Puking

This is an excellent picture of John's foray into overindulgence. If you need an explanation as to how it came to this, please see my post entitled "30 in 8 Recap." In essence, as you head into your weekend that will no doubt include adult beverages, this picture should serve as a reminder that when you try to drink 30 beers in 8 hours, please make sure that you have the tolerance to do so. And for God's sake, don't wear flip flops.

Special thanks go to Tron for his photography skills and for the Hamburger Helper reference. Special thanks also go to John for puking 23 ounces of half-eaten hamburgers and nacho cheese all over my front steps and his own feet.

Soxtoberfest

It's Friday, which means it's Hair Band Friday here in my office. Currently I'm doing a line of coke off a stripper's ass to Def Leppard's debut album, "On Through the Night," AC/DC's debut album, "High Voltage," and The Scorpions' non-debut album, "Greatest Hits." Klaus Meine's brand of German-accented crooning is enough to make any woman want some wurst. And what an appropriate way to kick off the weekend in which my Oktoberfest party will be taking place.

Well, my deepest, darkest suspicions were confirmed last night on The OC: Dean Hess is taking the skin boat to Tuna Town with Taylor Townsend. That guy chugs cock. And Taylor, while hot, is a filthy little queefmonger*. What's with that Jeff Spicoli look-alike at Newport Union HS trying to mack on Marissa? Doesn't he know that he already has a hot girlfriend (albeit with teeth that could bite through a cinder block)? And doesn't he know that Ryan's blind rage and fists of fury have sent many a young man home in a bodybag? At least we finally saw what Jeri Ryan's character, Charlotte, was up to this whole time. Faking alcoholism to try to bilk Kirsten out of several million dollars because Charlotte's banging a flower delivery guy. Bravo. But now that Kirsten's pops died broke and Kirsten is selling off the assets of the Newport Group, how in the world will Charlotte and her flower-delivering boy toy get the money they so desperately don't deserve? Again, most importantly, now that Julie Cooper-Nichol has been kicked out of her house and had most of her possessions repossessed, will she please turn back to stag flicks as a main source of income? Thanks to the MLB playoffs, we will have 4 or 5 weeks to ponder these questions.

White Sox fans can now breathe a collective sigh of relief. Congrats to the South Side Hit Men for clinching the AL Central. The only thing they have left to play for is the best record in the AL, which they will get as long as they don't get swept by the Indians this weekend and the Yankees don't sweep the Red Sox. Now if only the White Sox could win their first playoff series since 1917. That would be nice. The array of pictures below is pretty good. You got the team posing for a post-champagne-soaking picture (by the way, the AL Central champs shirts are by far the best looking divisional champs shirts I've ever seen). Then there's El Duque and Jose Contreras celebrating the fact that they're not in a Cuban cemetery. Paul Konerko, looking very homeless and bird-like, celebrates the big win. An unsuspecting Freddy Garcia cringes as John Garland and an unseen Scott Podsednik pull the old "pour champagne down the back as a diversion for a cock punching" trick. And what Sox division championship would be complete without Mayor Daley sporting his Sox pride, laughing his ass of because the Sox victory will result in his friends getting hooked up with cushy city contracts? Go Go Sox!!


*Note: I am going to try to bring the word "queef" back to the common usage it enjoyed in its heyday of the late 1980s. The wife and I were having your standard pillow talk last night and we started talking about how we never hear anyone use "queef" anymore. Both of us thought it was a damn shame. Such a great word for such a rare, but utterly vile, deed. Queef!

Who Does No. 2 Work For?

Nothing much has been going on here in Sunny D besides being on the right side of the grass for another day. Just workin' like a dog, waiting for the weekend so I can enjoy some hair of the dog. As Loverboy so aptly stated, everybody's workin' for the weekend. It's starting to get cold on my morning walk to work. Luckily I'm stubborn, so I refuse to wear a jacket and let Mother Nature know that she's beaten me. Small victories.

I've come across an interesting, semi-regular (no pun intended) occurrence here at my office, which I shall deem the "fecal phantom phenomenon." You see, the men's bathrooms here have only 2 stalls apiece. Hence, it's close (and extremely uncomfortable) quarters when both stalls are occupied. I am confused (and somewhat appalled) when someone enters the stall next to me and is done shitting and wiping in under a minute. I don't know how that's possible. Maybe these people are just taking 8-10 little shits throughout the day. Maybe they have discovered some sort of magical wiping technique. Whatever they're doing, they're certainly in and out too quickly to waste any time wiping off the seat or putting any toilet paper down on it before they sit down (nothing is more disconcerting than walking into a stall and seeing another dude's ass hair plastered all over the seat). And of course all I can see from the other stall is the bottom third of one of their shoes, so it's nearly impossible to figure out who these maladjusted, rapid-fire shitting machines are. Damn you fecal phantoms, damn you.

At 12:32pm CDT today (or 2:02pm NDT, for those of you living in Newfoundland and Labrador), it will mark 27 11/12 years since I escaped the cold, damp darkness of my mother's wretched womb so that I could watch IU stomp #19 Minnesota and give a big FU to all the doctors and nurses in Abbott Northwestern Hospital in Minneapolis who no doubt went to Minnesota (since it's probably the only med school in the state). Man, it had to be a kick in the dick for my doctor to bring me out knowing that I would one day go to the school that was currently beating the shit out of his school. Speaking of IU football, the Hoosiers travel to Mad Town this Saturday for a meeting with those stinking Badgers. If IU wins, we will be 4-0 for the first time since 1990, and Terry Hoeppner will be the first IU coach ever to win his first 4 games at IU. And it would be the biggest win the program has had since we beat #9 Ohio State at the Horseshoe back in '87, on what OSU coach Earle Bruce described after the game as "the darkest day in Ohio State football history." Losing to IU is that bad I guess.

Fantasy Update (I know everyone was wondering):
-Corn Hole'ers (1976 Tampa Bay Bucs): 0-3 (T 7th)
-FIC You (Car Ramrod): 1-2 (T 5th)
-Glenview Gridiron (Angry Pirates): 2-0 (T 1st)
-League of Extraordinary Gents (Angry Pirates): 2-1 (T 1st)
-Pigskin 2005 Pick 'Em (Angry Pirates): 3rd overall (9th last week)

Who would've guessed that my team that has that gumpy SOB Peyton Manning and his two shining star receivers, Marvin Harrison and Reggie Wayne, would be 0-3? Manning with only 2 TD passes? Harrison and Wayne with only 1 TD between the two of them? It makes about as much sense as the lyrics to a Beck song. Until they win, they will be the 1976 Tampa Bay Bucs. I'm actually thinking about benching Manning this week in favor of Michael Vick. This move of course would ensure that Manning will break Norm Van Brocklin's and Sid Luckman's respective records of 554 yards and 7 TDs, and that on the first play of the game, both of Vick's legs will be broken in spectacular, career-ending fashion, not unlike what LT did to Joe Theismann back in '85.

Every time I look at this picture of Vincent Price, I crack up, so I'm posting it yet again for everyone's enjoyment. Look at him: pencil-thin mustache, dressed like a champ, holding some sort of glass orb, with eyebrows that say, "get the fuck off my couch."

Livin's Great With a .38

Not much going on here today, except for the fact that I'm kickin' it old school by wearing a totally sweet skinny Kaiser Chiefs tie. Not only do I think I'm probably only one of 2 or 3 people in my office who knows who the Kaiser Chiefs are (and therefore, I shan't be called out for wearing band merch to work), but I'm certain I have the skinniest tie in the office today. I just thought of a great book title: Skinny Ties and Big Fat Lies: Corporate Culture in the 1980s. Where's T. Boone Pickens when you need him?

Something I found intriguing is a website Greg Bohmann sent to me that estimates your BAC based on weight, gender, type of drink, number of drinks, and time period (it assumes even consumption over the time period). It's called the Drink Wheel (http://www.intox.com/wheel/drinkwheel.asp), and it's easily an afternoon's worth of fun (incidentally, it will be a permanent fixture in the Links here at GMYH). When taking into account the 27 light beers I consumed at 30 in 8, according to the site, I was worth about 5 DUIs, and I was a beer away from the comatose/death level. Yet somehow I never lost consciousness (dignity, yes--consciousness, no). Take that John Bonham!!

Jessie and I are having an Oktoberfest party this Saturday. All I have to drink is 19 pints of German beer to equal my 27 cans of Keystone Light. Done and done (just kidding sweetheart). Anywho, it should be a great time. How can you go wrong with weiss bier, bratwurst, streusel, and pretzels? Then again we are talking about the Germans. It can go horribly wrong. I just hope no one convinces everyone else to take over my neighbors' apartment.

More Interviewing Questions

Callback interviews are upon me, which means that I have more of an opportunity to intimidate the hell out of people. I thought of some more solid interview questions:

1. "Quick, what's another word for thesaurus?"
2. "How much do you bench?" For answers under 250 pounds, I give them a disgusted look and say, "That's it? Get the fuck out of my office?" For answers over 250, I say, "Oh really, 'cause I'm putting up [add 10 pounds to whatever they said]."
3. [In a cryptic, baritone British accent, I ask these in succession with my voice getting louder for each question] "Angel or demon?" "Darkness or light?" "Good or evil?" "Friend or foe?" After their last answer, I let out a boisterous guffaw, and say, "You'll rue the day you met me!"
4. "There are sixteen squirrels in a barrel. Which one are you and why? And please think before you answer."
5. "I sense that you're a Leo, no?" If they say "yes," I growl like a lion, scowl, and make scratching motions with my hands. If they say "no," I continue through the Zodiac signs until reaching theirs. At that point, I say, "[Their Zodiac sign]? Turns out we have enough assholes in this office already. Security!!"
6. "What's your least favorite religion and why?"
7. "What's the best drug you've ever done?" No matter what the answer, I say, "Hell yeah. It's 5 o'clock somewhere, right?" Then I pull a syringe out of my desk, take off my belt, roll up my sleeve, and ask him/her to "fix me."
8. [As soon as I shut my office door after I meet them] "Alright, who else knows you're here?" No matter what they say, I reply, "Shit! That's too many. When are you going to learn to keep your fucking mouth shut? If this gets back to Mendoza, we're both dead."
9. "What's your favorite month?" If they say November, January, or February, I call them a "cold-hearted motherfucker." If they say March, I yell, "Madness!!" If they say April, May, or June, I say, "That's about what I'd expect from a total pussy." If they say July or August, I clap and say, "Play ball!" If they say September, I start singing "September" by Earth, Wind & Fire. If they say October, I smile devilishly, nod several times, throw up the devil horn hand sign, and say, "Fuckin' A, dude, me too! Rocktober! Aaaaoowwww!!" If they say December, I start singing "Oh What a Night" by The Four Seasons.
10. "If there is one thing you wish you wouldn't have told me today, what would it be?" This is obviously an excellent final question.
11. "If an out-of-state plaintiff files a complaint on Tuesday October 4, 2005, but the complaint isn't served until Monday October 10, 2005, under the Ohio Rules of Civil Procedure, when is the last date I can file a motion to dismiss for failure to join an indispensable party? You have 5 seconds."
12. "What's the best shit you've ever taken?" No matter what they say, I stare longingly at the wall behind them and say, "July 26, 1993. Army-Navy Surplus Store. Anchorage, Alaska. 45 minutes."
13. "What instruments can you play?" No matter what they say, I say, "Awesome, dude. You got the gig. We practice every Tuesday night in Jim's mom's basement and every Thursday night in Ronny's parents' garage. Our first show is in two Saturdays playing Northmont High School's Homecoming dance, but we still haven't picked out a name yet. Tommy and Jim like Lust Monkey, Ronny suggested Whiskey Dick and The One-Eyed Jacks, but I really like The Tina Yothers Brothers. We'll probably have an official vote next Tuesday. This is gonna be awesome." This is the first and only question I ask.
14. "Uday or Kusay?" No matter what they answer, I disgustedly reply, "Boy, you're a real piece of work, aren't you?"
15. "Where is Greenland?" No matter what the answer, I throw my hands up in disbelief and exasperatedly say, "That's exactly what those fat cats in Washington want you to think."
16. "Did you know that having sex with a virgin cures AIDS?" Another great first question, followed up with, "Please tell me you're a virgin."
17. "You don't know how excited I am to finally meet you in person. This is going to be fun. Whoever says online swingers sites don't work obviously hasn't tried swingingdayton.com, huh?" This is another good first question. When they look confused, I say, "Oh shit. You're my 3, not my 3:30, aren't you?"
18. [To female applicants] "So, are you the type who likes it slow and easy or fast and hard?" No matter what she says, I turn my head to the left as if I'm talking to someone sitting next to me and say, "Look out, this kitten's got claws."
19. "Who's your favorite Monkee?" Any answer except Peter Tork, I roll my eyes and say, "Oh, the gay one." If they answer Peter Tork, I pick up the phone, call the hiring partner, and excitedly say, "We've got a Tork! We've got a Tork!" Then I sing The Monkees theme song over the phone from beginning to end, hang up, and ask "when can you start?"
20. "What's your favorite Al Pacino line?" No matter what they say, I say, "Mine is when he says 'hoo-ahh!' in Scent of a Woman." Then for the rest of the interview, I yell "Hoo-ahh!" after every answer he/she gives.
21. [In my best Vincent Price voice] "What about the night makes you change from sweet to deranged?" If they know that this is a line from a Black Keys song, I say "well done" and for the remainder of the interview I talk only about my elaborate theory that all Black Keys songs are inspired by Vincent Price, mentioning that "it's so obvious," "those fuckers at theblackkeys.com won't return my calls or emails," and pausing several times to ask, "It makes sense, doesn't it?"
22. "If you could turn one kids cartoon from the past 30 years into a porn, what would it be?" Whatever they say, I reply, "Hell no man! It's gotta be 'Inspector Gadget's Backdoor Adventures.' 'Go go Gadget anal beads!'"

Another strategy I may employ is, in response to every answer they give, I repeat their answer and yell "Brilliant!" just like the guys from the Guinness commercials. No matter what, good times will be had.

30 in 8 Recap

Well, the 5th Annual 30 in 8 is in the books. Congrats are in order to Jonny Locke for defending his title in extraordinary fashion, finishing 1 beer short of accomplishing the task at hand. I finished 2nd for the 2nd year in a row. My life has been a parade of good decisions, one of which was my strategy was to go with a beer every 20 minutes, and then make a move late if need be. I tried. Lord knows I tried. But Jonny Locke was just too damn good. I finished with a rock solid 27, and promptly puked. Here's the official score card:
1. Jonny Locke - 29
2. Me - 27
3. Chris Thelen - 23
4. Marc Wiescinski - 20
5. Matt Connor - 19
6. Greg Bohmann - 17
7 (tie). John Ashcraft, Andy Southard, and Ian Taronji - 16
10. Holt Hedrick - 14
11. Doug Eifert - 11 (in his defense, he was only there for about 4 or 5 hours)
12. Brian Ezell - 9 (he was also there for 4 or 5 hours)

Others making appearances, but not competing, were Jamie Belanger and Adam Sadlowski. Overall, at least 217 beers were consumed. Here are some highlights from the day:
1. Purdue lost.
2. Someone accidentally turned on the side burner on my grill (which has a metal cover). This became apparent when we looked out the window to see my giant grill tongs with wood handles engulfed in flames. My strategy was to try to put out the fire with paper towels. Marc's strategy was to blow on it. Thank God Bohmann grabbed a glass of water and did the right thing, or else I might not be writing this. As you can see from the picture, the tongs are in trouble.
3. No one died.
4. Wisconsin beat Michigan, or so I was told.
5. Ashcraft sat on my front steps for close to 3 hours, resulting in some of the heartiest puke I've ever seen, preventing anyone from using the first 3 steps. I swear to God there was a half a hamburger still intact that came out of his mouth. He also left his vomit-covered flip flops on one of the steps overnight. They now reside at the bottom of my dumpster.
6. I discovered this morning that I bruised the hell out of my pinky and ring finger knuckles on my right hand (as shown in the picture). I'm going to have a hell of time explaining that at work. "Uh, I tripped and fell down the stairs." "Oh, I must have slammed it in a car door." "Sunburn." "This? It must have gotten bruised when I punched that cop." "Oh that? I drank 27 beers on Saturday and I might have been punching walls."
7. Several guys made inapporpriate comments to a female neighbor who I've never met. At least that won't be awkward.
8. Amy, for unknown reasons, let Jamie bring baby AC to 30 in 8 for several hours. She's been a mother for just over a month and she's already trying to go Susan Smith on her kid.
9. Spawn's strategy of drinking 4 15 oz. Guinness pub cans, and then moving to Bud Light failed miserably. We even gave him credit for 5 beers for his 4 Guinnesses.
10. After walking around downtown Dayton for a while and apparently having his pride wounded by some girl on the street, Jonny Locke -- I kid you not -- decided to drive back to Detroit. The man just drank 29 beers. Luckily Marc talked to him on the phone and convinced him to pull over at a rest area and sleep for several hours. I only hope he wasn't sodomized.
11. For reasons unknown to me, I turned into a complete meathead. I was head butting things (i.e., people, walls, doors), and I threw a pint glass at Marc's back that luckily didn't break anything (i.e., itself or any bones).
12. No one killed any hookers.

On a completely unrelated note, what the hell is Quizno's thinking? First they stop the wildly hilarious sponge monkey commercials (those weird things that sang "we love the subs, 'cause they are good to eat..."). What do they do to follow it up? They put Baby Bob in their commercials. The same Baby Bob who had a show on CBS for about 30 minutes in 2002 before it was canceled due to outright contempt and a complete lack of interest. Needless to say, Quizno's needs to fire its ad agency. They had gold and they traded it for a talking baby who everyone hates.

Several Mistakes

Wow. If I were to tell you that I've had some drinks tonight, I'd be right. Holy balls, I've been overserved by myself. I am currently typing as John Ashcraft is passed out 5 feet from me with no idea that I'm even in the room. If I could type more, I would. Good day.

30 in 8 Update: Beer 4

It's about 1:15 and I'm on beer #4. My goal is to keep a pace of one beer every 20 minutes. This should get me near the lead. If I need to make a sprint at the finish, so be it. Currently there are 13 adults and one infant here. AC seems to be tired from his match against Nedick last night, so he's not drinking. The only mistake made so far is that Spawn is starting with 4 Guinness 15oz. pub cans. Dumb move. I can't promise that I will have anymore updates, as I may forget to come upstairs the rest of the day. Pray for me.

Less Than 24 Until 30 in 8

One of the greatest events of the year is tomorrow: 30 in 8. For those of you who don't know what 30 in 8 is, here you go: in 2001, 3 Iams employees (John "Don't Call Me Ashcroft" Ashcraft, Jamie "I'll Do Anyone Here, Except the Guys" Belanger, and Marc "Shit Happens, People Get Drunk" Wiescinski) were conversing with another Iams employee (Andy "Eyes Bigger Than His Tolerance" Taylor), who was a couple years old than they were. Much to the delight of a long-dead Charles Darwin, Andy proclaimed that he could drink 30 beers in 8 hours. John, Jamie, and Marc scoffed at this idiotic remark, to which Andy replied, "It's less than 4 beers an hour." The three laughed at Andy and told him to put his tolerance where his mouth was. And so it was born. On a subsequent Saturday, the four convened at someone's residence, along with a few other contestants and lookers-on. Each person was to bring their own 30 beers. Andy, much to the dismay of a long-dead Charles Darwin, showed up with a 6-pack of fire-brewed Stroh's. Every year since then, on a fall Saturday, the tradition continues as a celebration of beer, college football, and grilled meat.

The rules are simple. Beginning at noon, you try to drink 30 beers in 8 hours. You must bring your own beer, and you can choose any brand/type you want (except non-alcoholic). If you puke, you're disqualified (but still welcome to continue drinking). The leader wears the yellow jersey, and the winner keeps the jersey until the next 30 in 8. Women are allowed, but their shirts are not.

Upon first hearing about it, a surprising amount of guys say, "Oh, I could definitely do that. No problem." Except for the top 0.5% of drinkers, this type of thinking is nothing but unfounded hubris. The closest anyone has come is 26, and he was about 6'3", 220.

It has grown to about 15-20 people. The race is long and unforgiving. Friends and enemies are made along the way. Here are some highlights from years past:
2001: Steve "Don't Call Me Mae" West breaks his pinky while playing football. Matt Connor falls asleep in the middle of the competition.
2002: Chris "Whalin'" Thelen pummels the hood of his rental car with a broom. Matt Connor falls asleep in the middle of the competition.
2003: Tony "The Artist Formerly Known as T Diddy" Green drinks 12 beers in the first 2 hours, then passes out for the remaining 6 hours of the competition. Also, Scott "Old Man" George and Marc tie, resulting in a shot-off: 5 shots of Jager in 5 minutes. Both do it, but Marc pukes first, so Scott gets the victory. Matt Connor falls asleep in the middle of the competition.
2004: Jon Locke breaks the 30 in 8 record, winning the competition with 26, holding off a literally blinding rally by yours truly. Matt Connor falls asleep in the middle of the competition.

For reasons unknown to me, Jessie agreed to let me host it on her birthday weekend, so she's off to Chicago for the weekend. Mentally, I'm ready. Liverly, I'm somewhat ready. I will try my best to give you increasingly less coherent updates throughout the day tomorrow.

Kudos to "NaviKate" Rohrer for using her sweet skills in magic and graphic design to come up with this:

Happy Birthday to a Legend

Today, we here at Give Me Your Handrew are wishing a happy 26th birthday to Jessie. Rather than a simple "happy birthday," GMYH will pay tribute by chronicling the events in her life that have come to define her as a human being:

September 23, 1979: While attending a Wisconsin Badger football game, a woman goes into labor and is rushed to nearby Janesville to give birth to what she thought was a healthy 7-pound girl. Shortly after the birth of the woman's first daughter, the doctor exclaims, "Holy shit, there's another one in there!" Jessie was born at 3 pounds -- petite, yet feisty.
Sometime between 1979 and 1998: Jessie moves from Wisconsin to Ft. Wayne, Indiana, and then to Roanoke, Indiana.
January 18, 1988: While playing in the snow, Jessie finds two frozen, dead birds. Rather than not touch them, she picks them up and plays with them. When they become "mushy," she places them in a bag and puts them into her family's freezer so that she can play with them whenever she wants.
June 12, 1991: At age 11, Jessie officiates her first cockfight, wearing a pilgrim outfit for some reason.
October 15, 1996: At age 17, Jessie becomes the youngest elected President of NEIACO (the Northeast Indiana Association of Cockfighting Officials).
May 1998: Jessie graduates from Huntington North High School. Unbeknownst to her, she left an indelible mark on the school, its students, and the greater Huntington area.
August 1998: Jessie enrolls at Indiana University. While there, she will switch her majors approximately twelve times.
August 25, 1999: While attending a party at Pi Kappa Phi fraternity at IU, Jessie comes across a debonair treasure hunter named Andrew. A series of lies and misrepresentations results in Jessie making the mistake of giving her number to Andrew, as the all-too-apt "My Own Worst Enemy" by Lit played in the background.
November 13, 2001: Jessie garners the nickname "Pea Head" after Andrew realizes he can palm her head.
May 2002: Jessie graduates from Indiana University with a B.A. in Art History.
August 2002: Jessie enters graduate school at Indiana University, pursuing a Masters of Library Science, and an M.A. in Art History.
September 14, 2002: Trying to make ends meet in graduate school, Jessie debuts as "Cassandra the Librarian" at Night Moves. Her patented "Shhhhh" move would not only earn her hundreds of dollars, but would also earn her a Poley (the Exotic Dancers Guild's equivalent to the Oscar) for Best Original Table Dance.
August 4, 2003: Along with Vern, Jessie co-authors her first book, "Ernest Goes to Hell: The Life, Times, and Mistakes of Jim Varney."
January 16, 2004: After a series of negotiations riddled by massive consumption of opiates, Jessie agrees to take Andrew's hand in marriage, but only on the condition that Andrew cuts all ties with NAMBLA.
August 2004: Jessie graduates from IU with her MLS.
November 2, 2004: Jessie votes in the U.S. presidential election, her first free election since emigrating from her native Rwanda.
June 11, 2005: Despite the best efforts of friends, family, and various foreign dignitaries, Jessie weds Andrew.
June 20, 2005: After falling asleep in Chicago as a result various downers administered by Andrew, Jessie wakes up 6 hours later in Dayton, Ohio. Andrew says, "Surprise!"
August 9, 2005: Jessie attends her first Def Leppard concert, but certainly not her last.
September 10, 2005: At a tailgate before the Indiana/Nicholls State football game, Jessie is given Huntington North High School "Legend" status by a 2002 HNHS graduate who Jessie had never seen, met, or heard of before (and who had consumed double digit beers and was walking a dog he proclaimed multiple times didn't belong to him).
September 15, 2005: Jessie publishes her second book, "Do Houses in Arizona Have Gutters? And Other of Life's Unanswerable Questions."

After a myriad of accomplishments in her first 26 years, where does Jessie go next? Recently I caught up with Jessie at her seven-acre ranch in downtown Dayton, and she had this to say: "Andrew, quit being such an asshole." While she may be leaving her future to the speculation of tabloid writers, one thing is for sure: Jessie turns 26 today.

You Think the Carpet Pissers Did This?

I don't have much to talk about today, so this will be a rare short post. Last night Jessie and I went to an IU Alumni Association (Dayton Chapter) happy hour, attended by approximately 6 IU alums. As the Co-Social Chair, I need to figure out a way to increase attendance. Maybe I'll wrestle this deer-eating croc.

Tonight is The OC, so I'm pumped about that. I'm not sure what Ryan's going to do now that he's going to be booted from Harbor, but I'm sure it will involve brooding. And from the looks of the commercials, it will also involve him and Marissa taking the one-eyed monster to the optometrist in some sort of homemade wigwam on the beach.

Funny line from "Public Service Announcement" by The Bravery: "You put the 'art' in 'retarded.'" I don't get it, but I like it.

A Day at the Malibu Sands Beach Club

Ever have a really annoying song in your head that you haven't heard in years? Since I woke up this morning I have had one of the more annoying songs of all-time seared on my brain, and I don't even know the title. It's that damn song from Grease that has the "shuba-shu-bop-sha-bop" in it (yes, I do realize how completely emasculating it was to write that last sentence). The worst part is that I've never seen Grease (movie or play), save for a laughable 30-minute version on a cruise in 1994 performed by people who would likely never leave the Norwegian Seeward stage. So I assume that was the only time I've heard the song in its entirety. My hope is that this curse has befallen me only because a young and tangy Olivia Newton-John appeared last night in a dream in which there were many ever-so-delightful misunderstandings.

Last night a bunch of peeps went over to the hizouse of Jamie "Mountie" Belanger and Amy "Clalahan" Belanger to see their new child, Aiden Cole "AC" Belanger. Joining me were the likes of Jessie "The Legend" LeMar, "NaviKate" Rohrer, Marc "Tron" Wiescinski, John "I Don't Like Titles" Ashcraft, and Erin "OC" Campbell. AC's Jeri Curl mullet is growing in very nicely, and I really think he has a solid shot at beating Nedick in the big wrestling meet against Valley this Friday. Jamie seems to be handling fatherhood well, as evidenced by this picture of him slamming a beer with his left hand and holding AC with his right. Needless to say, I'm eagerly awaiting their next child, who I can only assume will be a blond surfer-type who has a penchant for mischief and a taste for honey, if you know what I mean.

We watched the series premiere of "My Name Is Earl" (www.nbc.com/My_Name_Is_Earl), starring Jason Lee (whose character Brodie in Mallrats is possibly my favorite character in movie history). The premise is that Earl is a ne'er-do-well who hears about the concept of karma while watching Carson Daly awkwardly interview someone on his talk show. When Earl decides that he will atone for all the bad things he done in his life by doing good deeds, hilarity ensues. Also starring in the show is the second sauciest little tart of all saucy little tarts, Jaime Pressly (in case you're wondering, the sauciest is Eva Longoria, hands down). My sincere hope is that the show inspires more people to name their kids Earl. There aren't nearly enough Earls in the world, but try to name an Earl that isn't great. It's damn near impossible. Earl Campbell, Earl "The Pearl" Morrall, Earl Boykins, Earl Weaver. All of them, American heroes.

We also watched the season premiere of "The Office" (www.nbc.com/The_Office), starring the 40-year-old virgin himself, Steve Carell. If you haven't seen it, it's hilarious. Watch it.

With the combination of "The Biggest Loser," a touching reality show that helps morbidly obese people come to the blinding realization that their only real hope is gastric bypass surgery or death, "My Name Is Earl," and "The Office," NBC's Tuesday night line-up easily outshines its "Must See" Thursday night line-up. I can't believe "Joey" is still on.

Ever notice that you're slightly dsylexic?

AD, KC, MNF, and DBs

Kudos to Fox for bringing back Arrested Development, which premiered last night. I always had a feeling that when Richie Cunningham and the Fonz reunited, all they would need is a hot lesbian, the star of Teen Wolf Too, the Ropers' stuffy landlord from "The Ropers," and David Cross, and they would have TV gold.


I also watched the series premier of Kitchen Confidential, starring, among others, that dick weed Zack from Wedding Crashers, as well as John Cho (best known for his role as Harold in "Harold & Kumar Go to White Castle" or the guy who says "MILF" in "American Pie," but he was also in "Off Centre," a pretty funny show that failed because it was on the WB and no one knew about it). It looks like Cho's character will be written out after a couple episodes, though. I guess Kitchen Confidential is directed by Fred Savage. I'm not sure if that's good or bad, but the show has the potential to turn everything you've ever thought about the kitchen in an upscale restaurant upside down. It will sufficiently fill the void between Arrested Development and Monday Night Football.

Speaking of which, the Eastern time zone sucks. Never do I feel the crunch as painfully as on Monday nights in the fall when Monday Night Football doesn't start until 9, which means that the game will almost always end after midnight. This sucks mainly because I have turned the TV off and gone to bed several times when one team is comfortably ahead (99% of the time, it's the team I picked to win in my NFL pick 'em league), only to learn the next morning of a monumental comeback. Last night was such an occasion. I went to bed when Dallas was up 13-0, thinking that I was about to win the week in the pick 'em league. Sure enough, I flip on SportsCenter as I sit down to what would normally be an enjoyable bowl of Cinnamon Life, only to find out that the Redskins came back to win 14-13. I threw up everywhere.

What's with Cleveland Indians fans being big bags of douche? I am a White Sox fan, but I'm not an in-your-face, storm-the-field-to-beat-up-an-opposing-coach White Sox fan. I don't talk too much smack. After all, when you're a Chicago baseball fan, you grow to realize that failure is inevitable. Cautious optimism is a way of life. Therefore, I don't talk shit. Not even when the Sox had a 15-game lead. All along, I've said that I'll believe the Sox are World-Series-worthy when they get to the World Series. It's not that I don't root hard for them every day. It's just that I know better. Cleveland fans, on the other hand, can't help but inhale cock when it comes to this kind of stuff. I guess I'd be pissed too if I was from a city where I lived in constant fear of the fucking river catching fire. Apparently hate mail is the Indians' fans' weapon of choice. First I get an email from Goni talking about how Ozzie Guillen is "an asshole" and how Goni knew all along that the Sox would collapse. Obviously. And now the Indians fans in my office are starting to come out of the woodwork. Some guy emails me (copying the few other Indians fans in the office) to say "Go Tribe" and talking about how the Indians are going to sweep the Sox. Then he comes to my office a couple hours later, but I was on the phone. So after I get off the phone, I buzz him (thinking he was stopping by for something work-related), and he says he was only stopping by to "razz" me about the Indians/Sox series. Until yesterday, this ass clown had never once given me any indication whatsoever that he was an Indians fan. And of course this morning, I get a "one down and two to go" email from another Indians fan in the office. So God, if you're reading this (and I can only assume you are, on account of the omnipotence), please punish these Indians fans for their foolhardiness by preventing the Indians from winning the AL Central.

Fantasy Update:
-Corn Hole'ers (Angry Pirates): 0-2 (T 6th)
-FIC You (Car Ramrod): 1-1 (T 3rd)
-Glenview Gridiron (Angry Pirates): 1-0 (T 1st)
-League of Extraordinary Gents (Angry Pirates): 1-1 (T 3rd)
-Pigskin 2005 Pick 'Em (Angry Pirates): 2nd overall (out of 16), 2nd for the week (damn Cowboys)

3 Down, 8 to Go

This'll be a long one...

I'm back from Bloomington, feeling more alive than ever before. The Hoosiers laid a beating on Kentucky, to the tune of 38-14. 3-0 and IU haven't been in the same sentence since 1994. I know you're all wondering, so I'll lay it down for you: IU hasn't been 4-0 since 1990, and no coach has started his career at IU 4-0. Blake "Danger" Powers now has 11 TD passes. With 3 more, he will surpass Matt "Huh?" LoVecchio's total from last year, and with 7 more TD passes, Powers will surpass IU's combined total for the past 2 years and will break IU's single season record for TD passes.

Since it was a 5:45pm start, I just went over to B-town on Saturday morning. I arrived at approximately 10:20am, with the smell of freshly cut limestone still in the air. Morgan "Crazy Legs" Hirst joined me about a half hour later, and then it was off to the rolling hills and jean mini-skirts of the tailgating fields. We set up shop under a cluster of a couple trees, hence shielding us from the harsh, undiscriminating rays of the sun. Between the hours of 11 and 5:45, at least 4 of the following things happened: drinking, grilling, football throwing, lots of sitting, and everyone totally got laid. If you haven't been to an early fall tailgate in Bloomington, you should make an effort to do so. The only slight downside was the line for the port-a-potties (which all have coat hooks on the inside--if I'm ever at a point in my life where I need to use the coat hook in a tailgate port-a-potty, something has gone horribly wrong). I did see Jeff "Struve" Strauss in line at the shitters, so that was fun. He looks healthy and full of life.

Andy "Spawn" Southard showed up about 45 minutes before kick-off, along with a handle of Captain, a 2-liter of Diet Coke, and Mike Estridge, who I've always felt resembles a white Pedro Martinez. Interestingly, Estridge used to use my ID to get into bars. I'm not sure how to take that. Tommy "Gun" McClelland also stopped by the tailgate long enough to buy my extra ticket (and not use it).

Morgan and I joined Bruce "Bruiser" LeMar at the game. As the sun set on Memorial Stadium, Assembly Hall was lit up, as if God was trying to give everyone on the West side of the stadium a subtle hint as to which sport these two schools should really be playing. On this day, the big man was at least half right. Kentucky's offense was about as beautiful and reliable as a Dodge Shadow. Aside from one fluke 79-yard pass where the IU defender fell down, IU held Kentucky under 140 total yards. While I'm not exactly sure how a team that gives up 409 rushing yards to a 1-AA team one week can hold an SEC team to 77 rushing yards the next week, I'll take it. Two idiots wearing blue were sitting next to us (one of which looked like Garcia from "Reno 911"). Luckily there was never a point in the game where I felt the need to openly taunt them. There were no Ashley Judd sightings.

The rest of the night can only be described as a series of good decisions. After the game, we went back to the hotel and I took the fastest shower I've taken since my 36-second masterpiece on February 8, 1989. Then Bruiser, Crazy Legs, and I went to Nick's for some dinner and drinking. The first good decision was to order a pitcher of Bass, which was the heaviest and most alcoholic beer on tap. After a pitcher, Bruiser retired. The next great decision came after Spawn and Estridge arrived, when we start playing Sink the Bismark. Despite my pleas and my contention that playing Sink would get me drunker than an Irishman on [insert any day here], the other 3 ordered that I play. There was a point in the game where I looked at the 2 full pitchers sitting on our table and I realized that I needed to play Sink like I've never played before in order to avoid puking. I managed to salvage some brain cells, although by the time Sink ended, I was drunk enough to go up to the guy at the table next to us that went to Purdue and tell him "good luck with your degree" as I walked out. What an idiot, but then again he did graduate from the state of Indiana's closest equivalent to ITT Tech.

Morgan went back to the hotel after Nick's, since he had to wake up around 6:30 to drive up to go to the Bears game (and tailgate beforehand). Spawn, Estridge, and I then went to a cheerleading party (Spawn and Estridge used to be cheerleaders at IU--yes, they're both straight) a few blocks south of campus, where I nursed a beer while watching Spawn and Estridge get their asses kicked at beer pong. There was some dude there straight-up chain smoking who I tried my damnedest to convince to quit smoking and play semi-pro football in Northwest Indiana. The impact I made on his life will be immeasurable.

The best decision of the night was to go to LaBamba for burritos as big as our respective heads. So we head out of the cheerleading party. It was at this point that Spawn went all Admiral Stockdale on us. First, he inexplicably starts running away from Estridge and me, taking turns down streets that were not on our way to Bambas. While I didn't want to, I once again had to drunkenly showcase my dazzling foot speed. I chased Spawn into a dark back yard, where he was cornered in some thick brush. I was confused as to how or why it had gotten to this point, but I asked him to kindly join us back in reality, mentioning that the homeowner will likely call the cops when he/she sees the two of us hanging out behind his/her tool shed. I felt like Tommy Lee Jones in The Fugitive, except my fugitive was acting more like Margot Kidder than a one-armed doctor. I gave up and went back to the main road, and a couple minutes (and blocks) later, Spawn rejoined us.

We happened to walk through the back parking lot of Acacia, who was obviously having a party. A group of girls walked out, followed by some guy who was hammered and yelling at his girlfriend (who was in the group). Several guys, including Spawn and Estridge, held the guy back, since it looked like he was about become the Jackson Brown to her Darryl Hannah. She left, and a few seconds later, the dude punches in a car window. I scream, "Oh my God, I'm calling 911." Some sober Acacian (although he was probably stoned), who I assume was a pledge, starts freaking out and asking me not to call 911. I of course look at him and say, "This is something the cops need to know about," and then I start walking away and pretend to dial 911. I start speaking very loudly into the phone, "You need to send someone to Acacia's parking lot right away. Some guy just almost beat up his girlfriend and then he punched out a car window. I think they're having a party and everyone is drunk. I think there are some underage kids drinking too." At this point, the pledge is really freaking out, gathering everyone in the parking lot to go inside before the cops come. I just laughed and kept on walking toward Bambas with my phone to my ear. Later in the night I would leave a flaming bag of poop on their porch.

At Bambas, rather than wait in the 10-person line, Spawn tries to just go straight to the cash register and order from there. The morbidly obese man working the cash register explained that there was a line, and that he didn't take orders anyway, but just worked the register. I told Spawn I would get him whatever he wanted, but he foolishly decided against anything, and went to the table by the door and sulked. Estridge and I enjoyed our burritos outside (so as to prevent any possible incidents between Spawn and the fat man), and Spawn just kind of stood there watching us. While his mouth didn't speak, his eyes said "man I fucked up." We then trudged back to the hotel, and by the time I woke up the next morning, no one else was in the room.

On the drive back to Sunny D, I got to listen to the Bears drop 31 on the Lions in the first half, the most first-half points for the Bears since a certain team did it in a certain year on their way to a certain game that they won 46-10. With a 1-1 record, the Bears are now atop the NFC Norris, holding the tiebreaker over the 1-1 Lions. With the way the 4 teams in the division have played the first 2 weeks, it's a distinct possibility that a 7-9 record will win the division.

Once I got back to D-town, Jessie and I spent the afternoon watching Breakfast Club and Sixteen Candles on AMC, and then getting a betta, which we named Todd after the creepy gay son in Wedding Crashers. It made sense at the time.

White Sox Magic Number: 11 (a shaky 11, but 11 nonetheless)

Ding!

I just signed my first four ding letters. I say "sign" because I didn't write them. They were just form letters handed to me for my signature, and they weren't more than 4 sentences. I've officially become everything I've always hated. God, I've never felt so alive.

QBs and OCs

Fridays are great, aren't they? Especially in my office, where every Friday is Hair Band Friday. You laugh, but are you rocking out in your office to Gorky Park's "Bang" right this second? Unlikely, but you wish you were. The booze, coke, and groupies are just an added bonus. I'm really pleased with the stripper pole I recently added. It helps some of the ladies come out of their shell a little. That and the coke. On another note, I bet the Scorpions are never asked to perform at any Hurricane Katrina benefit concerts. Just in case.

Now to The OC. Last night's episode was naughty, intriguing, and downright angering at times. I walked away from it with a better sense of self and, at the same time, the feeling that I had no idea who I am. Best part of the episode: Seth gives his mom (who is in rehab) a copy of what I can only assume no one in rehab should ever read, Motley Crue's biography, "Dirt." ("Would you look at this? Nikki Sixx OD'd on heroin, died, and came back to life. Maybe this vodka isn't so bad after all.")

Man, Dean Hess (that new dean at Harbor) is probably the most immediately disagreeable character in television history. What an asshole. If you took a 6-foot tall penis and dressed it up with a blond wig and a pastel vest, you'd have this guy. Did you see the way he grabbed Marissa at the Kick-Off Carnival? If Harbor was a public school, that mofo would have been fired on the spot and had a lawsuit filed against him the next morning. Yet another reason not to send your kids to private school.

And what the hell is Charlotte (Jeri Ryan) trying to pull on Kirsten? Her cabins in the woods, shifty eyes, and whiskey breath will not be tolerated much longer, unless of course her goal is to make out with Kirsten. Sadly, I don't think that's in the cards, since they already had a lesbian subplot last year. At best, she'll request some three-way lovin' with the Cohens (after all, she must have learned a thing or two in those Paris sex clubs). Sandy will be turned off at first, but he'll come around when he realizes that he gets to bang 2 drunk chicks at once. Kirsten will be so soused she won't even know what's hittin' her (and I mean "hittin'" in the gangsta sense of the word). My guess is that Charlotte is Oliver's mom, and at some point, she's going to start smacking herself in the head while holding Kirsten for ransom at gun-point.

The big revelation next week is going to be who gets Caleb Nichol's phatty estate. Will it be the deserving, yet alcoholic, daughter, Kirsten, or will it go to Caleb's whore wife/ex-wife, Julie Cooper-Nichol and her ex-husband/future husband, Jimmy "I just can't stop losing other people's money" Cooper? My guess is that it goes to Caleb's almost-forgotten daughter Lindsay (played by Shannon Lucio, who also starred in the made-for-TV phenomenon, "Spring Break Shark Attack"). Either that, or it will go to Seth. I can't seriously foresee Julie getting anything, except nailed by that creepy dude who used to own the rights to her stag flick.

I didn't get to see Reunion last night because our fearless leader had to talk about the clusterfuck in Louisiana. At least Halliburton is getting a nice fat government contract out of the deal (http://www.chicagotribune.com/news/opinion/chi-0509150092sep15,1,3603154.story).

Also, former NFL punching bag Gary Hogeboom is on Survivor: Guatemala. What's next, Jack Trudeau on Fear Factor? Steve Grogan and Tony Eason teaming up against Tommy Kramer and Wade Wilson for a fantastically non-prolific Amazing Race? A likely overweight Bobby Hebert trying desperately to get back to his playing weight on Celebrity Fit Club? Vince Ferragamo getting flabbergasted at his temporary wife's idiosyncracies on Trading Spouses? Billy Joe Tolliver finally getting that makeover and reconstructive surgery he's always needed on The Swan? Steve Bartkowsi fighting to accept his station in life as an indentured servant on PBS's Colonial House? Neil Lomax starring in his own extremely short-lived reality show, Being Neil Lomax? Eric Hipple wreaking havoc on So You Think You Can Dance (note in Hipple's picture, he appears to either be biting his nails or smoking a joint, neither of which should be done on an NFL sideline)?

Saving the Best for Last

Well, the weekend is almost upon us, and as usual, I need it like nobody's business. What is it about working 11- and 12-hour days that makes me want to drink and sleep to excess? My guess is the 11 or 12 hours of working.

I'm once again heading to B-town this weekend, where I will be joined by Morgan "Crazy Legs" Hirst, Bruce "Bruiser" LeMar, and hopefully some other peeps. The IU/Kentucky game does not start until 5:45pm (Central), which means that even more tailgating than last week is a certainty. Man I love these late starts. Lord knows we need as much drinking time as possible before watching an IU football game. The game is a rare live broadcast on ESPN Classic. Maybe they thought it was an old basketball game. I don't know what to think about this Hoosier squad, but this game could be the most important one of the season. Win it, and we're 3-0 with confidence and momentum (and a losing Big Ten record away from a bowl). Lose it, and we're the Indiana Hoosier football team. What I think is funny is that collegefootballnews.com predicts that IU will lose, just one week after predicting that IU would beat Nicholls State 58-0. I guess that'll happen after a 35-31 win over a 1-AA team from Louisiana with no time to prepare or practice, wearing uniforms from an early '80s fictional high school (if confused, see Hardest Button post below), who had to walk from Louisiana to Bloomington carrying all of their equipment.

There's a hilarious (yet seemingly unknown) new show on F/X that all of you should see. It's called "It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia"
(http://www.fxnetworks.com/shows/originals/sunny/main.html). It's on Tuesdays at 11pm Eastern (check local listings), although there are no new episodes this season (there were only 7 total--hopefully it gets picked up for a 2nd season). The show is funnier than a nun puking (if you don't think that's funny, then you obviously haven't seen a nun puke). The mains characters own and run a bar in Philly. Hijinx ensues, such as allowing high school kids to drink in the bar and then getting asked to prom, or attending abortion rallies to get women. In the latest episode (the season finale), none other than Dennis "Richard 'Richie' Belding" Haskins makes an appearance as a grade school gym teacher accused of child molestation. Things have not gone well for Mr. Belding since he left Bayside. He either ate that biker chick Tori (that is the only explanation for her sudden appearance and disappearance from Bayside), or he has simply gone into a severe depression plagued by constant overeating, brought on by his realization that his younger brother is so much cooler than he is. Whatever it is, he's about 100 pounds heavier than when you last saw him at Zack and Kelly's wedding in Vegas eleven years ago.

Another excellent series is NBC's "Most Outrageous [TV, Live TV, Game Show] Moments," which they have been showing a lot of lately. Bloopers, faux pas, double entendres, sports blunders, screwed-up lines, accidental swearing on live TV, and British newscasters getting bit by animals. That, my friends, is the definition of quality television.

CBS, on the other hand, showed a Billy Graham concert from 8-9pm last night. At first I thought it might be a fund raiser for Hurricane Katrina's aftermath. No, no--it was your basic send-me-money-so-that-you-can-find-Jesus televangelist propaganda concert, constantly showing Graham's website so that you too can find Jesus by giving money to Billy Graham. That annoyed me more than fruit-on-the-bottom yogurt. I didn't realize CBS was run by retards (er, I mean specially educated people). Networks should not be showing some codger whoring Jesus to bilk money from old people scared they're not going to heaven. Especially on primetime. Even Big Brother 6 is a better choice. Hell, I would even rather watch Yes, Dear or Still Standing. Seriously.

Another new OC tonight. Needless to say, I'm happier than someone who just saw a nun puke. On a conclusory note, here is a nice picture sent to me by Nick Smith (a co-worker, not that bird-headed freak who played basketball at Illinois), for the enjoyment of 90% of you males and 10% of you females.

Leaving Work Rules

It really does. And you know what else rules? The Juice. Hell of a back. Slashing, really. Ah-thank you.

The Hardest Button to Button

Well, I'm back from my weekend in South Central Indiana. Good times all around, as expected. Greg "Roamin'" Bohmann joined Jester and I for the whole weekend. I can only assume that he had a better time than Marv Alberts at a back-biting party (too soon?).

Friday night was the White Stripes concert in Indy at the Murat Theater (see picture to the right--yeah, I know it sucks, but it's a picture phone). Our seats were 16th row, center, which was awesome considering that the Murat is pretty small. The show was excellent, proving once again that the White Stripes are the greatest rock & roll band on the face of the Earth. Yes Christoff, even better than Air Supply. Meg White, while normally an average looking girl, is somehow extremely sexy on stage while bouncing up and down and pounding the drums. There's just something about her. Jack White, Meg's ex-husband, was looking as creepy as ever, sporting a pencil-thin mustache, some chin scruff, and skin paler than Michael Jackson's. He was, however, a master on the guitar, piano, and marimbas. They played a great set, with multiple songs from every one of their 5 albums. Highlights included a creepy cover of Dolly Parton's "Jolene," a fantastic, strobe-light-filled version of "Seven Nation Army," a Jack-solo-on-the-piano version of what I think will be a great late-night bar sing-along, "I'm Lonely, But I Ain't That Lonely Yet," and their finale, which was a house-rockin' cover of Leadbelly's "Da Ballit of de Boll Weevil."

After the show, it was off to the Mecca of all that is good and right in the world: Bloomington. Friday night was rather low key. Jester stayed in, and Greg and I went to Nick's (i.e., the greatest bar in the world) and Upstairs (i.e., the sweatiest bar in the world) for a couple drinks.

Saturday was the train wreck known as the IU/Nicholls State football game. Before I get to that, we must discuss tailgating. 4pm games are excellent because they allow for many hours of tailgating. Wee Wee and friends met me there, and I was able to get a prime parking spot next to them in the 2nd row. A new IU tradition started by new coach Terry Hoeppner is "The Walk" (see picture) where the players walk down the street in the middle of the tailgating fields and onto the stadium about 2 hours before the game, and the fans gather along the sides to cheer them to victory. It was good, but it will be even better when we start to beat 1-AA teams by more than 4 points and there are more than 40 people there.

The biggest and best part of tailgating was the fact that I was once again surrounded by the hottest women in the Midwest (including my lovely wife Jessie-- I love you). Apparently the new standard uniform for coeds is the miniskirt, thus replacing the sorostitute black pants that I grew to love in the late '90s. I am all for this change, and I thank whoever instituted it, as well as whoever brought dogs (especially the small ones) to the tailgating fields and whoever dropped footballs.

In addition to the beer drinking and occasional panty sighting, the biggest thing to come out of Saturday's tailgate was Jessie's new status: Legend. Here's how it went down. Some drunk idiot at the tailgate next to us was walking around with a little piece of shit dog that he kept claiming wasn't his. He happened to be wearing a Huntington North HS tennis shirt (Jessie's high school), so she went up to him to say "Go Vikes" (or whatever it is people from HNHS say to one another), and he was like, "Did you go to Huntington North? Are you a twin? Are you a Pope twin?" She of course says yes, and then all hell breaks loose. He yells to his buddies, "Hey guys, get over here. It's a Pope twin!" These guys end up being 4 years younger than Jessie (i.e., they never went to high school at the same time), yet somehow they knew that Jessie had an intership a couple summers ago in New York, that Ari was in Chicago, and that Jessie had been in Chicago. When Jessie inquired as to how these young sleuths knew this information, the answer was quite simple: "You're a Pope twin. You're a legend." So I'm married to a legend. I'm not sure exactly how to take that, but I'll assume it has more to do with her nun-chuck skills than anything else.

Now to the game . . .
Nicholls State shows up in the very same uniforms worn by the Ridgemont High Wolves. Apparently someone on IU messed up Charles Jefferson's Trans-Am pretty bad because these 1-AA mofos outplayed us. We gave up over 400 yards rushing. We only won by 4 points, which was only because we remembered that we're a Big Ten team and took the lead with 47 seconds left in the game. Until late in the 4th quarter, Nicholls State didn't have any passing yards. They ran my high school's wing-back triple option offense. If it didn't work against Downers Grove North, how the hell did it work against IU? This is possibly the worst showing I've ever seen by IU. Think about that for a second. This is the 10th year in a row I've had season tickets. I have missed exactly one home game in that span, and that was only because of a friend's wedding. Whether on TV or live, during that time I have seen, among other things:
-IU go 31-72 overall and 24-28 at home
-IU go 0-7 against Michigan, 0-7 against Ohio State, 0-7 against Penn State, 1-8 against Kentucky, 1-6 against Michigan State, and 2-7 against Purdue
-IU lose 62-0, 59-0, 58-0, 56-7, 55-7, 52-7 (twice), and 49-7
-Kentucky's Tim Couch throw 7 TD passes in one game
-Penn State's Larry Johnson run for 327 yards in one game
-Purdue's Kyle Orton throw for 530 yards in one game
-Michigan State score the first 3 times it touched the ball, with only one play on offense
-IU's own Chris "Instead of Taking a Sack, I'll Hand the Ball Off to the Defense" Dittoe play in more than one game
But I came away from the IU/Nicholls State game -- a squeak-out victory home victory over a 1-AA opponent -- feeling worse than any other game I've seen. Every time Nicholls State snapped the ball, the entire stadium (aside from the IU defense) knew it was either an option right or an option left. For God's sake, just put someone on the QB, someone on the FB, and someone on each RB.

I'm looking forward to this Saturday's match-up against the Kentucky Mildcats, who also struggled to beat a 1-AA opponent last Saturday, and who I assume does not run my high school's triple option attack offense. Regardless, IU is undefeated, and Terry Hoeppner is IU's first coach to start his career at IU 2-0 since Clyde B. Smith did so in 1948 (note: after outscoring their opponents 42-7 in those first 2 weeks, IU lost their remaining 7 games by a combined score of 210-33). If IU wins, the Hoosiers will be 3-0 (and will have won 3 in a row) for the first time since 1994 (IU's last winning season), and Hoeppner will be IU's first coach to start his career at IU 3-0 since James Sheldon led the Hoosiers to victories over Alumni (no wonder they won), Butler, and (you guessed it) Kentucky in his inaugural season 100 fucking years ago.

Saturday night was pretty mellow--just Nick's and Upstairs again. Watching Texas beat Ohio State was great, since most Buckeye fans I deal with on a day-to-day basis are morons. Sunday was great, since I basically just watched football for 12 hours (7 points--nice job Bears). Monday was great because I got to hold the careers of a bunch of law students in the palms of my cold, wretched hands. Ding!

Fantasy Update:
-Corn Hole'ers (Angry Pirates): 0-1
-FIC You (Car Ramrod): 1-0
-Glenview Gridiron (Angry Pirates): 1-0
-League of Extraordinary Gents (Angry Pirates): 1-0
-Pigskin 2005 Pick 'Em (Angry Pirates): 6 place (out of 16)

OC? O Yeah

So the season premier of The OC was last night. It was okay, and frankly, it resolved more than it should have in one episode. But rather than worry about what was resolved, perhaps we need to worry about several interesting questions left unanswered:
1. What's Jeri Ryan's character up to? What's her ulterior motive? Is it to get it on with Kirsten (man I hope so)? Or is it to steal Kirsten's identity? I don't trust her. She's got shifty eyes. (And yes, it's the same Jeri Ryan who is the ex-wife of former Illinois Gov. Jack Ryan, who took sweet, innocent Jeri to several sex clubs in Paris, the revelation of which cost Jack his chance to get destroyed by Barack Obama in last November's Senate race in Illinois)
2. Will Ryan (Atwood, not Jeri Ryan) continue to do awesomely bad impressions of Summer? Holy shit, that was hilarious, and I don't think it was meant to be.
3. Will Ryan and Marissa really be expelled from Harbor Academy? If so, how many asses will Ryan kick defending Marissa's honor in public school?
4. When will Teresa and R.J. (Ryan, Jr.) enter the picture? I'm hoping it's not until the season finale, right before Ryan is about to head to some prestigious college that Sandy somehow got Ryan into. The man may leave Chino, but Chino will never leave the man.
5. How big will Sandy let his eyebrows get before Kirsten returns from rehab?
6. When will Kirsten return from rehab? And when she does, how long before she gets hammered on straight vodka at 7am?
7. When will Oliver and Trey team up and come back for a cocaine-induced shooting spree?
8. How much money will Caleb leave to Julie? My guess (and hope) is none, so that she has to go back to making stag films.
9. Where's that saucy little tart of a coke whore, Jess? My guess (and hope) is that she's banging some street tough for coke.

I also watched the new show Reunion, which I wouldn't have watched unless it was on right after The OC, but the TV often makes me do things I otherwise wouldn't. Reunion was okay. The concept is pretty good. It starts at someone's funeral in the present day. All you know is that it's one of six friends who graduated from high school in 1986. Then each episode tracks those six friends throughout the years, with each episode representing a different year, starting with 1986. The acting was less than spectacular and, of the people in the scenes that took place in the supposed '80s, only about 17% were actually wearing '80s-style clothes. Most of them just looked like gypsys (I know Carmela would NOT have approved--see the "Back from the Land of the Dead" post below). Props, though, to Craig (great '80s prep name), the guy who only wore popped collars. As if every preppy douche needed more of an excuse to do that today. If only Craig had on a slightly tilted trucker hat with a clever phrase on it.

Well, I'm off to Indy and B-town in a few hours. Gooday.

On-Campus Interviewing

Yet another reason this weekend is going to rock the hizzi is because I get to do on-campus interviewing at IU on behalf of my firm on Monday. Finally I can be the intimidator instead of the intimidatee, and more importantly I can be the giver of the ding letter instead of the receiver (I have over 200 ding letters from my law school days--seriously). Here's my game plan: I have 30 minutes with each chump, so I plan to have them come in and sit down as if it will be a normal interview. I will then mill through their resume and transcript for 10 minutes, making various grunts, snickers, and eye rolls, and occasionally muttering things under my breath, such as "good one Corky," "this guy's a fucking moron," or "yeah right, asshole." After that, I will chuckle to myself, shake my head, throw their resume and transcript behind me, and just stare intently at them for 10 minutes, occasionally sighing. After that, I will ask questions for the last 10 minutes. Here are some good ones I thought of:

1. "Bill or Ted, dude?!" If they say Bill, I say "excellent!" If they say Ted, I say "bogus!"
2. "Who told you I was here?" This would be a good first question.
3. "Who is your favorite Ramone?"
4. "Which would you rather drink: a cup of vomit or a cup of diarrhea?" No matter what they say, I open a drawer, grab a styrofoam cup with a lid on it, hand it to them and say, "Well my friend, it's your lucky day. The last guy went with [the opposite of their choice]. Chug-a-lug!"
5. "Got any coke?"
6. "If you could be any breed of lion, which one would you be?"
7. "What are you still doing here?" This would also be a good first question, but an even better second question.
8. "Give me an example of when you lied or cheated to get ahead." If they say never, I'll say, "But isn't that what you just did?"
9. "Who is your favorite serial killer?" It doesn't really matter what they say here (although they would get bonus points if they say the Green River Killer--man, that guy could kill hookers), because in response -- while slowly walking toward the door to lock it and then going over to my briefcase and shuffling around inside it -- I'll say, "Yeah, he was okay, but I'm a bigger fan of the Dayton Demon. That guy's a genius. You probably haven't heard of him. His modus operandi is that he convinces his victims that he's someone other than who he says he is. He usually presents himself with a French surname. The victim usually doesn't suspect a thing because the guy looks normal and speaks very eloquently, but he talks about himself in the third person. From all the police can tell from the way they find his victims, he comes across as very calm and collected, and then . . . he . . . just . . . FUCKING SNAPS!!" Then I start smacking myself in the head and howl like a hyena.
10. "What number am I thinking of right . . . NOW?" Whatever their guess is, I say "Right! What about . . . NOW?" This cycle continues for the remainder of the interview.
11. "If you were an elm tree, how would communicate with the other elm trees? And remember, I said elm tree."
12. "What's your favorite gun?" No matter what the response, I will point at them and yell, "Pussy!!"
13. "Are you so naive to think that we're alone in this universe?" If they respond by saying something about not believing in aliens, I say, "But what about the Visigoths? Think about it."
14. "Why did you break up with me?"
15. "I'm telepathic. Let's see if you are." Then I look down, close my eyes, and concentrate. After a few seconds, I look up and say, "So you think I'm crazy, huh? This interview is over," and I escort them out of the room.
16. "Quick, give me 10 reasons not to name your child [the interviewee's name]."
17. "How many homeless people are you willing to kill for this job?" Assuming they answer 1 or more, I respond by throwing them a sword and saying, "Perfect. To the streets!!"
18. "When will you accept David Blaine as the second coming of Christ?"
19. "Do you have herpes?" After they say no, I say, "Well, the day ain't over yet," and then I wink and smile seductively.
20. "If you could share a prison cell with any one of the Brady children, who would it be?" For all answers but Greg, I would say, "But Greg has such soft skin." If they answer with Greg, I say, "God I admire you."
21. "Who is your favorite character in the movie Dune?" If they answer this one, I immediately kick them out.
22. "If you could only pronounce one word correctly, what would it be?"
23. "Sing!!" When they start to ask what I mean, I cut them off and yell it again until they start singing, at which point I pretend I'm an orchestra conducter.
24. "Would you rather stab yourself in the eyes with a pen or snort a shot of Tabasco?" Once they answer the latter, I say, "That's what I thought," and then I look at my pen, put it in my pocket, and hand them a shot of Tabasco and a straw.
25. "Laci Peterson or Chandra Levy?" No matter what they answer, I call them a "sicko."
26. "Nice suit. I've paid for back-alley handjobs that cost more than that. So what interests you about our firm?"
27. "What's your favorite character from Norse Mythology, and you can't say Thor, because everyone says Thor?"
28. "Just exactly what makes you think you're qualified to be a neurosurgeon at this hopsital. You haven't even gone to medical school." When they explain that this is an interview for a law firm job, I gather my things and leave without saying a word.
29. "Why haven't you ever been to Morocco?" When they try to explain themselves, I cut them off and say, "But it's fucking Morocco!"
30. "A triceratops and Dennis Hopper get into a fight. Who wins and why?" No matter what they answer, I excitedly reply, "That's exactly what I've been trying to tell those fools at NASA!"

Needless to say, I'm going to have a great time on Monday.

Work Sucks. Football Doesn't.

Turns out the worst thing about taking a week off of work is coming back and trying to make up a week's worth of work in 3 days. As you can see from this picture, I am overjoyed at the fact that I got to the office before dawn, with a post-dusk departure a likely possibility. I guess that's what I get for having my grandma die and then trying to drink Lake Michigan in four days. The only thing keeping me from eating my highlighter is knowing that college football has already started (and IU is undefeated--holla!). Plus the NFL is starting tomorrow night (so the Bears are also currently undefeated--holla!).

Holy shit, I just remembered that The OC starts tomorrow night. If I wasn't such a lazy bastard, I would take and post another picture of myself with a shit-eating grin bigger than when Kirsten Cohen gets all soused up on Absolut and thinks about getting a mustache ride from Carter Buckley. I can't wait for the moment when Ryan looks at some baby and realizes it's his. Talk about a moment when they should play that line from "All I Wanna Do Is Make Love To You" by Heart where she's like "imagine his surprise when he saw his own eyes." Teresa better hope Ryan's in a good mood. Man, football and The OC. This isn't a bad week after all.

Actually, now that I think about it, this might be one of the better weeks of this young millennium. I'm going to the White Stripes concert in Indy on Friday night (I still have 2 extra tickets available for face value for anyone who wants to go), and then I'm heading down to B-town for the weekend, which will include a possible IU football game against Nicholls State, a 1-AA opponent (which means that IU should win by at least 6 points). This is, of course, assuming that Nicholls State still plays (they are from Thibodaux, Louisiana, 60 miles west of the inaptly nicknamed Big Easy). IU wants to win this game so bad we've agreed to pay for their transportation up to Bloomington. Come on Nicholls State, we need this one! Wee Wee, I will be tailgating before the IU game, even if there is no game. Let me know if you're going down Friday or Saturday.

Talk about a metamorphasis of Buffalo-Bill-from-Silence-of-the-Lambs-esque proportions. Just 13 minutes ago, I was ready to eat a highlighter, and now I'm happier than a stripper on pay day. Shit, I'm giddy enough to work through the night. Hell, I might even skin a few fat chicks and make it official.

My Liver, Spot

This one's gonna be a long one...

Ever have one of those weekends where you're so proud of your liver for not failing that you want to honor it by giving it a name? This is such a weekend. My Friday night was documented in the previous post, but a whole bunch of other shite has happened since then. Saturday night began with a $22 all-you-can-drink great idea from 8-11 at a bar called Duffy's. I can safely say that I drank $22 worth of beer in that time. I was joined by several mates, Chris "Gemkeezi" Gemkow, Greg "Joey Bates" Bohmann, Mike "The Malangoni Bologna Pony" Malangoni, Jeff "Chambre" Chambers, and Andy "Uhhh" Wood. There were also some pro volleyball players there, in town for the AVP tournament at North Avenue Beach. There's something extremely unsettling about seeing a woman who is nearly a foot taller than me. I felt like an Ewok.

Anywho, after Duffy's, Gemkeezi, Bohmann and I met up with "Cryin'" Ryan "Pissed Off" Christoff and "Super Rad" (or "Superad," in AbbreviNation) Tradd "Superad" Fromme. Our walk down Diversey was seemingly normal for the first block. And then all hell broke loose when I blew out my flip flop. The flip became detached from the flop. So there I was, not drunk enough to go home, and not sober enough to prevent myself from buying some super glue at Walgreen's to fix that mutha. Interestingly, this would not be the last time this weekend where the flesh on the bottom of my feet would meet the cold, disease-ridden sidewalks of Diversey.

So we end up going to Peg Leg Sullivan's, a nifty little bar on Halsted, just south of Diversey. $8 picthers, or something like that. No big deal. While there, the super glue finally congealed, and I was home free, or so I thought. After Peg Leg Sullivan's, Cryin' and Superad decided to go to the bar Beaumont's, which is the bar in Lincoln Park with the highest probability of catching airborne herpes or getting into a fight with drunk DePaul frat guys (not that there's anything wrong with frat guys). Bohmann heads home, and Gemkeezi and I head to Dunkin' Donuts on the walk home. I couldn't have been more satisfied with myself for that decision. It turns out I was hungry enough to eat 2 breakfast sandwiches (interestingly, this would not be the last time this weekend where the flesh of my tongue would meet the delicious components of a Dunkin' Donuts breakfast sandwich). As soon as we get back to Ari's apartment, I blew out my other flip flop.

Sunday is sometimes a day of rest. This Sunday was not one of those times. I got up around 10, and Gemkeezi, Ari, Jessie, and I went to Dunkin' Donuts for my 3rd breakfast sandwich in 8 hours (a personal record I look to one day break). A good beginning to a great day. Gemkeezi went back home to the OP, Ari and Jessie went back to Ari's place, and I hopped in a cab to go to the new home of Morgan "Crazy Legs" Hirst, from which we would take the elevated train (seriously!) to Comiskey for a day baseball match between the Chicago "White" Sox and the Detroit "Wish There Was a Time in the Past 18 Years When We Were as Fierce as" Tigers. We met a couple of his friends there and got into the park about 90 minutes early so that we could get seats in the right field bullpen bar. I highly suggest doing this. We had our own waitress, which meant that we could drink more efficiently than usual and we had a greater selection of food at our fingertips.

After the game, all of us went to a bar named Kasey's in the South Loop, which was surprisingly empty for a Sunday afternoon. If you've never had a pizza delivered to a bar, do it. It's even more awesome than the edited-for-TV version of Die Hard ("yippie ki-yay Mister Falcon"). I played more games of Golden Tee in a 3-hour period than I had previously played in my life (i.e., 5). It turns out I suck at Golden Tee. Morgan and I were a team and lost every single round. On the bright side, I left Kasey's fuller and drunker than when I arrived. And that's really all you can ask.

Night had fallen on the City of Broad Shoulders, and from there, we went to the Burwood (see previous post). Sundays at the Burwood are called Hillbilly Sundays, and they play only country music. I hate country music more than I hate the Danes and Germans combined. But there's something about Hillbilly Sundays that makes me tolerate what would otherwise make me want to kill. Perhaps it's that fact that I'm drinking on a Sunday night. Perhaps it's that I'm guaranteed to get free shots of Beam from the bartenders. Perhaps it's that I know I'm only a block from LaBamba. Perhaps it's because I know I'm in a city where I don't have to worry about coming across rednecks. Whatever it is, I have a good time at Hillbilly Sundays.

Morgan left at some point after saying something along the lines of "I need to close my eyes before I puke." The rest of the night is mainly a blur, since the bartenders refused to cut me off, despite my constant pleading. I remember dancing the twist (the only dance I can do) to Rocky Top. And I've been told there were times when I looked close to death. For the record, I never lost consciousness or my dinner.

There was at least one other thing I do remember: Ari challenging me to a race from the Burwood to her apartment (about .45 miles). Anyone who knows me knows that there are 3 and only 3 personal abilities I have pride in: my footspeed, my grasp of random knowledge, and my drinking ability. Combine any of the three, and you're in for a treat. The kind of treat that kicks your ass. I gladly accepted her challenge, on one condition: the race would begin from Bamba's after I had a steak burrito.

At the corner of Wrightwood and Halsted, a crowd gathered in anticipation of what was already being deemed the Race of the Century. I was so confident that I didn't even stretch. As the race began, I built a quick and insurmountable half-block lead by the time I hit Home Depot. Apparently Ari had doubled over laughing and had yelled "Truce!" but I didn't hear her, and I wouldn't have trusted her even if I did hear her. It's a rare sight to see a 27-year-old sprinting down a busy street barefoot at 2:30 in the morning. As such, whenever I would approach someone, I would explain, "I'm not gonna let her catch me." Not that they could hear me, since I was running so damn fast right by them. At the end, my feet hurt, I was out of breath, and several tears of pride began to well in my eyes.

Then came Monday (pun intended) and the Jimmy Buffett concert at Wrigley. Our seats (which cost $103 each, face, ensuring that he can buy yet another plane-boat) were in the top row of the upper deck. At first, this did not seem like a good thing, but it turns out that the constant breeze ensured that we were the only row of people at the concert without swass. Also, it meant shorter beer and bathroom lines, both of which are crucial to any concert-goer's eternal happiness. The concert was a good time. I had never been to a Buffett show--it was about what I expected. Aside from Hugh Hefner, I think that Jimmy Buffett must have the best job in the world. I was also intrigued at how much he looks like Larry David. I kept expecting him to put himself in an extremely awkward situation.

As if that wasn't enough damage to Spot, we went to a bar (The Union) after the concert for some $1 drafts and $1 burgers. Luckily the madness stopped soon thereafter, as we went to Cryin' and Superad's old apartment to help them move about 4 things to their new place, which is pretty pimpin' and still within walking distance of the Burwood.

All in all, it was definitely a weekend that had to make Jessie think twice about her decision to marry me. I'm going to have to give Spot some time off the recouperate. He's tired, I'm tired, Jessie's tired, and I know Ari's tired of us being at her apartment. I'm leaving Chicago approximately 5.6 pounds heavier than when I arrived 4 days ago, and with about 845,179 fewer healthy brain cells. Healthy cells make 845,179 fewer brains. Brain cells are healthy days. Four.

IU 20 CMU 13...Andrew 15 or 16

Sometimes I forget that beer has alcohol in it. Last night was such an occasion. But that's what happens when BW-3 offers $4 23oz drafts, especially when they have Oberon on tap and I start drinking at 6. And with IU playing football, it's often a reason to drink more heavily than usual. There were several moments in the game when the "here we go again" thoughts entered my head, but luckily the Hurryin' Hoosiers remembered that they are a Big Ten team and that Central Michigan is a MAC team. The Terry Hoeppner era began with a victory, which is the first time that a new head coach at IU has beat his first D-1A opponent since Sam Wyche guided the Hoosiers to a 15-10 victory over perennial football juggernaut Duke in 1983 (note: Wyche left IU after one season to become head coach of the Cincinnati fucking Bengals). Then again, I am talking about a program where the winningest coach has a losing record.

Only 5 more victories until the Motor City Bowl! For all you nay-sayers out there, think about this: in 1966, IU was 1-8-1, limping to a 9th place finish in the Big Ten. In 1967, IU went to its only Rose Bowl, clinching its berth by beating No. 3 Purdue before a packed house at Memorial Stadium. I'm not saying we're going to the Rose Bowl this year, but I'm not saying we're not going to the Rose Bowl this year.

After the game, we sauntered over to the Burwood (i.e., the greatest neighborhood bar in Chicago) for some beers to celebrate the big win. The excitement in the air was palpable. It was there where I transformed from drunk to retarded, er, I mean, specially educated. What's a couple more spots on the liver? This morning at around 9am, I was the closest I've ever been to pissing and puking at the same time.

Jessie and I are staying at Ari's apartment, which is a studio. Goni made an appearance last night as Ari's bedfellow (all they did was lie in the same bed, so don't go gettin' any crazy ideas about the totally weird orgy that didn't take place). This morning, he left his watch here. I ALMOST DIED!! Luckily we reached him via mobile telephone (seriously!) before he had contracted with a local livery driver to transport him to his destination. Whew! I hope I never have to deal with something like that again.

Currently I'm watching Rutgers manhandle Illinois. Ahhh, New Jersey. The only state that has to give its flagship state university a name that has no reference whatsoever to the state in which it's located.

Back from the Land of the Dead

Too soon? Anyway, my lovely bride and I have made the journey from the Motor City to the Windy City for the weekend. The wake and funeral went surprisingly well, if that's possible. Jessie in fact did not puke upon the sight of Carmela's body, although it did take her about 5 or 6 hours to be able to get within 10 feet of it. I met the parents of actor Curtis Armstrong. Yeah, that's right: Booger from Revenge of the Nerds (also Charles DeMar from Better Off Dead). It turns out that his grandparents were my mom's godparents. Holla!

For an Italian wake and funeral, there was much less crying than expected, but that might have been because Grandma was 94, so it wasn't like anyone was really shocked. It was nice to see relatives that I only see on the funeral circuit.

In my grandma's obituary, I forgot to mention several things. She basically loved anyone and everyone, with one glaring exception: gypsys. Man did she hate gypsys. You know why? Because gypsys steal children.

Tonight is the IU football season opener at Central Michigan (whose Chippewa nickname was taken off of the NCAA's Native American banned nickname list today: http://sports.espn.go.com/ncaa/news/story?id=2149907). I'm pretty pumped about the game, especially since it's going to be on ESPNU (for some unknown reason) and I'll be able to watch it among IU fans at the BW-3 in Lincoln Park. As a diehard IU football fan, I think I'm more pumped up for this season than I was for Antwaan Randle El's senior year (when we finished a nearly solid 5-6). I currently have the ignorance-is-bliss optimism that accompanies a 0-0 record. I have the same thought I have every year: "Man, this could be the year we make it to the Motor City Bowl." I should only be so lucky.

So what the hell is going on in New Orleans? My statement about Andrew's prowess may have to be retracted, as much as that pains me. Leave it to me to open my big yap about how costly Andrew was. Needless to say, I'll be keeping a close eye on the amount of money spent. For more on Andrew, please visit the link to the right.

I do love how the French Quarter was relatively unharmed. Not even Mother Nature can stop drunk chicks from showing their ta-tas for extremely inexpensive plastic beads. Innocent question: will the bars in New Orleans still serve the popular mixed drink, the Hurricane? Personally, I'd add some Everclear, call it a Katrina, and charge twice as much. "A Hurricane will get you drunk, but just one Katrina, and you'll be blacked out for months."