best Actress in a Musical or Comedy for TV. Interestingly, she snubbed the awards show, probably because of her homeliness. Instead, someone who appeared to be her better-looking sister accepted the award on her behalf.

If the Golden Globes are any indication, Helen Mirren should focus all of her energy on playing Queens of England. Finally, I have hope for my many screenplays:

• Whore of Whitehall (based on the tumultuous and adulterous exploits of Henry VIII's fifth wife, Catherine Howard);
• Worst Nine Days Ever (based on the very short reign of Lady Jane Grey and her subsequent execution; this may be tough, since Jane was 16 when she reigned and was beheaded, but if anyone can do it, Helen Mirren can);
• Bloody Maries with Bloody Mary (a hilarious madcap comedy in which Mary I of England -- played to a tee by Helen Mirren -- accidentally falls into a time portal while trying to figure out the next Protestant to burn at the stake, and she is transported forward in time to a University of Texas tailgate -- before a UT/A&M game no less! -- where she encounters new ideas, difficulty adjusting, outrageous characters, camaraderie, and, ultimately, love, but will her new beau go back in time with her or will she decide to give up the monarchy for beef jerky and armadillos?);
• Larger Than Lace (based on the eating habits of Queen Anne during her later years, focusing mainly on the fact that she was unable to fit into a standard coffin);
• 74 Fucking Years (obviously based on the reign of Queen Victoria); and
• So VICTORIAus (less serious than 74 Fucking Years, this is another one based on Queen Victoria, but this one revolves around her trying to downplay the fact that she pretty much got where she was because of her dad's connections).

Here are a couple good pictures from before and after the awards ceremony:

Paris Hilton showed up, despite the fact that she was snubbed by not being nominated in the Best Actress in a Musical or Comedy category for film for her gritty, surprisingly believable portrayal of wealthy socialite Lisa Mancini (opposite an equally deserving Jason Mewes) in the straight-to-DVD instant classic, Bottoms Up. I guess Paris will just have to resign herself to the fact that the three AVN Awards for 1 Night in Paris may be the only awards given to a film in which she appears. At least she has a sense of humor about it, as evidenced by the fact that her dress is made from a shower curtain. Take that HFPA!

She does exist: Thanks for ruining The OC by leaving. You better look off-guard, slightly scared, and possibly intoxicated. Nice electrical tape dress.

Speaking of anorexia, since when did Ashley Olson turn into an underage, undead, breastless hooker clown from the 1920s who bathes only in talcum powder? Anyone up for a speakeasy? No thanks, how 'bout a Saltine instead? Where are Kate Bosworth and Keira Knightly when you need them? Oh wait, there they are, right behind Ashley. You can't see them because they're turned sideways.

I'm glad to see that Teri Hatcher is completely oblivious to the fact that she is being kidnapped by a French cat burglar. Or is that The Edge?
No, no, sweetie, the invitation was for Sacha Cohen.
With this picture, David Krumholtz left everyone at the Weinstein Company afterparty wondering, "Who the fuck is David Krumholtz and why does his grin suggest that he eats feces?"

Some Legends Never Die

NEVER!

Bears

Well, this weekend was pleasant, wasn't it? Well, I guess it was if you're a Colts, Pats, Bears, or Saints fan, but not so much if you're a Ravens, Chargers, Seahawks, or Eagles fan, or if you were once a high-ranking Baath official who helped order and carry out murder and torture in a small Northern Iraq town in 1982. Luckily, I am a Bears fan, and my role in the Dujail massacre was extremely limited.

Friday was turbo insane. After work, Jester and I headed to Kirkwood Bar & Grill (again, the new IU bar in town) for a meal of food. Meeting us there were the likes of Ryan "Pissed Off" Christoff, Tradd "Good-Natured" Fromme, and Kara "Generally Agreeable" Madrin. All of us were extremely excited because none of us had eaten there yet. To take the edge off, we shared a few syringes full of the good stuff (right in the middle of the restaurant!) and ordered some ale. Our waitress seemed a bit ornery, snapping at Ryan for ordering mini-sandwiches by their designated numbers on the menu rather than by their given names. "That doesn't help me!" she squealed. I had to hold Jessie back from shattering her glass on our waitress's head. Tradd was visibly shaken.

The meal itself was pretty good. I had chicken tortilla soup, which I highly recommend for those of you who like eating. Like Ryan, I ordered the mini-sandwiches. Explaining that I was gravely concerned that I was coming down with a case of microcytic anemia, I went with the mini steak sandwich, the mini French dip, and the mini cheeseburger. All were good, although I thought there was too much bun.

Later in the evening, Ryan coaxed Jester and me into joining him at Lawry's, a local dram shop, for a pint or two. Pittsburgh's own Iron City Beer was on special for $2.50 a bottle. I found this to be hilariously ironic, given my recently fabricated iron deficiency. While there, we not only saw Ryan, his special (?) ladyfriend, her roommate, and Dan Weeser*, but also the Stickrods. Conversations were had, beers were consumed, and memories were made.

Saturday morning I awoke at 11 a.m., since the IU/Penn State game tipped off at 11:17 (not even kidding). Ryan and Tradd came over, and we all enjoyed some ginger beer and a good cry. After a sluggish first 30 minutes in Happy Valley, the Hoosiers pulled away for a ten-point victory.

Saturday night, it was the birthday celebration of Jake "Nobilitay" Noble at Southport Lanes, which is a delightful little bowling alley on Southport (as you may have guessed). And I do mean little. It only has four lanes, but that's not what makes it special. What makes Southport Lanes special is the fact that it still has pin monkeys. A pin monkey, as you may recall, was Homer Simpson's favorite job, and it's basically a guy who stands behind the pins (on the lane next to the lane that is being used) and manually resets the pins and clears the ones are knocked down. The trick with these guys is that you put some money in one of the holes and roll it down, in exchange for the pin monkeys taking liberties with the pins. Chambers, who was drunk of his own sense of self-righteousness and beer, put a twenty in the hole in about the 3rd frame and rolled nothing but strikes for the rest of the game.

While the whole pin monkey/tipping thing was cute -- although I prefer to win sans the help of a cane -- our waitress was a bit of an off-putting bitch with a Steve Perry haircut and an inability to smile, whose body language, facial expressions, tone of voice, and attitude suggested that being a waitress at Southport Lanes is not a part of her life plan. I guess I would be pissed off too if I had a haircut like that. I took both of these photos of her with my camera phone. Her vocal range was worse than expected.

After Southport Lanes, Jester and I went to Mulligan's in Roscoe Village to meet Bohmann and friends for more ale, but this time with fewer chicks that looked like former members of Journey (excluding the chick in the corner who looked like Gregg Rolie).

On Sunday, my beautiful, talented, and genuinely likeable wife and I went to Christoff's to watch the Bears game. Also there were his special (?) ladyfriend, Tim Weeser*, and Dan and Noreen (not to be confused with the high-talker and girlfriend of the same names from Seinfeld), and near the end of the game the familiar and loveable face of Tradd mad an appearance. While we all nearly had a collective heart attack during the game, the Bears pulled it out. Aside from a fumble, Grossman had a decent game. Hopefully this will get the Bears over the hump, allowing them to dash the hopes and dreams of a city still recovering from the worst natural disaster in American history.

My next class in the Second City writing program started last night, which means I got to miss the second half of the Pats/Chargers game. It's weird because according to the media, the Chargers had already won the Super Bowl before the game started. Unfortunately the Pats' victory ensures that we'll have to hear about how good Tom fucking Brady is in the playoffs for another week, as well as how unbelievably far inside Peyton Manning's head that Bill Belichick is. On top of that, we get to hear about Hurricane Katrina (did you know that it hit New Orleans and that the Superdome was closed for a whole season?) and Grossman. I'll be steering clear of ESPN this week.

Have a great week. I love you all.

Fives

Jaleh tagged me, then Beth added a whole bunch of other categories that I thought were pretty neat. I decided to add a couple of my own, as well.

Five Things You Don't Know About Me:
1. When I was a very young child I wanted to be a night watchman when I grew up.
2. I’ve never seen an episode of The OC.
3. I met Phil Collins once. He watched me watch another man drown. It was the first time and the last time we ever met.
4. I am the last surviving castrato. If you don’t believe me, just ask me to sing.
5. There is not a little bit of truth in every one of my jokes.

FIVE JOBS I HAVE HAD IN MY LIFE:
1. Camp Counselor
2. Janitor
3. Secretary
4. Attorney
5. Is “john” a job?

FIVE MOVIES I HAVE WATCHED OVER AND OVER:
1. Big Lebowski
2. Dazed and Confused
3. Mallrats
4. Sleepaway Camp 3: Teenage Wasteland
5. Space Nuts

FIVE PLACES I HAVE LIVED:
1. Minneapolis, MN
2. Spring, TX
3. Illinois (LaGrange, Mt. Vernon, Chicago)
4. Bloomington, IN
5. Ohio (Kettering, Dayton)

FIVE TV SHOWS I LIKE TO WATCH (that are currently on TV):
1. The Office
2. 30 Rock
3. The OC (while it’s still on – I hate all of you who didn’t tune in for the past two seasons)
4. The Simpsons
5. Family Guy

FIVE PLACES I HAVE BEEN ON VACATION:
1. Hong Kong
2. Morocco (Marrakech is beautiful in March, as is Rabat)
3. Costa Rica
4. Argentina
5. Canton, OH

FIVE OF MY FAVORITE FOODS:
1. Pizza with pepperoni and green olives
2. My dead grandma’s gnocchi, which I will never have again. Thanks God. Infinite wisdom my ass.
3. Hard-boiled eggs
4. Crab legs
5. Lasagna

FIVE PLACES I WOULD RATHER BE RIGHT NOW:
1. Dissolving in a bathtub in Hell’s Kitchen
2. Sunset Strip, 1986
3. 1720 N. Jordan Ave., Bloomington, Indiana, between the years 1996 and 2000
4. London (England, not Ontario or Kentucky)
5. Any bar, anywhere, ever (except Nazi Germany or West Lafayette, Indiana)

FIVE DEAD CHICKS I WOULD TOTALLY DO (IF THEY WERE STILL ALIVE):
1. Dana Plato
2. Marissa Cooper
3. Krissy Taylor
4. River Phoenix
5. Sylvia Plath

FIVE PEOPLE I WISH HAD GENITAL WARTS (IF THEY DON’T ALREADY):
1. Paris Hilton (preferably the kind of warts that make you fat and humble)
2. Pat Robertson (assuming he’s not too busy leg pressing 2,000 pounds)
3. Christoff
4. That dude from the Mac commercials
5. That other dude from the Mac commercials

FIVE SONGS I LISTENED TO TODAY THAT I DON’T THINK ANYONE ELSE LISTENED TO:
1. “Bang” by Gorky Park
2. “Kiss Me Deadly” by Lita Ford
3. “Alone Again” by Dokken
4. “Ballad of Jayne” by LA Guns
5. “Big Guns” by Skid Row

ONE BEST PICTURE FROM NEW YEARS EVE THAT I AM IN:
I am tagging Haas because I’d like to know what dead chicks he would do, Wee Wee because he hasn’t updated his blog in over a year, and Goni because he owns and operates the worst blog of all-time.

Two Weeks of Hell

Sweet mother of God, not having internet access at home for nearly two weeks is about as fun as getting gang probed with a rusty nail by really drunk, unclean aliens. Christoff, you know what I'm talking about. And to make matters worse, the blockage of various websites at work meant no blogging, MySpace, YouTube, online cockfight gambling, or donkey porn for the past two weeks, and I had the pleasure of checking my email only via my phone, which is about as fun as going down on Rhea Pearlman. DeVito, you know what I'm talking about.
Here's what's happened since we last spoke:

• I started writing for Bluff the Donkey, a satirical, Onion-esque online rag that pokes fun at the world of professional poker. It is run by (and 90% of the content is written by) Australian Andrew from my Second City class, and it's updated every other Wednesday. Apparently, it's been gaining popularity among the professional poker community. I will be writing under the name Douglas Spring. Since I know very little about professional poker, my contributions should be interesting, if not completely unintelligible and in no way based on reality.
• Notre Dame got throttled in the Sugar Bowl by LSU, 41-14, once again proving the age-old maxim, "Notre Dame is overrated." I am proud to say that, since 1994, my beloved Indiana Hoosiers have won as many bowl games as the "Fighting" Irish. Of course the fact that Notre Dame undeservedly gets into a BCS bowl every year presents me with a conundrum. On one hand, if they don't go to a BCS bowl, they get their just come-up'ns. On the other hand, if they don't go to a BCS bowl, they are more likely to play a team whose talent is on par with theirs (i.e., less talent than a real BCS team), who will not beat them by 20+ points.
• Ohio State got throttled in the BCS Championship game by Florida, also 41-14. After Florida's 86-60 basketball victory over OSU a few weeks ago, if you would have told me that Florida would beat OSU in football by a greater margin, I would have called you crazy. Granted, I would have given you a big hug and bought you a drink of your choosing, but I still would have called you crazy.
• Darrent Williams? Dead.
• Lily Munster? Dead.
• Al-Qaeda leader in Somalia? Probably dead.
• Saddam Hussein? Really dead.
• EarthLink CEO? Dead fast.
• USC's kicker? Flat dead.
• Creator of Scooby Doo? Read.
• On New Year's Eve, thanks in large part to the intentional combination of Maker's Mark and ginger ale, for once I got to leave a bar early because Jessie was drunker than I was. Sadly, I am unable to hold this over her head on account of the fact that I hold a 651-1 lead in that category. My sole New Year's Resolution is that Jessie repeats said actions at some point in 2007.
• Fox canceled The OC, probably because it was unfair to all the other networks and all the other Fox shows that The OC was so far above and beyond what passes for television in this day and age. First of all, I'd like to thank my many loyal readers for their outpouring of emotional and sexual support in my time of need. The last episode will air February 22. A part of me will die that day, and this year it won't just be because it's the anniversary of the death of Chuck Jones. I'll probably spend most of the day smacking myself in the head, getting hammered and roofied in Tijuana, playing water polo, dropping well-timed sarcastic quips, surfing, getting kicked out of Brown for ecoterrorism, marrying some dude just for his money, shooting my boyfriend's brother, moving to Portland with my gay dad, writing graphic novels, pronouncing words in a fashion that suggests I need the taste slapped out of my mouth (ef that's okah weth yauw), embezzling money from my clients, defending indigent criminals, running a brothel, coping with alcoholism, and kicking the ass of every man, woman, and child who tries to stop me.
• On the bright side, TBS canceled the Megan Mullaly Show, which means that Saved By The Bell is back on TBS each morning from 7 to 8 CST, which means that my breakfasts are once again palatable.
• I got a bunch of new CDs. In addition to some totally sweet classics from Thin Lizzy, GN'R, The Ramones, and Dr. Dre, I also got several recently released (i.e., within the last 6 months or so) albums:
  
  Boys and Girls in America by The Hold Steady (5 Handrews) – This made many 2006 Top 10 lists (including Rolling Stone, NPR, The Onion AV Club, Pitchfork Media, and Pop Matters) and has drawn favorable comparisons to Born to Run (which is one of my favorite albums), and rightfully so on both accounts. Craig Finn delivers his usual intelligent lyrics and themes, but this album is catchier and more musically interesting than The Hold Steady's previous two, featuring straight-forward rock, several anthems, and solid ballads. Check out Letterman tonight to see them. Favorite songs: Massive Nights, Stuck Between Stations, You Can Make Him Like You
  
  Magic Potion by The Black Keys (3.5 Handrews) – Also on many top album lists, Magic Potion is not as good as 2004's Rubber Factory, but still features the same badass, blues-based garage fuzz rock that I've come to know and love from these Akronians. Favorite songs: Your Touch, Black Door, Just a Little Heat.
  
• A photo of Jessie appeared on page 26 of the January 10, 2007 edition of the Red Eye (the Tribune's free daily paper), during the Red Eye's review of the Kirkwood Bar & Grill (the new IU bar).
• Jessie's main Christmas present to me was a new tattoo. I haven't gotten it yet, as I am still in the process of figuring out what I want to get. Any thoughts or suggestions? Jessie keeps telling me to get an elephant ear on each upper inner thigh.
• Last weekend, a couple of my peeps from D-town came to visit, Holt and Nick. We attended various social events and taverns.
• IU murdered both Michigan State and Purdue, which has no doubt given me overinflated expectations for the remainder of the season.
• Today I was sworn into the United States District Court for the Northern District of Illinois. Judge Pallmeyer presided over my section of the alphabet. She referred to the ceremony as "the closest thing we have to civil religion." I almost laughed out loud in a quiet federal court room.
• With the help of the good folks at AT&T, I am now paying for reliable internet service.

I'm sure I've forgotten several things that have happened over the past several weeks. If so, please alert me via a succinct, well-written comment to this post. Now I begin the task of replying to several hundred emails.