Tuesday Top Ten: Events from This Past Weekend

Bear in mind, my definition of the "weekend" goes from any point on Friday until the conclusion of Monday Night Football. Really, only nine good things happened, but I had to include ten, so here you go.

10. Our laptop died. The smug bastards at Geek Squad could not revive it, nor could they retrieve the data from it, which includes all of our pictures and videos of Daughter from her first year, all of my other pictures (including Oktoberfest pictures, so the stringing out of the Oktoberfest recaps will continue into to the new year), as well as what I assume are millions of dollars worth of intellectual property. Thus, we have sent it to an outside data retrieval company, who we will likely have to pay more than the equivalent of a new laptop to retrieve our data.

9. I had a steak burrito for dinner on Sunday. Now that I no longer (regularly) roam the streets in a drunken haze between the hours of 1 and 4 a.m., my burrito consumption is less frequent. Still delicious.

8. I had Taco Bell for lunch on Saturday.

7. I got a new laptop.

6. My boss took a bunch of us out for "lunch" Friday, which meant I not only got a free lunch at a nice restaurant, but I also had to do nothing the entire afternoon.

5. While scouring the nearby Salvation Army for a bad Christmas sweater (which I did not find), I purchased several 1990s alternative rock CDs for $1 each, including, but not limited to, Smashing Pumpkins' Siamese Dream, The Offspring's Smash, Oasis's What's the Story Morning Glory?, Liz Phair's Exile in Guyville, Rusted Root's When I Woke, and Better Than Ezra's Deluxe. If you are looking for pretty much any early to mid '90s alternative rock or grunge, the Salvation Army on Clybourn just south of Fullerton is a bastion. I didn't realize The Why Store put out that many albums.

4. The Bears clinched the NFC North title last night.

3. I went to a bad sweater/white elephant party. My friend Adam and his wife Jen throw said party every year, and I had to miss it last year because Daughter had only recently escaped from the womb. Needless to say, good times were had, White Russians were drunk, and crazy holiday clothing was abundant. Here is a picture of Jester (as well as Gemkeezi's wife). She was the runner-up for the best dressed.

2. I got a samurai sword at the white elephant party. I should say, Jester got a samurai sword. Since she was the runner-up, she had second-to-last pick for the white elephant presents. It was between the sword and a little gaming system you can plug into any TV that has old Atari games on it. We found out that the winner wanted the Atari thing, so we went with the next best thing: a fucking sword. Look at how giddy I am. Do not concern yourself with the trophy I'm holding. Now I just need to find some nunchucks, a bo staff, a couple sai daggers, three other turtles, and a mutated rat sensei. Then I'm coming for you, Oroku Saki.

1. Last night, I clinched a spot in the finals of one of my fantasy football leagues. The reason this trumps the samurai sword is the way in which it happened. I would liken it to Sunday's Eagles come-from-behind victory over the Giants. I was left for dead, staged a furious comeback that looked like it wasn't going to be quite enough, and then in the last minute, I stunned my opponent. Here's how it went down. I am the #4 seed in the playoffs, and I was playing the #1 seed. Going into last night's Bears/Vikings game, I was approximately 34 points behind. He had Joe Webb, who was somehow listed on Yahoo as a WR or a QB, so he started Webb at WR. I had my kicker, Robbie Gould, and the Bears defense/special teams. One note that makes it more interesting, which I didn't know until last night, is that, unlike many leagues, there are no points for special teams touchdowns (although we get a point for every 15 return yards). Anywho, the Bears defense was spectacular last night, and Devin Hester had a ton of return yardage (and a punt return touchdown for which I got no points). On his side, Brett Favre started, so it looked like Joe Webb was not going to play. Of course, the Bears finally ended Favre, and Webb came in, playing admirably. I was down by about one point when the 2-minute warning hit. The Bears had the ball in Vikings territory. They had a chance to kick a 48-yard field goal (which would have got me 3 points), but chose not to, since they were already up 40-14. So they went for it on fourth down and were stopped. The Bears D came on the field. I needed a turnover. Webb completed a pass. I was down by about 1.5 points. With about 30 seconds left, Webb completed another pass, and then it happened. FUMBLE! Bears recover. This put me up 122.60-122.17. The Bears knelt to run the clock out. I was literally frothing at the mouth. Christoff, who was over watching the game (and had stayed despite the fact that the game was a blowout solely to find out if I would win my fantasy matchup), was equally as excited for me. I burst into Daughter's room to tell her the news, and she was so excited she started to cry. For those of you who think fantasy football is just some dull thing dudes do, good God, you are wrong. And Jester, this is the last year you chastise me for being in three leagues.

Listen to Hair Band Friday - 12/17/10

American Werewolves in Munich: Thursday 9/23

Previous chapters:
Cast of Characters
Monday 9/20
Tuesday 9/21
Wednesday 9/22

Thursday morning ceased to exist, as far as I know. I woke up around 1 Thursday afternoon, and I felt pretty good. I walked into the other room in our suite, where Shane and Derrick were also just waking up. Shane was still in his clothes from the night before. He got up, looked at his hands and jeans and asked, "Why are my hands and jeans bloody?" I answered with two words: "Gloria Estefan." "Happens every time," he replied. He then let out a bellow, started flexing, and eating mozzarella sticks that he smuggled in from Chicago.

Given Wednesday's debauchery and that we were going back to the tents on Friday, we decided to take it relatively easy on Thursday.

Bonham is both cunning and full of wanderlust. He had presumably been up since 5 a.m., exploring Munich's underbelly. He communicated telepathically with me to let me know he was at the Hofbraukeller, a restaurant and beer garden owned by Hofbrau. It's a little bit outside of the center of the city, across the river, and much lesser known than the Hofbrauhaus. It was a spectacular find by Bonham.

Shane, Derrick, and I hopped on the subway a couple stops, and then exited with absolutely no idea which way to go. Everything was in German. Thankfully, I smelled a hint of pineapple brandy mixed with blood, which meant that Bonham couldn't be far away. We followed the smell to find him sitting alone at a table in the Hofbraukeller's large and welcoming beer garden, a ham hock in one hand and a liter of beer in the other, cackling like a hyena.

Meanwhile, Daniel, Chandler, Alex, Colt, and Laura went on a tour of Neuschwanstein, a spectacular castle a couple hours away in the Bavarian mountains. According to pictographic evidence, Daniel was struggling, sweating like a whore in church. While there, he saw this sign for sale, which was the only sign in English: Back at the Hofbraukeller, RPTre, Kellie, and Mirka showed up a little while after we got there. A good laugh was had by all. Gregerson and Emily followed a little while later. We had become too big of a group for our initial table, so we moved to a larger vacant table next to us. A stern fraulein waitress frantically rushed up to us and spewed what I assume were profanities at us in German, pointing to a wooden sign that hung from a tree above the table. What we gathered is that this table was reserved for someone named Mir San Mir!
Thus, we moved to another vacant table. That one was also apparently reserved, even though it was the middle of the afternoon and the place was pretty much empty. We finally found a table that was agreeable for both sides.

In addition to the beer and the garden, another awesome thing about the Hofbraukeller is that there is on-site day care. I kid you not, you can bring your kinder, plop them down in their little play area, get shitfaced, and then pick them up eight hours later. By the way, when you take a shit at the Hofbraukeller, they make you look at pictures on the back of the door showing German children eating Italian food and yelling. Unsurprisingly, the title of a German poster has the initials "KKK." There's nothing right about this. At dusk, some toddler walked up to our table. His soulless eyes and attempts to take our goats indicated to us that he was a gypsy.
Unsure of what to do next, we did the only thing we could think of: we popped and locked. Then we ate the gypsy kid (he tasted gamier than I would have thought). Then we got kicked out. Then we started riding lions and cows. Then we went to the subway station, where we started singing "99 Red Balloons" (English lyrics), which caused Kellie to air motorboat Mirka. Notice the guy in the background. From the knees down, he is a fucking deer. Then Gregerson made himself into a statue and mounded himself to a wall. After that, we headed to Der Pschorr for some dinner. While some of us ate, Kellie slept, as is her style. As night fell on Munich, we watched as a full moon entered the hop-filled Bavarian sky.
We went back to the hotel somewhat early because we had to get up early Friday morning to head to the tents. No one slept well that night. I was restless, so I got up around three in the morning to wander the streets. I fed on a drunken Slovenia couple walking through the deserted market and some wild dachshunds I found in a nearby badger hole. Prove to me that it didn't happen.

In the next installment: a day of lost memories.

Cash Cab in Chicago

After a swindle-filled early week, things are beginning to look up. Cash Cab -- my favorite livery-based reality game show -- is filming in Chicago. As someone who loves trivia and loves to be paid to be driven places, this is quite exciting. Needless to say, I'll be hailing every Yellow Cab Toyota Sienna that I see.

My German Irish American Shorthaired Golden Eskimo Setrievointermatian

As you may know, we really have no idea what kind of dog we own. The people at the rescue where we got her said the only thing they knew for sure is that her mother was part dachshund. She barks like a hound, and looks like some sort of hound puppy. Every loudmouthed saluki owner is convinced she's part saluki. Most vets think she's probably part whippet.

I was on an aeroplane a few months ago, perusing the Sky Mall catalog, when I came across an interesting entry in the Hammacher-Schlemmer section: a dog breed DNA test through some company named BioPet Vet Lab. They have a website and everything.

This seemed like a great Christmas gift for Jester, since she pretty much asks me every day "so what in holy hell do you think Harley is?" I kept it in my back pocket (literally) until a few weeks ago, when I ordered the test. The test box came, and I followed the directions, rubbing the swabs on the inside of both of Harley's cheeks, much to her horror. I sent the swabs in and eagerly awaited the results. Since Jester usually gets home from work before I do and gets the mail, my hope was that the results would not come in an envelope that said "DNA Breed Identification Results Enclosed." My dreams were shattered yesterday when I returned home from work and Jester asked me if I had gotten a DNA test for Harley, handing me an envelope with the very same phrase I had hoped would not be on it. I confessed and told her it was one of her Christmas presents, and she said she wanted to open it now. Whatever, it's only Christ's birthday, but if you want to piss all over it, be my guest.

The results were appalling. This might have been the biggest waste of $60 since I cornered the market on Animaniacs pogs.

Here are some pictures of my dog:
Here are the results of the DNA test and pictures of the dog breeds that supposedly comprise my dog. I am fairly confident that no part of Harley consists of any of these breeds.

American Eskimo Dog (20-36% of DNA)
Dalmation (20-36% of DNA)
Irish Setter (20-36% of DNA)
German Shorthaired Pointer (10-19% of DNA)
Golden Retriver (10-19% of DNA)

How 'bout no!

Tuesday Top Ten: Beers of 2010

I've been too busy tracking ticket scammers like a hellhound to write my own Tuesday Top Ten this week. Thankfully, I received an email today from Binny's Beverage Depot (Chicago's greatest chain of liquor stores) listing their top ten beers of 2010. Here is their list, with their descriptions. Yes, I know last week's Tuesday Top Ten was beer-related as well, but tis the season for boozing, so you're welcome.

10. Stone Double Bastard
The 10.5% ABV Double Bastard is the big brother of Stone's most popular brew, Arrogant Bastard. It has a tremendous malt bill to go along with a ridiculous amount of hops. This beer is definitely not for the faint of heart. Are you worthy of this aggressive brew?

9. Smuttynose Robust Porter
One of the gems of the east coast, Smuttynose Brewing Company, debuted in out stores in October. Their Robust Porter is everything you could hope for in a porter, and more. It has a coffee and espresso like bitterness, along with flavors of chocolate and caramel.

8. Goose Island Night Stalker
Night Stalker is a monster of a beer, clocking in at 11.2% ABV and 60 IBU's. It is on the hoppy side for an imperial stout, as it is gushing with Simcoe and Mt Hood hops. The "midnight" color of the Night Stalker is derived from the six different types of malts used during the brewing process.

7. Emmett's McCarthy Red
Emmett's Brewing Company has been crafting beer locally at their brewpub and restaurant in West Dundee since 1999, and have since added locations in both Downers Grove and Palatine. McCarthy Red has a nice toasted malt flavor and a slight hop bitterness. It is easy drinking and has great balance.

6. Scheldebrouwerij Hop-Ruiter
This beer pairs aggressive American hops with Belgian yeast. But rather than the hops taking away from the Belgian yeast characteristics, they add complexity. Flavors of fruit, grass, and spices such as clove paired with assertive hops make for a very interesting and intricate brew.

5. Stillwater Stateside Saison
Some of us had the chance to sample this beer at the Belgium Comes to Cooperstown beer festival, and it stood out among the hundreds of beers we tried. We were elated when it debuted in our stores a few months later. It is floral, fruity, easy to drink, and definitely one of the premier saisons on our shelves.

4. Samuel Smith's Yorkshire Stingo
This traditional English Strong Ale is aged in oak barrels that previously held cask-conditioned ale. It is also bottle conditioned, and these two attributes unite for a rare combination. Flavors of caramel, dark fruit, oak, and toffee make up this 8% ABV brew.

3. Brooklyn Sorachi Ace
Brooklyn decided to use their bounty of the rare and coveted Sorachi Ace hop variety to craft a saison. This beer pulsates with a lemon citrus aroma, backed up with some herbal spices and yeast. The flavor is packed with more lemon, spice, and a bit of that funk that seems like a staple for saisons. The finish is mildly bitter but extremely refreshing.

2. Troubadour Magma
Magma is a decorated beer, having won top honors at Zythos, the biggest as well as the premier beer festival in Belgium. Magma is brewed with Belgian yeast, and dry hopped with American simcoe hops, resulting in a Belgian IPA that clocks in at 9% ABV. Flavors of strawberries, citrus, and yeast are apparent. The hoppiness is pleasant and not overwhelming.

1. Central City Red Racer IPA
Central City has come along way during their youthful 7 year brewing history. They were recognized as the 2010 Canadian Brewery of the Year at the Canadian Brewing Awards, edging out other Canadian brewery heavyweight favorites such as Unibroue. Their Red Racer IPA took home the gold medal for best American IPA at the same event.

Jeffrey Diebold Ticket Scam

Yesterday was supposed to be awesome. My lovely wife bought me tickets to the Bears/Patriots game for my birthday. She got the tickets on Craigslist back in October. I hadn't been to Soldier Field since the 2003 renovation (when they implanted a spaceship inside Soldier Field), or to a regular season Bears home game in over 15 years, so I was obviously excited. Jester didn't want to go, so I employed a complicated algorithm to randomly select Australian Andrew to accompany me.

As you may know, yesterday was a classic Chicago winter day. It was snowing the entire day, there were 30+ mph winds, and the wind chill was in the single digits. But that didn't temper our attitudes or excitement. We bundled up, and headed to the game, pumped up to see what we hoped would be a good game between two good teams.

After waiting in line for 15-20 minutes to get inside the stadium, the ticket scanner scanned our tickets (which were print-outs, not actual tickets), and allowed us to pass into the Mecca of professional football. We went to our section. It was great -- 40-yard line seats on the club level.

The only problem was that our seats were in Row 9, and there were only 6 rows in the section. We asked the usher where are seats were, and she was just as confused as we were. She got someone else, and he was equally as confused. He then got someone from the ticket office, who was also confused, so she asked us to come with her to the ticket office so she could figure out what was going on. Here is the view from what where our seats should have been:

As we walked to the ticket office, she asked where I got the tickets. I told her my wife got them on Craigslist, and the guy who sold them to her -- Jeffrey Diebold, whose name was listed on the tickets as a season ticket holder -- also gave her a copy of his drivers license, which I had with me. When we got to the ticket office, she took the tickets and the copy of the ID and went into a room. She reemerged a couple minutes later and told us our tickets were counterfeit. They have apparently had several counterfeit tickets with this guy's name on them.

With that, she sympathetically informed us that we had to leave, escorted us out of the stadium, and told us to file a police report. Sweet. And, of course, the ticket office is on the south side of the stadium, so we had to walk all the way around the stadium to head back to the L. We ended up just going to a bar and watching the rest of the game.

I was pissed off, but took it in stride. Jester, on the other hand, was mortified, not only because she spent a lot of money on the tickets and because she knew how excited I was about going to the game, but also because she had been swindled. To her credit, she did everything recommended by Craigslist. She met the guy in a public place, used cash only, and communicated with the guy both through email and phone. After the guy asked to meet at the Woodfield Mall because he lived in the Northwest suburbs, she even did some quick internet research on the guy's name and confirmed that there was a Jeffrey Diebold who lived in the Northwest suburbs.

Needless to say, we will be filing a police report.

Here are some lessons to take away from this:

1. Don't buy tickets from someone holding himself out to be Jeffrey Diebold of Hawthorn Woods, Illinois. Jester said the guy who sold her the tickets looked like the guy on the copy of drivers license he gave her. From some quick internet research, the address on the license appears to be real and appears to be where the guy lives.

2. Don't ever buy tickets from Craigslist. Use Stub Hub, Ebay, or some other site that has mechanisms in place to hold its users accountable. And, in the case of Stub Hub, it allows the seller the option of entering the unique ticket ID code, so that as soon as someone buys it, the actual ticket is sent to the buyer.

3. If you do use Craigslist:
-Make sure the tickets you get are the exact same seats as those advertised (and, if specific seats aren't advertised, make sure to email the poster to get the specific seat information first).
-Call the venue to make sure those seats exist.
-If you communicate via email, be cautious of any odd email address or an email address that doesn't contain the person's name. For instance, this guy had an email that was something like albertcaponechicago@gmail.com, and when Jester asked him about it, he said that he uses it only for Craigslist postings.
-Meet the person in a public place.
-Ask to see the person's ID or to take a picture of them if they say they don't have an ID with them (seriously). If you see their car, take down their license plate.
-Get hard copy tickets (i.e., not print-outs of electronic tickets). If the person says he or she only has electronic tickets, make them forward them to you in addition to giving you print-outs.
-If anything at all seems fishy, don't buy the tickets and report the person to Craigslist.

-Keep copies of the Craigslist posting, any emails exchanged, and any phone numbers until after the event takes place.

-Don't be afraid to resort to vigilante justice.

Listen to Hair Band Friday - 12/10/10

The Lizard King CAN Do Anything

In an odd yet overdue move, Florida officials have posthumously pardoned Jim Morrison for allegedly showing his dong during a concert in Miami in 1969. (Thanks to Bonham for the link.) Of course, Morrison was convicted of several misdemeanors, despite the fact that there are dozens of pictures from the evening, none of which show Morrison's wang, and, conveniently, pretty much the only eyewitnesses who say they saw it were cops.

My favorite part of the article was the following snippet: "The pardon was granted over the objection of Angel Lago, a former Miami police officer, who said it sent the wrong message to the nation's youth[.]" I can see his point. With this news, I fully expect the nation's youth -- many of whom have no idea who Jim Morrison is -- to take this news as an invitation to form one of the most important American rock bands of all-time, get all hopped up on booze, acid, mescaline, and the like, write a whole bunch of great songs, and then find themselves on stage in front of thousands of adoring fans, where, empowered by the Florida board of clemency, they will be left with only one realistic option: whip it out. After all, if they do that, then they will railroaded by old-fashioned and threatened cops and then pardoned 39 years after they die. It's inevitable.

Passive Aggressive Notes

If you've ever worked in an office and someone's lunch has been stolen, or someone left the microwave splattered with pasta sauce, or someone has left piss in the sink, then chances are someone posted an anonymous, passive aggressive note about it. This is just how things work. Thankfully, someone decided to put these types of notes onto a website, aptly titled Passive Aggressive Notes. Check it out. It's funny because it's true.