After going (almost) two weeks without drinking (a lot), we tumbled from the wagon with wild abandon this weekend. Friday night was a four bottles of wine affair, with the disclaimer that we were celebrating a special occasion. (The occasion: watching The Jerk and Chasing Amy. We drank every time Steve Martin squinted or Jason Lee had made an sexual comment inappropriate for his audience.) These important activities kept us up until about 4:30 AM; we woke up Saturday at the crack of 1:30 PM.
Saturday we effectively went straight to the bar to watch the Arkansas-Florida tilt. (Nice job, refs – if you’re going to do that shit, there’s really no reason to play the game.) No more 1849 Bar for me, that’s the second last-second loss I’ve experienced there this season (after that Brett “Fucking” Favre dagger against the Niners 3 weeks ago). No matter how strong their mo sticks are. After that dreadful loss, we went straight to Chinatown for some Hot Pot.
What’s Hot Pot, you might ask? Is it a Hot Pocket variant? No, it’s essentially just what it sounds like, they place a burner on your table and then set a pot atop it. The burner makes the pot hot. The pot is split into two sides, one is an inferno-hot szechuan pepper nightmare and the other side is timid chicken broth. Both sides somehow of the pot are heated to about 10,000 – 12,000 degrees. You order meats, dumplings, noodles, (uck) vegetables and other shit that you put in the pot and then you drag some of it out and eat it, despite the fact that it is both scoville hot, and approximately 983 degrees. Pretty fun experience, particularly if you like to eat at the same table with strangers and enjoy all the ambience of an airplane bathroom, just with less room to operate.
After that is when I came face to face with The Incredible Hulk. We went to Bowlmor Lanes for a little tenpin. (Bowlmor’s official slogan: We are looking for fucking morons willing to pay $12/game of bowling; enjoy the music and expensive drinks!) Given that Bowlmor has one of the most impressive business models ever, we faced a modest 1.5 hour wait to enjoy the privilege of paying $12/game to roll a series of 75s. (Not my best effort, I think I suffered some nerve damage at hot pot or something.) While perusing the cocktail menu, I noticed a beverage that contains two ingredients frequently name-checked in rap songs: Hennessy cognac and Hpnotiq. The drink? The Incredible Hulk. (Apparently Puff Daddy invented this drink six years ago – sounds about right, I’m 40 so it takes a bit of time for me to learn about new stuff). They were pretty tasty, and this is coming from someone who’s more a Marvel Comics fan than either a Hennessy or bizarre blue alcohol fan.
Why am I telling you this? Because the Hulks made me feel pretty, pretty, pretty shitty on Sunday. (I still manned up for six miles on the treadmill, but that was more about rocking some Ace of Bass than exercising.) I’ve got some substantive posts coming up this week. Just not today. I can’t concentrate enough while dealing with the green urine situation.
Also have some sweet travel coming up – Annapolis later this week, Cancun next week. Shitty weather + Jet Blue sale = get the fuck out of town.