Wherever, Whenever

Well, the weekend ended just as it began: to the not-too-faint musings of a Columbian songstress. Friday morning, on a jam-packed rush hour Brown Line train, I had the pleasure of standing next to some dude deafening himself to the sounds of Shakira's "Hips Don't Lie." I thought it might be some sort of mix of last year's hits, but then the next song featured the very same recognizable voice of Shakira.

During my lunch hour on Friday I prepared half of what I thought was a mildly amusing comparison of the Elite 8 teams to a legendary eight-song album. I then forgot to email it to my Yahoo account, thus leaving it on my work computer desktop. So infuriated at myself was I that, as punishment, I forced myself to finish the comparison and post it anyway, giving it a date of Saturday so as to give the appearance that it was timely and horrifyingly poignant.

Friday after work Jester and I felt like a mellow night, so we went to Chi-Town Tap for some dinner. As she dined on a $2 burger, I dined on a $10 vegetarian burrito. Fucking Lent. Actually the burrito was pretty good, but that's neither here nor there.

The most important discovery during our dining experience at Chi-Town Tap was that some dude with really long sideburns came in and ordered a Guinness. This may not seem strange to you, but I recognized this SOB as Dildo, our waiter from a few months back at Merlo, who served us low-grade dog meat and disappeared for 50 minutes at a time. Now I know why. This asshole actually walked down to Chi-Town Tap from Merlo (a few doors down) on his break to have a beer and a smoke. He did this several times in the hour and a half to two hours we were at Chi-Town Tap. Rot in hell, you automatic-eighteen-percent-for-parties-of-six-or-more-receiving bastard. I was so pissed that I went home and played Wii.

By Saturday morning the anger had worn off. In the early afternoon, Jester and I headed down to Greektown to have lunch with one of Jessie's former art history masters classmates, Maria del Mar (that is her first name), and her husband Antonio, both of whom are working on PhDs, with MDM down in Champaign getting a PhD in art history and Antonio at University of Chicago getting a PhD in history. I'm fairly confident that of all the tables in the Parthenon (the restaurant in Greektown, not temple to Athena on the Acropolis, Kevin -- man, you are so dense sometimes), our table had the most degrees (ten, not including their PhDs). Yeah, I know, pretty fucking awesome. To celebrate this accomplishment, I had some calamari and shrimp salad (which was excellent) and some rotisserie-roasted lamb. Praise Demeter! Fucking pagans.

Saturday night Jester and I (and Tracey for an hour or so) watched The Departed, which neither Jessie nor I had seen. Maybe because it was hyped as "totally awesome" and such, but I was a little disappointed. Don't get me wrong -- please don't get me wrong -- I liked it. But I just didn't think it was as good as everyone made it out to be. I'm sure my opinion would have been different had I seen it months ago, before having to go through months of "Have you seen The Departed yet? You should because it's totally awesome." So thanks to all of my so-called friends who ruined it for me. It's like what happened with Son In Law all over again. "Aww hell Walter, it's just a joke." Not to me Theo. Not to me.

Meanwhile, Peyton Manning hosted Saturday Night Live. While I didn't view any of the show, I was sent a link for a hilarious United Way commercial spoof they did. Bravo. Thanks to Joe for the link.

Sunday morning, Jessie (along with Ari, Tana, Kyla, Alex, Luke, and 40,000+ others) ran in the Shamrock Shuffle, an 8K race to benefit cirrhosis in the Irish community, I assume. After hearing Jessie concoct various excuses as to why she would not run the race, I am proud to say that she ran the entire thing, finishing at 53 minutes and some change, shattering her previous record of zero.

At some point late Sunday morning, most Chicagoans awoke. They did not find rain (as had been predicted), but rather temperatures in the 70s and the sun shining. At around 11:15, you could actually hear the city have a collective orgasm, as people rushed to beer gardens, parks, and sidewalks. People were everywhere, walking around in shorts, scared shitless that this would be their last opportunity to do so. It's amazing how a hint of nice weather brings EVERYONE out of their houses, except the homeless of course. They were already there.

Meanwhile, I celebrated the occasion by opening some windows, playing some Wii, taking Harley to the dog park (where she exhibited classic dogtistic behavior, often standing around looking aimlessly at nothing, all the while probably counting the number of links in the fence), and eventually meeting up with the Shamrock Shufflers at the beer garden at Justin's, a bar that I had not set foot in since I ruined myself there last June. There's nothing more that Chicagoans enjoy than drinking during the day in beer gardens, and with good reason. You have no idea how scared I am that it was my last opportunity to do so.

In other news, with Georgetown's victory over North Carolina, for the first time in my bracket-predicting life, I have all four Final Four teams -- and I have TWO brackets with all four. Granted, I filled out like 16 brackets, so unless Niagara made it to the Final Four, I was pretty much covered. And it's not like I was the only person in my pools to pick the Final Four correctly. Oh for God's sake, just let me have this one. If Florida beats Georgetown for the championship, I will win two pools. The fact that I just wrote that sentence ensures that it will not happen.

In somewhat related news, if you are interested in applying for the head men's basketball coach at the University of Michigan, you can start the process by clicking on this link. So that's what the Michigan basketball program has come to. Koo-koo-ka-choo Rumeal Robinson, boosters love you more than you will know. Where have you gone Rob Pelinka, their nation turns their lonely eyes to you.

This morning as I was trying to read some Beatles-related prose on the train, I kid you not, there was a guy blaring Shakira from his iPod. I couldn't tell if it was the same guy, but I'll be damned if I didn't start dancing.

So Anna Nicole died of an overdose? No shit. I should be a coroner.

Meanwhile, tonight Christoff, Jester, and I went to Half Shell for dinner. We put down crab legs with the vigor and purpose of a hard-up soldier in a Vietnamese whore house. Man it was good. If you're ever in the mood to gorge on fat crab legs, this is the place to do it.

I know you've been waiting all week for the GMYH Tournament Challenge update, so here it is:
1. Holt (95 points): Florida over Georgetown
2. Adam (88 points): Florida over UNC
3. Jaleh (83 points): IU over Georgetown
4. GMYH (61 points): Florida over Texas
5. Yeh (55 points): Texas A&M over UCLA

It looks like Holt pretty much as it wrapped up. Congratulations Holt. You win nothing.