First -- this pie chart over here on the right is old and out of date. Maybe I'll fix that soon. Or I'll just remove it. On with the chlorophyll!
Celebrating Falcon Heene Day (10/15/09), I meet Rick and Internet Celebrity Baumer at Beckett's, #141 (formerly Belly's). This is the first bar that has closed and reopened under a different name within the year, necessitating a return trip. Beckett's is owned, operated, decorated, and serves the same menu as it's sister- (brother?) bar, Wilde. Before I arrive Rick sends me a text saying it feels like he's drinking in a library. I show up and that "library" is playing Britney Spears.
The Blue on Blue burger is above average, and our waitress/manager stops by multiple times to have the same check-in conversation over and over.
"You guys okay? ... Awesome."
"You guys okay? ... Awesome."
"You guys okay? ... Awesome."
The Blackhawks, having just days earlier put together an improbable comeback, are not performing as expected. They will lose this game, leaving us disappointed. My Grimbergen Double Ale does something similar.
Go Southeast, Young Man! So the three of us do...down Lincoln to Witt's, #142. Belguim beers are on special on Thursdays, so I go to the restroom and return to find we're all drinking Delerium Tremens. We listen to Cake and Pearl Jam, exchange Major League lines w/ a solo drinker at the bar, and I remember to write down a few of the more notable quotes from the conversation:
"Vampires and Umpires are only 2 letters away. Coincidence?"
"Speaking of mushrooms...did you see that Hiroshima and Nagasaki are bidding on the Olympics together?"
"Hiccups...one of the most annoying things you can have."
"That, and syphillis."
Thursday night ends and we're smart enough not to tackle any additional EBONY bars.
Moving on to Saturday...Rick runs in and I ride the lead bicycle for the Pumpkins in the Park 5k. A couple of drinks at the beer tent, a brief stop at home to clean up, and then we're out for the evening.
First stop, meeting Internet Celebrity Baumer and EBONY-virgin Borling at Galway Arms, #143. This is a geniune Irish bar down on the southeast corner of our radius (do circle's have corners? i guess not). The 4 of us discuss marathons, I devour a hearty guinness beef stew, and we drink a couple of $4 20 oz Sam Adams. Not a bad deal. I show Borling the EBONY notebook as we fill him in on the process. He begins to leaf through it..."Wait! I'm in this notebook already!" I have his name written down on page one from a story Baumer told us 20 bars ago.
A large crowd plans on joining us soon, so we move somewhere with more room. A couple of filthy back-of-the-room tables open up at The Other Side, #144 just after we arrive, and our growing crew begins to take over. Represented tonight: Abby, her visiting brother Zach, Jamie, Bode, Ken, Kathy, Reamer, Verdo, Molly, Carolyn D, maybe others I've forgotten to write down.
All our friends manage to do initially is prevent us from being served beer. Finally our 312's arrive alongside some fried cheese curds. The marketing genius who came up with the name "curd" probably didn't stop to think about their shape and it's phonetic resemblence to something else.
Drinking beer steins leads to a discussion about Octoberfest (the real one, in Germany), which leads us to conclusions that it is the exact OPPOSITE of Wrigleyville. Everyone is drunk & people pretty much get away with whatever shenanigans they want, except it's actually fun and the meatheads aren't violent.
Baumer, on his 8th or 9th beer now, has his arm around our waitress.
Ken walks into the restricted kitchen hoping to find out if the BBQ sauce they used was Sweet Baby Ray's. He is escorted out without an answer. This would be the first time this evening we would have run-ins with tavern authority figures.
Zach has never heard the animal/bar jokes (he lives in Boston...if he lived in Chicago he'd have heard me tell all of them at least 20 times by now). He gets them. The girls have a dance party to Toto.
A surly Aussie suddenly stops by our table, corners Borling, and proceeds to close-talk him for a good 6 minutes. Rick and I lean in, and we can't decipher a word. The guy finally leaves, Borling says, "I couldn't understand a word either. I didn't know if he was hitting on me or if he wanted to fight us."
Obviously we stayed at The Other Side longer than we planned, but everyone was having a grand time.
Next up...we move north to Frank's, #145. Years ago 2 friends of mine (Tim & Tim) got themselves into a cake fight with each other. Covered in frosting, they had to walk to our old apartment to change clothes and this trek took them past Frank's. For kicks, they tried to stop in and the bouncer denied their entry. Tim yelled at him. "What, you guys don't like cake?!"
On our trip to Frank's Rick danced across Clark St and stopped taxi traffic. Jeff, one of the managers, sees my notebook, asks me about it, and gives us free shots when we explain the premise behind EBONY. Note to self (and readers): use this idea for free shots. A large majority of The Other Side crowd follows us to Frank's. Rick stands on one of the booths, the bouncer yells at him, "You've got 2 strikes! One more and you're out of here!" I don't recall what strike one is, but run-in number 2 is in the books.
Since Saturday night is in full swing, we need to check more bars off the list. We head north again, this time planning on visting Matisse, #146. I order 2 Summitt Octoberfest beers -- both of us much prefer the Octoberfest fall selection over the pumpkin ales that also show up this time of year. I tried the Dogfish Pumpkin beer last week, and it's safe to say if I don't even like the Dogfish variety I'm not going to like any other brewery's creation. Today has turned into a very very rare night out where Rick is drunker than I am. Matisse is a laid back, loungy, chill, basement bar with mood lighting. Rick is in the mood for a party and doesn't like this. He's also starving. Rob shows up, Zach, Abby & Jamie show up. Rick leaves, planning to go get food. We send Zach after him, figuring the buddy system always works best.
They return in 15 minutes with stories about a closed KFC and making sandwiches behind the counter at Dunkin Donuts. The bouncer sends Rick outside to eat his sandwich, no outside food allowed in. He sulks his way through his sandwich, and returns to announce his major displeasure with Matisse and serves up a warning about the skewering they will receive within the pages of EBONY. He doesn't finish his shouting diatribe as the bouncer kicks him out. Run-in #3 in the books! It may have taken us 146 bars to get here, but one of us finally got kicked out of a bar.
Next stop...heading up into boystown to a lesbian bar, The Closet, #147. Something about everyone taking pictures of themselves holding a Charleston Chew became a running theme here, I'm not sure if I can explain this one. A girl is dancing solo on the empty makeshift dance floor, and I join her for some twirling and dipping. We (the collective 'we', this certainly includes me) are all shocked that I manage not to drop her on her head. It's been a long night, and we've still got a crowd of 6 in attendance with us. The friends-rankings are heating up. Spots 2-10 are all still undecided, even though we all know Baumer is taking home the title.
We've visited another 3 bars since then, so we're resting at a very lofty and round 150 bars off the list. As Rick mentioned in the last post, it's been rough lately. I long for the days of visting just 1 bar in an evening, and the constant movement and planned bar-hopping wears on us. I mean, really, think about this. It's the end of October, and I've been to 150 bars within a mile of where I live. That's ridiculous. My wallet and my liver scream for Father Time to bring us January 1st ASAP.
Couple of internet things of interest for ya:
Letters of Note -- this is pretty much exactly what it sounds like. A blog with historical letters of note. Read Hunter S. Thompson getting pissed at Hollywood types. Read Samuel Clemens' letter to a 9-year old girl. One of my favorites, read Beethoven's tortured letter explaining the loss of his hearing and how he hid it from the world, only to be opened by his brother's upon his death.
The NBA season kicked off last night. If you're a fan of the hoops, and you're anywhere near the same age as I am, you'll enjoy this 2009-10 preview from the always superb guys at Free Darko dot com:
Growing Older and the NBA
More later this week. Stay Tuned as we wrap this damn project up!
Showing posts with label Baumer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Baumer. Show all posts
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Wednesday, October 14, 2009
Instead I'm Just Crazy, and Totally Mad
In 2006 I had lofty goals for the marathon – something with a finish time around 2:50. I rolled through the half that year in 1:23:59, eventually falling apart around mile 19 with some strained core muscles that would end up bothering me all winter. I struggled to the finish line and ended up with a hugely disappointing 3:33:13.
In 2007 I lowered the goal to simply qualifying for Boston (3:10:00). This was the year of severe heat and apparent water shortages. After starting out at 7 min pace I quickly succumbed to the conditions and by mile 10 was already slower than my goal pace. It wasn’t my day, and I bailed on the race shortly after crossing the halfway point. Knowing it was only going to get hotter, and that I was already feeling the effects of the day, I didn’t need to prove to myself that I could finish a marathon. I’d done that 9 times already. I fell out of training after that; sat out the marathon in 2008 and generally stopped competitive racing.
You know about the EBONY goal for 2009, another resolution for the year came in the form of a challenge from my best friend on New Year’s Eve 2008 (mano y mano at the Shamrock Shuffle). This throwing of the gauntlet got me back on the horse, and I seemed to be working myself back into some sort of respectable running shape. Two 5k races in April followed the snowy & slushly Shamrock performance, and May brought about the Soldier Field 10 miler. My training wasn’t as aggressive or consistent as it could’ve been, but progress was being made. The wintertime inception of the Old Man Track Club helped for needed company on weekend long runs, and being asked to carry the heavy mileage on a coed Madison-to-Chicago 200 Relay team gave me something else to train for.
Another 5k followed in July, the long runs got longer in August, and a respectable half-marathon in September during my highest mileage week gave me reason to believe I might actually have a good marathon coming up in October. I’ve never trained as aggressively post-college as I know that my body and ability-level are capable of, but these are the sacrifices we make with jobs, responsibilities and social lives. I’ve always struggled going into marathons trying to find a balance between what I *know* I’m capable of and what I’m capable of *right now*.
So we arrive at the start line of the 2009 Chicago Marathon – the goal is to sit on the 3:10 pace group for 5 miles, catch the 3:00 pace group after 10 but before 15, then switch from pacing to racing for the last 10k. I’m not wearing a watch, choosing not to waste mental energy obsessing over each and every mile split.
The race starts and everything is going according to plan. The 3:10 pace seems easy, and around mile 4 I notice that I’ve pulled away from them. I don’t feel like I’m pushing things yet, so I decide to keep this effort level. Clock watching, I can tell I’m moving faster than 7 min pace, so it’s probably a little faster than I want to be. Slowing down on purpose once you’ve hit a comfortable pace is difficult, and I clearly failed at this. Split times would later show from 5k to 20k I was averaging 6:46 miles. I go by the half at 1:29:54, faster than planned, but well on target.
Tim (the catalyst for me getting back in shape to begin with) is cheering at mile 14. I run by. He doesn’t cheer for me, instead observing that the mustache I’ve given myself for the race, “Makes you look like a pedophile.” High School kids working water stations would cheer for the 'stache as well.
Around mile 15 I need to make a quick bathroom stop. Historically this has been an issue for me, so I’ve gotten pretty damned good at it. This mile probably has an extra 40 seconds, spent as efficiently as possible.
Mile 20, friend & savior Matt jumps in with me as I’ve just started hurting badly. My hamstrings and quads are as tight and sore as they can be, and my legs just feel shot. It seems getting under 6:50’s as early as I did was probably a bad idea, and I have a long history of falling apart anywhere between 18 and 24 miles into the race. Matt convinces me to stop and stretch for a minute, hoping that will help me to rebound. It does, to an extent. We get to a water stop right before the 21 mile marker. I walk with my Gatorade and tell Matt, “Here’s the deal. You get me to mile 25, don’t allow me to run anything slower than 8 minute miles, and I’ll do the rest.” We start the shuffle again. Every mile Matt reads my time, offering encouragement and a few well-placed yells. Mile 22 goes by, 7:43. Mile 23 goes by, 7:48. Mile 24 goes by, 7:55. I’m slipping further and further away from the 3-hour goal, and the two stops I made earlier during mile 20 have severely impacted my race. Boston Qualifying is 3:10, and I know I’m inching closer and closer to that time. The 3:10 pace groups, people I haven’t seen since Mile 4, begin to pass me. The wheels are coming off...
Matt and I roll by the 25 mile mark, and he doesn’t tell me my split. I ask for it, and he doesn’t say anything. I give him the death stare and demand my time. He replies, “8:11.” I reply with a very loud F-bomb that startles runners around me. We start picking it up again. I think of my friend Dan, who completed the Kona Ironman the day prior. All I'm doing is running a marathon. I think that in this year that I found out how to run competitively again I still seem to not be able to finish up a marathon. I think that I'm simply not a marathoner. I doubt myself, I curse myself, and Matt keeps talking me into pushing the pace. I yell at my legs. We finally see the turn for Roosevelt.
While I was expressing my doubts a few days prior to the race my friend Beth made her attempt at motivational speaking. She wrote to me, “Negative thinking kills everyone in everything. That’s why crazy people are so successful. Because they are so crazy they don’t think anything can stop them in what they are doing. Just get all Crazy-Kyle on the marathon. go ahead, spaz out, spaz. There is nothing to stop you. And how much does it suck to know that your dumb head is the only reason why you might mess up. It’s just a head.”
I make the turn up Roosevelt and I know my time is perilously close to the 3:10:59 I need to be under to make it to Boston. I’m pissed that once again I’ve fallen short of what I planned on running, but I know it’s still not too late to miss out on the secondary goal. I get to the top of the hill and know it’s a desperation sprint to the finish, shutting off my brain, going crazy, and I can still probably make it. Muscles burned, joints hurt, my usual rational, calculating brain has been turned off. Crazy people cannot be stopped. Crazy people cannot be stopped. 3:09:51.
A former college teammate heard them announce my name as I finished. He was 40 seconds ahead of me, so he stood and waited after the finish line. We walked through the finish area together. He’s also had a history of spectacular collapses, he ran well today, and he says, “this is the fastest I’ve ever been able to walk after the finish.” I reply, “I just want to sit down on the curb and cry for a few minutes.” We congratulate each other.
So I’m training through the winter for Boston. Halljams will be joining me. We’re now waiting for Internet Celebrity Baumer to qualify in his first marathon, and then the OMTC will be sending a trio to beantown in April. So thanks to everyone involved in my running support-group over the last 10 months – you’re much appreciated and I thank you.
I didn’t hit my goal, but it was the first full-marathon effort I’ve had in 3 years. It was the first time I’ve broken 3:10 in 5 years. And oh yeah, I’ve been to, like, y'know, 200 bars so far this year.
3 days after the marathon I've already put back on 7 lbs. They'll be shed soon enough, casualties of the solitary darkness of winter mileage.
Rick and I have some work to do these last 2.5 months. Check in often, cuz we’ll have updates. We did knock off bar #140 during Sunday night's post-marathon celebrations. I'll let Rick author that entry...he owes you a few entries anyway.
Elsewhere...check out what my brother is doing for the next two weeks.
In 2007 I lowered the goal to simply qualifying for Boston (3:10:00). This was the year of severe heat and apparent water shortages. After starting out at 7 min pace I quickly succumbed to the conditions and by mile 10 was already slower than my goal pace. It wasn’t my day, and I bailed on the race shortly after crossing the halfway point. Knowing it was only going to get hotter, and that I was already feeling the effects of the day, I didn’t need to prove to myself that I could finish a marathon. I’d done that 9 times already. I fell out of training after that; sat out the marathon in 2008 and generally stopped competitive racing.
You know about the EBONY goal for 2009, another resolution for the year came in the form of a challenge from my best friend on New Year’s Eve 2008 (mano y mano at the Shamrock Shuffle). This throwing of the gauntlet got me back on the horse, and I seemed to be working myself back into some sort of respectable running shape. Two 5k races in April followed the snowy & slushly Shamrock performance, and May brought about the Soldier Field 10 miler. My training wasn’t as aggressive or consistent as it could’ve been, but progress was being made. The wintertime inception of the Old Man Track Club helped for needed company on weekend long runs, and being asked to carry the heavy mileage on a coed Madison-to-Chicago 200 Relay team gave me something else to train for.
Another 5k followed in July, the long runs got longer in August, and a respectable half-marathon in September during my highest mileage week gave me reason to believe I might actually have a good marathon coming up in October. I’ve never trained as aggressively post-college as I know that my body and ability-level are capable of, but these are the sacrifices we make with jobs, responsibilities and social lives. I’ve always struggled going into marathons trying to find a balance between what I *know* I’m capable of and what I’m capable of *right now*.
So we arrive at the start line of the 2009 Chicago Marathon – the goal is to sit on the 3:10 pace group for 5 miles, catch the 3:00 pace group after 10 but before 15, then switch from pacing to racing for the last 10k. I’m not wearing a watch, choosing not to waste mental energy obsessing over each and every mile split.
The race starts and everything is going according to plan. The 3:10 pace seems easy, and around mile 4 I notice that I’ve pulled away from them. I don’t feel like I’m pushing things yet, so I decide to keep this effort level. Clock watching, I can tell I’m moving faster than 7 min pace, so it’s probably a little faster than I want to be. Slowing down on purpose once you’ve hit a comfortable pace is difficult, and I clearly failed at this. Split times would later show from 5k to 20k I was averaging 6:46 miles. I go by the half at 1:29:54, faster than planned, but well on target.
Tim (the catalyst for me getting back in shape to begin with) is cheering at mile 14. I run by. He doesn’t cheer for me, instead observing that the mustache I’ve given myself for the race, “Makes you look like a pedophile.” High School kids working water stations would cheer for the 'stache as well.
Around mile 15 I need to make a quick bathroom stop. Historically this has been an issue for me, so I’ve gotten pretty damned good at it. This mile probably has an extra 40 seconds, spent as efficiently as possible.
Mile 20, friend & savior Matt jumps in with me as I’ve just started hurting badly. My hamstrings and quads are as tight and sore as they can be, and my legs just feel shot. It seems getting under 6:50’s as early as I did was probably a bad idea, and I have a long history of falling apart anywhere between 18 and 24 miles into the race. Matt convinces me to stop and stretch for a minute, hoping that will help me to rebound. It does, to an extent. We get to a water stop right before the 21 mile marker. I walk with my Gatorade and tell Matt, “Here’s the deal. You get me to mile 25, don’t allow me to run anything slower than 8 minute miles, and I’ll do the rest.” We start the shuffle again. Every mile Matt reads my time, offering encouragement and a few well-placed yells. Mile 22 goes by, 7:43. Mile 23 goes by, 7:48. Mile 24 goes by, 7:55. I’m slipping further and further away from the 3-hour goal, and the two stops I made earlier during mile 20 have severely impacted my race. Boston Qualifying is 3:10, and I know I’m inching closer and closer to that time. The 3:10 pace groups, people I haven’t seen since Mile 4, begin to pass me. The wheels are coming off...
Matt and I roll by the 25 mile mark, and he doesn’t tell me my split. I ask for it, and he doesn’t say anything. I give him the death stare and demand my time. He replies, “8:11.” I reply with a very loud F-bomb that startles runners around me. We start picking it up again. I think of my friend Dan, who completed the Kona Ironman the day prior. All I'm doing is running a marathon. I think that in this year that I found out how to run competitively again I still seem to not be able to finish up a marathon. I think that I'm simply not a marathoner. I doubt myself, I curse myself, and Matt keeps talking me into pushing the pace. I yell at my legs. We finally see the turn for Roosevelt.
While I was expressing my doubts a few days prior to the race my friend Beth made her attempt at motivational speaking. She wrote to me, “Negative thinking kills everyone in everything. That’s why crazy people are so successful. Because they are so crazy they don’t think anything can stop them in what they are doing. Just get all Crazy-Kyle on the marathon. go ahead, spaz out, spaz. There is nothing to stop you. And how much does it suck to know that your dumb head is the only reason why you might mess up. It’s just a head.”
I make the turn up Roosevelt and I know my time is perilously close to the 3:10:59 I need to be under to make it to Boston. I’m pissed that once again I’ve fallen short of what I planned on running, but I know it’s still not too late to miss out on the secondary goal. I get to the top of the hill and know it’s a desperation sprint to the finish, shutting off my brain, going crazy, and I can still probably make it. Muscles burned, joints hurt, my usual rational, calculating brain has been turned off. Crazy people cannot be stopped. Crazy people cannot be stopped. 3:09:51.
A former college teammate heard them announce my name as I finished. He was 40 seconds ahead of me, so he stood and waited after the finish line. We walked through the finish area together. He’s also had a history of spectacular collapses, he ran well today, and he says, “this is the fastest I’ve ever been able to walk after the finish.” I reply, “I just want to sit down on the curb and cry for a few minutes.” We congratulate each other.
So I’m training through the winter for Boston. Halljams will be joining me. We’re now waiting for Internet Celebrity Baumer to qualify in his first marathon, and then the OMTC will be sending a trio to beantown in April. So thanks to everyone involved in my running support-group over the last 10 months – you’re much appreciated and I thank you.
I didn’t hit my goal, but it was the first full-marathon effort I’ve had in 3 years. It was the first time I’ve broken 3:10 in 5 years. And oh yeah, I’ve been to, like, y'know, 200 bars so far this year.
3 days after the marathon I've already put back on 7 lbs. They'll be shed soon enough, casualties of the solitary darkness of winter mileage.
Rick and I have some work to do these last 2.5 months. Check in often, cuz we’ll have updates. We did knock off bar #140 during Sunday night's post-marathon celebrations. I'll let Rick author that entry...he owes you a few entries anyway.
Elsewhere...check out what my brother is doing for the next two weeks.
Friday, May 29, 2009
Living In Sin, Cause It Helps Me Pretend
There's a good chance this will turn into one of those weeks where I see more bands playing live music than there are official EBONY bar visits.
Through Friday morning we have 3 in the left column, zero in the right. That's not saying I haven't been to any bars this week, I just haven't been to any bars with Rick around. Taking our roles seriously as economic stimulators, Rick is in Mexico attempting to right some tourism wrongs after the H1N1 tore up their visitation numbers. Perhaps we'll get back on the Surly Bus once he returns this weekend.
Without bars to report on, we can at least get some housekeeping out of the way. The leaderboard hasn't been discussed since February, if I recall correctly.
So March featured 18 total bars and the entire podium was made up of former members of the 907. I've never been more proud (Lies. I've many times been more proud). The counts weren't too high, but totals for Jason and Jason were 5 each, and Tim/Peter/Leroy/Chuck takes first place with 7. T-shirts pending.
April was a slow month, as previously reported in the chronicle of these chronicles. Ten total bars, and only 2 people had more than one appearance. Half-hearted thanks to Hall for gracing us with his attendance at 2 bars (those were his epic performances of misery and annoyance at Mystic Celt and Metro before he finally went home). Larger thanks, once again, to Tim/Peter/Leroy/Chuck (one person) for showing up and sharing drinks with us at five bars. Two months in a row for the God of Skinny Little Punks.
Onto May...which will be wrapping up on Sunday. Thanks to the BBC we've got some surprise new blood near the top of the charts. With first place still undecided at this point, those over five through 5/28 are: Hall (5), Ream (5), Carolyn D (5), Ashley (6), KD (7), Abby (7), Tim/Peter/Leroy/Chuck (7). And Down The Stretch They Come!
Now to the overall totals, where the 2009 champion earns our lifelong admiration and maybe a custom-designed button.
Currently standing in seventh, someone who five years ago would probably have been to all 91 with Rick and I -- Rob at a measly 11. Man up, Rob.
A slightly higher number in sixth place, our independent creative consultant (who hasn't been earning his title lately), Derek. Derek, you used to be an Idea Man.
Number five on our list, number 4,793 in our hearts, and the provider of much amusement with his oft-misguided bar antics...Adam with 13. Stay gold, Ponyboy.
Missing a podium spot by one place but a handful of bars off pace, the forever imitated, never duplicated, hilariously intoxicated, undefeated and reigning champion of the Chicago Bar Dance Off, the very healthy and disease-free man standing by the bar...Selfy with 14.
Third place, someone who probably would've been the pre-year favorite to take the EBONY 3rd Wheel Championship (and he's still got a good shot at it...), author of our favorite and most nonsensical incoming texts and wall posts (sorry Craig), the Twilight loving Hall with 17.
Current Runner-up, only two away from being the pack leader after five months, the man with 19 bars attended and four first names. By far my favorite single-serving friend. That's very clever. Thank You. How's that working out for you, being clever? Okay, I guess. Well then, keep it right up. Tim/Peter/Leroy/Chuck, keep it right up. Now, just one question remains...
Our leader in the clubhouse? He needs no introduction but he'll get one. You know him, you love him, your favorite and our friend -- Internet Celebrity Baumer! 21 visits to alcohol serving establishments with Rick and I over the last 5 months. Well Met, Baumer.
Thanks for reading this review of numbers that really don't mean anything at all in the grand scheme of things.
If there's a weekend recap after the last 2 days of May we might have a guest author...stay tuned. See you kids on the streets. Bring your friend and his green hat.
Through Friday morning we have 3 in the left column, zero in the right. That's not saying I haven't been to any bars this week, I just haven't been to any bars with Rick around. Taking our roles seriously as economic stimulators, Rick is in Mexico attempting to right some tourism wrongs after the H1N1 tore up their visitation numbers. Perhaps we'll get back on the Surly Bus once he returns this weekend.
Without bars to report on, we can at least get some housekeeping out of the way. The leaderboard hasn't been discussed since February, if I recall correctly.
So March featured 18 total bars and the entire podium was made up of former members of the 907. I've never been more proud (Lies. I've many times been more proud). The counts weren't too high, but totals for Jason and Jason were 5 each, and Tim/Peter/Leroy/Chuck takes first place with 7. T-shirts pending.
April was a slow month, as previously reported in the chronicle of these chronicles. Ten total bars, and only 2 people had more than one appearance. Half-hearted thanks to Hall for gracing us with his attendance at 2 bars (those were his epic performances of misery and annoyance at Mystic Celt and Metro before he finally went home). Larger thanks, once again, to Tim/Peter/Leroy/Chuck (one person) for showing up and sharing drinks with us at five bars. Two months in a row for the God of Skinny Little Punks.
Onto May...which will be wrapping up on Sunday. Thanks to the BBC we've got some surprise new blood near the top of the charts. With first place still undecided at this point, those over five through 5/28 are: Hall (5), Ream (5), Carolyn D (5), Ashley (6), KD (7), Abby (7), Tim/Peter/Leroy/Chuck (7). And Down The Stretch They Come!
Now to the overall totals, where the 2009 champion earns our lifelong admiration and maybe a custom-designed button.
Currently standing in seventh, someone who five years ago would probably have been to all 91 with Rick and I -- Rob at a measly 11. Man up, Rob.
A slightly higher number in sixth place, our independent creative consultant (who hasn't been earning his title lately), Derek. Derek, you used to be an Idea Man.
Number five on our list, number 4,793 in our hearts, and the provider of much amusement with his oft-misguided bar antics...Adam with 13. Stay gold, Ponyboy.
Missing a podium spot by one place but a handful of bars off pace, the forever imitated, never duplicated, hilariously intoxicated, undefeated and reigning champion of the Chicago Bar Dance Off, the very healthy and disease-free man standing by the bar...Selfy with 14.
Third place, someone who probably would've been the pre-year favorite to take the EBONY 3rd Wheel Championship (and he's still got a good shot at it...), author of our favorite and most nonsensical incoming texts and wall posts (sorry Craig), the Twilight loving Hall with 17.
Current Runner-up, only two away from being the pack leader after five months, the man with 19 bars attended and four first names. By far my favorite single-serving friend. That's very clever. Thank You. How's that working out for you, being clever? Okay, I guess. Well then, keep it right up. Tim/Peter/Leroy/Chuck, keep it right up. Now, just one question remains...
Our leader in the clubhouse? He needs no introduction but he'll get one. You know him, you love him, your favorite and our friend -- Internet Celebrity Baumer! 21 visits to alcohol serving establishments with Rick and I over the last 5 months. Well Met, Baumer.
Thanks for reading this review of numbers that really don't mean anything at all in the grand scheme of things.
If there's a weekend recap after the last 2 days of May we might have a guest author...stay tuned. See you kids on the streets. Bring your friend and his green hat.
Wednesday, May 20, 2009
Older Than I Once Was, Younger Than I'll Be
Since we've decided to classify the Lakeshore Theater as a bar (ed note: Adam - 41.9395794, -87.6443687) our count has been slightly adjusted. In defense of the LT's inclusion -- they do occassionally offer up free tickets for unsoldout shows in hopes that people will simply show up to spend money on liquor. Hence, Lakeshore Theater and Todd Barry's performance is #83.
Now onto our May(n) event, The BBC. I have a lot of really great friends and a terrific family (the real one and the "Chicago" one), and a good number of them managed to come hang out with us on Saturday for a drink or two or twenty. My sincerest thanks to all of you (whether you found time to make it or not). I'm not someone who puts much thought or contemplation into my birthday every year, it's not something I consider to be very monumental. People invariably ask me what I want for my birthday, and my thoughts drift to all of the crap I already have cluttering my living space...I don't exactly want more of that. So all I really ask for, year in and year out, is that the people who make me smile and who's relationships I value are similarly able to enjoy themselves. I'd like to think we accomplished that. So enough w/ the reflections, on to the Birthday Bar Crawl recap.
Mickey's (#84) is our first stop. Figuring the weather would be unpredictable it was my idea to get the outdoor drinking out of the way first. They've got a huge patio here that's open year round thanks to the wonders of modern deck manufacturing. Roughly 9 bottles were on the menu's beer list and they were out of half of them. Rick and I start the festivities off with Amstel Lights at 2:14pm. Our waitress reminded us of the unabletosmilegirl from Fearon's earlier this year until we saw her interacting with an infant and Rick noticed a hint of inclined grinning. Both the Cubs and the Sox would blow late leads while we drank at Mickey's, only the Cubs would end up prevailing. This subsequently reminds me that "Go, Cubs, Go" is the Miller Chill of Victory Songs (ie, the worst). Mini Turkey Corndogs are consumed and the outdoor patio is great for people watching on a sunny Clark Ave day. Mickey's has a very disgusting bathroom that redeems itself with an above-urinal advertisement for our friend Joe's latest creation, The Warrior Dash.
Heading across the street to The Field House (#85) we're greeted by our first fellow revelers in The BBC -- Abby, Kelly & Kathryn (who flew in from NYC just for this ocassion). I bet Rick $1 that we'd end up with 9 or more crawlers before leaving the Field House...thanks to the arrival of Kathy, Carolyn, Melissa & Ashley I'm a dollar richer.
Also arriving to put the bet out of reach are Selfy, Tim (celebrating his ACTUAL birthday), Annie, Akita, and friends of T&A. Kate and I split a $5 entry into the bar Preakness pool which proves unprofitable (damn you, Luv Gov!). My first birthday shot of whiskey goes down smoothly.
Also of note: The Field House was the fourth bar we've been to this year with a dog present.
Rather than attempting to list out who came & went the rest of the day for each of the remaining 4 bars, I'll just list as many of the others as I can remember: Robert, Sarah, Ream, Martineau, Carolyn, Brent, Brent's Brother, Derek, Eickhoff, Bode, Matt, Internet Celebrity Baumer, Allie, Michelle, Dustin, Kafel, Kafel's friends, Nancy, Becky, and probably a handful I can't recollect several days later.
So Duke's (#86) is actually a pretty great place, and the perfect site for some food. Without the menu I knew I was getting a Bleu Cheeseburger w/ Grilled Onions. This most definitely hit the spot. Brent, for reasons unknown, remarks, "Actually, I'm kind of addicted to Gossip Girl. It's a really good show." Eickhoff, always misbelieving that our music tastes line up exactly on last.fm, keeps pointing out to me how (not) perfect their sound selection is at Duke's. It was ok, probably a little above average.
Sarah is wearing the t-shirt of the day - "Afternoon Delight" - which pictures a couple of unicorns forming the beast with two backs in front of a rainbow. Matt buys me my second birthday shot of whiskey. Moving on...
Crossroads (#87)...well, they had $5 pitchers. But the place, eh, how do I put this? I'll just go with Ashley's review, "...And let's be real, this bar really isn't that great." A bunch of my idiot friends play quarters (causing the recently arrived Internet Celebrity Baumer to quickly advance his levels of intoxication). Martineau tries to tap out of quarters in order for me to take his seat. I'm not buying. The rowdy table also attempts a power hour.
A big EBONY Thank You to Baumer for making up for a 4 month absence from these chronicles. Your legion of fans had missed you. WTF moment of the day: Crossroad's (a generic lowest common denominator frathouse bar with cheap drinks and no character...really, $5 pitchers?) has a bathroom attendant.
Quoth The Akita: I am 100% confident I will win the Summer Beer Mile* (7/11/09)
Ream determines that what had been loosely referred to as "Kylefest" has been redubbed "Kylepalooza". This is obviously before I rechristened it The BBC. Also at Duke's I began making illustrations instead of just notes in my official EBONY notebook. The additions? My fabulous Venn Diagram about Women and Problems, the cartoon entitled "No Place For A Paper Airplane in a Green Society", and a map I drew upsidedown illustrating how long it takes my younger brother to travel from Crested Butte, CO to either Chicago or Aspen. This notebook will certainly be going up on Ebay at the end of '09.
Now off to Goodbar (#88)! Better music, lots of dancing. We go into our customary "dance club" game of assigning everyone an artist and requiring them to dominate the floor while said artist is played. I, as usual, shoulder the burden of Michael Jackson...which is no match for Selfy's dominating footwork when Timberlake blasts through the speakers. Michelle & Dustin arrive, fresh off a nearby concert. Through the magic of poorly-lit nitelife, the bartending staff seems to think Michelle's concert wristband is the same color as the Goodbar "all you can drink" wristband...thus further enabling the deterioration of my motor skills via alcohol. One car bomb, a couple redbull/vodkas, a few more beers...
Last stop on the evening (aside from obligatory late night mexican food)...is our second and more successful attempt to visit The Tonic Room (#89). I failed to register any notes from TTR, mostly due to the late hour and my general state of unwell-being. Everyone made it home alive, ready to start 365 days of training before the next BBC.
*the summer beer mile may or may not be a fictional activity (presented by the OMTC)
Now onto our May(n) event, The BBC. I have a lot of really great friends and a terrific family (the real one and the "Chicago" one), and a good number of them managed to come hang out with us on Saturday for a drink or two or twenty. My sincerest thanks to all of you (whether you found time to make it or not). I'm not someone who puts much thought or contemplation into my birthday every year, it's not something I consider to be very monumental. People invariably ask me what I want for my birthday, and my thoughts drift to all of the crap I already have cluttering my living space...I don't exactly want more of that. So all I really ask for, year in and year out, is that the people who make me smile and who's relationships I value are similarly able to enjoy themselves. I'd like to think we accomplished that. So enough w/ the reflections, on to the Birthday Bar Crawl recap.
Mickey's (#84) is our first stop. Figuring the weather would be unpredictable it was my idea to get the outdoor drinking out of the way first. They've got a huge patio here that's open year round thanks to the wonders of modern deck manufacturing. Roughly 9 bottles were on the menu's beer list and they were out of half of them. Rick and I start the festivities off with Amstel Lights at 2:14pm. Our waitress reminded us of the unabletosmilegirl from Fearon's earlier this year until we saw her interacting with an infant and Rick noticed a hint of inclined grinning. Both the Cubs and the Sox would blow late leads while we drank at Mickey's, only the Cubs would end up prevailing. This subsequently reminds me that "Go, Cubs, Go" is the Miller Chill of Victory Songs (ie, the worst). Mini Turkey Corndogs are consumed and the outdoor patio is great for people watching on a sunny Clark Ave day. Mickey's has a very disgusting bathroom that redeems itself with an above-urinal advertisement for our friend Joe's latest creation, The Warrior Dash.
Heading across the street to The Field House (#85) we're greeted by our first fellow revelers in The BBC -- Abby, Kelly & Kathryn (who flew in from NYC just for this ocassion). I bet Rick $1 that we'd end up with 9 or more crawlers before leaving the Field House...thanks to the arrival of Kathy, Carolyn, Melissa & Ashley I'm a dollar richer.
Also arriving to put the bet out of reach are Selfy, Tim (celebrating his ACTUAL birthday), Annie, Akita, and friends of T&A. Kate and I split a $5 entry into the bar Preakness pool which proves unprofitable (damn you, Luv Gov!). My first birthday shot of whiskey goes down smoothly.
Also of note: The Field House was the fourth bar we've been to this year with a dog present.
Rather than attempting to list out who came & went the rest of the day for each of the remaining 4 bars, I'll just list as many of the others as I can remember: Robert, Sarah, Ream, Martineau, Carolyn, Brent, Brent's Brother, Derek, Eickhoff, Bode, Matt, Internet Celebrity Baumer, Allie, Michelle, Dustin, Kafel, Kafel's friends, Nancy, Becky, and probably a handful I can't recollect several days later.
So Duke's (#86) is actually a pretty great place, and the perfect site for some food. Without the menu I knew I was getting a Bleu Cheeseburger w/ Grilled Onions. This most definitely hit the spot. Brent, for reasons unknown, remarks, "Actually, I'm kind of addicted to Gossip Girl. It's a really good show." Eickhoff, always misbelieving that our music tastes line up exactly on last.fm, keeps pointing out to me how (not) perfect their sound selection is at Duke's. It was ok, probably a little above average.
Sarah is wearing the t-shirt of the day - "Afternoon Delight" - which pictures a couple of unicorns forming the beast with two backs in front of a rainbow. Matt buys me my second birthday shot of whiskey. Moving on...
Crossroads (#87)...well, they had $5 pitchers. But the place, eh, how do I put this? I'll just go with Ashley's review, "...And let's be real, this bar really isn't that great." A bunch of my idiot friends play quarters (causing the recently arrived Internet Celebrity Baumer to quickly advance his levels of intoxication). Martineau tries to tap out of quarters in order for me to take his seat. I'm not buying. The rowdy table also attempts a power hour.
A big EBONY Thank You to Baumer for making up for a 4 month absence from these chronicles. Your legion of fans had missed you. WTF moment of the day: Crossroad's (a generic lowest common denominator frathouse bar with cheap drinks and no character...really, $5 pitchers?) has a bathroom attendant.
Quoth The Akita: I am 100% confident I will win the Summer Beer Mile* (7/11/09)
Ream determines that what had been loosely referred to as "Kylefest" has been redubbed "Kylepalooza". This is obviously before I rechristened it The BBC. Also at Duke's I began making illustrations instead of just notes in my official EBONY notebook. The additions? My fabulous Venn Diagram about Women and Problems, the cartoon entitled "No Place For A Paper Airplane in a Green Society", and a map I drew upsidedown illustrating how long it takes my younger brother to travel from Crested Butte, CO to either Chicago or Aspen. This notebook will certainly be going up on Ebay at the end of '09.
Now off to Goodbar (#88)! Better music, lots of dancing. We go into our customary "dance club" game of assigning everyone an artist and requiring them to dominate the floor while said artist is played. I, as usual, shoulder the burden of Michael Jackson...which is no match for Selfy's dominating footwork when Timberlake blasts through the speakers. Michelle & Dustin arrive, fresh off a nearby concert. Through the magic of poorly-lit nitelife, the bartending staff seems to think Michelle's concert wristband is the same color as the Goodbar "all you can drink" wristband...thus further enabling the deterioration of my motor skills via alcohol. One car bomb, a couple redbull/vodkas, a few more beers...
Last stop on the evening (aside from obligatory late night mexican food)...is our second and more successful attempt to visit The Tonic Room (#89). I failed to register any notes from TTR, mostly due to the late hour and my general state of unwell-being. Everyone made it home alive, ready to start 365 days of training before the next BBC.
*the summer beer mile may or may not be a fictional activity (presented by the OMTC)
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Where would I be? I'd be a Warrior, a Warrior
First, lets do the numbers ( it's reverse of how NPR does it, but this isn't NPR).
Some stats, we're 8.3% of the way through the year and we've hit roughly 14% of the bars on our list already. This is good news, as free weekends will be few and far between as the days begin to warm up this spring and summer. I doubt we'll have back-to-back Saturdays with 8 bars each again this year. Concerts, weddings, races, vacations and common sense will start getting in the way. We'd like to thank those of you who have helped us so far along the way: both of my brothers - for their encouragement and suggestions; Derek - who acts as our unpaid consultant; Hall - for always managing to stay classy; Annie - for not telling us that this is a ridiculous idea.
As promised -- the January Leaderboard!
We have a four way tie for 3rd place -- visiting all of 6 bars with us...Selfy, Isler, Costello & Chenoweth! Congrats fellas. You will get complementary EBONY matchbooks. They're in the mail, probably lost. Call your post office to check up on 'em.
Coming in second place, with an impressive showing of 10 bars and already the clubhouse leader with multiple entries into the EmptyBlogOfNothing Quote Hall of Fame...Hall! Way to go Halljams. Best of luck in the Boston Marathon if you manage to keep this pace up.
No big surprise on the winner here if you've been following our trials and tribulations...but it's a huge shock to us considering we didn't even know this guy until after we had visited our first bar of the year. Coming in with a grand total of 13 bars (would've been 14 if he had spent more time at Rose's)...Internet Celebrity Baumer! I'm not making this up when I say the monthly superfan will probably end up with an EmptyBlogOfNothing t-shirt once I get them made. The rest of you will have to pay.
So there you go...the gauntlet has been thrown. If you want the spoils of February start showing up.
And finally, a plea.
We'd like to think that during these times of economic hardship our mission at EBONY is acting as a local micro-economic stimulus package, however minute it might be. We're doing what we can with our expendable income to pump it back into our local surroundings, recirculating the monetary funds to support those who provide us with entertainment and liver damage. It's important that we, as Americans, support our local watering holes -- even if you do have 170 of them. If your streetcorner tavern shuts it's doors the battle will surely be lost, surrendered to the evil forces of corruption and all that is wrong with the world. Now, not every bar I enter is going to agree completely with me, but that's what the free market is for. Through diversity we achieve great things, our differences will unite us. There are enough of us here to drink the available spirits, and there are enough different bars to house all of us. So to you -- the preps & punks, young & old, gay & straight, country & western, alkies & winos, cubs & sox, the carnivores & herbivores, the bluetools, the young professionals, the unemployed, the underemployed, hooligans & beatniks, club kids, pool sharks, and karaoke stars -- venture out of your homes, don't drink in solitude by the fireplace! The cold bleakness of winter cannot be battled alone -- it must be fought with your comrades. Do not go softly into the gray recession, we must fight it together side by side, barstool by barstool, pint to pint! Raise your glasses and sing together -- we shall overcome! We, the denizens of the night, the drinkers of the day, the champions of the club! The Masters of Consumption and Double-Shots for Everyone! Forty-thousand, counting affiliates, and twenty-thousand more, not organized, but ready to drink: 60,000 soldiers! CAN YOU DIG IT???!!!
We are still here! Today, let us send a message to that army. Tonight, let us shake this cave. Tonight, let us tremble these halls of earth, steel, and stone, let us be heard from red core to black sky. Tonight, let us make them remember, THIS IS ZION AND WE ARE NOT AFRAID!
Sorry...got a little carried away there. Drink responsibly and make sure you can walk home. Shake that cave.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
And if you say run, I'll run with you
The day began strangely -- we witnessed what almost escalated into a parking lot fight at the drive thru of the Chase across the street. An older man (maybe mid-60s?) was screaming at the top of his lungs at a similarly aged couple who had their dog with them. I quote, "I said I'm sorry!! WHY ARE YOU TREATING ME LIKE I'M A %&*$ING CRIMINAL!!!" This continued for 30-40 seconds. We couldn't really figure out what happened but eventually they must've figured out it was a beautiful snowy winter day in Chicago and they should enjoy it instead of spending time shouting at each other in a parking lot.
Needing food we hit another member bar of the Irish Corner, Trinity. Trinity has $3 Guinness...ALL THE TIME. We picked the right day and the right bar to hit up for food -- cheeseburgers were also on special for $3. These aren't the thin patty mini burger almost sliders they have on special at The Northpark Tap (extra $1 for cheese), these are real standard sized cheeseburgers that come with a large serving of waffle fries. I ate two of them.
Friend of the Blog Selfy eventually showed up, making his first of what will be many mentions in these pages. Laura, our bartender who looks a little like Alison Lohman (pictured), pretended to be interested in our conversations...conversations that included Isler's claim that he could walk across the United States in 2 weeks.
The Grand Central is across the street from where we used to live. We used to hit up the All-You-Can-Eat brunch buffet here on the weekends after winter long runs, then they raised the price (presumably because 8 skinny runners would show up every weekend and each fill 5 plates worth of food...but probably not).
Rose Bar is possibly the best dive bar in Chicago (The Queen of Dive bars, maybe?). Really, there's little to no effort put forth here...it's a haphazard collection of mismatched furniture, glasses and patrons. If you order 3 of the same beer there's a good chance you'll get 3 different glasses. An older man drinking by himself broke into The Music Man's "Ya Got Trouble" when we walked in the door. Internet Celebrity Baumer showed up late, announced that "it smells like body odor in here" and we left.
Delilah's
So we continued to The Union, a Big Ten sports bar. Walking in we were greeted by an empty room and a dog loudly barking at us. Of the 7 people in the bar we were the only paying customers and the only 2 who were not friends of the owner. I ordered a Blue Moon (without the orange, I don't need fruit in my beer), and was quickly reminded that I don't actually like Blue Moon. Jimmy Buffet's greatest hits album was playing on a loop. That I was able to detect this should signal that we spent too much time at The Union.
Heading south to the Irish Corner, (Halsted & Diversey, a title I've only bestowed upon that intersection just now as I type this) we stopped into Harrigans to meet some friends. This is your standard Irish bar, nothing spectacular about it. The bartender struggled with a coffee machine for several seconds (and actually called someone on the phone for assistance) before serving us a few glasses of strangely priced Three Floyd's Alpha King. There was no music playing, just the broadcast feed of the first NFL playoff game today. We were soon joined by Internet Celebrity Baumer, a sick-yet-still-visionary Holland, and the surprise arrival of Costello and Isler.
Needing food we hit another member bar of the Irish Corner, Trinity. Trinity has $3 Guinness...ALL THE TIME. We picked the right day and the right bar to hit up for food -- cheeseburgers were also on special for $3. These aren't the thin patty mini burger almost sliders they have on special at The Northpark Tap (extra $1 for cheese), these are real standard sized cheeseburgers that come with a large serving of waffle fries. I ate two of them.
Friend of the Blog Selfy eventually showed up, making his first of what will be many mentions in these pages. Laura, our bartender who looks a little like Alison Lohman (pictured), pretended to be interested in our conversations...conversations that included Isler's claim that he could walk across the United States in 2 weeks. Heading south again we walked into a sparsely populated Victory Liquors. This is a Notre Dame bar that replaced former pool hall The Corner Pocket. Our reserved VIP area (it wasn't a reserved VIP area) featured one of those Boxer machines. Basically these things are an easy way to rid a group of competitive males of the singles in their wallets without employing poles, women or a bad dj. For the low low price of a dollar bill you get one punch on the speed bag, the power of your punch is displayed. Top to bottom, our rankings: Selfy, Costello, Kyle, Ricky, Isler, Internet Celebrity Baumer
A group of meatheads showed up and quickly put about $10 into the machine...one of them claiming he held the record on the machine at another bar. He never came close to the record on this one. Also, there's a video of Costello head-butting the boxing bag that'll be uploaded eventually (check the facebook page linked below). His score after the forehead impact was significantly lower than any of our punching results, leading to a discussion of the usefulness of the headbutt in combat (pro - suprise, useful in close quarters; con - headache).
The Grand Central is across the street from where we used to live. We used to hit up the All-You-Can-Eat brunch buffet here on the weekends after winter long runs, then they raised the price (presumably because 8 skinny runners would show up every weekend and each fill 5 plates worth of food...but probably not).
Rick and our waitress had the following exchange:
What's your name?
Yana
With a K or a J?
With a Y.
What's your name?
Yana
With a K or a J?
With a Y.
The GC is also the place that caused the end of a previous brief relationship for Selfy. The message she left him, in reference to a night spent at the GC, "It's your dancing. It's all over the place and it's not good."
So speaking of dancing, we're greeted with David Bowie upon our entrance to Chi-Town Tap. Based on the acquaintance that Internet Celebrity Baumer was trying to make it was apparent that the spoils of this bar crawl were affecting him far more than the rest of us. Whoever pumped some money into the jukebox gave us a surprisingly good run of tunes (Interpol, Radiohead, Kings of Leon, Ramones, Strokes). The tall glasses of Bass were on special here for $3. For reasons unknown, Isler remarks, "On a scale of 1 to 10, you guys are sweet!"
Rose Bar is possibly the best dive bar in Chicago (The Queen of Dive bars, maybe?). Really, there's little to no effort put forth here...it's a haphazard collection of mismatched furniture, glasses and patrons. If you order 3 of the same beer there's a good chance you'll get 3 different glasses. An older man drinking by himself broke into The Music Man's "Ya Got Trouble" when we walked in the door. Internet Celebrity Baumer showed up late, announced that "it smells like body odor in here" and we left.
Strangely enough, this was on the wall at Rose Bar, not Delilah's
For our last stop, Selfy, Rick, Internet Celebrity Baumer and I hit up one of our favorite places in Chicago (bar or otherwise), Delilah's. There's always an interesting crowd, a superb selection of drinks, great music (be it a themed night or just the jukebox), strange things playing on the televisions (old Batman episodes in this case), and the art on the walls is for sale and frequently changes (a selection of Elvis paintings tonight). I wish I had remembered to take a picture of their sign out front...oh well, I'll be back here again. The Batman episode must've been a good one -- top tier criminals The Joker, The Riddler, The Penguin and Catwoman were all featured. I don't know how often this happened in the series, but it must've been significant. Somehow I put $5 into the jukebox at 9:30 and my songs immediately began. This will probably never happen again.
Delilah'sThanks to the idea of sick visionary Holland, we've put together a Facebook group that'll house more pictures, comments, etc. You can find it HERE
what's your malfunction besides alcohol?
i'll leave the full recap to Kyle, but here are my brief notes from last night:
The Union:
- the owner smoking inside the bar, the owners dog named Caesar hangs out in the bar, watching the Illini Alumni basketball game and not seeing Damir Krupalija
Harrigans:
- "blogs by nature are full of nothing, and yours actually acknowledges it." - Holland
Trinity:
- Laura, our bartender being very impressed w/ our resolution - you better be reading this!, and Kyle telling her he can get her running shoes if she wanted any
Victory Liquors:
- taking on the punching bag machine and seeing Baumer not doing much better than Costello head butting it
Grand Central:
- Kyle, Selfy and myself going to our old apartment to see our neighbors dog Hercules, only to learn they moved and Kyle telling the new tenant "You ruined our fun"
-throwing tater tots
Chi-Town Tap:
- nothing too out of the ordinary here, just Baumer putting more effort than necessary on to his new friend
Rose Bar:
- noticing in a single glance that there are at least 11 different types of chairs in this bar
Delilah's:
- drinking some Changs, and me burping it up 14 hours later on my run.
so far we have accomplished our January quota, so we're off to a good pace - which helps since i'll be out of town next weekend, although the following weekend is my birthday, so i'm sure a handful will be crossed off then.
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