Well I woke up Wednesday morning

With no way to hold my head that didn't hurt.

I did. All true. After last night's pub quiz my waitress decided to play feed the quizmasters shots. I'm still feeling those Jagermeister shots. Each and every one.

I'm also feeling each game of damn video golf I played, and every minute of the 4 hours of sleep I got.

I think that'll just about do it for the Jagermeister for a while.

Sexy meme.

A friend posted this on MySpace:

BE HONEST!!!


Start at 50 and add or substract points as stated for each statement that applies to you...
Above 50 means you are closer to a virgin than a slut, conversely, below 50 means you are closer to a slut than a virgin.

Add 10 if you are a virgin
Subtract 5 if You have had sex before
Subtract 5 more if you have had sex with more then 5 people.
Add 5 If you have never had oral sex
Subtract 5 if you have had or performed oral sex.
Subtract 2 if you have had sex in a public place
Subtract 3 if you have done 69
Add 5 If you have never had an Orgasm
Add 5 If you cant name 3 types/brands of condoms
Subtract 2 if you have masturbated
Subtract 3 if you have fingered/ given a handjob to someone else.
Subtract 5 if You have used someone for sex(one night stand)
Add 5 if You have never seen someone of the opposite sex naked
Add 5 if you havent kissed more then 3 people(unrelated)
Add 3 if you havent been kissed in the past month
Add 2 if You have never masturbated
Add 5 if You have never seen or watched porn
Subtract 5 if you have made your own porn
Subtract 3 if you have participated in anal sex
Subtract 2 if you have used lube duiring sex
Add 5 If you cant remember your last perverted thought
Subtract 5 if you have used sex toys
Subtract 3 if you have had a perverted thought in the past hour
Subtract 2 If you have kissed someone of the same sex

My score? Well, let's just say I scored in the double-digits.

Oh what a beautiful weekend.

A little more than a year ago, I pondered what I would do if I were to move back to the ancestral home, that is to say, back to rural Illinois, where my heart and my family is. I wondered the same thing this weekend, as I was chatting with my family, eating Thanksgiving dinner, and driving back to Chicago. Would I, an urban, semi-hip bald man be able to find a role in the rural society? Maybe. I could try, at least, and come running back to the big city if things didn't work out, I suppose. A rather odd situation, no?

Anyways, I hit the road at about 8:30 on Thursday, and cruised out of Chicago. Note to self: next year, drive out on Thanksgiving Day- no one else does. The usual trip out on the Eisenhower, which is about 45 minutes, took about 20. I kept repeating to myself "if this isn't nice, what is?"

I arrived at my grandparents' farm at 10:35 and asked right away if I could help, which was not necessary at all. My grandmother rises almost every morning at 5:15 and starts her day. She was well into preparations, and well past any assistance I could have provided. I went downstairs to play pool with my grandfather and uncle and wait for lunch to be served.

What a feast! I piled my plate high and wide twice before going back for pie. My doctor would have cried seeing how much I ate, but at least I can say that most everything came from scratch and was damn good. I sat with my aunt and her friend and watched football before retiring to the basement again for a crazy 9-ball pool tournament with my uncle before heating up leftovers for dinner, playing with my cousins and having some beer before retiring.

Friday, I took my grandparents to see Walk the Line. They loved it. I got to see more of the quality of the movie as well. I was pretty damn happy. Afterwards, I went over to my father's parents' house for dinner and talk, including a more in-depth history of my step-grandfather's role in the Battle of the Bulge. We stayed up past their bedtime talking about everything. I didn't get home until midnight, had a beer, and went to bed.

I spent Saturday watching movies, playing pool and relaxing. I love my time out on the farm- so quiet and isolated. I eventually ventured back into town to see my other grandparents again, and headed out for dinner with my aunt, uncle, two of their friends, and my twin cousins where our waitress spilled water all over myself and my aunt. We were less than happy, but more than happy to put back 3 pitchers of crappy beer. We hosted their friends back at the farm, playing (guess what) pool well into the night.

Sunday, I woke up, and drove home. I started feeling the yearning to stay before I even got to the tollway back to Chicago. That feeling didn't go away until I got back home, had myself a Guinness and realized that I'm happy as can be in the city. For now.

Grumpy and wet

I peeked out my window this morning and saw a car sitting outside my house. I also saw that it was raining, so I made sure to pack my umbrella before I left. The car pulled out and left, so I got dressed and headed out. I whipped out my umbrella and went to open it when the top flew right off.

I was stuck holding a handle and a very sharp stick. A sharp stick doesn't do much to keep me dry, so I cursed and walked back up to my apartment, in search of another umbrella. I found my friend's umbrella. He left it at pub quiz a couple weeks ago, and hasn't been back for it. I opened it.

Sure enough, broken. No wonder he didn't seem to miss it. "Fuck it, I'll wear a hat" I said and marched to my el station. I stopped to pick up my free copy of Red Eye, the Tribune's 20-something oriented newspaper. I like to do the crossword, and lately, the Sudoku. It should also be mentioned that I am no longer a twenty-something as well. The only copies were from last Friday. I guess I was out too early in the morning to get a copy.

As we got closer to downtown, I realized that the rain was intensifying. Damn. I got off the train and hoofed it past the Sears Tower when I realized I was soaking. I finally got to Union Station and realized I could take the underground route. I saved myself 2 blocks of walking in the rain by cutting though the food court and sneaking out the loading dock. I was very pleased with myself.

Now I'm at work, drier, and getting a more positive attitude. At least, I'm trying to. I've got some pub quiz ideas I have to write before they start to fade, but I promise a holiday weekend recap as soon as I have time.

Turkey, turkey, turkey!

Have a good holiday, those friends and readers of mine who are celebrating.

Man, I wish I lived closer to Canada!

Tuesday, Tuesday

Pub Quiz is finally done. Prizes are set, and I'm flyin' solo.

Gonna be a fun night.

More tomorrow, less the day after, as I'll be stuffing myself. Thanksgiving, as you know, is by far my favorite holiday. I wish I lived closer to Canada so I could celebrate both- that would be bliss.

Except, of course, for my cholesterol.

The Ongoing Saga of Logan's Dave

There was a busy end to last week, hence the lack of blogging, e-mailing, and other forms of contact from yours truly. Apologies all around. Here's the recap:

Let us first Walk the Line. As many of you are acutely aware, I am a big Johnny Cash fan. I am also not the biggest fan of dramatic adaptations of my heroes. I was skeptical when Miracle came out, but warmed up instantly to it when I got to see it.

Friday night, I took the train up to Evanston to see Walk the Line with my friend A. We had a couple drinks in the bar of the theatre beforehand, and caught up on our respective weeks. We report to each other on a regular basis about, well, everything. She gives me good advice, I try to give her mine, she lends a kind ear to me, and I to her.

We walked into the movie, which was surprisingly crowded, and grabbed seats. After 15 minutes of previews, I was coming close to recreating a Homer Simpson moment and chanting "stop the madness, start the movie!" Fortunately, the part of my brain that regulates my behavior kicked in, and I managed to calm down.

The movie, all and all, is good. I was a little disappointed in Joaquin Phoenix's performance, but I was more than thrilled with Reese Witherspoon. I was amazed that both actors learned to sing and play their respective instruments, but she was definitely much better than he was. She also played June Carter extremely well. I was blown away with her performance.

I've seen it written elsewhere, and in every interview I've seen with Joaquin, he mentions that it was really hard to play a person like Johnny Cash. He's right. It was a tough role, and he probably had reservations about playing a legend like Johnny, but it came through in his performance. I wouldn't say I was disappointed, but I certainly was not impressed.

My favorite parts of the movie were seeing how songs were written- how inspiration suddenly stuck both Johnny and June. That was fun for me, rediscovering where these songs came from. I quite enjoyed that.

I plan on seeing the movie again, with another friend, as well as potentially seeing it again this weekend while I'm with my family for Thanksgiving. I think another viewing will probably be helpful.

During the day on Friday, my roommate called to give me her football picks for the weekend, and to report that the furnace, which we had just turned on Wednesday night, was outputting quite a horrible smell. I told her I would check it out when I got home, and that if it got too bad, to turn off the heat until I could check it out. I didn't know I was going to post-movie drinks, and I certainly didn't know I was going for as many as I did, but A and I had some things to talk about, so we had more than a few drinks each. I got home around 12 and noticed a very unpleasant smell.

The smell wasn't something that would be generated by a furnace, however. It was more like an electrical fire or burning rubber. I took a peek at the furnace, and sure enough, everything was fine. I sniffed around each of the vents, and couldn't detect much of an odor. I figured whatever was wrong was dissipating, so I went to bed.

Saturday morning, I got up and went to my computer, and for the second week in a row, discovered a problem. I sat down, and wondered why my monitor was off. I hit the button, no response. I checked the tower, and it was running. I figured either myself or my cat had knocked the power cord out. Nope. Still in. Then, I noticed the same horrible stench I had the night before, only much, much stronger. I looked at the top of my monitor, where Mia likes to sleep. There was some vomit on the top. There was vomit down one side. There was also vomit on the monitor stand. It is physically impossible for her to puke on the top of the monitor and hit the monitor stand, unless the vomit traveled through the monitor. Then, it dawned on me: she puked on my monitor, and it shorted out the monitor. It explained the horrible electrical-fire stench and the functionless monitor. I swore, once or twice, under my breath, then out loud, just for good measure. Mia came out, still half-asleep and mewed at me. I was less than happy with her, so I told her to go back to bed, which she did. Probably the best move she could have made. I set about cleaning up dried cat vomit as best I could.

My roommate came out and asked me what was up. I related the story to her, and said that it was high time we went to Micro Center to see if I can find a cheap replacement. Off we went, and shopping commenced. Sadly, the cheap monitors they had were all refurbished, and none of them were particularly appealing to me. I finally selected a flatscreen monitor, which had the advantage of not allowing a cat to sleep or puke on top of it, so I ponied up the big bucks. Unfortunately, I had also taken my card out of my wallet the night before, and left it in my shirt from the previous night, so after making an extra trip, I bought the monitor, and set it up.

Mia is a little upset that she lost her second favorite place to sleep, but she's getting used to the new setup. I'm pissed off because the money I spent on a new monitor I was going to spend on an upcoming trip, not to mention an hockey game next weekend.

I stayed in on Saturday night, instead of going to the Wolves game. I tried to not spend any money yesterday, but I was less than successful. This is gonna be a long week of staying in and being good. Thank goodness I'll be out at the farm this weekend, enjoying the country air and the cheap drinking.

Meme. Again.

Found this posted on MySpace: The Advertising Slogan Generator (currently populated with my personal favorite Dave advert, Do You, uh, Dave?).

Just another way to waste your day. I'll have something of substance in a little bit.

Casey Jones you better watch your speed.

This morning, it was my own fault that I overslept. I didn’t set my alarm. So I was late, I knew I was going to be late, so I called my boss and let them know. I hurried through my shower, skipped shaving, and ran (literally) to the train. I looked up, and saw that a train was pulling out of the station. The little voice inside my head told me to hail a cab, but the other little voice in my head said it would cost too much and not really save any time, as it was rush hour, and traffic was, as usual, completely insane.

Knowing that I had about 5 minutes, I picked up a paper and walked up to the platform. Today is the first day of winter here in Chicago, as we’re finally experiencing temperatures below freezing. For me, that’s when winter starts.

The trains, not surprisingly, were packed. I crowded in like a good sardine, and resigned myself to the fact that I wasn’t going to sit down or be comfortable at all, until we got downtown. Unfortunately for me, I would have plenty of time to consider the what-ifs of my situation, as there were switching problems.

This is why I’m so mad at the CTA, again. Communication. I understand there is going to be unforeseeable problems from time to time. But this was a problem that was known about. The train conductor pulls out of the Sedgwick station. We go maybe a quarter of a mile before the train stops dead. The driver comes on, informs us of the problem that lies ahead, and lets us know that we’re going to be standing there for a while, and when we do move, we’re going to be moving very slowly down the line. Why on earth were we not informed of this before, or while we were stopped at the Sedgwick station, where we had other options (buses, cabs, walking) to get downtown. Instead, we’re stuck in the goddamn train car, packed in uncomfortably, and not moving. For 20 minutes.

After that time, magically, we moved about 100 yards or so. After another 10 minutes, another 100 yards. Finally, we pull halfway into the Chicago station. To put this in perspective, we moved approximately 1 mile in about 40 minutes. Chicago Rapid Transit my ass.

This isn’t the first time a simple announcement would have made a lot of people happy. About 3 months before, I was stuck on a train that was circling the loop, as there was a fire just north of the loop which shut down all northbound Brown and Purple lines. The CTA announced that the best thing to do was to take a Red line train north to Fullerton or Belmont and then transfer back to the Brown or Purple line, as needed. That announcement was made one stop after the stop you can transfer to the Red Line. What, dare I say, the fuck?

So, here I am, at work late, pissy with myself and pissy with the CTA. I'm going to be stuck at work late, as well, to make up for the time I missed this morning. Which means I'm stuck in the horror of rush hour transit again today. Today, my friends, is a not good day for Dave. I require some good news. Soon.

Procrastination King [UPDATED]

I have 1 1/2 rounds of pub quiz to finish writing, one I'm complete uninspired to do, and another that's pretty easy to finish. I just can't think of anything. So, here's a couple memes I picked up from someone's MySpace account.

You Are 70% Boyish and 30% Girlish

You are pretty evenly split down the middle - a total eunuch. Okay, kidding about the eunuch part. But you do get along with both sexes. You reject traditional gender roles. However, you don't actively fight them. You're just you. You don't try to be what people expect you to be.

How Boyish or Girlish Are You?

Your Deadly Sins

Lust: 60%

Sloth: 60%

Wrath: 60%

Gluttony: 40%

Greed: 20%

Pride: 20%

Envy: 0%

Chance You'll Go to Hell: 37%

You'll die while in the throws of passion - the best way to go.

How Sinful Are You?

Ok. Back to trying to decide what I want to write Dead or Canadian about. For those of you who are unfamiliar with my quiz, Dead or Canadian is a round inspired by the old MTV show Remote Control. I take it a little too far, juxtaposing everything from pornstars and senators to quotes from the president and Emperor Palpatine from Star Wars.

Anybody got any ideas? I'm plum out.

I got one. The quiz, as it always is, will be posted tomorrow on this blog. Enjoy.

Enter Sandman

My mind has been pretty wild lately. I had a dream this morning that I was getting married. There I was, in kilt, tux top, tails, everything. I had to put a hold on the ceremony. Why? I had to pee. Off I ran, but couldn't find a bathroom. By the time I got back, everyone thought I ditched, so everyone was mad. Especially the bride, who, by the time I got up to see who it was, I woke up, and never identified.

And no for something completely different, check out what Pat posted earlier. Have fun. If you click and drag, you can hurl him.

Have fun.

Ooo baby, baby.

This weekend was the first in a month that I wasn't either traveling to another city or entertaining people from another city. I made no plans, other than a Saturday night gathering for a friend's birthday.

Friday, as I walked home, I decided that maybe going out for a quick drink with my friend and former roommate S would be a good idea. That's when I ran into my neighbor, who invited me to his house for dinner and to meet some friends of his, as well as to play with his newborn baby girl, who I met on Monday after getting home from the airport. Still being sick, I decided that handling a 10 day old human being was probably not the wisest thing, but I did eat some very nice stew, had some very good conversations with friends about Intelligent Design, and even watched some Turkish Star Trek. I will say this about Turkish Star Trek: it was a lot like watching a porn movie from the 70's or early 80's. It was cheesy, the girls had big hair, and at almost every turn, I expected someone to strip naked and get busy.

I vowed to spend my Saturday doing as little as possible, in desperate hopes of recovering from this evil cold that just won't fucking die. I dreamed of playing Civilization and watching Netflix and just existing. It sounded so nice. Early on, I discovered that my computer's CD-ROM drive has mysteriously died. I wandered back to my couch, feeling moderately defeated that I wouldn't be playing any video games, and watched The Count of Monte Cristo, then checked the mail, watched The Final Countdown, then, before going to the birthday gathering, Starship Troopers. I had originally seen Starship Troopers because I love science fiction to a fault, but I had recently read that Heinlein's intent was to demonstrate how propaganda and totalitarianism effect the human race. Watching the movie with that perspective changed it for me, for the better. I got to see a whole lot of things I hadn't seen before.

Finally, it was time for the after-dinner cocktails with my friend A's birthday. I walked over to her and her husband's wonderful house and met up with quite a few friends I hadn't seen in a while. Many drinks were consumed, as my friends have quite the bar in their basement, which includes 8 different vodkas, and, much to my extreme happiness, The Macallan. After noticing the beautiful, tempting bottle, I said to my friend and host J, "before I leave tonight, I'd like it if we could have a drink."

He was more than happy to oblige.

Later on, he poured 4 shots of it. I protested that I wouldn't be drinking a shot of Macallan. I refused. I sipped. This was ok. I requested a snifter later on, and poured myself far too much (can you pour too much scotch?) and made that my very large nightcap. I walked home and went to bed.

I woke up yesterday morning expecting to be cured of my ailment. No such luck. I actually felt much worse, either from my overconsumption of scotch, or my 3 am walk home in the howling wind. I barely left the couch all day. I couldn't eat, I had a headache, and my sinuses were completely jammed. Even my brother mentioned it to me when I called in my friend's football picks. My brother used extreme tact when he said "you sound like fucking shit, man."

So couchbound I was for the second day in a row. I am still suffering from this hellatious cold. I'm sure part of this is due to the fact that I refuse to take any cold medication other than NyQuil, and that, only at night. Instead, I'm drinking lots of tea, plenty of clear liquids, getting more than enough vitamin C, and exploring the world of Hot Toddies, or when I'm at home, Hot Voddies (lemon tea with some vodka).

Why don't I just take some damn cold medicine, you ask? Simple. 3 years ago, I was suffering from my annual cold. I was miserable. I was eating soup, taking cough drops, and whatever else I could find to alleviate my symptoms. I was taking off my socks when I noticed that my feet were red and swollen. Then I noticed that my hands were as well. I thought this was odd, so I called Jen, and told her was going on. Jen called her mother, who is a nurse, and came over a few minutes later. During that time, I had noticed that my lips were swelling, as was my tongue. Jen checked in, picked up my keys, and went to Osco, and returned a few minutes later with Benadryl. Benadryl. I was confused. I wasn't suffering from hayfever anymore.

What I hadn't realized was that I was having an allergic reaction to something I ate or took. I wasn't in my head enough to realize what was happening. She stayed the night to make sure that I didn't die, as the Benadryl put me to sleep. In the middle of the night, though, I woke up in need of a bathroom. I took two steps toward my bedroom door before I fell, face-forward, to the ground, passed out.

That was the wake-up call for me. I bagged up everything I had eaten or taken in a bag, and sealed it up. I went to my doctor the next day, who prescribed an Epi-Pen and referred me to an allergist. My appointment, some 4 weeks later, was less than satisfactory. He didn't feel the need to do any tests for new allergies, and said that I probably reacted due to a weakened immune system from the cold. Since then, I simply tough out illness, which has become more and more time-consuming. Fortunately for me, I'm usually only sick with something like this once a year.

Oh, and happy birthday.

To my favorite writer, inspiration, and hero, Mr. Kurt Vonnegut, Jr.

Here's to many more.

Oh, and quick funny:

Nothing like a Friday morning meme.

Henry aka Pat aka the Left-Handed Plebe posted this entry yesterday, where you can take the political compass test. Not surprisingly, he and I are close to each other in political beliefs, at least, according to this test we are. We're about the same age, from relatively similar backgrounds, and well, we're both big hockey fans. Who else is down in the lower-left-hand quadrant? Gandhi, Nelson Mandela and the Dalai Lama. Not a bad group, if you ask me.

My results:
Your political compass
Economic Left/Right: -5.50
Social Libertarian/Authoritarian: -4.62

Take the test here.

I sing the body electric

Well, today I'm singing about my body electric, and how I feel about 400 times better than I did this time yesterday. What, you ask, was the magical rememdy? It could be any one of the following:

One of the two Hot Toddies I drank (with some yummy Maker's Mark).
One of the two Guinness I drank.
The Denis Leary special (I'm talking big N, little y, big fuckin' Q...) I took before bed last night.

I'm guessing one of those three things, or the perfect combination thereof, is what has me on the mend. Either that, or my body finally decided to fight back against whatever it was that was making me so unhappily sick. Thanks should go to my cat as well, who snuggled with me all night last night, hoping that I'd feel better.

Now, I have time for more important things, like writing some pub quiz rounds which came to me in my dreams last night. I love it when inspiration comes to me at odd times. Makes life spicier, doesn't it?

The legend lives on from the Chippewa on down

Of the big lake they call Gitche Gumee
The lake, it is said, never gives up her dead
When the skies of November turn gloomy.

It was 30 years ago today that the Edmund Fitzgerald sank in Lake Superior, one of the great mysteries of the 20th century. No one knows precisely how the ship sank, but we know where it lies now.

I have to admit that the song is one of my guilty pleasures- so much so that I'm working on a slow metal version of it, although I think a punk rock version would be far superior, no pun intended. I also like to sing it to my mother, after the incident on her lake about 2 years ago, when she skuttled her pontoon boat, with me and my stepfather on it, on some rocks.

Just something to think about.

BOHICA part II

Sorry to seem so negative. There are good things about my week. Allow me to quote a certain movie:

Who was the girl, Steve?
Who was what girl?
The one who left you with such a high opinion of women.

After feeding myself and doing some um, searches on the internet, I'm a bit more positive.

Things might just be looking up.

BOHICA

This is not the greatest week.

I'm coming down with a cold. This is probably due to a) flying b) nearly pulling an all-nighter on Sunday night/Monday morning and c) just not eating right the last week or so. I might also want to start wearing something warmer than a baseball cap on my head in the cold Chicago mornings.

The thing that I can't blog or e-mail about, but can have in-person or evening phone conversations about has set its course even further south, and put in for full steam ahead.

Translations: Estoy buscando el trabajo. Je recherche le travail. Ich suche nach Arbeit.

Almost heaven, Accordion City, part II

I once said, somewhere on this blog, that if I ever found a karaoke bar that had Fairytale of New York, I would never leave it.

Sadly, I did, but not after Sass and I belted it out. The list I've been writing in my mind of all the songs I did is so imcomplete, it is almost not worth posting. Perhaps my partners in crime can help me out? I know there was a Johnny Cash song in there, Ring of Fire, I believe, when I said "Hello, I'm Joaquin Phoenix." Every Rose was in there, with C.C. deVilla joining me. There was the requisite Stuck in the Middle with You, I led off with I Wanna Be Sedated, too. I just can't remember the rest. This is bad. Canadian beer is strong, strong stuff.

And tasty.

Almost heaven, Accordion City

My jet-set life needs to calm down a bit. Thankfully, other than a birthday party, I have no major plans for this weekend. I need to slow down a bit, after 1) my mom and stepdad visiting 2) going to Detroit and 3) heading to Toronto for one of the greatest weekends of all time. I say one of the greatest weekends of all time, because it took me all of yesterday to recover from Sunday alone. I'm not sure I've fully recovered or not.

Anyways. Here's how the weekend went:
Saturday was a great day. My favourite couple and I went to lunch at a pub that boasted 35 different kinds of hamburgers. I had the Bahama Mama, a burger with pineapple and mango. I was in heaven, but next time I'm there, I'm getting the Skippy Dippy, which, I'm sure you can guess, is a hamburger with peanut butter. Heaven.

Afterwards, we wanted to go to the Ontario Science Centre, but there were too many lines (including one into the parking lot) for us to want to fight the crowds, so went to Playdium, an arcade of massive proportions. We played. Sadly, I did not get a chance at the 3-puck 2-paddle air hockey, but next trip, I'm so there.

Wendy, Joey and I had dinner, then went upstairs for his birthday party. There was a lot of beer and a lot of karaoke. Sass brought me skates to try on, which she borrowed from one of the bartenders from the Banknote. Fortunately, they fit. The bar closed relatively early, so Sass and I went over to the Banknote for a nightcap or two, or three. She says I'm a bad influence. The feeling is mutual. Both of us are right.

After Sass dropped me off on Saturday night, I tried to get a good night's sleep. I was a little too excited about the pre-game skate I had scheduled with Sass for Sunday. Oh, side note about the Toronto Subway- the chimes played when the doors are about to close sounds, to me, exactly like the Mork and Mindy theme. I managed to record the audio on my cellphone as proof. Toronto, I ask you to be the judge. After taking the train downtown and even transferring to a second line, I emerged just north of the Air Canada Centre. I had some trouble finding an ATM that would take my crazy American bank card, but we tracked one down, and all was well, except that we had waited too long to get into the pre-game skate.

Phone calls were made. Deals were struck, but we were still unable to gain access to the ice. Sass suggested we go to a bar she new and grab a drink, as we were allowed into the Air Canada Club, a VIP lounge with free food and, as it turned out, free beer. We had an hour or so to kill first. We found a place, but I was a little hesitant to start drinking. It was, after all, 11 am to my body, and I try not to drink until after noon, except on days I'm at work. (I'm kidding.) I was also hesitant, as I knew we would be going to Kick Ass Karaoke, which would make for a very, very long day of drinking.

And it did. We stayed in the Club for the balance of the game, including part of the after-party. Meeting some of the players more than made up for missing the pre-game skate. Free beer made up for, well, everything that could have possibly gone wrong. I discovered a new passion in life- the trumpet guy. He sat atop the glass and played various fight songs, to get the crowd into the game, not that they weren't already. I told Sass over and over that I wanted that job. Anyone want to sell me a trumpet? I could use some lessons, too.

After the game, after being told by Lanny McDonald that we should have known better than to wear a Canadiens sweater in front of him, we headed to the Banknote again, to meet up with my friend N, who moved up to Toronto about a year and change ago. Not that we needed them, but more drinks were had. After a brief stop over at Sass's condo so she could change, we headed to Kick Ass Karaoke. I did a slew of songs. I'll list them later, because, well, I don't remember all of them. I've been writing a list in my head, and I think I'm most of the way to complete.

I spent yesterday on the couch, as I mentioned earlier, recovering. It took a while. Ok, I'm still recovering. I still have to write tonight's quiz, too, so I'd better get on that.

More later.

Back in the High life again

That's funny for two reasons: I'm just north of High Park in Toronto, and I absolutely hate Steve Winwood. Ok, maybe more ironic than funny. Whatever.

I am back in Toronto again. I'm thrilled. My flight was an easy one, save for the wacky seat I had, which simply refused to lock in the upright position. Neither did the guy's next to me, which undoubtedly made the people sitting behind us curse our names more than once, especially during takeoff. This also had the side effect of not allowing me to get my beauty sleep, as I am notorious for falling asleep on flights, no matter how bumpy or short they may be.

Wendy and Joey's place has a great balcony. I went out there earlier to soak in some fresh Canadian air and just to be outside. There's a lot of nature around here, up to and including something I always forget about, as we really don't have them in the states- black squirrels. Before I gained my senses, I thought that there were a couple of long-haired cats running around in the courtyard. Thank goodness for the return of my senses.

I am still far to excited about tomorrow's game and on-ice skate. Hopefully, I'll be able to keep myself from falling too often. Hopefully.

More later, possibly in the form of an audio blog.

Road trip, part 2: Going to T'Ranna

with an achin' in my heart...

Originally, I was going to Toronto this weekend with my best friend, marking our first real road-trip since we moved back in together. I was juiced. She, however, decided she couldn't go, so she had to cancel. Thanks to my friend A, however, I found a mega-cheap flight to Toronto. Mega. Cheap. $146, round-trip. All I had to do to make it work was switch my day off from today to Monday. This move made certain things, which were unavailable before, readily available.

Thing one, as mentioned here, is going to a hockey game with a woman who loves hockey. Always a plus. Thing two is going to debut my skills (or lack thereof) at Kick Ass Karaoke. To add to the excitement, which is already at dangerous levels, before the hockey game mentioned in Sass' blog, we will be skating on the very rink where the Toronto Maple Leafs play their home games. This is assuming that Sass and I manage to find a) a place that rents skates and b) a place that rents skates for people with big feet like me.

It should be noted, and the parties concerned have been warned, that I have not been on ice skates in about 20 years. And even when I regularly strapped on the blades, I was never that good a skater. I can go very, very fast in a straight line. Just, for the love of The Rocket, do not ask me to stop or turn.

I tried out rollerblading last summer, before I hurt my knee and before I had surgery. I did ok, not the most competent, but I was improving. I tend to skate much better while holding a hockey stick, a trick an old friend of mine suggested after he and his wife got rollerblades as a wedding gift, and he had troubles. It definitely pays to know people who grew up in Manitoba. Trust me.

So, after work today, I'm heading to the airport for my flight up, and I get to see my favorite couple. Life, my friends, is good.

Meme? Why not?

Found this over at Erin-Go-Blog. Find the 5th sentence of your 23rd blog entry. Mine:

I thought I'd reward myself with a quick blog entry.

Mine is just plain boring. Neat meme, though.

Road trip, part 1 [Redux]

I just finished writing a book about the road trip I took last weekend, when Blogger fucked me over. Let me sum up.

I drove my friend and her belongings to Detroit last weekend. It took 2.5 hours just to leave Chicago, and we had some problems with the hitch on our trailer.

I had fun in Detroit at this bar.

I hate Amtrak, for all the delays they put me though and for the guy who apparently thought I was underage.

I was frazzled when I got back here, but had some food and drinks with friends, watched a movie with the new apple of my eye, and slept on it. I'm much better now.

If you see my poor lost post, with all the pictures and links I put into it that I can't possibly be bothered to redo, please feed it and care for it until I can pick it up.

I, Logan's Dave

Do solemnly swear that I will finally get around to blogging about the weekend and all the other fascinating shit going on in my life tomorrow. Today just doesn't have the time for me to devote to my very eventful weekend. Trust me.

More tomorrow.