This past weekend was one of those that just seemed to be over before it even started. I hate it when that happens. Now and then I just want a weekend where I do absolutely nothing, and then by 2 pm Saturday I'm climbing the exposed-brick walls because we have nothing to do. Other times, I feel like we just have too much going on....this particular one was kinda sortta in between.
Friday night we sat home and did nothing. K made BBQ beef sandwiches, and we played rummy, which seems to be my new card game of the week, and now that I've finally figured it out, I've discovered I ain't half bad at it. Watched Syracuse and Memphis in the Coaches vs Cancer Classic, 'cuse just outhustled and outmuscled the Tigers. It's funny to watch the difference in coaching styles between Boeheim and Calipari. Boeheim reminds me of the stereotypical dishevled rumpled absentminded type (alth0ugh he did finally get rid of those big owl-looking glasses a few years ago), while Calipari is like a younger and chunkier Pat Riley, always ready to snap and chew a guy a new orifice when he does something stupid.
Speaking of stupid, they broke into the game with news from Motown about the whole Artest-Wallace-O'Neal-fan fracas. No pun intended, but this damned thing has been beat to death to the point where I'm just numb about it and really have very little to say. Detroit fans are boorish as hell, but there's no reason to run into the stands and kick the crap out of them. I would have much preferred if Artest just took the ball on his next possession and jammed it through the hoop and dangled on the rim for a bit. That's the ultimate Booya!
I had every intention of getting up early Saturday morning and going to Lou Mitchell's for breakfast. Wrong. Ended up sleeping until almost 9, and just as I was waking up, K's mother called. ARRRGGHHH! There is a general unwritten rule in my family that you do not call someone between 10 pm and 10 am unless someone's dead, in the hospital, or holding a winning lottery ticket, and the fact that K's mom calls all the time in the morning has long been a real sore spot in our relationship. When we first started dating, I shit you not, she would call at like 7:15 on Saturday mornings. They talk 3 or 4 times a week for like 45 minutes at a time...and it's always about ABSOLUTELY NOTHING, and it cuts into our quality time. I've brought this up a ton of times with her, and she's always like "it's a girl thing." I have never ever dated another girl who talked to her mom this much. So I was in a pretty pissy mood, and instead of getting dressed and going out to breakfast, I went for a good long walk.
Went to the Wolves game Saturday night. It's just fun to see live hockey, and with the talent level of the Wolves, they could probably give the Blackhawks a run for their money in a game. The skyboxes at the Allstate Arena are something to behold--basically it's a really small mirrored room that looks like something straight off a porno set with a dorm fridge under the counter and a couple bags of ice. The food was outstanding though, but in a situation like this, the focus is on the game on the rink, which was well played with the Wolves winning 3-0. Quite a few good fights, too...yes, I admit it, hockey fights are cool.
Bears game yesterday. Left the house all bundled up, got to Soldier Field and took my jacket off almost right away, and then was freezing again by the 3rd quarter. Bears looked just awful, with Krenzel throwing picks all over the place against what's supposed to be the worst defense int he NFL. He never had time to let anything develop and seemed like he was almost always throwing on the run. The Colts offense was just insane, as predicted. There's just no way to stop Edgerin James when he runs up the middle, and the only time the Bears seemed to stifle him was when they sent like 4 guys on him who would somehow get behind scrimmage and chase him out of bounds, but that didn't happen much. If the Colts do indeed end up winning the Super Bowl, Manning better buy his whole O-line cars or Rolexes or something, because their blocking gives that big slow white boy all the time in the world to unleash downfield.
Got home from the game and logged some serious couch time, watching the late game on FOX, the Simpsons, and Desperate Horny Housewives. (Yeah, it hasn't worn off yet). Made some pretty good jerk chicken that I may have added a bit too much cloves to, but passable nonetheless.
Trib and Sun-Times seldom agree on matters editorial, but they've both reached the conclusion that U2's new album sucks.
Tonight I pack, tomorrow Florida!
Friday night we sat home and did nothing. K made BBQ beef sandwiches, and we played rummy, which seems to be my new card game of the week, and now that I've finally figured it out, I've discovered I ain't half bad at it. Watched Syracuse and Memphis in the Coaches vs Cancer Classic, 'cuse just outhustled and outmuscled the Tigers. It's funny to watch the difference in coaching styles between Boeheim and Calipari. Boeheim reminds me of the stereotypical dishevled rumpled absentminded type (alth0ugh he did finally get rid of those big owl-looking glasses a few years ago), while Calipari is like a younger and chunkier Pat Riley, always ready to snap and chew a guy a new orifice when he does something stupid.
Speaking of stupid, they broke into the game with news from Motown about the whole Artest-Wallace-O'Neal-fan fracas. No pun intended, but this damned thing has been beat to death to the point where I'm just numb about it and really have very little to say. Detroit fans are boorish as hell, but there's no reason to run into the stands and kick the crap out of them. I would have much preferred if Artest just took the ball on his next possession and jammed it through the hoop and dangled on the rim for a bit. That's the ultimate Booya!
I had every intention of getting up early Saturday morning and going to Lou Mitchell's for breakfast. Wrong. Ended up sleeping until almost 9, and just as I was waking up, K's mother called. ARRRGGHHH! There is a general unwritten rule in my family that you do not call someone between 10 pm and 10 am unless someone's dead, in the hospital, or holding a winning lottery ticket, and the fact that K's mom calls all the time in the morning has long been a real sore spot in our relationship. When we first started dating, I shit you not, she would call at like 7:15 on Saturday mornings. They talk 3 or 4 times a week for like 45 minutes at a time...and it's always about ABSOLUTELY NOTHING, and it cuts into our quality time. I've brought this up a ton of times with her, and she's always like "it's a girl thing." I have never ever dated another girl who talked to her mom this much. So I was in a pretty pissy mood, and instead of getting dressed and going out to breakfast, I went for a good long walk.
Went to the Wolves game Saturday night. It's just fun to see live hockey, and with the talent level of the Wolves, they could probably give the Blackhawks a run for their money in a game. The skyboxes at the Allstate Arena are something to behold--basically it's a really small mirrored room that looks like something straight off a porno set with a dorm fridge under the counter and a couple bags of ice. The food was outstanding though, but in a situation like this, the focus is on the game on the rink, which was well played with the Wolves winning 3-0. Quite a few good fights, too...yes, I admit it, hockey fights are cool.
Bears game yesterday. Left the house all bundled up, got to Soldier Field and took my jacket off almost right away, and then was freezing again by the 3rd quarter. Bears looked just awful, with Krenzel throwing picks all over the place against what's supposed to be the worst defense int he NFL. He never had time to let anything develop and seemed like he was almost always throwing on the run. The Colts offense was just insane, as predicted. There's just no way to stop Edgerin James when he runs up the middle, and the only time the Bears seemed to stifle him was when they sent like 4 guys on him who would somehow get behind scrimmage and chase him out of bounds, but that didn't happen much. If the Colts do indeed end up winning the Super Bowl, Manning better buy his whole O-line cars or Rolexes or something, because their blocking gives that big slow white boy all the time in the world to unleash downfield.
Got home from the game and logged some serious couch time, watching the late game on FOX, the Simpsons, and Desperate Horny Housewives. (Yeah, it hasn't worn off yet). Made some pretty good jerk chicken that I may have added a bit too much cloves to, but passable nonetheless.
Trib and Sun-Times seldom agree on matters editorial, but they've both reached the conclusion that U2's new album sucks.
Tonight I pack, tomorrow Florida!
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