Articles Archive for 7 June 2004
Good weekend, because I had two birthday parties: one for my friend Don Fiedler on Friday, and one for my roommate Ben on Saturday night.
I don’t want to go into a long story about all of what happened this weekend because I’m really lazy, so I’ll break it down:
Friday night
I met my roommate Brian at 10:30pm. He had been out since 6:30pm. I had $114 in my wallet.
Fast forward to 3am.
- I had to leave the bar because Brian was asked to leave. This was after 1) falling into a table that two girls were sitting at, spilling their drinks everywhere and sending them running in horror; 2) falling asleep at the bar; and 3) generally being a wobbly mess.
- On the cab ride home, Brian sat shotgun while I sat in the back by myself. It looked like we were driving to the Dairy Queen with our dad. Only in this case our dad was driving a cab and he was from Singapore.
- I had $31 in my wallet, along with receipts of two bar tabs: one for $28 (not including $12 tip), and one from $80 (not including $20 tip). Total: $223. Ouch. And to be honest, I wasn’t too drunk. Still, I had a very good time.
Saturday night
I was in charge of planning Ben’s birthday, so I picked Rathbone’s at 88th & 2nd. People could either meet us there at 11 or come to our new place at 95th & 3rd for drinks beforehand. At about 10:30, we starting getting calls saying, “Yeah, um, we’re at Rathbone’s now, and it’s closed. What should we do?”
Minor problem, which was to be expected when someone like me has to plan something.
We instead decided to do Merrion Station at 95th & 2nd and we all proceeded to get shithoused. It’s all blurry, but again I was throwing money again, my roommate Brian and friend Brendan almost got kicked out of the bar because they were playing “air volleyball”, setting each other up and spiking all over the bar, and I had this conversation with the bartender:
Me: [trying to be friendly] “I’ll have three shots of Jaeger please.”
Her: [very unfriendly] “Ok.”
Me: “By the way, what’s your name?”
Her: “Martha.”
Me: “Martha, I’m Jason. I just moved in up the street, so I’m sure you’ll be seeing a lot of me.”
Her: [walks away]
In addition to being so very friendly, she gave me three whole shots for free, despite the fact that at the end of the night by bar tab was $210. So so much for Merrion Station.
[I should mention that I was really banged up and probably wouldn't have remembered if she invited me behind the bar to show me her boobies. And she may have been unfriendly to me because last time up I asked her to take me behind the bar to show me her boobies. I guess we'll never know for sure.]
We closed down the bar, but went to the nearby Ray’s Pizza to sample some of the late night dining in our new ‘hood. I chose one plain slice and one sausage slice, when I should have went with the plain and the sausage and pepperoni slice. Thus:
Guy: [taking my pizza out of the oven and boxing up my plain and sausage slice] “Ok, that’ll be $4.50.”
Me: [visibly drunk] “Actually, can I get the sausage and pepperoni slice?”
Guy: “You want that too?”
Me: “No, instead of the sausage slice. You can put the sausage slice back, and throw the pepperoni and sausage slice in the oven.”
Guy: “No, I can’t do that.”
Me: [getting sad] “Why?”
Guy: “Because I already heated it up.”
Me: “But you can just reheat it again for someone else.”
Guy: “No, I can’t. That’s $4.50.”
Me: [eyes welling up with tears] “This is a fucking travesty.”
At 4:30 in the morning with a load on, I care about two things: food and boobs (boobs were not immediately available).
And the night ended as usual: me, drunk, alone, struggling to walk home and eat my pizza at the same time, looking forward to getting home, so I can microwave the shit out of that leftover cookies ‘n’ cream ice cream and drink it straight out of the pint.
Good fucking times.
I don’t want to go into a long story about all of what happened this weekend because I’m really lazy, so I’ll break it down:
Friday night
I met my roommate Brian at 10:30pm. He had been out since 6:30pm. I had $114 in my wallet.
Fast forward to 3am.
- I had to leave the bar because Brian was asked to leave. This was after 1) falling into a table that two girls were sitting at, spilling their drinks everywhere and sending them running in horror; 2) falling asleep at the bar; and 3) generally being a wobbly mess.
- On the cab ride home, Brian sat shotgun while I sat in the back by myself. It looked like we were driving to the Dairy Queen with our dad. Only in this case our dad was driving a cab and he was from Singapore.
- I had $31 in my wallet, along with receipts of two bar tabs: one for $28 (not including $12 tip), and one from $80 (not including $20 tip). Total: $223. Ouch. And to be honest, I wasn’t too drunk. Still, I had a very good time.
Saturday night
I was in charge of planning Ben’s birthday, so I picked Rathbone’s at 88th & 2nd. People could either meet us there at 11 or come to our new place at 95th & 3rd for drinks beforehand. At about 10:30, we starting getting calls saying, “Yeah, um, we’re at Rathbone’s now, and it’s closed. What should we do?”
Minor problem, which was to be expected when someone like me has to plan something.
We instead decided to do Merrion Station at 95th & 2nd and we all proceeded to get shithoused. It’s all blurry, but again I was throwing money again, my roommate Brian and friend Brendan almost got kicked out of the bar because they were playing “air volleyball”, setting each other up and spiking all over the bar, and I had this conversation with the bartender:
Me: [trying to be friendly] “I’ll have three shots of Jaeger please.”
Her: [very unfriendly] “Ok.”
Me: “By the way, what’s your name?”
Her: “Martha.”
Me: “Martha, I’m Jason. I just moved in up the street, so I’m sure you’ll be seeing a lot of me.”
Her: [walks away]
In addition to being so very friendly, she gave me three whole shots for free, despite the fact that at the end of the night by bar tab was $210. So so much for Merrion Station.
[I should mention that I was really banged up and probably wouldn't have remembered if she invited me behind the bar to show me her boobies. And she may have been unfriendly to me because last time up I asked her to take me behind the bar to show me her boobies. I guess we'll never know for sure.]
We closed down the bar, but went to the nearby Ray’s Pizza to sample some of the late night dining in our new ‘hood. I chose one plain slice and one sausage slice, when I should have went with the plain and the sausage and pepperoni slice. Thus:
Guy: [taking my pizza out of the oven and boxing up my plain and sausage slice] “Ok, that’ll be $4.50.”
Me: [visibly drunk] “Actually, can I get the sausage and pepperoni slice?”
Guy: “You want that too?”
Me: “No, instead of the sausage slice. You can put the sausage slice back, and throw the pepperoni and sausage slice in the oven.”
Guy: “No, I can’t do that.”
Me: [getting sad] “Why?”
Guy: “Because I already heated it up.”
Me: “But you can just reheat it again for someone else.”
Guy: “No, I can’t. That’s $4.50.”
Me: [eyes welling up with tears] “This is a fucking travesty.”
At 4:30 in the morning with a load on, I care about two things: food and boobs (boobs were not immediately available).
And the night ended as usual: me, drunk, alone, struggling to walk home and eat my pizza at the same time, looking forward to getting home, so I can microwave the shit out of that leftover cookies ‘n’ cream ice cream and drink it straight out of the pint.
Good fucking times.
When he learned of the assassination of John F. Kennedy, intellectual and future senator of New York Daniel Patrick Moynihan was heard to say, “To be Irish is to know that in the end the world will break your heart.”
After years of close calls, near misses, almosts, heart ache and heart break, I’m beginning to think the same can be applied to Philadelphia sports fans.
Smarty Jones, a Philly thoroughbred who had recently won the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness, entered this Saturday’s Belmont Stakes with a chance to become the first horse to win the Triple Crown in 26 years. A 1:5 favorite, having earned over $11 million dollars with a record of 8-0 in his previous eight races, he was considered a near shoe-in to take the Triple Crown and bring a championship to a championship-starved city that had watched its Eagles self-destruct in January and its Flyers lose a hard fought playoff series to the Tampa Bay Lightening only two weeks ago.
Coming out the gate strong and leading most of the race, Smarty weakened in the final stretch and was overtaken by Birdstone, a 35:1 long shot, to place second in the race, failing to capture that elusive championship.
My thoughts? Fuck.
I don’t watch horse racing. I don’t particularly care about horse racing. But realizing the enormity of the moment, and feening for a championship of any kind, I jumped on the Smarty Jones bandwagon. And of course, like every other sports team I get attached to, I was disappointed.
You might think that after years of coming close and falling short, one might grow accustomed to disappointment, and therefore approach each potential championship with a caution bred by failure.
This is not so. Each time, it gets worse. Each time a team comes so close to a championship, I find myself giving myself over more completely than the time before, saying, “This is the time – we are due”, only to be ultimately dejected and rejected.
But still, I (and all of my compatriots) carry on, because that’s what being a real sports fan is all about, and because, even though it may hurt at times, and may cause us to get so drunk after a loss that we may pass out on our dad’s front steps because we were too drunk to work our keys, we wouldn’t change a thing.
Besides, we’re due for a championship. So let’s go Phils.
*******************************************************************************
I don’t know if you guys have heard, but Ronald Reagan died.
Yeah, I know, I was just as surprised as you all, because I thought he died like eight years ago.
I’m not going to use this space as a hero-worship or to vilify him, because I think CNN, MSNBC, CSPAN et al have said enough, but mostly because I don’t really know anything about politics. This is especially true of politics of the 1980′s, when my main concerns were Garbage Pail Kids, Metroid, the WWF, and Mike Schmidt.
But still, he had a good run (except for those last ten years or so). Say what you want about his policies (like the highest national debt to that point in history, boatloads of money for a high-tech missile defense system named after a movie that we’re still not sure works, etc), but he changed the role of the president with the media and the public and was able to manipulate the image of “The President” better than any man before or since.
Plus, the 80′s were kinda cool. So he had that going for him, which is nice.
*******************************************************************************
Last night’s Sopranos was good. What is not so good is that the Sopranos will be back for its final season in eighteen months.
What the hell am I supposed to do for the next eighteen months? Jesus Christ. A lot could happen in eighteen months, things so drastic that I don’t want to think about them, lest I give myself a panic attack.
We leave it off with a near mutiny, but the family is salvaged by the NY guys being taken down by the Feds. What the hell happens next? How will the show be resolved in its last season? I have no idea. I’m thinking Tony’s gotta go down, either by the Feds or by someone in the family.
Until then, I still have Wildboyz, and Da Ali G Show is returning on July 18, and I don’t know – maybe I can get a girlfriend and stop watching so much fucking tv.
Hmmm…or maybe I can find another show to watch. Anyone know if Joe Millionaire is coming back?
After years of close calls, near misses, almosts, heart ache and heart break, I’m beginning to think the same can be applied to Philadelphia sports fans.
Smarty Jones, a Philly thoroughbred who had recently won the Kentucky Derby and the Preakness, entered this Saturday’s Belmont Stakes with a chance to become the first horse to win the Triple Crown in 26 years. A 1:5 favorite, having earned over $11 million dollars with a record of 8-0 in his previous eight races, he was considered a near shoe-in to take the Triple Crown and bring a championship to a championship-starved city that had watched its Eagles self-destruct in January and its Flyers lose a hard fought playoff series to the Tampa Bay Lightening only two weeks ago.
Coming out the gate strong and leading most of the race, Smarty weakened in the final stretch and was overtaken by Birdstone, a 35:1 long shot, to place second in the race, failing to capture that elusive championship.
My thoughts? Fuck.
I don’t watch horse racing. I don’t particularly care about horse racing. But realizing the enormity of the moment, and feening for a championship of any kind, I jumped on the Smarty Jones bandwagon. And of course, like every other sports team I get attached to, I was disappointed.
You might think that after years of coming close and falling short, one might grow accustomed to disappointment, and therefore approach each potential championship with a caution bred by failure.
This is not so. Each time, it gets worse. Each time a team comes so close to a championship, I find myself giving myself over more completely than the time before, saying, “This is the time – we are due”, only to be ultimately dejected and rejected.
But still, I (and all of my compatriots) carry on, because that’s what being a real sports fan is all about, and because, even though it may hurt at times, and may cause us to get so drunk after a loss that we may pass out on our dad’s front steps because we were too drunk to work our keys, we wouldn’t change a thing.
Besides, we’re due for a championship. So let’s go Phils.
*******************************************************************************
I don’t know if you guys have heard, but Ronald Reagan died.
Yeah, I know, I was just as surprised as you all, because I thought he died like eight years ago.
I’m not going to use this space as a hero-worship or to vilify him, because I think CNN, MSNBC, CSPAN et al have said enough, but mostly because I don’t really know anything about politics. This is especially true of politics of the 1980′s, when my main concerns were Garbage Pail Kids, Metroid, the WWF, and Mike Schmidt.
But still, he had a good run (except for those last ten years or so). Say what you want about his policies (like the highest national debt to that point in history, boatloads of money for a high-tech missile defense system named after a movie that we’re still not sure works, etc), but he changed the role of the president with the media and the public and was able to manipulate the image of “The President” better than any man before or since.
Plus, the 80′s were kinda cool. So he had that going for him, which is nice.
*******************************************************************************
Last night’s Sopranos was good. What is not so good is that the Sopranos will be back for its final season in eighteen months.
What the hell am I supposed to do for the next eighteen months? Jesus Christ. A lot could happen in eighteen months, things so drastic that I don’t want to think about them, lest I give myself a panic attack.
We leave it off with a near mutiny, but the family is salvaged by the NY guys being taken down by the Feds. What the hell happens next? How will the show be resolved in its last season? I have no idea. I’m thinking Tony’s gotta go down, either by the Feds or by someone in the family.
Until then, I still have Wildboyz, and Da Ali G Show is returning on July 18, and I don’t know – maybe I can get a girlfriend and stop watching so much fucking tv.
Hmmm…or maybe I can find another show to watch. Anyone know if Joe Millionaire is coming back?