Thursday, May 04, 2006
Ridiculousness Pt. 2
Before I get started with the events of Friday, Saturday and Sunday, there are a couple of items that I forgot to mention in yesterday’s post. First, after spending approximately ten hours drinking on Wednesday night I woke at around 6 am with an uncontrollable urge to urinate. I awoke (still drunk) and attempted to open John’s door in order to access his bathroom. I twisted the doorknob and it seemed locked (I would later find out that it was actually unlocked). Because I’m a great guy I didn’t want to wake my host any earlier than normal. I still had to piss though, badly. I proceeded to walk out of John’s third floor apartment, down the stairs and into the courtyard of his apartment complex where I then urinated all over John’s neighbors bushes. Thankfully, none of the hippies in John’s complex were up in time to see this display.
Secondly (and perhaps more disgusting), was the sight that greeted me upon my second awakening later than morning. In what was meant to be John’s dining room was what can only be described as an enormous pile of trash. Eight full trash bags to be exact. Don’t ask me why John had continually stacked his trash in his apartment because I have no idea. I assumed that this was because the large trash bin was located far away from John’s apartment. I assumed incorrectly. As we would later find out, the trash bin was (maybe) 20 yards from John’s front door. Disgusting, yes. Pathetic, yes. Surprising, not in the least.
Anyway, back to Friday:
We didn’t do a whole lot during the early part of Friday save for a little lunch. John had to work early in the day and Calvin and I stayed behind at John’s apartment awaiting the arrival of our friend Duper. I’ve mentioned Duper in this space before. He oftens goes by Joe and I’ve described him as a white David Ortiz. The resemblance is uncanny actually. I won't get into why he’s named Duper, other than to say it’s a much better fit than plain ole’ Joe. Duper arrived around 2, sporting one of the finest wafros that I’ve ever seen. Duper lives in Montana and the lack of females in the area apparently inspired him to grow his curly red hair to heights never before seen. He now looked like some mutated cross between Ortiz and Kyle Broflovski (sans hat). Shortly after Duper arrived, John got off work and the four of us made our way down to downtown Seattle (beers in hand) to check out the Experience Music Project. Greg had recommended the EMP to me and John had also heard some very good things. We would not be disappointed. The EMP is an absolute must for anybody who visits Seattle and has even a cursory interest in music, history, or museums in general. It’s tough to describe the EMP as anything other than an interactive museum, though even that fails to adequately capture the entire vibe of the place. Put simply, it was another $20 well spent.
After leaving EMP we were thinking about hitting up the Space Needle. That is, until we saw it. It’s not that the Space Needle isn’t an impressive structure, rather that it’s a far less impressive structure than you would ever imagine it to be. It rests on a hill within Seattle that gives the impression of it being far taller than it actually is. When you are in it’s actual presence it becomes nothing more than an average sized structure with curious architecture. I’m sure the views from the top are fantastic, but only homo gays pay $20 for views of the ocean.
We ended up going to a nearby pizza place (gourmet pizza, I guess) for some beers and further confirmation that we were four of the more awful men in existence. I wasn’t especially hungry but Duper was famished from the drive up from Montana so I figured it best to let the guy eat, lest he grow cranky and try to eat some small asian child. After we finished up our meal we wandered around Seattle while making fun of the hippies who were staging an enormous bike parade and doing the ever popular beer in a random bar or three routine. Eventually we ended up at some bar called Cowgirls, Inc. that was basically a Coyote Ugly knock off. As knock offs go, it was pretty solid. Huge bar, good décor, random saddle bar stools that made chicks look/act like whores, and a pack of the hottest bartenders you’re likely to see. I can say this with confidence because I was still moderately sober at this point. I wish I could say the same for the guy in the Kelly Holcomb Browns jersey (seriously, WTF?) who was sitting next to me and openly cheering/booing for the WWE show (Smackdown?) that was playing on the TV in front of us. After about an hour at Cowgirls, we decided to leave. Not coincidentally, this was around the same time that one of the bartenders started dancing on the bar (in chaps) and receiving tips from Kelly Holcomb.
The rest of the night was rather low key. We grabbed a ton of beer on our way back to John’s and sat around watching some of the NBA playoffs and talking shit. Eventually we decided to venture out to a local bar. What a fucking disaster. We ended up at some awful Mexican restaurant that doubled as a Karaoke bar. I don’t think I need to explain to you how awful an establishment this was. The final straw came when a group (again, WTF?) of guys decided to sing the Backstreet Boys. We were able to get over to another bar an have a couple more beers and shots before last call. The night, it turned out, was far from over. Once we all managed to make it back to John’s we continued to drink and talk shit. Eventually John decided to fire up his DVR for some Saved by the Bell reruns. One problem, Comcast had cancelled John’s DVR subscription. John is one of the more irrational and random people I’ve ever met in my life (myself included) and this sent him into a rage like few people this side of Milton Bradley are capable of. He immediately began screaming and throwing shit, which was quickly followed by him calling the local Comcast number to complain (read: scream loudly and irrationally). It was a tour de force on hi point. He even threatned not to pay his next bill at one point (gasp), which of course led to a round of jokes about how he'd really figured out how to stick it to the cable company. By this time, it was four in the morning and we were all getting a little too drunk and too energetic for our own good. I may have been the worst offender of all. I’m not quite sure what sparked it, but eventually Duper and I were squared off in the middle of John’s living room in fighting stances as I threw half hearted jabs at Duper while shouting (Is there a word that means louder than shouting? If so, replace) a number of offensive slurs in his direction, not the least of which had to do with his inability to swim and love of fried chicken. I’m as big an asshole as most of you are ever likely to meet. However, this was uncharted waters even for me. Of course, I knew that it was all in the name of boozy fun and Duper had a decent idea (I think) but our other two companions were legitimately scared that a full scale brawl was about to take place. It never did and we eventually all passed out somewhere near 5 am.
The Draft. Awesome. What’s not awesome is waking up at 8:45 when you’ve been up drinking until 5 am. If I’d have been anywhere else, then I would’ve gone right back to bed for another ten hours or so. Unfortunately, that was not an option. After a quick trip to McDonald’s we were all in position for what would prove to be one of the saddest commentaries on our collective adulthood ever seen. I won’t go over the draft in detail other than to highlight some of the picks from the attendees specific teams of interest. John was first up with the Buffalo Bills. I was with John when the Bills traded up for JP Losman two years ago and let me tell you, it was not a pretty sight. I actually thought he might cry at one point. Well, when the Bills reached for Donte Whitner the entire room fell silent. We were all prepared for an awful pick by the Bills, just not like this. Really, Whitner in the top 8? Wow. Once we realized that John wasn't going to smash his new TV into bits, we piled on mercilessly for a solid 45 minutes or so. It got bad but then again, John had to know something like this was coming.
Calvin is a Browns fan and was moderately pleased with Kamerion Wimbley. At least until all my potshots at his “one season” and the sterling tradition of FSU D-Lineman in the NFL began to make him question the overall draft strategy of Teddy Bear Crennel and staff. The highlight of the Browns’ pick was John guessing that Romeo Crennel had picked Wimbley due to his proclivity for giving “belly kisses” which we all guessed was probably a requirement for anybody who works for the cuddliest man in all of Pro Football.
I was next up and things were falling into place in a manner in which I couldn’t have dreamt. Winston Justice was falling (fast) to the Bucs and I began to believe it could happen. Jerry and I had a couple of back and forths over the possibility and I was in full silent treatment mode when Duper mentioned Justice’s name. I should’ve known then that it was going to end badly. Wouldn’t you know it, the Bucs passed on Justice for Davin Joseph. At this point, I didn’t even react. It’s almost like I was paralyzed with anger. Almost. I soon snapped out of my trance and let loose with a stream of expletives that could be hear throughout most of the Seattle metropolitan area. This went on for at least a half hour as I would randomly remember the Bucs passing on Justice and the scream in fits of anger. Not good times.
Duper was last on the clock with the NY Giants. He theorized that there were so many ways in which the Giants could go that it would be virtually impossible for him to be angry. When the Giants traded down, he was looking good. I think that Dupe actually talked himself into a state of serenity because what followed was the oddest reaction to a first round draft pick that I’ve ever seen. When the Giants selection of Mathias Kiwanuka was announced, Duper’s reaction went something like this, (extremely excited) “Yes…wait, no, NO!” It was fantastic. I couldn’t believe he was happy with the pick. In fact, he was actually in a state of shock, as evidenced by his quick reversal. So thrown was Joe by Ernie Accorsi’s selection that Duper actually broached the idea of Kiwanuka as a DT (Duper is actually a very knowledgeable football fan, seriously) before Calvin and I both alternately laughed & threatened his life. So there it was, an entire first round with not one single pick that made any of us happy. Actually, that’s not completely true. When the Bills jumped back into the first round, John was already near suicidal. The feeling of impending doom was clearly hanging over his head (can you blame him?). That feeling got far worse when he discovered that the Bills had traded up for John McCargo, a player they probably could’ve acquired in the early second round. In a surprise move, the first round ended with John being (by far) the most upset fan of anybody in the room.
The rest of the draft was a bit of a blur. We all began drinking at some point around 10:30 am and continued to watch the draft, drink , and talk shit for the remainder of the day while keeping our eye out for players of interest (The Ko Simpson watch was an entire post unto itself) as well as our teams’ later round picks. Through all of this we watched the NBA playoffs and continued our running battle to determine which one of us was the worst fucking person on earth (the ballots are still out in the tightly contested race between Calvin and Duper). The highlight of this time was easily one of two things. Either (a) Calvin trying to nap and whining for quiet like a little bitch while John, Duper, and I all randomly screamed “It’s baby wake up time!!” at him in three to five minute intervals. Of course, Calvin responded to this by whining like a little bitch and generally just acting like the sandy snatch that we all know him to be. Or (b) the now infamous Reggie Evans crotch grab on Chris Kaman. As any man watching this event live surely was, we were all floored by this action. Well, all of us except for Duper who casually referred to it as “the reach beneath”. Keep in mind, Duper lives in Montana with a guy named Cowboy John and once opined on whether there was “anything other” than a man on man blowjob. I’m not making any of this up and I’m not accusing anybody of anything, I’m simply stating the facts.
The night ended with the four of us making our way to a strip club (per Duper’s request) in what can only be described as a “unique experience”. This club was huge and featured a bevy of dancers as well as two stages, a VIP area, a champagne room, and some sort of shower show room. All of this, but not a drop of alcohol in the place. Are you kidding me? It’s cool and all that you gals are full nude up there in Seattle, but what do you expect me to do while I’m sitting in one of these joints, read a book? Fuck. We hung out for an hour or so and ended up at the same bar we finished Friday night up at for a quick beer and Jager (at my request). After a few more beers we all retired to bed. I was flying out at 1 and figured I ought to get some sleep during one of these nights.
A rather uneventful day (nine hours on a plane will do that to you) as I flew through Kansas City ( inclement weather in Chicago) to Orlando, eventually landing back in Florida at 10:30 pm. I can’t really say I accomplished much other than finally finishing the book that Greg recommended to me (Marching Powder) and getting home safely by about midnight. Of course, I wasn’t the least bit tired what with being on west coast time and all. Thankfully, I had some beer in the fridge, Jager in the freezer and Deadwood re-runs on Tivo to help me get to sleep. Oh yeah, I had Monday off too…thank God.