January 2008 Archives

Wednesday night, I was installing a new chandelier above my kitchen table, and because I had to cut the power to my kitchen to do so, I couldn't cook myself anything tasty for dinner. So I ordered a pizza. The 24-below zero temperatures meant lots of other folks had the same idea; 45 minutes to an hour for delivery! I told them I'd come pick it up, and that I had a coupon.

When I got to Godfather's, the cashier asked me for my coupon. Right...the coupon. Its in one of these pockets...honestly...DAMMIT. I realized I'd forgotten the coupon. That was going to cost me like three bucks!

Knowing that Godfather's doesn't take the coupons, but generally just enters the code off them and hands it back to you, I thought quickly on my feet and busted out my iTouch. Using the free Wi-Fi from the bar next door, I pulled up the Godfather's website and navigated to the online PDF coupons. Then I showed the page to the cashier.

Here's the amazing thing: they took it! Just as if it was a paper coupon, they entered the code and gave me the discount. They also laughed at me to my face, and are probably still laughing at me now. Glad to be of service.

You bet.

Sunday afternoon, we spent the afternoon at Buffalo Wild Wings watching first the AFC and then the NFC Championship game. Seven hours at the place, in front of the big screens, just hours after foolishly yelling Axl Rose Speeches into the mic with a cover band. Foolishly, I say, because...ah, well, never mind.

During the first game, Dick Herculanum was cheering for New England because he hates the Chargers. You might recall that last week, he hilariously rooted against both the Colts AND the Chargers, because he hates them both equally. As a Bronco fan, somehow this makes sense.

Personally, at this point in their run to douchebaggery, I'd root for Green Bay if they were playing New England. I'd do whatever I had to do, because the Patriots are loathesome at this point. From Belichick on down the line, they're just impossible to have positive vibes for unless you're a long-time Pats fan.

Saturday night, I took a friend of mine to the Creighton game. Whenever someone new goes to a game with me, they are amazed at how close to the court my season tickets are. It reminds me not to take my good fortune for granted, and to count my blessings. They're good seats, but its easy to forget that when you sit there game after game for years and years.

Now, the game was great as usual, with lots of awesome action and cold beer. After the game, we headed to the Secret Weapon concert at the Waiting Room. I'd never heard of this band, but the girl who was at the game with me spent the better part of said game convincing me they were dominant. An 80s cover band that plays mostly arena rock, with the occasional bizarre Bangles or Lita Ford song thrown in for good measure. Lots and lots of Motley Crue, Def Leppard, Bon Jovi, Guns n Roses, Journey, Eddie Money and Van Halen. Two guitarists, a bassist, a drummer and two lead singers. They were really good, actually.

A buddy of mine from Wisconsin sent me this, telling me he was "ashamed of my home state for this nonsense." I'm just amused by it.

The FOX affiliate in Green Bay found out this week that Eli Manning's favorite show is Seinfeld, so they decided to pre-empt the regularly-scheduled syndicated broadcast on Saturday night to show something else. Because Eli would totally have been in his hotel room, watching Seinfeld, laughing hysterically, and thus had a better chance at beating the Packers in the NFC Championship the next day.

Look, I'm no fan of Eli Manning, but if they really think he'll suddenly throw six interceptions because he can't watch Seinfeld on Saturday in his room at the Green Bay Super 8, they're mistaken. Who do they think he is, Rainman? "Gotta watch Kramer, definitely Kramer, definitely Kramer..."

"So, are you excited for the new American Gladiators, brother?"

I got a call on Monday night from my brother asking me that question. "I'm watching it right now!"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "No, its terrible, brother. Its unwatchable! And it looks fixed -- its more rigged than the WWE!"

Unless it has Malibu with his crazy mullet and stoned-surfer dude stories...

"Well dude its like this. I saw this guy comin', and I took the most excellent hit of my life! Next thing I knew, I was on the beach, takin' in some cosmic rays, gettin' healed by Mother Nature! Takin' a little brewsky, holdin' onto a beautiful babe, and I'm fine today! Sweet!"

Unless its got Mike Adamle as the straight-laced announcer, a pre-NFL commentator Joe Theismann taking the gig way too seriously, and believably-sized gladiators, how is it worth my time? Seriously, people are pissed at Roger Clemens for taking steroids in the butt and NOT about this?

A couple of weeks ago, I got a text message out of the blue from a friend of mine. "Jan. 12, b-day party bus, 9:30 p. U in?" Well, unlike some people, you don't have to ask me twice to a party. Once is all it takes, and I'm there.

The fact that I would not know anyone there besides the birthday girl did not deter me. Its actually kind of fun to put yourself in situations like that, because you know you're going to meet a lot of new people. Plus you could potentially answer questions from ladies such as, "So do you know anyone else here?" with sleazy answers like "No, but I'd like to know you..."

Nah, I could never bring myself to actually say that, at least not with a straight face. But you obviously meet a lot of new people when you don't know ANYONE. Good times.

I've played a guitar exactly one time in my life, and I'll be 30 years old in a couple of months, so clearly I'm a novice in every sense of the word. While I was at a holiday party last month at a colleagues house, I tired of the adults drinking wine and playing board games...so I wandered to the basement and played a couple of six-year olds in "Madden" on the Wii. Destroyed him, I might add. Not that its anything to be proud of, destroying a kid in a video game, but still.

Then this happened. "Oh yeah, I bet I can beat you in Guitar Hero!" And then this kid starts pressing buttons, flipping switches, and just generally doing things that I'm not capable of doing at such a quick pace. Needless to say, I did not do so well. Before long, I was the laughingstock of a room of kiddies, and I was back upstairs to the wine-and-cheese-and-scrabble crowd.

Ouch.

"Years ago, I was working in a restaurant in Denver. One of the waitresses, with a look of fierce anger in her eyes, came up to the manager and said, 'This damn guy has been here for four hours at my table, and all he's had is a cup of coffee!' The manager looked her right in those fierce, angry eyes and said matter-of-factly, 'That's Hunter Thompson. Shut the fuck up.' And she pretty much did."

Ah, the stories you hear from drunken strangers at the bar. Priceless. That particular one comes courtesy of a guy we talked to at Sullivan's on Saturday night, who it turns out used to work with Dick Herculanum years ago. So he's not really technically a "stranger" at the bar, I guess, but we thought he was when we sat on the stools next to them at the bar.

Well, I finished in fourth place in our Fantasy Football league this year, although if I had played in good faith I would have finished third. How so? Let me explain.

There were 16 teams in our league, split into four divisions with four teams each. I finished with the second best record in the league, but the best team was in my division. So because I was chasing a team that went 12-2, and ultimately finished just behind them at 11-3, I got the fifth seed in the playoffs. Any other division, I'd have been the #2 seed and avoided the juggernaut until the Super Bowl. As the fifth seed, I had to play them in the semifinal...where of course I lost. Badly, in fact.

This cost me $105. The difference between being in another division and being in the "West" was a hundred and five damn dollars.

But I was OK with that, because the numbers we drew to divide into divisions went fair and square, and I knew the rules going in. Can't complain after the fact. Even though the winning owner, a female, named her team "TE Watcher".

Wanna make a bunch of people in Nebraska upset? Put a Christmas card from Bill & Hillary Clinton up on your mantle at home, or better yet, on your shelf at work. For better or worse, Nebraska is the reddest of the red states (and I'm not talking about "Big Red" either). And that's cool. I knew that when I decided to stay here after college.

But you should see the looks I get for proudly displaying a Christmas card from the Clintons. Whooo boy, you want dirty looks, you got 'em. Its so much fun stirring up people, and its so incredibly easy. You'd have thought I had a picture of babies playing musical instruments on my shelf. Pushing buttons without even trying is almost not even fun, you know? I mean, its SO easy...too easy, really.

Once, I walked around with two drum sticks banging on things around the room to the beat of "Hot For Teacher" over and over again, thinking it would piss people off. I was wrong; it was merely hilarious. But displaying a Christmas card from a Democratic candidate? Ooh, don't do that!

Its been said by people wiser than me that New Years Eve is for amateurs. A night for one-nighters, people who only party once a year, people who have no experience partying. These idiots could make things less fun for the rest of us who actually have a life more than one night a year. Could, being the opportune word, because they can only be ruinous if you let them.

Plus, it helps if you use your partying experience to stay out later than anyone else -- by the time I eventually headed for home, it was 4am and I was just about the only person on the road. As I've said many times, I trust myself to not drive illegally, but its the other idiots you have to worry about. Well, if you're the only one on the road, that's not a problem.

As for the other things that amateurs can do to ruin your night, my advice is if someone spills a drink on you, don't shoot them. First Degree Murder is not an equivocal response to someone smudging your kicks. Writing about them on your blog the next day, on the other hand, well that's fair game.