Oops, I Did It Again

After a couple pretty tame weekends, I took out my restlessness on my liver.

Friday
Friday night, Jester and I met up with Australian Andrew (proprietor of Bluff the Donkey -- new articles are up by the way -- and Second City classmate of mine) to go to a student sketch comedy show at Second City. You see, once you make it to the upper level writing class, you have the opportunity to put on your own show in the Donny's Skybox Theater at Second City. Anyway, the show we went to see was called Douchebags Anonymous, which we assumed as going to be mainly about douchebags and their anonymity. It wasn't. Aside from its noticeable lack of douchebag-related sketches, overall it just wasn't all that funny, which gave Australian Andrew and me hope. After the show, we went across the street to the Old Town Ale House for a few beers. While discussing the show, we concluded that we were definitely funnier than what we had just seen. However, we also had the Ryan-and-Tradd-in-Vegas-maybe-we're-the-douchebags conversation. Are we actually funnier than whoever wrote the show, or do we just think that we are, but in reality we're just as unfunny? No consensus was reached.

After a quick trip to McDonald's for a QPC, Jester and I parted ways with Australian Andrew and headed up north on the Red Line (which was surprisingly packed for 11pm on a Friday) to a music club on Lawrence called Kinetic Playground, where a gaggle of Real Art people from Dayton were in town to see The American Static, a band in which one of their co-workers plays. Included in the gaggle were Jenn and Jim, who little more than four months ago popped their Metz Suite and Sink the Biz cherries. The American Static was good, as was V Sparks, the headlining band. I thoroughly enjoyed V Sparks's brand of '70s glam rock, a la Bowie, T. Rex, Queen, Mott the Hoople, etc. And they dressed the part. Were Gary Glitter not serving time in a Vietnamese prison for being a pederast, I would have thought he was playing guitar for V Sparks.

And while all of this was happening, little did we know that several thousand miles southwest of us, Britney Spears was preparing herself for a yet-to-be-conceived sequel to GI Jane. Good Lord. In the aftermath of the separation from K-Fed, I never in a million years would have thought that Britney was going to be the one to fall into a post-breakup tailspin marked by a brief but tumultuous friendship with Paris Hilton, exposure of one's genitals in public, accusations of homosexuality, rehab, and head shavings. Is it possible that Kevin Federline was the glue holding Britney together? If so, I'm going to have to take a six-month sabbatical to reexamine everything that I have ever learned.

Saturday
I got a much-needed haircut, and since it was a Saturday at Gabby's, I waited for over 90 minutes. Christoff, on the other hand, went to Gregerson's and let Gregerson give him a buzz.

When you're down 3 points and you have the ball just beyond the 3-point line with 1.5 seconds left, should you pass the ball to someone facing away from the basket standing inside the 3-point line? If your name is Lance Stemler, the answer is yes. Not like his shot would have gone in, given the way he's been shooting over the past 20 games, but I'm still livid.

The only thing that could bring me out of a post-IU-basketball-loss funk is beer and pizza. Luckily we were all going to Piece for a combined birthday for Jodie (Ryan' ladyfriend), Gregerson, and Kevin (good friend of Dan from the dog park). Our cabbie on the way there appeared Caribbean or maybe West African. Either way, he was genuinely curious and astounded by much of what we were telling him about America. "They have lobster? . . . In Maine? What else is there in Maine?" It was a rare joyful cabride.

At Piece, we had the stage area reserved. Among our pizza choices were a mashed potato and bacon pizza with white garlic sauce. It was orgasmic. My first few beers were Piece's Double D Weiss, which had 10% ABV. And how. I switched to something else by the time live band karaoke started. Oh yes, live band karaoke. By about that time, Bill (the co-owner of Piece who we also know from the dog park) was there, and he was more than happy to give us some free drinks, which is always a good thing, especially for making dudes with blogs sing The Darkness. I assume I rocked, but then again, I thought I rocked last time, but it turned out I didn't. Birthday boy Kevin also got up there and sang (without making an ass out of himself). Jessie got up, along with Jodie and all of her friends, and sang "Since You've Been Gone" by Kelly Clarkson. I should say, Jessie held one of the mics and didn't let anyone else get any airtime. But nothing could top Dan's version of "Ain't Talkin' 'Bout Love" by Van Halen. For reasons that are still unclear (perhaps even to Dan), he dropped trou in the middle of the song, thankfully refraining from dropping his boxers, which apparently was contemplated.

At some point between 12 and 2, Ryan, Jodie, one of Jodie's friends, Jester, and I got a cab with intentions of going to the Vu. For some reason (Jessie says it's because I told him to), the cabbie dropped us off a few blocks from the Vu. Within the next block or two, Jessie declared that I was not to go to the Vu. While I vehemently disagreed at first, I quickly relented when I realized I was yelling at a streetlamp. I spent the next few hours waging war against time, the spins, and consciousness. I think it's still too soon to tell who won, but I know it wasn't me. Just when I thought I had beaten one, another would come out of nowhere with a Sandinista-inspired guerilla attack that would prompt me to regroup by chugging a bottle of water, sitting on the couch for 30-45 minutes watching Metal Mania on VH1 Classic, and explaining to the couch that if it kept moving around I would not hesitate to "torch [it]."

Sunday
I woke up still drunk Sunday at 10:12 a.m. Jessie informed me that she had received information that Christoff, Jodie, and one of her friends were going to be at the Golden Nugget. We were informed there would be parking. There was. I enjoyed a meal of food, which helped me back into sobriety. The next 6 hours were spent sitting on one of several couches watching Empire Strikes Back, the VH1 History of Rock & Roll episode about punk, and Dazed and Confused.

By the way, fuck all of you who have today off.