D-Town

Hi everyone. I missed you.

The weekend was delightful. It started out rather dreadfully, as several of us went to Gregerson's pad Thursday night for the final The OC. Pizza was consumed. Tears were shed. Ryan Atwood did not kill anyone.

Friday was nothing short of haphazard. The day began with a Halcion and a three-mile swim in the North Branch of the Chicago River. With several hours still to go until breakfast, I recited the lyrics to "N.I.B." by Black Sabbath over and over again.

Shortly after 3pm, Jester, Christoff, and I left via motorcar for Dayton, Ohio. The drive was marked by periods of lucidity, half-hearted puns (it turns out that you can't win a Mac by taking Exit 220 on I-65 -- the Winamac exit), and G N' F'n R (it was Hair Band Friday after all). Jessie reinforced her status as the world's best backseat driver. Her skills were so apparent that Christoff bet her $30 that on the drive home she could not utter 7 or fewer complaints or cautions (more about that later). We arrived in Dayton unscathed at approximately 9:12pm local time. I'm just going to warn you, I'm going to be name dropping like you don't even know.

Upon our arrival in the Gem City (seriously, that's Dayton's nickname -- I have no idea why), we headed to the hizzie of Holt "Gimme Some" Hedrick. Within 40 minutes, Katie "Got Me a Retarded Dog" Miltner (who lives in the same apartment building) joined us in Holt's apartment, bringing with her exactly 2 bottles of Budweiser Select. Her motives are still unclear.

From there, we went to the Oregon District (the OD), particularly the Oregon Express (the OE), where we enjoyed both draft and bottled beer, as well as some pizza. This would not be the last time we had pizza this weekend. Bored with each other's company, we headed down 5th Street to the Trolley Stop, where some band comprised of Real Art employees was playing, so Jessie chatted with some Real Arters. Meanwhile, Nick "Not the Bird-Headed Freak that Used to Play For Illinois" Smith and his ladyfriend Andrea "Copy Girl" Livingston showed up and helped us break up the monotony. It was particularly vindicating for me, since when I had left Dayton, Nick was banned from the Trolley Stop because his friend's girlfriend dumped a beer on a bouncer and he was guilty by association. Within hours, Dan "Piss and" Binegar showed up, fresh from Argosy with a fatty wad of dirty money. It came as no surprise that he was able to purchase a round of light beers after last call. Victory never tasted so sweet.

Upon our return to Holt's place, Katie brought her retarded dog down, apparently for the sole purpose of amusing everyone else. I swear that I have never seen a Golden Retriever with a larger head or a more excitable/bull-in-a-china-shop demeanor than Indy. Needless to say, this prompted me to speak for Indy in a specially educated voice, much to the delight of Christoff and Holt, and the dismay of Jessie and Katie.

Saturday brought about winds of change, as the five of us headed to Kramers for pizza a little after noon to break our fast. Joining us at Kramers were: Binegar, Jamie "Agent Labatt" Belanger, Amy "Clalahan" Belanger, AC Belanger, Kim "Turd Burger" Mayo, Casey "Poopsicle" Mayo, NaviKate Rohrer, Mike "Still Hates Milk" Ullmer, Mark "Your Welcome for the Trade that Gave You the Fantasy Football Title" Sedor, and his ladyfriend Ronnie (as in Bennett/Spector, not as in Van Zant). For those of you who have never been to Kramers, it has perhaps the greatest pizza in the world. And they serve 40s, which is nice. This would not be the last time I had pizza this weekend. While there, Marist pulled off an overtime victory over Siena. I was the only one paying attention.

NaviKate was wearing a delightful zip-up hoodie with the word KERN on it. We figured it was a band, but it turns out it's a reference to the space between letters. It also turns out that graphic designers are NERDS. The she explained the difference between serif and sans serif. I'm not kidding.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent sitting on Holt's couch watching Passenger 57. Man was that limey bastard Rane a smarmy, lion-maned SOB. He deserved to be pushed from the very plane he hijacked. If only he had listened when Cutter said "Always bet on black," then maybe he might not have been so fucking smug.

Saturday night can only be described as a comedy of errors. We all went to the Fox & Hound by Fairfield Commons to watch the IU/MSU game. It was the five of us, Jamie, Marc "Tron" Wiescinski (who was spending his last night in SW Ohio), John "$2 Dolla" Ashcraft, and some guy named Brian, who I'm convinced Marc just brought along for intimidation purposes. All was going well until the satellite went out about 15 minutes before gametime. The waitress was surprisingly accepting when we told her to cancel the food we had just ordered because we were going to an establishment that actually carried a reliable ESPN signal. We headed to Cadillac Jack's, who we had called and who had assured us that they were getting ESPN. They were correct, at least at the time. I had my 3rd pizza of the weekend. Binegar showed up, after pulling a 360 on I-675 on the way there. With about 3 minutes left in the 1st half, Cadillac Jack's's satellite went out. Sweet.

We all headed back to Holt's for the remainder of what passed for a college basketball game. Nick and Andrea showed up, and then most of us headed to J. Alan's for some cordials and apertifs and light beers. Playing at J. Alan's, or Jalans, as I call it, was some sort of Johnny Cash cover band. They also had Silver Strike, so that was cool. I didn't eat any pizza while there.

After Jalans, we went back to Holt's apartment and played Trivial Pursuit Pop Culture DVD edition, which I have to say is stupid. The questions were either far too easy or far too hard. And what's with being able to steal a pie? I'm not impressed. I went to bed fuming.

Sunday morning, the five of us hit First Watch in Kettering, along with Kate and Mike, for some standard breakfast fare. I did not have any pizza while at First Watch, mainly because it was not an option. Interestingly, talking like a Golden Retriever with Down Syndrome is frowned upon in restaurants, even though it's completely appropriate to accuse Holt of having acquired immune deficiency syndrome.

From First Watch, Jester, Christoff, and I headed back to Chicago. As you will recall, Christoff and Jessie had that over/under bet on nags. Jessie held her guns. It was the most pleasant five hours I've had in a car since I drove back from Lousiville by myself from the Pryor wedding last September. I will gladly pay Jessie $30 for each car ride over 2 hours from now on.

We arrived home just in time for me to hurry through a sketch and head to my Second City class. Since there were only 3 people in class Sunday, due to a combination of bad weather and Academy Awards, my teacher gave us complimentary passes to the show on the ETC stage (the intermediate stage at Second City). While Second City co-founder Alan Arkin was winning an Oscar, I was watching Disposable Nation. After my horrible experience a couple weeks ago watching a student sketch show, I was fearful of a repeat. It's amazing how much of a difference it makes where there are professional actors and well-written sketches. I thought Disposable Nation was pretty damn funny. See it if you have a chance.

After I got home, I ended up falling asleep right after they awarded the editing Oscar, missing out on all the cool ones. Oh well. At least I got to go to work the next morning.

By the way, I just saw an ad for Michelob Light, and I am glad to see that Michelob is going back to that sweet bottle they used to have. It almost makes up for the fact that it's Michelob.