Monday, October 30, 2006

The last few days, quickly 

This was the weekend for all the killer Halloween parties, but none compared to the madness of Thursday night. Psychic Bunny Productions party at The Derby. Madness. Booze. Ladies. Bad decisions. Stumbling into work on just under four hours of sleep and totally wrecked the next morning. Yeah.

Friday was my hell day. Even with the shower and copious amounts of Gatorade and water, I'm sure I still was rank with the vodka. Pounding headache. Hurting. And then the allergies kicked in. Any thoughts of partying on Friday night? Tossed right out the window and then pissed on. I felt sick and over-tired. It was an early night, for me. Fortunately, though, I did get to see the Cardinals win the World Series over Detroit in just five games. The Tiger's fielding was just comical throughout the Series. Where was Curtis Granderson? Where was ALCS MVP Placido Polanco (0-for the Series)? Hell, aside from Sean Casey, none of the Detroit bats showed up. And now, my Dennis Green impression: "The Tigers are exactly who we (I) thought they were! You wanna crown them? Then crown their ass! But they're exactly who we (I) thought they were!" Seriously, people shouldn't be too shocked that the Tigers crapped the bed. They looked just as weak as the Cardinals did heading into the playoffs. Also, they have "Detroit" written across their jerseys. Congrats to Tony LaRussa and company. Everyone was so quick to say the American League champ would surely beat the National League, but this is no big upset. The '04 Lakers losing to the Pistons, the '01 Rams losing the the Patriots -- those are actual examples of a dominant conference's champion losing in the final.

Battlestar was pretty meh.

Next morning, Saturday, rise and shine at 7a.m. to watch the mighty Reds play perhaps the best half of futbol all season, pounding Aston Villa 3-1, handing the Villans their first loss on the season. I got so much joy out of that, especially after their pitiful display against ManUre the week before. The ship appears to be righting itself. Quite a relief. And I feel recovered, too. From there, SATURDAY MORNING CARTOONS!

Well, basically. Asa and I powered through the dvds of Justice League Unlimited (which is pretty damn sweet, save for a couple episodes -- ahem... Booster Gold sucks). I ate Lucky Charms cereal. I was 9 again. I loved it.

Still no Halloween costume, though, and the parties were only hours away. Quick! What can I cheaply and easily pull off with inspiration from my dvd collection? Requiem For a Dream. That's pretty grizzly. I'm Jaret Leto and his festering wound. Done. A little sunken face, a little bruising, oozing, bleeding from the left arm, and voila: a perfectly fine, anything but stunning, Halloween costume. Parties were fine. Drinking. Ladies. Fun. Nothing compared to Thursday, though. The arm makeup was a bit of a bitch to get off, too.

Woke up the next morning and surprisingly had the shakes. I mean, genuinely surprising. I didn't think I had all that much to drink the night before, but when I got downstairs to watch football on the couch, I couldn't help but get into the fetal position as I just felt the vodka and gin sitting in my chest like a cancer. Ugh. Fortunately, God invented turkey melts. Problem solved.

The NFL was not kind to my picks, again, but at least I got the consolation of another Oakland Raiders victory. Beating the defending Superbowl champion Steelers, at that. And without scoring even a single offensive touchdown. We're like the Bears! Almost. Three in a row against Seattle next week? It's on the road, but Seneca Wallace and Maurice Morris are no Matt Hasselback and Shaun Alexander. There's a chance. Losing faith in: Carolina Panthers. Confounded by: Jacksonville Jaguars. What's happening to: Philadelphia Eagles. Untested, therefore unproven (even if they can hang 40+ points on the 49ers): Chicago Bears. New (yet seemingly always) worst team in the league: Arizona Cardinals. A believer in: New York Giants. Still don't believe in: Dallas Cowboys. Their staggering inability to stop the run will eventually kill them: Indianapolis Colts.

I know I missed the boat a couple years ago on this one, but I finally saw Saw last night. Wow, that movie is terrible. I'm mortified (yet, sadly, unsurprised) that such a crappy movie could spark such a successful franchise. I mean, for crying out loud, people. Interesting twist at the end, but it in no way redeems the dull, amateurish, mundane 1hr 40 mins that preceded it. Like Doug said, this movie feels as if it's written and acted by a bunch of 15-year-olds pretending to be adults. That's a pretty dead-on assessment. Saw sucks.

And now it's Monday. Where's the fun in that?

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