The Weekend: A 14-Part Novella

1. The Beginning
Friday night I had dreams of grandeur, believing for some reason that more than three people would want to join me for $1 bottles at Chi-Town Tap to start off the evening. Thanks to Jester, Ari, and Gregerson for showing up. I would have been there alone if not for them.

2. Karaoke Thunder
After our disappointing stay at Chi-Town Tap, we ventured up to the good ol' Roscoe Village Pub, where we met Kyla, Alex, and a karaoke machine looking to be dominated. The beauty about karaoke at the RVP is that there is no shortage of opportunity. If you want to sing, you just write the numbers down and take it up to the guy running the machine, who fills in the gaps between other singers quite handsomely, often going with '60s and '70s soul classics.

Luckily for everyone, there were no Darkness songs on the RVP's karaoke list. That didn't stop me from singing. Hell, a rabid cocker spaniel couldn't have stopped me from singing (more on that later). My performances were nothing short of electric. My first choice was "Build Me Up Buttercup" by The Foundations, which I dedicated to the guy playing pool wearing arm braces, just so he knew that I knew that he was probably faking it just so he could hang out with some otherwise unattainable chick, like the dude in Something About Mary. The irony was lost on him, even after I tripped him and asked him how many times he had been to Santiago in the last year.

Several drinks later, I chose "Drift Away" by Dobie Gray. I hesitate to call myself a hero, but when the a cappella part kicked in, nary a hand in the bar was able to refrain from clapping overhead. I think I saw some chick in the corner orgasming, but that might have just been a Miller High Life sign.

Unsure how to follow that up, I chose to take it down a notch, performing a heartfelt version of KISS's "Hard Luck Woman," dedicated to Jessie, since she's led me to believe that she's a sailor's only daughter. After the song, her twin sister Ari explained that I have been misled. For the past seven and a half years, I've also been under the impression that Jessie is too proud to be a queen. As soon as I confronted her about not being the daughter of a sailor, much less the only daughter, she did a handstand and walked around the bar on her hands for like 45 seconds, while repeating the phrase "I'm not too proud to be a queen" in a really exaggerated British accent.

I wasn't the only one in our group making karaoke history. Gregerson graced us with several inspired performances, including, but not limited to: "Brandy" by The Looking Glass (also dedicated to Jessie, whose name I've just discovered is NOT Brandy), "Lady Is a Tramp" by Frank Sinatra (Jessie again), "Only the Good Die Young" by Billy Joel (Jessie again), some Garth Brooks song, and perhaps another country song.

Kyla and Ari tried to drag me into their attempt to sing Color Me Badd's megahit, "I Wanna Sex You Up," which I dedicated to Jessie. Realizing I was not badd, nor did I want to be colored as such, I got out right after the song started. It turns out Kyla and Ari didn't know any words besides "I wanna sex you up," "Oooohhh ooohh oooohh oooh," and "tick tock and you don't stop" (the latter two of which were sung by the karaoke CD as backing vocals). Even though the subject matter of their song was edgy and controversial, I found their performance to be uninspired and contrived. Maybe next time a "Knockin' Boots" by Candyman or a "Freak Me" by Silk will be better suited to their vocal styles.

3. The Wii Bowl-Off
On Saturday, I was awakened by a frantic Jessie, explaining that she just received a text from Christoff, imploring me to call him. I begrudgingly returned the call, and Christoff explained that he wanted Jessie and me to join him and Jodie in a Wii bowl-off. So we (pun intended) went to his house for said bowl-off. I won. Whatevs. We also played some Wario Ware: Smooth Moves. Good times.

4. The Negativity Vortex Effect
Those good times soon ended, as Ohio State beat Georgetown, thereby ending my chances of winning two pools (I had Florida over Georgetown in the final) and over $500. What the OSU victory proved is something that until now was just a theory: The Negativity Vortex Effect. The vortex effect of my leaving the state of Ohio is now both unbelievable and undeniable. Indeed, it was my negativity toward Ohio State while I was living in Ohio that was keeping Ohio State from achieving success. Think about it. The year before I moved to Ohio, the Buckeyes win a share of the Big Ten basketball title and win the BCS championship. I arrive in the fall of aught three, and shits starts hitting the fan. BCS Championship Game darling Maurice Clarett gets busted for filing a false police report, and then drops out of school. Head basketball coach Jim O'Brien is fired for paying a player. Rumors and accusations swirled about head football coach Jim Tressel's shady past and the cushy summer "jobs" that OSU football players magically got. Since I moved to Chicago approximately 11 months ago, the Buckeyes won Big Ten titles in both football and basketball, and made it to the national championship game in both sports.

While the Negativity Vortex Effect is extremely disappointing because it is allowing Ohio State to succeed, it is at the same time delivering very promising results in Illinois. While I lived in Ohio, the University of Illinois men's basketball team achieved unprecedented (for Illinois) success, reaching the national title game in 2005 and going 89-16 in three seasons and 8-3 in the NCAA tournament under someone perceived to be college basketball's coaching wunderkind. Hell, he even managed a verbal commitment from the state of Indiana's top prospect. Meanwhile, the Illinois football team managed to get a coach who once coached at the mighty University of Florida. Since I have moved back to Chicago, the following things have happened (not in any particular order):

1. Illinois lost their mascot of 80+ years
2. The Illinois basketball team lost in the first round of the NCAA tournament.
3. The Illinois football team went 2-10 in 2006, thus exposing Ron Zook for the lackluster game-time coach he is.
4. Eric Gordon changed his mind and signed a letter of intent with Indiana, thus exposing Bruce Weber for the lackluster recruiter he is.
5. Two basketball players got DUIs.
6. One of those basketball players left his teammate for dead in the front seat of a wrecked car.
7. Yet another basketball player was arrested for a drunken assault of a bouncer.

Needless to say, this Negativity Vortex Effect might not be such a bad thing after all.

5. The Filling
For dinner, the four of us headed down to Bridgeport to go to a Mexican restaurant called Pancho Pistolas. In addition to excellent margaritas, PPs (as it's called in my mind) offers a delightful steak burrito dinner. If you're ever in, cough, Bridgeport, make sure you head there.

I do, however, suggest that you give yourself a few hours to digest your steak burrito dinner before you start drinking $2 cans of THP, the house beer at Cans in Bucktown. Not only is THP several notches below Natty, but it only increases your fullness, thereby causing you gastric discomfort for several hours until you have finally digested most of your burrito.

6. Hipster Douchebags
As someone who goes out mostly in Lincoln Park, I'm privy to a certain style of douchebaggery: popped collars, hats tilted to the side, striped shirts, sport coats and jeans, fauxhawks -- you know, the usual. I like going out in Bucktown because I get to see a whole other style of douchebaggery: hipster douchebaggery. There are few, if any, popped collars, but a surprisingly similar number of stupid hairdos and hats turned to the side (although instead of Cubs hats, they tend to be Hurley hats or those godawful militaristic-looking hats). In addition, the sport-coat-and-jeans look apparently travels outside of Lincoln Park. However, in Bucktown, rather than a collared shirt underneath, it's a t-shirt. One douche bag was watching the UCLA/Florida game, wearing a retro UCLA shirt underneath a tan corduroy sport coat. Sweet Jesus man, just wear the fucking t-shirt by itself. My favorite part about people watching (and deriding) in Bucktown is that there is a much greater chance of being able to say, "Ahh, you guys must be the band" than you do in Lincoln Park. I wonder why I'm so bitter and why I feel the need to constantly criticize every fucking douchbag I see. Probably because I keep getting bit by spiders while I'm sleeping.

7. Our Dear Old School of Gold and Blue
Digestion problems and hipsters aside, Cans was a good time. The cataclysmic forces of randomness turned the bar into a mini LT reunion, as at least the classes of '96, '97, '98, and '00 were represented. Among the LT alumni present who I recognized (other than myself) were people holding the following last names: Carroll, Christoff, Condron, Hagy, Galuska, Johns, Myers, Remus, Tazic, Urchill, Veeser, Word. While not LT grads, Jester, Jodie, some of Jodie's friends, Gregerson, and some of Gregerson's friends were also there.

8. The Bloodening
After the Florida/UCLA game ended, the bar started showing movies on some of the TVs (with the sound off, obviously). The first movie was Dazed and Confused, which is obviously a good choice for a bar. And the third movie was Napoleon Dynamite, which is always a spirit-lifter. The second movie, however, was Freeway, a 1996 macabre, demented, violent, and bloody adaptation of Little Red Riding Hood, starring Reese Witherspoon and Kiefer Sutherland. Odd choice, I thought.

9. Do You Know the Street Value of This Mountain?
The most interesting choice of the night came around 2, when some dude who possibly went to LT and who was already bombed our of his gourd took it to another level. In a move that would have made Charles DeMar proud, several of us witnessed this guy snort most of a shot of what looked like tequila. I can't possibly fathom how that would be more enjoyable than drinking it, no matter how bad it tastes.

10. The Vu. Yes, The Vu
The dumbest choice of the night came around 2:30, when several of us decided it would be a good idea to go to the Vu. Despite Jessie's pleas otherwise, I went to the Vu, after walking her approximately a third of the way home. Going to the Vu always seems like a good idea at the time. After all, it is the closest bar to my house open until 5 that has Silver Strike and erotic Photo Hunt. Gregerson, his buddies, and I played some (read: a lot) of erotic Photo Hunt, failing to crack the Top 10. I don't know who these people are that have the top scores, but they must have the at-home version because it doesn't seem possible that someone can pick out all five differences in the amount of time you get when your score gets into the upper 300,000 range. We also played some trivia on the same machine, capturing the high score in the general trivia category, but failing to surpass the high score in the music category, which was recorded by me, Jessie, and Gregerson several months ago.

What seemed like a good idea (i.e., going to the Vu for a few more beers) turned into a bad idea when we were getting booted because it was closing time and I looked at my watch. While walking home, I muttered audibly to myself, "Why do you insist on doing this to yourself over and over again?" I couldn't come up with a terribly convincing reason, aside from "'cause I can, dick." As my head hit the pillow, the clock read 5:05 and my self-loathing was nearing record highs.

11. You Were In a What?
Yesterday was almost entirely a waste. I woke up around 11:45, and soon thereafter Jester, Tracey, and I went to Piece for lunch. I spent the rest of the afternoon sitting on the couch, half-assingly writing a sketch for my Second City class while Jester slept on the other couch. The highlight of the day undoubtedly came during my class when my teacher nonchalantly mentioned that she was once in a cult for a brief period of time. When I got home, we had no hot water.

12. Sweet Dreams
I don't know if it was the mescaline or what, but last night I had some fucked up dreams. Granted, most of my dreams are fucked up. Merely a few nights after dreaming that I was responsible for my brother's death and he came back in zombie form to haunt me and my family, I dreamt that I was at a massive house party in honor of Wee Wee (why not?), which was cool and all, until the bill came, which I for some reason got stuck with. Cheap-ass bastards. Luckily it was only $200, but I still haven't figured out who told the caterers I was paying. Interestingly, the party was NOT in Richmond. After that, I dreamt that while walking through a park minding my own damn business, a rabid cocker spaniel attacked me, going for the jugular without shame or hesitation. I then beat it to death by swinging it like a baseball bat headfirst against a brick wall. Or at least death was the plan. It turns out a concaved skull merely momentarily dazes a rabid cocker spaniel. I hate cocker spaniels.

13. A Cold Shower Without Good Reason
This morning the horror continued, as the showerhead spewed nothing but cold water. I don't think I've taken a shower that fast since I was eight (36 seconds is my record -- I wasn't a very clean child). While rinsing the shampoo from my hair and shivering in the process, I decided that hypothermia would be the worst way to die, aside from getting swung like a baseball bat headfirst into a brick wall.

14. Fucking Aardvarks
This afternoon I "watched" the Sox/Indians game on mlb.com's "Gameday," as the Sox got shellacked 12-5. Coach Lou Brown must have whipped those Indians into shape in the off-season. The only bright spot was the picture they showed of White Sox pitcher David "The Aardvark" Aardsma while he was pitching (fear not, they did at least digitally change his uniform to a Sox uniform on mlb.com, but the picture was the same). The uneasy smile and "what the fuck?!" eyes suggest that right as the picture was being taken, some prankster jammed an ice cube in his ass.