Wednesday, October 31, 2007

It Was The Best of Times, It Was The Wurst of Times, Part VII: Friday 9/28

When Friday morning arrived, one thing was painfully obvious: we had not consumed enough beer. To remedy this grave oversight, we went back to the Oktoberfest grounds, although this time we left about an hour earlier than we did on Thursday morning, so as to better position ourselves for tables that were not at all reserved. Our punctuality paid off, as we were able to snag 2 1/2 unreserved tables right next to the band podium at the Pschorr Bräurosl at about 11am.

Next time you're at Oktoberfest, I highly suggest going to a tent for a full day. It was a hell of an experience, and one that I won't soon forget. Or remember.

We had one full table right up against the band podium, another nearly full table, save for two Italian dudes sitting on the end (Manolo and Andrea) right behind the first table, and then a half a table (other Italian dudes, including one who bore a resemblance to Kenny G) right behind the second table.

Our waitress was strong like an ox and might have had the biggest boobs of all-time.

I sat next to Manolo (he's the creepier looking one) for most of the day. Neither he nor Andrea (which is Italian for Andrew) spoke much English, and my Italian is only slightly better than my Korean. Language was no barrier, however, as we all shared a mutual love of beer, and I can say with authority that they both love pussy. I was able to discern this because (1) they are Italian men and (2) they instituted repeated cheers of "viva la poo-see," "viva la va-jeen-ah," and "viva la viga" (which I assume means "viva la female genitalia"). Manolo also repeatedly looked at women, nudged me to look at said women, and then simulated licking her, uh, pink skittle. We got along pretty well.

The entire day was awesome. Apparently, the Pschorr Bräurosl is one of the more lively tents, and we had a blast. The band, Südtiroler Spitzbuam (or, in English, the South Tiroler Spitzbaum) really riled the crowd. They started at noon, and played until close (10 p.m.). By 12:30, people were already standing on their benches.Among the many songs they played were the following:
- DJ Ötzi's timeless remake of "Hey Baby" by Bruce Channel (not to be confused with "A Bay Bay" by Hurricane Chris). The best part of the remake is that after the "heeeeeeyyyyy, hey baby," DJ Ötzi inserted a forceful "Ooh! Ah!" which the crowd really gets into.

-As expected, the "Battle Hymn of the Republic" was played early and often throughout the day, or at least the part from the beginning of the song through the end of the first chorus. I don't get it either. Maybe Südtiroler Spitzbuam is a Unionist band.
-Bryan Adams's classic "Summer of '69," only with lyrics that were about 33% correct. Perhaps "standin' on your mama's porch / you told me it was now or never" doesn't translate well.
-"We Will Rock You"
-"Sierra Madre," in which "sierra" sounded like "Sarah," so we all looked at Sarah and sang in her direction. This wouldn't be the last time we messed up a sing-along.
-And of course, the expected "Country Roads, "Furstenfeld," "Viva Bavaria," "Ein Prosit," and various DJ Ötzi classics were played.

Here are some other highlights/notes from the day:
-The only downfall I can see to drinking all day in a tent at Oktoberfest is that regular, non-sparkling water is harder to come by than a vegetable. Seriously, it was rough going trying to get some water. Our uncaring waitress only brought us one liter of water, and she would not bring another one until that one was finished, and she charged us just as much for that liter of water as a liter of beer. (By "us" I mean Jessie, Ari, and Kyla -- I don't need hydration.) And of course you can get sparkling water fairly easily, but sparkling water might be the least thirst-quenching drink this side of hot gin.
-The souvenir lady takes off her shirt for no reason.
-Kyla put a sausage in my beer. Ha ha.
-By the early evening, there were huge lines at every entrance to the tent, including the side entrances and service entrances. It was a satisfying feeling walking into the bathroom and seeing hundreds of people waiting outside and wishing they were able to piss in the very same trough I was about to piss in.
-Tyler styles his hair with beer.
-Jer buys awesome hat.

-Various twentysomething Germans found their way into our area and interacted with us, including, but not limited to:
-Benedict, the son of one of the waiters. He was a good egg, and spoke pretty good English.

-Some pederast who probably listens to a lot of Flock of Seagulls

-One of Benedict's buddies who called himself Frank the Tank, and who claimed to have consumed something like 8 liters in 5 hours and kept passing out at the table.

-Michael, a dude with a soccer jacket who asked me what my job was, and I spent 20 minutes unsuccessfully trying to explain to him that I was a lawyer.
-Some chicks in dirndls who I never met, but hung out at the table next to us.

-Some twelve-year-old Aryan who Sara took a picture with.

-Later in the evening, Roxy, Julia, and Julia's boyfriend, Nameless Douchebag, joined our table.

From the moment she arrived, Roxy seemed both distracted and less attractive than Julia. She drank her beer with nothing more than the occasional smirk, and barely batted an eye when I told her that Chandler and I were wealthy industrialists specializing in the importation of amateur German barely legal porn into the US. After a furious text message exchange with who I assume to be a man named Jürgen or Horst who did not want her to make a series of upskirt videos, Roxy just sat there crying. Chandler and I tried to comfort her by telling her, "Shut up. You're ruining Oktoberfest," but apparently she was inconsolable.
-Chandler's cousin's boyfriend, Stefan, who lives in Munich.

-By the time Stefan and Julia, Roxy, and Nameless Douchebag had arrived, nearly all of our group had gone home. Nick, Brendan, Chandler, and I ended up being the only ones who stayed the whole day, and it was definitely a sense of pride to close down a beer tent. Chandler managed to turn into a woman-attracting zombie (look at the eyes).

-Unfortunately, at the end of the day, I was unable to find my fleece, likely meaning that some East German bastard grabbed it because it was a product of American capitalism. The kicker is that I didn't pay for the fleece, but rather stole it a few years ago from Ari, who had owned it since college when someone left it at the girls' apartment. Now, because of some thieving kraut, I will have to actually buy a fleece if I want to protect myself from the elements with the woolen coat of a domestic sheep.

When the tent closed, we walked toward the center of the city, even though City Center's over and no one really goes there. Chandler, Brendan, and Stefan ended up going out -- how that was achievable, I'm still not certain. Meanwhile, Nick and I hit a Burger King at the Hauptbanhof (Munich's main train station). The bacon double cheeseburger I had was amazing. The water I ordered, however, was not. Again, it was sparkling water. I wanted to make somewhat of an attempt to hydrate myself, but instead I got God's mockery. Nick ordered two Whoppers™ and ate one at the restaurant, saving the other one for later.

Somewhere between 30 and 90 minutes later, Nick and I were spotted outside the Lotter Leben by Jessie, Kyla, and Alex. We were told that we looked fabulous and that we should continue drinking for the remainder of the night. Flattered by their suggestion that we were anything but completely plastered and incapable of comprehending even the most basic human noises, Nick and I both agreed that we should be responsible and retire to the hotel for some much-needed rest. "Perhaps tomorrow, kind folk," I said in a British accent, and Nick and I politely excused ourselves from their presence.

Unfortunately for Nick, there would be no "later" for that second Whopper. He went to bed just as normally as any other night. Soon enough, his roommates began to hear strange, horrifying grunts, noises, and cries coming from Nick during his heavy slumber. In addition to the grunts and such, he was heard exclaiming, "Help! Help!" Soon after, he said, "I'll have a number three." And there are also reports of lengthy, barely coherent ramblings related to the Jolly Green Giant. Then he puked in the bathroom sink. Good times.

Monday, October 29, 2007

The Big 3-0

Holy shit, people. I don't know exactly what's happening to me, but I'm positive that I don't like it. My Yahoo horoscope for today mockingly read, "Your body is under your control entirely -- it's a great time for positive changes." Apparently I'm not the only one who is disgusted with the gut I've developed over the past six months from the deadly combination of sloth, beer, pizza, wurst, and total indifference.

This year's birthday was not as blackout-riddled and face-paint-heavy as my golden birthday. I did, however, receive Guitar Hero III for the Wii (thanks Jester), so I'll see you guys in a few months.

At least it's all downhill from here. When I turned 20, I had hope. The future was wide open, and I planned to mount it like the submissive it was. Now that I'm 30, the hope has been replaced with frantic despair, and I can't get this damn ball gag out of my mouth. With the best days of my life behind me, I'm now pretty much just biding my time until death. I sure hope the next 13 years, 4 months, and 8 days go quickly.

As a nice little extra, absolutely none of my co-workers knew that it was my birthday, not even my assistant (read: secretary who should know these things if she wants to get a good review at the end of the year). I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. Several years from now (if, God forbid, I'm still gainfully employed), people at my job are going to be saying, "Man, I can't believe Andrew's still 29. He looks slightly older than that."

My only saving grace is Jay-Z's untested but highly appealing theory that 30 has actually become the new 20. I hope he's right because that means the next decade is going to be another blur. Regardless, turning 30 kind of sucks, mainly because it presents you with a chance to look back on your life and reflect on what little you've accomplished and how everything in your life has changed, particularly since college. Here are some examples:

Then: In college, eating a super steak burrito at 3 a.m. increased my strength, sex appeal, and sense of self-worth.
Now: All a late-night burrito does is increase my gut, gassiness, and sense of shame.

Then: "I can't wait to go to law school."
Now: "Why did I ever go to law school?"

Then: I could do 21 shots over a 5-hour period and make it to my 10:10 class the next morning without a hangover.
Now: I can't even drink 6 liters of beer in 5 hours.

Then: Women flocked to me like fire to a South Carolina college student.
Now: I lie a lot about my past and make horribly inappropriate comments about dead people I don't even know.

Then: I stayed up until 1 or 2 a.m. every night.
Now: I constantly -- and unsuccessfully -- strive to go to bed every night before 10.

Then: I was a 10-second hero.
Now: Ok, so at least now I've improved at one thing, even if only by 10%.

This next decade will prove to be a pivotal one. I can either, in the words of a man in a movie I still haven't seen, "get busy living or get busy dying." With that in mind, before 10/29/17, I hope to have accomplished several things:
  • Become horribly jaded and bitter. Oh, wait.
  • Plant my vile seed in Jessie's womb several times over and spawn a brood of equally jaded and bitter children with hilarious names and much more athletic talent than I possess.
  • Find something to do with my life that I actually enjoy, like developing my own line of male handbags, writing funny things, or aikido.
  • Own property somewhere. Anywhere.
  • Dress up as 1972 David Bowie from the Ziggy Stardust album for Halloween.
  • Freak out in a moonage daydream, oh yeah.
  • Learn aikido.
  • Form a religion based on the teachings of Jay-Z. I shall call it "Hovanism."
  • Coach Permian to seventh state title.
  • Finish that godforsaken book I'm writing.
  • Continue to avoid SARS.
  • Attend at least 9 bowl games in which IU is a participant.
  • In a second, tell-all book, finally come clean about rampant use of performance-enhancing and psychedelic drugs during Pi Kapp soccer B team's dominating run to the 1999 Division II intramural championship, naming names and recounting team's weekly post-game steroid-and-mescaline-riddled orgies with the team's many loyal groupies, colloquially known as The Cleatorises, or "The Cleats" for short.
  • Get a few more tattoos.
  • To keep things weird, for every birthday from here on out, refer to self only in the third person and only as Ace Frehley, whether or not I am dressed up like Ace Frehley
  • Form and manage -- but not play in -- at least one different tribute (not cover, tribute) band each year, including, but not limited to:
  1. Eyrrhowsmydd (an all-Welsh Aerosmith tribute)
  2. ApothoCarey (an all-pharmacist tribute to Mariah Carey)
  3. My Michele (a Guns N' Roses tribute featuring only women and Italian men named Michele)
  4. Queen Bitch (a drag tribute to 1971 David Bowie from the Hunky Dory album)
  5. She's Tight (an all-preteen-female tribute to Cheap Trick)
  6. Gimme Danger Little Stranger (an all-convicted-child-molester tribute to The Stooges that will not be performing on the same bill as She's Tight despite repeated requests)
  7. Search and Destroy (an all-father-of-preteen-females tribute to The Stooges that will not be performing on the same bill as Gimme Danger Little Stranger despite repeated requests)
  8. Durwalk Durwalk (an easy-listening tribute to Duran Duran)
  9. Thin Lezzy (an all-lesbian tribute to Thin Lizzy)
  10. Once Burned to Death in a Pyrotechnic Night Club Disaster Twice Shy (tribute to Great White)
  11. Mega Mini Kiss (a full-size tribute to Mini Kiss).
  • Build a really sweet treehouse.
  • Develop a much better metabolism through weight lifting, interval training, and unabashed bulimia.
  • Go to Oktoberfest a few more times.
  • Post future Oktoberfest recaps within one month of going to Oktoberfest. (FYI, the next installment will be along in a couple days because I am going to a concert tomorrow night.)
  • Continue to live in complete denial of my constant aging by acting like I'm in my 20s as often as humanly possible.
  • Throw like a ton of raging keggers.
  • Continue blogging, so as keep you all painfully informed as to my descent and concomitant denial, but do so in a way that will not depress the shit out of you.
  • Avoid using the word "concomitant," whilst increasing usage of the word "whilst."
  • Retire.
  • Overcome paralyzing fear of time.
  • Beat death for a fourth decade.

Thursday, October 25, 2007

It Was The Best of Times, It Was The Wurst of Times, Bonus Feature: Ode to the Dirndl

With these lengthy posts, you need a break from all this reading. That's why today's post is a pictorial tribute to my new favorite style of dress: the dirndl. The montage of pictures -- 62 of them to be exact, with approximately 61 of them courtesy of Chandler -- features dirndls of all shapes and sizes. Some loose, some tight, some old, some new, some busty, some even more busty. I originally planned to have a dirndl-related poll, in which you lovely readers chose the best dirndl, but I didn't want to narrow anything down or prevent you all from seeing one of the many reasons why Oktoberfest is phenomenal. Enough talking.