May 2003

A co-worker recently told me about the blind movie critic that makes an appearance on Q102 every now and then. The guy sounded like he had a great gig going until I read one of his reviews on his Web site.

His reviews are absolutely awful. This guy is using his handicap as a novelty rather than triumphing over it, because his writing made me want to jab a pencil into my eye — or his ear. I hope that radio stations have this on their programs soley to make fun of him.

Apparently, this guy hated Matrix: Reloaded because the plot was too difficult to understand. Hey buddy, maybe it’s because there are many visual aspects to the story as well AND YOU’RE BLIND!

The Matrix: Reloaded will no doubt be evaluated to death in the next nine months, but I need to work it out on paper (or pixels! hah!) myself lest I go insane.

First of all, people will undoubtedly say it’s not as strong as the first Matrix, which had very simple themes in terms of basic comprehension but were only a springboard for more meaningful discussion. No one can deny that the first one built upon many old themes and presented them in a new, exciting way — it was simply groundbreaking.

The second part in the trilogy is just that — the next part, and a bridge to the final episode. There is a whole lot of plot development to go with its equal amounts of action, so much that I’ll have to see it a second time to understand it all. I remember having to see the first part at least another time in order to iron out all the kinks in my head. There’s almost no ending at all, which is standard for the second part of a trilogy; it’s along the lines of The Empire Strikes Back with Han Solo encased in carbonite and Luke losing his hand, to use a geek comparison.

One of my favorite differences between the films is that this one has fewer fighting/action sequences. Cinematically speaking, I’ve had my fill of those; seeing human minds and computer programs duking it out kung fu-style was played out in the first installment. Plot-wise, there isn’t much need for it either. Neo knows that he’s pretty much an equal match for the machines at this point, he’s just trying to find his way to the end of the conflict now.

As for special effects, I wasn’t blown away. I had high expectations after reading AOL-Warner-Time Magazine’s self-serving piece about how realistic fighting scenes were with the tricky camera angles and such. I’m not usually one to nit-pick, but when something is purported to be totally realistic I tend to look a little closer, and look closer I did. And so I was slightly disappointed. The trench coats lacked the perfect amount of texture and the faces were cartoonish. It was undoubtedly groundbreaking and technologically superior to anything ever attempted before, but I was expecting perfection and it is less than that.

When it comes right down to it, I’m almost positive it will stand up to repeated viewing. It had its share of clever dialogue (“I guess that makes us even”). It introduced a lot of interesting new characters (some of which don’t even progress beyond their introduction, but it’s only the second chapter in a larger story). Plot-wise, it may have erred only on the side of expanding upon the original premise too much. In all, it throws a lot out there and doesn’t seem to tie any of it together in a neat little package, but it’s very engaging.

I was slightly disappointed that they only touched on some of the neat concepts in the first movie, but that’s just foolish nostalgia kicking in. The old stuff — like reaching a payphone to exit the matrix or downloading a program to learn something quickly — is barely touched upon; it’s now taken for granted that these things happen regularly and that we’ve moved on to Matrix Fighting 102.

But it is only a minor complaint. The soundtrack is fantastic, the fighting scenes are done as well as ever, and the new matrix concepts like its architecture and Neo’s ability to see the code are more than enough to tickle my fancy.

The Matrix had me at hello.

I hate stupid press reviews with shitty plays on words. Lines like, “The Wachowski brothers disappear down the rabbit hole with The Matrix Reloaded,” and “While I enjoyed it immensely, Reloaded didn’t upgrade my system like the first one did” really piss me off.

It’s as if they sat around trying to come up with their moronic catch phrases first, then wrote their reviews around them. It would be one thing if the entire article was written in metaphors related to the movie being critiqued, but catchy one-liners just seem out of place. Is there anyone who finds these quotes witty?

The reviews themselves have been mostly favorable, which doesn’t mean a damn thing to me one way or the other. I thought The Matrix: Reloaded was great even though I have to see it again to get the whole plot under my belt, “and have it drilled into my head like a Sentinel attacking Zion!”

My sister skipped out on her lease Sunday. The last thing I wanted to do after a night of drinking, gambling, and dollar-bill-stuffing was lift heavy boxes, but the whole affair didn’t turn out so bad.

My sister’s good-for-nothing roommate had rooted through her closet and stole stuff, wore her prom dress, and cancelled the cable service without any discussion. This is all according to Dana, but if it was half as bad as she claims, then there was more than the acceptable amount of undue tension.

It was my dad’s idea for her to come home (it’s his solution for quite a few things), figuring that with the roommate still there they were unlikely to chase her over state lines. I guess she’ll find out soon enough. I doubt Dana’s roommate will find someone to replace her, what with all the whoring and all, but who cares?

While we were moving furniture to the U-Haul, I started to get a little jealous that I never got to skip out on a lease before. It’s not something that happens too often. Also, I think all of us were secretly hoping (and some were outwardly expressing) that the roommate would come home so we could see her reaction first-hand. It would be priceless just to see the expression on her face when she finds an empty bedroom, a missing seven piece sectional couch, no television (she claimed she never watched television anyway, hence the cable service cancellation, right?), and 50 percent fewer kitchen supplies.

I hope Dana gets some kind of reaction, and then spreads the word to everyone who helped.

Dave’s bachelor party on Saturday went without a hitch.

Eight of us dined at Moriarty’s: Chris, Pat, Aaron (of puttyworld.com fame), Joel (the best man and Aaron’s brother), Mitch, Kevin, me, and of course Dave. We got a lot of drinking under our belts, ate way too much food, did a Red-Headed Slut each, split the check, and made it to Drexel’s campus by 9 p.m. to meet our limousine.

The limousine took all of us except Chris — who is one of the least indulgent Libertarians I know — to Atlantic City for the night, where I proceeded to lose $140 before winning $185 shortly after. Mitch and Aaron sat down to Caribbean Stud Poker with me and Mitch won quite a bit of money too. After dropping a $5 chip on the floor, tipping the dealer $14, and stumbling my way to the cashier, we walked along the boardwalk smoking cigars to another casino so Dave could lose big at Blackjack.

On the way out of the casino I played $5 in a video poker slot machine and came out with $7. I didn’t want to bother with cashing them in, so I just played them in the dollar slots hoping to lose. Instead, I came away with $11 — too much to just throw away without at least heading back towards the cashier. Along the way, I planted dollar coins into the slot machines like I was Johnny Appleseed, until finally one machine paid out $80. Unfortunately, some douche bag sitting two seats away was playing the machine I was on in addition to the one he was at and 3 others. I failed to notice that the machine already had $210 in it and he likely would have played the machine anyway. I asked for my $2 back and I said we’d call it even; I lost the $11 quickly after that since the near-confrontation took some time and the limo was waiting for us.

We then hit Fantasy Showbar closer to Philly, where I spent well over $200. Pat mentioned earlier in the evening — outside More Than Just Ice Cream, near Moriarty’s — that one of the few events on which I’ve ever refused to elaborate occurred in the ice cream parlor’s bathroom. Well, now there are two things that won’t be discussed in detail. Suffice it to say that everyone had a good time, even Dave who claimed it wasn’t going to be his cup of tea. It turned out to be his banana instead, and someone has the photo to prove it; I don’t know what happened to the banana, but the photo will turn up sooner or later.

We were drinking the entire night, as none of us had to worry about driving. By 3:30 a.m. we were all pretty tired and ready to crash, so we got dropped off at Dave’s house and slept on couches and the floor.

Whew, had a little bit of work there after lunch. All of it silly, non-thinking stuff.

Last week when Lisa listed the events of a typical day, I was pleased that she listed my blog as the one she reads first. I realize it may not have been intended like that, but in the off-chance that it was, I hope all these posts are in time to catch her eye and that they help me retain my position as number one. Go me!

If last week was the worst shufflepuck experience, this was the best. JT and I got totally creamed in the game, but it was a hell of a lot of fun. We had resigned ourselves to playing a little one-on-one, when in walked two dozen people in shirts and ties and the occasional Democratic Party button. I think they were “visiting Mr. So-and-so’s old hangout” because two guys were really excited about playing shufflepuck “after it’s been so long”, and all the rest were interested in watching.

We only got to play that one game, but it took about 45 minutes and there was a lot of back-slapping, hand-shaking and good-natured ribbing going on. It didn’t feel like our regular dive, but like a real hotspot for once. Hey, as long as I get my game on, I’m happy.

I have no idea where to begin about Dia’s parents. They seem really laid back, but they’re incredibly hard to please.

Last year, they arrived at our place in Philadelphia complaining that they spent the previous week either being driven around to various malls or sitting at home doing nothing. To cure their supposed boredom, we endeavored to fill the week with as many activities as possible, squeezing in trips to Baltimore, Washington, D.C., Atlantic City, in addition to various Philly spots.

In return for our troubles, all we got were complaints about how they didn’t like to try new foods, were tired of both walking and car rides, and just wanted to relax some more. A typical complaint was voiced when we stopped at the Burrito Brothers restaurant in D.C.: “How can you eat such extravagant meals one night yet eat measly burritos the next?” A week earlier they arrived at our place not only with complaints of boredom but with requests to see what a typical week was for Dia and me. Apparently they changed their minds because they complained the entire time. After they returned home, Dia found out that they had more fun in Tunkhannock, Pa. (located in northern Bumfuck County) with Kari and her host parents.

Which brings us to this year. They’re staying with us for one week, then heading up to Tunkhannok for the next, and they’re coming back to Levittown for the third week.

I should have known we were in for trouble when Dia’s mom got sick on the way back from JFK airport. Despite reassuring us for the first part of the trip that she would be fine, she vomited into a trash bag. We pulled over and got her some Dramamine for her motion sickness (which we later learned had started during the plane’s descent) and she was fine for the rest of the trip. I’m not so evil as to suggest that a little car sickness is anyone’s fault, but it doesn’t stop there. On two subsequent car trips we pleaded with her to take some Dramamine but she claimed she was feeling fine. I wanted to shout, “Of course you feel fine! We’re not even in the goddamn car yet!” but the language barrier stopped me more than self-restraint. Yesterday, Dia made it only halfway to the Philadelphia Zoo before her mom asked to return to the apartment.

They’re at the Mutter Museum right now with plans to visit the Franklin Institute, so it appears Dia and her sister have the motion sickness thing under control. I’ll drop this line of complaining for now.

For the past three days Lili and Zoltan have been sitting around our apartment all day long. In Serbia, Zoltan loves to exercise and keep busy but Lili only bakes and hangs around the house all day. They can’t possibly be having fun sitting around the house since they don’t read much, can’t watch television too well, and have already tried the different foods we bought. Yet, it is really difficult to find something that entertains them both. Dia’s mom is constantly complaining when she has to walk, and Dia’s dad absolutely loves walking from museum to museum.

They haven’t been completely without entertainment. When I came home from work Monday night, we went out to Red Lobster, where they tried snow crab legs for the first time. On the way home, we stopped at Lowe’s (forgive me Home Depot) so Dia’s dad could shop for some supplies: drill bits, solar powered walkway lighting, saw blades, and foaming insulation. They haven’t seen a big-box store before, not even during their last visit, and we spent an hour and a half walking from aisle to aisle with Zoltan. Kari and her mom walked in the nursery for five minutes and then waited for us on an outside bench. After that, we swung down to Krispy Kreme — one of the few activities the parents enjoyed equally, as it combined baking and technology in one. Lili used almost half a roll of film on the hot donut-on-donut action.

Earlier in the week, they saw Mama Mia at the Forrest Theater and spent time just talking and being with their daughters. But such things don’t fill an entire day. What whey need is some hardcore entertainment that doesn’t feel so hardcore while they’re being entertained.

Dia and I are constantly taking steps to ensure that Levittown/Philly comes out on top as the most fun. Conquering the car sickness is an important breakthrough, but those Tunkhannock bastards will benefit from our achievement first since the week is almost up. During dinner Tuesday, we made a list of things to do and we had each of Dia’s parents rank the items individually; it was an important step and will make the third week a lot smoother. We have a bunch of other activities all set down and ranked so we know in what order we should do things. I even plan on taking a day off work in two weeks to take Zoltan to Six Flags (Lili will come too, but I’m expecting her to complain the whole time and not have any fun) since he expressed an interest in riding a roller coaster.

I anticipate things getting better in the future (they’re all going to New York tomorrow), but so far it’s been one headache after another. Like last night’s Casper’s break, seeing The Matrix tonight will be a nice timeout from entertaining our high maintenance houseguests.

The self-nicknamed “Battle Scar” — which is nowhere near as lame as my cousin introducing herself by saying “My friends call me Peanut!”, but still lame — actually called me Sunday from a satellite phone.

Matt probably didn’t even call his mother, but found the time to call me. I’m not worthy of such an honor, since I left my cell phone in the car while I was helping my sister move. Instead of a nice conversation with my friend I got a string of obscenities in my voicemail and a disheartening “I’ll talk to you in a year.”

I blame my pants. Back when I wore those stylish painter’s pants, I used the little leg pocket for my cell. No matter how loose-fitting my pants are, I can’t stand having a cell phone in a front pocket with either my keys, loose change, a wad of bills, or various receipts. Not only can’t I stand having those things in the same pocket as my phone, I can’t sit with them either. (Ba-dum dum!) I could always get one of those belt holsters but those things are just plain silly.

Looks like it’s time to go shopping again. I was going to wait until I lost a little more weight first, but I’ve plateaued since I stopped working out as much. So, pants and socks. Last year when I bought socks, I got two bags of six pairs from Foot Locker, size 10-13. When I got home, they were definitely smaller than that. I’ve been squeezing into them for the last year, and they’ve all started ripping in the heel where I have to really pull to get them on. So pants, socks, and boxers. Boxers have always been a problem for me considering my sweaty thighs grind together all the time. It’s lessened lately, which is good, but it doesn’t change the fact that I have five pairs left that a) fit and b) have no holes.

So pants, socks, boxers, and porn and booze for Matt.

I guess the HR department isn’t reading my blog anymore now that I took down the references to the company I work for, our main client, and what I thought of some of the folks that work for our main client.

I usually only post towards the end of the day anyway, and definitely only after I have all my work done. When the whole posting-about-work scare went down, one of the few things going for me was that I hadn’t posted during work hours. Shortly thereafter, I lost my ssh and telnet connections altogether (though the ports still came in handy for Instant Messenger). Now everything is up and running just fine, lessening my frustration levels.

In the spirit of testing the waters I think I’ll post about my job interview on Friday at St. Joe’s. Sean got me an interview for the position of Digital Media Technology Specialist, aka the DigMed Tech. Spec. job or simply, Heaven. It would basically involve a lot of Flash work, something with which I probably won’t work ever again if I continue on my current path. Sean claims it went pretty well, though they haven’t called me back for a second interview yet. My strengths were that I’m educated across the spectrum, I have a great sense of design, and I have a grasp of programming, technology, and general computing. Time will tell if I gave them a good impression.

I wish I hadn’t let the past week get away from me. Now I have too much to say for one post. I’ll likely post 15 entries or so, then feel like I’ve done enough writing for the next week, and the cycle of non-posting begins anew.

I was finished all my work for the day by 10:38 a.m. and have nothing to do except count down the minutes until The Matrix tonight. And blog. So here goes.

I was recently complaining about how Dave’s bachelor party wasn’t going to be much fun after the Best Bozo nixed our Montreal trip due to SARS. While I’m still disappointed, it’s probably for the best.

Now I have more of my weekend to relax. Plus, more people can come out and celebrate with us, which is good because not only will it be more fun but it means we each have to chip in a little less. Still, we’re looking at $250 a person for the evening, and that includes a bunch of stuff and Dave’s share as well.

Joel and Mitch called up last night and we worked out the general plan with specifics to be hashed out no later than tonight, and it’s looking better than I expected. It also turns out that everyone is as into drinking and strippers as I am, so I no longer fear hanging out with the group we have going. Joel doesn’t seem like such a bad guy after all; he still frustrated the hell out of me — and I’ll bust his chops all night for being afraid of SARS — but I’m not angry anymore. He’s making up for it in the home stretch.

I can’t go into details yet, but I do know I don’t plan to sleep at all Saturday night and I do plan on spending way more than $250 with all the gambling, boozing, and womanizing. I’m worried that Dan won’t make it up in time or that Pat will flake out, but I’m probably just being paranoid. Prove me wrong, guys.

Tim and I challenged the locals to a game of Shufflepuck last night at Casper’s. We’re all usually wary of playing them, as if it required something more than the motor skills of a 7-year-old and managing “Anybody got winners yet?” between belches.

Well, now there’s a whole new reason to fear playing the locals: belligerent old people are sore losers.

Tim and I were cleaning up like never before, most likely because we had only had a pitcher of beer each. Two rounds away from claiming victory, the old sot at Tim’s end of the table started shouting something about cheating. He claimed that Tim wasn’t allowed to tell me how many points my pucks were worth, something we’ve always done and were even doing right up to that point in our game with them.

First of all, I don’t even think it’s a rule. I’ve never heard of it, and it would be silly besides. How do you enforce such a rule? It would mean no walking around during your turn, and impossible to enforce since my partner could just signal me somehow. But what do I know? Maybe it is a rule, and it’s such a gentleman sport whose unenforceable rules keep it out of the Olympics.

None of these things should mattered last night, however, as Tim explained that it simply wasn’t something we knew about. He did it rather quickly too since the old guy was pretty agitated — slamming the pucks around, pacing, and looking pretty red from where I was standing. Pleading ignorance is as good an excuse as any in my book. The guy saw us coaching each other during the entire game up to that point, where were his arbitrary rules then? There was no need for him to get all saucy. It’s a good thing he was so old or I might have been scared.

After trouncing them 21 to 12 Tim and I split for Krispy Kreme, laughing about how the schmucks were likely to dwell on their loss and complain to their wrinkly wives about us. More importantly, I’m starting to wonder if all the locals are as bad as those two. My guess is Yes, since everyone there drinks pretty heavily and are probably less skilled in general. Next time this Casper’s Shufflepuck tournament comes around I’m throwing my hat into the ring. Philly trash watch out!

A warning to the faint of heart (that’s you, family members): The following is pure O’Connell, do not read if easily offended.

I received a response from Matt yesterday. I’ll say “he’s doing just fine”, but any more would just be redundant after posting it below. Enjoy.

dear donut puncher,

yes, i’m in the middle east; living in the lovely city of kirkuk. it’s a shit hole and people are constanly trying to kill me. not to mention the iraqis who want me dead too.

i’m glad your not praying to any make believe god/gods for me as they are all about as real as william shatner’s hair. i’m in a much better place now that i found out that chick i was in love with has genital warts. thank god nothing ever happened there. i don’t need warts on my dick.

i’ve yet to kill anyone but i did have my rifle against some guys head the other day and was screaming ‘shut the fucking car off mother fucker or you die’. that was pretty cool.

i’ve gotten some cool souviegners too, including a 4ft bong. we’re lighting that bad boy up when i get home. it looks like i’ll be back in the hood sometime in october. (hopefully) this is my first time on btheinternet in months so don’t expect any swift responses to your emails.

i have yet to recieve the cdrs you mailed. mail me porn and booze.

battle scar

I will add one more thing. I’m happy that even though Matt hasn’t responded to any of his family’s e-mail or letters, he’s still able to find the time to write to me. Whatever he’s going through over there, he’s still got his priorities straight: porn, booze, avoiding genital warts, and keeping in contact with me. It would also be the greatest birthday present ever if he were back by October 14.

So many worries about these next few days.

Dia’s parents arrive Friday, so we have to drive to New York to pick them up. Dave’s bachelor party is now local, but still a weekend affair for some reason; I’m unclear about a lot of the activities and I hope there is still enough interest in “our plans”, which were made very unilaterally and are still very much up the air.

So I used one of my precious vacation days for a Montreal trip that ends up not happening and a commute to New York? Not exactly an ideal day off. I guess it won’t be any worse than the next three weeks of entertaining houseguests and sleeping in a tiny twin bed. I’ll be spending a lot more time at the gym or even better — commuting to work; I’m sorry Dia, who knew that freak traffic jams could increase my commute by two hours?

I just have to enjoy my last few days of freedom while I have them. Tonight is Casper’s night, and tomorrow I’ll take some time to list some more stuff on eBay. Still no word from Matt yet on whether the CDs were a success, so I’m off the hook with that for a little while longer. It’s also almost time for the Radnor book sale, where I plan to employ guerrilla tactics to screw over the most competitive book shoppers. More on that at a later date.

I ran in the Nick Pipino University City 5K run this weekend. It went as planned, with me trailing the pack just ahead of moms with strollers, and a few other fatties and their friends. Afterwards, orange quarters and sandwiches were served, much to Tim’s disappointment (he was looking forward to last year’s spread of macaroni salads, pizza, and beer — I was happy with the healthier fare, but would have gladly accepted the booze). My time was around 34 minutes, so I have to calculate the distance to the train station so I can see how that 45 minute run stacks up. I want to start running after work with Dia, but she’s usually so busy with classes that she won’t be much of a motivator; plus, her parents will be in town for three weeks starting this Friday leaving her with even less free time.

After the run, I didn’t have enough energy for anything fun, so Dia and I spent the entire day cleaning the house. We threw out two vanloads of junk including a desk, three computers and assorted peripherals, eight giant bags of trash, and some small furniture items. I first checked to see if any of it would sell on eBay, of course.

We had a very productive weekend, Dia and I. We had a relaxing Friday night, we got a great workout in Saturday afternoon, and the apartment is is immaculate and fresh-smelling. Not a bad way to spend a weekend.

I’m glad I warmed up on my previous pansy post. Stating that most of my weekends are fun got me thinking about how much next weekend is going to suck. Yes, this is an historic occasion. Mark it on your calendars folks: the yearly bachelor party ass raping!

First, some background on why this is a yearly event. Last year (to the week) I was going to attend my friend Steve’s bachelor party. We had made plans to drive up to Montreal from Boston on Saturday morning. I looked forward to driving up Friday night, and I even volunteered to take care of most of the driving to our ultimate destination — and “ultimate” would be the word to describe a drunken hootinanny in the strip capital of the world. Steve’s lame college friends opted out a few days before the big weekend, one actually claiming he had to have his goddamn tires rotated on Saturday morning. Instead, they had a quiet evening of complaining and whining at a local dive; I didn’t waste a trip to Boston for such a measly event and it marked the moment of realization that Steve and I weren’t terribly close anymore. Life went on.

Until now, when I’m faced by the same type problems we faced before, only substitute Dave’s half-friends in place of the first bunch of assholes. I’m only an usher here, but I have to deal with half-wits who have no idea how to throw a bachelor party. I won’t even try to disguise who I’m talking about either: the best man Joel and fellow usher Mitch. Dan is a partial boob for not even being able to come, but he did give us fair warning that he might have an exam that weekend. But these other two….

From the start, discussion of the hallowed event that should have been Dave’s bachelor party were full of negativity. E-mails were plagued with phrases like “tight work schedule” and “tough money situation” and words like “reasonable” were used liberally. I threw in my two cents a little later than everyone else with a slightly more eloquent version of, “If you aren’t willing to do this for Dave, then you aren’t a true friend.” I realize that you don’t have to spend a lot of money on someone to show that you love them, but there is an important flip side to that coin: If you love someone, you won’t mind spending money on them either.

Finally, we settled on a plan (read: I convinced Mitch that Montreal wasn’t an 11-hour drive) and we were all pretty excited. There’s no harm in mentioning our defunct desitination now, I suppose. I never understood why it had to be a surprise in the first place. Maybe if Dave knew that we were doing something he could have helped me steer our merry band of slackers in the right direction.

There were minor concerns about the trip, such as how everyone needlessly wanted to rent a van rather than ride in “the death trap,” but that stuff is easily worked out. We also hadn’t decided anything concrete and there was only a week before the big weekend, but even that was only a minor issue. We’re recent college grads; we can plan this sort of stuff in our sleep. I could even forgive the core planning group for failing include Dave’s other male wedding invitees; sure a smaller group meant each of us had to pay a larger share to cover Dave, but it did make planning much easier. Overall, I was concerned but excited.

Until some moron (that’s your cue, Joel!) decides he “[doesn’t] think it is a good idea right now to go to canada with SARS.” Adouchebagsayswhat?!

That’s right. Nevermind statements from the Canadian Government or the World Health organization, forget the fact that Montreal isn’t anywhere near Toronto where the disease has not reached epidemic levels, and ignore facts about how the disease is spread mainly through continuous contact with respiratory excretions — the 11 o’clock news warns us against SARS! I could do the math and provide statistics on how unlikely it is to contract a case of this virus-of-the-month let alone die from it, but nope, just like that the trip is cancelled.

Well, thanks to this ready made excuse, we’re not going to Montreal after all and I leave any future plans to Procrastinator Joel and Mitch the Timid. We’ve done a piss poor job of planning Dave’s last weekend as a single man, and I’m so ashamed of it that the only reason I care anymore is because Dave’s my friend and I have to.

So I will just have to do my best to save Dave — save him from a party that Mitch has a hand in planning and that Dan won’t be able to attend. I’m inviting everyone who knows Dave to come drinking with us. We’ll vote down anyone who doesn’t want to go into a strip club and make them chip in for it anyway. I may only be a lowly usher, but at least I know what a bachelor party is supposed to be.

I’m looking forward to this weekend. No more than any other I guess since it can’t possibly top last weekend, but certainly no less fun.

We’re starting things off right with X-Men 2 and dinner at The Olive Garden beforehand — about nine of us altogether.

Saturday, Dia (and maybe me too) is running in the Nick Pipino 5K run with Tim, Andy, Ross, and a few hundred other people. I’ll still make the trek into the city, but I can hardly run to the train station so I’d just make a fool of myself. On the other hand, it can’t hurt to try. Andy has made it clear he wants to head down to Atlantic City afterwards and I’m up for that too. (There is very little I’m not up for, actually.)

Brad, Jeanette and Ian are coming up with Chris and Lisa for an early dinner on Sunday. When i have them trapped I’ll run a continuous loop of Shipmates episodes until they cry out for a game of KKK. Afterwards I’m thinking about swinging by Rob’s karaoke bar to play shufflepuck and maybe watch him sing while I’m there…. Alright, I’m mainly going to see Rob sing, but a little shufflepuck never hurt anyone either. I bet they charge to use the table though.