Friday
With the approaching long weekend, Jester and I started flipping out Friday afternoon. She called me at work, imploring me to make a reservation for us at Sapori, a really good Italian restaurant to which she had a $50 gift certificate. Knowing that I had to finish some stuff up at work, I made the reservation for 7:30, thinking that would leave me plenty of time, even if I left as late as 6:30. What I failed to remember is that the CTA exists for the sole purpose of inconveniencing me when I am forced to rely upon it. I left work at 6:20, after which I randomly met up with Chenandler Bong at the Clark & Lake stop. All was going well until after we dropped off the lucky souls who got off at Sedgwick. Between Sedgwick and Armitage (which is the stop after Sedgwick), we sat on the tracks at several places, sometimes for 15 minutes at a time. What should have been a 3-5 minute ride between stops was closer to 35-40 minutes. Thus, I had to get off at Armitage and take a cab to Sapori in order to arrive at 7:28. Luckily really good Italian food and beer have a fabulous calming effect on me.
The big news of the weekend is that, after nearly two years of marriage, Jessie and I finally got engaged.
Also, Greg Weeser* was in town from LA. A group of us met up with the Brothers Weeser* (minus Tim, unexpectedly) at Emmit's Pub, down at the Halsted/Milwaukee/Grand intersection. Emmit's, of course, was featured in Ocean's 11, when they meet Linus, Matt Damon's character. In addition to the appearance of the Eldest Weeser*, Danny "Boy Who" McKeever and Jeremy "Floppy Burrito" DeMuth showed up for what turned into a mini Cossitt Class of 1990 reunion. Among the topics discussed were: was Ms. Allman related to the Allman Brothers?; is Mrs. Bean still alive?; so, do you think Miss Jacks was a lesbian?; and whether The Better Half of 60 Minutes was the greatest talk show on Jones Intercable public access television during the early to mid '90s.
As Emmit's neared closing time, one option came to the forefront: The Vu. Not everyone was on board, but Gregerson, Jeremy, Ari, Minnie, and I certainly were. Upon arriving, the usual spot was open: in the back of the bar, by the Trivia/Erotic Photo Hunt machine and the Silver Strike machine. After tearing it up on trivia and photo hunt for a while, the five of us hit Los Tres Panchos for some much-needed sustenance. Minnie went with huevos con chorizo, which seemed like an odd, but respectable, choice. Burritos and tacos seemed to be the more popular choice among the group.
The most important news of Friday night came via text message from Lizzie, via Jester, while I was at the Vu. As a backdrop, you should know that this coming weekend I'll be heading to Huntington for Jessie's brother's high school graduation. The previously mentioned text message informed me that Hot Sundae will be performing at the Huntington North High School baccalaureate ceremony. Yes, THE Hot Sundae. Okay, well, maybe not THE Hot Sundae, since THE Hot Sundae was a short-lived fictional group formed in Pacific Palisades, California in the early '90s by three female Bayside High School juniors (one of whom was addicted to speed), whose only song, "Put Your Mind to It (Break a Sweat)," failed to chart, but did spawn a memorable video. The Hot Sundae that does exist, however, as you may recall, is a Christian rock band formed at Huntington University in Huntington, Indiana. Back in July of aught six, I ridiculed them on this very blog, and then engaged in an electronic mail dialogue with lead singer Amos "Q-Tip" Caley, during which I found out that the guys in the band have pretty good senses of humor. Since then, Hot Sundae has apparently changed its name to Attaboy, undoubtedly because of some multi-billion-dollar lawsuit spearheaded by Lisa Turtle. The fallout from the lawsuit surely caused great internal dissention in the band, as evidenced by the group's decidedly more serious pictures, their new-found hipster clothes, and
their less kempt hair styles. Gone are the zany facial expressions we came to expect from Q-Tip and Jeff "Amsterdam" Edgel -- traded in for pictures that say, "Hey man, got another Valium? It's for Jesus." In addition to smiles and t-shirts, the band parted ways with Kyle "Chrippie" Brenneman (whose "Clear the Road, I'm Sixteen" attitude, $50-a-week Coca Cola habit, and constant finger banging of chicks on the tour bus probably got old after a while for everyone else) and Zac "Black Diamond" Hill (no band wants a redheaded guitarist), bringing in legendary Huntington-area bassist Chris "Sandman" Brumbaugh, whose beard suggests Amish, but whose earring screams Mennonite. With the addition of the Sandman, the group has taken a noticeably secular turn, mistakenly covering W.A.S.P.'s "Animal (Fuck Like a Beast)" at a recent show at the Huntington Methodist Church. Explained Sandman, "We thought it was called 'Fuck the Beast,' which we assumed was an anti-devil-worshipping song. It turns out W.A.S.P. doesn't stand for what we thought it did."Unfortunately, I will not be attending said baccalaureate, since it was this past Sunday (it must have been a . . . hot . . . Sunday -- ah, thank you) and my time machine is still forty years from invention. Otherwise, I would have been front row. Or maybe I was. Think about it.
When my head hit the pillow, it was 4:41, and I was pleasantly satiated.
Saturday
Saturday morning I woke up non-refreshed, on account of the 6 hours of sleep I got. Since I am a wonderful person, I made some pancakes for Jester and myself. After that, we took Harley over by the lake to chase some squirrels. Yet again, she came up empty-mouthed.
The most important even of the weekend occurred Saturday afternoon: I downloaded Castlevania for the Wii (for those of you who do not have the pleasure or luck of owning a Wii, you can download old Nintendo games for $5 a pop). Man do I suck at Castlevania. But with 5 to 6 hours a day of practice, I'm confident I can get past the third level.
In the evening, Bohmann came into the city, and the two of us met up with the Brothers Weeser* and Noreen (and a little later, some of Greg Weeser*'s friends who also happened to be in town from LA) at Piece in Bucktown for some live band karaoke. After my performance last time, I penalized myself and spared everyone else by not singing anything this time. On the bright side, Piece had their own malt liquor on tap, aptly named Dolomite. It was actually pretty good (as are most of their beers), but the best part was that it came in a pint glass with a small paper bag around it. Bravo, Piece. Brav-fucking-o.
Tired of hearing people butcher the likes of "Living on a Prayer" (I didn't know it was possible to not know the words) and "Purple Rain," we decided to head around the block to Pint, where Jeremy and Shannon met up with us. Everyone had some beers. Some people had some smokes. Good times were had by ALL.
My head hit the pillow and Jessie hit me in the face at around 4:11.
Sunday
I arose at around 10:35, again feeling the opposite of refreshed. Luckily the ingestion of beer cures hangovers because I went to the Sox game with Morgan, his brother Christopher, and his buddy Hans. It was a gorgeous day for a baseball game: low 80s, sunny. Plus we had great seats, about 20 rows right behind the plate.
At the game, the question surfaced: what is the top American rock and roll band? I say The Doors, followed closely by The Beach Boys. Morgan had the same two bands, but with the order reversed. So then we started spouting off various American bands, and putting them in the top 10 or top 250 or whatever. Anyway, I came up with my own list of what I think are the top 10 American bands. There are several qualifications: (1) no solo artists (even if they had a band behind them), so James Brown, Dylan, Marvin Gaye, Springsteen, Michael Jackson, Otis Redding, Chuck Berry, Elvis, and Aretha are out; (2) no hybrids bands with fewer Americans than non-Americans, which rules out Fleetwood Mac, The Jimi Hendrix Experience, and The Band; and (3) lack of production/longevity, not writing own songs, or not playing instruments hurt some bands. Here's my list:
1. The Doors
2. The Beach Boys
3. Creedence Clearwater Revival
4. Velvet Underground
5. Buddy Holly & The Crickets
6. Aerosmith
7. The Allman Brothers Band
8. Guns N' Roses
9. Pearl Jam
10. Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers
Also receiving votes (either from me, Morgan, Christoper, Hans, or Morgan's wife Melissa): Beastie Boys, Cheap Trick, The Drifters, The Eagles, The Everly Brothers, Grateful Dead, Jackson Five, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Metallica, Motley Crue, Nirvana, Outkast, The Ramones, REM, Santana, Simon & Garfunkel, Sly & The Family Stone, The Supremes, The Temptations, Van Halen, and Wu Tang Clan.
Anyone I'm forgetting?
After the game, I headed back up north as quickly as possible, and then Christoff, Jester, and I headed up to Kyla & Alex's for a good ol' American BBQ. As expected, the conversation at the BBQ turned to queefing -- whether it happens, what it smells like, what it sounds like. Pretty standard. It was a pretty thorough discussion on both sides of the gender fence. As a group, we came to the conclusion that a queef sounds either like air brakes ("Phhtt!") or someone with a really high-pitched voice saying "queeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeef." Yeah, I know, we're children.
Invigorated by discussions of one of the worst bodily functions I can think of, we headed to The Waterhouse for some beverages. After some chick queefed, things got weird, so we all went to The Burwood Tap, in remembrance of Hillbilly Sunday. Joining us there were the Brothers Weeser* and McKeever. The discussion once again turned to queefing and The Better Half of 60 Minutes. My quest to reintroduce the word "queef" into common vernacular is coming along swimmingly. Phhtt!
After some chick queefed, they closed the bar, things got weird, and several of us introduced Greg Weeser* to LaBamba, since we assume he can't find Mexican food as authentic as Bamba's in southern California. I was reminded how good the cheese sauce is at Bamba's, and I'll be damned if I don't love steak burritos.
The clock read 3:30 as my head hit the pillow. An early night.
Monday
Jessie and I bought bikes. Hers has a basket. Mine doesn't. We're dorks.
So we rode around Lakeview, randomly riding by Sheffield's, and who do we see walking outside, but McKeever. I see the guy maybe 5 times since high school graduation before Friday, and three times since. We decided to stop into Sheffield's and have a couple beers and some dinner with Danny. I guess Sheffield's just recently got food, and it's BBQ fare -- smoked, at that. I love smoked BBQ, so this was a welcome addition. The brisket sandwich was really good.
The clock read 10:49 as my head hit the pillow. I haven't slept that soundly in a long time.
When my head hit the pillow, it was 4:41, and I was pleasantly satiated.
Saturday
Saturday morning I woke up non-refreshed, on account of the 6 hours of sleep I got. Since I am a wonderful person, I made some pancakes for Jester and myself. After that, we took Harley over by the lake to chase some squirrels. Yet again, she came up empty-mouthed.
The most important even of the weekend occurred Saturday afternoon: I downloaded Castlevania for the Wii (for those of you who do not have the pleasure or luck of owning a Wii, you can download old Nintendo games for $5 a pop). Man do I suck at Castlevania. But with 5 to 6 hours a day of practice, I'm confident I can get past the third level.
In the evening, Bohmann came into the city, and the two of us met up with the Brothers Weeser* and Noreen (and a little later, some of Greg Weeser*'s friends who also happened to be in town from LA) at Piece in Bucktown for some live band karaoke. After my performance last time, I penalized myself and spared everyone else by not singing anything this time. On the bright side, Piece had their own malt liquor on tap, aptly named Dolomite. It was actually pretty good (as are most of their beers), but the best part was that it came in a pint glass with a small paper bag around it. Bravo, Piece. Brav-fucking-o.
Tired of hearing people butcher the likes of "Living on a Prayer" (I didn't know it was possible to not know the words) and "Purple Rain," we decided to head around the block to Pint, where Jeremy and Shannon met up with us. Everyone had some beers. Some people had some smokes. Good times were had by ALL.
My head hit the pillow and Jessie hit me in the face at around 4:11.
Sunday
I arose at around 10:35, again feeling the opposite of refreshed. Luckily the ingestion of beer cures hangovers because I went to the Sox game with Morgan, his brother Christopher, and his buddy Hans. It was a gorgeous day for a baseball game: low 80s, sunny. Plus we had great seats, about 20 rows right behind the plate.
At the game, the question surfaced: what is the top American rock and roll band? I say The Doors, followed closely by The Beach Boys. Morgan had the same two bands, but with the order reversed. So then we started spouting off various American bands, and putting them in the top 10 or top 250 or whatever. Anyway, I came up with my own list of what I think are the top 10 American bands. There are several qualifications: (1) no solo artists (even if they had a band behind them), so James Brown, Dylan, Marvin Gaye, Springsteen, Michael Jackson, Otis Redding, Chuck Berry, Elvis, and Aretha are out; (2) no hybrids bands with fewer Americans than non-Americans, which rules out Fleetwood Mac, The Jimi Hendrix Experience, and The Band; and (3) lack of production/longevity, not writing own songs, or not playing instruments hurt some bands. Here's my list:1. The Doors
2. The Beach Boys
3. Creedence Clearwater Revival
4. Velvet Underground
5. Buddy Holly & The Crickets
6. Aerosmith
7. The Allman Brothers Band
8. Guns N' Roses
9. Pearl Jam
10. Tom Petty & The Heartbreakers
Also receiving votes (either from me, Morgan, Christoper, Hans, or Morgan's wife Melissa): Beastie Boys, Cheap Trick, The Drifters, The Eagles, The Everly Brothers, Grateful Dead, Jackson Five, Lynyrd Skynyrd, Metallica, Motley Crue, Nirvana, Outkast, The Ramones, REM, Santana, Simon & Garfunkel, Sly & The Family Stone, The Supremes, The Temptations, Van Halen, and Wu Tang Clan.
Anyone I'm forgetting?
After the game, I headed back up north as quickly as possible, and then Christoff, Jester, and I headed up to Kyla & Alex's for a good ol' American BBQ. As expected, the conversation at the BBQ turned to queefing -- whether it happens, what it smells like, what it sounds like. Pretty standard. It was a pretty thorough discussion on both sides of the gender fence. As a group, we came to the conclusion that a queef sounds either like air brakes ("Phhtt!") or someone with a really high-pitched voice saying "queeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeef." Yeah, I know, we're children.
Invigorated by discussions of one of the worst bodily functions I can think of, we headed to The Waterhouse for some beverages. After some chick queefed, things got weird, so we all went to The Burwood Tap, in remembrance of Hillbilly Sunday. Joining us there were the Brothers Weeser* and McKeever. The discussion once again turned to queefing and The Better Half of 60 Minutes. My quest to reintroduce the word "queef" into common vernacular is coming along swimmingly. Phhtt!
After some chick queefed, they closed the bar, things got weird, and several of us introduced Greg Weeser* to LaBamba, since we assume he can't find Mexican food as authentic as Bamba's in southern California. I was reminded how good the cheese sauce is at Bamba's, and I'll be damned if I don't love steak burritos.
The clock read 3:30 as my head hit the pillow. An early night.
Monday
Jessie and I bought bikes. Hers has a basket. Mine doesn't. We're dorks.
So we rode around Lakeview, randomly riding by Sheffield's, and who do we see walking outside, but McKeever. I see the guy maybe 5 times since high school graduation before Friday, and three times since. We decided to stop into Sheffield's and have a couple beers and some dinner with Danny. I guess Sheffield's just recently got food, and it's BBQ fare -- smoked, at that. I love smoked BBQ, so this was a welcome addition. The brisket sandwich was really good.The clock read 10:49 as my head hit the pillow. I haven't slept that soundly in a long time.
I didn't go to trivia tonight. Those SOBs better have won.
Posts
No comments:
Post a Comment