Cocktail Party

Admittedly, I haven't been to many "cocktail parties." Apparently, at some point between college graduation and one's 2nd or 3rd promotion at Chalmers Corporation Inc. LLC, the word "cocktail" is to be elegantly inserted before the word "party" for any and all mention thereof. This change in terminology brings with it an aire of sophistication previously unwarranted and inaccurate, now integral.....even if the garage will house a Beirut Table, a keg of Bud Light, and a population consisting mostly of gassy males seeking refuge from the feats of ettiquiette, restraint, and self-awareness demanded of them while inside and upstairs with their wives, significant others, and the other yuppies with whom their wives and girlfriends spend the bulk of the weekly 8 to 6 grind.

I am lucky enough to get along very well with the host (the wife of whom works with Mussolini) and two other "work husbands". Upon the conclusion of the Ohio State v. Michigan game, the four of us engaged in a game of Beirut, at the urging of the host, who seemed eager to mark the garage as exclusively male territory. The senior member of our little foursome, 34 years old and absolutely hilarious, I'm afraid pre-dates the advent of Beirut/Beer Pong (or at least his college experience did). As such, he demanded an explanation of the rules as we filled solo cups with Bud Light.

"What is this? Parents' weekend?" I mocked.

In one fell swoop his eyes shot accross the garage to the door, obviously double-checking to make sure his wife was not headed down the stairs to see what he was up to as he packed a dip into his bottom lip with his left hand, pointed to me with the other and replied, "Oh! It's ON!"

Inevitably, after a few drinks, I am rendered incapable of distinguishing between these two very separate worlds. After my first run on the table, I head upstairs and rub elbows without incident. "Chit chat chit chat. Babble, badger, ballywhoo, brewha ha, bicker, bicker bicker, banter, Talk Talk Talk." Mussolini seems happy with my performance.

After checking the Cal v. USC score, I head back downstairs for a second go round of Beirut. By now I have eaten (delicious food by the way) and drank myself a little silly. Par for the course. We win a game (I hit the last cup in a playoff round!) and lose the next. By now our topics of conversation have reached new lows [for a "cocktail party"] and the volume of my voice has reached new highs.

Feeling frisky, I bound back upstairs to see what my better, if not slightly authoritarian, half is up to. She puts her arm around my waste, pulls me in toward her, and introduces me to Jim and Jennifer Blah. Jim Blah and Jen Blah are married and just moved to the North End. Jim Blah owns a business in Blahville and he's going to be moving it to the North End as soon as blah. Blah. Blah. Mussolini and I briefly make eyes at one another (we've gotten good at this non-verbal communication thing over the past four years) instantaneously acknowledging to one another how bizarre all this hob-knobbing can be. A third couple joins the fray. Hand shakes and "blah's" exchanged. Our attention is briefly drawn to the football game on the television by an injury. As is fashionable now a days, the play during which the knee injury was sustained is replayed in slow motion and from every conceivable angle over and over again. I hear people throughout the room, behind me and in front of me, cringe. Jim Blah turns to me and says something about how distasteful he finds this morbid practice. And then it happened.....

I couldn't tell if I was upstairs with the "cocktail" or downstairs with the "party". They had actually fused together and become the same thing. It was all "party".

I went on to mention the incessant replays of Joe Paterno's recent injury, which was also shown in slow motion from every conceivable angle. And for good measure, I added, "Fucking grundle cam! I think they even had a grundle cam shot of Paterno's grundle! You could see the way the impact, impacted the old man's grundle!"

Everyone in the room froze. Silence reigned. Silence's reign must have lasted but a few moments, but it seemed much much longer than my reign over the Beirut Table downstairs at the "party". No one said a goddamn thing. I stood there.....frozen. Gradually, I heard voices. First faint and far away. Then, one by one, popping up here and there and all around me. They had moved on!

I went back to the basement.

Big Weekend

So, anyone picking Michigan in this game tomorrow? Anyone rooting for Michigan?

I can honestly say I don't really care who wins. I guess I'd, by an ever so slim margine, prefer an Ohio State victory to a Michigan victory....provided is carries with it no negative connotations for Notre Dame's chances at the BCS title game.

Ohio State has the lowest graduation rate in all of college sports (or something very close to it) and I can't stand Tressel. I like Troy Smith and Ted Ginn Jr. I like that old men like my father don't like Smith, or at least are reluctant to give him the credit he deserves, because "He'll never make it in the pro's." I like freak athletes that play qb. I like that they bother the "traditionalists"/old people (aka my dad).

I can't stand Lloyd Carr. I hate Chad Henne (pussy). I like Michigan's uniforms though. Actually, the Buckeye's is a classic uni too. Neither compares to the home uni's of the Fighting Irish.

Ohio's a lamer state than Michigan for reasons in-articulable (one is hard-pressed to say much, good or bad, about either state)...but Ohio did produce Brady Quinn.....and his sister. You have to admire a program that consistently churns out Butkus Award finalists like Ohio State. This year is no different.

Ultimately, however, my attitude toward this game is best summarized by my dad's part in an exchange we had yesterday over the phone:

dad: So who do you like in the big game?

me: On paper, you gotta be thinking Ohio State. Too many big play threats on that offense while both teams seem comparable defensively.

dad: What? I'm talking about Notre Dame v. Army.

Go Irish!

Very Important

Do not forget to VOTE today!!!

And don't just VOTE!!!

VOTE against the GOP!!

Bisco

Please bear in mind I'm a Bisco novice and that I am forced by cruel circumstance (no home computer) to write these blogs in about 20 minutes or less. Moreover, after having been once again stuck in traffic and running behind schedule, the power was also out at my apartment upon my arriving home to use the little boys' room. As such, and in addition to having to wipe my ass by the light of my cell phone (a tall task indeed), I had no time to eat anything.....just enough to pound 4 Jack and Ginger's and 3 pints.

I'm ashamed to say I missed them when they took the stage. The entire band was dressed in grimreeper cloaks but I have a feeling there was something more to their actual entrance that I must have missed. The drummer played the first few tunes with the hood on, which had a more interesting visual effect than is likely apparent right now from my description. This was my first dose of him and I must say I like him. He has his own style, is louder than Sammy, but it's not a distraction. And he can seriously ride that goddamn high hat.

The light show was particularly crazy (keep in mind this was my only my 3rd bisco show).....and they had a choir! Anyone who has ever discussed the Biscuits with me knows I'm particularly critical of their singing.....so I was pretty pumped about the [5 person] choir (as if they'd read my mind and heeded my advice). While they were on stage for a handful of songs, they're most substantial contributions came on Floyd's In the Flesh and the Stones' You Can't Always Get What You Want (where to my surprise the Barber's voice was actually on key).

At least more so than the last show I went to, most of the jamming was heavily techno and more about the interplay between each member of the band than the virtuosity of the Barber. This made for some frenzied dancing and for the perceived spotlight (I say 'perceived' because there were millions of different colored lights doing crazy things at each and every crazy moment) to shine on the band as a whole instead of any one of it's parts.

Shortly after noticing and commenting to Kevy Wevy that the kid who was selectively asking weirdos in the lobby if they had mushrooms would never in a million years ask the two of us, he came and asked me... And I felt cool :( ...Even though I work a 9 to 5 every day, I still seem sketchy enough, at 25, to carry around extra mushrooms! After I said 'no' he turned to Kevy, quickly sized him up and walked away without a word. Granted, the conclusions I've drawn from this exchange are convoluted at best.....but I don't really care.

One last thing I wanted to mention, having just glanced at the setlist; the Barber was particularly understated for Home Again. I didn't like it at first. I was looking for him to go big but this version grew on me and by the song's end, I loved it.

Set I: Triumph> Svenghali1 2, In The Flesh2 3 4> Digital Buddha2, Svenghali1 2> Rock CandySet II: Save The Robots, Reactor> O Fortuna2 5> Reactor, Home Again2, You Can't Always Get What You Want2 6Encore: Little Lai