Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Monday Morning Coming Down

Holy mother, get ready to read.

Friday evening was life-changing. It seems that both Christoff and Lutzow have birthdays around this time of year. To celebrate, a rather large and boisterous group went up to the Chicago Brauhaus in Lincoln Square. For those of you who don't know, Lincoln Square is the neighborhood where all the krauts hang out. It's known for its great beer and backbreaking efficiency.

The Brauhaus is your standard traditional German restaurant, complete with liters of beer, a wide variety of sausages, and oompa bands that like to play "Country Road" by John Denver. Once such band (of the two that played that night) was led by a man who I firmly believe was the inspiration behind Dutch metallurgical hedonist Johann van der Smut, a.k.a. Goldmember, even though the band leader was not Dutch nor in possession of a gold member.

Let's get to the point, right? Well, after a couple liters, Christoff and Lutzow decided to order Das Boot -- a two-liter exhibition in glass footwear and binge drinking.

As you can see, Dan Weeser* is unbelievably excited about it.

The birthday gents were nice enough to pass that shit around.

Nice work Timmy. Maybe you'll try to squeeze out some ketchup with the lid closed again.

Understandably, Dan had a bit of a Napoleon complex.

It turns out, Das Boot turns Ryan into a kraut-killing demon.

Noreen was unbelievably excited about it, while Jessie was in tears.

After Das Boot, more beer seemed like a great idea, so more liters were ordered. I used my middle finger to indicate my feelings towards Ryan, which he countered with one of his legendary "Christoff Ear Stares."

Dancing with old Nazis is apparently what you have to do at the Brauhaus if you're a woman. Seriously, they come up to your table, point at a girl, and shoot you with a Ruger if you don't comply with their wishes. We learned quickly that they do not ask; they command.

One such Nazi was named Otto -- seriously -- and he took a particular liking to Jessie, although he was not afraid to forcefully explain how to polka. "Short step! Short step! Nein! Nein! Nein!" He is shown here with Lutzow, preparing to stab him with a dagger than I assume he keeps with him at all times. Because he's a Nazi.

Lutzow also got his picture taken with one of the bands. Apparently instead of promoting a CD of some sort, they promote postcards from the motherland.

At the end of the night, I found the Brauhaus to be more comforting than Alan Thicke's voice.

Saturday morning, several of us headed to Gregerson's for some grillin' before the big Sox/Cubs game. When those who had bleacher seats left early, several of us stayed behind and rocked out to some Air Supply and Barry Manilow to pump us up for the game.

The game itself was terrible, given the result, but the seats were pretty good. Jester, Uter, Gemkeezi, and I sat together.

For me, the highlight of the game came in about the 7th or 8th inning. The middle-aged preppy man sitting in front of me got a combo Italian beef and sausage sandwich. It took him damn near 45 minutes to tackle this thing. Rather than eat with dignity, this guy went at it like a pig at a trough. He would lift the little carton to his face and slurp up the Italian beef crumbles. It was embarrassing to watch, yet I could not look away.

After the game, Gemkeezi and I walked to the Riv, where we met his brother Pat for the Kings of Leon show. Before the show, we randomly saw Mike "Chumps" (or at least I think that was his nickname in high school) Campea. They were phenomenal. If you get a chance to see them, I highly recommend it. They played almost all of their new album, as well as a nice mix of stuff from their first two albums. The crowd was extremely energetic, including some guy in front of us who jumped up and down the entire show.

After the show, the Brothers Gemkow (minus Dave, Myke, Dan, Ben, and Chad, of course) and I (and Pat's friends Jose and Jodie) got a burrito and went to The Store (minus Jose and Jodie), where we were to meet Crazy Legs Hirst, but the cab ride took 30 minutes to get from Uptown to The Store, so Crazy Legs pulled his standard ghosting, and left before we got there. I ended up leaving about 2:30am. After 15 hours of drinking, it was time to rest my eyes and liver. Luckily there were several stretches of an hour or two where I didn't have anything to drink, or else I might have killed myself.

Sunday night was my last class in this term's Second City course. Several of us from class went to Burton Place for "a couple drinks" after class. Because I continuously fail to learn from my mistakes and firmly believe that I am invincible, I rolled into bed at 2:42 a.m. To say that Jessie was livid would be an understatement. It turns out cell phone reception in Burton Place is not great and my phone has a nice little button on its side that switches it from vibrate to regular mode in my pocket. Thus, I did not receive several text messages and phone calls indicating that she might want to come out with us. I think she also might have been mad because I got home close to 3 a.m. on a Sunday night. It's quite possible that I'm one of the biggest morons on the face of the Earth.

I dragged ass all day, until 7pm, when my next Second City class started. Only two more classes until I get a show on the third stage, well kind of. We found out that the class as a whole writes a show, which is concerning because Australian Andrew and I switched into this class (since the other class was offered from 12-3 on Sundays), and no one is very funny in the class. So now we're going to have to be associated with them when we all write a show together. At least you'll know who wrote the funny sketches.

Mike "The Ulltimate Lactose Hater" Ullmer and "NaviKate" Rohrer have decided that now is not only the right time for them to live in sin together in a town known for providing local college football players with well-paying summer jobs in exchange for little to no work, but it is also the right time to write about their adventures (or, more appropriately, misadventures!) in weblog format at I only hope that, in the future, their posts will have less of a kerning-related to non-kerning-related post ratio.

Since I'm sick and tired of writing about the past few days, I'll make the trivia recap brief. We had 2 teams this week because the Parents Weeser* were in town, so they had a team with the Brothers Weeser* (minus Greg, of course) and Noreen and Nick "I Grew Up a Half Block From the Weesers*" Myers, whose brother is Mike Myers (not the dude from Halloween, although there was a question about Donald Pleasance).

The other team, Throw Ron Mexico to the Dogs, was comprised of me, Jester, Gregerson, Christoff, Chenandler Bong, Tradd, and Greg's friend Nick. As you'll recall, last week we got 4th, which was the first time in 10 or 11 weeks that we didn't get first or 2nd. Remember when the Bulls didn't win the championship in '94 and '95 and then came back in '96 and murdered everyone on their way to an NBA-record 72-10 regular season record? That pales in comparison to the clinic we put on at Rocks last night. We ended up winning by 9, which I'm pretty sure is a trivia record, but no one keeps track of those stats, as far as I know.

I must sleep now, since I'm running in the JP Morgan/Chase Corporate Challenge tomorrow, which is a 3.5-mile 22,000-person clusterfuck in Grant Park. Should be sweet.

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