I guess that whole “dearth of updates” line is beginning to ring a bit hollow…but I’m in some sort of sick blogging zone, so bear with me (for some reason, watching The O.C. tends to have this galvanizing effect). As some of you know (Adam, Gavin, etc), March Madness started this afternoon…and alas, I didn’t get to watch much of it, save for what I saw during the aforementioned awful dining experience (more on that in a second). Anyway, for the first time ever I’m in an NCAA pool. I have, like, no idea what I’m doing…yet based on my results after Day 1, I’d say I’m off to a surprisingly good start. Assuming LSU doesn’t catch up to UAB I’ll end up with a solid 13-3 record; I realize I benefitted from a day in which only one legitimate upset took place (UW-Milwaukee over Alabana…which I picked, by the way, but really, I’m not sure to what degree a 24-5 12-seed taking out a 24-7 5-seed can be considered a genuine upset) and that subsequent picks are frought with difficulties (Arizona in the Final Four, for instance), but for $2 I couldn’t go wrong. My buddy Neil, who cheers for an absolute motley crew of sports teams (the Dolphins, the Flyers, the As and Duke), keeps dangling these gambling opportunities in front of me, and weakling that I am I just can’t turn them down. Up next: my first-ever live fantasy baseball draft! Stay tuned.
Anyway. So this afternoon I met Jamie, Beth and Lisa Rauch at the Peel Pub for lunch. In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the best idea for a location (this being St. Patrick’s Day and all…and while we’re on the subject, can someone please explain to me how St. Paddy’s Day came to be so popular? I mean sure, if you’re Irish, it would seem to have resonance in your life…but for the 95% of us who aren’t Irish, why do we suddenly insist on dressing like a leprachaun, drinking green beer and talking like we’re from Carrickfergus? I don’t claim to know many Irishmen…but if they’re all like the one Irishman I do know I can only assume the entire nation is populated by U2 loving Liverpool supporters–and we don’t need that. Yet I digress.) But, I mean…did it have to be that bad?? In the one hour I was there I think the waitress came to our table twice–which would have been understandable if the place had been more crowded, but we arrived at the tail end of the morning’s insanity. Lisa’s quesidillas took an hour to arrive; when they finally did, she had already left to go back to work. The Coke I ordered when I sat down never arrived. I was there for an hour and a half! I’ve never served or anything, so I don’t pretend like this is gospel…but is there a simpler task than getting someone a soft drink? Instead, I drank what was left of Lisa’s. We didn’t need Mr. Pink to tell us not to tip; it was almost one of those scenarios in which a ten cent tip is in order, but instead we paid our bill (minus the quesidillas) and walked out. This Peel Pub used to shut down on a fairly regular basis for liquor license violations; I now hope it shuts down on account of its crappy wait staff.
It is now 12:16 in the morning, and I have a day of academic prison sex before me. Bri is currently at Walkhome–and, given the nature of that particular service, is out on a walk. That leaves me here, alone, with no one to talk to except a non-responsible blog…and rather than wallow in the depths of such pathetic-ness I feel I should just publish this rant and then shut ‘er down. Take care, folks. Look for a new dearth of posting, coming soon.