Your "It Is An Honor I Dream Not Of" Quizo Update

A couple quick things before we get to the meat of today's missive.

- Attendance last week was excellent. Keep it up.

- Inasmuch as tonight is Game 4 of the NLCS, I'm not sure what the crowd situation is going to be like at the pub. If it gets stupid crowded with non-Quizo Phillies fans we can move to one of the other rooms, surely. My preference is for the Rigger Bar since I'm pretty sure that we will still want to watch the game as well and the TV coverage in there is much better than the restaurant.

- However, if vast numbers of teams are not coming tonight, PLEASE let me know so that plans can be made accordingly.

- On the good news front, it's been a very big couple days for Oprah's Book Club. Nick and Regina got married on Saturday (to each other, I mean, more on that in a bit) and today is Palestra Jon's (of the rule which bears his name) anniversary. To Oprah's from all of us at Dark Horse Quizo, congratulations, good luck, mazel tov, may the Force be with you, whatever benediction you prefer. I'm a fan of the Mandalorian "shoot straight and run fast," but that may not be quite the feeling we're after here. But, all in all, good on them.

Now, then, to our main attraction:

Since, as we all know, the motto here at Quizo Central is and has always been "Safety First," we're going to return today to our occasional series of seminars on drastic and dangerous life events.

This week's topic is "how to survive going to two weddings in one day."

- Firstly and most importantly - this really cannot be stressed enough - do not wait until the day you are attending two weddings to buy the shoes you are planning on wearing to two weddings. For while your brand-new shoes may be very impressive in their own right, and when combined with your brand-new suit and shirt and tie, all selected and coordinated specifically for the two-wedding day, make you resemble nothing so much as the reincarnation of Burt Lancaster himself, and we're talking like vintage 1955 "I just got finished sleeping with Ava Gardner AND Lana Turner and, my oh my, what's your name, sweetheart?" Burt Lancaster, wearing brand-new shoes to two weddings in one day is a CATASTROPHICALLY BAD IDEA. Doing so will cause your resemblance to Burt Lancaster to rapidly erode, as it is a known fact that Burt Lancaster was in possession of both his feet, and after a couple hours of wearing brand-new wingtips the only thought in your entire head - overriding your base, lizard-brain lusting after food, sex, lower taxes and oxygen - will be a burning desire to chop off your own feet with a rusty axe.

- Have backup. This is valuable in several respects. If, for instance, you tear the price tag off your brand-new tie a little too vigorously and rip out one of the moorings of the little tie-holder-label-thingy, while driving to the first wedding you can call your backup and say, "you got any safety pins? What do you mean you threw out all your safety pins? How the fuck can you throw away anything as fantastically useful as safety pins? (This exact sentence was actually spoken by me.) Fabric glue? Will that set in time? Okay, fine, bring that." Or, when partway through the first of two weddings in one day, you can say to your father, "if you don't get me a pair of golf shoes that look like wingtips I'm going to chop my feet off with a rusty axe." If your backup gets snippy, you can remind them that pain overrides family and that once you start chopping off body parts it can be very hard to stop.

- While buying nice new Burt Lancaster-izing clothing for two weddings in one day is endorsed, if you are buying your clothing at someplace you have never shopped before be sure that you actually look at the prices of the clothes you're buying, so you can avoid situations such as tearing the price tag off your brand-new tie a little too vigorously and, while wondering how you're going to fix the little tie-holder-label-thingy, glancing at the too-vigorously-removed price tag and realizing that you have paid more for a tie than you normally do for a shirt, and that you normally pay pretty handsomely for shirts to begin with. This realization is closely followed by a feeling of growing horror while you try to calculate how much you paid for the new shirt from this place, then wondering whether the guy at the gas station on the way to work on Monday morning will accept the change from your cup holders as payment.

- While the bucolic location for the first reception might make you think that everyone will be very relaxed and easygoing, always remember to be very, very careful when surrounded by large groups of Germans. This advice applies pretty much anywhere, really. And for god's sake, whatever you do, don't mention the war.

- Your desire to end the lives of certain guests at the reception is not something you should vocalize.

- At the first reception, if your father has been hopelessly addicted to the bride's grandmother's pastries for the last 40 years, telling your father that the dessert tray is a collection of pastries made by the bride's grandmother and that they are out and ready to be eaten is a surefire way to guarantee that you do not get to eat any of said pastries.

- Silk suspenders do not have the same kind of "give" in them as the cheaper, elastic suspenders you may have worn in the past. This means that things like going to the bathroom take exponentially longer as you will spend several minutes trying, Houdini-like, to extricate yourself from them, since after you realize that you could have made a car payment for what you inadvertently paid for said silk suspenders you will find breaking your own back preferable to doing any damage to the goddamn things.

- Wearing contact lenses for the first time in almost a year is recommended if the first reception is outside on a beautiful sunny day, as it makes the wearing of sunglasses possible. Trying to drive from one reception to another in the dusk of twilight while wearing contact lenses for the first time in almost a year is not recommended, as the combination of your eyes adjusting to your slightly-different vision and the tricky, shifting light of the immediate post-sunset period will make driving in under-lit suburbs much more exciting than it really needs to be.

- When arriving at your friend's parents' house for the second reception, do not trip over the SAME GODDAMN TRICK DOORSTEP THAT YOU HAVE TRIPPED OVER EVERY ONE OF THE HUNDREDS OF TIMES YOU'VE GONE INTO THAT HOUSE FOR THE LAST TWENTY FUCKING YEARS! Seriously, don't do that.

- No matter how much your new clothing makes you resemble Burt Lancaster, the sentence, "you look so much like my ex-girlfriend that I really thought you were her, but when you walked past and didn't punch me in the face I realized you weren't" is, despite how 100% true it may be, not the first thing you want to say to someone you've just met. Even at a nighttime, outdoor reception, where the darkness makes you resemble Burt Lancaster that much more, saying things like this clearly mark you as "not relationship material."

- Get your friend who lives out of town and is thus marrying a woman you haven't met yet to introduce you to his new wife BEFORE he is drunk.

- If you once watched one of your friends drink 26 beers in one night, offer him a ride home BEFORE people start playing beer pong if you want to leave the party any time soon.

- And, finally - whether your belief tends toward Jehovah, Vishnu or the Lords of Kobol, never let anyone think that you don't thank God every day that you have the friends you have.

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

Your "A Tale of Two Weekends" Quizo Update

A friend of mine is fond of saying "a plan is just a list of things that don't happen."

Note to self: screw you, friends.

As I was laying the groundwork for it, my weekend was supposed to look something like this-

Friday: Sleep late. Sit around. Have lunch with friend in from Miami. Go to comic shop and get 1 or 2 books. Drive to Harrah's, play poker, try to not lose.

Saturday: Sleep late. Go to fully-booked 4-hour audition for Medea (opening January 11 at Second Stage, 2030 Sansom, tickets $20). Be blown away by one person who is so much better than everyone else for each part that show casts itself. Go directly home immediately thereafter, have people over, play Guitar Hero II.

Sunday: Wake up early, go to Dark Horse. Watch Chelsea beat Manchester United. Go home, sit around, play more Guitar Hero II. Watch Eagles lose to Colts, hopefully not horribly.

As it happened, the weekend actually looked more like this –

Friday: Sleep way too late. Wake up far too late to have lunch. Realize upon waking that I am planning to go to a comic shop across the street from Willow Grove Mall on Black Friday. Curse own stupidity. Brave insane holiday traffic. Go to comic shop and leave with bag weighing approximately 74 pounds (Absolute New Frontier… how I love thee…). Get home. Hurt elbow carrying absurdly heavy comic shop bag out of car. Go to Harrah's. Not only lose, but watch friend who drove me down there win $500. Proceed to lose $40 on Price is Right nickel slot machines. Watch friend win another $300 on selfsame slot machine. Contemplate suicide.

Saturday: Oversleep again. Wake up to find that 8 actors have cancelled their audition – 5 thought it was the day before, 2 forgot that they were already in something the same weeks as my show (Medea, opening January 11 at Second Stage, 2030 Sansom, tickets $20). Consider feasibility of genetically engineering plague to kill all actors (note to self: consult Dr. Chill about collaborating). Go to bar to pick up keys to theatre. Listen to Max tell me why he, an high school soccer player/bar back with no theatre training, should be allowed to audition for my show (Medea, opening January 11 at Second Stage, 2030 Sansom, tickets $20). Seriously consider killing Max, possibly with aforementioned plague. Go to theatre. Have way too many good people show up and realize show will not cast itself. Spend two hours arguing with managing director over who to call back. Get call that other friend is in from Egypt for one night only, wants to go out for drinks. Cancel plans for Guitar Hero II. Go to parking garage to find that they have lost my car keys. Have managing director drive me all the way home to get spare car keys. Meet friend in from Egypt at obscenely crowded jerkoff bar that charges me $2 for every ginger ale I drink. Contemplate murder-suicide.

Sunday: Inexplicably wake up too early. Tired from not getting enough sleep. Show up at Dark Horse a solid hour before game starts to find no seats. Find pub full of Manchester United fans I've never seen before. Consider fact that United fans who only show up for big games should be shot, or possibly plagued. Sit uncomfortably in very crowded bar. Watch Chelsea not beat Manchester United. Develop screaming migraine on way to car after watching Chelsea not beat Manchester United. Upon arrival at home headache prevents further playing of Guitar Hero II. Take migraine medication, cease caring about anything for about 4 hours (Darvocet... how I love thee...). Return to reality. Curse selfsame reality. Friend offers me Eagles and a ridiculous 15 points. Take ridiculous point spread. Watch Eagles lose by 24. Headache returns when game ends. Contemplate suicide bombing.

And my birthday is on Thursday.

Yay.

This is my life, and it's ending one minute at a time.

(Or, as that friend of mine from Miami is fond of saying, "actually, John, I'm pretty sure it's ending much faster than that.")

JLK