Your "One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer" Quizo Update

You know, it occurs to me that your special teams have to be really, REALLY bad to make the Packers look good. I mean really, really, really, REALLY BAD.

On a positive note, the Philadelphia Binge Festival - it's like the Fringe Festival, only less healthy - opens next Tuesday with my production of Patrick Marber's "Dealer's Choice" in the restaurant at the Dark Horse Pub. Shows are Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday Nights at 8 and Saturday afternoons at 4, September 18-29. Tickets to the show are a scant ten dollars. Doors will open ( i.e. I will be standing in the doorway, glaring at you, demanding money) 90 minutes before showtime, though if you want to eat/drink/whatever I strongly recommend arriving no later than an hour before curtain - I learned last night that I can't fit as many people into that room as I had previously, and space is going to get taken up very quickly. I'm a fan of early arrivals for pretty much everything in general, but in this case not only do you get a good seat but after paying me (thus putting a temporary halt to the glaring) you then get to take your time eating the... er... delicious dinner the DH provides.

It is worth noting at this point that my mother has always claimed she married an Italian so she would not have to spend the rest of her life making Irish food. Short of teaching me how to read and write I consider this to be the smartest move she's ever made.

It is worth noting further that I have been reliably informed by a number of sources who I consider quite trustworthy that the food at the Horse is excellent. I would not think for even a second to disparage the fare the DH provides, more that I am disparaging the entire genre to which it belongs, i.e. Irish/English cuisine, which by any reputable measure is absolutely repulsive. They say Scottish food is based on a dare; I would contend that Irish food is (or at least should be considered) a form of biological warfare and thus banned under the Geneva Protocol. That said, I have been repeatedly told that if one actually desires to take ones' life into ones' hands, the food at the Horse is a top-notch exemplar of Irish cuisine.

Of course, one year back when I was young my father got an unfortunate pang of nostalgia and asked my mother if we could do the traditional Italian dinner on Christmas Eve, which if you are not aware consists of seven different kinds of fish (aka, in typical Italian-American pidgin, "the Seven Fishes"). This was a poor choice on his part. This is not, I must add here, like the time a few years back my sister called us from her home in San Francisco on December 24 to tell us that her and her friends were "doing like we did way back in the day and eating the Seven Fishes," as she rattled off a menu consisting of lobster, crab, shrimp, mussels, oysters, sea bass, and scallops, leading to my comment "those aren't the Seven Fishes, those are seven things that live underwater, and five of them aren't even fucking fish."

It is worth noting yet again that - to my understanding - no one actually knows what the "official" Seven Fishes are supposed to be, so don't bother going to look them up, thinking I'm going to ask what they are tonight. I am not. If you sort of Rube Goldberg the Seven Fishes and construe it as seven Mediterranean fish that likely would have been part of a large dinner in actual Italy, well, you are in for one goddamn disgusting dinner. In terms of "worst Christmas ever" the year of the Seven Fishes ranks right up there with the year my dad - technological genius that he is - tried to book his and my mom's vacation plane tickets online and put them on a flight out on December 25 instead of 26 and we didn't even HAVE Christmas. If you really think about it I believe you'll come to the conclusion I did, that a smoking ruin of a Christmas is at least as bad (if not actually worse) than one where you eat eel.

On second thought, maybe the whole "reading and writing" thing was #1 after all.

Anyway, as far as the show goes, I am told the demand to see it amongst the legitimate theatre community is pretty hopping, so if you want to see it - and I sincerely hope you do, I would very much like everyone to - I would get back to me as soon as you can to make reservations. It's going to fill up fairly quickly. And the show is freaking awesome, which is always nice. Plus you get to eat and drink! (And drink, and drink, and drink...) What could be better than that?

(Hint: it's not seven different kinds of fish.)

JLK

Your Connect the Dots Quizo Update

I have developed this distressing habit lately where my mind will simply fail to make any connection between two important and related events. I will be able to recognize that, yes, Item A is very important, and Item B is as well, but whatever sort of strange mental linkage that happens and makes you think "oh my God those two things have something to do with each other" just never happens. Perhaps I have early-early-early-early-early-early-onset Alzheimer's. I knew I should have eaten those shark brains when I had the chance.

The whole thing with the election and what was to be my next show was the first example, but this weekend proved to be even more personal than that.

There was a plan to go to the Dark Horse to celebrate my 29th birthday - which none of you even bothered to notice, shame on you - on Saturday night. Beforehand, I was sitting at home watching the Army-Navy game, and my thought process at some point in the second half went something like this:

"Okay, Navy's winning, so... the game should be over by about 6, maybe 6:30, I'll hop in the shower, get some dinner, then head downtown to the bar." [pause] "Yeah, that sounds good. Can't think of anything that could possibly go wrong there."

I first drove past the pub at about 8:45. I did not get out of my car, in the Ritz parking lot at 2nd and Walnut until almost 9:15. Why did I park at a movie theatre 4 blocks away from the pub, you ask?

The parking lot on Front Street was full. The parking lot behind Cosi was full. The parking lot across the street from that was full. The parking lot at 3rd and Bainbridge was full. The parking lot on 3rd between South and Lombard (which I have a sneaking suspicion is actually the same lot as the one across from Cosi) was full.

It was full-blown screaming insanity. The streets were crawling with midshipmen. The roads were packed with people who clearly had never driven in a civilized country before, let alone Old City (which, in some car-related instances, barely qualifies as civilized either). Everyone in the entire world apparently had forgotten how to get anywhere without completely ruining the lives of everyone else they came in contact with.

Then, after parking four blocks away and seven stories up from the Pub, I hiked down to the Dark Horse...

Which was, of course, mobbed. Although this year, thankfully, it was full of Navy people (and the one lonely, depressed guy in an Army hat) and not Norwegian shipbuilders (the bane of my last birthday party). Around 10 my friend Kevin showed up, and after saying hello he took a quick look around the packed bar. This was easy since we were crammed into the corner near the back door (about 15 of us at Gym Shorts No Underwear's usual table) and all he could move was his head.

"Forgot today was Army-Navy, huh?" he said.

"Er... yes," I replied.

He paused a moment, then said, "for a smart guy you're really fucking stupid sometimes."

I did not argue.

Remember that we start at 7 tonight, that's SEVEN IN THE PM, due to the Eagles "game" at 8:30. Speed quizo, everyone's favorite.

JLK