Making a Metz of Me

Since there have been several requests for a Metz Suite recap, I'll oblige.

It all began, fittingly, on Nirvana Day -- February 15. Jester, Ari, and I left our respective workplaces a little early and headed to B-town to the Metz Suite, the penthouse suite in the Indiana Memorial Union hotel, which houses the likes of Oprah, Vladimir Putin, and some chick whose vagina hair stuck to the floor. We hadn't been there since the fall of 2006. Like Jessie never tells me, too long. Too fucking long.

We arrived Friday night around 9:30 or some shit like that. I didn't really pay attention because we had been cannonballing a handle of Rumplemintz since Lafayette. Joining us for the weekend were: TG, Spawn, Ball, Lizzie, Liz, Ashcraft, and Holt. Also, a German named Uter von Widenhofer would join us Saturday. It was a small but enthusiastic crowd.

We were floored to learn that LaBamba has CLOSED. I don't know what to think about this. My hope is that it is closed merely for remodeling. At this point, I refuse to look too far into it because I'm scared of the consequences.

Friday night we started off at Upstairs, where we downed some AMFs to start the night off right. Then we literally sprinted to the Bluebird to see the greatest band in the land, Hairbangers Ball. Tyler Steven was on lead vocals this night, instead of Vic Voxx. They switch off shows, if you didn't know.

At the Bird, behind the bar was none other than James Brown (the Pi Kapp, not the Godfather of Soul, the NFL Hall of Famer, or the NFL commentator). He hooked us up with some discounted drinks.

We drank, sang along, and avoided getting puked on. Afterwards, some people got Rockit's pizza, while others ordered a Big Ten Special from Pizza Express. For those of you unfortunate enough to have never experienced a Big Ten, it is a large one-topping pizza, an order of breadsticks, a dipping sauce -- although it is always best to order two -- and two drinks for $12.95. It used to be only $10. It is one of the best things you can order at 2:30 or 3 in the morning.

Saturday greeted us with a kraut (Uter). As he and Ball went to have lunch with the chancellor, a few of us (TG, Holt, Spawn, Jessie, and I) went to Village Deli for some breakfast, lunch, or brunch. We were told the wait would be 15 minutes. In Village Deli time, 15 minutes means 45 minutes. Groups of 7, 8, and 9 that arrived AFTER us got seated before we did. At least the food was good.

After the VD -- ha ha, VD -- we were innocently walking down Kirkwood back towards campus. We paused in front of the entrance to Steve & Barry's for no real reason, since their 2 for $19.95 t-shirt sale seemed par for the course. Then some college chick comes barreling out of Steve & Barry's, pukes a little on the landing, then proceeds to double over (with cheeks FULL of puke) and puke right into her left hand. Puke is dripping from her hand and down her left arm as she continues down the sidewalk and pukes a couple more times in her hand. After finished puking, she proceeds to carry the puke in her hand -- dripping -- to the garbage can and throws it away. How considerate! Spawn then explained that, after she threw her handful of vomit away, she licked the remnants off of her fingers. I guess she thought it would be uncouth to go back into Steve & Barry's (which she did) with stinky hands. I love college.

The main event of the weekend in Bloomington was the IU/Michigan State basketball game. Uter had a ticket, and so did Holt, but no one else did. Thus, the only legitimate option was to watch the game a Nick's -- the greatest college bar ever invented. The game didn't start until 9, so we figured we would be okay if we got there around 5. We were wrong. We got a small table in the Hump Room, which could not accommodate 10 people. However, we were lucky enough to know the guys at the booth just to the right of the top of the stairs, and they were all going to the game, so we snagged that table around 7 when they left. James Brown joined us for dinner before he had to go to work, and Cohee joined us later.

I made an educated decision to hold off on playing Sink the Bismarck until about a half hour before the game started. This turned out to be a good idea, as my hubris pushed me to purposely sink it on more than one occasion. This strategy is perfectly acceptable, except that I also had to drink it on several other occasions, thanks in large part to Ball's masterful pouring. I had to remove myself from the game at one point. Granted, this was after we had been playing for two hours, so at least I got my money's worth. At some point, IU won handily.

My hiatus from Sink proved effective, as it enabled me to be in it for the long haul, including our next and final bar stop, the one and only Kilroy's. Despite its overcrowdedness, we found a table by the back exit. Test tube shots were consumed (and the tubes broken, in compliance with longstanding tradition). The shot wheel was spun by at least one person, with negligible results (Jedi Mind Probe -- ouch).

After Kilroy's closed, Cohee implored us to come back to his house for some more drinks, but we can't handle that shit anymore, at least not at 3:30 in the morning. So instead, I got myself a hotdog from the hotdog stand outside Kilroy's. That wasn't enough. You knew it wouldn't be enough. So when I got back to the Metz Suite, I found out that some of the others had ordered some Mad Mushroom cheesesticks. These are an otherworldly combination of dough and cheese, made with a recipe handed down from Zeus himself. I decided that one large order of cheesesticks (which is the size of a large pizza) would not be enough, so I called and made a second order. Large, of course. It turns out that one large order would have been enough, but that didn't stop Holt and me from trying our best to put a dent in the second order. Eating yourself into a coma at 4:30 in the morning is never a good idea.

I am convinced that Dr. Metz haunts the master bedroom. Every time I sleep in that particular room, no matter how many or few Red-Bull-infused shots or drinks I consume, only get like four hours of sleep, awoken by my heart pounding. It happened both nights this trip. Having watched Paranormal State (which I recommend) several times, I now have no doubt it was Dr. Metz's ghost causing my problems, likely upset about the effects my late-night binging would have on my digestive system.

We managed to make it out alive -- barely. Ari, Jessie, and I then met my dad at Irish Lion for some breakfast, lunch, or brunch. For reasons that are still unclear to anyone, as soon as we sat down, he started into a diatribe about the pattern of plates that he had as a child (all of which were given to him at some point in the early '90s by his mother, for reasons that are also unclear). I don't know the point of the story or why it was necessary to tell us anything about it. More than anything, it left me confused. Is he looking to sell the plates? Maybe. Does he want to buy more? I don't fuckin' know. Does he want to recreate that scene in Don't Tell Mom the Babysitter's Dead where they're shooting plates and that dude says "the dishes are done, man"? There was nothing said to indicate that it's not a possibility. The point is, I have no fucking clue. It went on for a half hour, even after his friend and friend's ladyfriend joined us and I audibly said, "For some reason, we're talking about salad plates."

He did totally redeem himself later, however, with several Bronson-esque stories about a guy he knew from the Air Force. This dude was at my wedding. He is lanky and wore a bowtie. He is mild-mannered and extremely courteous and unimposing. His name is Allen, for Christ's sake. Keep that in mind.

So Allen at one point way back when (I think after he returned from being stationed in Turkey with my dad) lived in a garden apartment in a less-than-stellar area of St. Louis. He had a large Husky and a .357 Magnum for protection. So one day, someone knocks on his door. Allen senses something ain't right because, in order to get to the individual apartment doors, someone would have to get through the main door, which requires a key. I guess Allen must not have known his neighbors very well because he assumed it wasn't one of them, grabbed his Magnum, held it behind his back, grabbed the dog, and coolly made his way to the door. When he opened it, there was a dude on the other side who had been hoping to burgle. The would-be-burglar stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the dog, not even really noticing that Allen precariously had his other hand behind his back. The following conversation (more or less) ensued:

Burglar (stunned, confused, and a little scared): "Is that a wolf?" (although he apparently pronounced it "woof" -- see Kate, you're not the only one!)
Allen: "Take another step and you'll find out."
Burglar (still taken aback): "Is, is that a wolf?"
Allen (more drawn out and pointed): "If you take another step, you will find out."
Burglar (realizing he has bitten off more than he can chew and still unsatisfied with the previous answers): "I think I'm going to just go. Is that a wolf?"
Allen (cold and steely, looking down at the dog): "When you leave, don't run."

The burglar backs away slowly. When he gets near the main door, Allen gives his dog the command to bark, which sends the burglar into a tizzy. The next thing Allen sees are shadows of feet sprinting by his windows. At the local grocery store, he later overheard someone talking about a guy in the neighborhood "who has a wolf."

In addition to being Charles Bronson, Allen is also Chuck Norris. Apparently, he is (or was) a black belt in several martial arts. While living in the same area of St. Louis, he did what any badass with a wolf to feed does: he went to the grocery store and, in particular, to the meat counter. While deciding what cut of steak to get for his wolf, someone came up behind him and shoved something in his back that was supposed to be a gun. The guy demanded Allen's wallet. Since Allen is a ninja, he could tell that it wasn't a gun. He didn't know what it was exactly, but he knew it wasn't a gun. So, without turning around, Allen made one swift backwards movement with his elbow and broke the guy's nose. This story sent me over the top, and I immediately imagined the various badass movie scenes that could be made to sensationalize this moment:

Meat counter clerk (to Allen): "Can I help you?"
Allen: "I'll have a pound of ground chuck. Oh, and one of those ribeyes for my wolf."
[Meat counter clerk gets the meat, puts it on the counter.]
Meat counter clerk: "Anything else?"
[Robber approaches Allen and sticks fake gun in Allen's back]
Robber: "Give me your wallet, Poindexter."
Allen (to meat counter clerk, who is ducking behind the counter): "Oh, and a roll of paper towels for this guy."
Robber (shoving fake gun harder into Allen's back): "I'm not fucking around here, man. Give me your wallet or I'll fuckin' take you down, man."
Allen: "You first."
[Allen swiftly breaks the robber's nose with his elbow. Blood splatters everywhere. The robber falls to the ground in pain. Allen kicks him in the ribs, then grabs the intercom.]
Allen (through intercom): "Clean up at the meat counter."
[Allen then slaps exact change for the meat on the counter, grabs his chuck and ribeye, and walks out of the store, passing a group of grade school kids who are sitting outside the store on their bikes, but saw the whole thing through the window and, thus, are in complete awe of Allen as he walks past them.]
Kid #1: "Hey mister, aren't you the guy who has a pet wolf?"
Allen (to the kids): "You can't believe everything you hear. But yes."
[Allen flips each of them a quarter.]
Allen (to the kids): "Stay in school."

Aaaaannnnnndddd, scene!

Metztastic

Sorry for the delay. I've been involved in a brief, but intense and highly perverse, sexual relationship with a three-legged calf. As such, Midwestern Eavesdropping will be postponed until next week while I try to figure out just where I'm going with my life.

Here is a blow-by-blow recap of this past weekend. All times are Eastern. Aside from the parts that are embellished, every single word is true

FRIDAY
2:15pm
Jessie, Ari, and I leave Chicago in The Blaab.

6:45pm
Jessie, Ari, and I arrive at the Indiana Memorial Union. We check into a secret room called the Metz Suite -- reserved only for foreign dignitaries, heads of state, Mark Cuban, Oprah, Nelly, and this one guy I know named Jamie.

7pm to 9pm
Other travelers and wellwishers arrive at the Metz Suite, including: Lizzie "Jester and Ari's Sister" Pope, Tony "TG" Green, Brian (one of TG's roommates), Brandon (another one of TG's roommates), Ryan "Pissed Off" Christoff, Greg "The Michigan Grad" Peterson, Tradd "Danger" Fromme, and Kara "Tradd's Special Ladyfriend" Madrin.

9:15pm
We all head to Nick's English Hut to play some Sink the Bismark, known colloquially as "Sink" or "Sink the Biz," if you're not into the whole brevity thing. Joining us were JR "Eehoc" Cohee, Nate "Don't Call Me Bic" Bick, and Nate's friend Leann (or possibly Leanne, Leeann, Leeanne, Li-An, Leigh Ann, or Leigh Anne). We decide that there are too many players for just one game. Thus, we start up two games, dividing the rookies.

10:15pm
Chris "Gemkeezi" Gemkow and wife Selina "Seleezi?" Gemkow show up at Nick's with Seleezi's brother Brendan and mutual friend JT arrive at Nick's. As there is no room at our table, they do not sit down with us.

10:30pm
After dropping their shit off (yes, feces) at the Metz Suite, "NaviKate" Rohrer, Mike "Unbelivab" Ullmer, Jim "Stop And" Gobrail, and Jenn "Still a Rookie" Gobrail find their way to Nick's on foot, probably via pathways and streets. By this time, the crew playing at one end of the table has successfully destroyed Sink rookie Brian. He can be seen wavering helplessly, winking at imaginary women, and convincing himself that he should still attempt to play this sometimes savage game.

11:15pm
We decide to face what we wrongly assumed was driving rain, and we go across the street to Upstairs for a quick AMF. Thanks in large part to rare chemical reaction with blue curacao and a complete lack of social graces, Ryan is unable to stop closing his eyes and climaxing silently while standing next to Tradd. Under his breath, he mutters "I want to tell everyone" over and over again in a voice not unlike Buffalo Bill from Silence of the Lambs. It would not be the last time that Ryan will expunge bodily fluids on himself. 11:43pm
We decide to face what is now driving rain, and we head several blocks to The Bluebird to see Dave & Rae perform.

11:47pm
Ryan gets on bench with first beer, Greg, and Tradd. Ryan creeps the fuck out of everyone in the bar.

11:48pm
Greg gets off the bench. Tradd imitates Gene Simmons, quite horribly I might add. Ryan continues to creep the fuck out of everyone in the bar.12:04am
Tradd gets ready to punch a gnat, while Ryan beckons Thor. 12:15am
Jessie keeps it real while Lizzie flashes gang signs (the Palsies, if you're wondering). Jenn eagerly looks for Thor.

12:21am
Ryan pisses himself, manages to get a look on his face that creeps the fuck out of everyone in the bar. 12:43am
Dave says "trill."

12:44am
Ryan stands on bench, pisses himself again. Luckily, Kate LOVES the smell of bitter, angry urine.12:45am
Ryan flicks off the camera while Kate tries to steer clear of Ryan's effluence. Meanwhile, some old dude in the background kept praising Thor, who you can't see but is standing on the bench, blocked by Ryan's anger.

12:58am

Greg, Brian, TG, Tradd, me, and Ryan decide to take one of those hilarious devil horn, pointy finger pictures.

1:13am
Ari invents a new dance called The Yawn. That creepy old dude in the back is actually doing a pretty good Yawn, considering the dance was invented mere seconds before this picture was taken.
1:31am
Jessie and I decide that The Yawn is a stupid dance, so we invent The Creep, patterned after a 26-year-old Chicagoan male's faces made between the hours of 10pm Friday November 10, 2006 and 12:21am Saturday November 11, 2006. It didn't catch on.

1:48am
Tradd and Kara continue to smile. By this point Ryan was lactating profusely, but only from his left nipple. Attempts to milk him were met with resistence and ire.

1:56am
Ryan's arms begin to leak, signaling that all fluid-producing glands and organs in his body have in fact entered a state of complete uncontrollability and insubordination. Tradd brings this fact to Ryan's attention. Despite his amenable tone, Tradd falls victim to Ryan's deceptively powerful "Two-Finger Cup Chest Punch." As someone who doesn't take no shit from nobody, Tradd grabbed Ryan by the arm -- being careful to grab the non-leaky one -- and positioned Ryan for a bushwacking. I couldn't stand to see the sight of my former roommates coming to blows, so I made a peace offering by allowing Tradd to grab me by the scruff of the neck and punch me in my good temple.

2:12am
Mike totally finds some chick to hook up with, or so he thought. Happiness turns to confusion and anger when the light of the flash reveals something that causes Mike to point and ask, "Is this bitch wearing my necklace?"

2:15am
Test tube shots are ordered with reckless abandon. Test tube shots are consumed. Test tube shot glasses are slammed to the ground and stepped on with vigor. The bouncer approaches, and the following exchange occurs:
Bouncer: "You guys are kicked out."
Christoff: "For what?!"
Bouncer: "You guys broke glass, so you guys have to leave."
Me: "It was plastic, man, it wasn't glass."
The bouncer has no response, as my quick-witted semantics have left him befuddled. We turn around and continue our stay at The Bluebird while the bouncer is left to stand against the rail and try to concoct another method of removing us from the bar. 2:16am
Ryan chokes me, which paves the way for another bouncer to attempt to kick us out. We explain that we mean no harm to each other, but rather are just big Michael Hutchence fans, so we wanted to see what it must have felt like. The bouncer calls us "sickos" and walks away.

2:38am
Jenn, Jim, Jester, and I walk right into Rockit's to order ourselves a whole pizza pie for consumption.

2:48am
Our pizza is ready.

2:54am
Our pizza no longer exists.

2:58am
Jenn, Jim, Jester, and I arrive back at the Metz Suite to discover that others before us have ordered Aver's pizza. Not yet satiated by the third of a pizza I just ate, I decide to have a couple pieces of Aver's.

2:59am
Several blocks from the Union, Ari mercilessly mocks Ryan, who is now completely drenched in his own fluids. Ryan bodyslams Ari into a small fence with a chain running along the top, all while yelling "It's my glands! Can't you understand that? It's. My. Glands." A teary-eyed Ryan picks Ari up and carries her limp body back to the Metz Suite.

3:05am
Ryan and Ari arrive at the Metz Suite. Ari's arm develops an unbelievably sweet bruise the length of her right tricep and discovers that while being bodyslammed for no reason whatsoever, her digital camera fell out. Thus, a posse was rounded up to look for it. The first search party leaves.

3:10am
I am on my second piece of Aver's and enjoying the fact that I am soon going to be both asleep and gluttonously full. Jessie berates me because I am not part of the search party, even though I do not know the path they took nor the scene of the bodyslamming. In protest, I throw a piece of pizza at a garbage can in the hallway, missing horribly. My protest is futile. We leave.

3:13am
Jessie and I see Ryan and Ari walking towards us on 7th St. They indicate that they have found the camera. Ryan reeks because of the combination of his own sweat, saliva, lactate, urine, and semen that has dried on every inch of his clothing.

3:31am
To atone for his misgivings, Ryan allows Tradd to beat him with one of the many pestles available for bludgeoning in the Metz Suite. For some reason, the sun appears for mere seconds.

3:43am
I go to sleep.

SATURDAY
8:30am
My alarm goes off. I am happy. It's tailgating time.

9:30am
After a trip to the VP (Village Pantry, not Dick Cheney) for some ice, coolers, and charcoal, Mike, Jim, Greg, and I arrive at the tailgating fields. They allowed cars in this time, which was good because we had Mike's parent's pimpin' conversion van, which I am now convinced is the only vehicle in which to arrive at tailgate fields. I start the day with a Red Bull and vodka. Little did I know that I will not change my drink throught the 6 hours of tailgating.

10:25am
Greg decided to class up the tailgate with a bottle of Boone's. And by "class" I mean "gay."
10:34am
Former IU campus bench press champion Andy "Spawn" Southard and wife Autumne show up, thus increasing the collective strength of the tailgate tenfold.

11:13pm
Jeremy "Uter Von" Widenhofer" and his wife Kristin (and fetus, which I am calling Frau) show up. Man, I hate Germans.

11:45am or so
Dr. Josh "Dog Slayer" Dowell, John "Senator" Zody, Dr. Josh "Still Happy-Go-Lucky" DaWalt, and DaWalt's cousin show up at the tailgate, thus bringing the collective IQ of the tailgate way up. Kids, if you want your offspring to be doctors, name them Josh and give them a surname that starts with a D.

12:30pm
Jessie, fresh off her trip to the Flemish Cap, regales people about a Nor'eastah and all the wicked lobstah she caught and the totally wicked bahs she went to in Dahchestah. Oh yeah, and the wicked stahm out on the wahta. Go Sawx!

1:15pm
Gemkeezi, Seleezi, Brendan, and JT show up, thus bringing the collective percentage of people at the tailgate who have lived in Montana way up.

3:30pm
The IU/Michigan game kicks off. It was the closest IU was the whole game. Greg, Ryan, and I head up to our seats. Ari and Lizzie sit in Jamie's seats, which are pretty sweet because they allow them to see the gigantism affecting #9's right leg. Look at the difference. He's not even a kicker. Disgusting. No wonder we haven't been to a bowl since 1993.
4:46pm
Greg, Ryan, and I head back to the van for a halftime beer. On the walk through the tailgate fields, we see the following happen: Boyfriend and Girlfriend are drunk. Girlfriend holds a six-pack of Dr. Pepper with one can left hanging in the plastic rings. Boyfriend realizes that this can must be kicked. Girlfriend readily agrees and holds can out in front of her. Boyfriend gets a 5-yard running start. Boyfriend kicks the shit out of the can. And Girlfriend's hand. The can flies about 20 feet in the air while Girlfriend wallows in pain. I catch the can, run it in for a touchdown and spike it.

5:08pm
Greg and I walk back into Memorial Stadium. Michigan has already scored 2 more TDs. The score is 34-3 at this point, and it will not change as IU comes through with the big most-of-second-half shutout of the #2 team in the nation.

6:24pm
A guy sitting about 8 rows in front of us with a Michigan hat on, who has been obnoxious the whole game finally sets me off. I walk down to where he is sitting. The conversation goes like this:
Me: "Hey, my buddies and I have a bet. What was your degree in from the University of Michigan?"
Eminem: "I don't have a --"
By that point I had already yelled back up to Greg, "We were right" and headed back up there. Eminem follows me so that he could explain that he isn't even a Michigan fan, but he bet on the game (and apparently bought a Michigan wool hat and a sweatshirt with Michigan colors, and his two friends bought a whole bunch of Michigan clothes). The best part of the conversation is when he says, "Hell, I barely graduated high school." We know.

7:45pm
Back at Metz Suite, many people take naps. I watch Tradd and Kara sleep. Morgan's friend Eric shows up.

8:03pm
Tradd rolls to his right. It's adorable when he does that.

8:47pm
Morgan, Eric, Jenn, Jim, Greg, and I head to Nick's to play some Sink. Most of the others follow about a half hour behind.

9:12pm
The drunk 21-year-old behind our table, without saying "excuse me," lifts Morgan's chair. Morgan disagrees with his actions and verbally communicates his feelings. Fisticuffs nearly ensue. This conversation does ensue:
21: "You'll be working for me one day."
Morgan: "So your plan once you graduate is to buy an international law firm?" Thankfully, it's IU, which means everyone is too laid back to fight. Thus, a truce is made and glasses are clinked.
10:46pm
Jenn becomes the second Sink rookie to fall victim to wily veterans. She and Jim head home. Morgan and I pretty much get laid by every chick in the bar, including our hot waitress who looks like that chick in Real Genius that the professor is banging. After Sink ends, I drink Red Bulls and vodka.

11:53pm
During a smoke break outside, Greg and I see a 65-year-old Michigan fan get booted from Nick's for talking back to a bartender. The cops show up. Sadly, I didn't see a cop slap a 65-year-old man.

12:33am
Those of us left (Greg, Morgan, Eric, TG, Brian, Brandon, Mike, me) head to The Jungle Room. I drink a lot of Red Bulls and vodka.

2:12am
Greg and Mike make sure to shove that "No Smoking" on the Jungle Room's porch in the Jungle Room's stupid face. I think the black and white pointilism is a nice touch.

3:00am
Several of us go to Bamba's. Some jackhole comes in after us and tries to speak Spanish, yelling "nesito burrito" over and over again. I explain that the word he is looking for is "necessito," which means "I need." His friend asks me if I speak Spanish. I say "poco." He makes fun of me in Spanish, most likely because his penis was so huge.

4:12am
I go to sleep for what I hopes would be more than 3 hours and 50 minutes.

SUNDAY
8:02am
I wake up. I immediately realize that I will not be going back to sleep because my heart is desperately trying to escape from my chest. I was certain that I was going to have a heart attack. And by heart attack, I mean the kind where your heart explodes.

11:12am
8 of us arrive at Ladyman's Cafe for what will be our last visit ever (it closes forever on 12/10). The seating situation is such that we must take 4 2-seat tables.

11:30am
We order.

12:13pm
We get our food.

12:16pm
Our plates are emptier than a child's stomach in Darfur. Too far?

1:15pm
Ari, Jessie, and I pile into The Blaab and drive back home, just a little heavier, a little dumber, a little happier, and a little more bruised than when we arrived a mere 43 hours earlier.

Weekend Recap Will Be Coming Tomorrow

My heart is still beating too fast from the 12-15 Red Bulls I consumed Saturday for me to sit still for more than 48 seconds. Also, I am eagerly awaiting photos from the likes of Ari, Kate, and whoever else took pictures with a non-camera phone. Events cannot be pieced together without visual confirmation.

Just to keep you curious and hungry, these questions will be answered:

• Who bodyslammed Ari?
• Which Sink the Bismark rookies fell victim to the heady and skilled veterans?
• Did Dave really just say "trill" again?
• Did that jackass a few rows in front of me actually go to Michigan?
• Does that guy who almost got in a fight with Morgan plan on purchasing an international law firm upon graduating from IU?
• Did Jessie finally agree to a menage with a drunk coed?
• Did I have a heart attack?