About two years ago I wrote about my brother Brian taking a softball in the face after it took a bad hop. Well, like brother, like brother. I’m now the proud owner of three stitches aftera similar incident. On this trip to the emergency room, however, Brian wasn’t the patient, he was the doctor. Well, actually he was working in pediatrics and didn’t do the stitches himself as I hoped he would, but he came down and ushered me through the ER. Handy!
By the way, along with my stitches, I’m also the proud owner of a really stupid looking moustache/mutton chops amalgam.
Somehow I got on a mailing list for retirees: AARP sends me membership cards, charities ask me to consider my legacy, and this week I was informed how men my age sometimes have difficulty urinating.
I’m like some sort of time traveler getting a sneak peek at my junk mail from 30 years in the future. (Will there even be junk mail 30 years from now?)
Journey to the End of the Night 2009 has come and gone and no one could have asked for better weather… unless you were sprinting as fast as you could wearing a gorilla suit. In that case you might have preferred it a bit cooler.
I think my favorite part of the whole night might have been the bus ride home with blue and pink ribboned Chicagoans boarding and disembarking, all sharing stories of their adventures that night.
Other fond memories:
Accidentally chasing three dudes who weren’t actually playing the game — possibly freaking them out a little bit.
A cop yelling out his car at me… only to ask me where my gorilla mask was. (I would have worn it but I couldn’t see anything out of it. Also, it smelled weird.)
Chasing people through Bridgeport where it was nice to see that kids still actually play outside in their neighborhood. They loved the idea of our game so I gave them the few blue armbands I had collected and told them if they wore them they might get chased by people with pink armbands. They ended up just running from anyone who came by.
Below is a map of the checkpoints for anyone who might be interested. As a “staff chaser” my job was to patrol certain choke points and make people run.
In London we happened to walk past a statue of Michael Faraday outside the Institution of Engineering and Technology. I had Shama stop and take a picture of me with him. (Nice pose, Evan.)
While we were walking away, another dude was getting another lady to take his picture in front of the statue. When I asked if he was an engineer too, the lady laughed, nodded, and rolled her eyes.
In Dublin Shama had me stop and take a photo of her punching James Joyce in the balls.
I was worried when Dax moved away from Chicago he’d leave behind a bunch of people who still wanted to play the crazy games he organized with no one to run them.
Luckily, Dax decided to come back to Chicago this weekend and run his game, “Journey to the End of the Night.” I’ll be helping him out by chasing people around. I may or may not be dressed in a ridiculous costume which may or may not resemble food.
The game involves running through the city to different checkpoints without getting tagged by a chaser. If you do, you become a chaser yourself, and the beat goes on.
The game will start Saturday, May 2nd at 6.30 PM at 280 S. Columbus. Just show up and be prepared to run. You’ll be given maps and other information at the starting line.
What’s that you say? You’re not in Chicago? You live in DC? Well, there’s a simultaneous game in Washington on May 2nd as well!
Soooo… My camera broke on a ferry sailing in the vast Atlantic Ocean. Naturally, I took it apart. Scoff if you will, ladies and gentlemen, but my previous camera broke in the same way and I fixed it! That’s right. I took out a million screws, put back 999,995, and it worked again… until I dropped it in a lake.
This one didn’t work again. I actually got it more or less functional, but as I was putting it back together the tiniest of gears popped out and I had no idea where it went. Turns out that little gear was pretty important.
I need a new camera. Any suggestions?
(By the way, if you’re curious, here’s the last picture my camera ever took)
Does anyone have a sink like this in their home? If so, how are you not constantly annoyed all the time? How do you brush your teeth with only scalding hot or freezing cold water as an option? No sir, I don’t like it.
In the London tube stations there were a bunch of travel ads for Chicago. I didn’t see many ads for other places — maybe one or two for Aruba — but maybe I just didn’t notice the other places.
The ads weren’t very good, but everytime I saw one I felt the need to point it out. Look! It’s Chicago! I think it made Shama a little homesick. It made me a little homesick too even though I’d only been gone for a couple weeks.
I met up with my cousin Josh in Paris and we went to Versailles. After a long day of wandering the many halls, we took a break in a room lined with marble busts of the heroes of France.
While we were resting, Josh told me that his friend is a sculptor working on a piece for a cathedral in Los Angeles, and wouldn’t you know it, he ended up using Josh as the model for Joseph. We joked about a Jew modeling for a statue in a church, but Joseph was Jewish, so maybe it’s appropriate. I can see the resemblance.
People have different comfort levels on cliffs. Some are pleased to view them from a distance while others need to peer over the edge. Here’s Shama on Inishmore imitating a mountain goat. That wall behind her, by the way, used to form a complete circle before half of it fell into the ocean! Of course, that was over 1,000 years ago so she’s probably okay. Probably.
We spent the last four days driving around Ireland in a Mitsubishi Colt. This is one of those cars that they don’t sell in the US due to tininess. Still, me, Shama, my brother, Shama’s friend Maureen, and two of her friends all managed to pile into the Colt and tour the countryside. The most comfortable seat, I’m told, was in the hatchback.
I wouldn’t know, however, since I got to sit in the front the whole time. Why? Turns out I was the only one who knew how to drive stick. That, combined with a lack of directions, the Irish insistence that people drive on the left side of the street, pint-sized lanes, and my general poor driving skills seemed to be a recipe for disaster. Oddly, however, I felt a lot more comfortable driving here than in the US. I think I’m a natural left-side driver, which might explain why I have so much trouble back home.
On the way to the Cliffs of Moher, we passed the Aussie Super Circus and Shama said we had to stop. The show wouldn’t start for another 5 hours, but any passers-by would have been treated to an unadvertised clown car as we all piled out to look at the wallabies and emus.
Well, shoot, I’m in Ireland. Observations so far: my extensive knowledge of phonics is practically useless here. The first person we met was named Niamh but pronounced “Neeve.” What?!
I’m still not sure if I want to take the time to post inane garbage from here, but in the mean time you can read Shama’s blog. She is a better writer than I and has a lot more to say about Ireland, having been here for 2 months already.
While I was trying to record my ATM’s musical talents, I had to pee really really bad. I mean really bad. I was so dedicated to bringing you that dumb-butt audio file, however, that I did the pee-pee-dance, frantically typed in my PINumber and then ran out of the bank likerdysplirt to find a terlit. The only problem: my ATM card didn’t run out with me.
When I finally noticed the missing card a few days later, I also noticed a letter from my bank with the card enclosed:
We have examined your Debit Card and have found it to be in working order. Your card was retained due to a machine malfunction.
Thanks for sending my card back, bank. And thanks for blaming it on a “machine malfunction” when we all know it was an “Evan malfunction.”
(Geez! Who would have thought I’d ever have threeposts about my bank?)
I remember once hearing a discussion on the radio complaining about the high price of concert and theater tickets. They talked about spending $100 per seat and all I kept thinking was, “man, you guys are going to the wrong shows!” If you think ticket prices are too high, go see some local bands and small theater! That’s where all the good stuff is.
Now, I know it can be hard to sift through the garbage to find something good to see, so I’m going to help you out: go see FRAT. I should disclose that I’m on the board of the theater company producing the show, but with the exception of Stomp The Yard, have I ever led you astray? And, honestly, was that movie all that bad? You didn’t even see it, did you? Some friend.
It’s okay, though. FRAT‘s better.
To be honest, of the three shows The New Colony is doing this year, it was the one I was the least excited about. I don’t really have any opinions of — or interest in — fraternaties and I worried the show might become either a glorification of idiocy or a spiteful trashing of the entire institution. It’s neither. Instead, FRAT is a hilarious, creative, unique theater experience performed by really talented actors.
What, my opinion’s not good enough for you? Okay, how’s this? You get free beer with the price of admission. Flazzam! Still not interested? How about some reviews?
FRAT
A New Play By Evan Linder
At The DANK Haus
4740 N Western Ave. 2nd Floor
Mar. 9 – Apr. 4, 2009
Thu-Sat at 7:30PM Buy Tickets Right Now For half-price tickets ($10), use discount code: THETAPI241
While not as risque as some shows, FRAT definitely hovers around an R rating.
